the epic of gilgamish by stephen langdon university of pennsylvania the university museum publications of the babylonian section vol. x no. introduction in the year the university museum secured by purchase a large six column tablet nearly complete, carrying originally, according to the scribal note, lines of text. the contents supply the south babylonian version of the second book of the epic _sa nagba imuru_, "he who has seen all things," commonly referred to as the epic of gilgamish. the tablet is said to have been found at senkere, ancient larsa near warka, modern arabic name for and vulgar descendant of the ancient name uruk, the biblical erech mentioned in genesis x. . this fact makes the new text the more interesting since the legend of gilgamish is said to have originated at erech and the hero in fact figures as one of the prehistoric sumerian rulers of that ancient city. the dynastic list preserved on a nippur tablet [ ] mentions him as the fifth king of a legendary line of rulers at erech, who succeeded the dynasty of kish, a city in north babylonia near the more famous but more recent city babylon. the list at erech contains the names of two well known sumerian deities, lugalbanda [ ] and tammuz. the reign of the former is given at , years and that of tammuz at years. gilgamish ruled years. we have to do here with a confusion of myth and history in which the real facts are disengaged only by conjecture. the prehistoric sumerian dynasties were all transformed into the realm of myth and legend. nevertheless these rulers, although appearing in the pretentious nomenclature as gods, appear to have been real historic personages. [ ] the name gilgamish was originally written _d_gi-bil-aga-mis, and means "the fire god (_gibil_) is a commander," abbreviated to _d_gi-bil-ga-mis, and _d_gi(s)-bil-ga-mis, a form which by full labialization of _b_ to _u_ was finally contracted to _d_gi-il-ga-mis. [ ] throughout the new text the name is written with the abbreviation _d_gi(s), [ ] whereas the standard assyrian text has consistently the writing _d_gis-tu [ ]-bar. the latter method of writing the name is apparently cryptographic for _d_gis-bar-aga-(mis); the fire god _gibil_ has also the title _gis-bar_. a fragment of the south babylonian version of the tenth book was published in , a text from the period of hammurapi, which showed that the babylonian epic differed very much from the assyrian in diction, but not in content. the new tablet, which belongs to the same period, also differs radically from the diction of the ninevite text in the few lines where they duplicate each other. the first line of the new tablet corresponds to tablet i, col. v of the assyrian text, [ ] where gilgamish begins to relate his dreams to his mother ninsun. [ ] the last line of col. i corresponds to the assyrian version book i, col. vi . from this point onward the new tablet takes up a hitherto unknown portion of the epic, henceforth to be assigned to the second book. [ ] at the end of book i in the assyrian text and at the end of col. i of book ii in the new text, the situation in the legend is as follows. the harlot halts outside the city of erech with the enamoured enkidu, while she relates to him the two dreams of the king, gilgamish. in these dreams which he has told to his mother he receives premonition concerning the advent of the satyr enkidu, destined to join with him in the conquest of elam. now the harlot urges enkidu to enter the beautiful city, to clothe himself like other men and to learn the ways of civilization. when he enters he sees someone, whose name is broken away, eating bread and drinking milk, but the beautiful barbarian understands not. the harlot commands him to eat and drink also: "it is the conformity of life, of the conditions and fate of the land." he rapidly learns the customs of men, becomes a shepherd and a mighty hunter. at last he comes to the notice of gilgamish himself, who is shocked by the newly acquired manner of enkidu. "oh harlot, take away the man," says the lord of erech. once again the faithful woman instructs her heroic lover in the conventions of society, this time teaching him the importance of the family in babylonian life, and obedience to the ruler. now the people of erech assemble about him admiring his godlike appearance. gilgamish receives him and they dedicate their arms to heroic endeavor. at this point the epic brings in a new and powerful _motif_, the renunciation of woman's love in the presence of a great undertaking. gilgamish is enamoured of the beautiful virgin goddess ishara, and enkidu, fearing the effeminate effects of his friend's attachment, prevents him forcibly from entering a house. a terrific combat between these heroes ensues, [ ] in which enkidu conquers, and in a magnanimous speech he reminds gilgamish of his higher destiny. in another unplaced fragment of the assyrian text [ ] enkidu rejects his mistress also, apparently on his own initiative and for ascetic reasons. this fragment, heretofore assigned to the second book, probably belongs to book iii. the tablet of the assyrian version which carries the portion related on the new tablet has not been found. man redeemed from barbarism is the major theme of book ii. the newly recovered section of the epic contains two legends which supplied the glyptic artists of sumer and accad with subjects for seals. obverse iii - describes enkidu the slayer of lions and panthers. seals in all periods frequently represent enkidu in combat with a lion. the struggle between the two heroes, where enkidu strives to rescue his friend from the fatal charms of ishara, is probably depicted on seals also. on one of the seals published by ward, _seal cylinders of western asia_, no. , a nude female stands beside the struggling heroes. [ ] this scene not improbably illustrates the effort of enkidu to rescue his friend from the goddess. in fact the satyr stands between gilgamish and ishara(?) on the seal. transliteration it-bi-e-ma ilugilgamis su-na-tam i-pa-as-sar. iz-za-kar-am [ ] a-na um-mi-su um-mi i-na sa-a-at mu-si-ti-ia sa-am-ha-ku-ma at-ta-na-al-la-ak i-na bi-ri-it id-da-tim ib-ba-su-nim-ma ka-ka-'a [ ] sa-ma-i ki-?-?-rum [ ] sa a-nim im-ku-ut a-na si-ri-ia ás-si-su-ma ik-ta-bi-it [ ] e-li-ia ilam [ ] is-su-ma nu-us-sa-su [ ] u-ul el-ti-'i ad-ki ma-tum pa-hi-ir [ ] e-li-su id-lu-tum ú-na-sa-ku si-pi-su ú-um-mi-id-ma     pu-ti i-mi- du         ia-ti as-si-a-su-ma at-ba-la-ás-su a-na si-ri-ki um-mi ilugilgamis mu-u-da-a-at ka-la-ma iz-za-kar-am a-na ilugilgamis mi-in-di ilugilgamish sa ki-ma ka-ti i-na si-ri   i-wa-li-id-ma ú-ra-ab-bi-su   sa-du-ú ta-mar-su-ma [sa(?)]-ap-ha-ta at-ta id-lu-tum ú-na-sa-ku si-pi-su [ ] te-it-ti-ra-su(?) ... su-ú-zu ta-tar-ra-['a]-su a-na si-[ri-i]a [is-(?)] ti-lam-ma [ ] i-ta-mar sa-ni-tam [su-na-]ta i-ta-wa-a-am a-na um-mi-su [um-m]i a-ta-mar sa-ni-tam [su-na-ta a-ta]mar e-mi-a i-na zu-ki-im [i-na?] unuk-(ki) ri-bi-tim [ ] ha-as-si-nu   na-di-i-ma e-li-su   pa-ah- ru ha-as-si-nu-um-ma sa-ni bu-nu-su a-mur-su-ma ah-ta-ta a-na-ku a-ra-am-su-ma ki-ma ás-sa-tim a-ha-ap-pu-up   el-su el-ki-su-ma ás-ta-ka-an-su a-na     a-hi-ia um-mi ilugilgamish mu-da-at ka-la-ma [iz-za-kar-am a-na ilugilgamish] ................................... col. ii as-sum us-[ta-] ma-ha-ru it-ti-ka. ilugilgamish su-na-tam i-pa-sar iluen-ki-[dû w]a?-si-ib ma-har ha-ri-im-tim ur [ ]-ha-mu di-?-al-lu-un [ ] im-ta-si a-sar i-wa-al-du ûmê [ ] ù mu-si- a-tim iluen-ki-dû te-bi-   i-ma sa-[am-ka-ta]   ir- hi ha-[ri-im-tu pa-a]-sa i-pu-sa-am-ma iz-za-[kar-am] a-na iluen-ki-dû [ ] a-na-tal-ka den-ki-dû ki-ma ili ta-ba-ás-si am-mi-nim it-ti na-ma-ás-te-e [ ] ta-at-ta-[na-al-]la -ak si-ra-am al-kam   lu-ùr-di-   ka a-na libbi uruk-(ki) ri-bi-tim a-na biti [el-]lim mu-sa-bi sa a-nim den-ki-dû ti-bi lu-ru-ka a-na É-[an-n]a mu-sa-bi sa a-nim a-sar [ilugilgamis] it-[.........] ne-pi-si-tim(?) ù at-[   ]-di [   -] ma ta-[   ] ra-ma-an-   ka al-ka ti-ba i-[na] ga-ag-ga-ri ma-a-a? [ ] -ak ri-i-im is-me a-wa-az-za im-ta-gár ga-ba-sa mi-il-kum sa sinnisti im-ta-[ku]-ut a-na libbi-su is-hu-ut li-ib-sa-am is-ti-nam [ú]-la-ab-bi-is-su li-ib- [sa-am] sa-ni-a-am si-i it-ta-al-ba- ás sa-ab-ta-at ga-az- zu ki-ma ? i-ri-id-di-su a-na gu-up-ri sa ri-i-im a-s[ar   ] tar-ba-si-im i-na [   ]-hu-ru ri-ia-ú [ ] ............................. (about two lines broken away.) col. iii si-iz-ba sa na-ma-ás-te-e i-te-en-   ni-   ik a-ka-lam is-ku-nu ma-har-su ip-te-ik-ma i-na -at-tal [ ] ù ip-pa-al-la-   as u-ul i-di den-ki- dû aklam a-na a-ka-lim sikaram   a-na sa-te-e-im la-a   lum-mu-   ud ha-ri-im-lum pi-sa i-pu-sa-am- ma iz-za-kar-am a-na iluen-ki-dû a-ku-ul ak-lam den-ki-dû zi-ma-at ba-la-ti-im bi-si-ti si-im-ti ma-ti i-ku-ul a-ak-lam iluen-ki-dû a-di si-bi-e-su sikaram is-ti-a-am as-sa-am-mi-im [ ] it-tap-sar kab-ta-tum i-na-an-gu i-li-is libba- su- ma pa-nu-su [it-]ta(?)-bir -ru [ ] ul-tap-pi-it [............]-i su-hu-ra-am pa-ga-ar-su sa-am-nam ip-ta-sa-ás-ma a-we-li-is i-me il-ba- ás li-ib-sa-am ki-ma mu-ti i-ba-ás-si il-ki ka-ak-ka-su la-bi ú gi-ir- ri is-sa-ak-pu sab-[si]-es mu-si-a-ti ut- tap -pi-is sib-ba-ri [ ] la-bi uk-t[a ]-si-id it-ti immer na-ki-[e?] ra-bu-tum iluen-ki-dû ma-as-sa-ar-su-nu a-we-lum wa-ru-um is-[te]-en id-lum a-na[ ........ u]-za-ak-ki-ir ........................... (about five lines broken away.) reverse i .............................. i-ip-pu-us     ul-sa-am is-si-ma   i-ni-i-su i-ta-mar   a-we-lam iz [ ]-za-kar-am   a-na harimti sa-am-ka-at uk-ki-si [ ] a-we-lam a-na mi-nim    il-li-kam zi-ki-ir-su   lu-us-su [ ] ha-ri-im-tum is-ta-si a-we-lam i-ba-us-su-um-ma i-ta-mar-su e-di-il [ ] e-es-ta-hi-[ta-am] mi-nu   a-la-ku-zu na-ah- [ ] [     -]ma e pi-su    i-pu-sa-am-[ma] iz-za-kar-am a-na iluen-[ki-dû] bi-ti-is e-mu-tim [                ] si-ma-a-at    ni-si-i-   ma tu-sa [ ]-ar pa-a-ta-tim [ ] a-na âli dup-sak-ki-i e si-en ug-ad-ad-lil e-mi sa-a-a-ha-tim a-na sarri unuk-(ki) ri-bi-tim pi-ti pu-uk epsi [ ] a-na ha-a-a-ri a-na ilugilgamis sarri sa unuk-(ki) ri-bi-tim pi-ti pu-uk epsi [ ] a-na ha-a-a-ri ás-sa-at si-ma-tim i-ra-ah-hi su-u pa-na-nu-um-ma mu-uk wa-ar-ka-nu i-na mi-il-ki sa ili ga-bi-ma i-na bi-ti-ik a-pu-un-na-ti-su [ ] si- ma- az- zum a-na zi-ik-ri id-li-im i-ri-ku pa-nu-su reverse ii ............................................................ (about five lines broken away.) i-il-la-ak- .......... ù sa-am-ka-at[     ]ar-ki-su i- ru- ub-ma [ ] a-na [ ] libbi uruk-(ki) ri-bi-tim ip-hur um-ma-nu-um i-na si-ri-su iz-zi-za-am-ma i-na zu-ki-im sa unuk-(ki) ri-bi-tim pa-ah-ra-a-ma ni-su i-ta-me-a   i-na si-ri-su pi(?)-it-tam [ ] a-na mi-[ni] [ ] ilugilgamis ma-si-il la-nam   sa- pi-  il e-si[   pu]-uk-ku-ul     i ? -ak-ta i[-    -]di   i-si? si-iz-ba sa[na-ma-]ás-[te]-e i-te-  en-  ni-   ik ka-ia-na i-na [libbi] uruk-(ki) kak-ki-a-tum [ ] id-lu-tum u-te-el-li-   lu sa-ki-in  ip-sa-   nu [ ] a-na idli sa i-tu-ru   zi-mu-su a-na ilugilgamis ki-ma i-li-im sa-ki-is-sum [ ] me-ih-rum a-na ilatis-ha-ra ma-ia-lum na-   [di]-i-   ma ilugilgamish id-[   ]na-an(?)... i-na mu-si in-ni-[    -]id i-na-ak [ ]-sa-am- ma it-ta-[    ]i-na zûki ip-ta-ra-[ku   ]-ak-tam sa   ilugilgamish ........... da-na(?) ni-is-su col. iii [error: unhandled comment start] sic --> ur-(?)ha ..................... ilugilgamis ................ i-na si-ri .................... i-ha-an-ni-ib [pi-ir-ta-su?] it-bi-ma ... a-na pa-ni- su it-tam-ha-ru i-na ri-bi-tu ma-ti iluen-ki-dû ba-ba-am ip-ta-ri-ik i-na si-pi-su ilugilgamis e-ri-ba-am u-ul id-di-in is-sa-ab-tu-ma ki-ma li-i-im i- lu- du [ ] zi-ip-pa-am 'i-bu- tu i-ga-rum ir-tu-tu [ ] ilugilgamis ù iluen-ki- dû is-sa-ab-tu-ù- ma ki-ma li-i-im i-lu-du zi-ip-pa-am 'i-bu- tu i-ga-rum ir-tu-tu ik-mi-is-ma ilugilgamis i-na ga-ga-ag-ga-ri si-ip-su ip-si-ih [ ] us-sa-su- ma i-ni-'i i-ra-az-zu is-tu i-ra-zu i-ni-hu [ ] iluen-ki-dû a-na sa-si-im iz-za-kar-am a-na ilugilgamis ki-ma is-te-en-ma um-ma-ka ú- li- id- ka ri-im-tum sa zu- pu-ri ilat-nin- sun- na ul-lu e-li mu-ti ri-es-su sar-ru-tam sa ni-si i-si-im-kum iluen-lil duppu kam-ma su-tu-ur e-li ... su-si [ ] translation gilgamish arose interpreting dreams, addressing his mother. "my mother! during my night i, having become lusty, wandered about in the midst of omens. and there came out stars in the heavens, like a ... of heaven he fell upon me. i bore him but he was too heavy for me. he bore a net but i was not able to bear it. i summoned the land to assemble unto him, that heroes might kiss his feet. he stood up before me [ ] and they stood over against me. i lifted him and carried him away unto thee." the mother of gilgamish she that knows all things, said unto gilgamish:-- "truly oh gilgamish he is born [ ] in the fields like thee. the mountains have reared him. thou beholdest him and art distracted(?) heroes kiss _his_ feet. thou shalt spare him.... thou shalt lead him to me." again he dreamed and saw another dream and reported it unto his mother. "my mother, i have seen another [dream. i beheld] my likeness in the street. in erech of the wide spaces [ ] he hurled the axe, and they assembled about him. another axe seemed his visage. i saw him and was astounded. i loved him as a woman, falling upon him in embrace. i took him and made him my brother." the mother of gilgamish she that knows all things [said unto gilgamish:--] ................................... col. ii that he may join with thee in endeavor." (thus) gilgamish solves (his) dream. enkidu sitting before the hierodule [   ] forgot where he was born. six days and seven nights came forth enkidu and cohabited with the courtesan. the hierodule opened her mouth speaking unto enkidu. "i behold thee enkidu; like a god thou art. why with the animals wanderest thou on the plain? come! i will lead thee into the midst of erech of the wide places, even unto the holy house, dwelling place of anu. oh enkidu, arise, i will conduct thee unto eanna dwelling place of anu, where gilgamish [_oppresses_] the souls of men(?) and as i ............ thou shalt ........ thyself. come thou, arise from the ground unto the place yonder (?) of the shepherd." he heard her speak and accepted her words with favor. the advice of the woman fell upon his heart. she tore off one garment and clothed him with it. with a second garment she clothed herself. she clasped his hand, guiding him like .............. unto the mighty presence of the shepherd, unto the place of the ... of the sheepfolds. in ......... to shepherd ............................. (about two lines broken away.) col. iii milk of the cattle he drank. food they placed before him. he broke bread [ ] gazing and looking. but enkidu understood not. bread to eat, beer to drink, he had not been taught. the hierodule opened her mouth and said unto enkidu:-- "eat bread, oh enkidu! it is the conformity of life, of the conditions and the fate of the land." enkidu ate bread, until he was satiated. beer he drank seven _times_(?). his thoughts became unbounded and he shouted loudly. his heart became joyful, and his face glowed. he stroked................. _the hair of the head_. [ ] his body with oil he anointed. he became like a man. he attired himself with clothes even as does a husband. he seized his weapon, which the panther and lion fells in the night time cruelly. he captured the wild mountain goats. the panther he conquered. among the great _sheep for sacrifice_ enkidu was their guard. a man, a leader, a hero. unto .......... he elevated ........................... (about five lines broken away.) reverse i .............................. and he made glad. he lifted up his eyes, and beheld the man, and said unto the hierodule:-- "oh harlot, take away the man. wherefore did he come to me? i would forget the memory of him." the hierodule called unto the man and came unto him beholding him. she sorrowed and was astonished how his ways were ............ behold she opened her mouth saying unto enkidu:-- "at home with a family [_to dwell_??] is the fate of mankind. thou shouldest design boundaries(??) for a city. the trencher-basket put (upon thy head). .... ......an abode of comfort. for the king of erech of the wide places open, addressing thy speech as unto a husband. unto gilgamish king of erech of the wide places open, addressing thy speech as unto a husband. he cohabits with the wife decreed for him, even he formerly. but henceforth in the counsel which god has spoken, in the work of his presence shall be his fate." at the mention of the hero his face became pale. reverse ii ............................................................ (about five lines broken away.) going ....................... and the harlot ..... after him. he entered into the midst of erech of the wide places. the artisans gathered about him. and as he stood in the street of erech of the wide places, the people assembled disputing round about him:-- "how is he become like gilgamish suddenly? in form he is shorter. in ........ he is made powerful. milk of the cattle he drank. continually in the midst of erech weapons the heroes purified. a project was instituted. unto the hero whose countenance was turned away, unto gilgamish like a god he became for him a fellow. for ishara a couch was laid. gilgamish ................... in the night he .............. embracing her in sleep. they ........ in the street halting at the ................ of gilgamish. .......... mightily(?) col. iii a road(?) .................... gilgamish ................... in the plain .................. his hair growing thickly like the corn. he came forth ... into his presence. they met in the wide park of the land. enkidu held fast the door with his foot, and permitted not gilgamish to enter. they grappled with each other goring like an ox. the threshold they destroyed. the wall they demolished. gilgamish and enkidu grappled with each other, goring like an ox. the threshold they destroyed. the wall they demolished. gilgamish bowed to the ground at his feet and his javelin reposed. he turned back his breast. after he had turned back his breast, enkidu unto that one spoke, even unto gilgamish. "even as one [ ] did thy mother bear thee, she the wild cow of the cattle stalls, ninsunna, whose head she exalted more than a husband. royal power over the people enlil has decreed for thee." second tablet. written upon ... (lines). index to parts and a. adab, city, , . _addi_, wailing, , ; , ; , . _ahu_, brother, , . aja, goddess, , . _al (gis)_, _al-gar (gis)_, a musical instrument, - . see also no. rev. - . _al-bi_, compound verb, n. . in ni. (unpublished) _al-gar_, _al-gar-balag_ in list with _(gis)-á-lá_, also an instrument of music. _alad_, protecting genius, , . _amelis_, like a man, , . amurrû, god. psalm to, ; . _angubba_, sentinel, , . anu, god. , : ff. , ; , ; , . anunnaki, gods, , : ; , ; n. ; , ; , ; , . anunit, goddess, , ; , . _apunnatu,_ nostrils, _pitik, apunnati_, , . _assammim_ (?), , . arallû, , ; , . _aramu_, cover, n. . _araku_, be pale, prt. _iriku_, , . _arhis_, quickly, , . aruru, goddess. lamentation to, . sister of enlil, , ; , ; , . other references, , : : ; , f. asarludug, god, , ; , . as-im-ur, title of moon-god, , . _ás_ omitted, no. , . _as-me_, disk, , . assirgi, god, no. , rev. . azagsud, goddess, , : ; , . b. babbar, god, , ; , ; , ; , ; . babylon, city, , ; , ; , ; , : . _badara_, see n. . _badarani_, a weapon, , . _balag_, lyre, , . _bansur_, table; title of a goddess, , . bau, goddess, , ; , ; , ; , : . _bisîtu_, condition, , . _bi'u_, cavern, , . _bulukku_, crab, , . _burgul_, engraver, , . c. cutha, city. center of the cult of nergal, , . d. dada, god, , . dagan, west semitic god, , . damu, title of tammuz, , . deification of kings, - ; n. . _dêpu_, shatter, n. . di-bal, ideogram in incantations, , . dilbat, city, , . dilmun, land and city, , : . _dimgul_, _dimdul_, master workman, . _dingir-gal-gal-e-ne_, the great gods, the anunnaki, , : ; , . dumu-anna, daughter of heaven, title of bau, , ; , ; , . _dumu-sag_, title of tasmet, , . dungi, king of ur, liturgy to, . _dupsakku_, trencher basket, , . duranki, epithet for nippur, , ; , . e. e-anna, temple in erech, , ; ; , ; , . e-babbar, temple of the sun god, ; , ; , . perhaps read e-barra. e-daranna, temple of enki in babylon, , ; , . see bl. . _edelu_ = _ederu_, be gloomy, , . _é-dub_, house of learning, , . _é-gal_, palace, no. , rev. ; , ; , ; , ; , . _é-gig_ = _kissu_, , . e-ibe-anu, temple in dilbat, , . e-kinammaka, temple, , . e-kisibba, temple in kish, , . e-kur, temple, , ; , ; , ; , ; , ; , ; , ; , ; , . emah, esmah, ritual house of the water cult of marduk, , ; , . e-malga-sud, temple, , ; , . e-meteg, daughter of ninkasi, . e-mete-ursag, temple in kish, , . e-namtila, temple, , ; , . _en-a-nu-un_, _en-á-nun_, title of innini and gula, , . enbilulu, title of marduk, , . e-ninnû, temple, , . _en-hul-tim-mu_, n. . _en-ka-ka, bêl dababi_, , . enki, god. hymn to, no. , , ; , ; , ; , ; , . enkidu, satyr, , : : : ; , ; , : : : ; , ; , : : ; , ; , ; , . enlil, god. liturgy to, - . regarded as god of light, , ff. , f. other references, , ; , ; , ; , ; , ; , ; , ; , : : ; , : ; , . enul, god, , . enzu, god, , ; , . _epsanu_, deeds, , . _epû_, be dark, i _itêpû_, , . erech, city, ; , . erech _ribîtim_, , ; , ; , : ; , : . eri-azag, holy city, isin, , . _erida_, title, , . eridu, city, , ; , . erishkigal, goddess, , ; , . _ersagtugmal_, penitential psalm, . e-sagila, temple, . e-sakudkalamma, temple, , ; n. . _esendili_, a title, , . _eskar_, fixed tax, , . _es-lal_, a sacred place, , . e-temen-anki, temple, , . e-turkalamma, temple, , . euphrates, river, , ; , . e-zida, temple, , . ezina, grain goddess, , . ezira, reading of the divine name _ka-di_, , . f. fara, modern arabic name for the site of isin (?), n. . g. _gab_, baked bread, , . _gab-lal_, a cake made with honey, , ; , . _gar-sunnu = episan-sunu_, , . _gasan-gula_, title of ninâ, n. . _gepar_, dark chamber, , f., , ; , . gibil, god, , . _gi-gál(gis)_,interlude, n. ; , . _gigunna_, , . gilgamish, king of erech, ; , : f. , : ; , ; , ; , : : : and below ; , ; : : . derivation of name, . see also no. rev. ii ; , ; f. _gilsa_, a sacred relic, , . girra, _irra_, god, , ; , . _girru_, lion, , . girsu, city, , . guanna, deity, no. rev. ii . guedin, province, , . gunura, goddess of healing, , . _gupru_, mighty, , . gutium, land, ff. h. hallab, city, ; . _hanabu_, grow thickly, prs. _ibannib_, , . _hapapu_, embrace, , . _hassinu_, axe, , : . _harbatu_, waste place, , . harsagkalamma, temple, , . hubur, mythical river, , . _hûlu_, a bird, , . _hûku_, a bird, , . i. ibi-sin, king of ur, n. . _ibsi_, liturgical expression, , . igigi, heaven spirits, n. . _igi-nagin-na_, , . _imib_, weapon, , . _mi-ib_, ibid. n. . _imin_, seven. seven lands, , ; seventh day, , . immer, god, , . indag, god, consort of gula, , . innini, goddess, . liturgy to, ; , . consort of shamash, , . other references, , . _issur samê_, unclean birds, n. . ishara, goddess, , . isin, city, , ; , . ishme-dagan, ff. son of enlil, , ; , . liturgy to, . k. _ka-dib-bi, sibit pî_, , . _kak-dig_, a weapon, , . _kakkitu_ (?), weapon. pl. _kakkiatum_, , . _kak-sir_, a weapon (?), , . _kalama_, the land, sumer, , ; , ; , ; , ; , ; , . _kanami_=_kalama_, land, , . ka-ne, a new ideograph, n. . _kasû_, bind. i _liktisu_, , . kenurra, chapel of ninlil, , ; , ; , ; , ; , ; , . kes, city, , ; , . _kesda-azag_, a relic, , . _ki_, _kin_ for _gim_ = _kima_, , . ki-ag-mal, _râmu_, n. . kidurkazal, daughter of ninkasi, . _ki-malla_, to bend. _tig-zu ki-ma-al-la nu-gí-gí_, "thy neck wearies not in bending," , . [correct the translation.] _ki-in-gin, ki-en-gin_, sumer, , ; , ; , . _ki-sar, kakkara tasabbit_, , . kish, city, , ; , . _é kis-(ki)-sú_, so read, no. obv. . kullab, city, , ; , . _kunin, gunin_, reed basket, n. . _kurgal_, "great mountain," title of sumer, , . of enlil, , ; , . _kurun-na_, (_amelu_), , . _kus-ku-mal_, , . l. _la'atu_, gore. prt. _ilûdu_, , : . _labu_, panther, , : . lagash, city, , : . _lahama_, goddess of chaos, , . laws, promulgated by dungi, , . libit-ishtar, king, . _libsu_, garment, , : ; , . ligirsig, a god, , . _lilazag_, epithet of a deified king, , . lillaenna, goddess, , . _limenu_, be evil. ii _ulammenu-inni_, , . lugal-dig, god, , . _lu'ûtu_, pollution, , . m. magan, land, , : . _maialu_, couch, , . _malasu_, shear, , . mamit, , . _mandatu_, form, , . _mal-gar_ (_gi_), a musical instrument, , . _mangu_, disease, , . marduk, god, . _markasu_, leader, . _masû_, seize, n. . _masû_, to forget, , . me-azag, daughter of ninkasi, . _mehru_, fellow, , . mehus, daughter of ninkasi, . meluhha, land, , . meslam, temple in cutha, , . _mesû_, a tree, , . _muk_, now, but now, , . mulgenna, saturn, , . mulmul, gods, . n. _nâdu_, water bottle, , . _nadîtu_, temple devotee, , . _nagû_, shout. prs. _inangu_, , . _nâku_, embrace, , . _namastû_, cattle, etc., , : ; , ; , . namtar, god, , ; , . nangt, goddess, , . nannar, god, , ; , ; , ; , ; , . nergal, god, , . nidaba, goddess, . _ni-gál_, cattle, , . _nimir = ligir_, , . _ninda_, linear measure, , . ningal, goddess, no. , ; , ; , . ningiszida, god, , . nin-isinna, goddess, , ; , . ninkasi, goddess, . ninki, goddess, , . ninlil, goddess, , ; , ; , ; , . ninmada, daughter of ninkasi, . ninmah, goddess, , . ninmenna, epithet of damgalnunna, , . ninsun, goddess, , ; n. ; ; , (?). nintudri, goddess, , . nintudra, , . creatress of man and woman, . ninul, goddess, , . ninurasâ, god, , ; , . ninzuanna, goddess, , . nippur, city, , ; , : ; , ; , ; , ; , ; , ; , . _ni-sur_ (_amelu_), , . nudimmud, god, , . no. , . _nugiganna_, epithet of innini, , . _nûn apsi_, unclean fish, n. . nunamnirri, god, , ; , ; , : : . _nun-ùr_, epithet of amurrû, , . nusiligga, daughter of ninkasi, . nusku, god, , ; , . p. pabilsag, god. son and consort of gula, n. ; , . a form of tammuz. _pananumma_, formerly, , . panunnaki, goddess, consort of marduk, , . _pataku_, fashion, break, , . _paturru_, a weapon, , . pleiades, . r. _ratatu_, demolish, , . rimat ilatninsun, n. ; , . ruskisag, goddess, , . _ru-tig_, an epithet, , . s. _sa-bar; sa-sud-da_, liturgical note, , . _sabsis_, cruelly, , . sagilla, temple, , . e-sagila, , ; , ; , . _sahatu_, be astounded, , . arabic _sahita_. _saiahatu_, desire, comfort, , . _sakapu_, fell. i _issakpu_, , . _salûtu_, enmity, , . samas, god, , : ; , : ; , : . samas-sum-ukin, king. incantations for, - ; , . samsuiluna, king, . _sar-di-da_, a relic, , . serpent adversary, , ; , . seven, sacred number. seven gods, , . ship, in legend, , . silsirsir, a chapel. sin, god. hymn to, no. . _sippu_, threshold, , : . _sippar_, city, , ; , ; , . _sirgidda_, long song, , . siris, daughter of ninkasi, . siriskas, daughter of ninkasi, . siriskasgig, daughter of ninkasi, . _sirsagga_, first melody, , ; , . _su-an = kat ili_, , . see also _su-d_innini, , . _su-nam-erim-ma_, , . _su-nam-lu-gal-lu_, , . _subura_, earth, , . _su-ud, sú-ud-ám_, epithet of goddess of suruppak, , and note . _suhuru_, hair (?), , . _sukkal-zid_, title of nebo, , . sulpae, god, no. ii . sumer, land, , ; , ; , . _sumugan_, title of girra, , and note; , . t. tablet of fates, n. . tammuz, ancient ruler, . liturgy to, . other references, ; ; , . _tapasu_, seize, capture, ii _uttappis_, , . _temeru_, cook, , . tigris, river, , . tummal, land, , ; , . u. _ud_, spirit, word, , : ; , ; , : . _ul-al-tar_, n. . _ulinnu_, girdle cord, , . ulmas, temple of anunit, , ; , . ur, city, , ; , . lamentation for, . other references, no. , : : : : : rev. ; , . ur-azag, king of isin (?), n. . ur-engur, king of ur, ff. _urinu_, spear (?), , . _ursaggal_, epithet for ninurasa, , . for enbilulu, , . _usumgal_, , . z. _zâbu_, flow. _li-zu-bu_, , . cf. _gàm = za'ibu, mitirtu_, words for canal, sai. - . _zag-sal_, liturgical note, f. no. end. _za-am_, , ; , ; , . _zênu_, be enraged, ii _uzinu-inni_, , . _zi-tar-ru-da = nikis napisti_, n. . description of tablets number in this volume. museum number. description. dark brown unbaked tablet. three columns. lower edge slightly broken. knobs at left upper and left lower corners to facilitate the holding of the tablet. h. inches: w. / ; t. / . second tablet of the epic of gilgamish. notes [ ] ni. , published by dr. poebel in pbs. v, no. . [ ] the local bêl of erech and a bye-form of enlil, the earth god. here he is the consort of the mother goddess ninsun. [ ] tammuz is probably a real personage, although _dumu-zi_, his original name, is certainly later than the title _ab-ú_, probably the oldest epithet of this deity, see _tammuz and ishtar_, p. . _dumu-zi_ i take to have been originally the name of a prehistoric ruler of erech, identified with the primitive deity abu. [ ] see _ibid._, page . [ ] also meissner's early babylonian duplicate of book x has invariably the same writing, see dhorme, _choix de textes religieux_, - . [ ] sign whose gunufied form is read _aga_. [ ] the standard text of the assyrian version is by professor paul haupt, _das babylonische nimrodepos_, leipzig, . [ ] the name of the mother of gilgamish has been erroneously read _ri-mat ilat_nin-lil, or _rimat-bêlit_, see dhorme , ; , , etc. but dr. poebel, who also copied this text, has shown that _nin-lil_ is an erroneous reading for _nin-sun_. for _ninsun_ as mother of gilgamish see sbp. n. and r.a., ix iii . _ri-mat ilat_nin-sun should be rendered "the wild cow ninsun." [ ] the fragments which have been assigned to book ii in the british museum collections by haupt, jensen, dhorme and others belong to later tablets, probably iii or iv. [ ] rm. , latter part of col. ii (part of the assyrian version) published in haupt, _ibid._, - preserves a defective text of this part of the epic. this tablet has been erroneously assigned to book iv, but it appears to be book iii. [ ] k. and duplicate (unnumbered) in haupt, _ibid._, - . [ ] see also ward, no. . [ ] here this late text includes both variants _pasaru_ and _zakaru_. the earlier texts have only the one or the other. [ ] for _kakabê_; _b_ becomes _u_ and then is reduced to the breathing. [ ] the variants have _kima kisri_; _ki-[ma]?-rum_ is a possible reading. the standard assyrian texts regard enkidu as the subject. [ ] var. _da-an_ [ ] _sam-kak_ = _ilu_, net. the variant has _ultaprid ki-is-su-su_, "he shook his murderous weapon." for _kissu_ see za. , , = ct. , b , _gis-kud_ = _ki-is-su_. [ ] var. _nussu_ for _nus-su_ = _nussa-su_. the previous translations of this passage are erroneous. [ ] this is to my knowledge the first occurence of the infinitive of this verb, _paheru_, not _paharu_. [ ] text _ma_? [ ] _istanamma_ > _istilamma_. [ ] cf. code of hammurapi iv and streck in _babyloniaca_ ii . [ ] restored from tab. i col. iv . [ ] cf. dhorme _choix de textes religieux_ , . [ ] _namastû_ a late form which has followed the analogy of _restû_ in assuming the feminine _t_ as part of the root. the long _û_ is due to analogy with _namassû_ a sumerian loan-word with nisbe ending. [ ] room for a small sign only, perhaps _a; maiak_? for _mâka_, there, see behrens, lss. ii page and index. [ ] infinitive "to shepherd"; see also poebel, pbs. v i, _ri-ia-ú_, _ri-te-ia-ú_. [ ] the text has clearly _ad-ri_. [ ] or _azzammim_? the word is probably an adverb; hardly a word for cup, mug (??). [ ] _it_ is uncertain and _ta_ more likely than _us_. one expects _ittabriru_. cf. _muttabrirru_, ct. , , ; _littatabrar_, ebeling, kta. , . [ ] for _sapparu_. text and interpretation uncertain. _uttappis_ ii from _tapasu_, hebrew _tapas_, seize. [ ] text _ta_! [ ] on _ekesu_, drive away, see zimmern, _shurpu_, p. . cf. _uk-kis _ myhrman, pbs. i , ; _uk-ki-si_, king, cr. app. v ; etc., etc. [ ] the hebrew cognate of _masû_, to forget, is _nasâ_, arabic _nasijia_, and occurs here in babylonian for the first time. see also brockelman, _vergleichende grammatik_ a. [ ] probably phonetic variant of _edir_. the preterite of _ederu_, to be in misery, has not been found. if this interpretation be correct the preterite _edir_ is established. for the change _r_ > _l_ note also _attalah_ < _attarah_, harper, _letters_ , , _bilku_ < _birku_, ra. , ii ; _uttakkalu_ < _uttakkaru_, ebeling, kta. iv . [ ] also _na_-'-[     -]_ma_ is possible. [ ] the text cannot be correct since it has no intelligible sign. my reading is uncertain. [ ] text uncertain, _kal-lu-tim_ is possible. [ ] _kak-si_. [ ] _kak-si_. [ ] literally nostrils. _pitik apunnati-su_, work done in his presence(?). the meaning of the idiom is uncertain. [ ] text _zu_! [ ] text has erroneous form. [ ] text _pa-it-tam_ clearly! [ ] omitted by the scribe. [ ] sic! the plural of _kakku_, _kakkîtu_(?). [ ] cf. _e-pi-sa-an-su-nu libâru_, "may they see their doings," _maklu_ vii . [ ] for _sakin-sum_. [ ] on the verb _nâku_ see the babylonian book of proverbs § . [ ] the verb _la'atu_, to pierce, devour, forms its preterite _ilut_; see vab. iv , . the present tense which occurs here as _ilut_ also. [ ] note _bul(tu-ku)_ = _ratatu_ (falsely entered in meissner, sai. ), and _irattutu_ in zimmern, _shurpu_, index. [ ] "for _ipsah_." [ ] sic! _hu_ reduced to the breathing _'u_; read _i-ni-'u_. [ ] the tablet is reckoned at forty lines in each column, [ ] literally "he attained my front." [ ] iv of _waladu_. [ ] i.e., in the suburb of erech. [ ] _pataku_ has apparently the same sense originally as _bataku_, although the one forms its preterite _iptik_, and the other _ibtuk_. cf. also _mahasu_ break, hammer and construct. [ ] the passage is obscure. here _suhuru_ is taken as a loan-word from sugur = kimmatu, hair of the head. the infinitive ii of _saharu_ is philologically possible. [ ] i.e., an ordinary man. distributed proofreaders europe at http://dp.rastko.net arabic authors. a manual of arabian history and literature. by f.f. arbuthnot, m.r.a.s., author of "early ideas" and "persian portraits." london: william heinemann. . preface. the following pages contain nothing new and nothing original, but they do contain a good deal of information gathered from various sources, and brought together under one cover. the book itself may be useful, not, perhaps, to the professor or to the orientalist, but to the general reader, and to the student commencing the study of arabic. to the latter it will give some idea of the vast field of arabian literature that lies before him, and prepare him, perhaps, for working out a really interesting work upon the subject. such still remains to be written in the english language, and it is to be hoped that it will be done some day thoroughly and well. it is gratifying to think that the study of oriental languages and literature is progressing in europe generally, if not in england particularly. the last oriental congress, held at stockholm and christiania the beginning of september, , brought together a goodly number of oriental scholars. there were twenty-eight nationalities represented altogether, and the many papers prepared and read, or taken as read preparatory to their being printed, showed that matters connected with oriental studies in all their branches excite considerable interest. england, too, has been lately making some efforts which will be, it is sincerely hoped, crowned with success. the lectures on modern oriental languages lately established by the imperial institute of the united kingdom, the colonies, and india, in union with university college and king's college, london, is full of promise of bringing forth good fruit hereafter. so much is to be learnt from oriental literature in various ways that it is to be hoped the day may yet come when the study of one or more oriental languages will be taken up as a pastime to fill the leisure hours of a future generation thirsting after knowledge. in addition to the above, a movement is also being made to attempt to revive the old oriental translation fund. it was originally started in a.d. , and did good work for fifty years, publishing translations (see appendix) from fifteen different oriental languages, and then collapsing from apathy, neglect, and want of funds. unless well supported, both by donations and annual subscriptions, it is useless to attempt a fresh start. to succeed thoroughly it must be regarded as a national institution, and sufficiently well-off to be able to afford to bring out texts and indexes of [transcriber's note: missing page in the source document.] -cially an-nadim's 'fihrist,' a most valuable book of reference, ought to be done into english without further delay. private individuals can hardly undertake the business, but a well-organized and permanent oriental translation fund, assisted by the english and indian governments, could and would render extraordinary services in the publication of texts, translations, and indexes of oriental literature generally. for assistance in the preparation of this present volume my thanks are due to the many authors whose works have been freely used and quoted, and also to mr. e. rehatsek, of bombay, whose knowledge of the arabic language and of arabic literature is well known to all oriental scholars. f.f. arbuthnot. , park lane, w. contents chapter i. historical. arabia: its boundaries, divisions of districts, revenues, area, population, and history.--tribe of koraish.--the kaabah at mecca.--muhammad.--his immediate successors: abu bakr, omar, othman, ali.--the omaiyides.--fate of hasan and hussain, sons of ali--sunnis and shiahs.--overthrow of the omaiyides by the abbasides.--the omaiyides in spain; their conquests and government.--the moors, and their final expulsion.--to what extent europe is indebted to the spanish arabs.--their literature and architecture.--the abbaside khalifs at baghdad.--persia, egypt, syria, palestine, and arabia become detached from their government in the course of time.--fall of baghdad itself in a.d. .--dealings of the turks with arabia.--the wahhabi reform movement.--expeditions of the turks and egyptians to suppress it.--various defeats and successes.--present form of government in arabia.--its future prospects.--list of the omaiyide khalifs, preceded by muhammad and his four immediate successors.--list of the abbaside khalifs.--list of the arab rulers in spain. chapter ii. literary. about the arabic and chinese languages.--the permanent character of the former attributed to the koran.--division of arab literature into three periods: i. the time before muhammad.--the sage lokman; the description of three lokmans; arab poetry before the koran; the seven suspended poems, known as the mua'llakat, at mecca; notions of the arabs about poetry; their kasidas; description of the kasidas of amriolkais, antara, labid, tarafa, amru, harath, and zoheir; the poets nabiga, al-kama, and al-aasha. ii. the period from the time of muhammad to the fall of the abbasides.--muhammad considered as a poet; the poets who were hostile to him; his panegyrist kab bin zoheir; account of him and his 'poem of the mantle,' and the results; al-busiri's 'poem of the mantle;' names of poets favourable and hostile to muhammad; the seven jurisconsults; the four imams; the six fathers of tradition; the early traditionists; the companions; the alchemists; the astronomers; the grammarians; the geographers and travellers; the historians; the tabulators and biographers; the writers about natural history; the philologists; the philosophers; the physicians; the poets; the collectors and editors of poems; the essayist al-hariri; many translators; special notice of ibn al-mukaffa; support given to learning and literature by certain of the omaiyide, abbaside, and spanish arab khalifs; description of baghdad; reign of harun-ar-rashid; the barmekides; the khalif razi-billah; hakim ii. at cordova; his education; his accession to the throne; his collection of books; his library, and its catalogue; places of learning in the east at this time. iii. third period, from the fall of baghdad to the present time.--certain historians; ibn malik, the grammarian; ibn batuta, the traveller; abul feda, ibn khaldun, ibn kesir, ibn hajar, ibn arabshah--all historians; firuzabadi, taki-uddin of fez, al-makrisi, sayuti, ibn kamal pasha, abu sa'ud the mufti, ibrahim of aleppo, birgeli, abul khair; celebrated caligraphers, past and present, haji khalfa, muhammad al amin of damascus, makkari. decline of arabic literature: its present form. about the printing-presses of arabic works at various places. chapter iii. about muhammad. a complete summary of the details of his life, from his birth to his death.--remarks upon him as a reformer, preacher, and apostle.--the hanyfs.--muhammad's early idea of establishing one religion for the jews, christians, and arabs.--his long struggle with the koraish.--his failure at mecca.--his success at madinah.--adapts his views to the manners and customs of the arabs only.--the reason of his many marriages.--his love of women.--about the koran.--not collected and arranged until after his death.--comparison of the koran with the old and new testaments.--superiority of our bible.--description of it by 'il secolo.'--rev. mr. badger's description of the koran.--written in the purest arabic, and defies competition.--muhammad and moses, jesus and buddha.--remarks about buddhism and christianity.--moses and muhammad the founders of two nationalities.--abraham the father of the jewish, christian, and muhammadan religions.--rénan's description of the gods of the jews.--joseph.--the twelve tribes.--appearance of moses as a liberator and organizer.--the reasons of his wanderings in the desert.--what the jews owed to moses, and the arabs to muhammad.--the latter as a military leader.--resemblance of the warlike expeditions of the jews and of the arabs.--similar proceedings in the soudan at the present time.--account of the dogmas and precepts of islam as embodied in the koran.--other points connected with the institutions of islam.--faith and prayer always insisted upon.--democratic character of the muhammadan religion, excellent in theory, but doubtful in practice.--muhammad's last address at mina, telling the muslims that they were one brotherhood.--his final remarks. chapter iv. tales and stories. the kalilah wa dimnah.--'early ideas.'--'persian portraits,'--origin of the 'arabian nights.'--the hazar afsaneh, or thousand stories. date of the 'nights.'--its fables and apologues the oldest part of the work.--then certain stories--the latest tales.--galland's edition.--his biography.--his successors, sixteen in number, ending with payne and burton.--the complete translations of these two last-named, in thirteen and sixteen volumes respectively.--brief analysis of payne's first nine, and of burton's first ten volumes.--short summary of twelve stories; viz.: the tale of aziz and azizah; the tale of kamar al-zaman and the lady budur; ala aldin abu al-shamat; ali the persian and the kurd sharper; the man of al-yaman and his six slave-girls; abu al-husn and his slave-girl tawaddud; the rogueries of dalilah the crafty and her daughter zeynab the trickstress; the adventures of quicksilver ali of cairo; hasan of busra and the king's daughter of the jinn; ali nur al-din and miriam the girdle-girl; kamar al-zaman and the jeweller's wife; ma'aruf the cobbler and his wife fatimah.--remarks on payne's three extra volumes, entitled 'tales from the arabic,' and on burton's two first supplemental volumes.--allusion to burton's third supplemental and to payne's thirteenth volume.--burton's fourth, fifth, and sixth supplemental volumes. --summing-up of the number of stories contained in the above two editions; from what manuscripts they were translated, and some final remarks.--the kathá sarit ságara, a sort of hindoo 'arabian nights'. --comparison of the two works.--brief description of the kathá and its contents.--gunádhya and somadeva.--final remarks on the stories found in the kathá.--antar, a bedouin romance.--its partial translation.--its supposed author.--brief description of the work, with some remarks upon it.--both the 'arabian nights' and antar rather long.--the press in england to-day.--numerous writers of novels and story-books.--these take the place of the 'nights,' and satisfy the public, always in search of something new, even if not true; something original, even if not trustworthy.--final remarks. chapter v. anecdotes and ana. in persian literature the gulistan, negaristan, and beharistan contain many anecdotes.--in arabic literature there are works of the same kind.--'the naphut-ul-yaman,' or breath of yaman.--six stories translated from it.--the merzuban namah, with newly translated extracts from it.--remarks on this work.--the al-mustatraf, or the gleaner or the collector.--two stories from it.--two anecdotes taken from the sehr-ul-oyoon, or magic of the eyes.--a philosophic discourse, translated from the siraj-ul-muluk, or lamp of kings.--the ilam en nas, or warnings for men.--eighteen stories from ibn khallikan's biographical dictionary.--seven anecdotes from various sources.--verses from the arabic about the places where certain arabs wished to be buried.--translation of the verses upon alfred de musset's tomb in paris. appendix. index. chapter i. historical. the arabia of to-day is bounded on the west by the red sea and gulf of suez; on the south by the gulf of aden and the arabian sea; on the east by the gulf of oman and the persian gulf; and on the north by a portion of syria. this last boundary would, however, be more clearly defined by drawing a line from suez straight across to the western head of the persian gulf. by the greeks and romans this country was divided into arabia petræa, arabia deserta, and arabia felix, or the stony, the desert, and the happy. the arabs themselves call it 'the land of the arabs,' while modern geographers give the sinaitic peninsula as the first geographic district; the hijaz, including the haram, or sacred territory of mecca, as the second; and yaman, with the tehamah, as the third. to these may be added the provinces of hadramant and mahrah, and of oman and hasa, to the south and east respectively, with nejd, or central arabia, as the central plateau, and some large deserts scattered in different parts of the peninsula. of the revenues of arabia it is almost impossible to form anything like a correct estimate. the area of the country covers about , , square miles, and the population is said to be from five to six millions, of whom one-fifth consist of ahl bedoo, or dwellers in the open land, otherwise known as bedouins; and four-fifths of settled arabs, called ahl hadr, or dwellers in fixed localities. the history of arabia may be divided into three periods: st. the prehistoric period, full of tales of heroes, and giants, and wonderful cities. nd. the period which preceded the era of muhammad. rd. that which followed it. the first period is mythical to a certain extent; at all events, nothing can be stated positively about it. the second period is distinguished as one of local monarchies and federal governments in a rough and rude form; while the third commences with theocratic centralization, dissolving finally into general anarchy. of the many tribes in arabia, the most celebrated is the family of the koraish, still regarded as the noblest of the arabs, partly because, at the beginning of the fifth century a.d., their chiefs had rendered themselves the masters and acknowledged guardians of the sacred kaabah at mecca, and partly because of their connection with the prophet. the kaabah, la maison carrée, or square temple, a shrine of unknown antiquity, was situated within the precincts of the town of mecca, and to it, long before muhammad's time, the arabs had brought yearly offerings, and made devout pilgrimages. the tribe of koraish, having once obtained the keys of the consecrated building, had held them against all comers till muhammad's conquest of mecca in a.d. , when he handed over the key to othman bin talha, the former custodian, to be kept by him and his posterity as an hereditary and perpetual office, and he further confirmed his uncle abbas in the office of giving drink to the pilgrims. before entering into a somewhat lengthy description of arabian literature, it is necessary to give a short and rapid sketch of arabian history, beginning from the time of muhammad, as his koran was the foundation of the literary edifice. all arab authors have looked upon that work as the height of eloquent diction, and have regarded it as the model standard to be followed in all their productions. leaving, then, the two first periods of arabian history, viz., the prehistoric, and the pre-muhammadan, without any particular notice, the third period will be sketched as briefly as possible, and will be found excessively interesting, containing as it does the rise, grandeur, and decline of the arabs as a nation. muhammad, on his death in june, a.d. , left the entire arab peninsula, with two or three exceptions, under one sceptre and one creed. he was succeeded by abu bakr (the father of ayesha, the favourite wife of the prophet), known as the companion of the cave, with the title of khalifah, or successor. his reign only lasted two years, but during that period the various insurrections that broke out in arabia in consequence of the death of the prophet were promptly put down, after severe fighting, in various parts of the peninsula, and the whole country was subjugated. foreign expeditions beyond the borders were also planned and started. abu bakr, dying in august, a.d. , was succeeded by umar, or omar, the conqueror of syria, persia, and egypt by means of his generals khalid bin walid (the best, perhaps, that islam produced), abu obaida, mothanna, sád bin malik, amr bin al-aasi, and others. omar himself was an early convert of a.d. , and a sudden conversion like our paul; but one made his converts by fanaticism and the sword, the other by preaching and the pen. after a glorious and victorious reign of ten years omar was assassinated by a persian slave in november, a.d. , and was followed as khalif by othman, son of affan, of the noble family of abd-esh-shems, who also assumed the title 'amir al-momenin, or commander of the faithful, which had been first adopted by his predecessor omar. othman ruled for twelve years, when he was murdered in a.d. , some say at the instigation of ali, nephew of muhammad, and husband of his only daughter fatima. anyhow, ali succeeded othman as khalif, but was defeated by moawia, governor of syria, and assassinated in a.d. . moawia bin abu sofyan then established the benou umayya dynasty, called by europeans the omaiyides, or ommiades, from the name of umayya, the father of the race. this dynasty reigned for nearly ninety years, and numbered fourteen successive princes, with their capital at damascus. during the reign of yazid i., the second prince (a.d. - ), hussain, the younger son of ali the khalif, came to an untimely end. his elder brother, hasan, a man of quiet disposition, had been previously murdered by one of his wives, at the instigation, it is said, of yazid before he came to the throne. this happened in a.d. . later on hussain, with his followers, rose in rebellion, and was killed on the plain of kerbela, a.d. . the descendants, however, of this faction continued the disturbances which eventually brought about the great muhammadan schism, and the splitting up of the religion into two sects, known to this day as the sunnis and shias. the adherents of the legitimate khalifate, and of the orthodox doctrine, assumed the name of sunnites, or traditionists. these acknowledge the first four khalifs (the rightly minded, or rightly directed, as they are called) to have been legitimate successors of muhammad, while the sectaries of ali are known as the shiites, or separatists. these last regard ali as the first rightful imam, for they prefer this title (found in sura ii., verse , of the koran) to that of khalif. the turks and arabs are sunnis: the persians, and most of the muhammadans of india, shias. this division into two sects, who hate each other cordially, has done more to weaken the power of the muhammadan religion as a power than anything else. the shias to this day execrate the memory of yazid as the murderer of their hero hussain, whom they have ever regarded as a martyr, and given full vent to their feelings on the subject in their 'passion play,' translated by sir lewis pelly, and described by mr. benjamin in his 'persia and the persians.' other insurrections against the reigning omaiyide khalifs were also put down, portions of asia, africa and spain conquered, and even france invaded, so that at the close of the benou umayya dynastry, about a.d. , their empire consisted of many and large territories in europe, africa and asia. their colour was white, as opposed to the black of the abbasides, and the green of the fatimites, as descendants of muhammad. but the benou umayya dynasty succumbed, a.d. , under the blows of ibrahim (great-grandson of abbas, the uncle of the prophet), and of his younger brother, abul abbas, better known in history as as-saffah, or the blood-shedder. a decisive battle was fought on the banks of the river zab, near arbela, and marwan ii. (a.d. - ), the last of the omaiyide khalifs, was defeated, and fled first to damascus, and then to egypt, where he was eventually killed by his pursuers, a.d. . the history of the reign of the abbasides now begins, and under them the power and glory of islam reached their highest point. but it is first necessary to allude to the conquest of spain by the omaiyides, a branch of which family still retained for a long time in the west the power which they had totally lost in the east. the most important achievement of the reign of walid i. (a.d. - ), the sixth prince of the omaiyide dynasty, was the conquest of spain by his generals tarik and musa. the arabs (known in europe under the name of saracens) first established themselves in cordova about a.d. , and the two generals above named continued their victorious progress throughout the country in and , until nearly nine-tenths of the peninsula was held by the muhammadans. some years later france even was invaded by the arabs, and the banners of the muslims were erected on the coasts of the gulf of lyons, on the walls of narbonne, of nimes, of carcassonne, and of béziers. the arabs afterwards advanced as far as the plains of tours, where their victorious progress was checked by charles martel, who gained a great victory over them near that town in october, a.d. , and completely defeated them, so that they were obliged to retire again to spain. there successive viceroys and emirs ruled as the representatives of the khalifs at damascus until the fall of the omaiyide dynasty in the east, a.d. . but even after that spain remained for many years under arab domination. anarchy almost prevailed from a.d. to , but in that year the arabs of spain, weary of disorder, elected as their ruler abd-ar-rahman, grandson of the khalif hashim, tenth prince of the omaiyide dynasty. at the time of his election, abd-ar-rahman was a wanderer in the desert, pursued by his enemies, when a deputation from andalusia sought him out and offered him the khalifate of spain. it was gladly accepted. he landed there in september, a.d. , was universally welcomed, and founded at cordova the western omaiyide khalifate, which lasted up to a.d. , under sixteen rulers, with certain interruptions during the reign of the last seven of them. on the extinction of the khalifate, spain was broken up into various petty kingdoms under kings and kinglets belonging to different arab tribes and families. this continued from a.d. to , when the almoravides established themselves from a.d. to , and were followed by the almohades, who reigned up to a.d. . after this cordova, seville, and other places were taken by ferdinand iii. of leon and castile, between a.d. and . on the fall of cordova the muhammadan power declined with great rapidity; and, though the celebrated kingdom of granada was established by the moors in a.d. , it was their last refuge from the rising power of the christians. some twenty-one princes reigned there till a.d. , when granada itself was taken, and this last muhammadan dynasty was driven out of spain by ferdinand of arragon and isabella of castile. thus ended the empire of the arabs and the moors in spain, which had lasted nearly eight hundred years. the spanish arabs were extremely fond of learning. indeed, it is due to them to a very great extent that literature and science were kept afloat in europe during the ages that followed the invasion of the barbarians, as the huns, vandals, goths, and visigoths were generally called. that interval known as the 'dark ages' was kept alight by the arabs alone. abd-ar-rahman ii. established a library at cordova during his reign, a.d. - . hakim ii., the successor of abd-ar-rahman iii., loved the sciences, founded the university of cordova, and collected a library of great magnitude (a.d. - ). the revival of learning in europe is chiefly attributed to the writings of arabian doctors and philosophers, and to the schools which they founded in several parts of spain and italy. these seats of learning were frequented even in the twelfth century of our era by students from various parts of europe, who disseminated the knowledge thus acquired when they returned to their own countries. at that time many arabic works were translated into latin, which thus facilitated the progress of science. in the three last chapters of the second book of the 'history of the muhammadan dynasties in spain,' translated by pascual de gayangos, the state of science and literature is detailed in the words of makkari, the original arab author of that work, and in it many once celebrated authors are mentioned, of whom not only their productions, but even their very names, have since perished. the distinguished writers whose works have come down to us will be more particularly alluded to in the next chapter. europe is also indebted to the arabs for the elements of many useful sciences, particularly that of chemistry. paper was first made in europe by them, and their carpets and manufactures in steel and leather were long unrivalled, while in the arabian schools of cordova mathematics, astronomy, philosophy, botany and medicine were taught with great success. as europe gradually emerged from darkness and ignorance, the moors in spain became so weak and powerless that in a.d. charles i of spain, and v. of germany, ordered them to adopt the spanish language. in a.d. an edict of philip ii. forbade them to speak or write in arabic, and directed them to renounce all their traditional habits, customs and ceremonies. philip iii. completed the work which his father had left unfinished. in a.d. all the moriscoes were ordered to depart from the peninsula within three days, with a penalty of death if they failed to obey the order, and from that time their existence as a nation finally ceased in europe, and spain thus lost a million of industrious inhabitants skilled in the useful arts. after their expulsion arabic literature more or less disappeared. much of it was destroyed, and a spanish cardinal, it is said, once boasted that he had destroyed with his own hands one hundred thousand arabic manuscripts! it is highly probable that the remnants of andalusian libraries were brought to light by casiri (b. , d. ) during the past, and by gayangos during the present century, and it is doubtful if much more will ever now be discovered. there are two buildings still extant in spain which have survived the arabs, viz., their mosque at cordova (now the cathedral), and their palace of the alhambra at granada, both well worth a visit, and well described in murray's and o'shea's guides to spain. during the reign of abd-ar-rahman iii. (a.d. - ) the city, palace, and gardens of medinatu-z-ahra, three or four miles from cordova, were constructed in honour of his favourite wife or mistress, az-zahra, and cost an immense sum of money. at present no vestiges of them exist, and it is supposed that not only these, but many other arab mosques and buildings, were intentionally destroyed by their conquerors, as the hatred between the christian and the muslim in those days was of the bitterest description. and now to return to the abbasides, established in the east on the downfall of the omaiyide dynasty there in a.d. , and thus continue the main line of arab history. there were, in all, thirty-seven abbaside khalifs, of whom abu jaafar, surnamed al-mansur, the victorious (a.d. - ), harun-ar-rashid (a.d. - ), and al-mamun (a.d. - ) were the most celebrated. of these, the first, who was the second khalif, founded baghdad, the capital of the abbasides, about a.d. ; the second, who was the fifth khalif, has been rendered immortal by the frequent illusions to him, and to members of the barmeki family, in the 'arabian nights'; while the third, who was the seventh khalif, was a great patron of literature and science. as years rolled on the dynasty and its princes became weaker and weaker, and finally came to an end under the thirty-seventh and last khalif al-mustaa 'sim billah, with the capture of baghdad in a.d. by halaku khan, the sovereign of the mughals, and the grandson of jenghiz khan. long before this, however, the empire which the first of the abbasides had conquered was already broken up. about a.d. , in persia, amr-bin-lais founded the suffary or braiser dynasty, still subject to the commander of the faithful. but even this allegiance only lasted till a.d. , when the samani and dailami dynasties were established in the north and south of persia respectively, and quite independent of the khalifs of baghdad. in a.d. , the fatimites, so designated from one obaid allah, a real or pretended descendant of ali and fatima, the daughter of muhammad, established themselves in the north of africa, and consolidated their power there. in a.d. al-moizz, or abu tamim, a great-grandson of obaid allah, the founder of the fatimite dynasty at tunis, sent his general jawhar with an army to invade egypt. the country was conquered, the city of cairo built, the seat of government was transferred there, and the title of khalif assumed by the fatimites. there they remained as reigning khalifs until a.d. , when salah-ad-din (saladin) usurped the sovereignty, and founded the ayoobite dynasty of kurds, till its last ruler, melik-al-ashraf, was deposed in a.d. by the mamlook el moizz, who in that year founded the baharite mamlook dynasty, which lasted with variations in the families till a.d. . but in a.d. ez-zahir beybars, a mamlook slave, secured the throne, and brought the then representative of the abbaside khalifs (the family having been dethroned by the mughals at baghdad in a.d. ) to egypt, and recognised him as possessing spiritual authority alone, but nothing else. from that time until the taking of egypt by sultan selim i. in a.d. , the abbaside khalifs retained the spiritual power first under the baharite, and then under the circassian or borgite mamlooks. when egypt became a turkish pashalic, selim, the conqueror, compelled the representative of the abbaside khalifs, by name al-motawukkel, to leave cairo and reside in constantinople; and on his death the ottoman sultans assumed the title of khalif, which they hold to this day, and are recognised by the sunnis as the head of the muhammadan religion, and the successors of muhammad. as regards syria and palestine (two countries more or less closely connected, owing to their proximity and absence of distinct and defined boundaries), on the termination of the rule of the omaiyides at damascus in a.d. , they remained nominally under the abbasides till a.d. , when syria was conquered by the fatimites, who were succeeded by the seljuks, who captured damascus about a.d. , and antioch a.d. . the struggles with the crusaders commenced in a.d. , and continued until saladin's famous victory at hattin in , when he became master of nearly the whole of syria and palestine. fighting still went on in these countries between the franks and others until a.d. , when selim i. conquered the country and incorporated it with the turkish empire. no arab prince has since reigned in egypt or syria, though these countries have always exercised certain influences over arabia. in arabia itself, towards the end of the tenth century and the beginning of the eleventh, a.d., the karmathians had risen in revolt, and detached that country from the abbaside dynasty to such an extent that she returned almost to her primitive independence. indeed, it may be said that, in the whole of arabia, the hijaz, with the haram, or sacred territory of mecca, under the shariff, or nobles, the lineal descendants of the tribe of koraish, alone retained some kind of constituted authority, and paid allegiance sometimes to the government of baghdad, and sometimes to that of egypt. as already stated above, in a.d. the turkish sultan selim i. conquered egypt, and obtained from the last real, or supposed surviving, abbaside kinsman of the prophet a formal investiture of the muhammadan khalifate. this was more religious than political in its bearing, but still many of the tribes in arabia offered their allegiance to the ottoman government. from that time the turks began their dealings with arabia, which remained in a sort of independence under their own tribal shaikhs, more or less according to the circumstances of different districts, until the rise of the wahhabi movement, about the middle of the eighteenth century of our era. the wahhabi reform movement requires special mention. it began in arabia about a.d. . the reformer and originator of the movement was muhammad bin abdul wahhab, born at the town of aïnah, in the centre of the nejd district, a.d. . he died in a.d. , aged ninety-six. after some years spent in travel and in study, he began his preaching about a.d. . driven from aïnah, his native place, as muhammad was driven from mecca, abdul wahhab established himself at ad-diriyyah, where muhammad bin saood, the shaikh of a sub-tribe of the anizeh, gave him shelter, and eventually married his daughter. by preaching and fighting, his followers increased in number, and his reforms spread throughout the nejd district, and many converts were made by him and his successors. in a.d. a turkish army from baghdad attacked the wahhabis, but were beaten, and two years later saood ii. took and plundered kerbela, taif, mecca, and other places, and seems to have retained his power and his government for several years. in a.d. the turks, who had quite lost their authority in arabia, requested muhammad ali of egypt to put down the movement, and reconquer the country. the first expedition, commanded by his son tussun, in its attempt to take madinah, was nearly annihilated, but succeeded the following year. later on the campaign was conducted by muhammad ali in person, and afterwards by his adopted son ibrahim pasha, with considerable success. the final stronghold, ad-diriyyah, was captured in a.d. , the wahhabi chief captured, and sent first to egypt and then to constantinople, where he was beheaded in december of that year. the egyptian occupation of arabia was followed by a renewal of the wahhabi movement, which eventually succeeded, in a.d. , in driving out the egyptians, occupied as they were at the time with fighting the turks in syria and anatolia. wahhabism was then re-established in some parts, and independence in other parts, of the country; but on the whole wahhabism has never been very popular either in arabia or india, in which latter country it also has some followers. it may be regarded as the latest sect of islam, but does not make much progress. arabia may now be said to be under three different kinds of government--_i.e._, partly under the wahhabis, partly under the turks, and partly under independent rulers, while aden has been held by the english ever since its first capture in a.d. . in other words, the present position of arabia may be more definitely described as follows: hasa, hareek, the whole of nejd, kaseem, the provinces adjoining yaman on the north, and aseer, forming a broad belt, and stretching across the centre of the peninsula from the red sea to the persian gulf, remain under wahhabi influences. the hijaz and some sea-ports, such as jedda and others, are at present absolutely under the turkish government; while bahrein, oman and its capital muscat, and yaman are more or less independent. between nejd and syria a new and promising kingdom has sprung up under telal. the time perhaps may come, and perhaps not far distant, when the turks will disappear altogether from arabia, and wahhabism and independent tribes will alone remain. another muhammad or another abdul wahhab may some day again appear, and bring together the tribes under one rule for a time. it is doubtful, though, if ever the arabs will again have the power, talent, or enthusiasm to revive the glories of the arabian empire, which now lives in history only, and is well worth a study. for ready reference the following is a chronology of the dynasty of the ornaiyides, preceded by muhammad and the first khalifahs: a.d. muhammad the apostle -- abu bakr -- omar i. -- othman -- ali -- . moawia i. -- . yazid i. -- . moawia ii. -- . marwan i. -- . abdul-malik -- . walid i. -- . sulaiman -- . omar ii. -- . yazid ii. -- . hashim -- . walid ii. -- . yazid iii. -- . ibrahim -- . marwan ii. -- the dynasty of the omaiyides was followed by that of the abbasides, who reigned as follows: a.d. . abul-abbas as-saffah -- . al-mansur -- . al-mahdi -- . al-hadi -- . harun-ar-rashid -- . al-amin -- . al-mamun -- . al-mo'tasim billah -- . al-wathik -- . al-mutwakkil -- . al-mustansir billah -- . al-mustain billah -- . al-mo'tiz billah -- . al-muhtadi billah -- . al-mo'tamid -- . al-motazid billah -- . al-muktafi billah -- . al-muktadir billah -- . al-kahir billah -- . al-radhi billah -- . al-muttaki billah -- . al-mustakfi billah -- . al-mutia billah -- . al-taya billah -- . al-kadir billah -- . al-kaim billah -- . al-muktadi billah -- . al-mustazhir billah -- . al-mustershid billah -- . al-rashid billah -- . al-muktafi -- . al-mustanjid billah -- . al-mustazi -- . al-nasir billah -- . al-tahir -- . al-mustansir billah ii. -- . al-mustaa'sim billah -- he was killed at the taking of baghdad by halaku khan, and the last of the dynasty, which continued, however, as a spiritual power in egypt till a.d. . the empire over which the abbasides began to rule in a.d. had gradually dwindled away until little but baghdad and its environs were left on the fall of the dynasty in a.d. . will history repeat itself in the same way as regards constantinople, which in some years may be the only territory left in europe to a people who once were conquerors, and whose arms even were carried to the walls of vienna? as persia, egypt, syria, parts of africa and arabia, by degrees, were severed from the abbaside empire, so the different provinces of turkey in europe appear to be slowly separating themselves from the turkish power, until finally there will be nothing left to them in europe but that city whose splendid position will ever make it a bone of contention to both rising and declining states. the following is a list of the omaiyides who ruled in spain a.d. to : a.d. . abd-ar-rahman i. - . hisham i. - . al-hakim i. - . abd-ar-rahman ii. - . muhammad i. - . al-mundhir - . abd-allah - . abd-ar-rahman iii. - he was one of the greatest of the rulers of cordova. under this prince, who at last assumed the title of khalif and commander of the faithful, the unity of muhammadan spain was for the time restored. a.d. . al-hakim ii. - . hisham ii. - he was a khalif only in name, while muhammad bin ali amir, surnamed al-mansur, was the real ruler or regent till his death in a.d. . he was succeeded by his son, abd-al-malik, who ruled successfully till his death in a.d. , and was followed by his brother, abd-ar-rahman, who was beheaded in a.d. , hisham ii. having been previously deposed. a.d. . muhammad ii. (al-mahdi-billah) - . sulaiman - hisham ii. for the second time - sulaiman for the second time - ( ) ali bin hammud, a berber chief - . abd-ar-rahman iv. - ( ) al kasim bin hammud - . abd-ar-rahman v. - . muhammad iii. - ( ) yabya bin ali bin hammud - . hisham iii. - a complete list of all the muhammadan rulers in spain will be found in makkari's history of these dynasties, translated by gayangos. chapter ii. literary. the oral communications of the ancient egyptians, medes and persians, the two classic tongues of europe, the sanscrit of the hindus and the hebrew of the jews, have long since ceased to be living languages. for the last twelve centuries no western language has preserved its grammar, its style, or its literature intact and intelligible to the people of the present day. but two eastern tongues have come down from ages past to our own times, and continue to exist unchanged in books, and, to a certain extent, also unchanged in language, and these are chinese and arabic. in china, though the dialects differ in the various provinces of the empire, still the written language has remained the same for centuries. in arabia the arabic language has retained its originality without very much dialectical alteration. the unchangeable character of the arabic language is chiefly to be attributed to the koran, which has, from its promulgation to the present time, been regarded by all muhammadans as the standard of religion and of literary composition. strictly speaking, not only the history, but also the literature of the arabs begins with muhammad. excepting the mua'llakat, and other pre-islamitic poems collected in the hamasas of abu tammam and al-bohtori, in ibn kutaiba and in the mofaddhaliat, no literary monuments that preceded his time are in existence. the koran became, not only the code of religious and of civil law, but also the model of the arabic language, and the standard of diction and eloquence. muhammad himself scorned metrical rules; he claimed as an apostle and lawgiver a title higher than that of soothsayer and poet. still, his poetic talent is manifest in numerous passages of the koran, well known to those able to read it in the original, and in this respect the last twenty-five chapters of that book are, perhaps, the most remarkable. although the power of the arabs has long ago succumbed, their literature has survived, and their language is still more or less spoken in all muhammadan countries. europe at one time was lightened by the torch of arabian learning, and the middle ages were stamped with the genius and character of arab civilization. the great masters of philosophy, medicine, astronomy, and mathematics, viz., al-kindi, al-farabi, ibn-sina, ibn-rashid, ibn bajah, razi, al battani, abul ma'shar, al-farghani, al-jaber, have been studied both in the spanish universities and in those of the rest of europe, where their names are still familiar under the corrupted forms of alchendius, alfarabius, avicenna, averroes, avempace, rhazes, albategnius, albumasar, alfraganius, and geber. arabic literature commenced about half a century before muhammad with a legion of poets. the seven poems suspended in the temple of mecca, and of which more anon, were considered as the chief productions of that time. the mussulman era begins with the hijrah, or emigration of muhammad from mecca to madinah, which is supposed to have taken place on the th of june, a.d. ; and the rise, growth, and decay of arab power, learning, and literature may be divided into three periods as follows: . the time before muhammad. . from muhammad and his immediate successors, viz., abu bakr, omar, othman, and ali, through the omaiyide and abbaside dynasties, to the end of the khalifate of baghdad, a.d. . . from the fall of baghdad to the present time. first period. although the proper history of arabian literature begins from the time of muhammad, it is necessary to cast a glance upon the age that preceded him, in order to obtain a glimpse of pre-islamitic wisdom. the sage lokman, whose name the thirty-first chapter of the koran bears, is considered, according to that book, to have been the first man of his nation who practised and taught wisdom in all his deeds and words. he was believed to have been a contemporary of david and solomon; his sayings and his fables still exist, but there is not much really known about him, as the following extracts will show: 'lokman, a philosopher mentioned in the koran, is said to have been born about the time of david. one tradition represents him as a descendant of the arab tribe of ad, who, on account of his piety and wisdom, was saved when the rest of his family perished by divine wrath. according to another story he was an ethiopian slave, noted alike for bodily deformity and a gift for composing fables and apologues. this account of lokman, resembling so closely the traditional history of Æsop, has led to an opinion that they were the same individual, but this is now generally supposed not to be the case. the various reports agree in ascribing to lokman extraordinary longevity. his extant fables bear evident marks of modern alteration, both in their diction and their incidents. they were first published with a latin translation of the arabic by erpenius (leyden, ). galland produced a french translation of the fables of lokman and bidpay at paris in , and there are other editions by de sacey, , caussin de perceval, , freytag, , and rodiger, .' burton, in a footnote to page , of volume x. of his 'arabian nights,' however, says that 'there are three distinct lokmans. the first, or eldest lokman, entitled al-hakim (the sage), and the hero of the koranic chapter which bears his name, was son of ba'ura, of the children of azar, sister's son to job, or son of job's maternal aunt; he witnessed david's miracles of mail-making, and when the tribe of ad was destroyed he became king of the country. the second lokman, also called the sage, was a slave and abyssinian negro, sold by the israelites during the reign of david or solomon, and who left a volume of proverbs and exempla, not fables or apologues, some of which still dwell in the public memory. the youngest lokman, of the vultures, was a prince of the tribe of ad, who lived , years, the age of seven vultures.' this accounts for the different ideas as regards the tradition of one lokman in the preceding paragraph. before the era of the prophet poetry had attained some degree of excellence. at the annual festival of okatz the poets met and made public recitations, and competed for prizes. of prose literature there was none, and the irregular, half-rhythmical, half-rhyming sentences of the koran were the first attempts in the direction of prose. passing over the host of pre-islamitic poets, the disputed time and order in which they appeared, as well as the ranks they respectively occupied, it will only be necessary here to describe the arabic idyll or elegy (kasida), and to notice the authors of the seven famous mua'llakat, or suspended, or strung-together poems of the temple of mecca, already alluded to above. as these poems were written in letters of gold, they were also called muzahhibat, or "gilded." according to arab notions, the subjects of a poet are four or five. he praises, loves, is angry, mourns, or describes either female beauty, animals, or objects of nature. poems comprising one of these subjects only are short, but those treating of several are longer, and contain eulogies of chiefs, rulers, distinguished men and women, etc. the poet touches on the valour, liberality and eloquence of the hero, on the beauty and virtues of the woman, and describes the nearest surroundings, which are of the greatest interest, such as the horse, the camel, the antelope, the ostrich, the wild cow, the cloud, the lightning, wine, the vestiges of the tent of the beloved, and the hospitable camp-fire. the kasidas of the mua'llakat are a series of smaller poems, composed on various occasions, and then strung together in one piece. among them the two kasidas of amra-al-kais (amriolkais), and of antara, are the most brilliant and romantic, on account of the sentiments of love they breathe towards the three beauties--oneiza, fatima, and abla. the kasida of labid is famous for his description of both the camel and the horse; that of tarafa for the delineation of the camel; that of amru for the picture of a battle; while harath chanted the praises of arms, and of the king of hirah, and zoheir produced a poem full of wise maxims. the whole seven contain a great deal about the personal feelings, the personal courage, the heroic deeds, and the wonderful adventures of the authors themselves--to which may be added descriptions of various animals, of hunting scenes, and of battle, the conventional lament for the absence or departure of a mistress, the delight of meeting her, and other bright sketches of arab life in camp and on the march, with its joys, its sorrows, and its constant changes. sir william jones first brought these poems to the notice of the west, and published a translation of them in a.d. . 'they exhibit,' he says, 'an exact picture of the virtues and the vices, the wisdom and the folly, of the early arabs. the poems show what may constantly be expected from men of open hearts and boiling passions, with no law to control, and little religion to restrain them.' the above translations, with notes and remarks, have been reprinted by mr. w.a. clouston, in his 'arabian poetry for english readers,' at glasgow in , and is a work well worthy of a perusal by any persons who may be interested in the subject. the names of the three ancient arab poets considered to have been possessed of equal talent with the authors of the mua'llakat, are nabiga, al-kama, and al-aasha, and some specimens of their composition, as also of those of other pre-islamite poets, are to be found in the fifteenth volume, no. , pages - , of the 'bombay branch of the royal asiatic society,' translated by mr. e. rehatsek in . second period. from muhammad and his immediate successors (abu bakr, omar, othman and ali), through the omaiyide and abbaside dynasties, to the end of the khalifate of baghdad, a.d. . the legislator of islam, whose era began on the th july, a.d. (though his actual departure from mecca has been calculated to have taken place on the th june, a.d. ), is here to be considered not from an historical, but from a poetical point of view. although muhammad despised the metres in which the bards of his nation chanted their kasidas, and himself gave utterance in the name of heaven to the inspirations of his genius only in richly-modulated and rhymed prose, nevertheless, according to the oriental idea, he was regarded as a poet. those who declare that he was not a poet overlook the circumstance that he was vehemently assailed by contemporary poets, who attempted to degrade his heaven-inspired surahs into mere poetical fables. he himself protested against this insinuation, and declared at the end of the th surah, entitled 'the poets,' that those are in error who believe poets, as follows: 'and those who err follow the poets; dost thou not see how they roam (as bereft of their senses) through every valley (of the imagination) and that they say things which they do not perform? ... except those who believe, and do good works, and remember god frequently, and those who defend themselves after they have been unjustly treated by poets in their lampoons, and they who act unjustly shall know hereafter with what treatment they shall be treated.' these lines are important as far as the history of literature is concerned. they are written against inimical poets, but distinguish the friendly ones, who, taking the part of muhammad, repaid the lampooning poets in their own coin. some of the hostile poets, such as hobeira and the woman karitha, were killed at the taking of mecca, whilst zibary and the woman hertlemah saved their lives only by making a profession of islam. muhammad had, however, also his panegyrists, the chief of whom was ka'b bin zoheir, the composer of the celebrated kasida called 'the poem of the mantle,' as a reward for which the prophet threw his own cloak over him, under the following circumstances, as related by mr. j.w. redhouse in the preface to his translation of the poem published in the 'arabian poetry for english readers'[ ] alluded to above. [footnote : in this same work will also be found a translation by mr. redhouse of another poem, also called 'the poem of the mantle,' but written by sharaf-uddin muhammad al-busiri, who was born a.d. , and died between a.d. and .] ka'b was a son of zoheir, already mentioned as the author of one of the pre-islamite poems known as the 'mua'llakat.' he had a brother named bujeir, and, like their father, both brothers were good poets. bujeir was first converted, and embraced the faith of islam. ka'b was angry at this, and composed a lampoon on his brother, on the prophet, and on their new religion. this he sent to his brother by the mouth of a messenger. bujeir repeated it to muhammad, who commented on it as favourable to the new faith and to himself, but at the same time passed a sentence of death on the satirist. bujeir well knew that his brother's life was in danger, and warned him accordingly, advising him at the same time to renounce his errors, and come repentant to the prophet, or to seek a safe asylum far away. ka'b found out that his life would really soon be taken, and set out secretly for madinah. there he found an old friend, claimed his protection, and went with him next morning to the simple meeting-house where muhammad and his chief followers performed their daily devotions. when the service was ended, ka'b approached muhammad, and the two sat down together. ka'b placed his own right hand in that of the prophet, whom he addressed in these words: 'apostle of god, were i to bring to you ka'b, the son of zoheir, penitent and professing the faith of islam, wouldst thou receive and accept him? the prophet answered, 'i would.' 'then,' said the poet, 'i am he!' hearing this, the bystanders demanded permission to put him to death. muhammad ordered his zealous followers to desist, and the poet then, on the spur of the moment, recited a poem improvised at the time, probably with more or less premeditation. it is said that when ka'b reached the fifty-first verse: 'verily the apostle of god is a light from which illumination is sought--a drawn indian blade, one of the swords of god,' muhammad took from his own shoulders the mantle he wore, and threw it over the shoulders of the poet as an honour and as a mark of protection. hence the name given to the effusion, 'the poem of the mantle,' a.d. . moawia, the first khalif of the omaiyides, endeavoured to purchase this sacred mantle from ka'b for ten thousand pieces of silver, but the offer was refused. later on it was, however, bought from ka'b's heirs for twenty thousand pieces of silver, and it passed into the hands of the khalifs, and was preserved by them as one of the regalia of the empire until baghdad was sacked by the mughals. the mantle, or what is supposed to be the self-same mantle, is now in the treasury[ ] of the sultan khalif of the ottomans at constantinople, in an apartment named 'the room of the sacred mantle,' in which this robe is religiously preserved, together with a few other relics of the great prophet. [footnote : _apropos_ of this treasury, it is much to be regretted that a complete catalogue of its contents has never been prepared along with a brief historical account of them. it is difficult to obtain the order, which comes direct from the sultan, to visit the collection; and even then visitors are hurried through at such a pace that it is impossible to examine with minuteness the many curiosities collected there.] ka'b has thus come to be considered as one of the friendly poets, and the names of two others are also mentioned, viz., abd-allah bin rewaha and hassan bin thabit. on the other hand, the most celebrated antagonists who attacked muhammad, not only with their verses, but also with their swords, were abu sofyan, amr bin al-'a'asi, and abd-allah bin zobeir. these three became great political characters, but later on made profession of islam, and were the staunchest supporters of it, rendering the greatest services to the prophet during his life, and to the cause after his death. but muhammad's greatest triumph over the poets was the conversion of labid, who, after the perusal of the commencement of the second surah of the koran, tore down his own poem, which was hung up in the kaabah, and ran to the prophet to announce his conversion, and to make his profession of islam. even ali, the cousin, son-in-law, and first convert of muhammad, was a poet, but it is uncertain which of the diwans attributed to him are genuine, and how many of his maxims of wisdom, over a hundred in number, are his own. during the period under review the number of arabic authors was legion. some idea of the number of writers, and of the subjects on which they wrote, can be gathered from the fihrist of an-nadim, from ibn khallikan's biographical dictionary, and from haji khalfa's encyclopædia. with such a mass of information as is contained in the above-mentioned works, it is difficult to deal in a small work. to put them together in an intelligible form, the idea of classing the authors, according to the subjects on which they principally wrote, naturally presented itself. this plan, therefore, has been followed, and a few details of the most celebrated writers will be given, classified under the following heads: jurisconsults. imams and lawyers. traditionists. alchemists. astronomers. grammarians. geographers and travellers. historians. lexicographers, biographers and encyclopædists. writers on natural history. philologists. philosophers. physicians. poets. collectors and editors of poems. translators. the omaiyide khalifs. the abbaside khalifs. the spanish khalifs. during the latter part of the first century of the hijrah (july, --july, ), the first persons of note in the muhammadan world after muhammad and his immediate successors were probably the seven jurisconsults, viz., obaid allah, orwa, kasim, said, sulaiman, abu bakr and kharija, who all lived at madinah about the same time; and it was from them, according to ibn khallikan, that the science of law and legal decisions spread over the world. they were designated by the appellation of the seven jurisconsults, because the right of giving decisions on points of law had passed to them from the companions of muhammad, and they became publicly known as muftis. these seven alone were acknowledged as competent to give fatmas, or legal decisions. they died respectively a.d. , , , , , and . the jurisconsults were followed by the doctors of theology and law, or, as they were styled, imams, or founders of the four orthodox sects. now, among the sunni muslims an imam may be described as a high-priest, or head, or chief in religious matters, whether he be the head of all muhammadans--as the khalifah--or the priest of a mosque, or the leader in the prayers of a congregation. this title, however, is given by the shias only to the immediate descendants of ali, the son-in-law of the prophet, and they are twelve in number, ali being the first. the last of them, imam mahdi, is supposed to be concealed (not dead), and the title which belongs to him cannot, they conceive, be given to another. but among the sunnis it is a dogma that there must always be a visible imam or father of the church. the title is given by them to the four learned doctors who were the exponents of their faith, viz., imams hanifa, malik, shafai and hanbal. of these, imam hanifa, the founder of the first of the four chief sects of the sunnis, died a.d. . he was followed by imam malik, imam shafai, and imam hanbal, the founders of the other three sects, who died a.d. , and respectively. from these four persons are derived the various codes of muhammadan jurisprudence. they have always been considered as the fundamental pillars of the orthodox law, and have been esteemed by mussulmans as highly as the fathers of the church--gregory, augustine, jerome and chrysostom--have been appreciated by christians. of these four sects, the hanbalite and malikite may be considered as the most rigid, the shafaite as the most conformable to the spirit of islamism, and the hanifite as the wildest and most philosophical of them all. in addition to the four imams just mentioned, there was a fifth, of the name of abu sulaiman dawud az zahari, who died a.d. . he was the founder of the sect called az-zahariah (the external), and his lectures were attended by four hundred fakihs (doctors of the civil and of the ecclesiastical law), who wore shawls thrown over their shoulders. but his opinions do not seem to have secured many followers, and in time both his ideas, and those of sofyan at thauri, another chief of the orthodox sect, were totally abandoned. the third century of the hijrah (a.d. - ) is noted for the six fathers of tradition, viz., al-bukhari, muslim, at firmidi, abu dawud, an-nasai and ibn majah, with whom others, such as kasim bin asbagh, abu zaid, al-marwazi, abu awana and al-hazini, vied in great works on tradition, but these last-named could never acquire the authority of the six previously mentioned, who died a.d. , , , , , respectively. in the beginning of islam the great traditionists were ayesha, the favourite wife of the prophet, the four rightly directed khalifs, viz., abu bakr, omar, othman and ali, and some of the companions[ ] known as the evangelists of islam. but besides these well-qualified persons who had lived with or near muhammad during his lifetime, many others who had perhaps only seen him or spoken to him claimed to be considered as companions, who handed down traditions; and when these were all dead they were followed by others, who, having known the companions, were now designated as the successors of the companions. [footnote : the names of these companions, and the kings, princes, and countries to which they were sent by muhammad, are given in full detail in 'the life of our lord muhammad, the apostle of god,' the author of which was ibn ishak; and it was afterwards edited by ibn hisham. in the same work a list is given of the disciples sent out by jesus.] under these circumstances it can easily be imagined that many of the traditions were of doubtful authenticity. al-bukhari, whose collection of traditions of the muhammadan religion holds the first place, both as regards authority and correctness, selected seven thousand two hundred and seventy-five of the most authentic out of ten thousand, all of which he regarded as being true, having rejected two hundred thousand as false. his book is held in the highest estimation, and considered both in spiritual and temporal matters as next in authority to the koran. he was born a.d. , and died a.d. . the shiahs do not accept the collection of traditions as made by the sunnis, but have a collection of their own, upon which their system of law, both civil and religious, is founded. during the first and second centuries of the hijrah (a.d. - ), of all the physical sciences alchemy was studied most. the greatest scientific man of the first century was undoubtedly khalid, a prince of the omaiyide dynasty, and the son of yazid i. his zeal for knowledge and science induced him to get greek and syriac works translated by stephanus into arabic, especially those which treated on chemistry, or rather alchemy. khalid, having been once reproached for wasting all his time in researches in the art of alchemy, replied: 'i have occupied myself with these investigations to show my contemporaries and brothers that i have found in them a recompense and a reward for the khalifate which i lost. i stand in need of no man to recognise me at court, and i need not recognise anyone who dances attendance at the portals of dominion either from fear, ambition, or covetousness.' he wrote a poem on alchemy, which bears the title of 'paradise of wisdom,' and of him ibn khallikan says: 'he was the most learned man of the tribe of koraish in all the different branches of knowledge. he wrote a discourse on chemistry and on medicine, in which sciences he possessed great skill and solid information.' he died a.d. . later on jaber bin hayam, with his pupils, became a model for later alchemists, and he has been called the father of arabian chemistry. he compiled a work of two thousand pages, in which he inserted the problems of his master, jaafar as sadik, considered to be the father of all the occult sciences in islam. jaber was such a prolific writer that many of his five hundred works are said to bear his name only on account of his celebrity, but to have been written in reality by a variety of authors. his works on alchemy were published in latin by golius, under the title of 'lapis philosophorum,' and an english translation of them by robert russell appeared at leyden in a.d. . jaber died a.d. , and is not to be confounded with al-jaber (geber), the astronomer, who lived at seville about a.d. , and constructed there an astronomical observatory. astronomy appears to have been always a favourite science with the arabs from the earliest times. in a.d. there appeared at the court of the khalif mansur (a.d. - ), muhammad bin ibrahim bin habib al fezari, the astronomer, who brought with him the tables called sind hind, in which the motions of the stars were calculated according to degrees. they contained other observations on solar eclipses and the rising of the signs of the zodiac, extracted by him from the tables ascribed to the indian king, figar. the khalif mansur ordered this book to be translated into arabic to serve as a guide for arab astronomers. and these tables remained in use till the time of the khalif mamun (a.d. - ), when other revised ones bearing his name came into vogue. these, again, were abridged by abul ma'shar (albumasar, died a.d. - ), called the prince of arabian astrologers, who, however, deviated from them, and inclined towards the system of the persians and of ptolemy. this second revision was more favourably received by the arab astronomers than the first, and the sind hind was superseded by the almagest of ptolemy. better astronomical instruments also came into use, though previously the al-fezari above mentioned had been the first in islam who constructed astrolabes of various kinds, and had written several astronomical treatises. mention might be made of about forty mathematicians and astronomers who wrote books on these subjects. the best of them, such as al-farghani (alfraganius) and others, lived at the court of mamun, who built an astronomical observatory in baghdad and another near damascus, on mount kasiun. he caused also two degrees of the meridian to be measured on the plain of sinjar, so as to ascertain the circumference of the earth with more precision. in a.d. there were held philosophical disputations in his presence. al-farghani was the author of an introduction to astronomy, which was printed by golius at amsterdam in , with notes. between the years a.d. and there flourished the famous calculator and astronomer, muhammad bin jaber al battani, latinized as albategnius. he was the author of the astronomical work entitled 'the sabæan tables,' and adopted nearly the system and the hypothesis of ptolemy, but rectified them in several points, and made other discoveries, which procured him a distinguished place among the scholars whose labours have enriched astronomical science. al-battani approached much nearer to the truth than the ancients as far as the movements of the fixed stars are concerned. he measured the greatness of the eccentricity of the solar orbit, and a more correct result cannot be obtained. to the work containing all his discoveries he gave the name of 'as-zij-as sabi,' which was translated into latin under the title 'de scientiâ stellarum.' the first edition of it appeared at nuremberg in a.d. , but it is believed that the original work is in the library of the vatican. he was classed by lalande among the forty-two most celebrated astronomers of the world. he died a.d. - . another celebrated astronomer, ali bin yunis, was a native of egypt, and appears to have lived at the court of the demented tyrant of egypt, al-hakim bramrillah, and under his patronage to have composed the celebrated astronomical tables called, after his name, 'the hakimite tables.' ibn khallikan states that he had seen these tables in four volumes, and that more extensive ones had not come under his notice. these tables were considered in egypt to be of equal value to those of the astronomer yabya bin ali mansur, who had in a.d. , by order of the khalif mamun, undertaken astronomical observations both at baghdad and damascus. ibn yunis spent his life in the preparation of astronomical tables and in casting horoscopes, for it must be remembered that with the muslims astronomy and astrology were synonymous, and their most learned astronomers were also their most skilful astrologers. his character for honesty was highly esteemed, and he was also well versed in other sciences, and displayed an eminent talent for poetry. he died a.d. , and is not to be confounded with his father, ibn yunis, the historian, who died a.d. . yet another name must be mentioned, viz., the spanish-arab astronomer ibn abd-ar-rahman es-zerkel, europeanized as arzachal. he first resided at toledo, at the court of its sovereign, mamun, for whom he made an astrolabe, which he called in his honour the mamunian. he then went to seville, where he wrote for motamid bin abbad (a.d. - ) a treatise on the use of certain instruments. during his residence at toledo he constructed two clepsydras, the waters of which decreased and increased according to the waning and growing of the moon, and these two basins were destroyed only in a.d. by alphonse vi., when he took toledo. arzachal left a work on eclipses, and on the revolution of years, as well as the tables of the sky, to which the name of toledan tables have been given. his writings, but especially the last, which must have been consulted by the editors of the alphonsine tables, were never translated, and exist only in manuscript in libraries where but few scholars can consult them. arzachal made many observations in connection with the sun, and was also the inventor of the astronomical instrument called after his name, zerkalla. he died a.d. . before leaving this subject it may be mentioned that makkari, in his great encyclopædia of spain, enumerates fifteen astronomers of andalusia, all more or less known in their time. also that bedei-ul-astrolabi and ibn abdul-rayman distinguished themselves as makers of astronomical instruments, and inventors of new ones. while arzachal was the greatest representative of arab astronomy in the west, umar khayam, the astronomer, mathematician, freethinker, and poet, was its greatest representative in the east, in persia, where he died a.d. . a great deal in arabic literature has been written about grammar, and, until its principles were finally laid down and established, it was always a source of continual controversy between different professors and different schools. abul aswad ad-duwali has been called the father of arabic grammar. it is said that the khalif ali laid down for him this principle: the parts of speech are three, the noun, the verb, and the particle, and told him to form a complete treatise upon it. this was accordingly done; and other works on the subject were also produced, but none of them are apparently now extant. muhammad bin ishak has stated that he saw one of them, entitled 'discourse on the governing and the governed parts of speech;' and the author of the 'fihrist' also alludes to this work. abul-aswad died at busra in a.d. , aged eighty-five, but some years later his two successors in this branch of literature (viz., al-khalil and sibawaih) far surpassed him in every way. al-khalil bin ahmad, born a.d. , was one of the great masters in the science of grammar, and the discoverer of the rules of prosody, which art owes to him its creation. he laid the foundation of the language by his book 'al-ain' (so called from the letter with which it begins), and by the aid he afforded thereby to sibawaih, whose master he was, in the composition of his celebrated grammatical work known by the name of 'the book.' in the work called 'al-ain,' khalil first arranged the stock of arabic words, dealing with the organ of speech and the production of sounds, and then dividing the words into classes, the roots of which consisted of one, two, three, four, or five letters. it is still a matter of dispute whether the book 'al-ain' was wholly composed by khalil himself, or completed in course of time by his pupils. a copy of this celebrated lexicon and work on philology is in the escurial library. khalil also wrote a treatise on prosody, and other works on grammar, and a book on musical intonation. he died a.d. , at busra. 'poverty,' he said, 'consists not in the want of money, but of soul; and riches are in the mind, not in the purse.' sibawaih, the pupil of khalil, has been called the father of arabic lexicography, and the lawgiver of arabic grammar. ibn khallikan says that he was a learned grammarian, and surpassed in this science every person of former and later times. as for his 'kitab,' or 'book,' composed by him on that subject, it has never had its equal. the great philologist and grammarian, al-jahiz, said of the book of sibawaih, that none like it had ever been written on grammar, and that all writers on this subject who had succeeded him had borrowed from it. when al-kisai was tutor to the prince al-amin, son of harun-ar-rashid, sibawaih came to baghdad, and the two great grammarians (sibawaih, the chief of the school of busra, and al-kisai, chief of the school of kufa) had a long dispute about a certain expression of arabic speech, and an arab of the desert was called in to arbitrate between them. the man first decided in favour of sibawaih, but when the question was put in another form, the bedouin asserted that kisai was right. as sibawaih considered that he had been unjustly treated in the matter, he left baghdad for good. the year of his death has been given differently by various authors, the earliest date being a.d. , and the latest a.d. . the most celebrated grammarians of the third century of the hijrah (a.d. - ) were al-mubarrad, who died a.d. , and thalab, who died a.d. . they were also great antagonists to each other. al-mubarrad, the author of thirty works, was the chief of the school of busra, and thalab of that of kufa, both founded during the preceding century by sibawaih and kisai. thalab was the first collector of books in islam, and those left by him were very valuable. mention must also be made of al-farra, the grammarian, and distinguished by his knowledge of grammar, philology, and various branches of literature. he died a.d. , at the age of sixty-three, and preceded both mubarrad and thalab, the latter of whom used to say: 'were it not for al-farra, pure arabic would no longer exist; it was he who disengaged it from the ordinary language and fixed it by writing.' at the request of the khalif al-mamun he drew up in two years a most elaborate work, which contained the principles of grammar, and all the pure arabic expressions which he had heard. it was entitled 'al-hudûd' (the limits or chapters), and directly it was finished he commenced another in connection with the koran, which is spoken of as a most wonderful production. he wrote besides several other works on grammar, and acted as tutor to the two sons of the khalif mamun. though many other grammarians could be named, such as al-akhfash al ausat, abu amr as shaibani, abu bakr al anbari, etc., none can be considered so celebrated as the persons above mentioned, who are regarded as the founders of the principles on which arabic grammar has been established. in the middle of the third century of the hijrah (a.d. - ), the arabs first began to distinguish themselves as travellers and geographers. when muslim homeir was, in a.d. , ransomed from his captivity among the byzantines and returned to his country, he wrote a book with the title of 'admonitions on the countries, kings and offices of the greeks.' forty years afterwards jaafar bin ahmed al mervezi produced the first geographical work under the title of 'highways and countries,' which was followed by those of ibn foslan, ibn khordabeh, jeihani, al-istakhri, ibn haukul, al-beruni, al-bekri and idrisi. the great historian, masudi, was also a writer of travels and an ambassador. ibn foslan was sent by the khalif muktadir (a.d. - ) to the king of the bulgarians. abu dolaf, who accompanied an ambassador from china to the frontiers of that country, made, on his return, a report which yakut afterwards embodied in his voluminous geographical dictionary. a few details will be given about the six chief geographers and travellers of this period, viz., ibn khordabeh, al-istakhri, ibn haukul, al-beruni, al-bekri and idrisi. as regards the first-named, it would appear that he has been the object of considerable controversies among the orientalists of europe. after employment in the post and intelligence departments in the provinces, he subsequently came to the court of the khalif motamid (a.d. - ), and became one of his privy councillors. he is the author of several works on various subjects, but his 'geography,' says sir h.m. elliot, is the only work we possess of this author, and of this there is only one copy in europe, in the bodleian library at oxford. he died about a.d. . al-istakhri, who flourished about the year a.d. , obtained his name from istakhar (_i.e._, persepolis), where he was born. he was a traveller whose geographical work has been translated into german by mordtmann. when istakhari was in the indus valley he met another celebrated traveller, ibn haukul, whose book sir william ouseley translated in a.d. into english, under the title of 'the oriental geography of ibn haukul.' haukul, who died a.d. , had travelled for nearly twenty-eight years in the countries of islam with the works of ibn khordabeh and jeihani in his hands, and his work, which bears the generally approved title of 'highways and countries,' is based on the book of istakhri. but the greatest geographer and naturalist of this period is abu raihan al-beruni (born about a.d. ), who accompanied mahmud the ghaznavide on his invasions to india. he was to mahmud of ghazni what aristotle was to alexander, with the difference, however, that he actually accompanied the conqueror on his indian campaigns. he travelled into different countries and to and from india for the space of forty years, and during that time was much occupied with astronomy and astronomical observations, as well as geography. his works are said to have exceeded a camel-load, but the most valuable of all of them is his description of india. it gives an account of the religion of india, its philosophy, literature, geography, chronology, astronomy, customs, law and astrology about a.d. , and has been edited by edward sachau, professor in the royal university of berlin. an english edition, containing a preface, the translation of the arabic text, notes and indices, has also been published. al-beruni died at ghurna a.d. . he used to correspond with avicenna, who was his contemporary, and who gives in his works the answers to the questions addressed to him by this famous geographer, astronomer, geometrician, historian, scholar, and logician. some years later abu o'beid abd-allah al-bekri distinguished himself as one of the greatest geographers, with whose labours quatremere and dozy and gayangos have made us better acquainted. he was, by birth, from andalusia, whence also many others travelled to the east, either for instruction or for trade or as pilgrims, and of whom about a couple of dozen are mentioned by makkari. some of these gave descriptions and topographies, to which class of literature also the poetical laudations of celebrated towns belong. not only baghdad, damascus, cairo, fez, morocco and khairwan were praised or satirized, but also cordova, seville, granada, malaga, toledo, valencia and zohra were described in arabic poems. al-bekri died in a.d. - , and was followed by idrisi, the author of a work on arabian geography of some celebrity, and which has been translated into latin. he died a.d. . of historians in arab literature there are many, but only the most celebrated will be noted. muhammad bin ishak, who died about a.d. , produced the best and most trustworthy biography of the prophet muhammad. his work was published under the patronage of the abbaside princes, and was, in fact, composed for the khalif al-mansur (a.d. - ). it was used as the chief source of information by ibn hisham, the next historian of note, in his life of the prophet, which work has been edited by dr. wustenfeld, and translated into german by dr. weil, and into english by mr. e. rehatsek, whose manuscript, however, has not yet been printed. ibn hisham, who died in a.d. , was the father of arabic genealogy, and abu-el-siyadi, who died in a.d. , is next to him. but the real father of arabian history was al-wackidi, a good and trustworthy historian, thirty-two of whose works are known, all relating to the conquests of the arabs, and other such subjects. he died a.d. . with him generally has been associated his secretary, muhammad bin saad, a man of unimpeachable integrity, and of the highest talents, merit, and eminence. he has left us some most interesting works, full of valuable information relating to those times. he died at baghdad a.d. . al-madaini, who died a.d. , was the author of two hundred and fifty historical works, of which, however, nothing has yet been discovered, except their titles as given in the 'fihrist.' passing over many other historians, two more only will be mentioned, viz., abu jafir at-tabari and al-masúdi. tabari (whose annals are now being edited by a company of european orientalists) was born a.d. , at amol, in the province of tabaristan. he travelled a great deal, and composed many works on history, poetry, grammar and lexicography. his work on jurisprudence extends to several volumes, and his historical works stamp him as one of the most reliable of arab historians, while his numerous other works also bear witness to the variety and accuracy of his acquirements. he died at baghdad a.d. , and has been called by gibbon the livy of the arabians. al-masúdi, a contemporary of the great historian tabari, died thirty-four years after him, in a.d. . his great work, 'meadows of gold and mines of gems,' with the arabic text above and a french translation below, has been published in nine volumes ( - ) by barbier de meynard, in connection with pavet de courteille, at the expense of the french government. dr. a. sprenger (who translated one volume of the work into english for the oriental translation fund, london, ) calls the author of it the herodotus of arabian history, because he had, like his greek prototype, undertaken extensive travels, and had like him made the description of countries and nations his chief occupation. the titles of ten of his works are known to us, but the principal one is that named above, in the composition of which he used eighty-five historical, geographical, and philological works, as he himself informs us in the first chapter of his history. the work itself contains one hundred and thirty-two chapters. ibn al athir al jazari, born a.d. and died a.d. , was also an historian of note, and a personal friend of ibn khallikan, who writes of him as follows: 'his knowledge of the traditions, and his acquaintance with that science in its various branches, placed him in the first rank; and his learning as an historian of the ancients and moderns was not less extensive; he was perfectly familiar with the genealogy of the arabs, their adventures, combats and history; whilst his great work, "the kâmil or complete," embracing the history of the world from the earliest period to the year of the hijrah (a.d. - ), merits its reputation as one of the best productions of the kind.' another of ibn al athir's works is the history of the most eminent among the companions of muhammad, in the shape of a biographical dictionary. as the development of arab letters proceeded, in the course of time various authors began to tabulate the different branches of knowledge and science, and these, with the biographies of many of the writers, and the lists of their works, formed a distinct branch in the literature of that day. the most noteworthy of them all was abul faraj muhammad bin ishak, who is generally known by the name of ibn ali yakub al warrak the copyist, surnamed an-nadim al baghdadi, the social companion from baghdad, and the author of the 'fihrist.' it may be truly said that this writer, along with ibn khallikan, laid the foundations of the records of the edifice of encyclopædical and biographical works, which was afterwards completed by haji khalfa and abul khair. without the work of ibn khallikan it would be as impossible to give a history of arab scholars, as without the work of an-nadim to give an account of arab literature. the 'kitab al-fihrist' was written by an-nadim in a.d. , and is divided into ten sections, dealing with every branch of letters and learning. it gives the names of many authors and their works long since extant, and shows the enormous amount of writings produced by the arabs during the periods under review, up to a.d. , the date of the author's work. a short account of this ancient and curious book has been given in the _journal asiatique_ for december, , and from the work itself von hammer purgstall has been able to gather that the 'thousand and one nights' ('arabian nights') had a persian origin. in the eighth section of the 'fihrist' the author says that the first who composed tales and apologues were the kings of the early persian dynasties, and that these tales were augmented and amplified by the sasanians (a.d. - ). the arabs then translated them into their own language, and composed other stories like them. ibn khallikan, the most worthy of biographers, must also be mentioned here, though he died in a.d. , twenty-four years after the fall of baghdad, having been born in a.d. . this very eminent scholar and follower of shafa'i doctrines, was born at arbela, but resided at damascus, where he had filled the place of chief kadi till the year a.d. , when he was dismissed, and from that time to the day of his death he never went out of doors. he was a man with the greatest reputation for learning, versed in various sciences, and highly accomplished. he was a scholar, a poet, a compiler, a biographer and an historian. by his talents and writings he merited the honourable title of the most learned man and the ablest historian. his celebrated biographical work, called the 'wafiat-ul-aiyan,' or deaths of eminent men, is the acme of perfection. this work was translated from the arabic by baron macguckin de slane, a member of the council of the asiatic society of paris, and printed by the oriental translation fund of great britain and ireland in a.d. , , and . for all those who wish to gain a knowledge of the legal literature of the muhammadans it is a most valuable work, as the baron has added to the text numerous learned notes, replete with curious and interesting information relating to the muhammadan law and lawyers. ibn khallikan died, aged seventy-three lunar years, in the najibia college at damascus, and was buried in the cemetery of as-salihiya, a well-known village situated on the declivity of mount kasiun, a short distance to the north of damascus, and from which a splendid view of the town and its surrounding gardens is obtained. when lately there i made inquiries about the tomb of this great arab _littérateur_, but without success. his tomb has quite disappeared, and his name seemed to be forgotten; but his work still lives, an everlasting monument of his industry and his intelligence. it will be remembered that the early arab poets described men, women, animals, and their surroundings in their effusive kasidas before prose-writing was established. later on grammarians and philologists began to write books on the different objects of nature and on the physiology of man; also treatises on the horse, the camel, bees, mountains, seas, rivers, and all natural phenomena. there were thus laid down, though not a scientific, at least a philological basis, for the future development of the natural sciences and geography. such monographs were only in later times collected in encyclopaedic works, in which they were inserted in such a manner as to constitute various chapters only, and no longer separate treatises. khalef-al-ahmer (whom suyuti declared to be a great forger, because he pretended that some poems written by himself had been composed by ancient arab poets) wrote the first book on arab mountains, and about the poems recited concerning them. ahmed bin-ud dinveri wrote, in addition to several grammatical and mathematical works, a book on plants, and after him the grammarian al-jahiz wrote the first treatise on animals, but more from a philological point of view than from that of natural history. he wrote, moreover, on theology, geography, natural history, and philology; but his most celebrated work is his 'book of animals,' in which he displayed all his knowledge of the arabic tongue. he was frightfully ugly, and obtained the surname of jahiz on account of his protuberant eyes. he himself informs us that the khalif mutwakkil intended to appoint him as tutor to his sons, but was deterred by his ugliness, and dismissed him with a present of ten thousand dirhems. al-jahiz died a.d. , over ninety years of age. philology is a term now generally used as applicable to that science which embraces human language in its widest extent, and may be shortly called 'the science of language.' but in earlier times philology included, with few exceptions, everything that could be learned--many and various subjects, without particular reference to the meaning now generally adopted concerning it. there will be found among the arab authors of this period many philologists who also wrote upon other matters, but have been recorded here as having particularly excelled in this particular branch of learning. al kasim bin ma'an was the first who wrote on the rarities of the language and on the peculiarities of authors, and, according to the 'fihrist,' he surpassed all his contemporaries by the variety of his information. tradition and traditionists, poetry and poets, history and historians, scholastic theology and theologians, genealogy and genealogists, were the subjects on which he displayed the extent of his acquirements. he died a.d. . abu ali muhammad bin-al mustanir bin ahmad, generally known by the name of kutrub, was also a grammarian and philologist, and wrote books and treatises on these subjects, as also on natural history. he died a.d. . philology and arabic poetry were the special objects of the studies of abu amr ishak bin mirar as shaibani, and in these two branches of knowledge his authority is of the highest order. he composed a number of works and treatises, and wrote with his own hand upwards of eighty volumes. he died a.d. . but the two earliest, and perhaps the two most celebrated, philologists were al-asmai and abu obaida, who outshone their successors for all time to come, and were distinguished--the former by his wit, and the latter by his scholarship. abu said abd-al malik bin kuraib al-asmai was born a.d. or , and died a.d. . he was a complete master of the arabic language, an able grammarian, and the most eminent of all those who transmitted orally historical narrations, anecdotes, stories, and rare expressions of the language. when the poet abu nuwas was informed that asmai and abu obaida had been introduced at harun's court, he said that the latter would narrate ancient and modern history, but that the former would charm with his melodies. ibn shabba was informed by asmai himself 'that he knew by heart sixteen thousand pieces of verse composed in the measure called rajaz, or free metre,' and ishak al mausili asserted 'that he never heard al-asmai profess to know a branch of science without discovering that none knew it better than he.' no one ever explained better than al-asmai the idioms of the desert arabs. most of his works, which amount to thirty-six, treat of the language and its grammar; but he also wrote a book on the horse and different treatises on various other animals, such as the camel, the sheep, wild beasts, etc., and their physiology. al-asmai's contemporary, abu obaida, was an able grammarian and an accomplished scholar. he was born a.d. , and died at busra a.d. , leaving nearly two hundred treatises, of which the names of many have been given by ibn khallikan, and most of them are of a purely philological character. there are many anecdotes about him, and many sayings of clever men regarding him. abu nuwas took lessons from abu obaida, praised him highly, and decried al-asmai, whom he detested. when asked what he thought of al-asmai, he replied, 'a nightingale in a cage,' meaning probably that a nightingale in a cage is pleasing to hear, but there is nothing else good about it. abu obaida he described as 'a bundle of science packed up in a skin.' abu zaid al-ansari was a philologist and grammarian, and a contemporary of the two persons just described. he held the first rank among the literary men of that time, and devoted his attention principally to the study of the philology of the arabic language, its singular terms and rare expressions. of him al-mubarrad said: 'abu zaid was an abler grammarian than al-asmai and abu obaida, but these two came next to him, and were near to each other. abu obaida was the most accomplished scholar of the day.' abu zaid composed a number of useful philological works, and titles of thirty-one of them are given in the 'fihrist.' he died a.d. , over ninety years of age. abu othman bakr bin muhammad bin habib al-mayini, briefly called abu othman, was celebrated as a philologer and grammarian, as also for his knowledge in general literature. he learned philology from abu zaid, abu obaida, al-asmai, and others, and had for pupil al-mubarrad, who learned much from his master, and handed down many pieces of traditional literature obtained from him. abu othman, once being asked his opinion about various men of science, curtly summarized them as follows: 'the koran-readers are deceitful administrators, the traditionists are satisfied with superfluities, poets are too superficial, grammarians much too heavy, narrators deal only in neat expressions, and the only real science is jurisprudence,' he died a.d. . abul aina was a philologist, but also a great joker, anecdote-teller, and poet. his memory was equal to his eloquence, and, being quick-witted, he was never in want of a repartee when the occasion required it; indeed, he ranked among the most brilliant wits of the age. to a vizier, who said that everything current about the liberality of the barmekides was only so much exaggeration and invention of leaf-scribblers, he replied: 'of you, o vizier, the leaf-scribblers will certainly report nothing and invent nothing.' there are many other anecdotes and stories told about him. being asked how long he would continue to praise some and satirize others, he replied: 'as long as the virtuous do good and the wicked do evil, but god forbid that i should be as the scorpion which stingeth equally the prophet and the infidel.' he had a most wonderful memory, which he applied, however, not to the preservation of interpretations and their vouchers, but to that of anecdotes, drolleries, and witty sayings, wherefore his name has been perpetuated as that of a joker. he died a.d. . mention must also be made of abdullah bin muslim bin kutaiba, who was a philologist and grammarian of eminent talent, and noted for the correctness of his information. he was the author of many works, such as 'the book of facts,' 'the writer's guide,' 'notices on the poets,' and 'a treatise on horses,' and others, all of which were more or less celebrated in their time. he was born a.d. , and died, some say, in a.d. , others in a.d. . ibn duraid, whose many other names are given by ibn khallikan, is described by that author as 'the most accomplished scholar, the ablest philologer, and the first poet of the age.' masudi and other men of learning also speak of him in the highest terms. he composed several works on natural history, and produced also a complete dictionary of this kind, after the model of the books 'al-a'in' and 'al-jim,' the two letters of the alphabet with which khalil, the grammarian, and abu amr as shaibani respectively began their works. ibn duraid died at baghdad a.d. . the celebrated motazelite divine abu haslim abd-as salam al-jubbai died the same day, and this caused the people to say that 'to-day philology and dogmatic theology have ceased to exist.' in the east, by philosophy not only logic and metaphysics are meant, but also all ethical, political, mathematical, and medical sciences. indeed, it may be said that nearly all learned men were in those days called philosophers, a term which included mathematicians, astronomers, physicians, encyclopædists and others. from the mass of arab authors all laying claim to the title of philosopher, it is perhaps an invidious task to select a few only, and even those selected by one person might be rejected by another. but public opinion will probably agree in naming three persons as having claim to the highest rank in arab learning. they are al-kindi, al-farabi, and ali-ibn sina, commonly called avicenna. ali-bin ridhwan, al-ghazali, ibn bajah (avempace), and ibn rashid (averroes) have also their claims to be considered, while thalab bin korra, kosta bin luka, al-tavhidi, and al-majridi were also all eminent men. a few details will be given about the first seven of the names just mentioned. yakub-bin ishak al-kindi, the philosopher of the arabs, known in europe by the corrupted name of alchendius, possessed an encyclopædic mind, and being himself a living encyclopædia, he composed one of all the sciences. he divided philosophy into three branches, the mathematical, the physical, and the ethical. he declared the nullity of alchemy, which ibn sina had again brought to honourable notice, till the physician abdul latif declaimed against it. but al-kindi was not sufficiently advanced to write against astrology, which is still in full force all over the east even in our own times. only one of his works has as yet been published in europe, and that treats on the composition of medicines, though we possess the titles of not less than two hundred and thirty-four works composed by him on a variety of subjects. he died a.d. . abu nasr al-farabi (alfarabius), called by the arabs a second aristotle, is generally considered to be the second arab philosopher; avicenna, who always quotes him in his works, the third; the first place being assigned to al-kindi. al-farabi studied arabic (he was a turk by birth) and philosophy in baghdad, where he attended the lectures of abu bishr matta bin yunus, who possessed, and also imparted to his pupils, the gift of expressing the deepest meanings in the easiest words. from baghdad he went to harran, where yuhanna bin khailan, the christian philosopher, was teaching logic, and after his return he made all the works of aristotle his special study. it is related that the following note was found inscribed in al-farabi's handwriting on a copy of aristotle's treatise on the soul: 'i have read over this book two hundred times.' he also said that he had read over aristotle's 'physics' forty times, and felt that he ought to read it over again. abul kasim said, of cordova, says in his 'classes of philosophers' that 'al-farabi led all the professors of islam to the right understanding of logic by unveiling and explaining its secrets, as well as by considering all those points which al-kindi had neglected, and by teaching the application of analogy to all occurring cases.' in his enumeration and limitation of the sciences, al-farabi embraced the whole system of knowledge as it then existed. he went to egypt, and afterwards to damascus, where he died in a.d. . during his residence at damascus he was mostly to be found near the borders of some rivulet, or in a shady garden; there he composed his works and received the visits of his pupils. he was extremely abstemious, and entirely indifferent to wealth and poverty. the list of his works on philosophical and scientific subjects amount to sixty-one. mr. munk's 'mélanges de philosophie juive et arabe' (paris, ) contains good articles on al-farabi and al-kindi. ibn sina (avicenna) was a great philosopher and physician. at the age of ten years he had completed the study of the koran in bukhara, where afterwards a certain natili became his tutor, with whom he first studied the 'eisagoge' of porphyry, and afterwards euclid, and lastly the 'almagest' of ptolemy. natili then departed, and an ardent desire to study medicine having taken possession of ibn sina, he commenced to read medical books, which not being so difficult to understand as mathematics and metaphysics, he made such rapid progress in them that he soon became an excellent physician, and cured his patients by treating them with well-approved remedies. he began also to study jurisprudence before he was thirteen. at the age of eighteen he entered the service of a prince of the beni saman dynasty, nuh bin mansur, at bukhara, a paralytic, who entertained many physicians at his court, and ibn sina joined their number. there he composed his 'collection,' in which he treated of all the sciences except mathematics, and there also he wrote his book of 'the acquirer and the acquired.' he then left bukhara, and lived in various towns of khurasan, but never went further west, spending his whole life in the countries beyond the oxus, in khwarizm and in persia, although he wrote in arabic. it would be superfluous to follow all his changes of fortune, but it may be mentioned that when he was the first physician and vizier of mezd-ud-daulah, a sultan of the bowide dynasty, he was twice deposed and put in irons. he also appears to have acted treacherously towards ala-ud-daulah, a prince of ispahan, who was his benefactor. he was four years in prison, but at last succeeded in deceiving his guardians, and escaped. his dangerous travels, and the depression of mind inseparable from reverses of fortune, however, never interrupted his scientific pursuits. his taste for study and his activity were such that, as he himself informs us, not a single day passed in which he had not written fifty leaflets. the list of manuscripts left by him, and scattered in various libraries of europe, is considerable, and though many of his works have been lost, some are still in existence. the fatigues of his long journeys, and the excesses of all kinds in which he indulged, abridged the life of this celebrated scholar, who died in a.d. , at the age of fifty-six, at hamadan, where the following epitaph adorns his tomb: 'the great philosopher, the great physician, ibn sina, is dead. his books on philosophy have not taught him the art of living well, nor his books on medicine the art of living long.' a brief notice must be given of the celebrated physician and philosopher, ali bin ridhwan, who died a.d. . he was such a prodigy of precocious learning that he began to lecture on medicine and philosophy at cairo from his fourteenth year. he afterwards also taught astronomy. at the age of thirty-two he had attained a great reputation as a physician, and was a rich man at sixty. he left more than one hundred books which he had composed, and he himself says: 'i made abridgments of the chief philosophical works of the ancients, and left in this manner five books on philology; ten on law; the medical works of hippocrates and galen; the book of plants of dioskorides; the books of rufus, paulus, hawi, and razi; four books on agriculture and drugs; four books for instruction in the 'almagest' of ptolemy, and an introduction to the study of it, and to the square of ptolemy; as also to the works of plato, alexander, themistios, and al-farabi. i purchased all these books, no matter what they cost, and preserved them in chests, although it would have been more profitable to have sold them again rather than have kept them.' ibn batlan, a clever physician, was a contemporary of ibn ridhwan, and travelled from baghdad to egypt only for the purpose of making his acquaintance, but the result does not appear to have been satisfactory to either party. he died a.d. , leaving a number of works on medical and other subjects. abu hamid al-ghazali was born a.d. . he was considered chiefly as a lawyer and a mystic, but here he will be noticed chiefly as a philosopher and the author of 'the ruin of philosophers,' noticed at length by haji khalfa in his 'encyclopædical dictionary,' under no. . but ghazali's most celebrated work is 'the resuscitation of religious sciences,' which is so permeated by the genius of islam that, according to the general opinion of scholars, the muhammadan religion, if it were to perish, might again be restored from this work alone. orthodox fanatics, nevertheless, attacked his works as being schismatic, and they were even burnt in the mugrib. he was born at tus (the modern mashad), in khurasan, and passed his life partly there, also at naisapur, baghdad, damascus, egypt, and finally returned to tus, where he died a.d. . his works are very numerous, and all of them are instructive. ibn bajah (known to europeans under the name of avempace) was a philosoper and a poet of considerable celebrity, and a native of saragossa, in spain. he was attacked by some people for his religious opinions, and represented as an infidel and an atheist, professing the doctrines held by the ancient sages and philosophers. ibn khallikan defends ibn bajah, and says that these statements were much exaggerated, but adds: 'god, however, knows best what his principles were,' abul hassan ali al-imam, of granada, was of opinion that ibn bajah was the greatest arab philosopher after al-farabi, and places him higher than ibn sina and al-ghazali. he left numerous logical, grammatical and political works, and died at fez in a.d. . averroes, whose full and correct name is abul walid muhammad bin rashid, was a celebrated arab scholar, born at cordova a.d. , and the author of many writings. he taught in his native town philosophy and medicine, two sciences which appeared for a long time to be inseparable, and the vulgar considered those professing them to be of almost supernatural attainments. the period of averroes is that of the decadence of arab dominion in spain, a period when this great nation also lost the taste for sciences which it had brought to europe. considering the prodigious number of works composed by averroes, who filled at the same time the offices of imam and kadi, his entire life must have been one of labour and meditation. he is the author of an arabic version of aristotle, but it is not the first which existed in that language, as some of his biographers assert, because this work had been produced already at baghdad during the brilliant khalifate of mamun. there are various manuscripts of averroes extant treating on physics, pure mathematics, astronomy and astrology, from which it would appear that, in spite of their encyclopædic attainments, the celebrated men of these times still believed in some popular errors. science was at that time surrounded by a kind of superstitious halo of respect, to which averroes, like so many others, is indebted for a good part of his renown. he died a.d. , in the city of morocco; his corpse was transferred to cordova and there interred. medical science had already, under the second khalif of the house of abbas (a.d. - ), enjoyed the highest honours, which it ever afterwards retained. great physicians were brought from the persian hospital of jondshapur, and between the years a.d. and the number of physicians was considerable, but only the most celebrated will be noticed. georgios (jorjis) bin bakhtyeshun, of jondshapur, lived at the commencement of the abbaside dynasty, and was the author of the book of pandects. when al-mansur was building the city of baghdad he suffered from pains in his stomach and from impotency, and georgios, the director of the medical college at jondshapur, was recommended to him as the most skilled physician of the time. accordingly, the khalif directed georgios and two of his pupils, ibrahim and serjis, to come to baghdad, appointing gabriel (jebrayl), the son of georgios, as director of the hospital in the place of his father. georgios cured al-mansur, and received from him three thousand ducats for his reward, along with a beautiful slave girl; the latter was, however, returned to the khalif with thanks, and the remark that, 'being a christian, he could not keep more than one wife.' from that moment the physician attained free access to the harem, and enjoyed high favour with the khalif, who greatly pressed him in a.d. to make a profession of islam; but this he refused to do, and died shortly afterwards, in a.d. . before his death georgios asked to be allowed to return to jondshapur, to be buried there with his ancestors. al-mansur said, 'fear god, and i guarantee you paradise.' georgios replied, 'i am satisfied to be with my ancestors, be it in paradise or be it in hell.' the khalif laughed, allowed him to return home, and presented him with ten thousand pieces of gold for his travelling, expenses. gabriel (jebrayl), the son of the above-named georgios (jorjis), was also a celebrated physician. he enjoyed great favour with harun-ar-rashid, who used to declare that he would not refuse him anything. when, however, this khalif fell ill at tus, and asked gabriel for his opinion, the latter replied that if harun had followed his advice to be moderate in sexual pleasure, he would not have been attacked by the disease. for this reply he was thrown into prison, and his life was saved only by the chamberlain rabi'i, who was very fond of him. amin, the son and successor of rashid, followed the advice of gabriel more than his father did, and would not eat or drink anything without his doctor's sanction. in a.d. gabriel cured sehl bin hasan, who recommended him to mamun; but michael, the son-in-law of gabriel, was his body physician. in a.d. mamun fell sick, and, as all the medicines of michael were of no use, isa, the brother of mamun, advised him to get himself treated by gabriel, who had known him from boyhood; but abu ishak, the other brother of mamun, called in yahya bin maseweih, and when he could do nothing, then mamun sent for gabriel, who restored him to health in three days, and was handsomely rewarded in consequence. when mamun marched, in a.d. , against the byzantines, gabriel fell sick and died, whereon the khalif took gabriel's son with him on the campaign, he being also an intelligent and skilled physician. the works of gabriel are: ( ) a treatise on food and drink, dedicated to mamun. ( ) an introduction to logic. ( ) extracts from medical pandects. ( ) a book on fumigatories. isa bin musa, who flourished about a.d. , was also one of the most distinguished physicians of the period. he left the following works: ( ) book on the forces of alimentary substances. ( ) a treatise for a person who has no access to a physician. ( ) questions concerning derivations and races. ( ) book of dreams, indicating why medicines should not be given to pregnant women. ( ) book of the remedies mentioned by hippocrates in his treatise on bleeding and cupping. ( ) dissertation on the use of baths. without giving any details about maseweih, yahya bin maseweih, honein bin ishak, and kosta bin luka, all of whom were distinguished for medical knowledge, some fuller mention must be made of abu bakr ar-razi (rhases), who has been described as 'the ablest physician of that age and the most distinguished; a perfect master of the art of medicine, skilled in its practice, and thoroughly grounded in its principles and rules.' he composed a number of useful works on medicine, and some of his sayings have been handed down to us, and are still worthy of record, such as: ( ) when you can cure by a regimen, avoid having recourse to medicine. ( ) when you can effect a cure with a simple medicine, avoid employing a compound one. ( ) with a learned physician and an obedient patient sickness soon disappears. ( ) treat an incipient malady with remedies which will not prostrate the strength. till the end of his life he continued at the head of his profession, finally lost his sight, and died in a.d. . a new and much improved edition of razi's 'treatise on the small-pox and measles' was published in london in a.d. by dr. greenhill, and an article on him will also be found in wüstenfeld's 'history of the arabian physicians.' poetry flourished to a very great extent during the reigns of the early abbaside khalifs, and, as all arab _littérateurs_ were more or less poets and writers of verses, it is somewhat difficult to select the most celebrated. the first collection of arabic poems was compiled by al-mofadhdhal in the work called after him--'mofadhdhaliat.' he was followed by abu amr as shaibani, by abu zaid bin a'us, ibn-as sikkit, muhammad bin habib, abu hatim es sejastani, and abu othman al mazini. abu tammam and al-bohtori, the collectors of the two hamasas, are considered to be the two greatest poets of the third century of the hijrah (a.d. - ). and it may here be observed that in the great bibliographical dictionary of haji khalfa, who enumerates seven hamasas, the names of ibn-ul marzaban and of ibn demash, each of whom composed one, are not mentioned. zukkari made himself a reputation by editing several of the mua'llakat, as also the poems of the great pre-islamite bards, al-aasha and al-kama, whilst abu bakr as sauli likewise acquired great merit by publishing ten of the master-works of arabic poetry. from the many poets of this period some of the most celebrated have been selected--viz., farazdak, jarir, al-akhtal, abul-atahya, bashshar bin burd, abu nuwas, abu tammam, al-otbi, al-bohtori, al-mutanabbi, and an-nami, and a few biographical details about them will be given, as also some remarks about al-mofadhdhal, the first collector and compiler of arab poetry, and of abul faraj-al-ispahani, the collector of the great anthology called 'kitab-ul-aghani,' or the book of songs. jarir and al-farazdak were two very celebrated poets, who lived at the same time and died in the same year, a.d. - . ibn khallikan has given their lives at considerable length, and says that 'jarir was in the habit of making satires on al-farazdak, who retorted in the same manner, and they composed parodies on each other's poems.' jarir always used to say that the same demon inspired them both, and consequently each knew what the other would say. on all occasions they seem to have been excessively rude in verse to each other, and did not at all mind about having recourse to actual insult. the lives of al-akhtal, al-farazdak, and jarir, translated from the 'kitab-ul-aghani' and other sources, have been given by mr. caussin de perceval in the _journal asiatique_ for the year . prom this it would appear that the verses of these three poets were much discussed during their lifetime, and often compared with the productions of the other poets who followed them. some writers are in favour of one and some of the other, but the general opinion of them is that their effusions resembled the arab poetry written before the period of muhammad much more than any poetry that was written during the reign of the abbasides. al-akhtal belonged to a christian tribe of arabs, and was much patronized by the omaiyide khalif abdul malik (a.d. - ), in whose glory and honour he composed many verses, and, indeed, such good ones, that harun-ar-rashid used to say no poet had ever said so much in praise of the abbasides as he (akhtal) had written in praise of the omaiyides. he died at an advanced age some years before jarir and farazdak, who were much younger men, but the exact year of his death does not appear to have been recorded. the blind bashshar bin burd and abul-atahya were two of the principal poets who flourished in the first ages of islamism, and ranked in the highest class among the versifiers of that period. the former was put to death, or rather beaten, by the orders of the khalif al-mahdi, for certain satirical verses which the poet is said to have written, and from the effects of these strokes of a whip he died in a.d. . abul-atahya wrote many verses on ascetic subjects, and all his amatory pieces were composed in honour and praise of otba, a female slave belonging to the khalif al-mahdi, and to whom he appears to have been devotedly attached. he was born a.d. , and died a.d. . abu nuwas was a poet of great celebrity. his father, hani, was a soldier in the army of marwan ii., the last omaiyide khalif, and the poet was born in a.d. , some say in damascus, others at busra, and others at al-ahwaz. his mother apprenticed him to a grocer, and the boy became acquainted with the poet abu osâma, who discovered his talent, and induced him to accompany him to baghdad. there abu nuwas afterwards became celebrated as one of the chief bards at the court of the khalif, and his most famous kasida is that which he composed in praise of amin, the son of harun-ar-rashid. according to the critics of his time, he was the greatest poet in islam, as amriolkais had been before that period. when merzeban was asked which he considered the greater poet, abu nuwas or rakashi, he replied, 'a curse of abu nuwas in hell contains more poetry than a laudation of rakâshi's in paradise.' he was a favourite of amin, whom his brother mamun reproached for associating with him, because abu nuwas enjoyed the reputation of being the greatest libertine of all the poets. sulaiman, the son of al-mansur, complained to the khalif amin that abu nuwas had insulted him with lampoons, and desired him to be punished with death; but amin replied: 'dear uncle, how can i order a man to be killed who has praised me in such beautiful verses?' and thereupon recited them. mamun, the son of harun, states that he asked the great critic yakut bin sikkit to what poet he gave the preference. he replied: 'among the pre-islamite ones to amriolkais and al-aasha, among the older muslim poets to jarir and farazdak, and among the more recent to abu nuwas.' otbi, having been asked who was the greatest poet, replied; 'according to the opinion of the people, amriolkais, but according to mine, abu nuwas.' al-khasib, the chief of the revenue office in egypt, once asked abu nuwas from what family he came. 'my talents,' replied he, 'stand me instead of noble birth,' and no further questions were asked him. he was a freethinker, who joked about the precepts of islam. once a sunni and a rafidhi desired him to be the umpire in their quarrel, as to who occupied the most exalted position after the prophet. he said: 'a certain yazid,' and on their asking who this yazid might be, he replied: 'an excellent fellow, who presents me with a thousand dirhems every year.' he used to say that the wine of this world is better than that of the next; and, being asked for the reason, replied: 'this is a sample of the wine of paradise, and for a sample the best is always taken.' ismail bin nubakht said: 'i never saw a man of more extensive learning than abu nuwas, nor one who, with a memory so richly furnished, possessed so few books. after his decease we searched his house, and could only find one book-cover containing a quire of paper, in which was a collection of rare expressions and grammatical observations.' he died on the same day as the mystic al-kerkhi, whose corpse was accompanied to the grave by more than three hundred persons, but that of abu nuwas by not one. when, however, one of the three hundred exclaimed: 'was not abu nuwas a muslim? and why do none of the muslims recite the funeral prayer over his body? all the three hundred who had assisted at the interment of kerkhi recited the prayer also over the corpse of abu nuwas. he is considered to have been an equally good narrator, scholar, and poet; and, being asked by sulaiman bin sehl what species of poetry he thought to be the best, replied: 'there are no poems on wine equal to my own, and to my amatory compositions all others must yield,' he used to boast that he knew by heart the poems of sixty poetesses, and among them those of khansa and leila, as also seven hundred arjuzat, or poems in unshackled metre, by men. he said that he could compose nothing except when he was in a good humour, and in a shady garden. he often began a kasida, put it away for several days, and then took it up again to rescind much of it. according to abu amr, the three greatest poets in the description of wine are aasha, akhtal, and abu nuwas. abu hatim al mekki often said that the deep meanings of thoughts were concealed underground until abu nuwas dug them out. his end was tragic. zonbor, the secretary, and abu nuwas were in the habit of composing lampoons against each other; whereon the former conceived the idea of propagating a satire against ali, the son-in-law of the prophet, in the name of abu nuwas; and this became the cause of his death. in an already half-drunken circle zonbor recited the satire on ali as the work of abu nuwas; on which all fell upon the poet, ripped open his belly, and pulled his entrails about till he expired. others assert that ismail bin abu sehl administered a poisonous potion to abu nuwas, because he had composed a lampoon against him; but its operation was so slow that he died only four months after he had drunk it. his death took place at baghdad in a.d. . al-otbi was a poet of great celebrity, and taught traditions to the people of baghdad; but was more generally noted for drinking wine and composing love verses about his beloved otba. being of the tribe of koraish, and of the family of omaya, he and his father held a high rank, and were regarded as accomplished scholars and elegant speakers, otbi both composed and collected poems. one of his verses has now acquired the force of a proverb: 'when sulaima saw me turn my eyes away--and i turn my glances away from all who resemble her--she said: "i once saw thee mad with love;" and i replied: "youth is a madness of which old age is the cure."' he died in a.d. . abu tammam habib, the celebrated poet, according to ibn khallikan, 'surpassed all his contemporaries in the purity of his style, the merit of his poetry, and his excellent manner of treating a subject. he is the author of a hamasa, a compilation which is a standing proof of his great talents, solid information, and good taste in making a selection.' he wrote several other works connected with poets and poetry, composed many kasidas, and knew by heart, it is said, fourteen thousand verses of that class of compositions called rajaz, or free metre. the poetry of abu tammam was put in order for the first time by abu bakr as sauli, who arranged it alphabetically, according to the rhymes, and then abul faraj ali bin husain al-ispahani classed it according to the subjects. he died at mosul a.d. , about forty years of age, and was buried there; but his verses have survived, and rendered him one of the immortals. the mantle of the poet abu tammam appears to have fallen on abu abada al-bohtori, who was born in a.d. , and, like his predecessor, is also the author of a hamasa. he appears to have received his first encouragement to persevere as a poet from abu tammam, and later on he says: 'i recited to abu tammam a poem which i had composed in honour of one of the humaid family, and by which i gained a large sum of money. when i finished he exclaimed: "very good! you shall be the prince of poets when i am no more." these words gave me more pleasure than all the wealth which i had collected.' on being asked whether he or abu tammam was the better poet, al-bohtori replied: 'his best pieces surpass the best of mine, and my worst are better than the worst of his,' abul-ala al maarri, a great philologist and poet (born in a.d. , died a.d. ), was asked which was the best poet of the three, abu tammam, al-bohtori, or al-mutanabbi; he replied that two of them were moralists, and that bohtori was the poet. he died a.d. . his poems were not arranged in order till abu bakr as sauli collected them and classed them alphabetically by their rhymes, while abul faraj ali bin husain al-ispahani collected them also, and arranged them according to their subjects. a copy of his 'diwan' is in the bibliothèque nationale in paris. al mutanabbi, or the pretended prophet, a _rôle_ to which he aspired, but in which he did not succeed, comes next to the two great poets--abu tammam and al-bohtori--though some critics consider him to be superior to them. he is, however, generally acknowledged to be a great lyric poet, while many of his best kasidas refer to the exploits of saif ad dawlah, a prince of the benou hamdan dynasty in syria. after leaving him he went to egypt, then to persia, baghdad, and finally kufa, his native place, near which he was killed in a fight in a.d. . it is stated that in this contest mutanabbi, seeing himself vanquished, was taking to flight, when his slave said to him, 'let it never be said that you fled from a fight, you who are the author of this verse: "the horse, and the night, and the desert know me (well); the sword also, and the lance, and paper and the pen."' upon this he turned back and fought till he was slain, along with his son and his slave. his 'diwan,' or collection of poems, is well known, and much read in our times, even in india. it has been translated into german. an-nami was one of the ablest and most talented poets of his time, but inferior to mutanabbi, with whom he had some encounters and contests in reciting extemporary verses when they were at the court of saif ad dawlah together. he died a.d. at aleppo, aged ninety. abul-abbas al-mofadhdhal, the collector of the celebrated selection of arabic poems called the 'mofadhdhaliat,' which served as a model for the hamasas, was the first editor of the seven suspended poems, the mua'llakat, and also one of the earliest of the arab philologists. he was a native of kufa, and adhered to the faction of ibrahim bin abdallah; who rebelled in a.d. against al-mansur, the second abbaside khalif. al-mansur, however, pardoned al-mofadhdhal, and attached him to the household of his son, al-mahdi, by whose orders mofadhdhal made a collection of the most celebrated longer poems of the arabs, one hundred and twenty-eight in number, under the title of the mofadhdhaliat. this, the oldest anthology of arabian poets, was first commented upon by his disciple, al-aarabi; then two hundred years later by the two great philologists and anthologists, al-anbari and an-nahas; by merzuk; and lastly by tibrizi, who is sufficiently known in europe as the editor and commentator of the hamasa, published by freytag with a latin translation. mofadhdhal supported himself as a copyist of the koran, and spent the last portion of his life in mosques doing penance for the satires which he had composed against various individuals. his other works were a book of proverbs, a treatise on prosody, another on the ideas usually expressed in poetry, and a vocabulary. he was held to be of the first authority as a philologist, a genealogist, and a relator of the poems and battle-lays of the desert arabs. he died a.d. . abul faraj ali bin husain al-ispahani is the collector of the great anthology called 'kitab-ul-aghani' (the book of songs). this work, which surpasses all former ones of this name, he produced after a labour of forty years, and presented it to saif ad dawlah, who gave him a thousand pieces of gold for it, but excused himself at the same time for the smallness of this honorarium. in spite of his other works, and the long string of names given him by ibn khallikan, he is best known as al-ispahani, and as the author of the aghani. his family inhabited ispahan, but he passed his early youth in baghdad, and became the most distinguished scholar and most eminent author of that city. he was born a.d. , and died a.d. , in which year also died the great scholar kali, and the three greatest of his patrons, namely, saif ad dawlah, the sovereign of the benou hamdan in syria; moiz ud dawlah, the sovereign of the benou bujeh in irak; and kafur, who governed egypt in the name of the akhsid dynasty. the 'book of songs,' notwithstanding its title, is an important biographical dictionary, treating of grammar, history and science, as well as of poetry. mention can here be made of abu muhammad kassim al-hariri, who was one of the ablest writers of his time, and the author of the 'makâmat hariri,' a work consisting of fifty oratorical, poetical, moral, encomiastic and satirical discourses, supposed to have been spoken or read in public assemblies. poets, historians, grammarians and lexicographers look upon the 'makâmat' (assemblies or séances) as the highest authority, and next to the koran, as far at least as language is concerned. it contains a large portion of the language spoken by the arabs of the desert, such as its idioms, its proverbs, and its subtle delicacies of expression; and, according to ibn khallikan, any person who acquires a sufficient acquaintance with this book to understand it rightly, will be led to acknowledge the eminent merit of the author, his extensive information, and his vast abilities. a great number of persons have commented on the 'makâmat,' some in long and others in short treatises, and many consider it to be the most elegantly written, and the most amusing, work in the arabic language. hariri was born a.d. , and died at busra a.d. . he left some other good works in the shape of treatises, epistles, and a great number of poetical pieces, besides those contained in his 'makâmat.' there are two translations of the 'makâmat' into english. one by the reverend theodore preston, printed under the patronage of the oriental translation fund, london, . it contains only twenty of the fifty pieces in verse, with copious notes, while an epitome of the remaining thirty pieces is given at the end of the book. the other by the late mr. chennery, which ends with the twenty-sixth assembly or séance. the whole work was edited in arabic, with a select commentary upon it in french, by baron silvestre de sacy, and this was reprinted in . ruckert also made a very free translation of it in german verse, which reached a third edition in , but this differs widely from the contents of the original, though it is said to be more pleasing and attractive to a general reader. after the muslim legal sciences had been established upon the fourfold foundations of the koran, tradition, general consent of communities, and the analogies derived therefrom, then philosophy and mathematics began to flourish by translations made either directly from the greek or through syriac and persian. in former times, during the reign of nausherwan, a persian monarch of great renown (a.d. - ), there was some intercourse between persian and byzantine philosophers; several books on logic and medicine had been translated from greek into persian, and from these abdullah ibn al-mukaffa made translations into arabic. the literary career of ibn al-mukaffa, who presumed to vie with the eloquence of the koran, and was considered to be a freethinker, and eventually slain, falls into the reign of al-mansur (a.d. - ), the second khalif. but ibn al-mukaffa rendered such services to arabian literature, that a short sketch of his life will presently be given. during the reign of mansur (a.d. - ) greek works were translated, not yet from the original, but from the persian. during the khalifate of his son, mahdi (a.d. - ), abd-allah bin hilal translated the celebrated animal fables of bidpay from persian into arabic, under the title of 'kalilah wa dimnah,' and they were afterwards versified by selil bin nubakht. in persian they are known under several titles, such as 'kalilah wa dimnah,' the 'anwar-i suheli,' and the 'ayar danish,' and in turkish as the 'humayan-namah.' eight years before the seventh khalif, mamun (a.d. - ), ascended the throne, many greek and syrian manuscripts had been collected in baghdad. these were all preserved there in the library, which was called 'the house of wisdom,' until mamun began to utilize them by means of translations. the khalif appointed the scholars al-hajjaj, ibn máttar, ibn ul-batrik, and selma, to superintend the work, while the three brothers, muhammad, ahmed, and hasan, sons of the astronomer shakir, were directed to search for and to buy manuscripts. mamun also sent the two physicians, yohanna and kosta, into the byzantine dominions to bring manuscripts from thence to baghdad. a new class of scholars was then formed, in the shape of translators, who were employed in translating works from the greek, the syriac, and the persian languages into arabic. the translators from the persian were musa and yusuf, the two sons of khalid, hasan bin sehl, and afterwards, al-baladori; from the sanscrit, munkah the indian; from the nabataean, ibn wahshiyah. science became hereditary, as it were, in the families of the most celebrated scholars; medical science in the family of bakhtyeshun; translations from greek works in that of honein bin ishak, the most famous of all translators, and a prolific author besides. maseweih and his son yahya, syriac christians, were both celebrated as physicians and translators of ancient greek works into arabic; while kosta bin luka, who died in a.d. , was also one of the most fertile translators from greek into arabic, and, being born a greek, he was able to correct the translations of honein bin ishak and others. the number of translators, which amounted to about one hundred, might have been increased if arab literature had further developed itself by incorporating works from other languages; but, as such was not the case, translators appeared very few and far between after the literature had attained to its highest perfection, at the end of the third century of the hijrah (a.d. ). the celebrated ibn al-mukaffa was one of the earliest and best translators. his full name is abd-allah ibn al-mukaffa, but before he made his profession of islam he bore that of ruzbeh. he was a native of har, a town in the province of fars, and first served as secretary to daud bin hobeirah, and then to isa bin ali, the uncle of the two first khalifs of the house of abbas. he was an excellent poet, letter-writer, and orator, equally skilled in his mother-tongue, the persian, as in the arabic language, from the former of which he left the splendid translations of-- ( ) 'the khodanamah,' a legend. ( ) 'the amirnamah,' or prince-book. ( ) 'kalilah wa dimnah.' ( ) 'merdak.' ( ) 'biography of nausherwan.' ( ) 'the great book of manners.' ( ) 'the small book of manners or good habits.' ( ) 'the book of epistles.' so far the 'fihrist'; what follows is from ibn khallikan. ibn al-mukaffa was the secretary and most confidential servant of isa bin ali, with whom he dined the day before he made his public profession of islam. having sat down, he began to eat and to mutter according to the custom of the magians. 'how,' said isa, 'you mutter like the magians, though resolved to embrace islamism!' to which ibn al-mukaffa replied that he did not wish to pass a single night without being of some religion. in spite of his conversion, he was always suspected of freethinking, like muti bin iyas and yahya bin zaad, and one day, when al-jahiz, the philologist, made the remark that they were persons the sincerity of whose religious sentiments was doubted, one of the learned, on hearing this, said: 'how is it that al-jahiz forgets to count himself?' when khalil the prosodist was one day asked his opinion about ibn al-mukaffa, he said, 'his learning is greater than his wit;' and the latter, being asked the same question concerning khalil, replied, 'his wit is greater than his learning.' being a favourite with the khalif, he took great liberties with sofyan, the governor of busra, and insulted the memory of his mother. one day sulaiman and isa, the uncles of the khalif mansur, desired to obtain a letter of amnesty from him for their brother abd-allah, and they instructed ibn al-mukaffa to compose one in the strongest terms, which he did, and added to it the following clause, 'should the prince of the believers ever act treacherously towards his uncle abd-allah, then may he be divorced from his wives, may his slaves be free, and may his subjects be solved from obedience!' the khalif's dignity was shocked, and he ordered the writer of this letter of amnesty to be forthwith executed, and the governor of busra, whom ibn al-mukaffa had many times insulted, very gladly undertook the duty. al-madaini narrates that when ibn al-mukaffa was brought before sofyan, the latter asked him whether he remembered the insults he had heaped upon his mother, and added, 'may my mother really deserve those insults if i do not get you executed in a manner hitherto unheard of!' he also recalled ibn al-mukaffa's joke about sofyan's big nose, because he had one day asked the governor, 'how are you and your nose?' on another occasion, when the governor remarked that he never had reason to repent keeping silence, ibn al-mukaffa replied, 'dumbness becomes you; then why should you repent of it.' accordingly sofyan ordered the members of ibn al-mukaffa's body to be chopped off, one after the other, and thrown into a burning oven, into which, last of all, the trunk of his body was also thrown. there are other accounts of his death, viz., that he was strangled in a bath, or shut up in a privy. one opinion, however, generally prevails, that the execution was not a public one. the date of it is uncertain--a.d. , , and , are all given; but the victim was only thirty-six years of age at the time. a few remarks may be made about the support given to learning and men of letters by the omaiyide and abbaside khalifs, as also by those of the spanish or western khalifate. the omaiyide khalifs, with their capital at damascus, were generally patrons of science, poetry, architecture, song, and music. but all these branches of knowledge were at that time merely rudimental; and, of the fourteen sovereigns of the dynasty, only five really deserve the name of protectors of learning; and of these abdul malik (a.d. - ), and his son walid i. (a.d. - ), were the most distinguished. during the period of their khalifate there were not only male, but also some female poets. all their poems are mostly short, and confined to amatory, laudatory, or vituperative compositions, called forth by the momentary circumstances in which the authors happened to be placed. these pieces do not represent either deep thought or profound wisdom, but they show the feelings of the people, and their state of civilization at the time in question. during this khalifate were also produced the earliest germs of stylistics, epistolography and mysticism, all of which were more fully developed under the abbasides. the originator of the first two was the katib abd al-hamid, secretary to the last omaiyide khalif, and he is designated in an old arabic rhyme as 'the father of all secretaries.' epistolary writing, it was said, began with abd al-hamid, and finished with ibn al-amid. as regards mysticism, the origin of its doctrines is sometimes assigned to oweis al-kareni, the prophet's companion, who disappeared mysteriously in a.d. . but mysticism and sufism were subsequently much developed by muhi-uddin muhammad, surnamed ibn al-arabi, a most voluminous writer on these subjects. he was born at murcia, in spain, a.d. , and after studying in that country, went to the east, made the pilgrimage, visited cairo and other cities, and died at damascus a.d. . he is the author of many works, but the most remarkable of them are 'revelations obtained at mecca' and 'maxims of wisdom set as jewels.' both makkari the historian, and von hammer purgstall, in his history of arabian literature from the earliest times, give a long account of him. of the khalifs of the house of abbas, the second, third, fifth and seventh, viz., al-mansur (a.d. - ), al-mahdi (a.d. - ), harun-ar-rashid (a.d. - ), and al-mamun (a.d. - ) were the most distinguished as patrons of art, science and literature. but after the translation of the 'arabian nights' into european languages, the name of harun-ar-rashid became the best known in europe as the representative of the most brilliant period of the eastern khalifate, and as the great protector of arabic literature. baghdad, the capital of the abbasides, was founded by their second khalif, al-mansur, in a.d. , finished in four years, and raised to a high degree of splendour by harun-ar-rashid. originally it was considered only as a great strategic point, and its garrisons were to keep the surrounding country in subjection. eventually it became the centre of learning and civilization, and an arab author wrote of it as follows: 'baghdad is certainly the capital of the world, and the mine of every excellence. it is the city whose inhabitants have always been the first to unfurl the banners of knowledge, and to raise the standard of science; indeed, their subtlety in all branches of learning, their gentle manners and amiable disposition, noble bearing, acuteness, wit, penetration and talent are deservedly praised.' baghdad, at the beginning of the ninth century of the christian era, was the centre of all that was grand and brilliant in the muhammadan world. art and commerce, literature and science, were cultivated to a high degree, and the luxury and extravagance of court life exceeded almost the imagination of temperate european minds. everything curious, romantic and wonderful, narrated in the 'nights' is connected with harun-ar-rashid's name, or supposed to have happened in his reign. thus, his vizier, jaafar, the barmekide, the superintendent of his harem, mesrur, and his spouse, zobeida, were first made known to novel-readers, and their importance as historical personages were duly appreciated afterwards, when erpenius, pococke, herbelot, and reiske elucidated the history of the khalifate by translating the works of the arab chroniclers abul-faraj, al-makin, and abul-feda. later on still further information was made public about the translations made from greek and syriac into arabic during his reign, as also concerning his position, not only as a lover of tales, but as a promoter of jurisprudence, a patron of the medical and mathematical sciences, and a builder of magnificent and useful edifices. his court was also well attended by poets and singers. harun was not, indeed, the first prince who made arrangements for translations from the greek and the syriac. in this he had been preceded, as already mentioned, by the omaiyide prince, khalid, the alchemist. but during the reign of harun the business of translation was carried on to a much greater extent than it was under his predecessors, the khalifs mansur and mahdi, during whose time translations were undertaken from greek into syriac, from indian (sanscrit) into persian, but not yet into arabic. the translators were mostly christians and jews. theophilos of edessa, the maronite translator of homer and of other greek classics into syriac, was an astronomer and an historian. both he and the physician georgios, son of bakhtyeshun, from the university of jondshapur, were christians. nubakht, the astronomer of the khalif mansur, was a magian (zoroastrian), yahya bin maseweih, harun's physician, translated medical works. hajaj bin yusuf bin matta dedicated his first edition of the elements of euclid to harun, and the second to mamun. as the family of the barmekides played an important part, not only in politics, but also in literature, until its chief members were annihilated by harun's orders, a brief notice of them may here be given. khalid bin barmek was the son of a priest at the fire temple of nevbehar in balkh, and became in course of time vizier of the first abbaside khalif, and was retained in that office by the second khalif, al-mansur, and by the third, al-mahdi. he died a.d. . yahya, the son of khalid, not only himself became the vizier of harun, but also his two sons, fadhl and jaafar. yahya was very liberal, and gave away sometimes considerable sums of money for very small services, or, indeed, for no service at all. after his son jaafar had been executed, yahya was thrown into prison, along with his other son, fadhl, at old rakka, where he died in a.d. , at the age of seventy or seventy-four. fadhl, the son of yahya, was more liberal but less eloquent than his brother jaafar. harun esteemed the two brothers so highly that he entrusted his son muhammad to the care of fadhl, and his son mamun to the care of jaafar. afterwards he made jaafar his vizier, and sent fadhl to be governor of khurasan. there fadhl built mosques, reservoirs of water and caravanserais, augmented the army, and attracted numbers of emigrants to the country, whereby he gained the approval of harun, who ordered his poets to sing his praises. after the execution of jaafar, harun took yahya, with his son fadhl and all the barmekides, to rakka, giving yahya the option to go where he liked; but he preferred to be imprisoned with his son in rakka. there fadhl died in a.d. , and when harun was informed of his death, he said: 'my own is not far,' and died a few months afterwards in tus, the modern mashad. the death of fadhl, as a generous patron, was bewailed by several poets, such as abul hojna, otbi, abu nuwas, and others. fadhl was also notable for his filial piety, and when the use of cold water injured the health of his father whilst they were in prison, he used to warm the water by placing a pot of it on his own stomach. jaafar (the brother of fadhl and a son of yahya), who was slain a.d. , is to be mentioned here, not for his tragic fate, which is well known, but rather for his literary attainments, especially his oratory and his style, in both of which he excelled. from his long biography, written by ibn khallikan, there will be given here only some extracts relating to science and literature. he was a great master of speech, and expressed his thoughts with much elegance. in one night he endorsed more than a thousand petitions addressed to the khalif with his decisions, all of which were in perfect concordance with the law. his instructor in jurisprudence had been abu yusuf the hanifite, whom his father yahya had appointed to teach him. the favour enjoyed by jaafar with harun-ar-rashid was so great that this khalif caused one robe to be made with two separate collars, which they both wore at the same time. ibn khallikan narrates the traditions relating to the fall of jaafar and his family; the one refers to his amours with abbasa, the sister of harun, and to the birth of a child; the other to the escape of a member of ali's family entrusted to jaafar's guardianship by harun. the true cause was probably the khalifs envy of the power, wealth, and generosity of the barmekides, along with the backbitings of their enemies. jaafar was slain at al-omr in the district of al-anbar, his head and the trunk of his body were set up opposite to each other on the two sides of the bridge of baghdad, and his death was lamented by various poets. after mamun (a.d. - ) the most intellectual khalif appears to have been radhi-billah (a.d. - ). his poems were collected in a diwan. he was the last khalif who presided not only over the government as a sovereign, but also over the pulpit as imam; indeed, he may be said to be the terminal point of the power, brilliancy and independence of the house of abbas, which henceforth gradually declined till its final extinction with the conquest of baghdad by the mughals in a.d. . the great chess-player, abu-bakr as sauli, bears witness, in masudi's 'meadows of gold,' to the great accomplishments of radhi-billah, and to his love of the sciences. of games, chess and nerd[ ] flourished during his reign, and although the perfection of song and of lute-playing had already passed away, singers and musicians are still mentioned. of the amusements of the court, hunting appears to have flourished most, and the learned poet koshajim, who wrote on the game of nerd, also left instructive poems on the chase. radhi-billah appears to have been fond of books of travel and of natural history, and of the society of men of letters and of science, and liked listening to recitals on the history, politics, and glory of the old persian kings. [footnote : nerd.--this game is mentioned as early as the shah-namah, the author of which, firdausi, was of opinion that it is of genuine persian, and not of indian origin, like chess, but this assertion is not necessarily correct. hyde has described the game in his 'historia nerdiludii,' and it resembles somewhat the german puff and triktrak, and the english backgammon. it is played on a board divided into black-and-white compartments, with a black and a white house in the centre. the moves are made according to the numbers that come up on the throw of two dice.] of the spanish khalifs, mention only will be made of the ninth sovereign of the benou omaiyide dynasty in andalusia, viz., hakim ii., who died a.d. . among the five arab rulers of spain--viz., three abd-ar-rahmans and two hakims--who have acquired everlasting fame in history as special friends of science and patrons of learned men, abd-ar-rahman iii. and hakim ii. are the greatest and most prominent. they stand in the arab literary history of the west as high as harun and his son mamun do in the history of the literature of the east. as mamun was the greatest of the benou abbas khalifs of baghdad who promoted science and art, so hakim ii. was the greatest of the benou omaiyides in cordova. from his earliest youth he had received a most careful scientific education, and applied his energies to study, as he could not devote them to public affairs on account of the long duration of his father's reign, from a.d. to . hakim's father, abd-ar-rahman iii., invited the learned abu ali ismail al kali, the philologist and author, from the court of baghdad, where he enjoyed the greatest consideration with the khalif mutwakkil, to cordova, and entrusted him with the education of his son, who, later on, composed a diwan (collection of poems), divided into twenty parts, bearing, like the surahs, or chapters of the koran, the most sublime objects of nature as titles, such as 'heaven,' 'the stars,' 'the dawn,' 'the night,' etc. hakim pursued his studies under kali for twenty years, with as much pleasure as advantage, and after ascending the throne, science and art still remained his companions. when his father died, and he assumed the government, he led the funeral procession, surrounded by his andalusian, slavonic, and mograbin body-guard, and interred the corpse with the greatest pomp in the mausoleum of rozafa, and after that accepted the homage of his viziers, amirs, kayids, and kadis. astrologers and poets heralded at cordova and in the whole of andalusia the continuation of the father's prosperous reign by his son, and spoke the truth this time. hakim, who had already as a youth been fond of books, now, when he became sovereign, fully satisfied this predilection, which had grown to be a passion. he spared neither trouble nor expense in collecting in his merwan palace the rarest and most costly books in every branch of science from all countries. he sent special commissioners to egypt, syria, irak, and persia to purchase books. at baghdad, muhammad bin turkhan was charged with the business of purchasing books, or getting them copied, for which purpose he had an establishment of calligraphers and stenographers; because of some books beautiful, and of others rapidly made, copies were required. he procured all the genealogies, all the histories, and all the poems of the arabs; all works on law and jurisprudence, on grammar, rhetoric, philosophy, philology, mathematics, astronomy, arithmetic and geography, composed in arabic. thus the library of the merwan palace became not only the richest in islam, but also the best arranged, by the care which he bestowed on it. the catalogue consisted of forty-four fascicles, each of fifty leaves, so that the whole constituted a volume of two thousand two hundred leaves, two-fifths of which were filled with titles of poetical works only. in this catalogue the titles of the books were inserted, with the names of their authors, their descent, birth-place, the year of their birth and of their decease, in the most accurate manner, to serve as a model for other libraries, of which spain contained so many. this library alone is said to have consisted of six hundred thousand volumes, a number never surpassed by any earlier or later libraries in islam. to his two brothers, who loved the sciences as ardently as himself, hakim entrusted the care of the libraries, and of public instruction, appointing abdul latif to be the chief librarian, and another man to be the director of studies. he kept up intercourse with the great scholars of the east and of the west, with sundry persons in syria, with learned men in egypt, and with abul faraj al-ispahani (author of the great anthology 'kitab-ul-aghani') in irak, giving houses and salaries to those who chose to reside at his court. a few words must be said about the establishment of places of learning which were celebrated at the time. the first university, in the sense in which such an institution is at present understood, was flourishing in syria long before any seat of learning of this kind had been established in europe; and there was another in egypt. the first institution was called 'the society of the brethren of purity,' and the second (opened at cairo on the th may, a.d. ) was founded by al-hakim-bramrillah, and bore the name of dar-ul hikinat, or abode of wisdom. it was under this same name that the library of the khalifs was formerly known at baghdad. later on the great vizier nizam-ul-mulk founded a high school at baghdad, in a.d. . it was not the first that had been established in islam, but it eclipsed all others of the kind by the abilities of the professors who worked there, viz., the imam abu ishak shirazi, al-ghazali, and others. with the society of the brethren of purity, mentioned above, there were two men closely connected, viz., al-tavhidi, who died a.d. , and al-majridi, who died a.d. , the former in the east, the latter in the west, and both of them are deserving of the general name of philosopher. so much for the eastern khalifates. as regards the western khalifate, still greater attention was paid to education and learning there. the schools and lectures were attended by many europeans, who were not, perhaps, sufficiently grateful to the arabs for keeping up a progress in literature and science while europe itself was struggling for emancipation from the dark ages which followed the higher cultures of greece and of rome. third period. from the fall of baghdad, in a.d. , to the present time. the conquest of baghdad by the mughals is a most remarkable period, not only in the literature, but also in the history, of the arabs. it marks the final extinction of the abbaside dynasty, from whom the ancient power and glory had vanished to such a degree that the authority of the khalifs may almost literally be said to have been confined to the city only. halaku khan, the brother of the grand khan kubilai, and grandson of jenghiz khan, took and sacked baghdad, keeping the khalif imprisoned for some time, but slaying him at last, with his sons and several thousand abbasides. al-mustaa'sim was the thirty-seventh and last khalif of the house of abbas, which had reigned over five hundred years, and was now extinguished. halaku khan attacked baghdad by the advice of khojah nasir-uddin tusy, the great persian astronomer and mathematician. nasir-uddin had entered the service of the last prince of the assassins only for the purpose of avenging himself on the khalif, who had disparaged one of his works. when, however, he became aware of halaku's power, he not only betrayed his new master to him, but led the mughal conqueror also to baghdad. after the burning of the library at alamut (the stronghold of the assassins, where they kept their literary treasures) and the sacking of baghdad by halaku khan, the erection of the astronomical observatory at maragha, under the direction of nasir-uddin tusy, was the first sign that arab civilization and the cultivation of science had not been entirely extinguished by tartar barbarism. the learned viziers who stood by the side of the conqueror, such as the two brothers juvaini, were persians, and therefore hardly belong to the history of arab literature. but the fact that one of these two historians now wrote 'the heart opener,' also implies that the invasion of the barbarians had not quite put an end to literary activity. more than ten historians flourished at the beginning of this period whose names terminated with 'din,' such as baha-uddin, imad-uddin, kamal-uddin, etc., and they were contemporaries of the arab plutarch ibn khallikan, already mentioned and described in the preceding period. the 'alfiyya,' or quintessence of arab grammar, was written in verse by jamal-uddin abu abdallah muhammad, known under the name of ibn malik. the author died in a.d. - ; but his work has lived, and it is looked upon as a good exponent of the system. the arab text has been published, with a commentary upon it in french, by silvestre de sacy, a.d. . during the eighth century of the hijrah (a.d. - ), there lived three distinguished men, one famed as a geographer and traveller, and the other two as historians, viz., ibn batuta, abul feda, and ibn khaldun. the first-named left his native town, tangiers, in a.d. , and travelled all over the east, performing his pilgrimage to mecca in a.d. . the travels of ibn batuta were translated by the rev. s. lee, and published by the oriental translation fund, as their first work, in a.d. . this traveller has been noticed by kosegarten in a latin treatise, and his travels have been also translated into french, with the arabic text above, by c. defremery and r. sanguinetti, at the expense of the french government ( - ). abul feda ismail hamawi is well known as an historian, and is frequently mentioned by gibbon as one of his authorities. he wrote an account of the regions beyond the oxus, and also an abridgment of universal history down to his own time, and as he is supposed to be very exact, and his style elegant, his works are very much esteemed. he died a.d. , having succeeded his brother ahmad as king of hamat in syria, a.d. . ibn khaldun, the african philosopher, was born in tunis, a.d. , and passed his youth in egypt. he served a short time as chief justice at damascus, and returned to egypt, where he became supreme judge, and died there a.d. . his principal and most remarkable work is the 'history of the arabs, the persians, and the berbers.' during the ninth century of the hijrah (a.d. - ) arabian literature can still boast of a few great names. ibn-hajar was not only the continuator of ibn kesir's universal history, called 'the beginning and the end,' but also the author of biographies of celebrated men who had lived during the preceding century, and of other works besides. he died a.d. . ibn arabshah was the writer of a history of timour, or tamerlane, which has some celebrity, and has been translated into latin and french. he was a native of damascus, and died there a.d. . majr-uddin muhammad bin yakub, surnamed firuzabadi, a learned persian, was the author of the largest and most celebrated arabic dictionary in existence at the time, called the 'qânûs,' or ocean, a standard work to this day, and always greatly praised, and also used by european lexicographers. taki-uddin, of fez, composed the best history of mekka, and a'ini, who died a.d. , wrote two celebrated historical works. but the greatest historian of this time was al-makrisi, whose proper name was taki-uddin ahmad, and who was born at makris, near baalbec, in a.d. . he early devoted himself to the study of history, geography, astrology, etc., at cairo, and his egyptian history and topography is still an important work, describing the state of the country and its rulers. he died at cairo, a.d. . some of his works have been translated into french and latin, and are still referred to. in honour of sayuti, that colossus of learning, who cultivated, according to the spirit of his times, so many sciences, and dealt with them practically, this might be called the poly-historical and poly-geographical period. julal-uddin sayuti is said to be the author of some four hundred works, and he died in a.d. , some twelve years before the conquest of egypt by selim i, the sultan of turkey, when independent arab literature under arab sovereigns came to an end. it is true enough that not only in egypt and syria, but also in turkey and persia, arabic books were written afterwards, but more under foreign protection, although in the two first-named countries arabic is the language of the people, while in the last two it occupies nearly the same position that latin does in european universities and in the roman catholic church. in the tenth century of the hijrah (a.d. - ) the generally prevalent belief that the world would, at the completion of it, come to an end, contributed much to the gradual decay of science and literature. the case is somewhat analogous to the superstition in europe some six hundred years previously, when the christian era attained its millennium, which was considered to carry with it the same catastrophe. this prophecy, believed to be true, contributed in some measure to slacken authority as well as exertion, and the power of islamitic countries really sank; but this might have been predicted without any prophetic foresight. in one part of islam, the ruin of muhammadan countries thus prophesied was accomplished twenty-one years before the end of the thousandth year, that is in the th year of the hijrah, a.d. , by the total expulsion of the moors from spain. granada itself had succumbed already, seventy-nine years before, and the unwieldy palace of the kings, of spain (still unfinished) had risen by the side of the lofty arcades of the alhambra, still a lovely specimen of moorish artistic design and architecture. the tenth century of the hijrah (a.d. - ), which was the first of the decay of arab literature, is to be considered as the period when the political importance of turkey culminated in the reign of sulaiman the law-giver. there were, however, four authors of celebrity who wrote both in arabic and in turkish. ibn kamal pasha, the surname of mufti shams-uddin ahmad bin-sulaiman, who died a.d. , wrote on history in turkish, and on law in arabic; the mufti abu sa'ud acquired great renown by his numerous fetwas (legal decisions), approving of the political institutions of sulaiman; ibrahim of aleppo is the author of the 'molteka' (confluence of two seas), which embodies the essence of muslim law, according to the hanifi ritual; and lastly, birgeli, otherwise known as mulla muhammad ibn pir ali ul-birkali, was equally great as a dogmatist and as a grammarian. he wrote in arabic 'the unique pearl; or, the art of reading the koran,' and died a.d. . special mention, too, must be made of mulla ahmad bin mustafa, the celebrated arabian, whom haji-khalfa always calls by the more euphonious name of abul-khair (father of wisdom). this author is worthy of notice, on account of the arabic works he wrote on biographical, historical, and especially encyclopædic subjects. his 'key of felicity' will remain for ever the best encyclopædia of arabian sciences, representing as it does their division among the arabs, with notices of the works of scholars in every branch of them in a most compact and comprehensive manner. he died a.d. . the three most celebrated calligraphers of this century were hamdallah, who died a.d. ; mir ali, who died a.d. ; and muhammad hussain tabrizi, who died a.d. . their names are just as celebrated for thuluth and talik writing as were formerly those of ibn bawwab, of ibn hilal, and of yakut are for naskhi. in egypt and syria the characters used were always more beautiful than those of andalusia, which survived in the mugrib (north of africa). here, perhaps, it may be stated that the art of arabic writing came into existence but a very short time before muhammad. 'it was abu ali bin mukla who first took the present system of written characters from the style of writing employed by the people of kufa, and brought it out under its actual form. he had, therefore, the merit of priority, and it may be added that his handwriting was very elegant. but to ibn al bawwab pertains the honour of rendering the character more regular and simple, and of clothing it in grace and beauty.' in other words, ibn mukla was the first who changed the kufic into the new naskhi character, which ibn bawwab improved after him by imparting rotundity and clearness to the new letters, and which ibn yakut al-mausili brought afterwards to the greatest perfection in a.d. . ibn mukla, who was born in a.d. , and died a.d. , was vizier to the khalifs al-kahir-billah and al-radhi-billah; but, falling into disfavour through the intrigues of his enemies, he first had his hand cut off in a.d. , and eventually his tongue was torn out, and he was allowed to perish in the dungeon without any assistance being offered to him. ibn-al-bawwab, the penman, is said to have possessed a skill in penmanship to which no other person ever attained in ancient or modern times. he died at baghdad a.d. , and the following verses were composed as his elegy: 'thy loss was felt by the writers of former times, and each successive day justifies their grief. the ink-bottles are therefore black with sorrow, and the pens are rent through affliction.' during the eleventh century of the hijrah (a.d. - ) there lived mustafa bin abdullah katib jelaby, otherwise known as haji khalfa, and commonly called mustafa haji khalfa, a man of science as a turkish historian and geographer, but an arabic encyclopædist and bibliographer. he was the compiler of a work containing many thousands of titles of arab, persian, and turkish books, with the names of their authors. fluegel edited this great work under the title of 'lexicon enciclopædicum et bibliographicum,' with a latin translation in seven bulky volumes, and it is an extremely valuable work of reference, put together with the most astonishing and persevering care, and consulted by all who desire information on arabic, persian, and turkish literature. this was printed by the oriental translation fund between a.d. and , and will always remain as one of the most valuable works printed by that most useful society, whose extinction must ever be regretted by all orientalists and persons interested in oriental literature. haji khalfa wrote another interesting work, giving a detailed account of the maritime wars of the turks in the mediterranean and black sea and on the danube, which has been translated by mr. james mitchell. the date of haji khalfa's death is uncertain. he is known to have been alive in a.d. , and still in , and he is supposed to have died in a.d. . the works of abul khair, previously mentioned, and of haji khalfa, embody a mass of information, and constitute the top of the pyramid of encyclopædical and biographical works, after which nothing worthy of mention has been written on these subjects. the basis of this pyramid had been already laid by an-nadim, the author of the 'fihrist,' who flourished a.d. , and by ibn khallikan, who died a.d. . during this century (a.d. - ) of the most sanguinary wars, revolutions and dethronements, the condition of arab literature in the ottoman empire was neither progressive nor satisfactory. nevertheless, the study of the sciences, and especially the linguistic and juridical branches of them, were fostered not only in constantinople, but also in syria and egypt, in consequence of the institution of the body of ulema, established by muhammad ii., the conqueror (a.d. - ), and improved by sulaiman i., the law-giver (a.d. - ), which sheltered the cultivation of science from the storms of war within the inviolable precincts of religion. mention may be made of muhammad-al-amin, the learned philologist and lawyer of damascus, who was born in that town about the middle of the eleventh and died the beginning of the twelfth century of the hijrah, and produced a dozen respectable works, the principal of which bears the title of 'the biographies of the celebrated men of the eleventh century,' a.h. he gives an account of a couple of hundred scholars, who represented in egypt and in syria the last rays of the setting sun of arabian literature. next to muhammad-al-amin another author of about a dozen works is to be noticed, namely, ahmad-al makkari, whose principal work was a history of the muhammadan dynasties in spain, which was translated from the copies in the library of the british museum, and illustrated with critical notes on spanish history, geography and antiquities, by pascual de gayangos, and printed for the oriental translation fund of great britain and ireland in a.d. - . makkari also wrote a history of fez and morocco, as well as an account of damascus. he died at cairo a.d. . besides some historians, grammarians, philologists and poets, the eleventh century of the hijrah (a.d. - ) produced in syria and egypt even astronomers and physicians, who distinguished themselves as scholars. of writers of light literature khafaji may be named as the chief. he composed a diwan of ardent love poems, with two anthologies, containing specimens of verses from a couple of poets, his contemporaries. he died a.d. . a few more writers might be mentioned; but their efforts strongly mark the decline of arabic literature in the east, the cultivation of which, however, was henceforth more energetically pursued in europe, where many works have been printed and translated. with the twelfth century of the hijrah (a.d. - ) the history of original arab literature may be said to have terminated, and its genius to have disappeared. a revival, however, of arabian learning is taking place in egypt, syria, and north africa, but in accordance with european models, and chiefly under european auspices. all original research has long been extinct, even among those populations whose vernacular is the arabic language; and consequently it is the former, and not the present state of arab literature, which is the most interesting to the people of to-day. the presses of constantinople, cairo, algiers, beyruth, and some other places, reproduce old arabic works of value, but more translations from european languages than original compositions are printed and lithographed. from bombay, where more than fifty presses are at work, large quantities of books are exported to countries beyond the british possessions. these books treat generally of religion, poetry, history, or medicine; but as they deal more with ancient than with modern knowledge, they do not tend to propagate progress. but though arab literature has decayed, the faith of islam is still active and energetic. it is estimated that one hundred and eighty millions of human beings still follow the precepts of the prophet, and daily turn their faces to mecca, which for them has been, and still is, the cradle of their faith, the touchstone of their religion, and the idol of their hearts. chapter iii. about muhammad. a manual of arabian history and literature would hardly be complete unless some special mention of muhammad was introduced. as previously stated, his koran forms the basis of the literary edifice of arab literature, while he himself undoubtedly holds the first place in arab history. as the author and founder of a new religion, which both during his lifetime and after his death was accepted with a marvellous rapidity, and is still being accepted in various parts of africa, it must be admitted that he was an extraordinary person. at the beginning of what may be called his inspired life at mecca, he stood forth as a reformer, preacher, and apostle. but, though full of enthusiasm and belief in the great cause that he advocated, he was, without doubt, from the commencement to the end of his career, a practical man of business, which buddha and jesus certainly were not. the life of muhammad has been written in many languages, and with such voluminous details, that it is hardly necessary to enter into these details very minutely here. sir william muir's works on the subject are graphic, descriptive, and full of interesting matter, while a lengthy article on the subject of muhammad and muhammadism, in the third volume of the 'dictionary of christian biography,' from the pen of the late rev. g.p. badger, is one of extraordinary interest. a perusal of the above-named works, with hughes's 'dictionary of islam' as a reference book, will give the ordinary english reader as much information as is likely to be required in the ordinary course of things. but by way of preface to certain remarks upon muhammad as a reformer, preacher, and apostle at mecca, as pope and king at madinah, as author of the koran, founder of a religion, legislator, military leader, and organizer of the arabs into a nation, it is perhaps necessary to give a rapid summary of the principal events of a life which has had such an influence upon so many people, and which has filled so many pages. this summary will be as brief as possible: his birth, august, a.d. , at mecca, his father having died some months previously. his christening by the name of muhammad, _i.e._, the praised one. his grandfather abdul-muttalib, who gave him the name, said it was given to him 'in the hope that his grandson would be praised by god in heaven, and by god's creatures on earth.' his bringing up in the desert of the benou-saad by a badawin nurse, one halimah, the wife of harith, for five years. his mother aminah took him, aged six, to madinah to present him to his maternal relations there. she died on the return journey, a.d. . under the guardianship of his grandfather abdul muttalib (who loved him dearly) for two years, from six to eight, when abdul died, a.d. . under the guardianship of his uncle abu thaleb, the uterine brother of his father, abd-allah. when about twelve years old, muhammad accompanied his uncle, abu thaleb, into syria on a mercantile expedition. his first visit to that country, and his experiences there, a.d. . his presence, during the sacrilegious war, at a battle between certain tribes at or near okatz, where he assisted his uncle, who took part in the fight. his attendance at sundry preachings and poetical and eloquent recitations at okatz, where it is said he imbibed the first lessons of the art of poetry and the power of rhetoric, and also acquired certain religious sentiments. his life as a shepherd in the neighbourhood of mecca, and the ideas that such a lonely life, face to face with nature, would perhaps inspire. his acquisition of the title of al-amin, the trustworthy. his second visit to syria, when twenty-five years old (a.d. ), on a mercantile expedition, as agent to the widow khadijah, and his acquisition of religious impressions there. his successful business, and his marriage on his return to khadijah, fifteen years his senior in age, a.d. . six children born to muhammad by khadijah, most of whom died young. the rebuilding of the kaabah in a.d. , in which muhammad accidentally takes a prominent part. his solitary contemplations and studies, from the age of twenty-five to forty, at mecca, and in the cave on mount hira near mecca. here it is important to bear in mind the foregoing experiences in the life of muhammad as we approach the period of his alleged revelations. there can be no doubt that by this time he had acquired, as well through his own observation and inquiry, as through intimate converse with bara-kah, reputed the most learned arab of the age, considerable acquaintance with the dogmas of judaism and christianity; that he had some knowledge of the bible, the talmud, and the gospels; that he was thoroughly versed in arab legendary lore, and that, being gifted with a ready flow of speech, an ardent imagination, together with a bold, enterprising spirit, he was well equipped for carrying out that grand social and religious revolution among his countrymen which he contemplated. his yearnings after religious truth and his first poetic productions. his mental depressions. his first inspirations from the angel gabriel, a.d. . his account of his visions to his wife, who became the first convert to al-islam, or the creed of muhammad. his next converts were ali, his adopted son and cousin; zaid-bin-harithah, also an adopted son; warakah; and abdul-kaabah-bin-kuhafah, one of the most influential and learned men of mecca, on conversion named abd allah, and afterwards called abu bakr, 'the father of the virgin,' 'the companion of the cave,' 'the second of the two,' 'the true,' 'the sighing,' etc., and who eventually became the first khalifah, or successor. other conversions followed; viz., saad, zobeir, talha; othman bin affan, the third khalifah, or successor, after abu bakr and omar; abdar-rahman, and several more. the injunctions of muhammad to his converts were then as follows: 'the duty of believing in one god; in a future reward reserved for the righteous in another life, and a future punishment for the wicked; of acknowledging himself as the apostle of god, and of obeying him as such; of practising ablution; of offering up prayer according to certain specified rules.' these, he said, did not constitute a new religion, but merely restored the ancient religion of abraham to its pristine purity. his teachings, he maintained, were revelations conveyed to him by gabriel, and he simply repeated what the angel communicated to him. his assumption of the title of apostle of god, in whose name he now spoke, a.d. . his frequent revelations for three years, and the commencement of his public preaching to the koraish, who would not listen, but regarded him as a half-witted poet. his denouncement of idolatry, and the consequent persecutions of himself and his followers by the koraish. conversions in the house of arcam, afterwards styled the house of islam. the first emigration to abyssinia of some of his followers by his advice, and their speedy return, a.d. . the lapse of muhammad and his idolatrous concession, but afterwards disowned and disavowed. the second emigration to abyssinia, a.d. - . the conversion of hamzah and omar and thirty-nine adherents of the latter--a great event, a.d. - . the koraish try to come to terms with muhammad, but fail. the prohibition of all intercourse with muhammad and his followers by order of the koraish, and a general persecution. the excommunication of muhammad and of the descendants of hisham and muttalib, which lasted more than three years, a.d. - . the death of muhammad's first wife, khadijah, in december, a.d. , and of his uncle, abu thaleb, in january, . his critical position. he seeks an asylum at taif, but not being well received, returns to mecca, remaining there in comparative retirement. his marriage, a.d. , with saudah-bint-zamaah, the widow of one sukran, and his betrothal to ayesha, the daughter of abu bakr, then only eight years old. the first meeting at the pilgrimage of a party from yathrib (madinah), to whom muhammad expounds his doctrines. the listeners profess their belief in him, and propose to advocate his cause in their native place. march, a.d. . the conference at akabah, a hill on the north side of mecca, with the men of certain tribes resident at yathrib, who took an oath to be faithful to muhammad and his religion. this is called 'the first pledge of akabah.' april, a.d. . the despatch of musaab, a meccan disciple, to yathrib, for the purpose of giving instruction in the koran and in the rites of the new religion. the night of the ladder, or the miraculous journey first from mecca to jerusalem upon the beast called al-burak, and then the ascent from jerusalem to heaven, under the guidance of gabriel, and what he saw there. apparently a dream or vision, a.d. . second meeting at akabah, called 'the second pledge of akabah,' and engagements ratified. march, a.d. . distrust of the koraish. proposal to kill muhammad, who had advised his followers to flee to yathrib. april and may, a.d. . in june, a.d. , muhammad himself secretly leaves mecca with abu bakr. they first go to a cave in mount thur, about three miles to the south of mecca, and reach yathrib (henceforward to be called al madinah, 'the city' _par excellence_) a few days afterwards. on his way there, at kuba, a village two miles to the south of madinah, muhammad laid the foundation of a mosque called 'the fear of god.' this was the first temple raised by islam. enthusiastic reception at madinah, a charter drawn up, and muhammad assumes the reins of both spiritual and temporal sovereignty. his family arrives from mecca. he completes his house and mosque at madinah, and draws up a bond of union between the ansars, or auxiliaries, of madinah and the al muhajirun, or emigrants from mecca, who were the first to embrace islam. marriage with ayesha consummated, january, a.d. . marriage of fatimah, muhammad's daughter, to ali bin abu thaleb, the adopted son and cousin of muhammad, june, a.d. . the call to prayer; the kiblah, or place to which the face was turned in prayer, changed from jerusalem to mecca; the fast of ramadhan, and the tithe, or poor rate, instituted. friday appointed as the day for public service in the mosque. commencement of hostilities with the people of mecca, the first blood shed, and the first booty taken by the muslim. battle of badr, or bedr--a victory. january, a.d. . a surah, or chapter, issued about 'the spoils,' how to be divided, which now forms chapter viii. of the koran. commencement of disputes with the jews, and the exile of the benou kainuka, a jewish tribe settled at madinah, to syria. assassination of certain jews. marriage of muhammad to hafsah, the daughter of omar, on the death of her husband khunais, december, a.d. . his fourth wife. defeat at ohud, january, a.d. . further military expeditions. the exile of the benou nadhir, another jewish tribe residing near madinah. muhammad marries a fifth wife, zaineb-bint-khuzaimah, the widow of obaidah, slain at badr. january, a.d. . further hostilities with arab tribes. muhammad marries his sixth wife, omm-salamah, widow of abu salamah, february, a.d. . further warlike expeditions. muhammad marries his seventh wife, zainab bint jahsh, purposely divorced by his freedman and adopted son zaid bin harithah, so that she might marry the prophet. june, a.d. . further military expeditions. muhammad marries his eighth wife, juwairiyyah-bint harith, who survived him forty-five years. december, a.d. . ayesha, the favourite wife, and the daughter of abu bakr, accused of adultery, but eventually acquitted by a divine revelation. siege of madinah, february and march, a.d. . massacre of the benou koreitza, a jewish tribe near madinah. muhammad takes rohana, the beautiful jewess, as a concubine. several minor expeditious. an intended pilgrimage to mecca, but muhammad, with his followers, do not go further than al-hodeibiah. a truce made with the koraish for ten years, and permission given to muhammad to visit the kaabah the next year, for three days only. march, a.d. . letters sent by muhammad to foreign sovereigns and princes, inviting them to embrace islam; but these met with a moderate success only. expedition against the jews of khaibar, and its complete success. august, a.d. . marriage of muhammad with safiyyah, the bride of kinanah, his ninth wife, august, a.d. . he partakes of a poisoned kid, dressed and offered to him by a woman named zeinab. his marriage with omm habiba, widow of obaid allah, and daughter of abu sofyan, october, a.d. . his tenth wife. he takes mary, the coptic maid, as a concubine, sent to him by jarih bin mutta, the governor of egypt. there were now nine wives and two concubines living in the harem of the prophet. several small expeditions. despatch of further letters to foreign potentates and princes. his pilgrimage to mecca for three days, as previously stipulated, and known as the 'solemn visit of the fulfilment.' february, a.d. . his marriage with maimunah bint harith, his eleventh and last wife. further important conversions at mecca, such as othman bin talha, the guardian of the kaabah; amru, or amr bin al-aasi, a man renowned for sagacity, and who, during the khalifate of omar, conquered egypt; and khalid bin walid, whose exploits obtained for him the title of 'the sword of god.' this last was the most talented general of the muslims. several military excursions. battle at muta with certain syrian tribes subject to the roman authorities, september, a.d. . a defeat. further military expeditions. expedition against mecca, and its complete success. destruction of pictures, images, and idols at mecca and the surrounding districts. january, . expedition against the benou thakif at taif, and their allies the benou huwazin, and the battle of honein, february, a.d. . siege of taif, and its abandonment, followed later by the submission of malik, the chief of the benou thakif, and the greater part of the tribe. muhammad performs the lesser pilgrimage and returns to madinah. the birth of a son by his coptic slave and concubine mary, april, a.d. . the boy, named ibrahim, lived only about a year. quarrel with his legitimate wives about mary, the coptic slave, whom he had freed after the birth of the child. arrival of a christian deputation at madinah, and their discussions without conversion on either side. the christians designated jesus christ as the son of god, and the second person in the trinity. muhammad denied this, quoting the following from the koran: 'jesus, the son of mary, is only an apostle of god, and his word, which he conveyed into mary, and a spirit proceeding from himself. believe, therefore, in god and his apostle, and say not three. forbear; it will be better for you. god is only one god. far be it from his glory that he should have a son.' deputations from certain arab tribes. several lesser expeditions. campaign of tabuk, which ended without fighting, and the submission of many tribes, october, a.d. . definite establishment of the muslim empire, a.d. . expedition of ali to yaman, december, a.d. . muhammad's solemn and greater pilgrimage to mecca, i.e. 'the al-hijj,' or the greater pilgrimage, as compared with 'the umrah,' or lesser pilgrimage. march, a.d. . his speeches at this pilgrimage, known in muhammadan history as 'the pilgrimage of the announcement,' or 'the pilgrimage of islam,' or 'the farewell pilgrimage.' his establishment of the lunar year, and his farewell addresses. indisposition of muhammad, and the three revolts--one headed by tulaihah bin khuwailid, a famous warrior of najd; one by musailamah; and one by al-aswad, all of which were eventually completely crushed after muhammad's death by abu bakr and his generals. another expedition to syria projected. muhammad's health becomes worse. his retirement to ayesha's apartment. his final discourses. abu bakr appointed to lead the public prayers. muhammad's last appearance in the mosque at madinah. his death and burial, june, a.d. . from the above summary of the principal events of muhammad's life, it will be perceived that up to the age of forty he was a student and acquirer of knowledge, much alone and occupied with his thoughts. at forty-one he began his public ministry, and stood forth as a reformer, preacher, and apostle at mecca, and this continued till he finally left that place, in june, a.d. . as a reformer he proposed to do away with idols, to suppress gambling and drinking, and to abolish female infanticide, at that time much practised by the arabs. as a preacher and apostle he urged the people to accept the belief in one god, whose injunctions were communicated to him by gabriel for the benefit of the humanities. prayer and ablution were also then ordained; fasting, almsgiving, and pilgrimages were instituted later on. before muhammad's time there had been several earnest seekers after the one god, the god of abraham. of these persons zaid, the inquirer, may be mentioned, as also warakah, a cousin of muhammad's first wife, khadijah; othman bin huwairith, and obaid allah bin jahsh. the people who professed this theism were termed hanyfs; but their state of mind was as yet a purely speculative one, and they had announced nothing definite. but the ground was so far laid open, and had been prepared to a certain extent for muhammad and his express revelation, that 'there was no god but the god, and that muhammad was his apostle.' it is highly probable that when muhammad first began his public exhortations he had a strong idea of bringing not only the arabs, but also the jews and christians, into his fold, and establishing one universal faith on the basis of one god, almighty, eternal, merciful, compassionate. it was on this account that he made jerusalem the kiblah, or consecrated direction of worship, and introduced into the suras, or chapters, that he issued from time to time a good deal of matter connected with our old and new testaments. he particularly mentioned abraham as the father of the faith, and acknowledging that there had already existed many thousand prophets, and three hundred and fifteen apostles, or messengers, he quoted nine of these last as special messengers, viz., noah, abraham, jacob, joseph, moses, job, david, jesus, the son of mary, and himself. to five of these he gave special titles. he called noah the preacher of god; abraham the friend of god; moses the converser with god; jesus the spirit of god; and himself the apostle, or messenger, of god. but of the nine above mentioned four only, viz., moses, david, jesus, and muhammad, held the highest rank as prophet-apostles. it would, therefore, appear that muhammad really hoped to establish one religion, acknowledging one god and a future life, and admitting that the earlier prophets had emanated from god as apostles or messengers. the world was too young and too ignorant in muhammad's time to accept such an idea. it may, however, be accepted some day, when knowledge overcomes prejudice. nations may have different habits, manners, and customs, but the god they all worship is one and the same. muhammad's life, from the age of forty to fifty, was one long struggle with the koraish. had it not been for the support given him by some of his influential relations at mecca, he would either have been killed, or compelled to leave the place before he did. it is true that during these twelve years he made some excellent converts and faithful followers; but still it must be regarded as an historical fact that muhammad failed at mecca, as jesus had failed at jerusalem. in the one case jesus was sacrificed, and passed away, leaving the story of his life, his words and his works in the heads of his disciples, who, with the suddenly converted paul, certain alexandrian jews, the emperor constantine, some literary remains of plato, along with a destruction of adverse manuscripts and documents, finally established the christian religion. in the other case muhammad, failing at mecca, succeeded at madinah, and before his death had so far settled matters that the religion was fairly established, and was thus saved the severe and bitter struggles of the first centuries of the christian churches. it has seldom been a matter of speculation as to what would have been the course of the world's history if muhammad had been slain by the koraish before he left mecca, or if jesus had not been crucified by the jews. it is probable that in the end both religions would have been eventually established in other ways, and by other means, depending a good deal on the followers of the two men. but as the subject is purely speculative, it can hardly be entertained in this purely historical chapter. once at madinah, muhammad became a personage. supported by his meccan followers (al-muhâjirûn), and the madinese auxiliaries (ansârs), he assumed immediately a spiritual and temporal authority, and became a sort of pope-king. he kept that position for the rest of his life, improving it by his military successes, his diplomatic arrangements, his spiritual instructions, and his social legislation. it was probably shortly before he went to madinah, or very soon after his arrival there, that he gave up all ideas of bringing over jews, christians, and sabæans to his views. he determined to adapt them to the manners and customs of the arabs only. in this he showed his wisdom and his knowledge of business. he changed the kiblah from jerusalem to mecca. in the place of the jewish trumpet, or the christian bell, he introduced the call to prayer still heard from the tapering minarets of every mosque throughout the muhammadan world. by the christian world it has been sometimes considered that muhammad was good and virtuous at mecca, but vicious and wicked at madinah. such calls to mind the reply of an indian youth when asked in an examination to give an outline of the character of our good queen elizabeth. he briefly described her as 'a great and virtuous princess, but in her old age she became dissolute, and had a lover called essex.' but the position of muhammad at madinah was entirely different to what it had been at mecca. at the latter place he was unable to assert himself. indeed, it was as much as he could do to keep himself and his followers going at all, constantly subject as they were to persecution from the koraish. all this was changed at madinah, and his ten years rule there was remarkable for his various military expeditions, his organization of the different tribes, his bitter persecution of the jews, his still-continued inspired utterances, which now included spiritual, social, and legal matters, and his repeated marriages. it has been frequently said that muhammad, in his virtuous days, was content with one wife at mecca, but in his vicious days at madinah he had ten wives and two concubines. as a matter of fact, after khadijah's death muhammad's marriages were in most cases more or less a matter of business. by them he allied himself to abu bakr, omar, abu sofyan, khalid bin walid, and other important persons. he further married the widows of some of his followers killed in battle, perhaps 'pour encourager les autres.' it is also probable that he was very anxious to have children, all of his having died except fatima, who was married to ali. at the same time it must be admitted that muhammad had a weakness for women in his later years--witness the case of zainab bint jahsh, the jewish concubine rohana, and the coptic maid mary. indeed, his favourite wife ayesha used to say of him: 'the prophet loved three things--women, scents, and food; he had his heart's desire of the two first, but not of the last,' the reasons for this want of food, and many other traditions connected with the character of muhammad, are to be found in the last chapter and the supplement at the end of sir william muir's most excellent and interesting work on the life of this extraordinary man, who, if author of the koran only, would be entitled to rank among the immortals. according to muslim orthodox theology, the koran is the inspired word of god, uncreated, and eternal in its original essence. 'he who says the word of god is created is an infidel,' such is the decree of muhamniadan doctrine. leaving everybody to form their own opinion on such a matter, it is only necessary here briefly to allude to the work, and to suppose that muhammad was the inspired author of it. the koran is divided into suras, or chapters, and , verses. the word itself signifies reading or recitation, and muhammad always asserted that he only recited what had been repeated to him. but the koran represents muhammad from many points of view, in different capacities, and under different necessities. ayesha, his favourite wife, when asked in later years as a widow to relate something about the prophet, replied: 'have you not the koran, and have you not read it? for that will tell you everything about him.' the koran was not collected or arranged until after muhammad's death. it is to be regretted that there is no reliable record of the exact order in which its various verses and chapters were given to the world by the prophet, as that would have given us a great insight into the working of his mind from the time that he began his first recitals up to the time of his death. it is true that attempts have been made to formulate the order of delivery, but these can only be more or less conjecture. at the same time, though earlier and later verses appear mixed up in the different chapters, in some cases, of course, the period to which they belong can be pretty accurately fixed and determined. as an interesting work, it can hardly be compared with our old and new testaments, nor would it be fair to make such a comparison. it must be remembered that the koran is the work of muhammad alone, while the biblos, or book, commonly called the bible, is the work of many men. in its compilation many authors were rejected, and it represents as a whole the united talents of the ages. indeed, the bible may be considered as the most wonderful book in existence, and certainly the most interesting after visiting the countries it describes and the localities it refers to. if read from a matter-of-fact point of view, it gives an abundance of various kinds of literature, and describes the workings of the human mind from the earliest ages, and the progress of ideas as they gradually and slowly dawned upon man and drove him onwards. if read from a spiritual or mystical point of view, it can be interpreted in many ways to meet the views of either the readers or the hearers. in a word, the bible is full of prose and poetry, fact and imagination, history and fiction. it was lately described in an italian newspaper, _il secolo_, about to issue a popular edition of it in halfpenny numbers, as follows: 'there is one book which gathers up the poetry and the science of humanity, and that book is the bible; and with this book no other work in any literature can be compared. it is a book that newton read continually, that cromwell carried at his saddle, and that voltaire kept always on his study table. it is a book that believers and unbelievers should alike study, and that ought to be found in every house.' as a scientific work it has little value except that it represents the extent of scientific knowledge possessed by the authors at the time the different books were written. to return to the koran, which may, then, be regarded as the bible of the muslims. according to mr. badger: 'it embodies the utterances of the arabian prophet on all subjects, religious and moral, administrative and judicial, political and diplomatic, from the outset to the close of his career, together with a complete code of laws for regulating marriage, divorce, guardianship of orphans, bargains, wills, evidence, usury, and the intercourse of private and domestic life, as they were dictated by him to his secretaries, and by them committed to writing on palm-leaves, the shoulder-blades of sheep, and other tablets. these, it appears, were thrown pell-mell into chests, where they remained till the reign of abu bakr, the immediate successor of muhammad, who, during the first year of his khalifate, entrusted zaid-bin harithah, an ansar, or auxiliary, and one of the amanuenses of the prophet, with the task of collecting them together, which he did, as well from "the breasts of men" as from the afore-named materials, meaning thereby that he availed himself of the memories of those who had committed parts of the prophet's utterances to memory. [tradition states that one of the contemporary muslims had learnt as many as seventy chapters by heart.] zaid's copy continued to be the standard text during the khalifate of abu bakr, who committed it to the keeping of hafsah, one of muhammad's widows. certain disputes having arisen regarding this text, owing mainly to the variations of dialect and punctuation occurring therein, omar, the successor of abu bakr, in the tenth year of his khalifate, determined to establish a text which should be the sole standard, and delegated to zaid, with whom he associated several eminent arab scholars of the al-koraish, the task of its reduction. on its completion copies were forwarded to the principal stations of the empire, and all previously existing copies were submitted to the flames. this is the text now in general use among muslims, and there is every reason to believe it to be a faithful rescript of the original fragmentary collection, amended only in its dialectical variations, and made conformable to the purer arabic of the al-koraish, in which the contents of the koran were announced by muhammad.' from a literary point of view the koran is regarded as a specimen of the purest arabic, and written in half poetry and half prose. it has been said that in some cases grammarians have adapted their rules to agree with certain phrases and expressions used in it, and that though several attempts have been made to produce a work equal to it, as far as elegant writing is concerned, none have as yet succeeded. with the koran, then, as a basis to work upon, muhammad became the author and, it may be said, also founder of the muhammadan faith, although as regards the foundation of any religion the followers of the author are generally the real founders of his faith. of the three authors of great religions, viz., moses, buddha, and jesus, who had gone before, moses seems to have had much in common with muhammad, and the two resembled each other in some ways. buddha and jesus were, on the other hand, entirely spiritualistic, their ideas on many subjects much the same, and their preachings and teachings run together very much on parallel lines. the connecting links, however, between buddhism and christianity, if any, have yet to be discovered and determined. it may happen that some day further light may be thrown upon the subject; but at present, in spite of similarity of ideas, of sentiments, and of parables in the two religions, there is no positive proof of any connection between them, except that one preceded the other. while history has recorded every detail of muhammad's life, both before and after his public ministry, which did not begin until he was forty years of age, history, alas! gives us no detailed record of the life of jesus prior to the commencement of his public ministry in his thirtieth year. had he travelled himself to the further east? had he studied under buddhist missionaries? had he taken the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, before he was baptized by john the essene? had he anything to do with the sects called essenes, therapeuts, gnostics, nazarites, the brethren, which existed both before and during his lifetime? these, and many other questions which might be asked, can now probably never be answered, and the only thing that can be confidently asserted is that the character and the spiritual teachings of christ, as handed down to us, much resemble the character and spiritual teachings of buddha. a few paragraphs must be devoted to moses and muhammad, as the first organizers of the jews and the arabs into separate and distinct nationalities. the two men had very different material to work upon, but they succeeded with the aid of eloah, or allah, supporting their own efforts. it is probably historically true that the good old patriarch abraham once lived, and may be considered to be the father of the jewish, christian, and muhammadan religions. according to arab tradition, abraham, assisted by ishmael, built the kaabah at mecca, so called because it was nearly a kaabah, or square. anyhow, abraham has ever been regarded with the greatest veneration by the muslims, and his tomb at hebron at the present day is so jealously guarded by them that the jews and the christians are not permitted to enter its sacred precincts. abraham and his followers worshipped eloah, or the almighty god, as the one and only god, offering up to him at times various sacrifices. according to rénan, in his 'history of the people of israel,' 'the primitive religion of israel was the worship of the elohim, a collective name for the invisible forces that govern the world, and which are vaguely conceived as forming a supreme power at once single and manifold.' 'this vague primitive monotheism got modified during the migrations of the children of israel, and especially during their struggles for the conquest of palestine, and at last gave place to the conception of jahveh, a national god conceived after the fashion of the gods of polytheism, essentially anthropomorphic, the god of israel in conflict with the gods of the surrounding nations.' 'it was the task of the prophets to change this low and narrow conception of the deity for a nobler one, to bring back the jews to the elohistic idea in a spiritualized form, and to transform the jahveh or jehovah of the times of the judges into a god of all the earth--universal, one and absolute, that god in spirit and in truth of whom jesus, the last of the prophets, completed the revelation.' certain events in the life of joseph brought the family of jacob to egypt, separated it from the other tribes, and made the israelites into a peculiar people.[ ] as the twelve families of the sons of jacob expanded into twelve tribes, they grew in number to such an extent that the egyptian government of the day began to be alarmed, and commenced coercive proceedings, which led to the appearance of moses, first as a liberator, and then as the organizer of the twelve tribes into a jewish nationality. [footnote : the actual dates of these events and of the exodus from egypt have not yet been historically fixed. how the israelites first migrated to the land of goshen, and how they eventually left egypt, is still a question of considerable controversy. further discoveries may yet throw further light on the subject.] when moses first took the children of israel out of egypt, it was probably his intention to lead them at once to the promised land. finding, however, that their physical strength and courage was not equal to the conquest of canaan, he kept them in the desert for forty years, until the open-air life and the hardy fare had produced a new generation of men fit to cope with the warriors of the land they were about to attempt to conquer. doubtless, during this residence in the desert moses legislated both morally and socially for the jews, as muhammad did for the arabs at madinah. but as the koran was not put together during muhammad's lifetime, so it is also highly probable that the pentateuch, or five books of moses, were not collected and collated till some time after his death, which last is described in the work itself.[ ] indeed, many things mentioned in them show a more advanced state of civilization than the children of israel enjoyed during their wanderings in the desert. [footnote : this subject is treated at considerable length by dr. a. kuenen in 'the religion of israel,' translated by alfred heath may from the dutch. williams and norgate: london, .] but, still, to moses the jews owe their nationality, as the arabs owed theirs to muhammad. the former found a weak people, united to a certain extent, but quite unaccustomed to fighting and hardship, and he welded them sufficiently together to enable them, under his successors, to establish themselves in the promised land. the latter found arabia inhabited by a quantity of tribes, more or less hostile to each other, but brave to a degree; fond of fighting and plundering, and always at it; full of local jealousies and internal enmities, which kept them separate. muhammad not only induced them to believe in one god, but also brought them together to such, an extent that his successors were able to launch them as united warriors and conquerors throughout the east, and to found an empire for the time being far greater, grander, and more important than canaan, as divided among the twelve tribes, or the dominions of david and solomon. as a military leader muhammad was not particularly celebrated. the military expeditions undertaken by him in person are variously stated to have been from nineteen to twenty-seven in number, whilst those in which he was not present are stated to have amounted to more than fifty. with the exception of one or two to the syrian frontier, they were chiefly directed against the arabs and the jews in arabia, but none of them were of the magnitude of those undertaken by his successors, abu bakr and omar, who, with the aid of the generals khalid, son of walid, mothanna, amr bin al'aasi, and others, made great conquests, and finally established the muslim faith on a firm and lasting basis. the details of these successes are admirably told in muir's 'annals of the early khalifate.' there appears to be a great resemblance between many of the military and warlike expeditions undertaken by muhammad in arabia, and those of the jews, as narrated in the historical works of the old testament, in palestine. in both countries god was used as the authority, and individuals and tribes were attacked and slaughtered much in the same way. indeed, if the numbers slain, as recorded by the jewish historians, are to be depended upon, it can only be inferred that the god of the jews was more vindictive and bloodthirsty than the god of the arabs. at the present time the soudanese and their khalifahs seem to be following very much in the steps of muhammad, constantly sending forth military expeditions, and issuing letters to foreign potentates. in conclusion, the dogmas and precepts of islam, as embodied in the koran, may be summed up as follows: ( ) belief in allah or god, or, more correctly, 'the god;' that is, the only god. 'al,' the; 'ilah,' a god. ( ) belief in the messengers or angels. ( ) belief in the books or scriptures, and in the prophets. ( ) belief in hell and paradise. ( ) belief in a general resurrection and final judgment. ( ) belief in the decrees of god, or of his having absolutely predestined both good and evil. the five cardinal ordinances of islam are: ( ) the pious recitation of the kalimah, or creed: 'there is no god but the one god, and muhammad is his apostle.' ( ) prayer. ( ) fasting. ( ) legal and obligatory almsgiving. ( ) pilgrimage. there are several other points connected with the institutions of islam, such as-- ( ) circumcision. ( ) marriage and polygamy. ( ) slavery. ( ) the jihad, or holy war. ( ) food, drink and ablutions. but full details connected with the above will be found, if required, in hughes 'dictionary of islam,' so that further reference to them here is unnecessary. it must, however, always be remembered that faith and prayer were the two points which muhammad always insisted upon as absolutely essential. the muhammadan religion may be regarded as creating in theory the purest democracy in existence. all men are supposed to be equal. there are no hereditary titles. every man can rise, either by interest or talent, from the very lowest to the very highest position. there is a universal feeling of brotherhood among the muslims. all this is excellent in theory, but in practice the ways of the world are different. a pasha holds his place and upholds his position, while a humble follower of the said pasha, or other person in an inferior position, knows his place also, and treats his superiors and his inferiors accordingly. in fact, both in the east and the west there appears to be a place for all men, and that place is established by the unwritten laws of the world or by the law of nature, in spite of the many theories propounded by religion, politics, or political economy. still, muhammad himself instilled equality among his followers, and in his parting address at mina, at the time of the farewell pilgrimage, spoke as follows: 'ye people! hearken to my speech and comprehend the same. know that every muslim is the brother of every other muslim. all of you are on the same equality' (and as he pronounced these words he raised his arms aloft and placed the forefinger of one hand on the forefinger of the other, intending thereby to signify that all were absolutely on the same level); 'ye are one brotherhood. 'know ye what month this is? what territory is this? what day?' to each question the people gave the appropriate answer, viz.: 'the sacred month, the sacred territory, the great day of pilgrimage.' after every one of these replies muhammad added: 'even thus sacred and inviolable hath god made the life and the property of each of you unto the other, until ye meet your lord. 'let him that is present tell it unto him that is absent. haply, he that shall be told may remember better than he who hath heard it.' chapter iv. tales and stories. of the two hundred and fifty books of tales, the titles of which are given in the 'fihrist,' only three or four have attained european fame. firstly, the book known in arabic as 'kalilah wa dimnah,' containing the celebrated indian apologues, or the so-called fables of bidpay, on the origin of which several dissertations have been written. in 'early ideas' (w.h. allen and co., ) mention was made of the fables of bidpay, or pilpai, as being the traditionally oldest-known collection of stories in hindustan, and that from them the 'pancha tantra,' or 'five chapters,' and the 'hitopodesa,' or 'friendly advice,' are supposed to have been drawn. in 'persian portraits' (quaritch, ) it was noted that the persian work called 'kalilah wa dimnah' is said to have been originally derived from the fables of bidpay, and that it led to the longer and larger works known in persian literature as the 'anwar-i-suheli,' or 'the lights of canopos,' and the 'ayar-danish,' or 'the touchstone of knowledge.' it is highly probable that this work of 'kalilah wa dimnah' (translated from persian into arabic by ibn al-mukaffa about a.d. ), and another persian work, not now extant, but known as the 'hazar afsaneh,' or 'thousand stories,' were the first sources from which were commenced to be compiled the best collection of tales and stories in arabic literature, and called 'the thousand and one nights,' and popularly known in this country as 'the arabian nights.' as regards the 'hazar afsaneh,' or 'thousand stories,' it is much to be regretted that all trace of this work has disappeared. it is, however, mentioned by masudi, and an-nadim, the author of the 'fihrist,' but whether they had actually seen and perused the whole work is uncertain. it may have been completed during the rule of the sasanian dynasty in persia (a.d. - ), some of whose kings were patrons of letters, and the work, or portions of it, may have been destroyed along with a large quantity of other persian literature at the time of the conquest of the persian empire by the arabs in a.d. . at all events, it has not yet been found, though it is still hoped that it may turn up some day. as regards the 'nights' themselves, it is impossible to fix any exact date to them, neither can they be ascribed to any particular authors. from the book as it has come down to us; there is ample evidence to assert that the collection of all the tales and stories occupied many years, and that the authors of them were numerous. as great progress was made in arab literature from the commencement of the rule of the abbaside dynasty in a.d. , it maybe inferred that the work itself dates from that period, and that it had been put together in a certain form before the fall of baghdad in a.d. . after that date other stories were probably added, and the whole répertoire was perhaps put together again in its present shape either at cairo or damascus, with numerous alterations and additions. it is believed that the fables and apologues are the oldest part of the book. these bear on their face a decided impress of the farther east; indeed, they are quite of the nature of the stories told in the 'pancha tantra,' 'kathá sarit ságara,' 'hitopodesa,' and 'kalilah wa dirnnah,' many of them being either the same, or bearing a very great resemblance to them. animal fables generally may have originated in india, where the doctrine of metempsychosis obtains currency to this day; but, still, egypt, greece, and other countries, have also produced stories of the same nature. from the time of the early egyptians, the fable has ever been the means of conveyance of both instruction and amusement to mankind. and as years rolled by the fable grew into the tale or story, which later on expanded into the romance and the novel. after the fables the oldest tales in the 'nights' are supposed to be the sindibad, or the tale of the king, his son, his concubine, and the seven wazirs; and that of king jali'ad of hind, and his wazir shimas, followed by the history of king wird khan, son of king jali'ad, with his women and wazirs. these tales have also an indian flavour about them, both with regard to the animal stories in them and to the sapient remarks about the duties of kings and their ministers, often referred to in the kathá sarit ságara, of which more anon. the remaining tales and stories in the 'nights' may be of persian, arabian, egyptian, and syrian origin, some earlier and some later. the adventures of kamar al-zaman and the jeweller's wife, and of ma'aruf, the cobbler, and his wife fatimah, are considered to be two of the very latest stories, having been assigned to the sixteenth century. the story of aboukir, the dyer, and abousir, the barber, is quoted by payne 'as the most modern of the whole collection.' certain stories of the 'nights' were first introduced to europe, between - , by antoine galland, a frenchman, whose biography is given by burton in his 'terminal essay,' vol. x., and most interesting it is. the work of the translation of arabic and persian stories was continued by petis de la croix ( - ), morell ( ), dow ( ), chavis and cazotte ( - ), caussin de perceval ( ), gauttier ( ), jonathan scott ( ), von hammer purgstall ( ), zinzerling ( - ), trebutien ( ), habicht ( - ), weil ( - ), torrens ( ), lane ( - ), and the 'nights' themselves have now been completely finished by john payne ( - ) and richard burton ( - ). a perusal of the productions of all the translators above mentioned will show that, as regards finality, both payne and burton have done their work completely, thoroughly, and exhaustively, and for all time, as far as an english translation is concerned. too much credit cannot be given to these two gentlemen for their untiring labour and energy. the more the 'nights' are read, the more will people appreciate the amount of hard work and acumen, intelligence and ability, which has been thrown into the undertaking by these two accomplished littérateurs. and it is highly probable that their translations, along with galland's volumes in french, will ever remain as the standard european versions of this great series of oriental tales. space will not permit of a lengthy description of all that is contained in payne's thirteen, and in burton's sixteen, volumes. to be appreciated thoroughly, they must be read, like balzac's works, from the very beginning to the very end. at the same time a brief analysis of these two translations of the 'nights' may perhaps be interesting, and will serve the purposes of the present chapter. the first nine of payne's, and the first ten of burton's, volumes are devoted to the 'nights' proper, and follow the same lines. the translation has been made from what are commonly known as the boulac (cairo) and the two calcutta arabic texts of the 'nights,' though references are made to the breslau (tunis) edition, from which also some extracts have been taken and some translations made. the contents of these volumes may be divided into four heads: ( ) fables and apologues. ( ) short stories and anecdotes, some biographical and historical. ( ) tales and stories. ( ) long stories, or romances. excluding the two short stories in the introductory chapter, there are principal and subordinate fables under the first heading, principal and subordinate stories under the second, principal and subordinate under the third, and principal and subordinate under the fourth heading. this gives a total of principal and subordinate stories in burton's edition, while payne gives one principal story and one subordinate one less, his numbers being and respectively. by principal is meant the main or chief story, while by subordinate is meant another story forming part of the main story. in oriental literature this custom is frequently introduced. a story is commenced, but owing to some allusion in it another story is interpolated, and when this is finished, the original tale is reverted to, only, perhaps, to be interpolated again by another story, and so on. out of this mass of fable, tale and story, it is difficult to select any particular ones that may prove interesting to everybody. some are very good, others good, some fairish, and others indifferent; but all are more or less interesting, as they deal with all sorts and conditions of men and women, and all sorts of events and situations. personally, some twelve stories have struck me as particularly interesting or amusing, though it does not at all follow that what one person fancies another person cares about. a perusal of the work itself will enable its readers to find out what they like for themselves, while the following brief remarks on the twelve stories alluded to above will give a scanty outline of them. the tale of aziz and azizah is one of the best in the whole collection. it represents the care and fondness of a truly loving woman, who did her best to shield and protect her very stupid cousin. it is said that people marry for three reasons, viz., for love, for money, or for protection. in truth, nobody can protect a man from a woman as another woman. no man can drive off a woman, divine her intention, or insult her so violently as a woman can, and this is generally understood both in the east and west. in the present story, azizah first helps her cousin aziz to woo and win, endeavouring to shield and protect him at the same time from this daughter of dalilah, the wily one. had it not been for azizah's good advice and farewell saying of "faith is fair, and unfaith is foul," aziz would have surely perished. eventually, the loving azizah dies of a broken heart. aziz, though repeatedly warned by his mistress, the daughter of dalilah, not to have anything to do with the sex on account of his youth and simplicity, falls into the hands of another woman, who first marries him, and then keeps him locked up in her house, and never lets him out for a whole year. when, however, he does get away for a day only, he goes at once to see his former mistress, who is furious on hearing that he is married to somebody else, and with the aid of her slave girls serves him out in a way which, from one point of view, makes marriage quite a failure for him in the future. on going back to his wife, she, having found out what had occurred, immediately puts him into the street, and he returns in a sad plight to his mother, who nurses him and gives him the present and the letter that his cousin azizah had left for him. finally aziz, for the sake of distraction, takes to foreign travel, and there meets with taj al muluk, whom he assists to find the princess dunya. the tale of kamar al-zaman and the lady budur is both amusing and interesting. it is truly an eastern story, full of curious and wonderful situations, and quite a kaleidoscope of passing events, which succeed each other rapidly. the hero and the heroine are a young prince and princess, living in very different parts of the world (space and geography have no place in the "nights"), and both very averse to matrimony. the one fears the smiles and wiles of woman, the other the tyranny and selfishness of man. a certain queen of the jinns, with her assistants, bring the two together one night in the same bed, and separate them in the morning. but the sight that each had had of the other caused them to fall desperately in love, and deep are the lamentations of each over the separation, which continues for some years. at last kamar al-zaman finds his way to his lady-love, the princess budur, and they are happily wedded; alas! after a short time, to be again separated. then follow the adventures of each--the lady becomes a king, and is married to a princess, and rules a country, while kamar al-zaman's fate assigns him the place of an under-gardener. destiny, however, re-unites them, and the lady budur's joke before recognition and re-union is certainly humorous. she makes him further marry the lady that she herself was married to, and a son is born to each, respectively called amjad and asaad. when the boys grow up, the mother of each falls violently in love with the son of the other, _i.e._, budur adores asaad, and heyat en nufus worships amjad, and the two mothers end by making dishonourable proposals to the two sons. these overtures being indignantly rejected, the mothers, as in all eastern tales, turn the tables by informing their husband that his sons had made indecent proposals to them. in consequence they are sent off to be slain in the desert, but, from the circumstances which occur there, the executioner spares their lives, and returns with their clothes steeped in a lion's blood, reporting that he has carried out the king's instructions, and quoting their last message to their father: 'women are very devils, made to work us dole and death; refuge i seek with god most high from all their craft and skaith. prime source are they of all the ills that fall upon mankind, both in the fortunes of this world and matters of the faith.' the king at once recognises their innocence, and mourns over their loss, building two tombs in their memory, called the houses of lamentations, where he spends his days weeping. meanwhile the two youths, left to their own devices by the executioner, journey onward, arrive at a city, become separated, go through all sorts of adventures, all of a most thrilling description, and are finally re-united. the closing scene brings all the characters of the romance together at the same place, and the grandfathers, fathers, and sons all meet once more, but no further mention is made about the two mothers, who so deeply injured their own offspring. ala aldin abu al-shamat.--this story is of considerable interest, for it begins with a recipe for an aphrodisiac, and contains many allusions to eastern manners and customs. born of wealthy parents at cairo, details are given of ala aldin's youth and boyhood, and of how the wish to travel and to trade was instilled into his mind by his young companions, at the instigation of a crafty old sinner, mahmud of balkh. with some reluctance his father at last allows him to start, and going first to damascus, then to aleppo, he is robbed of all his property just before he reaches baghdad, and very nearly loses his life into the bargain, but his good fortune saves him on two occasions. arrived at baghdad, his adventures begin, and they follow each other with considerable rapidity. he first is married to zobeidah the lutist, on the understanding that it was for one night only, and that he was to divorce her the next morning, so that she might be re-married to her former husband. but when the time comes, ala aldin and the lady find each other such pleasant company that they absolutely decline to divorce, and elect to pay the fine. this money is provided for them by harun-ar-rashid, who visits them one night with three of his companions all disguised as dervishes, and they are charmed with zobeidah's performance on the lute, her singing, and her recitations. ala aldin then goes to the court, where he rises to high favour and receives various good appointments. to his great grief he loses his wife, who dies, as he supposes, and is buried with the usual mourning, but in reality turns up again at the end of the tale, and is re-united to her husband. it appears that a servant of the jinn had carried her off to another country, leaving a jinneyah to be buried in her place. to make up for the loss of zobeidah, the khalif gives ala aldin one of his own slave-girls, kut al kulub by name, and sends her, with all her belongings, to his house. ala aldin will not have anything to do with her, on the grounds--"what was the master's should not become the man's;" but he lodges, boards, and treats her handsomely. eventually harun takes her back, and orders a slave-girl to be bought at his expense in the market for ten thousand dinars for ala aldin. this is done, and a girl named jessamine is purchased and given to him. he sets her at once free and marries her. but at the time of the purchase another man had been bidding for this same girl, and, being much in love with her, his family determine to assist him in getting hold of her. a whole lot of fresh characters then appear on the scene, and, after much plotting and intrigue, ala aldin is arrested and sentenced to death. he, however, escapes to alexandria, and there opens a shop. further adventures follow, till he finds himself at genoa, where he remains for some time as servant in a church. meanwhile at baghdad his wife jessamine has borne him a son, named asdan, who grows up, and in time discovers the author and nature of the theft of which his father had been accused, and thus prepares the way for his return to the city of the khalifs. this is brought about by the princess husn maryam at genoa, with whom ala aldin finds his first wife zobeidah, and they all set out on a wonderful couch and go first to alexandria, then to cairo to visit his parents, and finally to baghdad, where he marries the princess and lives happy ever afterwards. ali the persian and the kurd sharper is a very short story, but quite rabelaisian in its humour, and the manner in which the persian and the kurd describe the contents of the small bag that had been lost. all sorts of things are mentioned in a haphazard way, many of them, however, perhaps, being required to fulfil the exigencies of the rhymed prose in which the story is written in the original arabic. the man of al-yaman and his six slave-girls.--the six girls in this story have all different qualities. one is white, another brown, the third fat, the fourth lean, the fifth yellow, and the sixth black. the happy owner gets them together, and in verse and recitation each praises her own peculiarity, and abuses that of her opposite by examples and quotations. there is an oriental twang about the story which makes it worthy of notice, and some of the verses are not bad. abu al-husn and his slave-girl tawaddud.--this story is not amusing, but it is very interesting, especially to persons studying the minute details of the muhammadan faith, doctrine and practice, according to the shafai school, and the exegesis of the koran, all of which are wonderfully expounded by the slave-girl. in the shape of questions and answers an enormous amount of information of all sorts is put into the mouth of this highly accomplished female. the writer deals not only with theology, but also with physiology in all its branches, or, at least, with as many as were known at the period of the tale. further, medicine, astronomy, philosophy, and all kinds of knowledge are discussed. a series of conundrums are put to the girl and replied to by her, and she also displays her skill in chess, draughts, backgammon, and music. it is to be regretted that the exact date of this species of mangnall's questions and answers cannot be ascertained, for this would enable us to appreciate better the amount of knowledge displayed on the various subjects under discussion. anyhow, it is certain that it must have been written some time after the doctrines of the imam shafai (he died a.d. ) had been well-defined and established. owing to certain medical and surgical queries and replies, it is to be presumed that the whole must have been worked up after the arab school of medicine and physiology had arrived at their highest stage of perfection. the whole story is a good specimen of the state of civilization reached by the arabs, and as such is worth a reference. three other stories in the 'nights' bear some affinity to the above, but they are much more limited, both as regards the subject they deal with and the information they supply. one is 'king jali'ad and his vizier shimas,' in payne's eighth and burton's ninth volume; another, 'history of al-hajjaj bin yusuf and the young sayyid,' in burton's fifth supplemental; and the third, 'the duenna and the king's son,' in his sixth supplemental. the rogueries of dalilah the crafty, and her daughter, zeynab the trickstress.--the tricks played by dalilah the crafty on all sorts of people in this story are of a nature that would make the tale amusing to the arabs generally, and to the frequenters of coffee-houses particularly. dalilah's father and husband had held lucrative appointments under the khalifs of baghdad, and, with a view to obtain something for herself and her daughter zeynab, these two women determined to bring themselves to notice by playing tricks, and doing things which were likely to be talked of in the great city. in europe at the present time the same method is often followed. attempted assassinations, attempted suicides, complaints in the police-courts and cases in the law-courts are sometimes meant simply as an advertisement.[ ] anyhow, dalilah's tricks played on various people are certainly amusing, and as they run ingeniously one into the other, it is somewhat difficult to describe them in a few words. the tale, to be appreciated, must be read through. sufficient to add that dalilah and zeynab both eventually obtain what they wish, and the various things taken from the different parties are duly returned to them. [footnote : as an example take the following extract from the _daily telegraph_ of th july, : 'the sisters macdonald have been giving a great deal more trouble to the police lately than even the bearers of so historic a name are entitled to give. ethel macdonald appeared at marlborough street charged with having wilfully smashed a window at the junior carlton club, st. james's square. it was stated that the aggressive ethel was one of the daughters of an ex-superintendent of county constabulary deceased, and that his daughters, being left unprovided for, had taken to going on the "rampage." one of the sisters alleges that she has been wronged by "a rich man," and a short time since another miss macdonald, on being arraigned before mr. newton, flung a bottle at the head of that learned magistrate. ethel was discharged, but it was ordered that she should be sent to the workhouse for inquiries to be made into her state of mind.'] the adventures of quicksilver ali of cairo.--this story is of the same nature as the preceding one, and in all the editions of the 'nights' the one always follows the other, while in the breslau text the two stories run together. ali begins life at cairo, and ends at baghdad, where his tricks and adventures follow each other in rapid succession, his object being to obtain in marriage the hand of zeynab, the daughter of dalilah the crafty. he is first tricked himself by zeynab, but continues his pursuit of her, and though at times he is transformed into the shapes of an ass, a bear, and a dog by the magic arts of azariah the jew, eventually he succeeds, with the aid of the jew's daughter, in obtaining the property required, and finally marries zeynab, the jewess, and two other women. hasan of busra and the king's daughter of the jinn.--this is a good specimen of a real oriental romance, with the wonderful and marvellous adventures of the hero interlaced with magic, alchemy, the jinns, and other fabulous varieties, so that the highest ideals of the imagination are almost arrived at. bahram the magician, who first beguiles hasan with alchemy and then carries him off and endeavours to destroy him, is himself destroyed in the early part of the story. the kindness of the seven princesses to hasan during his stay with them, and his visits to them later on, are described at length, as also is the way in which the hero falls desperately in love with the king's daughter of the jinn, and secures her as his bride. the happy pair start for busra, and rejoin his mother, and then settle down in baghdad, where two sons are born and happiness reigns supreme. but during hasan's absence on a visit to his former friends the seven princesses, some domestic scenes between his wife, his mother, and zobeidah, the spouse of the khalif harun-ar-rashid, are introduced, which end by the wife re-possessing herself of her original feather garment, and flying off with her two children to the islands of wac, where her father and family resided. on his return hasan is broken-hearted to find her gone, and determines to set out and try and recover her. then follows the description of his journeys, which fill pages describing the white country, and the black mountain, the land of camphor, and the castle of crystal. the islands of wac were seven in number, peopled by satans and marids, and warlocks and tribesmen of the jinn. to reach them hasan has to traverse the island of birds, the land of beasts, and the valley of jinn. without the aid of the princesses, their uncle abdul-cuddous, abourruweish, dehnesh ben fectesh, hassoun, king of the land of camphor, and the old woman shawahi, he never would have reached his destination. this, however, he finally does, and with the aid of a magic cup and wand recovers his wife and children, and returns with them to baghdad, where they live happily ever afterwards, till there came to them the creditor whose debt must always be paid sooner or later, the destroyer of delights, and the severer of societies. ali nur al-din and miriam the girdle-girl (called by payne, the frank king's daughter).--the adventures of ali with miriam, whom he first buys as a slave-girl in alexandria, and from whom he is separated and re-united, again separated and again united, are told at some length. but the principal features in this tale are the innumerable verses in praise of various fruits, flowers, wine, women, musical instruments, the beauty of the hero, etc., and on the subjects of love, union, separation, etc. miriam herself is a charming character of self-reliance and independence. on her first appearance in the slave market, at the time of her sale, she declines to be purchased by the old men, and abuses their age and their infirmities. indeed, she seemed to be of the same opinion as our great national poet, who wrote: 'crabbed age and youth cannot live together; youth is full of plaisance, age is full of care; youth like summer morn, age like winter weather; youth like summer brave, age like winter bare. youth is full of sport, age's breath is short, youth is nimble, age is lame; youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold, youth is wild and age is tame. age, i do abhor thee; youth, i do adore thee; o my love, my love is young; age, i do defy thee, o sweet shepherd, hie thee, for methinks thou stay'st too long'. however, she finally consents to be bought by the young and good-looking ali, who spends his last thousand dinars in her purchase, and then has nothing to live upon. miriam remedies this by making every night a beautiful girdle, which ali sells for a good price in the bazaar next day. this goes on for upwards of a year, when the first separation is brought about by the crafty old wazir of her father, the king of france, who had sent him especially to look for his daughter. in the course of the adventures that follow, miriam shows her capacity in sailing ships and in killing various men, among others her three brothers, who pursued her in her last flight from her father's city. eventually she and ali get to baghdad, where the khalif makes things smooth for them, and they are married, and finally return to cairo to rejoin ali's parents, from whom he had run away in his youth. kamar al-zaman and the jeweller's wife is one of the modern tales of the 'nights,' and a very good one, containing a good plot and plenty of interesting incidents. the jeweller's wife, halimah by name, is one of the wickedest and craftiest of women in busra, and her plots and intrigues are well described; some of them are to be found in persian story-books. after playing all sorts of tricks, she leaves her husband, and elopes with the youth kamar to cairo, where his parents reside. there his father will not let him marry her, but confines her and her slave-girl in a room, and arranges a marriage for his son with another woman. after a time halimah's husband, obayd, the jeweller, turns up in cairo in the most beggarly plight, having been plundered by bedouins _en route_. after explanations, obayd ends by killing his wife and her slave-girl, who had assisted her in all her devilries, and kanar's father marries him to his daughter, who turns out the most virtuous of women. the moral of the tale is pointed out at the end, that there are both bad women and good women in the world, and is closed with the remark: 'so he who deemeth all women to be alike, there is no remedy for the disease of his insanity.' ma'aruf the cobbler and his wife fatimah commences with a domestic scene between the two, from which it appears that the poor husband had been shamefully sat upon from the day of his marriage, and that his wife was a dreadful woman. affairs, however, at last reach a climax, and ma'aruf seeks peace and safety in flight. balzac, in his clever novel of 'le contrat de mariage,' makes his hero manerville fly from the machinations of his wife and mother-in-law, but henri de marsay, writing to his friend pages on the subject, contends that he is wrong, and points out to him the course that he should have followed. anyhow, in ma'aruf the cobbler's case, the result is satisfactory. arriving by the aid of a jinn at a far-away city, he found a friend, who directed him how to behave, and to tell everybody that he was a great and wealthy merchant, but that his merchandise was still on the way, and expected daily. pending the arrival of his baggage-train, ma'aruf borrowed from everybody, gave it all away in largesse to the poor, and behaved generally as if he were very well-to-do. by these means he made such an impression on the king of the place that the latter married him to his daughter, and made large advances from the treasury in anticipation of the arrival of the merchandise. time goes on, but still the baggage does not turn up. the king, instigated by his wazir, becomes suspicious, and persuades his daughter to worm out the real story from her husband. this she does in a clever way, and ma'aruf tells her his true history. the woman behaves admirably, refuses to expose his vagaries, and, giving him fifty thousand dinars, advises him to fly to a foreign country, to begin to trade there, and to keep her informed of his whereabouts and the turn of his fortunes. the cobbler departs during the night, while his wife the next morning tells the king and the wazir a long rigmarole story of how her husband had been summoned by his servants, who had informed him that his baggage-train and merchandise had been attacked by the arabs, and that he had gone himself to look after his affairs. meanwhile ma'aruf departs sore at heart, weeping bitterly, and, like all 'arabian nights' heroes in adversity, repeating countless verses. after various adventures he falls in with a vast treasure, and a casket containing a seal ring of gold, which, when rubbed, causes the slave of the seal ring, naturally a jinn, to appear and carry out every wish and order that ma'aruf might give him. with the aid, then, of the jinn, abu al-saddat by name, the cobbler returns to his wife laden with treasure and merchandise, and thus proves to all the doubters that he is a true man. he pays all his debts, gives a great deal to the poor, and bestows presents of an enormous value on his wife, her attendants, and all the people of the court. as a matter of course, all this prosperity is followed by adversity. the king and his wazir combine together, and ask ma'aruf to a garden-party, make him drunk, and get him to relate the story of his success. recklessly he shows the ring to the wazir, who gets hold of it, rubs it, and on the appearance of the slave of the ring, orders him to carry off the cobbler and cast him down in the desert. the wazir then orders the king to be treated in the same way, while he himself seizes the sultanate, and aspires to marry ma'aruf's wife, the king's daughter. with much interesting detail the story relates how the princess dunya gets the ring into her possession, sends the wazir to prison, and rescues her father and her husband from the desert. the wazir is then put to death, and the ring is kept by the lady, as she thinks it would be safer in her keeping than in that of her relations. after this a son is born, the king dies, ma'aruf succeeds to the throne, and shortly after loses his wife, who before her death gives him back the ring, and urges him to take good care of it for his own sake and for the sake of his boy. time goes on, and the cobbler's first wife, fatimah, turns up in town, brought there also by a jinn, and tells the story of the want and suffering she had undergone since his departure from cairo. ma'aruf treats her generously, and sets her up in a palace with a separate establishment, but the wickedness of the woman reappears, and she tries to get hold of the ring for her own purposes. just as she has secured it she is cut down and killed on the spot by ma'aruf's son, who had been watching her proceedings, and is thus finally disposed of. the king and his son then marry, and live happily in the manner of eastern story, all the other characters being properly provided for. so much for the 'nights' proper. other stories translated from the breslau text (a tunisian manuscript acquired, collated and translated by professor habicht, of breslau, von der hagen, and another; volumes, mo., breslau, ), the calcutta fragment of - , and other sources, have been given by payne in three extra volumes entitled 'tales from the arabic,' and by burton in two of his six volumes of the 'supplemental nights.' payne's three books and burton's two first volumes follow the same lines. they both contain twenty principal, and sixty-four subordinate stories, or eighty-four altogether, divided into nine short stories and seventy-five longer ones. some of them are very interesting, and some are amusing, especially a few of the sixteen constables' stories, which describe the cleverness of women, and the adroitness of thieves, and people of that class. it is probable that these are more or less of a modern date. the first story in this collection, called 'the sleeper and the waker,' commonly known as 'the sleeper awakened,' is good, and also particularly interesting as one of galland's stories not traced at the time, but afterwards turning up in the tunis text of the 'nights.' the third volume of burton's 'supplemental nights' is one of the most interesting of the whole lot. it contains eight principal and four subordinate stories of galland's 'contes arabes,' which are not included in the calcutta, boulak, or breslau editions of the 'nights.' for many years the sources from which galland procured these tales were unknown. some said that he invented them himself. others conjectured that he got them from the story-tellers in constantinople and other places in the east. but in a.d. mr. h. zotenberg, the keeper of eastern manuscripts in the bibliothèque nationale at paris, obtained a manuscript copy of the "nights," which contained the arabic originals of the stories of "zayn al asnam," and of "aladdin," two of galland's best stories. this was a very valuable acquisition, for it sets at rest the doubts that had always been expressed about the origin of these two tales, and also leads to the supposition that the arabic originals of the other stories will also turn up some day. of these eight principal and four subordinate stories of galland, those of "aladdin; or, the wonderful lamp," and of "ali baba and the forty thieves," have ever been most popular tales, and have been appreciated by many generations from the time that galland first introduced them to europe. but some of the other stories are equally good, and all are worth reading, as burton has not only taken galland as a guide, but has also adapted his own translation from the hindustani version of the gallandian tales, prepared by one totárám shayán, whose texts of the "nights," along with those of others, are fully discussed. by this method burton endeavoured to preserve the oriental flavour of the work itself, without introducing too much french sauce. after the discovery of the arabic original of the stories of "zayn al-asnam" and "aladdin," payne recognized its importance, and published his translation of these two tales in a separate volume in , which forms a sort of appendix to his previously issued twelve volumes. this thirteenth book contains also an interesting introduction, giving a _résumé_ of mr. zotenberg's work, published at paris in , and which contains the arab text of the story of aladdin, along with an exhaustive notice of certain manuscripts of the "thousand and one nights," and of galland's translation. the fourth and fifth volumes of burton's "supplemental nights" contain certain new stories from an arabic manuscript of the "nights" in seven volumes, brought to europe by edward wortley montague, esq., and bought at the sale of his library by dr. joseph white, professor of hebrew and arabic at oxford, from whom it passed into the hands of dr. jonathan scott, who sold it to the bodleian library, at oxford, for fifty pounds. wortley montague's manuscript contains many additional tales not included in the calcutta, boulak, or breslau editions, and these additional stories burton has now translated. it is uncertain how or where wortley montague obtained his copy of the 'thousand and one nights.' dr. white had at one time intended to translate the whole lot, but this was never accomplished. jonathan scott did, however, translate some of the stories, which were published in the sixth volume of his 'arabian nights entertainment' in a.d. , but the work was badly and incompletely done. it has now been thoroughly revised and put into better form by burton in these two volumes. in appendix i. to volume v. there is a catalogue of the contents of the wortley montague ms., which is very interesting, as it contains not only a description of the manuscript itself, but also a complete list of the tales making up the "thousand and one nights," many of which are, of course, to be found in the "nights" proper. these two supplemental volumes contain principal and subordinate stories, or in all. some of them are very amusing, especially the tales of the larrikins, while the whole add to our knowledge of this vast répertoire of tales from the east, which has been gradually brought to the notice of europe during the last one hundred and eighty-five years. burton's sixth supplemental volume contains certain stories taken from a book of arabian tales, a continuation of the 'arabian nights entertainment,' brought out by dom chavis, a syrian priest, and eventually teacher of arabic at the university of paris, and mr. jacques cazotte, a well-known french _littérateur,_ unfortunately and unjustly guillotined in paris on the th september, , at the time of the revolution. this work, sometimes called 'the new arabian nights,' is an imitation of galland's marvellous production, and may be considered a sort of continuation of it. dom chavis brought the manuscripts to france, and agreed with mr. cazotte to collaborate, the former translating the arabic into french, and the latter metamorphosing the manner and matter to the style and taste of the day. the work first appeared in - , and was translated into english in . burton, in his foreword to this volume, gives a full account of these stories, as translated and edited by chavis and cazotte. he himself gives a translation of eight of them, one of which, the linguist, the duenna, and the king's son, is interesting, as it contains a series of conundrums, questions and answers, which may remind the reader of the story of abu al-husn and his slave-girl tawaddud, in the 'nights' proper, and of the history of al-hajjaj bin yusuf and the young sayyid, from the wortley montague ms. in addition to the eight translated stories, the sixth volume contains a great deal of matter in the shape of appendices, such as--notes on zotenberg's work on aladdin and on various manuscripts of the 'nights'; biography of the work and its reviewers reviewed; opinions of the press, etc.; but though well worthy of perusal by the curious, space does not allow of further allusions to them here. to sum up, then, shortly, payne's thirteen volumes contain principal, and subordinate stories, or in all, while burton's sixteen volumes contain principal, and subordinate stories, or altogether. these numerous stories, translated from the calcutta ( - ), calcutta macnaghten ( - ), boulak (cairo, - ), breslau (tunis), wortley montague, galland and chavis texts may be considered to form what is commonly called 'the arabian nights entertainment.' they date from a.d. , which may be considered as the year of their commencement and that of the abbaside dynasty, and go on, continually added to, up to a.d. , or even later. many authors have had a hand in the work, the stories themselves having been derived from indian, persian, arabian, egyptian, syrian and grecian sources, and adapted, more or less, for arab readers and hearers. and as the manuscripts in some of these stories in different countries do not in any way tally, it must be supposed that no such work as an original copy of the 'thousand and one nights' has ever been in existence. the repertoire, consisting of a few stories at first, has gradually grown to such a size that now it may almost be considered to contain the largest and best collection of stories that the world has, as yet seen. mention has been already made in a previous page of the 'kathá sarit ságara,' or ocean of the streams of story, and a brief description of this work was given in the third chapter of 'early ideas' (a.d. ). since then a complete translation of the 'kathá' has been made by professor c.h. tawney, of the calcutta college, and it has been published in fourteen fasciculi, in the 'bibliotheca indica,' by the asiatic society of bengal, - . it is to be regretted, for the sake of the student and the anthropologist, that the translation is presented in an expurgated form. still, the professor has done his work (and a long and tedious work it must have been) excessively well, while many of his notes, corrigenda and addenda are most interesting. the 'arabian nights' and the 'kathá sarit ságara' occupy respectively the same position in arabic and hindoo literature. they are both collections of tales adapted to the people of the country for which they have been written. a perusal of both the works will show how much they differ. the characters and ideas of the heroes and heroines, their thoughts, reflections, speeches, surroundings, and situations are worth studying in the two books as an exposition of the manners and customs, ideas and habits of two distinct peoples. the hindoo characters, as depicted in their story-book, will be found to be duller, heavier, more reverential, and more superstitious than the characters in the 'nights.' there are two things, however, common to the two books: the power of destiny, and the power of love, against which it is apparently useless to struggle. while there are stories in burton's 'nights,' there are tales of sorts in tawney's 'kathá.' both works are rather formidable as regards size and quantity of matter; still, after a start has been fairly made, the interest goes on increasing in a wonderful way, until at last one becomes absorbed and interested to a degree that can scarcely be imagined. the stories in the 'kathá sarit ságara' are supposed to have been originally composed by one gunádhya, in the paisacha language, and made known in sanscrit under the title of 'vrihat kathá,' or great tale. from this work one bhatta somadeva, in the eleventh century a.d., prepared the work now known as the 'kathá sarit ságara,' but probably stories have been added to it since. at present it consists of eighteen books, divided into one hundred and twenty-four chapters, and containing three hundred and thirty stories, along with other matter. of gunádhya, the supposed original author, not much is known, but vatsyayana, in his 'kama sutra' (printed privately for the kama shastra society) mentions the name of gunádhya as a writer whose works he had consulted, and gives frequent quotations from them in his chapter on the duties of a wife. the exact date of vatsyayana's life is also uncertain; some time not earlier than the first century b.c., and not later than the sixth century a.d., is considered to be the approximate period of his existence. like the 'arabian nights,' it is highly probable that the 'kathá' grew by degrees to its present size. gunádhya's original work is apparently not now extant. between the time it was written and the time that somadeva produced his edition of it, many stories may have been added, and the same process may have continued afterwards. somadeva, however, says: 'i compose this collection, which contains the pith of the "vrihat kathá."' again he writes: 'this book is precisely on the model of that from which it is taken; there is not the slightest deviation; only such language is selected as tends to abridge the prolixity of the work; the observance of propriety and natural connection, and the joining together of the portions of the poem so as not to interfere with the spirit of the stories, are as far as possible kept in view. i have not made this attempt through desire of a reputation for ingenuity, but in order to facilitate the recollection of a multitude of various tales.' the 'kathá sarit ságara' contains many stories now existing in the 'pancha tantra,' or five chapters, in the 'hitopodesa,' or friendly advice, in the 'baital pachesi,' or twenty-five stories of a demon, and other indian story-books. owing to the total absence of dates it is difficult to determine from what sources all these stories were collected. but as some of the same fables and animal stories are to be found in the 'buddhist birth stories,' or játaka tales, in the 'arabian nights,' and in the 'kathá,' it may fairly be conjectured that stories of this nature were in early years in considerable circulation, and used as a means of conveying wisdom and advice both to the classes and to the masses in those prehistoric times. to return to arab story-books. mention must be made of 'antar,' a bedouin romance, which has been partially translated from the arabic into english by terrick hamilton, secretary to the british embassy at constantinople, and published in london ( ). mr. clouston, in his 'arabian poetry for english readers,' glasgow, , has given an abstract of the story, with some specimens of translations from the original. the work itself is generally supposed to have been written by al-asmai, the philologist and grammarian (born a.d. , died a.d. ), who flourished at the court of harun-ar-rashid, and was a great celebrity in his time. it is probable that many of the stories told about antar and his wonderful deeds came down orally and traditionally to al-asmai, who embellished them with his own imagination, aided by a wonderful knowledge of the language and idioms used by the arabs in their desert wilds. antar is the hero, and abla the heroine, of the romance. antar himself is supposed to have lived during the sixth century a.d., and to have been the author of one of the seven famous poems suspended at mecca, and known as the mua'llakat. besides this he was distinguished as a great warrior, whose deeds of daring were quite marvellous. the translator had intended to divide the work into three parts. the first ends with the marriage of antar and abla, to attain which many difficulties had to be overcome. the second part includes the period when antar suspends his poem at mecca, also a work of considerable difficulty. the third part gives the hero's travels, conquests, and death. mr. hamilton only translated and published the first part of the three, and the two others have not yet been done into english. the romance of antar, though tedious, is interesting, as it gives full details of the life of the arabs before muhammad's time, and even after, for the arab life of to-day is apparently much the same as it was three thousand years ago. it appears to be an existence made up of continual wanderings, constant feud and faction, and perpetual struggles for food, independence and plunder. but in the deserts on the frontiers of syria, palestine, mesopotamia and baghdad, it is said that the various tribes are now kept much more in subjection by the turks, owing to the introduction of the breech-loader, against which the arab and his matchlock and his peculiar mode of warfare is somewhat powerless. while the 'arabian nights' are supposed to treat more of the inhabitants of the towns, the romance of antar deals more with the inhabitants of the desert. to the student of the arabic language both works are interesting, as they occupy a prominent and standard place in arabian literature, and afford much information about the manners and customs, ideas and peculiarities of an ancient and interesting race of people. it must be admitted that both antar and the 'arabian nights' are so long that they rather try the patience of readers not particularly interested in them. nowadays in england the daily press supplies such a mass of information of all sorts in connection with every branch of society, that a constant and persistent reader of our daily and weekly newspapers can find in them quite an 'arabian nights entertainment' without going further afield. indeed, the stories concerning the cures effected by certain patent medicines are as wonderful as anything one ever reads in the 'nights' themselves. and in addition to the realities and actualities of life, as daily told in our newspapers and law reports, many of which do certainly prove that fact is stranger than fiction, there are numerous writers who keep the public supplied with tales and stories of every kind and description. and from the great demand for such productions, whether issued as the penny dreadful, the thrilling story, or the regulation romance in three volumes, one conclusion can only be drawn, which is--that the human mind, everywhere in the east, west, north and south, is always anxious to be fed or amused with something startling or romantic, dreadful or improbable, exciting or depressing. it is to be presumed, then, that the 'nights' filled the vacuum in the minds of the people of that day in the east, much the same as the books and newspapers of our time satisfy the cravings of the humanities of the west, who still seem to be ever in search of something new, even if not true; something original, even if not trustworthy. human nature appears to be much the same in all ages and at all times, and the scandals connected with high persons, the memoirs and reminiscences of celebrated ones, and the good sayings of witty ones, have always found much favour with the public generally, whether told as stories, published as books, or printed in the papers. arabic literature abounds with biographical details and stories about celebrated and distinguished men. it was always the custom and fashion to fill their works with much information of the kind. the same fashion appears to exist in england at the present time, with this advantage, however, that we now get all the details and stories direct from the heroes themselves, and during their lifetime. chapter v. anecdotes and ana. in persian literature there are three celebrated works (sa'di's 'gulistan,' or rose garden, a.d. ; jawini's 'negaristan,' or portrait gallery, a.d. ; and jami's 'beharistan,' or abode of spring, a.d. , all translated by the kama shastra society), containing an entertaining collection of stories, verses, and moral maxims. in arabic literature there are many books of the same sort, and in this chapter it is proposed to give a few specimens of stories and philosophic reflections culled from various authors. this will perhaps be more interesting than a lengthened analysis of the works themselves. the following anecdotes have been taken from the 'naphut-ul-yaman' (breeze or breath of yaman), a collection of stories and poetical extracts of various arabic authors, edited by ahmad-ash-shirwani. i. al-jahiz said: 'i never was put so much to shame as when a woman met me on the road and said, "i have some business with you," and i followed her till we reached the shop of a goldsmith, when she said, "like this man," and walked away. i stood amazed, and asked the goldsmith to explain the matter. he replied: "this woman wanted me to make her a figure of satan, and i told her that i did not know his physiognomy; whereon she brought you!"' ii. a voracious man paid a visit to a hermit, who brought him four loaves, and then went to fetch a dish of beans; but when he had come with it, he found that his guest had consumed the bread. accordingly he departed to bring some more bread, but when he returned with it he saw that the man had devoured the beans. this proceeding was repeated ten times, whereon the host asked his guest to what place he was travelling. he replied, 'to rei.' 'wherefore?' 'i heard of a celebrated physician in that town, and i mean to consult him about my stomach, because i have but little appetite for eating.' 'i have a request to make of you.' 'what is it?' 'when you return, after having recovered your appetite, please do not pay me a visit again.' iii. one day the poet abu nuwas made his appearance at the gate of the palace of rashid, who, as soon as he was informed of this, called for eggs, and said to his courtiers: 'here is abu nuwas at the door. now let each of you take an egg and place it under his body, and when he enters i shall feign to be angry with all of you, and shall exclaim: "now lay eggs each of you, and if you do not i shall order you all to be beheaded," and we shall see how he will behave.' then the poet was admitted, and the conversation continued. after a while, however, the khalif became angry, and manifested his displeasure by exclaiming: 'you are all like hens, and meddle with things that do concern you; now lay eggs each of you, for that is your nature, or i shall order your heads to be struck off.' then he looked at the courtier on his right, saying: 'you are the first; now lay an egg.' accordingly he made great efforts, and contorting his features, at last drew forth an egg. then the khalif addressed the others successively in the same manner, and when the turn of abu nuwas came, he struck his sides with his hands, and crowing like a cock, said: 'my lord, hens are useless without a cock. these are hens, and i am their cock.' hereon the khalif burst out laughing, and approved of his excuse. iv. a certain king was much addicted to women, and one of his viziers warned him of the danger. shortly afterwards some of his concubines observed that his behaviour towards them had changed, and one of them said: 'my lord, what is this?' he replied: 'one of my viziers (mentioning his name) advised me not to love you.' 'then,' said the girl, 'present me to him, o king, and do not reveal what i shall do to him.' accordingly he gave the girl away, and when the vizier was alone with her, she made herself so amiable that he fell in love with her, but she refused to grant him any favour except on condition of allowing her first to ride on his back. he agreed. accordingly she bridled and saddled him, but meanwhile sent word to the king what was taking place; and when he arrived he saw the vizier in the position alluded to, and said: 'you warned me of the love of woman, and this is the state i see you in.' the vizier replied: 'o king! this is just what i warned you of!' v. once a lion, a fox, and a wolf were associates in the chase, and after they had killed an ass, a gazelle, and a hare, the lion said to the wolf: 'divide the prey among us;' whereon the latter said: 'the ass will be yours, the hare the fox's, and the gazelle mine;' and the lion knocked his eye out. then the fox said: 'a curse on him, what a silly division he proposed!' accordingly the lion said: 'then do you make the division, o possessor of the brush!' and the fox said: 'the ass will be for your dinner, the gazelle for your supper, and the hare for your luncheon.' the lion said: 'you rogue! who taught you to make such a just distribution?' and reynard answered, 'the eye of the wolf.' vi. a certain king asked his vizier whether habit can vanquish nature, or nature habit? the vizier replied: 'nature is stronger, because it is a root, and habit a branch, and every branch returns to its root.' now the king called for wine, and a number of cats made their appearance with candles in their paws, and stood around him; then he said to the vizier: 'do you perceive your mistake in saying that nature is stronger than habit?' the vizier replied: 'give me time till this evening.' the king continued: 'you shall have it.' accordingly the vizier appeared in the evening with a mouse in his sleeve, and when the cats were standing with their candles, he allowed it to slip out, whereon all the cats threw down the candles and ran after it, so that the house was nearly set on fire. then the vizier said: 'behold, o king, how nature overcomes habit, and how the branch returns to the root.' the 'merzubán námah,' translated from the persian into arabic, is said to be of very ancient origin, and to embody good maxims in fables. it was composed, or is supposed to have been composed, by one of the old princes of persia called merzuban, a brother of the king nausherwan the just, who died a.d. . on referring to the great encyclopædical and bibliographical dictionary, edited by fluegel, it will be found, under no. , , that haji khalfa mentions this book, giving, however, its title only, without mentioning the time of its composition, nor the author of it, nor the language in which it had been written. the following are some extracts from this work, and the stories resemble others that have come from the farther east. i. the philosopher merzubán said: 'i am informed that in a certain district of aderbaijan there is a mountain as high as the sky, with fine brooks, trees, fruits and herbs. under the shelter of one of the most beautiful trees a pair of partridges lived most happily, but in the vicinity there was likewise a powerful eagle with his brood, who periodically visited the abode of the partridges and devoured their young ones. when the pair had thus several times lost their progeny, the male proposed that it would either be necessary for them to emigrate to some other locality, or to try some expedient by which they might escape from the rapacity of the eagle. he was of opinion that even in case of failure they might gain some valuable experience that would be of use in future attempts to elude the persecution, and said: "we must at all events make a trial, and may learn something from it, like the donkey who endeavoured to become the companion of the camel." the she-partridge asked, "how was that?" and the male continued: ii. '"once a donkey tried to keep up walking with a big camel, who paced lustily, and took long steps, but the ass, being in a hurry, stumbled every moment, and found that he had undertaken an impossible task. he asked the camel, 'how is it i wound my hoofs on the rocks so often, although i constantly look where i am stepping; whilst you, who apparently walk with leisure, never cast a glance at any of the obstacles you meet with, and never hurt yourself?' the camel replied: 'the reason is just because you are short-sighted and of weak intellect; you can look no further than your nose, and are, therefore, disappointed; whereas i look always forward, know the obstacles i am likely to encounter, scan the road to a great distance, and avoid the difficulties, selecting the easiest parts of the way.'" the wise hen said: "to be forewarned is to be forearmed, and this principle i follow." "i have narrated this story to show you that we must look forward, now that the time of laying eggs is at hand, because when our little ones are hatched it may again be too late to try and save them." 'the female partridge said: "this is all very well, but we might fare like the hungry fox who would have lost his life if the ichneumon had not interceded for him with the camel." the male said "how was that?" and the female continued: iii. '"it is related that a certain fox had a fine large den, in which he collected provisions for the winter and for the summer, fared sumptuously, and never suffered from want. once, however, a large army of ants invaded his domicile, and made short work of all the victuals he had carefully stored. this misfortune befel him just at a time when the weather happened to be very cold and food scarce, so that he began to feel the pangs of hunger. one morning, however, when he was about to sally forth from his den, he perceived, to his no small astonishment, at the mouth of it a camel kneeling, with the hinder part of his body turned towards him. the fox said to himself, 'here is good luck,' and made a foolhardy attempt to drag the animal into the cave by tying a rope to its tail, and to commence pulling at it with all his might. to make sure of his prey the fox had tied the other end of the rope to his own body, but when he began to jerk it rather strongly the camel became vexed, jumped up suddenly, and first discharging both urine and dung upon reynard, began to shake himself violently. the fox dangled in the air, and was repeatedly knocked against the flanks of the gigantic animal. then the fox repented of his silly attempt to feast on camel meat, and knew that his death-knell would shortly sound. luckily an ichneumon happened to be standing close by, amazed at the strange spectacle, and the fox implored it to intercede for him. accordingly, the ichneumon addressed the camel in the following strain: 'friend giant! it is meet that the strong, hoping for an eternal reward, should have mercy upon the weak! here is a poor stranger who has accidentally become entangled with your tail. he will be strangled; you may save his life and become his deliverer by letting him go.' the camel then released the fox, who would assuredly have lost his life if the ichneumon had not interceded for him." when the male partridge had heard this story he fully approved of the moral of it, which is to the effect that ignorant and weak individuals are generally foiled in their designs against those who are powerful. he therefore considered that it would be best to throw themselves upon the mercy of the eagle, and said: "we must pay a visit to his majesty the eagle, explain our case to him, implore his mercy, and enroll ourselves among the number of his servants. we may succeed by gaining his favour; he is the king of all the birds, and carnivorous, but for all we know his disposition may be so merciful that he will spare our offspring not only himself, but order all the other birds of prey, his subjects, to do likewise." 'then the she-partridge exclaimed: "your advice is indeed wonderful! you propose nothing less than that we should court our own perdition, and of our own accord run into a trap! the eagle in treacherous, and would deal with us like the heron dealt with the little fish." the male said, "please narrate the occurrence," and the female continued: iv. '"a heron had taken up his abode, and had lived for a long time near a brook on the little fishes there. at last, however, he became so old and weak that he was scarcely able to provide his daily food. he was once standing in a melancholy attitude on the bank of the streamlet, waiting for a chance to satisfy his hunger, when he happened to catch sight of a beautiful little fish disporting itself in the water, and mourned over his inability to get hold of it. the little fish perceived the heron standing immovable, and apparently taking not the least notice of it; therefore it gradually ventured to approach him, and asked the cause of his melancholy. the heron replied, 'i am reflecting upon the time of my youth which has passed away, the life i enjoyed, the pleasures i felt, all of which are irretrievably lost, and have left behind nothing but repentance for my sins, a weak body, and tottering limbs. i can now only regret the depredations i have committed, and wash away with my tears the stains of my transgressions. how often have i given occasion, both to little fishes and to eels, to deplore the loss of members of their families, which i had greedily devoured; but i have now repented, and shall henceforth do so no more.' when the little fish had heard this wonderful confession it asked: 'what can i do for you?' the heron replied: 'i want you only to convey this declaration of mine, with my salutations, to all your acquaintances, with the information that they may henceforth live in perfect safety, and need not apprehend any depredations on my part. there must, however, be covenants and pledges of security between us.' the little fish asked: 'how can i trust you, since i am the food on which you subsist, and you cannot be inclined to dispense with that.' he said: 'take this grass and tie it round my neck for a sign that i shall not injure you.' accordingly, the little fish took hold of a blade of grass, which was to serve for the heron's collar, who then placed his beak near the surface of the water to receive it, but as soon as the little fish had come within reach, the heron gobbled it up, and this was the end of the promised pledge. my dear husband, i have narrated this occurrence only to show that we would, by trusting to any promises of magnanimity that the eagle might make to us, only court our own perdition." 'in spite of all her objections, however, the she-partridge agreed at last to accompany her husband to the court of the eagle. they started together, travelled for some time, arrived at his abode, and made their obeisance to a courtier whose name was yuyu, whom the male partridge addressed as follows: "most noble lord, we are denizens of an adjoining mountain, where we lived happily till his majesty the eagle crushed all our hopes by making his appearance on our mountain with his court of birds of prey, destroyed our young on several successive occasions, and reduced us to despair. i proposed to my wife to emigrate, and she at last consented, so that we have now arrived here and placed ourselves under the wings of your protection."' yuyu was pleased with these words, and replied: "i bid you welcome, and approve of your sagacity which induced you to seek a refuge at the court of our most noble sovereign. i must, however, tell you that although his disposition is righteous, he feeds upon the meat of animals, but when the weak and helpless crave his mercy, or implore his aid, he seldom disappoints them; those, on the contrary, who oppose or endeavour to deceive him must be prepared to fall under his wrath. he is honest and veracious, because he lives in solitude, and keeps aloof from intercourse with mankind, because all agree that the society of men crushes out all good qualities, and is productive of misery. you may now arise, and seek an audience from his majesty, because the opportunity will not present itself often. when you enter and make your obeisance you must watch his humour, which will be excellent if he has been successful in the chase. then you will behold him social and chatting with his courtiers, whilst the nightingale, the heron, and other birds are singing and dancing for his amusement, and you can then introduce the subject of your petition. but if you behold him sitting dumb, with bloodshot eyes, or in an angry mood, say nothing if you value your life, and in any case, if you should perceive that silence is best, do not venture to speak." 'after this advice the partridge flew with yuyu up to a lofty peak of the mountain, and alighted in a beautiful garden, fragrant with the perfume of flowers, where the eagle was sitting with his court, which consisted of birds of every species. then yuyu presented himself before his majesty, and craved an audience for the partridge, which, having been granted, he was admitted and spoke as follows: "praise be to allah, who has healed our wound and restored us to life! we lived in trouble and distress, but the justice of your majesty's government is the theme of every tongue; all our apprehensions have vanished, and we hope for security under the wings of your protection, because it is said that a noble sultan is to his subjects like a kind father to his children, and protects them against all evils." 'the king replied: "you are welcome in this region; here you may live in safety among the best of neighbours, and i grant you protection." accordingly, the partridge returned to his spouse, whom he informed of the condescension of his majesty, whose service both accordingly entered, and whose favour they afterwards gained, so that they lived happily to the end of their days.' the 'merzubán námah' contains also several stories about kesra nausherwan the just, and his minister buzarjimehr, but they are not very interesting. the extracts given above sufficiently show the nature of this work, which puts into the mouths of animals how men and women ought to act under various circumstances, and it bears a strong resemblance in many ways to the 'kalilah wa dimnah.' two stories have been selected from the celebrated arabic work entitled 'al--mustatraf,' or 'the gleaner,' or 'the collector.' the full title of this work is 'al-mustatraf min kell finn al-mustazraf,' which may be translated thus: 'gleanings from every kind of elegant (or pleasing) composition.' the similarity of the first and last word of the title is attributable to the fondness of the arabs for alliterative or rhyming titles. as there are several meanings attached to the word mustatraf in the dictionaries, it might also be interpreted as 'the book of pleasing novelties.' it contains an anthology of anecdotes, stories, proverbs, and elegant extracts by shaikh muhammad bin ahmad al-bashihi. the work is mentioned by fluegel in his edition of haji khalfa's great work. i. abbas, the chief of the police of the khalif mamun, said: 'one day i was present in an assembly of the prince of the faithful, before whom a man was standing heavily fettered with chains of iron. as soon as the khalif perceived me he said: "abbas, take good care of this man, and produce him again to-morrow." accordingly i called for some of my people, and they carried him away, because he was so heavily shackled that he could scarcely move. considering that i had been ordered to take every care of this prisoner, i concluded that i had better keep him in my own house, in a chamber of which i then confined him. i asked him what place he had come from, and on his replying that it was damascus, i expressed my best wishes for the prosperity of that town, whereat he was astonished. i told him that i had been there, and asked him about a certain man; he said that he would like to know how i could be acquainted with him, and on my replying that i had had some business with him, he promised to satisfy my curiosity if i gave him first some information. accordingly i made the following statement: "when i was with some other officials at damascus the population rebelled against us, and even the governor was under the necessity of escaping by getting himself let down in a basket from his palace. i also fled, and whilst doing so the mob pursued me, and i ran into the house of the above-mentioned man, who was sitting at the door of it. i said to him: 'help me and allah will help you!' he received me kindly, and told his wife to put me into a certain room, whilst he remained sitting at the door. i had scarcely gone in when my pursuers likewise rushed in and insisted on searching the house, which they actually did, and would certainly have discovered me had not the man's wife kept them off from the room in which i sat trembling for my life. when the people at last dispersed, the man and his wife comforted me as much as they could, and hospitably entertained me in their house for four months, till every danger had passed away. when i was bold enough to go out and see what had become of my slaves, i found that they had all dispersed, and i asked my kind host to allow me to depart to baghdad. he consented, but when the caravan was starting he insisted on presenting me with a horse, a slave, and all the provisions required for the journey. all these were surprises thrust upon me when i was about to start, and was wondering how i could possibly travel without any of these things. moreover, during my whole sojourn this kind man had never asked me my name for fear that i might thereby be compromised. after i had safely arrived in baghdad i desired many a time to show my gratitude to this man, but could obtain no information about him. i still desire to requite his services, and this is the reason why i was so anxious to learn something about him from you." 'after the man had listened to the above statement he said: "verily, allah has enabled you to requite the kindness of that man." i asked: "how can that be?" and he replied: "i am that man, but the trouble in which you see me has hindered you from recognising me." then he reminded me of various circumstances, and so established his identity that i was perfectly convinced of it, and could not restrain myself from embracing him most fervently. to my inquiries how he had fallen into the calamity which had overtaken him, he replied: "a disturbance arose in damascus similar to the rebellion which had broken out when you were there; the prince of the believers sent troops and suppressed it, but i, having been suspected as one of the ringleaders thereof, was captured by his command, brought as a prisoner to baghdad, and considered to have forfeited my life, which i shall certainly lose. i left my family without taking leave, but a slave of mine has followed me here, and will carry back information about me. he is to be found at such and such a place, and if you will send for him i will give him the necessary instructions. i shall consider it a high favour, and as a reward for all the obligations under which you were to me." 'i told him to put his trust in allah, and got a smith to relieve him first of his irons, then i made him enter the bath, provided him with good clothes, and sent for his slave, to whom he gave, with tears in his eyes, the message for his family. i then ordered my people to get ready several horses and mules, which i loaded with baggage and provisions, gave the man a bag of ten thousand dirhems, with another of five thousand dinars, and ordered my lieutenant to escort him on his journey to damascus as far as anbar.' but the man replied: "the prince of the believers considers that i have committed high treason, and will send troops to pursue me; i shall be recaptured and executed, and by allowing me to escape you will endanger your own life." i said: "never mind what will became of me, but save your life, and i shall afterwards endeavour to save mine." he rejoined: "that shall not be, and i cannot leave baghdad without knowing what has become of you." seeing him determined in his purpose, i ordered my lieutenant to take him to a certain place in the town where he could remain in concealment till the next day, when he might be informed as to whether i had extricated myself from the difficulty, or had lost my life, in which latter case i should only have repaid him for having risked his in damascus to save mine, and after that he could depart. 'the lieutenant had taken the man away, and i made preparations for my death, getting ready my winding-sheet in which my corpse was to be shrouded, when an official on the part of mamun arrived with this message: "the prince of the faithful orders you to bring the man with you." accordingly i hastened to the palace, where i found the khalif sitting and expecting me. the first words he said to me were these: "i want to see the man!" i remained silent, and on his uttering them more emphatically, replied: "will you please listen to me, o commander of the believers?" he continued: "i am determined to strike your head off if the man has fled." i said: "o prince of the faithful, the man has not escaped, but listen to what i have to say about him, and then you may act as you deem fit." he continued: "speak!" accordingly i narrated everything, and said that i was anxious to requite the man in some measure for all the good he had done to me, that i was desirous to save his life even at the cost of my own, if need be, and finished my explanation by showing the winding-sheet i had brought with me. after the khalif had patiently listened, he exclaimed: "his merit is superior to yours, because he has treated you nobly without knowing you; whereas you only do so after having enjoyed his beneficence. i desire to reward him myself." "the man is here, and would not leave until apprized of my fate; i can produce him at once." the khalif said: "this trait of his character is yet more noble; go, comfort the man, and bring him here." accordingly i departed, and when i introduced the man to the khalif, he received him kindly, offered him a seat, conversed with him till dinner was brought in, of which he made him partake in his own company. lastly, the khalif invested him with a robe of honour, and wished to appoint him governor of damascus, but this he humbly refused. accordingly, mamun presented him with ten horses saddled and bridled, ten mules caparisoned, and ten bags, each of which contained ten thousand dinars; he also gave him ten slaves, with animals to ride upon, and a letter to the governor of damascus to absolve him from the payment of taxes. this man afterwards corresponded with mamun, and when a courier arrived from damascus the khalif used to say to me, "abbas! a letter from your friend has arrived."' ii. one night harun-ar-rashid was quite sleepless, and said to his vizier, jaafar, the son of yahya, the barmekide: 'i cannot sleep this night; i feel oppressed, and do not know what to do.' the servant masrur, who happened to be standing near, burst out laughing at these words, and the khalif continued: 'what are you laughing for? do you mock me or wish to show your levity?' masrur said: 'i swear by your relationship to the prince of apostles that i have done this unwittingly; but last evening i was near the castle, and walked to the bank of the tigris, where i saw many persons assembled around a man who made them laugh, and just now i recollected some of his words, which caused me to smile; his name is ben almugázeli, and i crave pardon from the commander of the faithful.' then rashid said: 'bring him here this moment.' accordingly masrur went to ben almugázeli and said to him: 'the commander of the faithful wants you.' he replied: 'to hear is to obey!' and masrur continued: 'but on the condition that if he presents you with anything, one-fourth of it will belong to you, and the rest to me.' the man rejoined: 'no, i must have one-third of it and you the other two-thirds.' masrur would not agree to this proposal, but at last consented after a great deal of haggling. when he was admitted and had made his salutations, the khalif said: 'if you make me laugh i shall give you five hundred dinars, but if not i shall give you three blows with this sock.' now ben almugázeli said to himself: "what is the odds if i get three strokes with the sock?" because he thought it was empty. accordingly he began to jest and to play tricks at which low people might have laughed, but not rashid, who did not even smile. the man was first astonished, then grieved, and at last frightened when rashid said: "now you have deserved the blows." he then took up the sock and twisted it, but at the bottom there were some balls, each of which weighed two drachms. when he had struck ben almugázeli once, the latter yelled pitifully, but recollecting the condition masrur had imposed upon him, he exclaimed: "mercy, o commander of the faithful, listen to two words of mine." he said: "speak what you like." the man continued: "i have promised masrur to let him have two-thirds of the bounty i might receive, and to keep one-third for myself, and to this he agreed only after much bargaining. now the commander of the faithful has decided that the bounty shall consist of three blows, of which my share would be one, and masrur's two. i have received mine, and now is his turn to take his." rashid laughed, called for masrur, and struck him; masrur groaned from pain, and said: "i present him with the remainder." the khalif laughed and ordered them to be presented with one thousand dinars, of which each received five hundred, and ben almugázeli went away grateful.' in this work there are several other stories concerning various khalifs, the barmekide family, and other people, but the extracts given above are sufficient to show the nature of the volume. two short anecdotes are taken from the 'sihr-ul-oyoon,' or 'magic of the eyes,' a work known to haji khalfa, and noted by fluegel in his lexicon. this book contains seven chapters, with some drawings of the eye, and an appendix consisting entirely of poetry, which, however, is also interspersed throughout the work, excepting in the chapters treating on the anatomy, the infirmities of, and the remedies for the eye. i. moghairah bin shabah states that he never was so cunningly deceived as by a youth of the benou-ul-háreth. he intended to sue for the hand of a girl of that tribe, when this youth, who stood near him, said: 'o amir, you have no need of her.' 'why?' 'i saw a man kiss her.' accordingly moghairah went away, but heard some time afterwards that the said youth had married the girl himself. on meeting again moghairah said to the youth: 'did you not tell me that you had seen a man kiss her.' 'certainly i did,' the young man replied, 'but that man was her father.' ii. a man happened to find on the road a silver brooch, which women use for applying collyrium to their eyes. this pin was handsome, and he concluded that the girl who had lost it must have very beautiful eyes. he indulged so much in this fancy that he conceived an affection for the owner of the brooch, and was fond of showing the precious article to his acquaintances. one day a friend paid him a visit, and after the wine they had drunk had taken effect, he took out the said brooch according to his wont, kissed it, and wept over it. the friend, who knew the brooch, asked whence he had obtained it, but he replied: 'pray do not question me, i am in love with the proprietress of it; my heart is melting, and it is so dear to me that i get jealous when other eyes beside my own look at it.' the friend said: 'i shall bring about a meeting between you and your mistress.' the other asked, 'who could procure me that felicity?' the friend went away, but returned in a short time bearing a covered platter, which he placed before him, saying, 'uncover this basin,' and lo! it contained a female head, weltering in its own gore, and on beholding it the man nearly fainted with grief. his friend, however, said: 'be not dismayed, but tell me how you obtained this brooch, which i had presented to my wife, whose head is before you.' he replied that he had found the brooch on a certain day on the road, and described the spot, adding that he imagined the owner of it must be beautiful, and conceived a warm affection for her, but that he had never seen her face, and knew not who she might have been. the friend said: 'this is true enough, because she told me one day that she had lost it; hence no blame rests on you.' the two men parted; the would-be lover, however, took this melancholy event so much to heart that he not only repented of his folly, but died of grief. the following curious philosophic discourse is taken from the 'siraj-ul-mulûk,' or lamp of kings, a well-known work composed about a.d. , and typographed at cairo a.d. : 'allah, the most high, has said (koran, vi., verse ): "there is no kind of beast on earth, nor fowl which flieth with its wing, but the same is a people like unto you." allah the most high has accordingly established a resemblance between us and all the animals. it is well known that they are not like us in their figures and forms as perceived by the eye, but in their demeanour; and there is not a human being who does not possess some qualities peculiar to animals. when you perceive that a man's character is unusual, you must endeavour to find out the qualities of the animal with which it may be compared, and judge of him according to these; and to avoid all misunderstanding, and to maintain intercourse with him, you must behave towards him in conformity with them. 'accordingly, when you see an ignorant man of rude behaviour, strong in body, whose anger overpowers him at any moment, you are to compare him to a tiger, and there is an arab proverb: "he is more stupid than a tiger." when you see a tiger, you avoid him, and do not fight with him, therefore towards an individual of this kind you must behave in the same manner. 'when you observe a man wantonly attacking the reputation of others, compare him to a dog, because it is his nature. when a dog barks at you it does not trouble you much, and you go your own way. you must deal in this manner with such men, because they are like dogs who assault others without any provocation. 'when you perceive that a man's nature is to say "yes" when you say "no," and "no" if you say "yes," compare him to an ass, because when you approach him he recedes, and when you move away he will move towards you. you must put up with your donkey, and neither separate from him nor insult him. deal in the same way with such a person. 'when you perceive a man searching out the weaknesses or shortcomings of people, compare him to a fly, which settles on a carcase, and then gluts itself with the vilest parts of it, such as the rotten flesh and the filthy offal. 'when you observe a sultan taking the lives, and confiscating the property of his subjects, consider him to be a lion, and be on your guard that he does not injure you. 'when you see a wicked man full of tricks and boastings, compare him to a fox. 'if you happen to meet with a tale-bearer who foments enmity among friends, consider him to be a "zeriban," which is a small beast of fetid smell, so that when two persons fall out with each other, the arabs say that "a zeriban has passed between them." it is, indeed, the peculiarity of this animal that an assembly disperses when it enters, accordingly it is driven off as soon as perceived, and a tale-bearer ought to be dealt with similarly. 'when you observe that a man loathes to listen to intelligent conversation, and hates meetings of learned men, but is fond of gossip, all kinds of nonsense, and scandals of society, compare him to the may-bug, which delights in impure exhalations, and loves dunghills, but hates the perfumes of musk or of roses, which actually kill it when sprinkled upon it. 'if you meet an individual displaying a great deal of piety outwardly, but always intriguing to acquire property, to enrich himself by unrighteous means, and to cheat widows and orphans, consider him to be a wolf: "the wolf is so devout; you see him on his knees, he nicely prays and sighs. but when his game is near, he falls upon it speedily and tears it all to pieces." 'when you discover a liar consider him to be like a dead man, who can give no information, and with whom no one can associate. a liar may also be compared to an ostrich which buries all its eggs in the sand, but leaves one upon the surface, and one close under it, whilst all the others are deeply concealed. when an inexperienced man perceives that egg he takes it, and perhaps also the one close below it, and after scraping up the sand a little, and finding nothing more goes away; whilst a person who knows this habit of the ostrich does not stop searching until he has got possession of all the eggs. you must deal in the same manner with a liar, and not believe him till you get to the bottom of his story, i.e. until you elicit the actual truth. 'when you observe that a man's whole attention is absorbed in endeavours to make a good appearance by keeping his clothes nice, and apprehensive lest they should be dirtied in any way, always picking any little straws that might adhere to them, and constantly adjusting his turban, consider him to be a peacock, whose nature is always to admire his own person, to stalk about majestically, to display the plumage of his tail, and to solicit praise of his beauty. 'if you become acquainted with a rancorous person who never forgets the slightest insult, but avenges himself for it even after a considerable lapse of time, compare him to a camel, for the arabs truly say of such a man that "he is more rancorous than a camel." avoid such a man as you would an ill-natured camel. 'when you meet a hypocrite, who is different from what he appears to be, compare him to the yarbu, _i.e._ the mouse of the desert, which has two apertures to its lair, the one for an entrance, and the other for an exit, so that it always cheats the hunter who digs for it.' yet another story-book may be quoted, viz., the 'ilam en nâs,' or warnings for men, containing historical tales and anecdotes of the time of the early khalifates. some of these were translated by mrs. godfrey clerk in (king and co.), and her little volume also contains a very good genealogical table of the families of the prophet, and of the rashidin (or 'rightly directed,' _i.e._ abu bakr, omar, othman, and ali), the omaiyide, and the abbaside khalifs. among the many works of arabic literature one of the most interesting and the most amusing is ibn khallikan's celebrated biographical dictionary. the author must have been a very intelligent and a very industrious man, for his volumes contain an enormous amount of information about many hundred arabs. this work is rendered all the more readable and all the more amusing by the many anecdotes related in connection with their lives, and a few of these stories are now given below. i. ibn abbas, son of abbas, uncle of muhammad, was one of the ablest interpreters of the koran. it was owing to his efforts that the study of the poems, composed before the introduction of islamism, became of such importance to the muslims, for he frequently quoted verses of the ancient poets in proof of the explanation he gave of different passages of the koran, and he used to say: 'when you meet with a difficulty in the koran look for its solution in the poems of the arabs, for these are the registers of the arabic nation.' on being asked how he had acquired his extensive knowledge, he replied: 'by means of an inquiring tongue and an intelligent heart.' it may here perhaps be stated that the koran, composed avowedly in the purest arabic, offered many difficulties to those who were not acquainted with the idiom of the desert arabs, a race who alone spoke the language in its perfection. the study of the ancient poets was therefore considered as necessary for the intelligence of the koran, and their poems, often obscure from the intricacy of their construction and their obsolete terms, required the assistance of grammatical analysis and philology to render them comprehensible. ii. ibn faris ar-razi, the philologist, is the author of these verses: 'well, some things succeed and some fail: when my heart is filled with cares i say: "one day perhaps they may be dispelled." a cat is my companion; books the friends of my heart; and a lamp my beloved consort.' iii. badi az-zaman al-hamadani, the author of some beautiful epistles and excellent essays, which last hariri took as a model in the composition of his, wrote as follows about death: 'death is awful till it comes, and then it is found light; its touch seems grating till felt, and then it is smooth; the world is so hostile and its injustice so great that death is the lightest of its inflictions, the least of its wrongs. look, then, to the right; do you see aught but affliction? look to the left; do you see aught but woe?' iv. abu wathila iyas al-kadi was renowned for his excessive acuteness of mind, observation, and penetration. many stories are told about him in connection with these qualities, which are really astonishing. it is related of him that he said: 'i was never worsted in penetration but by one man: i had taken my seat in the court of judgment at busra, when a person came before me and gave testimony that a certain garden, of which he mentioned the boundaries, belonged to a man whom he named. as i had some doubts of his veracity, i asked him how many trees were in that garden, and he said to me, after a short silence: "how long is it since our lord the kadi has been giving judgment in this hall?" i told him the time. "how many beams," said he, "are there in the roof?" on which i acknowledged that he was in the right, and i received his testimony.' v. it is a curious circumstance that homer the greek poet, radaki the persian poet, and bashshar bin burd the arabian poet, were all blind. here is a specimen of one of the verses of the last-named: 'yes, my friends! my ear is charmed by a person in that tribe; for the ear is sometimes enamoured sooner than the eye. you say that i am led by one whom i never saw; know that the ear as well as the eye can inform the mind of facts.' he composed also the following verse, which is the most gallant of any made by the poets of that epoch: 'yes, by allah! i love the magic of your eyes, and yet i dread the weapons by which so many lovers fell.' vi. several sayings of al-hasan bin sahl, the vizier to the khalif al-mamun, have been preserved. once he himself wrote at the end of a letter of recommendation, dictated to his secretary: 'i have been told that on the day of judgment a man will be questioned respecting the use he made of the influence given him by his rank in the world, in the same manner as he will be questioned respecting the use he made of the superfluity of his wealth.' again he said to his sons: 'my sons, learn the use of language; it is by it that man holds his preeminence over other animals; the higher the skill which you attain in the use of language, the nearer you approach to the ideal of human nature.' vii. it is related of sari-as sakati, the celebrated sufi, that he said that for twenty years he never ceased imploring divine pardon for having once exclaimed, 'praise be to god!' and on being asked the reason he said: 'a fire broke out in baghdad, and a person came up to me and told me that my shop had escaped, on which i uttered these words; and even to this moment i repent of having said so, because it showed that i wished better to myself than to others.' viii. al-ahnaf bin kais, whose prudence was proverbial among the arabs, used to say: 'i have followed three rules of conduct, which i now mention merely that the man of reflection may profit by my example--i never interfered between two parties unless invited by them to do so; i never went to the door of these people (meaning princes) unless sent for by them; and i never rose from my place to obtain a thing when all men were anxious to possess it.' ix. abu yazid taifur al-bastaimi, the famous ascetic, being asked how he had acquired his knowledge of the spiritual world, answered that it was by means of a hungry belly and naked body. he used to say: 'when you see a man possessing miraculous powers, so as even to mount into the air, let not that deceive you, but see if he observes god's commands and prohibitions, if he keeps within the bounds imposed by religion, and if he performs the duties which it prescribes.' x. abul aswad ad-duwali, the inventor of grammar, in intelligence one of the most perfect of men, and in reason one of the most sagacious, was notorious for his avarice, and he used to say: 'if we listened to the demands made by the poor for our money, we should soon be worse off than they.' he said also to his sons: 'strive not to rival almighty god in generosity, for he is the most bountiful and the most glorious; had he pleased he would have given ample wealth to all men, so strive not to be generous lest you die of starvation.' it is also related that abul aswad had an attack of the palsy, and that he used to go to the market himself, though scarcely able to draw his legs after him, and yet he was rich, and possessed both male and female slaves. a person who knew this accosted him one day, and said: 'god has dispensed you from the necessity of moving about on your own business, why do you not remain seated at home?' to which he replied: 'no; i go in and out, and the eunuch says "he is coming," and the boy says "he is coming," whereas, were i to continue sitting in the house, the sheep would urine upon me without any person's preventing them.' xi. it is related that on a dispute between the sunnites and shiites of baghdad about the relative merits of abu bakr and ali, both parties agreed to abide by the opinion of the shaikh abul faraj bin al-jauzi. they consequently deputed a person, who questioned him on the subject when he was seated in the preacher's chair. the one reply which he made bears in arabic two different meanings--the first, that the best of them was he whose daughter was married to the other man; and the second, that the best of them was he who had married the daughter of the other man. he then withdrew promptly, lest he should be questioned further, and the sunnites said: 'he means abu bakr, because his daughter ayesha was married to the prophet,' 'nay,' said the shiites, 'he means ali, because fatima, the prophet's daughter, was married to him.' the answer was certainly very clever; had it even been the result of long reflection and deep consideration, it would have been admirable, but coming as it did without any previous preparation, it was still more so. xii. shibab ad-din (flambeau of the faith) as-suhrawardi was a pious and holy shaikh, most assiduous in his spiritual exercises, and the practice of devotion, and successfully guided a great number of sufis in their efforts to obtain perfection. many persons wrote to him for his opinion on circumstances which concerned themselves, and one wrote as follows: 'my lord,--if i cease to work i shall remain in idleness, and if i work i am filled with self-satisfaction; which is best?' to this the shaikh replied: 'work, and ask almighty god to pardon thy self-satisfaction.' the following is one of his verses: 'if i contemplate you, i am all eyes; and if i think of you i am all heart.' xiii. abu ali al-jubbai was an able master in the science of dogmatic theology, and had at one time a pupil named abul hasan al-ashari. it is related that one day the two had the following discussion. al-ashari propounded to his master the case of three brothers, one of whom was a true believer, virtuous and pious; the second an infidel, a debauchee, and a reprobate; and the third an infant; they all died, and al-ashari wished to know what had become of them. to this al-jubbai answered: 'the virtuous brother holds a high position in paradise, the infidel is in the depths of hell, and the child is among those who have obtained salvation.' 'suppose now,' said al-ashari, 'that the child should wish to ascend to the place occupied by his virtuous brother, would he be allowed to do so?' 'no,' replied al-jubbai, 'it would be said to him: "thy brother arrived at this place through his numerous works of obedience towards god, and thou hast no such works to set forward."' 'suppose, then,' said al-ashari, 'that the child say, "that is not my fault; you did not let me live long enough, neither did you give me the means of proving my obedience."' 'in that case,' answered al-jubbai, 'the almighty would say: "i knew that if i allowed thee to live thou wouldst have been disobedient, and incurred the severe punishment of hell; i therefore acted for thy advantage."' 'well,' said al-ashari, 'and suppose the infidel brother were here to say: "o god of the universe! since you knew what awaited him, you must have known what awaited me; why, then, did you act for his advantage and not for mine?"' al-jubbai had not a word to offer in reply. this discussion proves that the almighty elects some for mercy, and others for punishment, and that his acts are not the results of any motive whatsoever. xiv. it is related that as-shafi said: 'there are five men on whom people must rely for the nourishment of their minds: he who wishes to become learned in jurisprudence must have recourse to abu hanifah; he who desires to become skilled in poetry must apply to zoheir bin ali sulma, the author of one of the mua'llakas, or suspended poems at mecca; he who would like to become well acquainted with the history of the muslim conquests must obtain his information from muhammad bin ishak; he who wishes to become deeply learned in grammar must have recourse to al-kisai; and he who seeks to be acquainted with the interpretations of the koran must apply to mukatil bin sulaiman.' xv. there are several stories current as to how the khalif omar bin al-khattab took upon himself the title of 'commander of the faithful.' one is that omar was one day holding a public sitting, when he said: 'by allah! i do not know what we must say. abu bakr was the successor of the apostle of god, and i am the successor of the successor of god's apostle. is there any title that can answer?' those who were present said: 'commander (amir) will do.' 'nay,' said omar, 'you are all commanders.' on this al-mughira said: 'we are the faithful, and you are our commander.' 'then,' said omar, 'i am the commander of the faithful.' xvi. abu ali yahya, the vizier of harun-ar-rashid, was the son of khalid, and the grandson of barmek. yahya was highly distinguished for wisdom, nobleness of mind, and elegance of language. one of his sayings was: 'three things indicate the degree of intelligence possessed by him who does them: the bestowing of gifts, the drawing up of letters, and the acting as ambassador.' he used to say to his sons: 'write down the best things which you hear; learn by heart the best things which you write down; and in speaking utter the best things which you have learned by heart.' xvii. ibn as-sikkit, the philologist, related that muhammad bin as-summak used to say: 'he who knows mankind humours them; he who has not that knowledge thwarts them; and the main point in humouring mankind is to abstain from thwarting them.' the neglect of carrying out this maxim cost as-sikkit his life. one day, whilst he was with the khalif al-mutwakkil, that prince's two sons, al-motazz and al-muwaiyad, came in, and the khalif said to him: 'tell me, yakub, which you like best--these two sons of mine, or al-hasan and al-hussain, the sons of ali.' ibn as-sikkit answered by depreciating the merits of the two princes, and giving to al-hasan and al-hussain the praise to which they were well entitled. on this al-mutwakkil ordered his turkish guards to chastise him, and they threw him down and trod on his belly. he was then carried to his house, where he died two days afterwards, a.d. . xviii. three men met together; one of them expressed a wish to obtain a thousand pieces of gold, so that he might trade with them; the other wished for an appointment under the emir of the muslims; the third wished to possess the emir's wife, who was the handsomest of women, and had great political influence. yusuf bin tashifin, the emir of the muslims, being informed of what they said, sent for the men, bestowed one thousand dinars on him who wished for that sum, gave an appointment to the other, and said to him who wished to possess the lady: 'foolish man! what induced you to wish for that which you can never obtain?' he then sent him to her, and she placed him in a tent, where he remained three days, receiving each day, one and the same kind of food. she had him then brought to her, and said: 'what did you eat these days past?' he replied: 'always the same thing.' 'well,' said she, 'all women are the same thing!' she then ordered some money and a dress to be given him, after which she dismissed him. the following anecdotes have been gathered from various sources. i. a certain shepherd had a dog of which he was very fond, and which having, to his great grief, died, was buried by him with every mark of affection and regret. the kadi of the village, whose ill-will the shepherd had in some way incurred, hearing of this, ordered him to be brought before him on the serious charge of profanity in having mocked the ceremonies of the muhammadan religion, and buried an unclean animal with sacred rites. on being asked what he had to say in his defence, the prisoner thus addressed the magistrate: 'if your reverence will be pleased to hear my story, you will, i am sure, excuse me. my dog's mother died when he was quite a puppy, and he was brought up by a she-goat of my flock, who adopted him. when she died in her turn she left him all her property, consisting of several fine young kids. now when my dog was taken ill, and found himself at the point of death, i asked him what i should do with the kids which belonged to him, and he replied: "give them to his reverence the kadi." i thought the animal so sensible for this that i gave him muslim burial.' 'quite right,' said his reverence. 'what else was the lamented deceased pleased to observe?' ii. a knowledge of the language of birds and beasts is regarded as the greatest divine gift, and was expressly vouchsafed, according to the koranic legend, to solomon, the son of david. it is related that one day solomon was returning to his palace when he saw a cock and hen sparrow sitting near the gateway, and overheard the former telling the latter that he was the person who had designed, and planned, and built all the surroundings. on hearing this solomon remarked to the male bird that he must know he was telling a fearful lie, and that nobody would believe him. 'that is true,' replied the sparrow, 'nobody probably will believe my story except my wife; she believes implicitly everything that i say.' iii. one day a king was sailing in a boat with a negro slave, who was so seasick that his groans and lamentations disturbed the royal repose. a doctor who happened to be present undertook to keep the slave quiet, and, on receiving permission to do so, ordered him to be thrown overboard, which was promptly done. the poor wretch managed with difficulty to catch hold of the rudder of the boat, and, being taken on board once more, sat shivering in a corner, and did not utter another sound. the king, delighted with this result, asked the doctor how he had silenced the fellow. 'your majesty will see,' was the reply, 'he had never before experienced the inconvenience of being drowned, and did not properly appreciate the security of a boat.' iv. one day the khalif harun-ar-rashid and his jester, the poet abu nuwas, were disputing as to the truth of an axiom laid down by abu nuwas, that 'an excuse was often worse than the crime,' and the poet offered to convince the monarch of it before the night was over. the khalif, with a grim humour peculiarly his own, promised to take off his jester's head if he failed to do so, and went out in a rage. after awhile harun came in a somewhat surly temper to his harem, and the first thing which greeted him was a kiss from a rough-bearded face. on calling out violently for a light and an executioner, he found that his assailant was abu nuwas himself. 'what on earth, you scoundrel, do you mean by this conduct?' asked the enraged sovereign. 'i beg your majesty's most humble pardon,' said abu nuwas, 'i thought it was your majesty's favourite wife.' 'what!' shrieked harun, 'why the excuse is worse than the crime.' 'just what i promised to prove to your majesty,' replied abu nuwas, and retired closely followed by one of the imperial slippers. v. an arab whose camel had strayed swore an oath that he would, on finding it, sell it for one dirhem. when he had again obtained possession of the animal he repented of his oath, but tied a cat to the neck of the camel and shouted: 'who will buy a camel for one dirhem, and a cat for a hundred dirhems? but i will not sell them separately.' a man who was there said: 'how cheap would this camel be if it had no collar on the neck!' something of the same kind happened in france the other day. a peasant died, leaving his property to be sold by his wife. among other things there was a dog and a horse, which the woman put up for sale together, saying that the dog's price was twenty pounds, and the horse's one pound, but that they must be sold together. it turned out that the deceased husband had left the dog to his wife, and the horse to another relation, the monies realized by the sale of each to be paid to the respective parties. vi. an arab of the desert said to his boy: 'o son! on the day of resurrection thou wilt be asked what merit thou hast gained, and not from whom thou art descended; that is to say, thou wilt be asked what thy merit is, and not who thy father was.' vii. a learned man relates the following: 'i stood with a friend on a road conversing with him when a woman halted opposite to me, looking at me steadfastly. when this staring had passed all bounds, i despatched my slave to ask the woman what she was listening to. he came back and reported that the woman had said: "my eyes had committed a great sin. i intended to inflict a punishment upon them, and could devise none worse than looking at that hideous face."' there are some good verses in the arabic descriptive of the places where certain arabs wished to be buried. it was abu mihjan, the thackifite, who chose the vineyard. 'bury me, when i die, by the roots of the vine, the moisture thereof will distil into my bones; bury me not in the open plain, for then i much fear that no more again shall i taste the flavour of the grape.' another version: 'when the death angel cometh mine eyes to close, dig my grave 'mid the vines on the hill's fair side; for though deep in earth may my bones repose, the juice of the grape shall their food provide. oh, bury me not in a barren land, or death will appear to me dread and drear! while fearless i'll wait what he hath in hand if the scent of the vineyard my spirit cheer.' on the other hand, some of the wild people prefer the hill slopes, and an example is given in the address of the dying bedouin to his tribe: 'o bear with you my bones where the camel bears his load, and bury me before you, if buried i must be; and let me not be buried 'neath the burden of the vine, but high upon the hill whence your sight i ever see! as you pass along my grave cry aloud, and name your names, the crying of your names shall revive the bones of me, i have fasted through my life with my friends, and in my death i will feast when we meet on that day of joy and glee.' the french poet, alfred de musset's, gentle verses in his elegy to lucie, and which have been engraved on his tomb in paris, at père-lachaise, run as follows: 'when i shall die, dear friends, aslant my silent grave a willow plant; i love its foliage weeping near, to me its colour's sweet and dear; its shadow gray will lightly fall upon my tomb--a mourning pall, and will likewise do the keeping of the ground where i am sleeping.' appendix. list of translations _published under the patronage of the old oriental translation fund_. =from the persian=. . memoirs of the emperor jehanghir. . history of the afghans. . the adventures of hatim tai. . the life of sheikh muhammad ali hazin. . autobiographical memoirs of the moghul emperor timur. . the life of hafiz ul mulk hafiz rehmut khan. . the geographical works of sadik isfahani. . firdusi's shah nameh. . private memoirs of the moghul emperor humayun. . history of the mahomedan power in india during the last century. . customs and manners of the women of persia. . mirkhond's history of the early kings of persia. . the political and statistical history of guzerat. . chronique d'abou djafar muhammad tabari. . laili and majnun. . practical philosophy of the mahomedan people. . specimens of the popular poetry of persia. . history of hyder naik, otherwise called nuwab hyder ali. . the dabistan, or school of manners. . history of the reign of tipu sultan. . historical memoirs of early conquerors of hindustan, and founders of the ghaznavide dynasty. =from the arabic=. . the travels of ibn batuta. . travels of marcarius, patriarch of antioch. . the algebra of muhammad ben musa. . history of the first settlement of the mahomedans in malabar. . alfiyya, ou la quintessence de la grammaire arabe. . haji khalfæ lexicon encyclopædicum et bibliographicum. . the history of the temple of jerusalem. . histoire des sultans mamelouks de l'Égypte. . the history of the mahomedan dynasties in spain. . el-mas'udi's historical encyclopædia, entitled 'meadows of gold and mines of gems.' . ibn khallikan's biographical dictionary. . makamat, or rhetorical anecdotes of abul kasem al hariri of basra. . the chronology of ancient nations, by albiruni. =from the sanscrit=. . kalidasæ raghuvansa carmen. . harivansa, ou histoire de famille de hari. . the sánkhya káriká, or memorial verses on the sánkhya philosophy. . rig yeda sanhita. . kumara sambhava. . the vishnu purana, a system of hindu mythology and tradition. . sama veda. . kalidasa, the birth of the war god. =from the chinese=. . han koong tsew, or the sorrows of hen--a tragedy. . the fortunate union--a romance. . hoe lan ki--a drama. . le livre des récompenses et des peines. . mémoires sur les contrées occidentales. =from the japonais-chinois=. . san kokf tsou ban to sets; ou, aperçu général des trois royaumes. . annales des empereurs du japon. =from the turkish=. . history of the war in bosnia during - - . . history of the maritime wars of the turks. . annals of the turkish empire, a.d. to . . narratives of travels in europe, asia, and africa. =from the armenian=. . the history of vartan, and of the battle of the armenians. . chronique de matthieu d'edesse. =from the cingalese=. . yakkun nattannawa and kolan nattannawa, two cingalese poems. =from the coptic=. . the apostolic constitutions, or canons of the apostles. =from the ethiopic=. . the didascalia, or apostolical constitutions of the abyssinian church. =from the hebrew=. . the chronicles of rabbi joseph ben joshua ben meir. =from the hindustani=. . les aventures de kamrup. =from the malay=. . memoirs of a malayan family. =from the maghadi=. . the kalpa sutra and nava tatva. two works illustrative of the jain religion and philosophy. =from the syriac=. . spicilegium syriacum; containing remains of bardesan, meliton, ambrose, and mara bar serapion. =miscellaneous=. . miscellaneous translations, two volumes, - . . translations from the chinese and armenian. . a description of the burmese empire. . essay on the architecture of the hindus. . histoire de la littérature hindoui et hindustani. . biographical notices of persian poets. . the poems of the huzailis, edited in arabic. index. a. aasha (al), the poet, , , abbas, uncle of muhammad, , abbasides, the, , abbaside khalifs, the most celebrated, , abbaside khalifs, list of, abd-al-hamid, the secretary, abd-allah bin hilal, the translator, abd-allah bin rewaha, the poet, abd-allah bin zobeir, the politician, abd-ar-rahman i. of spain, abd-ar-rahman ii. of spain, abd-ar-rahman iii. of spain, , , abdul-muttalib, grandfather of muhammad, , abdul wahab, the reformer, abode of wisdom, abraham, the father of three religions, abu awana, the traditionist, abu bakr, the khalifah, , , , , abu bakr as sauli, the editor of poems, , , , abu hatim es sejastani, the philologist, editor of poems and author, abu nuwas, the poet, , - abu obaida, the general, abu obaida, the philologist, , abu othman, the philologist, , abu sa'ud, the mufti, abu sofyan, the politician and companion, , abu sulaiman dawud ez zahari, the imam, abu tammam, the poet, , abu thaleb, uncle of muhammad, , abu zaid, the traditionist, abu zaid bin aus, the editor of poems, abul abbas as saffah, , abul aina, the philologist, abul ala-al-maari, the philologist and poet, abul atahya, the poet, , abul faraj, the historian, abul faraj al ispahani, , , , abul feda, the historian, , , abul khair, or ahmed bin mustafa, , , abul mashar (albumasar), the astronomer, , ahmed-bin-ud dmveri, the author, akhfash (al), the grammarian, akhtal (al), the poet, , , alchemists, (khalid bin yazid, jaafar as sadik, jaber bin hayam, each indexed separately.) ali bin abu thaleb, the khalifah, , , , , ali bin ridhwan, the philosopher, , , ali bin yunis, the astronomer, amina, mother of muhammad, amr bin al-aasi, the general, , , amra-al-kais (amriolkais), the poet, , , amru, the poet, analysis of twelve stories from the 'arabian nights,' - anbari (al), the grammarian, anecdotes, eighteen from ibn khalhkan's biographical dictionary, - anecdotes from various sources, animal fables and stories, , ansari (al), the philologist, 'antar,' a bedouin romance, , antara, the poet, arab verses about burial places, arabia, description of, , ; history of, ; detached from the abbasides, ; semi-independent, ; turkish dealings with, ; wahhabi movement in ; egyptian dealings with, ; wahhabism in ; present government of, ; future prospects of arabian learning, , 'arabian nights,' the. date of their commencement , ; the oldest part of the work, ; the oldest tales and stories, ; the remaining ones, ; the sources from which they sprang, , ; many authors composed the work, - ; compared with the 'kathá sarit ságara', ; remarks on the 'nights' and 'antar,' ; galland's translation of, , , ; payne's, , and burton's ; stories from, - arabic language, , arabic literature, decline of, , its former position, ; its present state, arabic literature, translation of, vii. arabic story books, , , , , , , , , asmai (al), the philologist, , , asmai (al), supposed author of 'antar,' astronomers, (fezari (al), abul mashar, farghani (al), battani (al), ali bin yunis, es-zerkel, each indexed separately.) ayesha, third wife of muhammad, , , , , , , az-zahra, mistress or wife of abd-ar-rahman iii. of spain, b. badger (rev. g.p.), on muhammad, badger (rev. g.p.), about the koran, badr, battle of, baghdad, founding of, ; description of ; fall and conquest of, baital pachesi, baladori (al), the translator and chronicler, barmekides, the, , - bashshar bin burd, the poet, , battani (al), or albategnius, the astronomer, , bekri (al), the traveller and geographer, , , benjamin's (mr.) 'persia and the persians,' beruni (al), the traveller and geographer, , , biblos, or book, or bible, ; the work of many men, ; its increased interest after visiting egypt, palestine and syria, ; can be read in various ways, ; its description by 'il secolo,' as a scientific work of little value, birgeli, or birkeli, the dogmatist and grammarian, bohtori (al), the poet, , , boulak (cairo) text of the 'nights,' , breslau (tunis) text of the 'nights', , , , buddha, buddha compared with jesus, , buddhism and christianity, buddhist birth stories, or jataka tales, bujeir bin zoheir, the poet, bukhari (al), the traditionist, , burton (richard f.), description of his 'nights' translation in sixteen volumes, , , - busiri (al)'s poem of the mantle, , note c. calcutta texts of the 'nights' , , calligraphers (ibn mukla, ibn al bawwab, yakut al mausili, ibn hilal, hamdallah, mir ah, muhammad hussain tabrizi, each indexed separately) casiri, the bibliographer, caussin de perceval, , , chavis and cazotte, the translators, , , chinese language, christianity and buddhism, clerk (mrs. godfrey), clouston, w.a., , companions of the prophet, compilers of encyclopædias and biographies, (nadim (an), ibn khallikan, abul khair, haji khalfa, each indexed separately.) contents of this work, ix.-xiv. cordova, , , , cromwell and the bible, d. democracy of islam, dow, a translator, duwali (ad), the grammarian, , e. early ideas,' a group of hindoo stories, , egypt, the fatimites established in, ; invasion of, by jawhar, ; conquest of, by saladin, ; other dynasties in, ; conquest of, by selim the first, ; incorporated with turkey, english newspapers, english tales and stories, epistolography, erpenius, a translator, , essays and discourses by hariri, , es-zerkel, or arzachel, the astronomer, , f. fadhl bin yahya, the barmekide, , farabi (al), or alfarabius, the philosopher, , , , , farazdak, the poet, , farghani (al), or alfraganius, the astronomer, , , farra (al), the grammarian, fatimites, the, fezari (al), the astronomer, firuzabadi, the lexicographer, fluegel, the translator, , , , france, invasion of, by the arabs, freytag, the translator, g. gabriel bin georgios, the physician, , galland, his translation of the fables of lokman and bidpay, ; and of the 'nights,' , , ; his biography, by burton, ; his texts, gauttier, a translator, gayangos (pascual de), the translator , , , geographers and travellers, (muslim homeir, mervezi (al), ibn foslan, ibn khordabeh, jeihani, istakhri (al), ibn haukul, beruni (al), bekri (al), idrisi, ibn batuta, each indexed separately.) georgios bin bakhtyeshun, the physician, , , ghazali (al), the mystic and philosopher, , god of the arabs, god of the jews, golius, , grammarians, the, (duwali (ad), khalil (al), sibawaih, jahiz (al), kisai (al), mubarrad (al), thalab, farra (al), akhfash (al), shaibani (as), anbari (al), each indexed separately.) granada, kingdom of, established, ; fall of, , ; taken by ferdinand and isabella, ; alhambra at, , gunádhya, the hindoo author, , h. habicht, a translator, , hajaj bin yusuf bin matta, the translator, , haji khalfa, the bibliographer, , , hakim ii. of spain, his education, ; his diwan of poems, ; his library; ; and catalogue of books, , halaku khan, , hamdallah, the penman, hamilton (terrick), the translator of 'antar,' , hanbal, the imam, hanifa, the imam, hanyfs, the, harath, the poet, hariri (al), the author of the 'makâmat', , harun-ar-rashid, the khalif, , , , - hasan bin ali, the fatimite, hasan bin sehl, the translator, hasan bin thabit, the poet, hazar afsaneh, or thousand stories, hazim (al), the traditionist, herbelot (d'), the translator and orientalist, hertlemah, the hostile poetess, hijrah, or emigration, historians, the, (ibn ishak, ibn hisham, wackidi (al), muhammad bin saad, madaini (al), tabari, masudi, ibn athir, baha-uddin, imad-uddin, kamal-uddin, abul feda, ibn khaldun, ibn hajar, ibn kesir, taki-uddin of fez, ibn arabshaw, makrisi (al), sayuti, makkari (al), each indexed separately.) 'hitopodesa,' a hindoo story-book, , , hobeira, the hostile poet, honein, battle of, honein bin ishak, the physician and translator, , hughes's 'dictionary of islam,' , hussain bin ali, the fatimite, i. ibn al arabi, the mystic, ibn al athir, the historian, , ibn al bawwab, the penman, , ibn al mukaffa, the translator and author, , - , ibn arabshaw, the historian, ibn as sikkit, the editor of poems, ibn bajah (avempace), the philosopher, , , , ibn batlan, the physician and philosopher, ibn batuta, the geographer and traveller, , ibn demash, the editor of poems, ibn duraid, the philologist and writer on natural history, ibn foslan, the geographer and traveller, ibn hajar, the historian and biographer, ibn haukul, the geographer and traveller, , ibn hilal, the penman, ibn hisham, the historian, ibn ishak, the historian, ibn kamal pasha, a writer on law, ibn kesir, the historian, ibn khaldun, the historian, , ibn khallikan, the biographer, - , , ; eighteen anecdotes from his work, - ibn khordabeh, the geographer, , ibn kutaiba, the philologist and author, ibn malik, the grammarian, ibn mukla, the penman, , ibn rashid (averroes), the philosopher, , , , ibn sina (avicenna), the physician, , , , , ibn-ul-marzaban, the editor of poems, ibn wahshiyah, the translator, ibn yunis, the historian, ibrahim of aleppo, a writer on law, idrisi, the geographer, , , 'ilam en nas,' a story-book, imams, the shiah, imams, the sunni, , isa bin musa, the physician, islam, the dogmas, precepts, and ordinances of, , istakhri (al), the geographer and traveller, , j. jaafar as sadik, the alchemist, jaafar bin yahya, the barmekide, - jaber (al), or geber, the astronomer, , , jaber bin hayam, the alchemist, , jahiz (al), the philologist, , , jami's 'beharistan,' jarir, the poet, , , jawini's 'negaristan,' jeihani, the geographer, , jerusalem, the early kiblah, ; changed to mecca, jesus compared with buddha, ; no details about his early career, jones (sir william), jurisconsults, the seven, (obaid allah, orwa, kasim, said, sulaiman, abu bakr, kharija) k. kaabab, the, at mecca, , , kab-bin-zoheir, the poet, - kali (al), the philologist and author, , kama (al), the poet, , 'kama sutra' of vatsyayana, karitha, the hostile poetess, kasidas, _i.e._, arab idyls or elegies, , kasim bin asbagh, the traditionist, kasim (al) bin ma'an, the philologist and author, 'kathá sarit ságara,' the, , , - ; translated by professor tawney, ; compared with the 'arabian nights', ; divided into chapters, containing stories, ; their nature, - khafaji, the poet, khalef al ahmer, the author, khalid bin barmek, khalid bin walid, the general, , , , khalid bin yazid, the alchemist, khahl (al), the grammarian, , 'khalilah wa dimnah,' a story-book, - kiblah, the, changed to mecca, kindi (al), or alchendius, the philosopher, , , , kisai (al), the grammarian, , koraish, tribe of, , , , , koran, the , , , ; quotation from the th chapter, ; as defined by the muslims, ; its division into chapters, ; how it represents muhammad, ; not arranged until after his death, ; as compared with our bible, ; as described by mr. badger, , ; as a literary composition, kosta bin luka, the philosopher and physician, , , kuenen (dr. a.), on the religion of israel, , note kutrub, the grammarian and philologist, l. labid, the poet, ; his conversion, lane, a translator of the 'nights', lokman, the sage, , m. madaini (al), the historian, mahdi (al), the khalif, , , , majridi (al), the philosopher, , 'makamat hariri', , makin (al), the chronicler, makkari (al), the historian, , , , makrisi (al), the historian and geographer, malik, the imam, mamun (al), the khalif, , , , , , mansur (al), the khalif, , , , , , , marwan ii., the khalif, , maseweib, the physician and translator, , masudi (al), the historian, , mervezi (al), the geographer, 'merzuban-namah,' the, extracts from it, - mir ali, the penman, moawia i, the khalif, , , mofaddhal (al), the compiler and editor of poems, , , montague (e. wortley), his 'nights', , moors, the, in spain, ; their expulsion, , morell, a translator, moses compared with muhammad, ; as a liberator and organizer, , ; why he stayed in the desert, ; his legislation there, ; to him the jews owe their nationality, mothanna, the general, , 'mua'llakat,' the, or suspended poems, , , mubarrad (al), the grammarian, muhammad, the apostle, , ; his birth, ; details of his life, - ; his death, ; as a poet, , ; as a reformer, preacher and apostle at mecca, , , ; as a military leader, ; his military expeditions, - , ; his failure at mecca, ; his success at madinah, , ; his power there as pope-king, ; his virtues at mecca, his vices at madinah, ; his wives, , , , , , ; his concubines, , , ; reasons for his numerous marriages, ; compared with moses, ; to him the arabs owe their nationality, ; always insisted on faith and prayer, ; his parting address at mina, ; his immediate successors, , , , ; his companions and their successors, ; his converts, , , , muhammad al-amin, the philologist and lawyer, muhammad bin habib, the editor of poems, muhammad bin saad, the historian, muhammad hussain tabrizi, the penman, muir (sir william), ; his life of muhammad, , ; his annals of the early khalifate, munkah, the sanscrit translator, musa, the general, musa bin khalid, the translator, muslim homeir, the geographer, musset (alfred de), the poet, ; the verses on his tomb in paris, mustaa'sim (al) billah, the khalif, , , mustatraf (al), a story-book, ; extracts from it, - muta, battle at, mutanabbi (al), the poet, , , mysticism, n. nabiga, the poet, nadim (an), author of the 'fihrist,' , , , nami (an), the poet, , 'naphut-ul-yaman,' a story-book, ; extracts from it, - nasir-uddin-tusy, the persian, natural history, writers about, (khalef-al-ahmer, ahmad bin ud dinveri, jahiz (al), ibn duraid, shaibani (as), each indexed separately.) newton and the bible, nubakht, the translator, o. obaid allah bin jahsh, the hanyf, ohud, battle of, omaiyide khalifs, abdul-malik and walid i, patrons of literature and art, omaiyides, the, list of ; dynasty established, ; conquests of, ; fall of, omar, the khalifah, , , , oriental congress of , v., vi. oriental lectures established, vi. oriental literature, study of, vi. oriental translation fund, old, vi., vii.; its revival, vi.; new fund to be permanent, vii.; some of its works, , , , , , ; list of works published by, appendix, otbi (al), the poet, , , othman, the khalifah, , othman bin huwairith, the hanyf, othman bin talha, the custodian of the kaabah, , oweis al keremi, the mystic, p. 'pancha tantra,' , , passion play, the arab, payne (john), description of his 'nights,' , , , , pelly (sir lewis), a translator, periods of arab literature--first, ; second, ; third, ; of arab history, persia, its severance from the abbasides, persian portraits, petis de la croix, a translator, philologists, arab (kasim bin ma'an, kutrub, jahiz (al), shaibani (as), asmai (al), abu obaida, ansari (al), abu othman, abul aina, ibn kutaiba, ibn duraid, each indexed separately.) philology, arab, philosophers, arab, (khalid bin yazid, kindi (al), farabi (al), ibn sina, ali bin ridhwan, ghazah (al), ibn bajah, ibn rashid, kosta bin luka, thaleb bin korra, tavhidi (al), majridi (al), each indexed separately.) philosophy, arab, physicians, arab, (georgios bin bakhtyeshun, gabriel bin georgios, isa bin musa, maseweih, yahya bin maseweih, honem bin ishak, kosta bin luka, razi, ibn batlan, each indexed separately.) places of learning, pococke, a translator, poem of the mantle, by kab bin zoheir, , poem of the mantle, by al busiri, , note poetry before muhammad's time, , poetry, collectors and editors of arab, (mofaddhal (al), shaibani (as), abu zaid bin a'us, ibn as sikkit, muhammad bin habib, abu hatim as sejastani, abu othman al mazini, abu tammam, bohton (al), ibn-ul-marzaban, ibn demash, zukkari, abu bakr as-sauli, abul faraj al-ispahani, each indexed separately.) poets, arab, , , (amriolkais, antara, labid, tarafa, amru, harath, zoheir, nabiga, kama (al), aasha (al), akhtal (al), farazdak, jarir, abul-atahya, bashshar bin burd, abu nuwas, abu tammam, otbi (al), bohtori (al), mutanabbi (al), nami (an), each indexed separately.) printing presses of arabic to-day, prophets mentioned by muhammad, purgstall (von hammer), author and translator, , q. quaritch (bernard), his catalogue, vii. r. radhi (al) billah, the khalif, , , razi, or rhazes, the physician, , , redhouse (j.w.), the translator, rehatsek (e.), the translator, viii., , reiske, a translator, remarks, introductory, v. rénan, extracts from, , rodiger, a translator, ruckert, a translator, s. sacey de (baron silvestre), , , sad bin malik, the general, sa'di's 'gulistan,' sayuti (jalal-uddin), the egyptian author, scott (jonathan), a translator, , , sehl bin nubakht, seville, shafai (al), the imam, shaibani (abu amr as), the grammarian, philologist, writer on natural history and editor of poems, , , shiahs, description of the, sibawaih, the grammarian, , 'sihr-ul-oyoon,' a book on the eye, extracts from it, - 'siraj-ul muluk,' an interesting work, ; extracts from it, - society of the brethren of purity, sofyan at thauri, an imaam, somadeva, '(bhatta); an indian author, , soudanese, the, spain, omaiyide rulers in, ; other rulers, ; the almoravides, ; the almohades, spanish omaiyide khalifs, , ; the two greatest, abd-ar-rahman iii and hakim ii., sprengor (dr. a.), a translator, stories from ibn khallikan, - stories from the 'arabian nights.' - stories from the 'merzuban-namah.' - stories from the 'mustatraf.' - stories from the 'naphut-ul-yaman.' - stories from the 'sihr-ul-oyoon.' - stories from the 'siraj-ul-muluk.' - stories from various sources, - sulaiman, the lawgiver, - sunnis, description of the, syria and palestine, ; conquest of, by the fatimites, ; by the seljuks, ; by saladin, ; by selim i., t. tabari, the historian, taki-uddin of fez, the historian, tarafa, the poet, tarik, the general, tavhidi (al), the philosopher, , tawney (c.h.), the translator, testaments, our old and new, , thalab, the grammarian, thalab bin korra, the philosopher, theophilus of edessa, the translator, 'thousand and one nights.' , - , - torrens, a translator of the 'nights.' tradition, the six fathers of, (al-bukhari, muslim, at-tir-midi, abu dawud, an-nasai, ibn majah.) traditionists, early, traditionists, minor, translations, how carried on, , , translators, , (ibn-almukaifa, abd-allah bin hilal, sehl bin nubakht, musa bin khalid, yusuf bin khalid, hassan bin sehl, baladori (al), munkah, the indian, ibn washiyab, honein bin ishak, maseweih and his son yahya, kosta bin luka, theophilus of edessa, each indexed separately.) travellers, _see_ 'geographers' trebutien, a translator, u. ulema, establishment of the, v. vatsyayana, the hindoo author of the 'kama sutra,' voltaire and the bible, 'vrihat katha,' or great tale, , w. wackidi (al), the historian, walid i., the sixth omaiyide khalif, , warakah, the hanyf, , weil (dr.), the translator, , white (dr. joseph), world, end of the, prophesied, wustenfeld (dr.), the editor and author, , y. yahya bin khalid, the barmekide, , yahya bin maseweih, the physician and translator, , , , yakut, the penman, , yazid i., the second omaiyide khalif, , , yusuf bin khalid, the translator, z. zaid, the inquirer, zibary, the hostile poet, zinzerling, a translator, zobeida, the wife of harun-ar-rashid, , zoheir, the poet, zotenberg (h.), of the bibliothèque nationale, paris, , , zukkari, the editor of poems, the end copyright (c) lidija rangelovska. please see the accompanying rtf (rich text format) file for this ebook. produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google print project.) jewish children translated from the yiddish of "shalom aleichem" by hannah berman new york alfred · a · knopf mcmxxii copyright, , by alfred a. knopf, inc. _published january, _ _set up and printed by the vail-ballou co., binghamton, n. y. paper furnished by w. f. etherington & co., new york, n. y. bound by the h. wolff estate, new york, n. y._ manufactured in the united states of america contents a page from the "song of songs" passover in a village. an idyll elijah the prophet getzel a lost "l'ag beomer" murderers three little heads greens for "_shevuous_" another page from the "song of songs" a pity for the living the tabernacle the dead citron isshur the beadle boaz the teacher the spinning-top esther the pocket-knife on the fiddle this night a page from the "song of songs" busie is a name; it is the short for esther-liba: libusa: busie. she is a year older than i, perhaps two years. and both of us together are no more than twenty years old. now, if you please, sit down and think it out for yourself. how old am i, and how old is she? but, it is no matter. i will rather tell you her history in a few words. my older brother, benny, lived in a village. he had a mill. he could shoot with a gun, ride on a horse, and swim like a devil. one summer he was bathing in the river, and was drowned. of him they said the proverb had been invented: "all good swimmers are drowned." he left after him the mill, two horses, a young widow, and one child. the mill was neglected; the horses were sold; the young widow married again, and went away, somewhere, far; and the child was brought to us. the child was busie. * * * that my father loves busie as if she were his own child; and that my mother frets over her as if she were an only daughter, is readily understood. they look upon her as their comfort in their great sorrow. and i? why is it that when i come from "_cheder_," and do not find busie i cannot eat? and when busie comes in, there shines a light in every corner. when busie talks to me, i drop my eyes. and when she laughs at me i weep. and when she.... * * * i waited long for the dear good feast of passover. i would be free then. i would play with busie in nuts, run about in the open, go down the hill to the river, and show her the ducks in the water. when i tell her, she does not believe me. she laughs. she never believes me. that is, she says nothing, but she laughs. and i hate to be laughed at. she does not believe that i can climb to the highest tree, if i like. she does not believe that i can shoot, if i have anything to shoot with. when the passover comes--the dear good passover--and we can go out into the free, open air, away from my father and mother, i shall show her such tricks that she will go wild. * * * the dear good passover has come. they dress us both in kingly clothes. everything we wear shines and sparkles and glitters. i look at busie, and i think of the "song of songs" that i learnt for the passover, verse by verse: "behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks; thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount gilead. "thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which come up from the washing; whereof every one bear twins, and none is barren among them. "thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely; thy temples are like a piece of pomegranate within thy locks." tell me, please, why is it that when one looks at busie one is reminded of the "song of songs"? and when one reads the "song of songs," busie rises to one's mind? * * * a beautiful passover eve, bright and warm. "shall we go?" asks busie. and i am all afire. my mother does not spare the nuts. she fills our pockets. but she makes us promise that we will not crack a single one before the "_seder_." we may play with them as much as we like. we run off. the nuts rattle as we go. it is beautiful and fine out of doors. the sun is already high in the heavens, and is looking down on the other side of the town. everything is broad and comfortable and soft and free, around and about. in places, on the hill the other side of the synagogue, one sees a little blade of grass, fresh and green and living. screaming and fluttering their wings, there fly past us, over our heads, a swarm of young swallows. and again i am reminded of the "song of songs" i learnt at school: "the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land." i feel curiously light. i imagine i have wings, and can rise up and fly away. * * * a curious noise comes from the town, a roaring, a rushing, a tumult. in a moment the face of the world is changed for me. our farm is a courtyard, our house is a palace. i am a prince, busie a princess. the logs of wood that lie at our door are the cedars and firs of the "song of songs." the cat that is warming herself in the sun near the door is a roe, or a young hart; and the hill on the other side of the synagogue is the mountain of lebanon. the women and the girls who are washing and scrubbing and making everything clean for the passover are the daughters of jerusalem. everything, everything is from the "song of songs." i walk about with my hands in my pockets. the nuts shake and rattle. busie walks beside me, step by step. i cannot go slowly. i am carried along. i want to fly, to soar through the air like an eagle. i let myself go. busie follows me. i jump from one log of wood to the other. busie jumps after me. i am up; she is up. i am down; she is down. who will tire first? "how long is this to last?" asks busie. and i answer her in the words of the "song of songs": "'until the day break, and the shadows flee away.' ba! ba! ba! you are tired, and i am not." * * * i am glad that busie does not know what i know. and i am sorry for her. my heart aches for her. i imagine she is sorrowful. that is her nature. she is glad and joyous, and suddenly she sits down in a corner and weeps silently. my mother comforts her, and my father showers kisses on her. but, it is useless. busie weeps until she is exhausted. for whom? for her father who died so young? or for her mother who married again and went off without a good-bye? ah, her mother! when one speaks of her mother to her, she turns all colours. she does not believe in her mother. she does not say an unkind word of her, but she does not believe in her. of that i am sure. i cannot bear to see busie weeping. i sit down beside her, and try to distract her thoughts from herself. * * * i keep my hands in my pockets, rattle my nuts, and say to her: "guess what i can do if i like." "what can you do?" "if i like, all your nuts will belong to me." "will you win them off me?" "we shall not even begin to play." "then you will take them from me?" "no, they will come to me of themselves." she lifts her beautiful blue eyes to me--her beautiful, blue, "song of songs" eyes. i say to her: "you think i am jesting. little fool, i know certain magic words." she opens her eyes still wider. i feel big. i explain myself to her, like a great man, a hero: "we boys know everything. there is a boy at school. sheika the blind one, we call him. he is blind of one eye. he knows everything in the world, even '_kaballa_.' do you know what '_kaballa_' is?" "no. how am i to know?" i am in the seventh heaven because i can give her a lecture on "_kaballa_." "'_kaballa_,' little fool, is a thing that is useful. by means of '_kaballa_' i can make myself invisible to you, whilst i can see you. by means of '_kaballa_' i can draw wine from a stone, and gold from a wall. by means of '_kaballa_' i can manage that we two shall rise up into the clouds, and even higher than the clouds." * * * to rise up in the air with busie, by means of "_kaballa_," into the clouds, and higher than the clouds, and fly with her far, far over the ocean--that was one of my best dreams. there, on the other side of the ocean, live the dwarfs who are descended from the giants of king david's time. the dwarfs who are, in reality, good-natured folks. they live on sweets and the milk of almonds, and play all day on little flutes, and dance all together in a ring, romping about. they are afraid of nothing, and are fond of strangers. when a man comes to them from our world, they give him plenty to eat and drink, dress him in the finest garments, and load him with gold and silver ornaments. before he leaves, they fill his pockets with diamonds and rubies which are to be found in their streets like mud in ours. "like mud in the streets? well!" said busie to me when i had told her all about the dwarfs. "do you not believe it?" "do you believe it?" "why not?" "where did you hear it?" "where? at school." "ah! at school." the sun sank lower and lower, tinting the sky with red gold. the gold was reflected in busie's eyes. they were bathed in gold. * * * i want very much to surprise busie with sheika's tricks which i can imitate by means of "_kaballa_." but they do not surprise her. on the contrary, i think they amuse her. why else does she show me her pearl-white teeth? i am a little annoyed, and i say to her: "maybe you do not believe me?" busie laughs. "maybe you think i am boasting? or that i am inventing lies out of my own head?" busie laughs louder. oh, in that case, i must show her. i know how. i say to her: "the thing is that you do not know what '_kaballa_' means. if you knew what '_kaballa_' was you would not laugh. by means of '_kaballa_,' if i like, i can bring your mother here. yes, yes! and if you beg hard of me, i will bring her this very night, riding on a stick." all at once she stops laughing. a cloud settles on her beautiful face. and i imagine that the sun has disappeared. no more sun, no more day! i am afraid i went a little too far. i had no right to pain her--to speak of her mother. i am sorry for the whole thing. i must wipe it out. i must ask her forgiveness. i creep close to her. she turns away from me. i try to take her hand. i wish to say to her in the words of the "song of songs": "'return, return, o shulamite!' busie!" suddenly a voice called from the house: "shemak! shemak!" i am shemak. my mother is calling me to go to the synagogue with father. * * * to go to the synagogue with one's father on the passover eve--is there in the world a greater pleasure than that? what is it worth to be dressed in new clothes from head to foot, and to show off before one's friends? then the prayers themselves--the first festival evening prayer and blessing. ah, how many luxuries has the good god prepared for his jewish children. "shemak! shemak!" my mother has no time. "i am coming. i am coming in a minute. i only want to say a word to busie--no more than a word." i confess to busie that i told her lies. one cannot make people fly by means of "_kaballa_." one may fly one's self. and i will show her, after the festival, how i can fly. i will rise from this same spot on the logs, before her eyes, and in a moment reach the other side of the clouds. from there, i will turn a little to the right. you see, there all things end, and one comes upon the shore of the frozen ocean. * * * busie listens attentively. the sun is sending down its last rays, and kissing the earth. "what is the frozen sea?" asks busie. "you don't know what the frozen sea is? it is a sea whose waters are thick as liver and salt as brine. no ships can ride on it. when people fall into it, they can never get out again." busie looks at me with big eyes. "why should you go there?" "am i going, little fool? i fly over it like an eagle. in a few minutes i shall be over the dry land and at the twelve mountains that spit fire. at the twelfth hill, at the very top, i shall come down and walk seven miles, until i come to a thick forest. i shall go in and out of the trees, until i come to a little stream. i shall swim across the water, and count seven times seven. a little old man with a long beard appears before me, and says to me: 'what is your request?' i answer: 'bring me the queen's daughter.'" "what queen's daughter?" asks busie. and i imagine she is frightened. "the queen's daughter is the princess who was snatched away from under the wedding canopy and bewitched, and put into a palace of crystal seven years ago." "what has that to do with you?" "what do you mean by asking what it has to do with me? i must go and set her free." "you must set her free?" "who else?" "you need not fly so far. take my advice, you need not." * * * busie takes hold of my hand, and i feel her little white hand is cold. i look into her eyes, and i see in them the reflection of the red gold sun that is bidding farewell to the day--the first, bright, warm passover day. the day dies by degrees. the sun goes out like a candle. the noises of the day are hushed. there is hardly a living soul in the street. in the little windows shine the lights of the festival candles that have just been lit. a curious, a holy stillness wraps us round, busie and myself. we feel that our lives are fast merging in the solemn stillness of the festive evening. "shemak! shemak!" * * * my mother calls me for the third time to go with my father to the synagogue. do i not know myself that i must go to prayers? i will sit here another minute--one minute, no more. busie hears my mother calling me. she tears her hand from mine, gets up, and drives me off. "shemak, you are called--you. go, go! it is time. go, go!" i get up to go. the day is dead. the sun is extinguished. its gold beams have turned to blood. a little wind blows--a soft, cold wind. busie tells me to go. i throw a last glance at her. she is not the same busie. in my eyes she is different, on this bewitching evening. the enchanted princess runs in my head. but busie does not leave me time to think. she drives me off. i go. i turn round to look at the enchanted princess who is completely merged into the beautiful passover evening. i stand like one bewitched. she points to me to go. and i imagine i hear her saying to me, in the words of the "song of songs": "make haste, my beloved, and be thou like to a roe or to a young hart upon the mountains of spices." passover in a village an idyll let winds blow. let storms rage. let the world turn upside down. the old oak, which has been standing since the creation of the world, and whose roots reach to god-knows-where--what does he care for winds? what are storms to him? the old tree is not a symbol--it is a living being, a man whose name is nachman veribivker of veribivka. he is a tall jew, broad-shouldered, a giant. the townspeople are envious of his strength, and make fun of him. "peace be unto you. how is a jew in health?" nachman knows he is being made fun of. he bends his shoulders so as to look more jewish. but, it is useless. he is too big. nachman has lived in the village a long time. "our 'lachman,'" the peasants call him. they look upon him as a good man, with brains. they like to have a chat with him. they follow his advice. "what are we to do about bread?" "lachman" has an almanack, and he knows whether bread will be cheap or dear this year. he goes to the town, and so knows what is doing in the world. it would be hard to imagine veribivka without nachman. not only was his father, feitel, born in veribivka, but his grandfather, arya. he was a clever jew, and a wit. he used to say that the village was called veribivka because arya veribivker lived in it, because, before veribivka was veribivka, he, arya veribivker was already arya veribivker. that's what his grandfather used to say. the jews of those times! and do you think arya veribivker said this for no reason? arya was not an ordinary man who made jokes without reason. he meant that the catastrophes of his day were jewish tragedies. at that time they already talked of driving the jews out of villages. and not only talked but drove them out. all the jews were driven out, excepting arya veribivker. it may be that even the governor of the district could do nothing, because arya veribivker proved that according to the law, he could not be driven out. the jews of those times! * * * certainly, if one has inherited such a privilege, and is independent, one can laugh at the whole world. what did our nachman veribivker care about uprisings, the limitations of the pale, of circulars? what did nachman care about the wicked gentile kuratchka and the papers that he brought from the court? kuratchka was a short peasant with short fingers. he wore a smock and high boots, and a silver chain and a watch like a gentleman. he was a clerk of the court. and he read all the papers which abused and vilified the jews. personally, kuratchka was not a bad sort. he was a neighbour of nachman and pretended to be a friend. when kuratchka had the toothache, nachman gave him a lotion. when kuratchka's wife was brought to bed of a child, nachman's wife nursed her. but for some time, the devil knows why, kuratchka had been reading the anti-semitic papers, and he was an altered man. "esau began to speak in him." he was always bringing home news of new governors, new circulars from the minister, and new edicts against jews. each time, nachman's heart was torn. but, he did not let the gentile know of it. he listened to him with a smile, and held out the palm of his hand, as if to say, "when hair grows here." let governors change. let ministers write circulars. what concern is it of nachman veribivker of veribivka? nachman lived comfortably. that is, not as comfortably as his grandfather arya had lived. those were different times. one might almost say that the whole of veribivka belonged to arya. he had the inn, the store, a mill, a granary. he made money with spoons and plates, as they say. but, that was long ago. today, all these things are gone. no more inn; no more store; no more granary. the question is why, in that case, does nachman live in the village? where then should he live? in the earth? just let him sell his house, and he will be nachman veribivker no more. he will be a dependent, a stranger. as it is, he has at least a corner of his own, a house to live in, and a garden. his wife and daughters cultivate the garden. and if the lord helps them, they have greens for the summer, and potatoes for the whole winter, until long after the passover. but, one cannot live on potatoes alone. it is said that one wants bread with potatoes. and when there's no bread, a jew takes his stick, and goes through the village in search of business. he never comes home empty-handed. what the lord destines, he buys--some old iron, a bundle of rags, an old sack, or else a hide. the hide is stretched and dried, and is taken to the town, to abraham-elijah the tanner. and on all these one either earns or loses money. abraham-elijah the tanner, a man with a bluish nose and fingers as black as ink, laughs at nachman, because he is so coarsened through living with gentiles that he even speaks like them. * * * yes, coarsened. nachman feels it himself. he grows coarser each year. oh, if his grandfather reb arya--peace be unto him!--could see his grandson. he had been a practical man, but had also been a scholar. he knew whole passages of the psalms and the prayers off by heart. the jews of those times! and what does he, nachman, know? he can only just say his prayers. it's well he knows that much. his children will know even less. when he looks at his children, how they grow to the ceiling, broad and tall like himself, and can neither read nor write, his heart grows heavy. more than all, his heart aches for his youngest child, who is called feitel, after his father. he was a clever child, this feitel. he was smaller in build, more refined, more jewish than the others. and he had brains. he was shown the hebrew alphabet once, in a prayer-book, and he never again confused one letter with the other. such a fine child to grow up in a village amongst calves and pigs! he plays with kuratchka's son, fedoka. he rides on the one stick with him. they both chase the one cat. they both dig the same hole. they do together everything children can do. nachman is sorry to see his child playing with the gentile child. it withers him, as if he were a tree that had been stricken by lightning. * * * fedoka is a smart little boy. he has a pleasant face and a dimpled chin, and flaxen hair. he loves feitel, and feitel does not dislike him. all the winter each child slept on his father's stove. they went to the window and longed for one another. they seldom met. but now the long angry winter is over. the black earth throws off her cold white mantle. the sun shines; and the wind blows. a little blade of grass peeps out. at the foot of the hill the little river murmurs. the calf inhales the soft air through distended nostrils. the cock closes one eye, and is lost in meditation. everything around and about has come to life again. everything rejoices. it is the passover eve. neither feitel nor fedoka can be kept indoors. they rush out into god's world which has opened up for them both. they take each other's hands, and fly down the hill that smiles at them--"come here, children!" they leap towards the sun that greets them and calls them: "come, children!" when they are tired of running, they sit down on god's earth that knows no jew and no gentile, but whispers invitingly: "children, come to me, to me." * * * they have much to tell each other, not having met throughout the whole winter. feitel boasts that he knows the whole hebrew alphabet. fedoka boasts that he has a whip. feitel boasts that it is the eve of passover. they have "_matzos_" for the whole festival and wine. "do you remember, fedoka, i gave you a '_matzo_' last year?" "'_matzo_,'" repeats fedoka. a smile overspreads his pleasant face. it seems he remembers the taste of the "_matzo_." "would you like to have some '_matzo_' now, fresh '_matzo_'?" is it necessary to ask such a question? "then come with me," says feitel, pointing up the hill which smiled to them invitingly. they climbed the hill. they gazed at the warm sun through their fingers. they threw themselves on the damp earth which smelled so fresh. feitel drew out from under his blouse a whole fresh, white "_matzo_," covered with holes on both sides. fedoka licked his fingers in advance. feitel broke the "_matzo_" in halves, and gave one half to his friend. "what do you say to the '_matzo_,' fedoka?" what could fedoka say when his mouth was stuffed with "_matzo_" that crackled between his teeth, and melted under his tongue like snow? one minute, and there was no more "_matzo_." "all gone?" fedoka threw his grey eyes at feitel's blouse as a cat looks at butter. "want more?" asked feitel, looking at fedoka through his sharp black eyes. what a question! "then wait a while," said feitel. "next year you'll get more." they both laughed at the joke. and without a word, as if they had already arranged it, they threw themselves on the ground, and rolled down the hill like balls, quickly, quickly downwards. * * * at the bottom of the hill they stood up, and looked at the murmuring river that ran away to the left. they turned to the right, going further and further over the broad fields that were not yet green in all places, but showed signs of being green soon--that did not yet smell of grass, but would smell of grass soon. they walked and walked in silence bewitched by the loveliness of the earth, under the bright, smiling sun. they did not walk, but swam. they did not swim, but flew. they flew like birds that sweep in the soft air of the lovely world which the lord has created for all living things. hush! they are at the windmill which belongs to the village elder. once it belonged to nachman veribivker. now it belongs to the village elder whose name is opanas--a cunning gentile with one ear-ring, who owns a "_samovar_." opanas is a rich epicurean. along with the mill he has a store--the same store which once belonged to nachman veribivker. he took both the mill and the store from the jew by cunning. the mill went round in its season, but this day it was still. there was no wind. a curious passover eve without winds. that the mill was not working was so much the better for feitel and fedoka. they could see the mill itself. and there was much to see in the mill. but to them the mill was not so interesting as the sails, and the wheel which turns them whichever way the wind blows. they sat down near the mill, and talked. it was one of those conversations which have no beginning and no end. feitel told stories of the town to which his father had once taken him. he was at the fair. he saw shops. not a single shop as in veribivka, but a lot of shops. and in the evening his father took him to the synagogue. his father had "_yahrzeit_" after his father. "that means after my grandfather," explained feitel. "do you understand, or do you not?" fedoka might have understood, but he was not listening. he interrupted with a story that had nothing to do with what feitel was talking about. he told feitel that last year he saw a bird's nest in a high tree. he tried to reach it, but could not. he tried to knock it down with a stick, but could not. he threw stones at the nest, until he brought down two tiny, bleeding fledglings. "you killed them?" asked feitel, fearfully, and made a wry face. "little ones," replied fedoka. "but, they were dead?" "without feathers, yellow beaks, little fat bellies." "but killed, but killed!" * * * it was rather late when feitel and fedoka saw by the sun in the heavens that it was time to go home. feitel had forgotten that it was the passover eve. he remembered then that his mother had to wash him, and dress him in his new trousers. he jumped up and flew home, fedoka after him. they both flew home, gladly and joyfully. and in order that one should not be home before the other, they held hands, flying like arrows from bows. when they got to the village, this was the scene which confronted them:-- nachman veribivker's house was surrounded by peasants, men and women, boys and girls. the clerk, kuratchka, and opanas the village elder and his wife, and the magistrate and the policeman--all were there, talking and shouting together. nachman and his wife were in the middle of the crowd, arguing and waving their hands. nachman was bent low and was wiping the perspiration from his face with both hands. by his side stood his older children, gloomy and downcast. suddenly, the whole picture changed. some one pointed to the two children. the whole crowd, including the village elder and the magistrate, the policeman and the clerk, stood still, like petrified. only nachman looked at the people, straightened out his back, and laughed. his wife threw out her hands and began to weep. the village elder and the clerk and the magistrate and their wives pounced on the children. "where were you, you so-and-so?" "where were we? we were down by the mill." * * * the two friends, feitel as well as fedoka, got punished without knowing why. feitel's father flogged him with his cap. "a boy should know." what should a boy know? out of pity his mother took him from his father's hands. she gave him a few smacks on her own account, and at once washed him and dressed him in his new trousers--the only new garment he had for the passover. she sighed. why? afterwards, he heard his father saying to his mother: "may the lord help us to get over this festival in peace. the passover ought to have gone before it came." feitel could not understand why the passover should have gone before it came. he worried himself about this. he did not understand why his father had flogged him, and his mother smacked him. he did not understand what sort of a passover eve it was this day in the world. * * * if feitel's jewish brains could not solve the problems, certainly fedoka's peasant brains could not. first of all his mother took hold of him by the flaxen hair, and pulled it. then she gave him a few good smacks in the face. these he accepted like a philosopher. he was used to them. and he heard his mother talking with the peasants. they told curious tales of a child that the jews of the town had enticed on the passover eve, hidden in a cellar a day and a night, and were about to make away with, when his cries were heard by passers-by. they rescued him. he had marks on his body--four marks, placed like a cross. a cunning peasant-woman with a red face told this tale. and the other women shook their shawl-covered heads, and crossed themselves. fedoka could not understand why the women looked at him when they were talking. and what had the tale to do with him and feitel? why had his mother pulled his flaxen hair and boxed his ears? he did not care about these. he was used to them. he only wanted to know why he had had such a good share that day. * * * "well?" feitel heard his father remark to his mother immediately after the festival. his face was shining as if the greatest good fortune had befallen him. "well? you fretted yourself to death. you were afraid. a woman remains a woman. our passover and their easter have gone, and nothing." "thank god," replied his mother. and feitel could not understand what his mother had feared. and why were they glad that the passover was gone? would it not have been better if the passover had been longer and longer? feitel met fedoka outside the door. he could not contain himself, but told him everything--how they had prayed, and how they had eaten. oh, how they had eaten! he told him how nice all the passover dishes were, and how sweet the wine. fedoka listened attentively, and cast his eyes on feitel's blouse. he was still thinking of "_matzo_." suddenly there was a scream, and a cry in a high-pitched soprano: "fedoka, fedoka!" it was his mother calling him in for supper. but fedoka did not hurry. he thought she would not pull his hair now. first of all, he had not been at the mill. secondly, it was after the passover. after the passover there was no need to be afraid of the jews. he stretched himself on the grass, on his stomach, propping up his white head with his hands. opposite him lay feitel, his black head propped up by his hands. the sky is blue. the sun is warm. the little wind fans one and plays with one's hair. the little calf stands close by. the cock is also near, with his wives. the two heads, the black and the white, are close together. the children talk and talk and talk, and cannot finish talking. * * * nachman veribivker is not at home. early in the morning he took his stick, and let himself go over the village, in search of business. he stopped at every farm, bade the gentiles good-morning, calling each one by name, and talked with them on every subject in the world. but he avoided all reference to the passover incident, and never even hinted at his fears of the passover. before going away, he said: "perhaps, friend, you have something you would like to sell?" "nothing, 'lachman,' nothing." "old iron, rags, an old sack, or a hide?" "do not be offended, 'lachman,' there is nothing. bad times!" "bad times? you drank everything, maybe. such a festival!" "who drank? what drank? bad times." the gentile sighed. nachman also sighed. they talked of different things. nachman would not have the other know that he came only on business. he left that gentile, and went to another, to a third, until he came upon something. he would not return home empty-handed. nachman veribivker, loaded and perspiring, tramped home, thinking only of one problem--how much he was going to gain or lose that day. he has forgotten the passover eve incident. he has forgotten the fears of the passover. the clerk, kuratchka, and his governors and circulars have gone clean out of the jew's head. let winds blow. let storms rage. let the world turn upside down. the old oak which has been standing since the creation of the world, and whose roots reach to god-knows-where--what does he care for winds? what are storms to him? elijah the prophet it is not good to be an only son, to be fretted over by father and mother--to be the only one left out of seven. don't stand here. don't go there. don't drink that. don't eat the other. cover up your throat. hide your hands. ah, it is not good--not good at all to be an only son, and a rich man's son into the bargain. my father is a money changer. he goes about amongst the shopkeepers with a bag of money, changing copper for silver, and silver for copper. that is why his fingers are always black, and his nails broken. he works very hard. each day, when he comes home, he is tired and broken down. "i have no feet," he complains to mother. "i have no feet, not even the sign of a foot." no feet? it may be. but for that again he has a fine business. that's what the people say. and they envy us that we have a good business. mother is satisfied. so am i. "we shall have a passover this year, may all the children of israel have the like, father in heaven!" that's what my mother said, thanking god for the good passover. and i also was thankful. but shall we ever live to see it--this same passover? passover has come at last--the dear sweet passover. i was dressed as befitted the son of a man of wealth--like a young prince. but what was the consequence? i was not allowed to play, or run about, lest i caught cold. i must not play with poor children. i was a wealthy man's boy. such nice clothes, and i had no one to show off before. i had a pocketful of nuts, and no one to play with. it is not good to be an only child, and fretted over--the only one left out of seven, and a wealthy man's son into the bargain. my father put on his best clothes, and went off to the synagogue. said my mother to me: "do you know what? lie down and have a sleep. you will then be able to sit up at the '_seder_' and ask the 'four questions'!" was i mad? would i go asleep before the "_seder_"? "remember, you must not sleep at the '_seder_.' if you do, elijah the prophet will come with a bag on his shoulders. on the two first nights of passover, elijah the prophet goes about looking for those who have fallen asleep at the '_seder_,' and takes them away in his bag." ... ha! ha! will i fall asleep at the "_seder_"? i? not even if it were to last the whole night through, or even to broad daylight. "what happened last year, mother?" "last year you fell asleep, soon after the first blessing." "why did elijah the prophet not come then with his bag?" "then you were very small, now you are big. tonight you must ask father the 'four questions.' tonight you must say with father--'slaves were we.' tonight, you must eat with us fish and soup and '_matzo_'-balls. hush, here is father, back from the synagogue." "good '_yom-tov_'!" "good '_yom-tov_'!" thank god, father made the blessing over wine. i, too. father drank the cup full of wine. so did i, a cup full, to the very dregs. "see, to the dregs," said mother to father. to me she said: "a full cup of wine! you will drop off to sleep." ha! ha! will i fall asleep? not even if we are to sit up all the night, or even to broad daylight. "well," said my father, "how are you going to ask the 'four questions'? how will you recite '_haggadah_'? how will you sing with me--'slaves were we'?" my mother never took her eyes off me. she smiled and said: "you will fall asleep--fast asleep." "oh, mother, mother, if you had eighteen heads, you would surely fall asleep, if some one sat opposite you, and sang in your ears: 'fall asleep, fall asleep'!" of course i fell asleep. i fell asleep, and dreamt that my father was already saying: "pour out thy wrath." my mother herself got up from the table, and went to open the door to welcome elijah the prophet. it would be a fine thing if elijah the prophet did come, as my mother had said, with a bag on his shoulders, and if he said to me: "come, boy." and who else would be to blame for this but my mother, with her "fall asleep, fall asleep." and as i was thinking these thoughts, i heard the creaking of the door. my father stood up and cried: "blessed art thou who comest in the name of the eternal." i looked towards the door. yes, it was he. he came in so slowly and so softly that one scarcely heard him. he was a handsome man, elijah the prophet--an old man with a long grizzled beard reaching to his knees. his face was yellow and wrinkled, but it was handsome and kindly without end. and his eyes! oh, what eyes! kind, soft, joyous, loving, faithful eyes. he was bent in two, and leaned on a big, big stick. he had a bag on his shoulders. and silently, softly, he came straight to me. "now, little boy, get into my bag, and come." so said to me the old man, but in a kind voice, and softly and sweetly. i asked him: "where to?" and he replied: "you will see later." i did not want to go, and he said to me again: "come." and i began to argue with him. "how can i go with you when i am a wealthy man's son?" said he to me: "and as a wealthy man's son, of what great value are you?" said i: "i am the only child of my father and mother." said he: "to me you are not an only child!" said i: "i am fretted over. if they find that i am gone, they will not get over it, they will die, especially my mother." he looked at me, the old man did, very kindly, and he said to me, softly and sweetly as before: "if you do not want to die, then come with me. say good-bye to your father and mother, and come." "but, how can i come when i am an only child, the only one left alive out of seven?" then he said to me more sternly: "for the last time, little boy. choose one of the two. either you say good-bye to your father and mother, and come with me, or you remain here, but fast asleep for ever and ever." having said these words, he stepped back from me a little, and was turning to the door. what was to be done? to go with the old man, god-knows-where, and get lost, would mean the death of my father and mother. i am an only child, the only one left alive out of seven. to remain here, and fall asleep for ever and ever--that would mean that i myself must die.... i stretched out my hand to him, and with tears in my eyes i said: "elijah the prophet, dear, kind, loving, darling elijah, give me one minute to think." he turned towards me his handsome, yellow, wrinkled old face with its grizzled beard reaching to his knees, and looked at me with his beautiful, kind, loving, faithful eyes, and he said to me with a smile: "i will give you one minute to decide, my child--but, no more than one minute." * * * i ask you. "what should i have decided to do in that one minute, so as to save myself from going with the old man, and also to save myself from falling asleep for ever? well, who can guess?" getzel "sit down, and i will tell you a story about nuts." "about nuts? about nuts?" "about nuts." "now? war-time?" "just because it's war-time. because your heart is heavy, i want to distract your thoughts from the war. in any case, when you crack a nut, you find a kernel." * * * his name was getzel, but they called him goyetzel. whoever had god in his heart made fun of getzel, ridiculed him. he was considered a bit of a fool. amongst us schoolboys he was looked upon as a young man. he was a clumsily built fellow, had extremely coarse hands, and thick lips. he had a voice that seemed to come from an empty barrel. he wore wide trousers and big top-boots, like a bear. his head was as big as a kneading trough. this head of his, "_reb_" yankel used to say, was stuffed with hay or feathers. the "_rebbe_" frequently reminded getzel of his great size and awkwardness. "goyetzel," "coarse being," "bullock's skin," and other such nicknames were bestowed on him by the teacher. and he never seemed to care a rap about them. he hid in a corner, puffed out his cheeks, and bleated like a calf. you must know that getzel was fond of eating. food was dearer to him than anything else. he was a mere stomach. the master called him a glutton, but getzel didn't care about that either. the minute he saw food, he thrust it into his mouth, and chewed and chewed vigorously. he had sent to him, to the "_cheder_," the best of everything. this great clumsy fool was, along with everything else, his wealthy mother's darling--her only child. and she took the greatest care of him. day and night, she stuffed him like a goose, and was always wailing that her child ate nothing. "he ought to have the evil eye averted from him," our teacher used to say, behind getzel's back, of course. "to the devil with his mother," the teacher's wife used to add, in such a voice, and making such a grimace over her words that it was impossible to keep from laughing. "in polosya they keep such children in swaddling clothes. may he suffer instead of my old bones!" "may i live longer than his head," the teacher put in, after her, and pulled getzel's cap down over his ears. the whole "_cheder_" laughed. getzel sat silent. he was sulky, but kept silent. it was hard to get him into a temper. but, when he did get into a temper, he was terrible. even an angry bear could not be fiercer than he. he used to dance with passion, and bite his own big hands with his strong white teeth. if he gave one a blow, one felt it--one enjoyed it. this the boys knew very well. they had tasted his blows, and they were terribly afraid of him. they did not want to have anything to do with him. you know that jewish children have a lot of respect for beatings. and in order to protect themselves against getzel, all the ten boys had to keep united--ten against one. and that was how it came about that there were two parties at "_reb_" yankel's "_cheder_." on the one side, all the pupils; on the other, getzel. the boys kept their wits about them; getzel his fists. the boys worked at their lessons; getzel ate continually. * * * it came to pass that on a holiday the boys got together to play nuts. playing nuts is a game like any other, neither better than tops, nor worse than cards. the game is played in various ways. there are "holes" and "bank" and "caps." but every game finishes up in the same way. one boy loses, another wins. and, as always, he who wins is a clever fellow, a smart fellow, a good fellow. and he who loses is a good-for-nothing, a fool and a ne'er-do-well; just as it happens in the big cities, at the clubs, where people sit playing cards night and day. the ten boys got together in the "_cheder_" to play nuts. they turned over a bench, placed a row of nuts on the floor, and began rolling other nuts downwards. whoever knocked the most nuts out of the row won the whole lot. suddenly the door opened, and getzel came in, his pockets loaded with nuts, as usual. "welcome art thou--a jew!" cried one of the boys. "if you speak of the messiah," put in a second. "_vive_ haman!" cried a third. "and rashi says, 'the devil brought him here.'" cried a fourth. "what are you playing? bank? then i'll play too," said getzel, to which he got an immediate reply: "no, with a little cap." "why not?" "just for that." "then i won't let you play." he didn't hesitate a moment, but scattered the nuts about the floor with his bear's paws. the boys got angry. the cheek of the rascal! "boys, why don't you do something?" asked one. "what shall we do?" asked a second. "lets break his bones for him," suggested a third. "all right. try it on," cried getzel. he turned up his sleeves, ready for work. and there took place a battle, a fight between the two parties. on the one side was the whole "_cheder_," on the other getzel. ten is not one. it was true they felt what getzel's fists tasted like. bruises and marks around the eyes were the portion of the ten. but for that, again, they gave him a good taste of the world with their sharp nails and their teeth, and every other thing they could. from the front and from the back and from all sides, he got blows and kicks and pulls and thumps and bites and scratches. well, ten is not one. they overcame him. getzel had to get himself off, disappear. and now begins the real story of the nuts. * * * after he left the "_cheder_," bruised and scratched and torn and bleeding, getzel stood thinking for a while. he clapped his hands on his pockets, and there was heard the rattling of nuts. "you don't want to play nuts with me, then may the angel of death play with you. i want you for ten thousand sacrifices. i can manage. we two will play by ourselves." that was what getzel said to himself. the next minute he was off like the wind. he stopped in the middle of the road to say aloud, as if there was some one with him: "where to? where, for instance, shall we go, getzel?" and at once he answered himself: "there, far outside the town, on the other side of the mill. there we shall be alone, the two of us. no one will disturb us. let any one attempt to disturb us, and we will break bones, and make an end." talking with himself, getzel felt that he was not alone. he was not one but two; and he felt as strong as two. let the boys dare to come near him, and he would break them to atoms. he would reduce them to a dust-heap. he enjoyed listening to his own words, and did not stop talking to himself, as if he really had some one beside him. "listen to me. how far are we going to go?" he asked himself. and he answered himself almost in a strange voice: "well, it all depends on you." "perhaps we ought to sit down here and play nuts. well? what do you say, getzel?" "it's all the same to me." getzel sat down on the ground, far beyond the town, behind the mill, took out the nuts, counted them, divided them in two equal parts, put one lot in his right-hand pocket, and the other in his left. he took off his cap, and threw into it a few nuts from his right-hand pocket. he said to himself: "they imagine i can't get on without them. listen, getzel, what game are we playing?" "i don't know. whatever game you like." "then let us play 'odd or even.'" "i'm quite willing." he shook his cap. "now, guess. odd or even? well, speak out," he said to himself. he dug his elbow into his own ribs, and said to himself: "even." "even did you say? who'll thrash you? you have lost. hand over three nuts." he took three nuts from his left-hand pocket, and put them into the right. again he shook the cap, and again he asked: "odd or even this time?" "odd." "did you say odd? may you suffer for ever! hand them over here. you have lost four nuts." he changed four nuts from his left-hand pocket to the right, shook the cap and said again: "well, maybe you'll guess right now. odd or even?" "even." "even did you say? may your bones rot! you rascal, hand out here five nuts." "isn't it enough that i lose. why do you curse me?" "whose fault is it that you are a fool and that you guess as a blind man guesses a hole? well, say again--odd or even? this time you must be right." "even." "even? may you live long! hand out seven nuts, you fool, and guess again. odd or even?" "even." "again even. may you be my father! good-for-nothing, hand over five more nuts, and guess again. maybe you will guess right for once. odd or even? why are you silent--eh?" "i have no more nuts." "it's a lie, you have!" "as i am a jew, i haven't." "just look in your pocket, like this." "there isn't even a sign of one." "none? lost all the nuts? well, what good has it done you? aren't you a fool?" "enough! you have won all my nuts, and now you torment me." "it's good, it's all right. you wanted to win all my nuts, and i have won yours." goyetzel was well satisfied that getzel had lost, whilst he, goyetzel had won. he felt it was doing him good to win. he felt equal to winning all the nuts in the whole world. "where are they now, the '_cheder_' boys? i would have got my own back from them. i would not have left them the smallest nut, not even for a cure. they would have died here on the ground in front of me." getzel grew angry, fierce. he closed his fists, clenched his teeth, and spoke to himself, just as if there was some one beside him. "well, try now. now that i am not by myself. now that there are two of us. well, getzel, why are you sitting there like a bridegroom? let's play nuts another little while." "nuts? where have i nuts? didn't i tell you i haven't a single one?" "ah, i forgot that you have no more nuts. do you know what i would advise you, getzel?" "for instance?" "have you any money?" "i have. well, what of that?" "buy nuts from me." "what do you mean by saying i should buy nuts off you?" "fool! don't you know what buying means? give me money, and i'll give you nuts. eh?" "well, i agree to that." he took from his purse a silver coin, bargained about the price, counted a score of nuts from the right-hand pocket to the left, and the play began all over again. an experienced card-player, the story goes, half an hour before his death called his son--also a gambler--to his bedside, and said to him: "my child, i am going from this world. we shall never meet again. i know you play cards. you have my nature. you may play as much as you like, only take care not to play yourself out." these words are almost a law. there is nothing worse in the world than playing yourself out. experienced people say it deprives a man even of his last shirt. it drives a man to desperate acts. and one cannot hope to rise at the resurrection after that. so people say. and so it happened with our young man. he worked so long, shaking his cap, "odd or even," taking from one pocket and putting into the other, until his left-hand pocket hadn't a single nut in it. "well, why don't you play?" "i have nothing to play with." "again you have no nuts, good-for-nothing!" "you say i am a good-for-nothing. and i say you are a cheat." "if you call me a cheat again, i will give you a clout in the jaw." "let the lord put it into your head." getzel sat quiet for a few minutes, scraping the ground with his fingers, digging a hole, and muttering a song under his breath. then he said: "dirty thing, let us play nuts." "where have i nuts?" "haven't you money? i will sell you another ten." "money? where have i money?" "no money and no nuts? oh, i can't stand it. ha! ha! ha!" the laugh echoed over the whole field, and re-echoed in the distant wood. getzel was convulsed with laughter. "what are you laughing at, you goyetzel you?" he asked himself. and he answered himself in a different voice: "i am laughing at you, good-for-nothing. isn't it enough that you lost all my nuts on me? why did you want to go and lose my money as well? such a lot of money. you fool of fools! oh, i can't get over it. ha! ha! ha!" "you yourself brought me to it. you wicked one of wicked ones! you scamp! you rascal!" "fool of the night! if i were to tell you to cut off your nose, must you do it? you idiot! you animal with the horse's face, you! ha! ha! ha!" "be quiet, at any rate, you goyetzel, you. and let me not see your forbidding countenance." and he turned away from himself, sat sulky for a few minutes, scraping the earth with his fingers. he covered the hole he had made, as he sang a little song under his breath. "do you know what i will tell you, getzel?" he said to himself a few minutes later. "let us forgive one another. let us be friends. the lord helped me. it was my luck to win so many nuts--may no evil eye harm them! why should we not enjoy ourselves? let's crack a few nuts. i should think they are not bad! well, what do you say, getzel?" "yes, i also think they ought not to be bad," he answered himself. he thrust a nut into his mouth, a second, a third. each time, he banged his teeth with his fists. the nut was cracked. he took out a fat kernel, cleaned it round, threw it back in his mouth, and chewed it pleasurably with his strong white teeth. he crunched them as a horse crunches oats. he said to himself: "would you also like the kernel of a nut, getzel? speak out. do not be ashamed." "why not?" that was how he answered himself. he stretched out his left hand, but only smacked it with his right. "will you have a plague?" "let it be a plague." "then have two." and he did not cease from cracking the nuts, and crunching them like a horse. it was not enough that he sat eating and gave none to the other, but he said to him: "listen, getzel, to what i will ask you. how, for example, do you feel while i am eating and you are only looking on?" "how do i feel? may you have such a year!" "ah, i see you've got a temper. here is a kernel for you." and getzel's right hand gave the left a kernel. the right turned upside down. the left hand smacked the right. the left hand smacked the right cheek. then the right hand smacked the left cheek twice. the left hand caught hold of the right lapel of his coat, and the right hand at once tore off the left lapel, from top to bottom. the left hand pulled the right earlock. the right hand gave the left ear a terrible bang. "let go of my earlock, getzel. take my advice, and let go of my earlock!" "a plague!" "then you'll have no earlock, getzel." "then you, goyetzel, will have no ear." "oh!" "oh! oh!" * * * epilogue for several minutes our getzel rolled on the ground. now he lay right side up, and now he lay left side up. he held his pocketful of nuts with both hands.... one minute goyetzel was victorious. the next it was getzel, until he got up from the ground covered with dirt, like a pig. he was torn to pieces, had a bleeding ear, and a torn earlock. he took all the nuts from his pocket, and threw them into the mud of the river, far away, behind the mill. he muttered angrily: "that's right. it's a good deed." "neither you--nor me." a lost "l'ag beomer" our teacher, "_reb_" nissel the small one--so called on account of his size--allowed himself to be led by the nose by his assistants. whatever they wanted they got. when the first assistant said the children were to be sent home early that day, he sent them home early. the second assistant said that the boys would turn the world upside down, and ought to be kept at school, and he kept them at school. he could never decide anything for himself. that was why his assistants controlled the school, and not he. at other schools the assistants teach the children to wash their hands and say the blessing. at our school, the assistants would not do this for us, nor fetch us our meals, nor take us to school on their shoulders. no, they liked to go for our meals. they ate them themselves on the road. we did not dare to tell the master of this. the assistants kept us in fear and trembling. if a boy whispered a word of their doings to the teacher, he would be flogged, his skin would be cut. once, a daring boy told the master something; and the assistant beat him so terribly that he was laid up in bed for months. he warned the boys never to tell the master anything, no matter what the assistants did. this period of our schooldays might be called the tyranny of the assistants. * * * and it came to pass that we were under the yoke of the assistants. one year, we had a cold "_l'ag beomer_." it was a cold, wet may, such as we sometimes had in our town, mazapevka. the sun barely showed itself. a sharp wind blew, brought us clouds, tore open our coats, and threw us off our feet. it was not pleasant out of doors. just then the assistants took it into their heads to take us for a walk outside the town, so that we might play at wars, with swords and pop-guns and bows and arrows. it is an old custom amongst jewish children, to become war-like on the "_l'ag beomer_." they arm themselves from head to foot with wooden swords, pop-guns and bows and arrows. they take food with them, and go off to wage war. jewish children who are the whole year round closed up in small "_chedorim_," oppressed by fears of the master, and trembling under the whips of the assistants, when "_l'ag beomer_" comes round, and they may go out into the open, armed from head to foot, imagine that they are giants who can overcome the strongest foe and reduce the world to ruins. all at once they grow brave. they step forward eagerly, singing songs that are a curious mixture of yiddish and russian. "one, two, three, four! jewish children learn the '_torah_,' believe in miracles, are not afraid. hear, o israel! nothing matters. we are not afraid of any one, excepting god." and we carried out the old custom. we took down our swords of last year from the attic, and we made bows from the hoops of old wine barrels. pop-guns the assistants provided us with, for money, of course--fine guns with which one could shoot flies if they only stood still long enough. in a word, we had all the jewish weapons to frighten tiny infants to death. and we provided ourselves with food in good earnest, each boy as much as the lord had blessed him with, and his mother would give him, out of her generosity. we arrived at "_cheder_" armed from head to foot, and our pockets bulging out with good things--rolls, cakes, boiled eggs, goose-fat, cherry-wine, fruit, fowls, livers, tea and sugar, and preserves and jam, and also many "_groschens_" in money. each boy tried to show off by bringing the best and the largest quantity. and we wished to please the assistants. they praised us, and said we were very good boys. they took our food and put it into their bags. they placed us in rows, like soldiers, and commanded us. "jewish children, take hands, and march across the bridge, straight for mezritzer fields. there you will meet the sea-cats, and do battle with them." "hurrah for the sea-cats!" we shouted in one voice. we took hands and went forward, like giants, strong and courageous. * * * we called the free school boys sea-cats because they were short little children in the a b c class. they appeared to us "_chumash_" boys like flies, ants. we imagined that with one blow--phew! we would make an end of them. we were certain that when they saw us, how we were armed from head to foot with swords and bows and arrows and pop-guns, they would surely fly away. it was no trifle to encounter such giants. you play with "_chumash_" boys, warriors with long legs! we had never fought the sea-cats before. but we had every reason to believe, we were convinced, we would conquer these squirrels with a glance, destroy them, make an end of them. along with giving them a good licking, we would take spoil from them, that is to say, their food, and let them go hungry. we were so full of our own courage, and so enthusiastic about the brave deeds we were going to do that we pushed each other forward, clapped each other on the shoulder. then, too, the assistants urged us forward. "why do you crawl like insects?" they asked us. they themselves stopped frequently, opened the bags, and tasted our food and cherry-wine, which they praised highly. "excellent cherry-wine," they said, passing round the bottles, and letting the liquid gurgle down their throats. "splendid liquor. the best i ever tasted." that was what the assistants said. they actually licked their fingers. they remained in the distance, but indicated with their hands that we must go forward, forward. we went on and on, over the wide mezritzer field, though the wind blew stronger and stronger. the sky grew black with clouds, and a cold, thick rain beat into our faces. our hands were blue with the cold. our boots squelched in the mud. we had long given up singing songs. we were tired and hungry, very hungry. we decided to sit down and rest, and have something to eat. "where are the assistants? where is the food--where is it?" the boys began to murmur against the assistants. "it is a dirty trick to take all our food from us, and our cherry-wine and our few '_groschens_,' and to leave us here in the desert, cold and hungry. may the devil take them!" "may a bad end come to the assistants!" "may the cholera strike down all the assistants in the world!" "may they be the sacrifices for our tiniest nails!" "hush. let there be silence. here come our foes, our enemies." "little squirrels with big sticks." "the sea-cats--the sea-cats!" "hurrah for the sea-cats!" the moment we saw them, we rushed towards them, like fierce starving wolves. we were ready to tear them to pieces. but there happened to us a misfortune, a great misfortune which no one could possibly have foreseen. if it is not destined, neither wisdom nor strength nor smartness are of any avail. listen to what can happen. * * * the sea-cats, though they were small, short little squirrels, were evidently no fools. before going to do battle on the broad mezritzer field, they had prepared themselves well at home, gone through their drill. afterwards, they fed up. they also took with them warm clothing and rubber goloshes. they were armed from head to foot no worse than we were, with swords and pop-guns and bows and arrows. they would not wait until we had taken the offensive. they attacked us first, and began to break our bones. and how, do you think? from all sides at once, and so suddenly that we had no time to look about us. before we realized it, they were upon us. they were not alone, but had their assistants to urge them on and encourage them. "pay out the '_chumash_' boys. beat them, the boys with the long legs." naturally we were not silent either. we stood up against the squirrels, like giants, beat them with our swords, aimed our arrows at them, and shot at them with our pop-guns. but, alas! our swords were dull as wood; and before we could set our bows, they had thrashed us. i say nothing of the guns. what can you do with a pop-gun if the foe will not wait until you have taken aim at him? they rushed forward and knocked the guns out of our hands. what could we do? we had to throw away our weapons, our swords and pop-guns and bows and arrows, and fight as the lord has ordained. that is to say, we fought with our fists. but we were hungry and tired and cold, and fought without a plan, because our assistants had remained behind. they let us fight whilst they ate our food and drank our cherry-wine--the devil take them! and they, the little squirrels, well-fed and well-clad, had crept upon us from three sides at once, each moment growing stronger and stronger. they rained down on us blows and thumps and digs. the same blows that we had reckoned on giving them they gave us. and their assistants went in front of them, and never ceased from urging them on. "pay back the '_chumash_' boys. beat them, beat them, the boys with the long legs." who was the first to turn his back on the enemy? it would be hard to say. i only know we ran quickly, helter-skelter, back home, back to mazapevka. and they, the little squirrels--may they burn!--ran after us, shouting and yelling and laughing at us, right on top of us. "hurrah! '_chumash_' boys! hurrah! big boys!" * * * we arrived home exhausted, ragged, bruised, beaten. and we giants imagined that our parents would pity us, give us cakes because of the blows we got. but it turned out we were mistaken. no one thought of us. we thanked god we were so fortunate as to escape without beatings from our parents for our torn clothes and twisted boots. but next morning we got a good whipping from our teacher, nissel the small one, for the bruises we had on our foreheads and the blue marks around our eyes. it is shameful to tell it--we were each whipped in the true style. this was a mere addition, as if we had not had enough. we were not sorry for anything but that the assistants gave us another share. when a father or a mother beats one, it is out of kindness. when a teacher beats one it is because he is a teacher. and what is his rod for, anyway? but the assistants! our curses upon them! as if it were not enough that they had eaten all our food, and drunk our cherry-wine--may they suffer for it, father of the universe!--as if it were not enough that they had left us to fight alone, in the middle of the field, but when they were whipping us they held our feet, so that we might not kick either. * * * and that was how our holiday ended up. it was a dark, dreary, lost "_l'ag beomer_." murderers "is he still snoring?" "and how snoring!" "may he perish!" "wake him up. wake him up." "leib-dreib-obderick!" "get up, my little bird." "open your little eyes." i barely managed to open my eyes, raise my head, and look about me. i saw a whole crowd of rascals, my school-fellows. the window was open, and along with their sparkling eyes i saw the first rays of the bright, warm early morning sun. i looked about me, on all sides. "just see how he looks." "like a sinner." "did you not recognize us?" "have you forgotten that it is '_l'ag beomer_' today?" the words darted through all my limbs like a flash of lightning. i was carried out of bed by them. in the twinkling of an eye, i was dressed. i went in search of my mother, who was busy with the breakfast and the younger children. "mother, today is '_l'ag beomer_.'" "a good '_yom-tov_' to you. what do you want?" "i want something for the party." "what am i to give you? my troubles? or my aches?" so said my mother to me. nevertheless, she was ready to give me something towards the party. we bargained about it. i wanted a lot. she would only give a little. i wanted two eggs. said she: "a suffering in the bones!" i began to grow angry. she gave me two smacks. i began to cry. she gave me an apple to quieten me. i wanted an orange. said she: "greedy boy, what will you want next?" and my friends on the other side of the window were kicking up a row. "will you ever come out, or not?" "leib-dreib-obderick!" "the day is flying!" "quicker! quicker!" "like the wind." after much arguing, i got round my mother. i snatched up my breakfast and my share of the party, and flew out of the house, fresh, lively, joyful, to my waiting comrades. all together we flew down the hill to the "_cheder_." * * * the "_cheder_" was full of noise and tumult and shouting that reached to the sky. a score of throats shouted at the one time. the table was covered with delicacies. we had never had such a party as we were going to have that "_l'ag beomer_." we had wine and brandy, for which we had to thank berrel yossel, the wine-merchant's son. he had brought a bottle of brandy and two bottles of wine made by yossel himself. his father had given him the brandy, but the wine he had taken himself. "what do you mean by saying he took it himself?" "don't you understand, peasant's head? he took it from the shelf when no one was looking." "gracious me! that means he stole?" "fool of the night! well, what then?" "what do you mean? then he is a thief?" "for the sake of the party, fool." "is it a good deed to steal for that?" "certainly. what do you say to the wise one of the 'four questions'?" "where is it written?" "he wants us to tell him where it is written?" "tell him it is written in the book of jests." "in the chapter called 'and he took.'" "beginning with the words 'bim-bom.'" "ha! ha! ha!" "hush, children, mazeppa comes." all at once there was silence. we were sitting around the table quiet as lambs, like angels, golden children who could not count two, and whose souls were innocent. * * * mazeppa was the teacher's name. that is to say, his real name was baruch-moshe. he had come to our town from mazapevka not long before, and the people called him the mazapevkar. we boys shortened his name to mazeppa. and when pupils crown their teacher with such a lovely name, he must be worthy of it. let me introduce him. he is small, thin, dried-up, hideously ugly. he hasn't even the signs of a moustache or beard or eyebrows. not because he shaved. god forbid, but simply because they would not grow. but for that again he had a pair of lips and a nose. oh, what a nose! it was curved like a ram's horn. and he had a voice like a bull. he growled like a lion. where did such a creature get such a terrible roar? and where did he get so much strength? when he took hold of you by the hand with his cold, bony fingers, you saw the next world. when he boxed your ears, you felt the smart for three days on end. he hated arguing. for the least thing, guilty or not guilty, he had one sentence: "lie down." "'_rebbe_,' yossel-yakov-yossels thumped me." "lie down." "'_rebbe_,' it's a lie. he first kicked me in the side." "lie down." "'_rebbe_,' chayim-berrel lippes put out his tongue at me." "lie down." "'_rebbe_,' it's a lie of lies. he made a noise at me." "lie down." and you had to lie down. nothing would avail you. even elya the red one, who is already "_bar-mitzvah_," and is engaged to be married, and wears a silver watch--do you think he is never flogged? oh yes! and how? elya says he will be avenged for the floggings he gets. some day or other he will pay back the "_rebbe_" in such a way that his children's children will remember it. that's what elya says after each flogging. and we echo his words. "amen! may it be so! from your mouth into god's ears!" * * * we said our prayers with the teacher, as usual. (he never let us pray by ourselves because he thought we might skip more than half the prayers.) mazeppa said to us in his lion's roar: "now, children, wash your hands and sit down to the party. after grace i will let you go for a walk." we used to hold our "_l'ag beomer_" party outside the town, in the open air, on the bare earth, under god's sky. we used to throw crumbs of bread to the birds. let them also know that it is "_l'ag beomer_" in the world. but one does not argue with mazeppa. when he told one to sit down, one sat down, lest he might tell one to lie down. "eat in peace," he said to us, after we had pronounced the blessing. "come and eat with us," we replied out of politeness. "eat in health," he said. "i do not wish to eat yet. but, if you like, i will make a blessing over the wine. what have you in that bottle? brandy?" he asked, and stretched out his long, dried-up hand with its bony fingers to the bottle of brandy. he poured out a glassful, tasted it, and made such a grimace that we must have been stronger than iron to control ourselves from exploding with laughter. "whose is this terrible thing?" he asked, taking another drop. "it's not a bad brandy." he filled a third glass and drank our health. "long life to you, children. may god grant that we be alive next year, and--and.... haven't you anything to bite? well, in honour of '_l'ag beomer_' i will wash my hands and eat with you." what is wrong with our teacher? he's not the same mazeppa. he is in good humour, and talkative. his cheeks are shining; his nose is red; and his eyes are sparkling. he eats and laughs and points to the bottle of wine. "what sort of wine have you there? passover wine?" (he tasted it and pursed up his lips.) "p-s-ss! the best wine in the world." (he drank more.) "it's a long time since i tasted such wine." (to yossel the wine-merchant's son, with a laugh.) "the devil take your father's cellar. i saw there barrels upon barrels. and of the finest raisins. ha! ha! to your health, children. may the lord help you to be honest, pious jews, and may you--may you open the second bottle. take glasses and drink to long life. may god grant that--that----" (he licked his lips. his eyes were closing.) "all good to the children of israel." * * * having eaten and said grace, mazeppa turned to us, his tongue failing him as he spoke: "then we have carried out the duty of eating together on '_l'ag beomer_.' well, and what next, eh?" "now we will go for the walk." "for the walk, eh? excellent. where do we go?" "to the black forest." "ha? to the black forest? excellent. i go with you. it is good to walk in a forest, very healthy, because a forest.... well, i will explain to you what a forest is." we went off with our teacher, beyond the town. we were not altogether comfortable having him with us. but, shah! the teacher walked in the middle, waving his hands and explaining to us what a forest was. "the nature of the forest, you must know, is as the lord has created it. it is full of trees. on the trees are branches; and the branches are covered with leaves that give out a pleasant, pungent odour." as he spoke, he sniffed the air that was not yet either pleasant or pungent. "well, why are you silent?" he asked. "say something nice. sing a song. well, i was also a boy once, and mischievous like you. i also had a teacher. ha! ha!" that mazeppa had once been a mischievous boy and had had a teacher we could not believe. it was curious. mazeppa playful? we exchanged glances, and giggled softly. we tried to imagine mazeppa playful and having a teacher. and did his teacher also----? we were afraid to think of such a thing. but elya stopped to ask a question: "'_rebbe_,' did your teacher also flog you as you flog us?" "what? and what sort of floggings? ha! ha!" we looked at the teacher and at each other. we understood one another. we laughed with him, until we were far from the town, in the broad fields, close to the forest. * * * the fields were beautiful--a garden of eden. green, fragrant grass, white boughs, yellow flowers, green flies, and above us the blue sky that stretched away endlessly. facing us was the forest in holiday attire. in the trees the birds hopped, twittering, from branch to branch. they were welcoming us on the dear day of "_l'ag beomer_." we sought shelter from the burning rays of the sun under a thick tree. we sat down on the ground in a row, the "_rebbe_" in the middle. he was worn out. he threw himself on the ground, full-length, his face upwards. his eyes were closing. he could hardly manage to speak. "you are dear, golden children.... jewish children.... saints.... i love you, and you love me.... oh yes, you l-love me?" "like a pain in the eyes," replied elya. "well, i know you l-love me," went on the teacher. "may the lord love you as we do," said elya. we were frightened, and whispered to elya: "the lord be with you!" "fools!" he said with a laugh. "what are you afraid of? don't you see he is drunk?" "what?" queried the teacher, one of whose eyes was already closed. "what are you saying? saints? of course.... the guardian of israel. hal! hal! hal! rrrssss!" and our teacher fell fast asleep. the snores burst from his nose like the blasts from a ram's horn, sounding far into the forest. we sat around him, and our hearts grew heavy. is this our teacher? is this he whose glances we fear? is this mazeppa? * * * "children," said elya to us, "why are we sitting like lumps of stone? let us think of a punishment for mazeppa." a great fear fell upon us. "fools, what are you afraid of?" he went on. "he is now like a dead body, a corpse." we trembled still more. elya went on: "now we may do with him what we like. he flogged us the whole winter, as if we were sheep. let us take revenge of him this once, at least." "what would you do to him?" "nothing. i will only frighten him." "how will you frighten him?" "you shall soon see." and he got up from the ground. he went over to the teacher, took off his leather strap and said to us: "see, we will fasten him to the tree with his own belt in such a way that he will not be able to free himself. then one of us will go over to him and shout in his ear: "'_rebbe_,' murderers!" "what will happen?" "nothing. we will run away, and he will shout, 'hear, o israel!'" "how long will he shout?" "until he gets used to it." without another word, elya tied the "_rebbe_" to the tree by the hands. we stood looking on, and a shudder passed over our bodies. is this our teacher? is this he whose glances we fear? is this mazeppa? "why do you stand there like clay images?" said elya to us. "the lord has performed a miracle. mazeppa has fallen into our hands. let us dance for joy." we took hands and danced around the sleeping mazeppa like savages. we danced and leaped and sang like lunatics. we stopped. elya bent over the sleeping teacher and shouted into his ear in a voice to waken the dead: "help, '_rebbe_'! murderers! murderers! murderers!" * * * we flew off together, like arrows from bows. we were afraid to stop a moment. we were even afraid to look around us. a great dread fell upon us, even upon elya, although he never ceased from shouting at us: "donkeys, fools, animals! why do you run?" "why do you run?" "when you run i run too." we got into the town full of excitement, and still shouting: "murderers! murderers!" when the people saw us running, they ran after us. seeing them running another crowd ran after them. "why are you running?" "how are we to know? others run, and we run too." after some time, one of our boys stopped. and seeing him, we also stopped, but still shouted: "murderers! murderers! murderers!" "where? where? where?" "there, in the black forest, murderers beset us. they bound our teacher to a tree, and god knows if he is still alive." * * * if you envy us because we are free, because we do not go to "_cheder_" (the "_rebbe_" is lying ill), it is for nothing--for nothing. no one knows whom the shoe pinches--no one. no one knows who the real murderers are. we rarely see one another. when we meet, the first words are: "how is the teacher?" (he is no more mazeppa.) and when we pray, we ask god to save the teacher. we weep in silence: "oh, father of the universe! father of the universe!" and elya? don't ask about him. may the devil take him--that same elya! * * * epilogue when the "_rebbe_" recovered (he was ill six weeks, in the height of fever, and babbled constantly of murderers) and we went back to "_cheder_," we hardly recognized him, so greatly had he changed. what had become of his lion's roar? he had put away his strap, and there was no more "lie down," and no more mazeppa. on his face there was to be seen a gentle melancholy. a feeling of regret stole into our hearts. and mazeppa suddenly grew dear to us, dear to our souls. oh, if he had only scolded us! but it was as if nothing had happened. suddenly, he stopped us in the middle of the lesson, and asked us to tell him again the story of that "_l'ag beomer_" day, and of the murderers in the forest. we did not hesitate, but told him again and again the story we knew off by heart--how murderers had come upon us in the forest, how they fell upon him, tied him to the tree, and were going to kill him with a knife, and how we rushed excitedly into the town, and by our shouting and clamours saved him. the "_rebbe_" listened to us with closed eyes. then he sighed, and asked us suddenly: "are you quite sure they were murderers?" "what else were they?" "perhaps bandits?" and the teacher's eyes sought the distance. and we imagined that a curiously cunning smile was hovering around his thick lips. three little heads if my pen were an artist's brush, or at the very least a photographic camera, i would create for you, my friend, a picture, for a present in honour of "_shevuous_," of a rare group of three pretty little heads, of three poor naked, barefoot jewish children. all three little heads are black, and have curly hair. the eyes are big and shiny and burning. they gaze out in wonder, and seem to be always asking of the world the one question: wherefore? you look at them, and marvel at them, and feel guilty towards them, just as if you were really responsible for them--for the existence of three little superfluous mortals in the world. the three pretty little heads are of two brothers and a little sister, abramtzig, moshetzig, and dvairke. they were brought up by their father in the true russian style, petted and spoiled. their father was peisa the box-maker. and if he had not been afraid of his wife, pessa, and if he had not been such a terribly poor man, he would have changed his jewish name of peisa into the russian name of petya. but, since he was a little afraid of his wife, pessa, and since he was extremely poor--may it remain far from us!--he kept to his own name of peisa the box-maker, until the good time comes, when everything will be different, as bebel says, as karl marx says, and as all the good and wise people say--when everything, everything will be different. but until the good and happy time comes, one must get up at the dawn of day, and work far into the night, cutting out pieces of cardboard and pasting boxes and covers of books. peisa the box-maker stands at his work all day long. he sings as he works, old and new songs, jewish and non-jewish, mostly gay-sorrowful songs, in a gay-sorrowful voice. "will you ever give up singing those gentile songs? such a man! and how he loves the gentiles. since we have come to this big town, he has almost become a gentile." all three children, abramtzig, moshetzig, and dvairke, were born and brought up in the same place--between the wall and the stove. they always saw before them the same people and the same things: the gay father who cut cardboards, pasted boxes, and sang songs, and the careworn, hollow-cheeked mother who cooked and baked, and rushed about, and was never finished her work. they were always at work, both of them--the mother at the stove, and the father at the cardboards. what were all the boxes for? who wanted so many boxes? is the whole world full of boxes? that was what the three little heads wanted to know. and they waited until their father had a great pile of boxes ready, when he would take them on his head and in his arms--thousands of them--to the market. he came back without the boxes, but with money for the mother, and with cakes and buns for the children. he was a good father--such a good father. he was gold. the mother was also gold, but she was cross. one got a smack from her sometimes, a dig in the ribs, or a twist of an ear. she does not like to have the house untidy. she does not allow the children to play "fathers and mothers." she forbids abramtzig to pick up the pieces of cardboard that have fallen to the floor, and moshetzig to steal the paste from his father, and dvairke to make bread of sand and water. the mother expects her children to sit still and keep quiet. it seems she does not know that young heads will think, and young souls are eager and restless. they want to go. where? out of doors, to the light. to the window--to the window. * * * there was only one window, and all three heads were stuck against it. what did they see out of it? a wall. a high, big, grey, wet wall. it was always and ever wet, even in summer. does the sun ever come here? surely the sun comes here sometimes, that is to say, not the sun itself, but its reflection. then there is a holiday. the three beautiful heads press against the little window. they look upwards, very high, and see a narrow blue stripe, like a long blue ribbon. "do you see, children?" says abramtzig. he knows. he goes to "_cheder_." he is learning "_kometz aleph_." the "_cheder_" is not far away, in the next house, that is to say, in the next room. ah, what stories abramtzig tells about the "_cheder_"! he tells how he saw with his own eyes--may he see all that is good!--a big building, with windows from top to bottom. abramtzig swears that he saw--may he see all that is good!--a chimney--a high chimney from which there came out smoke. abramtzig tells that he saw with his own eyes--may he see all that is good!--a machine that sewed without hands. abramtzig tells that he saw with his own eyes--may he see all that is good!--a car that went along without horses. and many more wonderful things abramtzig tells from the "_cheder_." and he swears, just as his mother swears--that he may see all that is good. and moshetzig and dvairke listen to him and sigh. they envy abramtzig because he knows everything--everything. for instance, abramtzig knows that a tree grows. it is true he never saw a tree growing. there are no trees in the street--none. but he knows--he heard it at "_cheder_"--that fruit grows on a tree, for which reason one makes the blessing--"who hast created the fruit of the tree." abramtzig knows--what does he not know?--that potatoes and cucumbers and onions and garlic grow on the ground. and that's why one says the blessing over them--"who hast created the fruit of the ground." abramtzig knows everything. only he does not know how and by what means things grow, because, like the other children, he never saw them. there is no field in their street, no garden, no tree, no grass--nothing--nothing. there are big buildings in their street, grey walls and high chimneys that belch out smoke. each building has a lot of windows, thousands and thousands of windows, and machines that go without hands. and in the streets there are cars that go without horses. and beyond these, nothing--nothing. even a little bird is seldom seen here. sometimes an odd sparrow strays in--grey as the grey walls. he picks, picks at the stones. he spreads out his wings and flies away. fowls? the children sometimes see the quarter of one with a long, pale leg. how many legs has a fowl? "four, just like a horse," explains abramtzig. and surely he knows everything. sometimes their mother brings home from the market a little head with glassy eyes that are covered with a white film. "it's dead," says abramtzig, and all three children look at each other out of great black eyes; and they sigh. born and brought up in the big city, in the huge building, in the congestion, loneliness and poverty, not one of the three children ever saw a living creature, neither a fowl, nor a cow, nor any other animal, excepting the cat. they have a cat of their own--a big, live cat, as grey as the high damp grey wall. the cat is their only play-toy. they play with it for hours on end. they put a shawl on her, call her "the wedding guest," and laugh and laugh without an end. when their mother sees them, she presents them--one with a smack, a second with a dig in the ribs, and the third with a twist of the ear. the children go off to their hiding-place behind the stove. the eldest, abramtzig, tells a story, and the other two, moshetzig and dvairke, listen to him. he says their mother is right. they ought not to play with the cat, because a cat is a wicked animal. abramtzig knows everything. there is nothing in the world that he does not know. * * * abramtzig knows everything. he knows there is a land far away called america. in america they have a lot of relatives and friends. in that same america the jews are well-off and happy--may no evil eye rest on them! next year, if god wills it, they will go off to america--when they get tickets. without tickets no one can go to america, because there is a sea. and on the sea there is a storm that shakes one to the very soul. abramtzig knows everything. he even knows what goes on in the other world. for instance, he knows that in the other world there is a garden of eden, for jews, of course. in the garden of eden there are trees with the finest fruits, and rivers of oil. diamonds and rubies are to be found there in the streets. stoop down and pick them up and fill your pockets. and there good jews study the holy law day and night, and enjoy the holiness. that is what abramtzig tells. and moshetzig's and dvairke's eyes are burning. they envy their brother because he knows everything. he knows everything, even to what goes on in the heavens. abramtzig swears that twice a year, on the nights of "_hashono rabo_" and "_shevuous_," the sky opens. it is true he himself never saw the sky opening, because there is no sky near them. but his comrades saw it. they swore--may they see all that is good!--and they would not swear to a lie. how can one swear to a lie? it's a pity they have no sky in their street, only a long, narrow blue stripe, like a long, narrow blue ribbon. what can one see in such a tiny scrap of sky, beyond a few stars and the reflection of the moon? in order to prove to his little sister and brother that the sky opens, abramtzig goes over to his mother, and pulls her by the skirt. "mother, is it true that in the very middle of '_shevuous_' night the sky opens?" "i will open your head for you." when he got no satisfaction from his mother, abramtzig waited for his father, who had gone off to the market with a treasure of boxes. "children, guess what present father will bring us from the market," said abramtzig. and the children tried to guess what their father would bring them from the market. they counted on their fingers everything that was in the market--everything that an eye could see, and a heart desire--cakes and buns and sweets. but no one guessed aright. and i am afraid you will not guess aright either. peisa the box-maker brought from the market this time neither cakes, nor buns nor sweets. he brought the children grass--curious, long, sweet-smelling grass. and all three children gathered around their father. "father, what is it--that?" "it is grass." "what is grass?" "it is a bunch of greens for '_shevuous_.' jews need grass for '_shevuous_.'" "where do they get it, father?" "where do they get it? h'm! they buy it. they buy it in the market," said their father. and he strewed the green, sweet-smelling grass over the freshly-swept floor. and he was delighted; it was green and smelt sweet. he said to the mother gaily, as is his way: "pessa, good '_yom-tov_' to you!" "good luck! a new thing! the young devils will now have something to make a mess with," replied the mother, crossly, as is her way. and she gave one of the children a smack, the second a dig in the ribs, and the third a twist of the ear. she is never satisfied, always cross, and always sour, exactly the opposite of father. the three pretty heads looked at the mother, and at the father, and at one another. the moment their parents turned away, they threw themselves on the floor, and put their faces to the sweet-smelling grass. they kissed it--the green grass that jews need for "_shevuous_" and which is sold at the market. everything is to be found at the market, even greens. the father buys everything. jews want everything, even greens--even greens. greens for "shevuous" on the eve of "_shevuous_," i induced my mother--peace be unto her!--to let me go off outside the town, by myself, to gather greens for the festival. and my mother let me go off alone to gather the greens for the festival. may she have a bright paradise for that! a real pleasure is a pleasure that one enjoys by one's self, without a companion, and without a single argument. i was alone, free as a bird, in the big cultivated field. above me was the whole of the blue cap called "the sky." for me alone shone the beautiful queen of the day, the sun. for my sake there came together, here in the big field, all the singers and warblers and dancers. for my sake there was spread before me the row of tall sunflowers, and the delicate growths were scattered all over the field by a benevolent nature. no one bothered me. no one prevented me from doing what i liked. no one saw me but god. and i could do what i liked. if i liked i might sing. if i liked i might shout and scream at the top of my voice. if i liked i might make a horn with my hands, and blow out a melody. if i liked i might roll on the green grass just as i was, curling myself up like a hedgehog. who was there to give me orders? and whom would i pay heed to? i was free--i was free. the day was so warm, the sun so beautiful, the sky so clear, the field so green, the grass so fresh, my heart so gay, and my soul so joyful that i forgot completely i was a stranger in the field and had merely come out to cut green boughs for "_shevuous_." i imagined i was a prince, and the whole field that my eyes rested on, and everything in the field, and even the blue sky above it--all were mine. i owned everything, and could do what i liked with it--i, and no one else. and like an overlord who had complete control of everything, i longed to show my power, my strength, my authority--all that i could and would do. * * * first of all i was displeased with the tall giants with the yellow hats--the sunflowers. suddenly they appeared to me as my enemies. and all the other plants with and without stalks, the beans and beanstalks, were enemies too. they were the philistines that had settled on my ground. who had sent for them? and those thick green plants lying on the ground, with huge green heads--the cabbages, what are they doing here? they will only get drunk and bring a misfortune upon me. let them go into the earth. i do not want them. angry thoughts and fierce instincts awoke within me. a curious feeling of vengefulness took possession of me. i began to avenge myself of my enemies. and what a vengeance it was! i had with me all the tools i would need for cutting the green boughs for the festival--pocket-knife with two blades, and a sword--a wooden sword, but a sharp one. this sword had remained with me after "_l'ag beomer_." and although i had carried it with me when i had gone with my comrades to do battle outside the town, yet i could swear to you, though you may believe me without an oath, that the sword had not spilled one drop of blood. it was one of those weapons that are carried about in times of peace. there was not a sign of war. it was quiet and peaceful around and about. i carried the sword because i wanted to. for the sake of peace, one must have in readiness swords and guns and rifles and cannon, horses and soldiers. may they never be needed for ill, as my mother used to say when she was making preserves. * * * it is the same all the world over. in a war, one aims first at the leaders, the officers. it is better still if one can hit the general. after that the soldiers fall like chaff, in any event. therefore you will not be surprised to hear that, first of all, i fell upon goliath the philistine. i gave him a good blow on the head with my sword, and a few good blows from the back. and the wicked one was stretched at my feet, full length. after that i knocked over a good many more wicked ones. i pulled the stalks out of the ground, and threw them to the devil. the short, fat green enemies i attacked in a different manner. wherever i could, i took the green heads off. the others i trampled down with my feet. i made a heap of ashes of them. during a battle, when the blood is hot, and one is carried away by excitement, one cuts down everything that is at hand, right and left. when one is spilling blood, one loses one's self, one does not know where one is in the world. at such a time, one does not honour old age. one does not care about weak women. one has no pity for little children. blood is simply poured out like water.... when i was cutting down the enemy, i felt a hatred and a malice i had never experienced before, immediately after i had delivered the first blow. the more i killed the more excited i became. i urged myself to go on. i was so beside myself, so enflamed, so ecstatic that i smashed up, and destroyed everything before me. i cut about me on all sides. most of all the "little ones" suffered at my hands--the young peas in the fat little pods, the tiny cucumbers that were just showing above ground. these excited me by their silence and their coldness. and i gave them such a share that they would never forget me. i knocked off heads, tore open bellies, shattered to atoms, beat, murdered, killed. may i know of evil as little as i know how i came to be so wicked. innocent potatoes, poor things, that lay deep in the earth, i dug out, just to show them that there was no hiding from me. little onions and green garlic i tore up by the roots. radishes flew about me like hail. and may the lord punish me if i even tasted a single bite of anything. i remembered the law in the bible forbidding it. and jews do not plunder. every minute, when an evil spirit came and tempted me to taste a little onion or a young garlic, the words of the bible came into my mind.... but i did not cease from beating, breaking, wounding, and killing and cutting to pieces, old and young, poor and rich, big and little, without the least mercy.... on the contrary, i imagined i heard their wails and groans and cries for mercy, and i was not moved. it was remarkable that i who could not bear to see a fowl slaughtered, or a cat beaten, or a dog insulted, or a horse whipped--i should be such a tyrant, such a murderer.... "vengeance," i shouted without ceasing, "vengeance. i will have my revenge of you for all the jewish blood that was spilled. i will repay you for jerusalem, for the jews of spain and portugal, and for the jews of morocco. also for the jews who fell in the past, and those who are falling today. and for the scrolls of the law that were torn, and for the ... oh! oh! oh! help! help! who has me by the ear?" two good thumps and two good smacks in the face at the one time sobered me on the instant. i saw before me a man who, i could have sworn, was okhrim, the gardener. * * * okhrim the gardener had for years cultivated fields outside the town. he rented a piece of ground, made a garden of it, and planted in it melons and pumpkins, and onions and garlic and radishes and other vegetables. he made a good living in this way. how did i know okhrim? he used to deal with us. that is to say, he used to borrow money off my mother every passover eve, and about "_succoth_" time, he used to begin to pay it back by degrees. these payments used to be entered on the inside cover of my mother's prayer-book. there was a separate page for okhrim, and a separate account. it was headed in big writing, "okhrim's account." under these words came the entries: "a '_rouble_' from okhrim. another 'rouble' from okhrim. two 'roubles' from okhrim. half a '_rouble_' from okhrim. a sack of potatoes from okhrim," and so on.... and though my mother was not rich--a widow with children, who lived by money-lending--she took no interest from okhrim. he used to repay us in garden-produce, sometimes more, sometimes less. we never quarrelled with him. if the harvest was good, he filled our cellar with potatoes and cucumbers to last us all the winter. and if the harvest was bad, he used to come and plead with my mother: "do not be offended, mrs. abraham, the harvest is bad." my mother forgave him, and told him not to be greedy next year. "you may trust me, mrs. abraham, you may trust me," okhrim replied. and he kept his word. he brought us the first pickings of onions and garlic. we had new potatoes and green cucumbers before the rich folks. i heard our neighbours say, more than once, that the widow was not so badly off as she said. "see, they bring her the best of everything." of course, i at once told my mother what i had heard, and she poured out a few curses on our neighbours. "salt in their eyes, and stones in their hearts! whoever begrudges me what i have, let him have nothing. i wish them to be in my position next year." naturally, i at once told my neighbours what my mother had wished them; and, of course, for these words they were enraged against her. they called her by a name i was ashamed to hear.... naturally i was angry, and at once told my mother of it. my mother gave me two smacks and told me to give up carrying "'_purim_' presents" from one to the other. the smacks pained, and the words "'_purim_' presents" gnawed at my brain. i could not understand why she said "'_purim_' presents." i used to rejoice when i saw okhrim from the distance, in his high boots and his thick, white, warm, woollen pellisse which he wore winter and summer. when i saw him, i knew he was bringing us a sackful of garden produce. and i flew into the kitchen to tell my mother the news that okhrim was coming. * * * i must confess that there was a sort of secret love between okhrim and myself--a sort of sympathy that could not be expressed in words. we rarely spoke to one another. firstly, because i did not understand his language, that is to say, i understood his but he did not understand mine. secondly, i was shy. how could i talk to such a big okhrim? i had to ask my mother to be our interpreter. "mother, ask him why he does not bring me some grapes." "where is he going to get them? there are no grapes growing in a vegetable garden." "why are there no grapes in a vegetable garden?" "because vine trees do not grow with vegetables." "why do vine trees not grow with vegetables?" "why--why--why? you are a fool," cried my mother, and gave me a smack in the face. "mrs. abraham, do not beat the child," said okhrim, defending me. that is the sort of gentile okhrim was. and it was in his hands i found myself that day when i waged war against the vegetables. this is what i believe took place: when okhrim came up and saw his garden in ruins, he could not at once understand what had happened. when he saw me swinging my sword about me on all sides, he ought to have realized i was a terrible being, an evil spirit, a demon, and crossed himself several times. but when he saw that it was a jewish boy who was fighting so vigorously, and with a wooden sword, he took hold of me by the ear with so much force that i collapsed, fell to the ground, and screamed in a voice unlike my own: "oh! oh! oh! who is pulling me by the ear?" it was only after okhrim had given me a few good thumps and several resounding smacks that we encountered each other's eyes and recognized one another. we were both so astonished that we were speechless. "mrs. abraham's boy!" cried okhrim, and he crossed himself. he began to realize the ruin i had brought on his garden. he scrutinized each bed and examined each little stick. he was so overcome that the tears filled his eyes. he stood facing me, his hands folded, and he asked me only one solitary question: "why have you done this to me?" it was only then that i realized the mischief i had done, and whom i had done it to. i was so amazed at myself that i could only repeat: "why? why?" "come," said okhrim, and took me by the hand. i was bowed to the earth with fear. i imagined he was going to make an end of me. but okhrim did not touch me. he only held me so tightly by the hand that my eyes began to bulge from my head. he brought me home to my mother, told her everything, and left me entirely in her hands. * * * need i tell you what i got from my mother? need i describe for you her anger, and her fright, and how she wrung her hands when okhrim told her in detail all that had taken place in his garden, and of all the damage i had done to his vegetables? okhrim took his stick and showed my mother how i had destroyed everything on all sides, how i had smashed and broken, and trampled down everything with my feet, pulled the little potatoes out of the ground, and torn the tops off the little onions and the garlic that were just showing above the earth. "and why? and wherefore? why, mrs. abraham--why?" okhrim could say no more. the sobs stuck in his throat and choked him. i must tell you the real truth, children. i would rather okhrim with the strong arms had beaten me, than have got what i did from my mother, before "_shevuous_," and what the teacher gave me after "_shevuous_." ... and the shame of it all. i was reminded of it all the year round by the boys at "_cheder_." they gave me a nickname--"the gardener." i was yossel "the gardener." this nickname stuck to me almost until the day i was married. that is how i went to gather greens for "_shevuous_." another page from "the song of songs" "quicker, busie, quicker!" i said to her the day before the "_shevuous_." i took her by the hand, and we went quickly up the hill. "the day will not stand still, little fool. and we have to climb such a high hill. after the hill we have another stream. over the stream there are some boards--a little bridge. the stream flows, the frogs croak, and the boards shake and tremble. on the other side of the bridge, over there is the real garden of eden--over there begins my real property." "your property?" "i mean the levada--a big field that stretches away and away, without a beginning and without an end. it is covered with a green mantle, sprinkled with yellow flowers, and nailed down with little red nails. it gives out a delicious odour. the most fragrant spices in the world are there. i have trees there beyond the counting, tall many-branched trees. i have a little hill there that i sit on when i like. or else, by pronouncing the holy name, i can rise up and fly away like an eagle, across the clouds, over fields and woods, over seas and deserts until i come to the other side of the mountain of darkness." "and from there," puts in busie, "you walk seven miles until you come to a little stream." "no. to a thick wood. first i go in and out of the trees, and after that i come to the little stream." "you swim across the water, and count seven times seven." "and there appears before me a little old man with a long beard." "he asks you: 'what is your desire?'" "i say to him: 'bring me the queen's daughter.'" busie takes her hand from mine, and runs down the hill. i run after her. "busie, why are you running off?" busie does not answer. she is vexed. she likes the story i told her excepting the part about the queen's daughter. * * * you have not forgotten who busie is? i told you once. but if you have forgotten, i will tell you again. i had an older brother, benny. he was drowned. he left after him a water-mill, a young widow, two horses, and a little child. the mill was neglected; the horses were sold; the widow married again, and went away, somewhere far; and the child was brought to us. this child was busie. ha! ha! ha! everybody thinks that busie and i are sister and brother. she calls my mother "mother," and my father "father." and we two live together like sister and brother, and love one another, like sister and brother. like sister and brother? then why is busie ashamed before me? it happened once that we two were left alone in the house--we two by ourselves in the whole house. it was evening, towards nightfall. my father had gone to the synagogue to recite the mourners' prayer after my dead brother benny, and my mother had gone out to buy matches. busie and i crept into a corner, and i told her stories. busie likes me to tell her stories--fine stories of "_cheder_," or from the "arabian nights." she crept close to me, and put her hand into mine. "tell me something, shemak, tell me." softly fell the night around us. the shadows crept slowly up the walls, paused on the floor, and stole all around. we could hardly, hardly see one another's face. i felt her hand trembling. i heard her little heart beating. i saw her eyes shining in the dark. suddenly she drew her hand from mine. "what is it, busie?" "we must not." "what must we not?" "hold each other's hands." "why not? who told you that?" "i know it myself." "are we strangers? are we not sister and brother?" "oh, if we were sister and brother," cried busie. and i imagined i heard in her voice the words from the "song of songs," "o that thou wert as my brother." it is always so. when i speak of busie, i always think of the "song of songs." * * * where was i? i was telling you of the eve of the "_shevuous_." well, we ran down hill, busie in front, i after her. she is angry with me because of the queen's daughter. she likes all my stories excepting the one about the queen's daughter. but busie's anger need not worry one. it does not last long, no longer than it takes to tell of it. she is again looking up at me with her great, bright, thoughtful eyes. she tosses back her hair and says to me: "shemak, oh, shemak! just look! what a sky! you do not see what is going on all around us." "i see, little fool. why should i not see? i see a sky. i feel a warm breeze blowing. i hear the birds piping and twittering as they fly over our heads. it is our sky, and our breeze. the little birds are ours too--everything is ours, ours, ours. give me your hand, busie." no, she will not give me her hand. she is ashamed. why is busie ashamed before me? why does she grow red? "there," says busie to me--"over there, on the other side of the bridge." and i imagine she is repeating the words of the shulamite in the "song of songs." "come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field; let us lodge in the villages. "let us get up early to the vineyards; let us see if the vine flourish, whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranates bud forth." and we are at the little bridge. * * * the stream flows; the frogs croak; the boards of the little bridge are shaking. busie is afraid. "ah, busie, you are a---- why are you afraid, little fool? hold on to me. or, let us take hold of one another, you of me, and i of you. see? that's right--that's right." no more little bridge. we still cling to one another, as we walk along. we are alone in this garden of eden. busie holds me tightly, very tightly. she is silent, but i imagine she is talking to me in the words from the "song of songs": "my beloved is mine, and i am his." the levada is big. it stretches away without a beginning and without an end. it is covered with a green mantle, sprinkled with yellow flowers, and nailed down with red nails. it gives out a delicious odour--the most fragrant spices in the world are there. we walked along, embraced--we two alone in the garden of eden. "shemak," says busie to me, looking straight into my eyes, and nestling still closer to me, "when shall we start gathering the green boughs for the '_shevuous_'?" "the day is long enough, little fool," i say to her. i am on fire. i do not know where to look first, whether at the blue sky, or the green fields, or over there, at the end of the world, where the sky has become one with the earth. or shall i look at busie's shining face--into her large beautiful eyes that are to me deep as the heavens and dreamy as the night? her eyes are always dreamy. a deep sorrow lies hidden within them. they are veiled by a shade of melancholy. i know her sorrow. i am acquainted with the cause of her melancholy. she has a great grief in her heart. she is pained because her mother married a stranger, and went away from her for ever and ever, as if she had been nothing to her. in my home her mother's name must not be mentioned. it is as if busie had never had a mother. my mother is her mother, and my father is her father. they love her as if she were their own child. they fret over her, and give her everything that her heart desires. there is nothing too dear for busie. she wanted to go with me to gather green boughs for the festival decorations (i told her to ask it), and my father said to my mother: "what do you think?" he looked over his silver spectacles, and stroked the silver white hair of his beard. and there went on an argument between my father and mother about our going off outside the town to gather green boughs for the "_shevuous_." father: "what do you say?" mother: "what do you say?" father: "shall we let them go?" mother: "why should we not let them go?" father: "do i say we should not?" mother: "what then are you saying?" father: "i am saying that we should let them go." mother: "why should they not go?" and so forth. i know what is worrying them. about twenty times my mother warned me, my father repeating the words after her, that there is a bridge to be crossed, and under the little bridge there is a water--a stream, a stream, a stream. * * * we, busie and i, have long forgotten the little bridge and the river, the stream. we are going across the broad free levada, under the blue, open sky. we run across the green field, fall and roll about on the sweet-smelling grass. we get up, fall again, and roll about again, and yet again. we have not yet gathered a single green leaf for the festival decorations. i take busie over the length and breadth of the levada. i show off before her with my property. "do you see those trees? do you see this sand? do you see that little hill?" "are they all yours?" asks busie. her eyes are laughing. i am annoyed because she laughs at me. she always laughs at me. i get sulky and turn away from her for a moment. seeing that i am sulky, she goes in front of me, looks into my eyes, takes my hand, and says to me: "shemak!" my sulks are gone and all is forgotten. i take her hand and lead her to my hill, there where i sit always, every summer. if i like i sit down, and if i like i rise up with the help of the lord, by pronouncing his holy name. and i fly off like an eagle, above the clouds, over fields and woods, over seas and deserts. * * * we sit on the hill, busie and i. (we have not yet gathered a single green leaf for the festival.) we tell stories. that is to say, i tell stories, and she listens. i tell her what will happen at some far, far off time. when i am a man and she is a woman we will get married. we will both rise up, by pronouncing the holy name, and travel the whole world. first we will go to all the countries that alexander the great was in. then we will run over to the land of israel. we will go to the hills of spices, fill our pockets with locust-beans, figs, dates, and olives, and fly off further and still further. and everywhere we will play a different sort of trick, for no one will see us. "will no one see us?" asks busie, catching hold of my hand. "no one--no one. we shall see every one, but no one will see us." "in that case, i have something to ask you." "a request?" "a little request." but i know her little request--to fly off to where her mother is, and play a little trick on her step-father. "why not?" i say to her. "with the greatest of pleasure. you may leave it to me, little fool. i can do something which they will not forget in a hurry." "not them, him alone," pleads busie. but i do not give in so readily. when i get into a temper it is dangerous. why should i forgive her for what she has done to busie, the cheeky woman? the idea of marrying another man and going off with him, the devil knows where, leaving her child behind, and never even writing a letter! did any one ever hear of such a wrong? * * * i excited myself for nothing. i was as sorry as if dogs were gnawing at me, but it was too late. busie had covered her face with her two hands. was she crying? i could have torn myself to pieces. what good had it done me to open her wound by speaking of her mother? in my own heart i called myself every bad name i could think of: "horse, beast, ox, cat, good-for-nothing, long-tongue." i drew closer to busie, and took hold of her hand. i was about to say to her, the words of the "song of songs": "let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice." suddenly--how do my father and mother come here? * * * my father's silver spectacles shine from the distance. the silver strands of his hair and beard are spread out on the breeze. my mother is waving her shawl at us. we two, busie and i, remain sitting. we are like paralysed. what are my parents doing here? they had come to see what we were doing. they were afraid some accident had befallen us--god forbid! who could tell? a little bridge, a water, a stream, a stream, a stream! curious father and mother. "and where are your green boughs?" "what green boughs?" "the green boughs that you went to gather for the '_shevuous_' decorations." busie and i exchanged glances. i understood her looks. i imagined i heard her saying to me, in the words of the "song of songs": "'o that thou wert as my brother!'.... why are you not my brother?" * * * "well, i expect we shall get some greenery for '_shevuous_' somehow," says my father with a smile. and the silver strands of his silver-white beard glisten like rays of light in the golden red of the sun. "thank god the children are well, and that no ill has befallen them." "praised be the lord!" replies my mother to him, wiping her moist red face with the ends of her shawl. and they are both glad. they seem to grow broader than long with delight. curious, curious father and mother! a pity for the living "if you were a good boy, you would help us to scrape the horse-radish until we are ready with the fish for the holy festival." that was what my mother said to me on the eve of "_shevuous_," about mid-day. she was helping the cook to prepare the fish for the supper. the fishes were still alive and wriggling. when they were put into a clay basin and covered with water they were still struggling. more than any of the others there struggled a little carp with a broad back, and a round head and red eyes. it seemed that the little carp had a strong desire to get back into the river. it struggled hard. it leaped out of the basin, flapped its tail, and splashed the water right into my face. "little boy, save me! little boy, save me!" i wiped my face, and betook myself to the task of scraping the horse-radish for the supper. i thought within myself, "poor little fish. i can do nothing for you. they will soon take you in hand. you will be scaled and ripped open, cut into pieces, put in a pot, salted and peppered, placed on the fire, and boiled and simmered, and simmered, and simmered." "it's a pity," i said to my mother. "it's a pity for the living." "of whom is it a pity?" "it's a pity of the little fishes." "who told you that?" "the teacher." "the teacher?" she exchanged glances with the cook who was helping her, and they both laughed aloud. "you are a fool, and your teacher a still greater fool. ha! ha! scrape the horse-radish, scrape away." that i was a fool i knew. my mother told me that frequently, and my brothers and my sisters too. but that my teacher was a greater fool than i--that was news to me. * * * i have a comrade, pinalle, the "_shochet's_" son. i was at his house one day, and i saw how a little girl carried a fowl, a huge cock, its legs tied with a string. my comrade's father, the "_shochet_," was asleep, and the little girl sat at the door and waited. the cock, a fine strong bird, tried to get out of the girl's arms. he drove his strong feet into her, pecked at her hand, let out from his throat a loud "cock-a-doodle-doo!" protested as much as he could. but the girl was no weakling either. she thrust the head of the rooster under her arm and dug her elbows into him, saying: "be still, you wretch!" and he obeyed and remained silent. when the "_shochet_" woke up, he washed his hands and took out his knife. he motioned to have the bird handed to him. i imagined that the cock changed colour. he must have thought that he was going to be freed to race back to his hens, to the corn and the water. but it was not so. the "_shochet_" turned him round, caught him between his knees, thrust back his head with one hand, with the other plucked out a few little feathers, pronounced a blessing--heck! the knife was drawn across his throat. he was cast away. i thought he would fall to pieces. "pinalle, your father is a heathen," i said to my comrade. "why is he a heathen?" "he has in him no pity for the living." "i did not know you were so clever," said my comrade, and he pulled a long nose right into my face. * * * our cook is blind of one eye. she is called "fruma with the little eye." she is a girl without a heart. she once beat the cat with nettles for having run away with a little liver from the board. afterwards, when she counted the fowls and the livers, it turned out that she had made a mistake. she had thought there were seven fowls, and, of course, seven little livers, and there were only six. and if there were only six fowls there could be only six little livers. marvellous! she had accused the cat wrongly. you might imagine that fruma was sorry and apologized to the cat. but it appeared she forgot all about it. and the cat, too, forgot all about it. a few hours later she was lying on the stove, licking herself as if nothing had happened. it's not for nothing that people say: "a cat's brains!" but i did not forget. no, i did not forget. i said to the cook: "you beat the cat for nothing. you had a sin for no reason. it was a pity for the living. the lord will punish you." "will you go away, or else i'll give it you across the face with the towel." that is what "fruma with the little eye" said to me. and she added: "lord almighty! wherever in the world do such children come from?" * * * it was all about a dog that had been scalded with boiling water by the same "fruma with the little eye." ah, how much pain it caused the dog. it squealed, howled and barked with all its might, filling the world with noise. the whole town came together at the sound of his howling, and laughed, and laughed. all the dogs in the town barked out of sympathy, each from his own kennel, and each after his own fashion. one might think that they had been asked to bark. afterwards, when the scalded dog had finished howling, he moaned and muttered and licked his sores, and growled softly. my heart melted within me. i went over to him and was going to fondle him. "here, sirko!" the dog, seeing my raised hand, jumped up as if he had been scalded again, took his tail between his legs and ran away--away. "shah! sirko!" i said trying to soothe him with soft words. "why do you run away like that, fool? am i doing you any harm?" a dog is a dog. his tongue is dumb. he knows nothing of pity for the living. my father saw me running after the dog and he pounced down on me. "go into '_cheder_,' dog-beater." then i was the dog-beater. * * * it was all about two little birds--two tiny little birds that two boys, one big and one small, had killed. when the two little birds dropped from the tree they were still alive. their feathers were ruffled. they fluttered their wings, and trembled in every limb. "get up, you hedgehog," said the big boy to the small boy. and they took the little birds in their hands and beat their heads against the tree-trunk, until they died. i could not contain myself, but ran over to the two boys. "what are you doing here?" i asked. "what's that to do with you?" they demanded in russian. "what harm is it?" they asked calmly. "they are no more than birds, ordinary little birds." "and if they are only birds? have you no pity for the living--no mercy for the little birds?" the boys looked curiously at one another, and as if they had already made up their minds in advance to do it, they at once fell upon me. when i came home, my torn jacket told the story, and my father gave me the good beating i deserved. "ragged fool!" cried my mother. i forgave her for the "ragged fool," but why did she also beat me? * * * why was i beaten? does not our teacher himself tell us that all creatures are dear to the lord? even a fly on the wall must not be hurt, he says, out of pity for the living. even a spider, that is an evil spirit, must not be killed either, he tells us emphatically. "if the spider deserved to die, then the lord himself would slay him." then comes the question: very well, if that is so, then why do the people slaughter cows and calves and sheep and fowls every day of the week? and not only cows and other animals and fowls, but do not men slaughter one another? at the time when we had the "_pogrom_," did not men throw down little children from the tops of houses? did they not kill our neighbours' little girl? her name was peralle. and how did they kill her? ah, how i loved that little girl. and how that little girl loved me! "uncle bebebe," she used to call me. (my name is velvalle.) and she used to pull me by the nose with her small, thin, sweet little fingers. because of her, because of peralle, every one calls me "uncle bebebe." "here comes uncle bebebe, and he will take you in hand." * * * peralle was a sickly child. that is to say, in the ordinary way she was all right, but she could not walk, neither walk nor stand, only sit. they used to carry her into the open and put her sitting in the sand, right in the sun. she loved the sun, loved it terribly. i used to carry her about. she used to clasp me around the neck with her small, thin, sweet little fingers, and nestle her whole body close to me --closer and closer. she would put her head on my shoulder. "i love uncle bebebe." our neighbour krenni says she cannot forget uncle bebebe to this day. when she sees me, she says she is again reminded of her peralle. my mother is angry with her for weeping. "we must not weep," says my mother. "we must not sin. we must forget--forget." that is what my mother says. she interrupts krenni in the middle and drives me off. "if you don't get into our eyes, we won't remember that which we must not." ha! ha! how is it possible to forget? when i think of that little girl the tears come into my eyes of their own accord--of their own accord. "see, he weeps again, the wise one," cries "fruma with the little eye" to my mother. my mother gives me a quick glance and laughs aloud. "the horse-radish has gone into your eyes. the devil take you. it's a hard piece of horse-radish. i forgot to tell him to close his eyes. woe is me! here is my apron. wipe your eyes, foolish boy. and your nose, too, wipe at the same time your nose, your nose." the tabernacle there are people who have never been taught anything, and know everything, have never been anywhere, and understand everything, have never given a moment's thought to anything, and comprehend everything. "blessed hands" is the name bestowed on these fortunate beings. the world envies, honours and respects them. there was such a man in our town, kassrillevka. they called him moshe-for-once, because, whatever he heard or saw or made, he exclaimed: "it is such-and-such a thing for once." a new cantor in the synagogue--he is a cantor for once. some one is carrying a turkey for the passover--it is a turkey for once. "there will be a fine frost tomorrow." "a fine frost for once." "there were blows exchanged at the meeting." "good blows for once." "oh, jews, i am a poor man." "a poor man for once." and so of everything. moshe was a---- i cannot tell you what moshe was. he was a jew, but what he lived by it would be hard to say. he lived as many thousands of jews live in kassrillevka--tens of thousands. he hovered around the overlord. that is, not the overlord himself, but the gentlefolks that were with the overlord. and not around the gentlefolks themselves, but around the jews that hovered around the gentlefolks who were with the overlord. and if he made a living--that was another story. moshe-for-once was a man who hated to boast of his good fortune, or to bemoan his ill-fortune. he was always jolly. his cheeks were always red. one end of his moustache was longer than the other. his hat was always on one side of his head; and his eyes were always smiling and kindly. he never had any time, but was always ready to walk ten miles to do any one a favour. that's the sort of a man moshe-for-once was. * * * there wasn't a thing in the world moshe-for-once could not make--a house, or a clock, or a machine, a lamp, a spinning-top, a tap, a mirror, a cage, and what not. true, no one could point to the houses, the clocks, or the machines that came from his hands; but every one was satisfied moshe could make them. every one said that if need be, moshe could turn the world upside down. the misfortune was that he had no tools. i mean the contrary. that was his good fortune. through this, the world was not turned upside down. that is, the world remained a world. that moshe was not torn to pieces was a miracle. when a lock went wrong they came to moshe. when the clock stopped, or the tap of the "_samovar_" went out of order, or there appeared in a house blackbeetles, or bugs, or other filthy creatures, it was always moshe who was consulted. or when a fox came and choked the fowls, whose advice was asked? it was always and ever moshe-for-once. true, the broken lock was thrown away, the clock had to be sent to a watchmaker, and the "_samovar_" to the copper-smith. the blackbeetles, and bugs and other filthy things were not at all frightened of moshe. and the fox went on doing what a fox ought to do. but moshe-for-once still remained the same moshe-for-once he had been. after all, he had blessed hands; and no doubt he had something in him. a world cannot be mad. in proof of this--why do the people not come to you or me with their broken locks, or broken clocks, or for advice how to get rid of foxes, or blackbeetles and bugs and other filthy things? all the people in the world are not the same. and it appears that talent is rare. * * * we became very near neighbours with this moshe-for-once. we lived in the same house with him, under the one roof. i say became, because, before that, we lived in our own house. the wheels of fortune suddenly turned round for us. times grew bad. we did not wish to be a burden to any one. we sold our house, paid our debts, and moved into hershke mamtzes' house. it was an old ruin, without a garden, without a yard, without a paling, without a body, and without life. "well, it's a hut," said my mother, pretending to be merry. but i saw tears in her eyes. "do not sin," said my father, who was black as the earth. "thank god for this." why for "this," i do not know. perhaps because we were not living on the street? i would rather have lived on the street than in this house, with strange boys and girls whom i did not know, nor wish to know, with their yellow hair, and their running noses, with their thin legs and fat bellies. when they walked they waddled like ducks. they did nothing but eat, and when any one else was eating, they stared right into his mouth. i was very angry with the lord for having taken our house from us. i was not sorry for the house as for the tabernacle we had there. it stood from year to year. it had a roof that could be raised and lowered, and a beautiful carved ceiling of green and yellow boards, made into squares with a "shield of david" in the middle. true, kind friends told us to hope on, for we should one day buy the house back, or the lord would help us to build another, and a better, and a bigger and a handsomer house than the one we had had to sell. but all this was cold comfort to us. i heard the same sort of words when i broke my tin watch, accidentally, of course, into fragments. my mother smacked me, and my father wiped my eyes, and promised to buy me a better, and bigger and handsomer watch than the one i broke. but the more my father praised the watch he was going to buy for me, the more i cried for the other, the old watch. when my father was not looking, my mother wept silently for the old house. and my father sighed and groaned. a black cloud settled on his face, and his big white forehead was covered with wrinkles. i thought it was very wrong of the father of the universe to have taken our house from us. * * * "i ask you--may your health increase!--what are we going to do with the tabernacle?" asked my mother of my father some time before the feast of tabernacles. "you probably mean to ask what are we going to do without a tabernacle?" replied my father, attempting to jest. i saw that he was distressed. he turned away to one side, so that we might not see his face, which was covered with a thick black cloud. my mother blew her nose to swallow her tears. and i, looking at them.... suddenly my father turned to us with a lively expression on his face. "hush! we have here a neighbour called moshe." "moshe-for-once?" asked my mother. and i do not know whether she was making fun or was in earnest. it seemed she was in earnest, for, half an hour later, the three were going about the house, father, moshe, and hershke mamtzes, our landlord, looking for a spot on which to erect a tabernacle. * * * hershke mamtzes' house was all right. it had only one fault. it stood on the street, and had not a scrap of yard. it looked as if it had been lost in the middle of the road. somebody was walking along and lost a house, without a yard, without a roof, the door on the other side of the street, like a coat with the waist in front and the buttons underneath. if you talk to hershke, he will bore you to death about his house. he will tell you how he came by it, how they wanted to take it from him, and how he fought for it, until it remained with him. "where do you intend to erect the tabernacle, '_reb_' moshe?" asked father of moshe-for-once. and moshe-for-once, his hat on the back of his head, was lost in thought, as if he were a great architect formulating a big plan. he pointed with his hand from here to there, and from there to here. he tried to make us understand that if the house were not standing in the middle of the street, and if it had had a yard, we would have had two walls ready made, and he could have built us a tabernacle in a day. why do i say in a day? in an hour. but since the house had no yard, and we needed four walls, the tabernacle would take a little longer to build. but for that again, we would have a tabernacle for once. the main thing was to get the material. "there will be materials. have you the tools?" asked hershke. "the tools will be found. have you the timber?" asked moshe. "there is timber. have you the nails?" asked hershke. "nails can be got. have you the fir-boughs?" asked moshe. "somehow, you are a little too so-so today," said hershke. "a little too what?" asked moshe. they looked each other straight in the eyes, and both burst out laughing. * * * when hershke mamtzes brought the first few boards and beams, moshe said that, please god, it would be a tabernacle for once. i wondered how he was going to make a tabernacle out of the few boards and beams. i begged of my mother to let me stand by whilst moshe was working. and moshe not only let me stand by him, but even let me be his assistant. i was to hand him what he wanted, and hold things for him. of course this put me into the seventh heaven of delight. was it a trifle to help build the tabernacle? i was of great assistance to moshe. i moved my lips when he hammered; went for meals when he went; shouted at the other children not to hinder us; handed moshe the hammer when he wanted the chisel, and the pincers when he wanted a nail. any other man would have thrown the hammer or pincers at my head for such help, but moshe-for-once had no temper. no one had ever had the privilege of seeing him angry. "anger is a sinful thing. it does as little good as any sin." and because i was greatly absorbed in the work, i did not notice how and by what miracle the tabernacle came into being. "come and see the tabernacle we have built," i said to father, and dragged him out of the house by the tails of his coat. my father was delighted with our work. he looked at moshe with a smile, and said, pointing to me: "had you at any rate a little help from him?" "it was a help, for once," replied moshe, looking up at the roof of the tabernacle with anxious eyes. "if only our hershke brings us the fir-boughs, it will be a tabernacle for once." hershke mamtzes worried us about the fir-boughs. he put off going for them from day to day. the day before the festival he went off and brought back a cart-load of thin sticks, a sort of weeds, such as grow on the banks of the river. and we began to cover the tabernacle. that is to say, moshe did the work, and i helped him by driving off the goats which had gathered around the fir-boughs, as if they were something worth while. i do not know what taste they found in the bitter green stalks. because the house stood alone, in the middle of the street, there was no getting rid of the goats. if you drove one off another came up. the second was only just got rid of, when the first sprang up again. i drove them off with sticks. "get out of this. are you here again, foolish goats? get off." the devil knows how they found out we had green fir-boughs. it seems they told one another, because there gathered around us all the goats of the town. and i, all alone, had to do battle with them. the lord helped us, and we had all the fir-boughs on the roof. the goats remained standing around us like fools. they looked up with foolish eyes, and stupidly chewed the cud. i had my revenge of them, and i said to them: "why don't you take the fir-boughs now, foolish goats?" they must have understood me, for they began to go off, one by one, in search of something to eat. and we began to decorate the tabernacle from the inside. first of all, we strewed the floor with sand; then we hung on the walls all the wadded quilts belonging to the neighbours. where there was no wadded quilt, there hung a shawl, and where there was no shawl, there was a sheet or a table-cloth. then we brought out all the chairs and tables, the candle-sticks and candles, the plates and knives and forks and spoons. and each of the three women of the house made the blessing over her own candles for the feast of tabernacles. * * * my mother--peace be unto her!--was a woman who loved to weep. the days of mourning were her days of rejoicing. and since we had lost our own house, her eyes were not dry for a single minute. my father, though he was also fretted, did not like this. he told her to fear the lord, and not sin. there were worse circumstances than ours, thank god. but now, in the tabernacle, when she was blessing the festival candles, she could cover her face with her hands and weep in silence without any one knowing it. but i was not to be fooled. i could see her shoulders heaving, and the tears trickling through her thin white fingers. and i even knew what she was weeping for.... it was well for her that father was getting ready to go to synagogue, putting on his sabbath coat that was tattered, but was still made of silk, and his plaited silk girdle. he thrust his hands into his girdle, and said to me, sighing deeply: "come, let us go. it is time we went to synagogue to pray." i took the prayer-books, and we went off. mother remained at home to pray. i knew what she would do--weep. she might weep as much as she liked, for she would be alone. and it was so. when we came back, and entered the tabernacle, and father started to make the blessing over the wine, i looked into her eyes, and they were red, and had swollen lids. her nose was shining. nevertheless, she was to me beautiful as rachel or abigail, or the queen of sheba, or queen esther. looking at her, i was reminded of all our beautiful jewish women with whom i had just become acquainted at "_cheder_." and looking at my mother, with her lovely face that looked lovelier above the lovely silk shawl she wore, with her large, beautiful, careworn eyes, my heart was filled with pain that such lovely eyes should be tear-stained always--that such lovely white hands should have to bake and cook. and i was angry with the lord because he did not give us a lot of money. and i prayed to the lord to destine me to find a treasure of gold and diamonds and brilliants. or let the messiah come, and we would go back to the land of israel, where we should all be happy. this was what i thought. and my imagination carried me far, far away, to my golden dreams that i would not exchange for all the money in the world. and the beautiful festival prayers, sung by my father in his softest and most melodious voice, rang in my ears. "thou hast chosen us above all peoples, us hast thou chosen of all the nations." is it a trifle to be god's chosen people? to be god's only child? my heart was glad for the happy chosen people. and i imagined i was a prince. yes, a prince. and the tabernacle was a palace. the divine holiness rested on it. my mother was the beautiful daughter of jerusalem, the queen of sheba. and on the morrow we would make the blessing over the most beautiful fruit in the world--the citron. ah, who could compare with me? who could compare with me? * * * after father, moshe-for-once pronounced the blessing over the wine. it was not the same blessing as my father's--but, really not. after him, the landlord, hershke mamtzes pronounced the blessing over the wine. he was a commonplace man, and it was a commonplace blessing. we went to wash our hands, and we pronounced the blessing over the bread. and each of the three women brought out the food for her family--fine, fresh, seasoned, pleasant, fragrant fish. and each family sat around its own table. there were many dishes; a lot of people had soup; a lot of mouths were eating. a little wind blew into the tabernacle, through the frail thin walls, and the thin roof of fir-boughs. the candles spluttered. every one was eating heartily the delicious festival supper. and i imagined it was not a tabernacle but a palace--a great, big, brilliantly lit-up palace. and we jews, the chosen people, the princes, were sitting in the palace and enjoying the pleasures of life. "it is well for you, little jews," thought i. "no one is so well-off as you. no one else is privileged to sit in such a beautiful palace, covered with green fir-boughs, strewn with yellow sand, decorated with the most beautiful tapestries in the world, on the tables the finest suppers, and real festival fish which is the daintiest of all dainties. and who speaks of----" suddenly, crash! the whole roof and the fir-boughs are on our heads. one wall after the other is falling in. a goat fell from on high, right on top of us. it suddenly grew pitch dark. all the candles were extinguished. all the tables were over-turned. and we all, with the suppers and the crockery and the goat, were stretched out on the sand. the moon shone, and the stars peeped out, and the goat jumped up, frightened, and stood on its thin legs, stock-still, while it stared at us with foolish eyes. it soon marched off, like an insolent creature, over the tables and chairs, and over our heads, bleating "meh-eh-eh-eh!" the candles were extinguished; the crockery smashed; the supper in the sand; and we were all frightened to death. the women were shrieking, the children crying. it was a destruction of everything--a real destruction. * * * "you built a fine tabernacle," said hershke mamtzes to us in such a voice, as if we had had from him for building the tabernacle goodness knows how much money. "it was a fine tabernacle, when one goat could overthrow it." "it was a tabernacle for once," replied moshe-for-once. he stood like one beaten, looking upwards, to see whence the destruction had come. "it was a tabernacle for once." "yes, a tabernacle for once," repeated hershke mamtzes, in a voice full of deadly venom. and every one echoed his words, all in one voice: "a tabernacle for once." the dead citron my name is leib. when i am called up to read the portion of the law it is by the name of yehudah-leib. at home, i sign myself lyef moishevitch. amongst the germans i am known as herr leon. here in england, i am mr. leon. when i was a child i was called leibel. at "_cheder_" i was lieb-dreib-obderick. you must know that at our "_cheder_" every boy has a nickname. for instance--"mottel-kappotel," "meyer-dreyer," "mendel-fendel," "chayim-clayim," "itzig-shpitzig," "berel-tzap." did you ever hear such rhymes? that itzig rhymes with shpitzig, and mendel with fendel, and chayim with clayim is correct. but what has berel to do with tzap, or how does leib rhyme with obderick? i did not like my nickname. and i fought about it. i got blows and thumps and smacks and whacks and pinches and kicks from all sides. i was black and blue. because i was the smallest in the "_cheder_"--the smallest and the weakest and the poorest, no one defended me. on the contrary, the two rich boys tortured me. one got on top of me, and the other pulled me by the ear. whilst the third--a poor boy--sang a song to tease me-- "just so! just so! give it to him. punch him. bang him. his little limbs, his little limbs. just so! just so! at such times i lay quiet as a kitten. and when they let me go i went into a corner and wept silently. i wiped my eyes, went back to my comrades, and was all right again. just a word--whenever you meet the name leibel in this story, you will know it refers to me. i am soft as down, short and fat. in reality, i am not so fat as i look. on the contrary, i am rather bony, but i wear thick, wadded little trousers, a thick, wadded vest, and a thick wadded coat. you see my mother wants me to be warm. she is afraid i might catch cold, god forbid! and she wraps me in cotton-wool from head to foot. she believes that cotton-wool is very good to wrap a boy in, but must not be used for making balls. i provided all the boys with cotton-wool i pulled it out of my trousers and coat until she caught me. she beat me, and whacked me, and thumped me and pinched me. but leibel went on doing what he liked--distributing cotton-wool. my face is red, my cheeks rather blue, and my nose always running. "such a nose!" cries my mother. "if he had no nose, he would be all right. he would have nothing to freeze in the cold weather." i often try to picture to myself what would happen if i had no nose at all. if people had no noses, what would they look like? then the question is--? but i was going to tell you the story of a dead citron, and i have wandered off to goodness knows where. i will break off in the middle of what i was saying, and go back to the story of the dead citron. * * * my father, moshe-yankel, has been a clerk at an insurance company's office for many years. he gets five and a half "_roubles_" a week. he is waiting for a rise in wages. he says that if he gets his rise this year, please god, he will buy a citron. but my mother, basse-beila, has no faith in this. she says the barracks will fall down before father will get a rise. one day, shortly before the new year, leibel overheard the following conversation between his father and his mother. he: "though the world turn upside down, i must have a citron this year!" she: "the world will not turn upside down, and you will have no citron." he: "that's what you say. but supposing i have already been promised something towards a citron?" she: "it will have to be written into the books of jests. in the month called after the town of kreminitz a miracle happened--a bear died in the forest. but what then? if i do not believe it, i shall not be a great heretic either." he: "you may believe or not. i tell you that this feast of tabernacles, we shall have a citron of our own." she: "amen! may it be so! from your mouth into god's ears!" "amen, amen," repeated leibel in his heart. and he pictured to himself his father coming into the synagogue, like a respectable householder, with his own citron and his own palm-branch. and though moshe-yankel is only a clerk, still when the men walk around the ark with their palms and their citrons, he will follow them with his palm and citron. and leibel's heart was full of joy. when he came to "_cheder_," he at once told every one that this year his father would have his own palm and citron. but no one believed him. "what do you say to his father?" asked the young scamps of one another. "such a man--such a beggar amongst beggars desires to have a citron of his own. he must imagine it is a lemon, or a '_groschen_' apple." that was what the young scamps said. and they gave leibel a few good smacks and thumps, and punches and digs and pushes. and leibel began to believe that his father was a beggar amongst beggars. and a beggar must have no desires. but how great was his surprise when he came home and found "_reb_" henzel sitting at the table, in his napoleonic cap, facing his father. in front of them stood a box full of citrons, the beautiful perfume of which reached the furthest corners of the house. * * * the cap which "_reb_" henzel wore was the sort of cap worn in the time of napoleon the first. over there in france, these caps were long out of fashion. but in our village there was still one to be found--only one, and it belonged to "_reb_" henzel. the cap was long and narrow. it had a slit and a button in front, and at the back two tassels. i always wanted these tassels. if the cap had fallen into my hands for two minutes--only two, the tassels would have been mine. "_reb_" henzel had spread out his whole stock-in-trade. he took up a citron with his two fingers, and gave it to father to examine. "take this citron, '_reb_' moshe-yankel. you will enjoy it." "a good one?" asked my father, examining the citron on all sides, as one might examine a diamond. his hands trembled with joy. "and what a good one," replied "_reb_" henzel, and the tassels of his cap shook with his laughter. moshe-yankel played with the citron, smelled it, and could not take his eyes off it. he called over his wife to him, and showed her, with a happy smile, the citron, as if he were showing her a precious jewel, a priceless gem, a rare antique, or an only child--a dear one. basse-beila drew near, and put out her hand slowly to take hold of the citron. but she did not get it. "be careful with your hands. a sniff if you like." basse-beila was satisfied with a sniff of the citron. i was not even allowed to sniff it. i was not allowed to go too near it, or even to look at it. "he is here, too," said my mother. "only let him go near it, and he will at once bite the top off the citron." "the lord forbid!" cried my father. "the lord preserve us!" echoed "_reb_" henzel. and the tassels shook again. he gave father some cotton-wool into which he might nest the citron. the beautiful perfume spread into every corner of the house. the citron was wrapped up as carefully as if it had been a diamond, or a precious gem. and it was placed in a beautiful round, carved, painted and decorated wooden sugar box. the sugar was taken out, and the citron was put in instead, like a beloved guest. "welcome art thou, '_reb_' citron! into the box--into the box!" the box was carefully closed, and placed in the glass cupboard. the door was closed over on it, and good-bye! "i am afraid the heathen"--that was meant for me--"will open the door, take out the citron, and bite its top off," said my mother. she took me by the hand, and drew me away from the cupboard. like a cat that has smelt butter, and jumps down from a height for it, straightens her back, goes round and round, rubbing herself against everything, looks into everybody's eyes, and licks herself--in like manner did leibel, poor thing, go round and round the cupboard. he gazed in through the glass door, smiled at the box containing the citron, until his mother saw him, and said to his father that the young scamp wanted to get hold of the citron to bite off its top. "to '_cheder_,' you blackguard! may you never be thought of, you scamp!" leibel bent his head, lowered his eyes, and went off to "_cheder_." * * * the few words his mother had said to his father about his biting off the top of the citron burned themselves into leibel's heart, and ate into his bones like a deadly poison. the top of the citron buried itself in leibel's brain. it did not leave his thoughts for a moment. it entered his dreams at night, worried him, and almost dragged him by the hand. "you do not recognize me, foolish boy? it is i--the top of the citron." leibel turned round on the other side, groaned, and went to sleep. it worried him again. "get up, fool. go and open the cupboard, take out the citron, and bite me off. you will enjoy yourself." leibel got up in the morning, washed his hands, and began to say his prayers. he took his breakfast, and was going off to "_cheder_." passing by, he glanced in the direction of the glass cupboard. through the glass door, he saw the box containing the citron. and he imagined the box was winking at him. "over here, over here, little boy." leibel marched straight out of the house. one morning, when leibel got up, he found himself alone in the house. his father had gone off to business, his mother had gone to the market. the servant was busy in the kitchen. "every one is gone. there isn't a soul in the house," thought leibel. passing by, he again looked inside the glass cupboard. he saw the sugar box that held the citron. it seemed to be beckoning to him. "over here, over here, little boy." leibel opened the glass door softly and carefully, and took out the box--the beautiful, round, carved, decorated wooden box, and raised the lid. before he had time to lift out the citron, the fragrance of it filled his nostrils--the pungent, heavenly odour. before he had time to turn around, the citron was in his hand, and the top of it in his eyes. "do you want to enjoy yourself? do you want to know the taste of paradise? take and bite me off. do not be afraid, little fool. no one will know of it. not a son of adam will see you. no bird will tell on you." * * * you want to know what happened? you want to know whether i bit the top off the citron, or held myself back from doing it? i should like to know what you would have done in my place--if you had been told ten times not to dare to bite the top off the citron? would you not have wanted to know what it tasted like? would you not also have thought of the plan--to bite it off, and stick it on again with spittle? you may believe me or not--that is your affair--but i do not know myself how it happened. before the citron was rightly in my hands, the top of it was between my teeth. * * * the day before the festival, father came home a little earlier from his work, to untie the palm-branch. he had put it away very carefully in a corner, warning leibel not to attempt to go near it. but it was useless warning him. leibel had his own troubles. the top of the citron haunted him. why had he wanted to bite it off? what good had it done him to taste it when it was bitter as gall? it was for nothing he had spoiled the citron, and rendered it unfit for use. that the citron could not now be used, leibel knew very well. then what had he done this for? why had he spoiled this beautiful creation, bitten off its head, and taken its life? why? why? he dreamt of the citron that night. it haunted him, and asked him: "why have you done this thing to me? why did you bite off my head? i am now useless--useless." leibel turned over on the other side, groaned, and fell asleep again. but he was again questioned by the citron. "murderer, what have you against me? what had my head done to you?" * * * the first day of the feast of tabernacles arrived. after a frosty night, the sun rose and covered the earth with a delayed warmth, like that of a step-mother. that morning moshe-yankel got up earlier than usual to learn off by heart the festival prayers, reciting them in the beautiful festival melody. that day also basse-beila was very busy cooking the fish and the other festival dishes. that day also zalmen the carpenter came to our tabernacle to make a blessing over the citron and palm before any one else, so that he might be able to drink tea with milk and enjoy the festival. "zalmen wants the palm and the citron," said my mother to my father. "open the cupboard, and take out the box, but carefully," said my father. he himself stood on a chair and took down from the top shelf the palm, and brought it to the tabernacle to the carpenter. "here, make the blessing," he said. "but be careful, in heaven's name be careful!" our neighbour zalmen was a giant of a man--may no evil eye harm him! he had two hands each finger of which might knock down three such leibels as i. his hands were always sticky, and his nails red from glue. and when he drew one of these nails across a piece of wood, there was a mark that might have been made with a sharp piece of iron. in honour of the festival, zalmen had put on a clean shirt and a new coat. he had scrubbed his hands in the bath, with soap and sand, but had not succeeded in making them clean. they were still sticky and the nails still red with glue. into these hands fell the dainty citron. it was not for nothing moshe-yankel was excited when zalmen gave the citron a good squeeze and the palm a good shake. "be careful, be careful," he cried. "now turn the citron head downwards, and make the blessing. carefully, carefully. for heaven's sake, be careful!" suddenly moshe-yankel threw himself forward, and cried out, "oh!" the cry brought his wife, basse-beila, running into the tabernacle. "what is it, moshe-yankel? god be with you!" "coarse blackguard! man of the earth!" he shouted at the carpenter, and was ready to kill him. "how could you be such a coarse blackguard? such a man of the earth? is a citron an ax? or is it a saw? or a bore? a citron is neither an ax nor a saw nor a bore. you have cut my throat without a knife. you have spoiled my citron. here is the top of it--here, see! coarse blackguard! man of the earth!" we were all paralysed on the instant. zalmen was like a dead man. he could not understand how this misfortune had happened to him. how had the top come off the citron? surely he had held it very lightly, only just with the tips of his fingers? it was a misfortune--a terrible misfortune. basse-beila was pale as death. she wrung her hands and moaned. "when a man is unfortunate, he may as well bury himself alive and fresh and well, right in the earth." and leibel? leibel did not know whether he should dance with joy because the lord had performed a miracle for him, released him from all the trouble he had got himself into, or whether he should cry for his father's agony and his mother's tears, or whether he should kiss zalmen's thick hands with the sticky fingers and the red nails, because he was his redeemer, his good angel.... leibel looked at his father's face and his mother's tears, the carpenter's hands, and at the citron that lay on the table, yellow as wax, without a head, without a spark of life, a dead thing, a corpse. "a dead citron," said my father, in a broken voice. "a dead citron," repeated my mother, the tears gushing from her eyes. "a dead citron," echoed the carpenter, looking at his hands. he seemed to be saying to himself: "there's a pair of hands for you! may they wither!" "a dead citron," said leibel, in a joyful voice. but he caught himself up, fearing his tones might proclaim that he, leibel, was the murderer, the slaughterer of the citron. isshur the beadle when i think of isshur the beadle, i am reminded of alexander the great, napoleon bonaparte, and other such giants of history. isshur was not a nobody. he led the whole congregation, the whole town by the nose. he had the whole town in his hand. he was a man who served everybody and commanded everybody; a man who was under everybody, but feared nobody. he had a cross look, terrifying eyebrows, a beard of brass, a powerful fist, and a long stick. isshur was a name to conjure with. who made isshur what he was? ask me an easier question. there are types of whom it can be said they are cast, fixed. they never move out of their place. as you see them the first time, so are they always. it seems they always were as they are, and will ever remain the same. when i was a child, i could not tear myself away from isshur. i was always puzzling out the one question--what was isshur like before he was isshur? that is to say, before he got those terrifying eyebrows, and the big hooked nose that was always filled with snuff, and the big brass beard that started by being thick and heavy, and ended up in a few, long straggling, terrifying hairs. how did he look when he was a child, ran about barefoot, went to "_cheder_," and was beaten by his teacher? and what was isshur like when his mother was carrying him about in her arms, when she suckled him, wiped his nose for him, and said: "isshur, my sweet boy. my beautiful boy. may i suffer instead of your little bones?" these were the questions that puzzled me when i was a child, and could not tear myself away from isshur. "go home, wretches. may the devil take your father and mother." and isshur would not even allow any one to think of him. surely, i was only one boy, yet isshur called me wretches. you must know that isshur hated to have any one staring at him. isshur hated little children. he could not bear them. "children," he said, "are naturally bad. they are scamps and contradictory creatures. children are goats that leap into strange gardens. children are dogs that snap at one's coat-tails. children are pigs that crawl on the table. children should be taught manners. they ought to be made to tremble, as with the ague." and we did tremble as if we had the ague. why were we afraid, you ask. well, would you not be afraid if you were taken by the ear, dragged to the door, and beaten over the neck and shoulders? "go home, wretches. may the devil take your father and mother." you will tell your mother on him? well, try it. you want to know what will happen? i will tell you. you will go home and show your mother your torn ear. your mother will pounce on your father. "you see how the tyrant has torn the ear of your child--your only son." your father will take you by the hand to the synagogue, and straight over to isshur the beadle, as if to say to him: "here, see what you have done to my only son. you have almost torn off his ear." and isshur will reply to my father's unspoken words: "go in health with your wretches." you hear? even an only son is also wretches. and what can father do? push his hat on one side, and go home. mother will ask him: "well?" and he will reply: "i gave it to him, the wicked one, the haman! what more could i do to him?" it is not at all nice that a father should tell such a big lie. but what is one to do when one is under the yoke of a beadle? * * * one might say that the whole town is under isshur's yoke. he does what he likes. if he does not want to heat the synagogue in the middle of winter, you may burst arguing with him. he will heed you no more than last year's snow. if isshur wants prayers to start early in the morning, you will be too late whenever you come. if isshur does not want you to read the portion of the law for eighteen weeks on end, you may stare at him from today till tomorrow, or cough until you burst. he will neither see nor hear you. it is the same with your praying-shawl, or your prayer-book, or with your citron, or the willow-twigs. isshur will bring them to you when he likes, not when you like. he says that householders are plentiful as dogs, but there is only one beadle--may no evil eye harm him! the congregation is so big, one might go mad. and isshur was proud and haughty. he reduced every one to the level of the earth. the most respectable householder often got it hot from him. "it is better for you not to start with me," he said. "i have no time to talk to you. there are a lot of you, and i am only one--may no evil eye harm me!" and nobody began with him. they were glad that he did not begin with them. naturally, no one would dream of asking isshur what became of the money donated to the synagogue, or of the money he got for the candles, and the money thrown into the collection boxes. nor did they ask him any other questions relating to the management of the synagogue. he was the master of the whole concern. and whom was he to give an account to? the people were glad if he left them alone, and that he did not throw the keys into their faces. "here, keep this place going yourselves. provide it with wood and water, candles and matches. the towels must be kept clean. a slate has to be put on the roof frequently, and the walls and ceiling have to be whitewashed. the stands have to be repaired, and the books bought. and what about the '_chanukali_' lamp? and what of the palm-branch and the citron? and where is this, and where is that?" and though every one knew that all the things he mentioned not only did not mean an outlay of money, but were, on the contrary, a source of income, yet no one dared interfere. all these belonged to the beadle. they were his means of livelihood. "the fine salary i get from you! one's head might grow hard on it. it's only enough for the water for the porridge," said isshur. and the people were silent. the people were silent, though they knew very well that "_reb_" isshur was saving money. they knew very well he had plenty of money. it was possible he even lent out money on interest, in secret, on good securities, of course. he had a little house of his own, and a garden, and a cow. and he drank a good glassful of brandy every day. in the winter he wore the best fur coat. his wife always wore good boots without holes. she made herself a new cloak not long ago, out of the public money. "may she suffer through it for our blood, father in heaven!" that's what the villagers muttered softly through their teeth, so that the beadle might not hear them. when he approached, they broke off and spoke of something else. they blinked their eyes, breathed hard, and took from the beadle a pinch of snuff with their two fingers. "excuse me." this "excuse me" was a nasty "excuse me." it was meant to be flattering, to convey the sense of--"excuse me, your snuff is surely good." and, "excuse me, give me a pinch of snuff, and go in peace." isshur understood the compliment, and also the hint. he knew the people loved him like sore eyes. he knew the people wished to take away his office from him as surely as they wished to live. but he heeded them as little as haman heeds the "_purim_" rattles. he had them in his fists, and he knew what to do. * * * he who wants to find favour with everybody will find favour with nobody. and if one has to bow down, let it be to the head, not to the feet. isshur understood these two wise sayings. he sought the favour of the leaders of the community. he did everything they told him to, lay under their feet, and flew on any errand on which they sent him. and he flattered them until it made one sick. there is no need to say anything of what went on at the elections. then isshur never rested. whoever has not seen isshur at such a time has seen nothing. covered with perspiration, his hat pushed back on his head, isshur kneaded the thick mud with his high boots, and with his big stick. he flew from one committee-man to another, worked, plotted, planned, told lies, and carried on intrigues and intrigues without an end. isshur was always first-class at carrying on intrigues. he could have brought together a wall and a wall. he could make mischief in such a way that every person in the town should be enraged with everybody else, quarrel and abuse his neighbour, and almost come to blows. and he was innocent of everything. you must know that isshur had the town very cleverly. he thought within himself: "argue, quarrel, abuse one another, my friends, and you will forget all about the doings of isshur the beadle." that they should forget his doings was an important matter to isshur, because, of late, the people had begun to talk to him, and to demand from him an account of the money he had taken for the synagogue. and who had done this? the young people--the young wretches he had always hated and tortured. they say that children become men, and men become children. many generations have grown up, become men, and gone hence. the youngsters became greybeards. the little wretches became self-supporting young men. the young men got married and became householders. the householders became old men, and still isshur was isshur. but all at once there grew up a generation that was young, fresh, curious--a generation which was called heathens, insolent, fearless, devils, wretches. the lord help and preserve one from them. "how does isshur come to be an overlord? he is only a beadle. he ought to serve us, and not we him. how long more will this old isshur with the long legs and big stick rule over us? the account. where is the account? we must have the account." this was the demand of the new generation that was made up entirely of heathens, insolent ones, fearless ones, devils and wretches. they shouted in the yard of the synagogue at the top of their voices. isshur pretended to be deaf, and not to hear anything. afterwards, he began to drive them out of the yard. he extinguished the candles in the synagogue, locked the door, and threw out the boys. then he tried to turn against them the anger of the householders of the village. he told them of all their misdeeds--that they mocked at old people, and ridiculed the committee-men. in proof of his assertions, he showed the men a piece of paper that one of the boys had lost. on it was written a little poem. who would have thought it? a foolish poem, and yet what excitement it caused in the village--what a revolution. oh! oh! it would have been better if isshur had not found it, or having found it, had not shown it to the committee-men. it would have been far better for him. it may be said that this song was the beginning of isshur's end. the foolish committee-men, instead of swallowing down the poem, and saying no more about it, injured themselves by discussing it. they carried it about from one to the other so long, until the people learnt it off by heart. some one sang it to an old melody. and it spread everywhere. workmen sang it at their work; cooks in their kitchens; young girls sitting on the doorsteps; mothers sang their babies to sleep with it. the most foolish song has a lot of power in it. when the throat is singing the head is thinking. and it thinks so long until it arrives at a conclusion. thoughts whirl and whirl and fret one so long, until something results. and when one's imagination is enkindled, a story is sure to grow out of it. the story that grew out of this song was fine and brief. you may listen to it. it may come in useful to you some day. * * * the heathens, insolent ones, fearless ones, devils and wretches burrowed so long, and worked so hard to overthrow isshur, that they succeeded in arriving at a certain road. early one morning they climbed into the attic of the synagogue. there they found the whole treasure--a pile of candles, several "_poods_" of wax, a score of new "_tallissim_," a bundle of prayer-books of different sorts that had never been used. it may be that to you these things would not have been of great value, but to a beadle they were worth a great deal. this treasure was taken down from the attic very ceremoniously. i will let you imagine the picture for yourself. on the one hand, isshur with the big nose, terrifying eyebrows, and the beard of brass that started thick and heavy, and finished up with a few thin terrifying hairs. on the other hand, the young heathens, insolent ones, fearless ones, devils and wretches dragging out his treasure. but you need not imagine isshur lost himself. he was not of the people that lose themselves for the least thing. he stood looking on, pretending to be puzzling himself with the question of how these things came to be in the attic of the synagogue. early next morning, the following announcement was written in chalk on the door of the synagogue:-- "memorial candles are sold here at wholesale price." next day there was a different inscription. on the third day still another one. isshur had something to do. every morning he rubbed out with a wet rag the inscriptions that covered the whole of the door of the synagogue. every sabbath morning, on their desks the congregants found bundles of letters, in which the youngsters accused the beadle and his bought-over committee-men of many things. isshur had a hard time of it. he got the committee-men to issue a proclamation in big letters, on parchment. "hear all! as there have arisen in our midst a band of hooligans, scamps, good-for-nothings who are making false accusations against the most respected householders of the village, therefore we, the leaders of the community, warn these false accusers openly that we most strongly condemn their falsehoods, and if we catch any of them, we will punish him with all the severities of the law." of course, the boys at once tore down this proclamation. a second was hung in its place. the boys did not hesitate to hang up a proclamation of their own in its stead. and the men found on their desks fresh letters of accusation against the beadle and the committee-men. in a word, it was a period when the people did nothing else but write. the committee-men wrote proclamations, and the boys, the scamps, wrote letters. this went on until the days of mourning arrived--the time of the elections. and there began a struggle between the two factions. on the one side there was isshur and his patrons, the committee-men; and on the other side, the youngsters, the heathens, the scamps, and their candidates. each faction tried to attract the most followers by every means in its power. one faction tried impassioned words, enflamed speeches; the other, soft words, roast ducks, dainties, and liberal promises. and just think who won? you will never guess. it was we young scamps who won. and we selected our own committee-men from amongst ourselves--young men with short coats, poor men, beggars. it is a shame to tell it, but we chose working men--ordinary working men. * * * i am afraid you are anxious for my story to come to an end. you want to know how long it is going to last? or would you rather i told you how our new committee-men made up their accounts with the old beadle? do you want to hear how the poor old beadle was dragged through the whole village by the youngsters, with shouting and singing? the boys carried in front of the procession the whole treasure of candles, wax, "_tallissim_" and prayer-books which they had found in the attic of the synagogue. no, i don't think you will expect me to tell you of these happenings. take revenge of our enemy--bathe in his blood, so to speak? no! we could not do that. i shall tell you the end in a few words. last new year i was at home, back again in the village of my birth. a lot, a lot of water had flown by since the time i have just told you of. still, i found the synagogue on the same spot. and it had the same ark of the law, the same curtains, the same reader's-desk, and the same hanging candlesticks. but the people were different; they were greatly changed. it was almost impossible to recognize them. the old people of my day were all gone. no doubt there were a good many more stones and inscriptions in the holy place. the young folks had grown grey. the committee-men were new. the cantor was new. there was a new beadle, and new melodies, and new customs. everything was new, and new, and new. one day--it was "_hoshana rabba_"--the cantor sang with his choir, and the people kept beating their willow-twigs against the desks in front of them. (it seems this custom has remained unchanged.) and i noticed from the distance a very old man, white-haired, doubled-up, with a big nose, and terrifying eyebrows, and a beard that started thick and heavy, but finished up with a few straggling, terrifying hairs. i was attracted to this old man. i went over to him, and put out my hand. "peace be unto you!" i said. "i think you are '_reb_' isshur the beadle?" "the beadle? what beadle? i am not the beadle this long time. i am a bare willow-twig this long time. heh! heh!" that is what the old man said to me in a tremulous voice. and he pointed to the bare willow-twigs at his feet. a bitter smile played around his grizzled beard that started thick and heavy, but finished off with a few straggling, terrifying hairs. boaz the teacher that which i felt on the first day my mother took me by the hand to "_cheder_" must be what a little chicken feels, after one has made the sacrificial blessing over her and is taking her to be slaughtered. the little chicken struggles and flutters her wings. she understands nothing, but feels she is not going to have a good time, but something different.... it was not for nothing my mother comforted me, and told me a good angel would throw me down a "_groschen_" from the ceiling. it was not for nothing she gave me a whole apple and kissed me on the brow. it was not for nothing she asked boaz to deal tenderly with me--just a little more tenderly because "the child has only recovered from the measles." so said my mother, pointing to me, as if she were placing in boaz's hands a rare vessel of crystal which, with one touch, would be a vessel no more--god forbid! my mother went home happy and satisfied, and "the child that had only recovered from the measles," remained behind, alone. he cried a little, but soon wiped his eyes, and was introduced to the holiness of the "_torah_" and a knowledge of the ways of the world. he waited for the good angel to throw him the "_groschen_" from the ceiling. oh, that good angel--that good angel! it would have been better if my mother had never mentioned his name, because when boaz came over, took hold of me with his dry, bony hand and thrust me into a chair at the table, i was almost faint, and i raised my head to the ceiling. i got a good portion from boaz for this. he pulled me by the ear and shouted: "devil, what are you looking at?" of course, "the child that had only recovered from the measles" began to wail. it was then he had his first good taste of the teacher's floggings. "a little boy must not look where it is forbidden. a little boy must not bleat like a calf." * * * boaz's system of teaching was founded on one thing--whippings. why whippings? he explained the reason by bringing forward the case of the horse. why does a horse go? because it is afraid. what is it afraid of? whippings. and it is the same with a child. a child must be afraid. he must fear god and his teacher, and his father and his mother, a sin and a bad thought. and in order that a child should be really afraid, he must be laid down, in true style, and given a score or so lashes. there is nothing better in the world than the rod. may the whip live long! so says boaz. he takes the strap slowly in his hands, without haste, examines it on all sides as one examines a citron. then he betakes himself to his work in good earnest, cheerfully singing a song by way of accompaniment. wonder of wonders! boaz never counts the strokes, and never makes a mistake. boaz flogs, and is never angry. boaz is not a bad tempered man. he is only angry when a boy will not let himself be whipped, tries to tear himself free, or kicks out his legs. then it is different. at such times boaz's eyes are bloodshot, and he flogs without counting and without singing his little song. a little boy must be still while his teacher flogs him. a little boy must have manners, even when he is being flogged. boaz is also angry if a boy laughs when he is being whipped. (there are children who laugh when they are beaten. people say this is a disease.) to boaz laughing is a danger to the soul. boaz has never laughed as long as he is alive. and he hates to see any one else laughing. one might easily have promised the greatest reward to the person who could swear he once saw boaz laughing. boaz is not a man for laughter. his face is not made for it. if boaz laughed, he would surely look more terrible than another man crying. (there are such faces in the world.) and really, what sort of a thing is laughter? it is only idlers who laugh, empty-headed gools, good-for-nothings, devil-may-care sort of people. those who have to work for a living, or carry on their shoulders the burden of a knowledge of the holy law and of the ways of the world, have no time to laugh. boaz never has time. he is either teaching or whipping. that is to say, he teaches while he whips, and whips while he teaches. it would be hard to divide these two--to say where teaching ended and whipping began. and you must know that boaz never whipped us for nothing. there was always a reason for it. it was either for not learning our lessons, for not wanting to pray well, for not obeying our fathers and mothers, for not looking in, and for not looking out, for just looking, for praying too quickly, for praying too slowly, for speaking too loudly, for speaking too softly, for a torn coat, a lost button, a pull or a push, for dirty hands, a soiled book, for being greedy, for running, for playing--and so on, and so on, without an end. one might say we were whipped for every sin that a human being can commit. we were whipped for the sake of the next world as well as this world. we were whipped on the eve of every sabbath, every feast and every fast. we were told that if we had not earned the whippings yet, we would earn them soon, please god. and boaz gave us all the whippings we ought to have had from our friends and relatives. they gave the pleasant task in to his hands. then we got whippings of which the teacher said: "you surely know yourself what they are for." and whippings just for nothing. "let me see how a little boy lets himself be whipped." in a word, it was whippings, rods, leathers, fears and tears. these prevailed at that time, in our foolish little world, without a single solution to the problems they brought into being, without a single remedy for the evils, without a single ray of hope that we would ever free ourselves from the fiendish system under which we lived. and the good angel of whom my mother spoke? where was he--that good angel? * * * i must confess there were times when i doubted the existence of this good angel. too early a spark of doubt entered my heart. too early i began to think that perhaps my mother had fooled me. too early i became acquainted with the emotion of hatred. too early, too early, i began to hate my teacher boaz. and how could one help hating him? how, i ask you, could one help hating a teacher who does not allow you to lift your head? that you may not do--this you may not say. don't stand here. don't go there. don't talk to so-and-so. how can one help hating a man who has not in him a germ of pity, who rejoices in another's pains, bathes in other's tears, and washes himself in other's blood? can there be a more shameful word than flogging? and what can be more disgraceful than to strip anybody stark naked and put him in a corner? but even this was not enough for boaz. he required you to undress yourself, to pull your own little shirt over your own head, and to stretch yourself face downwards. the rest boaz managed. and not only did boaz flog the boys himself, but his assistants helped him--his lieutenants, as he called them, naturally under his direction, lest they might not deliver the full number of strokes. "a little less learning and a little more flogging," was his rule. he explained the wisdom of his system in this way: "too much learning dulls a boy, and a whipping too many does not hurt. because, what a boy learns goes straight to his head, and his senses are quickened and his brains loaded. with the floggings it is the exact opposite. before the effects of the flogging reach the brain the blood is purified, and by this means the brain is cleared. well, do you understand?" and boaz never ceased from purifying our blood, and clearing our brain. and woe unto us! we did not believe any more in the good angel that looked down upon us from above. we realized that it was only a fairy-tale, an invented story by which we were fooled into going to boaz's "_cheder_." and we began to sigh and groan because of our sufferings under boaz. and we also began to make plans, to talk and argue how to free ourselves from our galling slavery. * * * in the melancholy moments between daylight and darkness, when the fiery red sun is about to bid farewell to the cold earth for the night--in these melancholy moments, when the happy daylight is departing, and on its heels is treading silently the still night, with its lonely secrets--in these melancholy moments, when the shadows are climbing on the walls growing broader and longer--in these melancholy moments between the afternoon and the evening prayers, when the teacher is at the synagogue, and his wife is milking the goat or washing the crockery, or making the "_borsht_"--then we youngsters came together at "_cheder_," beside the stove. we sat on the floor, our legs curled up under us, like innocent lambs. and there in the evening darkness, we talked of our terrible titus, our angel of death, boaz. the bigger boys, who had been at "_cheder_" some time, told us the most awful tales of boaz. they swore by all the oaths they could think of that boaz had flogged more than one boy to death, that he had already driven three women into their graves, and that he had buried his one and only son. we heard such wild tales that our hair stood on end. the older boys talked, and the younger listened--listened with all their senses on the alert. black eyes gleamed in the darkness. young hearts palpitated. and we decided that boaz had no soul. he was a man without a soul. and such a man is compared to an animal, to an evil spirit that it is a righteous act to get rid of. thousands of plans, foolish, childish plans, were formed in our childish brains. we hoped to rid ourselves of our angel of death, as we called boaz. foolish children! these foolish plans buried themselves deep in each little heart that cried out to the lord to perform a miracle. we asked that either the books should be burnt, or the strap he whipped us with taken to the devil, or--or.... no one wished to speak of the last alternative. they were afraid to bring it to their lips. and the evil spirit worked in their hearts. the young fancies were enkindled, and the boys were carried away by golden dreams. they dreamed of freedom, of running down hill, of wading barefoot in the river, playing horses, jumping over the logs. they were good, sweet, foolish dreams that were not destined to be realized. there was heard a familiar cough, a familiar footfall. and our hearts were frozen. all our limbs were paralysed, deadened. we sat down at the table and started our lessons with as much enthusiasm as if we were starting for the gallows. we were reading aloud, but still our lips muttered: "father in heaven, will there never come an end to this tyrant, this pharaoh, this haman, this gog-magog? or will there ever come a time when we shall be rid of this hard, hopeless, dark tyranny? no, never, never!" that is the conclusion we arrived at, poor innocent, foolish children! * * * "children, do you want to hear of a good plan that will rid us of our gog-magog?" that was what one of the boys asked us on one of those melancholy moments already described. his name was velvel leib aryas. he was a young heathen. when he was speaking his eyes gleamed in the darkness like those of a wolf. and the whole school of boys crowded around velvel to hear the plan by which we might get rid of our gog-magog. velvel began his explanation by giving us a lecture--how impossible it was to stand boaz any longer, how the ashmodai was bathing in our blood, how he regarded us as dogs--worse than dogs, because when a dog is beaten with a stick it may, at any rate, howl. and we may not do that either. and so on, and so on. after this velvel said to us: "listen, children, to what i will ask you. i am going to ask you something." "ask it," we all cried in one voice. "what is the law in a case where, for example, one of us suddenly becomes ill?" "it is not good," we replied. "no, i don't mean that. i mean something else. i mean, if one of us is ill does he go to '_cheder_,' or does he stay at home?" "of course he stays at home," we all answered together. "well, what is the law if two of us get ill?" "two remain at home." "well, and if three get ill?" velvel went on asking us, and we went on answering him. "three stay at home." "what would happen if, for example, we all took ill?" "we should all stay at home." "then let a sickness come upon us all," he cried joyfully. we replied angrily: "the lord forbid! are you mad, or have you lost your reason?" "i am not mad, and i have not lost my reason. only you are fools, yes. do i mean that we are to be really ill? i mean that we are to pretend to be ill, so that we shall not have to go to '_cheder_.' do you understand me now?" when velvel had explained his plan to us, we began to understand it, and to like it. and we began to ask ourselves what sort of an illness we should suffer from. one suggested toothache, another headache, a third stomach-ache, a fourth worms. but we decided that it was not going to be toothache, nor headache, nor stomach-ache, nor worms. what then? we must all together complain of pains in our feet, because the doctor could decide whether we really suffered from any of the other illnesses or not. but if we told him we had pains in our feet, and were unable to move them, he could do nothing. "remember, children, you are not to get out of bed tomorrow morning. and so that we may all be certain that not one of us will come to '_cheder_' tomorrow, let us promise one another, take an oath." so said our comrade velvel. and we gave each other our promise, and took an oath that we would not be at "_cheder_" next morning. we went home from "_cheder_" that evening lively, joyful, and singing. we felt like giants who knew how to overcome the enemy and win the battle. the spinning-top more than any of the boys at "_cheder_," more than any boy of the town, and more than any person in the world, i loved my friend, benny "_polkovoi_." the feeling i had for him was a peculiar combination of love, devotion, and fear. i loved him because he was handsomer, cleverer and smarter than any other boy. he was kind and faithful to me. he took my part, fought for me, and pulled the ears of those boys who annoyed me. and i was afraid of him because he was big and quarrelsome. he could beat whom he liked, and when he liked. he was the biggest, oldest, and wealthiest boy in the "_cheder_." his father, mayer "_polkovoi_," though he was only a regimental tailor, was nevertheless a rich man, and played an important part in public affairs. he had a fine house, a seat in the synagogue beside the ark. at the passover, his "_matzo_" was baked first. at the feast of tabernacles his citron was the best. on the sabbath he always had a poor man to meals. he gave away large sums of money in charity. and he himself went to the house of another to lend him money as a favour. he engaged the best teachers for his children. in a word, mayer "_polkovoi_" tried to refine himself--to be a man amongst men. he wanted to get his name inscribed in the books of the best society, but did not succeed. in our town, mazapevka, it was not easy to get into the best society. we did not forget readily a man's antecedents. a tailor may try to refine himself for twenty years in succession, but he will still remain a tailor to us. i do not think there is a soap in the world that will wash out this stain. how much do you think mayer "_polkovoi_" would have given to have us blot out the name bestowed upon him, "_polkovoi_"? his misfortune was that his family was a thousand times worse than his name. just imagine! in his passport he was called mayor mofsovitch heifer. it is a remarkable thing. may mayer's great-great-grandfather have a bright paradise! he also must have been a tailor. when it came to giving himself a family name, he could not find a better one than heifer. he might have called himself thimble, lining, buttonhole, bigpatch, longfigure. these are not family names either, it is true, but they are in some way connected with tailoring. but heifer? what did he like in the name of heifer? you may ask why not goat? are there not people in the world called goat? you may say what you like, heifer and goat are equally nice. still, they are not the same. a heifer is not a goat. but we will return to my friend benny. * * * benny was a nice boy, with yellow tousled hair, white puffed-out cheeks, scattered teeth, and peculiar red, bulging, fishy eyes. these red, fishy eyes were always smiling and roguish. he had a turned-up nose. his whole face had an expression of impudence. nevertheless, i liked his face, and we became friends the first hour we met. we met for the first time at "_cheder_," at the teachers' table. when my mother took me to "_cheder_," the teacher was sitting at his table with the boys, teaching them the book of genesis. he was a man with thick eyebrows and a pointed cap. he made no fuss of me. he asked me no questions, neither did he take my measurements, but said to me-- "get over there, on that bench, between those two boys." i got on the bench, between the boys, and was already a pupil. there was no talk between my mother and the teacher. they had made all arrangements beforehand. "remember to learn as you ought," said my mother from the doorway. she turned to look at me again, lovingly, joyfully. i understood her look very well. she was pleased that i was sitting with nice children, and learning the "_torah_." and she was pained because she had to part with me. i must confess i felt much happier than my mother. i was amongst a crowd of new friends--may no evil eye harm them! they looked at me, and i looked at them. but the teacher did not let us idle for long. he shook himself, and shouted aloud the lesson we had to repeat after him at the top of our voices. "now the serpent was more subtil than any beast of the field." boys who sit so close together, though they shake and shout aloud, cannot help getting to know one another, or exchange a few words. and so it was. benny "_polkovoi_," who sat crushing me, pinched my leg, and looked into my eyes. he went on shaking himself, and shouting out the lesson with the teacher and the other boys. but he threw his own words into the middle of the sentence we were translating. "and adam knew (here are buttons for you) eve his wife. (give me a locust-bean and i will give you a pull of my cigarette.)" i felt a warm hand in mine, and i had some smooth buttons. i confess i did not want the buttons, and i had no locust-beans, neither did i smoke cigarettes. but i liked the idea of the thing. and i replied in the same tones in which the lesson was being recited: "and she conceived and bare cain. (who told you i have locust-beans?)" that is how we conversed the whole time, until the teacher suspected that though i shook myself to and fro, my mind was far from the lesson. he suddenly put me through an examination. "listen, you, whatever your name is, you surely know whose son cain was, and the name of his brother?" this question was as strange to me as if he had asked me when there would be a fair in the sky, or how to make cream-cheese from snow, so that they should not melt. in reality my mind was elsewhere, i don't know where. "why do you look at me so?" asked the teacher. "don't you hear me? i want you to tell me the name of the first man, and the story of cain and his brother abel." the boys were smiling, smothering their laughter. i did not know why. "fool, say you do not know, because we have not learnt it," whispered benny in my ear, digging me with his elbow. i repeated his words, like a parrot. and the "_cheder_" was filled with loud laughter. "what are they laughing at?" i asked myself. i looked at them, and at the teacher. all were rolling with laughter. and, at that moment, i counted the buttons from one hand into the other. there were exactly half a dozen. "well, little boy, show me your hands. what are you doing with them?" and the teacher bent down and looked under the table. you are clever boys, and you will understand yourselves what i had from the teacher, for the buttons, on my first day at "_cheder_." * * * whippings heal up; shame is forgotten. benny and i became good friends. we were one soul. this is how it came about:-- next morning i arrived at "_cheder_" with my bible in one hand and my dinner in the other. the boys were excited, jolly. why? the teacher was not there. what had happened? he had gone off to a circumcision with his wife. that is to say, not with her, god forbid! a teacher never walks with his wife. the teacher walks before, and his wife after him. "let us make a bet," cried a boy with a blue nose. his name was hosea hessel. "how much shall we bet?" asked another boy, koppel bunnas. he had a torn sleeve out of which peeped the point of a dirty elbow. "a quarter of the locust-beans." "let it be a quarter of the locust-beans. what for? let us hear." "i say he will not stand more than twenty-five." "and i say thirty-six." "thirty-six. we shall soon see. boys, take hold of him." this was the order of hosea hessel, of the blue nose. and several boys took hold of me, all together, turned me over on the bench, face upwards. two sat on my legs, two on my arms, and one held my head, so that i should not be able to wriggle. and another placed his left forefinger and thumb at my nose. (it seemed he was left-handed.) he curled up his finger and thumb, closed his eye, and began to fillip me on the nose. and how, do you think? each time i saw my father in the other world. murderers, slaughterers! what had they against my nose? what had it done to them? whom had it bothered? what had they seen on it--a nose like all noses. "boys, count," commanded hosea hessel. "one, two, three--" but suddenly.... nearly always, since ever the world began, when a misfortune happens to a man--when robbers surround him in a wood, bind his hands, sharpen their knives, tell him to say his prayers, and are about to finish him off, there comes a woodman with a bell. the robbers run away, and the man lifts his hands on high and praises the lord for his deliverance. it was just like that with me and my nose. i don't remember whether it was at the fifth or sixth blow that the door opened, and benny "_polkovoi_" came in. the boys freed me at once, and remained standing like blocks of wood. benny took them in hand, one by one. he caught each boy by the ear, twisted it round, and said: "well, now you will know what it means to meddle with a widow's boy." from that day the boys did not touch either me or my nose. they were afraid to begin with the widow's boy whom benny had taken under his wing, into his guardianship, under his protection. * * * "the widow's boy"--- i had no other name at "_cheder_." this was because my mother was a widow. she supported herself by her own work. she had a little shop in which were, for the most part, so far as i can remember, chalk and locust-beans--the two things that sell best in mazapevka. chalk is wanted for white-washing the houses, and locust-beans are a luxury. they are sweet, and they are light in weight, and they are cheap. schoolboys spend on them all the money they get for breakfast and dinner. and the shopkeepers make a good profit out of them. i could never understand why my mother was always complaining that she could hardly make enough to pay the rent and my school-fees. why school-fees? what about the other things a human being needs, food and clothes and boots, for example? she thought of nothing but the school-fees. "when the lord punished me," she wailed, "and took my husband from me--and such a husband!--and left me all alone, i want my son to be a scholar, at any rate." what do you say to that? do you think she did not come frequently to the "_cheder_" to find out how i was getting on? i say nothing of the prayers she took good care i should recite every morning. she was always lecturing me to be even half as good as my father--peace be unto him! and whenever she looked at me, she said i was exactly like him--may i have longer years than he! and her eyes grew moist. her face grew curiously careworn, and had a mournful expression. i hope he will forgive me, i mean my father, from the other world, but i could not understand what sort of a man he had been. from what my mother told of him, he was always either praying or studying. had he never been drawn, like me, out into the open, on summer mornings, when the sun was not burning yet, but was just beginning to show in the sky, marching rapidly onwards, a fiery angel, in a fiery chariot, drawn by fiery horses, into whose brilliant, burning, guinea-gold faces it was impossible to look? i ask you what taste have the week-day prayers on such a morning? what sort of a pleasure is it to sit and read in a stuffy room, when the golden sun is burning, and the air is hot as an iron frying-pan? at such a time, you are tempted to run down the hill, to the river--the beautiful river that is covered with a green slime. a peculiar odour, as of a warm bath, comes from the distance. you want to undress and jump into the warm water. under the trees it is cool and the mud is soft and slippery. and the curious insects that live at the bottom of the river whirl around and about before your eyes. and curious, long-legged flies slip and slide on the surface of the water. at such a time one desires to swim over to the other side--over to where the green flags grow, their yellow and white stalks shimmering in the sun. a green, fresh fern looks up at you, and you go after it, plash-plash into the water, hands down, and feet up, so that people might think you were swimming. i ask you again, what pleasure is it to sit in a little room on a summer's evening, when the great dome of the sky is dropping over the other side of the town, lighting up the spire of the church, the shingle roofs of the baths, and the big windows of the synagogue. and on the other side of the town, on the common, the goats are bleating, and the lambs are frisking, the dust rising to the heavens, the frogs croaking. there is a tearing and a shrieking and a tumult as at a regular fair. who thinks of praying at such a time? but if you talk to my mother, she will tell you that her husband--peace be unto him!--did not succumb to temptations. he was a different sort of a man. what sort of a man he was i do not know--asking his pardon. i only know that my mother annoys me very much. she reminds me every minute that i had a father; and throws it into my teeth that she has to pay my school-fees for me. for this she asks only two things of me--that i should learn diligently, and say my prayers willingly. * * * it could not be said that the widow's boy did not learn well. he was not in any way behind his comrades. but i cannot guarantee that he said his prayers willingly. all children are alike. and he was as mischievous as any other boy. he, like the rest, was fond of running away and playing, though there is not much to be said of the play of jewish children. they tie a paper bag to a cat's tail so that she may run through the house like mad, smashing everything in her way. they lock the women's portion of the synagogue from the outside on friday nights, so that the women may have to be rescued. they nail the teacher's shoes to the floor, or seal his beard to the table with wax when he is asleep. but oh, how many thrashings do they get when their tricks are found out! it may be gathered that everything must have an originator, a commander, a head, a leader who shows the way. our leader, our commander was benny "_polkovoi_." from him all things originated; and on our heads were the consequences. benny, of the fat face and red, fishy eyes, always managed to escape scot free from the scrapes. he was always innocent as a dove. whatever tricks or mischief we did, we always got the idea from benny. who taught us to smoke cigarettes in secret, letting the smoke out through our nostrils? benny. who told us to slide on the ice, in winter, with the peasant-boys? benny. who taught us to gamble with buttons--to play "odd or even," and lose our breakfasts and dinners? benny. he was up to every trick, and taught us them all. he won our last "_groschens_" from us. and when it came to anything, benny had disappeared. playing was to us the finest thing in the world. and for playing we got the severest thrashings from our teacher. he said he would tear out of us the desire to play. "play in my house? you will play with the angel of death," said the teacher. and he used to empty our pockets of everything, and thrash us most liberally. but there was one week of the year when we were allowed to play. why do i say allowed? it was a righteous thing to play then. and that week was the week of "chanukah." and we played with spinning-tops. * * * it is true that the games of cards--bridge and whist, for example--which are played at "_chanukah_" nowadays have more sense in them than the old game of spinning-tops. but when the play is for money, it makes no difference what it is. i once saw two peasant-boys beating one another's heads against the wall. when i asked them why they were doing this, if they were out of their minds, they told me to go my road. they were playing a game, for money, which of them would get tired the soonest of having his head banged on the wall. the game of spinning-tops that have four corners, each marked with a letter of the alphabet, and are like dice, is very exciting. one can lose one's soul playing it. it is not so much the loss of the money as the annoyance of losing. why should the other win? why should the top fall on the letter g for him, and on the n for you? i suppose you know what the four letters stand for? n means no use. h means half. b means bad. and g means good. the top is a sort of lottery. whoever is fortunate wins. take, for example, benny "_polkovoi_." no matter how often he spins the top, it always falls on the letter g. the boys said it was curious how benny won. they kept putting down their money. he took on their bets. what did he care? he was a rich boy. "g again. it's curious," they cried, and again opened their purses and staked their money. benny whirled the top. it spun round and round, and wobbled from side to side, like a drunkard, and fell down. "g," said benny. "g, g. again g. it's extraordinary," said the boys, scratching their heads and again opening their purses. the game grew more exciting. the players grew hot, staked their money, crushed one another, and dug one another in the ribs to get nearer the table, and called each other peculiar names--"black tom-cat! creased cap! split coat!" and the like. they did not see the teacher standing behind them, in his woollen cap and coat, and carrying his "_tallis_" and "_tephilin_" under his arm. he was going to the synagogue to say his prayers, and seeing the crowd of excited boys, he drew near to watch the play. this day he does not interfere. it is "_chanukah_." we are free for eight days on end, and may play as much as we like. but we must not fight, nor pull one another by the nose. the teacher's wife took her sickly child in her arms, and stood at her husband's shoulder, watching the boys risk their money, and how benny took on all the bets. benny was excited, burning, aflame, ablaze. he twirled the top. it spun round and round, wobbled and fell down. "g all over again. it's a regular pantomime." benny showed us his smartness and his quick-wittedness so long, until our pockets were empty. he thrust his hands in his pockets, as if challenging us--"well, who wants more?" we all went home. we carried away with us the heartache and the shame of our losses. when we got home, we had to tell lies to account for the loss of the money we had been given in honour of "_chanukah_." one boy confessed he had spent his on locust-beans. another said the money had been stolen out of his pocket the previous night. a third came home crying. he said he had bought himself a pocket-knife. well, why was he crying? he had lost the knife on his way home. i told my mother a fine story--a regular "arabian nights" tale, and got out of her a second "_chanukah_" present of ten "_groschens_." i ran off with them to benny, played for five minutes, lost to him, and flew back home, and told my mother another tale. in a word, brains were at work and heads were busy inventing lies. lies flew about like chaff in the wind. and all our "_chanukah_" money went into benny's pockets, and was lost to us for ever. one of the boys became so absorbed in the play that he was not satisfied to lose only his "_chanukah_" money, but went on gambling through the whole eight days of the festival. and that boy was no other than myself, "the widow's son." * * * you must not ask where the widow's boy got the money to play with. the great gamblers of the world who have lost and won fortunes, estates and inheritances--they will know and understand. woe is me! may the hour never be known on which the evil spirit of gambling takes hold of one! there is nothing too hard for him. he breaks into houses, gets through iron walls, and does the most terrible thing imaginable. it's a name to conjure with--the spirit of gambling. first of all, i began to make money by selling everything i possessed, one thing after the other, my pocket-knife, my purse, and all my buttons. i had a box that opened and closed, and some wheels of an old clock--good brass wheels that shone like the sun when they were polished. i sold them all at any price, flew off, and lost all my money to benny. i always left him with a heart full of wounds and the bitterest annoyance, and greatly excited. i was not angry with benny. god forbid! what had i against him? how was he to blame if he always won at play? if the top fell on the g for me, he said, i should win. if it falls on the g for him, then he wins. and he is quite right. no, i am only sorry for myself, for having run through so much money--my mother's hard-earned "_groschens_," and for having made away with all my things. i was left almost naked. i even sold my little prayer-book. o that prayer-book, that prayer-book! when i think of it, my heart aches, and my face burns with shame. it was an ornament, not a book. my mother bought it of pethachiah the pedlar, on the anniversary of my father's death. and it was a book of books--a good one, a real good one, thick, and full of everything. it had every prayer one could mention, the "song of songs," the ethics of the fathers, and the psalms, and the "_haggadah_," and all the prayers of the whole year round. then the print and the binding, and the gold lettering. it was full of everything, i tell you. each time pethachiah the pedlar came round with his cut moustache that made his careworn face appear as if it was smiling--each time he came round and opened his pack outside the synagogue door, i could not take my eyes off that prayer-book. "what would you say, little boy?" asked pethachiah, as if he did not know that i had my eyes on the prayer-book, and had had it in my hands seventeen times, each time asking the price of it. "nothing," i replied. "just so!" and i left him, so as not to be tempted. "ah, mother, you should see the fine thing pethachiah the pedlar has." "what sort of a thing?" asked my mother. "a little prayer-book. if i had such a prayer-book, i would--i don't know myself what i would do." "haven't you got a prayer-book? and where is your father's prayer-book?" "you can't compare them. this is an ornament, and my book is only a book." "an ornament?" repeated my mother. "are there then more prayers in an ornamental book, or do the prayers sound better?" well, how can you explain an ornament to your mother--a really fine book with red covers, and blue edges, and a green back? "come," said my mother to me, one evening, taking me by the hand. "come with me to the synagogue. tomorrow is the anniversary of your father's death. we will bring candles to be lit for him, and at the same time we will see what sort of a prayer-book it is that pethachiah has." i knew beforehand that on the anniversary of the death of my father, i could get from my mother anything i asked for, even to the little plate from heaven, as the saying is. and my heart beat with joy. when we got to the synagogue, we found pethachiah with his pack still unopened. you must know pethachiah was a man who never hurried. he knew very well he was the only man at the fair. his customers would never leave him. before he opened his pack and spread out his goods, it took a year. i trembled, i shook. i could hardly stand on my feet. and he did not care. it was as if we were not talking to him at all. "let me see what sort of a prayer-book it is you have," said my mother. pethachiah had plenty of time. the river was not on fire. slowly, without haste, he opened his pack, and spread out his wares--big bibles, little prayer-books for men, and for women, big psalm books and little, and books for all possible occasions, without an end. then there were books of tales from the "_talmud_," tales of the "_bal-shem-tov_," books of sermons, and books of devotion. i imagined he would never run short. he was a well, a fountain. at last he came to the little books, and handed out the one i wanted. "is this all?" asked my mother. "such a little one." "this little one is dearer than a big one," answered pethachiah. "and how much do you want for the little squirrel?--god forgive me for calling it by that name." "you call a prayer-book a squirrel?" asked pethachiah. he took the book slowly out of her hand; and my heart was torn. "well, say. how much is it?" asked my mother. but pethachiah had plenty of time. he answered her in a sing-song: "how much is the little prayer-book? it will cost you--it will cost you--i am afraid it is not for your purse." my mother cursed her enemies, that they might have black, hideous dreams, and asked him to say how much. pethachiah stated the price. my mother did not answer him. she turned towards the door, took my hand, and said to me: "come, let us go. we have nothing to do here. don't you know that '_reb_' pethachiah is a man who charges famine prices?" i followed my mother to the door. and though my heart was heavy, i still hoped the lord would pity us, and pethachiah would call us back. but pethachiah was not that sort of a man. he knew we should turn back of our own accord. and so it was. my mother turned round, and asked him to talk like a man. pethachiah did not stir. he looked at the ceiling. and his pale face shone. we went off, and returned once again. "a curious jew, pethachiah," said my mother to me afterwards. "may my enemies have the plague if i would have bought the prayer-book from him. it is at a famine price. as i live, it is a sin. the money could have gone for your school-fees. but it's useless. for the sake of tomorrow, the anniversary of your father's death--peace be unto him!--i have bought you the prayer-book, as a favour. and now, my son, you must do me a favour in return. promise me that you will say your prayers faithfully every day." whether i really prayed as faithfully as i had promised, or not, i will not tell you. but i loved the little book as my life. you may understand that i slept with it, though, as you know, it is forbidden. the whole "_cheder_" envied me the little book. i minded it as if it were the apple of my eye. and now, this "_chanukah_"--woe unto me!--i carried it off with my own hands to moshe the carpenter's boy, who had long had his eye on it. and i had to beg of him, for an hour on end, before he bought it. i almost gave it away for nothing--the little prayer-book. my heart faints and my face burns with shame. sold! and to what end? for whose sake? for benny's sake, that he might win off me another few "_kopeks_." but how is benny to blame if he wins at play? "that's what a spinning-top is for," explained benny, putting into his purse my last few "_groschens_." "if things went with you as they are going with me, then you would be winning. but i am lucky, and i win." and benny's cheeks glowed. it is bright and warm in the house. a silver "_chanukah_" lamp is burning the best oil. everything is fine. from the kitchen comes a delicious odour of freshly melted goose-fat. "we are having fritters tonight," benny told me in the doorway. my heart was weak with hunger. i flew home in my torn sheep-skin. my mother had come in from her shop. her hands were red and swollen with the cold. she was frozen through and through, and was warming herself at the stove. seeing me, her face lit up with pleasure. "from the synagogue?" she asked. "from the synagogue," was my lying answer. "have you said the evening prayer?" "i have said the evening prayer," was my second lie to her. "warm yourself, my son. you will say the blessing over the '_chanukah_' lights. it is the last night of '_chanukah_' tonight, thank god!" * * * if a man had only troubles to bear, without a scrap of pleasure, he would never get over them, but would surely take his own life. i am referring to my mother, the widow, poor thing, who worked day and night, froze, never had enough to eat, and never slept enough for my sake. why should she not have a little pleasure too? every person puts his own meaning into the word "pleasure." to my mother there was no greater pleasure in the world than hearing me recite the blessings on sabbaths and festivals. at the passover i carried out the "_seder_" for her, and at "_chanukah_" i made the blessing over the lights. was the blessing over wine or beer? had we for the passover fritters or fresh "_matzo_"? what were the "_chanukah_" lights--a silver, eight-branched lamp with olive oil, or candles stuck in pieces of potato? believe me, the pleasure has nothing to do with wine or fritters, or a silver lamp. the main thing is the blessing itself. to see my mother's face when i was praying, how it shone and glowed with pleasure was enough. no words are necessary, no detailed description, to prove that this was unalloyed happiness to her, real pleasure. i bent over the potatoes, and recited the blessing in a sing-song voice. she repeated the blessing after me, word for word, in the same sing-song. she looked into my eyes, and moved her lips. i knew she was thinking at the time: "it is he--he in every detail. may the child have longer years!" and i felt i deserved to be cut to pieces like the potatoes. surely, i had deceived my mother, and for such a base cause. i had betrayed her from head to foot. the candles in the potatoes--my "_chanukah_" lights--flickered and flickered until they went out. and my mother said to me: "wash your hands. we are having potatoes and goose-fat for supper. in honour of '_chanukah_,' i bought a little measure of goose-fat--fresh, beautiful fat." i washed myself with pleasure, and we sat down to supper. "it is a custom amongst some people to have fritters for supper on the last night of '_chanukah_,'" said my mother, sighing. and there arose to my mind benny's fritters, and benny's spinning-top that had cost me all i possessed in the world. i had a sharp pain at my heart. more than all, i regretted the little prayer-book. but, of what use were regrets? it was all over and done with. even in my sleep i had uneasy thoughts. i heard my mother's groans. i heard her bed creaking, and i imagined that it was my mother groaning. out of doors, the wind was blowing, rattling the windows, tearing at the roof, whistling down the chimney, sighing loudly. a cricket had come to our house a long time before. it was now chirping from the wall, "tchireree! tchireree!" and my mother did not cease from sighing and groaning. and each sigh and each groan echoed itself in my heart. i only just managed to control myself. i was on the point of jumping out of bed, falling at my mother's feet, kissing her hands, and confessing to her all my sins. i did not do this. i covered myself with all the bed-clothes, so that i might not hear my mother sighing and groaning and her bed creaking. my eyes closed. the wind howled, and the cricket chirped, "tchireree! tchireree! tchireree! tchireree!" and there spun around before my eyes a man like a top--a man i seemed to know. i could have sworn it was the teacher in his pointed cap. he was spinning on one foot, round, and round, and round. his cap sparkled, his eyes glistened, and his earlocks flew about. no, it was not the teacher. it was a spinning-top--a curious, living top with a pointed cap and earlocks. by degrees the teacher-top, or the top-teacher ceased from spinning round. and in its place stood pharaoh, the king of egypt whose story we had learnt a week ago. pharaoh, king of egypt, stood naked before me. he had only just come out of the river. he had my little prayer-book in his hand. i could not make out how that wicked king, who had bathed in jewish blood, came to have my prayer-book. and i saw seven cows, lean and starved, mere skin and bones, with big horns and long ears. they came to me one after the other. they opened their mouths and tried to swallow me. suddenly, there appeared my friend benny. he took hold of their long ears, and twisted them round. some one was crying softly, sobbing, wailing, howling, and chirping. a man stood near me. he was not a human being. he said to me softly: "tell me, son, on which day do you recite the mourner's prayer for me?" i understood that this was my father of whom my mother had told me so many good things. i wanted to tell him the day on which i must say the mourner's prayer for him, but i had forgotten it. i fretted myself. i rubbed my forehead, and tried to remind myself of the day, but i could not. did you ever hear the like? i forgot the day of the anniversary of my father's death. listen, jewish children, can you not tell me when the day is? why are you silent? help! help! help! * * * "god be with you! why are shouting? why do you shriek? what is the matter with you? may the lord preserve you!" you will understand it was my mother who was speaking to me. she held my head. i could feel her trembling and shaking. the lowered lamp gave out no light, but an oppressive stench. i saw my mother's shadow dancing on the wall. the points of the kerchief she wore on her head were like two horns. her eyes gleamed horribly in the darkness. "when do i say the mourner's prayer, mother? tell me, when do i say the mourner's prayer?" "god be with you! the anniversary of your father's death was not long ago. you have had a bad dream. spit out three times. tfu! tfu! tfu! may it be for a good sign! amen! amen! amen!" * * * children, i grew up, and benny grew up. he became a young man with a yellowish beard and a round belly. he wears a gold chain across it. it seems he is a rich man. we met in the train. i recognized him by his fishy, bulging eyes and his scattered teeth. we had not met for a long time. we kissed one another and talked of the good old times, the dear good days of our childhood, and the foolish things we did then. "do you remember, benny, that '_chanukah_' when you won everything with the spinning top? the g always fell for you." i looked at benny. he was convulsed with laughter. he held his sides. he was rolling over. he was actually choking with laughter. "god be with you, benny! why this sudden burst of laughter, benny?" "oh!" he cried, "oh! go away with your spinning-top! that was a good top. it was a real top. it was a pudding made only of suet. it was a stew of nothing but raisins." "what sort of a top was it, benny? tell me quicker." "it was a top that had all around it, on all the corners only the one letter, g." esther i am not going to tell you a story of "_cheder_" or of the teacher, or of the teacher's wife. i have told you enough about them. perhaps you will allow me, this time, in honour of the feast of "_purim_," to tell you a story of the teacher's daughter, esther. * * * if the esther of the bible was as beautiful a creature as the esther of my story, then it is no wonder she found favour in the eyes of king ahasuerus. the esther of whom i am going to tell you was loved by everybody, everybody, even by me and by my older brother mottel, although he was "_bar-mitzvah_" long ago, and they were making up a match for him, and he was wearing a watch and chain this good while. (if i am not mistaken, he had already started to grow a beard at the time i speak of.) and that my brother mottel loves esther, i am positive. he thinks i do not know that his going to "_cheder_" every sabbath to read with the teacher is a mere pretext, a yesterday's day! the teacher snores loudly. the teacher's wife stands on the doorstep talking with the women. we boys play around the room, and mottel and esther are staring--she at him, and he at her. it sometimes happens that we boys play at "blind-man's-buff." do you know what "blind-man's-buff" is? well, then i will tell you. you take a boy, bandage his eyes with a handkerchief, place him in the middle of the floor, and all the boys fly round him crying: "blindman, blindman, catch me!" mottel and esther also play at "blind-man's-buff" with us. they like the game because, when they are playing it, they can chase one another--she him, and he her. and i have many more proofs i could give you that--but i am not that sort. i once caught them holding hands, he hers, and she his. and it was not on the sabbath either, but on a week-day. it was towards evening, between the afternoon and the evening prayers. he was pretending to go to the synagogue. he strayed into "_cheder_." "where is the teacher?" "the teacher is not here." and he went and gave her his hand, esther, that is. i saw them. he withdrew his hand and gave me a "_groschen_" to tell no one. i asked two, and he gave me two. i asked three, and he gave me three. what do you think--if i had asked four, or five, or six, would he not have given them? but i am not that sort. another time, too, something happened. but enough of this. i will rather tell you the real story--the one i promised you. * * * as i told you, my brother mottel is grown up. he does not go to "_cheder_" any more, nor does he wish to learn anything at home. for this, my father calls him "man of clay." he has no other name for him. my mother does not like it. what sort of a habit is it to call a young man, almost a bridegroom, a man of clay? my father says he is nothing else but a man of clay. they quarrel about it. i do not know what other parents do, but my parents are always quarrelling. day and night they are quarrelling. if i were to tell you how my father and mother quarrel, you would split your sides laughing. but i am not that sort. in a word, my brother mottel does not go to "_cheder_" any more. nevertheless, he does not forget to send the teacher a "_purim_" present. having been a pupil of his he sends him a nice poem in hebrew, illuminated with a "shield of david," and two paper "_roubles_." with whom does he send this "_purim_" present? with me, of course. my brother says to me, "here, hand the teacher this "_purim_" present. when you come back, i will give you ten '_groschens_.'" ten "_groschens_" is money. but what then? i want the money now. my brother said i was a heathen. said i: "it may be i am a heathen. i will not argue about it. but i want to see the money," said i. who do you think won? he gave me the ten "_groschens_," and handed me the teacher's "_purim_" present in a sealed envelope. when i was going off, he thrust into my hand a second envelope and said to me, in a quick whisper: "and this you will give to esther." "to esther?" "to esther." any one else in my place would have asked twice as much for this. but i am not that sort. * * * "father of the universe," thought i, when i was going off with the "_purim_" present, "what can my brother have written to the teacher's daughter? i must have a peep--only just a peep. i will not take a bite out of it. i will only look at it." and i opened esther's letter and read a whole "book of esther." i will repeat what was there, word for word. "from mordecai to esther, "and there was a man, a young man in shushan--our village. his name was mordecai and he loved a maiden called esther. and the maiden was beautiful, charming. and the maiden found favour in his eyes. the maiden told this to no one because mottel had asked her not to. every day mottel passes her house to catch a glimpse of esther. and when the time comes for esther to get married, mottel will go with her under the wedding canopy." * * * what do you say to my brother--how he translated the "book of esther"? i should like to hear what the teacher will say to such a translation. but how comes the cat over the water? hush! there's a way, as i am a jew! i will change the letters, give the teacher's poem to esther, and esther's letter to the teacher. let him rejoice. afterwards, if there's a fine to do, will i be to blame? don't all people make mistakes sometimes? does it not happen that even the postmaster of our village himself forgets to give up letters? no such thing will ever happen to me. i am not that sort. * * * "good '_yom-tov_,' teacher," i cried the moment i rushed into "_cheder_," in such an excited voice that he jumped. "my brother mottel has sent you a '_purim_' present, and he wishes you to live to next year." and i gave the teacher esther's letter. he opened it, read it, thought a while, looked at it again, turned it about on all sides, as if in search of something. "search, search," i said to myself, "and you will find something." the teacher put on his silver spectacles, read the letter, and did not even make a grimace. he only sighed--no more. later he said to me: "wait. i will write a few lines." and he took the pen and ink and started to write a few lines. meanwhile, i turned around in the "_cheder_." the teacher's wife gave me a little cake. and when no one was looking, i put into esther's hand the poem and the money intended for her father. she reddened, went into a corner, and opened the envelope slowly. her face burnt like fire, and her eyes blazed dangerously. "she doesn't seem to be satisfied with the '_purim_' present," i thought. i took from the teacher the few lines he had written. "good '_yom-tov_' to you, teacher," i cried in the same excited voice as when i had come in. "may you live to next year." and i was gone. when i was on the other side of the door, esther ran after me. her eyes were red with weeping. "here," she said angrily, "give this to your brother!" on the way home i first opened the teacher's letter. he was more important. this is what was written in it. "my dear and faithful pupil, mordecai n. "i thank you many times for your '_purim_' present that you have sent me. last year and the year before, you sent me a real '_purim_' present. but this year you sent me a new translation of the 'book of esther.' i thank you for it. but i must tell you, mottel, that your rendering does not please me at all. firstly, the city of shushan cannot be called 'our village.' then i should like to know where it says that mordecai was a young man? and why do you call him mottel? which mottel? and where does it say he loved a maiden? the word referring to mordecai and esther means 'brought up.' and your saying 'he will go with her under the wedding canopy' is just idiotic nonsense. the phrase you quote refers to ahasuerus, not to mordecai. then again, it is nowhere mentioned in the 'book of esther' that ahasuerus went with esther under the wedding canopy. does it need brains to turn a passage upside down? every passage must have sense in it. last year, and the year before, you sent me something different. this year you sent your teacher a translation of the 'book of esther,' and a distorted translation into the bargain. well, perhaps it should be so. anyhow, i am sending you back your translation, and may the lord send you a good year, according to the wishes of your teacher." * * * well, that's what you call a slap in the face. it serves my brother right. i should think he will never write such a "book of esther" again. having got through the teacher's letter, i must see what the teacher's daughter writes. on opening the envelope, the two paper "_roubles_" fell out. what the devil does this mean? i read the letter--only a few lines. "mottel, i thank you for the two '_roubles_.' you may take them back. i never expected such a '_purim_' present from you. i want no presents from you, and certainly no charity." ha! ha! what do you say to that? she does not want charity. a nice story, as i am a jewish child! well, what's to be done next? any one else in my place would surely have torn up the two letters and put the money in his pocket. but i am not that sort. i did a better thing than that. you will hear what. i argued with myself after this fashion: when all is said and done, i got paid by my brother mottel for the journey. then what do i want him for now? i went and gave the two letters to my father. i wanted to hear what he would say to them. he would understand the translation better than the teacher, though he is a father, and the teacher is a teacher. * * * what happened? after my father had read the two letters and the translation, he took hold of my brother mottel and demanded an explanation of him. do not ask me any more. you want to know the end--what happened to esther, the teacher's daughter, and to my brother mottel? what could have happened? esther got married to a widower. oh, how she cried. i was at the wedding. why she cried so much i do not know. it seemed that her heart told her she would not live long with her husband. and so it was. she lived with him only one-half year, and died. i do not know what she died of. i do not know. no one knows. her father and mother do not know either. it was said she took poison--just went and poisoned herself. "but it's a lie. enemies have invented that lie," said her mother, the teacher's wife. i heard her myself. and my brother mottel? oh, he married before esther was even betrothed. he went to live with his father-in-law. but he soon returned, and alone. what had happened? he wanted to divorce his wife. said my father to him: "you are a man of clay." my mother would not have this. they quarrelled. it was lively. but it was useless. he divorced his wife and married another woman. he now has two children--a boy and a girl. the boy is called herzl, after dr. herzl, and the girl is called esther. my father wanted her to be named gittel, and my mother was dying for her to be called leah, after her mother. there arose a quarrel between my father and mother. they quarrelled a whole day and a whole night. they decided the child should be named leah-gittel, after their two mothers. afterwards my father decided he would not have leah-gittel. "what is the sense of it? why should her mother's name go first?" my brother mottel came in from the synagogue and said he had named the child esther. said my father to him: "man of clay, where did you get the name esther from?" mottel replied: "have you forgotten it will soon be '_purim_'?" well, what have you to say now? it's all over. my father never calls mottel "man of clay" since then. but both of them--my mother and my father--exchanged glances and were silent. what the silence and the exchange of glances meant i do not know. perhaps you can tell me? the pocket-knife listen, children, and i will tell you a story about a little knife--not an invented story, but a true one, that happened to myself. i never wished for anything in the world so much as for a pocket-knife. it should be my own, and should lie in my pocket, and i should be able to take it out whenever i wished, to cut whatever i liked. let my friends know. i had just begun to go to school, under yossel dardaki, and i already had a knife, that is, what was almost a knife. i made it myself. i tore a goose-quill out of a feather brush, cut off one end, and flattened out the other. i pretended it was a knife and would cut. "what sort of a feather is that? what the devil does it mean? why do you carry a feather about with you?" asked my father--a sickly jew, with a yellow, wrinkled face. he had a fit of coughing. "here are feathers for you--playtoys! tkeh-heh-heh-heh!" "what do you care if the child plays?" asked my mother of him. she was a short-built woman and wore a silk scarf on her head. "let my enemies eat out their hearts!" later, when i was learning the bible and the commentaries, i very nearly had a real knife, also of my own making. i found a bit of steel belonging to my mother's crinoline, and i set it very cleverly into a piece of wood. i sharpened the steel beautifully on a stone, and naturally cut all my fingers to pieces. "see, just see, how he has bled himself, that son of yours," said my father. he took hold of my hands in such a way that the very bones cracked. "he's a fine fellow! heh-heh-heh!" "oh, may the thunder strike me!" cried my mother. she took the little knife from me, and threw it into the fire. she took no notice of my crying. "now it will come to an end. woe is me!" i soon got another knife, but in reality, a little knife. it had a thick, round, wooden handle, like a barrel, and a curved blade which opened as well as closed. you want to know how i came by it? i saved up the money from what i got for my breakfasts, and i bought the knife for seven "_groschens_" from solomon, and i owed him three more "_groschens_." oh, how i loved it, how i loved it. i came home from school black and blue, hungry and sleepy, and with my ears well boxed. (you see, i had just started learning the "_gemarra_" with mottel, the "angel of death." "if an ox gore a cow" i learnt. and if an ox gores a cow, then i must get beaten.) and the first thing i did was to take out my pocket-knife from under the black cupboard. (it lay there the whole day, because i dared not take it to school with me; and at home no one must know that i have a knife.) i stroked it, i cut a piece of paper with it, split a straw in halves, and then cut up my bread into little cubes which i stuck on the tip of the blade, and afterwards put into my mouth. later, before going to bed, i cleaned the knife, and scrubbed it, and polished it. i took the sharpening stone, which i found in the hayloft, spit on it, and in silence began to work, sharpening the little knife, sharpening, sharpening. my father, his little round cap on his head, sat over a book. he coughed and read, read and coughed. my mother was in the kitchen making bread. i did not cease from sharpening my knife, and sharpening it. suddenly my father woke up, as from a deep sleep. "who is making that hissing noise? who is working? what are you doing, you young scamp?" he stood beside me, and bent over my sharpening-stone. he caught hold of my ear. a fit of coughing choked him. "ah! ah! ah! little knives! heh-heh-heh!" said my father, and he took the knife and the sharpening-stone from me. "such a scamp! why the devil can't he take a book into his hand? tkeh-heh-heh!" i began to cry. my father improved the situation by a few slaps. my mother ran in from the kitchen, her sleeves turned up, and she began to shout: "shah! shah! what's the matter here? why do you beat him? god be with you! what have you against the child? woe is me!" "little knives," said my father, ending up with a cough. "a tiny child. such a devil. tkeh-heh-heh! why the devil can't he take a book into his hand? he's already a youth of eight years.... i will give you pocket-knives--you good-for-nothing, you. in the middle of everything, pocket-knives. thek-heh-heh!" but what had he against my little knife? how had it sinned in his eyes? why was he so angry? i remember that my father was nearly always ailing--always pale and hollow-cheeked, and always angry with the whole world. for the least thing he flared up and would tear me to pieces. it was fortunate my mother defended me. she took me out of his hands. and that pocket-knife of mine was thrown away somewhere. for eight days on end i looked and looked for it, but could not find it. i mourned deeply for that curved knife--the good knife. how dark and embittered was my soul at school when i remembered that i would come home with a swollen face, with red, torn ears from the hands of mottel, the "angel of death," because an ox gored a cow, and i would have no one to turn to for comfort. i was lonely without the curved knife--lonely as an orphan. no one saw the tears i shed in silence, in my bed, at night, after i had come back from "_cheder_." in silence, i cried my eyes out. in the morning i was again at "_cheder_," and again i repeated: "if an ox gore a cow," and again i felt the blows of mottel, the "angel of death"; again my father was angry, coughed, and swore at me. i had not a free moment. i did not see a smiling face. there was not a single little smile for me anywhere, not a single one. i had nobody. i was alone--all alone in the whole world. * * * a year went by, and perhaps a year and a half. i was beginning to forget the curved knife. it seems i was destined to waste all the years of my childhood because of pocket-knives. a new knife was created--to my misfortune--a brand new knife, a beauty, a splendid one. as i live, it was a fine knife. it had two blades, fine, steel ones, sharp as razors, and a white bone handle, and brass ends, and copper rivets. i tell you, it was a beauty, a real good pocket-knife. how came to me such a fine knife, that was never meant for such as i? that is a whole story--a sad, but interesting story. listen to me attentively. what value in my eyes had the german jew who lodged with us--the contractor, herr hertz hertzenhertz, when he spoke yiddish, went about without a cap, had no beard or earlocks, and had his coat-tails cut off? i ask you how i could have helped laughing into his face, when that jewish-gentile, or gentilish-jew talked to me in yiddish, but in a curious yiddish with a lot of a's in it. "well, dear boy, which portion of the law will be read this week?" "ha! ha! ha!" i burst out laughing and hid my face in my hands. "say, say, my dear child, what portion of the law will be read this week?" "ha! ha! ha! balak," i burst out with a laugh, and ran away. but that was only in the beginning, before i knew him. afterwards, when i knew herr hertz hertzenhertz better (he lived at our house for over a year) i loved him so well that i did not care if he said no prayers, and ate his food without saying the blessings. nevertheless, i did not understand how he existed, and why the lord allowed him to remain in the world. why was he not choked at table? and why did the hair not fall out of his uncovered head? i had heard from my teacher, mottel, the "angel of death," from his own mouth, that this german jew was only a spirit. that is to say, a jew was turned into a german; and later on he might turn into a wolf, a cow, a horse, or maybe a duck. a duck? "ha! ha! ha! a fine story," thought i. but i was genuinely sorry for the german. nevertheless, i did not understand why my father, who was a very orthodox jew, should pay the german jew so much respect, as also did the other jews who used to come into our house. "peace be unto you, reb hertzenhertz! blessed art thou who comest, reb hertz hertzenhertz!" i once ventured to ask my father why this was so, but he thrust me to one side and said: "go away. it is not your business. why do you get under our feet? who the devil wants you? why the devil can't you take a book into your hands? heh-heh-heh-heh!" again a book? lord of the world, i also want to see; i also want to hear what people are saying. i went into the parlour, hid myself in a corner, and heard everything the men talked about. herr hertz hertzenhertz laughed aloud, and smoked thick black cigars that had a very strong smell. suddenly my father came over to me, and gave me a smack. "are you here again, you idler and good-for-nothing? what will become of you, you dunce? what will become of you? heh-heh-heh-heh!" it was no use. my father drove me out. i took a book into my hands, but i did not want to read it. what was i to do? i went about the house, from one room to the other, until i came to the nicest room of all--the room in which slept herr hertz hertzenhertz. ah, how beautiful and bright it was! the lamps were lit, and the mirror shone. on the table was a big, beautiful silver inkstand, and beautiful pens, also little ornaments--men, and animals, and flowers, and bones and stones, and a little knife! ah, what a beautiful knife! what if i had such a knife? what fine things i would make with it. how happy i should be. well, i must try it. is it sharp? ah, it cuts a hair. it slices up a hair. oh, oh, oh, what a knife! one moment i held the knife in my hand. i looked about me on all sides, and slipped it into my pocket. my hands trembled. my heart was beating so loudly that i could hear it saying, "tick, tick, tick!" i heard some one coming. it was he--herr hertz hertzenhertz. ah, what was i to do? the knife might remain in my pocket. i could put it back later on. meanwhile, i must get out of the room, run away, away, far. i could eat no supper that night. my mother felt my head. my father threw angry glances at me, and told me to go to bed. sleep? could i close my eyes? i was like dead. what was i to do with the little knife? how was i going to put it back again? * * * "come over here, my little ornament," said my father to me next day. "did you see the little pocket-knife anywhere?" of course i was very much frightened. it seemed to me that he knew--that everybody knew. i was almost, almost crying out: "the pocket-knife? here it is." but something came into my throat, and would not let me utter a sound for a minute or so. in a shaking voice i replied: "where? what pocket-knife?" "where? what knife?" my father mocked at me. "what knife? the golden knife. our guest's knife, you good-for-nothing, you! you dunce, you! tkeh-heh-heh!" "what do you want of the child?" put in my mother. "the child knows nothing of anything, and he worries him about the knife, the knife." "the knife--the knife! how can he not know about it?" cried my father angrily. "all the morning he hears me shouting--the knife! the knife! the knife! the house is turned upside down for the knife, and he asks 'where? what knife?' go away. go and wash yourself, you good-for-nothing, you. you dunce, dunce! tkeh-heh-heh!" i thank thee, lord of the universe, that they did not search me. but what was i to do next? the knife had to be hidden somewhere, in a safe place. where was i to hide it? ah! in the attic. i took the knife quickly from my pocket, and stuck it into my top-boot. i ate, and i did not know what i was eating. i was choking. "why are you in such a hurry? what the devil ...?" asked my father. "i am hurrying off to school," i answered, and grew red as fire. "a scholar, all of a sudden. what do you say to such a saint?" he muttered, and glared at me. i barely managed to finish my breakfast, and say grace. "well, why are you not off to '_cheder_,' my saint?" asked my father. "why do you hunt him so?" asked my mother. "let the child sit a minute." i was in the attic. deep, deep in a hole lay the beautiful knife. it lay there in silence. "what are you doing in the attic?" called out my father. "you good-for-nothing! you street-boy! tkeh-heh-heh-heh!" "i am looking for something," i answered. i nearly fell down with fright. "something? what is the something? what sort of a thing is that something?" "a--a bo--ok. an--an old '_ge--gemar--ra_.'" "what? a '_gemarra_'? in the attic? ah, you scamp you! come down at once. come down. you'll get it from me. you street-boy! you dog-beater! you rascal! tkeh-heh-heh-heh!" i was not so much afraid of my father's anger as that the pocket-knife might be found. who could tell? perhaps some one would go up to the attic to hang out clothes to dry, or to paint the rafters? the knife must be taken down from there, and hidden in a better place. i went about in fear and trembling. every glance at my father told me that he knew, and that now, now he was going to talk to me of the guest's knife. i had a place for it--a grand place. i would bury it in the ground, in a hole near the wall. i would put some straw on the spot to mark it. the moment i came from "_cheder_" i ran out into the yard. i took the knife carefully from my pocket, but had no time to look at it, when my father called out: "where are you at all? why don't you go and say your prayers? you swine-herd you! you are a water-carrier! tkeh-heh-heh!" but whatever my father said to me, and as much as the teacher beat me, it was all rubbish to me when i came home, and had the pleasure of seeing my one and only dear friend--my little knife. the pleasure was, alas! mixed with pain, and embittered by fear--by great fear. * * * it is the summer time. the sun is setting. the air grows somewhat cooler. the grass emits a sweet odour. the frogs croak, and the thick clouds fly by, without rain, across the moon. they wish to swallow her up. the silvery white moon hides herself every minute, and shows herself again. it seemed to me that she was flying and flying, but was still on the same spot. my father sat down on the grass, in a long mantle. he had one hand in the bosom of his coat, and with the other he smoothed down the grass. he looked up at the star-spangled sky, and coughed and coughed. his face was like death, silvery white. he was sitting on the exact spot where the little knife was hidden. he knew nothing of what was in the earth under him. ah, if he only knew! what, for instance, would he say, and what would happen to me? "aha!" thought i within myself, "you threw away my knife with the curved blade, and now i have a nicer and a better one. you are sitting on it, and you know nothing. oh, father, father!" "why do you stare at me like a tom-cat?" asked my father. "why do you sit with folded arms like a self-satisfied old man? can you not find something to do? have you said the night prayer? may the devil not take you, scamp! may an evil end not come upon you! tkeh-heh-heh!" when he says may the devil _not_ take you, and may an evil end _not_ come upon you, then he is not angry. on the contrary, it is a sign that he is in a good humour. and, surely, how could one help being in a good humour on such a wonderfully beautiful night, when every one is drawn out of doors into the street, under the soft, fresh, brilliant sky? every one is now out of doors--my father, my mother, and the younger children who are looking for little stones and playing in the sand. herr hertz hertzenhertz was going about in the yard, without a hat, smoking a cigar, and singing a german song. he looked at me, and laughed. probably he was laughing because my father was driving me away. but i laughed at them all. soon they would be going to bed, and i would go out into the yard (i slept in the open, before the door, because of the great heat), and i would rejoice in, and play with my knife. the house is asleep. it is silent around and about. cautiously i get up; i am on all fours, like a cat; and i steal out into the yard. the night is silent. the air is fresh and pure. slowly i creep over to the spot where the little knife lies buried. i take it out carefully, and look at it by the light of the moon. it shines and glitters, like guinea-gold, like a diamond. i lift up my eyes, and i see that the moon is looking straight down on my knife. why is she looking at it so? i turn round. she looks after me. maybe she knows whose knife it is, and where i got it? got it? stole it! for the first time since the knife came into my hands has this terrible word entered my thoughts. stolen? then i am, in short, a thief, a common thief? in the holy law, in the ten commandments, are written, in big letters: "thou shalt not steal." thou shalt not steal. and i have stolen. what will they do to me in hell for that? woe is me! they will cut off my hand--the hand that stole. they will whip me with iron rods. they will roast and burn me in a hot oven. i will glow for ever and ever. the knife must be given back. the knife must be put back in its place. one must not hold a stolen knife. tomorrow i will put it back. that was what i decided. and i put the knife into my bosom. i imagined it was burning, scorching me. no, it must be hidden again, buried in the earth till tomorrow. the moon still looked down on me. what was she looking at? the moon saw. she was a witness. i crept back to the house, to my sleeping-place. i lay down again, but could not sleep. i tossed about from side to side, but could not fall asleep. it was already day when i dozed off. i dreamt of a moon, i dreamt of iron rods, and i dreamt of little knives. i got up very early, said my prayers with pleasure, with delight, ate my breakfast while standing on one foot, and marched off to "_cheder_." "why are you in such a hurry for '_cheder_'?" cried my father to me. "what is driving you? you will not lose your knowledge if you go a little later. you will have time enough for mischief. you scamp! you epicurean! you heathen! tkeh-heh-heh-heh!" * * * "why so late? just look at this." the teacher stopped me, and pointed with his finger at my comrade, berrel the red one, who was standing in the corner with his head down. "do you see, bandit? you must know that from this day his name is not berrel the red one, as he was called. he is now called a fine name. his name is now berrel the thief. shout it out, children. berrel the thief! berrel the thief!" the teacher drew out the words, and put a little tune into them. the pupils repeated them after him, like a chorus. "berrel the thief--berrel the thief!" i was petrified. a cold wave passed over my body. i did not know what it all meant. "why are you silent, you heathen, you?" cried the teacher, and gave me an unexpected smack in the face. "why are you silent, you heathen? don't you hear the others singing? join in with them, and help them. berrel the thief--berrel the thief!" my limbs trembled. my teeth rattled. but, i helped the others to shout aloud "berrel the thief! berrel the thief!" "louder, heathen," prompted the teacher. "in a stronger voice--stronger." and i, along with the rest of the choir, sang out in a variety of voices, "berrel the thief--berrel the thief!" "sh--sh--sh--a--a--ah!" cried the teacher, banging the table with his open hand. "hush! now we will betake ourselves to pronouncing judgment." he spoke in a sing-song voice. "ah, well, berrel thief, come over here, my child. quicker, a little quicker. tell me, my boy, what your name is." this also was said in a sing-song. "berrel." "what else?" "berrel--berrel the thief." "that's right, my dear child. now you are a good boy. may your strength increase, and may you grow stronger in every limb!" (still in the same sing-song.) "take off your clothes. that's right. but can't you do it quicker? i beg of you, be quick about it. that's right, little berrel, my child." berrel stood before us as naked as when he was born. not a drop of blood showed in his body. he did not move a limb. his eyes were lowered. he was as dead as a corpse. the teacher called out one of the older scholars, still speaking in the same sing-song voice: "well, now, hirschalle, come out from behind the table, over here to me. quicker. just so. and now tell us the story from beginning to end--how our berrel became a thief. listen, boys, pay attention." and hirschalle began to tell the story. berrel had got the little collecting box of "reb" mayer the "wonder-worker," into which his mother threw a "_kopek_," sometimes two, every friday, before lighting the sabbath candles. berrel had fixed his eyes on that box, on which there hung a little lock. by means of a straw gummed at the end, he had managed to extract the "_kopeks_" from the box, one by one. his mother, slatte, the hoarse one, suspecting something wrong, opened the box, and found in it one of the straws tipped with gum. she beat her son berrel. and after the whipping she had prevailed on the teacher to give him, he confessed that for a whole year--a round year, he had been extracting the "_kopeks_," one by one, and that, every sunday, he had bought himself two little cakes, some locust beans, and--and so forth, and so forth. "now, boys, pronounce judgment on him. you know how to do it. this is not the first time. let each give his verdict, and say what must be done to a boy who steals '_kopeks_' from a charity-box, by means of a straw." the teacher put his head to one side. he closed his eyes, and turned his right ear to hirschalle. hirschalle answered at the top of his voice: "a thief who steals '_kopeks_' from a charity-box should be flogged until the blood spurts from him." "moshalle, what is to be done to a thief who steals '_kopeks_' from a charity-box?" "a thief," replied moshalle, in a wailing voice, "a thief who steals '_kopeks_' from a charity-box should be stretched out. two boys should be put on his head, two on his feet, and two should flog him with pickled rods." "topalle tutteratu, what is to be done to a thief who steals '_kopeks_' from a charity-box?" kopalle kuckaraku, a boy who could not pronounce the letters k and g, wiped his face, and gave his verdict in a squeaking voice. "a boy who steals 'topets' from the charity-bots should be punished lite this. every boy should do over to him, and shout into his face, three times, thief, thief, thief." the whole school laughed. the master put his thumb on his wind-pipe, like a cantor, and called out to me, as if i were a bridegroom being called up, at the synagogue, to read the portion of the law for the week: "tell me, now, my dear little boy, what would you say should be done to a thief who steals '_kopeks_' from a charity-box." i tried to reply, but my tongue would not obey me. i shivered as with ague. something was in my throat, choking me. a cold sweat broke out all over my body. there was a whistling in my ears. i saw before me, not the teacher, nor the naked berrel the thief, nor my comrades. i saw before me only knives--pocket-knives without an end, white, open knives that had many blades. and there, beside the door, hung the moon. she looked at me, and smiled, like a human being. my head was going round. the whole room--the table and the books, the boys and the moon that hung beside the door, and the little knives--all were whirling round. i felt as if my two feet were chopped off. another moment, and i might have fallen down, but i controlled myself with all my strength, and i did not fall. in the evening, i came home, and felt that my face was burning. my cheeks were on fire, and in my ears was a hissing noise. i heard some one speaking to me, but what they said i do not know. my father was saying something, and seemed to be angry. he wanted to beat me. my mother intervened. she spread out her apron, as a clucking hen spreads out her wing to defend her chickens from injury. i heard nothing, and did not want to hear. i only wanted the darkness to fall sooner, so that i might make an end of the little knife. what was i to do with it? confess everything, and give it up? then i would suffer the same punishment as berrel. throw it carelessly somewhere? but i may be caught? throw it away, and no more, so long as i am rid of it? where was i to throw it in order that it might not be found by anybody? on the roof? the noise would be heard. in the garden? it might be found. ah, i know! i have a plan, i'll throw it into the water. a good plan, as i live. i'll throw it into the well that is in our own yard. this plan pleased me so much that i did not wish to dwell on it longer. i took up the knife, and ran off straight to the well. it seemed to me that i was carrying in my hand not a knife but something repulsive--a filthy little creature of which i must rid myself at once. but, still i was sorry. it was such a fine little knife. for a moment, i stood thinking, and it seemed to me that i was holding in my hand a living thing. my heart ached for it. surely, surely, it has cost me so much heartache. it is a pity for the living. i summoned all my courage, and let it out suddenly from my fingers. plash! the water bubbled up for a moment. nothing more was heard, and my knife was gone. i stood a moment at the well and listened. i heard nothing. thank god, i was rid of it. my heart was faint, and full of longing. surely, it was a fine knife--such a knife! * * * i went back to bed, and saw that the moon was still looking down at me. and it seemed to me she had seen everything i had done. from the distance a voice seemed to be saying to me: "but, you are a thief all the same. catch him, beat him. he is a thief, a thief." i stole back into the house, and into my own bed. i dreamt that i ran, swept through the air. i flew with my little knife in my hand. and the moon looked at me and said: "catch him, beat him. he is a thief--a thief." * * * a long, long sleep, and a heavy, a very heavy dream. a fire burnt within me. my head was buzzing. everything i saw was red as blood. burning rods of fire cut into my flesh. i was swimming in blood. around me wriggled snakes and serpents. they had their mouths open, ready to swallow me. right into my ears some one was blowing a trumpet. and, some one was standing over me, and shouting, keeping time with the trumpet: "whip him, whip him, whip him. he is a thie--ef." and i myself shouted: "oh, oh, take the moon away from me. give her up the little knife. what have you against poor berrel? he is not guilty. it is i who am a thief--a thief." beyond that, i remember nothing. * * * i opened one eye, then the other. where was i? on a bed, i think. ah, is that you, mother, mother? she does not hear me. mother, mother, mo--o--other! what is this? i imagine i am shouting aloud. shah! i listen. she is weeping silently. i also see my father, with his yellow, sickly face. he is sitting near me, an open book in his hand. he reads, and sighs, and coughs and groans. it seems that i am dead already. dead?... all at once, i feel that it is growing brighter before my eyes. everything is growing lighter, too. my head and my limbs are lighter. there is a ringing in my ear, and in my other ear. tschinna! i sneezed. akhstchu! "good health! may your days be lengthened! may your years be prolonged! it is a good sign. blessed art thou, o lord!" "sneezed in reality? blessed be the most high!" "let us call at once mintze the butcher's wife. she knows how to avert the evil eye." "the doctor ought to be called--the doctor." "the doctor? what for? that is nonsense. the most high is the best doctor. blessed be the lord, and praised be his name!" "go asunder, people. separate a bit. it is terribly hot. in the name of god, go away." "ah, yes. i told you that you have to cover him with wax. well, who is right?" "praise be the lord, and blessed be his holy name! ah, god! god! blessed be the lord! and praised be his holy name!" they fluttered about me. they looked at me. each one came and felt my head. they prayed over me, and buzzed around me. they licked my forehead, and spat out, by way of a charm. they poured hot soup down my throat, and filled my mouth with spoonfuls of preserves. every one flew around me. they cared for me as if i were the apple of their eye. they fed me with broths and tiny chickens, as if i were an infant. they did not leave me alone. my mother sat by me always, and told me over and over again the whole story of how they had lifted me up from the ground, almost dead, and how i had been lying for two weeks on end, burning like a fire, croaking like a frog, and muttering something about whippings and little knives. they already imagined i was dead, when suddenly i sneezed seven times. i had practically come to life again. "now we see what a great god we have, blessed be he, and praised be his name!" that was how my mother ended up, the tears springing to her eyes. "now we can see that when we call to him he listens to our sinful requests and our guilty tears. we shed a lot, a lot of tears, your father and i, until the lord had pity on us.... we nearly, nearly lost our child through our sinfulness. may we suffer in your stead! and through what? through a boy who was a thief, a certain berrel whom the teacher flogged at '_cheder_,' almost until he bled. when you came home from '_cheder_' you were more dead than alive. may your mother suffer instead of you! the teacher is a tyrant, a murderer. the lord will punish him for it--the lord of the universe. no, my child, if the lord lets us live, when you get well, we will send you to another teacher, not to such a tyrant as is the 'angel of death,'--may his name be blotted out for ever!" these words made a terrible impression on me. i threw my arms around my mother, and kissed her. "dear, dear mother." and my father came over to me softly. he put his cold, white hand on my forehead, and said to me kindly, without a trace of anger: "oh, how you frightened us, you heathen you! tkeh-heh-heh-heh!" also the jewish german, or the german jew, herr hertz hertzenhertz, his cigar between his teeth, bent down and touched my cheek, with his clean-shaven chin. he said to me in german: "good! good! be well--be well!" * * * a few weeks after i got out of bed, my father said to me: "well, my son, now go to '_cheder_,' and never think of little knives again, or other such nonsense. it is time you began to be a bit of a man. if it please god, you will be '_bar-mitzvah_' in three years--may you live to a hundred and twenty. tkeh-heh-heh!" with such sweet words did my father send me off to "_cheder_," to my new teacher, "_reb_" chayim kotter. it was the first time that i had heard such good kind words from my father. and i forgot, in a moment, all his harshness, and all his abuse, and all his blows. it was as if they had never existed in the world. if i were not ashamed, i would have thrown my arms about his neck, and kissed him. but how can one kiss a father? ha! ha! ha! my mother gave me a whole apple and three "_groschens_" to take to "_cheder_," and the german gave me a few "_kopeks_." he pinched my cheek, and said in his language: "best boy, good, good!" i took my "_gemarra_" under my arm, kissed the "_mezuzah_," and went off to "_cheder_" like one newly born, with a clean heart, and fresh, pious thoughts. the sun looked down, and greeted me with its warm rays. the little breeze stole in under one of my earlocks. the birds twittered--tif--tif--tif--tif! i was lifted up. i was borne on the breeze. i wanted to run, jump, dance. oh, how good it is--how sweet to be alive and to be honest, when one is not a thief and not a liar. i pressed my "_gemarra_" tightly to my breast, and still tighter. i ran to "_cheder_" with pleasure, with joy. and i swore by my "_gemarra_" that i would never, never touch what belonged to another--never, never steal, and never, never deny anything again. i would always be honest, for ever and ever honest. on the fiddle children, i will now play for you a little tune on the fiddle. i imagine there is nothing better and finer in the world than to be able to play on the fiddle. what? perhaps it is not so? i don't know how it is with you. but i know that since i first reached the age of understanding, my heart longed for a fiddle. i loved as my life any musician whatever--no matter what instrument he played. if there was a wedding anywhere in the town, i was the first to run forward and welcome the musicians. i loved to steal over to the bass, and draw my fingers across one of the strings--boom! and i flew away. boom! and i flew away. for this same "boom" i once got it hot from berel bass. berel bass--a cross jew with a flattened out nose, and a sharp glance--pretended not to see me stealing over to the bass. and when i stretched out my hand to the thick string, he caught hold of me by the ear and dragged me, respectfully, to the door: "here, scamp, kiss the '_mezuzah_.'" but this was not of much consequence to me. it did not make me go a single step from the musicians. i loved them all, from sheika the little fiddler with his beautiful black beard and his thin white hands, to getza the drummer with his beautiful hump, and, if you will forgive me for mentioning it, the big bald patches behind his ears. not once, but many times did i lie hidden under a bench, listening to the musicians playing, though i was frequently found and sent home. and from there, from under the bench, i could see how sheika's thin little fingers danced about over the strings; and i listened to the sweet sounds which he drew so cleverly out of the little fiddle. afterwards i used to go about in a state of great inward excitement for many days on end. and sheika and his little fiddle stood before my eyes always. at night i saw him in my dreams; and in the daytime i saw him in reality; and he never left my imagination. when no one was looking i used to imagine that i was sheika, the little fiddler. i used to curve my left arm and move my fingers, and draw out my right hand, as if i were drawing the bow across the strings. at the same time i threw my head to one side, closing my eyes a little--just as sheika did, not a hair different. my "_rebbe_," nota-leib, once caught me doing this. it happened in the middle of a lesson. i was moving my arms about, throwing my head to one side, and blinking my eyes, and he gave me a sound box on the ears. "what a scamp can do! we are teaching him his lessons, and he makes faces and catches flies!" * * * i promised myself that, even if the world turned upside down, i must have a little fiddle, let it cost me what it would. but what was i to make a fiddle out of? of cedar wood, of course. but it's easy to talk of cedar wood. how was i to come by it when, as everybody knows, the cedar tree grows only in palestine? but what does the lord do for me? he goes and puts a certain thought in my head. in our house there was an old sofa. this sofa was left us, as a legacy, by our grandfather "_reb_" anshel. and my two uncles fought over this sofa with my father--peace be unto him! my uncle benny argued that since he was my grandfather's oldest son, the sofa belonged to him; and my uncle sender argued that he was the youngest son, and that the sofa belonged to him. and my father--peace be unto him!--argued that although he was no more than a son-in-law to my grandfather, and had no personal claim on the sofa, still, since his wife, my mother, that is, was the only daughter of "_reb_" anshel, the sofa belonged, by right, to her. but all this happened long ago. and as the sofa has remained in our house, this was a proof that it was our sofa. and our two aunts interfered, my aunt etka, and my aunt zlatka. they began to invent scandals and to carry tales from one house to another. it was sofa and sofa, and nothing else but sofa! the town rocked, all because of the sofa. however, to make a long story short, the sofa remained our sofa. this same sofa was an ordinary wooden sofa covered with a thin veneer. this veneer had come unloosened in many places and was split up. it had now a number of small mounds. and the upper layer of the veneer which had come unloosened was of the real cedar wood--the wood of which fiddles are made. at least, that is what i was told at school. the sofa had one fault, and this fault was, in reality, a good quality. for instance, when one sat on it one could not get up off it again because it stood a little on the slant. one side was higher than the other, and in the middle there was a hole. and the good thing about our sofa was that no one wanted to sit on it, and it was put away in a corner, to one side, in compulsory retirement. it was on this sofa that i had cast my eyes, to make a fiddle out of the cedar wood veneer. a bow i had already provided myself with, long ago. i had a comrade, shimalle yudel, the car-owner's son. he promised me a few hairs from the tail of his father's horse. and resin to smear the bow with i had myself. i hated to depend on miracles. i got the resin from another friend of mine, mayer-lippa, sarah's son, for a bit of steel from my mother's old crinoline which had been knocking about in the attic. out of this piece of steel, mayer lippa afterwards made himself a little knife. it is true when i saw the knife i wanted him to change back again with me. but he would not have it. he began to shout: "a clever fellow that! what do you say to him! i worked hard for three whole nights. i sharpened and sharpened and cut all my fingers sharpening, and now he comes and wants me to change back again with him!" "just look at him!" i cried. "well then, it won't be! a great bargain for you--a little bit of steel! isn't there enough steel knocking about in our attic? there will be enough for our children, and our children's children even." anyway, i had everything that was necessary. and there only remained one thing for me to do--to scale off the cedar wood from the sofa. for this work i selected a very good time, when my mother was in the shop, and my father had gone to lie down and have a nap after dinner. i hid myself in a corner and, with a big nail, i betook myself to my work in good earnest. my father heard, in his sleep, how some one was scraping something. at first he thought there were mice in the house, and he began to make a noise from his bedroom to drive them off--"kush! kush!" i was like dead.... my father turned over on the other side and when i heard him snoring again, i went back to my work. suddenly i looked about me. my father was standing and staring at me with curious eyes. it appeared that he could not, on any account, understand what was going on--what i was doing. then, when he saw the spoiled and torn sofa, he realized what i had done. he pulled me out of the corner by the ear and beat me so much that i fainted away and had to be revived. i actually had to have cold water thrown over me to bring me to life again. "the lord be with you! what have you done to the child?" my mother wailed, the tears starting to her eyes. "your beautiful son! he will drive me into my grave, while i am still living," said my father, who was white as chalk. he put his hand to his heart and was attacked by a fit of coughing which lasted several minutes. "why should you eat your heart out like this?" my mother asked him. "as it is you are a sickly man. just look at the face you've got. may my enemies have as healthy a year!" * * * my desire to play the fiddle grew with me. the older i grew, the stronger became my desire. and, as if out of spite, i was destined to hear music every day of the week. right in the middle of the road, halfway between my home and the school, stood a little house covered with earth. and from that house came forth various sweet sounds. but most often than all the playing of a fiddle could be heard. in that house there lived a musician whose name was naphtali "_bezborodka_,"--a jew who wore a short jacket, curled-up earlocks, and a starched collar. he had a fine-sized nose. it looked as if it had been stuck on his face. he had thick lips and black teeth. his face was pock-pitted, and had not on it even signs of a beard. that is why he was called "_bezborodka_," the beardless one. he had a wife who was like a machine. the people called her "mother eve." of children he had about a dozen and a half. they were ragged, half-naked, and bare-footed. and each child, from the biggest to the smallest, played on a musical instrument. one played the fiddle, another the 'cello, another the double-bass, another the trumpet, another the "_ballalaika_," another the drum, and another the cymbals. and amongst them there were some who could whistle the longest melody with their lips, or between their teeth. others could play tunes on little glasses, or little pots, or bits of wood. and some made music with their faces. they were demons, evil spirits--nothing else. i made the acquaintance of this family quite by accident. one day, as i was standing outside the window of their house, listening to them playing, one of the children, pinna the flautist, a youth of about fifteen, in bare feet, caught sight of me through the window. he came out to me and asked me if i liked his playing. "i only wish," said i, "that i may play as well as you in ten years' time." "can't you manage it?" he asked of me. and he told me that for two and a half '_roubles_' a month, his father would teach me how to play. but if i liked he himself, the son, that is, would teach me. "which instrument would you like to learn to play?" he asked. "on the fiddle?" "on the fiddle." "on the fiddle?" he repeated. "can you pay two and a half '_roubles_' a month? or are you as unfortunate as i am?" "so far as that goes, i can manage it," i said. "but what then? neither my father nor my mother, nor my teacher must know that i am learning to play the fiddle." "the lord keep us from telling it!" he cried. "whose business is it to drum the news through the town? maybe you have on you a cigar end, or a cigarette? no? you don't smoke? then lend me a '_kopek_' and i will buy cigarettes for myself. but you must tell no one, because my father must not know that i smoke. and if my mother finds that i have money, she will take it from me and buy rolls for supper. come into the house. what are we standing here for?" * * * with great fear, with a palpitating heart and trembling limbs, i crossed the threshold of the house that was to me a little garden of eden. my friend pinna introduced me to his father. "shalom--nahum veviks--a rich man's boy. he wants to learn to play the fiddle." naphtali "_bezborodka_" twirled his earlocks, straightened his collar, buttoned up his coat, and started a long conversation with me, all about music and musical instruments in general and the fiddle in particular. he gave me to understand that the fiddle was the best and most beautiful of all instruments. there was none older and none more wonderful in the world than the fiddle. to prove this to me, he went on to tell me that the fiddle was always the leading instrument of any orchestra, and not the trumpet or the flute. and this was simply because the fiddle was the mother of all musical instruments. and so it came about that naphtali "_bezborodka_" gave me a whole lecture on music. whilst he was speaking he gesticulated with his hands and moved his nose, and i stood staring right into his mouth. i looked at his black teeth and swallowed, yes, positively swallowed, every word that he said. "the fiddle, you must understand," went on naphtali "_bezborodka_" to me, and evidently satisfied with the lecture he was giving me, "the fiddle, you must understand, is an instrument that is older than all other instruments. the first man in the world to play on the fiddle was jubal-cain, or methuselah, i don't exactly remember which. you will know that better than i, for, to be sure, you are learning bible history at school. the second fiddler in the world was king david. another great fiddler--the third greatest in the world--was paganini. he also was a jew. all the best fiddlers in the world were jews. for instance there was '_stempenyu_,' and there was '_pedotchur_.' of myself i say nothing. people tell me that i do not play the fiddle badly. but how can i come up to paganini? they say that paganini sold his soul to the ashmodai for a fiddle. paganini hated to play before great people like kings and popes, although they covered him with gold. he would much rather play at wayside inns for poor folks, or in villages. or else he would play in the forest for wild beasts and fowls of the air. what a fiddler paganini was!... "eh, boys, to your places! to your instruments!" that was the order which naphtali "_bezborodka_" gave to his regiment of children, all of whom came together in one minute. each one took up an instrument. naphtali himself stood up, beat his baton on the table, threw a sharp glance on every separate child and on all at once; and they began to play a concert on every sort of instrument with so much force that i was almost knocked off my feet. each child tried to make more noise than the other. but above all, i was nearly deafened by the noise that one boy made, a little fellow who was called hemalle. he was a dry little boy with a wet little nose, and dirty bare little feet. hemalle played a curiously made instrument. it was a sort of sack which, when you blew it up, let out a mad screech--a peculiar sound like a yell of a cat after you have trodden on its tail. hemalle beat time with his little bare foot. and all the while he kept looking at me out of his roguish little eyes, and winking to me as if he would say: "well, isn't it so? i blow well--don't i?" but it was naphtali himself who worked the hardest of all. along with playing the fiddle, he led the orchestra, waved his hands about, shifted his feet, and moved his nose, and his eyes and his whole body. and if some one made a mistake--god forbid! he ground his teeth and shouted in anger: "forte, devil, forte! fortissimo! time, wretch, time! one, two, three! one, two, three!" * * * having arranged with naphtali "_bezborodka_" that he should give me three lessons a week, of an hour and a half each day, for two "_roubles_" a month, i again and yet again begged of him that he would keep my visits a secret of secrets; for if he did not, i would be lost forever. he promised me faithfully that not even a bird would hear of my coming and going. "we are the sort of people," he said to me, proudly, fixing his collar in place, "we are the sort of people who never have any money. but you will find more honour and justice in our house than in the house of the richest man. maybe you have a few '_groschens_' about you?" i took out a "_rouble_" and gave it to him. naphtali took it in the manner of a professor, with his two fingers. he called over "mother eve," turned away his eyes, and said to her: "here! buy something to eat." "mother eve" took the "_rouble_" from him, but with both hands and all her fingers, examined it on all sides, and asked her husband: "what shall i buy?" "what you like," he answered, pretending not to care. "buy a few rolls, two or three salt herring, and some dried sausage. and don't forget an onion, vinegar and oil. well, and a glass of brandy, say--" when all these things were brought home and placed upon the table, the family fell upon them with as much appetite as if they had just ended a long fast. i was actually tempted by an evil spirit; and when they asked me to take my place at the table i could not refuse. i do not remember when i enjoyed a meal as much as i enjoyed the one at the musician's house that day. after they had eaten everything, naphtali winked to the children that they should take their instruments in their hands. and he treated me, all over again to a piece--"his own composition." this "composition" was played with so much excitement and force that my ears were deafened and my brain was stupefied. i left the house intoxicated by naphtali "_bezborodka's_" "composition." the whole day at school, the teacher and the boys and the books were whirling round and round in front of my eyes. and my ears were ringing with the echoes of naphtali's "composition." at night i dreamt that i saw paganini riding on the ashmodai, and that he banged me over the head with his fiddle. i awoke with a scream, and a headache, and i began to pour out words as from a sack. what i said i do not know. but my older sister, pessel, told me afterwards that i talked in heat, and that there was no connection between any two words i uttered. i repeated some fantastic names--"composition." "paganini," etc.... and there was another thing my sister told me. during the time i was lying delirious, several messages were sent from naphtali the musician to know how i was. there came some barefoot boy who made many inquiries about me. he was driven off, and was told never to dare to come near the house again.... "what was the musician's boy doing here?" asked my sister. and she tormented me with questions. she wanted me to tell her. but i kept repeating the same words: "i do not know. as i live, i do not know. how am i to know?" "what does it look like?" asked my mother. "you are already a young man, a grown-up man--may no evil eye harm you! they will be soon looking for a bride for you, and you go about with fine friends, barefoot young musicians. what business have you with musicians? what was naphtali the musician's boy doing here?" "what naphtali?" i asked, pretending not to understand. "what musician?" "just look at him--the saint!" put in my father. "he knows nothing about anything. poor thing! his soul is innocent before the lord! when i was your age i was already long betrothed. and he is still playing with strange boys. dress yourself, and go off to school. and if you meet hershel the tax-collector, and he asks you what was the matter with you, you are to tell him that you had the ague. do you hear what i am saying to you? the ague!" i could not for the life of me understand what business hershel the tax-collector had with me. and for what reason was i to tell him i had been suffering from the ague?... it was only a few weeks later that this riddle was solved for me. * * * hershel the tax-collector was so called because he, and his grandfather before him, had collected the taxes of the town. it was the privilege of their family. he was a young man with a round little belly, and a red little beard, and moist little eyes, and he had a broad white forehead, a sure sign that he was a man of brains. and he had the reputation in our town of being a fine, young man, a modern, and a scholar. he had a sound knowledge of the bible, and was a writer of distinction. that is to say, he had a beautiful hand. they say that his manuscripts were carried around and shown in the whole world. and along with these qualities, he had money, and he had one little daughter--an only child, a girl with red hair and moist eyes. she and her father, hershel the tax-collector, were as like as two drops of water. her name was esther, but she was called by the nickname of "plesteril." she was nervous and genteel. she was as frightened of us, schoolboys, as of the angel of death, because we used to torment her. we used to tease her and sing little songs about her: "estheril." "plesteril!" "why have you no little sister?" well, after all, what is there in these words? nothing, of course. nevertheless, whenever "plesteril" heard them, she used to cover up her ears, run home crying, and hide herself away in the farthest of far corners. and, for several days, she was afraid to go out in the street. but that was once on a time, when she was still a child. now she is a young woman, and is counted amongst the grown-ups. her hair was tied up in a red plait, and she was dressed like a bride, in the latest fashions. my mother had a high opinion of her. she could never praise her enough, and called her "a quiet dove." sometimes, on the sabbath esther came into our house, to see my sister pessel. and when she saw me, she grew redder than ever, and dropped her eyes. at the same time, my sister pessel would call me over to ask me something, and also to look into my eyes as she looked into esther's. and it came to pass that, on a certain day, there came into my school my father and hershel the tax-collector. and after them came shalom-shachno the matchmaker--a jew who had six fingers, and a curly black beard, and who was terribly poor. seeing such visitors, our teacher, "_reb_" zorach, pulled on his long coat, and put his hat on his head. and because of his great excitement, one of his earlocks got twisted up behind his ear. his hat got creased; and more than half of his little round cap was left sticking out at the back of his head, from under his hat; and one of his cheeks began to blaze. one could see that something extraordinary was going to happen. of late, "_reb_" shalom-shachno the matchmaker had started coming into the school a little too often. he always called the teacher outside, where they stood talking together for some minutes, whispering and getting excited. the matchmaker gesticulated with his hands, and shrugged his shoulders. he always finished up with a sigh, and said: "well, it's the same story again. if it is destined it will probably take place. how can we know anything--how?" when the visitors came in, our teacher, "_reb_" zorach, did not know what to do, or where he was to seat them. he took hold of the kitchen stool on which his wife salted the meat, and first of all spun round and round with it several times, and went up and down the whole length of the room. after this, he barely managed to place the stool on the floor when he sat down on it himself. but he at once jumped up again, greatly confused; and he caught hold of the back pocket of his long coat, just as if he had lost a purse of money. "here is a stool. sit down," he said to his visitors. "it's all right! sit down, sit down," said my father to him. "we have come in to you, '_reb_' zorach, only for a minute. this gentleman wants to examine my son--to see what he knows of the bible." and my father pointed to hershel the tax-collector. "oh, by all means! why not?" answered the teacher, "_reb_" zorach. he took up a little bible, and handed it to hershel the tax-collector. the expression on his face was as if he were saying: "here it is for you, and do what you like." hershel the tax-collector took the bible in his hand like a man who knows thoroughly what he is doing. he twisted his little head to one side, closed one eye, turned and turned the pages, and gave me to read the first chapter of the "song of songs." "is it the 'song of songs'?" asked my teacher, with a faint smile, as if he would say: "could you find nothing more difficult?" "the 'song of songs,'" replied hershel the tax-collector. "the 'song of songs' is not as easy as you imagine. one must undehstand the 'song of songs.'" (hershel could not pronounce the letter r but said h.) "certainly," put in shalom-shachno, with a little laugh. the teacher gave me a wink. i went over to the table, shook myself to and fro for a minute, and began to chant the "song of songs" to a beautiful melody, first introducing this commentary on it:-- "the 'song of songs'--a song above all songs! all other songs have been sung by prophets, but this 'song' has been sung by a prophet who was the son of a prophet. all other songs have been sung by men of wisdom, but this 'song' has been sung by a man of wisdom who was the son of a man of wisdom. all other songs have been sung by kings, but this 'song' has been sung by a king who was the son of a king." whilst i was singing, i glanced quickly at my audience. and on each face i could see a different expression. on my father's face i could see pride and pleasure. on my teacher's face were fear and anxiety, lest, god forbid! i should make a mistake, or commit errors in reading. his lips, in silence, repeated every word after me. hershel the tax-collector sat with his head a little to one side, the ends of his yellow beard in his mouth, one little eye closed, the other staring up at the ceiling. he was listening with the air of a great, great judge. "_reb_" shalom-shachno the matchmaker never took his eyes off hershel for a single minute. he sat with half his body leaning forward, shaking himself to and fro, as i did. and he could not restrain himself from interrupting me many times by an exclamation, a little laugh and a cough, all in one breath, as he waved his double-jointed finger in the air. "when people say that he knows--then he knows!" a few days after this, plates were broken, and in a fortunate hour, i was betrothed to hershel the tax-collector's only daughter, plesteril. * * * it sometimes happens that a man grows in one day more than anybody else grows in ten years. when i was betrothed, i, all at once, began to feel that i was a "grown-up." surely i was the same as before, and yet i was not the same. from my smallest comrade to my teacher "_reb_" zorach, everybody now began to look upon me with more respect. after all, i was a bridegroom-elect, and had a watch. and my father also gave up shouting at me. of smacks there is no need to say anything. how could any one take hold of a bridegroom-elect who had a gold watch, and smack his face for him? it would be a disgrace before the whole world, and a shame for one's own self. it is true that it once happened that a bridegroom-elect named eli was flogged at our school, because he had been caught sliding on the ice with the gentile boys of the town. but for that again, the whole town made a fine business of the flogging afterwards. when the scandal reached the ears of eli's betrothed, she cried so much until the marriage contract was sent back to the bridegroom-elect, to eli, that is. and through grief and shame, he would have thrown himself into the river, but that the water was frozen.... nearly as bad a misfortune happened to me. but it was not because i got a flogging, and not because i went sliding on the ice. it was because of a fiddle. and here is the story for you:-- at our wine-shop we had a frequent visitor, tchitchick, the bandmaster, whom we used to call "mr. sergeant." he was a tall, powerful man with a big round beard and terrifying eyebrows. and he talked a curiously mixed-up jargon composed of several languages. when he talked, he moved his eyebrows up and down. when he lowered his eyebrows, his face was black as night. when he raised them up, his face was bright as day. and this was because, under these same thick eyebrows he had a pair of kindly, smiling light blue eyes. he wore a uniform with gilt buttons, and that is why he was called at our place "mr. sergeant." he was a very frequent visitor at our wine-shop. not because he was a drunkard. god forbid! but for the simple reason that my father was very clever at making from raisins "the best and finest hungarian wine." tchitchick used to love this wine. he never ceased from praising it. he used to put his big, terrifying hand on my father's shoulder, and say to him: "mr. cellarer, you have the best hungarian wine. there isn't such wine in buda pesth, by god!" with me tchitchick was always on the most intimate terms. he praised me for learning such a lot at school. he often examined me to see if i knew who adam was. and who was isaac? and who was joseph? "yousef?" i asked him, in yiddish. "do you mean yousef the saint?" "joseph," he repeated. "yousef," i corrected him, once again. "with us it's joseph. with you it's youdsef," he said to me, and pinched my cheek. "joseph, youdsef, youdsef, dsodsepf--what does it matter? it is all the same." "ha! ha! ha!" i buried my face in my hands, and laughed heartily. but from the day i became a bridegroom-elect, tchitchick gave up playing with me as if i were a clown; and he began to talk to me as if i were his equal. he told me stories of the regiment and of musicians. "mr. sergeant" had a tremendous lot of talk in him. but no one else excepting myself had the time to listen to him. on one occasion he began to talk to me of playing. and i asked him: "on which instrument does 'mr. sergeant' play?" "on all instruments," he answered, and raised his eyebrows at me. "on the fiddle, also?" i asked him. and all at once he took on, in my imagination, the face of an angel. "come over to me some day," he said, "and i will play for you." "when can i come to you mr. sargeant, if not on the sabbath day?" i asked. "but i can only come on condition that no-one knows anything about it." "can you promise that?" "as i serve god," he exclaimed, and lifted his eyebrows at me. tchitchick lived far out of town. in a little white house that had tidy windows and painted shutters. leading up to it, there was a big green garden from out of which peeked proudly a number of tall, yellow sunflowers. as if they were something important. they bent their heads a little to one side and shook themselves to and fro. it seemed to me that they were calling out to me, "come over here to us, boy." "there is grass here. there is freedom here. there is light here. it is fresh here. it is warm here. it is pleasant here." and after the stench and heat and dust of the town, and after the overcrowding and the noise and the tumult of the school, one was indeed glad to get here because there is grass here. it is fresh here. it is bright here. it is warm here. it is pleasant here. one longs to run, leap shout and sing. or else one wants suddenly to throw oneself on the bear earth. to bury one's face in the green sweet smelling grass. but alas, this is not for you jewish children. yellow sunflowers, green leaves, fresh air, pure earth or a clear day. do not be offended jewish children. but all these have not grown up out of your rubbish. i was met by a big, shaggy-haired dog with red, fiery eyes. he fell upon me with so much fierceness that the soul almost dropped out of my body. it was fortunate that he was tied up with a rope. on hearing my screams, tchitchick flew out without his jacket and began ordering the dog to be silent. and he was silent. afterwards, tchitchick took hold of my hand, led me straight to the black dog and told me not to be afraid. he would not harm me. "just try and pat him on the back," said tchitchick to me. and without waiting, took hold of my hand and drew it all over the dog's skin. at the same time calling him many curious names and speaking kind words to him. the black villain lowered his head, wagged his tail and licked himself with his tongue. he threw at me a glance of contempt. as if he would say, "it's lucky for you that my master is standing beside you. otherwise you would have gone from here without a hand." i got over my terror of the dog. i entered the house with mr. sargeant and i was struck dumb with astonishment. all the walls were covered with guns. from top to bottom. and on the floor lay a skin with the head of a lion or a leopard. it had terribly sharp teeth. but the lion was half an evil. after all, it was dead. but the guns. the guns! i did not even care about the fresh plums and the apples which the master of the house offered me out of his own garden. my eyes did not cease leaping from one wall to the other.... but later on, when tchitchick took a little fiddle out of a red drawer--a beautiful, round little fiddle, with a curious little belly, let his big spreading beard droop over it, and held it with his big strong hands, and drew the bow across the strings a few times, backwards and forwards, i forgot, in the blinking of an eye, the black dog and the terrible lion, and the loaded guns. i only saw before me tchitchick's spreading beard and his black, lowered eyebrows. i only saw a round little fiddle with a curious little belly, and fingers which danced over the strings so rapidly that no human brain could answer the questions which arose to my mind: "where does one get so many fingers?" presently, tchitchick and his spreading beard, vanished, along with his thick eyebrows and his wonderful fingers. and i saw nothing at all before me. i only heard a singing, a groaning, a weeping, a sobbing, a talking, and a growling. they were extraordinary, peculiar sounds that i heard, the like of which i had never heard before, in all my life. sounds sweet as honey, and smooth as oil were pouring themselves right into my heart, without ceasing. and my soul went off somewhere far from the little house, into another world, into a garden of eden which was nothing else but beautiful sounds--which was one mass of singing, from beginning to end.... "do you want some tea?" asked tchitchick of me, putting down the little fiddle, and slapping me on the shoulder. i felt as if i had fallen down from the seventh heaven on to the earth. from that day i visited tchitchick regularly every sabbath afternoon, to hear him playing the fiddle. i went straight to the house. i was afraid of no one; and i even became such good friends with the black dog that, when he saw me, he wagged his tail, and wanted to fall upon me to lick my hands. i would not let him do this. "let us rather be good friends from the distance." at home not even a bird knew where i spent the sabbath afternoons. i was a bridegroom-elect, after all. and no one would have known of my visits to tchitchick to this day, if a new misfortune had not befallen me--a great misfortune, of which i will now tell you. * * * surely it is no one's affair if a jewish young man goes for a walk on the sabbath afternoon a little beyond the town? have people really got nothing better to do than to think of others and look after them to see where they are going? but of what use are such questions as these? it lies in our nature, in the jewish nature, i mean, to look well after every one else, to criticize others and advise them. for example, a jew will go over to his neighbour, at prayers, and straighten out the "frontispiece" of his phylacteries. or he will stop his neighbour, who is running with the greatest haste and excitement, to tell him that the leg of his trouser is turned up. or he will point his finger at his neighbour, so that the other shall not know what is amiss with him, whether it is his nose, or his beard, or what the deuce is wrong with him. or a jew will take a thing out of his neighbour's hand, when the other is struggling to open it, and will say to him: "you don't know how. let me." or should he see his neighbour building a house, he will come over to look for a fault in it. he says he believes the ceiling is too high, the rooms are too small, or the windows are awkwardly large. and there seems nothing else left the builder to do but scatter the house to pieces, and start it all over again.... we jews have been distinguished by this habit of interfering from time immemorial--from the very first day on which the world was created. and you and i between us will never alter the world full of jews. it is not our duty to even attempt it.... after this long introduction, it will be easy for you to understand how ephraim log-of-wood--a jew who was a black stranger to me, and who did not care a button for any of us--should poke his nose into my affairs. he sniffed and smelled my tracks, and found out where i went on sabbath afternoons, and got me into trouble. he swore that he himself saw me eating forbidden food at the house of "mr. sergeant," and that i was smoking a cigarette on the sabbath. "may i see myself enjoying all that is good!" he cried. "if it is not as i say, may i never get to the place where i am going," he said. "and if i am uttering the least word of falsehood, may my mouth be twisted to one side, and may my two eyes drop out of my head," he added. "amen! may it be so," i cried. and i caught from my father another smack in the face. i must not be insolent, he told me.... but i imagine i am rushing along too quickly with my story. i am giving you the soup before the fish. i was forgetting entirely to tell you who ephraim log-of-wood was, and what he was, and how the incident happened. at the end of the town, on the other side of the bridge, there lived a jew named ephraim log-of-wood. why was he called log-of-wood? because he had once dealt in timber. and today he is not dealing in timber because something happened to him. he said it was libel, a false accusation. people found at his place a strange log of wood with a strange name branded on it. and he had a fine lot of trouble after that. he had a case, and he had appeals, and he had to send petitions. he just managed to escape from being put into prison. from that time, he threw away all trading, and betook himself to looking after public matters. he pushed himself into all institutions, the tax-collecting, and the work done at the house of learning. generally speaking, he was not so well off. he was often put to shame publicly. but as time went on, he insinuated himself into everybody's bones. he gave people to understand that "he knew where a door was opening." and in the course of time, ephraim became a useful person, a person it was hard to do without. that is how a worm manages to crawl into an apple. he makes himself comfortable, makes a soft bed for himself, makes himself a home, and in time becomes the real master of the house. in person, ephraim was a tiny little man. he had short little legs, and small little hands, and red little cheeks, and a quick walk which was a sort of a little dance. and he tossed his little head about. his speech was rapid, and his voice squeaky. and he laughed with a curious little laugh which sounded like the rattling of dried peas. i could not bear to look at him, i don't know why. every sabbath afternoon, when i was going to tchitchick's, i used to meet ephraim on the bridge, walking along, in a black, patched cloak, the sleeves of which hung loosely over his shoulders. his hands were folded in front of him, and he was singing in his thin little voice. and the ends of his long cloak kept dangling at his heels. "a good sabbath," i said to him. "a good sabbath," he replied. "and where is a boy going?" "just for a walk," i said. "for a walk? all alone?" he asked. and he looked straight into my eyes with such a little smile that it was hard to guess what he meant by it--whether he thought that it was very brave of me to be walking all alone or not. was it, in his opinion, a wise thing to do, or a foolish? * * * on one occasion, when i was going to tchitchick's house, i noticed that ephraim log-of-wood was looking at me very curiously. i stopped on the bridge and gazed into the water. ephraim also stopped on the bridge, and he also gazed into the water. i started to go back. he followed me. i turned round again, to go forward, and he also turned round in the same direction. a few minutes later, he was lost to me. when i was sitting at tchitchick's table, drinking tea, we heard the black dog barking loudly at some one, and tearing at his rope. we looked out of the window, and i imagined i saw a low-sized, black figure with short little legs, running, running. then it disappeared from view. from his manner of running, i could have sworn the little creature was ephraim log-of-wood. and thus it came to pass-- i came home late that sabbath evening. it was already after the "_havdalah_." my face was burning. and i found ephraim log-of-wood sitting at the table. he was talking very rapidly, and was laughing with his curious little laugh. when he saw me, he was silent. he started drumming on the table with his short little fingers. opposite him sat my father. his face was death-like. he was pulling at his beard, tearing out the hairs one by one. this was a sure sign that he was in a temper. "where have you come from?" my father asked of me and looked at ephraim. "where am i to come from?" said i. "how do i know where you are to come from?" said he. "you tell me where you have come from. you know better than i." "from the house of learning," said i. "and where were you the whole day?" said he. "where could i be?" said i. "how do i know?" said he. "you tell me. you know better than i." "at the house of learning," said i. "what were you doing at the house of learning?" said he. "what should i be doing at the house of learning?" said i. "do i know what you could be doing there?" said he. "i was learning," said i. "what were you learning?" said he. "what should i learn?" said i. "do i know what you should learn?" said he. "i was learning '_gemarra_' were you learning?" said he. "what '_gemarra_' should i learn?" said i. "do i know what '_gemarra_' you should learn?" said he. "i learnt the '_gemarra_', '_shabos_'," said i. at this ephraim log-of-wood burst out laughing in his rattling little laugh. and it seemed that my father could bear no more. he jumped up from his seat and delivered me two resounding fiery boxes on the ears. stars flew before my eyes. my mother heard my shouts from the other room. she flew into us with a scream. "nahum! the lord be with you! what are you doing? a young man--a bridegroom-elect! just before his wedding! bethink yourself! if her father gets to know of this--god forbid!" * * * my mother was right. the girl's father got to know the whole story. ephraim log-of-wood went off himself and told it to him. and in this way ephraim had his revenge of hershel the tax-collector; for the two had always been at the point of sticking knives into one another. * * * next day i got back the marriage-contract and the presents which had been given to the bride-elect. and i was no longer a bridegroom-elect. this grieved my father so deeply that he fell into a very serious illness. he was bedridden for a long time. he would not let me come near him. he refused to look into my face. all my mother's tears and arguments and explanations and her defence of me were of no use at all. "the disgrace," said my father, "the disgrace of it is worse than anything else." "may it turn out to be a real, true sacrifice for us all," said my mother to him. "the lord will have to send us another bride-elect. what can we do? shall we take our own lives? perhaps it is not his destiny to marry this girl." amongst those who came to visit my father in his illness was tchitchick the bandmaster. when my father saw him, he took off his little round cap, sat up in his bed, stretched out his hand to him, looked straight into his eyes and said: "oh, 'mr. sergeant!' 'mr. sergeant!'" he could not utter another sound, because he was smothered by his tears and his cough.... this was the first time in my life that i saw my father crying. his tears gripped hold of my heart, and chilled me to the very soul. i stood and looked out of the window, swallowing my tears in silence. at that moment, i was heartily sorry for all the mischief i had done. i cried within myself, from the very depths of my heart, beating my breast: "i have sinned." and within myself, i vowed solemnly to myself that i would never, never anger my father again, and never, never cause him any pain. no more fiddle! this night "to my dear son, "i send you--'_roubles_,' and beg of you, my dear son, to do me the favour, and come home for the passover festival. it is a disgrace to me in my old age. we have one son, an only child, and we are not worthy to see him. your mother also asks me to beg of you to be sure to come home for the passover. and you must know that busie is to be congratulated. she is now betrothed. and if the lord wills it, she is going to be married on the sabbath after the feast of weeks. "from me, "your father." this is the letter my father wrote to me. for the first time a sharp letter--for the first time in all those years since we had parted. and we had parted from one another, father and i, in silence, without quarrelling. i had acted in opposition to his wishes. i would not go his road, but my own road. i went abroad to study. at first my father was angry. he said he would never forgive me. later, he began to send me money. "i send you--'_roubles_,'" he used to write, "and your mother sends you her heartiest greetings." short, dry letters he wrote me. and my replies to him were also short and dry: "i have received your letter with the--'_roubles_.' i thank you, and i send my mother my heartiest greetings." cold, terribly cold were our letters to one another. who had time to realize where i found myself in the world of dreams in which i lived? but now my father's letter woke me up. not so much his complaint that it was a shame i should have left him alone in his old age--that it was a disgrace for him that his only son should be away from him. i will confess it that this did not move me so much. neither did my mother's pleadings with me that i should have pity on her and come home for the passover festival. nothing took such a strong hold of me as the last few lines of my father's letter. "and you must know that busie is to be congratulated." busie! the same busie who has no equal anywhere on earth, excepting in the "song of songs"--the same busie who is bound up with my life, whose childhood is interwoven closely with my childhood--the same busie who always was to me the bewitched queen's daughter of all my wonderful fairy tales--the most wonderful princess of my golden dreams--this same busie is now betrothed, is going to be married on the sabbath after the feast of weeks? is it true that she is going to be married, and not to me, but to some one else? * * * who is busie--what is she? oh, do you not know who busie is? have you forgotten? then i will tell you her biography all over again, briefly, and in the very same words i used when telling it you once on a time, years ago. i had an older brother, benny. he was drowned. he left after him a water-mill, a young widow, two horses, and one child. the mill was neglected; the horses were sold; the young widow married again and went away somewhere, far; and the child was brought home to our house. that child was busie. and busie was beautiful as the lovely shulamite of the "song of songs." whenever i saw busie i thought of the shulamite of the "song of songs." and whenever i read the "song of songs" busie's image came up and stood before me. her name is the short for esther-liba: libusa: busie. she grew up together with me. she called my father "father," and my mother "mother." everybody thought that we were sister and brother. and we grew up together as if we were sister and brother. and we loved one another as if we were sister and brother. like a sister and a brother we played together, and we hid in a corner--we two; and i used to tell her the fairy tales i learnt at school--the tales which were told me by my comrade sheika, who knew everything, even "_kaballa_." i told her that by means of "_kaballa_," i could do wonderful tricks--draw wine from a stone, and gold from a wall. by means of "_kaballa_," i told her, i could manage that we two should rise up into the clouds, and even higher than the clouds. oh, how she loved to hear me tell my stories! there was only one story which busie did not like me to tell--the story of the queen's daughter, the princess who had been bewitched, carried off from under the wedding canopy, and put into a palace of crystal for seven years. and i said that i was flying off to set her free.... busie loved to hear every tale excepting that one about the bewitched queen's daughter whom i was flying off to set free. "you need not fly so far. take my advice, you need not." this is what busie said to me, fixing on my face her beautiful blue "song of songs" eyes. that is who and what busie is. and now my father writes me that i must congratulate busie. she is betrothed, and will be married on the sabbath after the feast of weeks. she is some one's bride--some one else's, not mine! i sat down and wrote a letter to my father, in answer to his. "to my honoured and dear father, "i have received your letter with the--'_roubles_.' in a few days, as soon as i am ready, i will go home, in time for the first days of the passover festival--or perhaps for the latter days. but i will surely come home. i send my heartiest greetings to my mother. and to busie i send my congratulations. i wish her joy and happiness. "from me, "your son." it was a lie. i had nothing to get ready; nor was there any need for me to wait a few days. the same day on which i received my father's letter and answered it, i got on the train and flew home. i arrived home exactly on the day before the festival, on a warm, bright passover eve. i found the village exactly as i had left it, once on a time, years ago. it was not changed by a single hair. not a detail of it was different. it was the same village. the people were the same. the passover eve was the same, with all its noise and hurry and flurry and bustle. and out of doors it was also the same passover eve as when i had been at home, years ago. there was only one thing missing--the "song of songs." no; nothing of the "song of songs" existed any longer. it was not now as it had been, once on a time, years ago. our yard was not any more king solomon's vineyard, of the "song of songs." the wood and the logs and the boards that lay scattered around the house were no longer the cedars and the fir trees. the cat that was stretched out before the door, warming herself in the sun, was no more a young hart, or a roe, such as one comes upon in the "song of songs." the hill on the other side of the synagogue was no more the mountain of lebanon. it was no more one of the mountains of spices.... the young women and girls who were standing out of doors, washing and scrubbing and making everything clean for the passover--they were not any more the daughters of jerusalem of whom mention is made in the "song of songs." ... what has become of my "song of songs" world that was, at one time, so fresh and clear and bright--the world that was as fragrant as though filled with spices? * * * i found my home exactly as i had left it, years before. it was not altered by a hair. it was not different in the least detail. my father, too, was the same. only his silvery-white beard had become a little more silvery. his broad white wrinkled forehead was now a little more wrinkled. this was probably because of his cares.... and my mother was the same as when i saw her last. only her ruddy cheeks were now slightly sallow. and i imagined she had grown smaller, shorter and thinner. perhaps i only imagined this because she was now slightly bent. and her eyes were slightly enflamed, and had little puffy bags under them, as if they were swollen. was it from weeping, perhaps?... for what reason had my mother been weeping? for whom? was it for me, her only son who had acted in opposition to his father's wishes? was it because i would not go the same road as my father, but took my own road, and went off to study, and did not come home for such a long time?... or did my mother weep for busie, because she was getting married on the sabbath after the feast of weeks? ah, busie! she was not changed by so much as a hair. she was not different in the least detail. she had only grown up--grown up and also grown more beautiful than she had been, more lovely. she had grown up exactly as she had promised to grow, tall and slender, and ripe, and full of grace. her eyes were the same blue "song of songs" eyes, but more thoughtful than in the olden times. they were more thoughtful and more dreamy, more careworn and more beautiful "song of songs" eyes than ever. and the smile on her lips was friendly, loving, homely and affectionate. she was quiet as a dove--quiet as a virgin. when i looked at the busie of today, i was reminded of the busie of the past. i recalled to mind busie in her new little holiday frock which my mother had made for her, at that time, for the passover. i remembered the new little shoes which my father had bought for her, at that time, for the passover. and when i remembered the busie of the past, there came back to me, without an effort on my part, all over again, phrase by phrase, and chapter by chapter, the long-forgotten "song of songs." "thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount gilead. "thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which come up from the washing: whereof every one bear twins, and none is barren among them. "thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely: thy temples are like a piece of pomegranate within thy locks." i look at busie, and once again everything is as in the "song of songs," just as it was in the past, once on a time, years before. * * * "busie, am i to congratulate you?" she does not hear me. but why does she lower her eyes? and why have her cheeks turned scarlet? no, i must bid her joy--i must! "i congratulate you, busie." "may you live in happiness," she replies. and that is all. i could ask her nothing. and to talk with her? there was nowhere where i might do that. my father would not let me talk with her. my mother hindered me. our relatives prevented it. the rest of the family, the friends, neighbours and acquaintances who flocked into the house to welcome me, one coming and one going--they would not let me talk with busie either. they all stood around me. they all examined me, as if i were a bear, or a curious creature from another world. everybody wanted to see and hear me--to know how i was getting on, and what i was doing. they had not seen me for such a long time. "tell us something new. what have you seen? what have you heard?" and i told them the news--all that i had seen and all that i had heard. at the same time i was looking at busie. i was searching for her eyes. and i met her eyes--her big, deep, careworn, thoughtful, beautiful blue "song of songs" eyes. but her eyes were dumb, and she herself was dumb. her eyes told me nothing--nothing at all. and there arose to my memory the words i had learnt in the past, the "song of songs" sentence by sentence-- "a garden inclosed is my sister, my spouse: a spring shut up, a fountain sealed." * * * and a storm arose within my brain, and a fire began to burn within my heart. this terrible fire did not rage against anybody, only against myself--against myself and against my dreams of the past--the foolish, boyish, golden dreams for the sake of which i had left my father and my mother. because of those dreams i had forgotten busie. because of them i had sacrificed a great, great part of my life; and because of them, and through them i had lost my happiness--lost it, lost it for ever! lost it for ever? no, it cannot be--it cannot be! have i not come back--have i not returned in good time?... if only i could manage to talk with busie, all alone with her! if only i could get to say a few words to her. but how could i speak with her, all alone, the few words i longed to speak, when everybody was present--when the people were all crowding around me? they were all examining me as if i were a bear, or a curious creature from another world. everybody wanted to see and hear me--to know how i was getting on, and what i was doing. they had not seen me for such a long time! more intently than any one else was my father listening to me. he had a holy book open in front of him, as always. his broad forehead was wrinkled up, as always. he was looking at me from over his silver spectacles, and was stroking the silver strands of his silvery-white beard, as always. and i imagined that he was looking at me with other eyes than he used to look. no, it was not the same look as always. he was reproaching me. i felt that my father was offended with me. i had acted contrary to his wishes. i had refused to go his road, and had taken a road of my own choosing.... my mother, too, was standing close behind me. she came out of the kitchen. she left all her work, the preparations for the passover, and she was listening to me with tears in her eyes. though her face was still smiling, she wiped her eyes in secret with the corners of her apron. she was listening to me attentively. she was staring right into my mouth; and she was swallowing, yes, swallowing every word that i said. and busie also stood over against me. her hands were folded on her bosom. and she was listening to me just as the others were. along with them, she was staring right into my mouth. i looked at busie. i tried to read what was in her eyes; but i could read nothing there, nothing at all, nothing at all. "tell more. why have you grown silent?" my father asked me. "leave him alone. did you ever see the like?" put in my mother hastily. "the child is tired. the child is hungry, and he goes on saying to him: 'tell! tell! tell! and tell!'" * * * the people began to go away by degrees. and we found ourselves alone, my father and my mother, busie and i. my mother went off to the kitchen. in a few minutes she came back, carrying in her hand a beautiful passover plate--a plate i knew well. it was surrounded by a design of big green fig leaves. "perhaps you would like something to eat, shemak? it is a long time to wait until the '_seder_.'" that is what my mother said to me, and with so much affection, so much loyalty and so much passionate devotion. and busie got up, and with silent footfalls, brought me a knife and fork--the well-known passover knife and fork. everything was familiar to me. nothing was changed, nor different by a hair. it was the same plate with the big green fig leaves; the same knife and fork with the white bone handles. the same delicious odour of melted goose-fat came in to me from the kitchen; and the fresh passover cake had the same garden-of-eden taste. nothing was changed by a hair. nothing was different in the least detail. only, in the olden times, we ate together on the passover eve, busie and i, off the same plate. i remember that we ate off the same beautiful passover plate that was surrounded by a design of big green fig leaves. and, at that time, my mother gave us nuts. i remember how she filled our pockets with nuts. and, at that time, we took hold of one another's hands, busie and i. and i remember that we let ourselves go, in the open. we flew like eagles. i ran; she ran after me. i leaped over the logs of wood; she leaped after me. i was up; she was up. i was down; she was down. "shemak! how long are we going to run, shemak?" so said busie to me. and i answered her in the words of the "song of songs": "until the day break, and the shadows flee away." * * * this was once on a time, years ago. now busie is grown up. she is big. and i also am grown up. i also am big. busie is betrothed. she is betrothed to some one--to some one else, and not to me.... and i want to be alone with busie. i want to speak a few words with her. i want to hear her voice. i want to say to her, in the words of the "song of songs": "let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice." and i imagine that her eyes are answering my unspoken words, also in the words of the "song of songs." "come, my beloved, let us go forth into the fields; let us lodge in the villages. "let us get up early to the vineyards; let us see if the vine flourish, whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranates bud forth: there will i give thee my loves." i snatched a glimpse through the window to see what was going on out of doors. ah, how lovely it was! how beautiful! how fragrant of the passover! how like the "song of songs"! it was a sin to be indoors. soon the day would be at an end. lower and lower sank the sun, painting the sky the colour of guinea-gold. the gold was reflected in busie's eyes. they were bathed in gold. soon, soon, the day would be dead. and i would have no time to say a single word to busie. the whole day was spent in talking idly with my father and my mother, my relatives and friends, telling them of all that i had heard, and all that i had seen. i jumped up, and went over to the window. i looked out of it. as i was passing her, i said quickly to busie: "perhaps we should go out for a while? it is so long since i was at home. i want to see everything. i want to have a look at the village." * * * can you tell me what was the matter with busie? her cheeks were at once enflamed. they burned with a great fire. she was as red as the sun that was going down in the west. she threw a glance at my father. i imagined she wanted to hear what my father would say. and my father looked at my mother, over his silver spectacles. he stroked the silver strands of his silvery-white beard, and said casually, to no one in particular: "the sun is setting. it's time to put on our festival garments, and to go into the synagogue to pray. it is time to light the festival candles. what do you say?" no! it seemed that i was not going to get the chance of saying anything to busie that day. we went off to change our garments. my mother had finished her work. she had put on her new silk passover gown. her white hands gleamed. no one has such beautiful white hands as my mother. soon she will make the blessing over the festival candles. she will cover her eyes with her snow-white hands and weep silently, as she used to do once on a time, years ago. the last lingering rays of the setting sun will play on her beautiful, transparent white hands. no one has such beautiful, white transparent hands as my mother. but what is the matter with busie? the light has gone out of her face just as it is going out of the sun that is slowly setting in the west, and as it is going out of the day that is slowly dying. but she is beautiful, and graceful as never before. and there is a deep sadness in her beautiful blue "song of songs" eyes. they are very thoughtful, are busie's eyes. what is busie thinking of now? of the loving guest for whom she had waited, and who had come flying home so unexpectedly, after a long, long absence from home?... or is she thinking of her mother, who married again, and went off somewhere far, and who forgot that she had a daughter whose name was busie?... or is busie now thinking of her betrothed, her affianced husband whom, probably, my father and mother were compelling her to marry against her own inclinations?... or is she thinking of her marriage that is going to take place on the sabbath after the feast of weeks, to a man she does not know, and does not understand? who is he, and what is he?... or, perhaps, on the contrary, i am mistaken? perhaps she is counting the days from the passover to the feast of weeks, until the sabbath after the feast of weeks, because the man she is going to marry on that day is her chosen, her dearest, her beloved? he will lead her under the wedding canopy. to him she will give all her heart, and all her love. and to me? alas! woe is me! to me she is no more than a sister. she always was to me a sister, and always will be.... and i imagine that she is looking at me with pity and with regret, and that she is saying to me, as she said to me, once on a time, years ago, in the words of the "song of songs:" "o that thou wert as my brother." "why are you not my brother?" what answer can i make her to these unspoken words? i know what i should like to say to her. only let me get the chance to say a few words to her, no more than a few. no! i shall not be able to speak a single word with busie this day--nor even half a word. now she is rising from her chair. she is going with light, soft footfalls to the cupboard. she is getting the candles ready for my mother, fixing them into the silver candlesticks. how well i know these silver candlesticks! they played a big part in my golden, boyish dreams of the bewitched queen's daughter whom i was going to rescue from the palace of crystal. the golden dreams, and the silver candlesticks, and the sabbath candles, and my mother's beautiful, white transparent hands, and busie's beautiful blue "song of songs" eyes, and the last rays of the sun that is going down in the west--are they not all one and the same, bound together and interwoven for ever?... "ta!" exclaimed my father, looking out of the window, and winking to me that it was high time to change and go into the synagogue to pray. and we changed our garments, my father and i, and we went into the synagogue to say our prayers. * * * our synagogue, our old, old synagogue was not changed either, not by so much as a hair. not a single detail was different. only the walls had become a little blacker; the reader's desk was older; the curtain before the holy ark had drooped lower; and the holy ark itself had lost its polish, its newness. once on a time, our synagogue had appeared in my eyes like a small copy of king solomon's temple. now the small temple was leaning slightly to one side. ah, what has become of the brilliance, and the holy splendour of our little old synagogue? where now are the angels which used to flutter about, under the carved wings of the holy ark on friday evenings, when we were reciting the prayers in welcome of the sabbath, and on festival evenings when we were reciting the beautiful festival prayers? and the members of the congregation were also very little changed. they were only grown a little older. black beards were now grey. straight shoulders were stooped a little. the satin holiday coats that i knew so well were more threadbare, shabbier. white threads were to be seen in them and yellow stripes. melech the cantor sang as beautifully as in the olden times, years ago. only today his voice is a little husky, and a new tone is to be heard in the old prayers he is chanting. he weeps rather than sings the words. he mourns rather than prays. and our rabbi? the old rabbi? he has not changed at all. he was like the fallen snow when i saw him last, and today is like the fallen snow. he is different only in one trifling respect. his hands are trembling. and the rest of his body is also trembling, from old age, i should imagine. asreal the beadle--a jew who had never had the least sign of a beard--would have been exactly the same man as once on a time, years before, if it were not for his teeth. he has lost every single tooth he possessed; and with his fallen-in cheeks, he now looks much more like a woman than a man. but for all that, he can still bang on the desk with his open hand. true, it is not the same bang as once on a time. years ago, one was almost deafened by the noise of asreal's hand coming down on the desk. today, it is not like that at all. it seems that he has not any longer the strength he used to have. he was once a giant of a man. once on a time, years ago, i was happy in the little old synagogue; i remember that i felt happy without an end--without a limit! here, in the little synagogue, years ago, my childish soul swept about with the angels i imagined were flying around the carved wings of the holy ark. here, in the little synagogue, once on a time, with my father and all the other jews, i prayed earnestly. and it gave me great pleasure, great satisfaction. * * * and now, here i am again in the same old synagogue, praying with the same old congregation, just as once on a time, years ago. i hear the same cantor singing the same melodies as before. and i am praying along with the congregation. but my thoughts are far from the prayers. i keep turning over the pages of my prayer-book idly, one page after the other. and--i am not to blame for it--i come upon the pages on which are printed the "song of songs." and i read: "behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou are fair; thou hast dove's eyes within thy locks." i should like to pray with the congregation, as they are praying, and as i used to pray, once on a time. but the words will not rise to my lips. i turn over the pages of my prayer-book, one after the other, and--i am not to blame for it--again i turn up the "song of songs," at the fifth chapter. "i am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse." and again: "i have gathered my myrrh with my spice; i have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; i have drunk my wine with my milk." but what am i talking about? what am i saying? the garden is not mine. i shall not gather any myrrh, nor smell any spices. i shall eat no honey, and drink no wine. the garden is not my garden. busie is not my betrothed. busie is betrothed to some one else--to some one else, and not to me.... and there rages within me a hellish fire. not against busie. not against anybody at all. no; only against myself alone. surely! how could i have stayed away from busie for such a long time? how could i have allowed it--that busie should be taken away from me, and given to some one else? had she not written many letters to me, often, and given me to understand that she hoped to see me shortly?... had i not myself promised to come home, and then put off going, from one festival to another, so many times until, at last, busie gave up writing to me? * * * "good '_yom-tov_'! this is my son!" that was how my father introduced me to the men of the congregation at the synagogue, after prayers. they examined me on all sides. they greeted me with, "peace be unto you!" and accepted my greeting, in return, "unto you be peace!" as if it were no more than their due. "this is my son...." "that is your son? here is a 'peace be unto you!'" in my father's words, "this is my son," there were many shades of feeling, many meanings--joy, and happiness, and reproach. one might interpret the words as one liked. one might argue that he meant to say: "what do you think? this is really my _son_." or one might argue that he meant to say: "just imagine it--_this_ is my son!" i could feel for my father. he was deeply hurt. i had opposed his wishes. i had not gone his road, but had taken a road of my own. and i had caused him to grow old before his time. no; he had not forgiven me yet. he did not tell me this. but his manner saved him the trouble of explaining himself. i felt that he had not forgiven me yet. his eyes told me everything. they looked at me reproachfully from over his silver-rimmed spectacles, right into my heart. his soft sigh told me that he had not forgiven me yet--the sigh which tore itself, from time to time, out of his weak old breast.... we walked home from the synagogue together, in silence. we got home later than any one else. the night had already spread her wings over the heavens. her shadow was slowly lowering itself over the earth. a silent, warm, holy passover night it was--a night full of secrets and mysteries, full of wonder and beauty. the holiness of this night could be felt in the air. it descended slowly from the dark blue sky.... the stars whispered together in the mysterious voices of the night. and on all sides of us, from the little jewish houses came the words of the "_haggadah_": "we went forth from egypt on this night." with hasty, hasty steps i went towards home, on this night. and my father barely managed to keep up with me. he followed after me like a shadow. "why are you flying?" he asked of me, scarcely managing to catch his breath. ah, father, father! do you not know that i have been compared with "a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of spices"?... the time is long for me, father, too long. the way is long for me, father, too long. when busie is betrothed to some one--to some one else and not to me, the hours and the roads are too long for me.... i am compared with "a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of spices." that is what i wanted to say to my father, in the words of the "song of songs." i did not feel the ground under my feet. i went towards home with hasty, hasty steps, on this night. my father barely managed to keep up with me. he followed after me like a shadow. * * * with the same "good '_yom-tov_'" which we had said on coming in from the synagogue on such a night as this, years ago, we entered the house on this night, my father and i. with the same "good '_yom-tov_,' good year," with which my mother and busie used to welcome us, on such a night as this, once on a time, years ago, they again welcomed us on this night, my father and me. my mother, the queen of the evening, was dressed in her royal robes of silk; and the queen's daughter, busie, was dressed in her snow-white frock. they made the same picture which they had made, once on a time, years ago. they were not altered by as much as a hair. they were not different in a single detail. as it had been years ago, so it was now. on this night, the house was full of grace. a peculiar beauty--a holy, festive, majestic loveliness descended upon our house. a holy, festive glamour hung about our house on this night. the white table-cloth was like driven snow. and everything which was on the table gleamed and glistened. my mother's festival candles shone out of the silver candlesticks. the passover wine greeted us from out the sparkling bottles. ah, how pure, how simple the passover cakes looked, peeping innocently from under their beautiful cover! how sweetly the horse-radish smiled to me! and how pleasant was the "mortar"--the mixture of crushed nuts and apples and wine which symbolized the mortar out of which the israelites made bricks in egypt, when they were slaves! and even the dish of salt-water was good to look upon. proudly and haughtily stood the throne on which my father, the king of the night, was going to recline. a glory shone forth from my mother's countenance, such as i always saw shining forth from it on such a night. and the queen's daughter, busie, was entirely, from her head to her heels, as if she really belonged to the "song of songs." no! what am i saying? she was the "song of songs" itself. the only pity was that the king's son was put sitting so far away from the queen's daughter. i remember that they once sat at the passover ceremony in a different position. they were together, once on a time, years ago. one beside the other they sat.... i remember that the king's son asked his father "the four questions." and i remember that the queen's daughter stole from his majesty the "_afikomen_"--the pieces of passover cake he had hidden away to make the special blessing over. and i? what had i done then? how much did we laugh at that time! i remember that, once on a time, years ago, when the "_seder_" was ended, the queen had taken off her royal garment of silk, and the king had taken off his white robes, and we two, busie and i, sat together in a corner playing with the nuts which my mother had given us. and there, in the corner, i told busie a story--one of the fairy tales i had learnt at school from my comrade sheika, who knew everything in the world. it was the story of the beautiful queen's daughter who had been taken from under the wedding canopy, bewitched, and put into a palace of crystal for seven years on end, and who was waiting for some one to raise himself up into the air by pronouncing the holy name, flying above the clouds, across hills, and over valleys, over rivers, and across deserts, to release her, to set her free. * * * but all this happened once on a time, years ago. now the queen's daughter is grown up. she is big. and the king's son is grown up. he is big. and we two are seated in such a way, so pitilessly, that we cannot even see one another. imagine it to yourself! on the right of his majesty sat the king's son. on the left of her majesty sat the queen's daughter!... and we recited the "_haggadah_," my father and i, at the top of our voices, as once on a time, years ago, page after page, and in the same sing-song as of old. and my mother and busie repeated the words after us, softly, page after page, until we came to the "song of songs." i recited the "song of songs" together with my father, as once on a time, years ago, in the same melody as of old, passage after passage. and my mother and busie repeated the words after us, softly, passage after passage, until the king of the night, tired out, after the long passover ceremony, and somewhat dulled by the four cups of raisin wine, began to doze off by degrees. he nodded for a few minutes, woke up, and went on singing the "song of songs." he began in a loud voice: "many waters cannot quench love.".... and i caught him up, in the same strain: "neither can floods drown it." the recital grew softer and softer with us both, as the night wore on, until at last his majesty fell asleep in real earnest. the queen touched him on the sleeve of his white robe. she woke him with a sweet, affectionate gentleness, and told him he should go to bed. in the meantime, busie and i got the chance of saying a few words to one another. i got up from my place and went over close beside her. and we stood opposite one another for the first time, closely, on this night. i pointed out to her how rarely beautiful the night was. "on such a night," i said to her, "it is good to go walking." she understood me, and answered me, with a half-smile by asking: "on such a night?" ... and i imagined that she was laughing at me. that was how she used to laugh at me, once on a time, years ago.... i was annoyed. i said to her: "busie, we have something to say to one another--we have much to talk about." "much to talk about?" she replied, echoing my words. and again i imagined that she was laughing at me.... i put in quickly: "perhaps i am mistaken? maybe i have nothing at all to say to you now?" these words were uttered with so much bitterness that busie ceased from smiling, and her face grew serious. "tomorrow," she said to me, "tomorrow we will talk." ... and my eyes grew bright. everything about me was bright and good and joyful. tomorrow! tomorrow we will talk! tomorrow! tomorrow!... i went over nearer to her. i smelt the fragrance of her hair, the fragrance of her clothes--the same familiar fragrance of her. and there came up to my mind the words of the "song of songs": "thy lips, o my spouse, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue; and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of lebanon." ... and all our speech this night was the same--without words. we spoke together with our eyes--with our eyes. * * * "busie, good-night," i said to her softly. it was hard for me to go away from her. the one god in heaven knew the truth--how hard it was. "good-night," busie made answer. she did not stir from the spot. she looked at me, deeply perplexed, out of her beautiful blue "song of songs" eyes. i said "good-night" to her again. and she again said "good-night" to me. my mother came in and led me off to bed. when we were in my room, my mother smoothed out for me, with her beautiful, snow-white hands, the white cover of my bed. and her lips murmured: "sleep well, my child, sleep well." into these few words she poured a whole ocean of tender love--the love which had been pent up in her breast the long time i had been away from her. i was ready to fall down before her, and kiss her beautiful white hands. "good-night," i murmured softly to her. and i was left alone--all alone, on this night. * * * i was all alone on this night--all alone on this silent, soft, warm, early spring night. i opened my window and looked out into the open, at the dark blue night sky, and at the shimmering stars that were like brilliants. and i asked myself: "is it then true? is it then true?... "is it then true that i have lost my happiness--lost my happiness for ever? "is it then true that with my own hands i took and burnt my wonderful dream-palace, and let go from me the divine queen's daughter whom i had myself bewitched, once on a time, years ago? is it then so? is it so? maybe it is not so? perhaps i have come in time? 'i am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse.'" ... i sat at the open window for a long time on this night. and i exchanged whispered secrets with the silent, soft, warm early spring night that was full--strangely full--of secrets and mysteries.... on this night, i made a discovery-- that i loved busie with that holy, burning love which is so wonderfully described in our "song of songs." big fiery letters seemed to carve themselves out before my eyes. they formed themselves into the words which i had only just recited, my father and i--the words of the "song of songs." i read the carved words, letter by letter. "love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame." on this night, i sat down at my open window, and i asked of the night which was full of secrets and mysteries, that she should tell me this secret: "is it true that i have lost busie for ever? is it then true?" ... but she is silent--this night of secrets and mysteries. and the secret must remain a secret for me--until the morrow. "tomorrow," busie had said to me, "we will talk." ah! tomorrow we will talk!... only let the night go by--only let it vanish, this night! this night! this night! the end * * * * * _new borzoi novels_ _spring, _ wanderers _knut hamsun_ men of affairs _roland pertwee_ the fair rewards _thomas beer_ i walked in arden _jack crawford_ guest the one-eyed _gunnar gunnarsson_ the garden party _katherine mansfield_ the longest journey _e. m. forster_ the soul of a child _edwin björkman_ cytherea _joseph hergesheimer_ explorers of the dawn _mazo de la roche_ the white kami _edward alden jewell_ text scanned by jc byers and proof read by the volunteers of the distributed proofreaders site: http://charlz.dns go.com/gutenberg/ the arabian nights entertainments; consisting of one thousand and one stories, told by the sultaness of the indies, to divert the sultan from the execution of a bloody vow he had made to marry a lady every day, and have her cut off next morning, to avenge himself of the disloyalty of his first sultaness, &c. containing an accurate account of the customs, manners, and religion, of the eastern nations. in two volumes. vol. i. contents of volume i. the story of the genius and the lady shut up in a glass box the fable of the ass, the ox, and the labourer the fable of the dog and the cock the story of the merchant and genius the history of the first old man and the bitch the story of the second old man and the two black dogs the story of the fisherman the story of the grecian king, and the physician douban the story of the husband and parrot the story of the vizier that was punished the history of the young king of the black isles the story of the three calenders, sons of kings; and of the five ladies of bagdad the history of the first calender, a king's son the history of the second calender, a king's son the story of the envious man, and of him whom he envied the history of the third calender, a king's son the story of zobeide the story of amine the story of sindbad the sailor his first voyage his second voyage his third voyage his fourth voyage his fifth voyage his sixth voyage his seventh and last voyage the story of the three apples the story of the young lady that was murdered, and of the young man her husband the story of nourreddin ali and bedreddin hassan the story of the little hunch-back the story told by the christian merchant the story told by the sultan of casgar's purveyor the story told by the jewish physician the story told by the tailor the story of the barber the story of the barber's eldest brother of the second of the third of the fourth of the fifth of the sixth the history of aboulhassan all ebn becar and schemselnihar, favourite of caliph haroun alraschid the story of the amours of camaralzaman, prince of the isles of the children of khaledan, and of badoura, princess of china the history of the princess of china the story of marzavan, with the sequel of that of the prince camaralzaman the story of the princess badoura, after her separation from prince camaralzaman the story of the princes, amgrad and assad the story of prince amgrad and a lady of the city of the magicians the sequel of the story of prince assad the story of nourreddin aad the fair persian epistle dedicatory, to the right hon. the lady marchioness d'o, lady of honour to the duchess of burgundy. madam, the great kindnesses i received from m. de guilleragus, your illustrious father, during my abode at constantinople some years ago, are too fresh in my mind for me to neglect any opportunity of publishing what i owe to his memory. were he still alive, for the welfare of france, and my particular advantage, i would take the liberty to dedicate this work to him, not only as my benefactor, but as a person most capable of judging what is fine, and inspiring others with the like sentiments. every one remembers the wonderful exactness of his judgment;--the meanest of his thoughts had something in them that was shining, and his lowest expressions were always exact and nice, which made every one admire him; for never had any man so much wit and so much solidity. i have seen him, at a time when he was so much taken up with the affairs of his master, that nobody could expect any thing from him but what related to his ministry, and his profound capacity to manage the most knotty negotiations; yet all the weight of his employment diminished nothing of his inimitable pleasantness, which charmed his friends, and was agreeable even to those barbarous nations with whom that great man did treat. after the loss of him, which to me is irreparable, i could not address myself to any other person than yourself, madam, since you alone can supply the want of him to me; therefore it is that i take the boldness to beg of you the same protection for this book that you was pleased to grant to the french translation of the seven arabian stories that i had the honour to present you. you may perhaps wonder, madam, that i have not since that time presented them to you in print; but the reason of it is, that when i was about putting them to the press, i was informed that those seven stories were taken out of a prodigious collection of stories of the like sort, entitled "one thousand and one nights." this discovery obliged me to suspend the printing of them, and to use my endeavours to get that collection. i was forced to send for it from syria; and have translated into french this first volume being one of the four that were sent me. these stories will certainly divert you, madam, much more than those you have already seen. they are new to you, and more in number; you will also perceive, with pleasure, the ingenious design of this anonymous arabian, who has given us these stories after the manner of his country, fabulous indeed, but very diverting. i beg, madam, your acceptance of this small present which i have the honour to make you; it is a public testimony of my acknowledgment of the profound respect with which i am, and shall for ever be, madam, your most humble and most obedient servant, galland. preface there is no occasion to prepossess the reader with an opinion of the merit and beauty of the following work. there needs no more but to read it to satisfy any man, that hitherto nothing so fine of this nature has appeared in any language. what can be more ingenious than to compose such a prodigious quantity of pleasant stories, whose variety is surprising, and whose connexion is so wonderful? we know not the name of the author of so great a work; but probably it is not all done by one hand; for how can we suppose that one man alone could have invention enough to make so many fine things? if stories of this sort be pleasant and diverting, because of the wonders they usually contain, these have certainly the advantage above all that have yet been published; because they are full of surprising events, which engage our attention, and show how much the arabians surpass other nations in compositions of this sort. they must also be pleasing, because of the account they give of the customs and manners of the eastern nations, and of the ceremonies of their religion, as well pagan as mahometan, which are better described here than in any author that has written of them, or in the relation of travellers. all the eastern nations, persians, tartars, and indians, are here distinguished, and appear such as they are, from the sovereign to the meanest subject; so that, without the fatigue of going to see those people in their respective countries, the reader has here the pleasure to see them act, and hear them speak. care has been taken to preserve their characters, and to keep their sense; nor have we varied from the text, but when modesty obliged us to it. the translator flatters himself, that those who understand arabic, and will be at the pains to compare the original with the translation, must agree that he has showed the arabians to the french with all the circumspection that the niceness of the french tongue and of the times require; and if those who read these stories have any inclination to profit by the example of virtue and vice which they will here find exhibited, they may reap an advantage by it that is not to be reaped in other stories, which are more fit to corrupt than to reform our manners. approbation. i have read, by order of my lord chancellor, this manuscript, and find nothing in it that should hinder its being printed. (signed) fontenelle. paris, october . . arabian nights entertainments. the chronicles of the susanians, the ancient kings of persia, who extended their empire into the indies, over all the islands thereunto belonging, a great way beyond the ganges, and as far as china, acquaint us, that there was formerly a king of that potent family, the most excellent prince of his time; he was as much beloved by his subjects for his wisdom and prudence, as he was dreaded by his neighbours because of his valour, and his warlike and well-disciplined troops. he had two sons; the eldest schahriar, the worthy heir of his father, and endowed with all his virtues. the youngest, schahzenan, was likewise a prince of incomparable merit. after a long and glorious reign, the king died; and schahriar mounted his throne. schahzenan being excluded from all share of the government by the laws of the empire, and obliged to live a private life, was so far from envying the happiness of his brother, that he made it his whole business to please him, and effected it without much difficulty. schahriar, who had naturally a great affection for that prince, was so charmed with his complaisance, that, out of an excess of friendship, he would needs divide his dominions with him, and gave him the kingdom of great tartary: schahzenan went immediately and took possession of it, and fixed the seat of his government at samarcande, the metropolis of the country, after they had been separated ten years, schahriar, having a passionate desire to see his brother, resolved to send an embassador to invite him to his court. he made choice of his prime vizier for the embassy, sent him to tartary with a retinue answerable to his dignity, and he made all possible haste to samarcande. when he came near the city, schahzenan had notice of it, and went to meet him with the principal lords of his court; who, to put the more honour on the sultan's minister, appeared in magnificent apparel. the king of tartary received the embassador with the greatest demonstrations of joy, and immediately asked him concerning the welfare of the sultan, his brother. the vizier, having acquainted him that he was in health, gave him an account of his embassy. schahzenan was so much affected with it, that he answered thus:--"sage vizier, the sultan, my brother, does me too much honour; he could propose nothing in the world more acceptable; i long as passionately to see him as he does to see me. time has been no more able to diminish my friendship than his. my kingdom is in peace, and i desire no more than ten days to get myself ready to go with you; so that there is no necessity of your entering the city for so short a time; i pray you to pitch your tents here, and i will order provisions in abundance for yourself and company." the vizier did accordingly; and as soon as the king returned, he sent him a prodigious quantity of provisions of all sorts, with presents of great value. in the mean while, schahzenan made ready for his journey, took orders about his most important affairs, appointed a council to govern in his absence, and named a minister, of whose wisdom he had sufficient experience, and in whom he had entire confidence, to be their president. at the end of ten days, his equipage being ready, he took his leave of the queen, his wife, and went out of town in the evening with his retinue, pitching his royal pavilion near the vizier's tent, and discoursed with that embassador till midnight. but willing once more to embrace the queen, whom he loved entirely, he returned alone to his palace, and went straight to her majesty's apartment; who, not expecting his return, had taken one of the meanest officers of the household to her bed, where they lay both fast asleep, having been in bed a considerable while. the king entered without any noise and pleased himself to think how he should surprise his wife, who, he thought, loved him as entirely as he did her; but how strange was his surprise, when, by the light of the flambeaus, which burn all night in the apartments of those eastern princes, he saw a man in her arms! he stood immovable for a time, not knowing how to believe his own eyes; but finding it was not to be doubted, how! says he to himself, i am scarce out of my palace, and but just under the walls of samarcande, and dare they put such an outrage upon me? all! perfidious wretches, your crime shall not go unpunished. as king, i am to punish wickednesses committed in my dominions; and, as an enraged husband, i must sacrifice you to my just resentment. in a word, this unfortunate prince, giving way to his rage, drew his scimitar, and, approaching the bed, killed them both with one blow, turning their sleep into death, and afterwards taking them up, threw them out of a window into the ditch that surrounded the palace. having avenged himself thus, he went out of town privately as he came into it; and returning to his pavilion, without saying one word of what had happened, he ordered the tents to be struck, and to make ready for his journey. this was speedily done, and before day he began his march, with kettle-drums and other instruments of music, that filled every one with joy, except the king, who was so much troubled at the disloyalty of his wife, that he was seized with extreme melancholy, which preyed upon him during his whole journey. when he drew near the capital of the indies, the sultan schahriar, and all his court, came out to meet him; the princes were overjoyed fo see one another; and alighting, after mutual embraces, and other marks of affection and respect, they mounted again, and entered the city, with the acclamations of vast multitudes of people. the sultan conducted his brother to the palace he had provided for him, which had a communication with his own by means of a garden; and was so much the more magnificent, for it was set apart as a banqueting-house for public entertainment, and other diversions of the court, and the splendour of it had been lately augmented by new furniture. schahriar immediately left the king of tartary, that he might give him time to bathe himself, and to change his apparel; and as soon as he had done, he came to him again, and they sat down together upon a sofa or alcove. the courtiers kept a distance, out of respect; and those two princes entertained one another suitably to their friendship, their nearness of blood, and the long separation that had been betwixt them. the time of supper being come, they ate together; after which they renewed their conversation, which continued till schahriar, perceiving it was very late, left his brother to his rest. the unfortunate schahzenan went to bed; and though the conversation of his brother had suspended his grief for some time, it returned upon him with more violence; so that, instead of taking his necessary rest, he tormented himself with cruel reflections. all the circumstances of his wife's disloyalty represented themselves afresh to his imagination in so lively a manner, that he was like one beside himself. in a word, not being able to sleep, he got up, and giving himself over to afflicting thoughts, they made such an impression upon his countenance, that the sultan could not but take notice of it, and said thus to himself: "what can be the matter with the king of tartary, that he is so melancholy; has he any cause to complain of his reception? no, surely; i have received him as a brother whom i love, so that i can charge myself with no omission in that respect. perhaps it grieves him to be at such a distance from his dominions, or from the queen, his wife: alas! if that be the matter, i must forthwith give him the presents i designed for him, that he may return to samarcande when he pleases.' accordingly, next day schahriar sent him a part of those presents, being the greatest rarities and the richest things that the indies could afford. at the same time he endeavoured to divert his brother every day by new objects of pleasure, and the finest treats, which, instead of giving the king of tartary any ease, did only increase his sorrow. one day, schahriar having appointed a great hunting-match, about two days journey from his capital, in a place that abounded with deer, schahzenan prayed him to excuse him, for his health would not allow him to bear him company. the sultan, unwilling to put any constraint upon him, left him at his liberty, and went a hunting with his nobles. the king of tartary, being thus left alone, shut himself up in his apartment, and sat down at a window that looked into the garden. that delicious place, and the sweet harmony of an infinite number of birds, which chose it for a place of retreat, must certainly have diverted him, had he been capable of taking pleasure in any thing; but, being perpetually tormented with the fatal remembrance of his queen's infamous conduct, his eyes were not so often fixed upon the garden, as lifted up to heaven to bewail his misfortune. whilst he was thus swallowed up with grief, an object presented itself to his view, which quickly turned all his thoughts another way. a secret gate of the sultan's palace opened all of a sudden, and there came out at it twenty women, in the midst of whom marched the sultaness, who was easily distinguished from the rest by her majestic air. this princess, thinking that the king of tartary was gone a hunting with his brother the sultan, came up with her retinue near the windows of his apartment; for the prince had placed himself so that he could see all that passed in the garden without being perceived himself. he observed that the persons who accompanied the sultaness threw off their veils and long robes, that they might be at more freedom; but was wonderfully surprised when he saw ten of them to be blacks, and that each of them took his mistress. the sultaness, on her part, was not long without her gallant. she clapped her hands, and called out masoud, masoud, and immediately a black came down from a tree, and ran to her in all haste. modesty will not allow, nor is it necessary to relate, what passed betwixt the blacks and ladies. it is sufficient to say, that schahzenan saw enough to convince him that his brother had as much cause to complain as himself. this amorous company continued together till midnight and having bathed all together in a great pond, which was one of the chief ornaments of the garden, they dressed themselves, and re-entered the palace, by the secret door, all except masoud, who climbed up his tree, and got over the garden-wall the same way as he came. all this having passed in the king of tartary's sight, it gave him occasion to make a multitude of reflections. how little reason had i, says he, to think that no one was so unfortunate as myself? it is certainly the unavoidable fate of all husbands, since the sultan, my brother, who is sovereign of so many dominions, and the greatest prince of the earth, could not escape it. the case being so, what a fool am i to kill myself with grief? i will throw it off, and the remembrance of a misfortune so common shall never after this disturb my quiet. so that, from that moment, he forebore afflicting himself. being unwilling to sup till he saw the whole scene that was acted under his window, he called then for his supper, ate with a better appetite than he had done at any time after his coming to samarcande, and listened with pleasure to the agreeable concert of vocal and instrumental music that was appointed to entertain him while at table. he continued after this to be of a very good humour; and when he knew that the sultan was returning, he went to meet him, and paid him his compliments with a great deal of gaiety. schahriar at first took no notice of this great alteration, but expostulated with him modestly, why he would not bear him company at hunting the stag; and, without giving him time to reply, entertained him with the great number of deer and other game they had killed, and what pleasure he had in the sport. schahzenan heard him with attention, gave answers to every thing, and being rid of that melancholy which formerly over-clouded his wit, he said a thousand agreeable and pleasant things to the sultan. schahriar, who expected to have found him in the same condition as he left him, was overjoyed to see him so cheerful, and spoke to him thus: dear brother, i return thanks to heaven for the happy change it has made on you during my absence; i am extremely rejoiced at it; but i have a request to make to you, and conjure you not to deny me. i can refuse you nothing, replies the king of tartary; you may command schahzenan as you please; pray speak, i am impatient to know what you desire of me. ever since you came to my court, replies schahriar, i found you swallowed up by a deep melancholy, and i did in vain attempt to remove it by diversions of all sorts. i imagined it might be occasioned by reason of the distance from your dominions, or that love might have a great share in it; and that the queen of samarcande, who, no doubt, is an accomplished beauty, might be the cause of it. i do not know if i be mistaken; but i must own that this was the peculiar reason why i did not importune you upon the subject, for fear of making you uneasy. but, without my being able to contribute any thing towards it, i find now, upon my return, that you are in the best humour that can be, and that your mind is entirely delivered from that black vapour which disturbed it. pray do me the favour to tell me why you were so melancholy, and how you came to be rid of it. upon this, the king of tartary continued for some time as if he had been in a dream, and contrived what he should answer; but at last replied as follows: you are my sultan and master; but excuse me, i beseech you, from answering your question. no, dear brother, said the sultan, you must answer, i will take no denial. schahzenan, not being able to withstand these pressing instances, answered, well, then, brother, i will satisfy you, since you command me; and, having told him the story of the queen of samarcande's treachery, this, says he, was the cause of my grief; pray judge whether i had not reason enough to give myself up to it. oh! my brother, says the sultan, (in a tone which showed that he had the same sentiments of the matter with the king of tartary,) what a horrible story do you tell me! how impatient was i till i heard it out! i commend you for punishing the traitors who put such an outrage upon you. nobody can blame you for that action: it was just; and for my part, had the case been mine, i could scarce have been so moderate as you, i should not have satisfied myself with the life of one woman; i verily think i should have sacrificed a thousand to my fury. i cease now to wonder at your melancholy. the cause of it was too sensible, and too mortifying, not to make you yield to it. o heaven! what a strange adventure! nor do i believe the like of it ever befel any man but yourself. but, in short, i must bless god, who has comforted you; and since i doubt not but your consolation is well grounded, be so good as let me know what it is, and conceal nothing from me. schahzenan was not so easily prevailed upon in this point as he had been in the other, because of his brother's concern in it; but, being obliged to yield to his pressing instances, answered, i must obey you then, since your command is absolute; yet am afraid that my obedience will occasion your trouble to be greater than ever mine was. but you must blame yourself for it, since you force me to reveal a thing which i should have otherwise buried in eternal oblivion. what you say, answers schahriar, serves only to increase my curiosity. make haste to discover the secret, whatever it may be. the king of tartary, being no longer able to refuse, gave him the particulars of all that he had seen of the blacks in disguise, of the lewd passion of the sultaness and her ladies; and, to be sure, he did not forget masoud. after having been witness to those infamous actions, says he, i believed all women to be that way naturally inclined, and that they could not resist those violent desires. being of this opinion, it seemed to me to be an unaccountable weakness in men to make themselves uneasy at their infidelity. this reflection brought many others along with it; and, in short, i thought the best thing i could do was to make myself easy. it cost me some pain indeed, but at last i effected it; and, if you will take my advice, you shall follow my example. though the advice was good, the sultan could not take it, but fell into a rage. what! says he, is the sultaness of the indies capable of prostituting herself in so base a manner? no, brother, i cannot believe what you say,--unless i saw it with my eyes: yours must needs have deceived you; the matter is so important, that i must be satisfied of it myself. dear brother, answers schahzenan, that you may without much difficulty. appoint another hunting-match, and when we are out of town with your court and mine, we will stop under our pavilions, and at night let you and i return alone to my apartment. i am certain that next day you will see what i saw. the sultan, approving the stratagem, immediately appointed a new hunting-match; and that same day the pavilions were set up at the place appointed. next day the two princes set out with all their retinue; they arrived at the place of encampment, and staid there till night. then schahriar called his grand vizier, and, without acquainting him of his design, commanded him to stay in his place during his absence, and to suffer no person to go out of the camp upon any occasion whatever. as soon as he had given this order, the king of grand tartary and he took horse, passed through the camp incognito, returned to the city, and went to schahzenan's apartment. they had scarce placed themselves in the same window where the king of tartary had seen the disguised blacks act their scene, but the secret gate opened, the sultaness and her ladies entered the garden with the blacks, and she having called upon masoud, the sultan saw more than enough to convince him plainly of his dishonour and misfortune. o heavens! cried he, what indignity! what horror! can the wife of a sovereign, such as i am, be capable of such an infamous action? after this let no prince boast of his being perfectly happy. alas! my brother, continues he, (embracing the king of tartary,) let us both renounce the world; honesty is banished out of it; if it flatter us the one day, it betrays us the next; let us abandon our dominions and grandeur; let us go into foreign countries, where we may lead an obscure life, and conceal our misfortune. schahzenan did not at all approve of such a resolution, but did not think fit to contradict schahriar in the heat of his passion. dear brother, says he, your will shall be mine; i am ready to follow you whither you please; but promise that you will return, if we can meet with any one that is more unhappy than ourselves. i agree to it, says the sultan, but doubt much whether we shall. i am not of your mind in this, replied the king of tartary; i fancy our journey will be but short. having said this, they went secretly out of the palace by another way than they came. they travelled as long as it was day, and lay the first night under the trees; and getting up about break of day, they went on till they came to a fine meadow upon the banks of the sea, in which meadow there were tufts of great trees at some distance from one another. they sat down under those trees to rest and refresh themselves, and the chief subject of their conversation was the lewdness of their wives. they had not sat long, before they heard a frightful noise, and a terrible cry from the sea, which filled them with fear; then the sea opening, there rose up a thing like a great black column, which reached almost to the clouds. this redoubled their fear, made them rise speedily, and climb up into a tree to hide themselves. they had scarce got up, till, looking to the place from whence the voice came, and where the sea opened, they observed that the black column advanced, winding about towards the shore, cleaving the water before it. they could not at first think what it should be; but in a little time they found that it was one of those malignant genie that are mortal enemies to mankind, and always doing them mischief. he was black, frightful, had the shape of a giant, of a prodigious stature, and carried on his head a great glass box, shut with four locks of fine steel. he entered the meadow with his burden, which he laid down just at the foot of the tree where the two princes were, who looked upon themselves to be dead men. meanwhile the genie sat down by his box, and opening it with four keys that he had at his girdle, there came out a lady magnificently apparelled, of a majestic stature, and a complete beauty. the monster made her sit down by him; and eying her with an amorous look, lady (says he) nay, most accomplished of all ladies who are admired for their beauty my charming mistress, whom i carried off on your wedding-day, and have loved so constantly ever since, let me sleep a few moments by you; for i found myself so very sleepy, that i came to this place to take a little rest. having spoken thus, he laid down his huge head on the lady's knees; and stretching out his legs, which reached as far as the sea, he fell asleep, and snored so, that he made the banks to echo again. the lady, happening at the same time to look up to the tree, saw the two princes and made a sign to them with her hand to come down without making any noise. their fear was extraordinary when they found themselves discovered, and they prayed the lady, by other signs, to excuse them; but she, after having laid the monster's head softly down, rose up, and spoke to them with a low but quick voice to come down to her; she would take no denial. they made signs to her that they were afraid of the genie, and would fain have been excused. upon which she ordered them to come down, and, if they did not make haste, threatened to awake the giant, and bid him kill them. these words did so much intimidate the princes, that they began to come down with all possible precaution, lest they should awake the genie. when they came down, the lady took them by the hand, and going a little farther with them under the trees, made a very urgent proposal to them. at first they rejected it, but she obliged them to accept it by her threats. having obtained what she desired, she perceived that each of them had a ring on his finger, which she demanded of them. as soon as she received them, she went and took a box out of the bundle, where her toilet was, pulled out a string of other rings of all sorts, which she showed them, and asked them if they knew what those jewels meant? no, say they, we hope you will be pleased to tell us. they are, replies she, the rings of all the men to whom i have granted my favour; there are full fourscore and eighteen of them, which i keep in token to remember them; and asked yours for the same reason, to make up my hundred. so that, continues she, i have had a hundred gallants already, notwithstanding the vigilance of this wicked genie, that never leaves me. he is much the nearer for locking me up in this glass box, and hiding me in the bottom of the sea; i find a way to cheat him for all his care. you may see by this, that when a woman has formed a project, there is no husband or gallant that can hinder her from putting it in execution. men had better not put their wives under such restraint, if they have a mind they should be chaste. having spoken thus to them, she put their rings upon the same string with the rest, and, sitting down by the monster as before, laid his head again upon her lap, and made a sign for the princes to be gone. they returned immediately by the same way they came; and when they were out of sight of the lady and the genie, schahriar says to schahzenan, well, brother, what do you think of this adventure? has not the genie a very faithful mistress? and do not you agree that there is no wickedness equal to that of women? yes, brother, answers the king of great tartary; and you must. agree that the monster is more unfortunate, and has more reason to complain, than we. therefore, since we have found what we sought for, let us return to our dominions, and let not this hinder us to marry again. for my part, i know a method by which i think i shall keep inviolable the faith that any woman shall plight to me. i shall say no more of it at present, but you will hear of it in a little time, and i am sure you will follow my example. the sultan agreed with his brother; and, continuing their journey, they arrived in the camp the third night after they left it. the news of the sultan's return being spread, the courtiers came betimes in the morning before his pavilion to wait on him. he ordered them to enter, received them with a more pleasant air than formerly, and gave each of them a gratification; after which he told them he would go no further, ordered them to take horse, and returned speedily to his palace. as soon as he arrived, he ran to the sultaness's apartment, commanded her to be bound before him, and delivered her to his grand vizier, with an order to strangle her; which was accordingly executed by that minister, without inquiring into her crime. the enraged prince did not stop here; he cut off the heads of all the sultaness's ladies with his own hand. after this rigorous punishment, being persuaded that no woman was chaste, he resolved, in order to prevent the disloyalty of such as he should afterwards marry, to wed one every night, and have her strangled next morning. having imposed this cruel law upon himself, he swore that he would observe it immediately after the departure of the king of tartary, who speedily took leave of him, and, being loaded with magnificent presents, set forward on his journey. schahzenan being gone, schahriar ordered his grand vizier to bring him the daughter of one of his generals. the vizier obeyed; the sultan lay with her, and, putting her next morning into his hands in order to be strangled, commanded him to get another next night. whatever reluctance the vizier had to put such orders in execution, as he owed blind obedience to the sultan his master, he was forced to submit. he brought him then the daughter of a subaltern, whom he also cut off the next day. after her, he brought a citizen's daughter; and, in a word, there was every day a maid married, and a wife murdered. the rumour of this unparalleled barbarity occasioned a general consternation in the city, where there was nothing but crying and lamentation. here a father in tears, and inconsolable for the loss of his daughter; and there tender mothers, dreading lest theirs should have the same fate, making the air to resound beforehand with their groans; so that, instead of the commendations and blessings which the sultan had hitherto received from his subjects, their mouths were now filled with imprecations against him. the grand vizier, who, as has been already said, was the executioner of this horrid injustice against his will, had two daughters, the eldest called scheherazade, and the youngest dinarzade: the latter was a lady of very great merit; but the elder had courage, wit, and penetration, infinitely above her sex; she had read abundance, and had such a prodigious memory that she never forgot any thing. she had successfully applied herself to philosophy, physic, history, and the liberal arts, and for verse exceeded, the best poets of her times; besides this, she was a perfect beauty, and all her fine qualifications were crowned by solid virtue. the vizier passionately loved a daughter so worthy of his tender affection; and one day, as they were discoursing together, she says to him, father, i have one favour to beg of you, and must humbly pray you to grant it me. i will not refuse it, answered he, provided it be just and reasonable. for the justice of it, says she, there can be no question, and you may judge of it by the motive which obliges me to demand it of you. i have a design to stop the course of that barbarity which the sultan exercises upon the families of this city. i would dispel those unjust fears which so many mothers have of losing their daughters in such a fatal manner. your design, daughter, replies the vizier, is very commendable; but the disease you would remedy seems to be incurable; how do you pretend to effect it? father, says scheherazade, since by your means the sultan makes every day a new marriage, i conjure you, by the tender affection you bear to me, to procure me the honour of his bed. the vizier could not hear this without horror. o heavens! replies he, in a passion, have you lost your senses, daughter, that you make such a dangerous request to me? you know the sultan has sworn by his soul that he will never lie above one night with the same woman, and to order her to be killed the next morning; and would you that i should propose you to him? pray consider well to what your indiscreet zeal will expose you. yes, dear father, replies the virtuous daughter, i know the risk i run; but that does not frighten me. if i perish, my death will be glorious; and if i succeed, i shall do my country an important piece of service. no, no, says the vizier, whatever you can represent to engage me to let you throw yourself into that horrible danger, do not you think that ever i will agree to it. when the sultan shall order me to strike my poignard into your heart, alas! i must obey him; and what a dismal employment is that for a father? ah! if you do not fear death, yet at least be afraid of occasioning me the mortal grief of seeing my hand stained with your blood. once more, father, says scheherazade, grant me the favour i beg. your stubbornness, replies the vizier, will make me angry; why will you run headlong to your ruin? they that do not foresee the end of a dangerous enterprise can never bring it to a happy issue. i am afraid the same thing will happen to you that happened to the ass, which was well, and could not keep itself so. what misfortune befel the ass? replies scheherazade. i will tell you, says the vizier, if you will hear me. fable. the ox, the ass, and the labourer. a very rich merchant had several country-houses, where he had abundance of cattle of all sorts. he went with his wife and family to one of those estates, in order to improve it himself. he had the gift of understanding the language of beasts, but with this condition, that he should interpret it to nobody on pain of death; and this hindered him from communicating to others what he had learned by means of this gift. he had in the same stall an ox and an ass; and one day as he sat near them, and diverted himself to see his children play about, him, he heard the ox say to the ass, sprightly, o how happy do i think you, when i consider the ease you enjoy, and the little labour that is required of you! you are carefully rubbed down and washed; you have well-dressed corn, and fresh clean water. your greatest business is to carry the merchant, our master, when he has any little journey to make; and, were it not for that, you would be perfectly idle. i am treated in a quite different manner, and my condition is as unfortunate as yours is pleasant. it is scarce day-light when i am fastened to a plough, and there they make me work till night, to till up the ground, which fatigues me so, that sometimes my strength fails me. besides, the labourer, who is always behind me, beats me continually. by drawing the plough my tail is all flead; and, in short, after having laboured from morning till night, when i am brought in, they give me nothing to eat but sorry dry beans, not so much as cleaned from sand, or other things as pernicious; and, to heighten my misery, when i have filled my belly with such ordinary stuff, i am forced to lie all night in my own dung; so that you see i have reason to envy your lot. the ass did not interrupt the ox, till he had said all that he had a mind to say; but, when he had made an end, answered, they that call you a foolish beast do not lie; you are too simple, you let them carry you whither they please, and show no manner of resolution. in the mean time, what advantage do you reap by all the indignities you suffer? you kill yourself for the ease, pleasure, and profit of those that give you no thanks for so doing. but they would not treat you so, if you had as much courage as strength. when they come to fasten you to the stall, why do not you make resistance? why do not you strike them with your horns, and show that you are angry by striking your foot against the ground? and, in short, why do not you frighten them by bellowing aloud? nature has furnished you with means to procure you respect, but you do not make use of them. they bring you sorry beans and bad straw; eat none of them; only smell them, and leave them. if you follow the advice i give you, you will quickly find a change, for which you will thank me. the ox took the ass's advice in very good part, and owned he was very much obliged to him for it. dear sprightly, adds he, i will not fail to do all that you have said, and you shall see how i shall acquit myself. they held their peace after this discourse, of which the merchant heard every word. next morning betimes the labourer came to take the ox; he fastened him to the plough, and carried him to his ordinary work. the ox, who had not forgotten the ass's counsel, was very troublesome and untoward all that day; and in the evening, when the labourer brought him back to the stall, and began to fasten him to it, the malicious beast, instead of presenting his horns willingly as he used to do, was restive, and went backward bellowing, and then made at the labourer as if he would have pushed him with his horns; in a word, he did all that the ass advised him to. next day the labourer came, as usual, to take the ox to his labour; but, finding the stall full of beans, the straw that he put in the night before not touched, and the ox lying on the ground with his legs stretched out, and panting in a strange manner, he believed him to he sick, pitied him, and thinking; that it was not proper to carry him to work, went immediately and acquainted the merchant with it; who, perceiving that the ox had followed all the mischievous advices of the ass, whom he thought fit to punish for it, ordered the labourer to go and put the ass in the ox's place, and to be sure to work him hard. the labourer did so: the ass was forced to draw the plough all that day; which fatigued him so much the more, as he was not accustomed to that sort of labour; besides, he had been so soundly beaten, that he could scarcely stand when he came back. meanwhile the ox was mightily pleased; he ate up all that was in his stall, and rested himself the whole day. he was glad at the heart that he had followed the ass's advice, blessed him a thousand times for it, and did not fail to compliment him upon it when he saw him come back. the ass answered him not one word, so vexed was he to be so ill treated; but says within himself, it is by my own imprudence i have brought this misfortune upon myself; i lived happily, every thing smiled upon me. i had all that i could wish, it is my own fault that i am brought to this miserable condition, and if i cannot contrive some way to get out of it, i am certainly undone; and as he spoke thus, his strength was so much exhausted, that he fell down at his stall, as if he had been half dead. here the grand visier addressed himself to scheherazade, and said, daughter, you do like the ass; you will expose yourself to destruction by your false prudence. take my advice; be easy, and do not take such measures as will hasten your death. father, replies scheherazade, the example you bring me is not capable of making me change my resolution; i will never cease importuning you until you present me to the sultan to be his bride. the vizier, perceiving that she persisted in her demand, replied, alas, then! since you will continue obstinate, i shall be obliged to treat you in the same manner as the merchant i named treated his wife in a little time after. the merchant, understanding that the ass was in a lamentable condition, was curious to know what passed betwixt him and the ox; therefore, after supper, he went out by moon-light, and sat down by them, his wife bearing him company. when he arrived, he heard the ass say to the ox, comrade, tell me, i pray you, what you intend to do to-morrow, when the labourer brings you meat? what will i do? says the ox: i will continue to do as you taught me. i will go off from him, and threaten him with my horns, as i did yesterday; i will feign myself to be sick, and just ready to die. beware of that, replies the ass, it will ruin you: for as i came home this evening, i heard the merchant, our master, say something that makes me tremble for you. alas! what did you hear? says the ox; as you love me, hide nothing from me, my dear sprightly. our master, replied the ass, had these sad expressions to the labourer: since the ox does not eat, and is not able to work, i would have him killed tomorrow, and we will give his flesh as an alms to the poor for god's sake; as for his skin, that will be of use to us, and i would have you give it to the currier to dress; therefore do not fail to send for the butcher. this is what i had to tell you, says the ass. the concern i have for your preservation, and my friendship for you, obliged me to let you know it, and to give you new advice. as soon as they bring you your bran and straw, rise up and eat heartily. our master will, by this, think that you are cured, and no doubt will recal his orders for killing you; whereas, if you do otherwise, you are certainly gone. this discourse had the effect which the ass designed. the ox was strangely troubled at it, and bellowed out for fear. the merchant, who heard the discourse very attentively, fell into such a fit of laughter, that his wife was surprised at it, and said, pray, husband, tell me what you laugh at so heartily, that i may laugh with you. wife, said he, you must content yourself with hearing me laugh. no, replies she, i will know the reason. i cannot give you that satisfaction, answers he, but only that i laugh at what our ass just now said to our ox. the rest is a secret, which i am not allowed to reveal. and what hinders you from revealing the secret, says she? if i tell it you, answers he, it will cost me my life. you only jeer me, cried his wife; what you tell me now cannot be true. if you do not satisfy me presently with what you laugh at, and tell me what the ox and ass said to one another, i swear by heaven that you and i shall never bed together again. having spoken thus, she went into the house in a great fret, and, setting herself in a corner, cried there all night. her husband lay alone, and finding next morning that she continued in the same humour, told her she was a very foolish woman to afflict herself in that manner, the thing was not worth so much; and that it concerned her as little to know the matter, as it concerned him so much to keep it secret; therefore i conjure you to think no more of it. i shall still think so much of it, says she, as never to forbear weeping till you have satisfied my curiosity. but i tell you very seriously, replied he, that it will cost me my life, if i yield to your indiscretion. let what will happen, says she, i do insist upon it. i perceive, says the merchant, that it is impossible to bring you to reason; and since i foresee that you will occasion your own death by your obstinacy, i will call in your children, that they may see you before you die. accordingly he called for them, and sent for her father and mother, and other relations. when they were come, and heard the reason of their being called, they did all they could to convince her that she was in the wrong, but to no purpose: she told them she would rather die than yield that point to her husband. her father and mother spoke to her by herself, and told her that what she desired to know was of no importance to her; but that could gain nothing upon her, either by their authority or entreaties. when her children saw that nothing could prevail to bring her out of that sullen temper, they wept bitterly. the merchant himself was like a man out of his senses, and was almost ready to risk his own life to save that of his wife, whom he loved dearly. now, my daughter, says the vizier to scheherazade, this merchant had fifty hens, and a cock, with a dog that gave good heed to all that passed; and while the merchant was set down, as i said, and considering what he had best do, he sees the dog run towards the cock, as he was treading a hen, and heard him speak to him thus: cock, says he, i am sure heaven will not let you live long; are you not ashamed to do that thing to-day? the cock, standing up on tip-toe, answers the dog fiercely, and why should i not do it to-day as well as other days? as you do not know, replies the dog, then i tell you that this day our master is in great perplexity. his wife would have him reveal a secret, which is of such a nature, that it will cost him his life if he doth it. things are come to that pass, that it is to be feared he will scarcely have resolution enough to resist his wife's obstinacy; for, he loves her, and is affected with the tears that she continually sheds, and perhaps it may cost him his life. we are all alarmed at it, and you only insult our melancholy, and have the imprudence to divert yourself with your hens. the cock answered the dog's reproof thus: what! has our master so little sense? he has but one wife, and cannot govern her; and though i have fifty, i make them all do what i please. let him make use of his reason, he will speedily find a way to rid himself of his trouble. how, says the dog,, what would you have him to do? let him go into the room where his wife is, says the cock, lock the door, and take a good stick, and thrash her well, and i will answer for it that that will bring her to her right wits, and make her forbear to ask him any more what he ought not to tell her. the merchant had no sooner heard what the cock said, than he took up a good stick, went to his wife, whom he found still a crying, and, shutting the door, belaboured her so soundly, that she cried out, "it is enough, husband, it is enough, let me alone, and i will never ask the question more." upon this, perceiving that she repented of her impertinent curiosity, he forbore drubbing her; and, opening the door, her friends came in, were glad to find her cured of her obstinacy, and complimented her husband upon this happy expedient to bring his wife to reason. daughter, adds the grand vizier, you deserve to be treated as the merchant treated his wife. father, replies scheherazade, i beg you will not take it ill that i persist in my opinion. i am nothing moved by the story of that woman; i can tell you abundance of others to persuade you that you ought not to oppose my design. besides, pardon me for declaring to you that your opposing me would be in vain; for if your paternal affection should hinder you to grant my request, i would go and offer myself to the sultan. in short, the father being overcome by the resolution of his daughter, yielded to her importunity; and though he was very much grieved that he could not divert her from such a fatal resolution, he went that minute to acquaint the sultan that next night he would bring him scheherazade. the sultan was much surprised at the sacrifice which the grand vizier made to him. how could you resolve, says he, to bring me your own daughter? sir, answers the vizier, it is her own offer. the sad destiny that attends it could not scare her; she prefers the honour of being your majesty's wife for one night to her life. but do not mistake yourself, vizier, says the sultan; to-morrow, when i put scheherazade into your hands, i expect you shall take away her life; and, if you fail, i swear that yourself shall die. sir, rejoins the vizier, my heart, without doubt will be full of grief to execute your commands; but it is to no purpose for nature to murmur; though i be her father i will answer for the fidelity of my hand to obey your order. schahriar accepted his minister's offer, and told him he might bring his daughter when he pleased. the grand vizier went with the news to scheherazade, who received it with as much joy as if it had been the most agreeable thing in the world; she thanked her father for having obliged her in so sensible a manner; and, perceiving that he was overwhelmed with grief, she told him, in order to his consolation, that she hoped he would never repent his having married her to the sultan; but that, on the contrary, he should have cause to rejoice at it all his days. all her business was to put herself in a condition to appear before the sultan; but, before she went, she took her sister dinarzade apart, and says to her, my dear sister, i have need of your help in a matter of very great importance, and must pray you not to deny it me. my father is going to carry me to the sultan to be his wife; do not let this frighten you, but hear me with patience. as soon as i come to the sultan, i will pray him to allow you to lie in the bride-chamber, that i may enjoy your company this one night more. if i obtain that favour, as i hope to do, remember to awake me to-morrow an hour before day, and to address me in these or some such words: "my sister, if you be not asleep, i pray you, that till day-break, which will be very speedily, you would tell me one of the fine stories of which you have read so many." immediately i will tell you one; and i hope by this means to deliver the city from the consternation they are under at present. dinarzade answered, that she would obey with pleasure what she required of her. the time of going to bed being come, the grand vizier conducted scheherazade to the palace, and retired, after having introduced her into the sultan's apartment. as soon as the sultan was left alone with her, he ordered her to uncover her face, and found it so beautiful, that he was perfectly charmed with her; and perceiving her to be in tears, asked her the reason. sir, answered scheherazade, i have a sister, who loves me tenderly, as i do her, and i could wish that she might be allowed to be all night in this chamber, that i might see her, and bid her once more adieu. will you be pleased to allow me the comfort of giving her this last testimony of my friendship? schahriar having consented to it, dinarzade was sent for, who came with all possible diligence. the sultan went to bed with scheherazade upon an alcove raised very high, according to the custom of the monarchs of the east; and dinarzade lay in a bed that was prepared for her, near the foot of the alcove. an hour before day, dinarzade, being awake, failed not to do as her sister ordered her. my dear sister, cries she, if you be not asleep, i pray, until day-break, which will be in a very little time, that you will tell me one of those pleasant stories you have read; alas! this may perhaps be the last time that ever i shall have that satisfaction. scheherazade, instead of answering her sister, addressed herself to the sultan thus: sir, will your majesty be pleased to allow me to give my sister this satisfaction? with all my heart, answers the sultan. then scheherazade bid her sister listen; and afterwards, addressing herself to schahriar, began thus. the first night. the merchant and the genie. sir--there was formerly a merchant, who had a great estate in lands, goods, and money. he had abundance of deputies, factors, and slaves. he was obliged from time to time to take journies, and talk with his correspondents; and one day being under the necessity of going a long journey about an affair of importance, he took horse, and put a portmanteau behind him, with some biscuits and dates, because he had a great desert to pass over, where he could have no manner of provisions. he arrived without any accident at the end of his journey, and, having despatched his affairs, took horse again in order to return home. the fourth day of his journey, he was so much incommoded by the heat of the sun, and the reflection of that heat from the earth, that he turned out of the road to refresh himself under some trees that he saw in the country. there he found, at the foot of a great walnut-tree, a fountain of very clear running water; and alighting, tied his horse to a branch of the tree, and sitting down by the fountain, took some biscuits and dates out of his portmanteau, and, as he ate his dates, threw the shells about on both sides of him. when he had done eating, being a good mussulman, he washed his hands, his face, and his feet, and said his prayers. he had not made an end, but was still on his knees, when he saw a genie appear, all white with age, and of a monstrous bulk; who, advancing towards him, with a scimitar in his hand, spoke to him in a terrible voice thus: rise up, that i may kill thee with this scimitar, as you have killed my son; and accompanied those words with a frightful cry. the merchant, being as much frightened at the hideous shape of the monster as at these threatening words, answered him trembling, alas! my good lord, of what crime can i be guilty towards you, that you should take away my life? i will, replies the genie, kill thee, as thou hast killed my son. o heaven! says the merchant, how should i kill your son? i did not know him, nor ever saw him. did not you sit down when you came hither, replies the genie? did not you take dates out of your portmanteau, and, as you ate them, did not you throw the shells about on both sides? i did all that you say, answers the merchant; i cannot deny it. if it be so, replies the genie, i tell thee that thou hast killed my son, and the way was thus; when you threw your nut-shells about, my son was passing by, and you threw one of them into his eye, which killed him; therefore i must kill thee. ah! my lord, pardon me, cried the merchant. no pardon, answers the genie, no mercy. is it not just to kill him that has killed another? i agree to it, says the merchant; but certainly i never killed your son; and if i have, it was unknown to me, and i did it innocently; therefore i beg you to pardon me, and suffer me to live. no, no, says the genie, persisting in his resolution, i must kill thee, since thou hast killed my son; and then taking the merchant by the arm, threw him with his face upon the ground, and lifted up his scimitar to cut off his head. the merchant, all in tears, protested he was innocent, bewailed his wife and children, and spoke to the genie in the most moving expressions that could be uttered. the genie, with his scimitar still lifted up, had so much patience as to hear the wretch make an end of his lamentations, but would not relent. all this whining, says the monster, is to no purpose; though you should shed tears of blood, that shall not hinder me to kill thee, as thou killedst my son. why! replied the merchant, can nothing prevail with you? will you absolutely take away the life of a poor innocent? yes, replied the genie, i am resolved upon it. as scheherazade had spoken these words, perceiving it was day, and knowing that the sultan rose betimes in the morning to say his prayers, and hold his council, scheherazade held her peace. lord, sister, says dinarzade, what a wonderful story is this! the remainder of it, says scheherazade, is more surprising; and you will be of my mind, if the sultan will let me live this day, and permit me to tell it you next night. schahriar, who had listened to scheherazade with pleasure, says to himself, i will stay till to-morrow, for i can at any time put her to death, when she has ended the story. so having resolved not to take away scheherazade's life that day, he rose and went to prayers, and then called his council. all this while the grand vizier was terribly uneasy. instead of sleeping, he spent the night in sighs and groans, bewailing the lot of his daughter, of whom he believed that he himself should be the executioner: and as, in this melancholy prospect, he was afraid of seeing the sultan, he was agreeably surprised when he saw the prince enter the council-chamber, without giving him the fatal orders he expected. the sultan, according to his custom, spent the day in regulating his affairs; and when night came, he went to bed with scheherazade. next morning, before day, dinarzade failed not to address herself to her sister thus: my dear sister, if you be not asleep, i pray you, till day-break, which will be in a very little time, to go on with the story you began last night. the sultan, without staying till scheherazade asked him leave, bid her make an end of the story of the genie and the merchant, for i long to hear the issue of it; upon which scheherazade spoke, and continued the story as follows. the second night. when the merchant saw that the genie was going to cut off his head, he cried out aloud, and said to him, for heaven's sake hold your hand! allow me one word, be so good as to grant me some respite; allow me but time to bid my wife and children adieu, and to divide my estate among them by will, that they may not go to law with one another after my death; and when i have done so, i will come back to the same place, and submit to whatever you shall please to order concerning me. but, says the genie, if i grant you the time you demand, i doubt you will never return. if you will believe my oath, answers the merchant, i swear, by all tnat is sacred, that i will come and meet you here without fail. what time do you demand then, replies the genie? i ask a year, says the merchant; i cannot have less to order my affairs, and prepare myself to die without regret. but i promise you that this day twelve months i will return under these trees, to put myself into your hands. do you take heaven to be witness to this promise, says the genie? i do, answers the merchant, and repeat it, and you may rely upon my oath. upon this the genie left him near the fountain, and disappeared. the merchant, being recovered from his fright, mounted his horse, and set forward on his journey; and as he was glad, on the one hand, that he had escaped so great a danger, so he was mortally sorry, on the other, when he thought on his fatal oath. when he came home, his wife and children received him with all the demonstrations of perfect joy. but he, instead of making them answerable returns, fell a-weeping bitterly; from whence they readily conjectured that something extraordinary had befallen him. his wife asked the reason of his excessive grief and tears; we are all overjoyed, says she, at your return, but you frighten us to see you in this condition? pray tell us the cause of your sorrow. alas! replies the husband, the cause of it is, that i have but a year to live; and then told what had passed betwixt him and the genie, and that he had given his oath to return at the end of the year to receive death from his hands. when they had heard these sad news, they all began to lament heavily; his wife made a pitiful outcry, beat her face, and tore her hairs. the children, being all in tears, made the house resound with their groans; and the father, not being able to overcome nature, mixed his tears with theirs; so that, in a word, it was the most affecting spectacle that any man could behold. next morning, the merchant applied himself to put his affairs in order, and, first of all, to pay his debts. he made presents to his friends, gave great alms to the poor, set his slaves of both sexes at liberty, divided his estate among his children, appointed guardians for such of them as were not come of age; and restoring to his wife all that was due to her by contract of marriage, he gave her, over and above, all that he could do by law. at last the year expired, and go he must. he put his burial-clothes in his portmanteau; but never was there such grief seen, as when he came to bid his wife and children adieu. they could not think of parting, but resolved to go along and to die with, him; but, finding that he must be forced to part from those dear objects, he spoke to them thus: 'my dear wife and children,' says he, 'i obey the order of heaven in quitting you; follow my example, submit courageously to this necessity, and consider that it is the destiny of man to die.' having said these words, he went out of the hearing of the cries of his family; and, taking his journey, arrived at the place, where he promised to meet the genie, on the day appointed. he alighted, and setting himself down by the fountain, waited the coming of the genie with all the sorrow imaginable. whilst he languished in this cruel expectation, a good old man, leading a bitch, appeared, and drew near him; they saluted one another, after which the old man says to him, brother, may i ask you why you are come into this desert place, where there is nothing but evil spirits, and by consequence you cannot be safe. to look upon these fine trees, indeed, one would think the place inhabited; but if is a true wilderness where it is not safe to stay long. the merchant satisfied his curiosity, and told him the adventure which obliged him to be there. the old man listened to him with astonishment, and when he had done, cried out, this is the most surprising thing in the world, and you are bound by the most inviolable oath; however, i will be witness of your interview with the genie; and sitting down by the merchant, they talked together. but i see day, says scheherazade, and must leave off; but the best of the story is yet to come. the sultan, resolving to hear the end of it, suffered her to live that day also. the third night. next morning dinarzade made the same request to her sister as formerly, thus: my dear sister, says she, if you be not asleep, tell me one of those pleasant stories you have read: but the sultan, willing to understand what followed betwixt the merchant and the genie, bid her go on with that; which she did as follows: sir, while the merchant and the old man that led the bitch were talking, they saw another old man coming to them, followed by two black dogs; after they had saluted one another, he asked them what they did in that place? the old man with the bitch told him the adventure of the merchant and genie, with all that had passed betwixt them, particularly the merchant's oath. he added, that this was the day agreed on, and that he was resolved to stay and see the issue. the second old man, thinking it also worth his curiosity, resolved to do the like: he likewise sat down by them; and they had scarcely begun to talk together, when there came a third old man, who, addressing himself to the two former, asked why the merchant that sat with them looked so melancholy. they told him the reason of it, which appeared so extraordinary to him, that he also resolved to be witness to the result, and for that end sat down with them. in a little time they perceived in the field a thick vapour, like a cloud of dust rising by a whirlwind, advancing towards them, which vanished all of a sudden, and then the genie appeared, who, without saluting them, came up to the merchant with his drawn scimitar, and taking him by the arm, says, get thee up, that i may kill thee as thou didst kill my son. the merchant and the three old men being frightened, began to lament, and to fill the air with their cries.--here scheherazade, perceiving day, left off her story which did so much whet the sultan's curiosity, that he was absolutely resolved to hear the end of it, and put off the sultaness's execution till next day. nobody can express the grand vizier's joy, when he perceived that the sultan did not order him to kill scheherazade; his family, the court, and all the people in general, were astonished at it. the fourth night. towards the end of the following night, dinarzade failed not to awake the sultaness. mv dear sister, says she, if you be not asleep, pray tell me one of your fine stories. then scheherazade, with the sultan's permission, spoke as follows: sir, when the old man that led the bitch saw the genie lay hold of the merchant, and about to kill him without pity, he threw himself at the feet of the monster, and kissing them, says to him: prince of genies, i most humbly request you to suspend your anger, and do me the favour to hear me. i will tell you the history of my life, and of the bitch you see; and if you think it more wonderful and surprising than the adventure of the merchant you are going to kill, i hope you will pardon the poor unfortunate man the third of his crime. the genie took some time to consult upon it, but answered at last, well, then; i agree to it. the history of the first old man and the bitch. i shall begin then, says the old man; listen to me i pray you, with attention. this bitch you see is my cousin, nay, what is more, my wife: she was only twelve years of age when i married her, so that i may justly say, she ought as much to regard me as her father, as her kinsman and husband. we lived together twenty years without any children, yet her barrenness did hot hinder my haying a great deal of complaisance and friendship for her. the desire of having children only made me to buy a slave, by whom i had a son, who was extremely promising. my wife being jealous, conceived a hatred both for mother and child, but concealed it so well, that i did not know it till it was too late. mean time my son grew up, and was ten years old, when i was obliged to undertake a journey: before i went, i recommended to my wife, of whom i had no mistrust, the slave and her son, and prayed her to take care of them during my absence, which was for a whole year. she made use of that time to satisfy her hatred: she applied herself to magic, and when she knew enough of that diabolical art to execute her horrible contrivance, the wretch carried my son to a desolate place, where, by her enchantments, she changed my son into a calf, and gave him to my farmer to fatten, pretending she had bought him. her fury did not stop at this abominable action, but she likewise changed the slave into a cow, and gave her also to the farmer. at my return, i asked for the mother and child: your slave, says she, is dead; and for your son, i know not what is become of him: i have not seen him these two months. i was troubled at the death of my slave; but my son having also disappeared, as she told me, i was in hopes he would return in a little time. however, eight months passed, and i heard nothing of him, when the festival of the great bairam happened, to celebrate the same, i sent to my farmer for one of the fattest cows to sacrifice; and he sent me one accordingly. the cow which he brought me was my slave, the unfortunate mother of my son, i tied her, but as i was going to sacrifice her, she bellowed pitifully and i could perceive streams of tears run from her eyes. this seemed to me very extraordinary, and finding myself, in spite of all i could do, seized with pity, i could not find in my heart to give her the blow, but ordered my farmer to get me another. my wife, who was present, was enraged at my compassion, and opposing herself to an order which disappointed her malice, she cries out, what do you do, husband? sacrifice that cow, your farmer has not a finer, nor one fitter for that use. out of complaisance to my wife, i came again to the cow, and combatting my pity, which suspended the sacrifice, was going to give her the fatal blow, when the victim redoubling her tears, and bellowing, disarmed me a second time. then i put the mell into the farmer's hands, and bade him sacrifice her himself, for her tears and bellowing pierced my heart. the farmer, less compassionate than i, sacrificed her; and when he flead her, found her nothing but bones, though to us she seemed very fat. take her to yourself, says i to the farmer, i quit her to you; give her in alms, or which way you will; and if you have a very fat calf, bring me it in her stead. i did not inform myself what he did with the cow; but, soon after he took her away, he came with a very fat calf. though i knew not that the calf was my son, yet i could not forbear being moved at the sight of him. on his part, as soon as he saw me, he made so great an effort to come to me, that he broke his cord, threw himself at my feet, with his head against the ground, as if he would excite my compassion, conjuring me not to be so cruel as to take his life, and did as much as was possible for him to do, to signify that he was my son. i was more surprised and affected with this action than with the tears of the cow: i found a tender pity, which made me concern myself for him, or rather nature did its duty. go, says i to the farmer, carry home that calf, take great care of him, and bring me another in his stead immediately. as soon as my wife heard me say so, she immediately cried out, what do you do, husband? take my advice, sacrifice no other calf but that. wife, said i, i will not sacrifice him, i will spare him, and pray do not you oppose it. the wicked woman had no regard to my desire, she hated my son too much to consent that i should save him; i tied the poor creature, and taking up the fatal knife--here scheherazade stopped, because she perceived day-light. then dinarzade said, sister, i am enchanted with this story, which bespeaks my attention so agreeably. if the sultan will suffer me to live to-day, answers scheherazade, what i have to tell you to-morrow will divert you abundantly more. schahriar, curious to know what would become of the old man's son, who led the bitch, told the sultaness he would be very glad to hear the end of that story next night. the fifth night. when day began to draw near, dinarzade put her sister's orders in execution very exactly, who, being awaked, prayed the sultan to allow her to give dinarzade that satisfaction, which the prince, who took so much pleasure in the story himself, readily agreed to. sir, then, says scheherazade, the first old man, who led the bitch, continuing his story to the genie, the two other old men, and the merchant, proceeded thus: i took the knife, says he, and was going to strike it into my son's throat, when, turning his eyes, bathed with tears, in a languishing manner towards me, he affected me so, that i had not strength to sacrifice him, but, let the knife fall, and told my wife positively that i would have another calf to sacrifice, and not that. she used all endeavours to make me change my resolution; but i continued firm, and pacified her a little, by promising that i would sacrifice him against the bairam next year. next morning, my farmer desired to speak with me alone; and told me, i come, says he, to tell you a piece of news, for which, i hope, you will return me thanks. i have a daughter that has some skill in magic: yesterday, as i carried back the calf which you would not sacrifice, i perceived she laughed when she saw him, and in a moment after fell a-weeping. i asked her why she acted two such contrary parts at one and the same time. father, replies she, the calf you bring back is our landlord's son: i laughed for joy to see him still alive, and i wept at the remembrance of the former sacrifice that was made the other day of his mother, who was changed into a cow. these two metamorphoses were made by the enchantments of our master's wife, who hated the mother and son; and this is what my daughter told me, said the farmer, and i come to acquaint you with it. at these words, the old man adds, i leave you to think, my lord genie, how much i was surprised: i went immediately to my farmer, to speak with his daughter myself. as soon as i came, i went forthwith to the stall where my son was; he could not answer my embraces, but received them in such a manner as fully satisfied me he was my son. the farmer's daughter came: my good maid, says i, can you restore my son to his former shape? yes, says she, i can, ah! said i, if you can, i will make you mistress of my fortune. she replied to me, smiling, you are our master, and know very well what i owe to you, but cannot restore your son into his former shape, but on two conditions. the first is, that you give him me for my husband, and the second is, that you allow me to punish the person who changed him into a calf. for the first, said i, i agree to it with all my heart; nay, i promise you more, a considerable estate for yourself, independent of what i design for my son. in a word, you shall see how i will reward the great service i expect from you. as to what relates to my wife, i also agree to it: a person that has been capable of committing such a criminal action, deserves very well to be punished; i leave her to you; only i must pray you not to take her life. i am just going then, answers she, to treat her as she has treated my son. i agree to it, said i, provided you restore my son to me beforehand. then the maid took a vessel full of water, pronounced words over it that i did not understand, and addressing herself to the calf, o calf, says she, if thou wast created by the almighty and sovereign master of the world, such as you appear at this time, continue in that form: but, if thou art a man, and changed into a calf by enchantment, return to thy natural shape by the permission of the sovereign creator. as she spoke these words, she threw water upon him, and in an instant he recovered his first shape. my son, my dear son, cried i! immediately embracing him with such a transport of joy that i knew not what i was doing; it is heaven that has sent us this young maid to take off the horrible charm by which you were enchanted, and to avenge the injury done to you and your mother. i doubt not but, in acknowledgment, you will take your deliverer to wife, as i have promised. he consented to it with joy; but, before they were married, she changed my wife into a bitch, and this is she you see here. i desired she should have this shape, rather than another less agreeable, that we might see her in the family without horror. since that time my son has become a widower, and gone to travel; and it being several years since i heard of him, i am come abroad to inquire after him; and not being willing to trust any body with my wife while i should come home, i thought it fit to carry her every where with me. this is the history of myself and this bitch, is it not one of the most wonderful and surprising that can be? i agree it is, says the genie, and, upon that account, i forgive the merchant the third of his crime. when the first old man, sir, continued the sultaness, had finished his story, the second, who led the two black dogs, addressed himself to the genie, and says to him, i am going to tell you what happened to me and these two black dogs you see by me, and i am certain you will say that my story is yet more surprising than that which you have just now heard; but when i have told it you, i hope you will be pleased to pardon the merchant the second third of his crime. yes, replies the genie, provided your story surpass that of the bitch. then the second began in this manner. but as scheherazade pronounced these words, she saw it was day, and left off speaking. o heaven! sister, says dinarzade, these adventures are very singular. sister, replies the sultaness, they are not comparable to those which i have to tell you next night, if the sultan, my lord and master, be so good as to let me live. schahriar answered nothing to that, but rose up, said his prayers, and went to council, without giving any order against the life of the scheherazade. the sixth night. the sixth night being come, the sultan and his lady went to bed. dinarzade awaked at the usual hour, and calling to the sultaness, says, dear sister, if you be not asleep, i pray you, until it be day, to satisfy my curiosity; i am impatient to hear the story of the old man and the two black dogs. the sultan consented to it with pleasure, being no less desirous to know the story than dinarzade; and scheherazade continued it as follows. the story of the second old man and the two black dogs. great prince of genies, says the old man, you must know that we are three brothers, i and the two black dogs you see: our father left each of us, when he died, one thousand sequins; with that sum we all entered into the same way of living, and became merchants. a little time after we had opened shop, my eldest brother, one of these two dogs, resolved to travel and trade in foreign countries. upon this design, he sold his estate, and bought goods proper for the trade he intended. he went away, and was absent a whole year; at the end of which, a poor man, who, i thought, had come to ask alms, presented himself before me in my shop. i said to him, god help you. god help you also, answered he, is it possible you do not know me? upon this, i looked to him narrowly, and knew him. ah, my brother! cried i, embracing him, how could i know you in this condition? i made him come into my house, and asked him concerning his health, and the success of his travels. do not ask me that question, says he; when you see me, you see all. it would only renew my grief to tell you all the particulars of the misfortunes that have befallen me, and reduced me to this condition, since i left you. i immediately shut up my shop, and, carrying him to a bath, gave him the best clothes i had by me; and examining my books, and finding that i had doubled my stock, that is to say, that i was worth two thousand sequins, i gave him one half. with that, said i, brother, you may make up your loss. he joyfully accepted the proffer, recovered himself, and we lived together as before. some time after, my second brother, who is the other of these two dogs, would also sell his estate. i and his other brother did all we could to divert him from it, but could not; he sold it, and with the money bought such goods as were suitable for the trade he designed. he joined a caravan; and took a journey. he returned at the end of the year in the same condition as my other brother; and i having gained another thousand sequins, gave him them, with which he furnished his shop, and continued to follow his trade. some time after, one of my brothers comes to me to propose a trading voyage with them; i immediately rejected their proposal. you have travelled, said i, and what have you gained by it? who can assure me that i shall be more successful than you have been? they represented to me in vain all that they thought fit to prevail upon me to engage in that design with them, for i constantly refused; but they importuned me so much, that after having resisted their solicitations five whole. years, they overcame me at last: but when we were to make preparations for our voyage, and to buy goods necessary for the undertaking, i found they had spent all, and that they had not one farthing left of the thousand sequins i had given each of them. i did not, however, upbraid them in the least with it. on the contrary, my stock being six thousand sequins, i shared the half of it with them, telling them, my brothers, we must venture these three thousand sequins, and hide the rest in some sure place, that, in case our voyage be no more successful than yours was formerly, we may have wherewith to assist us, and to follow our ancient way of living. i gave each of them a thousand sequins; and keeping as much for myself, i buried the other three thousand in a corner of my house. we bought our goods; and, after having embarked them on board a vessel, which we freighted betwixt us three, we put to sea with a favourable wind. after a month's sail--but i see day, says scheherazade, i must stop here. sister, says dinarzade, this story promises a great deal; i fancy the rest of it must be very extraordinary. you are not mistaken, answered the sultaness; and if the sultan will allow me to tell it you, i am persuaded it will very much divert you. schahriar got up, as he did the day before, without explaining his mind; but gave no order to the grand vizier to kill his daughter. the seventh night. when the seventh night drew near a close, dinarzade awaked the sultaness, and prayed her to continue the story of the second old man. i will, answered scheherazade, provided the sultan, my lord and master, do not oppose it. not at all, says shahriar; i am so far from opposing it, that i desire you earnestly to go on with it. to resume the thread of the story, says scheherazade, you must know that the old man, who led the two dogs, continued his story to the genie, the other two old men, and the merchant, thus: in short, says he, after two months sail, we arrived happily at a port, where we landed, and had a very great vent for our goods. i especially sold mine so well, that i gained ten to one; and we bought commodities of that country to transport and sell in our own. when we were ready to embark in order to return, i met, upon the banks of the sea, a lady handsome enough, but poorly clad. she came up to me presently, kissed my hand, prayed me, with the greatest earnestness imaginable, to marry her, and take her along with me. i made some difficulty to agree to it; but she said so many things to persuade me that i ought to make no objections to her poverty, and that i should have all the reason in the world to be satisfied with her conduct, that i yielded. i ordered fit apparel to be made for her; and, after having married her according to form, i took her on board, and we set sail. during the navigation, i found the wife i had taken had so many good qualities, that i loved her every day more and more. in the mean time my two brothers, who had not managed their affairs so well as i did mine, envied my prosperity; and their fury carried them so far as to conspire against my life; so that one night, when my wife and i were asleep, they threw us both into the sea. my wife was a fairy, and by consequence, genie, you know well, she could not be drowned; but for me, it is certain, i had been lost without her help. i had scarcely fallen into the water, till she took me up, and carried me to an island. when it was day, the fairy said to me, you see, husband, that, by saving your life, i have not rewarded you ill for your kindness to me. you must know that i am a fairy, and that, being upon the bank of the sea, when you were going to embark, i found i had a strong inclination for you: i had a mind to try your goodness, and presented myself before you in the disguise wherein you saw me. you have dealt very generously with me, and i am mighty glad to have found an opportunity of testifying my acknowledgment to you: but i am incensed against your two brothers, and nothing will satisfy me but their lives. i listened to this discourse of the fairy with admiration. i thanked her as well as i could for the great kindness she had done me; but, madam, said i, for my brothers, i beg you to pardon them; whatever cause they have given me, i am not cruel enough to desire their death. i told her the particulars of what i had done for them, which increased her indignation so, that she cried out, i must immediately fly after those ungrateful traitors, and take speedy vengeance on them; i will drown their vessel, and throw them into the bottom of the sea. no, my good lady, replied i, for the sake of heaven do not so; moderate your anger, consider that they are my brothers, and that we must do good for evil. i pacified the fairy by these words; and as soon as i had spoken them, she transported me in an instant from the island where we were to the roof of my own house, which was terrassed, and disappeared in a moment. i went down, opened the doors, and dug up the three thousand sequins i had hid. i went afterwards to the place where my shop was, which i also opened, and was complimented by the merchants, my neighbours, upon my return. when i went to my house, i perceived two black dogs, which came to me in a very submissive manner; i knew not what it meant, but was much astonished at it. but the fairy, who appeared immediately, says to me, husband, do not be surprised to see these two black dogs by you; they are your two brothers. i was troubled at these words, and asked her by what power they were so transformed. it was i that did it, says she, at least i gave commission to one of my sisters to do it, who, at the same time, sunk their ship. you have lost the goods you had on board, but i will make it up to you in another way. as to your two brothers, i have condemned them to remain five years in that shape. their perfidiousness too well deserves such a penance; and, in short, after having told me where i might hear of her, she disappeared. now the five years being out, i am travelling in quest of her; and as i passed this way, i met this merchant, and the good old man that led the bitch, and sat down by them. this is my history, o prince of genies, do not you think it very extraordinary? i own it, says the genie, and, upon that account, remit the merchant the second third of the crime which he has committed against me. as soon as the second old man had finished his story, the third began, and made the like demand of the genie with the two first; that is to say, to pardon the merchant the other third of his crime, provided the story he had to tell him exceeded the two he had already heard for singular events. the genie made him the same promise as he had done the other two. hearken then, says the old man to him. but day appears, says scheherazade, i must stop here. i cannot enough admire, sister, says dinarzade, the adventures you have told me. i know abundance more, answers the sultaness, that are still more wonderful. schahriar, willing to know if the story of the third old man would be as agreeable as that of the second, put off the execution of scheherazade till the next night. the eighth night. as soon as dinarzade perceived it was time to call the sultaness, she says, sister, i have been awake a long time, and have a great mind to awake you, i am so impatient to hear the story of the third old man. the sultan answered, i can hardly think that the third story will surpass the two former ones. sir, replies the sultaness, the third old man told his story to the genie; i cannot tell it you, because it is not come to my knowledge, but i know that it did so much exceed the two former stories in the variety of wonderful adventures that the genie was astonished at it; and no sooner heard the end of it, but he said to the third old man, i remit the other third part of the merchant's crime upon the account of your story. he is very much obliged to all three of you, for having delivered him out of this danger by your stories; without which he had not now been in the world. and, having spoken thus, he disappeared to the great contentment of the company. the merchant failed not to give his three deliverers the thanks he owed them. they rejoiced to see him out of danger; after which he bid them adieu, and each of them went on his way. the merchant returned to his wife and children, and passed the rest of his days with them in peace. but, sir, added scheherazade, how pleasant soever these stories may be, that i have told your majesty hitherto, they do not come near that of the fisherman. dinarzade, perceiving that the sultaness demurred, says to her, sister, since there is still some time remaining, pray tell us the story of the fisherman, if the sultan is willing. schahriar agreed to it, and scheherazade, resuming her discourse, pursued it in this manner. the story of the fisherman. sir--there was a very ancient fisherman, so poor, that he could scarcely earn enough to maintain himself, his wife, and three children. he went every day to fish betimes in a morning; and imposed it as a law upon himself, not to cast his nets above four times a-day. he went one morning by moon-light, and, coming to the sea-bank, undressed himself, and cast in his nets. as he drew them towards the shore, he found them very heavy, and thought he had got a good draught of fish, at which he rejoiced within himself; but, in a moment after, perceiving that, instead of fish, there was nothing in his nets but the carcase of an ass, he was mightily vexed. scheherazade stopped here, because she saw it was day. sister, says dinarzade, i must confess that the beginning of this story charms me, and i foresee that the result of it will be very agreeable. there is nothing more surprising than the story of this fisherman, replied the sultaness, and you will be convinced of it next night, if the sultan will be so gracious as to let me live. schahriar, being curious to hear the success of such an extraordinary fishing, would not order scheherazade to be put to death that day. the ninth night. my dear sister, cries dinarzade, next morning at the usual hour, if you be not asleep, i pray you to go on with the story of the fisherman; i am ready to die till i hear it. i am willing to give you that satisfaction, says the sultaness; but at the same time she demanded leave of the sultan, and, having obtained it, began again as follows: sir, when the fisherman, vexed to have made such a sorry draught, had mended his nets, which the carcase of the ass had broken in several places, he threw them in a second time; and when he drew them, found a great deal of resistance, which made him think he had taken abundance of fish; but he found nothing except a pannier full of gravel and slime, which grieved him extremely. o fortune! cries he, with a lamentable tone, do not be angry with me, nor persecute a wretch who prays thee to spare him. i came hither from my house to seek for my livelihood, and thou pronouncest death against me. i have no other trade but this to subsist by; and, notwithstanding all the care i take, i can scarcely provide what is absolutely necessary for my family. but i am in the wrong to complain of thee; thou takest pleasure to persecute honest people, and to leave great men in obscurity, whilst thou showest favour to the wicked, and advancest those who have no virtue to recommend them. having finished this complaint, he threw away the pannier in a fret, and washing his nets from the slime, cast them the third time, but brought up nothing except stones, shells, and mud. nobody can express his disorder; he was within an ace of going quite mad. however, when day began to appear, he did not forget to say his prayers like a good mussulman, and afterwards added this petition: "lord, you know that i cast my net only four times a day; i have already drawn them three times, without the least reward for my labour: i am only to cast them once more; i pray you to render the sea favourable to me, as you did to moses." the fisherman, having finished this prayer, cast his nets the fourth time; and, when he thought it was time, he drew them, as formerly, with great difficulty; but, instead of fish, found nothing in them but a vessel of yellow copper, that, by its weight, seemed to be full of something; and he observed that it was shut up and sealed with lead, having the impression of a seal upon it. this rejoiced him; i will sell it, says he, to the founder, and with the money arising from the product, buy a measure of corn. he examined the vessel on all sides, and shook it, to see if what was within made any noise, and heard nothing. this circumstance, with the impression of the seal upon the leaden cover, made him to think there was something precious in it. to try this, he took a knife, and opened it with very little labour; he presently turned the mouth downward; but nothing came out, which surprised him extremely. he set it before him, and, while he looked upon it attentively, there came out a very thick smoke which obliged him to retire two or three paces from it. this smoke mounted as high as the clouds, and extending itself along the sea, and upon the shore, formed a great mist, which, we may well imagine, did mightily astonish the fisherman. when the smoke was all out of the vessel, it reunited itself, and became a solid body, of which there was formed a genie twice as high as the greatest of giants. at the sight of a monster of such unsizeable bulk, the fisherman would fain have fled, but was so frightened that he could not go one step. solomon, cried the genie immediately, solomon, the great prophet, pardon, pardon; i will never more oppose your will: i will obey all your commands.--scheherazade, perceiving it day, broke off her story. upon which dinarzade said, dear sister, nobody can keep their promise better than you can keep yours. this story is certainly more surprising than the former. sister, replies the sultaness, there are more wonderful things yet to come, if my lord the sultan will allow me to tell them you. schahriar had too great a desire to hear out the story of the fisherman to deprive himself of that pleasure, and therefore put off the sultaness's death another day. the tenth night. dinarzade called her sister next night when she thought it was time, and prayed her to continue the story of the fisherman; and the sultan being also impatient to know what concern the genie had with solomon, scheherazade continued her story thus; sir, the fisherman, when he heard these words of the genie, recovered his courage, and says to him, thou proud spirit, what is this that you talk? it is above eighteen hundred years since the prophet solomon died, and we are now at the end of time: tell me your history, and how you came to be shut up in this vessel. the genie, turning to the fisherman with a fierce look, says, you must speak to me with more civility; thou art very bold to call me a proud spirit. very well, replies the fisherman, shall i speak to you with more civility, and call you the owl of good luck? i say, answers the genie, speak to me more civilly, before i kill thee. i have only one favour to grant thee. and what is that, says the fisherman? it is, answers the genie, to give you your choice in what manner you wouldst have me to take thy life. but wherein have i offended you, replies the fisherman? is this the reward for the good service i have done you. i cannot treat you otherwise, says the genie; and that you may be convinced of it, hearken to my story. i am one of those rebellious spirits that opposed themselves to the will of heaven; all the other genies owned solomon, the great prophet, and submitted to him. sacar and i were the only genies that would never be guilty of so mean a thing: and, to avenge himself, that great monarch sent asaph, the son of barakia, his chief minister, to apprehend me. that was accordingly done; asaph seized my person, and brought me by force before his master's throne. solomon, the son of david, commanded me to quit my way of living, to acknowledge his power, and to submit myself to his commands: i bravely refused to obey, and told him, i would rather expose myself to his resentment, than swear fealty, and submit to him as he required. to punish me, he shut me up in this copper vessel; and to make sure of me that i should not break prison, he stamped (himself) upon this leaden cover his seal, with the great name god engraven upon it. thus he gave the vessel to one of the genies that submitted to him, with orders to throw it into the sea, which was executed to my great sorrow. during the first hundred years imprisonment, i swore that if one would deliver me before the hundred years expired, i would make him rich even after his death: but that century ran out, and nobody did me that good office. during the second, i made an oath, that i would open all the treasures of the earth to any one that would set me at liberty, but with no better success. in the third, i promised to make my deliverer a potent monarch, to be always near him in spirit, and to grant him every day three demands, of what nature soever they might be: but this century ran out as well as the two former, and i continued in prison. at last, being angry, or rather mad, to find myself a prisoner so long, i swore, that if afterwards any one should deliver me, i would kill him without pity, and grant him no other favour but to choose what kind of death he would die; and therefore, since you have delivered me to-day, i give you that choice. this discourse afflicted the poor fisherman extremely: i am very unfortunate, cries he, to come hither to do such a piece of good service to one that is so ungrateful. i beg you to consider your injustice, and revoke such an unreasonable oath: pardon me, and heaven will pardon you; if you grant me my life, heaven will protect you from all attempts against yours. no, thy death is resolved on, says the genie, only choose how you will die. the fisherman, perceiving the genie to be resolute, was extremely grieved, not so much for himself as for his three children, and bewailed the misery they must be reduced to by his death. he endeavoured still to appease the genie, and says, alas! be pleased to take pity on me in consideration of the good service i have done you. i have told thee already, replies the genie, it is for that very reason i must kill thee. that is very strange, says the fisherman, are you resolved to reward good for evil? the proverb says, "that he who does good to one who deserves it not, is always ill rewarded." i must confess i thought it was false; for in effect there can be nothing more contrary to reason, or the laws of society. nevertheless, i find now, by cruel experience, that it is but too true. do not let us lose time, replies the genie, all thy reasoning shall not divert me from my purpose: make haste, and tell me which way you choose to die. necessity is the mother of invention. the fisherman bethought himself of a stratagem. since i must die then, says he to the genie, i submit to the will of heaven; but, before i choose the manner of death, i conjure you by the great name which was engraven upon the seal of the prophet solomon, the son of david, to answer me truly the question i am going to ask you. the genie, finding himself obliged to give a positive answer by this adjuration, trembled, and replied to the fisherman, ask what thou wilt, but make haste. day appearing, scheherazade held her peace. sister, says dinarzade, it must be owned, that the more you speak, the more you surprise and satisfy. i hope the sultan, our lord, will not order you to be put to death till he hears out the fine story of the fisherman. the sultan is absolute, replies scheherazade; we must submit to his will in every thing. but shahriar, being as willing as dinarzade to hear an end of the story, did again put off the execution of the sultaness. the eleventh night. shahriar, and the princess his spouse, passed this night in the same manner as they had done the former; and, before break of day, dinarzade awaked them with these words, which she addressed to the sultaness: i pray you, sister, to resume the story of the fisherman. with all my heart, says scheherazade, i am willing to satisfy you, with the sultan's permission. the genie (continued she) having promised to speak the truth, the fisherman says to him, i would know if you were actually in this vessel? dare you swear it by the name of the great god? yes, replied the genie, i do swear by that great name that i was, and it is a certain truth. in good faith, answered the fisherman, i cannot believe you; the vessel is not capable to hold one of your feet, and how should it be possible that your whole body could be in it? i swear to thee notwithstanding, replied the genie, that i was there just as you see me here: is it possible that thou dost not believe me after the great oath which i have taken? truly, not i, said the fisherman; nor will i believe you unless you show it me. upon which the body of the genie was dissolved, and changed itself into smoke, extending itself, as formerly, upon the sea-shore; and then at last, being gathered together, it began to reenter the vessel, which he continued to do successively, by a slow and equal motion, after a smooth and exact way, till nothing was left out, and immediately a voice came forth, which said to the fisherman, well, now, incredulous fellow, i am all in the vessel, do not you believe me now? the fisherman, instead of answering the genie, took the cover of lead, and having speedily shut the vessel, genie, cries he, now it is your turn to beg my favour, and to choose which way i shall put thee to death; but not so, it is better that i should throw you into the sea, whence i took you; and then i will build a house upon the bank, where i will dwell, to give notice to all fishermen, who come to throw in their nets, to beware of such a wicked genie as thou art, who hast made an oath to kill him who shall set thee at liberty. the genie, enraged at these expressions, did all he could to get out of the vessel again, but it was not possible for him to do it; for the impression of solomon's seal prevented him; so, perceiving that the fisherman had got the advantage of him, he thought fit to dissemble his anger. fisherman, says he, in a pleasant tone, take heed you do not what you say; for what i spoke before was only by way of jest, and you are to take it no otherwise. o genie! replies the fisherman, thou who wast but a moment ago the greatest of all genies, and now art the least of them, thy crafty discourse will signify nothing to thee, but to the sea thou shalt return: if thou hadst staid in the sea so long as thou hast told me, thou mayst very well stay there till the day of judgment. i begged thee, in god's name, not to take away my life, and thou didst reject my prayers; i am obliged to treat you in the same manner. the genie omitted nothing that could prevail upon the fisherman: open the vessel, says he, give me my liberty, i pray thee, and i promise to satisfy thee to thy own content. thou art a mere traitor, replies the fisherman, i should deserve to lose my life, if i be such a fool as to trust thee; thou wilt not fail to treat me in the same manner as a certain grecian king treated the physician douban. it is a story i have a mind to tell thee, therefore listen to it. the story of the grecian king, and the physician douban. there was in the country of zouman, in persia, a king whose subjects were originally greeks. this king was all over leprous, and his physicians in vain endeavoured his cure; and when they were at their wits end what to prescribe him, a very able physician, called douban, arrived at his court. this physician had learned his science in greek, persian, turkish, arabian, latin, syrian, and hebrew books; and, besides that he was an expert philosopher, he fully understood the good and bad qualities of all sorts of plants and drugs. as soon as he was informed of the king's distemper, and understood that his physicians had given him over, he clad himself the best he could, and found a way to present himself to the king: sir, says he, i know that all your majesty's physicians have not been able to cure you of the leprosy; but if you will do me the honour to accept my service, i will engage myself to cure you without drenches or external applications. the king listened to what he said, and answered, if you are able to perform what you promise, i will enrich you and your posterity; and, besides the presents i shall make you, you shall be my chief favourite. do you assure me, then, that you will cure me of my leprosy, without making me take any potion, or applying any external medicine? yes, sir, replies the physician, i promise myself success, through god's assistance, and to-morrow i will make trial of it. the physician returned to his quarters, and made a mallet, hollow within, and at the handle he put in his drugs: he made also a ball in such a manner as suited his purpose, with which, next morning, he went to present himself before the king, and, falling down at his feet, kissed the very ground. here scheherazade, perceiving day, acquainted the sultan with it, and held her peace. i wonder, sister, says dinarzade, where you learn so many things. you will hear a great many others to-morrow, re-* .txt---------------------------- plies scheherazade, if the sultan, my master, will be pleased to prolong my life further, schahriar, who longed as much as dinarzade to hear the sequel of the story of douban the physician, did not order the sultaness to be put to death that day. the twelfth night. the twelfth night was pretty far advanced, when dinarzade called, and says, sister, you owe us the continuation of the agreeable history of the grecian king and the physician douban. i am very willing to pay my debt, replies scheherazade, and resumed the story as follows. sir, the fisherman, speaking always to the genie, whom he kept shut up in his vessel, went on thus: the physician douban rose up, and, after a profound reverence, says to the king, he judged it meet that his majesty should take horse, and go to the place where he used to play at the mell. the king did so, and when he arrived there, the physician came to him with the mell, and says to him, sir, exercise yourself with this mell, and strike the ball with it until you find your hands and your body in a sweat. when the medicine i have put in the handle of the mell is heated with your hand, it will penetrate your whole body; and as soon as you shall sweat, you may leave off the exercise, for then the medicine will have had its effect. as soon as you are returned to your palace, go into the bath, and cause yourself to be well washed and rubbed; then go to bed, and, when you rise to-morrow, you will find yourself cured. the king took the mell, and struck the ball, which was returned by his officers that played with him; he struck it again, and played so long, till his hand and his whole body were in a sweat, and then the medicine shut up in the handle of the mell had its operation, as the physician said. upon this the king left off play, returned to his palace, entered the bath, and observed very exactly what his physician had prescribed him. he was very well after; and next morning, when he arose, he perceived, with as much wonder as joy, that his leprosy was cured, and his body as clean as if he had never been attacked with that distemper. as soon as he was dressed, he came into the hall of public audience, where he mounted his throne, and showed himself to his courtiers, who, longing to know the success of the new medicine, came thither betimes, and, when they saw the king perfectly cured, did all of them express a mighty joy for it. the physician douban, entering the hall, bowed himself before the throne wiih his face to the ground. the king, perceiving him, called him, made him sit down by his side, showed him to the assembly, and gave him all the commendation he deserved. his majesty did not stop here; but, as he treated all his court that day, he made him to eat at his table atone with him. at these words scheherazade, perceiving day, broke off her story. sister, says dinarzade, i know not what the conclusion of this story will be, but i find the beginning very surprising. that which is to come is yet better, answered the sultaness, and i am certain you will not deny it, if the sultan gives me leave to make an end of it to-morrow night. shahriar consented, and rose very well satisfied with what he had heard. the thirteenth night. dinarzade, willing to keep the sultan in ignorance of her design, cried out, as if she had started out of her sleep, dear sister, i have had a troublesome dream, and nothing will sooner make me forget it than the remainder of the story of the grecian king and the doctor douban. i conjure you, by the love you always bore me, not to defer it a moment longer. i shall not be wanting, good sister, to ease your mind; and, if my sovereign will permit me, i will go on. schahriar, being charmed with the agreeable manner of scheherazade's telling her story, says to her, you will oblige me no less than dinarzade, therefore continue. the grecian king (says the fisherman to the genie) was not satisfied with having admitted the physician douban to his table, but towards night, when he was about dismissing the company, he caused him to be clad in a long rich robe, like unto those which his favourites usually wore in his presence; and, besides that, he ordered him two thousand sequins. the next day, and the day following, he was very familiar with him. in short, this prince, thinking that he could never enough acknowledge the obligations he lay under to that able physician, bestowed every day new favours upon him. but this king had a grand vizier that was avaricious, envious, and naturally capable of all sorts of mischief; he could not see, without envy, the presents that were given to the physician, whose other merits had begun to make him jealous, and therefore he resolved to lessen him in the king's esteem. to effect this, he went to the king, and told him in private that he had some advice to give him which was of the greatest concernment. the king having asked what it was, sir, said he, it is very dangerous for a monarch to put confidence in a man whose fidelity he never tried. though you heap favours upon the physician douban, and show him all the familiarity that may be, your majesty does not know but he may be a traitor at the same time, and came on purpose to this court to kill you. from whom have you this, answered the king, that you dare tell it me? consider to whom you speak, and that you advance a thing which i shall not easily believe. sir, replied the vizier, i am very well informed of what i have had the honour to represent to your majesty, therefore do not let your dangerous confidence grow to a further height; if your majesty be asleep, be pleased to awake; for i do once more repeat it, that the physician douban did not leave the heart of greece, his country, nor come hither to settle himself at your court, but to execute that horrid design which i have just now hinted to you. no, no, vizier, replies the king, i am certain that this man, whom you treat as a villain and a traitor, is one of the best and most virtuous men in the world; and there is no man i love so much. you know by what medicine, or rather by what miracle, he cured me of my leprosy; if he had a design upon my life, why did he save me? he needed only to have left me to my disease; i could not have escaped; my life was already half gone; forbear, then, to fill me with any unjust suspicions. instead of listening to you, i tell you, that from this day forward i will give that great man a pension of a thousand sequins per month for his life; nay, though i did share with him all my riches and dominions, i should never pay him enough for what he has done me; i perceive it to be his virtue that raises your envy; but do not think that i will be unjustly possessed with prejudice against him; i remember too well what a vizier said to king sinbad, his master, to prevent his putting to death the prince his son. but, sir, says scheherazade, day-light appears, which forbids me to go further. i am very well pleased that the grecian king, says dinarzade, had so much firmness of spirit as to reject the false accusation of his vizier. if you commend the firmness of that prince to-day, says scheherazade, you will as much condemn his weakness to-morrow, if the sultan be pleased to allow me time to finish this story. the sultan, being curious to hear wherein the grecian king discovered his weakness, did further delay the death of the sultaness. the fourteenth night. an hour before day, dinarzade awaked her sister, and says to her, you will certainly be as good as your word, madam, and tell us out the story of the fisherman. to assist your memory, i will tell you where you left off; it was where the grecian king maintained the innocence of his physician douban against his vizier. i remember it, says scheherazade, and am ready to give you satisfaction. sir, continues she, addressing herself to schahriar, that which the grecian king said about king sinbad raised the vizier's curiosity, who says to him, sir, i pray your majesty to pardon me, if i have the boldness to demand of you what the vizier of king sinbad said to his master to divert him from cutting off the prince his son. the grecian king had the complaisance to satisfy him: that vizier, says he, after having represented to king sinbad that he ought to beware lest, on the accusation of a mother-in-law, he should commit an action which he might afterwards repent of, told him this story. the story of the husband and parrot. a certain man had a fair wife, whom he loved so dearly that he could scarcely allow her to be out of his sight. one day, being obliged to go abroad about urgent affairs, he came to a place where all sorts of birds were sold, and there bought a parrot, which not only spoke very well, but could also give an account of every thing that was done before it. he brought it in a cage to his house, prayed his wife to put it in the chamber, and to take care of it, during a journey he was obliged to undertake, and then went out. at his return, he took care to ask the parrot concerning what had passed in his absence, and the bird told him things that gave him occasion to upbraid his wife. she thought some of her slaves had betrayed her, but all of them swore they had been faithful to her; and they all agreed that it must have been the parrot that had told tales. upon this, the wife bethought herself of a way how, she might remove her husband's jealousy, and at the same time revenge herself on the parrot, which she effected thus: her husband being gone another journey, she commanded a slave, in the night time, to turn a hand-mill under the parrot's cage; she ordered another to throw water, in form of rain, over the cage; and a third to take a glass, and turn it to the right and to the left before the parrot, so as the reflections of the candle might shine on its face. the slaves spent great part of the night in doing what their mistress commanded them, and acquitted themselves very dexterously. next night the husband returned, and examined the parrot again about what had passed during his absence. the bird answered, good master, the lightning, thunder, and rain, did so much disturb me all night, that i cannot tell how much i suffered by it. the husband, who knew that there had been neither thunder, lightning, nor rain that night, fancied that the parrot, not having told him the truth in this, might also have lied to him in the other; upon which he took it out of the cage, and threw it with so much force to the ground that he killed it; yet afterwards he understood, by his neighbours, that the poor parrot had not lied to him when it gave him an account of his wife's base conduct, which made him repent that he had killed it. scheherazade stopped here, because she saw it was day. all that you tell us, sister, says dinarzade is so curious, that nothing can be more agreeable. i shall be willing to divert you, answers scheherazade, if the sultan, my master, will allow me time to do it. schahriar, who took as much pleasure to hear the sultaness as dinarzade, rose, and went about his affairs, without ordering the vizier to cut her off. the fifteenth night. dinarzade was punctual this night, as she had been the former, to awake her sister, and begged of her, as usual, to tell her a story. i am going to do it, sister, says scheherazade; but the sultan interrupted her, for fear she should begin a new story, and bid her finish the discourse between the grecian king and his vizier about his physician douban. sir, says scheherazade, i will obey you, and went on with the story as follows. when the grecian king, says the fisherman to the genie, had finished the story of the parrot; and you, vizier, adds he, because of the hatred you bear to the physician douban, who never did you any hurt, you would have me cut him off; but i will take care of that, for fear i should repent it, as the husband did the killing of his parrot. the mischievous vizier was too much concerned to effect the ruin of the physician douban to stop here. sir, says he, the death of the parrot was but a trifle, and i believe his master did not mourn for him long. but why should your fear of wronging an innocent man hinder your putting this physician to death? is it not enough that he is accused of a design against your life to authorize you to take away his? when the business in question is to secure the life of a king, bare suspicion ought to pass for certainty; and it is better to sacrifice the innocent than to spare the guilty. but, sir, this is not an uncertain thing; the physician douban has certainly a mind to assassinate you. it is not envy which makes me his enemy; it is only the zeal and concern i have for preserving your majesty's life, that make me give you my advice in a matter of this importance. if it be false, i deserve to be punished in the same manner as a vizier was formerly punished. what had that vizier done, says the grecian king, to deserve punishment? i will inform your majesty of that, says the vizier, if you will be pleased to hear me. the story of the vizier that was punished. there was a king, says the vizier, who had a son that loved hunting mightily. he allowed him to divert himself that way very often, but gave orders to his grand vizier to attend him constantly, and never to lose sight of him. one hunting day, the huntsman having roused a deer, the prince who thought the vizier followed him, pursued the game so far, and with so much earnestness, that he was left quite alone. he stopped, and finding that he had lost his way, endeavoured to return the same way he came, to find out the vizier, who had not been careful enough to find him, and so wandered further. whilst he rode up and down without keeping any road, he met, by the way-side, a handsome lady, who wept bitterly. he stopped his horse, asked who she was, how she came to be alone in that place, and what she wanted? i am, says she, daughter of an indian king; as i was taking the air on horseback in the country, i grew sleepy, fell from my horse, who is got away, and i know not what is become of him. the young prince, taking compassion on her, asked her to get up behind him, which she willingly accepted. as they passed by the ruins of a house, the lady signified a desire to alight on some occasion. the prince stopped his horse, and suffered her to alight; then he alighted himself, and went near the ruins with his horse in his hand: but you may judge how much he was surprised, when he heard the lady within it say these words, "be glad, my children, i bring you a handsome young man, and very fat;" and other voices which answered immediately, "mamma, where is he, that we may eat him presently, for we are very hungry." the prince heard enough to convince him of his danger, and then he perceived that the lady, who called herself daughter to an indian king, was a hogress, wife to one of those savage demons called hogress, who live in remote places, and make use of a thousand wiles to surprise and devour passengers; so that the prince, being thus frightened, mounted his horse as soon as he could. the pretended princess appeared that very moment, and perceiving that she had missed her prey, she cries, fear nothing, prince! who are you? whom do you seek? i have lost my way, replies he, and am seeking it. if you have lost your way, says she, recommend yourself to god, he will deliver you out of your perplexity. then the prince lift up his eyes towards heaven. but, sir, says scheherazade, i am obliged to break off, for day appears. i long mightily, says dinarzade, to know what became of that young prince, i tremble for him. i will deliver you from your uneasiness to-morrow, answers the sultaness, if the sultan will allow me to live till then. schahriar, willing to hear an end of this adventure, prolonged scheherazade's life for another day. the sixteenth night. dinarzade had such a mighty desire to hear out the story of the young prince, that she awaked that night sooner than ordinary, and said, sister, pray go on with the story you began yesterday: i am much concerned for the young prince, and ready to die for fear that he was eaten up by the hogress and her children. schahriar having signified that he had the same fear, the sultaness replies, well, sir, i will satisfy you immediately. after the counterfeit indian princess had bid the young prince recommend himself to god, he could not believe she spoke sincerely, but thought she was sure of him, and therefore lifting up his hands to heaven, said, almighty lord, cast thine eyes upon me, and deliver me from this enemy. after this prayer, the hogress entered the ruins again, and the prince rode off with all possible haste. he happily found his way again, and arrived safe and sound at his father's court, to whom he gave a particular account of the danger he had been in through the vizier's neglect; upon which the king, being incensed against that minister, ordered him to be strangled that very moment. sir, continues the grecian king's vizier, to return to the physician douban, if you do not take care, the confidence you put in him will be fatal to you: i am very well assured that he is a spy sent by your enemies to attempt your majesty's life. he has cured you, you will say: but, alas! who can assure you of that? he has perhaps cured you only in appearance, and not radically; who knows but the medicines he has given you may in time have pernicious effects? the grecian king, who had naturally very little sense, was not able to discover the wicked design of his vizier, nor had he firmness enough to persist in his first opinion. this discourse staggered him: vizier, says he, thou art in the right; he may be come on purpose to take away my life, which he may easily do by the very smell of some of his drugs. we must consider what is fit for us to do in this case. when the vizier found the king in such a temper as he would have him, sir, says he, the surest and speediest method you can take to secure your life, is to send immediately for the physician douban, and order his head to be cut off as soon as he comes. in truth, says the king, i believe that is the way we must take to prevent his design. when he had spoken thus, he called for one of his officers, and ordered him to go for the physician; who, knowing nothing of the king's design, came to the palace in haste. know ye, says the king, when he saw him, why i sent for you? no, sir, answered he; i wait till your majesty be pleased to inform me. i sent for you, replied the king, to rid myself of you by taking your life. no man can express the surprise of the physician, when he heard the sentence of death pronounced against him. sir, says he, why would your majesty take away my life? what crime have i committed? i am informed by good hands, replies the king, that you come to my court only to attempt my life; but, to prevent you, i will be sure of yours. give the blow, says he to the executioner, who was present, and deliver me from a perfidious wretch, who came hither on purpose to assassinate me. when the physician heard this cruel order, he readily judged that the honours and presents he had received from the king had procured him enemies, and that the weak prince was imposed upon. he repented that he had cured him of his leprosy, but it was now too late. is it thus, replies the physician, that you reward me for curing you? the king would not hearken to him, but ordered the executioner a second time to strike the fatal blow. the physician then had recourse to his prayers: alas! sir, cries he, prolong my days, and god will prolong yours; do not put me to death, lest god treat you in the same manner. the fisherman broke off his discourse here, to apply it to the genie. well, genie, says he, you see that what passed then betwixt the grecian king and his physician douban is acted just now betwixt us. the grecian king, continues he, instead of having regard to the prayers of the physician, who begged him for god's sake to spare him, cruelly replied to him, no, no; i must of necessity cut you off, otherwise you may take away my life with as much subtleness as you cured me. the physician, melting into tears, and bewailing himself sadly for being so ill rewarded by the king, prepared for death. the executioner bound up his eyes, tied his hands, and went to draw his scimitar. then the courtiers, who were present, being moved with compassion, begged the king to pardon him, assuring his majesty that he was not guilty of the crime laid to his charge, and that they would answer for his innocence; but the king was inflexible, and answered them so, as they dared not to say any more of the matter. the physician being on his knees, his eyes tied up, and ready to receive the fatal blow, addressed himself once more to the king: sir, says he, since your majesty will not revoke the sentence of death, i beg, at least, that you will give me leave to return to my house, to give orders about my burial, to bid farewell to my family, to give alms, and to bequeath my books to those who are capable of making good use of them. i have one in particular i would present to your majesty; it is a very precious book, and worthy to be laid up very carefully in your treasury. well, replies the king, why is that book so precious as you talk of? sir, says the physician, because it contains an infinite number of curious things, of which the chief is, that when you have cut off my head, if your majesty will give yourself the trouble to open the book at the sixth leaf, and read the third line of the left page, my head will answer all the questions you ask it. the king, being curious to see such a wonderful thing, deferred his death till next day, and sent him home under a strong guard. the physician, during that time, put his affairs in order; and the report being spread, that an unheard-of prodigy was to happen after his death, the viziers, emirs, officers of the guard, and, in a word, the whole court, repaired next day to the hall of audience, that they might be witnesses of it. the physician douban was soon brought in, and advanced to the foot of the throne, with a great book in his hand; there he called for a bason, upon which he laid the cover that the book was wrapped in, and presenting the book to the king, sir, says he, take that book, if you please, and as soon as my head is cut off, order that it may be put into the bason upon the cover of the book; as soon as it is put there, the blood will stop; then open the book, and my head will answer your questions. but, sir, says he, permit me once more to implore your majesty's clemency; for god's sake grant my request, i protest to you that i am innocent. your prayers, answers the king, are vain; and if it were for nothing but to hear your head speak after your death, it is my will you should die. as he said this, he took the book out of the physician's hand, and ordered the executioner to do his duty. the head was so dexterously cut off, that it fell into the bason, and was no sooner laid upon the cover of the book than the blood stopped; then, to the great surprise of the king, and all the spectators, it opened its eyes, and said, sir, will your majesty be pleased to open the book? the king opened it, and finding that one leaf was, as it were, glued to another, that he might turn it with more ease, he put his finger to his mouth, and wet it with spittle. he did so till he came to the sixth leaf, and finding no writing on the place where he was bid to look for it, physician, says he to the head, here is nothing written. turn over some more leaves, replies the head. the king continued to turn over, putting always his finger to his mouth, until the poison, with which each leaf was imbued, came to have its effect; the prince finding himself, all of a sudden, taken with an extraordinary fit, his eye-sight failed, and he, fell down at the foot of his throne in great convulsions. at these words scheherazade, perceiving day, gave the sultan notice of it, and forbore speaking. ah! dear sister, says dinarzade, how grieved am i that you have not time to finish this story! i should be inconsolable if you lose your life to-day. sister, replies the sultaness, that must be as the sultan pleases; but i hope he will be so good as to suspend my death till to-morrow. and accordingly schahriar, far from ordering her death that day, expected next night with much impatience; so earnest was he to hear out the story of the grecian king, and the sequel of that of the fisherman and the genie. the seventeenth night. though dinarzade was very curious to hear the rest of the story of the grecian king, she did not awake that night so soon as usual, so that it was almost day before she called upon the sultaness; and then said, i pray you, sister, to continue the wonderful story of the greek king; but make haste, i beseech you, for it will speedily be day. scheherazade resumed the story where she left off the day before. sir, says she to the sultan, when the physician douban, or rather his head, saw that the poison had taken effect, and that the king had but a few moments to live: tyrant, it cried, now you see how princes are treated, who, abusing, their authority, cut off innocent men: god punishes, soon or late, their injustice and cruelty. scarcely had the head spoken these words, when the king fell down dead, and the head itself lost what life it had. sir, continues scheherazade, such was the end of the grecian king, and the physician douban; i must return now to the story of the fisherman and the genie; but it is not worth while to begin it now, for it is day. the sultan, who always observed his hours regularly, could stay no longer, but got up; and having a mind to hear the sequel of the story of the genie and, the fisherman, he bid the sultaness prepare to tell it him next night. the eighteenth night. dinarzade made amends this night for last night's neglect; she awaked long before day, and calling upon scheherazade, sister, says she, if you be not asleep, pray give us the rest of the story of the fisherman and the genie; you know the sultan desires to hear it as well as i. i shall soon satisfy his curiosity and yours, answers the sultaness; and then, addressing herself to schahriar, sir, continued she, as soon as the fisherman had concluded the history of the greek king and his physician douban, he made the application to the genie, whom he still kept shut up in the vessel. if the grecian king, says he, would have suffered him to live; but he rejected his most humble prayers; and it is the same with thee, o genie. could i have prevailed with thee to grant me the favour i demanded, i should now have had pity upon thee; but since, notwithstanding the extreme obligation thou wast under to me for having set thee at liberty, thou didst persist in thy design to kill me, i am obliged in my turn to be as hard-hearted to thee. my good friend fisherman, replies the genie, i conjure thee once more not to be guilty of so cruel a thing; consider that it is not good to avenge one's self, and that, on the other hand, it is commendable to do good for evil; do not treat me as imama treated ateca formerly. and what did imama to ateca, replies the fisherman? ho! says the genie, if you have a mind to know it, open the vessel; do you think that i can be in a humour to tell stories in so strait a prison? i will tell you as many as you please when you let me out. no, says the fisherman, i will not let thee out, it is in vain to talk of it; i am just going to throw you into the bottom of the sea. hear me one word more, cries the genie, i promise to do thee no hurt; nay, so far from that, i will show thee a way how thou mayst become exceeding rich. the hope of delivering himself from poverty prevailed with the fisherman. i could listen to thee says he, were there any credit to be given to thy word; swear to me by the great name of god, that you will faithfully perform what you promise, and i will open the vessel; i do not believe you will dare to break such an oath. the genie swore to him, and the fisherman immediately took off the covering of the vessel. at that very instant the smoke came out, and the genie having resumed his form as before, the first thing he did was to kick the vessel into the sea. this action frightened the fisherman: genie, says he, what is the meaning of that; will not you keep the oath you made, just now? and must i say to you as the physician douban said to the grecian king, suffer me to live, and god will prolong your days. the genie laughed at the fisherman's fear, and answered, no, fisherman, be not afraid, i only did it to divert myself, and to see if thou wouldst be alarmed at it: but, to persuade thee that i am in earnest, take thy net and follow me. as he spoke these words, he walked before the fisherman, who, having taken up his nets, followed him, but with some distrust: they passed by the town, and came to the top of a mountain, from whence they descended into a vast plain, which brought them to a great pond that lay betwixt four hills, when they came to the side of the pond, the genie says to the fisherman, cast in thy nets, and take fish; the fisherman did not doubt to catch some, because he saw a great number in the pond; but he was extremely surprised when he found they were of four colours; that is to say, white, red, blue, and yellow. he threw in his nets, and brought out one of each colour; having never seen the like, he could not but admire them, and, judging that he might get a considerable sum for them, he was very joyful. carry these fish, says the genie to him, and present them to the sultan; he will give you more money for them than ever you had in your life. you may come every day to fish in this pond, and i give thee warming not to throw in thy nets above once a day; otherwise you will repent it. take heed, and remember my advice; if you follow it exactly, you will find your account in it. having spoken thus, he struck his foot upon the ground, which opened, and shut again after it had swallowed up the genie. the fisherman, being resolved to follow the genie's advice exactly, forebore casting in his nets a second time; but returned to the town very well satisfied with his fish, and making a thousand reflections upon his adventure. he went straight to the sultan's palace to present him his fish. but, sir, says scheherazade, i perceive day, and must stop here. dear sister, says dinarzade, how surprising are the last events you have told us? i have much ado to believe that any thing you have to say can be more surprising. sister, replies the sultaness, if the sultan, my master, will let me live till to-morrow, i am persuaded you will find the sequel of the history of the fisherman more wonderful than the beginning of it, and incomparably more diverting. schahriar, being curious to know if the remainder of the story of the fisherman would be such as the sultaness said, put off the execution of the cruel law one day more. the nineteenth night. towards morning, dinarzade called the sultaness, and said, dear sister, my pendulum tells me it will be day speedily, therefore pray continue the history of the fisherman; i am extremely impatient to know what the issue of it was. scheherazade, having demanded leave of schahriar, resumed her discourse as follows: sir, i leave it to your majesty to think how much the sultan was surprised when he saw the four fishes which the fisherman presented him. he took them up one after another, and beheld them with attention; and after having admired them a long time, take these fishes, says he to his prime vizier, and carry them to the fine cook-maid that the emperor of the greeks has sent me. i cannot imagine but they must be as good as they are fine. the vizier carried them himself to the cook, and, delivering them into her hands, look ye, says he, there are four fishes newly brought to the sultan, he orders you to dress them; and, having said so, he returned to the sultan his master, who ordered him to give the fisherman four hundred pieces of gold of the coin of that country, which he did accordingly. the fisherman, who had never seen so much cash in his lifetime, could scarcely believe his own good fortune, but thought it must needs be a dream, until he found it to be real, when he provided necessaries for his family with it. but, sir, says scheherazade, having told you what happened to the fisherman, i must acquaint you next with what befel the sultan's cook-maid, whom we shall find in a mighty perplexity. as soon as she had gutted the fishes, she put them upon the fire in a frying-pan with oil, and when she thought them fried enough on one side, she turned them upon the other; but, o monstrous prodigy! scarcely were they turned, when the wall of the kitchen opened, and in comes a young lady of wonderful beauty and comely size. she was clad in flowered satin, after the egyptian manner, with pendants in her ears, necklace of large pearl, and bracelets of gold, garnished with rubies, with a rod of myrtle in her hand. she came towards the frying-pan, to the great amazement of the cook-maid, who continued immovable at this sight, and, striking one of the fishes with the end of the rod, says, "fish, fish, art thou in thy duty?" the fish having answered nothing, she repeated these words, and then the four fishes lift up their heads altogether, and said to her, "yes, yes, if you reckon, we reckon; if you pay your debts, we pay ours; if you fly, we overcome, and are content." as soon as they had finished these words, the lady overturned the frying-pan, and entered again into the open part of the wall, which shut immediately, and became as it was before. the cook-maid was mightily frightened at this, and, coming a little to herself, went to take up the fishes that fell upon the earth, but found them blacker than coal, and not fit to be carried to the sultan. she was grievously troubled at it, and fell a-weeping most bitterly: alas! says she, what will become of me? if i tell the sultan what i have seen, i am sure he will not believe me, but will be mightily enraged against me. whilst she was thus bewailing herself, in comes the grand vizier, and asked her if the fishes were ready? she told him all that had happened, which, we may easily imagine, astonished him mightily; but, without speaking a word to the sultan, he invented an excuse that satisfied him, and sending immediately for the fisherman, bid him bring four more such fish; for a misfortune had befallen the other, that they were not fit to be carried to the sultan. the fisherman, without saying any thing of what the genie had told him, in order to excuse himself from bringing them that very day, told the vizier he had a great way to go for them, but would certainly bring them to-morrow. accordingly the fisherman went away by night, and, coming to the pond, threw in his nets betimes next morning, took four such fishes as the former, and brought them to the vizier at the hour appointed. the minister took them himself, carried them to the kitchen, and shutting himself up all alone with the cook-maid, she gutted them, and put them on the fire, as she had done the four others the day before; when they were fried on the one side, and she had turned them upon the other, the kitchen-wall opened, and the same lady came in with the rod in her hand, struck one of the fishes, spoke to it as before, and all four gave her the same answer. but, sir, says scheherazade, day appears, which obliges me to break off. what i have told you is indeed singular, but if i be alive to-morrow, i will tell you other things which are yet better worth your hearing. schahriar, conceiving that the sequel must be very curious, resolved to hear her next night. the twentieth night. next morning the sultan prevented dinarzade, and says to scheherazade, madam, i pray you make an end of the story of the fisherman; i am impatient to hear it. upon which the sultaness continued it thus: sir, after the four fishes had answered the young lady, she overturned the frying-pan with her rod, and retired into the same place of the wall from whence she came out. the grand vizier being witness to what passed, this is too surprising and extraordinary, says he, to be concealed from the sultan; i will inform him of this prodigy; which he did accordingly, and gave him a faithful account of all that had happened. the sultan, being much surprised, was mighty impatient to see this himself. to this end, he sent immediately for the fisherman, and says to him, friend, cannot you bring me four more such fishes? the fisherman replied, if your majesty will be pleased to allow me three days time, i will do it. having obtained this time, he went to the pond immediately, and, at the first throwing in of his net, he took four such fishes, and brought them presently to the sultan, who was the more rejoiced at it, as he did not expect them so soon, and ordered him other four hundred pieces of gold. as soon as the sultan had the fish, he ordered them to be carried into the closet, with all that was necessary for frying them; and having shut himself up there with his vizier, that minister gutted them, put them in the pan upon the fire, and when they were fried on one side, turned them upon the other; then the wall of the closet opened; but, instead of the young lady, there came out a black, in the habit of a slave, and of a gigantic stature, with a great green baton in his hand. he advanced towards the pan, and touching one of the fishes with his baton, says to it with a terrible voice, "fish, art thou in thy duty?" at these words, the fishes raised up their heads, and answered, "yes, yes, we are: if you reckon, we reckon; if you pay your debts, we pay ours; if you fly, we overcome, and are content." the fish had no sooner finished these words, than the black threw the pan into the middle of the closet, and reduced these fishes to a coal. having done this, he retired fiercely, and entering again into the hole of the wall, it shut, and appeared just as it was before. after what i have seen, says the sultan to the vizier, it will not be possible for me to be easy in my mind. these fish, without doubt, signify something extraordinary, in which i have a mind to be satisfied. he sent for the fisherman; and when he came, says to him, fisherman, the fishes you have brought us make me very uneasy; where did you catch them? sir, answers he, i fished for them in a pond situate betwixt four hills, beyond the mountain that we see from hence. know you that pond, says the sultan to the vizier? no, sir, replies the vizier, i never so much as heard of it; and yet it is not sixty years since i hunted beyond that mountain and thereabouts. the sultan asked the fisherman, how far the pond might be from the palace? the fisherman answered, it was not above three hours journey. upon this assurance, and there being day enough beforehand, the sultan commanded all his court to take horse, and the fisherman served them for a guide. they all ascended the mountain, and at the foot of it they saw, to their great surprise, a vast plain, that nobody had observed till then; and at last they came to the pond, which they found actually to be situate betwixt four hills, as the fisherman had said. the water of it was so transparent, that they observed all the fishes to be like those which the fisherman had brought to the palace. the sultan staid upon the bank of the pond, and, after beholding the fishes with admiration, he demanded of his emirs and all his courtiers, if it was possible they had never seen this pond, which was within so little a way of the town. they all answered, that they had never so much as heard of it. since you all agree, says he, that you never heard of it, and as i am no less astonished than you are, at this novelty i am resolved not to return to my palace till i know how this pond came hither, and why all the fish in it are of four colours. having spoken thus, he ordered his court to encamp, and immediately his pavilion, and the tents of his household, were planted upon the banks of the pond. when night came, the sultan retired under his pavilion, and spoke to the vizier by himself thus: vizier, my mind is very uneasy: this pond transported hither, the black that appeared to us in my closet, and the fishes that we heard speak; all this does so much whet my curiosity, that i cannot resist the impatient desire that i have to be satisfied in it. to this end, i am resolved to withdraw alone from the camp, and i order you to keep my absence secret; stay in my pavilion, and to-morrow morning, when the emirs and courtiers come to attend my levee, send them away, and tell them, that i am somewhat indisposed, and have a mind to be alone: and the following day tell them the same thing, till i return. the grand vizier said several things to divert the sultan from his design: he represented to him the danger to which he might be exposed, and that all his labour might perhaps be in vain. but it was to no purpose; the sultan was resolved on it, and would go. he put on a suit fit for walking, and took his scimitar; and as soon as he saw that all was quiet in the camp, he goes out alone, and went over one of the hills without much difficulty; he found the descent still more easy, and, when he came to the plain, walked on till the sun rose, and then he saw before him, at a considerable distance, a great building. he rejoiced at the sight, in hopes to be informed there of what he had a mind to know. when he came near, he found it was a magnificent palace, or rather a very strong castle, of fine black polished marble, and covered with fine steel, as smooth as a looking-glass. being mightily pleased that he had so speedily met with something worthy his curiosity, he stopped before the front of the castle, and considered it with abundance of attention. he afterwards came up to the gate, which had two leaves, one of them open: though he might have entered when he would, yet he thought it best to knock. he knocked at first softly, "and waited for some time; but seeing nobody, and supposing they had not heard him, he knocked harder the second time; but neither seeing nor hearing anybody, he knocked again and again; but nobody appearing, it surprised him extremely; for he could not think that a castle so well in repair was without inhabitants. if there be nobody in it, says he to himself, i have nothing to fear, and if there be, i have wherewith to defend me. at last he entered, and when he came within the porch, he cries, is there nobody here to receive a stranger, who comes in for some refreshment as he passes by? he repeated the same two or three times; but, though he spoke very high, nobody answered. this silence increased his astonishment; he came into a very spacious court, and looking on every side to see if he could perceive any body, he saw no living thing. but, sir, says scheherazade, day appears, and i must stop. ah! sister, says dinarzade, you break off at the very best of the story. it is true, answers the sultaness; but, sister, you see i am forced to do so. if my lord the sultan pleases, you may hear the rest to-morrow, schahriar agreed to this, not so much to please dinarzade as to satisfy his own curiosity, being mightily impatient to hear what adventure the prince met with in the castle. the twenty-first night. dinarzade, to make amends for her neglect the night before, never laid eye together, and, when she thought it was time, awaked the sultaness, saying to her, my dear sister, pray give us an account of what happened in the fine castle where you left us yesterday. scheherazade forthwith resumed her story, and, addressing herself to schahriar, says, sir, the sultan, perceiving nobody in the court, entered the great halls, which were hung with silk tapestry; the alcoves and sofas were covered with stuffs of mecca, and the porches with the richest stuffs of the indies, mixed with gold and silver. he came afterwards into an admirable saloon, in the middle of which there was a great fountain, with a lion of massy gold at each corner: water issued at the mouths of the four lions, and this water, as it fell, formed diamonds and pearls, that very well answered a jet of water, which, springing from the middle of the fountain, rose as high almost as the bottom of a cupola painted after the arabian manner. the castle on three sides was encompassed by a garden, with flower-pots, water-works, groves, and a thousand other fine things concurring to embellish it; and what completed the beauty of the place, was an infinite number of birds, which filled the air with their harmonious notes, and always staid there; nets being spread over the trees, and fastened to the palace, to keep them in. the sultan walked a long time from apartment to apartment, where he found every thing very grand and magnificent. being tired with walking, he sat down in an open closet, which had a view over the garden, and there reflecting upon what he had already seen, and did then see, all of a sudden he heard the voice of one complaining, accompanied with lamentable cries. he listened with attention, and heard distinctly these sad words: "o fortune! thou who wouldst not suffer me longer to enjoy a happy lot, and hast made me the most unfortunate man in the world, forbear to persecute me, and by a speedy death, put an end to my sorrows! alas! is it possible that i am still alive after so many torments as i have suffered? the sultan, being affected with those pitiful complaints, rose up, and made towards the place where he heard the voice; and when he came to the gate of a great hall, he opened it, and saw a handsome young man, richly habited, set upon a throne raised a little above the ground. melancholy was painted in his looks, the sultan drew near, and saluted him: the young man returned him his salute by a low bow with his head; but not being able to rise up, he says to the sultan, my lord, i am very well satisfied that you deserve i should rise to receive you, and do you all possible honour; but i am hindered from doing so by a very sad reason, and therefore hope you will not take it ill. my lord, replies the sultan, i am very much obliged to you for having so good an opinion of me: as to the reason of your not rising, whatever your apology be, i heartily accept of it. being drawn hither by your complaints, and affected by your grief, i came to offer you my help; would to god that it lay in my power to ease you of your trouble; i would do my utmost to effect it. i flatter myself that you would willingly tell me the history of your misfortunes; but pray tell me first the meaning of the pond near the palace, where the fishes are of four colours? what this castle is? how you came to be here? and why you are alone? instead of answering these questions, the young man began to weep bitterly. "oh, how inconstant is fortune!" cried he: "she takes pleasure to pull down those men she hath raised up. where are they who enjoy quietly the happiness which they hold of her, and whose day is always clear and serene?" the sultan, moved with compassion to see him in that condition, prayed him forthwith to tell him the cause of his excessive grief. alas! my lord, replies the young man, how is it possible but i should grieve? and why should not my eyes be inexhaustible fountains of tears? at these words, lifting up his gown, he showed the sultan that he was a man only from his head to the girdle, and that the other half of his body was black marble. here scheherazade broke off, and told the sultan that day appeared. schahriar was so much charmed with the story, and became so much in love with scheherazade, that he resolved to let her live a month. he got up, however, as usual, without acquainting her with his resolution. the twenty-second night. dinarzade was so impatient to hear out the story, that she called her sister next morning sooner than usual, and says to her, sister, pray continue the wonderful story you began, but could not make an end of yesterday morning. i agree to it, replied the sultaness; hearken then. you may easily imagine, continues she, that the sultan was strangely surprised when he saw the deplorable condition of the young man. that which you show me, says he, as it fills me with horror, whets my curiosity so, that i am impatient to hear your history, which no doubt is very strange, and i am persuaded that the pond and the fishes make some part of it; therefore i conjure you to tell it me. you will find some comfort in it, since it is certain that unfortunate people find some sort of ease in telling their misfortunes. i will not refuse you that satisfaction, replies the young man, though i cannot do it without renewing my grief. but i give you notice beforehand, to prepare your ears, your mind, and even your eyes, for things that surpass all that the most extraordinary imagination can conceive. the history of the young king of the black isles. you must know, my lord, continued he, that my father, who was called mahmoud, was king of this country. this is the kingdom of the black isles, which takes its name from the four little neighbouring mountains; for those mountains were formerly isles: the capital where the king my father had his residence, was where that pond you now see is. the sequel of my history will inform you of all those changes. the king my father died when he was seventy years of age: i had no sooner succeeded him, but i married; and the lady i chose to share the royal dignity with me was my cousin. i had all the reason imaginable to be satisfied in her love to me; and, for my part, i had so much tenderness for her, that nothing was comparable to the good understanding betwixt us, which lasted five years, at the end of which time i perceived the queen my cousin had no more delight in me. one day, while she was at bath, i found myself sleepy after dinner, and lay down upon a sofa; two of her ladies, who were then in my chamber, came and sat down, one at my head, and the other at my feet, with fans in their hands to moderate the heat, and to hinder the flies from troubling me in my sleep. they thought i was fast, and spoke very low; but i only shut my eyes, and heard every word they said. one of them says to the other, is not the queen much in the wrong not to love such an amiable prince as this? ay, certainly, replies the other; for my part i do not understand it, and i know not how she goes out every night, and leaves him alone: is it possible that he does not perceive it? alas! says the first, how would you have him to perceive it? she mixes every evening in his drink the juice of a certain herb, which makes him sleep so sound all night, that she has time to go where she pleases, and as day begins to appear, the comes and lies down by him again, and wakes him by the smell of something she puts under his nose. you may guess, my lord, how much i was surprised at this discourse, and with what sentiments it inspired me; yet, whatever emotions it made within me, i had command enough over myself to dissemble it, and feigned myself to awake, without having heard one word of it. the queen returned from the bath; we supped together, and, before we went to bed, she presented me with a cup of water such as i was accustomed to drink; but, instead of putting it to my mouth, i went to a window that stood open, and threw out the water so privately that she did not perceive it, and put the cup again into her hands, to persuade her i had drunk it. we went to bed together, and soon after, believing that i was asleep, though i was not, she got up with so little precaution, that she said, so loud as i could hear distinctly, sleep, and may you never awake again. she dressed herself speedily, and went out of the chamber. as scheherazade spoke these words, she saw day appear, and stopped. dinarzade had heard, her sister with a great deal of pleasure; and shahriar thought the history of the king of the black isles so worthy of his curiosity, that he rose up full of impatience for the rest of it. the twenty-third night. an hour before day, dinarzade, being awake, failed not to call upon the sultaness, and said, pray, dear sister, go on with the history of the young king of the black islands. scheherazade, calling to mind where she left off, resumed ths story thus: as soon as the queen my wife went out, continues the king of the black islands, i got up, dressed me in haste, took my scimitar, and followed her so quick that i soon heard the sound of her feet before me, and then walked softly after her, for fear of being heard. she passed through several gates, which opened upon her pronouncing some magical words; and the last she opened was that of the garden, which she entered: i stopped at the gate, that she might not perceive me, as she crossed a plot, and looking after her as far as i could in the night, i perceived that she entered a little wood, whose walks were guarded by thick palisadoes. i went thither by another way, and slipping behind the palisadoes of a long walk, i saw her walking there with a man. i gave good heed to their discourse, and heard her say thus; i do not deserve, says the queen to her gallant, to be upbraided by you for want of diligence; you know very well what hinders me; but if all the marks of love that i have already given you be not enough, i am ready to give you greater marks of it: you need but command me; you know my power. i will, if you desire it, before sun-rising, change this great city, and this fine palace, into frightful ruins, which shall be inhabited by nothing but wolves, owls, and ravens. would you have me to transport all the stones of those walls, so solidly built, beyond mount caucasus, and out of the bounds of the habitable world? speak but the word, and all those places shall be changed. as the queen finished these words, her gallant and she came to the end of the walk, turned to enter another, and passed before me. i had already drawn my scimitar, and her gallant being next me, i struck him in the neck, and made him fall to the ground. i thought i had killed him, and therefore retired speedily without making myself known to the queen, whom i had a mind to spare, because she was my kinswoman. in the mean time, the blow i had given her gallant was mortal, but she preserved his life by the force of her enchantments, in such a manner, however, that he could not be said to be either dead or alive. as i crossed the garden to return to the palace, i heard the queen cry out lamentably, and, judging by that how much she was grieved, i was pleased that i had spared her life. when i returned to her apartment, i went to bed, and being satisfied with having punished the villain that did me the injury, i went to sleep; and when i awaked next morning, found the queen lying by me. scheherazade was obliged to stop here, because she saw day. o heaven! sister, says dinarzade, how it troubles me that you can say no more! sister, replies the sultaness, you ought to have awaked me sooner; it is your fault. i will make amends next night, replies dinarzade; for i doubt not but the sultan will be as willing to hear out the story as i am; and i hope he will be so good as to let you live one day more. the twenty-fourth night. dinarzade was actually as good as her word; she called the sultaness very early, saying, dear sister, if you be not asleep, pray make an end of the agreeable history of the king of the black isles; i am ready to die with impatience to know how he came to be changed into marble. you shall hear it, replies scheherazade, if the sultan will give me leave. i found the queen lying by me, then, says the king of the black islands; i cannot tell you whether she slept or not; but i got up without making any noise, and went to my closet, where i made an end of dressing myself. i afterwards went and held my council, and, at my return, the queen was clad in mourning, her hair hanging about her eyes, and part of it pulled off. she presented herself before me, and said, sir, i come to beg your majesty not to be surprised to see me in this condition; three afflicting pieces of news that i have just now received all at once are the cause of my heavy grief, of which the tokens you see are but very faint resemblances. alas! what is that news, madam, said i? the death of the queen, my dear mother, said she; that of the king my father killed in battle; and that of one of my brothers, who is fallen headlong into it. i was not ill pleased that she made use of this pretext to hide the true cause of her grief, and i thought she had not suspected me to have killed her gallant. madam, said i, i am so far from blaming your grief, that i assure you i am willing to bear what share of it is proper for me. i should very much wonder if you were insensible of so great a loss. mourn on, your tears are so many proofs of your good-nature; but i hope, however, that time and reason will moderate your grief. she retired into her apartment, where, giving herself wholly up to sorrow, she spent a whole year in mourning and afflicting herself. at the end of that time, she begged leave of me to build a burying-place for herself within the bounds of the palace, where she would continue, she told me, to the end of her days. i agreed to it, and she built a stately palace, with a cupola, that may be seen here, and she called it the palace of tears. when it was finished, she caused her gallant to be brought thither from the place that she made him to be carried the same night that i wounded him; she had hindered his dying by the drink she gave him, and carried to him herself every day after he came to the palace of tears. yet, with all her enchantments, she could not cure the wretch; he was not only unable to walk, and to help himself, but had also lost the use of his speech, and gave no sign of life but only by his looks. though the queen had no other consolation but to see him, and to say to him all that her foolish passion could inspire her with, yet every day she made him two long visits; i was very well informed of all this, but pretended to know nothing of it. one day i went out of curiosity to the palace of tears to see how the princess employed herself, and, going to a place where she could not see me, i heard her speak thus to her gallant: i am afflicted to the highest degree to see you in this condition; i am as sensible as you are yourself of the tormenting grief you endure; but, dear soul, i always speak to you, and you do not answer me. how long will you be silent? speak only one word: alas! the sweetest moments of my life are those i spend here in partaking of your grief. i cannot live at a distance from you, and would prefer the pleasure of always seeing you to the empire of the universe. at these words, which were several times interrupted by her sighs and sobs, i lost all patience; and, discovering myself, came up to her, and said, madam, you have mourned enough, it is time to give over this sorrow which dishonours us both; you have too much forgotten what you owe to me and to yourself. sir, says she, if you have any kindness or complaisance left for me, i beseech you to put no force upon me; allow me to give myself up to mortal grief; it is impossible for time to lessen it. when i saw that my discourse, instead of bringing her to her duty, served only to increase her rage, i gave over and retired. she continued every day to visit her gallant, and for two long years gave herself up to excessive grief. i went a second time to the palace of tears while she was there; i hid myself again, and heard her speak thus to her gallant: it is now three years since you spoke one word to me; you return no answer to the marks of love i give you by my discourse and groans. is it from want of sense, or out of contempt? o tomb! have you abated that excessive love he had for me? have you shut those eyes that showed me so much love, and were all my joy? no, no, i believe nothing of it. tell me rather by what miracle you became intrusted with the rarest treasure that ever was in the world? i must confess, my lord, i was enraged at these words; for, in short, this gallant so much doted upon, this adored mortal, was not such a one as you would imagine him to have been; he was a black indian, a native of that country. i say, i was so enraged at this discourse, that i discovered myself all of a sudden, and addressing the tomb in my turn, o tomb! cried i, why do you not swallow up that monster in nature, or rather why do you not swallow up the gallant and his mistress? i had scarcely finished these words, when the queen, who sat by the black, rose up like a fury. ah, cruel man! says she, thou art the cause of my grief; do not you think but i know it. i have dissembled it but too long; it is thy barbarous hand which hath brought the object of my love to this lamentable condition; and you are so hard-hearted as to come and insult a despairing lover. yes, said i, in a rage, it is i who chastized that monster according to his desert; i ought to have treated thee in the same manner; i repent now that i did not do it; thou hast abused my goodness too long. as i spoke these words, i drew out my scimitar, and lifted up my hand to punish her; but she, steadfastly beholding me, said, with a jeering smile, moderate thy anger. at the same time she pronounced words i did not understand, and afterwards added, by virtue of my enchantments, i command thee immediately to become half marble and half man. immediately, my lord, i became such as you see me, already a dead man among the living, and a living man among the dead. here scheherazade, perceiving day, broke off her story. upon which dinarzade says, dear sister, i am exceedingly obligated to the sultan, for it is to his goodness i owe the extraordinary pleasure i have in your stories. my sister, replies the sultaness, if the sultan will be so good as to suffer me to live till to-morrow, i shall tell you a thing that will afford as much satisfaction as any thing you have yet heard. though schahriar had not resolved to defer the death of scheherazade a month longer, he could not have ordered her to be put to death that day. the twenty-fifth night. towards the end of the night, dinarzade cried, sister, if i do not trespass too much upon your complaisance, i would pray you to finish the history of the king of the black islands. scheherazade, having awaked upon her sister's call, prepared to give the satisfaction she required, and began thus: the king, half marble half man, continued his history to the sultan thus: after this cruel magician, unworthy of the name of a queen, had metamorphosed me thus, and brought me into this hall by another enchantment, she destroyed my capital, which was very flourishing and full of people; she abolished the houses, the public places, and markets, and made a pond and desert field of it, which you may have seen; the fishes of four colours in the pond are the four sorts of people, of different religions, that inhabited the place. the white are the mussulmen; the red, the persians, who worshipped the fire; the blue, the christians; and the yellow, the jews. the four little hills were the four islands that gave name to this kingdom. i learned all this from the magician, who, to add to my affliction, told me with her own mouth these effects of her rage. but this is not all; her revenge was not satisfied with the destruction of my dominions, and the metamorphosis of my person; she comes every day, and gives me, over my naked shoulders, an hundred blows with ox pizzles, which makes me all over blood; and, when she has done so, covers me with a coarse stuff of goats hair, and throws over it this robe of brocade that you see, not to do me honour, but to mock me. at this part of the discourse, the king could not withhold his tears; and the sultan's heart was so pierced with the relation, that he could not speak one word to comfort him. a little time after, the young king, lifting up his ryes to heaven, cried out, mighty creator of all things, i submit myself to your judgments, and to the decrees of your providence; i endure my calamities with patience, since it is your will it should be so; but i hope your infinite goodness will reward me for it. the sultan, being much moved by the recital of so strange a story, and animated to avenge this unfortunate prince, says to him, tell me whither this perfidious magician retires, and where her unworthy gallant may be, who is buried before his death? my lord, replies the prince, her gallant, as i have already told you, is in the palace of tears, in a tomb in form of a dome, and that palace joins to this castle on the side of the gate. as to the magician, i cannot precisely tell whither she retires; but every day at sun-rising she goes to see her gallant, after having executed her bloody vengeance upon me, as i have told you: and you see i am not in a condition to defend myself against so great cruelty. she carries him the drink with which she has hitherto prevented his dying, and always complains of his never speaking to her since he was wounded. oh, unfortunate prince, says the sultan, you can never enough be bewailed! nobody can be more sensibly touched with your condition than i am; never did such an extraordinary misfortune befal any man; and those who write your history will have the advantage to relate a passage that surpasses all that has ever yet been recorded. there is nothing wanting but one thing, the revenge which is due to you, and i will omit nothing that can be done to procure it. while the sultan discoursed upon this subject with the young prince, he told him who he was, and for what end he entered the castle, and thought on a plan of revenge, which he communicated to him. they agreed upon the measures they were to take for effecting their design, but deferred the execution of it till the next day. in the mean time, the night being far spent, the sultan took some rest, but the poor young prince passed the night without sleep as usual, having never slept since he was enchanted; but he conceived some hopes of being speedily delivered from his misery. next morning the sultan got up before day, and, in order to execute his design, he hid in a corner his upper garment, that would have been cumbersome to him, and went to the palace of tears. he found it illuminated with an infinite number of flambeaux of white wax, and a delicious scent issued from several boxes of fine gold, of admirable workmanship, all ranged in excellent order. as soon as he saw the bed where the black lay, lie drew his scimitar, killed the wretch without resistance, dragged his corpse into the court of the castle, and threw it into a well. after this he went and lay down in the black's bed, took his scimitar with him under the counterpane, and lay there to execute what he had designed. the magician arrived in a little time; she first went into the chamber where her husband, the king of the black islands, was; stripped him, and beat him with bull pizzles in a most barbarous manner. the poor prince filled the palace with his lamentations to no purpose; and conjured her, in the most affecting manner that could be, to take pity on him; but the cruel woman would not give over till she had given him an hundred blows. you had no compassion on my lover, said she, and you are to expect none from me. scheherazade, perceiving day, stopped, and could go no further. o heaven! says dinarzade, sister, this was a barbarous enchantress indeed. but must we stop here? will you not tell us whether she received the chastisement she deserved? my dear sister, says the sultaness, i desire nothing more than to acquaint you with it to-morrow; but you know that depends on the sultan's pleasure. after what schahriar had heard, he was far from any design to put scheherazade to death; on the contrary, says he to himself, i will not take away her life till she has finished this surprising story, though it should last for two months. it shall always be in my power to keep the oath i have made. the twenty-sixth night. as soon as dinarzade thought it was time to call the sultaness, she says to her, how much should i be obliged to you, dear sister, if you would tell us what passed in the palace of tears. schahriar having signified that he was as curious to know it as dinarzade, the sultaness resumed the story of the young enchanted prince as follows: sir, after the enchantress had given the king her husband an hundred blows with bull pizzles, she put on again his covering of goat hair, and his brocade gown over all; she went afterwards to the palace of tears, and, as she entered the same, she renewed her tears and lamentations; then approaching the bed, where she thought her gallant was, what cruelty, cries she, was it to disturb the contentment of so tender and passionate a lover as i am! o thou who reproachest me that i am too inhuman, when i make thee feel the effects of my resentment! cruel prince! does not thy barbarity surpass my vengeance? ah, traitor! in attempting the life of the object whom i adore, hast thou not robbed me of mine? alas! says she, addressing herself to the sultan, while she thought she spoke to the black, my soul, my life, will you always be silent? are you resolved to let me die, without giving me so much comfort as to tell me that you love me? my soul! speak one word to me at least, i conjure you. the sultan, making as if he had awakened out of a deep sleep, and counterfeiting the language of the blacks, answers the queen with a grave tone, 'there is no force nor power but in god alone, who is almighty.' at these words, the enchantress, who did not expect them, gave a great shout, to signify her excessive joy. my dear lord, says she, do not i deceive myself? is it certain that i hear you, and that you speak to me? unhappy wretch, said the sultan, art thou worthy that i should answer thy discourse? alas! replies the queen, why do you reproach me thus? the cries, replied he, the groans and tears of thy husband, whom thou treatest every day with so much indignity and barbarity, hinder me to sleep night and day. i should have been cured long ago, and have recovered the use of my speech, hadst thou disenchanted him. this is the cause of my silence, which you complain of. very well, says the enchantress, to pacify you, i am ready to do what you will command me; would you that i restore him as he was? yes, replies the sultan, make haste to set him at liberty, that i be no more disturbed with his cries. the enchantress went immediately out of the palace of tears; she took a cup of water, and pronounced words over it, which caused it to boil as if it had been on the fire. she went afterwards to the hall to the young king her husband, and threw the water upon him, saying, 'if the creator of all things did form thee so as thou art at present, or if he be angry with thee, do not change; but if thou art in that condition merely by virtue of my enchantments, resume thy natural shape, and become what thou wast before.' she had scarcely spoken these words, when the prince, finding himself restored to his former condition, rose up freely with all imaginable joy, and returned thanks to god. the enchantress then said to him, get thee gone from this castle, and never return here on pain of death. the young king, yielding to necessity, went away from the enchantress without replying a word, and retired to a remote place, where he immediately expected the success of the design which the sultan had begun so happily. meanwhile the enchantress returned to the palace of tears, and, supposing that she still spoke to the black, says, dear lover, i have done what you ordered; let nothing now hinder you to give me that satisfaction of which i have been deprived so long. the sultan continued to counterfeit the language of the blacks. that which you have just now done, said he, signifies nothing to my cure; you have only eased me of part of my disease; you must cut it up by the roots. my lovely black, replies she, what do you mean by the roots? unfortunate woman, replies the sultan, do you not understand that i mean the town and its inhabitants, and the four islands, which thou hast destroyed by thy enchantments? the fishes, every night at midnight, raise their heads out of the pond, and cry for vengeance against thee and me. this is the true cause of the delay of my cure. go speedily, restore things as they were, and at thy return i will give thee my hand, and thou shalt help me to rise. the enchantress, filled with hopes from these words, cried out in a transport of joy, my heart, my soul, you shall soon be restored to your health; for i will immediately do what you command me. accordingly she went that moment, and when she came to the brink of the pond, she took a little water in her hand, and sprinkling it--here scheherazade saw day, and stopped. dinarzade says to the sultaness, sister, i am much rejoiced to hear that the young king of the black islands was disenchanted, and i already consider the town and the inhabitants as restored to their former state; but i long to know what will become of the enchantress. have a little patience, replies the sultaness, and you shall have the satisfaction you desire to-morrow, if the sultan, my lord, will consent to it. schahriar, having resolved on it already, as was said before, rose up, and went about his business. the twenty-seventh night. at the usual hour dinarzade called upon the sultaness thus: dear sister, pray tell us what was the fate of the magician queen, as you promised us; upon which scheherazade went on thus: the enchantress had no sooner sprinkled the water, and pronounced some words over the fishes and the pond, than the city was restored that very minute. the fishes became men, women, and children; mahometans, christians, persians, or jews, freemen or slaves, ns they were before; every one having recovered their natural form. the houses and shops were immediately filled with their inhabitants, who found all things as they were before the enchantment. the sultan's numerous retinue, who found themselves encamped in the largest square, were astonished to see themselves, in an instant, in the middle of a large, fine, and well-peopled city. to return to the enchantress: as soon as she had made this wonderful change, she returned with all diligence to the palace of tears, that she might reap the fruits of it. my dear lord, cries she, as she entered, i come to rejoice with you for the return of your health; i have done all that you required of me; then pray rise, and give me your hand. come near, says the sultan, still counterfeiting the language of the blacks. she did so. you are not near enough, replies he; come nearer. she obeyed. then he rose up, and seized her by the arm so suddenly, that she had not time to know who it was, and with a blow of his scimitar cut her in two, so that the one half fell one way, and the other another. this being done, he left the carcase upon the place, and, going out of the palace of tears, he went to seek the young king of the black isles, who waited for him with a great deal of impatience; and when he found him, prince, says he, embracing him, rejoice, you have nothing to fear now; your cruel enemy is dead. the young prince returned thanks to the sultan in such a manner as showed that he was thoroughly sensible of the kindness that he had done him, and, in acknowledgment, wished him a long life and all happiness. you may henceforward, says the sultan, dwell peaceably in your capital, unless you will go to mine, which is so near, where you shall be very welcome, and have as much honour and respect as if you were at home. potent monarch, to whom i am so much indebted, replies the king, you think then that you are very near your capital. yes, says the sultan, i know it, it is not above four or five hours journey. it will take you a whole years journey, says the prince; i do believe, indeed, that you came hither from your capital in the time you spoke of, because mine was enchanted; but, since the enchantment is taken off, things are changed: however, this shall not hinder me to follow you, were it to the utmost corner of the earth. you are my deliverer, and that i may give you proofs of my acknowledging this during my whole life, i am willing to accompany you, and to leave my kingdom without regret. the sultan was exceedingly surprised to understand that he was so far from his dominions, and could not imagine how it could be. but the young king of the black islands convinced him so plainly, that he could no more doubt of it. then the sultan replied, it is no matter; the trouble that i shall have to return to my own country is sufficiently recompensed by the satisfaction i have had to oblige you, and by acquiring you for a son; for since you will do me the honour to attend me, and that i have no child, i look upon you as one; and from this moment i appoint you my heir and successor. this discourse between the sultan and the king of the black islands concluded with the most affectionate embraces; after which the young prince was wholly taken up in making preparations for his journey, which were finished in three weeks time, to the regret of his court and subjects, who agreed to receive at his hands one of his nearest kindred for king. at last the sultan and the young prince began their journey with an hundred camels laden with inestimable riches from the treasury of the young king, followed by fifty handsome gentlemen on horseback, perfectly well mounted and dressed. they had a very happy journey; and when the sultan, who had sent courtiers to give advice of his delay, and of the adventure which had occasioned it, came near his capital, the principal officers he had left there came to receive him, and to assure him that his long absence had occasioned no alteration in his empire. the inhabitants also came out in great crowds, receiving him with, mighty acclamations, and made public rejoicings for several days, next day after his arrival, the sultan gave all his courtiers a very ample account of all things which, contrary to his expectation, had detained him so long. he acquainted them with his having adopted the king of the four black islands, who was willing to leave a great kingdom to accompany and live with him; and in short, as an acknowledgment of their loyalty, he rewarded each of them according to their rank. as for the fisherman, as he was the first cause of the deliverance of the young prince, the sultan gave him a plentiful estate, which made him and his family happy the rest of their days. here scheherazade made an end of the story of the fisherman and the genie. dinarzade signified that she had taken a great deal of pleasure in it; and schahriar having said the same thing, the sultaness told that she knew another which was much finer; and if the sultan would give her leave, she would tell it them next morning, for day began to appear. schahriar, bethinking himself that he had granted the sultaness a month's reprieve, and being curious, moreover, to know if this new story would be as agreeable as she promised, got up with a design to hear it next morning. [advertisement. the readers of the tales were tired, in the former editions, with the interruption dinarzade gave them: this defect is now remedied; and they will meet with no more interruptions at the end of every night. it is sufficient to know the design of the arabian author who first made this collection; and for this purpose we retained his method in the preceeding nights. there are of these arabian tales where neither scheherazade, sultan schahriar, dinarzade, or any distinction by nights, is mentioned; which shows that all the arabians have not approved the method which this author has used, and that a great number of them have been fatigued with these repetitions. this, therefore, being reformed in the following translation, the reader must be acquainted that scheherazade goes on always without being interrupted.] the story of the three calenders, sons of kings; and of the five ladies of bagdad. in the reign of the caliph haroun alraschid, there was at bagdad, the place of their residence, a porter, who, notwithstanding his mean and laborous business, was a fellow of wit and good-humour. one morning, as he was at a place where he usually plied, with a great basket, waiting for employment, a young handsome lady, covered with a great muslin veil, came to him, and said with a pleasant air, hark ye, porter, take your basket, and follow me. the porter, charmed with those few words pronounced in so agreeable a manner, took his basket immediately, set it on his head, and followed the lady, saying, "o happy day, a day of good luck!" the lady stopped presently before a gate that was shut, and knocked: a christian, with a venerable long white beard, opened the gate, and she put money into his hand, without speaking one word; but the christian, who knew what she wanted, went in, and in a little time after brought a large jug of excellent wine. take this jug, says the lady to the porter, and put it in your basket. this being done, she commanded him to follow her; and as she went on, the porter says still, "o happy day! this is a day of agreeable surprise and joy!" the lady stopped at a fruit-shop, where she bought several sorts of apples, apricots, peaches, quinces, lemons, citrons, oranges, myrtles, sweet basil, lilies, jessamine, and some other sorts of flowers and plants that smell well; she bid the porter put them all into his basket, and follow her. as she went by a butcher's stall, she made him weigh her twenty-five pounds of his best meat, which she ordered the porter to put also in his basket. at another shop, she took capers, cucumbers, and other herbs preserved in vinegar; at another she bought pistachios, walnuts, small nuts, almonds, kernels of pine-apples, and other fruits; and of another she bought all sorts of confections. when the porter had put all these things into his basket, and perceiving, that it grew full, my good lady, says he, you ought to have given me notice that you had so much provision to carry, and then i would have got a horse, or rather a camel, to have carried them; for if you buy ever so little more, i shall not be able to carry it. the lady laughed at the fellow's pleasant humour, and ordered him still to follow her. then she went to a druggist, where she furnished herself with all manner of sweet-scented waters, cloves, musk, pepper, ginger, and a great piece of ambergris, and several other indian spices; this quite filled the porter's basket, and she ordered him to follow her. they walked till they came to a magnificent house, whose front was adorned with fine columns, and which had a gate of ivory: there they stopped, and the lady knocked softly. while the young lady and the porter staid for the opening of the gate, the porter had a thousand thoughts: he wondered that such a line lady should come abroad to buy provisions; he concluded she could not be a slave, her air being too noble for that, and therefore he thought she must needs be a woman of quality. just as he was about to ask her some questions upon that head, another lady came to open the gate, and appeared so beautiful to him, that he was perfectly surprised, or rather so much struck with her charms, that he was like to let the basket fall, for he had never seen any beauty that came near her. the lady, who brought the porter with her, perceiving his disorder, and the occasion of it, diverted herself with it, and took so much pleasure to examine his looks, that she forgot the gate was opened. upon this, the beautiful lady says to her, pray sister, come in, what do you stay for? do you not see this poor man so heavy loaded, that he is scarcely able to stand under it? when she entered with the porter, the lady who opened the gate shut it, and all three, after having gone through a very fine porch, came into a very spacious court encompassed with an open gallery, which had a communication with several apartments on a floor, and was extremely magnificent. there was at the further end of the court a sofa richly adorned, with a throne of amber in the middle of it, supported by four columns of ebony, enriched with diamonds and pearls of extraordinary size, and covered with satin embroidered with indian gold, of admirable workmanship. in the middle of the court there was a great fountain faced with white marble, and full of clear water, which fell into it abundantly out of the mouth of a lion of brass. the porter, though very heavily loaded, could not but admire the magnificence of the house, and the excellent order that every thing was placed in; but that which particularly captivated his attention was a third lady, who seemed to be a greater beauty than the second, and was set upon the throne just now mentioned: she came down from it as soon as she saw the two former ladies, and advanced towards them: he judged, by the respect which the others showed her, that she was the chief, in which he was not mistaken. this lady was called zobeide, she who opened the gate was called safie, and amine was the name of her who went out to buy the provisions. zobeide says to the two ladies, when she came to them, sisters, do not you see that this honest man is like to sink under his burden? why do not you ease him of it? then amine and safie took the basket, the one before and the other behind; zobeide also lent her hand, mid all three set it on the ground, then emptied it; and when they had done, the beautiful amine took out money, and paid the porter liberally. the porter, very well satisfied with the money he had received, was to have taken up his basket and be gone; but he could not tell how to think on it. do what he could, he found himself stopped by the pleasure of seeing three such beauties, who appeared to him equally charming; for amine, having now laid aside her veil, was as handsome as either of them. that which surprised him most was, that he saw never a man about the house; yet most of the provisions he brought in, as dry fruits, and several sorts of cakes and confections, were fit chiefly for those who could drink and make merry. zobeide thought at first that the porter staid only to take his breath; but perceiving that he staid too long, what do you wait for, says she, are you not well enough paid? and turning to amine, says, sister, give him something more, that he may depart satisfied. madam, replies the porter, it is not that which stays me. i am over and above paid; i am sensible that i am unmannerly to stay longer than i ought, but, i hope you will be so good as to pardon me, if i tell you that i am astonished to see that there is no man with three ladies of such extraordinary beauty; and you know that a company of women without men is as melancholy a thing as a company of men without women. to this he added several very pleasing things to prove what he said, and did not forget the bagdad proverb, 'that one is never well at a table, unless there be four in company. and so concluded, that as there were but three, they had need of a fourth.' the ladies fell a laughing at the porter's discourse, after which zobeide says to him, very gravely, friend, you are a little too bold; and though you do not deserve that i should enter into particulars with you, yet i am willing to tell you we are three sisters, who do our business so secretly that nobody knows any thing of it. we have too great reason to be cautious of acquainting indiscreet persons with it; and a good author that we have read, says, 'keep your secret, and do not reveal it to any body.' he that reveals it is no longer master of it. if your own breast cannot keep your secret, how do you think that another person will keep it? my ladies, replies the porter, by your very air i judged at first you were persons of extraordinary merit, and i conceive that i am not mistaken; though fortune has not given me wealth enough to raise me above my mean profession, yet i have not failed to cultivate my mind as much as i could by reading books of science and history: and allow me, if you please, to tell you, that i have also read in another author a maxim which i have always happily practised: 'we do not conceal our secrets, says he, but from such persons as are known to all the world to want discretion, and would abuse the confidence we put in them; but we make no scruple to discover them to prudent persons, because we know they can keep them.' a secret with me is as sure as if it were in a closet whose key is lost, and the door sealed up. zobeide, perceiving that the porter did not want sense, but conceiving that he had a mind to have a share in their treat, replies to him, smiling, you know that we are about to have a treat, and you know also that we have been at a considerable expense, and it is not just that you should have a share of it without contributing towards it. the beautiful safie seconded her sister, and says to the porter, friend, have you never heard that which is commonly said, "if you bring any thing with you, you shall be welcome; but if you bring nothing, you must get you gone with nothing?" the porter, notwithstanding his rhetoric, must, in all probability, have retired in confusion, if amine had not taken his part, and said to zobeide and safie, my dear sisters, i conjure you to let him stay with us; i need not tell you that he will divert us, you see well enough that he is capable of that: i must needs tell you, that unless he had been very willing, as well as nimble, and hardy enough to follow me, i could not have done so much business in so little time; besides, should i repeat to you all the obliging expressions he made to me by the way, you would not he surprised at my protecting him. at these words of amine, the porter was so much transported with joy, that he fell on his knees, kissed the ground at the feet of that charming person, and, raising himself up, says, most beautiful lady, you began my good fortune to-day, and now you complete it by this generous action; i cannot enough testify my acknowledgment of it. as to what remains, my ladies, says he, addressing himself to all the three sisters, since you do me so great honour, do not think that i will abuse it, or look upon myself as a person who deserves it. no, i shall always look upon myself as one of your most humble slaves. when he had spoken these words, he would have returned the money he had received; but the grave zobeide ordered him to keep it. that which we have once given, says she, to reward those who have served us, we never take again. zobeide would not take back the money from the porter, but said, my friend, in consenting that you stay with us, i must forewarn you, that it is not only on condition that you keep secret what we have required of you, but also that you observe exactly the rules of good manners and civility. in the mean time the charming amine put off the apparel she went abroad with, put on her night-gown, that she might be more easy, and covered the table, which she furnished with several sorts of meat, and upon a sideboard she set bottles of wine and cups of gold. soon after the ladies took their places, and made the porter sit down by them, who was overjoyed to see himself at the table with three such admirable beauties. after they had ate a little, amine, who sat next the sideboard, took up a bottle and cup, filled out wine, and drank first herself, according to the custom of the arabians; then she filled the cup to her sisters, who drank in course as they sat; and at last she filled it the fourth time to the porter, who, as he received it, kissed amine's hand, and, before he drank, sung a song to this purpose: that as the wind brings along with it the sweet scents of the perfumed places through which it passes, so the wine he was going to drink, coming from her fair hands, received a more exquisite taste than what it had of its own nature. this song pleased the ladies so much, that each of them sung another in their turn. in short, they were extraordinary merry all the time of dinner, which lasted a long while, and nothing was wanting that could make it agreeable. the day being almost spent, safie spoke in the name of the three ladies, and says to the porter, arise, and be gone; it is time for you to depart. but the porter, not willing to leave so good company, cried, alas! ladies, whither do you command me to go in the condition i am in? i am quite beside myself by what i have seen since i came hither, and having also drank above my ordinary, i shall never find the way home: allow me this night to recover myself in any place where you please, for no less time is necessary for me to come to myself; but, go when i will, i shall leave the best part of myself behind me. amine pleaded a second time for the porter, saying, sisters, he is in the right; i am pleased with the request; he having already diverted us so well; and if you will take my advice, or if you love me as much as i think you do, let us keep him to pass away the remaining part of the night. sister, answered zobeide, we can refuse you nothing; and then, turning to the porter, said, we are willing once more to grant your request; but upon this new condition, that whatever we do in your presence, relating to ourselves or any thing else, take heed that you do not once open your mouth to ask the reason of it; for if you ask questions about that which does not belong to you, you may come to know that which will be no way pleasing to you: beware, therefore, and be not too curious to dive into the motives of our actions. madam, replies the porter, i promise to observe this condition with such exactness, that you shall have no cause to reproach me with the breaking of it, and far less to punish my indiscretion; my tongue shall be immovable on this occasion, and my eye like a looking-glass, which retains nothing of the object that is set before it. and to show you, says zobeide, with a serious countenance, that what we demand of you is not a new thing among us, rise up and read what is over our gate in the inside. the porter went thither, and read these words, written in large characters of gold: 'he who speaks of things that do not concern him, shall hear of things that will not please him.' returning again to the three sisters, ladies, says he, i give you my oath that you will never hear me speak any thing which does not concern me, or wherein you may have any concern. this agreement being made, amine brought in supper, and after the room was set round with tapers that were mixed with aloes and ambergris, which gave a most agreeable scent, as well as a delicate light, she sat down at table with her sisters and the porter. they began again to eat and drink, to sing and repeat verses. the ladies took pleasure to inebriate the porter, under pretext of causing him to drink their healths; and abundance of witty sentences passed on both sides. in short, as they were all in the best humour in the world, they heard one knocking at the gate. when the ladies heard the knocking, they all three got up to open the gate; but safie, to whom this office did particularly belong, was the nimblest; which her other two sisters perceiving, sat down till she came back to acquaint them who it could be that had any business with them so late. safie returning, said, sisters, we have here a very fine opportunity to pass a good part of the night with much satisfaction, and if you be of the same mind with me, we shall not let it slip. there are three calenders at our gate, at least they appear to be such by their habit; but that which you will most wonder at is, they are all three blind of the right eye, have their heads, beards, and eye-brows shaved, and, as they say, are but just come to bagdad, where they never were before; and it being night, and not knowing where to find any lodging, they happened by chance to knock at this gate, and pray us, for the love of heaven, to have compassion on them, and receive them into the house: they care not what place we put them in; provided they may be under shelter, they would be satisfied with a stable. they are young and handsome enough, and seem also to be men of good sense; but i cannot, without laughing, think of their pleasant and uniform figure. here safie fell a-laughing so heartily, that it put the two sisters and the porter into the same mood. my dear sisters, says she, are you content that they come in? it is impossible but, with such persons as i have already described them to be, we shall finish the day better than we began it; they will afford us diversion enough, and put us to no charge, because they desire shelter only for this night, and resolve to leave us as soon as day appears. zobeide and amine made some difficulty to grant safie's request, for reasons they knew well enough; but she having so great a desire to obtain this favour, they could not refuse. go then, says zobeide, and bring them in, but do not forget to acquaint them that they must not speak of any thing which does not concern them, and cause them to read what is written over the gate. safie ran out with a great deal of joy, and in a little while after returned with the three calenders in company. at their entrance they made a profound bow to the ladies. who rose up to receive them; told them most obligingly that they were very welcome, that they were glad to have met with an opportunity to oblige them, and to contribute towards relieving them from the fatigue of their journey, and at last invited them to sit down with them. the magnificence of the place, and the civility of the ladies, made the calenders to conceive a mighty idea of their fine land-ladies: but, before they sat down, having by chance cast their eye upon the porter, whom they saw clad almost like one of those other calenders with whom they are in controversy about several points of discipline, because they neither shave their beards nor eye-brows, one of them said, look here, i believe we have got one of our revolted arabian brethren. the porter, though half asleep, and having his head pretty warm with wine, was affronted at these words; and, with a fierce look, without stirring from his place, answered, sit you down, and do not meddle with what does not concern you. have you not read the inscription over the gate? do not pretend to make people live after your fashion, but follow ours. honest man, says the calender, do not put yourself into a passion; we should be very sorry to give you the least occasion; but, on the contrary, we are ready to receive your commands. upon which, to avoid all quarrels, the ladies interposed, and pacified them. when the calenders were set at table, the ladies served them with meat; and safie, being most pleased with them, did not let them want for drink. after the calenders had ate and drunk liberally, they signified to the ladies that they had a great desire to entertain them with a concert of music, if they had any instruments in the house, and would cause them to be brought them. they willingly accepted the proffer, and fair safie, going to fetch them, returned again in a moment, and presented them with a flute of her own country fashion, another of the persian sort, and a tabor. each man took the instrument he liked, and all the three together began to play a tune. the ladies, who knew the words of a merry song that suited that air, joined the concert with their voices; but the words of the song made them now and then stop, and fall into excessive laughter. at the height of this diversion, and when the company was in the midst of their jollity, somebody knocks at the gate; safie left off singing, and went to see who it was. but, sir, says scheherazade to the sultan, it is fit your majesty should know why this knocking happened so late at the ladies' house, and the reason was this: the caliph haroun alraschid was accustomed to walk abroad in disguise very often by night, that he might see with his own eyes if every thing was quiet in the city, and that no disorders were committed in it. this night the caliph went out pretty early on his rambles, accompanied with giafar his grand vizier, and mesrour the chief of the eunuchs of his palace, all disguised in merchants' habits; and passing through the street where the three ladies dwelt, he heard the sound of the music, and great fits of laughter; upon which he commanded the vizier to knock, because he would go in to know the reason of that jollity. the vizier told him in vain that it was some women a merry-making; that, without question, their heads were warm with wine; and that it would not be proper he should expose himself to be affronted by them; besides, it was not yet an unlawful hour, and therefore he ought not to disturb them in their mirth. no matter, said the caliph, i command you to knock. so it was that the grand vizier giafar knocked at the ladies' gate by the caliph's order, because he himself would not be known. safie opened the gate, and the vizier perceived, by the light that she held in her hand, that she was an incomparable beauty. the vizier acted his part very well, and, with a very low bow and respectful behaviour, said, madam, we are three merchants of moussol, who arrived about ten days ago with rich merchandise, which we have in a warehouse at a khan, or inn, where we have also our lodging. we happened to-day to be with a merchant of this city, who invited us to a treat at his house, where we had a splendid entertainment; and the wine having put us in humour, he sent for a company of dancers; night being come on, and the music and dancers making a great noise, the watch came by in the mean time, caused the gate to be opened, and some of the company to be taken up; but we had the good fortune to escape by getting over a wall. now, says the vizier, being strangers, and somewhat overcome with wine, we were afraid of meeting another, or perhaps the same watch, before we got home to our khan, which lies a good way from hence. besides, when we come there, the gates will be shut, and not opened till morning; wherefore, madam, hearing, as we passed by this way, the sound of music, we supposed you were not yet going to rest, and made bold to knock at your gate, to beg the favour of lodging ourselves in the house till morning; and if you think us worthy of your good company, we will endeavour to contribute to your diversion what lies in our power, to make some amends for the interruption we have given you; if not, we only beg the favour of staying this night under your porch. while giafar held this discourse, fair safie had time to observe the vizier and his two companions, who were said to be merchants like himself, and told them that she was not mistress of the house; but, if they would have a minute's patience, she would return with an answer. safie acquainted her sisters with the matter, who considered for some time what to conclude upon; but, being naturally of a good disposition, and having granted the same favour to the three calenders, they at last consented to let them in. the caliph, his grand vizier, and the chief of the eunuchs, being introduced by the fair safie, very courteously saluted the ladies and the calenders; the ladies returned them the like civilities, supposing them to be merchants. zobeide, as the chief, says to them, with a grave and serious countenance, which was natural to her, you are welcome; but, before i proceed further, i hope you will not take it ill if we desire one favour of you. alas! said the vizier, what favour? we can refuse nothing to such fair ladies. zobeide replied, it is, that you would only have eyes, but no tongues; that you put no questions to us about the reason of any thing you may happen to see; and not to speak of any thing that does not concern you, lest you come to hear of things that will by no means please you. madam, replied the vizier, you shall be obeyed. we are not censorious, nor impertinently curious; it is enough for us to take notice of that which concerns us, without meddling with that which does not belong to us. upon this they all sat down, and the company being united, they drank to the health of the new comers. while giafar entertained the ladies in discourse, the caliph could not forbear to admire their extraordinary beauty, graceful behaviour, pleasant humour, and ready wit; on the other hand, nothing was more surprising to him than the calenders being all three blind of the right eye. he would gladly have been informed of this singularity; but the conditions so lately imposed upon himself and his companions would not allow him to speak. this, with the richness of the furniture, the exact order of every thing, and neatness of the house, made him think it was some enchanted palace. their entertainment happening to be upon divertisements, and different ways of making merry, the calenders rose and danced after their fashion, which augmented the good opinion the ladies had conceived of them, and procured them the esteem of the caliph and his companions. when the three calenders had made an end of their dance, zobeide arose, and, taking amine by the hand, said, pray, sister, rise up, for the company will not take it ill if we use our freedom; and their presence need not hinder our performance of what we were wont to do. amine, by understanding her sister's meaning, rose up from her seat, carried away the dishes, the table, the flasks, and cups, together with the instruments which the calenders had played upon. safie was not idle, but swept the room, put every thing again in its place, snuffed the candies, and put fresh aloes and ambergris to them, and then prayed the three calenders to sit down upon the sofa on one side, and the caliph, with his companions, on the other. as to the porter, she savs to him, get up, and prepare yourself to serve in what we are going to be about; a man like you, who is one of the family, ought not to be idle. the porter, being somewhat recovered from his wine, gets up immediately, and, having tied the sleeve of his gown to his belt, answers, here am i, ready to obey your commands in any thing. that is very well, replied safie; stay till you are spoken to; you shall not be idle very long. a little time after, amine came in with a chair, which she placed in the middle of the room; and so went to a closet, which having opened, she beckoned to the porter, and says to him, come hither and help me; which he obeying, entered the closet, and returned immediately leading two black bitches, with each of them a collar and chain; they looked as if they had been severely whipped with rods, and he brought them into the middle of the room. then zobeide, rising from her seat between the calenders and the caliph, marched very gravely towards the porter, come on, says she, with a great sigh, let us perform our duty; then tucking up her sleeves above her elbows, and receiving a rod from safie, porter, said she, deliver one of the bitches to my sister amine, and come to me with the other. the porter did as he was commanded; the bitch that he held in his hand began to cry, and, turning towards zobeide, held her head up in a begging posture; but zobeide, having no regard to the sad countenance of the bitch, which would have moved pity, nor her cries that sounded through ail the house, whipped her with the rod till she was out of breath; and having spent her strength that she could strike no more, she threw down the rod, and, taking the chain from the porter, lifted up the bitch by her paws, and looking upon her with a sad and pitiful countenance, they both wept; after which zobeide, with her handkerchief, wiped the tears from the bitch's eyes, kissed her, returned the chain to the porter, bid him carry her to the place whence he took her, and bring her the other. the porter led back the whipped bitch to the closet, and receiving the other from amine, presented her to zobeide, who, bidding the porter hold her as he had done the first, took up the rod, and treated her after the same manner; and when she had wept over her, dried her eyes, and, kissing her, returned her to the porter; but lovely amine spared him the trouble of leading her back into the closet, and did it herself. the three calenders and the caliph, with his companions, were extremely surprised at this execution, and could not comprehend why zobeide, after having so furiously whipped those two bitches, that, by the mussulman religion, are reckoned unclean animals, should cry with them, wipe off their tears, and kiss them. they muttered among themselves; and the caliph, being more impatient than the rest, longed exceedingly to be informed of the cause of so strange an action, and could not forbear making signs to the vizier to ask the question; the vizier turned his head another way; but, being pressed by repeated signs, he answered by others that it was not yet time for the caliph to satisfy his curiosity. zobeide sat still some time in the middle of the room, where she had whipped the two bitches, to recover from the fatigue; and fair safie called to her, dear sister, will you be pleased now to return to your place, that i may also act my part? yes, sister, replies zobeide, and then went and sat down upon the sofa, having the caliph, giafar, and mesrour, on her right hand, and the three calenders, with the porter, on her left. after zobeide sat down, the whole company was silent for a while; at last safie, sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, spoke to her sister amine; dear sister, i conjure you to rise up; you know well enough what i would say, amine rose up, and went into another closet near to that where the bitches were, and brought out a case covered with yellow satin, richly embroidered with gold and green silk; she came near safie, and opened the case, from whence she took a lute, and presented her, and, after some time spent in tuning it, safie began to play, and, accompanying it with her voice, she sung a song about the torments that absence creates to lovers, with so much sweetness as to charm the caliph and all the company. having sung with a great deal of passion and action, she said to lovely amine, pray take it, sister, for i can do no more; my voice fails me; oblige the company with a tune and song in my room. very willingly, replied amine, who, taking the lute from her sister safie, sat down in her place. amine, after a small trial to see whether the instrument was in tune, played and sung almost as long upon the same subject, but with so much vehemency, and was so much affected, or rather transported, by the words of the song, that her strength failed her as she made an end of it. zobeide, willing to testify her satisfaction, said, sister, you have done wonders, and we may easily see that you have a feeling of the grief you have expressed so much to the life. amine was prevented from answering this civility, her heart being so sensibly touched at the same moment, that she was obliged, for air, to uncover her neck and breast, which did not appear so fair as might have been expected from such a lady; but, on the contrary, black and full of scars, which frightened all the spectators. this, however, gave her no ease, but she fell into a fit. while zobeide and safie ran to help their sister, one of the calenders could not forbear to say, we had better have slept in the streets than have come hither, had we thought to have seen such spectacles. the caliph, who heard this, came up to him and the other calenders, and asked them what might be the meaning of all this? they answered, sir, we know no more than you do. what, says the caliph, are you not of the family? nor can you resolve us concerning the two black bitches and the lady that fainted away, and has been so basely abused? sir, said the calenders, this is the first time that ever we were in the house, having come in but a few minutes before you. this increased the caliph's astonishment. it may be, says he, this other man that is with you may know something of it. one of the calenders made a sign for the porter to come near, and asked him whether he knew why those two black bitches had been whipped, and why amine's bosom was so scarred? sir, said the porter, i can swear by heaven, that if you know nothing of all this, i know as little as you do. it is true i live in this city, but i never was in the house till now, and if you are suprised to see me here, i am as much to find myself in your company; and that which increases my wonder is, that i have not seen one man with these ladies. the caliph and his company, as well as the calenders, supposed the porter had been one of the family, and hoped he could inform them of what they desired to know; but finding he could not, and resolving to satisfy his curiosity, cost what it would, he says to the rest, look ye, we are here seven men, and have but three women to deal with; let us try if we can oblige them to satisfy us, and, if they refuse by fair means, we are in a condition to force them to it. the grand vizier giafar was against this method, and showed the caliph what might be the consequence of it; but, without discovering the prince to the calenders, he addressed him, as if he had been, a merchant, thus: sir, consider, i pray you, that our reputation lies at stake; you know very well upon what conditions these ladies were ready to receive us, and we also agreed to them. what will they say of us if we break them? we shall be still more to blame if any mischief befal us; for it is not likely that they would demand such a promise of us, if they did not know themselves in a condition to make us repent the breaking of it. here the vizier took the caliph aside, and whispered to him thus: sir, the night will soon be at an end, and if your majesty will only be pleased to have so much patience, i will take these ladies to-morrow morning, and bring them before your throne, where you may be informed of all you desire to know. though this advice was very judicious, the caliph rejected it, bid the vizier hold his tongue, and said he would not stay till then, but would have satisfaction in the matter presently. the next business was to know who should carry the message. the caliph endeavoured to prevail with the calenders to speak first; but they excused themselves, and at last they agreed that the porter should be the man. and as they were consulting how to word this fatal question, zobeide returned from her sister amine, who was recovered of her fit, drew near them, and having overheard them speaking pretty loud, and with some passion, says, gentlemen, what is the subject of your discourse? what are you disputing about? the porter answered immediately, madam, these gentlemen pray you to let them understand wherefore you wept over your two bitches, after you whipped them so severely, and how the bosom of the lady, who lately fainted away, comes to be so full of scars? this is what i am ordered to ask in their name. at these words, zobeide looked with a stern countenance, and, turning towards the caliph and the rest of the company, is it true, gentlemen, says she, that you have given him orders to ask me this question? all of them, except giafar, who spoke not a word, answered, yes. on which she told them, in a tone which sufficiently expressed her resentment, before we granted you the favour of being received into our house, and to prevent all occasion of trouble from you, because we are alone, we did it upon condition that you should not speak of any thing that did not concern you, lest you might come to hear that which would not please you; and yet, after having received and entertained you as well as possibly we could, you make no scruple to break your promise. it is true that our easy temper has occasioned this, but that shall not excuse you, for your proceedings are very unhandsome. as she spoke these words, she gave three hard knocks with her foot, and, clapping her hands as often together, cried, come quick! upon this a door flew open, and seven strong sturdy black slaves, with scimitars in their hands, rushed in; every one seized a man, threw him on the ground, and dragged him into the middle of the room in order to cut off his head. we may easily conceive what a fright the caliph was in; he then repented, but too late, that he had not taken his vizier's advice. in the mean time this unhappy prince, giafar, mesrour, the porter, and the calenders, were upon the point of losing their lives by their indiscreet curiosity. but, before they would strike the fatal blow, one of the slaves says to zobeide and her sisters, high, mighty, and adorable mistresses, do you command us to cut their throats? stay, says zobeide, i must examine them first. the frightened porter interrupted her thus: in the name of heaven, do not make me die for another man's crime. i am innocent, they are to blame. alas! says he, crying, how pleasantly did we pass our time! those blind calenders are the cause of this misfortune; there is no town in the world but goes to ruin, wherever these inauspicious fellows come. madam, i beg you not to destroy the innocent with the guilty, and consider that it is more glorious to pardon such a wretch as i, who have no way to help myself, than to sacrifice me to your resentment. zobeide, notwithstanding her anger, could not but laugh within herself at the porters lamentation; but, without answering him, she spoke a second time to the rest: answer me, says she, and tell me who you are, otherwise you shall not live one moment longer. i cannot believe you to be honest men, nor persons of authority or distinction in your own countries; for, if you were, you would have been more modest and more respectful to us. the caliph, who was naturally impatient, was infinitely more so than the rest, to find his life depend upon the command of a lady justly incensed; but he began to conceive some hopes when he saw she would know who they all were; for he imagined she would not take away his life when once she came to be informed who he was; therefore he spoke with a low voice to the vizier, who was near him, to declare speedily who he was; but the vizier, being more prudent, resolved to save his master's honour, and not to let the world know the affront he had brought upon himself by his own weakness; and therefore answered, we have what we deserve. but, if he would have spoken in obedience to the caliph, zobeide did not give him time; for having turned to the calenders, and seeing them all three blind of one eye, she asked if they were brothers. one of them answered, no, madam, no otherwise than as we are all calenders; that is to say, as we observe the same rules. were you born blind of the right eye? replied she. no, madam, answers he, i lost my eye in such a surprising adventure, that it would be instructive to every body, were it in writing. after this misfortune, i shaved my beard and eye-brows, and took the habit of a calender, which i now wear. zobeide asked the other two calenders the same question, and had the same answer; but he that spoke last added, madam, to show you that we are no common fellows, and that you may have some consideration for us, be pleased to know, that we are all three sons of kings; and though we never met together till this evening, yet we have had time enough to make that known to one another; and i assure you that the kings from whom we derive our being made some noise in the world. at this discourse zobeide assuaged her anger, and said to the slaves, give them their liberty a while, but stay here. those who tell us their history, and the occasion of their coming, do them no hurt, let them go where they please, but do not spare those who refuse to give vis that satisfaction. scheherazade demanded leave of the sultan, and having obtained it, sir, says she, the three calenders, the caliph, the grand vizier giafar, the eunuch mesrour, and the porter, were all in the middle of the hall, set upon a foot-carpet, in the presence of the three ladies, who sat upon a sofa, and the slaves stood ready to do whatever their mistresses should command. the porter, understanding that he might rid himself of his danger by telling his history, spoke first, and said, madam, you know my history already, and the occasion of coming hither; so that what i have to say will be very short. my lady, your sister there, called me this morning at the place where i plied as a porter to see if anybody would employ me, that i might get my bread; i followed her to a vintner's, then to an herb-woman's, then to one that sold oranges, lemons, and citrons, then to a grocer's, next to a confectioner's and a druggist's, with my basket upon my head, as full as i was able to carry it; then i came hither, where you had the goodness to suffer me to continue till now; a favour that i shall never forget. this, madam, is my history. when the porter had done, zobeide says to him, go, march; let us see you no more here. madam, replies the porter, i beg you to let me stay; it would be just, after the rest have had the pleasure to hear my history, that i should also have the satisfaction to hear theirs. and having spoken thus, he sat him down at the end of the sofa, glad to the heart to have escaped the danger that had frightened him so much. after him, one of the three calenders, directing his speech to zobeide, as the principal of the three ladies, and the person that commanded him to speak, began his history thus; the history of the first calender, a king's son. madam, in order to inform you how i lost my right eye, and why i was obliged to put myself into a calender's habit, i must tell you that i am king's son born; the king my father had a brother that reigned, as he did, over a neighbouring kingdom; and the prince his son and i were almost of one age. after i had learned my exercises, and that the king my father granted me such liberty as suited my dignity, i went regularly every year to see my uncle, at whose court i diverted myself during a month or two, and then returned again to my father's. these several journies gave occasion of contracting a very firm and particular friendship between the prince my cousin and myself. the last time i saw him, he received me with greater demonstrations of tenderness than he had done at any time before; and resolving one day to give me a treat, he made great preparations for that purpose. we continued a long time at table, and after we had both supped very well, cousin, says he, you will hardly be able to guess how i have been employed since your last departure from hence, now about a year past. i have had a great many men at work to perfect a design i have had in my mind; i have caused an edifice to be built, which is now finished so well as one may dwell in it: you will not be displeased if i show'it you. but first you are to promise me, upon oath, that you will keep my secret, according to the confidence i repose in you. the love and familiarity existing between us would not allow me to refuse him any thing. i very readily took the oath required of me: upon which he says to me, stay here till i return; i will be with you in a moment: and accordingly he came with a lady in his hand, of singular beauty, and magnificently apparrelled. he did not discover who she was, neither did i think it was polite in me to make inquiry. we sat down again with this lady at table, where we continued some time entertaining ourselves with discourses upon indifferent subjects; and now and then a full glass to drink one another's health. after which the prince said, cousin, we must lose no time, therefore pray oblige me to take this lady along with you, and conduct her to such a place, where you will see a tomb newly built in the form of a dome; you will easily know it; the gate is open; go in there together, and tarry till i come, which will be very speedily. being true to my oath, i made no further inquiry, but took the lady by the hand, and by the directions which the prince my cousin had given me, i brought her to the place, by the light of the moon, without losing one step of the way. we were scarcely got thither, when we saw the prince following after, carrying a little pitcher with water, a hatchet, and a little bag with plaister. the hatchet served him to break down the empty sepulchre in the middle of the tomb; he took away the stones one after another, and laid them in a corner. when all this was taken away, he digged up the ground, where i saw a trap-door under the sepulchre, which he lifted up, and underneath perceived the head of a staircase leading into a vault. then my cousin, speaking to the lady, said, madam, it is by this way that we are to go to the place i told you of. upon which the lady drew nigh and went down, and the prince began to follow after, but, turning first to me, said, my dear cousin, i am infinitely obliged to you for the trouble you have been at; i thank you: adieu. i cried, dear cousin, what is the meaning of this? be content, replied he; you may return back the same way you came. madam, said the calender to zobeide, i could get nothing further from him, but was obliged to take leave of him; as i returned to my uncle's palace, the vapours of the wine got up into my head; however, i got to my apartment, and went to bed. next morning, when i awaked, i began to reflect upon what befel me the night before, and, after recollecting all the circumstances of such a singular adventure, i fancied it was nothing but a dream. being full of these thoughts, i sent to see if the prince my cousin was ready to receive a visit from me; but when they brought back word that he did not lie in his own lodgings that night, they knew not what was become of him, and were in much trouble about it, i conceived that the strange event of the tomb was but too true. i was sensibly afflicted at it, and, stealing away privately from my people, i went to the public burying-place, where there was a vast number of tombs like that which i had seen. i spent the day in viewing them one after another, but could not find that i sought for; and thus i spent four days successively in vain. you must know all this while the king my uncle was absent, and had been a-hunting for several days. i grew weary of staying for him, and having prayed his ministers to make my apology to him at his return, i left his palace, and set towards my father's court, from which i had never been so long absent before. i left the ministers of the king my uncle in great trouble to think what had become of the prince my cousin; but, because of the oath i had made to keep his secret, i durst not tell them any thing of what i had seen or knew, in order to make them easy. i arrived at my father's capital, the usual place of his residence, where, contrary to custom, i found a great guard at the gate of the palace, who surrounded me as i entered. i asked the reason, and the commanding officer replied, prince, the army proclaimed the grand vizier king instead of your father, who is dead; and i take you prisoner in the name of the new king. at these words the guards laid hold of me, and carried me before the tyrant. i leave you to judge, madam, how much i was surprised and grieved. the rebel vizier had entertained a mortal hatred against me for a long time upon this occasion: when,i was a stripling, i loved to shoot with a cross-bow; and being one day upon the terrace of the palace with my bow, a bird happened to come by; i shot, but missed him, and the ball by misfortune hit the vizier, who was taking the air upon the terrace of his own house, and put out one of his eyes. as soon as i understood it, i not only sent to make my excuse to him, but did it in person; yet he always resented it, and, as opportunity offered, made me sensible of it. but now, madam, that he had me in his power, he expressed his resentment in a very barbarous manner; for he came to me like a madman as soon as ever he saw me, and, thrusting his finger into my right eye, pulled it out himself; and so, madam, i became blind of one eye. but the usurper's cruelty did not stop here; he ordered me to be shut up in a box, and commanded the executioner to carry me into the country to cut off my head, and leave me to be devoured by the birds of prey. the hangman and another carried me, thus shut up on horseback, into the country, in order to execute the usurper's barbarous sentence; but by my prayers and tears i moved the executioner's compassion. go, says he, get you speedily out of the kingdom, and take heed of ever returning to it, otherwise you will certainly meet with your own ruin and be the cause of mine. i thanked him for the favour he did me; and as soon as i was left alone, i comforted myself for the loss of my eye, by considering that i had very narrowly escaped a much greater danger. being in such a condition, i could not travel far at a time. i retired to remote places while it was day, and travelled as far by night as my strength would allow me. at last i arrived in the dominions of the king my uncle, and came to his capital. i gave him a long detail of the tragical cause of my return, and of the sad condition he saw me in. alas! cried he, was it not enough for me to have lost my son; but must i have also news of the death of a brother i loved so dearly, and see you also reduced to this deplorable condition? he told me how uneasy he was; that he could hear nothing of his son, notwithstanding all the diligence and inquiry he could make. at these words, the unfortunate father burst out into tears, and was so much affected, that, pitying his grief, it was impossible for me to keep the secret any longer; so that, notwithstanding the oath i had made to the prince my cousin, i told the king his father all that i knew. his majesty listened to me with some sort of comfort, and when i had done, nephew, says he, what you tell me gives me some hope. i know that my son ordered that tomb to be built, and i can guess pretty near at the place, and, with the idea you still have of it, i fancy we shall find it; but since he ordered it to be built privately, and you took your oath to keep his secret, i am of opinion that we ought to go in quest of it alone, without saying any thing. but he had another reason for keeping the matter secret, which he did not then tell me, and an important reason it was, as you will perceive by the sequel of my discourse. we both of us disguised ourselves, and went out by a door of the garden which opened into the field, and soon found what we sought for. i knew the tomb, and was so much the more rejoiced at it, because i had formerly sought it a long time in vain. we entered, and found the iron trap pulled down upon the entrance of the stair-case; we had much ado to raise it, because the prince had fastened it on the inside with the water and mortar formerly mentioned; but at last we got it up. the king my uncle went down first, i following, and we went down about fifty steps. when we came to the foot of the stairs, we found a sort of antichamber full of a thick smoke, and an ill scent, which obscured the lamp that gave a very faint light. from this antichamber we came into another, very large, supported by great columns, and lighted by several branched candlesticks. there was a cistern in the middle, with provisions of several sorts standing on one side of it; but we were very much surprised to see nobody. before us there appeared a high sofa, which we mounted by several steps, and over this there appeared a very large bed, with the curtains drawn close. the king went up, and, opening the curtains, perceived the prince his son and the lady in bed together, but burnt and changed into a coal, as if they had been thrown into a great fire, and taken out again before they were consumed. but that which surprised me most of all was, that though this spectacle filled me with horror, the king my uncle, instead of testifying his sorrow to see the prince his son in such a frightful condition, spit in his face, and says to him, with an air, "this is the punishment of this world, but that of the other will last to eternity;" and, not content with this, he pulled off his sandal, and gave his son a great blow on the cheek with it. i cannot enough express, madam, said the calender how much i was astonished, when i saw the king my uncle abuse the prince his son, thus, after he was dead. sir, said i, whatever grief this dismal sight is capable to impress upon me, i am forced to suspend it, on purpose to ask your majesty what crime the prince my cousin may have committed, that his corpse should deserve this sort of treatment? nephew, replied the king, i must tell you that my son (who is unworthy of that name) loved his sister from his infancy, and so she did him: i did not hinder their growing love, because i did not foresee the pernicious consequences of it. this tenderness increased as they grew in years, and came to such a height, that i dreaded the end of it. at last i applied such remedies as were in my power; i not only gave my son a severe reprimand in private, laying before him the foulness of the passion he was entertaining, and the eternal disgrace he would bring upon my family if he persisted in such criminal courses, but i also represented the same thing to my daughter; and besides i shut her up so close, that she could have no conversation with her brother. but that unfortunate creature had swallowed so much of the poision, that all the obstacles, which by my prudence i could lay in the way, served only the more to inflame her love. my son, being persuaded of his sister's constancy, on pretence of building a tomb, caused this subterraneous habitation to be made, in hopes to find one day or other an opportunity to possess himself of that object which was the cause of his flame, and to bring her hither. he laid hold on the time of my absence to enter by force into the place of his sister's confinement; but that is a thing which my honour would not suffer me to make public; and, after so damnable an action, he came and enclosed himself and her in this place, which he has supplied, as you see, with all sorts of provisions, that he might enjoy his detestable pleasures for a long time, which ought to be a subject of horror to all the world: but god, who would not suffer such an abomination, has justly punished them both. at these words he melted into tears, and i joined mine with his. after a while, casting his eyes upon me, dear nephew, cried he, embracing me, if i have lost that unworthy son, i shall happily find in you one who will better supply his place. and, upon some other reflections he made on the doleful end of the prince and princess, we both fell into a new fit of weeping. we went up the same stairs again, and departed at last from this dismal place. we let down again the trapdoor, and covered it with earth, and such other materials as the tomb was built of, on purpose to hide, as much as lay in our power; so terrible an effect of the wrath of god. we had not been very long got back to the palace unperceived by anyone, before we heard a confused noise of trumpets, drums, and other instruments of war: we soon understood, by the thick cloud of dust which almost darkened the air, that it was the arrival of a formidable army; and it proved to be the same vizier that had dethroned my father, and usurped his throne, who, with a vast number of troops, was also come to possess himself of that of the king my uncle. that prince, who then had only his usual guards about him, could not resist so many enemies; they invested the city, and the gates being opened to them without any resistance, they very soon became masters of the city, and broke into the palace where the king my uncle was, who defended himself till he was killed, and sold his life at a dear rate. for my part i fought as well as i could for a while, but, seeing we were forced to submit to a superior power, i thought on my retreat and safety, which i had the good fortune to effect by some back ways, and got to one of the king's servants, on whose fidelity i could depend. being thus surrounded with sorrows, and persecuted by fortune, i had recourse to a stratagem, which was the only means left me to save my life; i caused my beard and eyebrows to be shaved, and putting on a calender's habit, i passed, unknown by any, out of the city: after that, by degrees, i found it easy to get out of my uncle's kingdom by taking the byeroads. i avoided passing through towns, until i was got into the empire of the mighty governor of the mussulmen, the glorious and renowned caliph haroun alraschid, when i thought myself out of danger; and, considering what i was to do, i resolved to come to bagdad, intending to throw myself at the monarch's feet, whose generosity is every where applauded. i shall move him to compassion, said i to myself, by the relation of my surprising misfortunes, and without doubt he will take pity on such an unfortunate prince, and not suffer me to implore his assistance in vain. in short, after a journey of several months, i arrived yesterday at the gate of this city, into which i entered about the dusk of the evening, and standing still a little while to revive my spirits, and to consider on which hand i was to turn, this other calender you see here next me came also along; he saluted me, and i him. you appear, said i, to be a stranger, as i am. you are not mistaken, replied he. he had no sooner returned this answer, than this third calender you see there overtook us. he saluted us, and told us he was a stranger newly come to bagdad; so that as brethren we joined together, resolving not to separate from one another. meanwhile it was late, and we knew not where to seek a lodging in the city, where we had no acquaintance, nor had ever been before. but good fortune having brought us before your gate, we made bold to knock, when you received us with so much kindness, that we are incapable to return you suitable thanks. this, madam, (said he,) is, in obedience to your commands, the account i was, to give you why i lost my right eye, wherefore my beard and eye-brows are shaved, and how i came to be with you at this present time. it is enough, says zobeide, you may retire to what place you think fit. the calender made his excuse, and begged the ladies' leave to stay till he had heard the relations of his two comrades, whom i cannot, says he, leave with honour; and till he might also hear those of the three other persons that were in company. the story of the first calender seemed very strange to the whole company, but especially to the caliph, who, though the slaves stood by with their scimitars in their hands, could not forbear whispering to the vizier, many stories have i heard, but never any thing that came near the story of the calender. whilst he was saying this, the second calender began, addressing himself to zobeide. the story of the second calender, a king's son. madam, said he, to obey your command, and to show you by what strange accident i became blind of the right eye, i must of necessity give you the whole account of my life. i was scarcely past my infancy, when the king my father (for you must know, madam, i am a prince by birth) perceived that i was endowed with a great deal of sense, and spared nothing to improve it. he employed all the men in his dominions, who excelled in sciences and arts, to be constantly about me. no sooner had i learned to read and write, than i learned the alcoran from the beginning to the end by heart; that admirable book, which contains the foundation, the precepts, and the rules of our religion; and, that i might be thoroughly instructed in it, i read the works of the most approved authors by whose commentaries it had been explained. i added to this study that of all the traditions collected from the mouth of our prophet by the great men that were contemporary with him. i was not satisfied with the knowledge alone of all that had any relation to our religion, but made also a particular search into our histories. i made myself perfect in polite learning, in the works of the poets, and in versification. i applied myself to geography, to chronology, and to speak our arabian language in its purity; not forgetting, in the mean time, all such exercises as were proper for a prince to understand. but one thing i was mightily in love with, and succeeded in to admiration, was, to form the characters of our arabian language, wherein i surpassed all the writing-masters of our kingdom, that had acquired the greatest reputation. fame did me more honour than i deserved, for she had not only spread the renown of my parts through all the dominions of the king my father, but carried it as far as the indian court, whose potent monarch, desirous to see me, sent an embassador, with rich presents, to demand me of my father, who was extremely glad of this embassy for several reasons; for he was persuaded that nothing could be more commendable in a prince of my age, than to travel and see foreign courts; and, besides, he was very glad to gain the friendship of the indian sultan. i departed with the embassador, but with no great retinue, because of the length and difficulty of the journey. when we had travelled about a month, we discovered at a distance a great cloud of dust, and under that we saw very soon fifty horsemen well armed, that were robbers, coming towards us at full gallop. as we had ten horses laden with baggage and other presents, which i was to present to the indian sultan from the king my father, and that my retinue was but small, you may easily judge that these robbers came boldly up to us; and, not being in a posture to make any opposition, we told them that we were embassadors belonging to the sultan of the indies, and hoped they would attempt nothing contrary to the honour that is due to them, thinking to save our equipage and our lives; but the robbers most insolently replied, for what reason would you have us show any respect to the sultan your master? we are none of his subjects, nor are we upon his territories. and, having spoken thus, they surrounded and fell upon us. i defended myself as well as i could; but finding myself wounded, and seeing the embassador, with his servants and mine, lying on the ground, i made use of what strength yet remained in my horse, who was also very much wounded, and separated myself from the crowd, and rode away as fast as he could carry me; but he, happening all of a sudden to fall under me by weariness and the loss of blood, fell down dead; i got rid of him in a trice; and finding that i was not pursued, it made me judge the robbers were not willing to quit the booty they had got. here you see me alone, wounded, destitute of all help, and in a strange country. i durst not betake myself to the high- road, fearing i might fall again into the hands of these robbers. when i had bound up my wound, which was not dangerous, i marched on the rest of the day, and arrived at the foot of a mountain, where i perceived a passage into a cave; i went in, and staid there that night with little satisfaction, after i had eaten some fruits that i had gathered by the way. i continued my journey for several days following, without finding any place of abode; but, after a month's time, i came to a large town well inhabited, and situtate very advantageously, being surrounded with several rivers, so that it enjoyed a perpetual spring. the pleasant objects which then presented themselves to my view, afforded me some joy, and suspended for a time the deep sorrow with which i was overwhelmed, to find myself in such a condition. my face, hands, and feet, were all tawny and sun-burnt, and by my long journey my shoes and stockings were quite worn out, so that i was forced to walk bare-footed; arid, besides, my clothes were all in rags. i entered into the town to inform myself where i was, and addressed myself to a tailor that was at work in his shop; who, perceiving by my air that i was a person of more note than my outward appearance bespoke me to be, made me sit down by him, and asked me who i was, and from whence i came, and what had brought me thither? i did not conceal any thing of all that had befallen me. nor made i any scruple to discover my quality. the tailor listened with attention to my words; but after i had done speaking, he, instead of giving me any consolation, augmented my sorrow. take heed, says he, how you discover to any person what you have now declared to me; for the prince of this country is the greatest enemy that the king your father has, and he will certainly do you some mischief when he comes to hear of your being in this city. i made no doubt of the tailor's sincerity when he named the prince; but since that enmity which is between my father and him has no relation to my adventures, i must beg your pardon, madam, to pass it over in silence. i returned the tailor thanks for his good advice, and showed myself inclinable wholly to follow his counsel, and assured him that his favours should never be forgotten by me. and as he believed i could not but be hungry, he caused them to bring me somewhat to eat, and offered me at the same time a lodging--in his house, which i accepted. some days after, finding me pretty well recovered of the fatigue i had endured by a long and tedious journey, and, besides, being sensible that most princes of our religion did apply themselves to some art or calling that might stand them in stead upon occasion, he asked me if i had learned any thing whereby i might get a livelihood, and not be burdensome to any man? i told him that i understood the laws both divine and human; that i was a grammarian and poet; and, above all, that i understood writing perfectly well. by all this, says he, you will not be able, in this country, to purchase yourself one morsel of bread; nothing is of less use here than those sciences: but if you will be advised by me, says he, dress yourself in a labourer's habit; and since you appear to be strong, and of a good constitution, you shall go into the next forest, and cut down fire-wood, which you may bring to the market to be sold; and i can assure you it will turn to so good an account, that you may live by it without dependence upon any man: by this means you will be in a condition to wait for the favourable minute when heaven shall think fit to dispel those clouds of misfortune that thwart your happiness, and oblige you to conceal your birth: i will take care to supply you with a rope and a hatchet. the fear of being known, and the necessity i was under of getting a livelihood, made me agree to this proposal, notwithstanding all the meanness and hardships that attend it. the day following, the tailor brought me a rope, a hatchet, and a short coat, and recommended me to some poor people that gained their bread after the same manner, that they might take me into their company. they conducted me to the wood, and the first day i brought in as much upon my head as brought me half a piece of gold, which is the money of that country; for though the wood is not far distant from the town, yet it was very scarce there, by reason that few or none would be at the trouble to go and cut it. i gained a good sum of money in a short time, and repaid my tailor what he had advanced for me. i continued this way of living for a whole year; and one day that by chance i had gone further into the wood than usual, i happened to light on a very pleasant place, where i began to cut down wood; and, in pulling up the root of a tree, i espied an iron ring, fastened to a trap-door of the same metal. i took away the earth that covered it, and, having lifted it up, saw stairs, which i descended, with my axe in my hand. when i was come to the bottom of the stairs, i found myself in a large palace, which put me into a mighty consternation, because of the great light which appeared as clear in it as if it had been above ground in the open air. i went forward along a gallery supported by pillars of jasper, the bases and chapiters of massy gold; but seeing a lady of a noble and free air, and of extraordinary beauty, coming towards me, this turned my eyes from beholding any other object but her alone. being desirous to spare the lady the trouble to come to me, i made haste to meet her; and as i was saluting her with a low bow, she asked me, what are you? a man or a genie? a man, madam, said i; i have no correspondence with genies. by what adventure, said she, (fetching a deep sigh,) are you come hither? i have lived here these twenty-five years, and never saw any man but yourself during that time. her great beauty, which had already smitten me, and the sweetness and civility wherewith she received me, made me bold to say to her, madam, before i have the honour to satisfy your curiosity, give me leave to tell you that i am infinitely satisfied with this unexpected rencounter, which offers me an occasion of consolation in the midst of my affliction; and perhaps it may give me an opportunity to make you also more happy than you are. i gave her a true account by what strange accident she saw me, the son of a king, in such a condition as i then appeared in her presence; and how fortune would have it that i should discover the entrance into that magnificent prison, where i had found her, but in an uneasy condition, according to appearance. alas! prince, said she, (sighing once more,) you have just cause to believe this rich and pompous prison cannot be otherwise than a most wearisome abode; the most charming place in the world being nowise delightful when we are detained in it contrary to our will. it is not possible but you have heard of the great epitimarus, king of the isle of ebone, so called from that precious wood it produces in abundance; i am the princess his daughter. the king my father had chosen for me a husband, a prince that was my cousin; but, on my wedding-night, in the midst of the rejoicing there was in the court and the capital city of the kingdom of the isle of ebone, before i was given to my spouse, a genie took me away. i fainted at the same moment, and lost all my senses; but, when i came to myself again, i found myself in this place. i was a longtime inconsolable; but time and necessity have accustomed me to see and receive the genie. it is twenty-five years, as i told you before, that i have continued in this place, where, i must confess, i have every thing that i can wish for necessary to life; and also every thing that can satisfy a princess that loves nothing but fine dress and fashions. every ten days, says the princess, the genie comes hither to lie with me one night, which he never exceeds; and the excuse he makes for it is, that he is married to another wife, who would grow jealous if she came to know how unfaithful he was to her. meanwhile, if i have any occasion for him by day or night, as soon as i touch a talisman, which is at the entrance of my chamber, the genie appears. it is now the fourth day since he was here, and i do not expect him before the end of six more; so, if you please, you may stay five days and keep me company, and i will endeavour to entertain you according to your quality and merit. i thought myself too fortunate to have obtained so great a favour without asking it, to refuse so obliging a proffer. the princess made me go into a bagnio, which was the most handsome, the most commodious, and the most sumptuous, that could be imagined; and when i came forth, instead of my own clothes, i found another very costly suit, which i did not esteem so much for its richness as that it made me look worthy to be in her company. we sat down on a sofa covered with rich tapestry, with cushions to lean upon, of the rarest indian brocade; and, some time after, she covered a table with several dishes of delicate meats. we ate together, and passed the remainder of the day with very great satisfaction; and at night she received me to her bed. the next day, as she contrived all manner of ways to please me, she brought in at dinner a bottle of old wine, the most excellent that ever was tasted, and, out of complaisance, she drank part of it with me. whan my head grew hot with the agreeable liquor, fair princess, said i, you have been too long thus buried alive; come follow me, and enjoy the real day from which you have been deprived of so many years, and abandon this false light that you have here. prince, replied she with a smile, leave this discourse; if you, out of the days, will grant me nine, and resign the last to the genie, the fairest day that ever was would be nothing in my esteem. princess, said i, it is the fear of the genie that makes you speak thus; for my part, i value him so little that i will break his talisman, with the conjuration that is written about it, in pieces. let him come then, i will expect him, and how brave or redoubtable soever he be, i will make him feel the weight of my arm. i swear solemnly that i shall extirpate all the genies in the world, and him first. the princess, who knew the consequence, conjured me not to touch the talisman, for that would be a mean, said she, to ruin both you and me; i know what belongs to genies better than you. the fumes of the wine did not suffer me to hearken to her reasons, but i gave the talisman a kick with my foot, and broke it in several pieces. the talisman was no sooner broken than the palace began to shake, and was ready to fall, with a hideous noise like thunder, accompanied with flashes of lightning, and a great darkness. this terrible noise in a moment dispelled the fumes of my wine, and made me sensible, but too late, of the folly i had committed. princess, cried i, what means all this? she answered in a fright, and without any concern for her own misfortune, cries, alas! you are undone, if you do not escape presently. i followed her advice, and my fears were so great that i forgot my hatchet and cords. i was scarcely got to the stairs by which i came down, when the enchanted palace opened at once, and made a passage for the genie. he asked the princess, in great anger, what has happened to you, and why did you call me? a qualm at my stomach, said the princess, made me fetch this bottle which you see here, out of which i drank twice or thrice, and by mischance made a false step, and fell upon the talisman, which is broken, and that is all the matter. at this answer the furious genie told her, you are a false woman and a liar. how came that axe and those ropes there? i never saw them till this moment, said the princess. your coming in such an impetuous manner has, it may be, forced them up in some place as you came along, and so brought them hither without your knowing it. the genie made no other answer but what was accompanied with reproaches and blows, of which i heard the noise. i could not endure to hear the pitiful cries and shouts of the princess so cruelly abused; i had already laid off the suit she made me put on, and taken my own, which i had laid on the stairs the day before, when i came out of the bagnio. i made haste up stairs, being so much the more full of sorrow and compassion that i had been the cause of so great a misfortune; and that, by sacrificing the fairest princess on earth to the barbarity of a most merciless genie, i was become the most criminal and ungrateful of mankind. it is true, said i, she has been a prisoner these twenty-five years; but, setting liberty aside, she wanted nothing that could make her happy. my madness has put an end to her happiness, and brought upon her the cruelty of an unrelenting devil. i let down the trap-door, covered it again with earth, and returned to the city with a burden of wood, which i bound up without knowing what i did, so great were my trouble and sorrow. my landlord, the tailor, was very much rejoiced to see me. your absence, said he, has disquieted me very much, by reason you had intrusted in with the secret of your birth, and i knew not what to think. i was afraid that somebody had known you; god be thanked for your return. i thanked him for his zeal and affection, but never a word durst i say of what had passed, nor the reason why i came back without my hatchet and cords. i retired to my chamber, where i reproached myself a thousand times for my excessive imprudence. nothing, said i, could have paralleled the princess's good fortune and mine, had i foreborn to break the talisman. while i was thus giving myself over to melancholy thoughts, the tailor came in and told me, an old man, said he, whom i do not know, brings me your hatchet and cords, which he found in his way, as he tells me, and understood, by your comrades that go along with you to the woods, that you lodge here. come out and speak to him, for he will deliver them to none but yourself. at this discourse i changed colour, and fell a-trembling. while the tailor was asking me the reason, my chamber-door opened at once, and the old man, having no patience to stay, appeared to us with my hatchet and cords. this was the genie, the ravisher of the fair princess of the isle of ebone, who had thus disguised himself, after he had treated her with the utmost barbarity. i am a genie, said he, son of the daughter of ebis, prince of genies. is not this your hatchet? said he, speaking to me, and are not these your cords? after the genie had put the question to me, he gave me no time to answer, nor was it in my power, so much had his terrible aspect put me beside myself. he grasped me by the middle, dragged me out of the chamber, and, mounting into the air, carried me up as high as the skies, with such swiftness, that i perceived i was got so high as not to be able to take notice of the way, being carried in so few moments. he descended again in like manner to the earth, which, on a sudden, he caused to open with a knock of his foot, and so sunk down at once, where i found myself in the enchanted palace before the fair princess of the isle of ebone. but, alas! what a spectacle was there; i saw that which pierced me to the heart; this poor princess was quite naked, all in blood, and laid upon the ground, more like one dead than alive, with her cheeks all bathed in tears. perfidious wretch, said the genie to her, pointing at me, is not this your gallant? she cast her languishing eyes upon me, and answered mournfully, i do not know him; i never saw him till this moment. what, said the genie, he is the cause of thy being in the condition thou art justly in; and yet darest thou say thou dost not know him? if i do not know him, said the princess, would you have me to make a lie on purpose to ruin him? o then, said the genie, pulling out a scimitar, and presenting it to the princess, if you never saw him before, take the scimitar and cut off his head. alas! replied the princess, how is it possible i should execute what you would force me to do? my strength is so far spent that i cannot lift my arm; and if i could, how should i have the heart to take away an innocent man's life, and one i do not know? this refusal, said the genie to the princess, sufficiently informs me of your crime. upon which, turning to me, and thou, said he, dost thou hot know her? i should have been the most ungrateful wretch, and the most perfidious of all mankind, if i had not shown myself as faithful to the princess as she was to me, who had been the cause of her misfortunes. therefore i answered the genie, how should i know her, that never saw her till now? if that be so, said he, take the scimitar and cut off her head. on this condition i will set thee at liberty, for then i will be convinced that thou never saw her till this very moment, as thou sayest thyself. with all my heart, replied i, and took the scimitar in my hand. do not think, madam, that i drew near to the fair princess of the isle of ebone, to be the executioner of the genie's barbarity; i did it only to demonstrate by my behaviour, as much as possible, that as she had shown her resolution to sacrifice her life for my sake, so i would not refuse to sacrifice mine for her's. the princess, notwithstanding her pain and suffering, understood my meaning, which she signified by an obliging look, and made me understand her willingness to die for me; and that she was satisfied to see also how willing i was to die for her. upon this i stepped back, and threw the scimitar on the ground. i shall for ever, says i to the genie, be hateful to all mankind, should i be so base as to murder, i do not only say a person whom i do not know, but also a lady like this, who is ready to give up the ghost; do with me what you please since i am in your power; i cannot obey your barbarous commands. i see, said the genie, that you both out-brave me, and insult my jealousy; but both of you shall know, by the treatment i give you, what i am capable to do. at these words, the monster took up the scimitar and cut off one of her hands, which left her only so much life as to give me a token with the other, that she bid me for ever adieu. for the blood she had lost before, and that which gushed out then, did not permit her to live above one or two moments after this barbarous cruelty, the sight of which threw me into a fit. when i was come to myself again, i expostulated with the genie, why he made me languish in expectation of death. strike, cried i, for i am ready to receive the mortal blow, and expect it as the greatest favour you can show me. but instead of agreeing to that, look ye, says he, how genies treat their wives whom they suspect of unfaithfulness; she has received thee here, and were i certain that she had put any other affront upon me, i would make thee die this minute; but i will content myself to transform thee into a dog, ape, lion, or bird: take thy choice of any of these, i will leave it to thyself. these words gave me some hopes to mollify him. o genie; said i, moderate your passion, and since you will not take away my life, give it me generously; i shall always remember your clemency, if you pardon me, as one of the best men in the world pardoned one of his neighbours who bore him a mortal hatred. the genie asked me what had passed between those two neighbours, and said, he would have patience till he heard the story, which i told him thus: and i believe, madam, you will not take it ill if i also relate it to you. the story of the envious man, and of him whom he envied. in a considerable town, two persons dwelt next door to each other; one of them conceived such a violent hatred against the other, that he who was hated resolved to remove his dwelling further off, being persuaded that their being neighbours was the only cause from whence his animosity did arise; for, though he had done him several pieces of service, he found, nevertheless, that his hatred was nothing diminished; therefore he sold his house, with what goods he had left, and retired to the capital city of that kingdom, which was not far distant. he bought a little spot of ground, which lay about half a league from the city; he had a house convenient enough, with a fine garden, and a pretty spacious court, wherein was a deep well, which was not in use. the honest man, having made this purchase, put on a dervize's or monk's habit to lead a retired life, and caused several cells to be made in the house, where in a short time he established a numerous society of dervizes. he came soon to be publicly known by his virtue, through which he acquired the esteem of a great many people, as well of the commonalty as of the chief of the city. in short, he was extremely honoured and cherished by every one. people came from far to recommend themselves to his prayers; and all those that came to live with him published what blessings they received through his means. the great reputation of that honest man having spread to the town from whence he came, it touched the envious man so much to the quick, that he left his house and affairs, with a resolution to go and ruin him. with this intent he went to the new convent of dervizes, of which his former neighbour was the head, who received him with all imaginable tokens of friendship. the envious man told him that he was come on purpose to communicate a business of importance to him, which he could not do but in private; and because that nobody shall hear us, let us, says he, take a walk in your court, and seeing night begins to draw on, command your dervizes to retire to their cells. the head of the dervizes did as he required. when the envious man saw that he was alone, with this good man, he began to tell him his errand, walking side by side in the court until he saw his opportunity; and getting the good man near the brink of the well, he gave him a thrust, and pushed him into it, without any body being witness to so wicked an action. having done this, he marched off immediately, got out at the gate of the convent without being known to any one, and came home to his own house, well satisfied with his journey, being fully persuaded that the object of his hatred was no more in this world. this old well was inhabited by fairies and genies, which happened luckily for the relief of the head of the convent; for they received and supported him, and carried him to the bottom, so that he got no hurt. he perceived well enough that there was something extraordinary in his fall, which must otherwise have cost him his life; whereas he neither saw nor felt any thing. but he soon heard a voice, which said, do you know what honest man this is to whom we have done this piece of service? another voice answered, no. to which the first replied, then i will tell you. this man, out of charity the greatest that ever was known, left the town he lived in, and has established himself in this place, in hopes to cure one of his neighbours of the envy he had conceived against him; he has acquired such a general esteem, that the envious man, not able to endure it, came hither on purpose to ruin him, which he had performed, had it not been for the assistance which we have given this honest man, whose reputation is so great, that the sultan, who keeps his residence in the neighbouring city, was to pay him a visit to-morrow, and to recommend the princess his daughter to his prayers. another voice asked, what need had the princess of the dervize's prayers? to which the first answered, you do not know, it seems, that she is possessed by genie maimoun, the son of demdim, who is fallen in love with her. but i know well how this good head of the dervizes may cure her; the thing is very easy, and i will tell it you. he has a black cat in his convent, with a white spot at the end of her tail, about the bigness of a small piece of english money: let him only pull seven hairs out of this white spot, burn them, and smoke the princess's head with the fume, she will not only be perfectly cured, but be so safely delivered from maimoun, the son of demdim, that he will never dare to come near her a second time. the head of the dervizes remembered every word of the discourse between the fairies and the genies, who were very silent all the night after. the next morning, by break of day, when he could discern one thing from another, the well being broken down in several places, he saw a hole, by which he crept out with ease. the other dervizes who had been seeking for him, were rejoiced to see him. he gave them a brief account of the wickedness of that man to whom he had given so kind a reception the day before, and retired into his cell. it was not long till the black cat, of which the fairies and the genies had made mention in their discourses the night before, came to fawn upon her master, as she was accustomed to do: he took her up, and pulled seven hairs out of the white spot that was upon her tail, and laid them aside for his use, when occasion should serve. the sun was not high, when the sultan, who would leave no means untried which he thought could restore the princess to her perfect health, arrived at the gate of the convent. he commanded his guards to halt, whilst he, with his principal officers, went in. the dervizes received him with profound respect. the sultan called their head aside, and says, good sheik, it may be you know already the cause of my coming hither. yes, sir, replies he, very gravely; if i do not mistake it, it is the disease of the princess which procures me this honour that i have not deserved. that is the very thing, replied the sultan. you will give me new life, if your prayers, as i hope they will, can procure my daughter's health. sir, said the good man, if your majesty will be pleased to let her come hither, i am in hopes, that through god's assistance and favour, she shall return in perfect health. the prince, transported with joy, sent immediately to fetch his daughter, who very soon appeared with a numerous train of ladies and eunuchs, but masked, so that her face was not seen. the chief of the dervizes caused a pall to be held over her head, and he had no sooner thrown the seven tufts of hair upon the burning coal, than the genie maimoun, the son of demdim, gave a great cry, without any thing being seen, and left the princess at liberty; upon which she took the veil from off her face, and rose up to see where she was, saying, where am i, and who brought me hither? at these words, the sultan, overcome with excess of joy, embraced his daughter, and kissed her eyes; he also kissed the chief of the dervize's hands, and said to his officers, tell me your opinion, what reward does he deserve who has cured my daughter? they all cried, he deserves her in marriage. that is what i had in my thoughts, said the sultan; and i make him my son-in-law from this moment. some time after, the prime vizier died, and the sultan conferred the place on the dervize. the sultan himself died without heirs-male; upon which the religious orders and the militia gathered together, and the honest man was declared and acknowledged sultan by general consent. the honest dervize, being mounted on the throne of his father-in-law, as he was one day in the midst of his courtiers upon a march, espied the envious man among the crowd of people that stood as he passed along, and calling one of his viziers that attended him, whispered him in the ear thus: go bring me that man you see there, but take care you do not frighten him. the vizier obeyed, and when the envious man was brought into his presence, the sultan said, friend, i am extremely glad to see you. upon which he called an officer: go immediately, says he, and cause to be paid this man out of my treasury one hundred pieces of gold; let him have also twenty load of the richest merchandise in my store-houses, and a sufficient guard to conduct him to his house. after he had given this charge to the officer, he bade the envious man farewell, and proceeded on his march. when i had finished the recital of this story to the genie, the murderer of the princess of the isle of ebone, i made the application to himself thus: o genie! you see here that this bountiful sultan did not content himself with forgetting the design of the envious man to take away his life, but treated him kindly, and sent him back with all the favours which i just now related. in short, i made use of all my eloquence, prayed him to imitate such a good example, and to grant me pardon; but it was impossible for me to move his compassion. all that i can do for thee, said he, is, that i will not take away thy life; do not flatter thyself that i will send thee safe and sound back. i must let you feel what i am able to do by my enchantments. with that he laid violent hands on me, and carried me across the vault of the subterraneous palace, which opened to give him passage; he flew up with me so high, that the earth seemed to be only a little white cloud; from thence he came down again like lightning, and alighted upon the ridge of a mountain. there he took up a handful of earth, and pronounced, or rather muttered, some words which i did not understand, and threw it upon me. leave the shape of a man, says he to me, and take on that of an ape. he vanished immediately, and left me alone, transformed into an ape, overwhelmed with sorrow in a strange country, not knowing if i was near unto or far from my father's dominions. i went down from the height of the mountain, and came into a plain country, which took me a month's time to travel through, and then i came to a coast of the sea. it happened then to be a great calm, and i espied a vessel about half a league from the shore; i would not lose this good opportunity, but broke off a large branch from a tree, which i carried with me to the sea-side, and set myself astride upon it, with a stick in each hand to serve me for oars. i launched out in this posture, and advanced near the ship. when i was near enough to be known, the seamen and passengers that were upon the deck thought it an extraordinary spectacle, and all of them looked upon me with great astonishment. in the mean time, i got aboard, and laying hold of a rope, i jumped on the deck, and, having lost my speech, i found myself in very great perplexity; and indeed the risk i ran then was nothing less than when i was at the mercy of the genie. the merchants, being both superstitious and scrupulous, believed i should occasion some mischief to their voyage, if they received me: therefore, says one, i will knock him down with an handspike; says another, i will shoot an arrow through his guts; says a third, let us throw him into the sea. some of them would not have failed to have executed their design, if i had not got to the side where the captain was; when i threw myself at his feet, and took him by the coat in a begging posture. this action, together with the tears which he saw gush from my eyes, moved his compassion; so that he took me into his protection, threatened to be avenged on him that should do me the least hurt; and he himself made very much of me, and on my part, though i had no power to speak, i did, by my gestures, show all possible signs of gratitude. the wind that succeeded the calm was gentle and favourable, and did not alter for five days, but brought us safe to the port of a fine town, well peopled, and of great trade, where we came to an anchor. it was so much the more considerable, that it was the capital city of a powerful state. our vessel was speedily surrounded with an infinite number of boats, full of people, who either came to congratulate their friends upon their safe arrival, or to inquire for those they had left behind them in the country from whence they came, or out of curiosity to see a ship that came from a far country. amongst the rest, some officers came on board, desiring to speak with the merchants in the name of the sultan. the merchants appearing, one of the officers told them, the sultan, our master, hath commanded us to acquaint you that he is glad of your safe arrival, and prays you to take the trouble, every one of you, to write some lines upon this roll of paper; and, that his design may be understood, you must know that he had a prime vizier, who, besides a great capacity to manage affairs, understood writing to the highest perfection. this minister is lately dead, at which the sultan is very much troubled, and since he can never behold his writing without admiration, he has made a solemn vow not to give the place to any man but to him that can write as well as he did. abundance of people have presented their writings; but to this day nobody in all this empire has been judged worthy to supply the vizier's place. those merchants that believed they could write well enough to pretend to this high dignity, wrote, one after another, what they thought fit. after they had done, i advanced and took the roll out of the gentleman's hand; but all the people, especially the merchants, cried out, he will tear it, or throw it into the sea, till they saw how properly i held the roll, and made a sign that i would write in my turn. then they were of another opinion, and their fears turned into admiration. however, since they had never seen an ape that could write, nor could be persuaded that i was more ingenious than other apes, they offered to snatch the roll out of my hand; but the captain took my part once more. let him alone, says he; suffer him to write. if he only scribbles the paper, i promise you that i will punish him upon the spot. if, on the contrary, he writes well, as i hope he will, because i never saw an ape so handy and ingenious, and so apprehensive of every thing, i do declare that i will own him as my son. i had one that had not by far the wit that he has. perceiving that no man did any more oppose my design, i took the pen, and wrote, before i had done, six sorts of hands used among the arabians, and each specimen containing an extemporary distich or quatram in praise of the sultan. my writings did not only outdo that of the merchants, but i dare say they had not before seen any such fair writing in that country. when i had done, the officers took the roll, and carried it to the sultan. the sultan took little notice of any of the other writings, but considered mine, which was so much to his liking, that he says to the officers, take the finest horse in my stable, with the richest harness, and a robe of the most sumptuous brocade, to put upon that person who wrote those six hands, and bring him hither to me. at this command the officers could not forbear laughing: the sultan grew angry at their boldness, and was ready to punish them till they told him. sir, replied the officers, we humbly beg your majesty's pardon; these characters are not written by a man, but by an ape. what do you say! says the sultan, are not these admirable characters written by the hands of a man? no, sir, replied the officers, we do assure your majesty that it was an ape who wrote them in our presence. the sultan was too much surprised at this account not to desire a sight of me; and therefore says, do what i command you, and bring me speedily that wonderful ape. the officers returned to the vessel, and showed the captain their order, who answered, that the sultan's commands must be obeyed. whereupon they clothed me with that rich brocade robe, and carried me ashore, where they set me on horseback, whilst the sultan waited for me at the palace with a great number of courtiers, whom he gathered together, to do me the more honour. the cavalcade being begun, the harbour, the streets, the public places, windows, terraces, palaces, and houses, were all filled with an infinite number of people, of all sorts, who were curious to come from all parts of the city to see me; for the rumour was spread in a moment, that the sultan had chosen an ape to be his grand vizier; and after having served for a spectacle to the people, who could not forbear to express their surprise by redoubling their shouts and cries, i arrived at the palace of the sultan. i found the prince seated on his throne, in the midst of the grandees. i made my bow three times very low, and at last kneeled and kissed the ground before him, and afterwards sat down in my seat in the posture of an ape. the whole assembly admired me, and could not comprehend how it was possible that an ape should understand so well to give the sultan his due respect; and he himself was more astonished than any man. in short, the usual ceremony of the audience would have been complete, could i have added speech to my behaviour; but apes do never speak, and the advantage i had of having been a man did not allow me that privilege. the sultan dismissed his courtiers, and none remained by him but his chief of the eunuchs, a little young slave, and myself. he went from his chamber of audience into his own apartment, where he ordered dinner to be brought. as he sat at table, he gave me a sign to come near, and eat with him. to show my obedience, i kissed the ground, stood up, sat down at table, ate with discretion, and moderately. before the table was uncovered, i espied an ink-horn, which i made a sign should be brought me; having got it, i wrote upon a large peach some verses after my own way, which testified my acknowledgment to the sultan; who having read them, after my presenting him the peach, it increased his astonishment. when the table was uncovered, they brought him a particular liquor, of which he caused them to give me a glass. i drank, and wrote some new verses upon it, which explained the state i was in, after a great many sufferings. the sultan read them likewise, and said, an ape that was capable of doing so much ought to be exalted above the greatest of men. the sultan caused them to bring in a chess-board, and asked me, by a sign, if i understood that game, and would play with him? i kissed the ground, and laying my hand upon my head, signified that i was ready to receive that honour. he won the first game, but i won the second and third; and perceiving he was somewhat displeased at it, i made a quatrain to pacify him; in which i told him that two potent armies had been fighting very eagerly all day, but that they made up a peace towards the evening, and passed the remaining part of the night very peaceably together upon the field of battle. so many things appearing to the sultan far beyond what any one had either seen or known of the behaviour or knowledge of apes, he would not be the only witness of these prodigies himself; but having a daughter, called the lady of beauty, to whom the head of the eunuchs, then present, was governor, go, said the sultan to him, and bid your lady come hither: i am willing she should have a share in my pleasure. the eunuch went, and immediately brought the princess, who had her face uncovered; but she was no sooner got into the room, than she put on her veil, and said to the sultan, sir, your majesty must needs have forgotten yourself; i am very much surprised that your majesty has sent for me to appear among men. how, daughter! said the sultan, you do not know what you say. here is nobody but the little slave, the eunuch your governor, and myself, who have the liberty to see your face; and yet you lower your veil, and would make me a criminal in having sent for you hither. sir, said the princess, your majesty shall soon understand that i am not in the wrong. that ape you see before you, though he has the shape of an ape, is a young prince, son of a great king; he has been metamorphosed into an ape by enchantment. a genie, the son of the daughter of eblis, has maliciously done him this wrong, after having cruelly taken away the life of the princess of the isle of ebone, daughter to the king of epitimarus. the sultan, astonished at this discourse, turned towards me, and spoke no more by signs, but, in plain words, asked me, if it was true what his daughter said? seeing i could not speak, i put my hand to my head to signify that what the princess spoke was true. upon this the sultan said again to his daughter, how do you know that this prince has been transformed by enchantment into an ape? sir, replied the lady of beauty, your majesty may remember that when i was past my infancy, i had an old lady that waited upon me; she was a most expert magician, and taught me seventy rules of magic, by virtue of which i can transport your capital city into the midst of the sea, in the twinkling of an eye, or beyond mount caucasus. by this science i know all enchanted persons at first sight. i know who they are, and by whom they have been enchanted: therefore do not admire if i forthwith relieve this prince, in spite of enchantments, from that which hinders him to appear in your sight what he naturally is. daughter, said the sultan, i did not believe you to have understood so much. sir, replies the princess, these things are curious, and worth knowing; but i think i ought not to boast of them. since it is so, said the sultan, you can dispel the prince's enchantment. yes, sir, said the princess, i can restore him to his first shape again. do it then, said the sultan, you cannot do me a greater pleasure; for i will have him to be my vizier, and he shall marry you. sir, said the princess, i am ready to obey you in all that you shall be pleased to command me. the princess, the lady of beauty, went into her apartment, from whence she brought in a knife which had some hebrew words engraved on the blade: she made us all, viz. the sultan, the master of the eunuchs, the little slave, and myself, to go down into a private court adjoining to the palace, and there left us under a gallery that went round it. she placed herself in the middle of the court, where she made a great circle, and within it she wrote several words in arabian characters, some of them ancient, and others of those which they call the character of cleopatra. when she had finished and prepared the circle as she thought fit, she placed herself in the centre of it, where she began adjurations, and repeated verses out of the alcoran. the air grew insensibly dark, as if it had been night, and the whole world about to be dissolved. we found ourselves struck with a panic fear, and this fear increased the more, when we saw the genie, the son of the daughter of eblis, appear all of a sudden in the shape of a lion of a frightful size. as soon as the princess perceived this monster, you dog, said she, instead of creeping before me, dare you present yourself in this shape, thinking to frighten me? and thou, replied the lion, art thou not afraid to break the treaty which was solemnly made and confirmed between us by oath, not to wrong or do one another any hurt? oh, thou cursed creature! replied the princess, i can justly reproach thee with doing so. the lion answered fiercely, thou shalt quickly have thy reward for the trouble thou hast given me to return: with that he opened his terrible throat, and ran at her to devour her; but she, being upon her guard, leaped backward, got time to pull out one of her hairs, and, by pronouncing three or four words, changed herself into a sharp sword, wherewith she cut the lion through the middle in two pieces. the two parts of the lion vanished, and the head was only left, which changed itself into a large scorpion. immediately the princess turned herself into a serpent, and fought the scorpion, who, finding himself worsted, took the shape of an eagle, and flew away: but the serpent at the same time took also the shape of an eagle that was black and much stronger, and pursued him, so that we lost sight of them both. some time after they disappeared, the ground opened before us, and out of it came forth a cat, black and white, with her hair standing upright, and keeping up a fearful mewling; a black wolf followed her close, and gave her no time to rest. the cat, being thus hard beset, changed herself into a worm, and being nigh to a pomegranate that had accidentally fallen from a tree that grew on the side of a canal, which was deep, but not broad, the worm pierced the pomegranate in an instant, and hid itself; but the pomegranate swelled immediately, and became as big as a gourd, which, mounting up to the top of the gallery, rolled there for some space backward and forward, fell down again into the court, and broke into several pieces. the wolf, who had in the meanwhile transformed itself into a cock, fell a-picking up the seeds of the pomegranate one after another; but, finding no more, he came towards us with his wings spread, making a great noise, as if he would ask us whether there was any more seed? there was one lying on the brink of the canal, which the cock perceiving as he went back, ran speedily thither; but just as he was going to pick it up, the seed rolled into the river, and turned into a little fish. the cock jumped into the river, and was turned into a pike, that pursued the small fish; they continued both under water above two hours, and we knew not what became of them; but all of a sudden we heard terrible cries, which made us to quake, and a little while after we saw the genie and princess all in flames. they threw flashes of fire out of their mouths at one another, until they came to it hand to hand; then the fires increased, with a thick burning smoke, which mounted so high, that we had reason to fear that it would set the palace on fire. but we very soon had a more pressing occasion of fear; for the genie, having got loose from the princess, came to the gallery where we stood, and blew flames of fire upon us. we had all perished, if the princess, running to our assistance, had not forced him, by her efforts, to retire and defend himself against her; yet, notwithstanding all her diligence, she could not hinder the sultan's beard from being burnt, and his face spoiled, the chief of the eunuch's from being stifled, and burnt on the spot, nor a spark to enter my right eye, and make it blind. the sultan and i expected nothing but death, when we heard a cry, victory, victory; and, all of a sudden, the princess appeared in her natural shape, but the genie was reduced to a heap of ashes. the princess came near to us, and, that she might not lose time, called for a cup of cold water, which the young slave that had got no damage brought her: she took it, and, after pronouncing some words over it, threw it upon me, saying, if thou art become an ape by enchantment, change thy shape, and take that of a man, which thou hadst before. these words were hardly uttered till i became a man, as i was before, one eye only excepted. i was preparing myself to give thanks to the princess, but she prevented me, by addressing herself to her father thus: sir, i have got the victory over the genie, as your majesty may see; but it is a victory that costs me dear; i have but a few moments to live, and you will not have the satisfaction to make the match you intended; the fire has pierced me during the terrible combat, and i find it consumes me by degrees. this would not have happened, had i perceived the last of the pomegranate seeds, and swallowed it as i did the other, when i was changed into a cock. the genie had fled thither as to his last intrenchment, and upon that the success of the combat depended, which would have been successful, and without danger to me. this slip obliged me to have recourse to fire, and to fight with those mighty arms as i did between heaven and earth in your presence; for, in spite of all his redoubtable art and experience, i made the genie to know that i understood more than he: i have conquered and reduced him to ashes, but i cannot escape death, which is approaching. the sultan suffered the princess, the lady of beauty, to go on with the recital of her combat; and when she had done, he spoke to her in a tone that sufficiently testified his grief. my daughter, said he, you see in what condition your father is: alas! i wonder that i am yet alive! your governor, the eunuch, is dead, and the prince whom you have delivered from his enchantment has lost one of his eyes. he could speak no more; for his tears, sighs, and sobs, made him speechless; his daughter and i were exceedingly sensible of his sorrow, and wept with him. in the mean time, while we were striving to outdo one another in grief, the princess cried, i burn; oh, i burn! she found that the fire which consumed her had at last seized upon her whole body, which made her still to cry, i burn, until death had made an end of her intolerable pains. the effect of that was so extraordinary, that in a few moments she was wholly reduced to ashes like the genie. i cannot tell you, madam, how much i was grieved at so dismal a spectacle. i had rather all my life have continued an ape or a dog, than to have seen my benefactress thus miserably perish. the sultan, being afflicted beyond all that can be imagined, cried out piteously, and beat himself upon his head and stomach, until such time as, being quite overcome with grief, he fainted away, which made me fear his life. in the mean time the eunuchs and officers came running at the sultan's cries, and with very much ado brought him to himself again. there was no need for that prince and me to give them a long narrative of this adventure, in order to convince them of their great loss. the two heaps of ashes, into which the princess and genie had been reduced, were demonstration enough. the sultan was hardly able to stand upright, but was forced to be supported by them till he could get to his apartment. when the noise of this tragical event had spread itself through the palace and the city, all the people bewailed the misfortune of the princess, the lady of beauty, and were sensible of the sultan's affliction. every one was in deep mourning for seven days, and a great many ceremonies were performed: the ashes of the genie were thrown into the air, but those of the princess were gathered into a precious urn, to be kept; and the urn was set in a stately tomb, which was built for that purpose, on the same place where the ashes had lain. the grief which the sultan conceived for the loss of his daughter threw him into a fit of sickness, which confined him to his chamber for a whole month. he had not fully recovered strength when he sent for me: prince, said he, hearken to the orders that i now give you; it will cost you your life if you do not put them in execution. i assured him of exact obedience; upon which he went on thus: i have constantly lived in perfect felicity, and never was crossed by any accident; but by your arrival all the happiness i possessed is vanished; my daughter is dead, her governor is no more, and it is through a miracle that i am yet alive. you are the cause of all those misfortunes, for which it is impossible that i should be comforted; therefore depart from hence in peace, but without further delay, for i myself must perish, if you stay any longer: i am persuaded that your presence brings mischief along with it. this is all i have to say to you. depart, and take care of ever appearing again in my dominions; there is no consideration whatsoever that shall hinder me from making you repent of it. i was going to speak, but he stopped my mouth by words full of anger; and so i was obliged to remove from his palace, rejected, banished, thrown off by all the world, and not knowing what would become of me. before i left the city, i went into a bagnio, where i caused my beard and eye-brows to be shaved, and put on a calender's habit. i began my journey, not so much deploring my own miseries as the death of the two fair princesses of which i had been the occasion. i passed through many countries without making myself known; at last i resolved to come to bagdad, in hopes to get myself introduced to the commander of the faithful, to move his compassion by giving him an account of my strange adventures. i came hither this evening, and the first man i met was this calender, our brother, that spoke before me. you know the remaining part, madam, and the cause of my having the honour to be here. when the second calender made an end of his story, zobeide, to whom he had addressed his speech, told him, it is very well, you may go which way you please; i give you leave: but, instead of departing, he also petitioned the lady to show him the same favour she had vouchsafed to the first calender, and went and sat down by him. the third calender, perceiving it was his turn to speak, addressed his speech, as the rest had done, to zobeide, and began in this manner. the history of the third calender, a king's son. most honourable lady, that which i am going to tell you very much differs from what you have heard already. the two princes that spoke before me have each lost an eye by the pure effects of their destiny, but mine i lost through my own fault, and by hastening to seek my own misfortune, as you shall hear by the sequel of my story. my name is agib, and i am the son of a king who was called cassib. after his death i took possession of his dominions, and resided in the same city where he lived before. this city is situate on the sea-coast; has one of the finest and safest harbours in the world, and an arsenal large enough for fitting out fifty men of war to sea, that are always ready on occasion, and light frigates, and pleasure-boats for recreation. my kingdom is composed of several fine provinces upon terra firma, besides a number of spacious islands, every one of which lies almost in sight of my capital city. the first thing i did was to visit the provinces; i afterwards caused to fit out and man my whole fleet, went to my islands to gain the hearts of my subjects by my presence, and to confirm them in their loyalty; and, some time after i returned, i went thither again. these voyages giving me some taste for navigation, i took so much pleasure in it that i resolved to make some discoveries beyond my islands; to which end i caused only ten ships to be fitted out, embarked on board them, and set sail. our voyage was very successful for forty days together; but on the forty-first night the wind became contrary, and withal so boisterous that we were like to have been lost in the storm. about break of day the wind grew calm, the clouds were dispersed, and the sun having brought back fair weather, we came close to an island, where we remained two days to take in fresh provisions; this being done, we put off again to sea. after ten days sail, we were in hopes of seeing land, for the tempests we had gone through had so much abated my curiosity, that i gave orders to steer back to my own coast; but i perceived at the same time that my pilot knew not where we were. upon the tenth day, a seaman being sent to look out for land from the mast-head, he gave notice that on starboard and larboard he could see nothing but the sky and the sea which bounded the horizon, but just before us, upon the stern, he saw a great blackness. the pilot changed colour at the relation and throwing his turban on the deck with one hand, and beating his breast with the other, cried, o, sir, we are all lost; not one of us will escape; and, with all my skill, it is not in my power to prevent it! having spoken thus, he fell a-crying like a man who foresaw unavoidable ruin; his despair put the whole ship's crew into a terror. i asked him what reason he had thus to despair? he told me, the tempest which we had outlived had brought us so far out of our course that to-morrow about noon we should come near to that black place, which is nothing else but the black mountain, that is, a mine of adamant, which at this very minute draws all your fleet towards it, by virtue of the iron nails that are in your ships; and when we come to-morrow, at a certain distance, the strength of the adamant will have such a force, that all the nails will be drawn out of the sides and bottoms of the ships, and fastened to the mountain, so that your vessel will fall to pieces, and sink to the bottom; and as the adamant has a virtue to draw all iron to it, whereby its attraction becomes stronger, this mountain on the side of the sea is all covered over with nails, drawn out of an infinite number of vessels that have perished by it; and this preserves and augments its virtue at the same time. this mountain, continues the pilot, is very rugged. on the top of it there is a dome of fine brass, supported by pillars of the same, and upon the top of that dome there stands a horse of the same metal, with a rider on his back, who has a plate of lead fixed to his breast, upon which some talismantical characters are engraved. sir, the tradition is, that this statue is the chief cause that so many ships and men have been lost and sunk in this place, and that it will ever continue to be fatal to all who have the misfortune to come near it, until such time as it shall be thrown down. the pilot, having ended his discourse, began to weep afresh, and this made all the rest of the ship's company to do the like. i myself had no other thoughts but that my days were there to have an end. in the mean time every one began to provide for his own safety, and to that end took all imaginable precautions; and, being uncertain of the event, they all made one another their heirs, by virtue of a will, for the benefit of those that should happen to be saved. the next morning we perceived the black mountain very plain, and the idea we had conceived of it made it appear more frightful than it was. about noon we were come so near that we found what the pilot had foretold to be true; for we saw all the nails and iron about the ships fly towards the mountain, where they were fixed, by the violence of the attraction, with a horrible noise; the ship split asunder, and sunk into the sea, which was so deep about that place that we could not sound it. all my people were drowned, but god had mercy on me, and permitted me to save myself by means of a plank, which the wind drove ashore just at the foot of the mountain; i did not receive the least hurt, and my good fortune brought me to a landing-place, where there were steps that went up to the top of the mountain. at the sight of these steps, for there was not a bit of ground either on the right or left whereon a man could set his foot, i gave thanks to god, and recommended myself to his holy protection. i began to mount the steps, which were so narrow, rugged, and hard to get up, that had the wind blown ever so little, it would have thrown me down into the sea; but at last i got up to the top without any accident; i came into the dome, and, kneeling on the ground, gave god thanks for his mercies to me. i passed the night under the dome, and, in my sleep, an old grave man appeared to me, and said, hearken, agib, as soon as thou art awake, dig up the ground under thy feet; thou shalt find a bow of brass, and three arrows of lead, that are made under certain constellations, to deliver mankind from so many calamities that threaten them. shoot the three arrows at the statue, and the rider shall fall into the sea, but the horse will fall down by thy side, which thou must bury in the same place from whence you took the bow and arrows. this being done, the sea will swell and rise up to the foot of the dome that stands upon the top of the mountain; when it is come up so high, thou shalt see a boat with one man and an oar in each hand. this man is also of metal, different from that thou hast thrown down; step on board to him without mentioning the name of god, and let him conduct thee. he will in ten days time bring thee into another sea, where thou shalt find an opportunity to get home to thy country safe and sound, provided, as i have told thee, thou dost not mention the name of god during the whole voyage. these were the contents of the old man's discourse. when i awaked, i was very much comforted by the vision, and did not fail to observe every thing that he had commanded me. i took the bow and arrows out of the ground, shot them at the horseman, with the third arrow i overthrew him, and he full into the sea, as the horse fell by my side, which i buried in the place whence i took the bow and arrows. in the mean time the sea swelled, and rose up by degrees. when it came as high as the foot of the dome that stood upon the top of the mountain, i saw afar off a boat rowing towards me, and i returned god thanks that every thing succeeded according to my dream. at last the boat came ashore, and i saw the man was made of metal, according as i had dreamed. i stepped aboard, and took great heed not to pronounce the name of god, neither spoke i one word at all; i sat down, and the man of metal began to row off from the mountain. he rowed without ceasing, till the ninth day that i saw some islands, which put me in hopes that i was out of all the danger that i was afraid of. the excess of joy made me forget what i was forbidden to do; god's name be blessed, said i, the lord be praised! i had no sooner spoken these words than the boat sunk with the man of metal, and, leaving me upon the surface, i swam the remaining part of the day towards that land which appeared nearest to me. a very dark night succeeded, and, not knowing whereabouts i was, i swam at a venture; my strength began at last to fail, and i despaired of being able to save myself, when the wind began to blow hard, and a wave as big as a mountain threw me on a flat, where it left me, and drew back. i made haste to get ashore, fearing another wave might wash me back again. the first thing i did was to strip and wring the water out of my clothes, and then i laid them down to dry on the sand, which was still pretty warm by the heat of the day. next morning the sun dried my clothes betimes; i put them on, and went forward to see whereabouts i was. i had not walked very far till i found i was got upon a little desert island, though very pleasant, where grew several sorts of trees and wild fruits; but i perceived it was very far from the continent, which much diminished the joy i conceived for having escaped the danger of the seas. notwithstanding, i recommended myself to god, and prayed him to dispose of me according to his good-will and pleasure; at the same time i saw a vessel coming from the main-land, before the wind, directly to the island. i doubted not that they were coming to anchor there, and being uncertain what sort of people they might be, whether friends or foes, thought it not safe for me to be seen: i got up into a very thick tree, from whence i might safely view them. the vessel came into a little creek, where ten slaves landed, carrying a spade and other instruments fit for digging up the ground; they went towards the middle of the island, where i saw them stop, and dig the ground a long while, after which i thought i saw them lift a trap-door. they returned again to the vessel, and unloaded several sorts of provisions and furniture, which they carried to that place where they had broken ground, and so went downward, which made me suppose it was a subterraneous dwelling. i saw them once more go to the ship, and return soon after with an old man, who led a very handsome young lad in his hand, of about fourteen or fifteen years of age; they all went down at the trap-door; and being come up again, having let down the trap-door, and covered it over with earth, they returned to the creek where the ship lay, but i saw not the young man in their company; this made me believe that he staid behind in that place under ground, at which i could not but be extremely astonished. the old man and the slaves went on board again, and the vessel being got under sail, steered its course towards the mainland. when i perceived they were at such a distance that they could not see me, i came down from the tree, went directly to the place where i had seen the ground broken, and removed the earth by degrees, till i found a stone that was two or three feet square. i lifted it up, and saw it covered the head of the stairs, which were also of stone; i went down, and came into a large room, where there was laid a foot-carpet, with a couch covered with tapestry, and cushions of rich stuff, upon which the young man sat with a fan in his hand. i saw all this by the light of two tapers, together with the fruits and flower-pots he had standing about him. the young lad was startled at the sight of me; but, to rid him of his fear, i spoke to him as i came in thus: whoever you be, sir, do not fear any thing: a king, and the son of a king, as i am, is not capable of doing you any prejudice. on the contrary, it is probable that your good destiny has brought me hither to deliver you out of this tomb, where it seems they have buried you alive, for reasons unknown to me. but that which makes me wonder, and that which i cannot conceive, (for you must know that i have been witness to all that hath passed since your coming into this island) is, that you suffered yourself to be buried in this place without any resistance. the young man recovered himself at these words, and prayed me, with a smiling countenance, to sit down by him; which when i had done, he said, prince, i am to acquaint you with a matter so odd in itself that it cannot but surprise you. my father is a merchant-jeweller, who has acquired, through his ingenuity in his calling, a great estate; he hath a great many slaves, and also deputies whom he employs to go as supercargoes to sea with his own ships, on purpose to maintain the correspondence he has at several courts, which he furnishes with such precious stones as they want. he had been married a long while, and without issue, when he understood by a dream that he should have a son, though his life would be but short, at which he was very much concerned when he awaked. some days after, my mother acquainted him that she was with child, and the time which she supposed to be that of her conception agreed exactly with the day of his dream. she was brought to bed of me at the end of nine months, which occasioned great joy in the family. my father, who had observed the very moment of my birth, consulted astrologers about my nativity, who told him, your son shall live very happy till the age of fifteen, when he will be in danger of losing his life, and hardly be able to escape it; but if his good destiny preserve him beyond that time, he will live to grow very old. it will be then, said they, when the statue of brass that stands upon the top of the mountain of adamant, shall be thrown down into the sea by prince agib, son of king cassib; and, as the stars prognosticate, your son shall be killed fifty days afterwards by that prince. as the event of this part of the prediction about the statue agrees exactly with my father's dream, it afflicted him so much that he was struck to the very heart with it. in the mean time, he took all imaginable care of my education, until this present year, which is the fifteenth of my age; and he had notice given him yesterday that the statue of brass had been thrown into the sea about ten days ago by the same prince i told you of. this news has cost him so many tears, and has alarmed him so much, that he looks not like himself. upon these predictions of the astrologers, he has sought by all means possible to falsify my horoscope, and to preserve my life. it is not long since he took the precaution to build me this subterranean habitation to hide me in till the expiration of the fifty days after the throwing down of the statue; and therefore, since it was that this had happened ten days ago, he came hastily hither to hide me, and promised at the end of forty days to come again and fetch me out. as for my own part, i am in good hopes, and cannot believe that prince agib will come to seek for me in a place under ground in the midst of a desert island. this, my lord, is what i have to say to you. whilst the jeweller's son was telling me this story, i laughed in myself at those astrologers who had foretold that i should take away his life; for i thought myself so far from being likely to verify what they said, that he had scarcely done speaking when i told him with great joy, dear sir, put your confidence in the goodness of god, and fear nothing; you may consider it as a debt you was to pay, but that you are acquitted of it from this very hour. i am glad that, after my shipwreck, i came so fortunately hither to defend you against all those that would attempt your death; i will not leave you till the forty days are expired, of which the foolish astrologers have made you so apprehensive; and in the mean time i will do you all the service that lies in my power; after which i shall have the benefit of getting to the main-land in your vessel, with leave of your father and yourself; and when i am returned into my kingdom, i shall remember the obligations i owe you, and endeavour to demonstrate my acknowledgments in a suitable manner. this discourse of mine encouraged the jeweller's son, and made him have confidence in me. i took care not to tell him i was the very agib whom he dreaded, lest i should put him into a fright, and took as much care not to give him any cause to suspect it. we passed the time in several discourses, till night came on. i found the young lad of a ready wit, and ate with him of his provisions, of which he had enough to have lasted beyond the forty days, though he had had more guests than myself. after supper, we continued some time in discourse, at last we went to bed. the next day, when we got up, i held the basin and water to him; i also provided dinner, and set it on the table in due time. after we had done, i invented a play to divert ourselves, not only for that day, but for those that followed. i prepared supper after the same manner as i had prepared dinner; and having supped, we went to bed as formerly. we had time enough to contract friendship; i found he loved me; and, for my part, i had so great a respect for him, that i have often said to myself, those astrologers, who predicted to his father that his son should die by my hand, were impostors; for it is not possible that i could commit so base an action. in short, madam, we spent thirty-nine days in the pleasantest manner that could be in a place under ground. the fortieth day appeared; and in the morning, when the young man awaked, he says to me, with a transport of joy that he could not restrain, prince, this is the fortieth day, and i am not dead; thanks to god and your good company. my father will not fail to be here anon to give you testimony of his gratitude for it, and shall furnish you with all that is necessary for your return to your kingdom; but in the mean time, said he, i beg you to get ready some water very warm to wash my whole body in that portable bagnio, that i may clean myself, and change my clothes, to receive my father more cheerfully. i set the water on the fire, and when it was hot put it into the moveable bagnio. the youth went in, and i myself washed and rubbed him. at last he came out, and laid himself down in his bed that i had prepared, and covered him with his bed-clothes. after he had slept a while, he awaked, and said, dear prince, pray do me the favour to fetch me a melon and some sugar, that i may eat some and refresh me. out of several melons that remained, i took the best, and laid it on a plate; and because i could not find a knife to cut it with, i asked the young man if he knew where there was one? there is one, said he, upon this cornice over my head; i accordingly saw it there, and made so much haste to reach it, that while i had it in my hand, my foot being entangled in the covering, i fell most unhappily upon the young man, and the knife ran into his heart in a minute. at this spectacle i cried out most hideously; i beat my head, my face, and breast; i tore my clothes, and threw myself on the ground with unspeakable sorrow and grief. alas! i cried, there were only some hours wanting to have put him out of that danger from which he sought sanctuary here; and when i myself thought the danger past, then i became his murderer, and verified the prediction. but, o lord, said i, lifting up my face and hands to heaven, i beg thy pardon, and, if i be guilty of his death, let me not live any longer. after this misfortune i would have embraced death without any reluctance, had it presented itself to me. but what we wish to ourselves, whether good or bad, will not always happen. nevertheless, considering with myself that all my tears and sorrows would not bring the young man to life again, and, the forty days being expired, i might be surprised by his father, i quitted that subterranean dwelling, laid down the great stone upon the entry of it, and covered it with earth. i had scarcely done, when, casting my eyes upon the sea towards the main-land, i perceived the vessel coming to fetch home the young man. i began then to consider what i had best do; i said to myself, if i am seen by the old man, he will certainly lay hold on me, and perhaps cause me to be massacred by his slaves. when he has seen his son killed, all that i can allege to justify myself will not be able to persuade him of my innocence. it is better for me, then, to withdraw, since it is in my power, than expose myself to his resentment. there happened to be near this subterranean habitation a large tree with thick leaves, which i thought fit to hide me in. i got up to it, and was no sooner fixed in a place where i could not be seen, than i saw the vessel come to the same place where she lay the first time. the old man and his slaves landed immediately, and advanced towards the subterranean dwelling, with a countenance that showed some hope; but when they saw the earth had been newly removed, they changed colour, particularly the old man. they lifted up the stone, and went down; they called the young man by his name, but he not answering, their fears increased; they went down to seek him, and at length found him lying upon the bed with the knife in his heart, for i had not power to take it out. at this sight, they cried out lamentably, which increased my sorrow: the old man fell down in a swoon. the slaves, to give him air, brought him up in their arms, and laid him at the foot of the tree where i was; but, notwithstanding all the pains they took to recover him, the unfortunate father continued a long while in that condition, and made them oftener than once despair of his life; but at last he came to himself. then the slaves brought up his son's corpse dressed in his best apparel, and when they had made a grave, they put him into it. the old man, supported by two slaves, and his face all covered with tears, threw the first earth upon him, after which the slaves filled up the grave. this being done, all the furniture was brought out from under ground, and, with the remaining provisions, put on board the vessel. the old man, overcome with sorrow, and not being able to stand, was laid upon a sort of litter, and carried to the ship, which put forth to sea, and in a short time sailed quite out of sight. after the old man and his slaves were gone with the vessel, i was left alone upon the island. i lay that night in the subterranean dwelling, which they had shut up; and when the day came, i walked round the isle, and stopped in such places as i thought most proper to repose in when i had need. i led this wearisome life for a month together; after which i perceived the sea to be mightily fallen, the island to be much larger, and the main-land seemed to be drawing nearer me. in effect, the water grew so low, that there was but a small stream between me and the terra firma. i crossed it, and the water did not come above the middle of my leg. i marched so long upon the slime and sands that i was very weary; at last i got upon firm ground, and, when at a good distance from the sea, i saw a good way before me somewhat like a great fire, which gave me some comfort, for i said to myself, i shall find somebody or other, it not being possible that this fire should kindle of itself; but when i came nearer, i found my error, and saw that what i had taken to be fire was a castle of red copper, which the beams of the sun made look, at a distance, as if it had been in flames. i stopped near the castle, and sat down to admire its admirable structure, and to rest a while. i had not taken such a full view of this magnificent building, as it deserved, when i saw ten handsome young men coming along as if they had been taking a walk; but that which most surprised me was, that they were all blind of the right eye; they accompanied an old man, who was very tall, and of a venerable aspect. i could not but wonder at the sight of so many half-blind men all together, and every one of the same eye. as i was thinking in my mind by what adventure all these could come together, they came up to me, and seemed to be mighty glad to see me. after the first compliments were passed, they inquired what had brought me hither? i told them my story would be somewhat tedious, but, if they would take the trouble to sit down, i would satisfy their request. they did so, and i related unto them all that had happened unto me since i left my kingdom, which filled them with astonishment. after i had ended my discourse, the young gentlemen prayed me to go with them into the castle; i accepted the proffer, and we passed through a great many halls, antichambers, bedchambers, and closets, very well furnished, and arrived at last in a spacious hall, where there were ten small blue sofas set round, and separate from each other, upon which they sat by day, and slept by night. in the middle of this round there stood an eleventh sofa, not so high as the rest, but of the same colour, upon which the old man before mentioned sat down, and the young gentlemen made use of the other ten, whereas each sofa could only contain one man. one of the young men says to me, comrade, sit down upon that carpet in the middle of the room, and do not inquire into any thing that concerns us, nor the reason why we are all blind of the right eye; be content with what you see, and let not your curiosity go any further. the old man, having sat a little while, rose up, and went out; but he returned in a minute or two, brought in supper for the ten gentlemen, distributed to each man his proportion by himself, and likewise brought me mine, which i ate by myself, as the rest did, and when supper was almost done, he presented to each of us a cup of wine. they thought my story so extraordinary, that they made me repeat it after supper, and this gave occasion to discourses which lasted a good part of the night. one of the gentlemen, observing that it was late, said to the old man, you see it is time to go to bed, and you do not bring us that with which we may acquit ourselves of our duty. at these words the old man rose, and went into a closet, from whence he brought out upon his head ten basons, one after another, all covered with blue stuff: he set one before every gentleman, together with a light. they uncovered their basons, in, which there were ashes, coal- dust, and lamp-black; they mixed all together, and rubbed and bedaubed their faces with it in such a manner, that they looked very frightful. after having thus blackened themselves, they fell a-weeping and lamenting, beating their heads and breasts, and cried continually, this is the fruit of our idleness and debauches. they continued this almost the whole night, and when they left off, the old man brought them water, with which they washed their faces and hands; they also changed their clothes, which were spoiled, and put on others; so that they did not look in the least as if they had been doing so strange an action. you may judge, madam, how uneasy i was all the while; i had a mind a thousand times to break the silence which these young gentlemen had imposed upon me, and ask questions; nor was it possible for me to sleep that night. after we got up next day, we went out to walk, and then i told them, gentlemen, i declare to you that i must renounce that law which you prescribed to me last night, for i cannot observe it. you are men of sense, and all of you have wit in abundance; you have convinced me of it, yet i have seen you do such actions, as none but madmen could be capable of. whatever misfortune befals me, i cannot forbear asking, why you bedaubed your faces with black? how it comes that each of you have but one eye? some singular thing must have been the cause of it, therefore i conjure you to satisfy my curiosity. to these pressing instances they answered nothing, but that it was none of my business to ask such questions, and that i should do well to hold my peace. we passed that day in discourses upon different subjects, and when night was come, and every man had supped, the old man brought in the blue basons, and the young gentlemen bedaubed their faces, wept, and beat themselves, crying, this is the fruit of our idleness and debauches, as before, and continued the same actions the following night. at last, not being able to resist my curiosity, i earnestly prayed them to satisfy me, or to show me how to return to my own kingdom, for it was impossible for me to keep them company any longer, and to see every night such an odd spectacle, without being permitted to know the reason. one of the gentlemen answered in behalf of the rest, do not wonder at our conduct in regard to yourself; and that hitherto we have not granted your request; it is out of mere kindness, and to prevent the sorrow of your being reduced to the same condition with us. if you have a mind to try our unfortunate destiny, you need but speak, and we will give you the satisfaction you desire. i told them i was resolved on it, let come what will. once more, said the same gentleman, we advise you to restrain your curiosity; it will cost you the loss of your right eye. no matter, said i; i declare to you, that if such a misfortune befal me, i will not impute it to you, but to myself. he further represented to me, that when i had lost an eye, i must not hope to stay with them, if i were so minded, because their number was complete, and no addition could be made to it. i told them, that it would be a great satisfaction to me never to part from such honest gentlemen, but, if there was necessity for it, i was ready to submit; and, let it cost what it would, i begged them to grant my request. the ten gentlemen, perceiving that i was positive in my resolution, took a sheep and killed it, and, after they had taken off the skin, presented me with the knife, telling me it would be useful to me on a certain occasion, which they should tell me of presently. we must sew you into this skin, said they, and then leave you; upon which a fowl of monstrous size, called a roc, will appear in the air, and, taking you to be a sheep, will come down upon you, and carry you up to the very sky; but let not that frighten you, he will come down again with you, and lay you upon the top of a mountain. when you find yourself upon the ground, cut the skin with the knife, and throw it off. as soon as the roc sees you, he will fly away for fear, and leave you at liberty. do not stay, but walk on till you come to a prodigious castle, all covered with plates of gold, large emeralds, and other precious stones: go up to the gate, which always stands open, and walk in: we have been in the castle as long as we have been here: we will tell you nothing of what we saw, or what befel us there, because you will learn it yourself; all that we can inform you is, that it has cost each of us our right eye, and the penance which you have been witness to is what we are obliged to do, because we have been there. the history of each of us in particular is so full of extraordinary adventures, that a large volume would not contain them; but we must explain ourselves no further. when the gentleman had ended this discourse, i wrapt myself in the sheep's skin, held fast the knife which was given me; and after those young gentlemen had been at the trouble to sew the skin about me, they retired into the hall, and left me on the place. the roc they had spoken of was not long a-coming; he fell down upon me, took me up between his talons like a sheep, and carried me to the top of the mountain. when i found myself upon the ground, i made use of the knife, cut the skin, and throwing it off, the roc at the first sight of me flew away. this roc is a white bird of a monstrous size; his strength is such that he can lift up elephants from the plains, and carry them to the tops of mountains, where he feeds upon them. being impatient till i reached the castle, i lost no time, but made so much haste, that i got thither in half a day's journey, and i must say, that i found it surpassed the description they had given me of it. the gate being open, i entered into a court that was square, and so large, that there were round it ninety-nine gates of wood of sanders and aloes, with one of gold, without counting those of several magnificent stair-cases that led up to apartments above, besides many more i could not see. the hundred doors i spoke of opened into gardens or store-houses full of riches, or into palaces that contained things wonderful to be seen. i saw a door standing open just before me, through which i entered into a large hall, where i found forty voung ladies of such perfect beauty, that imagination could not go beyond it; they were all most sumptuously apparelled; and as soon as they saw me, they rose up, and, without expecting my compliments, said to me, with demonstrations of joy, noble sir, you are very welcome. and one spoke to me in the name of the rest thus: we have been in expectation a long while of such a gentleman as you; your mien assures us that you are master of all the good qualities we can wish for, and we hope you will not find our company disagreeable or unworthy of yours. they forced me, notwithstanding all the opposition i could make, to sit down on a seat that was higher than theirs, and though i signified that i was uneasy. that is your place, said they; you are at present our lord, master, and judge, and we are your slaves, ready to obey your commands. nothing in the world, madam, so much astonished me as the passion and eagerness of those fair ladies to do me all possible service. one brought hot water to wash my feet; a second poured sweet scented water on my hands; some brought me all sorts of necessaries, and change of apparel; others brought in a magnificent collation; and the rest came with glasses in their hands to fill me delicious wines, all in good order, and in the most charming manner that could be. i ate and drank; after which the ladies placed themselves about me, and desired an account of my travels. i gave them a full relation of my adventures, which lasted till night came on. when i had made an end of my story, which i related to the forty ladies, some of them that sat nearest me staid to keep me company, whilst the rest, seeing it was dark, rose to fetch tapers. they brought a prodigious quantity, which made such a marvellous light as if it had been day, and they were so proportionably disposed,, that nothing could be more beautiful. other ladies covered a table with dry fruits, sweet-meats, and everything proper to make the liquor relish; and a side-board was set with several sorts of wines and other liquors. some of the ladies came in with musical instruments, and, when every thing was prepared, they invited me to sit down to supper. the ladies sat down with me, and we continued a long while at supper. they that were to play upon the instruments, and sing, stood up, and made a most charming concert. the others began a sort of ball, and danced by two and two, one after another, with a wonderfully good grace. it was past midnight before those divertisements ended. at length one of the ladies says to me, you are doubtless wearied by the journey you have made to-day; it is time for you to go to rest; your lodging is prepared; but, before you depart, make choice of any of us you like best to be your bed-fellow. i answered, that i knew better things than to offer to make my own choice, since they were all equally beautiful, witty, and worthy of my respects and service, and that i would not be guilty of so much incivility as to prefer one before another. the same lady that spoke to me before answered. we are all very well satisfied of your civility, and find you are afraid to create a jealousy among us, which occasions your modesty; but let nothing hinder you. we assure you, that the good fortune of her whom you choose shall cause no jealousy; for we are agreed among ourselves, that every one of us shall have the same honour till it go round, and, when forty days are past, to begin again; therefore make your free choice, and lose no time to go and take the repose you stand in need of. i was obliged to yield to their instances, and offered my hand to the lady that spoke; she, in return, gave me hers, and we were conducted to an apartment, where they left us; and then every one retired to their own apartment. i was scarcely dressed next morning, when the other thirty-nine ladies came into my chamber, all in other dresses than they had the day before: they bid me good-morrow, and inquired after my health; after which they carried me into a bagnio*, where they washed me themselves, and, whether i would or not, served me in every thing i stood in need of; and when i came out of the bath, they made me put on another suit much richer that the former. we passed the whole day almost constantly at table; and when it was bed-time, they prayed me again to make choice of one of them to keep me company. in short, madam, not to weary you with repetitions, i must tell you, that i continued a whole year among those forty ladies, and received them into my bed one after another: and during all the time of this voluptuous life, we met not with the least kind of trouble. when the year was expired, i was strangely surprised that these forty ladies, instead of appearing, with their usual cheerfulness, to ask how i did, entered one morning into my chamber all in tears: they embraced me with great tenderness one after another, saying, adieu, dear prince, adieu! for we must leave you. their tears affected me; i prayed them to tell me the reason of their grief, and of the separation they spoke of. for god's sake, fair ladies, let me know, said i, if it be in my power to comfort you, or if my assistance can be any way useful to you. instead of returning a direct answer, would to god, said they, we had never seen nor known you. several gentlemen have honoured us with their company before you, but never one of them had that comeliness, that sweetness, that pleasantness of humour, and merit, which you have; we know not how to live without you. after they had spoken these words, they began to weep bitterly. my dear ladies, said i, be so kind as not to keep me in suspense any more: tell me the cause of your sorrow. alas! said they, what other thing could be capable of grieving us, but the necessity of parting from you? it may so happen that we shall never see you again; but if you be so minded, and have command enough over yourself, it is not impossible for us to meet again. ladies, said i, i understand not your meaning; pray explain yourselves more clearly. oh, then, said one of them, to satisfy you, we must acquaint you, that we are all princesses, daughters of kings; we live here together in such a manner as; you have seen, but, at the end of every year, we are obliged to be absent forty days upon indispensable duties, which we are not permitted to reveal; and afterwards we return again to this castle. yesterday was the last day of the year, and we must leave you this day, which is the cause of our grief. before we depart, we will leave you the keys to every thing; especially those belonging to the hundred doors, where you will have enough to satisfy your curiosity, and to sweeten your solitude during our absence: but, for your own welfare, and our particular concern in you, we recommend unto you to forbear opening the golden door; for, if you do, we shall never see you again; and the fear of this augments our grief. we hope, nevertheless, that you will follow the advice we give you, as you tender your own quiet, and the happiness of your life; therefore take heed that you do not give way to indiscreet curiosity, for you will do yourself a considerable prejudice. we conjure you, therefore, not to commit this fault, but to let us have the comfort of finding you here again after forty days. we would willingly carry the key of the golden door along with us; but it would be an affront to a prince like you to question your discretion and modesty. this discourse of the fair princesses made me extremely sorrowful. i omitted not to make them sensible how much their absence would afflict me: i thanked them for their good advice, and assured them that i would follow it, and willingly do what was much more difficult, in order to be so happy as to pass the rest of my days with ladies of such rare qualifications. we took leave of one another with a great deal of tenderness; and having embraced them all, they at last departed, and i was left alone in the castle. their agreeable company, the good cheer, the concert of music, and other pleasures, had so much diverted me during the whole year, that i neither had time, nor the least desire, to see the wonderful things contained in this enchanted palace. nay, i did not so much as take notice of a. thousand rare objects that were every day in my sight; for i was so taken with the charming beauty of those ladies, and took so much pleasure in seeing them wholly employed to oblige me, that their departure afflicted me very sensibly; and though their absence was to be only forty days, it seemed to be an age to live without them. i promised myself not to forget the important advice they had given me, not to open the golden door; but as i was permitted to satisfy my curiosity in every thing i took the first of the keys of the other doors, which were hung in good order. i opened the first door, and came into an orchard, which i believe the universe could not equal; i could not imagine that any thing could surpass it, but that which our religion promises us after death; the symmetry, the neatness, the admirable order of the trees, the abundance and diversity of a thousand sorts of unknown fruits, their freshness and beauty, ravished my sight. i ought not to forget, madam, to acquaint you, that this delicious orchard was watered after a very particular manner; there were channels so artificially and proportionably digged, that they carried water in abundance to the roots of such trees as wanted it for making them produce their leaves and flowers. some carried it to those that had their fruit budded;* others carried it in lesser quantities to those whose fruit was growing big; and others carried only so much as was just requisite to water those which had their fruit come to perfection, and only wanted to be ripened. they exceeded the ordinary fruits of our gardens very much in bigness; and, lastly, those channels that watered the trees whose fruits were ripe, had no more moisture than what would just preserve them from withering. i could never be weary to look at and admire so sweet a place; and i should never have left it, had i not conceived a greater idea of the other things which i had not seen. i went out at last with my mind filled with those wonders; i shut that door, and opened the next. instead of an orchard, i found a flower-garden, which was no less extraordinary of its kind; it contained a spacious plot, not watered so profusely as the former, but with greater niceness, furnishing no more water than just what each flower required. the roses, jessamines, violets, dills, hyacinths, wind-flowers, tulips, crowsfoots, pinks, lilies, and an infinite number of other flowers, which do not grow in other places but at certain times, were there flourishing all at once; and nothing could be more delicious than the fragrant smell of this garden. i opened the third door, where i found a large volary, paved with marble of several fine colours that were not common. the cage was made of sanders and wood of aloes: it contained a vast number of nightingales, goldfinches, canary birds, larks, and other rare singing-birds which i never heard of; and the vessels that held their seed and water were of the most precious jasper or agate. besides, this volary was so exceedingly neat, that, considering its extent, one would think there could not be less than an hundred persons to keep it so clean as it was; but all this while not one soul appeared, either here or in the gardens where i had been, and yet i could not perceive a weed or any superfluous thing there. the sun went down, and i retired, being perfectly charmed with the chirping notes of the multitude of birds, which then began to perch upon such places as were convenient for them to repose on during the night. i went to my chamber, resolving to open all the rest of the doors the day following, except the golden one. i failed not to open a fourth door next day, and if what i had seen before was capable of surprising me, that which i saw then put me into a perfect ecstasy. i went into a large court, surrounded with buildings of an admirable structure, the description of which i shall pass by to avoid prolixity. this building had forty doors, wide open, and through each of them there was an entrance into a treasury, several of which were of greater value than the largest kingdoms. the first contained heaps of pearls; and, what is almost incredible, the number of these stones, which are most precious, and as large as pigeons' eggs, exceeded the number of those of the ordinary size: in the second treasury there were diamonds, carbuncles, and rubies: in the third there were emeralds: in the fourth there were ingots of gold: in the fifth, money: in the sixth, ingots of silver: in the two following there was also money. the rest contained amethysts, chrysolites, topazes, opals, turkoises, and hyacinths, with all the other stones unknown to us, without mentioning agate, jasper, cornelian, and coral, of which there was a storehouse filled, not only with branches, but whole trees. being filled with amazement and admiration, i cried out to myself, after having seen all these riches, now, if all the treasures of the kings of the universe were gathered together in one place, they could not come near this. what good fortune have i to possess all this wealth, with so many admirable princesses! i shall not stay, madam, to tell you the particulars of all the other rare and precious things i saw the days following: i shall only tell you, that thirty-nine days afforded me but just as much time as was necessary to open ninety-nine doors, and to admire all that presented itself to my view, so that there was only the hundredth door left, the opening of which was forbidden. i was come to the fortieth day after the departure of those charming princesses, and had i but retained so much power over myself as i ought to have had, i should have been this day the happiest of all mankind, whereas now i am the most unfortunate. they were to return the next day, and the pleasure of seeing them again ought to have restrained my curiosity; but, through my weakness, which i shall ever repent, i yielded to the temptations of the evil spirit, who gave me no rest till i had thrown myself into those misfortunes that i have since undergone. i opened that fatal door, which i promised not to meddle with, and had not moved my foot to go in, when a smell that was pleasant enough, but contrary to my constitution, made me faint away: nevertheless, i came to myself again, and instead of taking this warning to shut the door, and forbear satisfying my curiosity, i went in, after i had stood some time in the air to carry off the scent, which did not incommode me any more. i found a large place, very well vaulted, the pavement strewed over with saffron; several candlesticks of massy gold, with lighted tapers that smelled of aloes and ambergris, lighted the place; and this light was augmented by lamps of gold and silver, that burned with oil made of several sorts of sweet-scented materials. among a great many objects that engaged my attention, i perceived a black horse, of the handsomest and best shape that ever was seen. i went nearer the better to observe him, and found he had a saddle and a bridle of massy gold, curiously wrought. the one side of his trough was filled with clean barley and sessems, and the other with rose water; i took him by the bridle, and led him forth to view him by the light; i got on his back, and would have had him move; but he not stirring, i whipped him with a switch i had taken up in his magnificent stable; and he had no sooner felt the stroke, than he began to neigh with a horrible noise, and extending his wings, which i had not seen before, he flew up with me into the air quite out of sight. i thought on nothing then but to sit fast; and, considering the fear that had seized upon me, i sat very well. he afterwards flew down again towards the earth, and lighting upon the terrace of a castle, without giving me any time to get off, he shook me out of the saddle with such force, that he made me fall behind him, and with the end of his tail struck out my right eye. thus i became blind of one eye, and then i began to remember the predictions of the ten young gentlemen. the horse flew again out of sight. i got up very much troubled at the misfortune i had brought upon myself: i walked upon the terrace, covering my eye with one of my hands, for it pained me exceedingly, and then came down and entered into the hall, which i knew presently by the ten sofas in a circle, and the eleventh in the middle, lower than the rest, to be the same castle from whence i was taken by the roc. the ten half-blind gentlemen were not in the hall when i came in, but came soon after with the old man; they were not at all surprised to see me again, nor at the loss of my eye; but said, we are sorry that we cannot congratulate you upon your return as we could have desired; but we are not the cause of your misfortune. i should be in the wrong to accuse you, said i, for i have drawn it upon myself, and i can charge the fault upon no other person. if it be a consolation to the unfortunate, said they, to have fellows, this example may afford us a subject of rejoicing; all that has happened to you, we also have undergone: we tasted all sorts of pleasure during a year successively; and we had continued to enjoy the same happiness still, had we not opened the golden door when the princesses were absent: you have been no wiser than we, and you had likewise the same punishment; we would gladly receive you among us, to do such penance as we do, though we know not how long it may continue: but we have already declared the reasons that hinder us; therefore depart from hence, and go to the court of bagdad, where you will meet with him that can decide your destiny. they told me the way i was to travel, and so i left them. on the road i caused my beard and eye-brows to be shaved, and took on a calender's habit. i have had a long journey; but at last arrived this evening in this city, where i met these my brother calenders at the gate, being strangers as well as myself. we wondered much at one another, to see all three blind, of the same eye; but we had not leisure to discourse long of our common calamities, having only so much time as to come hither to implore those favours which you have been generously pleased to grant us. the third calender having finished this relation of his adventures, zobeide addressed her speech to him and his fellow-calenders thus: go wherever you think fit; you are all three at liberty. but one of them answered, madam, we beg you to pardon our curiosity, and permit us to hear those gentlemen's stories who have not yet spoken. then the lady turned to that side where stood the caliph, the vizier giafar, and mesrour, whom she knew not; but said to them, it is now your turn to tell me your adventures; therefore speak. the grand vizier giafar, who had always been the spokesman, answered zobeide thus: madam, in order to obey you, we need only repeat what we have said already, before we entered your house. we are merchants of moussol, that came to bagdad to sell our merchandise, which lies in the khan where we lodge. we dined to-day, with several other persons of our profession, at a merchant's house in this city; who, after he had treated us with choice dainties and excellent wines, sent for men and women dancers and musicians. the great noise we made brought in the watch, who arrested some of the company, but we had the good fortune to escape; and it being already late, and the door of our khan shut up, we knew not whither to retire. it was our hap, as we passed along this street, to hear mirth at your house, which made us determine to knock at your gate. this is all the account that we can give you in obedience to your commands. zobeide, having heard this discourse, seemed to hesitate as to what she should say; which the calenders perceiving, prayed her to grant the same favour to the three moussol merchants as she had done to them. well, then, said she, i give my consent, for you shall be all equally obliged to me; i pardon you all, provided you depart immediately out of this house, and go whither you please. zobeide haying given this command in a tone that signified she would be obeyed, the caliph, the vizier, mesrour, the three calenders, and the porter, departed without saying one word; for the presence of the seven slaves with their weapons kept them in awe. when they were out of the house, and the door shut, the caliph said to the calenders, without making himself known, you gentlemen strangers, that are newly come to town, which way do you design to go, since it is not yet day? it is that which perplexes us, sir, said they. follow us, replies the caliph, and we shall bring you out of danger. after saying these words, he whispered to the vizier, take them along with you, and to-morrow morning bring them to me; i will cause their history to be put in writing, for it deserves a place in the annals of my reign. the vizier giafar took the three calenders along with him; the porter went to his quarters, and the caliph and mesrour returned to the palace. the caliph went to bed, but could not get a wink of sleep, his spirits being perplexed by the extraordinary things he had seen and heard; but, above all, he was most concerned to know who zobeide was, what reason she could have to be so severe to the two black bitches, and why amine had her bosom so mortified. day began to appear whilst he was thinking upon these things: he arose and went to his council-chamber, where he used to give audience, and sat upon his throne. the grand vizier came in a little after, and paid his respects as usual. vizier, said the caliph, the affairs we have to consider at present are not very pressing; that of the three ladies and the two black bitches is much more so. my mind cannot be at ease till i be thoroughly satisfied in all those matters that have surprised me so much. go, bring these ladies and the calenders at the same time; make haste, and remember that i do impatiently expect your return. the vizier, who knew his master's quick and fiery temper, made haste to obey, and went to the ladies, to whom he communicated, in a civil way, the orders he had to bring them before the caliph, without taking any notice of what had passed the night before at their house. the ladies put on their veils, and went with the vizier; as he passed by his own house, he took the three calenders along with him, and they, in the mean time, had got notice that they had both seen and spoken with the caliph without knowing him. the vizier brought them to the palace with so much diligence, that the caliph was mightily pleased at it. this prince, that he might keep a good decorum before all the officers of his court who were then present, made those ladies be placed behind the hanging of the door of the room that was next his bedchamber, and kept by him the three calenders; who, by their respectful behaviour, gave sufficient proof that they were not ignorant before whom they had the honour to appear. when the ladies were placed, the caliph turned towards them, and said, when i shall acquaint you, that i came last night, disguised in a merchant's habit, into your house, it will certainly alarm you, and make you fear that you have offended me; and perhaps you believe that i have sent for you to no other end but to show some marks of my resentment: but be not afraid; you may rest assured that i have forgotten all that has passed, and am very well satisfied with your conduct. i wish that all the ladies of bagdad had as much discretion as you have given proof of before me. i shall always remember the moderation you made use of, after the incivility we had committed. i was then a merchant of moussol, but am at present haroun alraschid, the seventh caliph of the glorious house of abbas, who holds the place of our great prophet. i have only sent for you to know who you are, and to ask for what reason one of you, after severely whipping the two black bitches, did weep with them? and i am no less curious to know why another of you has her bosom full of scars? though the caliph pronounced these words very distinctly, so that the three ladies heard them well enough, yet the vizier giafar did, out of ceremony, repeat them over again. zobeide, after the caliph by his discourse encouraged her, satisfied his curiosity in this manner. the story of zobeide. commander of the faithful, says she, the relation i am about to give to your majesty is one of the strangest that ever was heard. the two black bitches and myself are sisters by the same father and mother; and i shall acquaint you by what strange accident they came to be metamorphosed. the two ladies that live with me, and are now here, are also my sisters by the father's side, but by another mother; she that has the scars on her breast is amine, the other is safie, and mine is zobeide. after our father's death, the estate that he left us was equally divided among us; and so soon as those two sisters received their portions, they went from me to live with their mother. my other two sisters and myself staid with our mother, who was then alive, and, when she died, left each of us a thousand sequins. as soon as we received our portions, the two elder (for i am the youngest) being married, followed their husbands, and left me alone. some time after, my eldest sister's husband sold all that he had; and with that money, and my sister's portion, they both went into africa, where her husband, by riotous living and debauchery, spent all; when, finding himself reduced to poverty, he found a pretext for divorcing my sister, and put her away. she returned to this city, and having suffered incredible hardships by the way, came to me in so lamentable a condition, as would have moved the hardest heart to compassion. i received her with all the tenderness she could expect; and inquiring into the cause of her sad condition, she told me, with tears, how inhumanly her husband had dealt by her. i was so much concerned at her misfortune, that tears flowed from my eyes: i put her into a bagnio, and clothed her with my own apparel, and spoke to her thus: sister, you are the elder, and i esteem you as my mother: during your absence, god has blessed the portion that fell to my share, and the employment i follow to feed and bring up silk-worms. assure yourself that there is nothing i have but what is at your service and as much at your disposal as my own. we lived very comfortably together for some months; and as we were often discoursing together about our third sister, and wondering we heard no news of her, she came in as bad a condition as the elder; her husband had treated her after the same manner, and i received her with the same affection as i had done the former. some time after, my two sisters, on pretence that they would not be chargeable to me, told me they had thoughts to marry again. i answered them, that if their putting me to charge was the only reason, they might lay those thoughts aside, and be very welcome to stay with me; for what i had would be sufficient to maintain us all three, answerably to our condition: but, said i, i rather believe you have a mind to marry again; which if you have, i am sure it will very much surprise me: after the experience you have had of the small satisfaction there is in wedlock, is it possible you dare venture a second time? you know how rare it is to meet with a husband that is a real honest man. believe what i say, and let us stay together, and live as comfortably as we can. all my persuasion was in vain; they were resolved to marry, and so they did; but, after some months were past, they came back again, and begged my pardon a thousand times for not following my advice. you are our youngest sister, said they, and abundantly more wise than we; but if you will vouchsafe to receive us once more into your house, and account us your slaves, we shall never commit such a fault again. my answer was, dear sisters, i have not altered my mind with respect to you since we last parted from one another; come again, and take part of what i have. upon this, i embraced them cordially, and we lived together as formerly. we continued thus a whole year in perfect love and tranquillity; and seeing that god had increased my small stock, i projected a voyage by sea to hazard somewhat in trade. to this end, i went with my two sisters to balsora, where i bought a ship ready fitted for sea, and loaded her with such merchandise as i brought from bagdad. we set sail with a fair wind, and soon got through the persian gulph; and when got into the ocean, we steered our course for the indies, and saw land the twentieth day. it was a very high mountain, at the bottom of which we saw a great town; and having a fresh gale, we soon reached the harbour, where we cast anchor. i had not patience to stay till my sisters were dressed to go along with me, but went ashore in the boat myself; and making directly to the gate of the town, i saw there a great number of men upon guard, some sitting and others standing, with batons in their hands; and they had all such dreadful countenances that they frightened me; but perceiving that they had no motion, nay not so much as with their eyes, i took courage, and went nearer, and then found they were all turned into stones. i entered the town, and passed through the several streets, where there stood every where men in several postures, but all immovable and petrified. on that side where the merchants lived, i found most of the shops shut, and, in such as were open, i likewise found the people petrified. i looked up to the chimnies, but saw no smoke; which made me conjecture that those within, as well as those without, were turned into stones. being come into a vast square in the heart of the city, i perceived a great gate covered with plates of gold, the two leaves of which stood open, and a curtain of silk stuff seemed to be drawn before it; i also saw a lamp hanging over the gate. after i had well considered the fabric, i made no doubt but it was the palace of the prince who reigned over that country; and being very much astonished that i had not met with one living creature, i went thither in hopes to find some: i entered the gate, and was still more surprised when i saw none but the guards in the porches all petrified; some standing, some sitting, and others lying. i crossed over a large court, where i saw just before me a stately building, the windows of which were enclosed with gates of massy gold: i looked upon it to be the queen's apartment, and went into a large hall, where stood several black eunuchs turned into stone. i went from thence in to a room richly hung and furnished, where i perceived a lady in the same manner. i knew it to be the queen, by the crown of gold that hung over her head, and a necklace of pearl about her neck, each of them as big as a nut: i, went up close to her to view it, and never saw any thing finer, i stood some time, and admired the richness and magnificence of the room; but, above all, the foot-cloth, the cushions, and the sofas, which were all lined with indian stuff of gold, with pictures of men and beasts in silver, drawn to admiration. i went out of the chamber where the petrified queen was, and came through several other apartments and closets richly furnished, and at last came into a vast large room, where there was a throne of massy gold raised several steps above the floor, and enriched with large enchased emeralds, and a bed upon the throne of rich stuff embroidered with pearls. that which surprised me more than all the rest was a sparkling light which came from above the bed: being curious to know from whence it came, i mounted the steps, and lifting up my head, i saw a diamond, as big as the egg of an ostrich, lying upon a low stool: it was so pure, that i could not find the least blemish in it; and it sparkled so bright, that i could not endure its lustre when i saw it by day. on each side of the bed-head there stood a lighted flambeau, but for what use i could not apprehend; however, it made me imagine that there was some living creature in this place; for i could not believe that these torches continued burning of themselves. several other rarities detained me in this room, which was inestimable, were it only for the diamond i mentioned. the doors being all open, or but half shut, i surveyed some other apartments as fine as those i had already seen. i looked into the offices and store-rooms, which were full of infinite riches; and i was so much taken with the sight of all these wonderful things, that i forgot myself, and did not think on my ship or my sisters, my whole design being to satisfy my curiosity: meantime night came on, which put me in mind that it was time to retire. i was for returning by the same way i came in, but could not find it; i lost myself among the apartments; and finding i was come back again to that large room where the throne, the couch, the large diamond, and the torches stood, i resolved to make my night's lodging there, and to depart the next morning betimes, in order to get on board my ship. i laid myself down upon the couch, not without some dread to be alone in a wild place, and this fear hindered my sleep. about midnight i heard a voice like that of a man reading the alcoran, after the same manner, and in the same tone, as we used to read it in our mosques. being extremely glad to hear it, i got up immediately, and, taking a torch in my hand to light me, i passed from one chamber to another, on that side whence the voice issued; i came to the closet-door, where i stood still, not doubting that it came from thence. i set down my torch upon the ground, and looking through a window, i found it to be an oratory. in short, it had, as we have in our mosques, a niche, which shows where we must turn to say our prayers. there were also lamps hung up, and two candlesticks with large tapers ef white wax burning. i saw a little carpet laid down like those we kneel upon when we say our prayers, and a comely young man sat upon this carpet reading the alcoran, which lay before him upon a desk, with great devotion. at the sight of this i was transported with admiration; i wondered how it came to pass that he should be the only living creature in a town where all the people were turned into stones, and did not doubt but that there was something in it very extraordinary. the door being only half shut, i opened it, and went in, and, standing upright before the niche, said this prayer aloud: 'praise be to god, who has favoured us with a happy voyage; and may he be graciously pleased to protect us in the same manner, until we arrive again in our own country. hear me, o lord, and grant my request.' the young man cast his eyes upon me, and said, my good lady, pray let me know who you are, and what has brought you to this desolate city? in requital i will tell you who i am, what happened to me, why the inhabitants of this city are reduced to the state you see them in, and why i alone am safe and sound in the midst of such a terrible disaster. i told him in few words from whence i came, what made me undertake the voyage, and how i safely arrived at this port, after twenty days sailing; and when i had done, prayed him to perform his promise, and told him how much i was struck by the frightful desolation which i had seen in all places as i came along. my dear lady, says the young man, have patience for a moment. at those words he shut the alcoran, put it into a rich case, and laid it in the niche. i took that opportunity to observe him, and perceived so much good nature and beauty in him, that i felt very strange emotions. he made me sit down by him, and, before he began his discourse, i could not forbear saying to him, with an air that discovered the sentiments i was inspired with, amiable sir, dear object of my soul, i can scarcely have patience to wait for an account of all those wonderful things that i have seen since the first time i came into your city, and my curiosity cannot be satisfied too soon; therefore, pray, sir, let me know by what miracle you alone are left alive among so many persons who have died in so strange a manner. madam, says the young man, you have given me to understand you have the knowledge of a true god, by the prayer you have just now addressed to him. i will acquaint you with a most remarkable effect of his greatness and power. you must know that this city was the metropolis of a mighty kingdom, over which the king my father reigned. that prince, his whole court, the inhabitants of the city, and all his other subjects, were magi, worshippers of fire, and of nardoun, the ancient king of the giants, who rebelled against god. though i was begotten and born of an adulterous father and mother, i had the good fortune in my youth to have a woman-governess who was a good mussulman; i had the alcoran by heart, and understood the explanation of it perfectly well. dear prince, would she oftentimes say, there is but one true god; take heed that you do not acknowledge or adore any other. she learned me to read arabic, and the book she gave me to exercise upon was the alcoran. as soon as i was capable of understanding it, she explained to me all the heads of this excellent book, and infused piety into my mind, unknown to my father or any body else. she happened to die, but not before she had perfectly instructed me in all that was necessary to convince me of the mussulman religion. after her death, i persisted with constancy in the belief i was in; and i abhor the false god nardoun, as well as the adoration of fire. about three years and some months ago, a thundering voice was heard, all of a sudden, so distinctly through the whole city, that nobody could miss hearing it. the words were these: 'inhabitants, abandon the worship of nardoun and of fire, and worship the only god that shows mercy.' this voice was heard three years successively, but nobody was converted: so the last day of the year, at four o'clock in the morning, all the inhabitants were changed in an instant into stone, every one in the same condition and posture in which he then happened to be. the king my father had the same fate, for he was metamorphosed into a black stone, as may be seen in this palace; and the queen my mother had the like destiny. i am the only person that did not suffer under that heavy judgment; and ever since i have continued to serve god with more fervency than before. i am persuaded, dear lady, that he has sent you hither for my comfort, for which i render him infinite thanks; for i must own that this solitary life is very uneasy. all these expressions, and particularly the last, increased my love to him extremely. prince, said i, there is no doubt that providence hath brought me into your port to present you with an opportunity of withdrawing from this dismal place; the ship that i am come in may in some measure persuade you that i am in some esteem at bagdad, where i have left also a considerable estate; and i dare engage to promise you sanctuary there, until the mighty commander of the faithful, who is vice regent to our prophet, whom you acknowledge, do you the honour that is due to your merit. this renowned prince lives at bagdad; and as soon as he is informed of your arrival in his capital, you will find that it is not in vain to implore his assistance. it is impossible you can stay any longer in a city where all the objects you see must renew your grief: my vessel is at your service, where you may absolutely command as you shall think fit. he accepted the offer, and we discoursed the remaining part of the night about our embarkation. as soon as it was day, we left the palace, and came on board my ship, where we found my sisters, the captain, and the slaves, all very much troubled about my absence. after i had presented my sisters to the prince, i told them what had hindered my return to the vessel the day before; how i had met with the young prince; his story, and the cause of the desolation of so fine a city. the seamen were taken up several days in unloading the merchandise i brought along with me, and embarking, instead of that, all the precious things in the palace, as jewels, gold, and money. we left the furniture and goods, which consisted of an infinite quantity of plate, etc., because our vessel could not carry it; for it would have required several vessels more to carry all the riches to bagdad which it was in our option to take with us. after we had loaded the vessel with what we thought fit, we took such provisions and water on board as were necessary for our voyage, (for we had still a great deal of those provisions left that we had taken in at balsora;) and at last set sail with a favourable wind. the young prince, my sisters, and myself, enjoyed ourselves for some time very agreeably. but, alas! this good understanding did not last long; for my sisters grew jealous of the friendship between the prince and me, and maliciously asked me one day, what we should do with him when we came to bagdad? i perceived immediately that they put this question to me on purpose to discover my inclinations; therefore resolving to put it off with a jest, i answered them, i will take him for my husband; and upon that, turning myself to the prince, sir, i humbly beg of you to give your consent; for, as soon as we come to bagdad, i design to offer you my person to be your slave, to do you all the service that is in my power, and to resign myself wholly to your commands. the prince answered, i know not, madam, whether you are in jest or not; but, for my own part, i seriously declare before these ladies, your sisters, that from this moment i heartily accept your offer, not with any intention to have you as a slave, but as my lady and mistress; nor will i pretend to have any power over your actions. at these words my sisters changed colour, and i could easily perceive that afterwards they did not love me as formerly. we were come into the persian gulph, and not far from balsora, where i hoped, considering the fair wind, we might have arrived the day following; but in the night, when i was asleep, my sisters watched their time, and threw me overboard. they did the same to the prince, who was drowned. i swam some minutes on the water; but by good fortune, or rather miracle, i felt ground. i went towards a black place, which, by what i could discern in the dark, seemed to be land, and actually was a flat on the coast: when day came, i found it to be a desert island, lying about twenty miles from balsora. i soon dried my clothes in the sun; and as i walked along, found several sorts of fruit, and likewise fresh water, which gave me some hopes of preserving my life. i laid myself down in a shade, and soon after i saw a winged serpent, very large and long, coming towards me wriggling to the right and to the left, and hanging out his tongue, which made me think he had got some hurt. i rose, and saw a serpent still larger following, holding him by the tail, and endeavouring to devour him, i had compassion on him, and, instead of flying away, had the boldness and courage to take up a stone that by chance lay by me, and threw it at the great serpent with all my strength, whom i hit on the head and killed. the other, finding himself at liberty, took to his wings and flew away. i looked a long while after him in the air, as being an extraordinary thing; but he flew out of sight, and i lay down again in another place in the shade, and fell asleep. when i awaked, judge how i was surprised to see a black woman by me, of a lively and agreeable complexion, who held two bitches tied together in her hand, of the same colour. i sat up, and asked her who she was? i am, said she, the serpent whom you delivered not long since from my mortal enemy. i know not how to acknowledge the great kindness you did me, except by doing what i have done. i know the treachery of your sisters, and, to revenge you as soon as i was set at liberty by your generous assistance, i called several of my companions together, fairies like myself. we have carried the loading that was in your vessel into your storehouses at bagdad, and afterwards sunk it. these two black bitches are your sisters, whom i have transformed into this shape: but this punishment is not sufficient, for i will have you to treat them after such a manner as i shall direct. at these words, the fairy took me fast under one of her arms, and the two bitches in the other, and carried me to my house at bagdad, where i found all the riches, which were loaded on board my vessel, in my store-houses. before she left me, she delivered me the two bitches, and told me, if you wish not to be changed into a bitch, as they are, i ordain you, in the name of him that governs the sea, to give each of your sisters every night a hundred lashes with a rod, for the punishment of the crime they have committed against your person, and the young prince whom they have drowned. i was forced to promise that i would obey her order. since that time i have whipped them every night, though with regret, whereof your majesty has been a witness. i give evidence, by my tears, with how much sorrow and reluctance i must perform this cruel duty; and in this your majesty may see i am more to be pitied than blamed. if there be any thing else, with relation to myself, that you desire to be informed of, my sister amine will give you the full discovery of it by the relation of her story. the caliph heard zobride with a great deal of astonishment, and desired his grand vizier to pray fair amine to acquaint him wherefore her breast was marked with so many scars. upon this, amine addressed herself to the caliph, and began her story after this manner: the story of amine. commander of the faithful, says she, to avoid repeating what your majesty has already heard from my sister's story, i shall only add, that after my mother had taken a house for herself to live in during her widowhood, she gave me in marriage, with the portion my father left me, to a gentleman that had one of the best estates in this city. i had scarcely been a year married when i became a widow, and was left in possession of all my husband's estate, which amounted to ninety thousand sequins. the interest of this money was sufficient to maintain me very honourably. in the mean time, when my first six months' mourning was over, i caused to be made me ten suits of clothes, very rich, so that each suit came to a thousand sequins; and, when the year was past, i began to wear them. one day, as i was busy all alone about my private affairs, one came to tell me that a lady desired to speak with me. i ordered that she should be brought in: she was a person well stricken in years; she saluted me by kissing the ground, and told me, kneeling, dear lady, pray excuse the freedom i take; the confidence i have in your charity makes me thus bold: i must acquaint your ladyship that i have a daughter, an orphan, who is to be married this day; she and i are both strangers, and have no acquaintances at all in this town: this puts me in a perplexity, for we would have the numerous family with whom we are going to ally ourselves to think we are not, altogether strangers, and without credit: therefore, most beautiful lady, if you would vouchsafe to honour the wedding with your presence, we shall be infinitely obliged to you; because the ladies of your country will then know that we are not looked upon here as despicable wretches, when they shall come to understand that a lady of your quality did us that honour. but, alas! madam, if you refuse this request, we shall be altogether disgraced, and dare not address ourselves to any other. the poor woman's discourse, mingled with tears, moved my compassion. good woman, said i, do not afflict yourself; i am willing to grant you the favour you desire; tell me what place i must come to, and i will meet you as soon as i am dressed. the old woman was so transported with joy at my answer, that she kissed my feet, without my being able to hinder her. good charitable lady, said she, rising up, god will reward the kindness you have shown to your servants, and make your heart as joyful as you have made theirs. it is too soon yet to give yourself that trouble; it will be time enough when i come to call you in the evening: so farewell, madam, said she, until i have the honour to see you again. as soon as she was gone, i took the suit i liked best, with a necklace of large pearls, bracelets, pendents in my ears, and rings set with the finest and most sparkling diamonds; for my mind presaged what would befall me. when night drew on, the old woman came to call me with a countenance full of joy; she kissed my hands, and said, my dear lady, the relations of my son-in-law, who are the principal ladies of the town, are now met together; you may come when you please, i am ready to wait on you. we went immediately, she going before, and i followed her with a good number of my maids and slaves, very well dressed. we stopped in a large street, newly swept and watered, at a large gate, with a lantern before it, by the light of which i could read this inscription over the gate in golden letters: 'here is the abode of everlasting pleasures and content.' the old woman knocked, and the gate was opened immediately. they brought me to the lower end of the court into a large hall, where i was received by a young lady of admirable beauty; she came up to me, and after having embraced me, and made me sit down by her upon a sofa, where there was a throne of precious wood beset with diamonds, madam, said she, you are brought hither to assist at a wedding; but i hope this marriage will prove otherwise than you expect. i have a brother, one of the handsomest men in the world; he has fallen so much in love with your beauty, that his fate depends wholly upon you, and he will be the unhappiest of men, if you do not take pity on him. he knows your quality, and i can assure you he is not unworthy of your alliance. if my prayers, madam, can prevail, i shall join them with his, and humbly beg you will not refuse the offer of being his wife. after the death of my husband, i had no thoughts of marrying again; but i had not power to refuse the offer made by so charming a lady. as soon as i had given consent by silence, accompanied with a blush, the young lady clapped her hands, and immediately a closet-door opened, out of which came a young man of a majestic air, and of so graceful a behaviour, that i thought myself happy to have made so great a conquest. he sat down by me, and, by the discourse we had together, i found that his merits far exceeded the account his sister had given me of him. when she saw that we were satisfied one with another, she clapped her hands a second time, and out came a cadi, or scrivener, who wrote our contract of marriage, signed it himself, and caused it to be attested by four witnesses he brought along with him. the only thing that my new spouse made me promise was, that i should not be seen nor speak with any other man but himself; and he vowed to me, upon that condition, that i should have no reason to complain of him. our marriage was concluded and finished after this manner; so i became the principal actress in a wedding to which i was invited only as a guest. after we bad been married about a month, i had occasion for some stuffs; i asked my husband's leave to go out to buy them which he granted; and i took that old woman along with me of whom i spoke before, she being one of the family, with two of my own female slaves. when we came to the street where the merchants dwell, the old woman told me, dear mistress, since you want silk stuffs, i must carry you to a young merchant of my acquaintance who has of all sorts, which will prevent your wearying yourself by going from one shop to another. i can assure you that he is able to furnish you with that which nobody else can. i was easily persuaded, and we entered into a shop belonging to a young merchant. i sat down and bid the old woman desire him to show me the finest silk stuffs he had: the woman bid me speak myself; but, i told her it was one of the articles of my marriage-contract not to speak to any man but my husband, and that i must keep to it. the merchant showed me several stuffs, of which one pleased me better than the rest. i bid her ask the price. he answered the old woman, i will not sell it for gold or money, but i will make her a present of it, if she will give me leave to kiss her cheek. i bid the old woman tell him that he was very rude to propose such a thing. but, instead of obeying me, she said, what the merchant desires of you is no such great matter; you need not speak, but only present him your cheek, and the business will soon be done. the stuff pleased me so much, that i was foolish enough to take her advice. the old woman and my slaves stood up, that nobody might see, and i put up my veil; but, instead of a kiss, the merchant bit me till the blood came. the pain and surprise were so great, that i fell down in a swoon, and continued in it so long, that the merchant had time to shut his shop, and fly for it. when i came to myself, i found my cheek all bloody: the old woman and my slaves took care to cover it with my veil, lest the people who cams about us should perceive; but they supposed it only a fainting-fit. the old woman that was with me, being extremely troubled at the accident, endeavoured to comfort me: my dear mistress, said she, i beg your pardon, for i am the cause of this misfortune, having brought you to this merchant because he is my countryman; but i never thought he could be capable of so vile an action. but do not grieve; let us make haste to go home. i will give you a medicine that will perfectly cure you in three days time, so that the least mark will not be seen. the fit had made me so weak, that i was scarcely able to walk; but at last i got home, where i had a second fit as i went into my chamber. meanwhile the old woman applied her remedy, so that i came to myself, and went to bed. my husband came to me at night, and seeing my head bound up, asked the reason. i told him i had the headache, and hoped he would inquire no further; but he took a candle, and saw that my cheek was hurt: how comes this wound? said he. though i was not very guilty, yet i could not think of owning the thing: besides, to make such confession to a husband, was somewhat indecent; therefore i told him, that as i was going to seek for that stuff you gave me leave to buy, a porter carrying a load of wood came so close by me, as i went through a narrow street, that one of the sticks gave me a rub on my cheek; but it is not much hurt. this put my husband into such a passion, that he vowed it should not go unpunished; for he should to-morrow give orders to the lieutenant of the police to seize upon all those brutes of porters, and cause them to be hanged. being afraid to occasion the death of so many innocent persons, i told him, sir, i should be sorry that so great a piece of injustice should be committed. pray, do not do it; for i should judge myself unpardonable, if i were the cause of so much mischief. then tell me sincerely, said he, how you came by this wound? i answered, that it came through the inadvertency of a broom-seller upon an ass, who coming behind me, and looking another way, his ass gave me such a push, that i fell down, and hurt my cheek upon some glass. is it so? said my husband, then to-morrow morning, before sun-rise, the grand vizier giafar shall have an account of this insolence, and he shall cause all the broom-sellers to be put to death. for the love of god, sir, said i, let me beg of you to pardon them, for they are not guilty. how, madam, said he, what is it i must believe? speak, for i am absolutely resolved to know the truth from your own mouth. sir, said i, i was taken with a giddiness, and fell down; and that is the whole matter. at these last words, my husband lost all patience. oh! cried he, i have given ear to your lies too long. with that, clapping his hands, in came three slaves: pull her out of bed, said he, and lay her in the middle of the floor. the slaves obeyed his orders, one holding me by the head, and another by the feet: he commanded the third to fetch him a scimitar, and when he had brought it, strike, said he, cut her in two in the middle, and then throw her into the tigris to feed the fishes. this is the punishment i give to those to whom i have given my heart, if they falsify their promise. when he saw that the slave made no haste to obey his orders, why do not you strike? said he; who is it that holds you? what art thou waiting for? madam, then, said the slave, as you are near the last moment of your life, consider if you have, any thing to dispose of before you die. i begged to be allowed to speak one word, which was granted me. i lifted up my head, and looking wistfully to my husband, alas, said i, to what condition am i reduced? must i then die in the prime of my youth? i could say no more, for my tears and sighs prevented me. my husband was not at all. moved, but to the contrary, went on to reproach me; so that to have made an answer would have been in vain. i had recourse to entreaties and prayers; but he had no regard to them, and commanded the slaves to proceed to execution. the old woman that had been his nurse came in just at that moment, fell down upon her knees, and endeavoured to appease his wrath: my son, said she, since i have been your nurse, and brought you up, let me beg the favour of you to grant me her life; consider that he who kills shall be killed, that you will stain your reputation, and lose the esteem of mankind. what will not the world say of such a bloody rage? she spoke these words in such a taking away, accompanied with tears, that she gained upon him at last. well, then, says he to his nurse, for your sake i will spare her life; but she shall carry some marks along with her, to make her remember her crime. with that, one of the slaves, by his order, gave me so many blows, as hard as he could strike, with a little cane, upon my sides and breast, that he fetched both skin and flesh away, so that i lay senseless: after that he caused the same slaves, the executioners of his fury, to carry me into a house, where the old woman took care of me. i kept my bed four months; at last i recovered; but the scars you saw yesterday have remained ever since. as soon as i was able to walk and go abroad, i resolved to go to the house which was my own by my first husband, but i could not find the place. my second husband, in the heat of his wrath, was not content to have it razed to the ground, but caused all the street where it stood to be pulled down. i believe such a violent proceeding was never heard of before; but against whom should i make my complaint? the author had taken such care, that he was not to be found, neither could i know him again if i saw him; and suppose i had known him, is it not easily seen that the treatment i met with proceeded from absolute power? how then dared i make any complaints. being destitute and unprovided of every thing, i had recourse to my dear sister zobeide, who gave your majesty just now an account of her adventures; to her i made known my misfortune; she received me with her accustomed goodness, and advised me to bear it with patience. this is the way of the world, said she, which either robs us of our means, our friends, or our lovers, and oftentimes of all at once; and at the same time, to confirm what she had said, she gave me an account of the loss of the young prince, occasioned by the jealousy of her two sisters; she told me also by what accident they were transformed into bitches; and, in the last place, after a thousand testimonials of her love towards me, she showed me my youngest sister, who had likewise taken sanctuary wish her after the death of her mother. thus we gave god thanks, who had brought us together again, resolving to live a single life, and never to separate any more, for we have enjoyed this peaceable way of living many years; and as it was my business to mind the affairs of the house, i always took pleasure to go myself, and buy in what we wanted. i happened to go abroad yesterday, and the things i bought i caused to be brought home by a porter, who proved to be a sensible and jocose fellow, and we kept him by us for a little diversion. three calenders happened to come to our door as it began to grow dark, and prayed us to giye them shelter until next morning: we gave them entrance upon certain conditions, to which they agreed; and after we had made them sit down at the table by us, they gave us a concert of music after their fashion, and at the same time we heard a knocking at our gate. these were the three merchants of moussol, men of a very good mien, who begged the same favour which the calenders had obtained before: we consented upon the same conditions, but neither of them kept their promise; and though we had power as well as justice on our side to punish them, yet we contented ourselves with demanding from them the history of their lives, and consequently bounded our revenge with dismissing them after they had done, and depriving them of the lodging they demanded. the caliph haroun alraschid was very well satisfied with these strange stories, and declared publicly his astonishment at what he had heard. having satisfied his curiosity, he thought himself obliged to give some marks of grandeur and generosity to the calender princes, and also to give the three ladies some proofs of his bounty. he himself, without making use of his minister the grand vizier, said to zobeide, madam, did not this fairy, that showed herself to you in the shape of a serpent, and imposed such a rigorous command upon you, tell you where her place of abode was? or rather did she not promise to see you, and restore those bitches to their natural shape? commander of the faithful, answered zobeide, i forgot to tell your majesty, that the fairy left with me a bundle of hair, saying withal that her presence would one day stand me in stead; and then, if i only burnt two tufts of this hair, she would be with me in a moment, though she were beyond mount caucasus. madam, says the caliph, where is the bundle of hair? she answered, ever since that time, i have had such a particular care of it, that i always carry it about with me: upon which she pulled it out, opened the case a little where it was, and showed it him. well, then, said the caliph, let us make the fairy come hither; you could not call her in a better time, for i long to see her. zobeide having consented to it, fire was brought in, and she threw the whole bundle of hair into it. the palace began to shake at that very instant, and the fairy appeared before the caliph in the shape of a lady very richly dressed. commander of the faithful, said she to the prince, you see i am ready to come and receive your commands. the lady that gave me this call by your order, did me a particular piece of service: to make my gratitude appear, i revenged her of her sisters' inhumanity by changing them into bitches; but, if your majesty command, i shall restore them to their former shape. handsome fairy, said the caliph, you cannot do me a greater pleasure; vouchsafe them that favour, and after that i will find out some means to comfort them for their hard penance; but, besides, i have another boon to ask in favour of this lady who has had such cruel usage from an unknown husband; and as you undoubtedly know a great many things, we have reason to believe you cannot, be ignorant of this; oblige me with the name of this unfeeling fellow, who could not be contented to exercise his cruelty upon her person, but has also most unjustly taken from her all the substance she had i only wonder that such an unjust and inhuman action could be performed in spite of my authority, and not come to my ears. to serve your majesty, answered the fairy, i will restore the two bitches to their former state, and cure the lady of her scars, so that it will never appear she was so beaten; after which i will tell you who it was that did it. the caliph sent for the two bitches from zobeide's house, and when they came, a glass of water was brought to the fairy at her desire: she pronounced some words over it which nobody understood; then throwing some part of it upon amine, and the rest upon the bitches, the latter became two ladies of surprising beauty, and the scars that were upon amine vanished away. after which the fairy said to the caliph, commander of the faithful, i must now discover to you, the unknown husband you inquire after: he is very nearly related to yourself; for it is prince amin, your eldest son, who, falling passionately in love with this lady by the fame he had heard of her beauty, by an intrigue got her brought to his house, where he married her. as to the strokes he caused to be given her, he is in some measure excusable; for his spouse had been a little too easy, and the excuses she made were calculated to make him believe that she was more faulty than she really was. this is all i can say to satisfy your curiosity. at these words she saluted the caliph, and vanished. the prince, being filled with admiration, and having much satisfaction the changes that had happened through his means, did such things as will perpetuate his memory to future ages. first, he sent for his son amin, and told him that he was informed of his secret marriage, and how he had wounded amine upon a very slight cause; upon which the prince did not wait for his father's commands, but received her again immediately. after this, the caliph declared that he would give his own heart and hand to zobeide, and offered the other three sisters to the calenders, who accepted them with a great deal of joy. the caliph assigned to each a magnificent palace in the city of bagdad, promoted them to the highest dignities, and admitted them to his councils. the town-clerk of bagdad, being called with witnesses, wrote the contracts of marriage; and the famous caliph haroun alraschid, by making the fortunes of so many persons who had undergone such incredible misfortunes, drew a thousand blessings upon himself. the story of sindbad the sallor. dinarzade having awaked her sister the sultaness as usual, prayed her to tell her another story. scheherazade asked leave of the sultan, and having obtained it, began thus: sir, in the reign of the same caliph haroun alraschid, whom i formerly mentioned, there lived at bagdad a poor porter called hindbad. one day, when the weather was very hot, he was employed to carry a heavy burden from one end of the town to the other. being very weary, and having still a great way to go, he came into a street, where the delicate western breeze blew on his face, and the pavement of the street being sprinkled with rose water, he could not desire a better place to rest in; therefore, laying off his burden, he sat down by it near a great house. he was mightily pleased that he had stopped in this place, for an agreeable smell of wood of aloes and of pastils, that came from the house, mixing with the scent of the rose water, did completely perfume the air. besides, he heard from within a concert of several sorts of instrumental music, accompanied with the harmonies of nightingales, and other birds peculiar to that climate. this charming melody, and the smell of several sorts of victuals, made the porter think there was a feast, with great rejoicings within. his occasions leading him seldom that way, he knew not who dwelt in the house; but, to satisfy his curiosity, he went to some of the servants, whom he saw standing at the gate in magnificent apparel, and asked the name of the master of the house. how, replied one of them, do you live in bagdad, and know not that this is the house of signior sindbad, the sailor, that famous traveller who has sailed round the world? the porter, who had heard of sindbad's riches, could not but envy a man whose condition he thought to be as happy as his own was deplorable; and his mind being fretted with these reflections, he lifted up his eyes to heaven, and says, loud enough to be heard, almighty creator of all things, consider the difference between sindbad and me. i am every day exposed to fatigues and calamities, and can scarcely get coarse barley bread for myself and family, whilst happy sindbad profusely expends immense riches, and leads a life of continual pleasure. what has he done to obtain from thee a lot so agreeable, and what have i done to deserve one so miserable? having finished this expostulation, he struck his foot against the ground, like a man overwhelmed with grief and despair. while the porter was thus indulging his melancholy, a servant came out of the house, and taking him by the arm, bid him follow him, for signior sindbad, his master, wanted to speak with him. your majesty may easily imagine that poor hindbad was not a little surprised at this compliment; for, considering what he had said, he was afraid sindbad had sent for him to punish him; therefore he would have excused himself, alleging that he could not leave his burden in the middle of the street. but sindbad's servants assured him they would look to it, and pressed the porter so that he was obliged to yield. the servants brought him into a large hall, where a number of people sat round a table covered with all sorts of fine dishes. at the upper end there sat a grave, comely, venerable gentleman, with a long white beard, and behind him stood officers and domestics ready to serve him; this grave gentleman was sindbad. the porter, whose fear was increased at the sight of so many people, and of a banquet so sumptuous, saluted the company tremblingly. sindbad bid him draw near, and setting him down at his right hand, served him himself, and gave him excellent wine, of which there was good store upon the side-board. when dinner was over, sindbad began his discourse to hindbad; and calling him brother, according to the manner of the arabians when they are familiar one to another, he asked him his name and employment. signior, answered he, my name is hindbad. i am very glad to see you, replies sindbad; and i dare to say the same for all the company: but i would be glad to hear, from your own mouth, what it was you said a while ago in the street; for sindbad had heard it himself through the window before he sat down to table; and that occasioned his calling for him. hindbad, being surprised at the question, hung down his head, and replied, signior, i confess that my weariness put me out of humour, and occasioned me to speak some indiscreet words, which i beg you to pardon. oh, do not you think i am so unjust, replies sindbad, to resent such a thing as that; i consider your condition, and, instead of upbraiding you with your complaints, i am sorry for you; but i must rectify your mistake concerning myself. you think, no doubt, that i have acquired, without labour or trouble, the ease and conveniency which i now enjoy. but do not mistake yourself; i did not attain to this happy condition without enduring more trouble of body and mind for several years than can well be imagined. yes, gentleman, adds he, speaking to the company, i can assure you my troubles were so extraordinary, that they were capable of discouraging the most covetous men from undertaking such voyages as i did to acquire riches. perhaps you have never heard a distinct account of the wonderful adventures and dangers i met with in my seven voyages; and, since i have this opportunity, i am willing to give you a faithful account of them, not doubting that it will be acceptable. and because sindbad was to tell this story particularly on the porter's account, he ordered his burden to be carried to the place appointed, and began thus: the story of sindbad the sailor. his first voyage. my father left me a considerable estate, most part of which i spent in debauches during my youth; but i perceived my error, and called to mind that riches were perishable, and quickly considered, that by my irregular way of living, i wretchedly misspent my time, which is the most valuable thing in the world. i remembered the saying of the great solomon, which i frequently heard from my father, that death is more tolerable than poverty. being struck with those reflections, i gathered together the ruins of my estate, and sold all my moveables in the public market to the highest bidder. then i entered into a contract with some merchants that traded by sea, took the advice of those whom i thought most capable to give it, and resolving to improve what money i had, went to balsora, a port in the persian gulph, and embarked with several merchants, who joined with me in fitting out a ship on purpose. we set sail, steering our course towards the east indies through the persian gulph, which is formed by the coasts of arabia felix on the right, by those of persia on the left, and, according to common account, is seventy leagues in the broadest place. the eastern sea, like that of the indies, is very spacious. it is bounded on one side by the coast of abyssinia, and leagues in length to the isles of vakvak[footnote: these islands, according; to the arabians, are beyond china: and are so called from a tree which bears a fruit of that name. they are, without doubt, the isles of japan; but they are not, however, so far from abyssinia.]. at first i was troubled with sea-sickness, but speedily recovered, and was not afterwards troubled with that disease. in our voyage we touched at several islands, where we sold or exchanged our goods. one day, whilst under sail, we were becalmed near a little island, even almost with the surface of the water, which resembled a green meadow. the captain ordered his sails to be furled, and suffered such persons as had a mind to land upon the island, amongst whom i was one. but while we were diverting ourselves with eating and drinking, and refreshing ourselves from the fatigue of the sea, the island trembled all of a sudden, and shook us terribly. they perceived the trembling of the island on board the ship, and called to us to re-embark speedily, else we should be all lost; for what we took for an island was only the back of a whale. the nimblest got into the sloop, others betook themselves to swimming; but, for my part, i was still upon the back of the whale, when he dived into the sea, and i had time only to catch hold of a piece of wood that we had brought out of the ship to make a fire. meanwhile the captain, having received those on board who were in the sloop, and taken up some of those that swam, resolved to improve the favourable gale that was just risen, and, hoisting his sails, pursued his voyage, so that it was impossible to recover the ship. thus was i exposed to the mercy of the waves, and struggled for my life all the rest of the day and the following night. next morning i found my strength gone, and despaired of saving my life, when a wave threw me happily against an island. the bank was high and rugged, so that i should scarcely have got up, had it not been for some roots of trees which fortune seemed to have preserved in this place for my safety. being got up, i lay down upon the ground half dead, until such time as the sun appeared. then, though i was very feeble, both by reason of my hard labour and want of victuals, i crept along to seek for some herbs fit to eat, and had not only the good luck to find some, but likewise a spring of excellent water, which contributed much to recover me. after this i advanced further into the island, and came at last into a fine plain, where i perceived a horse feeding at a great distance. i went towards him between hope and fear, not knowing whether i was going to lose my life or to save it. when i came near, i perceived it to be a very fine mare tied to a stake. whilst i looked upon her, i heard the voice of a man from under ground, who immediately appeared to me, and asked who i was? i gave him an account of my adventure; after which, taking me by the hand, he led me into a cave, where there were several other people, no less amazed to see me than i was to see them. i ate some victuals which they offered me; and then, having asked them what they did in such a desert place, they answered, that they were grooms belonging to king mihrage, sovereign of the island; and that every year, at the same season, they brought thither the king's mares, and fastened them as i saw that mare, until they were covered by a horse that came out of the sea, who, after he had done so, endeavoured to destroy the mares, but they hindered him by their noise, and obliged him to return to the sea; after which they carried home the mares, whose foals were kept for the king's use, and called sea-horses. they added, that we were to get home to-morrow, and had i been one day later, i must have perished, because the inhabited part of the island was at a great distance, and it would have been impossible for me to have got thither without a guide. whilst they entertained me thus, the horse came out of the sea, as they had told me, covered the mare, and afterwards would have devoured her; but, upon a great noise made by the grooms, he left her, and went back to the sea. next morning they returned with their mares to the capital of the island, took me with them, and presented me to king mihrage. he asked me who i was, and by what adventure i came into his dominions? after i had satisfied him, he told me he was much concerned for my misfortune, and at the same time ordered that i should want nothing; which his officers were so generous and careful as to see exactly fulfilled. being a merchant, i frequented men of my own profession, and particularly inquired for those who were strangers, if perhaps i might hear any news from bagdad, or find an opportunity to return thither; for king mihrage's capital is situate on the bank of the sea, and has a fine harbour, where ships arrive daily from different quarters of the world. i frequented also the society of the learned indians, and took delight to hear them discourse; but withal i took care to make my court regularly to the king, and conversed with the governors and petty kings, his tributaries, that were about him. they asked me a thousand questions about my country; and being willing to inform myself as to their laws and customs, i asked them every thing which i thought worth knowing. there belongs to this king an island named cassel; they assured me, that every night a noise of drums was heard there, whence the mariners fancied that it was the residence of degial [footnote: degial, to the mahometans, is the same with antichrist to us. according to them, he is to appear about the end of the world, and will conquer all the earth, except mecca, medina, tarsus, and jerusalem, which are to be preserved by angels, whom he shall set round them.]. i had a great mind to see this wonderful place, and in my way thither saw fishes of an hundred and two hundred cubits long, that occasion more fear than hurt; for they are so fearful, that they will fly upon the rattling of two sticks or boards. i saw likewise other fishes about a cubit in length, that had heads like owls. as i was one day at the port after my return, a ship arrived. as soon as she cast anchor, they began to unload her, and the merchants on board ordered their goods to be carried into the magazine. as i cast my eye upon some bales, and looked to the name i found my own, and perceived the bales to be the same that i had embarked at balsora. i also knew the captain; but, being persuaded that he believed me to be drowned, i went and asked him whose bales these were? he replied, that they belonged to a merchant of bagdad, called sindbad, who came to sea with him; but one day, being near an island, as we thought, he went ashore, with several other passengers, upon this supposed island, which was only a monstrous whale that lay asleep upon the surface of the water; but as soon as he felt the heat of the fire they had kindled upon his back to dress some victuals, he began to move, and dived under water, when most of the persons who were upon him perished, and among them the unfortunate sindbad. these bales belong to him, and i am resolved to trade with them, until i meet with some of his family, to whom i may return the profit. captain, says i, i am that sindbad whom you thought to be dead, and these bales are mine. when the captain heard me speak thus, o heaven, says he, whom can we ever trust now-a-days? there is no faith left among men. i saw sindbad perish with my own eyes, and the passengers on board saw it as well as i, and yet you tell me that you are that sindbad? what impudence is this? to look on you, one would take you to be a man of probity; and yet you tell a horrible falsehood, in order to possess yourself of what does not belong to you. have patience, captain, replied i; do me the favour to hear what i have to say. very well, says he, speak; i am ready to hear you. then i told him how i escaped, and by what adventure i met with the grooms of king mihrage, who brought me to his court. the captain began to abate of his confidence upon my discourse, and was soon persuaded that i was no cheat; for there came people from his ship who knew me, made me great compliments, and testified a great deal of joy to see me alive. at last he knew me himself, and embracing me, heaven be praised, says he, for your happy escape! i cannot enough express my joy for it; there are your goods, take and do with them what you will. i thanked him, acknowledged his probity, and in requital offered him part of my goods as a present, which he generously refused. i took out what was most valuable in my bales, and presented it to king mihrage, who, knowing my misfortune, asked me how i came by such rarities? i acquainted him with the whole story. he was mightily pleased at my good luck, accepted my present, and gave me one much more considerable in return. upon this, i took leave of him, and went on board the same ship, after i had exchanged my goods for the commodities of the country. i carried with me the wood of aloes, sanders, camphire, nutmegs, cloves, pepper, and ginger. we passed by several islands, and at last arrived at balsora, from whence i came to this city, with the value of one hundred thousand sequins[footnote: the turkish sequin is about nine shillings sterling.]. my family and i received one another with all the transport that can arise from true and sincere friendship. i bought slaves of both sexes, fine lands, and built me a great house. thus i settled myself, resolving to forget the miseries i had suffered, and to enjoy the pleasures of life. sindbad stopped here, and ordered the musicians to go on with their concert, which his story had interrupted. the company continued to eat and drink until the evening, when it was time to retire. sindbad sent for a purse of one hundred sequins, and, giving it to the porter, says, take this, hindbad, return to your home, and come back to-morrow to hear some more of my adventures. the porter went home, astonished at the honour done him, and the present made him. the relation of it was very agreeable to his wife and children, who did not fail to return god thanks for what he had sent them by the hands of sindbad. hindbad put on his best clothes next day, and returned to the bountiful traveller, who received him with a pleasant air, and caressed him mightily. when all the guests were come, dinner was set upon the table, and continued a long time. when it was ended, sindbad, addressing himself to the company, says, gentlemen, be pleased to give me audience, and listen to the adventures of my second voyage; they better deserve your attention than the first. upon this, every one held his peace, and sindbad proceeded: the second voyage of sindbad the sailor. i intended, after my first voyage, to spend the rest of my days at bagdad, as i had the honour to tell you yesterday; but it was not long ere i grew weary of a quiet life. my inclination to travel revived. i bought goods proper for the commerce i designed, and put to sea a second time with merchants of known probity. we embarked on board a good ship, and, after recommending ourselves to god, set sail: we traded from island to island, and exchanged commodities with great profit. one day we landed upon an isle covered with several sorts of fruit-trees, but so deserted that we could see neither man nor horse upon it. we went to take a little fresh air in the meadows, and along the streams that watered them. whilst some diverted themselves with gathering flowers, and others with gathering fruits, i took my wine and provisions, and sat down by a stream betwixt two great trees which formed a curious shade. i made a very good meal, and afterwards fell asleep. i cannot tell how long i slept, but, when i awaked, the ship was gone. i was very much surprised, but got up, looking about every where, and could not see one of the merchants who landed with me. at last i perceived the ship under sail, but at such a distance, that i lost sight of her in a very little time. i leave you to guess at my melancholy reflections in this sad condition, i was like to die of grief, cried out sadly, beat my head and breast, and threw myself down upon the ground, where i lay some time in terrible agony, one afflicting thought being succeeded by another still more afflicting. i upbraided myself an hundred times for not being content with the product of my first voyage, that might very well have served me all my life. but all this was vain, and my repentance out of season. at last i resigned myself to the will of god; and, not knowing what to do, i climbed to the top of a great tree, from whence i looked about on all sides to see if there were any thing that could give me hopes. when i looked towards the sea, i could see nothing but sky and water; but, on looking towards the land, i saw something white; coming down from the tree i took up what provisions i had left, and went towards it, the distance being so great that i could not distinguish what it was. when i came nearer, i thought it to be a white bowl, of a prodigious height and bigness; and when i came up to it, i touched it, and found it to be very smooth. i went round to see if it was open on any side, but saw it was not, and it was so smooth that there was no climbing to the top of it. it was at least fifty paces round. by this time the sun was ready to set, and all of a sudden the sky became as dark as if it had been covered with a thick cloud. i was much astonished at this sudden darkness, but much more when i found it occasioned by a bird of monstrous size, that came flying towards me. i remembered a fowl called *roc, that i had often heard mariners speak of, and conceived that the great bowl, which i so much admired, must needs be its egg. in short, the bird lighted, and sat over the egg to hatch it. as i perceived her coming, i crept close to the egg, so that i had before me one of the legs of the bird, that was as big as the trunk of a tree; i tied myself strongly to it with the cloth that went round my turban, in hopes that when the roc[footnote: mark paul in his travels, and father martini in his history of china, speak each of this bird, and say it will take up an elephant and a rhinoceros.] flew away next morning, she would carry me with her out of this desert island. after having passed the night in this condition, the bird actually flew away next morning as soon as it was day, and carried me so high that i could not see the earth; she afterwards descended all of a sudden, and with so much rapidity, that i lost my senses. but when the roc was sat, and i found myself on the ground, i speedily untied the knot, and had scarcely done so, when the bird, having taken up a serpent of a monstrous length in her bill, flew straight away. the place where it left me was a very deep valley, encompassed on all sides with mountains so high, that they seemed to reach above the clouds, and so full of steep rocks, that there was no possibility to get out of the valley. this was a new perplexity upon me; so that, when i compared this place with the desert island the roc brought me from, i found that i had gained nothing by the change. as i walked through this valley, i perceived that it was strewed with diamonds, some of which were of a surprising bigness. i took a great deal of pleasure to look upon them, but speedily saw at a distance such objects as very much diminished my satisfaction, and which i could not look upon without terror; there were a great number of serpents, so big, and so long, that the least of them was capable of swallowing an elephant. they retired in the day-time to their dens, where they hid themselves from the roc, their enemy, and did not come out but in the night-time. i spent the day in walking about the valley, resting myself at times, in such places as i thought most commodious. when night came on, i went into a cave, where i thought i might be in safety; i stopped the mouth of it, which was low and straight, with a great stone, to preserve me from the serpents, but not so exactly fitted as to hinder light from coming in. i supped on part of my provisions; but the serpents, which began to appear, hissing about in the mean time, put me into such extreme fear, that you may easily imagine i did not sleep. when day appeared, the serpents retired, and i came out of the cave trembling; i can truly say, that i walked a long time upon diamonds, without having a mind to touch any of them. at last i sat down, and, notwithstanding my uneasiness, not having shut my eyes during the night, i fell asleep, after having ate a little more of my provisions. but i had scarcely shut my eyes, when something that fell by me with a great noise awakened me, and this was a great piece of fresh meat; at the same time i saw several others fall down from the rocks in different places. i always looked upon it to be a fable, when i heard mariners and others discourse of the valley of diamonds, and of the stratagems made use of by some merchants to get jewels from thence; but i found it to be true; for, in reality, those merchants come to the neighbourhood of this valley when the eagles have young ones, and throwing great joints of meat into it, the diamonds upon whose points they fall stick to them: the eagles, which are stronger in this country than any where else, fall down with great force upon these pieces of meat, and carry them to their nests upon the top of the rocks, to feed their young ones with; at which time the merchants, running to these nests, frighten the eagles by their noise, and take away the diamonds that stick to the meat. and this stratagem they made use of to get the diamonds out of the valley, which is surrounded with such precipices that nobody can enter it. i believed, till then, that it was not possible for me to get out of this abyss,which i looked upon as my grave; but then i changed my mind, for the falling in of those pieces of meat put me in hopes of a way to save my life. i began to gather together the greatest diamonds i could see, and put them into a leather bag in which i used to carry my provisions. i afterwards took the largest piece of meat i could find, tied it close round me with the cloth of my turban, and then laid myself upon the ground with my face downward, the bag of diamonds being tied fast to my girdle, so that it could not possibly drop off. i had scarcely laid me down when the eagles came; each of them seized a piece of meat, and one of the strongest having taken me up with the piece of meat on my back, carried me to his nest on the top of the mountain. the merchants fell straightway a-shooting to frighten the eagles; and when they had forced them to quit their prey, one of them came up to the nest where i was: he was very much afraid when he saw me; but recovering himself, instead of inquiring how i came hither, he began to quarrel with me, and asked why i stole his goods? you will treat me, replied i, with more civility, when you know me better. do not trouble yourself; i have diamonds enough for you and me too, more than all the merchants together. if they have any, it is by chance; but i chose myself, in the bottom of the valley, all those which you see in this bag; and, having spoken these words, i showed him them. i had scarcely done speaking, when the other merchants came trooping about us, very much astonished to see me; but they were much more surprised when i told them my story; yet they did not so much admire my stratagem to save myself, as my courage to attempt it. they carried me to the place where they staid all together, and there having opened my bag, they were surprised at the largeness of my diamonds, and confessed, that in all the courts where they had been, they never saw any that came near them. i prayed the merchant, to whom the nest belonged whither i was carried, (for every merchant had his own,) to take as many for his share as he pleased: he contented himself with one, and that too the least of them; and when i pressed him to take more without fear of doing me any injury, no, says he, i am very well satisfied with this, which is valuable enough to save me the trouble of making any more voyages, and to raise as great a fortune as i desire. i spent the night with these merchants, to whom i told my story a second time, for the satisfaction of those who had not heard it. i could not moderate my joy, when i found myself delivered from the danger i have mentioned; i thought myself to be in a dream, and could scarcely believe myself to be out of danger. the merchants had thrown their pieces of meat into the valley for several days; and each of them being satisfied with the diamonds that had fallen to his lot, we left the place next morning all together, and travelled near high mountains, where there were serpents of a prodigious length, which we had the good fortune to escape. we took the first port, and came to the isle of ropha, where trees grow that yield camphire. this tree is so large, and its branches so thick, that a hundred men may easily sit under its shade. the juice, of which the camphire is made, runs out from a hole bored in the upper part of the tree, is received in a vessel, where it grows to a consistency, and becomes what we call camphire; and the juice being thus drawn out, the tree withers and dies. there is here also the rhinoceros, a creature less than the elephant, but greater than the buffalo: it has a horn upon its nose about a cubit long; which is solid, and cleft in the middle from one end to the other, and there are upon it white draughts, representing the figure of a man. the rhinoceros fights with the elephant, runs his horn into his belly, and carries him off upon his head; but the blood and the fat of the elephant running into his eyes, and making him blind, he falls to the ground; and, what is astonishing, the roc comes and carries them both away in her claws, to be meat for her young ones. i pass over many other things peculiar to this island, lest i should be troublesome to you. here i exchanged some of my diamonds for good merchandise. from thence we went to other isles; and at last, having traded at several trading towns off the firm land, we lauded at balsora, from whence i went to bagdad. there i immediately gave great alms to the poor, and lived honourably upon the vast riches i had brought, and gained with so much fatigue. thus sindbad ended the story of his second voyage, gave hindbad another hundred sequins, and invited him to come next day to hear the story of the third. the rest of the guests returned to their homes, and came again the next day at--the same hour; and certainly the porter did not fail, having almost forgotten his former poverty. when dinner was over, sindbad demanded attention, and gave them the following account of his third voyage. sindbad the sailor's third voyage. the pleasures of the life which i then led soon made me forget the risks i had run in my two former voyages; but being then in the flower of my age, i grew weary of living without business; and hardening myself against the thoughts of any danger i might incur, i went from bagdad with the richest commodities of the country to balsora. there i embarked again with other merchants. we made a long navigation, and touched at several ports, where we drove a considerable commerce. one day being out in the main ocean, we were attacked by a horrible tempest, which made us lose our course. the tempest continued several days, and brought us before the port of an island, which the captain was very unwilling to enter; but we were obliged to cast anchor there. when we had furled our sails, the captain told us, that this and some other neighbouring islands were inhabited by hairy savages, who would speedily attack us; and though they were but dwarfs, yet our misfortune was such, that we must make no resistance, for they were more in number than the locusts; and if we happened to kill one of them, they would all fall upon us and destroy us. this discourse of the captain put the whole equipage into a great consternation, and we found very soon, to our cost, that what he had told us was too true; an innumerable multitude of frightful savages, covered over with red hair, and about two feet high, came swimming towards us, and encompassed our ship in a little time. they spoke to us as they came near, but we understood not their language; they climbed up the sides of the ship with so much agility as surprised us. we beheld all this with fear, without daring to offer at defending ourselves, or to speak one word to divert them from their mischievous design. in short, they took down our sails, cut the cable, and, hauling to the shore, made us all get out, and afterwards carried the ship into another island from whence they came. all travellers carefully avoided that island where they left us, it being very dangerous to stay there, for a reason you shall hear anon; but we were forced to bear our affliction with patience. we went forward into the island, where we found some fruits and herbs to prolong our lives as long as we could; but we expected nothing but death. as we went on, we perceived at a distance a great pile of building, and made towards it. we found it to be a palace, well built and very high, with a gate of ebony of two leaves, which we thrust open. we entered the court, where we saw before us a vast apartment, with a porch, having on one side a heap of men's bones, and on the other a vast number of roasting spits. we trembled at this spectacle, and being weary with travelling, our legs failed under us, we fell to the ground, and lay a long time immoveable. the sun was set, and whilst we were in this lamentable condition the gate of the apartment opened with a great noise, and there came out the horrible figure of a black man, as high as a palm-tree. he had but one eye, and that in the middle of his forehead, where it looked as red as burning coal. his foreteeth were very long and sharp, and came without his mouth, which was deep like that of a horse. his upper lip hung down upon his breast. his ears resembled those of an elephant, and covered his shoulders; and his nails were as long and crooked as the talons of the greatest birds. at last we came to ourselves, and saw him sitting in the porch looking at us: when he had considered us well, he advanced towards us, and laying his hand upon me, he took me up by the nape of the neck, turned me round as a butcher would do a sheep's head; and, after having viewed me well, and perceiving me to be so lean that i had nothing but skin and bone, he let me go. he took up all the rest one by one, viewing them in the same manner: and the captain being the fattest, he held him with one hand, as i would do a sparrow, and thrusting a spit through him, kindled a great fire, and roasted him in his apartment for supper; which being done, he returned to the porch, where he lay and fell asleep, snoring louder than thunder: he slept thus till morning; for our parts, it was not possible for us to enjoy any rest, so that we passed the night in the most cruel fear that can be imagined. day being come, the giant awaked, got up, went out, and left us in the palace. when we thought him at a distance, we broke the melancholy silence we had kept all night; and, every one grieving more than another, we made the palace resound with our complaints and groans. though there were a great many of us, and we had but one enemy, we had not at first the presence of mind to think of delivering ourselves from him by his death. this enterprise, however, though hard to put in execution, was the only design we ought naturally to have formed. we thought upon several other things, but determined nothing; so that, submitting to what it should please god to order concerning us, we spent the day in running about the island for fruit and herbs to sustain our lives. when evening came, we sought for a place to lie in, but found none; so that we were forced, whether we would or not, to return to the palace. the giant failed not to come back, and supped once more upon one of our companions; after which he slept and snored till day, and then went out and left us as formerly. our condition was so very terrible, that some of my comrades designed to throw themselves into the sea, rather than die so strange a death; and those who were of this mind argued with the rest to follow their example. upon this, one of the company answered, that we were forbidden to destroy ourselves; but, allowing it to be lawful, it was more reasonable to think of a way to rid ourselves of the barbarous tyrant who designed so cruel a death for us. having thought of a project for that end, i communicated the same to my comrades, who approved it. brethren, said i, you know there is a great deal of timber floating upon the coast; if you will be advised by me, let us make several floats of it that may carry us, and, when they are done, leave them there till we think fit to make use of them. in the mean time we will execute the design to deliver ourselves from the giant; and, if it succeed, we may stay here with patience till some ship pass by that may carry us out of this fatal island; but, if it happen to miscarry, we may speedily get to our floats, and put to sea. i confess, that, by exposing ourselves to the fury of the waves, we run a risk of losing our lives; but, if we do, is it not better to be buried in the sea than in the entrails of this monster, who has already devoured two of us? my advice was relished, and we made floats capable of carrying three persons each. we returned to the palace towards evening, and the giant arrived a little while after. we were forced to submit to see a number of our comrades roasted; but at last revenged ourselves on the brutish giant thus. after he had made an end of his cursed supper, he lay down on his back, and fell asleep. as soon as we heard him snore[footnote: it would seem the arabian author has taken this story from homer's odyssey.] according to his custom, nine of the boldest among us, with myself, took each a spit, and putting the points of them into the fire till they were burning hot, we thrust them into his eye all at once, and blinded him. the pain occasioned him to make a frightful cry, and to get up and stretch out his hands, in order to sacrifice some of us to his rage; but we ran to such places as he could not find us; and, after having sought for us in vain, he groped for the gate, and went out howling dreadfully. we went out of the palace after the giant, and came to the shore, where we had left our floats, and put them immediately into the sea. we waited till day, in order to get upon them, in case the giant came towards us with any guide of his own species; but we hoped, if he did not appear by sun-rise, and give over his howling which we still heard, that he would die; and if that happened to be the case, we resolved to stay in the island, and not to risk our lives upon the floats. but day had scarcely appeared when we perceived our cruel enemy, accompanied with two others, almost of the same size, leading him; and a great number more coming before him with a very quick pace. when we saw this, we made no delay, but got immediately upon our floats, and rowed off from the shore. the giants, who perceived this, took up great stones, and running to the shore, entered the water up to the middle, and threw so exactly, that they sunk all the floats but that i was upon; and all my companions, except the two with me, were drowned. we rowed with all our might, and got out of the reach of the giants. when we got to sea, however, we were exposed to the mercy of the waves and the winds, tossed about sometimes on one side and sometimes on another, and spent that night and the following day under a cruel uncertainty as to our fate; but next morning we had the good luck to be thrown upon an island, where we landed with much joy. we found excellent fruit there that gave us great relief, so that we pretty well recovered our strength. in the evening we fell asleep on the bank of the sea, but were awaked by the noise of a serpent as long as a palmtree, whose scales made a rustling as he creeped along. he swallowed up one of my comrades, notwithstanding his loud cries, and the efforts he made to rid himself of the serpent; which, shaking him several times against the ground, crushed him, and we could hear him gnaw and tear the poor wretch's bones, when we had fled at a great distance from him. next day we saw the serpent again, to our great terror, when i cried out, o heaven, to what dangers are we exposed! we rejoiced yesterday at our having escaped from the cruelty of a giant, and the rage of the waves, and now are fallen into another danger equally as terrible. as we walked about, we saw a large tall tree, upon which we intended to pass the following night for our security; and, having satisfied our hunger with fruit, we mounted it accordingly. a little while after, the serpent came hissing to the root of the tree, raised itself up against the trunk of it, and meeting with my comrade, who sat lower than i, swallowed him at once, and went off; i staid upon the tree till it was day, and then came down, more like a dead man than one alive, expecting the same fate with my two companions. this filled me with horror, so that i was going to throw myself into the sea; but as nature prompts us to a desire to live as long as we can, i withstood this temptation to despair, and submitted myself to the will of god, who disposes of our lives at pleasure. in the mean time i gathered together a quantity of small wood, brambles, and dry thorns, and making them up into faggots, made a great circle with them round the tree, and tied some of them to the branches over my head. having done this, when the evening came, i shut myself up within the circle, with this melancholy piece of satisfaction, that i had neglected nothing which could preserve me from the cruel destiny with which i was threatened. the serpent failed not to come at the usual hour, and went round the tree, seeking for an opportunity to devour me, but was prevented by the rampart i had made; so that he sat till day, like a cat watching in vain for a mouse, that has retired to a place of safety. when day appeared, he retired, but i dared not leave my fort until the sun rose. i was fatigued with the toil he had put me to, and suffered so much by his poisonous breath, that death seemed more eligible to me than the horror of such a condition. i came down from the tree and, not thinking on the resignation i had made to the will of god the preceding day, i ran towards the sea with a design to throw myself headlong into it. god took compassion on my desperate state; for, just as i was going to throw myself, into the sea, i perceived a ship at a considerable distance. i called as loud as i could, and taking the linen from my turban, displayed it so as they might observe me. this had the desired effect; the crew perceived me, and the captain sent me his boat. as soon as i came on board, the merchants and seamen flocked about me to learn how i came into that desert island; and after i had told them all that befell me, the oldest among them said to me, they had several times heard of the giants that dwelt in that island; that they were cannibals, and ate men raw as well as roasted. as to the serpents, they added, that there were abundance in the isle, that they hid themselves by day, and came abroad at night. after having testified their joy at my escaping so many dangers, they brought me the best of what they had to eat; and the captain, seeing that i was in rags, was so generous as to give me one of his own suits. we were at sea for some time, touched at several islands, and at last landed at that of salabat, where grows sanders, a wood of great use in physic. we entered the port, and came to anchor. the merchants began to unload their goods, in order to sell or exchange them. in the meantime the captain came to me, and said, brother, i have here a parcel of goods that belonged to a merchant, who sailed some time on board this ship; and he being dead, i design to dispose of them for the benefit of his heirs, when i know them. the bales he spoke of lay on the deck; and showing them to me, he says, there are the goods; i hope you will take care to sell them, and you shall have factorage. i thanked him for giving me an opportunity to employ myself, because i hated to be idle. the clerk of the ship took an account of all the bales, with the names of the merchants to whom they belonged; and when he asked the captain in whose name he should enter those he gave me the charge of, enter them, says the captain, in the name of sindbad the sailor. i could not hear myself named without some emotion; and looking steadfastly on the captain, i knew him to be the person who, in my second voyage, had left me in the island, where i fell asleep by a brook, and set sail without me, or sending to see for me. but i could not remember him at first, he being so much altered since i saw him. as for him, who believed me to be dead, i could not wonder at his not knowing me. but captain, says i, was the merchant's name, to whom those bales belonged, sindbad? yes, replies he, that was his name; he came from bagdad, and embarked on board my ship at balsora. one day when we landed at an island to take in water and other refreshments, i know not by what mistake, i set sail without observing that he did not re- embark with us; neither i nor the merchants perceived it till four hours after. we had the wind in our stern, and so fresh a gale, that it was not then possible for us to tack about for him. you believe him then to be dead, said i? certainly answered he. no, captain, said i; look upon me, and you may know that i am sindbad, whom you left in the desert island: i fell asleep by a brook, and, when i awaked, i found all the company gone. at these words the captain looked steadfastly upon me; and, having considered me attentively, knew me at last, embraced me, and said, god be praised that fortune has supplied my defect. there are your goods, which i always took care to preserve, and to make the best of them at every port where i touched. i restore them to you, with the profit i have made on them. i took them from him, and at the same time acknowledged how much i owed to him. from the isle of salabat we went to another, where i furnished myself with cloves, cinnamon, and other spices. as we sailed from the island, we saw a tortoise that was twenty cubits in length and breadth. we observed also a fish which looked like a crow, and gave milk, and its skin is so hard that they usually make bucklers of it. i saw another which had the shape and colour of a camel. in short, after a long voyage, i arrived at balsora, and from thence returned to this city of bagdad, with so great riches, that i knew not what i had. i gave a great deal to the poor, and added another great estate to those i had already. thus sindbad finished the history of his third voyage; gave another hundred sequins to hindbad, and invited him to dinner next day, to hear the history of his fourth voyage. hindbad and the company retired: and next day when they returned, sindbad, after dinner, continued the relation of his adventures. the fourth voyage of sindbad the sailor. the pleasure, says he, and the divertisements i took after my third voyage, had not charms enough to divert me from another. i was again prevailed upon by my passion for traffic, and curiosity to see new things. i therefore put my affairs in order, and having provided a stock of goods fit for the places i designed to trade, i set out on my journey. i took the way of persia, of which i travelled several provinces, and then arrived at a port, where i embarked. we set sail, and having touched at several ports of terra firma, and some of the eastern islands, we put out to sea, and were seized by such a sudden gust of wind, as obliged the captain to furl his sails, and to take all other necessary precautions, to prevent the danger that threatened us; but all was in vain; our endeavours took no effect; the sails were torn in a thousand pieces, and the ship was stranded, so that a great many of the merchants and seamen were drowned, and the cargo lost. i had the good fortune, with several of the merchants and mariners, to get a plank, and we were carried by the current to an island which lay before us. there we found fruit and fountain water, which preserved our lives. we staid all night near the place where the sea cast us ashore, without consulting what we should do, our misfortune having dispirited us so much. next morning, as soon as, the sun was up, we walked from the shore, and, advancing into the island, saw some houses to which we went; and as soon as we came thither, we were encompassed by a great number of blacks, who seized us, shared us amongst them, and carried us to their respective habitations. i, and five of my comrades, were carried to one place: they made us sit down immediately, and gave us a certain herb, which they made signs for us to eat. my comrades, not taking notice that the blacks ate none of it themselves, consulted only the satisfying their own hunger, and fell to eating with greediness. but i, suspecting some trick, would not so much as taste it, which happened well for me; for in a little time after i perceived my companions had lost their senses, and that when they spoke to me, they knew not what they said. the blacks filled us afterwards with rice, prepared with oil of cocoas; and my comrades, who had lost their reason, ate of it greedily. i ate of it also, but very sparingly. the blacks gave us that herb at first on purpose to deprive us of our senses, that we might not be aware of the sad destiny prepared for us; and they gave us rice on purpose to fatten us; for, being cannibals, their design was to eat us as soon as we grew fat. they accordingly ate my comrades, who were not sensible of their condition; but my senses being entire, you may easily guess, gentlemen, that instead of growing fat, like the rest, i grew leaner every day. the fear of death, under which i laboured, turned all my food into poison. i fell into a languishing distemper, which proved my safety; for the blacks having killed and eaten my companions, seeing me to be withered, lean, and sick, deferred my death till another time. meanwhile i had a great deal of liberty, so that there was scarcely any notice taken of what i did; and this gave me an opportunity one day to get at a distance from the houses, and to make my escape. an old man who saw me, and suspected my design, called to me as loud as he could to return; but, instead of obeying him, i redoubled my pace, and, quickly got out of sight. at that time there was none but an old man about the houses, the rest being abroad, and not to come home till night, which was pretty usual with them. therefore, being sure that they could not come time enough to pursue me, i went on till night, when i stopped to rest a little, and to eat some of the provisions i had taken care of; but i speedily set forward again, and travelled seven days, avoiding those places which seemed to be inhabited, and lived for the most part upon cocoa nuts, which served me both for meat and drink. on the eighth day i came near the sea, and saw all of a sudden white people like myself gathering pepper, of which there was great plenty in that place; this i took to be a good omen, and went to them without any scruple. the people who gathered pepper came to meet me, and, as soon as they saw me, asked me in arabic, who i was, and whence i came? i was overjoyed to hear them speak in my own language, and willingly satisfied their curiosity by giving them an account of my shipwreck, and how i fell into the hands of the blacks. those blacks, replied they, eat men; but by what miracle did you escape their cruelty? i told them the same story i now told you, at which they were wonderfully surprised. i staid with them till they had gathered their quantity of pepper, and then sailed with them to the island from whence they came. they presented me to their king, who was a good prince: he had the patience to hear the relation of my adventures, which surprised him; and he afterwards gave me clothes, and commanded care to be taken of me. the island was very well peopled, plentiful of everything, and the capital was a place of great trade. this agreeable place of retreat was very comfortable to me after my misfortune, and the kindness of this generous prince towards me completed my satisfaction. in a word, there was not a person more in favour with him than myself, and by consequence every man in court and city sought how to oblige me; so that in a very little time i was looked upon rather as a native than a stranger. i observed one thing which to me appeared very extraordinary; all the people, the king himself not excepted, rode their horses without bridles or stirrups. this made me one day take the liberty to ask the king how that came to pass. his majesty answered, that i talked to him of things which nobody knew the use of in his dominions. i went immediately to a workman, and gave him a model for making the stock of a saddle. when that was done, i covered it myself with velvet and leather, and embroidered it with gold. i afterwards went to a locksmith, who made me a bridle according to the pattern i showed him, and then he also made me some stirrups. when i had all things completed, i presented them to the king, and put them upon one of his horses. his majesty mounted immediately, and was so mightily pleased with them, that he testified his satisfaction by large presents to me. i could not avoid making several others for his ministers and principal officers of his household, who all of them made me presents that enriched me in a little time. i also made for the people of quality in the city, so that i gained great reputation and regard from everybody. as i made my court very exactly to the king, he says to me one day, sindbad, i love thee; and all my subjects, who know thee, treat thee according to my example. i have one thing to demand of thee, which thou must grant. sir, answered i, there is nothing but what i will do as a mark of my obedience to your majesty, whose power over me is absolute. i have a mind thou shouldst marry, replies he, that thou mayst stay in my dominions, and think no more of thy own country. i dared not resist the prince's will, and he gave me one of the ladies of his court, a noble, beautiful, chaste, and rich lady. the ceremonies of marriage being over, i went and dwelt with the lady, and for some time we lived in perfect harmony. i was not, however, very well satisfied with my condition, and therefore designed to make my escape on the first occasion, and to return to bagdad, winch my present establishment, however advantageous, could not make me forget. while i was thinking on this, the wife of one of my neighbours, with whom i had contracted a very strict friendship, fell sick and died. i went to see and comfort him in his affliction; and finding him swallowed up with sorrow, i said to him as soon as i saw him, god preserve you, and grant you a long life. alas! replies he, how do you think i should obtain that favour you wish me? i have not above an hour to live. pray, says i, do not entertain such a melancholy thought; i hope it will not be so, but that i shall enjoy your company for many years. i wish you, says he, a long life; but for me, my days are at an end, for i must be buried this day with my wife. this is a law which our ancestors established in this land, and always observed it inviolably. the living husband is interred with the dead wife, and the living wife with the dead husband. nothing can save me; every one must submit to this law. while he was entertaining me with an account of this barbarous custom, the very hearing of which frightened me cruelly, his kindred, friends, and neighbours, came in a body to assist at the funeral. they put on the corpse the woman's richest apparel, as if it had been her wedding-day, and dressed her with all her jewels; then they put her into an open coffin, and, lifting it up, began their march to the place of burial. the husband walked at the head of the company, and followed the corpse. they went up to an high mountain, and, when they came thither, took up a great stone, which covered the mouth of a very deep pit, and let down the corpse with all its apparel and jewels. then the husband, embracing his kindred and friends, suffered himself to be put into another open coffin without resistance, with a pot of water and seven little loaves, and was let down in the same manner as his wife. the mountain was pretty long, and reached to the sea. the ceremony being ever, they covered the hole again with the stone, and returned. it is needless, gentlemen, for me to tell you that i was the only melancholy spectator of this funeral; whereas the rest were scarcely moved at it, the thing being customary to them. i could not forbear speaking my thoughts of this matter to the king: sir, says i, i cannot enough admire the strange custom in this country of burying the living with the dead. i have been a great traveller, and seen many countries, but never heard of so cruel a law. what do you mean, sindbad? says the king; it is a common law. i shall be interred with the queen my wife, if she die first. but, sir, says i, may i presume to demand of your majesty, if strangers be obliged to observe this law? without doubt, replies the king, (smiling at the occasion of my question,) they are not exempted, if they be married in this island. i went home very melancholy at this answer, from fear of my wife dying first, and lest i should be interred alive with her, which occasioned me very mortifying reflections. but there was no remedy; i must have patience, and submit to the will of god. i trembled, however, at every little indisposition of my wife: but, alas! in a little time my fears came upon me all at once; for she fell sick, and died in a few days. you may judge of my sorrow: to be interred alive seemed to me as deplorable an end as to be devoured by cannibals. but i must submit; the king and all his court would honour the funeral with their presence, and the most considerable people of the city would do the like. when all was ready for the ceremony, the corpse was put into a coffin, with all the jewels and magnificent apparel. the cavalcade was begun; and, as second actor in this doleful tragedy, i went next the corpse, with my eyes full of tears, bewailing my deplorable fate. before i came to the mountain, i made an essay on the minds of the spectators; i addressed myself to the king in the first place, and then to all those who were round me, and, bowing before them to the earth to kiss the border of their garments, i prayed them to have compassion upon me. consider, said i, that i am a stranger, and ought not to be subject to this rigorous law, and that i have another wife and children in my own country[footnote: he was a mahometan, and this sect allows polygamy.]. it was to no purpose for me to speak thus, for no soul was moved at it; on the contrary, they made haste to let down my wife's corpse into the pit, and put me down the next moment in an open coffin, with a vessel full of water, and seven loaves. in short, the fatal ceremony being performed, they covered up the mouth of the pit, notwithstanding the excess of my grief, and my lamentable cries. as i came near the bottom, i discovered, by help of the little light that came from above, the nature of this subterraneous place; it was a vast long cave, and might be about fifty fathoms deep. i immediately felt an insufferable stench, proceeding from the multitude of dead corpses which i saw on the right and left; nay, i fancied that i heard some of them sigh out their last. however, when i got down, i immediately left my coffin, and getting at a distance from the corpse, held my nose, and lay down upon the ground, where i staid a long time, bathed in tears. then reflecting upon my sad lot, it is true, said i, that god disposes all things according to the decrees of his providence; but, poor sindbad, art not thou thyself the cause of being brought to die so strange a death? would to god thou hadst perished in some of those tempests which thou hast escaped; then thy death would not have been so lingering and terrible in all its circumstances. but thou hast drawn all this upon thyself by thy cursed avarice. ah, unfortunate wretch! shouldst thou not rather have staid at home, and quietly enjoyed the fruits of thy labour? such were the vain complaints with which i made the cave to echo, beating my head and stomach out of rage and despair, and abandoning myself to the most afflicting thoughts. nevertheless, i must tell you, that instead of calling death to my assistance in that miserable condition, i felt still an inclination to live, and to do all i could to prolong my days. i went groping about, with my nose stopped, for the bread and water that was in my coffin, and took some of it. though the darkness of the cave was so great that i could not distinguish day and night, yet i always found my coffin again, and the cave seemed to be more spacious and fuller of corpses than it appeared to be at first. i lived for some days upon my bread and water; which being all spent, at last i prepared for death. as i was thinking of death, i heard the stone lifted from the mouth of the cave, and immediately the corpse of a man was let down. when men are reduced to necessity, it is natural for them to come to extreme resolutions. while they let down the woman, i approached the place where her coffin was to be put, and as soon as i perceived they were covering the mouth of the cave, i gave the unfortunate wretch two or three great blows over the head with a large bone that i found; which stunned, or, to say the truth, killed her. i committed this horrid action merely for the sake of the bread and water that were in her coffin, and thus i had provisions for some days more. when that was spent, they let down another dead woman, and a living man; i killed the man in the same manner; and, as good luck would have it for me, there was then a sort of mortality in the town, so that by this means i did not want for provisions. one day, as i had despatched another woman, i heard something walking, and blowing or panting as it walked. i advanced towards that side from whence i heard the noise, and, upon my approach, the thing puffed and blew harder, as if it had been running away from me. i followed the noise, and the thing seemed to stop sometimes, but always fled and blew as i approached. i followed it so long and so far, that at last i perceived a light resembling a star: i went on towards the light, and sometimes lost sight of it, but always found it again; and at last discovered that it came through a hole in the rock, large enough for a man to get out at. upon this, i stopped for some time to rest myself, being much fatigued with pursuing this discovery so fast: afterwards coming up to the hole, i went out at it, and found my self upon the banks of the sea. i leave you to guess at the excess of my joy; it was such, that i could scarcely persuade myself of its being real. but when i recovered from my surprise, and was convinced of the truth of the matter, i found the thing which i had followed, and heard puff and blow, to be a creature which came out of the sea, and was accustomed to enter at that hole to feed upon the dead carcases. i considered the mountain, and perceived it to be situate betwixt the sea and the town, but without any passage or way to communicate with the latter, the rocks on the side of the sea being rugged and steep. i fell down upon the shore to thank god for his mercy, and afterwards entered the cave again to fetch bread and water, which i did by daylight, with a better appetite than i had done since my interment in the dark hole. i returned thither again, and groped about among the biers for all the diamonds, rubies, pearls, gold, bracelets, and rich stuffs i could find; these i brought to the shore, and tying them up neatly into bales with the cords that let down the coffins, i laid them together upon the bank, waiting till some ship passed by, without any fear of rain, for it was not then the season. after two or three days, i perceived a ship that had but just come out of the harbour, and passed near the place where i was. i made signs with the linen of my turban, and called to them as loud as i could: they heard me, and sent a boat to bring me on board. when the mariners asked by what misfortune i came thither, i told them that i suffered shipwreck two days ago, and made shift to get ashore with the goods they saw. it was happy for me that these people did not consider the place where i was, nor inquire into the probability of what i told them, but, without any more ado, took me on board with my goods. when i came to the ship, the captain was so well pleased to have saved me, and so much taken up with his own affairs, that he also took the story of my pretended shipwreck upon trust, and generously refused some jewels which i offered him. we passed by several islands, and, among others, that called the isle of bells, about ten days sail from serendib, with a regular wind, and six from that of kela, where we landed. this island produces lead mines, indian canes, and excellent camphire. the king of the isle of kela is very rich and potent, and the isle of bells[footnote: now ceylon.], which is about two days journey in extent, is also subject to him. the inhabitants are so barbarous, that they still eat human flesh. after we had finished our commerce in that island, we put to sea again, and touched at several other ports, and at last arrived happily at bagdad with infinite riches, of which it is needless to trouble you with the detail. out of thankfulness to god for his mercies, i gave great alms for the entertainment of several mosques, and for the subsistence of the poor, and employed myself wholly in enjoying my kindred and friends, making good cheer with them. here sindbad finished the relation of his fourth voyage, which was more surprising to the company than all the three former. he gave a new present of a hundred sequins to hindbad, whom he prayed to return next day at the same hour to dine with him, and to hear the story of his fifth voyage. hindbad and the rest of his guests took leave of him, and retired. next day, when all met, they sat down at table; and when dinner was over, sindbad began the relation of his fifth voyage. the fifth voyage of sindbad the sailor. the pleasures i enjoyed had charms enough again to make me forget all the troubles and calamities i had undergone, without curing me of my inclination to make new voyages; therefore i bought goods, ordered them to be packed and loaded, and set out with them for the best sea-ports; and there, that i might not be obliged to depend upon a captain, but have a ship at my own command, i staid till one was built on purpose at my own charge. when the ship was ready, i went on board with my goods; but, not having enough to load her, i took on board several merchants of different nations with their merchandise. we sailed with the first fair wind, and, after a long navigation, the first place we touched at was a desert island, where we found the egg of a roc, equal in bigness to that i formerly mentioned. there was a young roc in it just ready to be hatched, and the bill of it began to appear. the merchants whom i had taken on board my ship, and who landed with me, broke the egg with hatches, and made a hole in it, from whence they pulled out the young roc, piece after piece, and roasted it. i had earnestly dissuaded them from meddling with the egg, but they would not listen to me. scarcely had they made an end of their treat, when there appeared in the air, at a considerable distance from us, two great clouds. the captain, whom i hired to sail my ship, knowing by experience what it meant, cried that it was the he and the she roc that belonged to the young one, and pressed us to re-embark with all speed, to prevent the misfortune which he saw would otherwise befall us. we made haste to do so, and set sail with all possible diligence. in the mean time the two rocs approached with a frightful noise, which they redoubled when they saw the egg broken, and their young one gone. but, having a mind to avenge themselves, they flew back towards the place from whence they came; and disappeared for some time, while we made all the sail we could to prevent that which unhappily befell us. they returned, and we observed that each of them carried between their talons stones, or rather rocks, of a monstrous size. when they came directly over my ship, they hovered, and one of them let fall a stone; but, by the dexterity of the steersman, who turned the ship with the rudder, it missed us, and falling by the side of the ship into the sea, divided the water so that we could almost see to the bottom. the other roc, to our misfortune, threw the stone so exactly upon the middle of the ship, that it split it in a thousand pieces. the mariners and passengers were all killed by the stone, or sunk. i myself had the last fate; but as i came up again, i caught hold, by good fortune, of a piece of the wreck; and swimming sometimes with one hand, and sometimes with the other, but always holding fast my board, the wind and the tide being for me, i came to an island whose banks were very steep; i overcame that difficulty, however, and got ashore. i sat down upon the grass to recover myself a little from my fatigue, after which i got up, and went into the island to view it. it seemed to be a delicious garden. i found trees everywhere, some of them bearing green, and others ripe fruits, and streams of fresh pure water, with pleasant windings and turnings. i ate the fruits, which i found excellent, and drank of the water, which was very pleasant. night being come, i lay down upon the grass, in a place convenient enough; but i could not sleep an hour at a time, my mind being disturbed with the fear of being alone in so desert a place. thus i spent the best part of the night in fretting and reproaching myself for my imprudence in not staying at home, rather than undertake this last voyage. these reflections carried me so far, that i began to form a design against my own life; but daylight dispersed those melancholy thoughts, and i got up and walked among the trees, but not without apprehensions of danger. when i was a little advanced into the island, i saw an old man, who seemed very weak and feeble. he sat upon the banks of a stream, and at first i took him to be one who had been shipwrecked like myself. i went towards him, and saluted him; but he only bowed his head a little. i asked him what he did there; but instead of answering me, he made a sign for me to take him upon my back, and carry him over the brook, signifying that it was to gather fruit. i believed him really to stand in need of help; so i took him upon my back, and having carried him over, bid him get down, and, for that end, stooped, that he might get off with ease; but, instead of that, he, who to me appeared very decrepit, clasped his legs nimbly about my neck, when i perceived his skin to be like that of a cow. he sat astride me upon my shoulders, and held my throat so strait, that i thought he would have strangled me, the fright of which made me faint away and fall down. notwithstanding my fainting, the ill-natured old fellow kept fast about my neck, but opened his legs a little to give me some time to recover my breath. when i had done so, he thrust one of his feet against my stomach, and struck me so rudely on the side with the other, that he forced me to rise up against my will. having got up, he made me walk up under the trees, and forced me now and then to stop to gather and eat such fruits as we found. he never left me all day; and when i lay down to rest me by night, he laid himself down by me, holding always fast about my neck. every morning he pushed me to make me awake; and afterwards obliged me to get up and walk, and pressed me with his feet. you may judge then, gentlemen, what trouble i was in, to be charged with such a burden as i could no ways rid myself from. one day i found in my way several dry calabashes that had fallen from a tree: i took a large one, and, after cleaning it, pressed into it some juice of grapes, which abounded in the island; having filled the calabash, i set it in a convenient place, and, coming hither again some days after, i took up the calabash, and, setting it to my mouth, found the wine to be so good, that it made me presently not only forget my sorrow, but i grew vigorous, and was so light-hearted, that i began to sing and dance as i walked along. the old man, perceiving the effect which this drink had upon me, and that i carried him with more ease than i did before, made a sign for me to give him the calabash; and the liquor pleasing his palate, he drank it all off. there being enough of it to stupify him, he became drunk immediately; and the fumes getting into his head, he began to sing after his manner, and to dance with his breech upon my shoulders. his jolting made him vomit, and he loosened his legs from me by degrees; so that, finding he did not press me as before, i threw him upon the ground, where he lay without motion, when i took up a great stone, with which i crushed his head to pieces. i was extremely rejoiced to be freed thus for ever from this cursed old fellow, and walked upon the bank of the sea, where i met the crew of a ship that had cast anchor to take in water and refresh themselves. they were extremely surprised to see me, and to hear the particulars of my adventures. you fell, said they, into the hands of the old man of the sea, and are the first that ever escaped strangling by him. he never left those he had once made himself master of till he destroyed them; and he has made this island famous by the number of men he has slain, so that the merchants and mariners who landed upon it dared not to advance into the island but in numbers together. after having informed me of those things, they carried me with them to the ship; the captain received me with great satisfaction when they told him what had befallen me. he put out again to sea; and, after some days sail, we arrived at the harbour of a great city, the houses of which were built with good stone. one of the merchants of the ship, who had taken me into his friendship, obliged me to go along with him, and carried me to a place appointed as a retreat for foreign merchants. he gave me a great bag, and having recommended me to some people of the town who used to gather cocoas, he desired them to take me with them to do the like. go, says he, follow them, and do as you see them do, and do not separate from them, otherwise you endanger your life. having thus spoken, he gave me provisions for the journey, and i went with them. we came to a great forest of trees, extremely straight and tall, the trunks of which were so smooth that it was not possible for any man to climb up the branches that bore the fruit. all the trees were cocoa ones; and when we entered the forest, we saw a great number of apes of several sizes, that fled as soon as they perceived us, climbing up to the tops of the trees with surprising swiftness. the merchants with whom i was, gathered stones, and threw them at the apes on the tops of the trees. i did the same, and the apes, out of revenge, threw cocoa nuts at us so fast, and with such gestures, as sufficiently testified their anger and resentment: we gathered up the cocoas, and from time to time threw stones to provoke the apes; so that, by this stratagem, we filled our bags with cocoa nuts, which it had been impossible for us to have done otherwise. when we had gathered our number, we returned to the city, where the merchant who sent me to the forest gave me the value of the cocoas i brought: go on, says he, and do the like every day, until you have got money enough to carry you home. i thanked him for his good advice, and insensibly gathered together as many cocoas as amounted to a considerable sum. the vessel in which i arrived sailed with the merchants, who loaded her with cocoas. i expected the arrival of another, which landed speedily for the like loading. i embarked on board the same all the cocoas that belonged to me, and when she was ready to sail, i went and took leave of the merchant who had been so kind to me; but he could not embark with me, because he had not finished his affairs. we set sail towards those islands where pepper grows in great plenty. from thence we went to the isle of comari[footnote: this island, or peninsula, ends at the cape which we now call cape comorin. it is also called comar and comor.], where the best kind of wood of aloes grows, and whose inhabitants have made it an inviolable law to themselves to drink no wine, nor to suffer any place of debauch. i exchanged my cocoas in these two islands for pepper and wood of aloes, and went with other merchants a pearl-fishing. i hired divers, who fetched me up those that were very large and pure. i embarked joyfully in a vessel that happily arrived at balsora; from thence i returned to bagdad, where i made vast sums of my pepper, wood of aloes, and pearls. i gave the tenth of my gains in alms, as i had done upon my return from other voyages, and endeavoured to ease myself from my fatigues by diversions of all sorts. when sindbad had finished his story, he ordered one hundred sequins to hindbad, who retired with all the other guests; but next day the same company returned to dine with rich sindbad, who, after having treated them as formerly, demanded audience, and gave the following account of his sixth voyage. the sixth voyage of sindbad the sailor. gentlemen, says he, you long, without doubt, to know how, after being shipwrecked five times, and escaping so many dangers, i could resolve again to try my fortune, and expose myself to new hardships. i am astonished at it myself when i think on it, and must certainly have been induced to it by my stars. but, be that as it will, after a year's rest i prepared for a sixth voyage, notwithstanding the prayers of my kindred and friends, who did all that was possible to prevent me. instead of taking my way by the persian gulph, i travelled once more through several provinces of persia and the indies, and arrived at a sea-port, where i embarked on board a ship, the captain of which was resolved on a long voyage. it was very long, indeed, but at the same time so unfortunate, that the captain and pilot lost their course, so that they knew not where they were. they found it at last, but we had no ground to rejoice. we were all seized with extraordinary fear, when we saw the captain quit his post, and cry out. he threw off his turban, pulled the hair off his beard, and beat his head like a madman. we asked him the reason, and he answered, that he was in the most dangerous place in all the sea: a rapid current carries the ship along with it, and we shall all perish in less than a quarter of an hour. pray to god to deliver us from this danger; we cannot escape it, if he do not take pity on us. at these words he ordered the sails to be changed; but all the ropes broke, and the ship, without any possibility of helping it, was carried by the current to the foot of an inaccessible mountain, where she was run ashore, and broken to pieces, yet so as we saved our lives, our provisions, and the best of our goods. this being over, the captain says to us, god has now done what he pleased; we may every man dig our grave here, and bid the world adieu; for we are all in so fatal a place, that none shipwrecked here did ever return to their homes again. his discourse afflicted us mortally, and we embraced one another with tears in our eyes, bewailing our deplorable lot. the mountain at the foot of which we were cast, was the coast of a very long and large island. this coast was covered over with wrecks: and, by the vast number of men's bones we saw every where, and which filled us with horror, we concluded that abundance of people had died there. it is also incredible to tell what a quantity of goods and riches we found cast ashore there. all those objects served only to augment our grief. while, in all other places, rivers run from their channels into the sea, here a great river of fresh water runs out of the sea into a dark cave, whose entrance is very high and large. what is most remarkable in this place is, that the stones of the mountain are of crystal, rubies, or other precious stones. here also is a sort of fountain of pitch or bitumen that runs into the sea, which the fishes swallow, and then vomit up again turned into ambergris; this the waves throw upon the beach in great quantities. here grow also trees, most of which are wood of aloes, equal to those of comari. to finish the description of this place, which may well be called the gulph, as nothing ever returns from it, it is not possible for ships to get off from it, when once they come within ft certain distance of it. if they be driven thither by a wind from the sea, the wind and the current ruin them; and if they come into it when a land wind blows, which might seem to favour their getting out again, the height of the mountain stops the wind, and occasions a calm, so that the force of the current drives them ashore, where they are broken in pieces, as ours was; and what completes the misfortune, there is no possibility of getting to the top of the mountain, or getting out in any manner of way. we continued upon the shore like men out of their senses, and expected death every day. at first we divided our provisions as equally as we could, so that every one lived a longer or shorter time, according to his temperance, and the use he made of his provisions. those who died first were interred by the rest; and for my part, i paid the last duty to all my companions. nor need you wonder at this; for, besides that i husbanded the provision that fell to my share better than they, i had provisions of my own which i did not share with my comrades; yet, when i buried the last, i had so little remaining, that i thought it could not hold out long: so i dug a grave, resolving to lie down in it, because there was none left alive to inter me. i must confess to you, at the same time, that, while i was thus employed, i could not but reflect upon myself as the cause of my own ruin, and repented that i had ever undertaken this last voyage. nor did i stop at reflections only, but had well nigh hastened my own death, and began to tear my hands with my teeth. but it pleased god once more to take compassion on me, and put it in my mind to go to the bank of the river which ran into the great cave, where, considering the river with great attention, i said to myself, this river, which runs thus under the ground, must come out somewhere or other. if i make a float, and leave myself to the current, it will bring me to some inhabited country, or drown me. if i be drowned, i lose nothing, but only change one kind of death for another; and if i get out of this fatal place, i shall not only avoid the fate of my comrades, but perhaps find some new occasion of enriching myself. who knows but fortune waits, upon my getting off this dangerous shelve, to compensate my shipwreck with usury? after this, i immediately went to work on a float. i made it of good large pieces of timber and cables, for i had choice of them, and tied them together so strong, that i had made a very solid little float. when i had finished it, i loaded it with some bales of rubies, emeralds, ambergris, rock crystal, and rich stuffs. having balanced all my cargo exactly, and fastened them well to the float. i went on board it with two little oars that i had made: and leaving it to the course of the river, i resigned myself to the will of god. as soon as i came into the cave, i lost all light, and the stream carried me i knew not whither. thus i sailed some days in perfect darkness, and once found the arch so low, that it almost broke my head, which made me very cautious afterwards to avoid the like danger. all this while i ate nothing but what was just necessary to support nature; yet, notwithstanding this frugality, all my provisions were spent. then a pleasant sleep seized upon me: i cannot tell how long it continued; but when i awaked, i was surprised to find myself in the middle of a vast country, on the brink of a river, where my float was tied amidst a great number of negroes. i got up as soon as i saw them, and saluted them. they spoke to me, but i did not understand their language. i was so transported with joy, that i knew not whether i was asleep or awake; but being persuaded that i was not asleep, i recited the following words in arabic aloud: call upon the almighty, and he will help thee; thou needest not perplex thyself about any thing else; shut thine eyes, and, while thou art asleep, god will change thy bad fortune into good. one of the blacks who understood arabic, hearing me speak thus, came towards me, and said, brother, do not be surprised at us: we are inhabitants of this country, and came hither to day to water our fields, by digging little canals from this river, which comes out of the neighbouring mountain. we perceived something floating upon the water, went speedily to see what it was, and perceiving your float, one of us swam into the river, and brought it hither, where we fastened it as you see until you should awake. pray tell us your history, for it must be extraordinary; how did you venture yourself into this river, and whence did you come? i begged of them first to give me something to eat, and then i would satisfy their curiosity. they gave me several sorts of food; and when i had satisfied my hunger, i gave them a true account of all that had befallen me, which they listened to with admiration. as soon as i had finished my discourse, they told me, by the person who spoke arabic, and interpreted to them what i said, that it was one of the most surprising stories they ever heard, and that i must go along with them, and tell it to their king myself; for the thing was too extraordinary to be told by any other than the person to whom it happened. i told them i was ready to do whatever they pleased. they immediately sent for a horse, which was brought them in a little time; and having made me get up upon him, some of them walked before me to show me the way, and the rest took my float and cargo, and followed me. we marched thus all together, till we came to the city of serendib, for it was in that island where i landed. the blacks presented me to their king. i approached his throne, and saluted him as i used to do the kings of the indies; that is to say, i prostrated myself at his feet, and kissed the earth. the prince ordered me to rise up, received me with an obliging air, and made me come and sit down near him. he first asked me my name: i answered, they call me sindbad the sailor, because of the many voyages i had undertaken; and that i was a citizen of bagdad. but, replies he, how came you into my dominions, and from whence came you last? i concealed nothing from the king; i told him all that i have now told you; and his majesty was so surprised and charmed with it, that he commanded my adventures to be written in letters of gold, and laid up in the archives of the kingdom. at last my float was brought to him, and the bales opened in his presence; he admired the quantity of wood of aloes and ambergris, but, above all, the rubies and emeralds; for he had none in his treasury that came near them. observing that he looked on my jewels with pleasure, and viewed the most remarkable among them one after another, i fell prostrate at his feet, and took the liberty to say to him, sir, not only my person is at your majesty's service, but the cargo of the float, and i would beg of you to dispose of it as your own. he answered me with a smile, sindbad, i will take care not to covet any thing of yours, nor to take any thing from you that god has given you; far from lessening your wealth, i design to augment it, and will not let you go out of my dominions without marks of my liberality. all the answer i returned was by praying for the prosperity of the prince, and commendations of his generosity and bounty. he charged one of his officers to take care of me, and ordered people to serve me at his own charge. the officer was very faithful in the execution of his orders, and made all the goods to be carried to the lodgings provided for me. i went every day at a set hour to make my court to the king, and spent the rest of my time in seeing the city, and what was most worthy of my curiosity. the isle of serendib[footnote: geographers place it on this side of the line, in the first climate.] is situate just under the equinoctial line; so that the days and nights there are always twelve hours each, and the island is eighty[footnote: the eastern geographers make a parasang longer than a french league.] parasangs in length, and as many in breadth. the capital city stands in the middle of a fine valley formed by a mountain, in the middle of the island, which is the highest in the world. it is seen three days sail off at sea. there are rubies and several sorts of minerals in it, and all the rocks for the most part emerald, a metal line stone made use of to cut and smooth other precious stones. here grow all kinds of rare plants and trees, especially cedars and cocoas. there is also pearl-fishing in the mouth of its river, and in some of its vallies there are found diamonds. i made, by way of devotion, a pilgrimage to the place where adam was confined after his banishment from paradise, and had the curiosity to go to the top of it. when i came back to the city, i prayed the king to allow me to return to my country, which he granted me in the most obliging and honourable manner. he would needs force a rich present upon me; and when i went to take leave of him, he gave me one much more considerable, at the same time charging me with a letter for the commander of the faithful, our sovereign, and said, i pray you give this present from me, and this letter, to caliph haroun alraschid, and assure him of my friendship. i took the present and letter in a very respectful manner, and promised his majesty punctually to execute the commission with which he was pleased to honour me. before i embarked, this prince sent to seek for the captain and the merchants who were to go with me, and ordered them to treat me with all possible respect. the letter from the king of serendib was written on the skin of a certain animal of great value, because of its being so scarce, and of a yellowish colour. the characters of this letter were of azure, and the contents thus: "the king of the indies, before whom march elephants, who lives in a palace that shines with , rubies, and who has in his treasury , crowns enriched with diamonds, to caliph haroun alraschid. though the present which we send you be inconsiderable, receive it, as a brother and a friend, in consideration of the hearty friendship which we bear you, and of which we are willing to give you proof. we desire the same part in your friendship, considering that we believe it to be our merit, being of the same dignity with yourself. we conjure you thus in the quality of a brother. adieu." the present consisted, in the first place, of one single ruby made into a cup, about half a foot high, an inch thick, and filled with round pearls of half a dram each. . of the skin of a serpent, whose scales were as large as an ordinary piece of gold, and had the virtue to preserve from sickness those who lay upon it. . in , drams of the best wood of aloes, with grains of camphire as big as pistachios. and, . a female slave of ravishing beauty, whose apparel was covered with jewels. the ship set sail, and, after a very long and successful navigation, we landed at balsora, from whence i went to bagdad, where the first thing i did was to acquit myself of my commission. i took the king of serendib's letter, continued sindbad, and went to present myself at the gate of the commander of the faithful, followed by the beautiful slave, and such of my own family as carried the presents. i gave an account of the reason of my coming, and was immediately conducted to the throne of the caliph. i made my reverence by prostration, and, after a short speech, gave him the letter and present. when he had read what the king of serendib wrote to him, he asked me if that prince was really so rich and potent as he had said in his letter? i prostrated myself a second time, and rising again, commander of the faithful, says i, i can assure your majesty he does not exceed the truth on that head; i am witness of it. there is nothing more capable of raising a man's admiration than the magnificence of his palace. when the prince appears in public, he has a throne fixed on the back of an elephant, and marches betwixt two ranks of his ministers, favourites, and other people of his court: before him, upon the same elephant, an officer carries a golden lance in his hand; and behind the throne there is another, who stands upright, with a column of gold, on the top of which there is an emerald half a foot long, and an inch thick; before him there marches a guard of one thousand men clad in cloth of gold and silk, and mounted on elephants richly caparisoned. while the king is on his march, the officer who is before him on the same elephant cries, from time to time, with a loud voice, behold the great monarch, the potent and redoubtable sultan of the indies, whose palace is covered with , rubies, and who possesses , crowns of diamonds. behold the crowned monarch, greater than the great solima[footnote: solomon.] and the great mihrage[footnote: an ancient king of a great island, of the same name, in the indies, and much famed among the arabians for his power and wisdom.]. after he has pronounced these words, the officer behind the throne cries in his turn, this monarch, so great and so powerful, must die, must die, must die. and the officer before replies, praise be to him that lives for ever. further, the king of serendib is so just, that there are no judges in his dominions; his people have no need of them; they understand and observe justice exactly of themselves. the caliph was much pleased with my discourse. the wisdom of that king, says he, appears in his letter; and, after what you tell me, i must confess that his wisdom is worthy of his people, and his people deserve so wise a prince. having spoken thus, he discharged me, and sent me home with a rich present. sindbad left off speaking, and his company retired, hindbad having first received one hundred sequins; and next day they returned to hear the relation of his seventh and last voyage. the seventh and last voyage of sindbad the sailor. being returned from my sixth voyage, i absolutely laid aside all thoughts of travelling any further. for, besides that my years did now require rest, i was resolved no more to expose myself to such risks as i had run: so that i thought of nothing but to pass the rest of my days in quiet. one day, as i was treating some of my friends, one of my servants came and told me that an officer of the caliph asked for me. i rose from the table, and went to him. the caliph, says he, has sent me to tell you that he must speak with you. i followed the officer to the palace; where being presented to the caliph, i saluted him by prostrating myself at his feet. sindbad, says he to me, i stand in need of you; you must do me the service to carry my answer and present to the king of serendib. it is but just i should return his civility. this command of the caliph to me was like a clap of thunder. commander of the faithful, replied i, i am ready to do whatever your majesty shall think fit to command me; but i beseech you most humbly to consider what i have undergone; i have also made a vow never to go out of bagdad. hence i took occasion to give him a large and particular account of all my adventures, which he had the patience to hear out. as soon as i had finished, i confess, says he, that the things you tell me are very extraordinary, yet you must, for my sake, undertake this voyage which i propose to you. you have nothing to do but to go to the isle of serendib, and deliver the commission which i give you; after that, you are at liberty to return. but you must go; for you know it would be indecent, and not suitable to my dignity, to be indebted to the king of the island. perceiving that the caliph insisted upon it, i submitted, and told him that i was willing to obey. he was very well pleased at it, and ordered me a thousand sequins for the charge of my journey. i prepared for my departure in a few days; and as soon as the caliph's letter and present were delivered to me, i went to balsora, where i embarked, and had a very happy voyage. i arrived at the isle of serendib, where i acquainted the king's ministers with my commission, and prayed them to get me a speedy audience. they did so, and i was conducted to the palace in an honourable manner, where i saluted the king by prostration, according to custom. the prince knew me immediately, and testified very great joy to see me. o sindbad, says he, you are welcome; i swear to you i have many times thought of you since you went hence. i bless the day upon which we see one another once more. i made my compliment to him; and, after having thanked him for his kindness to me, i delivered him the caliph's letter and present, which he received with all imaginable satisfaction. the caliph's present was a complete set of cloth of gold, valued at a thousand sequins; fifty robes of rich stuff, a hundred others of white cloth, the finest of cairo, suez[footnote: a port on the red sea.], cusa[footnote: a town of arabia.], and alexandria; a royal crimson bed, with a second of another fashion; a vessel of agate, broader than deep, of an inch thick, and half a foot wide, the bottom of which represented, in bass- relief, a man with one knee on the ground, who held a bow and arrow, ready to let fly at a lion. he sent him also a rich table, which, according to tradition, belonged to the great solomon. the caliph's letter was as follows: "greeting, in the name of the sovereign guide of the right way, to the potent and happy sultan from abdallah haroun alraschid, whom god hath set in the place of honour after his ancestors of happy memory. we received your letter with joy, and send you this from the council of our port, the garden of superior wits. we hope, when you look upon it, you will find our good intention, and be pleased with it. adieu." the king of serendib was mightily pleased that the caliph answered his friendship. a little time after this audience, i solicited leave to depart, and obtained the same with much difficulty. i got it, however, at last; and the king, when he discharged me, made me a very considerable present. i embarked immediately to return to bagdad, but had not the good fortune to arrive there as i hoped. god ordered it otherwise; for, three or four days after my departure, we were attacked by corsairs, who easily seized upon our ship, because it was no vessel of force. some of the crew offered resistance, which cost them their lives. but for me and the rest, who were not so imprudent, the corsairs saved us on purpose to make slaves of us. we were all stripped; and, instead of our own clothes, they gave us sorry rags, and carried us into a remote island, where they sold us. i fell into the hands of a rich merchant, who, as soon as he bought me, carried me to his house, treated me well, and clad me handsomely for a slave. some days after, not knowing who i was, he asked me if i knew any trade? i answered, that i was no mechanic, but a merchant; and that the corsairs, who sold me, robbed me of all i had. but tell me, replies he, can you shoot with a bow? i answered, that the bow was one of the exercises of my youth, and i had not forgotten it. then he gave me a bow and arrows, and taking me behind him upon an elephant, carried me to a vast forest some leagues from the town. we went a great way into the forest, and when he thought to stop, he bid me alight: then showing me a great tree, climb up that tree, says he, and shoot at the elephants as you see them pass by; for there is a prodigious number of them in this forest, and if any of them fall, come and give me notice of it. having spoken thus, he left me victuals, and returned to the town and i continued upon the tree all night, during which i saw no elephants, but next morning, as soon as the sun was up, i saw a great number; i shot several arrows among them, and at last one of the elephants fell; the rest retired immediately, and left me at liberty to go and acquaint my patron with my booty. when i had told him the news, he gave me a good, meal, commended my dexterity, and caressed me mightily. we went afterwards together to the forest, where we dug a hole for the elephant; my patron designing to return when it was rotten, and to take his teeth, &c. to trade with. i continued this game for two months, and killed an elephant every day, getting sometimes upon one tree, sometimes upon another. one morning, as i looked for the elephants, i perceived, with extreme amazement, that, instead of passing by me across the forest, as usual, they stopped, and came to me, with a horrible noise, in such a number that the earth was covered with them, and shook under them. they encompassed the tree where i was, with their trunks extended, and their eyes all fixed upon me. at this frightful spectacle i continued immovable, and was so much frightened, that my bow and arrows fell out of my hands. my fears were not vain; for, after the elephants had stared upon me some time, one of the largest of them put his trunk round the root of the tree, and pulled so strong, that he plucked it up, and threw it on the ground: i fell with the tree, and the elephant, taking me up with his trunk, laid me on his back, where i sat more like one dead than alive, with my quiver on my shoulder. he put himself afterwards at the head of the rest, who followed him in troops, and carried me to a place where he laid me down on the ground, and retired with all his companions. conceive, if you can, the condition i was in: i thought myself to be in a dream; at last, after having lain some time, and seeing the elephants gone, i got up, and found i was upon a long and broad hill, covered all over with the bones and teeth of elephants. i confess to you that this object furnished me with abundance of reflections. i admired the instinct of those animals; i doubted not but that was their burying-place, and they carried me thither on purpose to tell me that i should forbear to persecute them, since i did it only for their teeth. i did not stay on the hill, but turned towards the city, and, after having travelled a day and a night, i came to my patron. i met no elephant in my way, which made me think they had retired further into the forest, to leave me at liberty to come back to the hill without any obstacle. as soon as my patron saw me, ah, poor sindbad, says he, i was in great trouble to know what was become of you. i have been at the forest, where i found a tree newly pulled up, and a bow and arrows on the ground; and, after having sought for you in vain, i despaired of ever seeing you more. pray tell me what befel you, and by what good hap thou art still alive. i satisfied his curiosity; and going both of us next morning to the hill, he found, to his great joy, that what i had told him was true. we loaded the elephant upon which we came with as many teeth as he could carry; and when we were returned, brother, says my patron, (for i will treat you no more as a slave, after having made such a discovery as will enrich me,) god bless you with all happiness and prosperity. i declare before him, that i give you your liberty. i concealed from you what i am now going to tell you. the elephants of our forest have every year killed us a great many slaves whom we sent to seek ivory. for all the cautions we gave them, these crafty animals killed them one time or other. god has delivered you from their fury, and has bestowed that favour upon you only. it is a sign that he loves you, and has use for your services in the world. you have procured me incredible gain. we could not have ivory formerly, but by exposing the lives of our slaves; and now our whole city is enriched by your means. do not think i pretend to have rewarded you by giving you liberty; i will also give you considerable riches. i could engage all our city to contribute towards making your fortune, but will have the glory of doing it myself. to this obliging discourse, i replied, patron, god preserve you. your giving me liberty is enough to discharge what you owe me; and i desire no other reward for the service i have had the good fortune to do to you and your city, but leave to return to my own country. very well, says he, the mocon [footnote: a regular wind that comes six months from the east, and as many from the west.] will in a little time bring ships for ivory. i will send you home then, and give you wherewith to bear your charges. i thanked him for my liberty, and his good intention towards me. i staid with him, expecting the mocon; and during that time we made so many journies to the hill, that we filled our warehouses with ivory. the other merchants, who traded in it, did the same thing, for it could not be long concealed from them. the ships arrived at last, and my patron himself, having made choice of the ship wherein i was to embark, loaded half of it with ivory on my account; he laid in provisions in abundance for my passage; and besides obliged me to accept a present of the curiosities of the country, of great value. after i had returned him a thousand thanks for all his favours, i went on board. we set sail; and as the adventure which procured me this liberty was very extraordinary, i had it continually in my thoughts. we stopped at some islands to take in fresh provisions; our vessel being come to a port on the terra firma in the indies, we touched there, and not being willing to venture by sea to balsora, i landed my proportion of the ivory, resolving to proceed on my journey by land. i made vast sums of my ivory, bought several rarities which i intended for presents, and, when my equipage was got ready, i set out in company with a large caravan of merchants. i was a long time on the way, and suffered very much; but endured all with patience, when i considered that i had nothing to fear from the seas, from pirates, from serpents, nor of the other perils i had undergone. all these fatigues, however, ended at last, and i came safe to bagdad. i went immediately to call upon the caliph, and gave him an account of my embassy. that prince told me he had been uneasy because i was so long of returning, but he always hoped god would preserve me. when i told him the adventure of the elephants, he seemed to be much surprised at it, and would never have given any credit to it, had he not known my sincerity. he reckoned this story, and the other relations i had given him, to be so curious, that he ordered one of his secretaries to write them in characters of gold, and lay them up in his treasury. i retired very well satisfied with the honours i had received, and the presents which he gave me; and after that i gave myself up wholly to my family, kindred, and friends. sindbad here finished the relation of his seventh and last voyage; and then addressing himself to hindbad, well, friend, says he, did you ever hear of any person that suffered so much as i have done, or of any mortal that has gone through so many perplexities? is it not reasonable, that, after all this, i should enjoy a quiet and pleasant life? as he said this, hindbad drew near to him, and, kissing his hand, said, i must acknowledge, sir, that you have gone through terrible dangers; my troubles are not comparable to yours; if they afflict me for a time, i comfort myself with the thoughts of the profit i get by them. you not only deserve a quiet life, but are worthy besides of all the riches you enjoy, because you make such a good use of them. may you therefore continue to live in happiness and joy till the day of your death. sindbad gave him a hundred sequins more, received him into the number of his friends, and desired him to quit his porter's employment, and come and dine every day with him, that he might all his days have reason to remember sindbad the sailor. scheherazade, perceiving it was not yet day, continued her discourse, and began another story. the three apples. sir, said she, i have already had the honour to entertain your majesty with a ramble which the caliph haroun alraschid made one night from his palace; i will give you an account of one more. this prince one day commanded the grand vizier giafar to come to his palace the night following. vizier, says he, i will take a walk round the town, to inform myself what people say, and particularly how they are pleased with my officers of justice. if there be any against whom they have reason of just complaint, we will turn them out, and put others in their stead, who may officiate better: if, on the contrary, there be any that have gained their applause, we will have that esteem for them which they deserve. the grand vizier being come to the palace at the hour appointed, the caliph, he, and mesrour the chief of the eunuchs, disguised themselves so as they could not be known, and went out ail together. they passed through several places, and by several markets; and as they entered a small street, they perceived, by the light of the moon, a tall man, with a white beard, who carried nets on his head; he had a folding basket of palm leaves on his arm, and a club in his hand. this old man, says the caliph, does not seem to be rich; let us go to him, and inquire into his circumstances. honest man, said the vizier, who art thou? the old man replied, sir, i am a fisher, but one of the poorest and most miserable of the trade; i went from my house about noon to go a-fishing, and from that time to this i have not been able to catch one fish; at the same time i have a wife and small children, and nothing to maintain them. the caliph, moved with compassion, says to the fisherman, hast thou the courage to go back and cast thy nets once more? we will give thee a hundred sequins for what thou shall bring up. at this proposal, the fisherman, forgetting all his day's toil, took the caliph at his word, and with him, giafar, and mesrour, returned to the tigris; he saying to himself, these gentlemen seem to be too honest and reasonable not to reward my pains; and if they give me the hundredth part of what they promise me, it will be a great deal. they came to the bank of the river; and the fisherman throwing in his net, when he drew it again, brought up a trunk close shut, and very heavy. the caliph made the grand vizier pay him a hundred sequins immediately, and sent him away. mesrour, by his master's order, carried the trunk on his shoulder; and the caliph was so very eager to know what was in it, that he returned to the palace with all speed. when the trunk was opened, they found in it a large basket made of palm leaves, shut up, and the covering of it sewed with red thread. to satisfy the caliph's impatience, they would not take time to unrip it, but cut the thread with a knife, and they took out of the basket a bundle wrapt up in a sorry piece of hanging, and bound round with a rope, which being untied, and the bundle opened, they found, to their great amazement, the corpse of a young lady, whiter than snow, all cut in pieces. your majesty may imagine, a great deal better than i am able to express the astonishment of the caliph at this dreadful spectacle. his surprise was instantly changed into passion, and darting an angry look at the vizier, ah! thou wretch, said he, is this your inspection into the actions of my people? do they commit such impious murders under thy ministry in my capital city, and throw my subjects into the tigris, that they may cry for vengeance against me at the day of judgment? if thou dost not speedily revenge the murder of this woman, by the death of her murderer, i swear by heaven, that i will cause thee to be hanged, and forty more of thy kindred. commander of the faithful, replied the grand vizier, i beg your majesty to grant me time to make inquiry. i will allow thee no more, said the caliph, than three days; therefore thou must look to it. the vizier giafar went home in great confusion of mind. alas, said he, how is it possible that, in such a vast and populous city as bagdad, i should be able to detect a murderer, who undoubtedly committed the crime without witness, and perhaps may be already gone from hence? any other person but me would take some wretched person out of prison, and cause him to die, to satisfy the caliph; but i will not burden my conscience with such a barbarous action; i will rather die than save my life at this rate. he ordered the officers of police and justice to make strict search for the criminal: they sent their servants about, and they themselves were not idle, for they were no less concerned in this matter than the vizier. but all their endeavours turned to nothing; what pains soever they took, they could not find out the murderer; so that the vizier concluded his life to be gone, unless some remarkable providence hindered it. the third day being come, an officer came to this unfortunate minister with a summons to follow him, which the vizier obeyed. the caliph asked him for the murderer. he answered, with tears in his eyes, commander of the faithful, i have not found any person that could give me the least account of him. the caliph, full of fury and rage, gave him many reproachful words, and ordered that he and forty bermecides[footnote: the bermecides were a family come out of persia, and of them the grand vizier was descended.] more should be hanged up at the gate of the palace. in the mean while the gibbets were preparing, and orders were sent to seize forty bermecides more in their houses; a public crier was sent about the city to cry thus, by the caliph's order, those who have a desire to see the grand vizier giafar hanged, and forty more bermecides of his kindred, let them come to the square before the palace. when all things were ready, the judge criminal, and a great many officers belonging to the palace, brought out the grand vizier with forty bermecides, and set each of them at the foot of the gibbet designed for them, and a rope was put about each of their necks. the multitude of people that filled the square could not, without grief and tears, behold this tragical sight; for the grand vizier and the bermecides were loved and honoured on account of their probity, bounty, and impartiality, not only in bagdad, but through all the dominions of the caliph. nothing could prevent the execution of this prince's too severe and irrevocable sentence; and the lives of the most honest people in the city were just going to be taken away, when a young man, of handsome mien and good apparel, pressed through the crowd till he came to the place where the grand vizier was; and after he had kissed his hand, said, most excellent vizier, chief of the emirs of this court, and comforter of the poor, you are not guilty of the crime for which you stand here. withdraw, and let me expiate the death of the lady who was thrown into the tigris. it was i who murdered her, and deserve to be punished for it. though these words occasioned great joy to the vizier, yet he could not but pity the young man, in whose look he saw something that, instead of being ominous, was engaging; but as he was about to answer him, a tall man, pretty well in years, who had likewise forced his way through the crowd, came up to him, saying, sir, do not believe what this young man tells you; i killed that lady who was found in the trunk; and this punishment ought only to fall upon me. i conjure you, in the name of god, not to punish the innocent for the guilty. sir, says the young man to the vizier, i do protest that i am he who committed this vile act, and nobody else had any hand it. my son, said the old man, it is despair that brought you hither, and you would anticipate your destiny. i have lived a long time in the world, and it is time for me to be gone; let me therefore sacrifice my life for yours. sir, said he again to the vizier, i tell you once more i am the murderer; let me die without any more ado. the controversy between the old man and the young one obliged the grand vizier giafar to carry them both before the caliph, to which the criminal judge consented, being very glad to serve the vizier. when he came before the prince, he kissed the ground seven times, and spoke after this manner: commander of the faithful, i have brought here before your majesty this old man, and this young one, who both confess themselves to be the sole murderers of the lady. then the caliph asked the criminals which of them it was that so cruelly murdered the lady, and threw her into the tigris? the young man assured him it was he, but the old man maintained the contrary. go, says the caliph to the grand vizier, and cause them both to be hanged. but, sir, says the vizier, if only one of them be guilty, it would be unjust to take the lives of both. at these words the young man spoke again: i swear by the great god, who has raised the heavens so high as they are, that i am the man who killed the lady, cut her in quarters, and threw her into the tigris about four days ago. i renounce my part of happiness among the just at the day of judgment, if what i say be not truth; therefore i am he that ought to suffer. the caliph, being surprised at this oath, believed him, especially as the old man made no answer to this. whereupon, turning to the young man, thou wretch, said he, what was it that made thee to commit that detestable crime, and what is it that moves thee to offer thyself voluntarily to die? commander of the faithful, said he, if all that has passed between that lady and me were set down in writing, it would be a history that would be very useful to other men. i command you then to relate it, said the caliph. the young man obeyed, and began. the story of the lady that was murdered, and of the young man her husband. commander of the faithful, your majesty may be pleased to know, that this murdered lady was my wife, the daughter of this old man you see here, who is my uncle by the father's side. she was not above twelve years old when he gave her to me, and it is now eleven years ago. i have three children by her, all boys, yet alive; and i must do her the justice to say, that she never gave me the least occasion of offence; she was chaste, of good behaviour, and made it her whole business to please me. for my part, i loved her entirely, and rather prevented her, in granting any thing she desired, than opposed it. about two months ago she fell sick; i took all imaginable care of her, and spared nothing that could procure a speedy recovery. after a month, she began to grow better, and had a mind to go to the bagnio. before she went out of the house, cousin, said she, (for so she used to call me from familiarity), i long for some apples; if you could get me any, you would please me extremely; i have longed for them a great while, and i must own it is come to that height, that if i be not satisfied very soon, i fear some misfortune will befal me. with all my heart, said i, i will do all that is in my power to make you easy, and went immediately round all the markets and shops in the town to seek for apples, but could not get one, though i offered a sequin for each. i returned home very much dissatisfied at my disappointment. as for my wife, when she returned from the bagnio, and saw no apples, she became so very uneasy, that she could not sleep all night: i rose betimes in the morning, and went through all the gardens, but had no better success than the day before; only i happened to meet an old gardener, who told me that all my pains would signify nothing, for i could not expect to find apples any where but in your majesty's garden at balsora. as i loved my wife passionately, and would not have any thing of neglect to satisfy her chargeable upon me, i put myself in a traveller's habit, and after i had told her my design, i went to balsora, and made my journey with so great diligence, that i returned at the end of fifteen days with three apples, which cost me a sequin each; there were no more left in the garden, so that the gardener would let me have them no cheaper. as soon as i came home, i presented them to my wife, but her longing was over; so she satisfied herself with receiving them, and laid them down by her. in the mean time she continued sickly, and i knew not what remedy to get for her. a few days after i returned from my journey, as i was sitting in my shop, in the public place where all sorts of fine stuffs are sold, i saw an ugly tall black slave come in with an apple in his hand, which i knew to be one of those i had brought from balsora. i had no reason to doubt it, because i was certain there was not one to be had in all bagdad, nor in any garden about it. i called to him, and said, good slave, pray thee tell me where thou hadst this apple? it is a present (said he, smiling) from my mistress. i was to see her to-day, but found her indisposed. i saw three apples lying by her, and asked where she had them? she told me, the good man her husband had made a fortnight's journey on purpose for them, and brought them to her. we had a collation together; and, when i took my leave of her, i brought away this apple that you see. this discourse put me out of my senses; i rose, shut up my shop, ran home with all speed, and going to my wife's chamber, looked immediately for apples, and seeing only a couple, asked what was become of the third? then my wife turning her head to the place where the apples lay, and perceiving there were but two, answered me coldly, cousin, i know not what is become of it. at this answer i did verily believe what the slave told me to be true; and at the same time giving myself up to madness and jealousy, i drew my knife from my girdle, and thrust it into the unfortunate creature's throat; i afterwards cut off her head, and divided her body into four quarters, which i packed up in a bundle, and hiding it in a basket, sewed it up with a thread of red yarn, put all together in a trunk, and, when night came, carried it on my shoulder down to the tigris, where i sunk it. the two youngest of my children were already put to bed, and asleep, the third being gone abroad; but, at my return, i found him sitting by my gate, weeping very much. i asked him the reason: father, said he, i took this morning from my mother, without her knowledge, one of those three apples you brought her, and i kept it a long while; but, as i was playing some time ago with my little brother in the street, a tall slave that went by snatched it out of my hands, and carried it with him: i ran after him, demanding it back; and besides, told him that it belonged to my mother, who was sick; and that you had made a fortnight's journey to fetch it; but all to no purpose, he would not restore it. and whereas i still followed him, crying out, he turned and beat me, and then ran away as fast as ever he could from one lane to another, till at length i lost sight of him. i have since been walking without the town, expecting your return, to pray you, dear father, not to tell my mother of it, lest it should make her worse. when he had said these words, he fell a weeping again more bitterly than before. my son's discourse afflicted me beyond measure: i then found myself guilty of an enormous crime, and repented too late of having so easily believed the calumnies of a wretched slave, who, from what he had learned of my son, invented that fatal lie. my uncle, here present, came just at the time to see his daughter; but, instead of finding her alive, understood from me that she was murdered, for i concealed nothing from him; and, without staying for his censure, declared myself the greatest criminal in the world. upon this, instead of reproaching me, he joined his tears with mine, and we wept three days together without intermission; he for the loss of a daughter whom he always loved tenderly, and i for the loss of a dear wife, of whom i had deprived myself after so cruel a manner, by giving too easy credit to the report of a lying slave. this, commander of the faithful, is the sincere confession your majesty commanded from me. you have now heard all the circumstances of my crime, and i most humbly beg of you to order the punishment which it merits; and, however severe it may be, i shall not in the least complain, but esteem it too easy and gentle. the caliph was very much astonished at the young man's relation; but this just prince, finding he was to be pitied rather than condemned, began to speak in his favour. this young man's crime, said he, is pardonable before god, and excusable with men. the wicked slave is the sole cause of this murder; it is he alone that must be punished. wherefore, said he, looking upon the grand vizier, i give you three days time to find him out; if you do not bring him within that space, you shall die in his stead. the unfortunate giafar, who thought himself now out of danger, was terribly perplexed at this new order of the caliph; but not daring to return any answer to the prince, whose hasty temper he well knew, he departed from his presence, and retired to his house with tears in his eyes, persuading himself he had but three days to live; for he was so fully convinced that he should not find the slave, that he made not the least inquiry about him. is it possible, said he, that in such a city as bagdad, where there is such an infinite number of negro slaves, i should be able to find out him who is guilty? so that, unless god be pleased to bring it about, as he has already detected the murderer, nothing can possibly save my life! the vizier spent the two first days in mourning with his family, who sat round him weeping, and complaining of the caliph's cruelty. the third day being come, he prepared himself to die with courage, as an honest minister, and one who had nothing to trouble his conscience with: he sent for notaries and witnesses, who signed the last will he made in their presence; after which he took leave of his wife and children, and bade them the last farewell. all his family were drowned in tears, so that there never was a more sorrowful spectacle; at last the messenger came from the caliph to tell him that he was out of all patience, having heard nothing from him, nor concerning the negro slave, whom he had commanded him to search for: i am therefore ordered, said he, to bring you before his throne. the afflicted vizier made ready to follow the messenger; but, as he was going but, they brought him his youngest daughter, who was about five or six years of age. the nurses who attended her, presented her to her father to receive his last blessing. having a particular love to the child, he prayed the messenger to give him leave to stop for a moment, and, taking his daughter in his arms, kissed her several times; as he was embracing her the last time, he perceived she had somewhat in her bosom that looked bulky, and a sweet scent. my dear little one, said he, what hast thou in thy bosom? my dear father, said she, it is an apple, upon which is written the name of our lord and master the caliph; our slave rihan[footnote: this word signifies, in arabic, basilic, an odoriferous plant; and the arabians call their slaves by this name, as the custom in france is to give the name of jessamin to a footman.] sold it to me for two sequins. at the words apple and slave, the grand vizier cried out with surprise intermixed with joy, and, putting his hand into the child's bosom, pulled out the apple. he caused the slave, who was not far off, to be brought immediately; and when he came, rascal! said he, where hadst thou this apple? my lord, said the slave, i swear to you that i neither stole it in your house, nor out of the commander of the faithful's garden; but the other day, as i was going through a street where three or four children were at play, one of them having it in his hand, i snatched it from him, and carried it away. the child ran after me, telling me it was none of his own, but belonged to his mother, who was sick; and that his father, to save her longing, had made a long journey, and brought home three apples, whereof this was one, which he had taken from his mother without her knowledge. he said what he could to make me give it him back, but i would not; i brought it home, and sold it for two sequins to the little lady your daughter; and this is the whole truth of the matter. giafar could not enough admire how the roguery of a slave had been the cause of an innocent woman's death, and almost of his own. he carried the slave along with him, and, when he came before the caliph, gave the prince an exact account of all that the slave had told him, and the chance that brought him to the discovery of his crime. never was any surprise so great as the caliph's, yet he could not prevent himself from falling into excessive fits of laughter. at last he recovered himself, and, with a serious mien, told the vizier, that, since his slave had been the occasion of so strange an accident, he deserved an exemplary punishment. sir, i must own it, said the vizier, but his guilt is not irremissible; i remember a strange story of a vizier of cairo, called noureddin[footnote: noureddin signifies, in arabic, the light of religion.] ali and of his son bedreddin[footnote: bedreddin signifies the full moon of religion.] hassan of balsora; and as your majesty delights to hear such things, i am ready to tell it on this condition, that if your majesty find it more astonishing than that which gives me occasion to tell it, you will be pleased to pardon my slave. i am content, said the caliph; but you undertake a hard task, for i do not believe you can save your slave, the story of the apples being so very singular. upon this giafar began his story thus: the story of noureddin ali and bedreddin hassan. commander of the faithful, there was in former days a sultan of egypt, a strict observer of justice, gracious, merciful, and liberal; and his valour made him terrible to his neighbours. he loved the poor, and protected the learned, whom he advanced to the highest dignities. this sultan had a vizier, who was prudent, wise, sagacious, and well versed in the sciences. this minister had two sons, very handsome men, and who in every thing followed his own footsteps. the eldest was called schemseddin[footnote: that is to say, the sun of religion.] mohammed, and the younger noureddin ali. the last especially was endowed with all the good qualities that any man could have. the vizier their father being dead, the sultan sent for them; and after he had caused them both to put on the usual robes of a vizier, i am as sorry, says he, for the loss of your father as yourselves; and because i know you live together, and love one another entirely, i will bestow his dignity upon you conjunctly; go and imitate your father's conduct. the two new viziers humbly thanked the sultan, and went home to their house to make due preparation for their father's interment. they did not go abroad for a month, and then went to court, where they appeared continually on council-days; when the sultan went a hunting, one of the brothers went along with him and this honour they had by turns. one evening, as they were talking after supper, the next day being the elder brother's turn to go a hunting with the sultan, he said to his younger brother, since neither of us is yet married, and as we live so lovingly together, a thought is come into my head; let us both marry in one day, and let us choose two sisters out of some family that may suit our quality: what do you think of this fancy? i must tell you, brother, answered noureddin, that it is very suitable to our friendship; there cannot be a better thought; for my part, i am ready to agree to any thing you shall think fit. but hold, this is not all, says schemseddin; my fancy carries me further. suppose both our wives should conceive the first night of marriage, and should happen to be brought to bed on one day, yours of a son and mine of a daughter, we will give them to one another in marriage when they come of age. nay, says noureddin aloud, i must acknowledge that this project is admirable; such a marriage will perfect our union, and i willingly consent to it. but then, brother, says he further, if this marriage should happen, would you expect that my son should settle a jointure on your daughter? there is no difficulty in that, replies the elder; for i am persuaded, that, besides the usual articles of marriage-contract, you will not fail to promise in his name at least three thousand sequins, three good manors, and three slaves. no, said the younger, i will not consent to that; are we not brethren, and equal in title and dignity? do not you and i both know what is just? the male being nobler than the female, it is your part to give a large dowry with your daughter. by what i perceive, you are a man that would have your business done at another's charge. though noureddin spoke these words in jest, his brother, being of an ill temper, was offended; and falling into a passion, a mischief upon your son, said he, since you prefer him before my daughter; i wonder you had so much confidence as to believe him worthy of her; you must needs have lost your judgment, to think that you are my equal, and say we are colleagues: i would have you to know, you fool, that, since you are so impudent, i would not marry my daughter to your son, though you would give him more than you are worth. this pleasant quarrel between two brothers, about the marriage of their children before they were born, went so far, that schemseddin concluded with threatening: were i not to-morrow, says he, to attend the sultan, i would treat you as you deserve; but, at my return, i shall make you sensible that it does not become a younger brother to speak so insolently to his elder brother as you have done to me. upon this he retired to his apartment, and his brother went to bed. schemseddin rose very early next morning, and goes to the palace to attend the sultan, who went to hunt about cairo, near the pyramids. as for noureddin, he was very uneasy all night, and considering that it would not be possible for him to live longer with a brother who treated him with so much haughtiness, he provided a good mule, furnished himself with money, jewels, provisions, and victuals; and having told his people that he was going a private journey for two or three days, he departed. when he was out of cairo, he rode by the desert toward arabia; but his mule happening to tire by the way, he was forced to pursue his journey on foot. a courier that was going to balsora, by good fortune overtaking him, took him up behind him. as soon as the courier came to balsora, noureddin alighted, and returned him thanks for his kindness. as he went about to seek for a lodging, he saw a person of quality, with a great retinue, coming along, to whom all the people showed a mighty respect, and stood still till he passed by, noureddin stopping among the rest. this was the grand vizier to the sultan of balsora, who walked through the city, to see that the inhabitants kept good order and discipline. this minister, casting his eye by chance on noureddin, and finding something extraordinary in his aspect, looked very attentively upon him, and as he came near him, and saw him in a traveller's habit, he stood still, asked him who he was, and from whence he came? sir, said noureddin, i am an egyptian, born at cairo, and have left my country, because of the unkindness of a near relation, and am resolved to travel through the world, and rather to die than return home again. the grand vizier, who was a reverend old gentleman, after hearing those words, says to him, son, beware, do not pursue your design; there is nothing but misery in the world; you are not sensible of the hardships you must endure; come follow me, i may perhaps make you forget the thing that has forced you to leave your own country. noureddin followed the grand vizier, who soon perceived his good qualities, and fell so much in love with him, that one day he said to him in private, my son, i am, as you see, so far gone in years, that there is no likelihood i shall live much longer. heaven has bestowed only one daughter upon me, who is beautiful as you are handsome, and now fit for marriage. several people of the greatest quality at this court have desired her for their sons, but i could not grant their request. i have a love for you, and think you so worthy to be received into my family, that, preferring you before all those that have sought her, i am ready to accept you for my son-in-law. if you like the proposal, i will acquaint the sultan my master that i have adopted you by this marriage, and will pray him to grant you the reversion of my dignity of grand vizier in the kingdom, of balsora. in the meantime, nothing being more requisite for me than ease in my old age, i will not put you in possession of my estate, but leave the administration of public affairs to your management. having made an end of this kind and generous proposal, noureddin fell at his feet, and expressing himself in terms that demonstrated his joy and gratitude, told the vizier that he was at his command in every thing. upon this the vizier sent for his chief domestics, ordered them to furnish the great hall of his palace, and to prepare a great feast. he afterwards sent to invite the nobility of the court and city to honour him with their company, and when they were all met, (noureddin having now told him who he was,) he said to those lords, for he thought it proper to speak thus on purpose to satisfy such of them to whom he had refused his alliance: i am now, my lords, to discover a thing to you which i have hitherto kept a secret. i have a brother who is grand vizier to the sultan of egypt, as i am to the sultan of this kingdom. this brother has but one son, whom he would not marry in the court of egypt, but sent him hither to marry my daughter, that both our branches may be reunited. his son, whom i knew to be my nephew as soon as i saw him, is the young gentleman whom i here present to you, and is to be my son-in-law. i hope you will do me the honour to be present at his wedding, which i am resolved to celebrate this day. the noblemen, who could not take it ill that he preferred his nephew before all the great matches that had been proposed to him, said, that he had very good reasons, for what he did, were willing to be witnesses to the ceremony, and wished that god might prolong his days to enjoy the satisfaction of the happy match. the lords met at the vizier's, having testified their satisfaction at the marriage of his daughter with noureddin, sat down to dinner, which lasted a good while; and the latter course was sweet-meats, of which every one, according to custom, took what he thought fit. the notaries came in with the marriage-contract, when the chief lords signed it; and, after the company departed, the grand vizier ordered his servants to prepare a bagnio, and have every thing else provided for noureddin in the best manner: when he had washed and dried himself, he was going to put on his former apparel, but had an extraordinary rich suit brought him. being dressed and perfumed with the most odoriferous essence, he went to see the grand vizier, his father-in-law, who was exceedingly well pleased with his genteel mien; and having made him sit down, my son, said he, you have declared unto me who you are, and the quality you had at the court of egypt. you have also told me of a difference betwixt you and your brother, which occasioned you to leave your country. i desire you to make me your entire confident, and to acquaint me with the cause of your quarrel; for now you have no reason either to doubt me, or to conceal any thing from me. noureddin accordingly gave him an account of every circumstance of the quarrel; at which the vizier burst out into a fit of laughter, and said, this is one of the oddest things that i ever heard: is it possible, my son, that your quarrel should rise so high about an imaginary marriage? i am sorry you fell out with your elder brother upon such a frivolous matter; but i find he is in the wrong to be angry at what you only spoke in jest, and i ought to thank heaven for that difference which has procured me such a son-in-law. but, said the old gentleman, it is late, and time for you to retire; go to your bride, my son; she expects you; to-morrow i will present you to the sultan, and hope he will receive you in such a manner as shall satisfy us both. noureddin took leave of his father-in-law, and went to his spouse's apartment. it is remarkable, continued giafar, that schemseddin happened also to marry at cairo the very same day that this marriage was solemnized at balsora; the particulars are as follow. after noureddin left cairo, with an intention never to return, schemseddin, who was gone a hunting with the sultan of egypt, did not come back in a month; for the sultan loved the game extremely, and continued the sport all that while. schemseddin, on his return, ran to noureddin's apartment, but was much surprised when he understood, that, under pretence of taking a journey of two or three days, he had gone away on a mule the same day that the sultan went a hunting, and never appeared since. this circumstance vexed him so much the more, beeause he did not doubt that the hard words he had used were the cause of his going away. he sent a messenger in search of him, who went to damascus, and as far as aleppo, but noureddin was then at balsora. when the courier returned, and brought word that he heard no news of him, schemseddin intended to make further inquiry after him in other parts; but in the mean time had a fancy to marry, and obtained the daughter of one of the greatest lords in cairo upon the same day that his brother married the daughter of the grand vizier of balsora. but this is not all, said giafar; at the end of nine months, schemseddin's wife was delivered of a daughter at cairo, and on the same day noureddin's wife had a son at balsora, who was named bedreddin hassan. the grand vizier of balsora testified his joy for the birth of his grandson by great gifts and public entertainments; and, to show his son-in-law the great esteem he had for him, he went to the palace, and begged the sultan to grant noureddin his office, that he might have the comfort, before his death, to see his son-in-law made grand vizier his stead. the sultan, who had taken a great liking to noureddin when his father presented him after his marriage, and had ever since heard every body speak well of him, readily granted his father-in-law's request, and caused noureddin immediately to put on the robe of a grand vizier. the next day, when the father saw his son-in-law preside in council as he himself had done, and perform all the offices of grand vizier, his joy was complete. noureddin behaved himself so well in every thing, that one would have thought he had been all his lifetime employed in such affairs. he continued afterwards to assist in council every time when the infirmities of age would not permit his father-in-law to appear. the old gentleman died about four years after, and noureddin performed the last duties to him with all possible love and gratitude. as soon as his son bedreddin had attained to seven years of age, he provided him a most excellent tutor, who taught him as became his birth. the child had a ready wit, a genius capable of receiving all the instructions that could be given, and, after having been two years under the tuition of his master, learned the alcoran by heart. his father noureddin put him afterwards to other tutors, by whom his mind was cultivated to such a degree, that, when he was twelve years of age, he had no more occasion for them; and then, as his physiognomy promised wonders, he was admired by all. noureddin had hitherto kept him to his studies, and had not yet brought him into public; but now he carried him to the palace, on purpose to have the honour of kissing the hand of the sultan, who received him very graciously. the people who saw him in the streets were charmed with his genteel mien, and gave him a thousand blessings. his father, purposing to make him capable of supplying his place, spared no cost for that end, brought him up to business of the greatest moment, and in short omitted nothing to advance a son he loved so well. but as he began to enjoy the fruits of his labour, he was all of a sudden taken with a violent fit of sickness; and, finding himself past recovery, disposed himself to die like a good mussulman. in his last moments he forgot not his son bedreddin, but called for him, and said, my son, you see this world is transitory; there is nothing durable but that to which i shall speedily go. you must therefore from henceforth begin to fit yourself for this change, as i have done; you must prepare for it without murmuring, so as to have no trouble of conscience for not acting the part of a really honest man. as for your religion, you are sufficiently instructed in it by what you have learned from your tutors, and by your own study. as to what belongs to an honest man, i shall give you some instructions, of which i hope you will make good use; and as it is a necessary thing to know one's self, and you cannot come to that knowledge unless you first understand who i am, i shall now tell you. i am a native of egypt; my father, your grandfather, was first minister to the sultan of that kingdom. i myself had the honour to be vizier to that same sultan, and so has my brother, your uncle, who, i suppose, is yet alive; his name is schemseddin. i was obliged to leave him, and come into this country, where i have raised myself to the high dignity which i now enjoy. but you will understand all these matters more fully by a manuscript which i shall leave you. noureddin pulled out his pocket-book, which he had written with his own hand, and carried always about him, and giving it to bedreddin, take it, says he, and read it at your leisure; you will find, among other things, the day of my marriage, and that of your birth; these are such circumstances as perhaps you may hereafter have occasion to know; therefore you must keep it very carefully. bedreddin, being most afflicted to see his father in that condition, and sensibly touched with his discourse, could not but weep when he received the pocket-book, and promised never to part with it. that very moment noureddin fainted, so that it was thought he would have expired; but he came to himself again, and uttered these words: my son, the first instruction i give you is, not to make yourself familiar with all sorts of people. the way to live happy is to keep your mind to yourself, and not tell your thoughts too freely. secondly, not to do violence to any body whatever, for in that case you will draw every body's hatred upon you. you ought to consider the world as a creditor, to whom you owe moderation, compassion, and forbearance. thirdly, not to say a word when you are reproached; for, as the proverb says, he that keeps silence is out of danger. in this case particularly you ought to practise it. you also know what one of our poets says upon this subject, that silence is the ornament and safeguard of life; and that our speech ought not to be like a storm of rain that spoils all. never did any man yet repent of having spoken too little, though many have been sorry that they spoke too much. fourthly, to drink no wine, for that is the source of all vices. fifthly, to be frugal in your way of living; if you do not squander your estate away, it will maintain you in time of necessity. i do not mean you should be either too liberal or too niggardly; for though you have but little, if you husband it well, and lay it out upon proper occasions, you will have many friends; but if, on the contrary, you have great riches, and make a bad use of them, the world will forsake you, and leave you to yourself. in short, noureddin ali continued, till the last moment of his breath, to give good advice to his son, by whom he was magnificently interred. bedreddin hassan of balsora, for so he was called because born in that town, was so overwhelmed with grief for the death of his father, that instead of a month's time to mourn, according to custom, he kept himself closely shut up in tears and solitude about two months without seeing any body, or so much as going abroad to pay his duty to the sultan of balsora, who, being displeased at his neglect, and regarding it as a slight put upon his court and person, suffered his passion to prevail, and in his fury called for the new grand vizier, (for he had created a new one as soon as noureddin died,) commanded him to go to the house of the deceased, and seize upon it, with all his other houses, lands, and effects, without leaving any thing for bedreddin hassan, and to bring him prisoner along with him. the new grand vizier, accompanied by a great many messengers belonging to the palace, justices and other officers, went immediately to execute his commission; but one of bedreddin's slaves, happening accidentally to come into the crowd, no sooner understood the vizier's errand, than he ran in all haste to give his master warning. he found him sitting in the porch of his house, as melancholy as if his father had been but newly dead. he fell down at his feet quite out of breath; and, after he had kissed the hem of his garment, cried out, my lord, save yourself immediately. bedreddin, lifting up his head, said, what is the matter? what news dost thou bring? my lord, said he, there is no time to be lost; the sultan, horribly incensed against you, has sent people to take all you have, and to seize your person. the words of this faithful and affectionate slave put bedreddin into great confusion. may not i have so much time, said he, as to take some money and jewels along with me? no, sir, replied the slave; the grand vizier will be here this moment. begone immediately; save yourself. bedreddin rose up from the sofa in haste, put his feet in his sandals, and, after covering his head with the tail of his gown, that his face might not be known, he fled, without knowing what way to go, in order to avoid the impending danger. the first thought that came into his head was to get out at the next gate with all speed. he ran without stopping till he came to the public church-yard; and, as it was growing dark, he resolved to pass the night on his father's tomb. it was a large edifice in the form of a dome, which noureddin ali built when he was alive. bedreddin met by the way a very rich jew, who was a banker and merchant, and was returning to the city from a place where his affairs had called him. the jew, knowing bedreddin, halted, and saluted him very courteously. the caliph was very attentive to the discourse of the grand vizier, who went on after this manner. isaac the jew, after he had paid his respects to bedreddin hassan by kissing his hand, says, my lord, dare i be so bold as to ask whither you are going at this time of night alone, and so much troubled? has any thing disquieted you? yes, said bedreddin, a while ago i was asleep, and my father appeared to me in a dream, looking fiercely upon me, as if he were very angry; i started out of my sleep very much frightened, and came out immediately to go and pray upon his tomb. my lord, said the jew, who did not know the true reason why bedreddin left the town, your father of happy memory, and my good lord, had store of merchandise in several vessels which are yet at sea, and belong to you; i beg the favour of you to grant me the first refusal of them before any other merchant. i am able to lay down ready money for all the goods that are in your ships; and to begin, if you will give me those that happen to come in the first ship that arrives in safety, i will pay you down, in part payment, a thousand sequins. drawing out a bag from under his gown, he showed it him sealed up with one seal. bedreddin, banished from home, and dispossessed of all he had in the world, looked upon this proposal of the jew as a favour from heaven, and therefore accepted it with a great deal of joy. my lord, said the jew, then you sell unto me, for a thousand sequins, the lading of the first of your ships that shall arrive in port? yes, answered bedreddin, i sell it to you for a thousand sequins; it is done. upon this, the jew delivered him the bag of a thousand sequins, and offered to count them; but bedreddin saved him the trouble, and said, he would trust his word. since it is so, my lord, be pleased to favour me with a small note, in writing, of the bargain we have made. having said this, he pulled his ink-horn from his girdle, and taking a small reed out of it, neatly cut for writing, he presented it to him, with a piece of paper he took out of his letter-case, and, whilst he held the ink-horn, bedreddin hassan wrote these words: 'this writing is to testify, that bedreddin hassan of balsora has sold to isaac the jew, for the sum of one thousand sequins, received in hand, the lading of the first of his ships that shall arrive in this port.' this note he delivered to the jew, who put it in his letter-case, and then took leave of him. while isaac pursued his journey to the city, bedreddin made the best of his way to his father's tomb. when he came to it, he bowed his face to the ground, and, with his eyes full of tears, deplored his miserable condition. alas! said he, unfortunate bedreddin, what will become of thee? whither canst thou fly for refuge against the unjust prince who persecutes thee? was it not enough to be afflicted for the death of so dear a father? must fate add new misfortunes to just complaints? he continued a long time in this posture; but at last rose up again, and, leaning his head upon his father's sepulchre, his sorrows returned more violently than before; so that he sighed and mourned, till, overcome with heaviness, he stretched himself upon the floor, and fell asleep. he had not slept long when a genius, who had retired to the church-yard during the day, and was intending, according to custom, to range about the world at night, espying this young man in noureddin's tomb, entered, and finding bedreddin lying on his back, was surprised at his beauty. when he had attentively considered bedreddin, he said to himself, to judge of this creature by his good mien, he seems to be an angel of the terrestrial paradise, whom god has sent to put the world in a flame with his beauty. at last, after he had satisfied himself with looking upon him, he took a flight into the air, where meeting by chance with a fairy, they saluted each other; after which he said to her, descend with me into the church-yard where i stay, and i will show you a prodigious beauty, who is worthy of your admiration as well as mine. the fairy consented, and both descended in an instant; they came into the tomb: look ye, said the genius to the fairy, showing him bedreddin, did you ever see a young man of a better shape, and more beautiful than this? the fairy, having attentively observed bedreddin, answered, i must confess that he is a very handsome man, but i am just come from seeing an object at cairo still more admirable; and if you hear me, i will tell you a strange story concerning her. you will very much oblige me by so doing, answered the genius. you must know then, said the fairy, that the sultan of egypt has a vizier called schemseddin mohammed, who has a daughter of about twenty years of age, the most beautiful and complete person that ever was known. the sultan having heard of this young lady's beauty, sent the other day for her father, and said, i understand you have a daughter; i have a mind to marry her; will you consent to it? the vizer, who did not expect this proposal, was troubled at it; and, instead of accepting it joyfully, which another in his place would certainly have done, he answered the sultan, may it please your majesty, i am not worthy of the honour you confer upon me, and i most humbly beseech you to pardon me if i do not agree to your request. you know i had a brother called noureddin ali, who had the honour, as well as myself, to be one of your viziers: we had some difference together, which was the cause of his leaving me on a sudden, and since that time i have had no account of him till within these four days, when i heard he died at balsora, being grand vizier to the sultan of that kingdom. he has left a son behind him; and there having been an agreement between us to match our children together, should we have any, i am persuaded he intended the match when he died. being desirous to fulfil the promise on my part, i conjure your majesty to grant me leave; you have in your court many other lords who have daughters on whom you may please to bestow that honour. the sultan of egypt was incensed against schemseddin to the highest degree, and said to him in a passion, which he could not restrain, is this the way you requite my condescension to stoop so low as to desire your alliance? i know how to revenge your daring to prefer another to me, and i swear that your daughter shall be married to the most contemptible and ugly of all my slaves. having spoken these words, he angrily bid the vizier begone, who went home to his house full of confusion, and very sad. the same day the sultan sent for one of his grooms, who is hump-backed, big-bellied, crook-legged, and as ugly as a hobgoblin; and, after having commanded schemseddin to consent to marry his daughter to this ghastly slave, he caused the contract to be made out and signed by witnesses in his own presence. the preparations for this fantastical wedding, says the fairy, are all ready, and at this moment all the slaves belonging to the lords of the court of egypt are waiting at the door of the bagnio, each with a flambeau in his hand, for the crook-backed groom to go along with them to his bride, who is already dressed to receive him. when i departed from cairo, the ladies, met for that purpose, were going to conduct her, in all her nuptial attire, to the hall, where she is to receive her hump-backed bridegroom, and is this minute now expecting him; i have seen her, and do assure you that no person can look upon her without admiration. when the fairy left off speaking, the genius says to her, whatever you think or say, i cannot be persuaded that the girl's beauty exceeds that of this young man. i will not dispute it with you, answered the fairy, for i must confess he deserves to be married to that charming creature whom they design for hump-back; and i think it were a deed worthy of us to obstruct the sultan of egypt's injustice, and put this young gentleman in the room of the slave. you are in the right, answered the genius; i am extremely obliged to you for so good a thought; let us deceive him: i consent to your revenge upon the sultan of egypt; let us comfort a distressed father, and make his daughter as happy as she thinks herself miserable; i shall do my utmost to make this project take, and am persuaded you will not be backward; i shall carry him to cairo before he awake, and afterwards leave it to you to carry him elsewhere when we have accomplished our design. the plan being thus concerted, the genius lifted bedreddin gently, carried him with an inconceivable swiftness through the air, and set him down at the door of a public-house next to the bagnio, whence hump-back was to come with the train of slaves that waited for him. bedreddin awaked that very moment, and was mightily surprised to find himself in the middle of a city which he knew not: he was going to cry out, and to ask where he was; but the genius touched him gently on the shoulder, and forbade him to speak a word. then he put a torch in his hand, bid him mix with the crowd at the bagnio door, and follow them till he came into a hall, where they were to celebrate a marriage. the bridegroom is a hump-backed fellow, and by this description you will easily know him. place yourself at the right hand as you go in, then immediately open the purse of sequins you have in your bosom, and distribute them among the musicians and dancers as they go along. when you have got into the hall, give money also to the female slaves you see about the bride, when they come near you; but every time you put your hand in your purse, be sure to take out a whole handful, and be not sparing. observe to do every thing exactly as i have told you, with great presence of mind; be not afraid of any person or thing, but leave the rest to a superior power, who will order matters as he thinks fit. young bedreddin, thus instructed in all that he was to do, advanced towards the door of the bagnio: the first thing he did was to light his torch like a slave; then mixing among them, as if he belonged to some nobleman of cairo, he marched along as they did, following hump-back, who came out of the bagnio, and mounted a horse from the sultan's own stable. being come near the musicians and men and women-dancers, who preceded the bridgroom, bedreddin pulled out, time after time, whole handfuls of sequins, which he distributed among them. as he gave his money with an unparalleled grace and engaging mien, those who received it cast their eyes upon him, and, after they had taken a full view of his face, found him so handsome and comely, that they could not look off again. at last they came to schemseddin's gate. schemseddin was bedreddin's uncle, and little thought his nephew was so near. the door-keepers, to prevent any disorder, kept back all the slaves who carried torches, and would not let them come in. bedreddin was likewise refused; but the musicians, who had free entrance, stood still, and protested they would not go in without him. he is not one of the slaves, said they; look upon him, and you will soon be satisfied as to that; he is certainly a young stranger, who is curious to see the ceremonies observed at weddings in this city. saying thus, they put him in the midst of them, and carried him in; they took his torch out of his hand, and gave it to the first they met. having brought him into the hall, they placed him at the right hand of the hump-backed bridegroom, who sat near the vizier's daughter on a throne most richly adorned. she appeared very lovely in her dress, but in her face there was nothing to be seen but poignant grief. the cause was easy to be guessed at, when she had by her side a bridegroom so very deformed, and so unworthy of her love. the throne of that ill-matched couple was in the midst of a sofa. the ladies of the emirs, viziers, those of the sultan's bed-chamber, and several other ladies of the court and city, were placed on each side, a little lower, every one according to rank, and all of them so fine and richly dressed, that it was one of the pleasantest sights that could be seen, each of them holding a large wax taper. as soon as they saw bedreddin come into the room, all fixed their eyes upon him, admiring his shape, his behaviour, and the beauty of his face. when he was set down, they left their seats, and came near him, to have a full view of his face; and almost all of them, as they returned to their seats, found themselves moved with tender passion. the disparity between bedreddin and the hump-backed groom, who made such a horrible figure, occasioned a great murmuring among the company, insomuch that the ladies cried out, we must give our bride to this handsome young gentleman, and not to this ugly hump-back. nor did they rest here, but uttered imprecations against the sultan, who, abusing his absolute power, would unite ugliness and beauty together. they also upbraided the bridegroom, and put him quite out of countenance, to the great satisfaction of the spectators, whose shouts for some time put a stop to the concert of music in the hall. at last the musicians began again, and the women who had dressed the bride came round her. each time she changed her habit, she rose up from her seat, followed by her bride-women, and passed by hump-back without giving him one look; but went towards bedreddin, before whom she presented herself in her new attire. on this occasion bedreddin, according to the instructions given him by the genius, failed not to put his hand in his purse, and pulled out handfuls of sequins, which he distributed among the women that followed the bride; nor did he forget the players and dancers, but also threw money to them. they showed themselves very thankful, and made signs that the young bride should be for him, and not for the hump-back fellow. the women who attended her told her the same thing, and did not care whether the groom heard them or not; for they put a thousand tricks upon him, which very much pleased the spectators. the ceremony of changing habits being over, the musicians ceased and went away, but made a sign to bedreddin hassan to stay behind. the ladies did the same, and went all home, except those belonging to the house. the bride went into a closet, whither her women followed to undress her, and none remained in the hall but the hump-back groom, bedreddin, and some of the domestics. hump-back, who was furiously mad at bedreddin, suspecting him to be his rival, gave him a cross look, and said, and thou, what dost thou wait for? why art thou not gone as well as the rest? begone. bedreddin, having no pretence to stay, withdrew, not knowing what to do with himself. but he had not got out of the porch, when the genius and the fairy met and stopped him. whither art thou going? said the fairy; stay, for hump-back is not in the hall, but has gone out about some business; you have nothing to do but to return, and introduce yourself into the bride's chamber: as soon as you are alone with her, tell her boldly that you are her husband; that the sultan's intention was only to make sport with the groom; and, to make this pretended bridegroom some amends, you had caused to be prepared for him, in the stable, a good dish of cream: then tell her all the fine things you can think of to persuade her, for, with your handsomeness, little persuasion will do, and she will think herself happy in being deceived so agreeably. in the mean time we shall take care that hump-back return not, and let nothing hinder you from passing the night with your bride, for she is yours. while the fairy thus encouraged bedreddin, and instructed him how he should behave himself, hump-back was really gone out of the room; for the genius went to him in the shape of a great cat, miauling at a most fearful rate: the fellow called to the cat, and clapped his hands to make her flee; but, instead of that, the cat stood upon her hind feet, staring with her eyes like fire, looking fiercely at him, miauling louder than she did at first, and growing bigger, till she was as large as an ass. at this sight hump-back would have cried out for help, but his fear was so great that he stood gaping, and could not utter one word. that he might have no time, however, to recover, the genius changed himself immediately into a large buffalo, and in this shape called to him with a voice that redoubled his fear, thou hump-backed villain! at these words the affrighted groom cast himself on the ground, and covering his face with his gown, that he might not see this dreadful beast, sovereign prince of buffaloes, said he, what is it you want with me? woe be to thee, replies the genius, hast thou the boldness to venture to marry my mistress? o my lord, said hump-back, i pray you to pardon me; if i am guilty, it, is through ignorance; i did not know that this lady had a buffalo for her sweetheart: command me in any thing you please; i give you my oath that i am ready to obey you. by death, replied the genius, if thou goest out from hence, or speakest a word till the sun rises, i will crush thy head to pieces; but then i give thee leave to go from hence: i warn thee to hasten, and not to look back; but if thou hast the impudence to return, it shall cost thee thy life. when the genius had done speaking, he transformed himself into the shape of a man, took hump-back by the legs, and after having set him against the wall, with his head downwards, if thou stir, said he, before the sun rises, as i have told thee already, i will take thee by the heels again, and dash thy head in a thousand pieces against the wall. to return to bedreddin: being prompted by the genius and the presence of the fairy, he got into the hall again, from whence he slipped into the bride-chamber, where he sat down expecting the success of his adventure. after a while the bride arrived, conducted by an old matron, who came no further than the door, exhorting the bridegroom to do his duty like a man, without looking to see if it was hump-back or another; she then locked the door, and retired. the young bride was mightily surprised, instead of hump-back to find bedreddin hassan, who came up to her with the best grace in the world. what! my dear friend, said she, by your being here at this time of night, you must be my husband's comrade? no, madam, said bedreddin, i am of another sort of quality than that ugly hump-back. but, said she, you do not consider that you speak degradingly of my husband. he your husband, madam? replied he; can you retain these thoughts so long? be convinced of your mistake, madam, for so much beauty must never be sacrificed to the most contemptible of mankind: it is i, madam, that am the happy mortal for whom it is reserved. the sultan had a mind to make himself merry by putting this trick upon the vizier your father, but he chose me to be your real husband. you might have observed how the ladies, the musicians, the dancers, your women, and all the servants of your family, were pleased with this comedy. i have sent that hump-back fellow to his stable again, where he is just now eating a dish of cream; and you may rest assured that he will never appear any more before you. at this discourse, the vizier's daughter, who was more like one dead than alive when she came into the bride-chamber, put on a gay air, which made her so handsome that bedreddin was perfectly charmed with her. i did not expect, said she, to meet with so pleasing a surprise, and had condemned myself to live unhappy all my days; but my good fortune is so much the greater, as i possess in you a man that is worthy of my tenderest affection. having spoken thus, she undressed herself, and stepped into bed. bedreddin, overjoyed to see himself possessor of so many charms, made haste to follow her, and laid his clothes upon a chair, with a bag that he got from the jew, which, notwithstanding all the money he pulled out, was still full. he likewise threw off his turban, and put on a night-cap that had been ordered for hump-back, and so went to bed in his shirt and drawers[footnote: all the eastern nations lie in their drawers; but this circumstance will serve bedreddin in the sequel.]; the latter were of blue satin, tied with a lace of gold. whilst the two lovers were asleep, the genius, who had met again with the fairy, says to him, that it was high time to finish what was begun, and hitherto so successfully carried on; then let us not be overtaken by day-light, which will soon appear; go you, and bring off the young man again without awaking him. the fairy went into the bed-chamber where the two lovers were fast asleep, and took up bedreddin just as he was, that is to say, in his shirt and drawers, and, in company with the genius, with a wonderful swiftness flew away with him to the gates of damascus in syria, where they arrived when the officer of the mosques, appointed for that end, was calling the people to come to prayers at break of day. the fairy laid bedreddin softly on the ground, and, leaving him close by the gate, departed with the genius. the gate of the city being opened, and a great many people assembled to get out, they were mightily surprised to see bedreddin lying in his shirt and drawers upon the ground. one said, he has been so hard put to it to get away from his mistress, that he had not time to put on his clothes. look ye, says another, how people expose themselves; sure enough he has spent the most part of the night in drinking with his friends, till he has got drunk, and then perhaps, having occasion to go out, instead of returning, is come this length, and, not having his senses about him, was overtaken with sleep. others were of different opinions; but nobody could guess the occasion of his being there. a small puff of wind happening to blow at the time, uncovered his breast, which was whiter than snow. every one, being struck with admiration at the fineness of his complexion, spoke so loud as to awake him. his surprise was as great as theirs, when he found himself at the gate of a city where he had never been before, and encompassed by a crowd of people gazing at him. gentlemen, said he, for god's sake tell me where i am, and what you would have of me. one of the crowd said to him, young man, the gates of the city were just now opened, and, as we came out, we found you lying here in this condition, and stood to look on you: have you lain here all night? and do you not know that you are at one of the gates of damascus? at one of the gates of damascus! answered bedreddin; sure you mock me: when i lay down to sleep last night, i was at cairo. when he said these words, some of the people, moved with compassion for him, said, it is a pity such a handsome young man should have lost his senses; and so went away. my son, says an old gentleman to him, you know not what you say: how is it possible that you, being this morning at damascus, could be last night at cairo? it is true for all that, said bedreddin; for i swear to you that i was all yesterday at balsora. he had no sooner said these words, than all the people fell into a fit of laughter, and cried out, he is a fool, he is a madman. there were some, however, who pitied him because of his youth; and one among the company said to him, my son, you must certainly be crazed; you do not consider what you say; how is it possible that a man could yesterday be at balsora, the same night at cairo, and next morning at damascus? sure you are asleep still; come, rouse up your spirits. what i say, answered bedreddin, is so true, that last night i was married in the city of cairo. all those that laughed before could not forbear laughing again when he said so. recollect yourself, says the same person that spoke before; you have dreamed all this, and that fancy still possesses your brain. i am sensible of what i say, answered the young man: pray can you tell me how it was possible to go in a dream to cairo, where i am very certain i was in person, and where my bride was seven times brought before me, each time dressed in a different habit, and where i saw an ugly hump-backed fellow to whom they intended to give her? besides, i want to know what is become of my gown, my turban, and the bag of sequins i had at cairo. though he assured them that all these things were matters of fact, yet they could not forbear laughing at him, which put him into such confusion that he knew not well what to think. after bedreddin had confidently affirmed all that he said to be true, he rose up to go into the town, and every one that followed him called out, a madman, a fool. upon this, some looked out at their windows, some came to their doors, and others joined with those that were about him, calling out as they did, but not knowing for what. in this perplexity bedreddin happened to reach a pastry-cook's shop, and went into it to avoid the rabble. this pastry-cook had formerly been captain of a troop of arabian robbers who plundered the caravans; and though he was become a citizen of damascus, where he behaved himself with decorum, yet he was dreaded by all those who knew him; wherefore, as soon as he came out to the rabble that followed bedreddin, they dispersed. the pastry-cook, seeing them all gone, asked him what he was, and who brought him hither? bedredclin told him all, not even concealing his birth, nor the death of his father the grand vizier: he afterwards gave him an account why he left balsora; how, after he fell asleep the night following upon his father's tomb, he found himself, when he awaked, at cairo, where he had married a lady; and, finally, in what amazement he was when he found himself at damascus, without being able to penetrate into all those wonderful events. your history is one of the most surprising (said the pastry-cook); but, if you follow my advice, you will let no man know the matters yon have revealed to me, but patiently expect till heaven think fit to put an end to your misfortunes: you are free to stay with me till then; and as i have no children, i will own you for my son, if you consent to it; and when you are so adopted, you may freely walk up and down the city, without being further exposed to the insults of the rabble. though this adoption was below the son of a grand vizier, bedreddin was glad to accept of the pastry-cook's proposal, judging it the best thing he could do in his then circumstances. the cook clothed him, called witnesses, and sent for a notary, before whom he acknowledged him as his son. after this, bedreddin staid with him by the name of hassan, and learned the pastry trade. whilst these things passed at damascus, schemseddin mohammed's daughter awaked, and, finding bedreddin out of bed, supposed he had risen softly from a fear of disturbing her, but that he would soon return. as she was in expectation of him, her father the vizier, who was mightily vexed at the affront put upon him by the sultan, came and knocked at her chamber-door, with a resolution to bewail her sad destiny. he called her by her name, and she, knowing him by his voice, immediately got up and opened the door; she kissed his hand, and received him with so much satisfaction in her countenance as surprised the vizier, who expected to find her drowned in tears, and as much grieved, as himself. unhappy wretch! said he in a passion, do you appear before me thus? after the hideous sacrifice you have just consummated, can you see me with so much satisfaction? the new bride, seeing her father angry at her pleasant countenance, said to him, for god's sake, sir, do not reproach me wrongfully: it is not the hump-back fellow, whom i abhor more than death, it is not that monster i have married; every body laughed him so to scorn, and put him so out of countenance, that he was forced to run away and hide himself, to make room for a charming young gentleman who is my real husband. what fable do you tell me? said schemseddin roughly? what! did not crook-back lie with you last night? no, sir, said she, it was that young gentleman who has large eyes and black eye-brows. at these words the vizier lost all patience, and fell into a terrible passion. ah, wicked woman, says he, you will make me distracted! it is you, father, said she, that puts me out of my senses by your incredulity. so it is not true, replies the vizier, that hump-back--let us talk no more of hump-back, said she; a curse upon hump-back, must i always have him cast in my dish? father, said she, i tell you once more that i did not bed with him, but with my dear spouse, who, i believe, is not very far off. schemseddin immediately went out to seek him; but, instead of seeing him, was mightily surprised to find hump-back with his head on the ground, and his heels uppermost, as the genius had placed him. what is the meaning of this? said he; who placed you thus? crook-back, knowing it to be the vizier, answered, alas! alas! it is you then that would marry me to the mistress of a buffalo, the sweetheart of an ugly genius; i will not be your fool, you shall not put a trick upon me. schemseddin, on hearing hump-back speak thus, thought he was raving, and bade him move, and stand upon his legs. i will take care how i do that, said hump-back, unless the sun be risen. know, sir, that when i came thither last night, on a sudden a black cat appeared to me, and in an instant grew as big as a buffalo: i have not forgotten what he said to me; therefore you may go about your business, and leave me here. the vizier, instead of going away, took hump-back by the heels, and made him get up, after which he ran as fast as he could, without looking behind him, and, coming to the palace, presented himself to the sultan, who laughed heartily when he told him how the genius had served him. schemseddin returned to his daughter's chamber more astonished than before. well then, my abused daughter, said he, can you give me no further light into this matter? sir, said she, i can give you no other account than what i have done already. here are my husband's clothes, which he left upon the chair; perhaps you may find somewhat that may solve your doubt. she then showed him bedreddin's turban, which he took and examined carefully on all sides. i should take this to be a vizier's turban, if it were not made after the moussol[footnote: the town of moussol is in mesopotamia, and built opposite to old nineveh.] fashion; but, perceiving somewhat to be sewed between the stuff and the lining, he called for scissars, and, having unripped it, found the paper which noureddin ali gave bedreddin his son as he was dying, and he had put it in his turban for more security. schemseddin, having opened the paper, knew his brother noureddin's hand, and found this superscription, 'for my son bedreddin hassan.' before he could make any reflections, his daughter delivered him the bag that lay under his clothes, which he likewise opened, and found full of sequins; for, as before mentioned, notwithstanding all the liberality of bedreddin, it was still kept full by the genius and fairy. he read these words upon a note in the bag, 'a thousand sequins belonging to isaac the jew;' and these lines underneath, which the jew wrote before he departed from bedreddin: ' delivered to bedreddin hassan, for the cargo of the first of those ships that formerly belonged to noureddin ali, his father, of worthy memory, sold unto me upon its arrival in this place.' he had scarcely read these words, when he gave a shout, and fainted. being recovered, however, by the help of his daughter, and the woman whom she called to her assistance, daughter, said he, do not frighten yourself at this accident, the reason of which is such as you can scarcely believe: your bridegoom is your cousin, the son of noureddin ali; the thousand sequins put me in mind of a quarrel i had with my dear brother; it is without doubt the dowry he gives you. god be praised for all things, and particularly for this, miraculous adventure, which demonstrates his almighty power. then looking again upon his brother's writing, he kissed it several times, shedding abundance of tears. having looked over the book from one end to the other, he found the date of his brother's arrival at balsora, his marriage, and the birth of bedreddin hasaan; and when he compared the same with the day of his own marriage, and the birth of his daughter at cairo, he wondered how every thing so exactly agreed. this happy discovery put him into such a transport of joy, that he took up the book, with the ticket of the bag, and showed it to the sultan, who pardoned what was past, and was so much pleased with the relation of the adventure, that he caused it, with all its circumstances, to be put in writing for the use of posterity. meanwhile schemseddin could not comprehend why his nephew did not appear; he expected him every moment, and was impatient to have him in his arms. after he had expected him seven days in vain, he searched for him through all cairo, but could hear no news of him, which perplexed him very much. this is the strangest adventure, said he, that ever man met with. not knowing what alteration might happen, he thought fit to draw up in writing, with his own hand, after what manner the wedding had been solemnized; how the hall and his daughter's bed-chamber were furnished, and other circumstances. he likewise made the turban, the bag, and the rest of bedreddin's things, into a bundle, and locked them up. after some weeks, the vizier's daughter perceived herself with child, and was delivered of a son at the end of nine months. a nurse was provided, besides women and slaves; and his grandfather called him agib[footnote: this word, in arabic, signifies wonderful.]. when young agib had attained the age of seven, the vizier, instead of teaching him to read at home, sent him to a master who was in great esteem; and two slaves were ordered to wait upon him. agib used to play with his school-fellows, and as they were all inferior to him in quality, they showed him great respect, according to the example of their master, who often would excuse faults in him that he would not pass by in the rest. this complaisance spoiled agib so, that he became proud and insolent, would have his play-fellows bear all from him, and would bear nothing from them, but be master every where; and if any one took the liberty to thwart him, he would call them a thousand names, and many times beat them. in short, all the scholars were weary of his company, and complained of him to the master, who answered, that they must have patience. but when he saw that agib still grew more and more insolent, and occasioned him a great deal of trouble, children, said he to his scholars, i find that agib is a little insolent gentleman; i will show you a way how to mortify him, so that he will never torment you more; nay, i believe it will make him leave the school: when he comes again to-morrow, and if you have a mind to play together, set yourselves round him, and do one of you call out, come let us play, but upon condition, that he who desires to play shall tell his own name, and the names of his father and mother; and they who refuse it shall be esteemed bastards, and not suffered to play in our company. next day, accordingly, when they were gathered together, they failed not to follow their master's instructions: they placed themselves round agib, and one of them called out, let us begin a play, but on condition, that he who cannot tell his own name, with that of his father and mother, shall not play at all. they all cried out, and so did agib, we consent to it. then he that spoke first asked every one the question, and all fulfilled the condition except agib, who answered, my name is agib, my mother is called the lady of beauty, and my father schemseddih mohammed, vizier to the sultan. at these words the children cried out, agib, what do you say? that is not the name of your father, but of your grandfather. a curse on you, said he in a passion: what! dare you say that the vizier schemseddin is not my father? no, no, cried they, with great laughter, he is but your grandfather, and you shall not play with us; nay, we will take care how we come into your company. having spoken thus, they left him, scoffing and laughing among themselves, which mortified agib so much that he wept. the schoolmaster, who was near, and heard all that passed, came just at the nick of time, and speaking to agib, says, agib, do not you know that the vizier schemseddin is not your father, but your grandfather, and the father of your mother, the lady of beauty? we know not the name of your father any more than you do; but only know that the sultan was going to marry your mother to one of his grooms, a hump-back fellow, but a genius lay with her. this is hard upon you, and ought to teach you to treat your school-fellows with less haughtiness than you have done hitherto. little agib, being nettled at this, ran hastily out of the school, and went home crying. he came straight to his mother's chamber, who, being alarmed to see him thus grieved, asked him the reason. he could not answer for tears, and it was but now and then he could speak plain enough to repeat what had been the occasion of his sorrow. having come to himself, mother, said he, for the love of god, be pleased to tell me who is my father. my son, said she, schemseddin mohammed, that every day makes so much of you, is your father. you do not tell me truth, said he; he is your father, not mine; but whose son am i? at this question, the lady of beauty, calling to mind her wedding-night, which had been succeeded by a long widowhood, began to shed tears, repining bitterly at the loss of so lovely a husband as bedreddin. whilst she and agib were weeping, the vizier entered, and demanded the reason of their sorrow. the lady told him the shame agib had undergone at school, which did so much afflict the vizier, that he joined his tears with theirs; and judging that the misfortune that had happened to his daughter was the common discourse of the town, he was quite out of patience. in this state he went to the sultan's palace, and, falling at his feet, humbly prayed him to give him leave to make a journey into the provinces of the levant, and particularly to balsora, in search of his nephew bedreddin, as he could not bear that the people of the city should believe a genius had got his daughter with child. the sultan was much concerned at the vizier's affliction, commended his resolution, gave him leave to go, and caused a passport also to be written for him, praying, in the most obliging terms, all kings and princes, in whose dominions the said bedreddin might sojourn, to grant that the vizier might bring him along with him. schemseddin, not knowing how to express his thankfulness to the sultan for this favour, thought it his duty to fall down before him a second time, and the floods of tears he shed gave sufficient testimony of his gratitude. at last, having wished the sultan all manner of prosperity, he took leave, and went home to his house, where he disposed every thing for his journey, the preparations for which were carried on with so much diligence, that in four days he left the city, accompanied by his daughter and his grandson agib. they travelled nineteen days without stopping; but on the twentieth, arriving in a very pleasant meadow at a small distance from damascus, they stopped, and pitched their tents on the banks of a river that runs through the town, and affords a very agreeable prospect to its neighbourhood. schemseddin mohammed declared that he would stay in that pleasant place two days, and pursue his journey on the third. in the mean time he granted permission to his retinue to go to damascus; and almost all of them made use of it--some influenced by curiosity to see a city of which they had heard much, and others by the opportunity of vending in it such egyptian goods as they had brought with them, or of buying the stuffs and rarities of the country. the beautiful lady, desirous that her son agib might share in the satisfaction of viewing that celebrated city, ordered the black eunuch, who acted in the quality of his governor, to conduct him hither, and to take care that he came to no harm. accordingly agib, arrayed in magnificent apparel, went along with the eunuch, who held a large cane in his hand. they had no sooner entered the city than agib, fair and glorious as the day, attracted the eyes of the people. some left their houses in order to gain a nearer view of him, others looked out at their windows, and those who passed along the streets were not satisfied with stopping to view him, but kept pace with him to prolong the pleasure of such an agreeable sight: in fine, every one admired him, and implored a thousand benedictions on the father and mother who had given being to so fine a child. by chance the eunuch and he passed by the shop where bedreddin hassan was, and there the crowd was so great, that they were forced to halt. the pastry-cook who had adopted bedreddin, had died some years before, leaving him his shop and all his estate; and he now managed the pastry trade so dexterously, that he gained great reputation in damascus. bedreddin, seeing so great a crowd gazing attentively upon agib and the black eunuch, stepped out to view them himself. having cast his eyes particularly on agib, he presently found himself involuntarily moved. he was not struck like the crowd, with the shining beauty of the boy; a very different cause, unknown to him, gave rise to his commotion. it was the force of the blood that worked in this tender father, who, laying aside all business, made up to agib, and, with an engaging air, said to him, my little lord, who hast won my soul, be so kind as to come into my shop, and eat a bit of such fare as i have, that i may have the pleasure of admiring you at my ease. these words he pronounced with such tenderness, that tears trickled from his eyes. little agib himself was greatly moved; and, turning to the eunuch, said, this honest man's face pleases me much; he speaks in such an affectionate manner, that i cannot avoid complying with his desire; let us step into his house, and taste his pastry. ah, by my troth! replied the slave, it would be a fine thing to see the son of a vizier go into a pastry shop to eat; do not you imagine that i will suffer any such thing. alas, my little lord, cried bedreddin, it is an injustice to trust your conduct in the hands of a person who treats you so harshly. then applying himself to the eunuch, my good friend, continued he, pray do not himder this young lord to grant me the favour i ask; do not put that piece of mortification on me; rather do me the honour to walk in along with him; and, by so doing, you will give the world to know, that, though your outside is brown like a chesnut, your inside is as white as his. do you know, continued he, that i am master of the secret to make you white, instead of being black as you are? this set the eunuch a laughing, and then he asked bedreddin what that secret was. i will tell you, replied bedreddin, repeating some verses in praise of black eunuchs, implying, that by their ministry the honour of princes, and of all great men, was insured. the eunuch was so charmed with the verses, that, without further hesitation, he suffered agib to go into the shop, and also went in himself. bedreddin was overjoyed at having obtained what he had so passionately desired; and falling about the work he had discontinued, i was making, said he, cream-tarts, and you must, with submission, eat of them, i am persuaded you will find them very good; for my own mother, who makes them incomparably well, taught me; and people send to buy them of me from all quarters of the town. this said, he took a cream-tart out of the oven, and, after strewing on it some pomegranate kernels and sugar, set it before agib, who pronounced it very delicious. another was served up to the eunuch, who gave the same judgment. while they were both eating, bedreddin regarded agib very attentively; and, after looking on him again and again, it occurred to him that, for any thing he knew, he might have such a son by his charming wife, from whom he had been so soon and so cruelly separated; and the very thoughts drew tears from his eyes. he also intended to put some questions to little agib about his journey to damascus; but the child had no time to gratify his curiosity; for the eunuch, pressing him to return to his grandfather's tent, took him away as soon as he had done eating. bedreddin, however, not contented with looking after him, shut up his shop immediately, and followed him. the eunuch, perceiving that he followed them, was extremely surprised: you impertinent fellow, said he, with an angry tone, what do you want? my dear friend, replied bedreddin, do not trouble yourself; i have a little business out of town that is just come into my head, and i must needs go and look after it. this answer, however, did not at all appease the eunuch, who, turning to agib, said, this is all owing to you; i foresaw that i should repent of my complaisance; you would needs go into the man's shop; it was not wise in me to give you leave. perhaps, replied agib, he has real business out of town, and the road is free to every body. while this conversation passed, they kept walking together, without looking behind them, till they came near the vizier's tents, when they turned about to see if bedreddin followed them. agib, perceiving he was within two paces of him, grew red and white alternately, according to his different emotions; he was afraid that the grand vizier his grandfather should come to know that he had been in the pastry-shop, and had eaten there. in this dread he took up a pretty large stone that lay at his foot, and throwing it at bedreddin, hit him on the forehead, which gave him such a wound, that his face was covered with blood; he then took to his heels, and ran under the eunuch's tent. the eunuch gave bedreddin to understand that he had no reason to complain of a mischance which he had merited and brought upon himself. bedreddin turned towards the city, staunching the blood with his apron, which he had not put off. i was a fool, said he within himself, for leaving my house, to take so much pains about this brat; for doubtless he would never have used me after this manner, if he had not thought i had some fatal design against him; when he got home, he had his wound dressed, and softened the sense of his mischance by the reflection that there was an infinite number of people yet more unfortunate than himself. bedreddin kept on the pastry trade at damascus, whence his uncle sehemseddin departed three days after his arrival; he went by the way of emaus, hanah, and halep; then crossed the euphrates; and, after passing through mardin, moussoul, singier, diarbeker, and several other towns, arrived at last at balsora; and, immediately after his arrival, desired audience of the sultan, who was no sooner informed of schemseddin's quality, than he received him very favourably, and asked him the occasion of his journey to balsora. sir, replied the vizier schemseddin, i come to know what is become of the son of noureddin ali, my brother, who has had the honour to serve your majesty. noureddin, said the sultan, has been dead a long while: as to his son, all i can tell you of him is, that he disappeared very suddenly about two months after his father's death, and nobody has seen him since, notwithstanding all the inquiry i ordered to be made; but his mother, who is the daughter of one of my viziers, is still alive. schemseddin desired leave of the sultan to see her, and carry her to egypt; and having obtained his request, without tarrying till next day for the satisfaction of seeing her, inquired her place of abode, and that very hour went to her house, accompanied by his daughter and grandson. the widow of noureddin resided still in the same house where her husband had lived: it was a very magnificent structure, adorned with marble pillars; but schemseddin did not stop to view it. at his entry, he kissed the gate, and the piece of marble upon which his brother's name was written in letters of gold. he desired to speak with his sister-in-law, and was told by the servants that she was then in a small edifice, in the form of a dome, which they showed him, in the middle of a very spacious court. this tender mother used to spend the greater part of the day, as well as the night, in that room, which she had built in order to represent the tomb of bedreddin, whom she supposed to be dead after so long an absence. at this very instant she was shedding tears at the thoughts of her dear child; and schemseddin entering, found her labouring under that affliction. he paid his compliments, and, after beseeching her to suspend her tears and groans, gave her to know that he had the honour to be her brother-in-law, and acquainted her with the occasion of his journey from cairo to balsora. schemseddin, after relating all that had passed at cairo on his daughter's wedding-night, and the surprise occasioned by the discovery of the paper sewed up in bedreddin's turban, presented to her agib and the beautiful lady. the widow of noureddin ali, who had still continued sitting like a woman moped and weaned from the affairs of this world, no sooner understood by his discourse that her dear son, whom she lamented so bitterly, might still be alive, than she rose, and repeatedly embraced the beautiful lady and her grandchild agib; and perceiving in the youth the features of bedreddin, she shed tears very different from those to which she had been so long accustomed. she could not forbear kissing the youth, who, on his part, received her embraces with all the demonstrations of joy he was capable of. madam, said schemseddin, it is time to wipe away your tears, and cease your groans; you must now think of accompanying us to egypt. the sultan of balsora has given me leave to carry you thither, and i doubt not that you will agree to it. i am hopeful that we shall at last find out your son, my nephew; and if that should come to pass, the history of him, of you, of my own daughter, and of my own adventures, will deserve to be committed to writing, and to be transmitted to posterity. the widow of noureddin ali heard this proposal with pleasure, and from that very minute ordered preparations to be made for her departure. in the mean time schemseddin desired a second audience; and, after taking leave of the sultan, who received him with ample marks of respect, giving him a considerable present for himself, and another of great value for the sultan of egypt, he set out from balsora for the city of damascus. when he arrived in its neighbourhood, he ordered his tents to be pitched without the gate at which he designed to enter the city, and gave out that he would tarry there three days in order to give his equipage rest, and buy up the best curiosities he could meet with, in order to present them to the sultan of egypt. while he was thus employed in choosing the finest of the stuffs which the principal merchants had brought to his tents, agib begged the black eunuch, his governor, to carry him through the city, in order to see what he had not leisure to view as he passed before, and to know what was become of the pastry-cook whom he had wounded with a stone. the eunuch, complying with his request, went with him towards the city, after leave obtained from his mother. they entered damascus by the paradise-gate, which lay next to the tents of the vizier schemseddin. they walked through the great squares and public places where the richest goods were sold, and viewed the ancient mosque of the ommidae[footnote: that is, of caliphs who reigned after the four first successors of mahomet, and were so called from one of their ancestors whose name was ommiam.], at the hour of prayer, between noon and sunset[footnote: this prayer is always repeated two hours and a half before sunset.]. after that they passed the shop of bedreddin, whom they found still employed in making cream-tarts: i salute you, sir, said agib. do you know me? do you remember ever seeing me before? bedreddin, hearing these words, cast his eyes on him, and knowing him, (oh, the surprising effect of paternal love!) found the same emotions which he had experienced when he first saw him; he seemed much confused; and, instead of making an answer, continued a long time without uttering one word. but at last, recollecting himself, my little lord, said he, be so kind as to come once more with your governor into my house, and taste a cream-tart. i beg your lordship's pardon for my imprudence in following you out of town; i was at that time not myself, and scarcely knew what i did. you dragged me after you, and the violence of the pull was so soft, that i could not withstand it. agib, astonished at what bedreddin said, replied thus: there is an excess in the kindness you express; and unless you engage, on oath, not to follow me when i go from hence, i will not enter your house. if you give me your promise, and prove a man of your word, i will visit you again to-morrow, as the vizier my grand-father is still employed in buying up things for a present to the sultan of egypt. my little lord, replied bedreddin, i will do whatever you desire me. accordingly agib and the eunuch went into the shop. bedreddin set before them a cream-tart, fully as good as what they had eaten of when they saw him before. come, said agib, addressing himself to bedreddin, sit down by me, and eat with us. bedreddin sat down, and offered to embrace agib, as a testimony of the joy he conceived on his sitting by him; but agib, shoving him away, desired him to be easy, not to run his friendship too close, and to content bimself with seeing and entertaining him. bedreddin obeyed, and began to sing a song, the words of which he had composed extempore in praise of agib: he did not eat himself, but busied himself in serving his guests. when they had done eating, he brought them water to wash with[footnote: the mahometans having a custom of washing their hands five times a day when they go to prayers, they reckon that they have no occasion to wash before eating, but always after it, because they eat without forks.], and a white napkin to wipe their hands: he then filled a large china cup with sherbet, and put snow into it[footnote: this is done all over the levant, for the purpose of cooling liquor.]; and offering it to agib, this, said he, is sherbet of roses, and the pleasantest you will meet with in all damascus; i am sure you never tasted better. agib, having drunk of it with pleasure, bedreddin hassan took the cup from him, and presented it to the eunuch, who drank the contents at one pull. in short, agib and his governor having fared sumptuously, returned thanks to the pastry-cook for their good entertainment, and proceeded homewards, it being then pretty late. whew they arrived at the tents of schemseddin, agib's grandmother received him with transports of joy: her son bedreddin ran always in her mind; and, in embracing agib, the remembrance of him drew tears from her eyes. ah, my child! said she, my joy would be complete, had i the pleasure of embracing your father bedreddin hassan as i now embrace you! then sitting down to supper, she made agib sit by her, and put several questions to him relating to the walk he had been taking along with the eunuch; and, complaining of his want of appetite, gave him a piece of a cream-tart that she had made herself, and was indeed very good; for i told you before that she could make them better than the best pastry-cooks. she likewise gave part of it to the eunuch; but they had eaten so heartily at bedreddin's house, that they could not taste it. agib no sooner touched the piece of cream-tart that had been set before him, than he pretended that he did not like it, and left it uncut. schaban[footnote: the mahometans give this name generally to their black eunuchs.] (for such was the eunuch's name) did the same. the widow of noureddin ali observed, with regret, that her grandson did not like the tart. what! said she, does my child thus despise the work of my hands? be it known to you, that not one in the world can make such cream-tarts, except myself and your father bedreddin, whom i myself taught. my good mother, replied agib, give me leave to tell you, that if you do not know how to make them better, there is a pastry-cook in this town who exceeds you. we were but just now at his shop, and ate of one that was much better than yours. the grandmother, frowning on the eunuch, said, how now, schaban? was the care of my grandchild committed to you to carry him to eat at pastry-shops like a beggar? madam, replied the eunuch, it is true we did stop a little while, and talked with the pastry-cook, but we did not eat with him. pardon me, said agib; we went into his shop, and there ate a cream-tart. upon this, the lady, more incensed against the eunuch than before, rose in a passion from the table, and running to the tent of schemseddin, informed him of the eunuch's crime, and that in such terms as tended more to inflame the vizier than to dispose him to excuse it. schemseddin, who was naturally passionate, did not fail on this occasion to display his anger. he went forthwith to his sister-in-law's tent; and, making up to the eunuch, what! said he, you pitiful wretch, have you the impudence to abuse the trust i repose in you? schaban, though sufficiently convicted by agib's testimony, still denied the fact. but the child persisted in what he had already affirmed: grandfather, said he, i can assure you that we did not only eat, but that both of us so much satisfied our appetites, that we have no occasion for supper; besides, the pastry-cook treated us with a large bowl of sherbet. well, cried schemseddin, turning to schaban, after all this, will you continue to deny that you entered the pastry-cook's house, and ate there? schaban had still the impudence to swear that it was not true. then you are a liar! said the vizier; i will believe my grandchild rather than you; but, after all, if you can eat up this cream-tart on the table, i shall be persuaded that you have truth on your side. though schaban had crammed himself immoderately before, yet he agreed to stand the test, and accordingly took a piece of the tart; but his stomach rising against it, he was obliged to spit it out of his mouth: he still, however, pursued the lie, pretending he had over-eaten himself the day before, so that his stomach was cloyed. the vizier, irritated by the eunuch's frivolous pretences, and convinced of his guilt, ordered him to lie flat upon the ground, and to be soundly bastinadoed. in undergoing this punishment, the poor wretch shrieked out prodigiously, and at last confessed the truth: i own, cried he, that we did eat a cream-tart at the pastry-cook's, and that it was much better than that upon the table. the widow of noureddin thought it was out of spite to her, and with a design to mortify her, that schaban commended the pastry-cook's tart; and accordingly said, i cannot believe the cook's tarts are better than mine, and am resolved to satisfy myself upon that head. where does he live? go immediately, and buy me one of his tarts. the eunuch having received of her the money necessary for the purchase, repaired to bedreddin's shop, and, addressing him, good mr. pastry-cook, said he, take this money, and let me have one of your cream-tarts; one of our ladies wants to taste them. bedreddin chose one of the best, and gave it to the eunuch. take this, said he, i will engage it is an excellent one, and can assure you that nobody is able to make the like unless it be my mother, who perhaps still lives. schaban returned speedily to the tents, and gave the tart to noureddin's widow, who snatched it eagerly, and broke off a piece; but had no sooner put it to her mouth, than she screamed and swooned away, schemseddin, being present, was extremely surprised at the accident, threw water upon her face himself, and was very active in succouring her. as soon as she recovered, my god! cried she, it must certainly be my son, my dear bedreddin, who made this tart! when the vizier schemseddin heard his sister-in-law say that the maker of the tart brought by the eunuch must without doubt be bedreddin, he was overjoyed; but reflecting that his joy might prove groundless, and in all likelihood the conjecture of noureddin's widow be false, madam, said he, why are you of that mind? do you think there may not be a pastry-cook in the world who knows how to make cream-tarts as well as your son? i own, replied she, there may be pastry-cooks who can make as good tarts; but as i make them after a peculiar manner, and nobody but my son is let into the secret, it must absolutely be he who made this. come, my brother, added she in transport, let us call up mirth and joy; we have at last found what we have been so long looking for! madam, said the vizier, i entreat you to moderate your impatience, for we shall quickly know the truth. all we have to do, is to bring the pastry-cook hither, and then you and my daughter will readily distinguish whether it is bedreddin or not; but you must both be hidden, so as to have a view of him without his seeing you; for my design is to delay the discovery till we return to cairo, where i propose to regale you with very agreeable diversion. he then left the ladies in their tent, and retired to his own, where he called for fifty of his men, and said to them, take each of you a stick in your hands, and follow schaban, who will conduct you to a pastry-cook's in the city. when you arrive there, break and dash in pieces all you find in the shop; if he asks you why you commit such disorder, only ask him again if it was not he who made the cream-tart that was brought from his house. if he owns himself the man, seine his person, fetter him, and bring him along with you; but take care you do not beat him, nor do him the least harm. go, and lose no time. the vizier's orders were immediately executed. the detachment, conducted by the black eunuch, went with expedition to bedreddin's house, and broke in pieces the plates, kettles, copper-pans, tables, and all the other moveables and utensils they met with, and drowned the sherbet-shop with creams and comfits. bedreddin, astonished at the sight, said, with a pitiful tone, pray, good people, why do you serve me so? what is the matter? what have i done? was it not you, said they, who sold this eunuch the cream-tart? yes, replied he, i am the man, and who says any thing against it? i defy any one to make a better. instead of giving him an answer, they continued to break all round them; even the oven was not spared. the neighbours in the mean time took the alarm; and, surprised to see fifty armed men commit such a disorder, asked the reason of such violence. bedreddin said once more to the actors of it. pray, tell me what crime i am guilty of, to have deserved this usage? was it not you, replied they, who made the cream-tart you sold to the eunuch? yes, it was i, replied he; i maintain it is a good one, and i do not deserve the usage you give me. however, without listening to him, they seized his person, and snatching the cloth off his turban, tied his hands with it behind his back; then dragging him by force out of his shop, they marched off with him. the mob gathering, and taking compassion on bedreddin, took his part, and offered opposition to schemseddin's men; but that very minute up came some officers from the governor of the city, who dispersed the people, and favoured the carrying off of bedreddin; for schemseddin had in the mean time gone to the governor's house to acquaint him with the order he had given, and to demand the interposition of force to favour the execution. the governor, who commanded all syria in the name of the sultan of egypt, was loath to refuse any thing to his master's vizier; so that bedreddin was carried off, notwithstanding his cries and tears. it was needless for him to ask, by the way, those who forced him off, what fault had been found with his cream-tart, as they gave him no answer. in short, they carried him to the tents, and detained him till schemseddin returned from the governor of damascus's house. upon the vizier's return, bedreddin hassan was brought before him: my lord, said bedreddin, with tears in his eyes, pray do me the favour to let me know wherein i have displeased you. why, you wretch! said the vizier, was it not you who made the cream-tart you sent me? i own i am the man, replied bedreddin; but pray what crime is that? i will punish you according to your deserts, said schemseddin: it shall cost you your life for sending me such a sorry tart. good god, cried bedreddin, what news is this? is it a capital crime to make a bad creamtart? yes, said the vizier, and you are to expect no mercy from me. while this interview lasted, the ladies, who were hid, observed bedreddin narrowly, and readily knew him, though he had been so long absent. they were so transported with joy, that they swooned away, and, when they recovered, would fain have run and fallen upon bedreddin's neck; but the promise they had made to the vizier, not to discover themselves, restrained the tender emotions of love and nature. schemseddin, having resolved to set out that very night, ordered the tents to be struck, and the necessary preparations to be made for his journey. as for bedreddin, he ordered him to be put into a chest or box well locked, and laid on a camel. when every thing was got ready, the vizier and his retinue began their march, and travelled all that night and the next day without stopping. in the evening they halted, when bedreddin was taken out of his cage in order to be served with necessary refreshments, but still carefully kept at a distance from his mother and wife; and, during the whole expedition, which lasted twenty days, he was served in the same manner. when they arrived at cairo, and had encamped in the neighbourhood of that place, schemaeddin called for bedreddin, gave orders in his presence to a carpenter to get some wood with all expedition, and make a stake. heyday! said bedreddin, what do you mean to do with a stake? why, to nail you to it, replies schemseddin; then to have you carried through all the quarters of the town, that the people may have the spectacle of a worthless pastry-cook who makes cream-tarts without pepper! bedreddin cried out so comically, that schemseddin could hardly keep his countenance: good god, cried he, must i suffer a death, as cruel as ignominious, for not putting pepper in a cream-tart? must i be rifled, and have all the godds in my house broken in pieces, imprisoned in a chest, and at last nailed to a stake? and all for not putting pepper in a cream-tart! good god! who ever heard of such a thing? are these the actions of mussulmen, of persons who make professions of probity and justice, and practise all manner of good works? with these words he shed tears; and then renewing his complaint, no, continued he, never was man used so unjustly, nor so severely. is it possible they should be capable of taking a man's life for not putting pepper in a cream-tart? cursed be all cream-tarts, as well as the hour in which i was born! would to god i had died that minute! the disconsolate bedreddin did not cease to pour forth his lamentations; and when the stake was brought, and the nails to nail him to it, he cried out bitterly at the horrid sight. heaven! said he, canst thou suffer me to die an ignominious and painful death? and for what crime? not for robbery or murder, or renouncing my religion, but for not putting pepper in a cream- tart! night being pretty far advanced, the vizier ordered bedreddin to be put up again in his cage, saying to him, stay here till to-morrow; the day shall not be spent before i give orders for your death. the chest or cage was then carried away, and laid upon the camel that had brought it from damascus; at the same time all the other camels were loaded again, and the vizier, mounting his horse, ordered the camel that carried his nephew to march before him, thus entering the city, with all his equipage following. after passing through several streets, where nobody appeared, every one being in bed, he arrived at his house, where he ordered the chest to be taken down, but not to be opened till further orders. while his retinue were unloading the other camels, the vizier took bedreddin's mother and his daughter aside; and, addressing himself to the latter, said, god be praised, my child, for this happy occasion of meeting your cousin and your husband. you surely remember in what order your chamber was on your wedding night; put every thing in the very same situation; and, in the mean time, if your memory do not serve you, i can supply you by a written account which i caused to be taken upon that occasion; and leave the rest to me. the beautiful lady went joyfully about the orders of her father, who at the same time began to put things in the hall in the same order they were in when bedreddin was there with the sultan of egypt's hunch-backed groom. as he went over his manuscript, his domestics placed every moveable accordingly. the throne was not forgotten, nor the lighted wax-candles. when every thing was put to rights in the hall, the vizier went into his daughter's chamber, and put bedreddin's clothes, with the purse of sequins, in their proper place. this done, he said to the beautiful lady, undress yourself, my child, and go to bed. as soon as bedreddin enters the room, complain of his being from you so long, and tell him, that when you awaked, you were astonished you did not find him by you. press him to come to bed again; and to-morrow morning you will divert your mother-in-law and me by telling us what has passed between you and him. the vizier went from his daughter's apartment, and left her to undress and go to bed. schemseddin ordered all his domestics to leave the hall, except two or three, whom he ordered to remain. these he commanded to go and take bedreddin out of the chest, to strip him to his shirt and drawers, conduct him in that condition to the hall, leave him there all alone, and shut the door upon him. bedreddin, though overwhelmed with grief, had been asleep all the while; insomuch that the vizier's domestics had taken him put of the chest, and stripped him, before he awaked, and carried him so suddenly into the hall, that they did not give him time to bethink himself where he was. when he found himself alone in the hall, he looked round, and the objects of his sight recalling to his memory the circumstances of his marriage, he perceived with astonishment that it was the same hall where he had seen the sultan's groom of the stables. his surprise was still greater, when, approaching softly to the door of a chamber which he found open, he espied his clothes in the very place where he remembered to have left them on his wedding-night. my god! said he, rubbing his eyes, am i asleep or awake? his wife, who in the mean time was diverting herself with his astonishment, suddenly opened the curtains of her bed; and, bending her head forward, my dear lord, said she, with a tender air, what do you there? pr'ythee come to bed again; you have been out of it a long time. i was strangely surprised, when i awaked, at not finding you by me. bedreddin's countenance changed when he perceived that the lady who spoke to him was the charming person he had lain with before; he therefore entered the room; but, calling to mind all that had passed for an interval of ten years, and not being able to persuade himself that it could have happened in one night, he went to the place where his clothes and the purse of sequins lay, and, after examining them very carefully, by heaven, cried he, these are things that i can by no means comprehend! the lady, who enjoyed his confusion, said, once more, i pray you, my lord, come to bed again; why do you stand? he then stepped towards the bed, and said to her, pray, madam, tell me, is it long since i left you? the question, answered she, surprises me. did you not rise from me but now? your thoughts are surely very busy. madam, replied bedreddin, i do assure you that my thoughts are not very easy. i remember, indeed, to have been with you; but i remember, at the same time, that i have since lived ten years at damascus. now, if i was actually in bed with you this night, i cannot have been from you so long; these two things are inconsistent. pray tell me what to think; whether my marriage with you be an illusion, or whether my absence from you be only a dream, yes, my lord, cried she; doubtless you were light-headed when you thought you were at damascus. upon this bedreddin laughed heartily, and said, what a comical fancy is this! i assure you, madam, this dream of mine will be very pleasant to you. do but imagine, if you please, that i was at the gate of damascus in my shirt and drawers, as i am here now; that i entered the town with the halloo of a mob who followed and insulted me; that i fled into a pastry-cook's, who adopted me, taught me his trade, and left me all he had when he died; and that after his death i kept a shop. in fine, madam, i had a great number of other adventures too tedious to recount; and all i can say is, that it was not amiss that i awaked, for they were going to nail me to a stake. oh, lord, and for what (cried the lady, feigning astonishment) would they have used you so cruelly? you must certainly have committed some enormous crime. not in the least, replied bedreddin; it was nothing in the world but a mere trifle, the most ridiculous thing you can think of. all the crime i was charged with, was selling a cream-tart that had no pepper in it. as for that matter, said the beautiful lady, laughing heartily, i must say they did you great injustice. ah, madam, replied he, that was not all; for this cursed cream-tart was every thing in my shop broken to pieces, and myself bound, fettered, and flung into a chest, where i lay so close, that methinks i am there still. in fine, a carpenter was sent for, and he was ordered to get ready a stake for me; but, thanks be to god, all these things are no more than a dream. bedreddin was not easy all night; he awaked from time to time, and put the question to himself, whether he dreamed or was awake. he distrusted his felicity; and to ascertain whether it was real or not, opened the curtains, and looked round the room. i am not mistaken, said he; this is the same chamber which i entered, instead of the hunch-backed groom of the stables, and am now in bed with the fair lady who was designed for him. day-light, which then appeared, had not yet dispelled his uneasiness, when the vizier schemseddin, his uncle, knocked at the door, and went to bid him good-morrow. bedreddin was extremely surprised to see, on a sudden, a man whom he knew so well, and who now appeared with a quite different air from that with which he pronounced the terrible sentence of death against him. ah! cried bedreddin, it was you who condemned me so unjustly to a manner of death the thoughts of which make me shrink still; and all for a cream-tart without pepper. the vizier laughed heartily; but, to put him out of suspense, told him how, by the ministry of a genius, (for bossu's relation had made him suspect the adventure) he had been at his house, and had married his daughter instead of the sultan's groom of the stables; he then acquainted him that he had discovered him to be his nephew by a book written by the hand of noureddin ali, and, pursuant to that discovery, had gone from cairo to balsora in quest of him. my dear nephew, added he, with embraces and all the marks of tenderness, i ask your pardon for all i have made you undergo since i discovered you: i had a mind to bring you to my house before i told you your happiness, which ought now to be so much the dearer to you as it has cost you so much perplexity. to atone for all your afflictions, comfort yourself with the joy of being in the company of those who ought to be dearest to you. while you are dressing yourself, i shall acquaint your mother, who is beyond measure impatient to see you; and will likewise bring to you your son, whom you saw at damascus, and for whom you showed so much affection without knowing him. no words are sufficient to express the joy of bedreddin when he saw his mother and his son. these three embraced, and showed all the transports which love and tenderness can inspire. the mother spoke to bedreddin in the most moving terms; she mentioned the grief she had felt for his long absence, and the tears she had shed. little agib, instead of flying his father's embraces as at damascus, received them with ail the marks of pleasure; while his father, divided between two objects so worthy of his love, thought he could not give sufficient proofs of his affection. in the mean time schemseddin went to the palace to give an account of the happy success of his travels to the sultan, who was so charmed with the recital, that he ordered it to be taken down in writing, and to be preserved among the archives of his kingdom. after schemseddin's return to his house, having prepared a noble feast, he sat down at the table with his family, and all his household passed the day in social conviviality. the vizier giafar having made an end of the story of bedreddin hassan, told the caliph haroun alraschid, that this was what he had to relate to his majesty. the caliph found the story so surprising, that, without further hesitation, he granted his slave rihan's pardon, and to condole the young man for the grief of having unhappily deprived himself of a woman whom he loved so tenderly, he married him to one of his slaves, bestowed liberal gifts upon him, and entertained him until he died. but, sir, said scheherazade, observing that day began to appear, though the story i have how told you be agreeable, i have one that is even much more so. if your majesty will please to hear it the next night, i am certain you will be of the same mind. schahriar rose without giving any answer, and was in a quandary what to do. the good sultaness, said he within himself, tells very long stories; and when once she begins one, there is no refusing to hear it out. i cannot tell whether i shall put her to death to-day or not. no, surely not, i will do nothing rashly: the story she promises is perhaps more diverting than those she has yet told, and i will not deprive myself of the pleasure of hearing it. dinarzade did not fail to awake the sultaness of the indies, who thus commenced her story. the story of the little hunch-back. there was in former times at casgar, upon the utmost borders of tartary, a tailor who had a pretty wife, whom he ardently loved, and by whom he was loved in return. one day, as he sat at work, a little hunch-back my lord came and sat down at the shop-door, began singing, at same time playing upon a tabor. the tailor was pleased to hear him, and had a strong mind to take him to his house to make his wife merry: this little fellow, said he to his wife, will divert us both very agreeably. in fine, he invited my lord, who readily accepted of the invitation; the tailor then shut up his shop, and conducted him in. the little gentleman being arrived at the tailor's house, his wife covered the table, and they sat down to sup on a good large dish of fish; but as they ate heartily, the little crooked gentleman unluckily swallowed a large bone, of which he died in a few minutes, notwithstanding all the tailor and his wife could do to prevent it. both were mightily frightened at the accident, especially as it happened in their house; and there was reason to fear, that if the justiciary magistrates should hear of it, they would be punished as assassins. the husband, however, found an expedient to get rid of the corpse: recollecting that there was a jewish doctor who lived just by, he formed a project, to execute which, his wife and he took the corpse, the one by the feet and the other by the head, and carried it to the physician's house. they knocked at the door, from which ascended a steep pair of stairs to his chamber. as soon as they bad knocked, the servant-maid came down without any light; and, opening the door, asked what they wanted. pr'ythee, go up again, said the tailor, and tell your master we have brought him a man that is very sick, and wants his advice. here, putting a piece of money into her hand, give him that beforehand, to convince him that we have no mind to make him lose his labour. while the servant was gone up to acquaint her master with the welcome news, the tailor and his wife nimbly conveyed the hunch-backed corpse to the head of the stairs; and, leaving it there, ran off. in the mean time, the maid, having told the doctor that a man and a woman staid for him at the door, desiring he would come down and look upon a sick man they had brought with them, and the maid clapping the money she had received into his hand, the doctor was transported with joy; being paid beforehand, he thought it was a good job, and should not be neglected. light, light! cried he to the maid; follow me nimbly. however, without staying for the light, he got to the stair-head in such haste, that stumbling against the corps, he gave it such a kick, as made it tumble down quiite to the stair-foot, and with difficulty saved himself. a light, a light! cried he to the maid, quick, quick! at last the maid came with a light, and he went down stairs with her; but when he gav that the stumbling-block he had kicked down was a dead man, he was so frightened, that he invoked moses, aaron, joshua, and esdras, and all the other prophets of his law. unhappy man that i am! said he, what induced me to come down without a light? i have e'en made an end of the fellow who was brought to me to be cured? i am undoubtedly the cause of his death, and unless, esras's ass[footnote: here the arabian author ridicules the jews: this ass is that which, as the mahometans believe, esdras rode upon when he came from the babylonian captivity to jerusalem.] comes to assist me, i nm ruined: mercy on me, they will be here instantly, and drag me from my house as a murderer! but, notwithstanding the perplexity and jeopardy he was in, he had the precaution to shut his door, lest any one passing by in the street should observe the mischance, of which he reckoned himself the author. he then took the corpse into his wife's chamber, upon which she swooned away. alas! cried she, we are utterly ruined! undone! undone! unless we fall upon some expedient or other to turn the corpse out of our house this night! beyond all question, if we harbour it till morning, our lives must pay for it. what a sad mischance is this! why, how did you kill this man? that is not the question, replied the jew; our business now is to find out a remedy for such a shocking accident. they then consulted together how to get rid of the corpse that night. the doctor racked his brain in vain; he could not think of any stratagem to get clear: but his wife, who was more fertile in invention, said, there is a thought come into my head; let us carry.the corpse to the leads of our house, and tumble it down the chimney into the house of the mussulman, our next neighbour. this mussulman, or turk, was one of the sultan's purveyors for furnishing oil, butter, and all sorts of fat, tallow, &c. and had a magazine in his house, in which the rats and mice made prodigious havoe. the jewish doctor approving the proposed expedient, his wife and he took the little hunch-back up to the roof of the house; and, clapping ropes under his arm-pits, let him down the chimney into the purveyor's chamber so softly and dexterously, that he stood upright against the wall as if he had been alive. when they found he stood firm, they pulled up the ropes, and left the gentleman in that posture. they were scarcely got into their chamber, when the purveyor went into his, being just come from a wedding feast, with a lantern in his hand. he was mightily surprised, when, by the light of his lantern, he descried a man standing upright in his chimney; but being a stout man, and apprehending it was a thief or a robber, he took up a large cane; and, making straight up to the hunch-back, ah, said he, i thought it was the rats and the mice that ate my butter and tallow! and it is you that come down the chimney to rob me, is it? i question if ever you come back again on the same errand? this said, he fell foul of the man, and gave him a good many swinging thwacks with his cane: upon which the corpse fell down, running its nose against the ground, and the purveyor redoubled his blows: but, observing that the body did not move, he stood to consider a little; when, perceiving it was a corpse, fear succeeded his anger. wretched man that i am! said he; what have i done? i have killed a man! alas, i have carried my revenge too far! good god, unless thou pityest me, my life is gone! cursed, ten thousand times accursed, be the fat and the oil that gave occasion to the commission of so criminal an action. in fine, he stood pale and thunder-struck; he thought he saw the officers already come to drag him to condign punishment, and could not think what resolution to take. the sultan of casgar's purveyor did not observe the little gentleman's hunch when he was beating him, but as soon as he did, he threw out a thousand imprecations against him. ah, you crooked hunch-back! cried he; would to god you had robbed me of all my fat, and i had not found you here! had it been so, i would not have been now so much perplexed for the sake of you and your nasty hunch. oh! the stars that twinkle in the heavens give light to none but me in this dangerous juncture! as soon as he had uttered these words, he took the little crooked corpse upon his shoulders, and carried it out of doors to the end of the street, where he set it upright against a shop, and then trudged home again without looking behind him. a few minutes before the break of day, a christian merchant, who was very rich, and furnished the sultan's palace with most things it wanted; this merchant, having sat up all night debauching, stepped out of his house to go to bathe. though he was drunk, he was sensible that the night was far spent, and that the people would quickly be called to the morning prayers, which begin at break of day; he therefore quickened his pace to get in time to the bath, lest a turk, meeting him in his way to the mosque, should carry him to prison for a drunkard. when he came to the end of the street, he stopped on some necessary occasion, and leaned against the shop where the sultan's purveyor had put the hunch-backed corpse; but the corpse being jostled, tumbled upon the merchant's back. the merchant thinking it was a robber that came to attack him, knocked him down with a hearty box on the ear, and, after redoubling his blows, cried out, thieves! the outcry alarmed the watch, who came up immediately; and finding a christian beating a turk, (for crump-back was of our religion), what reason have you, said he, to abuse a mussulman after this rate? he would have robbed me, replied the merchant, and jumped upon my back with intent to take me by the throat. if he did, said the watch, you have revenged yourself sufficiently; come, get off him. at the same time he stretched out his hand to help little crump-back up: but observing that he was dead, ah! hey-day! said he, is it thus that a christian dares to assassinate a mussulman? so he laid hold of the christian, and carried him to the sheriff's house, where he was kept till the judge was up, and ready to examine him. in the mean time, the christian merchant grew sober, and the more he reflected upon his adventure, the less could he conceive how such single fisty-cuffs could kill the man. the judge having heard the report of the watch, and viewed the corpse, which they had taken care to bring to his house, interrogated the christian merchant, who could not deny the crime, though he had not committed it. but the judge considering that little crump-back belonged to the sultan, (for he was one of his buffoons) would not put the christian to death till he knew the sultan's pleasure. for this end he went to the palace, and acquainted the sultan with what had happened, and received from him this answer, i have no mercy to show to a christian, who kills a mussulman; go do your office. upon this the judge ordered a gibbet to be erected, and sent criers all over the city to proclaim that they were about to hang a christian for killing a mussulman. in fine, the merchant was brought out of gaol to the foot of the gallows; and the hangman, having put the rope about his neck, was going to throw him off, when the sultan's purveyor pushed through die crowd, made up to the gibbet, calling to the hangman to stop, for that the christian had not committed the murder, but himself. the sheriff who attended the execution immediately put interrogatories to the purveyor, who told him every circumstance of his killing the little crump-back, and conveying his corpse to the place where the merchant found him. you were about, added he, to put to death an innocent person; for how can he be guilty of the death of a man who was dead before he saw him? my burden is sufficient in having killed a turk, without loading my conscience with the additional charge of the death of a christian who is not guilty. the sultan of casgar's purveyor having publicly charged himself with the death of the little hunch-backed man, the sheriff could not avoid doing justice to the merchant. let the christian go, said he, and hang this man in his room, since it appears by his own confession that he is guilty. whereupon the hangman released the merchant, and clapped the rope round the purveyor's neck; but just as he was going to pull him up, he heard the voice of the jewish doctor, earnestly entreating him to suspend the execution, and make room for him to throw himself at the foot of the gallows. when he appeared before the judge, my lord, said he, this mussulman you are going to hang is not guilty: the crime rests with me. last night a man and a woman, unknown to me, came to my house with a sick man they had brought along with them; and knocking at my door, my maid went and opened it without a light, and received from them a piece of money, with a commission to come and desire me, in their names, to step down and look upon the sick person. while she was delivering her message to me, they conveyed the sick person to the stair-head, and then disappeared. i went down, without staying for my servant to light a candle, and in the dark happened to stumble upon the sick person, and kicked him down stairs. in fine, i saw he was dead, and that it was the crooked mussulman, whose death you are now about to avenge. so my wife and i took the corpse, and, after conveying it up to the leads of our house, moved it to the roof of the purveyor's house, our next neighbour, and let it down the chimney into the chamber. the purveyor, finding it in his house, took the little man for a thief, and, after beating him, concluded he had killed him; but that it was not so, you will be convinced by this my deposition; so that i am the only author of the murder: and though it was committed undesignedly, i have resolved to expiate my crime by keeping clear of the charge of the death of two mussulmen, and hinder you from executing the sultan's purveyor, whose innocence i have now revealed. so pray dismiss him, and put me in his place, for i alone am the cause of the death of the little man. the chief justice being persuaded that the jewish doctor was the murderer, gave orders to the executioner to seize him, and release the purveyor. accordingly the doctor was just going to be hung up, when the tailor appeared, crying to the executioner to hold his hand, and make room for him, that he might come and make his confession to the lord justice; which being done, my lord, said he to the judge, you have narrowly escaped taking away the lives of three innocent persons, but if you will have patience to hear me, i will discover to you the real murderer of the crook-backed man. if his death is to be expiated by another, that must be mine. yesterday evening, as i was at work in my shop, and pretty merry, the little hunch-back came to my door half drunk, and sat down before it. he began to sing, so i invited him to pass the evening at my house. accordingly, he accepted of the invitation, and went with me. we sat down to supper, and i gave him a plate of fish; but, in eating, a bone stuck in his throat; and though my wife and i did our utmost to relieve him, he died in a few minutes. his death affected us extremely; and from fear of being charged with it, we carried the corpse to the jewish doctor's house, and knocked at the door. the maid coming down and opening it, i desired her to go up forthwith, and ask her master to come down and give his advice to a sick person that we had brought along with us; and withal, to encourage him, i charged her to give him a piece of money, which i put into her hand. when she was gone up, i carried hunch-back up stairs, laid him upon the uppermost step, and then my wife and i made the best of our way home. the doctor, in coming down, kicked the corpse down stairs, and thereupon he supposed himself to be the author of his death. now, this being the case, continued he, release the doctor, and let me die in his room. the chief justice, and all the spectators, could not sufficiently admire the strange emergencies that ensued upon the death of the little crooked gentleman. let the jewish doctor go, said the judge, and hang up the tailor, since he confesses the crime. it is certain this history is very uncommon, and deserves to be recorded in letters of gold. the executioner having dismissed the doctor, made every thing ready to tie up the tailor. while the executioner was making ready to hang up the tailor, the sultan of casgar, wanting the company of his crooked jester, asked where he was. one of his officers answered, the hunch-back, sir, whom you inquire after, got drunk last night, and, contrary to his custom, slipped out of the palace, went a sauntering into the city, and was this morning found dead. a man was brought before the chief justice, and charged with the murder of him; but as he was going to be hanged, up came a man, and after him another, who took the charge upon themselves, and cleared each other. the examination has continued a long while, and the judge is now interrogating a third man who avows himself the real author of the murder. upon this intelligence, the sultan of casgar sent a hussar to the place of execution. go, said he to the messenger, make all the haste you can, bring the arraigned persons before me immediately, with the corpse of poor crump-back, that i may see him once more. accordingly the hussar went, and happened to arrive at the place of execution at the time when the executioner was going to tie up the tailor. he cried aloud to the executioner to suspend the execution. the hangman, knowing the hussar, did not dare to proceed, but untied the tailor; and then the hussar acquainted the judge with the sultan's pleasure. the judge obeyed, and went straight to the palace, accompanied by the tailor, the jewish doctor, and the christian merchant; causing four of his men to carry the hunch corpse along with him. the judge, on appearing before the sultan, threw himself at the prince's feet, and, after recovering himself, gave him a faithful relation of what he knew of the story of the crump-backed man. the sultan found the story so uncommon, that he ordered his private historians to write it with all its circumstances. then addressing himself to the audience, did you ever hear, said he, such a surprising story as has happened on account of my little crooked buffoon? the christian merchant then, after falling down, and saluting the earth with his forehead, spoke in the following manner: most puisant monarch, said he, i know a story even more astonishing than that you have now spoken off; and if your majesty will give me leave, i will tell it you. the circumstances are such, that nobody can hear them without being moved. well, said the sultan, i give you leave; and the merchant went on as follows. the story told by the christian merchant. sir, before i commence the recital of the story you have allowed me to tell, i beg leave to acquaint you, that i have not the honour to be born in a place that pertains to your majesty's empire. i am a stranger, born at cairo in egypt, one of the coptic nations, and a professor of the christian religion: my father was a broker, and got a good estate, which he left me at his death: i followed his example, and took up the same employment. one day at cairo, as i was standing in the public resort for the corn-merchants, there came up to me a handsome young man, well clad, and mounted upon an ass. he saluted me, and pulling out his handkerchief, where he had a sample of sesame and turkey corn, asked me what a bushel of such sesame would fetch? i examined the corn which the young man showed me, and told him it was worth a hundred drams of silver per bushel. 'pray, said he, look out for some merchant to take it at that price, and come to me at the victory-gate, where you will see a hut at a distance from the houses.' he then left me, and i showed the sample to several merchants, who told me they would take as much as i could spare at an hundred and ten drams per bushel; so that i made an account to get ten drams per bushel for my brokerage. full of the expectation of this profit, i went forthwith to the victory-gate, where i found the young merchant waiting for me, and he carried me into his granary, which was full of sesame. he had an hundred and fifty bushels of it, which i measured out, and, having carried them off upon asses, sold them for five thousand drams of silver. now, out of this sum, said the young man, five hundred drams fall to you, at the rate of ten drams per bushel. i order you to take it, and apply it to your own use; and as for the rest, which is mine, do you take it out of the merchant's hand, and keep it till i call for it, as i nave no occasion for it at present. i made answer, that it should be ready for him whenever he pleased; and so took leave of him, with a grateful sense of his generosity. in a month after, he came and asked for his four thousand five hundred drams of silver. i told him they were ready, and should be told down to him in a minute: he was mounted on his ass;, so i desired him to alight, and do me the honour to eat a mouthful with me before he received his money. no, said he, i cannot alight at present; i have urgent business that obliges me to be at a place hard by here; but i will return this way, and take the money, which i desire you would have in readiness. this said, he disappeared; and i still expected his return, but it was a full month before he came again. i thought with myself, the young man reposes a great trust in me, leaving so great a sum in my hands without knowing me; another would have been afraid lest i should have run away with it. to be short, he came again at the end of the third month, and was still mounted on his ass, but finer in his clothes than before. as soon as i saw him, i entreated him to alight, and asked him if he would not take his money? it is no matter for that, said he, with a pleasant easy air, i know it is in good hands; i will come and take it when all my other money is gone: adieu, continued he, i will come again towards the latter end of the week. he then clapped spurs to his ass, and away he went. well, thought i to myself, he says he will see me towards the latter end of the week, but it is likely i may not see him for a great while; will go and make the most of his money, and get a good penny by it. as it happened, i was not out of my conjecture, for it was a full year before i saw my young merchant again. then he appeared indeed with richer apparel than before, but very thoughtful. i asked him to do me the honour to walk into my house: for this time, replied he, i will go in; but upon this condition, that you shall put yourself to no extraordinary charge upon my account. that shall be as you please, said i; only do me the favour to alight and walk in. he accordingly complied, and i gave orders for some sort of entertainment; and, while that was getting ready we fell into discourse together. when the victuals were got ready, we sat down at table. when he ate the first mouthful, i observed he fed himself with the left hand, and not with the right; i could not tell what to think of it; i thought within myself, ever since i knew this young man, he always appeared very polite: is it possible he can do this out of contempt? what can the matter be that he does not make use of his right hand? after we had done eating, and every thing was taken away, we sat down upon a sofa, when i presented him with a lozenge that was excellent for giving a sweet breath, but he still took it with his left hand. then i accosted him in this manner: sir, pray pardon the liberty i take in asking you what reason you have for not making use of your right hand; it is likely you have some disorder in that hand. instead of answering, he fetched a deep sigh, and pulling out his right arm, which he had hitherto kept under his garment, showed me, to my great astonishment, that his hand had been cut off. doubtless you were alarmed, said he, to see me feed myself with the left hand; but i leave you to judge whether it was in my power to do otherwise. may one ask you; said i, by what mischance it was that you lost your right hand? upon that he fell into tears, and, after wiping his eyes, gave me the following relation. you must know, said he, that i am a native of bagdad, the son of a rich father, the most noted man in that city both for quality and riches. i had scarcely launched into the world, when falling into the company of travellers, and hearing wonders told of egypt, especially of grand cairo, i was moved by their discourse, and took a longing desire to travel thither; but my father was then alive, and had not given me leave. in fine, he died, and thereupon, being my own master, i resolved to take a journey to cairo. i laid out a large sum of money upon several sorts of fine stuffs of bagdad and moussol, and then undertook my journey. arriving at cairo, i went to the khan called the khan of mesrour, and there took lodgings, with a warehouse for my bales, which i brought along upon camels: this done, i retired to my chamber to rest myself after the fatigue of my journey, after ordering my servants to buy some provisions, and dress them; after i had eaten, i went and saw the castle, some mosques, public places, and other things that were curious. next day i dressed myself handsomely, and ordered some of the finest and richest of my bales to be selected, and carried by my slaves to the circassian bezestein [footnote: a bezestcin is a public place, where silk; stuffs and other precious things are exposed to sale.], whither i went myself. i no sooner got thither than i was surrounded by brokers and criers who had heard of my arrival. i gave patterns of my stuffs to several of the criers, who carried and showed them all over the bezestein; but none of the merchants offered nearly so much as prime cost and carriage. this vexed me, and the criers observing i was dissatisfied, if you will take our advice, said they, we will put you in a way of selling your stuffs without losing by them. the brokers and criers having thus promised to put me in a way of losing nothing by my goods, i asked them what course they would have me take? divide your goods, said they, among several merchants, and they will sell them by retail; and twice a week, that is, on mondays and tuesdays, you may receive what money they take: by this means you will gain instead of losing, and the merchants will gain by you: in the mean time, you will have time to take your pleasure, and walk up and down the town, or to go upon the nile. i took their advice, and carried them to my warehouse, from whence i brought all my goods to the bezestein, and divided them among the merchants, whom they represented as most reputable and able to pay: the merchants gave me a formal receipt before witnesses, stipulating withal that i should not make any demands upon them for the first month. having thus regulated my affairs, my mind was taken up with other sort of things than ordinary pleasures. i contracted friendship with divers persons of almost the same age with myself, who took care i did not want company. the first month expired, i began to visit my merchants twice a week, taking along with me a public officer to inspect their books of sale, and a banker to see they paid me in good money, as well as to regulate the value of the several species; so that every pay-day i had a good sum of money to carry home to my lodging. i went nevertheless on the other days to pass the morning, sometimes at a merchant's house, and sometimes at some other person's. in fine, i diverted myself in conversing with one or other, and seeing what passed in the bezestein. one monday, as i sat in the shop of a merchant whose name was bedreddin, a lady of quality, as one might easily perceive by her air, her habit, and her being attended by a female slave in neat clothes, came into the shop, and sat down by me: her external appearance, joined to a natural grace that shone through all she did, inspired me with a longing desire to know her better. i was at a loss to know whether she observed that i took pleasure in gazing upon her, but she tucked up the crape that hung down over the muslin which covered her face, and gave me an opportunity of seeing her large black eyes, which perfectly charmed me. in fine, she screwed my love to its height by the agreeable sound of her voice, her genteel graceful carriage in saluting the merchant, and asking him how he did since she saw him last. after entertaining him some time upon indifferent things, she informed him that she wanted a sort of stuff with a ground of gold; that he came to his shop as affording the best choice of any in all the bezestein, and if he had what she asked for, he would oblige her by showing them. bedreddin showed her several pieces, one of which she pitched upon, and he asked for it eleven hundred drams of silver. i agree, said she, to give you so much, but i have not money enough about me, so i hope you will give me credit till to-morrow, and in the mean time allow me to carry off the stuff. i shall not fail, added she, to send you to-morrow the eleven hundred drams i agreed for. madam, said bedreddin, i would give you credit with all my heart, and allow you to carry off the stuff, if it were mine, but it belongs to that young man you see here, and this is the day on which we state our accounts. why, said the lady in a surprise, why do you offer to use me so? am not i a customer to your shop? and as often as i have bought of you, and carried home the things without paying ready money for them, did i ever fail to send you your money next morning? madam, said the merchant, it is true, but this very day i have occasion for money. there, said she, throwing the piece at him, take your stuff; may god confound you and all other merchants: you are all of you of one kidney; you respect nobody. she then rose up in a passion, and walked out. when i saw that the lady walked off, i found in my breast a great concern for her; so i called her back, saying, madam, do me the favour to return; perhaps i can find a way to content you both. in fine, back she came, saying, it was for the love of me that she complied. mr bedreddin, said i to the merchant, what do you say, you must have for this stuff that belongs to me? i must have eleven hundred drams; i cannot take less. give it to the lady then, said i, let her take it home with her; i allow a hundred drams profit to yourself, and shall now write you a note, empowering you to discount that sum upon the other goods you have of mine. in fine, i wrote, signed, and delivered the note, and then handed the stuff to the lady: madam said i, you may take the stuff with you, and as for the money, you may either send it to-morrow or next day; or, if you will, accept the stuff as a present from me. i beg your pardon, sir, said she, i mean nothing of that; you use me so very civilly and obligingly, that i ought never to show my face in the world again, if i did not show my gratitude to you. may god reward you in enlarging your fortune; may you live many years when i am dead; may the gate of heaven be opened to you when you remove to the other world, and may all the city proclaim your generosity. these words inspired me with some assurance: madam, said i, i desire no other reward for any service i have done to you than the happiness of seeing your face; that will repay me with interest. i had no sooner spoken than she turned towards me, took off the muslin that covered her face, and discovered to my eyes a killing beauty. i was so struck with the surprising sight, that i could not express my thoughts to her. i could have looked upon her for ever without being cloyed; but fearing any one should take notice, she quickly covered her face, and pulling down the crape, took up the piece of stuff, and went away, leaving me in a quite different sort of temper from what i was in when i came to the shop. i continued for some time in great disorder and perplexity. before i took leave of the merchant, i asked him if he knew the lady? yes, said he, she is the daughter of an emir, who left her an immense fortune at his death. i went home, and sat down to supper, but could not eat, neither could i shut my eyes during the night; i thought it the longest night in my lifetime. as soon as it was day, i got up in hopes to see once more the object that disturbed my repose; and, to engage her affection, i dressed myself yet more nicely than i had done the day before. i had but just got to bedreddin's shop, when i saw the lady coming in more magnificent apparel than before, and attended by her slave. when she came in, she did not regard the merchant; but, addressing herself to me, sir, said she, you see i am punctual to my word. i am come on purpose to pay the sum you were so kind as to pass your word for yesterday, though you had no knowledge of me: such an uncommon piece of generosity i shall never forget. madam, said i, you had no occasion to be so hasty; i was well satisfied as to my money, and am sorry you should put yourself to so much trouble about it. i had been very unjust, answered she, if i had abused your generosity. with these words, she put the money into my hand, and sat down by me. having this opportunity of conversing with her, i made the best use of it, and mentioned to her the love i had for her; but she rose and left me very abruptly, as if she had been angry with the declaration i had made. i followed her with my eyes as long as she was in sight; and as soon as she was out of sight, i took leave of the merchant, and walked out of the bezestein, without knowing where i went. i was musing upon this adventure, when i felt somebody pulling me behind, and turning about to see who it was, i had the agreeable surprise to perceive it was the lady's slave. my mistress, said the slave, i mean the young lady you just spoke with in the merchant's shop, wants to speak one word with you; so if you please to give yourself the trouble to follow me, i will conduct you. accordingly i followed her, and found my mistress staying for me in a banker's shop. she made me sit down by her, and spoke to this purpose; dear sir, said she, do not be surprised that i left you so abruptly: i thought it not proper, before that merchant, to give a favourable answer to the discovery you made of your affection for me. but to speak the truth, i was so far from being offended at it, that i was pleased when i heard it; and i account myself infinitely happy in having a man of true merit for my lover. i do not know what impression the first sight of me could make upon you; but i assure you that i no sooner saw you than i had tender thoughts of you. since yesterday i have thought only of what you said to me; and the haste i made to come and find you out this morning may convince you that i have no small regard for you. madam, said i, transported with love and joy, nothing can be more agreeable to me than what i now hear; no passion can be greater than that with which i love you; since the happy moment i cast my eyes upon you, my eyes were dazzled with so many charms, that my heart yielded without resistance. do not let us trifle away the time in needless discourse, said she, interrupting me: i make no doubt of your sincerity, and you shall quickly be convinced of mine. will you do me the honour to come to my home? or, if you will, i will come to yours. madam, said i, i am a stranger, lodging in a khan, which is not a proper place for the reception of a lady of your quality and merit. it is more proper, madam, for me to come to you at your home, if you will please to tell me where it is. the lady complying with this desire, i live, said she, in devotion-street; come next friday after noon prayers, and ask for the house of abbon schamam, surnamed bercount, late master of the emirs; there you will find me. this said, we parted, and i passed the next day in great impatience. on friday i got up betimes, and put on my best clothes, with fifty pieces of gold in my pocket: thus prepared, i mounted an ass, which i had bespoken the day before, and set out, accompanied by the man that lent me the ass. when we came to devotion-street, i directed the owner of the ass to inquire for the house i wanted: he accordingly inquired, and conducted me to it. i paid him liberally, and sent him back directing him to observe narrowly where he left me, and not to fail to come back with the ass to-morrow morning to carry me back again. i knocked at the door, and presently two little girl slaves, white as snow, and neatly dressed, came and opened it. be pleased to come in, sir, said they, our mistress expects you impatiently; for two days she has spoken of nothing but you. i entered the court, and saw a great pavilion raised upon seven steps, and surrounded with iron rails that parted it from a very pleasant garden. besides the trees which embellished the prospect, and formed an agreeable shade, there was an infinite number of other trees loaded with all manner of fruit. i was charmed with the warbling of a great number of birds, which joined their notes to the murmurings of a very high water-work in the middle of a ground-plot enamelled with flowers. this water- work was a very agreeable sight; four large gilded dragons adorned the angles of the bason, which was of a square form; and these dragons spouted out water clearer than rock crystal. this delicious place gave me a charming idea of the conquest i had made. the two little slaves conducted me into a parlour magnificently furnished, and while one of them went to acquaint her mistress with my arrival, the other tarried behind, and pointed out to me the ornaments of the hall. i did not tarry long in the hall, said the young man of bagdad, ere the lady i loved appeared, adorned with pearls and diamonds; but the splendour of her eyes did far outshine that of her jewels. her shape, which was not now disguised by the habit usual in the streets, was extremely fine and charming. i need not mention with what joy we received one another; it leaves all expression far behind it: i shall only tell you, that when the first compliments were over, we sat both down upon a sofa, and there entertained one another with all imaginable satisfaction. after that, we had the most delicious messes served up to us, and, after eating, continued our discourse till night. at night we had excellent wine brought up, and such fruit as is apt to promote drinking, and timed our cups to the sound of musical instruments joined to the voices of the slaves. the lady of the house sung herself, and by her songs screwed up my passion to the height. in fine, i passed the night in the full enjoyment of all manner of pleasure. next morning i slipped under the bolster of the bed the purse with the fifty pieces of gold i had brought with me, and took leave of the lady, who asked me when i would see her again? madam, said i, i give you my promise to return this night. she seemed transported with my answer, and, conducting me to the door, conjured me, at parting, to be mindful of my promise. the same man that had carried me thither waited for me with his ass to carry me home again; so i mounted the ass, and went straight home, ordering the man to come to me again in the afternoon at a certain hour; to secure which, i would not pay him till the time came. as soon as i arrived at my lodging, my first care was to order my folks to buy a good lamb and several sorts of cakes, which i sent by a porter as a present to the lady. when that was done, i minded my serious affairs till the owner of the ass came; then i went along with him to the lady's house, and was received by her with as much joy as before, and entertained with equal magnificence. next morning i took leave, and left her another purse with fifty pieces of gold. i continued to visit the lady every day, and to leave her every time a purse of fifty pieces of gold, till the merchants whom i employed to sell my cloth, and whom i visited regularly twice a week, owed me nothing: in this way i became moneyless, and even hopeless of having any more. in this desperate condition i walked out of my lodging, not knowing what course to take, and by chance steered towards the castle, where there was a great crowd of people, to see the sultan of egypt. as soon as i came up to them, i wedged in among the crowd, and by chance happened to stand by a cavalier well mounted and handsomely clothed, who had upon the bow of his saddle a bag half open, with a string of green silk hanging out of it, i clapped my hand into the bag, concluding the silk- twist might be the string of a purse within the bag: in the mean time, a porter, with a load of wood upon his back, passed by the other side of the horse, so near, that the gentleman on horse-* back was forced to turn his head towards him to avoid being rubbed by the wood. in that very moment did the devil tempt me; i took the string in one hand, and with the other laid open the mouth of the bag, and pulled out the purse so dexterously that nobody perceived it. the purse was heavy, therefore i did not doubt that there was gold or silver in it. as soon as the porter had passed, the cavalier, who probably had some suspicion of what i had done while his head was turned, presently put his hand to his bag, and, finding his purse gone, gave me such a blow as knocked me down. this violence shocked all who saw it; some took hold of the horse's bridle to stop the gentleman, and inquire what reason he had to beat me, or how he came to treat a mussulman after that rate. do not you trouble yourselves, said he, with a brisk tone; i had reason enough for what i did; this fellow is a thief. in fine, every one took my part, cried he was a liar, and that it was incredible a young man like me should be guilty of so foul an action: but while they were holding his horse by the bridle to favour my escape, unfortunately came by the justiciary judge, who, seeing such a crowd about the gentleman on horseback and me, came up and asked what the matter was? everybody reflected on the gentleman for treating me so unjustly upon pretence of robbery. the judge did not give ear to all that was said in my behalf, but asked the cayalier if he suspected anybody else besides me? the cavalier told him he did not, and gave his reasons why he believed his suspicion not to be groundless. upon this, the judge ordered his followers to seize and search me, which they presently did; and finding the purse upon me, exposed it to the view of all the people. the shame was so great, that i could not bear it, but swooned away; and in the meantime the judge called for the purse. when he had got the purse in his hand, he asked the horseman if it was his, and how much money was in it? the cavalier knew it to be his own, and assured the judge he had put twenty sequins into it. upon that the judge called me before him; come, young man, said he, confess the truth. was it you that took the gentleman's purse from him? do not put yourself to the trouble of torture to extort confession. then i looked down with my eyes, thinking within myself, that if i denied the fact, they, finding the purse about me, would convict me of a lie; so, to avoid a double punishment, i looked up, and confessed the fact. i had no sooner made this confession than the judge called people to witness it, and ordered my hand to be cut off. this hard sentence was put in execution immediately upon the spot, to the great regret of all the spectators; nay, i observed by the cavalier's countenance, that he was moved with pity as much as the rest. the judge likewise would have ordered my foot to be cut off, but i begged the cavalier to intercede for my pardon, which he did, and obtained it. the judge being gone, the cavalier came up to me, and holding out the purse, i see plainly, said he, that necessity put you upon an action so disgraceful, and so unworthy of such a handsome young man as you are. here, take that fatal purse, i freely give it you, and am heartily sorry for the misfortune you have undergone. he then went away; and i being very weak, by reason of the loss of blood, some of the good people that lived that way had the kindness to carry me into one of their houses, and gave me a glass of wine; they likewise dressed my arm, and wrapped up the dismembered hand in a cloth. if i had returned to the khan where i lodged, i should not have found such relief as i wanted; and to offer to go to the young lady's was running a great hazard, it being likely she would not look upon me after such an infamous thing had befallen me. i resolved, however, to put it to the trial; and, to tire out the crowd that followed me, i turned down several by-streets, and at last arrived at my lady's, very weak, and so much fatigued, that i presently threw myself down upon a sofa, keeping my right arm under my coat, for i took great care to conceal my misfortune. the lady hearing of my arrival, and that i was not well, came to me in all haste: my dear soul, said she, what is the matter with you? madam, said i, i have got a violent pain in my head. the lady seemed to be mightily afflicted with my pretended illness, and asked me to sit down, for i had got up to receive her. tell me, said she, how your illness came; the last time i had the pleasure of seeing you, you was very well; there must be something else that you conceal from me; pray, let me know what it is. i stood silent, and, instead of an answer, tears trickled down my cheeks. i cannot conceive, said she, what it is that afflicts you. have i given you any occasion to be uneasy? or do you come on purpose to tell me you do not love me? it is not that, madam, said i, fetching a deep sigh; your unjust suspicion is an addition to my evil. still i could not think of discovering to her the true cause. when night came, supper was brought, and she pressed me to eat; but considering i could only feed myself with my left hand, i begged to be excused upon the plea of having no stomach. your stomach will come to you, said she, if you would but discover what you so obstinately hide from me. your inappetency, without doubt, is only owing to the aversion you have to a discovery. alas! madam, said i, i find i must discover at last. i had no sooner spoken these words than she filled me a cup of wine: drink that, said she, it will give you assurance. so i reached out my left hand, and took the cup. as soon as i took it, i redoubled my tears and sighs. why do you sigh and cry so bitterly? said the lady; and why do you take the cup with your left hand instead of your right? ah, madam, said i, excuse me, i beseech you, i have got a swelling in my right hand. let me see that swelling, said she; i will open it. i desired to be excused upon that head, alleging the tumour was not ripe enough for opening; and drank the cupful, which was very large. in fine, the steams of the wine, joined to my weakness and weariness, set me asleep, and i slept very sound till next morning. in the mean time, the lady, curious to know what ailment i had in my right hand, lifted up my coat that covered it, and saw, to her great astonishment, that it was cut off, and that i had brought it along with me wrapt in a cloth. she presently apprehended my reason for declining a discovery, notwithstanding all the pressing instances she made, and passed the whole night in the greatest uneasiness upon my disgrace, which she concluded had been occasioned by the love i bore to her. when i awaked, i observed by her countenance that she was extremely grieved. that she might not, however, increase my uneasiness, she said not one word. she called for jelly broth of fowl, which she had ordered to be got ready, and made me eat and drink to recruit my strength. after that, i offered to take leave of her, but she declared i should not go out of her doors; though you tell me nothing of the matter, said she, i am persuaded i am the cause of the misfortune that has befallen you: the grief that i feel upon that score will quickly make an end of me; but, before i die, i must do one thing that is designed for your advantage. she had no sooner said these words, than she called for a public notary and witnesses, and ordered a writing to be drawn up, conveying to me her whole estate. after this was done, and the men despatched, she opened a large trunk, where lay all the purses i had given her from the commencement of our amours. there are they all entire, said she; i have not touched one of them: here, take the key, the trunk is yours. after i had returned her thanks for her generosity and bounty, what i do for you, said she, is nothing at all; i shall not be satisfied unless i die, to show how much i love you. i conjured her, by all the powers of love, to drop such a fatal resolution; but all my remonstrances were ineffectual: she was so afflicted to see me have but one hand, that she sickened and died, after five or six weeks' illness. after mourning for her death as long as was decent, i took possession of her estate, a particular account of which she gave me before she died; and the corn you sold for me was part of it. what i have now told you will induce you to excuse me for eating with my left hand. i am greatly obliged to you for the trouble you have given yourself on my account. i can never make sufficient acknowledgment of your fidelity. since god has still given me a competent estate, notwithstanding i have spent a great deal, i beg you to accept of the sum now in your hand as a present from me. over and above this, i have a proposal to make to you, which is this: for as much as, by reason of this fatal accident, i am obliged to depart from cairo, i am resolved never to see it more. so, if you please to accompany me, we shall trade together as equal partners, and divide the profits. i thanked the young man, said, the christian merchant, for the present he made me; and as to the proposal of travelling with him, i willingly embraced it, assuring him that his interest should always be as dear to me as my own. we accordingly get a day for our departure, and set out upon our travels. we passed through syria and mesopotamia, travelled all over persia, and, after stopping at several cities, came at last, sir, to your metropolis. some time after our arrival in this place, the young man having formed a design of returning to persia, and settling there, we settled our accounts, and parted very good friends; so he went from hence, and i continue here at your majesty's service. this, sir, is the story i had to tell you: does not your majesty find it yet more surprising than that of the crooked buffoon? the sultan of casgar fell into a passion against the christian merchant: you are very bold, said he, to tell me a story so little worth my hearing, and then to compare it with that of my jester. can you flatter yourself so far as to believe that the trifling adventures of a young rake can make such an impression upon me as those of my jester? well, i am resolved to hang you all four to revenge his death. this said, the purveyor fell down at the sultan's feet. sir, said he, i humbly beseech your majesty to suspend your just wrath, and hear my story; and if my story appears to your majesty to be prettier than that of your jester, to pardon us all four. the sultan having granted his request, the purveyor began his story. the story told by the sultan of casgar's purveyor. sir, a person of quality invited me yesterday to his daughter's wedding; i went accordingly to his house at the hour appointed, and found there a large company of doctors, ministers of justice, and others of the best quality in the city. after the ceremony was over, we had a splendid treat; and, among other things set upon the table, there was a course with garlic sauce, which was very delicious and palatable to everybody; but we observed that one of the guests did not touch it, though it stood just before him, and thereupon we invited him to do as we did: he conjured us, however, not to press him upon that head. i will take care, said he, not to touch any thing that has garlic in it; i remember well what the tasting of such a thing cost me once before. we entreated him to tell us what was the occasion of his aversion to garlic; but before he had time to make answer, is it thus, said the master of the house, that you honour my table? this ragoo is excellent, therefore do not you pretend to be excused from eating of it; you must do me that favour as well as the rest. sir, said the gentleman, who was a bagdad merchant, i hope you do not think that i refuse to eat of it out of mistaken nicety; if you will have me eat of it, i will do so; but upon this condition, that, after eating of it, i may wash my hands, by your leave, forty times with alcali[footnote: this in english is called salt wort.*], forty times more with the ashes of the same plant, and forty times again with soap, i hope you will not take it ill that i stipulate so, as it is in pursuance of an oath i have made never to taste garlic without observing this rule. the master of the house would not dispense with the merchant from eating of the ragoo with garlic, and therefore ordered his servant to get ready a bason of water together with alcali, the ashes of the same plant, and soap, that the merchant might wash as often as he pleased. when every thing was got ready, now, said he to the merchant, i hope you will do as we. the merchant, displeased with the violence that was offered him, reached out his hand to take a bit, which he put to his mouth trembling, and ate with a reluctance that surprised us all. but the greatest surprise was, that he had only four fingers and no thumb, which none of us observed before, though he had eaten of other dishes. you have lost your thumb, said the master of the house; how came that about? it must have been occasioned by some extraordinary accident, a relation of which will be an agreeable entertainment to the company. sir, replied the merchant, i have not a thumb on either the right or left hand. he then showed us his left hand, as well as his right. but this is not all, continued he, i have not a great toe on either of my feet! i hope you will take my word for it. i was maimed in this manner by an unheard-of accident, which i am willing to relate to you, if you have the patience to hear me. the relation will equally astonish, and affect you with pity; but suffer me to wash my hands first. upon this he rose from the table, and, after washing his hands an hundred and twenty times, took his place again, and thus proceeded: you must know, gentlemen, that, in the reign of the caliph haroun alrasehid, my father lived at bagdad, the place of my nativity, and was reputed one of the richest merchants in the city; but, being a man too much addicted to pleasure, one that loved an irregular life, and neglected his private affairs, instead of leaving me a plentiful fortune at his death, he left me in such a condition, that all my economy was scarcely sufficient to clear his debts. with much ado, however, i paid them all, and, through industry and care, my little fortune began to assume a smiling countenance. one morning as i opened my shop, a lady mounted upon a mule, attended by an eunuch and two women slaves, stopped near my shop-door, and, with the assistance of the eunuch, alighted. madam, said the eunuch, i said you would be too soon, you see there is nobody yet in the bezestein; if you had taken my advice, you might have saved yourself the trouble of waiting here. the lady looked around her, and finding there was no shop open but mine, addressed herself to me, asking leave to sit in my shop till the rest of the merchants came; of course i could do no less than return a civil answer, and invite the lady into my shop. she sat down in my shop, and, observing there was nobody in the whole bezestein save the eunuch and me, uncovered her face to take the air; and i must say i never saw any thing so pretty in my lifetime. i had no sooner a sight of her face than i loved her; of course i fixed my eyes upon her, and perceived that she was not displeased; for she gave me a full opportunity to look upon her, and did not cover her face till she was afraid of being taken notice of. having let down her veil, she told me that she wanted several sorts of the richest and finest stuffs, and asked me if i had them? alas! madam, said i, i am but a young man, just beginning the world, and have not stock enough for such great concerns; and it is a mortification to me that i have nothing to show you such as you want: but to save you the trouble of going from shop to shop, as soon as the merchants come, i will go, if you please, and fetch from them what you want, with the lowest prices; and so you may do your business without going any further. she complied with my proposal, and entered into discourse, which continued so much the longer, that i still made her believe that the merchants who could furnish what she wanted were not yet come. i was charmed no less with her wit than i had been before with the beauty of her face; but there was a necessity for denying myself the pleasure of her conversation: i ran out to seek for the stuffs she wanted, and after she had pitched upon what she liked, we struck the price at five thousand drams of coined silver; so i wrapped up the stuffs in a small bundle, and gave it to the eunuch, who put it under his arm; after which, she rose and took leave. i still continued to look after her, till she had got to the bezestein gate; and mounted her mule again. the lady had no sooner disappeared than i perceived that love was the cause of great oversights; it had so engrossed all my thoughts; that i did not recollect she had gone off without paying the money; nor had i the consideration to ask who she was, or where she dwelt. however, i considered that i was accountable for a large sum to the merchants, who, perhaps, would not have the patience to stay for their money; so i went to them, and made the best excuse i could, pretending that i knew the lady; but came home equally affected with love, and with the burden of such a heavy debt. i had desired my creditors to stay eight days for their money, and, when the eight days were past, they did not fail to dun me; then i intreated them to give me eight days more, which they agreed to; and the very next day i saw the lady come to the bezestein, mounted on her mule, with the same attendants as before, and exactly at the same hour of the day. she came straight to my shop. i have made you stay some time, said she, but here is your money at last; carry it to a banker, and see that it is all good. the eunuch, who brought me the money, went along with me to the banker's, and we found it very right. i came back again, and had the happiness of conversing with the lady till all the shops in the bezestein were open: though we talked of ordinary things, she gave them such a turn, that they appeared new and uncommon, and convinced me that i was not mistaken in admiring her wit. as soon as the merchants were come, and had opened their shops, i carried to the respective people the money due for their stuffs, and was readily intrusted with more which the lady had desired to see. in short, the lady took stuffs to the value of an hundred pieces of gold, and again carried them away without paying for them: nay, without saying one word, or informing me where she was. i was astonished when i considered that at this rate she left me without any security of not being troubled, if she never came back again. she has paid me, thinks i to myself, a good round sum, but she leaves me in the lurch for another that runs much deeper. surely she cannot be a cheat; it is not possible she can have any design to inveigle me: the merchants do not know her, and will all come upon me. in short, my love was not so powerful as to remove the uneasiness i felt when i reflected upon all circumstances. a whole month passed before i heard any thing of the lady again; and during that time the alarm grew higher and higher every day. the merchants were impatient for their money; and, to satisfy them, i was even going to sell off all i had, when the lady returned one morning with the same equipage as before. take your weights, said she, and weigh the gold i have brought you. these words dispelled my fear, and inflamed my love. before we told down the money, she asked me several questions, and particularly if i was married? i made answer, i never was. then reaching out the gold to the eunuch, let us have your interposition, said she, to accommodate our matters: upon which the eunuch fell a laughing, and, calling me aside, made me weigh the gold. while i was weighing, the eunuch whispered in my ear, i know by your eyes that you love this lady, and am surprised to find you have not the assurance to disclose your love to her: she loves you more passionately than you do her. do you imagine that she has any real occasion for your stuffs? she only makes an errand to come hither, because you have inspired her with a violent passion. do but ask her the question; it will be your fault if you do not marry her. it is true, said i, i have had a love for her from the first moment i cast my eyes upon her; but i did not aspire to the happiness of thinking my love acceptable to her. i am entirely hers, and shall not fail to retain a grateful sense of your good offices in that matter. in fine, i made an end of weighing the gold, and while i was putting it into the bag, the eunuch turned to the lady, and told her i was satisfied, that being the word they had both agreed upon between themselves. presently after that, the lady rose and took leave; telling me she would send the eunuch to me, and that i should do what he directed me to do in her name. i carried every one of the merchants their money, and waited some days with impatience for the eunuch. at last he came. i entertained him very kindly, and asked him how his mistress did? you are, said he, the happiest lover in the world; she is quite sick of love for you; she covets extremely to see you; and were she mistress of her own conduct, would not fail to come to you, and willingly pass every moment of her life in your company. her noble mien and graceful carriage, said i, evinced that she was a lady beyond the common level. the judgement you have formed upon that head, said the eunuch, is very just; she is the favourite of zobeide, the caliph's lady, who has brought her up from her infancy, and intrusts her with all her affairs. having a mind to marry, she has declared to zobeide that she has cast her eyes upon you, and desired her consent. zobeide told her she agreed to it, only she had a mind to see you first, in order to judge whether she had made a good choice: if she had, zobeide meant to defray the charges of the wedding. thus you see your felicity is certain; since you have pleased the favourite, you will be equally agreeable to the mistress, who seeks only to oblige her favourite, and would by no means thwart her inclination. in fine, all you have to do is to come to the palace. i am sent hither to call you, so you will please to come to a resolution. my resolution is formed already, said i; and i am ready to follow you whithersoever you please to conduct me. very well, said the eunuch; but you know that men are not allowed to enter the ladies' apartments in the palace, and so you must be introduced with great secrecy: the favourite lady has contrived the matter very well. upon your side you are to act your part very discreetly; for if you do not, your life is at stake. i gave him repeated assurances of a punctual performance of whatever should be enjoined me. then, said he, in the evening you must be at the mosque built by the caliph's lady on the banks of the tigris, and stay there till one comes to call you, i agreed to what he proposed; and, after passing the day in great impatience, went in the evening to the prayer that is said in an hour and an half after sunset in the mosque, and there i staid after the people were gone. immediately i saw a boat making up to the mosque, the rowers of which were all eunuchs, who came on shore, and put several large trunks into the mosque, and then retired; only one of them remained, whom i perceived to be the same eunuch that had all along accompanied the lady, and had been with me that morning. about the same time, i saw the lady enter the mosque; and, making up to her, told her i was ready to obey her orders. come, said she, we have no time to lose. with that she opened one of the trunks, and bid me get into it, that being necessary both for her safety and mine. fear nothing, added she; leave the management of the rest to me. i considered that i had gone too far to look back, and so obeyed her orders; upon which she locked the trunk. this done, the eunuch who was her confident, called the other eunuchs who had brought in the trunks, and ordered them to carry them on board again; after which the lady and eunuch re-embarked, and the boatmen rowed to zobeide's apartment. in the mean time, i reflected very seriously upon the danger to which i had exposed myself, and made vows and prayers, though it was then too late. the boat put into the palace-gate, and the trunks were carried into the apartment of the officer of the eunuchs, who keeps the key of the ladies' apartments, and suffers nothing to enter without a narrow inspection. the officer was then in bed, consequently there was a necessity for calling him. he was angry that they should break his rest, and chid the favourite lady severely for coming home so late: you shall not come off so easily as you think; for, said he, not one of these trunks shall pass till i have opened every one of them. he then commanded the eunuchs to bring them before him, and open them one by one. the first they began with was that in which i lay; so that i was in the last degree of consternation. the favourite lady, who had the key of the trunk, protested it should not be opened. you know very well, said she, i bring nothing hither but what is to serve zobeide, your mistress and mine. this trunk, continued she, is filled with rich goods i had from some merchants lately arrived, besides a number of bottles of zemzem water [footnote: there is a fountain at mecca, which, according to the mahometans, is a spring that god showed to hagar after abraham was obliged to put her away. the water of this spring is drank by way of devotion, and is sent in presents to the princes and princesses.] sent from mecca; if any of these should happen to break, the goods will be spoiled, and you must answer for them. zobeide will take care, i warrant you, to resent your insolence. in fine, she stood up so tight to the matter, that the officer did not dare to take upon him to open any of the trunks. let me go then, said he, carry them off. immediately the lady's apartment was opened, and the trunks were carried in. they were scarcely got in, when all of a sudden i heard a cry, here is the caliph, here comes the caliph. this put me in such a fright, that i wonder i did not die upon the spot, for it was actually the caliph. what hast thou got in these trunks? said he to the favourite. some stuffs, said she, lately arrived, which your majesty's lady had a mind to see. open them, cried he, and let me see them too. she pretended to excuse herself, alleging that the stuffs were only proper for ladies, and that by opening them his lady would be deprived of the pleasure of seeing them first. i say, open them, cried the caliph; i have a mind to see them, and shall see them. she still represented that her mistress would be angry with her if she opened them. no, no, said he, i will engage she shall not say a word to you for so doing; come, open them, i cannot stop. there was a necessity of obeying, which gave me such shocking alarms, that i trembled every time i thought on it. down sat the caliph; and the favourite ordered all the trunks to be brought before him, one after another. then she opened them; and, to spin out the time, showed all the beauties of each particular stuff, thinking thereby to tire out his patience; but her stratagem did not take. being as loath as i to have the trunk where i lay open, she left that till the last. so when all the rest were viewed, come, says the caliph, make an end; let us see what is in that one. i am at a loss to tell you whether i was dead or alive at that moment, for i little thought of escaping so great a danger. when zobeide's favourite saw that the caliph would needs have the trunk opened where i lay, as for this trunk, says she, your majesty will please to dispense with the opening of it; there are some things in it which i cannot show you unless your lady be by. well, well, says the caliph, since it is so, i am satisfied; order the trunks to be carried away. the word was no sooner spoken, than the trunks were removed into her chamber, where i began to come to life again. as soon as the eunuchs who had brought them were gone, she presently opened the trunk where i was prisoner. come out, said she, go up these stairs that lead to an upper room, and stay there till i come. the door which led to the stairs she locked after i was in; and that was no sooner done than the caliph came and clapped him down upon the very trunk wherein i had been. the occasion of this visit was a motion of curiosity that did not respect me. he had a mind to discourse the lady about what she had seen or heard in the city. so they discoursed together a pretty while, after which he left her, and retired to his apartment. when she found the coast clear, she came to the chamber where i was, and made many apologies for the alarms she had given me. my uneasiness, said she, was no less than yours; you cannot well doubt of that, since i have run the same risk from love to you; perhaps another would not have had the presence of mind to manage matters so dexterously upon so tender an occasion; nothing less than the love i had for you could have inspired me with courage to do it. but come, take heart, now the danger is over. after some tender discourse between us, she told me it was time to go to bed, and that she would not fail to introduce me to zobeide, her mistress, to-morrow, some hour of the day; for the caliph never sees her, added she, but at nights. heartened by these words, i slept very well; or at least, whatever interruptions happened were agreeable disquietings, caused by the hopes of enjoying a lady blessed with such sparkling wit and beauty. the next day, before i was introduced to zobeide, her favourite instructed me how to behave, naming nearly the same questions as she put to me, and dictating the answers i was to give. this done, she carried me into a very magnificent and richly furnished hall: i had no sooner entered, than twenty female slaves, in rich and uniform habits, came out of zobeide's apartment, and placed themselves very modestly before the throne in two equal rows: they were followed by twenty other ladies who looked younger, and were clothed after the same manner, though their habits appeared somewhat gayer. in the middle of these appeared zobeide, with a majestic air, and so loaded with jewels, that she could scarcely walk. zobeide then went and sat down on the throne, and the favourite lady, who had accompanied her, just by her, on her right hand; the other ladies being placed at some distance on each side of the throne. the caliph's lady having sat down, the slaves who came in first made a sign for me to approach: i advanced between the rows they had formed, and prostrated myself upon the tapestry under the princess's feet. she ordered me to rise, and did me the honour to ask my name, my family, and the condition of my fortune; to all which i gave her satisfactory answers, as i perceived not only by her countenance, but by her words. i am very glad, said she, that my daughter (so she used to call the favourite lady, looking upon her as such, after the care she had taken of her education) has made a choice that pleases me; i approve of it, and give consent to your marriage: i shall give orders myself for what is to be done in solemnizing it, but i wish her to stay ten davs with me before the solemnity; and in that time i will speak to the caliph, and obtain his consent; mean while do you stay here, you shall be taken care of. accordingly i staid ten days in the ladies' apartments, and during that time was deprived of the pleasure of seeing the favourite lady; but was so well used, by her orders, that i had no reason to be dissatisfied. zobeide told the caliph her resolution of marrying the favourite lady; and he, leaving to her the liberty of doing upon that head as she pleased, granted the favourite a considerable sum to help her fortune. when the ten days were expired, zobeide ordered the contract of marriage to be drawn up; and the necessary preparations being made for the solemnity, the dancers, (both men and women) were called in, and rejoicings continued in the palace nine days. the tenth day being appointed for the last ceremony of the marriage, the favourite lady was conducted to a bath, and i to another. at night i sat down at table, and had all manner of rarities served up to me, and, among other things ragoo with garlic, such as you have now forced me to eat of. this ragoo i liked so well, that i scarcely touched any other of the dishes. but such was my unhappiness, that when i rose from the table, i only wiped my hands instead of washing them well; a piece of negligence of which i had never before been guilty. though it was night, the whole apartment of the ladies was as light as day, by means of illuminations. nothing was to be heard in the palace but music and acclamations of joy. my bride and i were introduced into a great hall, where we were placed upon two thrones. the women who attended her made her shift herself several times, and painted her face with different sorts of colours, according to the usual custom on wedding- days; and every time she changed her habit, they exposed her to my view. after these ceremonies, we were conducted to the wedding- room, and, as soon as the company retired, i approached to embrace my mistress, but, instead of answering me with transports, she shoved me off, and cried out most fearfully; upon which all the ladies of the apartment came running into the chamber to know what she cried for; and, for my own part, i was so thunderstruck, that i stood, without the power of so much as asking what she meant by it. dear sister, said they to her, what is the matter? let us know it, that we may try to relieve you. take, said she, out of my sight that vile fellow. why, madam, said i, wherein have i deserved your displeasure? you are a villain, said she, furiously: what, to eat garlic, and not wash your hands! do you think that i would suffer such a filthy fellow to touch me? down with him, down with him upon the ground, continued she, addressing herself to the ladies; and pray let me have a good bull's pizzle. in short, i was thrown down upon the ground, and while some held my hands, and others my feet, my wife, who was presently furnished with a weapon, laid on me most unmercifully, till i could scarcely breathe: then she said to the ladies, take him, send him to the justiciary judge, and let the hand be cut off with which he fed upon the garlic ragoo. god bless my soul, cried i, must i be beat, bruised, unmercifully mauled, and, to complete my affliction, have my hand cut off, for eating of a ragoo with garlic, and forgetting to wash my hands? what proportion is there between the punishment and the crime? plague on the ragoo, plague on the cook that dressed it, and may he be equally unhappy that served it up! all the ladies that were by took pity on me, when they heard the cutting off of my hand spoken of. dear madam, dear sister, said they to the favourite lady, you carry your resentment too far. we own he is a man quite ignorant of the world, that he does not observe your quality, and the regards that are due to you; but we beseech you to overlook and pardon the fault he has committed. i have not received suitable satisfaction, said she; i will teach him to know the world, make him bear the sensible marks of his impertinence, and be cautious hereafter how he tastes a garlic ragoo without washing his hands. however, they still continued their solicitations, and fell down at her feet, and kissing her fair hand, good madam, said they, in the name of god, moderate your wrath, and grant the favour we request. she answered never a word, but got up, and, after throwing out a thousand hard words against me, walked out of the chamber, with the ladies, leaving me in inconceivable affliction. i continued here ten days, without seeing any body but an old woman-slave who brought me victuals. i asked the old woman what was become of the favourite lady? she is sick, said the old woman, of the poisoned smell you infected her with. why did you not take care to wash your hands after eating of that cursed ragoo? is it possible, thought i to myself, that these ladies can be so nice and vindictive for so small a fault? in the mean time i loved my wife, notwithstanding all her cruelty. one day the old woman told me that my spouse was recovered and gone to bathe, and would come to see me the next day; so, said she, i would have you to call up your patience, and endeavour to accommodate yourself to her humour. besides, she is a woman of good sense and discretion, and entirely beloved by all the ladies about zobeide's court. accordingly my wife came next night, and accosted me thus: you see i am too good in seeing you again, after the affront you have offered me; but still i cannot stoop to be reconciled to you, till i have punished you according to your demerit, in not washing your hands after eating the garlic ragoo. this said, she called the ladies, who, by her order, threw me upon the ground, and, after binding me fast, had the barbarity to cut off my thumbs and great toes with a razor. one of the ladies applied a certain root to staunch the blood; but by the bleeding and pain i swooned away. when i came to myself, they gave me wine to drink to recruit my strength. ah! madam, said i to my wife, if ever i eat of garlic ragoo again, i solemnly swear to wash my hands an hundred and twenty times with the herb alcali, with the ashes of the same plant, and with soap. well, replied my wife, upon that condition i am willing to forget what is past, and live with you as my husband. this, continued the bagdad merchant, addressing himself to the company, is the reason why i refused to eat of the garlic ragoo now upon the table. to make an end of the bagdad merchant's story, the ladies, said he, applied to my wounds, not only the root i mentioned to you but likewise some balsam of mecca, which they were morally assured was not adulterated, because they had it from the caliph's own dispensatory; by virtue of that admirable balsam i was perfectly cured in a few days, and my wife and i lived together as agreeably as if i had never eaten of the garlic ragoo. but having been all my lifetime used to the liberty of ranging abroad, i was very uneasy at being confined to the caliph's palace, and yet said nothing of it to my wife, from a fear of displeasing her. she smelt it, however; and wanted nothing more herself than to get out, for it was gratitude alone that made her continue with zobeide. in fine, being a very witty woman, she represented, in lively terms, to her mistress, the constraint i was under in not living in the city with my fellow-companions, as i had always done: this she did so effectually, that the good princess chose rather to deprive herself of the pleasure of having her favourite about her, than not to grant what she desired. accordingly, about a month after our marriage, my wife came into my room with several eunuchs, each carrying a bag of silver. when the eunuchs were gone, you never told me, said she, that you were uneasy in being confined to court, but i perceived it very well, and have happily found means to make you contented. my mistress zobeide gives us leave to go out of the palace, and here are fifty thousand sequins, of which she has made us a present, in order to enable us to live comfortable in the city. take ten thousand of them, and go and buy us a house, i soon purchased a house; and, after furnishing it richly, we went and lived in it, and kept a great many slaves of both sexes, with a very pretty equipage. in short, we began to live in a very agreeable manner, which did not last long, for at a year's end my wife fell sick and died. i might have married again, and lived honourably at bagdad; but ambition to see the world put me upon other thoughts. i sold my house, and, after buying up several sorts of goods, went with a caravan to persia; from persia i travelled to samarcande, and from thence hither. this, said the purveyor to the sultan of casgar, is the story that the bagdad merchant told in a company where i was yesterday. this story, said the sultan, has something extraordinary in it, but it does not come near that of my little hunchback. then the jewish physician prostrated himself before the sultan's throne, and rising again, addressed himself to that prince in the following manner: sir, if you will be so good as to hear me, i flatter myself you will be pleased with a story i have to tell you. well spoken, said the sultan; but if it is not more surprising than that of little hunch-back, do not you expect to live. the physician, finding the sultan of casgar disposed to hear him, gave the following relation: the story told by the jewish physician. sir, when i was a student of physic, and just beginning the practice of that noble profession with some reputation, a man-slave called me to see a patient in the city governor's family. i went accordingly, and was carried into a room, where i found a very handsome young man mightily cast down with his condition: i saluted him, and sat down by him, but he made no return to my compliments, except by a sign with his eyes that he heard me and thanked me. pray, sir, said i, give me your hand, that i may feel your pulse. but, instead of stretching out his right, he gave me his left hand, at which i was extremely surprised. this, said i to myself, is a gross piece of ignorance, not to know that people present their right hand, and not their left, to a physician. however, i felt his pulse, wrote him a receipt, and took leave. i continued my visits for nine days, and every time i felt his pulse he still gave me the left hand: on the tenth day he seemed to be pretty well, and so i prescribed nothing for him but bathing. the governor of damascus, who was by, did, in testimony of his being well satisfied with my service, invest me with a very rich robe, saying, he made me a physician of the city hospital, and physician in ordinary to his house, where i might freely eat at his table when i pleased. the young man likewise showed me many civilities, and asked me to accompany him to the bath: accordingly we went together; and when his attendants had undressed him, i perceived he wanted the right hand, and that it had not been long cut off, which had been the occasion of his distemper, though concealed from me; for while the people about him were applying proper medicines externally, they had called me to prevent the ill consequences of the fever he was then in. i was very much surprised and concerned on seeing his misfortune, which he observed by my countenance. doctor, cried he, do not be astonished to see that my hand is cut off; some day or other i will tell you the occasion of it; and in that relation you will be entertained with very surprising adventures. after bathing, we sat down and ate; and after we had some other discourse together, he asked me if it would be any prejudice to his health, if he went to take a walk out of town in the governor's garden? i made answer, it would be so far from that, that it would benefit his health. since it is so, said he, if you would let me have your company, i will tell you the history of my adventures, i replied, i was at his command for all that day. upon which he presently called his servants, to bring something for a collation; and so we went to the governor's garden. there we took two or three turns, and then sat down upon a carpet that his servants had spread under a tree, which gave a very pleasant shade. after we were set, the young man gave his history in the following terms: i was born, said he, at moussol, and come of one of the most considerable families in the city. my father was the eldest of ten brothers that were all alive, and all married, when my grandfather died. all the brothers were childless but my father, and he had never a child but me. he took particular care of my education, and made me learn every thing that was proper for a child of my quality. when i was grown pretty tall, and beginning to keep company with the world, i happened one friday to be at noon prayers with my father and my uncles, in the great mosque at moussol; and after prayers were over, the rest of the company going away, my father and my uncles continued sitting upon the best tapestry in the mosque, and i sat down by them. they discoursed of several things, but they fell insensibly, i do not know how, upon the subject of voyages. they extolled the beauties and peculiar rarities of some kingdoms, and of their principal cities. but one of my uncles said, that, according to the uniform report of an infinite number of voyagers, there was not in the world a pleasanter country than egypt, nor river than the nile; and the account he gave of them infused into me such a charming idea of them, that, from that very moment, i had a desire to travel. whatever my other uncles said, by way of preference to bagdad and the tigris, in calling bagdad the true residence of the mussulman religion, and the metropolis of all the cities in the earth, all this made no impression upon me. my father joined in his opinion with those who had spoken on the behalf of egypt, which gave me a great deal of joy. say what you will, said he, he that has not seen egypt, has not seen the greatest rarity in the world. all the land there is golden, i mean, it is so fertile that it enriches its inhabitants: all the women of that country are charming, either in their beauty or in their agreeable carriage. if you speak of the nile, pray where is there a more admirable river? what water was ever lighter or more delicious? the very slime it carries along in its overflowing fattens a thousand times more than other countries that are cultivated with great labour. do but mind what a poet said of the egyptians when lie was obliged to depart egypt: 'your nile loads you with good offices every day; it is for you only that it travels so far. alas! in removing from you, my tears are going to run as abundantly as its water; you are to continue in the enjoyment of its sweetness, while i am condemned to rob myself of it against my will.' if you look, added he, towards the island that is formed by the two great branches of the nile, what variety of verdure have you there? what enamel of all sorts of flowers? what a prodigious number of cities, villages, canals, and a thousand other agreeable objects? if you cast your eyes on the other side, steering up towards ethiopia, how many other objects of admiration? i cannot compare the verdure of so many plains, watered with the different canals of the island, better than to sparkling emeralds set in silver. is not grand cairo the largest, the most populous, and the richest city in the universe? what a prodigious number of magnificent edifices, both public and private! if you view the pyramids, you will be seized with astonishment: you will turn stiff and immoveable at the sight of these masses of stone of an extravagant thickness, which rise to the skies: and you will be obliged to confess, that the pharaohs, who employed such riches, and so many men in building them, must have surpassed all the monarchs that have appeared since, not only in egypt, but all the world over, in magnificence and invention; so transcendent are the monuments they have left worthy of their memory; monuments so ancient, that the learned cannot agree as to the time of their erection; and yet such as last to this day, and will last while ages are. i silently pass over the maritime cities in the kingdom of egypt, such as damietta, rosetta, alexandria, &c. where the lord knows how many nations come for a thousand sorts of grain, seeds, cloth, and an infinite number of other things, calculated for the conveniency and the delight of men. what i speak of i have some occasion to know. i spent some years of my youth there, which, as long as i live, i shall always reckon the most agreeable part of my life. my uncles had no answer to give my father, and agreed to all he had said of the nile, of cairo, and of the whole kingdom of egypt; as for my own part, i was so taken with it, that i had never a wink of sleep that night. soon after, my uncles declared themselves how much they were touched with my father's discourse. they made a proposal to him that they should travel all together into egypt. he accepted of the proposal; and, being rich merchants, they resolved to carry with them such goods as would go off there. i came to know that they were making preparations for their departure; and thereupon went to my father, and begged of him, with tears in my eyes, that he would suffer me to go along with him, and allow me some stock of goods to trade with by myself; you are too young yet, said my father, to travel into egypt; the fatigue is too great for you; and, besides, i am sure you will come off a loser in your traffic. however, these words did not cure me of the eager desire i had to travel. i made use of my uncle's interest with my father, who at last granted me leave to go as far as damascus, where they would drop me, till they went through their travels into egypt. the city of damascus, said my father, may likewise glory in its beauties, and it is very well if my son get leave to go so far. though my curiosity to see egypt was very pressing, i considered he was my father, submitted to his will, and set out from moussol with him and my uncles. we travelled through mesopotamia, passed the euphrates, and arrived at halep, where we staid some days. from thence we went to damascus, the first sight of which was a very agreeable surprise to me. we lodged in one khan; and i had the view of a city that was large, populous, full of fine people, and very well fortified. we employed some days in walking up and down the delicious gardens that surrounded it; and we all agreed that damascus was justly said to be seated in a paradise. at last my uncles thought of pursuing their journey; but took care, before they went, to seil my goods, which they did so advantageously for me, that i got five hundred per cent. this sale fetched me so considerable a sum, that i was transported to see myself possessor of it. my father and my uncles left me in damascus, and pursued their journey. after their departure, i used mighty caution not to lay out my money idly; but, at the same time, i took a stately house, all of marble, adorned with pictures of gold, and a pure branched work, and excellent water-works. i furnished it, not so richly indeed as the magnificence of the place deserved, but at least handsomely enough for a young man of my condition. it had formerly belonged to one of the principal lords of the city, whose name was modoun adalraham; but then was the property of a rich jewel merchant, to whom i paid for it only two sherriffs[footnote: a sherriff is the same with a sequin. this word is in the ancient authors.] a month. i had a good large number of domestics, and lived honourably; sometimes i gave entertainments to such people as i was acquainted with, and sometimes i went and was treated by them. thus did i spend my time at damascus, waiting for my father's return; no passion disturbed my repose, and my only employment was conversing with people of credit. one day as i sat taking the cool air at my gate, a very fine lady came to me, and asked if i did not sell stuffs? but had no sooner spoken the words than she went into my house. when i saw that the lady had gone into the house, i rose, and having shut the gate, carried her into a hall, and prayed her to sit down. madam, said i, i have had stuffs that were fit to be shown to you, but i have them not now, for which i am very sorry. she took off the veil that covered her face, and made a beauty sparkle in my eyes, which affected me with such emotions as i never felt before. i have no occasion for stuffs, said she; i only come to see you, and pass the evening with you: if you are pleased with it, all i ask of you is a light collation. transported with such happy luck, i ordered the folks to bring us several sorts of fruits, and some bottles of wine, they served us nimbly; and we ate and drank, and made merry, till midnight. in short, i had not passed a night so agreeably all the while i had been there. next morning i would have put ten sherriffs in the lady's hands, but she refused them: i am not come to see you, said she, from a design of interest; you affront me: i am so far from receiving money, that i desire you to take money of me, or else i will see you no more. in speaking this, she put her hand into her purse, took out ten sherriffs, and forced me to take them, saying, you may expect me three days hence after sunset. then she took leave of me, and i felt that when she went, she carried my heart along with her. she did not fail to return at the appointed hour three days after; and i did not fail to receive her with all the joy of a person that waited impatiently for her arrival. the evening and night we spent as before; and next day at parting, she promised to return the third day after. she did not go, however, without forcing me to take ten sherriffs more. she returned a third time; and, at that interview, when we were both warm with wine, she spoke thus: my dear heart, what do you think of me? am i not handsome and agreeable? madam, said i, all the marks of love with which i entertain you ought to persuade you that i love you: i am charmed with seeing you, and more so in enjoying you. you are my queen, my sultaness; in you lies all the felicity of my life. ah, sir, replied she, i am sure you would speak otherwise, if you saw a certain lady of my acquaintance that is younger and handsomer: she is a lady of such a pleasant jocund temper as would make the most melancholy person merry. i must bring her hither: i spoke of you to her, and, from the account i have given of you, she dies of desire to see you. she entreated me to gain her that pleasure, but i did not dare to humour her without speaking to you beforehand. madam, said i, you shall do what you please; but whatever you may say of your friend, i defy all her charms to tear my heart from you, to whom it is so inviolably tied, that nothing can disengage it. do not be too positive, said she; i now tell you i am about to put your heart to a strange trial. we staid together all night, and next morning at parting, instead of ten sherriffs, she gave me fifteen, which i was forced to accept. remember, said she, that in two days you are to have a new guest; pray take care to give her a good reception: we come at the usual hour after sunset. i took care to have my hall in great order, and a nice collation prepared against they came. i waited for the two ladies with impatience, and at last they arrived. they both unveiled themselves, and as i had been surprised with the beauty of the first, i had reason to be much more so when i saw her friend: she had regular features, a lively complexion, and such sparkling eyes that i could hardly bear their splendour, i thanked her for the honour she did me, and entreated her to excuse me if i did not give her the reception she deserved. no compliments said she; it should be my part to make them to you for allowing my friend to bring me hither. but since you are pleased to suffer it, let us lay aside all ceremony, and think of nothing but making merry. as soon as the ladies arrived, the collation was served up, and we sat down to supper. i sat opposite to the stranger lady, and she never left off looking upon me with a smile: i could not resist her conquering eyes, and she made herself mistress of my heart with such force, that i had not power to offer opposition. but, by inspiring me, she took fire herself, and was equally touched, and was so far from showing any thing of constraint in her carriage, that she told me many sensible moving things. the other lady did nothing at first but laugh at us. i told you, said she, addressing herself to me, you would find my friend full of charms; and i perceive you have already violated the oath you made of being faithful to me. madam, said i, laughing as well as she, you would have reason to complain of me, if i were wanting in civility to a lady whom you brought hither, and one whom you are fond of; you might then upbraid me, both of you, for not knowing the measures of hospitality and entertainment. we continued to drink on; but as the wine grew warm in our stomachs, the stranger lady and i ogled one another with so little reserve, that her friend grew jealous, and quickly gave us a dismal proof of her jealousy. she rose from the table, and went out, saying she would be with us presently again; but a few moments after, the lady that staid with me changed her countenance, fell into violent convulsions, and, in fine, expired in my arms, while i was calling to the people to come and assist me in relieving her. immediately i went out, and asked for the other lady; and my people told me she had opened the street-door, and gone out of doors. then i suspected she had been the cause of her friend's death. in fine, she had the dexterity and the malice to put some strong poison into the last glass, which she gave her out of her own hand. i was afflicted to the last degree with the accident. what shall i do? thinks i within myself: what will become of me? i thought there was no time to lose, and so, it being then moon-light, made my servants quietly take up a great piece of marble, with which the yard of my house was paved; under that i made them dig a hole presently, and there inter the corpse of the young lady. after replacing the stone, i put on a travelling suit, and took what silver i had; and, having locked up every thing, affixed my own seal to the door of my house. this done, i went to seek for the jewel merchant, my landlord, paid him what rent i owed, with a year's rent more; and giving him the key, prayed him to keep it for me: a very urgent affair, said i, obliges me to be absent for some time; i am under the necessity of going to find out my uncles at cairo. i took my leave of him, and that very moment mounted my horse, and set out with my equipage. i had a good journey, and arrived at cairo without any ill accident. there i met with my uncles, who were much surprised to see me. to excuse myself, i pretended that i was tired staying for them; and, hearing nothing of them, was so uneasy that i could not be satisfied without coming to cairo. they received me very kindly, and promised my father should not be angry with me for leaving damascus without his permission. i lodged in the same khan with them, and saw all the curiosities of cairo. having finished their traffic, they began to speak of returning to moussol, and to make preparations for their departure. but i, having yet a mind to see something in egypt, left my uncles, and went to lodge at a great distance from the khan, and did not appear till they were gone. they had sought for me all over the city; but, not finding me, they judged the remorse of having come to egypt without my father's consent, had induced me to return to damascus, without saying any thing to them. so they began their journey, expecting to find me at damascus, and there to take me up. i remained at cairo, after their departure, three years, to give full satisfaction to the curiosity i had of seeing all the wonders of egypt, during that time, i took care to send money to the jewel-merchant, ordering him to keep my house for me, for i had a design to return to damascus, and stay there for some years. i had no adventure at cairo worthy of your hearing; but doubtless you will be surprised at that i met with after my return to damascus. on my arrival in this place, i went to the jewel-merchant's house, who received me joyfully, and went along with me to my house, to show me that nobody had entered it whilst i was absent. the seal was still entire upon the lock; and, when i went in, i found every thing in the same order in which i left it. in sweeping and cleaning out my hall, where i had used to eat, one of my servants found a gold chain necklace, with ten very large and very perfect pearls placed upon it at certain distances. he brought it to me, and i knew it to be the same i had seen upon the lady's neck that was poisoned; and concluded it had broken off, and fallen without my perceiving it. i could not look upon it without shedding tears, when i called to mind the lovely creature i had seen die in so fatal a manner; so i wrapped it up, and put it in my bosom. i passed some days to work off the fatigues of my voyage; after which i began to visit my former acquaintances. i abandoned myself to all manner of pleasure, insensibly squandered away all my money, and in this condition, instead of selling my moveables, resolved to part with my necklace, but had so little skill in pearls, that i took my measures very ill. i went to the bezestein, where i called a crier aside, and, showing him the necklace, told him i had a mind to sell it, and desired him to show it to the principal jewellers. the crier was surprised to see such an ornament: what a pretty thing it is! tried he, staring upon it with admiration, never did our merchants see any thing so rich; i am sure i shall oblige them by showing it; and you need not doubt they will set a high price upon it from emulation. he carried me to a shop, which proved to be my landlord's: tarry here, says the crier; i will return presently, and bring you an answer. while he was running about to show the necklace, i sat with the jeweller, who was glad to see me; and we discoursed on common subjects. the crier returned, and calling me aside, instead of telling me that the necklace was valued at two thousand sherriffs, he assured me nobody would give me more than fifty. the reason is, added he, the pearls are false; so see if you can part with it at that price. i took the crier to be an honest fellow; and wanting money, go, said i, i trust to what you say, and to those who know better than i; deliver it to them, and bring me the money immediately. the crier had been ordered to offer me fifty sherriffs by one of the richest jewellers in town, who had made that offer only to sound me, and try if i was acquainted with the value of the goods which i exposed to sale. he had no sooner received my answer, than he carried the crier to the justiciary judge; and showing him the necklace, sir, said he, here is a necklace that was stolen from me, and the thief, under the character of a merchant, has had the impudence to offer it to sale, and is this minute in the bezestein. he is willing to take fifty sherriffs for a necklace that is worth two thousand, which is a plain argument that it is stolen. the judge seat immediately to seize me, and, on coming before him, he asked me if the necklace in his hand was not the one i had exposed to sale in the bezestein? i told him it was. is it true, said he, that you are willing to deliver it for fifty sherriffs? i answered in the affirmative. well, said he, in a scoffing way, give him the bastinado; he will quickly tell us, with all his fine merchant's clothes, that he is only a downright thief; let him be beaten till he confesses. the violence of the blows made me tell a lie: i confessed, though it was not true, that i had stolen the necklace, and presently the judge ordered my hand to be cut off. this made a great noise in the bezestein, and i was scarcely returned to my house, when my landlord came. my son, said, he, you seem to be a young man well educated, and of good sense; how is it possible that you could be guilty of such an unworthy action? you gave me an account of your estate yourself, and i do not doubt the correctness of it. why did you not ask money of me, and i would have lent it you? since, however, the thing has happened, i cannot allow you to lodge longer in my house; you must look out for other lodgings. i was extremely troubled, and entreated the jeweller, with tears in my eyes, to let me stay three days longer in, his house, which he granted. alas! said i to myself, this affront is insufferable; how shall i dare to return to moussol? nothing will persuade his father that i am innocent. three hours after this fatal accident, my house was assaulted by the judge's officers, accompanied by my landlord and the merchant who had falsely accused me of having stolen the necklace. i asked them what brought them there? but, instead of giving me an answer, they bound me, calling me a thousand rogues, and told me that the necklace belonged to the governor of damascus, who had lost it about three years ago, and whose daughter had not been heard of since. conceive my thoughts when i heard this news. however, i called all my resolution about me: i will tell, thinks i, the governor the truth; and so it will lie at his door either to put me to death, or to pardon me. when i was brought before him, i observed he looked upon me with an eye of compassion, from whence i prophesied good things. he ordered me to be untied, and addressing himself to the jeweller who accused me, and to my landlord, is this the man, said he, who sold the pearl necklace? they had no sooner answered yes, than he said, i am sure he did not steal the necklace, and i am much astonished at the injustice that has been done him. these words giving me courage, sir, said i, i do assure you that i am really innocent, and am likewise persuaded that the necklace never did belong to my accuser, whose horrible perfidiousness is the cause of my unjust treatment. it is true, i made a confession as if i had stolen it; but this was contrary to my conscience, through the force of torture, and for another reason that i am ready to tell you, if you will be so good as hear me. i know enough of it already, replied the governor, to do you one part of the justice that is due to you: take from hence, continued he, the false accuser, and let him undergo the same punishment which he caused to be inflicted on this young man, whose innocence is known to me. the governor's orders were immediately put in execution, and the jeweller was punished according to his demerit. then the governor, having ordered all the company to withdraw, said to me, my child, tell me without fear how this necklace fell into your hands; conceal nothing of the matter from me. then i told him plainly all that had passed, and declared i had chosen rather to pass for a thief, than to reveal that tragical adventure. good god! said the governor, thy judgments are incomprehensible, and we ought to submit to them without murmuring. i receive, with an entire submission, the stroke thou hast been pleased to inflict upon me. then directing his discourse to me, my child, said he, having now heard the cause of your disgrace, for which i am much concerned, i will give you an account of the disgrace that befel me. know, then, that i am the father of those two young ladies of whom you were just speaking. i know that the first lady, who had the impudence to come to your house, was my eldest daughter. i had given her in marriage to one of her cousins, my own brother's son, at cairo. her husband died, and she returned home corrupted with all manner of wickedness, which she had learned in egypt. before i took her home, her younger sister, who died in that deplorable manner in your arms, was a very prudent young woman, and had never given me any occasion to complain of her conduct; but, after that, the eldest sister grew very intimate with her, and insensibly made her as wicked as herself. the day after the death of the youngest, not finding her at table, i asked her eldest sister what was become of her? but she, instead of answering, fell a-crying bitterly, from which i formed a fatal presage. i pressed her to inform me of what i asked her. my father, said she, with sobs, i can tell you no more than that my sister put on her best clothes yesterday, and her fine necklace, and went abroad, and has not been heard of since. i made search of my daughter all over the town, but could learn nothing of her unhappy fate. in the mean time, the eldest, who doubtless repented of her jealous fury, very much bewailed the death of her sister, and denied herself all manner of food, and so put an end to her deplorable days. such, continued the governor, is the state of mankind; such are the unlucky accidents to which they are exposed; however, my child, added he, since we are both of us equally unfortunate, let us unite our sorrow, and not abandon one another. i give you in marriage a third daughter i have still left; she is younger than her sisters, and imitates their conduct in no manner of way; besides, she is handsomer than they were, and i assure you is of a humour fitted to make you happy: you shall have no other house but mine; and, after my death, you and she shall be my heirs. sir, said i, i am ashamed of all your favours, and shall never be able to make a sufficient acknowledgment. that is enough, said he, interrupting me; let us not waste time in idle words. he then called for witnesses, ordered the contract of marriage to be drawn, and i married his daughter without further ceremony. he was not satisfied with punishing the jeweller who had falsely accused me, but confiscated for my use all his goods, which were very considerable. as for the rest, since you have been called to the governor's house, you have seen what respect they pay me there. i must tell you further, that a man, who was sent by my uncles to egypt on purpose to inquire for me there, passing through this city, found me out, and came last night, and delivered me a letter from them. they gave me notice of my father's death, and invited me to come and take possession of his estate at moussol; but as the alliance and friendship of the governor has fixed me with him, and will not suffer me to remove from him, i have sent back the express, with an order which will secure to me what is my due. now, after what you have heard, i hope you will pardon my incivility, during the course of my illness, in giving you my left hand. this, said the jewish physician, is the story i heard from the young man of moussol. i continued at damascus as long as the governor lived; after his death, being in the flower of my age, i had the curiosity to travel. accordingly, i went over persia to the indies, and came at last to settle in your capital, where i practise physic with reputation and honour. the sultan of casgar was pretty well pleased with this last story. i must say, said he to the jew, your story is very odd; but i declare freely, that little humph's is yet more extraordinary, and much more comical; therefore yon are not to expect that i will give you your life any more than the rest; i will hang you all four. pray, sir, stay a minute, said the tailor; and then prostrating himself at the sultan's feet. since your majesty loves pleasant stories, i have one to tell you that is very comical. well, i will hear thee too, said the sultan: but do not flatter thyself that i will suffer thee to live, unless thou tellest me some adventure that is yet more diverting than that of the hump-bucked man. upon this the tailor, as if he had been sure of his project, spoke very briskly to the following purpose: the story told by the tailor. a citizen of this city did me the honour, two days ago, to invite me to a treat, which he was to give to his friends yesterday morning. accordingly, i went pretty early, and found twenty persons waiting. the master of the house was gone out upon some business, but in a very little time came home, and brought with him a young man, a stranger, well dressed, and very handsome, but lame. when he came in, we all rose, and, out of respect to the master of the house, invited the young gentleman to sit down with us upon the sofa. he was going to sit down; but all on a sudden, spying a barber in our company, he flew backwards, and made towards the door. the master of the house being surprised, stopped him: where are you going? said he; i brought you along with me to do me the honour of being my guest, and you are no sooner got into my house than you run away again. sir, said the young man, for god's sake do not stop me, let me go; i cannot, without horror, look upon that abominable barber; though he was born in a country where all the natives are whites, he resembles an ethiopian; and when all is come to all, his soul is yet blacker, and yet more horrible than his face. we were, continued the tailor, surprised to hear the young man speak so, and began to have a very bad opinion of the barber, without knowing what ground the young man had for what he said. nay, we protested we would not suffer any one to remain in our company who bore so horrid a character. the master of the house entreated the stranger to tell us what reason he had for hating the barber. gentlemen, said the young man, you must know that this cursed barber is the cause of my being lame, and of the most cruel accident that any one can imagine: for this reason, i have made an oath to avoid every place where he dwells. it was for this reason that i left bagdad, where he then was, and travelled so far to settle in this city, in the heart of great tartary, a place where i flattered myself i should never see him; and now, after all, contrary to my expectations, i find him here. this obliges me, gentlemen, against my will, to deprive myself of the honour of being merry with you. this very day i take leave of your town, and will go, if possible, to hide me from him. this said, he would have left us, but the master entreated him to stop, and tell the cause of his aversion to the barber, who all this while looked down, and said nothing. we joined with the master of the house in requesting him to stay; and at last the young man, yielding to our instances, sat down upon the sofa; and, after turning his back to the barber, that he might not see him, gave us the following account. my father's quality might have entitled him to the highest posts in the city of bagdad, but he always preferred a quiet life to any honours he might deserve. i was his only child; and, when he died, i was already educated, and of age to dispose of the plentiful fortune he had left me, which i did not squander away foolishly, but applied to such uses, that every body respected me. i had never been in love, and was so far from being sensible of that passion, that i acknowledge, perhaps to my shame, that i cautiously avoided the conversation of women. one day, walking in the streets, i saw a great company of ladies before me, and, that i might not meet them, turned down a narrow lane just by, and sat down upon a bench by a door. i sat over against a window, where stood a pot with pretty flowers; and i had my eyes fixed upon this, when, all on a sudden, the window opened, and a young lady appeared, whose beauty was dazzling. immediately she cast her eyes upon me; and, in watering the flower-pot with a hand whiter than alabaster, looked upon me with a smile that inspired me with as much love for her as i had formerly an aversion for all women. after having watered all her flowers, and darting upon me a glance full of charms that quite pierced my heart, she shut up the window again, and so left me in inconceivable trouble and disorder. i had dwelt upon these thoughts long enough, had not a noise in the streets brought me to myself: alarmed thus, i turned my head in a rising posture, and saw it was the upper cadi of the city, mounted on a mule, and attended by five or six servants. he alighted at the door of the house where the young lady had opened the window, and went in there; so i concluded he was the young lady's father. i went home in a different sort of humour from that in which i came, with a passion which was the mere violent as i had never felt before its assaults. in fine, i went to bed in a violent fever, at which all the family was greatly concerned. my relations, who had a great love for me, were so alarmed and moved at my sudden disorder, that they came about me, and importuned me to know the cause, which i took care not to reveal to them. my silence created an uneasiness which the physicians could not dispel, because they knew nothing of my distemper, and rather inflamed than repaired it, by the medicines they exhibited. my relations began to despair of my life, when a certain old lady of our acquaintance, learning my illness, came to see me. she considered and examined every thing with great attention, and dived, i do not know how, into the real cause of my illness. then she took my relations aside, and desired they would retire from the room. when the room was clear, she sat down on the side of my bed: my child, said she, you are very obstinate in concealing hitherto the cause of your illness; but you have no occasion to reveal it to me, i have experience enough to penetrate into a secret; you will not surely disown that it is love that makes you sick. i can find a way to cure you, if you but let me know who the happy lady is that could move a heart so insensible as yours; for you have the name of a woman-hater, and i was not the last that perceived you to be of that temper; but, in short, what i foresaw has just come to pass, and am now glad of the opportunity to employ my talents in bringing you out of pain. the old lady, having talked to me in this fashion, paused, expecting my answer; but, though what she had said made a strong impression upon me, i durst not lay open to her the bottom of my heart; i only turned to her, and fetched a deep sigh without saying any thing. is it bashfulness, said she, that keeps you from speaking? or is it want of confidence in me? do not doubt the effect of my promise. i could mention to you an infinite number of young men of your acquaintance, that have been in the same condition with you, and have received relief from me. in fine, the good lady told me so many things more, that i broke silence, declared to her my evil, pointed out to her the place where i had seen the object which caused it, and unravelled all the circumstances of my adventure. if you succeed, said i, and procure me the felicity of seeing that charming beauty, and revealing to her the passion with which i burn for her, you may depend upon it i will be grateful. my son, said the old woman, i know the lady you speak of; she is, as you judged right, the daughter of the first cadi of the city: i think it no wonder that you are in love with her; she is the handsomest, comeliest lady in bagdad; but what i most boggle at is, that she is very proud and of difficult access. you see how strict our judges are in enjoining the punctual observance of the severe laws that lay women under such a burdensome constraint; and they are yet more strict in the observation of their own families: nay, the cadi you saw is more rigid than all the other magistrates put together. they are always preaching to their daughters what a heinous crime it is to show themselves to men; and by this means the girls themselves are so prepossessed with the notion, that they make no other use of their own eyes than to conduct them along the streets when necessity obliges them to go abroad. i do not say absolutely that the cadi's daughter is of that humour; but i still fear to meet with as great obstacles on her side as on her father's. would to god you had loved some other lady, then i had not had so many difficulties to surmount. however, i shall employ all my wits to compass the thing; but time is required. in the mean time, take heart, and trust to me. the old woman took leave; and as i weighed within myself all the obstacles she had been talking of, the fear of her not succeeding inflamed my illness. next day she came again, and i read in her countenance that she had no favourable news to impart. she spoke thus: my child, i was not mistaken in the matter; i have somewhat else to conquer besides the vigilance of a father; you love an indifferent, insensible girl, who takes pleasure in making those to burn with love that suffer themselves to be charmed by her; when she has once gained that point, she will not deign them the least comfort. she heard me with pleasure, when i spoke of nothing but the torment she had made you undergo; but i had no sooner requested her to allow you to see, and converse with her, than, with a terrible look, you are very bold, said she, to make such a proposal to me; i discharge you ever to see me again with such discourse in your mouth. do not let this cast you down, continued she, i am not easily disheartened; and if your patience does but hold out, i am hopeful i shall compass my end. to shorten my story, said the young man, this good procuress made several attempts on my behalf with the proud enemy of my rest. the fret i thereby underwent inflamed my distemper to that degree that my physicians gave me quite over; so that i was looked on as a dead man, when the old woman came to give me life. that nobody might hear what was said, she whispered in my ear, remember now you owe me a present for the good news i bring you. these words produced a marvellous effect; i raised myself to sit up in the bed, and with transports made answer, you shall not be without a present: but what are the news you bring me? dear sir, said she, you shall not die yet: i shall speedily have the pleasure to see you in perfect health, and very well satisfied with me. yesterday being monday, i went to see the lady you love, and found her in very good humour. i put on a sad countenance, and fetched many deep sighs, and began to squeeze out some tears: my good mother, said she, what is the matter with you? why are you so cast down? alas, my dear and honourable lady, said i, i have been just now with the young gentleman i spoke to you of the other day; his business is done; he is giving up his life for the love of you; it is a great injury, i assure you, and there is a great deal of cruelty on your side. i am at a loss to know, replied she, how you suppose me to be the cause of his death. how can i have contributed to it? how, replied i, did not you tell me the other day that he sat down before your window when you opened it to water your flower-pot? he then saw that prodigy of beauty, those charms that your looking-glass represents to you every day. from that moment he languished, and his disease is risen to that height, that he is reduced to the deplorable condition i have mentioned. you remember well, added i, how rigorously you treated me the last time i was here, when i was offering to speak to you of his illness, and to propose means to rescue him from the danger he was in; when i took leave of you, i went straight to his house, and he no sooner knew by my countenance that i had brought him no favourable answer than his distemper increased. from that time, madam, he is ready to die, and i do not know whether you can save his life now, though you should take pity on him. this is just what i said to her, continued the old woman. the fear of your death shaked her, and i saw her face change colour. is it true what you say? said she. has he actually no other disease than what is occasioned by the love of me? ah, madam, said i, that is too true; would to god it were false! do you believe, said she, that the hope of seeing me would contribute any thing to rescue him from the danger he is in? perhaps it may, said i, and if you will give me orders, i will try the remedy. well, said she, sighing, make him hope to see me; but he can pretend to no other favours from me, unless he aspires to marry me, and my father gives his consent to it. madam, replied i, your goodness overcomes me: i will go and see for the young gentleman, and tell him he is to have the pleasure of an interview with you: the most proper time i can think of, said she, for granting him that favour, is next friday, at the time of noon-prayers. let him take care to observe when my father goes out, and then come and plant himself over against the house, if so be his health permits him to come abroad. when he comes, i shall see him through my window, and shall come down and open the door to him; we shall then converse together during prayer-time, but he must be gone before my father returns. it is now tuesday, continued the old gentlewoman, you have till friday to recruit your strength, and make the necessary dispositions for the interview. while the good old gentlewoman was telling her story, i felt my illness decrease, or rather, by the time she had done, i found myself perfectly well. here, take this, said i, reaching out to her my purse, which was full, it is to you alone that i owe my cure. i reckon this money better employed than what i gave to the physicians, who have done nothing but tormented me during the whole course of my illness. when the lady was gone, i found i had strength enough to get up; and my relations, finding me so well, complimented me and went home. on friday morning the old woman came just when i was dressing myself, and laying out the finest clothes i had; i do not ask you, says she, how you do; what you are about is intimation enough of your health; but will you not bathe before you go to the first cadi's house? that will take up too much time, said i; i will content myself with calling a barber to get my head and beard shaved. presently i ordered one of my slaves to call a barber that could do his business cleverly and expeditiously. the slave brought me this wretch you see here, who came in, and after saluting me, sir, said he, you look as if you were not very well. i told him i was just recovered from a fit of sickness: i wish, said he, god may deliver you from all mischance; may his grace always go along with you. i hope, said i, he will grant your wish, for which i am very much obliged to you. since you are recovering, said he, i pray god preserve your health; but now pray let us know what service i am to do; i have brought my razors and my lancets; do you desire to be shaved or to be bled? i replied, i am just recovered of a fit of sickness, and so you may readily judge i only want to be shaved: come, make haste, do not lose time in prattling, for i am in haste, and precisely at noon must be at a certain place. the barber spent much time in opening his case, and preparing his razors: instead of putting water into the bason, he took a very handsome astrolabe out of his budget, and went very gravely out of my room to the middle of the yard to take the height of the sun; then he returned with the same grave pace, and, entering my room, sir, said he, you will be pleased to know this day is friday the th of the month saffar, in the year , [footnote: this year is one of the hegira, the common epocha of the mahometans, and answers to the year , from the nativity of christ; from whence we may conjecture that these computations were made in arabia about that time.] from the retreat of our great prophet from mecca to medina, and in the year [footnote: as for the year , the author is mistaken in that computation. the year of the hegira, and the of christ, coincide only with the of the aera or the epocha of the selucides, which is the same with that of alexander the great, who is called iskender with two horns, according to the expression of the arabians.] of the epocha of the great iskender with two horns; and that the conjunction of mars and mercury signifies you cannot choose a better time than this very day for being shaved. but, on the other hand, the same conjunction is a bad presage to you. i learn from thence, that this day you run a great risk, not indeed of losing your life, but of an inconvenience which will attend you while you live. you are obliged to me for the advice i now give you to take care to avoid it; i should be sorry if it befel you. you may guess, gentlemen, how sorry i was for having fallen into the hands of such a prattling impertinent barber; what an unseasonable adventure it was for a lover preparing for an interview! i was quite angry. i do not trouble my head, said i, in anger, with your advice and predictions, nor did i call you to consult your astrology; you came here to shave me, so pray do it, or be gone, and i will call another barber. sir, said he, with a dulness that put me out of all patience, what reason have you to be angry with me? you do not know that all barbers are not like me, and that you could scarcely find such another, if you made it your business to search. you only sent for a barber: but here, in my person, you have the best barber in bagdad; an experienced physician, a very profound chemist, an infallible astrologer, a finished grammarian, a complete orator, a subtle logician, a mathematician perfectly conversant in geometry, arithmetic, astronomy, and all the divisions of algebra; an historian fully master of the histories of all the kingdoms of the universe; besides, i know all parts of philosophy, and have all the traditions upon my finger ends. i am a poet, an architect, nay, what is it i am not? there is nothing in nature hidden from me. your deceased father, to whose memory i pay a tribute of tears every time i think of him, was fully convinced of my merit; he was fond of me, and spoke of me in all companies as the greatest man in the world. out of gratitude and friendship for him, i am willing to take you into my protection, and guard you from all the evils that your stars may threaten. at hearing this stuff, i could not forbear laughing, notwithstanding my anger. you impertinent prattler, said i, will you have done, and begin to shave me? sir, replied the barber to me, you affront me in calling me a prattler; on the contrary, all the world gives me the honourable title of silent. i had six brothers that you might justly have called prattlers; and that you may know them the better, the name of the first was bacbouc, of the second backbarah of the third backback, of the fourth barbarak, of the fifth alnaschar, of the sixth schacabac. these indeed were impertinent noisy fellows; but as for me, who am a younger brother, i am grave and concise in my discourses. for god's sake, gentlemen, do but suppose you had been in my place. what could i say when i felt myself so cruelly tortured? give him three pieces of gold, said i to the slave that was my housekeeper, and send him away, that he may disturb me no more; i will not be shaved this day. sir, said the barber, what do you mean by that? i did not come to seek for you, it was you that sent for me; and since it is so, i swear by the faith of a mussulman, i will not stir out of these doors till i have shaved you: if you do not know my value, that is not my fault. your deceased father did me more justice. every time he sent for me to let blood, he made me sit down by him, and was charmed to hear the fine things i talked of. i kept him in a continual strain of admiration, and ravished him; when i had finished my discourses, my god, would he cry, you are an inexhaustible source of sciences; no man can reach the depth of your knowledge. my dear sir, said i again, you do me more honour than i deserve: if i say any thing that is fine, it is owing to the favourable audience you vouchsafe me; it is your liberality that inspires me with the sublime thoughts that have the happiness to please you. one day, when he was charmed with an admirable discourse i had made, give him, says he, an hundred pieces of gold, and invest him with one of my richest robes. i received the present upon the spot, and presently i drew his horoscope, and found it the happiest in the world. nay, i was grateful still, and bled him with cupping glasses. this was not all: the barber spinned out, besides, another harangue that was a half hour long. fatigued with hearing him, and fretted at the time which was spent before i was half ready, i did not know what to say. no, said i, it is impossible there should be such another man in the world, that takes pleasure, as you do, in making people mad. i thought that i should succeed better if i dealt mildly with my barber. in the name of god, said i, leave off all your fine discourses, and despatch me presently; i am called to attend an affair of the last importance, as i have told you already. then he fell a laughing: it would be a laudable thing, said he, if our minds were always in the same strain; if we were wise and prudent: however, i am willing to believe, that if you are angry with me, it is your distemper which has caused that change in your humour; and, for that reason, you stand in need of some instructions, and you cannot do better than follow the example of your father and grandfather. they came and consulted me upon all occasions; and i can say, without vanity, that they always extolled my council. pray, recollect, sir, men never succeed in their enterprises without having recourse to the advice of quick-sightedmen. the proverb tells you, a man cannot be wise without receiving advice from the wise. i am entirely at your service, and you have nothing to do but command me. what! cannot i prevail with you then? said i, interrupting him. leave off these long discourses which tend to nothing but to split my head to pieces, and to detain me from the place where my business lies. shave me, i say, or be gone; with that i started up in a huff, stamping my foot against the ground. when he saw i was angry in earnest; sir, said he, do not be angry, we are going to begin soon. he washed my head, and fell a shaving me; but he had not given me four sweeps of his razor, when he stopped, saying, sir, you are hasty, you should avoid these transports that come only from the devil. besides, my merit speaks that you ought to have some more consideration for me, with respect to my age, my knowledge, and my shining virtues. go on and shave me, said i, interrupting him again, and do not speak. that is to say, replies he, you have some urgent business to go about; i will lay you a wager i guess right. why, i told you so these two hours, said i, you ought to have done before now. moderate your passion, replied he, perhaps you have not maturely weighed what you are going about: when things are done precipitately, they are generally repented of. i wish you would tell me what mighty business this is you are so earnest upon: i would tell you my opinion of it: besides, you have time enough, since your appointment is not till noon, and it wants three hours of that yet. i do not mind that, said i; persons of honour, and of their word, are rather before their time than after. but i forget that, in amusing myself by reasoning with you, i give into the faults of you prattling barbers: have done, have done, shave me. the more haste i was in, the less haste he made: he laid down the razor, and took up his astrolabe; this done, he even laid down the astrolabe, and took up his razor again. the barber quitted his razor again, and took up his astrolabe, a second time; and so left me, half shaved, to go and see precisely what o'clock it was. back he came, and then, sir, said he, i knew i was not mistaken, it wants three hours of noon, i am sure of it, or else all the rules of astronomy are false. just heaven! cried i, my patience is at an end, i can forbear no longer. you cursed barber, you barber of mischief, i do not know what holds me from falling upon you, and strangling you. softly, sir, said he, very calmly, without being moved by my passion: you are not afraid of a relapse: do not be in a passion, i am going to serve you this minute. on speaking these words, he clapped his astrolabe in his case, took up his razor, which he had fixed to his belt, and fell a shaving again: but, all the while he shaved me, the dog could not forbear prattling. if you please, sir, said he, to tell me what business it is you are going about, i could give you some advice that may be of use to you. to satisfy the fellow, i told him i was going to meet some friends who were to regale me at noon, and make merry with me upon the recovery of my health. when the barber heard me talk of regaling, god bless you this day as well as all other days, cried he: you put me in mind that yesterday i invited four or five friends to come and eat with me this day: indeed i had forgot it, and i have as yet made no preparation for them. do not let that trouble you. said i; though i dine abroad, my house is always well provided. i make you a present of what is in it; nay, besides, i will order you as much wine as you may have occasion for, for i have excellent wine in my cellar; only despatch the shaving of me presently, and pray do not mind it; whereas my father made you presents to encourage you to speak, i give you mine to make you hold your peace. he was not satisfied with the promise i made him: god reward you, sir, said he, for your kindness; but pray show me these provisions now, that i may see if there will be enough to entertain my friends: i would have them satisfied with the good fare i make them. i have, said i, a lamb, six capons, a dozen of pullets, and enough to make four services of. i ordered a slave to bring them all before him, with four great pitchers of wine. it is very well, said the barber, but we shall want fruit, and sauce for the meat: that i ordered likewise; but then he gave over shaving to look over every thing one after another; and this survey lasted almost half an hour. i raged, and stormed, and went mad, but it signified nothing, the coxcomb never troubled himself. he, however, took up his razor again, and shaved me for some moments; then stopping all on a sudden, i could not have believed, sir, that you would have been so liberal; i begin to perceive that your deceased father lives again in you: most certainly i do not deserve the favours with which you have loaded me; and i assure you i shall have them in perpetual remembrance: for, sir, to let you know it, i have nothing but what comes from the generosity of honest gentlemen, such as you; in which point i am like to zantout that rubs the people in bathing; to sali that cries boiled pease in the streets: to salout that sells beans; to akerscha that sells greens; to amboumecarez that sprinkles the streets to lay the dust, and to cassem the caliph's life-guard man. of all these persons, not one is apt to be made melancholy; they are neither peevish nor quarrelsome; they are more contented with their lot than the caliph in the midst of his court; they are always gay, ready to dance and to sing, and have each of them their peculiar song and dance, with which they divert the city of bagdad: but what i esteem most in them is, that they are no great talkers, no more than your slave that has now the honour to speak to you. here, sir, that is the song and dance of zantout, who rubs the people in baths: mind me, pray, and see if i do not imitate it exactly. the barber sung the song and danced the dance of zantout; and though i did what i could to make an end to his buffoonery, he did not give over till he had imitated, in like manner, the songs and dances of the other people he had named. after that, addressing himself to me, i am going, says he, to invite all these honest persons to my house: if you take my advice, you will join with us, and balk your friends yonder, who perhaps are noisy prattlers, that will only teaze you to death with their nauseous discourses, and make you fall into a distemper worse than that you so lately recovered of; whereas, at my house, you shall have nothing but pleasure. notwithstanding my anger, i could not forbear laughing at the fellow's impertinence. i wish i had no business upon my hands, said i; if i had not, i would accept of the proposal you make me; i would go with all my heart to be merry with you, but i beg to be excused, i am too much engaged this day; another day i shall be more at leisure, and then we shall make up that company. come, have done shaving me, and make haste to return home; perhaps your friends are already come to your house. sir, said he, do not refuse me the favour i ask of you; come and be merry with the good company i am to have; if you were but once in our company, you would be so well pleased with it, you would forsake your friends to come to us: let us talk no more of that, said i, i cannot be your guest. i found i gained no ground upon him by mild terms. since you will not come to my house, replied the barber, then pray let me go along with you; i will go and carry these things to my house, where my friends may eat of them if they like them, and i will return immediately; i would not be so uncivil as to leave you alone; you deserve this complaisance at my hands. heavens! cried i, then i shall not get clear of this troublesome man this day. in the name of the living god, said i, leave off your unreasonable jargon: go to your friends, drink, eat, and be merry with them, and leave me at liberty to go to mine. i have a mind to go alone, i have no occasion for company: besides, i must needs tell you, the place to which i go is not a place where you can be received; nobody must come there but me. you jest, sir, said he; if your friends have invited you to a feast, why should you hinder me to accompany you? you will please them, i am sure, by carrying thither a man that can speak comically like me, and knows how to divert company agreeably: but, say what you will, the thing is resolved upon; i will go along with you in spite of your teeth. these words, gentlemen, made me very uneasy. how shall i get rid of this cursed barber? thought i to myself. if i do not snub him roundly, we shall never have done contesting. besides, i heard then the first call to noon-prayers, and it was time for me to go. in fine, i resolved to say nothing at all, and to make as if i consented to his proposal. by that time he had done shaving me; then said i to him, take some of my servants to carry these provisions along with you, and return hither; i will stay for you, and shall not go without you. at last he went, and i dressed myself nimbly. i heard the last call to prayers; and made haste to set out: but the malicious barber, jealous of my intention, went with my servants only within sight of the house, and stood there till he saw them enter his house; having hid himself upon the turning of a street, with intent to observe and follow me. in fine, when i arrived at the cadi's door, i looked back and saw him at the head of the street, which fretted me to the last degree. the cadi's door was half open, and as i went in, i saw an old woman waiting for me, who, after she had shut the door, conducted me to the chamber of the young lady i was in love with: but we had scarcely begun our interview, when we heard a noise in the street. the young lady put her head to the window, and saw through the grate that it was the cadi, her father, returning already from prayers. at the same time, i looked through the window, and saw the barber sitting over against the house in the same place where i had before seen the young lady. i had then two things to fear, the arrival of the cadi, and the presence of the barber. the young lady mitigated my fear of the first, by assuring me the cadi came but very seldom to her chamber; and, as she had foreseen that this misadventure might happen, she had contrived a way to convey me out safe; but the indiscretion of the accursed barber made me very uneasy; and you shall hear that this my uneasiness was not without ground. as soon as the cadi came in, he caned one of his slaves that deserved it. the slave made horrid shouts, which were heard in the streets; the barber thought it was i that cried out, and that i was maltreated. prepossessed with this thought, he screamed out most fearfully, rent his clothes, threw dust upon his head, and called the neighbourhood to his assistance. the neighbourhood came, and asked what ailed him, and what relief he wanted that they could give? alas! cried he, they are assassinating my master, my dear patron: and, without saying any other thing, he ran all the way to my house with the very same cry in his mouth. from thence he returned, followed by all my domestics, armed with batoons. they knocked with inconceivable fury at the cadi's door, and the cadi sent a slave to see what was the matter; but the slave being frightened, returned to his master, crying, sir, above ten thousand men are going to break into your house by force. immediately the cadi ran himself, opened the door, and asked what they wanted? his venerable presence could not inspire them with respect: they insolently said to him, you cursed cadi, you dog of a cadi, what reason have you to assassinate our master? what has he done to you? good people, replied the cadi, for what should i assassinate your master, whom i do not know, and who has done no offence? my house is open to you, come see and search. you bastinadoed him, said the barber; i heard his cries not above a minute ago. but pray, replies the cadi, what offence could your master do to me, to oblige me to use him after that rate? is he in my house? if he is, how came he in, or who could have introduced him? ah! wretched cadi cried the barber, you and your long beard shall never make me believe what you say. what i say i know to be true; your daughter is in love with our master, and gave him a meeting during the time of noon-prayers; you, without doubt, have had notice of it; you returned home, and surprised him, and made your slave bastinado him: but this your wicked action shall not pass with impunity; the caliph shall be acquainted with it, and he shall give true and brief justice. let him come out; deliver him to us immediately: or if you do not, we will go in and take him from you, to your shame. there is no occasion for so many words, replied the cadi, nor to make so great a noise: if what you say is true, go in and find him out, i give you free liberty. thereupon the barber and my domestics rushed into the house like furies, and looked for me all about. when i heard all that the barber said to the cadi, i sought for a place to hide myself, and could find nothing but a great empty trunk, in which i lay down, and shut it upon me. the barber, after he had searched every where, came into the chamber where i was, and opening the trunk, as soon as he saw me, he took it upon his head, and carried it away. he came down a high stair-case into a court, which he went through very speedily, and got to the street. while he carried me, the trunk unhappily opened, and i, not being able to endure to be exposed to the view and shouts of the mob that followed us, leaped out into the street with so much haste that i hurt my leg, so as i have been lame ever since. i was not sensible how bad it was at first, and therefore got up quickly to get away from the people, who laughed at me; nay, i threw handfuls of gold and silver among them, and, whilst they were gathering it up, i made my escape by cross streets and alleys. but the cursed barber, improving the stratagem that i made use of to get away from the mob, followed me close, crying, stay, sir, why do you run so fast? if you knew how much i am afflicted at the ill treatment you received from the cadi, you who are so generous a person, and to whom i and my friends are so much obliged! did not i tell you truly that you would expose your life by your obstinate refusal to let me go with you? see now what has happened to you by your own fault; and if i had not resolutely followed you to see whither you went, what would have become of you? whither do you go then, sir? stay for me. thus the wretched barber cried aloud in the streets; it was not enough for him to have occasioned so great a scandal in the quarter of the cadi, but he would have it be known through the whole town. i was in such a rage that i had a great mind to have staid and cut his throat; but considering that would have perplexed me further, i chose another course; for perceiving that his calling after me exposed me to vast numbers of people, who crowded to the doors or windows, or stopped in the streets, to gaze on me, i entered into a khan or inn, the chamberlain of which knew me; and finding him at the gate, whither the noise had brought him, i prayed him, for the sake of heaven, to hinder that madman from coming in after me. he promised to do so, and was as good as his word, but not without a great deal of trouble, for the obstinate barber would go in, in spite of him, and did not retire without calling him a thousand ill names; and after the chamberlain shut the gate, the barber continued telling the mob what great service he had done me. thus i rid myself of that troublesome fellow. after that, the chamberlain prayed me to tell him my adventure, which i did, and then desired him to let me have an apartment until i was cured: but, sir, says he, would it not be more convenient for you to go home? i will not return thither, said i; for the detestable barber will continue plaguing me there, and i shall die of vexation to be continually teazed with him. besides, after what has befallen me to-day, i cannot think of staying any longer in this town; i must go whither my ill fortune leads me. and actually, when i was cured, i took all the money i thought necessary for my travels, and divided the remainder of my estate among my kindred. thus, gentlemen, i left bagdad, and came hither. i had ground to hope that i should not meet this pernicious barber in a country so far from my own, and yet i found him amongst you. do not be surprised, then, at my haste to be gone; you may easily judge how disgusting to me the sight of a man is who was the occasion of my lameness, and of my being reduced to the melancholy necessity of living at so great a distance from my kindred, friends, and country. when the lame young man had spoken these words, he rose, and went out: the master of the house conducted him to the gate, and told him he was sorry that he had given him, though innocently, so great a subject of mortification. when the young man was gone, continued the tailor, we were all astonished at the story; and turning to the barber, told him he was very much in the wrong, if what we had just now heard was true. gentlemen, answered he, raising up his head, which till then he had held down, my silence during the young man's discourse is enough to testify that he advanced nothing but what was really true; but, notwithstanding all that he has said to you, i maintain that i ought to have done what i did; i leave yourselves to be judges of it. did not he throw himself into danger, and could he have come off so well without my assistance? he was too happy to escape with a lame leg. did not i expose myself to a greater danger in getting him out of a house where i thought he was ill-treated? has he any reason to complain of me, and to give me so many bad words? this is what one gets by serving unthankful people. he accuses me of being a prattling fellow, which is a mere slander. of seven brothers, i am he who speaks the least, and have most wit for my share; and, to convince you of it, gentlemen, i need only tell my own story and theirs. honour me, i beseech you, with your attention. the story of the barber. in the reign of the caliph moustancer billah [footnote: he was raised to this dignity in the year of the hegira , and anno dom. ; and was the thirty-sixth caliph of the race of the abassides.], continued he, a prince famous for his vast liberality towards the poor, ten highwaymen infested the roads about bagdad, who had for a long time committed unheard-of robberies and cruelties. the caliph having notice of this, sent for the judge of the police some days before the feast of bairam, and ordered him, on pain of death, to bring all the ten to him. the judge of the police, continued the barber, used so much diligence, and sent so many people in pursuit of the ten robbers, that they were taken on the day of bairam. i was then walking on the banks of the tigris, and saw ten men, richly apparelled, go into a boat. i might have known they were robbers, had i observed the guards that were with them; but i looked only to them; and, thinking they were people who had a mind to spend the festival-day in jollity, i entered the boat with them, without saying one word, in hopes they would allow me to be one of the company. we went down the tigris, and landed before the caliph's palace; and i then had time to consider with myself, and to find out my mistake. when we came out of the boat, we were surrounded by a new troop of the judge of the police's guard, who tied us all, and carried us before the caliph. i suffered myself to be tied as well as the rest, without speaking one word: for to what purpose should i have spoken, or made any resistance? that would have been the way to have been ill treated by the guards, who would not have listened to me, for they are brutish fellows, who will hear no reason: i was with the robbers, which was sufficient to make them believe me to be one. when we came before the caliph, he ordered the ten highwaymen's heads to be cut off immediately. the executioner drew us up in a file within the reach of his arm, and by good fortune i was the last. he cut off the heads of the ten highwaymen, beginning with the first; and when he came to me he stopped. the caliph, perceiving that he did not meddle with me, grew angry: did not i command thee, said he, to cut off the heads of ten highwaymen? why, then, hast thou cut off but nine? commander of the faithful, said he, heaven preserve me from disobeying your majesty's orders! here are ten corpses upon the ground, and as many heads which i cut off; your majesty may count them. when the caliph saw himself that what the executioner said was true, he looked upon me with astonishment; and, perceiving that i had not the face of a highwayman, said to me, good old man, how came you to be among those wretches, who have deserved a thousand deaths? i answered, commander of the faithful, i shall make a true confession. this morning i saw those ten persons, whose unhappy fate is a proof of your majesty's justice, take boat; and i embarked with them, thinking they were men going to an entertainment to celebrate this day, which is the most remarkable in our religion. the caliph, who could not forbear laughing at my adventure, instead of treating me as a prattling fellow, as the lame young man did, admired my discretion and constant silence. commander of the faithful, said i, your majesty need not wonder at my keeping silence on such an occasion, which would have made another apt to speak. i make a particular profession of holding my peace; and on that account i have acquired the title of silent. thus i am called, to distinguish me from my six brothers. this is the effect of my philosophy; and, in a word, in this virtue consists my glory and happiness. i am very glad, said the caliph, smiling, that they gave you a title which you so well deserve, and know how to make such good use of. but tell me what sort of men your brothers are: were they like you? by no means, said i; they were all of them given to prating, one more than another; and as to their persons, there was still a greater difference betwixt them and me. the first was hump-backed; the second had rotten teeth; the third had but one eye; the fourth was blind; the fifth had his ears cut; and the sixth had hare-lips. they had such adventures as would inform you of their characters, had i the honour of telling them to your majesty. accordingly, the caliph expressing a desire to hear a relation of their stories, i began thus: the story of the barber's eldest brother. sir, said i, my eldest brother, whose name was bacbouc the hump-back, was a tailor by trade: when his apprenticeship expired, he hired a shop just opposite a mill; and, having but very little business, could scarcely maintain himself. the miller, on the contrary, was wealthy, and had a very handsome wife. one day, as my brother was at work in his shop, he lifted up his head, and saw the miller's wife looking out of the window, and was charmed with her beauty. the woman took no notice of him, but shut the window, and came no more to it all that day; while the poor tailor did nothing but lift up his eyes towards the mill all day long. he pricked his fingers more than once; and his work that day was not very regular. at night, when he was to shut up his shop, he could scarcely tell how to do it, because he still hoped the miller's wife would come to the window once more; but at last he was forced to shut it up, and go home to his little house, where he passed the night in great uneasiness. he rose very early the next morning, and ran to his shop, in hopes of seeing his mistress again; but he was no happier than the day before, for the miller's wife did not appear at the window above one moment all the day; but that moment made the tailor the most amorous that ever lived. the third day he had some more ground of satisfaction; for the miller's wife cast her eyes upon him by chance, and surprised him as he was gazing at her, of which she presently knew the reason. no sooner did the miller's wife perceive my brother's mind, continued the barber, but, instead of being vexed at it, she resolved to make it her diversion. she looked upon him with a smiling countenance, and my brother looked upon her in the same manner; but his looks were so very whimsical and singular, that the miller's wife was obliged to shut her window, lest her loud laughter should have made him sensible that she only ridiculed him. poor bacbouc interpreted her behaviour on this occasion to his own advantage, and flattered himself that she had looked upon him with pleasure. the miller's wife resolved to make sport with my brother. she had a piece of very fine stuff, with which she had for a long time designed to make herself a suit; she therefore wrapped it up in a fine embroidered silk handkerchief, and sent it to him by a young slave; who, having been first taught her lesson, came to the tailor's shop, and said, my mistress gives you her service; and prays you to make her a suit with this stuff according to the pattern: she changes her clothes often, so that her custom will be profitable to you. my brother doubted not but the miller's wife loved him, and therefore concluded that she sent him work so soon after what had passed betwixt them only to signify that she knew his mind, and to convince him that he had obtained her favour. confirmed in this opinion, my brother charged the slave to tell her mistress that he would lay aside all other work for her's, and that the suit should be ready by next morning. in effect, he laboured at it with so much diligence, that he finished it the same day. next morning, the young slave coming to see if the suit was ready, bacbouc gave it to her neatly folded up; and said, i am too anxious to please your mistress to neglect her suit: i would engage her by my diligence to employ no other but myself for the future. the young slave went some steps, as if she had intended to go away; and then coming back, whispered to my brother, i had forgot part of my commission; my mistress charged me to compliment you in her name, and to ask you how you passed the night: for her part, poor woman, she loves you so mightily, that she could not sleep. tell her, answered my silly brother, that i have so violent a passion for her, that i have not closed my eyes in sleep these four nights. after such a compliment from the miller's wife, my brother thought she would not let him languish in expectation of her favour. about a quarter of an hour after, the slave returned to my brother with a piece of satin. my mistress, said she, is very well pleased with her suit; nothing in the world can fit her better: and as it is very fine, she would not wear it without a new petticoat; and she prays you to make her one, as soon as you can, of this piece of satin. it is enough, said bacbouc; i will do it before i leave my shop; you shall have it in the evening. the miller's wife showed herself often at her window; was very prodigal of her charms; and, to encourage my brother, she feigned to take pleasure in seeing him work. the petticoat was soon made; and the slave came for it, but brought the tailor no money, neither for the trimming he had bought for the suit, nor for his labour. in the mean time, this unfortunate lover, whom they only amused, though he could not perceive it, had eat nothing all that day, and was under the necessity of borrowing money to purchase himself a supper. next morning, as soon as it was day, the young slave came to tell him that the miller wanted to speak with him. my mistress, said she, has told him so much good of you, when she showed him your work, that he has a mind you should work also for him; she does it on purpose, that the friendship she designs to form betwixt you and him may make you succeed in what you both equally desire. my brother was easily persuaded, and went to the mill with the slave. the miller received him very kindly, and showed him a piece of cloth, told him he wanted shirts, bid him make twenty of that cloth, and return to him what he should not make use of. my brother, said the barber, had work enough for five or six days to make twenty shirts for the miller; who afterwards gave him another piece of cloth to make him as many pair of drawers. when, they were finished, bacbouc carried them to the miller, who asked him what he must have for his pains. my brother answered, that he would be content with twenty drams of silver. the miller immediately called the young slave, and bid her bring him his weights, that he might see if his money was right. the slave who had her lesson, looked upon my brother with an angry countenance, to signify to him that their project would be frustrated if he took any money. he knew her meaning, and refused to take any, though he wanted it so much that he was forced to borrow money to buy the thread with which he sewed the shirts and drawers. when he left the miller, he came to me to borrow money to live on, and told me they did not pay him. i gave him some copper-money that i had in my pocket, on which he subsisted for some days. it is true, indeed, he lived upon nothing but broth; nor had he a sufficiency of that. one day he went to the miller, who was busy at his work; and, thinking that my brother came for money, he offered him some; but the young slave being present, made him another sign not to take it, with which he complied, and told the miller he did not come for his money, but only to know how he did. the miller thanked him, and gave him an upper garment to make. bacbouc carried it to him the next day; and when the miller drew out his purse, the young slave gave my brother the usual sign; on which he said to the miller, neighbour, there is no haste; we will reckon another time. the poor simpleton then returned again to his shop, with the three terrible distempers of love, hunger, and want of money, upon him. the miller's wife was not only avaricious, but very ill-natured; for, not content with having cheated my brother of what was due to him, she provoked her husband to revenge himself upon him for making love to her; which they accomplished thus. the miller invited bacbouc one night to supper; and, after having entertained him in a very indifferent manner, addressed himself to him in this way: brother, it is too late for you to go home; you had better stay here all night: and then he took him to a place in the mill, in which was a bed, where he left him, and went to bed with his wife. about the middle of the might, the miller came to my brother, and said, neighbour, are you asleep? my mule is ill, and i have a great deal of corn to grind; you will do me a mighty kindness if you will turn the mill in her stead. bacbouc, to show his good-nature, told him that he was ready to do him such a piece of service, if he would first instruct him. the miller then tied him by the middle to the mule's place; and whipping him over the back, cried, go neighbour! ho! said my brother, why do you beat me? it is to make you brisk, said the miller; for without a whip my mule will not go. bacbouc was amazed at this sort of treatment, but durst not complain. when he had gone five or six rounds he would fain have rested; but the miller gave him a dozen of sound lashes, saying, courage, neighbour! do not stop, pray; you must go on without taking your breath, otherwise you will spoil my meal. the miller obliged my brother, continued the barber, thus to turn the mill all night; about break of day he left him, without untying him, and went to his wife's chamber. bacbouc continued there for some time; and at last the young slave came and untied him. ah! said the treacherous wretch, how my mistress and i bemoaned you! we had no hand in this wicked trick which her husband has put upon you. unhappy bacbouc answered her not a word, he was so much fatigued with labour and blows: but, creeping to his own house, resolved never more to think on the miller's wife. the telling of this story, said the barber, made the caliph laugh. go home, said he to me, i have ordered something to be given you instead of the good dinner you expected. commander of the faithful, said i, i pray your majesty to stay till i have related the story of my other brothers. the caliph having signified by his silence that he was willing to hear me, i proceeded thus: the story of the barber's second brother. my second brother, who was called backbarah the toothless, going one day through the city, met an old woman in an out-street, who came to him presently, and said, i want one word with you, pray stop one moment. he did so, and asked her what she would have. if you will come along with me, said she, i will bring you into a stately palace, where you shall see a lady as fair as the day. she will receive you with abundance of pleasure, and give you a treat with excellent wine. i need say no more to you. but is what you say true? replied my brother. i am no lying hussy, replied the old woman; i say nothing to you but what is true. but hark, i have something to ask of you. you must be wise, you must speak but little, and you must be mighty complaisant. backbarah agreed to all this. the old woman went before, and he followed after. they came to the gate of a great palace, where there was a great number of officers and domestics. some of them would have stopped my brother, but no sooner did the old woman speak to them, than they let him pass. then turning to my brother, she said to him, you must remember that the young lady i bring you to loves good-nature and modesty, and cannot endure to be contradicted; if you please her in that, you may be sure to obtain of her what you wish. backbarah thanked her for this advice, and promised to follow it. she brought him into a fine apartment, which was a great square building, answerable to the magnificence of the palace. there was a gallery round it, and a very fine garden in the middle. the old woman made him sit down upon a sofa very well trimmed, and bid him stay a moment, till she went to tell the young lady of his being come. my brother, who had never been before in such a stately palace, gazed upon the fine things that he saw; and, judging of his good fortune by the magnificence of the palace, he was scarcely able to contain himself for joy. by and by he heard a great noise, occasioned by a troop of merry slaves, who came towards him with loud fits of laughter, and in the middle of them he perceived a young lady of extraordinary beauty, who was easily known to be their mistress by the respect they paid her. backbarah, who expected private conversation with the lady, was extremely surprised when he saw so much company with her. in the mean time, the slaves put on a grave countenance when they drew near; and when the young lady came up to the sofa, my brother rose up and made her a low bow. she took the upper-hand, prayed him to sit down, and with a smiling countenance, said to him, i am mighty glad to see you, and wish you all the happiness you can desire. madam, replied backbarah, i cannot desire a greater happiness than to be in your company. you seem to be of a good-humour, said she, and to have a mind that we should pass the time pleasantly together. she forthwith commanded a collation to be brought; and immediately a table was covered with several baskets of fruit and confections. the lady sat down at the table with the slaves and my brother, and he being placed just over against her, when he opened his mouth to eat, she perceived he had no teeth; and taking notice of it to her slaves, she and they laughed at him heartily. backbarah, from time to time, lifted up his head to look at her, and perceiving her laugh, thought it was for joy of his company, and flattered himself that she would speedily send away her slaves, and be with him alone. she judged what was his mind; and, pleasing herself to flatter him in his mistake, she gave him abundance of sweet words, and presented him the best of every thing with her own hand. the treat being done, they rose from the table, when ten slaves took musical instruments, and began to play and sing, and others went to dance. my brother, to make them sport, did likewise dance, and the lady danced with them. after they had danced some time, they sat down to take breath; and the young lady, calling for a glass of wine, looked upon my brother with a smiling countenance, to signify that she was going to drink his health. he rose up, and stood while she drank. when she had done, instead of giving back the glass, she ordered it to be filled, and presented it to my brother, that he might pledge her. my brother took the glass from the young lady's hand, which he at the same time kissed, and stood and drank to her, in acknowledgment of the favour she had done him. then the young lady made him sit down by her, and began to caress him. she put her hand behind his head, and gave him some tips from time to time with her fingers: ravished with those favours, he thought himself the happiest man in the world, and had a great mind to toy also with the charming lady, but durst not take that liberty before so many slaves, who had their eyes upon him, and laughed at their lady's wanton tricks. the young lady continued to tip him with her fingers, but at last gave him such a sound box on the ear, that he grew angry at it; the colour came in his face, and he rose up to sit at a greater distance from such a rude play-fellow. then the old woman who brought him thither gave him a look, to let him know he was in the wrong, and that he had forgot the advice she gave him to be very complaisant. he owned his fault; and, in order to make amends, he went near the young lady again, pretending that he did not go away out of any bad humour. she drew him by the arm, made him sit down by her again, and gave him a thousand malicious hugs. her slaves came in for a part of the diversion: one gave poor backbarah a fillip on the nose with all her strength; another pulled him by the ears, as if she would have plucked them off; and others boxed him so, as might show they were not in jest. my brother suffered all this with admirable patience, affected a gay air, and, looking to the old woman, said to her, with a forced smile, you told me, indeed, that i should find the lady very good, very pleasant, and very charming; i must own i am mightily obliged to you! all this is nothing, replied the old woman: let her go on; you will see another thing by and by. then the young lady said to him, brother, you are a brave man, i am glad to find you are of so good an humour, and so complaisant, as to bear with my little caprices; your humour is exactly like mine. madam, replied backbarah, who was charmed with this discourse, i am no more my own man, i am wholly yours; you may dipose of me as you please. oh, how you oblige me! said the lady, by so much submission! i am very well satisfied with you, and will have you to be so with me. bring him perfume, said she, and rose-water. upon this, two slaves went out, and returned speedily; one with a silver perfume-box, with the best wood-aloes, with which she perfumed him; and the other with rose-water, which she threw on his hands and face. my brother was quite beside himself at this honourable treatment. after this ceremony, the young lady commanded the slaves, who had already played on their instruments and sung, to renew their concerts. they obeyed; and, in the mean time, the lady called another slave, and ordered her to carry my brother with her, and do what she knew, and bring him back to her again. backbarah, who heard this order, got up quickly, and going to the old woman, who also rose up to go along with him and the slave, prayed her to tell him what they were to do with him. my mistress is only curious, replied the old woman softly; she has a mind to see how you look in a woman's dress; and this slave who has orders to carry you with her, is instructed to paint your eye-brows, to cut off your whiskers, and to dress you like a woman. you may paint my brows as much as you please, said my brother; i agree to that, because i can wash it off again: but to shave me, you know i must not allow that. how can i appear abroad again without mustachos? beware of refusing what is asked of you, said the old woman: you will spoil your affairs, which go on now as well as heart can wish. the lady loves you, and has a mind to make you happy: and will you, for a nasty whisker, renounce the most delicious favour that man can obtain. backbarah listened to the old woman, and without saying one word, went to a chamber with the slave, where they painted his eye-brows with red, cut off his whisker, and went to do the like with his beard. my brother's patience began to wear out; o! said he, i will never part with my beard. the slave told him, that it was to no purpose to have parted with his whiskers, if he would not also part with his beard, which could never agree with a woman's dress; and she wondered that a man, who was on the point of enjoying the finest lady in bagdad, should have any regard to his beard. the old woman threatened him with the loss of the young lady's favour, so that at last he let them do what they would. when he was dressed like a woman, they brought him before the young lady, who laughed so heartily when she saw him, that she fell backward on the sofa where she sat. the slaves laughed and clapped their hands, so that my brother was quite out of countenance. the young lady got up, and still laughing, said to him, after so much complaisance for me, i should be very much in the wrong not to love you with all my heart: but there is one thing more you must do for me; and that is, to dance as we do. he obeyed; and the young lady and her slaves danced with him, laughing as if they had been mad. after they had danced some time with him, they all fell upon the poor wretch, and did so box and kick him, that he fell down like one out of his senses. the old woman helped him up again; and that he might not have time to think of his ill treatment, she bid him take courage, and whispered in his ear that all his sufferings were at an end, and that he was just about to receive his reward. you have only one thing more to do, and that is but a small one. you must know that my mistress has a custom, when she has drank a little, as you see she has done to-day, to let nobody that she loves come near her, except they are stripped to their shirt; and when they have done so, she takes a little advantage of them, and sets a running before them through the gallery, and from chamber to chamber, till they catch her. this is one more of her humours: what advantage soever she takes of you, considering your nimbleness, and inclination to the work, you will soon overtake her; strip yourself, then, to the shirt, and undress yourself without delay. my silly brother, said the barber, had done too much to stick at any thing now. he undressed himself; and, in the mean time, the young lady was stripped to her shift and under-petticoat, that she might run the more nimbly. when they were ready to run, the young lady took the advantage of twenty paces, and then fell a running with surprising swiftness: my brother followed her as fast as he could, the slaves in the mean time laughing aloud and clapping their hands. the young lady, instead of losing ground, gained upon my brother: she made him run three or four times round the gallery, and then running into a long dark entry, got away by a passage which she knew. backbarah, who still followed her, having lost sight of her in the entry, was obliged to slacken his pace, because of the darkness of the place: at last perceiving a light, he ran towards it, and went out at a door, which was immediately shut upon him. you may imagine he was mightily surprised to find himself in a street inhabited by curriers, and they were no less surprised to see him in his shirt, his eye-brows painted red, and without beard or mustachos; they began to clap their hands and shout at him, some of them even ran after him, and lashed his buttocks with pieces of leather. then they stopped, and set him upon an ass, which they met by chance, and carried him through the town exposed to the laughter of the people. to complete his misfortune, as he went by the house of a justice of peace, he would needs know the cause of the tumult. the curriers told him, that they saw him come out in that condition at the gate of the apartment of the grand vizier's lady, which opened into their street; upon which the justice ordered unfortunate backbarah to have an hundred blows with a cane on the soles of his feet, and sent him out of the town, with orders never to return again. thus, commander of the faithful, said i to the caliph monstancer billah, i have given an account of the adventure of my second brother, who did not know that our greatest ladies divert themselves sometimes by putting such tricks upon young people that are foolish enough to be caught in their snares. the story of the barber's third brother. commander of the faithful, said he to the caliph, my third brother, whose name was backback, was blind, and his ill destiny reduced him to beg from door to door. he had been so long accustomed to walk through the streets alone, that he had no need of one to lead him: he had a custom to knock at people's doors, and apt to answer till they opened to him. one day he knocked thus at a door, and the master of the house, who was alone, cried, who is there? my brother gave no answer, and knocked a second time: the master of the house asked again, who is there? but to no purpose; my brother did not answer: upon which the man of the house came down, opened the door, and asked my brother what he wanted. that you would give me something, for heaven's sake! said backback. you seem to be blind, replied the master of the house. yes, to my sorrow, said my brother. give me your hand, said the master of the house. my brother did so, thinking he was going to give him alms; but he only took him by the hand, to lead him up to his chamber: backback thought he had been carrying him to dinner with him, as several other people had done. when they came up to the chamber, the man loosed his hand out of my brother's, and sitting down, asked again what he wanted. i have already told you, said backback, that i want something for god's sake. good blind man, replied the master of the house, all that i can do for you is to wish that god may restore you your sight. you might have told me that at the door, said my brother, and not have given me the trouble to come up. and why, fool, said the man of the house, do you not answer at first, when people ask you who is there? why do you give any body the trouble to come and open the door when they speak to you? what will you do with me, then? said my brother. i tell you again, said the man of the house, i have nothing to give you. help me down stairs, then, replied backback, as you helped me up. the stairs are before you, said the man of the house, and you may go down alone if you will. my brother went to go down, but missing a step about the middle of the stairs, he fell down and hurt his head and his back: he got up again with a great deal of difficulty, and complained heavily of the master of the house, who only laughed at his fall. as my brother went out of the house, two blind men, his companions, going by, knew him by his voice, and asked him what was the matter. he told them what had happened to him, and afterwards said, i have eaten nothing to-day; i conjure you to go along with me to my house, that i may take some of the money that we three have in common, to buy me something for supper. the two blind men agreed to it, and they went home with him. you must know that the master of the house where my brother was so ill used, was a highwayman, and naturally cunning and malicious. he heard at his window what backback had said to his companions, and therefore came down and followed them to my brother's house. the blind men being seated, backback said to them, brethren, we must shut the door, and take care there be no strangers with us. at this the highwayman was much perplexed, but perceiving a rope hanging down from a beam, he caught hold of it, and hung by it, while the blind men shut the door, and felt about the room with their sticks. when they had done this, and sat down again in their places, the highwayman left his rope, and sat down softly by my brother, who thinking himself alone with his blind comrades, said to them, brothers, since you have trusted me with the money, which we all three have gathered a long time, i will show you that i am not unworthy of the trust that you repose in me. the last time we reckoned, you know we had ten thousand drams, and that we put them into ten bags; i will show you that i have not touched one of them. having said so, he put his hand among some old lumber, and taking out the bags, one after another, gave them to his comrades, saying, there they are; you may judge by their weight that they are whole, or you may tell them if you please. his comrades answered, there was no occasion, they did not mistrust him; so opened one of the bags, and took out ten drams, and each of the other blind men did the like. my brother put the bags into their place again; after which one of them said to him, there is no need to lay out any thing for supper, for i have got as much provision from good people as will serve us all three. at the same time he took out of his bag bread and cheese, and some fruit; and, putting them all upon the table, they began to eat. the highwayman, who sat at my brother's right hand, picked out the best, and ate with them; but, whatever care he took to make no noise, backback heard his jaws going, and cried out immediately, we are undone! there is a stranger among us! and having said so, he stretched out his hand, and catching hold of the highwayman by the arm, cried out, thieves! fell upon him, and boxed him. the other blind men fell upon him in like manner, and the highwayman defended himself as well as he could; but being young and vigorous, and having the advantage of his eyes, he gave furious blows, sometimes to one, sometimes to another, as he could come at them, and cried out thieves! louder than they did. the neighbours came running at the noise, broke open the door, and had much ado to separate the combatants; but, having at last done it, they asked the cause of their quarrel. my brother, who still had hold of the highwayman, cried out, gentlemen, this man i have hold of is a thief, and stole in with us on purpose to rob us of the little money we have. the thief, who shut his eyes as soon as the neighbours came, feigned himself also to be blind, and cried out, gentlemen, he is a liar. i swear to you by heaven, and by the life of the caliph, that i am their companion, and they refuse to give me my just share! they have all three fallen upon me, and i demand justice. the neighbours would not meddle with their quarrel, but carried them all before a judge. when they came before the magistrate, the highwayman, without staying to be examined, cried out, still feigning himself to be blind, sir, since you are deputed to administer justice by the caliph, whom god prosper, i declare to you that we are equally criminal, my three comrades and i; but we have all engaged upon oath to confess nothing unless we be bastinadoed; so that if you would know our crime, you need only order us to be bastinadoed, and begin with me. my brother would have spoken, but was not allowed to do so; and the highwayman was put under the bastinado. the robber, being under the bastinado, had the courage to bear twenty or thirty blows; when, seeming to be overcome with pain he first opened one eye, and then the other; and, crying out for mercy, begged the judge would put a stop to the blows, the judge, perceiving that he looked upon him with his eyes open, was much surprised, and said to him, rogue! what is the meaning of this miracle? sir, replied the highwayman, i will discover to you an important secret, if you pardon me, and give me, as a pledge that you will keep your word, the seal-ring which you have on your finger. the judge agreed to it, gave him his ring, and promised him pardon. upon this, said the highwayman, i must confess to you, sir, that i and my three comrades do all see very well: we feigned ourselves to be blind, that we might more freely enter people's houses, and into women's apartments, where we abuse their frailty. i must further, confess to you, that by this trick we have gained together ten thousand drams. this day i demanded of my partners two thousand five hundred that belong to me as my share, but they refused, because i told them i would leave them; and they were afraid i should accuse them. upon pressing still to have my share, they all three fell upon me; for the truth of which i appeal to those people who brought us before you, i expect from your justice, that you will make them deliver to me the two thousand five hundred drams which are my due; and if you have a mind to make my comrades confess the truth, you must order them three times as many blows as i have had, and you will find they will open their eyes as well as i did. my brother and the other two blind men would have cleared themselves of this horrid cheat, but the judge would not hear them: villains! said he, do you feign yourselves blind then, and under that pretext cheat people, by begging their charity, and abusing poor women? he is a cheat, cried my brother; we take god to witness that none of us can see! all that my brother could say was in vain; his comrades and he received each of them two hundred blows. the judge looked always when they should have opened their eyes, and ascribed to their obstinacy what really they could not do. all the while the highwayman said to the blind men, poor fools that you are, open your eyes, and do not suffer yourselves to be killed with blows. then addressing himself to the judge, said, i perceive, sir, that they will be maliciously obstinate to the last, and will never open their eyes: they have a mind certainly to avoid the shame of reading their own condemnation in the face of every one who looks upon them; it were better, if you think fit, to pardon them, and to send some person along with me for the ten thousand drams they have hid. the judge did so, gave the highwayman two thousand five hundred drams, and kept the rest to himself; and as for my brother and his two companions, he thought he showed them a great deal of pity by sentencing them only to be banished. as soon as i heard what befel my brother, i ran after him; he told me his misfortune, and i brought him back secretly to the town. i could easily have justified him to the judge, and have got the highwayman punished as he deserved, but durst not attempt it, for fear of bringing myself into trouble. thus i finished the sad adventure of my honest blind brother. the caliph laughed at it, as much as at those he had heard before, and ordered again that something should be given me; but, without staying for it, i began the story of my fourth brother. the story of the barber's fourth brother. alcouz was the name of my fourth brother, who came to lose one of his eyes upon an occasion that i shall by and by acquaint your majesty with. he was a butcher by profession, and had a particular way of teaching rams to fight by which he procured the acquaintance and friendship of the chief lords of the country, who loved that sport, and for that end kept rams about their houses: he had, besides, a very good trade, and had his shop always full of the best meat, because he was very rich, and spared no cost for the best of every sort. one day, when he was in his shop, an old man with a long white beard came and bought six pounds of meat, gave him money for it, and went his way. my brother thought the money so fine, so white, and so well coined, that he put it apart by itself: the same old man came every day for five months together, bought a like quantity of meat, and paid for it in the same sort of money, which my brother continued to lay apart by itself. at the end of five months, alcouz having a mind to buy some sheep, and to pay for them with this fine money, opened his trunk; but, instead of finding money, was extremely surprised to see nothing but a parcel of leaves clipped round in the place where he had laid it: he beat his head, and cried out aloud, which presently brought the neighbours about him, who were as much surprised as he, when he told them the story. o! cried my brother, weeping, that this treacherous old fellow would come now with his hypocritical looks! he had scarce done speaking, when seeing him coming at a distance, he ran to him, and laid hands on him, mussulman, cried he, as loud as he could, help! hear what a cheat this wicked fellow has put upon me! and at the same time told a great crowd of people, who came about him, what he had formerly told his neighbours. when he had done, the old man, without any passion, said to him very gravely, you would do well to let me go, and by that means make amends for the affront you have put upon me before so many people, for fear i should put a greater affront upon you, which i am not willing to do. how! said my brother, what have you to say against me? i am an honest man in my business, and fear not you nor any body. you would have me to tell it then, said the old man; and turning to the people, said, know, good people, that this fellow, instead of selling mutton as he ought, sells man's flesh. you are a cheat, said my brother. no! no! said the old man: good people, this very minute that i am speaking, there is a man with his throat cut hung up in his shop like a sheep; do any of you go thither, and see if what i say be not true. before my brother had opened his trunk, he had just killed a sheep, dressed it, and exposed it in his shop, according to custom: he protested that what the old man said was false; but, notwithstanding all his protestations, the mob, being prejudiced against a man accused of such a heinous crime, would go to see whether the matter was true. they obliged my brother to quit the old man, laid hold of him, and ran like madmen into his shop, where they saw a man murdered and hung up, as the old man had told them; for he was a magician, and deceived the eyes of all people, as he did my brother's, when he made him take leaves instead of money. at this spectacle, one of those who held alcouz gave him a great blow with his fist, and said to him, thou wicked villain, dost thou make us eat man's flesh instead of mutton? at the same time the old man gave him another blow, which beat out one of his eyes, and every body that could get near him beat him; and, not content with that, they carried him before a judge, with the pretended carcase of the man, to be evidence against him. sir, said the old magician to the judge, we have brought you a man, who is so barbarous as to murder people, and to sell their flesh instead of mutton; the public expect that you should punish him in an exemplary manner. the judge heard my brother with patience, but would believe nothing of the story of the money exchanged into leaves; called my brother a cheat, told him he would believe his own eyes, and ordered him to have five hundred blows. he afterwards made him tell where his money was, took it all from him, and banished him for ever, after having made him ride three days through the town upon a camel, exposed to the insults of the people. i was not at bagdad when this tragical adventure befel my fourth brother. he retired into a remote place, where he lay concealed till he was cured of the blows with which his back was terribly gored. when able to walk, he went by night to a certain town where nobody knew him, and there he took a lodging, from whence he seldom went out; but, being at last weary of his life, he took a walk into one of the suburbs, where he was suddenly alarmed with the noise of horsemen coming behind him. he was then by chance near the gate of a great house; and fearing, after what had befallen him, that these horsemen were pursuing him, he opened the gate in order to hide himself; and, after shutting it again, he came into a wide court, where two servants immediately came and took him by the neck, and said, heaven be praised that you are come voluntarily to surrender yourself up to us! you have frightened us so much these three last nights, that we could not sleep; nor would you have spared our lives, if you could have come at us! you may very well imagine that my brother was much surprised at this compliment. good people, said he, i know not what you mean; you certainly take me for another! no, no, replied they; you and your comrades are great robbers: you were not contented with robbing our master of all that he had, and thereby reducing him to beggary, but you were also going to take his life; let us examine whether you have not a knife about you, which you had in your hand when you pursued us last night. having said this, they searched him, and found that he had a knife. ho! ho! cried they, laying hold of him; and dare you say that you are not a robber? why, said my brother, cannot a man carry a knife without being a highwayman? if you will be attentive to my story, continued he, instead of having so bad an opinion of me, you will be touched with compassion at my misfortunes. but, far from hearkening to him, they fell upon him, trod him underfoot, took away his clothes, and tore his shirt. then observing the scars on his back, o you dog! cried they, redoubling their blows, would you have us to believe you are an honest man, when your back convinces us to the contrary? alas! said my brother, my faults must be very great, since, after having been abused already so unjustly, i am ill treated a second time without being more culpable! the two servants, no way moved with his complaint, carried him before the judge, who asked him how he durst be so bold as to go into their house, and pursue them with a drawn knife. sir, replied poor alcouz, i am the most innocent man in the world, and am undone if you will not hear me patiently: nobody deserves more compassion. sir, replied one of the domestics, will you listen to a robber, who enters people's houses to plunder and murder them? if you will not believe us, only look upon his back. upon which they showed it to the judge, who, without any other information, immediately commanded one hundred lashes to be given him with a bull's pizzle over his shoulders, and caused him afterwards to be carried through the town on a camel, with one crying before him, thus are such men punished as enter people's houses by force! after treating him thus, they banished him from the town, and forbade him ever to return to it. some people, who met him after the second misfortune, brought me word where he was; and i went and fetched him to bagdad privately, and gave him all the assistance i could. the caliph, continued the barber, did not laugh so much at this story as at the other: he was pleased to bewail the unfortunate alcouz, and ordered something to be given me. but, without giving his servants time to obey his orders, i continued my discourse, and said to him, my sovereign lord and master, you see that i do not speak much; and since your majesty has been pleased to do me the favour to listen to me so far, i beg you would likewise hear the adventures of my two other brothers; i hope they will be as diverting as those of the former. you may make a complete history of them, which will not be unworthy of your library. i do myself the honour, then, to acquaint you that my fifth brother was called alnaschar. the story of the barber's fifth brother. alnaschar, as long as our father lived, was very lazy; instead of working for his living, he used to go a begging in the evening, and to live upon what he got the next day. our father died in a very old age, and left among us seven hundred drams of silver, which we equally divided; so that each of us had one hundred to his share. alnaschar, who never had so much money before in his possession, was very much perplexed to know what he should do with it; he consulted a long time with himself, and at last resolved to lay it out in glasses, bottles, and other glass-work, which he bought of a great merchant, he put them all in an open basket, and chose a very little shop, where he sat with the basket before him, and his back against the wall, expecting that somebody would come and buy his ware. in this posture he sat with his eyes fixed on his basket; and beginning to rave, spoke the following words loud enough to be heard by a neighbour tailor: this basket, said he, cost me one hundred drams, which are all i have in the world; i shall make two hundred of it by retailing my glass; and of these two hundred drams, which i will again lay out in glass, i shall make four hundred; and, going on thus, i shall make at last make four thousand drams; of four thousand i shall easily make eight thousand; and when i come to ten thousand, i will leave off selling glass, turn jeweller and trade in diamonds, pearls, and all sorts of precious stones. then, when i am as rich as i can wish, i will buy a fine house, a great estate, slaves, eunuchs, and horses: i will keep a good house, make a great figure in the world, and will send for all the musicians and dancers of both sexes in town. nor will i stop here; i will, by the favour of heaven, go on till i get a hundred thousand drams; and when i have got so much, i will think myself as great as a prince, send to demand the grand vizier's daughter in marriage, and represent to that minister that i have heard very much of the wonderful beauty, modesty, wit, and all the other qualities of his daughter; in a word, that i will give him one thousand pieces of gold the first night we are married; and if the vizier be so uncivil as to refuse his daughter, which cannot be, i will go and take her before his face, and carry her to my house, whether he will or no. as soon as i have married the grand vizier's daughter, i will buy her ten young black eunuchs, the handsomest that can be had; i will clothe myself like a prince, and ride upon a fine horse, with a saddle of rich gold, and housings of cloth, of gold, elegantly embroidered with diamonds and pearls. i will march through the city, attended both before and behind; and i will go to the vizier's palace, in the view of all sorts of people, who will show me profound reverence. when i alight at the foot of the vizier's stair-case, i will ascend it in the presence of all my people, ranged in files on the right and left; and the grand vizier, receiving me as his son-in-law, shall give me his right hand, and set me above him, to do me the more honour. if this comes to pass, as i hope it will, two of my people shall have each of them a purse of a thousand pieces of gold, which they shall carry with them. i will take one, and presenting it to the grand vizier, will tell him, there are the thousand pieces that i promised the first night of marriage; and i will offer him the other, and say to him, there are as many more, to show you that i am a man of my word, and that i am better than my promise. after such an action as this, all the world will speak of my generosity, and i will return to my own house in the same pomp. my wife shall send to compliment me by some officer, on account of the visit i made to her father: i will honour the officer with a fine robe, and send him back with a rich present. if she thinks to send me one, i will not accept of it, but dismiss the bearer. i will not suffer her to go out of her apartment, on any account whatever, without giving me notice; and when i have a mind to go to her apartment, it shall be in such a manner as to make her respect me. in short, no house shall be better ordered than mine. i shall be always richly clad. when i retire with my wife in the evening, i will sit on the upper hand; i will assume a grave air, without turning my head to the one side or to the other; i will speak little; and whilst my wife, as beautiful as the full moon, stands before me in all her ornaments, will feign as if i did not notice her. the women about her will say to me, our dear lord and master, here is your spouse, your humble servant, before you; she expects you will caress her, and is very much mortified that you do not so much as vouchsafe to look upon her: she is wearied with standing so long; bid her at least sit down. i will give no answer to this discourse, which will increase their surprise and grief; they will lay themselves at my feet; and, after they have done so a considerable time, begging me to relent, i will at last lift up my head, and give her a careless look. afterwards i will return to my former posture; and then will they think that my wife is not well enough, nor handsome enough dressed, and will take her to her closet to change her apparel. at the same time i will get up and put on a more magnificent suit than before: they will return and hold the discourse with me as before; and i shall have the pleasure not so much as to look upon my wife, till they have prayed and entreated as long as they did at first. thus i will begin, on the first day of marriage, to teach her what she is to expect during the rest of her life. after the ceremonies of the marriage are over, said alnaschar, i will take from one of my servants, who shall be about me, a purse of five hundred pieces of gold, which i will give to the tire-women, that they may leave me alone with my spouse. "when they are retired, my wife shall go to bed first, and then i will lie down beside her, with my back towards her, and will not speak even one word to her the whole night. the next morning she will certainly complain of my contempt of her, and of my pride, to her mother, the grand vizier's wife, which will rejoice me extremely. her mother will then wait upon me, respectfully kiss my hands, and say to me, sir, (for she will not dare to call me her son-in-law, for fear of provoking me by such familiarity), i pray you not to disdain my daughter, by refusing to approach her: i assure you that her chief study is to please you; and that she loves you with all her heart. but my mother-in-law might as well hold her peace; i will not make her the least answer, but keep my gravity. then she will prostrate herself at my feet, kiss them, and say to me, sir, is it possible that you can suspect my daughter's chastity? i assure you that i never let her go out of my sight. you are the first man that ever saw her face; do not, then, mortify her so much. do her the favour to look upon her, to speak to her, and confirm her in her good intentions to satisfy you in every thing. but nothing of this shall prevail; upon which my mother-in-law will take a glass of wine, and, putting it into the hand of her daughter, will say, go, present him with this glass of wine yourself; perhaps he will not be so cruel as to refuse it from so fair a hand. my wife will come with the glass, and stand trembling before me; and when she finds that i do not look towards her, and that i continue my disdain, she will say to me, with tears in her eyes, my heart! my dear soul! my amiable lord! i conjure you, by the favours which heaven bestows upon you, to receive this glass of wine from the hand of your most humble servant! but i will not look upon her still, nor answer her. my charming spouse! she will then say, redoubling her tears, and putting the glass to my mouth, i will never leave off till i prevail with you to drink! then, being fatigued with her entreaties, i will dart a terrible look at her, give her a good box on the cheek, and such a kick with my foot, as will throw her quite off the alcove. my brother was so full of these chimerical visions, that he acted with his foot as if she had been really before him; and unfortunately gave such a push against the basket and glasses, that they were thrown down in the street, and broken in a thousand pieces. a tailor, who was his neighbour, and who had heard his extravagant discourse, fell into a fit of laughter when he saw the basket fall. o what an unworthy fellow art thou! said he to my brother; ought you not to be ashamed to abuse thus a young spouse, who gave you no cause to complain? you must be a very brutish fellow to despise the tears and charms of such a beautiful lady! were i the vizier your father-in-law, i would order you a hundred lashes with a bull's pizzle, and send you through the town with your character written on your forehead. my brother, on this fatal accident, came to himself; and perceiving that he had brought this misfortune upon himself by his unsupportable pride, beat his face, tore his clothes, and cried so loud, that the neighbours came about him; and the people who were going to their noon-prayers stopped to know what was the matter. it being on a friday, a greater number of people was going to prayers than usual; some of them took pity on alnaschar, while others only laughed at his extravagance. in the mean time, his vanity being dispersed, as well as his glasses, he bitterly lamented his loss; and a lady of distinction passing by on a mule with rich caparisons, my brother's condition excited her compassion; she asked who he was, and what was the matter with him; they told her that he was a poor man, who had laid out a little money in buying a basket of glasses, and that the basket falling, all his glasses were broken. the lady immediately turned to an eunuch who attended her, and said to him, give the poor man what money you have about you. the eunuch obeying, put into my brother's hand five hundred pieces of gold. alnaschar was transported with excess of joy on receiving them; he bestowed a thousand blessings upon the lady, and shutting up his shop, where he had no longer occasion to sit, he returned to his house. whilst he was seriously reflecting upon his good fortune, he heard a knocking at the door; but, before he opened it, he thought it prudent first to inquire who it was; when knowing it to be a woman by her voice, he instantly admitted her. my son, said she, i have a favour to beg of you: the hour of prayer is come; be pleased, therefore, to let me wash myself, that i may be fit to say my prayers. my brother looked at her, and saw that she was a woman far advanced in years: though he knew her not, he granted what she required, and then sat down again, being still full of his new adventure. he put his gold into a long strait purse, proper to carry at his girdle. the old woman, in the mean time, said her prayers, and, when she had done, came to my brother, and bowed twice to the ground, so low that she almost touched it with her forehead; then raising herself up, she wished my brother all manner of happiness, and thanked him for his civility. being meanly clad, and very humble to him, he thought she asked alms, upon which he offered her two pieces of gold. the old woman stepped back in a sort of surprise, as if my brother had done her an injury. heavens! said she, what is the meaning of this? is it possible, sir, said she, that you take me for an impudent beggar? did you think i came so boldly into your house to ask alms? take back your money; i have no need of it, thanks to heaven! i belong to a young lady of this city, who is a charming beauty, and very rich; she does not let me want for any thing. my brother was not cunning enough to perceive the craft of the old woman, who only refused the two pieces of gold that she might catch more. he asked her if she could not procure him the honour of seeing her lady. with all my heart, replied she, she will be very well satisfied to marry, and to put you in possession of her estate, by making you master of her person. take up your money, and follow me. my brother being ravished with his good luck of finding so great a sum of money, and almost at the same time a beautiful and rich wife, his eyes were shut to all other considerations; so that he took his five hundred pieces of gold, and followed the old woman. she walked before him, and he followed at a distance, to the gate of a great house, where she knocked. he came up to her just as a young greek slave opened the gate. the old woman made him enter first, went across a court very well paved, and introduced him into a hall, the furniture of which confirmed him in the good opinion he had conceived of the mistress of the house. while the old woman went to acquaint the lady, he sat down, and, the weather being hot, pulled off his turban, and laid it by him. he speedily saw the young lady come in, whose beauty and rich apparel perfectly surprised him. he got up as soon as he saw her. the lady, with a smiling countenance, prayed him to sit down again, and placed herself by him. she told him she was very glad to see him; and, after having spoken some engaging words, said, we do not sit here at our conveniency. come, give me your hand. at these words, she presented her's, and carried him into an inner chamber, where she entertained him for some time; then she left him, bidding him stay, and she would be with him in a moment. he expected her; but, instead of the lady, came in a great black slave, with a scimitar in his hand; and looking upon my brother with a terrible aspect, said to him fiercely, what have you to do here? alnaschar was so full of fear at the sight of the slave, that he had no power to answer. the black stripped him, carried off his gold, and gave him several cuts with his scimitar. my unhappy brother fell to the ground, where he lay without motion, though he had still the use of his senses. the black, thinking him to be dead, asked for salt; the greek slave brought him a basin full; they rubbed my brother's wounds with it; who had so much command of himself, notwithstanding the intolerable pain it put him to, that he lay still without showing any sign of life. the black and the greek slave having retired, the old woman who drew my brother into the snare, came and dragged him by the feet to a trap-door, which she opened, and threw him into a place under ground, among the corpses of several other people who had been murdered. he perceived this as soon as he came to himself; for the violence of his fall had taken away his senses. the salt rubbed into his wounds preserved his life, and he recovered strength by degrees, so as to be able to walk. after two days he opened the trap-door during the night; and, finding a proper place in the court to hide himself, continued there till break of day, when he saw the cursed old woman open the gate, and go out to seek another prey. he staid in the place some time after she went out, that she might not see him, and then came to me for shelter, when he told me of his adventures. in a month he was perfectly cured of his wounds by medicines that i gave him, and resolved to avenge himself of the old woman who had put upon him such a barbarous cheat. to this end, he took a bag, large enough to contain five hundred pieces of gold, and filled it with pieces of glass. my brother, continued the barber, one morning fastened the bag of glass about him, disguised himself like an old woman, and took a scimitar under his gown. he met the old woman walking through the town to seek her prey: he went up to her, and, counterfeiting a woman's voice, said, cannot you lend me a pair of scales? i am a woman newly come from persia, have brought five hundred pieces of gold with me, and would know if they will hold out according to your weights. good woman, answered the old hag, you could not have applied to a more proper person. follow me; i will bring you to my son, who changes money, and will weigh them himself, to save you the trouble. let us make haste, for fear he be gone to his shop. my brother followed her to the house where she carried him the first time, and the greek slave opened the door. the old woman carried my brother to the hall, where she bid him stay a moment till she called her son. the pretended son came, and proved to be the villanous black slave. come, old woman, said he to my brother, rise and follow me. having spoken thus, he went before to bring him to the place where he designed to murder him. alnaschar got up, followed him, and, drawing his scimitar, gave him such a dexterous blow on the neck, as to cut off his head, which he took in one hand, and dragging the body with the other, threw them both into the place under ground before mentioned. the greek slave, who was accustomed to the trade, came presently with a basin of salt; but when she saw alnaschar with the scimitar in his hand, and without his veil, she laid down the basin, and fled. but my brother overtaking her, cut off her head also. the wicked old woman came running at the noise, and my brother seizing her, said to her, treacherous wretch! do not you know me? alas, sir, answered she, trembling, who are you? i do not remember that i ever saw you. i am, said he, the person to whose house you came the other day to wash and say your prayers. hypocritical hag! said he, do not you remember it? then she fell upon her knees to beg his pardon; but he cut her in four pieces. there remained only the lady, who knew nothing of what had passed. he sought her out, and found her in a chamber, where she was ready to sink when she saw him. she begged her life, which he generously granted. madam, said he, how could you live with such wicked people as i have now so justly revenged myself upon? i was, said she, wife to an honest merchant; and the cursed old woman, whose wickedness i did not know, used sometimes to come to see me. madam, said she one day, we have a very fine wedding at our house, which you will be pleased to see, if you give us the honour of your company. i was persuaded by her, put on my best apparel, and took with me a hundred pieces of gold. i followed her; she brought me to this house, where the black has kept me since by force, and i have been three years here to my very great sorrow. by the trade which the cursed black followed, replied my brother, he must have gathered together a vast deal of riches. there is so much, said she, that you will be made for ever, if you can carry them off. follow me, and you shall see them, said she. alnaschar followed her to a chamber, where she showed him several coffers full of gold, which he beheld with admiration. go, said she, fetch people enough to carry it all off. my brother needed not to be bid twice; he went out, but staid only till he got ten men together, and he brought them with him, and was much surprised to find the gate open, but more when he found the lady and the coffers all gone; for she, being more diligent than he, had carried them all away. however, being resolved not to return empty-handed, he carried off all the goods he could find in the house; which were a great deal more than enough to make up the five hundred pieces of gold of which he was robbed; but, when he went out of the house, he forgot to shut the gate. the neighbours, who saw my brother and the porters come and go, went and acquainted the magistrate with it; for they looked upon my brother's conduct as suspicious. alnaschar slept well enough all night; but next morning, when he came out of his house, twenty of the magistrate's men seized him. come along with us, said they; our master would speak with you. my brother prayed them to have patience for a moment, and offered them a sum of money to let him escape; but, instead of listening to him, they bound him, and forced him to go along with them. they met in the street an old acquaintance of my brother's, who stopped them a while, and asked them why they seized my brother, and offered them a considerable sum to let him escape, and to tell the magistrate that they could not find him. but this would not do; so he was carried before the magistrate. when the officers brought him before the magistrate, he asked him where he had the goods which he carried home last night? sir, replied alnaschar, i am ready to tell you all the truth; but allow me first to have recourse to your clemency, and to beg your promise that nothing shall be done to me. i give it you, said the magistrate. then my brother told him the whole story without disguise, from the time the old woman came into his house to say her prayers, to the time the lady made her escape, after he had killed the black, the greek slave, and the old woman; and as for what he had carried to his house, he prayed the judge to leave him part of it for the five hundred pieces of gold that he was robbed of. the judge, without promising any thing, sent his officers to bring all off; and, having put the goods into his own wardrobe, commanded my brother to quit the town immediately, and never to return; for he was afraid, if my brother had staid in the city, he would have found some way to represent this injustice to the caliph. in the mean time, alnaschar obeyed without murmuring, and left that town to go to another. by the way he met with highwaymen, who stripped him naked; and when the ill news was brought to me, i carried him a suit, and brought him in secretly again to the town, where i took the like care of him as i did of his other brothers. the story of the barber's sixth brother. i am now only to tell the story of my sixth brother, called schacabac, with the hare-lips. at first he was industrious enough to improve the hundred drams of silver which fell to his share, and became very well to pass; but a reverse of fortune brought him to beg his bread, which he did with a great deal of dexterity. he studied chiefly to get into great men's houses by means of their servants and officers, that he might have access to their masters, and obtain their charity. one day, as he passed by a magnificent house, whose high gate showed a very spacious court, where there was a multitude of servants, he went to one of them, and asked to whom that house belonged. good man, replied the servant, whence do you come, that you ask such a question? does not all that you see make you understand that it is the palace of a bermecide? [footnote: the bermecides were, as has been mentioned, a noble family of persia, who settled at bagdad.] my brother, who very well knew the liberality and generosity of the bermecides, addressed himself to one of his porters, (for he had more than one,) and prayed him to give him an alms. go in, said he; nobody hinders you, and address yourself to the master of the house; he will send you back satisfied. my brother, who expected no such civility, thanked the porter, and with his permission entered the palace, which was so large, that it took him a considerable time to reach the bermecide's apartment. at last he came to a fine square building, of excellent architecture, and entered by a porch, through which he saw one of the finest gardens, with gravel-walks of several colours, extremely pleasant to the eye. the lower apartments round this square were most of them open, and shut only with great curtains, to keep out the sun, which were opened again when the heat was over. such an agreeable place struck my brother with admiration, and might well have done so to a man far above his quality. he went on till he came into a hall richly furnished, and adorned with paintings of gold and azure foliage, where he saw a venerable man with a long white beard, sitting at the upper end of an alcove, whence he concluded him to be the master of the house; and in effect it was the bermecide himself, who said to my brother, in a very civil manner, that he was welcome, and asked him what he wanted. my lord, answered my brother, in a begging tone, i am a poor man, who stand in need of the help of such rich and generous persons as yourself. he could not have addressed himself to a fitter person than this lord, who had a thousand good qualities. the bermecide seemed to be astonished at my brother's answer; and, putting both his hands to his stomach, as if he would rend his clothes for grief, is it possible, cried he, that i am at bagdad, and that such a man as you is so poor as you say? this is what must never be. my brother, fancying that he was going to give him some singular mark of his bounty, blessed him a thousand times, and wished him all sort of happiness. it shall not be said, replied the bermecide, that i will abandon you, nor will i have you to leave me. sir, replied my brother, i swear to you i have not swallowed one bit to-day! is that true? replied the bermecide; and are you fasting till now? alas, for thee, poor man! he is ready to die for hunger. ho, boy! cried he with a loud voice, bring a bason and water presently, that we may wash our hands. though no boy appeared, that my brother saw, either with water or bason, the bermecide fell a rubbing his hands, as if one had poured water upon them, and bid my brother come and wash with him. schacabac judged by this that the bermecide lord loved to be merry; and he himself understanding raillery, and knowing that the poor must be complaisant to the rich, if they would have any thing, came forward, and did as he did. come on, said the bermecide, bring us something to eat, and do not let us stay for it. when he had said so, though nothing was brought, he cut as if something had been brought upon a plate; and, putting his hand to his mouth, began to chew, and said to my brother, come, friend, eat as freely as if you were at home; come and eat: you said you were like to die of hunger; but you eat as if you had no stomach. pardon me, my lord, said schacabac, who perfectly imitated what he did, you see i lose no time, and that i do my part well enough. how like you this bread? said the bermecide; do not you find it very good? o, my lord, said, my brother, who neither saw bread nor meat, i never ate any thing so white and so fine. come, eat your bellyful, said the bermecide; i assure you the baker-woman that bakes me this bread, cost me five hundred pieces of gold to purchase her. the bermecide, after having boasted so much of his bread, which my brother ate only in idea, cried, boy, bring us another dish. though no boy appeared, come, my good friend, said he to my brother, taste this new dish, and tell me if ever you ate better mutton and barley broth than this. it is admirably good, replied my brother, and therefore you see i eat heartily. you oblige me mightily, replied the bermecide: i conjure you, then, by the satisfaction i have to see you eat so heartily, that you eat all up, since you like it so well. a little while after he called for a goose and sweet sauce, vinegar, honey, dry raisins, grey peas, and dry figs, which were brought just in the same manner as the other was. the goose is very fat, said the bermecide; eat only a leg and a wing; we must save our stomachs, for we have abundance of other dishes to come. he actually called for several other dishes, of which my brother, who was ready to die of hunger, pretended to eat; but what he boasted of more than all the rest, was a lamb fed with pistacho nuts, which he ordered to be brought up in the same manner that the rest were. here is a dish, said the bermecide, that you will see at nobody's table but my own; i would have you eat unsparingly of it. having spoken thus, he stretched out his hand as if he had a piece of lamb in it, and putting it to my brother's mouth, there, said he, swallow that, and you will know whether i had not reason to boast of this dish. my brother thrust out his head, opened his mouth, and made as if he took the piece of lamb, and ate it with extreme pleasure. i knew you would like it, said the bermecide. there is nothing in the world more fine, replied my brother; your lamb is a most delicious thing. come, bring the ragoo presently; i fancy you will like that as well as the lamb. well, how do you relish it? said the bermecide. o! it is wonderful! replied schacabac, for here we taste all at once, amber, cloves, nutmeg, ginger, pepper, and the most odoriferous herbs; and all these tastes are so well mixed, that one does not hinder us from perceiving the other: o how pleasant it is. honour this ragoo, said the bermecide, by eating heartily of it, ho, boy! cried he; bring us a new ragoo. no, my lord, an't please you, replied my brother; for indeed i cannot eat any more. come, take it away then, said the bermecide, and bring the fruit. he staid a moment, as it were, to give time for his servants to carry away; after which, he said to my brother, taste these almonds; they are fresh and new gathered. both of them made as if they had peeled the almonds, and ate them. after this, the bermecide invited my brother to eat something else. look you, said he, there are all sorts of fruits, cakes, dry sweatmeats, and conserves; take what you like. then stretching out his hand as if he had reached my brother something, look, said he, there is a lozenge very good for digestion. schacabac made as if he ate it, and said, my lord, there is no want of musk here. these lozenges, said the bermecide, are made in my own house, where there is nothing wanting to make every thing good. he still bade my brother eat, and said to him, methinks you do not eat as if you had been so hungry as you said when you came in. my lord, replied schacabac, whose jaws ached with moving and having nothing to eat, i am so full, that i cannot eat one bit more. well, then, my friend, replied the bermecide, we must drink now, after we have eaten so well. you drink wine, my lord, replied my brother; but i will, if you please, drink none, because i am forbidden. you are too scrupulous, replied the bermecide, do as i do. i will drink then out of complaisance, said schacabac; for i see you will have nothing wanting to make your treat noble: but, since i am not accustomed to drink wine, i am afraid that i shall commit some error in point of breeding, contrary to the respect that is due to you, and therefore i pray you once more to excuse me from drinking any wine; i will be content with water. no, no, said the bermecide, you shall drink wine; and at the same time he commanded some to be brought in the same manner as the meat and fruit had been brought before. he made as if he poured out wine, drank first himself, and then pouring out for my brother, presented him the glass: drink my health, said he, and let me know if you think this wine good. my brother made as if he took the glass, and looked as if the colour was good, and put it to his nose to try if it had a good flavour; he then made a low bow to the bermecide, to signify that he took the liberty to drink his health, making all the signs of a man who drinks with pleasure: my lord, said he, this is very excellent wine; but i think it is not strong enough. if you would have stronger, said the bermecide, you need only speak, for i have several sorts in my cellar; try how you like this; upon which he made as if he poured out another glass to himself, and then to my brother; and did this so often, that schacabac, feigning to be drunk with the wine, took up his hand, and gave the bermecide such a box on the ear as made him fall down; he lifted up his hand to give him another blow; but the bermecide, holding up his hand to ward it off, cried to him, what! are you mad? then my brother, making as if he had come to himself again, said, my lord, you have been so good as to admit your slave into your house, and give him a great treat; you should have been satisfied in making me eat, and not have obliged me to drink wine; for i told you beforehand that it might occasion me to come short in my respect: i am very much troubled at it, and beg you a thousand pardons. he had scarcely finished these words, when the bermecide, instead of being in a rage, fell a laughing with all his might. it is a long time, said he, since i wished a man of your character. the bermecide caressed schacabac mightily, and told him, i not only forgive the blow you have given me, but am willing henceforward we should be friends; and that you take my house for your home: you have been so complaisant as to accommodate yourself to my humour, and have had the patience to bear the jest out to the last; we will now eat in good earnest. when he had finished these words, he clapped his hands, and commanded his servants, who then appeared, to cover the table; which was speedily done, and my brother was treated with all those viands in reality which he ate of before in fancy. at last they took them away, and brought wine; and at the same time a number of handsome slaves, richly apparelled, came in and sung some agreeable airs to their musical instruments. in a word, schacabac had all the reason in the world to be satisfied with the bermecide's civility and bounty; for he treated him as his familiar friend, and ordered him a suit out of his wardrobe. the bermecide found my brother to be a man of so much wit and understanding, that in a few days after he trusted him with his household, and all his affairs. my brother acquitted himself very well in that employment for twenty years, at the end of which the generous bermecide died, and, leaving no heirs, all his estate was confiscated to the use of the prince; upon which my brother was reduced to his first condition, and joined a caravan of pilgrims going to mecca, designing to accomplish that pilgrimage upon their charity; but by misfortune the caravan was attacked and plundered by a number of beduins [footnote: vagabond arabians, who wander in the deserts, and plunder the caravans when they are not strong enough to resist them.] superior to that of the pilgrims. my brother was then taken as a slave by one of the beduins, who put him under the bastinado for several days, to oblige him to ransom himself. schacabac protested to him that it was all in vain. i am your slave, said he, you may dispose of me as you please: but i declare unto you that i am extremely poor, and not able to redeem myself. in a word, my brother discovered to him all his misfortunes, and endeavoured to soften him with tears; but the beduin had no mercy; and, being vexed to find himself disappointed of a considerable sum, which he reckoned he was sure of, he took his knife, and slit my brother's lips, to avenge himself, by this inhumanity, for the loss that he imagined he had sustained. the beduin had a handsome wife; and frequently, when he went on his courses, he left my brother alone with her, and then she used all her endeavours to comfort my brother under the rigour of his slavery: she gave him tokens enough that she loved him; but he durst not yield to her passion, for fear he should repent it, and therefore he shunned to be alone with her, as much as she sought the opportunity to be alone with him. she had so great a custom of toying and jesting with the miserable schacabac, whenever she saw him, that one day she happened to do it in presence of her husband. my brother, without taking notice that he observed them, (so his stars would have it) jested likewise with her. the beduin, immediately supposing that they lived together in a criminal manner, fell upon my brother in a rage, and after he had mangled him in a barbarous manner, he carried him on a camel to the top of a desert mountain, where he left him. the mountain was on the way to bagdad, so that the passengers who passed that road gave me an account of the place where he was. i went thither speedily, where i found the unfortunate schacabac in a deplorable condition: i gave him what help he stood in need of, and brought him back to the city. this is what i told the caliph, added the barber; that prince applauded me with new fits of laughter. now, said he, i cannot doubt that they justly gave you the surname of silent; nobody can say the contrary. for certain reasons, however, i command you to depart this town immediately, and let me hear no more of your discourse. i yielded to necessity, and went to travel several years in far countries. i understood at last that the caliph was dead, and returned to bagdad, where i found not one of my brethren alive. it was on my return to this town that i did the important service to the same young man which you have heard. you are, however, witness of his ingratitude, and of the injurious manner in which he treated me. instead of testifying his acknowledgments, he chose rather to fly from me, and to leave his own country. when i understood that he was not at bagdad, though nobody could tell me truly whither he was gone, yet i did not forbear to go and seek him. i travelled from province to province a long time; and when i had given over all hopes, i met him this day; but i did not think to find him so incensed against me. the tailor made an end of telling the sultan of casgar the history of the lame young man, and the barber of bagdad, after that manner i had the honour to tell your majesty. when the barber, continued he, had finished his story, we found that the young man was not to blame for calling him a great prattler. however, we were pleased that he would stay with us, and par take of the treat which the master of the house had prepared for us. we sat down to table, and were merry together till afternoon prayers; then all the company parted, and i went to my shop, till it was time for me to return home. it was during this interval that hump-back came half drunk before my shop, where he sung and taboured. i thought that, by carrying him home with me, i should divert my wife; therefore i brought him along. my wife gave us a dish of fish, and i presented hump-back with some, which he ate without taking notice of a bone. he fell down dead before us; and, after having in vain essayed to help him, in the trouble occasioned us by such an unlucky accident, and through the fear of punishment, we carried the corpse out, and dexterously lodged it with the jewish doctor. the jewish doctor put it into the chamber of the purveyor, and the purveyor carried it forth into the street, where it was believed the merchant had killed him. this, sir, added the tailor, is what i had to say to satisfy your majesty, who must pronounce whether we be worthy of mercy or wrath, life or death. the sultan of casgar looked with a contented air, and gave the tailor and his comrades their lives. i cannot but acknowledge, said he, that i am more amazed at the history of the young cripple, at that of the barber, and at the adventures of his brothers, than at the story of my jester; but before i send you all four away, and before we bury hump, i would see the barber, who is the cause that i have pardoned you. since he is in my capital, it is easy to satisfy my curiosity. at the same time he sent a serjeant with the tailor to find him. the serjeant and the tailor went immediately, and brought the barber, whom they presented to the sultan. the barber was an old man of ninety years; his eye-brows and beard were as white as snow, his ears hung down, and he had a very long nose. the sultan could not forbear laughing when he saw him. silent man, said he to him, i understand that you know wonderful stories; will you tell me some of them? sir, answered the barber, let us forbear the stories, if you please, at present. i most humbly beg your majesty to permit me to ask what that christian, that jew, that mussulman, and that dead hump-back, who lies on the ground, do here before your majesty. the sultan smiled at the barber's liberty, and replied, why do you ask? sir, replied the barber, it concerns me to ask, that your majesty may know that i am not so great a talker as some pretend, but a man justly called silent. the sultan of casgar was so complaisant as to satisfy the barber's curiosity. he commanded them to tell him the story of the hump-back, which he earnestly wished for. when the barber heard it, he shook his head, as if he would say, there was something under this which he did not understand. truly, cried he, this is a surprising story; but i am willing to examine hump-back a little closely. he drew near him, sat down on the ground, put his head between his knees, and after he had looked upon him steadfastly, he fell into so great a fit of laughter, and had so little command of himself, that he fell backwards on the ground, without considering that he was before the sultan of casgar. as soon as he came to himself, it is said, cried he, and without reason, that no man dies without a cause. if ever any history deserved to be written in letters of gold, it is this of hump-back. at this all the people looked on the barber as a buffoon, or a doting old man. silent man, said the sultan, speak to me; why do you laugh so hard? sir, answered the barber, i swear by your majesty's good humour that hump-back is not dead! he is yet alive; and i shall be willing to pass for a madman, if i do not let you sec it this minute. having said these words, he took a box, wherein he had several medicines, that he carried about to make use of on occasion; and took out a phial with balsam, with which he rubbed hump-back's neck a long time; then he took out of his case a neat iron instrument, which he put betwixt his teeth, and, after he had opened his mouth, he thrust down his throat a pair of pincers, with which he took out a bit offish and bone, which he showed to all the people. immediately hump-back sneezed, stretched forth his arms and feet, and gave several other signs of life. the sultan of casgar, and those with him, who were witnesses to this operation, were less surprised to see hump-back revive, after he had passed a whole night and great part of a day without giving any signs of life, than at the merit and capacity of the barber who performed this; and, notwithstanding all his faults, began to look upon him as a great person. the sultan, ravished with joy and admiration, ordered the story of hump-back to be recorded, with that of the barber, that the memory of it might, as it deserved, be preserved for ever. nor did he stop here; but that the tailor, jewish doctor, purveyor, and christian merchant, might remember, with pleasure, the adventure which the accident of hump-back had occasioned to them, he did not send them away till he had given each of them a very rich robe, with which he caused them to be clothed in his presence. as for the barber, he honoured him with a great pension, and kept him near his person. thus the sultaness finished this long train of adventures, to which the pretended death of hump-back gave occasion; then held her peace, because day appeared; upon which her sister dinarzade said to her, my princess, my sultaness, i am so much the more charmed with the story you just now told, because it concludes with an incident i did not expect. i verily thought hump-back was dead. this surprise pleases me, said schahriar, as much as the adventures of the barber's brothers. the story of the lame young man of bagdad diverted me also very much, replied dinarzade. i am very glad of it, dear sister, said the sultaness; and since i have the good fortune not to tire out the patience of the sultan, our lord and master, if his majesty will still be so gracious as to preserve my life, i shall have the honour to give him an account to-morrow of the history of the amours of aboulhassen ali ebn becar and schemselnihar, favourite of the caliph haroun alraschid, which is no less worthy of your notice than the history of hump-back. the sultan of the indies, who was very well satisfied with the stories which scheherazade had told him hitherto, was willing to hear the history which she promised. he rose, however, to go to prayers, and hold his council, without giving any signification of his pleasure towards the sultaness. dinarzade, being always careful to awake her sister, called this night at the ordinary hour. my dear sister, said she, day will soon appear. i earnestly beg of you to tell us some of your fine stories. we need no other, said schahriar, but that of the amours of aboulhassen ali ebn becar and schemselnihar, the favourite of caliph haroun alraschid. sir, said scheherazade, i will satisfy your curiosity; and began thus. the history of aboulhassen ali ebn becar, and schemselnihar, favourite of caliph haroun alraschid. in the reign of the caliph haroun alraschid, there was at bagdad a druggist, called aboulhassen ebn thaher, a very rich and handsome man. he had more wit and politeness than those of his profession generally have. his integrity, sincerity, and jovial humour, made him to be loved and sought after by all sorts of people. the caliph, who knew his merit, had entire confidence in him; and so great was his esteem for him, that he entrusted him with the care of providing the ladies his favourites with all things they stood in need of. he chose for them their clothes, furniture, and jewels, with admirable judgment. his good qualities, with the favour of the caliph, made the sons of emirs, officers, and others of the first rank, to be always about him. his house was the rendezvous of all the nobility of the court. but, among the young lords who daily visited him, there was one of whom he took more notice, and with whom he contracted a particular friendship, called aboulhassen ali ebn becar, originally of an ancient royal family of persia. this family had continued at bagdad ever since the mussul-men made a conquest of that kingdom. nature seemed to have taken pleasure to endow this young prince with many of the rarest qualities both of body and mind. his face was so very beautiful, his shape so fine, and his physiognomy so prepossessing; that none could see him without loving him immediately. when he spoke, he expressed himself always in terms the most proper and well chosen, with a new and agreeable turn, and his voice charmed all who heard him. he had withal so much wit and judgment, that he thought and spoke on every subject with admirable exactness. he was so reserved and modest, that he advanced nothing till he had taken all possible precautions to avoid giving any ground of suspicion that he preferred his own opinion to that of others. being such a person as i have represented him, we need not wonder that ebn thaher distinguished him from all the other young noblemen of the court, most of whom had vices contrary to his virtues. one day, when the prince was with ebn thaher, there came a lady mounted on a piebald mule, surrounded by six women-slaves, who accompanied her on foot, all very handsome, as far as could be judged by their air, and through the veils which covered their faces. the lady had a girdle of a rose colour, four inches broad, embroidered with pearls and diamonds of an extraordinary bigness; and it was easy to perceive that she surpassed all her women in beauty as much as the full moon does that of two days old. she came to buy something; and when she had spoken to ebn thaher, entered his shop, which was very neat and large, and receiving her with all the marks of the most profound respect, entreated her to sit down, and showed her the most honourable place. in the mean time the prince of persia, unwilling to let such an opportunity pass to show his good-breeding and courtly temper, beat up the cushion of gold cloth for the lady to lean on; upon which he retired speedily, that she might sit down; and having saluted her, by kissing the tapestry under her feet, he rose, and stood at the lower end of the sofa. it being her custom to be free with ebn thaher, she lifted her veil, and discovered to the prince of persia such extraordinary beauty, that he was struck with it to the heart. on the other hand, the lady could not contain herself from looking on the prince, the sight of whom had made the same impression, upon her. my lord, said she to him, with an obliging air, pray sit down. the prince of persia obeyed, and sat down upon the edge of the sofa. he had his eyes constantly fixed upon her, and swallowed large draughts of the sweet poison of love. she quickly perceived what worked in his heart, and this discovery inflamed her the more towards him. she rose up, went to ebn thaher, and, after whispering to him the cause of her coming, asked the name and country of the prince. madam, answered ebn thaher, this young nobleman's name is aboulhassen ali ebn becar, and he is a prince of the blood-royal. the lady was overjoyed to hear that the person she already so passionately loved was of a quality so high. you certainly mean, said she, that he is descended from the kings of persia. yes, madam, replied ebn thaher; the last kings of persia were his ancestors, and, since the conquest of that kingdom, the princes of his family have always made themselves acceptable at the court of the caliphs. you will oblige me much, added she, in making me acquainted with this young nobleman. when i send this woman, said she, pointing to one of her slaves, to give you notice to come and see me, pray bring him with you; i shall be very glad to display to him the magnificence of my house, that he may see that avarice does not reign at bagdad among persons of quality. you know what i mean; therefore do not fail, other, wise i will be very angry with you, and beg you will never come hither again while i live. ebn thaher was a man of too much penetration not to perceive the lady's mind by these words. my princess! my queen! replied he; god preserve me from ever giving you any occasion of anger against me! i shall always make it a law to obey your commands. at this answer, the lady bowed to ebn thaher, and bid farewell; and, after giving a favourable look to the prince of persia, remounted her mule, and went away. the prince of persia was so deeply smitten with the lady, that he looked after her as far as he could see; and, for a long time after she was out of sight, he still looked that way. ebn thaher told him, that several persons were observing him, and were laughing to see him in this posture. alas! said the prince, the world and you would have compassion on me, if you knew that the fine lady who is just now gone, has carried with her the best part of me, and that the remaining part seeks for an opportunity to go after her. tell me, i conjure you, added he, what cruel lady this is, who forces people to love her, without giving them time to advise? my lord, answered ebn thaher, this is the famous schemselnihar, [footnote: this word signifies the sun of the day.] the principal favourite of the caliph our master. she is justly so called, added the prince, since she is more beautiful than the sun at noon-day. that is true, replied ebn thaher; therefore the commander of the faithful loves, or rather adores her: he gave me express orders to furnish all that she asked of me, and to prevent, as much as possible, every thing that she can desire of me. he spoke in this manner, in order to hinder him from engaging in an amour which could not but prove unhappy to him; but it served only to inflame him the more. i was very doubtful, charming schemselnihar, said he, that i should not be allowed so much as to think of you. i perceive well, however, that, without hopes of being loved by you, i cannot forbear loving you. i will love you then, and bless my lot that i am slave to an object fairer than the meridian sun. while the prince of persia was thus consecrating his heart to fair schemselnihar, this lady, upon returning home, thought upon a way how she might see and have free converse with him. she no sooner entered her palace, than she sent to ebn thaher the woman she had shown him, and in whom she put all her confidence, to tell him to come and see her without delay, and to bring the prince of persia with him. the slave came to ebn thaher's shop while he was speaking with the prince, and endeavouring, by very strong arguments, to dissuade him from loving the caliph's favourite. when she saw them together, gentlemen, said she, my honourable mistress schemselnihar, the chief favourite of the commander of the faithful, entreats you to come to her palace, where she waits for you. ebn thaher, to testify his obedience, rose up immediately, without answering the slave, and followed her, though with some reluctance. as for the prince, he followed without reflecting upon the danger that might happen in such a visit: the company of ebn thaher, who had liberty to visit the favourite whenever he pleased, made the prince very easy in the affair. they followed the slave, who went a little before them, entering after her into the caliph's palace, and joined her at the gate of schemselnihar's little palace, which was already open: she introduced them into a great hall, where she entreated them both to sit down. the prince of persia thought himself in one of those magnificent palaces that are promised us in the other world, for he had never seen any thing that equalled the shining splendour of the place; the carpets, cushions, and other furniture of the sofas, the moveables, ornaments, and architecture, were all surprisingly beautiful. a little time after ebn thaher and he were sat down, a very handsome black slave set before them a table covered with several very fine dishes, the delicious smell of which made them judge of the delicacy of the sauce. while eating, they were waited upon by the slave who had introduced them, and who invited them to eat of what she knew to be the greatest dainties; when they had done, they were served with excellent wine by the other slaves, who afterwards presented to each of them a fine gold basin full of water to wash their hands, and also a golden pot full of the perfume of aloes, with which they both perfumed their beards and clothes; nor was odoriferous water forgotten, which the slaves brought to them in a golden vessel, enriched with diamonds and rubies, made particularly for that use, and which they threw upon their beards and faces, according to custom. they then went to their places; but had scarcely seated themselves, when the slave entreated them to rise and follow her; and opening a gate of the hall in which they were, they entered into a spacious saloon of a marvellous structure. it was a dome of the most agreeable fashion, supported by a hundred pillars of marble, white as alabaster; the bases and chapiters of the pillars were adorned with four-footed beasts and birds of several sorts gilded. the foot-carpet of this noble parlour consisted of one piece of gold cloth, embroidered with garlands of roses in red and white silk; and the dome being painted in the same manner, after the arabian form, was one of the most charming objects the eye ever beheld: betwixt each column was placed a little sofa adorned in the same manner, and great vessels of china, crystal, jasper, jet, porphyry, agate, and other precious materials, garnished with gold and jewels: the spaces betwixt the columns were so many large windows, with jets high enough to lean on, covered with the same sort of stuff as the sofas, from which was a prospect into one of the most delightful gardens in the world, the walks of which, being made of little pebbles of different colours, much resembled the foot-carpet of the saloon; so that it appeared, both within and without, as if the dome and the garden, with all their ornaments, had stood upon the same carpet. the prospect round was thus diversified: at the ends of the walks were two canals of clear water, of the same circular figure as the dome; one of which, being higher than the other, emptied itself into the lowermost, in form of a table-cloth; and curious pots of gilded brass, with flowers and greens, were placed at equal distances on the banks of the canals: the walks lay betwixt great plots of ground, planted with straight and bushy trees, among winch were thousands of birds, whose notes formed a melodious concert, and entertained the beholder by sometimes flying about, at others by playing together, and sometimes by fighting in the air. the prince of persia and ebn thaher diverted themselves for some time with viewing the magnificence of the place, and testified great surprise at everything they saw, especially the prince, who had never before seen any thing to equal it; and ebn thaher, though he had several times been in that delightful place, yet could now observe many new beauties: in a word, they never grew weary of admiring so many singular things; and were thus agreeably employed, when they perceived, at some distance from the dome, a company of ladies richly apparelled, each of them sitting upon a seat of indian wood, inlaid with silver wire in figures, with instruments of music in their hands, expecting orders to play. they both advanced to the jet which fronted the ladies, and on the right they saw a large court, with a stair up from the garden, encompassed with beautiful apartments. the slave having retired, and left them alone, they entered into conversation: as to you, who are a wise man, said the prince of persia to ebn thaher, i doubt not but that you look with much satisfaction upon all these marks of grandeur and power. for my part, i do not think there is any thing in the world more surprising. but when i consider that this is the glorious habitation of the lovely schemselnihar, and that he who keeps her here is the greatest monarch of the earth, i confess to you that i look upon myself to be the most unfortunate of all mankind; that no destiny can be more cruel than mine, in loving an object possessed by a rival, and that too in a place where he is so potent, that i cannot think myself sure of my life one moment! ebn thaher hearing the prince of persia speak, said to him, sir, i wish you could give me as good an assurance of the happy success of your amours, as i can give you of the safety of your life. though this stately palace belongs to the caliph, who built it on purpose for schemselnihar, and called it the palace of eternal pleasures, and that it makes part of his own palace, yet you must know that this lady lives here at entire liberty; she is not surrounded by eunuchs as spies over her; this is her own particular house, which is absolutely at her disposal: she goes into the city when she pleases, and returns again, without asking leave of any body; and the caliph never comes to see her without sending mesrour, the chief of his eunuchs, to give her notice, that she may be prepared to receive him. therefore you may be easy, and give full attention to the concert of music, which i perceive, schemselnihar is preparing on purpose for you. just as ebn thaher spoke these words to the prince of persia, they observed the favourite's trusty slave coming with orders for the ladies to begin singing and playing on the instruments, which they instantly obeyed, and all began playing together as a preludium; after which, one of them began singing alone, at the same time playing admirably well upon her lute, having been before advertised of the subject on which she was to sing. the words were so agreeable to the prince of persia's sentiments, that he could not forbear applauding her at the end of the stave. is it possible, cried he, that you have the gift of knowing people's hearts, and that the knowledge of what is in my mind has occasioned you to give us a taste of your charming voice by those words? were i to choose, i should not express myself otherwise. the lady made no reply, but went on, and sung several other staves, with which the prince was so much affected, that he repeated some of them with tears in his eyes, which plainly discovered that he applied them to himself. when she had made an end, she and her companions rose up, and sung all together, signifying by their words that the full moon was going to rise in all her splendour, and that they should speedily see her approach the sun; by which it was meant that schemselnihar was just coming, and that the prince of persia should have the pleasure of seeing her. in effect, as they were looking towards the court, they saw schemselnihar's confident coming towards them, followed by ten black women, who, with much difficulty, carried a throne of massy silver most curiously wrought, which they set down, before them at a certain distance; upon which the black slaves retired behind the trees to the entrance of a walk. after this there came twenty handsome ladies, all alike most elegantly apparelled: they advanced in two rows, singing and playing upon instruments which each of them held in her hand; and, coming near the throne, ten of them sat down on each side of it. all these things kept the prince of persia and ebn thaher in very great suspense, both of them being impatient to know how they would end. in this state of anxious expectation, they saw ten handsome ladies, well dressed, come out of the same gate whence the ten black women came, where they stopped for a few moments, expecting the favourite, who came out last, and placed herself in the midst of them. schemselnihar was easily distinguished from the rest by her fine shape and majestic air, as well as by a sort of mantle, of very fine stuff of gold and sky-blue, fastened to her shoulders over her other apparel, which was the most handsome, best contrived, and most magnificent, that could be thought of. the pearls, rubies, and diamonds, with which she was adorned, though few in number, were well chosen, and of inestimable value, and were displayed in excellent order. she came forward with a majesty resembling the sun in his course amidst the clouds, which receive his splendour without hiding his lustre, and seated herself on the silver throne that was brought for her. as soon as the prince of persia beheld schemselnihar, nothing else could attract his notice: we cease inquiring after what we seek, said he to ebn thaher, when we see it; and there is no doubt remaining when once the truth makes itself manifest. do you see this charming beauty? she is the cause of all my sufferings, which i hug, and will never forbear blessing them, however lasting they may be! at the sight of this object, i am not my own master; my soul rebels, and disturbs me; and i fancy it has a mind to leave me! go then, my soul, i allow thee; but let it be for the welfare and preservation of this weak body! it is you, cruel ebn thaher, who are the cause of this disorder! you thought to do me great pleasure in bringing me hither, and i perceive i am only come to complete my ruin! pardon me, said he, interrupting himself; i am mistaken: i was willing to come, and can blame nobody but myself. at these words, he could not refrain from tears. i am very well pleased, said ebn thaher, that you do me justice; when at first i told you that schemselnihar was the caliph's chief favourite, i did it on purpose to prevent that fatal passion which you please yourself with entertaining in your breast. all that you see here ought to disengage you, and you are to think of nothing but of acknowledgments for the honour which schemselnihar was willing to do you, by ordering me to bring you with me. call in, then, your wandering reason, and put yourself in a condition to appear before her, as good-breeding requires. behold, there she comes! were the matter to begin again, i would take other measures; but, since the thing is done, i wish we may not repent of it. what i have further to say to you is this, that love is a traitor, who may throw you into a pit from which you will never be able to escape. ebn thaher had not time to say more, because schemselnihar came, and, sitting down upon her throne, saluted them both with an inclination of the head; but she fixed her eyes on the prince of persia, and they spoke to one another in a silent language, intermixed with sighs; by which, in a few moments, they spoke more than could have been done by words in a great deal of time. the more schemselnihar looked upon the prince, the more she found from his looks that he was in love with her; and, being thus persuaded of his passion, thought herself the happiest woman in the world. at last, turning her eyes from him to command the women who began to sing first to come near; they got up, and whilst they advanced, the black women, who came out of the walk into which they retired, brought their seats, and set them near the window, in the jet of the dome, where ebn thaher and the prince of persia stood; and then they so disposed them on each side of the favourite's throne, that they formed a semicircle. the women who were sitting before she came, took each of them their places again, with the permission of schemselnihar, who ordered them by a sign. that charming favourite chose one of these women to sing; who, after she had spent some moments in tuning her lute, played a song, the meaning whereof was, that two lovers, who entirely loved each other, and whose affection was boundless, their hearts, though in two bodies, were one and the same; and, when any thing opposed their desires, could say, with tears in their eyes, if we love, because we find one another amiable, ought we to be blamed for this? let destiny bear the blame. schemselnihar discovered so well, by her eyes and gestures, that these sayings ought to be applied to her and the prince of persia, that he could not maintain himself; he rose, and came to a balluster, which he leaned upon, and obliged one of the women, who came to sing, to observe him. when she was near him, follow me, said he to her, and do me the favour to accompany with your lute a song which you shall forthwith hear. then he sang with an air so tender and passionate, as perfectly expressed the violence of his love. when he had done, schemselnihar, following his example, said to one of the women, follow me likewise, and accompany my voice; at the same time she sung after such a manner, as further pierced the heart of the prince of persia, who answered her by a new air as passionate as the former. these two lovers declared their mutual affection by their songs. schemselnihar yielded to the force of hers; she rose from her throne, and advanced towards the door of the hall. the prince, who knew her design, rose likewise, and went towards her in all haste. they met at the door, where they took each other by the hand, embracing with so much passion, that they fainted, and would have fallen, if the women who followed them had not helped them. but they were supported and carried to a sofa, where they were brought to themselves again, by throwing odoriferous water upon their faces, and giving them other things to smell. when they came to themselves, the first tiling that schemselnihar did was to look about; and not seeing ebn thaher, she asked, with a great deal of concern, where he was. he had withdrawn out of respect, whilst her women were applying things to recover her, and dreaded, not without reason, that some troublesome consequence might attend what had happened; but as soon as he heard schemselnihar ask for him, he came forward, and presented himself before her. schemselnihar was very well pleased to see ebn thaher, and expressed her joy in these terms: kind ebn thaher, i do not know how to make amends for the great obligation you have put upon me: without you i should never have seen the prince of persia, nor have loved him who is the most amiable person in the world; but you may assure yourself, however, that i shall not die ungrateful, and that my acknowledgment, if possible, shall be equal to the obligation. ebn thaher answered this compliment by a low bow, and wished the favourite the accomplishment of all her desires. schemselnihar, turning towards the prince of persia, who sat by her, and looking upon him with some sort of confusion, after what had passed between them, said to him, sir, i am very well assured you love me; and, however great your love may be to me, you need not doubt but mine is as great towards you; but let us not flatter ourselves; for, though we are both agreed, yet i see nothing for you and me but trouble, impatience, and tormenting grief. there is no other remedy for our evils but to love one another constantly, to refer ourselves to the disposal of heaven, and to wait till it shall determine our destiny. madam, replied the prince of persia, you will do me the greatest injustice in the world if you doubt but one moment of the continuance of my love. it is so united to my soul, that i can justly say it makes the best part of it, and that i shall persevere in it till death. pains, torments, obstacles, nothing shall be capable of hindering me to love you. speaking these words, he shed tears in abundance, and schemselnihar was not able to restrain hers. ebn thaher took this opportunity to speak to the favourite: madam, said he, allow me to represent to you, that, instead of breaking forth into tears, you ought to rejoice that you are together. i understand not this grief. what will it be when you are obliged to part? but why do i talk of that? we have been a long time here; and you know, madam, that it is time for us to be going. ah, how cruel you are! replied schemselnihar. you, who know the cause of my tears, have you no pity for my unfortunate condition? oh, sad fatality! what have i done to be subject to the severe law of not being able to enjoy the person whom i love? she being persuaded that ebn thaher spoke to her only out of friendship, did not take amiss what he said to her, but made a right use of it. then she made a sign to the slave, her confident, who immediately went out, and in a little time brought a collation of fruit upon a small silver table, which she set down between her mistress and the prince of persia. schemselnihar presented some of the best to the prince, and prayed him to eat for her sake: he did so, and put that part to his mouth which she had touched; and then he presented some to her, which she took, and ate in the same manner. she did not forget to invite ebn thaher to eat with them; but he not thinking himself safe in that place, ate only from complaisance. after the collation was taken away, they brought a silver basin with water in a vessel of gold, and washed together; they afterwards returned to their places, when three of the ten black women brought each of them a cup of rock crystal full of curious wines, upon a golden salver, which they set down before schemselnihar, the prince of persia, and ebn thaher. that they might be more private, schemselnihar kept with her only ten black women, with ten others who began to sing and play upon instruments; and, after she had sent away all the rest, she took up one of the cups, and holding it in her hand, sung some tender expressions, which one of her women accompanied with her lute. when she had done, she drank, and afterwards took up one of the other cups, and presented it to the prince, praying him to drink for love of her, as she had drunk for love of him. he received the cup with a transport of love and joy, but, before drinking, he also sung a song, which another woman accompanied with an instrument and as he sung, the tears fell from his eyes in such abundance, that he could not forbear expressing in his song that he knew not whether he was going to drink the wine she had presented to him, or his own tears. schemselnihar at last presented the third cup to ebn thaher, who thanked her for her kindness, and for the honour she did him. she then took a lute from one of her women, and sung to it in such a passionate manner as bespoke her to be beside herself, the prince of persia standing with his eyes fixed upon her, as if he had been enchanted. as these things were passing, her trusty slave arrived all in a fright; and, addressing herself to her mistress, said, madam, mesrour and two other officers, with several eunuchs that attend them, are at the gate and want to speak with you from the caliph. when the prince of persia and ebn thaher heard these words, they changed colour, and began to tremble, as if they had been undone; but schemselnihar, who perceived it, recovered their courage by a smile. after schemselnihar had quieted the prince of persia and ebn thaher's fears, she ordered the slave, her confident, to go and entertain mesrour and the two other officers till she was in a condition to receive them, and send to her to bring them in. she immediately ordered all the windows of the saloon to be shut, and the painted cloth on the side of the garden to be let down; and having assured the prince and ebn thaher that they might continue there without fear, she went out at the gate leading to the garden, and shut it upon them; but, whatever assurance she had given them of their being safe, they were still much terrified all the while they were there. as soon as schemselnihar was in the garden with the women that followed her, she ordered all the seats which served the women who played on the instruments to be set near the window where ebn thaher and the prince of persia heard them, and having got things in order, she sat down upon a silver throne; then she sent by the slave, her confident, to bring in the chief of the eunuchs, and his subaltern officers. they appeared, followed by twenty black eunuchs, all handsomely clothed, with scimitars by their sides, and gold belts of four inches broad. as soon as they perceived the favourite schemselnihar at a distance, they made her a profound reverence, which she returned them from her throne. when they came near, she got up and went to meet mesrour, who came first. she asked what news he brought. he answered, madam, the commander of the faithful has sent me to signify that he cannot live longer without seeing you; he designs to come to you tonight, and i come beforehand to give notice, that you may be prepared to receive him. he hopes, madam, that you long as much to see him as he is impatient to see you. upon this discourse of mesrour, the favourite schemselnihar prostrated herself to the ground, as a mark of the submission with which she received the caliph's order. when she rose again, she said, pray tell the commander of the faithful, that i shall always esteem it my glory to execute his majesty's commands, and that his slave will do her utmost to receive him with all the respect that is due to him. at the same time she ordered the slave, her confident, to tell the black women appointed for that service to get the palace ready to receive the caliph; and dismissing the chief of the eunuchs, said to him, you see it requires some time to get all things ready, therefore i pray you to take care that his majesty may have a little patience, that, when he arrives, he may not find things out of order. the chief of the eunuchs and his retinue being gone, schemselnihar returned to the saloon, extremely concerned at the necessity she was under of sending back the prince of persia sooner than she thought to have done. she came up to him again with tears in her eyes, which heightened ebn thaher's fear, who thought it no good omen. madam, said the prince to her, i perceive you are come to tell me that we must part; provided there be nothing more to dread, i hope heaven will give me the patience which is necessary to support your absence. alas, my dear heart, my dear soul, replied the tender-hearted schemselnihar, how happy do i think you, and how unhappy myself, when i compare your lot with my sad destiny! no doubt, you will suffer by my absence; but that is all, and you may comfort yourself with the hope of seeing me again; but as for me, just heaven! what a terrible trial am i brought to! i must not only be deprived of the sight of the only person whom i love, but i must be tormented with the sight of one whom you have made hateful to me. will not the arrival of the caliph put me in mind of your departure? and how can i, when i think of your sweet face, entertain that prince with that joy which he always observed in my eyes whenever he came to see me? i shall have my mind wavering when i speak to him; and the least complaisance which i show to him, will stab me to the heart like a dagger. can i relish his kind words and caresses? think, prince, to what torments i shall be exposed when i can see you no more! her tears and sighs hindered her to go on, and the prince of persia would have replied to her; but his own grief, and that of his mistress, made him incapable. ebn thaher, whose chief business was to get out of the palace, was obliged to comfort them, and to exhort them to have patience. but the trusty slave interrupted them: madam, said she to schemselnihar, you have no time to lose, the eunuchs begin to arrive, and you know the caliph will be here immediately. heaven, how cruel is this separation! cried the favourite. make haste, said she to the confident, carry them both to the gallery which looks into the garden on the one side, and to the tigris on the other; and when the night grows dark, let them out by the back gate, that they may retire with safety. having spoken thus, she tenderly embraced the prince of persia, without being able to say one word more, and went to meet the caliph in such disorder as cannot well be imagined. in the mean time the trusty slave carried the prince and ebn thaher to the gallery, as schemselnihar had appointed; and having brought them in, left them there, and shut the door upon them, after having assured them that they had nothing to fear, and that she would come for them when it was time. schemselnihar's trusty slave leaving the prince of persia and ebn thaher, they forgot she had assured them that they needed not to be afraid; they searched all the gallery, and were seized with extreme fear, because they knew no place where they might escape, in case the caliph, or any of his officers, should happen to come there. a great light, which came on a sudden from the side of the garden through the windows, caused them to approach to see from whence it came. it was occasioned by a hundred flambeaux of white wax, carried by as many young eunuchs; these were followed by as many others, who guarded the ladies of the caliph's palace, clothed, and armed with scimitars, in the same manner as those already mentioned; and the caliph came after them, betwixt mesrour, their captain, on his right, and the vassif, their second officer, on his left hand. schemselnihar waited for the caliph at the entry of an alley, accompanied by twenty women, all of surprising beauty, adorned with necklaces and ear-rings of large diamonds, and some of them had their whole heads covered with them. they played upon instruments, and made a charming concert. the favourite no sooner saw the prince appear than she advanced, and prostrated herself at his feet; and while doing this, prince of persia, said she within herself, if your sad eyes bear witness to what i do, judge of my hard lot; if i was humbling myself so before you, my heart should feel no reluctance. the caliph was ravished to see schemselnihar. rise, madam, said he to her; come near: i am angry that i should have deprived myself so long of the pleasure of seeing you. saying this, he took her by the hand, and, after abundance of tender expressions, went and sat down upon a silver throne which schemselnihar caused to be brought for him, and she sat down upon a seat opposite, and the twenty women made a circle round about them upon other seats, while the young eunuchs, who carried flambeaux, dispersed themselves at a certain distance from each other, that the caliph might enjoy the cool of the evening the better. when the caliph sat down, he looked round him, and beheld with satisfaction a great many other lights besides those flambeaux which the young eunuchs held; but taking notice that the saloon was shut, was astonished thereat, and demanded the reason. it was done on purpose to surprise him; for he had no sooner spoken, than the windows were at once opened, and he saw it illuminated within and without in a much better manner than ever he had seen it before. charming schemselmhar, cried he at this sight, i understand you; you would have me to know there are as fine nights as days. after what i have seen, i cannot disown it. let us return to the prince of persia and elm thaher, whom we left in the gallery. ebn thaher could not enough admire all he saw. i am not very young, said he, and in my time have seen great entertainments; but i do not think any thing can be more surprising and magnificent. all that is said of enchanted palaces does no way come near this prodigious spectacle we now see. o strange! what riches and magnificence together! the prince of persia was nothing moved with those objects which were so pleasant to ebn thaher; he could look on nothing but schemselnihar, and the presence of the caliph threw him into inconceivable grief. dear ebn thaher, said he, would to god i had my mind as free to admire these things as you! but, alas! i am in a quite different condition; all those objects serve only to increase my torment. can i see the caliph cheek to cheek with her that i love, and not die of grief? must such a passionate love as mine be disturbed by so potent a rival? o heavens, how cruel is my destiny! it is but a moment since i esteemed myself the most fortunate lover in the world, and at this instant i feel my heart so struck, that it is like to kill me. i cannot resist it, my dear ebn thaher; my patience is at an end; my distemper overwhelms me, and my courage fails. while speaking, he saw something pass in the garden, which obliged him to keep silence, and to turn all his attention that way. the caliph had ordered one of the women, who was near him, to play on her lute, and she began to sing. the words that she sung were very passionate; and the caliph was persuaded that she sung thus by order of schemselnihar, who had frequently entertained him with the like testimonies of her affection; therefore he interpreted all in his own favour. but this was not now schemselnihar's meaning; she applied it to her dear ali ebn becar, and was so sensibly touched with grief, to have before her an object whose presence she could no longer enjoy, that she fainted and fell backwards upon her seat, which having no arms to support her, she must have fallen down, had not some of the women helped her in time; who took her up, and carried her into the saloon. ebn thaher, who was in the gallery, being surprised at this accident, turned towards the prince of persia; but, instead of seeing him stand and look through the window as before, he was extremely amazed to see him fall down at his feet, and without motion. he judged it to proceed from the violence of his love to schemselnihar, and admired the strange effect of sympathy which threw him into great fear, because of the place in which they were. in the mean time he did all he could to recover the prince, but in vain. ebn thaher was in this perplexity when schemselnihar's confident, opening the gallery door, came in out of breath, as one who knew not where she was. come speedily, cried she, that i may let you out. all is confusion here, and i fear this will be the last of our days. ah! how would you have us go? replied ebn thaher, with a mournful voice. come near, i pray you, and see in what condition the prince of persia is. when, the slave saw him in a swoon, she ran for water in all haste, and returned in an instant. at last the prince of persia, after they had thrown water on his face, recovered his spirits. prince, said ebn thaher to him, we run the risk of being destroyed, if we stay here any longer; let us therefore endeavour to save our lives. he was so feeble that he could not rise unassisted. ebn thaher and the confident lent him their hands, and supported him on each side. they came to a little iron gate which opened towards the tigris, went out at it, and got to the side of a little canal communicating with the river. the confident clapped her hands, and immediately a little boat appeared, which came towards them with one rower. ali ebn becar and his comrade went aboard, and the trusty slave staid at the side of the canal. as soon as the prince sat down in the boat, he stretched out one hand towards the palace and laid the other upon his heart. dear object of my soul! cried he with a feeble voice, receive my faith with this hand, while i assure you with the other, that for you my heart shall for ever preserve the fire with which it burns! in the mean time the boatman rowed with all his might; and schemselnihar's trusty slave accompanied the prince of persia and ebu thaher, walking along the side of the canal, until they came to the tigris; and when she could go no further, she took farewell of them, and returned. the prince of persia continued very feeble. ebn thaher comforted him, and exhorted him to take courage. consider, said he, that when we are landed, we have a great way to go before we come to my house; and i would not at this hour, and in this condition, advise you home to your lodgings, which are a great way further off than mine. at length they got out of the boat, but the prince was so weak that he could not walk, which put ebn thaher into great perplexity. he remembered he had a friend in the neighbourhood, and carried the prince thither with great difficulty. his friends received them very cheerfully; and, when he made them sit down, asked where they had been so late. ebn thaher answered him, i was this evening with a man who owed me a considerable sum of money, and designed to go a long voyage. i was unwilling to lose time to find him, and by the way i met with this young nobleman whom you see, and to whom i am under a thousand obligations; for, knowing my debtor, he would needs do me the favour of going along with me. we had a great deal of trouble to bring the man to reason; besides, we went out of the way, and that is the reason we are so late. in our return home, this good lord, for whom i have all possible respect, was attacked by a sudden distemper; which made me take the liberty of calling at your house, flattering myself that you would be pleased to give us quarters for this night. ebn thaher's friend, who believed all this, told them they were welcome, and offered the prince of persia, whom he knew not, all the assistance he could desire; but ebn thaher spoke for the prince, and said, that his distemper was of a nature that required nothing but rest. his friend understood by this that they desired to go to bed; on which he conducted them to an apartment, where he left them. though the prince of persia slept, he had troublesome dreams, which represented schemselnihar in a swoon at the caliph's feet, and increased his affliction. ebn thaher was very impatient to be at home, and doubted not but his family were in great trouble, because he never used to lie abroad. he rose and deported early in the morning, after taking leave of his friend, who rose at break of day to say his prayers. at last he came home; and the prince of persia, who had walked so far with much trouble, lay down upon a sofa, as weary as if he had travelled a long journey not being in a condition to go home, ebn thaher ordered a chamber to be got ready for him, and sent to acquaint his friends with his condition, and where he was. in the mean time he begged him to compose himself, to command in his house, and order things as he pleased. i thank you hcartily for these obliging offers, said the prince of persia; but, that i may not be any way troublesome to you, i conjure you to deal with me as if i were not at your house. i would not stay one moment, if i thought my presence would incommode you in the least. as soon as ebn thaher had time to recollect himself, he told his family all that had passed at schemselnihar's palace, and concluded by thanking god, who had delivered him from the danger he was in. the prince of persia's principal domestics came to receive his orders at ebn thaher's house, and in a little time several of his friends who had notice of his indisposition arrived. those friends passed the greater part of the day with him; and, though their conversation could not dissipate those sad ideas which were the cause of his trouble, yet it gave him some relief. he would have taken his leave of ebn thaher towards the evening; but this faithful friend found him still so weak, that he obliged him to stay till next day, and in the mean time, to divert him, gave him a concert of vocal and instrumental music in the evening; but this concert served only to put him in mind of the preceding night, and renewed his trouble, instead of assuaging it; so that next day his distemper seempd to increase. upon this, ebn thaher did not oppose his going home, but took care to accompany him thither; and, when alone with him in his chamber, he represented to him all those arguments which might influence him to a generous endeavour to overcome that passion, which in the end would neither prove lucky to himself nor to the favourite. ah, dear ebn thaher! cried the prince, how easy is it for you to give this advice, but how hard is it for me to follow it! i am sensible of its importance, but am not able to profit by it, i have said already, that i shall carry with me to the grave the love that i bear to schemselnihar. when ebn thaher saw that lie could not prevail on the prince, he took his leave of him, and would have retired. the prince of persia detained him, and said, kind ebn thaher, since i have declared to you that it is not in my power to follow your wise counsels, i beg you will not charge it on me as a crime, nor forbear to give me the usual testimonies of your friendship; you cannot do me a greater favour than to inform me of the destiny of my dear schemselnihar, when you hear any news of it. the uncertainty i am in concerning her fate, and the apprehensions which her fainting occasioned me, keep me in this languishing condition you reproach me with. my lord, answered ebn thaher, you have reason to hope that her fainting was not attended with any serious consequences; her confident, will soon come and inform me of the issue, and as soon as i know the particulars, i shall not fail to impart them. ebn thaher left the prince in this hope, and returned home where he expected schemselnihar's confident all day, but in vain, nor did she come next day. his uneasiness to know the state of the prince of persia's health would not suffer him to stay any longer without seeing him; he went to his lodgings to exhort him to patience, and found him lying in bed as sick as ever, surrounded by many of his friends, and several physicians, who used all their art to discover the cause of his distemper. as soon as he saw ebn thaher, he looked upon him smiling, to signify that he had two things to tell him; the one, that he was glad to see him; the other, how much the physicians, who could not discover the cause of his distemper, were mistaken in their reasonings. his friends and physicians retired one after another; so that ebn thaher, being alone with him, came near his bed, to ask how he did since he saw him. i must tell you, answered the prince, that my passion, which continually gathers new strength, and the uncertainty of the lovely schemselnihar's destiny, augment my distemper every moment, and throw me into such a condition as afflicts my kindred and friends, and breaks the measures of my physicians, who do not understand it. you cannot think, added he, how much i suffer to see so many importunate people about me, and whom i cannot in civility put away. it is your company alone that is comfortable to me: but, in a word, i conjure you not to dissemble with me; what news do you bring of schemselnihar? have you seen her confident? what said she to you? ebn thaher answered, that he had not yet seen her; and no sooner had he told the prince of persia this sad news, than tears came from his eyes, and his heart was so oppressed that he could not answer him one word. prince, added ebn thaher, suffer me to tell you, that you are very ingenious in tormenting yourself. in the name of god, wipe away your tears: if any of your people should come in just now, they would discover you by this, notwithstanding the care you ought to take to conceal your thoughts. whatever this judicious confident could say, it was impossible for the prince to refrain from weeping. wise ebn thaher, said he, when he had recovered his speech, i may well hinder my tongue from revealing the secrets of my heart, but i have no power over my tears upon such a direful subject as schemselnihar's danger! if that adorable and only object of my desires be no longer in the world. i shall not be one moment after! reject so afflicting an idea, replied ebn thaher; schemselnihar is yet alive; you need not doubt the certainty of it. if you have heard nothing of her, it is because she could find no occasion to send to you; and i hope you will hear from her to-day. to this he added several other comfortable things, and then retired. ebn thaher was scarcely at his own house, when schemselnihar's confident arrived with a melancholy countenance, which he reckoned a bad omen. he asked concerning her mistress. tell me yours first, said the confident; for i was in great trouble to see the prince of persia go away in that condition. ebn thaher told her all that she desired to know, and when he had done, the slave began her discourse: if the prince of persia, said she, has suffered, and does still suffer, for my mistress, she suffers no less for him. after i departed from you, continued she, i returned to the saloon, where i found schemselnihar not yet recovered from her swoon, notwithstanding all the help they endeavoured to give her. the caliph was sitting near her with all the signs of real grief; he asked the women, and me in particular, if we knew the cause of her distemper; but we all kept secret, and told him we were altogether ignorant of it. in the mean time, we wept to see her suffer so long, and forgot nothing that might any ways help her. in a word, it was almost midnight before she recovered. the caliph, who had the patience to wait, was truly glad at her recovery, and asked schemselmhar the cause of her distemper. as soon as she heard him speak, she endeavoured to resume her seat; and, after she had kissed his feet before he could hinder her, sir, said she, i have reason to complain of heaven, that it did not allow me to expire at your majesty's feet, to testify thereby how sensible i am of your favours! i am persuaded you love me, said the caliph to her, and i command you to preserve yourself for my sake. you have probably exceeded in something today, which has occasioned this indisposition; take heed, i pray you, abstain from it for the future. i am glad to see you better; and i advise you to stay here tonight, and not to return to your chamber, lest the motion disturb you. upon this he commanded a little wine to be brought her, in order to strengthen her; and then taking his leave, returned to his apartment. as soon as the caliph was gone, my mistress gave me a sign to come near her. she asked me earnestly concerning you: i assured her that you had been gone a long time, which made her easy as to that matter. i took care not to speak of the prince of persia's fainting, lest it should make her fall into the same condition from which we had so much trouble to recover her; my precautions were all in vain, as you shall hear. prince, said she, i henceforth renounce all pleasure as long as i am deprived of a sight of you. if i have understood your heart right, i only follow your example. thou wilt not cease to weep until thou seest me again; it is but just, then, that i weep and mourn till i see you! at these words, which she uttered in such a manner as expressed the violence of her passion, she fainted in my arms a second time. my comrades and i, said she, were long in recovering her; at last she came to herself; and then i said to her, madam, are you resolved to kill yourself, and to make us also die with you? i beg of you to be persuaded, in the name of the prince of persia, for whom it is your interest to live, to save yourself, as you love yourself, as you love the prince, and for our sakes, who are so faithful to you! i am very much obliged to you, replied she, for your care, zeal, and advice; but alas! these are useless to me! you are not to flatter us with hopes; for we can expect no end of our torment but in the grave! one of my companions would have diverted those sad ideas by playing on her lute; but she commanded her to be silent, and ordered all of them to retire, except me, whom she kept all night with her. o heavens! what a night was it! she passed it in tears and groans, always naming the prince of persia; lamented her lot, which had destined her to the caliph, whom she could not love, and not to him she loved so dearly. next morning, because she was not commodiously lodged in the saloon, i helped her to her chamber, where she no sooner arrived, than all the physicians of the palace came to see her by order of the caliph, who was not long in coming himself. the medicines which the physicians prescribed for schemselnihar were to no purpose, because they were ignorant of the cause of her distemper, and the presence of the caliph augmented it. she got a little rest, however, this night; and as soon as she awoke, she charged me to come to you to hear concerning the prince of persia. i have already informed you of his case, said ebn thaher; so return to your mistress, and assure her that the prince of persia waits to hear from her with the like impatience that she does from him; besides, exhort her to moderation, and to overcome herself, lest she drop some words before the caliph, which may prove fatal to us all. as for me, replied the confident, i confess i dread her transport; i have taken the liberty to tell her my mind, and am persuaded that she will not take it ill that i tell her this from you. ebn thaher, who had but just come from the prince of persia's lodgings, thought it not convenient to return so soon, and neglect his own important affairs, and therefore went not till the evening. the prince was alone, and no better than in the morning. ebn thaher, said he, you have doubtless many friends; but they do not know your worth, which you discover to me by the zeal, care, and trouble, you give yourself to oblige me in my condition. i am confounded with all that you do for me with so great affection, and i know not how i shall be able to express my gratitude! prince, answered ebn thaher, do not speak so, i entreat you; i am ready not only to give one of my own eyes to save one of yours, but to sacrifice my life for you. but this is not the present business; i come to tell you that schemselnihar sent her confident to ask me about you, and at the same time to inform me of her condition. you may assure yourself that i said nothing but what might confirm the excess of your passion for her mistress, and the constancy with which you love her. then ebn thaher gave him a particular account of all that had passed betwixt the trusty slave and him. the prince listened with all the different emotions of fear, jealousy, affection, and compassion, with which this discourse could inspire him, making, upon every thing which he heard, all the afflicting or comforting reflections that so passionate a lover was capable of. their conversation continued so long, that the night was far advanced, so that the prince of persia obliged ebn thaher to stay with him. next morning, as this trusty friend was returning home, there came to him a woman, whom he knew to be schemselnihar's confident, who eagerly addressed him thus: my mistress salutes you; and i am come to entreat you, in her home, to deliver this letter to the prince of persia. the zealous ebn thaher took the letter, and returned to the prince, accompanied by the confident. when ebn thaher entered the prince of persia's house with schemselnihar's confident, he prayed her to stay one moment in the drawing room. as soon as the prince of persia saw him, he earnestly asked what news he had. the best you can expect, answered ebn thaher; you are as dearly beloved as you love; schemselnihar's confident is in your drawing room; she has brought you a letter from her mistress, and waits for your orders to come in. let her come in! cried the prince, with a transport of joy; and, speaking thus, sat down to receive her. the prince's attendants retired as soon as they saw ebn thaher, and left him alone with their master. ebn thaher went and opened the door, and brought in the confident. the prince knew her, and received her very civilly. my lord, said she to him, i am sensible of the afflictions you have endured since i had the honour to conduct you to the boat which waited to bring you back; but i hope this letter i have brought will contribute to your cure. upon this, she presented him the letter. he took it, and, after kissing it several times, opened it, and read as follows: letter from schemselnihar to ali ebn becar, prince of persia. the person who carries this letter will give you a better account concerning me than i can do, for i have not been myself since i saw you: deprived of your presence, i sought to divert myself by entertaining you with these ill-written lines, as if i had the good fortune to speak to you. it is said that patience is a cure for all distempers; but it sours mine instead of sweetening it. although your picture be deeply engraven in my heart, my eyes desire constantly to see the original; and their sight will vanish if they are much longer deprived of that pleasure. may i flatter myself that yours have the same impatience to see me? yes i can; their tender glances discovered it to me. how happy, prince, should you and schemselnihar both be, if our agreeable desires were not crossed by invincible obstacles, which afflict me as sensibly as they do you! those thoughts which my fingers write, and which i express with incredible pleasure, and repeat again and again, speak from the bottom of my heart, and from the incurable wound which you have made in it; a wound which i bless a thousand times, notwithstanding the cruel torments i endure for your absence. i would reckon all that opposes our love nothing, were i only allowed to see you sometimes with freedom; i would then enjoy you, and what more could i desire? do not imagine that i say more than i think. alas! whatever expressions i am able to use, i am sensible that i think more than i can tell you. my eyes, which are continually watching and weeping for your return; my afflicted heart, which desires nothing but you alone; the sighs that escape me as often as i think on you, that is, every moment; my imagination, which represents no other object than my dear prince; the complaints that i make to heaven for the rigour of my destiny; in a word, my grief, my trouble, my torments, which give me no ease ever since i lost the sight of you, are witnesses of what i write. am not i unhappy to be born to love, without hope of enjoying him whom i love? this doleful thought oppresses me so much, that i should die, were i not persuaded that you love me: but this sweet comfort balances my despair, and preserves my life. tell me that you love me always; i will keep your letter carefully, and read it a thousand times a day; i will endure my afflictions with less impatience. i pray heaven may cease to be angry at us, and grant us an opportunity to say that we love one another without fear; and that we may never cease to love! adieu. i salute ebn thaher, who has so much obliged us. the prince of persia was not satisfied to read the letter once; he thought he had read it with too little attention, and therefore read it again with more leisure; and as he read, sometimes he uttered sighs, sometimes he wept, and sometimes he discovered transports of joy and affection, as one who was touched with what he read. in a word, he could not keep his eyes off those characters drawn by so lovely a hand, and therefore began to read it a third time. then ebn thaher told him that the confident could not stay, and he ought to think of giving an answer. alas! cried the prince, how would you have me answer so kind a letter? in what terms shall i express the trouble that i am in? my spirit is tossed with a thousand tormenting things, and my thoughts destroy one another the same momunt they are conceived, to make way for more; and so long as my body suffers by the impressions of my mind, how shall i be able to hold paper, or a reed [footnote the arabians, persians, and turks, when they write, hold the paper ordinarily upon their knees with their left hands, and write with their right, with a little reed or cane cut like our pens; this cane is hollow, and resembles our reeds, but is harder.], to write? having spoken thus, he took out of a little desk paper, cane, and ink. the prince of persia, before he began to write, gave schemselnihar's letter to ebn thaher, and prayed him to hold it open while he wrote, that, by casting his eyes upon it, he might see the better what to answer. he began to write; but the tears that fell from his eyes upon the paper obliged him several times to stop, that they might trickle down the more freely. at last he finished his letter, and giving it to ebn thaher, read it, i pray, said he, do me the favour to see if the disorder of my mind has allowed me to give a reasonable answer. ebn thaher took it, and read as follows: the prince of persia's answer to schemselnihar's letter. i was swallowed up with mortal grief before i received your letter, at the sight of which i was transported with unspeakable joy; and the view of the characters written by your lovely hand enlightened my eyes more sensibly than they were darkened when yours were closed on a sudden at the feet of my rival. those words which your courteous letter contains, are so many rays of light, which have dispelled the darkness with which my soul was obscured; they show me how much you suffer by your love to me, and that you are not ignorant of what i endure for you, and thereby comfort me in my afflictions. on the one hand, they make me shed tears in abundance; and, on the other, they inflame my heart--with a fire which supports it, and hinders my dying of grief. i have not had one moment's rest since our cruel separation. your letter only gave me some ease. i kept a sorrowful silence till the moment i received it, and then it restored me to speech. i was buried in a profound melancholy, but it inspired me with joy, which immediately appeared in my eyes and countenance. but my surprise at receiving a favour which i had not deserved was so great, that i knew not which way to begin to testify my thankfulness for it. in a word, after having kissed it as a valuable pledge of your goodness, i read it over and over, and was confounded at the excess of my good fortune. you would have me to signify to you that i always love you. ah! though i did not love you so perfectly as i do, i could not forbear adoring you, after all the marks you have given me of a love so uncommon: yes, i love you, my dear soul, and shall account it my glory to burn all my days with that sweet fire you have kindled in my heart. i will never complain of the brisk ardour with which i find it consumes me; and how rigorous soever the grief be which i suffer, i will bear it corageously, in hopes to see you some time or other. would to heaven it were today; and that, instead of sending you my letter, i might be allowed to come and assure you that i die for love of you! my tears hinder me from saying any more. adieu. ebn thaher could not read these last lines without weeping. he returned the letter to the prince of persia, and assured him it wanted no correction. the prince shut it, and when he had sealed it, desired the trusty slave to come near, and told her, this is my answer to your dear mistress; i conjure you to carry it to her, and to salute her in my name. the slave took the letter, and retired with ebn thaher. after ebn thaher had walked some way with the slave, he left her, went to his house, and began to think in earnest upon the amorous intrigue in which he found himself unhappily engaged. he considered that the prince of persia and schemselnihar, notwithstanding their interest to conceal their correspondence, managed with so little discretion, that it could not be long a secret. he drew all the consequences from it which a man of good sense ought to do. were schemselnihar, said he to himself, an ordinary lady, i would contribute all in my power to make her and her sweetheart happy; but she is the caliph's favourite, and no man can without danger undertake to displease him. his anger will fall at first upon schemselnihar; it will cost the prince of persia his life; and i shall be embarked in his misfortune. in the mean time, i have my honour, my quiet, my family, and my estate to preserve; i must then, while i can, deliver myself out of so great a danger. he was taken up with these thoughts all the day; next morning he went to the prince of persia, with a design to use his utmost endeavors to oblige him to conquer his passion. he actually represented to him what he had formerly done in vain; that it would be much better to make use of all his courage to overcome his inclinations for schemselnihar, than to suffer himself to be conquered by it; and that his passion was so much the more dangerous, as his rival was the more potent. in a word, sir, added he, if you will hearken to me, you ought to think of nothing but to triumph over your amour, otherwise you run a risk of destroying yourself, with schemselnihar, whose life ought to be dearer to you than your own. i give you this counsel as a friend, for which you will thank me some time or other. the prince heard ebn thaher with a great deal of impatience, but suffered him, however, to speak out his mind; and then replied to him thus: ebn thaher, said he, do you think i can forbear to love schemselnihar, who loves me so tenderly? she is not afraid to expose her life for me, and would you have me to regard mine? no; whatever misfortune befal me, i will love schemselnihar to my last breath. ebn thaher, being offended at the obstinacy of the prince of persia, left him hastily; and, going to his own house, recalled to mind what he thought on the other day, and began to think in earnest what he should do. at the same time a jeweller, one of his intimate friends, came to see him: this jeweller had perceived that schemselnihar's confident came oftener to ebn thaher than usual, and that he was constantly with the prince of persia, whose sickness was known to every one, though not the cause of it. the jeweller began to be suspicious, and finding ebn thaher very pensive, judged presently that he was perplexed with some important affair; and fancying that he knew the cause, he asked what schemselniliar's confident wanted with him. ebn thaher, being struck with this question, dissembled, and told him, that it was a mere trifle that brought her so frequently to him. you do not tell me the truth, said the jeweller, and give me ground to think, by your dissimulation, that this trifle is an affair of more importance than at first i thought. ebn thaher, perceiving that his friend pressed him so much, said to him, it is true that it is an affair of the greatest consequence: i had resolved to keep it secret; but since i know how much you are my friend, i choose rather to make you my confident, than to suffer you to be in a mistake about it. i do not recommend it to you to keep the secret, for you will easily judge, by what i am going to tell you, how important it is to keep it. after this preamble, he told him the amour between schemselnihar and the prince of persia. you know, continued he, in what esteem i am at court, in the city, and with lords and ladies of the greatest quality; what a disgrace would it be for me, should this rash intrigue come to be discovered? but what do i say? should not i and my family be quite destroyed? that is the thing perplexes my mind. but i have just now come to such a resolution as i ought to make: i will go immediately and satisfy my creditors, and recover my debts; when i have secured my estate, i will retire to balsora, and stay till the tempest i foresee blows over. the friendship i have for schemselnihar and the prince of persia makes me very sensible to what danger they are exposed. i pray heaven to discover it to themselves, and to preserve them; but if their ill destiny will have their amours come to the knowledge of the caliph, i shall at least be out of the reach of his resentment; for i do not think them so wicked as to design to draw me into their misfortunes. it would be extreme ingratitude in them to do so, and a sorry reward for the good service i have done them, particularly to the prince of persia, who may save himself and his mistress from this precipice, if he pleases: he may as easily leave bagdad as i; absence would insensibly disengage him from a passion which will only increase whilst he continues in this place. the jeweller was extremely surprised at what ebn thaher told him. what you say to me, said he, is of so great importance, that i cannot understand how schemselnihar and the prince have been capable of abandoning themselves to such a violent amour. what inclination soever they may have for one another, instead of yielding to it, they ought to resist it, and make a better use of their reason. is it possible they can be insensible of the dangerous consequences of their correspondence? how deplorable is their blindness! i perceive all the consequences of it as well as you; but you are wise and prudent, and i approve your resolution; that is the only way to deliver yourself from the fatal events which you have reason to fear. the jeweller then rose, and took his leave of ebn thaher. before the jeweller retired, ebn thaher conjured him, by the friendship betwixt them, to speak nothing of this to any person. be not afraid, said the jeweller; i will keep this secret on peril of my life. two days after, the jeweller went to ebn thaher's shop; and, seeing it shut, doubted not that he had executed the design he had spoken of; but, to be certain, he asked a neighbour if he knew why it was shut? the neighbour answered, that he knew not, unless ebn thaher was gone a journey. there was no need of his inquiring further, and immediately he thought upon the prince of persia: unhappy prince, said he to himself, what grief will you suffer when you hear this news? by what means will you now carry on your correspondence with schemselnihar? i fear you will die of despair. i have compassion on you; i must make up the loss that you have of a too timid confident. the business that obliged him to come abroad was of no consequence, so that he neglected it; and though he did not know the prince of persia, but only by having sold him some jewels, he went strait to his house, addressed himself to one of his servants, and prayed him to tell his master that he desired to speak with him about business of very great importance. the servant returned immediately to the jeweller, and introduced him to the chamber of the prince, who was leaning on a sofa, with his head upon a cushion. as soon as the prince saw him, he rose to receive him, said he was welcome, entreated him to sit down, and asked if he could serve him in any thing, or if he came to tell him any matter concerning himself. prince, answered the jeweller, though i have not the honour to be particularly acquainted with you, yet the desire of testifying my zeal has made me take the liberty to come to your house, to impart to you some news that concerns you. i hope you will pardon my boldness, because of my good intention. after this introduction, the jeweller entered upon the matter, and pursued it thus: prince, i shall have the honour to tell you, that it is a long time since the conformity of humour, and several affairs we had together, united ebn thaher and myself in strict friendship. i know you are acquainted with him, and that he has been employed in obliging you in all that he could. i am informed of this from himself; for he keeps nothing secret from me, nor i from him. i went just now to his shop, and was surprised to find it shut. i addressed myself to one of his neighbours, to ask the reason; he answered me, that, two days ago, ebn thater took his leave of him and other neighbours, offering them his service at balsora, whither he was gone, he said, about an affair of great importance. not being satisfied with this answer, the concern that i have for whatever belongs to him, determined me to come and ask you if you knew any thing particularly concerning his sudden departure. at this discourse, which the jeweller accommodated to the subject, that he might come the better to his design, the prince of persia changed colour, and looked so as made the jeweller sensible that he was afflicted with the news. i am surprised at what you inform me, said he; there could not befal me a greater misfortune. ah! said he, with tears in his eyes, i am undone if what you tell me be true! has ebn thaher, who was all my comfort, and in whom i put all my confidence, left me! i cannot think of living after so cruel a blow. the jeweller needed no more to convince him fully of the prince of persia's violent passion, which ebn thaher had told him: mere friendship would not let him speak so; nothing but love could produce such feeling expressions. the prince continued some moments swallowed up with these melancholy thoughts: at last he lifted up his head, and calling one of his servants, go, said he, to ebn timber's house, and ask any of his domestics if he be gone to balsora; run and come back quickly, and tell me what you hear. while the servant was gone, the jeweller endeavoured to entertain the prince of persia with indifferent subjects; but the prince gave little heed to him, for he was a prey to fatal grief. sometimes he could not persuade himself that ebn thaher was gone; at other times he did not doubt the truth of it, when he reflected upon the discourse he had the last time he saw him, and the angry countenance with which he left him. at last the prince's servant returned, and reported that he had spoken to one of ebn thaher servants, who assured him that he was gone two days before to balsora. as i came from ebn thaher's house, added the servant, a slave well arrayed came to me, and, asking if i had the honour to belong to you, she told me she wanted to speak with you, begging, at the same time, that she might come along with me: she is now in the house, and i believe has a letter to give you from some person of note. the prince commanded him to bring her in immediately: he doubted not but it was schemselnihar's confident slave, as indeed it was. the jeweller knew who she was, having seen her several times at ebn thaher's house. she could not have come at a better time to hinder the prince from despair. she saluted him, and the prince of persia did likewise salute schemselnihar's confident. the jeweller rose as soon as he saw her appear, and stepped aside, to leave them at liberty to speak together. the confident, after conversing some time with the prince, took leave, and departed. she left him quite another thing than before; his eyes appeared brighter, and his countenance more gay; which made the jeweller know that the good slave came to tell him some news that favoured his amour. the jeweller having taken his place again near the prince, said to him, smiling, i see, prince, you have important affairs at the caliph's palace. the prince of persia was astonished and alarmed at this discourse, and answered the jeweller, why do you judge that i have affairs at the caliph's palace? i judge, replied the jeweller, by the slave that is gone forth. to whom, think you, belongs this slave? said the prince. to schemselnihar, the caliph's favourite, answered the jeweller. i know, continued he, both the slave and her mistress, who have several times done me the honour to come to my house, and buy jewels. besides, i know that schemselnihar keeps nothing secret from this slave; and i have seen her go and come for several days along the streets, very much troubled, which made me imagine that it was upon some affair of consequence concerning her mistress. the jeweller's words did much trouble the prince of persia. he would not say so, said he to himself, if he did not suspect, or rather know, my secret. he remained silent for some time, not knowing what to answer. at length he said to the jeweller, you have told me those things which make me believe that you know yet more than you have acquainted me with. it will tend much to my quiet if i be perfectly informed; i conjure you, therefore, not to dissemble. then the jeweller, who desired no better, gave him a particular account of what had passed between ebn thaher and himself; so that he let him know that he was informed of his correspondence with schemselnihar; and forgot not to tell him that ebn thaher was afraid of the danger of being his confident in the matter, which was partly the occasion of his retiring to balsora, to stay till the storm which he feared should he over. this he has done, added the jeweller; and i am surprised how he could determine to abandon you in the condition he informed me you was in. as for me, prince, i confess i am moved with compassion towards you, and am come to offer you my service; and if you do me the favour to accept of it, i engage myself to be as faithful to you as ebn thaher; besides, i promise to be more constant, i am ready to sacrifice my honour and life for you; and, in fine, that you may not doubt my sincerity, i swear, by all that is sacred in our religion, to keep your secret inviolable! be persuaded, then, that you will find in me the friend that you have lost. this discourse encouraged the prince, and comforted him under ebn thaher's absence. i am very glad, said he to the jeweller, to find in you a reparation of my loss: i want words to express the obligations i am under to you. i pray god to recompense your generosity; and i accept your obliging offer with all my heart. believe it, continued he, that schemselnihar's confident came to speak to me concerning you; she told me that it was you who advised ebn thaher to go from bagdad; these were the last words she spoke to me when she went away, and had almost persuaded me of it. but do not resent it; for i doubt not but she is deceived, after what you have told me. prince, replied the jeweller, i have had the honour to give you a faithful account of my conversation with ebn thaher. it is true, when he told me he would return to balsora, i did not oppose his design, but said he was a wise and prudent man; and, that this may not hinder you from putting confidence in me, i am ready to serve you with all imaginable zeal; which though you do otherwise, this shall not hinder me from keeping your secret religiously according to my oath. i have already told you, replied the prince, that i would not believe what the confident said; it is her zeal that inspired her with this groundless suspicion, and you ought to excuse it, as i do. they continued their conversation for some time, and consulted together of convenient means to continue the prince's correspondence with schemselnihar: they agreed to begin by disabusing the confident, who was so unjustly prepossessed against the jeweller. the prince engaged to undeceive her the first time she returned, and to entreat her to engage herself to the jeweller, that she might bring the letters, or any other information, from her mistress to him. in fine, they agreed that she ought not to come so frequently to the prince's house, because she might thereby give occasion to discover that which was of so great importance to conceal. at last the jeweller rose, and, after having again prayed the prince of persia to have an entire confidence in him, retired. the jeweller, returning to his house, perceived before him a letter which somebody had dropped in the street; he took it up; and, not being sealed, he opened it, and found that it contained as follows: letter from schemselnihar to the prince of persia. i am informed by my confident of a piece of news which troubles me no less than it does you: by losing ebn thaher, we have indeed lost much; but let this not hinder you, dear prince, thinking to preserve yourself. if our confident has abandoned us through a slavish fear, let us consider that it is a misfortune which we could not avoid. i confess ebn thaher has left us at a time when we need him most; but let us fortify ourselves by patience against this unlooked-for accident, and let us not forbear to love one another constantly. fortify your heart against this misfortune. nobody can obtain what they desire without trouble. let us not discourage ourselves, but hope that heaven will favour us; and that, after so many afflictions, we shall come to a happy accomplishment of our desires. adieu. while the jeweller was conversing with the prince of persia, the confident had time to return to the palace, and tell her mistress the ill news of ebn thaher's departure. schemselniliar immediately wrote this letter, and sent back her confident with it to the prince of persia; but she negligently dropped it. the jeweller was glad to find it; for it was a good way to set him right with the confident, and bring him to the point he desired. when he had read it, he perceived the slave, who sought it with a great deal of uneasiness, looking about every where. he closed it again quickly, and put it into his bosom; but the slave took notice of it, and ran to him. sir, said she, i have dropped a letter which you had just now in your hand; i beseech you be pleased to restore it. the jeweller, taking no notice that he heard her, continued his way till he came to his house. he did not shut the door behind him, that the confident, who followed him, might come in. she accordingly did so; and when she came to his chamber, sir, said she to him, you can make no use of the letter you have found; and you would make no difficulty in returning it to me, if you knew from whom it came, and to whom it is directed. besides, let me tell you, you cannot honestly keep it. before the jeweller answered the confident, he made her sit down, and said to her, is not this letter from schemselnihar, and directed to the prince of persia? the slave, who expected no such question, blushed. the question puzzles you, replied he, but i assure you i do not propose it rashly: i could have given you the letter in the street, but i suffered you to follow me, on purpose that i might discourse with you. tell me, is it just to impute an unhappy accident to people who no ways contributed towards it? yet this you have done, in telling the prince of persia that it was i who counselled ebn thaher to leave bagdad for his own safety. i do not intend to lose time in justifying myself to you; it is enough that the prince of persia is fully persuaded of my innocence in this matter: i will only tell you, that instead of contributing to ebn thaher's departure, i have been extremely afflicted at it; not so much for my friendship to him, as out of compassion for the condition in which he left the prince of persia, whose correspondence with schemselnihar he has acknowledged to me. as soon as i knew certainly that ebn thaher was gone from bagdad, i presented myself to the prince, in whose house you found me, to inform him of this news, and to offer him the same service which he did him; and, provided you put the same confidence in me that you did in ebn thaher, you may serve yourself by my assistance. inform your mistress of what i have told you, and assure her, that if i should die for engaging in so dangerous an intrigue, i will rejoice to have sacrificed myself for two lovers so worthy of each other. the confident, after having heard the jeweller with great satisfaction, begged him to pardon her the ill opinion she had conceived of him, out of the zeal she had for her mistress. i am extremely glad, added she, that schemselnihar and the prince have found you, who are a man fit to supply ebn thaher's place, and i shall not fail to signify to my mistress the good-will you bear her. after the confident had testified to the jeweller her joy to see him so well disposed to serve schemselnihar and the prince of persia, the jeweller took the letter out of his bosom, and restored it to her, saying, go, carry it quickly to the prince of persia, and come back this way, that i may see the answer. forget not to give him an account of our conversation. the confident took the letter, and carried it to the prince, who answered it immediately. she returned to the jeweller's house to show him the answer, which was this: the prince of persia's answer to schemselniliar. your precious letter had a great effect upon me, but not so great as i could wish. you endeavour to comfort me for the loss of ebn thaher; but, alas! sensible as i am of this, it is the least of my troubles! you know my malady, and that your presence only can cure me. when will the time come that i shall enjoy it without fear of being ever deprived of it? o how long does it seem to me! but shall we rather flatter ourselves that we may see one another? you command me to preserve myself; i will obey, since i have renounced my own will to follow yours. adieu. after the jeweller had read this letter, he gave it again to the confident, who said, when she was going away, i will tell my mistress to put the same confidence in you that she did in ebn thaher, and you shall hear of me to-morrow. accordingly, next day she returned with a pleasant countenance. your very look, said he to her, informs me that you have brought schemselnihar to what you wished. that is true, said the confident, sand you shall hear how i effected it. yesterday, continued she, i found schemselnihar expecting me with impatience; i gave her the prince of persia's letter, which she read with tears in her eyes; and when she had done, i observed she had abandoned herself to her usual sorrow. madam, said i, it is doubtless ebn thaher's removal that troubles you; but suffer me to conjure you, in the name of god, not to concern yourself any further about that matter. we have found another who offers to oblige you with as much zeal, and, what is yet more important, with greater courage. then i mentioned you, continued the slave, and acquainted her with the motive which made you go to the prince of persia's house. in short, i assured her that you would inviolably keep the secret betwixt her and the prince of persia, and that you was* resolved to favour their amours with all your might. she seemed to me much relieved by my discourse. ah! what obligations, said she, are the prince of persia and i under to that honest man you speak of? i must see him, that i may hear from his own mouth what you tell me, and thank him for such an unheard-of piece of generosity towards persons with whom he is no way obliged to concern himself. a sight of him will please me; and i will not omit any thing to confirm him in those good sentiments. do not fail to bring him to-morrow. therefore, pray, sir, go with me lo the palace. the confident's discourse perplexed the jeweller. your mistress, replied he, must allow me to say, that she has not thought well of what she requires. ebn thaher's access to the caliph gave him admission every where; and the officers, who knew him, suffered him to go and come freely to schemselnihar's palace; but, as for me, how dare i enter? you see well enough that it is not possible. i entreat you to represent those reasons to schemselnihar which hinder me giving her that satisfaction, and acquaint her with all the ill consequences that would result from it. if she considers it ever so little, she will find that it would expose me needlessly to very great danger. the confident endeavoured to encourage the jeweller: believe me, said he, that schemselnihar is not so unreasonable as to expose you to the least danger, from whom she expects such considerable services. consider with yourself that there is not the least appearance of hazard: my mistress and i are too much interested in this affair to involve you in any danger. you may depend upon me, and leave yourself to my conduct. after the affair is over, you will confess to me that your fear was groundless. the jeweller hearkened to the confident's discourse, and got up to follow her; but, notwithstanding his natural courage, he was seized with such terror that his whole body trembled. in the condition you are in, said she, i perceive it will be better for you to stay at home, and that schemselnihar take other measures to see you. it is not to be doubted but that, to satisfy her desire, she will come hither herself. the case being so, sir, i would not have you to go, as i am persuaded it will not be long before she comes to you. the confident foresaw this very well; for she no sooner informed schemselnihar of the jeweller's fear, than she made ready to go to his house. he received her with all the marks of profound respect. when she sat down, being a little fatigued with walking, she unveiled herself, and discovered to the jeweller such beauty as made him acknowledge that the prince of persia was excusable in giving his heart to her. then she saluted the jeweller with a graceful countenance, and said to him, i am informed with what zeal you have engaged in the prince of persia's concerns and mine; but, without immediately forming a design to express my gratitude, i thank heaven, which has so soon made up ebn thaher's loss. schemselnihar said several other obliging things to the jeweller, after which she returned to her palace. the jeweller went immediately to give an account of this visit to the prince of persia, who said to him, as soon as he saw him, i have expected you impatiently. the trusty slave has brought me a letter from her mistress, but she does not comfort me: whatever the lovely schemselnihar says, i dare not hope for any thing; my patience is at an end; i know not now what measures to take. ebn thaher's departure makes me despair; he was my only support; i lost all by losing him, for i flattered myself with some hopes by reason of his access to schemselnihar. after these words, which the prince pronounced with so much eagerness that he gave the jeweller no time to interrupt him, he said to the prince, no man can bear a greater share of your affliction than i do; and if you will have patience to hear me, you will perceive that i am capable of giving you ease. upon this the prince became silent, and hearkened to him. i see very well, said the jeweller, that the only thing to give you satisfaction is to fall upon a way that you may converse freely with schemselnihar. this i will procure you, and to-morrow will set about it. you must by no means expose yourself to enter schemselnihar's palace; you know by experience the danger of that: i know a very fit place for this interview, where you shall be safe. when the jeweller had spoken thus, the prince embraced him with a transport of joy. you revive, said he, by this charming promise, an unhappy lover who was resolved to die; i see that you have fully repaired the loss of ebn thaher: whatever you do will be well done; i leave myself entirely to you. the prince, after thanking the jeweller for his zeal, returned home, and next morning schemselnihar's confident came to him. he told her that he had put the prince of persia in hopes that he should see schemselnihar speedily. i am come purposely, answered she, to take measures with you for that end. i think, continued she, this house will be convenient enough for their interview. i could receive them very well here, replied he; but i think they will have more liberty in another house of mine, where nobody lives at present; i will quickly furnish it for receiving them. since the matter is so, replied the confident, there remains nothing for me to do but to make sehemselnihar consent to it. i will go tell her, and return speedily with an answer. she was as diligent as her promise; and, returning to the jeweller, told him that her mistress would not fail to keep the appointment in the evening. in the mean time she gave him a purse of money to prepare a collation. he sent her immediately to the house where the lovers were to meet, that she might know whither to bring her mistress; and when she was gone, he went to borrow from his friends vessels of gold and silver, tapestry, rich cushions, and other furniture, with which he furnished the house very magnificently; and, when he had put all things in order, went to the prince of persia. you may easily conceive the prince of persia's joy, when the jeweller told him that he came to conduct him to the house he had prepared to receive him and schemselnihar. this news obliterated all his former trouble. he put on a magnificent robe, and went without his retinue along with the jeweller, who led him through several by-streets, that nobody might observe him, and at last brought him to the house, where they discoursed together until schemselnihar came. they did not stay long for this passionate lover. she came after evening-prayers, with her confident and two other slaves. the excess of joy that seized those two lovers, when they saw one another, it is altogether impossible to express. they sat down together upon the sofa for some time, without being able to speak, they were so much overjoyed; but, when speech returned to them, they soon made up for their silence. they expressed themselves with so much tenderness, as made the jeweller, the confident, and the two other slaves, weep. the jeweller, however, restrained his tears to think upon the collation, which he brought. the lovers ate and drank a little, after which they again sat down on the sofa. schemselnihar asked the jeweller if he had a lute, or any other instrument. the jeweller, who took care to provide all that might please them, brought her a lute, which she took some time to tune, and then played. while schemselnihar was thus charming the prince of persia, and expressing her passion by words composed extempore, a great noise was heard, and immediately the slave whom the jeweller brought with him appeared in a terrible fright, to tell him that some people were breaking up the gate; that he asked who it was, but, instead of an answer, the blows were redoubled. the jeweller, being alarmed, left schemselnihar and the prince, to go and inform himself of the truth of this bad news. there was already got into the court a company of men armed with bayonets and scimitars, who had entered privately, and, having broken up the gate, came straight towards him: he stood close to a wall for fear of his life, and saw ten of them pass without being perceived by them; and, finding that he could give no help to the prince of persia and schemselnihar, he satisfied himself with bewailing them, and fled for refuge to a neighbour's house, who was not yet gone to bed. he did not doubt that this unexpected violence was by the caliph's order, who, he thought, had been informed of his favourite's meeting with the prince of persia. he heard a great noise in his own house, which continued till midnight; and when all was quiet, as he thought, he prayed his neighbour to lend him a scimitar, and, being thus armed, went on till he came to the gate of his own house. he entered the court full of fear, and perceived a man, who asked him who he was? he knew by his voice that it was his own slave. how didst thou do, said he, to avoid being taken by the watch? sir, answered the slave, i hid myself in a corner of the court, and i went out as soon as i heard the noise. but it was not the watch who broke your house; they were highwaymen, who within these few days robbed another in this neighbourhood: they have doubtless had notice of the rich furniture you brought hither, and had that in their view. the jeweller thought his slave's conjecture probable: he entered the house, and saw that the highwaymen had taken all the furniture out of the chamber where he received schemselnihar and her lover; that they had also carried off the vessels of gold and silver, and, in a word, had left nothing. being in this condition, o heaven! cried he, i am irrecoverably undone! what will my friends say, and what excuse can i make, when i tell them that highwaymen have broken into my house, and robbed me of all that they generously lent me? i shall never be able to make up their loss. besides, what is become of schemselnihar and the prince of persia? this business will be so public, that it is impossible but it must reach the caliph's ears. he will get notice of this meeting, and i shall fall a sacrifice to his fury. the slave, who loved him, endeavoured to comfort him thus: as to schemselnihar, said he, the highwaymen probably would content themselves to strip her; and you have reason to think that she is retired to her palace with her slaves. the prince of persia is probably in the same condition; so that you have reason to hope that the caliph will never know of this adventure. as for the loss your friends have sustained, that is a misfortune which you could not avoid. they know very well the highwaymen to be so numerous, that they have not only pillaged the house i have already spoken of, but many other houses of the principal noblemen of the court; and they are not ignorant that, notwithstanding the orders given to apprehend them, nobody has yet been able to seize any of them. you will be acquitted by restoring your friends the value of the things that are stolen; and, blessed be god, you have enough left. waiting till day, the jeweller ordered the slave to mend the gate of the house, which was broken up, as well as he could: after which he returned to his ordinary house with his slave, making sad reflections on what had befallen him. ebn thaher, said he to himself, has been wiser than i; he foresaw the misfortune into which i have blindly thrown myself: would to god i had never meddled in this intrigue, which i fear will cost me my life! it was scarcely day, when the report of the robbery had spread through the city, and there came to the house a great many of the jeweller's friends and neighbours, to testify their grief for this misfortune, but were curious to know the particulars. he thanked them for their affection, and was so much the better satisfied, that he heard nobody speak of schemselnihar or the prince of persia, which made him believe they were at their houses. or in some secure place. when the jeweller was alone, his servants brought him something to eat, but he could not taste a bit. about noon one of his slaves came to tell him that a man was at the gate, whom he knew not, and desired to speak with him. the jeweller, not willing to receive a stranger into his house, rose up, and went to speak with him. though you do not know me, said the man, i know you, and am come to discourse with you on an important affair. the jeweller prayed him to step in. no, answered the stranger; if you please, rather take the trouble to go with me to your other house. how know you, replied the jeweller, that i have another house? i know well enough, answered the stranger: follow me, do not fear any thing; i have something to communicate to you which will please you. the jeweller went immediately with him; and after he had considered by the way how the house they were going to was robbed, he said to him that it was not fit to receive him. when they were before the house, and the stranger saw the gate half broken down, he said to the jeweller, i see you have told me the truth; i will carry you to a place which will be more convenient. he went on when he had spoken thus, and walked all the rest of the day without stopping. the jeweller being weary with walking, vexed to see night approach, and the stranger having walked all day without acquainting him where he was going, began to lose patience. then they came to a path which led them to the tigris; and as soon as they came to the river, they crossed in a little boat. the stranger led the jeweller through a long street, where he had never been before, and, after taking him through several streets, stopped at a gate, which he opened. he caused the jeweller to go in, shut the gate, bolted it with a huge iron bolt, and then conducted, him to a chamber, where there were ten other men, all as great strangers to the jeweller as his conductor. the ten men received the jeweller without any compliments. they bid him sit down; of which he had great need, for he was not only weak with walking so far, but the fear be was in, on finding himself with people whom he thought he had reason to dread, would have disabled him from standing. they waited for their leader to supper, and, as soon as he came, it was served up. they washed their hands, obliging the jeweller to do the like, and to sit at table with them. after supper, the men asked him if he knew to whom he spoke. he answered, no, and that he knew not the place he was in. tell us your last nights adventure, said they to him, and conceal nothing from us. the jeweller, being astonished at this discourse, answered, gentlemen, it is probable you know it already. that is true, replied they, the young man and the young lady, who were at your house yesternight, told it us; but we would know it from your own mouth. the jeweller needed no more to be informed that they were the highwaymen who had broken up and plundered his house. gentlemen, said he, i am much troubled for that young man and the lady; can you tell me any thing of them? upon the jeweller's inquiry if they knew any thing of the young man and the young lady, the thieves answered, be not concerned for them; they are safe enough, and in good health: which saying, they showed him two closets, where they assured him they were separately shut up. they added, we are informed you only know what relates to them; which we no sooner came to understand, than we showed them all imaginable respect, and were so far from doing them any injury, that we treated them with all the kindness we were capable of on your account. you may secure yourself the like favour, proceeded they, in regard to your own person, and put all manner of confidence in us without the least reserve. the jeweller, being heartened at this, and overjoyed to hear that the prince of persia and schemselnihar were safe, resolved to engage the thieves yet further in their interest. for this purpose he commended them, flattered them, and gave them a thousand benedictions. gentlemen, said he, i must confess i have not the honour of knowing you; yet it is no small happiness to me that i am not wholly unknown to you; and i can never be sufficiently grateful for the favours which that knowledge has procured me at your hands. without mentioning so great an act of humanity as that i lately received from you, i must needs say, i am fully persuaded that no persons in the world can be so proper to be trusted with a secret, and none more fit to undertake a great enterprise, which you can best bring to a good issue by your zeal, courage, and intrepidity. in confidence of these great and good qualities, which are so much your due, i will not scruple to relate to you my whole history, with that of the two persons you found in my house. after the jeweller had thus secured, as he thought, the thieves to secrecy, he made no scruple to relate to them the whole amour of the prince of persia and schemselnihar, from the beginning of it to the time he received them into his house. the thieves were greatly astonished at the surprising particulars they heard, and could not forbear crying out, how! is it possible that the young man should be the illustrious ali elm becar, prince of persia; and the young lady the fair and celebrated schemselnihar! the jeweller assured them nothing was more certain, and that they needed not to think it strange that persons of so distinguished a character should not care to be known. upon this assurance of their quality, the thieves went immediately, one after the other, and threw themselves at their feet, imploring pardon, and begging them to believe they would never have offered any violence to their persons, had they known who they were; but, seeing they did not, they would by their future conduct do their best endeavours to make some recompence at least for the crime they had thus ignorantly committed. having made profound reverences, they returned to the jeweller, and told him they were heartily sorry they could not restore all that had been taken from him, some part of it being out of their possession; but as for what remained, if he would content himself with his plate, it should be forthwith put into his hands. the jeweller was overjoyed at the favour; and after the thieves had delivered the plate, they required the prince, schemselnihar, and him, to promise upon oath that they would not betray them, and they would carry them to a place whence they might easily go to their respective homes. the prince, schemselnihar, and the jeweller, replied, that they might rely on their words; but since they desired an oath of them, they solemnly swore not to discover them so long as they were with them. with this the thieves were satisfied, and immediately set out to perform their promise. by the way, the jeweller, being concerned that he could not see the confident and the two slaves, came up to schemselnihar and begged her to inform him what was become of them. she answered, she knew nothing of them, and that all she could tell him was, that she was carried away from his house, ferried over a river, and brought to the place from whence they were just now come. schemselnihar and the jeweller had no further discourse; they found themselves at the brink of a river, whence the thieves immediately took boat, and carried them to the other side. whilst the prince, schemselnihar, and the jeweller, were landing, they heard a noise as of horse-guards that were coming towards them. the thieves no sooner perceived the danger, but they took to their oars, and got over to the other side of the river in an instant. the commander of the brigade demanded of the prince, schemselnihar, and the jeweller, who they were, and whence they came so late. this frightened them at first so much that they could not speak; but at length the jeweller found his tongue, and said, sir, i can assure you, we are very honest people; but those persons who have just landed us, and are got to the other side of the water, are thieves, who, having last night broken open the house that we were in, pillaged it, and afterwards carried us to an obscure inn, where, by some entreaty and good management, we prevailed on them to let us have our liberty; to which end they brought us hither. they have restored us part of the booty they had taken from us. at these words he showed the plate he had recovered. the commander, not being satisfied with what the jeweller told him, came up to him and the prince of persia, and, looking steadfastly at them, said, tell me truly who is this lady? how came you to know her? and whereabouts do you live? this demand surprised them strangely, and tied their tongues, insomuch that neither of them could answer; till at length schemselnihar, taking the commander aside, told him frankly who she was; which he no sooner came to know, than he alighted, paid both her and the company great respect, and caused two boats to be got ready for their service. when the boats were come, he put schemselnihar into one, and the prince of persia and the jeweller into the other, with two of his people in each: they had orders to accompany them whithersoever they were bound. being abroad, the two boats took different routes; but we shall at present speak only of that wherein were the prince and the jeweller. the prince, to save his guides trouble, bid them land the jeweller with him, and named the place whither he would go. the guides, mistaking his orders, stopped just before the caliph's palace, which put both him and the jeweller into a fright, though he durst discover nothing of the matter; for though they had heard the commander's orders to his men, they could not help imagining they were to be delivered up to the guard, and brought before the caliph next morning. this, nevertheless, was not the intention of the guides; for, after they had landed them, they, by their master's command, recommended them to an officer of the guard, who next morning assigned them soldiers to conduct them by land to the prince's chateau, which was at some distance from the river. the prince being come home, what with the fatigue of his journey, and the affliction he conceived at being never likely again to see schemselnihar, fell into a swoon on his sofa; and while the greater part of his servants was endeavouring to recover him, the other part gathered about the jeweller, and begged of him to tell them what had happened to the prince their lord, whose absence had occasioned inexpressible disquiet. the jeweller, who would discover nothing to them that was not prudent to be repealed, told them it was not a proper time for such a relation, and that they would do better to go and assist the prince, than require anything of him, especially at that juncture. the prince fortunately came to himself that very moment; when those that but just before required his history with so much earnestness, began now to get at a distance, and pay that respect which was due from them. although the prince had in some measure recovered himself, yet he continued so weak, that he could not open his mouth. he answered only by signs, and that even to his nearest relations who spoke to him. he remained in the same condition till next morning, when the jeweller came to take leave of him. his answer was only with a wink, holding forth his right hand; but when he saw he was loaded with the bundle of plate the thieves had taken from him, he made a sign to his servants that they should take and carry it along with him to his house. the jeweller had been expected home with great impatience by his family the day he went forth with the man that came to ask for him, and whom he did not know; but no who was quite given over, and it was no longer doubted that some disaster had befallen him. his wife, children, and servants, were in continual grief, and lamented him night and day; but at length, when they saw him again, their joy was so great, they could hardly contain themselves; yet they were troubled to find that his countenance was greatly altered from what it had been before, insomuch that he was hardly to be known. this was thought to have been occasioned by his great fatigue, and the fears he had undergone, which would not let him sleep. finding himself something out of order, he continued within doors for two days, and would admit only one of his intimate friends to visit him. the third day, perceiving himself better, he thought he might regain strength by going abroad, and therefore went to the shop of a rich friend of his, with whom he continued long in discourse. as he was rising to go home, he observed a woman make a sign to him, whom he presently knew to be the confident of schemselnihar. partly out of fear, and partly through joy, he made what haste he could away, without looking at her; but she followed him, as he very well knew she would, the place in which they saw each other being by no means proper for an interview. as he walked a little faster than usual, she could not overtake him, and therefore every now and then called out to stop. he heard her, it is true; but, after what had happened, he did not think fit to take notice of her in public, for fear of giving cause to believe that he had been with schemselnihar. in short, it was known to every body in bagdad that this woman belonged to her, and therefore he thought it prudent to conceal his having any knowledge of her. he continued the same pace, and at last came to a mosque, where he knew but few people resorted; there he entered, and she after him, wherein they had a long converse together, without any body overhearing them. both the jeweller and the confident expressed a great deal of joy at seeing each other after the strange adventure occasioned by the thieves, and their reciprocal concern for each other's welfare, without mentioning a word of what related to their own particular persons. the jeweller would needs have her relate to him how she escaped with the two slaves, and what she knew of sehemselnihar from the time he had left her; but so great were her importunities to be informed of what had happened to him from the time of their unexpected separation, that he found himself obliged to comply. having finished what she desired, he told her that he expected she would oblige him in her turn; which she did in the following manner. when i first saw the thieves, said she, i imagined, rightly considered, that they were of the caliph's guard, who, being informed of the escape of schemselnihar, had sent them to take away the lives of the prince and us all; but, being convinced of the error of that thought, i immediately got upon the leads of your house, at the same time that the thieves entered the chamber where the prince and schemselnihar were, and was soon after followed by that lady's two slaves. from lead to lead, we came at last to a house of very honest people, who received us with a great deal of civility, and with whom we lodged that night. next morning, after we had returned thanks to the master of the house for our good usage, we returned to schemselnihar's hotel, which we entered in great disorder, and the more so as we could not learn the fate of the two unfortunate lovers. the other women of schemselnihar were astonished to see me return without their lady. we told them we had left her at the house of a lady, one of her friends, and that she would send for us when she had a mind to come home; with which excuse they seemed well satisfied. for my part, i spent the day in great uneasiness; and when night came, opening a little back gate, i espied a boat driven along by the stream. calling to the waterman, i desired him to row up the river, to see if he could not meet a lady, and, if he found her, to bring her along with him. the two slaves and i waited impatiently for his return; and at length, about midnight, we saw the boat coming down with two men in it, and a woman lying along in the stern. when the boat came up, the two men helped the woman to rise; and then it was that i knew her to be schemselnihar. i rejoiced so greatly to see her, that i cannot sufficiently express myself. i gave my hand to schemselnihar to help her out of the boat. she had no small occasion for my assistance, for she could hardly stand. when she was ashore, she whispered me in the ear in an afflicted tone, bidding me go and take a purse of a thousand pieces of gold, and give to the soldiers who had waited on her. i obeyed, leaving her to be supported by the two slaves; and, having paid the waterman, shut the back door. i then followed my lady, who was hardly got to her chamber before i overtook her. we undressed her, and put her to bed, where she had not long been before she was ready to give up the ghost; in which condition she continued the remainder of the night. the day following, her other women expressed a great desire to see her; but i told them she had been much fatigued, and wanted rest to restore her. the other women and i, nevertheless, gave her all the assistance we possibly could. she persisted in swallowing nothing which we offered; and we must have despaired of her life, had i not persuaded her to take a spoonful or two of wine, which had a sensible effect on her. by mere importunity, we at length prevailed upon her to eat also. when she came to the use of her speech, for she had hitherto only mourned, groaned, and sighed, i begged her to tell me how she escaped out of the hands of the thieves. why should you require of me, said she, with a profound sigh, what will but renew my grief? would to god the thieves had taken away my life, rather than preserved it, as in that case my misfortunes would have had an end; whereas i now live but to increase my torment. madam, replied i, i beg you will not refuse me this favour. you cannot but know that unhappy people have a certain consolation in venting their misfortunes; and if you be pleased to relate yours, i doubt not that you will find some relief in so doing. why then, said she, lend your ear to a story the most afflicting that can be imagined. you must know, when i first saw the thieves entering with sword in hand, i believed it the last moment of my life: but dying did not then seem so shocking to me, since i thought i was to die with the prince of persia. however, instead of murdering, two of the thieves were ordered to take care of us, whilst their companions were busied in packing up the goods which they found in the house. when they had done, and had got their bundles upon their backs, they went away, carrying us along with them. as we went along one of those who had the charge of us demanded of me briskly who i was: i answered, i was a dancer. he put the same question to the prince, who replied that he was a shopkeeper. when they were come to the place whither they were going, i had new fears to alarm me; for they gathered about us, and, after considering well my habit, and the rich jewels i was adorned with, they seemed to think that i had disguised my quality. dancers, said they, do not use to be dressed as you are; pray tell us truly who you are. when they saw i answered nothing, they asked the prince once more who he was; for they told him they perceived he was not the person he pretended. he did not satisfy them any more than i had done; but only told them he came to see the jeweller, who was the owner of the house where they found us. i know this jeweller, said one of the rogues, who seemed to have some authority over the rest; i have some obligations to him, of which he yet knows nothing; and i take upon me to bring him hither to-morrow morning from another house he has; but you must not expect to stir till he come and tell us who you are; though, in the mean time, i promise there shall be no manner of injury offered to you. the jeweller was brought next morning, as he said; who, thinking to oblige us, as he really did, declared to the rogues the whole truth of the matter. the thieves no sooner knew who we were, but they came and asked my pardon; and i believe did the like to the prince, who was shut up in another room. they protested to me, they would not have broken open the jeweller's house, had they known whose it was. they soon after took us, (the prince, the jeweller, and myself), and carried us to the river-side, where, having put us on board the boat, they rowed us across the water; but we were no sooner landed, than a party of the horse-guards came up to us. the rogues fled. i took the commander aside, and told him my name, informing him withal, that the night before i had be seized by robbers who forced me along with them; but having been told who i was, they had re*aleased me, and the two persons he saw with me, on my account. he alighted and paid his respects to me; and expressing a great deal of joy for being able to oblige me, he caused two boats to be brought, putting me and two of his soldiers, whom you have seen, into one, and the prince, and jeweller, with two more, into the other. my guides have conducted me hither; but what is become of the prince and his friend, i cannot tell. i trust in heaven, added she, with a shower of tears, no harm has happened to them since our separation; and i do not doubt that the prince's concern is equal to mine. the jeweller, to whom we have been so much obliged, ought to be recompensed for the loss he has sustained on our account. do not you therefore fail, said she, speaking to the confident, to take two purses of a thousand pieces of gold each, and carry them to him to-morrow morning in my name; and, at the same time, be sure to inquire after the prince's welfare. when my good mistress had done speaking, i endeavoured, as to the last article of inquiring into the prince's welfare, to calm her mind, which was in some disorder, and to persuade her not to yield so much to love, since the danger she had so lately escaped would be soon renewed by such indulgence. she bid me hold my tongue, and do what she had commanded. i was forced to be silent, and am come hither to obey her commands without any further scruple. i have been at your house, and, not finding you at home, was about to have gone to wait on the prince of persia, but did not dare to attempt so great a journey. i have left the two purses with a particular friend of mine, and, if you have patience, i shall go and fetch them immediately. the confident returned quickly to the jeweller in the mosque, where she had left him. she gave him the two purses, and bid him accept them for her lady's sake. they are more than necessary, said the jeweller; and i can never be enough thankful for so great a present from so good and generous a lady: but i beseech you to acquaint her, on my behalf, that i shall preserve an eternal remembrance of her bounties. he then agreed with the confident, that she should find him at the place where she had first seen him whenever she had occasion to impart any commands from schemselnihar, or to know any thing of the prince of persia. the jeweller returned home very well satisfied, not only that he had got wherewithal plentifully to make up his losses, but also to think that no person in bagdad could possibly come to know of the prince and schemselnihar being in his other house when it was robbed. it is true, he had acquainted the thieves with it, but their secrecy he thought might very well be depended on, as he imagined they had not sufficient converse with the world to give him any disturbance. he therefore hugged himself in his good fortune, paid his debts, and furnished both his houses to a nicety. thus he forgot all his past danger, and next morning set out to wait on the prince of persia. the prince's domestics told the jeweller, on his arrival, that he came in very good time to make their lord speak, for they had not been able to get a word out of him ever since he was there. they introduced him softly into his chamber, where he found him in such a condition as raised his pity. he was lying in bed, with his eye-lids shut; but when the jeweller saluted him, and exhorted him to take courage, be faintly opened his eyes, and regarded him with such an aspect, as sufficiently declared the greatness of his affliction. he, however, took and grasped him by the hand, to testify his friendship, telling him, in a faint and weak tone, that he was extremely obliged to him for coming so far to seek one so exceedingly unhappy and miserable. my lord, replied the jeweller, mention not, i beseech you, any obligations you owe to me; i could wish, with all my soul, that the good offices i have endeavoured to do you had had a better effect. but, at present, let us discourse only of your health, which i fear you greatly injure by unreasonably abstaining from proper nourishment. the prince's servants, hearing the jeweller say this, took occasion to let him know that it was with the greatest difficulty they had prevailed on him to take even the smallest morsel and that for some time he had taken nothing. this obliged the jeweller to beg the prince to let his servants bring him something to eat, which favour he obtained with much intercession. after the prince had eaten more largely than he had hitherto, at the persuasion of the jeweller, he commanded the servants to quit the room, and leave him alone with his friend. when the room was clear, he said, in conjunction with my misfortune which distracts me, i have been exceedingly concerned to think of what you have suffered on my account; and as it is but reasonable that i should make you a recompence, i shall be sure to take the first opportunity; at present, however, begging only your pardon a thousand times, i must conjure you to tell me whether you have learnt any thing of schemselnihar since i had the misfortune to be parted from her. here the jeweller, upon the confident's information, related to him all that he knew of schemselnihar's arrival at her hotel, her state of health from the time he had left her, and how she had sent her confident to him to inquire after his highness's welfare. to all this the prince replied with sighs and tears only; then he made an effort to get up, and, being assisted by the jeweller, made shift to rise. being upon his legs, he called his servants, and made them open his wardrobe, whither he went in person, and having caused several bundles of rich goods and plate to be packed up, ordered them to be carried to the jeweller's house. the jeweller would fain have withstood this kind offer; but although he represented that schemselnihar had already made him more than sufficient amends for what he had lost, the prince would be obeyed. the jeweller thought himself obliged to make every possible acknowledgment, and protested how much he was confounded at his highness's liberality. he would then have taken his leave, but the prince would not let him; so they passed in discourse the greater part of the night. next morning the jeweller waited again on the prince before he went away, but he would not let him stir; he must first sit down, and hear what he had to say. you know, said he, there is an end proposed in all things. now, the end the lover proposes, is to enjoy the beloved object in spite of all opposition. if he loses that hope, he must not think to live. you also know that this is my hard case; for when i had been twice at the very point of fulfilling my desires, i was all of a sudden torn from her i loved in the most cruel manner imaginable: i had then no more to do, but to think of death; and i had certainly proved my own executioner, did not our holy laws forbid us to commit suicide. but there is no need of such violent means; death will soon do its own work by a sure though gentle method; i find myself in a manner gone, and that i have not long to wait the welcome blow. here he was silent, and vented the rest of his passion only in groans, sighs, and tears, which came from him in great abundance. the jeweller, who knew no better way of turning him from despair than by bringing schemselnihar into his mind, and giving him some hopes of enjoying her, told him, he feared the confident might be come from her lady, and therefore did not think it proper to stay any longer from home. i will let you go, said the prince; but conjure you, that if you see her, you recommend to her to assure schemselnihar, that if i die, as i expect to do every minute, i will love her to the last moment, and bless her with my last breath. the jeweller returned home in expectation of seeing the confident, who came some few hours after, but all in tears, and in great affliction. he asked, with great earnestness, what was the matter; she answered, that schemselnihar, the prince, herself, and he, were all ruined. he demanded how. hear the sad news, said she, as it was told me just upon my entering our hotel, after i had left you. schemselnihar had, it seems, for some fault, chastised one of the slaves you saw with her in your other house; the slave, enraged at the ill treatment, ran presently, and, finding the gate open, went forth; so that we have just reason to believe she has discovered all to an eunuch of the guard, who gave her protection, as we have since heard. this is not all. the other slave, her companion, is fled too, and has taken refuge in the caliph's palace, so that we may well fear she has acted her part in a discovery; for, just as i came away, the caliph had sent twenty of his eunuchs for schemselnihar, who carried her to the palace. i just found means to come and tell you this, yet i fear no good will come of it; but, above all, i recommend it to you as a secret. the confident added, that it was expedient he should go and acquaint the prince with the whole affair, that he might be ready on all occasions, and contribute what he was able to the common cause; upon which she departed in great haste, without speaking a word more, or waiting for an answer. what answer, however, could the jeweller have made, in the deplorable condition he was placed? he stood still as if thunderstruck, and had not a word to say. he was, however, sensible that the affair required expedition, and therefore went immediately to give the prince an account of it. he addressed himself to him with an air that sufficiently showed the bad news he brought. prince, said he to him, arm yourself with courage and patience, and prepare to receive the most terrible assault ever yet made on your nature. tell me, in few words, said the prince, what it is i must prepare to receive; for if it be death only, i am ready and willing to undergo it. then the jeweller told him all that he had learned from the confident. you see, continued he, that your destruction is inevitable, if you delay. rise, save yourself by flight, for the time is precious. you, of all men, must not expose yourself to the anger of the caliph, and should much less confess any thing in the midst of torments. at these words the prince was almost ready to expire with grief, affliction, and fear; he recovered, however, and demanded of the jeweller what resolution he would advise him to take in this unhappy conjuncture. the jeweller told him he thought nothing more proper than that he should immediately take horse, and haste away towards anbar, [footnote: anbar is a city on the tigris, twenty leagues below bagdad.] that he might get thither with all convenient speed. take what servants and horses you think necessary, continued he, and suffer me to escape with you. the prince, seeing nothing more advisable, immediately gave orders for such an equipage as would be least troublesome; so having put some money and jewels in his pocket, and taking leave of his mother, he departed in company with the jeweller, and with such servants as he had chosen. they travelled all that day and the day following without stopping, till at length, about the dusk of the evening, their horses and selves being greatly fatigued, they alighted at an inn to refresh themselves. they had hardly sat down, before they found themselves surrounded and assaulted by a gang of thieves. they defended their lives for some time courageously; but, at length, the prince's servants being all killed, both he and the jeweller were obliged to yield at discretion. the thieves, however, spared their lives; but, after they had seized their horses and baggage, they took away their clothes, and left them naked. in this condition, and after the thieves had left them, the prince said to the jeweller, what is to be done, my friend, in this conjuncture? had i not better, think you, have tarried in bagdad, and undergone any fate, rather than have been reduced to this extremity? my lord, replied the jeweller, it is the decree of heaven that we should thus suffer. it has pleased god to add affliction to affliction, and we must not murmur at it, but receive his chastisements with submission. let us stay no longer here, but go and look out for some place where we may be concealed and relieved. no, let me rather die, said the prince; for what signifies it whether i die here or elsewhere? for die i know i must very shortly. it may be, this very minute that we are talking, schemselnihar is no more! and why should i endeavour to live after she is dead? the jeweller at length prevailed on him to go; but they had not gone far before they came to a mosque, which, being open, they entered, and passed there the remainder of the night. at day-break a single man came into the mosque to his devotion. when he had ended his prayer, and was turning to go out, he perceived the prince and the jeweller, who were sitting in a corner to conceal themselves. he went up to them; and, saluting them with a great deal of civility, said, by what i perceive, gentlemen, you seem to be strangers. the jeweller answered, you are not deceived, sir. we have been robbed to-night in coming from bagdad, and retired hither for shelter. if you can relieve us in our necessities, we shall he very much obliged to you, for we know nobody here to whom to apply to. the man answered, if you think fit to come to my house, i shall do what i can for you. upon this obliging offer, the jeweller turned to the prince, and said in his ear, this man, as far as i can perceive, sir, does not know us; therefore we had better go with him, than stay here to be exposed to the sight of somebody that may. do as you please, said the prince; i am willing to be guided by your discretion. the man, observing the prince and jeweller consulting together, thought they made some difficulty to accept his proposition; wherefore he demanded of them if they were resolved what to do. the jeweller answered, we are ready to follow you whither you please; all that we make a difficulty about is to appear thus naked. let not that trouble you, said the man; we shall find wherewithal to clothe you, i warrant you. they were no sooner got to the house, than he brought forth a very handsome suit for each of them. next, as he thought they must be very hungry, and have a mind to go to bed, he had several plates of meat brought out to them by a slave; but they ate little, particularly the prince, who was so dejected and dispirited, as gave the jeweller cause to fear he would die. they went to bed, and their host left them to their repose; but they had no sooner lain down, than the jeweller was forced to call him again to assist at the death of the prince. he breathed short, and with difficulty; which gave him reason to fear he had but a few minutes to live. coming near him, the prince said, it is done; and i am glad you are by, to be witness of my last words. i quit this life with a great deal of satisfaction; but i need not tell you the reason, for you know it too well already. all the regret i have is, that i cannot die in the arms of my dearest mother, who has always loved me with a tenderness not to be expressed, and for whom i had a reciprocal affection. she will undoubtedly be not a little grieved that she could not close my eyes, and bury me with her own hands. but let her know how much i was concerned at this; and desire her, in my name, to have my corpse transported to bagdad, that she may have an opportunity to bedew my tomb with her tears, and assist my departed soul with her prayers. he then took notice of the master of the house, thanked him for the several favours he had received from him, and desired him to let his body be deposited with him till such time as it should be carried away to bagdad. having said this, he turned aside and expired. the day after the prince's death, the jeweller took the opportunity of a numerous caravan that was going to bagdad, and arrived there some time after in safety. he first went home to change his clothes, and then hastened to the prince's palace, where every body was surprised that their lord was not come with him. he desired them to acquaint the prince's mother that he must speak to her immediately; and it was not long before he was introduced to her. she was seated in a hall, with several of her women about her. madam, said he to her, with an air that sufficiently denoted his ill news, god preserve your highness, and shower down the choicest of his blessings upon you! you cannot be ignorant that it is he alone who disposes of us all at his pleasure. the princess would not give him leave to go on, but cried out, alas, you bring me the deplorable news of my son's death! at which words she and her women set up such a hideous outcry, as soon brought fresh tears into the jeweller's eyes. she thus tormented and grieved herself a long while before the unfortunate messenger was allowed to go on. at length, however, she gave a truce to her sighs and groans, and begged of him to continue the fatal relation, without concealing from her the least circumstance. he did as she commanded; and, when he had done, she further demanded of him, if her son the prince had not given him in charge something more particular. he assured her his last words were, that it was the greatest concern to him that he must die so far distant from his dear mother, and that he earnestly entreated she would be pleased to have his corpse transported to bagdad. accordingly, next morning at day-break, the princess set out, with her women and great part of her slaves, to bring her son's body to her own palace. the jeweller, having taken leave of her, returned home very sad and melancholy, to think he had lost so good a friend, and so accomplished a prince, in the flower of his age. as he came near his house, dejected and musing, on a sudden lifting up his eyes, he saw a woman in mourning and tears standing before him. he presently knew her to be the confident, who had stood there grieving for some time that she could not see him. at the sight of her, his tears began to flow afresh, but he said nothing to her; and, going into his own house, she followed him. they sat down, when the jeweller, beginning the dismal discourse, asked the confident, with a deep sigh, if she had heard nothing of the death of the prince of persia, or if it was on his account that she grieved? alas! answered she; what! is that charming prince then, dead? he has not lived long after his dear schemselnihar. beauteous souls! continued she, in whatsoever place ye now are, ye ought to be pleased that your loves will no more be interrupted. your bodies were before an obstacle to your wishes; but now, being delivered from them, you may unite as closely as you please. the jeweller, who had heard nothing of schemselnihar's death, and had not observed that the confident was in mourning, through the excessive grief that blinded him, was now afflicted anew. is schemselnihar then dead? cried he, in great astonishment. she is dead, replied the confident, weeping afresh; and it is for her that i wear these weeds. the circumstances of her death are extraordinary, continued she; therefore it is but requisite you should know them; but, before i give you an account of them, i beg you to let me know those of the prince of persia, whom, in conjunction with my dearest friend and mistress, i shall lament as long as i live. the jeweller then gave the confident the satisfaction she desired; and, after he had told her all, even to the departure of the prince's mother to bring her son's body to bagdad, she began, and said, you have not forgotten, i suppose, that i told you the caliph had sent for schemselnihar to his palace; and it is true, as we had all the reason in the world to believe, he had been informed of the amour between her and the prince by the two slaves, whom he had examined apart. now, you will be apt to imagine he must of necessity be exceedingly enraged at schemselnihar, and discover many tokens of jealousy and revenge against the prince; but i must tell you he had neither one nor the other, aud lamented only his dear mistress forsaking him, which he in some measure attributed to himself, in giving her so much freedom to walk about the city without his eunuchs. this was all the resentment he showed, as you will find by his carriage towards her. he received her with an open countenance; and when he observed the sadness she was under, which nevertheless did not lessen her beauty, with a goodness peculiar to himself, he said, schemselnihar, i cannot bear your appearing thus before me with an air of affliction. you must be sensible how much i have always loved you by the continual demonstrations i have given you; and i can never change my mind, for even now i love you more than ever. you have enemies, schemselnihar, proceeded he; and those enemies have done you all the wrong they can. for this purpose they have filled my ears with stories against you, which have not made the least impression upon me. shake off, then, this melancholy, continued he, and prepare to entertain your lord this night after your accustomed manner. he said many other obliging things to her, and then desired her to step into a magnificent apartment, and stay for him. the afflicted schemselnihar was very sensible of the kindness the caliph had for her; but the more she thought herself obliged to him, the more she was concerned that she was so far off from the prince, without whom she could not live, and yet was afraid she should never see him more. this interview between the caliph and schemselnihar, continued the confident, was whilst i came to speak with you; and i learned the particulars of it from my companions, who were present. but i had no sooner left you, proceeded she, than i went to my dear mistress again, and was an eye-witness to what happened afterwards. i found her in the apartment i told you of; and, as she thought i came from you, she came to me, and whispering in my ear, said, i am much obliged to you for the service you have been doing me, but fear it will be the last. i took no notice of her words, and she said no more to me; but if i had a mind to say any thing to comfort her, i was in a place by no means proper for disclosing my thoughts. the caliph was introduced at night with the sound of instruments upon which our women played, and the collation was immediately served up. he took his mistress by the hand, and made her sit down with him on the sofa; which she did with such regret, that she expired some few minutes after. in short, she was hardly sat down, when she fell backwards; which the caliph believed to be only a swoon, and so we all thought; but when we endeavoured to bring her to herself, we found she was quite gone, which you may imagine not a little afflicted us. the caliph did her the honour to weep over her, not being able to refrain from tears, and, before he left the room, ordered all the musical instruments to be broken, which was immediately executed. for my part, i staid with her corpse all night, and next morning bathed it with my tears, and dressed it for the funeral. the caliph had her interred soon after in a magnificent tomb he had erected for her in her lifetime, in a place she had desired to be buried in. now, since you tell me, said she, the prince of persia's body is to be brought to bagdad, i will use my best endeavours that he shall be interred in the same tomb, which may be at least some satisfaction to two such faithful lovers. the jeweller was somewhat surprised at this resolution of the confident's, and said, certainly you do not consider that this enterprise is in a manner impossible, for the caliph will never suffer it. do not you be concerned at that, replied she; for you will undoubtedly be of another opinion after i have told you that the caliph has given liberty to all her slaves in general, with a considerable pension to each for their subsistence; and as to me in particular, has honoured me with the charge of my mistress's tomb, and allotted me an annual income for my maintenance. moreover, you must think that the caliph, who was not ignorant of the amour betweeen schemselnihar and the prince, as i have already told you, will not be a whit concerned if now, after her death, he be buried with her. to all this the jeweller had not a word to say, yet earnestly entreated the confident to conduct him to her mistress's tomb, that he might say his prayers over her. when he came in sight of it, he was not a little surprised to find a vast number of people of both sexes, who were come thither from all parts of bagdad. as he could not come near the tomb, he said his prayers at a distance; and then going to the confident, who waited hard by, he said to her, i am altogether of a contrary opinion to what i was just now; for now i am so far from thinking that what you proposed cannot be put in execution, that you and i need only tell abroad what we know of the amour of this unfortunate couple, and how the prince died much about the same time with his mistress, and is now bringing up to be buried; the people will bring the thing about, and not suffer that two such faithful lovers should be separated when dead, whom nothing could divide in affection whilst they lived. as he said, so it came to pass; for as soon as it came to be known that the corpse was within a day's journey of the city, the inhabitants almost of all sorts went forth, met it above twenty miles off, and marched before it, till it came to the city gate; where the confident, waiting for that purpose, presented herself before the prince's mother, and begged her, in the name of the whole city, that she would be pleased to consent that the bodies of the two lovers, who had but one heart whilst they lived, especially during their amour, might be buried in the same tomb now they were dead. the princess immediately consented; and the corpse of the prince, instead of being deposited in his own burying-place, was laid by schemselnihar's side, after it had been carried in procession at the head of an infinite number of people, of all conditions and degrees: nay, from that very time, all the inhabitants of bagdad, and even strangers, from such parts of the world as honoured the mahometan religion, have had a mighty veneration for that tomb, and paid their devotion at it as often as opportunity would give them leave. this, sir, said scheherazade, who now perceived the day begin to approach, is what i had to relate to your majesty concerning the amour of the fair schemselnihar, mistress to the caliph haroun alraschid, and the worthy ali ebn becar, prince of persia. when dinarzade observed that her sister the sultaness had done speaking, she thanked her in the most obliging manner for her entertainment in a history so exceedingly agreeable. if the sultan will be pleased to let me live till to-morrow, said scheherazade, i will also relate that of prince camaralzaman [footnote: this word, in arabic, signifies the moon of the time, or the moon of the age.], which you will find yet more agreeable. here she stopped; and the sultan, who could not yet resolve on her death, permitted her to go on next night in the following manner. the story of the amours of camaralzaman, prince of the isles of the children of khaledan; and of badoura, princess of china. about twenty days sail on the coast of persia, there are islands in the main ocean, called the islands of the children of khaledan; these islands are divided into four great provinces, which have all of them very flourishing and populous cities, and which make together a most potent kingdom. it is governed by a king named schahzaman [footnote: that is to say, in persic, king of the time, or king of the age.], who has four lawful wives, all daughters of kings, and sixty concubines. schahzaman thought himself the most happy monarch of the world, as well on account of his peaceful as prosperous reign. one thing only disturbed his happiness, which was, that he was pretty old, and had no children, though he had so many wives. he knew not what to attribute this barrenness to; and what increased his affliction was, that he was likely to leave his kingdom without a successor. he dissembled his discontent a long while; and, what was yet more uneasy to him, he was constrained to dissemble. at length, however, he broke silence; and one day, after he had complained bitterly of his misfortune to his grand vizier, he demanded of him if he knew any remedy for it. that wise minister replied, if what your majesty requires of me had depended on the ordinary methods of human wisdom, you had soon had an answer to your satisfaction; but, as my experience and knowledge are not sufficient to content you, i must advise you to have recourse to the divine power alone, who, in the midst of our prosperities, which often tempt us to forget him, is pleased so to limit our discernment, that we may apply only to his omniscience for what we have occasion to know. your majesty has subjects, proceeded he, who make a profession of loving and honouring god, and suffering great hardships for his sake; to them i would advise you to have recourse, and engage them by alms to join their prayers with yours; it may be, some among them may be so just and agreeable to god as to obtain what they pray for. king schahzaman approved of this advice very much, and thanked his vizier for it: he immediately caused rich alms to be given to every monastery in his dominions; and having sent for the superiors, declared to them his intention, and desired them to acquaint their monks with it. the king, in short, obtained of heaven what he requested; for in nine months time he had a son born of one of his wives. in return for this favour, he sent new alms to the religious houses; and the prince's birth-day was celebrated throughout his dominions for a week together. the prince was brought to him as soon as born; and he found him so beautiful, that he gave him the name of camaralzaman; that is, the moon of the age. he was educated with all the care imaginable; and when he came to be old enough, his father appointed him a governor and able preceptors. these distinguished persons found him capable of receiving all the instructions that were proper to be given him, as well in relation to morals, as to other knowledge a prince ought to have. when he came to be somewhat older, he learned all his exercises; of which he acquitted himself with so much grace and wonderful address, that he charmed all who saw him, and particularly the sultan his father. having attained the age of fifteen years, the sultan, who loved him tenderly, thought of resigning his throne to him, and acquainted his grand vizier with his intentions. i am afraid, said he, lest my son should lose those advantages in youth which nature and education have given him; therefore, since i am somewhat advanced in age, and fit for a retreat, i have had thoughts of resigning the government to him, and passing the remainder of my days in the satisfaction of seeing him reign. i have undergone the fatigue of a crown a long while, and think it is now proper for me to retire. the grand vizier would not offer all the reasons he could have brought to dissuade the sultan from such a proceeding; on the contrary, he agreed with him in some measure. sir, replied he, the prince is yet but young; and it would not, in my humble opinion, be wholly advisable to burden him with the weight of a crown so soon. your majesty fears, with a great deal of reason, that his youth may be corrupted; but then, to remedy that, does not your majesty likewise think it would be proper to marry him, marriage being what would keep him within bounds, and confine his inclinations? moreover, your majesty might then admit him of your council, where he would learn by degrees the art of reigning, and consequently be fit to receive your power, whenever you shall think proper to bestow it on him. schahzaman found this advice of his prime minister highly reasonable, and therefore summoned the prince to appear before him, dismissing the grand vizier at the same time. the prince, who had been accustomed to see his father only at certain times, was a little startled at this irregular summons; therefore, when he came before him, he saluted him with great respect, and afterwards stood still, with his eyes fixed on the ground. the sultan, perceiving his surprise, said to him in a mild way, do you know, son, for what reason i have sent for you hither? no, may it please your majesty, answered the prince, modestly: god alone knows how to penetrate hearts. i should be glad to know of your majesty for what reason? why, i sent for you, said the sultan, to let you know that i design to marry you: what do you think of it? prince camaralzaman heard this with great uneasiness; it quite surprised him; he was all in a sweat, and knew not what answer to make. after a few moments, however, he replied, sir, i beseech your majesty to pardon me, if i seem surprised at the declaration you have made. i did not expect any such proposal to one so young as i am; and besides, i know not whether i could ever prevail on myself to marry, not only on account of the trouble wives bring a man, and which i am very sensible of, though unmarried, but also by reason of their many impostures, wickednesses, and treacheries, which i have read of in authors. it may be, i may not be always of the same mind; yet i cannot but think i ought to have time to conclude on what your majesty requires of me. prince camaralzaman's answer extremely afflicted his father; he was not a little grieved to see what an aversion he had to marriage, yet would not call his obedience in question, nor make use of his paternal authority: he contented himself with telling him that he would not force his inclinations, and gave him time to consider of what he had proposed to him; yet wished him to remember, that, as a prince designed to govern a great kingdom, he ought to take some care to leave behind him a successor. schahzaman said no more to the prince: he admitted him into his council, and gave him all the reason to be satisfied that could be desired. about a year after, he took him aside, and said to him, well, son, have you thoroughly considered of what i proposed to you last year about marrying? will you still refuse me the satisfaction i desire, and let me die without seeing myself revive in your posterity? the prince seemed less astonished than before; he now briskly answered his father as follows: sir, i have not neglected to consider of what you proposed, and, upon the whole matter, i am resolved to continue in the state i am, without concerning myself with marriage, in short, sir, the many evils i have read that women have caused in the world, and the continual mischiefs i still hear and observe they do, have been the occasion of my resolution to have nothing to do with them; so that, sir, i hope your majesty will pardon me if i acquaint you, that it will be to no purpose to solicit me any further about that affair. this said, and making a low reverence, he went out briskly, without staying to hear what the sultan would answer. now, any monarch but schahzaman would have been in a violent passion at such deportment of a son; but he took little notice of it, resolving to use all gentle methods before he proceeded to force. he communicated this new cause of discontent to his prime minister. i have followed your advice, said he, but camaralzaman is further off than ever from complying with my desires. he delivered his resolution in such arrogant terms, that i had all the occasion in the world for my reason and moderation to keep me from being in a passion. fathers who desire favours of their children, which they nevertheless can command, have themselves alone to blame if they are disobeyed. but tell me, i beseech you, how i shall reclaim this hardy young prince, who proves so rebellious to my pleasure. sir, answered the grand vizier, patience brings many things about which before seemed impracticable; but it may be that this affair is of a nature not likely to succeed in that way. however, in my judgment, your majesty would do well to give the prince another year to consider of the matter; and if, when this is expired, he still continues averse to your proposal, then your majesty may propose it to him in full council, as a thing that is highly necessary for the common good; it is not likely that he will refuse to comply with it before so grave an assembly, and on so necessary an account, whatever he has done before. the sultan, who passionately desired to see his son married, thought this long delay an age; however, though with much difficulty, he at length yielded to his grand vizier's reasons, which he could no way disapprove. after the grand vizier was gone, sultan schahzaman went to the apartment of the mother of prince camaralzaman, to whom he had often discovered what an ardent desire he had to marry the prince. when he had told her, with tears in his eyes, how his son had refused to comply a second time, and that nevertheless, through the advice of his grand vizer, he was induced to wait yet a longer time for his compliance, he said, madam, i know he will hearken more to you than me, therefore i desire you would take your time to speak to him seriously of the matter, and to let him know that, if he persists much longer in his obstinacy, he will oblige me to have recourse to extremities that may not be pleasing to him, and which may give him cause to repent of having disobeyed me. fatima, for so was the lady called, acquainted the prince, the first time she saw him, that she had been informed of his second refusal to be married, and how much chagrin he had occasioned his father on that account. madam, said the prince, i beseech you not to renew my grief upon that head; for, if you do, i have reason to fear, in the disquiet i am under, that something may escape me which may not altogether correspond with the respect i owe you. fatima knew, by this answer, that it was not then a proper time to speak to him; therefore deferred what she had to say till another opportunity. some considerable time after, fatima thought she had met with a more favourable occasion, which gave her hopes of being heard upon the subject; she therefore accosted him with all the eagerness imaginable: son, said she, i beg of you, if it be not very irksome to you, to tell me what reason you have for your so great aversion to marriage? if you have no other than the badness and wickedness of some women, there can be nothing less reasonable, or more weak. i will not undertake the defence of those who are bad, there are a great number of them undoubtedly; but it would be the greatest injustice imaginable to condemn all the sex for their sakes. alas, son! you have met with a great many bad women in your books, who have occasioned great disorders, and i will not excuse them; but you do not consider how many monarchs, sultans, and other princes, there have been in the world, whose tyrannies, barbarities, and cruelties, astonished those who read of them, and which i have myself. now, for one woman who is thus wicked, you will meet with a thousand of these tyrants and barbarians; and what torment, do you think, must a good woman undergo, for such there are, who is united to one of these wretches? madam, replied camaralzaman, i doubt not but there is a great number of wise, virtuous, good, affable, and generous women, in the world; and would to god they all resembled you! but what pierces me, is the doubtful choice a man is obliged to make; and oftentimes one has not even that liberty. let us suppose, then, madam, continued he, that i had a mind to marry, as the sultan my father so earnestly desires i should; what wife, think you, would he be likely to provide for me? probably a princess, whom he would demand of some neighbouring prince, and who would think it an honour done him to send her to him. fair or ugly, good or ill-humoured, she must be accepted; nay, suppose no other princess excelled her in beauty, yet who can be certain that her temper would be of equal goodness; that she would be affable, complaisant, entertaining, obliging, and the like; that her discourse would generally run on solid matters, and not on trifles, such as dress, adjustments, ornaments, and the like fooleries, which would disgust any man of sense? in a word, that she would not be haughty, proud, arrogant, impertinent, scornful, and waste a man's estate in frivolous expences, such as gaudy clothes, unnecessary jewels, toys, and the like long train of magnificent follies. thus you see, madam, continued he, how many reasons a man may have to be disgusted at marriage. well, but to go further: let this princess be ever so perfect, accomplished, and irreproachable, i have yet a great many more reasons not to desist from my sentiment, or depart from my resolution. what, son, replied fatima; have you then more reasons than those you have already advanced? i do not doubt but that i shall find wherewithal to answer them, and stop your mouth with a word. very well, madam, replied the prince; and perhaps i may find wherewithal to reply to your answer. i mean, son, said fatima, that it is easy for a prince, who has had the misfortune to marry such a wife as you describe, to get rid of her, and take such care that she may not prejudice his estate. ah, but, madam, replied the prince, you do not consider what a mortification it would be to a person of so great quality to be obliged to come to an extremity of that nature. would it not have been better, think you, and much more for his honour and quiet, that he had never run such a risk? but, son, said fatima once more, after the manner you understand things, i apprehend you have a mind to be the last king of your race, who have nevertheless reigned so long and gloriously in the isles of the children of khaledan. madam, replied the prince, for my part i do not desire to survive the king my father; and if i should die before him, it would be no great matter of wonder, since so many children have died before their parents. but as for my leaving no successor, i am of opinion it is much better to be the last of one's race, than father to a bad prince, or husband to a bad wife. from that time fatima had frequent conferences with her son the prince on the same subject, and omitted no opportunity or argument to endeavour rooting out his aversion to the fair sex; but he eluded all her reasonings by such as she could not well answer, and continued in the same mind. the year expired, and, to the great regret of the sultan, prince camaralzaman gave not the least proof of having changed his sentiments; so that one day, when there was a great council held, the prime vizier and other viziers, the principal officers of the crown, and the generals of the army, being present, the sultan spoke thus to the prince: son, it is now a long while since i have earnestly desired to see you married; and i imagined you would have had more complaisance for a father, who required nothing unreasonable of you, than to oppose him so long. but, after so great resistance on your part, which has almost worn out my patience, i have thought fit to propose the same thing once more to you in presence of my council. now i would have you to consider, that the favour i desire is not only to oblige me, but to comply with the earnest request of the estates of my dominions, who, for the common good of us all, in conjunction with me, require it of you. declare then, before these lords present, whether you will marry or not; that, according to your answer, i may proceed, and take those measures which i ought. the prince answered with so little temper, or rather with so much heat, that the sultan, enraged to see himself affronted in full council, cried out, how, unnatural son! have you the insolence to talk thus to your father and sultan? ho! guards, take him away! at these words he was seized by the eunuchs, and carried to an old tower that had been uninhabited a long while; where he was shut up, with only a bed, a few moveables, some books, and one slave only to attend him. camaralzaman, thus deprived of liberty, was nevertheless pleased that he had the freedom to converse with books, which made him look on his confinement with some indifference. in the evening he bathed, and said his prayers; and, after having read some chapters in the alcoran with the same tranquillity of mind as if he had been in the sultan's palace, undressed himself, and went to bed, leaving his lamp burning by him all the while he slept. in this tower was a well, which served for a retreat to a certain fairy named maimoune, daughter of damriel, king or head of a legion of genii. it was about midnight when this maimoune came forth silently, to wander about the world after her wonted custom. she was surprised to see a light in prince camaralzaman's chamber. she entered it; and, without stopping at the slave who lay at the door, approached the bed, whose magnificence, though very great, she did not so much wonder at, as that there should be a man in it. prince camaralzaman had but half covered his face with the bed-clothes, by which maimoune could perceive that he was the finest young man she had seen in all her rambles through the world. what beauty, or rather what prodigy of beauty, said she within herself, will this youth appear, when his so well formed eye-lids shall be open? what crime can he have committed, to deserve this rigorous treatment? she could not forbear admiring the prince, till at length, having kissed him gently on both cheeks, and in the middle of the forehead, without waking him, she laid the bed-clothes in the order they were in before, and took her flight into the air. as she mounted to the middle region, she heard a great clapping of wings, which induced her to fly towards that side; and, when she approached, she saw the genius that made the noise, but he was one of those who are rebellious to god. as for maimoune, she belonged to that class whom the great solomon forced to conform. this genius, whose name was danhasch, the son of schamhourasch, knew maimoune; but did not dare to take notice of her, being sensible how much power she had over him, by her submission to the almighty. he would have avoided her, but she was so near him, that he must either fight or yield. brave maimoune, said danhasch, in the tone of a supplicant, swear to me, in the name of the great power, that you will not hurt me; and i swear also, on my part, not to do you any harm? cursed genius! replied maimoune, what hurt canst thou do me? i fear thee not; but as thou hast desired this favour of me, i swear not to do thee any harm. tell me, then, wandering spirit, whence thou comest, what thou hast seen, and what mischief thou hast done this night? fair lady, answered danhasch, you meet me in a good time to hear something that is very wonderful. the history of the princess of china. i am come from the utmost limits of china, which look on the last islands of this hemisphere. but, charming maimoune, said danhasch, who trembled at the sight of this fairy, insomuch that he could hardly speak, promise me at least that you will forgive me, and let me go on in my way, after i have satisfied your demands. go on, go on, cursed spirit! replied maimoune, go on, and fear nothing. dost thou think i am as perfidious an elf as thyself, and that i am capable of breaking the serious oath i have made? no, you may depend on my promise: but be sure you tell nothing but what is true, or i shall clip your wings, and treat you as you deserve. danhasch, a little heartened at the words of maimoune, said, my dear lady, i will tell you nothing but what is true, if you will have but the goodness to hear me. you must know, then, the country of china, from whence i come, is one of the largest and most powerful kingdoms of the earth, on which depend the utmost islands of this hemisphere, as i have already said. the king of this country is at present gaiour, who has a daughter the finest woman that ever the sun saw. neither you nor i, nor your class nor mine, nor all mankind together, have expressions lively enough to give a sufficient description of this bright lady. her hair is brown, and of so great a length, that it reaches far below her feet. her forehead is as smooth as the best polished mirror, and of admirable symmetry. her eyes are black, sparkling, and full of fire. her nose is neither too long nor too short, her mouth is small, and her lips are like vermilion. her teeth are like two rows of pearls, and surpass every thing in whiteness. when she moves her tongue, she forms a sweet and most agreeable voice, and expresses herself in such proper terms as sufficiently indicate the vavacity of her wit. the whitest marble or alabaster is not fairer than her neck. in a word, by this perfect sketch, you may guess there is no beauty like her in the world. any one that did not know the king, father of this incomparable princess, would be apt to imagine, from the great respect and kindness he shows her, that he was in love with his daughter. never did a lover do more for a mistress the most endearing, than he has been seen to do for her. in a word, jealousy never was more watchful over one than he is over her; and that her retreat, on which he has resolved, may not seem irksome, he has built seven palaces for her, the most magnificent and uncommon that ever were known. the first palace is of rock crystal, the second of brass, the third of fine steel, the fourth of another sort of brass more valuable than the foregoing, the fifth of touchstone, the sixth of silver, and the seventh of massy gold. he has furnished these palaces most sumptuously, and after a most unheard-of manner, with materials not unlike those they are built of. he has filled the gardens with parterres of glass and flowers, intermixed with all manner of water-works, such as jets-d'eau, canals, cascades, and the like; the eye is lost in prospect of large groves and trees where the sun never enters. king gaiour, in short, has made it appear that his paternal love exceeds that of any other kind whatever. now, on the fame of the beauty of this incomparable princess, the most powerful neighbouring kings sent embassadors to request her in marriage. the king of china received them all in the most obliging manner; but as he resolved not to marry his daughter without her consent, so as she did not like any of them, they returned after receiving great honours and civilities. sir, said the princess to the king her father, you have a mind to marry me, and think to oblige me by it; but where shall i find such stately palaces and delicious gardens as i have with your majesty? under your good pleasure i am unconstrained in all things, and receive the same honours that are paid to your own person. these are advantages i cannot expect to find any where else; men ever love to be masters; and i do not care to be commanded by a husband. after divers embassies on the same occasion, there came one from a more rich and potent king than any that had been hitherto sent. the king of china recommended this prince to his daughter, as a husband both advantageous and proper for her: yet she refused him for the same reasons as before, and begged her father to dispense with her on that account. he pressed her to hearken to him; but, instead of complying, she lost all respect and duty that was due to him. sir, said she, in a great rage, trouble me no more with any talk of marriage, unless you would have me bury this poniard in my bosom, to rid myself from your importunities! the king, being much enraged at this, said in a great passion, daughter, you are mad, and i must use you as such. in a word, he shut her up in a certain apartment of one of the seven palaces, allowing only ten old women to wait upon her, to keep her company, the chief of whom had been her nurse. and that the kings his neighbours, who had sent embassies to him on this account, might not think any more of her, he despatched envoys to them severally, to let them know how averse his daughter was to marriage; and as he did not doubt but she was really mad, he charged them to make it known in every court, that if there were any physician who would undertake to come and cure her, he should, if he succeeded, have her for his pains. fair maimoune, said danhasch, all is true that i have told you; and i, for my part, have not failed to go every day regularly to contemplate this incomparable beauty, whom i would be very far from doing any harm to, notwithstanding my natural propensity to mischief. i would have you go to see her, continued he; i will assure you it would be worth your while, and doubt not but you will think yourself obliged to me for the sight, when you find i am no liar: i am ready to wait on you as a guide, and you may command me as soon as you please. instead of answering danhasch, maimoune burst into a violent laughter, which lasted some time; and danhasch, not knowing what might be the occasion of it, was not a little astonished. when maimoune ceased laughing, she cried, good, good, very good; you would have me then believe all that you have told me: i thought you designed to entertain me with something surprising and extraordinary, and you have been talking all this while like a driveller! ah! fie, fie! what would you say, if you had seen the fine prince whom i am just come from, and whom i love with a passion equal to his desert? i am confident you will soon give up the bell, and not pretend to compare your choice with mine. agreeable maimoune, replied danhasch, may i presume to ask you what this prince is called? know, answered maimoune, an accident has happened to him much like that of your princess. the king his father would have married him against his will; but, after many importunities, he frankly told the old gentleman he would have nothing to do with a wife. this occasioned him to be put in a prison in an old tower, which i make my residence, and from whence i came but just now from admiring him. i will not absolutely contradict you, my pretty lady, replied danhasch; but you must give me leave to be of opinion, till i have seen the prince, that no mortal upon earth can equal the beauty of my princess. hold thy tongue, cursed spirit! replied maimoune: i tell thee, once more, that can never be. i will not contend with you, said danhasch; but the way to be convinced, is to accept of the proffer i make you to go and see my princess, and after that i will go with you to your prince. there is no need of taking so much pains, replied maimoune; there is another way to satisfy us both; and that is, for you to bring your princess, and place her at my prince's bed-side: by this means it will be easy for us to compare them together, and to see which is the most handsome. danhasch consented to what maimoune had proposed, and was resolved to set out immediately for china upon that errand: but maimoune, drawing him aside, told him, she must first show him the place whither he was to bring the princess. they flew together to the tower; and when maimoune had shown him the place, she cried, go now, fetch your princess: do it quickly, and you shall find me here. danhasch left maimoune, and flew towards china, whence he soon returned with incredible speed, bringing the fair princess along with him asleep. maimoune introduced him into the chamber of prince camaralzaman, and they placed the princess by the prince's side. when the prince and princess were thus laid together, all the while asleep, there rose a great contest between the genius and the fairy about the preference of beauty. they were some time admiring and comparing them; but at length danhasch broke silence, and said to maimoune, you see, and i have already told you, my princess was handsomer than your prince; now, i hope, you are convinced of it. how! convinced of it! replied maimoune; i am not convinced of it: and you must be blind, if you cannot see that my prince has the better of the comparison. the princess is fair, i do not deny it; but if you compare them together without prejudice, you will quickly see the difference. though i should compare them ever so often, said danhasch, i could never change my opinion. i saw what i now see at first sight, and time will not be able to make me see more; however, this shall not hinder my yielding to you, charming maimoune, if you desire it; but i would have you yield to me as a favour! i scorn it, said maimoune; and i would not receive a favour at such a wicked genius' hands: i refer the matter to an arbitrator; and if you will not consent, i shall get the better by your refusal. danhasch, who had ever a great deal of complaisance for maimoune, immediately consented, which he had no sooner done, but maimoune stamping with her foot, the earth opened, and out came a hideous, hump-backed, blind, and lame genius, with six horns on his head, and claws on his hands and feet. as soon as he was come out, and the earth had closed up, he, perceiving maimoune, cast himself at her feet, and then, rising upon one knee, asked what she would please to have with him. rise, cascheasch, said maimoune; i caused you to come hither to determine a difference between me and that cursed danhasch there. look on that bed, and tell me, without partiality, which is the handsomest of those two who lie there asleep, the young man or the young lady. cascheasch looked on the prince and princess with great attention, admiration, and surprise; and after he had considered them a good while, without being able to determine which was the handsomest, he turned to maimoune, and said, madam, i must needs confess i should deceive you, and betray myself, if i pretended to say one was a whit handsomer than the other: the more i examine them, the more it seems to me each possesses, in a sovereign degree, the beauty which is betwixt them; and if one has not the least defect, how can the other have any advantage? but if either has any thing amiss, it will be better discovered when they are awake, than now they are asleep. let them then be awaked one after another; and that person who shall express most love for the other by ardour, eagerness, and passion, shall be deemed to have least beauty. this proposal of cascheasch's pleased equally both maimoune and danhasch. maimoune then changed herself into a flea, and leaped on the prince's neck, where she stung him so smartly, that he awoke, and put up his hand to the place; but maimoune skipped away as soon as she had done, and resumed her pristine form; which, like those of the two genii, was invisible, the better to observe what he would do. in drawing back his hand, the prince chanced to let it fall on that of the princess of china. he opened his eyes, and was exceedingly surprised to find a lady lying by him; nay, a lady of the greatest beauty. he raised his head, and leaned on his elbow, the better to consider her. her blooming youth, and incomparable beauty, fired him in a moment; of which flame he had never yet been sensible, and from which he had even hitherto guarded himself with the greatest application. love seized on his heart in the most lively manner, insomuch that he could not help crying out, what beauty is this! what charms! o my heart! o my soul! in saying which, he kissed her forehead, both her cheeks, and her mouth, with so little caution, that she had certainly been awaked by it, had not she slept sounder than usual through the enchantment of danhasch. how, my pretty lady! said the prince, do you not awake at these testimonies of love given you by prince camaralzaman? whosoever you are, i would have you to know he is not unworthy of your affection. he was going to awake her at that instant, but refrained himself all of a sudden. is not this she, said he, whom the sultan my father would have had me marry? he was in the wrong not to let me see her sooner. had he done so, i should not have offended him by my disobedience, nor would he have had occasion to use me as he has done. the prince began to repent sincerely of the fault he had committed, and was once more upon the point of awaking the princess of china. it may be, said he within himself, the sultan my father has a mind to surprise me, and has sent this young lady to try if i had really that aversion to marriage which i pretended. who knows but, having thus laid her in my way, he is hid behind the hangings, to take an opportunity to appear, and make me ashamed of my dissimulation? this second crime would be yet much greater than the first. upon the whole matter, i will content myself with this ring, which will at any time create in me a remembrance of this dear lady. he then gently drew off a fine ring the princess had on her finger, and immediately put on one of his own in its place. after this he turned his back, and was not long before he fell into a profounder sleep than before, through the enchantment of the genii. as soon as prince camaralzaman was sound asleep, danhasch transformed himself into a flea likewise in his turn, and went and bit the princess so rudely on the lower lip, that she forthwith awoke, started, clapped herself upon her breech, and opening her eyes, was not a little surprised to see a man lying by her. from surprise she proceeded to admiration, and from admiration to real joy, which she conceived at finding him so beautiful and young. what! cried she, is it you the king my father has designed me for a husband? i am, indeed, most unfortunate at not knowing it before, for then i should not have put my lord and father in a rage, nor been so long deprived of a husband, whom i cannot forbear loving with all my heart. wake, then, wake, my dear love, proceeded she; for it does not sure become a man that is married, to sleep so soundly the first night of his nuptials. so saying, she took prince camaralzaman by the arm, and shook him so violently, as had been enough to have awaked the profoundest sleeper, had not maimoune at that instant increased his sleep, and augmented his enchantment. she renewed this shaking several times, and finding it did not awake him, she cried out, what is come to thee, my dear! what jealous rival, envying thy happiness and mine, has had recourse to magic, to throw thee into this profound and insurmountable drowsiness; from whence i think thou wilt never recover? then she snatched his hand, and kissing it eagerly, perceived he had a ring upon his finger which greatly resembled her's, and which she found to be her own. as soon as she saw that she had another on her finger instead of it, she could not comprehend how this exchange could be made; but yet she did not doubt but it was a certain token of their marriage. at length, being tired with her fruitless endeavours to awake the prince, yet well assured that he could not escape her when he awoke, she said, since i find it is not in my power to awake thee, i will not trouble myself any further about it, but bid thee good night, and then compose myself to rest. at these words, after having given him a hearty kiss on the cheeks and lips, she turned her back, and went again to sleep. when maimoune saw that she could speak without fear of awaking the princess, she cried to danhasch, ah, cursed genius! dost thou not now see what thy contest is come to? art thou not now convinced how much thy princess is inferior to my prince in charms? at this she turned to cascheasch; and having thanked him for his trouble, bid him, in conjunction with danhasch, take the princess, and convey her back again to her bed, from whence he had taken her. danhasch and cascheasch did as they were commanded, and maimoune retired to her well. prince caraaralzaman, waking next morning, looked to see if the lady was by him whom he had seen the night before. when he found she was gone, he cried out, i thought indeed that this was a trick the king my father designed to play me! i am much obliged to him for the favour, yet have fairly escaped his trap. then he awaked the slave, and bid him come and dress him, who accordingly brought him a basin of water; and washing himself, and saying his prayers, he took a book, and began to read. after those ordinary exercises, he called the slave, and said to him, come hither, and be careful that you do not tell me a lie. how came the lady hither who lay with me tonight, and who brought her? my lord, answered the slave with great astonishment, i know not what lady your highness speaks of. i speak, said the prince, of her who came hither, and lay with me tonight, or rather who was brought for that purpose. my lord, replied the slave, i know of no such lady; and if there was any such, how should she come in without my knowledge, since i lay at the door? are you in the contrivance, then, villain? replied the prince, slave, you lie! for there was a lady here. in saying these words, he gave him a box on the ear, pushed him along upon the ground, and then stamped upon him for some time; till at length, taking the well-rope, and tying it under his arms, he plunged him several times into the water. i will drown thee, wretch! cried he, if thou dost not speedily tell me who the lady was, and who introduced her'! the slave, half dead, said within himself, doubtless, my lord the prince must have lost his senses through grief, and i shall not know how to escape being murdered, if i do not tell him a lie. my lord, then cried he, in an humble and supplicant tone, i beseech your highness to spare my life, and i will tell you how the matter is. then the prince drew the slave up, and pressed him to begin. as soon as he was out of the well, my lord, said he, trembling, your highness may perceive it is not proper for me to relate any thing to you in this condition: i beg you to give me leave to go and change my clothes, and i will satisfy you all i am able. do it, then, quickly, said the prince; and be sure you conceal nothing; for if you do, you must expect the worst of usage. the slave, being at liberty, went out; and having locked the door upon the prince, ran to the palace in the pickle he was in. the king was at that time in discourse with his prime vizier, to whom he had just related the agonies he had undergone that night on account of his son's disobedience. the wise minister endeavoured to comfort his master, by telling him that he did not doubt but the prince would soon be reduced to obedience. sir, said he, your majesty need not repent of having used your son after this rate; i dare promise it will contribute towards reclaiming him. have but patience to let him continue a while in prison, and no doubt the heat of youth will abate, and he will submit entirely to your pleasure. the grand vizier had just made an end of speaking when the slave came in, and cast himself at king schahzaman's feet. my lord, said he, i am very sorry to be the messenger of ill news to your majesty, which i know must create your fresh affliction. my lord the prince is distracted; he fancies a fine lady has lain with him all night, and has used me thus ill for questioning it. then he proceeded to tell all the particulars of what prince camaralzaman had said to him. the king, who did not expect to hear any thing of this kind, said to the prime minister. now you see how much you are mistaken in the remedy of a prison! this is very different from what hopes you give me just now. run immediately, and see what is the matter, and come and give me a speedy account. the grand vizier obeyed; and going into the prince's chamber, found him sitting on his bed in good temper, and with a book in his hand, which he was reading. after mutual salutations, the vizier sat down by him, and said, my lord, i would willingly have a slave of yours punished, who has come to fright the king your father with news that has put him under great disturbance. what news is that, replied the prince, which could give my father so great uneasiness? i have much greater cause to complain of that slave. my lord, answered the vizier, god forbid that the news should be true which he has told your father concerning you, and which indeed myself find to be false, by the good temper i observe you in, and which i pray god to continue! it may be, replied the prince, he did not make himself well understood; but since you are come, who ought to know something of the matter, give me leave to ask you who that lady was that lay with me last night? the grand vizier was almost struck dumb at this demand; however, he recovered himself, and said, my lord, be not surprised at the confusion i was under upon your question. is it possible, think you, my lord, that any lady, or any other person in the world, should penetrate by night into this place without entering at the door, and walking over the belly of your slave? i beseech you, my lord, recollect yourself, and you will find this only a dream which has made this impression on you. i give no ear to what you say, said the prince, in an angry and high tone; i must know of you absolutely what is become of the lady; and if you scruple to obey me, i am in a place where i shall soon be able to force you to tell me. at these stern words the grand vizier began to be under greater confusion than before, and was thinking how he could in the best manner get away. he endeavoured to pacify the prince by good words; and begged of him, in the most humble manner, to tell him if he had seen this lady. yes, yes, answered the prince; i have seen her, and am very well satisfied that you sent her to tempt me. she played the part you had given her admirably well, for i could not get a word from her: she pretended to be asleep; but i was no sooner got into a slumber, than she rose and left me. you know all this, as well as myself; for i do not doubt but that she has gone to make her report of her dexterity. my lord, replied the vizier, i swear to your highness, that nothing of this has been acted which you seem to reproach me with! and i vow, by the head of our great prophet, that neither your father nor myself have sent the lady you speak of, if i may believe my royal master's protestations; and sure i am, i can answer for myself. i am confident that neither of us had ever any such thought: permit me, therefore, to certify your highness once more that this must needs have been a dream. how! do you come thus to affront and contradict me, said the prince in a great rage, and to tell me to my face that what i have told you is a dream. you are an unbelieving varlet! cried he; and at the same time took him by the beard, and loaded him with so many blows, that he was hardly able to stand under them. the poor grand vizier endured patiently all the brunt of his lord's indignation, and could not help saying within himself, now am i even in as bad a condition as the slave, and shall think myself happy if i can, like him, escape from any further danger. in the midst of the blows that were given him, he cried out but for a moment's audience; which the prince, after he had nearly tired himself with beating him, consented to give. i own, my lord, said the grand vizier, dissembling, that there is something in what your highness suspects; but you cannot be ignorant under what necessity a minister is to obey his royal master's orders; yet if your highness will but be pleased to set me at liberty, will go and tell him any thing on your part that you shall think fit to command. go, then, said the prince, and tell him from me, that, if he pleases, i will marry the lady he sent me, or rather that was brought me, last night. do this quickly, and bring me a speedy answer. the grand vizier made a profound reverence, and went away, not thinking himself altogether safe till he had got out of the tower, and shut the door upon the prince. he came and presented himself before the sultan schahzaman, with a countenance that sufficiently showed he had been ill used. well, said the king, in what condition did you find my son? sir, answered the vizier, what the slave reported to your majesty is but too true. he then related the interview he had had with camaralzaman; how he was in a passion upon his endeavouring to persuade him it was impossible that any lady should get in to him; how he had used him very scurvily, and by what means he made his escape. schahzaman was the more concerned, because he loved the prince with an exceeding tenderness, and resolved to find out the truth of this matter; he therefore proposed to go and see his son in the tower himself, accompanied by the grand vizier. prince camaralzaman received the king his father in the tower with great respect. the king sat down, and made the prince his son seat himself by him, putting several questions to him, which he answered with a great deal of good sense. as they were talking, the king every now and then cast his eyes on the grand vizier, thereby intimating to him, that he did not find his son had lost his senses, but rather thought he had lost his. the king at length spoke of the lady to his son. son, said he, i desire you to tell me what lady that was who lay with you last night, as i have been told? sir, answered camaralzaman, i beg your majesty not to give me any more disturbance on that head, but rather to oblige me so far as to let me have her in marriage: whatever aversion i may formerly have discovered for women, this young lady has charmed me to that degree, that i cannot help betraying my weakness. i am ready to receive her at your majesty's hands, with all the acknowledgments imaginable. king schahzaman was surprised at this answer of the prince's, so remote, as he thought, from the good sense he had found in him before; he therefore said to him, son, you put me under the greatest consternation imaginable, by what you now say to me: i swear to you, by my crown, which is to devolve upon you after me, that i know not one word of what you mention about the lady; and if there has any such come to you, it was altogether without my knowledge or privity. but how could she get into this tower without my consent? for whatever my grand vizier told you, it was only to appease you that he said it: it must therefore be nothing but a dream; and i beg of you not to believe any thing to the contrary. sir, replied the prince, i should be for ever unworthy of the good-will of your majesty, if i did not give entire credit to what you are pleased to say; but i humbly beseech you, at the same time, give ear to what i shall say to you, and then to judge whether what i have the honour to tell you be a dream or not. then prince camaralzaman related to the king his father after what manner he had been awaked, exaggerating the beauty and charms of the lady he found by his side, the love he had for her at first sight, and the pains he took to awake her with- out effect. he did not conceal what had obliged him to awake, arid fall asleep again, after he made the exchange of his ring with that of the lady. showing the king the ring, he added, sir, your majesty must needs know my ring very well, and you see i have it not on my finger, but another of a woman's in- stead of it. from this proof, therefore, i hope you will be pleased to be convinced that i have not lost my senses, as you have been almost made to believe. king schahzaman was so perfectly convinced of the truth of what his son had been telling him, that he had not a word to say, remaining astonished for some time, and not being able to utter a syllable. the prince took advantage of this opportunity, and said further, may it please your majesty, the passion i have conceived for this charming lady, whose precious image i bear continually on my mind, is so strong, that i cannot live unless your majesty procures me the happiness of enjoying her; which i know you can well do, as not being ignorant who she is. son, replied the king, after what i have just heard, and what i see by the ring on your finger, i cannot doubt but your passion is real for this lady; and would to god i knew who she was, i would make you happy from this moment. but what means have i to come at the knowledge of her? where shall i find her, and how seek for her? how could she get in here, and by what conveyance, without my consent? why did she come to sleep only, inflame you with her beauty, and then leave you while you was in a slumber? these things, i must confess, are past my finding out; and if heaven is not so favourable as to give some light into them, we, i fear, must both go down to the grave together. come, then, my son, continued he, let us go and afflict ourselves in conjunction; you for the hopes you have lost, and i for seeing you grieve, and not being in a capacity to remedy your affliction. king schahzaman then led his son out of the tower, and conveyed him to the palace; where he was no sooner arrived, than he fell sick, and took to his bed; which made the king shut himself up with him, and grieve so bitterly, that he was not in a condition to take any cognizance of the affairs of his kingdom. the prime minister, who was the only person that had admittance, came one day and told him the whole court, and even the people, began to murmur at their not seeing him, and that he did not administer justice every day as he was wont to do before this accident happened, on which account he knew not what disorders it might occasion. i humbly beg your majesty, therefore, proceeded he, to take some notice of what i now represent to you. i am sensible your majesty's company is a great comfort to the prince in his condition, and that his is no less assuaging to your grief; but then you must not run the risk of letting all be lost. i should think it were proper to be proposed to your majesty, that you would be pleased to suffer yourself to be transported to a castle which you have in a little island opposite the port, where you may give audience to your subjects twice a week; and where, during that function, the prince will be so agreeably amused with the beauty, prospect, and good air of the place, that he will be likely to bear your absence with the less concern. king schahzaman approved of this proposal; and when the castle, where he had not resided for some time, had been new furnished; he caused himself to be transported thither with the prince; where, excepting the times that he gave audience as aforesaid, he passed all his hours on his son's pillow; sometimes endeavouring to comfort him, but oftener afflicting himself with him. whilst matters passed thus in the capital of king schahzaman, the two genii, danhasch and cascheasch, had carried the princess of china back to the palace, where the king her father had shut her up, and laid her in her bed as before. when she awaked next morning, and found, by looking to the right and to the left, that prince camaralzaman was not by her, she cried out with such a voice to her old women, as soon made them come to know what she wanted. her nurse, who presented herself first, desired to be informed what her highness would be pleased to have, and what had happened to hot that occasioned her to call out so earnestly. tell me, said the princess, what is become of the young man that has lain with me to-night, and whom i love with all my soul? madam, replied the nurse, we know of no such person, and cannot pretend to understand your highness, unless you will be pleased to explain yourself. how do you mean explain myself! quoth the princess. why, i had a lovely and most amiable young man that slept with me last night; whom, though i caressed ever so much, i could not awake: i only ask you where he is? madam, answered the nurse, is it to jest and impose upon us that your highness asks these questions? i beseech your highness to be pleased to rise, and you shall be satisfied in all things that we are capable of satisfying you in. i am in earnest, then, said the princess; and i must know where this young man is. madam, insisted the nurse, you were alone when you went to bed last night; and how any man could come to you without our knowledge, i cannot imagine; for we all lay about the door of your chamber, which was locked, and i had the key in my pocket. at this the princess lost all patience; and, catching the nurse by the hair, and giving her two or three sound cuffs, cried, tell me where this young man is, you old sorceress, or i will beat out your brains. the nurse struggled all she could to get from her, and at last succeeded; when she went immediately, with tears in her eyes, and her face all bloody, to complain to the queen her mother, who was not a little surprised to see the old woman in such a condition. madam, began the nurse, you see what a condition the princess has put me in! she would certainly have murdered me, if i had not escaped out of her hands. but for what, good nurse? replied the queen: what occasion did you give my daughter for using you so ill? i gave none, madam, answered the nurse; and so began to tell the cause of all that passion and rage in the princess. the queen was mightily surprised to hear it, and could not guess how she came to be so infatuated as to take for a reality what could be no other than a dream. your majesty must conclude from all this, madam, continued the nurse, that my mistress the princess is out of her senses. i would beseech your majesty, therefore, to go and see her, and you will find what i say to be but too true. the great love the queen bore the princess readily made her comply with the nurse's proposal; so they went together immediately to the princess's palace. the queen of china sat down by her daughter's bed-side upon her arrival in her apartment, and, after informing herself about her health, began to ask what had made her so angry with her nurse as to treat her after the manner she had done, which great princesses had never condescended or attempted to do before. madam, replied the princess, i plainly perceive your majesty is come to mock me; but i declare i will never let you rest till you consent i shall marry the young man that lay with me last night. you must needs know where he is, and therefore i beg your majesty would let him come to me again. daughter, answered the queen, you surprise me; i know nothing of what you talk. then the princess lost all manner of respect for the queen, and replied, in a great passion, the king my father and you have all along persecuted me about marrying when i had no mind to it, and, now i have a mind, you would fain oppose me; but i must tell you, madam, i will have this young man i speak of for my husband, or i will kill myself! here the queen endeavoured to calm the princess by soft words. daughter, said she, you know well you was alone in this apartment; how then could any man come to you? this must be mere fancy or a dream; for--here the princess interrupted her, and was so far from hearkening to what she said, that she flew out into such extravagances as obliged the queen to leave her, and retire, in great affliction, to inform her lord in what condition their daughter was. the king, hearing it, had a mind likewise to be satisfied in person; and, therefore, coming to his daughter's apartment, demanded of her to say if what he had just heard was true. sir, replied the princess, let us talk no more of that; i only beseech your majesty to grant me the favour that i may marry the young cavalier i lay with last night. what! said the king, has any one lain with you last night? how, sir! replied the princess, without giving the king leave to go on; do you ask me if any one lay with me last night? your majesty knows that but too well. he was the finest and best made cavalier the sun ever saw: i desire him of you for my husband by all means, sir; and i beg you will not refuse me. but that your majesty may no longer doubt whether i have seen this cavalier, whether he has lain with me, whether i have caressed him, or whether i did my utmost to awake him without succeeding, see, if you please, this ring! she then reached forth her hand, and showed the king a man's ring upon her finger. the king did not know what to make of all this; but, as he had confined her as mad, so now he began to think her more so than ever. therefore, without saying any thing more, for fear she might do violence to herself or somebody else, had her chained, and shut up more closely than ever, allowing her only the nurse to wait on her, with a good guard at the door. the king, being exceedingly concerned at the indisposition of his daughter, sought all possible means to get her cured. he assembled his council, and, after having acquainted them with her condition, he proffered any one of them that would undertake her cure the succession to his kingdom after his death, if successful.. the desire of enjoying a young and beautiful princess, and the hope of governing one day so powerful a kingdom as that of china, had a strange effect on an old emir, already advanced in age, who was then present in council. as he was well skilled in magic, he offered the king to cure his daughter, and flattered himself with success. very well, said the king; but i forgot to tell you one thing; and that is, that if you do not succeed, you shall lose your head. it would not be reasonable that you should have so great a reward, and yet run no risk on your part. and what i say to you, continued the king, i say to all others that shall come after you, to let them consider be- forehand what they undertake. the emir, however, accepted the condition, and the king led him to the princess. she covered her face as soon as she saw them come in, and cried out, your majesty surprises me, in bringing a man along with you whom i do not know, and by whom my religion forbids me to allow myself to be seen. daughter, replied the king, you need not be scandalized; it is only one of my emirs that is come to demand you of me in marriage. it is not, i perceive, he that you have already given me, re- plied the princess; and your majesty may rest assured that i will never marry any other. now the emir expected the princess would have said or done some extravagant thing, and was not a little disappointed when he heard her talk so calmly and rationally; for he then knew her disease was nothing but a violent love passion, which he was by no means able to cure. he therefore threw himself at his majesty's feet, and said, after what i have heard and observed, sir, it will be to no purpose for me to think of curing the princess, since i have no remedies proper for her malady; for which reason i humbly submit my life to your majesty's pleasure. the king enraged at his incapacity, and the trouble he had given him, caused, him immediately to be beheaded. some few days after, his majesty, unwilling to have it said that he had neglected his daughter's cure, put forth a proclamation in his capital city, importing, that if any physician, astrologer, or magician, would undertake to restore the princess to her senses, he need only come, and he should be employed, provided he was willing to lose his head if he miscarried. he had the same thing published in the other principal cities and towns of his dominions, as likewise in those of the other neighbouring states. the first that presented himself was both an astrologer and magician, whom the king caused to be conducted to the princess's prison by an eunuch. the astrologer, upon seeing his patient, drew forth, out of a bag he carried in his arm an astrolabe, a small sphere, a chafing dish several sorts of drugs proper for fumigations, a brass pot, with many other things, and desired he might have a fire lighted. the princess demanded for what all these preparations were madam, answered the eunuch, they are to exorcise the evil spirit that possesses you, and afterwards to shut him up in this pot, and throw him into the sea. foolish astrologer! replied the princess, i have no occasion for any of your preparations, but am in my perfect senses, and it is you alone who are mad. if your art can bring him i love to me, i shall be obliged to you; otherwise you may go about your business, for i have nothing to do with you. madam, said the astrologer, if your case be so, i shall desist from all endeavours believing that the king your father can only remedy your disaster in this particular. so putting up his trinkets again, he marched away, very much concerned that he had so easily undertaken to cure an imaginary sick person. coming to give an account to the king of what he had done, he would not suffer the eunuch to speak for him, but began thus himself: according to what your majesty published in your proclamation, and what you were pleased to confirm to me yourself. i thought the princess was distracted and therefore had provided all i believed necessary to restore her to her senses, pursuant to the nostrums i have; but, to my great amazement, when i beheld her, i found she had no other disease than that of love, over which my art had no power. your majesty, then, may be pleased to consider, that you alone are the physician who can cure her, by giving her the person in marriage whom she desires. the king, upon hearing this, was very much enraged at the astrologer, and had his head cut off upon the spot. now, not to fatigue your majesty with long repetitions, proceeded scheherazade to the sultan, i will acquaint you, in few words, that so many astrologers, physicians, magicians, and the like, came upon this account, that they in all amounted to about fifty; who, nevertheless, all underwent the same fate, and their heads were set upon poles on every gate of the city. the story of marzavan, with the sequel of that of prince camaralzaman. the princess of china's nurse had a son whose name was marzavan, and who had been foster-brother to the princess. their friendship was so great during their childhood, that they called each other brother and sister, which even continued some time after their separation. this marzavan, among other studies, had from his youth been much addicted to judicial astrology, geomancy, and other secret arts, wherein he became exceedingly skilful. not content with what he had learned from masters, he travelled; and there was hardly a person of note in any science whom he did not know, so great was his thirst after knowledge. after several years absence in foreign parts on this account, he returned to the capital city of his native country, china; where, seeing so many heads on the gate by which he entered, he was exceedingly surprised, and, on coming to his lodging, demanded for what reason they had been placed there; but more especially informed himself of the condition of the princess his foster-sister, whom he had not forgotten. as he could not be made acquainted with one without having an account of the other, he for the present satisfied himself with what he had heard, till such time as he could learn more from his mother, the princess's nurse. although the nurse, mother of marzavan, was very much employed about the princess, yet she no sooner heard her dear son was returned, but she found time to come and embrace, and stay with him a little. having told him, with tears in her eyes, in what a sad condition the princess was, and for what reason the king her father had confined her, he desired to know of his mother, if she could not procure him the sight of her royal mistress, without the king's knowing any thing of it. after some pause, she told him she could say nothing to the matter for the present; but if he would meet her next day at the same hour, she would give him an answer. now the nurse, knowing that none could approach the princess but herself, without leave of the eunuch who commanded the guard at the gate, addressed herself to him, who, she believed, was ignorant of what had formerly passed at the court of china. you know, said she, i have brought up and suckled the princess, and may likewise have heard that i had a daughter whom i brought up along with her. now this daughter has since been married; yet the princess still does her the honour to remember her, and would fain see her, but would do so without any body perceiving her coming in or out. the nurse would have gone on, but the eunuch cried, say no more, it is sufficient; i will do any thing to oblige the princess: go and fetch your daughter, for send or her about midnight, and the gate shall be open to you. as soon as night came, the nurse went for her son marzavan; and, having dressed him so artfully in women's clothes, that nobody could perceive he was a man, she took him along with her; and the eunuch, believing it was a woman, admitted them without hesitation. the nurse, before she thought fit to present marzavan, went to the princess, and said, madam, this is not a woman i have brought to you; it is my son marzavan, lately arrived from his travels; he has a great desire to kiss your hand, and i hope your highness will admit him to that honour. what, my brother marzavan! said the princess, with a great deal of joy. come hither, my dear, cried she, and take off this veil; for surely it is not unreasonable that a brother and a sister should see each other without reserve. marzavan saluted her with profound respect, when she, without giving him leave to speak, cried out, i am rejoiced to see you returned in good health, after so many years' absence. madam, replied marzavan, i am infinitely obliged to your highness for your goodness in rejoicing at my health; i no sooner landed in my native country than i inquired after yours, and heard what, to my great affliction, i am now witness of. nevertheless, i cannot but rejoice that i am come seasonably to administer that remedy to you which so many others have attempted without success; and though i should not reap any other fruit of my long voyage, i shall think myself fully recompensed, for my great toil and hazard, by that one happiness. speaking these words, marzavan drew forth a book, and other things from his pocket, which he judged necessary to be used, according to the relation he had got from his mother of the princess's distemper. the princess, seeing him make all those preparations, cried out, what! brother, are you then one of those who believe me mad? undeceive yourself, and hearken to what i shall say to you. the princess then began to relate to marzavan all the particulars of her story, without omitting the least circumstance, even to the ring which was exchanged for hers, and which she showed him. i have not concealed the least matter from you, said she; yet it is true there is something that i cannot comprehend, and has given occasion for some persons to think me mad; but as for the rest, i assure you it is literally as i have related. after the princess had done speaking, marzavan, filled with wonder and astonishment, continued for some time with his eyes fixed on the ground, without speaking a word; but at length lifting his head, he said, if it be as your highness says, and which i do not in the least doubt, i hope to procure the satisfaction you desire; but i must first entreat your highness to arm yourself with patience till i return; for i am resolved to set out in quest of this person, and, at my return, you may expect to see the object of your love. so saying, marzavan took leave of the princess, and set out next morning on his intended tour. he travelled from city to city, from province to province, and from island to island; and, in every place through which he passed, he could hear of nothing but the princess badoura (the princess of china's name) and her history. about four months after, our traveller arrived at torf, a seaport town, both great and populous, where he no more heard of the princess badoura, all the talk being of prince camaralzaman, who was sick, and whose history was very similar to that of the princess. marzavan was extremely glad to hear this, and informed himself of the place where the prince was to be found, to which he might have gone either by land or sea, or by sea only; but the last was the shortest way. marzavan chose the latter, and, embarking on board a merchant ship, arrived safe in sight of king schahzaman's capital; but, on entering the port, his ship happened to strike upon a rock, when it foundered, and sunk in sight of prince camaralzaman's castle, where the king and his grand vizier were at that time. marzavan could swim very well; he therefore immediately cast himself into the sea on the ship's sinking, and got safe on shore under the castle, where he was soon relieved by the grand vizier's order. after changing his clothes, and being well treated, he was introduced to the grand vizier, who had sent for him. marzavan being a young man of good address, and of a good air, this minister was very civil to him, especially when he heard him give such just and pertinent answers to what was asked of him: he also perceived he was learned; therefore said to him, from what i can understand, you have travelled a great way, and must needs have acquired much knowledge: i would to god you had learned any secret for curing a certain malady, which has greatly afflicted this court for a long while! marzavan replied, if he knew what malady that was, he might perhaps find a remedy for it. then the grand vizier related to him the whole story of prince camaralzaman from its origin, and concealed nothing of his desired birth, his education, the great inclination the king his father had to see him early married, his aversion to marriage, his disobeying his father in full council, his imprisonment, and his pretended extravagances in prison, which, be said, were afterwards changed into a violent passion for a certain unknown lady, who he pretended had exchanged a ring with him, though, for his part, he verily believed there was no such person in the world. marzavan gave great attention to all that the grand vizier said, and was infinitely rejoiced to find that, by means of his shipwreck, he had so fortunately met with the person he was looking after. he saw no reason to doubt but that prince camaralzaman was the man the princess of china was in love with; therefore, without discovering any thing further to the vizier, he desired to see him, whereby, he said, he might be better able to judge of his distemper. follow me then, said the grand vizier, and you will find the king with him, who has already desired i should introduce you to him. the first thing that startled marzavan, at his entrance into the prince's chamber, was to find him upon his bed languishing, and with his eyes shut. although he saw him in that condition, and although the king his father was sitting by him, he could not help crying out, heavens! was there ever a greater resemblance than this! he meant in their faces; for it seems the princess and prince were much alike. these words of marzavan excited the prince's curiosity so far, that he vouchsafed to open his eyes, and look upon him. marzavan, who had a great deal of wit, laid hold of that opportunity, and made his compliment in verse extempore; which nevertheless he did in such a disguised manner, that neither the king nor grand vizier understood any thing of the matter. however, he represented so nicely what had happened to the princess of china, that the prince had no room to doubt but he knew the object of his love, and could give him tidings of her. this made him so joyful, that the effects of it plentifully showed themselves in his eyes and looks. after marzavan had finished his compliment in verse, which surprised prince camaralzaman so agreeably, his highness took the liberty to make a sign to the king his father to quit the place where he was, and let marzavan sit by him. the king, overjoyed at this alteration, which gave him hopes of his son's speedy recovery, quitted his place; and taking marzavan by the hand, led him to it, requesting him to be seated. then his majesty demanded of him who he was, and whence he came; and upon marzavan's answering he was a subject of china, and came from that kingdom, the king immediately cried out, heaven grant you may be able to withdraw my son from this profound melancholy! and i shall have eternal obligations to you, which i will do my utmost to gratify beyond what was ever done. having said this, he left the prince to entertain himself with the stranger, while he went and rejoiced with the grand vizier on this happy meeting. marzavan, leaning down to the prince, spoke low in his ear thus: my lord, said he, it is high time your highness should cease to grieve. i know the lady on whose account you lament so bitterly; it is the princess badoura, daughter of gaiour king of china. of this i can assure your highness, both on account of what she has told me of her adventure, and what i have learned of yours. you may also depend upon it that she has undergone no less on your account than you have done on hers. here he began to relate all that he knew of the princess, from the fatal time of their interview after so an extraordinary a manner. he omitted not to acquaint him how those had fared who had failed in their pretences to cure the princess of her indisposition. but your highness is the only person, added he, that can cure her effectually, and therefore it were no matter how soon you set about it. however, before you undertake so great a voyage, i would have you perfectly recovered, and then we will take such measures as are necessary. this discourse had a marvellous effect on the prince. he found so great a benefit by it, through the hopes he conceived of speedily fulfilling his desires, that he soon recovered strength sufficient to rise, and begged leave of his father to dress before him, with such an air as gave the old king incredible satisfaction. king schahzaman immediately embraced marzavan, without inquiring into the means that had wrought this wonderful effect, and soon after went out of the prince's chamber with the grand vizier, to publish this agreeable news to his people. on this occasion, he ordered public rejoicings for several days together, and moreover gave great largesses to his officers, alms to the poor, and caused the prisoners to be set at liberty throughout his kingdom. every city resounded with joy, and every corner of his dominions felt the effect of his bounty. prince camaralzaman thought he had been extremely weakened by almost continual watchings and abstinence, yet, contrary to all expectation, he soon recovered his wonted health. when he found himself in a condition to undertake the voyage, he took marzavan aside, and said, dear marzavan, it is now time to perform the promise you have made. i burn with impatience to see the charming princess; and if you do not speedily give me an opportunity of putting an end to her torments and my own, by setting out on your journey, i shall soon relapse into my former condition; and then, perhaps, you may not find it so easy to cure me as you have now done. but one thing still afflicts me, continued he; and that is, the difficulty i shall meet with in getting leave from my father to go. you see he scarcely ever leaves me; therefore, if you do not assist me in that particular, i am undone. at these words the prince fell a weeping, and would not be comforted till marzavan said, let not your highness be grieved at that, for i warrant i will get you your liberty, so that nothing shall stop us. my principal design in this voyage was to deliver the princess of china, my mistress, from grief; and i should fail in my duty to her, if i did not do my best endeavour to effect it. this is, then, the means i have contrived to obtain your liberty; you have not stirred abroad for some time, therefore let the king your father understand you have a mind to take the air, and, if he pleases, to go and hunt two or three days with me. no doubt he will grant your request; which when he has done, order two good horses to be got ready in a certain place, and leave the rest to me. next day prince camaralzaman did as he had been advised. he acquainted the king that he was very desirous to take the air, and, if he pleased, would go and hunt two or three days with marzavan. the king gave his consent, but bid him be sure not to be from home above one night, since too much exercise might impair his health, and too long absence create his majesty some uneasiness. he then ordered him the best horses in his stable, and took particular care that nothing should be wanting for his diversion. when all was ready, his majesty embraced the prince, and having recommended the care of him to marzavan, left them. prince camaralzaman and marzavan were soon mounted, when, to amuse the two grooms who led the fresh horses, they made as if they would hunt, and so got as far from the city and out of the road as was possible. night approaching, they alighted at a caravansera or inn, where they supped, and slept till about midnight; when marzavan awaked the prince without awaking the grooms, desiring his highness to let him have his suit, and take another for himself, which was brought in his sumpter. thus equipped, they mounted the fresh horses; and marzavan taking one of the groom's horses by the bridle, they set off at a good round pace. at day-break they got into a forest, where, coming to the meeting of four roads, marzavan went aside, and desired the prince to wait for him a little: he then cut the groom's horse's throat; and, tearing the prince's suit he had on, besmeared it with blood, and threw it in the highway. the prince demanded his reason for what he had done; he told his highness that he was sure the king his father would no sooner come to know that he was departed without the grooms, than he would suspect something, and immediately send in quest of them. now, said marzavan, to the end that, when they come to this place, they may stop and think you are devoured by wild beasts, i have done this; so that by this means we may have leisure to continue our journey without fear of pursuit. i must needs confess, continued marzavan, that this is a violent way of proceeding, to alarm an old father with the death of his son, whom he loved so passionately; but then, on the other hand, the news of your welfare, which he may soon have, will in a great measure alleviate his grief, and make amends for your absence. brave marzavan, replied the prince, i cannot sufficiently admire your conduct, and i have all the obligations in the world to you. the prince and marzavan, well provided with cash for their expenses, continued their journey both by land and sea, and found no other obstacle but the length of the way which they were forced to undergo: at length, however, they arrived at the capital of china, where marzavan, instead of going to his lodging carried the prince to a public inn. they tarried there incognito three days to rest themselves, during which time marzavan caused an astrologer's habit to be made for the prince. the three days being expired, they went together to the bagnio, the prince putting on his astrologer's habit; and from thence marzavan conducted him in sight of the king of china's palace, where he left him to acquaint his mother, the princess badoura's nurse, of his arrival, that she might give the like information to the princess her mistress. prince camaralzaman, instructed by marzavan what he was to do, and provided with all he wanted as an astrologer, came next morning to the gate of the king's palace, and cried aloud, i am an astrologer, and am come to effect a cure on the most beautiful princess badoura, daughter of the most high and mighty monarch gaiour king of china, on the conditions proposed by his majesty, to marry her if i succeed, or else to lose my life for my fruitless and presumptuous attempt! besides the guards and porters standing at the gate, this novelty drew together a great number of people about prince camaralzaman. there had no physician, astrologer, nor magician, appeared for a long time on this account, deterred by the many tragical examples of ill success that had occurred; it was therefore thought there were either no more of these professions in the world, or at least that there were no more so mad as those who had gone before them. the prince's good mien, noble air, and blooming youth, raised pity in every one who saw him. what do you mean, sir, said some who stood near him, to expose thus your life, which promises so much, to certain death? cannot the heads you see on all the gates of this city deter you from such an undertaking? in the name of god, consider what you do, and abandon the rash attempt! the prince continued firm, notwithstanding the remonstrances made to him; and, as he saw nobody come to introduce him, he repeated the same cry with so loud a voice as to make every body tremble. they all then cried, let him alone; he is resolved to die. god have mercy upon his soul! he then proceeded to cry out a third time in the same manner, when the grand vizier came in person, and introduced him to the king of china. as soon as the prince came into the king's presence, he bowed and kissed the floor. the king, who, of all that hitherto had exposed their lives on this occasion, had not before seen one worthy of his notice, had now a real compassion for prince camaralzaman, on account of the danger he was about to expose himself to; and perceiving in him something which merited deference and respect, he did him the more honour, and made him seat himself near him. young man, said he, i can hardly believe that you, at this age, can have acquired sufficient experience to enable you to cure my daughter. i will give her to you with all my heart on that account; nay, more willingly than i should have done to others who have before offered themselves; but then i declare to you, at the same time, with, a great deal of concern, that if you fail to succeed in your attempt, notwithstanding your noble appearance, and exceedingly beautiful person, you must lose your head. sir, replied the prince, i have infinite obligations to your majesty for the honour you design me, though a stranger; but i desire your majesty to consider that i would not have come from so remote a country, and which perhaps may be unknown in your dominions, if i had not been certain of the cure i propose. what might not be said of my inconstancy of temper, if, after the great fatigue and dangers i have undergone on this account, i should abandon the generous enterprise in which i had engaged? even your majesty would soon lose that respect you have done me the honour to show me, if i appeared so dastardly and mean-spirited. i beseech your majesty, therefore, no longer to delay the experiment i am certain of, but give me leave to display the utmost of my art, which i doubt not will be to your majesty's satisfaction, as well as my great happiness. then the king commanded the eunuch, who had the guard of the princess, to introduce prince camaralzaman into her apartment, but, before letting him go, was so kind as to remind him once more of the hazard he underwent; yet the prince seeming resolved, the king suffered him to follow the eunuch. when they came to a long gallery, at the end of which was the princess's apartment, the prince, through impatience once more to see the object of his vows, who had occasioned him so much grief, got before the eunuch, walking as fast as he could. the eunuch, redoubling his pace, with much difficulty got up with him, when, taking him by the arm, he cried, whither away so fast, sir? you cannot be admitted without me; and it i should seem that you have a great desire for death, who can. run to it so headlong! not one of the many astrologers and magicians whom i have before introduced, made such haste as yourself to a place whither, i fear, you will but too soon come. friend, replied the prince, continuing his pace, and looking earnestly on the eunuch, it was because none of your astrologers or magicians was ever so sure of their art as i am: they were certain, indeed, that they should die if they did not succeed; but they had no certainty, at the same time, of their success as i have. on this account they had reason to tremble at approaching the place whither i go, and where i am sure to find my happiness. he had just spoken these words as he was at the door. the eunuch opened it, and introduced him into a great hall, whence there was an entrance into the princess's chamber, divided only by a piece of tapestry. prince camaralzaman, speaking more softly to the eunuch, asked him, before he entered, whether he chose that he should cure the princess in his presence, or where he was, without going further; telling him, in the same tone, that nobody might hear him in the princess's chamber, he made him the frank offer, to show that it was not presumptuous caprice, nor the heat of youth, which put him upon the enterprise. the eunuch was very much amazed to hear the prince talk with such assurance; he left off insulting him, and said to him seriously, it is no matter whether you do it here or there, provided the business be done; cure her how you will, you will get immortal honour by it, not only in this court, but over all the world. the prince replied, it will be best, then, to make the cure without seeing her, that you may be witness of my skill: though i cannot, without impatience, put off seeing a princess of her rank, who is to be my wife, yet, out of respect to you, i will deprive myself of that pleasure for a little while. being furnished with every thing proper for an astrologer, and taking pen, ink, and paper, out of his pocket, wrote this billet to the princess. prince camaralzaman to the princess of china. adorable princess!--the love-sick prince camaralzaman will not trouble you with the pains that he has endured ever since the fatal night when your charms deprived him of that liberty which he resolved to preserve as long as he lived: he only tells you, that he devoted his heart to you in your charming slumbers; those slumbers which hindered him from beholding the brightness of your piercing eyes, in spite of all his endeavours to oblige you to open them. he presumed to present you with his ring as a token of his passion, and, in exchange, would be proud to receive yours, which he encloses in this billet. if you will condescend to return it as a reciprocal assurance of your love, he will reckon himself the happiest of all lovers: if not, the sentence of death, which your fatal refusal brings him, will be received with the more resignation, because he dies for love of you. he waits in your anti-chamber for your answer. when the prince had finished his billet, he made it up, and enclosed with it the ring in a little packet, without letting the eunuch see what he did. when he sealed it, he gave it to him: there, friend, said he, carry it to your mistress. if it does not cure her as soon as she reads it, and sees what is enclosed in it, i give you leave to tell every body that i am the most ignorant and impudent astrologer that ever was, is, or ever will be. the eunuch entering the princess of china's chamber, gave her the packet he received from prince camaralzaman. madam, said he, the boldest astrologer that ever lived, if i am not mistaken, is arrived here, and pretends that, on reading this letter, and seeing what is in it, you will be cured: i wish he may prove neither a liar nor an impostor. the princess badoura took the billet, and opened it with a great deal of indifference, but, on seeing the ring, she had not patience to read it through; she rose hastily, broke the chair; which held her down with struggling, and ran and opened the door. she knew the prince the moment she saw him, and he her; they presently embraced each other with all imaginable tenderness, and, without being able to say a word for excess of joy, they looked on one another, admiring how they met again after their first interview. the princess's nurse, who ran to the door with her, made them come into her chamber, where the princess badoura gave the prince her ring, saying, take it, i cannot fairly keep it without restoring yours, which i will never part with: neither yours nor mine can be in better hands. the eunuch went immediately to the king to tell him what had happened. sir, said he, all the astrologers and doctors who have hitherto pretended to cure the princess, were a company of fools in comparison of him who came last! he used neither schemes, conjurations, perfumes, nor any thing else; but cured her without seeing her! then he told the king how he did it, who was agreeably surprised at the news; and going presently to the princess's chamber, embraced her; after which he took camaralzaman's hand, and joined it to the princess's. happy stranger, said the king, i will keep my word, and give my daughter to be your wife; though, by what i see of you, it is impossible for me to believe that you are really what you appear in this assumed character, and would have me believe. prince camaralzaman thanked the king in the most humble expressions, that he might the better show his gratitude. as for my profession, said he, i must own i am not an astrologer, as your majesty very judiciously observed; i only put on the habit of one, that i might succeed more easily in my ambition to be allied to the most potent monarch in the world. i am born a prince, and the son of a king and queen; my name is camaralzaman; my father is schahzaman, who now reigns over the islands that are known by the name of the islands of the children of khaledan. he then told the adventures of his life, and the wonderful rise of his love; that the princess's was altogether as marvelous, and that both were confirmed by the exchange of two rings. when the prince had done speaking, the king said, this history is so extraordinary, that it deserves to be known to posterity; an account of it shall be taken; and the original being deposited in my royal archives, i will spread copies of it abroad, that my own kingdom, and the kingdoms around me, may know it. the marriage was solemnized the same day, and the rejoicings for it were universal all over the empire of china; nor was marzavan forgotten; the king immediately gave him an honourable post in his court, and a promise to advance him higher afterwards. prince camaralzaman and the princess badoura enjoyed the fulness pf their wishes in the sweets of marriage; and the king kept continual feastings for several months, to testify his joy on the occasion. in the midst of these pleasures, prince camaralzaman one night dreamed that he saw his father schahzaman on death-bed, ready to give up the ghost, and heard him speak thus to his attendants: my son, whom i so tenderly loved--my son, whom i bred with so much fondness, so much care, has abandoned me, and is the cause of my death! he awoke and sighed; which wakened the princess, who asked him the reason of it. alas, my love! cried the prince, perhaps the very moment that i am speaking of it, my father is no more! he then acquainted her with his melancholy dream, and why that sad thought came into his head. the princess, who studied to please him in every thing, presently contrived a way to do it; and, fearing that he would take less delight in her company if he was kept from seeing his father, went that very day to her father, whom she found alone. after kissing his hand, she thus addressed herself: sir, i have a favour to beg of your majesty, and beseech you not to deny me; but, that you may not believe i am put upon it by the prince my husband, i assure you beforehand that he knows nothing of my asking it of you; it is, that you will give me leave to go and see the king schahzaman, my father-in-law. the king replied, daughter, though i shall be very sorry to lose your company, and part with you for so long a time as a journey to a place so distant will take up, yet i cannot disapprove of your resolution; it is worthy of yourself: go, child, i give you leave, but on condition that you stay no longer than a year in king schahzaman's court. i hope the king will be willing to come to this agreement with me, that we, in our turn, may see him, his son, and daughter-in-law, and i my daughter and son-in-law. the princess communicated the king of china's consent to prince camaralzaman, who was transported to hear it, and gave her a thousand thanks for this new token of her love. the king of chiha commanded preparations to be made for the journey, and, when all things were ready, accompanied the prince and princess several leagues on their way. when they came to part, great was the weeping on all sides. the king embraced them, and desired the prince to be kind to his daughter, and to love her always with the same passion he then manifested towards her. so he left them to proceed on their journey, and, to divert himself, hunted all the way as he returned to his capital city. when prince camaralzaman and the princess badoura had dried up their tears, and given over mourning for parting with the king of china, they comforted themselves with thinking how glad king schahzaman would be to see them, and how they should rejoice to see him. they travelled about a month incessantly, and at last came to a large field, planted with tall trees at convenient distances, under whose shade they went on very pleasantly. the weather being that day much hotter than ordinary, camaralzaman thought it best to stay there during the heat, and proposed it to badoura, who, wishing for the same thing, readily consented. they alighted in the most agreeable place of the grove; a tent was presently set up, and the princess, rising from the shade under which she sat down, entered it. the prince ordered his servants to pitch their tent also while they staid there, and gave them directions himself how to do it. the princess, being weary with the fatigues of her journey, bid one of her women untie her girdle, which they laid down by her; and, falling asleep, her attendants left her by herself. prince caraaralzaman having seen all things in order, came to the tent where the princess was sleeping. he entered, and sat down without making any noise, intending to take a nap himself; but observing the princess's girdle lying by her, he took it up, and looked upon the diamonds and rubies one by one. in doing so, he saw a little purse hanging to it, tied fast with a riband; he felt it, and found there was something in it: being desirous to know what it was, he opened the purse, and took out a cornelian engraved with unknown characters and figures. this cornelian, said the prince to himself, must have something extraordinary in it, or my princess would not be at the trouble to carry it with her; and, indeed, it was badoura's talisman, or a scheme of her nativity drawn from the constellations of heaven, which the queen of china had given her daughter as a charm that would keep her from all harm as long as she had it about her. the prince, to see what the talisman was, took it out to the light, the tent being dark; and, while he was holding it up in his hand, a bird darted down from the air, and snatched it away. your majesty may easily conceive the concern and grief of prince camaralzaman, when he saw the bird fly away with the talisman*[footnote: there is an adventure like this in the romance of peter of provence and the fair maguelona, which was taken from the arabic.] . he was more troubled at it than words can express, and cursed his unseasonable curiosity, by which means he had lost a treasure that was so exceedingly precious, and so much valued by his dear princess. the bird, having got her prize, pitched upon the ground, not far off, with the talisman in her mouth. the prince drew near it, in hopes she would drop it; but, as he approached, the bird took wing, and pitched again on the ground further off. camaralzaman followed her; and the bird, having swallowed the talisman, took a small flight further off still. the prince, being very dexterous at a mark, thought to kill her with a stone, and still followed. the further she flew, the more eager he grew in pursuing, keeping her always in view. thus the bird drew him along from hill to valley, and from valley to hill, all day; every step leading him out of the way from the field where he left his camp and the princess badoura: and, instead of perching at night on a bush, where he might probably have taken her, she roosted on a high tree, safe from his pursuit. the prince vexed to the heart for taking so much pains to no purpose, thought of returning to the camp; but, alas! he thought of it too late. whither could he go? which way return? how could he find out the untracked way of the mountains, and the untrodden paths of the vallies? darkness spread over the heavens; and night, with the fatigues of the day's labour, would not suffer him to undertake so soon to return the way he came, were there any hopes of his finding it. ah! said the despairing lover, if i knew which way to return, how durst i appear before my princess without her talisman? overwhelmed with such afflicting thoughts, and tired with his pursuit of the bird, sleep came upon him, and he lay down under a tree, where he passed the night. he awoke next morning before the bird had left the tree, and, as soon as he saw her on the wing, followed her again the whole day, with no better success than the former, eating nothing but herbs and fruits all the way as he went. he did the same for ten days together, pursuing the bird, and keeping her in his eye from morning till night, lying always under the tree where she roosted. on the eleventh day, the bird still flying, camaralzaman observed that he came near a great city: the bird made towards it, flew over the walls, and the prince saw no more of her; so he despaired of ever recovering the princess of badoura's talisman. camaralzaman, whose grief was beyond expression, went to the city, which was built on the sea-side, and had a fine port. he walked up and down the streets, without knowing where he was, or where to stop. at last he came to the port, in as great uncertainty as ever what he should do. walking along the river-side, he perceived the gate of a garden open, and an old gardener at work in it. the good old man, looking up, saw he was a stranger and a mussulman; so he asked him to come in, and shut the door after him. camaralzaman entered, and, as the gardener bade him shut the door, demanded of him why he was so cautious. because, replied the old man, i see you are a stranger and a mussulman newly arrived; and this city, being inhabited for the most part by idolaters, has a mortal aversion to us mussulmen, and use the few of us who are here with a great deal of barbarity. i suppose you did not know this, and it is a miracle that you have escaped, considering how far you have come through them; these idolaters being very apt to fall upon the mussulmen who are strangers, or to draw them into a snare, unless those strangers are instructed how to deal with and beware of them. camaralzaman thanked the honest gardener for his advice, and the security he offered him in his house. he would have said more; but the good man interrupted him, saying, let us wave complimenting; you are weary, and want to refresh yourself. come in; eat what we have, and lie down to rest; you are very welcome. he conducted him into his little hut, which, though small, was clean, and well defended from the injuries of the weather. he ordered the best provisions he had to be brought forth, and entertained the prince so heartily, that he was charmed with it, and at his request told him how he came there. when he had ended his story, without hiding any part of it, he asked him which was the nearest way to his father's territories? for it is in vain, said he, to think of finding my princess where i left her, wandering, as i have been, eleven days from that place. ah, continued he, how do i know that she is alive! and, saying this, he burst out into tears that would have melted the most cruel and obdurate. the gardener replied, that there was no possibility of his going thither by land, the ways were so difficult, and the journey so long; besides, there was no manner of convenience for his subsisting; and if there was, he must necessarily pass through many barbarous nations; that he would never reach his father's; that the quickest passage would be to go to the isle of ebene, whence he might easily transport himself to the isles of the children of khaledan; that there was a ship which sailed from the port where he was every year to ebene, and he might take that opportunity of returning to those islands. the ship departed, said he, but a few nays ago, and it will be almost a year before it makes the voyage again: if you will accept of my house for your habitation so long, you will be as welcome to it as to your own. prince camaralzaman was glad he had met with such an asylum in a place where he had no knowledge of any man, nor any man of him, and where nobody could think it his interest to entertain or preserve him. he accepted the offer, and lived with the gardener till the time that the ship was to sail to the isle of ebene. he spent his time all day in working in the garden, and ail night in thinking of his dear princess badoura, in sighs, tears, and complaints. but we must leave him a while, and return to the princess, whom we left asleep in her tent. the story of the princess badoura, after her separation from prince camaralzaman. the princess slept a long time, and, when she awoke, wondered that prince camaralzaman was not with her. she called her women, and asked them if they knew where he was gone. they told her they saw him enter the tent, but did not see him go out again. while they were talking, she spied her girdle, saw it had been meddled with, and, on examination, found the little purse open, and the talisman gone. she did not doubt but camaralzaman had taken it in order to examine it, and that he would bring it back. she waited for him impatiently till night, and could not imagine what made him stay away so long. when it was quite dark, and she could hear nothing of him, she fell into a violent fit of grief: she cursed the talisman, and him that made it; and, had she not been restrained by duty, would have cursed her mother who gave it to her. she was the more troubled, because she could not imagine how her talisman should have caused the prince's separation from her. however, amidst all her sorrow, she retained her judgment, and came to a courageous resolution not common with persons of her sex. she and her women only knew of the prince's being gone; for his men were then asleep, or refreshing themselves in their tents. the princess, fearing they would betray her if they had any knowledge of it, first composed her mind a little, moderated her grief, and forbade her women to say or do any thing that might make them suspect the truth. then she undressed herself, and put on prince camaralzaman's suit; being so like him in it, that the next day, when she came abroad, his men took her for him. she commanded them to pack up their baggage and march forward; and when all things were ready, she ordered one of her women to go into her sedan; she herself on horseback, riding by her side. they travelled several months by land and sea; the princess continuing the journey under the name of camaralzaman. they took the island of ebene in their way to the isles of the children of khaledan. they went to the capital of the island, where reigned a king whose name was armanos. the persons who first landed giving out that they brought prince camaralzaman, who was returning from a long voyage towards his own country, and was forced to put in there by a storm, the news of his arrival was presently carried to court. king armanos, accompanied by most of his courtiers, went immediately to wait on the prince, and met the princess, just as she had landed, going to the lodgings that had been taken for her. he received her as the son of a king who was his friend, and with whom he had always kept a fair correspondence; and carried her to his palace, where an apartment was prepared for her and all her attendants; though she would fain have excused herself, and lodged in a private house. besides this, he was so courteous, that doing her common honours would not content him; he entertained her three days together with extraordinary magnificence and royal festivals. the days of feasting being over, and king armanos understanding that the princess, whom he still took for prince camaralzaman, talked of going aboard again to proceed on her voyage, he was so charmed with the air and qualities of such an accomplished prince, as he took her, that he watched his opportunity when she was alone, and spoke in the following manner: you see, prince, that i am old, and cannot hope to live long. it is my great trouble that i have not a son to whom i may leave my crown. heaven has only blessed me with one daughter, who cannot desire to be more happy than a prince of your virtues can make her, whose merit is equal with your birth. instead of going home, stay and take her from my hand: with her i will give you my kingdom, and retreat myself to a quiet life, free from the business and cares of the world, having long enough had the weight of the crown upon me; and nothing could be a greater pleasure in my retirement, than to consider what a worthy successor sits on my throne, and rules my happy people. the king of the isle of ebene's generous offer to bestow his only daughter in marriage on the princess badoura, who could not accept of it because she was a woman, gave her unexpected trouble, and she could not presently think of an expedient to extricate herself out of it. she thought it would not become a princess of her rank to deceive the king, and to own that she was not prince camaralzaman, but his wife, when she had assured him she was he himself, whose part she had hitherto acted so well, that her sex was not in the least suspected. she was also afraid to refuse him; seeing him so much bent upon the conclusion of the marriage, that there was reason to apprehend his kindness would turn to aversion and hatred, if the honour he offered her was rejected, and that he might attempt something even against her life. besides, she was not sure of finding prince camaralzaman in the court of king schahzaman, his father. these considerations, added to the prospect of obtaining a kingdom for the prince her husband, in case she found him again, made her resolve to do what king armanos would have her, to marry his daughter. so, after having stood silent some minutes, she, with blushes which the king took for a sign of modesty, answered, sir, i am infinitely obliged to your majesty for your good opinion, for the honour you do me, and the great favour you offer, which i cannot pretend to merit, and dare not refuse. but, sir, continued she, i cannot accept of this alliance, on any other condition, than that your majesty will assist me with your counsel, and that i do nothing without first having your approbation. the marriage treaty being thus concluded and agreed on, the ceremony was put off till next day. in the mean time the princess badoura gave notice to her officers, who still took her for prince camaralzaman, what she was about to do, that they might not be surprised at it, assuring them that the princess badoura consented to it. she talked also to her women, and charged them to keep the secret she had intrusted them with as they valued their lives. the king of the isle of ebene rejoiced that he had got a son-in-law so much to his satisfaction. the next morning he summoned his council, and acquainted them with his design of marrying his daughter to prince camaralzaman, whom he introduced to them, and made him sit down by them, taking the princess badoura for him; told them he resigned the crown to him, and required them to obey and swear fealty to him. having said this, he descended from his throne, and the princess badoura, by his order, mounted it. when she was placed, the lords of the court did her homage, and took an oath of allegiance. as soon as the council broke up, the new king was proclaimed through the city; several days of rejoicing were appointed, and couriers despached all over the kingdom, to see the same ceremonies observed with the like demonstrations of joy. at night there was an extraordinary feasting at the palace-royal; and the princess haiatalnefous* [footnote: this is an arabic word, which signifies life and soul.], dressed like a royal bride, was led to the princess badoura, whom every body took for a man. the wedding was solemnized with the utmost splendour; and the rites being performed, they were put to bed. in the morning the princess badoura went to receive the compliments of the nobility in a hail of audience, where they congratulated her on her marriage and accession to the throne. in the mean while, king armanos and the queen went to the apartment of the new queen their daughter, and asked how she had spent the night. instead of answering them, she held down her head, and by her looks they perceived that she was not contented. king armanos, to comfort the princess haiatalnefous, bid her not be troubled, as prince camaralzaman might be in haste to go to his father's court, and had not stopped at the isle of ebene, if it had not been in his way thither. though we have engaged him to stay by arguments with which he ought to be well satisfied, yet it is probable he grieves to be all at once deprived of the hopes of seeing either his father or any of his family. you must wait till those first emotions of tenderness are over, and his filial love wears off by degrees; he will then carry himself towards you as a good husband ought. the princess badoura, under the name and character of prince camaralzaman, not only received the congratulatory addresses of the courtiers and the nobility of the kingdom who were in and about the city, but reviewed the regular troops of her household, and entered on the administration of affairs as king with so much majesty and judgment as gained her the general applause of all who were witnesses of her conduct. it was evening before she returned to queen haiatalnefous's apartment, and perceived, by the reception she met with, that the bride was not at all pleased with the wedding-night. she endeavoured to make her easy by a long discourse, in which she employed all the wit she had (and that was as much as any woman was mistress of) to persuade her she loved her entirely; she then gave her time to go to bed; and while she undressed, herself she went to her devotions; but her prayers were so long, that queen haiatalnefous was asleep before they were ended. she then gave over, and lay down softly by the new queen, without waking her; and was as much afflicted at being obliged to act a part which did not belong to her, as in the loss of her dear camaralzaman, for whom she ceased not to sigh. she rose as soon as it was day, before haiatalnefous was awake; and, dressed in her royal rotes as king, went to council. king armanos, as he did the day before, came early to visit the queen his daughter, whom he found in sighs and tears; he wanted no more to be informed of the cause of her trouble; he began to resent the contempt, as he thought, which was put upon his daughter, and could not imagine the reason of it. daughter, said he, have patience for another night. i raised your husband to the throne, and can pull him down again; depend upon it, i will drive him thence with shame, unless he gives you the satisfaction that he ought to do. his usage of you has provoked me so much, i cannot tell to what my resentment may transport me; the affront is as much to me as to you. it was late again before the princess badoura came to queen haiatalnefous: she talked to her as she had done the night before, and in the same manner went to her devotions, desiring the queen to go to bed. but haiatalnefous would not be so served; she held her back, and obliged her to sit down again: what, said she, do you think to deal by me this night as you have done the two last? pray tell me, what can you dislike in a princess of my youth and beauty, who not only loves but adores you, and thinks herself the happiest of all princesses in having so amiable a prince for her husband? any body but me would revenge the slight, or rather the unpardonable affront that you have put upon me, and abandon you to your evil destiny; however, though i did not love you as well as i do, yet, out of pure good nature and humanity, which make me pity the misfortunes of persons for whom: i am no ways concerned, i could not forbear telling you that the king my father is enraged against you for your carriage towards me, and will to-morrow exert his fury in a manner i tremble to think of, if you still use me as you have hitherto done. do not therefore throw into a despair a princess, who, notwithstanding your ill usage, cannot help loving you. this discourse embarrassed the princess badoura more than any thing she had yet met with; she did not doubt the truth of what haiatalnefous had said. king armanos's coldness the day before had given her but too much reason to see that he was highly dissatisfied with her. the only way to justify her conduct was to communicate her sex to the princess haiatalnefous. she had foreseen she should be under a necessity of discovering it to her, yet, now she was about to make such a declaration, was afraid how she would receive it: but, considering that if camaralzaman was alive, he must necessarily touch at the isle of ebene in his way to king schahzaman his father's kingdom, that she ought to preserve herself for his sake; and as it was impossible to do it, if she did not let the princess haiatalnefous know who and what she was, she resolved to venture, and try to get off that way. the princess badoura stood as one struck dumb; and haiatalnefous, being impatient to hear what she could say, was about to speak to her again, when she stopped her by these words: lovely and too charming princess! i own i have been in the wrong, and i condemn myself for it; but i hope you will pardon me, and keep the secret i am going to reveal to you for my justification. she then opened her bosom, and, showing her naked breasts, proceeded thus: see, princess, if a woman, and a princesss like yourself, does not deserve to be forgiven; i believe you will be so good at least, when you know my story, and the terrible affliction that forced me to act the part you see. the princess badoura, having discovered herself entirely to the princess of the isle of ebene, again prayed her to keep the secret, and to accept her as a husband till prince camaralzaman's arrival, which she hoped would be in a little time. princess, replied haiatalnefous, your fortune is indeed strange that a marriage, so unhappy as yours was, should be rendered unhappy by so unaccountable an accident, your love being reciprocal, and full of wonders. pray heaven you may again meet with your husband as soon as you desire! and be assured i will keep the secret till he arrives. it will be the greatest pleasure to me in the world to be the only person in the vast kingdom of the isle of ebene who knows what and who your are, while you continue to govern the people as happily as you have begun: i only ask to be your friend; nothing could be more to my satisfaction. the two princesses tenderly embraced each other, and, after a thousand vows of mutual friendship, lay down to rest. according to the custom of the country, the token of the consummation of the marriage was to be produced and shown publicly. the two princesses concerted a method to get over that difficulty: queen haiatalnefous's women, though cunning and quick-sighted, were next morning deceived themselves, and king armanos, his queen, and the whole court, completely beguiled. from this time the princess badoura grew more and more in king armanos's esteem and affection, governing the kingdom to his and his people's content, peaceably and prosperously. while these things were transacting in the court of the isle of ebene, prince camaralzaman staid in the city of idolaters with the gardener, who had offered his house for a retreat till the ship should sail for that island. one morning, when the prince was up early, and, as he used to do, was preparing to work in the garden, the gardener prevented him, saying, this day is a great festival among the idolaters; and because they abstain from work themselves, spending their time in abominable mysteries and public rejoicings, they will not let mussulman work; who, to gain their favour, generally assist at their shows, which are worth seeing; wherefore have nothing to do to-day; i leave you here; and the time approaching in which the ship uses to sail for the isle of ebene, i will go to some of my friends, and know when it will depart, and secure you a passage in it. the gardener put on his best clothes, and went to the feast. when prince camaralzaman was alone, instead of going to take part in the public joy of the city, the solitude he was in brought to his mind, with more violence, the loss of his dear princess: he walked through the garden sighing and groaning, till the noise which two birds made on a neighbouring tree, tempted him to lift up his head, and stop to see what was the matter. camaralzaman was astonished at seeing these two birds fighting with their beaks, and that in a very little while one of them, fell down dead at the root of a tree; the bird that was victorious took wing again, and flew away. in an instant, two other large birds, that had seen the fight at a distance, came from the other side of the garden, and pitched on the ground, one at the feet, and the other at the head of the dead bird: they looked upon it some time, shaking their heads, as if they were grieved at the death of their departed friend; after which, digging a grave with their talons, they interred the defunct. when they filled up the grave with the earth which they had turned up to make it, they flew away, and returned in a few minutes, bringing with them the bird that had committed the murder, the one holding one of its wings in its beak, and the other one of its legs; the criminal all the while crying out in a doleful manner, and struggling to escape. they carried it to the grave of the bird which it had lately sacrificed to its rage, and there they made a sacrifice of it to the manes of the dead bird; and, striking it often with their beaks, at last they killed the murderer. they then opened its belly, tore out its entrails, left its body on the place unburied, and flew away. camaralzaman remained in great astonishment all the time he stood beholding this sight: he drew near the tree where this scene had been acted; and, casting his eyes on the scattered entrails of the bird that was last killed, he observed something red hanging out of its body; he took it up, and found it was his beloved princess badoura's talisman, which had cost him so much pains and sorrow, and so many sighs, since the bird snatched it out of his hand. ah, cruel! said he to himself, still looking on the bird, thou hadst delight in mischief; so i have the less reason to complain of what thou didst to me. it is impossible to express prince camaralzaman's joy. dear princess, continued he to himself, this happy minute, which restores a treasure that is so precious to thee, is, without doubt, a presage of our meeting again, and perhaps sooner than i think of! thank heaven, who sent me this good fortune, and gives me hopes of the greatest felicity that my heart can desire! saying this, he kissed the talisman, wrapped it up in a riband, and tied it carefully about his arm. till now he had been almost a stranger to rest, his troubles always keeping him awake; but the next night he slept soundly: he rose somewhat later next morning than he used to do, put on his working clothes, and went to the gardener for orders what he should go about. the good man bid him root up an old tree that stood in a place to which he directed him, and was decaying. camaralzaman took an axe, and began his work: cutting off a branch at the root, he found that his axe struck against something which resisted the blow, and made a noise; he turned up the earth, and discovered a broad plate of brass, under which was a stair-case of ten steps; he went down, and at the bottom observed a cave of above six yards square, with fifty brass urns placed in order around it, each urn having a cover. he opened them all, one after another; and there was not one of them which was not full of gold dust. he came out of the cave, rejoicing that he had found such a vast treasure: he replaced the brass plate on the stair-case, and next rooted up the tree, previous to the gardener's coming to see what he had done. the gardener had learned the day before that the ship which was bound for the isle of ebene would sail in a few days, though the certain time was not fixed. his friend promised to inform him the precise day, if he called on him to-morrow or the day after, and, while camaralzaman was rooting up the tree, he went to have his answer. he returned with a joyful countenance, by which the prince guessed he brought him good news. son, said the old man, (so he always called him on account of the difference between their ages,) be joyful, prepare to embark in three days; the ship will then certainly sail: i have taken a passage for you, and settled the price with the captain. in the condition i am at present, replied camaralzaman, you could not bring me more agreeable news, and in return i have also tidings that will be as welcome to you. come along with me, and you shall see what good fortune heaven has in store for you. the prince led the gardener to the place where he had rooted up the tree, showed him the way into the cave, and, when there, let him see what a treasure he had discovered; thanking providence for rewarding his virtue, and the pains he had been at for so many years. how, replied the gardener, do you imagine i will take these riches as mine which you found out? the property of them is yours; i have no right to them. for fourscore years, (so long my father has been dead) i have done nothing but dig in this garden, and could not discover this treasure, which is a sign that it was destined to you by fate, or heaven had revealed it to me. it agrees with your quality as a prince, and suits your age, too, better than mine: i am old, and have one foot in the grave, and cannot tell what to do with so much wealth. providence has bestowed it upon you at a time when you are returning to that country which will one day be your own, where you may make a good use of it for the advantage of yourself, and the people over whom you are to reign. prince camaralzaman would not be outdone in generosity by the gardener; they had a long dispute who should refuse it, for neither of them would have it from the other. at last the prince solemnly protested that he would have none of it, unless the gardener would divide it with him, and take half. the good man consented to please the prince; so they parted it between them, which amounted to twenty-five urns each. having divided it, son, said the gardener to the prince, it is not enough that you have got this treasure; we must now contrive to carry it so privately on board a ship, that nobody may know any thing of the matter, otherwise you will run the risk of losing it. there are no olives in the isle of ebene, and those which are exported hence are a good commodity there: you know i have plenty of them; take what you will; fill fifty pots, half with the gold dust, and half with olives; which being a common merchandise from this city to that island, none will mistrust that there is any thing but olives in the pots. the counsel was good, and camaralzaman followed it. the rest of the day was taken up by him and the old man in packing up the gold and the olives in the fifty pots; and the prince, fearing the talisman should come by any ill accident again, carefully put it up in one of the pots, distinguishing it front the others by a particular mark. [footnote: this incident is also much the same with one in the romance of peter of provence and the fair maguelona.] when they were all ready to be shipped, the prince retired into the gardener's hut with him; and discoursing together, related the battles of the birds, with the circumstance of the adventure in which he had found the princess badoura's talisman. the gardener was equally surprised and joyful to hear it, knowing what trouble the prince had been at for its loss. whether the old gardener was quite worn out with age, or had spent himself too much that day, he had a very bad night's rest: he grew worse next day; and on the third day, when the prince was to embark, was so bad, that it was evident he was near the point of death. as soon as day began to dawn, the captain of the ship came in person, with several seamen to the gardener's; and knocking at the garden-door, camaralzaman opened it, they asked him where the passenger was who was to go with them: the prince answered, i am he; the gardener, who agreed with you for my passage, is extremely ill, and cannot be spoken with. come in, and let your men carry these pots of olives, and a few other things, on board for me: i will only take leave of the gardener, and then follow you to the water-side. the seamen took up the pots and the baggage; and the captain desired the prince to make haste; the wind being fair, they staid for nothing but him. when the captain and his men were gone, camaralzaman went to the gardener to take leave of him, and thank him for all his good offices; but he found him in the agonies of death; and had scarcely time to bid him rehearse the articles of his faith, which all good mussulmen do before they die. the gardener made the best efforts he could towards it, and expired in his presence. the prince, being obliged to hasten his departure, was at a loss what to do; he was afraid he should lose his voyage if he staid, and was very unwilling to leave his dead benefactor without paying the last duties of a friend, according to their law. he washed him, buried him in his own garden, (for the mahometan's had no church-yard in the city of the idolaters, where they were only tolerated;) and though he did it as fast as he could, having nobody to assist him, it was almost night before he had put him in the ground. as soon as he had done so, he ran to the water-side, carrying with him the key of the garden; designing, if he had time, to give it to the landlord; otherwise to deposit it in some trusty person's hand before witnesses, that he might have it after he was gone. when he came to the port, he was told that the ship had sailed several hours before, and was already out of sight. it staid three hours for him; but, the wind being fair, the captain durst not wait longer. it is easy to imagine that prince camaralzaman was exceedingly concerned on being forced to stay in that country a year longer, where he neither had, nor was willing to have, any acquaintance. it was a sad thing to reflect how long he had to wait for the lost opportunity: but what gave him the greatest affliction was his missing the princess badoura's talisman, which he now concluded to be entirely lost. the only course that was left for him was to return to the garden from whence he came, to rent it of the landlord, and to go on with his gardening, that he might deplore his misery and misfortunes by himself. he hired a boy to help him to do some part of the drudgery; and, that he might not lose the other half of the treasure, which came to him by the death of the gardener, who died without heirs, he put the gold dust in fifty other pots of olives, to be ready against the time of the ship's return, and making the same voyage. while prince camaralzaman began another year of labour, sorrow, and impatience, the ship, having a fair wind, sailed to the isle of ebene, where in due time she arrived at the capital city. the palace-royal being by the sea-side, the new king, or rather the princess badoura, espying the ship as she was entering the port, asked what vessel it was: she was answered, that it came from the city of the idolaters, from whence it used to come every year about that time, and was generally richly laden. the princess, who always had prince camaralzaman in her mind, amidst the glories of her palace and power, imagined that the prince might be on board; on which thought, she resolved, since it might be so, to go on board the ship and meet him; not to discover herself to him, (for she questioned whether he would know her again), but to observe him, and take proper measures for their making themselves mutually known. her pretence was, to see what merchandise was aboard, to have the first sight of the goods, and to choose the most valuable for herself. she commanded a horse to be brought, which she mounted, and rode to the port, accompanied by several officers, who were in waiting at that time, and arrived at the port just as the captain came ashore. she ordered him to be brought before her, and asked whence he came, how long he had been on his voyages and what good or bad fortune he had met with; if he had no stranger of quality on board, and with what his ship was loaded. the captain gave a satisfactory answer to all her demands; and, as to passengers, assured her there were none but merchants in his ship, who came every year, and brought rich stuffs from several parts of the world to trade with; calicoes stained or unstained; diamonds, musk, ambergris, camphire, civet, spices, drugs, and olives. the princess badoura loved olives extremely: when she heard the captain speak of them, land them, said she; i will take them off your hands. as to the other goods, let the merchants bring them to me, and let me see them before they are disposed of, or show them to any one. the captain, taking her for the king of the isle of ebene, replied, sir, there are fifty great pots of olives; but they belong to a merchant whom i was forced to leave behind, i gave him notice that i staid for him; but he not coming, and the wind presenting, i was afraid of losing it, and so set sail. the princess answered, it is no matter: bring them ashore; we will drive a bargain for them, however. the captain sent his boat to the ship and in a little time returned with the pots of olives. the princess demanded how much the fifty pots might be worth in the isle of ebene. sir, said the captain, the merchant is very poor, and your majesty will not pay too dear if you give him a thousand pieces of silver. to satisfy him, replied the princess, and because you tell me he is poor, i will order you a thousand pieces of gold for him, which do you take care to give him. the money was accordingly paid, and the pots carried to the palace. night drawing on, the princess withdrew into the inner palace, and went to the princess haiatalnefous's apartment, ordering the olives to be brought thither. she opened one, to let the princess haiatalnefous taste them, and to taste them herself. great was her astonishment when she found the olives were mingled with gold dust. what can this mean? said she: it is wonderful beyond comprehension! her curiosity increasing by so extraordinary an adventure, she ordered haiatalnefous's women to open and empty all the pots in her presence; and her wonder was still greater when she saw that the olives in all of them were mixed with gold dust; but when she saw her talisman drop out of that in which the prince had put it, she was so surprised that she swooned away. the princess haiatalnefous and her women brought the princess badoura to life again by throwing cold water in her face. when her senses were restored, she took the talisman, and kissed it again and again; but not willing that the princess haiatalnefous's women should hear what passed, and it growing late, she dismissed them. princess, said she to haiatalnefous, as soon as they were gone, you, who have heard my story, must know that it was at the sight of the talisman that i swooned. this is the thing which was the fatal cause of my losing my dear husband, prince camaralzaman; but, as it caused our separation, so i foresee it will be the means of our sudden meeting. next day, as soon as it was light, she sent for the captain of the ship, and, when he came, spoke to him thus: i want to know something more of the merchant to whom the olives belong which i bought of you yesterday. i think you told me you left him behind in the city of the idolaters: can you tell me what he does there? yes, sir, replied the captain; i can speak on my own knowledge, and assure your majesty what i say is truth. i agreed for his passage with a gardener, a very old man, who told me i should find him in his garden, where he worked under him. he showed me the place, and i went thither to call him; where i found what the gardener had said to be true, and for that reason i told your majesty he was poor. i spoke to him myself, and cannot be mistaken. if what yeu say be true, replied the princess badoura, you must set sail this very day for the city of idolaters, and bring that gardener's man, who is my debtor; otherwise i will not only confiscate all the goods belonging to yourself and the merchants you have brought with you, but your and their lives shall answer for your refusal. i have ordered my seal to be put on the warehouses which contain your merchandise; nor shall it be taken off till that man is brought here. this is all i have to say; go, and do as i command you. the captain could make no reply to this order, though to obey it would be a great loss to him and his merchants. he acquainted them with it; and they all very wisely considering that to lose their goods and their lives would be a much greater, hastened him away as fast as they could. they set all hands to work to load the ship with provisions and fresh water for the voyage back, and were so diligent, that she was ready to sail before night. accordingly, the captain weighed anchor, and made for the city of the idolaters, where he arrived in a short time, the wind and weather favouring him during the whole of the voyage. when he was as near the city as he thought convenient, he would not cast anchor, but let the ship ride off-shore; and, going into his boat with as many hands as he wanted, he landed a little way off the port, whence he went directly to camaralzaman's garden. though it was about midnight when he arrived there, the prince was not asleep. his separation from the fair princess of china, his wife, afflicted him in the usual manner, and he lay awake bemoaning his ill fortune. he cursed the day in which his curiosity tempted him to touch the fatal girdle. thus did he pass those hours which are devoted to rest, and was in these mournful meditations when he heard somebody knock at the garden-door; he ran hastily to open it, half dressed as he was; and had no sooner done it, than the captain and his seaman took hold of him, and carried him by force to the boat, and so on ship-board; when they set sail immediately, and made the best of their way to the isle of ebene. hitherto camaralzaman, the captain, and his men, had not said a word to each other. at last the prince broke silence, and asked the captain, whom he knew again, why they had taken him away by force. the captain, in his turn, demanded of the prince whether he was not a debtor to the king of ebene? i the king of ebene's debtor! replied camaralzaman, in amazement; i do not know him; i never had anything to do with him in my life, and never set foot in his kingdom. the captain answered, you should know that better than me; you will soon talk to him yourself; till then, stay here and have patience. the captain was not long on his voyage back to the isle of ebene. though it was night when he cast anchor in the port, he landed immediately; and, taking prince camaralzaman with him, hastened to the palace, where he demanded to be introduced to the king. the princess badoura was withdrawn into the inner palace. however, as soon as she heard of the captain's return, and camaralzaman's arrival, she came forth to speak to him. as soon as she cast her eyes on the prince, she knew the man for whom so many tears had been shed, though he was still in his gardener's habit. as for the prince, who trembled in the presence of a king, as he thought her, to whom he was to answer for an imaginary debt, it did not enter his thoughts that the person, whom he so earnestly desired to see, stood before him. if the princess had followed the dictates of her inclination, she would have run to him, and, by embracing, discovered herself; but she put on herself a constraint, believing that it was for both their interests she should act the part of a king a little longer before making herself known. she contented herself for the present to put him into the hands of an officer who was then in waiting, charging him to take care of him, and use him well, till next day. when the princess badoura had provided for prince camaralaman's entertainment, she turned to the captain, whom she was now to gratify for the important service he had done. she commanded another officer to go immediately and take the seal off the warehouse where the goods belonging to him and the merchants were deposited, whom she discharged. she also gave the master of the vessel a jewel worth much more than the expense he had been at in both his voyages. she bade him, besides, keep the one thousand pieces of gold he had got for the pots of olives; telling him she would make up the account with the merchant he had brought with him. this done, she retired to the princess of the isle of ebene's apartment, to whom she communicated her joy, praying her still to keep the secret. she told her how she intended to manage their discovering themselves to each other, and to the kingdom; adding, that so vast was the distance between a gardener and a great prince, as he was, that it might be dangerous to raise him at once from the lowest condition of the people to the highest degree, though it was but justice it should be done. the princess of the isle of ebene was so far from betraying her, that she rejoiced, and entered into the design; assuring her she would contribute to it all that lay in her power, and do whatever she would desire to serve them. next morning the princess of china ordered prince camaralzaman to be conducted to the royal baths, and apparelled in the robes of an emir or governor of a province. she then went to the council, with the name, habit, and authority, of king of the island of ebene. she commanded camaralzaman to be introduced; and his fine mien and majestic air drew upon him the eyes of all the lords who were present. the princess badoura was charmed to see him again as lovely as she had often seen him, and that pleasure inspired her to speak the more warmly in his praise. when she addressed herself to the council, having ordered the prince to take his seat among the emirs, she spoke to them thus; my lords, camaralzaman, the man whom i have advanced to the same dignity with yourselves, is not unworthy of the honour that is done him. i have known enough of him in my travels to answer for him; and i can assure you he will make his merit known to all of you, as well by his valour, as by a thousand other shining qualities which distinguish him from the rest of mankind. camaralzaman was extremely amazed to hear the king of the isle of ebene, whom he was far from taking for a woman, much less for his dear princess, name him, and declare that he knew him, who, as he thought, was certain he had never seen him before. he was much more surprised to hear himself praised so excessively. however, those eulogiums, excessive as they were, did not confound him, though they came from the mouth of a king: he received them with sueh modesty as showed that he deserved them, and did not grow vain upon it. he porptrated himself before the throne of the king; and rising again, sir, said he, i want words to express ny gratitude to your majesty for the honour you have done me: i shall do all that lies in my power to render myself worthy of your royal favour. from the council-board the prince was conducted to a palace which the princess badoura ordered to be fitted up for him; where he found officers and domestics ready to receive and obey his commands, a stable full of fine horses, and every thing suitable to the quality of an emir. when he was in his closet, the steward of his household brought a chest full of gold for his expenses. the less he conceived how it came about that he met with so much good fortune, the more he wondered at it, never once imagining it was owing to the princess of china. two or three days after, the princess badoura made him lord-treasurer, which office was then vacant, that he might be nearer her person. he behaved himself in this new charge with much integrity, and was so obliging to every body, that he not only gained the friendship of the great, but also the affections of the people, by his uprightness and bounty. camaralzaman, being the reigning favourite of the king of the isle of ebene, and in the esteem of all his subjects, would have been the happiest man in the world, if he had had his princess with him. in the midst of his good fortune he never ceased lamenting her, and grieved that he could hear no tidings of her, especially in a country which she must necessarily have passed in her way to his father's court, and have arrived long before, if she had not met with some ill accident by the way: he would have doubted something, had the princess badoura still gone by the name of camaralzaman, which she took with his habit; but, on her accession to the throne, she changed it to that of armanos, in honour of the old king her father-in-law. there were very few courtiers who knew that she had ever been called camaralzaman, which she assumed when she arrived at the court of the isle of ebene; nor had camaralzaman so much acquaintance with any of them as yet to inform himself further of her history. the princess, fearing he might do it in time, and desirous he should owe the discovery to herself only, resolved to put an end to their mutual torments, for she had observed that, as often as she discoursed about the affairs of his office, he fetched such deep sighs as could be applied to nobody but her. she herself lived in such constraint, that she could endure it no longer. add to this the friendship of the emirs and courtiers, and the zeal and affection of the people; in a word, every thing contributed to her putting the crown of the isle of ebene on his head without any obstacle. the princess badoura consulted the princess haiatalnefous in this, as she had done in the other parts of the adventure; and both agreeing to have it done, she one day took prince camaralzaman aside, saying, i must talk with you about an affair, camaralzaman, in which i want your advice: it will not be so proper to do it by day-light, for our discourse may be long, and i would not be observed. come hither in the evening: do not let us wait for you; i will take care to provide you a bed. camaralzaman came punctually to the palace at the hour appointed by the princess: she took him into the inner apartment; and, having told the chief eunuch, who prepared to follow her, that she had no occasion for his service, but only keep the door shut, she carried him into a private apartment adjoining to the princess haiatalnefous, where she used to lie. when she entered the chamber, where was a bed, she shut the door; and, taking the talisman out of her pocket, gave it to camaralzaman, saying, it is not long since an astrologer presented me with this talisman: you being skilful in all things, pray tell me for what it is good. camaralzanrian took the talisman, and drew near a lamp to view it. as soon as he knew it to be the princess's, he was transported with pleasure, and she was no less pleased to see it. sir, said the prince, your majesty asked me what this talisman is good for. oh, king! it is only good to kill me with grief and despair, if i do not suddenly find the most charming and lovely princess in the world, to whom it belongs; whose loss i was the occasion of, and of a strange adventure to me, the very recital of which will move your majesty to pity such an unfortunate husband and lover, if you have patience to hear it. you shall tell me that another time, replied the princess; i am very glad i know something of it already. stay here a little, and i will return to you in a moment. at these words she went into her closet, put off her royal turban, and in a few minutes dressed herself like a woman; and, having the girdle round her which she had on the day of their separation, she entered the chamber. prince camaralzaman immediately knew his dear princess; he ran to her, and tenderly embraced her, crying out, ah! how much am i obliged to the king, who has so agreeably surprised me!--do not expect to see the king any more, replied the princess, with tears in her eyes: let us sit down, and i will explain the enigma. they sat down, and the princess told the prince her resolution, when in the field where they encamped the last time they were together, as soon as she perceived she waited for him to no purpose; how she went through with it, till she arrived at the isle of ebene, where she had been obliged to marry the princess haiatalnefous, and accept of the crown, which king armanos offered as one of the conditions of the marriage; how the princess, whose merit she highly extolled, took her declaration of her sex; how she found the talisman in the pots of olives mingled with the gold dust; and that her finding it was the cause of her sending for him to the city of the idolaters. when she had finished the relation of her adventure, she obliged the prince to tell his. he informed her how the talisman occasioned their separation, and the rest of the story relating to him, as already told. they then bemoaned one another's ill fortune, and rejoiced in their good: he complained of her with the kindest expressions love could invent, chiding her tenderly for making him languish so long without her; and she excused herself with the reasons already related. after which, it growing late, they went to bed. the princess badoura and prince camaralzaman rose next morning as soon as it was light; but the princess would no more put on her royal robes as king; she dressed herself in her natural dress, that of a woman, and then sent the chief eunuch to king armanos, her father-in-law, to desire he would take the trouble to come to her apartment. when the king entered the chamber, he was amazed to see a lady there who was unknown to him, and the lord-treasurer with her, to whom it was not permitted to come within the inner palace, nor to any of the lords of the court. he sat down, and asked where the king was. the princess answered, yesterday i was king, sir; but today i am only princess of china, wife to prince camaralzaman, the true son of king schahzaman. if your majesty will have patience to hear our histories, i hope you will not condemn me for putting an innocent deceit upon you. the king bade her go on, and heard her discourse from beginning to end, with astonishment. the princess finishing, said to him, sir, though our religion does not suffer men to have more wives than one, without some sort of scandal, and we women do not easily comply with the custom men have introduced to have several, yet if your majesty will consent to give your daughter, the princess haiatalnefous, in marriage to the prince camaralzaman, i will with all my heart yield up to her the rank and quality of queen which of right belongs to her, and content myself with the second place. if this precedence were not her due, i would, however, give it her, being obliged to her for keeping the secret so faithfully. if your majesty approves of it, i am sure she will, and will pass my word that she will obey you with joy. king armanos listened to the princess with admiration, and when she had done, turned about to prince, camaralzaman, saying, son, since the princess badoura, your wife, whom i have all along thought to be my son-in-law through a deceit of which i do not complain, assures me that she will divide your bed with my daughter, i have nothing more to do but to know if you are willing to marry her, and accept of the crown, which the princess badoura should deservedly wear as long as she lived, if she did not quit it out of love to you. sir, replied prince camaralzaman, though i desired nothing so earnestly as to see my father, yet the obligations i have to your majesty and the princess haiatalnefous are so weighty, that i cannot deny you any thing in my power. camaralzaman was proclaimed king, and married the same day with all possible demonstrations of joy; he being very well pleased with the princess haiatalnefous's beauty and love for him. the two queens lived together afterwards as friendly as they had done before, both being contented with king camaralzaman's equal carriage towards them; and they were alternately taken to his bed. next year each brought him a son, and the births of the two princes were celebrated with extraordinary feastings. the first, whom the princess badoura was delivered of, king camaralzaman named amgrad, most glorious; and the other, who was born of queen haiatalnefous, assad, most happy. the story of the princes amgrad and assad. the two princes were brought up with great care, and, when old enough, had the same governor, and the same master for the arts and sciences which king camaralzaman would have them learn; and they had the same master for each exercise. the friendship which from their infancy they entered into, occasioned an uniformity of manners and inclinations which increased with their years. when they were of age to keep a separate court, they loved one another so tenderly, that they begged king camaralzaman to let them live together. he consented to it; and they had the same officers, the same domestics, the same lodging, and the same table. king camaralzaman had so good an opinion of their capacity and justice, that he made no scruple of admitting them into his council at eighteen years old, and letting them by turns preside there, while he took the diversion of hunting, or recreated himself with his queens at his houses of pleasure. the two princes being equally handsome, both in infancy and when they were grown up, the two queens loved them with incredible tenderness; in such a manner, however, that the princess badoura had a greater kindness for prince assad, queen haiatalnefous' son, than her own; and queen haiatalnefous loved amgrad, princess badoura's son, better than her own son assad. the two queens thought at first that this inclination was nothing but a friendship that proceeded from an exeess of their own for each other, which they still preserved; but as the two princes advanced in years, that friendship turned to a secret love, when the graces that appeared in their youth blinded their reason. they knew the criminality of their passion, and did all they could to resist it; but their efforts proved vain. they were accustomed to be familiar with them, to admire, to praise, to kiss and caress them from their infancy, and could not desist when they grew up, which inflamed their desires to such a height that they could neither eat, drink, nor sleep. it was their and the princes' ill fortune, that the latter, being used to be so treated by them, had not the least suspicion of their infamous desires. the two queens had not discovered the secret of their passion, nor had either the boldness to mention the prince she loved, by word of mouth, or the guilty flame with which she burnt; they at last resolved to do it by billet, and made use of king camaralzaman's absence to execute their wicked design, when he was gone a hunting, which would take him up three or four days. prince amgrad presided at the council-table the day of king camaralzaman's departure, and heard causes till three or four o'clock in the afternoon. when he returned to the palace from the council-chamber, an eunuch took him aside, and gave him a billet from queen haiatalnefous, amgrad took it but read with horror. traitor! said he to the eunuch, as soon as he had read it through, is this the fidelity thou owest thy master and thy king? at these words he drew his sabre, and cut off his head. having done this, he ran in haste to the princess badoura his mother, bearing his resentment still in his looks, and showing her the billet, told her the contents of it, and from whom it came; but, instead of hearkening to him, she fell into a passion, and said, son, it is all a calumny and imposture: queen haiatalnefous is a very discreet princess, and you are very bold to talk after this rate. the prince was enraged at his mother, to hear her speak so of him. you are both bad alike, said he and had it not been for the respect i owe my father, this day should have been the last of haiatalnefous's life. queen badoura might have imagined, by the example of her son amgrad, that prince assad, who was as virtuous as the other, would not be pleased with such a declaration of love as had been made to his brother: yet that did not hinder her persisting in so abominable a design; she wrote him a billet the next day, which she trusted with an old woman belonging to the palace to convey to him. the old woman watched her opportunity to give it as he was coming from the council-chamber, where he presided that day in, his turn: the prince took it; and, reading it, fell into such a fury, that, without finishing it, he drew his sabre, and punished the old woman as she deserved. he ran presently to the apartment of his mother queen haiatalnefous with the billet in his hand; he would have shown it to her, but she did not give him time crying out, i know what you would have: you are as impertinent as your brother amgrad, begone! and never come into my presence again. assad stood as one thunderstruck at these words, of which he could not comprehend the meaning. when he recollected himself, he was so transported with rage, that he had like to have given very fatal demonstrations of his anger; but he contained himself, and withdrew without making any reply, fearing, if he staid, he might say something unworthy the greatness of his soul. amgrad had put the same constraint on himself; and, guessing by his mother's carriage that she was altogether as criminal as queen haiatalnefous, went to his brother, to chide him, for not communicating that hated secret to him, and to mingle his sorrow with assad's. the two queens grew desperate when they found so much virtue in the two princes; and, instead of reforming themselves, renounced all sentiments of mothers and of nature, and conspired together to destroy them: they made their women believe the two princes had attempted to ravish them: they counterfeited the matter to the life by tears, cries, and curses, and lay in the same bed, as if the resistance they had made had wasted them so much, that they were almost at death's door. when camaralzaman returned to the palace from hunting, he was very much surprised to find them in bed together in tears; and the part of desponding ladies was acted so well, that he was touched with compassion, and asked them, with earnestness, what had happened to them. at this question, the dissembling queens wept and groaned more bitterly than before; and, after pressing them again and again to tell him, queen badoura at last answered thus: sir, our grief is so extraordinary, and so just, that we ought not to see the light of the sun nor live a day, after the violence that has been offered us by the princes your sons. their brutality is such, that they entered into a horrid design in your absence, and had the boldness and insolence to make attempts upon our honour. your majesty will excuse us from saying more; you may guess the rest by our affliction. the king sent for the two princes, and would have killed them both with his own hand, if old king armanos, his father-in-law, who was present, had not held his arm. son, said he, what are you going to do? will you stain your hands and your palace with your own blood? there are other ways of punishing, if they are really guilty. he endeavoured thus to appease him, and desired him to examine the matter, and see whether they did indeed commit the crime of which they were accused. it was now a hard thing for camaralzaman to be so much master of himself as not to butcher his own children. he ordered them to be put under arrest, and sent for an emir called giendar, whom he commanded to carry them out of the city, and put them to death, as far off and in what place he pleased; but not to return unless he brought their clothes back, as a token of having executed his orders. giendar travelled with them all night, and early the next morning alighted, telling them, with tears in his eyes, the cruel commands he had received. believe me, princes, said he, it is next to death to obey your father, who chose me to execute what he ordered concerning you. would to heaven i could avoid it! the princes replied, do your duty; we know well you are not the cause of our deaths, and pardon you freely. then they embraced, and bid each other adieu with so much tenderness, that it was a long time before they could leave one another's arms. prince assad was the first who prepared himself for the fatal stroke. begin with me, giendar, said he, that i may not have the affliction to see my clear brother amgrad die. amgrad opposed him in this; and giendar could not, without, weeping more than before, be witness of this dispute between them, which showed how perfect and sincere their friendship was. they at last determined the contest by desiring giendar to tie them together, and put them in the most convenient posture to kill them at one blow. do not refuse two unfortunate brothers the poor comfort of dying together, said the generous princes; for all things, even our innocence, are common between us. giendar agreed to it, and, as they desired, tied them to each ether, breast to breast, close; and when he had placed them so as he thought he might strike the blow with the more surety to answer their request, and cut off their heads at once, he asked if they had any thing to command him before they died? we have only one thing to desire, replied the princes; which is, to assure our father, on your return, that we are innocent; but do not charge him with our deaths, knowing he is not well informed of the truth of the crime of which we are accused. giendar promised to do what they would have him, and drew his sabre. his horse, being tied to a tree just by, started at the sight of the sabre, which glittered against the sun, broke his bridle, and ran away with all speed into the country. giendar set a great price upon him, being a very good horse; besides, being richly harnessed, the emir could not well bear the loss. this accident so troubled him, that, instead of beheading the two princes, he threw down his sabre, and ran after his horse to catch him. the horse gallopped on before him, and led him several miles out of his way into a wood. giendar followed, and the horse's neighing roused a lion that was asleep not far off. the lion started up, and, instead of running after the horse, made directly towards giendar, who thought no more of his horse, but how to avoid the lion, and save his life. he ran into the thickest of the wood, the lion pursuing him. driven to this extremity, he said to himself, heaven had not punished me in this manner, but to show the innocence of the princes whom i was commanded to put to death; and now, to add to my misfortune, i have not my sabre to defend myself! while giendar was gone, the two princes were seized with a violent thirst, occasioned by the fear of death, notwithstanding their steadfast resolution to submit to the king their father's cruel order. prince amgrad showed his brother a fountain not far off. ah, brother! said assad, we have but a short time to live, and what need have we to quench our thirst? we can bear it a few minutes longer. amgrad, taking no notice of his brother's remonstrance, unbound himself, and his brother likewise, whether he would or not. they went to the fountain, and, having refreshed themselves, heard the roaring of a lion, who, in pursuit of his prey, had got to the end of the wood near where the princes were. they also heard giendar's dreadful cries; on which amgrad seized giendar's sabre, which lay on the ground, saying to assad, come, brother, let us go and help poor giendar; perhaps we may arrive soon enough to deliver him from the danger in which he now is. the two princes ran to the wood, and entered it just as the lion was going to fall upon giendar. the beast, seeing prince amgrad advancing towards him with a sabre in his hand, left his prey, and came against him with fury. the prince met him intrepidly, and gave him a blow so forcibly and dexterously, that it felled him to the ground. when giendar saw that the two princes were the men who saved his life, he threw himself at their feet, and thanked them for the great obligation he had to them, in words which sufficiently showed his gratitude. princes, said he, rising up and kissing their hands, with tears in his eyes, god forbid that ever i should attempt any thing against your lives, especially after having so humanely and bravely saved mine! it shall never be said that the emir giendar was guilty of such ingratitude. the service we have done, answered the princes, ought not to hinder you from executing the orders you have received. let us catch your horse, and then return to the place where you left us. they were at no great trouble to take the horse, whose mettle was come down a little with running. when they had restored him to giendar, and were near the fountain, they begged and argued with him to do as their father had commanded; but all to no purpose. i only take the liberty to desire you, said giendar, and i pray you not to deny me, that you will divide my clothes between you, and give me yours; and go so far, that the king your father may never hear of you more. the princes were forced to comply. each of them gave him his clothes, and covered themselves with what he could spare of his. he also gave them all the gold he had, and took his leave of them. when emir giendar parted from the princes, he passed through the wood where amgrad had killed the lion, in whose blood he dipped their clothes; which having done, he proceeded on his way to the capital city of the isle of ebene. on his arrival, king camaralzaman asked him if he had done what he ordered? giendar, replied, see, sir, the faithful witnesses of my obedience, giving him, at the same time, the clothes of the princes. how did they take the punishment i commanded to be executed on them? giendar answered, with wonderful constancy, sir, and a holy resignation to the decrees of heaven; which showed how sincerely they professed their religion. but, particularly, they behaved themselves with great respect towards your majesty, and an entire submission to the sentence of death. we die innocent, said they; however, we do not murmur; we take our death as from the hand of heaven, and forgive our father; for we know very well he has not been rightly informed of the truth. camaralzaman was sensibly touched at emir giendar's relation, and, putting his hand into prince amgrad's pocket, he found an open billet. he no sooner knew that queen haiatalnefous wrote it, as well by a lock of her hair which was in it, as by her handwriting, than he froze with horror. he then, trembling, put his hand into the pocket of assad, and, finding there likewise queen badoura's billet, his surprise was so great and so lively that he swooned away. never did man grieve like camaralzaman when he was recovered from swooning. barbarous father as thou art! cried he, what hast thou done? thou hast murdered thy own children, thy innocent children! did not their wisdom, their modesty, their obedience, their submission to thy will in all things, their virtue; did not these all plead in their behalf--blind and insensible father! dost thou deserve to live after the execrable crime which thou hast committed? i have brought this abomination on my own head, and heaven chastises me for not persevering in the aversion to women with which i was born. and, oh ye detestable wives! i will not--no, i will not, as ye deserve--wash off the guilt of your sins with your blood; ye are unworthy of my rage; but perdition seize me if ever i see you more! king camaralzaman was a man of too much religion to break his vow. he commanded the two queens to be lodged in separate apartments that very day, where they were kept under strong guards, and never afterwards saw them. while the king of the isle of ebene afflicted himself for the loss of the princes his sons, of which he thought he had been the author by too rashly condemning them, the royal youths wandered through deserts, endeavouring to avoid all places that were inhabited, and the sight of any human creature. they lived on herbs and wild fruits, and drank only stinking rainwater, which they found in the crevices of the rocks. they slept and watched by turns at night, for fear of wild beasts. when they had travelled about a month, they came to the foot of a high mountain inaccessible for its cragginess; the stones being black, and so rugged, that it was impossible to ascend over them to the summit of the hill. at last, they discovered a kind of path; but it was so narrow and difficult, they durst not venture up it. this obliged them to go along by the foot of the mountain, in hopes of finding a more easy way to reach the top. they went round it five days, but could see nothing like a path; so they were obliged to return to that which they had neglected. they still thought it would be in vain to attempt going up by it. they deliberated on what they should do for a long time; and at last, encouraging one another, resolved to ascend the hill. the more they advanced, they thought it was the higher and steeper, which made them think several times of giving up the enterprise. when one was weary, the other stopped, and both rested together. sometimes they were both so tired, that they wanted strength to go further; then, despairing of being able to reach the top, they thought they must lie down, and die of fatigue and weariness. when they found they had recovered a little strength, they would animate each other, and go on. notwithstanding all their endeavours and their courage, they could not get to the top that day. night came on, and prince assad was so much fatigued, that he stopped, and said to prince amgrad, i can go no further; i am ready to die. stay as long as you will, replied prince amgrad; let us rest ourselves, and have a good heart; it is but a little way to the top, and the moon befriends us. they rested about half an hour, when assad having attained more strength, proceeded on their way to the mountain's summit, where they at last arrived, and lay down. amgrad rose first, and, advancing, saw a tree at a little distance: he went to it, and found it was a pomegranate-tree, with large fruit upon it, and a fountain near the foot. he ran to his brother assad to tell him the good news, and conducted him to the tree which grew by the side of the fountain. they both refreshed themselves there by eating each a pomegranate; after which they fell asleep. next morning, when they awoke, come, brother, said amgrad to assad, let us go on; i see the mountain is easier to be travelled over on this side than the other; all our way now is down hill. but assad was so fatigued with the last day's journey, that he wanted three or four days' repose to recruit his strength. they spent them, as they had done many before, in discoursing on their mother's inordinate desires, and deploring their misfortunes. but, said they, since heaven has so visibly declared itself in our favour, we ought to bear them with patience, and comfort ourselves with hopes that we shall soon see an end of them. at the end of three days' rest, the two brothers continued their travels, and were five days in descending the hill before they came into the valley. then they discovered a great city, at which they were very joyful: brother, said amgrad to assad, are not you of my opinion, which is, that you should stay in some place out of the city, where i may come to you again, while i go to learn the language, and inform myself of the name of the city, and in what country we are? and when i come back, i will bring provisions with me. it is not convenient for us to go there together; there may be danger in it; and so much notice will not be taken of one stranger as of two. brother, replied assad, i approve of what you say; it is prudent; but if one of us must part from the other on that account, i cannot suffer that it shall be you; allow me to go; for what a trouble will it be to me if any ill accident should happen to you! ah! but, brother, answered amgrad, the same ill accident you fear for me, i am as much afraid of for you. pray let me go; and do you stay here with patience.--i will never yield to it, said assad: if any ill should happen to me, it will be some comfort to think that you are safe. amgrad was forced to submit; and assad, going towards the city, stopped in a grove at the foot of the mountain. prince assad took the purse of money which amgrad had in charge, and then proceeded towards the city. he had not gone far in the first street, before he met with a reverend old man with a cane in his hand: he was neatly dressed; and the prince taking him for a man of note in the place, who would not put a trick upon him, accosted him thus: pray, my lord, which is the way to the market-place? the old man looked on prince assad, smiling: child, said he, it is plain you are a stranger, or you would not have asked that question. yes, my lord, i am a stranger, replied assad. the old man answered, you are welcome then; our country will be honoured by the presence of so handsome a young man as you are: tell me what business you have at the market-place? my lord, replied assad, it is nearly two months since my brother and i left our own country, which is a great way from hence; we have not ceased travelling ever since, and we arrived here but to-day. my brother, fatigued with so long a journey, waits at the foot of the mountain; and for him and myself i am come to buy provisions. son, said the old man, you could not have come in a better time, and i am glad of it, both for your and your brother's sake. i made a feast to-day for some friends of mine, and a great deal of victuals is left untouched. come along with me; you may eat as much as you please; and, when that is done, i will give you enough to last your brother and you several days. do not spend your money when there is no occasion; travellers are always in want of it; while you are eating, i will give you an account of our city, which nobody can do better than myself, who have borne all the honourable offices in it. it is well for you that you happened to meet with me; for, i must tell you, all our citizens cannot so well help and inform you as i can. i can assure you that some of them are wicked. come along; you shall see the difference between a real honest man, as i am, and such as boast to be so, and are not. i am infinitely obliged to you, replied assad, for your good-will; i put myself entirely into your hands, and am ready to go with you wherever you please. the old man laughed in his sleeve to think that he had got the prince in his clutches: he walked by his side as close as he could; and, to preserve the favourable opinion which assad had conceived of him, he kept talking all the way with great civility and politeness. among other things, he said, it must be confessed it was your good fortune to meet with me, rather than with any other man; for which i thank god. when you come to my house, you will know the reason why i express so much satisfaction at meeting you. arriving at the old man's house, he introduced assad into a hall, where were forty such old fellows as himself, who formed a circle round a flaming fire, which they adored. the prince was not more seized with horror at the sight of so many men adoring the creature for the creator, than with the fear of finding himself betrayed, and in such an abominable place. while assad stood motionless with surprise, the old cheat saluted the forty grey-headed men round the fire: devout adorers of fire, said he, this is a happy day for us! where is gazban! call him. he spoke these words so loud, that a negro, who waited at the lower end of the hall, came immediately to him. this black was gazban, who, as soon as he saw the disconsolate assad, imagined for what purpose he had been called; he therefore instantly seized him, and with amazing nimbleness tied him hand and foot. when you have done, said the old man, carry him down, and bid my daughters, bostava and cavama, give him every day the bastinado, and allow him only a little bread morning and evening for his subsistence, sufficient just to keep him alive till the next ship departs for the blue sea and the fiery mountain, when he shall be offered up an agreeable sacrifice to our divinity. as soon as the old man gave the cruel order, gazban bore prince assad into a cellar underneath the hall, from whence they proceeded through several dark rooms, till they came to a dungeon, the descent to which was by twenty steps, where he left him bound in chains of prodigious weight and bigness. gazban then went to give notice of it to the old man's daughters; but he might have spared himself the trouble, their father having before sent for them, and given instructions himself how they were to proceed. daughters, said he, i have just now caused a young mussulman to be secured in the dungeon; therefore, as you well know how to do it, go instantly and give him the bastinado; and, as you cannot better show your zeal for our divinity, and the fire which you adore, than by your severity to him, do not be sparing in the punishment you are to inflict. bostava and cavama, who had been bred up in their hatred to mussulnien, received this order with joy: they descended immediately into the dungeon, stripped assad, and bastinadoed him so unmercifully, that the blood issued out of the wounds, and he was left almost dead. after this cruel execution, they put a piece of bread and a pot of water by him, and retired. it was some time before assad recovered from the state of insensibility in which they had left him; and, in reflecting on his melancholy condition, he burst into a flood of tears, bitterly deploring the misery with which he was surrounded. the pleasing reflection, however, that this misfortune had not happened to his brother amgrad, gave him some degree of comfort amidst his distress. prince amgrad waited for his brother till the evening with great impatience; but when it was two, three, and four of the clock in the morning, and assad not returned, his sorrow was so very violent, that he grew almost desperate. he spent the night in that dismal condition, and, as soon as it was day, went to the city, which, on entering, he was surprised to see but very few mussulmen. he accosted the first he met, and asked him the name of the place; who told him it was the city of the magicians, so called because of the great number of magicians therein who adored fire, and that there were but very few mussulmen. amgrad then demanded how far it was to the isle of ebene: he was answered, that it was four months' voyage by sea, and a year's journey by land. the man, having satisfied the prince as to these two questions, hastily left him, and went about his business. amgrad, who was about six weeks coming from the isle of ebene with his brother assad, could not comprehend how they came to this city in so short a time, unless the way across the mountain were much shortened, and not frequented because of the difficulty of the pass. proceeding further through the town, he stopped at a tailor's shop, whom he knew to be a mussulman by his habit, as he had likewise known the man with whom he had just before conversed. having saluted him, he sat down, and told him the occasion of troubling him. when prince amgrad had done speaking, the tailor replied, if your brother has fallen into the hands of some magician, depend upon it you will never more see him; he is irrecoverably lost: comfort yourself, therefore, as well as you can, and beware of falling into the same misfortune; to avoid which, i would advise you to stay for some time at my house, and i will acquaint you with all the tricks of these magicians, that, when you go from hence, you may take the more care of yourself by being guarded against them. amgrad, impressed with the deepest concern for the loss of his brother, accepted the tailor's offer, and returned him a thousand thanks for his kindness. the story of prince amgrad, and a lady of the city of the magicians. prince amgrad went not out of the tailor's house for a whole month, without his host accompanying him; at last, however, he ventured to go to the baths. returning home through a street in which there was nobody but himself and a lady, he was surprised at her approaching him unveiled. the lady, seeing a handsome young man just come out of the bath, asked him, with a smiling air, whither he was going? casting, at the same time, such amorous glances, that amgrad could not possibly resist her charms. madam, said he, i am going to my own house or yours, as you please. my lord, replied the lady, with an agreeable smile, ladies of my quality never take men to their own houses; they always go to the men's. at this unexpected answer of the lady, amgrad was very much confounded; he durst not venture to take her home to his landlord's, fearing that he would be so highly displeased with him as to withdraw his protection, of which, considering he was in a place where he must always be upon his guard, he stood in too much need. quite unacquainted with the city, he knew not where to carry her, and yet was unwilling to lose so happy an opportunity. in this uncertainty he resolved to leave it to chance, and therefore, without returning an answer, he went forwards, the lady following him. amgrad led her through so many streets, lanes, and alleys, that both grew weary with walking: at last, however, they came into a street, having a great gate at the end of it, which, being shut, prevented their going further. the gate, which had a seat on each side of it, belonged to a house fronting the street. amgrad sat himself down on one seat to take breath, and the lady, being also much fatigued, seated herself on the other. she then inquired of the prince, whether the house belonged to him. yes, madam, said amgrad. why, then, do not you enter? replied the lady. whom do you wait for? fair lady, answered the prince, i have not got the key of the gate; i left it with my slave, who, being sent on an errand, is not yet returned: besides, having been ordered to provide something good for dinner, i am afraid we shall be under the disagreeable necessity of waiting a long time for him. the prince met with so many difficulties in satisfying her passion, that he began to repent of having undertaken it; he therefore contrived this answer, in hopes that the lady, out of resentment, would have left him, and gone in pursuit of another lover; but he was mistaken. your slave is an impertinent fellow, said madam, to stay so long: when he comes back, i will chastise him myself as he deserves, if you refuse to do it. it is by no means decent to sit here alone with a man to whom i am an entire stranger. she then rose, and, taking up a stone, began to force open the lock of the gate, which being only made of wood, after the country manner, was very weak. amgrad did all he could to hinder her: what are you doing, madam? said the prince. for heaven's sake, stay a little! what are you afraid of? replied the lady; is it not your house? the breaking of the lock will be no great damage; a new one can be purchased at a trifling expense. she accordingly broke it open, and entered the house. amgrad, when he saw the door forced open, gave himself up as a lost man: he reflected whether it would be more advisable to go into the house, or to retreat as fast as he could, to avoid the danger which he believed inevitable, and was just going to have recourse to the latter, when the lady returned. seeing that he did not enter, why do not you come into your house? said she. fearing we have nothing ready, answered the prince, i am looking to see if my slave is coming. come in, come in, said madam; it will be more prudent to wait within doors than without. amgrad, though with great reluctance, followed her into the house. after passing through a spacious court, which had been newly paved, they ascended by several steps into piazzas, which led to a large, open, and well-furnished hall, where he and the lady saw a table ready spread with all sorts of delicate dishes, a side-board heaped with fruit, and a cistern full of bottles of wine. when amgrad saw everything in such order, he doubted not that he was undone, the quality of the owner appearing by the richness of the feast. poor amgrad! said he to himself, thou wilt soon follow thy dear brother assad! the lady, on the contrary, being transported at the sight, cried out, how, my lord, did you fear there was nothing ready? your slaves, you see, have done more than you expected. but, if i am not mistaken, these preparations were made for some other lady, and not for me. no matter; let her come; i promise you i will not be jealous: i only beg the favour of being permitted to wait on her and you. amgrad, though much concerned at this accident, could not help laughing at the lady's pleasantry. madam, said he, thinking of something else besides what perplexed him, there is nothing in what you fancy; this is my common dinner, and no exraordinary preparations, i assure you. he could not prevail on himself to sit at a table which was not prepared for him; he therefore took his seat on a sofa [footnote: a turkish bench on which mats and cushions are put.]; but the lady still kept teasing him with her importunities. come, sir, said she, you must certainly be hungry after bathing; let us eat and enjoy ourselves. amgrad, complying at last with her request, sat down to table. the lady, having eaten a bit, took a bottle and glass, and poured out some wine; then, having drunk to amgrad, filled another and presented it to him, who pledged her. the more the prince reflected on this adventure, the more he was anaazed that the master of the house did not appear, and that a house so elegant and well furnished should be left without a servant. it will be lucky, said he to himself, if the man of the house does not come till i am got clear of this intrigue. while he was indulging this and some other troublesome thoughts, the lady ate and drank heartily, obliging him to do the same; and they were almost come to the last course when the master of the house arrived. it happened to be bahader, master of the horse to the king of the magicians, to whom this house belonged; but, generally residing in another, he seldom visited it, unless to regale himself with two or three chosen friends. on such occasions he always sent provisions from his other house by some of his servants, who were just gone as the lady and amgrad entered. bahader, as usual, came in disguise, and without attendants, a little while before the time appointed for his friends coming, and was not a little surprised to see the door of his house broken open: he entered without making a noise; but hearing some persons talking and making merry in the hall, he crept along by the side of the wall, and put his head half way within the door to see who they were. perceiving a young gentleman and a young lady eating, at his table, the victuals which he had provided for his friends and himself, and that there was no great harm done, he resolved to make a jest of it. the lady, who sat with her back towards the dooi, did not see the master of the horse; but amgrad, who had the glass in his hand, and was just going to drink, observed him immediately: his countenance instantly changed at the sight of bahader, who made a sign not to say a word, but to come and speak with him. amgrad drank and rose: where are you going? said the lady. the prince answered, pray, madam, stay here a little; i shall return in a minute; a small affair obliges me to go out at present. bahader waited for him in the piazza, and led him into the court, to talk to him without being heard by the lady. when bahader and prince amgrad were in the court, bahader demanded of the prince, how the lady came into his house, and why they broke open his door? my lord, replied amgrad, you may very reasonably think me guilty of a very unwarrantable action; but if you will have patience to hear me, i hope my innocence will appear. he then told bahader, in few words, what had happened, without disguising any part of the truth; and, to convince him that he was not capable of being so criminal as he might think, he declared himself a prince, and related the reason of his coming to the city of the magicians. bahader, who naturally loved strangers, was transported with an opportunity of obliging one of amgrad's rank and quality; for by his air, his actions, his handsome discourse, and his noble look, he did not in the least doubt the truth of what he had said, prince, said bahader, i am very glad i can oblige you in so pleasant an adventure as this; and, so far from disturbing the feast, it will be a pleasure to me to contribute to your satisfaction in any thing. my name is bahader; i am master of the horse to the king of the magicians. i commonly dwell in another house, which i have in the city, but come here sometimes to have the more liberty with my friends, for i cannot be so free at home among my children and domestics. as you have made this lady believe that you have a slave, i will support your assertion by personating the character; and, to spare your excuses, i repeat that it shall positively be so; you will presently know my reason for it. go to your place, and continue to divert yourself: when i return, and come before you in a slave's habit, chide me for staying so long; do not be afraid even to strike me. i will wait upon you all the while you are at table till night: you shall sleep here, and so shall the lady; and tomorrow morning you may send her home with honour. i shall afterwards endeavour to do you more important services. go, and lose no time. amgrad would have made an excuse, but the master of the horse would not let him, forcing him to go to the lady. he had scarcely entered the hall before balmder's friends arrived. bahader called them to him, and apologized his not entertaining them that day, telling them they would approve of the reason when they knew it, which should be in due time. when they were gone, he also went forth, and dressed himself in a slave's habit. prince amgrad approached the lady in a much better humour than when he left her, on finding that the house belonged to a man of quality, who had received him so courteously. as he sat down to table again, he said, madam, i beg a thousand pardons for my rudeness; i was vexed that my slave should tarry so long: the rascal shall pay for it when he comes: i will teach him to use me so another time. let not that trouble you, said the lady, if he is guilty of any faults, let him pay for it; do not think of him; we can enjoy ourselves without him, i warrant. amgrad continued at the table with the more pleasure, being under no apprehensions at the consequence of the lady's indiscretion, who ought not to have broken open the door, had it even been amgrad's own house. they drank and laughed, and drank again, till bahader arrived, disguised as a slave. bahader entered like one who feared his master's displeasure for staying out when he had company with him: he fell down at his feet, and kissed the ground, to implore his clemency; and, when he had done, stood behind him with his hands across, in expectation of his commands. sirrah! said amgrad, with a fierce tone and a fiery look, is there such a slave as thou in all the world? where have you been? what have you been doing, that you came no sooner? my lord, replied bahader, i ask your pardon; i was endeavouring to do as you ordered me, and could not despatch it sooner: besides, i did not think you would come home so early. you are a rascal! said amgrad; and i shall bang your sides for you, to teach you to lie, and to fail me another time. he then rose up, took a stick, and gave him two or three blows, but so slightly, that he hardly felt it; after which he sat down to table again. the lady, not satisfied with the chastisement amgrad had bestowed on him, also rose, took the stick, and struck bahader so unmercifully, that the tears came into his eyes. amgrad, offended at such freedom, and knowing that the pretended slave was not a proper object of resentment, cried out, it is enough: but she continued her rude discipline, regardless of the prince's intercession: let me alone with him, said she; i will punish him severely, and i warrant that he will be more expeditious in future. but, repeating her blows, amgrad rose from the table, and forced the stick out of her hand; which, however, she did not give up without some difficulty. when she found that she could beat bahader no longer, she sat down, and railed at and cursed him. baliader wiped his eyes, and stood behind his fictitious master to fill out wine. when he saw they had done eating and drinking, he took away the cloth, and put every thing in its place; and, night coming on, lighted up the lamps. as often as he passed the lady, she muttered and threatened him, and gave him abusive language, to amgrad's great disliking, who would have hindered her, if he could. when it was time to retire, bahader prepared a bed for them, and withdrew into a chamber over against that where they were to lie, and laid himself down, and soon fell asleep, having been fatigued with his beating. amgrad and the lady entertained one another a good half hour afterwards; but the lady wanting to go forth before she went to bed, passed through the gallery that parted bahader's chamber from theirs; and hearing him snore, and seeing a sabre hanging up by him, she turned back again, and said to prince amgrad, pray, my lord, as you love me, do me one favour. in what can i serve you? replied the prince. the lady answered, oblige me so far as to take down your sabre, and cut off your slave's head. amgrad was astonished at such a proposal from a lady, and doubted not it was the wine she had drunk that instigated her. madam, said he, let my slave alone; he is not worthy of your notice. i have beaten him, and you have beaten him; it is sufficient: i am very well satisfied with him; he is seldom guilty of such faults. that shall not do! replied the lady in a violent fury; the rogue shall die, if not by your hands, by mine! saying this, she ran and took down the sabre from the place where it hung, drew it out of the scabbard, and was going to execute her wicked design. amgrad, to prevent her, took the sabre out of her hand, saying, you shall be satisfied; madam; the slave shall die, since you will have it so: but i shall be sorry that any one but myself should kill him. when she had given him the sabre, come, follow me, said he; make no noise, lest we wake him. they went into the chamber, where amgrad, instead of gratifying the lady's desire, struck at her with the weapon, and severing her head with the blow, it fell upon bahader. had not the noise of the blow which amgrad gave the lady, in cutting off her head, wakened bahader, her head falling upon him would have done it: he was amazed to see amgrad with a sabre covered with blood, and the body of the lady lying headless on the ground. the prince told him what had passed; and, ending his discourse, said, i had no other way to hinder her from killing you, she was so transported with fury against you. my lord, replied bahader, full of gratitude, persons of your rank, and so generous as you, are not capable of doing so wicked an action as she desired of you. you are my deliverer, and i cannot enough thank you. after embracing him, in order to show him what sense he had of his obligations, he said, we must carry this corpse out before it is quite day. leave it to me; i will do it. amgrad would not agree to that, saying that he would carry it away himself, since he had done the deed. bahader replied, you are a stranger in this city, and will not come off so well as one who is acquainted here: i must do it, if for no other reason than both our safeties, to prevent our being questioned for her death. stay you here; and if i do not come back before day, you may be sure the watch has taken me: and, for fear of the worst, i will by a writing give you this house and furniture for your habitation while you stay in this city. when he had written, signed, and delivered the paper to prince amgrad, he put the lady's body and head in a bag, took it on his shoulder, and went out with it from one street to another, taking the way to the sea-side; but he had not gone far before he was met by one of the judges of the city, going the rounds in person, as was usual for the chief magistrates to do there. bahader was stopped by the judge's followers, who, opening the bag, found the body of a murdered lady, bundled up with the head. the judge, who knew the master of the horse notwithstanding his disguise, took him home to his house; and, not daring to put him to death without telling the king, because of his quality, he conveyed him to court as soon as it was day. as soon as the king had heard from the judge what a foul action the master of the horse had been guilty of, as appeared by the circumstances of the matter, he upbraided him in these words: is it thus, then, that you rob and murder my subjects, and then would throw their dead bodies into the sea to hide your villany? let us rid the world of such a monster; go hang him up immediately! innocent as bahader was, he received his sentence of death with perfect resignation, and said not a word to justify himself. the judge escorted him to his house; and, while the gallows was preparing, sent a crier to publish throughout the city, that at noon the master of the horse was to be hanged for committing a murder. prince amgrad, who had in vain expected bahader's return, was in a terrible consternation when he heard the crier publish the approaching execution of the master of the horse. if, said he to himself, somebody must die for the death of such a wicked woman, it is i, and not bahader; i will never let an innocent man be punished for the guilty: and, without deliberating any more, hastened to the place of execution, whither the people were running from all parts. when amgrad saw the judge bringing bahader to the gibbet, he went up to him, and said, i am come to tell you, and to assure you, that the master of the horse, whom you are leading to execution, is wholly innocent of the lady's death: i am guilty of the crime, if it is one to have killed the most detestable of women, who would have murdered bahader. so he told him the affair as it had happened. the prince having informed the judge how he met her coming out of the bath; how she was the cause of going into the master of the horse's house of pleasure, and what had passed till the moment in which he was forced to cut off her head to save bahader's life; the judge ordered the execution to be stopped, and conducted amgrad to the king, taking the master of the horse with them. the king had a mind to hear the story from amgrad himself; and the prince, the better to prove his own and the master of the horse's innocence, embraced that opportunity to discover his quality, with all the accidents that had befallen him and his brother assad, before and after their departure from the capital city of the isle of ehene to that time. the prince having done speaking, the king said, i rejoice that i have by this means come to the knowledge of you. i not only give you your own and my master of the horse's life, whom i commend for his civility to you, but i restore him to his office: and as for you, prince, i declare you my grand vizier, to make amends for your father's unjust usage of you, though it is also excusable; and i permit you to employ all the authority i now give you to find out prince assad. prince amgrad having thanked the king of the city and country of magicians for the honour he had done him, and taken possession of his office of grand vizier, ordered the common crier to promise a great reward to any one who should bring forth prince assad, or tell any tidings of him. he sent men up and down the country to the same purpose; but, notwithstanding all his and their diligence, they could hear nothing. the sequel of the story of prince assad. assad, in the mean while, continued in the dungeon in chains; bostava and cavama, the cunning old conjurer's daughters, treating him daily with the same cruelty and inhumanity as at first. the solemn festival of the adorers of fire approached, and a ship was fitted out for the fiery mountain as usual. the captain's name was behram, a great bigot to that religion. he loaded it with proper merchandise; and, when it was ready to sail, he put assad in a chest, half full of goods, a few crevices being left open to admit air sufficient to keep him alive. the chest was stowed in the bottom of the hold for greater security. before the ship sailed, the grand vizier amgrad, assad's brother, who had been told that the adorers of fire usually sacrificed a mussulman every year on the fiery mountain, suspecting that assad might unhappily have fallen into their hands, and designed as a victim at that bloody sacrifice, resolved to search the ship in person. he ordered all the passengers and seamen to be brought upon deck, and commanded his men to search every part of the ship; which they did; and yet assad could not be found, being too artfully concealed. when the grand vizier had done searching the vessel, she sailed; and as soon as behram was got out to sea, he ordered prince assad to be taken out of the chest and fettered, to prevent him from throwing himself into the sea, since he knew he was going to be sacrificed. the wind was favourable for two or three days; after which it proved contrary, and there arose a furious storm, which drove the vessel so far out of her course, that neither behram nor his pilot knew where they were. they were afraid that the ship would be dashed against the rocks; for they discovered land and a dreadful shore before them. behram saw that he was driven into the port and capital of queen margiana, which was a great mortification to him. queen margiana was a very devout professor of the mahomedan religion, and a mortal enemy to the adorers of fire. she banished all of them out of her dominions, and would not let any of their ships touch at her ports. the tempest increasing, behram was forced to put into the port of the queen's capital city, or his ship would be dashed in pieces against the rocks that lay off the shore. in this extremity he held a council with his pilot and seamen. my lads, said he, you see to what a necessity we are reduced; we must choose one of two things; either resolve to be swallowed up by the waves, or put into queen margiana's port, whose hatred to all persons of our religion you know well. she will certainly seize our vessel, and put us to death without mercy. i see but one likely way to escape her; which is, to take the fetters off the mussulman we have on board, and dress him like a slave. when queen margiana commands me to come before her, and asks what trade i use, i will tell her that i deal in slaves: that i have sold all except one, whom i keep to be my clerk, because he can read and write. she will no doubt desire to see him, and being handsome, and of her own religion, will have pity on him; she will certainly then ask to buy him; and i refusing, will not let us stay in the port till the weather is fair. if i sell him, perhaps she will give us leave to tarry, and let us be well used. if any of you have any thing else to propose that may be more advantageous, i am ready to hearken to it. the pilot and seamen applauded his judgment, and agreed to follow his advice. behram commanded prince assad's chains to be taken off, and dressed him like a slave very neatly, as became one who was to pass for his clerk before the queen of the country. they had scarcely time to fit every thing for their purpose, before the ship drove into the port, and then dropped anchor. queen margiana's palace was so near the sea-side, that her garden extended down to the shore. she saw the ship sail by, and sent to the captain to come to her as soon as he had moored his vessel. she was walking in her garden, and gave him to understand that she waited for him. behram, who knew he would be sent for, landed with prince assad, whom he required to confirm what he had said of his being a slave, and his clerk. so he went to the palace garden, and was introduced to the queen. he threw himself at her feet, and informed her of the necessity he was under of putting into her port; that, he dealt in slaves, and had sold them all except one, who was assad there present, whom he kept for his clerk. the queen conceived an esteem for assad as soon as she saw him, and was extremely glad to hear that he was a slave, resolving to buy him on any terms. she asked assad what was his name. great queen, replied assad, with tears in his eyes, does your majesty ask what my name was formerly, or what it is now? the queen answered, have you two names then? it is but too true, said assad: i was once called assad, the most happy; and now my name is motar, devoted to be sacrificed. as his condition of a slave obliged him to use mysterious answers, margiana did not understand his meaning; she perceived, however, that he had a great deal of wit. since you are clerk to the captain, said she, no doubt you can write well; let me see your writing. behram had furnished assad with pen, ink, and paper, as a token of his office, that the queen might take him for what he designed she should. the prince stepped a little aside, and wrote as follows, suitable to his miserable circumstances. the blind man avoids the ditch into which the clear-sighted falls. fools advance themselves to honours by discourses which signify nothing; while men of sense and eloquence live in poverty and contempt. the mussulman, with all his riches, is miserable. the infidel triumphs, and we cannot hope things will be otherwise; the almighty has decreed it should be so, and his will is not to be altered. assad presented the paper to queen margiana, who admired alike the sententiousness of the thoughts, and the goodness of the writing. she needed no more to have her heart set on fire, and to feel a sincere concern for his misfortunes. she had no sooner read it, than she addressed herself to behram, saying, do which you will; either sell me this slave, or make a present of him to me: perhaps it will turn most to your account to do the latter. behram answered insolently, that he could neither give nor sell him; that he wanted his slave, and would keep him. queen margiana, provoked at his boldness, would not talk to him about it any more. she took the prince by the arm, and turned him before her into the palace; sending behram word, that if he staid a night in her port, she would confiscate his goods, and burn his ship. so he was forced to go back to his vessel, and prepare to put to sea again, notwithstanding the tempest was not yet subsided. queen margiana commanded supper to be got ready; and, while it was providing, she ordered assad to be brought into her apartment, where she bade him sit down. assad would have excused himself: it does not belong to a slave, said he, to presume to this honour. to a slave! replied the queen; you shall not be so long: henceforward you are no more a slave. sit down near me, and tell the story of your life; for, by what you wrote, and the insolence of that slave merchant, i guess there is something extraordinary in it. prince assad obeyed her; and, sitting down, began thus: mighty queen, your majesty is not mistaken in thinking there is something extraordinary in the story of my life; it is indeed more so than you can imagine. the ills, the incredible torments, i have suffered, and the death to which i was devoted, and from which i am delivered by your generosity, will show, when i have related them, that my obligation to you is infinite. but, before i enter into the particulars of my miseries, which will strike horror into the hearts of all who hear them related, to explain the occasion of them, i must trace the matter a little higher, and begin with the source of my misfortunes. this preamble increased queen margiana's curiosity. the prince then told her of his royal birth; of his brother amgrad, and their mutual friendship; of their mother's criminal passion, which in a night turned into inveterate hatred, the cause of all their sufferings; of the king's rage; how miraculously they saved their lives; how he lost his brother; how he had been imprisoned, tortured, and was only sent there to be sacrificed on the fiery mountain. when assad had finished his discourse, the queen was more than ever enraged at the adorers of fire. prince, said she, though i have always had an aversion to the adorers of fire, yet hitherto i have preserved some humanity for them; but, after their barbarous usage, and execrable design of sacrificing you, i will henceforth declare perpetual war against them. she would have said more, but supper being served up, hindered her. she made prince assad sit at table with her, being charmed with his beauty and eloquence, and touched with a most ardent passion, which she hoped soon to let him know. prince, said she, we must make you amends for so many fasts and wretched meals which the pitiless adorers of fire forced you to make; you will want to be nourished after such sufferings. with these and such like words supper began; and the queen plied the prince with wine to recover his spirits; of which he drank more than he could well bear. the cloth being taken away, assad wishing to go out, watched his time when the queen did not see him. he descended into a court, and, seeing the garden-door open, went in. being tempted by the pleasantness of the place, he walked there a while. at last he came to a fountain, where he washed his face and hands to refresh himself; and, lying down on some grass plots which surrounded the fountain, fell asleep. it was almost night, and behram, fearing the queen would do as she threatened, had weighed anchor, and was under sail, mightily troubled at the loss of assad, by which he was disappointed of a most acceptable sacrifice. he comforted himself as well as he could with the thoughts that the storm was over, and that a land-breeze favoured his getting off from that coast. he was towed out of the port, and, as he was hoisting more sail to hasten his course, he remembered he wanted some fresh water. my lads, said he to the seamen, we must put to shore again, and fill our water-casks. the sailors excused themselves, for they did not know where to get water. behram had observed, while he was talking to the queen in the garden, that there was a fountain at the end of it, near the port. go, said he, to such a place of the palace-garden. the wall is not above breast high; you may easily get over. there is a fountain, where you may fill all your barrels, and hand them on board without difficulty. the sailors accordingly went on shore to the place he directed them, leaped over the wall, filled their barrels, and easily enough heaved them over also, when they returned to their boat. as they were filling the casks, they perceived a man sleeping on the grass, and knew him to be assad. they immediately divided themselves; and, while some of the crew filled their barrels, others surrounded assad, and observed him, lest he should awake, and offer to run away. as soon as they had filled their casks, they handed them over the wall to others of their crew, who waited there to carry them on board. they afterwards seized assad, and bore him away asleep as he was. they got over the wall into their boat, and rowed to the ship. when they came near her, they cried out, captain, sound your trumpets, beat your drums; we bring your slave again! behram, who could not imagine how the seamen could find and take him again, and did not see assad in the boat, it being night, waited their coming on board with impatience, to ask what they meant by their shouts; but seeing it was true, and that they had really got him, he could not contain himself for joy. he commanded him to be chained again, not staying to inquire how they came at him; and having hauled the boat on board, set sail for the fiery mountain. in the mean while queen margiana was in a dreadful fright. she did not much concern herself at first when she found prince assad was gone out, because she did not doubt that he would soon return. when several minutes, and then an hour, were past, without hearing any thing, she began to be uneasy, and commanded her women to look for him. they searched all about without finding him; and, night coming, she ordered them to search again with torches, which they did, but to as little purpose. queen margiana was so impatient and frightened, that she went with lights all over the garden to seek him herself; and passing by the fountain, saw a slipper, which she took up, and knew to be prince assad's: her women also said that it was his; and the water being spilled about the cistern in which the fountain played, made her suspect that behram had again carried him off. she sent immediately to see if he was still in the port; and hearing that he had set sail a little before it was dark, and had stopped some time off the shore, while he sent his boat for water from the fountain, she doubted no longer of the prince's ill fortune. so she commanded the commodore of ten men of war, who lay ready in the port to sail as occasion required, to prepare to put to sea, for that she would embark herself next morning as soon as it was day. the commodore ordered the captains and subalterns, seamen and soldiers, on board, and was ready to sail at the time appointed. she embarked, as she had said; and, when the squadron was at sea, told the commodore her intention. make all the sail you can, said she, and give chase to the merchantman that sailed yesterday out of this port: i give it to you to be plundered, if you take it; if not, your life shall answer it. the ten ships chased behram's two entire days, and could not come near her; but on the third day they got up with her, and encompassed her so that she could not escape. as soon as cruel behram saw the ten men of war, he did not doubt but it was queen margiana's squadron in pursuit of him; and upon that ordered assad to be bastinadoed, which he did every day, and had not once missed treating him go barbarously since he left the port of the city of the magicians. on sight of these ships, he treated him more cruelly than before. he was very much puzzled what to do when he found he was encompassed. to keep assad was to declare himself guilty; to kill him was as dangerous, for he feared some token of it might be seen; he therefore commanded him to be unfettered, and brought from the bottom of the hold where he lay. when he came before him, it is thou, said he, who art the cause of my being pursued; and upon that he flung him in the sea. prince assad, knowing how to swim, got safe to shore. the first thing he did, after landing, was to thank heaven, who had delivered him from so great a danger, and once more rescued him out of the hands of the adorers of fire. he then stripped himself, and wringing the water out of his clothes, he spread them on a rock, where, by the heat of the sun and the rock together, they soon dried; after which, he lay down to rest, deploring his miserable condition, not knowing in what country he was, nor where to turn himself. he refreshed himself as well as he could with wild fruits and fair water, and then went on his way, keeping as near the sea-side as he could. at last he came to a sort of path, which he followed, and travelled ten days through a country not inhabited, still living on herbs, plants, and fruits. on the eleventh he approached near a city, which be knew to be that of the magicians, where he had been so ill used, and where his brother amgrad was grand vizier. he was very glad of it, resolving not to come near anyone of the adorers of fire, but only to converse with mussulmen; for he remembered having seen some the first time he entered the town. it being late, and seeing the shops were already shut, and few people in the streets, he resolved to stay in a churchyard near the city, where several tombs were built in the form of mausoleums. finding the door of one open, he entered it, with an intention to pass the night there. we must now return to behram's ship, which was soon surrounded on all sides by queen margiana's squadron, after throwing prince assad overboard. queen margiana's ship, in which she was in person, first boarded; and behram, being in no condition of defence against so many, lowered his sails as a token of yielding. the queen herself came on board him, and demanded where the clerk was whom he had the boldness to take away from her out of her very palace. behram replied, queen, i swear before your majesty, that he is not in my ship; you will, by searching it, see my innocence. margiana ordered the ship to be searched as narrowly as possible; but she could not find the man whom she so passionately longed to recover, as well out of love to him, as out of that generosity which was her distinguishing character. she was going to kill behram with her own hand, which she, however, did not; contenting herself with seizing his ship and cargo, and turning him and his men on shore. behram and his seamen arrived at the city of the magicians the same night that assad did, and stopped at the same church yard, the city gates being shut, intending to stay in some tomb till next day, when they were opened again. as assad's ill luck would have it, bahram lighted upon that in which the prince was sleeping, with his head wrapped up in his coat. assad awoke at the noise he made, and asked, who's there? behram knew him again presently. hah, hah, said he, thou art the man who hast been my ruin for ever; thou hast escaped being sacrificed this year; but, depend upon it, thou shalt not escape the next. saying this, he flew upon him, clapped his handkerchief in his mouth, to prevent his making noise, and by the help of his seamen bound him. next morning, as soon as the city sates were open, behram and his men easily carried assad to the old man's house where he had been so inhumanly treated. it was so early that they met nobody in the streets; and when he came to the old man's house, he was again thrown into the dungeon. behram acquainted the wizard with the sad occasion of his return, and the ill success of his voyage. the old rascal, upon this, commanded his two furies, bostava and cavama, to treat him, if possible, more cruelly than before. assad was in a terrible surprise to find himself in the hands of his old persecutors, from whom he had suffered so much, and hoped that he had been delivered; he lamented the rigour of his destiny, and trembled when he saw bostava enter with a cudgel, a loaf, and a pitcher of water; he was almost dead at the sight of that unmerciful wretch, and the thoughts of the daily sufferings he was to endure for another year, when he was to die the most horrible of deaths. bostava dealt not so inhumanly by prince assad as she had done the first time of his confinement; his cries, complaints, and most earnest prayers to her to spare him, joined with his tears, were so moving, that she could not help being melted by them, and to weep as bitterly as himself. my lord, said she, covering his shoulders, which were always bare while he was under the bastinado, i ask a thousand pardons for my inhuman treatment of you formerly, and for what you feel at this time. till now i was afraid of disobeying a father who is unjustly enraged against you, and resolved on your destruction; but at last i loathe and abhor this barbarity. be comforted; your bad days are over; i will endeavour to make amends for all my crimes, of the enormity of which, by my future behaviour, you will find i am convinced. you have hitherto looked upon me as an infidel; but having been converted by a slave who is a mussulman, you must henceforth believe me one of your own religion. i hope your lessons will finish my conversion. to show my good intentions, i first beg pardon of heaven for my sins in using you so cruelly; and i trust that it will soon be in my power to set you entirely a liberty. the prince was transported to hear her talk at this rate; he thanked the almighty for the change wrought upon her, and for touching the heart of so barbarous a creature; he also thanked her for her good disposition towards him, and omitted no arguments which he thought would have any effect to confirm her in her new religion. as a proof of the confidence he reposed in her, he gave her an account of his high birth, together with a relation of all his adventures to that period. when he began to believe she was in earnest, he asked how she could hinder her sister cavama's treating him so barbarously as she used to do. let not that trouble you, replied bostava; i know how to order matters so that she shall never come near you. according to promise, she every day prevented cavama going down to the dungeon, where she often visited the prince; and, instead of carrying bread and water, she brought him the best wine, and the choicest victuals she could get, which were provided by her mahometan slave. she often ate and drank with him herself, and did her utmost to render his confinement as easy as possible. a few days after, as bostava was standing at her father's door, she heard the common crier making proclamation, but, was at too great a distance to hear distinctly what it was. having finished his harangue, he came nearer to repeat it again, when she drew back; and, as she stood holding the door half open, perceived the crier marching before the grand vizier amgrad, brother to assad, who was accompanied by several officers, with attendants walking before and behind him. the crier, going a few steps from the house, repeated the proclamation with a loud voice as follows: the most excellent and illustrious lord the grand vizier is come in person to seek for his dear brother, from whom he was separated about a year ago; he is young and handsomely made. if any person has him in keeping, or knows where he is, his excellency commands that they bring him forth, or give notice where he shall find him, promising a great reward to the person who shall do so. if any one conceal him, and be found out, his excellency declares that he or they shall be punished with death, together with his or their children, and all who belong to the family, and his or their house or houses razed to the ground. bostava had no sooner heard this, than she instantly shut the door, and ran as fast as she could to the dungeon to inform assad of it. prince, said she with joy, your troubles are at an end! follow me; come immediately, and be free! she having taken off his fetters several days before, the prince followed her into the street, where, quite transported with what she had done, she cried, there! there! the grand vizier, who was not far from the house, hearing her clamours, returned. assad, knowing him to be his brother, ran to him, and embraced him; which amgrad, who presently found it to be his brother assad, returned with all possible tenderness; and, making him mount one of his officer's horses, who alighted for that purpose, conducted him to the palace, where he presented him to the king, by whom he was advanced to the post of a vizier. bostava would not return to her father's house, which was next day razed to the ground, but kept prince assad in sight; and she, for the friendly part she had acted towards him, was admitted into the queen's service. the old man her father, and behram, were brought before the king, who condemned them and all their families to be beheaded. they threw themselves at his feet, and implored his mercy. there is no mercy to expect, said the king, unless you renounce your adoring of fire, and profess the mahometan religion. they accepted the conditions, and were pardoned at the intercession of assad, in consideration of bostava's friendship; for whose sake cavama's life, and the lives of the rest of their families, were saved. amgrad, to reward behram for turning mussulman, and recompense him for his losses, made him one of his officers, and lodged him in his house. behram, being informed of amgrad and his brother assad's stories, proposed to his benefactor to fit him a vessel to convey them to their father king camaralzaman's court; for, said he, the king must certainly have heard of your innocence, and impatiently desire to see you ere this; otherwise we can easily inform ourselves of the truth before we land; and if he is still in the same mind, you can return hither. the two brothers liking the proposal, communicated it to the king of the city of the magicians, who approved of it, and commanded a ship to be equipped for that purpose, behram undertook the employment cheerfully; and, being master of the art of navigation and maritime affairs, he soon got in readiness to sail. the two princes, when they understood that the ship was ready, waited upon the king one morning to take their leave of him. while they were reciprocally passing compliments on the occasion, they were interrupted by a great noise and tumult in the city; and presently an officer came to give them notice that a numerous army was advancing against the city, nobody knowing who they were, or from whence they came. the king being mightily alarmed at the news, amgrad addressed himself thus to him: sir, though i am come to resign into your majesty's hands the dignity of your first minister, with which you were pleased to honour me, i am, however, ready to do you all the service that lies in my power: i desire, therefore, that you would be pleased to let me go and see who this enemy is that comes to attack you in your capital city, without having first declared war. the king praying him to do so, amgrad, with a very small retinue, parted from him immediately, to see what enemy approached, and to know the reason of their coming. it was not long before prince amgrad descried the army, which approaching nearer and nearer, the foremost received him favourably, and conducted him to their princess, who stopped herself, and commanded the army to halt, while she discoursed with the prince, who, bowing profoundly to her, demanded if she came as a friend or an enemy; if as an enemy, what cause of complaint she had against the king his master. i come as a friend, replied the princess, and have nothing to complain against the king of the city of the magicians; his territories and mine are so situate, that it is almost impossible for our subjects to quarrel with one another, or we ourselves to have any dispute. i only come to require a slave, named assad, to be delivered up to me: he was carried away by one behram, a captain of a ship, the most insolent man in the world. i hope your king will do me justice, especially when he knows that i am queen margiana. the prince answered, mighty queen! the slave you take so much pains to seek is my brother; i lost him, and have found him again. come, madam, i will deliver him up to you myself, and will do myself the honour to tell you the rest of the story as we go to the king my master's palace, who will rejoice to see you. the queen ordered her army to pitch their tents, and encamp where they were; she then accompanied prince amgrad to the city and palace-royal, where he presented her to the king, who received her as became his dignity and hers. assad, who was present, and knew her as soon as he saw her, also paid his duty to her; and she, at sight of him, showed all the marks of transporting joy. while thus busied, news came that an army, more powerful than the former, was approaching on another side of the city. the king of the magicians, understanding that the second army was more numerous than the first, was frightened to a greater degree than before; for the dust they made raised clouds in the air which almost obscured the face of heaven. amgrad, cried he, what shall we do? a new army comes to destroy us! amgrad, guessing what the king would have of him, instantly mounted his horse again, and gallopped towards the second army. he demanded of the advanced guards to speak with their general; they conducted him to their king, for such he perceived him to be by the crown he had on his head. when he drew near, he threw himself on the ground, and asked what he would have with the king his master. the monarch replied, i am gaiour, king of china. my desire to learn some tidings of a daughter whose name is badoura, whom i married to camaralzaman, you of schahzaman, king of the isles of the children of khaledan, obliged me to leave my dominions. i suffered that prince to go to see his father king schahzaman, on condition that he came back in a year with my daughter, but have impatiently waited ever since without hearing any thing of them. your king will lay an infinite obligation on an afflicted father, by telling him if he knows what is become of them. prince amgrad, perceiving by his discourse that the king was his grandfather, kissed his hand with tenderness, and answered him thus: i hope your majesty will pardon my freedom, when you know that i take it only to pay my duty to my grandfather! i am the son of camaralzaman, king of the isle of ebene, and of queen badoura, for whom you are thus troubled; and i doubt not that they are both in good health in their kingdom. the king of china, overjoyed to see his grandson, embraced him with extraordinary affection. such a meeting, so happy and unexpected, drew tears from both. the king inquiring on what occasion he came into a strange country, the prince told him all that had happened to him and his brother assad. when he had ended his relation, my son, replied the king of china, it is not just that such innocent princes as you are should be longer ill used. comfort yourself; i will carry you and your brother home, and make your peace. return, and acquaint your brother with my arrival. while the king of china encamped in the place where prince amgrad met him, that prince returned to let the king of the magicians, who waited for him impatiently, know how he had succeeded. the king was amazed that so mighty a monarch as the king of china should undertake such a long and troublesome journey from a desire to see his daughter; and, seeing that he was so near his capital, he gave orders to make things ready for his reception, and went forth to meet him. while these things were transacting, a great dust was seen from another quarter of the town, and suddenly news came of the arrival of a third army, which obliged the king to stop, and to desire prince amgrad once more to go and see who they were, and on what account they came. amgrad accordingly went, accompanied by prince assad. they found it was camaralzaman their father's army, with which he was coming to seek for them. he was so grieved for the loss of his sons, that emir giendar at last declared how he had saved their lives, and towards what country the two princes had travelled. the sad father embraced both with tears of joy, which put an end to those he had a long time shed for grief. the princes no sooner told him that the king of china, his father-in-law, was arrived, than he detached himself from the grand army, and with a small party, among whom were his own sons, rode to wait upon him in his camp. they had not gone far before they saw a fourth army advancing, which seemed to come from the persian side. camaralzaman bade the two princes go and see what army it was, and in the mean while he would stay for them. they departed immediately, and, coming up to it, were presented, to the king, of whom, after saluting him with due reverence, they demanded on what design he approached so near the king of the magicians' capital. the grand vizier, who was present, answered, in the name of the king his master, the monarch to whom you speak is schahzaman, king of the isles of the children of khaledan. he has a long time travelled, thus attended, to seek his son prince camaralzaman, who left his dominions many years ago. if you know any thing of him, you cannot oblige him more than to acquaint him with it. the princes only replied, that they would bring him an answer in a little time; and, gallopping back as fast as they could, told camaralzaman that it was king schahzaman's army, and that his father was with it in person. wonder, surprise, joy, and grief, at having left the king his father without taking leave of him, had such an effect on king camaralzaman, that he fell into a swoon as soon as he heard that he was so near. prince amgrad and prince assad used every possible means to recover him; which having at last effected, he hastened to his father's tent, and threw himself at his feet. never was there a more moving interview: schahzaman gently complained of camaralzaman's unkindness in so cruelly leaving him; and camaralzaman discovered a heart-felt sorrow for the fault he had committed. the three kings and queen margiana staid three days at the court of the king of the magicians, who treated them magnificently. these three days were rendered the more remarkable by prince assad's marriage with queen margiana, and prince amgrad's with bostava, for the service she had done his brother assad. at last the three kings, and queen margiana, with prince assad her husband, went to their several kingdoms. as for amgrad, the king of the magicians had such a love for him, that he would not part with him, but, being very old, resigned his crown to him. king amgrad, wben he had the supreme authority, did his utmost to exterminate the worship of fire, and to establish the mahometan religion throughout all his territories. the story of noureddin and the fair persian. balsora was many years the capital of a kingdom tributary to the caliphs of arabia. the king who governed it in the days of the caliph haroun alraschid, was named zinchi. they were cousins, the sons of two brothers. zinchi, not thinking it proper to commit the administration of his affairs to one vizier, made choice of two, khacan and saouy. khacan was of a sweet, generous, affable temper, and took a wonderful pride in obliging those, with whom he had any concern, to the utmost of his power, without the least hinderance or prejudice to justice, whenever it was demanded of him; so that he was universally respected at court, in the city, and throughout the whole kingdom; and every body's mouth was full of the praises he so highly deserved. saouy was of a quite different character: he was always sullen and morose, and treated every one in a disrespectful manner, without any regard to rank or quality. instead of making himself beloved and admired for his riches, he was so perfect a miser, that he denied himself the necessaries of life. in short, nobody could endure him; and if ever any thing was said to him, it was something of ill. but what increased the hatred of the people against him the more, was his implacable aversion to khacan; always interpreting in the worst sense the actions of that worthy minister, and endeavouring to do him all the ill offices imaginable with the king. one day, after council, the king of balsora diverted himself with his two viziers, and some other members of the council. they fell into discourse about the women-slaves, who with us are daily bought and sold, and are almost reckoned in the same rank with our wives. some were of opinion, that it was sufficient the slave were beautiful and well-shaped; others maintained, and amongst the rest khacan, that neither beauty, nor a thousand other charming perfections of the body, were the only things to be coveted in a mistress; but that she ought to possess, with a great deal of wit, prudence, modesty, and amenity of manners. the king was entirely of their opinion who spoke last, and quickly gave a demonstration of it, by ordering khacan to buy him a slave, one that was a perfect beauty, mistress of those qualifications they had just mentioned, and especially very witty. saouy, jealous of the honour the king had done khacan, and vexed at his being of a contrary opinion, said, sir, it will be very difficult to find a slave so accomplished as to answer your majesty's demand; and should they light upon such a one, as i scarcely believe they will, she will be a bargain at ten thousand pieces of gold. saouy, replied the king, i perceive plainly you think it too great a sum; it may be so for you, though not for me. then turning to the chief treasurer, he ordered him to send the ten thousand pieces of gold to the vizier's house. khacan, as soon as he came home, sent for all the courtiers who dealt in women-slaves, and strictly charged them, that if they met with a slave who answered the description he gave, they should acquaint him. the courtiers, partly to oblige the vizier, and partly for their own interest, promised to use their utmost endeavours to find one to his liking. accordingly, seldom a day passed but they brought him one, yet he always found some fault or other with her. one day, as khacan was getting on horseback, early in the morning, to go to court, a courtier came to him, and, with a great deal of eagerness, catching hold of the stirrup, told him there was a persian merchant arrived very late the day before, who had a slave to sell, so surprisingly beautiful, that she excelled all women that his eyes had ever beheld; and, as for parts and learning, added he, the merchant engages she shall cope with the finest wits and the most knowing persons of the age. khacan, overjoyed at this news, which made him hope for a favourable reception at court, ordered him to bring the slave to the palace against his coming back, and so pursued his journey. the courtier did not fail to be at the vizier's at the appointed hour; and khacan, finding the lovely slave so much beyond his expectation, immediately gave her the name of the fair persian. as he had an infinite deal of wit and learning, he soon perceived, by her conversation, that it was in vain to search any further for a slave that surpassed her in any of those qualifications required by the king, and therefore he asked the courtier at what rate the persian merchant valued her. sir, replied the courtier, he is a man of few words in bargaining, and tells me, that the very lowest price he seeks for her is ten thousand pieces of gold: he has also sworn to me, that, without reckoning his pains and trouble from the time of his first taking care of her, he has laid out pretty nearly that sum upon her education, in masters to instruct and teach her, besides clothes and maintenance; and as he always thought her fit for a king, so from her infancy, in which he bought her, he has not been sparing in any thing that might contribute towards advancing her to that high honour. she plays upon all sorts of instruments to perfection; she dances, sings, writes better than the most celebrated authors, understands poetry, and, in short, there are few books but what she has read: so that there never was a slave of so great capacity. the vizier khacan, who understood the merit of the fair persian better than the courtier, who only reported what he had heard from the merchant, was unwilling to put off the bargain till another time; and therefore he sent one of his servants to look after the merchant where the courtier told him he was to be found. as soon as the persian merchant came, it is not for myself, but for the king, said the vizier khacan, that i buy your slave; you must, however, let him have her at a more reasonable price than what you have already set upon her. sir, replied the merchant, i should do myself an unspeakable honour in offering her as a present to his majesty, were i able to make him one of so inestimable a value. i ask little more than what her education and maintenance have cost me; and all i have to say is, that i believe his majesty will be greatly pleased with the purchase. the vizier khacan would stand no longer bargaining with the merchant, but paid down the money immediately. sir, said he to the vizier, upon taking his leave, since the slave is designed for the king's use, give me leave to tell you, that, being extremely fatigued with our long journey, you see her at a great disadvantage; and though, as to beauty, she has not her equal in the world, yet if you please to keep her at your own house a fortnight, and strive a little to please and humour her, she will appear quite another creature: after that you may present her to the king with abundance of honour and credit, for which, i doubt not, you will think yourself much obliged to me. the sun, you see, has a little tarnished her complexion; but, after two or three times bathing and dressing her according to the fashion of your country, she will appear to your eyes infinitely more charming than at present. khacan was mightily pleased with the advice the merchant gave, and was resolved to follow it. accordingly the fair persian was lodged in a particular apartment near his lady, whom he desired to invite to an entertainment, and thenceforth to treat her as a mistress designed for the king: he also entreated his lady to get the richest clothes for her that could possibly be had, and especially those that became her best. before he took his leave of the fair persian, your happiness, madam, said he, cannot be greater than what i am about to procure for you, since it is for the king himself i have bought you; and i hope he will be better pleased with the enjoyment of you than i am in discharging the trust his majesty has laid upon me: however, i think it my duty to warn you of my son, who, though he has a tolerable share of wit, yet is a young, wanton, forward youth; and therefore have a care how you suffer him to come near you. the fair persian thanked him for his good advice; and, on her giving him an assurance of her intention to follow it, he withdrew. end of volume first. "the smiling garden of persian literature": a garden which i would describe, in the eastern style, as a happy spot, where lavish nature with profusion strews the most fragrant and blooming flowers, where the most delicious fruits abound, which is ever vocal with the plaintive melancholy of the nightingale, who, during day and night, "tunes her love-laboured song": ... where the voice of wisdom is often heard uttering her moral sentence, or delivering the dictates of experience.--sir w. ouseley. flowers from a persian garden, and other papers. by w. a. clouston, author of 'popular tales and fictions' and 'book of noodles'; editor of 'a group of eastern romances and stories,' 'book of sindibad,' 'bakhtyar nama,' 'arabian poetry for english readers,' etc. london: david nutt, , , strand. mdcccxc. to e. sidney hartland, esq., fellow of the society of antiquaries; member of the council of the folk-lore society, etc. my dear hartland, though you are burdened with the duties of a profession far outside of which lie those studies that have largely occupied my attention for many years past, yet your own able contributions to the same, or cognate, subjects of investigation evince the truth of the seemingly paradoxical saying, that "the busiest man finds the greatest amount of leisure." and in dedicating this little book to you--would that it were more worthy!--as a token of gratitude for the valuable help you have often rendered me in the course of my studies, i am glad of the opportunity it affords me for placing on record (so to say) the fact that i enjoy the friendship of a man possessed of so many excellent qualities of heart as well as of intellect. the following collection of essays, or papers, is designed to suit the tastes of a more numerous class of readers than were some of my former books, which are not likely to be of special interest to many besides students of comparative folk-lore--amongst whom your own degree is high. the book, in fact, is intended mainly for those who are rather vaguely termed "general readers"; albeit i venture to think that even the folk-lore student may find in it somewhat to "make a note of," as the great captain cuttle was wont to say--in season and out of season. leaving the contents to speak for themselves, i shall only say farther that my object has been to bring together, in a handy volume, a series of essays which might prove acceptable to many readers, whether of grave or lively temperament. what are called "instructive" books--meaning thereby "morally" instructive--are generally as dull reading as is proverbially a book containing nothing but jests--good, bad, and indifferent. we can't (and we shouldn't) be always in the "serious" mood, nor can we be for ever on the grin; and it seems to me that a mental dietary, by turns, of what is wise and of what is witty should be most wholesome. but, of the two, i confess i prefer to take the former, even as one ought to take solid food, in great moderation; and, after all, it is surely better to laugh than to mope or weep, in spite of what has been said of "the loud laugh that speaks the vacant mind." most of us, in this work-a-day world, find no small benefit from allowing our minds to lie fallow at certain times, as farmers do with their fields. in the following pages, however, i believe wisdom and wit, the didactic and the diverting, will be found in tolerably fair proportions. but i had forgot--i am not writing a preface, and this is already too long for a dedication; so believe me, with all good wishes, yours ever faithfully, w. a. clouston. glasgow, february, . contents. flowers from a persian garden. i sketch of the life of the persian poet saádí--character of his writings--the _gulistán_, or rose-garden--prefaces to books--preface to the _gulistán_--eastern poets in praise of springtide ii boy's archery feat--advantages of abstinence--núshirván on oppression--boy in terror at sea--pride of ancestry--misfortunes of friends--fortitude and liberality--prodigality--stupid youth--advantages of education--the fair cup-bearer--'january and may'--why an old man did not marry--the dervish who became king--muezzin and preacher who had bad voices--witty slave--witty kází--astrologer and his faithless wife--objectionable neighbour iii on taciturnity: parallels from caxton's _dictes_ and preface to _kalíla wa dimna_--difference between devotee and learned man--to get rid of troublesome visitors--fable of the nightingale and the ant--aphorisms of saádí--conclusion oriental wit and humour. i man a laughing animal--antiquity of popular jests--'night and day'--the plain-featured bride--the house of condolence--the blind man's wife--two witty persian ladies--woman's counsel--the turkish jester: in the pulpit; the cauldron; the beggar; the drunken governor; the robber; the hot broth--muslim preachers and misers ii the two deaf men and the traveller--the deaf persian and the horseman--lazy servants--chinese humour: the rich man and the smiths; how to keep plants alive; criticising a portrait--the persian courtier and his old friend--the scribe--the schoolmaster and the wit--the persian and his cat--a list of blockheads--the arab and his camel--a witty baghdádí--the unlucky slippers iii the young merchant of baghdád; or, the wiles of woman iv ashaab the covetous--the stingy merchant and the hungry bedouin--the sect of samradians--the story-teller and the king--royal gifts to poets--the persian poet and the impostor--'stealing poetry'--the rich man and the poor poet v unlucky omens--the old man's prayer--the old woman in the mosque--the weeping turkmans--the ten foolish peasants--the wakeful servant--the three dervishes--the oilman's parrot--the moghul and his parrot--the persian shopkeeper and the prime minister--hebrew facetiæ tales of a parrot. i general plan of eastern story-books--the _tútí náma_, or parrot-book--the frame-story--the stolen images--the woman carved out of wood--the man whose mare was kicked by a merchant's horse ii the emperor's dream--the golden apparition--the four treasure-seekers iii the singing ass: the foolish thieves: the faggot-maker and the magic bowl iv the goldsmith who lost his life through covetousness--the king who died of love for a merchant's daughter--the discovery of music--the seven requisites of a perfect woman v the princess of rome and her son--the seven vazírs vi the tree of life--legend of rájá rasálú--conclusion _additional note:_ the magic bowl, etc. rabbinical legends, tales, fables, and aphorisms. i introductory: authors, traducers, and moral teachings of talmud ii legends of some biblical characters: adam and eve--cain and abel--the planting of the vine--luminous jewels--abraham's arrival in egypt--the infamous citizens of sodom--abraham and ishmael's wives--joseph and potiphar's wife--joseph and his brethren--jacob's sorrow--moses and pharaoh iii legends of david and solomon, etc. iv moral and entertaining tales: rabbi jochonan and the poor woman--a safe investment--the jewels--the capon-carver v moral tales, tables, and parables: the dutiful son--an ingenious will--origin of beast-fables--the fox and the bear--the fox in the garden--the desolate island--the man and his three friends--the garments--solomon's choice--bride and bridegroom--abraham and the idols--the vanity of ambition--the seven stages of human life vi wise sayings of the rabbis _additional notes:_ adam and the oil of mercy muslim legend of adam's punishment, pardon, death, and burial moses and the poor woodcutter precocious sagacity of solomon solomon and the serpent's prey the capon-carver the fox and the bear the desolate island other rabbinical legends and tales an arabian tale of love. _additional notes:_ 'wamik and asra' another famous arabian lover apocryphal life of esop. _additional note:_ drinking the sea dry ignorance of the clergy in the middle ages. the beards of our fathers. index. flowers from a persian garden. i sketch of the life of the persian poet saadi--character of his writings--the "gulistÁn"--prefaces to books--preface to the "gulistÁn"--eastern poets in praise of springtide. it is remarkable how very little the average general reader knows regarding the great persian poet saádí and his writings. his name is perhaps more or less familiar to casual readers from its being appended to one or two of his aphorisms which are sometimes reproduced in odd corners of popular periodicals; but who he was, when he lived, and what he wrote, are questions which would probably puzzle not a few, even of those who consider themselves as "well read," to answer without first recurring to some encyclopædia. yet saádí was assuredly one of the most gifted men of genius the world has ever known: a man of large and comprehensive intellect; an original and profound thinker; an acute observer of men and manners; and his works remain the imperishable monument of his genius, learning, and industry. maslahu 'd-dín shaykh saádí was born, towards the close of the twelfth century, at shíráz, the famous capital of fars, concerning which city the persians have the saying that "if muhammed had tasted the pleasures of shíráz, he would have begged allah to make him immortal there." in accordance with the usual practice in persia, he assumed as his _takhallus_, or poetical name,[ ] saádí, from his patron atabag saád bin zingí, sovereign of fars, who encouraged men of learning in his principality. saádí is said to have lived upwards of a hundred years, thirty of which were passed in the acquisition of knowledge, thirty more in travelling through different countries, and the rest of his life he spent in retirement and acts of devotion. he died, in his native city, about the year . [ ] one reason, doubtless, for persian and turkish poets adopting a _takhallus_ is the custom of the poet introducing his name into every ghazal he composes, generally towards the end; and as his proper name would seldom or never accommodate itself to purposes of verse he selects a more suitable one. at one period of his life saádí took part in the wars of the saracens against the crusaders in palestine, and also in the wars for the faith in india. in the course of his wanderings he had the misfortune to be taken prisoner by the franks, in syria, and was ransomed by a friend, but only to fall into worse thraldom by marrying a shrewish wife. he has thus related the circumstances: "weary of the society of my friends at damascus, i fled to the barren wastes of jerusalem, and associated with brutes, until i was made captive by the franks, and forced to dig clay along with jews in the fortress of tripoli. one of the nobles of aleppo, mine ancient friend, happened to pass that way and recollected me. he said: 'what a state is this to be in! how farest thou?' i answered: 'seeing that i could place confidence in god alone, i retired to the mountains and wilds, to avoid the society of man; but judge what must be my situation, to be confined in a stall, in company with wretches who deserve not the name of men. "to be confined by the feet with friends is better than to walk in a garden with strangers."' he took compassion on my forlorn condition, ransomed me from the franks for ten dínars,[ ] and took me with him to aleppo. [ ] a dínar is a gold coin, worth about ten shillings of our money. "my friend had a daughter, to whom he married me, and he presented me with a hundred dínars as her dower. after some time my wife unveiled her disposition, which was ill-tempered, quarrelsome, obstinate, and abusive; so that the happiness of my life vanished. it has been well said: 'a bad woman in the house of a virtuous man is hell even in this world.' take care how you connect yourself with a bad woman. save us, o lord, from the fiery trial! once she reproached me, saying: 'art thou not the creature whom my father ransomed from captivity amongst the franks for ten dínars?' 'yes,' i answered; 'he redeemed me for ten dínars, and enslaved me to thee for a hundred.' "i heard that a man once rescued a sheep from the mouth of a wolf, but at night drew his knife across its throat. the expiring sheep thus complained: 'you delivered me from the jaws of a wolf, but in the end i perceive you have yourself become a wolf to me.'" sir gore ouseley, in his _biographical notices of persian poets_, states that saádí in the latter part of his life retired to a cell near shíráz, where he remained buried in contemplation of the deity, except when visited, as was often the case, by princes, nobles, and learned men. it was the custom of his illustrious visitors to take with them all kinds of meats, of which, when saádí and his company had partaken, the shaykh always put what remained in a basket suspended from his window, that the poor wood-cutters of shíráz, who daily passed by his cell, might occasionally satisfy their hunger. * * * * * the writings of saádí, in prose as well as verse, are numerous; his best known works being the _gulistán_, or rose-garden, and the _bustán_, or garden of odours. among his other compositions are: an essay on reason and love; advice to kings; arabian and persian idylls, and a book of elegies, besides a large collection of odes and sonnets. saádí was an accomplished linguist, and composed several poems in the languages of many of the countries through which he travelled. "i have wandered to various regions of the world," he tells us, "and everywhere have i mixed freely with the inhabitants. i have gathered something in each corner; i have gleaned an ear from every harvest." a deep insight into the secret springs of human actions; an extensive knowledge of mankind; fervent piety, without a taint of bigotry; a poet's keen appreciation of the beauties of nature; together with a ready wit and a lively sense of humour, are among the characteristics of saádí's masterly compositions. no writer, ancient or modern, european or asiatic, has excelled, and few have equalled, saádí in that rare faculty for condensing profound moral truths into short, pithy sentences. for example: "the remedy against want is to moderate your desires." "there is a difference between him who claspeth his mistress in his arms, and him whose eyes are fixed on the door expecting her." "whoever recounts to you the faults of your neighbour will doubtless expose your defects to others." his humorous comparisons flash upon the reader's mind with curious effect, occurring, as they often do, in the midst of a grave discourse. thus he says of a poor minstrel: "you would say that the sound of his bow would burst the arteries, and that his voice was more discordant than the lamentations of a man for the death of his father;" and of another bad singer: "no one with a mattock can so effectually scrape clay from the face of a hard stone as his discordant voice harrows up the soul." talking of music reminds me of a remark of the learned gentius, in one of his notes on the _gulistán_ of saádí, that music was formerly in such consideration in persia that it was a maxim of their sages that when a king was about to die, if he left for his successor a very young son, his aptitude for reigning should be proved by some agreeable songs; and if the child was pleasurably affected, then it was a sign of his capacity and genius, but if the contrary, he should be declared unfit.--it would appear that the old persian musicians, like timotheus, knew the secret art of swaying the passions. the celebrated philosopher al-farabí (who died about the middle of the tenth century), among his accomplishments, excelled in music, in proof of which a curious anecdote is told. returning from the pilgrimage to mecca, he introduced himself, though a stranger, at the court of sayfú 'd-dawla, sultan of syria, when a party of musicians chanced to be performing, and he joined them. the prince admired his skill, and, desiring to hear something of his own, al-farabí unfolded a composition, and distributed the parts amongst the band. the first movement threw the prince and his courtiers into violent laughter, the next melted all into tears, and the last lulled even the performers to sleep. at the retaking of baghdád by the turks in , when the springing of a mine, whereby eight hundred jannisaries perished, was the signal for a general massacre, and thirty thousand persians were put to the sword, a persian musician named sháh-kúlí, who was brought before the sultan murád, played and sang so sweetly, first a song of triumph, and then a dirge, that the sultan, moved to pity by the music, gave order to stop the slaughter. to resume, after this anecdotical digression. saádí gives this whimsical piece of advice to a pugnacious fellow: "be sure, either that thou art stronger than thine enemy, or that thou hast a swifter pair of heels." and he relates a droll story in illustration of the use and abuse of the phrase, "for the sake of god," which is so frequently in the mouths of muslims: a harsh-voiced man was reading the kurán in a loud tone. a pious man passed by him and said: "what is thy monthly salary?" the other replied: "nothing." "why, then, dost thou give thyself this trouble?" "i read for the sake of god," he rejoined. "then," said the pious man, "_for god's sake don't read_." the most esteemed of saádí's numerous and diversified works is the _gulistán_, or rose-garden. the first english translation of this work was made by francis gladwin, and published in , and it is a very scarce book. other translations have since been issued, but they are rather costly and the editions limited. it is strange that in these days of cheap reprints of rare and excellent works of genius no enterprising publisher should have thought it worth reproduction in a popular form. it is not one of those ponderous tomes of useless learning which not even an act of parliament could cause to be generally read, and which no publisher would be so blind to his own interests as to reprint. as regards its size, the _gulistán_ is but a small book, but intrinsically it is indeed a very great book, such as could only be produced by a great mind, and it comprises more wisdom and wit than a score of old english folios could together yield to the most devoted reader. some querulous persons there are who affect to consider the present as a shallow age, because, forsooth, huge volumes of learning--each the labour of a lifetime--are not now produced. but the flood-gates of knowledge are now wide open, and, no longer confined within the old, narrow, if deep, channels, learning has spread abroad, like the nile during the season of its over-flow. shallow, it may be, but more widely beneficial, since its life-giving waters are within the reach of all. unlike most of our learned old english authors, saádí did not cast upon the world all that came from the rich mine of his genius, dross as well as fine gold, clay as well as gems. it is because they have done so that many ponderous tomes of learning and industry stand neglected on the shelves of great libraries. time is too precious now-a-days, whatever may have been the case of our forefathers, for it to be dissipated by diving into the muddy waters of voluminous authors in hopes of finding an occasional pearl of wisdom. and unless some intelligent and painstaking compiler set himself to the task of separating the gold from the rubbish in which it is imbedded in those graves of learning, and present the results of his labour in an attractive form, such works are virtually lost to the world. for in these high-pressure days, most of us, "like the dogs in egypt for fear of the crocodiles, must drink of the waters of knowledge as we run, in dread of the old enemy time." saádí, however, in his _gulistán_ sets forth only his well-pondered thoughts in the most felicitous and expressive language. there is no need to form an abstract or epitome of a work in which nothing is superfluous, nothing valueless. but, as in a cabinet of gems some are more beautiful than others, or as in a garden some flowers are more attractive from their brilliant hues and fragrant odours, so a selection may be made of the more striking tales and aphorisms of the illustrious persian philosopher. the preface to the _gulistán_ is one of the most pleasing portions of the whole book. now prefaces are among those parts of books which are too frequently "skipped" by readers--they are "taken as read." why this should be so, i confess i cannot understand. for my part, i make a point of reading a preface at least twice: first, because i would know what reasons my author had for writing his book, and again, having read his book, because the preface, if well written, may serve also as a sort of appendix. authors are said to bestow particular pains on their prefaces. cervantes, for instance, tells us that the preface to the first part of _don quixote_ cost him more thought than the writing of the entire work. "it argues a deficiency of taste," says isaac d'israeli, "to turn over an elaborate preface unread; for it is the essence of the author's roses--every drop distilled at an immense cost." and, no doubt, it is a great slight to an author to skip his preface, though it cannot be denied that some prefaces are very tedious, because the writer "spins out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument," and none but the most _hardy_ readers can persevere to the distant end. the italians call a preface _salsa del libro_, the _salt_ of the book. a preface may also be likened to the porch of a mansion, where it is not courteous to keep a visitor waiting long before you open the door and make him free of your house. but the reader who passes over the preface to the _gulistán_ unread loses not a little of the spice of that fascinating and instructive book. he who reads it, however, is rewarded by the charming account which the author gives of how he came to form his literary rose-garden: "it was the season of spring; the air was temperate and the rose in full bloom. the vestments of the trees resembled the festive garments of the fortunate. it was mid-spring, when the nightingales were chanting from their pulpits in the branches. the rose, decked with pearly dew, like blushes on the cheek of a chiding mistress. it happened once that i was benighted in a garden, in company with a friend. the spot was delightful: the trees intertwined; you would have said that the earth was bedecked with glass spangles, and that the knot of the pleiades was suspended from the branch of the vine. a garden with a running stream, and trees whence birds were warbling melodious strains: that filled with tulips of various hues; these loaded with fruits of several kinds. under the shade of its trees the zephyr had spread the variegated carpet. "in the morning, when the desire to return home overcame our inclination to remain, i saw in my friend's lap a collection of roses, odoriferous herbs, and hyacinths, which he intended to carry to town. i said: 'you are not ignorant that the flower of the garden soon fadeth, and that the enjoyment of the rose-bush is of short continuance; and the sages have declared that the heart ought not to be set upon anything that is transitory.' he asked: 'what course is then to be pursued?' i replied: 'i am able to form a book of roses, which will delight the beholders and gratify those who are present; whose leaves the tyrannic arm of autumnal blasts can never affect, or injure the blossoms of its spring. what benefit will you derive from a basket of flowers? carry a leaf from my garden: a rose may continue in bloom five or six days, but this rose-garden will flourish for ever.' as soon as i had uttered these words, he flung the flowers from his lap, and, laying hold of the skirt of my garment, exclaimed: 'when the beneficent promise, they faithfully discharge their engagements.' in the course of a few days two chapters were written in my note-book, in a style that may be useful to orators and improve the skill of letter-writers. in short, while the rose was still in bloom, the book called the rose-garden was finished." dr. johnson has remarked that "there is scarcely any poet of eminence who has not left some testimony of his fondness for the flowers, the zephyrs, and the warblers of the spring." this is pre-eminently the case of oriental poets, from solomon downwards: "rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away," exclaims the hebrew poet in his book of canticles: "for lo! the winter is past, the rain is over and gone: the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds has come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. the fig-tree putteth forth her green fruits, and the vines with the tender grapes give forth a good smell. arise, my love, my fair one, and come away." in a persian poem written in the th century the delights of the vernal season are thus described: "on every bush roses were blowing; on every branch the nightingale was plaintively warbling. the tall cypress was dancing in the garden; and the poplar never ceased clapping its hands with joy. with a loud voice from the top of every bough the turtle-dove was proclaiming the glad advent of spring. the diadem of the narcissus shone with such splendour that you would have said it was the crown of the emperor of china. on this side the north wind, on that, the west wind, were, in token of affection, scattering dirhams at the feet of the rose.[ ] the earth was musk-scented, the air musk-laden." [ ] referring to the custom of throwing small coins among crowds in the street on the occasion of a wedding. a dirham is a coin nearly equal in value to sixpence of our money. but it would be difficult to adduce from the writings of any poet, european or asiatic, anything to excel the charming ode on spring, by the turkish poet mesíhí, who flourished in the th century, which has been rendered into graceful english verse, and in the measure of the original, by my friend mr. e. j. w. gibb, in his dainty volume of _ottoman poems_, published in london a few years ago. these are some of the verses from that fine ode: hark! the bulbul's[ ] lay so joyous: "now have come the days of spring!" merry shows and crowds on every mead they spread, a maze of spring; there the almond-tree its silvery blossoms scatters, sprays of spring: _gaily live! for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring!_[ ] once again, with flow'rets decked themselves have mead and plain; tents for pleasure have the blossoms raised in every rosy lane; who can tell, when spring hath ended, who and what may whole remain? _gaily live! for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring!_ * * * * * sparkling dew-drops stud the lily's leaf like sabre broad and keen; bent on merry gipsy party, crowd they all the flow'ry green! list to me, if thou desirest, these beholding, joy to glean: _gaily live! for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring!_ rose and tulip, like to maidens' cheeks, all beauteous show, whilst the dew-drops, like the jewels in their ears, resplendent glow; do not think, thyself beguiling, things will aye continue so: _gaily live! for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring!_ * * * * * whilst each dawn the clouds are shedding jewels o'er the rosy land, and the breath of morning zephyr, fraught with tátár musk, is bland; whilst the world's fair time is present, do not thou unheeding stand: _gaily live! for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring!_ with the fragrance of the garden, so imbued the musky air, every dew-drop, ere it reaches earth, is turned to attar rare; o'er the parterre spread the incense-clouds a canopy right fair: _gaily live! for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring!_ [ ] the nightingale. [ ] in the original turkish: _dinleh bulbul kissa sen kim gildi eiyami behár! kurdi her bir baghda hengamei hengami behár; oldi sim afshan ana ezhari badami behár: ysh u nush it kim gicher kalmaz bu eiyami behár._ here we have an example of the _redíf_, which is common in turkish and persian poetry, and "consists of one or more words, always the same, added to the end of every rhyming line in a poem, which word or words, though counting in the scansion, are not regarded as the true rhyme, which must in every case be sought for immediately before them. the lines-- there shone such truth about thee, i did not dare to doubt thee-- furnish an example of this in english poetry." in the opening verse of mesíhí's ode, as above transliterated in european characters, the _redíf_ is "behár," or spring, and the word which precedes it is the true rhyme-ending. sir william jones has made an elegant paraphrase of this charming ode, in which, however, he diverges considerably from the original, as will be seen from his rendering of the first stanza: hear how the nightingale, on every spray, hails in wild notes the sweet return of may! the gale, that o'er yon waving almond blows, the verdant bank with silver blossoms strows; the smiling season decks each flowery glade-- be gay; too soon the flowers of spring will fade. this turkish poet's maxim, it will be observed, was "enjoy the present day"--the _carpe diem_ of horace, the genial old pagan. on the same suggestive theme of springtide a celebrated turkish poetess, fitnet khánim (for the ottoman turks have poetesses of considerable genius as well as poets), has composed a pleasing ode, addressed to her lord, of which the following stanzas are also from mr. gibb's collection: the fresh spring-clouds across all earth their glistening pearls profuse now sow; the flowers, too, all appearing, forth the radiance of their beauty show; of mirth and joy 'tis now the time, the hour, to wander to and fro; the palm-tree o'er the fair ones' pic-nic gay its grateful shade doth throw. _o liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth glow; 'tis springtide once again, once more the tulips and the roses blow!_ behold the roses, how they shine, e'en like the cheeks of maids most fair; the fresh-sprung hyacinth shows like to beauties' dark, sweet, musky hair; the loved one's form behold, like cypress which the streamlet's bank doth bear; in sooth, each side for soul and heart doth some delightful joy prepare. _o liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth glow; 'tis springtide once again, once more the tulips and the roses blow!_ the parterre's flowers have all bloomed forth, the roses, sweetly smiling, shine; on every side lorn nightingales, in plaintive notes discerning, pine. how fair carnation and wallflower the borders of the garden line! the long-haired hyacinth and jasmine both around the cypress twine. _o liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth glow; 'tis springtide once again, once more the tulips and the roses blow!_ i cannot resist the temptation to cite, in concluding this introductory paper, another fine eulogy of the delights of spring, by amír khusrú, of delhi ( th century), from his _mihra-i-iskandar_, which has been thus rendered into rhythmical prose: "a day in spring, when all the world a pleasing picture seemed; the sun at early dawn with happy auspices arose. the earth was bathed in balmy dew; the beauties of the garden their charms displayed, the face of each with brilliancy adorned. the flowers in freshness bloomed; the lamp of the rose acquired lustre from the breeze; the tulip brought a cup from paradise; the rose-bower shed the sweets of eden; beneath its folds the musky buds remained, like a musky amulet on the neck of beauty. the violet bent its head; the fold of the bud was closer pressed; the opened rose in splendour glowed, and attracted every eye; the lovely flowers oppressed with dew in tremulous motion waved. the air o'er all the garden a silvery radiance threw, and o'er the flowers the breezes played; on every branch the birds attuned their notes, and every bower with warblings sweet was filled, so sweet, they stole the senses. the early nightingale poured forth its song, that gives a zest to those who quaff the morning goblet. from the turtle's soft cooings love seized each bird that skimmed the air." ii stories from the "gulistÁn." the _gulistán_ consists of short tales and anecdotes, to which are appended comments in prose and verse, and is divided into eight chapters, or sections: ( ) the morals of kings; ( ) the morals of dervishes; ( ) the excellence of contentment; ( ) the advantages of taciturnity; ( ) love and youth; ( ) imbecility and old age; ( ) the effects of education; ( ) rules for the conduct of life. in culling some of the choicest flowers of this perennial garden, the particular order observed by saádí need not be regarded here; it is preferable to pick here a flower and there a flower, as fancy may direct. * * * * * it may happen, says our author, that the prudent counsel of an enlightened sage does not succeed; and it may chance that an unskilful boy inadvertently hits the mark with his arrow: a persian king, while on a pleasure excursion with a number of his courtiers at nassála shíráz, appointed an archery competition for the amusement of himself and his friends. he caused a gold ring, set with a valuable gem, to be fixed on the dome of asád, and it was announced that whosoever should send an arrow through the ring should obtain it as a reward of his skill. the four hundred skilled archers forming the royal body-guard each shot at the ring without success. it chanced that a boy on a neighbouring house-top was at the same time diverting himself with a little bow, when one of his arrows, shot at random, went through the ring. the boy, having obtained the prize, immediately burned his bow, shrewdly observing that he did so in order that the reputation of this feat should never be impaired. the advantage of abstinence, or rather, great moderation in eating and drinking, is thus curiously illustrated: two dervishes travelled together; one was a robust man, who regularly ate three meals every day, the other was infirm of body, and accustomed to fast frequently for two days in succession. on their reaching the gate of a certain town, they were arrested on suspicion of being spies, and both lodged, without food, in the same prison, the door of which was then securely locked. several days after, the unlucky dervishes were found to be quite innocent of the crime imputed to them, and on opening the door of the prison the strong man was discovered to be dead, and the infirm man still alive. at this circumstance the officers of justice marvelled; but a philosopher observed, that had the contrary happened it would have been more wonderful, since the one who died had been a great eater, and consequently was unable to endure the want of food, while the other, being accustomed to abstinence, had survived. of núshírván the just (whom the greeks called chosroe), of the sassanian dynasty of persian kings--sixth century--saádí relates that on one occasion, while at his hunting-seat, he was having some game dressed, and ordered a servant to procure some salt from a neighbouring village, at the same time charging him strictly to pay the full price for it, otherwise the exaction might become a custom. his courtiers were surprised at this order, and asked the king what possible harm could ensue from such a trifle. the good king replied: "oppression was brought into the world from small beginnings, which every new comer increased, until it has reached the present degree of enormity." upon this saádí remarks: "if the monarch were to eat a single apple from the garden of a peasant, the servant would pull up the tree by the roots; and if the king order five eggs to be taken by force, his soldiers will spit a thousand fowls. the iniquitous tyrant remaineth not, but the curses of mankind rest on him for ever." only those who have experienced danger can rightly appreciate the advantages of safety, and according as a man has become acquainted with adversity does he recognise the value of prosperity--a sentiment which saádí illustrates by the story of a boy who was in a vessel at sea for the first time, in which were also the king and his officers of state. the lad was in great fear of being drowned, and made a loud outcry, in spite of every effort of those around him to soothe him into tranquility. as his lamentations annoyed the king, a sage who was of the company offered to quiet the terrified youth, with his majesty's permission, which being granted, he caused the boy to be plunged several times in the sea and then drawn up into the ship, after which the youth retired to a corner and remained perfectly quiet. the king inquired why the lad had been subjected to such roughness, to which the sage replied: "at first he had never experienced the danger of being drowned, neither had he known the safety of a ship." one of our english moralists has remarked that the man who chiefly prides himself on his ancestry is like a potato-plant, whose best qualities are under ground. saádí tells us of an old arab who said to his son: "o my child, in the day of resurrection they will ask you what you have done in the world, and not from whom you are descended."--in the _akhlák-i-jalaly_, a work comprising the practical philosophy of the muhammedans, written, in the th century, in the persian language, by fakír jání muhammed asaád, and translated into english by w. f. thompson, alí, the prophet's cousin, is reported to have said: my soul is my father, my title my worth; a persian or arab, there's little between: give me him for a comrade, whatever his birth, who shows what _he is_--not what _others have been_. an arabian poet says: be the son of whom thou wilt, try to acquire literature, the acquisition of which may make pedigree unnecessary to thee; since a man of worth is he who can say, "i am so and so," not he who can only say, "my father was so and so." and again: ask not a man who his father was, but make trial of his qualities, and then conciliate or reject him accordingly for it is no disgrace to new wine, if it only be sweet, as to its taste, that it was the juice [or daughter] of sour grapes. the often-quoted maxim of la rochefoucauld, that there is something in the misfortunes of our friends which affords us a degree of secret pleasure, is well known to the persians. saádí tells us of a merchant who, having lost a thousand dínars, cautioned his son not to mention the matter to anyone, "in order," said he, "that we may not suffer two misfortunes--the loss of our money and the secret satisfaction of our neighbours." a generous disposition is thus eloquently recommended: they asked a wise man, which was preferable, fortitude or liberality, to which he replied: "he who possesses liberality has no need of fortitude. it is inscribed on the tomb of bahram-i-gúr that a liberal hand is preferable to a strong arm." "hátim taï," remarks saádí, "no longer exists, but his exalted name will remain famous for virtue to eternity.[ ] distribute the tithe of your wealth in alms, for when the husbandman lops off the exuberant branches from the vine, it produces an increase of grapes." [ ] hátim was chief of the arabian tribe of taï, shortly before muhammed began to promulgate islám, renowned for his extraordinary liberality. prodigality, however, is as much to be condemned as judicious liberality is to be lauded. saádí gives the following account of a persian prodigal son, who was not so fortunate in the end as his biblical prototype: the son of a religious man, who succeeded to an immense fortune by the will of his uncle, became a dissipated and debauched profligate, in so much that he left no heinous crime unpractised, nor was there any intoxicating drug which he had not tasted. once i admonished him, saying: "o my son, wealth is a running stream, and pleasure revolves like a millstone; or, in other words, profuse expense suits him only who has a certain income. when you have no certain income, be frugal in your expenses, because the sailors have a song, that if the rain does not fall in the mountains, the tigris will become a dry bed of sand in the course of a year. practise wisdom and virtue, and relinquish sensuality, for when your money is spent you will suffer distress and expose yourself to shame."[ ] the young man, seduced by music and wine, would not take my advice, but, in opposition to my arguments, said: "it is contrary to the wisdom of the sages to disturb our present enjoyments by the dread of futurity. why should they who possess fortune suffer distress by anticipating sorrow? go and be merry, o my enchanting friend! we ought not to be uneasy to-day for what may happen to-morrow. how would it become me, who am placed in the uppermost seat of liberality, so that the fame of my bounty is wide spread? when a man has acquired reputation by liberality and munificence, it does not become him to tie up his money-bags. when your good name has been spread through the street, you cannot shut your door against it." i perceived (continues saádí) that he did not approve of my admonition, and that my warm breath did not affect his cold iron. i ceased advising, and, quitting his society, returned into the corner of safety, in conformity with the saying of the philosophers: "admonish and exhort as your charity requires; if they mind not, it does not concern you. although thou knowest that they will not listen, nevertheless speak whatever you know is advisable. it will soon come to pass that you will see the silly fellow with his feet in the stocks, smiting his hands and exclaiming, 'alas, that i did not listen to the wise man's advice!'" after some time, that which i had predicted from his dissolute conduct i saw verified. he was clothed in rags, and begging a morsel of food. i was distressed at his wretched condition, and did not think it consistent with humanity to scratch his wound with reproach. but i said in my heart: profligate men, when intoxicated with pleasure, reflect not on the day of poverty. the tree which in the summer has a profusion of fruit is consequently without leaves in winter. [ ] auvaiyár, the celebrated poetess of the tamils (in southern india), who is said to have flourished in the ninth century, says, in her poem entitled _nalvali_: mark this: who lives beyond his means forfeits respect, loses his sense; where'er he goes through the seven births, all count him knave; him women scorn. the incapacity of some youths to receive instruction is always a source of vexation to the pedagogue. saádí tells us of a vazír who sent his stupid son to a learned man, requesting him to impart some of his knowledge to the lad, hoping that his mind would be improved. after attempting to instruct him for some time without effect, he sent this message to his father: "your son has no capacity, and has almost distracted me. when nature has given capacity instruction will make impressions; but if iron is not of the proper temper, no polishing will make it good. wash not a dog in the seven seas, for when he is wetted he will only be the dirtier. if the ass that carried jesus christ were to be taken to mecca, at his return he would still be an ass." one of the greatest sages of antiquity is reported to have said that all the knowledge he had acquired merely taught him how little he did know; and indeed it is only smatterers who are vain of their supposed knowledge. a sensible young man, says saádí, who had made considerable progress in learning and virtue, was at the same time so discreet that he would sit in the company of learned men without uttering a word. once his father said to him: "my son, why do you not also say something you know?" he replied: "i fear lest they should question me about something of which i am ignorant, whereby i should suffer shame." the advantages of education are thus set forth by a philosopher who was exhorting his children: "acquire knowledge, for in worldly riches and possessions no reliance can be placed.[ ] rank will be of no use out of your own country; and on a journey money is in danger of being lost, for either the thief may carry it off all at once, or the possessor may consume it by degrees. but knowledge is a perennial spring of wealth, and if a man of education cease to be opulent, yet he need not be sorrowful, for knowledge of itself is riches.[ ] a man of learning, wheresoever he goes, is treated with respect, and sits in the uppermost seat, whilst the ignorant man gets only scanty fare and encounters distress." there once happened (adds saádí) an insurrection in damascus, where every one deserted his habitation. the wise sons of a peasant became the king's ministers, and the stupid sons of the vazír were reduced to ask charity in the villages. if you want a paternal inheritance, acquire from your father knowledge, for wealth may be spent in ten days. [ ] "all perishes except learning."--_auvaiyár_. [ ] "learning is really the most valuable treasure.--a wise man will never cease to learn.--he who has attained learning by free self-application excels other philosophers.--let thy learning be thy best friend.--what we have learned in youth is like writing cut in stone.--if all else should be lost, what we have learned will never be lost.--learn one thing after another, but not hastily.--though one is of low birth, learning will make him respected."--_auvaiyár_. in the following charming little tale saádí recounts an interesting incident in his own life: i remember that in my youth, as i was passing through a street, i cast my eyes on a beautiful girl. it was in the autumn, when the heat dried up all moisture from the mouth, and the sultry wind made the marrow boil in the bones, so that, being unable to support the sun's powerful rays, i was obliged to take shelter under the shade of a wall, in hopes that some one would relieve me from the distressing heat, and quench my thirst with a draught of water. suddenly from the portico of a house i beheld a female form whose beauty it is impossible for the tongue of eloquence to describe, insomuch that it seemed as if the dawn was rising in the obscurity of night, or as if the water of immortality was issuing from the land of darkness. she held in her hand a cup of snow-water, into which she had sprinkled sugar and mixed with it the juice of the grape. i know not whether what i perceived was the fragrance of rose-water, or that she had infused into it a few drops from the blossom of her cheek. in short, i received the cup from her beauteous hand, and, drinking the contents, found myself restored to new life. the thirst of my soul is not such that it can be allayed with a drop of pure water--the streams of whole rivers would not satisfy it. how happy is that fortunate one whose eyes every morning may behold such a countenance! he who is intoxicated with wine will be sober again in the course of the night; but he who is intoxicated by the cup-bearer will never recover his senses till the day of judgment. alas, poor saádí! the lovely cup-bearer, who made such a lasting impression on the heart of the young poet, was not destined for his bride. his was indeed a sad matrimonial fate; and who can doubt but that the beauteous form of the stranger maiden would often rise before his mental view after he was married to the xantippe who rendered some portion of his life unhappy! among the tales under the heading of "imbecility and old age" we have one of "oldé january that wedded was to freshé may," which points its moral now as it did six hundred years ago: when i married a young virgin, said an old man, i bedecked a chamber with flowers, sat with her alone, and had fixed my eyes and heart solely upon her. many long nights i passed without sleep, repeating jests and pleasantries, to remove shyness, and make her familiar. on one of these nights i said: "fortune has been propitious to you, in that you have fallen into the society of an old man, of mature judgment, who has seen the world, and experienced various situations of good and bad fortune, who knows the rights of society, and has performed the duties of friendship;--one who is affectionate, affable, cheerful, and conversable. i will exert my utmost endeavours to gain your affection, and if you should treat me unkindly i will not be offended; or if, like the parrot, your food should be sugar, i will devote my sweet life to your support. you have not met with a youth of a rude disposition, with a weak understanding, headstrong, a gadder, who would be constantly changing his situations and inclinations, sleeping every night in a new place, and every day forming some new intimacy. young men may be lively and handsome, but they are inconstant in their attachments. look not thou for fidelity from those who, with the eyes of the nightingale, are every instant singing upon a different rose-bush. but old men pass their time in wisdom and good manners, not in the ignorance and frivolity of youth. seek one better than yourself, and having found him, consider yourself fortunate. with one like yourself you would pass your life without improvement." i spoke a great deal after this manner (continued the old man), and thought that i had made a conquest of her heart, when suddenly she heaved a cold sigh from the bottom of her heart, and replied: "all the fine speeches that you have been uttering have not so much weight in the scale of my reason as one single sentence i have heard from my nurse, that if you plant an arrow in the side of a young woman it is not so painful as the society of an old man." in short (continued he), it was impossible to agree, and our differences ended in a separation. after the time prescribed by law, she married a young man of an impetuous temper, ill-natured, and in indigent circumstances, so that she suffered the injuries of violence, with the evils of penury. nevertheless she returned thanks for her lot, and said: "god be praised that i escaped from infernal torment, and have obtained this permanent blessing. amidst all your violence and impetuosity of temper, i will put up with your airs, because you are handsome. it is better to burn with you in hell than to be in paradise with the other. the scent of onions from a beautiful mouth is more fragrant than the odour of the rose from the hand of one who is ugly." it must be allowed that this old man put his own case to his young wife with very considerable address: yet, such is woman-nature, she chose to be "a young man's slave rather than an old man's darling." and, _apropos_, saádí has another story which may be added to the foregoing: an old man was asked why he did not marry. he answered: "i should not like an old woman." "then marry a young one, since you have property." quoth he: "since i, who am an old man, should not be pleased with an old woman, how can i expect that a young one would be attached to me?" "uneasy lies the head that wears a crown," says our great dramatist, in proof of which take this story: a certain king, when arrived at the end of his days, having no heir, directed in his will that the morning after his death the first person who entered the gate of the city they should place on his head the crown of royalty, and commit to his charge the government of the kingdom. it happened that the first to enter the city was a dervish, who all his life had collected victuals from the charitable and sewed patch on patch. the ministers of state and the nobles of the court carried out the king's will, bestowing on him the kingdom and the treasure. for some time the dervish governed the kingdom, until part of the nobility swerved their necks from obedience to him, and all the neighbouring monarchs, engaging in hostile confederacies, attacked him with their armies. in short, the troops and peasantry were thrown into confusion, and he lost the possession of some territories. the dervish was distressed at these events, when an old friend, who had been his companion in the days of poverty, returned from a journey, and, finding him in such an exalted state, said: "praised be the god of excellence and glory, that your high fortune has aided you and prosperity been your guide, so that a rose has issued from the brier, and the thorn has been extracted from your foot, and you have arrived at this dignity. of a truth, joy succeeds sorrow; the bud does sometimes blossom and sometimes wither; the tree is sometimes naked and sometimes clothed." he replied: "o brother, condole with me, for this is not a time for congratulation. when you saw me last, i was only anxious how to obtain bread; but now i have all the cares of the world to encounter. if the times are adverse, i am in pain; and if they are prosperous, i am captivated with worldly enjoyments. there is no calamity greater than worldly affairs, because they distress the heart in prosperity as well as in adversity. if you want riches, seek only for contentment, which is inestimable wealth. if the rich man would throw money into your lap, consider not yourself obliged to him, for i have often heard that the patience of the poor is preferable to the liberality of the rich." muezzins, who call the faithful to prayer at the prescribed hours from the minarets of the mosques, are generally blind men, as a man with his eyesight might spy into the domestic privacy of the citizens, who sleep on the flat roofs of their houses in the hot season, and are selected for their sweetness of voice. saádí, however, tells us of a man who performed gratuitously the office of muezzin, and had such a voice as disgusted all who heard it. the intendant of the mosque, a good, humane man, being unwilling to offend him, said one day: "my friend, this mosque has muezzins of long standing, each of whom has a monthly stipend of ten dínars. now i will give you ten dínars to go to another place." the man agreed to this and went away. some time after he came to the intendant and said: "o, my lord, you injured me in sending me away from this station for ten dínars; for where i went they will give me twenty dínars to remove to another place, to which i have not consented." the intendant laughed, and said: "take care--don't accept of the offer, for they may be willing to give you fifty." to those who have "music in their souls," and are "moved by concord of sweet sounds," the tones of a harsh voice are excruciating; and if among our statesmen and other public speakers "silver tongues" are rare, they are much more so among our preachers. the church of rome does not admit into the priesthood men who have any bodily shortcoming or defect; it would also be well if all candidates for holy orders in the english and scottish churches whose voices are not at least tolerable were rejected, as unfit to preach! saádí seems to have had a great horror of braying orators, and relates a number of anecdotes about them, such as this: a preacher who had a detestable voice, but thought he had a very sweet one, bawled out to no purpose. you would say the croaking of the crow in the desert was the burden of his song, and that this verse of the kurán was intended for him, "verily the most detestable of sounds is the braying of an ass." when this ass of a preacher brayed, it made persepolis tremble. the people of the town, on account of the respectability of his office, submitted to the calamity, and did not think it advisable to molest him, until one of the neighbouring preachers, who was secretly ill-disposed towards him, came once to see him, and said: "i have had a dream--may it prove good!" "what did you dream?" "i thought you had a sweet voice, and that the people were enjoying tranquility from your discourse." the preacher, after reflecting a little, replied: "what a happy dream is this that you have had, which has discovered to me my defect, in that i have an unpleasant voice, and that the people are distressed at my preaching. i am resolved that in future i will read only in a low tone. the company of friends was disadvantageous to me, because they look on my bad manners as excellent: my defects appear to them skill and perfection, and my thorn as the rose and the jasmin." our author, as we have seen, enlivens his moral discourses occasionally with humorous stories, and one or two more of these may fittingly close the present section: one of the slaves of amrúlais having run away, a person was sent in pursuit of him and brought him back. the vazír, being inimical to him, commanded him to be put to death in order to deter other slaves from committing the like offence. the slave prostrated himself before amrúlais and said: "whatever may happen to me with your approbation is lawful--what plea can the slave offer against the sentence of his lord? but, seeing that i have been brought up under the bounties of your house, i do not wish that at the resurrection you shall be charged with my blood. if you are resolved to kill your slave, do so comformably to the interpretation of the law, in order that at the resurrection you may not suffer reproach." the king asked: "after what manner shall i expound it?" the slave replied: "give me leave to kill the vazír, and then, in retaliation for him, order me to be put to death, that you may kill me justly." the king laughed, and asked the vazír what was his advice in this matter. quoth the vazír: "o my lord, as an offering to the tomb of your father, liberate this rogue, in order that i may not also fall into this calamity. the crime is on my side, for not having observed the words of the sages, who say, 'when you combat with one who flings clods of earth, you break your own head by your folly: when you shoot at the face of your enemy, be careful that you sit out of his aim.'"--and not a little wit, too, did the kází exhibit when detected by the king in an intrigue with a farrier's daughter, and his majesty gave order that he should be flung from the top of the castle, "as an example for others"; to which the kází replied: "o monarch of the universe, i have been fostered in your family, and am not singular in the commission of such crimes; therefore, i ask you to precipitate some one else, in order that i may benefit by the example." the king laughed at his wit, and spared his life.--nor is this tale without a spice of humour: an astrologer entered his house and finding a stranger in company with his wife abused him, and called him such opprobrious names that a quarrel and strife ensued. a shrewd man, being informed of this, said to the astrologer: "what do you know of the heavenly bodies, when you cannot tell what goes on in your own house?"[ ]--last, and perhaps best of all, is this one: i was hesitating about concluding a bargain for a house, when a jew said: "i am an old householder in that quarter; inquire of me the description of the house, and buy it, for it has no fault." i replied: "excepting that you are one of the neighbours!" [ ] there is a similar story to this in one of our old english jest-books, _tales and quicke answeres_, , as follows (i have modernised the spelling): as an astronomer [i.e. an astrologer] sat upon a time in the market place, and took upon him to divine and to show what their fortunes and chances should be that came to him, there came a fellow and told him (as it was indeed) that thieves had broken into his house, and had borne away all that he had. these tidings grieved him so sore that, all heavy and sorrowfully, he rose up and went his way. when the fellow saw him do so, he said: "o thou foolish and mad man! goest thou about to divine other men's matters, and art ignorant of thine own?" iii anecdotes and aphorisms from the "gulistÁn," with analogues--conclusion. besides the maxims comprised in the concluding chapter of the _gulistán_, under the heading of "rules for the conduct of life," many others, of great pith and moment, are interspersed with the tales and anecdotes which saádí recounts in the preceding chapters, a selection of which can hardly fail to prove both instructive and interesting. it is related that at the court of núshírván, king of persia, a number of wise men were discussing a difficult question; and buzurjmihr (his famous prime minister), being silent, was asked why he did not take part in the debate. he answered: "ministers are like physicians, and the physician gives medicine to the sick only. therefore, when i see your opinions are judicious, it would not be consistent with wisdom for me to obtrude my sentiments. when a matter can be managed without my interference it is not proper for me to speak on the subject. but if i see a blind man in the way of a well, should i keep silence it were a crime." on another occasion, when some indian sages were discoursing on his virtue, they could discover in him only this fault, that he hesitated in his speech, so that his hearers were kept a long time in suspense before he delivered his sentiments. buzurjmihr overheard their conversation and observed: "it is better to deliberate before i speak than to repent of what i have said."[ ] [ ] the sayings of buzurjmihr, the sagacious prime minister of king núshírván, are often cited by persian writers, and a curious story of his precocity when a mere youth is told in the _latá'yif at-taw'áyif_, a persian collection, made by al-káshifí, of which a translation will be found in my "analogues and variants" of the tales in vol. iii of sir r. f. burton's _supplemental arabian nights_, pp. - --too long for reproduction here. a parallel to this last saying of the persian vazír is found in a "notable sentence" of a wise greek, in this passage from the _dictes, or sayings of philosophers_, printed by caxton (i have modernised the spelling): "there came before a certain king three wise men, a greek, a jew, and a saracen, of whom the said king desired that each of them would utter some good and notable sentence. then the greek said: 'i may well correct and amend my thoughts, but not my words.' the jew said: 'i marvel of them that say things prejudicial, when silence were more profitable.' the saracen said: 'i am master of my words ere they are pronounced; but when they are spoken i am servant thereto.' and it was asked one of them: 'who might be called a king?' and he answered: 'he that is not subject to his own will.'" the _dictes, or sayings of philosophers_, of which, i believe, but one perfect copy is extant, was translated from the french by earl rivers, and printed by caxton, at westminister, in the year , as we learn from the colophon. i am not aware that any one has taken the trouble to trace to their sources all the sayings comprised in this collection, but i think the original of the above is to be found in the following, from the preface to the arabian version (from the pahlaví, the ancient language of persia) of the celebrated fables of bidpaï, entitled _kalíla wa dimna_, made in the year : "the four kings of china, india, persia, and greece, being together, agreed each of them to deliver a saying which might be recorded to their honour in after ages. the king of china said: 'i have more power over that which i have not spoken than i have to recall what has once passed my lips.' the king of india: 'i have been often struck with the risk of speaking; for if a man be heard in his own praise it is unprofitable boasting, and what he says to his own discredit is injurious in its consequences.' the king of persia: 'i am the slave of what i have spoken, but the master of what i conceal.' the king of greece: 'i have never regretted the silence which i had imposed upon myself; though i have often repented of the words i have uttered;[ ] for silence is attended with advantage, whereas loquacity is often followed by incurable evils.'" [ ] simonides used to say that he never regretted having held his tongue, but very often had he felt sorry for having spoken.--_stobæus_: flor. xxxiii, . the persian poet jámí--the last of the brilliant galaxy of genius who enriched the literature of their country, and who flourished two centuries after saádí had passed to his rest--reproduces these sayings of the four kings in his work entitled _baháristán_, or abode of spring, which is similar in design to the _gulistán_. among the sayings of other wise men (whose names, however, saádí does not mention) are the following: a devotee, who had quitted his monastery and become a member of a college, being asked what difference there is between a learned man and a religious man to induce him thus to change his associates, answered: "the devotee saves his own blanket out of the waves, and the learned man endeavours to save others from drowning."--a young man complained to his spiritual guide of his studies being frequently interrupted by idle and impudent visitors, and desired to know by what means he might rid himself of the annoyance. the sage replied: "to such as are poor lend money, and of such as are rich ask money, and, depend upon it, you will never see one of them again." saádí's own aphorisms are not less striking and instructive. they are indeed calculated to stimulate the faltering to manly exertion, and to counsel the inexperienced. it is to youthful minds, however, that the "words of the wise" are more especially addressed; for it is during the spring-time of life that the seeds of good and evil take root; and so we find the sage hebrew king frequently addressing his maxims to the young: "my son," is his formula, "my son, attend to my words, and bow thine ear to my understanding; that thou mayest regard discretion, and that thy lips may keep knowledge." and the "good and notable sentences" of saádí are well worthy of being treasured by the young man on the threshold of life. for example: "life is snow, and the summer advanceth; only a small portion remaineth: art thou still slothful?" this warning has been reiterated by moralists in all ages and countries;--the great teacher says: "work while it is day, for the night cometh when no man can work." and saádí, in one of his sermons (which is found in another of his books), recounts this beautiful fable, in illustration of the fortunes of the slothful and the industrious: it is related that in a certain garden a nightingale had built his nest on the bough of a rose-bush. it so happened that a poor little ant had fixed her dwelling at the root of this same bush, and managed as best she could to store her wretched hut of care with winter provision. day and night was the nightingale fluttering round the rose-bower, and tuning the barbut[ ] of his soul-deluding melody; indeed, whilst the ant was night and day industriously occupied, the thousand-songed bird seemed fascinated with his own sweet voice, echoing amidst the trees. the nightingale was whispering his secret to the rose,[ ] and that, full-blown by the zephyr of the dawn, would ogle him in return. the poor ant could not help admiring the coquettish airs of the rose, and the gay blandishments of the nightingale, and incontinently remarking: "time alone can disclose what may be the end of this frivolity and talk!" after the flowery season of summer was gone, and the black time of winter was come, thorns took the station of the rose, and the raven the perch of the nightingale. the storms of autumn raged in fury, and the foliage of the grove was shed upon the ground. the cheek of the leaf was turned yellow, and the breath of the wind was chill and blasting. the gathering cloud poured down hailstones, like pearls, and flakes of snow floated like camphor on the bosom of the air. suddenly the nightingale returned into the garden, but he met neither the bloom of the rose nor fragrance of the spikenard; notwithstanding his thousand-songed tongue, he stood stupified and mute, for he could discover no flower whose form he might admire, nor any verdure whose freshness he might enjoy. the thorn turned round to him and said: "how long, silly bird, wouldst thou be courting the society of the rose? now is the season that in the absence of thy charmer thou must put up with the heart-rending bramble of separation." the nightingale cast his eye upon the scene around him, but saw nothing fit to eat. destitute of food, his strength and fortitude failed him, and in his abject helplessness he was unable to earn himself a little livelihood. he called to his mind and said: "surely the ant had in former days his dwelling underneath this tree, and was busy in hoarding a store of provision: now i will lay my wants before her, and, in the name of good neighbourship, and with an appeal to her generosity, beg some small relief. peradventure she may pity my distress and bestow her charity upon me." like a poor suppliant, the half-famished nightingale presented himself at the ant's door, and said: "generosity is the harbinger of prosperity, and the capital stock of good luck. i was wasting my precious life in idleness whilst thou wast toiling hard and laying up a hoard. how considerate and good it were of thee wouldst thou spare me a portion of it." the ant replied: "thou wast day and night occupied in idle talk, and i in attending to the needful: one moment thou wast taken up with the fresh blandishment of the rose, and the next busy in admiring the blossoming spring. wast thou not aware that every summer has its fall and every road an end?"[ ] [ ] the name of a musical instrument. [ ] the fancied love of the nightingale for the rose is a favourite theme of persian poets. [ ] cf. the fable of anianus: after laughing all summer at her toil, the grasshopper came in winter to borrow part of the ant's store of food. "tell me," said the ant, "what you did in the summer?" "i sang," replied the grasshopper. "indeed," rejoined the ant. "then you may dance and keep yourself warm during the winter." these are a few more of saádí's aphorisms: riches are for the comfort of life, and not life for the accumulation of riches.[ ] [ ] auvaiyár, the celebrated indian poetess, in her _nalvali_, says: hark! ye who vainly toil and wealth amass--o sinful men, the soul will leave its nest; where then will be the buried treasure that you lose? the eye of the avaricious man cannot be satisfied with wealth, any more than a well can be filled with dew. a wicked rich man is a clod of earth gilded. the liberal man who eats and bestows is better than the religious man who fasts and hoards. publish not men's secret faults, for by disgracing them you make yourself of no repute. he who gives advice to a self-conceited man stands himself in need of counsel from another. the vicious cannot endure the sight of the virtuous, in the same manner as the curs of the market howl at a hunting-dog, but dare not approach him. when a mean wretch cannot vie with any man in virtue, out of his wickedness he begins to slander him. the abject, envious wretch will slander the virtuous man when absent, but when brought face to face his loquacious tongue becomes dumb. o thou, who hast satisfied thy hunger, to thee a barley loaf is beneath notice;--that seems loveliness to me which in thy sight appears deformity. the ringlets of fair maids are chains for the feet of reason, and snares for the bird of wisdom. when you have anything to communicate that will distress the heart of the person whom it concerns, be silent, in order that he may hear it from some one else. o nightingale, bring thou the glad tidings of the spring, and leave bad news to the owl! it often happens that the imprudent is honoured and the wise despised. the alchemist died of poverty and distress, while the blockhead found a treasure under a ruin. covetousness sews up the eyes of cunning, and brings both bird and fish into the net. although, in the estimation of the wise, silence is commendable, yet at a proper season speech is preferable.[ ] [ ] "comprehensive talkers are apt to be tiresome when we are not athirst for information; but, to be quite fair, we must admit that superior reticence is a good deal due to the lack of matter. speech is often barren, but silence does not necessarily brood over a full nest. your still fowl, blinking at you without remark, may all the while be sitting on one addled nest-egg; and when it takes to cackling will have nothing to announce but that addled delusion."--george eliot's _felix holt_. two things indicate an obscure understanding: to be silent when we should converse, and to speak when we should be silent. put not yourself so much in the power of your friend that, if he should become your enemy, he may be able to injure you. * * * * * our english poet young has this observation in his _night thoughts_: thought, in the mine, may come forth gold or dross; when coined in word, we know its real worth. he had been thus anticipated by saádí: "to what shall be likened the tongue in a man's mouth? it is the key of the treasury of wisdom. when the door is shut, who can discover whether he deals in jewels or small-wares?" the poet thomson, in his _seasons_, has these lines, which have long been hackneyed: loveliness needs not the aid of foreign ornament, but is when unadorned adorned the most. saádí had anticipated him also: "the face of the beloved," he says, "requireth not the art of the tire-woman. the finger of a beautiful woman and the tip of her ear are handsome without an ear-jewel or a turquoise ring." but saádí, in his turn, was forestalled by the arabian poet-hero antar, in his famous _mu'allaka_, or prize-poem, which is at least thirteen hundred years old, where he says: "many a consort of a fair one, whose beauty required no ornaments, have i laid prostrate on the field." yet one persian poet, at least, namely, nakhshabí, held a different opinion: "beauty," he says, "adorned with ornaments, portends disastrous events to our hearts. an amiable form, ornamented with diamonds and gold, is like a melodious voice accompanied by the rabáb." again, he says: "ornaments are the universal ravishers of hearts, and an upper garment for the shoulder is like a cluster of gems. if dress, however," he concedes, "may have been at any time the assistant of beauty, beauty is always the animator of dress." it is remarkable that homely-featured women dress more gaudily than their handsome sisters generally, thus unconsciously bringing their lack of beauty (not to put too fine a point on it) into greater prominence. in common with other moralists, saádí reiterates the maxim that learning and virtue, precept and practice, should ever go hand in hand. "two persons," says he, "took trouble in vain: he who acquired wealth without using it, and he who taught wisdom without practising it." again: "he who has acquired knowledge and does not practise it, is like unto him that ploughed but did not sow." and again: "how much soever you may study science, when you do not act wisely, you are ignorant. the beast that they load with books is not profoundly wise and learned: what knoweth his empty skull whether he carrieth fire-wood or books?" and yet again: "a learned man without temperance is like a blind man carrying a lamp: he showeth the way to others, but does not guide himself." ingratitude is denounced by all moralists as the lowest of vices. thus saádí says: "man is beyond dispute the most excellent of created beings, and the vilest animal is the dog; but the sages agree that a grateful dog is better than an ungrateful man. a dog never forgets a morsel, though you pelt him a hundred times with stones. but if you cherish a mean wretch for an age, he will fight with you for a mere trifle." in language still more forcible does a hindú poet denounce this basest of vices: "to cut off the teats of a cow;[ ] to occasion a pregnant woman to miscarry; to injure a bráhman--are sins of the most aggravated nature; but more atrocious than these is ingratitude." [ ] the cow is sacred among the hindús. the sentiment so tersely expressed in the chinese proverb, "he who never reveals a secret keeps it best," is thus finely amplified by saádí: "the matter which you wish to preserve as a secret impart not to every one, although he may be worthy of confidence; for no one will be so true to your secret as yourself. it is safer to be silent than to reveal a secret to any one, and tell him not to mention it. o wise man! stop the water at the spring-head, for when it is in full stream you cannot arrest it."[ ] [ ] thus also jámí, in his _baháristán_ (second "garden"): "with regard to a secret divulged and one kept concealed, there is in use an excellent proverb, that the one is an arrow still in our possession, and the other is an arrow sent from the bow." and another persian poet, whose name i have not ascertained, eloquently exclaims: "o my heart! if thou desirest ease in this life, keep thy secrets undisclosed, like the modest rose-bud. take warning from that lovely flower, which, by expanding its hitherto hidden beauties when in full bloom, gives its leaves and its happiness to the winds." the imperative duty of active benevolence is thus inculcated: "bestow thy gold and thy wealth while they are thine; for when thou art gone they will be no longer in thy power. distribute thy treasure readily to-day, for to-morrow the key may be no longer in thy hand. exert thyself to cast a covering over the poor, that god's own veil may be a covering to thee." in the following passage the man of learning and virtue is contrasted with the stupid and ignorant blockhead: "if a wise man, falling into company with mean people, does not get credit for his discourse, be not surprised, for the sound of the harp cannot overpower the noise of the drum, and the fragrance of ambergris is overcome by fetid garlic. the ignorant fellow was proud of his loud voice, because he had impudently confounded the man of understanding. if a jewel falls in the mud it is still the same precious stone,[ ] and if dust flies up to the sky it retains its original baseness. a capacity without education is deplorable, and education without capacity is thrown away. sugar obtains not its value from the cane, but from its innate quality. musk has fragrance of itself, and not from being called a perfume by the druggist. the wise man is like the druggist's chest, silent, but full of virtues; while the blockhead resembles the warrior's drum, noisy, but an empty prattler. a wise man in the company of those who are ignorant has been compared by the sages to a beautiful girl in the company of blind men, and to the kurán in the house of an infidel."--the old proverb that "an evil bird has an evil egg" finds expression by saádí thus: "no one whose origin is bad ever catches the reflection of the good." again, he says: "how can we make a good sword out of bad iron? a worthless person cannot by education become a person of any worth." and yet again: "evil habits which have taken root in one's nature will only be got rid of at the hour of death." [ ] is such a thing as an emerald made worse than it was if it is not praised?--_marcus aurelius_. if glass be used to decorate a crown, while gems are taken to bedeck a foot, 'tis not that any fault lies in the gem, but in the want of knowledge of the setter. --_panchatantra_, a famous indian book of fables. firdausí, the homer of persia (eleventh century), has the following remarks in his scathing satire on the sultan mahmúd, of ghazní (atkinson's rendering): alas! from vice can goodness ever spring? is mercy hoped for in a tyrant king? can water wash the ethiopian white? can we remove the darkness from the night? the tree to which a bitter fruit is given would still be bitter in the bowers of heaven; and a bad heart keeps on its vicious course, or, if it changes, changes for the worse; whilst streams of milk where eden's flow'rets blow acquire more honied sweetness as they flow. the striking words of the great teacher, "how hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of god!" find an interesting analogue in this passage by saádí: "there is a saying of the prophet, 'to the poor death is a state of rest.' the ass that carries the lightest burden travels easiest. in like manner, the good man who bears the burden of poverty will enter the gate of death lightly loaded, while he who lives in affluence, with ease and comfort, will, doubtless, on that very account find death very terrible. and in any view, the captive who is released from confinement is happier than the noble who is taken prisoner." a singular anecdote is told of another celebrated persian poet, which may serve as a kind of commentary on this last-cited passage: faridú 'd-dín 'attár, who died in the year , when over a hundred years old, was considered the most perfect súfí[ ] philosopher of the time in which he lived. his father was an eminent druggist in nishapúr, and for a time faridú 'd-dín followed the same profession, and his shop was the delight of all who passed by it, from the neatness of its arrangements and the fragrant odours of drugs and essences. 'attár, which means druggist, or perfumer, faridú 'd-dín adopted for his poetical title. one day, while sitting at his door with a friend, an aged dervish drew near, and, after looking anxiously and closely into the well-furnished shop, he sighed heavily and shed tears, as he reflected on the transitory nature of all earthly things. 'attár, mistaking the sentiment uppermost in the mind of the venerable devotee, ordered him to be gone, to which he meekly rejoined: "yes, i have nothing to prevent me from leaving thy door, or, indeed, from quitting this world at once, as my sole possession is this threadbare garment. but o 'attár, i grieve for thee: for how canst thou ever bring thyself to think of death--to leave all these goods behind thee?" 'attár replied that he hoped and believed that he should die as contentedly as any dervish; upon which the aged devotee, saying, "we shall see," placed his wooden bowl upon the ground, laid his head upon it, and, calling on the name of god, immediately resigned his soul. deeply impressed with this incident, 'attár at once gave up his shop, and devoted himself to the study of súfí philosophy.[ ] [ ] the súfís are the mystics of islám, and their poetry, while often externally anacreontic--bacchanalian and erotic--possesses an esoteric, spiritual signification: the sensual world is employed to symbolise that which is to be apprehended only by the _inward_ sense. most of the great poets of persia, afghanistán, and turkey are generally understood to have been súfís. [ ] sir gore ouseley's _biographical notices of persian poets_. the death of cardinal mazarin furnishes another remarkable illustration of saádí's sentiment. a day or two before he died, the cardinal caused his servant to carry him into his magnificent art gallery, where, gazing upon his collection of pictures and sculpture, he cried in anguish, "and must i leave all these?" dr. johnson may have had mazarin's words in mind when he said to garrick, while being shown over the famous actor's splendid mansion: "ah, davie, davie, these are the things that make a death-bed terrible!" few passages of shakspeare are more admired than these lines: and this our life, exempt from public haunts, finds _tongues in trees_, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.[ ] [ ] cf. these lines, from herrick's "hesperides": but you are _lovely leaves_, where we may read, how soon things have their end, tho' ne'er so brave; and after they have shown their pride, like you, a while, they glide into the grave. saádí had thus expressed the same sentiment before him: "the foliage of a newly-clothed tree, to the eye of a discerning man, displays a whole volume of the wondrous works of the creator." another persian poet, jámí, in his beautiful mystical poem of _yúsuf wa zulaykhá_, says: "every leaf is a tongue uttering praises, like one who keepeth crying, 'in the name of god.'"[ ] and the afghan poet abdu 'r-rahman says: "every tree, every shrub, stands ready to bend before him; every herb and blade of grass is a tongue to mutter his praises." and horace smith, that most pleasing but unpretentious writer, both of verse and prose, has thus finely amplified the idea of "tongues in trees": your voiceless lips, o flowers, are living preachers, each cup a pulpit, every leaf a book, supplying to my fancy numerous teachers, from loneliest nook. 'neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth, and tolls its perfume on the passing air, makes sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth a call to prayer;-- not to the domes where crumbling arch and column attest the feebleness of mortal hand, but to that fane, most catholic and solemn, which god hath planned: to that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply; its choir, the winds and waves, its organ, thunder, its dome, the sky. there, amid solitude and shade, i wander through the green aisles, and, stretched upon the sod, awed by the silence, reverently ponder the ways of god. [ ] "in the name of god" is part of the formula employed by pious muslims in their acts of worship, and on entering upon any enterprise of danger or uncertainty--_bi'smi'llahi ar-rahman ar-rahimi_, "in the name of god, the merciful, the compassionate!" these words are usually placed at the beginning of muhammedan books, secular as well as religions; and they form part of the muslim confession of faith, used in the last extremity: "in the name of god, the merciful, the compassionate! there is no strength nor any power save in god, the high, the mighty. to god we belong, and verily to him we return!" * * * * * when saádí composed his _gulistán_, in , he was between eighty and ninety years of age, with his great mind still vigorous as ever; and he lived many years after, beloved and revered by the poor, whose necessities he relieved, and honoured and esteemed by the noble and the learned, who frequently visited the venerable solitary, to gather and treasure up the pearls of wisdom which dropped from his eloquent tongue. like other poets of lofty genius, he possessed a firm assurance of the immortality of his fame. "a rose," says he, "may continue to bloom for five or six days, but this rose-garden will flourish for ever"; and again: "these verses and recitals of mine will endure after every particle of my dust has been dispersed." six centuries have passed away since the gifted sage penned his _gulistán_, and his fame has not only continued in his own land and throughout the east generally, but has spread into all european countries, and across the atlantic, where long after the days of saádí "still stood the forests primeval." oriental wit and humour. sport that wrinkled care derides, and laughter shaking both his sides.--_l' allegro_. i man a laughing animal--antiquity of popular jests--"night and day"--the plain-featured bride--the house of condolence--the blind man's wife--two witty persian ladies--woman's counsel--the turkish jester: in the pulpit; the cauldron; the beggar; the drunken governor; the robber; the hot broth--muslim preachers and muslim misers. certain philosophers have described man as a cooking animal, others as a tool-making animal, others, again, as a laughing animal. no creature save man, say the advocates of the last definition, seems to have any "sense of humour." however this may be, there can be little doubt that man in all ages of which we have any knowledge has possessed that faculty which perceives ridiculous incongruities in the relative positions of certain objects, and in the actions and sayings of individuals, which we term the "sense of the ludicrous." it is not to be supposed that a dog or a cat--albeit intelligent creatures, in their own ways--would see anything funny or laughable in a man whose sole attire consisted in a general's hat and sash and a pair of spurs! yet _that_ should be enough to "make even a cat laugh"! certainly laughter is peculiar to our species; and gravity is as certainly not always a token of profound wisdom; for the gravest beast's an ass; the gravest bird's an owl; the gravest fish's an oyster; and the gravest man's a _fool_. many of the great sages of antiquity were also great humorists, and laughed long and heartily at a good jest. and, indeed, as the sage of chelsea affirms, "no man who has once heartily and wholly laughed can be altogether, irreclaimably bad. how much lies in laughter!--the cipher key wherewith we decipher the whole man!... the man who cannot laugh is not only fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils, but his whole life is already a treason and a stratagem." let us, then, laugh at what is laughable while we are yet clothed in "this muddy vesture of decay," for, as delightful elia asks, "can a ghost laugh? can he shake his gaunt sides if we be merry with him?" it is a remarkable fact that a considerable proportion of the familiar jests of almost any country, which are by its natives fondly believed to be "racy of the soil," are in reality common to other peoples widely differing in language and customs. not a few of these jests had their origin ages upon ages since--in greece, in persia, in india. yet they must have set out upon their travels westward at a comparatively early period, for they have been long domiciled in almost every country of europe. nevertheless, as we ourselves possess a goodly number of droll witticisms, repartees, and jests, which are most undoubtedly and beyond cavil our own--such as many of those which are ascribed to sam foote, harry erskine, douglas jerrold, and sydney smith; though they have been credited with some that are as old as the jests of hierokles--so there exist in what may be termed the lower strata of oriental fiction, humorous and witty stories, characteristic of the different peoples amongst whom they originated, which, for the most part, have not yet been appropriated by the european compilers of books of facetiæ, and a selection of such jests--choice specimens of oriental wit and humour--gleaned from a great variety of sources, will, i trust, amuse readers in general, and lovers of funny anecdotes in particular. * * * * * to begin, then--_place aux dames_! in most asiatic countries the ladies are at a sad discount in the estimation of their lords and masters, however much the latter may expatiate on their personal charms, and in eastern jests this is abundantly shown. for instance, a persian poet, through the importunity of his friends, had married an old and very ugly woman, who turned out also of a very bad temper, and they had constant quarrels. once, in a dispute, the poet made some comparisons between his aged wife and himself and between night and day. "cease your nonsense," said she; "night and day were created long before us." "hold a little," said the husband. "i know they were created long before me, but whether before _you_, admits of great doubt!" again, a persian married, and, as is customary with muslims, on the marriage night saw his bride's face for the first time, when she proved to be very ugly--perhaps "plain-looking" were the more respectful expression. a few days after the nuptials, she said to him: "my life! as you have many relatives, i wish you would inform me before which of them i may unveil." (women of rank in muslim countries appear unveiled only before very near relations.) "my soul!" responded the husband, "if thou wilt but conceal thy face from _me_, i care not to whom thou showest it." and there is a grim sort of humour in the story of the poor arab whose wife was going on a visit of condolence, when he said to her: "my dear, if you go, who is to take care of the children, and what have you left for them to eat?" she replied: "as i have neither flour, nor milk, nor butter, nor oil, nor anything else, what can i leave?" "you had better stay at home, then," said the poor man; "for assuredly _this_ is the true house of condolence." and also in the following: a citizen of tawris, in comfortable circumstances, had a daughter so very ugly that nothing could induce any one to marry her. at length he resolved to bestow her on a blind man, hoping that, not seeing her personal defects, he would be kind to her. his plan succeeded, and the blind man lived very happily with his wife. by-and-by, there arrived in the city a doctor who was celebrated for restoring sight to many people, and the girl's father was urged by his friends to engage this skilled man to operate upon his son-in-law, but he replied: "i will take care to do nothing of the kind; for if this doctor should restore my son-in-law's eyesight, _he_ would very soon restore my daughter to me!" but occasionally ladies are represented as giving witty retorts, as in the story of the persian lady who, walking in the street, observed a man following her, and turning round enquired of him: "why do you follow me, sir?" he answered: "because i am in love with you." "why are you in love with me?" said the lady. "my sister is much handsomer than i; she is coming after me--go and make love to her." the fellow went back and saw a woman with an exceedingly ugly face, upon which he at once went after the lady, and said to her: "why did you tell me what was not true?" "neither did you speak the truth," answered she; "for if you were really in love with me, you would not have turned to see another woman." and the persian poet jámí, in his _baháristán_, relates that a man with a very long nose asked a woman in marriage, saying: "i am no way given to sloth, or long sleeping, and i am very patient in bearing vexations." to which she replied: "yes, truly: hadst thou not been patient in bearing vexations thou hadst not carried that nose of thine these forty years." the low estimation in which women are so unjustly held among muhammedans is perhaps to be ascribed partly to the teachings of the kurán in one or two passages, and to the traditional sayings of the apostle muhammad, who has been credited (or rather _discredited_) with many things which he probably never said. but this is not peculiar to the followers of the prophet of mecca: a very considerable proportion of the indian fictions represent women in an unfavourable light--fictions, too, which were composed long before the hindús came in contact with the muhammedans. even in europe, during mediæval times, _maugre_ the "lady fair" of chivalric romance, it was quite as much the custom to decry women, and to relate stories of their profligacy, levity, and perversity, as ever it has been in the east. but we have changed all that in modern times: it is only to be hoped that we have not gone to the other extreme!--according to an arabian writer, cited by lane, "it is desirable, before a man enters upon any important undertaking, to consult ten intelligent persons among his particular friends; or if he have not more than five such friends let him consult each twice; or if he have not more than one friend he should consult him ten times, at ten different visits [he would be 'a friend indeed,' to submit to so many consultations on the same subject]; if he have not one to consult let him return to his wife and consult her, and whatever she advises him to do let him do the contrary, so shall he proceed rightly in his affair and attain his object."[ ] we may suppose this turkish story, from the _history of the forty vezírs_, to be illustrative of the wisdom of such teaching: a man went on the roof of his house to repair it, and when he was about to come down he called to his wife, "how should i come down?" the woman answered, "the roof is free; what would happen? you are a young man--jump down." the man jumped down, and his ankle was dislocated, and for a whole year he was bedridden, and his ankle came not back to its place. next year the man again went on the roof of his house and repaired it. then he called to his wife, "ho! wife, how shall i come down?" the woman said, "jump not; thine ankle has not yet come to its place--come down gently." the man replied, "the other time, for that i followed thy words, and not those of the apostle [i.e., muhammed], was my ankle dislocated, and it is not yet come to its place; now shall i follow the words of the apostle, and do the contrary of what thou sayest [kurán, iii, .]" and he jumped down, and straightway his ankle came to its place. [ ] "bear in mind," says thorkel to bork, in the icelandic saga of gisli the outlaw, "bear in mind that a woman's counsel is always unlucky."--on the other hand, quoth panurge, "truly i have found a great deal of good in the counsel of women, chiefly in that of the old wives among them." * * * * * in the turkish collection of jests ascribed to khoja nasrú 'd-dín efendi[ ] is the following, which has been reproduced amongst ourselves within comparatively recent years, and credited to an irish priest: one day the khoja went into the pulpit of a mosque to preach to the people. "o men!" said he, "do you know what i should say unto you?" they answered: "we know not, efendi." "when you do know," said the khoja, "i shall take the trouble of addressing you." the next day he again ascended into the pulpit, and said, as before: "o men! do you know what i should say unto you?" "we do know," exclaimed they all with one voice. "then," said he, "what is the use of my addressing you, since you already know?" the third day he once more went into the pulpit, and asked the same question. the people, having consulted together as to the answer they should make, said: "o khoja, some of us know, and some of us do not know." "if that be the case, let those who know tell those who do not know," said the khoja, coming down. a poor arab preacher was once, however, not quite so successful. having "given out," as we say, for his text, these words, from the kurán, "i have called noah," and being unable to collect his thoughts, he repeated, over and over again, "i have called noah," and finally came to a dead stop; when one of those present shouted, "if noah will not come, call some one else." akin to this is our english jest of the deacon of a dissenting chapel in yorkshire, who undertook, in the vanity of his heart, to preach on the sunday, in place of the pastor, who was ill, or from home. he conducted the devotional exercises fairly well, but when he came to deliver his sermon, on the text, "i am the light of the world," he had forgot what he intended to say, and continued to repeat these words, until an old man called out, "if thou be the light o' the world, i think thou needs snuffin' badly." [ ] the khoja was contemporary with the renowned conqueror of nations, tímúr, or tímúrleng, or, as the name is usually written in this country, tamarlane, though there does not appear to be any authority that he was the official jester at the court of that monarch, as some writers have asserted. the pleasantries ascribed to the khoja--the title now generally signifies teacher, or school-master, but formerly it was somewhat equivalent to our "mr," or, more familiarly, "goodman"--have been completely translated into french. of course, a large proportion of the jests have been taken from arabian and persian collections, though some are doubtless genuine; and they represent the khoja as a curious compound of shrewdness and simplicity. a number of the foolish sayings and doings fathered on him are given in my _book of noodles_, . to return to the turkish jest-book. one day the khoja borrowed a cauldron from a brazier, and returned it with a little saucepan inside. the owner, seeing the saucepan, asked: "what is this?" quoth the khoja: "why, the cauldron has had a young one"; whereupon the brazier, well pleased, took possession of the saucepan. some time after this the khoja again borrowed the cauldron and took it home. at the end of a week the brazier called at the khoja's house and asked for his cauldron. "o set your mind at rest," said the khoja; "the cauldron is dead." "o khoja," quoth the brazier, "can a cauldron die?" responded the khoja: "since you believed it could have a young one, why should you not also believe that it could die?" the khoja had a pleasant way of treating beggars. one day a man knocked at his door. "what do you want?" cried the khoja from above. "come down," said the man. the khoja accordingly came down, and again said: "what do you want?" "i want charity," said the man. "come up stairs," said the khoja. when the beggar had come up, the khoja said: "god help you"--the customary reply to a beggar when one will not or cannot give him anything. "o master," cried the man, "why did you not say so below?" quoth the khoja: "when i was above stairs, why did you bring me down?" drunkenness is punished (or punishable) by the infliction of eighty strokes of the bastinado in muslim countries, but it is only flagrant cases that are thus treated, and there is said to be not a little private drinking of spirits as well as of wine among the higher classes, especially turks and persians. it happened that the governor of súricastle lay in a state of profound intoxication in a garden one day, and was thus discovered by the khoja, who was taking a walk in the same garden with his friend ahmed. the khoja instantly stripped him of his _ferage_, or upper garment, and, putting it on his own back, walked away. when the governor awoke and saw that his ferage had been stolen, he told his officers to bring before him whomsoever they found wearing it. the officers, seeing the ferage on the khoja, seized and brought him before the governor, who said to him: "ho! khoja, where did you obtain that ferage?" the khoja responded "as i was taking a walk with my friend ahmed we saw a fellow lying drunk, whereupon i took off his ferage and went away with it. if it be yours, pray take it." "o no," said the governor, "it does not belong to me." even being robbed could not disturb the khoja's good humour. when he was lying in bed one night a loud noise was heard in the street before his house. said he to his wife: "get up and light a candle, and i will go and see what is the matter." "you had much better stay where you are," advised his wife. but the khoja, without heeding her words, put the counterpane on his shoulders and went out. a fellow, on perceiving him, immediately snatched the counterpane from off the khoja's shoulders and ran away. shivering with cold, the khoja returned into the house, and when his wife asked him the cause of the noise, he said: "it was on account of our counterpane; when they got that, the noise ceased at once." but in the following story we have a very old acquaintance in a new dress: one day the khoja's wife, in order to plague him, served up some exceedingly hot broth, and, forgetting what she had done, put a spoonful of it in her mouth, which so scalded her that the tears came into her eyes. "o wife," said the khoja, "what is the matter with you--is the broth hot?" "dear efendi," said she, "my mother, who is now dead, loved broth very much; i thought of that, and wept on her account." the khoja, thinking that what she said was truth, took a spoonful of the broth, and, it burning his mouth, he began to bellow. "what is the matter with you?" said his wife. "why do you cry?" quoth the khoja: "you cry because your mother is gone, but i cry because her daughter is here."[ ] [ ] this is how the same story is told in our oldest english jest-book, entitled _a hundred mery talys_ ( ): a certain merchant and a courtier being upon a time at dinner, having a hot custard, the courtier, being somewhat homely of manner, took part of it and put it in his mouth, which was so hot that it made him shed tears. the merchant, looking on him, thought that he had been weeping, and asked him why he wept. this courtier, not willing it to be known that he had brent his mouth with the hot custard, answered and said, "sir," quod he, "i had a brother which did a certain offence, wherefore he was hanged." the merchant thought the courtier had said true, and anon, after the merchant was disposed to eat of the custard, and put a spoonful of it into his mouth, and brent his mouth also, that his eyes watered. this courtier, that perceiving, spake to the merchant; and said, "sir," quod he, "why do ye weep now?" the merchant perceived how he had been deceived, and said, "marry," quod he, "i weep because thou wast not hanged when that thy brother was hanged." * * * * * many of the muslim jests, like some our of own, are at the expense of poor preachers. thus: there was in baghdád a preacher whom no one attended after hearing him but once. one friday when he came down from the pulpit he discovered that the only one who remained in the mosque was the muezzin--all his hearers had left him to finish his discourse as, and when, he pleased--and, still worse, his slippers had also disappeared. accusing the muezzin of having stolen them, "i am rightly served by your suspicion," retorted he, "for being the only one that remained to hear you."--in gladwin's _persian moonshee_ we read that whenever a certain learned man preached in the mosque, one of the congregation wept constantly, and the preacher, observing this, concluded that his words made a great impression on the man's heart. one day some of the people said to the man: "that learned man makes no impression on our minds;--what kind of a heart have you, to be thus always in tears?" he answered: "i do not weep at his discourse, o muslims. but i had a goat of which i was very fond, and when he grew old he died. now, whenever the learned man speaks and wags his beard i am reminded of my goat, for he had just such a voice and beard."[ ] but they are not always represented as mere dullards; for example: a miserly old fellow once sent a muslim preacher a gold ring without a stone, requesting him to put up a prayer for him from the pulpit. the holy man prayed that he should have in paradise a golden palace without a roof. when he descended from the pulpit, the man went to him, and, taking him by the hand, said: "o preacher, what manner of prayer is that thou hast made for me?" "if thy ring had had a stone," replied the preacher, "thy palace should also have had a roof." [ ] what may be an older form of this jest is found in the _kathá manjarí_, a canarese collection, where a wretched singer dwelling next door to a poor woman causes her to weep and wail bitterly whenever he begins to sing, and on his asking her why she wept, she explains that his "golden voice" recalled to her mind her donkey that died a month ago.--the story had found its way to our own country more than three centuries since. in _mery tales and quicke answeres_ ( ), under the title "of the friar that brayde in his sermon," the preacher reminds a "poure wydowe" of her ass--all that her husband had left her--which had been devoured by wolves, for so the ass was wont to bray day and night. _apropos_ of misers, our english facetiæ books furnish many examples of their ingenuity in excusing themselves from granting favours asked of them by their acquaintances; and, human nature being much the same everywhere, the misers in the east are represented as being equally adroit, as well as witty, in parrying such objectionable requests. a persian who had a very miserly friend went to him one day, and said: "i am going on a journey; give me your ring, which i will constantly wear, and whenever i look on it, i shall remember you." the other answered: "if you wish to remember me, whenever you see your finger _without_ my ring upon it, always think of me, that i did not give you my ring." and quite as good is the story of the dervish who said to the miser that he wanted something of him; to which he replied: "if you will consent to a request of mine, i will consent to whatever else you may require"; and when the dervish desired to know what it was, he said: "never ask me for anything and whatever else you say i will perform." ii the two deaf men and the traveller--the deaf persian and the horseman--lazy servants--chinese humour: the rich man and the smiths; how to keep plants alive; criticising a portrait--the persian courtier and his old friend--the scribe--the schoolmaster and the wit--the persian and his cat--a list of blockheads--the arab and his camel--a witty baghdÁdÍ--the unlucky slippers. it is well known that deaf men generally dislike having their infirmity alluded to, and even endeavour to conceal it as much as possible. charles lamb, or some other noted wit, seeing a deaf acquaintance on the other side of the street one day while walking with a friend, stopped and motioned to him; then opened his mouth as if speaking in a loud tone, but saying not a word. "what are you bawling for?" demanded the deaf one. "d'ye think i can't hear?"--two eastern stories i have met with are most diverting examples of this peculiarity of deaf folks. one is related by my friend pandit natésa sastrí in his _folk-lore of southern india_, of which a few copies were recently issued at bombay.[ ] a deaf man was sitting one day where three roads crossed, when a neatherd happened to pass that way. he had lately lost a good cow and a calf, and had been seeking them some days. when he saw the deaf man sitting by the way he took him for a soothsayer, and asked him to find out by his knowledge of magic where the cow would likely be found. the herdsman was also very deaf, and the other, without hearing what he had said, abused him, and said he wished to be left undisturbed, at the same time stretching out his hand and pointing at his face. this pointing the herd supposed to indicate the direction where the lost cow and calf should be sought; thus thinking (for he, too, had not heard a word of what the other man had said to him), the herd went off in search, resolving to present the soothsayer with the calf if he found it with the cow. to his joy, and by mere chance, of course, he found them both, and, returning with them to the deaf man (still sitting by the wayside), he pointed to the calf and asked him to accept of it. now, it so happened that the calf's tail was broken and crooked, and the deaf man supposed that the herdsman was blaming him for having broken it, and by a wave of his hand he denied the charge. this the poor deaf neatherd mistook for a refusal of the calf and a demand for the cow, so he said: "how very greedy you are, to be sure! i promised you the calf, and not the cow." "never!" exclaimed the deaf man in a rage. "i know nothing of you or your cow and calf. i never broke the calf's tail." while they were thus quarrelling, without understanding each other, a third man happened to pass, and seeing his opportunity to profit by their deafness, he said to the neatherd in a loud voice, yet so as not to be heard by the other deaf man: "friend, you had better go away with your cow. those soothsayers are always greedy. leave the calf with me, and i shall make him accept it." the poor neatherd, highly pleased to have secured his cow, went off, leaving the calf with the traveller. then said the traveller to the deaf man: "it is, indeed, very unlawful, friend, for that neatherd to charge you with an offence which you did not commit; but never mind, since you have a friend in me. i shall contrive to make clear to him your innocence; leave this matter to me." so saying, he walked away with the calf, and the deaf man went home, well pleased that he had escaped from such a serious accusation. [ ] messrs. w. h. allen & co., london, have in the press a new edition of this work, to be entitled "_tales of the sun; or, popular tales of southern india_." i am confident that the collection will be highly appreciated by many english readers, while its value to story-comparers can hardly be over-rated. the other story is of a deaf persian who was taking home a quantity of wheat, and, coming to a river which he must cross, he saw a horseman approach; so he said to himself: "when that horseman comes up, he will first salute me, 'peace be with thee'; next he will ask, 'what is the depth of this river?' and after that he will ask, how many _máns_ of wheat i have with me." (a _mán_ is a persian weight, which seems to vary in different places.) but the deaf man's surmises were all in vain; for when the horseman came up to him, he cried: "ho! my man, what is the depth of this river?" the deaf one replied: "peace be with thee, and the mercy of allah and his blessing." at this the horseman laughed, and said: "may they cut off thy beard!" the deaf one rejoined: "to my neck and bosom." the horseman said: "dust be on thy mouth!" the deaf man answered: "eighty _máns_ of it." * * * * * the laziness of domestics is a common complaint in this country at the present day, but surely never was there a more lazy servant than the fellow whose exploits are thus recorded: a persian husbandman one night desired his servant to shut the door, and the man said it was already shut. in the morning his master bade him open the door, and he coolly replied that, foreseeing this request, he had left it open the preceding night. another night his master bade him rise and see whether it rained. but he called for the dog that lay at the door, and finding his paws dry, answered that the night was fair; then being desired to see whether the fire was extinguished, he called the cat, and finding her paws cold, replied in the affirmative.--this story had gained currency in europe in the th century, and it forms one of the mediæval _latin stories_ edited, for the percy society, by thos. wright, where it is entitled, "de maimundo armigero." there is another persian story of a lazy fellow whose master, being sick, said to him: "go and get me some medicine." "but," rejoined he, "it may happen that the doctor is not at home." "you will find him at home." "but if i do find him at home he may not give me the medicine," quoth the servant. "then take this note to him and he will give it to you." "well," persisted the fellow, "he may give me the medicine, but suppose it does you no good?" "villain!" exclaimed his master, out of all patience, "will you do as i bid you, instead of sitting there so coolly, raising difficulties?" "good sir," reasoned this lazy philosopher, "admitting that the medicine should produce some effect, what will be the ultimate result? we must all die some time, and what does it matter whether it be to-day or to-morrow?" * * * * * the chinese seem not a whit behind other peoples in appreciating a good jest, as has been shown by the tales and _bon mots_ rendered into french by stanislas julien and other eminent _savans_. here are three specimens of chinese humour: a wealthy man lived between the houses of two blacksmiths, and was constantly annoyed by the noise of their hammers, so that he could not get rest, night or day. first he asked them to strike more gently; then he made them great promises if they would remove at once. the two blacksmiths consented, and he, overjoyed to get rid of them, prepared a grand banquet for their entertainment. when the banquet was over, he asked them where they were going to take up their new abodes, and they replied--to the intense dismay of their worthy host, no doubt: "he who lives on the left of your house is going to that on the right; and he who lives on your right is going to the house on your left." there is a keen satirical hit at the venality of chinese judges in our next story. a husbandman, who wished to rear a particular kind of vegetable, found that the plants always died. he consulted an experienced gardener as to the best means of preventing the death of plants. the old man replied: "the affair is very simple; with every plant put down a piece of money." his friend asked what effect money could possibly have in a matter of this kind. "it is the case now-a-days," said the old man, "that where there is money _life_ is safe, but where there is none death is the consequence." the tale of apelles and the shoemaker is familiar to every schoolboy, but the following story of the chinese painter and his critics will be new to most readers: a gentleman having got his portrait painted, the artist suggested that he should consult the passers-by as to whether it was a good likeness. accordingly he asked the first that was going past: "is this portrait like me?" the man said: "the _cap_ is very like." when the next was asked, he said: "the _dress_ is very like." he was about to ask a third, when the painter stopped him, saying: "the cap and the dress do not matter much; ask the person what he thinks of the face." the third man hesitated a long time, and then said: "the _beard_ is very like." * * * * * and now we shall revert once more to persian jests, many of which are, however, also current in india, through the medium of the persian language. when a man becomes suddenly rich it not unfrequently follows that he becomes as suddenly oblivious of his old friends. thus, a persian having obtained a lucrative appointment at court, a friend of his came shortly afterwards to congratulate him thereon. the new courtier asked him: "who are you? and why do you come here?" the other coolly replied: "do you not know me, then? i am your old friend, and am come to condole with you, having heard that you had lately lost your sight."--this recalls the clever epigram: when jack was poor, the lad was frank and free; of late he's grown brimful of pride and pelf; you wonder that he don't remember me? why, don't you see, jack has forgot himself! the humour of the following is--to me, at least--simply exquisite: a man went to a professional scribe and asked him to write a letter for him. the scribe said that he had a pain in his foot. "a pain in your foot!" echoed the man. "i don't want to send you to any place that you should make such an excuse." "very true," said the scribe; "but, whenever i write a letter for any one, i am always sent for to read it, because no one else can make it out."--and this is a very fair specimen of ready wit: during a season of great drought in persia, a schoolmaster at the head of his pupils marched out of shíráz to pray (at the tomb of some saint in the suburbs) for rain, when they were met by a waggish fellow, who inquired where they were going. the preceptor informed him, and added that, no doubt, allah would listen to the prayers of innocent children. "friend," quoth the wit, "if that were the case, i fear there would not be a schoolmaster left alive." the "harmless, necessary cat" has often to bear the blame of depredations in which she had no share--especially the "lodging-house cat"; and, that such is the fact in persia as well as nearer our own doors, let a story related by the celebrated poet jámí serve as evidence: a husband gave a _mán_ of meat to his wife, bidding her cook it for his dinner. the woman roasted it and ate it all herself, and when her husband asked for the meat she said the cat had stolen it. the husband weighed the cat forthwith, and found that she had not increased in weight by eating so much meat; so, with a hundred perplexing thoughts, he struck his hand on his knee, and, upbraiding his wife, said: "o lady, doubtless the cat, like the meat, weighed one _mán_; the meat would add another _mán_ thereto. this point is not clear to me--that two _máns_ should become one _mán_. if this is the cat, where is the meat? and if this is the meat, why has it the form of the cat?" readers of our early english jest-books will perhaps remember the story of a court-jester being facetiously ordered by the king to make out a list of all the fools in his dominions, who replied that it would be a much easier task to write down a list of all the wise men. i fancy there is some trace of this incident in the following persian story, though the details are wholly different: once upon a time a party of merchants exhibited to a king some fine horses, which pleased him so well that he bought them, and gave the merchants besides a large sum of money to pay for more horses which they were to bring from their own country. some time after this the king, being merry with wine, said to his chief vazír: "make me out a list of all the blockheads in my kingdom." the vazír replied that he had already made out such a list, and had put his majesty's name at the top. "why so?" demanded the king. "because," said the vazír, "you gave a great sum of money for horses to be brought by merchants for whom no person is surety, nor does any one know to what country they belong; and this is surely a sign of stupidity." "but what if they should bring the horses?" the vazír readily replied: "if they should bring the horses, i should then erase your majesty's name and put the names of the merchants in its place."[ ] [ ] a similar incident is found in the th chapter of the spanish work, _el conde lucanor_, written, in the th century, by prince don juan manuel, where a pretended alchemist obtains from a king a large sum of money in order that he should procure in his own distant country a certain thing necessary for the transmutation of the baser metals into gold. the impostor, of course, did not return, and so on, much the same as in the above.--many others of don manuel's tales are traceable to eastern sources; he was evidently familiar with the arabic language, and from his long intercourse with the moors doubtless became acquainted with asiatic story-books. his manner of telling the stories is, however, wholly his own, and some of them appear to be of his own invention.--there is a variant of the same story in _pasquils jests and mother bunches merriments_, in which a servant enters his master's name in a list of all the fools of his acquaintance, because he had lately lent his cousin twenty pounds. everybody knows the story of the silly old woman who went to market with a cow and a hen for sale, and asked only five shillings for the cow, but ten pounds for the hen. but no such fool was the arab who lost his camel, and, after a long and fruitless search, anathematised the errant quadruped and her father and her mother, and swore by the prophet that, should he find her, he would sell her for a dirham (sixpence). at length his search was successful, and he at once regretted his oath; but such an oath must not be violated, so he tied a cat round the camel's neck, and went about proclaiming: "i will sell this camel for a dirham, and this cat for a hundred dínars (fifty pounds); but i will not sell one without the other." a man who passed by and heard this exclaimed: "what a very desirable bargain that camel would be if she had not such a _collar_ round her neck!"[ ] [ ] a variant of this occurs in the _heptameron_, an uncompleted work in imitation of the _decameron_, ascribed to marguerite, queen of navarre ( th century), but her _valet de chambre_ bonaventure des periers is supposed to have had a hand in its composition. in novel it is related that a merchant in saragossa on his death-bed desired his wife to sell a fine spanish horse for as much as it would fetch and give the money to the mendicant friars. after his death his widow did not approve of such a legacy, but, in order to obey her late husband's will, she instructed a servant to go to the market and offer the horse for a ducat and her cat for ninety-nine ducats, both, however, to be sold together. a gentleman purchased the horse and the cat, well knowing that the former was fully worth a hundred ducats, and the widow handed over one ducat--for which the horse was nominally sold--to the mendicant friars. for readiness of wit the arabs would seem to compare very favourably with any race, european or asiatic, and many examples of their felicitous repartees are furnished by native historians and grammarians. one of the best is: when a khalíf was addressing the people in a mosque on his accession to the khalífate, and told them, among other things in his own praise, that the plague which had so long raged in baghdád had ceased immediately he became khalíf; an old fellow present shouted: "of a truth, allah was too merciful to give us both _thee_ and the plague at the same time." * * * * * the story of the unlucky slippers in cardonne's _mélanges de littérature orientale_ is a very good specimen of arabian humour:[ ] [ ] cardonne took this story from a turkish work entitled "_ajá'ib el-ma'ásir wa ghará'ib en-nawádir_ (the wonders of remarkable incidents and rarities of anecdotes)," by ahmed ibn hemdem khetkhody, which was composed for sultan murád iv, who reigned from a.d. to . in former times there lived in the famous city of baghdád a miserly old merchant named abú kasim. although very rich, his clothes were mere rags; his turban was of coarse cloth, and exceedingly dirty; but his slippers were perfect curiosities--the soles were studded with great nails, while the upper leathers consisted of as many different pieces as the celebrated ship argos. he had worn them during ten years, and the art of the ablest cobblers in baghdád had been exhausted in preventing a total separation of the parts; in short, by frequent accessions of nails and patches they had become so heavy that they passed into a proverb, and anything ponderous was compared to abú kasim's slippers. walking one day in the great bazaar, the purchase of a large quantity of crystal was offered to this merchant, and, thinking it a bargain, he bought it. not long after this, hearing that a bankrupt perfumer had nothing left to sell but some rose-water, he took advantage of the poor man's misfortune, and purchased it for half the value. these lucky speculations had put him into good humour, but instead of giving an entertainment, according to the custom of merchants when they have made a profitable bargain, abú kasim deemed it more expedient to go to the bath, which he had not frequented for some time. as he was undressing, one of his acquaintances told him that his slippers made him the laughing-stock of the whole city, and that he ought to provide himself with a new pair. "i have been thinking about it," he answered; "however, they are not so very much worn but they will serve some time longer." while he was washing himself, the kází of baghdád came also to bathe. abú kasim, coming out before the judge, took up his clothes but could not find his slippers--a new pair being placed in their room. our miser, persuaded, because he wished it, that the friend who had spoken to him about his old slippers had made him a present, without hesitation put on these fine ones, and left the bath highly delighted. but when the kází had finished bathing, his servants searched in vain for his slippers; none could be found but a wretched pair, which were at once identified as those of abú kasim. the officers hastened after the supposed thief, and, bringing him back with the theft on his feet, the kází, after exchanging slippers, committed him to prison. there was no escaping from the claws of justice without money, and, as abú kasim was known to be very rich, he was fined in a considerable sum. on returning home, our merchant, in a fit of indignation, flung his slippers into the tigris, that ran beneath his window. some days after they were dragged out in a fisherman's net that came up more heavy than usual. the nails with which the soles were thickly studded had torn the meshes of the net, and the fisherman, exasperated against the miserly abú kasim and his slippers--for they were known to everyone--determined to throw them into his house through the window he had left open. the slippers, thrown with great force, reached the jars of rose-water, and smashed them in pieces, to the intense consternation of the owner. "cursed slippers!" cried he, tearing his beard, "you shall cause me no farther mischief!" so saying, he took a spade and began to dig a hole in his garden to bury them. one of his neighbours, who had long borne him ill-will, perceiving him busied in digging the ground, ran at once to inform the governor that abú kasim had discovered some hidden treasure in his garden. nothing more was needful to rouse the cupidity of the commandant. in vain did our miser protest that he had found no treasure; and that he only meant to bury his old slippers. the governor had counted on the money, so the afflicted man could only preserve his liberty at the expense of a large sum of money. again heartily cursing the slippers, in order to effectually rid himself of them, he threw them into an aqueduct at some distance from the city, persuaded that he should now hear no more of them. but his evil genius had not yet sufficiently plagued him: the slippers got into the mouth of the pipe and stopped the flow of the water. the keepers of the aqueduct made haste to repair the damage, and, finding the obstruction was caused by abú kasim's slippers, complained of this to the governor, and once more was abú kasim heavily fined, but the governor considerately returned him the slippers. he now resolved to burn them, but, finding them thoroughly soaked with water, he exposed them to the sun upon the terrace of his house. a neighbour's dog, perceiving the slippers, leaped from the terrace of his master's house upon that of abú kasim, and, seizing one of them in his mouth, he let it drop into the street: the fatal slipper fell directly on the head of a woman who was passing at the time, and the fright as well as the violence of the blow caused her to miscarry. her husband brought his complaint before the kází, and abú kasim was again sentenced to pay a fine proportioned to the calamity he was supposed to have occasioned. he then took the slippers in his hand, and, with a vehemence that made the judge laugh, said: "behold, my lord, the fatal instruments of my misfortune! these cursed slippers have at length reduced me to poverty. vouchsafe, therefore, to publish an order that no one may any more impute to me the disasters they may yet occasion." the kází could not refuse his request, and thus abú kasim learned, to his bitter cost, the danger of wearing his slippers too long. iii the young merchant of baghdÁd; or, the wiles of woman. too many eastern stories turn upon the artful devices of women to screen their own profligacy, but there is one, told by arab sháh, the celebrated historian, who died a.d. , in a collection entitled _fakihat al-khalífa_, or pastimes of the khalífs, in which a lady exhibits great ingenuity, without any very objectionable motive. it is to the following effect: a young merchant in baghdád had placed over the front of his shop, instead of a sentence from the kurán, as is customary, these arrogant words: "verily there is no cunning like unto that of man, seeing it surpasses the cunning of women." it happened one day that a very beautiful young lady, who had been sent by her aunt to purchase some rich stuffs for dresses, noticed this inscription, and at once resolved to compel the despiser of her sex to alter it. entering the shop, she said to him, after the usual salutations: "you see my person; can anyone presume to say that i am humpbacked?" he had hardly recovered from the astonishment caused by such a question, when the lady drew her veil a little to one side and continued: "surely my neck is not as that of a raven, or as the ebony idols of ethiopia?" the young merchant, between surprise and delight, signified his assent. "nor is my chin double," said she, still farther unveiling her face; "nor my lips thick, like those of a tartar?" here the young merchant smiled. "nor are they to be believed who say that my nose is flat and my cheeks are sunken?" the merchant was about to express his horror at the bare idea of such blasphemy, when the lady wholly removed her veil and allowed her beauty to flash upon the bewildered youth, who instantly became madly in love with her. "fairest of creatures!" he cried, "to what accident do i owe the view of those charms, which are hidden from the eyes of the less fortunate of my sex?" she replied: "you see in me an unfortunate damsel, and i shall explain the cause of my present conduct. my mother, who was sister to a rich amír of mecca, died some years ago, leaving my father in possession of an immense fortune and myself as sole heiress. i am now seventeen, my personal endowments are such as you behold, and a very small portion of my mother's fortune would quite suffice to obtain for me a good establishment in marriage. yet such is the unfeeling avarice of my father, that he absolutely refuses me the least trifle to settle me in life. the only counsellor to whom i could apply for help in this extremity was my kind nurse, and it is by her advice, as well as from the high opinion i have ever heard expressed of your merits, that i have been induced to throw myself upon your goodness in this extraordinary manner." the emotions of the young merchant on hearing this story, may be readily imagined. "cruel parent!" he exclaimed. "he must be a rock of the desert, not a man, who can condemn so charming a person to perpetual solitude, when the slightest possible sacrifice on his part might prevent it. may i inquire his name?" "he is the chief kází," replied the lady, and disappeared like a vision. the young merchant lost no time in waiting on the kází at his court of justice, whom he thus addressed: "my lord, i am come to ask your daughter in marriage, of whom i am deeply enamoured." quoth the judge: "sir, my daughter is unworthy of the honour you design for her. but be pleased to accompany me to my dwelling, where we can talk over this matter more at leisure." they proceeded thither accordingly, and after partaking of refreshments, the young man repeated his request, giving a true account of his position and prospects, and offering to settle fifteen purses on the young lady. the kází expressed his gratification, but doubted whether the offer was made in all seriousness, but when assured that such was the case, he said: "i no longer doubt your earnestness and sincerity in this affair; it is, however, just possible that your feelings may change after the marriage, and it is but natural that i should now take proper precautions for my daughter's welfare. you will not blame me, therefore, if, in addition to the fifteen purses you have offered, i require that five more be paid down previous to the marriage, to be forfeited in case of a divorce." "say ten," cried the merchant, and the kází looked more and more astonished, and even ventured to remonstrate with him on his precipitancy, but without effect. to be brief, the kází consented, the ten purses were paid down, the legal witnesses summoned, and the nuptial contract signed that very evening; the consummation of the marriage being, much against the will of our lover, deferred till the following day. when the wedding guests had dispersed, the young merchant was admitted to the chamber of his bride, whom he discovered to be humpbacked and hideous beyond conception! as soon as it was day, he arose from his sleepless couch and repaired to the public baths, where, after his ablutions, he gave himself up to melancholy reflections. mingled with grief for his disappointment was mortification at having been the dupe of what now appeared to him a very shallow artifice, which nothing but his own passionate and unthinking precipitation could have rendered plausible. nor was he without some twinges of conscience for the sarcasms which he had often uttered against women, and for which his present sufferings were no more than a just retribution. then came meditations of revenge upon the beautiful author of all this mischief; and then his thoughts reverted to the possible means of escape from his difficulties: the forfeiture of the ten purses, to say nothing of the implacable resentment of the kází and his relatives; and he bethought himself how he should become the talk of his neighbourhood--how malik bin omar, the jeweller, would sneer at him, and salih, the barber, talk sententiously of his folly. at length, finding reflection of no avail, he arose and with slow and pensive steps proceeded to his shop. his marriage with the kází's deformed daughter had already become known to his neighbours, who presently came to rally him upon his choice of such a bride, and scarcely had they left when the young lady who had so artfully tricked him entered with a playful smile on her lips, and a glancing in her dark eye, which speedily put to flight the young merchant's thoughts of revenge. he arose and greeted her courteously. "may this day be propitious to thee!" said she. "may allah protect and bless thee!" replied he: "fairest of earthly creatures, how have i offended thee that thou shouldst make me the subject of thy sport?" "from thee," she said, "i have received no personal injury." "what, then, can have been thy motive for practising so cruel a deception on one who has never harmed thee?" the young lady simply pointed to the inscription over the shop front. the merchant was abashed, but felt somewhat relieved on seeing good humour beaming from her beautiful eyes, and he immediately took down the inscription, and substituted another, which declared that "truly there is no cunning like unto the cunning of women, seeing it surpasses and confounds even the cunning of men." then the young lady communicated to him a plan by which he might get rid of his objectionable bride without incurring her father's resentment, which he forthwith put into practice. next morning, as the kází and his son-in-law were taking their coffee together, in the house of the former, they heard a strange noise in the street, and, descending to ascertain the cause of the disturbance, found that it proceeded from a crowd of low fellows--mountebanks, and such like gentry, who had assembled with all sorts of musical instruments, with which they kept up a deafening din, at the same time dancing and capering about, and loudly felicitating themselves on the marriage of their pretended kinsman with the kází's daughter. the young merchant acknowledged their compliments by throwing handfuls of money among the crowd, which caused a renewal of the dreadful clamour. when the noise had somewhat subsided, the kází, hitherto dumb from astonishment, turned to his son-in-law, and demanded to know the meaning of such a scene before his mansion. the merchant replied that the leaders of the crowd were his kinsfolk, although his father had abandoned the fraternity and adopted commercial pursuits. he could not, however, disown his kindred, even for the sake of the kází's daughter. on hearing this the judge was beside himself with rage and mortification, exclaiming: "dog, and son of a dog! what dirt is this you have made me eat?" the merchant reminded him that he was now his son-in-law; that his daughter was his lawful wife; declaring that he would not part with her for untold wealth. but the kází insisted upon a divorce and returned the merchant his ten purses. in the sequel, the young merchant, having ascertained the parentage of the clever damsel, obtained her in marriage, and lived with her for many years in happiness and prosperity.[ ] [ ] this story has been taken from arab sháh into the breslau printed arabic text of the _thousand and one nights_, where it is related at great length. the original was rendered into french under the title of "ruses des femmes" (in the arabic _ked-an-nisa_, stratagems of women) by lescallier, and appended to his version of the voyages of sindbád, published at paris in , long before the breslau text of _the nights_ was known to exist. it also forms part of one of the persian tales (_hazár ú yek rúz_, days) translated by petis de la croix, where, however, the trick is played on the kází, not on a young merchant. iv ashaab the covetous--the stingy merchant and the hungry bedouin--the sect of samradians--the story-teller and the king--royal gifts to poets--the persian poet and the impostor--"stealing poetry"--the rich man and the poor poet. avaricious and covetous men are always the just objects of derision as well as contempt, and surely covetousness was quite concentrated in the person of ashaab, a servant of othman (seventh century), and a native of medina, whose character has been very amusingly drawn by the scholiast: he never saw a man put his hand into his pocket without hoping and expecting that he would give him something. he never saw a funeral go by, but he was pleased, hoping that the deceased had left him something. he never saw a bride about to be conducted through the streets to the house of the bridegroom but he prepared his own house for her reception, hoping that her friends would bring her to his house by mistake. if he saw a workman making a box, he took care to tell him that he was putting in one or two boards too many, hoping that he would give him what was over, or, at least, something for the suggestion. he is said to have followed a man who was chewing mastic (a sort of gum, chewed, like betel, by orientals as a pastime) for a whole mile, thinking he was perhaps eating food, intending, if so, to ask him for some. when the youths of the town jeered and taunted him, he told them there was a wedding at such a house, in order to get rid of them (because they would go to get a share of the bonbons distributed there); but, as soon as they were gone, it struck him that possibly what he had told them was true, and that they would not have quitted him had they not been aware of its truth; and he actually followed them himself to see what he could do, though exposing himself thereby to fresh taunts from them. when asked whether he knew anyone more covetous than himself, he said: "yes; a sheep i once had, that climbed to an upper stage of my house, and, seeing a rainbow, mistook it for a rope of hay, and jumping at it, broke her neck"--whence "ashaab's sheep" became proverbial among the arabs for covetousness as well as ashaab himself. * * * * * hospitality has ever been the characteristic virtue of the arabs, and a mean, stingy disposition is rarely to be found among them. a droll story of an arab of the latter description has been rendered into verse by the persian poet liwá'í, the substance of which is as follows: an arab merchant who had been trading between mecca and damascus, at length turned his face homeward, and had reached within one stage of his house when he sat down to rest and to refresh himself with the contents of his wallet. while he was eating, a bedouin, weary and hungry, came up, and, hoping to be invited to share his repast, saluted him, "peace be with thee!" which the merchant returned, and asked the nomad who he was and whence he came. "i have come from thy house," was the answer. "then," said the merchant, "how fares my son ahmed, absence from whom has grieved me sore?" "thy son grows apace in health and innocence." "good! and how is his mother?" "she, too, is free from the shadow of sorrow." "and how is my beauteous camel, so strong to bear his load?" "thy camel is sleek and fat." "my house-dog, too, that guards my gate, pray how is he?" "he is on the mat before thy door, by day, by night, on constant guard." the merchant, having thus his doubts and fears removed, resumed his meal with freshened appetite, but gave nought to the poor nomad, and, having finished, closed his wallet. the bedouin, seeing his stinginess, writhed with the pangs of hunger. presently a gazelle passed rapidly by them, at which he sighed heavily, and the merchant inquiring the cause of his sorrow, he said: "the cause is this--had not thy dog died he would not have allowed that gazelle to escape!" "my dog!" exclaimed the merchant. "is my doggie, then, dead?" "he died from gorging himself with thy camel's blood." "who hath cast this dust on me?" cried the merchant. "what of my camel?" "thy camel was slaughtered to furnish the funeral feast of thy wife." "is my wife, too, dead?" "her grief for ahmed's death was such that she dashed her head against a rock." "but, ahmed," asked the father--"how came he to die?" "the house fell in and crushed him." the merchant heard this tale with full belief, rent his robe, cast sand upon his head, then started swiftly homeward to bewail his wife and son, leaving behind his well-filled wallet, a prey to the starving desert-wanderer.[ ] [ ] a variant of this story is found in le grand's _fabliaux et contes_, ed. , tome iv, p. , and it was probably brought from the east during the crusades: maimon was a valet to a count. his master, returning home from a tourney, met him on the way, and asked him where he was going. he replied, with great coolness, that he was going to seek a lodging somewhere. "a lodging!" said the count. "what then has happened at home?" "nothing, my lord. only your dog, whom you love so much, is dead." "how so?" "your fine palfrey, while being exercised in the court, became frightened, and in running fell into the well." "ah, who startled the horse?" "it was your son, damaiseau, who fell at its feet from the window." "my son!--o heaven! where, then, were his servant and his mother? is he injured?" "yes, sire, he has been killed by falling. and when they went to tell it to madame, she was so affected that she fell dead also without speaking." "rascal! in place of flying away, why hast thou not gone to seek assistance, or why didst thou not remain at the chateau?" "there is no more need, sire; for marotte, in watching madame, fell asleep. a light caused the fire, and there remains nothing now."--truly a delicate way of "breaking ill news"! the samradian sect of fire-worshippers, who believe only in the "ideal," anticipated bishop berkeley's theory, thus referred to by lord byron (_don juan_, xi, ): when bishop berkeley said, "there was no matter," and proved it--'twas no matter what he said; they say, his system 'tis in vain to batter, too subtle for the airiest human head. some amusing anecdotes regarding this singular sect are given in the dabistán, a work written in persian, which furnishes a very impartial account of the principal religions of the world: a samradian said to his servant: "the world and its inhabitants have no actual existence--they have merely an ideal being." the servant, on hearing this, took the first opportunity to steal his master's horse, and when he was about to ride, brought him an ass with the horse's saddle. when the samradian asked: "where is the horse?" he replied: "thou hast been thinking of an idea; there was no horse in being." the master said: "it is true," and then mounted the ass. having proceeded some distance, followed by his servant on foot, he suddenly dismounted, and taking the saddle off the back of the ass placed it on the servant's back, drawing the girths tightly, and, having forced the bridle into his mouth, he mounted him, and flogged him along vigorously. the servant having exclaimed in piteous accents: "what is the meaning of this, o master?" the samradian replied: "there is no such thing as a whip; it is merely ideal. thou art thinking only of a delusion." it is needless to add that the servant immediately repented and restored the horse.--another of this sect having obtained in marriage the daughter of a wealthy lawyer, she, on finding out her husband's peculiar creed, purposed to have some amusement at his expense. one day the samradian brought home a bottle of excellent wine, which during his absence she emptied of its contents and filled again with water. when the time came for taking wine, she poured out the water into a gold cup, which was her own property. the samradian remarked: "thou hast given me water instead of wine." "it is only ideal," she answered; "there was no wine in existence." the husband then said: "thou hast spoken well; give me the cup that i may go to a neighbour's house and bring it back full of wine." he thereupon took the gold cup and went out and sold it, concealing the money, and, instead of the gold vase, he brought back an earthen vessel filled with wine. the wife, on seeing this, said: "what hast thou done with the golden cup?" he quietly replied: "thou art surely thinking of an ideal gold cup," on which the lady sorely repented her witticism.[ ] [ ] _the dabistán, or school of manners_. translated from the original persian, by david shea and anthony troyer. vols. published by the oriental translation fund, . vol. i, - . the author of this work is said to be moshan fáni, who flourished at hyderábád about the end of the th century. i do not know whether there are any english parallels to these stories, but i have read of a greek sage who instructed his slave that all that occurred in this world was the decree of fate. the slave shortly after deliberately committed some offence, upon which his master commenced to soften his ribs with a stout cudgel, and when the slave pleaded that it was no fault of his, it was the decree of fate, his master grimly replied that it was also decreed that he should have a sound beating. * * * * * in _don quixote_, it will be remembered by all readers of that delightful work, sancho begins to tell the knight a long story about a man who had to ferry across a river a large flock of sheep, but he could only take one at a time, as the boat could hold no more. this story cervantes, in all likelihood, borrowed from the _disciplina clericalis_ of petrus alfonsus, a converted spanish jew, who flourished in the th century, and who avowedly derived the materials of his work from the arabian fabulists--probably part of them also from the talmud.[ ] his eleventh tale is of a king who desired his minstrel to tell him a long story that should lull him to sleep. the story-teller accordingly begins to relate how a man had to cross a ferry with sheep, two at a time, and falls asleep in the midst of his narration. the king awakes him, but the story-teller begs that the man be allowed to ferry over the sheep before he resumes the story.[ ]--possibly the original form of the story is that found in the _kathá manjarí_, an ancient indian story-book: there was a king who used to inquire of all the learned men who came to his court whether they knew any stories, and when they had related all they knew, in order to avoid rewarding them, he abused them for knowing so few, and sent them away. a shrewd and clever man, hearing of this, presented himself before the king, who asked his name. he replied that his name was ocean of stories. the king then inquired how many stories he knew, to which he answered that the name of ocean had been conferred on him because he knew an endless number. on being desired to relate one, he thus began: "o king, there was a tank , miles in breadth, and , in length. this was densely filled with lotus plants, and millions upon millions of birds with golden wings [called hamsa] perched on those flowers. one day a hurricane arose, accompanied with rain, which the birds were not able to endure, and they entered a cave under a rock, which was in the vicinity of the tank." the king asked what happened next, and he replied that one of the birds flew away. the king again inquired what else occurred, and he answered: "another flew away"; and to every question of the king he continued to give the same answer. at this the king felt ashamed, and, seeing it was impossible to outwit the man, he dismissed him with a handsome present. [ ] pedro alfonso (the spanish form of his adopted name) was originally a jewish rabbi, and was born in , at huesca, in the kingdom of arragon. he was reputed a man of very great learning, and on his being baptised (at the age of ) was appointed by alfonso xv, king of castile and leon, physician to the royal household. his work, above referred to, is written in latin, and has been translated into french, but not as yet into english. an outline of the tales, by douce, will be found prefixed to ellis' _early english metrical romances_. [ ] this is also the subject of one of the _fabliaux_.--in a form similar to the story in alfonsus it is current among the milanese, and a sicilian version is as follows: once upon a time there was a prince who studied and racked his brains so much that he learned magic and the art of finding hidden treasures. one day he discovered a treasure in daisisa. "o," he says, "now i am going to get it out." but to get it out it was necessary that ten million million of ants should cross the river one by one in a bark made of the half-shell of a nut. the prince puts the bark in the river, and makes the ants pass over--one, two, three; and they are still doing it. here the story-teller pauses and says: "we will finish the story when the ants have finished crossing the river."--crane's _italian popular tales_, p. . a story bearing some resemblance to this is related of a khalíf who was wont to cheat poets of their expected reward when they recited their compositions to him, until he was at length outwitted by the famous arabian poet al-asma'í: it is said that a khalíf, who was very penurious, contrived by a trick to send from his presence without any reward those poets who came and recited their compositions to him. he had himself the faculty of retaining in his memory a poem after hearing it only once; he had a mamlúk (white slave) who could repeat one that he had heard twice; and a slave-girl who could repeat one that she had heard thrice. whenever a poet came to compliment him with a panegyrical poem, the king used to promise him that if he found his verses to be of his own composition he would give him a sum of money equal in weight to what they were written on. the poet, consenting, would recite his ode, and the king would say: "it is not new, for i have known it some years"; and he would repeat it as he had heard it; after which he would add: "and this mamlúk also retains it in his memory," and order the mamlúk to repeat it, which, having heard it twice, from the poet and the king, he would do. then the king would say to the poet: "i have also a slave-girl who can repeat it," and, ordering her to do so, stationed behind the curtains, she would repeat what she had thus thrice heard; so the poet would go away empty-handed. the celebrated poet al-asma'í, having heard of this device, determined upon outwitting the king, and accordingly composed an ode made up of very difficult words. but this was not the poet's only preparative measure--another will be presently explained; and a third was to assume the dress of a bedouin, that he might not be known, covering his face, the eyes only excepted, with a _litham_ (piece of drapery), as is usual with the arabs of the desert. thus disguised, he went to the palace, and having obtained permission, entered and saluted the king, who said to him: "who art thou, o brother of the arabs? and what dost thou desire?" the poet answered: "may allah increase the power of the king! i am a poet of such a tribe, and have composed an ode in praise of our lord the khalíf." "o brother of the arabs," said the king, "hast thou heard of our condition?" "no," answered the poet; "and what is it, o khalíf of the age?" "it is," replied the king, "that if the ode be not thine, we give thee no reward; and if it be thine, we give thee the weight in money equal to what it is written upon." "how," said the poet, "should i assume to myself that which belongeth to another, and knowing, too, that lying before kings is one of the basest of actions? but i agree to the condition, o our lord the khalíf." so he repeated his ode. the king, perplexed, and unable to remember any of it, made a sign to the mamlúk, but he had retained nothing; then called to the female slave, but she was unable to repeat a word. "o brother of the arabs," said the king, "thou hast spoken truth; and the ode is thine without doubt. i have never heard it before. produce, therefore, what it is written upon, and i will give thee its weight in money, as i have promised." "wilt thou," said the poet, "send one of the attendants to carry it?" "to carry what?" demanded the king. "is it not upon a paper in thy possession?" "no, o our lord the khalíf. at the time i composed it i could not procure a piece of paper on which to write it, and could find nothing but a fragment of a marble column left me by my father; so i engraved it upon that, and it lies in the courtyard of the palace." he had brought it, wrapped up, on the back of a camel. the king, to fulfil his promise, was obliged to exhaust his treasury; and, to prevent a repetition of this trick, in future rewarded poets according to the custom of kings. * * * * * _apropos_ of royal gifts to poets, it is related that, when the afghans had possession of persia, a rude chief of that nation was governor of shíráz. a poet composed a panegyric on his wisdom, his valour, and his virtues. as he was taking it to the palace he was met by a friend at the outer gate, who inquired where he was going, and he informed him of his purpose. his friend asked him if he was insane, to offer an ode to a barbarian who hardly understood a word of the persian language. "all that you say may be very true," said the poor poet, "but i am starving, and have no means of livelihood but by making verses. i must, therefore, proceed." he went and stood before the governor with his ode in his hand. "who is that fellow?" said the afghan lord. "and what is that paper which he holds?" "i am a poet," answered the man, "and this paper contains some poetry." "what is the use of poetry?" demanded the governor. "to render great men like you immortal," he replied, making at the same time a profound bow. "let us hear some of it." the poet, on this mandate, began reading his composition aloud, but he had not finished the second stanza when he was interrupted. "enough!" exclaimed the governor; "i understand it all. give the poor man some money--_that_ is what he wants." as the poet retired he met his friend, who again commented on the folly of carrying odes to a man who did not understand one of them. "not understand!" he replied. "you are quite mistaken. he has beyond all men the quickest apprehension of a _poet's meaning_!" the khalífs were frequently lavish of their gifts to poets, but they were fond of having their little jokes with them when in merry mood. one day the arabian poet thálebí read before the khalíf al-mansúr a poem which he had just composed, and it found acceptance. the khalíf said: "o thálebí, which wouldst thou rather have--that i give thee gold dínars [about £ ], or three wise sayings, each worth dínars?" the poet replied: "learning, o commander of the faithful, is better than transitory treasure." "well, then," said the khalíf, "the first saying is: when thy garment grows old, sew not a new patch on it, for it hath an ill look." "o woe!" cried the poet, "one hundred dínars are lost!" mansúr smiled, and proceeded: "the second saying is: when thou anointest thy beard, anoint not the lower part, for that would soil the collar of thy vest." "alas!" exclaimed thálebí, "a thousand times, alas! two hundred dínars are lost!" again the khalíf smiled, and continued: "the third saying"--but before he had spoken it, the poet said: "o khalíf of our prosperity, keep the third maxim in thy treasury, and give me the remaining hundred dínars, for they will be worth a thousand times more to me than the hearing of maxims." at this the khalíf laughed heartily, and commanded his treasurer to give thálebí five hundred dínars of gold. a droll story is told of the persian poet anwarí: passing the market-place of balkh one day, he saw a crowd of people standing in a ring, and going up, he put his head within the circle and found a fellow reciting the poems of anwarí himself as his own. anwarí went up to the man, and said: "sir, whose poems are these you are reciting?" he replied: "they are anwarí's." "do you know him, then?" said anwarí. the man, with cool effrontery, answered: "what do you say? i am anwarí." on hearing this anwarí laughed, and remarked: "i have heard of one who stole poetry, but never of one who stole the poet himself!"--talking of "stealing poetry," jámí tells us that a man once brought a composition to a critic, every line of which he had plagiarised from different collections of poems, and each rhetorical figure from various authors. quoth the critic: "for a wonder, thou hast brought a line of camels; but if the string were untied, every one of the herd would run away in different directions." there is no little humour in the story of the persian poet who wrote a eulogium on a rich man, but got nothing for his trouble; he then abused the rich man, but he said nothing; he next seated himself at the rich man's gate, who said to him: "you praised me, and i said nothing; you abused me, and i said nothing; and now, why are you sitting here?" the poet answered: "i only wish that when you die i may perform the funeral service." v unlucky omens--the old man's prayer--the old woman in the mosque--the weeping turkmans--the ten foolish peasants--the wakeful servant--the three dervishes--the oil-man's parrot--the moghul and his parrot--the persian shopkeeper and the prime minister--hebrew facetiÆ. muslims and other asiatic peoples, like europeans not so many centuries since, are always on the watch for lucky or unlucky omens. on first going out of a morning, the looks and countenances of those who cross their path are scrutinised, and a smile or a frown is deemed favourable or the reverse. to encounter a person blind of the left eye, or even with one eye, forebodes sorrow and calamity. while sir john malcolm was in persia, as british ambassador, he was told the following story: when abbas the great was hunting, he met one morning as day dawned an uncommonly ugly man, at the sight of whom his horse started. being nearly dismounted, and deeming it a bad omen, the king called out in a rage to have his head cut off. the poor peasant, whom the attendants had seized and were on the point of executing, prayed that he might be informed of his crime. "your crime," said the king, "is your unlucky countenance, which is the first object i saw this morning, and which has nearly caused me to fall from my horse." "alas!" said the man, "by this reckoning what term must i apply to your majesty's countenance, which was the first object my eyes met this morning, and which is to cause my death?" the king smiled at the wit of the reply, ordered the man to be released, and gave him a present instead of cutting off his head.--another persian story is to the same purpose: a man said to his servant: "if you see two crows together early in the morning, apprise me of it, that i may also behold them, as it will be a good omen, whereby i shall pass the day pleasantly." the servant did happen to see two crows sitting in one place, and informed his master, who, however, when he came saw but one, the other having in the meantime flown away. he was very angry, and began to beat the servant, when a friend sent him a present of game. upon this the servant exclaimed: "o my lord! you saw only one crow, and have received a fine present; had you seen _two_, you would have met with _my_ fare."[ ] [ ] this last jest reappears in the apocryphal life of esop, by planudes, the only difference being that esop's master is invited to a feast, instead of receiving a present of game, upon which esop exclaims: "alas! i see two crows, and i am beaten; you see one, and are asked to a feast. what a delusion is augury!" it would seem, from the following story, that an old man's prayers are sometimes reversed in response, as dreams are said to "go by contraries": an old arab left his house one morning, intending to go to a village at some distance, and coming to the foot of a hill which he had to cross he exclaimed: "o allah! send some one to help me over this hill." scarcely had he uttered these words when up came a fierce soldier, leading a mare with a very young colt by her side, who compelled the old man, with oaths and threats, to carry the colt. as they trudged along, they met a poor woman with a sick child in her arms. the old man, as he laboured under the weight of the colt, kept groaning, "o allah! o allah!" and, supposing him to be a dervish, the woman asked him to pray for the recovery of her child. in compliance, the old man said: "o allah! i beseech thee to shorten the days of this poor child." "alas!" cried the mother, "why hast thou made such a cruel prayer?" "fear nothing," said the old man; "thy child will assuredly enjoy long life. it is my fate to have the reverse of whatever i pray for. i implored allah for assistance to carry me over this hill, and, by way of help, i suppose, i have had this colt imposed on my shoulders." * * * * * jámí tells this humorous story in the sixth "garden" of his _baháristán_, or abode of spring: a man said the prescribed prayers in a mosque and then began his personal supplications. an old woman, who happened to be near him, exclaimed: "o allah! cause me to share in whatsoever he supplicates for." the man, overhearing her, then prayed: "o allah! hang me on a gibbet, and cause me to die of scourging." the old trot continued: "o allah! pardon me, and preserve me from what he has asked for." upon this the man turned to her and said: "what a very unreasonable partner this is! she desires to share in all that gives rest and pleasure, but she refuses to be my partner in distress and misery." * * * * * we have already seen that even the grave and otiose turk is not devoid of a sense of the ludicrous, and here is another example, from mr. e. j. w. gibb's translation of the _history of the forty vezírs_: a party of turkmans left their encampment one day and went into a neighbouring city. returning home, as they drew near their tents, they felt hungry, and sat down and ate some bread and onions at a spring-head. the juice of the onions went into their eyes and caused them to water. now the children of those turkmans had gone out to meet them, and, seeing the tears flow from their eyes, they concluded that one of their number had died in the city, so, without making any inquiry, they ran back, and said to their mothers: "one of ours is dead in the city, and our fathers are coming weeping." upon this all the women and children of the encampment went forth to meet them, weeping together. the turkmans who were coming from the city thought that one of theirs had died in the encampment; and thus they were without knowledge one of the other, and they raised a weeping and wailing together such that it cannot be described. at length the elders of the camp stood up in their midst and said: "may ye all remain whole; there is none other help than patience"; and they questioned them. the turkmans coming from the city asked: "who is dead in the camp?" the others replied: "no one is dead in the camp; who has died in the city?" those who were coming from the city, said: "no one has died in the city." the others said: "for whom then are ye wailing and lamenting?" at length they perceived that all this tumult arose from their trusting the words of children. this last belongs rather to the class of simpleton-stories; and in the following, from the rev. j. hinton knowles' _folk tales of kashmír_ (trübner: ), we have a variant of the well-known tale of the twelve men of gotham who went one day to fish, and, before returning home, miscounted their number, of which several analogues are given in my _book of noodles_, pp. ff. (elliot stock: ): ten peasants were standing on the side of the road weeping. they thought that one of their number had been lost on the way, as each man had counted the company, and found them nine only. "ho! you--what's the matter?" shouted a townsman passing by. "o sir," said the peasants, "we were ten men when we left the village, but now we are only nine." the townsman saw at a glance what fools they were: each of them had omitted to count himself in the number. he therefore told them to take off their _topís_ (skull-caps) and place them on the ground. this they did, and counted ten of them, whereupon they concluded they were all there, and were comforted. but they could not tell how it was. * * * * * that wakefulness is not necessarily watchfulness may seem paradoxical, yet here is a persian story which goes far to show that they are not always synonymous terms: once upon a time (to commence in the good old way) there came into a city a merchant on horseback, attended by his servant on foot. hearing that the city was infested by many bold and expert thieves, in consequence of which property was very insecure, he said to his servant at night: "i will keep watch, and do you sleep; for i cannot trust you to keep awake, and i much fear that my horse may be stolen." but to this arrangement his faithful servant would not consent, and he insisted upon watching all night. so the master went to sleep, and three hours after awoke, when he called to his servant: "what are you doing?" he answered: "i am meditating how allah has spread the earth upon the water." the master said: "i am afraid lest thieves come, and you know nothing of it." "o my lord, be satisfied; i am on the watch." the merchant again went to sleep, and awaking about midnight cried: "ho! what are you doing?" the servant replied: "i am considering how allah has supported the sky without pillars." quoth the master: "but i am afraid that while you are busy meditating thieves will carry off my horse." "be not afraid, master, i am fully awake; how, then, can thieves come?" the master replied: "if you wish to sleep, i will keep watch." but the servant would not hear of this; he was not at all sleepy; so his master addressed himself once more to slumber; and when one hour of the night yet remained he awoke, and as usual asked him what he was doing, to which he coolly answered: "i am considering, since the thieves have stolen the horse, whether i shall carry the saddle on my head, or you, sir." * * * * * somewhat akin to the familiar "story" of the man whose eyesight was so extraordinary that he could, standing in the street, perceive a fly on the dome of st. paul's is the tale of the three dervishes who, travelling in company, came to the sea-shore of syria, and desired the captain of a vessel about to sail for cyprus to give them a passage. the captain was willing to take them "for a consideration"; but they told him they were dervishes, and therefore without money, but they possessed certain wonderful gifts, which might be of use to him on the voyage. the first dervish said that he could descry any object at the distance of a year's journey; the second could hear at as great a distance as his brother could see. "well!" exclaimed the captain, "these are truly miraculous gifts; and pray, sir," said he, turning to the third dervish, "what may _your_ particular gift be?" "i, sir," replied he, "am an unbeliever." when the captain heard this, he said he could not take such a person on board of his ship; but on the others declaring they must all three go together or remain behind, he at length consented to allow the third dervish a passage with the two highly-gifted ones. in the course of the voyage, it happened one fine day that the captain and the three dervishes were on deck conversing, when suddenly the first dervish exclaimed: "look, look!--see, there--the daughter of the sultan of india sitting at the window of her palace, working embroidery." "a mischief on your eyes!" cried the second dervish, "for her needle has this moment dropped from her hand, and i hear it sound upon the pavement below her window." "sir," said the third dervish, addressing the captain, "shall i, or shall i not, be an unbeliever?" quoth the captain: "come, friend, come with me into my cabin, and let us cultivate unbelief together!" * * * * * a very droll parrot story occurs--where, indeed, we should least expect to meet with such a thing--in the _masnaví_ of jelálu-'d-dín er-rúmí ( th century), a grand mystical poem, or rather series of poems, in six books, written in persian rhymed couplets, as the title indicates. in the second poem of the first book we read that an oilman possessed a fine parrot, who amused him with her prattle and watched his shop during his absence. it chanced one day, when the oilman had gone out, that a cat ran into the shop in chase of a mouse, which so frightened the parrot that she flew about from shelf to shelf, upsetting several jars and spilling their contents. when her master returned and saw the havoc made among his goods he fetched the parrot a blow that knocked out all her head feathers, and from that day she sulked on her perch. the oilman, missing the prattle of his favourite, began to shower his alms on every passing beggar, in hopes that some one would induce the parrot to speak again. at length a bald-headed mendicant came to the shop one day, upon seeing whom, the parrot, breaking her long silence, cried out: "poor fellow! poor fellow! hast thou, too, upset some oil-jar?"[ ] [ ] this tale is found in the early italian novelists, slightly varied, and it was doubtless introduced by venetian merchants from the levant: a parrot belonging to count fiesco was discovered one day stealing some roast meat from the kitchen. the enraged cook, overtaking him, threw a kettle of boiling water at him, which completely scalded all the feathers from his head, and left the poor bird with a bare poll. some time afterwards, as count fiesco was engaged in conversation with an abbot, the parrot, observing the shaven crown of his reverence, hopped up to him and said: "what! do _you_ like roast meat too?" in another form the story is orally current in the north of england. dr. fryer tells it to this effect, in his charming _english fairy tales from the north country_: a grocer kept a parrot that used to cry out to the customers that the sugar was sanded and the butter mixed with lard. for this the bird had her neck wrung and was thrown upon an ash-heap; but reviving and seeing a dead cat beside her she cried: "poor puss! have you, too, suffered for telling the truth?" there is yet another variant of this droll tale, which has been popular for generations throughout england, and was quite recently reproduced in an american journal as a genuine "nigger" story: in olden times there was a roguish baker who made many of his loaves less than the regulation weight, and one day, on observing the government inspector coming along the street, he concealed the light loaves in a closet. the inspector having found the bread on the counter of the proper weight, was about to leave, when a parrot, which the baker kept in his shop, cried out: "light bread in the closet!" this caused a search to be made, and the baker was heavily fined. full of fury, the baker seized the parrot, wrung its neck, and threw it in his back yard, near the carcase of a pig that had died of the measles. the parrot, coming to itself again, observed the dead porker and inquired in a tone of sympathy: "o poor piggy, didst thou, too, tell about light bread in the closet?" somewhat more credible is the tale of the man who taught a parrot to say, "what doubt is there of this?" (_dur ín cheh shuk_) and took it to market for sale, fixing the price at a hundred rupís. a moghul asked the bird: "are you really worth a hundred rupís?" to which the bird answered very readily: "what doubt is there of this?" delighted with the apt reply, he bought the parrot and took it home; but he soon found that, whatever he might say, the bird always made the same answer, so he repented his purchase and exclaimed: "i was certainly a great fool to buy this bird!" the parrot said: "what doubt is there of this?" the moghul smiled, and gave the bird her liberty. * * * * * sir john malcolm cites a good example of the ready wit of the citizens of isfahán, in his entertaining _sketches of persia_, as follows: when the celebrated haji ibrahím was prime minister of persia [some sixty years since], his brother was governor of isfahán, while other members of his family held several of the first offices of the kingdom. a shop-keeper one day went to the governor to represent that he was unable to pay certain taxes. "you must pay them," replied the governor, "or leave the city." "where can i go to?" asked the isfahání. "to shíráz or kashan." "your nephew rules in one city and your brother in the other." "go to the sháh, and complain if you like." "your brother the haji is prime minister." "then go to satan," said the enraged governor. "haji merhúm, your father, the pious pilgrim, is dead," rejoined the undaunted isfahání. "my friend," said the governor, bursting into laughter, "i will pay your taxes, even myself, since you declare that my family keep you from all redress, both in this world and the next." * * * * * the hebrew rabbis who compiled the talmud were, some of them, witty as well as wise--indeed i have always held that wisdom and wit are cousins german, if not full brothers--and our specimens of oriental wit and humour may be fittingly concluded with a few jewish jests from a scarce little book, entitled, _hebrew tales_, by hyman hurwitz: an athenian, walking about in the streets of jerusalem one day, called to a little hebrew boy, and, giving him a _pruta_ (a small coin of less value than a farthing), said: "here is a pruta, my lad, bring me something for it, of which i may eat enough, leave some for my host, and carry some home to my family." the boy went, and presently returned with a quantity of salt, which he handed to the jester. "salt!" he exclaimed, "i did not ask thee to buy me salt." "true," said the urchin; "but didst thou not tell me to bring thee something of which thou mightest eat, leave, and take home? of this salt there is surely enough for all three purposes."[ ] [ ] in the rev. j. hinton knowles' _folk-tales of kashmír_ a merchant gives his stupid son a small coin with which he is to purchase something to eat, something to drink, something to gnaw, something to sow in the garden, and some food for the cow. a clever young girl advises him to buy a water-melon, which would answer all the purposes required.--p. . another athenian desired a boy to buy him some cheese and eggs. having done so, "now, my lad," said the stranger, "tell me which of these cheese were made of the milk of white goats and which of black goats?" the little hebrew answered: "since thou art older than i, and more experienced, first do thou tell me which of these eggs came from white and which from black hens." once more did a hebrew urchin prove his superiority in wit over an athenian: "here, boy," said he, "here is some money; bring us some figs and grapes." the lad went and bought the fruit, kept half of it for himself, and gave the other half to the athenian. "how!" cried the man, "is it the custom of this city for a messenger to take half of what he is sent to purchase?" "no," replied the boy; "but it is our custom to speak what we mean, and to do what we are desired." "well, then, i did not desire thee to take half of the fruit." "why, what else could you mean," rejoined the little casuist, "by saying, 'bring _us_?' does not that word include the hearer as well as the speaker?" the stranger, not knowing how to answer such reasoning, smiled and went his way, leaving the shrewd lad to eat his share of the fruit in peace. "there is no rule without some exception," as the following tale demonstrates: rabbi eliezar, who was as much distinguished by his greatness of mind as by the extraordinary size of his body, once paid a friendly visit to rabbi simon. the learned simon received him most cordially, and filling a cup with wine handed it to him. eliezar took it and drank it off at a draught. another was poured out--it shared the same fate. "brother eliezar," said simon, jestingly, "rememberest thou not what the wise men have said on this subject?" "i well remember," replied his corpulent friend, "the saying of our instructors, that people ought not to take a cup at one draught. but the wise men have not so defined their rule as to admit of no exception; and in this instance there are not less than three--the _cup_ is small, the _receiver_ is large, and your wine, brother simon, is delicious!" tales of a parrot. i general plan of eastern romances--the "tuti nama," or parrot-book--the frame-story--tales: the stolen images--the woman carved out of wood--the man whose mare was kicked by a merchant's horse. oriental romances are usually constructed on the plan of a number of tales connected by a general or leading story running throughout, like the slender thread that holds a necklace of pearls together--a familiar example of which is the _book of the thousand and one nights_, commonly known amongst us under the title of _arabian nights entertainments_. in some the subordinate tales are represented as being told by one or more individuals to serve a particular object, by the moral, or warning, which they are supposed to convey; as in the case of the _book of sindibád_, in which a prince is falsely accused by one of his father's ladies, and defended by the king's seven vazírs, or counsellors, who each in turn relate to the king two stories, the purport of which being to warn him to put no faith in the accusations of women, to which the lady replies by stories representing the wickedness and perfidy of men; and that of the _bakhtyár náma_, in which a youth, falsely accused of having violated the royal harem, obtains for himself a respite from death during ten days by relating to the king each day a story designed to caution him against precipitation in matters of importance. in others supernatural beings are the narrators of the subordinate tales, as in the indian romances, _vetála panchavinsati_, or twenty-five tales of a demon, and the _sinhásana dwatrinsati_, or tales of the thirty-two speaking statues--literally, thirty-two (tales) of a throne. in others, again, the relators are birds, as in the indian work entitled _hamsa vinsati_, or twenty tales of a goose. of this last class is the popular persian work, _tútí náma_, (tales of a parrot, or parrot-book), of which i purpose furnishing some account, as it has not yet been completely translated into english. this work was composed, according to pertsch, in a.d. , by a persian named nakhshabí, after an older persian version, now lost, which was made from a sanskrit work, also no longer extant, but of which the modern representative is the _suka saptati_, or seventy tales of a parrot.[ ] the frame, or leading story, of the persian parrot-book is to the following effect: [ ] ziyáu-'d-dín nakhshabí, so called from nakhshab, or nasaf, the modern kashí, a town situated between samarkand and the oxus, led a secluded life in badá'um, and died, as stated by 'abdal-hakk, a.h. (a.d. - ).--dr. rieu's _catalogue of persian mss. in the british museum_.--in the rev. b. gerrans published an english translation of twelve of the fifty-two tales comprised in the _tútí náma_, but the work is now best known in persia and india from an abridgment made by kádirí in the last century, which was printed, with a translation, at london in . a merchant who had a very beautiful wife informs her one day that he has resolved to travel into foreign countries in order to increase his wealth by trade. his wife endeavours to persuade him to remain at home in peace and security instead of imperiling his life among strangers. but he expatiates on the evils of poverty and the advantages of wealth: "a man without riches is fatherless, and a home without money is deserted. he that is in want of cash is a nonentity, and wanders in the land unknown. it is, therefore, everybody's duty to procure as much money as possible; for gold is the delight of our lives--it is the bright live-coal of our hearts--the yellow links which fasten the coat of mail--the gentle stimulative of the world--the complete coining die of the globe--the traveller who speaks all languages, and is welcome in every city--the splendid bride unveiled--the defender, register, and mirror of jehandars. the man who has dirhams [_scottice_, 'siller'--_fr._ 'l'argent'] is handsome; the sun never shines on the inauspicious man without money."[ ] before leaving home the merchant purchased at great cost in the bazaar a wonderful parrot, that could discourse eloquently and intelligently, and also a sharak, a species of nightingale, which, according to gerrans, "imitates the human voice in so surprising a manner that, if you do not see the bird, you cannot help being deceived"; and, having put them into the same cage, he charged his spouse that whenever she had any matter of importance to transact she should first obtain the sanction of both birds. [ ] "he that has money in the scales," says saádí, "has strength in his arms, and he who has not the command of money is destitute of friends in the world."--hundreds of similar sarcastic observations on the power of wealth might be cited from the hindú writers, such as: "he who has riches has friends; he who has riches has relations; he who has riches _is even a sage_!" the following verses in praise of money are, i think, worth reproducing, if only for their whimsical arrangement: honey, our money we find in the end both relation and friend; 'tis a helpmate for better, for worse. neither father nor mother, nor sister nor brother, nor uncles nor aunts, nor dozens of cousins, are like a friend in the purse. still regard the main chance; 'tis the clink of the chink is the music to make the heart dance. the merchant having protracted his absence many months (vatsyayana, in his _káma sutra_, says that the man who is given to much travelling does not deserve to be married), and, his wife chancing to be on the roof of her house one day when a young foreign prince of handsome appearance passed by with his attendants, she immediately fell in love with him--"the battle-axe of prudence dropped from her hand; the vessel of continence became a sport to the waves of confusion; while the avenues leading to the fortress of reason remained unguarded, the sugar-cane of incontinence triumphantly raised its head above the rose-tree of patience." the prince had also observed the lady, as she stood on the terrace of her house, and was instantly enamoured of her. he sends an old woman (always the obliging--"for a consideration"--go-between of eastern lovers) to solicit an interview with the lady at his own palace in the evening, and, after much persuasion, she consents. arraying her beauteous person in the finest apparel, she proceeds to the cage, and first consults the sharak as to the propriety of her purpose. the sharak forbids her to go, and is at once rewarded by having her head wrung off. she then represents her case to the parrot, who, having witnessed the fate of his companion, prudently resolves to temporise with the amorous dame; so he "quenched the fire of her indignation with the water of flattery, and began a tale conformable to her temperament, which he took care to protract till the morning." in this manner does the prudent parrot prevent the lady's intended intrigue by relating, night after night, till the merchant returns home from his travels, one or more fascinating tales, which he does not bring to an end till it is too late for the assignation.[ ] [ ] in a telúgú ms., entitled _patti vrútti mahima_ (the value of chaste wives), the minister of chandra pratápa assumes the form of a bird owing to a curse pronounced against him by siva, and is sold to a merchant named dhanadatta, whose son, kuvéradatta, is vicious. the bird by moral lessons reformed him for a time. they went to a town called pushpamayuri, where the king's son saw the wife of kuveradatta when he was absent from home. an illicit amour was about to begin, when the bird interposed by relating tales of chaste wives, and detained the wanton lady at home till her husband returned. the order of the parrot's tales is not the same in all texts; in kádirí's abridgment there are few of the nights which correspond with those of the india office ms. no. , which may, perhaps, be partly accounted for by the circumstance that kádirí has given only of the tales that are in the original text. for the general reader, however, the sequence of the tales is a minor consideration; and i shall content myself with giving abstracts of some of the best stories, irrespective of their order in any text, and complete translations of two or three others. it so happens that the third night is the same in kádirí and the india office ms. no. , which comprises the complete text; and the story the eloquent bird relates on that night may be entitled _the stolen images._ a goldsmith and a carpenter, travelling in company, steal from a hindú temple some golden images, which, when they arrive in the neighbourhood of their own city, they bury beneath a tree. the goldsmith goes secretly one night and carries away the images, and next morning, when both go together to share the spoil, the goldsmith accuses the carpenter of having played him false. but the carpenter was a shrewd fellow, and so he makes a figure resembling the goldsmith, dresses it in clothes similar to what he usually wore, and procures a couple of bear's cubs, which he teaches to take their food from the skirts and sleeves of the effigy. thus the cubs conceived a great affection for the figure of the goldsmith. he then contrives to steal the goldsmith's two sons, and, when the father comes to seek them at his house, he pretends they have been changed into young bears. the goldsmith brings his case before the kází; the cubs are brought into court, and no sooner do they discover the goldsmith than they run up and fondle him. upon this the judge decides in favour of the carpenter, to whom the goldsmith confesses his guilt, and offers to give up all the gold if he restore his children, which he does accordingly.[ ] [ ] many asiatic stories relate to the concealing of treasure--generally at the foot of a tree, to mark the spot--by two or more companions, and its being secretly stolen by one of them. the device of the carpenter in the foregoing tale of abducting the rascally goldsmith's two sons, and so on, finds an analogue in the _panchatantra_, the celebrated sanskrit collection of fables (book i, fab. , of benfey's german translation), where we read that a young man, who had spent the wealth left to him by his father, had only a heavy iron balance remaining of all his possessions, and depositing it with a merchant went to another country. when he returned, after some time, he went to the merchant and demanded back his balance. the merchant told him it had been eaten by rats; adding: "the iron of which it was composed was particularly sweet, and so the rats ate it." the young man, knowing that the merchant spoke falsely, formed a plan for the recovery of his balance. one day he took the merchant's young son, unknown to his father, to bathe, and left him in the care of a friend. when the merchant missed his son he accused the young man of having stolen him, and summoned him to appear in the king's judgment-hall. in answer to the merchant's accusation, the young man asserted that a kite had carried away the boy; and when the officers of the court declared this to be impossible, he said: "in a country where an iron balance was eaten by rats, a kite might well carry off an elephant, much more a boy." the merchant, having lost his cause, returned the balance to the young man and received back his boy. the sixth tale of the parrot, according to the india office ms., relates to _the woman carved out of wood._ four men--a goldsmith, a carpenter, a tailor, and a dervish--travelling together, one night halted in a desert place, and it was agreed they should watch turn about until daybreak. the carpenter takes the first watch, and to amuse himself he carves the figure of a woman out of a log of wood. when it came to the goldsmith's turn to watch, finding the beautiful female figure, he resolved also to exhibit his art, and accordingly made a set of ornaments of gold and silver, which he placed on the neck, arms, and ankles. during the third watch the tailor made a suit of clothes becoming a bride, and put them on the figure. lastly, the dervish, when it came to his turn to watch, beholding the captivating female form, prayed that it might be endowed with life, and immediately the effigy became animated. in the morning all four fell in love with the charming damsel, each claiming her for himself; the carpenter, because he had carved her with his own hands; the goldsmith, because he had adorned her with gems; the tailor, because he had suitably clothed her; and the dervish, because he had, by his intercession, endowed her with life. while they were thus disputing, a man came to the spot, to whom they referred the case. on seeing the woman, he exclaimed: "this is my own wife, whom you have stolen from me," and compelled them to come before the kutwal, who, on viewing her beauty, in his turn claimed her as the wife of his brother, who had been waylaid and murdered in the desert. the kutwal took them all, with the woman, before the kází, who declared that she was his slave, who had absconded from his house with a large sum of money. an old man who was present suggested that they should all seven appeal to the tree of decision, and thither they went accordingly; but no sooner had they stated their several claims than the trunk of the tree split open, the woman ran into the cleft, and on its reuniting she was no more to be seen. a voice proceeded from the tree, saying: "everything returns to its first principles"; and the seven suitors of the woman were overwhelmed with shame.[ ] [ ] so, too, boethius, in his _de consolatione philosophiæ_, says, according to chaucer's translation: "all thynges seken ayen to hir [i.e. their] propre course, and all thynges rejoysen on hir retournynge agayne to hir nature."--a tale current in oude, and given in _indian notes and queries_ for sept. , is an illustration of the maxim that "everything returns to its first principles": a certain prince chose his friends out of the lowest class, and naturally imbibed their principles and habits. when the death of his father placed him on the throne, he soon made his former associates his courtiers, and exacted the most servile homage from the nobles. the old vazír, however, despised the young king and would render none. this so exasperated him that he called his counsellors together to advise the most excruciating of tortures for the old man. said one: "let him be flayed alive and let shoes be made of his skin." the vazír ejaculated on this but one word, "origin." said the next: "let him be hacked into pieces and his limbs cast to the dogs." the vazír said, "origin." another advised: "let him be forthwith executed, and his house be levelled to the ground." once more the vazír simply said, "origin." then the king turned to the rest, who declared each according to his opinion, the vazír noticing each with the same word. at last a young man, who had not spoken hitherto, was asked. "may it please your majesty," said he, "if you ask my opinion, it is this: here is an aged man, and honourable from his years, family, and position; moreover, he served in the king your father's court, and nursed you as a boy. it were well, considering all these matters, to pay him respect, and render his old age comfortable." again the vazír uttered the word "origin." the king now demanded what he meant by it. "simply this, your majesty," responded the vazír: "you have here the sons of shoemakers, butchers, executioners, and so forth, and each has expressed himself according to his father's trade. there is but one noble-born among them, and he has made himself conspicuous by speaking according to the manner of his race." the king was ashamed, and released the vazír.--a parallel to this is found in the turkish _qirq vezír taríkhí_, or history of the forty vezírs (lady's th story): according to mr. gibb's translation, "all things return to their origin." i am strongly of opinion that the foregoing story is of buddhistic extraction; but however this may be, it is not a bad specimen of eastern humour, nor is the following, which the eloquent bird tells the lady another night: _of the man whose mare was kicked by a merchant's horse._ a merchant had a vicious horse that kicked a mare, which he had warned the owner not to tie near his animal. the man carried the merchant before the kází, and stated his complaint. the kází inquired of the merchant what he had to say in his own defence; but he pretended to be dumb, answering not a word to the judge's interrogatives. upon this the kází remarked to the plaintiff that since the merchant was dumb he could not be to blame for the accident. "how do you know he is dumb?" said the owner of the mare. "at the time i wished to fasten my mare near his horse he said, 'don't!' yet now he feigns himself dumb." the kází observed that if he was duly warned against the accident he had himself to blame, and so dismissed the case. ii the emperor's dream--the golden apparition--the four treasure-seekers. we are not without instances in european popular fictions of two young persons dreaming of each other and falling in love, although they had never met or known of each other's existence. a notable example is the story of the two dreams in the famous _history of the seven wise masters_. incidents of this kind are very common in oriental stories: the romance of _kámarupa_ (of indian origin, but now chiefly known through the persian version) is based upon a dream which the hero has of a certain beautiful princess, with whom he falls in love, and he sets forth with his companions to find her, should it be at the uttermost ends of the earth. it so happens that the damsel also dreams of him, and, when they do meet, they need no introduction to each other. the indian romance of _vasayadatta_ has a similar plot. but the royal dreamer and lover in the following story, told by the parrot on the th night, according to the india office ms. no. , adopted a plan for the discovery of the beauteous object of his vision more conformable to his own ease: _the emperor's dream._ an emperor of china dreamt of a very beautiful damsel whom he had never seen or heard of, and, being sorely pierced with the darts of love for the creature of his dreaming fancy, he could find no peace of mind. one of his vazírs, who was an excellent portrait painter, receiving from the emperor a minute description of the lady's features, drew the face, and the imperial lover acknowledged the likeness to be very exact. the vazír then went abroad with the portrait, to see whether any one could identify it with the fair original. after many disappointments he met with an old hermit, who at once recognised it as the portrait of the princess of rúm,[ ] who, he informed the vazír, had an unconquerable aversion against men ever since she beheld, in her garden, a peacock basely desert his mate and their young ones, when the tree on which their nest was built had been struck by lightning. she believed that all men were quite as selfish as that peacock, and was resolved never to marry. returning to his imperial master with these most interesting particulars regarding the object of his affection, he next undertakes to conquer the strange and unnatural aversion of the princess. taking with him the emperor's portrait and other pictures, he procures access to the princess of rúm; shows her, first, the portrait of the emperor of china, and then pictures of animals in the royal menagerie, among others that of a deer, concerning which he relates a story to the effect that the emperor, sitting one day in his summer-house, saw a deer, his doe, and their fawn on the bank of the river, when suddenly the waters overflowed the banks, and the doe, in terror for her life, fled away, while the deer bravely remained with the fawn and was drowned. this story, so closely resembling her own, struck the fair princess with wonder and admiration, and she at once gave her consent to be united to the emperor of china; and we may suppose that "they continued together in joy and happiness until they were overtaken by the terminater of delights and the separator of companions." [ ] originally, rúmelia (rúm eyli) was only implied by the word _rúm_, but in course of time it was employed to designate the whole turkish empire. * * * * * there can be little or no doubt, i think, that in this tale we find the original of the frame, or leading story, of the persian tales, ascribed to a dervish named mukhlis, of isfahán, and written after the _arabian nights_, as it is believed, in which the nurse of the princess has to relate almost as many stories to overcome her aversion against men (the result of an incident similar to that witnessed by the lady of rúm) as the renowned sheherazade had to tell her lord, who entertained--for a very different reason--a bitter dislike of women. * * * * * i now present a story unabridged, translated by gerrans in the latter part of the last century. it is assuredly of buddhistic origin: _the golden apparition._ in the extreme boundaries of khurasán there once lived, according to general report, a merchant named abdal-malik, whose warehouses were crowded with rich merchandise, and whose coffers overflowed with money. the scions of genius ripened into maturity under the sunshine of his liberality; the sons of indigence fattened on the bread of his hospitality; and the parched traveller amply slaked his thirst in the river of his generosity. one day, as he meditated on the favours which his creator had so luxuriantly showered upon him, he testified his gratitude by the following resolution: "long have i traded in the theatre of the world, much have i received, and little have i bestowed. this wealth was entrusted to my care, with no other design or intention but to enable me to assist the unfortunate and indigent. before, therefore, the angel of death shall come to demand the spoil of my mortality, it is my last wish and sole intention to expiate my sins and follies by voluntary oblations of this she-camel [alluding to the muslim feast of the camel] in the last month of her pregnancy, and to proclaim to all men, by this late breakfasting [alluding to the feast of ramadan, when food is only permitted after sunset], my past mortification." in the tranquil hour of midnight an apparition stood before him, in the habit of a fakír. the merchant cried: "what art thou?" it answered: "i am the apparition of thy good fortune and the genius of thy future happiness. when thou, with such unbounded generosity, didst bequeath all thy wealth to the poor, i determined not to pass by thy door unnoticed, but to endow thee with an inexhaustible treasure, conformable to the greatness of thy capacious soul. to accomplish which i will, every morning, in this shape, appear to thee; thou shalt strike me a few blows on the head, when i shall instantly fall low at thy feet, transformed into an image of gold. from this freely take as much as thou shalt have occasion for; and every member or joint that shall be separated from the image shall be instantly replaced by another of the same precious metal."[ ] [ ] if the members severed from the golden image were to be instantly replaced by others, what need was there for the daily appearance of the "fakír," as promised?--but _n'importe_! at daybreak the demon of avarice had conducted hajm, the covetous, to the durbar of abdal-malik, the generous. soon after his arrival the apparition presented itself. abdal-malik immediately arose, and after striking it several blows on the head it fell down before him, and was changed into an image of gold. as much as sufficed for the necessities of the day he took for himself, and gave a much larger portion to his visitor. hajm was overjoyed at the present, and concluded from what he had seen that he or any other person who should treat a fakír in the same manner could convert him into gold, and consequently that by beating a number he might multiply his golden images. heated with this fond imagination, he quickly returned to his house and gave the necessary orders for a most sumptuous entertainment, to which he invited all the fakírs in the province. when the keen appetite was assuaged, and the exhilarating sherbet began to enliven the convivial meeting, hajm seized a ponderous club, and with it regaled his guests till he broke their heads, and the crimson torrent stained the carpet of hospitality. the fakírs elevating the shriek of sore distress, the kutwal's guard came to their assistance, and soon a multitude of people assembled, who, after binding the offender with the strong cord of captivity, carried him, together with the fakírs, before the governor of the city. he demanded to know the reason why he had so inhospitably and cruelly behaved to these harmless people. the confounded hajm replied: "as i was yesterday in the house of abdal-malik, a fakír suddenly appeared. the merchant struck him some blows on the head, and he fell prostrate before him, transformed into a golden image. imagining that any other person could, by a similar behaviour, force any fakír to undergo the like metamorphosis, i invited these men to a banquet, and regaled them with some blows of my cudgel to compel them to a similar transformation; but the demon of avarice has deceived me, and the fascinating temptation of gold has involved me in a labyrinth of ills." the governor at once sent for abdal-malik, and, demanding a solution of hajm's mysterious tale, was thus answered by the charitable merchant: "the unfortunate hajm is my neighbour. some days ago he began to exhibit symptoms of a disordered imagination and distracted brain, and during these violent paroxysms of insanity he related some ridiculous fable of me and the rest of my neighbours. no better specimen can be adduced than the extravagant action of which he now stands accused, and the absurd tale by which he attempts to apologise for the commission of it. that madness may no longer usurp the palace of reason, to revel upon the ruins of his mind, deliver him to the sons of ingenuity, the preservers and restorers of health; let them purify his blood by sparing diet, abridge him of his daily potations, and by the force of medicinal beverage recall him from the precipice of ruin." this advice was warmly applauded by the governor, who, after hajm had been compelled to ask pardon of the fakírs for the ill-treatment they had received, was soundly bastinadoed before the tribunal, and carried to the hospital for madness. that each man has his "genius" of good or evil fortune is an essentially buddhistic idea. the same story occurs, in a different form, in the _hitopadesa_, or friendly counsel, an ancient sanskrit collection of apologues, and an abridgment of the _panchatantra_, or five chapters, where it forms fable of book iii: in the city of ayodhya (oude) there was a soldier named churamani, who, being anxious for money, for a long time with pain of body worshipped the deity, the jewel of whose diadem is the lunar crescent. being at length purified from his sins, in his sleep he had a vision in which, through the favour of the deity, he was directed by the lord of the yakshas [kuvera, the god of wealth] to do as follows: "early in the morning, having been shaved, thou must stand, club in hand, concealed behind the door of the house; and the beggar whom thou seest come into the court thou wilt put to death without mercy by blows of thy staff. instantly the beggar will become a pot full of gold, by which thou wilt be comfortable for the rest of thy life." these instructions being followed, it came to pass accordingly; but the barber who had been brought to shave him, having witnessed it all, said to himself, "o is this the mode of gaining a treasure? why, then, may not i also do the same?" from that day forward the barber in like manner, with club in hand, day after day awaited the coming of the beggar. one day a beggar being so caught was attacked by him and killed with the stick, for which offence the barber himself was beaten by the king's officers, and died.--in the _panchatantra_, in place of a soldier, a banker who had lost all his wealth determines to put an end to his life, when he dreams that the personification of kuvera, the god of riches, appears before him in the form of a jaina mendicant--a conclusive proof of the buddhistic origin of the story.--a trunkless head performs the same part in the russian folk-tale of the stepmother's daughter, on which mr. ralston remarks that, "according to buddhist belief the treasure which has belonged to anyone in a former existence may come to him in the form of a man, who, when killed, is turned to gold."[ ] [ ] ralston's _russian folk-tales_, p. , _note_. * * * * * there is an analogous story to this of the golden apparition in an entertaining little book entitled, _the orientalist; or, letters of a rabbi_, by james noble, published at edinburgh in , of which the following is the outline: an old dervish falls ill in the house of a poor widow, who tends him with great care, and when he recovers his health he offers to take charge of her only son, abdallah. the good woman gladly consents, and the dervish sets out accompanied by his young ward, having intimated to his mother that they must perform a journey which would last about two years. one day they arrived at a solitary place, and the dervish said to abdallah: "my son, we are now at the end of our journey. i shall employ my prayers to obtain from allah that the earth shall open and make an entrance wide enough to permit thee to descend into a place where thou shalt find one of the greatest treasures that the earth contains. hast thou courage to descend into the vault?" abdallah assured him that he might depend on his fidelity; and then the dervish lighted a small fire, into which he cast a perfume: he read and prayed for some minutes, after which the earth opened, and he said to the young man: "thou mayest now enter. remember that it is in thy power to do me a great service; and that this is perhaps the only opportunity thou shalt ever have of testifying to me that thou art not ungrateful. do not let thyself be dazzled by the riches that thou shalt find there: think only of seizing upon an iron candlestick with twelve branches, which thou shalt find close to the door. that is absolutely necessary to me: come up with it at once." abdallah descended, and, neglecting the advice of the dervish, filled his vest and sleeves with the gold and jewels which he found heaped up in the vault, whereupon the opening by which he had entered closed of itself. he had, however, sufficient presence of mind to seize the iron candlestick, and endeavoured to find some other means of escape from the vault. at length he discovers a narrow passage, which he follows until he reaches the surface of the earth, and looking for the dervish saw him not, but to his surprise found that he was close to his mother's house. on showing his wealth to his mother, it all suddenly vanished. but the candlestick remained. he lighted one of the branches, upon which a dervish appeared, and after turning round an hour he threw down an asper (about three farthings in value) and vanished. next night he put a lighted candle in each of the branches, when twelve dervishes appeared, and having continued their gyrations for an hour each threw down an asper and vanished. in this way did abdallah and his mother contrive to live for a time, till at length he resolved to carry the candlestick to the good dervish, hoping to obtain from him the treasure which he had seen in the vault. he remembered his name and city, and on reaching his dwelling found the dervish living in a magnificent palace, with fifty porters at the gate. the dervish thus addressed abdallah: "thou art an ungrateful wretch! hadst thou known the value of the candlestick thou wouldst never have brought it to me. i will show thee its true use." then the dervish placed a light in each branch, whereupon twelve dervishes appeared and began to whirl, but on his giving each a blow with a stick, in an instant they were changed into twelve heaps of sequins, diamonds, and other precious stones. ungrateful as abdallah had shown himself, yet the dervish gave him two camels laden with gold, and a slave, telling him that he must depart the next morning. during the night abdallah stole the candlestick and placed it at the bottom of his sacks. at daybreak he took leave of the generous dervish and set off. when about half a day's journey from his own city he sold the slave, that there should be no witness to his former poverty, and bought another in his stead. arriving home, he carefully placed his loads of treasure in a private chamber, and then put a light in each branch of the candlestick; and when the twelve dervishes appeared, he dealt each of them a blow with a stick. but he had not observed that the good dervish employed his left hand, and he had naturally used his right, in consequence of which the twelve dervishes drew each from under their robes a heavy club and beat him till he was nearly dead, and then vanished, as did also the treasure, the camels, the slave, and the wonder-working candlestick![ ] [ ] the same story is given by the comte de caylus--but, like noble, without stating where the original is to be found--in his _contes orientaux_, first published in , under the title of "histoire de dervich abounadar." these entertaining tales are reproduced in _le cabinet des fées_, ed. , tome xxv.--it will be observed that the first part of the story bears a close resemblance to that of our childhood's favourite, the arabian tale of "aladdin and the wonderful lamp," of which many analogues and variants, both european and asiatic, are cited in the first volume of my _popular tales and fictions_, ;--see also a supplementary note by me on aladdin's lamp in _notes and queries_, jan. , , p. . * * * * * a warning against avarice is intended to be conveyed in the tale, or rather apologue, or perhaps we should consider it as a sort of allegory, related by the sagacious bird on the th night, according to the india office ms., but the th night of kádirí's abridgment. it is to the following effect, and may be entitled _the four treasure-seekers._ once on a time four intimate friends, who made a common fund of all their possessions, and had long enjoyed the wealth of their industrious ancestors, at length lost all their goods and money, and, barely saving their lives, quitted together the place of their nativity. in the course of their travels they meet a wise bráhman, to whom they relate the history of their misfortunes. he gives each of them a pearl, which he places on their heads, telling them, whenever the pearl drops from the head of any of them, to examine the spot, and share equally what they find there. after walking some distance the pearl drops from the head of one of the companions, and on examining the place he discovers a copper mine, the produce of which he offers to share with the others, but they refuse, and, leaving him, continue their journey. by-and-by the pearl drops from the head of another of the friends, and a silver mine is found; but the two others, believing that better things were in store farther on, left him to his treasure, and proceeded on their way till the pearl of the third companion dropped, and they found in the place a rich gold mine. in vain does he endeavour to persuade his companion to be content with the wealth here obtainable: he disdainfully refuses, saying that, since copper, silver, and gold had been found, fortune had evidently reserved something infinitely better for him; and so he quitted his friend and went on, till he reached a narrow valley destitute of water; the air like that of jehennan;[ ] the surface of the earth like infernal fire; no animal or bird was to be seen; and chilling blasts alternated with sulphurous exhalations. here the fourth pearl dropped and the owner discovered a mine of diamonds and other gems, but the ground was covered with snakes, cockatrices, and the most venomous serpents. on seeing this he determines to return and share the produce of the third companion's gold mine; but when he comes to the spot he can find no trace of the mine or of the owner. proceeding next to the silver mine, he finds it is exhausted, and his friend who owned it has gone; so he will now content himself with copper; but, alas! his first friend had died the day before his arrival, and strangers were now in possession of the mine, who laughed at his pretensions, and even beat him for his impertinence. sad at heart, he journeys on to where he and his companions had met the bráhman, but he had long since departed to a far distant country; and thus, through his obstinacy and avarice, he was overwhelmed with poverty and disgrace--without money and without friends. [ ] that is, hell. properly, it is je-hinnon, near jerusalem, which seems to have been in ancient times the cremation ground for human corpses. * * * * * this story of the four treasure-seekers forms the third of book v of the _panchatantra_, where the fourth companion, instead of finding a diamond mine guarded by serpents, etc., discovers a man with a wheel upon his head, and on his asking this man where he could procure water, who he was, and why he stood with the wheel on his head, straightway the wheel is transferred to his own head, as had been the case of the former victim who had asked the same questions of his predecessor. the third man, who had found the gold mine, wondering that his companion tarried so long, sets off in search of him, and, finding him with the wheel on his head, asks why he stood thus. the fourth acquaints him of the property of the wheel, and then relates a number of stories to show that those who want common sense will surely come to grief. it is more than probable that several of the tales and apologues in the _panchatantra_ were derived from buddhist sources; and the incident of a man with a wheel on his head is found in the chinese-sanskrit work entitled _fu-pen-hing-tsi-king_, which wassiljew translates 'biography of sákyamuni and his companions,' and of which dr. beal has published an abridged english translation under the title of the _romantic history of buddha_. in this work (p. ff.) a merchant, who had struck his mother because she would not sanction his going on a trading voyage, in the course of his wanderings discovers a man "on whose head there was placed an iron wheel, this wheel was red with heat, and glowing as from a furnace, terrible to behold. seeing this terrible sight, máitri exclaimed: 'who are you? why do you carry that terrible wheel on your head?' on this the wretched man replied: 'dear sir, is it possible you know me not? i am a merchant chief called gorinda.' then máitri asked him and said: 'pray, then, tell me, what dreadful crime have you committed in former days that you are constrained to wear that fiery wheel on your head.' then gorinda answered: 'in former days i was angry with and struck my mother as she lay on the ground, and for this reason i am condemned to wear this fiery iron wheel around my head.' at this time máitri, self-accused, began to cry out and lament; he was filled with remorse on recollection of his own conduct, and exclaimed in agony: 'now am i caught like a deer in the snare.' then a certain yaksha, who kept guard over that city, whose name was viruka, suddenly came to the spot, and removing the fiery wheel from off the head of gorinda, he placed it on the head of máitri. then the wretched man cried out in his agony and said: 'o what have i done to merit this torment?' to which the yaksha replied: 'you, wretched man, dared to strike your mother on the head as she lay on the ground; now, therefore, on your head you shall wear this fiery wheel; through , years your punishment shall last: be assured of this, through all these years you shall wear this wheel.'" iii the singing ass: the foolish thieves: the faggot-maker and the magic bowl. some of the parrot's recitals have other tales sphered within them, so to say--a plan which must be familiar to all readers of the _arabian nights_. in the following amusing tale, which is perhaps the best of the whole series (it is the st of the india office ms. no. , and the st in kadiri's version), there are two subordinate stories: _the singing ass._ at a certain period of time, as ancient historians inform us, an ass and an elk were so fond of each other's company that they were never seen separate. if the plains were deficient in pasture, they repaired to the meadows; or, if famine pervaded the valleys, they overleaped the garden-fence, and, like friends, divided the spoil. one night, during the season of verdure, about the gay termination of spring, after they had rioted in the cup of plenty, and lay rolling on a green carpet of spinach, the cup of the silly ass began to overflow with the froth of conceit, and he thus expressed his unseasonable intentions: "o comrade of the branching antlers, what a mirth-inspiring night is this! how joyous are the heart-attracting moments of spring! fragrance distils from every tree; the garden breathes otto of roses, and the whole atmosphere is pregnant with musk. in the umbrageous gloom of the waving cypress the turtles are exchanging their vows, and the bird of a thousand songs [i.e., the nightingale] sips nectar from the lips of the rose: nothing is wanting to complete the joys of spring but one of my melodious songs. when the warm blood of youth shall cease to give animation to these elegant limbs of mine, what relish shall i have for pleasure? and when the lamp of my life is extinguished, the spring will return in vain." _nakhshabí, music at every season is delightful, and a song sweetly murmured captivates the senses._ _the musician who charms our ears will most assuredly find the road of success to our hearts._[ ] [ ] the italicised passages which occur in this tale are verses in the original persian text. the elk answered: "sagacious, long-eared associate, what an unseasonable proposal is this? rather let us converse together about pack-saddles and sacks; tell me a story about straw, beans, or hay-lofts, unmerciful drivers, and heavy burdens." _what business has the ass to meddle with music?_ _what occasion has long-ears to attempt to sing?_ "you ought also to recollect," continued the elk, "that we are thieves, and that we came into this garden to plunder. consider what an enormous quantity of beets, lettuces, parsley, and radishes we have eaten, and what a fine bed of spinach we are spoiling! 'nothing can be more disgusting than a bird that sings out of season' is a proverb which is as current among the sons of wisdom as a bill of exchange among merchants, and as valuable as an unpierced pearl. if you are so infatuated as to permit the enchanting melody of your voice to draw you into this inextricable labyrinth, the gardener will instantly awake, rouse his whole caravan of workmen, hasten to this garden and convert our music into mourning; so that our history will be like that of the house-breakers." the prince of folly, expressing a wish to know how that was, received the following information: _the foolish thieves._ in one of the cities of hindústán some thieves broke into a house, and after collecting the most valuable movables sat down in a corner to bind them up. in this corner was a large two-eared earthen vessel, brimful of the wine of seduction, which sublime to their mouths they advanced and long-breathed potations exhausted, crying: "everything is good in its turn; the hours of business are past--come on with the gift which fortune bestows; let us mitigate the toils of the night and smooth the forehead of care." as they approached the bottom of the flagon, the vanguard of intoxication began to storm the castle of reason; wild uproar, tumult, and their auxiliaries commanded by a sirdar of nonsense, soon after scaled the walls, and the songs of folly vociferously proclaimed that the sultan of discretion was driven from his post, and confusion had taken possession of the garrison. the noise awakened the master of the mansion, who was first overwhelmed with surprise, but soon recollecting himself, he seized his trusty scimitar, and expeditiously roused his servants, who forthwith attacked the sons of disorder, and with very little pains or risk extended them on the pavement of death. _nakhshabí, everything is good in its season._ _let each perform his part in the world, that the world may go round._ _he who drinks at an unseasonable hour ought not to complain of the vintner._ * * * * * here long-ears superciliously answered: "pusillanimous companion, i am the blossom of the city and the luminary of the people; my presence gives life to the plains, and my harmony cultivates the desert. if, when in vulgar prose i express the unpremeditated idea, every ear is filled with delight, and the fleeting soul, through ecstacy, flutters on the trembling lips--what must be the effect of my songs?" the elk rejoined: "the ear must be deprived of sensation, the heart void of blood, and formed of the coarsest clay must be he who can attend your lays with indifference. but condescend, for once, to listen to advice, and postpone this music, in which you are so great a proficient, and suppress not only the song, but the sweet murmuring in your throat, prelusive to your singing, and shrink not up your graceful nostrils, nor extent the extremities of your jaws, lest you should have as much reason to repent of your singing as the faggot-maker had of his dancing." the ass demanding how that came to pass, the elk made answer as follows: _the faggot-maker and the magic bowl._ as a faggot-maker was one day at work in a wood, he saw four perís [or fairies] sitting near him, with a magnificent bowl before them, which supplied them with all they wanted. if they had occasion for food of the choicest taste, wines of the most delicious flavour, garments the most valuable and convenient, or perfumes of the most odoriferous exhalation--in short, whatever necessity could require, luxury demand, or avarice wish for--they had nothing more to do but put their hands into the bowl and pull out whatever they desired. the day following, the poor faggot-maker being at work in the same place, the perís again appeared, and invited him to be one of their party. the proposal was cheerfully accepted, and impressing his wife and children with the seal of forgetfulness, he remained some days in their company. recollecting himself, however, at last, he thus addressed his white-robed entertainers: "i am a poor faggot-maker, father of a numerous family; to drive famine from my cot, i every evening return with my faggots; but my cares for my wife and fireside have been for some time past obliterated by the cup of your generosity. if my petition gain admission to the durbar of your enlightened auditory, i will return to give them the salaam of health, and inquire into the situation of their affairs." the perís graciously nodded acquiescence, adding: "the favours you have received from us are trifling, and we cannot dismiss you empty-handed. make choice, therefore, of whatever you please, and the fervour of your most unbounded desire shall be slaked in the stream of our munificence." the wood-cutter replied: "i have but one wish to gratify, and that is so unjust and so unreasonable that i dread the very thought of naming it, since nothing but the bowl before us will satisfy my ambitious heart." the perís, bursting into laughter, answered: "we shall suffer not the least inconvenience by the loss of it, for, by virtue of a talisman which we possess, we could make a thousand in a twinkling. but, in order to make it as great a treasure to you as it has been to us, guard it with the utmost care, for it will break by the most trifling blow, and be sure never to make use of it but when you really want it." the faggot-maker, overcome with joy, said: "i will pay the most profound attention to this inexhaustible treasure; and to preserve it from breaking i will exert every faculty of my soul." upon saying this he received the bowl, with which he returned on the wings of rapture, and for some days enjoyed his good fortune better than might be expected. the necessaries and comforts of life were provided for his family, his creditors were paid, alms distributed to the poor, the brittle bowl of plenty was guarded with discretion, and everything around him was arranged for the reception of his friends, who assembled in such crowds that his cottage overflowed. the faggot-maker, who was one of those choice elevated spirits whose money never rusts in their possession, finding his habitation inadequate for the entertainment of his guests, built another, more spacious and magnificent, to which he invited the whole city, and placed the magic bowl in the middle of the grand saloon, and every time he made a dip pulled out whatever was wished for. though the views of his visitors were various, contentment was visibly inscribed on every forehead: the hungry were filled with the bread of plenty; the aqueducts overflowed with the wine of shíráz; the effeminate were satiated with musky odours, and the thirst of avarice was quenched by the bowl of abundance. the wondering spectators exclaimed: "this is no bowl, but a boundless ocean of mystery! it is not what it appears to be, a piece of furniture, but an inexhaustible magazine of treasure!" after the faggot-maker had thus paraded his good fortune and circulated the wine-cup with very great rapidity, he stood up and began to dance, and, to show his dexterity in the art, placed the brittle bowl on his left shoulder, which every time he turned round he struck with his hand, crying: "o soul-exhilarating goblet, thou art the origin of my ease and affluence--the spring of my pomp and equipage--the engineer who has lifted me from the dust of indigence to the towering battlements of glory! thou art the nimble berid [running foot-man] of my winged wishes, and the regulator of all my actions! to thee am i indebted for all the splendour that surrounds me! thou art the source of my currency, and art the author of our present festival!" with these and similar foolish tales he entertained his company, as the genius of nonsense dictated, making the most ridiculous grimaces, rolling his eyes like a fakír in a fit of devotion, and capering like one distracted, till the bowl, by a sudden slip of his foot, fell from his shoulder on the pavement of ruin, and was broken into a hundred pieces. at the same instant, all that he had in the house, and whatever he had circulated in the city, suddenly vanished;--the banquet of exultation was quickly converted into mourning, and he who a little before danced for joy now beat his breast for sorrow, blamed to no purpose the rigour of his inauspicious fortune, and execrated the hour of his birth. thus a jewel fell into the hands of an unworthy person, who was unacquainted with its value; and an inestimable gem was entrusted to an indigent wretch, who, by his ignorance and ostentation, converted it to his own destruction. * * * * * "melodious bulbul of the long-eared race," continued the elk, "as the wood-cutter's dancing was an unpardonable folly which met with the chastisement it deserved, so i fearfully anticipate that your unseasonable singing will become your exemplary punishment." his ass-ship listened thus far with reluctance to the admonition of his friend, without intending to profit by it; but arose from the carpet of spinach, eyed his companion with a mortifying glance of contempt, pricked up his long snaky ears, and began to put himself into a musical posture. the nimble, small-hoofed elk, perceiving this, said to himself: "since he has stretched out his neck and prepared his pitch-pipe, he will not remain long without singing." so he left the vegetable banquet, leaped over the garden wall, and fled to a place of security. the ass was no sooner alone than he commenced a most loud and horrible braying, which instantly awoke the gardeners, who, with the noose of an insidious halter, to the trunk of a tree fast bound the affrighted musician, where they belaboured him with their cudgels till they broke every bone in his body, and converted his skin to a book, in which, in letters of gold, a múnshí [learned man] of luminous pen, with the choicest flowers of the garden of rhetoric, and for the benefit of the numerous fraternity of asses, inscribed this instructive history. * * * * * magical articles such as the wonderful wishing-bowl of our unlucky friend the faggot-maker figure very frequently in the folk-tales of almost every country, assuming many different forms: a table-cloth, a pair of saddle-bags, a purse, a flask, etc.; but since a comprehensive account of those highly-gifted objects--alas, that they should no longer exist!--is furnished in the early chapters of my _popular tales and fictions_, i presume i need not go over the same wide field again.--in the _kathá sarit ságara_ (ocean of the streams of story), a very large collection of tales and apologues, composed, in sanskrit, by somadeva, in the th century, after a much older work, the _vrihat kathá_ (or great story), the tale of the faggot-maker occurs as a separate recital. it is there an inexhaustible pitcher which he receives from four yakshas--supernatural beings, who correspond to some extent with the perís of muslim mythology--and he is duly warned that should it be broken it departs at once. for a time he concealed the secret from his relations until one day, when he was intoxicated, they asked him how it came about that he had given up carrying burdens, and had abundance of all kinds of dainties, eatable and drinkable. "he was too much puffed up with pride to tell them plainly, but, taking the wish-granting pitcher on his shoulder, he began to dance; and, as he was dancing, the inexhaustible pitcher slipped from his shoulder, as his feet tripped with over-abundance of intoxication, and, falling on the ground, was broken in pieces. and immediately it was mended again, and reverted to its original possessor; but subadatta was reduced to his former condition, and filled with despondency." in a note to this story, mr. tawney remarks that in bartsch's meklenburg tales a man possesses himself of an inexhaustible beer-can, but as soon as he tells how he got it the beer disappears.--the story of the foolish thieves noisily carousing in the house they had just plundered occurs also in saádí's _gulistán_ and several other eastern story-books. in kádíri's abridgment of the parrot-book, the elk is taken prisoner as well as his companion the ass, and the two subordinate stories, of the foolish thieves and of the faggot-maker, are omitted. they are also omitted in the version of the singing ass found in the _panchatantra_ (b. v, f. ), where a jackal, not an elk, is the companion of the ass, and when he perceives the latter about to "sing" he says: "let me get to the door of the garden, where i may see the gardener as he approaches, and then sing away as long as you please." the gardener beats the ass till he is weary, and then fastens a clog to the animal's leg and ties him to a post. after great exertion, the ass contrives to get free from the post and hobbles away with the clog still on his leg. the jackal meets his old comrade and exclaims: "bravo, uncle! you would sing your song, though i did all i could to dissuade you, and now see what a fine ornament you have received as recompense for your performance." this form of the story reappears in the _tantrákhyána_, a collection of tales, in sanskrit, discovered by prof. cecil bendall in , of which he has given an interesting account in the _journal of the royal asiatic society_, vol. xx, pp. - , including the original text of a number of the stories.--in ralston's _tibetan tales_, translated from schiefner's german rendering of stories from the _kah-gyur_ (no. xxxii), the story is also found, with a bull in place of a jackal. an ass meets the bull one evening and proposes they should go together and feast themselves to their hearts' content in the king's bean-field, to which the bull replies: "o nephew, as you are wont to let your voice resound, we should run great risk." said the ass: "o uncle, let us go; i will not raise my voice." having entered the bean-field together, the ass uttered no sound until he had eaten his fill. then quoth he: "uncle, shall i not sing a little?" the bull responded: "wait an instant until i have gone away, and then do just as you please." so the bull runs away, and the ass lifts up his melodious voice, upon which the king's servants came and seized him, cut off his long ears, fastened a pestle on his neck, and drove him out of the field.--there can be no question, i think, as to the superiority, in point of humour, of nakhshabí's version in _tútí náma_, as given above. iv the covetous goldsmith--the king who died of love--the discovery of music--the seven requisites of a perfect woman. to quit, for the present at least, the regions of fable and magic, and return to tales of common life: the th recital in kádíri's abridged text is of _the goldsmith who lost his life through his covetousness._ a soldier finds a purse of gold on the highway, and entrusts it to the keeping of a goldsmith (how frequently do goldsmiths figure in these stories--and never to the credit of the craft!), but when he comes to demand it back the other denies all knowledge of it. the soldier cites him before the kází, but he still persists in denying that he had ever received any money from the complainant. the kází was, however, convinced of the truth of the soldier's story, so he goes to the house of the goldsmith, and privately causes two of his own attendants to be locked up in a large chest that was in one of the rooms. he then confines the goldsmith and his wife in the same room. during the night the concealed men hear the goldsmith inform his wife where he had hidden the soldier's money; and next morning, when the kází comes again and is told by his men what they had heard the goldsmith say to his wife about the money, he causes search to be made, and, finding it, hangs the goldsmith on the spot. * * * * * kázís are often represented in persian stories as being very shrewd and ingenious in convicting the most expert rogues, but this device for discovering the goldsmith's criminality is certainly one of the cleverest examples. * * * * * on the th night of ms. ( th of kádiri) the loquacious bird relates the story of _the king who died of love for a merchant's beautiful daughter._ a merchant had a daughter, the fame of whose beauty drew many suitors for her hand, but he rejected them all; and when she was of proper age he wrote a letter to the king, describing her charms and accomplishments, and respectfully offering her to him in marriage. the king, already in love with the damsel from this account of her beauty, sends his four vazírs to the merchant's house to ascertain whether she was really as charming as her father had represented her to be. they find that she far surpassed the power of words to describe; but, considering amongst themselves that should the king take this bewitching girl to wife, he would become so entangled in the meshes of love as totally to neglect the affairs of the state, they underrate her beauty to the king, who then gives up all thought of her. but it chanced one day that the king himself beheld the damsel on the terrace of her house, and, perceiving that his vazírs had deceived him, he sternly reprimanded them, at the same time expressing his fixed resolution of marrying the girl. the vazírs frankly confessed that their reason for misrepresenting the merchant's daughter to him was their fear lest, possessing such a charming bride, he should forget his duty to the state; upon which the king, struck with their anxiety for his true interests, resolved to deny himself the happiness of marrying the girl. but he could not suppress his affection for her: he fell sick, and soon after died, the victim of love. * * * * * this story forms the th of the twenty-five tales of a demon (_vetála panchavinsati_), according to the sanskrit version found in the _kathá sarit ságara_; but its great antiquity is proved by the circumstance that it is found in a buddhistic work dating probably years before our era--namely, buddhaghosha's parables. "dying for love," says richardson, "is considered amongst us as a mere poetical figure, and we can certainly support the reality by few examples; but in eastern countries it seems to be something more, many words in the arabic and persian languages which express love implying also melancholy; madness, and death." shakspeare affirms that "men have died, and worms have eaten them, but not for love." there is, however, one notable instance of this on record, in the story (as related by warton, in his _history of english poetry_) of the gallant troubadour geoffrey rudel, who died for love--and love, too, from hearsay description of the beauty of the countess of tripoli. * * * * * on the th night the parrot entertains the lady with a very curious account of _the discovery of music._ some attribute, says the learned and eloquent feathered sage (according to gerrans), the discovery to the sounds made by a large stone against the frame of an oil-press; and others to the noise of meat when roasting; but the sages of hind [india] are of opinion that it originated from the following accident: as a learned bráhman was travelling to the court of an illustrious rájá he rested about the middle of the day under the shade of a mulberry tree, on the top of which he beheld a mischievous monkey climbing from bough to bough, till, by a sudden slip, he fell upon a sharp-pointed shoot, which instantly ripped up his belly and left his entrails suspended in the tree, while the unlucky animal fell, breathless, on the dust of death. some time after this, as the bráhman was returning, he accidentally sat down in the same place, and, recollecting the circumstance, looked up, and saw that the entrails were dried, and yielded a harmonious sound every time the wind gently impelled them against the branches. charmed at the singularity of the adventure, he took them down, and after binding them to the two ends of his walking-stick, touched them with a small twig, by which he discovered that the sound was much improved. when he got home he fastened the staff to another piece of wood, which was hollow, and by the addition of a bow, strung with part of his own beard, converted it to a complete instrument. in succeeding ages the science received considerable improvements. after the addition of a bridge, purer notes were extracted; and the different students, pursuing the bent of their inclinations, constructed instruments of various forms, according to their individual fancies; and to this whimsical accident we are indebted for the tuneful ney and the heart-exhilarating rabáb, and, in short, all the other instruments of wind and strings. having thus discoursed upon the discovery of music, the parrot proceeds to detail _the seven requisites of a perfect woman._ she ought not to be always merry. she ought not to be always sad. she ought not to be always talking. she ought not to be always thinking. she ought not to be constantly dressing. she ought not to be always unadorned. she is a perfect woman who, at all times, possesses herself; can be cheerful without levity, grave without austerity; knows when to elevate the tongue of persuasion, and when to impress her lips with the signet of silence; never converts trifling ceremonies into intolerable burdens; always dresses becoming to her rank and age; is modest without prudery, religious without an alloy of superstition; can hear the one sex praised without envy, and converse with the other without permitting the torch of inconstancy to kindle the unhallowed fire in her breast; considers her husband as the most accomplished of mortals, and thinks all the sons of adam besides unworthy of a transient glance from the corner of her half-shut eyes. such are the requisites of a perfect woman, and how thankful we should be that we have so many in this highly-favoured land who possess them all! these maxims are assuredly of indian origin--no persian could ever have conceived such virtues as being attainable by women. v the princess of rome and her son--the king and his seven vazirs. the story told by the parrot on the th night is very singular, and presents, no doubt, a faithful picture of oriental manners and customs. in the original text it is entitled _story of the daughter of the kaysar of rome, and her trouble by reason of her son._ in former times there was a great king, whose army was numerous and whose treasury was full to overflowing; but, having no enemy to contend with, he neglected to pay his soldiers, in consequence of which they were in a state of destitution and discontent. at length one day the soldiers went to the prime vazír and made their condition known to him. the vazír promised that he would speedily devise a plan by which they should have employment and money. next morning he presented himself before the king, and said that it was widely reported that the kaysar of rome had a daughter unsurpassed for beauty--one who was fit only for such a great monarch as his majesty--and suggested that it would be advantageous if an alliance were formed between two such potentates. the notion pleased the king well, and he forthwith despatched to rome an ambassador with rich gifts, and requested the kaysar to grant him his daughter in marriage. but the kaysar waxed wroth at this, and refused to give his daughter to the king. when the ambassador returned thus unsuccessful, the king, enraged at being made of no account, resolved to make war upon the kaysar, and, opening the doors of his treasury, he distributed much money among his troops, and then, "with a woe-bringing lust, and a blood-drinking army, he trampled rome and the romans in the dust." and when the kaysar was become powerless, he sent his daughter to the king, who married her according to the law of islám. now that princess had a son by a former husband, and the kaysar had said to her before she departed: "beware that thou mention not thy son, for my love for his society is great, and i cannot part with him." but the princess was sick at heart for the absence of her son, and she was ever pondering how she should speak to the king about him, and in what manner she might contrive to bring him to her. it happened one day the king gave her a string of pearls and a casket of jewels. she said: "with my father is a slave well skilled in the science of jewels." the king replied: "if i should ask that slave of thy father, would he give him to me?" "nay," said she; "for he holds him in the place of a son. but, if the king desire him, i will send a merchant to rome, and i myself will give him a token, and with pleasant wiles and fair speeches will bring him hither." then the king sent for a clever merchant who knew arabic eloquently and the language of rome, and gave him goods for trading, and sent him to rome with the object of procuring that slave. but the daughter of the kaysar said privately to the merchant: "that slave is my son; i have, for a good reason, said to the king that he is a slave; so thou must bring him as a slave, and let it be thy duty to take care of him." in due course the merchant brought the youth to the king's service; and when the king saw his fair face, and discovered in him many pleasing and varied accomplishments, he treated him with distinction and favour, and conferred on the merchant a robe of honour and gifts. his mother saw him from afar, and was pleased with receiving a salutation from him. one day (the text proceeds) the king had gone to the chase, and the palace remained void of rivals; so the mother called in her son, kissed his fair face, and told him the tale of her great sorrow. a chamberlain became aware of the secret, and another suspicion fell upon him, and he said to himself: "the harem of the king is the sanctuary of security and the palace of protection. if i speak not of this, i shall be guilty of treachery, and shall have wrought unfaithfulness." when the king returned from the chase, the chamberlain related to him what he had seen, and the king was angry and said: "this woman has deceived me with words and deeds, and has brought hither her desire by craft and cunning. this conjecture must be true, else why did she play such a trick, and why did she hatch such a plot, and why did she send the merchant?" the king, enraged, went into the harem. the queen saw from his countenance that the occurrence of the night before had become known to him, and she said: "be it not that i see the king angry." he said: "how should i not be angry? thou, by craft, and trickery, and intrigue, and plotting, hast brought thy desire from rome--what wantonness is this that thou hast done?" then he thought to slay her, but he forbore, because of his great love for her. but he ordered the chamberlain to carry the youth to some obscure place, and straightway sever his head from his body. when the poor mother saw this she well-nigh fell on her face, and her soul was near leaving her body. but she knew that sorrow would not avail, and she restrained herself. and when the chamberlain took the youth into his own house, he said to him: "o youth, know you not that the harem of the king is the sanctuary of security? what great treachery is this that thou hast perpetrated?" the youth replied: "that queen is my mother, and i am her true son. because of her natural delicacy, she said not to the king that she had a son by another husband. and when yearning came over her, she contrived to bring me here from rome; and while the king was engaged in the chase maternal love stirred, and she called me to her and embraced me." on hearing this, the chamberlain said to himself: "what is passing in his mother's breast? what i have not done i can yet do, and it were better that i preserve this youth some days, for such a rose may not be wounded through idle words, and such a bough may not be broken by a single breath. for some day the truth of this matter will be disclosed, and it will become known to the king, when repentance may be of no avail." another day he went before the king, and said: "that which was commanded have i fulfilled." on hearing this the king's wrath was to some extent removed, but his trust in the kaysar's daughter was departed; while she, poor creature, was grieved and dazed at the loss of her son. now in the palace harem there was an old woman, who said to the queen: "how is it that i find thee sorrowful?" and the queen told the whole story, concealing nothing. the old woman was a heroine in the field of craft, and she answered: "keep thy mind at ease: i will devise a stratagem by which the heart of the king will be pleased with thee, and every grief he has will vanish from his heart." the queen said, that if she did so she should be amply rewarded. one day the old woman, seeing the king alone, said to him: "why is thy former aspect altered, and why are traces of care and anxiety visible on thy countenance?" the king then told her all. the old woman said: "i have an amulet of the charms of solomon, in the syriac language, in the the writing of the jinn [genii]. when the queen is asleep do thou place it on her breast, and, whatever it may be, she will tell all the truth of it. but take care, fall thou not asleep, but listen well to what she says." the king wondered at this, and said: "give me that amulet, that the truth of this matter may be learned." so the old woman gave him the amulet, and then went to the queen and explained what she had done, and said: "do thou feign to be asleep, and relate the whole of the story faithfully." when a watch of the night was past, the king laid the amulet upon his wife's breast, and she thus began: "by a former husband i had a son, and when my father gave me to this king, i was ashamed to say i had a tall son. when my yearning passed all bounds, i brought him here by an artifice. one day that the king was gone to the chase, i called him into the house, when, after the way of mothers, i took him in my arms and kissed him. this reached the king's ears, and he unwittingly gave it another construction, and cut off the head of that innocent boy, and withdrew from me his own heart. alike is my son lost to me and the king angry." when the king heard these words he kissed her and exclaimed: "o my life, what an error is this thou hast committed? thou hast brought calumny upon thyself, and hast given such a son to the winds, and hast made me ashamed!" straightway he called the chamberlain and said: "that boy whom thou hast killed is the son of my beloved and the darling of my beauty! where is his grave, that we may make there a guest-house?" the chamberlain said: "that youth is yet alive. when the king commanded his death i was about to kill him, but he said: 'that queen is my mother; through modesty before the king she revealed not the secret that she had a tall son. kill me not; it may be that some day the truth will become known, and repentance profits not, and regret is useless.'" the king commanded them to bring the youth, so they brought him straightway. and when the mother saw the face of her son, she thanked god and praised the most high, and became one of the muslims, and from the sect of unbelievers came into the faith of islám. and the king favoured the chamberlain in the highest degree, and they passed the rest of their lives in comfort and ease. * * * * * this tale is also found in the persian _bakhtyár náma_ (or the ten vazírs), the precise date of which has not been ascertained, but a ms. túrkí (uygúr) version of it, preserved in the bodleian library, oxford, bears to have been written in ; the persian text must therefore have been composed before that date. in the text translated by sir william ouseley, in place of the daughter of the kaysar of rome it is the daughter of the king of irák whom the king of abyssinia marries, after subduing the power of her father; and, so far from a present of jewels to her being the occasion of her mentioning her son, in the condition of a slave, it is said that one day the king behaved harshly to her, and spoke disrespectfully of her father, upon which she boasted that her father had in his service a youth of great beauty and possessed of every accomplishment, which excited the king's desire to have him brought to his court; and the merchant smuggled the youth out of the country of irák concealed in a chest, placed on the back of a camel. in lescallier's french translation it is said that the youth was the fruit of a _liaison_ of the princess, unknown to her father; that his education was secretly entrusted to certain servants; and that the princess afterwards contrived to introduce the boy to her father, who was so charmed with his beauty, grace of manner, and accomplishments, that he at once took him into his service. thus widely do manuscripts of the same eastern work vary! _the king and his seven vazírs._ on the eighth night the parrot relates, in a very abridged form, the story of the prince who was falsely accused by one of his father's women of having made love to her, and who was saved by the tales which the royal counsellors related to the king in turn during seven consecutive days. the original of this romance is the _book of sindibád_, so named after the prince's tutor, sindibád the sage: the arabic version is known under the title of the _seven vazírs_; the hebrew, _mishlé sandabar_; the greek, _syntipas_; and the syriac, _sindbán_; and its european modifications, the _seven wise masters_. in the parrot-book the first to the sixth vazírs each relate one story only, and the damsel has no stories (all other eastern versions give two to each of the seven, and six to the queen); the seventh vazír simply appears on the seventh day and makes clear the innocence of the prince. this version, however, though imperfect, is yet of some value in making a comparative study of the several texts. vi the tree of life--legend of rÁjÁ rasÁlÚ--conclusion. many others of the parrot's stories might be cited, but we shall merely glance at one more, as it calls up a very ancient and wide-spread legend: _the tree of life._ a prince, who is very ill, sends a parrot of great sagacity to procure him some of the fruit of the tree of life. when at length the parrot returns with the life-giving fruit, the prince scruples to eat it, upon which the wise bird relates the legend of solomon and the water of immortality: how that monarch declined to purchase immunity from death on consideration that he should survive all his friends and female favourites. the prince, however, having suspicions regarding the genuineness of the fruit, sends some trusty messengers to "bring the first apple that fell from the tree of existence." but it happened that a black serpent had poisoned it by seizing it in his mouth and then letting it drop again. when the messengers return with the fruit, the prince tries its effect on an old _pír_ (holy man), who at once falls down dead. upon seeing this the prince doomed the parrot to death, but the sagacious bird suggested that, before the prince should execute him for treason, he should himself go to the tree of life, and make another experiment with its fruit. he does so, and on returning home gives part of the fruit to an old woman, "who, from age and infirmity had not stirred abroad for many years," and she had no sooner tasted it than she was changed into a blooming beauty of eighteen!--happy, happy old woman! * * * * * a different version of the legend occurs in a canarese collection, entitled _kathá manjarí_, which is worthy of reproduction, since it may possibly be an earlier form than that in the persian parrot-book: a certain king had a magpie that flew one day to heaven with another magpie. when it was there it took away some mango-seed, and, having returned, gave it into the hands of the king, saying: "if you cause this to be planted and grow, whoever eats of its fruit old age will forsake him and youth return." the king was much pleased, and caused it to be sown in his favourite garden, and carefully watched it. after some time, buds having shown themselves in it became flowers, then young fruit, then it was grown; and when it was full of ripe fruit, the king ordered it to be cut and brought, and that he might test it gave it to an old man. but on that fruit there had fallen poison from a serpent, as it was carried through the air by a kite, therefore he immediately withered and died. the king, having seen this, was much afraid, and exclaimed: "is not this bird attempting to kill me?" having said this, with anger he seized the magpie, and swung it round and killed it. afterwards in that village the tree had the name of the poisonous mango. while things were thus, a washerman, taking the part of his wife in a quarrel with his aged mother, struck the latter, who was so angry at her son that she resolved to die [in order that the blame of her death should fall on him]; and having gone to the poisonous mango-tree in the garden, she cut off a fruit and ate it; and immediately she was more blooming than a girl of sixteen. this wonder she published everywhere. the king became acquainted with it, and having called her and seen her, caused the fruit to be given to other old people. having seen what was thus done by the wonderful virtue of the mango, the king exclaimed: "alas! is the affectionate magpie killed which gave me this divine tree? how guilty am i!" and he pierced himself with his sword and died. therefore (moralises the story-teller) those who do anything without thought are easily ruined.[ ] [ ] there is a very similar story in the tamil _alakésa kathá_, a tale of a king and his four ministers, but the conclusion is different: the rájá permits all his subjects to partake of the youth-bestowing fruit;--i wonder whether they are yet alive! a translation of the romance of the king and his four ministers--the first that has been made into english--will be found in my _group of eastern romances and stories_, . the incident of fruit or food being poisoned by a serpent is of frequent occurrence in eastern stories; thus, in the _book of sindibád_ a man sends his slave-girl to fetch milk, with which to feast some guests. as she was returning with it in an open vessel a stork flew over her, carrying a snake in its beak; the snake dropped some of its poison into the milk, and all the guests who partook of it immediately fell down and died.--the water of life and the tree of life are the subjects of many european as well as asiatic folk-tales. muslims have a tradition that alexander the great despatched the prophet al-khizar (who is often confounded with moses and elias in legends) to procure him some of the water of life. the prophet, after a long and perilous journey, at length reached this spring of everlasting youth, and, having taken a hearty draught of its waters, the stream suddenly disappeared--and has, we may suppose, never been rediscovered. al-khizar, they say, still lives, and occasionally appears to persons whom he desires especially to favour, and always clothed in a green robe, the emblem of perennial youth. in arabic, khizar signifies _green_. * * * * * the faithful and sagacious parrot having entertained the lady during fifty-two successive nights, and thereby prevented her from prosecuting her intended intrigue, on the following day the merchant returned, and, missing the sharak from the cage, inquired its fate of the parrot, who straight-way acquainted him of all that had taken place in his absence, and, according to kádiri's abridged text, he put his wife to death, which was certainly very unjust, since the lady's offence was only in _design_, not in _fact_.[ ] [ ] in one telúgú version, entitled _totí náma cat'halú_, the lady kills the bird after hearing all its tales; and in another the husband, on returning home and learning of his wife's intended intrigue, cuts off her head and becomes a devotee. * * * * * it will be observed that the frame of the _tútí náma_ somewhat resembles the story, in the _arabian nights_, of the merchant, his wife, and the parrot, which properly belongs to, and occurs in, all the versions of the _book of sindibád_, and also in the _seven wise masters_; in the latter a magpie takes the place of the parrot. in my _popular tales and fictions_ i have pointed out the close analogy which the frame of the parrot-book bears to a panjábí legend of the renowned hero rájá rasálú. in the _tútí náma_ the merchant leaves a parrot and a sharak to watch over his wife's conduct in his absence, charging her to obtain their consent before she enters upon any undertaking of moment; and on her consulting the sharak as to the propriety of her assignation with the young prince, the bird refuses consent, whereupon the enraged dame kills it on the spot; but the parrot, by pursuing a middle course, saves his life and his master's honour. in the panjábí legend rájá rasálú, who was very frequently from home on hunting excursions, left behind him a parrot and a maina (hill starling), to act as spies upon his young wife, the rání kokla. one day while rasálú was from home she was visited by the handsome rájá hodí, who climbed to her balcony by a rope (this incident is the subject of many paintings in fresco on the panels of palaces and temples in india), when the maina exclaimed, "what wickedness is this?" upon which the rájá went to the cage, took out the maina, and dashed it to the ground, so that it died. but the parrot, taking warning, said, "the steed of rasálú is swift, what if he should surprise you? let me out of my cage, and i will fly over the palace, and will inform you the instant he appears in sight"; and so she released the parrot. in the sequel, the parrot betrays the rání, and rasálú kills rájá hodí and causes his heart to be served to the rání for supper.[ ] [ ] captain r. c. temple's _legends of the panjáb_, vol. i, p. ff.; and "four legends of rájá rasálú," by the rev. c. swynnerton, in the _folk-lore journal_, , p. ff. * * * * * the parrot is a very favourite character in indian fictions, a circumstance originating, very possibly, in the hindú belief in metempsychosis, or transmigration of souls after death into other animal forms, and also from the remarkable facility with which that bird imitates the human voice. in the _kathá sarit ságara_ stories of wise parrots are of frequent occurrence; sometimes they figure as mere birds, but at other times as men who had been re-born in that form. in the third of the twenty-five tales of a demon (sanskrit version), a king has a parrot, "possessed of god-like intellect, knowing all the _shastras_, having been born in that condition owing to a curse"; and his queen has a hen-maina "remarkable for knowledge." they are placed in the same cage; and "one day the parrot became enamoured of the maina, and said to her: 'marry me, fair one, as we sleep, perch, and feed in the same cage.' but the maina answered him: 'i do not desire intimate union with a male, for all males are wicked and ungrateful.' the parrot answered: 'it is not true that males are wicked, but females are wicked and cruel-hearted.' and so a dispute arose between them. the two birds then made a bargain that, if the parrot won, he should have the maina for wife, and if the maina won, the parrot should be her slave, and they came before the prince to get a true judgment." each relates a story--the one to show that men are all wicked and ungrateful, the other, that women are wicked and cruel-hearted. it must be confessed that the frame of the _tútí náma_ is of a very flimsy description: nothing could be more absurd, surely, than to represent the lady as decorating herself fifty-two nights in succession in order to have an interview with a young prince, and being detained each night by the parrot's tales, which, moreover, have none of them the least bearing upon the condition and purpose of the lady; unlike the telúgú story-book, having a somewhat similar frame (see _ante_, p. , _note_), in which the tales related by the bird are about chaste wives. but the frames of all eastern story-books are more or less slight and of small account. the value of the _tútí náma_ consists in the aid which the subordinate tales furnish in tracing the genealogy of popular fictions, and in this respect the importance of the work can hardly be over-rated. _additional note._ the magic bowl, pp. - ; , . in our tale of the faggot-maker, the fairies warn him to guard the magic bowl with the utmost care, "for it will break by the most trifling blow," and he is to use it only when absolutely necessary; and in the notes of variants appended, reference is made (p. ) to a meklenburg story where the beer in an inexhaustible can disappears the moment its possessor reveals the secret. the gifts made by fairies and other superhuman beings have indeed generally some condition attached (most commonly, perhaps, that they are not to be examined until the recipients have reached home), as is shown pretty conclusively by my friend mr. e. sidney hartland in a most interesting paper on "fairy births and human midwives," which enriches the pages of the _archæological review_ for december, , and at the close of which he cites, from poestion's _lappländische märchen_, p. , a curious example, which may be fairly regarded as an analogue of the tale of the poor faggot-maker--"far cry" though it be from india to swedish lappmark: "a peasant who had one day been unlucky at the chase was returning disgusted, when he met a fine gentleman, who begged him to come and cure his wife. the peasant protested in vain that he was no doctor. the other would take no denial, insisting that it was no matter, for if he would only put his hands on the lady she would be healed. accordingly, the stranger led him to the very top of a mountain where was perched a castle he had never seen before. on entering, he found the walls were mirrors, the roof overhead of silver, the carpets of gold-embroidered silk, and the furniture of the purest gold and jewels. the stranger took him into a room where lay the loveliest of princesses on a golden bed, screaming with pain. as soon as she saw the peasant, she begged him to come and put his hands upon her. almost stupified with astonishment, he hesitated to lay his coarse hands upon so fair a dame. but at length he yielded, and in a moment her pain ceased, and she was made whole. she stood up and thanked him, begging him to tarry awhile and eat with them. this, however, he declined to do, for he feared that if he tasted the food which was offered him he must remain there. "the stranger whom he had followed then took a leathern purse, filled it with small round pieces of wood, and gave it to the peasant with these words: 'so long as thou art in possession of this purse, money will never fail thee. but if thou shouldst ever see me again, beware of speaking to me; for if thou speak thy luck will depart.' when the man got home he found the purse filled with dollars; and by virtue of its magical property he became the richest man in the parish. as soon as he found the purse always full, whatever he took out of it, he began to live in a spendthrift manner, and frequented the alehouse. one evening as he sat there he beheld the stranger, with a bottle in his hand, going round and gathering the drops which the guests shook from time to time out of their glasses. the rich peasant was surprised that one who had given him so much did not seem able to buy himself a single dram, but was reduced to this means of getting a drink. thereupon he went up to him and said: 'thou hast shown me more kindness than any other man ever did, and willingly i will treat thee to a little.' the words were scarce out of his mouth when he received such a blow on his head that he fell stunned to the ground; and when again he came to himself the stranger and his purse were both gone. from that day forward he became poorer and poorer, until he was reduced to absolute beggary." among other examples adduced by mr. hartland is a bohemian legend in which "the frau von hahnen receives for her services to a water-nix three pieces of gold, with the injunction to take care of them, and never to let them go out of the hands of her own lineage, else the whole family would fall into poverty. she bequeathed the treasures to her three sons; but the youngest son took a wife who with a light heart gave the fairy gold away. misery, of course, resulted from her folly, and the race of hahnen speedily came to an end."--but those who are interested in the study of comparative folk-lore would do well to read for themselves the whole paper, which is assuredly by far the most (if not indeed the only) comprehensive attempt that has yet been made in our language to treat scientifically the subject of fairy gifts to human beings. rabbinical legends, tales, fables, and aphorisms. i introductory. in the talmud are embodied those rules and institutions--interpretations of the civil and canonical laws contained in the old testament--which were transmitted orally to succeeding generations of the jewish priesthood until the general dispersion of the hebrew race. according to the rabbis, moses received the oral as well as the written law at mount sinai, and it was by him communicated to joshua, from whom it was transmitted through forty successive receivers. so long as the temple stood, it was deemed not only unnecessary, but absolutely unlawful, to commit these ancient and carefully-preserved traditions to writing; but after the second destruction of jerusalem, under hadrian, when the jewish people were scattered over the world, the system of oral transmission of these traditions from generation to generation became impracticable, and, to prevent their being lost, they were formed into a permanent record about a.d. , by rabbi jehudah the holy, who called his work _mishna_, or the secondary laws. about a hundred years later a commentary on it was written by rabbi jochonan, called _gemara_, or the completion, and these two works joined together are known as the (jerusalem) _talmud_, or directory. but this commentary being written in an obscure style, and omitting many traditions known farther east, another was begun by rabbi asche, who died a.d. , and completed by his disciples and followers about the year , which together with the mishna formed the babylonian talmud. both versions were first printed at venice in the th century--the jerusalem talmud, in one folio volume, about the year ; and the babylonian talmud, in twelve folio volumes, - . in the th century moses maimonides, a spanish rabbi, made an epitome, or digest, of all the laws and institutions of the talmud. such, in brief, is the origin and history of this famed compilation, which has been aptly described as an extraordinary monument of human industry, human wisdom, and human folly. by far the greater portion of the talmud is devoted to the ceremonial law, as preserved by oral tradition in the manner above explained; but it also comprises innumerable sayings or aphorisms of celebrated rabbis, together with narratives of the most varied character--legends regarding biblical personages, moral tales, fables, parables, and facetious stories. of the rabbinical legends, many are extremely puerile and absurd, and may rank with the extravagant and incredible monkish legends of mediæval times; some, however, are characterised by a richness of humour which one would hardly expect to meet with in such a work; while not a few of the parables, fables, and tales are strikingly beautiful, and will favourably compare with the same class of fictions composed by the ancient sages of hindústán. it is a singular circumstance, and significant as well as singular, that while the hebrew talmud was, as dr. barclay remarks, "periodically banned and often publicly burned, from the age of the emperor justinian till the time of pope clement viii," several of the best stories in the _gesta romanorum_, a collection of moral tales (or tales "moralised") which were read in christian churches throughout europe during the middle ages, are derived mediately or immediately from this great storehouse of rabbinical learning.[ ] [ ] in midsummer, , twenty waggon loads of copies of the talmud were burnt in france. this was in consequence of, and four years after, a public dispute between a certain donin (afterwards called nicolaus), a converted jew, with rabbi yehiel, of paris, on the contents of the talmud.--see _journal of philology_, vol. xvi, p. .--in the year , the famous jewish library in cremona was plundered, and , copies of the talmud and other jewish works were committed to the flames.--_the talmud_, by joseph barclay, ll.d., london, , p. . the traducers of the talmud, among other false assertions, have represented the rabbis as holding their own work as more important than even the old testament itself, and as fostering among the jewish people a spirit of intolerance towards all persons outside the pale of the hebrew religion. in proof of the first assertion they cite the following passage from the talmud: "the bible is like water, the mishna, like wine, the gemara, spiced wine; the law, like salt, the mishna, pepper, the gemara, balmy spice." but surely only a very shallow mind could conceive from these similitudes that the rabbis rated the importance of the bible as less than that of the talmud; yet an english church clergyman, in an article published in a popular periodical a few years since, reproduced this passage in proof of rabbinical presumption--evidently in ignorance of the peculiar style of oriental metaphor. what is actually taught by the rabbis in the passage in question, regarding the comparative merits of the bible and the talmud, is this: the bible is like water, the law is like salt; now, water and salt are indispensable to mankind. the mishna is like wine and pepper--luxuries, not necessaries of life; while the gemara is like spiced wine and balmy spices--still more refined luxuries, but not necessaries, like water and salt. with regard to the accusation of intolerance brought against the rabbis, it is worse than a misconception of words or phrases; it is a gross calumny, the more reprehensible if preferred by those who are acquainted with the teachings of the talmud, since they are thus guilty of wilfully suppressing the truth. in the following passages a broad, humane spirit of toleration is clearly inculcated: "it is our duty to maintain the heathen poor along with those of our own nation." "we must visit their sick, and administer to their relief, bury their dead," and so forth. "the heathens that dwell out of the land of israel ought not to be considered as idolators, since they only follow the customs of their fathers." "the pious men of the heathen will have their portion in the next world." "it is unlawful to deceive or over-reach any one, not even a heathen." "be circumspect in the fear of the lord, soft in speech, slow in wrath, kind and friendly to all, even to the heathen." alluding to the laws inimical to the heathen, rabbi mosha says: "what wise men have said in this respect was directed against the ancient idolators, who believed neither in a creation nor in a deliverance from egypt; but the nations among whom we live, whose protection we enjoy, must not be considered in this light, since they believe in a creation, the divine origin of the law, and many other fundamental doctrines of our religion. it is, therefore, not only our duty to shelter them against actual danger, but to pray for their welfare and the prosperity of their respective governments."[ ] [ ] introductory essay to _hebrew tales_, by hyman hurwitz; published at london in . let the impartial reader compare these teachings of the rabbis with the intolerant doctrines and practices of christian pastors, even in modern times as well as during the middle ages: when they taught that out of the pale of the church there could be no salvation; that no faith should be kept with heretics, or infidels: when catholics persecuted protestants, and protestants retaliated upon catholics: christians have burned each other, quite persuaded that all the apostles would have done as they did! it will probably occur to most readers, in connection with the rabbinical doctrine, that it is unlawful to over-reach any one, that the jews appear to have long ignored such maxims of morality. but it should be remembered that if they have earned for themselves, by their chicanery in mercantile transactions, an evil reputation, their ancestors in the bad old times were goaded into the practice of over-reaching by cunning those christian sovereigns and nobles who robbed them of their property by force and cruel tortures. moreover, where are the people to be found whose daily actions are in accordance with the religion they profess? at least, the rabbis, unlike the spiritual teachers of mediæval europe, did not openly inculcate immoral doctrines. ii legends of some biblical characters. there is, no doubt, very much in the talmud that possesses a recondite, spiritual meaning; but it would likely puzzle the most ingenious and learned modern rabbis to construe into mystical allegories such absurd legends regarding biblical personages as the following: _adam and eve._ adam's body, according to the jewish fathers, was formed of the earth of babylon, his head of the land of israel, and his other members of other parts of the world. originally his stature reached the firmament, but after his fall the creator, laying his hand upon him, lessened him very considerably.[ ] mr hershon, in his _talmudic miscellany_, says there is a notion among the rabbis that adam was at first possessed of a bi-sexual organisation, and this conclusion they draw from genesis i, , where it is said: "god created man in his own image, male-female created he him."[ ] these two natures it was thought lay side by side; according to some, the male on the right and the female on the left; according to others, back to back; while there were those who maintained that adam was created with a _tail_, and that it was from this appendage that eve was fashioned![ ] other jewish traditions (continues mr. hershon) inform us that eve was made from the thirteenth rib of the right side, and that she was not drawn out by the head, lest she should be vain; nor by the eyes, lest she should be wanton; nor by the mouth, lest she should be given to garrulity; nor by the ears, lest she should be an eavesdropper; nor by the hands, lest she should be intermeddling; nor by the feet, lest she should be a gadder; nor by the heart, lest she should be jealous;--but she was taken out from the side: yet, in spite of all these precautions, she had every one of the faults so carefully guarded against! [ ] commentators on the kurán say that adam's beard did not grow till after his fall, and it was the result of his excessive sorrow and penitence. strange to say, he was ashamed of his beard, till he heard a voice from heaven calling to him and saying: "the beard is man's ornament on earth; it distinguishes him from the feeble woman." thus we ought to--should we not?--regard our beards as the offshoots of what divines term "original sin"; and cherish them as mementoes of the fall of man. think of this, ye effeminate ones who use the razor! [ ] the notion of man being at first androgynous, or man-woman, was prevalent in most of the countries of antiquity. mr. baring-gould says that "the idea, that man without woman and woman without man are imperfect beings, was the cause of the great repugnance with which the jews and other nations of the east regarded celibacy." (_legends of the old testament_, vol. i, p. .) but this, i think, is not very probable. the aversion of asiatics from celibacy is rather to be ascribed to their surroundings in primitive times, when neighbouring clans were almost constantly at war with each other, and those chiefs and notables who had the greatest number of sturdy and valiant sons and grandsons would naturally be best able to hold their own against an enemy. the system of concubinage, which seems to have existed in the east from very remote times, is not matrimony, and undoubtedly had its origin in the passionate desire which, even at the present day, every asiatic has for male offspring. by far the most common opening of an eastern tale is the statement that there was a certain king, wise, wealthy, and powerful, but though he had many beautiful wives and handmaidens, heaven had not yet blest him with a son, and in consequence of this all his life was embittered, and he knew no peace day or night. [ ] professor charles marelle, of berlin, in an interesting little collection, _affenschwanz, &c.; variants orales de contes populaires, français et etrangers_ (braunschweig, ), gives an amusing story, based evidently on this rabbinical legend: the woman formed from adam's tail proved to be as mischievous as a monkey, and gave her spouse no peace; whereupon another was formed from a part of his breast, and she was a decided improvement on her sister. all the giddy girls in the world are descended from the woman who was made from adam's tail. adam's excuse for eating of the forbidden fruit, "she gave me of the tree and i did eat," is said to be thus ingeniously explained by the learned rabbis: by giving him of the _tree_ is meant that eve took a stout crab-tree cudgel, and gave her husband (in plain english) a sound rib-roasting, until he complied with her will!--the lifetime of adam, according to the book of genesis, ch. v, , was nine hundred and thirty years, for which the following legend (reproduced by the muslim traditionists) satisfactorily accounts: the lord showed to adam every future generation, with their heads, sages, and scribes.[ ] he saw that david was destined to live only three hours, and said: "lord and creator of the world, is this unalterably fixed?" the lord answered: "it was my original design." "how many years shall i live?" "one thousand." "are grants known in heaven?" "certainly." "i grant then seventy years of my life to david." what did adam therefore do? he gave a written grant, set his seal to it, and the same was done by the lord and metatron. [ ] you and i, good reader, must therefore have been seen by the father of mankind. the body of adam was taken into the ark by noah, and when at last it grounded on the summit of mount ararat [which it certainly never did!], noah and his three sons removed the body, "and they followed an angel, who led them to a place where the first father was to lie. shem (or melchizidek, for they are one), being consecrated by god to the priesthood, performed the religious rites, and buried adam at the centre of the earth, which is jerusalem. but some say he was buried by shem, along with eve in the cave of machpelah in hebron; others relate that noah on leaving the ark distributed the bones of adam among his sons, and that he gave the head to shem, who buried it in jerusalem."[ ] [ ] _legends of old testament characters_, by s. baring-gould, vol. i, pp. , . _cain and abel._ the hebrew commentators are not agreed regarding the cause of cain's enmity towards his brother abel. according to one tradition, cain and abel divided the whole world between them, one taking the moveable and the other the immoveable possessions. one day cain said to his brother: "the earth on which thou standest is mine; therefore betake thyself to the air." abel rejoined: "the garment which thou dost wear is mine; therefore take it off." from this there arose a conflict between them, which resulted in abel's death. rabbi huna teaches, however, that they contended for a twin sister of abel; the latter claimed her because she was born along with him, while cain pleaded his right of primogeniture. after adam's first-born had taken his brother's life, the sheep-dog of abel faithfully guarded his master's corpse from the attacks of beasts and birds of prey. adam and eve also sat near the body of their pious son, weeping bitterly, and not knowing how to dispose of his lifeless clay. at length a raven, whose mate had lately died, said to itself: "i will go and show to adam what he must do with his son's body," and accordingly scooped a hole in the ground and laid the dead raven therein, and covered it with earth. this having been observed by adam, he likewise buried the body of abel. for this service rendered to our great progenitor, we are told, the deity rewarded the raven, and no one is allowed to injure its young: "they have food in abundance, and their cry for rain is always heard."[ ] [ ] the muhammedan legend informs us that cain was afterwards slain by the blood-avenging angel. but the jewish traditionists say that god was at length moved by cain's contrition and placed on his brow a seal, which indicated that the fratricide was fully pardoned. adam happened to meet him, and observing the seal on his forehead, asked him how he had turned aside the wrath of god. he replied: "by confession of my sin and sincere repentance." on hearing this adam exclaimed, beating his breast: "woe is me! is the virtue of repentance so great and i knew it not?" _the planting of the vine._ when noah planted the vine, say the rabbis, satan slew a sheep, a lion, an ape, and a sow, and buried the carcases under it; and hence the four stages from sobriety to absolute drunkenness: before a man begins to drink, he is meek and innocent as a lamb, and as a sheep in the hand of the shearer is dumb; when he has drank enough, he is fearless as a lion, and says there is no one like him in the world; in the next stage, he is like an ape, and dances, jests, and talks nonsense, knowing not what he is doing and saying; when thoroughly drunken, he wallows in the mire like a sow.[ ] to this legend chaucer evidently alludes in the prologue to the maniciple's tale: i trow that ye have dronken _wine of ape_, and that is when men plaien at a strawe. [ ] a garbled version of this legend is found in the latin _gesta romanorum_ (it does not occur in the anglican versions edited by sir f. madden for the roxburghe club, and by mr. s. j. herrtage for the early english text society), tale , as follows: "josephus, in his work on 'the causes of things,' says that noah discovered the vine in a wood, and because it was bitter he took the blood of four animals, viz., of a lion, a lamb, a pig, and a monkey. this mixture he united with earth and made a kind of manure, which he deposited at the roots of the trees. thus the blood sweetened the fruit, with the juice of which he afterwards intoxicated himself, and lying naked was derided by his youngest son." _luminous jewels._ readers of that most fascinating collection of eastern tales, commonly but improperly called the _arabian nights' entertainments_, must be familiar with the remarkable property there ascribed to certain gems, of furnishing light in the absence of the sun. possibly the arabians adopted this notion from the rabbis, in whose legends jewels are frequently represented as possessing the light-giving property. for example, we learn that noah and his family, while in the ark, had no light besides what was obtained from diamonds and other precious stones. and abraham, who, it appears, was extremely jealous of his wives, built for them an enchanted city, of which the walls were so high as to shut out the light of the sun; an inconvenience which he easily remedied by means of a large basin full of rubies and other jewels, which shed forth a flood of light equal in brilliancy to that of the sun itself.[ ] [ ] luminous jewels figure frequently in eastern tales, and within recent years, from experiments and observations, the phosphorescence of the diamond, sapphire, ruby, and topaz has been fully established. _abraham's arrival in egypt._ when abraham journeyed to egypt he had among his _impedimenta_ a large chest. on reaching the gates of the capital the customs officials demanded the usual duties. abraham begged them to name the sum without troubling themselves to open the chest. they demanded to be paid the duty on clothes. "i will pay for clothes," said the patriarch, with an alacrity which aroused the suspicions of the officials, who then insisted upon being paid the duty on silk. "i will pay for silk," said abraham. hereupon the officials demanded the duty on gold, and abraham readily offered to pay the amount. then they surmised that the chest contained jewels, but abraham was quite as willing to pay the higher duty on gems, and now the curiosity of the officials could be no longer restrained. they broke open the chest, when, lo, their eyes were dazzled with the lustrous beauty of sarah! abraham, it seems, had adopted this plan for smuggling his lovely wife into the egyptian dominions. _the infamous citizens of sodom._ some of the rabbinical legends descriptive of the singular customs of the infamous citizens of sodom are exceedingly amusing--or amazing. the judges of that city are represented as notorious liars and mockers of justice. when a man had cut off the ear of his neighbour's ass, the judge said to the owner: "let him have the ass till the ear is grown again, that it may be returned to thee as thou wishest." the hospitality shown by the citizens to strangers within their gates was of a very peculiar kind. they had a particular bed for the weary traveller who entered their city and desired shelter for the night. if he was found to be too long for the bed, they reduced him to the proper size by chopping off so much of his legs; and if he was shorter than the bed, he was stretched to the requisite length.[ ] to preserve their reputation for hospitality, when a stranger arrived each citizen was required to give him a coin with his name written on it, after which the unfortunate traveller was refused food, and as soon as he had died of hunger every man took back his own money. it was a capital offence for any one to supply the stranger with food, in proof of which it is recorded that a poor man, having arrived in sodom, was presented with money and refused food by all to whom he made his wants known. it chanced that, as he lay by the roadside almost starved to death, he was observed by one of lot's daughters, who had compassion on him, and supplied him with food for many days, as she went to draw water for her father's household. the citizens, marvelling at the man's tenacity of life, set a person to watch him, and lot's daughter being discovered bringing him bread, she was condemned to death by burning. another kind-hearted maiden who had in like manner relieved the wants of a stranger, was punished in a still more dreadful manner, being smeared over with honey, and stung to death by bees. [ ] did the talmudist borrow this story from the greek legend of the famous robber of attica, procrustes, who is said to have treated unlucky travellers after the same barbarous fashion? it may be naturally supposed that travellers who were acquainted with the peculiar ways of the citizens of sodom would either pass by that city without entering its inhospitable gates, or, if compelled by business to go into the town, would previously provide themselves with food; but even this last precaution did not avail them against the wiles of those wicked people: a man from elam, journeying to a place beyond sodom, reached the infamous city about sunset. the stranger had with him an ass, bearing a valuable saddle to which was strapped a large bale of merchandise. being refused a lodging by each citizen of whom he asked the favour, our traveller made a virtue of necessity, and determined to pass the night, along with his animal and his goods, as best he might, in the streets. his preparations with this view were observed by a cunning and treacherous citizen, named hidud, who came up, and, accosting him courteously, desired to know whence he had come and whither he was bound. the stranger answered that he had come from hebron, and was journeying to such a place; that, being refused shelter by everybody, he was preparing to pass the night in the streets; and that he was provided with bread for his own use and with fodder for his beast. upon this hidud invited the stranger to his house, assuring him that his lodging should cost him nothing, while the wants of his beast should not be forgotten. the stranger accepted of hidud's proffered hospitality, and when they came to his house the citizen relieved the ass of the saddle and merchandise, and carefully placed them for security in his private closet. he then led the ass into his stable and amply supplied him with provender; and returning to the house, he set food before his guest, who, having supped, retired to rest. early in the morning the stranger arose, intending to resume his journey, but his host first pressed him to partake of breakfast, and afterwards persuaded him to remain at his house for two days. on the morning of the third day our traveller would no longer delay his departure, and hidud therefore brought out his beast, saying kindly to his guest: "fare thee well." "hold!" said the traveller. "where is my beautiful saddle of many colours and the strings attached thereto, together with my bale of rich merchandise?" "what sayest thou?" exclaimed hidud, in a tone of surprise. the stranger repeated his demand for his saddle and goods. "ah," said hidud, affably, "i will interpret thy dream: the strings that thou hast dreamt of indicate length of days to thee; and the many-coloured saddle of thy dream signifies that thou shalt become the owner of a beauteous garden of odorous flowers and rich fruit trees." "nay," returned the stranger, "i certainly entrusted to thy care a saddle and merchandise, and thou hast concealed them in thy house." "well," said hidud, "i have told thee the meaning of thy dream. my usual fee for interpreting a dream is four pieces of silver, but, as thou hast been my guest, i will only ask three pieces of thee." on hearing this very unjust demand the stranger was naturally enraged, and he accused hidud in the court of sodom of stealing his property. after each had stated his case, the judge decreed that the stranger must pay hidud's fee, since he was well known as a professional interpreter of dreams. hidud then said to the stranger: "as thou hast proved thyself such a liar, i must not only be paid my usual fee of four pieces of silver, but also the value of the two days' food with which i provided thee in my house." "i will cheerfully pay thee for the food," rejoined the traveller, "on condition that thou restore my saddle and merchandise." upon this the litigants began to abuse each other and were thrust into the street, where the citizens, siding with hidud, soundly beat the unlucky stranger, and then expelled him from the city. abraham once sent his servant eliezer to sodom with his compliments to lot and his family, and to inquire concerning their welfare. as eliezer entered sodom he saw a citizen beating a stranger, whom he had robbed of his property. "shame upon thee!" exclaimed eliezer to the citizen. "is this the way you act towards strangers?" to this remonstrance the man replied by picking up a stone and striking eliezer with it on the forehead with such force as to cause the blood to flow down his face. on seeing the blood the citizen caught hold of eliezer and demanded to be paid his fee for having freed him of impure blood. "what!" said eliezer, "am i to pay thee for wounding me?" "such is our law," returned the citizen. eliezer refused to pay, and the man brought him before the judge, to whom he made his complaint. the judge then decreed: "thou must pay this man his fee, since he has let thy blood; such is our law." "there, then," said eliezer, striking the judge with a stone, and causing him to bleed, "pay my fee to this man, i want it not," and then departed from the court.[ ] [ ] there are two italian stories which bear some resemblance to this queer legend: in the fourth novel of arienti an advocate is fined for striking his opponent in court, and "takes his change" by repeating the offence; and in the second novel of sozzini, scacazzone, after dining sumptuously at an inn, and learning from the waiter that the law of that town imposed a fine of ten livres for a blow on the face, provokes the landlord so that he gets a slap from him on the cheek, upon which he tells boniface to pay himself out of the fine he should have had to pay for the blow if charged before the magistrate, and give the rest of the money to the waiter.--a similar story is told in an arabian collection, of a half-witted fellow and the kází. _abraham and ishmael's wife._ hagar, the handmaid of sarah, was given as a slave to abraham, by her father, pharaoh, king of egypt, who said: "my daughter had better be a slave in the house of abraham than mistress in any other house." her son ishmael, it is said, took unto himself a wife of the daughters of moab. three years afterwards abraham set out to visit his son, having solemnly promised sarah (who, it thus appears, was still jealous of her former handmaid) that he would not alight from his camel. he reached ishmael's house about noontide, and found his wife alone. "where is ishmael?" inquired the patriarch. "he is gone into the wilderness with his mother to gather dates and other fruits." "give me, i pray thee, a little bread and water, for i am fatigued with travelling." "i have neither bread nor water," rejoined the inhospitable matron. "well," said the patriarch, "tell ishmael when he comes home that an old man came to see him, and recommends him to change the door-post of his house, for it is not worthy of him." on ishmael's return she gave him the message, from which he at once understood that the stranger was his father, and that he did not approve of his wife. accordingly he sent her back to her own people, and hagar procured him a wife from her father's house. her name was fatima. another period of three years having elapsed, abraham again resolved to visit his son; and having, as before, pledged his word to sarah that he would not alight at ishmael's house, he began his journey. when he arrived at his son's domicile he found fatima alone, ishmael being abroad, as on the occasion of his previous visit. but from fatima he received every attention, albeit she knew not that he was her husband's father. highly gratified with fatima's hospitality, the patriarch called down blessings upon ishmael, and returned home. fatima duly informed ishmael of what had happened in his absence, and then he knew that abraham still loved him as his son. this is one of the few rabbinical legends regarding biblical characters which do not exceed the limits of probability; and i confess i can see no reason why these interesting incidents should be considered as purely imaginary. as a rule, however, the talmudic legends of this kind must be taken not only _cum grano salis_, but with a whole bushel of that most necessary commodity, particularly such marvellous relations as that of rabbi jehoshua, when he informs us that the "ram caught in a thicket," which served as a substitute for sacrifice when abraham was prepared to offer up his son isaac, was brought by an angel out of paradise, where it pastured under the tree of life and drank from the brook which flows beneath it. this creature, the rabbi adds, diffused its perfume throughout the world.[ ] [ ] the commentators on the kurán have adopted this legend. but according to the kurán it was not isaac, but ishmael, the great progenitor of the arabs, who was to be sacrificed by abraham. _joseph and potiphar's wife._ the story of joseph and potiphar's wife, as related in the book of genesis, finds parallels in the popular tales and legends of many countries: the vengeance of "woman whose love is scorned," says a hindú writer, "is worse than poison"! but the rabbinical version is quite unique in representing the wife of potiphar as having aiders and abettors in carrying out her scheme of revenge: for some days after the pious young israelite had declined her amorous overtures, she looked so ill that her female friends inquired of her the cause, and having told them of her adventure with joseph, they said: "accuse him before thy husband, that he may be cast into prison." she desired them to accuse him likewise to their husbands, which they did accordingly; and their husbands went before pharaoh and complained of joseph's misconduct towards their wives.[ ] [ ] commentators on the kurán inform us that when joseph was released from prison, after so satisfactorily interpreting pharaoh's two dreams, potiphar was degraded from his high office. one day, while joseph was riding out to inspect a granary beyond the city, he observed a beggar-woman in the street, whose whole appearance, though most distressing, bore distinct traces of former greatness. joseph approached her compassionately, and held out to her a handful of gold. but she refused it, and said aloud: "great prophet of allah, i am unworthy of this gift, although my transgression has been the stepping-stone to thy present fortune." at these words joseph regarded her more closely, and, behold, it was zulaykhá, the wife of his lord. he inquired after her husband, and was told that he had died of sorrow and poverty soon after his deposition. on hearing this, joseph led zulaykhá to a relative of the king, by whom she was treated like a sister, and she soon appeared to him as blooming as at the time of his entrance into her house. he asked her hand of the king, and married her, with his permission. zulaykhá was the name of potiphar's wife, if we may believe muhammedan legends, and the daughter of the king of maghrab (or marocco), who gave her in marriage to the grand vazír of the king of egypt, and the beauteous princess was disgusted to find him, not only very old, but, as a modest english writer puts it, very mildly, "belonged to that unhappy class which a practice of immemorial antiquity in the east excluded from the pleasures of love and the hope of posterity." this device of representing potiphar as being what byron styles "a neutral personage" was, of course, adopted by muslim traditionists and poets in order to "white-wash" the frail zulaykhá.--there are extant many persian and turkish poems on the "loves" of _yúsuf wa zulaykhá_, most of them having a mystical signification, and that by the celebrated persian poet jámí is universally considered as by far the best. _joseph and his brethren._ wonderful stories are related of joseph and his brethren. simeon, if we may credit the talmudists, must have been quite a hercules in strength. the biblical narrative of simeon's detention by his brother joseph is brief but most expressive: "and he turned himself about from them and wept; and returned to them again, and communed with them, and took from them simeon, and bound him before their eyes."[ ] the talmudists condescend more minutely regarding this interesting incident: when joseph ordered seventy valiant men to put simeon in chains, they had no sooner approached him than he roared so loud that all the seventy fell down at his feet and broke their teeth! joseph then said to his son manasseh: "chain thou him"; whereupon manasseh dealt simeon a single blow and immediately overpowered him; upon which simeon exclaimed: "surely this was the blow of a kinsman!"--when joseph sent benjamin to prison, judah cried so loud that chushim, the son of dan, heard him in canaan and responded. joseph feared for his life, for judah was so enraged that he wept blood. some say that judah wore five garments, one over the other; but when he was angry his heart swelled so much that his five garments burst open. joseph cried so terribly that one of the pillars of his house fell in and was changed into sand. then judah said: "he is valiant, like one of us." [ ] gen. xlii, .--it does not appear from the sacred narrative why joseph selected his brother simeon as hostage. possibly simeon was most eager for his death, before he was cast into the dry well and then sold to the ishmaelites; and indeed both he and his brother levi seem to have been "a bad lot," judging from the dying jacob's description of them, gen. xlix, - . _jacob's sorrow._ but like a gem, among a heap of rubbish is the touching little story of how the news of joseph's being alive and the viceroy of egypt was conveyed to the aged and sorrow-stricken jacob. when the brethren had returned to the land of canaan, after their second expedition, they were perplexed how to communicate to their father the joyful intelligence that his long-lamented son still lived, fearing it might have a fatal effect on the old man if suddenly told to him. at length serach, the daughter of asher, proposed that she should convey the tidings to her grandfather in a song. accordingly she took her harp, and sang to jacob the whole story of joseph's life and his present greatness, and her music soothed his spirit; and when he fully realised that his son was yet alive, he fervently blessed her, and she was taken into paradise, without tasting of death.[ ] [ ] "jacob's grief" is proverbial in muslim countries. in the kurán, _sura_ xii, it is stated that the patriarch became totally blind through constant weeping for the loss of joseph, and that his sight was restored by means of joseph's garment, which the governor of egypt sent by his brethren.--in the _makamat_ of al-harírí, the celebrated arabian poet (a.d. - ), harith bin hamman is represented as saying that he passed a night of "jacobean sorrow," and another imaginary character is said to have "wept more than jacob when he lost his son." _moses and pharaoh._ the slaughter of the hebrew male children by the cruel command of the "pharoah who knew not joseph" was a precaution adopted, we are informed by the rabbis, in consequence of a dream which that monarch had, of an aged man who held a balance in his right hand; in one scale he placed all the sages and nobles of egypt, and in the other a little lamb, which weighed down them all. in the morning pharaoh told his strange dream to his counsellors, who were greatly terrified, and bi'lam, the son of beor, the magician, said: "this dream, o king, forebodes great affliction, which one of the children of israel will bring upon egypt." the king asked the soothsayer whether this threatened evil might not be avoided. "there is but one way of averting the calamity--cause every male child of hebrew parents to be slain at birth." pharaoh approved of this advice, and issued an edict accordingly. the egyptian monarch's kind-hearted daughter (whose name, by the way, was bathia), who rescued the infant moses from the common fate of the hebrew male children, was a leper, and consequently was not permitted to use the warm baths. but no sooner had she stretched forth her hand to the crying infant than she was healed of her leprosy, and, moreover, afterwards admitted bodily into paradise.[ ] [ ] muslims say that pharaoh's seven daughters were all lepers, and that bathia's sisters, as well as herself, were cured through her saving the infant moses. according to the hebrew traditionists, nine human beings entered paradise without having tasted of death, viz.: enoch; messiah; elias; eliezer, the servant of abraham; the servant of the king of kush; hiram, king of tyre; jaabez, the son of the prince, and the rabbi, juda; serach, the daughter of asher; and bathia, the daughter of pharaoh. the last of the race of genuine dublin ballad-singers, who rejoiced in the _nom de guerre_ of "zozimus" (ob. ), used to edify his street patrons with a slightly different reading of the romantic story of the finding of moses in the bulrushes, which has the merit of striking originality, to say the least: in egypt's land, upon the banks of nile, king pharaoh's daughter went to bathe in style; she tuk her dip, then went unto the land, and, to dry her royal pelt, she ran along the strand. a bulrush tripped her, whereupon she saw a smiling babby in a wad of straw; she tuk it up, and said, in accents mild, "_tare an' agers, gyurls, which av yez owns this child?_" the story of the finding of moses has its parallels in almost every country--in the greek and roman legends of perseus, cyrus, and romulus--in indian, persian, and arabian tales--and a babylonian analogue is given, as follows, by the rev. a. h. sayce, in the _folk-lore journal_ for : "sargon, the mighty monarch, the king of agané, am i. my mother was a princess; my father i knew not. my father's brother loved the mountain land. in the city of azipiranu, which on the bank of the euphrates lies, my mother, the princess, conceived me; in an inacessible spot she brought me forth. she placed me in a basket of rushes; with bitumen the door of my ark she closed. she launched me on the river, which drowned me not. the river bore me along; to akki, the irrigator, it brought me. akki, the irrigator, in the tenderness of his heart, lifted me up. then akki, the irrigator, as his gardener appointed me, and in my gardenership the goddess istar loved me. for forty-five years the kingdom i have ruled, and the black-headed (akkadian) race have governed." of the childhood of moses a curious story is told to account for his being in after life "slow of speech and slow of tongue": pharaoh was one day seated in his banqueting hall, with his queen at his right hand and bathia at his left, and around him were his two sons, bi'lam, the chief soothsayer, and other dignitaries of his court, when he took little moses (then three years old) upon his knee, and began to fondle him. the hebrew urchin stretched forth his hand and took the kingly crown from pharaoh's brow and deliberately placed it upon his own head. to the monarch and his courtiers this action of the child was ominous, and pharaoh inquired of his counsellors how, in their judgment, the audacious little hebrew should be punished. bi'lam, the sooth-sayer, answered: "do not suppose, o king, that this is necessarily the thoughtless action of a child; recollect thy dream which i did interpret for thee. but let us prove whether this child is possessed of understanding beyond his years, in this manner: let two plates, one containing fire, the other gold, be placed before the child; and if he grasp the gold, then is he of superior understanding, and should therefore be put to death." the plates, as proposed by the soothsayer, were placed before the child moses, who immediately seized upon the fire, and put it into his mouth, which caused him henceforward to stammer in his speech. it was no easy matter for moses and his brother to gain access to pharaoh, for his palace had gates, on each side; and before each gate stood no fewer than , tried warriors. therefore the angel gabriel introduced them by another way, and when pharaoh beheld moses and aaron he demanded to know who had admitted them. he summoned the guards, and ordered some of them to be beaten and others to be put to death. but next day moses and aaron returned, and the guards, when called in, exclaimed: "these men are sorcerers, for they cannot have come in through any of the gates." there were, however, much more formidable guardians of the royal palace: the gates were guarded by bears, lions, and other ferocious beasts, who suffered no one to pass unless they were fed with flesh. but when moses and aaron came, they gathered about them, and licked the feet of the prophets, accompanying them to pharaoh.--readers who are familiar with the _thousand and one nights_ and other asiatic story-books will recollect many tales in which palaces are similarly guarded. in the spurious "canterbury" _tale of beryn_ (taken from the first part of the old french romance of the chevalier berinus), which has been re-edited for the chaucer society, the palace-garden of duke isope is guarded by eight necromancers who look like "abominabill wormys, enough to frighte the hertiest man on erth," also by a white lion that had eaten five hundred men. iii legends of david and solomon, etc. muhammed, the great arabian lawgiver, drew very largely from the rabbinical legends in his composition of the kurán, every verse of which is considered by pious muslims as a miracle, or wonder (_ayet_). the well-known story of the spider weaving its web over the mouth of the cave in which muhammed and abú bekr had concealed themselves in their flight from mecca to medina was evidently borrowed from the talmudic legend of david's flight from the malevolence of saul: immediately after david had entered the cave of adullam, a spider spun its web across the opening. his pursuers presently passing that way were about to search the cave; but perceiving the spider's web, they naturally concluded that no one could have recently entered there, and thus was the future king of israel preserved from saul's vengeance. king david once had a narrow escape from death at the hands of goliath's brother ishbi. the king was hunting one morning when satan appeared before him in the form of a deer.[ ] david drew his bow, but missed him, and the feigned deer ran off at the top of his speed. the king, with true sportsman's instinct, pursued the deer, even into the land of the philistines--which, doubtless, was satan's object in assuming that form. it unluckily happened that ishbi, the brother of goliath, recognised in the person of the royal hunter the slayer of the champion of gath, and he immediately seized david, bound him neck and heels together, and laid him beneath his wine-press, designing to crush him to death. but, lo, the earth became soft, and the philistine was baffled. meanwhile, in the land of israel a dove with silver wings was seen by the courtiers of king david fluttering about, apparently in great distress, which signified to the wise men that their royal master was in danger of his life. abishai, one of david's counsellors, at once determined to go and succour his sovereign, and accordingly mounted the king's horse, and in a few minutes was in the land of the philistines. on arriving at ishbi's house, he discovered that gentleman's venerable mother spinning at the door. the old lady threw her distaff at the israelite, and, missing him, desired him to bring it back to her. abishai returned it in such a manner that she never afterwards required a distaff. this little incident was witnessed by ishbi, who, resolving to rid himself of one of his enemies forthwith, took david from beneath the wine-press, and threw him high into the air, expecting that he would fall upon his spear, which he had previously fixed into the ground. but abishai pronounced the great name (often referred to in the talmud), and david, in consequence, remained suspended between earth and sky. in the sequel they both unite against ishbi, and put him to death.[ ] [ ] that the arch-fiend could, and often did, assume various forms to lure men to their destruction was universally believed throughout europe during mediæval times and even much later; generally he appeared in the form of a most beautiful young woman; and there are still current in obscure parts of scotland wild legends of his having thus tempted even godly men to sin.--in asiatic tales rákshasas, ghúls (ghouls), and such-like demons frequently assume the appearance of heart-ravishing damsels in order to delude and devour the unwary traveller. in many of our old european romances fairies are represented as transforming themselves into the semblance of deer, to decoy into sequestered places noble hunters of whom they had become enamoured. [ ] the "great name" (in arabic, _el-ism el-aazam_, "the most great name"), by means of which king david was saved from a cruel death, as above, is often employed in eastern romances for the rescue of the hero from deadly peril, as well as to enable him to perform supernatural exploits. it was generally engraved on a signet-ring, but sometimes it was communicated orally to the fortunate hero by a holy man, or by a king of the genii--who was, of course, a good muslim. of solomon the wise there are, of course, many curious rabbinical legends. his reputation for superior sagacity extended over all the world, and the wisest men of other nations came humbly to him as pupils. it would appear that this great monarch was not less willing to afford the poorest of his subjects the benefit of his advice when they applied to him than able to solve the knottiest problem which the most keen-witted casuist could propound. one morning a man, whose life was embittered by a froward, shrewish wife, left his house to seek the advice of solomon. on the road he overtook another man, with whom he entered into conversation, and presently learned that he was also going to the king's palace. "pray, friend," said he, "what might be your business with the king? i am going to ask him how i should manage a wife who has long been froward." "why," said the other, "i employ a great many people, and have a great deal of capital invested in my business; yet i find i am losing more and more every year, instead of gaining; and i want to know the cause, and how it may be remedied." by-and-by they overtook a third man, who informed them that he was a physician whose practice had fallen off considerably, and he was proceeding to ask king solomon's advice as to how it might be increased. at length they reached the palace, and it was arranged among them that the man who had the shrewish wife should first present himself before the king. in a short time he rejoined his companions with a rather puzzled expression of countenance, and the others inquiring how he had sped, he answered: "i can see no wisdom in the king's advice; he simply advised me to _go to a mill_." the second man then went in, and returned quite as much perplexed as the first, saying: "of a truth, solomon is not so wise as he is reported to be; would you believe it?--all he said to me when i had told him my grievance was, _get up early in the morning_." the third man, somewhat discouraged by these apparently idle answers, entered the presence-chamber, and on coming out told his companions that the king had simply advised him to _be proud_. equally disappointed, the trio returned homeward together. they had not gone far when one of them said to the first man: "here is a mill; did not the king advise you to go into one?" the man entered, and presently ran out, exclaiming: "i've got it! i've got it! i am to beat my wife!" he went home and gave his spouse a sound thrashing, and she was ever afterwards a very obedient wife.[ ] the second man got up very early the next morning, and discovered a number of his servants idling about, and others loading a cart with goods from his warehouse, which they were stealing. he now understood the meaning of solomon's advice, and henceforward always rose early every morning, looked after his servants, and ultimately became very wealthy. the third man, on reaching home, told his wife to get him a splendid robe, and to instruct all the servants to admit no one into his presence without first obtaining his permission. next day, as he sat in his private chamber, arrayed in his magnificent gown, a lady sent her servant to demand his attendance, and he was about to enter the physician's chamber, as usual, without ceremony, when he was stopped, and told that the doctor's permission must be first obtained. after some delay the lady's servant was admitted, and found the great doctor seated among his books. on being desired to visit the lady, the doctor told the servant that he could not do so without first receiving his fee. in short, by this professional pride, the physician's practice rapidly increased, and in a few years he acquired a large fortune. and thus in each case solomon's advice proved successful.[ ] [ ] at the "mill" the man who was plagued with a bad wife doubtless saw some labourers threshing corn, since _grinding_ corn would hardly suggest the idea of _beating_ his provoking spouse.--by the way, this man had evidently never heard the barbarous sentiment, expressed in the equally barbarous english popular rhyme--composed, probably, by some beer-sodden bacon-chewer, and therefore, in those ancient times, _non inventus_-- a woman, a dog, and a walnut tree, the more you beat 'em, the better they be-- else, what need for him to consult king solomon about his paltry domestic troubles? [ ] a variant of this occurs in the _decameron_ of boccaccio, day ix, nov. , of which dunlop gives the following outline: two young men repair to jerusalem to consult solomon. one asks how he may be well liked, the other how he may best manage a froward wife. solomon advised the first to "love others," and the second to "repair to the mill." from this last counsel neither can extract any meaning; but it is explained on their road home, for when they came to the bridge of that name they meet a number of mules, and one of these animals being restive its master forced it on with a stick. the advice of solomon, being now understood, is followed, with complete success. among the innumerable tales current in muhammedan countries regarding the extraordinary sagacity of solomon is the following, which occurs in m. rené basset's _contes populaires berbèrs_ (paris, ): complaint was made to solomon that some one had stolen a quantity of eggs. "i shall discover him," said solomon. and when the people were assembled in the mosque (_sic_), he said: "an egg-thief has come in with you, and he has got feathers on his head." the thief in great fright raised his hand to his head, which solomon perceiving, he cried out: "there is the culprit--seize him!" there are many variants of this story in persian and indian collections, where a kází, or judge, takes the place of solomon, and it had found its way into our own jest-books early in the th century. thus in _tales and quicke answeres_, a man has a goose stolen from him and complains to the priest, who promises to find out the thief. on sunday the priest tells the congregation to sit down, which they do accordingly. then says he, "why are ye not all seated?" say they, "we _are_ all seated." "nay," quoth mass john, "but he that stole the goose sitteth not down." "but i _am_ seated," says the witless goose-thief. we learn from the old testament that the queen of sheba (or sába, whom the arabians identify with bilkís, queen of el-yemen) "came to prove the wisdom of solomon with hard questions," and that he answered them all. what were the questions--or riddles--the solution of which so much astonished the queen of sheba we are not told; but the rabbis inform us that, after she had exhausted her budget of riddles, she one day presented herself at the foot of solomon's throne, holding in one hand a bouquet of natural flowers and in the other a bouquet of artificial flowers, desiring the king to say which was the product of nature. now, the artificial flowers were so exactly modelled in imitation of the others that it was thought impossible for him to answer the question, from the distance at which she held the bouquets. but solomon was not to be baffled by a woman with scraps of painted paper: he caused a window in the audience-chamber to be opened, when a cluster of bees immediately flew in and alighted upon one of the bouquets, while not one of the insects fixed upon the other. by this device solomon was enabled to distinguish between the natural and the artificial flowers. again the queen of sheba endeavoured to outwit the sagacious monarch. she brought before him a number of boys and girls, apparelled all alike, and desired him to distinguish those of one sex from those of the other, as they stood before him. solomon caused a large basin full of water to be fetched in, and ordered them all to wash their hands. by this expedient he discovered the males from the females; since the boys merely washed their hands, while the girls washed also their arms.[ ] [ ] among the muhammedan legends concerning solomon and the queen of sheba, it is related that, after he had satisfactorily answered all her questions and solved her riddles, "before he would enter into more intimate relations with her, he desired to clear up a certain point respecting her, and to see whether she actually had cloven feet, as several of his demons would have him to believe; or whether they had only invented the defect from fear lest he should marry her, and beget children, who, as descendants of the genii [the mother of bilkís is said to have been of that race of beings], would be even more mighty than himself. he therefore caused her to be conducted through a hall, whose floor was of crystal, and under which water tenanted by every variety of fish was flowing. bilkís, who had never seen a crystal floor, supposed that there was water to be passed through, and therefore raised her robe slightly, when the king discovered to his great joy a beautifully shaped female foot. when his eye was satisfied, he called to her: 'come hither; there is no water here, but only a crystal floor; and confess thyself to the faith in the one only god.' bilkís approached the throne, which stood at the end of the hall, and in solomon's presence abjured the worship of the sun. solomon then married bilkís, but reinstated her as queen of sába, and spent three days in every month with her." the arabians and persians, who have many traditions regarding solomon, invariably represent him as adept in necromancy, and as being intimately acquainted with the language of beasts and birds. josephus, the great jewish historian, distinctly states that solomon possessed the art of expelling demons, that he composed such incantations also by which distempers are alleviated, and that he left behind him the manner of using exorcisms, by which they drive out demons, never to return. of course, josephus merely reproduces rabbinical traditions, and there can be no doubt but the arabian stories regarding solomon's magical powers are derived from the same source. it appears that solomon's signet-ring was the chief instrument with which he performed his numerous magical exploits.[ ] by its wondrous power he imprisoned ashmedai, the prince of devils; and on one occasion the king's curiosity to increase his store of magical knowledge cost him very dear--no less than the loss of his kingdom for a time. solomon was in the habit of daily plying ashmedai with questions, to all of which the fiend returned answers, furnishing the desired information, until one day the king asked him a particular question which the captive evil spirit flatly refused to answer, except on condition that solomon should lend him his signet-ring. the king's passion for magical knowledge overcame his prudence, and he handed his ring to the fiend, thereby depriving himself of all power over his captive, who immediately swallowed the monarch, and stretching out his wings, flew up into the air, and shot out his "inside passenger" four hundred leagues distant from jerusalem! ashmedai then assumed the form of solomon, and sat on his throne. meanwhile solomon was become a wanderer on the face of the earth, and it was then that he said (as it is written in the book of ecclesiasticus i, ): "this is the reward of all my labour"; which word _this_, one learned rabbi affirms to have reference to solomon's walking-staff, and another commentator, to his ragged coat; for the poor monarch went begging from door to door, and in every town he entered he always cried aloud: "i, the preacher, was king over israel in jerusalem!" but the people all thought him insane. at length, in the course of his wanderings, he reached jerusalem, where he cried, as usual: "i, the preacher, was king over israel in jerusalem!" and as he never varied in his recital, certain wise counsellors, reflecting that a fool is not constant in his tale, resolved to ascertain, if possible, whether the poor beggar was really king solomon. with this object they assembled, and taking the mendicant with them, they gave him the magical ring and led him into the throne-room.[ ] ashmedai no sooner caught sight of his old master than he shrieked wildly and flew away; and solomon resumed his mild and beneficent rule over the people of israel. the rabbis add, that ever afterwards, even to his dying day, solomon was afraid of the prince of devils, and could not go to sleep without having his bed surrounded by an armed guard, as it is written in the book of canticles, iii, , . [ ] according to the muslim legend, eight angels appeared before solomon in a vision, saying that allah had sent them to surrender to him power over them and the eight winds which were at their command. the chief of the angels then presented him with a jewel bearing the inscription: "to allah belong greatness and might." solomon had merely to raise this stone towards the heavens and these angels would appear, to serve him. four other angels next appeared, lords of all creatures living on the earth and in the waters. the angel representing the kingdom of birds gave him a jewel on which were inscribed the words: "all created things praise the lord." then came an angel who gave him a jewel conferring on the possessor power over earth and sea, having inscribed on it: "heaven and earth are servants of allah." lastly, another angel appeared and presented him with a jewel bearing these words (the formula of the muslim confession of faith): "there is no god but _the_ god, and muhammed is his messenger." this jewel gave solomon power over the spirit-world. solomon caused these four jewels to be set in a ring, and the first use to which he applied its magical power was to subdue the demons and genii.--it is perhaps hardly necessary to remark here, with reference to the fundamental doctrine of islám, said to have been engraved on the fourth jewel of solomon's ring, that according to the kurán, david, solomon, and all the biblical patriarchs and prophets were good muslims, for muhammed did not profess to introduce a new religion, but simply to restore the original and only true faith, which had become corrupt. [ ] we are not told here how the demon came to part with this safeguard of his power. the muslim form of the legend, as will be seen presently, is much more consistent, and corresponds generally with another rabbinical version, which follows the present one. another account informs us that the demon, having cajoled solomon out of possession of his magic ring, at once flung it into the sea and cast the king miles away. solomon came to a place called mash kerim, where he was made chief cook in the palace of the king of ammon, whose daughter, called naama, became enamoured of him, and they eloped to a far distant country. as naama was one day preparing a fish for broiling, she found solomon's ring in its stomach, which, of course, enabled him to recover his kingdom and to imprison the demon in a copper vessel, which he cast into the lake of tiberias.[ ] [ ] according to the muslim version, solomon's temporary degradation was in punishment for his taking as a concubine the daughter of an idolatrous king whom he had vanquished in battle, and, through her influence, bowing himself to "strange gods." before going to the bath, one day, he gave this heathen beauty his signet to take care of, and in his absence the rebellious genie sakhr, assuming the form of solomon, obtained the ring. the king was driven forth and sakhr ruled (or rather, misruled) in his stead; till the wise men of the palace, suspecting him to be a demon, began to read the book of the law in his presence, whereupon he flew away and cast the signet into the sea. in the meantime solomon hired himself to some fishermen in a distant country, his wages being two fishes each day. he finds his signet in the maw of one of the fish, and so forth. it may appear strange to some readers that the rabbis should represent the sagacious solomon in the character of a practitioner of the black art. but the circumstance simply indicates that solomon's acquirements in scientific knowledge were considerably beyond those of most men of his age; and, as in the case of our own friar bacon, his superior attainments were popularly attributed to magical arts. nature, it need hardly be remarked, is the only school of magic, and men of science are the true magicians. _unheard-of monsters._ the marvellous creatures which are described by pliny, and by our own old english writers, sir john mandeville and geoffrey of monmouth, are common-place in comparison with some of those mentioned in the talmud. even the monstrous _roc_ of the _arabian nights_ must have been a mere tom-tit compared with the bird which rabbi bar chama says he once saw. it was so tall that its head reached the sky, while its feet rested on the bottom of the ocean; and he affords us some slight notion of the depth of the sea by informing us that a carpenter's axe, which had accidentally fallen in, had not reached the bottom in seven years. the same rabbi saw "a frog as large as a village containing sixty houses." huge as this frog was, the snake that swallowed it must have been the very identical serpent of scandinavian mythology, which encircled the earth; yet a crow gobbled up this serpent, and then flew to the top of a cedar, which was as broad as sixteen waggons placed side by side.--sailors' "yarns," as they are spun to marvel-loving old ladies in our jest-books, are as nothing to the rabbinical accounts of "strange fish," some with eyes like the moon, others horned, and miles in length. not less wonderful are some four-footed creatures. the effigy of the unicorn, familiar to every schoolboy, on the royal arms of great britain, affords no adequate idea of the actual dimensions of that remarkable animal. since a unicorn one day old is as large as mount tabor, it may readily be supposed that noah could not possibly have got a full-grown one into the ark; he therefore secured it by its horn to the side, and thus the creature was saved alive. (the talmudist had forgot that the animals saved from the flood were in pairs.)[ ] the celebrated og, king of bashan, it seems, was one of the antediluvians, and was saved by riding on the back of the unicorn. the dwellers in brobdignag were pigmies compared with the renowned king og, since his footsteps were forty miles apart, and abraham's ivory bed was made of one of his teeth. moses, the rabbis tell us, was ten cubits high[ ] and his walking-stick ten cubits more, with the top of which, after jumping ten cubits from the ground, he contrived to touch the heel of king og; from which it has been concluded that that monarch was from two to three thousand cubits in height. but (remarks an english writer) a certain jewish traveller has shown the fallacy of this mensuration, by meeting with the end of one of the leg-bones of the said king og, and travelling four hours before he came to the other end. supposing this rabbi to have been a fair walker, the bone was sixteen miles long! [ ] is it possible that this "story" of the unicorn was borrowed and garbled from the ancient hindú legend of the deluge? "when the flood rose manu embarked in the ship, and the fish swam towards him, and he fastened the ship's cable to its horn." but in the hindú legend the fish (that is, brahma in the form of a great fish) tows the vessel, while in the talmudic legend the ark of noah takes the unicorn in tow. [ ] in a manuscript preserved in the lambeth palace library, of the time of edward iv, the height of moses is said to have been "xiij. fote and viij. ynches and half"; and the reader may possibly find some amusement in the "longitude of men folowyng," from the same veracious work: "cryste, vj. fote and iij. ynches. our lady, vj. fote and viij. ynches. crystoferus, xvij. fote and viij. ynches. king alysaunder, iiij. fote and v. ynches. colbronde, xvij. fote and ij. ynches and half. syr ey., x. fote iij. ynches and half. seynt thomas of caunterbery, vij. fote, save a ynche. long mores, a man of yrelonde borne, and servaunt to kyng edward the iiijth., vj. fote and x. ynches and half."--_reliquæ antiquæ_, vol i, p. . iv moral and entertaining tales. if most of the rabbinical legends cited in the preceding sections have served simply to amuse the general reader--though to those of a philosophical turn they must have been suggestive of the depths of imbecility to which the human mind may descend--the stories, apologues, and parables contained in the talmud, of which specimens are now to be presented, are calculated to furnish wholesome moral instruction as well as entertainment to readers of all ranks and ages. in the art of conveying impressive moral lessons, by means of ingenious fictions, the hebrew sages have never been excelled, and perhaps they are rivalled only by the ancient philosophers of india. the significant circumstance has already been noticed (in the introductory section) that several of the most striking tales in european mediæval collections--particularly the _disciplina clericalis_ of petrus alfonsus and the famous _gesta romanorum_--are traceable to talmudic sources. little did the priest-ridden, ignorant, marvel-loving laity of european countries imagine that the moral fictions which their spiritual directors recited every sunday for their edification were derived from the wise men of the despised hebrew race! but, indeed, there is reason to believe that few mere casual readers even at the present day have any notion of the extent to which the popular fictions of europe are indebted to the old jewish rabbis. like the sages of india, the hebrew fathers in their teachings strongly inculcate the duty of active benevolence--the liberal giving of alms to the poor and needy; and, indeed, the wealthy jews are distinguished at the present day by their open-handed liberality in support of the public charitable institutions of the several countries of which they are subjects. "what you increase bestow on good works," says the hindú sage. "charity is to money what salt is to meat," says the hebrew philosopher: if the wealthy are not charitable their riches will perish. in illustration of this maxim is the story of _rabbi jochonan and the poor woman._ one day rabbi jochonan was riding outside the city of jerusalem, followed by his disciples, when he observed a poor woman laboriously gathering the grain that dropped from the mouths of the horses of the arabs as they were feeding. looking up and recognising jochonan, she cried: "o rabbi, assist me!" "who art thou?" demanded jochonan. "i am the daughter of nakdimon, the son of guryon." "why, what has become of thy father's money--the dowry thou receivedst on thy wedding day?" "ah, rabbi, is there not a saying in jerusalem, 'the salt was wanting to the money?'" "but thy husband's money?" "that followed the other: i have lost them both." the good rabbi wept for the poor woman and helped her. then said he to his disciples, as they continued on their way: "i remember that when i signed that woman's marriage contract her father gave her as a dowry one million of gold dínars, and her husband was a man of considerable wealth besides." * * * * * the ill-fated riches of nakdimon are referred to in another tale, as a lesson to those who are not charitable according to their means: _a safe investment._ rabbi taraphon, though a very wealthy man, was exceedingly avaricious, and seldom gave help to the poor. once, however, he involuntarily bestowed a considerable sum in relieving the distressed. rabbi akiba came to him one day, and told him that he knew of certain real estate, which would be a very profitable investment. rabbi taraphon handed him dínars in gold to be so invested, and rabbi akiba forthwith distributed the whole among the poor. by-and-by, rabbi taraphon, happening to meet his friend, desired to know where the real estate was in which his money had been invested. rabbi akiba took him to the college, where he caused one of the boys to read aloud the th psalm, and on his reaching the th verse, "he distributeth, he giveth to the needy, his righteousness endureth for ever"--"there," said he, "thou seest where thy money is invested." "and why hast thou done this?" demanded rabbi taraphon. "hast thou forgotten," answered his friend, "how nakdimon, the son of guryon, was punished because he gave not according to his means?" "but why didst thou not tell me of thy purpose? i could myself have bestowed my money on the poor." "nay," rejoined rabbi akiba, "it is a greater virtue to cause another to give than to give one's self." * * * * * resignation to the divine will under sore family bereavements has, perhaps, never been more beautifully illustrated than by the incident related of the rabbi meir. this little tale, as follows, is one of three talmudic narratives which the poet coleridge has translated:[ ] _the jewels._ the celebrated teacher rabbi meir sat during the whole of the sabbath day in the public school instructing the people. during his absence from the house his two sons died, both of them of uncommon beauty, and enlightened in the law. his wife bore them to her bed-chamber, laid them upon the marriage-bed, and spread a white covering over their bodies. in the evening the rabbi meir came home. "where are my two sons," he asked, "that i may give them my blessing? i repeatedly looked round the school, and i did not see them there." she reached him a goblet. he praised the lord at the going out of the sabbath, drank, and again asked: "where are my sons, that they too may drink of the cup of blessing?" "they will not be afar off," she said, and placed food before him that he might eat. he was in a gladsome and genial mood, and when he had said grace after the meal, she thus addressed him: "rabbi, with thy permission, i would fain propose to thee one question." "ask it then, my love," he replied. "a few days ago a person entrusted some jewels into my custody, and now he demands them of me; should i give them back again?" "this is a question," said the rabbi, "which my wife should not have thought it necessary to ask. what! wouldst thou hesitate or be reluctant to restore to every one his own?" "no," she replied; "but yet i thought it best not to restore them without acquainting you therewith." she then led him to the chamber, and, stepping to the bed, took the white covering from the dead bodies. "ah, my sons--my sons!" thus loudly lamented the father. "my sons! the light of my eyes, and the light of my understanding! i was your father, but ye were my teachers in the law." the mother turned away and wept bitterly. at length she took her husband by the hand, and said: "rabbi, didst thou not teach me that we must not be reluctant to restore that which was entrusted to our keeping? see--'the lord gave, the lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the lord!'"[ ] "blessed be the name of the lord!" echoed rabbi meir. "and blessed be his name for thy sake too, for well is it written: 'whoso hath found a virtuous wife, hath a greater prize than rubies; she openeth her mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of kindness.'"[ ] [ ] _the friend_, ed. , vol. ii, p. . [ ] book of job, i, . [ ] prov. xxxi, , . * * * * * the originals of not a few of the early italian tales are found in the talmud--the author of the _cento novelle antiche_, boccaccio, sacchetti, and other novelists having derived the groundwork of many of their fictions from the _gesta romanorum_ and the _disciplina clericalis_ of peter alfonsus, which are largely composed of tales drawn from eastern sources. the rd novel of sacchetti, in which a young man carves a capon in a whimsical fashion, finds its original in the following talmudic story: _the capon-carver._ it happened that a citizen of jerusalem, while on a distant provincial journey on business, was suddenly taken ill, and, feeling himself to be at the point of death, he sent for the master of the house, and desired him to take charge of his property until his son should arrive to claim it; but, in order to make sure that the claimant was really the son, he was not to deliver up the property until the applicant had proved his wisdom by performing three ingenious actions. shortly after having given his friend these injunctions the merchant died, and the melancholy intelligence was duly transmitted to his son, who in the course of a few weeks left jerusalem to claim his property. on reaching the town where his father's friend resided, he began to inquire of the people where his house was situated, and, finding no one who could, or would, give him this necessary information, the youth was in sore perplexity how to proceed in his quest, when he observed a man carrying a heavy load of firewood. "how much for that wood?" he cried. the man readily named his price. "thou shalt have it," said the stranger. "carry it to the house of ---- [naming his father's friend], and i will follow thee." well satisfied to have found a purchaser on his own terms, the man at once proceeded as he was desired, and on arriving at the house he threw down his load before the door. "what is all this?" demanded the master. "i have not ordered any wood." "perhaps not," said the man; "but the person behind me has bought it, and desired me to bring it hither." the stranger had now come up, and, saluting the master of the house, told him who he was, and explained that, since he could not ascertain where his house was situated by inquiries of people in the streets, he had adopted this expedient, which had succeeded. the master praised the young man's ingenuity, and led him into the house. when the several members of the family, together with the stranger, were assembled round the dinner-table, the master of the house, in order to test the stranger's ingenuity, desired his guest to carve a dish containing five chickens, and to distribute a portion to each of the persons who were present--namely, the master and mistress, their two daughters and two sons, and himself. the young stranger acquitted himself of the duty in this manner: one of the chickens he divided between the master and the mistress; another between the two daughters; the third between the two sons; and the remaining two he took for his own share. "this visitor of mine," thought the master, "is a curious carver; but i will try him once more at supper." various amusements made the afternoon pass very agreeably to the stranger, until supper-time, when a fine capon was placed upon the table, which the master desired his guest to carve for the company. the young man took the capon, and began to carve and distribute it thus: to the master of the house he gave the head; to the mistress, the inward part; to the two daughters, each a wing; to the two sons, each a leg; and the remainder he took for himself. after supper the master of the house thus addressed his visitor: "friend, i thought thy carving at dinner somewhat peculiar, but thy distribution of the capon this evening seems to me extremely whimsical. give me leave to ask, do the citizens of jerusalem usually carve their capons in this fashion?" "master," said the youth, "i will gladly explain my system of carving, which does appear to you so strange. at dinner i was requested to divide five chickens among seven persons. this i could not do otherwise than arithmetically; therefore, i adopted the perfect number _three_ as my guide--thou, thy wife, and one chicken made _three_; thy two daughters and one chicken made _three_; thy two sons and one chicken made _three_; and i had to take the remaining chickens for my own share, as two chickens and myself made _three_." "very ingenious, i must confess," said the master. "but how dost thou explain thy carving of the capon?" "that, master, i performed according to what appeared to me the fitness of things. i gave the head of the capon to thee, because thou art the head of this house; i gave the inward part to the mistress, as typical of her fruitfulness; thy daughters are both of marriageable years, and, as it is natural to wish them well settled in life, i gave each of them a wing, to indicate that they should soon fly abroad; thy two sons are the pillars of thy house, and to them i gave the legs, which are the supporters of the animal; while to myself i took that part of the capon which most resembles a boat, in which i came hither, and in which i intend to return." from these proofs of his ingenuity the master was now fully convinced that the stranger was the true son of his late friend the merchant, and next morning he delivered to him his father's property.[ ] [ ] the droll incident of dividing the capon, besides being found in sacchetti, forms part of a popular story current in sicily, and is thus related in professor crane's _italian popular tales_, p. ff., taken from prof. comparetti's _fiabe, novelle, e racconti_ (palermo, ), no. , "la ragazza astuta": once upon a time there was a huntsman who had a wife and two children, a son and a daughter; and all lived together in a wood where no one ever came, and so they knew nothing about the world. the father alone sometimes went to the city, and brought back the news. the king's son once went hunting, and lost himself in that wood, and while he was seeking his way it became night. he was weary and hungry. imagine how he felt. but all at once he saw a light shining in the distance. he followed it and reached the huntsman's house, and asked for lodging and something to eat. the huntsman recognised him at once and said: "highness, we have already supped on our best; but if we can find anything for you, you must be satisfied with it. what can we do? we are so far from the towns that we cannot procure what we need every day." meanwhile he had a capon cooked for him. the prince did not wish to eat it alone, so he called all the huntsman's family, and gave the head of the capon to the father, the back to the mother, the legs to the son, and the wings to the daughter, and ate the rest himself. in the house there were only two beds, in the same room. in one the husband and wife slept, in the other the brother and sister. the old people went and slept in the stable, giving up their bed to the prince. when the girl saw that the prince was asleep, she said to her brother: "i will wager that you do not know why the prince divided the capon among us in the manner he did." "do you know? tell me why." "he gave the head to our father, because he is the head of the family; the back to our mother, because she has on her shoulders all the affairs of the house; the legs to you, because you must be quick in performing the errands which are given you; and the wings to me, to fly away and catch a husband." the prince pretended to be asleep, but he was awake and heard these words, and perceived that the girl had much judgment, and as she was also pretty, he fell in love with her [and ultimately married this clever girl]. v moral tales, fables, and parables. reverence for parents, which is still a marked characteristic of eastern races, has ever been strongly inculcated by the jewish fathers; and the noble conduct of damah, the son of nethuna, towards both his father and mother, is adduced in the talmud as an example for all times and every condition of life: _a dutiful son._ the mother of damah was unfortunately insane, and would frequently not only abuse him but strike him in the presence of his companions; yet would not this dutiful son suffer an ill word to escape his lips, and all he used to say on such occasions was: "enough, dear mother, enough." one of the precious stones attached to the high priest's sacerdotal garments was once, by some means or other, lost. informed that the son of nethuna had one like it, the priests went to him and offered him a very large price for it. he consented to take the sum offered, and went into an adjoining room to fetch the jewel. on entering he found his father asleep, his foot resting on the chest wherein the gem was deposited. without disturbing his father, he went back to the priests and told them that he must for the present forego the large profit he could make, as his father was asleep. the case being urgent, and the priests thinking that he only said so to obtain a larger price, offered him more money. "no," said he; "i would not even for a moment disturb my father's rest for all the treasures in the world." the priests waited till the father awoke, when damah brought them the jewel. they gave him the sum they had offered him the second time, but the good man refused to take it. "i will not," said he, "barter for gold the satisfaction of having done my duty. give me what you offered at first, and i shall be satisfied." this they did, and left him with a blessing. _an ingenious will._ one of the best rabbinical stories of common life is of a wise man who, residing at some distance from jerusalem, had sent his son to the holy city in order to complete his education, and, dying during his son's absence, bequeathed the whole of his estate to one of his own slaves, on the condition that he should allow his son to select any one article which pleased him for an inheritance. surprised, and naturally angry, at such gross injustice on the part of his father in preferring a slave for his heir in place of himself, the young man sought counsel of his teacher, who, after considering the terms of the will, thus explained its meaning and effect: "by this action thy father has simply secured thy inheritance to thee: to prevent his slaves from plundering the estate before thou couldst formally claim it, he left it to one of them, who, believing himself to be the owner, would take care of the property. now, what a slave possesses belongs to his master. choose, therefore, the slave for thy portion, and then possess all that was thy father's." the young man followed his teacher's advice, took possession of the slave, and thus of his father's wealth, and then gave the slave his freedom, together with a considerable sum of money.[ ] [ ] this story seems to be the original of a french popular tale, in which a gentleman secures his estate for his son by a similar device. the gentleman, dying at paris while his son was on his travels, bequeathed all his wealth to a convent, on condition that they should give his son "whatever they chose." on the son's return he received from the holy fathers a very trifling portion of the paternal estate. he complained to his friends of this injustice, but they all agreed that there was no help for it, according to the terms of his father's will. in his distress he laid his case before an eminent lawyer, who told him that his father had adopted this plan of leaving his estate in the hands of the churchmen in order to prevent its misappropriation during his absence. "for," said the man of law, "your father, by will, has left you the share of his estate which the convent should choose (_le partie qui leur plairoit_), and it is plain that what they chose was that which they kept for themselves. all you have to do, therefore, is to enter an action at law against the convent for recovery of that portion of your father's property which they have retained, and, take my word for it, you will be successful." the young man accordingly sued the churchmen and gained his cause. * * * * * and now we proceed to cite one or two of the rabbinical fables, in the proper signification of the term--namely, moral narratives in which beasts or birds are the characters. although it is generally allowed that fable was the earliest form adopted for conveying moral truths, yet it is by no means agreed among the learned in what country of remote antiquity it originated. dr. landsberger, in his erudite introduction to _die fabeln des sophos_ ( ), contends that the jews were the first to employ fables for purposes of moral instruction, and that the oldest fable extant is jotham's apologue of the trees desiring a king (book of judges, ix. - ).[ ] according to dr. landsberger, the sages of india were indebted to the hebrews for the idea of teaching by means of fables, probably during the reign of solomon, who is believed to have had commerce with the western shores of india.[ ] we are told by josephus that solomon "composed of parables and similitudes three thousand; for he spoke a parable upon every sort of tree, from the hyssop to the cedar; and, in like manner, also about beasts, about all sorts of living creatures, whether upon earth, or in the seas, or in the air; for he was not unacquainted with any of their natures, nor omitted inquiring about them, but described them all like a philosopher, and demonstrated his exquisite knowledge of their several properties." these fables of solomon, if they were ever committed to writing, had perished long before the time of the great jewish historian; but there seems no reason to doubt the fact that the wise king of israel composed many works besides those ascribed to him in the old testament. the general opinion among european orientalists is that fable had its origin in india; and the hindús themselves claim the honour of inventing our present system of numerals (which came into europe through the arabians, who derived it from the hindús), the game of chess, and the fables of vishnusarman (the _panchatantra_ and its abridgment, the _hitopadesa_). [ ] but the book of judges was probably edited after the time of hesiod, whose fable of the hawk and the nightingale (_works and days_, b. i, v. ) must be considered as the oldest extant fable. [ ] this theory, though perhaps somewhat ingenious, is generally considered as utterly untenable. it is said that rabbi meir knew upwards of three hundred fables relating to the fox alone; but of these only three fragments have been preserved, and this is one of them, according to mr. polano's translation: _the fox and the bear._ a fox said to a bear: "come, let us go into this kitchen; they are making preparations for the sabbath, and we shall be able to find food." the bear followed the fox, but, being bulky, he was captured and punished. angry thereat, he designed to tear the fox to pieces, under the pretence that the forefathers of the fox had once stolen his food, wherein occurs the saying, "the fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge."[ ] "nay," said the fox, "come with me, my good friend; let us not quarrel. i will lead thee to another place where we shall surely find food." the fox then led the bear to a deep well, where two buckets were fastened together by a rope, like a balance. it was night, and the fox pointed to the moon reflected in the water, saying: "here is a fine cheese; let us descend and partake of it." the fox entered his bucket first, but being too light to balance the weight of the bear, he took with him a stone. as soon as the bear had got into the other bucket, however, the fox threw the stone away, and consequently the bear descended to the bottom and was drowned. [ ] ezekiel, xviii, . * * * * * the reader will doubtless recognise in this fable the original of many modern popular tales having a similar catastrophe. it will also be observed that the vulgar saying of the moon being "a fine cheese" is of very considerable antiquity.[ ] [ ] this wide-spread fable is found in the _disciplina clericalis_ (no. ) and in the collection of marie de france, of the th century; and it is one of the many spurious esopic fables. and here is another rabbinical fable of a fox--a very common character in the apologues of most countries; although the "moral" appended to this one by the pious fabulist is much more striking than is sometimes the case of those deduced from beast-fables: _the fox in the garden._ a fox once came near a very fine garden, where he beheld lofty trees laden with fruit that charmed the eye. such a beautiful sight, added to his natural greediness, excited in him the desire of possession. he fain would taste the forbidden fruit; but a high wall stood between him and the object of his wishes. he went about in search of an entrance, and at last found an opening in the wall, but it was too small to admit his body. unable to penetrate, he had recourse to his usual cunning. he fasted three days, and became sufficiently reduced in bulk to crawl through the small aperture. having effected an entrance, he carelessly roved about in this delightful region, making free with its exquisite produce and feasting on its more rare and delicious fruits. he remained for some time, and glutted his appetite, when a thought occurred to him that it was possible he might be observed, and in that case he should pay dearly for his feast. he therefore retired to the place where he had entered, and attempted to get out, but to his great consternation he found his endeavours vain. he had by indulgence grown so fat and plump that the same space would no more admit him. "i am in a fine predicament," said he to himself. "suppose the master of the garden were now to come and call me to account, what would become of me? i see my only chance of escape is to fast and half starve myself." he did so with great reluctance, and after suffering hunger for three days, he with difficulty made his escape. as soon as he was out of danger, he took a farewell view of the scene of his late pleasure, and said: "o garden! thou art indeed charming, and delightful are thy fruits--delicious and exquisite; but of what benefit art thou to me? what have i now for all my labour and cunning? am i not as lean as i was before?"--it is even so with man, remarks the talmudist. naked he comes into the world--naked must he go out of it, and of all his toils and labour he can carry nothing with him save the fruits of his righteousness. * * * * * from fables to parables the transition is easy; and many of those found in the talmud are exceedingly beautiful, and are calculated to cause even the most thoughtless to reflect upon his way of life. let us first take the parable of the desolate island, one of those adapted by the monkish compilers of european mediæval tales, to which reference has been made in the preceding sections: _the desolate island._ a very wealthy man, who was of a kind, benevolent disposition, desired to make his slave happy. he therefore gave him his freedom, and presented him with a shipload of merchandise. "go," said he, "sail to different countries; dispose of these goods, and that which thou mayest receive for them shall be thy own." the slave sailed away upon the broad ocean, but before he had been long on his voyage a storm overtook him, his ship was driven on a rock and went to pieces; all on board were lost--all save this slave, who swam to an island near by. sad, despondent, with nothing in this world, he traversed this island until he approached a large and beautiful city, and many people approached him, joyously shouting: "welcome! welcome! long live the king!" they brought a rich carriage, and, placing him therein, escorted him to a magnificent palace, where many servants gathered about him--clothing him in royal garments, and addressing him as their sovereign, and expressing their obedience to his will. the slave was amazed and dazzled, believing that he was dreaming, and that all he saw, heard, and experienced was mere passing fantasy. becoming convinced of the reality of his condition, he said to some men about him, for whom he entertained a friendly feeling: "how is this? i cannot understand it. that you should thus elevate and honour a man whom you know not--a poor, naked wanderer, whom you have never seen before--making him your ruler--causes me more wonder than i can readily express." "sire," they replied, "this island is inhabited by spirits. long since they prayed to god to send them yearly a son of man to reign over them, and he has answered their prayers. yearly he sends them a son of man, whom they receive with honour and elevate to the throne; but his dignity and power end with the year. with its close the royal garments are taken from him, he is placed on board a ship, and carried to a vast and desolate island, where, unless he has previously been wise and prepared for the day, he will find neither friend nor subject, and be obliged to pass a weary, lonely, miserable life. then a new king is selected here, and so year follows year. the kings who preceded thee were careless and indifferent, enjoying their power to the full, and thinking not of the day when it should end. be wise, then. let our words find rest within thy heart." the newly-made king listened attentively to all this, and felt grieved that he should have lost even the time he had already spent for making preparations for his loss of power. he addressed the wise man who had spoken, saying: "advise me, o spirit of wisdom, how i may prepare for the days which will come upon me in the future." "naked thou camest to us," replied the other, "and naked thou wilt be sent to the desolate island, of which i have told thee. at present thou art king, and mayest do as pleaseth thee; therefore, send workmen to this island, let them build houses, till the ground, and beautify the surroundings. the barren soil will be changed into fruitful fields, people will journey thither to live, and thou wilt have established a new kingdom for thyself, with subjects to welcome thee in gladness when thou shalt have lost thy power here. the year is short, the work is long; therefore be earnest and energetic." the king followed this advice. he sent workmen and materials to the desolate island, and before the close of his temporary power it had become a blooming, pleasant, and attractive spot. the rulers who had preceded him had anticipated the close of their power with dread, or smothered all thought of it in revelry; but he looked forward to it as a day of joy, when he should enter upon a career of permanent peace and happiness. the day came; the freed slave who had been made a king was deprived of his authority; with his power he lost his royal garments; naked he was placed upon a ship, and its sails were set for the desolate island. when he approached its shores, however, the people whom he had sent there came to meet him with music, song, and great joy. they made him a prince among them, and he lived ever after in pleasantness and peace. the talmudist thus explains this beautiful parable of the desolate island: the wealthy man of kindly disposition is god, and the slave to whom he gave freedom is the soul which he gives to man. the island at which the slave arrives is the world: naked and weeping he appears to his parents, who are the inhabitants that greet him warmly and make him their king. the friends who tell him of the ways of the country are his good inclinations. the year of his reign is his span of life, and the desolate island is the future world, which he must beautify by good deeds--the workmen and materials--or else live lonely and desolate for ever.[ ] [ ] this is similar to the th parable in the spiritual romance of barlaam and joasaph, written in greek, probably in the first half of the th century, and ascribed to a monk called john of damascus. most of the matter comprised in this interesting work (which has not been translated into english) was taken from well-known buddhist sources, and m. zotenberg and other eminent scholars are of the opinion that it was first composed, probably in egypt, before the promulgation of islám. the th parable is to this effect: the citizens of a certain great city had an ancient custom, to take a stranger and obscure man, who knew nothing of the city's laws and traditions, and to make him king with absolute power for a year's space; then to rise against him all unawares, while he, all thoughtless, was revelling and squandering and deeming the kingdom his for ever; and stripping off his royal robes, lead him naked in procession through the city, and banish him to a long-uninhabited and great island, where, worn down for want of food and raiment, he bewailed this unexpected change. now, according to this custom, a man was chosen whose mind was furnished with much understanding, who was not led away by sudden prosperity, and was thoughtful and earnest in soul as to how he should best order his affairs. by close questioning, he learned from a wise counsellor the citizens' custom, and the place of exile, and was instructed how he might secure himself. when he knew this, and that he must soon go to the island and leave his acquired and alien kingdom to others, he opened the treasures of which he had for the time free and unrestricted use, and took an abundant quantity of gold and silver and precious stones, and giving them to some trusty servants sent them before him to the island. at the appointed year's end the citizens rose and sent him naked into exile, like those before him. but the other foolish and flitting kings had perished miserably of hunger, while he who had laid up that treasure beforehand lived in lusty abundance and delight, fearless of the turbulent citizens, and felicitating himself on his wise forethought. think, then, the city this vain and deceitful world, the citizens the principalities and powers of the demons, who lure us with the bait of pleasure, and make us believe enjoyment will last for ever, till the sudden peril of death is upon us.--this parable (which seems to be of purely hebrew origin) is also found in the old spanish story-book _el conde lucanor_. closely allied to the foregoing is the characteristic jewish parable of _the man and his three friends._ a certain man had three friends, two of whom he loved dearly, but the other he lightly esteemed. it happened one day that the king commanded his presence at court, at which he was greatly alarmed, and wished to procure an advocate. accordingly he went to the two friends whom he loved: one flatly refused to accompany him, the other offered to go with him as far as the king's gate, but no farther. in his extremity he called upon the third friend, whom he least esteemed, and he not only went willingly with him, but so ably defended him before the king that he was acquitted. in like manner, says the talmudist, every man has three friends when death summons him to appear before his creator. his first friend, whom he loves most, namely, his _money_, cannot go with him a single step; his second, _relations_ and _neighbours_, can only accompany him to the grave, but cannot defend him before the judge; while his third friend, whom he does not highly esteem, the _law_ and his _good works_, goes with him before the king, and obtains his acquittal.[ ] [ ] this is the th parable in the romance of barlaam and joasaph, where it is told without any variation. * * * * * another striking and impressive parable akin to the two immediately preceding is this of _the garments._ a king distributed amongst his servants various costly garments. now some of these servants were wise and some were foolish. and those that were wise said to themselves: "the king may call again for the garments; let us therefore take care they do not get soiled." but the fools took no manner of care of theirs, and did all sorts of work in them, so that they became full of spots and grease. some time afterwards the king called for the garments. the wise servants brought theirs clean and neat, but the foolish servants brought theirs in a sad state, ragged and unclean. the king was pleased with the first, and said: "let the clean garments be placed in the treasury, and let their keepers depart in peace. as for the unclean garments, they must be washed and purified, and their foolish keepers must be cast into prison."--this parable is designed to illustrate the passage in eccles., xii, , "then shall the dust return to the earth as it was, and the spirit shall return unto god, who gave it"; which words "teach us to remember that god gave us the soul in a state of innocence and purity, and that it is therefore our duty to return it unto him in the same state as he gave it unto us--pure and undefiled." _solomon's choice_ of wisdom, in preference to all other precious things, is thus finely illustrated: a certain king had an officer whom he fondly loved. one day he desired his favourite to choose anything that he could give, and it would at once be granted him. the officer considered that if he asked the king for gold and silver and precious stones, these would be given him in abundance; then he thought that if he had a more exalted station it would be granted; at last he resolved to ask the king for his daughter, since with such a bride both riches and honours would also be his. in like manner did solomon pray, "give thy servant an understanding heart," when the lord said to him, "what shall i give thee?" ( st kings, iii, , .) but perhaps the most beautiful and touching of all the talmudic parables is the following (polano's version), in which israel is likened to a bride, waiting sadly, yet hopefully, for the coming of her spouse: _bride and bridegroom._ there was once a man who pledged his dearest faith to a maiden beautiful and true. for a time all passed pleasantly, and the maiden lived in happiness. but then the man was called from her side, and he left her. long she waited, but still he did not return. friends pitied her, and rivals mocked her; tauntingly they pointed to her and said: "he has left thee, and will never come back." the maiden sought her chamber, and read in secret the letters which her lover had written to her--the letters in which he promised to be ever faithful, ever true. weeping, she read them, but they brought comfort to her heart; she dried her eyes and doubted not. a joyous day dawned for her: the man she loved returned, and when he learned that others had doubted, while she had not, he asked her how she had preserved her faith; and she showed his letters to him, declaring her eternal trust. [in like manner] israel, in misery and captivity, was mocked by the nations; her hopes of redemption were made a laughing-stock; her sages scoffed at; her holy men derided. into her synagogues, into her schools, went israel. she read the letters which her god had written, and believed in the holy promises which they contained. god will in time redeem her; and when he says: "how could you alone be faithful of all the mocking nations?" she will point to the law and answer: "had not thy law been my delight, i should long since have perished in my affliction."[ ] [ ] psalm cxix, .--by the way, it is probably known to most readers that the twenty-two sections into which this grand poem is divided are named after the letters of the hebrew alphabet; but from the translation given in our english bible no one could infer that in the original every one of the eight verses in each section begins with the letter after which it is named, thus forming a very long acrostic. * * * * * in the account of the call of abraham given in the book of genesis, xii, - , we are not told that his people were all idolaters; but in the book of joshua, xxiv, - , it is said that the great successor of moses, when he had "waxed old and was stricken with age," assembled the tribes of israel, at shechem, and said to the people: "your fathers dwelt on the other side of the flood in old time, even terah, the father of abraham and the father of nachor; and they served other gods." the sacred narrative does not state the circumstances which induced abraham to turn away from the worship of false deities, but the information is furnished by the talmudists--possibly from ancient oral tradition--in this interesting tale of _abraham and the idols._ abraham's father terah, who dwelt in ur of the chaldees, was not only an idolater, but a maker of idols. having occasion to go a journey of some distance, he instructed abraham how to conduct the business of idol-selling during his absence. the future founder of the hebrew nation, however, had already obtained a knowledge of the true and living god, and consequently held the practice of idolatry in the utmost abhorrence. accordingly, whenever any one came to buy an idol abraham inquired his age, and upon his answering, "i am fifty (or sixty) years old," he would exclaim, "woe to the man of fifty who would worship the work of man's hands!" and his father's customers went away shamefaced at the rebuke. but, not content with this mode of showing his contempt for idolatry, abraham resolved to bring matters to a crisis before his father returned home; and an opportunity was presented for his purpose one day when a woman came to terah's house with a bowl of fine flour, which she desired abraham to place as a votive offering before the idols. instead of doing this, however, abraham took a hammer and broke all the idols into fragments excepting the largest, into whose hands he then placed the hammer. on terah's return he discovered the destruction of his idols, and angrily demanded of abraham, who had done the mischief. "there came hither a woman," replied abraham, "with a bowl of fine flour, which, as she desired, i set before the gods, whereupon they disputed among themselves who should eat first, and the tallest god broke all the rest into pieces with the hammer." "what fable is this thou art telling me?" exclaimed terah. "as for the god thou speakest of, is he not the work of my own hands?' did i not carve him out of the timber of the tree which i cut down in the wilderness? how, then, could he have done this evil? verily _thou_ hast broken my idols!" "consider, my father," said abraham, "what it is thou sayest--that i am capable of destroying the gods which thou dost worship!" then terah took and delivered him to nimrod, who said to abraham: "let us worship the fire." to which abraham replied: "rather the water that quenches the fire." "well, the water." "rather the cloud which carries the water." "well, the cloud." "rather the wind that scatters the cloud." "well, the wind." "rather man, for he endures the wind." "thou art a babbler!" exclaimed nimrod. "i worship the fire, and will cast thee into it. perchance the god whom thou dost adore will deliver thee from thence." abraham was accordingly thrown into a heated furnace, but god saved him.[ ] [ ] after abraham had walked to and fro unscathed amidst the fierce flames for three days, the faggots were suddenly transformed into a blooming garden of roses and fruit-trees and odoriferous plants.--this legend is introduced into the kurán, and muslim writers, when they expatiate on the almighty power of allah, seldom omit to make reference to nimrod's flaming furnace being turned into a bed of roses. * * * * * alexander the great is said to have wept because there were no more worlds for him to conquer; and truly says the sage hebrew king, "the grave and destruction can never have enough, nor are the eyes of man ever satisfied" (prov. xxvii, ), a sentiment which the following tale, or parable, is designed to exemplify: _the vanity of ambition._ pursuing his journey through dreary deserts and uncultivated ground, alexander came at last to a small rivulet, whose waters glided peacefully along their shelving banks. its smooth, unruffled surface was the image of contentment, and seemed in its silence to say, "this is the abode of tranquility." all was still: not a sound was heard save soft murmuring tones which seemed to whisper in the ear of the weary traveller, "come, and partake of nature's bounty," and to complain that such an offer should be made in vain. to a contemplative mind, such a scene might have suggested a thousand delightful reflections. but what charms could it have for the soul of alexander, whose breast was filled with schemes of ambition and conquest; whose eye was familiarised with rapine and slaughter; and whose ears were accustomed to the clash of arms--to the groans of the wounded and the dying? onward, therefore, he marched. yet, overcome by fatigue and hunger, he was soon obliged to halt. he seated himself on the bank of the river, took a draught of the water, which he found of a very fine flavour and most refreshing. he then ordered some salt fish, with which he was well provided, to be brought to him. these he caused to be dipped in the stream, in order to take off the briny taste, and was greatly surprised to find them emit a fine fragrance. "surely," said he, "this river, which possesses such uncommon qualities, must flow from some very rich and happy country." following the course of the river, he at length arrived at the gates of paradise. the gates were shut. he knocked, and, with his usual impetuosity, demanded admittance. "thou canst not be admitted here," exclaimed a voice from within; "this gate is the lord's." "i am the lord--the lord of the earth," rejoined the impatient chief. "i am alexander the conqueror. will you not admit _me_?" "no," was the answer; "here we know of no conquerors, save such as conquer their passions: _none but the just can enter here_." alexander endeavoured in vain to enter the abode of the blessed--neither entreaties nor menaces availed. seeing all his attempts fruitless, he addressed himself to the guardian of paradise, and said: "you know i am a great king, who has received the homage of nations. since you will not admit me, give me at least some token that i may show an astonished world that i have been where no mortal has ever been before me." "here, madman," said the guardian of paradise--"here is something for thee. it may cure the maladies of thy distempered soul. one glance at it may teach thee more wisdom than thou hast hitherto derived from all thy former instructors. now go thy ways." alexander took the present with avidity, and repaired to his tent. but what was his confusion and surprise to find, on examining his present, that it was nothing but a fragment of a human skull. "and is this," exclaimed he, "the mighty gift that they bestow on kings and heroes? is this the fruit of so much toil and danger and care?" enraged and disappointed, he threw it on the ground. "great king," said one of the learned men who were present, "do not despise this gift. contemptible as it may appear in thine eyes, it yet possesses some extraordinary qualities, of which thou mayest soon be convinced, if thou wilt but cause it to be weighed against gold or silver." alexander ordered this to be done. a pair of scales were brought. the skull was placed in one, a quantity of gold in the other; when, to the astonishment of the beholders, the skull over-balanced the gold. more gold was added, yet still the skull preponderated. in short, the more gold there was put in the one scale the lower sank that which contained the skull. "strange," exclaimed alexander, "that so small a portion of matter should outweigh so large a mass of gold! is there nothing that will counterpoise it?" "yes," answered the philosophers, "a very little matter will do it." they then took some earth and covered the skull with it, when immediately down went the gold, and the opposite scale ascended. "this is very extraordinary," said alexander, astonished. "can you explain this phenomenon?" "great king," said the sages, "this fragment is the socket of a human eye, which, though small in compass, is yet unbounded in its desires. the more it has, the more it craves. neither gold nor silver nor any other earthly possession can ever satisfy it. but when it is once laid in the grave and covered with a little earth, there is an end to its lust and ambition." * * * * * shakspeare's well-known masterly description of the seven ages of man, which he puts into the mouth of the melancholy jaques (_as you like it_, ii, ), was anticipated by rabbi simon, the son of eliezer, in this talmudic description of _the seven stages of human life._ seven times in one verse did the author of ecclesiastes make use of the word _vanity_, in allusion to the seven stages of human life.[ ] [ ] eccles., i, . the word vanity (remarks hurwitz, the translator) occurs twice in the plural, which the rabbi considered as equivalent to four, and three times in the singular, making altogether _seven_. the first commences in the first year of human existence, when the _infant_ lies like a king on a soft couch, with numerous attendants about him, all ready to serve him, and eager to testify their love and attachment by kisses and embraces. the second commences about the age of two or three years, when the darling _child_ is permitted to crawl on the ground, and, like an unclean animal, delights in dirt and filth. then at the age of ten, the thoughtless _boy_, without reflecting on the past or caring for the future, jumps and skips about like a young kid on the enamelled green, contented to enjoy the present moment. the fourth stage begins about the age of twenty, when the _young man_, full of vanity and pride, begins to set off his person by dress; and, like a young unbroken horse, prances and gallops about in search of a wife. then comes the _matrimonial state_, when the poor _man_, like a patient ass, is obliged, however reluctantly, to toil and labour for a living. behold him now in the _parental state_, when surrounded by helpless children craving his support and looking to him for bread. he is as bold, as vigilant, and as fawning, too, as the faithful dog; guarding his little flock, and snatching at everything that comes in his way, in order to provide for his offspring. at last comes the final stage, when the decrepit _old man_, like the unwieldy though most sagacious elephant, becomes grave, sedate, and distrustful. he then also begins to hang down his head towards the ground, as if surveying the place where all his vast schemes must terminate, and where ambition and vanity are finally humbled to the dust. * * * * * but the talmudist, in his turn, was forestalled by bhartrihari, an ancient hindú sage, one of whose three hundred apothegms has been thus rendered into english by sir monier williams: now for a little while a child; and now an amorous youth; then for a season turned into a wealthy householder; then, stripped of all his riches, with decrepit limbs and wrinkled frame, man creeps towards the end of life's erratic course; and, like an actor, passes behind death's curtain out of view. here, however, the indian philosopher describes human life as consisting of only four scenes; but, like our own shakspeare, he compares the world to a stage and man to a player. an epigram preserved in the _anthologia_ also likens the world to a theatre and human life to a drama: this life a theatre we well may call, where every actor must perform with art; or laugh it through, and make a farce of all, or learn to bear with grace a tragic part. it is surely both instructive and interesting thus to discover resemblances in thought and expression in the writings of men of comprehensive intellect, who lived in countries and in times far apart. vi wise sayings of the rabbis. "concise sentences," says bacon, "like darts, fly abroad and make impressions, while long discourses are flat things, and not regarded." and seneca has remarked that "even rude and uncultivated minds are struck, as it were, with those short but weighty sentences which anticipate all reasoning by flashing truths upon them at once." wise men in all ages seem to have been fully aware of the advantage of condensing into pithy sentences the results of their observations of the course of human life; and the following selection of sayings of the jewish fathers, taken from the _pirke aboth_ (the st treatise of the talmud, compiled by nathan of babylon, a.d. ), and other sources, will be found to be quite as sagacious as the aphorisms of the most celebrated philosophers of india and greece: this world is like an ante-chamber in comparison with the world to come; prepare thyself in the ante-chamber, therefore, that thou mayest enter into the dining-room. be humble to a superior, and affable to an inferior, and receive all men with cheerfulness. be not scornful to any, nor be opposed to all things; for there is no man that hath not his hour, nor is there anything which hath not its place. attempt not to appease thy neighbour in the time of his anger, nor comfort him in the time when his dead is lying before him, nor ask of him in the time of his vowing, nor desire to see him in the time of his calamity.[ ] [ ] "do not," says nakhshabí, "try to move by persuasion the soul that is afflicted with grief. the heart that is overwhelmed with the billows of sorrow will, by slow degrees, return to itself." hold no man responsible for his utterances in times of grief. who gains wisdom? he who is willing to receive instruction from all sources. who is rich? he who is content with his lot. who is deserving of honour? he who honoureth mankind. who is the mighty man? he who subdueth his temper.[ ] [ ] "he who subdueth his temper is a mighty man," says the talmudist; and solomon had said so before him: "he that is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city" (prov. xvi, ). a curious parallel to these words is found in an ancient buddhistic work, entitled _buddha's dhammapada_, or path of virtue, as follows: "if one man conquer in battle a thousand times a thousand men, and if another conquer himself, he is the greatest of conquerors." (professor max müller's translation, prefixed to _buddhagosha's parables_, translated by captain rogers.) when a liar speaks the truth, he finds his punishment in being generally disbelieved. the physician who prescribes gratuitously gives a worthless prescription. he who hardens his heart with pride softens his brains with the same. the day is short, the labour vast; but the labourers are still slothful, though the reward is great, and the master presseth for despatch.[ ] [ ] cf. saádí, _ante_, page , "life is snow," etc. he who teacheth a child is like one who writeth on new paper; and he who teacheth old people is like one who writeth on blotted paper.[ ] [ ] locke was anticipated not only by the talmudist, as above, but long before him by aristotle, who termed the infant soul _tabula rasa_, which was in all likelihood borrowed by the author of the persian work on the practical philosophy of the muhammedans, entitled _akhlák-i-jalaly_, who says: "the minds of children are like a clear tablet, equally open to all inscriptions." first learn and then teach. teach thy tongue to say, "i do not know." the birds of the air despise a miser. if thy goods sell not in one city, take them to another. victuals prepared by many cooks will be neither cold nor hot.[ ] [ ] too many cooks spoil the broth.--_english proverb_. two pieces of money in a large jar make more noise than a hundred.[ ] [ ] two farthings and a thimble in a tailor's pocket make a jingle.--_english saying_. into the well which supplies thee with water cast no stones.[ ] [ ] "don't speak ill of the bridge that bore you safe over the stream" seems to be the european equivalent. when love is intense, both find room enough upon one bench; afterwards, they may find themselves cramped in a space of sixty cubits.[ ] [ ] python, of byzantium, was a very corpulent man. he once said to the citizens, in addressing them to make friends after a political dispute: "gentlemen, you see how stout i am. well, i have a wife at home who is still stouter. now, when we are good friends, we can sit together on a very small couch; but when we quarrel, i do assure you, the whole house cannot contain us."--_athenæus_, xii. the place honours not the man; it is the man who gives honour to the place. few are they who see their own faults.[ ] [ ] compare burns: o wad some power the giftie gie us to see oursels as ithers see us! thy friend has a friend, and thy friend's friend has a friend: be discreet.[ ] [ ] see the persian aphorisms on revealing secrets, _ante_, p. .--burns, in his "epistle to a young friend," says: aye free aff hand your story tell when wi' a bosom crony, but still keep something to yoursel' ye scarcely tell to ony. poverty sits as gracefully upon some people as a red saddle upon a white horse. rather be thou the tail among lions than the head among foxes.[ ] [ ] the very reverse of our english proverb, "better to be the head of the commonalty than the tail of the gentry." the thief who finds no opportunity to steal considers himself an honest man. use thy noble vase to-day, for to-morrow it may perchance be broken. descend a step in choosing thy wife; ascend a step in choosing thy friend. a myrtle even in the dust remains a myrtle.[ ] [ ] saádí has the same sentiment in his _gulislán_--see _ante_, p. . every one whose wisdom exceedeth his deeds, to what is he like? to a tree whose branches are many and its roots few; and the wind cometh and plucketh it up, and overturneth it on its face.[ ] [ ] see also saádí's aphorisms on precept and practice, _ante_, p. . if a word spoken in time be worth one piece of money, silence in its place is worth two.[ ] [ ] here we have a variant of thomas carlyle's favourite maxim, "speech is silvern; silence is golden." silence is the fence round wisdom.[ ] [ ] "nothing is so good for an ignorant man as silence; and if he were sensible of this he would not be ignorant."--_saádí_. a saying ascribed to esop has been frequently cited with admiration. the sage chilo asked esop what god was doing, and he answered that he was "depressing the proud and exalting the humble." a parallel to this is presented in the answer of rabbi jose to a woman who asked him what god had been doing since the creation: "he makes ladders on which he causes the poor to ascend and the rich to descend," in other words, exalts the lowly and humbles the haughty. * * * * * the lucid explanation of the expression, "i, god, am a jealous god," given by a rabbi, has been thus elegantly translated by coleridge:[ ] [ ] _the friend_, ed. , vol. ii, p. . "your god," said a heathen philosopher to a hebrew rabbi, "in his book calls himself a jealous god, who can endure no other god besides himself, and on all occasions makes manifest his abhorrence of idolatry. how comes it, then, that he threatens and seems to hate the worshippers of false gods more than the false gods themselves?" "a certain king," said the rabbi, "had a disobedient son. among other worthless tricks of various kinds, he had the baseness to give his dogs his father's names and titles. should the king show anger with the prince or his dogs?" "well-turned," replied the philosopher; but if god destroyed the objects of idolatry, he would take away the temptation to it." "yea," retorted the rabbi; "if the fools worshipped such things only as were of no farther use than that to which their folly applied them--if the idol were always as worthless as the idolatry is contemptible. but they worship the sun, the moon, the host of heaven, the rivers, the sea, fire, air, and what not. would you that the creator, for the sake of those fools, should ruin his own works, and disturb the laws applied to nature by his own wisdom? if a man steal grain and sow it, should the seed not shoot up out of the earth because it was stolen? o no! the wise creator lets nature run its own course, for its course is his own appointment. and what if the children of folly abuse it to evil? the day of reckoning is not far off, and men will then learn that human actions likewise reappear in their consequences by as certain a law as that which causes the green blade to rise up out of the buried cornfield." * * * * * not less conclusive was the form of illustration employed by rabbi joshuah in answer to the emperor trajan. "you teach," said trajan, "that your god is everywhere. i should like to see him." "god's presence," replied the rabbi, "is indeed everywhere, but he cannot be seen. no mortal can behold his glory." trajan repeated his demand. "well," said the rabbi, "suppose we try, in the first place, to look at one of his ambassadors." the emperor consented, and joshuah took him into the open air, and desired him to look at the sun in its meridian splendour. "i cannot," said trajan; "the light dazzles me." "thou canst not endure the light of one of his creatures," said the rabbi, "yet dost thou expect to behold the effulgent glory of the creator!" * * * * * our selections from the sayings of the hebrew fathers might be largely extended, but we shall conclude them with the following: a rabbi, being asked why god dealt out manna to the israelites day by day, instead of giving them a supply sufficient for a year, or more, answered by a parable to this effect: there was once a king who gave a certain yearly allowance to his son, whom he saw, in consequence, but once a year, when he came to receive it; so the king changed his plan, and paid him his allowance daily, and thus had the pleasure of seeing his son each day. and so with the manna: had god given the people a supply for a year they would have forgotten their divine benefactor, but by sending them each day the requisite quantity, they had god constantly in their minds. * * * * * there can be no doubt that the rabbis derived the materials of many of their legends and tales of biblical characters from foreign sources; but their beautiful moral stories and parables, which "hide a rich truth in a tale's pretence," are probably for the most part of their own invention; and the fact that the talmud was partially, if not wholly, translated into arabic shortly after the settlement of the moors in spain sufficiently accounts for the early introduction of rabbinical legends into muhammedan works, apart from those found in the kurán. _additional notes._ adam and the oil of mercy. in the apocryphal revelation of moses, which appears to be of rabbinical extraction, adam, when near his end, informs his sons; that, because of his transgression, god had laid upon his body seventy strokes, or plagues. the trouble of the first stroke was injury to the eyes; the trouble of the second stroke, of the hearing; and so on, in succession, all the strokes should overtake him. and adam, thus speaking to his sons, groaned out loud, and said, "what shall i do? i am in great grief." and eve also wept, saying: "my lord adam, arise; give me the half of thy disease, and let me bear it, because through me this has happened to thee; through me thou art in distresses and troubles." and adam said to eve: "arise, and go with our son seth near paradise, and put earth upon your heads, and weep, beseeching the lord that he may have compassion upon me, and send his angel to paradise, and give me of the tree out of which flows the oil, that thou mayest bring it unto me; and i shall anoint myself and have rest, and show thee the manner in which we were deceived at first."... and seth went with his mother eve near paradise, and they wept there, beseeching god to send his angel to give them the oil of compassion. and god sent to them the archangel michael, who said to them these words: "seth, man of god, do not weary thyself praying in this supplication about the tree from which flows the oil to anoint thy father adam; for it will not happen to thee now, but at the last times.... do thou again go to thy father, since the measure of his life is fulfilled, saving three days." the revelation, or apocalypse, of moses, remarks mr. alex. walker (from whose translation the foregoing is extracted: _apocryphal gospels, acts, and revelations_, ), "belongs rather to the old testament than to the new. we have been unable to find in it any reference to any christian writing. in its form, too, it appears to be a portion of some larger work. parts of it at least are of an ancient date, as it is very likely from this source that the celebrated legend of the tree of life and the oil of mercy was derived"--an account of which, from the german of dr. piper, is given in the _journal of sacred literature_, october, , vol. vi (n.s.), p. ff. muslim legend of adam's punishment, pardon, death, and burial. when "our first parents" were expelled from paradise, adam fell upon the mountain in ceylon which still retains his name ("adam's peak"), while eve descended at júddah, which is the port of mecca, in arabia. seated on the pinnacle of the highest mountain in ceylon, with the orisons of the angelic choirs still vibrating in his ears, the fallen progenitor of the human race had sufficient leisure to bewail his guilt, forbearing all food and sustenance for the space of forty days.[ ] but allah, whose mercy ever surpasses his indignation, and who sought not the death of the wretched penitent, then despatched to his relief the angel gabriel, who presented him with a quantity of wheat, taken from that fatal tree[ ] for which he had defied the wrath of his creator, with the information that it was to be for food to him and to his children. at the same time he was directed to set it in the earth, and afterwards to grind it into flour. adam obeyed, for it was part of his penalty that he should toil for sustenance; and the same day the corn sprang up and arrived at maturity, thus affording him an immediate resource against the evils of hunger and famine. for the benevolent archangel did not quit him until he had farther taught him how to construct a mill on the side of the mountain, to grind his corn, and also how to convert the flour into dough and bake it into bread. [ ] the number forty occurs very frequently in the bible (especially the old testament) in connection with important events, and also in asiatic tales. it is, in fact, regarded with peculiar veneration alike by jews and muhammedans. see notes to my _group of eastern romances and stories_ ( ), pp. and . [ ] the "fruit of the forbidden tree" was not an apple, as we westerns fondly believe, but _wheat_, say the muslim doctors. with regard to the forlorn associate of his guilt, from whom a long and painful separation constituted another article in the punishment of his disobedience, it is briefly related that, experiencing also for the first time the craving of hunger, she instinctively dipped her hand into the sea and brought out a fish, and laying it on a rock in the sun, thus prepared her first meal in this her state of despair and destitution. adam continued to deplore his guilt on the mountain for a period of one hundred years, and it is said that from his tears, with which he moistened the earth during this interval of remorse, there grew up that useful variety of plants and herbs which in after times by their medicinal qualities served to alleviate the afflictions of the human race; and to this circumstance is to be ascribed the fact that the most useful drugs in the _materia medica_ continue to this day to be supplied from the peninsula of india and the adjoining islands. the angel gabriel had now tamed the wild ox of the field, and allah himself had discovered to adam in the caverns of the same mountain that most important of minerals, iron, which he soon learned to fashion into a variety of articles necessary to the successful prosecution of his increasing labours. at the termination of one hundred years, consumed in toil and sorrow, adam having been instructed by the angel gabriel in a penitential formula by which he might hope yet to conciliate allah, the justice of heaven was satisfied, and his repentance was finally accepted by the most high. the joy of adam was now as intense as his previous sorrow had been extreme, and another century passed, during which the tears with which adam--from very different emotions--now bedewed the earth were not less effectual in producing every species of fragrant and aromatic flower and shrub, to delight the eye and gratify the sense of smell by their odours, than they were formerly in the generation of medicinal plants to assuage the sufferings of humanity. tradition has ascribed to adam a stature so stupendous that when he stood or walked his forehead brushed the skies; and it is stated that he thus partook in the converse of the angels, even after his fall. but this, by perpetually holding to his view the happiness which he had lost, instead of alleviating, contributed in a great degree to aggravate his misery, and to deprive him of all repose upon earth. allah, therefore, in pity of his sufferings, shortened his stature to one hundred cubits, so that the harmony of the celestial hosts should no longer reach his ear. then allah caused to be raised up for adam a magnificent pavilion, or temple, constructed entirely of rubies, on the spot which is now occupied by the sacred kaába at mecca, and which is in the centre of the earth and immediately beneath the throne of allah. the forlorn eve--whom adam had almost forgotten amidst his own sorrows--in the course of her weary wanderings came to the palace of her spouse, and, once more united, they returned to ceylon. but adam revisited the sacred pavilion at mecca every year until his death. and wherever he set his foot there arose, and exists to this day, some city, town, or village, or other place to indicate the presence of man and of human cultivation. the spaces between his footsteps--three days' journey--long remained barren wilderness. on the twentieth day of that disorder which terminated the earthly existence of adam, the divine will was revealed to him through the angel gabriel, that he was to make an immediate bequest of his power as allah's vicegerent on earth to shayth, or seth, the discreetest and most virtuous of all his sons, which having done, he resigned his soul to the angel of death on the following day. seth buried his venerable parent on the summit of the mountain in ceylon ("adam's peak"); but some writers assert that he was buried under mount abú kebyss, about three miles from mecca. eve died a twelvemonth after her husband, and was buried in his grave. noah conveyed their remains in the ark, and afterwards interred them in jerusalem, at the spot afterwards known as mount calvary. * * * * * the foregoing is considerably abridged from _an essay towards the history of arabia, antecedent to the birth of mahommed, arranged from the 'tarikh tebry' and other authentic sources_, by major david price, london, , pp. , .--we miss in this curious legend the brief but pathetic account of the expulsion of adam and eve from the garden of eden, as found in the last two verses of the rd chapter of genesis, which suggested to milton the fine conclusion of his _paradise lost_: how "some natural tears they dropped," as the unhappy pair went arm-in-arm out of paradise--and "the world was all before them, where to choose." adam's prolonged residence at the top of a high mountain in ceylon seems to be of purely muhammedan invention; and assuredly the arabian prophet did not obtain from the renegade jew who is said to have assisted him in the composition of the kurán the "information" that allah taught adam the mystery of working in iron, since in the book of genesis (iv, ) it is stated that tubal-cain was "an instructor of every artificer in brass and iron," as his brother jubal was "the father of all such as handle the harp and the organ" ( ).--the disinterment of the bones of adam and eve by noah before the flood began and their subsequent burial at the spot on which jerusalem was afterwards built, as also the stature of adam, are, of course, derived from jewish tradition. moses and the poor woodcutter. the following interesting legend is taken from mrs. meer hassan ali's _observations on the mussulmans of india_ ( ), vol. i, pp. - . it was translated by her husband (an indian muslim) from a commentary on the history of músa, or moses, the great hebrew lawgiver, and in all probability is of rabbinical origin: when the prophet músa--to whose spirit be peace!--was on earth, there lived near him a poor but remarkably religious man, who had for many years supported himself and his wife by the daily occupation of cutting wood for his richer neighbours, four small copper coins being the reward of his toil, which at best afforded the poor couple but a scanty meal after his day's exertions. one morning the prophet músa, passing the woodcutter, was thus addressed: "o músa! prophet of the most high! behold i labour each day for my coarse and scanty meal. may it please thee, o prophet! to make petition for me to our gracious god, that he may, in his mercy, grant me at once the whole supply for my remaining years, so that i shall enjoy one day of earthly happiness, and then, with my wife, be transferred to the place of eternal rest." músa promised, and made the required petition. his prayer was thus answered from mount tor: "this man's life is long, o músa! nevertheless, if he be willing to surrender life when his supply is exhausted, tell him thy prayer is heard, the petition accepted, and the whole amount shall be found beneath his prayer-carpet after his morning prayers." the woodcutter was satisfied when músa told him the result of his petition, and, the first duties of the morning being performed, he failed not in looking for the promised gift, and to his surprise found a heap of silver coins in the place indicated. calling his wife, he told her what he had acquired of the lord through his holy prophet músa, and they both agreed that it was very good to enjoy a short life of happiness on earth and depart in peace; although they could not help again and again recurring to the number of years on earth they had thus sacrificed. "we will make as many hearts rejoice as this the lord's gift will permit," they both agreed; "and thus we shall secure in our future state the blessed abode promised to those who fulfil the commands of god in this life, since to-morrow it must close for us." the day was spent in procuring and preparing provisions for the feast. the whole sum was expended on the best sorts of food, and the poor were made acquainted with the rich treat the woodcutter and his wife were cooking for their benefit. the food being cooked, allotments were made to each hungry applicant, and the couple reserved to themselves one good substantial meal, which was to be eaten only after the poor were all served and satisfied. it happened at the very moment they were seated to enjoy this their last meal, as they believed, a voice was heard, saying: "o friend! i have heard of your feast; i am late, yet it may be that you have still a little to spare, for i am hungry to my very heart. the blessing of god be on him who relieves my present sufferings from hunger!" the woodcutter and his wife agreed that it would be much better for them to go to paradise with half a meal than to leave one fellow creature famishing on earth. so they shared their own portion with him who had none, and he went away from them rejoicing. "now," said the happy pair, "we shall eat of our half-share with unmixed delight, and with thankful hearts. by to-morrow evening we shall be transferred to paradise." they had scarcely raised the savoury food to their mouths when a bewailing voice arrested their attention, and stayed the hands already charged with food. a poor creature who had not tasted food for two days moaned his piteous tale, in accents which drew tears from the woodcutter and his wife; their eyes met and the sympathy was mutual: they were more willing to depart for paradise without the promised benefit of one earthly enjoyment, than suffer the hungry man to die from want of that meal they had before them. the dish was promptly tendered to the unfortunate one, and the woodcutter and his wife consoled each other with reflecting that, as the time of their departure was now so near at hand, the temporary enjoyment of a meal was not worth one moment's consideration: "to-morrow we die; then of what consequence is it to us whether we depart with full or empty stomachs?" and now their thoughts were set on the place of eternal rest. they slept, and arose to their morning orisons with hearts reposing humbly on their god, in the fullest expectation that this was their last day on earth. the prayer was concluded, and the woodcutter was in the act of rolling up his carpet, on which he had prostrated himself with gratitude, reverence, and love to his creator, when he perceived a fresh heap of silver on the floor. he could scarcely believe but it was a dream. "how wonderful art thou, o god!" cried he. "this is thy bounteous gift, that i may indeed enjoy one day before i quit this earth." and músa, when he came to him, was satisfied with the goodness and the power of god. but he retired again to the mount, to inquire of god the cause of the woodcutter's respite. the reply which músa received was as follows: "that man has faithfully applied the wealth given in answer to his petition. he is worthy to live out his numbered years on earth who, receiving my bounty, thought not of his own enjoyments whilst his fellow men had wants which he could supply." and to the end of the wood-cutter's long life god's bounty lessened not in substance; neither did the pious man relax in his charitable duties of sharing with the indigent all that he had, and with the same disregard of his own enjoyments. precocious sagacity of solomon. commentators on the kurán state that while solomon was still a mere youth he frequently upset the decisions of the judges in open court, and they became displeased with his interference, though they could not but confess to themselves that his judgment was always superior to theirs. having prevailed upon king david to permit the sagacity of his son to be publicly tested, they plied him with what they deemed very difficult questions, which, however, were hardly uttered before he answered them correctly, and at length they became silent and shame-faced. then solomon rose and said (i take the paragraph which follows from the english translation of dr. weil's interesting work, _the bible, the korán, and the talmud_, , p. f.): "you have exhausted yourselves in subtleties, in the hope of manifesting your superiority over me before this great assembly. permit me now also to put to you a very few simple questions, the solution of which needs no manner of study, but only a little intellect and understanding. tell me: what is everything, and what is nothing? who is something, and who is less than nothing?" solomon waited long, and when the judge whom he had addressed was not able to answer, he said: "allah, the creator, is everything, and the world, the creature, is nothing. the believer is something, but the hypocrite is less than nothing." turning to another, solomon inquired: "which are the most in number, and which are the fewest? what is the sweetest, and what is the most bitter?" but as the second judge also was unable to find proper answers to these questions, solomon said: "the most numerous are the doubters, and they who possess a perfect assurance of faith are fewest in number. the sweetest is the possession of a virtuous wife, excellent children, and a respectable competency; but a wicked wife, undutiful children, and poverty are the most bitter." finally solomon put this question to a third judge: "which is the vilest, and which is the most beautiful? what is the most certain, and what is the least so?" but these questions also remained unanswered until solomon said: "the vilest thing is when a believer apostasises, and the most beautiful is when a sinner repents. the most certain thing is death and the last judgment, and the most uncertain, life and the fate of the soul after the resurrection. you perceive," he continued, "it is not the oldest and most learned that are always the wisest. true wisdom is neither of years nor of learned books, but only of allah, the all-wise." the judges were full of admiration, and unanimously lauded the unparalleled sagacity of the future ruler of israel.--the queen of sheba's "hard questions" (already referred to, p. ) were probably of a somewhat similar nature. such "wit combats" seem to have been formerly common at the courts and palaces of asiatic monarchs and nobles; and a curious, but rather tedious, example is furnished in the _thousand and one nights_, in the story of abú al-husn and his slave tawaddad, which will be found in vol. iv of mr. john payne's and vol. v of sir r. f. burton's complete translations. solomon and the serpent's prey. a curious popular tradition of solomon, in french verse, is given by m. emile blémont in _la tradition_ (an excellent journal of folklore, etc., published at paris) for march , p. : solomon, we are informed, in very ancient times ruled over all beings [on the earth], and, if we may believe our ancestors, was the king of magicians. one day man appeared before him, praying to be delivered from the serpent, who ever lay in wait to devour him. "that i cannot do," said solomon; "for he is my preceptor, and i have given him the privilege to eat whatsoever he likes best." man responded: "is that so? well, let him gorge himself without stint; but he has no right to devour me." "so you say," quoth solomon; "but are you sure of it?" said man: "i call the light to witness it; for i have the high honour of being in this world superior to all other creatures." at these words the whole of the assembly [of animals] protested. "and i!" said the eagle, with a loud voice, as he alighted on a rock. "corcorico!" chanted the cock. the monkey was scratching himself and admiring his grinning phiz in the water, which served him for a looking-glass. then the buzzard was beside himself [with rage]. and the cuckoo was wailing. the ass rolled over and over, crying: "heehaw! how ugly man is!" the elephant stamped about with his heavy feet, his trumpet raised towards the heavens. the bear assumed dignified airs, while the peacock was showing off his wheel-like tail. and in the distance the lion was majestically exhaling his disdain in a long sigh. then said solomon: "silence! man is right: is he not the only beast who gets drunk at all seasons? but, to accede to his request, as an honest prince, i ought to be able to give the serpent something preferable, or at least equal, to his favourite prey. therefore hear my decision: let the gnat--the smallest of animals--find out in what creature circulates the most exquisite blood in the world; and that creature shall belong to you, o serpent. and i summon you all to appear here, without fail, on this day twelvemonths hence, that the gnat may tell us the result of his experiments." the year past, the gnat--subtle taster--was slowly winging his way back when he met the swallow. "good day, friend swallow," says he. "good day, friend gnat," replies the swallow. "have you accomplished your mission?" "yes, my dear," responded the gnat. "well, what is then the most delicious blood under the heavens?" "my dear, it is that of man." "what!--of him? i haven't heard. speak louder." the gnat was beginning to raise his voice, and opened his mouth to speak louder, when the swallow quickly fell upon him and nipped off his tongue in the middle of a word. spite of this, the gnat continued his way, and arrived next day at the general assembly, where solomon was already seated. but when the king questioned him, he had no means of proving his zeal. said the king: "give us thy report." "bizz! bizz! bizz!" said the poor fellow. "speak out, and let thy talk be clear," quoth the king. "bizz! bizz! bizz!" cried the other again. "what's the matter with the little stupid?" exclaimed the king, in a rage. here the swallow intervened in a sweet and shrill tone: "sire, it is not his fault. yesterday we were flying side by side, when suddenly he became mute. but, by good luck, down there about the sacred springs, before he met with this misfortune, he told me the result of his investigations. may i depone in his name?" "certainly," replied solomon. "what is the best blood, according to thy companion?" "sire, it is the blood of the frog." everybody was astonished: the gnat was mad with rage. "i hold," said solomon, "to all that i promised. friend serpent, renounce man henceforth--that food is bad. the frog is the best meat; so eat as much frog as you please." so the serpent had to submit to his deplorable lot, and i leave you to think how the bile was stirred up within the rascally reptile. as the swallow was passing him--mocking and sneering--the serpent darted at her, but the bird swiftly passed beyond reach, and with little effort cleft the vast blue sky and ascended more than a league. the serpent snapped only the end of the bird's tail, and that is how the swallow's tail is cloven to this day; but, so far from finding it an inconvenience, she is thereby the more lively and beautiful. and man, knowing what he owes to her, is full of gratitude. she has her abode under the eaves of our houses, and good luck comes wherever she nestles. her gay cries, sweet and shrill, rouse the springtide. is she not a bird-fairy--a good angel? on the other hand, the crafty serpent hardly knows how to get out of the mud, and drags himself along, climbing and climbing; while the swallow, free and light, flies in the gold of the day. for she is faithful friendship--the little sister of love. m. blémont does not say in what part of france this legend is current, but it is doubtless of asiatic extraction--whether jewish or muhammedan. the capon-carver, p. . a variant of the same incident occurs in no. iv of m. emile legrand's _receuil de contes populaires grecs_ (paris, ), where a prince sets out in quest of some maiden acquainted with "figurative language," whom he would marry. he comes upon an old man and his daughter, and overhears the latter address her father in metaphorical terms, which she has to explain to the old man, at which the prince is highly pleased, and following them to their hut desires and obtains shelter for the night. "as there was not much to eat, the old man bade them kill a cock, and when it was roasted it was placed on the table. then the young girl got up and carved the fowl. she gave the head to her father; the body to her mother; the wings to the prince; and the flesh to the children. the old man, seeing his daughter divide the fowl in this manner, turned and looked at his wife, for he was ashamed to speak of it before the stranger. but when they were going to bed he said to his daughter: 'why, my child, did you cut up the fowl so badly? the stranger has gone starving to bed.' 'ah, my father,' she replied, 'you have not understood it; wait till i explain: i gave the head to you, because you are the head of this house; to my mother i gave the body, because, like the body of a ship, she has borne us in her sides; i gave the wings to the stranger, because to-morrow he will take his flight and go away; and lastly, to us the children i gave the bits of flesh, because we are the true flesh of the house. do you understand it now, my good father?'"--the remainder of the story is so droll that, though but remotely related to the capon-carver, i think it worth while to give a translation of it: "as the room wherein the girl spoke with her father was adjacent to that in which the stranger lay, the latter heard all that she said. great was his joy, and he said to himself that he would well like for wife one who could thus speak figurative language. and when it was day he rose, took his leave, and went away. on his return to the palace he called a servant and gave him in a sack containing loaves, a whole cheese, a cock stuffed and roasted, and a skin of wine; and indicating to him the position of the cabin where he had put up, told him to go there and deliver these presents to a young girl of years. "the servant took the sack and set out to execute the orders of his master.--but, pardon me, ladies [quoth the story-teller], if i have forgotten to tell you this: before setting out, the servant was ordered by the prince to say these words to the young girl: 'many, many compliments from my master. here is what he sends you: the month has days; the moon is full; the chorister of the dawn is stuffed and roasted; the he-goat's skin is stretched and full.'--the servant then went towards the cabin, but on the way he met some friends. 'good day, michael. where are you going with this load, and what do you carry?' 'i'm going over the mountain to a cabin where my master sends me.' 'and what have you got in there? the smell of it makes our mouths water.' 'look, here are loaves, cheese, wine, and a roasted cock. it's a present which my master has given me to take to a poor girl.' 'o indeed, simpleton! sit down, that we may eat a little. how should thy master ever know of it?' down they sat on the green mountain sward and fell-to. the more they ate the keener their appetites grew, so that our fine fellows cleared away loaves, half the cheese, the whole cock, and nearly half the wine. when they had eaten and drank their fill, the servant took up the remainder and resumed his way to the cabin. arrived, he found the young girl, gave her the presents, and repeated the words which his master had ordered him to say. "the girl took what he brought and said to him: 'you shall say to your master: "many, many compliments. i thank him for all that he has sent me; but the month has only days, the moon is only half full, the chorister of dawn was not there, and the he-goat's skin is lank and loose. but, to please the partridge, let him not beat the sow."' (that is to say, there were only loaves, half a cheese, no roasted cock, and the wine-skin was scarcely half full; but that, to please the young girl, he was not to beat the servant, who had not brought the gift entire.) "the servant left and returned to the palace. he repeated to the prince what the young girl had said to him, except the last clause, which he forgot. then the prince understood all, and caused another servant to give the rogue a good beating. when the culprit had received such a caning that his skin and bones were sore, he cried out: 'enough, prince, my master! wait until i tell you another thing that the young girl said to me, and i have forgotten to tell you.' 'come, what have you to say?--be quick.' 'master, the young girl added, "but, to please the partridge, let him not beat the sow."' 'ah, blockhead!' said the prince to him. 'why did you not tell me this before? then you would not have tasted the cane. but so be it.' a few days later the prince married the young girl, and fêtes and great rejoicings were held." the fox and the bear, p. . in no other version of this fable does the fox take a stone with him when he enters one of the buckets and then throw it away--nor indeed does he go into the bucket at all; he simply induces the other animal to descend into the well, in order to procure the "fine cheese." la fontaine gives a variant of the fable, in which a fox goes down into a well with the same purpose, and gets out by asking a wolf to come down and feast on the "cheese": as the wolf descends in one bucket he draws up the fox in the other one, and so the wolf, like lord ullin, is "left lamenting."[ ] m. bérenger-féraud thinks this version somewhat analogous to a fable in his french collection of popular senegambian tales,[ ] of the clever monkey and the silly wolf, of which, as it is short, i may offer a free translation, as follows: a proud lion was pacing about a few steps forward, then a side movement, then a grand stride backward. a monkey on a tree above imitates the movements, and his antics enrage the lion, who warns him to desist. the monkey however goes on with the caricature, and at last falls off the tree, and is caught by the lion, who puts him into a hole in the ground, and having covered it with a large stone goes off to seek his mate, that they should eat the monkey together. while he is absent a wolf comes to the spot, and is pleased to hear the monkey cry, for he had a grudge against him. the wolf asks why the monkey cries. "i am singing," says the monkey, "to aid my digestion. this is a hare's retreat, and we two ate so heartily this morning that i cannot move, and the hare is gone out for some medicine. we have lots of more food." "let me in," says the wolf; "i am a friend." the monkey, of course, readily consents, and just as the wolf enters he slips out, and, replacing the stone, imprisons the wolf. by-and-by the lion and his mate come up. "we shall have monkey to-day," says the lion, lifting the stone--"faith! we shall only have wolf after all!" so the poor wolf is instantly torn into pieces, while the clever monkey once more overhead re-enacts his lion-pantomime.[ ] [ ] _fables de la fontaine_, livre xi^e, fable v^e: "le loup et le renard." [ ] _recueil de contes populaires de la sénégambie_, recueillis par l.-j.-b.-bérenger-féraud. paris, . page . [ ] i have to thank my friend dr. david ross, principal, e. c. training college, glasgow, for kindly drawing my attention to this diverting tale. strange as it may appear, there is a variant of the fable of the fox and the bear current among the negroes in the united states, according to _uncle remus_, that most diverting collection. in no. xvi, "brer rabbit" goes down in a bucket into a well, and "brer fox" asks him what he is doing there. "o i'm des a fishing, brer fox," says he; and brer fox goes into the bucket while brer rabbit escapes and chaffs his comrade. the desolate island, p. . there is a tale in the _gesta romanorum_ (ch. of the text translated by swan) which seems to have been suggested by the hebrew parable of the desolate island, and which has passed into general currency throughout europe: a dying king bequeaths to his son a golden apple, which he is to give to the greatest fool he can find. the young prince sets out on his travels, and after meeting with many fools, none of whom, however, he deemed worthy of the "prize," he comes to a country the king of which reigns only one year, and finds him indulging in all kinds of pleasure. he offers the king the apple, explaining the terms of his father's bequest, and saying that he considers him the greatest of all fools, in not having made a proper use of his year of sovereignty.--a common oral form of this story is to the effect that a court jester came to the bedside of his dying master, who told him that he was going on a very long journey, and the jester inquiring whether he had made due preparation was answered in the negative. "then," said the fool, "prithee take my bauble, for thou art truly the greatest of all fools." other rabbinical legends and tales. as analogues, or variants, of incidents in several wide-spread european popular tales, other hebrew legends are cited in some of my former books; e.g.: the true son, in _popular tales and fictions_, vol. i, p. ; moses and the angel (the ways of providence: the original of parnell's "hermit"), vol. i, p. ; a mystical hymn, "a kid, a kid, my father bought," the possible original of our nursery cumulative rhyme of "the house that jack built," vol. i, p. ; the reward of sabbath observance, vol. i, p. ; the intended divorce, vol. ii, p. , of which, besides the european variants there cited, other versions will be found in prof. crane's _italian popular tales_: "the clever girl" and notes; the lost camel, in _a group of eastern romances and stories_, p. . in _originals and analogues of some of chaucer's 'canterbury tales'_ (for the chaucer society) i have cited two curious jewish versions of the franklin's tale, in the paper entitled "the damsel's rash promise," pp. , . a selection of hebrew facetiæ is given at the end of the papers on oriental wit and humour in the present volume (p. ); and an amusing story, also from the talmud, is reproduced in my _book of sindibád_, p. , _note_, of the athenian and the witty tailor; and in the same work, p. , _note_, reference is made to a jewish version of the famous tale of the matron of ephesus. there may be more in these books which i cannot call to mind. an arabian tale of love. lovers and madmen have such seething brains, such shaping fantasies, that apprehend more than cool reason ever comprehends. _midsummer night's dream_. every land has its favourite tale of love: in france, that of abelard and eloisa, in italy, of petrarch and laura; all europe has the touching tale of romeo and juliet in common; and muslims have the ever fresh tale of the loves and sorrows of majnún and laylá. of the ten or twelve persian poems extant on this old tale those by nizámí, who died a.d. , and jámí, of the th century, are considered as by far the best; though hátifí's version (ob. ) is highly praised by sir william jones. the turkish poet fazúlí (ob. ) also made this tale the basis of a fine mystical poem, of which mr. gibb has given some translated specimens--reproducing the original rhythm and rhyme-movement very cleverly--in his _ottoman poems_. the following is an epitome of the tale of majnún and laylá: kays (properly, qays), the handsome son of syd omri, an arab chief of yemen, becomes enamoured of a beauteous maiden of another tribe: a damsel bright as the moon,[ ] graceful as the cypress;[ ] with locks dark as night, and hence she was called laylá;[ ] who captivated all hearts, but chiefly that of kays. his passion is reciprocated, but soon the fond lovers are separated. the family of laylá remove to the distant mountains of nejd, and kays, distracted, with matted locks and bosom bare to the scorching sun, wanders forth into the desert in quest of her abode, causing the rocks to echo his voice, constantly calling upon her name. his friends, having found him in woeful plight, bring him home, and henceforth he is called majnún--that is, one who is mad, or frantic, from love. syd omri, his father, finding that majnún is deaf to good counsel--that nothing but the possession of laylá can restore him to his senses--assembles his followers and departs for the abode of laylá's family, and presenting himself before the maiden's father, proposes in haughty terms the union of his son with laylá; but the offer is declined, on the ground that syd omri's son is a maniac, and he will not give his daughter to a man bereft of his senses; but should he be restored to his right mind he will consent to their union. indignant at this answer, syd omri returns home, and after his friends had in vain tried the effect of love-philtres to make laylá's father relent, as a last resource they propose that majnún should wed another damsel, upon which the demented lover once more seeks the desert, where they again find him almost at the point of death, and bring him back to his tribe. [ ] nothing is more hackneyed in asiatic poetry than the comparison of a pretty girl's face to the moon, and not seldom to the disparagement of that luminary. solomon, in his love-songs, exclaims: "who is she that looketh forth in the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun?" the greatest of persian poets, firdausí, says of a damsel: "love ye the moon? behold her face, and there the lucid planet trace." and kalidása, the shakspeare of india ( th century b.c.), says: "her countenance is brighter than the moon." amongst ourselves the epithet "moon-faced" is not usually regarded as complimentary, yet spenser speaks of a beautiful damsel's "moon-like forehead."--be sure, the poets are right! [ ] the lithe figure of a pretty girl is often likened by eastern poets to the waving cypress, a tree which we associate with the grave-yard.--"who is walking there?" asks a persian poet. "thou, or a tall cypress?" [ ] "nocturnal." now the season of pilgrimage to mecca draws nigh, and it is thought that a visit to the holy shrine and the waters of the zemzem[ ] might cure his frenzy. accordingly majnún, weak and helpless, is conveyed to mecca in a litter. most fervently his sorrowing father prays in the kaába for his recovery, but all in vain, and they return home. again majnún escapes to the desert, whence his love-plaints, expressed in eloquent verse, find their way to laylá, who contrives to reply to them, also in verse, assuring her lover of her own despair, and of her constancy. [ ] the sacred well in the kaába at mecca, which, according to muslim legends, miraculously sprang up when hagar and her son ishmael were perishing in the desert from thirst. one day a gallant young chief, ibn salám, chances to pass near the dwelling of laylá, and, seeing the beauteous maiden among her companions, falls in love with her, and straightway asks her in marriage of her parents. laylá's father does not reject the handsome and wealthy suitor, who scatters his gold about as if it were mere sand, but desires him to wait until his daughter is of proper age for wedlock, when the nuptials should be duly celebrated; and with this promise ibn salám departs. meanwhile, noufal, the chief in whose land majnún has taken up his abode, while hunting one day comes upon the wretched lover, and, struck with his appearance, inquires the cause of his distress. noufal conceives a warm friendship for majnún, and sends a messenger to laylá's father to demand her in marriage with his friend. but the damsel's parent scornfully refused to comply, and noufal then marches with his followers against him. a battle ensues, in which noufal is victorious. the father of laylá then comes to noufal, and offers submission; but he declares that rather than consent to his daughter's union with majnún he would put her to death before his face. seeing the old man thus resolute, noufal abandons his enterprise and returns to his own country. and now ibn salám, having waited the appointed time, comes with his tribesmen to claim the hand of laylá; and, spite of her tears and protestations, she is married to the wealthy young chief. years pass on--weary years of wedded life to poor laylá, whose heart is ever true to her wandering lover. at length a stranger seeks out majnún, and tells him that his beloved laylá wishes to have a brief interview with him, near her dwelling. at once the frantic lover speeds towards the rendezvous; but when laylá is informed of his arrival, her sense of duty overcomes the passion of her life, and she resolves to forego the dangerous meeting, and poor majnún departs without having seen his darling. henceforth he is a constant dweller in the desert, having for his companions the beasts and birds of the wilderness--his clothes in tatters, his hair matted, his body wasted to a shadow, his bare feet lacerated with thorns. after the lapse of many more years the husband of laylá dies, and the beautiful widow passes the prescribed period of separation (_'idda_),[ ] after which majnún hastens to embrace his beloved. overpowered by the violence of their emotions, both are for a space silent; at length laylá addresses majnún in tender accents; but when he finds voice to reply it is evident that the reaction has completely extinguished the last spark of reason: majnún is now a hopeless maniac, and he rushes from the arms of laylá and seeks the desert once more. laylá never recovered from the shock occasioned by this discovery. she pined away, and with her last breath desired her mother to convey the tidings of her death to majnún, and to assure him of her constant, unquenchable affection. when majnún hears of her death he visits her tomb, and, exhausted with his journey and many privations, he lays himself down on the turf that covered her remains, and dies--the victim of pure, ever-during love. [ ] according to muslim law, four months and ten days must elapse before a widow can marry again. * * * * * possibly, readers of a sentimental turn--oft inclined to the "melting" mood--may experience a kind of pleasing sadness in perusing a rhythmical prose translation of the passage in nizámí's poem in which _majnún bewails the death of laylá._ when zayd,[ ] with heart afflicted, heard that in the silent tomb that moon[ ] had set, he wept and mourned, and sadly flowed his tears. who in this world is free from grief and tears? then, clothed in sable garments, like one oppressed who seeks redress, he, agitated, and weeping like a vernal cloud, hastened to the grave of laylá; but, as he o'er it hung, ask not how swelled his soul with grief; while from his eyes the tears of blood incessant flowed, and from his sight and groans the people fled. sometimes he mourned with grief so deep and sad that from his woe the sky became obscure. then from the tomb of that fair flower he to the desert took his way. there sought the wanderer from the paths of man him whose night was now in darkness veiled, as that bright lamp was gone; and, seated near him, weeping and sighing, he beat his breast and struck upon the earth his head. when majnún saw him thus afflicted he said: "what has befallen thee, my brother, that thy soul is thus overpowered? and why so pale that cheek? and why these sable robes?" he thus replied: "because that fortune now has changed: a sable stream has issued from the earth, and even death has burst its iron gates; a storm of hail has on the garden poured, and not a leaf of all our rose-bower now remains. the moon has fallen from the firmament, and prostrate on the mead that waving cypress lies! laylá was, but from the world has now departed; and from the wound thy love had caused she died." [ ] an attendant, who had always befriended majnún. [ ] "the moon," to wit, the unhappy laylá. see the note, p. . scarce had these accents reached his listening ear e'er, senseless, majnún fell as one by lightning struck. a short time, fainting, thus he lay; recovered, then he raised his head to heaven and thus exclaimed: "o merciless! what fate severe is this on one so helpless? why such wrath? why blast a blade of grass with lightning, and on the ant [i.e. himself] thy power exert? one ant and a thousand pains of hell, when one single spark would be enough! why thus with blood the goblet crown, and all my hopes deceive? i burned with flames that by that lamp were fed; and by that breath which quenched its light i too expire." thus, like asra, did he complain, and, like wamik, traversed on every side the desert,[ ] his heart broken, and his garments rent; while, as the beasts gazed on him, his tears so constant flowed, that in their eyes the tear-drop stood; and like a shadow zayd his footsteps still pursued. when, weeping and mourning, majnún thus o'er many a hill and many a vale had passed, as grief his path directed, he wished to view the tomb of all he loved; and then inquired of zayd where was the spot that held her grave, and where the turf that o'er it grew. [ ] see note on 'wamik and asra' at the end of this paper. but soon as to the tomb he came, struck with its view, his senses fled. recovering, then he thus exclaimed: "o heaven! what shall i do, or what resource attempt, as like a lamp i waste away? alas! that heart-enslaver was all that in this world i prized: and now, alas! in wrath, dire fate with ruthless blow has snatched her from me. in my hand i held a lovely flower; the wind came and scattered all its leaves. i chose a cypress that in the garden graceful grew; but soon the wind of fate destroyed it. spring bade a blossom bloom; but fortune would not guard the flower. a group of lilies i preserved, pure as the thoughts that in my bosom rose; but one unjust purloined them. i sowed, but he the harvest reaped." then, resting within the tomb his head, he mourning wept, and said: "o lovely floweret, struck by autumn's blast, and from this world departed ere thou knewest it! a garden once in bloom, but now laid waste! o fruit matured, but not enjoyed! to earth's mortality can such as thou be subject, and such as thou within the darkness of the tomb repose? and where is now that mole which seemed a grain of musk?[ ] and where those eyes soft as the gazelle's? where those ruby lips? and where those curling ringlets? in what bright hues is now thy form adorned? and through the love of whom does now thy lamp consume? to whose fond eyes are now thy charms displayed? and whom to captivate do now thy tresses wave? beside the margin of what stream is now that cypress seen? and in what bower is now the banquet spread? ah, can such as thou have felt the pangs of death, and be reclined within this narrow cave?[ ] but o'er thy cell i mourn, as thou wast all i loved; and ere my grief shall cease, the grave shall be my friend. thou wast agitated like the sand of the desert; but now thou reposest as the water of the lake. thou, like the moon, hast disappeared; but, though unseen, the moon is still the same; and now, although thy form from me is hid, still in my breast remains the loved remembrance. though far removed beyond my aching sight, still is thy image in my heart beheld. thy form is now departed, but grief eternal fills its place. on thee my soul was fixed, and never will thy memory be forgot. thou art gone, and from this wilderness escaped, and now reposest in the bowers of paradise. i, too, after some little time will shake off these bonds, and there rejoin thee. till then, faithful to the love i vowed, around thy tomb my footsteps will i bend. until i come to thee within this narrow cell, pure be thy shroud! may paradise everlasting be thy mansion blest! and be thy soul received into the mercy of thy god! and may thy spirit by his grace be vivified to all eternity!" [ ] a mole on the fair face of beauty is not regarded as a blemish, but the very contrary, by asiatics--or by europeans either, else why did the ladies of the last century patch their faces, if not (originally) to set off the clearness of their complexion by contrast with the little black wafer?--though (afterwards) often to hide a pimple! eastern poets are for ever raving over the mole on a pretty face. háfíz goes the length of declaring: "for the mole on the cheek of that girl of shíráz i would give away samarkand and bukhárá"-- albeit they were none of his to give to anybody. [ ] cf. shelley, in the fine opening of that wonderful poetical offspring of his adolescence, _queen mab_: "hath, then, the gloomy power whose reign is in the tainted sepulchres seized on her sinless soul?" * * * * * "this," methinks i hear some misogynist exclaim, after reading it--"this is rank nonsense--it is stark lunacy!" and so it is, perhaps. at all events, these impassioned words are supposed to be uttered by a poor youth who had gone mad from love. our misogynist--and may i venture to include the experienced married man?--will probably retort, that all love between young folks is not only folly but sheer madness; and he will be the more confirmed in this opinion when he learns that, according to certain grave persian writers, laylá was really of a swarthy visage, and far from being the beauty her infatuated lover conceived her to be: thus verifying the dictum of our great dramatist, in the ever-fresh passage where he makes "the lunatic, the lover, and the poet" to be "of imagination all compact," the lover seeing "helen's beauty in the brow of egypt!"--notwithstanding all this, the ancient legend of laylá and majnún has proved an inspiring theme to more than one great poet of persia, during the most flourishing period of the literature of that country--for which let us all be duly thankful. _additional notes._ 'wamik and asra,' p. . this is the title of an ancient persian poem, composed in the reign of núshírván, a.d. - , of which some fragments only now remain, incorporated with an arabian poem. in , von hammer published a german translation, at vienna: _wamik und asra; das ist, glühende und die blühende. das älteste persische romantische gedicht. jun fünftelsaft abgezogen_, von joseph von hammer (wamik and asra; that is, the glowing and the blowing. the most ancient persian romantic poem. transfer the fifth, etc.) the hero and heroine, namely, wamik and asra, are personifications of the two great principles of heat and vegetation, the vivifying energy of heaven and the correspondent productiveness of earth.--this noble poem is the subject of a very interesting article in the _foreign quarterly review_, vol. xviii, - , giving some of the more striking passages in english verse, of which the following may serve as a specimen: 'the blowing one' asra was justly named, for she, in mind and form, a blossom stood; of beauty, youth, and grace divinely framed, of holiest spirit, filled with heavenly good. the spring, when warm, in fullest splendour showing, breathing gay wishes to the inmost core of youthful hearts, and fondest influence throwing, yet veiled its bloom, her beauty's bloom before; for her the devotee his very creed forswore. her hair was bright as hyacinthine dyes; her cheek was blushing, sheen as eden's rose; the soft narcissus tinged her sleeping eyes, and white her forehead, as the lotus shows _'gainst summer's earliest sunbeams shimmering fair._ a curious story is related by dawlat sháh regarding this poem, which bears a close resemblance to the story of the destruction of the alexandrian library, by order of the fanatical khalíf 'umar: one day when amír abdullah tahir, governor of khurasán under the abbasside khalífs, was giving audience, a person laid before him a book, as a rare and valuable present. he asked: "what book is this?" the man replied: "it is the story of wamik and asra." the amír observed: "we are the readers of the kurán, and we read nothing except that sacred volume, and the traditions of the prophet, and such accounts as relate to him, and we have therefore no use for books of this kind. they are besides compositions of infidels, and the productions of worshippers of fire, and are therefore to be rejected and contemned by us." he then ordered the book to be thrown into the water, and issued his command that whatever books could be found in the kingdom which were the composition of the persian infidels should be immediately burnt. another famous arabian lover. scarcely less celebrated than the story of majnún and laylá--among the arabs, at least--is that of the poet jamíl and the beauteous damsel buthayna. it is said that jamíl fell in love with her while he was yet a boy, and on attaining manhood asked her in marriage, but her father refused. he then composed verses in her honour and visited her secretly at wádi-'l kura, a delightful valley near medína, much celebrated by the poets. jamíl afterwards went to egypt, with the intention of reciting to abdu-'l azíz ibn marwán a poem he had composed in his honour. this governor admitted jamíl into his presence, and, after hearing his eulogistic verses and rewarding him generously, he asked him concerning his love for buthayna, and was told of his ardent and painful passion. on this abdu-'l azíz promised to unite jamíl to her, and bade him stay at misr (cairo), where he assigned him a habitation and furnished him with all he required. but jamíl died there shortly after, a.h. (a.d. ). the following narrative is given in the _kitabal-aghání_, on the authority of the famous poet and philologist al-asma'í, who flourished in the th century: a person who was present at the death of jamíl in egypt relates that the poet called him and said: "if i give you all i leave after me, will you perform one thing which i shall enjoin you?" "by allah, yes," said the other. "when i am dead," said jamíl, "take this cloak of mine and put it aside, but keep everything else for yourself. then go to buthayna's tribe, and when you are near them, saddle this camel of mine and mount her; then put on my cloak and rend it, and mounting on a hill, shout out these verses: 'a messenger hath openly proclaimed the death of jamíl. he hath now a dwelling in egypt from which he will never return. there was a time when, intoxicated with love, he trained his mantle proudly in the fields and palm-groves of wádi-'l kura! arise, buthayna! and lament aloud: weep for the best of all thy lovers!'" the man did what jamíl ordered, and had scarcely finished the verses when buthayna came forth, beautiful as the moon when it appears from behind a cloud. she was muffled in a cloak, and on coming up to him said: "man, if what thou sayest be true, thou hast killed me; if false, thou hast dishonoured me!" [i.e. by associating her name with that of a strange man, still alive.] he replied: "by allah! i only tell the truth," and he showed her jamíl's mantle, on seeing which she uttered a loud cry and smote her face, and the women of the tribe gathered around, weeping with her and lamenting her lover's death. her strength at length failed her, and she swooned away. after some time she revived, and said [in verse]: "never for an instant shall i feel consolation for the loss of jamíl! that time shall never come. since thou art dead, o jamíl, son of mamar! the pains of life and its pleasures are alike to me." and quoth the lover's messenger: "i never saw man or woman weep more than i saw that day."--abridged from ibn khallikan's great biographical dictionary as translated by baron de slane, vol. i, pp. - . apocryphal life of esop, the fabulist. the origin of the beast-fable is still a vexed question among scholars, some of whom ascribe it to the doctrine of metempsychosis, or the transmigration of human souls into different animal forms; others, again, are of the opinion that beasts and birds were first adopted as characters of fictitious narratives, in order to safely convey reproof or impart wholesome counsel to the minds of absolute princes, who would signally resent "plain speaking."[ ] several nations of antiquity--notably the greeks, the hindús, the egyptians--have been credited with the invention of the beast-fable, and there is no reason to believe that it may not have been independently devised in different countries. it is very certain, however, that esop was not the inventor of this kind of narrative in greece, while those fables ascribed to him, which have been familiar to us from our nursery days, are mostly spurious, and have been traced to ancient oriental sources. the so-called esopic apologue of the lion and the house is found in an egyptian papyrus preserved at leyden.[ ] many of them are quite modern _rechauffés_ of hindú apologues, such as the milkmaid and her pot of milk, which gave rise to our popular saying, "don't count your chickens until they be hatched." nevertheless, genuine fables of esop were current in athens at the best period of its literary history, though it does not appear that they existed in writing during his lifetime. aristophanes represents a character in one of his plays as learning esop's fables from oral recitation. when first reduced to writing they were in prose, and socrates is said to have turned some of them into verse, his example being followed by babrius, amongst others, of whose version but few fables remain entire. the most celebrated of his latin translators is phædrus, who takes care to inform us that if any thoughts in these iambics shine, the invention's esop's, and the verse is mine.[ ] [ ] the reader may with advantage consult the article 'beast-fable,' by mr. thos. davidson, in _chambers's encylopædia_, new edition. [ ] but this papyrus might be of as late a period as the second century of our era. [ ] for the most complete history of the esopic fable, see vol. i of mr. joseph jacobs' edition of _the fables of aesop, as first printed by caxton in , with those of avian, alfonso, and poggio_, recently published by mr. david nutt; where a vast amount of erudite information will be found on the subject in all its ramifications. mr. jacobs, indeed, seems to have left little for future gleaners: he has done his work in a thorough, benfey-like manner, and students of comparative folk-lore are under great obligations to him for the indefatigable industry he has devoted to the valuable outcome of his wide-reaching learning. little is authentically known regarding the career of the renowned fabulist, who is supposed to have been born about b.c. , and, as in the case of homer, various places are assigned as that of his nativity--samos, sardis, mesembria in thrace, and cotiæium in phrygia. he is said to have been brought as a slave to athens when very young, and after serving several masters was enfranchised by iadmon, the samian. his death is thus related by plutarch: having gone to delphos, by the order of croesus, with a large quantity of gold and silver, to offer a costly sacrifice to apollo and to distribute a considerable sum among the inhabitants, a quarrel arose between him and the delphians, which induced him to return the money, and inform the king that the people were unworthy of the liberal benefaction he had intended for them. the delphians, incensed, charged him with sacrilege, and, having procured his condemnation, precipitated him from a rock and caused his death.--the popular notion that esop was a monster of ugliness and deformity is derived from a "life" of the fabulist, prefixed to a greek collection of fables purporting to be his, said to have been written by maximus planudes, a monk of the th century, which, however apocryphal, is both curious and entertaining, from whatever sources the anecdotes may have been drawn. according to planudes,[ ] esop was born at amorium, in the greater phrygia, a slave, ugly exceedingly: he was sharp-chinned, snub-nosed, bull-necked, blubber-lipped, and extremely swarthy (whence his name, _ais-ôpos_, or _aith-ôpos_: burnt-face, blackamoor); pot-bellied, crook-legged, and crook-backed; perhaps uglier even than the thersites of homer; worst of all, tongue-tied, obscure and inarticulate in his speech; in short, everything but his mind seemed to mark him out for a slave. his first master sent him out to dig one day. a husbandman having presented the master with some fine fresh figs, they were given to a slave to be set before him after his bath. esop had occasion to go into the house; meanwhile the other slaves ate the figs, and when the master missed them they accused esop, who begged a moment's respite: he then drank some warm water and caused himself to vomit, and as he had not broken his fast his innocence was thus manifest. the same test discovered the thieves, who by their punishment illustrated the proverb: whoso against another worketh guile thereby himself doth injure unaware.[ ] [ ] _fabulae romanenses graece conscriptae ex recensione et cum adnotationibus_, alfredi eberhard (leipzig, ), vol. i, p. ff. [ ] it would have been well had the sultan bayazíd compelled his soldier to adopt this plan when accused by an old woman of having drunk up all her supply of goat's milk. the soldier declared his innocence, upon which bayazíd ordered his stomach to be cut open, and finding the milk not yet digested, quoth he to the woman: "thou didst not complain without reason." and, having caused her to be recompensed for her loss, "now go thy way," he added, "for thou hast had justice for the wrong done thee." next day the master goes to town. esop works in the field, and entertains with his own food some travellers who had lost their way, and sets them on the right road again. they are really priests of artemis, and having received their blessing he falls asleep, and dreams that tychê (i.e. fortune) looses his tongue, and gives him eloquence. waking, he finds he can say _bous_, _onos_, _dikella_, (ox, ass, mattock). this is the reward of piety, for "well-doing is full of good hopes." zenas, the overseer, is rebuked by esop for beating a slave. this is the first time he has been heard to speak distinctly. zenas goes to his master and accuses esop of having blasphemed him and the gods, and is given esop to sell or give away as he pleases. he sells him to a trader for three obols ( - / d.), esop pleading that, if useless for aught else, he will do for a bugbear to keep his children quiet. when they arrive home the little ones begin to cry. "was i not right?" quoth esop, and the other slaves think he has been bought to avert the evil eye. the merchant sets out for asia with all his house-hold. esop is offered the lightest load, as being a raw recruit. from among the bags, beds, and baskets he chooses a basket full of bread--"a load for two men." they laugh at his folly, but let him have his will, and he staggers under the burden to the wonder of his master. but at the first halt for _ariston_, or breakfast, the basket is half-emptied, and by the evening wholly so, and then esop marches triumphantly ahead, all commending his wit. at ephesus the merchant sells all his slaves, excepting a musician, a scribe, and esop. thence he goes to samos, where he puts new garments on the two former (he had none left for esop), and sets them out for sale, esop between them. xanthus, the philospher, lived at samos. he goes to the slave market, and, seeing the three, praises the dealer's cunning in making the two look handsomer than they were by contrast with the ugly one. asking the scribe and the musician what they know, their answer is, "everything," upon which esop laughs. the price of the musician ( obols, or six guineas) and of the scribe (three times that sum) prevents the philosopher from buying them, and he turns to esop to see what he is made of. he gives him the customary salutation, "khaire!" (rejoice). "i wasn't grieving," retorts esop. "i greet thee," says xanthus. "and i thee," replies esop. "what are thou?" "black." "i don't mean that, but in what sort of place wast thou born?" "my mother didn't tell me whether in the second floor or the cellar." "what can you do?" "nothing." "how?" "why, these fellows here say they know how to do everything, and they haven't left me a single thing." "by jove," cries xanthus, "he has answered right well; for there is no man who knows everything. that was why he laughed, it is clear." in the end, xanthus buys esop for sixty obols (about s. d.) and takes him home, where his wife (who is "very cleanly") receives him only on sufferance. one day xanthus, meeting friends at the bath, sends esop home to boil pease (idiomatically using the word in the singular), for his friends are coming to eat with him. esop boils _one_ pea and sets it before xanthus, who tastes it and bids him serve up. the water is then placed on the table, and esop justifies himself to his distracted master, who then sends him for four pig's feet. while they boil, xanthus slyly abstracts one, and when esop discovers this he takes it for a plot against him of the other slaves. he runs into the yard, cuts a foot from the pig feeding there, and tosses it into the pot. presently the other foot is put back, and esop is confounded to see _five_ trotters on the boil. he serves them up, however, and when xanthus asks him what the five mean he replies: "how many feet have two pigs?" xanthus saying, "eight," quoth esop: "then here are five, and the porker feeding below goes on three." on being reproached he urges: "but, master, there is no harm in doing a sum in addition and subtraction, is there?" for very shame xanthus forbears whipping him. one morning xanthus gives a breakfast, for which esop is sent to buy "the best and most useful." he buys tongues, and the guests (philosophers all) have nothing else. "what could be better for man than tongue?" quoth esop. another time he is ordered to get "the worst and most worthless"; again he brings tongues, and again is ready with a similar defence.[ ] a guest reviles him, and esop retorts that he is "malicious and a busybody." on hearing this xanthus commands him to find some one who is not a busybody. in the road esop finds a simple soul and brings him home to his master, who persuades his wife to bear with him in anything he should pretend to do to her; if the guest is a busybody (or one who meddles) esop will get a beating. the plan fails; for the good man continues eating and takes no notice of the wife-cuffing going on, and when his host seems about to burn her, he only asks leave to bring his own wife to be also placed on the pile. [ ] this story is also found in the _liber de donis_ of etienne de bourbon (no. ), a dominican monk of the th century; in the _summa praedicantium_ of john bromyard, and several other medieval monkish collections of _exempla_, or stories designed for the use of preachers: in these the explanation is that nothing can be better and nothing worse than _tongue_. at a symposium xanthus takes too much wine, and in bravado wagers his house and all that it contains that he will drink up the waters of the sea. out of this scrape esop rescues him by suggesting that he should demand that all the rivers be stopped from flowing into the sea, for he did not undertake to drink them too, and the other party is satisfied.[ ] [ ] this occurs in the several asiatic versions of the book of sindibád (story of the sandalwood merchant); in the _gesta romanorum_; in the old english metrical _tale of beryn_; in one of the italian _novelle_ of sacchetti; and in the exploits of tyl eulenspiegel, the german rogue. a party of scientific guests are coming to dinner one day, and esop is set just within the door to keep out "all but the wise." when there is a knock at the door esop shouts: "what does the dog shake?" and all save one go away in high dudgeon, thinking he means them; but this last answers: "his tail," and is admitted. at a public festival an eagle carries off the municipal ring, and esop obtains his freedom by order of the state for his interpretation of this omen--that some king purposes to annex samos. this, it turns out, is croesus, who sends to claim tribute. hereupon esop relates his first fable, that of the wolf, the dog, and the sheep, and, going on an embassy to croesus, that of the grasshopper who was caught by the locust-gatherer. he brings home "peace with honour." after this esop travels over the world, showing his wisdom and wit. at babylon he is made much of by the king. he then visits egypt and confounds the sages in his monarch's behalf. once more he returns to greece, and at delphi is accused of stealing a sacred golden bowl and condemned to be hurled from a rock. he pleads the fables of the matron of ephesus,[ ] the frog and the mouse, the beetle and the eagle, the old farmer and his ass-waggon, and others, but all is of no avail, and the villains break his neck. [ ] taken from petronius arbiter. the story is widely spread. it is found in the _seven wise masters_, and--_mutatis mutandis_--is well known to the chinese. planudes takes some liberties with his original, substituting for the soldier guarding the suspended corpse of a criminal, who "comforts" the sorrowing widow, a herdsman with his beasts, which he loses in prosecuting his amour. * * * * * such are some of the apocryphal sayings and doings of esop the fabulist--the manner of his death being the only circumstance for which there is any authority. the idea of his bodily deformity is utterly without foundation, and may have been adopted as a foil to his extraordinary shrewdness and wit, as exhibited in the anecdotes related of him by planudes. that there was nothing uncouth in the person of esop is evident from the fact that the athenians erected a fine statue of him, by the famed sculptor lysippus.--the latin collection of the fables ascribed to esop was first printed at rome in and soon afterwards translated into most of the languages of europe. about the year the greek text was printed at milan. from a french version caxton printed them in english at westminster in , with woodcuts: "here begynneth the book of the subtyl history and fables of esope. translated out of frenssche into englissche, by william caxton," etc. in this version planudes' description of esop's personal appearance is reproduced:[ ] he was "deformed and evil shapen, for he had a great head, large visage, long jaws, sharp eyes, a short neck, curb backed, great belly, great legs, and large feet; and yet that which was worse, he was dumb and could not speak; but, notwithstanding all this, he had a great wit and was greatly ingenious, subtle in cavillection and joyous in words"--an inconsistency which is done away in a later edition by the statement that afterwards he found his tongue.--it is curious to find the scottish poet robert henryson ( th century), in one of the prologues to his metrical versions of some of the fables, draw a very different portrait of esop.[ ] he tells us that one day in the midst of june, "that joly sweit seasoun," he went alone to a wood, where he was charmed with the "noyis of birdis richt delitious," and "sweit was the smell of flowris quhyte and reid," and, sheltering himself under a green hawthorn from the heat of the sun, he fell asleep: and, in my dreme, methocht come throw the schaw[ ] the fairest man that ever befoir i saw. his gowne wes of ane claith als quhyte as milk, his chymeris[ ] wes of chambelote purpour broun; his hude[ ] of scarlet, bordourit[ ] weill with silk, on hekellit-wyis,[ ] untill his girdill doun; his bonat round, and of the auld fassoun,[ ] his beird was quhyte, his ene was greit and gray, with lokker[ ] hair, quilk ouer his schulderis lay. ane roll of paper in his hand he bair, ane swannis pen stikkand[ ] under his eir, ane inkhorne, with ane prettie gilt pennair,[ ] ane bag of silk, all at his belt can beir: thus was he gudelie graithit[ ] in his geir. of stature large, and with ane feirfull[ ] face; evin quhair i lay, he came ane sturdie pace. [ ] mr. jacobs was obliged to omit the life of esop in his reprint of caxton's text of the fables, as it would have unduly increased the bulk of his second volume. but those interested in the genealogy of popular tales and fables will be glad to have mr. jacobs' all but exhaustive account of the so-called esopic fables, together with his excellent synopsis of parallels, in preference to the monkish collection of spurious anecdotes of the fabulist, of which the most noteworthy are given in the present paper. [ ] robert henryson was a schoolmaster in dunfermline in the latter part of the th century. his _moral fables_, edited by dr. david irving, were printed for the maitland club in , and his complete works (poems and fables) were edited by dr. david laing, and published in . his _testament of cresseid_, usually considered as his best performance, is a continuation of chaucer's _troilus and cresseide_, which was derived from the latin of an unknown author named lollius. henryson was the author of the first pastoral poem composed in the english (or scottish) language--that of _robin and makyn_. "to his power of poetical conception," dr. laing justly remarks, "he unites no inconsiderable skill in versification: his lines, if divested of their uncouth orthography, might be mistaken for those of a more modern poet." [ ] _schaw_, a wood, a covert. [ ] _chymeris_, a short, light gown. [ ] _hude_, hood. [ ] _bordourit_, embroidered. [ ] _hekellit-wise_, like the feathers in the neck of a cock. [ ] _fassoun_, fashion. [ ] _lokker_, (?) gray. [ ] _stikkand_, sticking. [ ] _pennair_, pen-case. [ ] _graithit_, apparelled, arrayed. [ ] _feirfull_, awe-inspiring, dignified. the arabian sage lokinan is represented by tradition to have been a black slave, and of hideous appearance, from which, and from the identity of the apologues in the arabian collection that bears his name as the author with the so-called esopic fables, some writers have supposed that esop and lokman are simply different names of one and the same individual. but the fables ascribed to lokman have been for the most part (if not indeed entirely) derived from the greek; and there is no authority whatever that lokman composed any apologues. various traditions exist regarding lokman's origin and history. it is said that he was an ethiopian, and was sold as a slave to the israelites during the reign of david. according to one version, he was a carpenter; another describes him as having been originally a tailor; while a third account states that he was a shepherd. if the arabs may be credited, he was nearly related to the patriarch job. among the anecdotes which are recounted of his amiable disposition is the following: his master once gave him a bitter lemon to eat. lokman ate it all, upon which his master, greatly astonished, asked him: "how was it possible for you to eat so unpalatable a fruit?" lokman replied: "i have received so many favours from you, that it is no wonder i should once in my life eat a bitter melon from your hand." struck with this generous answer, the master, it is said, immediately gave him his freedom.--a man of eminence among the jews, observing a great crowd around lokman, eagerly listening to his discourse, asked him whether he was not the black slave who lately tended the sheep of such a person, to which lokman replying in the affirmative, "how was it possible," continued his questioner, "for thee to attain so exalted a degree of wisdom and piety?" lokman answered: "by always speaking the truth; keeping my word; and never intermeddling in affairs that did not concern me."--being asked from whom he had learned urbanity, he replied: "from men of rude manners, for whatever i saw in them that was disagreeable i avoided doing myself." and when asked from whom he had acquired his philosophy, he said: "from the blind, who never advance a step until they have tried the ground." lokman is also credited with this apothegm: "be a learned man, a disciple of the learned, or an auditor of the learned; at least, be a lover of knowledge and desirous of improvement."--in persian and turkish tales lokman sometimes figures as a highly skilled physician, and "wise as lokman" is proverbial throughout the muhammedan world. _additional note._ drinking the sea dry, p. . the same jest is also found in _aino folk-tales_, translated by prof. basil hall chamberlain, and published in the _folk-lore journal_, , as follows: there was the chief of the mouth of the river and the chief of the upper current of the river. the former was very vain-glorious, and therefore wished to put the latter to shame or to kill him by engaging him in an attempt to perform something impossible. so he sent for him and said: "the sea is a useful thing, in so far as it is the original home of the fish which come up the river. but it is very destructive in stormy weather, when it beats wildly upon the beach. do you now drink it dry, so that there may be rivers and dry land only. if you cannot do so, then forfeit all your possessions." the other said, greatly to the vain-glorious man's surprise: "i accept the challenge." so, on their going down to the beach, the chief of the upper current of the river took a cup and scooped up a little of the sea-water with it, drank a few drops, and said: "in the sea-water itself there is no harm. it is some of the rivers flowing into it that are poisonous. do you, therefore, first close the mouths of all the rivers both in aino-land and in japan, and prevent them from flowing into the sea, and then i will undertake to drink the sea dry." hereupon the chief of the mouth of the river felt ashamed, acknowledged his error, and gave all his treasures to his rival. * * * * * such an idea as this of first "stopping the rivers" might well have been conceived independently by different peoples, but surely not by such a race so low in the scale of humanity as the ainos, who must have got the story from the japanese, who in their turn probably derived it from some indian-buddhist source--perhaps a version of the book of sindibád. of course, the several european versions and variants have been copied out of one book into another, and independent invention is out of the question. ignorance of the clergy in the middle ages. _orl._ whom ambles time withal? _ros._ with a priest that lacks latin; for he sleeps easily, because he cannot study, lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning.--_as you like it_. during the th and th centuries the state of letters throughout christian europe was so low that very few of the bishops could compose their own discourses, and some of those church dignitaries thought it no shame to publicly acknowledge their inability to write their own names. numerous instances occur in the acts of the councils of ephesus and chalcedon of an inscription in these words: "i, ----, have subscribed by the hand of ----, because i cannot write"; and such a bishop having thus confessed that he could not write, there followed: "i, ----, whose name is underwritten, have therefore subscribed for him." alfred the great--who was twelve years of age before a tutor could be found competent to teach him the alphabet--complained, towards the close of the th century, that "from the humber to the thames there was not a priest who understood the liturgy in his mother-tongue, or could translate the easiest piece of latin"; and a correspondent of abelard, about the middle of the th century, complimenting him upon a resort to him of pupils from all countries, says that "even britain, distant as she is, sends her savages to be instructed by you." henri etienne, in the introduction to his apology for herodotus,[ ] says that "the most brutish and blockish ignorance was to be found in friars' cowls, especially mass-mongering priests, which we are the less to wonder at, considering that which menot twits them in the teeth withal, that instead of books there was nothing to be found in their chambers but a sword, or a long-bow, or a cross-bow, or some such weapon. but how could they send _ad ordos_ such ignorant asses? you must note, sir, that they which examined them were as wise as woodcocks themselves, and therefore judged of them as penmen of pikemen and blind men of colours. or were it that they had so much learning in their budgets as that they could make a shift to know their inefficiency, yet to pleasure those that recommended them they suffered them to pass. one is famous among the rest, who being asked by the bishop sitting at the table: 'es tu dignus?' answered, 'no, my lord, but i shall dine anon with your men.' for he thought that _dignus_ (that is, worthy) signified to dine." [ ] this is a work distinct from henri etienne's _apologia pour herodote_. an english translation of it was published at london in , and at edinburgh in , under the title of "_a world of wonders_; or, an introduction to a treatise touching the conformitie of ancient and modern wonders; or, a preparative treatise to the apology for herodotus," etc. for this book (the "introduction") etienne had to quit france, fearing the wrath of the clerics. his _apologie pour herodote_ has not been rendered into english--and why not, it would be hard to say. etienne gives another example, which, however, belongs rather to the class of simpleton stories: a young man going to the bishop for admission into holy orders, to test his _learning_, was asked by the prelate, "who was the father of the four sons of aymon?"[ ] and not knowing what answer to make, this promising candidate was refused as inefficient. returning home, and explaining why he had not been ordained, his father told him that he must be an ass if he could not tell who was the father of the four sons of aymon. "see, i pray thee," quoth he, "yonder is great john, the smith, who has four sons; if a man should ask thee who was their father, wouldst thou not say it was great john, the smith?" "yes," said the brilliant youth; "now i understand it." thereupon he went again before the bishop, and being asked a second time, "who was the father of the four sons of aymon?" he promptly replied: "great john, the smith."[ ] [ ] one of the charlemagne romances, translated by caxton from the french, and printed by him about the year , under the title of _the right pleasaunt and goodly historie of the four sonnes of aymon_. it has been reprinted for the early english text society, ably edited by miss octavia richardson. [ ] a slightly different version is found in _a hundred mery talys_, no. lxix, "of the franklyns sonne that cam to take orders." the bishop says that noah had three sons, shem, ham, and japheth;--who was the father of japheth? when the "scholar" returns home and tells his father how he had been puzzled by the bishop, he endeavours to enlighten his son thus: "here is colle, my dog, that hath three whelps; must not these three whelps have colle for their sire?" going back to the bishop, he informs his lordship that the father of japheth was "colle, my father's dogge." the same author asks who but the churchmen of those days of ignorance corrupted and perverted the text of the new testament? thus, in the parable of the lost piece of money, _evertit domum_, "she overturned the house," was substituted for _everrit domum_, "she _swept_ the house." and in the acts of the apostles, where saul (or paul) is described as being let down from the house on the wall of damascus in a basket, for _demissus per sportam_ was substituted _demissus per portam_, a correction which called forth a rather witty latin epigram to this effect: this way the other day did pass as jolly a carpenter as ever was; so strangely skilful in his trade, that of a _basket_ a _door_ he made. among the many curious anecdotes told in illustration of the gross ignorance of the higher orders of the clergy in medieval times the two following are not the least amusing: about the year louis beaumont was bishop of durham. he was an extremely illiterate french nobleman, so incapable of reading that he could not, although he had studied them, read the bulls announced to the people at his consecration. during that ceremony the word "metropoliticæ" occurred. the bishop paused, and tried in vain to repeat it, and at last remarked: "suppose that said." then he came to "enigmate," which also puzzled him. "by st. louis!" he exclaimed in indignation, "it could be no gentleman who wrote that stuff!" our second anecdote is probably more generally known: andrew forman, who was bishop of moray and papal legate for scotland, at an entertainment given by him at rome to the pope and cardinals, blundered so in his latinity when he said grace that his holiness and the cardinals lost their gravity. the disconcerted bishop concluded his blessing by giving "a' the fause carles to the de'il," to which the company, not understanding his scotch latinity, said "amen!" when such was the condition of the bishops, it is not surprising to find that few of the ordinary priests were acquainted with even the rudiments of the latin tongue, and they consequently mumbled over masses which they did not understand. a rector of a parish, we are told, going to law with his parishioners about paving the church, cited these words, _paveant illi, non paveam ego_, which, ascribing them to st. peter, he thus construed: "they are to pave the church, not i"--and this was allowed to be good law by a judge who was himself an ecclesiastic. we have an amusing example of the ignorance of the lower orders of churchmen during the "dark ages" in no. xii of _a hundred mery talys_, as follows: "the archdekyn of essex, that had ben longe in auctorite, in a tyme of vysytacyon, whan all the prestys apperyd before hym, called aside iii. of the yonge prestys which were acusyd that th[e]y could not wel say theyr dyvyne service, and askyd of them, when they sayd mas, whether they sayd corpus meus or corpum meum. the fyrst prest sayde that he sayd corpus meus. the second sayd that he sayd corpum meum. and than he asked of the thyrd how he sayde; whyche answered and sayd thus: sir, because it is so great a dout, and dyvers men be in dyvers opynyons, therfore, because i wolde be sure i wolde not offende, whan i come to the place i leve it clene out and say nothynge therfore. wherfore the bysshoppe than openly rebuked them all thre. but dyvers that were present thought more defaut in hym, because he hym selfe beforetyme had admytted them to be prestys." and assuredly they were right in so thinking, and the worthy archdeacon (or bishop, as he is also styled), who had probably passed the three young men "for value received" from their fathers, should have refrained from publicly examining them afterwards. the covetousness and irreverence of the churchmen in former times are well exemplified in another tale given in the same old jest-book, no. lxxi, which, with spelling modernised, goes thus: "sometime there dwelled a priest in stratford-on-avon, of small learning, which undevoutly sang mass and oftentimes twice on one day. so it happened on a time, after his second mass was done in short space, not a mile from stratford there met him divers merchantmen, which would have heard mass, and desired him to sing mass and he should have a groat, which answered them and said: 'sirs, i will say mass no more this day; but i will say you two gospels for one groat, and that is dog-cheap for a mass in any place in england.'" the story-teller does not inform us whether the pious merchants accepted of the business-like compromise offered by "mass john." hagiolatry was quite as much in vogue among the priesthood in medieval times as mariolatry has since been the special characteristic of the romish church, to the subordination (one might almost say, the suppression) of the only true object of worship; in proof of which, here is a droll anecdote from another early english collection, _mery tales, wittie questions, and quicke answeres, very pleasant to be readde_ (no. cxix): "a friar, preaching to the people, extolled saint francis above [all] confessors, doctors, virgins, martyrs, prophets--yea, and above one more than prophets, john the baptist, and finally above the seraphical order of angels; and still he said, 'yet let us go higher.' so when he could go no farther, except he should put christ out of his place, which the good man was half afraid to do, he said aloud, 'and yet we have found no fit place for him.' and, staying a little while, he cried out at last, saying, 'where shall we place the holy father?' a froward fellow standing among the audience,[ ] said, 'if thou canst find none other, then set him here in my place, for i am weary,' and so he went his way."--this "froward fellow's" unexpected reply will doubtless remind the reader of the old man's remark in the mosque, about the "calling of noah," _ante_, pp. , .[ ] [ ] there were no pews in the churches in those "good old times." [ ] _apropos_ of saint-worship, quaint old thomas fuller relates a droll story in his _church history_, ed. , p. : a countryman who had lived many years in the hercinian woods, in germany, at last came into a populous city, demanding of the people therein, what god they did worship. they answered him, that they worshipped jesus christ. whereupon the wild wood-man asked the names of the several churches in the city, which were all called by sundry saints, to whom they were consecrated. "it is strange," said he, "that you should worship jesus christ, and he not have a temple in all the city dedicated to him." probably not less than one third of the jests current in europe in the th century turned on the ignorance of the romish clergy--such, for instance, as that of the illiterate priest who, finding _salta per tria_ (skip over three leaves) written at the foot of a page in his mass-book, deliberately jumped down three of the steps before the altar, to the great astonishment of the congregation; or that of another who, finding the title of the day's service indicated only by the abbreviation _re._, read the mass of the requiem instead of the service of the resurrection; or that of yet another, who being so illiterate as to be unable to pronounce readily the long words in his ritual always omitted them, and pronounced the word jesus, which he said was much more devotional. there is a diverting tale of a foolish curé of brou, which is well worthy of reproduction, in _les contes; ou, les nouvelles récréations et joyeux devis_, by bonaventure des periers--one of the best story-books of the th century (bonaventure succeeded the celebrated poet clement marot as _valet-de-chambre_ to margaret, queen of navarre): it happened that a lady of rank and importance, on her way to châteaudun to keep there the festival of easter, passed through brou on good friday, about ten o'clock in the morning, and, wishing to hear service, she went into the church. when the curé came to the passion he said it in his own peculiar manner, and made the whole church ring when he said, "_quem, quæritis_?" but when it came to the reply, "_jesum, nazarenum_,"[ ] he spoke as low as he possibly could, and in this manner he continued the passion. the lady, who was very devout and, for a woman, well-informed, in the holy scriptures [the reader will understand this was early in the th century], and attentive to ecclesiastical ceremonies, felt scandalised at this mode of chanting, and wished that she had never entered the church. she had a mind to speak to the curé, and tell him what she thought of it, and for this purpose sent for him to come to her after service. when he was come, "monsieur le curé," she said to him, "i don't know where you have learned to officiate on a day like this, when the people ought to be all humility. but to hear you perform the service is enough to drive away anybody's devotion." "how so, madame?" said the curé. "how so?" responded the lady. "you have said a passion contrary to all rules of decency. when our lord speaks you cry as if you were in the town-hall, and when it is caiaphas, or pilate, or the jews, you speak softly like a young bride. is this becoming in one like you? are you fit to be a curé? if you had what you deserve, you would be turned out of your benefice, and then you would be made to know your fault." when the curé had very attentively listened to the good lady, "is this what you have to say to me, madame?" said he. "by my soul! it is very true what you say, and the truth is, there are many people who talk of things which they do not understand. madame, i believe i know my office as well as another, and beg all the world to know that god is as well served in this parish according to its condition as in any place within a hundred leagues of it. i know very well that the other curés chant the passion quite differently. i could easily chant it like them if i would; but they don't understand their business at all. i should like to know if it becomes those rogues of jews to speak as loud as our lord? no, no, madame; rest assured that in my parish it is my will that god be master, and he shall be as long as i live, and let others do in their parishes according to their understanding." [ ] "jesus, therefore, knowing all things that should come upon him, went forth, and said unto them, 'whom seek ye?' they answered him, 'jesus of nazareth.'"--_gospel of s. john_, xviii, , . this is another of des periers' comical tales at the expense of the clerical orders: there was a priest of a village who was as proud as might be because he had seen a little more than his cato. and this made him set up his feathers and talk very grand, using words that filled his mouth in order to make people think him a great doctor. even at confession he made use of terms which astonished the poor people. one day he was confessing a poor working man, of whom he asked: "here, now, my friend, tell me, art thou not ambitious?" the poor man said, "no," thinking this was a word which belonged to great lords, and almost repented of having come to confess to this priest; for he had already heard that he was such a great clerk and that he spoke so grandly that nobody understood him, which he knew by the word _ambitious_; for although he might have heard it somewhere, yet he knew not at all what it meant. the priest went on to ask: "art thou not a gourmand?" said the labourer, who understood as little as before: "no." "art thou not superbe" [proud]? "no." "art thou not iracund" [passionate]? "no." the priest, seeing the man always answer, "no," was somewhat surprised. "art thou not concupiscent?" "no." "and what are thou, then?" said the priest. "i am," said he, "a mason--here's my trowel." * * * * * readers acquainted with the _fabliaux_ of the minstrels (the trouvères) of northern france know that those light-hearted gentry very often launched their satirical shafts at the churchmen of their day. one of the _fabliaux_ in barbazan's collection relates how a doltish, thick-headed priest was officiating in his church on good friday, and when about to read the service for that day he discovered that he had lost his book-mark ("_mais il ot perdu ses festuz_.")[ ] then he began to go back and turn over the leaves, but until ascension day he found not the passion service. and the assembled peasants fretted and complained that he made them fast too long, since it was time for the festival. "had he but said them the service," interjects the _fableur_, "should i make you a longer story?" so much did they grumble on all sides, that the priest began on them and fell to saying very rapidly, first in a loud and then in a low tone of voice, "_dixit dominus domino meo_" (the lord said unto my lord); "but," says the _fableur_, "i cannot find here any sequel." the priest having read the text as chance might lead him, read the vespers for sunday;--and you must know he travailed hard, that the offerings should be worth something to him. then he fell to crying, "barabbas!"--no crier could have cried a ban so loud as he cried to them; and everyone began to confess his sins aloud (i.e., struck up "_mea culpa_") and cried, "mercy!" the priest, who read on the sequence of his psalter, once more began to cry out, saying, "crucify him!" so that both men and women prayed god that he would defend them from torment. but it sorely vexed the clerk, who said to the priest, "make an end"; but he answered, "make no end, friend, till 'unto the marvellous works'"--referring to a passage in the psalter. the clerk then said that a long passion service boots nothing, and that it is never a gain to keep the people too long. and as soon as the offerings of the people were collected he finished the passion.--"by this tale," adds the _raconteur_, "i would show you how--by the faith of saint paul!--it as well befits a fool to talk folly and sottishness as it becomes a wise man to speak wisely. and he is a fool who believes me not."[ ]--a commentary, this, which recalls the old english saying, that "it is as great marvel to see a woman weep as to see a goose go barefoot." [ ] _festueum_, the split straw so used in the middle ages. [ ] see méon's edition of barbazan's _fabliaux et contes_, ed. , tome ii, p. , and a prose _extrait_ in le grand d'aussy's collection, ed. , tome iv, p. , "du prêtre qui dit la passion." * * * * * they were bold fellows, those trouvères. not content with making the ignorance and the gross vices of the clerical orders the subjects of their _fabliaux_, they did not scruple to ridicule their superstitious teachings, as witness the satire on saint-worship, entitled "du vilain [i.e., peasant] qui conquist paradis par plait," the substance of which is as follows: a poor peasant dies suddenly, and his soul escapes at a moment when neither angel nor demon was on the watch, so that, unclaimed and left to his own discretion, the peasant follows st. peter, who happened to be on his way to paradise, and enters the gate with him unperceived. when the saint finds that the soul of such a low person has found its way into paradise he is angry, and rudely orders the peasant out. but the latter accuses st. peter of denying his saviour, and, conscience-stricken, the gate-keeper of heaven applies to st. thomas, who undertakes to drive away the intruder. the peasant, however, disconcerts st. thomas by reminding him of his disbelief, and st. paul, who comes next, fares no better--he had persecuted the saints. at length christ hears of what had occurred, and comes himself. the saviour listens benignantly to the poor soul's pleading, and ends by forgiving the peasant his sins, and allowing him to remain in paradise.[ ] [ ] see méon's barbazan, , tome iv, p. ; also le grand, , tome ii, p. : "du vilain qui gagna paradis en plaidant." * * * * * there exists a very singular english burlesque of the unprofitable sermons of the preaching friars in the middle ages, which is worthy of rabelais himself, and of which this is a modernised extract: _mollificant olera durissima crusta._--"friends, this is to say to your ignorant understanding, that hot plants and hard crusts make soft hard plants. the help and the grace of the gray goose that goes on the green, and the wisdom of the water wind-mill, with the good grace of a gallon pitcher, and all the salt sausages that be sodden in norfolk upon saturday, be with us now at our beginning, and help us in our ending, and quit you of bliss and both your eyes, that never shall have ending. amen. my dear curst creatures, there was once a wife whose name was catherine fyste, and she was crafty in court, and well could carve. hence she sent after the four synods of rome to know why, wherefore, and for what cause that alleluja was closed before the cup came once round. why, believest thou not, forsooth, that there stood once a cock on st. paul's steeple-top, and drew up the strapples of his breech? how provest thou that tale? by all the four doctors of wynberryhills--that is to say, vertas, gadatryne, trumpas, and dadyltrymsert--the which four doctors say there was once an old wife had a cock to her son, and he looked out of an old dove-cot, and warned and charged that no man should be so hardy either to ride or go on st. paul's steeple-top unless he rode on a three-footed stool, or else that he brought with him a warrant of his neck"--and so on, in this fantastical style. * * * * * the meaning of the phrase "benefit of clergy" is not perhaps very generally understood. the phrase had its origin in those days of intellectual darkness, when the state of letters was so low that anyone found guilty in a court of justice of a crime which was punishable with death, if he could prove himself able to read a verse in a latin bible he was pardoned, as being a man of learning, and therefore likely to be useful to the state; but if he could not read he was sure to be hanged. this privilege, it is said, was granted to all offences, excepting high treason and sacrilege, till after the year . at first it was extended not only to the clergy but to any person that could read, who, however, had to vow that he would enter into holy orders; but with the increase of learning this "benefit to clergy" was restricted by several acts of parliament, and it was finally abolished only so late as the reign of george iv. in _pasquils jests and mother bunches merriments_, a book of _facetiæ_ very popular in the th century, a story is told of a criminal at the oxford assizes who "prayed his clergy," and a bible was accordingly handed to him that he might read a verse. he could not read a word, however, which a scholar who chanced to be present observing, he stood behind him and prompted him with the verse he was to read; but coming towards the end, the man's thumb happened to cover the remaining words, and so the scholar, in a low voice, said: "take away thy thumb," which words the man, supposing them to form part of the verse he was reading, repeated aloud, "take away thy thumb"--whereupon the judge ordered him to be taken away and hanged. and in taylor's _wit and mirth_ ( ): "a fellow having his book [that is, having read a verse in the bible] at the sessions, was burnt in the hand, and was commanded to say: 'may god save the king.' 'the king!' said he, 'god save my grandam, that taught me to read; i am sure i had been hanged else.'" the verse in the bible which a criminal was required to read, in order to entitle him to the "benefit of clergy" (the beginning of the st psalm, "miserere mei"), was called the "neck-verse," because his doing so saved his neck from the gallows. it is sometimes jestingly alluded to in old plays. for example, in massinger's _great duke of florence_, act iii, sc. : _cataminta_.--how the fool stares! _fiorinda_.--and looks as if he were conning his neck-verse; and in the same dramatist's play of _the picture_: twang it perfectly, as if it were your neck-verse. in the anonymous _pleasant comedy of patient grissell_ ( ), act ii, sc. , we find this custom again referred to: _farnese_.--ha, hah! emulo not write and read? _rice_.--not a letter, an you would hang him. _urcenze_.--then he'll never be saved by his book. in scott's _lay of the last minstrel_, the moss-trooper, william of deloraine, assures the lady, who had warned him not to look into what he should receive from the monk of st. mary's aisle, "be it scroll or be it book," that "letter nor line know i never a one, were't my neck-verse at haribee"-- the place where such border rascals were usually executed. it was formerly the custom to sing a psalm at the gallows before a criminal was "turned off." and there is a good story, in zachary gray's notes to _hudibras_, told of one of the chaplains of the famous montrose; how, being condemned in scotland to die for attending his master in some of his expeditions, and being upon the ladder and ordered to select a psalm to be sung, expecting a reprieve, he named the th psalm, with which the officer attending the execution complied (the scottish presbyterians were great psalm-singers in those days), and it was well for him he did so, for they had sung it half through before the reprieve came. any other psalm would certainly have hanged him! cotton, in his _virgil travestie_, thus alludes to the custom of psalm-singing at the foot of the gallows: ready, when dido gave the word, to be advanced into the halter, without the benefit on's psalter. * * * * * then 'cause she would, to part the sweeter, a portion have of hopkins' metre, as people use at execution, for the decorum of conclusion, being too sad to sing, she says.[ ] [ ] _scarronides; or, virgil travestie_, etc., by charles cotton, book iv. _poetical works_, th edition, london, , pp. , . if the clergy in medieval times had, as they are said to have had, all the learning among themselves, what a blessed state of ignorance must the laity have been in! and so, indeed, it appears, for there is extant an old act of parliament which provides that a nobleman shall be entitled to the "benefit of clergy," even though he could not read. and another law sets forth that "the command of the sheriff to his officer by word of mouth, and without writing is good; for it may be that neither the sheriff nor his officer can write or read!" many charters are preserved to which persons of great dignity, even kings, have affixed the sign of the cross, because they were not able to write their names, and hence the term of _signing_, instead of subscribing. in this respect a ten-year-old board school boy in these "double-distilled" days is vastly superior to the most renowned of the "barons bold." the beards of our fathers. 'tis merry in the hall when beards wag all.--_old song_. among the harmless foibles of adolescence which contribute to the quiet amusement of folks of mature years is the eager desire of youths to have their smooth faces adorned with that "noble" distinction of manhood--a beard. and no wonder. for, should a clever lad, getting out of his "teens," venture to express opinions contrary to those of his elders present, is he not at once snubbed by being called "a beardless boy"? a boy! bitter taunt! he very naturally feels that he is grossly insulted, and all because his "dimpled chin never has known the barber's shear." full well does our ingenuous youth know that a man is not wise in consequence of his beard--that, as the orientals say of women's long hair, it often happens that men with long beards have short wits; nevertheless, had he but a beard himself, he should then be free from such a wretched "argument"--such an implied accusation of his lack of wit, as that he is beardless. the young roman watched the first appearance of the downy precursor of his beard with no little solicitude, and applied the household oil to his face--there were no patent specifics in those days for "infallibly producing luxuriant whiskers and moustaches in a few weeks"--to promote its tardy growth, and entitle him, from the incipient fringe, to be styled "barbatulus." when his beard was full-grown he was called "barbatus." it would seem that the beard was held in the highest esteem, especially in asiatic countries, from the earliest period of which any records have been preserved. the hebrew priests are commanded in the book of leviticus, ch. xix, not to shave off the corners of their beards; and the first high priest, aaron, probably wore a magnificent beard, since the amicable relations between brethren are compared, in the rd psalm, to "the precious ointment upon the head, that ran down upon the beard, even aaron's beard; that went down to the skirts of his garments." the assyrian kings intertwined gold thread with their fine beards--and, judging from mural sculptures, curling tongs must have been in considerable demand with them. in ancient greece the beard was universally worn, and it is related of zoilus, the founder of the anti-homeric school, that he shaved the crown of his head, in order that all the virtue should go to the nourishment of his beard. persius could not think of a more complimentary epithet to apply to socrates than that of "magistrum barbatum," or bearded master--the notion being that the beard was the symbol of profound sagacity.[ ] alexander the great, however, caused his soldiers to shave off their beards, because they furnished their enemies with handles whereby to seize hold of them in battle. the beard was often consecrated to the deities, as the most precious offering. chaucer, in his _knight's tale_, represents arcite as offering his beard to mars: and evermore, unto that day i dye, eternè fyr i wol bifore the fynde, and eek to this avow i wol me bynde, my berd, myn heer, that hangeth long a doun, that neuer yit ne felt offensioun of rasour ne of schere, i wol ye giue, and be thy trewè seruaunt whiles i lyue.[ ] [ ] the notion that a beard indicated wisdom on the part of the wearer is often referred to in early european literature. for example, in lib. v of caxton's esop, the fox, to induce the sick king lion to kill the wolf, says he has travelled far and wide, seeking a good medicine for his majesty, and "certaynly i have found no better counceylle than the counceylle of an auncyent greke, with a grete and long berd, a man of grete wysdom, sage, and worthy to be praysed." and when the fox, in another fable, leaves the too-credulous goat in the well, reynard adds insult to injury by saying to him, "o maystre goote, yf thow haddest be [i.e. been] wel wyse, with thy fayre berde," and so forth. (pp. and of mr. jacobs' new edition.)--a story is told of a close-shaven french ambassador to the court of some eastern potentate, that on presenting his credentials his majesty made sneering remarks on his smooth face (doubtless he was himself "bearded to the eyes"), to which the envoy boldly replied: "sire, had my master supposed that you esteem a beard so highly, instead of me, he would have sent your majesty a goat as his ambassador." [ ] harleian ms. no. , lines - . printed for the early english text society. selim i was the first turkish sultan who shaved his beard after his accession to the throne; and when his muftis remonstrated with him for this _dangerous_ innovation, he facetiously replied that he had removed his beard in order that his vazírs should not have wherewith to _lead_ him. the beards of modern persian soldiers were abolished in consequence of a singular accident, which morier thus relates in his _second journey_: when european discipline was introduced into the persian army, lieutenant lindsay raised a corps of artillery. his zeal was only equalled by the encouragement of the king, who liberally adopted every method proposed. it was only upon the article of shaving off the beards of the persian soldiers that the king was inexorable; nor would the sacrifice have ever taken place had it not happened that, in discharging the guns before the prince, a powder-horn exploded in the hand of a gunner who had been gifted with a very long beard, which in an instant was blown away from his chin. lieutenant lindsay, availing himself of this lucky opportunity to prove his argument on the inconvenience of beards to soldiers, immediately produced the scorched gunner before the prince, who was so much struck with his woeful appearance that the abolition of military beards was at once decided upon. it was customary for the early french monarchs to place three hairs of their beard under the seal attached to important documents; and there is still extant a charter of the year , which concludes with these words: "quod ut ratum et stabile perseveret in posterum, præsentis scripto sigilli mei robur apposui cum tribus pilis barbæ meæ."--in obedience to his spiritual advisers, louis vii of france had his hair cut close and his beard shaved off. but his consort eleanor was so disgusted with his smooth face and cropped head that she took her own measures to be revenged, and the poor king was compelled to obtain a divorce from her. she subsequently gave her hand to the count of anjou, afterwards henry ii of england, and the rich provinces of poitou and guienne were her dowry. from this sprang those terrible wars which continued for three centuries, and cost france untold treasure and three millions of men--and all because louis did not consult his consort before shaving off his beard! charles the fifth of spain ascending the throne while yet a mere boy, his courtiers shaved their beards in compliment to the king's smooth face. but some of the shaven dons were wont to say bitterly, "since we have lost our beards, we have lost our souls!" sully, the eminent statesman and soldier, scorned, however, to follow the fashion, and, being one day summoned to court on urgent business of state, his beard was made the subject of ridicule by the foppish courtiers. the veteran thus gravely addressed the king: "sire, when your father, of glorious memory, did me the honour to consult me in grave state matters, he first dismissed the buffoons and stage-dancers from the presence-chamber." it may be readily supposed that after this well-merited rebuke the grinning courtiers at once disappeared. julius ii, one of the most warlike of all the roman pontiffs, was the first pope who permitted his beard to grow, to inspire the faithful with still greater respect for his august person. kings and their courtiers were not slow to follow the example of the head of the church and the ruler of kings, and the fashion soon spread among people of all ranks. so highly prized was the beard in former times that baldwin, prince of edessa, as nicephorus relates in his chronicle, pawned his beard for a large sum of money, which was redeemed by his father gabriel, prince of melitene, to prevent the ignominy which his son must have suffered by its loss. and when juan de castro, the portuguese admiral, borrowed a thousand pistoles from the citizens of goa he pledged one of his whiskers, saying, "all the gold in the world cannot equal this natural ornament of my valour." and it is said the people of goa were so much affected by the noble message that they remitted the money and returned the whisker--though of what earthly use it could prove to the gallant admiral, unless, perhaps, to stuff a tennis ball, it is not easy to say. to deprive a man of his beard was a token of ignominious subjection, and is still a common mode of punishment in some asiatic countries. and such was the treatment that the conjuror pinch received at the hands of antipholus of ephesus and his man, in the _comedy of errors_, according to the servant's account of the outrage, who states that not only had they "beaten the maids a-row," but they bound the doctor, whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire; and ever as it blazed they threw on him great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair (v, ). in persia and india when a wife is found to have been unfaithful, her hair--the distinguishing ornament of woman, as the beard is considered to be that of man--is shaved off, among other indignities. don sebastian cobbarruvius gravely relates the following marvellous legend to show that nothing so much disgraced a spaniard as pulling his beard: "a noble of that nation dying (his name cid lai dios), a jew, who hated him much in his lifetime, stole privately into the room where his body was laid out, and, thinking to do what he never durst while living, stooped down and plucked his beard; at which the body started up, and drawing out half way his sword, which lay beside him, put the jew in such a fright that he ran out of the room as if a thousand devils had been behind him. this done, the body lay down as before to rest; and," adds the veracious chronicler, "the jew after that turned christian."--in the third of don quevedo's visions of the last judgment, we read that a spaniard, after receiving sentence, was taken into custody by a pair of demons who happened to disorder the set of his moustache, and they had to re-compose them with a pair of curling-tongs before they could get him to proceed with them! by the rules of the church of rome, lay monks were compelled to wear their beards, and only the priests were permitted to shave.[ ] the clergy at length became so corrupt and immoral, and lived such scandalous lives, that they could not be distinguished from the laity except by their close-shaven faces. the first reformers, therefore, to mark their separation from the romish church, allowed their beards to grow. calvin, fox, cranmer, and other leaders of the reformation are all represented in their portraits with long flowing beards. john knox, the great scottish reformer, wore, as is well known, a beard of prodigious length. [ ] in a scarce old poem, entitled, _the pilgrymage and the wayes of jerusalem_, we read: the thyrd seyte beyn prestis of oure lawe, that synge masse at the sepulcore; at the same grave there oure lorde laye, they synge the leteny every daye. in oure manner is her [i.e. their] songe, saffe, here [i.e. their] _berdys be ryght longe_, that is the geyse of that contre, _the lenger the berde the bettyr is he_; the order of hem [i.e. them] be barfote freeres. the ancient britons shaved the chin and cheeks, but wore their moustaches down to the breast. our saxon ancestors wore forked beards. the normans at the conquest shaved not only the chin, but also the back of the head. but they soon began to grow very long beards. during the wars of the roses beards grew "small by degrees and beautifully less." queen mary of england, in the year , sent to moscow four accredited agents, who were all bearded; but one of them, george killingworth, was particularly distinguished by a beard five feet two inches long, at the sight of which, it is said, a smile crossed the grim features of ivan the terrible himself; and no wonder. but the longest beard known out of fairy tales was that of johann mayo, the german painter, commonly called "john the bearded." his beard actually trailed on the ground when he stood upright, and for convenience he usually kept it tucked in his girdle. the emperor charles v, it is said, was often pleased to cause mayo to unfasten his beard and allow it to blow in the faces of his courtiers.--a worthy clergyman in the time of queen elizabeth gave as the best reason he had for wearing a beard of enormous length, "that no act of his life might be unworthy of the gravity of his appearance." queen elizabeth, in the first year of her reign, made an abortive attempt to abolish her subjects' beards by an impost of s. d. a year (equivalent to four times that sum in these "dear" days) on every beard of more than a fortnight's growth. and peter the great also laid a tax upon beards in russia: nobles' beards were assessed at a rouble, and those of commoners at a copeck each. "but such veneration," says giles fletcher, "had this people for these ensigns of gravity that many of them carefully preserved their beards in their cabinets to be buried with them, imagining perhaps that they should make but an odd figure in their grave with their naked chins." the beard of the renowned hudibras was portentous, as we learn from butler, who thus describes the knight's hirsute honours: his tawny beard was th' equal grace both of his wisdom and his face; in cut and dye so like a tile, a sadden view it would beguile: the upper part whereof was whey, the nether orange mixt with grey. this hairy meteor did denounce the fall of sceptres and of crowns; with grisly type did represent declining age of government, and tell, with hieroglyphic spade, its own grave and the state's were made. philip nye, an independent minister in the time of the commonwealth, and one of the famous assembly of divines, was remarkable for the singularity of his beard. hudibras, in his heroical epistle to the lady of his "love," speaks of amorous intrigues in towers, and curls, and periwigs, with greater art and cunning reared than philip nye's _thanksgiving beard_. nye opposed lilly the astrologer with no little virulence, for which he was rewarded with the privilege of holding forth upon thanksgiving day, and so, as butler says, in some ms. verses, he thought upon it and resolved to put his beard into as wonderful a cut. butler even honoured nye's beard with a whole poem, entitled "on philip nye's thanksgiving beard," which is printed in his _genuine remains_, edited by thyer, vol. i, p. ff., and opens thus: a beard is but the vizard of the face, that nature orders for no other place; the fringe and tassel of a countenance that hides his person from another man's, and, like the roman habits of their youth, is never worn until his perfect growth. and in another set of verses he has again a fling at the obnoxious beard of the same preacher: this reverend brother, like a goat, did wear a tail upon his throat; the fringe and tassel of a face that gives it a becoming grace, but set in such a curious frame, as if 'twere wrought in filograin; and cut so even as if 't had been drawn with a pen upon the chin. as it was customary among the peoples of antiquity who wore their beards to cut them off, and for those who shaved to allow their beards to grow, in times of mourning, so many of the presbyterians and independents vowed not to cut their beards till monarchy and episcopacy were utterly destroyed. thus in a humorous poem, entitled "the cobler and the vicar of bray," we read: this worthy knight was one that swore, he would not cut his beard till this ungodly nation was from kings and bishops cleared. which holy vow he firmly kept, and most devoutly wore a grisly meteor on his face, till they were both no more. in _pericles, prince of tyre_, when the royal hero leaves his infant daughter marina in charge of his friend cleon, governor of tharsus, to be brought up in his house, he declares to cleon's wife (act iii, sc. ): till she be married, madam, by bright diana, whom we honour all, unscissored shall this hair of mine remain, though i show well in't; and that he meant his beard is evident from what he says at the close of the play, when his daughter is about to be married to lysimachus, governor of mitylene (act v, sc. ): and now this ornament, that makes me look so dismal, will i, my loved marina, clip to form; and what these fourteen years no razor touched, to grace thy marriage day, i'll beautify. scott, in his _woodstock_, represents sir henry lee, of ditchley, whilom ranger of woodstock park (or chase), as wearing his full beard, to indicate his profound grief for the death of the "royal martyr," which indeed was not unusual with elderly and warmly devoted royalists until the "happy restoration"--save the mark! another extraordinary beard was that of van butchell, the quack doctor, who died at london in , in his th year. this singular individual had his first wife's body carefully embalmed and preserved in a glass case in his "study," in order that he might enjoy a handsome annuity to which he was entitled "so long as his wife remained above ground." his person was for many years familiar to loungers in hyde park, where he appeared regularly every afternoon, riding on a little pony, and wearing a magnificent beard of twenty years' growth, which an oriental might well have envied, the more remarkable in an age when shaving was so generally practised.--a jocular epitaph was composed on "mary van butchell," of which these lines may serve as a specimen: o fortunate and envied man! to keep a wife beyond life's span; whom you can ne'er have cause to blame, is ever constant and the same; who, qualities most rare, inherits a wife that's dumb, yet _full of spirits_. the celebrated dr. john hunter is said to have embalmed the body of van butchell's first wife--for the bearded empiric married again--and the "mummy," in its original glass case, is still to be seen in the museum of the royal college of surgeon's, lincoln's-inn-fields, london. it was once the fashion for gallants to dye their beards various colours, such as yellow, red, gray, and even green. thus in the play of _midsummer night's dream_, bottom the weaver asks in what kind of beard he is to play the part of pyramis--whether "in your straw-coloured beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your french crown-coloured beard, your perfect yellow?" (act i, sc. .) in ancient church pictures, and in the miracle plays performed in medieval times, both cain and judas iscariot were always represented with yellow beards. in the _merry wives of windsor_, mistress quickly asks simple whether his master (slender) does not wear "a great round beard, like a glover's paring-knife," to which he replies: "no, forsooth; he hath but a little wee face, with a little yellow beard--a cain-coloured beard" (act i, sc. ).--allusions to beards are of very frequent occurrence in shakspeare's plays, as may be seen by reference to any good concordance, such as that of the cowden clarkes. harrison, in his _description of england_, ed. , p. , thus refers to the vagaries of fashion of beards in his time: "i will saie nothing of our heads, which sometimes are polled, sometimes curled, or suffered to grow at length like womans lockes, manie times cut off, above or under the eares, round as by a woodden dish. neither will i meddle with our varietie of beards, of which some are shaven from the chin like those of turks, not a few cut short like to the beard of marques otto, some made round like a rubbing brush, others with a _pique de vant_ (o fine fashion!), or now and then suffered to grow long, the barbers being growen to be so cunning in this behalfe as the tailors. and therfore if a man have a leane and streight face, a marquesse ottons cut will make it broad and large; if it be platter like, a long slender beard will make it seeme the narrower; if he be wesell becked, then much heare left on the cheekes will make the owner looke big like a bowdled hen, and so grim as a goose."[ ] [ ] reprint for the shakspere society, , b. ii, ch. vii, p. . barnaby rich, in the conclusion of his _farewell to the military profession_ ( ), says that the young gallants sometimes had their beards "cutte rounde, like a philippes doler; sometymes square, like the kinges hedde in fishstreate; sometymes so neare the skinne, that a manne might judge by his face the gentlemen had had verie pilde lucke."[ ] [ ] reprint for the (old) shakspeare society, , p. . in taylor's _superbiae flagellum_ we find the following amusing description of the different "cuts" of beards: now a few lines to paper i will put, of mens beards strange and variable cut: in which there's some doe take as vaine a pride, as almost in all other things beside. some are reap'd most substantiall, like a brush, which makes a nat'rall wit knowne by the bush: (and in my time of some men i have heard, whose wisedome have bin onely wealth and beard) many of these the proverbe well doth fit, which sayes bush naturall, more haire then wit. some seeme as they were starched stiffe and fine, like to the bristles of some angry swine: and some (to set their loves desire on edge) are cut and prun'de like to a quickset hedge. some like a spade, some like a forke, some square, some round, some mow'd like stubble, some starke bare, some sharpe steletto fashion, dagger like, that may with whispering a mans eyes out pike: some with the hammer cut, or romane t,[ ] their beards extravagant reform'd must be, some with the quadrate, some triangle fashion, some circular, some ovall in translation, some perpendicular in longitude, some like a thicket for their crassitude, that heights, depths, bredths, triforme, square, ovall, round, and rules ge'metricall in beards are found. besides the upper lip's strange variation, corrected from mutation to mutation; as 'twere from tithing unto tithing sent, pride gives to pride continuall punishment. some (spite their teeth) like thatch'd eves downeward grows, and some growes upwards in despite their nose. some their mustatioes of such length doe keepe, that very well they may a maunger sweepe: which in beere, ale, or wine, they drinking plunge, and sucke the liquor up, as 'twere a spunge; but 'tis a slovens beastly pride, i thinke, to wash his beard where other men must drinke. and some (because they will not rob the cup), their upper chaps like pot hookes are turn'd up; the barbers thus (like taylers) still must be, acquainted with each cuts variety-- yet though with beards thus merrily i play, 'tis onely against pride which i inveigh: for let them weare their haire or their attire, according as their states or mindes desire, so as no puff'd up pride their hearts possesse, and they use gods good gifts with thankfulnesse.[ ] [ ] formed by the moustache and a chin-tuft, as worn by louis napoleon and his imperialist supporters. [ ] _works of john taylor, the water poet, comprised in the folio edition of _. printed for the spenser society, . "_superbiae flagellum_, or the whip of pride," p. . the staunch puritan phillip stubbes, in the second part of his _anatomie of abuses_ ( ), thus rails at the beards and the barbers of his day: "there are no finer fellowes under the sunne, nor experter in their noble science of barbing than they be. and therefore in the fulnes of their overflowing knowledge (oh ingenious heads, and worthie to be dignified with the diademe of follie and vaine curiositie), they have invented such strange fashions and monstrous maners of cuttings, trimings, shavings and washings, that you would wonder to see. they have one maner of cut called the french cut, another the spanish cut, one called the dutch cut, another the italian, one the newe cut, another the old, one of the bravado fashion, another of the meane fashion. one a gentlemans cut, another the common cut, one cut of the court, another of the country, with infinite the like vanities, which i overpasse. they have also other kinds of cuts innumerable; and therefore when you come to be trimed, they will aske you whether you will be cut to looke terrible to your enimie, or amiable to your freend, grime and sterne in countenance, or pleasant and demure (for they have divers kinds of cuts for all these purposes, or else they lie). then when they have done all their feats, it is a world to consider, how their mowchatowes [i.e., moustaches] must be preserved and laid out, and from one cheke to another, yea, almost from one eare to another, and turned up like two hornes towards the forehead. besides that, when they come to the cutting of the haire, what snipping and snapping of the cycers is there, what tricking and toying, and all to tawe out mony, you may be sure. and when they come to washing, oh how gingerly they behave themselves therein. for then shall your mouth be bossed with the lather or fome that riseth of the balle (for they have their sweet balles wherewith-all they use to washe), your eyes closed must be anointed therewith also. then snap go the fingers ful bravely, god wot. thus this tragedy ended, comes me warme clothes, to wipe and dry him withall; next the eares must be picked and closed againe togither artificially forsooth. the haire of the nostrils cut away, and every thing done in order comely to behold. the last action in this tragedie is the paiment of monie. and least these cunning barbers might seeme unconscionable in asking much for their paines, they are of such a shamefast modestie, as they will aske nothing at all, but standing to the curtisie and liberalitie of the giver, they will receive all that comes, how much soever it be, not giving anie againe, i warrant you: for take a barber with that fault, and strike off his head. no, no, such fellowes are _rarae aves in terris, nigrisque similimi cygnis_, rare birds upon the earth, and as geason as blacke swans. you shall have also your orient perfumes for your nose, your fragrant waters for your face, wherewith you shall bee all to besprinkled, your musicke againe, and pleasant harmonic, shall sound in your eares, and all to tickle the same with vaine delight. and in the end your cloke shall be brushed, and 'god be with you gentleman!'"[ ] [ ] reprint for the shakspere society, part ii ( ), pp. , . * * * * * a very curious ballad of the beard, of the time of charles i, if not earlier, is reproduced in _satirical songs and poems on costume_, edited by f. w. fairholt, for the percy society, in which "the varied forms of beards which characterised the profession of each man are amusingly descanted on": the beard, thick or thin, on the lip or the chin, doth dwell so near the tongue, that her silence in the beards defence may do her neighbour wrong. now a beard is a thing that commands in a king, be his sceptre ne'er so fair: where the beard bears the sway the people obey, and are subject to a hair. 'tis a princely sight, and a grave delight, that adorns both young and old; a well-thatcht face is a comely grace, and a shelter from the cold. when the piercing north comes thundering forth, let a barren face beware; for a trick it will find, with a razor of wind, to shave a face that's bare. but there's many a nice and strange device that doth the beard disgrace; but he that is in such a foolish sin is a traitor to his face. now of beards there be such company, and fashions such a throng, that it is very hard to handle a beard, tho' it be never so long. the roman t, in its bravery, both first itself disclose, but so high it turns, that oft it burns with the flames of a torrid nose. the stiletto-beard, oh, it makes me afear'd, it is so sharp beneath, for he that doth place a dagger in 's face, what wears he in his sheath? but, methinks, i do itch to go thro' the stitch the needle-beard to amend, which, without any wrong, i may call too long, for a man can see no end. the soldier's beard doth march in shear'd, in figure like a spade, with which he'll make his enemies quake, and think their graves are made. * * * * * what doth invest a bishop's breast, but a milk-white spreading hair? which an emblem may be of integrity which doth inhabit there. * * * * * but oh, let us tarry for the beard of king harry, that grows about the chin, with his bushy pride, and a grove on each side, and a champion ground between. "barnes in the defence of the berde" is another curious piece of verse, or rather of arrant doggrel, printed in the th century. it is addressed to andrew borde, the learned and facetious physician, in the time of henry viii, who seems to have written a tract against the wearing of beards, of which nothing is now known. in the second part barnes (whoever he was) says: but, syr, i praye you, yf you tell can, declare to me, when god made man, (i meane by our forefather adam) whyther he had a berde than; and yf he had, who dyd hym shave, syth that a barber he coulde not have. well, then, ye prove hym there a knave, bicause his berde he dyd so save: i fere it not. * * * * * sampson, with many thousandes more of auncient phylosophers (!), full great store, wolde not be shaven, to dye therefore; why shulde you, then, repyne so sore? admit that men doth imytate thynges of antyquité, and noble state, such counterfeat thinges oftymes do mytygate moche ernest yre and debate: i fere it not. therefore, to cease, i thinke be best; for berdyd men wolde lyve in rest. you prove yourselfe a homly gest, so folysshely to rayle and jest; for if i wolde go make in ryme, how new shavyd men loke lyke scraped swyne, and so rayle forth, from tyme to tyme, a knavysshe laude then shulde be myne: i fere it not. what should this avail him? he asks; and so let us all be good friends, bearded and unbearded.[ ] [ ] _the treatise answerynge the boke of berdes, compyled by collyn clowte, dedicated to barnarde, barber, dwellyng in banbury_: "here foloweth a treatyse made, answerynge the treatyse of doctor borde upon berdes."--appended to reprint of andrew borde's _introduction of knowledge_, edited by dr. f. j. furnivall, for the early english text society, --see pp. , . but andrew borde, if he did ever write a tract against beards, must have formerly held a different opinion on the subject, for in his _breviary of health_, first printed in , he says: "the face may have many impediments. the first impediment is to see a man having no beard, and a woman to have a beard." it was long a popular notion that the few hairs which are sometimes seen on the chins of very old women signified that they were in league with the arch-enemy of mankind--in plain english, that they were witches. the celebrated three witches who figure in _macbeth_, "and palter with him in a double sense," had evidently this distinguishing mark, for says banquo to the "weird sisters" (act i, sc. ): you should be women, and yet your beards forbid me to interpret that you are so. and in the ever-memorable scene in the _merry wives of windsor_, when jack falstaff, disguised as the fat woman of brentford, is escaping from ford's house, he is cuffed and mauled by ford, who exclaims, "hang her, witch!" on which the honest cambrian sir hugh evans sapiently remarks: "py yea and no, i think the 'oman is a witch indeed. i like not when a 'oman has a great peard. i spy a great peard under her muffler!" (act iv, sc. .) there have been several notable bearded women in different parts of europe. the duke of saxony had the portrait painted of a poor swiss woman who had a remarkably fine, large beard. bartel græfjë, of stuttgart, who was born in , was another bearded woman. in there appeared at vienna a female dancer with a large bushy beard. charles xii of sweden had in his army a woman who wore a beard a yard and a half in length. in mddle. bois de chêne, who was born at genoa in , was exhibited in london: she had "a profuse head of hair, a strong black beard, and large bushy whiskers." it is not unusual to see dark beauties in our own country with a moustache which must be the envy of "young shavers." and, _apropos_, the poet rogers is said to have had a great dislike of ladies' beards, such as this last described; and he happened to be in a circulating library turning over the books on the counter, when a lady, who seemed to cherish her beard with as much affection as the young gentlemen aforesaid, alighted from her carriage, and, entering the shop, asked the librarian for a certain book. the polite man of books replied that he was sorry he had not a copy at present. "but," said roger, slily, "you have the _barber of seville_, have you not?" "o yes," said the bookseller, not seeing the poet's drift, "i have the _barber of seville_, very much at your ladyship's service." the lady drove away, evidently much offended, but the beard afterwards disappeared. talking of barbers--but they deserve a whole paper to themselves, and they shall have it, from me, some day, if i live a little longer. * * * * * in no. of the _spectator_, addison tells us how his friend sir roger de coverley, in westminster abbey, pointing to the bust of a venerable old man, asked him whether he did not think "our ancestors looked much wiser in their beards than we without them. for my part," said he, "when i am walking in my gallery in the country, and see my ancestors, who many of them died before they were my age, i cannot forbear regarding them as so many patriarchs, and at the same time looking upon myself as an idle, smock-faced young fellow. i love to see your abrahams, your isaacs, and your jacobs, as we have them in old pieces of tapestry, with beards below their girdles, that cover half the hangings." * * * * * during most part of last century close shaving was general throughout europe. in france the beard began to appear on the faces of bonaparte's "braves," and the fashion soon extended to civilians, then to italy, germany, spain, russia, and lastly to england, where, after the gradual enlargement of the side-whiskers, the full beard is now commonly worn--to the comfort and health of the wearers. index. abbas the great, . abraham: jealous of his wives, ; arrival in egypt, ; his servant in sodom, ; ishmael's wives, ; the 'ram caught in a thicket,' ; the idols, . abstinence, advantages of, . acrostic in the bible, . adam and eve, , , . addison's spectator, . advice to a conceited man, ; gratuitous, . aesop--_see_ esop. affenschwanz, etc., . aino folk-tales, . akhlák-i jalaly, , . aladdin's lamp, . alakésa kathá, . alexander the great, , . alfonsus, petrus, , , , , . alfred the great, . ali, mrs. meer hassan, . ambition, vanity of, . amír khusrú, . ancestry, pride of, . androgynous nature of adam, , . ant and nightingale, . antar, the arabian poet-hero, . anthologia, . anwarí, the persian poet, . aphorisms of saádí, , , , ; of the jewish fathers, . apparition, the golden, . arab and his camel, . arab sháh, . arabian lovers, , . arabian nights, , , , , . archery feat, . arienti, . ashaab the covetous, . ass, the singing, . astrologer's faithless wife, . attár, farídu 'd-dín, . athenæus, . athenians and jewish boys, , . auvaiyár, tamil poetess, , , . avarice, . avianus, . aymon, four sons of, . babrius, . babylonian tale, . bacon on aphorisms, . baghdádí, witty, . baháristán, , , , . bakhtyár náma, , . barbary tales, . barbazan's fabliaux, , . baring-gould, , , . barlaam and joasaph, , . basset's tales of barbary, . basket made into a door, . bayazíd and the old woman, . beal, samuel, . beards: asiatics', ; ballad of the beard, ; barnes in defence of the beard, ; britons' and normans', ; coverley (sir roger de), on his ancestors', ; dedicated to deities, ; dyeing the beard, ; famous beards, , ; french kings', ; greeks', ; monks', ; pope julius ii, ; pledged for loans, ; pulling beard, ; reformers', ; roman youths', ; sully's beard, ; shapes of, , , , ; taxes on, ; tokens of wisdom, ; turkish sultans', ; vowing not to cut or shave, , ; witches', ; women, bearded, . beast-fables, origin of, , . beaumont, bp. of durham, . beauty unadorned, . beggar and khoja, . bendall, cecil, . beneficence, , , . bérenger-féraud, . berkeley's 'ideal' theory, . beryn, tale of, , . bhartrihari, . bible, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . bidpaï's fables, . birth, pride of, . bishop and ignorant priest, ; and the simple youth, . 'bi'smi'llahi,' etc., . bi-sexual nature of adam, . blémont, emile, . blind man's wife, . blockheads, list of, . boccaccio's decameron, , , . boethius' consol. phil., . bonaventure des periers, , , . borde, andrew, , . boy in terror at sea, . bride and bridegroom, . bromyard, john, . broth, hot, . buddha, rom. hist, of, . buddha's dhammapada, . buddhaghosha's parables, , . burns, the scottish poet, , . butler's hudibras, etc., , , . burton, sir r. f., , . buthayna and jamíl, . buzurjmihr on silence, . cabinet des fées, . cain and abel, . camel and cat, . capon-carver, , . cardonne's mél. de littèrature orientale, . carlyle, thos., , . cat and its master, . cauldron, the, . caution with friends, , . caxton's dictes, ; esop's fables, , , . caylus, comte de, . cento novelle antiche, . chamberlain, b. h., . chaste wives, value of, . chaucer, , , . chess, game of, . chinese humour: rich man and smiths, ; to keep plants alive, ; criticising a portrait, . clergy, benefit of, . clouston's analogues of chaucer's canterbury tales, ; book of noodles, , ; book of sindibád, ; eastern romances, , , ; popular tales and fictions, , , , . coleridge, the poet, , . comparetti, prof., . conceited man, . conde lucanor, , . condolence, house of, . conjugal quarrels, . contes orientaux, . cooks, too many, . 'corpus meum,' . cotton's virgil travestie, . courtier and old friend, . coverley, sir roger de, . covetous man, ; goldsmith, , . covetousness, . crane's italian tales, , , . cup-bearer and saádí, . cypress, . dabistán, , . daulat sháh, . david, legends of king, . davidson, thos., . deaf men, , . death, rest to the poor, . decameron, , . deluge, . demon, tales of a, , , . dervish and magic candlestick, . dervish who became king, . dervishes, three, . desolate island, , . des periers, bonaventure, , , . devotee and learned man, . dictes, or the sayings of philosophers, . disciplina clericalis, , , , , . domestics, lazy, . don quixote, , . dreams of fair women, , . drinking the sea dry, . drunken governor, . dublin ballad-singer, . dutiful son, . eastern story-books, general plan of, . eberhard's ed. of planudes' life of esop, . education, advantages of, . egg-stealer and solomon, . eliezer in sodom, . eliot, george, . ellis' metrical romances, . emperor's dream, . esop: unlucky omens, ; wise saying of, ; apocryphal life, by planudes, ; jacobs on the esopic fable, ; the figs, ; how esop became eloquent, ; his choice of load, ; offered for sale, ; boiling peas, ; the missing pig's foot, ; dish of tongues, ; the man who was no busy-body, ; drinking the sea dry, , ; the dog's tail, ; as ambassador, ; his death, ; henryson's description of esop, . etienne de bourbon, . etienne, henri, . eulenspiegel, tyl, . expectation, . fabliaux, , , , . fables, origin of, , . facetiæ, jewish, . faggot-maker, . fairholt, f. w., . fairies' gifts, , , . fate, decrees of, . faults, , , . féraud, bérenger, . firdausí, , . fitnet khánim, turkish poetess, . flood, . flowers, hymn to the, . folk-lore of s. india, . fool, greatest, . fools, list of, . foolish peasants, ; thieves, . forbidden tree, . forman, bp. of moray, . fortitude and liberality, . fortune capricious, . forty, the number, . forty vezírs, history of, , , . fox and bear, , ; fox in the garden, . friends: caution with, , ; man with three, ; misfortunes of, . fryer's eng. fairy tales, . fuller's church history, . furnivall, f. j., . garments, the, . garrick and dr. johnson, . gemara, authors of the, . generosity, , , . gerrans, , , . gesta romanorum, , , , , , . gibb, e. j. w., , , , . gisli the outlaw, . gladwin's persian moonshee, . goat, the dead, . god, a jealous god, . god, for the sake of, . good or evil genius, , . 'god, the merciful,' etc., . golden apparition, . goldsmith, the covetous, , . goliath's brother, . goose, tales of a, . goose-thief, . gospels, two, for a groat, . governor and the khoja, ; and the poor poet, ; and the shopkeeper, . gratitude for benefits, . great name, . greek popular tales, . grey, zachary, . grief and anger, times of, . grissell, patient, . gulistán, or rose-garden, . háfíz, the persian poet, . hagiolatry, , . hamsa vinsati, . harírí, the arabian poet, . harrison on beards, . hartland, e. sidney, . hátim taï, . hazár ú yek rúz, . hebrew facetiæ, . henryson, robert, . heptameron, . herrick's hesperides, . herodotus, apology for, . herrtage, s. j., . hershon's talmudic miscel., . hesiod's fables, . hitopadesa, , . horse-dealers and the king, . hudibras, etc., , , . hundred mery talys, , , . hurwitz, hyman, , , , . 'idda: compulsory widowhood, . ideal, not the real, . idleness and industry, , . ignorance, . ill news, breaking, ; telling, . images, the stolen, . indian poetess, , , . inferiors and superiors, . ingratitude, . intolerance, religious, , . investment, safe, . irving, david, . isfahání and the governor, . ishmael's wives, . island, desolate, , . israel likened to a bride, . italian tales, , , , , , , . jacob's sorrow, . jacobs, joseph, on the esopic fables, , . jámí, , , , . jamíl and buthayna, . 'january and may,' . jehennan, . jehoshua, rabbi, . jehudah, rabbi, . jests, antiquity of, . jewels, the, ; luminous, . jewish facetiæ, jochonan, rabbi, ; and the poor woman, . johnson and garrick, . johnson, dr., on springtide, . jones, sir william, . joseph and potiphar's wife, ; and his brethren, . josephus on solomon's fables, . jotham's fable, . julien, stanislas, . kádirí's tútí náma, . kah-gyur, . kalíla wa dimna, . kalidása, . káma sutra, . kámarupa, . káshifí, . kashmírí folk-tales, , . kathá manjarí, , , . kathá sarit ságara, , , . khalíf and poet, , . khizar and the water of life, . khoja nasr-ed-dín, , . king and his four ministers, ; and the horse-dealers, ; and the seven vazírs, ; and the story-teller, , ; who died of love, . knowles, j. h., , . kurán, . ladies, witty persian, . laing, david, . la fontaine, . landsberger on fables, . langlès (_not_ lescallier), . la rochefoucauld, . lappländische märchen, . laughter, , . laylá and majnún, . lazy servants, . learned man and blockhead, ; youth, modesty of, . learning the best treasure, ; and virtue, . le grand's fabliaux, , , . legrand's popular greek tales, . lescallier, --_see_ also langlès. liars, . liber de donis, . liberality to the poor, , , , liberality and fortitude, . life, tree of, ; water of, , . lions, tail of the, . liwá'í, persian poet, . lokman, sayings of, . luminous jewels, . love, dying for, , . lovers, arabian, , . madden, sir f., . magic bowl, etc., , , . maiden and saádí, . maimonides, . majnún and laylá, . makamat of el-harírí, . malcolm's sketches of persia, , . man, a laughing animal, ; and his three friends, ; and the place, ; the mighty man, . manna, daily, . manuel, don juan, . marcus aurelius, . mare kicked by a horse, . marelle, charles, . marguerite, queen of navarre, , . marie de france, . massinger's plays, . mazarin, cardinal, . meir's (rabbi) fables, . mélanges de litt. orient., . merchant and lady, ; and poor bedouin, . merchandise, . mery tales and quicke answeres, , , , . mesíhí's ode on spring, . metempsychosis, , . mihra-i iskandar, . milton's paradise lost, . mind, the infant, . miser, . misers, muslim, , . mishlé sandabar, . misfortunes of friends, . mishna, authors of the, . mole on the face, . money, in praise of, ; sound of two coins, . monsters, unheard of, . moon, a type of female beauty, . moses and pharaoh, ; height of moses, ; moses and the poor woodcutter, . muezzin with harsh voice, . muhammedan legends, , , , , , , , . mukhlis of isfahán, . music, discovery of, ; effects of, . musician, bad, . muslim confession of faith, . nakhshabí, , , . name, the great, . nasr-ed-dín, khoja, . natésa sastrí, . nathan of babylon, . 'neck-verse,' . neighbour, objectionable, . 'night and day,' . nightingale and ant, ; and rose, . nimrod and abraham, . noah, , , , . noble's orientalist, . 'no rule without exception,' . numerals, arabic, . núshírván the just, , . nye, philip, . og, king of bashan, , . old man and young wife, . old man's prayer, ; reason for not marrying, . old woman in mosque, . omens, unlucky, , . opportunity, . oriental story-books, general plan of, . orientalist, or letters of a rabbi, . origin, all things return to their, . ouseley, sir gore, , . painter and critics, . panchatantra, , , , , , , . panjábí legends, . paradise, persons translated to, . parents, reverence for, . parrot and maina, ; oilman's parrot, ; moghul's parrot, . parrot-book, ; frame-story of, , . parrot, seventy tales of a, . parrots in hindú fictions, . passion-service, , . pasquil's jests, , . patient grissell, . 'paveant illi,' etc., . payne's arabian nights, . peasant in paradise, . peasants, foolish, . persian and his cat, ; and the governor, ; courtier and old friend, ; ladies, witty, ; moonshee, ; poet and the impostor, ; tales of a thousand and one days, , . petis de la croix, . petronius arbiter, . phædrus, . pharaoh and moses, . pharaoh's daughters, . pirke aboth, . plants, to keep alive, . planudes' life of esop, , . poets in praise of springtide, . poet, rich man and, . poet's meaning, . poetry, 'stealing,' . poets, royal gifts to, , , . poverty, . prayers, odd, , . preachers, muslim, , , , . precept and practice, , . prefaces to books, . priest confessing poor man, . pride, . princess of rúm and her son, . procrustes, bed of, . prodigality, . psalm-singing at gallows, . quevedo's visions, . rabbi and the poor woman, ; and the emperor trajan, ; and the cup of wine, . ralston's russian folk-tales, ; tibetan tales, . 'ram caught in a thicket,' . rasálú, legend of rájá, . rats that ate iron, . richardson, octavia, . rich, barnaby, . riches, , , . rieu, charles, . robber and the khoja, . rogers, the poet, . rose and nightingale, . ross, david, . rúm, country of, . russian folk-tales, . saádí: sketch of his life, ; character of his writings, ; on a bad musician, ; his 'gulistán,' ; prefaces to books, ; preface to the 'gulistán,' ; the fair cup-bearer, ; assured of lasting fame, ; on money, . sacchetti, , . saint-worship, , . samradians, sect of the, . satan in form of a deer, . satiety and hunger, . sayce, a. h., . scarronides, . schoolmaster and wit, . scornfulness, . scott's 'lay,' . scribe's excuse, . secrets, , . seneca on aphorisms, . senegambian tales, . sermon, burlesque, . servant, wakeful, . servants, lazy, . seven stages of human life, . seven vazírs, _see also_ sindibád, book of. seven wise masters, , , , . shakspeare, , , , , , , . sheba, queen of, . shelley's queen mab, . signing with ×, . silence, on keeping, , , , . simonides, . sindibád, book of, , , , , , . singing ass, . sinhásana dwatrinsati, . shopkeeper and governor, . sindbán, . 'skip over three leaves,' . slander, . slave, witty, . slippers, the unlucky, . smith, horace, . smiths and rich man, . socrates, , . sodom, the citizens of, . solomon: advice to three men, ; the queen of sheba, ; the egg-stealer, ; his signet-ring, ; his lost fables, ; his precocious sagacity, ; his choice of wisdom, ; the serpent's prey, . son, dutiful, . sorrow, times of, . spectator, addison's, . spenser, edmund, . springtide, in praise of, . stingy merchant and poor bedouin, . story-teller and the king, . stubbes on beards and barbers, . stupidity, . súfís, . suka saptati, . sully and the courtiers, . summa praedicantium, . superiors and inferiors, . swynnerton, charles, . syntipas, . tales and quicke answeres, , , , . talkers, comprehensive, . talmud, authors of the, , ; traducers of the, ; teachings of the, . tantrákhyána, . taylor's wit and mirth, ; superbiae flagellum, . teaching and learning, . temple's panjábí legends, . thálebí and the khalíf, . thief, self-convicted, ; without opportunity, . thieves, foolish, . thomson's seasons, . three dervishes, . throne, tales of a, . tibetan tales, . tongue, the key of wisdom, . tongues, dish of, . 'tongues in trees,' . trajan and the rabbi, . treasure, concealed, . treasure-seekers, the four, . tree of life, , . trouvères, . turkish jester: in the pulpit, ; the cauldron, ; the beggar, ; the drunken governor, ; the robber, ; the hot broth, . turkish poetess, . turkmans, weeping, . tútí náma, ; frame story, , . tyl eulenspiegel, . ugly wife, , . uncle remus, . unicorn, . unlucky omens, , . unlucky slippers, . van butchell, . vasayadatta, . vase, use thy, . vatsyayana's káma sutra, . vazírs, the seven, . vetála panchavinsati, , , . vicious hate the virtuous, . vine, planting of the, . virgil travestie, . virtue cannot come out of vice, . visitors, troublesome, . von hammer, . vrihat kathá, . wakeful servant, . wamik and azra, . want: moderation, . warton's hist. of eng. poetry, . water of life, , . weil's bible, korán, and talmud, . weeping turkmans, . wheel on man's head, , . wicked rich man, . widowhood, compulsory, . wife, choosing a, . williams, sir monier, . will, ingenious, . wisdom, who gains, . wise man in mean company, . witches' beards, . witty baghdádí, ; isfahání, ; jewish boys, , ; persian ladies, ; slave, . woman: carved out of wood, ; seven requisites of, . woman's counsel, , ; wiles, . women, bearded, . woodcutter and moses, . world of wonders, . wright's latin stories, . young's night thoughts, . youth, modest and learned, . zemzem, . zotenberg, hermann, . zozimus, the ballad-singer, . zulaykhá, potiphar's wife, . alaeddin and the enchanted lamp; zein ul asnam and the king of the jinn: two stories done into english from the recently discovered arabic text by john payne london to captain sir richard francis burton, k.c.m.g., h.b.m. consul, trieste. my dear burton, i give myself the pleasure of placing your name in the forefront of another and final volume of my translation of the thousand and one nights, which, if it have brought me no other good, has at least been the means of procuring me your friendship. believe me, yours always, john payne. twelve years this day,--a day of winter, dreary with drifting snows, when all the world seemed dead to spring and hope,--it is since, worn and weary of doubt within and strife without, i fled from the mean workday miseries of existence, from spites that slander and from hates that lie, into the dreamland of the orient distance under the splendours of the syrian sky, and in the enchanted realms of eastern story, far from the lovelessness of modern times, garnered the rainbow-remnants of old glory that linger yet in those ancestral climes; and now, the tong task done, the journey over, from that far home of immemorial calms, where, as a mirage, on the sky-marge hover the desert and its oases of palms, lingering, i turn me back, with eyes reverted to this stepmother world of daily life, as one by some long pleasant dream deserted, that wakes anew to dull unlovely strife: yet, if non' other weal the quest have wrought me. the long beloved labour now at end, this gift of gifts the untravelled east hath brought me, the knowledge of a new and valued friend. th feb. . introduction. i. the readers of my translation of the book of the thousand nights and one night will remember that, in the terminal essay ( ) on the history and character of the collection, i expressed my conviction that the eleven (so-called) "interpolated" tales, [ ] though, in my judgment, genuine oriental stories, had (with the exception of the sleeper awakened and aladdin) no connection with the original work, but had been procured by galland from various (as yet) unidentified sources, for the purpose of supplying the deficiencies of the imperfect ms. of the nights from which he made his version. [ ] my opinion as to these talcs has now been completely confirmed by the recent discovery (by m. zotenberg, keeper of oriental mss. in the bibliotheque nationale at paris) of two arabic mss. of the nights, both containing three of the missing stories, i.e. ( ) zeyn alasnam, ( ) the sleeper awakened and ( ) aladdin, and by the publication (also by m. zotenberg) of certain extracts from galland's diary, giving particulars of the circumstances under which the "interpolated" tales were incorporated with his translation of the arabian nights. the arabic text of the story of aladdin, as given by the completer and more authentic of the newly-discovered mss., has recently been made by m. zotenberg the subject of a special publication, [ ] in the preface to which (an exhaustive bibliographical essay upon the various texts of the thousand and one nights, considered in relation to galland's translation) he gives, in addition to the extracts in question from galland's diary, a detailed description of the two mss. aforesaid, the more interesting particulars of which i now proceed to abstract for the benefit of my readers. ii. the first ms. commences precisely where the third volume of galland's ms. ends, to wit, (see my terminal essay, p. , note ) with the st night, in the middle of the story of camaralzaman [ ] and contains, (inter alia) besides the continuation of this latter (which ends with night cccxxix), the stories of the sleeper awakened (nights cccxxx-cccc), ganem (nights ccccxxviii-cccclxx v), zeyn alasnam (nights cccclxxv-ccccxci), aladdin (nights ccccxcii-dlxix) and three others not found in galland's version. the ms. ends in the middle of the st night with the well-known story of king bekhtzad (azadbekht) and his son or the ten viziers, (which will be found translated in my "tales from the arabic," vol. i. pp. et seq.) and contains, immediately after night ccccxxvii and before the story of ganem, a note in arabic, of which the following is a translation: "the fourth volume of the wonders and marvels of the stories of the thousand nights and one night was finished by the hand of the humblest of his' servants in the habit of a minister of religion (kahin, lit. a diviner, cohen), the [christian] priest dionysius shawish, a scion (selil) of the college of the romans (greeks, europeans or franks, er roum), by name st. athanasius, in rome the greatest [ ] (or greater, utsma, fem. of aatsem, qu re constantinople?) on the seven-and-twentieth of the month shubat (february) of the year one thousand seven hundred fourscore and seven, [he being] then teacher of the arabic tongue in the library of the sultan, king of france, at paris the greatest." from this somewhat incoherent note we may assume that the ms. was written in the course of the year by the notorious syrian ecclesiastic dom denis chavis, the accomplice of cazotte in the extraordinary literary atrocity shortly afterward perpetrated by the latter under the name of a sequel or continuation of the thousand and one nights [ ] (v. cabinet des fees, vols. xxxviii--xli), [ ] and in all probability (cf. the mention in the above note of the first part, i.e. nights cclxxxi-ccccxxvii, as the fourth volume) to supply the place of galland's missing fourth volume for the bibliotheque royale; but there. is nothing, except a general similarity of style and the occurrence in the former of the rest of camaralzaman and (though not in the same order) of four of the tales supposed to have been contained in the latter, to show that dom chavis made his copy from a text identical with that used by the french savant. in the notes to his edition of the arabic text of aladdin, m. zotenberg gives a number of extracts from this ms., from which it appears that it is written in a very vulgar modern syrian style and abounds in grammatical errors, inconsistencies and incoherences of every description, to say nothing of the fact that the syrian ecclesiastic seems, with the characteristic want of taste and presumption which might be expected from the joint-author of "les veillees persanes," to have, to a considerable extent, garbled the original text by the introduction of modern european phrases and turns of speech a la galland. for the rest, the ms. contains no note or other indication, on which we can found any opinion as to the source from which the transcriber (or arranger) drew his materials; but it can hardly be doubted, from internal evidence, that he had the command of some genuine text of the nights, similar to, if not identical with, that of galland, which he probably "arranged" to suit his own (and his century's) distorted ideas of literary fitness. the discovery of the interpolated tales contained in this ms. (which has thus presumably lain unnoticed for a whole century, under, as one may say, the very noses of the many students of arabic literature who would have rejoiced in such a find) has, by a curious freak of fortune, been delayed until our own day in consequence of a singular mistake made by a former conservator of the paris bibliotheque, the well-known orientalist, m. reinaud, who, in drawing up the catalogue of the arabic mss. in the collection described (or rather misdescribed) it under the following heading: "supplement arabe . thousand and one nights, rd and th parts. this volume begins with night cclxxxii and ends with night dcxxxi. a copy in the handwriting of chavis. it is from this copy and in accordance with the instructions (d'apres la indications) of this syrian monk that cazotte composed (redigea) the sequel to the thousand and one nights, cabinet des fees, xxxvii et xl (should be tt. xxxviii-xli)." it is of course evident that m. reinaud had never read the ms. in question nor that numbered in the supplement arabe, or he would at once have recognized that the latter, though not in the handwriting of the syrian ecclesiastic, was that which served for the production of the "sequel" in question; but, superficial as was the mistake, it sufficed to prevent the examination by students of the ms. no. and so retarded the discovery of the arabic originals of aladdin and its fellows till the acquisition (some two years ago) by the bibliotheque nationale of another (and complete) ms. of the thousand and one nights, which appears to have belonged to the celebrated orientalist m. caussin de perceval, although the latter could not have been acquainted with it at the time ( ) he published his well-known edition and continuation of galland's translation, in the eighth and ninth volumes of which, by the by, he gives a correct version of the tales so fearfully garbled by chavis and cazotte in their so-called translation as well nigh to defy recognition and to cause orientalists in general to deny the possibility of their having been derived from an oriental source until the discovery of the actual arabic originals so barbarously maltreated [ ] this ms. is in the handwriting of of sebbagh, the well-known syrian collaborator of silvestre de sacy, and is supposed to have been copied by him at paris between the years and for some european orientalist (probably de perceval himself) from a baghdad ms. of the early part of the th century, of which it professes to be an exact reproduction, as appears from a terminal note, of which the following is a translation: "and the finishing of it was in the first tenth (decade) of jumada the latter [in the] year one thousand one hundred and fifteen of the hegira (october, ) in the handwriting of the neediest of the faithful [ ] unto god [ ] the most high, ahmed ibn mohammed et teradi, in the city of baghdad, and he the shafiy by sect and the mosuli by birth and the baghdadi by sojourn, and indeed he wrote it for himself and set upon it his seal, and god bless and keep our lord mohammed and his companions! kebikej [ ] (ter)." this ms. contains the three "interpolated" tales aforesaid, i.e. the sleeper awakened (nights cccxxxvii-lxxxvi), zeyn alasnam (nights ccccxcvii-dxiii) and aladdin (nights dxiv-xci), the last two bearing traces of a syrian origin, especially aladdin, which is written in a much commoner and looser style than zeyn alasnam. the two tales are evidently the work of different authors, zeyn alasnam being incomparably superior in style and correctness to aladdin, which is defaced by all kinds of vulgarisms and solecisms and seems, moreover, to have been less correctly copied than the other. nevertheless, the sebbagh text is in every respect preferable to that of shawish (which appears to abound in faults and errors of every kind, general and particular,) and m. zotenberg has, therefore, exercised a wise discretion in selecting the former for publication. iii. perhaps the most noteworthy feature of m. zorenberg's long and interesting introduction is a series of extracts from the (as yet unpublished) ms. diary regularly kept by galland, the last four volumes ( - ) of which are preserved in the bibliotheque nationale. these extracts effectually settle the question of the origin of the interpolated tales, as will be seen from the following abstract. on the th march, , galland records having that day made the acquaintance of a maronite scholar, by name youhenna diab, [ ] who had been brought from aleppo to paris by paul lucas, the celebrated traveller, and with whom he evidently at once broached the question of the nights, [ ] probably complaining to him of the difficulty (or rather impossibility) of obtaining a perfect copy of the work; whereupon hanna (as he always calls him) appears to have volunteered to help him to fill the lacune by furnishing him with suitable oriental stories for translation in the same style as those already rendered by him and then and there (says galland) "told me some very fine arabian tales, which he promised to put into writing for me." there is no fresh entry on the subject till may following, when (says galland) "the maronite hanna finished telling me the tale of the lamp." [ ] hanna appears to have remained in paris till the autumn of the year and during his stay, galland's diary records the communication by him to the french savant of the following stories, afterwards included in the ninth, tenth, eleventh and twelfth volumes of the latter's translation, (as well as of several others which he probably intended to translate, had he lived,) [ ] i.e. (may , ) "babe abdalla" and "sidi nouman," (may , ) "the enchanted horse," (may , ) "prince ahmed and pari banou," (may , ) "the two sisters who envied their younger sister," (may , ) "all baba and the forty thieves," (may , ) "cogia hassan alhabbal" and (may , ) "ali cogia." the maronite seems to have left for the east in october, , (galland says under date october , "received this evening a letter from hanna, who writes me from marseilles, under date the th, in arabic, to the effect that he had arrived there in good health,") but not without having at least in part fulfilled his promise to put in writing the tales communicated by him to galland, as appears by the entry of november , , "began yesterday to read the arabian story of the lamp, which had been written me in arabic more than a year ago by the maronite of damascus [ ] whom m. lucas brought with him, with a view to putting it into french. finished reading it this morning. here is the title of this tale, 'story of aladdin, son of a tailor, and that which befell him with an african magician on account of (or through) a lamp.'" (the diary adds that he began that evening to put his translation into writing and finished it in the course of the ensuing fortnight.) and that of january , , "finished the translation of the tenth volume of the nights after the arabic text which i had from the hand (de la main) of hanna or jean dipi, [ ] whom m. lucas brought to france on his return from his last journey in the levant." the only other entry bearing upon the question is that of august , , in which galland says, "being quit of my labours upon the translation etc. of the koran, i read a part of the arabian tales which the maronite hanna had told me and which i had summarily reduced to writing, to see which of them i should select to make up the eleventh volume of the thousand and one nights." from these entries it appears beyond question that galland received from the maronite hanna, in the spring and summer of , the arabic text of the stories of aladdin, baba abdalla, sidi nouman and cogia hassan alhabbal, i.e. the whole of the tales included in his ninth and tenth volumes (with the exception of the sleeper awakened, of which he does not speak) and that he composed the five remaining tales contained in his eleventh and twelfth volumes (i.e. ali baba, ali cogia, the enchanted horse, prince ahmed and pari banou and the two sisters who envied their younger sister,) upon the details thereof taken down from hanna's lips and by the aid of copious summaries made at the time. these entries in galland's diary dispose, therefore, of the question of the origin of the "interpolated" tales, with the exception ( ) of the sleeper awakened (with which we need not, for the present, concern ourselves farther) and ( ) of nos. and a and b, i.e. zeyn alasnam, codadad and his brothers and the princess of deryabar (forming, with ganem, his eighth volume), as to which galland, as i pointed out in my terminal essay (p. ), cautions us, in a prefatory note to his ninth volume, that these two stories form no part of the thousand and one nights and that they had been inserted and printed without the cognizance of the translator, who was unaware of the trick that had been played him till after the actual publication of the volume, adding that care would be taken to expunge the intrusive tales from the second edition (which, however, was never done, galland dying before the republication and it being probably found that the stranger tales had taken too firm a hold upon public favour to be sacrificed, as originally proposed); and the invaluable diary supplies the necessary supplemental information as to their origin. "m. petis de la croix," says galland under date of january , , "professor and king's reader of the arabic tongue, who did me the honour to visit me this morning, was extremely surprised to see two of the turkish [ ] tales of his translation printed in the eighth volume of the nights, which i showed him, and that this should have been done without his participation." petis de la croix, a well-known orientalist and traveller of the time, published in the course of the same year ( ) the first volume of a collection of oriental stories, similar in form and character to the nights, but divided into "days" instead of "nights" and called "the thousand and one days, persian tales," the preface to which (ascribed to cazotte) alleges him to have translated the tales from a persian work called hezar [o] yek roz, i.e. "the thousand and one days," the ms. of which had in been communicated to the translator by a friend of his, by name mukhlis, (cazotte styles him "the celebrated dervish mocles, chief of the soufis of ispahan") during his sojourn in the persian capital. the preface goes on to state that mukhlis had, in his youth, translated into persian certain indian plays, which had been translated into all the oriental languages and of which a turkish version existed in the bibliotheque royale, under the title of alfaraga badal-schidda (i.e. el ferej bad esh shiddeh), which signified "joy after affliction"; but that, wishing to give his work an original air, he converted the aforesaid plays into tales. cazotte's story of the indian plays savours somewhat of the cock and the bull and it is probable that the hezar o yek roz (which is not, to my knowledge, extant) was not derived from so recondite a source, but was itself either the original of the well-known turkish collection or (perhaps) a translation of the latter. at all events, zeyn alasnam, codadad and the princess of deryabar occur in a copy (cited by m. zotenberg), belonging to the bibliotheque nationale, of el ferej bad esh shidded (of which they form the eighth, ninth and sixth stories respectively) and in a practically identical form, except that in galland's vol. viii. the two latter stories are fused into one. sir william ouseley is said to have brought from persia a ms. copy of a portion of the hezar o yek roz which he describes as agreeing with the french version, but, in the absence of documentary proof and in view of the fact that, notwithstanding the unauthorized incorporation of three of the tales of his original with galland's vol. viii, the published version of the thousand and one days is apparently complete and shows no trace of the omission, i am inclined to suspect petis de la croix of having invented the division into days, in order to imitate (and profit by the popularity of) his fellow savant's version of the thousand and one nights. galland's publisher was doubtless also that of petis de la croix and in the latter capacity had in hand a portion of the ms. of the days, from which, no doubt weary of waiting till galland (who was now come to the end of his genuine arabic ms. of the nights and was accordingly at a standstill, till he met with hanna,) should have procured fresh material to complete the copy for his eighth volume, of which ganem only was then ready for publication, he seems to have selected (apparently on his own responsibility, but, it must be admitted, with considerable taste and judgment,) the three tales in question from the ms. of the days, to fill up the lacune. it does not appear whether he found codadad and the princess of deryabar arranged as one story ready to his hand or himself performed (or procured to be performed) the process of fusion, which, in any case, was executed by no unskilful hand. be this as it may, galland was naturally excessively annoyed at the publisher's unceremonious proceeding, so much so indeed as for a time to contemplate renouncing the publication of the rest of the work, to spare himself (as he says in his diary, under date of dec. , ) similar annoyances (mortifications) to that which the printing of the eighth volume had caused him. indeed, the effect of this incident was to induce him, not only to change his publisher, but to delay the publication of the next volume (which, as we learn from the diary, was ready for the press at the end of november or the beginning of december, ) for a whole year, at the end of which time (diary, november , ) he made arrangements with a new (and presumably more trustworthy) publisher, m. florentin de laune, for the printing of vol. ix. iv. notwithstanding the discovery, as above set out, of three of the doubtful tales, zeyn alasnam, aladdin and the sleeper awakened, in two mss. (one at least undoubtedly authentic) of the thousand nights and one night, i am more than ever of opinion that none of the eleven "interpolated" stories properly belongs to the original work, that is to say, to the collection as first put into definite form somewhere about the fourteenth century. [ ] "the sleeper awakened" was identified by the late mr. lane as a historical anecdote given by the historian el ishaki, who wrote in the first quarter of the seventeenth century, and the frequent mention of coffee in both mss. of aladdin justifies us in attributing the composition of the story to (at earliest) the sixteenth century, whilst the modern vulgarisms in which they abound point to a still later date. zeyn alasnam (in the sebbagh ms. at least) is written in a much purer and more scholarly style than aladdin, but its pre-existence in el ferej bad esh shiddeh (even if we treat as apocryphal petis de la croix's account of the hezar o yek roz) is sufficient, in the absence of contrary evidence, to justify us in refusing to consider it as belonging to the thousand nights and one night proper. as shown by galland's own experience, complete copies of the genuine work were rarely to be met with, collections of "silly stories" (as the oriental savant, who inclines to regard nothing in the way of literature save theology, grammar and poetry, would style them), being generally considered by the arab bibliographer undeserving of record or preservation, and the fragmentary copies which existed were mostly in the hands of professional story-tellers, who were extremely unwilling to part with them, looking upon them as their stock in trade, and were in the habit of incorporating with the genuine text all kinds of stories and anecdotes from other sources, to fill the place of the missing portions of the original work. this process of addition and incorporation, which has been in progress ever since the first collection of the nights into one distinct work and is doubtless still going on in oriental countries, (especially such as are least in contact with european influence,) may account for the heterogeneous character of the various modern mss. of the nights and for the immense difference which exists between the several texts, as well in actual contents as in the details and diction of such stories as are common to all. the tunis ms. of the nights (which is preserved in the breslau university library and which formed the principal foundation of habicht's edition of the arabic text) affords a striking example of this process, which we are here enabled to see in mid-operation, the greater part of the tales of which it consists having not yet been adapted to the framework of the nights. it is dated a.h. (a.d. ) and of the ten volumes of which it consists, i, ii (nights i--ccl) and x (nights dccclxxxv-mi) are alone divided into nights, the division of the remaining seven volumes (i.e. iii--ix, containing, inter alia, the story of the sleeper awakened) being the work of the german editor. it is my belief, therefore, that the three "interpolated" tales identified as forming part of the baghdad ms. of are comparatively modern stories added to the genuine text by rawis (story-tellers) or professional writers employed by them, and i see no reason to doubt that we shall yet discover the arabic text of the remaining eight, either in hanna's version (as written down for galland) or in some as yet unexamined ms. of the nights or other work of like character. v. m. zotenberg has, with great judgment, taken as his standard for publication the text of aladdin given by the sebbagh ms., inasmuch as the shawish ms. (besides being, as appears from the extracts given. [ ] far inferior both in style and general correctness,) is shown by the editor to be full of modern european phrases and turns of speech and to present so many suspicious peculiarities that it would be difficult, having regard, moreover, to the doubtful character and reputation of the syrian monkish adventurer who styled himself dom denis chavis, to resist the conviction that his ms. was a forgery, i.e. professedly a copy of a genuine arabic text, but in reality only a translation or paraphrase in that language of galland's version,--were it not that the baghdad ms. (dated before the commencement, in , of galland's publication and transcribed by a man--mikhail sebbagh--whose reputation, as a collaborator of silvestre de sacy and other distinguished orientalists, is a sufficient voucher for the authenticity of the copy in the bibliotheque nationale,) contains a text essentially identical with that of shawish. moreover, it is evident, from a comparison with galland's rendering and making allowance for the latter's system of translation, that the arabic version of aladdin given him by hanna must either have been derived from the baghdad text or from some other practically identical source, and it is therefore probable that shawish, having apparently been employed to make up the missing portion of galland's arabic text and not having the hanna ms. at his command, had (with the execrable taste and want of literary morality which distinguished cazotte's monkish coadjutor) endeavoured to bring his available text up to what he considered the requisite standard by modernizing and gallicizing its wording and (in particular) introducing numerous european phrases and turns of speech in imitation of the french translator. the whole question is, of course, as yet a matter of more or less probable hypothesis, and so it must remain until further discoveries and especially until the reappearance of galland's missing text, which i am convinced must exist in some shape or other and cannot much longer, in the face of the revived interest awakened in the matter and the systematic process of investigation now likely to be employed, elude research. m. zotenberg's publication having been confined to the text of aladdin, i have to thank my friend sir r. f. burton for the loan of his ms. copy of zeyn alasnam, (the arabic text of which still remains unpublished) as transcribed by m. houdas from the sebbagh ms. zein ul asnam and the king of the jinn. there [ ] was [once] in the city of bassora a mighty sultan and he was exceeding rich, but he had no child who should be his successor [ ] after him. for this he grieved sore and fell to bestowing alms galore upon the poor and the needy and upon the friends [ ] of god and the devout, seeking their intercession with god the most high, so he to whom belong might and majesty should of his favour vouchsafe him a son. and god accepted his prayer, for his fostering of the poor, and answered his petition; so that one night of the nights he lay with the queen and she went from him with child. when the sultan knew this, he rejoiced with an exceeding joy, and as the time of her child-bearing drew nigh, he assembled all the astrologers and those who smote the sand [ ] and said to them, "it is my will that ye enquire concerning the child that shall be born to me this month, whether it will be male or female, and tell me what will betide it of chances and what will proceed from it." [ ] so the geomancers smote their [tables of] sand and the astrologers took their altitudes [ ] and observed the star of the babe [un]born and said to the sultan, "o king of the age and lord of the time and the tide, the child that shall be born to thee of the queen is a male and it beseemeth that thou name him zein ul asnam." [ ] and as for those who smote upon the sand, they said to him, "know, o king, that this babe will become a renowned brave, [ ] but he shall happen in his time upon certain travail and tribulation; yet, an he endure with fortitude against that which shall befall him, he shall become the richest of the kings of the world." and the king said to them, "since the babe shall become valiant as ye avouch, the toil and travail which will befall him are nought, for that tribulations teach the sons of kings." accordingly, after a few days, the queen gave birth to a male child, extolled be the perfection of him who created him surpassing in grace and goodliness! his father named him zein ul asnam, and he was as say of him certain of his praisers [ ] in verse: [ ] he shows and "now allah be blessed!" men say: "extol we his maker and fashioner aye! the king of the fair [ ] this is, sure, one and all; ay, his thralls, every one, and his liegemen are they." the boy grew and flourished till he came to the age of five [ ] years, when his father the sultan assigned him a governor skilled and versed in all sciences and philosophies, and he proceeded to teach him till he excelled in all manner of knowledge and became a young man. [ ] then the sultan bade bring him before himself, and assembling all the grandees of his realm and the chiefs of his subjects, proceeded to admonish him before them, saying to him, "o my son zein ul asnam, behold, i am grown stricken in years and am presently sick; and belike this sickness will be the last of my life in this world and thou shalt sit in my stead; [wherefore i desire to admonish thee]. beware, o my son, lest thou oppress any or turn a deaf ear to the complaining of the poor; but do thou justify the oppressed after the measure of thy might. and look thou believe not all that shall be said to thee by the great ones of the people, but trust thou still for the most part to the voice of the common folk; for the great will deceive thee, seeing they seek that which befitteth themselves, not that which befitteth the subject." then, after a few days, the sultan's sickness redoubled on him and he accomplished his term and died; and as for his son zein ul asnam, he arose and donning the raiment of woe, [mourned] for his father the space of six days. on the seventh day he arose and going forth to the divan, sat down on the throne of the sultanate and held a court, wherein was a great assemblage of the folk, [ ] and the viziers came forward and the grandees of the realm and condoled with him for his father and called down blessings upon him and gave him joy of the kingship and the sultanate, beseeching god to grant him continuance of glory and prosperity without end. when [ ] zein ul asnam saw himself in this great might and wealth, and he young in years, he inclined unto prodigality and to the converse of springalds like himself and fell to squandering vast sums upon his pleasures and left governance and concern for his subjects. the queen his mother proceeded to admonish him and to forbid him from his ill fashions, bidding him leave that manner of life and apply himself governance and administration and the ordinance of the realm, lest the folk reject him and rise up against him and expel [ ] hira; but he would hear not a word from her and abode in his ignorance and folly. at this the people murmured, for that the grandees of the realm put out their hands unto oppression, whenas they saw the king's lack of concern for his subjects; so they rose up in rebellion against zein ul asnam and would have laid violent hands upon him, had not the queen his mother been a woman of wit and judgment and address, and the people loved her; so she appeased the folk and promised them good. then she called her son zein ul asnam to her and said to him, "see, o my son; said i not to thee that thou wouldest lose thy kingship and eke thy life, an thou persistedst in this thine ignorance and folly, in that thou givest the ordinance of the sultanate into the hands of raw youths and eschewest the old and wastest thy substance and that of the realm, squandering it all upon lewdness and the lust of thy soul?" zein ul asnam hearkened to his mother's rede and going out forthright to the divan, committed the manage of the realm into the hands of certain old men of understanding and experience; save that he did this only after bassora had been ruined, inasmuch as he turned not from his folly till he had spent and squandered all the treasures of the sultanate and was become exceeding poor. then he betook himself to repentance and to sorrowing over that which he had done, [ ] so that he lost the solace of sleep and eschewed meat and drink, till one night of the nights,--and indeed he had spent it in mourning and lamentation and melancholy thought until the last of the night,--his eyes closed for a little and there appeared to him in his sleep a venerable old man, who said to him, "o zein ul asnam, grieve not, for that nought followeth after grief save relief from stress, and an thou desire to be delivered from this thine affliction, arise and betake thee to cairo, where thou wilt find treasuries of wealth which shall stand thee in stead of that thou hast squandered, ay, and twofold the sum thereof." when he awoke from his sleep, he acquainted his mother with all that he had seen in his dream, and she fell to laughing at him; but he said to her, "laugh not, for needs must i journey to cairo." "o my son," answered she, "put not thy trust in dreams, for that they are all vain fancies and lying imaginations." and he said to her, "nay, my dream was a true one and the man whom i saw is of the friends of god [ ] and his speech is very sooth." accordingly, he left the sultanate and going forth a-journeying one night of the nights, took the road to egypt [and fared on] days and nights till he came to the city of cairo. so he entered it and saw it a great and magnificent city; then, being perished for weariness, he took shelter in one of its mosques. when he had rested awhile, he went forth and bought him somewhat to eat; and after he had eaten, he fell asleep in the mosque, of the excess of his weariness, nor had he slept but a little when the old man appeared to him in his sleep and said to him, "o zein ul assam, [ ] thou hast done as i said to thee, and indeed i made proof of thee, that i might see an thou wert valiant or not; but now i know thee, inasmuch as thou hast put faith in my rede and hast done according thereto. so now return to thine own city and i will make thee a king rich after such a measure that neither before thee nor after thee shall [any] of the kings be like unto thee." so zein ul asnam arose from his sleep and said, "in the name of god the compassionate, the merciful! what is this old man who hath wearier me, so that i came to cairo, [ ] and i trusted in him and deemed of him that he was the prophet (whom god bless and keep) or one of the pious friends of god? but there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the supreme. by allah. i did well in that i acquainted none with my sallying forth neither related my dream unto any! [ ] indeed. i believed in this old man and meseemed by that which appeared to me, he was none of mankind, [ ] extolled be his perfection and magnified be he who [alone] knoweth the truth! by allah, i will leave trusting in this old man [neither will i comply with him] in that which he would have me do!" accordingly, he lay [the rest of] that night [in the mosque] and at daybreak he arose and mounting his courser, set out on his return to bassora, [the seat of] his kingship, where, after a few days, he arrived and went in that same night to his mother, who asked him if aught had befallen him of that which the old man had promised him. he acquainted her with that which he had seen [in his sleep] and she fell to condoling with him and comforting him, saying, "grieve not, o my son, for, an god the most high have appointed thee aught of [good] fortune, thou wilt attain thereto without either travail or toil; but i would have thee be understanding and discreet and leave these things which have brought thee to poverty, o my son, and eschew singing-wenches and the commerce of youths and women; all this is for the baser sort, not for kings' sons like thee." and he swore to her that he would never more gainsay her commandment, but would observe all that she should say to him and would turn his mind to the governance and the kingship and leave that wherefrom she forbade him. then he slept that night and what while he was on sleep, the old man appeared to him and said to him, "o zein ul asnam, o valiant one, whenas thou arisest from thy sleep this day, i will accomplish my promise to thee; wherefore take thou a pickaxe and go to the palace of thy father such-an-one [ ] in such a place and dig there in the earth and thou wilt find that which shall enrich thee." when zein ul asnam awoke from his sleep, he hastened to his mother, rejoicing, and acquainted her with his dream; whereupon she fell again to laughing at him and said to him, "o my son, indeed this old man laugheth at thee, nought else; wherefore do thou turn thy thought from him." but he said to her, "nay, mother mine, indeed he is soothfast and lieth not; for that, in the first of his dealing, he tried me and now his intent is to accomplish unto me his promise." "in any case," rejoined she, "the thing is not toilsome; [ ] so do that which thou wilt, even as he said to thee, and make proof of the matter, and god willing, thou shalt [ ] return to me rejoicing; but methinketh thou wilt return to me and say, 'thou saidst sooth, o my mother, in thy rede."' the prince accordingly took a pickaxe and going down to the palace where his father was buried, fell a-delving in the earth; nor had he dug long when, behold, there appeared to him a ring fixed in a slab of marble. he raised the slab and seeing a stair, descended thereby and found a great vault, all builded with columns of marble and alabaster; then, proceeding innerward, he found within the vault a hall which ravished the wit, and therein eight jars of green jasper; [ ] and he said, "what be these jars and what is in them?" so [ ] he went up and uncovering them, found them all full of old gold; [ ] whereupon he took a little in his hand and going to his mother, gave her thereof and said to her, "thou seest, o my mother." she marvelled at this thing and said to him, "beware, o my son, lest thou squander it, like as thou squanderedst other than this." and he swore to her, saying, "be not concerned, o my mother, and let not thy heart be other than easy on my account, for i would fain have thee also content with me." [ ] then she arose and went with him, and they descended into the vault and entered the [underground] hall, [ ] where she beheld that which ravished the wit and saw the jars of gold. what while they diverted themselves with gazing upon these latter, behold, they espied a little jar of fine jade; so zein ul asnam opened it and found in it a golden key. whereupon quoth his mother to him, "o my son, needs must there be a door here which this key will open." accordingly they sought in all parts of the vault and the hall, so they might see an there were a door or what not else to be found there, and presently espied a bolted lock, to which they knew that this must be the key. so zein ul asnam went up and putting the key in the lock, turned it and opened a door which admitted them into a second hall, [ ] more magnificent than the first; and it was all full of a light which dazzled the sight, yet was there no flambeau kindled therein, no, nor any window [ ] there, whereat they marvelled and looking farther, saw eight images of jewels, each one piece, and that of noble jewels, pure and precious. zein ul asnam was amazed at this and said to his mother, "how came my father by these things?" and they fell to looking and considering, till presently the queen espied a curtain of silk, whereon were these words written: "o my son, marvel not at these great riches, whereto i have won by dint of sore travail; but know that there existeth also another image whose worth is more than that of these [eight] images twenty times told. wherefore, an thou wouldst come thereby, get thee to cairo, where thou wilt find a slave of mine, by name mubarek, who will take thee and bring thee in company [ ] with the ninth image. when thou enterest cairo, the first man whom thou encounterest will direct thee to mubarek's house, for he is known in all egypt." [ ] when zein ul asnam read this inscription, he said, "o my mother, it is my wish to journey to cairo, so i may make search for the ninth image. tell me, how deemest thou of my dream? was it true or was it not? wilt thou still say [ ] to me, 'these be idle tales'? but i, o my mother, needs must i journey to cairo." "o my son," answered the queen, "since thou art under the safeguard of the apostle of god [ ] (whom god bless and keep), go thou in peace, and i [and] thy vizier, we will govern the realm in thine absence, against thou shalt return." so zein ul asnam went forth and equipping himself [for travel, set out] and journeyed till he came to cairo, where he enquired for mubarek's house and the folk said to him, "o my lord, this is a man than whom there is none richer in [all cairo]; no, nor is there a more abounding than he in bounty and beneficence, and his house is [still] open to the stranger." so they directed him thither and he went till he came to the house and knocked at the door; whereupon there came out to him one of mubarek's slaves and [ ] opening the door, said to him, "who art thou and what wiliest thou?" quoth zein ul asnam, "i am a stranger, a man from a far country, and i heard tell of your lord, mubarek, and how he is renowned for hospitality and beneficence; so i came to him, that i may be a guest with him." the slave entered and told his lord mubarek; then returned and said to zein ul asnam, "o my lord, blessing hath descended upon us in thy coming. [ ] enter, for my lord mubarek awaiteth thee." so zein ul asnam entered into a courtyard, exceeding spacious and all [full] of trees and waters, and the slave brought him into the pavilion [ ] where mubarek sat. when he entered, the latter arose forthright and coming to meet him, received him with cordiality and said to him, "blessing hath descended upon us and this night is the most auspicious of nights in thy coming to us! but who art thou, o youth, and whence comest thou and whither art thou bound?" the prince answered him, saying, "i am zein ul asnam and i seek mubarek, slave to the sultan of bassora, who died a year agone and whose son i am." "what sayst thou?" cried mubarek. "art thou the king's son of bassora?" "yea, verily," replied zein ul asnam; "i am his son." quoth mubarek, "nay, my lord the king of bassora left no son; but what is thine age, o youth?" "about twenty years," replied zein ul asnam. "and thou," added he, "how long is it since thou wentest out from my father's house?" "i went out eighteen years agone," answered mubarek. "but, o my son zein ul asnam, by what token canst thou certify me that thou art the son of my lord the king of bassora?" quoth zein ul asnam, "thou knowest that my father builded under his palace a vault and therein [a hall in which] he set forty [ ] jars of fine jade and filled them with ancient gold; [ ] and within this hall he made a second hall, wherein he placed eight images of precious stones, each wroughten of a single jewel and seated upon a throne of virgin gold. [ ] moreover, he wrote upon a curtain of silk there and i read the writ, whereby i found that he bade me come to thee, saying that thou wouldst acquaint me of the ninth image and where it is, the which, said he, was worth the eight, all of them." when mubarek heard these words, he threw himself at zein ul asnam's feet and fell to kissing them and saying, "pardon me, o my lord! verily, thou art the son of my lord." then said he to the prince, "o my lord, i make to-day a banquet unto all the chief men of cairo and i would fain have thy highness honour me [with thy presence] thereat." and zein ul asnam said, "with all my heart." [ ] so mubarek arose and foregoing zein ul asnam, brought him into the saloon, which was full of the chief men of cairo, assembled therein. there he sat down and seating the prince in the place of honour, called for the evening-meal. so they laid the tables and mubarek stood to serve zein ul asnam, with his hands clasped behind him [ ] and whiles seated upon his knees [and heels]. [ ] the notables of cairo marvelled at this, how mubarek, the chiefest of them, should serve the youth, and [ ] were sore amazed thereat, knowing not [who or] whence he was. but, after they had eaten and drunken and supped and were of good cheer, mubarek turned to the company and said to them, "o folk, marvel not that i serve this youth with all worship and assiduity, for that he is the son of my lord the sultan of bassora, whose slave i was, for that he bought me with his money and died without setting me free; wherefore it behoveth me serve my lord, and all that my hand possesseth of monies and gear is his, nor is anywhit thereof mine." when the notables of cairo heard this speech, they arose to zein ul asnam and did him exceeding great worship and saluted him with all reverence and prayed for him; [ ] and he said, "o company, i am before your presence and ye are witnesses [of that which i am about to do." then, turning to his host,] "o mubarek, [quoth he,] thou art free and all that is with thee of monies and gear appertaining unto us shall henceforth be thine and thou art altogether acquitted thereof [ ] and of every part thereof. moreover, do thou ask of me whatsoever thou desirest by way of boon, [ ] for that i will nowise gainsay thee in aught thou mayst seek." [ ] thereupon mubarek arose and kissed the prince's hand and thanked him, saying, "o my lord, i will nought of thee save that thou be well; for indeed the wealth that i have is exceeding abundant upon me." so zein ul asnam abode with mubarek four days and every day the chief men of cairo came to salute him, whenas it reached them that this was mubarek's lord, the sultan of bassora; then, after he was rested, he said to his host, "o mubarek, indeed the time is long upon me;" [ ] and mubarek said to him, "thou must know, o my lord, that this whereof thou art come in quest is a hard [ ] matter, nay, even unto danger of death, and i know not if thy fortitude may suffice thee for the achievement thereof." [ ] "know, o mubarek," rejoined zein ul asnam, "that wealth [is gotten] by blood [ ] and there betideth a man nought except by the will and foreordinance of the creator (to whom belong might and majesty ); so do thou take heart and concern not thyself on my account." accordingly mubarek forthright commended his slaves equip them for travel; so they made all ready and taking horse, journeyed days and nights in the foulest of deserts, [ ] witnessing daily things and matters which confounded their wits,--things such as never in their time had they seen,--until they drew near the place [of their destination]; whereupon they lighted down from their steeds and mubarek bade the slaves and servants abide there, saying to them, "keep watch over the beasts of burden and the horses till we return to you." then the twain set out together afoot and mubarek said to zein ul asnam, "o my lord, now behoveth fortitude, for that thou art in the land of the image whereof thou comest in quest." and they gave not over walking till they drew near a great lake and a wide, whereupon quoth mubarek to zein ul asnam, "know, o my lord, that there will presently come to us a little boat, bearing a blue flag and builded all with planks of sandal and comorin aloes-wood of price; and [thereanent] i have a charge to give thee, which it behoveth thee observe." "what is this charge?" asked the prince and mubarek said to him, "in this boat thou wilt see a boatman, [ ] but his make is monstrous; [ ] wherefore be thou ware and again, i say, beware lest thou speak aught, for that he will incontinent drown us; and know that this place appertaineth to the king of the jinn and that all thou seest is their handiwork." then [ ] they came to the lake and behold, a little boat with planks of sandal and comorin aloes-wood and in it a boatman, whose head was [as] the head of an elephant and the rest of his body [as that of] a wild beast. [ ] when he drew near them, he wrapped his trunk about them both and taking them with him into the boat, rowed out with them to the midst of the lake, then fared on with them [ ] till he brought them to the other shore, where they landed and walking on, saw there trees of ambergris [ ] and aloes and sandal-wood and cloves and jessamine, [ ] full-grown and laden with ripe fruits and flowers [ ] whose fragrance dilated the breast and cheered the spright; and there [they heard] the voices of the birds twittering their various notes and ravishing the wit with their warblings. so mubarek turned to zein ul asnam and said to him, "how deemest thou of this place, o my lord?" and the prince answered him, saying, "methinketh, o mubarek, this is the paradise which the prophet (whom god bless and keep) promised us withal." then they fared on till they came to a magnificent palace, builded all with stones of emerald and rubies, and its doors were of sheer gold. before it was a bridge, the length whereof was an hundred and fifty cubits and its breadth fifty cubits, and it was [wroughten] of the rib of a fish; whilst at the other end of the bridge were many warriors [ ] of the jinn, gruesome and terrible of aspect, and all of them bore in their hands javelins of steel that flashed in the sun like winter lightning. [ ] quoth zein ul asnam to mubarek, "this is a thing that taketh the wits;" and mubarek said to him, "it behoveth us abide in our place neither fare forward, lest a mischance betide us. o god, [vouchsafe us] safety!" therewith he brought out of his pocket four pieces of yellow silken stuff and girded himself with one thereof; the second he laid on his shoulders and gave zein ul asnam other two pieces, with which he girded himself [and covered his shoulders] on like wise. moreover, he spread before each of them a sash of white silk and bringing forth of his pocket precious stones and perfumes, such as ambergris and aloes-wood, (set them on the edges thereof) [ ] after which they sat down, each on his sash, and mubarek taught zein ul asnam these words, which he should say to the king of the jinn, to wit: "o my lord king of the jinn, we are in thy safeguard." and zein ul asnam said to him, "and i will instantly conjure him that he accept of us." then said mubarek, "o my lord, by allah, i am exceeding fearful. but now hearken; an he be minded to accept of us without hurt, he will come to us in the semblance of a man accomplished in grace and goodliness; but, an he have no mind to us, he will come to us in a gruesome and a frightful aspect. an thou see him surpassing in beauty, arise forthright and salute him, but beware lest thou overpass thy sash." and zein ul asnam said to him, "hearkening and obedience." "and be this thy salutation to him," continued mubarek; "thou shalt say, 'o king of the jinn and lord of the earth, my father, the sultan of bassora, the angel of death hath removed, as indeed is not hidden from thee. now thy grace was still wont to take my father under thy protection, and i come to thee likewise to put myself under thy safeguard, even as did he.' moreover, [ ] o my lord zein ul asnam," added he, "an the king of the jinn receive us with a cheerful favour, he will without fail ask thee and say to thee, 'seek of me that which thou wiliest and thou shalt forthright be given [it].' [ ] so do thou seek of him and say to him, 'o my lord, i crave of thy grace the ninth image, than which there is not the world a more precious; and indeed thy grace promised my father that thou wouldst give it to me."' having thus taught his lord how he should speak with the king of the jinn and seek of him the ninth image and how he should make his speech seemly and pleasant, mubarek fell to conjuring and fumigating and reciting words that might not be understanded; and no great while passed ere the world lightened [ ] and rain fell in torrents [ ] and it thundered and darkness covered the face of the earth; and after this there came a tempestuous wind and a voice like an earthquake of the earthquakes [ ] of the day of resurrection. when zein ul asnam saw these portents, his joints trembled and he was sore affrighted, for that he beheld a thing he had never in all his life seen nor heard. but mubarek laughed at him and said to him, "fear not, o my lord; this whereat thou art affrighted is that which we seek; nay, it is a presage of good to-us. so take heart and be of good cheer." after this there came a great clearness and serenity and there breathed pure and fragrant breezes; then, presently, behold, there appeared the king of the jinn in the semblance of a man comely of favour, there was none like unto him in his goodliness, save he who hath no like and to whom belong might and majesty. he looked on zein ul asnam and mubarek with a cheerful, smiling countenance; whereupon the prince arose forthright and proffered him his petition in the words which mubarek had taught him. the king of the jinn turned to him, smiling, and said to him, "o zein ul asnam, indeed i loved thy father the sultan of bassora, and i used, whenassoever he came to me, to give him an image of those which thou hast seen, each wroughten of a single jewel, and thou also shalt stand in thy father's stead with me and shalt find favour in mine eyes, even as did he, ay, and more. before he died, i caused him write the writ which thou sawest on the curtain of silk and promised him that i would take thee under my protection, even as himself, and would give thee the ninth image, which is more of worth than those which thou hast seen. now it is my intent to perform the promise which i made to thy father, that i would take thee under my protection, and [ ] [know that] i was the old man whom thou sawest in thy sleep and it was i bade thee dig in the palace for the vault wherein thou foundest the jars of gold and the images of jewels. i know also wherefore thou art come hither; nay, i am he that was the cause of thy coming, and i will give thee that which thou seekest, albeit i had not given it to thy father; but on condition that thou swear to me a solemn oath and abide me constant thereto, to wit, that thou wilt return and bring me a girl of the age of fifteen years, with whom there shall be none to match in loveliness, and she must be a clean maid, who shall never have lusted after man, nor shall man have lusted after her. moreover, thou must swear to me that thou wilt keep faith with her, coming, and beware lest thou play me false with her by the way." so zein ul asnam swore a solemn oath to him of this and said to him, "o my lord, indeed, thou honourest me with this service; but methinketh it will be hard to find a girl like this. nay, supposing i find a damsel fifteen years of age and beautiful exceedingly, according to thy grace's requirement, how shall i know that she hath never in her time lusted after man nor hath man lusted after her?" "o zein ul asnam," replied the king of the jinn, "thou art in the right and certain it is that this knowledge is a thing unto which the sons of man may not avail; but i will give thee a mirror of my fashion, and when thou seest a girl and her beauty pleaseth thee and her grace, do thou open this mirror that i shall give thee, and if thou find her image therein clear and bright, thou shalt know forthright that she is pure without default and that all good qualities are in her; so do thou take her for me. if thou find her image in the mirror other than this, to wit, an it be troubled and clothed with uncleanness, know that the girl is sullied and beware of her; but, an thou find one such as she whose qualities i have set out to thee, bring her to me and watch over her [by the way;] yet beware and again i say, beware of treason and bethink thee that, an thou keep not faith with me, thou wilt assuredly lose thy life." so zein ul asnam made with him a stable and abiding covenant, the covenant of the sons of kings, that he would keep the plighted faith and never play him false, but [ ] would bring him the damsel with all continence. then the king of the jinn delivered him the mirror and said to him, "o my son, take this mirror whereof i bespoke thee, and now depart." accordingly zein ul asnam and mubarek arose and calling down blessings upon the king, returned upon their steps till they came to the lake, where they sat a little and behold, up came the boat which had brought them and the genie rowing therein, whose head was as [ ] the head of an elephant. now this was by the commandment of the king of the jinn; so they embarked with the genie and crossed with him to the other shore; after which they returned to cairo and entering mubarek's house, abode there awhile till they were rested from the fatigue of the journey. then zein ul asnam turned to mubarek and said to him, "come, let us go to the city of baghdad, so we may seek for a girl who shall be according to the requirement of the king of the jinn." and mubarek said to him, "o my lord, we are in cairo, the city of cities and the wonder of the world. [ ] i shall without fail find a girl here and it needeth not that we go to a far city." "thou sayst sooth, o mubarek," rejoined the prince; "but how shall we set about the matter and how shall we do to come by [ ] a girl like this and who shall go seeking her for us?" "o my lord," replied mubarek, "concern not thyself [ ] for that, for i have with me here an old woman (upon her, [to speak] figuratively, [ ] be the malediction [of god] [ ]) who is a mistress of wiles and craft and guile and not to be baulked by any hindrance, however great." then he sent to fetch the old woman and telling her that he wanted a damsel fifteen years old and fair exceedingly, so he might marry her to the son of his lord, promised her largesse galore, an she did her utmost endeavour in the matter; whereupon, "o my lord," answered she, "be easy; i will accomplish unto thee thy desire beyond thy wish; for that under my hand are damsels unpeered in grace and goodliness and all of them daughters of men of condition." but, o king of the time, [ ] the old woman had no knowledge of the affair of the mirror. then she arose and went out to go round about in the city and to run along its ways, [ ] seeking [ ] the girl for prince zein ul asnam, and whenassoever she saw a fair damsel, accomplished in beauty, she proceeded to bring her to mubarek; but, when he looked at her in the mirror, he would see her image troubled exceedingly and would leave her; so that the old woman brought him all the damsels of cairo, but there was not found among them one whose image in the mirror was clear; wherefore he bethought him to go to baghdad, since he found not one in cairo who pleased him [or] who was a clean maid, like as the king of the jinn had enjoined him. so he arose and equipping himself, [set out and] journeyed, he and zein ul asnam, till they came to the city of baghdad, where they hired them a magnificent palace amiddleward the city and took up their abode therein. there the chief men of the city used to come to them every day and sat at their table, even to the comer and goer by night and by day. [ ] moreover, when there remained aught from their table, they distributed it to the poor and the afflicted and all the strangers in the mosques [ ] would come and eat with them. so the report was noised abroad in the land of their generosity and bounty and they became in high repute and fair fame throughout all baghdad, nor did any talk but of zein ul asnam and his bounty and wealth. now it chanced that in one of the mosques was an imam, [ ] corrupt, envious and despiteful in the extreme, and his lodging was near the palace wherein mubatek and zein ul asnam had taken up their abode. when he heard of their bounty and generosity and of the goodliness of their repute, envy get hold upon him and jealousy of them, and he fell to bethinking himself how he should do, so he might bring some calamity upon them and despoil them of that their fair fortune, for it is of the wont of envy that it falleth not but upon the rich. so, one day of the days, as he stood in the mosque, after the mid-afternoon prayer, he came forward into the midst of the folk and said, "o my brethren, o ye of the true faith, ye who ascribe unity to god, know that in this our quarter there be two men dwelling, strangers, and most like you are acquainted with them. now these twain spend and squander wealth galore, passing all measure, and in my belief they are none other than thieves and highwaymen and are come hither with that which they stole from their own country, so they may squander it." then [ ] "o people of mohammed," added he, "i rede you for god's sake keep yourselves from these tricksters, [ ] lest belike the khalif come presently to know of these two men and ye also fall with them into calamity. now i have warned you and i wash my hands of your affair, for that i have forewarned and awakened you; so do that which you deem well." and they said to him, all who were present, with one voice, "we will do whatsoever thou wiliest, o aboubekr!" when the imam heard this from them, he arose and taking inkhorn and pen and paper, fell to writing a letter to the commander of the faithful, setting forth to him [the case] against zein ul asnam and mubarek. now, as destiny willed it, the latter chanced to be in the mosque among the folk and heard the accursed imam's discourse and that which he did by way of writing the letter to the khalif; whereupon he tarried not, but, returning home forthwith, took an hundred diners and made him a parcel of price, all of silken clothes, [ ] wherewith he betook himself in haste to aboubekr's house and knocked at the door. the imam came out to him and opened the door; and when he saw him, he asked him surlily who he was and what he would; whereupon quoth the other, "o my lord the imam aboubekr, i am thy slave mubarek and i come to thee on the part of my lord the amir zein ul asnam. he hath heard of thy learning and of the excellence of thy repute in the city and would fain become acquainted with thee and do that which behoveth unto thee; wherefore he hath presently sent me with these things and this money for thine expenses and hopeth of thee that thou wilt not blame him, inasmuch as this is little for thy worth, but hereafter, god willing, he will not fail of that which is due unto thee." aboubekr looked at [the coins and] at their impress and yellowness [ ] and at the parcel of clothes and said to mubarek, "o my lord, [i crave] pardon of thy lord the amir, for that i am presently abashed before him [ ] and it irketh me sore that i have not done my duty towards him; [ ] but i hope of thee that thou wilt intercede with him on my behalf, so he may of his favour pardon me my default; and (the creator willing) i will to-morrow do that which behoveth me and will go do my service to him [ ] and proffer him the respect which is due from me to him." "o my lord aboubekr," replied mubarek, "the extreme of my lord's desire is to look upon thy worship, so he may be honoured by thy presence and get of thee a blessing." so saying, he kissed the imam's hand and returned to his lodging. on the morrow, whilst aboubekr was [engaged] in the friday prayers at dawn, he stood up amongst the folk, in the midst of the mosque, and said, "o our brethren of the muslims and people of mohammed, all of you, verily envy falleth not save upon the rich and the noble and passeth by the poor and those of low estate. know that of the two stranger men against whom i spoke yesterday one is an amir, a man of great rank and noble birth, and the case is not as certain of the envious [ ] informed me concerning him, to wit, that he was a thief and a robber; for i have enquired into the matter and find that the report lieth. so beware lest any of you missay of the amir or speak aught of evil against him, such as that which i heard yesterday, or you will cause me and yourselves fall into the gravest of calamities with the commander of the faithful; for that a man of high degree like this cannot sojourn in the city of baghdad without the khalif's knowledge." on [ ] this wise, then, the imam aboubekr did away from the minds of the folk the ill thought [ ] which he had planted [there] by his speech concerning zein ul asnam. moreover, when he had made an end of the prayers, he returned to his own house and donned his gabardine; then, weightening his skirts and lengthening his sleeves, [ ] he went forth and took his way to the prince's house. when he came in to zein ul asnam, the latter rose to him and received him with the utmost reverence. now he was by nature religious, [ ] for all he was a youth of tender age; so he proffered the imam all manner of honour and seating him by his side on a high divan, let bring him coffee with ambergris. then the servants spread the table for breakfast and they took their sufficiency of meat and drink, and when they had finished, they fell to talking and making merry together. presently the imam asked the prince and said to him, "o my lord zein ul asnam, doth your highness purpose to sojourn long here in baghdad?" "yea, verily, o our lord the imam," answered zein ul asnam; "my intent is to sojourn here awhile, till such time as my requirement be accomplished." "and what," asked aboubekr, "is the requirement of my lord the amir? belike, an i know it, i may avail to further him to his wish, though i sacrifice my life for him." [ ] and the prince said to him, "i seek a damsel fifteen years of age and fair exceedingly, that i may marry her; but she must be pure and chaste and a clean maid, whom no man hath anywise defiled nor in all her life hath she thought upon a man; [ ] and she must be unique in grace and goodliness." "o my lord," rejoined the imam, "this is a thing exceeding hard to find; but i know a damsel unique in her loveliness and her age is fifteen years. her father was a vizier, who resigned office of his own motion, and he abideth presently at home in his palace and is exceeding jealous over his daughter and her bringing up. [ ] methinketh this damsel will suit your highness's mind, and she will rejoice in an amir like your highness, as also will her parents." quoth zein ul asnam, "god willing, this damsel whereof thou speakest will answer my requirement and the accomplishment of our desire shall be at thy hands; [ ] but, o our lord the imam, before all things my wish is to see her, so i may know an she be chaste or not. as for her beauty, i am assured of [ ] your worship's sufficiency and am content to trust to your word concerning her loveliness, to wit, that she is surpassing; but, for her chastity, you cannot avail to testify with certitude of her case." "and how," asked the imam, "can it be possible unto you, o my lord the amir, to know from her face that she is pure? an this be so, your highness is skilled in physiognomy. however, an your highness will vouchsafe to accompany me, i will carry you to her father's palace and make you known to the latter, and he shall bring her before you." accordingly, [ ] the imam aboubekr took zein ul asnam and carried him to the vizier's house; and when they went in to him, the vizier rose and welcomed the prince, especially when he knew that he was an amir and understood from the imam that he wished to marry his daughter. so he let bring the damsel before him, and when she came, he bade her raise the veil from her face. accordingly she unveiled herself and zein ul asnam, looking upon her, was amazed at her grace and goodliness, for that never had he seen one to match with her in beauty; and he said in himself, "i wonder if i shall [ ] happen upon one like this damsel, since it is forbidden that she should be mine!" then he brought out the mirror from his pocket and looked thereon; when, behold, its crystal was clear exceedingly, as it were virgin silver; and he observed her image in the mirror and saw it like a white dove. so he forthright concluded the match and sent for the cadi and the witnesses, who wrote the writ [ ] and enthroned the bride; [ ] after which zein ul asnam took the vizier, the bride's father, home with him to his house and sent the young lady jewels of great price. then they celebrated the wedding and held high festival, never was the like thereof, whilst zein ul asnam proceeded to entertain the folk and made them banquets for the space of eight days. moreover, he honoured aboubekr the imam and gave him gifts galore and brought the vizier, the bride's father, presents and great rarities. then, the wedding festivities being ended, mubarek said to zein ul asnam, "come, o my lord, let us set out on our way, lest we waste the time in sloth, now we have found that whereof we were in search." and the prince answered him, saying, "thou art in the right." so mubarek arose and fell to equipping them for the journey; moreover, he let make the young lady a camel-litter [ ] with a travelling couch, [ ] and they set out. but mubarek knew that zein ul asnam was sunken deep in love of the damsel; so he took him and said to him, "o my lord zein ul asnam, i would fain remind thee to watch over thyself; nay, again i say, have a care and keep the faith which thou plightedst to the king of the jinn." "o mubarek," answered the prince, "an thou knewest the transport which possesseth me for the love of this young lady [ ] and how i still think of nothing but of taking her to bassora and going in [to her]!" and mubarek said to him, "nay, o my lord; keep thy troth and play not the traitor to thine oath, lest there befall thee a sore calamity and thou lose thy life and the young lady lose hers also. bethink thee of the oath which thou sworest and let not lust get the mastery over thine understanding, lest thou lose guerdan [ ] and honour and life." "o mubarek," rejoined zein ul asnam, "keep thou watch over her thyself and let me not see her." so [ ] mubarek fell to keeping watch and ward over the bride in the prince's stead and guarded the latter also, lest he should look on her; and so they journeyed on past the road leading unto egypt and fared on their way to the island of the jinn. when the bride beheld the journey (and indeed it was long upon her) and saw not her husband in all this time since the night of the bridal, she turned to mubarek and said to him, "god upon thee, o mubarek, tell me, i conjure thee by the life of thy lord the amir, are we yet far from the dominions [ ] of my bridegroom, the amir zein ul asnam?" and he said to her, "alack, o my lady, it irketh me for thee and i will discover to thee that which is hidden. to wit, thou deemest that zein ul asnam, king of bassora, is thy bridegroom. far be it! [ ] he is not thy bridegroom. the writing of the writ of his marriage with thee [ ] was but a pretext before thy parents and the folk; and now thou art going for a bride to the king of the jinn, who sought thee from the amir zein ul asnam." when the young lady heard these words, she fell a-weeping and zein ul asnam heard her and fell a-weeping also, a sore weeping, of the excess of his love for her. and she said to them, "is there no pity in you and no clemency and have you no fear of god, that i, a stranger maid, you cast me into a calamity like this? what answer will you give unto god [ ] concerning this treason that you have wroughten with me?" but her weeping and her words availed her nothing, and they ceased not to fare on with her till they came to the king of the jinn, to whom they straightway presented her. when he beheld her, she pleased him and he turned to zein ul asnam and said to him. "verily, the girl whom thou hast brought me is exceeding in beauty and surpassing in loveliness; but the goodliness of thy loyalty and shine overmastering of thyself for my sake is fairer than she in mine eyes. so return now to thy place and the ninth image that thou seekest of me thou shalt find, on thy return, beside the other images; for i will send it to thee by one of my slaves of the jinn." accordingly, zein ul asnam kissed the king's hand and returned with mubarek to cairo; but, when they came thither, he chose not to abide with mubarek longer than a resting-while, of the excess of his longing and his yearning to see the ninth image. withal he ceased not from mourning, bethinking him of the young lady and her grace and goodliness; and he fell to lamenting and saying, "alas for the loss of my delights that were because of thee, o pearl of beauty and loveliness, thou whom i took from thy parents and presented to the king of the jinn! alack, the pity of it!" and [ ] he chid himself for the deceit and the perfidy which he had practised upon the young lady's parents and how he had brought her to the king of the jinn. then he set out and gave not over journeying till he came to bassora and entering his palace, saluted his mother and told her all that had befallen him; whereupon quoth she to him, "arise, o my son, so thou mayst [ ] see this ninth image, for that i am exceeding rejoiced at its presence with us." so they both descended into the underground hall, wherein were the eight images, and found there a great marvel; to wit, instead of the ninth image, they beheld the young lady, resembling the sun in her loveliness. the prince knew her, when he saw her, and she said to him, "marvel not to find me here in place of that which thou soughtest; methinketh thou wilt not repent thee an thou take me in the stead of the ninth image." "no, by allah, oh my beloved!" replied zein ul asnam, "for that thou art the end of my seeking and i would not exchange thee for all the jewels in the world. didst thou but know the grief which possessed me for thy separation, thou whom i took from thy parents by fraud and brought thee to the king of the jinn!" [ ] scarce had the prince made an end of his speech when they heard a noise of thunder rending the mountains and shaking the earth and fear get hold upon the queen, the mother of zein ul asnam, yea, and sore trembling; but, after a little, the king of the jinn appeared and said to her, "o lady, fear not, it is i who am thy son's protector and i love him with an exceeding love for the love his father bore me. nay, i am he who appeared to him in his sleep and in this i purposed to try his fortitude, whether or not he might avail to subdue himself for loyalty's sake. indeed the beauty of this young lady beguiled him and he could not avail to keep his covenant with me so strictly but [ ] that he desired her for his bride. however, i know the frailty of human nature and withal i think greatly of him that he guarded her and kept her unsullied and withdrew himself from her; [ ] wherefore i accept this his constancy and bestow her on him as a bride. she is the ninth image, which i promised him should be with him, and certes she is fairer than all these images of jewels, inasmuch as her like is rarely found in the world." then the king of the jinn turned to zein ul asnam and said to him, "o prince zein ul asnam, this is thy bride; take her and go in to her, on condition that thou love her and take not unto her a second [wife]; and i warrant thee of the goodliness of her fidelity to-thee-ward." therewithal he vanished from them and zein ul asnam went out, glad and rejoicing in the young lady; [ ] and of [the excess of] his love for her he went in to her that night and let celebrate the bridal and hold high festival in all the kingdom. then he abode upon the throne of his kingship, judging and commanding and forbidding, whilst his bride became queen of bassora; and after a little his mother died. so he made her funeral obsequies [ ] and mourned for her; after which he lived with his bride in all content till there came to them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of societies. alaeddin and the enchanted lamp. [ ] there [ ] was [once] in a city of the cities of china a man, a tailor and poor, and he had a son by name alaeddin, who was perverse and graceless from his earliest childhood. when he came to ten years of age, his father would fain have taught him his own craft, for that, because he was poor, he could not spend money upon him to have him taught [another] trade or art [ ] or the like; [ ] so he carried him to his shop, that he might teach him his craft of tailoring; but, forasmuch as the lad was perverse and wont still to play with the boys of the quarter, [ ] he would not sit one day in the shop; nay, he would watch his father till such time as he went forth the place to meet a customer [ ] or on some other occasion, when he would flee forth incontinent and go out to the gardens with the good-for-nothing lads like himself. this, then, was his case, [ ] and he would not obey his parents, nor would he learn a craft. his father sickened of his grief and chagrin for his son's perversity and died, whilst alaeddin abode on that his wise. when his mother saw that her husband had departed this life [ ] and that her son was a scapegrace and a good-for-nought, she sold the shop and all she found therein and fell to spinning cotton and feeding herself and her graceless son alaeddin with her toil. the latter, seeing himself quit of his father's danger, [ ] redoubled in his gracelessness and his perversity and would not abide in their house save eating-whiles; and his poor wretched mother supported him [ ] by the spinning of her hands till he came to fifteen years of age. one [ ] day of the days, as he sat in the street, playing with the vagabond boys, behold, a maugrabin [ ] dervish came up and stopping to look at the lads, singled out alaeddin from his comrades and fell to gazing upon him and straitly considering his favour. now this dervish was from the land of hither barbary [ ] and he was an enchanter who would cast mountain upon mountain with his sorcery and was skilled to boot in physiognomy. [ ] when he had well considered alaeddin, he said in himself, "certes, this boy is he whom i seek and he it is in quest of whom i came forth from my country." so he took one of the lads apart and asked him of alaeddin, whose son he was, and questioned him of all his affairs; after which he went up to alaeddin and taking him aside, said to him, "harkye, boy, art thou not the son of such an one the tailor?" and he answered him, saying "yes, o my lord; but my father died awhile agone." when the maugrabin magician heard this, he threw himself upon alaeddin and embracing him, fell to kissing him and weeping, that his tears ran down upon his cheek. alaeddin was astonished at the maugrabin's behaviour; so he asked him and said to him, "what is the cause of thy weeping, o my lord, and whence knewest thou my father?" the maugrabin answered him, in a mournful, broken voice, [ ] saying, "how, o my son, canst thou ask me this question, after telling me that thy father, my brother, is dead, for thy father was [indeed] my brother [ ] and i am newly come from my country and was rejoicing exceedingly, after this my strangerhood, of my expectation that i should see him and solace myself with him; [ ] and now thou tellest me that he is dead! marry, blood discovered unto me that [ ] thou wast the son of my brother, and indeed i knew thee from amongst all the lads; although thy father, when i left him, was not yet married. and [ ] now, o my son alaeddin," continued he, "i have lost my consolation [ ] and my joy in thy father, my brother, whom i had hoped, after my strangerhood, to see ere i died; but separation hath afflicted me in him [ ] and there is no fleeing from that which is [ ] nor is there any resource against the ordinance of god the most high." then he took alaeddin and said to him, "o my son, i have no comfort [ ] but in thee [ ] and thou art [to me] in the stead of thy father, since thou art his successor and whoso leaveth [a successor] is not dead, o my son." with this he put his hand [to his pocket] and bringing out ten diners, gave them to alaeddin, saying, "o my son, where is your house and where is thy mother, my brother's wife?" so alaeddin took him and showed him the way to their house; and the magician said to him, "o my son, take these monies and give them to thy mother and salute her on my behalf and tell her that thine uncle is come back from his strangerhood; and god willing, to-morrow i will come visit you, so i may salute her and look upon the house wherein my brother dwelt and see where his tomb is." [ ] alaeddin kissed his hand and hastened home, running in his joy, to his mother and entered, contrary to his wont, for that he was not used to go in to her save at eating-times. so he went in to her, rejoicing, and said to her, "o my mother, i bring thee glad news of my uncle, in that he is come back from his absence, and he saluteth thee." "o my son," quoth she, "meseemeth thou makest mock of me. who is thine uncle and whence hast thou an uncle on life?" and he said to her, "o my mother, why didst thou tell me that i had no uncles and no kinsfolk on life? indeed, this man is my uncle and he embraced me and kissed me, weeping, and bade me tell thee of this." and she answered him, saying, "yes, o my son, i knew thou hadst an uncle, but he is dead and i know not that thou hast a second uncle." as [ ] for the maugrabin enchanter, he went forth at dawn and fell to searching for [ ] alaeddin, for that he might not brook parting from him; [ ] and as he went about in the thoroughfares of the city, he came upon the lad, who was playing with the vagabonds, as of his wont. so he went up to him and taking him by the hand, embraced him and kissed him; then he brought out of his purse two diners and said to alaeddin, "go to thy mother and give her these two diners and say to her, 'my uncle would fain sup with us; so take these two diners and make a good supper.' but first show me once more the way to your house." "on my head and eyes, o my uncle," answered alaeddin and foregoing him, showed him the way to the house. then the maugrabin left him and went his way, whilst alaeddin returned home and telling his mother [what had passed], gave her the two diners and said to her, "my uncle would fain sup with us." so she arose forthright and went out to the market, where she bought all that was needful and returning home, borrowed of her neighbours that which she required of platters and the like and proceeded to make ready for supper. when the time of the evening-meal came, she said to alaeddin, "o my son, the supper [ ] is ready and maybe shine uncle knoweth not the way to the house. go thou and meet him." and he answered her with "hearkening and obedience." but, whilst they were in talk, behold, there came a knocking at the door; whereupon alaeddin went out and opening, found the maugrabin enchanter, and with him a slave bearing wine and fruits. so he brought them in and the slave went his way, whilst the maugrabin entered and saluted alaeddin's mother; then he fell a-weeping and said to her, "where is the place in which my brother was wont to sit?" she pointed him to her husband's sitting-place, whereupon he went thither and prostrating himself, fell to kissing the earth and saying, "alas, how scant is my delight and how sorry my fortune, since i have lost thee, o my brother and apple [ ] of mine eye!" and the abode on this wise, weeping and lamenting, till alaeddin's mother was certified that he was in earnest and that he was like to swoon of the excess of his wailing and his lamentation. so she came to him and raised him from the ground, saying, "what profiteth it that thou shouldst kill thyself?" and [ ] she proceeded to comfort him and made him sit down. then, before she laid the table, the maugrabin fell to relating to her [his history] and said to her, "o wife of my brother, let it not amaze thee that in all thy days thou never sawest me neither knewest of me in my late brother's lifetime, for that i left this country forty years agone and became an exile from my native land. i journeyed to the lands of hind and sind and all the country of the arabs and coming presently into egypt, sojourned awhile in the magnificent city [of cairo], which is the wonder of the world. [ ] ultimately i betook myself to the land of hither barbary [ ] and sojourned there thirty years' space, [ ] till one day of the days, as i sat, [ ] o wife of my brother, i bethought me of my country and my native place and of my late brother and longing waxed on me to see him and i fell a-weeping and lamenting over my strangerhood and distance from him. in fine, my yearning for him importuned me till i resolved to journey to this country, the which was the falling-place of my head [ ] and my native land, that i might see my brother. and i said in myself, "o man, how long wilt thou be an exile [ ] from thy country and thy native place, whenas thou hast an only brother and no more? arise and journey and look upon him ere thou die. who knoweth the calamities of fate and the vicissitudes of the days? sore pity 'twere that thou shouldst die and not see thy brother. moreover, allah (praised be he) hath given thee abundant wealth and it may be thy brother is in poor case and straitened, and thou wilt help him, an [ ] thou see him." so i arose forthright and equipped myself for travel; then, reciting the fatiheh [ ], i took horse, after the friday prayer, and came, after many hardships and fatigues,--which i suffered, till the lord (to whom belong might and majesty) protected [me],--to this city. i entered it and as i went about its thoroughfares the day before yesterday, i saw my brother's son alaeddin playing with the boys; and by allah the great, o wife of my brother, when i saw him, my heart crave to him, for that blood yearneth unto blood, and my soul foreboded me he was my brother's son. at his sight i forgot all my toils and troubles and was like to fly for joy; then, when he told me that my late brother had departed to the mercy of god the most high, i swooned away for stress of grief and chagrin; and most like he hath told thee of that which overcame me. [ ] but i comforted myself somewhat with alaeddin, who standeth in stead of [ ] the departed, for that whoso leaveth [a successor] [ ] dieth not." then, [ ] when he saw her weeping at this speech, he turned to alaeddin, by way of making her forget the mention of her husband and feigning to comfort her, so he might the better accomplish his device upon her, and said to him, "o my son alaeddin, what hast thou learned of crafts and what is thy business? hast thou learned thee a trade whereby thou mayst live, thou and thy mother?" at this alaeddin was confounded and abashed and hung down his head, bowing it to the ground, whilst his mother said to the maugrabin, "how? by allah, he knoweth nought at all! so graceless a lad i never saw. all day long he goeth about with the vagabond boys of the quarter like himself; nay, his father, woe is me, died not but of his chagrin concerning him; and now, as for me, my case is woeful. i spin cotton and toil night and day, to earn two cakes of bread, that we may eat them together. this, then, is his condition, o my brother-in-law, and by thy life, he cometh not in to me save at eating-times, and i am thinking to bolt the door of my house and not open to him and let him go seek his living for himself, for that i am grown an old woman and have no strength left to toil and provide for the maintenance of a fellow like this. [ ] by allah, i get mine own livelihood, i that need one who shall maintain me." [ ] therewithal the maugrabin turned to alaeddin and said to him, "how is this, o son of my brother? it is a disgrace to thee to go vagabonding about in this abjection. this befitteth not men like thee. thou art gifted with understanding, o my son, and the child of [reputable] folk; [ ] i and it is a shame upon thee that thy mother, who is an old woman, should toil for thy maintenance, now thou art grown a man. nay, it behoveth thee get thee some means whereby thou mayst maintain thyself, o my son. see, by god's grace, (praised be he) here in our city be masters of crafts, nowhere is there a place more abounding in them: choose, then, the craft which pleaseth thee and i will establish thee therein, so that, when thou growest up, o my son, thou mayst find thee thy craft whereby thou shalt live. belike thou hast no mind to thy father's trade; so choose other than it. tell me the craft which pleaseth thee and i will help thee in all that is possible, o son of my brother." then, seeing that alaeddin was silent and answered him nothing, he knew that he had no mind to any craft at all and recked of nothing but vagabondage and said to him, "o son of my brother, be not abashed at me; [ ] if so be withal [ ] thou caress not to learn a trade, i will open thee a merchant's shop of the costliest stuffs and thou shalt make thyself acquainted with [ ] the folk [ ] and shalt give and take and sell and buy and become known in the city." when alaeddin heard these words of his uncle the maugrabin, to wit, that it was his intent to make him a merchant, [ ] a trader, [ ] he rejoiced exceedingly, well knowing that all merchants' apparel is neat and elegant; [ ] so he looked at the maugrabin and smiled and bowed his head, as who should say, "i am content." the [ ] magician, seeing him smile, knew that he was content to be a merchant and said to him, "since thou art content that i should make thee a merchant and open thee a shop, be a man, o son of my brother, and to-morrow, god willing, i will take thee first to the market and let cut thee an elegant suit of clothes such as merchants wear; and after that i will look thee out a shop and perform my promise to thee." now alaeddin's mother was in some little doubt as to the maugrabin; but, when she heard his promise to her son that he would open him a shop as a merchant with stuffs and capital and what not else, she concluded that he was in very deed her brother-in-law, inasmuch as a stranger would not do thus with her son. so she fell to admonishing her son and exhorting him to put away ignorance and folly from his head and be a man, and bade him still yield obedience to his uncle, as he were his father, and apply himself to make up the time which he had wasted in idleness [with] those who were like him, after which she arose and laying the table, spread the evening-meal and they all sat down and fell to eating and drinking, whilst the maugrabin talked with alaeddin upon matters of merchandry and the like. then, when he saw that the night was far spent, [ ] he arose and went to his lodging, promising to return in the morning and take alaeddin, so he might let cut him a merchant's suit. alaeddin slept not that night for joy and when it was morning, behold, the maugrabin knocked at the door. the lad's mother arose and opened to him; however, he would not enter, but sought alaeddin, that he might take him with him to the market. so alaeddin went out to him and gave him good-morning and kissed his hand; whereupon the maugrabin took him by the hand and going with him to the market, entered the shop of a seller of all manner of clothes and demanded a suit of costly stuffs. the merchant brought him what he sought, all sewn and ready, and the maugrabin said to alaeddin, "choose that which pleaseth thee, o my son." alaeddin rejoiced exceedingly, when he saw that his uncle gave him his choice, and chose clothes to his mind, such as pleased him. the maugrabin at once paid the merchant their price and going out, carried alaeddin to the bath, where they bathed and came forth and drank wine. [ ] then alaeddin arose and donned the new suit; whereat he rejoiced and was glad and coming up to his uncle, kissed his hand and thanked him for his bounties. after [ ] this the maugrabin carried him to the bazaar of the merchants and showed him the market and the selling and buying and said to him, "o my son, it behoveth thee consort with the folk, especially with the merchants, so thou mayst learn of them merchandry, since this is become thy craft." then he took him again and showed him the city and the mosques and all the sights of the place; after which he carried him to a cook's shop, where the morning-meal was set before them in silver platters. so they ate and drank till they had enough and going forth, fared on, whilst the maugrabin proceeded to show alaeddin the pleasaunces and fine buildings, [ ] going in with him to the sultan's palace and showing him all the fair and fine quarters [ ] [of the city]; after which he carried him to the khan of the stranger merchants, where he himself lodged. and invited certain of the merchants who were in the khan. accordingly they came and sat down to supper, and he informed them that this was his brother's son and that his name was alaeddin. then, after they had eaten and drunken, the night being now come, the maugrabin arose and taking alaeddin, carried him back to his mother. when she saw her son as he were one of the merchants, her wit fled [and she waxed] sorrowful for gladness and fell to extolling the maugrabin's bounty and saying to him, "o my brother-in-law, i might not suffice [to thy deserts,] though i thanked thee all my life long and praised thee for the good thou hast done with my son." "o wife of my brother," answered he, "this is no manner of kindness in me, [ ] for that this is my son and it behoveth me stand in the stead of my brother his father; so be thou easy." quoth she, "i pray god, by the glory of the ancients [ ] and the moderns, that he let thee [live] and continue thee, o my brother-in-law, and prolong me thy life, so thou mayst be [as] a wing [ ] to this orphan boy; and he shall still be under thine obedience and thy commandment and shall do nought but that which thou biddest him." "o wife of my brother," rejoined the maugrabin, "alaeddin is a man of understanding and [the son of] decent folk, and my hope is in god that he will follow in his father's footsteps and be the solace of shine eyes; [ ] but it irketh me that, to-morrow being friday, i cannot open him a shop. it being congregation day, all the merchants will go out after prayers to the gardens and pleasaunces; but, god willing, on saturday, an it please the creator, we will do our business. tomorrow i will come to you and take alaeddin, that i may show him the gardens and pleasaunces without the city,--it may be he hath not yet seen them,--and he shall see the merchant-folk and the notables a-pleasuring there, so he may become acquainted with them and they with him." [ ] the [ ] maugrabin lay the night in his lodging; and on the morrow he came to the tailor's house and knocked at the door. alaeddin--of the excess of his joy in the clothes he had donned and of the pleasures he had enjoyed on the past day, what with the bath and eating and drinking and viewing the folk and the thought that his uncle was coming in the morning to take him and show him the gardens--slept not that night neither closed an eye and thought the day would never break. [ ] so, when he heard a knocking at the door, he went out at once in haste, like a spark of fire, and opening, found his uncle the maugrabin. the latter embraced him and kissed him and took him by the hand, saying, "o son of my brother, to-day i will show thee a thing such as thou never sawest in thy life." then they went off together and the maugrabin fell to making merry with [ ] alaeddin and amusing him with familiar talk. they went forth the gate of the city and the maugrabin proceeded to walk with him among the gardens and to show him the fine pleasaunces and marvellous high-builded palaces; and whenassoever they looked upon a garden or a palace [ ] or a pavilion, [ ] he would stand and say to alaeddin, "doth this please thee, o my son alaeddin?" alaeddin was like to fly for joy, inasmuch as he saw that which he had never in his life seen, and they gave not over walking and gazing till they were weary, when they entered a fine garden there, that cheered the heart and brightened the eye with its springs [ ] welling up among flowers and its waters issuing from the mouths of lions of brass like unto gold, and sitting down by a lake, rested awhile. as for alaeddin, he rejoiced and was exceeding glad and fell a-jesting with the mangrabin and making merry with him, as he were his uncle in very deed. then the latter arose and loosing his girdle, brought out therefrom a bag full of victual and fruit and the like and said to alaeddin, "o son of my brother, thou art maybe anhungred; come, eat what thou wilt." so alaeddin proceeded to eat and the maugrabin with him and they were gladdened and refreshed and their souls were cheered. then said the maugrabin, "rise, o my son, an thou be rested, so we may walk a little and fare onward." [ ] so alaeddin arose and the maugrabin walked on with him from garden to garden till they had passed them all and came to a high mountain. [ ] now alaeddin had never gone forth the gate of the city nor in all his life had he walked the like of that walk; so he said to the maugrabin, "o my uncle, whither are we going? see, we have left all the gardens behind us and are come to the foot of a mountain. [ ] if the way be [yet] far, i have no strength left me for walking, for that i am worn out with fatigue and there remain no more gardens before us; so let us turn back and return to the city." "o my son," replied the maugrabin, "this is the way and the gardens are not yet at an end, for we are going [ ] to view a garden, whose like is not with the kings and compared with which all these which thou hast seen are as nothing. so gird up thy loins [ ] for walking; praised be god, thou art a man." and he fell to amusing him with fair words and telling him rare stories, true and false, till they reached the place at which this maugrabin enchanter aimed and in quest whereof he was come from barbary [ ] to the land of china; whereupon, "o son of my brother," quoth he to alaeddin, "sit and rest thee; this is the place for which we were making; and now, please god, i will show thee marvellous things, the like whereof no one in the world hath seen, nor hath any looked upon that which thou art about to behold. but [ ] do thou, after thou art rested, arise and seek sticks and grass and reeds and such like matters as are small and dry, so we may kindle a fire, and i will cause thee look, o son of my brother, upon a thing which passeth understanding." [ ] when alaeddin heard this, he yearned to see what his uncle was about to do; so he forgot his fatigue and rising forthright, fell to gathering brushwood and dry sticks and gathered till the maugrabin said to him, "enough, o son of my brother." then he brought out of his pocket a casket, from which he took what he needed of perfumes, and proceeded to make fumigations and conjurations, speaking words that might not be understanded; and straightway it darkened and thundered and the earth quaked and opened. at this alaeddin was sore affrighted and would have fled; which when the maugrabin enchanter saw, he was exceeding, incensed at him, for that without alaeddin his labour was of none avail, since the treasure whereat he sought to come might not be opened save by means of the lad. so, when he saw him offer to flee, he rose to him and lifting his hand, smote him on his head, that he came nigh to knock out his teeth; whereupon alaeddin swooned away and fell upon the earth; but, after a little, he recovered his senses, by the virtue of the maugrabin's enchantments, and falling a-weeping, said to him, "o my uncle, what have i done to deserve from thee this blow?" the maugrabin proceeded to soothe him and said to him, "o my son, it is my desire to make thee a man; so cross me not, for that i am thine uncle and as it were thy father; wherefore do thou obey me in that which i shall say to thee, and after a little thou shalt forget all this travail and annoy, whenas thou lookest upon things marvellous." now, when the earth clove in sunder before the enchanter, there appeared to him an alabaster slab and in it a ring of molten brass; [ ] so he turned to alaeddin and said to him, "an thou do that which i shall tell thee, thou shalt become richer than all the kings; and on this account, o my son, i beat thee, for that here is a treasure and it is in thy name, and thou, thou wouldst fain have passed it by and fled. but now collect thy wits [ ] and see how i have opened the earth by my conjurations and incantations. under [ ] yonder stone, wherein is the ring, is the treasure whereof i have told thee; so do thou put thy hand to the ring and lift the slab, for that none of mankind can open it but thou and none but thou can set his foot within this treasure, since it is guarded for thee. but needs must thou hearken from me that which i shall teach thee and lose not [ ] a syllable of my speech. marry, all this, o my son, is for thy good, for that this is an exceeding great treasure, the kings of the world possess not its like, and it is thine and mine." so poor alaeddin forgot fatigue and beating and weeping, of his amazement at the maugrabin's speech and joy that he should become rich after such a measure that even the kings would be no wealthier than he, and said to him, "o my uncle, command me all thou wilt, for i will be obedient unto thy commandment." and the maugrabin said to him, "o son of my brother, thou art as my very son, nay, dearer, for being my brother's son. i have no kindred other than thyself and thou art my natural heir and successor, o my son." therewith he came up to alaeddin and kissed him saying, "all these my toils, whom do they concern? [ ] they are all for thy sake, o my son, that i may make [ ] thee a man rich and great [ ] exceedingly; so gainsay me not in aught that i shall tell thee; but go up to yonder ring and raise it, as i bade thee." "o my uncle," quoth alaeddin, "this stone is heavy; i cannot raise it of myself, [ ] so come thou also and help me raise it, for i am little of years." "o son of my brother," replied the maugrabin, "it will not be possible for us to do aught, an i help thee, and our toil will be wasted in vain; but do thou put thy hand to the ring and raise it and it will immediately come up with thee; for, as i said to thee, none may handle it but thou. but, when thou raisest it, name thine own name and those of thy father and mother and it will straightway rise with thee, nor shalt thou feel its weight." accordingly, alaeddin took courage and summoning his resolution, did as the maugrabin bade him and raised the slab with all ease, whenas he pronounced his own name and those of his father and his mother. so the stone came up and he threw it aside; whereupon [ ] there appeared to him an underground place and its door, whereas one entered by a stair of some dozen steps, and the maugrabin said to him, "o alaeddin, give heed [ ] and do punctually that which i shall tell thee, neither fail of aught thereof. go down with all circumspection into yonder vault till thou come to the bottom thereof and thou wilt find there a place divided into four chambers, [ ] in each of which thou wilt see four jars of gold and others of native ore and silver. beware lest thou handle them or take aught therefrom, but pass them by till thou come to the fourth chamber, and let not thy clothes or thy skirts touch the jars, no, nor the walls, and stay not one moment; for, an thou do contrary to this, thou wilt forthright be transformed and wilt become a black stone. when thou comest to the fourth chamber, thou wilt find there a door; open it and speak the names which thou spokest over the slab; then enter and thou wilt find thyself in a garden, all adorned with trees and fruits. thence do thou fare on some fifty cubits in the path thou wilt find before thee and thou wilt come to a dais, [ ] with [ ] a stair of some thirty steps. above the dais thou [ ] wilt find a lamp hung up; take it and pour out the oil that is therein and put it in thy sleeve; [ ] and fear not for thy clothes therefrom, for that it [ ] is not oil. and as thou returnest, thou mayst pluck from the trees what thou wilt, for that it is thine, what while the lamp abideth in thy hand." when the maugrabin had made an end of his speech, he drew from his finger a ring and putting it on alaeddin's finger, said to him, "and this ring, o, my son, shall deliver thee from all hurt and all fear that may betide thee, provided thou observe all that i have said to thee. so now arise and go down; gird thy loins and summon up thy resolution and fear not, for that thou art a man and not a child; and after this, o my son, thou shalt in a little time become the richest of mankind." so alaeddin arose and going down into the underground, found the four chambers and in each four jars of gold. he passed them by with all care and precaution, even as the maugrabin had bidden him, and entering the garden, fared on there through till he came to the dais and mounting the stair, entered [ ] and found the lamp. so he quenched it and pouring out the oil that was therein, put it in his sleeve; then, going down into the garden, he fell to gazing upon its trees, whereon were birds extolling with their songs [ ] the perfection of the great creator, and he had not seen them as he entered. now the fruits of these trees were all precious stones, each tree bearing fruit of one colour and kind of jewel, and these fruits were of all colours, green and white and yellow and red and what not else of colours. their glitterance outshone the rays of the sun in its forenoon splendour and the bigness of each jewel overpassed description; suffice it that not one of them might be found with the greatest of the kings of the world, [ ] no, nor a gem half the bigness of the smallest that was there. alaeddin [ ] entered among the trees and proceeded to gaze upon them and upon these things which amazed the sight and ravished the sense and observing them, saw that, instead of fruits, they bore magnificent jewels from the mines, emeralds and diamonds and rubies and pearls and topazes [ ] and the like of precious stones, such as confounded the wit. now, for that this was a thing alaeddin had never in his life seen, neither was he of ripe age, so he should know the value of these jewels, by reason of his being yet a young lad, he thought that they were all glass or crystal; so he gathered of them what filled his sleeves [ ] and fell to looking an they were grapes or figs and the like of fruits that might be eaten or not; but, finding them like glass, he proceeded to gather in his sleeve [ ] of every kind that was upon the trees, albeit he knew not jewels nor their worth, saying in himself, since he had been baulked in his intent of eating, "i will gather of these fruits of glass and will play with them at home." accordingly he proceeded to pluck and put in his pockets [ ] and his sleeves [ ] till he filled them; after which he filled his girdle with the fruits and girt himself withal; in fine, he carried off as much as he might, purposing to lay them up with him in the house by way of ornament, for that he thought them glass, as i have said. then he quickened his pace, of his fear of his uncle the maugrabin, and hastened through the four chambers and the [outer] vault nor looked, as he returned, at the jars of gold, albeit he might now have taken of them. [ ] when he came to the stair [ ] and ascended it and there remained to him but a small matter, to wit, the last step, which was much higher than the others, he could not avail to mount it of himself, having regard to that which he was carrying; so he said to the maugrabin, "o my uncle, give me thy hand and help me up." quoth he, "o my son, give me the lamp and lighten thyself; maybe it is that which hindereth thee." "nay, o my uncle," answered alaeddin, "the lamp hindereth me nought; but do thou give me thy hand and when i am up, i will give thee the lamp." the enchanter, who wanted the lamp and that only, fell to urging alaeddin to give it him; but the latter, having wrapped it within his clothes, with purses [ ] of jewel-fruits atop of it, [ ] could not reach it with his hand, so he might give it him. [ ] the [ ] maugrabin was instant with him to give him the lamp and was like to lose his wits for rage, seeing he attained not his object, albeit alaeddin still promised him that he would give it him as soon as he was forth of the vault, [and that] without lying thought or ill intent. then, when he saw that alaeddin would not give it him, he was angry with an exceeding anger and abandoning all hope of the lamp, conjured and enchanted and cast perfumes into the midst of the fire; whereupon the slab immediately turned over [ ] and shut [ ] of itself by the might of his enchantments; the earth covered it like as it was before and alaeddin abode under the ground, unable to come forth. thus the enchanter--forasmuch as he was a stranger and no uncle of alaeddin, as he said, but had counterfeited himself and avouched leasing, so he might get the lamp by means of the lad, unto whom that treasure was fortuned by the stars-shut up [ ] the earth upon him and left him to die of hunger. now this accursed maugrabin wizard was from the city of africa [ ] in hither barbary and had from his childhood been addicted to magic and all the occult arts, for which the city in question is renowned. he ceased not from his tenderest years to study and learn in his native land africa till he became versed in all sciences, and of the much skill and proficiency which he acquired, by dint of study and application for the space of forty years, in the matter of incantations and conjurations, it was discovered to him, [ ] one day of the days, that among the uttermost of the cities of china was a city called el kelaas and in this city a vast treasure, the like whereof no king of the kings of the world ever possessed; but the rarest [was] that in this treasure [was] [ ] a wonderful lamp, [ ] whereat if one should come, there might no man be found on earth richer than he, whether in might or in wealth, nor might the greatest king in the world avail unto aught of the riches of this lamp and its puissance and virtue. moreover [ ] he saw that this treasure was to be achieved by means of a lad of mean birth, by name alaeddin, who was of the city aforesaid, and that it was eath to take and unarduous: so he tarried not, but equipped himself forthright for the voyage to china, as we have said, and did that which he did with alaeddin, thinking to come by the lamp. but his endeavour was baffled and his expectation baulked and his toil wasted in vain; whereupon he sought to kill alaeddin and closed up the earth upon him by his sorcery, so he might die (and the live hath no slayer [ ]); moreover, he purposed by this that alaeddin should not come forth and that the lamp should not be brought up from under the earth. then he went his ways and returned to his country africa, woeful and despairing of his hope. so much for the enchanter and as for what came of alaeddin, after the earth closed over him, he fell to calling upon the maugrabin, whom he thought his uncle, to give him his hand, so he might come forth the underground to the surface of the earth; but, when he found that none returned him an answer, he was ware of the cheat which the maugrabin had put upon him and knew that he was none of his uncle, but a liar and a sorcerer. therewith he despaired of his life and knew, to his woe, that there was no more going forth for him upon the face of the earth; so he fell to weeping and lamenting over that which had befallen him. then, after a little, he arose and went down, that he might see if god the most high had vouchsafed him a door whereby he might go forth; and he went seeking right and left, but saw nought save darkness and four walls shut upon him; for that the maugrabin sorcerer had by his enchantments locked all the doors and had even shut up the garden, so he might leave him no door whereby he should come forth upon the face of the earth and so hasten his death upon him. alaeddin's weeping redoubled and his lamentation waxed when he saw all the doors shut and eke the garden, for that he thought to solace himself with them [ ] a little; but he found them locked, so he fell to crying out and weeping, as he whose hope is cut off, and returning, sat down upon the steps of the stair whereby he had entered the vault, weeping [ ] and wailing; and indeed he had lost hope. but it is a small matter for god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he) whenas he willeth a thing, to say to it "be," and it is; for that he createth relief out of the midst of stress; by token that, when the maugrabin enchanter sent alaeddin down into the vault, he gave him a ring and put it on his finger, saying, "this ring will deliver thee from all stress, an thou be in calamities or vicissitudes, and will remove from thee troubles; yea, it will be thy helper whereassoever thou art;" and this was by the foreordinance of god the most high, so it might be the means of alaeddin's deliverance. so, as he sat weeping and bewailing his case and indeed his hope was cut off of life and despair was heavy upon him, he fell, of the excess of his anguish, to wringing [ ] his hands, after the wont of the woeful; then, raising them [to heaven], he made supplication to god, saying, "i testify that there is no god but thou alone, the mighty, the powerful, the conquering, the giver of life and death, [ ] creator and accomplisher [ ] of necessities, resolver of difficulties and perplexities and dispeller thereof, [ ] thou my sufficiency, thou the most excellent guardian, and i testify that mohammed is thy servant and thine apostle. o my god, i conjure thee, by his [ ] glory with thee, deliver me from my extremity." whilst he was thus supplicating god and wringing his hands in the excess of his affliction for that which had befallen him of calamity, he chanced to rub upon the ring, and immediately, behold, a genie [ ] rose up before him and said to him, "here am i; thy slave is before thee. seek whatsoever thou wilt, for that i am his slave who hath the ring in hand, the ring of my lord." [ ] alaeddin looked and saw a marid, [ ] as he were of the jinn of our lord solomon, standing before him, and shuddered at his frightful aspect; but, when he heard the genie say to him, "seek whatsoever thou wilt, for that i am thy slave, since the ring of my lord is on thy hand," he took heart and bethought him of the maugrabin's speech to him, whenas he gave him the ring. so he rejoiced exceedingly and took courage and said to him, "o slave of the lord of the ring, i will of thee that thou bring me out upon the face of the earth." hardly had he made an end of that his speech when, behold, the earth opened and he found himself without, at the door of the treasure, to wit, upon the surface of the earth. now, he had been three days under the earth, sitting in the treasure in the dark; so, when the light of day smote on his face and the rays of the sun, he might not unclose his eyes, but took to opening them little by little and shutting them again till they became stronger and grew used to the light and were cleared of the darkness. then, [ ] seeing himself upon the surface of the earth, he rejoiced exceedingly, but marvelled to find himself overagainst the entrance of the treasure, whereby he went down, whenas the maugrabin enchanter opened it; and now the stone was shut down and the earth levelled, nor was there any sign therein of a door. so he redoubled in wonderment and thought himself otherwhere; nor was he assured that he was in the very place, till he saw whereas they had kindled the fire of sticks and brushwood and whereas the maugrabin enchanter had made his fumigations and conjurations. then he turned right and left and saw the gardens afar off and looked at the way and knew it for that by which they had come. so he gave thanks to god the most high, who had brought him out on the earth's face and had delivered him from death, after he had given up hope of life. then he arose and fared homeward, by the way which he knew, till he came to the city and entering, betook himself to their house and went in to his mother. when he saw her, he fell down before her, of the greatness of the joy which possessed him for his deliverance, and swooned away for the affright and the weariness which he had suffered, more by token that he was weak with hunger. now his mother had been woebegone since he left her and sat wailing and weeping for him; so, when she saw him come in to her, she rejoiced in him with an exceeding joy, but grief overwhelmed her, whenas she saw him fall aswoon upon the earth. however, she wasted no time in vain lamentation, but hastened to sprinkle water on his face and sought of her neighbours somewhat of perfumes, to which she made him smell. when he was a little recovered, he prayed her bring him somewhat to eat, saying to her, "o my mother, these three days past i have eaten nothing." so she arose and setting before him that which she had ready, said to him, "rise, o my son, eat and restore thyself; and when thou art rested, tell me what hath happened to thee and what calamity hath befallen thee. i will not question thee now, because thou art weary." so, [ ] when he had eaten and drunken and had refreshed himself and was rested and restored, he said to her, "alack, mother mine, i have a sore grief against thee in that thou leftest me to yonder accursed man, who strove for my destruction. indeed, he sought to kill me; nay, i saw death face to face from that accursed wretch, whom thou deemedst mine uncle, and but for god the most high, who delivered me from him, [i had perished]. marry, both i and thou, o my mother, suffered ourselves to be deluded by him after the measure of that which the accursed promised to do with me of good and of the love which he professed for me. know, then, o my mother, that this man is an accursed maugrabin enchanter, a liar, a deceiver, an impostor and a hypocrite; methinketh the devils that be under the earth are not his match, may god put him to shame in every book! [ ] hear, o my mother, what this accursed did; nay, all i shall tell thee is truth and soothfastness. do but see the villain's duplicity; bethink thee of the promises he made me that he would do me all manner of good [ ] and the love he professed to me, and how he did all this that he might accomplish his purpose; nay, his intent was to kill me, and praised be god for my deliverance! hearken, o my mother, and learn what this accursed one did." then he told her all that had befallen him from the time of his leaving her, weeping the while for excess of joy; how the maugrabin brought him to the hill, wherein was the treasure, and how he conjured and fumigated. "and indeed. o my mother," said he, "there overcame me exceeding fear, whenas the hill clove in sunder and the earth opened before me by his enchantments; and i quaked with terror at the voice of the thunder which i heard and the darkness which befell of his spells and fumigations, and of my dismay at these portents, i would have fled. when he saw me offer to flee, he reviled me and smote me, dealing me a buffet which caused me swoon for pain [ ] but, inasmuch as the treasure was opened and he could not go down into it himself, seeing he had opened it by my means and that it was in name and not for him, he knew, being a foul sorcerer, that it might [only] be achieved through me and that this adventure was [reserved] for me. [ ] accordingly [ ] he applied himself to make his peace with me, that he might send me down into the treasure, now it was opened, and attain his object by my means; and when he sent me down, he gave me a ring, which he had on his hand, and put it on my finger. so i descended into the treasure and found four chambers, all full of gold and silver and the like; but this all was nothing and the accursed one charged me take nought thereof. thence i entered a magnificent garden, [ ] all full of high trees, whose fruits ravished the wits, o my mother, for that they were all of various-coloured crystal, [ ] and i fared on till i came to the pavilion [ ] wherein was this lamp; whereupon i took it forthright and quenching it, poured out that which was therein." [so saying,] he pulled out the lamp from his sleeve and showed it to his mother. moreover, he showed her the jewels which he had brought from the garden. now there were two great purses [ ] full of these jewels, whereof not one was to be found with the kings of mankind; and alaeddin knew not their value, but thought that they were glass or crystal. "then, o my mother," continued he, "after i had fetched the lamp and had gone forth [the garden] and came to the door of the treasure, i cried out to the accursed maugrabin, who feigned himself my uncle, to give me his hand and pull me up, for i was laden with things which weighed me down, so that it was not possible for me to mount alone. however, he would not give me his hand, but said to me, 'reach me the lamp that is with thee, and after i will give thee my hand and pull thee up.' i, seeing that i had put the lamp within my sleeve and the purses atop [ ] of it, could not reach it to give it to him and said to him, 'o my-uncle, i cannot give thee the lamp. when i come up, i will give it to thee.' but he would not help me up; nay, he would e'en have the lamp, and his intent was to take it from me and turn back the earth over me and destroy me, even as he did with me in the end. this, then, o my mother, was what befell me from that foul wizard." and he told her all that had passed between them from first to last and fell to reviling the maugrabin with all rancour and heat of heart, saying, "out on this accursed one, this foul sorcerer, this hard-hearted oppressor, this inhuman, perfidious, hypocritical villain, lacking [ ] all mercy and ruth!" when [ ] alaeddin's mother heard her son's speech and that which the accursed maugrabin did with him, she said to him, "yea, verily, o my son, he is a misbeliever and a hypocrite, who destroyeth folk with his sorcery; but glory [ ] to god the most high, who hath delivered thee from the perfidy and guile of this accursed sorcerer, of whom i thought that he was in very deed thine uncle." now, alaeddin had passed three days without sleep and found himself drowsy; so he [withdrew to his chamber and] slept. his mother did likewise and alaeddin ceased not to sleep till next day, [ ] near noontide, when he awoke and immediately sought somewhat to eat, for that he was anhungred; and his mother said to him, "o my son, i have nought to give thee to eat, for that all i had by me thou atest yesterday. but wait awhile; i have here a little yarn by me and i am going down to the market, so i may sell it and buy thee withal somewhat thou mayst eat." "o my mother," rejoined alaeddin, "keep the yarn and sell it not; but give me the lamp which i brought home, so i may arise and sell it and with its price buy somewhat we may eat. methinketh it will fetch more than the yarn." so she arose and fetched the lamp; but, finding it exceeding dirty, she said to him, "o my son, this lamp is dirty, and if we wash it and furbish it, it will sell for a better price." accordingly she took a little sand and fell to scouring the lamp withal; but scarce had she begun to rub it when there appeared to her one of the jinn, foul of favour and monstrous of make as he were of the giants, and said to her, "say what thou wilt of me. here am i, thy slave and the slave of whoso hath in his hand the lamp; and not i alone, but all the slaves of the wonderful lamp that is in thy hand." when she saw his frightful aspect, she trembled and fear get hold upon her and her tongue was tied, nor could she return an answer, for that she was not used to look upon apparitions like unto this; so [ ] she fell down aswoon of her terror. now alaeddin her son was standing afar off and he had seen the slave of the ring which he had rubbed in the treasure; so, when he heard the genie's speech to his mother, he hastened to take the lamp from her hand and said to him, "o slave of the lamp, i am hungry; my will is that thou bring me somewhat i may eat, and be it somewhat good past conceit." [ ] the genie was absent the twinkling of an eye and [returning,] brought him a great costly tray of sheer silver, whereon were twelve platters of various kinds and colours [ ] of rich meats and two silver cups and two flagons [ ] of clarified old wine and bread whiter than snow; all which he set before him and disappeared. so alaeddin arose and sprinkled rosewater on his mother's face and made her smell to strong [ ] perfumes; whereupon she revived and he said to her, "rise, o my mother, so we may eat of this food that god the most high hath vouchsafed us." [ ] when she saw the great silver tray, she marvelled and said to alaeddin, "o my son, who is the generous, the bountiful one that hath sought out our hunger [ ] and our poverty? indeed, we are beholden to him. [ ] apparently the sultan hath heard of our case and our wretchedness and hath sent us this tray." "o my mother," answered alaeddin, "this is no time for questioning; rise, so we may eat, for we are anhungred." so they arose and sitting down to the tray, proceeded to eat, whilst alaeddin's mother tasted food such as she had never in all her life eaten. and they ate diligently [ ] with all appetite, for stress of hunger, more by token that the food [was such as] is given to kings, nor knew they if the tray were precious or not, for that never in their lives had they seen the like of these things. when they had made an end of eating and were full (and there was left them, over and above what sufficed them, [enough] for the evening-meal and for the next day also), they arose and washing their hands, sat down to talk; whereupon alaeddin's mother turned to her son and said to him, "o my son, tell me what befell of [ ] the genie, now that, praised be god, we have eaten of his bounty and are satisfied and thou hast no pretext for saying to me, 'i am anhungred.'" so he told her all that had passed between himself and the genie, whenas she fell down aswoon of her affright; whereat exceeding wonderment took her and she said to him, "it is true, then, [ ] that the jinn appear to the sons of adam, though i, o my son, in all my days, i have never seen them, and methinketh this is he who delivered thee, whenas thou west in the treasure." "nay, o my mother," answered he, "this was not he; he who appeared to thee is the slave of the lamp." "how so, [ ] o my son?" asked she; and he said, "this slave is other of make than that. that was the servant of the ring and this thou sawest is the slave of the lamp which was in thy hand." when [ ] his mother heard this, "well, well!" cried she. "then the accursed who appeared to me and came nigh to kill me for affright is of the lamp?" "ay is he," answered alaeddin; and she said to him, "i conjure thee, o my son, by the milk thou suckedst of me, that thou cast away from thee both lamp and ring, for that they will be to us a cause of exceeding fear and i could not endure to see them [ ] a second time; nay, their commerce is forbidden unto us, for that the prophet (whom god bless and keep) warneth us against them." [ ] "o my mother," answered alaeddin, "thy speech is on my head and eyes; [ ] but, as for this that thou sayest, it may not be that i should cast away either the lamp or the ring; nay, thou seest that which it [ ] did with us of good, whenas we were anhungred, and know, o my mother, that the lying maugrabin enchanter, what time i went down into the treasure, sought nought of gold nor of silver, whereof the four places were full, but charged me bring him the lamp and that only, for that he knew the greatness of its virtues; [ ] and except he knew it to be exceeding of might, he had not toiled and travailed and come from his land to this in quest of it, nor had he shut the treasure on me, whenas he failed of the lamp, seeing i gave it him not. wherefore, o my mother, it behoveth us keep this lamp and guard it with all care, for that this is our support and this it is shall enrich us; and it behoveth us show it not unto any. on like wise, as for the ring, it may not be that i should put it off from my finger, forasmuch as, but for this ring, thou hadst not seen me again on life; nay, i had died under the earth within the treasure; so how can i put it off from my hand and who knoweth what may happen to me in time to come of error or calamity or shift of the shifts of mischance, from which the ring might deliver me? however, of regard for thy wish, i will lay up the lamp and let thee not see it henceforth." when his mother heard his words and pondered them, she saw them to be just and true and said to him, "o my son, do what thou wilt. for my part, i wish never to see them nor ever again to behold that loathsome aspect [ ] which i saw [but now]." alaeddin [ ] and his mother abode two days eating of the food which the genie had brought, and when it was finished and he knew that there was left them nothing to eat, he arose and taking a platter of those which the slave had brought on the tray (now they were of fine gold, but alaeddin knew it not) went with it to the market, where a jew, a man viler than devils themselves, accosted [ ] him and he gave him the platter. when the jew saw it, he took alaeddin aside, so none might see him, and examining the platter, found it of fine gold, [ ] but knew not if alaeddin was ware of its worth or if he was ignorant thereof; so he said to him, "how much, o my lord, for this platter?" and alaeddin answered him, saying, "thou knowest how much it is worth." the jew was perplexed how much he should give alaeddin for the platter, by reason of his having made him an adroit answer, and bethought himself to give him little, but feared lest he should be aware of its value and debated with himself if he should give him much. then said he in himself, "most like he knoweth not its value;" so he brought out of his pocket a gold diner and gave it to him. when alaeddin saw the diner in his hand, he took it and went off in haste, whereby the jew knew that the lad was unaware of the value of the plate and repented him sore that he had given him a gold diner and not a carat of three-score: [ ] meanwhile alaeddin tarried not, but went forthright to the baker and bought of him bread and changed the diner; then, returning to his mother, he gave her the bread and the rest of the money and said to her, "o my mother, go and buy us what we need." so she arose and going to the market, bought all that they needed and they ate and were cheered. then, whenassoever the price of a platter was spent, alaeddin would take another and carry it to the jew; on which wise the accursed jew bought them all of him for a small matter and would fain also have reduced the price; but, since he had given him a diner the first time, he feared to offer him less, lest the lad should go and sell to another [ ] and he lose that excessive profit. accordingly, alaeddin ceased not to sell him platter after platter till he had sold them all and there was left him only the tray whereon they had been; then, for that it was big and heavy, he went and fetched the jew to the house and brought out to him the tray. when he saw it and noted its bigness, he gave alaeddin ten diners, which he took, and the jew went his way. alaeddin and his mother lived upon the ten diners till they came to an end; then he arose and bringing out the lamp, rubbed it, whereupon the slave of the lamp, to wit, the genie whom he had seen before, appeared to him and [ ] said to him, "seek what thou wilt, o my lord, for that i am thy slave and the slave of whoso hath with him the lamp." quoth alaeddin, "it is my will that thou bring me a tray of food like unto that which thou broughtest me erewhen, for that i am hungry;" and the slave brought him, in the twinkling of an eye, a tray like unto that which he had brought him before, and on it twelve magnificent platters full of rich meats, together with flagons [ ] of clarified wine and bread of the finest. now alaeddin's mother, when she knew that her son was minded to rub the lamp, had gone out, so she might not see the genie again; but, after a little, she came in to him and seeing the tray full of silver platters, whilst the whole house reeked with the fragrance of the rich meats, marvelled and rejoiced; and alaeddin said to her, "o my mother, thou badest me throw away the lamp. see now its uses." "o my son," answered she, "may god prosper him; [ ] but fain would i not see him." then they sat down to the tray and ate and drank till they were satisfied, laying up that which remained with them against the morrow. then, when that which was with them of food was finished, alaeddin arose and taking one of the platters under his clothes, went in quest of the jew, so he might sell it to him; but, as chance willed it, he passed by the shop of a goldsmith, an honest, pious man, who feared god. when the latter saw alaeddin, he accosted him and said to him, "o my son, what wilt thou? this many a time have i seen thee pass hereby and betake thyself to such an one, a jew, and i have seen thee give him certain things. nay, methinketh even now thou hast somewhat with thee and art seeking him, so thou mayst sell it to him. but thou knowest not, o my son, that the good of the muslims, believers in the unity of god the most high, is lawful spoil in the eyes of jews; nay, they still cheat the muslims and especially this accursed one with whom thou dealest and into whose hands thou hast fallen. wherefore, o my son, an thou have with thee aught thou wouldst sell, show it to me and fear nothing, for that, by the truth of god the most high, i will give thee its price." accordingly, alaeddin brought out the platter to the old man, who took it and weighing it in his scales, said to him, "was it the like of this thou usest to sell to the jew?" "ay," replied alaeddin, "its like and its brother." "and how much," asked the goldsmith, "useth he to give thee to its price?" and alaeddin said, "he useth to give me a diner." when [ ] the goldsmith heard this, "out on this accursed one," cried he, "who fleeceth the servants of god the most high!" then he looked at alaeddin and said to him, "o my son, this jew is a cheat, who hath cheated thee and laughed at thee, for that the silver of this thy platter is pure and fine; and i have weighed it and find its worth threescore diners and ten; so, an it please thee take its price, take [it]." accordingly, he counted out to him seventy diners and he took them and thanked him for his kindness, in that he had shown him the jew's trickery. thenceforward, whenassoever the price of one platter was spent, he would carry another to the old goldsmith, and on this wise he and his mother increased in substance; but they ceased not to live at their sufficiency, [ ] midwise [betwixt rich and poor], [ ] without excessive spending [ ] or squandering. as for alaeddin, he left idleness and the commerce of striplings and took to consorting with grown men; [ ] nay, he would go every day to the market of the merchants and sit with the great and the small of them and question of the ways and fashions of commerce and the prices of articles of merchandise [ ] and otherwhat. he used also to go to the market of the goldsmiths and the market of the jewellers, and there he would sit and look upon the different kinds of jewels and see them bought and sold; whereby he became aware that the fruits of the trees, wherewith he had filled the purses, [ ] whenas he was in the treasure, were neither glass nor crystal, but jewels, and knew that he had happened upon great wealth, such as kings might nowise compass. moreover, he noted all the jewels that were in the jewellers' market, but saw not [among] the biggest [of them] one to match with the smallest of those he had at home. he ceased not to go daily to the market of the jewellers and to clap up acquaintance with the folk, making friends with them and questioning them of buying and selling and giving and taking and dear and cheap, till, one day of the days, he arose in the morning and donning his clothes, went forth, intending, as of wont, for the jewellers' market; but, as he went, he heard the crier proclaiming aloud on this wise, "by commandment of the lord of beneficence, the king of the age and monarch of the time and the tide, let all the folk shut their shops and stores and enter their houses, for that the lady bedrulbudour, daughter of the sultan, purposeth to go to the bath, and whoso transgresseth the commandment, his punishment shall be death and his blood be on his own head." [ ] when alaeddin heard this proclamation, he longed to look upon the sultan's daughter and said in himself, "all the folk talk of her grace and goodliness, and the uttermost of my desire is to see her." so [ ] he cast about for a device how he might contrive to see the lady bedrulbudour and him-seemed he were best stand behind the door of the bath, that he might see her face, as she entered. accordingly he betook himself to the bath, awhile in advance, and posted himself behind the door, whereas none of the folk might see him. presently, the sultan's daughter came forth and went round about the city and its thoroughfares and diverted herself by viewing it; then she repaired to the bath and when she came thither, she lifted her face-veil, as she entered; whereupon her face shone out, as it were the resplendent sun or a precious pearl, and she was as saith of her one of her describers: who sprinkled the kohl of enchantment upon her eyes and gathered the bloom of the rose from her cheeks, fruit-wise? and who was it let down the curtained night of her hair and eke through its glooms made the light of her forehead rise? when she raised the veil from her face and alaeddin saw her, he said, "verily, her fashion glorifieth the great creator and extolled be the perfection of him who made her and graced her with this beauty and goodliness!" and his back was cloven in sunder, [ ] when he saw her; his thought was confounded and his understanding [ ] dazed and the love of her gat hold upon his whole heart; so he turned back and returning home, went in to his mother, like one distraught. she bespoke him and he answered her neither yea nor nay; then she brought him the morning-meal, as he abode on this wise, and said to him, "o my son, what hath betided thee? doth there ail thee aught? tell me what hath befallen thee, for that, against thy wont, i bespeak thee and thou answerest me not." now alaeddin had been used to think that women were all like his mother and he had heard of the beauty of the lady bedrulbudour, daughter of the sultan, but had not known what beauty and grace were; so he turned to his mother and said to her, "leave me;" but she was instant with him to come and eat. accordingly, he came forward and ate a little; then, rising, he threw himself on his bed and lay musing till break of morn; and on this wise he abode all next day. his mother was perplexed at his case, unknowing what had befallen him, and bethought herself that belike he was sick; so she came up to him and questioned him, saying, "o my son, an thou feel aught of pain or otherwhat, tell me, that i may go fetch thee a physician, more by token there is presently in the city a physician from the land of the arabs, whom the sultan hath sent to bring hither, and report saith of him that he is exceeding skilful; so [tell me] if thou art sick, that i may go and call him to thee." when [ ] alaeddin heard his mother offer to fetch him the physician, he said to her, "o my mother, i am well and not sick, but i had thought that women were all like unto thee. however, yesterday, i saw the lady bedrulbudour, the sultan's daughter, as she went to the bath;" and he told her all that had happened to him, adding, "and most like thou heardest the crier proclaiming that none should open his shop nor stand in the road, so the lady bedrulbudour might pass to the bath; but i saw her even as she is, for that, when she came to the door of the bath, she lifted her veil, and when i noted her favour and viewed that noble form of hers, there befell me, o my mother, a passion of yearning for love of her and desire of her [ ] usurped mine every part; nor can i ever more have ease, except i get her, and i purpose, therefore, to demand her of the sultan her father in the way of law and righteousness." when alaeddin's mother heard her son's speech, she thought little of his wit and said to him, "o my son, the name of god encompass thee! meseemeth thou hast lost thy wit; return to thy senses, [ ] o my son, and be not like the madmen!" "nay, o my mother," replied he, "i have not lost my wits nor am i mad; and this thy speech shall not change that which is in my mind, nor is rest possible to me except i get the darling of my heart, the lovely lady bedrulbudour. and my intent is to demand her of her father the sultan." so she said to him, "o my son, my life upon thee, speak not thus, lest one hear thee and say of thee that thou art mad. put away from thee this extravagance: [ ] who shall undertake an affair like this and demand it of the sultan? meknoweth not how thou wilt do to make this request of the sultan, and if thou speak sooth, [ ] by whom wilt thou make it?" "o my mother," rejoined alaeddin, "by whom [should i make] a request like this, when thou art at hand, and whom have i trustier [ ] than thyself? wherefore my intent is that thou shalt make this request for me." "o my son," quoth she, "god deliver me from this! what, have i lost my wits like thee? put away this thought from thy mind and bethink thee who thou art, o my son,--the son of a tailor, the poorest and least of the tailors in this city, and i also am thy mother and my folk are exceeding poor; so how wilt thou dare to demand the sultan's daughter, whom her father would not vouchsafe to marry with kings' sons and sultans, except they were his peers in puissance and rank and noblesse; nay, were they one degree less than he, he would not give them his daughter." alaeddin [ ] waited till his mother had made an end of her speech and said to her, "o my mother, all that thou thinkest i know; marry, i know full well that i am the son of poor folk, nor may all this thy talk anywise avail to move me from my purpose; but i beseech thee, an i be thy very son and thou love me, do me this kindness; else wilt thou lose me, for death hasteneth upon me, an i attain not my wish of the beloved of my heart. in any case, o my mother, i am thy son." when his mother heard his speech, she wept of her concern for him and said to him, "yes, o my son, i am thy mother and thou art my son and the darling of my heart; [ ] i have none other than thee and the extreme of my desire is to rejoice in thee and marry thee. so, an thou wilt, i will seek thee a bride of our own rank. but suppose [i do this], they [ ] [will] ask at once an thou have craft or land or trade or garden, so thou mayst live, and what shall i answer them. and if i cannot answer poor folk like ourselves, how, o my son, shall i dare to seek the king's daughter of china, who hath none before him and none after him? wherefore do thou ponder this matter in thine understanding. and who seeketh her? the son of a tailor. [ ] indeed, i know that, an i speak of this, it will but be for the increase of our ill luck, for that this affair will bring us in great danger with the sultan and belike there will be death therein for thee and for me. as for me, how can i adventure upon this danger and this effrontery? moreover, o my son, on what wise shall i demand thee his daughter of the sultan and how shall i avail to go in to him? nay, if they question me, what shall i answer them? most like they will deem me a madwoman. and suppose i gain admission to the presence, what shall i take by way of offering to the sultan's highness? it [ ] is true, o my son, that the sultan is clement and rejecteth none that cometh to him for protection or craveth a boon of him, for that he is bountiful and beneficent unto all, great and small; [ ] but he bestoweth his favours upon those who are deserving thereof or who have done some feat of arms before him or have wrought for the service or defence of the realm; and thou, o my son, tell me, what hast thou done for [ ] the sultan or the realm, that thou shouldst merit of him this boon? again, this that thou cravest is beyond thy condition; [ ] so it cannot be that the king will grant thee that which thou seekest. moreover, whoso presenteth himself before the sultan and craveth favours of him, it behoveth him take in his hand somewhat that sorteth with the royal dignity; and as i said to thee, how canst thou presume to present thyself before the sultan and seek of him his daughter, without aught thou mayst proffer him of that which sorteth with his rank?" "o my mother," replied alaeddin, "thou speakest justly and deemest that which is true, [ ] and it behoveth me consider all that whereof thou mindest me; but, o my mother, the love of the sultan's daughter, the lady bedrulbudour, hath entered into the innermost of my heart; and there can be no rest for me, except i obtain her. moreover, thou mindest me of somewhat i had forgotten, and that a thing which emboldeneth me to seek of him his daughter by thee. thou sayst, o my mother, that i have no gift to present to the sultan, according to the wont of the folk, whilst in fact i have by me a gift and an offering, the like whereof methinketh no king ever possessed, no, nor aught to match therewith; for [ ] thou must know, o my mother, that the fruits, which i brought in the purses [ ] from the treasure and which i deemed glass or crystal, are very jewels, methinketh all the kings of the world may not compass the least of them, and i, of my companying with the jewellers, know that they are precious stones. wherefore, an thou please, have the goodness to rise and bring me such a china dish which we have by us, [ ] that i may fill it with these jewels, and thou shalt take it as a present to the sultan. by this means i am assured that the thing will be easy to thee, and do thou stand before the sultan and seek of him my desire; but, o my mother, an thou refuse to further me with thine endeavour for the attainment of my wish of the lady bedrulbudour, know that i am a dead man. be not concerned for the gift, for these be exceeding precious jewels, and know, o my mother, that i have gone many a time to the market of the jewellers and have seen them sell jewels, that had not an hundredth part [ ] of the beauty of these of ours, at exceeding high prices such as man's wit cannot conceive. when, therefore, i saw this, i said [in myself], 'verily, the jewels that are with us are exceeding precious.' so now, o my mother, arise, as i bade thee, and fetch me the china dish whereof i bespoke thee, that we may range of these jewels therein and see how they show." accordingly, she arose and brought the china dish, saying in herself, "let us see if my son's speech be true concerning these jewels or not." so she set the dish before alaeddin and he brought out jewels of all kinds from the purses and proceeded to range them in the dish till he filled it. when it was full, his mother looked at the dish, but could not gaze fixedly thereon, for the radiance of the jewels and their lustre and the excess of their flashing; so she shut her eyes and her wit was confounded at them; yet was she not certified that their value was in very deed so great as her son had said, but bethought her that his speech might be true in that their like was not found with kings. then alaeddin turned to her and said, "see, o my mother, this is a magnificent present for the sultan and i am assured that thou wilt get of him exceeding honour and that he will receive thee with all consideration. and now, o my mother, there remaineth to thee no excuse; so be good enough [ ] to take this dish and go with it to the palace." "o my son," replied she, "true it is that the present is exceedingly costly and precious and as thou sayest, none hath the like thereof; but who shall dare to come forward and seek of the sultan his daughter bedrulbudour? nay, i dare not adventure myself and say to him, 'i want thy daughter,' whenas he asketh me, 'what wouldst thou?' marry, o my son,, my tongue will be tied. and grant that allah make [the thing] possible and i take courage and say to him, 'i desire to ally myself to thee by [marrying] thy daughter the lady bedrulbudour with my son alaeddin,' they will straightway deem me mad and will put me out with ignominy and reproach; nay, i need not tell thee that by this i shall fall into danger of death, and not i only, but thou also. withal, o my son, of regard for thy wish, needs must i take courage and go; but, o my son, if the king receive me and honour me for the gift's sake and i seek of him that which thou wilt in [ ] the matter of marrying his daughter and he ask me, after the wont of the folk, what are thy possessions and thy revenues, what shall i say to him? and most like, o my son, he will ask me of this ere he ask me of thyself." and alaeddin said to her, "nay, it cannot be that the sultan will ask this, whenas he seeth the jewels and their magnificence, and it booteth not to think of a thing that will not happen. do thou but rise and seek me his daughter of him and proffer him these jewels and sit not magnifying the affair in thy thought beforehand. moreover, o my mother, thou knowest of the lamp which is with me and which presently provideth for our livelihood; [ ] nay, all that i seek of it it will bring me, and i trust by its means i shall know how to answer the sultan, an he ask me of this." they abode in talk of the matter all that night and when the morning morrowed, alaeddin's mother arose and fortified her heart, more by token that her son expounded to her somewhat of the properties of the lamp and its uses, in that it would bring them all they sought. but, when he saw that she heartened herself for that which he set forth to her of its virtues, he feared lest she should talk of this to the folk, so he said to her, "o my mother, beware lest thou bespeak any of the lamp and its uses, for that this is our fortune; be careful [ ] and exceed not in speech thereof to any one, lest we lose it and lose this our present prosperity, for that it is from it." [ ] "have no fear for that, o my son," answered she and rising, took the dish wherein were the jewels and wrapping it in a fine handkerchief, went forth betimes, so she might reach the divan and enter, ere it became crowded. when she came to the palace, the divan was not yet assembled [ ] and she saw the vizier and certain of the chiefs of the state entering the presence-chamber. after a while, the divan being complete with the viziers and the chiefs of the state and officers and amirs and grandees, the sultan appeared and the viziers and other the officials and notables ranged themselves before him, whilst he sat down on the throne of his kingship and all who were present in the divan stood before him, with hands clasped behind them, [ ] awaiting his commandment to sit. so he bade them be seated and they all sat down, each in his several room; then the petitioners [ ] presented themselves before the sultan and each affair was decided in its course, [ ] till the divan came to an end, when the king rose and entered the palace and each went his way. as [ ] for alaeddin's mother, having come before all, she found room to enter, but withal none bespoke her, so he should bring her in before the sultan; wherefore she ceased not standing till the divan broke up and the sultan rose and entered the palace and all went their ways. when she saw the sultan rise from his throne and enter the harem, she took her way homeward and returning on her steps, entered her house. alaeddin, seeing her with the dish in her hand, knew that most like some mischance had betided her, but cared not to question her till she entered and setting down the dish, told him what had passed and finally said to him, "god be praised, o my son, i mustered courage to find myself a place in the divan, albeit i could not win to speak with the sultan to day; but to-morrow, an it please god the most high, i will bespeak him. to-day there were many other folk, like myself, unable to get speech of the sultan; but be easy, o my son; to-morrow i will without fail bespeak him on thy behalf, and what happened not shall happen." when alaeddin heard his mother's words, he rejoiced with an exceeding joy, albeit, of the excess of his love and longing for the lady bedrulbudour, he had looked for the matter to be accomplished then and there; nevertheless, he used patience. they slept that night and on the morrow alaeddin's mother arose and went with the dish to the sultan's divan, but found it closed; so she asked the folk and they said to her, "the sultan holdeth a divan but thrice a week;" wherefore she was compelled [ ] to return home. then she proceeded to go every day, and whenas she found the divan open, she would stand before the door, [ ] till it broke up, when she would return home; and whiles she went and found the divan closed. [ ] on this wise she abode a week's space [ ] and the sultan saw her at each divan; so, when she went on the last day [of the week] and stood, according to her wont, before the divan, till it was ended, but could not muster courage to enter [ ] or say aught, the sultan arose and entering the harem, turned to his chief vizier, who was with him, and said to him, "o vizier, these six or seven days [ ] past i have seen yonder old woman come hither at every divan and i note that she still carrieth somewhat under her veil. [ ] hast thou any knowledge of her, o vizier, and knowest thou what is her want?" "o our lord the sultan," replied the vizier, "verily women are little of wit; and most like this woman cometh to complain to thee of her husband or one of her folk," the sultan was not content with the vizier's reply, but bade him, an she came again to the divan, bring her before him forthright; [ ] whereupon the vizier laid his hand on his head and answered, "hearkening and obedience, o our lord the sultan." meanwhile, [ ] alaeddin's mother, albeit she was grown exceeding weary and dejected, yet made light of all weariness, for her son's sake, and continued, as of her wont, to go every court-day and stand in the divan before the sultan. [ ] accordingly, one day of the days, she went to the divan, as of her wont, and stood before the sultan; and when he saw her, he called his vizier and said to him, "yonder is the woman of whom i bespoke thee yesterday; bring her now before me, so i may see what her suit is and accomplish unto her her occasion." so the vizier arose forthright and let bring alaeddin's mother in before the sultan. when she came into the latter's presence, she made her obeisance to him and did him reverence, wishing him glory and continuance and eternity of prosperity and kissing the ground before him. then said he to her, "o woman, i see thee come every day to the divan and thou speakest not of aught. tell me an thou have a want, that i may accomplish it unto thee;" whereupon she kissed the earth a second time and called down blessings upon him, then answered, "ay, o king of the age, as thy head liveth, i have indeed a want; but before all things do thou give me thine assurance, [ ] so i may make bold to prefer my suit to the hearing of our lord the sultan, for that belike thy grace will find it a strange one." the sultan, that he might learn what her suit was and for that he was of his nature exceeding clement, gave her his assurance and bidding all who were with him go out forthright, abode alone [with her], he and the grand vizier. then he turned to her and said, "tell me thy suit, and the assurance [ ] of god the most high be upon thee." quoth she, "o king of the age, i wish thy pardon also." and he said to her, "god pardon thee!" [ ] then said she to him, "o our lord the sultan, i have a son, whose name is alaeddin, and one day of the days he heard the crier proclaim that none should open his shop nor show himself in the thoroughfares of the city, [ ] for that the lady bedrulbudour, the daughter of our lord the sultan, was going to the bath. when my son heard this, he wished to see her; so he hid himself in a place, whence he might see her well, and this was behind the door of the bath. accordingly, when she came up, he saw her and viewed her well, beyond his wish; and from that time till now, o king of the age, life hath not been pleasant to him [ ] and he will e'en have me seek her of thy grace, [ ] so thou mayst marry her with him, and i cannot do away this conceit from his wit, for that the love of her hath gotten possession of his vitals, so that he saith to me, 'know, o mother mine, that, except i attain my desire, assuredly i am a dead man.' wherefore i crave thy grace's clemency and hope that thou wilt pardon me and my son this effrontery neither be wroth with us therefor." when the king heard her story, he fell a-laughing, of his clemency, [ ] and asked her, "what is that thou hast with thee and what is that bundle?" [ ] whereupon she, seeing that he was not angered at her words, but laughed, opened the handkerchief forthright and proffered him the dish of jewels. when the sultan saw the jewels (and indeed, whenas she raised the handkerchief from them, the divan became as it were all illumined with lamp-clusters and candlesticks), he was amazed and confounded at their radiance and fell a-marvelling at their lustre and bigness and beauty; and [ ] he said, "never saw i the like of these jewels for beauty and bigness and perfection, nor methinketh is one of them found in my treasuries." then he turned to his vizier and said to him, "how sayst thou, o vizier? sawest thou ever in thy life the like of these magnificent jewels?" "never, o our lord the sultan," replied the vizier, "nor, methinketh, is the least of those which be here found in the treasuries of our lord the king." quoth the sultan, "doth not he who giveth me these jewels deserve to be bridegroom to my daughter bedrulbudour? marry, by what i see, meseemeth none is worthier of her than he." when the vizier heard the sultan's words, his tongue was tied for despite and he was overcome with exceeding chagrin, forasmuch as the king had promised him that he would marry his daughter to his son; so, after a little, he said to him, "o king of the age, thy grace condescended to promise me [ ] that the lady bedrulbudour should be my son's; wherefore it behoveth thine exalted highness appoint a delay of three months, [ ] and god willing, my son's present shall be greater than this." the king, for all he knew that this was a thing whereto the vizier might not avail, no, nor the greatest king, [ ] nevertheless exercised his clemency [ ] and granted him the delay he sought; then, turning to the old woman, he said to her, "go to thy son and tell him i give him [my] word that my daughter shall be in his name; [ ] but needs must i take order for her equipment; [ ] wherefore it behoveth him grant us a delay of three months." alaeddin's mother took the answer and thanked the sultan and prayed for him, then went forth and fared homeward in haste, flying of her joy, till she came to the house and entered. her son saw her laughing-faced and foreboded good news; more by token that she returned forthright and tarried not, as on each day past, neither brought back the dish. accordingly he asked her and said to her, "god willing, o my mother, thou bringest me good news; the jewels and their value have wrought their work and thou wilt have found acceptance with the sultan; yea, he will have shown thee favour and given ear unto thy suit." so she told him all that had passed and how the sultan had received her and had marvelled, both he and his vizier, at the size and beauty of the jewels, and how he had promised her that [quoth she] "his daughter shall be in thy name. but, o my son, ere he promised me, the vizier whispered [ ] him somewhat, whereupon he appointed me for three months hence; and i am fearful lest the vizier be a man of evil disposition, [ ] who will change the king's mind." when [ ] alaeddin heard his mother's words and how the sultan had appointed her for [ ] three months [thence], his heart was lightened and he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and said, "since the sultan hath promised for [ ] three months [hence], true, it [ ] is long, but in any case my joy is great." then he thanked her for her kindness and the pains she had taken [ ] and said to her, "by allah, o my mother, it is as i were in a tomb and now thou hast raised me up therefrom; and i praise god the most high, for i am presently certified that there is none richer or happier than i in the world." then he waited till two of the three months were past, when his mother went out one day of the days, at sundown, to buy oil, and saw the markets closed and the city all decorated and the folk setting candles and flowers in their windows and saw troops, horse and foot, and mounted eunuchs drawn up in state, with cressets and lustres burning. at this wonder took her; [ ]he went to an oilman's shop there open and buying oil of him, said to him, "[i conjure thee] by thy life, o uncle, tell me what is toward to-day in this city, that the folk are making this decoration and the markets [are shut] and the houses all adorned and the troops drawn up in state?" quoth he, "o woman, methinketh thou art a stranger and art not of this city." "nay," answered she, "but i am of this city;" and he said to her, "thou art of this city and knowest not that this is the night of the going in of the grand vizier's son to the lady bedrulbudour, the sultan's daughter? nay, he is presently in the bath and yonder amirs and troops are drawn up awaiting him, against he come forth, so they may carry him in procession to the palace of the sultan's daughter." when alaeddin's mother heard this, she was troubled and perplexed in her wit how she should do to acquaint her son with this woeful news, for that the poor wretch was counting the hours till the three months should be ended. so she returned home forthright and going in to alaeddin, said to him, "o my son, i have news to tell thee, but it irketh me for thy chagrin therefrom." quoth he, "speak; what is the news?" and she said to him, "the sultan hath gone from his promise to thee in the matter of his daughter, the lady bedrulbudour, for that this very night the vizier's son goeth in to her; and indeed methought at the time, [ ] o my son, the vizier would change the sultan's mind, even as i told thee that he bespoke him privily before me." "how knewest thou this," asked alaeddin, "that the vizier's son goeth in this night to the lady bedrulbudour?" so she told him all she had seen of the decorations in the city, whenas she went to buy the oil, and how the eunuchs and chiefs of the state were drawn up awaiting the vizier's son, against he should come forth of the bath, for that this was the night of his going in. when alaeddin heard this, he fell into a fever of chagrin; [ ] but presently he bethought him of the lamp and rejoiced and said to his mother, "by thy life, o my mother, methinketh the vizier's son shall not rejoice in her, as thou deemest. but now leave us be with this talk and go lay us the evening-meal, so we may sup; then, when i shall have passed a while in my chamber, all shall yet be well." accordingly, [ ] after he had supped, he went into his chamber and locking the door on himself, fetched the lamp and rubbed it; whereupon the genie at once appeared to him and said, "seek what thou wilt, for i am thy slave and the slave of whoso hath in his hand the lamp, i and all the slaves of the lamp." and alaeddin said to him, "harkye, i sought of the sultan to marry his daughter, and he appointed me for [ ] three months' time; however, he abode not by his promise, but gave her to the vizier's son, and the latter purposeth to go in [to her] this night. wherefore i do presently command thee, as thou art a loyal servant of the lamp, that this night, whenas thou seest the bride and bridegroom abed together, thou take them up in their bed [and bring them] hither. this is what i seek of thee." "hearkening and obedience," answered the genie, "and if thou have a service [to require of me] other than this, command me whatsoever thou seekest." and alaeddin said to him, "i have no present requirement save that whereof i have bespoken thee." so the slave disappeared and alaeddin returned to finish his supper [ ] with his mother. when he deemed it time for the genie's coming, he arose and entered his chamber; and after a little, the marid appeared with the bridal pair in their bed; whereat alaeddin rejoiced with exceeding great joy and said to the slave, "bear this gallowsbird hence and couch him in the house of easance." [ ] the genie accordingly took up the bridegroom and couched him in the draught-house; moreover, ere he left him, he blew on him a blast wherewith he dried him up, and the vizier's son abode in woeful case. then he returned to alaeddin and said to him, "an thou need otherwhat, tell me." and alaeddin said to him, "return in the morning, so thou mayst take them [back] to their place." "hearkening and obedience," answered the genie and was gone; whereupon alaeddin arose,--and indeed he had scarce believed that the thing should succeed with him,--and when he saw the lady bedrulbudour in his house, he entreated her with respect, albeit he had long burned for love of her, and said to her, "o princess of the fair, think not that i have brought thee hither to soil shine honour. god forbid! nay, it was that i might not let others [ ] enjoy thee, for that thy father the sultan gave me his word upon thee; so be thou in peace and assurance." as [ ] for the princess, when she found herself in that mean dark; house and heard alaeddin's words, fear and trembling get hold upon her and she was confounded and could return him no answer. then he arose and putting off his clothes, placed a sword between himself and her and lay down by her side in the bed, without treason; [ ] it sufficed him to prevent [the consummation of] her marriage with the vizier's son. nevertheless, the lady bedrulbudour passed the sorriest of nights, never in her life had she known a worse; whilst the vizier's son lay in the draught-house and dared not stir for fear of the genie. when it was morning, the genie presented himself before alaeddin, without his rubbing the lamp, and said to him, "o my lord, an thou wish aught, command me withal, so i may do it on my head and eyes." and alaeddin bade him go carry the bride and bridegroom to their own place. the genie did his bidding in the twinkling of an eye and laying the vizier's son with the lady bedrulbudour, took them up and set them down in their place in the palace, without their seeing any one; but they were like to die of fright, when they felt themselves carried from place to place. hardly had the genie set them down and gone out when the sultan came to visit his daughter; and when the vizier's son heard the door open, he straightway sprang out of bed, knowing that none might enter but the sultan, and donned his clothes, [ ] albeit this irked him sore, for that he would fain have warmed himself a little, having had no time [to do so] since he left the draught-house. the [ ] sultan came in to his daughter and kissing her between the eyes, gave her good-morrow and asked her of her bridegroom and if she was content with him; but she returned him no answer and looked at him with a dejected air. [ ] he bespoke her several times, but she was silent and answered him not a word; so he went out from her and going in to the queen, told her what had passed between himself and the lady bedrulbudour. the queen, so she might not leave the sultan angry with the lady bedrulbudour, said to him, "o king of the age, this is the wont of most brides, on their wedding-day, to be shamefast and show somewhat of coyness. so be not vexed with her and after a day or two she will return to herself and proceed to speak with the folk; but now, o king of the age, shame hindereth her from speaking. however, i purpose to go to her and see her." accordingly she arose and donning her clothes, repaired to her daughter's apartment. then, going up to her, she gave her good-morrow and kissed her between the eyes; but the lady bedrulbudour returned her no manner of answer and the queen said in herself, "needs must some strange thing have befallen her, to trouble her thus." so she asked her, saying, "o my daughter, what is the cause of this thy behaviour? tell me what aileth thee, that i come to thee and give thee good-morrow and thou returnest me no answer." the lady bedrulbudour raised her head and said to her, "blame me not, o my mother; indeed, it behoved me receive thee with all reverence and worship, since thou honourest me by coming to me; but i beseech thee hear the cause of this my case and see how this night i have passed hath been for me the sorriest of nights. hardly had we lain down, o my mother, when one, whose fashion i know not, took up the bed and transported us to a place dark, foul [ ] and mean." then she told her mother the queen all that had betided her that night and how they had taken her bridegroom, leaving her alone, and how after a little there came another youth and lay down in the place of her bridegroom, putting a sword between himself and her; "and in the morning" [quoth she] "he who had brought us thither returned and taking us up, carried us back to our place here: and hardly had he brought us hither and left us when my father the sultan entered and i had neither heart nor tongue to answer him for stress of fright and trembling which possessed me. and belike my father is vexed with me; wherefore i prithee, o my mother, tell him the cause of this my case, so he be not wroth with me for my failure to answer him neither blame me, but excuse me." when [ ] the queen heard the princess's story, she said to her, "o my daughter, beware of [ ] telling this tale before any, lest they [ ] say, 'verily the sultan's daughter hath lost her wits.' marry, thou diddest well in that thou acquaintedst not thy father with this; and beware, yea [again i say,] beware, o my daughter, of telling him thereof." "o my mother," rejoined the lady bedrulbudour, "indeed, i bespoke thee in sober earnest and have not lost my wits; nay, this is what happened to me, and an thou believe it not from me, ask my bridegroom." quoth the queen, "rise, o my daughter, and put away these illusions from thy thought; nay, don thy clothes and see the rejoicing that is toward in the town on thine account and the festivities that they celebrate in the kingdom for thy sake and hear the drums and the singing and look upon the decorations, all in honour of thy nuptials, o my daughter." accordingly, she summoned the tirewomen, who dressed the lady bedrulbudour and busked her; whilst the queen went in to the sultan and told him that there had that night betided the princess a dream and illusions, saying, "biame her not for her failure to answer thee." moreover, she sent for the vizier's son privily and questioned him of the affair, whether the lady bedrulbudour's speech was true or not; but he, of his fear to lose his bride, lest she should go from his hand, said to her, "o my lady, i know nothing of that which thou sayest;" wherefore the queen was certified that there had betided her daughter illusions and a dream. the wedding rejoicings continued all that day, with dancing-women and singing-women, and all the instruments of mirth and minstrelsy were smitten, whilst the queen and the vizier and his son were exceeding assiduous in keeping up the festivities, so the lady bedrulbudour should rejoice and her chagrin be dispelled; nay, they left nought that day of that which exciteth unto liesse but they did it before her, so she should leave what was in her mind and be cheered. but all this had no effect on her and she was silent and thoughtful and confounded at that which had befallen her that night. true, the vizier's son had fared worse than she, for that he was couched in the draught-house; but he belied [ ] the matter and put away that tribulation from his thought, of his fear lest he should lose his bride and his rank, [ ] more by token that all the folk envied him his lot, for the much increase of honour it brought him, as also for the exceeding beauty and loveliness of the lady bedrulbudour. as for alaeddin, he went out that day and saw the rejoicings toward in the city and the palace and fell a-laughing, especially when he heard the folk speak of the honour which had betided the vizier's son and the greatness of his good luck, in that he was become the sultan's son-in-law, and the exceeding pomp used in his marriage and bridal festivities; and he said in himself, "ye know not, good simple folk that ye are, [ ] what befell him last night, that ye envy him." then, when the night came in and it was the season of sleep, alaeddin arose and entering his chamber, rubbed the lamp, whereupon the genie appeared to him forthright and [ ] he bade him bring the princess and her bridegroom, as on the past night, ere the vizier's son should take her maidenhead. the genie delayed not, but was absent a little while; and when it was the appointed time, he returned with the bed and therein the lady bedrulbudour and the vizier's son. with the latter he did as he had done the past night, to wit, he took him and couched him in the draught-house, where he deft him parched for excess of fright and dismay; whilst alaeddin arose and placing the sword between himself and the lady bedrulbudour, lay down and slept till the morning, when the genie appeared and restored the twain to their place, leaving alaeddin full of joy at [the discomfiture of] the vizier's son. when the sultan arose in the morning, he bethought himself to visit his daughter bedrulbudour and see an she should do with him as she had done on the past day; so, as soon as he awoke from his sleep, he rose and donning his clothes, went to his daughter's chamber and opened the door. whereupon the vizier's son arose forthright and coming down from the bed, fell to donning his clothes, with ribs cracking for cold; for that, when the sultan entered, it was no great while since the genie had brought them back. the sultan went up to his daughter, the lady bedrulbudour, as she lay abed, and raising the curtain, gave her good morning and kissed her between the eyes and asked her how she did. she frowned and returned him no answer, but looked at him sullenly, as she were in sorry case. he was wroth with her, for that she made him no answer, and thought that something had betided her; so he drew the sword and said to her, "what hath befallen thee? either thou shalt tell me what aileth thee or i will do away thy life this very moment. is this the respect that is due to my rank and the honour in which thou holdest me, that i bespeak thee and thou answerest me not a word?" when the lady bedrulbudour knew that her father was angry and saw the naked sword in his hand, she was like to swoon for fear; [ ] so she raised her head and said to him, "dear [ ] my father, be not wroth with me, neither be thou hasty in thine anger, for that i am excusable in that which thou hast seen from me. [ ] do but hearken what hath betided me and i am well assured that, whenas thou hearest my story of that which hath happened to me these two nights past, thou wilt excuse me and thy grace will be moved to compassion upon me, as i know from thy love for me." [ ] then she acquainted him with all that had befallen her and said to him, "o my father, an thou believe me not, ask my bridegroom and he will resolve thy grace of everything, albeit i know not what they did with him, when they took him from my side, nor where they set him." when [ ] the sultan heard his daughter's story, he was sore concerned and his eyes brimmed with tears; then, sheathing the sword and coming up to her, he kissed her and said to her, "o my daughter, why didst thou not tell me yesterday, so i might have warded off from thee the torment and affright which have befallen thee this night? but no matter; arise and put away from thee this thought, and to-night i will set over thee those who shall guard thee, so there shall not again befall thee that which befell yesternight." then he returned to his pavilion and sent at once for the vizier, who came and stood before him, awaiting his commands; and the sultan said to him, "o vizier, how deemest thou of this affair? most like thy son hath told thee what happened to him and to my daughter." "o king of the age," answered the vizier, "i have not seen my son or yesterday or to-day." whereupon the sultan acquainted him with all that his daughter the lady bedrulbudour had told him and said to him, "it is now my will that thou enquire of thy son the truth of the case, for it may be my daughter knoweth not for fright what happened to her, though methinketh her tale is all true." so the vizier arose and sending for his son, asked him of all that the sultan had told him, if it were true or not. whereupon, "o my father the vizier," replied the youth, "[god] preserve the lady bedrulbudour from leasing! [ ] indeed, all she saith is true and these two nights past have been for us the sorriest of nights, instead of being nights of pleasance and delight. marry, that which befell me was yet worse, for that, instead of sleeping with my bride in bed, i lay in the draught-house, a place dark and frightful, noisome of smell and accursed, and my ribs were straitened [ ] with cold." brief, he told the vizier all that had befallen him and ultimately said to him; "dear [ ] my father, i beseech thee speak with the sultan that he release me from this marriage. true, it is great honour for me to be the sultan's son-in-law, more by token that the love of the lady bedrulbudour hath gotten possession of my vitals, but i cannot avail to endure one more night like the two that are past." when [ ] the vizier heard his son's words, he grieved and was exceeding chagrined, for that he had thought to greaten his son and advance him by making him the king's son-in-law; so he bethought himself and was perplexed anent the matter and what was to do therein; [ ] and indeed it irked him sore that the marriage should be dissolved, for that he had long besought [ ] the ten [ ] that he might compass the like of that affair; [ ] so he said to his son, "have patience, o my son, so we may see [how it will be] to-night, and we will set over you guards to guard you; but do not thou let slip this great honour, for that it hath fallen to none other than thyself." therewith he left him and returning to the sultan, told him that the lady bedrulbudour's story was true; whereupon quoth the sultan, "since the case is thus, we need no wedding-festivities." [ ] and he bade forthright break off the rejoicings and the marriage was dissolved. the folk and the people of the city marvelled at this strange thing, especially when they saw the vizier and his son go forth the palace in a pitiable plight for stress of chagrin and despite, and they fell to asking, "what hath happened and why is the marriage avoided and the rejoicings broken off?" but none knew what was to do save alaeddin, the suitor, [ ] who laughed in his sleeve. so the marriage was annulled; but the sultan had forgotten his promise to alaeddin's mother and never again bethought him thereof, neither he nor the vizier; nor knew they whence came that which had happened. alaeddin waited till the three months had elapsed, after which the sultan had promised that he would marry him to his daughter, the lady bedrulbudour, then despatched his mother to the sultan to require him of the performance of his promise. so she repaired to the palace and when the sultan came to the divan and saw her standing before him, he remembered his promise to her, that after three months he would marry his daughter to her son, and turning to the vizier, said to him, "o vizier, yonder is the woman who presented us with the jewels and we gave her our word that after three months [we would marry our daughter to her son]. bring her before me forthright." so the vizier went and brought alaeddin's mother before the sultan; and when she came into the presence, she made her obeisance to him and prayed god to vouchsafe him glory and endurance of prosperity. the sultan asked her if she had a need, and she said to him, "o king of the age, the three months are ended, after which thou didst promise me thou wouldst marry my son alaeddin to thy daughter the lady bedrulbudour." the sultan was perplexed at this her claim, more by token that he saw her in poor case, as she were the meanest of the folk; but the present which she had made him was exceeding magnificent [and indeed] beyond price; [ ] so he turned to the vizier and said to him, "how deemest thou? what shall we do? [ ] it is true i gave her my word, but meseemeth they are poor folk and not of the chiefs of the people." the [ ] vizier, who was like to die of envy and chagrin for that which had befallen his son, said in himself, "how shall one like this marry the sultan's daughter and my son lose this honour?" so he said to the sultan, [ ] "o my lord, it is an easy matter to rid ourselves of [ ] this vagabond, [ ] for that it would not beseem thy grace to give thy daughter to a man like this, of whom it is not known what he is." quoth the sultan, "on what wise shall we rid ourselves of this man, seeing i have given him my word and a king's word is his bond?" "o my lord," answered the vizier, "my counsel is that thou require of him forty dishes of pure virgin gold, full of jewels, such as she [ ] brought thee the other day, [ ] and forty slave-girls to bear the dishes and forty black slaves." "by allah, o vizier," rejoined the sultan, "'thou speakest rightly; for that this is a thing to which he may not avail and so we shall be rid of him by [fair] means." [ ] so he said to alaeddin's mother, "go and tell thy son that i abide by the promise which i made him, but an if he avail unto my daughter's dowry; to wit, i require of him forty dishes of pure gold, which must all be full of jewels [such as] thou broughtest me [erst], together with forty slave-girls to carry them and forty male slaves to escort and attend them. if, then; thy son avail unto this, i will marry him to my daughter." alaeddin's mother returned home, shaking her head and saying, "whence shall my poor son get these dishes of jewels? supposing, for the jewels and the dishes, that he return to the treasure and gather the whole from the trees,--and withal methinketh not it is possible to him; but say that he fetch them,--whence [shall he get] the slaves and slave-girls?" and she gave not over talking to herself till she reached the house, where alaeddin awaited her, and when she came in to him, she said to him, "o my son, said i not to thee, 'think not to attain to the lady bedrulbudour'? indeed, this is a thing that is not possible unto folk like ourselves." quoth he, "tell me what is the news." and she said to him, "o my son, the sultan received me with all courtesy, according to his wont, and meseemeth he meant fairly by us, but [for] thine accursed enemy the vizier; for that, after i had bespoken the sultan in thy name, even as thou badest me, reminding him that the term for which he had appointed us was past and saying to him, 'if thy grace would vouchsafe to give commandment for the marriage of thy daughter the lady bedrulbudour with my son alaeddin,'--he turned to the vizier and spoke to him. the vizier replied to him in a whisper and after that the sultan returned me an answer." then she told him what the sultan required of him and added, "o my son, he would fain have present answer of thee; but methinketh we have no answer to give him." when [ ] alaeddin heard his mother's speech, he laughed and said, "o my mother, thou sayest we have no answer to make him and deemest the thing exceeding hard; but now be good enough to rise [ ] and fetch us somewhat to eat, and after we have dined, thou shalt (an it please the compassionate) see the answer. the sultan like thyself, thinketh he hath sought of me an extraordinary matter, so he may divert me from the lady bedrulbudour; but the fact is that he seeketh a thing less than i had looked for. but go now and buy us somewhat we may eat and leave me to fetch thee the answer." accordingly, she arose and went out to buy her need from the market, so she might make ready the morning-meal; whilst alaeddin entered his chamber and taking the lamp, rubbed it. the genie immediately appeared to him and said, "seek what thou wilt, o my lord;" whereupon quoth alaeddin, "i seek the sultan's daughter in marriage and he requireth of me forty dishes of pure gold, each ten pounds in weight and full of the jewels which be in the garden of the treasure, the forty dishes to be borne by forty slave girls and each slave-girl to be accompanied by a male slave; wherefore i will have thee bring me this, all of it." "hearkening and obedience, o my lord," replied the genie and disappearing, was absent awhile, then returned with the forty slave-girls, each attended by a male slave and bearing on her head a dish of pure gold, full of precious jewels. so he brought them before alaeddin and said to him, "here is that which thou soughtest. tell me an thou need thing or service other than this." quoth alaeddin, "i need nothing [more]; if i need aught, i will summon thee and tell thee." accordingly, the genie vanished and after a little, alaeddin's mother returned and entering the house, saw the slaves and slave-girls; whereat she marvelled and said, "all this is of the lamp; god continue it unto my son!" then, before she put off her veil, alaeddin said to her, "o my mother, this is thy time, ere the sultan enter his palace [and withdraw] to his harem. take him what he seeketh, and that forthright, so he may know that i can avail unto that which he requireth, ay, and more, and that he was deluded by the vizier; albeit he thought to baffle me, he and his vizier." then he arose and opening the house-door, let out the damsels and the slaves, pair by pair, each damsel with a slave by her side, so that they filled the street. his mother forewent them and the people of the quarter, when they saw that rare and magnificent sight, stood looking and marvelling and gazing upon the faces of the slave-girls and their grace and goodliness [and their apparel], for that they were clad in clothes all inwoven with gold and studded with jewels; nay, the least one's clothes of them were worth thousands. moreover they looked at the dishes [ ] and saw flashing therefrom a radiance that outshone the light of the sun, albeit each dish was covered with a piece of brocade, gold-inwrought and studded eke with precious jewels. alaeddin's [ ] mother fared on and the damsels and slaves followed after her, in all fair ordinance and disposition, whilst the folk stood to gaze on the beauty of the slave-girls and extolled the perfection of the almighty creator, till she reached the palace and entered it with them. when the eunuchs and chamberlains and captains of the guard saw them, wonder took them and they were breathless for amaze at this sight, the like whereof they had never in their lives seen, and especially at the slave girls, each one of whom would ravish the wit of an anchorite. withal, the chamberlains and captains of the sultan's guards were all of them sons of grandees and amirs; and they marvelled yet more at the damsels' costly raiment and the dishes which they bore on their heads and on which they might not open their eyes, [ ] for the excess of their flashing and radiance. then the guards [ ] entered and told the sultan, who bade bring them before him forthright into the divan. so alaeddin's mother entered with them and when they came before the sultan, they all did obeisance to him with the utmost courtliness and gravity and invoked on him glory and prosperity; then, raising the dishes from their heads, they set them down before him and stood with their hands clasped behind them, after they had removed the covers. the sultan wondered with an exceeding wonderment and was confounded at the beauty of the girls and their loveliness, which overpassed description; his wit was bewildered, when he saw the golden dishes, full of jewels that dazzled the sight, and he was amazed at this marvel, so that he became as one dumb, unable to speak aught, of the excess of his wonderment; nay, his wit was the more perplexed, forasmuch as this had all been accomplished in an hour's time. then he bade carry the slave-girls and their burdens to the pavilion of the lady bedrulbudour; so the damsels took up the dishes and entered; whereupon alaeddin's mother came forward and said to the sultan, "o my lord, this is no great matter for the lady bedrulbudour's exalted rank; nay, she deserveth manifold this." so the sultan turned to the vizier and said to him, "how sayst thou, o vizier? he that can in so short a time avail unto riches like these, is he not worthy to be the sultan's son-in-law and to have his daughter to bride?" now the vizier marvelled at the greatness of these riches yet more than the sultan, but envy was killing him and waxed on him more and more, when he saw that the sultan was content with the bride-gift [ ] and the dowry; withal he could not gainstand the [manifest] truth and say to the sultan, "he is not worthy;" so he cast about to work upon him by practice, that he might hinder him from giving his daughter the lady bedrulbudour to alaeddin, and accordingly said to him, [ ] "o my lord, all the treasures of the world were not worth a paring of thy daughter bedrulbudour's nails; indeed, thy highness overrateth this upon her." [ ] when [ ] the sultan heard the vizier's words, he knew that this his speech arose from the excess of his envy; so he turned to alaeddin's mother and said to her, "o woman, go to thy son and tell him that i accept of him the marriage-gift and abide by my promise to him and that my daughter is his bride and he my son-in-law; so bid him come hither, that i may make acquaintance with him. there shall betide him from me nought but all honour and consideration and this night shall be the beginning of the bridal festivities. but, as i said to thee, let him come hither to me without delay." so she returned home swiftlier than the wind, [ ] of her haste to bring her son the good news; and she was like to fly for joy at the thought that her son was to become the sultan's son-in-law. as soon as she had taken her leave, the sultan bade break up the divan and entering the lady bedrulbudour's pavilion, commanded to bring the damsels and the dishes before his daughter and himself, so she should see them. so they brought them and when the lady bedrulbudour saw the jewels, she was amazed and said, "methinketh there is not one of these jewels found in the treasuries of the world." then she looked at the damsels and marvelled at their beauty and grace and knew that this was all from her new bridegroom and that he had proffered it to her service. so she rejoiced, albeit she had been sad and sorry for her [whilom] bridegroom the vizier's son,--she rejoiced, [i say], with an exceeding joy, when she saw the jewels and the beauty of the damsels, and was cheered; whilst her father rejoiced exceedingly in her joy, in that he saw her put off chagrin and dejection. then he said to her, "o my daughter bedrulbudour, doth this please thee? indeed, methinketh this thy bridegroom is goodlier [ ] than the vizier's son, and god willing, o my daughter, thou shalt rejoice with him abundantly." [ ] so much for the sultan and as for alaeddin, when his mother came to the house and entered and he saw her laughing of the excess of her joy, he foreboded good news and said, "to god everlasting [ ] be praise! accomplished is that which i sought." and she said to him, "glad tidings, o my son! let thy heart rejoice and thine eye be solaced in the attainment of thy desire, for that the sultan accepteth thine offering, to wit, the bride gift and the dowry of the lady bedrulbudour, and she is thy bride and this, o my son, is the night of your [ ] bridal and thy going in to the lady bedrulbudour. nay, the sultan, that he might certify me of his word, proclaimed thee his son-in-law before the folk and declared that this should be the wedding-night; but he said to me, 'let thy son come hither to me, so i may make acquaintance with him, and i will receive him with all honour and worship.' and now, o my son, my office [ ] is ended, whatsoever remaineth is a matter for thee." [ ] alaeddin kissed his mother's hand and thanked her amain for her kindness; [ ] then he arose and entering his chamber, took the lamp and rubbed it; whereupon the genie presented himself and said to him, "here am i; seek what thou wilt." quoth alaeddin, "my will is that thou take me to a bath, whose like is not in the world, and fetch me a suit of royal raiment and exceeding costly, such as no king can boast." "hearkening and obedience," replied the marid and taking him up, brought him intro a bath, never saw king nor kisra [ ] its like, for it was of alabaster and agate and full of marvellous limnings that ravished the sight, and therein was a saloon all embossed with precious jewels. none was there; but, when alaeddin entered, there came in to him one of the jinn in human semblance and washed him and bathed him to the utmost of the wish: after [ ] which he went forth the bath to the outer saloon, where he found his clothes taken away and in their stead a suit of the richest royal apparel. then sherbets were brought him and coffee with ambergris and he drank and arose; whereupon there came to him a troop of slaves and clad him in those [ ] sumptuous clothes [ ] and he dressed and perfumed himself with essences and sweet-scented smoke. [ ] now thou knowest [ ] that alaeddin was the son of a poor man, a tailor: yet now none had thought it, [ ] but had said, "this is the chiefest of the sons of the kings," extolled be the perfection of him who changeth and is not changed! then the slave of the lamp came to him and taking him up, set him down in his house and said to him, "o my lord, dost thou need aught?" "yes," answered alaeddin; "i will have thee bring me eight-and-forty mamelukes, [ ] four-and-twenty to walk before me and four-and-twenty to walk behind me, with their horses and clothes and arms, and let all that is upon them and their horses be of stuffs costly and precious exceedingly, such as are not found in kings' treasuries. then bring me a stallion fit for the riding of the chosroes and be his trappings all of gold, embossed with noble jewels; and bring me eight-and-forty thousand diners, in each mameluke's hand a thousand, for that i purpose presently to visit the sultan; wherefore delay thou not on me, since i cannot go thither without all that whereof i have bespoken thee. bring me also twelve slave-girls, who must be unique in loveliness and clad in the richest of raiment, so they may attend my mother to the sultan's palace, and let each slave-girl have with her a suit of apparel fit for the wearing of kings' wives." [ ] "hearkening and obedience," replied the genie and disappearing, brought him in the twinkling of an eye all that he had commanded him withal, whilst in his hand he held a stallion, whose like is not among the horses of the arabs of the arabs, [ ] with housings of the richest stuffs brocaded with gold; whereupon alaeddin called his mother forthright and delivered her the twelve slave-girls and gave her the [twelve] suits, [ ] so she might dress herself [ ] and go with them to the sultan's palace. then he despatched one of the mamelukes thither, to see an the sultan were come forth of the harem or not; so he went and returning, swiftlier than lightning, said to him, "o my lord, the sultan awaiteth thee." accordingly he arose and mounting, [set forth], whilst the mamelukes rode before him and after him, (extolled be the perfection of the lord who created them with [ ] that which clothed them of beauty and grace!), strewing gold upon the folk before their lord alaeddin, who overpassed them all of his grace and goodliness, and ask thou not of kings' sons, [ ] extolled be the perfection of the giver, the eternal! now all this was of the virtue of the wonderful lamp, [ ] which gifted whoso possessed it with goodliness and grace and wealth and wisdom. the folk marvelled at alaeddin's bounty and at the excess of his munificence and were amazed when they saw that which graced him of beauty and goodliness and his courtliness and dignity; yea, they extolled the perfection of the compassionate one for this his noble creature and all of them great and small [ ] called down blessings on him, albeit they knew him for the son of such an one the tailor; yet none envied him, but all said, "he is deserving." so [ ] he fared on his way, with the mamelukes before him and behind him, scattering gold upon the folk, till he came to the palace. now the sultan had summoned to his presence the chiefs of his state and telling them that he had passed his word for the marriage of his daughter to alaeddin, bade them await the latter, commanding them that, when he came, they should all go out to meet him; moreover, he assembled the amirs and viziers and chamberlains and guards and captains of the troops and they were all awaiting alaeddin at the door of the palace. when he arrived, he would have dismounted at the door, but there came up to him one of the amirs, whom the sultan had deputed to that office, and said to him, "o my lord, the commandment is that thou enter, riding on thy charger, so thou mayst alight at the door of the divan." so they all forewent him and he entered till they brought him to the door of the divan. there sundry of them came forward and held his stirrup, whilst some supported him on both sides and other some took him by the hand, and so they dismounted him. then the amirs and officers of state forewent him and brought him into the divan, till he drew near the sultan's throne; whereupon the latter came down forthright from his seat and embracing him, hindered him from kissing the carpet and seated him beside himself on his right hand. alaeddin did that which behoveth and befitteth unto kings of obeisance and invocation and said to him, "o our lord the sultan, thy grace's munificence hath vouchsafed [ ] to accord me the lady bedrulbudour thy daughter, albeit i am unworthy of this great favour, for that i am of the lowliest of thy slaves; wherefore i beseech god that he keep and continue thee. indeed, o king, my tongue faileth to thank thee [as were behoving] for the greatness of this boon, overpassing its competence, [ ] wherewith thou hast favoured me, and i beseech thy grace to vouchsafe me ground, such as is meet, so i may build thereon a palace that shall be fit for the lady bedrulbudour." the sultan was amazed when he saw alaeddin in this regal array and beheld his grace and goodliness and the mamelukes standing in attendance upon him in all their comeliness and fair favour; yea, and his wonderment redoubled when alaeddin's mother came up attired in rich and costly raiment, as she were a queen, and he saw twelve slave-girls in her service, preceding her, their hands clasped behind their backs, with all worship and observance. moreover, he noted alaeddin's eloquence and the elegance of his speech and was amazed thereat, he and all who were present with him in the divan, whilst fire was kindled in the vizier's heart for envy of alaeddin, so that he was like to die. then, after the sultan had heard alaeddin's compliment and had seen the greatness of his quality and his modesty and eloquence, he strained him to his bosom and kissed him, saying, "it irketh me, o my son, that i have not known thee [ ] before to-day." so, [ ] when he saw alaeddin on this fashion, he rejoiced in him with an exceeding joy and at once bade the music [ ] and the drums [ ] strike up; then, rising, he took him by the hand and carried him into the palace, where the evening-meal had been made ready and the servants set the tables. there he sat down and seated alaeddin on his right hand; whereupon the viziers and chiefs of the state and the grandees of the realm sat also, each in his several room, whilst the drums beat and they held high festival in the palace. [ ] the sultan proceeded to make familiar with alaeddin and to talk with him, and alaeddin answered him with all courtliness and fluency, as he had been bred in kings' palaces or as he were their constant associate; [ ] and the more the talk was prolonged between them, the more gladness and joy redoubled on the sultan for that which he heard of the goodliness of alaeddin's answers and the sweetness of his speech. then, when they had eaten and drunken and the tables were removed, the sultan bade fetch the cadis and the witnesses; so they came and knotted the knot and wrote the writ [of marriage] between alaeddin and the lady bedrulbudour. therewith alaeddin arose and would have taken leave; but the sultan laid hold on him and said to him, "whither away, o my son? the bride-feast is toward and the bride present; the knot is knotted and the writ written." "o my lord the king," answered alaeddin, "i would fain build the lady bedrulbudour a palace, besorting her rank and station, and it may not be that i should go in to her without this; but, god willing, the building shall, by the diligent endeavour of thy slave and by thy grace's auspice, [ ] be right speedily despatched. indeed, i long for present enjoyment of the lady bedrulbudour; but it behoveth me [first] apply myself to that which is incumbent on me for her service." [ ] quoth the sultan, "o my son, look thyself out the ground which thou deemest apt to thine end and take it. all is in thy hand; [ ], but here before my palace is a spacious piece of ground, which meseemeth were best; so, if it please thee, build thou the palace thereon." and alaeddin answered him, saying, "indeed, it is my utmost desire to be near thy grace." then he took leave of the sultan and going forth, mounted and rode, with his mamelukes before him and behind him, whilst the folk all prayed for him and said, "by allah, he is deserving!" till he came to his house and alighting from his stallion, entered his chamber and rubbed the lamp; whereupon the genie stood before him and said to him, "seek what thou wilt, o my lord" quoth alaeddin, "i desire of thee an important service, to wit, that thou build me with all speed a palace before that of the sultan, which shall be marvellous in its building, never saw kings its like, and be it complete with all its requisites of kingly and magnificent furniture and so forth." "hearkening and obedience," replied the genie and [ ] disappeared; but, before the dawn broke, he came to alaeddin and said to him, "o my lord, the palace is finished to the utmost of the wish; wherefore, an thou wouldst see it, arise forthright and look on it." so alaeddin arose and the genie carried him, in the twinkling of an eye, to the palace, which when he saw, he was amazed at its building, for that all its stones were of jade and alabaster and porphyry and mosaic. the genie carried him into a treasury full of all manner of gold and silver and precious jewels past count or reckoning, price or estimation; then he brought him into another place, where he saw all the requisites of the table, platters and spoons and ewers and basins and cups, of gold and silver, and thence to the kitchen, where he found cooks, [ ] with their cooking-gear and utensils, all on like wise of gold and silver. moreover, he brought him into a place, which he found full of coffers overflowing with royal raiment, such as ravished the wit, gold-inwoven stuffs, indian and chinese, and brocades, and he showed him also many other places, all full of that which beggareth description, till at last he brought him into a stable, wherein were horses whose like is not found with the kings of the world; and therewithin he showed him a storehouse, full of housings and saddles of price, all broidered with pearls and precious stones and so forth. alaeddin was amazed and bewildered at the greatness of these riches, whereunto the mightiest king in the world might not avail, and all the work of one night; more by token that the palace was full of slaves and slave girls such as would bewitch a saint with their loveliness. but the most marvellous of all was that he saw in the palace an upper hall [ ] and [ ] a belvedere [ ] with four-and-twenty oriels, all wroughten of emeralds and rubies and other jewels, and of one of these oriels the lattice-work was by his desire left unfinished, [ ] so the sultan should fail of its completion. when he had viewed the palace, all of it, he rejoiced and was exceeding glad; then he turned to the genie and said to him, "i desire of thee one thing which is lacking and whereof i had forgotten to bespeak thee." quoth the slave, "seek what thou wilt, o my lord;" and alaeddin said to him, "i will have thee bring me a carpet of fine brocade, all inwoven with gold, and spread it from my palace to that of the sultan, so the lady bedrulbudour, whenas she cometh hither, may walk thereon and not upon the earth." so the genie was absent a little and returning, said to him, "o my lord, that which thou soughtest of me is here." therewithal he took him and showed him the carpet, which ravished the wit, and it was spread from the sultan's palace to that of alaeddin; then taking him up, he set him down in his own house. it [ ] was now grown high day; so the sultan arose from sleep and opening a window of his pavilion, looked forth and saw buildings [ ] before his palace; whereupon he fell to rubbing his eyes and opening them wide and looking farther, saw a magnificent palace, that bewildered the wits, and a carpet spread therefrom to his own palace; as on like wise did the doorkeepers and all who were in the palace, and their wits were bewildered at the sight. at this juncture the vizier presented himself and as he entered, he espied the new palace and the carpet and marvelled also; so, when he came in to the sultan, the twain fell to talking of this strange matter and marvelling, for that they saw a thing which amazed the beholder and dilated the heart; and they said, "verily, methinketh kings may not avail unto the building of the like of this palace." then the sultan turned to the vizier and said to him, "how now? deemest thou alaeddin worthy to be bridegroom to my daughter the lady bedrulbudour? hast thou seen and considered this royal building and all these riches which man's wit cannot comprehend?" the vizier, of his envy of alaeddin, answered him, saying, "o king of the age, indeed this palace and its building and all these riches may not be but by means of enchantment, for that no man among men, no, not the mightiest of them in dominion or the greatest in wealth, might avail to upraise and stablish [the like of] this building in one night." quoth the sultan, "i marvel at thee how thou still deemest evil of alaeddin; but methinketh it ariseth from thine envy of him, for that thou wast present when he sought of me a place whereon to build a palace for my daughter and i accorded him, before thee, [leave to build] a palace on this ground; and he who brought me, to my daughter's dower, jewels such that no kings possess one thereof, shall he lack ableness to build a palace like this?" when [ ] the vizier heard the sultan's speech and understood that he loved alaeddin greatly, his envy of him increased; withal he availed not to do aught against him, so he was dumb and could make the sultan no answer. meanwhile alaeddin--seeing that it was high day and that the time was come when he should go to the palace, for that his wedding-festivities were toward and the amirs and viziers and chiefs of the state were all with the sultan, so they might be present at the bridal--arose and rubbed the lamp; whereupon the genie presented himself and said to him, "o my lord, seek what thou wilt, for that i am before thee, at thy service." quoth alaeddin, "i purpose presently to go to the sultan's palace, and to-day is the wedding; wherefore i have occasion for ten thousand diners, which i will have thee bring me." the slave was absent the twinkling of an eye and returned to him with the money; whereupon alaeddin arose and taking horse, with his mamelukes behind him and before him, rode to the palace, scattering gold upon the folk, as he passed, so that they were fulfilled with the love of him and the greatness of his munificence. [ ] when he came to the palace and the amirs and eunuchs and soldiers, who were standing awaiting him, saw him, they hastened forthright to the sultan and told him; whereupon he arose and coming to meet him, embraced him and kissed him; then he took him by the hand and carried him into the palace where he sat down and seated him on his right hand. now the city was all adorned and the instruments [of music] were smiting in the palace and the singing-women singing. then the sultan trade serve the morning-meal; so the slaves and mamelukes hastened to spread the table and it was such as kings might take example by. [ ] the sultan sat with alaeddin and the officers of state and the chiefs of the realm and they ate and drank till they were satisfied; and great was the rejoicing in the palace and the city. glad were all the chiefs of the state and the folk rejoiced in all the realm, whilst there came from far regions the notables of the provinces and the governors of the cities, so they might see alaeddin's wedding and his bride-feast. the sultan still marvelled in himself at alaeddin's mother, how she had come to him in poor clothes, whilst her son had command of this exceeding wealth; and as for the folk, who came to the sultan's palace, to gaze upon the wedding-festivities, when they saw alaeddin's palace and the goodliness of its building, there took them great wonderment how so magnificent a building had been upreared in one night and they fell all to praying for alaeddin and saying, "god prosper him! by allah, he is deserving. god's blessing on his days!" meanwhile [ ] alaeddin, having made an end of the morning-meal, arose and taking leave of the sultan, mounted with his mamelukes and rode to his palace, so he might prepare for the reception of his bride, the lady bedrulbudour. as he passed, all the folk cried out to him with one voice, saying, "god gladden thee! god increase thee in glory! god continue thee!" and so they brought him home in great procession, what while he showered gold on them. when he came to his palace, he alighted and entering, sat down in the divan, whilst the mamelukes stood before him with clasped hands. after a little they brought him sherbets and he gave commandment to his mamelukes and slave-girls and eunuchs and all who were in his palace that they should make ready to receive the lady bedrulbudour, his bride. then, when it was the time of the midafternoon prayer [ ] and the air grew cool and the heat of the sun abated, [ ] the sultan bade the troops and the amirs and the viziers go down to the horse-course. so they all repaired thither and with them the sultan himself; whereupon alaeddin also arose and mounting with his mamelukes, went down into the plain and showed his horsemanship; then he fell to playing [ ] in the tilting-ground and there was none could stand before him. now he was riding a stallion whose like is not among the horses of the arabs of the arabs [ ] and his bride the lady bedrulbudour was looking upon him from the window of her pavilion, and when she saw his grace and goodliness and knightly prowess, she was overcome with his love and was like to fly for joy in him. then, after they had played [some] bouts [ ] in the plain and each had shown what was in him of horsemanship, (but alaeddin overpassed them all,) the sultan went to his palace and alaeddin on like wise returned home. when it was eventide, the chiefs of the state and the viziers went and taking alaeddin, carried him in procession to the royal bath, the renowned; [ ] so he entered and bathed and perfumed himself, then, coming forth, he donned a suit yet richer than the first and mounted, whilst the troops rode before him and the amirs and viziers. so they fared on with him in great state, with four of the viziers for his sword-bearers, whilst all the troops and people of the city, both townsfolk and strangers, walked in procession before him, carrying flambeaux and drums and flutes and instruments of mirth and music, till they brought him to his palace, when he alighted and entering, sat down, as did also the viziers and amirs who were in his company, whilst the mamelukes brought sherbets and sweetmeats [ ] and gave all who were with him in the procession to drink, albeit they were a multitude of folk whose number might not be told. moreover, he gave commandment unto his mamelukes, and they went out to the door of the palace and fell to showering gold upon the folk. meanwhile, [ ] when the sultan returned from the horse-course and entered his palace, he bade forthright carry his daughter the lady bedrulbudour in procession to the palace of her bridegroom alaeddin. so the troops forthright mounted with the officers of state, who had been in alaeddin's procession, and the slave-girls and eunuchs went out with flambeaux and carried the lady bedrulhudour in great state to her bridegroom's palace, alaeddin's mother by her side and before her the women of the viziers and amirs and grandees and notables. moreover, she had with her eight and-forty slave-girls, whom alaeddin had presented to her, in each one's hand a great candle of camphor and ambergris, set in a candlestick of gold, studded with jewels; and all the men and women in the palace went out with her and fared on before her, till they brought her to her bridegroom's palace and carrying her up to her pavilion, [ ] attired her in various robes [ ] and displayed her. then, after they had made an end of displaying her, they carried her to the pavilion of her groom alaeddin and he went in to her. now his mother was with the lady bedrulbudour, and when he came up and did off her veil, she fell to gazing upon the bride's beauty and grace and looked at the pavilion, the which was all wroughten [ ] of gold and jewels and therein were golden lustres, all embossed with emeralds and rubies; and she said in herself, "methought the sultan's palace was magnificent; but, for this pavilion [ ] alone, i doubt me the greatest of the chosroes and the kings never owned its match; nor, methinketh, might all mankind avail to make the like thereof." and the lady bedrulbudour also fell to looking and marvelling at the palace [ ] and its magnificence. then the table was laid and they ate and drank and made merry; and presently there appeared before them fourscore slave-girls, each with an instrument in her hand of the instruments of mirth and music. so they plied their finger-tips and touching their strings, struck up with plaintive airs, till they clove in sunder the hearts of the listeners, whilst the lady bedrulbudour redoubled in wonderment and said in herself, "never in my life heard i the like of these songs;" so that she forgot to eat and fell to listening. as for alaeddin, he proceeded to pour to her the wine and give her to drink with his own hand, and mirth and good cheer and delight went round among them and it was a rare night, such as iskender of the horns [ ] never in his time spent. then, after they had made an end of eating and drinking, the tables were removed from before them and alaeddin arose and went in to his bride. when it was the morning, alaeddin arose and his treasurer brought him a costly suit of the richest of kings' raiment; so he donned it and sat down; whereupon coffee was brought him with ambergris and he drank thereof and called for the horses. accordingly, they were saddled and he mounted and rode, with his mamelukes behind him and before him, to the sultan's palace. when he reached it and entered, the eunuchs went in and acquainted the sultan with his presence; which [ ] when he heard, he arose forthwith and coming to meet alaeddin, embraced him and kissing him, as he were his son, seated him on his right hand. moreover the viziers and amirs and officers of state and grandees of the realm invoked blessings on him and the sultan gave him joy [ ] and prayed god prosper him. then he bade lay breakfast; [ ] so they laid [it] and they all broke their fast; and after they had eaten and drunken their sufficiency and had finished and the servants had removed the tables from before them, alaeddin turned to the sultan and said to him, "o my lord, [belike] thy grace will vouchsafe to honour me this day at the morning-meal [ ] with the lady bedrulbudour, thy precious daughter, and be thy grace's company all thy viziers and the chief officers of thy state." quoth the sultan, (and indeed he rejoiced in him), "gladly, [ ] o my son," and bidding the viziers and officers of state and grandees attend him, arose forthright and mounted; whereupon alaeddin and the others mounted also and they all rode till they came to alaeddin's palace. when the sultan entered the palace and viewed its building and ordinance and saw its stones, which were of jade and agate, he was amazed [ ] and his wit was bewildered at that affluence and wealth and magnificence; so he turned to the vizier and said to him, "how sayst thou, o vizier? hast thou in all thy days seen aught like this? are there found with the greatest of the kings of the world riches and gold and jewels such as these we see in this palace?" "o my lord the king," answered the vizier, "this is a thing beyond the competence of a king of the sons of adam, nor might all the people of the earth together avail to build a palace like this; nay, there are no craftsmen living able to do work like this, except it be, as i said to thy grace, by might of magic." [ ] the sultan knew that the vizier, in seeking to convince him that this was not by might of men, but all of it enchantment, still spoke not but of his envy of alaeddin; so he said to him, "enough, o vizier; let us have no more of thy talk. i know the cause which maketh thee speak on this wise." then alaeddin forewent the sultan till he brought him to the high pavilion [ ] and he looked at the belvedere [ ] and its oriols [ ] and lattices, [ ] all wroughten of emeralds and rubies and other precious stones, and was amazed and astonied; his wit was bewildered and he abode perplexed in his thought. then he fell to going round about the pavilion and viewing these things that ravished the sight, till presently he espied the casement [ ] which alaeddin had purposely left wanting and unfinished. when the sultan examined it and saw that it was unfinished, he said, "woe is me for thee, o casement, that thou art not perfect!" then, turning to the vizier, he said to him, "knowest thou the reason of the lack of completion of this casement and its lattices?" "o [ ] my lord," answered the vizier, "methinketh it is because thy grace hastened upon alaeddin with the wedding and he had no time to complete it." now alaeddin had meanwhile gone in to his bride, the lady bedrulbudour, to acquaint her with the coming of her father the sultan; and when he returned, the sultan said to him, "o my son alaeddin, what is the reason that the lattice[-work] of yonder oriel [ ] is not completed?" "o king of the age," replied alaeddin, "by reason of the haste made with the bridal, the craftsmen might not avail to [ ] finish it." quoth the sultan to him, "it is my wish to finish it myself." and alaeddin answered, saying, "god prolong thy glory, o king; so shall there remain unto thee a remembrance [ ] in thy daughter's palace." accordingly the sultan bade straightway fetch jewellers and goldsmiths and commanded to give them from the treasury all that they needed of gold and jewels and [precious] metals; so they came and he bade them do that which was wanting of the lattice-work of the [unfinished] oriel. [ ] meanwhile, the lady bedrulbudour came out to receive her father the sultan, and when she came up to him and he saw her smiling-faced he embraced her and kissed her and taking her [by the hand], went in with her to her pavilion. so they entered all, for that it was the appointed time of the morning-meal and they had set one table for the sultan and the lady bedrulbudour and alaeddin and another for the vizier and the officers of state and grandees of the realm and captains and chamberlains and deputies. the sultan sat between his daughter, the lady bedrulbudour, and his son-in-law alaeddin, and when he put his hand to the food and tasted it, wonder took him at the richness of the meats and the exquisiteness of their seasonings. [ ] now there stood before them fourscore damsels, each as it were she said to the full moon, "rise, so i may sit in thy place;" and in each one's hand was an instrument of mirth and music. so they tuned their instruments and touched their strings and struck up with plaintive [ ] airs that dilated the mourning heart. [ ] the sultan was cheered and the time was pleasant to him and he rejoiced and said, "verily, kings and kaisers would fail of [ ] this thing." then they fell to eating and drinking and the cup went round among them till they had taken their sufficiency, when there came sweetmeats [ ] and various kinds of fruits and so forth; and these were laid in another saloon. so they removed thither and took their fill of those dainties; after which the sultan arose, that he might see if the work of the jewellers and goldsmiths likened that of the palace. so he went up to them and viewed their work and how they wrought and saw that they were far from availing to do work like that [of the rest] of alaeddin's palace. [ ] moreover [ ] they told him that all they found in his treasury they had brought and it sufficed not; whereupon he bade open the great treasury and give them what they needed and that, if it sufficed not, they should take that which alaeddin had given him. so they took all the jewels assigned them by the sultan and wrought with them, but found that these also sufficed them not, nor might they complete withal the half of that which lacked of the lattice work of the oriel; [ ] whereupon the sultan bade take all the jewels which should be found with the viziers and chiefs of the state; and accordingly they took them all and wrought therewith; but this also sufficed not. when it was morning, alaeddin went up to view the jewelers' work and saw that they had not completed half the lacking lattice-work; whereupon he bade them incontinent undo all that they had wrought and restore the jewels to their owners. accordingly, they undid it all and sent to the sultan that which was his and to the viziers [and others] that which was theirs. then they went to the sultan and told him that alaeddin had commanded them of this; whereupon he asked them, "what said he to you and why would he not have the lattice-work finished and why undid he that which you had done?" and they said to him, "o my lord, we know nothing, save that he bade us undo all that we had done." whereupon the sultan immediately called for the horses and arising, mounted and rode to alaeddin's palace. meanwhile alaeddin, after dismissing the goldsmiths and the jewellers, entered his closet and rubbed the lamp; whereupon the genie forthwith appeared and said to him, "seek what thou wilt; thy slave is before thee." and alaeddin said to him, "it is my will that thou complete the lacking lattice-work of the oriel." [ ] "on my head and eyes [be it]," replied the slave and disappearing, returned after a little and said to him, "o my lord, that whereof thou commandedst me i have performed." so alaeddin went up to the belvedere [ ] and found all its lattices [ ] perfect; and whilst he was viewing them, behold the [chief] eunuch [ ] came in to him and said to him, "o my lord, the sultan cometh to visit thee and is at the palace-door." so he came down forthright and went to meet the sultan, who [ ] said to him, when he saw him, "wherefore, o my son, hast thou done thus, and why sufferedst thou not the jewellers complete the lattice-work of the oriel, [ ] so there might not remain a place in thy palace [ ] defective?" "o king of the age," answered alaeddin, "i left it not imperfect but of my free will, nor did i lack of ableness to complete it. however, i could not brook that thy grace should honour me [with thy presence] in a palace [ ] wherein there was somewhat lacking; wherefore, so thou mayst know that it was not for lack of ableness that i left it uncomplete, [ ] let thy grace go up and see the lattice-work of the kiosk, [ ] an there be aught lacking thereto." the sultan accordingly went up to the pavilion [ ] and entering the kiosk, [ ] viewed it right and left and saw no manner defect in its lattices, but found them all perfect; whereat he was astounded and embracing alaeddin, fell a-kissing him and saying, "o my son, what is this extraordinary thing? in one night thou dost a work wherefrom the jewellers would fail in months! by allah, methinketh thou hast not thy fellow [ ] in the world!" quoth alaeddin, "god prolong thy life and perpetuate thy continuance! thy slave is not worthy of this praise." "by allah, o my son," rejoined the sultan, "thou deservest all praise, in that thou hast done a thing wherefrom [all the] craftsmen of the world would fail." then he went down and entering the pavilion of his daughter, the lady bedrulbudour, found her rejoicing exceedingly over this great magnificence wherein she was; and after he had rested with her awhile, he returned to his palace. now alaeddin used every day to mount and ride through the town, with his mamelukes behind him and before him, strewing gold upon the people, right and left, and the folk, stranger and neighbour, near and far, were fulfilled with the love of him for the excess of his munificence and his bounty. moreover he exceeded in benefaction of the poor and the indigent [ ] and used himself to distribute his alms to them with his own hand. after this fashion he won himself great renown in all the realm and the most of the chiefs of the state and the amirs used to eat at his table and swore not but by his precious life. moreover, he fell to going everywhile [ ] to the chase and the horse course and to practicing horsemanship and archery [ ] before the sultan, whilst the lady bedrulbudour redoubled in love of him, whenassoever she saw him disporting himself a horseback, and thought in herself that god had wrought exceeding graciously by her in that there had befallen her what befell with the vizier's son, so he might keep her for her true bridegroom alaeddin. so [ ] he went daily waxing in goodliness of repute and in praise and the love of him redoubled in the hearts of the common folk and he was magnified in men's eyes. now in those days certain of the sultan's enemies took horse against him; so he levied troops to repel them and made alaeddin chief thereof. alaeddin set out with his host and fared on till he drew near the enemy, whose troops were exceeding many; where upon he drew his sword and fell upon them and there befell battle and slaughter and sore was the stress of the mellay; but alaeddin broke them and routed them and slew the most part of them. moreover, he plundered their goods and possessions and gat him spoil beyond count or reckoning, wherewith he returned in triumph, [having gained] a great victory, and entered the city, which had adorned itself for him of its joy in him. the sultan came out to meet him and give him joy and embraced him and kissed him, and there was high festival holden in the kingdom and great rejoicing. then the sultan and alaeddin betook themselves to the latter's palace; [ ] whereupon his bride, the lady bedrulbudour, came out to meet him, rejoicing in him, and kissed him between the eyes, and he went in with her to her pavilion; [ ] whither after a little came the sultan and they sat down and the slave-girls brought sherbets. [ ] so they drank and the sultan commanded that all the realm should be decorated for alaeddin's victory over the enemy; whilst it became [a saying] with the commons and the troops and the folk, all of them, "allah in heaven and alaeddin on earth." and they loved him yet more, having regard not only to the excess of his bounty and munificence, but to his knightly prowess, in that he had done battle for the kingdom and had routed the enemy. so much for alaeddin, and now to return to the mangrabin enchanter. when he returned to his country, he abode all this time, bewailing that which he had endured of toil and stress, so he might compass the lamp, yet had his travail all been wasted and the morsel had escaped from his hand, after it had reached his mouth; and he still thought upon all this, bemoaning himself and reviling alaeddin of the excess of his anger against him; and whiles he said in himself, "since yonder whoreson is dead under the earth, i am content withal and i have hopes of the lamp, that i may yet achieve it, inasmuch as it is still safeguarded." then, one day of the days, he smote the sand and extracting the figures, set them down after the most approved fashion [ ] and adjusted [ ] them, so he might see and certify himself of the death of alaeddin and the safe keeping of the lamp under the earth; and he looked well into [ ] the figures, both mothers and daughters, [ ] but saw not the lamp, whereupon rage overrode him and he smote the sand a second time, that he might certify himself of alaeddin's death, but saw him not in the treasure; whereat he redoubled in wrath, and yet more when it was certified to him that the lad was alive upon the surface of the earth and he knew that he had come forth from under the ground and had gotten the lamp, on account whereof he himself had suffered toil and torment such as passeth man's power to endure. so he said in himself, "i have suffered many hardships for the sake of the lamp and have endured fatigues such as none but i might brook, [ ] and now yonder accursed one taketh it without stress and it is evident [ ] [that], an he have learned the use thereof, there will be none in the world richer than he." then, [ ] when he saw and was certified that alaeddin had come forth from under the earth and had happened upon the good of the lamp, [ ] he said in himself, "needs must i go about to kill him." so he smote the sand once more and examining its figures, saw that alaeddin had gotten him exceeding wealth and had married the sultan's daughter; whereat he was all afire for rage and envy and arising then and there, equipped himself for travel and set out for the land of china. when he came to the city of the sultanate, [ ] wherein was alaeddin, he entered and alighting at one of the khans, heard the folk talking of nought but the magnificence of alaeddin's palace; then, after he was rested from his journey, he changed [ ] his clothes and went down to go round about in the thoroughfares of the city. he passed no folk but they were descanting upon the palace and its magnificence and talking of alaeddin's grace and comeliness and his bounty and munificence and the goodliness of his manners and disposition; so [ ] he went up to one of those who were extolling alaeddin on this wise and said to him, "prithee, fair youth, who is this whom you describe and praise?" "o man," replied the other, "meseemeth thou art a stranger and comest from afar; but, granting thou art from a far country, hast thou not heard of the amir alaeddin, whose repute, methought, filled the earth, and of his palace, a wonder of the world, whereof both far and near have heard? how is it thou hast heard nought of this nor of the name of alaeddin, whom our lord increase in glory and prosper?" quoth the maugrabin, "marry, it is the utmost of my wish to look upon the palace; so, an thou wouldst do me a kindness, direct me thither, for that i am a stranger." "hearkening and obedience," replied the other and going before him, guided him to alaeddin's palace. the maugrabin fell to examining it and knew that this all of it was the work of the lamp; so he said, "alack! alack! needs must i dig a pit for this accursed one, this tailor's son, who could not come by a night's supper; but, an destiny enable me, i will send his mother back to spin at her wheel, like as she did erst, and as for him, it shall cost him [ ] his life." then he returned to the khan in a woeful state of chagrin and colour and despite, for envy of alaeddin, and [ ] taking his geomantic instruments, [ ] smote his [tablet of] sand, so he might learn where the lamp was, and found that it was in the palace and not with alaeddin; [ ] whereat he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and said, "now it will be an easy matter for me to bereave this accursed of his life and i have a way to come at the lamp." accordingly he went to a coppersmith and said to him, "make me so many [ ] lamps [ ] and take of me their worth in full; [ ] but i will have thee despatch them quickly." "hearkening and obedience," replied the smith and falling to work on them, speedily despatched them for him. when they were finished, the maugrabin paid him their price, even that which he sought, and taking the lamps, carried them to the khan, where he laid them in a basket and fell to going round about in the markets and thoroughfares of the city and crying out, "ho! who will barter an old lamp for a new lamp?" when the folk heard him crying this, they laughed at him and said, "certes, this man is mad, since he goeth about, bartering new lamps for old." moreover, people [ ] followed him and the street-boys caught him up from place to place [ ] and laughed at him. however, he fended not himself neither took heed of this, but ceased not to go round about the city till he came under alaeddin's palace, where he fell to crying his loudest, whilst the children called after him, "madman! madman!" now as fate willed it, the lady bedrulbudour was in the kiosk and hearing one crying out and the boys calling after him and understanding not what was toward, bade one of the slave-girls "go see what is this man who crieth out and what he crieth." so the girl went and looking, saw one crying out, "ho, who will barter an old lamp for a new lamp?" with the boys after him, laughing at him; so she returned and told her mistress, saying, "o my lady, this man crieth, 'ho! who will barter an old lamp for a new lamp?' and the boys are following him and laughing at him;" and the lady bedrulbudour laughed also at this marvel. now alaeddin had forgotten the lamp in his pavilion, [ ] without locking it up in his treasury [as was his wont], and one of the girls had seen it; so she said to the princess, "o my lady, methinketh i have seen an old lamp in my lord alaeddin's pavilion; let us barter it with this man for a new one, so we may see an his speech be true or leasing." and [ ] the princess said to her, "fetch the lamp whereof thou speakest." now the lady bedrulbudour had no knowledge of the lamp and its properties, neither knew she that this it was which had brought alaeddin her husband to that great estate, and it was the utmost of her desire to prove and see the wit of this man who bartered new for old, nor was any one aware of the maugrabin enchanter's craft and trickery. so the slave-girl went up into alaeddin's pavilion and returned with the lamp to the lady bedrulbudour, who bade the aga of the eunuchs [ ] go down and exchange it for a new one; so he took it and going down, gave it to the maugrabin and took of him a new lamp, with which he returned to the princess, who examined it and finding it new and real, fell to laughing at the maugrabin's [lack of] wit. meanwhile, when the enchanter had gotten the lamp and knew it for that of the treasure, he thrust it forthwith into his sleeve [ ] and leaving the rest of the lamps to the folk who were in act to barter of him, set off running, till he came without the city, and walked about the waste places, awaiting the coming of the night. then, when he saw himself alone in the open country, he brought out the lamp from his sleeve and rubbed it; whereupon the marid immediately appeared to him and said, "here am i; thy slave [is] before thee. seek of me what thou wilt." quoth the maugrabin, "my will is that thou take up alaeddin's palace from its place, with its inhabitants and all that [ ] is therein and myself also, and set it down in my country of africa. [ ] thou knowest my town and i will have this palace be thereby among the gardens." "hearkening and obedience," replied the marid. "shut [thine] eye and open [thine] eye, and thou wilt find thyself in thine own country with the palace." and immediately this befell in the twinkling of an eye and the maugrabin was transported, with alaeddin's palace and all that was therein, to the land of africa. so much for the enchanter, and now let us return to the sultan and alaeddin. the sultan, of his love and affection for his daughter the lady bedrulbudour, was wont, every day, when he awoke from his sleep, to open the window and look at her therefrom; so he arose on the morrow, according to his wont, and opened his chamber-window, so he might see his daughter; but [ ] when he put out his head and looked for alaeddin's palace, he beheld nothing but a place swept [and level], like as it was aforetime, and saw neither palace nor inhabitants; [ ] whereat amazement clad him and his wit was bewildered and he fell to rubbing his eyes, so haply they were bleared or dimmed. then he proceeded to look closely till at last he was certified that there was neither trace nor sign left of the palace and knew not what was come of it; whereupon he redoubled in perplexity and smote hand upon hand and his tears ran down upon his beard, for that he knew not what had befallen his daughter. so he sent forthright to fetch the vizier, who came in to him and seeing him in that woeful state, said to him, "pardon, o king of the age (god keep thee from harm!) why art thou woeful?" quoth the sultan, "meseemeth thou knowest not of my affair." and the vizier said to him, "by allah, o my lord, i have no knowledge of aught whatsoever." "then," rejoined the sultan, "thou hast not looked towards alaeddin's palace." "nay, o my lord," replied the vizier, "it is yet shut." and the sultan said to him, "since thou hast no news of aught, rise and look at it from the window and see where it is, this palace of alaeddin's, whereof thou sayest that it is yet shut." the vizier arose and looked from the window towards alaeddin's palace, but could see nothing, neither palace nor aught else; so his wit was bewildered and he was amazed and returned to the sultan, who said to him, "now knowest thou the cause of my distress and seest alaeddin his palace, whereof thou saddest that it was shut." "o king of the age," rejoined the vizier, "i told thy grace aforetime that this palace and these affairs were all of them [the work of] enchantment." at this the sultan was fired with wrath and said to him, "where is alaeddin?" and he answered, "he is at the chase." whereupon the sultan bade sundry of his eunuchs and officers go straightway fetch him bound and shackled. so they went till they came to alaeddin and said to him, "o our lord alaeddin, blame us not, for that the sultan hath bidden us carry thee to him, bound and shackled; wherefore we beseech thee of excusement, for that we are under a royal commandment and may not gainsay it." when alaeddin heard their speech, wonderment took him and his tongue was tied, for that he knew not the cause; then he turned to the eunuchs and officers and said, "prithee, sirs, [ ] have you no knowledge of the cause of this commandment of the sultan? i know myself guiltless, forasmuch as i have done no sin against the sultan nor against his realm." and they said to him, "o our lord, we have no manner of knowledge thereof." so alaeddin lighted down from his stallion and said to them, "do with me that which the sultan biddeth you, for that his commandment is upon the head and eyes." accordingly [ ] the officers shackled him and pinioning him, haled him along in irons and entered the city with him. the folk, seeing alaeddin pinioned and shackled with iron, knew that the sultan was minded to cut off his head, and forasmuch as he was extraordinarily beloved of them, they all gathered together and taking up arms, came forth their houses and followed the troops, so they might see what was to do. when the officers came with alaeddin to the palace, they entered and told the sultan, who immediately bade the headsman go and cut off his head. but the commons, hearing of this his commandment, shut the gates of the palace and sent to say to the sultan, "this very moment we will overthrow the palace upon thee and all who are therein, an the least harm happen to alaeddin." so the vizier went and told the sultan and said to him, "o king of the age, all will be over with us forthright; [ ] wherefore thou wert best pardon alaeddin, lest some calamity befall us, for that the commons love him more than us." now the headsman had spread the carpet of blood and seating alaeddin thereon, had bound his eyes and gone round him three times, [ ] awaiting the king's final commandment. the sultan looked at his subjects and seeing them swarming upon him and climbing up to the palace, that they might overthrow it, commanded the headsman to hold his hand from alaeddin and bade the crier go forth among the people and proclaim that he pardoned alaeddin and took him [again] into favour. when alaeddin found himself released and saw the sultan sitting, he went up to him and said to him, "o my lord, since thy grace hath bountifully vouchsafed me my life, [ ] favour me [yet farther] and tell me the manner of my offence." "o traitor," replied the sultan, "till [but] now i knew not thine offence;" then, turning to the vizier, he said to him, "take him, that he may see from the windows where his palace is." accordingly the vizier took him and alaeddin looked from the windows in the direction of his palace and finding the place swept and clear, like as it was before he built the palace thereon, neither seeing any trace of the latter, he was amazed and bewildered, unknowing what had happened. when he returned, the king said to him, "what hast thou seen? where is thy palace and where is my daughter, my heart's darling and mine only one, than whom i have none other?" and alaeddin answered him, saying, "o king of the age, i have no knowledge thereof, neither know i what hath befallen." and the sultan said to him, "know, o alaeddin, that i have pardoned thee, so thou mayst go and look into this affair and make me search for my daughter; and do not thou present thyself but with her; nay, an thou bring her not back to me, as my head liveth, i will cut off thine." "hearkening and obedience, o king of the age," replied alaeddin. "grant me but forty days' grace, and an i bring her not after that time, cut off my head and do what thou wilt." quoth [ ] the sultan to him, "i grant thee, according to thy request, the space of forty days; but think not to flee from my hand, for that i will fetch thee back, though thou wert above the clouds, not to say upon the face of the earth." "o my lord the sultan," rejoined alaeddin, "as i said to thy grace, an i bring her not to thee in this space of time, i will present myself before thee, that thou mayst cut off my head." now the commons and the folk, one and all, when they saw alaeddin, rejoiced in him with an exceeding joy and were glad for his deliverance; but the ignominy which had befallen him and shame and the exultation of the envious had bowed down his head; so he went forth and fell to going round about the city, perplexed anent his case and unknowing how all this had happened. he abode in the city two days in the woefullest of case, knowing not how he should do to find his palace and the lady bedrulbudour, his bride, what while certain of the folk used to come to him privily with meat and drink. then he went forth, wandering in the deserts and knowing not whitherward he should aim, and ceased not going till he came to a river; whereupon, his hope being cut off for stress of chagrin that possessed him, he thought to cast himself into the stream; but, for that he was a pious muslim, professing the unity of god, he feared god in himself and stood on the bank; of the stream to perform the ablution. [ ] so he took of the water in his hands and proceeded to rub between his fingers; and in doing this, his rubbing chanced upon the ring, whereupon a marid appeared to him and said to him, "here am i; thy slave is before thee. seek what thou wilt." when alaeddin saw the marid, he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and said to him, "o slave, i will have thee bring me my palace, with my bride, the lady bedrulbudour, and all that is therein." "o my lord," replied the marid, "it irketh me sore that what thou seekest of me is a thing unto which i cannot avail, for that it pertaineth unto the slaves of the lamp and i may not adventure upon it." "then," said alaeddin, "since this is not possible unto thee, take me and set me down beside my palace, in what land soever it is." "hearkening and obedience, o my lord," replied the marid and taking him up, set him down, in the twinkling of an eye, beside his palace in the land of africa and before his wife's pavilion. by this time, the night was come; so he looked at his palace and his cares and sorrows were dispelled from him and he trusted in god, after he had forsworn hope, that he should see his bride once again. then he fell to thinking upon the hidden mercies of god (glorified be his might!) and how he had vouchsafed [ ] him the ring and how his hope had been cut off, except god had provided him with the slave of the ring. so he rejoiced and all chagrin ceased from him; then, for that he had been four days without sleeping, of the stress of his chagrin and his trouble and his grief and the excess of his melancholy, he went to the side of the palace and lay down under a tree; for that, as i have said, the palace was among the gardens of africa without the city. [ ] he [ ] lay that night under the tree in all ease; but he whose head is in the headsman's hand sleepeth not anights. [ ] however, fatigue and lack of sleep for four days past caused slumber get the mastery over him; [ ] so he slept till break of morn, when he awoke at the chirp [ ] of the sparrows. he arose and going to a stream there which flowed into the city, washed his hands and face; then, making the ablution, he prayed the morning-prayer and after returned and sat under the windows of the lady bedrulbudour's pavilion. now the princess, of the excess of her grief for her separation from her husband and the sultan her father and of her sore distress at that which had betided her with the accursed maugrabin enchanter, used every day to arise, at the first peep of dawn, [ ] and sit weeping; nay, she slept not anights and forswore meat and drink. her handmaid used to go in to her at the time of the salutation, [ ] so she might dress her, and that morning, by the decree of destiny, the damsel opened the window at that time, thinking to solace her mistress with the sight of the trees and streams. so she looked out and seeing her lord alaeddin sitting under the windows of the pavilion, said to the princess, "o my lady, my lady, here is my lord alaeddin sitting under the pavilion!" whereupon the lady bedrulbudour arose in haste and looking from the window, saw alaeddin, and he raised his head and saw her; so she saluted him and he her and they were both like to fly for joy. then said she to him, "arise and come in to me by the privy door, for that the accursed one [ ] is not now here;" and she bade her handmaid go down and open the door. so the damsel went down and opened to alaeddin, who arose and entered thereby. his wife, [ ] the lady bedrulbudour, met him at the door and they embraced and kissed each other with all joyance, till they fell a-weeping of the excess of their gladness. then they sat down and alaeddin said to her, "o lady bedrulbudour, there is somewhat whereof i would ask thee, before all things. i used to lay an old copper lamp in such a place in my pavilion..." when the princess heard this, she sighed and answered him, saying, "o my beloved, it was that which was the cause of our falling into this calamity." [ ] quoth he, "how came this about?" so she acquainted him with the whole matter from first to last, telling him how they had bartered the old lamp for a new one; "and next morning," added she, "we found ourselves in this country and he who had cozened me and changed the lamp told me that he had wroughten these tricks upon us of the might of his magic, by means of the lamp and that he is a maugrabin from africa [ ] and that we are now in his native land." when [ ] she had made an end of her story, alaeddin said to her, "tell me, what does this accursed one purpose with thee; what saith he to thee and of what doth he bespeak thee and what is his will of thee?" "every day," answered the princess, "he cometh to me once and no more and seeketh to draw me to his love, willing me take him in thy stead and forget and renounce thee; nay, he told me that my father the sultan had cut off thy head. moreover, he useth to say to me of thee that thou art the son of poor folk and that he was the cause of thine enrichment and seeketh to cajole me with talk, but never hath he seen of me aught but tears and weeping or heard from me one soft word." [ ] quoth alaeddin, "tell me where he layeth the lamp, an thou knowest." and she said, "he still carrieth it [about him] nor will part with it a moment; nay, when he acquainted me with that whereof i have told thee, he brought out the lamp from his sleeve and showed it to me" when alaeddin heard this, he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and said to her, "harkye, lady bedrulbudour; it is my present intent to go out and return in disguise. [ ] marvel thou not at this and let one of thy slave-girls abide await at the privy door, to open to me forthright, when she seeth me coming; and i will cast about for a device whereby i may slay this accursed one." then he rose and going forth the [privy] door of his palace, walked on till he encountered a peasant by the way and said to him, "harkye, sirrah, take my clothes and give me thine." the man demurred, but alaeddin enforced him and taking his clothes from him, donned them and gave him his own costly apparel. then he fared on in the high road till he came to the city and entering, betook himself to the drug-market, where for two diners he bought of [one of] the druggists two drachms of rare strong henbane, the son of its minute, [ ] and retracing his steps, returned to the palace. when the damsel saw him, she opened him the privy door and he went in to the lady bedrulbudour [ ] and said to her, "harkye, i will have thee dress and tire thyself and put away melancholy from thee; and when the accursed maugrabin cometh to thee, do thou receive him with 'welcome and fair welcome' and go to meet him with a smiling face and bid him come sup with thee and profess to him that thou hast forgotten thy beloved alaeddin and thy father and that thou lovest him with an exceeding love. moreover, do thou seek of him wine, and that red, [ ] and make him a show of all joy and gladness and drink to his health. [ ] then, when thou hast filled him two or three cups of wine, [ ] [watch] till thou take him off his guard; then put him this powder [ ] in the cup and fill it up with wine, and an he drink it, he will straightway turn over on his back, like a dead man." when the lady bedrulbudour heard alaeddin's words, she said! to him, "this is a thing exceeding hard on me to do; but it is lawful to slay this accursed, so we may be delivered from his uncleanness who hath made me rue thy separation and that of my father." then alaeddin ate and drank with his wife that which stayed his hunger and rising at once, went forth the palace; whereupon the lady bedrulbudour summoned her tirewoman, who busked her and adorned her, and she rose and donned fine clothes and perfumed herself. whilst she was thus engaged, the accursed maugrabin presented himself and was exceeding rejoiced to see her on this wise, more by token that she received him with a smiling face, contrary to her wont; so he redoubled in distraction for her love and longing for her. then she took him and seating him by her side, said to him, "o my beloved, an thou wilt, come hither to me this night and we will sup together. enough of mourning; for that, an i sat grieving a thousand years, what were the profit? alaeddin cannot return from the tomb and i have considered and believe [ ] that which thou saidst to me yesterday, to wit, that most like my father the sultan hath slain him, in the excess of his grief for my loss. nay, marvel not at me to-day, that i am changed since yesterday, for that i have bethought me to take thee to beloved and companion in alaeddin's stead, seeing there is left me no man other than thou. wherefore it is my hope that thou wilt come to-night, so we may sup together and drink somewhat of wine with each other, and i will have thee let me taste of the wine of thy country africa, for that belike it is better [than ours]. wine, indeed, i have by me; but it is that of our country, and i desire exceedingly to taste the wine of your country." when [ ] the maugrabin saw the love which the lady bedrulbudour professed to him and that she was changed from her whilom plight of grief, he thought that she had given up her hope of alaeddin; so he rejoiced greatly and said to her, "o my soul, hearkening and obedience unto all that which thou wiliest and biddest me withal. i have with me in my house a jar of the wine of our country, the which i have kept stored these eight years under the earth; so i go now to fill from it our sufficiency and will return to thee forthright." therewithal the lady bedrulbudour, that she might beguile him more and more, said to him, "o my beloved, do not thou go thyself and leave me. send one of thy servants to fill us from the jar and abide thou sitting with me, that i may take comfort in thee." "o my lady," answered he, "none knoweth the place of the jar save myself; but i will not keep thee waiting." [ ] so saying, he went out and returned after a little with their sufficiency of wine; and the lady bedrulbudour said to him, "thou hast been at pains [ ] [for me], and i have put thee to unease, [ ] o my beloved." "nay," answered he, "o [thou that art dear to me as] mine eyes, i am honoured by thy service." then she sat down with him at table and they both fell to eating. presently, the princess called for drink and the handmaid immediately filled her the cup; then she filled for the maugrabin and the lady bedrulbudour proceeded to drink to his life and health, [ ] and he also drank to her life and she fell to carousing [ ] with him. now she was unique in eloquence and sweetness of speech and she proceeded to beguile him and bespeak him with words significant [ ] and sweet, so she might entangle him yet straitlier in the toils of her love. the maugrabin thought that all this was true [ ] and knew not that the love she professed to him was a snare set for him to slay him. so he redoubled in desire for her and was like to die for love of her, when he saw from her that which she showed him of sweetness of speech and coquetry; [ ] his head swam with ecstasy [ ] and the world became changed [ ] in his eyes. when they came to the last of the supper and the princess knew that the wine had gotten the mastery in his head, she said to him, "we have in our country a custom, meknoweth not if you in this country use it or not." "and what is this custom?" asked the maugrabin. "it is," answered she, "that, at the end of supper, each lover taketh the other's cup and drinketh it." so saying, she took his cup and filling it for herself with wine, bade the handmaid give him her cup, wherein was wine mingled with henbane, even as she had taught her how she should do, for that all the slaves and slave-girls in the palace wished his death and were at one against him with the lady bedrulbudour. so the damsel gave him the cup, and he, hearing the princess's words and seeing her drink in his cup and give him to drink in hers, deemed himself iskender of the horns, whenas he saw from her all this love. then she bent towards him, swaying gracefully from side to side, and laying her hand on his, said, "o my life, here is thy cup with me and mine is with thee; thus do lovers drink one from other's cup." then she kissed [ ] his cup and drinking it off, set it down and came up to him and kissed him on the cheek; [ ] whereat he was like to fly for joy and purposing to do even as she had done, raised the cup to his mouth and drank it all off, without looking if there were aught therein or not; but no sooner had he done this than he turned over on his back, like a dead man, and the cup fell from his hand. the lady bedrulbudour rejoiced at this and the damsels ran, vying with each other in their haste, [ ] and opened the palace-door [ ] to alaeddin, their lord; whereupon he entered and [ ] going up to his wife's pavilion, [ ] found her sitting at the table and the maugrabin before her, as one slain. so he went up to the princess and kissed her and thanked her for this [that she had done] and rejoiced with an exceeding joy. then said he to her, "get thee now into thine inner chamber, thou and thy damsels, and leave me alone, so i may consider of that which i have to do." accordingly, the lady bedrulbudour tarried not, but entered the inner pavilion, she and her women; whereupon alaeddin arose and locked the door on them and going up to the maugrabin, put his hand to his sleeve and pulled out the lamp; after which he drew his sword and cut off the sorcerer's head. then he rubbed the lamp and the marid, its slave, appeared to him and said, "here am i, o my lord; what wiliest thou?" quoth alaeddin, "i will of thee that thou take up this palace from this country and carry it to the land of china and set it in the place where it was erst, before the sultan's palace." "hearkening and obedience, o my lord," replied the marid [and disappeared], whilst alaeddin went in and sat with the lady bedrulbudour his bride and embraced her and kissed her and she him; and they sat talking and making merry, what while the marid took up the palace with [ ] them and set it down in its place before the sultan's palace. presently alaeddin called for food; so the slave-girls set the tray before him and he sat, he and the lady bedrulbudour his wife, and ate and drank in all joy and gladness till they had taken their sufficiency. then they removed to the chamber of wine and carousel, where they sat drinking and making merry and kissing one another with all eagerness, for that it was long since they had had easance together; and they ceased not from this till the sun of wine rose in their heads and sleep took them; whereupon they arose and lay down on their bed in all rest and delight. in the morning alaeddin arose and aroused his wife, whereupon her women came to her and dressed her and busked her and adorned her; whilst he, on his part, donned the richest of raiment, [ ] and both were like to fly for joy at their reunion with each other, after their separation, whilst the lady bedrulbudour was especially glad, for that she looked to see her father that day. so much for alaeddin and the lady bedrulbudour; and as for the sultan, after he had released alaeddin, he ceased not to mourn for the loss of his daughter and to sit and weep for her, like a woman, at every time and tide; for that she was his only one and he had none other than her. and every day, whenas he arose from his sleep in the morning, he would go hastily to the window and opening it, look towards the place where alaeddin's palace was erst and weep till his eyes were dried up and their lids ulcered. he arose that day at dawn, according to his wont, and opening the window, looked out and saw before him a building; so he fell to rubbing his eyes and looking closelier, was certified that it was alaeddin's palace; whereupon he immediately called for the horses. accordingly, they saddled them and he went down and mounting, rode to alaeddin's palace. when the latter saw him coming, he went down and meeting him half-way, took him by the hand and carried him up to the pavilion of the lady bedrulbudour, his daughter. now she also longed sore for her father; so she came down and met him at the stair-foot door, over against the lower hall; whereupon he embraced her and fell to kissing her and weeping and on this wise did she also. then alaeddin brought them up to the upper pavilion, [ ] where they sat down and the sultan proceeded to question the princess of her case and of that which had befallen her, whilst [ ] she acquainted him with all that had happened to her and said to him, "o my father, i breathed not till yesterday, when i saw my husband, and he it is who delivered me from the bondage of a maugrabin, an accursed sorcerer, methinketh there is not a filthier than he on the face of the earth; and but for my beloved alaeddin, i had not won free of him and thou hadst not seen me all thy life. indeed, o my father, there possessed me grief and sore chagrin, not only for my severance from thee, but also for the loss of my husband, to whom i shall be beholden all the days of my life, seeing he delivered me from that accursed enchanter." then she went on to acquaint her father with all that had befallen her and to tell him of the maugrabin's dealings and what he did with her and how he feigned himself a lampseller, who bartered new for old. "and when," [quoth she]; "i saw this [seeming] lack of wit in him, i fell to laughing at him, unknowing his perfidy and his intent; so i took an old lamp that was in my husband's pavilion and sent it by the eunuch, who exchanged it with him for a new lamp; and next day, o my father, at daybreak, we found ourselves in africa, with the palace and all that was therein; and i knew not the properties of the lamp which i had exchanged, till my husband alaeddin came to us and contrived against the maugrabin a device whereby he delivered us from him. now, except my husband had won to us, it was the accursed one's intent to go in to me perforce; but alaeddin, my husband gave me a powder, the which i put for him in a cup of wine and gave it him to drink. so he drank it and fell-back as one dead; whereupon my husband alaeddin came in to me and meknoweth not how he wrought, so that he transported us back from the land of africa to our place here." and alaeddin said to the sultan, "o my lord, when i came up and saw him cast down like one slain and sleeping for the henbane, i said to the lady bedrulbudour, 'go in, thou and thy women, to the inner pavilion.' so she arose and went in, she and her damsels, from that loathsome sight; whilst i went up to the accursed maugrabin and putting my hand to his sleeve, pulled out the lamp, for that the lady bedrulbudour had told me he still carried it there. then, when i had gotten it, i drew my sword and cut [off] the accursed's [head] and making use of the lamp, bade its servants take us up, with the palace and all that was therein, and set us down here in our place. and if thy grace be in doubt of my words, do thou come with me and see the accursed maugrabin." so the king arose and going in with alaeddin to the pavilion, saw the maugrabin [iying ]: whereupon he bade forthright take the carcase and burn it and scatter its ashes [to the winds]. then he embraced alaeddin and fell to kissing him and said to him, "excuse me, o my son, for that i was going [ ] to bereave thee of thy life, through the wickedness of yonder accursed sorcerer who cast thee into this pit; and indeed, o my son, i was excusable in that which i did with thee, inasmuch as i saw myself bereft of my daughter and mine only one, who is dearer to me than my kingdom, and thou knowest how fathers' hearts yearn upon their children, more by token that i have but the lady bedrulbudour." and he went on to excuse himself to him and kiss him; and [ ] alaeddin said to him, "o lord of the age, thou didst with me nothing contrary to the law and i also was guiltless of offence; but the thing came all of that vile maugrabin enchanter." then the sultan bade decorate the city and hold festival and rejoicings and commanded the crier to cry in the city that that day was a great festival, wherefore rejoicings should be holden in all the realm during the space of a month, [to wit,] thirty days' time, for the return of the lady bedrulbudour his daughter and her husband alaeddin. this, then, is what befell alaeddin with the maugrabin; but alaeddin, for all this, was not altogether [ ] quit of the accursed enchanter, withal his body had been burned and given to the winds; for that the accursed one had a brother viler than he [and yet more skilled] in magic and geomancy and astrology; [nay, they were even] as saith the proverb, "a bean and it was cloven in twain;" [ ] and each dwelt in one quarter of the world, so they might fill it [ ] with their sorcery and craft and guile. it chanced one day that the maugrabin's brother was minded to know how it was with his brother; so he fetched his sand-board and smote it and extracted its figures; then he considered them and examining them throughly, found his brother in the house of the tomb; [ ] whereat he mourned and was certified that he was indeed dead. then he smote the sand a second time, so he might learn how and where he died, and found that he had died in the land of china and by the foulest of deaths and knew that he who slew him was a youth by name alaeddin. so he rose at once and equipping himself for travel, set out and traversed plains and deserts and mountains months and months, till he came to the land of china [and entering] the city of the sultanate, wherein was alaeddin, repaired to the strangers' khan, where he hired him a lodging and rested there a little. then he arose to go round about the thoroughfares of the city, that he might spy him out a means of compassing his fell purpose, the which was to take vengeance of his brother on alaeddin. so he entered a coffee-house in the market, a mighty fine place whither there resorted great plenty of folk, some to play tables, [ ] some draughts [ ] and other some chess and what not else. there he sat down and heard those who sat beside him talk of an old woman, an anchoress, by name fatimeh, who still abode in her place without the city, serving [god], and came not down into the town but two days in the month, avouching her to be possessed of divine gifts galore. [ ] when the maugrabin enchanter heard this, he said in himself, "now have i found that which i sought. an it please god the most high, i shall achieve my quest by means of this woman." so [ ] he went up to the folk who were speaking of the devout old woman's supernatural powers and said to one of them, "o uncle, i hear you talk of the divine gifts of one she-saint, [ ] by name fatimeh. who [ ] is she and where is her place?" "wonderful!" cried the man. "what, thou art in our city and hast not heard of the divine gifts of my lady [ ] fatimeh? apparently, good man, [ ] thou art a stranger, since thou hast never chanced to hear of the fasts of this holy woman and her abhorrence of the world and the goodliness of her piety." "ay, my lord," replied the maugrabin, "i am indeed a stranger and arrived but yesternight in this your town; wherefore i beseech thee tell me of the divine gifts of this holy woman and where her place is, for that i have fallen into a calamity and would fain go to her and crave her of prayer, so haply god (to whom belong might and majesty) may deliver me from my stress, by means of her intercession." the man accordingly told him of the divine gifts of the holy woman fatimeh and her piety and the excellence of her devotion; then, taking him by the hand, he carried him without the city and showed him the way to her abiding-place, which was in a cavern on the top of a little hill; whereupon the maugrabin thanked him amain for his kindness [ ] and returned to his place in the khan. now, by the decree of destiny, fatimeh came down on the morrow to the city and the enchanter, going forth the khan in the morning, saw the folk crowding together; so he went up, to see what was toward, and found fatimeh standing, whilst every one who had a pain or an ache came to her, seeking her blessing and soliciting her prayers, and whenas she stroked him, he was made whole of his ailment. the maugrabin followed her, till she returned to her cavern, and waited till nightfall, when he arose and entering a sherbet-sellers [ ] shop, drank a cup of liquor, [ ] then went forth the city, intending for the cavern of fatimeh the recluse. when he came thither, he entered and saw her sleeping on her back on a piece of matting; so he went up to her and sitting down [ ] on her breast, [ ] drew his dagger and cried out at her; whereupon she awoke and opening her eyes, saw a man, a maugrabin, with a drawn dagger, sitting on her breast [ ] and offering to kill her. so she feared and trembled and he said to her, "harkye, an thou say aught or cry out, i will kill thee on the spot. arise now and do all that i shall bid thee." and he swore an oath to her that, if she did for him that which he should bid her, he would not kill her. then he rose from her and she rose also, and he said to her, "give me thy clothes and take mine." so she gave him her clothes and head-bands and her kerchief and veil; and he said to her, "now must thou anoint me, to boot, with somewhat, so my face may become like unto shine in colour." accordingly fatimeh went within the cavern and bringing out a vial of ointment, took thereof in her palm and anointed his face withal, whereupon it became like unto hers in colour. then she gave him her staff and taught him how he should walk and how he should do, whenas he went down into the city; moreover, she put her rosary on his neck and finally giving him the mirror, said to him, "look now; thou differest not from me in aught." so he looked and saw himself as he were fatimeh herself. [ ] then, when he had gotten his desire, he broke his oath and sought of her a rope; so she brought him a rope and he took her and strangled her therewith in the cavern. when she was dead, he dragged her forth and cast her into a pit therewithout; then, [ ] returning to her cavern, he slept there till the day broke, when he arose and going down into the city, came under alaeddin's pavilion. [ ] the folk gathered about him, believing him to be fatimeh the recluse, and he proceeded to do like as she had been used to do, laying hands on those in pain and reciting for this one the fatiheh [ ] and for that a[nother] chapter of the koran and praying for a third. then, for the much crowding upon him and the clamour of the folk, the lady bedrulbudour heard and said to her women, "see what is to do and what is the cause of this noise." so the ada of the eunuchs went to see what was toward and returning, said to her, "o my lady, this clamour is because of the lady fatimeh. an it please thee bid me fetch her to thee, so thou mayst ask a blessing of her...." and the lady bedrulbudour said to him, "go and bring her to me; marry, this long while past i have still heard of her gifts and excellences and have yearned to see her, so i may ask a blessing of her, for that the folk are beyond measure abundant [in talk] of her [ ] virtues." so the aga went and brought the enchanter, disguised as fatimeh, before the lady bedrulbudour; whereupon the maugrabin offered up abundance of prayers for her, and none misdoubted of him but that he was fatimeh the recluse. the princess rose and saluting him, seated him by her side and said to him, "o my lady fatimeh, i will have thee with me alway, that i may be blessed in thee and eke that i may learn of thee the ways of god-service and piety and model myself on thee." now this was what the accursed sorcerer aimed at; however, the better to accomplish his perfidious intent, [ ] he [dissembled and] said to her, "o my lady, i am a poor woman sitting in the desert and it beseemeth not that the like of me should abide in kings' palaces." quoth the lady bedrulbudour, "have no manner of care, o my lady fatimeh; i will give thee a place in my house, where thou shalt do thy devotions, and none shall ever go in to thee; nay, here shalt thou serve god better than in thy cavern." and the maugrabin said to her, "hearkening and obedience, o my lady; i will not gainsay thy commandment, for that the speech of princes may not be crossed neither disputed; but i beg of thee that my eating and drinking and sitting may be in my closet alone [and] that none may come in upon me. moreover, i need no rich viands, but every day do thou favour me and send me by thy handmaid a piece of bread and a draught of water to my closet; and when i am minded to eat, i will eat in my closet alone." (now this the accursed did, of his fear lest his chin veil should be raised, when he ate, and so his case be exposed and they know him for a man by his beard and moustaches.) "o my lady fatimeh," rejoined the princess, "be easy; nothing shall betide save that which thou wiliest; so rise now [and come] with me, that i may show thee the pavilion [ ] which i purpose to order for thine inhabitance with us." so [ ] saying, she arose and carrying the sorcerer to the place which she had appointed him wherein to abide, said to him, "o my lady fatimeh, here shalt thou dwell; this pavilion is in thy name and thou shalt abide therein in all quiet and ease of privacy." and the maugrabin thanked her for her bounty and prayed for her. then the lady bedrulbudour took him and showed him the belvedere [ ] and the kiosk of jewels, with the four-and-twenty oriels, [ ] and said to him, "how deemest thou, o my lady fatimeh, of this wonderful pavilion?" [ ] "by allah, o my daughter," replied he, "it is indeed marvellous in the extreme, [ ] nor methinketh is its like found in the world; nay, it is magnificent exceedingly; but oh, for one thing which would far increase it in beauty and adornment!" and the princess said to him, "o my lady fatimeh, what is lacking to it and what is this thing which would adorn it? tell me of it; i had thought that it was altogether perfect." "o my lady," answered the sorcerer, "that which lacketh to it is the egg of the bird roc, which being hung in its dome, there were no like unto this pavilion in all the world." "what is this bird." asked the princess, "and where shall we find its egg?" and the moor said to her, "o my lady, this is a great bird that taketh up camels and elephants in its talons and flieth with them, of its bigness and greatness; it is mostly to be found in the mountain caf and the craftsman who builded this palace [ ] is able to bring its egg." then they left that talk and it was the time of the morning-meal. so the slave-girls laid the table and the lady bedrulbudour sat down and sought of the accursed sorcerer that he should eat with her; but he refused and rising, entered the pavilion which she had given him, whither the slave-girls carried him the morning-meal. when it was eventide and alaeddin returned from the chase, the lady bedrulbudour met him and saluted him: whereupon he embraced her and kissed her and looking in her face, saw that she was somewhat troubled and smiled not, against her wont. so he said to her, "what aileth thee, o my beloved? tell me, hath there befallen thee aught to trouble thee?" and she answered him, saying, "there aileth me nothing; but, o my beloved, i had thought that our palace [ ] lacked of nought; however, o my eyes [ ] alaeddin, were there hung in the dome of the upper pavilion [ ] an egg of the bird roc, there were not its like in the world." "and wast thou concerned anent this?" rejoined alaeddin. "this is to me the easiest of all things; so be easy, for it is enough that thou tell me of that which thou wishest and i will fetch it thee from the abysses of the world on the speediest wise." then [ ] after he had comforted the princess and promised her all she sought, he went straight to his closet and taking the lamp rubbed it; whereupon the marid at once appeared and said to him, "seek what thou wilt;" and alaeddin, "i will have thee bring me a roc's egg and hang it in the dome of the [upper] pavilion." [ ] when the marid heard alaeddin's words, his face frowned and he was wroth and cried out with a terrible great voice, saying, "o denier of benefits, doth it not suffice thee that i and all the slaves of the lamp are at thy service and wouldst thou eke have me bring thee our liege lady, for thy pleasure, and hang her in the dome of thy pavilion, to divert thee and thy wife? by allah, ye deserve that i should forthright reduce you both to ashes and scatter you to the winds! but, inasmuch as ye are ignorant, thou and she, concerning this matter and know not its inward from its outward, [ ] i excuse you, for that ye are innocent. as for the guilt, it lieth with the accursed one, the surviving [ ] brother of the maugrabin enchanter, who feigneth himself to be fatimeh the recluse; for lo, he hath slain fatimeh in her cavern and hath donned her dress and disguised himself after her favour and fashion and is come hither, seeking thy destruction, so he may take vengeance on thee for his brother; and he it is who taught thy wife to seek this of thee." [ ] therewith he disappeared, and as for alaeddin, when he heard this, his wit fled from his head and his joints trembled at the cry wherewith the marid cried out at him; but he took heart and leaving his closet, went in straightway to his wife and feigned to her that his head irked him, of his knowledge that fatimeh was renowned for the secret of healing [ ] all aches and pains. when the lady bedrulbudour saw him put his hand to his head and complain of its aching, [ ] she asked him what was the cause and he said, "i know not, except that my head irketh me sore." accordingly she sent forthwith to fetch fatimeh, so she might lay her hand on his head; whereupon quoth alaeddin, "who is this fatimeh?" and the princess told him how she had lodged fatimeh the recluse with her in the palace. [ ] meanwhile the slave-girls went and fetched the accursed maugrabin, and alaeddin arose to him, feigning ignorance of his case, and saluted him, as he had been the true fatimeh. moreover he kissed the hem of his sleeve and welcomed him, [ ] saying, "o my lady fatimeh, i beseech thee do me a kindness, since i know thy usances in the matter of the healing of pains, for that there hath betided me a sore pain in my head." the maugrabin could scarce believe his ears of this speech, [ ] for that this was what he sought; so he went up to alaeddin, as he would lay his hand on his head, after the fashion of fatimeh the recluse, and heal him of his pain. when he drew near-him, he laid one hand on his head and putting the other under his clothes, drew a dagger, so [ ] he might slay him withal. but alaeddin was watching him and waited till he had all to-drawn the dagger, when he gripped him by the hand and taking the knife from him, planted [ ] it in his heart. when the lady bedrulbudour saw this, she cried out and said to him, "what hath this holy anchoress done, that thou burthenest thyself with the sore burden of her blood? hast thou no fear of god, that thou dost this and hast slain fatimeh, who was a holy woman and whose divine gifts were renowned?" quoth he to her, "i have not slain fatimeh; nay, i have slain him who slew her; for that this is the brother of the accursed maugrabin enchanter, who took thee and by his sorcery transported the palace with thee to the land of africa. yea, this accursed one was his brother and came to this country and wrought these frauds, slaying fatimeh and donning her clothes and coming hither, so he might take vengeance on me for his brother. moreover, it was he who taught thee to seek of me a roc's egg, so my destruction should ensue thereof; and if thou misdoubt of my word, come and see whom i have slain." so saying, he did off the maugrabin's chin veil and the lady bedrulbudour looked and saw a man whose beard covered his face; whereupon she at once knew the truth and said to alaeddin, "o my beloved, twice have i cast thee into danger of death;" and he said to her, "o lady bedrulbudour, thanks to thine eyes, [ ] no harm [hath betided me thereof; nay,] i accept with all joy everything that cometh to me through thee." when the princess heard this, she hastened to embrace him and kissed him, saying, "o my beloved, all this was of my love for thee and i knew not what i did; [ ] nor indeed am i negligent of thy love." [ ] whereupon alaeddin kissed her and strained her to his breast and love redoubled between them. presently, in came the sultan; so they told him of all that had passed with the maugrabin enchanter's brother and showed him the latter, as he lay dead; whereupon he bade burn him and scatter his ashes to the winds. thenceforward alaeddin abode with his wife the lady bedrulbudour in all peace and pleasure and was delivered from all perils. then, after a while, the sultan died and alaeddin sat down on the throne of the kingdom and ruled and did justice among the people; and all the folk loved him and he lived with his wife, the lady bedrulbudour, in all cheer and solace and contentment till there came to them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of societies. footnotes [footnote : i.e. ( ) zeyn alasnam, ( ) codadad. ( ) the sleeper awakened. ( ) aladdin. ( ) baba abdallah. ( ) sidi nouman. ( ) cogia hassan alhabbah ( ) ali baba. ( ) ali cogia. ( ) prince ahmed and pari-banou. ( ) the sisters who envied their younger sister.] [footnote : "m. galland was aware of the imperfection of the ms. used by him and (unable to obtain a more perfect copy) he seems to have endeavoured to supply the place of the missing portions by incorporating in his translation a number of persian, turkish and arabic tales, which had no connection with his original and for which it is generally supposed that he probably had recourse to oriental mss. (as yet unidentified) contained in the royal libraries of paris." vol. ix. p. . "of these the story of the sleeper awakened is the only one which has been traced to an arabic original and is found in the breslau edition of the complete work, printed by dr. habicht from a ms. of tunisian origin, apparently of much later date than the other known copies.....galland himself cautions us that the stories of zeyn alasnam and codadad do not belong to the thousand and one nights and were published (how he does not explain) without his authority." p. . "it is possible that an exhaustive examination of the various ms. copies of the thousand and one nights known to exist in the public libraries of europe might yet cast some light upon the origin of the interpolated tales; but, in view of the strong presumption afforded by internal evidence that they are of modern composition and form no part of the authentic text, it can hardly be expected, where the result and the value of that result are alike so doubtful, that any competent person will be found to undertake so heavy a task, except as incidental to some more general enquiry. the only one of the eleven which seems to me to bear any trace of possible connection with the book of the thousand nights and one night is aladdin, and it may be that an examination of the ms. copies of the original work within my reach will yet enable me to trace the origin of that favourite story." pp. - .] [footnote : histoire d' 'ala al-din ou la lampe merveilleuse. texte arabe, publie avec une notice de quelques manuscrits des mille et une nuits et la traduction de galland. par h. zotenberg. paris, imprimerie nationale, .] [footnote : for the sake of uniformity and convenience of reference, i use, throughout this introduction, galland's spelling of the names which occur in his translation, returning to my own system of transliteration in my rendering of the stories themselves.] [footnote : i.e. god's.] [footnote : "la suite des mille et une nuits, contes arabes trafluits par dom chavis et m. cazotte. paris ." the edinburgh review (july, ) gives the date of the first edition as ; but this is an error, probably founded upon the antedating of a copy of the cabinet des fees, certain sets of which (though not actually completed till ) are dated, for some publisher's reason, . see also following note.] [footnote : these four (supplemental) vols. of the cabinet des fees (printed in , though antedated and ) do not form the first edition of chavis and cazotte's so-called sequel, which was in added, by way of supplement, to the cabinet des fees, having been first published in (two years after the completion-in thirty-seven volumes-of that great storehouse of supernatural fiction) under the title of "les veillees persanes" or "les veillees du sultan schahriar avec la sultane scheherazade, histoires incroyables, amusantes et morales, traduites par m. cazotte et d. chavis, faisant suite aux mille et une nuits."] [footnote : i cannot agree with my friend sir r. f. burton in his estimate of these tales, which seem to me, even in caussin de perceval's corrector rendering and in his own brilliant and masterly version, very inferior, in style, conduct and diction, to those of "the old arabian nights," whilst i think "chavis and cazotte's continuation" utterly unworthy of republication, whether in part or "in its entirety." indeed, i confess the latter version seems to me so curiously and perversely and unutterably bad that i cannot conceive how cazotte can have perpetrated it and can only regard it as a bad joke on his part. as caussin de perceval remarks, it is evident that shawish (whether from ignorance or carelessness) must, in many instances, have utterly misled his french coadjutor (who had no knowledge of arabic) as to the meaning of the original, whilst it is much to be regretted that a writer of exquisite genius and one of the first stylists of the th century, such as the author of the diable amoureux, (a masterpiece to be ranked with manon lescaut and le neveu de rameau,) should have stooped to the commission of the flagrant offences against good taste and artistic morality which disfigure well nigh every line of the so-called "sequel to the nights." "far be it" (as the arabs say) that we should do so cruel a wrong to so well and justly beloved a memory as that of jacques cazotte as to attempt to perpetuate the remembrance of a literary crime which one can hardly believe him to have committed in sober earnest! rather let us seek to bury in oblivion this his one offence and suffer kind lethe with its beneficent waters to wash this "adulterous blot" from his else unsullied name.] [footnote : lit. "servants" (ibad) i.e. of god.] [footnote : i.e. he who most stands in need of god's mercy.] [footnote : kebikej is the name of the genie set over the insect kingdom. scribes occasionally invoke him to preserve their manuscripts from worms.-note by m. zotenberg.] [footnote : galland calls him "hanna, c'est... dire jean baptiste," the arabic christian equivalent of which is youhenna and the muslim yehya, "surnomme diab." diary, october , .] [footnote : at this date galland had already published the first six (of twelve) volumes of his translation ( - ) and as far as i can ascertain, in the absence of a reference copy (the british museum possessing no copy of the original edition), the th and th volumes were either published or in the press. vol. viii. was certainly published before the end of the year , by which time the whole of vol. ix. was ready for printing.] [footnote : i.e. aladdin.] [footnote : galland died in , leaving the last two volumes of his translation (which appear by the diary to have been ready for the prep on the th june, ) to be published in .] [footnote : aleppo.] [footnote : i.e. yonhenna diab.] [footnote : for "persian." galland evidently supposed, in error, that petis de la croix's forthcoming work was a continuation of his "contes turcs" published in , a partial translation (never completed) of the turkish version of "the forty viziers," otherwise "the malice of women," for which see le cabinet des fees, vol. xvi. where the work is, curiously enough, attributed (by the table of contents) to galland himself.] [footnote : see my terminal essay. my conclusions there stated as to the probable date of the original work have since been completely confirmed by the fact that experts assign galland's original (imperfect) copy of the arabic text to the latter part of the fourteenth century, on the evidence of the handwriting, etc.] [footnote : in m. zotenberg's notes to aladdin.] [footnote : night ccccxcvii.] [footnote : khelifeh.] [footnote : or "favourites" (auliya), i.e. holy men, devotees, saints.] [footnote : i.e. the geomancers. for a detailed description of this magical process, (which is known as "sand-tracing," kharu 'r reml,) see posl, p. , note .{see fn# }] [footnote : i.e. "what it will do in the course of its life"] [footnote : or "ascendants" (tewali).] [footnote : i.e. "adornment of the images." this is an evident mistake (due to some ignorant copyist or reciter of the story) of the same kind as that to be found at the commencement of the story of ghanim ben eyoub, (see my book of the thousand nights and one night, vol i. p. et seq.), where the hero is absurdly stated to have been surnamed at birth the "slave of love," a sobriquet which could only have attached itself to him in after-life and as a consequence of his passion for fitoeh. sir r. f. burton suggests, with great probability, that the name, as it stands in the text, is a contraction, by a common elliptical process, of the more acceptable, form zein-ud-din ul asnam, i.e. zein-ud-din (adornment of the faith) [he] of the images, zein (adornment) not being a name used by the arabic-speaking races, unless with some such addition as ud-din ("of the faith"), and the affix ul asnam ( "[he] of the images") being a sobriquet arising from the circumstances of the hero's after-life, unless its addition, as recommended by the astrologers, is meant as an indication of the latter's fore-knowledge of what was to befall him thereafter. this noted, i leave the name as i find it in the arabic ms.] [footnote : sheji nebih. burton, "valiant and intelligent."] [footnote : syn. "his describers" (wasifihi).] [footnote : wa huwa hema caiou fihi bads wasifihi shiran. burton (apparently from a different text), "and presently he became even as the poets sang of one of his fellows in semblance."] [footnote : milah, plural of melih, a fair one.] [footnote : khemseh senin. burton, "fifteen."] [footnote : shabb, adult, man between sixteen and thirty.] [footnote : femu ghefir min el aalem. burton, "all the defenders of the realm."] [footnote : night ccccxcviii.] [footnote : syn. "depose."] [footnote : lit. "that which proceeded from him."] [footnote : see ante, p. , note.{see fn# }] [footnote : night ccccxcix.] [footnote : i.e. imposed on me the toil, caused me undertake the weariness, of coming to cairo for nothing.] [footnote : forgetting his mother.] [footnote : i.e. no mortal.] [footnote : keszr abouka 'l fulani (vulg. for abika'l fulan). burton, "such a palace of thy sire."] [footnote : i.e. it is not like the journey to cairo and back.] [footnote : i.e. in god grant thou mayst.] [footnote : or "jade" (yeshm).] [footnote : night d.] [footnote : "edh dheheb el atic." burton, "antique golden pieces"; but there is nothing to show that the gold was coined.] [footnote : the "also" in this clause seems to refer to the old man of the dream.] [footnote : keszr, lit. palace, but commonly meaning, in modern arabic, an upper story or detached corps de logis (pavilion in the french sense, an evident misnomer in the present case).] [footnote : lit. "put the key in the lock and opened it and behold, the door of a palace (hall) opened."] [footnote : takeli, sing. form of tac, a window. burton, "recess for lamps."] [footnote : lit. "till he join thee with."] [footnote : or "cairo," the name misr being common to the country and its capital.] [footnote : badki tecouli[na]. badki (lit. after thee) is here used in the modern sense of "still" or "yet." the interrogative prefix a appears to have dropped out, as is not uncommon in manuscripts of this kind. burton, "after thou assuredst me, saying, &c."] [footnote : here she adopts her son's previous idea that the old man of the dream was the prophet in person.] [footnote : night di.] [footnote : cudoum. the common form of welcome to a guest.] [footnote : or "upper room" (keszr).] [footnote : eight; see ante, p. . {see fn# }] [footnote : edh dheheb el kedim.] [footnote : edh dhelieb er yemli, lit. sand. (i.e. alluvial) gold, gold in its native state, needing no smelting to extract it. this, by the way, is the first mention of the thrones or pedestals of the images.] [footnote : lit. "[with] love and honour" (hubban wa kerametan). a familar phrase implying complete assent to any request. it is by some lexicologists supposed to have arisen from the circumstance of a man answering another, who begged of him a wine-jar (hubb), with the words, "ay, i will give thee a jar and a cover (kerameh) also," and to have thus become a tropical expression of ready compliance with a petition, as who should say, "i will give thee what thou askest and more."] [footnote : the slave's attitude before his master.] [footnote : the like.] [footnote : night dii.] [footnote : i.e. invoked blessings upon him in the manner familiar to readers of the nights.] [footnote : lit. thou [art] indulged therein (ent musamih fiha).] [footnote : mehmy (vulg. for mehma, whatsoever) telebtaha minni min en miam. burton, "whatso of importance thou wouldst have of me."] [footnote : lit. "in a seeking (request) ever or at all" (fi tilbeti abdan). burton, "in thy requiring it."] [footnote : "tal aleyya" wect, i.e. i am weary of waiting. burton, "my tarrying with thee hath been long."] [footnote : or "difficult" (aziz); burton, "singular-fare."] [footnote : lit. "if the achievement thereof (or attainment thereunto) will be possible unto thee [by or by dint of] fortitude,"] [footnote : lit. "wealth [is] in (or by) blood."] [footnote : el berr el atfer. burton translates, "the wildest of wolds," apparently supposing atfer to be a mistranscription for aefer, which is very possible.] [footnote : kewaribji, a word formed by adding the turkish affix ji to the arabic kewarib, plural of carib, a small boat. the common form of the word is caribji. burton reads it, "kewariji, one who uses the paddle."] [footnote : lit "inverted" (mecloubeh). burton, "the reverse of man's."] [footnote : night diii.] [footnote : wehsh. burton, "a lion."] [footnote : lit. "then they passed on till" (thumma fatou ila [an]).] [footnote : sic (ashjar anber); though what the arabic author meant by "trees of ambergris" is more than i can say. the word anber (pro. pounced amber) signifies also "saffron"; but the obbligato juxtaposition of aloes and sandal-wood tends to show that what is meant is the well-known product of the sperm-whale. it is possible that the mention of this latter may be an interpolation by some ignorant copyist, who, seeing two only of the three favourite oriental scents named, took upon himself to complete the odoriferous trinity, so dear to arab writers, by the addition of ambergris.] [footnote : yas, persian form of yasm, yasmin or yasimin. sir r. f. burton reads yamin and supposes it to be a copyist's error for yasmin, but this is a mistake; the word in the text is clearly yas, though the final s, being somewhat carelessly written in the arabic ms, might easily be mistaken for mn with an undotted noun.] [footnote : lit. "perfect or complete (kamil) of fruits and flowers."] [footnote : lit. "many armies" (asakir, pl. of asker, an army), but asker is constantly used in post-classical arabic (and notably in the nights) for "a single soldier," and still more generally the plural (asakir), as here, for "soldiers."] [footnote : syn. "the gleaming of a brasier" (berc kanoun). kanoun is the syrian name of two winter months, december (kanoun el awwal or first) and january (kanoun eth thani or second).] [footnote : so as to form a magic barrier against the jinn, after the fashion of the mystical circles used by european necromancers.] [footnote : night div.] [footnote : fe-halan tuata, the time-honoured "ask and it shall be given unto thee."] [footnote : sic (berec ed dunya); but dunya (the world) is perhaps meant to be taken here by synecdoche m the sense of "sky."] [footnote : syn. "darkness was let down like a curtain."] [footnote : lit. "like an earthquake like the earthquakes"; but the second "like" (mithl) is certainly a mistranscription for "of" (min).] [footnote : night dv.] [footnote : night dvi.] [footnote : here we have the word mithl (as or like) which i supplied upon conjecture in the former description of the genie; see ante, p. , note.] [footnote : medinetu 'l meda'n wa ujoubetu 'l aalem. it is well known (see the nights passim) that the egyptians considered cairo the city of cities and the wonder of the world.] [footnote : lit. "how [is] the contrivance and the way the which we shall attain by (or with) it to...."] [footnote : i.a tehtenim; but the text may also be read la tehettem and this latter reading is adopted by burton, who translates, "be not beaten and broken down."] [footnote : or "in brief" (bi-tejewwuz). burton translates, "who maketh marriages," apparently reading bi-tejewwuz as a mistranscription for tetejewwez, a vulgar syrian corruption of tetezewwej.] [footnote : said in a quasi-complimentary sense, as we say, "confound him, what a clever rascal he is!" see the nights passim for numerous instances of this.] [footnote : quoth shehrzad to shehriyar.] [footnote : syn. "to work upon her traces or course" (tesaa ala menakibiha).] [footnote : night dvii.] [footnote : lit. "the thirsty one (es szadi) and the goer-forth by day or in the morning" (el ghadi); but this is most probably a mistranscription for the common phrase es sari (the goer by night) wa 'l ghadi, often used in the sense of "comers and goers" simply. this would be quite in character with the style of our present manuscript, which constantly substitutes sz (sad) for s (sin), e.g. szerai for serai (palace), szufreh, for sufreh (meal-tray), for hheresza for hheresa(he guarded), etc., etc., whilst no one acquainted with the arabic written character need be reminded how easy it is to mistake a carelessly written-r (ra) for d (dal) or vice-versa] [footnote : the mosque being the caravanserai of the penniless stranger.] [footnote : the person specially appointed to lead the prayers of the congregation and paid out of the endowed revenues of the mosque to which he is attached.] [footnote : night dviii.] [footnote : burton translates, "these accurseds," reading melaa'n (pl. of melaoun, accursed); but the word in the text is plainly mulaa'bein (objective dual of mulaa'b, a trickster, malicious joker, hence, by analogy, sharper).] [footnote : eth thiyab el heririyeh. burton "silver-wrought."] [footnote : netser ila necshetihim (lit. their image, cf. scriptural "image and presentment") wa szufretihim, i.e. he satisfied himself by the impress and the colour that they were diners, i.e. gold.] [footnote : lit. i am now become in confusion of or at him (lianneni alan szirtu fi khejaleh (properly khejleh) minhu). burton, "for that i have been ashamed of waiting upon him."] [footnote : lit. "that which was incumbent on me to him."] [footnote : lit. "go to (or for) his service," or, as we should say, "attend him."] [footnote : burton, "one of the envious;" but the verb is in the plural.] [footnote : night dix.] [footnote : et tsenn er redi. burton, "the evil."] [footnote : so that they might hang down and hide his feet and hands, it being a point of arab etiquette for an inferior scrupulously to avoid showing either of these members in presenting himself (especially for the first time) before his superior.] [footnote : lit., "religiousness or devoutness (diyaneh) was by nature in him," i.e. he was naturally inclined to respect religion and honour its professors. burton, "he was by nature conscientious," which does not quite express the meaning of the text; conscientiousness being hardly an oriental virtue.] [footnote : lit, "i may (or shall) ransom him with m' life till i (or so that i may) unite him therewith."] [footnote : iftekeret fi rejul.] [footnote : terbiyeh. this word is not sufficiently rendered by "education," which modern use has practically restricted to scholastic teaching, though the good old english phrase "to bring up" is of course a literal translation of the latin educare.] [footnote : i.e. "i shall owe it to thee."] [footnote : lit. "it is certain to me," constat mihi, fe-meikeni (vulg. for fe-yekin) indi.] [footnote : night dx.] [footnote : or perhaps "would i might."] [footnote : i.e. the contract of marriage.] [footnote : see my "book of the thousand nights and one night" passim, especially vol. i pp. et seq.] [footnote : miheffeh, a kind of howdah with a flat roof or top.] [footnote : tekht-rewan, a sort of palanquin drawn or carried by mules or camels wherein she could recline at length. burton renders miheffeh bi-tekhtrewan "a covered litter to be carried by camels."] [footnote : burton adds here, "thou wouldst feel ruth for me."] [footnote : lit. profit, gain (meksib), i.e. the ninth image, which he was to receive as a reward for the faithful execution of his commission.] [footnote : night dxi.] [footnote : [a] nehnu bedna baud an hukm. the word hukm, which commonly signifies the exercise of government or judicial power, is here used metonymically in the sense of the place of dominion, the seat of government. burton, "have we fared this far distance by commandment of my bridegroom?"] [footnote : or "god forbid!" (hhasha), a common interjection, implying unconditional denial.] [footnote : lit. "the writing of (or he wrote) his writ upon thee" (ketb kitabiki aleiki).] [footnote : i.e.. at the last day, when men will be questioned of their actions.] [footnote : night dxii.] [footnote : sic (tentsur), but this is probably a copyist's error for "we may see" (nentsur), the difference being only a question of one or two diacritical points over the initial letter.] [footnote : here burton adds, "indeed i had well nigh determined to forfeit all my profit of the ninth statue and to bear thee away to bassorah as my own bride, when my comrade and councillor dissuaded me from so doing, lest i should bring about my death."] [footnote : night dxiii.] [footnote : or (vulg.) "i thank him, etc." (istekthertu aleihi elladhi hefitsaha wa sanaha wa hejeba rouhaku anha). burton, "albeit i repeatedly enjoined him to defend and protect her until he concealed from her his face."] [footnote : or we may read "went out, glad and rejoicing, with (bi) the young lady;" but the reading in the test is more consonant with the general style of the nights.] [footnote : azaa, strictly the formal sitting in state to receive visits of condolence for the death of a relation, but in modern parlance commonly applied, by extension, to the funeral ceremonies themselves.] [footnote : el kendil el meshhour. the lamp is however more than once mentioned in the course of the tale by the name of "wonderful" (ajib, see post, p. , note ) so familiar to the readers of the old version.] [footnote : night dxiv.] [footnote : khilafahu, lit. "the contrary thereof;" but the expression is constantly used (instead of the more correct gheirahu) in the sense of "other than it," "the take," etc.] [footnote : or "street-boys" (auladu 'l hhareh).] [footnote : zeboun.] [footnote : burton adds here, "counsel and castigation were of no avail."] [footnote : lit. "had been recalled" (tuwouffia), i.e. by god to himself.] [footnote : this old english and shakspearean expression is the exact equivalent of the arabic phrase khelesza min sherr walidihi. burton, "freed from [bearing] the severities of his sire."] [footnote : kanet wayyishuhu. burton, "lived only by."] [footnote : night dxv.] [footnote : i prefer this old english form of the arabic word meghrebiy (a native of el meghreb or north-western africa) to "moor," as the latter conveys a false impression to the modern reader, who would naturally suppose him to be a native of morocco, whereas the enchanter came, as will presently appear, from biladu 'l gherbi 'l jewwaniy, otherwise ifrikiyeh, i.e. "the land of the inner west" or africa proper, comprising tunis, tripoli and part of a]geria.] [footnote : min biladi 'l gherbi 'l jewwaniy. the muslim provinces of north-western africa, extending from the north-western boundary of egypt to cape nun on the mogador coast, were known under the general name of el meghreb (modern barbary) and were divided into three parts, to wit ( ) el meghreb el jewwaniy, inner, i.e. hither or nearer (to egypt) barbary or ifrikiyeh, comprising tripoli, tunis and constantine (part of algeria), ( ) el meghreb el aouset, central barbary. comprising the rest of algeria, and ( ) el meghreb el acszaa, farther or outer barbary, comprising the modern empire of morocco.] [footnote : el hieh. burton translates, "astrology," and astrology (or astronomy); is the classical meaning of the word; but the common meaning in modern arabic is "the science of physiognomy," cf. the nights passim. see especially ante, p. .] [footnote : bi-szaut hezin meksour. burton, "in a soft voice saddened by emotion."] [footnote : burton, "brother-german."] [footnote : or "comfort myself in him" (ateazza bihi). burton "condole with him [over the past]."] [footnote : lit. "hid not unto me that" (ma ekhfa aleyya an).] [footnote : night dxvi.] [footnote : teaziyeti. burton, "i have now railed in the mourning ceremonies."] [footnote : el bein ked efjaani fihi, i e. "i have been stricken with separation from him." burton, "far distance wrought me this trouble."] [footnote : lit. "the being (el ka'n, i.e. that which is, the accomplished fact) there is not from it a refuge or place of fleeing" (mehreb). burton, "nor hath the creature aught of asylum from the creator."] [footnote : or "consolation" (azaa).] [footnote : burton, "i have none to condole with now save thyself"] [footnote : night dxvii.] [footnote : burton, "finding out."] [footnote : lit. "he had no longer a heart to part with him," i.e.. he could not bear him out of his sight, alaeddin being necessary for the achievement of the adventure of the lamp. see post.] [footnote : el asha. burton, "the meat."] [footnote : lit. "vein" (irc).] [footnote : night dxviii.] [footnote : ujoubetu 'l aalem. see ante, p. , note. {see fn# }] [footnote : ila biladi 'l gherbi 'l jewwaniy.] [footnote : burton, "to the regions of the setting sun and abode for a space of thirty years in the moroccan interior." see ante, p. , notes. {see fn# }] [footnote : burton adds, "alone at home."] [footnote : i.e. birthplace, a child being bow head-foremost.] [footnote : burton, "wander like a wild arab."] [footnote : lit. "and "; but this is the error of some copyist, who, by leaving out an initial l, has turned lau (if) into wa (and).] [footnote : the first chapter of the koran; a common usage in anticipation of travel or indeed before commencing any enterprise of moment.] [footnote : istehhweda (vulg. for istehhwedha) aleyya. burton, "of the pains which prevailed upon me."] [footnote : or "succeedeth" (yekklufu). burton, "the legacy bequeathed to us by."] [footnote : khellefa.] [footnote : night dxix.] [footnote : lit. "abide in the subsistence of the like of this one" (acoumu fi ma"sh mithl hadha). burton, "go about for a maintenance after this fashion."] [footnote : uhheszszilu ana ma"ski ana buddi men yuayyishani. burton, "i am compelled to provide him with daily bread when i require to be provided."] [footnote : ibn nas generally signifies "a man of good family" (fr. fils de famille), but here the sense seems to be as in the text.] [footnote : or "constrain not thyself for me," in do not be ashamed to say what thou wishes", lit. "let it not be hard or grievous upon thee from or on account of me" (la yesubu aleika minni). burton, "let not my words seem hard and harsh to thee."] [footnote : fe-in kana keman (vulg. for kema anna). burton, "if despite all i say."] [footnote : fi, lit. "in," but here used, as is common in syria, instead of bi "with."] [footnote : burton, "shalt become famous among the folk."] [footnote : khwaja (persian).] [footnote : tajir (arabic equivalent of khwaja).] [footnote : burton, "that such folk dress handsomely and fare delicately."] [footnote : night dxx.] [footnote : lit. "was past" (fata). burton, "the dark hours were passing by and the wine was drunken."] [footnote : sherab. burton, "sherbets."] [footnote : night dxxi.] [footnote : or "places" (amakin).] [footnote : or "streets" (mehellat). burton, "apartments."] [footnote : i.e. "it is no merit in me that i do what i have done."] [footnote : bi-jahi 'l awwelin. burton, "by the honour of the hallows."] [footnote : i.e.. "a protection."] [footnote : lit. "that thine eye will be cooled with (or by) him."] [footnote : likai yetearrefa fihim wa yetearrefou fihi. this passage confirms my reading of a former one; see ante, p. , note . {see fn# }] [footnote : nighs dxxii.] [footnote : lit. "believed not what time (ayyumetn) the day broke;" but ayyumeta (of which ayyumeta is a vulgar corruption) supposes the future and should be used with the aorist. the phrase, as i have translated common in the nights.] [footnote : or, "laughing at" (yudsahiku).. burton, "he began to make the lad laugh."] [footnote : szeraya (for seraya).] [footnote : keszr.] [footnote : newafir, an evident mistranscription, probably for some such word as fewawir, irregular form of fewwarat, pl. of fewwareh, a spring or jet of water.] [footnote : burton adds, "and reach the end of our walk."] [footnote : jebel aali. burton, "the base of a high and naked hill."] [footnote : lit. "before or in front of a mountain." burton, "we have reached the barren hill-country."] [footnote : ra'hhin, a vulgarism of frequent occurrence in this story.] [footnote : shudd heilek.] [footnote : lit. the land of the west (biladu 'l gherb); see ante, p. , notes. {see fn# }] [footnote : night dxxiii.] [footnote : lit. "without aught" (bilash), i e. without [visible] cause or reason. burton, "beyond the range of matter."] [footnote : nuhhas szebb (for szebeb min er) reml, lit. "brass poured [forth from] sand," i.e. cast in a mould of sand. cf. kings, vii , "two chapiters of molten brass."] [footnote : dir balek, lit. "turn thy thought (i.e. be attentive) [footnote to that which i shall say to thee]."] [footnote : night dxxiv.] [footnote : lit. "pass not by" (la tuferwwit). burton, "nor gainsay."] [footnote : yani li-min (vulg. for tani li-men), i.e. on whose behalf do i undertake all these my toils?] [footnote : lit. "leave"; but the verb khella (ii. of khela is constantly used in the present text in the sense of "he made."] [footnote : there is some mistake here in the text. the word which i translate "great" is akabir (pl. of akber, most great), apparently inserted by mistake for kebir, great. but that akabir is followed by jiddan (exceedingly), i should be inclined to read the phrase [kebiru 'l] akabir, greatest of the great.] [footnote : wehdi, lit. "my lone," a scotch expression, which might be usefully acclimatized in english prose and verse.] [footnote : night dxxv.] [footnote : or "pay attention," dir (vulg. for adir) balek. see ante, p. , note. {see fn# }] [footnote : lit. "a place divided into four places" i take the variant aweds, chambers. from chavis's copy of the ms., as quoted by m. zotenberg.] [footnote : liwan, i.e. an estrade or recessed room, raised above the level of the ground and open in front.] [footnote : lit. "in it" (fihi); but the meaning is as in the text, i.e. connected with it or leading thereto. this reading is confirmed by the terms in which the stair is afterwards mentioned, q.v. post, p. , and note. {see fn# }] [footnote : night dxxvi.] [footnote : ubb. burton, "breast-pocket," the usual word for which is jeib. ubb is occasionally used in this sense; but it is evident from what follows (see post, p. . {see fn# } "alaeddin proceeded to pluck and put in his pockets (ajyab, pl. of jeib), and his sleeves" (ibab), and note) that ubb is here used in the common sense of "sleeve."] [footnote : i.e. "that which is in the lamp."] [footnote : burton transposes, "where he entered the saloon and mounted the ladder;" but the context shows that the stair was a flight of steps leading up to the dais and not a ladder in it. the word fihi in the magician's instructions might indeed be taken in this latter sense, but may just as well be read "thereto" or "pertaining thereto" as "therein." see also below, where alaeddin is made to descend from the dais into the garden.] [footnote : lit. voices (aswat). burton, "fond voices"] [footnote : burton, "furthermore the size of each stone so far surpassed description that no king of the kings of the world owned a single gem of the larger sort."] [footnote : night dxxvii.] [footnote : toubasi. i insert this from the chavis ms. burton adds, "spinels and balasses."] [footnote : ibab.] [footnote : ubb.] [footnote : ajyab, pl. of jeib, the bosom of a shirt, hence a breast or other pocket.] [footnote : ibab. burton, "pokes and breast-pockets."] [footnote : the possession of the lamp rendering him superior to the spells by which they were enchanted.] [footnote : burton says here, "the text creates some confusion by applying sullem to staircase and ladder; hence probably the latter is not mentioned by galland and co., who speak only of an 'escalier de cinquante marches.'" as far as i can see, galland was quite right, a staircase (and not a ladder) being, in my judgment, meant in each case, and sir richard burton's translation of sullem min thelathin derejeh as "a ladder of thirty rungs" (see ante p. , note {see fn# }) seems to me founded on a misconception, he being misled by the word "fihi" (see my note ante, p. {see fn# }). he adds, "sullem in modern egyptian is used for a flight of steps;" but it signifies both "ladder" and "flight of steps" in the classic tongue; see lane, p. , colt , "sullem, a ladder or a series of stairs or steps, either of wood or clay, etc." his remark would apply better to derej (class. "a way," but in modern parlance "a ladder" or "staircase" which the story-teller uses interchangeably with sullem, in speaking of the stair leading down into the underground, thus showing that he considered the two words synonymous.] [footnote : akyas. this is the first mention of purses.] [footnote : lit. "without" (kharijan).] [footnote : burton, "forasmuch as he had placed it at the bottom of his breast-pocket and his other pockets being full of gems bulged outwards."] [footnote : night dxxviii.] [footnote : lit. "was locked," inkefelet, but i take this to be a mistranscription of inkelebet, "was turned over."] [footnote : lit. "was covered over, shut like a lid" (intebeket).] [footnote : tebbeca, i.e. caused (by his enchantments) to become covered or closed up like a lid.] [footnote : ifrikiyeh, see ante, p. , note . {see fn# } here the story-teller takes the province for a city.] [footnote : burton adds, "by devilish inspiration."] [footnote : wa [kan] el aghreb an fi hadha 'l kenz [kana]. burton "the most marvellous article in this treasure was, etc."] [footnote : kendil ajib.] [footnote : night dxxix.] [footnote : a proverbial expression, meaning that, as he did not absolutely kill alaeddin, though doing what was (barring a miracle) certain to cause his death, he could not be said to be his slayer; a piece of casuistry not peculiar to the east, cf. the hypocritical show of tenderness with which the spanish inquisition was wont, when handing over a victim to the secular power for execution by burning alive, to recommend that there should be "no effusion of blood." it is possible, however, that the proverb is to be read in the sense of "he who is destined to live cannot be slain."] [footnote : i.e. with the contents of the chambers and the garden.] [footnote : night dxxx.] [footnote : lit. rubbing in or upon.] [footnote : lit. "the quickener, the deadener" (el muhheyyi, el mumit), two of the ninety-nine names of god.] [footnote : or "judge" (cadsi).] [footnote : farijuha. burton, "bringer of joy not of annoy."] [footnote : i.e. mohammed's.] [footnote : lit. a servant or slave, i.e. that of the ring. burton, "its familiar."] [footnote : i.e. solomon.] [footnote : see my book of the thousand nights and one night, vol. . p , note. {see payne's book of the thousand nights and one night, vol. fn# }] [footnote : night dxxxi.] [footnote : night dxxxii.] [footnote : i.e.. in all the registers of men's actions fabled to be kept in heaven.] [footnote : lit. "see the accursed his duplicity and his promises that he promised me withal in that he would do all good with me." burton, "see how the dammed villain broke every promise he made, certifying that he would soon work all good with me."] [footnote : lit. "on account of my pain therefrom when i was absent from the world."] [footnote : hatha 'l metleb li, lit. "this quest (or object of quest) [was] mine (or for me)." metleb is often used in the special technical sense of "buried treasure."] [footnote : night dxxxiii.] [footnote : bustan.] [footnote : bilaur.] [footnote : keszr, instead of liwan (dais), as in previous description.] [footnote : keisan. burton, "bag-pockets."] [footnote : lit. "without" (kharij).] [footnote : aadim, present participle of adima, he lacked.] [footnote : night dxxxiv.] [footnote : lit. the pre-eminence (el fedsl).] [footnote : thani youm, burton, "the second day," which, though literal, conveys a false impression.] [footnote : night dxxxv.] [footnote : or "beyond desire" (fauca 'l khatir), i.e. inconceivably good. burton, "beyond our means."] [footnote : it is a favourite device with oriental cooks to colour dishes (especially those which contain rice) in various ways, so as to please the eye as well as the palate.] [footnote : lit. "black bottles" (museunvedetein). burton, "black jacks."] [footnote : zekiyyeh (pure) for dhekiyyeh (strong, sharp, pungent), a common vulgar corruption.] [footnote : burton, "wherewith allah almighty hath eased our poverty."] [footnote : elladhi iftekeda juana. burton, "who hath abated our hunger pains."] [footnote : lit. "we are under his benefit."] [footnote : hhizana for hhezzaza?] [footnote : lit. "whet proceeded from."] [footnote : lit. "but" (lakin for iekan, "then").] [footnote : keif dhalik. lit. "how this?" burton, "who may this be?"] [footnote : night dxxxvi.] [footnote : i.e. the jinn of the lamp and the ring.] [footnote : apparently referring to chap. xxiii, verses , l , of the koran, "say, 'lord, i take refuge in thee from the suggestions of the devils, and i take refuge in thee, lord, that (i.e. iest) they appear!'" mohammed is fabled by muslim theologians to have made a compact with the jinn that they should not enter the houses of the faithful unless expressly summoned..] [footnote : i.e. "i am, in general, ready to obey all thy commandments"] [footnote : i.e. the lamp.] [footnote : lit. "uses," "advantages" (menafi).] [footnote : referring, of course, to the slave of the lamp.] [footnote : night dxxxvii.] [footnote : lit. "saw."] [footnote : afterwards "silver"; see pp. and l .] [footnote : a carat is generally a twenty-fourth part of a diner, i.e. about d.; but here it appears to be a sixtieth part or about d. burton, "a copper carat, a bright polished groat."] [footnote : lit. "to the contrary of him" (ila khilafihi). see ante, p. , note . {see fn# }] [footnote : night dxxxviii.] [footnote : kenani, pl. of kinnineh, a bottle or phial.] [footnote : i.e. the genie.] [footnote : night dxxxix.] [footnote : ala kedhum. burton, "after their olden fashion."] [footnote : lit. "[in] middling case" (halet[an] mustewessitet[an]). burton translates, "as middle-class folk," adding in a note, "a phrase that has a european touch."] [footnote : burton adds, "on diet."] [footnote : "er rijal el kamiloun," lit. "complete men." burton, "good men and true."] [footnote : bedsa'a. burton, "investments,"] [footnote : keisein. burton, "his pockets."] [footnote : lit. "neck." the muslims fable that all will appear at the day of resurrection with their good and evil actions in visible form fastened about their necks. "and each man, we constrain him to carry his actions (ta'r, lit. bird, i.e. fortune as told by augury from the flight of birds, according to the method so much in favour with the ancients, but interpreted by the scholiasts as 'actions,' each man's actions being, according to them, the cause of his good and evil fortune, happiness or misery), on (or about,.fi) his neck."--koran, xvii, .] [footnote : night dxl] [footnote : an idiomatic expression, equivalent to our vulgar english phrase, "he was struck all of a heap."] [footnote : beszireh, mental (as opposed to bodily) vision.] [footnote : night dxli.] [footnote : gheramuha.] [footnote : lit. "be rightly guided," "return to the right way."] [footnote : heds, syrian for hheds.] [footnote : i.e.. if thou be in earnest.] [footnote : aamin. burton, "fonder and more faithful."] [footnote : night dxlii.] [footnote : lit. "blood of my liver."] [footnote : i.e. the bride's parents.] [footnote : burton, "also who shall ask her to wife for the son of a snip?"] [footnote : night dxliii.] [footnote : lit. "near and far," the great being near to the king's dignity, and the small far from it.] [footnote : lit. "before" (cuddam).] [footnote : lit. "thou art not of its measure or proportion" (kedd).] [footnote : ijreker ti bi 'l hhecc. burton. "thou hast reminded me aright."] [footnote : night dxliv.] [footnote : kiyas, a mistake for akyas, pl. of keis, a purse.] [footnote : lit. "so, an thou wilt, burden thy mind (i.e. give thyself the trouble, kellifi khatiraki,) and with us [is] a china dish; rise and come to me with it." kellifi (fem.) khatiraki is an idiomatic expression equivalent to the french, "donnez-vous (or prenez) la peine" and must be taken in connection with what follows, i.e. give yourself the trouble to rise and bring me, etc. (prenez la peine de vous lever et de m'apporter, etc.). burton, "whereupon, an-thou please, compose thy mind. we have in our house a bowl of china porcelain: so arise thou and fetch it."] [footnote : lit. "were not equal to one quarter of a carat," i.e. a ninety-sixth part, "carat" being here used in its technical sense of a twenty-fourth part of anything.] [footnote : kellifi khatiraki (prenez la peine) as before. burton, "compose thy thoughts."] [footnote : night dxlv.] [footnote : elladhi hu alan ca'm bi maashina. burton, "ere this thou hast learned, o mother mine, that the lamp which we possess hath become to us a stable income."] [footnote : or "pay attention" (diri balek); see ante, pp. and . {see fn# and fn# }] [footnote : minhu. burton translates, "for that 'tis of him," and says, in a note, "here the ms. text is defective, the allusion is, i suppose, to the slave of the lamp." i confess i do not see the defect of which he speaks. alaeddin of course refers to the lamp and reminds his mother that the prosperity they enjoy "is (i.e. arises) from it."] [footnote : lit. "completed," "fully constituted."] [footnote : the attitude implied in the word mutekettif and obligatory in presence of a superior, i.e. that of a schoolboy in class.] [footnote : or "complainants," "claimants."] [footnote : fi teriketihi, apparently meaning "in its turn." burton, "who (i.e. the sultan) delivered sentence after his wonted way."] [footnote : night dxlvi.] [footnote : illezemet. burton, "she determined."] [footnote : lit. "the divan;" but the door of the presence-chamber is meant, as appears by the sequel.] [footnote : burton, "and when it was shut, she would go to make sure thereof."] [footnote : muddeh jumah. burton, "the whole month."] [footnote : burton, "come forward."] [footnote : burton, "levee days"] [footnote : izar. burton, "mantilla."] [footnote : here the copyist, by the mistaken addition of fe (so), transfers the "forthright" to the vizier's action of submission to the sultan's order.] [footnote : night dxlvii.] [footnote : i have arranged this passage a little, to make it read intelligibly. in the original it runs thus, "alaeddin's mother, whenas she took a wont and became every divan-day going and standing in the divan before the sultan, withal that she was dejected, wearying exceedingly, but for alaeddin's sake, her son, she used to make light of all weariness."] [footnote : aman; i.e. promise or assurance of indemnity, permission to speak freely, without fear of consequences.] [footnote : aman in secondary sense of "protection" or "safeguard."] [footnote : i.e. i pardon thee, under god, ("then i" being understood). the right of pardon residing with god, the pious muslim can only say, "god pardon thee first and then i pardon thee."] [footnote : burton, "shun the streets."] [footnote : arad. burton, "felt an uncontrollable longing."] [footnote : or "food (aish, bread) hath not been pleasant (or had any savour) for him."] [footnote : seadetuk, lit. "thy felicity;" this and jenabuk (lit. "thy side"), "thine excellence" or "thy highness," and hhedsretuk "thy highness," (lit. "thy presence") are the titles commonly given to kings in arabic-speaking countries, although hhedsretuk is strictly applicable only to the prophet and other high spiritual dignitaries. they are often, but erroneously, rendered "thy majesty"; a title which does not exist in the east and which is, as is well known to students of history, of comparatively recent use in europe.] [footnote : lit, "having regard to his clemency, he took to laughing and asked her." burton, "he regarded her with kindness, and laughing cloud, asked her."] [footnote : surreh, lit. purse and by extension, as here, anything tied up in bag-shape.] [footnote : night dxlviii.] [footnote : lit. "be clement unto me, thy grace promised me."] [footnote : lit. "forbearance (hhilm, clemency, longanimity, delay in requiting an evil-doer) is incumbent from thine exalted highness unto (ila) three months."] [footnote : aatsem melik, an ungrammatical construction of common occurrence in the present ms., properly aatsemu 'l mulouk.] [footnote : syn. "his clemency required."] [footnote : i.e. shall be reserved for him alone.] [footnote : i.e. the marriage trousseau.] [footnote : lit. "except that, o my son, the vizier bespoke him a privy word (kelam sirriyy) ere he promised me; then, after the vizier bespoke him a word privily (sirran), he promised me to (ila) three months."] [footnote : lit. an ill presence (mehhdser sau). this expression has occurred before in the nights, where i have, in deference to the authority of the late m. dozy (the greatest arabic scholar since silvestre de sacy) translated it "a compend of ill," reading the second word as pointed with dsemmeh (i.e. sou, evil, sub.) instead of with fetheh (i.e. sau, evil, adj.), although in such a case the strict rules of arabic grammar require sou to be preceded by the definite article (i.e. mehhdseru's sou). however, the context and the construction of the phrase, in which the present example of the expression occurs, seem to show that it is not here used in this sense.] [footnote : night dxlix.] [footnote : lit. (as before) "promised her to" (ila).] [footnote : lit. "to" (ila), as before.] [footnote : i.e. the delay.] [footnote : lit. "he thanked his mother and thought (or made) much of her goodness (istekthera bi-kheiriha, a common modern expression, signifying simply 'he thanked her') for her toil." burton, "then he thanked his parent, showing her how her good work had exceeded her toil and travail "] [footnote : lit. "wonder took her at this wonder and the decoration." burton amplifies, "she wondered at the marvellous sight and the glamour of the scene." me judice, to put it in the vernacular, she simply wondered what the dickens it was all about.] [footnote : min wectiha. burton, "and for some time, o my son, i have suspected." see ante, p. . {see fn# }] [footnote : lit. "fever seized him of his chagrin."] [footnote : night dl.] [footnote : lit. "promised me to" (ila), as before.] [footnote : eshaa; or, if we take the word as pointed with kesreh (i.e. ishaa), we may read, with burton, "to pass the rest of the evening," though this expression seems to me hardly in character with the general tone of the ms.] [footnote : musterah.] [footnote : sic (el gheir).] [footnote : night dli.] [footnote : min doun khiyaneh i.e. without offering her any affront. burton, "and he did no villain deed."] [footnote : galland adds, "et passe dans une garde-robe o--il s'etoit deshabille le soir." something of the kind appears to have dropped out of the present ms.] [footnote : night dlii.] [footnote : lit. "with the eye of anger." ghedseb (anger) and its synonym ghaits are frequently used in the nights in this sense; see especially vol. ii. of my translation, p. , "she smiled a sad smile," lit. a "smile of anger," (twice) and p. , "my anguish redoubled," lit. "i redoubled in anger."] [footnote : wesikh. burton, "fulsome."] [footnote : night dliii.] [footnote : diri balek an [la]. burton, "compose thy thoughts. if, etc." see ante, passim.] [footnote : sic.] [footnote : kedhebaka.] [footnote : i.e. that which he derived from such an alliance.] [footnote : lit. "wretches" (mesakin).] [footnote : night dliv.] [footnote : inketaet (lit. "she was cut or broken") min el khauf. burton, "she was freed from her fear of the past."] [footnote : or "honoured" (azlz)] [footnote : i.e. "in my behaviour to thee."] [footnote : kema akedu min mehebbetika li. burton, "even as i claim of thee affection for thy child."] [footnote : night dlv.] [footnote : hhashaha min el kidhb; lit. "except her from lying!" hhasha (which commonly signifies, "far be it," "god forbid!") is here used in a somewhat unusual manner. the sense seems to be, "god forbid that the lady bedrulbudour should be suspected of lying! "] [footnote : or "shrunken" (kusziret). burton, "bursten."] [footnote : or "honoured" (aziz).] [footnote : night dlvi.] [footnote : lit. "how [was] the device therein;" i.e how he should do for an expedient thereanent. burton, "the device whereby he should manage it."] [footnote : or "called upon" (nedeh).] [footnote : el ashreh [mubeshshereh understood], "the ten [who were rejoiced with glad tidings]," i.e. ten of mohammed's companions (abou bekr, omar, othman, ali, telheh, zubeir, saad ibn abi weccas, abdurrehman ibn auf, abou ubeideh ibnu'l jerrah and said ibn zeid), to whom (and to whom alone) he is said to have promised certain entrance into paradise. they are accordingly considered to have pre-eminence over the prophet's other disciples and are consequently often invoked by the less orthodox muslims as intercessors with him, much after the fashion of the quatuordecim adjutores, the fourteen helpers [in time of need], (i.e. saints catherine, margaret, barbara, pantaleon, vitus, eustace, blase, gregory, nicholas, erasmus, giles, george, leonard and christopher) of romish hagiology.] [footnote : i.e the marriage of his son to the sultan's daughter. burton, "it having been a rare enjoyment to him that he had fallen upon such high good fortune."] [footnote : lit. "marriage," i.e. "wedding festivities are out of place." the word (zijeh) here used is a dialectic (syrian) variant of zewaj, marriage. burton, "we require no delay,"] [footnote : lit. "the lord (i.e. he) of the suit or claim" (sahibu 'd dewat).] [footnote : or "inestimable," lit. "might not be measured by (or appraised at) a price or value." burton, "far beyond his power to pay the price."] [footnote : lit. "how is the management or contrivance (tedbir) with thee?" i.e. "canst thou suggest to us any expedient?"] [footnote : night dlvii.] [footnote : burton adds, "speaking privily."] [footnote : or perhaps, "we may with impunity rebut," etc.] [footnote : gherib, lit. a stranger, an exile, but vulg. by extension, a poor, homeless wretch.] [footnote : i.e alaeddin's mother.] [footnote : lit. "that day."] [footnote : fr. "... l'aimable." lit. "by a way or means" (bi-terikeh). it may be we should read bi [hatheti'll] terikeh, "by [this] means;" but the rendering in the text seems the more probable one, the sultan meaning that he would thus get rid of alaeddin's importunity by practice, without open breach of faith or violence.] [footnote : night dlviii.] [footnote : lit. "burden thyself (prenez la peine) and rise", (kellifi khatiraki, etc., as before).] [footnote : here szewani (trays) instead of, as before, szuhoun (dishes).] [footnote : night dlix.] [footnote : i.e. "look with open eyes"] [footnote : en nuwwab, i.e. those whose turn it was to be on guard.] [footnote : need (lit. coin), a vulgar syrian corruption of neket, customary gift of money or otherwhat to a bride on the marriage-day.] [footnote : the whole of the foregoing passage is so confused that i think it well to add here (l) a literal translation, as i read it: "so the vizier, yea, indeed, he marvelled at the greatness of that wealth more than the sultan, but envy was killing him and waxed on him more and more when he saw the sultan that he was satisfied with (or accepted of) the bride-gift and the dowry; however, it was not possible to him that he should gainsay the truth and should say to the sultan, 'he is not worthy;' only, he practised with a device upon the sultan so he should not let him give his daughter the lady bedrulbudour to alaeddin, and this [footnote was] that he said to him, etc,"--and also ( ) the version given by sir k. f. burton, who takes a different view of the passage: "then the minister (although he marvelled at these riches even more than did the sultan), whose envy was killing him and growing greater hour by hour, seeing his liege lord satisfied with the moneys and the dower and yet being unable to fight against fact, made answer, 'tis not worthy of her.' withal he fell to devising a device against the king, that he might withhold the lady badr-al-budur from alaeddin, and accordingly he continued, etc."] [footnote : or "in comparison with her" (ent hhedsretuk istatsemet hatha aleiha). this is an ambiguous passage and should perhaps be read, "thou magnifiest this (i.e. the gift) over her."] [footnote : night dlx.] [footnote : lit. "swiftly, the winds overtook her not."] [footnote : aksen. burton, "more suitable to thee."] [footnote : kethir[an]. burton, "and right soon (inshallah!) o my daughter, thou shalt have fuller joy with him."] [footnote : muebbed. burton, "alone."] [footnote : sic (kum),] [footnote : or "commission" (mishwar).] [footnote : bekia ma bekia hatha shey aleik, lit. "remaineth what remaineth this is a thing upon (or for) thee." burton, "happen whatso may happen; the rest is upon thy shoulders." the first bekia is perhaps used in the common colloquial sense of "then."] [footnote : shekeraha wa istekthera bi-kheiriha. see ante, p. , note . burton, "enhancing her kindly service."] [footnote : surname of the ancient kings of persia, vulg. chosroes.] [footnote : night dlxi.] [footnote : lit. "the."] [footnote : burton, "the costliest of clothes."] [footnote : generally that of aloes-wood.] [footnote : quoth shehrzad to shehriyar.] [footnote : yetsunnuhu; quare a clerical error for yentsuruku ("had seen him" )?] [footnote : i.e. male white slaves (memlouk, whence our "mameluke," sing. for plural memalik).] [footnote : lit. "and let there be with each slave-girl a suit, etc." burton "and let every handmaid be robed in raiment that befitteth queens wearing." the twelve suits of clothes to be brought by the slave-girls were of course intended for the wearing of alaeddin's mother; see post, p. . {see fn# in text}] [footnote : i.e. the genuine arabs of the unmixed blood.] [footnote : see ante, p. , note . {see fn# }] [footnote : likai telbesa (tetelebbesa?) hiya. burton, "she should wear."] [footnote : sic, the meaning seeming to be that kings' sons were out of comparison with alaeddin, as who should say (in cockney parlance) "don't talk to me about kings' sons."] [footnote : lit. "upon."] [footnote : el kendil el ajib.] [footnote : syn. "old and young."] [footnote : night dlxii.] [footnote : ictedsa an tesmuha li bi, lit. "decided (or demanded) that thou be bountiful to (or grace) me with;" but icledsa is here used in the colloquial sense of "willed, vouchsafed."] [footnote : i.e. that of his tongue, lit. "its bounds or reach" (kheddahu). burton, "passing all measure."] [footnote : lit. "acquired, gotten, come by thee" (khetsitu bika).] [footnote : night dlxiii.] [footnote : nuweb (properly naubat).] [footnote : musica.] [footnote : acamou el fereh el atsim. burton, "a mighty fine marriage-feast was dispread in the palace."] [footnote : muashir.] [footnote : netser.] [footnote : lit. "but the behoving on me for her service engageth (or enforceth) me to apply myself hereunto."] [footnote : i.e. at thy disposition.] [footnote : night dlxiv.] [footnote : tebakhin. burton, "kitcheners."] [footnote : keszr.] [footnote : wa, but quaere au ("or")?] [footnote : kushk.] [footnote : the description of the famous upper hall with the four-and-twenty windows is one of the most contused and incoherent parts of the nights and well-nigh defies the efforts of the translator to define the exact nature of the building described by the various and contradictory passages which refer to it. the following is a literal rendering of the above passage: "an upper chamber (keszr) and (or?) a kiosk (kushk, a word explained by a modern syrian dictionary as meaning '[a building] like a balcony projecting from the level of the rest of the house,' but by others as an isolated building or pavilion erected on the top of a house, i.e. a keszr, in its classical meaning of 'upper chamber,' in which sense lane indeed gives it as synonymous with the turkish koushk, variant kushk,) with four-and-twenty estrades (liwan, a raised recess, generally a square-shaped room, large or small, open on the side facing the main saloon), all of it of emeralds and rubies and other jewels, and one estrade its kiosk was not finished." later on, when the sultan visits the enchanted palace for the first time, alaeddin "brought him to the high kiosk and he looked at the belvedere (teyyareh, a square or round erection on the top of a house, either open at the sides or pierced with windows, =our architectural term 'lantern') and its casements (shebabik, pl. of shubbak, a window formed of grating or lattice-work) and their lattices (she"ri for she"rir, pl. of sheriyyeh, a lattice), all wroughten of emeralds and rubies and other than it of precious jewels." the sultan "goes round in the kiosk" and seeing "the casement (shubbak), which alaeddin had purposely left defective, without completion," said to the vizier, "knowest thou the reason (or cause) of the lack of completion of this casement and its lattices?" (shearihi, or quaere, "[this] lattice," the copyist having probably omitted by mistake the diacritical points over the final ha). then he asked alaeddin, "what is the cause that the lattice of yonder kiosk (kushk) is not complete?" the defective part is soon after referred to, no less than four times, as "the lattice of the kiosk" (sheriyyetu 'l kushk), thus showing that, in the writer's mind, kushk, liwan and shubbak were synonymous terms for the common arab projecting square-sided window, made of latticework, and i have therefore rendered the three words, when they occur in this sense, by our english "oriel," to whose modern meaning (a window that juts out, so as to form a small apartment), they exactly correspond. again, in the episode of the maugrabin's brother, the princess shows the latter (disguised as fatimeh) "the belvedere (teyyarrh) and the kiosk (kushk) of jewels, the which [was] with (i.e. had) the four-and-twenty portals" (mejouz, apparently a syrian variant of mejaz, lit. a place of passage, but by extension a porch, a gallery, an opening, here (and here only) used by synecdoche for the oriel itself), and the famous roe's egg is proposed to be suspended from "the dome (cubbeh) of the upper chamber" (el keszr el faucaniyy), thus showing that the latter was crowned with a dome or cupola. it is difficult to extricate the author's exact meaning from the above tangle of confused references; but, as far as can be gathered. in the face of the carelessness with which the text treats kushk as synonymous now with keszr or teyyareh and now with liwan or shubbak, it would seem that what is intended to be described is a lofty hall (or sorer), erected on the roof of the palace, whether round or square we cannot tell, but crowned with a dome or cupola and having four-and-twenty deep projecting windows or oriels, the lattice or trellis-work of which latter was formed (instead of the usual wood) of emeralds, rubies and other jewels, strung, we may suppose, upon rods of gold or other metal i have, at the risk of wearying my reader, treated this point at some length, as well because it is an important one as to show the almost insuperable difficulties that beset the. conscientious translator at well-nigh every page of such works as the "book of the thousand nights and one night."] [footnote : night dlxv.] [footnote : the text has imar (an inhabited country), an evident mistake for emair (buildings).] [footnote : night dlxvi.] [footnote : atsm sekhahu. burton. "his dignity was enhanced."] [footnote : or "imitate" (yetemathelou bihi). burton, "which are such as are served to the kings."] [footnote : night dlxvii.] [footnote : wectu 'l asr, i.e. midway between noon and nightfall.] [footnote : lit. "was broken" (inkeseret).] [footnote : burton, "with the jerid," but i find no mention of this in the text. the word used (le'ba, lit. "he played") applies to all kinds of martial exercises; it may also mean simply, "caracoling."] [footnote : see ante, p. , note . {see fn# }] [footnote : or "turns" (adwar).] [footnote : el hemmam a sultaniyy el meshhour. burton, "the royal hammam (known as the sult ni)."] [footnote : muhliyat. burton, "sugared drinks."] [footnote : night dlxviii.] [footnote : keszriha. burton, "her bower in the upper story."] [footnote : lit. "changed the robes (khila) upon her." for the ceremony of displaying (or unveiling) the bride, see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. i. pp. et seq., and "tales from the arabic," vol. iii. pp. et seq.] [footnote : meshghoul.] [footnote : keszr.] [footnote : szeraya, properly serayeh.] [footnote : i.e. alexander the great; see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. p. , note.] [footnote : night dlxix.] [footnote : henahu.] [footnote : fetour, the slight meal eaten immediately on rising, answering to the french "premier dejeuner," not the "morning-meal" (gheda), eaten towards noon and answering to the french "dejeuner... la fourchette."] [footnote : gheda.] [footnote : tekerrum (inf. of v of kerem), lit. "being liberal to any one." here an idiomatic form of assent expressing condescension on the part of a superior. such at least is the explanation of the late prof. dozy; but i should myself incline to read tukremu (second person sing. aorist passive of iv), i.e. "thou art accorded [that which thou seekest]."] [footnote : indhehela.] [footnote : or "upper hall, gallery." lit. "kiosk." see ante, p.l , note . {see fn# }] [footnote : teyyareh. see ante, l.c. the etymology of this word is probably [caah] teyyareh, "a flying [saloon]."] [footnote : shebabik, pl. of shubbak; see ante, l.c.] [footnote : sheari, see ante, l.c.] [footnote : shubbak.] [footnote : night dlxx.] [footnote : lit. "kiosk" (kushk); see ante, p. , note .{see fn# }] [footnote : ma lehiket el muallimin (objective for nom. muallimoun, as usual in this text) an.] [footnote : yebca lika dhikra. burton, "so shall thy memory endure."] [footnote : lit. "kiosk."] [footnote : ? (teba'kh).] [footnote : or "melodious."] [footnote : el kelb el hhezin.] [footnote : i.e. "might not avail unto."] [footnote : muhlivat, as before; see ante. p. , note . {see fn# }] [footnote : szeraya.] [footnote : night dlxxi.] [footnote : sheriyyetu 'l kushk.] [footnote : lit. "the lattice of the kiosk which (i.e. the lattice) is lacking or imperfect." the adjective (nakiszeh) is put in the feminine, to agree with "lattice" (sheriyyeh), which is femminine, kiosk (kushk) being masculine.] [footnote : kushk.] [footnote : she"rihi.] [footnote : et tewashiyy, a term here used for the first time in the present text, where we generally find the turkish aga in this sense.] [footnote : night dlxxii.] [footnote : lit. "kiosk" (kushk).] [footnote : fi szerayyetika.] [footnote : szeraya.] [footnote : lit. "that i was not lacking in ableness to complete it."] [footnote : kushk, here used in sense of "belvedere."] [footnote : or "upper chamber" (keszr).] [footnote : kushk. from this passage it would seem as if the belvedere actually projected from the side of the upper story or soler (keszr), instead of being built on the roof, lantern-wise, or being (as would appear from earlier passages) identical with the hall itself, but the whole description is as before remarked. so full of incoherence and confusion of terms that it is impossible to reconcile its inconsistencies.] [footnote : lit. "a brother resembling thee."] [footnote : lit. "he increased (or exceeded) in the salaries (or allowances) of the poor and the indigent" (zada fi jewanicki 'l fukera wa 'l mesakin). jewamek is an arabicized persian word, here signifying systematic or regular almsgivings.] [footnote : kull muddeh.] [footnote : labu 'l andab, lit. "arrow-play."] [footnote : night dlxxiii.] [footnote : szerayeh.] [footnote : keszr.] [footnote : burton adds, "and confections."] [footnote : lit. "he set them down the stablest or skilfullest (mustehhkem) setting down."] [footnote : hherrem, i.e. arranged them, according to the rules of the geomantic art.] [footnote : netsera jeyyidan fi. burton, "he firmly established the sequence of."] [footnote : technical names of the primary and secondary figures. the following account of the geomantic process, as described by arabic writers de re magicf, is mainly derived from the mukeddimat or prolegomena of abdurrehman ibn aboubekr mohammed (better known as ibn khaldoun) to his great work of universal history. those (says he) who seek to discover hidden things and know the future have invented an art which they call tracing or smiting the sand; to wit, they take paper or sand or flour and trace thereon at hazard four rows of points, which operation, three times repeated (i.e. four times performed), gives sixteen rows. these points they eliminate two by two, all but the last (if the number of the points of a row be odd) or the last two (if it be even) of each row, by which means they obtain sixteen points, single or double. these they divide into four figures, each representing the residual points of four lines, set one under another, and these four figures, which are called the mothers or primaries, they place side by side in one line. from these primaries they extract four fresh figures by confronting each point with the corresponding point in the next figure, and counting for each pair a single or double point, according to one of two rules, i.e. ( ) setting down a single point for each single point being on the same line with another point, whether single or double, and a double point for. each pair of double points in line with each other, or ( ) reckoning a double point for each pair of like points (single or double), corresponding one with another on the same line' and a single point for each, unlike pair. these new figures (as well as those that follow) are called the daughters or secondaries and are placed beside the primaries, by confrontation with which (i,e, with , with , with and with ) four fresh figures are obtained after the same fashion and placed side by side below the first eight. from this second row a thirteenth and fourteenth figure are obtained in the same way (confronting with lo and l with ) and placed beneath them, as a third row. the two new figures, confronted with each other, in like manner, furnish a fifteenth figure, which, being confronted with the first of the primaries, gives a sixteenth and last figure, completing the series. then (says our author), the geomant proceeds to examine the sixteen figures thus obtained (each of which has its name and its mansion, corresponding to one of the twelve signs of the zodiac or the four cardinal points, as well as its signification, good or bad, and indicates also, in a special way, a certain part of the elemental world) and to note each figure according to its presage of weal or ill; and so, with the aid of an astrological table giving the explanations of the various signs and combinations, according to the nature of the figure, its aspect, influence and temperament (astrologically considered) and the natural object it indicates, a judgment is formed upon the question for a solution of which the operation was undertaken. i may add that the board or table of sand (tekht reml), so frequently mentioned in the nights, is a shallow box filled with fine sand, carefully levelled, on which the points of the geomantic operation are made with a style of wood or metal. (the name tekht reml is however now commonly applied to a mere board or tablet of wood on which the necessary dots are made with ink or chalk. ) the following scheme of a geomantic operation will show the application of the above rules. supposing the first haphazard dotting to produce these sixteen rows of points, ......... ( ) ..... ( ) ......... ( ) ...... ( ) ......... ( ) .... ( ) ........ ( ) .... ( ) ........ ( ) ....... ( ) ......... ( ) ........ ( ) ....... ( ) ..... ( ) ....... ( ) ..... ( ) by the process of elimination we get the following four primaries: fig. x fig. x x fig. x fig. x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x the process of confrontation of the corresponding points of these four figures (according to rule ) gives the following four secondaries: fig. x fig. x fig. x fig. x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x by confrontation of the points of each secondary with those of its corresponding primary, the following four fresh figures are obtained: fig. x x fig. x fig. x x fig. x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x fig. , confronted with fig. gives a thirteenth figure x x x x x x x and fig. confronted with fig. , a fourteenth x x x x x x figures and , similarly treated, yield a fifteenth figure x x x x x x x which, in its turn, confronted with fig. , gives a sixteenth and last figure, x x x x x x completing the scheme, which shows the result of the operation as follows: ( ) x ( ) x x ( ) x ( ) x x ( ) x ( ) x ( ) x ( ) x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x ( ) x x ( ) x ( ) x x ( ) x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x ( ) x ( ) x x x x x x x x x x x x ( ) x x x x x x x ( ) x x x x x x] [footnote : burton adds here, "in order that other than i may carry it off."] [footnote : min el meloum, lit. "[it is] of the known (i.e. that which is known)." burton, "who knoweth an he wot, etc."] [footnote : night dlxxiv.] [footnote : sic, meaning of course that he had discovered its properties and availed himself thereof.] [footnote : medinetu 's seltaneh, i e. the seat of government or capital.] [footnote : lit. "donned" (lebesa).] [footnote : here galland says, "il entra dans le lien le plus fameux et le plus frequente par les personnel de grande distinction, ou l'on s'assembloit pour boire d'une certaine boisson chance qui luy etoit connue des son premier voyage. il n'y e-t pas plust"t pris place qu'on lay versa de cette boisson dans une tasse et qu'on la luy presenta. en la prenant, comme il prestoit l'oreille... droite et... gauche, il entendit qu'on s'entretenoit du palais d'aladdin." the chavis ms. says, "he entered a coffee-house (kehweh, syrian for kehawi), and there used to go in thereto all the notables of the city, and he heard a company, all of them engaged in (ammalin bi, a very vulgar expression) talking of the amir alaeddin's palace, etc." this (or a similar text) is evidently the original of galland's translation of this episode and it is probable, therefore, that the french translator inserted the mention "of a certain warm drink"(tea), out of that mistaken desire for local colouring at all costs which has led so many french authors (especially those of our own immediate day) astray. the circumstance was apparently evolved (alla tedesca) from his inner consciousness, as, although china is a favourite location with the authors of the nights, we find no single mention of or allusion to tea in the rest of the work.] [footnote : lit. "i will make him lose."] [footnote : night dlxxv.] [footnote : lit. "instruments of astronomy or astrology" (tenjim); but tenjim is also used in the sense of geomancy, in which operation, as before explained, astrology plays an important part, and the context shows that the word is here intended to bear this meaning. again, the implements of a geomancer of the higher order would include certain astrological instruments, such as an astrolabe, star-table, etc., necessary, as i have before explained, for the elucidation of the scheme obtained by the sand-smiting proper.] [footnote : he had apparently learned (though the arabic author omits, with characteristic carelessness, to tell us so) that alaeddin was absent a. hunting.] [footnote : akemm, vulg. for kemm, a quantity.] [footnote : minareh, lit. "alight-stand," i.e. either a lamp-stand or a candlestick.] [footnote : bi-ziyadeh, which generally means "in excess, to boot," but is here used in the sense of "in abundance."] [footnote : aalem.] [footnote : after the wont of "the natural enemy of mankind' in all ages.] [footnote : keszr.] [footnote : night dlxxvi.] [footnote : aghatu 't tuwashiyeh.] [footnote : ubb.] [footnote : lit. "who" (men), but this is probably a mistake for ma (that which).] [footnote : ifrikiyeh.] [footnote : night dlxxvii.] [footnote : ummar. this may, however, be a mistake (as before, see ante p. , note {see fn# }) for ema'r (buildings).] [footnote : lit. "o company" (ya jema't), a polite formula of address, equivalent to our "gentlemen."] [footnote : night dlxxviii.] [footnote : lit. "the affair (or commandment, amr) is going to be sealed upon us."] [footnote : sic (dara haulahu thelatheta dauratin); but qu're should it not rather be, "gave three sweeps or whirls with his sword round his head"? see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. vi. p. .] [footnote : lit. "hath been bountiful unto me;" [the matter of] my life.] [footnote : night dlxxix.] [footnote : previous to prayer.] [footnote : lit. made easy to (yessera li).] [footnote : the name of the province is here applied to an imaginary city.] [footnote : night dlxxx.] [footnote : lit. "who hath a head with the head-seller or dealer in heads, etc." the word here employed (rewwas) commonly signifies "a man who cooks and sells sheepsheads, oxheads, etc." m. zotenberg makes the following note on this passage in. his edition of alaeddin; "rewwas (for raa"s) signifies not only 'he who sells cooked heads,' but also 'he who makes a business of cooking heads.' consequently whoso entrusteth a head to the rewwas is preoccupied and sleeps not." m. zotenberg's note is unintelligible, in consequence of his having neglected to explain that the passage in question is a common egyptian proverb, meaning (says burckhardt), "the person whose fortune is entrusted to the hands of strangers cannot enjoy repose." "the poor," adds he, "at cairo buy sheepsheads and for a trifle have them boiled in the bazaar by persons who are not only cooks, but sellers of sheepsheads, and are therefore called raa"s, or in the egyptian dialect rewwas." the proverb is in the present case evidently meant as a play upon the literal meaning ("headsman," hence by implication "executioner") of the word rewwas, although i cannot find an instance of the word being employed in this sense. it is, however, abundantly evident from the general context that this is the author's intention in the passage in question, alaeddin's head being metaphorically in the hands of (or pledged to) the headsman, inasmuch as he had engaged to return and suffer decapitation in case he should not succeed in recovering the princess within forty days.] [footnote : i suppose the verb which i render "caused [sleep] get the mastery," to be ghelleba, ii of gheleba, as the only way of making sense of this passage, though this reading involves some irregularity from a grammatical point of view. this, however, is no novelty in the present text. burton, "but whoso weareth head hard by the headsman may not sleep o'nights save whenas slumber prevail over him."] [footnote : zeczekeh, a word which exactly renders the sparrow's dawn-cheep.] [footnote : lit. "from (as fr. des) the deep or remote dawn" (min el fejri 'l ghemic, syr. for emic), cf. matthew arnold's "resignation;" "the cockoo, loud on some high lawn, is answered from the depth of dawn.."] [footnote : the terminal formula of the dawn-prayer.] [footnote : i.e. the magician] [footnote : lit. "bride'' (arouseh). she is always, to the end of the tale, spoken of as alaeddin's "bride," never as his "wife," whilst he, in like manner, is called her "bridegroom" (arous).] [footnote : this, at first sight, appears a contradiction, as we are distinctly told (see ante, p. ) that the princess was unaware of the properties of the lamp; but the sequel shows that she had learned them, in the mean time. from the magician himself. see post.] [footnote : ifrikiyeh.] [footnote : night dlxxxi.] [footnote : lit. "a spit (ric) of sweet." we may also read reic or reyyic, "the first part of anything" (especially "the first drop of rain").] [footnote : lit. "having changed the clothes of this my dress."] [footnote : i.e. taking effect the moment of its administration.] [footnote : night dlxxxii.] [footnote : because white wine would have been visibly troubled by the drug.] [footnote : ishebi bi-surrihi (lit. "drink by his pleasure or gladness;" surr or surour). burton, "pledge him to his secret in a significant draught."] [footnote : kasein thelatheh, lit. two cups three (unusual way of putting it).] [footnote : reshoush (for reshash), "anything sprinkled," i.e. powder or drops. i translate "powder," as i find no mention in the nights of the use of this narcotic in a liquid form.] [footnote : takkeltu, lit. "i have conceived in my mind." sir r. burton is apparently inclined to read tallectu by transposition, as he translates, "i depend upon thy say."] [footnote : night dlxxxiii.] [footnote : lit. "i will not delay upon thee."] [footnote : lit. "thou hast burdened or incommoded thyself" (kellefta khatiraka), see previous note, p. , {see fn# } on this idiomatic expression.] [footnote : ana atebtu mizajaka, lit. "i have wearied thy temperament."] [footnote : lit. "pleasure" (surr), see ante, p. , note . {see fn# }] [footnote : or "playing the boon-companion."] [footnote : syn. "equivocal, a double entente."] [footnote : lit. "proceeded from her in truth."] [footnote : tih, lit. pride, haughtiness, but, by analogy, "coquetry."] [footnote : lit. "gaiety, ecstasy or intoxication (keif) whirled (dara) in his head."] [footnote : lit. "not itself exactly with him" (ma hiya bi-eimhi indahu.)] [footnote : lit. "turned over" (kelebet, a clerical error for kebbelel).] [footnote : tekeddemet lihi wa basethu fi kheddihi. burton, "again she kissed its lip and offered it to him."] [footnote : terakedsou, lit. raced with one another.] [footnote : babu 'sz szeray.] [footnote : night dlxxxiv.] [footnote : keszr.] [footnote : lit. "in" (fi); but fi is evidently used here in mistake for bi, the two prepositions being practically interchangeable in modern arabic of the style of our present text.] [footnote : burton, "his costliest raiment."] [footnote : or chamber (keszr).] [footnote : night dlxxxv.] [footnote : sic (raihh), a common vulgarism in this text.] [footnote : night dlxxxvi.] [footnote : lit. "also" (eidsan).] [footnote : i.e. the two were as like as two halves of a bean.] [footnote : i.e. the world.] [footnote : or death (saturn), the eighth division of the common astrological figure.] [footnote : menkeleh. see my book of the thousand nights and one night, vol. i. p. , note . {see vol. of payne's book of the thousand nights and one night, fn# }] [footnote : dsameh.] [footnote : liha keramat kethireh. kerameh (sing. of keramat), properly a favour or mark of grace, a supernatural gift bestowed by god upon his pious servants, by virtue whereof they perform miracles, which latter are also by derivation called keramat. cf. acts viii. : "thou hast thought that the gift of god," i.e. the power of performing miracles, "may be purchased with money."] [footnote : night dlxxxvii.] [footnote : weliyeh.] [footnote : fe-ain (where), probably a mistranscription for fe-men (who).] [footnote : sitti, fem. of sidi, "my lord," the common title of a saint among modern arabic-speaking peoples.] [footnote : meskin, lit. "poor wretch," but used as our "good man" and the french "bonhomme," in a sense of somewhat contemptuous familiarity.] [footnote : lit. "wished the man increase of his good (istekthera bi-kheirihi, for which idiomatic expression= "he thanked him," see ante, p. , note {see fn# }), and thanked his excellence" (favour or kindness, fedsl).] [footnote : sherabati. burton, "vintner."] [footnote : keniz, a word which i cannot find in any dictionary, but which appears to be the past participle (in the secondary form for mecnouz, as ketil, slain, for mertoul,) of keneza, a lost verb of which only the fourth form acneza, he drank from a cup (kinz), survives, and to mean "something drunk from a cup." burton, "wine."] [footnote : ca"da. burton translates "he mounted," apparently reading szfida for ca"da.] [footnote : lit. "belly" (betn); but that "breast" is meant is shown by the next line, which describes fatimeh as finding the enchanter seated on her heart.] [footnote : lit. "heart" (kelb).] [footnote : the text adds here, "she went not and came not" (la rahet wa la jaet). burton translates, "as though she had never gone or come" and adds, in a note, by way of gloss, "i.e. as she was in her own home;" but i confess that his explanation seems to me as obscure as the text.] [footnote : night dlxxxvill.] [footnote : keszr.] [footnote : the first or "opening" chapter of the koran.] [footnote : en nas bi 'l ghewali kethir an, lit. "the folk in (things) precious (or dear or high-priced, ghewali, pl. of ghalin, also of ghaliyeh, a kind of perfume) are abundant anent." this is a hopelessly obscure passage, and i can only guess at its meaning. bi 'l ghewali may be a clerical error for bi 'l ghalibi, "for the most part, in general," in which case we may read, "folk in general abound [in talk] anent her virtues;" or bi 'l ghewali may perhaps be used in the sense (of which use, however, i know no instance) of 'in excessive estimation,' in which latter case the passage might be rendered, "folk abound in setting a high value on (or extolling) her virtues." burton boldly amplifies, "the folk recount her manifestations in many cases of difficulty."] [footnote : lit. "that he might complete his deceit the more." the meaning is that he dissembled his satisfaction at the princess's proposal and made a show of refusal, so he might hoodwink her the more effectually.] [footnote : keszr.] [footnote : night dlxxxix.] [footnote : teyyareh.] [footnote : lit. "openings for passage" (mejous). see ante, p. , note. {see fn# }] [footnote : keszr.] [footnote : lit. "an extreme" (ghayeh).] [footnote : szeraya.] [footnote : szeraya.] [footnote : i.e. "o thou that art dear to me as mine eyes."] [footnote : keszr.] [footnote : night dlxc.] [footnote : keszr.] [footnote : i.e. its apparent from its real import.] [footnote : mustekim.] [footnote : minka. burton, "of me."] [footnote : lit. "for that secret that she healed." burton, "for the art and mystery of healing."] [footnote : min wejaihi.] [footnote : szeraya.] [footnote : terehhhheba bihi.] [footnote : lit. "believed not in."] [footnote : night dlxci.] [footnote : ghereza (i.q.. gheresa).] [footnote : lit. "out of regard to or respect for thine eyes." (keramet[an] li-uyouniki), i.e. "thanks to the favourable influence of thine eyes." when "the eye" is spoken of without qualification, the "evil eye" is commonly meant; here, however, it is evident that the reverse is intended.] [footnote : lit. "i had no news or information (ma indi kkeber) [of the matter]."] [footnote : lit. "neglectful of the love of thee." this is a difficult passage to translate, owing to its elliptical form; but the meaning is that the princess wished to assure alaeddin that what had happened was not due to any slackening in the warmth of her affection for him.] [illustration: cover art] [transcriber's note: the various sections of this book had varying page headers. those headers have been collected at the start of each section as introductory paragraphs.] the wisdom of the east the instruction of ptah-hotep and the instruction of ke'gemni: the oldest books in the world. translated from the egyptian with an introduction and appendix by battiscombe g. gunn london john murray, albemarle street to my mother vii.nov.mcmiv contents page introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . the instruction of ptah-hotep . . . . . . . . . . . . . the instruction of ke'gemni . . . . . . . . . . . . . . appendix note to appendix . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . the instruction of amenemhÊ'et . . . . . . . . . . . . . explanation of names . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . { } editorial note the object of the editors of this series is a very definite one. they desire above all things that, in their humble way, these books shall be the ambassadors of good-will and understanding between east and west, the old world of thought, and the new of action. in this endeavour, and in their own sphere, they are but followers of the highest example in the land. they are confident that a deeper knowledge of the great ideals and lofty philosophy of oriental thought may help to a revival of that true spirit of charity which neither despises nor fears the nations of another creed and colour. finally, in thanking press and public for the very cordial reception given to the "wisdom of the east" series, they wish to state that no pains have been spared to secure the best specialists for the treatment of the various subjects at hand. l. cranmer-byng. s. a. kapadia. , harcourt buildings, inner temple, london. { } the instruction of ptah-hotep introduction memorials of the past--the land of darkness--the time of ptah-hotep--concerning the book--the treatise of ke'gemni--date of the manuscript--an egyptian chesterfield--who was ptah-hotep?--his teaching--views on women--the gods of egypt--previous translations--the oldest book known is there anything whereof it may be said, see, this is new! it hath been already of old time, which was before us. there is no remembrance of former things; neither shall there be any remembrance of things that are to come with those that shall come after. in these days, when all things and memories of the past are at length become not only subservient to, but submerged by, the matters and needs of the immediate present, those paths of knowledge that lead into regions seemingly remote from such needs are somewhat discredited; and the aims of those that follow them whither they lead are regarded as quite out of touch with the real interests of life. very greatly is this so with archaeology, and the study of ancient and curious tongues, and searchings into old thoughts on high and ever-insistent questions; a public which has hardly time to { } read more than its daily newspaper and its weekly novel has denounced--almost dismissed--them, with many other noble and wonderful things, as 'unpractical,' whatever that vague and hollow word may mean. as to those matters which lie very far back, concerning the lands of several thousand years ago, it is very generally held that they are the proper and peculiar province of specialists, dry-as-dusts, and persons with an irreducible minimum of human nature. it is thought that knowledge concerning them, not the blank ignorance regarding them that almost everywhere obtains, is a thing of which to be rather ashamed, a detrimental possession; in a word, that the subject is not only unprofitable (a grave offence), but also uninteresting, and therefore contemptible. this is a true estimate of general opinion, although there are those who will, for their own sakes, gainsay it. when, therefore, i state that one of the writings herein translated has an age of nearly six thousand years, and that another is but five hundred years younger, it is likely that many will find this sufficient reason against further perusal, deeming it impossible that such things can possess attraction for one not an enthusiast for them. yet so few are the voices across so great a span of years that those among them having anything to tell us should be welcome exceedingly; whereas, for the most part, they have cried in the { } wilderness of neglect hitherto, or fallen on ears filled with the clamour of more instant things. i could show, if this were a fitting place, that archaeology is not at all divorced from life, nor even devoid of emotion as subtle and strange, as swift and moving, as that experienced by those who love and follow art. she, archaeology, is, for those who know her, full of such emotion; garbed in an imperishable glamour, she is raised far above the turmoil of the present on the wings of imagination. her eyes are sombre with the memory of the wisdom driven from her scattered sanctuaries; and at her lips wonderful things strive for utterance. in her are gathered together the longings and the laughter, the fears and failures, the sins and splendours and achievements of innumerable generations of men; and by her we are shown all the elemental and terrible passions of the unchanging soul of man, to which all cultures and philosophies are but garments to hide its nakedness; and thus in her, as in art, some of us may realise ourselves. withal she is heavy-hearted, making continual lamentation for a glory that has withered and old hopes without fulfilment; and all her habitations are laid waste. as for the true lover of all old and forgotten things, it may justly be said of him, as of the poet, _nascitur, non fit_. for the dreams and the wonder are with him from the beginning; and in early childhood, knowing as yet hardly { } the names of ancient peoples, he is conscious of, and yearns instinctively toward, an immense and ever-receding past. with the one, as with the other, the unaccountable passion is so knitted into his soul that it will never, among a thousand distractions and adverse influences, entirely forsake him; nor can such an one by willing cause it to come or to depart. he will live much in imagination, therein treading fair places now enwrapped in their inevitable shroud of wind-blown sand; building anew temples whose stones hardly remain one upon the other, consecrate to gods dead as their multitudes of worshippers; holding converse with the sages who, with all their lore, could not escape the ultimate oblivion: a spectator of splendid pageants, a ministrant at strange rites, a witness to vast tragedies, he also has admittance to the magical kingdom, to which is added the freedom of the city of remembrance. his care will be to construct, patiently and with much labour, a picture (which is often less than an outline) of the conditions of the humanity that has been; and he neither rejects nor despises any relic, however trivial or unlovely, that will help him, in its degree, to understand better that humanity or to bridge the wide chasms of his ignorance. moreover, great age hallows all things, even the most mean, investing them with a certain sanctity; and the little sandal of a nameless { } child, or the rude amulet placed long ago with weeping on the still bosom of a friend, will move his heart as strongly by its appeal as the proud and enduring monument of a great conqueror insatiable of praise. at times, moving among the tokens of a period that the ravenous years dare not wholly efface in passing, he hears, calling faintly as from afar, innumerable voices--the voices of those who, stretching forth in sheol eager hands toward life, greatly desire that some memorial of them, be it but a name, may survive in the world of men.... ancient egypt fares perhaps better than other countries of antiquity at the hands of the 'general reader,' and sometimes obtains a hearing when they do not, by reason of its intimate contact at certain periods with the nation that has brought us the _old testament_. because of this the report of it has been with us constantly, and it has nearly become a symbol in religion. the stories of moses and the magicians, and of the dealings of abraham and joseph with pharaoh, together with the rude woodcuts of egyptian taskmasters and cupbearers in family bibles, have invested the venerable land with a dreamy mystery; while every one has heard of 'rameses, the pharaoh of the oppression,' and 'meneptah, the pharaoh of the exodus.' and it is possible that for the sake of such { } association, if not for his own sake, ptah-hotep will be considered worthy of notice. but in spite of the fact that the ancient egyptians enjoy rather more popularity than their contemporaries, it is evident that the books which they wrote are closed books to those who have not the glamour of vanished peoples, and the fascination of mighty cities now made desolate, strong upon them. yet in the heterogeneous and pitiful flotsam that reluctant seas have washed to us piecemeal from a remote past, there are, as will be shown later, many things which, although proceeding from a culture and modes of thought as far removed from our own as they may well be,[ ] are worth the reading, which do not require any special knowledge for their understanding; and of these are the translations in this book. the following pages, which, although addressed to the 'general reader,' may yet be of some assistance to those especially interested in egypt, give, among other matters, the place of the instructions of ptah-hotep and ke'gemni in the 'literature' of egypt; their place--their { } unique place--in the literature of the world; their value historically; a description of the document in which they were found; what is known of their authors; a discussion of their contents. the land of which the father of history declared that no other country held so many wonders, has bequeathed us, by various channels, the rumour and remnant of a strange knowledge. she has devised us enigmas insoluble, and rendered up to us signs and messages whose meaning is dark for all time. and she has left a religion, 'veiled in allegory and illustrated by symbol,' as fascinating as impenetrable for those who approach it. for into our hands the keys of these things have not been delivered; wherefore much study of them is a weariness to the flesh, and of the hazarding of interpretations there is no end. but apart from the mazes of mythology, the broken ways of history and the empty letter of a dead faith, there are, as is known to some, and as this little book professes to show, many documents which are antique, but not antiquated, possessing interest above the purely archaeological--the interest called human. of these are the tales which recall, in incident as in style, those of the immortal collection, full of the whole glamour of the east, the _thousand nights and a night_. { } such are the love-songs, full of the burning utterance of desire; the pathetic and even bitter dirges, whose singers have seen all the works that are done under the sun, and found all to be vanity and vexation of spirit. and such also are the didactic poems for the instruction of youth, which--in poetic phrase and in great detail--inculcate, among other things, the practice of right conduct as the price of happiness; a courtesy hardly less considerate than our own; and a charity which, when certain inevitable shortcomings are allowed for, bears comparison with almost any later system. out of these there are many that may properly claim a place in a series bearing the seal of the wisdom of the east, though they belong only to the more objective and 'practical' side of that wisdom. but, as touching the books here translated--the instructions of ptah-hotep and of ke'gemni--they possess, apart from the curious nature of their contents, a feature of the greatest interest, and an adequate claim on the notice of all persons interested in literature and its history. for if the datings and ascriptions in them be accepted as trustworthy (there is no reason why they should not be so accepted), they were composed about four thousand years before christ, and three thousand five hundred and fifty years before christ, respectively. and the significance of those remote dates is, that they are the oldest { } books in the world, the earliest extant specimens of the literary art. they stand on the extreme horizon of all that ocean of paper and ink that has become to us as an atmosphere, a fifth element, an essential of life. books of many kinds had of course been written for centuries before ptah-hotep of memphis summarised, for the benefit of future generations, the leading principles of morality current in his day; even before the vizier, five hundred years earlier, gave to his children the scroll which they prized above all things on earth;[ ] but those have perished and these remain. there are lists of titles which have a large sound, and prayers to the gods for all good things, on the tombs and monuments of kings and magnates long before the time of ke'gemni; but those are not books in any sense of that word. even the long, strange chants and spells engraven in the royal pyramids over against memphis are later than the time of ptah-hotep, and cannot be called books in their present form, although some of them apparently originated before the first dynasty.[ ] nor do the oldest books of any other country approach these two in antiquity. to draw { } comparisons between them let us, in imagination, place ourselves at the period at which ptah-hotep lived, that is, about b.c. , 'under king isôsi, living for ever,' and take a glance at futurity. the babylonians are doubtless exercising their literary talents; but they will leave nothing worthy the name of book to the far posterity of fifty-four centuries hence. thirteen centuries shall pass before hammurabi, king of babylon, drafts the code of laws that will be found at that time. only after two thousand years shall moses write on the origin of things, and the vedas be arranged in their present form. it will be two-and-a-half thousand years before the great king of jerusalem will set in order many proverbs and write books so much resembling, in form and style, that of ptah-hotep;[ ] before the source and summit of european literature will write his world epics. for the space of years between solomon and ourselves, great though it seem, is not so great as that between solomon and ptah-hotep. the number of extant texts of the class to which the subjoined immediately belong is not large in proportion to the rest of egyptian mss., { } but they seem to be representative of the class, being diverse in date and subject, but similar in form. there is great uniformity in the arrangement of most of them, in the following respects. they have as title the word 'instruction' (_seb'ôyet_), and are written by a father for the advantage of his son; they are very poetic in their arrangement of words and phrases, and are usually divided into short sections or paragraphs by the use of red ink for the first sentence of each. such is the instruction of ptah-hotep on morality (the finest of its class); the instruction of king amenemhê'et on the hollowness of friendship and other matters; the instruction of deu'of, the son of kherti, on the excellence of the literary life; and others. in many respects and in many details they greatly resemble the didactic works of the _old testament_ and _apocrypha_. these 'instructions' were held in high esteem as text-books and writing exercises in schools--a circumstance to which we owe the preservation of many of them. for a considerable number of important and interesting poems, letters, and narratives are only known to us from school exercise-books. the pupil at the 'chamber of instruction' wrote out about three pages of these each day, as a means of improving his writing, as a model of style in composition, and for purposes of edification. these exercises { } abound in errors of spelling and grammar, having sometimes the master's corrections elegantly written above in red. as may be imagined, a schoolboy's scrawl over three thousand years old is no easy thing to translate; but _faute de mieux_ the egyptologist welcomes any version, even the most barbarous. fortunately, the ms. from which these translations come is not of this kind; a detailed description of it may interest some of my readers. the prisse papyrus, which is well known by name and a few extracts to all persons conversant with egyptian matters, was acquired in egypt by m. prisse d'avennes, a french archaeologist of distinction, and published by him in .[ ] the exact place of its discovery is unknown. m. prisse is said to have bought it of one of the _fellahîn_ whom he employed to make excavations at the burial-ground of thebes. this man pretended that he had no knowledge of its finding, as he was trying to sell it for a friend. it is believed that it was actually taken by the arab from the tomb of one of the kings 'entef;[ ] but this is not certain. if it were, it would perhaps enable us to fix a _terminus ad que,_ for the writing of this copy, although tombs often contain objects of later date. the papyrus was presented in about , by m. prisse, to the { } bibliotheque nationale (in those days the bibliotheque royale) at paris, where it still is, divided and glazed in the usual manner. spread out flat, it measures about ft. in., with an average height of / in., which is about the usual height of papyri of the eleventh and twelfth dynasties. it contains at present eighteen pages of heavy and bold black and red writing, in the so-called hieratic character. at first sight it appears to be in perfect preservation, being entirely free from the cracks and decay which mar many fine manuscripts of far later date; but an examination of the contents shows that an unknown quantity has been torn off from the commencement. originally the roll contained at least two books, of which we have the latter part of one and the whole of the other. between these there is a blank space of some in. the characters are clearly and carefully made, but are not always correct, as though the copyist had a badly written or very cursive copy before him, and was not always sure of his spelling. the first of these books, of which only the last two pages remain to us, is a treatise on deportment, and is here called the _instruction of ke'gemni_. it has always been attributed to this person since its discovery, but examination of as much of the book as exists will show that it is not said to have been written by him. because { } his is the only name mentioned, egyptologists have concluded that he is the author. the unnamed vizier, who called his children to him, can hardly be ke'gemni, who was not raised to the rank of vizier and governor of a city until afterwards. ke'gemni may well have been a son of the author. this is not of material importance, however, as the date of writing is given as the end of the reign of heuni, the last king of the third dynasty, who died about b.c. this book, then, which argues a society of some refinement, is, so far as it goes, the oldest in the world. after a long stretch of blank papyrus, from which a third book has perhaps been erased, we come upon the _instruction of ptah-hotep_ in its entirety, divided into sections by red writing, as aforesaid.[ ] in this, also, we get a definite date, for we learn in the opening lines that its author (or compiler) lived in the reign of king isôsi. now isôsi was the last ruler but one of the fifth dynasty, and ruled forty-four years, from about to b.c. thus we may take about as the period of ptah-hotep. of these two kings there is hardly anything to say. heuni is only known to us by mention of his name; we have no record of any act of his. { } of isôsi the only exploit that remains is this: that he sent his treasurer, be'wêrded, to somaliland[ ] to obtain for him a certain kind of dwarf; this the treasurer brought back, and received much reward therefor. that is all that is left of the reigns of two kings, who ruled long, who perhaps ruled greatly and wisely, having just cause to hope that their fame and the report of their good deeds might never pass away. such is the fate of kings. the copy of these instructions that we have, the only complete copy,[ ] is far later than the later of these dates. an examination of the writing shows that it is not earlier than the eleventh dynasty, and is probably of the twelfth.[ ] more than this cannot be said; where it was written, by whom, and when, are not stated, as they are in many cases. the writing lacks the fine regularity of that of the professional scribes of the twelfth dynasty, and has many points of divergence therefrom; but the papyrus is assigned by the best judges to this period. this gives it an antiquity of about four thousand five hundred years; and it looks good to last as long again, if only it be not examined over-much nor brought out into the light too often. { } it is as fresh and readable as in the year after it was written. will the books of our time last one-tenth so long? it is not without a feeling of awe, even of sadness, that one with any sense of the wonder of things gazes for the first time on the old book, and thinks of all it has survived. so many empires have arisen and gone down since those words were penned, so many great and terrible things have been. and we are fortunate indeed in having such a book as this of ptah-hotep for the most ancient complete literary work extant. for not by any magical texts, or hymns and prayers, should we be so well shown the conditions of that early time; but our moralist, by advancing counsels of perfection for every contingency, has left us a faithful record of his age. the veil of five-and-a-half thousand years is rent, and we are met with a vivid and a fascinating picture of the domestic and social life of the 'old kingdom.' we read of the wife, who must be treated kindly at all costs; the genial generosity of the rich man, and the scowling boor, a thorn in the side of his friends and relations, the laughing-stock of all men; the unquenchable talkers of every station in life, who argue high, who argue low, who also argue round about them, as common as now in the east, and the trusted councillor, weighing every word; the obstinate _ignoramus_ who sees { } everything inverted, listening open-mouthed to the disjointed gossip of those near him, and the scholar, conversing freely with learned and unlearned alike, recognising that, measured against the infinite possibilities of knowledge and skill, we are all much of the same stature; the master of the estate or province, treated with infinite respect by his subordinates in rank and wealth, and the paid servants that are never satisfied, who leave after presents have been made them; the hard-working clerk who casts accounts all day, and the tradesmen who will perhaps give you credit when money is dear, if you have previously made friends of them; the well-bred diner-out, lightly passing on his favourite dish, contenting himself with plain fare, and the _gourmand_ who visits his friends at meal-times, departing only when the larder is entirely exhausted. not only do we find such characters as these in ptah-hotep's hand-book, but interesting scenes are brought near to us by the writing-reed of that primaeval chesterfield. we find ourselves taking supper at the table of a great man. his subordinates sit round, scarcely daring to raise their eyes from their food, not speaking to their host until spoken to. he serves the food that is before him according to his liking for each guest; and the less favoured find solace in the reflection that even the distribution of food is { } according to providence. we pass on. now we are in the hall of council with the other overseers and officials of the province, and our overlord presiding. we notice with astonishment the extreme solemnity and strict observance of custom and precedence in this archaic period. many of those who have met report on the matters under their charge, and others debate on them. the one now speaking is discussing a trade about which he knows nothing, and an expert rises and makes very short work of his opponent's arguments. now we are among some people dividing up property. one of them has tried, of course, to bully his friends into giving him more than his due share, and, having failed, leaves the house in a rage. he will regret it later. and so on. nothing definite is known concerning these two nobles beyond what is said of them in their works. a fine tomb of a certain ke'gemni exists at memphis; his titles, so far as can be ascertained,[ ] are: _judge of the high court: governor of the land unto its limit, south and north: director of every command_. he has sometimes been supposed to be identical with our ke'gemni; { } but i am assured by those most competent to judge that this tomb cannot be earlier than the fifth dynasty (a good three hundred years from the date assigned to the moralist), so that the theory that they are one person may be dismissed as highly improbable. no other person of the name is known. the position is much the same with ptah-hotep. there are near memphis the tombs of several nobles of this name, of whom two lived in the reign of isôsi; and in this case, again, it has been assumed that one[ ] of these two must be the writer of the instruction. but in neither instance do the titles coincide with or include those assigned to him. the highest title which he bears, _eldest son of the king_, does not anywhere appear in these tombs. it is true that one of these contemporaries was _hereditary chief_; but we know that ptah-hotep was a common name at this time, and in the absence of more certain proof it will be well to abstain from the identification of like names upon insufficient grounds. thus it is only by the chance discovery of this { } scroll that these two princes of old time, whose bodies are blown about the desert dust these many centuries, are secured from utter oblivion; men '_such as did bear rule in their kingdoms, men renowned for their power, giving counsel by their understanding, and declaring prophecies: leaders of the people by their counsels, and by their knowledge of learning meet for the people, wise and eloquent in their instructions_.' and against such as these, that from remote years '_have left a name behind them, that their praises might be reported,_' how many are there '_which have no memorial; who are perished, as though they had never been; and are become as though they had never been born; and their children after them_.'[ ] i had intended to make a detailed analysis of the moral sense of ptah-hotep and ke'gemni, but it appears unnecessary; since they give their advice so clearly and simply, they may safely be left to speak for themselves. but as especially noteworthy i would point to the gracious tolerance of ignorance enjoined in § (ptah-hotep), and the fine reason given for that injunction, in contrast with the scorn expressed for the obstinate fool (ph. ); the care due to a wife (ph. ), which is in signal contrast to the custom of other eastern nations in this { } respect;[ ] the great stress laid on filial duties (ph. , , , , ); the enthusiasm for obedience, expressed in a jargon of puns (ph. ), which, once the high-watermark of style among egyptian _literati_, has long since lost its savour; the interesting matter on manners at table (kg. , , ph. , ), in society (kg. , ph. , , , ), and in official positions (ph. , , , , , , , ). a rough classification including many sections is here given: duties toward superiors (ph. , , , , , , ). duties toward equals ( , , , , , , , , , ). duties toward inferiors ( , , , , , ). the whole teaching resolves into the maxim, "be good, and you will be happy;" not at all in the sense that virtue is its own reward--i do not think that that would have seemed an adequate return to ptah-hotep--but in the sense of material welfare rewarding, as a matter of course, an honourable life. following his reasoning, if a man be obedient as a son, punctilious as a servant, generous and gentle as a master, and courteous as a friend, then all good things shall fall to him, he shall reach a green old age honoured by the king, and his memory shall be long in the land. this theory, which is not { } found satisfactory in our day, is insisted on by most of the ancient moralists, who appear to regard it, not as a substitute for conscience, but rather as a _raison d'être_ or justification thereof. yet, centuries before a king of israel had seen all things that are, and found them vanity, a king of egypt had left it on record that he had done all good things for his subjects, and that 'there was no satisfaction therein.' it has been said with some truth of codes of morals and laws that what is omitted is almost as important as what is included. but we must not carry this too far; we should be foolish indeed did we assert that those things omitted from such a code as ptah-hotep's were not practised or not held to be important in his day. for example, he 'knows nothing'--as a higher critic would say--of kindness to animals; but we know from many things that the egyptians treated animals kindly and made much of them as pets. in the very tomb of that ptah-hotep mentioned above,[ ] who may be our author, is depicted the bringing of three dogs and a tame monkey to him while he is dressing; possibly so that he may feed them himself. and this kindly feeling obtained throughout egyptian history. they treated animals more as 'dumb friends' in those days than might have been { } _a priori_ expected, and more, perhaps, than any other nation of antiquity. again, he 'knows nothing' of duties to the mother, although he is so insistent on duties to the father; but the high position of women and their matriarchal privileges oppose any deduction that egyptian manners were somewhat to seek in this direction. ke'gemni says of the unsociable man that he is a grief to his mother, and another moralist of uncertain date (perhaps twelfth dynasty, about b.c. ), named 'eney, is explicit on this matter. he says to his son, '_i gave thee thy mother, she that bore thee with much suffering.... she placed thee at the chamber of instruction for the sake of thine instruction in books; she was constant to thee daily, having loaves and beer in her house. when thou art grown, and hast taken to thee a wife, being master in thy house, cast thine eyes on the one that gave thee birth and provided thee with all good things, as did thy mother. let her not reproach thee, lest she lift up her hands to the god, and he hear her prayer._' and, most remarkable of all omissions, there is nothing said as to duties to the gods. in egypt, whose gods are beyond counting, where almost everybody was a priest, ptah-hotep--himself a 'holy father' and 'beloved of the god'--has no word to say on religious obligations, devoting his work entirely to the principles of charity and duty to one's neighbour. it is { } seemingly sufficient to him that one do the right in this world, without thinking overmuch about the other. this is the more curious in that other writers of the same class have many injunctions regarding worship and sacrifice; and so complete is his reserve touching this matter, so important in the eyes of other egyptians, that it is easy to believe that it was intentional. we may even discern in him a protagonist of the modern 'ethical school,' whose adherents may be interested to find their views implicitly held so long ago. notwithstanding this singularity, he is by no means unmindful of deity. we notice that he has occasion to speak several times of 'the god'[ ] in his relation to humanity and human affairs. if we collect these references to the god, we shall find that the following qualities are attributed to him. he rewards diligence ( , ) and punishes sin ( , ; also kg. ); he is the giver of good things (ph. , , ), dispenses fate and preordains events ( , , , ), loves his creation ( ), observes men's actions ( ), desires them to be fruitful and multiply ( ). all this is in complete accord with the belief of other religions--including christianity--regarding the godhead. and here we touch another pleasing characteristic of this most ancient of books--its catholic spirit and disregard of those { } mythological and esoteric riddles that most egyptian works propound to us continually. it will be noticed that 'the god' is not anywhere mentioned by name. osiris ( ) and horus ( ) are alluded to, but only historically, in respect of their rule upon earth, not as present powers. the reason is this, that at that time the gods, even the great gods, were only local, that is to say, their worship was confined to certain towns or districts ('nomes'), and beyond the boundaries of these their names lost that power and influence which they exerted in their peculiar provinces. a book, therefore, which spoke of one god only--by name--would have been found much limited as to popularity and use. hence the old moralists and didactic writers, whatever god they might themselves worship, forebore to mention him, since by many readers he would not be recognised as paramount; they wrote instead, 'the god,' that is, 'the god of your allegiance, whoever he may be.' thus, were the reader a native of heliopolis, his god would be atômu, the setting sun; of memphis, ptah, the revealer; of hermopolis, thoth, master of divine words and chief of the eight. it was for this reason that the unknown author of what is called the 'negative confession'[ ] makes the deceased say, '_i have not scorned the { } god of my town_.' and, indeed, so simply and purely does ptah-hotep speak of the god that the modern reader can, without the least degradation of his ideals, consider the author as referring to the deity of monotheism, and if he be of christendom, read god; if of islam, read allah; if of jewry, jehovah.[ ] no doubt the gulf fixed between teaching and practice was as great then as now. we have the teaching, we know that the teaching was current all over egypt in various forms, but of the practice we know very little. human nature being much the same at all times and places, we must beware of measuring the one by the other, the unknown by the known, and must be content to take such counsels as showing the egyptian-- not what he was, but what he should have been. it is established that they were a kindly, peace-loving people, genial and courtly; but whether law-abiding is another matter. we know nothing about their laws, but we know { } that the law-courts were busy, and that legal officials were numerous; and we know, further, that their duplicity and lack of straightforwardness were proverbial among the greeks and romans, and persists to this day. i have noted above the resemblance of the egyptian instructions to the jewish didactic books (_proverbs and ecclesiastes_ in the _old testament_, _wisdom of solomon_ and _ecclesiasticus_ in the _apocrypha_); this will be obvious to all readers. compare, e.g., the opening of ptah-hotep (§b) with the opening of proverbs. it is not necessary to point out all the parallels in detail. i come, lastly, to speak of other translations.[ ] the first into any language was that of the rev. d. i. heath, vicar of brading, isle of wight. this version, which first appeared in , was ruined by the translator's theory that the prisse papyrus contained references to the exodus, and was written by the 'shepherd-king,' aphobis. how he obtained that name from ptah-hotep, how he read the exodus into his book, or how he got three-fourths of his translation, it is not possible to say. written in a style which is in itself a matter for decipherment, it is full of absurdities and gratuitous mistakes, and { } is entirely worthless. it is one more instance of the lamentable results that arise when a person with a preconceived biblical theory comes into contact with egyptian records. in the following year m. chabas did part of the papyrus into french, and, as might be expected of an egyptologist of such attainments, his version was infinitely more accurate than the foregoing. in herr lauth made a translation--also partial--into latin, and in ; m. philippe virey published a careful study and complete translation of both books. his rendering[ ] was subsequently translated into english and published (with some alterations) in _records of the past_, , and has remained the only complete translation in english. it has been taken bodily (even the footnotes) into myer's _oldest books in the world_, and has been put into charming verse by canon rawnsley in his _notes for the nile_. thus it appears to be, in a sense, the standard version. nevertheless, it leaves very much to be desired in point of accuracy, although the general sense of each section is usually caught. of later years mr. griffith has done important work on this text, and i am indebted to his translations for several readings. as regards the version here offered, i will only say that it has been done with considerable care, { } without prejudice, and, it is thought, in accordance with scientific methods of translation; and that it has been compared with all previous renderings, and will be found to be, on the whole, the most accurate that has yet appeared. and now i will leave ptah-hotep to speak for himself. it may be thought that he has been introduced at too great length; but i would point out that his book has been strangely overlooked by the educated public hitherto, although it would be difficult to over-estimate its importance, to literature as the oldest complete book known, to ethics and theology as the earliest expression of the mystery we name conscience, and to lovers of antiquity as one of the most instructive and touching relics of a people and a power that once were great and are now brought to nothing. by a happy chance the words of our sage have been justified, in that he said, '_no word that hath here been set down shall cease out of the land for ever_.' would indeed that we had more of such books as this, whereby we may a little lighten the darkness that lies behind the risings of a million suns; and learn how little the human heart, and the elements of human intercourse, alter throughout the ages. and what of the other writers of that time, whose works and whose very names are entirely swept away? to this there is no better answer made than in the lamentation made by the harper close upon five { } thousand years ago, which was written up in the tomb of king 'entef: _those that built them tombs_, he sang, _have now no resting-place. lo! what of their deeds? i have heard the words of yemhotep and of hardedef, whose sayings men repeat continually. behold! where are their abodes? their walls are over-thrown, and their places are not, even as though they had not been._' the burden of egypt. battiscombe g. gunn. , park hill road, croydon. [ ] much ingenuity has been expended to show that egyptian manners and customs, books, and other things, were "much the same" as our own, as though the supposed similarity reflected any credit either on them or on us. except in customs which are common to all times and places, as drinking beer, writing love-letters, making wills, going to school, and other things antecedently probable, the egyptian life can show very few parallels to the life of to-day. [ ] the monuments leave no doubt of this. pen and ink were used in the first dynasty, and speech had been reduced to visible signs before that. [ ] about b.c. . in all egyptian dates given in this book i follow professor petrie's chronology. [ ] these are round figures, of course, and in the case of solomon and moses traditional dates. modern criticism places _genesis_ and _proverbs_ much later than and b.c. [ ] see appendix for the literature of this papyrus. [ ] these were kings of the eleventh dynasty, about b.c. [ ] in the translation these divisions are indicated, for purposes of reference, by numbers and letters, which are not, of course, in the original. so also in the instruction of amenemhê'et (appendix). [ ] pwenet: the identification is not certain. [ ] fragments of another are in the british museum. [ ] it has been thought to be as late as the seventeenth (about b.c.), but the balance of opinion favours the above-mentioned period. [ ] the inscriptions and sculptures from this tomb have not yet been published, but a work dealing with it will shortly appear. the above titles, excepting the first, are from lepsius, _denkmäler aus Ägypten und Äthiopien_, abth. ii. , berlin, - . [ ] called ptah-hotep i. by egyptologists. for a description of his tomb, see mariette, a., _les mastabas de l'ancien empire_, paris, , d. . for the other ptah-hotep under isôsi, see quibell, j. e., and griffith, f. l., _egyptian research account; the ramesseum and the tomb of ptah-hotep_, london, . also davies, n. de g., and griffith, f. l., _egypt exploration fund; the mastaba of ptahhetep and akhethetep at saqqara_, vols., london, , . the little figure on the cover of this book is from this tomb. [ ] _the wisdom of the son of sirach_, chap. xliv. [ ] the egyptians were monogamists at this time, and the wife enjoyed social equality with her husband. [ ] page , footnote. [ ] _nôter_. [ ] this is an arbitrary name not existing in the original. it would be better named 'the declaration of innocence.' [ ] it has been thought by many egyptologists that 'the god' mentioned in this and other texts is a nameless monotheistic abstraction transcending all named gods. although this theory has the support of many great names, i venture to say that the evidence for such an important doctrine is in the highest degree unsatisfactory. [ ] the books mentioned here are set forth in detail in the bibliography. [ ] only of ptah-hotep. { } the instruction of ptah-hotep the ethics of argument--manners for guests--from father to son--a just judge--the treatment of servants--duties of the great--the test of friendship--the beauty of obedience--one generation to another--whom the king honoureth the instruction of the governor of his city, the vizier, ptah-hotep, in the reign of the king of upper and lower egypt, isôsi, living for ever, to the end of time. a. the governor of his city, the vizier, ptah-hotep, he said: 'o prince, my lord, the end of life is at hand; old age descendeth [upon me]; feebleness cometh, and childishness is renewed. he [that is old] lieth down in misery every day. the eyes are small; the ears are deaf. energy is diminished, the heart hath no rest. the mouth is silent, and he speaketh no word; the heart stoppeth, and he remembereth not yesterday. the bones are painful throughout the body; good turneth unto evil. all taste departeth. these things doeth old age for mankind, being evil in all things. the nose is stopped, and he breatheth not for weakness (?), whether standing or sitting. 'command me, thy servant, therefore, to make over my princely authority [to my son]. let me speak unto him the words of them that hearken to the counsel of the men of old time; those that { } hearkened unto the gods. i pray thee, let this thing be done, that sin may be banished from among persons of understanding, that thou may enlighten the lands.' said the majesty of this god:[ ] 'instruct him, then, in the words of old time; may he be a wonder unto the children of princes, that they may enter and hearken with him. make straight all their hearts; and discourse with him, without causing weariness.' b. here begin the proverbs of fair speech, spoken by the hereditary chief, the holy father,[ ] beloved of the god, the eldest son of the king, of his body, the governor of his city, the vezier, ptah-hotep, when instructing the ignorant in the knowledge of exactness in fair-speaking; the glory of him that obeyeth, the shame of him that transgresseth them. he said unto his son: . be not proud because thou art learned; but discourse with the ignorant man, as with the sage. for no limit can be set to skill, neither is there any craftsman that possesseth full advantages. fair speech is more rare than the emerald that is found by slave-maidens on the pebbles. . if thou find an arguer talking, one that is well disposed and wiser than thou, let thine arms { } fall, bend thy back,[ ] be not angry with him if he agree (?) not with thee. refrain from speaking evilly; oppose him not at any time when he speaketh. if he address thee as one ignorant of the matter, thine humbleness shall bear away his contentions. . if thou find an arguer talking, thy fellow, one that is within thy reach, keep not silence when he saith aught that is evil; so shalt thou be wiser than he. great will be the applause on the part of the listeners, and thy name shall be good in the knowledge of princes. . if thou find an arguer talking, a poor man, that is to say not thine equal, be not scornful toward him because he is lowly. let him alone; then shall he confound himself. question him not to please thine heart, neither pour out thy wrath upon him that is before thee; it is shameful to confuse a mean mind. if thou be about to do that which is in thine heart, overcome it as a thing rejected of princes. . if thou be a leader, as one directing the conduct of the multitude, endeavour always to be gracious, that thine own conduct be without defect. great is truth, appointing a straight path; never hath it been overthrown since the { } reign of osiris.[ ] one that oversteppeth the laws shall be punished. overstepping is by the covetous man; but degradations (?) bear off his riches, for the season of his evil-doing ceaseth not. for he saith, 'i will obtain by myself for myself,' and saith not, 'i will obtain because i am allowed.' but the limits of justice are steadfast; it is that which a man repeateth from his father. . cause not fear among men; for [this] the god punisheth likewise. for there is a man that saith, 'therein is life'; and he is bereft of the bread of his mouth. there is a man that saith, 'power [is therein]'; and he saith, 'i seize for myself that which i perceive.' thus a man speaketh, and he is smitten down. it is another that attaineth by giving unto him that hath not; not he that causeth men dread. for it happeneth that what the god hath commanded, even that thing cometh to pass. live, therefore, in the house of kindliness, and men shall come and give gifts of themselves. . if thou be among the guests of a man that is greater than thou, accept that which he giveth thee, putting it to thy lips. if thou look at him that is before thee (thine host), pierce him not { } with many glances. it is abhorred of the soul[ ] to stare at him. speak not till he address thee; one knoweth not what may be evil in his opinion. speak when he questioneth thee; so shall thy speech be good in his opinion. the noble who sitteth before food divideth it as his soul moveth him; he giveth unto him that he would favour--it is the custom of the evening meal. it is his soul that guideth his hand. it is the noble that bestoweth, not the underling that attaineth. thus the eating of bread is under the providence of the god; he is an ignorant man that disputeth it. . if thou be an emissary sent from one noble to another, be exact after the manner of him that sent thee, give his message even as he hath said it. beware of making enmity by thy words, setting one noble against the other by perverting truth. overstep it not, neither repeat that which any man, be he prince or peasant, saith in opening the heart; it is abhorrent to the soul. . if thou have ploughed, gather thine harvest in the field, and the god shall make it great under thine hand. fill not thy mouth at thy neighbours' table....[ ] if a crafty man be the { } possessor of wealth, he stealeth like a crocodile from the priests. let not a man be envious that hath no children; let him be neither downcast nor quarrelsome on account of it. for a father, though great, may be grieved; as to the mother of children, she hath less peace than another. verily, each man is created [to his destiny] by the god, who is the chief of a tribe, trustful in following him. . if thou be lowly, serve a wise man, that all thine actions may be good before the god. if thou have known a man of none account that hath been advanced in rank, be not haughty toward him on account of that which thou knowest concerning him; but honour him that hath been advanced, according to that which he hath become. behold, riches come not of themselves; it is their rule for him that desireth them. if he bestir him and collect them himself, the god shall make him prosperous; but he shall punish him, if he be slothful. . follow thine heart during thy lifetime; do not more than is commanded thee. diminish not the time of following the heart; it is abhorred of the soul, that its time [of ease] be taken away. shorten not the daytime more than is needful to { } maintain thine house. when riches are gained, follow the heart; for riches are of no avail if one be weary. . if thou wouldest be a wise man, beget a son for the pleasing of the god. if he make straight his course after thine example, if he arrange thine affairs in due order, do unto him all that is good, for thy son is he, begotten of thine own soul. sunder not thine heart from him, or thine own begotten shall curse [thee]. if he be heedless and trespass thy rules of conduct, and is violent; if every speech that cometh from his mouth be a vile word; then beat thou him, that his talk may be fitting. keep him from those that make light of that which is commanded, for it is they that make him rebellious.[ ] and they that are guided go not astray, but they that lose their bearings cannot find a straight course. . if thou be in the chamber of council, act always according to the steps enjoined on thee at the beginning of the day. be not absent, or thou shall be expelled; but be ready in entering and making report. wide[ ] is the seat of one that hath made address. the council-chamber acteth by strict rule; and all its plans are in accordance with method. it is the god that { } advanceth one to a seat therein; the like is not done for elbowers. . if thou be among people, make for thyself love, the beginning and end of the heart. one that knoweth not his course shall say in himself (seeing thee), 'he that ordereth himself duly becometh the owner of wealth; i shall copy his conduct.' thy name shall be good, though thou speak not; thy body shall be fed; thy face shall be [seen] among thy neighbours; thou shalt be provided with what thou lackest. as to the man whose heart obeyeth his belly, he causeth disgust in place of love. his heart is wretched (?), his body is gross (?), he is insolent toward those endowed of the god. he that obeyeth his belly hath an enemy.[ ] . report thine actions without concealment; discover thy conduct when in council with thine overlord. it is not evil for the envoy that his report be not answered, 'yea, i know it,' by the prince; for that which he knoweth includeth not [this]. if he (the prince) think that he will oppose him on account of it, [he thinketh] 'he will be silent because i have spoken.'[ ] . if thou be a leader, cause that the rules { } that thou hast enjoined be carried out; and do all things as one that remembereth the days coming after, when speech availeth not. be not lavish of favours; it leadeth to servility (?), producing slackness. . if thou be a leader, be gracious when thou hearkenest unto the speech of a suppliant. let him not hesitate to deliver himself of that which he hath thought to tell thee; but be desirous of removing his injury. let him speak freely, that the thing for which he hath come to thee may be done. if he hesitate to open his heart, it is said, 'is it because he (the judge) doeth the wrong that no entreaties are made to him concerning it by those to whom it happeneth?' but a well-taught heart hearkeneth readily. . if thou desire to continue friendship in any abode wherein thou enterest, be it as master, as brother, or as friend; wheresoever thou goest, beware of consorting with women. no place prospereth wherein that is done. nor is it prudent to take part in it; a thousand men have been ruined for the pleasure of a little time short as a dream. even death is reached thereby; it is a wretched thing. as for the evil liver, one leaveth him for what he doeth, he is avoided. if his desires be not gratified, he regardeth (?) no laws. { } . if thou desire that thine actions may be good, save thyself from all malice, and beware of the quality of covetousness, which is a grievous inner (?) malady. let it not chance that thou fall thereinto. it setteth at variance fathers-in-law and the kinsmen of the daughter-in-law; it sundereth the wife and the husband. it gathereth unto itself all evils; it is the girdle of all wickedness.[ ] but the man that is just flourisheth; truth goeth in his footsteps, and he maketh habitations therein, not in the dwelling of covetousness. . be not covetous as touching shares, in seizing that which is not thine own property. be not covetous toward thy neighbours; for with a gentle man praise availeth more than might. he [that is covetous] cometh empty from among his neighbours, being void of the persuasion of speech. one hath remorse for even a little covetousness when his belly cooleth. . if thou wouldest be wise, provide for thine house, and love thy wife that is in thine arms. fill her stomach, clothe her back; oil is the remedy of her limbs. gladden her heart during thy lifetime, for she is an estate profitable unto its lord. be not harsh, for gentleness mastereth her more than strength. give (?) to her that for which she sigheth and that toward which her { } eye looketh; so shalt thou keep her in thine house.... . satisfy thine hired servants out of such things as thou hast; it is the duty of one that hath been favoured of the god. in sooth, it is hard to satisfy hired servants. for one[ ] saith, 'he is a lavish person; one knoweth not that which may come [from him].' but on the morrow he thinketh, 'he is a person of exactitude (parsimony), content therein.' and when favours have been shown unto servants, they say, 'we go.' peace dwelleth not in that town wherein dwell servants that are wretched. . repeat not extravagant speech, neither listen thereto; for it is the utterance of a body heated by wrath. when such speech is repeated to thee, hearken not thereto, look to the ground. speak not regarding it, that he that is before thee may know wisdom. if thou be commanded to do a theft, bring it to pass that the command be taken off thee, for it is a thing hateful according to law. that which destroyeth a vision is the veil over it. . if thou wouldest be a wise man, and one sitting in council with his overlord, apply thine heart unto perfection. silence is more profitable unto thee than abundance of speech. consider { } how thou may be opposed by an expert that speaketh in council. it is a foolish thing to speak on every kind of work, for he that disputeth thy words shall put them unto proof. . if thou be powerful, make thyself to be honoured for knowledge and for gentleness. speak with authority, that is, not as if following injunctions, for he that is humble (when highly placed) falleth into errors. exalt not thine heart, that it be not brought low.[ ] be not silent, but beware of interruption and of answering words with heat. put it far from thee; control thyself. the wrathful heart speaketh fiery words; it darteth out at the man of peace that approacheth, stopping his path. one that reckoneth accounts all the day passeth not an happy moment. one that gladdeneth his heart all the day provideth not for his house. the bowman hitteth the mark, as the steersman reacheth land, by diversity of aim. he that obeyeth his heart shall command.[ ] . let not a prince be hindered when he is occupied; neither oppress the heart of him that is already laden. for he shall be hostile toward one that delayeth him, but shall bare his soul { } unto one that loveth him. the disposal of souls is with the god, and that which he loveth is his creation. set out, therefore, after a violent quarrel; be at peace with him that is hostile unto [thee] his opponent. it is such souls that make love to grow. . instruct a noble in such things as be profitable unto him; cause that he be received among men. let his satisfaction fall on his master, for thy provision dependeth upon his will. by reason of it thy belly shall be satisfied; thy back will be clothed thereby. let him receive thine heart, that thine house may flourish and thine honour--if thou wish it to flourish--thereby. he shall extend thee a kindly hand. further, he shall implant the love of thee in the bodies of thy friends. forsooth, it is a soul loving to hearken.[ ] . if thou be the son of a man of the priesthood, and an envoy to conciliate the multitude,....[ ] speak thou without favouring one side. let it not be said, 'his conduct is that of the nobles, favouring one side in his speech.' turn thine aim toward exact judgments. { } . if thou have been gracious at a former time, having forgiven a man to guide him aright, shun him, remind him not after the first day that he hath been silent to thee [concerning it]. . if thou be great, after being of none account, and hast gotten riches after squalor, being foremost in these in the city, and hast knowledge concerning useful matters, so that promotion is come unto thee; then swathe not thine heart in thine hoard, for thou art become the steward of the endowments of the god. thou art not the last; another shall be thine equal, and to him shall come the like [fortune and station]. . bend thy back unto thy chief, thine overseer in the king's palace, for thine house dependeth upon his wealth, and thy wages in their season. how foolish is one that quarrelleth with his chief, for one liveth only while he is gracious.... plunder not the houses of tenants; neither steal the things of a friend, lest he accuse thee in thine hearing, which thrusteth back the heart.[ ] if he know of it, he will do thee an injury. quarrelling in place of friendship is a foolish thing. { } . [concerning continence]. . if thou wouldest seek out the nature of a friend, ask it not of any companion of his; but pass a time with him alone, that thou injure not his affairs. debate with him after a season; test his heart in an occasion of speech. when he hath told thee his past life, he hath made an opportunity that thou may either be ashamed for him or be familiar with him. be not reserved with him when he openeth speech, neither answer him after a scornful manner. withdraw not thyself from him, neither interrupt (?) him whose matter is not yet ended, whom it is possible to benefit. . let thy face be bright what time thou livest. that which goeth into the storehouse must come out therefrom; and bread is to be shared. he that is grasping in entertainment shall himself have an empty belly; he that causeth strife cometh himself to sorrow. take not such an one for thy companion. it is a man's kindly acts that are remembered of him in the years after his life.[ ] . know well thy merchants; for when thine affairs are in evil case, thy good repute among thy friends is a channel (?) which is filled. it is more important than the dignities of a man; and { } the wealth of one passeth to another. the good repute of a man's son is a glory unto him; and a good character is for remembrance. . correct chiefly; instruct conformably [therewith]. vice must be drawn out, that virtue may remain. nor is this a matter of misfortune, for one that is a gainsayer becometh a strife-maker. . if thou make a woman to be ashamed, wanton of heart, one known by her townsfolk to be falsely placed, be kind unto her for a space, send her not away, give her to eat. the wantonness of her heart shall esteem thy guidance. c. if thou obey these things that i have said unto thee, all thy demeanour shall be of the best; for, verily, the quality of truth is among their excellences. set the memory of them in the mouths of the people; for their proverbs are good. nor shall any word that hath here been set down cease out of this land for ever, but shall be made a pattern whereby princes shall speak well. they (my words) shall instruct a man; how he shall speak, after he hath heard them; yea, he shall become as one skilful in obeying, excellent in speaking, after he hath heard them. good fortune shall befall him, for he shall be of the highest rank. he shall be gracious to the end of his life; he shall be { } contented always. his knowledge shall be his guide (?) into a place of security, wherein he shall prosper while on earth. the scholar[ ] shall be content in his knowledge. as to the prince, in his turn, forsooth, his heart shall be happy, his tongue made straight. and [in these proverbs] his lips shall speak, his eyes shall see, and his ears shall hear, that which is profitable for his son, so that he deal justly, void of deceit. . a splendid thing is the obedience of an obedient son; he cometh in and listeneth obediently. excellent in hearing, excellent in speaking, is every man that obeyeth what is noble; and the obedience of an obeyer is a noble thing. obedience is better than all things that are; it maketh good-will. how good it is that a son should take that from his father by which he hath reached old age (obedience). that which is desired by the god is obedience; disobedience is abhorred of the god. verily, it is the heart that maketh its master to obey or to disobey; for the safe and sound life of a man are his heart. it is the obedient man that obeyeth what is said; he that loveth to obey, the same shall carry out commands. { } he that obeyeth becometh one obeyed. it is good indeed when a son obeyeth his father; and he (his father) that hath spoken hath great joy of it. such a son shall be mild as a master, and he that heareth him shall obey him that hath spoken. he shall be comely in body and honoured by his father. his memory shall be in the mouths of the living, those upon earth, as long as they exist.[ ] . let a son receive the word of his father, not being heedless of any rule of his. instruct thy son [thus]; for the obedient man is one that is perfect in the opinion of princes. if he direct his mouth by what hath been enjoined him, watchful and obedient, thy son shall be wise, and his goings seemly. heedlessness leadeth unto disobedience on the morrow; but understanding shall stablish him. as for the fool, he shall be crushed. . as for the fool, devoid of obedience, he doeth nothing. knowledge he regardeth as ignorance, profitable things as hurtful things. he doeth all kind of errors, so that he is rebuked therefor every day. he liveth in death { } therewith; it is his food. at chattering speech he marvelleth, as at the wisdom of princes, living in death every day. he is shunned because of his misfortunes, by reason of the multitude of afflictions that cometh upon him every day. . a son that hearkeneth is as a follower of horus.[ ] he is good after he hearkeneth; he groweth old, he reacheth honour and reverence. he repeateth in like manner to his sons and daughters, so renewing the instruction of his father. each man instructeth as did his begetter, repeating it unto his children. let them [in turn] speak with their sons and daughters, that they may be famous in their deeds. let that which thou speakest implant true things and just in the life of thy children. then the highest authority shall arrive, and sins depart [from them]. and such men as see these things shall say, 'surely that man hath spoken to good purpose,' and they shall do likewise; or, 'but surely that man was experienced.' and all people shall declare, 'it is they that shall direct the multitude; dignities are not complete without them.' take not any word away, neither add one; { } set not one in the place of another. beware of opening...[ ] in thyself. be wary of speech when a learned man hearkeneth unto thee; desire to be stablished for good in the mouth of those that hear thee speaking. if thou have entered as an expert, speak with exact (?) lips, that thy conduct may be seemly. . be thine heart overflowing; but refrain thy mouth. let thy conduct be exact while amongst nobles, and seemly before thy lord, doing that which he hath commanded. such a son shall speak unto them that hearken to him; moreover, his begetter shall be favoured. apply thine heart, what time thou speakest, to saying things such that the nobles who listen declare, 'how excellent is that which cometh out of his mouth!' . carry out the behest of thy lord to thee. how good is the teaching of a man's father, for he hath come from him, who hath spoken of his son while he was yet unborn; and that which is done for him (the son) is more than that which is commanded him. forsooth, a good son is of the gift of the god; he doeth more than is { } enjoined on him, he doeth right, and putteth his heart into all his goings. d. if now thou attain my position, thy body shall flourish, the king shall be content in all that thou doest, and thou shalt gather years of life not fewer than i have passed upon earth. i have gathered even fivescore and ten years of life, for the king hath bestowed upon me favours more than upon my forefathers; this because i wrought truth and justice for the king unto mine old age. it is finished from its beginning to its end even as found in writing. [ ] the king. [ ] title of an order of the priesthood. [ ] the customary attitude of a submissive inferior at that time. [ ] the god osiris was believed to have reigned on earth many thousand years before mênês, the first historical king. [ ] soul = _ka'_, and throughout this work. _ka'_ is translated _person_ in § , _will_ in § . [ ] an obscure or corrupt phrase here follows, which does not admit of satisfactory translation. [ ] translation doubtful. [ ] _i.e._ comfortable. [ ] his belly, presumably. [ ] the above translation is not satisfactory; the text may be corrupt. no intelligible translation of it has yet been made. [ ] _i.e._ all wickedness is contained therein. [ ] a servant. [ ] compare prov. xvii. . [ ] so also in life, by diversity of aim, alternating work and play, happiness is secured. tacking is evidently meant in the case of the steersman. [ ] this section refers to the relations between the son of a nobleman and his tutor, dwelling on the benefits from former pupils in high places, if their schooldays have been pleasant. the last sentence of this section, as of sections and , is somewhat _à propos des bottes_. [ ] an obscure phrase is here. [ ] literally, "it is that which preventeth the heart from advancing (?)" a curious phrase. [ ] literally, after his stick or sceptre. [ ] who knows them. [ ] the greater part of this section is a play upon the root _'sôdem_, which in its meaning includes our _hear_ (_listen_) and _obey_. this tiresome torture of words is frequent in egyptian, especially in old religious texts. [ ] the "followers of horus" are a legendary dynasty of demigods, believed by the egyptians to have ruled for about , years after the reign of horus, and before that of mênês. there is also an order of spirits of this name. [ ] a word of unknown meaning; apparently some kind of plant. such a word seems out of place here, and may be idiomatic, like our "flowery language." but the preceding line obviously refers to this book. { } the instruction of ke'gemni on avoiding offence .[ ] the cautious man flourisheth, the exact one is praised; the innermost chamber openeth unto the man of silence. wide[ ] is the seat of the man gentle of speech; but knives are prepared against one that forceth a path, that he advance not, save in due season. . if thou sit with a company of people, desire not the bread that thou likest: short is the time of restraining the heart, and gluttony is an abomination; therein is the quality of a beast. a cup of water quencheth the thirst, and a mouthful of melon supporteth the heart. a good thing standeth for goodness, but some small thing standeth for plenty.[ ] a base man is he that is governed by his belly; he departeth only when he is no longer able to fill full his belly in men's houses. { } . if thou sit with a glutton, eat with him, then depart (?). if thou drink with a drunkard, accept [drink], and his heart shall be satisfied. refuse not meat when with a greedy man. take that which he giveth thee; set it not on one side, thinking that it will be a courteous thing. . if a man be lacking in good fellowship, no speech hath any influence over him. he is sour of face toward the glad-hearted that are kindly to him; he is a grief unto his mother and his friends; and all men [cry], 'let thy name be known; thou art silent in thy mouth when thou art addressed!' . be not haughty because of thy might in the midst of thy young soldiers. beware of making strife, for one knoweth not the things that the god will do when he punisheth. the vizier caused his sons and daughters to be summoned, when he had finished the rules of the conduct of men. and they marvelled when they came to him. then he said unto them, 'hearken unto everything that is in writing in this book, even as i have said it in adding unto profitable sayings.' and they cast themselves on their bellies, and they read it, even as it was in writing. and it was better in their opinion than any thing in this land unto its limits. now they were living when his majesty, the king of upper and lower egypt, heuni, { } departed, and his majesty, the king of upper and lower egypt, senfÔru, was enthroned as a gracious king over the whole of this land. then was ke'gemni made governor of his city and vizier. it is finished. [ ] the original is not divided into sections. [ ] _i.e._ comfortable [ ] this is a rather dark saying, but apparently the author means that although the duly instructed guest will only partake moderately of the abundance before him, what he eats is as good as the rest. his portion will be equal to the whole as regards quality, though inferior as regards quantity. { } appendix the instruction of amenemhê'et i. is here given as a contrast to the foregoing. it is a testament, however, rather than an instruction, and contains more historical matter than didactic. it is written in a terse and pointed style, combined with the parallelism and antithesis which was the prevailing vehicle of poetic thought in egyptian. the rank of its author and the exceeding bitterness of his mood make it a document of great interest. there is no reason to doubt its authenticity. this king was the founder of the glorious twelfth dynasty, a period which has been called the golden age of egypt. he ruled from about - b.c., and, although he describes himself as over-lenient, was really one of the most vigorous and powerful of all the sons of the sun who for five thousand years wore the double crown of the two egypts. the circumstances in which the new dynasty arose are not known; nor have we any other record of the attempt on his life, here recounted. { } in the twentieth year of his reign he associated his son, senwesert i., with him in a co-regency which lasted ten years. from § we gather that the attempted assassination took place just before the dual rule; while the instruction was evidently penned shortly before the writer's death. the 'house' referred to is presumably his pyramid-tomb, called ke'-nôfer-amenemhê'et. _amenemhê'et is exalted and good_. the site of this building is not known. this instruction was popular as a school exercise in the 'new kingdom,' and we possess several copies or parts of copies. there is no good text for the latter part (§§ _ff_), which is corrupt in such mss. as contain it. i have used the critical text of mr. griffith, published in the _zeitschrift für ägyptische sprache_, . it is hoped that the bibliography will be useful to students of the books of ptah-hotep and ke'gemni. b. g. g. { } the instruction of amenemhe'et a palace conspiracy--hail and farewell beginneth here the instruction made by the majesty of the king of upper and lower egypt sehotep-'eb-rÊ', son of the sun amenemhÊ'et, the justified.[ ] he speaketh thus in discovering words of truth unto his son, the lord of the world: . shine forth, he saith, even as the god. hearken to that which i say unto thee: that thou may reign over the land, that thou may govern the world, that thou may excel in goodness. . let one withdraw himself from his subordinates entirely. it befalleth that mankind give their hearts unto one that causeth them fear. mix not among them alone; fill not thine heart with a brother; know not a trusted friend; make for thyself no familiar dependents; in these things is no satisfaction. . when thou liest down have care for thy very life,[ ] since friends exist not for a man in the { } day of misfortunes. i gave to the beggar, and caused the orphan to live; i made him that had not to attain, even as he that had. . but it was the eater of my food that made insurrection against me; to whom i gave mine hands, he created disturbance thereby; they that arrayed them in my fine linen regarded me a shadow; and it was they that anointed themselves with my spices that entered my harem. . my images are among the living; and my achievements are among men. but i have made an heroic story that hath not been heard; a great feat of arms that hath not been seen. surely one fighteth for a lassoed ox that forgetteth yesterday;[ ] and good fortune is of no avail unto one that cannot perceive it. . it was after the evening meal, and night was come. i took for myself an hour of ease. i lay down upon my bed, for i was weary. my heart began to wander (?). i slept. and lo! weapons were brandished, and there was conference concerning me. i acted as the serpent of the desert.[ ] . i awoke to fight; i was alone. i found one struck down, it was the captain of the guard. had i received quickly the arms from his hand, { } i had driven back the dastards by smiting around. but he was not a brave man on that night, nor could i fight alone; an occasion of prowess cometh not to one surprised. thus was i. . behold, then, vile things came to pass, for i was without thee; the courtiers knew not that i had passed on to thee [my power], i sat not with thee on the throne.[ ] let me, then, make thy plans. because i awed them not i was not unmindful of them; but mine heart bringeth not to remembrance the slackness of servants. . is it the custom of women to gather together assailants? are assassins reared within my palace? was the opening done by cutting through the ground? the underlings were deceived as to what they did.[ ] but misfortunes have not come in my train since my birth; nor hath there existed the equal of me as a doer of valiance. . i forced my way up to elephantinê, i went down unto the coast-lakes;[ ] i have stood upon the boundaries of the land, and i have seen its centre. i have set the limits of might by my might in my deeds. . i raised corn, i loved nôpi[ ]; the nile begged of me every valley. in my reign none { } hungered; none thirsted therein. they were contented in that which i did, saying concerning me, 'every commandment is meet.' . i overcame lions; i carried off crocodiles. i cast the nubians under my feet; i carried off the southern nubians; i caused the asiatics to flee, even as hounds. . i have made me an house, adorned with gold, its ceiling with _lapis lazuli_, its walls having deep foundations. its doors are of copper, their bolts are of bronze. it is made for ever-lasting; eternity is in awe of it. i know every dimension thereof, o lord of the world! . there are divers devices in buildings. i know the pronouncements of men when inquiring into its beauties; but they know not that it was without thee, o my son, senwesert; life, safe and sound, be to thee--by thy feet do i walk; thou art after mine own heart; by thine eyes do i see; born in an hour of delight, with spirits[ ] that rendered thee praise. . behold, that which i have done at the beginning, let me set it in order for thee at the end; let me be the landing-place of that which is in thine heart. all men together set the white crown on the offspring of the god, fixing it unto its due place. i shall begin thy praises when in the boat of ra. thy kingdom hath been from primeval time; not by my doing, { } who have done valiant things. raise up monuments, make beautiful thy tomb. i have fought against him whom thou knowest; for i desire not that he should be beside thy majesty. life, safe and sound, be to thee." it is finished. [ ] a ceremonial title applied to deceased persons, analogous to our "the late." "justified" is not an exact rendering, but it is usual, and will serve. [ ] literally, _heart_. [ ] an allusion to the people of egypt, whom he had freed from the foreign oppressors. [ ] _i.e._ he remained quiet but watchful. [ ] referring to the co-regency with his son. [ ] referring to the attempted assassination. [ ] the limits, south and north, of his kingdom. [ ] the god of corn. [ ] or, unborn souls (_hmmw_). { } an explanation of names occurring in this book. amenemhÊ'et . . . . _the god amôn is to the fore_. heuni . . . . . . . _i have smitten_. isôsi . . . . . . . of unknown meaning. ke'gemni . . . . . . _i have found a soul_; or, _a soul is found for me_. ptah-hotep . . . . . _the god ptah is satisfied_, alluding either to the belief that to beget a child was pleasing to the god, or to the dedication of the child to the god. sehÔtep-'eb-rÊ' . . _contenting the heart of the god ra_. senfÔru . . . . . . _the beautifier_. senwesert . . . . . of doubtful meaning; connected with _the goddess wesert_. other spellings of these names are: _amenemhat; huna; assa, 'esse'; ptahhetep; sehetepabra, rasehetepab; seneferu; usertesen_. { } bibliography brugsch, h. _hieroglyphisches-demotisches wörterbuch_ ... vols. v.-vii. leipzig, _ff._ contains explanations of many difficult passages. budge, e. a. w. _an egyptian reading book_. london, . second edition, with transliteration into italics and vocabulary, london, . contains the most convenient transcript of the p.p. follows throughout that of virey (see below). for some amendments see griffith in proc. s.b.a. (below). the first edition is more accurate (for this text) than the second. the vocabulary needs revision. chabas, f. _le plus ancien livre du monde; étude sur le papyrus prisse_. revue archéologique, première série, xv. anno. paris, . contains a discussion of the text, etc., and partial translation. chabas, f. _le papyrus prisse_. zeitschrift für ëgyptische sprache. berlin, . discusses the meaning of various words. chabas, f. _le plus ancien livre du monde; étude sur le papyrus prisse_. bibliothèque orientale, vol. ii. paris, . the work of recast. dumichen, j. _les sentences de kakemni_. les bibles et les initiateurs religieux de l'humanité, vol. ii. part i. paris, . contains a translation of kg. griffith, f. l. _notes on egyptian texts of the middle kingdom_, iii. proceedings of the society of biblical archaeology, vol. xiii. london, . discusses the text, correcting some previous errors in transcription. translation of kg. and §§ a, b of ph. griffith, f. l. _egyptian literature_. a library of the { } world's best literature. new york, - . contains translation of many sections. heath, d. i. _on a ms. of the phoenician king assa, ruling in egypt before abraham: a record of the patriarchal age; or the proverbs of aphobis_, b.c. ; _now first fully translated_. _monthly review_. london, july, . the first 'translation' of kg. and ph. afterwards issued as a pamphlet, london, . lauth, f. j. _der autor kadjimna vor jahren_. sitzungsberichte der kgl. bayer. _akademie der wissenschaften_. munchen, , ii. contains an analysis of kg. lauth, f. j. _der prim ptah-hotep über das alter: ptah-hoteps ethik_. sitzungsberichte der kgl. bayer. akademie der wissenschaften. münchen, , ii, heft i, beilage. contains analysis and translation into latin and german of the greater part of ph. mahaffy, j. p. _prolegomena to ancient history_, part ii. london, . contains translations from lauth's rendering. myer, t. _the oldest books in the world_. new york, . contains virey's translation and notes. petrie, w. m. f. _religion and conscience in ancient egypt_. london, . contains translations of many sections by f. l. griffith. prisse d'avennes, e. _facsimile d'un papyrus égyptien, trouvé à thebes, donné à la bibliothèque royale de paris, et publié par e. p. d'a_. paris, . rawnsley, h. d. _notes for the nile, together with a metrical rendering of the hymns of ancient egypt, and of the precepts of ptah-hotep_ (the oldest book in the world). london, . revillout, e. _les deux préfaces du papyrus prisse_. revue égyptologique, tome vii. paris, . contains translation of kg. and § a of ph. revillout, e. _les maximes de ptah-hotep_. revue égyptologique, tome x. paris, . contains translation and text of ph. virey, p. _Études sur le papyrus prisse, le livre de kagimna et les leçons de ptah-hotep_. bibliothèque de { } l'École des hautes-Études, fasc. . paris, . contains complete translation and elaborate discussion of the text; also glossary. virey, p. _the precepts of ptah-hotep_ (_the oldest book in the world_). records of the past, new series, vol. iii. london, . contains a translation of ph. _printed by hazell, watson & viney, ld., london and aylesbury_. the wisdom of the east series edited by l. cranmer-byng and dr. s. a. kapadia the object of the editors of this series is a very definite one. they desire above all things that, in their humble way, these books shall be the ambassadors of good-will and understanding between east and west, the old world of thought and the new of action. in this endeavour, and in their own sphere, they are but followers of the highest example in the land. they are confident that a deeper knowledge of the great ideals and lofty philosophy of oriental thought may help to a revival of that true spirit of charity which neither despises nor fears the nations of another creed and colour. finally, in thanking press and public for the very cordial reception given to the "wisdom of the east" series, they wish to state that no pains have been spared to secure the best specialists for the treatment of the various subjects at hand. london john murray, albemarle street, w. wisdom of the east series in pott l mo, price /- each net in cloth limp (excepting the first two volumes) the teachings of zoroaster and the philosophy of the parsi religion translated with introduction by dr. s. a. kapadia, lecturer university college, london, /- net. the awakening of the soul from the arabic of ibn tufail. translated with introduction by paul bronnle, ph.d. / net. the duties of the heart by rabbi bachye. translated from the hebrew with introduction by edwin collins, hollier hebrew scholar, u.c.l. the classics of confucius i. the book of history (shu-king) by w. gorn old ii. the book of odes (shi-king) by l. cranmer-byng. iii. the book of changes (i-king) [_in preparation._ the sayings of lao tzu from the chinese. translated with introduction by lionel giles, of the british museum. the religion of the koran with introduction by arthur n. wollaston, c.i.e. women and wisdom of japan with introduction by s. takaishi. the rose garden of sa'di selected and rendered from the persian with introduction by l. cranmer-byng. the wisdom of israel: being extracts from the babylonian talmud and midrash rabboth translated from the aramaic with an introduction by edwin collins. the instructions of ptah-hotep from the egyptian. translated with introduction by battiscombe g. gunn. _others in preparation, and will be duly announced_ _all literary communications to be addressed to the editors at_ , harcourt buildings, inner temple, london _n.b.--the editors will be pleased to receive suggestions and communications from all persons interested in oriental literature_. text scanned by jc byers and proof read by the volunteers of the distributed proofreaders site: http://charlz.dns go.com/gutenberg/ tales from the arabic of the breslau and calcutta ( - ) editions of the book of the thousand nights and one night not occurring in the other printed texts of the work, now first done into english by john payne in three volumes: volume the first. delhi edition contents of the first volume. breslau text. . asleep and awake a. story of the lackpenny and the cook . the khalif omar ben abdulaziz and the poets . el hejjaj and the three young men . haroun er reshid and the woman of the barmecides . the ten viziers; or the history of king azadbekht and his son a. of the uselessness of endeavour against persistent ill fortune i. story of the unlucky merchant b. of looking to the issues of affairs i. story of the merchant and his sons c. of the advantages of patience i. story of abou sabir d. of the ill effects of precipitation i. story of prince bihzad e. of the issues of good and evil actions i. story of king dadbin and his viziers f. of trust in god i. story of king bexhtzeman g. of clemency i. story of king bihkerd h. of envy and malice i. story of ilan shah and abou temam i. of destiny or that which is written on the forehead i. story of king abraham and his son j. of the appointed term, which, if it be advanced, may not be deferred and if it be deferred, may not be advanced i. story of king suleiman shah and his sons k. of the speedy relief of god i. story of the prisoner and how god gave him relief . jaafer ben yehya and abdulmelik ben salih the abbaside . er reshid and the barmecides . ibn es semmak and er reshid . el mamoun and zubeideh . en numan and the arab of the benou tai . firouz and his wife . king shah bekht and his vizier er rehwan a. story of the man of khorassan, his son and his governor b. story of the singer and the druggist c. story of the king who knew the quintessence of things d. story of the rich man who gave his fair daughter in marriage to the poor old man e. story of the rich man and his wasteful son f. the king's son who fell in love with the picture g. story of the fuller and his wife h. story of the old woman, the merchant and the king i. story of the credulous husband j. story of the unjust king and the tither i. story of david and solomon k. story of the thief and the woman l. story of the three men and our lord jesus i. the disciple's story m. story of the dethroned king whose kingdom and good were restorfd to him n. story of the man whose caution was the cause of his death o. story of the man who was lavish of his house and his victual to one whom he knew not p. story of the idiot and the sharper q. story of khelbes and his wife and the learned man breslau text. asleep and awake[fn# ] there was once [at baghdad], in the khalifate of haroun er reshid, a man, a merchant, who had a son by name aboulhusn el khelia.[fn# ] the merchant died and left his son great store of wealth, which he divided into two parts, one of which he laid up and spent of the other half; and he fell to companying with persians[fn# ] and with the sons of the merchants and gave himself up to good eating and good drinking, till all that he had with him of wealth[fn# ] was wasted and gone; whereupon he betook himself to his friends and comrades and boon-companions and expounded to them his case, discovering to them the failure of that which was in his hand of wealth; but not one of them took heed of him neither inclined unto him. so he returned to his mother (and indeed his spirit was broken), and related to her that which had happened to him and what had betided him from his friends, how they, had neither shared with him nor requited him with speech. "o aboulhusn," answered she, "on this wise are the sons[fn# ]of this time: if thou have aught, they make much of thee,[fn# ] and if thou have nought, they put thee away [from them]." and she went on to condole with him, what while he bewailed himself and his tears flowed and he repeated the following verses: an if my substance fail, no one there is will succour me, but if my wealth abound, of all i'm held in amity. how many a friend, for money's sake, hath companied with me! how many an one, with loss of wealth, hath turned mine enemy! then he sprang up [and going] to the place wherein was the other half of his good, [took it] and lived with it well; and he swore that he would never again consort with those whom he knew, but would company only with the stranger nor entertain him but one night and that, whenas it morrowed, he would never know him more. so he fell to sitting every night on the bridge[fn# ] and looking on every one who passed by him; and if he saw him to be a stranger, he made friends with him and carried him to his house, where he caroused with him till the morning. then he dismissed him and would never more salute him nor ever again drew near unto him neither invited him. on this wise he continued to do for the space of a whole year, till, one day, as he sat on the bridge, according to his custom, expecting who should come to him, so he might take him and pass the night with him, behold, [up came] the khalif and mesrour, the swordsman of his vengeance, disguised [in merchants' habits] as of their wont. so he looked at them and rising up, for that he knew them not, said to them, "what say ye? will you go with me to my dwelling-place, so ye may eat what is ready and drink what is at hand, to wit, bread baked in the platter[fn# ] and meat cooked and wine clarified?" the khalif refused this, but he conjured him and said to him, "god on thee, o my lord, go with me, for thou art my guest this night, and disappoint not my expectation concerning thee!" and he ceased not to press him till he consented to him; whereat aboulhusn rejoiced and going on before him, gave not over talking with him till they came to his [house and he carried the khalif into the] saloon. er reshid entered and made his servant abide at the door; and as soon as he was seated, aboulhusn brought him somewhat to eat; so he ate, and aboulhusn ate with him, so eating might be pleasant to him. then he removed the tray and they washed their hands and the khalif sat down again; whereupon aboulhusn set on the drinking vessels and seating himself by his side, fell to filling and giving him to drink and entertaining him with discourse. his hospitality pleased the khalif and the goodliness of his fashion, and he said to him, "o youth, who art thou? make me acquainted with thyself, so i may requite thee thy kindness." but aboulhusn smiled and said, "o my lord, far be it that what is past should recur and that i be in company with thee at other than this time!" "why so?" asked the khalif. "and why wilt thou not acquaint me with thy case?" and aboulhusn said, "know, o my lord, that my story is extraordinary and that there is a cause for this affair." quoth the khalif, "and what is the cause?" and he answered, "the cause hath a tail." the khalif laughed at his words and aboulhusn said, "i will explain to thee this [saying] by the story of the lackpenny and the cook. know, o my lord, that story of the lackpenny and the cook. one of the good-for-noughts found himself one day without aught and the world was straitened upon him and his patience failed; so he lay down to sleep and gave not over sleeping till the sun burnt him and the foam came out upon his mouth, whereupon he arose, and he was penniless and had not so much as one dirhem. presently, he came to the shop of a cook, who had set up therein his pans[fn# ] [over the fire] and wiped his scales and washed his saucers and swept his shop and sprinkled it; and indeed his oils[fn# ] were clear[fn# ] and his spices fragrant and he himself stood behind his cooking-pots [waiting for custom]. so the lackpenny went up to him and saluting him, said to him, 'weigh me half a dirhem's worth of meat and a quarter of a dirhem's worth of kouskoussou[fn# ] and the like of bread.' so the cook weighed out to him [that which he sought] and the lackpenny entered the shop, whereupon the cook set the food before him and he ate till he had gobbled up the whole and licked the saucers and abode perplexed, knowing not how he should do with the cook concerning the price of that which he had eaten and turning his eyes about upon everything in the shop. presently, he caught sight of an earthen pan turned over upon its mouth; so he raised it from the ground and found under it a horse's tail, freshly cut off, and the blood oozing from it; whereby he knew that the cook adulterated his meat with horses' flesh. when he discovered this default, he rejoiced therein and washing his hands, bowed his head and went out; and when the cook saw that he went and gave him nought, he cried out, saying, 'stay, o sneak, o slink-thief!' so the lackpenny stopped and said to him, 'dost thou cry out upon me and becall [me] with these words, o cuckold?' whereat the cook was angry and coming down from the shop, said, 'what meanest thou by thy speech, o thou that devourest meat and kouskoussou and bread and seasoning and goest forth with "peace[fn# ][be on thee!]," as it were the thing had not been, and payest down nought for it?' quoth the lackpenny, 'thou liest, o son of a cuckold!' wherewith the cook cried out and laying hold of the lackpenny's collar, said, 'o muslims, this fellow is my first customer[fn# ] this day and he hath eaten my food and given me nought.' so the folk gathered together to them and blamed the lackpenny and said to him, 'give him the price of that which thou hast eaten.' quoth he, 'i gave him a dirhem before i entered the shop;' and the cook said, 'be everything i sell this day forbidden[fn# ] to me, if he gave me so much as the name of a piece of money! by allah, he gave me nought, but ate my food and went out and [would have] made off, without aught [said i]' 'nay,' answered the lackpenny, 'i gave thee a dirhem,' and he reviled the cook, who returned his abuse; whereupon he dealt him a cuff and they gripped and grappled and throttled each other. when the folk saw them on this wise, they came up to them and said to them, 'what is this strife between you, and no cause for it?' 'ay, by allah,' replied the lackpenny, 'but there is a cause for it, and the cause hath a tail!' whereupon, 'yea, by allah,' cried the cook, 'now thou mindest me of thyself and thy dirhem! yes, he gave me a dirhem and [but] a quarter of the price is spent. come back and take the rest of the price of thy dirhem.' for that he understood what was to do, at the mention of the tail; and i, o my brother," added aboulhusn, "my story hath a cause, which i will tell thee." the khalif laughed at his speech and said, "by allah, this is none other than a pleasant tale! tell me thy story and the cause." "with all my heart," answered aboulhusn. "know, o my lord, that my name is aboulhusn el khelia and that my father died and left me wealth galore, of which i made two parts. one i laid up and with the other i betook myself to [the enjoyment of the pleasures of] friendship [and conviviality] and consorting with comrades and boon-companions and with the sons of the merchants, nor did i leave one but i caroused with him and he with me, and i spent all my money on companionship and good cheer, till there remained with me nought [of the first half of my good]; whereupon i betook myself to the comrades and cup-companions upon whom i had wasted my wealth, so haply they might provide for my case; but, when i resorted to them and went round about to them all, i found no avail in one of them, nor broke any so much as a crust of bread in my face. so i wept for myself and repairing to my mother, complained to her of my case. quoth she, 'on this wise are friends; if thou have aught, they make much of thee and devour thee, but, if thou have nought, they cast thee off and chase thee away.' then i brought out the other half of my money and bound myself by an oath that i would never more entertain any, except one night, after which i would never again salute him nor take note of him; hence my saying to thee, 'far be it that what is past should recur!' for that i will never again foregather with thee, after this night." when the khalif heard this, he laughed heartily and said, "by allah, o my brother, thou art indeed excused in this matter, now that i know the cause and that the cause hath a tail. nevertheless if it please god, i will not sever myself from thee." "o my guest," replied aboulhusn, "did i not say to thee, 'far be it that what is past should recur! for that i will never again foregather with any'?" then the khalif rose and aboulhusn set before him a dish of roast goose and a cake of manchet-bread and sitting down, fell to cutting off morsels and feeding the khalif therewith. they gave not over eating thus till they were content, when aboulhusn brought bowl and ewer and potash[fn# ] and they washed their hands. then he lighted him three candles and three lamps and spreading the drinking-cloth, brought clarified wine, limpid, old and fragrant, the scent whereof was as that of virgin musk. he filled the first cup and saying, "o my boon-companion, by thy leave, be ceremony laid aside between us! i am thy slave; may i not be afflicted with thy loss!" drank it off and filled a second cup, which he handed to the khalif, with a reverence. his fashion pleased the khalif and the goodliness of his speech and he said in himself, "by allah, i will assuredly requite him for this!" then aboulhusn filled the cup again and handed it to the khalif, reciting the following verses: had we thy coming known, we would for sacrifice have poured thee out heart's blood or blackness of the eyes; ay, and we would have spread our bosoms in thy way, that so thy feet might fare on eyelids, carpet-wise. when the khalif heard his verses, he took the cup from his hand and kissed it and drank it off and returned it to aboulhusn, who made him an obeisance and filled and drank. then he filled again and kissing the cup thrice, recited the following verses: thy presence honoureth us and we confess thy magnanimity; if thou forsake us, there is none can stand to us instead of thee. then he gave the cup to the khalif, saying, "drink [and may] health and soundness [attend it]! it doth away disease and bringeth healing and setteth the runnels of health abroach." they gave not over drinking and carousing till the middle of the night, when the khalif said to his host, "o my brother, hast thou in thy heart a wish thou wouldst have accomplished or a regret thou wouldst fain do away?" "by allah," answered he, "there is no regret in my heart save that i am not gifted with dominion and the power of commandment and prohibition, so i might do what is in my mind!" quoth the khalif, "for god's sake, o my brother, tell me what is in thy mind!" and aboulhusn said, "i would to god i might avenge myself on my neighbours, for that in my neighbourhood is a mosque and therein four sheikhs, who take it ill, whenas there cometh a guest to me, and vex me with talk and molest me in words and threaten me that they will complain of me to the commander of the faithful, and indeed they oppress me sore, and i crave of god the most high one day's dominion, that i may beat each of them with four hundred lashes, as well as the imam of the mosque, and parade them about the city of baghdad and let call before them, 'this is the reward and the least of the reward of whoso exceedeth [in talk] and spiteth the folk and troubleth on them their joys.' this is what i wish and no more." quoth the khalif, "god grant thee that thou seekest! let us drink one last cup and rise before the dawn draw near, and to-morrow night i will be with thee again." "far be it!" said aboulhusn. then the khalif filled a cup and putting therein a piece of cretan henbane, gave it to his host and said to him, "my life on thee, o my brother, drink this cup from my hand!" "ay, by thy life," answered aboulhusn, "i will drink it from thy hand." so he took it and drank it off; but hardly had he done so, when his head forewent his feet and he fell to the ground like a slain man; whereupon the khalif went out and said to his servant mesrour, "go in to yonder young man, the master of the house, and take him up and bring him to me at the palace; and when thou goest out, shut the door." so saying, he went away, whilst mesrour entered and taking up aboulhusn, shut the door after him, and followed his master, till he reached the palace, what while the night drew to an end and the cocks cried out, and set him down before the commander of the faithful, who laughed at him. then he sent for jaafer the barmecide and when he came before him, he said to him, "note this young man and when thou seest him to-morrow seated in my place of estate and on the throne of my khalifate and clad in my habit, stand thou in attendance upon him and enjoin the amirs and grandees and the people of my household and the officers of my realm to do the like and obey him in that which he shall command them; and thou, if he bespeak thee of anything, do it and hearken unto him and gainsay him not in aught in this coming day." jaafer answered with, "hearkening and obedience,"[fn# ] and withdrew, whilst the khalif went in to the women of the palace, who came to him, and he said to them, "whenas yonder sleeper awaketh to-morrow from his sleep, kiss ye the earth before him and make obeisance to him and come round about him and clothe him in the [royal] habit and do him the service of the khalifate and deny not aught of his estate, but say to him, 'thou art the khalif.'" then he taught them what they should say to him and how they should do with him and withdrawing to a privy place, let down a curtain before himself and slept. meanwhile, aboulhusn gave not over snoring in his sleep, till the day broke and the rising of the sun drew near, when a waiting-woman came up to him and said to him, "o our lord [it is the hour of] the morning- prayer." when he heard the girl's words, he laughed and opening his eyes, turned them about the place and found himself in an apartment the walls whereof were painted with gold and ultramarine and its ceiling starred with red gold. around it were sleeping-chambers, with curtains of gold-embroidered silk let down over their doors, and all about vessels of gold and porcelain and crystal and furniture and carpets spread and lamps burning before the prayer-niche and slave-girls and eunuchs and white slaves and black slaves and boys and pages and attendants. when he saw this, he was confounded in his wit and said, "by allah, either i am dreaming, or this is paradise and the abode of peace!"[fn# ] and he shut his eyes and went to sleep again. quoth the waiting-woman, "o my lord, this is not of thy wont, o commander of the faithful!" then the rest of the women of the palace came all to him and lifted him into a sitting posture, when he found himself upon a couch, stuffed all with floss-silk and raised a cubit's height from the ground.[fn# ] so they seated him upon it and propped him up with a pillow, and he looked at the apartment and its greatness and saw those eunuchs and slave-girls in attendance upon him and at his head, whereat he laughed at himself and said, "by allah, it is not as i were on wake, and [yet] i am not asleep!" then he arose and sat up, whilst the damsels laughed at him and hid [their laughter] from him; and he was confounded in his wit and bit upon his finger. the bite hurt him and he cried "oh!" and was vexed; and the khalif watched him, whence he saw him not, and laughed. presently aboulhusn turned to a damsel and called to her; whereupon she came to him and he said to her, "by the protection of god, o damsel, am i commander of the faithful?" "yes, indeed," answered she; "by the protection of god thou in this time art commander of the faithful." quoth he, "by allah, thou liest, o thousandfold strumpet!" then he turned to the chief eunuch and called to him, whereupon he came to him and kissing the earth before him, said, "yes, o commander of the faithful." "who is commander of the faithful?" asked aboulhusn. "thou," replied the eunuch and aboulhusn said, "thou liest, thousandfold catamite that thou art!" then he turned to another eunuch and said to him, "o my chief,[fn# ] by the protection of god, am i commander of the faithful?" "ay, by allah, o my lord!" answered he. "thou in this time art commander of the faithful and vicar of the lord of the worlds." aboulhusn laughed at himself and misdoubted of his reason and was perplexed at what he saw and said, "in one night i am become khalif! yesterday i was aboulhusn the wag, and to-day i am commander of the faithful." then the chief eunuch came up to him and said, "o commander of the faithful, (the name of god encompass thee!) thou art indeed commander of the faithful and vicar of the lord of the worlds!" and the slave-girls and eunuchs came round about him, till he arose and abode wondering at his case. presently, one of the slave-girls brought him a pair of sandals wrought with raw silk and green silk and embroidered with red gold, and he took them and put them in his sleeve, whereat the slave cried out and said, "allah! allah! o my lord, these are sandals for the treading of thy feet, so thou mayst enter the draught-house." aboulhusn was confounded and shaking the sandals from his sleeve, put them on his feet, whilst the khalif [well-nigh] died of laughter at him. the slave forewent him to the house of easance, where he entered and doing his occasion, came out into the chamber, whereupon the slave- girls brought him a basin of gold and an ewer of silver and poured water on his hands and he made the ablution. then they spread him a prayer-carpet and he prayed. now he knew not how to pray and gave not over bowing and prostrating himself, [till he had prayed the prayers] of twenty inclinations,[fn# ] pondering in himself the while and saying, "by allah, i am none other than the commander of the faithful in very sooth! this is assuredly no dream, for all these things happen not in a dream." and he was convinced and determined in himself that he was commander of the faithful; so he pronounced the salutation[fn# ] and made an end[fn# ] of his prayers; whereupon the slaves and slave-girls came round about him with parcels of silk and stuffs[fn# ] and clad him in the habit of the khalifate and gave him the royal dagger in his hand. then the chief eunuch went out before him and the little white slaves behind him, and they ceased not [going] till they raised the curtain and brought him into the hall of judgment and the throne-room of the khalifate. there he saw the curtains and the forty doors and el ijli and er recashi[fn# ] and ibdan and jedim and abou ishac [fn# ] the boon-companions and beheld swords drawn and lions [fn# ] encompassing [the throne] and gilded glaives and death-dealing bows and persians and arabs and turks and medes and folk and peoples and amirs and viziers and captains and grandees and officers of state and men of war, and indeed there appeared the puissance of the house of abbas [fn# ] and the majesty of the family of the prophet. so he sat down upon the throne of the khalifate and laid the dagger in his lap, whereupon all [present] came up to kiss the earth before him and called down on him length of life and continuance [of glory and prosperity]. then came forward jaafer the barmecide and kissing the earth, said, "may the wide world of god be the treading of thy feet and may paradise be thy dwelling-place and the fire the habitation of thine enemies! may no neighbour transgress against thee nor the lights of fire die out for thee, [fn# ] o khalif of [all] cities and ruler of [all] countries!" therewithal aboulhusn cried out at him and said, "o dog of the sons of bermek, go down forthright, thou and the master of the police of the city, to such a place in such a street and deliver a hundred dinars to the mother of aboulhusn the wag and bear her my salutation. [then, go to such a mosque] and take the four sheikhs and the imam and beat each of them with four hundred lashes and mount them on beasts, face to tail, and go round with them about all the city and banish them to a place other than the city; and bid the crier make proclamation before them, saying, 'this is the reward and the least of the reward of whoso multiplieth words and molesteth his neighbours and stinteth them of their delights and their eating and drinking!'" jaafer received the order [with submission] and answered with ["hearkening and] obedience;" after which he went down from before aboulhusn to the city and did that whereunto he had bidden him. meanwhile, aboulhusn abode in the khalifate, taking and giving, ordering and forbidding and giving effect to his word, till the end of the day, when he gave [those who were present] leave and permission [to withdraw], and the amirs and officers of state departed to their occasions. then the eunuchs came to him and calling down on him length of life and continuance [of glory and prosperity], walked in attendance upon him and raised the curtain, and he entered the pavilion of the harem, where he found candles lighted and lamps burning and singing-women smiting [on instruments of music]. when he saw this, he was confounded in his wit and said in himself, "by allah, i am in truth commander of the faithful!" as soon as he appeared, the slave-girls rose to him and carrying him up on to the estrade,[fn# ] brought him a great table, spread with the richest meats. so he ate thereof with all his might, till he had gotten his fill, when he called one of the slave-girls and said to her, "what is thy name?" "my name is miskeh," replied she, and he said to another, "what is thy name?" quoth she, "my name is terkeh." then said he to a third, "what is thy name?" "my name is tuhfeh," answered she; and he went on to question the damsels of their names, one after another, [till he had made the round of them all], when he rose from that place and removed to the wine-chamber. he found it every way complete and saw therein ten great trays, full of all fruits and cakes and all manner sweetmeats. so he sat down and ate thereof after the measure of his sufficiency, and finding there three troops of singing-girls, was amazed and made the girls eat. then he sat and the singers also seated themselves, whilst the black slaves and the white slaves and the eunuchs and pages and boys stood, and the slave-girls, some of them, sat and some stood. the damsels sang and warbled all manner melodies and the place answered them for the sweetness of the songs, whilst the pipes cried out and the lutes made accord with them, till it seemed to aboulhusn that he was in paradise and his heart was cheered and his breast dilated. so he sported and joyance waxed on him and he bestowed dresses of honour on the damsels and gave and bestowed, challenging this one and kissing that and toying with a third, plying one with wine and another with meat, till the night fell down. all this while the khalif was diverting himself with watching him and laughing, and at nightfall he bade one of the slave-girls drop a piece of henbane in the cup and give it to aboulhusn to drink. so she did as he bade her and gave aboulhusn the cup, whereof no sooner had he drunken than his head forewent his feet [and he fell down, senseless]. therewith the khalif came forth from behind the curtain, laughing, and calling to the servant who had brought aboulhusn to the palace, said to him, "carry this fellow to his own place." so mesrour took him up [and carrying him to his own house], set him down in the saloon. then he went forth from him and shutting the saloon-door upon him, returned to the khalif, who slept till the morrow. as for aboulhusn, he gave not over sleeping till god the most high brought on the morning, when he awoke, crying out and saying, "ho, tuffaheh! ho, rahet el culoub! ho, miskeh! ho, tuhfeh!" and he gave not over calling upon the slave-girls till his mother heard him calling upon strange damsels and rising, came to him and said, "the name of god encompass thee! arise, o my son, o aboulhusn! thou dreamest." so he opened his eyes and finding an old woman at his head, raised his eyes and said to her, "who art thou?" quoth she, "i am thy mother;" and he answered, "thou liest! i am the commander of the faithful, the vicar of god." whereupon his mother cried out and said to him, "god preserve thy reason! be silent, o my son, and cause not the loss of our lives and the spoiling of thy wealth, [as will assuredly betide,] if any hear this talk and carry it to the khalif." so he rose from his sleep and finding himself in his own saloon and his mother by him, misdoubted of his wit and said to her, "by allah, o my mother, i saw myself in a dream in a palace, with slave-girls and servants about me and in attendance upon me, and i sat upon the throne of the khalifate and ruled. by allah, o my mother, this is what i saw, and verily it was not a dream!" then he bethought himself awhile and said, "assuredly, i am aboulhusn el khelia, and this that i saw was only a dream, and [it was in a dream that] i was made khalif and commanded and forbade." then he bethought himself again and said, "nay, but it was no dream and i am no other than the khalif, and indeed i gave gifts and bestowed dresses of honour." quoth his mother to him, "o my son, thou sportest with thy reason: thou wilt go to the hospital and become a gazing-stock. indeed, that which thou hast seen is only from the devil and it was a delusion of dreams, for whiles satan sporteth with men's wits in all manner ways." then said she to him, "o my son, was there any one with thee yesternight?" and he bethought himself and said, "yes; one lay the night with me and i acquainted him with my case and told him my story. doubtless, he was from the devil, and i, o my mother, even as thou sayst truly, am aboulhusn el khelia." "o my son," rejoined she, "rejoice in tidings of all good, for yesterday's record is that there came the vivier jaafer the barmecide [and his company] and beat the sheikhs of the mosque and the imam, each four hundred lashes; after which they paraded them about the city, making proclamation before them and saying, 'this is the reward and the least of the reward of whoso lacketh of goodwill to his neighbours and troubleth on them their lives!' and banished them from baghdad. moreover, the khalif sent me a hundred dinars and sent to salute me." whereupon aboulhusn cried out and said to her, "o old woman of ill-omen, wilt thou contradict me and tell me that i am not the commander of the faithful? it was i who commanded jaafer the barmecide to beat the sheikhs and parade them about the city and make proclamation before them and who sent thee the hundred dinars and sent to salute thee, and i, o beldam of ill-luck, am in very deed the commander of the faithful, and thou art a liar, who would make me out a dotard." so saying, he fell upon her and beat her with a staff of almond-wood, till she cried out, "[help], o muslims!" and he redoubled the beating upon her, till the folk heard her cries and coming to her, [found] aboulhusn beating her and saying to her, "o old woman of ill-omen, am i not the commander of the faithful? thou hast enchanted me!" when the folk heard his words, they said, "this man raveth," and doubted not of his madness. so they came in upon him and seizing him, pinioned him and carried him to the hospital. quoth the superintendant, "what aileth this youth?" and they said, "this is a madman." "by allah," cried aboulhusn, "they lie against me! i am no madman, but the commander of the faithful." and the superintendant answered him, saying, "none lieth but thou, o unluckiest of madmen!" then he stripped him of his clothes and clapping on his neck a heavy chain, bound him to a high lattice and fell to drubbing him two bouts a day and two anights; and on this wise he abode the space of ten days. then his mother came to him and said, "o my son, o aboulhusn, return to thy reason, for this is the devil's doing." quoth he, "thou sayst sooth, o my mother, and bear thou witness of me that i repent [and forswear] that talk and turn from my madness. so do thou deliver me, for i am nigh upon death." so his mother went out to the superintendant and procured his release and he returned to his own house. now this was at the beginning of the month, and when it was the end thereof, aboulhusn longed to drink wine and returning to his former usance, furnished his saloon and made ready food and let bring wine; then, going forth to the bridge, he sat there, expecting one whom he should carouse withal, as of his wont. as he sat thus, behold, up came the khalif [and mesrour] to him; but aboulhusn saluted them not and said to them, "no welcome and no greeting to the perverters![fn# ] ye are no other than devils." however, the khalif accosted him and said to him, "o my brother, did i not say to thee that i would return to thee?" quoth aboulhusn, "i have no need of thee; and as the byword says in verse: 'twere fitter and better my loves that i leave, for, if the eye see not, the heart will not grieve. and indeed, o my brother, the night thou camest to me and we caroused together, i and thou, it was as if the devil came to me and troubled me that night." "and who is he, the devil?" asked the khalif. "he is none other than thou," answered aboulhusn; whereat the khalif smiled and sitting down by him, coaxed him and spoke him fair, saying, "o my brother, when i went out from thee, i forgot [to shut] the door [and left it] open, and belike satan came in to thee." quoth aboulhusn, "ask me not of that which hath betided me. what possessed thee to leave the door open, so that the devil came in to me and there befell me with him this and that?" and he related to him all that had befallen him, from first to last, aud there is no advantage in the repetition of it; what while the khalif laughed and hid his laughter. then said he to aboulhusn, "praised be god who hath done away from thee that which irked thee and that i see thee in weal!" and aboulhusn said, "never again will i take thee to boon-companion or sitting-mate; for the byword saith, 'whoso stumbleth on a stone and returneth thereto, blame and reproach be upon him.' and thou, o my brother, nevermore will i entertain thee nor use companionship with thee, for that i have not found thy commerce propitious to me."[fn# ] but the khalif blandished him and conjured him, redoubling words upon him with "verily, i am thy guest; reject not the guest," till aboulhusn took him and [carrying him home], brought him into the saloon and set food before him and friendly entreated him in speech. then he told him all that had befallen him, whilst the khalif was like to die of hidden laughter; after which aboulhusn removed the tray of food and bringing the wine-tray, filled a cup and emptied it out three times, then gave it to the khalif, saying, "o boon-companion mine, i am thy slave and let not that which i am about to say irk thee, and be thou not vexed, neither do thou vex me." and he recited these verses: no good's in life (to the counsel list of one who's purpose-whole,) an if thou be not drunken still and gladden not thy soul. ay, ne'er will i leave to drink of wine, what while the night on me darkens, till drowsiness bow down my head upon my bowl. in wine, as the glittering sunbeams bright, my heart's contentment is, that banishes hence, with various joys, all kinds of care and dole. when the khalif heard these his verses, he was moved to exceeding delight and taking the cup, drank it off, and they ceased not to drink and carouse till the wine rose to their heads. then said aboulhusn to the khalif, "o boon-companion mine, of a truth i am perplexed concerning my affair, for meseemed i was commander of the faithful and ruled and gave gifts and largesse, and in very deed, o my brother, it was not a dream." "these were the delusions of sleep," answered the khalif and crumbling a piece of henbane into the cup, said to him, "by my life, do thou drink this cup." and aboulhusn said, "surely i will drink it from thy hand." then he took the cup from the khalifs hand and drank it off, and no sooner had it settled in his belly than his head forewent his feet [and he fell down senseless]. now his parts and fashions pleased the khalif and the excellence of his composition and his frankness, and he said in himself, "i will assuredly make him my cup- companion and sitting-mate." so he rose forthright and saying to mesrour, "take him up," [returned to the palace]. accordingly, mesrour took up aboulhusn and carrying him to the palace of the khalifate, set him down before er reshid, who bade the slaves and slave- girls encompass him about, whilst he himself hid in a place where aboulhusn could not see him. then he commanded one of the slave-girls to take the lute and strike it at aboulhusn's head, whilst the rest smote upon their instruments. [so they played and sang,] till aboulhusn awoke at the last of the night and heard the noise of lutes and tabrets and the sound of the pipes and the singing of the slave-girls, whereupon he opened his eyes and finding himself in the palace, with the slave-girls and eunuchs about him, exclaimed, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme! verily, i am fearful of the hospital and of that which i suffered therein aforetime, and i doubt not but the devil is come to me again, as before. o my god, put thou satan to shame!" then he shut his eyes and laid his head in his sleeve and fell to laughing softly and raising his head [bytimes], but [still] found the apartment lighted and the girls singing. presently, one of the eunuchs sat down at his head and said to him, "sit up, o commander of the faithful, and look on thy palace and thy slave-girls." quoth aboulhusn, "by the protection of god, am i in truth commander of the faithful and dost thou not lie? yesterday, i went not forth neither ruled, but drank and slept, and this eunuch cometh to rouse me up." then he sat up and bethought himself of that which had betided him with his mother and how he had beaten her and entered the hospital, and he saw the marks of the beating, wherewithal the superintendant of the hospital had beaten him, and was perplexed concerning his affair and pondered in himself, saying, "by allah, i know not how my case is nor what is this that betideth me!" then he turned to a damsel of the damsels and said to her, "who am i?" quoth she, "thou art the commander of the faithful;" and he said, "thou liest, o calamity![fn# ] if i be indeed the commander of the faithful, bite my finger." so she came to him and bit it with her might, and he said to her, "it sufficeth." then he said to the chief eunuch, "who am i?" and he answered, "thou art the commander of the faithful." so he left him and turning to a little white slave, said to him, "bite my ear;" and he bent down to him and put his ear to his mouth. now the slave was young and lacked understanding; so he closed his teeth upon aboulhusn's ear with his might, till he came near to sever it; and he knew not arabic, so, as often as aboulhusn said to him, "it sufficeth," he concluded that he said, "bite harder," and redoubled his bite and clenched his teeth upon the ear, whilst the damsels were diverted from him with hearkening to the singing-girls, and aboulhusn cried out for succour from the boy and the khalif [well-nigh] lost his senses for laughter. then he dealt the boy a cuff and he let go his ear, whereupon aboulhusn put off his clothes and abode naked, with his yard and his arse exposed, and danced among the slave-girls. they bound his hands and he wantoned among them, what while they [well-nigh] died of laughing at him and the khalif swooned away for excess of laughter. then he came to himself and going forth to aboulhusn, said to him, "out on thee, o aboulhusn! thou slayest me with laughter." so he turned to him and knowing him, said to him, "by allah, it is thou slayest me and slayest my mother and slewest the sheikhs and the imam of the mosque!" then the khalif took him into his especial favour and married him and bestowed largesse on him and lodged him with himself in the palace and made him of the chief of his boon-companions, and indeed he was preferred with him above them and the khalif advanced him over them all. now they were ten in number, to wit, el ijli and er recashi and ibdan and hassan el feresdec and el lauz and es seker and omar et tertis and abou nuwas[fn# ] and abou ishac en nedim and aboulhusn el khelia, and by each of them hangeth a story that is told in other than this book. and indeed aboulhusn became high in honour with the khalif and favoured above all, so that he sat with him and the lady zubeideh bint el casim and married the latter's treasuress, whose name was nuzhet el fuad. aboulhusn abode with his wife in eating and drinking and all delight of life, till all that was with them was spent, when he said to her, "harkye, o nuzhet el fuad!" "at thy service," answered she, and he said, "i have it in mind to play a trick on the khalif and thou shalt do the like with the lady zubeideh, and we will take of them, in a twinkling, two hundred dinars and two pieces of silk." "as thou wilt," answered she; "but what thinkest thou to do?" and he said,"we will feign ourselves dead and this is the trick. i will die before thee and lay myself out, and do thou spread over me a kerchief of silk and loose [the muslin of] my turban over me and tie my toes and lay on my heart a knife, and a little salt.[fn# ] then let down thy hair and betake thyself to thy mistress zubeideh, tearing thy dress and buffeting thy face and crying out. she will say to thee, 'what aileth thee?' and do thou answer her, saying, 'may thy head outlive aboulhusn el khelia! for he is dead." she will mourn for me and weep and bid her treasuress give thee a hundred dinars and a piece of silk and will say to thee, 'go lay him out and carry him forth [to burial].' so do thou take of her the hundred dinars and the piece of silk and come back, and when thou returnest to me, i will rise up and thou shalt lie down in my place, and i will go to the khalif and say to him, 'may thy head outlive nuzhet el fuad!' and tear my dress and pluck at my beard. he will mourn for thee and say to his treasurer, 'give aboulhusn a hundred dinars and a piece of silk.' then he will say to me, 'go; lay her out and carry her forth;' and i will come back to thee." therewith nuzhet el fuad rejoiced and said, "indeed, this is an excellent device." [then aboulhusn stretched himself out] forthright and she shut his eyes and tied his feet and covered him with the kerchief and did what [else] her lord had bidden her; after which she rent her dress and uncovering her head, let down her hair and went in to the lady zubeideh, crying out and weeping, when the princess saw her in this case, she said to her, "what plight is this [in which i see thee]? what is thy story and what maketh thee weep?" and nuzhet el fuad answered, weeping and crying out the while, "o my lady, may thy head live and mayst thou survive aboulhusn el khelia! for he is dead." the lady zubeideh mourned for him and said, "alas for aboulhusn el khelia!" and she wept for him awhile. then she bade her treasuress give nuzhet el fuad a hundred dinars and a piece of silk and said to her, "o nuzhet el fuad, go, lay him out and carry him forth." so she took the hundred dinars and the piece of silk and returned to her dwelling, rejoicing, and went in to aboulhusn and told him what had befallen, whereupon he arose and rejoiced and girt his middle and danced and took the hundred dinars and the piece of silk and laid them up. then he laid out nuzhet el fuad and did with her even as she had done with him; after which he rent his clothes and plucked out his beard and disordered his turban [and went forth] and gave not over running till he came in to the khalif, who was sitting in the hall of audience, and he in this plight, beating upon his breast. quoth the khalif to him, "what aileth thee, o aboulhusn!" and he wept and said, "would thy boon-companion had never been and would his hour had never come!" "tell me [thy case,]" said the khalif; and aboulhusn said, "o my lord, may thy head outlive nuzhet el fuad!" quoth the khalif, "there is no god but god!" and he smote hand upon hand. then he comforted aboulhusn and said to him, "grieve not, for we will give thee a concubine other than she." and he bade the treasurer give him a hundred dinars and a piece of silk. so the treasurer gave him what the khalif bade him, and the latter said to him,"go, lay her out and carry her forth and make her a handsome funeral." so aboulhusn took that which he had given him and returning to his house, rejoicing, went in to nuzhet el fuad and said to her, "arise, for the wish is accomplished unto us." so she arose and he laid before her the hundred dinars and the piece of silk, whereat she rejoiced, and they added the gold to the gold and the silk to the silk and sat talking and laughing at one another. meanwhile, when aboulhusn went out from the presence of the khalif and went to lay out nuzhet el fuad, the prince mourned for her and dismissing the divan, arose and betook himself, leaning upon mesrour, the swordsman of his vengeance, [to the pavilion of the harem, where he went in] to the lady zubeideh, that he might condole with her for her slave-girl. he found the princess sitting weeping and awaiting his coming, so she might condole with him for [his boon-companion] aboulhusn el khelia. so he said to her, "may thy head outlive thy slave-girl nuzhet el fuad!" and she answered, saying, "o my lord, god preserve my slave-girl! mayst thou live and long survive thy boon-companion aboulhusn el khelia! for he is dead." the khalif smiled and said to his eunuch, "o mesrour, verily women are little of wit. i conjure thee, by allah, say, was not aboulhusn with me but now?" ["yes, o commander of the faithful," answered mesrour] quoth the lady zubeideh, laughing from a heart full of wrath, "wilt thou not leave thy jesting? is it not enough that aboulhusn is dead, but thou must kill my slave-girl also and bereave us of the two and style me little of wit?" "indeed," answered the khalif, "it is nuzhet el fuad who is dead." and zubeideh said, "indeed he hath not been with thee, nor hast thou seen him, and none was with me but now but nuzhet el fuad, and she sorrowful, weeping, with her clothes torn. i exhorted her to patience and gave her a hundred dinars and a piece of silk; and indeed i was awaiting thy coming, so i might condole with thee for thy boon- companion aboulhusn el khelia, and was about to send for thee." the khalif laughed and said, "none is dead but nuzhet el fuad;" and she, "no, no, my lord; none is dead but aboulhusn." with this the khalif waxed wroth, and the hashimi vein[fn# ] started out from between his eyes and he cried out to mesrour and said to him, "go forth and see which of them is dead." so mesrour went out, running, and the khalif said to zubeideh, "wilt thou lay me a wager?" "yes," answered she; "i will wager, and i say that aboulhusn is dead." "and i," rejoined the khalif, "wager and say that none is dead save nuzhet el fuad; and the stake shall be the garden of pleasance against thy palace and the pavilion of pictures." so they [agreed upon this and] abode awaiting mesrour, till such time as he should return with news. as for mesrour, he gave not over running till he came to the by-street, [wherein was the house] of aboulhusn el khelia. now the latter was sitting reclining at the lattice, and chancing to look round, saw mesrour running along the street and said to nuzhet el fuad, "meseemeth the khalif, when i went forth from him, dismissed the divan and went in to the lady zubeideh, to condole with her [for thee;] whereupon she arose and condoled with him [for me,] saying, 'god greaten thy recompence for [the loss of] aboulhusn el khelia!' and he said to her, 'none is dead save nuzhet el fuad, may thy head outlive her!' quoth she, 'it is not she who is dead, but aboulhusn el khelia, thy boon-companion.' and he to her, 'none is dead but nuzhet el fuad.' and they gainsaid one another, till the khalif waxed wroth and they laid a wager, and he hath sent mesrour the sword- bearer to see who is dead. wherefore it were best that thou lie down, so he may see thee and go and acquaint the khalif and confirm my saying." so nuzhet el fuad stretched herself out and aboulhusn covered her with her veil and sat at her head, weeping. presently, in came mesrour the eunuch to him and saluted him and seeing nuzhet el fuad stretched out, uncovered her face and said, "there is no god but god! our sister nuzhet el fuad is dead. how sudden was the [stroke of] destiny! may god have mercy on thee and acquit thee of responsibility!" then he returned and related what had passed before the khalif and the lady zubeideh, and he laughing. "o accursed one,' said the khalif, "is this a time for laughter? tell us which is dead of them." "by allah, o my lord," answered mesrour, "aboulhusn is well and none is dead but nuzhet el fuad." quoth the khalif to zubeideh, "thou hast lost thy pavilion in thy play," and he laughed at her and said to mesrour, "o mesrour, tell her what thou sawest." "verily, o my lady," said the eunuch, "i ran without ceasing till i came in to aboulhusn in his house and found nuzhet el fuad lying dead and aboulhusn sitting at her head, weeping. i saluted him and condoled with him and sat down by his side and uncovered the face of nuzhet el fuad and saw her dead and her face swollen. so i said to him, 'carry her out forthright [to burial], so we may pray over her.' he answered, 'it is well;' and i left him to lay her out and came hither, that i might tell you the news." the khalif laughed and said, "tell it again and again to thy lady lack-wit." when the lady zubeideh heard mesrour's words [and those of the khalif,] she was wroth and said, "none lacketh wit but he who believeth a black slave." and she reviled mesrour, whilst the khalif laughed. mesrour was vexed at this and said to the khalif, "he spoke sooth who said, 'women lack wit and religion.'" then said the lady zubeideh to the khalif, "o commander of the faithful, thou sportest and jestest with me, and this slave hoodwinketh me, to please thee; but i will send and see which is dead of them." and he answered, saying, "send one who shall see which is dead of them." so the lady zubeideh cried out to an old woman, a stewardess, and said to her, "go to the house of nuzhet el fuad in haste and see who is dead and loiter not." and she railed at her. the old woman went out, running, whilst the khalif and mesrour laughed, and gave not over running till she came into the street. aboulhusn saw her and knowing her, said to his wife, "o nuzhet el fuad, meseemeth the lady zubeideh hath sent to us to see who is dead and hath not given credence to mesrour's report of thy death; so she hath despatched the old woman, her stewardess, to discover the truth; wherefore it behoveth me to be dead in my turn, for the sake of thy credit with the lady zubeideh." accordingly, he lay down and stretched himself out, and she covered him and bound his eyes and feet and sat at his head, weeping. presently, the old woman came in to her and saw her sitting at aboulhusn's head, weeping and lamenting; and when she saw the old woman, she cried out and said to her, "see what hath betided me! indeed, aboulhusn is dead and hath left me alone and forlorn!" then she cried out and tore her clothes and said to the old woman, "o my mother, how good he was!" quoth the other, "indeed thou art excused, for thou wast used to him and he to thee." then she considered what mesrour had reported to the khalif and the lady zubeideh and said to her, "indeed, mesrour goeth about to sow discord between the khalif and the lady zubeideh." "and what is the [cause of] discord, o my mother?" asked nuzhet el fuad. "o my daughter," answered the old woman, "mesrour came to the khalif and the lady zubeideh and gave them news of thee that thou wast dead and that aboulhusn was well. "and nuzhet el fuad said to her, "o my aunt, i was with my lady but now and she gave me a hundred dinars and a piece of silk; and now see my condition and that which hath befallen me! indeed, i am bewildered, and how shall i do, and i alone, forlorn? would god i had died and he had lived!" then she wept and the old woman with her and the latter went up to aboulhusn and uncovering his face, saw his eyes bound and swollen for the binding. so she covered him again and said, "indeed, o nuzhet el fuad, thou art afflicted in aboulhusn!" then she condoled with her and going out from her, ran without ceasing till she came in to the lady zubeideh and related to her the story; and the princess said to her, laughing, "tell it over again to the khalif, who maketh me out scant of wit and lacking of religion, and to this ill-omened slave, who presumeth to contradict me." quoth mesrour, "this old woman lieth; for i saw aboulhusn well and nuzhet el fuad it was who lay dead." "it is thou that liest," rejoined the stewardess, "and wouldst fain sow discord between the khalif and the lady zubeideh." and he said, "none lieth but thou, o old woman of ill-omen, and thy lady believeth thee, and she doteth." whereupon the lady zubeideh cried out at him, and indeed she was enraged at him and at his speech and wept. then said the khalif to her, "i lie and my eunuch lieth, and thou liest and thy waiting-woman lieth; so methinks we were best go, all four of us together, that we may see which of us telleth the truth." quoth mesrour, "come, let us go, that i may put this ill-omened old woman to shame[fn# ] and deal her a sound drubbing for her lying." and she answered him, saying, "o dotard, is thy wit like unto my wit? indeed, thy wit is as the hen's wit." mesrour was incensed at her words and would have laid violent hands on her, but the lady zubeideh warded him off from her and said to him, "her sooth-fastness will presently be distinguished from thy sooth-fastness and her leasing from thy leasing." then they all four arose, laying wagers with one another, and went forth, walking, from the palace-gate [and fared on] till they came in at the gate of the street in which aboulhusn el khelia dwelt. he saw them and said to his wife nuzhet el fuad, "verily, all that is sticky is not a pancake and not every time cometh the jar off safe.[fn# ]' meseemeth the old woman hath gone and told her lady and acquainted her with our case and she hath disputed with mesrour the eunuch and they have laid wagers with one another about our death and are come to us, all four, the khalif and the eunuch and the lady zubeideh and the old woman." when nuzhet el fuad heard this, she started up from her lying posture and said, "how shall we do?" and he said, "we will both feign ourselves dead and stretch ourselves out and hold our breath." so she hearkened unto him and they both lay down on the siesta[-carpet] and bound their feet and shut their eyes and covered themselves with the veil and held their breath. presently, up came the khalif and the lady zubeideh and mesrour and the old woman and entering, found aboulhusn and his wife both stretched out [apparently] dead; which when the lady zubeideh saw, she wept and said, "they ceased not to bring [ill] news of my slave- girl, till she died; methinketh aboulhusn's death was grievous to her and that she died after him."[fn# ]. quoth the khalif, "thou shalt not forestall me with talk and prate. she certainly died before aboulhusn, for he came to me with his clothes torn and his beard plucked out, beating his breast with two bricks, and i gave him a hundred dinars and a piece of silk and said to him, 'go, carry her forth [and bury her] and i will give thee a concubine other than she and handsomer, and she shall be in stead of her.' but it would appear that her death was no light matter to him and he died after her;[fn# ] so it is i who have beaten thee and gotten thy stake." the lady zubeideh answered him many words and the talk waxed amain between them. at last the khalif sat down at the heads of the pair and said, "by the tomb of the apostle of god (may he bless and preserve him!) and the sepulchres of my fathers and forefathers, whoso will tell me which of them died before the other, i will willingly give him a thousand dinars!" when aboulhusn heard the khalifs words, he sprang up in haste and said, "i died first, o commander of the faithful! hand over the thousand dinars and quit thine oath and the conjuration by which thou sworest." then nuzhet el fuad rose also and stood up before the khalif and the lady zubeideh, who both rejoiced in this and in their safety, and the princess chid her slave-girl. then the khalif and the lady zubeideh gave them joy at their well-being and knew that this [pretended] death was a device to get the money; and the princess said to nuzhet el fuad, "thou shouldst have sought of me that which thou desiredst, without this fashion, and not have consumed my heart for thee." and she said, "indeed, i was ashamed, o my lady." as for the khalif, he swooned away for laughing and said, "o aboulhusn, thou wilt never cease to be a wag and do rarities and oddities!" quoth he, "o commander of the faithful, i played off this trick, for that the money was exhausted, which thou gavest me, and i was ashamed to ask of thee again. when i was single, i could never keep money; but since thou marriedst me to this damsel here, if i possessed thy wealth, i should make an end of it. so, when all that was in my hand was spent, i wrought this trick, so i might get of thee the hundred dinars and the piece of silk; and all this is an alms from our lord. but now make haste to give me the thousand dinars and quit thee of thine oath." the khalif and the lady zubeideh laughed and returned to the palace; and he gave aboulhusn the thousand dinars, saying, "take them as a thank-offering for thy preservation from death," whilst the princess did the like with nuzhet el fuad. moreover, the khalif increased aboulhusn in his stipends and allowances, and he [and his wife] ceased not [to live] in joy and contentment, till there came to them the destroyer of delights and sunderer of companies, he who layeth waste the palaces and peopleth the tombs. the khalif omar ben abdulaziz and the poets.[fn# ] it is said that, when the khalifate devolved on omar ben abdulaziz[fn# ] (of whom god accept), the poets [of the time] resorted to him, as they had been used to resort to the khalifs before him, and abode at his door days and days, but he gave them not leave to enter, till there came to omar adi ben artah,[fn# ] who stood high in esteem with him. jerir[fn# ] accosted him and begged him to crave admission for them [to the khalif]. "it is well," answered adi and going in to omar, said to him, "the poets are at thy door and have been there days and days; yet hast thou not given them leave to enter, albeit their sayings are abiding[fn# ] and their arrows go straight to the mark." quoth omar, "what have i to do with the poets?" and adi answered, saying, "o commander of the faithful, the prophet (whom god bless and preserve) was praised [by a poet] and gave [him largesse,] and therein[fn# ] is an exemplar to every muslim." quoth omar, "and who praised him?" "abbas ben mirdas[fn# ] praised him," replied adi, "and he clad him with a suit and said, 'o bilal,[fn# ] cut off from me his tongue!'" "dost thou remember what he said?" asked the khalif; and adi said, "yes." "then repeat it," rejoined omar. so adi recited the following verses: i saw thee, o thou best of all the human race, display a book that came to teach the truth to those in error's way. thou madest known to us therein the road of righteousness, when we had wandered from the truth, what while in gloom it lay. a dark affair thou littest up with islam and with proof quenchedst the flaming red-coals of error and dismay. mohammed, then, i do confess, god's chosen prophet is, and every man requited is for that which he doth say. the road of right thou hast made straight, that erst was crooked grown; yea, for its path of old had fall'n to ruin and decay. exalted mayst thou be above th' empyrean heaven of joy and may god's glory greater grow and more exalted aye! "and indeed," continued adi, "this ode on the prophet (may god bless and keep him!) is well known and to comment it would be tedious." quoth omar, "who is at the door?" "among them is omar ibn [abi] rebya the cureishite,"[fn# ] answered adi, and the khalif said, "may god show him no favour neither quicken him! was it not he who said ... ?" and he recited the following verses: would god upon that bitterest day, when my death calls for me, what's 'twixt thine excrement and blood[fn# ] i still may smell of thee! yea, so but selma in the dust my bedfellow may prove, fair fall it thee! in heaven or hell i reck not if it be. "except," continued the khalif, "he were the enemy of god, he had wished for her in this world, so he might after [repent and] return to righteous dealing. by allah, he shall not come in to me! who is at the door other than he?" quoth adi, "jemil ben mamer el udhri[fn# ] is at the door;" and omar said, "it is he who says in one of his odes" ... [and he recited the following:] would we may live together and when we come to die, god grant the death-sleep bring me within her tomb to lie! for if "her grave above her is levelled" it be said, of life and its continuance no jot indeed reck i. "away with him from me! who is at the door?" "kutheiyir azzeh,"[fn# ] replied adi, and omar said, "it is he who says in one of his odes ... " [and he repeated the following verses:] some with religion themselves concern and make it their business all; sitting,[fn# ] they weep for the pains of hell and still for mercy bawl! if they could hearken to azzeh's speech, as i, i hearken to it, they straight would humble themselves to her and prone before her fall. "leave the mention of him. who is at the door?" quoth adi, "el akhwes el ansari."[fn# ] "god the most high put him away and estrange him from his mercy!" cried omar. "is it not he who said, berhyming on a man of medina his slave-girl, so she might outlive her master ... ?" [and he repeated the following line:] god [judge] betwixt me and her lord! away with her he flees me and i follow aye. "he shall not come in to me. who is at the door, other than he?" "heman ben ghalib el ferezdec,"[fn# ] answered adi; and omar said, "it is he who saith, glorying in adultery ..." [and he repeated the following verses:] the two girls let me down from fourscore fathoms' height, as swoops a hawk, with wings all open in full flight; and when my feet trod earth, "art slain, that we should fear," quoth they, "or live, that we may hope again thy sight?" "he shall not come in to me. who is at the door, other than he?" "el akhtel et teghlibi,"[fn# ] answered adi; and omar said, "he is the unbeliever who says in his verse ..." [and he repeated the following:] ramazan in my life ne'er i fasted, nor e'er have i eaten of flesh, save in public[fn# ] it were. no exhorter am i to abstain from the fair, nor to love mecca's vale for my profit i care; nor, like others a little ere morning appear who bawl, "come to safety!"[fn# ] i stand up to prayer. nay, at daybreak i drink of the wind-freshened wine and prostrate me[fn# ] instead in the dawn-whitened air. "by allah, he treadeth no carpet of mine! who is at the door other than he?" "jerir ibn el khetefa," answered adi; and omar said, "it is he who saith ... " [and he recited as follows:] but for the spying of the eyes [ill-omened,] we had seen wild cattle's eyes and antelopes' tresses of sable sheen. the huntress of th' eyes[fn# ] by night came to me. "turn in peace," [quoth i to her;] "this is no time for visiting, i ween." "if it must be and no help, admit jerir." so adi went forth and admitted jerir, who entered, saying: he, who mohammed sent, as prophet to mankind, hath to a just high-priest[fn# ] the khalifate assigned. his justice and his truth all creatures do embrace; the erring he corrects and those of wandering mind. i hope for present[fn# ] good [and bounty at thy hand,] for souls of men are still to present[fn# ] good inclined. quoth omar, "o jerir, keep the fear of god before thine eyes and say nought but the truth." and jerir recited the following verses: how many, in yemameh,[fn# ] dishevelled widows plain! how many a weakling orphan unsuccoured doth remain, for whom is thy departure even as a father's loss! to fly or creep, like nestlings, alone, they strive in vain. now that the clouds have broken their promise to our hope, we trust the khalif's bounty will stand to us for rain.[fn# ] when the khalif heard this, he said, "by allah, o jerir, omar possesseth but a hundred dirhems."[fn# ] [and he cried out to his servant, saying,] "ho, boy! give them to him." moreover, he gave him the ornaments of his sword; and jerir went forth to the [other] poets, who said to him, "what is behind thee?"[fn# ] and he answered, "a man who giveth to the poor and denieth the poets, and i am well-pleased with him."[fn# ] el hejjaj and the three young men.[fn# ] they tell that el hejjaj[fn# ] once commanded the master of police [of bassora] to go round about [the city] by night, and whomsoever he found [abroad] after nightfall, that he should strike off his head. so he went round one night of the nights and came upon three youths staggering from side to side, and on them signs of [intoxication with] wine. so the officers laid hold of them and the captain of the watch said to them, "who are ye that ye transgress the commandment of the [lieutenant of the] commander of the faithful and come abroad at this hour?" quoth one of the youths, "i am the son of him to whom [all] necks[fn# ] abase themselves, alike the nose-pierced[fn# ] of them and the [bone-]breaker;[fn# ] they come to him in their own despite, abject and submissive, and he taketh of their wealth[fn# ] and of their blood." the master of police held his hand from him, saying, "belike he is of the kinsmen of the commander of the faithful," and said to the second, "who art thou?" quoth he, "i am the son of him whose rank[fn# ] time abaseth not, and if it descend[fn# ] one day, it will assuredly return [to its former height]; thou seest the folk [crowd] in troops to the light of his fire, some standing around it and some sitting." so the master of the police refrained from slaying him and said to the third, "who art thou?" quoth he, "i am the son of him who plungeth through the ranks[fn# ] with his might and correcteth[fn# ] them with the sword,[fn# ] so that they stand straight;[fn# ] his feet are not loosed from the stirrup,[fn# ] whenas the horsemen on the day of battle are weary." so the master of police held his hand from him also, saying, "belike, he is the son of a champion of the arabs." then he kept them under guard, and when the morning morrowed, he referred their case to el hejjaj, who caused bring them before him and enquiring into their affair, found that the first was the son of a barber-surgeon, the second of a [hot] bean-seller and the third of a weaver. so he marvelled at their readiness of speech[fn# ] and said to his session-mates, "teach your sons deportment;[fn# ] for, by allah, but for their ready wit, i had smitten off their heads!" haroun er reshid and the woman of the barmecides.[fn# ] they tell that haroun er reshid was sitting one day to do away grievances, when there came up to him a woman and said to him, "o commander of the faithful, may god accomplish thine affair and cause thee rejoice in that which he hath given thee and increase thee in elevation! indeed, thou hast done justice[fn# ] and wrought equitably."[fn# ] quoth the khalif to those who were present with him, "know ye what this woman meaneth by her saying?" and they answered, "of a surety, she meaneth not otherwise than well, o commander of the faithful." "nay," rejoined haroun; "she purposeth only in this an imprecation against me. as for her saying, 'god accomplish thine affair!' she hath taken it from the saying of the poet, 'when an affair is accomplished, its abatement[fn# ] beginneth. beware of cessation, whenas it is said, "it is accomplished."' as for her saying 'god cause thee rejoice in that which he hath given thee,' she took it from the saying of god the most high, 'till, whenas they rejoiced in that which they were given, we took them suddenly and lo, they were confounded!'[fn# ] as for her saying, 'god increase thee in elevation!' she took it from the saying of the poet, 'no bird flieth and riseth up on high, but, like as he flieth, he falleth.' and as for her saying, 'indeed, thou hast done justice and wrought equitably,' it is from the saying of the most high, '[if ye deviate[fn# ] or lag behind or turn aside, verily, god of that which ye do is aware;'[fn# ] and] 'as for the transgressors,'[fn# ] they are fuel for hell[-fire]."[fn# ] then he turned to the woman and said to her, "is it not thus?" "yes, o commander of the faithful," answered she; and he said, "what prompted thee to this?" quoth she, "thou slewest my father and my mother and my kinsfolk and tookest their goods." "whom meanest thou?" asked the khalif, and she replied, "i am of the house of bermek."[fn# ] then said he to her, "as for the dead, they are of those who are past away, and it booteth not to speak of them; but, as for that which i took of wealth, it shall be restored to thee, yea, and more than it." and he was bountiful to her to the utmost of munificence. the ten viziers; or the history of king azadbekht and his son.[fn# ] there was once, of old days, a king of the kings, whose name was azadbekht; his [capital] city was called kuneim mudoud and his kingdom extended to the confines of seistan and from the frontiers of hindustan to the sea he had ten viziers, who ordered his state and his dominion, and he was possessed of judgment and exceeding wisdom. one day he went forth with certain of his guards to the chase and fell in with an eunuch on horseback, holding in his hand the halter of a mule, which he led along. on the mule's back was a litter of gold-inwoven brocade, garded about with an embroidered band set with gold and jewels, and over against the litter was a company of horsemen. when king azadbekht saw this, he separated himself from his companions and making for the mule and the horsemen, questioned the latter, saying, "to whom belongeth this litter and what is therein?". the eunuch answered, (for he knew not that he was king azadbekht,) saying, "this litter belongeth to isfehend, vizier to king azadbekht, and therein is his daughter, whom he purposeth to marry to zad shah the king." as the eunuch was speaking with the king, behold, the damsel raised a corner of the curtain that shut in the litter, so she might look upon the speaker, and saw the king. when azadbekht beheld her and noted her fashion and her loveliness (and indeed never set story-teller[fn# ] eyes on her like,) his soul inclined to her and she took hold upon his heart and he was ravished by her sight. so he said to the eunuch, "turn the mule's head and return, for i am king azadbekht and i will marry her myself, for that isfehend her father is my vizier and he will accept of this affair and it will not be grievous to him." "o king," answered the eunuch, "may god prolong thy continuance, have patience till i acquaint my lord her father, and thou shalt take her in the way of approof, for it befitteth thee not neither is it seemly unto thee that thou take her on this wise, seeing that it will be an affront to her father if thou take her without his knowledge." quoth azadbekht, "i have not patience [to wait] till thou go to her father and return, and no dishonour will betide him, if i marry her." "o my lord," rejoined the eunuch, "nought that is done in haste is long of durance nor doth the heart rejoice therein; and indeed it behoveth thee not to take her on this foul wise. whatsoever betideth thee, destroy not thyself with [undue] haste, for i know that her father's breast will be straitened by this affair and this that thou dost will not profit thee." but the king said, "verily, isfehend is [my boughten] servant and a slave of my slaves, and i reck not of her father, if he be vexed or pleased." so saying, he drew the reins of the mule and carrying the damsel, whose name was behrjaur, to his house, married her. meanwhile, the eunuch betook himself, he and the horsemen, to her father and said to him, "o my lord, the king is beholden to thee for many years' service and thou hast not failed him a day of the days; and now, behold, he hath taken thy daughter against thy wish and without thy permission." and he related to him what had passed and how the king had taken her by force. when isfehend heard the eunuch's story, he was exceeding wroth and assembling many troops, said to them, "whenas the king was occupied with his women [and concerned not himself with the affairs of his kingdom], we took no reck of him; but now he putteth out his hand to our harem; wherefore methinketh we should do well to look us out a place, wherein we may have sanctuary." then he wrote a letter to king azadbekht, saying to him, "i am a servant of thy servants and a slave of thy slaves and my daughter is a handmaid at thy service, and may god the most high prolong thy days and appoint thy times [to be] in delight and contentment! indeed, i still went girded of the waist in thy service and in caring for the preservation of thy dominion and warding off thine enemies from thee; but now i abound yet more than before in zeal and watchfulness, for that i have taken this to charge upon myself, since my daughter is become thy wife." and he despatched a messenger to the king with the letter and a present. when the messenger came to king azadbekht and he read the letter and the present was laid before him, he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and occupied himself with eating and drinking, hour after hour. but the chief vizier of his viziers came to him and said, " king, know that isfehend the vizier is thine enemy, for that his soul liketh not that which thou hast done with him, and the message that he hath sent thee [is a trick; so] rejoice thou not therein, neither be thou deluded by the sweetness of his words and the softness of his speech." the king hearkened [not] to his vizier's speech, but made light of the matter and presently, [dismissing it from his thought], busied himself with that which he was about of eating and drinking and merrymaking and delight meanwhile, isfehend the vizier wrote a letter and despatched it to all the amirs, acquainting them with that which had betided him with king azadbekht and how he had taken his daughter by force and adding, "and indeed he will do with you more than he hath done with me." when the letter reached the chiefs [of the people and troops], they all assembled together to isfehend and said to him, "what is to do with him?"[fn# ] so he discovered to them the affair of his daughter and they all agreed, of one accord, that they should endeavour for the slaughter of the king and taking horse with their troops, set out, intending for him. azadbekht knew not [of their design] till the noise [of the invasion] beset his capital city, when he said to his wife behrjaur, "how shall we do?" and she answered, saying, "thou knowest best and i am at thy commandment." so he let bring two swift horses and bestrode one himself, whilst his wife mounted the other. then they took what they might of gold and went forth, fleeing, in the night, to the desert of kerman; what while isfehend entered the city and made himself king. now king azadbekht's wife was big with child and the pains of labour took her in the mountain; so they alighted at the mountain-foot, by a spring of water, and she gave birth to a boy as he were the moon. behrjaur his mother pulled off a gown of gold-inwoven brocade and wrapped the child therein, and they passed the night [in that place], what while she gave him suck till the morning. then said the king to her, "we are hampered by this child and cannot abide here nor can we carry him with us; so methinks we were better leave him here and go, for allah is able to send him one who shall take him and rear him." so they wept over him exceeding sore and left him beside the spring, wrapped in the gown of brocade: then they laid at his head a thousand dinars in a bag and mounting their horses, departed, fleeing. now, by the ordinance of god the most high, a company of thieves fell in upon a caravan hard by that mountain and made prize of that which was with them of merchandise. then they betook themselves to the mountain, so they might share their booty, and looking at the foot thereof, espied the gown of brocade. so they descended, to see what it was, and finding the child wrapped therein and the gold laid at his head, marvelled and said, "extolled be the perfection of god! by what wickedness cometh this child here?" then they divided the money between them and the captain of the thieves took the boy and made him his son and fed him with sweet milk and dates, till he came to his house, when he appointed him a nurse, who should rear him. meanwhile, king azadbekht and his wife stayed not in their flight till they came to [the court of] the king of fars,[fn# ] whose name was kutrou.[fn# ] when they presented themselves to him, he entreated them with honour and entertained them handsomely, and azadbekht told him his story, first and last. so he gave him a great army and wealth galore and he abode with him some days, till he was rested, when he made ready with his host and setting out for his own dominions, waged war upon isfehend and falling in upon the capital, defeated the rebel vizier and slew him. then he entered the city and sat down on the throne of his kingship; and whenas he was rested and the kingdom was grown peaceful for him, he despatched messengers to the mountain aforesaid in quest of the child; but they returned and informed the king that they had not found him. as time went on, the boy, the son of the king, grew up and fell to stopping the way[fn# ] with the thieves, and they used to carry him with them, whenas they went a-thieving. they sallied forth one day upon a caravan in the land of seistan, and there were in that caravan strong and valiant men and with them merchandise galore. now they had heard that in that land were thieves; so they gathered themselves together and made ready their arms and sent out spies, who returned and gave them news of the thieves. accordingly, they prepared for battle, and when the robbers drew near the caravan, they fell in upon them and they fought a sore battle. at last the folk of the caravan overmastered the thieves, by dint of numbers, and slew some of them, whilst the others fled. moreover they took the boy, the son of king azadbekht, and seeing him as he were the moon, possessed of beauty and grace, brightfaced and comely of fashion, questioned him, saying, "who is thy father, and how camest thou with these thieves?" and he answered, saying, "i am the son of the captain of the thieves." so they took him and carried him to the capital of his father king azadbekht when they reached the city, the king heard of their coming and commanded that they should attend him with what befitted [of their merchandise]. so they presented themselves before him, [and the boy with them,] whom when the king saw, he said to them, "to whom belongeth this boy?" and they answered, "o king, we were going in such a road, when there came out upon us a sort of robbers; so we made war upon them and overcame them and took this boy prisoner. then we questioned him, saying, 'who is thy father?' and he answered, 'i am the captain's son of the thieves.'" quoth the king, "i would fain have this boy." and the captain of the caravan said, "god maketh thee gift of him, o king of the age, and we all are thy slaves." then the king dismissed [the people of] the caravan and let carry the youth into his palace and he became as one of the servants, what while his father the king knew not that he was his son. as time went on, the king observed in him good breeding and understanding and knowledge[fn# ] galore and he pleased him; so he committed his treasuries to his charge and straitened the viziers' hand therefrom, commanding that nought should be taken forth therefrom except by leave of the youth. on this wise he abode a number of years and the king saw in him nought but fidelity and studiousness in well-doing. now the treasuries aforetime had been in the viziers' hand, so they might do with them what they would, and when they came under the youth's hand, that of the viziers was straitened from them, and the youth became dearer to the king than a son and he could not brook to be separated from him. when the viziers saw this, they were jealous of him and envied him and cast about for a device against him whereby they might oust him from the king's favour, but found no opportunity. at last, when came the destined hour,[fn# ] it chanced that the youth one day drank wine and became drunken and wandered from his wits; so he fell to going round about within the palace of the king and fate led him to the lodging of the women, in which there was a little sleeping-chamber, where the king lay with his wife. thither came the youth and entering the chamber, found there a couch spread, to wit, a sleeping place, and a candle burning. so he cast himself on the couch, marvelling at the paintings that were in the chamber, and slept and slumbered heavily till eventide, when there came a slave-girl, bringing with her all the dessert, eatables and drinkables, that she was wont to make ready for the king and his wife, and seeing the youth lying on his back, (and none knowing of his case and he in his drunkenness unknowing where he was,) thought that he was the king asleep on his bed; so she set the censing-vessel and laid the essences by the couch, then shut the door and went away. presently, the king arose from the wine-chamber and taking his wife by the hand, repaired with her to the chamber in which he slept. he opened the door and entering, saw the youth lying on the bed, whereupon he turned to his wife and said to her, "what doth this youth here? this fellow cometh not hither but on thine account." quoth she, "i have no knowledge of him." with this, the youth awoke and seeing the king, sprang up and prostrated himself before him, and azadbekht said to him, "o vile of origin,[fn# ] o lack-loyalty, what hath prompted thee to outrage my dwelling?" and he bade imprison him in one place and the woman in another. the first day. of the uselessness of endeavour against persistent ill fortune. when the morning morrowed and the king sat on the throne of his kingship, he summoned the chief of his viziers and said to him, "what deemest thou of this that yonder robber-youth hath done? behold, he hath entered my house and lain down on my bed and i fear lest there be an intrigue between him and the woman. how deemest thou of the affair?" "god prolong the king's continuance!" replied the vizier. "what sawest thou in this youth [to make thee trust in him]? is he not vile of origin, the son of thieves? needs must a thief revert to his vile origin, and whoso reareth the young of the serpent shall get of them nought but biting. as for the woman, she is not at fault; for, since [the] time [of her marriage with thee] till now, there hath appeared from her nought but good breeding and modesty; and now, if the king give me leave, i will go to her and question her, so i may discover to thee the affair." the king gave him leave for this and the vizier betook himself to the queen and said to her, "i am come to thee, on account of a grave reproach, and i would have thee be truthful with me in speech and tell me how came the youth into the sleeping-chamber." quoth she, "i have no knowledge whatsoever [of it]" and swore to him a solemn oath thereof, whereby he knew that she had no knowledge of the matter and that she was not at fault and said to her, "i will teach thee a device, where- with thou mayst acquit thyself and thy face be whitened before the king." "what is it?" asked she; and he answered, saying, "when the king calleth for thee and questioneth thee of this, say thou to him, 'yonder youth saw me in the privy-chamber and sent me a message, saying, "i will give thee a hundred jewels, to whose price money may not avail, so thou wilt suffer me to foregather with thee." i laughed at him who bespoke me with these words and rebuffed him; but he sent again to me, saying, "an thou fall not in with my wishes, i will come one of the nights, drunken, and enter and lie down in the sleeping-chamber, and the king will see me and kill me; so wilt thou be put to shame and thy face will be blackened with him and thine honour abased."' be this thy saying to the king, and i will presently go to him and repeat this to him." quoth the queen, "and i also will say thus." so the vizier returned to the king and said to him, "verily, this youth hath merited grievous punishment, after abundance of bounty [bestowed on him], and it may not be that a bitter kernel should ever become sweet; but, as for the woman, i am certified that there is no fault in her." then he repeated to the king the story which he had taught the queen, which when azadbekht heard, he rent his clothes and bade fetch the youth. so they brought him and stationed him before the king, who let bring the headsman, and the folk all fixed their eyes upon the youth, so they might see what the king should do with him. then said azadbekht to him (and indeed his words were [prompted] by anger and those of the youth by presence of mind and good breeding), "i bought thee with my money and looked for fidelity from thee, wherefore i chose thee over all my grandees and servants and made thee keeper of my treasuries. why, then, hast thou outraged my honour and entered my house and played the traitor with me and tookest no thought unto that which i have done thee of benefits?" "o king," answered the youth, "i did this not of my choice and freewill and i had no [evil] intent in being there; but, of the littleness of my luck, i was driven thither, for that fate was contrary and fair fortune lacking. indeed, i had striven with all endeavour that nought of foul should proceed from me and kept watch over myself, lest default appear in me; but none may avail to make head against ill fortune, nor doth endeavour profit in case of lack of luck, as appeareth by the example of the merchant who was stricken with ill luck and his endeavour profited him not and he succumbed to the badness of his fortune." "what is the story of the merchant," asked the king, "and how was his luck changed upon him by the sorriness of his fortune?" "may god prolong the king's continuance!" answered the youth. story of the unlucky merchant. "there was once a man, a merchant, who was fortunate in trade, and at one time his [every] dirhem profited [him] fifty. presently, his luck turned against him and he knew it not; so he said in himself, 'i have wealth galore, yet do i weary myself and go round about from country to country; i were better abide in my own country and rest myself in my house from this travail and affliction and sell and buy at home.' then he made two parts of his money, with one whereof he bought wheat in summer, saying, 'when the winter cometh, i will sell it at a great profit.' but, when the winter came, wheat became at half the price for which he had bought it, whereat he was sore concerned and left it till the next year. however, next year, the price fell yet lower and one of his friends said to him, 'thou hast no luck in this wheat; so do thou sell it at whatsoever price.' quoth the merchant, 'this long while have i profited and it is allowable that i lose this time. god is all- knowing! if it abide [with me] half a score years, i will not sell it save at a profit.' then, in his anger, he walled up the door of the granary with clay, and by the ordinance of god the most high, there came a great rain and descended from the roofs of the house wherein was the wheat [so that the latter rotted]; and needs must the merchant give the porters five hundred dirhems from his purse, so they should carry it forth and cast it without the city, for that the smell of it was noisome. so his friend said to him, 'how often did i tell thee thou hadst no luck in wheat? but thou wouldst not give ear to my speech, and now it behoveth thee to go to the astrologer and question him of thy star.' accordingly the merchant betook himself to the astrologer and questioned him of his star, and the astrologer said to him, 'thy star is unpropitious. put not thy hand to any business, for thou wilt not prosper therein.' however, he paid no heed to the astrologer's words and said in himself, 'if i do my occasion,[fn# ] i am not afraid of aught.' then he took the other part of his money, after he had spent therefrom three years, and built [therewith] a ship, which he loaded with all that seemed good to him and all that was with him and embarked on the sea, so he might travel. the ship tarried with him some days, till he should be certified what he would do,[fn# ] and he said, 'i will enquire of the merchants what this merchandise profiteth and in what country it lacketh and how much is the gain thereon.' [so he questioned them and] they directed him to a far country, where his dirhem should profit a hundredfold. accordingly, he set sail and steered for the land in question; but, as he went, there blew on him a tempestuous wind and the ship foundered. the merchant saved himself on a plank and the wind cast him up, naked as he was, on the sea-shore, hard by a town there. so he praised god and gave him thanks for his preservation; then, seeing a great village hard by, he betook himself thither and saw, seated therein, a very old man, whom he acquainted with his case and that which had betided him. the old man grieved sore for him, when he heard his story, and set food before him. so he ate and the old man said to him, 'abide here with me, so i may make thee my steward and factor over a farm i have here, and thou shall have of me five dirhems [fn# ] a day.' 'god make fair thy reward,' answered the merchant, 'and requite thee with benefits!' so he abode in this employ, till he had sowed and reaped and threshed and winnowed, and all was sheer in his hand and the owner appointed neither inspector nor overseer, but relied altogether upon him. then he bethought himself and said, '_i_* misdoubt me the owner of this grain will not give me my due; so i were better take of it, after the measure of my hire; and if he give me my due, i will restore him that which i have taken.' so he took of the grain, after the measure of that which fell to him, and hid it in a privy place. then he carried the rest to the old man and meted it out to him, and he said to him, 'come, take [of the grain, after the measure of] thy hire, for which i agreed with thee, and sell it and buy with the price clothes and what not else; and though thou abide with me half a score years, yet shall thou still have this wage and i will acquit it to thee thus.' quoth the merchant in himself, 'indeed, i have done a foul thing in that i look it without his leave.' then he went to fetch that which he had hidden of the grain, but found it not and returned, perplexed and sorrowful, to the old man, who said to him, 'what aileth thee to be sorrowful?' and he answered, 'methought thou wouldst not pay me my due; so i took of the grain, after the measure of my hire; and now thou hast paid me my due and i went to bring back to thee that which i had hidden from thee, but found it gone, for those who had happened upon it had stolen it.' the old man was wroth, when he heard this, and said to the merchant, 'there is no device [can cope] with ill luck! i had given thee this, but, of the sorriness of thy luck and thy fortune, thou hast done this deed, o oppressor of thine own self! thou deemedst i would not acquit thee thy wage; but, by allah, nevermore will i give thee aught.' and he drove him away from him. so the merchant went forth, afflicted, sorrowful, weeping, [and wandered on along the sea-shore], till he came to a sort of divers diving in the sea for pearls. they saw him weeping and mourning and said to him, 'what is thy case and what maketh thee weep?' so he acquainted them with his history, from first to last, whereby they knew him and said to him, 'art thou [such an one] son of such an one?' 'yes,' answered he; whereupon they condoled with him and wept sore for him and said to him, 'abide here till we dive for thy luck this next time and whatsoever betideth us shall be between us and thee.' accordingly, they dived and brought up ten oysters, in each two great pearls; whereat they marvelled and said to him, 'by allah, thy luck hath returned and thy good star is in the ascendant!' then they gave him ten pearls and said to him, 'sell two of them and make them thy capital [whereon to trade]; and hide the rest against the time of thy straitness.' so he took them, joyful and contented, and addressed himself to sew eight of them in his gown, keeping the two others in his mouth; but a thief saw him and went and advertised his mates of him; whereupon they gathered together upon him and took his gown and departed from him. when they were gone away, he arose, saying, 'these two pearls [in my mouth] will suffice me,' and made for the [nearest] city, where he brought out the pearls [and repairing to the jewel- market, gave them to the broker], that he might sell them. now, as destiny would have it, a certain jeweller of the town had been robbed of ten pearls, like unto those which were with the merchant; so, when he saw the two pearls in the broker's hand, he said to him, 'to whom do these pearls belong?' and the broker answered, 'to yonder man.' [the jeweller looked at the merchant and] seeing him in sorry case and clad in tattered clothes, misdoubted of him and said to him (purposing to surprise him into confession), 'where are the other eight pearls?' the merchant thought he asked him of those which were in the gown and answered, 'the thieves stole them from me.' when the jeweller heard his reply, he doubted not but that it was he who had taken his good; so he laid hold of him and haling him before the chief of the police, said to him, 'this is the man who stole my pearls: i have found two of them upon him and he confesseth to the other eight.' now the magistrate knew of the theft of the pearls; so he bade clap the merchant in prison. accordingly they imprisoned him and flogged him, and he abode in the prison a whole year, till, by the ordinance of god the most high, the master of police arrested one of the divers aforesaid and imprisoned him in the prison where the merchant lay. he saw the latter and knowing him, questioned him of his case; whereupon he told them his story and that which had befallen him, and the diver marvelled at the sorriness of his luck. so, when he came forth of the prison, he acquainted the sultan with the merchant's case and told him that it was he who had given him the pearls. the sultan bade bring him forth of the prison and questioned him of his story, whereupon he told him all that had befallen him and the sultan pitied him and assigned him a lodging in his own palace, together with an allowance for his living. now the lodging in question adjoined the king's house, and whilst the merchant was rejoicing in this and saying, 'verily, my luck hath returned and i shall live in this king's shadow the rest of my life,' he espied an opening walled up with stones and clay. so he pulled out the stones and clearing away the earth from the opening, found that it was a window giving upon the lodging of the king's women. when he saw this, he was affrighted and rising in haste, fetched clay and stopped it up again. but one of the eunuchs saw him and misdoubting of him, repaired to the sultan and told him of this. so he came and seeing the stones pulled out, was wroth with the merchant and said to him, 'is this my recompense from thee, that thou seekest to violate my harem?' and he bade pluck out his eyes. so they did as he commanded and the merchant took his eyes in his hand and said, 'how long [wilt thou afflict me], o star of ill-omen? first my wealth and now my life!' and he bewailed himself, saying, 'endeavour profiteth me nought against evil fortune. the compassionate aided me not and endeavour was useless.' on like wise, o king," continued the youth, "whilst fortune was favourable to me, all that i did came to good; but now that it is grown contrary to me, everything turneth against me." when the youth had made an end of his story, the king's anger subsided a little and he said, "restore him to the prison, for the day draweth to an end, and tomorrow we will took into his affair." of looking to the issues of affairs. when it was the second day, the second of the king's viziers, whose name was beheroun, came in to him and said, "god advance the king! this that yonder youth hath done is a grave matter and a foul deed and a heinous against the household of the king." so azadbekht bade fetch the youth, because of the saying of the vizier; and when he came into his presence, he said to him, "out on thee, o youth! needs must i slay thee by the worst of deaths, for indeed thou hast committed a grave crime, and i will make thee a warning to the folk." "o king," answered the youth, "hasten not, for the looking to the issues of affairs is a pillar of the realm and [a cause of] continuance and sure stablishment for the kingship. whoso looketh not to the issues of affairs, there befalleth him that which befell the merchant, and whoso looketh to the issues of affairs, there betideth him of joyance that which betided the merchant's son." "and what is the story of the merchant and his son?" asked the king. "o king," answered the youth, story of the merchant and his sons. "there was once a man, a merchant, who had a wife and abundant wealth. he set out one day on a journey with merchandise, leaving his wife big with child, and said to her, 'if it be the will of god the most high, i will return before the birth of the child.' then he took leave of her and setting out, journeyed from country to country till he came to the court of one of the kings and foregathered with him. now this king was in need of one who should order his affairs and those of his kingdom and seeing the merchant well-bred and intelligent, he charged him abide with him and entreated him with honour and munificence. after awhile, he sought of the king leave to go to his own house, but the latter would not consent to this; whereupon he said to him, 'o king, suffer me go and see my children and come again.' so he gave him leave for this and took surety of him for his return. moreover, he gave him a purse, wherein were a thousand gold dinars, and the merchant embarked in a ship and set sail, intending for his own country. meanwhile, news came to his wife that her husband had taken service with king such-an-one; so she arose and taking her two sons, (for she had given birth to twin boys in his absence,) set out for those parts. as fate would have it, they happened upon an island and her husband came thither that very night in the ship. [when the woman heard of the coming of the ship], she said to her children, 'this ship cometh from the country where your father is; so go ye to the sea-shore, that ye may enquire of him.' so they repaired to the sea-shore and [going up into the ship], fell to playing about it and occupied themselves with their play till the evening. now the merchant their father lay asleep in the ship, and the crying of the boys troubled him; so he rose to call out to them [and silence them] and let the purse [with the thousand dinars therein] fall among the bales of merchandise. he sought for it and finding it not, buffeted his head and seized upon the boys, saying, 'none took the purse but you. ye were playing about the bales, so ye might steal somewhat, and there was none here but you.' then he took a staff and laying hold of the children, fell to beating them and flogging them, whilst they wept, and the sailors came round about them and said, 'the boys of this island are all thieves and robbers.' then, of the greatness of the merchant's wrath, he swore that, if they brought not out the purse, he would drown them in the sea; so when [by reason of their denial] his oath became binding upon him, he took the two boys and lashing them [each] to a bundle of reeds, cast them into the sea. presently, the mother of the two boys, finding that they tarried from her, went searching for them, till she came to the ship and fell to saying, 'who hath seen two boys of mine? their fashion is thus and thus and their age thus and thus.' when they heard her words, they said, 'this is the description of the two boys who were drowned in the sea but now.' their mother heard and fell to calling on them and saying, 'alas, my anguish for your loss, o my sons! where was the eye of your father this day, that it might have seen you?' then one of the crew questioned her, saying, 'whose wife art thou?' and she answered, 'i am the wife of such an one the merchant. i was on my way to him, and there hath befallen me this calamity.' when the merchant heard her speech, he knew her and rising to his feet, rent his clothes and buffeted his head and said to his wife, 'by allah, i have destroyed my children with mine own hand! this is the end of whoso looketh not to the issues of affairs.' then he fell a-wailing and weeping over them, he and his wife, and he said, 'by allah, i shall have no ease of my life, till i light upon news of them!' and he betook himself to going round about the sea, in quest of them, but found them not. meanwhile, the wind carried the two children [out to sea and thence driving them] towards the land, cast them up on the sea-shore. as for one of them, a company of the guards of the king of those parts found him and carried him to their master, who marvelled at him with an exceeding wonderment and adopted him to his son, giving out to the folk that he was his [very] son, whom he had hidden,[fn# ] of his love for him. so the folk rejoiced in him with an exceeding joy, for the king's sake, and the latter appointed him his heir-apparent and the inheritor of his kingdom. on this wise, a number of years passed, till the king died and they crowned the youth king in his room. so he sat down on the throne of his kingship and his estate flourished and his affairs prospered. meanwhile, his father and mother had gone round about all the islands of the sea in quest of him and his brother, hoping that the sea might have cast them up, but found no trace of them; so they despaired of finding them and took up their abode in one of the islands. one day, the merchant, being in the market, saw a broker, and in his hand a boy he was calling for sale, and said in himself, 'i will buy yonder boy, so i may console myself with him for my sons.' so he bought him and carried him to his house; and when his wife saw him, she cried out and said, 'by allah, this is my son!' so his father and mother rejoiced in him with an exceeding joy and questioned him of his brother; but he answered, 'the sea parted us and i knew not what became of him.' therewith his father and mother consoled themselves with him and on this wise a number of years passed. now the merchant and his wife had taken up their abode in a city in the land whereof their [other] son was king, and when the boy [whom they had found] grew up, his father assigned unto him merchandise, so he might travel therewith. so he set out and entered the city wherein his brother was king. news reached the latter that there was a merchant come thither with merchandise befitting kings. so he sent for him and the young merchant obeyed the summons and going in to him, sat down before him. neither of them knew the other; but blood stirred between them and the king said to the young merchant, 'i desire of thee that thou abide with me and i will exalt thy station and give thee all that thou desirest and cravest.' so he abode with him awhile, quitting him not; and when he saw that he would not suffer him to depart from him, he sent to his father and mother and bade them remove thither to him. so they addressed them to remove to that island, and their son increased still in honour with the king, albeit he knew not that he was his brother. it chanced one night that the king sallied forth without the city and drank and the wine got the mastery of him and he became drunken. so, of the youth's fearfulness for him, he said, 'i will keep watch myself over the king this night, seeing that he deserveth this from me, for that which he hath wrought with me of kindnesses.' so he arose forthright and drawing his sword, stationed himself at the door of the king's pavilion. now one of the royal servants saw him standing there, with the drawn sword in his hand, and he was of those who envied him his favour with the king; so he said to him, 'why dost thou on this wise at this season and in the like of this place?' quoth the youth, 'i am keeping watch over the king myself, in requital of his bounties to me.' the servant said no more to him, but, when it was morning, he acquainted a number of the king's servants with this and they said, 'this is an opportunity for us. come let us assemble together and acquaint the king with this, so the young merchant may lose favour with him and he rid us of him and we be at rest from him.' so they assembled together and going in to the king, said to him, 'we have a warning we would give thee.' quoth he, 'and what is your warning?' and they said, 'yonder youth, the merchant, whom thou hast taken into favour and whose rank thou hast exalted above the chiefs of the people of thy household, we saw yesterday draw his sword and offer to fall upon thee, so he might slay thee.' when the king heard this, his colour changed and he said to them, 'have ye proof of this?' quoth they, 'what proof wouldst thou have? if thou desire this, feign thyself drunken again this night and lie down, as if asleep, and watch him, and thou wilt see with thine eyes all that we have named to thee.' then they went to the youth and said to him, 'know that the king thanketh thee for thy dealing yesternight and exceedeth in [praise of] thy good deed;' and they prompted him to do the like again. so, when the next night came, the king abode on wake; watching the youth; and as for the latter, he went to the door of the pavilion and drawing his sword, stood in the doorway. when the king saw him do thus, he was sore disquieted and bade seize him and said to him, 'is this my requital from thee? i showed thee favour more than any else and thou wouldst do with me this vile deed.' then arose two of the king's servants and said to him, 'o our lord, if thou command it, we will strike off his head.' but the king said, 'haste in slaying is a vile thing, for it[fn# ] is a grave matter; the quick we can slay, but the slain we cannot quicken, and needs must we look to the issue of affairs. the slaying of this [youth] will not escape us.'[fn# ] therewith he bade imprison him, whilst he himself returned [to the city] and despatching his occasions, went forth to the chase. then he returned to the city and forgot the youth; so the servants went in to him and said to him, 'o king, if thou keep silence concerning yonder youth, who would have slain thee, all thy servants will presume upon thee, and indeed the folk talk of this matter.' with this the king waxed wroth and saying, 'fetch him hither,' commanded the headsman to strike off his head. so they [brought the youth and] bound his eyes; and the headsman stood at his head and said to the king, 'by thy leave, o my lord, i will strike off his head.' but the king said, 'stay, till i look into his affair. needs must i put him to death and the slaying of him will not escape [me].' so he restored him to the prison and there he abode till it should be the king's will to put him to death. presently, his father and his mother heard of the matter; whereupon the former arose and going up to the place, wrote a letter and [presented it to the king, who] read it, and behold, therein was written, saying, 'have pity on me, so may god have pity on thee, and hasten not in the slaughter [of my son]; for indeed i acted hastily in a certain affair and drowned his brother in the sea, and to this day i drink the cup of his anguish. if thou must needs kill him, kill me in his stead.' therewith the old merchant prostrated himself before the king and wept; and the latter said to him, 'tell me thy story.' 'o my lord,' answered the merchant, 'this youth had a brother and i [in my haste] cast them both into the sea.' and he related to him his story from first to last, whereupon the king cried out with an exceeding great cry and casting himself down from the throne, embraced his father and brother and said to the former, 'by allah, thou art my very father and this is my brother and thy wife is our mother.' and they abode weeping, all three. then the king acquainted the people [of his court] with the matter and said to them,' o folk, how deem ye of my looking to the issues of affairs?' and they all marvelled at his wisdom and foresight. then he turned to his father and said to him, 'hadst thou looked to the issue of thine affair and dealt deliberately in that which thou didst, there had not betided thee this repentance and grief all this time.' then he let bring his mother and they rejoiced in each other and lived all their days in joy and gladness. what then," continued the young treasurer, "is more grievous than the lack of looking to the issues of affairs? wherefore hasten thou not in the slaying of me, lest repentance betide thee and sore concern." when the king heard this, he said, "restore him to the prison till the morrow, so we may look into his affair; for that deliberation in affairs is advisable and the slaughter of this [youth] shall not escape [us]." the third day. of the advantages of patience. when it was the third day, the third vizier came in to the king and said to him, "o king, delay not the affair of this youth, for that his deed hath caused us fall into the mouths of the folk, and it behoveth that thou slay him presently, so the talk may be estopped from us and it be not said, 'the king saw on his bed a man with his wife and spared him.'"* the king was chagrined by this speech and bade bring the youth. so they brought him in shackles, and indeed the king's anger was roused against him by the speech of the vizier and he was troubled; so he said to him, "o base of origin, thou hast dishonoured us and marred our repute, and needs must i do away thy life from the world." quoth the youth, "o king, make use of patience in all thine affairs, so wilt thou attain thy desire, for that god the most high hath appointed the issue of patience [to be] in abounding good, and indeed by patience abou sabir ascended from the pit and sat down upon the throne." "who was abou sabir," asked the king, "and what is his story?" and the youth answered, saying, "o king, story of abou sabir. there was once a man, a headman [of a village], by name abou sabir, and he had much cattle and a fair wife, who had borne him two sons. they abode in a certain village and there used to come thither a lion and devour abou sabir's cattle, so that the most part thereof was wasted and his wife said to him one day, 'this lion hath wasted the most part of our cattle. arise, mount thy horse and take thy men and do thine endeavour to kill him, so we may be at rest from him.' but abou sabir said, 'have patience, o woman, for the issue of patience is praised. this lion it is that transgresseth against us, and the transgressor, needs must allah destroy him. indeed, it is our patience that shall slay him, and he that doth evil, needs must it revert upon him.' a little after, the king went forth one day to hunt and falling in with the lion, he and his troops, gave chase to him and ceased not [to follow] after him till they slew him. this came to abou sabir's knowledge and he said to his wife, 'said i not to thee, o woman, that whoso doth evil, it shall revert upon him? belike, if i had sought to slay the lion myself, i had not availed against him, and this is the issue of patience.' it befell, after this, that a man was slain in abou sabir's village; wherefore the sultan caused plunder the village, and they plundered the headman's goods with the rest so his wife said to him, 'all the sultan's officers know thee; so do thou prefer thy plaint to the king, that he may cause thy beasts to be restored to thee.' but he said to her, 'o woman, said i not to thee that he who doth evil shall suffer it? indeed, the king hath done evil, and he shall suffer [the consequences of] his deed, for whoso taketh the goods of the folk, needs must his goods be taken.' a man of his neighbours heard his speech, and he was an envier of his; so he went to the sultan and acquainted him therewith, whereupon he sent and plundered all [the rest of] his goods and drove him forth from the village, and his wife [and children] with him. so they went wandering in the desert and his wife said to him, 'all that hath befallen us cometh of thy slothfulness in affairs and thy default.' but he said to her, 'have patience, for the issue of patience is good.' then they went on a little, and thieves met them and despoiling them of that which remained with them, stripped them of their raiment and took the children from them; whereupon the woman wept and said to her husband, 'o man, put away from thee this folly and arise, let us follow the thieves, so haply they may have compassion on us and restore the children to us.' 'o woman,' answered he, 'have patience, for he who doth evil shall be requited with evil and his wickedness shall revert upon him. were i to follow them, most like one of them would take his sword and smite off my head and slay me; but have patience, for the issue of patience is praised.' then they fared on till they drew near a village in the land of kirman, and by it a river of water. so he said to his wife, 'abide thou here, whilst i enter the village and look us out a place wherein we may take up our lodging.' and he left her by the water and entered the village. presently, up came a horseman in quest of water, so he might water his horse. he saw the woman and she was pleasing in his sight; so he said to her, 'arise, mount with me and i will take thee to wife and entreat thee kindly.' quoth she, 'spare me, so may god spare thee! indeed, i have a husband.' but he drew his sword and said to her, 'an thou obey me not, i will smite thee and kill thee.' when she saw his malice, she wrote on the ground in the sand with her finger, saying, 'o abou sabir, thou hast not ceased to be patient, till thy wealth is gone from thee and thy children and [now] thy wife, who was more precious in thy sight than everything and than all thy wealth, and indeed thou abidest in thy sorrow all thy life long, so thou mayst see what thy patience will profit thee.' then the horseman took her, and setting her behind him, went his way. as for abou sabir, when he returned, he saw not his wife and read what was written on the ground, wherefore he wept and sat [awhile] sorrowing. then said he to himself, 'o abou sabir, it behoveth thee to be patient, for belike there shall betide [thee] an affair yet sorer than this and more grievous;' and he went forth wandering at a venture, like to the love-distraught, the madman, till he came to a sort of labourers working upon the palace of the king, by way of forced labour. when [the overseers] saw him, they laid hold of him and said to him, 'work thou with these folk at the palace of the king; else will we imprison thee for life.' so he fell to working with them as a labourer and every day they gave him a cake of bread. he wrought with them a month's space, till it chanced that one of the labourers mounted a ladder and falling, broke his leg; whereupon he cried out and wept. quoth abou sabir to him, 'have patience and weep not; for thou shall find ease in thy patience.' but the man said to him, 'how long shall i have patience?' and he answered, saying, 'patience bringeth a man forth of the bottom of the pit and seateth him on the throne of the kingdom.' now the king was seated at the lattice, hearkening to their talk, and abou sabir's words angered him; so he bade bring him before him and they brought him forthright. now there was in the king's palace an underground dungeon and therein a vast deep pit, into which the king caused cast abou sabir, saying to him, 'o lackwit, now shall we see how thou wilt come forth of the pit to the throne of the kingdom.' then he used to come and stand at the mouth of the pit and say, 'o lackwit, o abou sabir, i see thee not come forth of the pit and sit down on the king's throne!' and he assigned him each day two cakes of bread, whilst abou sabir held his peace and spoke not, but bore with patience that which betided him. now the king had a brother, whom he had imprisoned in that pit of old time, and he had died [there]; but the folk of the realm thought that he was alive, and when his [supposed] imprisonment grew long, the king's officers used to talk of this and of the tyranny of the king, and the report spread abroad that the king was a tyrant, wherefore they fell upon him one day and slew him. then they sought the well and brought out abou sabir therefrom, deeming him the king's brother, for that he was the nearest of folk to him [in favour] and the likest, and he had been long in the prison. so they doubted not but that he was the prince in question and said to him, 'reign thou in thy brother's room, for we have slain him and thou art king in his stead.' but abou sabir was silent and spoke not a word; and he knew that this was the issue of his patience. then he arose and sitting down on the king's throne, donned the royal raiment and discovered justice and equity and the affairs [of the realm] prospered [in his hand]; wherefore the folk obeyed him and the people inclined to him and many were his troops. now the king, who had plundered abou sabir['s goods] and driven him forth of his village, had an enemy; and the latter took horse against him and overcame him and captured his [capital] city; wherefore he addressed himself to flight and came to abou sabir's city, craving protection of him and seeking that he should succour him. he knew not that the king of the city was the headman whom he had despoiled; so he presented himself before him and made complaint to him; but abou sabir knew him and said to him, 'this is somewhat of the issue of patience. god the most high hath given me power over thee.' then he bade his guards plunder the [unjust] king and his attendants; so they plundered them and stripping them of their clothes, put them forth of his country. when abou sabir's troops saw this, they marvelled and said, 'what is this deed that the king doth? there cometh a king to him, craving protection, and he despoileth him! this is not of the fashion of kings.' but they dared not [be]speak [him] of this. after this, news came to the king of robbers in his land; so he set out in quest of them and ceased not to follow after them, till he seized on them all, and behold, they were the [very] thieves who had despoiled him [and his wife] by the way and taken his children. so he bade bring them before him, and when they came into his presence, he questioned them, saying, 'where are the two boys ye took on such a day?' quoth they, 'they are with us and we will present them to our lord the king for slaves to serve him and give him wealth galore that we have gotten together and divest ourselves of all that we possess and repent from sin and fight in thy service.' abou sabir, however, paid no heed to their speech, but took all their good and bade put them all to death. moreover, he took the two boys and rejoiced in them with an exceeding joy, whereat the troops murmured among themselves, saying, 'verily, this is a greater tyrant than his brother! there come to him a sort of robbers and seek to repent and proffer two boys [by way of peace-offering], and he taketh the two boys and all their good and slayeth them!' after this came the horseman, who had taken abou sabir's wife, and complained of her to the king that she would not give him possession of herself, avouching that she was his wife. the king bade bring her before him, that he might hear her speech and pronounce judgment upon her. so the horseman came with her before him, and when the king saw her, he knew her and taking her from her ravisher, bade put the latter to death. then he became aware of the troops, that they murmured against him and spoke of him as a tyrant; so he turned to his officers and viziers and said to them, 'as for me, by god the great, i am not the king's brother! nay, i am but one whom the king imprisoned upon a word he heard from me and used every day to taunt me therewith. ye think that i am the king's brother; but i am abou sabir and god hath given me the kingship in virtue of my patience. as for the king who sought protection of me and i despoiled him, it was he who first wronged me, for that he despoiled me aforetime and drove me forth of my native land and banished me, without due [cause]; wherefore i requited him with that which he had done to me, in the way of lawful vengeance. as for the thieves who proffered repentance, there was no repentance for them with me, for that they began upon me with foul [dealing] and waylaid me by the road and despoiled me and took my good and my sons. now these two boys, that i took of them and whom ye deemed slaves, are my very sons; so i avenged myself on the thieves of that which they did with me aforetime and requited them with equity. as for the horseman whom i slew, the woman i took from him was my wife and he took her by force, but god the most high hath restored her [to me]; so this was my right, and my deed that i have done was just, albeit ye, [judging] by the outward of the matter, deemed that i had done this by way of tyranny.' when the folk heard this, they marvelled and fell prostrate before him; and they redoubled in esteem for him and exceeding affection and excused themselves to him, marvelling at that which god had done with him and how he had given him the kingship by reason of his longsuffering and his patience and how he had raised himself by his patience from the bottom of the pit to the throne of the kingdom, what while god cast down the [late] king from the throne into the pit.[fn# ] then abou sabir foregathered with his wife and said to her, 'how deemest thou of the fruit of patience and its sweetness and the fruit of haste and its bitterness? verily, all that a man doth of good and evil, he shall assuredly abide.' on like wise, o king," continued the young treasurer, "it behoveth thee to practise patience, whenas it is possible to thee, for that patience is of the fashion of the noble, and it is the chiefest of their reliance, especially for kings." when the king heard this from the youth, his anger subsided; so he bade restore him to the prison, and the folk dispersed that day. the fourth day. of the ill effects of precipitation. when it was the fourth day, the fourth vizier, whose name was zoushad, made his appearance and prostrating himself to the king, said to him, "o king, suffer not the talk of yonder youth to delude thee, for that he is not a truth-teller. so long as he abideth on life, the folk will not give over talking nor will thy heart cease to be occupied with him." "by allah," cried the king, "thou sayst sooth and i will cause fetch him this day and slay him before me." then he commanded to bring the youth; so they brought him in shackles and he said to him, "out on thee! thinkest thou to appease my heart with thy prate, whereby the days are spent in talk? i mean to slay thee this day and be quit of thee." "o king," answered the youth, "it is in thy power to slay me whensoever thou wilt, but haste is of the fashion of the base and patience of that of the noble. if thou put me to death, thou wilt repent, and if thou desire to bring me back to life, thou wilt not be able thereunto. indeed, whoso acteth hastily in an affair, there befalleth him what befell bihzad, son of the king." quoth the king, "and what is his story?" "o king," replied the young treasurer, story of prince bihzad. "there was once, of old time, a king and he had a son [named bihzad], there was not in his day a goodlier than he and he loved to consort with the folk and to sit with the merchants and converse with them. one day, as he sat in an assembly, amongst a number of folk, he heard them talking of his own goodliness and grace and saying, 'there is not in his time a goodlier than he.' but one of the company said, 'indeed, the daughter of king such-an-one is handsomer than he.' when bihzad heard this saying, his reason fled and his heart fluttered and he called the last speaker and said to him, 'repeat to me that which thou saidst and tell me the truth concerning her whom thou avouchest to be handsomer than i and whose daughter she is.' quoth the man, 'she is the daughter of king such-an-one;' whereupon bihzad's heart clave to her and his colour changed. the news reached his father, who said to him, 'o my son, this damsel to whom thy heart cleaveth is at thy commandment and we have power over her; so wait till i demand her [in marriage] for thee.' but the prince said, 'i will not wait.' so his father hastened in the matter and sent to demand her of her father, who required of him a hundred thousand dinars to his daughter's dowry. quoth bihzad's father, 'so be it,' and paid down what was in his treasuries, and there remained to his charge but a little of the dower. so he said to his son, 'have patience, o my son, till we gather together the rest of the money and send to fetch her to thee, for that she is become thine.' therewith the prince waxed exceeding wroth and said, 'i will not have patience;' so he took his sword and his spear and mounting his horse, went forth and fell to stopping the way, [so haply that he might win what lacked of the dowry]. it chanced one day that he fell in upon a company of folk and they overcame him by dint of numbers and taking him prisoner, pinioned him and carried him to the lord of that country. the latter saw his fashion and grace and misdoubting of him, said, 'this is no robber's favour. tell me truly, o youth, who thou art.' bihzad thought shame to acquaint him with his condition and chose rather death for himself; so he answered, 'i am nought but a thief and a bandit.' quoth the king, 'it behoveth us not to act hastily in the matter of this youth, but that we look into his affair, for that haste still engendereth repentance.' so he imprisoned him in his palace and assigned him one who should serve him. meanwhile, the news spread abroad that bihzad, son of the king, was lost, whereupon his father sent letters in quest of him [to all the kings and amongst others to him with whom he was imprisoned]. when the letter reached the latter, he praised god the most high for that he had not anydele hastened in bihzad's affair and letting bring him before himself, said to him, 'art thou minded to destroy thyself?' quoth bihzad, '[i did this] for fear of reproach;' and the king said, 'an thou fear reproach, thou shouldst not practise haste [in that thou dost]; knowest thou not that the fruit of haste is repentance? if we had hasted, we also, like unto thee, we had repented.' then he conferred on him a dress of honour and engaged to him for the completion of the dowry and sent to his father, giving him the glad news and comforting his heart with [the tidings of] his son's safety; after which he said to bihzad, arise, o my son, and go to thy father.' 'o king,' rejoined the prince, 'complete thy kindness to me by [hastening] my going-in to my wife; for, if i go back to my father, till he send a messenger and he return, promising me, the time will be long.' the king laughed and marvelled at him and said to him, 'i fear for thee from this haste, lest thou come to shame and attain not thy desire.' then he gave him wealth galore and wrote him letters, commending him to the father of the princess, and despatched him to them. when he drew near their country, the king came forth to meet him with the people of his realm and assigned him a handsome lodging and bade hasten the going-in of his daughter to him, in compliance with the other king's letter. moreover, he advised the prince's father [of his son's coming] and they busied themselves with the affair of the damsel. when it was the day of the going-in,[fn# ] bihzad, of his haste and lack of patience, betook himself to the wall, which was between himself and the princess's lodging and in which there was a hole pierced, and looked, so he might see his bride, of his haste. but the bride's mother saw him and this was grievous to her; so she took from one of the servants two red-hot iron spits and thrust them into the hole through which the prince was looking. the spits ran into his eyes and put them out and he fell down aswoon and joyance was changed and became mourning and sore concern. see, then, o king," continued the youth, "the issue of the prince's haste and lack of deliberation, for indeed his haste bequeathed him long repentance and his joy was changed to mourning; and on like wise was it with the woman who hastened to put out his eyes and deliberated not. all this was the doing of haste; wherefore it behoveth the king not to be hasty in putting me to death, for that i am under the grasp of his hand, and what time soever thou desirest my slaughter, it shall not escape [thee]." when the king heard this, his anger subsided and he said, "carry him back to prison till to-morrow, to we may look into his affair." the fifth day of the issues of good and evil actions. when it was the fifth day, the fifth vizier, whose name was jehrbaur, came in to the king and prostrating himself before him, said, "o king, it behoveth thee, if thou see or hear that one look on thy house,[fn# ] that thou put out his eyes. how then should it be with him whom thou sawest midmost thy house and on thy very bed, and he suspected with thy harem, and not of thy lineage nor of thy kindred? wherefore do thou away this reproach by putting him to death. indeed, we do but urge thee unto this for the assurance of thine empire and of our zeal for thy loyal counselling and of our love to thee. how can it be lawful that this youth should live for a single hour?" therewith the king was filled with wrath and said, "bring him forthright," so they brought the youth before him, shackled, and the king said to him, "out on thee! thou hast sinned a great sin and the time of thy life hath been long;[fn# ] but needs must we put thee to death, for that there is for us no ease in thy life after this," "o king," answered he, "know that i, by allah, am guiltless, and by reason of this i hope for life, for that he who is guiltless of offence goeth not in fear of punishment neither maketh great his mourning and his concern; but whoso hath sinned, needs must his sin be expiated upon him, though his life be prolonged, and it shall overtake him, even as it overtook dadbin the king and his vizier." "how was that?" asked azadbekht, and the youth said, story of king dadbin and his viziers. "there was once a king in the land of teberistan, by name dadbin, and he had two viziers, called one zourkhan and the other kardan. the vizier zourkhan had a daughter, there was not in her time a handsomer than she nor yet a chaster nor a more pious, for she was a faster, a prayer and a worshipper of god the most high, and her name was arwa. now dadbin heard tell of her charms; so his heart clave to her and he called the vizier [her father] and said to him, 'i desire of thee that thou marry me to thy daughter.' quoth zourkhan, 'allow me to consult her, and if she consent, i will marry thee with her.' and the king said, 'hasten unto this.' so the vizier went in to his daughter and said to her, 'o my daughter, the king seeketh thee of me and desireth to marry thee.' 'o my father,' answered she 'i desire not a husband and if thou wilt marry me, marry me not but with one who shall be below me in rank and i nobler than he, so he may not turn to other than myself nor lift his eyes upon me, and marry me not to one who is nobler than i, lest i be with him as a slave-girl and a serving-woman.' so the vizier returned to the king and acquainted him with that which his daughter had said, whereat he redoubled in desire and love-liking for her and said to her father, 'an thou marry me not to her of good grace, i will take her by force in thy despite.' the vizier again betook himself to his daughter and repeated to her the king's words, but she replied, 'i desire not a husband.' so he returned to the king and told him what she said, and he was wroth and threatened the vizier, whereupon the latter took his daughter and fled with her. when this came to the king's knowledge, he despatched troops in pursuit of zourkhan, to stop the road upon him, whilst he himself went out and overtaking the vizier, smote him on the head with his mace and slew him. then he took his daughter by force and returning to his dwelling-place, went in to her and married her. arwa resigned herself with patience to that which betided her and committed her affair to god the most high; and indeed she was used to serve him day and night with a goodly service in the house of king dabdin her husband. it befell one day that the king had occasion to make a journey; so he called his vizier kardan and said to him, 'i have a trust to commit to thy care, and it is yonder damsel, my wife, the daughter of the vizier [zourkhan], and i desire that thou keep her and guard her thyself, for that there is not in the world aught dearer to me than she.' quoth kardan in himself, 'of a truth, the king honoureth me with an exceeding honour [in entrusting me] with this damsel.' and he answered 'with all my heart.' when the king had departed on his journey, the vizier said in himself, 'needs must i look upon this damsel whom the king loveth with all this love.' so he hid himself in a place, that he might look upon her, and saw her overpassing description; wherefore he was confounded at her and his wit was dazed and love got the mastery of him, so that he said to her, saying, 'have pity on me, for indeed i perish for the love of thee.' she sent back to him, saying, 'o vizier, thou art in the place of trust and confidence, so do not thou betray thy trust, but make thine inward like unto thine outward[fn# ] and occupy thyself with thy wife and that which is lawful to thee. as for this, it is lust and [women are all of] one taste.[fn# ] and if thou wilt not be forbidden from this talk, i will make thee a byword and a reproach among the folk.' when the vizier heard her answer, he knew that she was chaste of soul and body; wherefore he repented with the utmost of repentance and feared for himself from the king and said, 'needs must i contrive a device wherewithal i may destroy her; else shall i be disgraced with the king.' when the king returned from his journey, he questioned his vizier of the affairs of his kingdom and the latter answered, 'all is well, o king, save a vile matter, which i have discovered here and wherewith i am ashamed to confront the king; but, if i hold my peace thereof, i fear lest other than i discover it and i [be deemed to] have played traitor to the king in the matter of my [duty of] loyal warning and my trust.' quoth dabdin, 'speak, for thou art none other than a truth-teller, a trusty one, a loyal counsellor in that which thou sayest, undistrusted in aught.' and the vizier said, 'o king, this woman to whose love thy heart cleaveth and of whose piety thou talkest and her fasting and praying, i will make plain to thee that this is craft and guile.' at this, the king was troubled and said, 'what is to do?' 'know,' answered the vizier, 'that some days after thy departure, one came to me and said to me, "come, o vizier, and look." so i went to the door of the [queen's] sleeping-chamber and beheld her sitting with aboulkhair, her father's servant, whom she favoureth, and she did with him what she did, and this is the manner of that which i saw and heard.' when dabdin heard this, he burnt with rage and said to one of his eunuchs,[fn# ] 'go and slay her in her chamber.' but the eunuch said to him, 'o king, may god prolong thy continuance! indeed, the killing of her may not be at this time; but do thou bid one of thine eunuchs take her up on a camel and carry her to one of the trackless deserts and cast her down there; so, if she be at fault, god shall cause her to perish, and if she be innocent, he will deliver her, and the king shall be free from sin against her, for that this damsel is dear to thee and thou slewest her father by reason of thy love for her.' quoth the king, 'by allah, thou sayst sooth!' then he bade one of his eunuchs carry her on a camel to one of the far-off deserts and there leave her and go away, and he forbade [him] to prolong her torment. so he took her up and betaking himself with her to the desert, left her there without victual or water and returned, whereupon she made for one of the [sand-]hills and ranging stones before her [in the form of a prayer-niche], stood praying. now it chanced that a camel-driver, belonging to kisra the king, lost certain camels and the king threatened him, if he found them not, that he would slay him. so he set out and plunged into the deserts till he came to the place where the damsel was and seeing her standing praying, waited till she had made an end of her prayer, when he went up to her and saluted her, saying, 'who art thou?' quoth she, 'i am a handmaid of god.' 'what dost thou in this desolate place?' asked he, and she said, 'i serve god the most high.' when he saw her beauty and grace, he said to her, 'harkye! do thou take me to husband and i will be tenderly solicitous over thee and use thee with exceeding compassion and i will further thee in obedience to god the most high.' but she answered, saying, 'i have no need of marriage and i desire to abide here [alone] with my lord and his service; but, if thou wouldst deal compassionately with me and further me in the obedience of god the most high, carry me to a place where there is water and thou wilt have done me a kindness.' so he carried her to a place wherein was running water and setting her down on the ground, left her and went away, marvelling at her. after he left her, he found his camels, by her blessing, and when he returned, king kisra asked him, 'hast thou found the camels?' ['yes,' answered he] and acquainted him with the affair of the damsel and set out to him her beauty and grace; whereupon the king's heart clave to her and he mounted with a few men and betook himself to that place, where he found the damsel and was amazed at her, for that he saw her overpassing the description wherewith the camel-driver had described her to him. so he accosted her and said to her, 'i am king kisra, greatest of the kings. wilt thou not have me to husband?' quoth she, 'what wilt thou do with me, o king, and i a woman abandoned in the desert?' and he answered, saying, 'needs must this be, and if thou wilt not consent to me, i will take up my sojourn here and devote myself to god's service and thine and worship him with thee.' then he bade set up for her a tent and another for himself, facing hers, so he might worship god with her, and fell to sending her food; and she said in herself, 'this is a king and it is not lawful for me that i suffer him forsake his subjects and his kingdom for my sake. so she said to the serving-woman, who used to bring her the food, 'speak to the king, so he may return to his women, for he hath no need of me and i desire to abide in this place, so i may worship god the most high therein.' the slave-girl returned to the king and told him this, whereupon he sent back to her, saying, 'i have no need of the kingship and i also desire to abide here and worship god with thee in this desert.' when she found this earnestness in him, she consented to his wishes and said, 'o king, i will consent unto thee in that which thou desirest and will be to thee a wife, but on condition that thou bring me dadbin the king and his vizier kardan and his chamberlain[fn# ] and that they be present in thine assembly, so i may speak a word with them in thy presence, to the intent that thou mayest redouble in affection for me.' quoth kisra, 'and what is thine occasion unto this?' so she related to him her story from first to last, how she was the wife of dadbin the king and how the latter's vizier had miscalled her honour. when king kisra heard this, he redoubled in loveliking for her and affection and said to her, 'do what thou wilt.' so he let bring a litter and carrying her therein to his dwelling-place, married her and entreated her with the utmost honour. then he sent a great army to king dadbin and fetching him and his vizier and the chamberlain, caused bring them before him, unknowing what he purposed with them. moreover, he caused set up for arwa a pavilion in the courtyard of his palace and she entered therein and let down the curtain before herself. when the servants had set their seats and they had seated themselves, arwa raised a corner of the curtain and said, 'o kardan, rise to thy feet, for it befitteth not that thou sit in the like of this assembly, before this mighty king kisra.' when the vizier heard these words, his heart quaked and his joints were loosened and of his fear, he rose to his feet. then said she to him, 'by the virtue of him who hath made thee stand in this place of standing [up to judgment], and thou abject and humiliated, i conjure thee speak the truth and say what prompted thee to lie against me and cause me go forth from my house and from the hand of my husband and made thee practise thus against a man,[fn# ] a true believer, and slay him. this is no place wherein leasing availeth nor may prevarication be therein.' when the vizier was ware that she was arwa and heard her speech, he knew that it behoved him not to lie and that nought would avail him but truth-speaking; so he bowed [his head] to the ground and wept and said, 'whoso doth evil, needs must he abide it, though his day be prolonged. by allah, i am he who hath sinned and transgressed, and nought prompted me unto this but fear and overmastering desire and the affliction written upon my forehead;[fn# ] and indeed this woman is pure and chaste and free from all fault.' when king dadbin heard this, he buffeted his face and said to his vizier, 'god slay thee! it is thou that hast parted me and my wife and wronged me!' but kisra the king said to him, 'god shall surely slay thee, for that thou hastenedst and lookedst not into thine affair and knewest not the guilty from the guiltless. hadst thou wrought deliberately, the false had been made manifest to thee from the true; so where was thy judgment and thy sight?" then said he to arwa, "what wilt thou that i do with them?" and she answered, saying, "accomplish on them the ordinance of god the most high;[fn# ] the slayer shall be slain and the transgressor transgressed against, even as he transgressed against us; yea, and the well-doer, good shall be done unto him, even as he did unto us." so she gave [her officers] commandment concerning dadbin and they smote him on the head with a mace and slew him, and she said, "this is for the slaughter of my father." then she bade set the vizier on a beast [and carry him] to the desert whither he had caused carry her [and leave him there without victual or water]; and she said to him, "an thou be guilty, thou shalt abide [the punishment of] thy guilt and perish of hunger and thirst in the desert; but, if there be no guilt in thee, thou shalt be delivered, even as i was delivered." as for the eunuch, the chamberlain, who had counselled king dadbin [not to slay her, but] to [cause] carry her to the desert [and there abandon her], she bestowed on him a sumptuous dress of honour and said to him, "the like of thee it behoveth kings to hold in favour and set in high place, for that thou spokest loyally and well, and a man is still requited according to his deed." and kisra the king invested him with the governance of one of the provinces of his empire. know, therefore, o king," continued the youth, "that whoso doth good is requited therewith and he who is guiltless of sin and reproach feareth not the issue of his affair. and i, o king, am free from guilt, wherefore i trust in god that he will show forth the truth and vouchsafe me the victory over enemies and enviers." when the king heard this, his wrath subsided and he said, "carry him back to the prison till the morrow, so we may look into his affair." the sixth day of trust in god. when it was the sixth day, the viziers' wrath redoubled, for that they had not compassed their desire of the youth and they feared for themselves from the king; so three of them went in to him and prostrating themselves before him, said to him, "o king, indeed we are loyal counsellors to thy dignity and tenderly solicitous for thee. verily, thou persistest long in sparing this youth alive and we know not what is thine advantage therein. every day findeth him yet on life and the talk redoubleth suspicions on thee; so do thou put him to death, that the talk may be made an end of." when the king heard this speech, he said, "by allah, indeed, ye say sooth and speak rightly!" then he let bring the young treasurer and said to him, "how long shall i look into thine affair and find no helper for thee and see them all athirst for thy blood?" "o king," answered the youth, "i hope for succour only from god, not from created beings: if he aid me, none can avail to harm me, and if he be with me and on my side, because of the truth, who is it i shall fear, because of falsehood? indeed, i have made my intent with god a pure and sincere intent and have severed my expectation from the help of the creature; and whoso seeketh help [of god] findeth of his desire that which bekhtzeman found." quoth the king, "who was bekhtzeman and what is his story?" "o king," replied the youth, story of king bekhtzeman. "there was once a king of the kings, whose name was bekhtzeman, and he was a great eater and drinker and carouser. now enemies of his made their appearance in certain parts of his realm and threatened him; and one of his friends said to him, 'o king, the enemy maketh for thee: be on thy guard against him.' quoth bekhtzeman, 'i reck not of him, for that i have arms and wealth and men and am not afraid of aught.' then said his friends to him, 'seek aid of god, o king, for he will help thee more than thy wealth and thine arms and thy men.' but he paid no heed to the speech of his loyal counsellors, and presently the enemy came upon him and waged war upon him and got the victory over him and his trust in other than god the most high profited him nought. so he fled from before him and seeking one of the kings, said to him, 'i come to thee and lay hold upon thy skirts and take refuge with thee, so thou mayst help me against mine enemy.' the king gave him money and men and troops galore and bekhtzeman said in himself, 'now am i fortified with this army and needs must i conquer my enemy therewith and overcome him;' but he said not, 'with the aid of god the most high.' so his enemy met him and overcame him again and he was defeated and put to the rout and fled at a venture. his troops were dispersed from him and his money lost and the enemy followed after him. so he sought the sea and passing over to the other side, saw a great city and therein a mighty citadel. he asked the name of the city and to whom it belonged and they said to him, 'it belongeth to khedidan the king.' so he fared on till he came to the king's palace aud concealing his condition, passed himself off for a horseman[fn# ] and sought service with king khedidan, who attached him to his household and entreated him with honour; but his heart still clave to his country and his home. presently, it chanced that an enemy attacked king khedidan; so he sent out his troops to him and made bekhtzeman head of the army. then they went forth to the field and khedidan also came forth and ranged his troops and took the spear and sallied out in person and fought a sore battle and overcame his enemy, who fled, he and his troops, ignominiously. when the king and his army returned in triumph, bekhtzeman said to him, 'harkye, o king! meseemeth this is a strange thing of thee that thou art compassed about with this vast army, yet dost thou apply thyself in person to battle and adventurest thyself.' quoth the king, 'dost thou call thyself a cavalier and a man of learning and deemest that victory is in abundance of troops?' 'ay,' answered bekhtzeman; 'that is indeed my belief.' and khedidan said, 'by allah, then, thou errest in this thy belief! woe and again woe to him whose trust is in other than god! indeed, this army is appointed only for adornment and majesty, and victory is from god alone. i too, o bekhtzeman, believed aforetime that victory was in the multitude of men, and an enemy came out against me with eight hundred men, whilst i had eight hundred thousand. i trusted in the number of my troops, whilst mine enemy trusted in god; so he defeated me and routed me and i was put to a shameful flight and hid myself in one of the mountains, where i met with a recluse, [who had] withdrawn [himself from the world]. so i joined myself to him and complained to him of my case and acquainted him with all that had befallen me. quoth he, "knowest thou why this befell thee and thou wast defeated?" "i know not," answered i, and he said, "because thou puttest thy trust in the multitude of thy troops and reliedst not upon god the most high. hadst thou put thy trust in god and believed in him that it is he [alone] who advantageth and endamageth thee, thine enemy had not availed to cope with thee. return unto god." so i returned to myself and repented at the hands of the solitary, who said to me, "turn back with what remaineth to thee of troops and confront thine enemies, for, if their intents be changed from god, thou wilt overcome them, wert thou alone." when i heard these words, i put my trust in god the most high, and gathering together those who remained with me, fell upon mine enemies at unawares in the night. they deemed us many and fled on the shamefullest wise, whereupon i entered my city and repossessed myself of my place by the might of god the most high, and now i fight not but [trusting] in his aid.' when bekhtzeman heard this, he awoke from his heedlessness and said, 'extolled be the perfection of god the great! o king, this is my case and my story, nothing added and nought diminished, for i am king bekhtzeman and all this happened to me; wherefore i will seek the gate of god['s mercy] and repent unto him.' so he went forth to one of the mountains and there worshipped god awhile, till one night, as he slept, one appeared to him in a dream and said to him, 'o bekhtzeman, god accepteth thy repentance and openeth on thee [the gate of succour] and will further thee against thine enemy.' when he was certified of this in the dream, he arose and turned back, intending for his own city; and when he drew near thereunto, he saw a company of the king's retainers, who said to him, 'whence art thou? we see that thou art a stranger and fear for thee from this king, for that every stranger who enters this city, he destroys him, of his fear of king bekhtzeman.' quoth bekhtzeman, 'none shall hurt him nor advantage him save god the most high.' and they answered, saying, 'indeed, he hath a vast army and his heart is fortified in the multitude of his troops.' when king bekhtzeman heard this, his heart was comforted and he said in himself, 'i put my trust in god. if he will, i shall overcome mine enemy by the might of god the most high.' so he said to the folk, ' know ye not who i am?' and they answered, ' no, by allah.' quoth he, 'i am king bekhtzeman.' when they heard this and knew that it was indeed he, they dismounted from their horses and kissed his stirrup, to do him honour, and said to him, 'o king, why hast thou thus adventured thyself?' quoth he, 'indeed, my life is a light matter to me and i put my trust in god the most high, looking to him for protection.' and they answered him, saying, 'may this suffice thee! we will do with thee that which is in our power and whereof thou art worthy: comfort thy heart, for we will succour thee with our goods and our lives, and we are his chief officers and the most in favour with him of all folk. so we will take thee with us and cause the folk follow after thee, for that the inclination of the people, all of them, is to thee.' quoth he, 'do that unto which god the most high enableth you.' so they carried him into the city and hid him with them. moreover, they agreed with a company of the king's chief officers, who had aforetime been those of bekhtzeman, and acquainted them with this; whereat they rejoiced with an exceeding joy. then they assembled together to bekhtzeman and made a covenant and handfast [of fealty] with him and fell upon the enemy at unawares and slew him and seated king bekhtzeman again on the throne of his kingship. and his affairs prospered and god amended his estate and restored his bounty to him, and he ruled his subjects justly and abode in the obedience of the most high. on this wise, o king," continued the young treasurer, "he with whom god is and whose intent is pure, meeteth nought but good. as for me, i have no helper other than god, and i am content to submit myself to his ordinance, for that he knoweth the purity of my intent." with this the king's wrath subsided and he said, "restore him to the prison till the morrow, so we may look into his affair." the seventh day. of clemency. when it was the seventh day, the seventh vizier, whose name was bihkemal, came in to the king and prostrating himself to him, said, "o king, what doth thy long-suffering with this youth advantage thee? indeed the folk talk of thee and of him. why, then, dost thou postpone the putting him to death?" the vizier's words aroused the king's anger and he bade bring the youth. so they brought him before him, shackled, and azadbekht said to him, "out on thee! by allah, after this day there abideth no deliverance for thee from my hand, for that thou hast outraged mine honour, and there can be no forgiveness for thee." "o king," answered the youth, "there is no great forgiveness save in case of a great crime, for according as the offence is great, in so much is forgiveness magnified and it is no dishonour to the like of thee if he spare the like of me. verily, allah knoweth that there is no fault in me, and indeed he commandeth unto clemency, and no clemency is greater than that which spareth from slaughter, for that thy forgiveness of him whom thou purposest to put to death is as the quickening of a dead man; and whoso doth evil shall find it before him, even as it was with king bihkerd." "and what is the story of king bihkerd?" asked the king. "o king," answered the youth, story of king bihkerd. "there was once a king named bihkerd aed he had wealth galore and many troops; but his deeds were evil and he would punish for a slight offence and never forgave. he went forth one day to hunt and one of his servants shot an arrow, which lit on the king's ear and cut it off. quoth bihkerd, 'who shot that arrow?' so the guards brought him in haste the offender, whose name was yetrou, and he of his fear fell down on the ground in a swoon. then said the king, 'put him to death;' but yetrou said, 'o king, this that hath befallen was not of my choice nor of my knowledge; so do thou pardon me, in the hour of thy power over me, for that clemency is of the goodliest of things and belike it shall be [in this world] a provision and a good work [for which thou shall be requited] one of these days, and a treasure [laid up to thine account] with god in the world to come. pardon me, therefore, and fend off evil from me, so shall god fend off from thee evil the like thereof.' when the king heard this, it pleased him and he pardoned the servant, albeit he had never before pardoned any. now this servant was of the sons of the kings and had fled from his father, on account of an offence he had committed. then he went and took service with king bihkerd and there happened to him what happened. after awhile, it chanced that a man recognized him and went and told his father, who sent him a letter, comforting his heart and mind and [beseeching him] to return to him. so he returned to his father, who came forth to meet him and rejoiced in him, and the prince's affairs were set right with him. it befell, one day of the days, that king bihkerd embarked in a ship and put out to sea, so he might fish; but the wind blew on them and the ship foundered. the king won ashore on a plank, unknown of any, and came forth, naked, on one of the coasts; and it chanced that he landed in the country whereof the father of the youth aforesaid, [his sometime servant], was king. so he came in the night to the gate of the latter's city and [finding it shut], took up his lodging [for the night] in a burying-place there. when the morning morrowed and the folk came forth of the city, they found a murdered man cast down in a corner of the burial-ground and seeing bihkerd there, doubted not but it was he who had slain him; so they laid hands on him and carried him up to the king and said to him, 'this fellow hath slain a man.' the king bade imprison him; [so they clapped him in prison] and he fell a-saying in himself, what while he was in the prison, 'all that hath befallen me is of the abundance of my sins and my tyranny, for, indeed, i have slain much people unrighteously and this is the requital of my deeds and that which i have wrought aforetime of oppression.' as he was thus pondering in himself, there came a bird and lighted down on the coign of the prison, whereupon, of his much eagerness in the chase, he took a stone and cast it at the bird. now the king's son was playing in the exercise-ground with the ball and the mall, and the stone lit on his ear and cut it off, whereupon the prince fell down in a swoon. so they enquired who had thrown the stone and [finding that it was bihkerd,] took him and carried him before the prince, who bade put him to death. accordingly, they cast the turban from his head and were about to bind his eyes, when the prince looked at him and seeing him cropped of an ear, said to him, 'except thou wert a lewd fellow, thine ear had not been cut off.' 'not so, by allah!' answered bihkerd. 'nay, but the story [of the loss] of my ear is thus and thus, and i pardoned him who smote me with an arrow and cut off my ear.' when the prince heard this, he looked in his face and knowing him, cried out and said, 'art thou not bihkerd the king?' 'yes,' answered he, and the prince said to him 'what bringeth thee here?' so he told him all that had betided him and the folk marvelled and extolled the perfection of god the most high. then the prince rose to him and embraced him and kissed him and entreated him with honour. moreover, he seated him in a chair and bestowed on him a dress of honour; and he turned to his father and said to him, 'this is the king who pardoned me and this is his ear that i cut off with an arrow; and indeed he deserveth pardon from me, for that he pardoned me.' then said he to bihkerd, 'verily, the issue of clemency hath been a provision for thee [in thine hour of need].' and they entreated him with the utmost kindness and sent him back to his own country in all honour and worship know, then, o king," continued the youth, "that there is no goodlier thing than clemency and that all thou dost thereof, thou shalt find before thee, a treasure laid up for thee." when the king heard this, his wrath subsided and he said, "carry him back to the prison till the morrow, so we may look into his affair." the eighth day. of envy and malice. when it was the eighth day, the viziers all assembled and took counsel together and said, "how shall we do with this youth, who baffleth us with his much talk? indeed, we fear lest he be saved and we fall [into perdition]. wherefore, let us all go in to the king and unite our efforts to overcome him, ere he appear without guilt and come forth and get the better of us." so they all went in to the king and prostrating themselves before him, said to him, "o king, have a care lest this youth beguile thee with his sorcery and bewitch thee with his craft. if thou heardest what we hear, thou wouldst not suffer him live, no, not one day. so pay thou no heed to his speech, for we are thy viziers, [who endeavour for] thy continuance, and if thou hearken not to our word, to whose word wilt thou hearken? see, we are ten viziers who testify against this youth that he is guilty and entered not the king's sleeping-chamber but with evil intent, so he might put the king to shame and outrage his honour; and if the king slay him not, let him banish him his realm, so the tongue of the folk may desist from him." when the king heard his viziers' words, he was exceeding wroth and bade bring the youth, and when he came in to the king, the viziers all cried out with one voice, saying, "o scant o' grace, thinkest thou to save thyself from slaughter by craft and guile, that thou beguilest the king with thy talk and hopest pardon for the like of this great crime which thou hast committed?" then the king bade fetch the headsman, so he might smite off his head; whereupon each of the viziers fell a-saying, "i will slay him;" and they sprang upon him. quote the youth, "o king, consider and ponder these men's eagerness. is this of envy or no? they would fain make severance between thee and me, so there may fall to them what they shall plunder, as aforetime." and the king said to him, "consider their testimony against thee." "o king," answered the young man, "how shall they testify of that which they saw not? this is but envy and rancour; and thou, if thou slay me, thou wilt regret me, and i fear lest there betide thee of repentance that which betided ilan shah, by reason of the malice of his viziers." "and what is his story?" asked azadbekht. "o king," replied the youth, story of ilan shah and abou temam. "there was once a merchant named abou temam, and he was a man of understanding and good breeding, quick-witted and truthful in all his affairs, and he had wealth galore. now there was in his land an unjust king and a jealous, and abou temam feared for his wealth from this king and said, 'i will remove hence to another place where i shall not be in fear.' so he made for the city of ilan shah and built himself a palace therein and transporting his wealth thither, took up his abode there. presently, the news of him reached king ilan shah; so he sent to bid him to his presence and said to him, 'we know of thy coming to us and thine entry under our allegiance, and indeed we have heard of thine excellence and wit and generosity; so welcome to thee and fair welcome! the land is thy land and at thy commandment, and whatsoever occasion thou hast unto us, it is [already] accomplished unto thee; and it behoveth that thou be near our person and of our assembly.' abou temam prostrated himself to the king and said to him, 'o king, i will serve thee with my wealth and my life, but do thou excuse me from nearness unto thee, for that, [if i took service about thy person], i should not be safe from enemies and enviers.' then he addressed himself to serve the king with presents and largesses, and the king saw him to be intelligent, well-bred and of good counsel; so he committed to him the ordinance of his affairs and in his hand was the power to bind and loose. now ilan shah had three viziers, in whose hands the affairs [of the kingdom] were [aforetime] and they had been used to leave not the king night nor day; but they became shut out from him by reason of abou temam and the king was occupied with him to their exclusion. so they took counsel together upon the matter and said, 'what counsel ye we should do, seeing that the king is occupied from us with yonder man, and indeed he honoureth him more than us? but now come, let us cast about for a device, whereby we may remove him from the king.' so each of them spoke forth that which was in his mind, and one of them said, 'the king of the turks hath a daughter, whose like there is not in the world, and whatsoever messenger goeth to demand her in marriage, her father slayeth him. now our king hath no knowledge of this; so, come, let us foregather with him and bring up the talk of her. when his heart is taken with her, we will counsel him to despatch abou temam to seek her hand in marriage; whereupon her father will slay him and we shall be quit of him, for we have had enough of his affair." accordingly, they all went in to the king one day (and abou temam was present among them,) and mentioned the affair of the damsel, the king's daughter of the turks, and enlarged upon her charms, till the king's heart was taken with her and he said to them, 'we will send one to demand her in marriage for us; but who shall be our messenger?' quoth the viziers, 'there is none for this business but abou temam, by reason of his wit and good breeding;' and the king said, 'indeed, even as ye say, none is fitting for this affair but he.' then he turned to abou temam and said to him, 'wilt thou not go with my message and seek me [in marriage] the king's daughter of the turks?' and he answered, 'hearkening and obedience, o king.' so they made ready his affair and the king conferred on him a dress of honour, and he took with him a present and a letter under the king's hand and setting out, fared on till he came to the [capital] city of turkestan. when the king of the turks knew of his coming, he despatched his officers to receive him and entreated him with honour and lodged him as befitted his rank. then he entertained him three days, after which he summoned him to his presence and abou temam went in to him and prostrating himself before him, as beseemeth unto kings, laid the present before him and gave him the letter. the king read the letter and said to abou temam, "we will do what behoveth in the matter; but, o abou temam, needs must thou see my daughter and she thee, and needs must thou hear her speech and she thine.' so saying, he sent him to the lodging of the princess, who had had notice of this; so that they had adorned her sitting-chamber with the costliest that might be of utensils of gold and silver and the like, and she seated herself on a throne of gold, clad in the most sumptuous of royal robes and ornaments. when abou temam entered, he bethought himself and said, 'the wise say, he who restraineth his sight shall suffer no evil and he who guardeth his tongue shall hear nought of foul, and he who keepeth watch over his hand, it shall be prolonged and not curtailed.'[fn# ] so he entered and seating himself on the ground, [cast down his eyes and] covered his hands and feet with his dress.[fn# ] quoth the king's daughter to him, 'lift thy head, o abou temam, and look on me and speak with me.' but he spoke not neither raised his head, and she continued, 'they sent thee but that thou mightest look on me and speak with me, and behold, thou speakest not at all. take of these pearls that be around thee and of these jewels and gold and silver. but he put not forth his hand unto aught, and when she saw that he paid no heed to anything, she was angry and said, 'they have sent me a messenger, blind, dumb and deaf.' then she sent to acquaint her father with this; whereupon the king called abou temam to him and said to him, 'thou camest not but to see my daughter. why, then, hast thou not looked upon her?' quoth abou temam, 'i saw everything.' and the king said, 'why didst thou not take somewhat of that which thou sawest of jewels and the like? for they were set for thee.' but he answered, 'it behoveth me not to put out my hand to aught that is not mine.' when the king heard his speech, he gave him a sumptuous dress of honour and loved him exceedingly and said to him, 'come, look at this pit.' so abou temam went up [to the mouth of the pit] and looked, and behold, it was full of heads of men; and the king said to him, 'these are the heads of ambassadors, whom i slew, for that i saw them without loyalty to their masters, and i was used, whenas i saw an ambassador without breeding, [fn# ] to say, "he who sent him is less of breeding than he, for that the messenger is the tongue of him who sendeth him and his breeding is of his master's breeding; and whoso is on this wise, it befitteth not that he be akin to me."[fn# ] so, because of this, i used to put the messengers to death; but, as for thee, thou hast overcome us and won my daughter, of the excellence of thy breeding; so be of good heart, for she is thy master's.' then he sent him back to king ilan shah with presents and rarities and a letter, saying, 'this that i have done is in honour of thee and of thine ambassador.' when abou temam returned with [news of] the accomplishment of his errand and brought the presents and the letter, king ilan shah rejoiced in this and redoubled in showing him honour and made much of him. some days thereafterward, the king of turkestan sent his daughter and she went in to king ilan shah, who rejoiced in her with an exceeding joy and abou temam's worth was exalted in his sight. when the viziers saw this, they redoubled in envy and despite and said, 'an we contrive us not a device to rid us of this man, we shall perish of rage.' so they bethought them [and agreed upon] a device they should practise. then they betook themselves to two boys affected to the [special] service of the king, who slept not but on their knee,[fn# ] and they lay at his head, for that they were his pages of the chamber, and gave them each a thousand dinars of gold, saying, 'we desire of you that ye do somewhat for us and take this gold as a provision against your occasion.' quoth the boys, 'what is it ye would have us do?' and the viziers answered, 'this abou temam hath marred our affairs for us, and if his case abide on this wise, he will estrange us all from the king's favour; and what we desire of you is that, when ye are alone with the king and he leaneth back, as he were asleep, one of you say to his fellow, "verily, the king hath taken abou temam into his especial favour and hath advanced him to high rank with him, yet is he a transgressor against the king's honour and an accursed one." then let the other of you ask, "and what is his transgression?" and the first make answer, "he outrageth the king's honour and saith, 'the king of turkestan was used, whenas one went to him to seek his daughter in marriage, to slay him; but me he spared, for that she took a liking to me, and by reason of this he sent her hither, because she loved me.'" then let his fellow say, "knowest thou this for truth?" and the other reply, "by allah, this is well known unto all the folk, but, of their fear of the king, they dare not bespeak him thereof; and as often as the king is absent a-hunting or on a journey, abou temam comes to her and is private with her."' and the boys answered, 'we will say this.' accordingly, one night, when they were alone with the king and he leant back, as he were asleep, they said these words and the king heard it all and was like to die of rage and said in himself, 'these are young boys, not come to years of discretion, and have no intrigue with any; and except they had heard these words from some one, they had not spoken with each other thereof.' when it was morning, wrath overmastered him, so that he stayed not neither deliberated, but summoned abou temam and taking him apart, said to him, 'whoso guardeth not his lord's honour,[fn# ] what behoveth unto him?' quoth abou temam, 'it behoveth that his lord guard not his honour.' 'and whoso entereth the king's house and playeth the traitor with him,' continued the king, 'what behoveth unto him?' and abou temam answered, 'he shall not be left on life.' whereupon the king spat in his face and said to him, 'both these things hast thou done.' then he drew his dagger on him in haste and smiting him in the belly, slit it and he died forthright; whereupon the king dragged him to a well that was in his palace and cast him therein. after he had slain him, he fell into repentance and mourning and chagrin waxed upon him, and none, who questioned him, would he acquaint with the cause thereof, nor, of his love for his wife, did he tell her of this, and whenas she asked him of [the cause of] his grief, he answered her not. when the viziers knew of abou temam's death, they rejoiced with an exceeding joy and knew that the king's grief arose from regret for him. as for ilan shah, he used, after this, to betake himself by night to the sleeping-chamber of the two boys and spy upon them, so he might hear what they said concerning his wife. as he stood one night privily at the door of their chamber, he saw them spread out the gold before them and play with it and heard one of them say, 'out on us! what doth this gold profit us? for that we cannot buy aught therewith neither spend it upon ourselves. nay, but we have sinned against abou temam and done him to death unjustly.' and the other answered, 'had we known that the king would presently kill him, we had not done what we did.' when the king heard this, he could not contain himself, but rushed in upon them and said to them, 'out on you! what did ye? tell me.' and they said, 'pardon, o king.' quoth he, 'an ye would have pardon from god and me, it behoveth you to tell me the truth, for nothing shall save you from me but truth-speaking.' so they prostrated themselves before him and said, 'by allah, o king, the viziers gave us this gold and taught us to lie against abou teman, so thou mightest put him to death, and what we said was their words.' when the king heard this, he plucked at his beard, till he was like to tear it up by the roots and bit upon his fingers, till he well-nigh sundered them in twain, for repentance and sorrow that he had wrought hastily and had not delayed with abou temam, so he might look into his affair. then he sent for the viziers and said to them, 'o wicked viziers, ye thought that god was heedless of your deed, but your wickedness shall revert upon you. know ye not that whoso diggeth a pit for his brother shall fall into it? take from me the punishment of this world and to-morrow ye shall get the punishment of the world to come and requital from god.' then he bade put them to death; so [the headsman] smote off their heads before the king, and he went in to his wife and acquainted her with that wherein he had transgressed against abou temam; whereupon she grieved for him with an exceeding grief and the king and the people of his household left not weeping and repenting all their lives. moreover, they brought abou temam forth of the well and the king built him a dome[fn# ] in his palace and buried him therein. see, then, o august king," continued the youth, "what envy doth and injustice and how god caused the viziers' malice revert upon their own necks; and i trust in god that he will succour me against all who envy me my favour with the king and show forth the truth unto him. indeed, i fear not for my life from death; only i fear lest the king repent of my slaughter, for that i am guiltless of offence, and if i knew that i were guilty of aught, my tongue would be mute." when the king heard this, he bowed [his head] in perplexity and confusion and said, "carry him back to the prison till the morrow, so we may look into his affair." the ninth day of destiny or that which is written on the forehead. when it was the ninth day, the viziers [foregathered and] said, one to another, "verily, this youth baffleth us, for as often as the king is minded to put him to death, he beguileth him and ensorcelleth him with a story; so what deem ye we should do, that we may slay him and be at rest from him?" then they took counsel together and were of accord that they should go to the king's wife [and prompt her to urge the king to slaughter the youth. so they betook themselves to her] and said to her, "thou art heedless of this affair wherein thou art and this heedlessness will not profit thee; whilst the king is occupied with eating and drinking and diversion and forgetteth that the folk beat upon tabrets and sing of thee and say, 'the king's wife loveth the youth;' and what while he abideth on life, the talk will increase and not diminish." quoth she, "by allah, it was ye set me on against him, and what shall i do [now]?" and they answered, "do thou go in to the king and weep and say to him, 'verily, the women come to me and tell me that i am become a byword in the city, and what is thine advantage in the sparing of this youth? if thou wilt not slay him, slay me, so this talk may be estopped from us.'" so she arose and tearing her clothes, went in to the king, in the presence of the viziers, and cast herself upon him, saying, "o king, falleth my shame not upon thee and fearest thou not reproach? indeed, this is not of the behoof of kings that their jealousy over their women should be thus [laggard]. thou art heedless and all the folk of the realm prate of thee, men and women. so either slay him, that the talk may be cut off, or slay me, if thy soul will not consent to his slaughter." thereupon the king's wrath waxed hot and he said to her, "i have no pleasure in his continuance [on life] and needs must i slay him this day. so return to thy house and comfort thy heart." then he bade fetch the youth; so they brought him before him and the viziers said, "o base of origin, out on thee! thy term is at hand and the earth hungereth for thy body, so it may devour it." but he answered them, saying, "death is not in your word nor in your envy; nay, it is an ordinance written upon the forehead; wherefore, if aught be written upon my forehead, needs must it come to pass, and neither endeavour nor thought-taking nor precaution will deliver me therefrom; [but it will surely happen] even as happened to king ibrahim and his son." quoth the king, "who was king ibrahim and who was his son?" and the youth said, "o king, story of king ibrahim and his son. there was once a king of the kings, by name ibrahim, to whom the kings abased themselves and did obedience; but he had no son and was straitened of breast because of this, fearing lest the kingship go forth of his hand. he ceased not vehemently to desire a son and to buy slave-girls and lie with them, till one of them conceived, whereat he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and gave gifts and largesse galore. when the girl's months were accomplished and the season of her delivery drew near, the king summoned the astrologers and they watched for the hour of her child-bearing and raised astrolabes [towards the sun] and took strait note of the time. the damsel gave birth to a male child, whereat the king rejoiced with an exceeding joy, and the people heartened each other with the glad news of this. then the astrologers made their calculations and looked into his nativity and his ascendant, whereupon their colour changed and they were confounded. quoth the king to them, 'acquaint me with his horoscope and ye shall have assurance and fear ye not of aught' 'o king,' answered they, 'this child's nativity denotes that, in the seventh year of his age, there is to be feared for him from a lion, which will attack him; and if he be saved from the lion, there will betide an affair yet sorer and more grievous.' 'what is that?' asked the king; and they said, 'we will not speak, except the king command us thereto and give us assurance from [that which we] fear.' quoth the king, 'god assure you!' and they said, 'if he be saved from the lion, the king's destruction will be at his hand.' when the king heard this, his colour changed and his breast was straitened; but he said in himself, 'i will be watchful and do my endeavour and suffer not the lion to eat him. it cannot be that he will kill me, and indeed the astrologers lied.' then he caused rear him among the nurses and matrons; but withal he ceased not to ponder the saying of the astrologers and indeed his life was troubled. so he betook himself to the top of a high mountain and dug there a deep pit and made in it many dwelling-places and closets and filled it with all that was needful of victual and raiment and what not else and made in it conduits of water from the mountain and lodged the boy therein, with a nurse who should rear him. moreover, at the first of each month he used to go to the mountain and stand at the mouth of the pit and let down a rope he had with him and draw up the boy to him and strain him to his bosom and kiss him and play with him awhile, after which he would let him down again into the pit to his place and return; and he used to count the days till the seven years should pass by. when came the time [of the accomplishment] of the foreordered fate and the fortune graven on the forehead and there abode for the boy but ten days till the seven years should be complete, there came to the mountain hunters hunting wild beasts and seeing a lion, gave chase to him. he fled from them and seeking refuge in the mountain, fell into the pit in its midst. the nurse saw him forthright and fled from him into one of the closets; whereupon the lion made for the boy and seizing upon him, tore his shoulder, after which he sought the closet wherein was the nurse and falling upon her, devoured her, whilst the boy abode cast down in a swoon. meanwhile, when the hunters saw that the lion had fallen into the pit, they came to the mouth thereof and heard the shrieking of the boy and the woman; and after awhile the cries ceased, whereby they knew that the lion had made an end of them. presently, as they stood by the mouth of the pit, the lion came scrambling up the sides and would have issued forth; but, as often as he showed his head, they pelted him with stones, till they beat him down and he fell; whereupon one of the hunters descended into the pit and despatched him and saw the boy wounded; after which he went to the cabinet, where he found the woman dead, and indeed the lion had eaten his fill of her. then he noted that which was therein of clothes and what not else, and advising his fellows thereof, fell to passing the stuff up to them. moreover, he took up the boy and bringing him forth of the pit, carried him to their dwelling-place, where they dressed his wounds and he grew up with them, but acquainted them not with his affair; and indeed, when they questioned him, he knew not what he should say, for that he was little, when they let him down into the pit. the hunters marvelled at his speech and loved him with an exceeding love and one of them took him to son and abode rearing him with him [and instructing him] in hunting and riding on horseback, till he attained the age of twelve and became a champion, going forth with the folk to the chase and to the stopping of the way. it chanced one day that they sallied forth to stop the way and fell in upon a caravan in the night; but the people of the caravan were on their guard; so they joined battle with the robbers and overcame them and slew them and the boy fell wounded and abode cast down in that place till the morrow, when he opened his eyes and finding his comrades slain, lifted himself up and rose to walk in the way. presently, there met him a man, a treasure-seeker, and said to him, 'whither goest thou, o youth?' so he told him what had betided him and the other said, 'be of good heart, for that [the season of] thy fair fortune is come and god bringeth thee joy and solace. i am one who am in quest of a hidden treasure, wherein is vast wealth. so come with me, that thou mayst help me, and i will give thee wealth, wherewith thou shalt provide thyself thy life long.' then he carried the youth to his dwelling and dressed his wound, and he abode with him some days, till he was rested; when he took him and two beasts and all that he needed, and they fared on till they came to a precipitous mountain. here the treasure-seeker brought out a book and reading therein, dug in the crest of the mountain five cubits deep, whereupon there appeared to him a stone. he pulled it up and behold, it was a trap-door covering the mouth of a pit. so he waited till the [foul] air was come forth from the midst of the pit, when he bound a rope about the boy's middle and let him down to the bottom, and with him a lighted flambeau. the boy looked and beheld, at the upper end of the pit, wealth galore; so the treasure-seeker let down a rope and a basket and the boy fell to filling and the man to drawing up, till the latter had gotten his sufficiency, when he loaded his beasts and did his occasion, whilst the boy looked for him to let down to him the rope and draw him up; but he rolled a great stone to the mouth of the pit and went away. when the boy saw what the treasure-seeker had done with him he committed his affair to god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) and abode perplexed concerning his case and said, 'how bitter is this death!' for that indeed the world was darkened on him and the pit was blinded to him. so he fell a-weeping and saying, 'i was delivered from the lion and the thieves and now is my death [appointed to be] in this pit, where i shall die lingeringly.' and he abode confounded and looked for nothing but death. as he pondered [his affair], behold, he heard a sound of water running with a mighty noise; so he arose and walked in the pit, following after the sound, till he came to a corner and heard the mighty running of water. so he laid his ear to the sound of the current and hearing it a great strength, said in himself, 'this is the running of a mighty water and needs must i die in this place, be it to-day or to-morrow; so i will cast myself into the water and not die a lingering death in this pit.' then he braced up his courage and gathering his skirts about him, threw himself into the water, and it bore him along with an exceeding might and carrying him under the earth, stayed not till it brought him out into a deep valley, wherethrough ran a great river, that welled up from under the earth. when he found himself on the surface of the earth, he abode perplexed and dazed all that day; after which he came to himself and rising, fared on along the valley, till he came to an inhabited land and a great village in the dominions of the king his father. so he entered the village and foregathered with its inhabitants, who questioned him of his case; whereupon he related to them his history and they marvelled at him, how god had delivered him from all this. then he took up his abode with them and they loved him exceedingly. to return to the king his father. when he went to the pit, as of his wont, and called the nurse, she returned him no answer, whereat his breast was straitened and he let down a man who [found the nurse dead and the boy gone and] acquainted the king therewith; which when he heard, he buffeted his head and wept passing sore and descended into the midst of the pit, so he might see how the case stood. there he found the nurse slain and the lion dead, but saw not the boy; so he [returned and] acquainted the astrologers with the verification of their words, and they said, 'o king, the lion hath eaten him; destiny hath been accomplished upon him and thou art delivered from his hand; for, had he been saved from the lion, by allah, we had feared for thee from him, for that the king's destruction should have been at his hand.' so the king left [sorrowing for] this and the days passed by and the affair was forgotten. meanwhile, the boy [grew up and] abode with the people of the village, and when god willed the accomplishment of his ordinance, the which endeavour availeth not to avert, he went forth with a company of the villagers, to stop the way. the folk complained of them to the king, who sallied out with a company of his men and surrounded the highwaymen and the boy with them, whereupon the latter drew forth an arrow and launched it at them, and it smote the king in his vitals and wounded him. so they carried him to his house, after they had laid hands upon the youth and his companions and brought them before the king, saying, 'what biddest thou that we do with them?' quoth he, 'i am presently in concern for myself; so bring me the astrologers.' accordingly, they brought them before him and he said to them, 'ye told me that my death should be by slaying at the hand of my son: how, then, befalleth it that i have gotten my death-wound on this wise of yonder thieves?' the astrologers marvelled and said to him, 'o king, it is not impossible to the lore of the stars, together with the fore-ordinance of god, that he who hath smitten thee should be thy son.' when ibrahim heard this, he let fetch the thieves and said to them, 'tell me truly, which of you shot the arrow that wounded me.' quoth they, 'it was this youth that is with us.' whereupon the king fell to looking upon him and said to him, 'o youth, acquaint me with thy case and tell me who was thy father and thou shalt have assurance from god.' 'o my lord,' answered the youth, 'i know no father; as for me, my father lodged me in a pit [when i was little], with a nurse to rear me, and one day, there fell in upon us a lion, which tore my shoulder, then left me and occupied himself with the nurse and rent her in pieces; and god vouchsafed me one who brought me forth of the pit.' then he related to him all that had befallen him, first and last; which when ibrahim heard, he cried out and said, 'by allah, this is my very son!' and he said to him, 'uncover thy shoulder.' so he uncovered it and behold, it was scarred. then the king assembled his nobles and commons and the astrologers and said to them, 'know that what god hath graven upon the forehead, be it fair fortune or calamity, none may avail to efface, and all that is decreed unto a man he must needs abide. indeed, this my caretaking and my endeavour profited me nought, for that which god decreed unto my son, he hath abidden and that which he decreed unto me hath betided me. nevertheless, i praise god and thank him for that this was at my son's hand and not at the hand of another, and praised be he for that the kingship is come to my son!' and he strained the youth to his breast and embraced him and kissed him, saying, 'o my son, this matter was on such a wise, and of my care and watchfulness over thee from destiny, i lodged thee in that pit; but caretaking availed not.' then he took the crown of the kingship and set it on his son's head and caused the folk and the people swear fealty to him and commended the subjects to his care and enjoined him to justice and equity. and he took leave of him that night and died and his son reigned in his stead. on like wise, o king," continued the young treasurer, "is it with thee. if god have written aught on my forehead, needs must it befall me and my speech to the king shall not profit me, no, nor my adducing to him of [illustrative] instances, against the fore-ordinance of god. so with these viziers, for all their eagerness and endeavour for my destruction, this shall not profit them; for, if god [be minded to] save me, he will give me the victory over them." when the king heard these words, he abode in perplexity and said, "restore him to the prison till the morrow, so we may look into his affair, for the day draweth to an end and i mean to put him to death on exemplary wise, and [to-morrow] we will do with him that which he meriteth." the tenth day. of the appointed term,[fn# ] which, if it be advanced, may not be deferred and if it be deferred, may not be advanced. when it was the tenth day, (now this day was called el mihrjan[fn# ] and it was the day of the coming in of the folk, gentle and simple, to the king, so they might give him joy and salute him and go forth), the counsel of the viziers fell of accord that they should speak with a company of the notables of the city [and urge them to demand of the king that he should presently put the youth to death]. so they said to them, "when ye go in to-day to the king and salute him, do ye say to him, 'o king, (to god be the praise!) thou art praiseworthy of policy and governance, just to all thy subjects; but this youth, to whom thou hast been bountiful, yet hath he reverted to his base origin and wrought this foul deed, what is thy purpose in his continuance [on life]? indeed, thou hast prisoned him in thy house, and every day thou hearest his speech and thou knowest not what the folk say.'" and they answered with "hearkening and obedience." so, when they entered with the folk and had prostrated themselves before the king and given him joy and he had raised their rank, [they sat down]. now it was the custom of the folk to salute and go forth, so, when they sat down, the king knew that they had a word that they would fain say. so he turned to them and said, "ask your need." and the viziers also were present. accordingly, they bespoke him with all that these latter had taught them and the viziers also spoke with them; and azadbekht said to them, "o folk, i know that this your speech, there is no doubt of it, proceedeth from love and loyal counsel to me, and ye know that, were i minded to slay half these folk, i could avail to put them to death and this would not be difficult to me; so how shall i not slay this youth and he in my power and under the grip of my hand? indeed, his crime is manifest and he hath incurred pain of death and i have only deferred his slaughter by reason of the greatness of the offence; for, if i do this with him and my proof against him be strengthened, my heart is healed and the heart of the folk; and if i slay him not to-day, his slaughter shall not escape me to-morrow." then he bade fetch the youth and when he was present before him, he prostrated himself to him and prayed for him; whereupon quoth the king to him, "out on thee! how long shall the folk upbraid me on thine account and blame me for delaying thy slaughter? even the people of my city blame me because of thee, so that i am grown a talking-stock among them, and indeed they come in to me and upbraid me [and urge me] to put thee to death. how long shall i delay this? indeed, this very day i mean to shed thy blood and rid the folk of thy prate." "o king," answered the youth, "if there have betided thee talk because of me, by allah, by allah the great, those who have brought on thee this talk from the folk are these wicked viziers, who devise with the folk and tell them foul things and evil concerning the king's house; but i trust in god that he will cause their malice to revert upon their heads. as for the king's menace of me with slaughter, i am in the grasp of his hand; so let not the king occupy his mind with my slaughter, for that i am like unto the sparrow in the hand of the fowler; if he will, he slaughtereth him, and if he will, he looseth him. as for the delaying of my slaughter, it [proceedeth] not [from] the king, but from him in whose hand is my life; for, by allah, o king, if god willed my slaughter, thou couldst not avail to postpone it, no, not for a single hour. indeed, man availeth not to fend off evil from himself, even as it was with the son of king suleiman shah, whose anxiety and carefulness for the accomplishment of his desire of the new-born child [availed him nothing], for his last hour was deferred how many a time! and god saved him until he had accomplished his [foreordained] period and had fulfilled [the destined term of] his life." "out on thee!" exclaimed the king. "how great is thy craft and thy talk! tell me, what was their story." and the youth said, "o king, story of king suleiman shah and his sons. there was once a king named suleiman shah, who was goodly of polity and judgment, and he had a brother who died and left a daughter. so suleiman shah reared her on the goodliest wise and the girl grew up, endowed with reason and perfection, nor was there in her time a fairer than she. now the king had two sons, one of whom he had appointed in himself that he would marry her withal, and the other purposed in himself that he would take her. the elder son's name was belehwan and that of the younger melik shah, and the girl was called shah khatoun. one day, king suleiman shah went in to his brother's daughter and kissing her head, said to her, 'thou art my daughter and dearer to me than a child, for the love of thy father deceased; wherefore i am minded to marry thee to one of my sons and appoint him my heir apparent, so he may be king after me. look, then, which thou wilt have of my sons, for that thou hast been reared with them and knowest them.' the damsel arose and kissing his hand, said to him, 'o my lord, i am thine handmaid and thou art the ruler over me; so whatsoever pleaseth thee, do, for that thy wish is higher and more honourable and nobler [than mine] and if thou wouldst have me serve thee, [as a handmaid], the rest of my life, it were liefer to me than any [husband].' the king approved her speech and bestowed on her a dress of honour and gave her magnificent gifts; after which, for that his choice had fallen upon his younger son, melik shah, he married her with him and made him his heir apparent and caused the folk swear fealty to him. when this came to the knowledge of his brother belehwan and he was ware that his younger brother had been preferred over him, his breast was straitened and the affair was grievous to him and envy entered into him and rancour; but he concealed this in his heart, whilst fire raged therein because of the damsel and the kingship. meanwhile shah khatoun went in to the king's son and conceived by him and bore a son, as he were the resplendent moon. when belehwan saw this that had betided his brother, jealousy and envy overcame him; so he went in one night to his father's house and coming to his brother's lodging, saw the nurse sleeping at the chamber-door, with the cradle before her and therein his brother's child asleep. belehwan stood by him and fell to looking upon his face, the radiance whereof was as that of the moon, and satan insinuated himself into his heart, so that he bethought himself and said, 'why is not this child mine? indeed, i am worthier of him than my brother, [yea], and of the damsel and the kingship.' then envy got the better of him and anger spurred him, so that he took out a knife and setting it to the child's gullet, cut his throat and would have severed his windpipe. so he left him for dead and entering his brother's chamber, saw him asleep, with the damsel by his side, and thought to slay her, but said in himself, 'i will leave the damsel for myself.' then he went up to his brother and cutting his throat, severed his head from his body, after which he left him and went away. therewithal the world was straitened upon him and his life was a light matter to him and he sought his father suleiman shah's lodging, that he might slay him, but could not win to him. so he went forth from the palace and hid himself in the city till the morrow, when he repaired to one of his father's strengths and fortified himself therein. meanwhile, the nurse awoke, that she might give the child suck, and seeing the bed running with blood, cried out; whereupon the sleepers and the king awoke and making for the place, found the child with his throat cut and the cradle running over with blood and his father slain and dead in his sleeping chamber. so they examined the child and found life in him and his windpipe whole and sewed up the place of the wound. then the king sought his son belehwan, but found him not and saw that he had fled; whereby he knew that it was he who had done this deed, and this was grievous to the king and to the people of his realm and to the lady shah katoun. so the king laid out his son melik shah and buried him and made him a mighty funeral and they mourned passing sore; after which he addressed himself to the rearing of the infant as for belehwan, when he fled and fortified himself, his power waxed amain and there remained for him but to make war upon his father, who had cast his affection upon the child and used to rear him on his knees and supplicate god the most high that he might live, so he might commit the commandment to him. when he came to five years of age, the king mounted him on horseback and the people of the city rejoiced in him and invoked on him length of life, so he might take his father's leavings[fn# ] and [heal] the heart of his grandfather. meanwhile, belehwan the froward addressed himself to pay court to caesar, king of the greeks,[fn# ] and seek help of him in making war upon his father, and he inclined unto him and gave him a numerous army. his father the king heard of this and sent to caesar, saying, 'o king of illustrious might, succour not an evil-doer. this is my son and he hath done thus and thus and cut his brother's throat and that of his brother's son in the cradle.' but he told not the king of the greeks that the child [had recovered and] was alive. when caesar heard [the truth] of the matter, it was grievous to him and he sent back to suleiman shah, saying, 'if it be thy will, o king, i will cut off his head and send it to thee.' but he made answer, saying, 'i reck not of him: the reward of his deed and his crimes shall surely overtake him, if not to-day, then to-morrow.' and from that day he continued to correspond with caesar and to exchange letters and presents with him. now the king of the greeks heard tell of the damsel[fn# ] and of the beauty and grace wherewith she was gifted, wherefore his heart clave to her and he sent to seek her in marriage of suleiman shah, who could not refuse him. so he arose and going in to shah khatoun, said to her, 'o my daughter, the king of the greeks hath sent to me to seek thee in marriage. what sayst thou?' she wept and answered, saying, 'o king, how canst thou find it in thy heart to bespeak me thus? abideth there husband for me, after the son of my uncle?' 'o my daughter,' rejoined the king, 'it is indeed as thou sayest; but let us look to the issues of affairs. needs must i take account of death, for that i am an old man and fear not but for thee and for thy little son; and indeed i have written to the king of the greeks and others of the kings and said, "his uncle slew him," and said not that he [hath recovered and] is living, but concealed his affair. now hath the king of the greeks sent to demand thee in marriage, and this is no thing to be refused and fain would we have our back strengthened with him."[fn# ] and she was silent and spoke not. so king suleiman shah made answer unto caesar with 'hearkening and obedience.' then he arose and despatched her to him, and cassar went in to her and found her overpassing the description wherewithal they had described her to him; wherefore he loved her with an exceeding love and preferred her over all his women and his love for suleiman shah was magnified; but shah khatoun's heart still clave to her son and she could say nought. as for suleiman shah's rebellious son, belehwan, when he saw that shah khatoun had married the king of the greeks, this was grievous to him and he despaired of her. meanwhile, his father suleiman shah kept strait watch over the child and cherished him and named him melik shah, after the name of his father. when he reached the age of ten, he made the folk swear fealty to him and appointed him his heir apparent, and after some days, [the hour of] the old king's admission [to the mercy of god] drew near and he died. now a party of the troops had banded themselves together for belehwan; so they sent to him and bringing him privily, went in to the little melik shah and seized him and seated his uncle belehwan on the throne of the kingship. then they proclaimed him king and did homage to him all, saying, 'verily, we desire thee and deliver to thee the throne of the kingship; but we wish of thee that thou slay not thy brother's son, for that on our consciences are the oaths we swore to his father and grandfather and the covenants we made with them.' so belehwan granted them this and imprisoned the boy in an underground dungeon and straitened him. presently, the heavy news reached his mother and this was grievous to her; but she could not speak and committed her affair to god the most high, daring not name this to king caesar her husband, lest she should make her uncle king suleiman shah a liar. so belehwan the froward abode king in his father's room and his affairs prospered, what while the young melik shah lay in the underground dungeon four full-told years, till his charms faded and his favour changed. when god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) willed to relieve him and bring him forth of the prison, belehwan sat one day with his chief officers and the grandees of his state and discoursed with them of the story of king suleiman shah and what was in his heart. now there were present certain viziers, men of worth, and they said to him, 'o king, verily god hath been bountiful unto thee and hath brought thee to thy wish, so that thou art become king in thy father's stead and hast gotten thee that which thou soughtest. but, as for this boy, there is no guilt in him, for that, from the day of his coming into the world, he hath seen neither ease nor joyance, and indeed his favour is faded and his charms changed [with long prison]. what is his offence that he should merit this punishment? indeed, it is others than he who were to blame, and god hath given thee the victory over them, and there is no fault in this poor wight.' quoth belehwan, 'indeed, it is as ye say; but i am fearful of his craft and am not assured from his mischief; belike the most part of the folk will incline unto him.' 'o king,' answered they, 'what is this boy and what power hath he? if thou fear him, send him to one of the frontiers.' and belehwan said, 'ye say sooth: we will send him to be captain over such an one of the marches.' now over against the place in question was a host of enemies, hard of heart, and in this he purposed the youth's slaughter. so he bade bring him forth of the underground dungeon and caused him draw near to him and saw his case. then he bestowed on him a dress of honour and the folk rejoiced in this. moreover, he tied him an ensign[fn# ] and giving him a numerous army, despatched him to the region aforesaid, whither all who went were still slain or made prisoners. so melik shah betook himself thither with his army and when it was one of the days, behold, the enemy fell in upon them in the night; whereupon some of his men fled and the rest the enemy took; and they took melik shah also and cast him into an underground dungeon, with a company of his men. there he abode a whole year in evil plight, whilst his fellows mourned over his beauty and grace. now it was the enemy's wont, at every year's end, to bring forth their prisoners and cast them down from the top of the citadel to the bottom. so they brought them forth, at the end of the year, and cast them down, and melik shah with them. however, he fell upon the [other] men and the earth touched him not, for his term was [god-]guarded. now those that were cast down there were slain and their bodies ceased not to lie there till the wild beasts ate them and the winds dispersed them. melik shah abode cast down in his place, aswoon, all that day and night, and when he recovered and found himself whole, he thanked god the most high for his safety [and rising, fared on at a venture]. he gave not over walking, unknowing whither he went and feeding upon the leaves of the trees; and by day he hid himself whereas he might and fared on all his night at hazard; and thus he did some days, till he came to an inhabited land and seeing folk there, accosted them and acquainted them with his case, giving them to know that he had been imprisoned in the fortress and that they had cast him down, but god the most high had delivered him and brought him off alive. the folk took compassion on him and gave him to eat and drink and he abode with them awhile. then he questioned them of the way that led to the kingdom of his uncle belehwan, but told them not that he was his uncle. so they taught him the way and he ceased not to go barefoot, till he drew near his uncle's capital, and he naked and hungry, and indeed his body was wasted and his colour changed. he sat down at the gate of the city, and presently up came a company of king belehwan's chief officers, who were out a-hunting and wished to water their horses. so they lighted down to rest and the youth accosted them, saying, 'i will ask you of somewhat, wherewith do ye acquaint me.' quoth they, 'ask what thou wilt.' and he said, 'is king belehwan well?' they laughed at him and answered, 'what a fool art thou, o youth! thou art a stranger and a beggar, and what concern hast thou with the king's health?' quoth he, 'indeed, he is my uncle;' whereat they marvelled and said, 'it was one question[fn# ] and now it is become two.' then said they to him, 'o youth, it is as thou wert mad. whence pretendest thou to kinship with the king? indeed, we know not that he hath aught of kinsfolk, except a brother's son, who was prisoned with him, and he despatched him to wage war upon the infidels, so that they slew him.' 'i am he,' answered melik shah, 'and they slew me not, but there betided me this and that.' they knew him forthright and rising to him, kissed his hands and rejoiced in him and said to him, 'o our lord, in good sooth, thou art a king and the son of a king, and we desire thee nought but good and beseech [god to grant] thee continuance. consider how god hath rescued thee from this thy wicked uncle, who sent thee to a place whence none came ever off alive, purposing not in this but thy destruction; and indeed thou fellest into [peril of] death and god delivered thee therefrom. so how wilt thou return and cast thyself again into thine enemy's hand? by allah, save thyself and return not to him again. belike thou shall abide upon the face of the earth till it please god the most high [to vouchsafe thee relief]; but, if thou fall again into his hand, he will not suffer thee live a single hour.' the prince thanked them and said to them, 'god requite you with all good, for indeed ye give me loyal counsel; but whither would ye have me go?' quoth they, 'get thee to the land of the greeks, the abiding-place of thy mother.' and he said, 'my grandfather suleiman shah, when the king of the greeks wrote to him, demanding my mother in marriage, concealed my affair and hid my secret; [and she hath done the like,] and i cannot make her a liar.' 'thou sayst sooth,' rejoined they; 'but we desire thine advantage, and even if thou tookest service with the folk, it were a means of thy continuance [on life].' then each of them brought out to him money and gave to him and clad him and fed him and fared on with him a parasang's distance till they brought him far from the city, and giving him to know that he was safe, departed from him, whilst he fared on till he came forth of the dominions of his uncle and entered those [of the king] of the greeks. then he entered a village and taking up his abode therein, betook himself to serving one there in ploughing and sowing and the like. as for his mother, shah khatoun, great was her longing for her son and she [still] thought of him and news of him was cut off from her, wherefore her life was troubled and she forswore sleep and could not make mention of him before king caesar her husband. now she had an eunuch who had come with her from the court of her uncle king suleiman shah, and he was intelligent, quickwitted, a man of good counsel. so she took him apart one day and said to him, 'thou hast been my servant from my childhood to this day; canst thou not therefore avail to get me news of my son, for that i cannot speak of his matter?' 'o my lady,' answered he, 'this is an affair that thou hast concealed from the first, and were thy son here, it would not be possible for thee to harbour him, lest thine honour fall into suspicion with the king; for they would never credit thee, since the news hath been spread abroad that thy son was slain by his uncle.' quoth she, 'the case is even as thou sayst and thou speakest truly; but, provided i know that my son is alive, let him be in these parts pasturing sheep and let me not see him nor he me.' and he said to her, 'how shall we contrive in this affair?' 'here are my treasures and my wealth,' answered she. 'take all thou wilt and bring me my son or else news of him.' then they agreed upon a device between them, to wit, that they should feign an occasion in their own country, under pretext that she had there wealth buried from the time of her husband melik shah and that none knew of it but this eunuch who was with her, wherefore it behoved that he should go and fetch it. so she acquainted the king her husband with this and sought of him leave for the eunuch to go: and the king granted him permission for the journey and charged him cast about for a device, lest any get wind of him. accordingly, the eunuch disguised himself as a merchant and repairing to belehwan's city, began to enquire concerning the youth's case; whereupon they told him that he had been prisoned in an underground dungeon and that his uncle had released him and dispatched him to such a place, where they had slain him. when the eunuch heard this, it was grievous to him and his breast was straitened and he knew not what he should do. it chanced one day that one of the horsemen, who had fallen in with the young melik shah by the water and clad him and given him spending-money, saw the eunuch in the city, disguised as a merchant, and recognizing him, questioned him of his case and of [the reason of] his coming. quoth he, 'i come to sell merchandise.' and the horseman said, 'i will tell thee somewhat, if thou canst keep it secret.' 'it is well,' answered the eunuch; 'what is it?' and the other said, 'we met the king's son melik shah, i and certain of the arabs who were with me, and saw him by such a water and gave him spending-money and sent him towards the land of the greeks, near his mother, for that we feared for him, lest his uncle belehwan should kill him.' then he told him all that had passed between them, whereupon the eunuch's countenance changed and he said to the cavalier, 'assurance!' 'thou shalt have assurance,' answered the other, 'though thou come in quest of him.' and the eunuch rejoined, saying, 'truly, that is my errand, for there abideth no repose for his mother, lying down or rising up, and she hath sent me to seek news of him.' quoth the cavalier, 'go in safety, for he is in a [certain] part of the land of the greeks, even as i said to thee.' the eunuch thanked him and blessed him and mounting, returned upon his way, following the trace, whilst the cavalier rode with him to a certain road, when he said to him, 'this is where we left him.' then he took leave of him and returned to his own city, whilst the eunuch fared on along the road, enquiring of the youth in every village he entered by the description which the cavalier had given him, and he ceased not to do thus till he came to the village where the young melik shah was. so he entered and lighting down therein, made enquiry after the prince, but none gave him news of him; whereat he abode perplexed concerning his affair and addressed himself to depart. accordingly he mounted his horse [and set out homeward]; but, as he passed through the village, he saw a cow bound with a rope and a youth asleep by her side, with the end of the halter in his hand; so he looked at him and passed on and took no heed of him in his heart; but presently he stopped and said in himself; 'if he of whom i am in quest be come to the like [of the condition] of yonder sleeping youth, by whom i passed but now, how shall i know him? alas, the length of my travail and weariness! how shall i go about in quest of a wight whom i know not and whom, if i saw him face to face, i should not know?' then he turned back, pondering upon that sleeping youth, and coming to him, as he slept, lighted down from his horse and sat down by him. he fixed his eyes upon his face and considered him awhile and said in himself, 'for aught i know, this youth may be melik shah.' and he fell a-hemming and saying, 'harkye, o youth!' whereupon the sleeper awoke and sat up; and the eunuch said to him, 'who is thy father in this village and where is thy dwelling?' the youth sighed and answered, 'i am a stranger;' and the eunuch said, 'from what land art thou and who is thy father?' quoth the other, 'i am from such a land,' and the eunuch ceased not to question him and he to answer him, till he was certified of him and knew him. so he rose and embraced him and kissed him and wept over his case. moreover, he told him that he was going about in quest of him and informed him that he was come privily from the king his mother's husband and that his mother would be content [to know] that he was alive and well, though she saw him not. then he re-entered the village and buying the prince a horse, mounted him thereon and they ceased not going, till they came to the frontier of their own country, where there fell robbers upon them by the way and took all that was with them and pinioned them; after which they cast them into a pit hard by the road and went away and left them to die there, and indeed they had cast many folk into that pit and they had died. the eunuch fell a-weeping in the pit and the youth said to him, 'what is this weeping and what shall it profit here?' quoth the eunuch, 'i weep not for fear of death, but of pity for thee and the sorriness of thy case and because of thy mother's heart and for that which thou hast suffered of horrors and that thy death should be this abject death, after the endurance of all manner stresses.' but the youth said, 'that which hath betided me was forewrit to me and that which is written none hath power to efface; and if my term be advanced, none may avail to defer it.'[fn# ] then they passed that night and the following day and the next night and the next day [in the pit], till they were weak with hunger and came near upon death and could but groan feebly. now it befell, by the ordinance of god the most high and his providence, that caesar, king of the greeks, the husband of melik shah's mother shah khatoun, [went forth to the chase that day]. he started a head of game, he and his company, and chased it, till they came up with it by that pit, whereupon one of them lighted down from his horse, to slaughter it, hard by the mouth of the pit. he heard a sound of low moaning from the bottom of the pit} so he arose and mounting his horse, waited till the troops were assembled. then he acquainted the king with this and he bade one of his servants [descend into the pit]. so the man descended and brought out the youth [and the eunuch], aswoon. they cut their bonds and poured wine into their gullets, till they came to themselves, when the king looked at the eunuch and recognizing him, said, 'harkye, such an one!' 'yes, o my lord the king,' replied the man and prostrated himself to him; whereat the king marvelled with an exceeding wonder and said to him, 'how earnest thou to this place and what hath befallen thee?" quoth the eunuch, 'i went and took out the treasure and brought it hither; but the [evil] eye was behind me and i unknowing. so the thieves took us alone here and seized the money and cast us into this pit, so we might die of hunger, even as they had done with other than we; but god the most high sent thee, in pity to us.' the king marvelled, he and his company, and praised god the most high for that he had come thither; after which he turned to the eunuch and said to him, 'what is this youth thou hast with thee?' 'o king,' answered he, 'this is the son of a nurse who belonged to us and we left him little. i saw him to-day and his mother said to me, 'take him with thee.' so i brought him with me, that he might be a servant to the king, for that he is an adroit and quickwitted youth.' then the king fared on, he and his company, and the eunuch and the youth with them, what while he questioned the former of belehwan and his dealing with his subjects, and he answered, saying, 'as thy head liveth, o king, the folk with him are in sore straits and not one of them desireth to look on him, gentle or simple.' [when the king returned to his palace,] he went in to his wife shah khatoun and said to her, 'i give thee the glad news of thine eunuch's return.' and he told her what had betided and of the youth whom he had brought with him. when she heard this, her wits fled and she would have cried out, but her reason restrained her, and the king said to her, 'what is this? art thou overcome with grief for [the loss of] the treasure or [for that which hath befallen] the eunuch?' 'nay, as thy head liveth, o king!' answered she. 'but women are fainthearted.' then came the servant and going in to her, told her all that had befallen him and acquainted her with her son's case also and with that which he had suffered of stresses and how his uncle had exposed him to slaughter and he had been taken prisoner and they had cast him into the pit and hurled him from the top of the citadel and how god had delivered him from these perils, all of them; and he went on to tell her [all that had betided him], whilst she wept. then said she to him, 'when the king saw him and questioned thee of him, what saidst thou to him?' and he answered, 'i said to him, "this is the son of a nurse who belonged to us. we left him little and he grew up; so i brought him, that he might be servant to the king,"' quoth she, 'thou didst well.' and she charged him to be instant in the service of the prince. as for the king, he redoubled in kindness to the eunuch and appointed the youth a liberal allowance and he abode going in to the king's house and coming out therefrom and standing in his service, and every day he grew in favour with him; whilst, as for shah khatoun, she used to stand a-watch for him at the windows and balconies and gaze upon him, and she on coals of fire on his account, yet could she not speak. on this wise she abode a great while and indeed yearning for him came nigh to slay her; so she stood and watched for him one day at the door of her chamber and straining him to her bosom, kissed him on the cheek and breast. at this moment, out came the master of the king's household and seeing her embracing the youth, abode amazed. then he asked to whom that chamber belonged and was answered, 'to shah khatoun, wife of the king,' whereupon he turned back, trembling as [one smitten by] a thunderbolt. the king saw him quaking and said to him, 'out on thee! what is the matter?' 'o king,' answered he, 'what matter is graver than that which i see?' 'what seest thou?' asked the king and the officer said, 'i see that yonder youth, who came with the eunuch, he brought not with him but on account of shah khatoun; for that i passed but now by her chamber door, and she was standing, watching; [and when the youth came up,] she rose to him and clipped him and kissed him on his cheek.' when the king heard this, he bowed [his head] in amazement and perplexity and sinking into a seat, clutched at his beard and shook it, till he came nigh to pluck it out. then he arose forthright and laid hands on the youth and clapped him in prison. moreover, he took the eunuch also and cast them both into an underground dungeon in his house, after which he went in to shah khatoun and said to her, 'thou hast done well, by allah, o daughter of nobles, o thou whom kings sought in marriage, for the excellence of thy repute and the goodliness of the reports of thee! how fair is thy semblance! may god curse her whose inward is the contrary of her outward, after the likeness of thy base favour, whose outward is comely and its inward foul, fair face and foul deeds! verily, i mean to make of thee and of yonder good-for-nought an example among the folk, for that thou sentest not thine eunuch but of intent on his account, so that he took him and brought him into my house and thou hast trampled my head with him; and this is none other than exceeding hardihood; but thou shall see what i will do with you.' so saying, he spat in her face and went out from her; whilst shah khatoun made him no answer, knowing that, if she spoke at that time, he would not credit her speech. then she humbled herself in supplication to god the most high and said, 'o god the great, thou knowest the hidden things and the outward parts and the inward' if an advanced term[fn# ] be [appointed] to me, let it not be deferred, and if a deferred one, let it not be advanced!' on this wise she passed some days, whilst the king fell into perplexity and forswore meat and drink and sleep and abode knowing not what he should do and saying [in himself], 'if i kill the eunuch and the youth, my soul will not be solaced, for they are not to blame, seeing that she sent to fetch him, and my heart will not suffer me to slay them all three. but i will not be hasty in putting them to death, for that i fear repentance.' then he left them, so he might look into the affair. now he had a nurse, a foster-mother, on whose knees he had been reared, and she was a woman of understanding and misdoubted of him, but dared not accost him [with questions]. so she went in to shah khatoun and finding her in yet sorrier plight than he, asked her what was to do; but she refused to answer. however, the nurse gave not over coaxing and questioning her, till she exacted of her an oath of secrecy. so the old woman swore to her that she would keep secret all that she should say to her, whereupon the queen related to her her history from first to last and told her that the youth was her son. with this the old woman prostrated herself before her and said to her, 'this is an easy matter.' but the queen answered, saying, 'by allah, o my mother, i choose my destruction and that of my son rather than defend myself by avouching a thing whereof they will not credit me; for they will say, "she avoucheth this, but that she may fend off reproach from herself" and nought will avail me but patience.' the old woman was moved by her speech and her intelligence and said to her, 'indeed, o my daughter, it is as thou sayst, and i hope in god that he will show forth the truth. have patience and i will presently go in to the king and hear what he saith and contrive somewhat in this matter, if it be the will of god the most high.' then she arose and going in to the king, found him with his head between his knees, and he lamenting. so she sat down by him awhile and bespoke him with soft words and said to him, 'indeed, o my son, thou consumest mine entrails, for that these [many] days thou hast not mounted to horse, and thou lamentest and i know not what aileth thee.' 'o my mother,' answered he, '[this my chagrin] is due to yonder accursed woman, of whom i still deemed well and who hath done thus and thus.' then he related to her the whole story from first to last, and she said to him, 'this thy concern is on account of a worthless woman.' quoth he, 'i was but considering by what death i should slay them, so the folk may [be admonished by their fate and] repent.' and she said, 'o my son, beware of haste, for it engendereth repentance and the slaying of them will not escape [thee]. when thou art assured of this affair, do what thou wilt.' 'o my mother,' rejoined he; 'there needeth no assurance concerning him for whom she despatched her eunuch and he fetched him.' but she said, 'there is a thing wherewith we will make her confess, and all that is in her heart shall be discovered to thee.' 'what is that?' asked the king, and she answered, 'i will bring thee a hoopoe's heart,[fn# ] which, when she sleepeth, do thou lay upon her heart and question her of all thou wilt, and she will discover this unto thee and show forth the truth to thee." the king rejoiced in this and said to his nurse, 'hasten and let none know of thee.' so she arose and going in to the queen, said to her, 'i have done thine occasion and it is on this wise. this night the king will come in to thee and do thou feign thyself asleep; and if he ask thee of aught, do thou answer him, as if in thy sleep.' the queen thanked her and the old woman went away and fetching the hoopoe's heart, gave it to the king. hardly was the night come, when he went in to his wife and found her lying back, [apparently] asleep; so he sat down by her side and laying the hoopoe's heart on her breast, waited awhile, so he might be certified that she slept. then said he to her, 'shah khatoun, shah khatoun, is this my recompense from thee?' quoth she, 'what offence have i committed?' and he, 'what offence can be greater than this? thou sentest after yonder youth and broughtest him hither, on account of the desire of thy heart, so thou mightest do with him that for which thou lustedst.' 'i know not desire,' answered she. 'verily, among thy servants are those who are comelier and handsomer than he; yet have i never desired one of them.' 'why, then,' asked he, 'didst thou lay hold of him and kiss him!' and she said, 'this is my son and a piece of my heart; and of my longing and love for him, i could not contain myself, but sprang upon him and kissed him.' when the king heard this, he was perplexed and amazed and said to her, 'hast thou a proof that this youth is thy son? indeed, i have a letter from thine uncle king suleiman shah, [wherein he giveth me to know] that his unck belehwan cut his throat.' 'yes,' answered she, 'he did indeed cut his throat, but severed not the windpipe; so my uncle sewed up the wound and reared him, [and he lived,] for that his hour was not come.' when the king heard this, he said, 'this proof sufficeth me,' and rising forthright in the night, let bring the youth and the eunuch. then he examined the former's throat with a candle and saw [the scar where] it [had been] cut from ear to ear, and indeed the place had healed up and it was like unto a stretched-out thread. therewithal the king fell down prostrate to god, [in thanksgiving to him] for that he had delivered the prince from all these perils and from the stresses that he had undergone, and rejoiced with an exceeding joy for that he had wrought deliberately and had not made haste to slay him, in which case sore repentance had betided him. as for the youth," continued the young treasurer, "he was not saved but because his term was deferred, and on like wise, o king, is it with me; i too have a deferred term, which i shall attain, and a period which i shall accomplish, and i trust in god the most high that he will give me the victory over these wicked viziers." when the youth had made an end of his speech, the king said, "carry him back to the prison;" and when they had done this, he turned to the viziers and said to them, "yonder youth looseth his tongue upon you, but i know your affectionate solicitude for the welfare of my empire and your loyal counsel to me; so be of good heart, for all that ye counsel me i will do." when they heard tnese words, they rejoiced and each of them said his say then said the king, "i have not deferred his slaughter but to the intent that the talk might be prolonged and that words might abound, and i desire [now] that ye sit up for him a gibbet without the town and make proclamation among the folk that they assemble and take him and carry him in procession to the gibbet, with the crier crying before him and saying, 'this is the recompense of him whom the king delighted to favour and who hath betrayed him!'" the viziers rejoiced, when they heard this, and slept not that night, of their joy; and they made proclamation in the city and set up the gibbet. the eleventh day. of the speedy relief of god. when it was the eleventh day, the viziers betook them early in the morning to the king's gate and said to him, "o king, the folk are assembled from the king's gate to the gibbet, so they may see [the execution of] the king's commandment on the youth." so the king bade fetch the prisoner and they brought him; whereupon the viziers turned to him and said to him, "o vile of origin, doth any hope of life remain with thee and lookest thou still for deliverance after this day?" "o wicked viziers," answered he, "shall a man of understanding renounce hope in god the most high? indeed, howsoever a man be oppressed, there cometh to him deliverance from the midst of stress and life from the midst of death, [as is shown by the case of] the prisoner and how god delivered him." "what is his story?" asked the king; and the youth answered, saying, "o king, they tell that story of the prisoner and how god gave him relief. there was once a king of the kings, who had a high palace, overlooking a prison of his, and he used to hear in the night one saying, 'o ever-present deliverer, o thou whose relief is nigh, relieve thou me!' one day the king waxed wroth and said, "yonder fool looketh for relief from [the consequences of] his crime. 'then said he to his officers, 'who is in yonder prison?' and they answered, 'folk upon whom blood hath been found.'[fn# ] so the king bade bring the man in question before him and said to him, 'o fool, little of wit, how shall thou be delivered from this prison, seeing that thine offence is great?' then he committed him to a company of his guards and said to them, 'take this fellow and crucify him without the city.' now it was the night-season. so the soldiers carried him without the city, thinking to crucify him, when, behold, there came out upon them thieves and fell in on them with swords and [other] weapons. thereupon the guards left him whom they purposed to put to death [and took to flight], whilst the man who was going to slaughter fled forth at a venture and plunging into the desert, knew not whither he went before he found himself in a thicket and there came out upon him a lion of frightful aspect, which snatched him up and set him under him. then he went up to a tree and tearing it up by the roots, covered the man therewith and made off into the thicket, in quest of the lioness. as for the man, he committed his affair to god the most high, relying upon him for deliverance, and said in himself, 'what is this affair?' then he did away the leaves from himself and rising, saw great plenty of men's bones there, of those whom the lion had devoured. he looked again and saw a heap of gold lying alongside a girdle;[fn# ] whereat he marvelled and gathering up the gold in his skirts, went forth of the thicket and fled in affright at hazard, turning neither to the right nor to the left, in his fear of the lion; till he came to a village and cast himself down, as he were dead. he lay there till the day appeared and he was rested from his fatigue, when he arose and burying the gold, entered the village. thus god gave him relief and he came by the gold." then said the king, "how long wilt thou beguile us with thy prate, o youth? but now the hour of thy slaughter is come." and he bade crucify him upon the gibbet. [so they carried him to the place of execution] and were about to hoist him up [upon the cross,] when, behold, the captain of the thieves, who had found him and reared him,[fn# ] came up at that moment and asked what was that assembly and [the cause of] the crowds gathered there. they told him that a servant of the king had committed a great crime and that he was about to put him to death. so the captain of the thieves pressed forward and looking upon the prisoner, knew him, whereupon he went up to him and embraced him and clipped him and fell to kissing him upon his mouth. then said he, "this is a boy whom i found under such a mountain, wrapped in a gown of brocade, and i reared him and he fell to stopping the way with us. one day, we set upon a caravan, but they put us to flight and wounded some of us and took the boy and went their way. from that day to this i have gone round about the lands in quest of him, but have not lighted on news of him [till now;] and this is he." when the king heard this, he was certified that the youth was his very son; so he cried out at the top of his voice and casting himself upon him, embraced him and wept and said, "had i put thee to death, as was my intent, i should have died of regret for thee." then he cut his bonds and taking his crown from his head, set it on that of his son, whereupon the people raised cries of joy, whilst the trumpets sounded and the drums beat and there befell a great rejoicing. they decorated the city and it was a glorious day; the very birds stayed their flight in the air, for the greatness of the clamour and the noise of the crying. the army and the folk carried the prince [to the palace] in magnificent procession, and the news came to his mother behrjaur, who came forth and threw herself upon him. moreover, the king bade open the prison and bring forth all who were therein, and they held high festival seven days and seven nights and rejoiced with a mighty rejoicing; whilst terror and silence and confusion and affright fell upon the viziers and they gave themselves up for lost. after this the king sat, with his son by his side and the viziers sitting before him, and summoned his chief officers and the folk of the city. then the prince turned to the viziers and said to them, "see, o wicked viziers, that which god hath done and the speedy [coming of] relief." but they answered not a word and the king said, "it sufficeth me that there is nothing alive but rejoiceth with me this day, even to the birds in the sky, but ye, your breasts are straitened. indeed, this is the greatest of ill-will in you to me, and had i hearkened to you, my regret had been prolonged and i had died miserably of grief." "o my father," quoth the prince, "but for the fairness of thy thought and thy judgment and thy longanimity and deliberation in affairs, there had not bedded thee this great joyance. hadst thou slain me in haste, repentance would have been sore on thee and long grief, and on this wise doth he who ensueth haste repent." then the king sent for the captain of the thieves and bestowed on him a dress of honour,[fn# ] commanding that all who loved the king should put off [their raiment and cast it] upon him.[fn# ] so there fell dresses of honour [and other presents] on him, till he was wearied with their much plenty, and azadbekht invested him with the mastership of the police of his city. then he bade set up other nine gibbets beside the first and said to his son, "thou art guiltless, and yet these wicked viziers endeavoured for thy slaughter." "o my father," answered the prince, "i had no fault [in their eyes] but that i was a loyal counsellor to thee and still kept watch over thy good and withheld their hands from thy treasuries; wherefore they were jealous and envied me and plotted against me and sought to slay me," quoth the king, "the time [of retribution] is at hand, o my son; but what deemest thou we should do with them in requital of that which they did with thee? for that they have endeavoured for thy slaughter and exposed thee to public ignominy and soiled my honour among the kings." then he turned to the viziers and said to them, "out on ye! what liars ye are! what excuse is left you?" "o king," answered they, "there abideth no excuse for us and our sin hath fallen upon us and broken us in pieces. indeed we purposed evil to this youth and it hath reverted upon us, and we plotted mischief against him and it hath overtaken us; yea, we digged a pit for him and have fallen ourselves therein." so the king bade hoist up the viziers upon the gibbets and crucify them there, for that god is just and ordaineth that which is right. then azadbekht and his wife and son abode in joyance and contentment, till there came to them the destroyer of delights and they died all; and extolled be the perfection of the [ever-]living one, who dieth not, to whom be glory and whose mercy be upon us for ever and ever! amen. jaafer ben yehya and abdulmeilik ben salih the abbaside.[fn# ] it is told of jaafer ben yehya the barmecide that he sat down one day to drink and being minded to be private (with his friends), sent for his boon-companions, in whom he delighted, and charged the chamberlain[fn# ] that he should suffer none of the creatures of god the most high to enter, save a man of his boon-companions, by name abdulmelik ben salih,[fn# ] who was behindhand with them. then they donned coloured clothes,[fn# ] for that it was their wont, whenas they sat in the wine-chamber, to don raiment of red and yellow and green silk, and sat down to drink, and the cups went round and the lutes pulsed. now there was a man of the kinsfolk of the khalif [haroun er reshid], by name abdulmelik ben salih ben ali ben abdallah ben el abbas,[fn# ] who was great of gravity and piety and decorousness, and er reshid was used instantly to require of him that he should keep him company in his carousals and drink with him and had proffered him, to this end, riches galore, but he still refused. it chanced that this abdulmelik es salih came to the door of jaafer ben yehya, that he might bespeak him of certain occasions of his, and the chamberlain, doubting not but he was the abdulmelik ben salih aforesaid, whom jaafer had charged him admit and that he should suffer none but him to enter, allowed him to go in to his master. when jaafer saw him, his reason was like to depart for shame and he knew that the chamberlain had been deceived by the likeness of the name; and abdulmelik also perceived how the case stood and confusion was manifest to him in jaafer's face. so he put on a cheerful favour and said, "no harm be upon you![fn# ] bring us of these dyed clothes." so they brought him a dyed gown[fn# ] and he put it on and sat discoursing cheerily with jaafer and jesting with him. then said he, "give us to drink of your wine." so they poured him out a pint and he said, "be ye indulgent with us, for we have no wont of this." then he chatted and jested with them till jaafer's breast dilated and his constraint ceased from him and his shamefastness, and he rejoiced in this with an exceeding joy and said to abdulmelik, "what is thine errand?" quoth the other, "i come (may god amend thee!) on three occasions, whereof i would have thee bespeak the khalif; to wit, firstly, i have on me a debt to the amount of a thousand thousand dirhems,[fn# ] which i would have discharged; secondly, i desire for my son the office of governor of a province, whereby his rank may be raised; and thirdly, i would fain have thee marry him to a daughter of the khalif, for that she is his cousin and he is a match for her." and jaafer said, "god accomplished! unto thee these three occasions. as for the money, it shall presently be carried to thy house; as for the government, i make thy son viceroy of egypt; and as for the marriage, i give him to wife such an one, the daughter of our lord the commander of the faithful, at a dowry of such and such a sum. so depart in the assurance of god the most high." so abdulmelik went away to his house, whither he found that the money had foregone him, and on the morrow jaafer presented himself before the khalif and acquainted him with what had passed and that he had appointed abdulmelik's son governor of egypt and had promised him his daughter in marriage. er reshid approved of this and confirmed the appointment and the marriage. [then he sent for the young man] and he went not forth of the palace of the khalif till he wrote him the patent [of investiture with the government] of egypt; and he let bring the cadis and the witnesses and drew up the contract of marriage. er reshid and the barmecides.[fn# ] it is said that the most extraordinary of that which happened to er reshid was as follows: his brother el hadi,[fn# ] when he succeeded to the khalifate, enquired of a seal-ring of great price, that had belonged to his father el mehdi,[fn# ] and it came to his knowledge that er reshid had taken it. so he required it of the latter, who refused to give it up, and el hadi insisted upon him, but he still denied the seal-ring of the khalifate. now this was on the bridge [over the tigris], and he threw the ring into the river. when el hadi died and er reshid succeeded to the khalifate, he came in person to that bridge, with a seal-ring of lead, which he threw into the river at the same place, and bade the divers seek it. so they did [his bidding] and brought up the first ring, and this was reckoned [an omen] of er reshid's good fortune and [a presage of] the continuance of his reign.[fn# ] when er reshid came to the throne, he invested jaafer ben yehya ben khalid el bermeki[fn# ] with the vizierate. now jaafer was eminently distinguished for generosity and munificence, and the stories of him to this effect are renowned and are written in the books. none of the viziers attained to the rank and favour which he enjoyed with er reshid, who was wont to call him brother[fn# ] and used to carry him with him into his house. the period of his vizierate was nineteen years,[fn# ] and yehya one day said to his son jaafer, "o my son, what time thy reed trembleth, water it with kindness."[fn# ] opinions differ concerning the reason of jaafer's slaughter, but the better is as follows. er reshid could not brook to be parted from jaafer nor from his [own] sister abbaseh, daughter of el mehdi, a single hour, and she was the loveliest woman of her time; so he said to jaafer, "i will marry thee to her, that it may be lawful to thee to look upon her, but thou shalt not touch her." [accordingly, they were married] and they used both to be present in er reshid's sitting chamber. now the khalif would rise bytimes [and go forth] from the chamber, and they being both young and filled with wine, jaafer would rise to her and swive her. she conceived by him and bore a handsome boy and fearing er reshid, despatched the newborn child by one of her confidants to mecca the holy, may god the most high advance it in honour and increase it in venerance and nobility and magnification! the affair abode concealed till there befell despite between abbaseh and one of her slave-girls, whereupon the latter discovered the affair of the child to er reshid and acquainted him with its abiding-place. so, when the khalif made the pilgrimage, he despatched one who brought him the boy and found the affair true, wherefore he caused befall the barmecides that which befell.[fn# ] ibn es semmak and er reshid.[fn# ] it is related that ibn es semmak[fn# ] went in one day to er reshid and the khalif, being athirst, called for drink. so his cup was brought him, and when he took it, ibn es semmak said to him, "softly, o commander of the faithful! if thou wert denied this draught, with what wouldst thou buy it?" "with the half of my kingdom," answered the khalif; and ibn es semmak said, "drink and god prosper it to thee!" then, when he had drunken, he said to him, "if thou wert denied the going forth of the draught from thy body, with what wouldst thou buy its issue?" "with the whole of my kingdom," answered er reshid: and ibn es semmak said, "o commander of the faithful, verily, a kingdom that weigheth not in the balance against a draught [of water] or a voiding of urine is not worth the striving for." and haroun wept. el mamoun and zubeideh[fn# ] it is said that el mamoun[fn# ] came one day upon zubeideh, mother of el amin,[fn# ] and saw her moving her lips and muttering somewhat he understood not; so he said to her, "o mother mine, dost thou imprecate [curses] upon me, for that i slew thy son and despoiled him of his kingdom?" "not so, by allah, o commander of the faithful!" answered she, and he said, "what then saidst thou?" quoth she, "let the commander of the faithful excuse me." but he was instant with her, saying, "needs must thou tell it." and she replied, "i said, 'god confound importunity!'" "how so?" asked the khalif, and she said, "i played one day at chess with the commander of the faithful [haroun er reshid] and he imposed on me the condition of commandment and acceptance.[fn# ] he beat me and bade me put off my clothes and go round about the palace, naked; so i did this, and i incensed against him. then we fell again to playing and i beat him; so i bade him go to the kitchen and swive the foulest and sorriest wench of the wenches thereof. [i went to the kitchen] and found not a slave-girl fouler and filthier than thy mother;[fn# ] so i bade him swive her. he did as i bade him and she became with child by him of thee, and thus was i [by my unlucky insistance] the cause of the slaying of my son and the despoiling him of his kingdom." when el mamoun heard this, he turned away, saying, "god curse the importunate!" to wit, himself, who had importuned her till she acquainted him with that matter. en numan and the arab of the benou tai.[fn# ] it is said that en numan[fn# ] had two boon-companions, one of whom was called ibn saad and the other amrou ben el melik, and he became one night drunken and bade bury them alive; so they buried them. when he arose on the morrow, he enquired for them and was acquainted with their case, whereupon he built over them a monument and appointed to himself a day of ill-luck and a day of good-luck. if any met him on his day of ill-omen, he slew him and with his blood he washed the monument aforesaid, the which is a place well known in cufa; and if any met him on his day of grace, he enriched him. now there accosted him once, on his day of ill-omen, an arab of the benou tai,[fn# ] and en numan would have put him to death; but the arab said, "god quicken the king! i have two little girls and have made none guardian over them; so, if the king see fit to grant me leave to go to them, i will give him the covenant of god[fn# ] that i will return to him, whenas i have appointed them a guardian." en numan had compassion on him and said to him, "if a man will be surety for thee of those who are with us, [i will let thee go], and if thou return not, i will put him to death." now there was with en numan his vizier sherik ben amrou; so the tai[fn# ] looked at him and said, sherik ben amrou, what device avails the hand of death to stay? o brother of the brotherless, brother of all th' afflicted, say. brother of en numan, with thee lies an old man's anguish to allay, a graybeard slain, may god make fair his deeds upon the reckoning-day! quoth sherik, "on me be his warranty, may god assain the king!" so the tai departed, after a term had been assigned him for his coming. when the appointed day arrived, en numan sent for sherik and said to him, "verily the first part of this day is past." and sherik answered, "the king hath no recourse against me till it be eventide." when it evened, there appeared one afar off and en numan fell to looking upon him and on sherik, and the latter said to him, "thou hast no right over me till yonder fellow come, for belike he is my man." as he spoke, up came the tai in haste and en numan said "by allah, never saw i [any] more generous than you two! i know not whether of you is the more generous, this one who became warrant for thee in [danger of] death or thou who returnest unto slaughter." then said he to sherik, "what prompted thee to become warrant for him, knowing that it was death?" and he said, "[i did this] lest it be said, 'generosity hath departed from viziers.'" then said en numan to the tai, "and thou, what prompted thee to return, knowing that therein was death and thine own destruction?" quoth the arab, "[i did this] lest it be said, 'fidelity hath departed from the folk.'" and en numan said, "by allah, i will be the third of you,[fn# ] lest it be said, 'clemency hath departed from kings.'" so he pardoned him and bade abolish the day of ill-omen; whereupon the arab recited the following verses: full many a man incited me to infidelity, but i refused, for all the talk wherewith they set on me. i am a man in whom good faith's a natural attribute; the deeds of every upright man should with his speech agree. quoth en numan, "what prompted thee to keep faith, the case being as thou sayest?" "o king," answered the arab, "it was my religion." and en numan said, "what is thy religion?" "the christian," replied the other. quoth the king, "expound it unto me." [so the tai expounded it to him] and en numan became a christian.[fn# ] firouz and his wife[fn# ] a certain king sat one day on the roof of his palace, diverting himself with looking about him, and presently, chancing to look aside, he espied, on [the roof of] a house over against his palace, a woman, never saw his eyes her like. so he turned to those who were present and said to them, "to whom belongeth yonder house?" "to thy servant firouz," answered they, "and that is his wife." so he went down, (and indeed love had made him drunken and he was passionately enamoured of her), and calling firouz, said to him, "take this letter and go with it to such a city and bring me the answer." firouz took the letter and going to his house, laid it under his head and passed that night. when the morning morrowed, he took leave of his wife and set out for the city in question, unknowing what the king purposed against him. as for the king, he arose in haste and disguising himself, repaired to the house of firouz and knocked at the door. quoth firouz's wife, "who is at the door?" and he answered, saying, "i am the king, thy husband's master." so she opened the door and he entered and sat down, saying, "we are come to visit thee." quoth she, "i seek refuge [with god] from this visitation, for indeed i deem not well thereof." and the king said, "o desire of hearts, i am thy husband's master and methinks thou knowest me not." "nay," answered she, "i know thee, o my lord and master, and i know thy purpose and that which thou seekest and that thou art my husband's lord. i understand what thou wishest, and indeed the poet hath forestalled thee in his saying of the following verses, in reference to thy case: your water i'll leave without drinking, for there too many already have drunken whilere. when the flies light on food, from the platter my hand i raise, though my spirit should long for the fare; and whenas the dogs at a fountain have lapped, the lions to drink of the water forbear." then said she, "o king, comest thou to a [watering-]place whereat thy dog hath drunken and wilt thou drink thereof?" the king was abashed at her and at her words and went out from her, but forgot his sandal in the house. as for firouz, when he went forth from his house, he sought the letter, but found it not; so he returned home. now his return fell in with the king's going forth and he found the latter's sandal in his house, whereat his wit was dazed and he knew that the king had not sent him away but for a purpose of his own. however, he held his peace and spoke not a word, but, taking the letter, went on his errand and accomplished it and returned to the king, who gave him a hundred dinars. so firouz betook himself to the market and bought what beseemeth women of goodly gifts and returning to his wife, saluted her and gave her all that he had brought and said to her, "arise [go] to thy father's house." "wherefore?" asked she, and he said, "verily, the king hath been bountiful to me and i would have thee show forth this, so thy father may rejoice in that which he seeth upon thee." "with all my heart," answered she and arising forthright, betook herself to the house of her father, who rejoiced in her coming and in that which he saw upon her; and she abode with him a month's space, and her husband made no mention of her. then came her brother to him and said, "o firouz, an thou wilt not acquaint me with the reason of thine anger against thy wife, come and plead with us before the king." quoth he, "if ye will have me plead with you, i will do so." so they went to the king and found the cadi sitting with him; whereupon quoth the damsel's brother, "god assist our lord the cadi! i let this man on hire a high-walled garden, with a well in good case and trees laden with fruit; but he beat down its walls and ruined its well and ate its fruits, and now he desireth to return it to me." the cadi turned to firouz and said to him, "what sayst thou, o youth?" and he answered, "indeed, i delivered him the garden in the goodliest of case." so the cadi said to the brother, "hath he delivered thee the garden, as he saith?" and the other replied, "no; but i desire to question him of the reason of his returning it." quoth the cadi, "what sayst thou, o youth?" and firouz answered, "i returned it in my own despite, for that i entered it one day and saw the track of the lion; wherefore i feared lest, if i entered it again, the lion should devour me. so that which i did, i did of reverence to him and for fear of him." now the king was leaning back upon the cushion, when he heard the man's words, he knew the purport thereof; so he sat up and said, "return to thy garden in all assurance and ease of heart; for, by allah, never saw i the like of thy garden nor stouter of ward than its walls over its trees!" so firouz returned to his wife, and the cadi knew not the truth of the affair, no, nor any of those who were in that assembly, save the king and the husband and the damsel's brother.[fn# ] king shah bekht and his vizier er rehwan.[fn# ] there was once, of old days and in bygone ages and times, a king of the kings of the time, by name shah bekht, who had troops and servants and guards galore and a vizier called er rehwan, who was wise, understanding, a man of good counsel and a cheerful acceptor of the commandments of god the most high, to whom belong might and majesty. the king committed to him the affairs of his kingdom and his subjects and said according to his word, and on this wise he abode a long space of time. now this vizier had many enemies, who envied him his high place and still sought to do him hurt, but found no way thereunto, and god, in his fore-knowledge and his fore-ordinance from time immemorial, decreed that the king dreamt that the vizier er rehwan gave him a fruit from off a tree and he ate it and died. so he awoke, affrighted and troubled, and when the vizier had presented himself before him [and withdrawn] and the king was alone with those in whom he trusted, he related to them his dream and they counselled him to send for the astrologers and interpreters [of dreams] and commended to him a sage, for whose skill and wisdom they vouched. so the king sent for him and entreated him with honour and made him draw near to himself. now there had been private with the sage in question a company of the vizier's enemies, who besought him to slander the vizier to the king and counsel him to put him to death, in consideration of that which they promised him of wealth galore; and he agreed with them of this and told the king that the vizier would slay him in the course of the [ensuing] month and bade him hasten to put him to death, else would he surely slay him. presently, the vizier entered and the king signed to him to cause avoid the place. so he signed to those who were present to withdraw, and they departed; whereupon quoth the king to him, "how deemest thou, o excellent vizier, o loyal counsellor in all manner of governance, of a vision i have seen in my sleep?" "what is it, o king?" asked the vizier, and shah bekht related to him his dream, adding, "and indeed the sage interpreted it to me and said to me, 'an thou put not the vizier to death within a month, he will slay thee.' now i am exceeding both to put the like of thee to death, yet do i fear to leave thee on life. what then dost thou counsel me that i should do in this matter?" the vizier bowed his head awhile, then raised it and said, "god prosper the king! verily, it skills not to continue him on life of whom the king is afraid, and my counsel is that thou make haste to put me to death." when the king heard his speech, he turned to him and said, "it is grievous to me, o vizier of good counsel." and he told him that the [other] sages testified [to the correctness of their fellow's interpretation of the dream]; whereupon er rehwan sighed and knew that the king went in fear of him; but he showed him fortitude and said to him, "god assain the king! my counsel is that the king accomplish his commandment and execute his ordinance, for that needs must death be and it is liefer to me that i die, oppressed, than that i die, an oppressor. but, if the king see fit to defer the putting of me to death till the morrow and will pass this night with me and take leave of me, when the morrow cometh, the king shall do what he will." then he wept till he wet his gray hairs and the king was moved to compassion for him and granted him that which he sought and vouchsafed him that night's respite. the first night of the month when it was eventide, the king caused avoid his sitting chamber and summoned the vizier, who presented himself and making his obeisance to the king, kissed the earth before him and bespoke him as follows: story of the man of khorassan, his son and his governor. "there was once a man of khorassan and he had a son, whose improvement he ardently desired; but the young man sought to be alone and to remove himself from his father's eye, so he might give himself up to pleasance and delight. so he sought of his father [leave to make] the pilgrimage to the holy house of god and to visit the tomb of the prophet (whom god bless and keep!). now between them and mecca was a journey of five hundred parasangs; but his father could not gainsay him, for that the law of god made this[fn# ] incumbent on him and because of that which he hoped for him of improvement [therefrom]. so he joined unto him a governor, in whom he trusted, and gave him much money and took leave of him. the son set out on the holy pilgrimage[fn# ] with the governor and abode on that wise, spending freely and using not thrift. now there was in his neighbourhood a poor man, who had a slave-girl of surpassing beauty and loveliness, and the youth became enamoured of her and suffered grief and concern for the love of her and her loveliness, so that he was like to perish for passion; and she also loved him with a love yet greater than his love for her. so she called an old woman who used to visit her and acquainted her with her case, saying, 'an i foregather not with him, i shall die.' the old woman promised her that she would do her endeavour to bring her to her desire; so she veiled herself and repairing to the young man, saluted him and acquainted him with the girl's case, saying, 'her master is a covetous man; so do thou invite him [to thy lodging] and tempt him with money, and he will sell thee the damsel.' accordingly, he made a banquet, and stationing himself in the man's way, invited him and carried him to his house, where they sat down and ate and drank and abode in discourse. presently, the young man said to the other, 'i hear that thou hast with thee a slave-girl, whom thou desirest to sell.' and he answered, saying, 'by allah, o my lord, i have no mind to sell her!' quoth the youth, 'i hear that she cost thee a thousand dinars, and i will give thee six hundred, to boot.' and the other said, 'i sell her to thee [at that price].' so they fetched notaries, who drew up the contract of sale, and the young man counted out to the girl's master half the purchase money, saying, 'let her be with thee till i complete to thee the rest of the price and take my slave-girl.' the other consented to this and took of him a bond for the rest of the money, and the girl abode with her master, on deposit. as for the youth, he gave his governor a thousand dirhems and despatched him to his father, to fetch money from him, so he might pay the rest of the girl's price, saying to him, 'be not [long] absent.' but the governor said in himself, 'how shall i go to his father and say to him, "thy son hath wasted thy money and wantoned it away"?[fn# ] with what eye shall i look on him, and indeed, i am he in whom he confided and to whom he hath entrusted his son? indeed, this were ill seen. nay, i will fare on to the pilgrimage[fn# ] [with the caravan of pilgrims], in despite of this fool of a youth; and when he is weary [of waiting], he will demand back the money [he hath already paid] and return to his father, and i shall be quit of travail and reproach.' so he went on with the caravan to the pilgrimage[fn# ] and took up his abode there. meanwhile, the youth abode expecting his governor's return, but he returned not; wherefore concern and chagrin waxed upon him, because of his mistress, and his longing for her redoubled and he was like to slay himself. she became aware of this and sent him a messenger, bidding him to her. so he went to her and she questioned him of the case; whereupon he told her what was to do of the matter of his governor, and she said to him, 'with me is longing the like of that which is with thee, and i misdoubt me thy messenger hath perished or thy father hath slain him; but i will give thee all my trinkets and my clothes, and do thou sell them and pay the rest of my price, and we will go, i and thou, to thy father.' so she gave him all that she possessed and he sold it and paid the rest of her price; after which there remained to him a hundred dirhems. these he spent and lay that night with the damsel in all delight of life, and his soul was like to fly for joy; but when he arose in the morning, he sat weeping and the damsel said to him, 'what aileth thee to weep?' and he said, 'i know not if my father be dead, and he hath none other heir but myself; and how shall i win to him, seeing i have not a dirhem?' quoth she, 'i have a bracelet; do thou sell it and buy small pearls with the price. then bray them and fashion them into great pearls, and thereon thou shalt gain much money, wherewith we may make our way to thy country.' so he took the bracelet and repairing to a goldsmith, said to him, 'break up this bracelet and sell it.' but he said, 'the king seeketh a good[fn# ] bracelet; i will go to him and bring thee the price thereof.' so he carried the bracelet to the sultan and it pleased him greatly, by reason of the goodliness of its workmanship. then he called an old woman, who was in his palace, and said to her, 'needs must i have the mistress of this bracelet, though but for a single night, or i shall die.' and the old woman answered, 'i will bring her to thee.' so she donned a devotee's habit and betaking herself to the goldsmith, said to him, 'to whom belongeth the bracelet that is in the king's hand?' quoth he, 'it belongeth to a man, a stranger, who hath bought him a slave-girl from this city and lodgeth with her in such a place.' so the old woman repaired to the young man's house and knocked at the door. the damsel opened to her and seeing her clad in devotee's apparel,[fn# ] saluted her and said to her, ' belike thou hast an occasion with us?' 'yes,' answered the old woman; 'i desire privacy and ablution.'[fn# ] quoth the girl, 'enter.' so she entered and did her occasion and made the ablution and prayed. then she brought out a rosary and began to tell her beads thereon, and the damsel said to her, 'whence comest thou, o pilgrim?'[fn# ] quoth she '[i come] from [visiting] the idol[fn# ] of the absent in such a church.[fn# ] there standeth up no woman [to prayer] before him, who hath an absent friend and discovereth to him her need, but he acquainteth her with her case and giveth her tidings of her absent one.' 'o pilgrim,' said the damsel, 'we have an absent one, and my lord's heart cleaveth to him and i desire to go to the idol and question him of him.' quoth the old woman, '[wait] till to-morrow and ask leave of thy husband, and i will come to thee and go with thee in weal.' then she went away, and when the girl's master came, she sought his leave to go with the old woman and he granted her leave. so the beldam took her and carried her to the king's door. the damsel entered with her, unknowing whither she went, and beheld a goodly house and chambers adorned [with gold and colours] that were no idol's chambers. then came the king and seeing her beauty and grace, went up to her, to kiss her; whereupon she fell down in a fit and strove with her hands and feet. when he saw this, he was solicitous for her and held aloof from her and left her; but the thing was grievous to her and she refused meat and drink, and as often as the king drew near her, she fled from him in affright, wherefore he swore by allah that he would not approach her, save with her consent, and fell to guerdoning her with trinkets and raiment, but she only redoubled in aversion to him. meanwhile, the youth her master abode expecting her; but she returned not and his heart forbode him of the draught [of separation]; so he went forth at hazard, distraught and knowing not what he should do, and fell to strewing dust upon his head and crying out, 'the old woman hath taken her and gone away!' the boys followed him with stones and pelted him, saying, 'a madman! a madman!' presently, the king's chamberlain, who was a man of age and worth, met him, and when he saw his youth, he forbade the boys and drove there away from him, after which he accosted him and questioned him of his case. so he told him how it was with him and the chamberlain said to him, 'fear not: all shall yet be well with thee. i will deliver thy slave-girl for thee: so calm thy trouble.' and he went on to speak him fair and comfort him, till he put faith in his speech. then he carried him to his house and stripping him of his clothes, clad him in rags; after which he called an old woman, who was his stewardess, and said to her. 'take this youth and clap on his neck this iron chain and go round about with him in all the thoroughfares of the city; and when thou hast made an end of this, go up with him to the palace of the king.' and he said to the youth, 'in whatsoever place thou seest the damsel, speak not a syllable, but acquaint me with her place and thou shall owe her deliverance to none but me.' the youth thanked him and went with the old woman on such wise as the chamberlain bade him. she fared on with him till they entered the city [and made the round thereof]; after which she went up to the palace of the king and fell to saying, 'o people of affluence, look on a youth whom the devils take twice in the day and pray for preservation from [a like] affliction!' and she ceased not to go round about with him till she came to the eastern wing[fn# ] of the palace, whereupon the slave-girls came out to look upon him and when they saw him they were amazed at his beauty and grace and wept for him. then they told the damsel, who came forth and looked upon him and knew him not. but he knew her; so he bowed his head and wept. she was moved to compassion for him and gave him somewhat and returned to her place, whilst the youth returned with the stewardess to the chamberlain and told him that she was in the king's house, whereat he was chagrined and said, 'by allah, i will assuredly contrive a device for her and deliver her!' whereupon the youth kissed his hands and feet. then he turned to the old woman and bade her change her apparel and her favour. now this old woman was goodly of speech and nimble of wit; so he gave her costly and delicious perfumes and said to her, 'get thee to the king's slave girls and sell them these [perfumes] and make thy way to the damsel and question her if she desire her master or not.' so the old woman went out and making her way to the palace, went in to the damsel and drew near her and recited the following verses: god keep the days of love-delight! how dearly sweet they were! how joyous and how solaceful was life in them whilere! would he were not who sundered us upon the parting day! how many a body hath he slain, how many a bone laid bare? sans fault of mine, my blood and tears he shed and beggared me of him i love, yet for himself gained nought thereby whate'er. when the damsel heard these verses, she wept till her clothes were drenched and drew near the old woman, who said to her, 'knowest thou such an one?' and wept and said, 'he is my lord. whence knowest thou him?' 'o my lady,' answered the old woman, 'sawst thou not the madman who came hither yesterday with the old woman? he was thy lord. but this is no time for talk. when it is night, get thee to the top of the palace [and wait] on the roof till thy lord come to thee and contrive for thy deliverance.' then she gave her what she would of perfumes and returning to the chamberlain, acquainted him with that which had passed, and he told the youth. when it was eventide, the chamberlain let bring two horses and great store of water and victual and a saddle-camel and a man to show them the way. these he hid without the town, whilst he and the young man took with them a long rope, made fast to a staple, and repaired to the palace. when they came thither, they looked and beheld the damsel standing on the roof. so they threw her the rope and the staple; whereupon she [made the latter fast to the parapet and] wrapping her sleeves about her hands, slid down [the rope] and landed with them. they carried her without the town, where they mounted, she and her lord, and fared on, whilst the guide forewent them, directing them in the way, and they gave not over going night and day till they entered his father's house. the young man saluted his father, who rejoiced in him, and he related to him all that had befallen him, whereupon he rejoiced in his safety. as for the governor, he wasted all that was with him and returned to the city, where he saw the youth and excused himself to him. then he questioned him of what had befallen him and he told him, whereat he marvelled and returned to companionship with him; but the youth ceased to have regard for him and gave him not stipends, as of his [former] wont, neither discovered to him aught of his secrets. when the governor saw that there was no profit for him with the young khorassani, he returned to the king, the ravisher of the damsel, and told him what the chamberlain had done and counselled him to slay the latter and incited him to recover the damsel, [promising] to give his friend to drink of poison and return. so the king sent for the chamberlain and upbraided him; whereupon he fell upon him and slew him and the king's servants fell upon the chamberlain and slew him. meanwhile, the governor returned to the youth, who questioned him of his absence, and he told him that he had been in the city of the king who had taken the damsel. when the youth heard this, he misdoubted of the governor and never again trusted him in aught, but was still on his guard against him. then the governor made great store of sweetmeats and put in them deadly poison and presented them to the youth. when the latter saw the sweetmeats, he said in himself, 'this is an extraordinary thing of the governor! needs must there be mischief in this sweetmeat, and i will make proof of it upon himself.' so he made ready victual and set on the sweetmeat amongst it and bade the governor to his house and set food before him. he ate and amongst the rest, they brought him the poisoned sweetmeat; so he ate thereof and died forthright; whereby the youth knew that this was a plot against himself and said, 'he who seeketh his fortune of his own [unaided] might[fn# ] attaineth it not.' nor (continued the vizier) is this, o king of the age, more extraordinary than the story of the druggist and his wife and the singer." when king shah bekht heard his vizier's story, he gave him leave to withdraw to his own house and he abode there the rest of the night and the next day till the evening. the second night of the month when the evening evened, the king sat in his privy sitting-chamber and his mind was occupied with the story of the singer and the druggist. so he called the vizier and bade him tell the story. "it is well," answered he, "they tell, o my lord, that story of the singer and the druggist. there was once in the city of hemadan[fn# ] a young man of comely aspect and excellently skilled in singing to the lute, and he was well seen of the people of the city. he went forth one day of his city, with intent to travel, and gave not over journeying till his travel brought him to a goodly city. now he had with him a lute and what pertained thereto,[fn# ] so he entered and went round about the city till he fell in with a druggist, who, when he espied him, called to him. so he went up to him and he bade him sit down. accordingly, he sat down by him and the druggist questioned him of his case. the singer told him what was in his mind and the other took him up into his shop and brought him food and fed him. then said he to him, 'arise and take up thy lute and beg about the streets, and whenas thou smellest the odour of wine, break in upon the drinkers and say to them, "i am a singer." they will laugh and say, "come, [sing] to us." and when thou singest, the folk will know thee and bespeak one another of thee; so shall thou become known in the city and thine affairs will prosper.' so he went round about, as the druggist bade him, till the sun grew hot, but found none drinking. then he entered a by-street, that he might rest himself, and seeing there a handsome and lofty house, stood in its shade and fell to observing the goodliness of its ordinance. as he was thus engaged, behold, a window opened and there appeared thereat a face, as it were the moon. quoth she,[fn# ] 'what aileth thee to stand there? dost thou want aught?' and he answered, 'i am a stranger,' and acquainted her with his case; whereupon quoth she, 'what sayst thou to meat and drink and the enjoyment of a fair-face[d one] and getting thee what thou mayst spend?' 'o my lady,' answered he, 'this is my desire and that in quest whereof i am going about.' so she opened the door to him and brought him in. then she seated him at the upper end of the room and set food before him. so he ate and drank and lay with her and swived her. then she sat down in his lap and they toyed and laughed and kissed till the day was half spent, when her husband came home and she could find nothing for it but to hide the singer in a rug, in which she rolled him up. the husband entered and seeing the place disordered[fn# ] and smelling the odour of wine, questioned her of this. quoth she, 'i had with me a friend of mine and i conjured her [to drink with me]; so we drank a jar [of wine], she and i, and she went away but now, before thy coming in.' her husband, (who was none other than the singer's friend the druggist, that had invited him and fed him), deemed her words true and went away to his shop, whereupon the singer came forth and he and the lady returned to their sport and abode on this wise till eventide, when she gave him money and said to him, 'come hither to-morrow in the forenoon.' 'it is well,' answered he and departed; and at nightfall he went to the bath. on the morrow, he betook himself to the shop of his friend the druggist, who welcomed him and questioned him of his case and how he had fared that day. quoth the singer, 'may god requite thee with good, o my brother! for that thou hast directed me unto easance!' and he related to him his adventure with the woman, till he came to the mention of her husband, when he said, 'and at midday came the cuckold her husband and knocked at the door. so she wrapped me in the mat, and when he had gone about his business, i came forth and we returned to what we were about.' this was grievous to the druggist and he repented of having taught him [how he should do] and misdoubted of his wife. so he said to the singer, 'and what said she to thee at thy going away?' and the other answered, 'she bade me come back to her on the morrow. so, behold, i am going to her and i came not hither but that i might acquaint thee with this, lest thy heart be occupied with me.' then he took leave of him and went his way. as soon as the druggist was assured that he had reached the house, he cast the net over his shop[fn# ] and made for his house, misdoubting of his wife, and knocked at the door. now the singer had entered and the druggist's wife said to him, 'arise, enter this chest.' so he entered it and she shut the lid on him and opened to her husband, who came in, in a state of bewilderment, and searched the house, but found none and overlooked the chest. so he said in himself, 'the house [of which the singer spoke] is one which resembleth my house and the woman is one who resembles my wife,' and returned to his shop; whereupon the singer came forth of the chest and falling upon the druggist's wife, did his occasion and paid her her due and weighed down the scale for her.[fn# ] then they ate and drank and kissed and clipped, and on this wise they abode till the evening, when she gave him money, for that she found his weaving good,[fn# ] and made him promise to come to her on the morrow. so he left her and slept his night and on the morrow he repaired to the shop of his friend the druggist and saluted him. the other welcomed him and questioned him of his case; whereupon he told him how he had fared, till he came to the mention of the woman's husband, when he said, 'then came the cuckold her husband and she clapped me into the chest and shut the lid on me, whilst her addlepated pimp of a husband went round about the house, top and bottom; and when he had gone his way, we returned to what we were about.' with this, the druggist was certified that the house was his house and the wife his wife, and he said, 'and what wilt thou do to-day?' quoth the singer, 'i shall return to her and weave for her and full her yarn,[fn# ] and i came but to thank thee for thy dealing with me.' then he went away, whilst the fire was loosed in the heart of the druggist and he shut his shop and betaking himself to his house, knocked at the door. quoth the singer, 'let me get into the chest, for he saw me not yesterday.' 'nay,' answered she, 'wrap thyself up in the rug.' so he wrapped himself up in the rug and stood in a corner of the room, whilst the druggist entered and went straight to the chest, but found it empty. then he went round about the house and searched it from top to bottom, but found nothing and no one and abode between belief and disbelief, and said in himself, 'belike, i suspect my wife of that which is not in her.' so he was certified of her innocence and returned to his shop, whereupon out came the singer and they abode on their former case, as of wont, till eventide, when she gave him one of her husband's shirts and he took it and going away, passed the night in his lodging. on the morrow, he repaired to the druggist, who saluted him and came to meet him and rejoiced in him and smiled in his face, deeming his wife innocent. then he questioned him of his yesterday's case and he told him how he had fared, saying, 'o my brother, when the cuckold knocked at the door, i would have entered the chest; but his wife forbade me and rolled me up in the rug. the man entered and thought of nothing but the chest; so he broke it open and abode as he were a madman, going up and coming down. then he went his way and i came out and we abode on our wonted case till eventide, when she gave me this shirt of her husband's; and behold, i am going to her.' when the druggist heard the singer's words, he was certified of the case and knew that the calamity, all of it, was in his own house and that the wife was his wife; and he saw the shirt, whereupon he redoubled in certainty and said to the singer, 'art thou now going to her?' 'yes, o my brother,' answered he and taking leave of him, went away; whereupon the druggist started up, as he were a madman, and ungarnished his shop.[fn# ] whilst he was thus engaged, the singer won to the house, and presently up came the druggist and knocked at the door. the singer would have wrapped himself up in the rug, but she forbade him and said to him, 'get thee down to the bottom of the house and enter the oven[fn# ] and shut the lid upon thyself.' so he did as she bade him and she went down to her husband and opened the door to him, whereupon he entered and went round about the house, but found no one and overlooked the oven. so he stood meditating and swore that he would not go forth of the house till the morrow. as for the singer, when his [stay in the oven] grew long upon him, he came forth therefrom, thinking that her husband had gone away. then he went up to the roof and looking down, beheld his friend the druggist; whereat he was sore concerned and said in himself, 'alas, the disgrace of it! this is my friend the druggist, who dealt kindly with me and wrought me fair and i have requited him with foul' and he feared to return to the druggist; so he went down and opened the first door and would have gone out; but, when he came to the outer door, he found it locked and saw not the key. so he stole up again to the roof and cast himself down into the [next] house. the people of the house heard him and hastened to him, deeming him a thief. now the house in question belonged to a persian; so they laid hands on him and the master of the house began to beat him, saying to him, 'thou art a thief.' 'nay,' answered he, 'i am no thief, but a singing-man, a stranger. i heard your voices and came to sing to you.' when the folk heard his words, they talked of letting him go; but the persian said, 'o folk, let not his speech beguile you. this fellow is none other than a thief who knoweth how to sing, and when he happeneth on the like of us, he is a singer.' 'o our lord,' answered they, 'this man is a stranger, and needs must we release him.' quoth he, 'by allah, my heart revolteth from this fellow! let me make an end of him with beating.' but they said, 'thou mayst nowise do that' so they delivered the singer from the persian, the master of the house, and seated him amongst them, whereupon he fell to singing to them and they rejoiced in him. now the persian had a mameluke,[fn# ] as he were the full moon, and he arose [and went out], and the singer followed him and wept before him, professing love to him and kissing his hands and feet. the mameluke took compassion on him and said to him, 'when the night cometh and my master entereth [the harem] and the folk go away, i will grant thee thy desire; and i lie in such a place.' then the singer returned and sat with the boon-companions, and the persian rose and went out, he and the mameluke beside him. [then they returned and sat down.][fn# ] now the singer knew the place that the mameluke occupied at the first of the night; but it befell that he rose from his place and the candle went out. the persian, who was drunken, fell over on his face, and the singer, supposing him to be the mameluke, said, 'by allah, it is good!' and threw himself upon him and clipped him, whereupon the persian started up, crying out, and laying hands on the singer, pinioned him and beat him grievously, after which he bound him to a tree that was in the house.[fn# ] now there was in the house a fair singing-girl and when she saw the singer pinioned and bound to the tree, she waited till the persian lay down on his couch, when she arose and going to the singer, fell to condoling with him over what had betided him and ogling him and handling his yard and rubbing it, till it rose on end. then said she to him, 'do thou swive me and i will loose thy bonds, lest he return and beat thee again; for he purposeth thee evil.' quoth he, 'loose me and i will do.' but she said, 'i fear that, [if i loose thee], thou wilt not do. but i will do, and thou standing; and when i have done, i will loose thee.' so saying, she pulled up her clothes and sitting down on the singer's yard, fell to going and coming. now there was in the house a ram, with which the persian used to butt, and when he saw what the woman did, he thought she would butt with him; so he broke his halter and running at her, butted her and broke her head. she fell on her back and cried out; whereupon the persian started up from sleep in haste and seeing the singing-girl [cast down on her back] and the singer with his yard on end, said to the latter, 'o accursed one, doth not what thou hast already done suffice thee?' then he beat him soundly and opening the door, put him out in the middle of the night. he lay the rest of the night in one of the ruins, and when he arose in the morning, he said, 'none is to blame. i sought my own good, and he is no fool who seeketh good for himself; and the druggist's wife also sought good for herself; but destiny overcometh precaution and there remaineth no abiding for me in this town.' so he went forth from the city. nor (added the vizier) is this story, extraordinary though it be, more extraordinary than that of the king and his son and that which bedded them of wonders and rarities." when the king heard this story, he deemed it pleasant and said, "this story is near unto that which i know and meseemeth i should do well to have patience and hasten not to slay my vizier, so i may get of him the story of the king and his son." then he gave the vizier leave to go away to his own house; so he thanked him and abode in his house all that day. the third night of the month when it was the time of the evening meal, the king repaired to the sitting-chamber and summoning the vizier, sought of him the story he had promised him; and the vizier said, "they avouch, o king, that story of the king who knew the quintessence[fn# ] of things. there came to a king of the kings, in his old age, a son, who grew up comely, quick-witted and intelligent, and when he came to years of discretion and became a young man, his father said to him, 'take this kingdom and govern it in my stead, for i desire to flee [from the world] to god the most high and don the gown of wool and give myself up to devotion.' quoth the prince, 'and i also desire to take refuge with god the most high.' and the king said, 'arise, let us flee forth and make for the mountains and worship in them, for shamefastness before god the most high.' so they gat them raiment of wool and clothing themselves therewith, went forth and wandered in the deserts and wastes; but, when some days had passed over them, they became weak for hunger and repented them of that which they had done, whenas repentance profited them not, and the prince complained to his father of weariness and hunger. 'dear my son,' answered the king, 'i did with thee that which behoved me,[fn# ] but thou wouldst not hearken to me, and now there is no means of returning to thy former estate, for that another hath taken the kingdom and become its defender; but i will counsel thee of somewhat, wherein do thou pleasure me.' quoth the prince, 'what is it?' and his father said, 'take me and go with me to the market and sell me and take my price and do with it what thou wilt, and i shall become the property of one who will provide for my support,' 'who will buy thee of me,' asked the prince, 'seeing thou art a very old man? nay, do thou rather sell me, for the demand for me will be greater.' but the king said, 'an thou wert king, thou wouldst require me of service.' so the youth obeyed his father's commandment and taking him, carried him to the slave-dealer and said to the latter, 'sell me this old man.' quoth the dealer, 'who will buy this fellow, and he a man of fourscore?' then said he to the king, 'in what crafts dost thou excel?' quoth he, 'i know the quintessence of jewels and i know the quintessence of horses and that of men; brief, i know the quintessence of all things.' so the dealer took him and went about, offering him for sale to the folk; but none would buy. presently, up came the overseer of the [sultan's] kitchen and said, 'what is this man?' and the dealer answered, 'this is a slave for sale.' the cook marvelled at this and bought the king for ten thousand dirhems, after questioning him of what he could do. then he paid down the money and carried him to his house, but dared not employ him in aught of service; so he appointed him an allowance, such as should suffice for his livelihood, and repented him of having bought him, saying, 'what shall i do with the like of this fellow?' presently, the king [of the city] was minded to go forth to his garden,[fn# ] a-pleasuring, and bade the cook forego him thither and appoint in his stead one who should dress meat for the king, so that, when he returned, he might find it ready. so the cook fell a-considering of whom he should appoint and was bewildered concerning his affair. as he was on this wise, the old man came to him and seeing him perplexed how he should do, said to him, 'tell me what is in thy mind; belike, i may avail to relieve thee.' so he acquainted him with the king's wishes and he said, 'have no care for this, but leave me one of the serving-men and go thou in peace and surety, for i will suffice thee of this.' so the cook departed with the king, after he had brought the old man what he needed and left him a man of the guards. when he was gone, the old man bade the trooper wash the kitchen-vessels and made ready passing goodly food. when the king returned, he set the meat before him, and he tasted food whose like he had never known; whereat he marvelled and asked who had dressed it. so they acquainted him with the old man's case and he summoned him to his presence and awarded him a handsome recompense.[fn# ] moreover, he commanded that they should cook together, he and the cook, and the old man obeyed his commandment. awhile after this, there came two merchants to the king with two pearls of price and each of them avouched that his pearl was worth a thousand dinars, but there was none who availed to value them. then said the cook, 'god prosper the king! verily, the old man whom i bought avouched that he knew the quintessence of jewels and that he was skilled in cookery. we have made proof of him in cookery and have found him the skilfullest of men; and now, if we send after him and prove him on jewels, [the truth or falsehood of] his pretension will be made manifest to us.' so the king bade fetch the old man and he came and stood before the sultan, who showed him the two pearls. quoth he, 'as for this one, it is worth a thousand dinars.' and the king said, 'so saith its owner.' 'but for this other,' continued the old man, 'it is worth but five hundred.' the folk laughed and marvelled at his saying, and the merchant, [the owner of the second pearl], said to him, 'how can this, which is greater of bulk and purer of water and more perfect of rondure, be less of worth than that?' and the old man answered, 'i have said what is with me.'[fn# ] then said the king to him, 'indeed, the outward appearance thereof is like unto that of the other pearl; why then is it worth but the half of its price?' 'yes,' answered the old man, '[its outward resembleth the other]; but its inward is corrupt.' 'hath a pearl then an outward and an inward?' asked the merchant, and the old man said, 'yes. in its inward is a boring worm; but the other pearl is sound and secure against breakage.' quoth the merchant, 'give us a token of this and prove to us the truth of thy saying.' and the old man answered, 'we will break the pearl. if i prove a, liar, here is my head, and if i speak truth, thou wilt have lost thy pearl.' and the merchant said, 'i agree to that.' so they broke the pearl and it was even as the old man had said, to wit, in its midst was a boring worm. the king marvelled at what he saw and questioned him of [how he came by] the knowledge of this. 'o king,' answered the old man, 'this [kind of] jewel is engendered in the belly of a creature called the oyster and its origin is a drop of rain and it is firm to the touch [and groweth not warm, when held in the hand]; so, when [i took the second pearl and felt that] it was warm to the touch, i knew that it harboured some living thing, for that live things thrive not but in heat.'[fn# ] so the king said to the cook, 'increase his allowance.' and he appointed to him [fresh] allowances. awhile after this, two merchants presented themselves to the king with two horses, and one said, 'i ask a thousand dinars for my horse,' and the other, 'i seek five thousand for mine.' quoth the cook, 'we have experienced the old man's just judgment; what deemeth the king of fetching him?' so the king bade fetch him, and when he saw the two horses, he said, 'this one is worth a thousand and the other two thousand dinars.' quoth the folk, 'this [horse that thou judgeth the lesser worth] is an evident thoroughbred and he is younger and swifter and more compact of limb than the other, ay, and finer of head and clearer of skin and colour. what token, then, hast thou of the truth of thy saying?' and the old man said, 'this ye say is all true, but his sire is old and this other is the son of a young horse. now, when the son of an old horse standeth still [to rest,] his breath returneth not to him and his rider falleth into the hand of him who followeth after him; but the son of a young horse, if thou put him to speed and make him run, [then check him] and alight from off him, thou wilt find him untired, by reason of his robustness.' quoth the merchant, 'indeed, it is as the old man avoucheth and he is an excellent judge.' and the king said, 'increase his allowance.' but the old man stood still and did not go away. so the king said to him, 'why dost thou not go about thy business?' and he answered, 'my business is with the king.' 'name what thou wouldst have,' said the king, and the other replied, 'i would have thee question me of the quintessences of men, even as thou hast questioned me of the quintessences of horses.' quoth the king, 'we have no occasion to question thee of [this].' but the old man replied, 'i have occasion to acquaint thee.' 'say what thou pleasest,' rejoined the king, and the old man said, 'verily, the king is the son of a baker.' quoth the king 'how knowest thou that?' and the other replied, 'know, o king, that i have examined into degrees and dignities[fn# ] and have learnt this.' thereupon the king went in to his mother and questioned her of his father, and she told him that me king her husband was weak;[fn# ] 'wherefore,' quoth she, 'i feared for the kingdom, lest it pass away, after his death; so i took to my bed a young man, a baker, and conceived by him [and bore a son]; and the kingship came into the hand of my son, to wit, thyself.' so the king returned to the old man and said to him, 'i am indeed the son of a baker; so do thou expound to me the means whereby thou knewest me for this.' quoth the other, 'i knew that, hadst thou been a king's son, thou wouldst have given largesse of things of price, such as rubies [and the like]; and wert thou the son of a cadi, thou hadst given largesse of a dirhem or two dirhems, and wert thou the son of a merchant, thou hadst given wealth galore. but i saw that thou guerdonest me not but with cakes of bread [and other victual], wherefore i knew that thou wast the son of a baker.' quoth the king, 'thou hast hit the mark.' and he gave him wealth galore and advanced him to high estate." this story pleased king shah bekht and he marvelled thereat; but the vizier said to him, "this story is not more extraordinary than that of the rich man who married his fair daughter to the poor old man." the king's mind was occupied with the [promised] story and he bade the vizier withdraw to his lodging. so he [returned to his house and] abode there the rest of the night and the whole of the following day. the fourth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king withdrew to his privy sitting-chamber and bade fetch the vizier. when he presented himself before him, he said to him, "tell me the story of the wealthy man who married his daughter to the poor old man." "it is well," answered the vizier. "know, o puissant king, that story of the rich man who gave his fair daughter in marriage to the poor old man. a certain wealthy merchant had a fair daughter, who was as the full moon, and when she attained the age of fifteen, her father betook himself to an old man and spreading him a carpet in his sitting-chamber, gave him to eat and caroused with him. then said he to him, 'i desire to marry thee to my daughter.' the other excused himself, because of his poverty, and said to him, 'i am not worthy of her nor am i a match for thee.' the merchant was instant with him, but he repeated his answer to him, saying, 'i will not consent to this till thou acquaint me with the reason of thy desire for me. if i find it reasonable, i will fall in with thy wish; and if not, i will not do this ever.' 'know, then,' said the merchant, 'that i am a man from the land of china and was in my youth well-favoured and well-to-do. now i made no account of womankind, one and all, but followed after boys, and one night i saw, in a dream, as it were a balance set up, and it was said by it, "this is the portion of such an one." presently, i heard my own name; so i looked and beheld a woman of the utmost loathliness; whereupon i awoke in affright and said, "i will never marry, lest haply this loathly woman fall to my lot." then i set out for this city with merchandise and the voyage was pleasant to me and the sojourn here, so that i took up my abode here awhile and got me friends and factors, till i had sold all my merchandise and taken its price and there was left me nothing to occupy me till the folk[fn# ] should depart and depart with them. one day, i changed my clothes and putting money in my sleeve, sallied forth to explore the holes and corners of this city, and as i was going about, i saw a handsome house. its goodliness pleased me; so i stood looking on it, and behold, a lovely woman [at the lattice]. when she saw me, she made haste and descended, whilst i abode confounded. then i betook myself to a tailor there and questioned him of the house and to whom it belonged. quoth he, "it belongeth to such an one the notary, may god curse him!" "is he her father?" asked i; [and he replied, "yes."] so i repaired in haste to a man, with whom i had been used to deposit my goods for sale, and told him that i desired to gain access to such an one the notary. accordingly he assembled his friends and we betook ourselves to the notary's house. when we came in to him, we saluted him and sat with him, and i said to him, "i come to thee as a suitor, desiring the hand of thy daughter in marriage." quoth he, "i have no daughter befitting this man." and i rejoined, "god aid thee! my desire is for thee and not for her."[fn# ] but he still refused and his friends said to him, "this is an honourable man and thine equal in estate, and it is not lawful to thee that thou hinder the girl of her fortune." quoth he to them, "verily, my daughter whom ye seek is passing foul-favoured and in her are all blameworthy qualities." and i said, "i accept her, though she be as thou sayest." then said the folk, "extolled be the perfection of god! a truce to talk! [the thing is settled;] so say the word, how much wilt thou have [to her dowry]?" quoth he, "i must have four thousand dinars." and i said, "hearkening and obedience." so the affair was concluded and we drew up the contract of marriage and i made the bride-feast; but on the wedding-night i beheld a thing[fn# ] than which never made god the most high aught more loathly. methought her people had contrived this by way of sport; so i laughed and looked for my mistress, whom i had seen [at the lattice], to make her appearance; but saw her not. when the affair was prolonged and i found none but her, i was like to go mad for vexation and fell to beseeching my lord and humbling myself in supplication to him that he would deliver me from her. when i arose in the morning, there came the chamber-woman and said to me, "hast thou occasion for the bath?" "no," answered i; and she said, "art thou for breakfast?" but i replied, "no;" and on this wise i abode three days, tasting neither meat nor drink. when the damsel[fn# ] saw me in this plight, she said to me, "o man, tell me thy story, for, by allah, an i may avail to thy deliverance, i will assuredly further thee thereto." i gave ear to her speech and put faith in her loyalty and told her the story of the damsel whom i had seen [at the lattice] and how i had fallen in love with her; whereupon quoth she, "if the girl belong to me, that which i possess is thine, and if she belong to my father, i will demand her of him and deliver her to thee." then she fell to calling slave-girl after slave-girl and showing them to me, till i saw the damsel whom i loved and said, "this is she." quoth my wife, "let not thy heart be troubled, for this is my slave-girl. my father gave her to me and i give her to thee. so comfort thyself and be of good heart and cheerful eye." then, when it was night, she brought her to me, after she had adorned her and perfumed her, and said to her, "gainsay not this thy lord in aught that he shall seek of thee." when she came to bed with me, i said in myself, "verily, this damsel[fn# ] is more generous than i!" then i sent away the slave-girl and drew not nigh unto her, but arose forthright and betaking myself to my wife, lay with her and did away her maidenhead. she straightway conceived by me and accomplishing the time of her pregnancy, gave birth to this dear little daughter; in whom i rejoiced, for that she was lovely to the utterest, and she hath inherited her mother's wit and her father's comeliness. indeed, many of the notables of the people have sought her of me in marriage, but i would not marry her to any, for that, one night, i saw, in a dream, the balance aforesaid set up and men and women being weighed, one against the other, therein, and meseemed i saw thee [and her] and it was said to me, "this is such a man,[fn# ] the allotted portion of such a woman."[fn# ] wherefore i knew that god the most high had allotted unto her none other than thyself, and i choose rather to marry thee to her in my lifetime than that thou shouldst marry her after my death.' when the poor man heard the merchant's story, he became desirous of marrying his daughter. so he took her to wife and was vouchsafed of her exceeding love. nor," added the vizier, "is this story more extraordinary than that of the rich man and his wasteful heir." when the king heard his vizier's story, he was assured that he would not slay him and said, "i will have patience with him, so i may get of him the story of the rich man and his wasteful heir." and he bade him depart to his own house. the fifth night of the month when the evening evened, the king sat in his privy closet and summoning the vizier, required of him the promised story. so er rehwan said, "know, o king, that story of the rich man and his wasteful son. there was once a sage of the sages, who had three sons and sons' sons, and when they waxed many and their posterity multiplied, there befell dissension between them. so he assembled them and said to them, 'be ye one hand[fn# ] against other than you and despise[fn# ] not [one another,] lest the folk despise you, and know that the like of you is as the rope which the man cut, when it was single; then he doubled [it] and availed not to cut it; on this wise is division and union. and beware lest ye seek help of others against yourselves[fn# ] or ye will fall into perdition, for by whosesoever means ye attain your desire,[fn# ] his word[fn# ] will have precedence of[fn# ] your word. now i have wealth which i will bury in a certain place, so it may be a store for you, against the time of your need.' then they left him and dispersed and one of the sons fell to spying upon his father, so that he saw him hide the treasure without the city. when he had made an end of burying it, he returned to his house; and when the morning morrowed, his son repaired to the place where he had seen his father bury the treasure and dug and took it and went his way. when the [hour of the] old man's admission [to the mercy of god] drew nigh, he called his sons to him and acquainted them with the place where he had hidden his riches. as soon as he was dead, they went and dug up the treasure and found wealth galore, for that the money, which the first son had taken by stealth, was on the surface and he knew not that under it was other money. so they took it and divided it and the first son took his share with the rest and laid it to that which he had taken aforetime, behind [the backs of] his father and his brethren. then he took to wife the daughter of his father's brother and was vouchsafed by her a male child, who was the goodliest of the folk of his time. when the boy grew up, his father feared for him from poverty and change of case, so he said to him, 'dear my son, know that in my youth i wronged my brothers in the matter of our father's good, and i see thee in weal; but, if thou [come to] need, ask not of one of them nor of any other, for i have laid up for thee in yonder chamber a treasure; but do not thou open it until thou come to lack thy day's food.' then he died, and his wealth, which was a great matter, fell to his son. the young man had not patience to wait till he had made an end of that which was with him, but rose and opened the chamber, and behold, it was [empty and its walls were] whitened, and in its midst was a rope hanging down and half a score bricks, one upon another, and a scroll, wherein was written, 'needs must death betide; so hang thyself and beg not of any, but kick away the bricks, so there may be no escape[fn# ] for thee, and thou shall be at rest from the exultation of enemies and enviers and the bitterness of poverty.' when the youth saw this, he marvelled at that which his father had done and said, 'this is a sorry treasure.' then he went forth and fell to eating and drinking with the folk, till nothing was left him and he abode two days without tasting food, at the end of which time he took a handkerchief and selling it for two dirhems, bought bread and milk with the price and left it on the shelf [and went out. whilst he was gone,] a dog came and took the bread and spoiled the milk, and when the man returned and saw this, he buffeted his face and went forth, distraught, at a venture. presently, he met a friend of his, to whom he discovered his case, and the other said to him, 'art thou not ashamed to talk thus? how hast thou wasted all this wealth and now comest telling lies and saying, "the dog hath mounted on the shelf," and talking nonsense?' and he reviled him. so the youth returned to his house, and indeed the world was grown black in his eyes and he said, 'my father said sooth.' then he opened the chamber door and piling up the bricks under his feet, put the rope about his neck and kicked away the bricks and swung himself off; whereupon the rope gave way with him [and he fell] to the ground and the ceiling clove in sunder and there poured down on him wealth galore, so he knew that his father meant to discipline[fn# ] him by means of this and invoked god's mercy on him. then he got him again that which he had sold of lands and houses and what not else and became once more in good case. moreover, his friends returned to him and he entertained them some days. then said he to them one day, 'there was with us bread and the locusts ate it; so we put in its place a stone, a cubit long and the like broad, and the locusts came and gnawed away the stone, because of the smell of the bread.' quoth one of his friends (and it was he who had given him the lie concerning the dog and the bread and milk), 'marvel not at this, for mice do more than that.' and he said, 'go to your houses. in the days of my poverty, i was a liar [when i told you] of the dog's climbing upon the shelf and eating the bread and spoiling the milk; and to-day, for that i am rich again, i say sooth [when i tell you] that locusts devoured a stone a cubit long and a cubit broad.' they were confounded at his speech and departed from him; and the youth's good flourished and his case was amended.[fn# ] nor," added the vizier,"is this stranger or more extraordinary than the story of the king's son who fell in love with the picture." quoth the king, "belike, if i hear this story, i shall gain wisdom from it; so i will not hasten in the slaying of this vizier, nor will i put him to death before the thirty days have expired." then he gave him leave to withdraw, and he went away to his own house. the sixth night of the month when the day departed and the evening came, the king sat in his privy chamber and summoned the vizier, who presented himself to him and he questioned him of the story. so the vizier said, "know, o august king, that the king's son who fell in love with the picture. there was once, in a province of persia, a king of the kings, who was mighty of estate, endowed with majesty and venerance and having troops and guards at his command; but he was childless. towards the end of his life, his lord vouchsafed him a male child, and the boy grew up and was comely and learned all manner of knowledge. he made him a private place, to wit, a lofty palace, builded with coloured marbles and [adorned with] jewels and paintings. when the prince entered the palace, he saw in its ceiling the picture [of a woman], than whom he had never beheld a fairer of aspect, and she was compassed about with slave-girls; whereupon he fell down in a swoon and became distraught for love of her. then he sat under the picture, till, one day, his father came in to him and finding him wasted of body and changed of colour, by reason of his [continual] looking on that picture, thought that he was ill and sent for the sages and physicians, that they might medicine him. moreover, he said to one of his boon- companions, 'if thou canst learn what aileth my son, thou shalt have of me largesse.' so the courtier went in to the prince and spoke him fair and cajoled him, till he confessed to him that his malady was caused by the picture. then he returned to the king and told him what ailed his son, whereupon he transported the prince to another palace and made his former lodging the guest-house; and whosoever of the arabs was entertained therein, he questioned of the picture, but none could give him tidings thereof. one day, there came a traveller and seeing the picture, said, 'there is no god but god! my brother wrought this picture.' so the king sent for him and questioned him of the affair of the picture and where was he who had wrought it. 'o my lord,' answered the traveller, 'we are two brothers and one of us went to the land of hind and fell in love with the king's daughter of the country, and it is she who is the original of the portrait. in every city he entereth, he painteth her portrait, and i follow him, and long is my journey.' when the king's son heard this, he said,'needs must i travel to this damsel.' so he took all manner rarities and store of riches and journeyed days and nights till he entered the land of hind, nor did he win thereto save after sore travail. then he enquired of the king of hind and he also heard of him. when the prince came before him, he sought of him his daughter in marriage, and the king said, 'indeed, thou art her equal, but none dare name a man to her, because of her aversion to men.' so the prince pitched his tents under the windows of the princess's palace, till one day he got hold of one of her favourite slave-girls and gave her wealth galore. quoth she to him, 'hast thou a wish?' �yes,' answered he and acquainted her with his case; and she said, 'indeed thou puttest thyself in peril.' then he abode, flattering himself with false hopes, till all that he had with him was gone and the servants fled from him; whereupon quoth he to one in whom he trusted, 'i am minded to go to my country and fetch what may suffice me and return hither.' and the other answered, 'it is for thee to decide.' so they set out to return, but the way was long to them and all that the prince had with him was spent and his company died and there abode but one with him, on whom he loaded what remained of the victual and they left the rest and fared on. then there came out a lion and ate the servant, and the prince abode alone. he went on, till his beast stood still, whereupon he left her and fared on afoot till his feet swelled. presently he came to the land of the turks,[fn# ] and he naked and hungry and having with him nought but somewhat of jewels, bound about his fore-arm. so he went to the bazaar of the goldsmiths and calling one of the brokers, gave him the jewels. the broker looked and seeing two great rubies, said to him, 'follow me.' so he followed him, till he brought him to a goldsmith, to whom he gave the jewels, saying, 'buy these.' quoth he, 'whence hadst thou these?' and the broker replied, 'this youth is the owner of them.' then said the goldsmith to the prince, 'whence hadst thou these rubies?' and he told him all that had befallen him and that he was a king's son. the goldsmith marvelled at his story and bought of him the rubies for a thousand dinars. then said the prince to him, 'make ready to go with me to my country.' so he made ready and went with the prince till he drew near the frontiers of his father's kingdom, where the people received him with the utmost honour and sent to acquaint his father with his son's coming. the king came out to meet him and they entreated the goldsmith with honour. the prince abode awhile with his father, then set out, [he and the goldsmith] to return to the country of the fair one, the daughter of the king of hind; but there met him robbers by the way and he fought the sorest of battles and was slain. the goldsmith buried him and marked his grave[fn# ] and returned, sorrowing and distraught to his own country, without telling any of the prince's death. to return to the king's daughter of whom the prince went in quest and on whose account he was slain. she had been used to look out from the top of her palace and gaze on the youth and on his beauty and grace; so she said to her slave-girl one day, 'harkye! what is come of the troops that were encamped beside my palace?' quoth the maid, 'they were the troops of the youth, the king's son of the persians, who came to demand thee in marriage, and wearied himself on thine account, but thou hadst no compassion on him.' 'out on thee!' cried the princess. 'why didst thou not tell me?' and the damsel answered, 'i feared thy wrath.' then she sought an audience of the king her father and said to him, 'by allah, i will go in quest of him, even as he came in quest of me; else should i not do him justice.' so she made ready and setting out, traversed the deserts and spent treasures till she came to sejestan, where she called a goldsmith to make her somewhat of trinkets. [now the goldsmith in question was none other than the prince's friend]; so, when he saw her, he knew her (for that the prince had talked with him of her and had depictured her to him) and questioned her of her case. she acquainted him with her errand, whereupon he buffeted his face and rent his clothes and strewed dust on his head and fell a-weeping. quoth she, 'why dost thou thus?' and he acquainted her with the prince's case and how he was his comrade and told her that he was dead; whereat she grieved for him and faring on to his father and mother, [acquainted them with the case]. so the prince's father and his uncle and his mother and the grandees of the realm repaired to his tomb and the princess made lamentation over him, crying aloud. she abode by the tomb a whole month; then she let fetch painters and caused them limn her portraiture and that of the king's son. moreover, she set down in writing their story and that which had befallen them of perils and afflictions and set it [together with the pictures], at the head of the tomb; and after a little, they departed from the place. nor," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary, o king of the age, than the story of the fuller and his wife and the trooper and what passed between them." with this the king bade the vizier go away to his lodging, and when he arose in the morning, he abode his day in his house. the seventh night of the month. at eventide the king sat [in his privy sitting-chamber] and sending for the vizier, said to him, "tell me the story of the fuller and his wife." "with all my heart," answered the vizier. so he came forward and said, "know, o king of the age, that story of the fuller and his wife. there was once in a certain city a woman fair of favour, who had to lover a trooper. her husband was a fuller, and when he went out to his business, the trooper used to come to her and abide with her till the time of the fuller's return, when he would go away. on this wise they abode awhile, till one day the trooper said to his mistress, 'i mean to take me a house near unto thine and dig an underground passage from my house to thy house, and do thou say to thy husband, "my sister hath been absent with her husband and now they have returned from their travels; and i have made her take up her sojourn in my neighbourhood, so i may foregather with her at all times. so go thou to her husband the trooper and offer him thy wares [for sale], and thou wilt see my sister with him and wilt see that she is i and i am she, without doubt. so, allah, allah, go to my sister's husband and give ear to that which he shall say to thee."' accordingly, the trooper bought him a house near at hand and made therein an underground passage communicating with his mistress's house. when he had accomplished his affair, the wife bespoke her husband as her lover had lessoned her and he went out to go to the trooper's house, but turned back by the way, whereupon quoth she to him, 'by allah, go forthright, for that my sister asketh of thee.' so the dolt of a fuller went out and made for the trooper's house, whilst his wife forewent him thither by the secret passage, and going up, sat down beside her lover. presently, the fuller entered and saluted the trooper and his [supposed] wife and was confounded at the coincidence of the case.[fn# ] then doubt betided him and he returned in haste to his dwelling; but she forewent him by the underground passage to her chamber and donning her wonted clothes, sat [waiting] for him and said to him, 'did i not bid thee go to my sister and salute her husband and make friends with them?' quoth he, 'i did this, but i misdoubted of my affair, when i saw his wife.' and she said, 'did i not tell thee that she resembleth me and i her, and there is nought to distinguish between us but our clothes? go back to her.' so, of the heaviness of his wit, he believed her and turning back, went in to the trooper; but she had foregone him, and when he saw her beside her lover, he fell to looking on her and pondering. then he saluted her and she returned him the salutation; and when she spoke, he was bewildered. so the trooper said to him, 'what ails thee to be thus?' and he answered, 'this woman is my wife and the voice is her voice.' then he rose in haste and returning to his own house, saw his wife, who had foregone him by the secret passage. so he went back to the trooper's house and saw her sitting as before; whereupon he was abashed before her and sitting down in the trooper's sitting-chamber, ate and drank with him and became drunken and abode without sense all that day till nightfall, when the trooper arose and shaving off some of the fuller's hair (which was long and flowing) after the fashion of the turks, clipped the rest short and clapped a tarboush on his head. then he thrust his feet into boots and girt him with a sword and a girdle and bound about his middle a quiver and a bow and arrows. moreover, he put money in his pocket and thrust into his sleeve letters-patent addressed to the governor of ispahan, bidding him assign to rustem khemartekeni a monthly allowance of a hundred dirhems and ten pounds of bread and five pounds of meat and enrol him among the turks under his commandment. then he took him up and carrying him forth, left him in one of the mosques. the fuller gave not over sleeping till sunrise, when he awoke and finding himself in this plight, misdoubted of his affair and imagined that he was a turk and abode putting one foot forward and drawing the other back. then said he in himself, 'i will go to my dwelling, and if my wife know me, then am i ahmed the fuller; but, if she know me not, i am a turk.' so he betook himself to his house; but when the artful baggage his wife saw him, she cried out in his face, saying, 'whither away, o trooper? wilt thou break into the house of ahmed the fuller, and he a man of repute, having a brother-in-law a turk, a man of high standing with the sultan? an thou depart not, i will acquaint my husband and he will requite thee thy deed.' when he heard her words, the dregs of the drunkenness wrought in him and he imagined that he was indeed a turk. so he went out from her and putting his hand to his sleeve, found therein a scroll and gave it to one who read it to him. when he heard that which was written in the scroll, his mind was confirmed in the false supposition; but he said in himself, 'maybe my wife seeketh to put a cheat on me; so i will go to my fellows the fullers; and if they know me not, then am i for sure khemartekeni the turk.' so he betook himself to the fullers and when they espied him afar off, they thought that he was one of the turks, who used to wash their clothes with them without payment and give them nothing. now they had complained of them aforetime to the sultan, and he said, 'if any of the turks come to you, pelt them with stones.' so, when they saw the fuller, they fell upon him with sticks and stones and pelted him; whereupon quoth he [in himself], 'verily, i am a turk and knew it not.' then he took of the money in his pocket and bought him victual [for the journey] and hired a hackney and set out for ispahan, leaving his wife to the trooper. nor," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary than the story of the merchant and the old woman and the king." the vizier's story pleased king shah bekht and his heart clave to the story of the merchant and the old woman; so he bade er rehwan withdraw to his lodging, and he went away to his house and abode there the next day. the eight night of the month when the evening evened, the king sat in his privy chamber and bade fetch the vizier, who presented himself before him, and the king required of him the promised story. so the vizier answered, "with all my heart. know, o king, that story of the old woman, the merchant and the king. there was once in a city of khorassan a family of affluence and distinction, and the townsfolk used to envy them for that which god had vouchsafed them. as time went on, their fortune ceased from them and they passed away, till there remained of them but one old woman. when she grew feeble and decrepit, the townsfolk succoured her not with aught, but put her forth of the city, saying, 'this old woman shall not harbour with us, for that we do her kindness and she requiteth us with evil.' so she took shelter in a ruined place and strangers used to bestow alms upon her, and on this wise she abode a while of time. now the uncle's son of the king of the city had aforetime disputed [the kingship] with him, and the people misliked the king; but god the most high decreed that he should get the better of his cousin. however, jealousy of him abode in his heart and he acquainted the vizier, who hid it not and sent [him] money. moreover, he fell to summoning [all strangers who came to the town], man after man, and questioning them of their faith and their worldly estate, and whoso answered him not [to his liking], he took his good.[fn# ] now a certain wealthy man of the muslims was on a journey and it befell that he arrived at that city by night, unknowing what was to do, and coming to the ruin aforesaid, gave the old woman money and said to her, 'no harm upon thee.' whereupon she lifted up her voice and prayed [for him], he set down his merchandise by her [and abode with her] the rest of the night and the next day. now thieves had followed him, so they might rob him of his good, but availed not unto aught; wherefore he went up to the old woman and kissed her head and exceeded in munificence to her. then she [warned him of that which awaited strangers entering the town and] said to him, 'i like not this for thee and i fear mischief for thee from these questions that the vizier hath appointed for the confrontation of the ignorant.' and she expounded to him the case according to its fashion. then said she to him, 'but have no concern: only carry me with thee to thy lodging, and if he question thee of aught, whilst i am with thee, i will expound the answers to thee.' se he carried her with him to the city and established her in his lodging and entreated her kindly. presently, the vizier heard of the merchant's coming; so he sent to him and let bring him to his house and talked with him awhile of his travels and of that which he had abidden therein, and the merchant answered him thereof. then said the vizier, 'i will put certain questions to thee, which if thou answer me, it will be well [for thee].' and the merchant rose and made him no answer. quoth the vizier, 'what is the weight of the elephant?' the merchant was perplexed and returned him no answer and gave himself up for lost. then said he, 'grant me three days' time.' so the vizier granted him the delay he sought and he returned to his lodging and related what had passed to the old woman, who said, 'when the morrow cometh, go to the vizier and say to him, "make a ship and launch it on the sea and put in it an elephant, and when it sinketh in the water, [under the beast's weight], mark the place to which the water riseth. then take out the elephant and cast in stones in its place, till the ship sink to the mark aforesaid; whereupon do thou take out the stones and weigh them and thou wilt know the weight of the elephant"' so, when he arose in the morning, he repaired to the vizier and repeated to him that which the old woman had taught him; whereat the vizier marvelled and said to him, 'what sayst thou of a man, who seeth in his house four holes, and in each a viper offering to come out and kill him, and in his house are four staves and each hole may not be stopped but with the ends of two staves? how shall he stop all the holes and deliver himself from the vipers?' when the merchant heard this, there betided him [of concern] what made him forget the first and he said to the vizier, 'grant me time, so i may consider the answer.' 'go out,' replied the vizier, 'and bring me the answer, or i will seize thy good.' the merchant went out and returned to the old woman, who, seeing him changed of colour, said to him, 'what did he ask thee, [may god confound] his hoariness?' so he acquainted her with the case and she said to him, 'fear not; i will bring thee forth of this [strait].' quoth he, 'god requite thee with good!' and she said, 'to-morrow go to him with a stout heart and say, "the answer to that whereof thou askest me is that thou put the heads of two staves into one of the holes; then take the other two staves and lay them across the middle of the first two and stop with their heads the second hole and with their butts the fourth hole. then take the butts of the first two staves and stop with them the third hole."'[fn# ] so he repaired to the vizier and repeated to him the answer; and he marvelled at its justness and said to him, 'go; by allah, i will ask thee no more questions, for thou with thy skill marrest my foundation.'[fn# ] then he entreated him friendly and the merchant acquainted him with the affair of the old woman; whereupon quoth the vizier, 'needs must the man of understanding company with those of understanding.' thus did this weak woman restore to that man his life and good on the easiest wise. nor," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary than the story of the credulous husband." when the king heard this story, he said, "how like is this to our own case!" then he bade the vizier retire to his lodging; so he withdrew to his house and on the morrow he abode at home [till the king should summon him to his presence.] the ninth night of the month. when the night came, the king sat in his privy chamber and sending after the vizier, sought of him the promised story; and he said, "know, o august king, that story of the credulous husband there was once of old time a foolish, ignorant man, who had wealth galore, and his wife was a fair woman, who loved a handsome youth. the latter used to watch for her husband's absence and come to her, and on this wise he abode a long while. one day, as the woman was private with her lover, he said to her, 'o my lady and my beloved, if thou desire me and love me, give me possession of thyself and accomplish my need in thy husband's presence; else will i never again come to thee nor draw near thee, what while i abide on life.' now she loved him with an exceeding love and could not brook his separation an hour nor could endure to vex him; so, when she heard his words, she said to him, ['so be it,] in god's name, o my beloved and solace of mine eyes, may he not live who would vex thee!' quoth he, 'to-day?' and she said, 'yes, by thy life,' and appointed him of this. when her husband came home, she said to him, 'i desire to go a-pleasuring.' and he said, ' with all my heart.' so he went, till he came to a goodly place, abounding in vines and water, whither he carried her and pitched her a tent beside a great tree; and she betook herself to a place beside the tent and made her there an underground hiding-place, [in which she hid her lover]. then said she to her husband, 'i desire to mount this tree.' and he said, 'do so.' so she climbed up and when she came to the top of the tree, she cried out and buffeted her face, saying, 'lewd fellow that thou art, are these thy usages? thou sworest [fidelity to me] and liedst.' and she repeated her speech twice and thrice. then she came down from the tree and rent her clothes and said, 'o villain, if these be thy dealings with me before my eyes, how dost thou when thou art absent from me?' quoth he, 'what aileth thee?' and she said, 'i saw thee swive the woman before my very eyes.' 'not so, by allah!' cried he. 'but hold thy peace till i go up and see.' so he climbed the tree and no sooner did he begin to do so than up came the lover [from his hiding-place] and taking the woman by the legs, [fell to swiving her]. when the husband came to the top of the tree, he looked and beheld a man swiving his wife. so he said, 'o strumpet, what doings are these?' and he made haste to come down from the tree to the ground; [but meanwhile the lover had returned to his hiding- place] and his wife said to him, 'what sawest thou?' 'i saw a man swive thee,' answered he; and she said, 'thou liest; thou sawest nought and sayst this but of conjecture.' on this wise they did three times, and every time [he climbed the tree] the lover came up out of the underground place and bestrode her, whilst her husband looked on and she still said, 'o liar, seest thou aught?' 'yes,' would he answer and came down in haste, but saw no one and she said to him, 'by my life, look and say nought but the truth!' then said he to her, 'arise, let us depart this place,[fn# ] for it is full of jinn and marids.' [so they returned to their house] and passed the night [there] and the man arose in the morning, assured that this was all but imagination and illusion. and so the lover accomplished his desire.[fn# ] nor, o king of the age," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary than the story of the king and the tither." when the king heard this from the vizier, he bade him go away [and he withdrew to his house]. the tenth night of the month. when it was eventide, the king summoned the vizier and sought of him the story of the king and the tither, and he said, "know, o king, that story of the unjust king and the tither. there was once a king of the kings of the earth, who dwelt in a populous[fn# ] city, abounding in good; but he oppressed its people and used them foully, so that he ruined[fn# ] the city; and he was named none other than tyrant and misdoer. now he was wont, whenas he heard of a masterful man[fn# ] in another land, to send after him and tempt him with money to take service with him; and there was a certain tither, who exceeded all his brethren in oppression of the people and foulness of dealing. so the king sent after him and when he stood before him, he found him a mighty man[fn# ] and said to him, 'thou hast been praised to me, but meseemeth thou overpassest the description. set out to me somewhat of thy sayings and doings, so i may be dispensed therewith from [enquiring into] all thy circumstance.' 'with all my heart,' answered the other. 'know, o king, that i oppress the folk and people[fn# ] the land, whilst other than i wasteth[fn# ] it and peopleth it not.' now the king was leaning back; so he sat up and said, 'tell me of this.' 'it is well,' answered the tither. 'i go to the man whom i purpose to tithe and circumvent him and feign to be occupied with certain business, so that i seclude myself therewith from the folk; and meanwhile the man is squeezed after the foulest fashion, till nothing is left him. then i appear and they come in to me and questions befall concerning him and i say, "indeed, i was ordered worse than this, for some one (may god curse him!) hath slandered him to the king." then i take half of his good and return him the rest publicly before the folk and send him away to his house, in all honour and worship, and he causeth the money returned to be carried before him, whilst he and all who are with him call down blessings on me. so is it published in the city that i have returned him his money and he himself saith the like, so he may have a claim on me for the favour due to whoso praiseth me. then i feign to forget him till some time[fn# ] hath passed over him, when i send for him and recall to him somewhat of that which hath befallen aforetime and demand [of him] somewhat privily. so he doth this and hasteneth to his dwelling and sendeth what i bid him, with a glad heart. then i send to another man, between whom and the other is enmity, and lay hands upon him and feign to the first man that it is he who hath traduced him to the king and taken the half of his good; and the people praise me.'[fn# ] the king marvelled at this and at his dealing and contrivance and invested him with [the control of] all his affairs and of his kingdom and the land abode [under his governance] and he said to him, 'take and people.'[fn# ] one day, the tither went out and saw an old man, a woodcutter, and with him wood; so he said to him, 'pay a dirhem tithe for thy load.' quoth the old man, 'behold, thou killest me and killest my family.' 'what [meanest thou]?' said the tither. 'who killeth the folk?' and the other answered, 'if thou suffer me enter the city, i shall sell the wood there for three dirhems, whereof i will give thee one and buy with the other two what will support my family; but, if thou press me for the tithe without the city, the load will sell but for one dirhem and thou wilt take it and i shall abide without food, i and my family. indeed, thou and i in this circumstance are like unto david and solomon, on whom be peace!' ['how so?' asked the tither, and the woodcutter said], 'know that story of david and solomon. certain husbandmen once made complaint to david (on whom be peace!) against certain owners of sheep, whose flocks had fallen upon their crops by night and devoured them, and he bade value the crops [and that the shepherds should make good the amount]. but solomon (on whom be peace!) rose and said, "nay, but let the sheep be delivered to the husbandmen, so they may take their milk and wool, till they have repaid themselves the value of their crops; then let the sheep return to their owners." so david withdrew his own ordinance and caused execute that of solomon; yet was david no oppressor; but solomon's judgment was more pertinent and he showed himself therein better versed in jurisprudence.'[fn# ] when the tither heard the old man's speech, he relented towards him and said to him, 'o old man, i make thee a present of that which is due from thee, and do thou cleave to me and leave me not, so haply i may get of thee profit that shall do away from me my errors and guide me into the way of righteousness.' so the old man followed him, and there met him another with a load of wood. quoth the tither to him, 'pay what is due from thee.' and he answered, 'have patience with me till to-morrow, for i owe the hire of a house, and i will sell another load of wood and pay thee two days' tithe.' but he refused him this and the old man said to him, 'if thou constrain him unto this, thou wilt enforce him quit thy country, for that he is a stranger here and hath no domicile; and if he remove on account of one dirhem, thou wilt lose [of him] three hundred and threescore dirhems a year. thus wilt thou lose the much in keeping the little.' quoth the tither, 'i give him a dirhem every month to the hire of his lodging.' then he went on and presently there met him a third woodcutter and he said to him, 'pay what is due from thee.' and he answered, 'i will pay thee a dirhem when i enter the city; or take of me four danics[fn# ] [now].' quoth the tither, 'i will not do it,' but the old man said to him, 'take of him the four danics presently, for it is easy to take and hard to restore.' 'by allah,' quoth the tither, 'it is good!' and he arose and went on, crying out, at the top of his voice and saying, 'i have no power to-day [to do evil].' then he put off his clothes and went forth wandering at a venture, repenting unto his lord. nor," added the vizier, "is this story more extraordinary than that of the thief who believed the woman and sought refuge with god against falling in with her like, by reason of her cunning contrivance for herself." when the king heard this, he said in himself, "since the tither repented, in consequence of the admonitions [of the woodcutter], it behoves that i spare this vizier, so i may hear the story of the thief and the woman." and he bade er rehwan withdraw to his lodging. the eleventh night of the month. when the evening came and the king sat in his privy chamber, he summoned the vizier and required of him the story of the thief and the woman. quoth the vizier, "know, o king, that story of the thief and the woman. a certain thief was a [cunning] workman and used not to steal aught, till he had spent all that was with him; moreover, he stole not from his neighbours, neither companied with any of the thieves, lest some one should come to know him and his case get wind. on this wise he abode a great while, in flourishing case, and his secret was concealed, till god the most high decreed that he broke in upon a poor man, deeming that he was rich. when he entered the house, he found nought, whereat he was wroth, and necessity prompted him to wake the man, who was asleep with his wife. so he aroused him and said to him, 'show me thy treasure.' now he had no treasure; but the thief believed him not and insisted upon him with threats and blows. when he saw that he got no profit of him, he said to him, 'swear by the oath of divorce from thy wife[fn# ] [that thou hast nothing].' so he swore and his wife said to him, 'out on thee! wilt thou divorce me? is not the treasure buried in yonder chamber?' then she turned to the thief and conjured him to multiply blows upon her husband, till he should deliver to him the treasure, concerning which he had sworn falsely. so he drubbed him grievously, till he carried him to a certain chamber, wherein she signed to him that the treasure was and that he should take it up. so the thief entered, he and the husband; and when they were both in the chamber, she locked on them the door, which was a stout one, and said to the thief, 'out on thee, o fool! thou hast fallen [into the trap] and now i have but to cry out and the officers of the police will come and take thee and thou wilt lose thy life, o satan!' quoth he, 'let me go forth;' and she said, 'thou art a man and i am a woman; and in thy hand is a knife and i am afraid of thee.' quoth he, 'take the knife from me.' so she took the knife from him and said to her husband, 'art thou a woman and he a man? mar his nape with beating, even as he did with thee; and if he put out his hand to thee, i will cry out and the police will come and take him and cut him in sunder.' so the husband said to him, 'o thousand-horned,[fn# ] o dog, o traitor, i owe thee a deposit,[fn# ] for which thou dunnest me.' and he fell to beating him grievously with a stick of live-oak, whilst he called out to the woman for help and besought her of deliverance; but she said, 'abide in thy place till the morning, and thou shalt see wonders.' and her husband beat him within the chamber, till he [well- nigh] made an end of him and he swooned away. then he left beating him and when the thief came to himself, the woman said to her husband, 'o man, this house is on hire and we owe its owners much money, and we have nought; so how wilt thou do?' and she went on to bespeak him thus. quoth the thief, 'and what is the amount of the rent?' 'it will be fourscore dirhems,' answered the husband; and the thief said, 'i will pay this for thee and do thou let me go my way.' then said the wife, 'o man, how much do we owe the baker and the greengrocer?' quoth the thief, 'what is the sum of this?' and the husband said, 'sixscore dirhems.' 'that makes two hundred dirhems,' rejoined the other; 'let me go my way and i will pay them.' but the wife said, 'o my dear one, and the girl groweth up and needs must we marry her and equip her and [do] what else is needful' so the thief said to the husband, 'how much dost thou want?' and he answered, 'a hundred dirhems, in the way of moderation.'[fn# ] quoth the thief, 'that makes three hundred dirhems.' and the woman said, 'o my dear one, when the girl is married, thou wilt need money for winter expenses, charcoal and firewood and other necessaries.' 'what wouldst thou have?' asked the thief; and she said, 'a hundred dirhems.' 'be it four hundred dirhems,' rejoined he; and she said, 'o my dear one and solace of mine eyes, needs must my husband have capital in hand, wherewith he may buy merchandise and open him a shop.' 'how much will that be?' asked he, and she said, 'a hundred dirhems.' quoth the thief, '[that makes five hundred dirhems; i will pay it;] but may i be divorced from my wife if all my possessions amount to more than this, and that the savings of twenty years! let me go my way, so i may deliver them to thee.' 'o fool,' answered she, 'how shall i let thee go thy way? give me a right token.' [so he gave her a token for his wife] and she cried out to her young daughter and said to her, 'keep this door.' then she charged her husband keep watch over the thief, till she should return, and repairing to his wife, acquainted her with his case and told her that her husband the thief had been taken and had compounded for his release, at the price of seven hundred dirhems, and named to her the token. so she gave her the money and she took it and returned to her house. by this time, the dawn had broken; so she let the thief go his way, and when he went out, she said to him, 'o my dear one, when shall i see thee come and take the treasure?' 'o indebted one,' answered he, 'when thou needest other seven hundred dirhems, wherewithal to amend thy case and that of thy children and to discharge thy debts.' and he went out, hardly believing in his deliverance from her. nor," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary than the story of the three men and our lord jesus." and the king bade him depart to his own house. the twelfth night of the month. when it was eventide, the king summoned the vizier and bade him tell the [promised] story, "hearkening and obedience," answered he. "know, o king, that story of the three men and our lord jesus. three men once went out in quest of riches and came upon a block of gold, weighing a hundred pounds. when they saw it, they took it up on their shoulders and fared on with it, till they drew near a certain city, when one of them said, 'let us sit in the mosque, whilst one of us goes and buys us what we may eat." so they sat down in the mosque and one of them arose and entered the city. when he came therein, his soul prompted him to play his fellows false and get the gold for himself alone. so he bought food and poisoned it; but, when he returned to his comrades, they fell upon him and slew him, so they might enjoy the gold without him. then they ate of the [poisoned] food and died, and the gold abode cast down over against them. presently, jesus, son of mary (on whom be peace!) passed by and seeing this, besought god the most high for tidings of their case; so he told him what had betided them, whereat great was his wonderment and he related to his disciples what he had seen. quoth one of them, 'o spirit of god,[fn# ] nought resembleth this but my own story.' 'how so?' asked jesus, and the other said, the disciple's story. 'i was aforetime in such a city and hid a thousand dirhems in a monastery there. after awhile, i went thither and taking the money, bound it about my middle. [then i set out to return] and when i came to the desert, the carrying of the money was burdensome to me. presently, i espied a horseman pricking after me; so i [waited till he came up and] said to him, "o horseman, carry this money [for me] and earn reward and recompense [from god]." "nay," answered he; "i will not do it, for i should weary myself and weary my horse." then he went on, but, before he had gone far, he said in himself, "if i take up the money and spur my horse and forego him, how shall he overtake me?" and i also said in myself, "verily, i erred [in asking him to carry the money]; for, had he taken it and made off, i could have done nought." then he turned back to me and said to me, "hand over the money, that i may carry it for thee." but i answered him, saying, "that which hath occurred to thy mind hath occurred to mine also; so go in peace."' quoth jesus (on whom be peace!), 'had these dealt prudently, they had taken thought for themselves; but they neglected the issues of events; for that whoso acteth prudently is safe and conquereth,[fn# ] and whoso neglecteth precaution perisheth and repenteth.' nor," added the vizier," is this more extraordinary nor goodlier than the story of the king, whose kingdom was restored to him and his wealth, after he had become poor, possessing not a single dirhem." when the king heard this, he said in himself "how like is this to my own story in the matter of the vizier and his slaughter! had i not used precaution, i had put him to death." and he bade er rehwan depart to his own house. the thirteenth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king sent for the vizier to his privy sitting chamber and bade him [tell] the [promised] story. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. they avouch, o king, that story of the dethroned king whose kingdom and good were restored to him. there was once, in a city of hind, a just and beneficent king, and he had a vizier, a man of understanding, just in his judgment, praiseworthy in his policy, in whose hand was the governance of all the affairs of the realm; for he was firmly stablished in the king's favour and high in esteem with the folk of his time, and the king set great store by him and committed himself to him in all his affairs, by reason of his contrivance for his subjects, and he had helpers[fn# ] who were content with him. now the king had a brother, who envied him and would fain have been in his place; and when he was weary of looking for his death and the term of his life seemed distant unto him, he took counsel with certain of his partisans and they said, 'the vizier is the king's counsellor and but for him, there would be left the king no kingdom.' so the king's brother cast about for the ruin of the vizier, but could find no means of accomplishing his design; and when the affair grew long upon him, he said to his wife, 'what deemest thou will advantage us in this?' quoth she, 'what is it?' and he replied, 'i mean in the matter of yonder vizier, who inciteth my brother to devoutness with all his might and biddeth him thereto, and indeed the king is infatuated with his counsel and committeth to him the governance of all things and matters.' quoth she, 'thou sayst truly; but how shall we do with him?' and he answered, 'i have a device, so thou wilt help me in that which i shall say to thee.' quoth she, 'thou shall have my help in whatsoever thou desirest.' and he said, 'i mean to dig him a pit in the vestibule and dissemble it artfully.' so he did this, and when it was night, he covered the pit with a light covering, so that, whenas the vizier stepped upon it, it would give way with him. then he sent to him and summoned him to the presence in the king's name, and the messenger bade him enter by the privy door. so he entered in thereat, alone, and when he stepped upon the covering of the pit, it gave way with him and he fell to the bottom; whereupon the king's brother fell to pelting him with stones. when the vizier saw what had betided him, he gave himself up for lost; so he stirred not and lay still. the prince, seeing him make no motion, [deemed him dead]; so he took him forth and wrapping him up in his clothes, cast him into the billows of the sea in the middle of the night. when the vizier felt the water, he awoke from the swoon and swam awhile, till a ship passed by him, whereupon he cried out to the sailors and they took him up. when the morning morrowed, the people went seeking for him, but found him not; and when the king knew this, he was perplexed concerning his affair and abode unknowing what he should do. then he sought for a vizier to fill his room, and the king's brother said, 'i have a vizier, a sufficient man.' 'bring him to me,' said the king. so he brought him a man, whom he set at the head of affairs; but he seized upon the kingdom and clapped the king in irons and made his brother king in his stead. the new king gave himself up to all manner of wickedness, whereat the folk murmured and his vizier said to him, 'i fear lest the indians take the old king and restore him to the kingship and we both perish; wherefore, if we take him and cast him into the sea, we shall be at rest from him; and we will publish among the folk that he is dead.' and they agreed upon this. so they took him up and carrying him out to sea, cast him in. when he felt the water, he struck out, and gave not over swimming till he landed upon an island, where he abode five days, finding nothing which he might eat or drink; but, on the sixth day, when he despaired of himself, he caught sight of a passing ship; so he made signals to the crew and they came and took him up and fared on with him to an inhabited country, where they set him ashore, naked as he was. there he saw a man tilling; so he sought guidance of him and the husbandman said, 'art thou a stranger?' 'yes,' answered the king and sat with him and they talked. the husbandman found him quickwitted and intelligent and said to him, 'if thou sawest a comrade of mine, thou wouldst see him the like of what i see thee, for his case is even as thy case, and he is presently my friend.' quoth the king, 'verily, thou makest me long to see him. canst thou not bring us together?' 'with all my heart,' answered the husbandman, and the king sat with him till he had made an end of his tillage, when he carried him to his dwelling-place and brought him in company with the other stranger, aud behold, it was his vizier. when they saw each other, they wept and embraced, and the husbandman wept for their weeping; but the king concealed their affair and said to him, 'this is a man from my country and he is as my brother.' so they abode with the husbandman and helped him for a wage, wherewith they supported themselves a long while. meanwhile, they sought news of their country and learned that which its people suffered of straitness and oppression. one day, there came a ship and in it a merchant from their own country, who knew them and rejoiced in them with an exceeding joy and clad them in goodly apparel. moreover, he acquainted them with the manner of the treachery that had been practised upon them and counselled them to return to their own land, they and he with whom they had made friends,[fn# ] assuring them that god the most high would restore them to their former estate. so the king returned and the folk joined themselves to him and he fell upon his brother and his vizier and took them and clapped them in prison. then he sat down again upon the throne of his kingship, whilst the vizier stood before him, and they returned to their former estate, but they had nought of the [goods of the world]. so the king said to his vizier, 'how shall we avail to abide in this city, and we in this state of poverty?' and he answered, 'be at thine ease and have no concern.' then he singled out one of the soldiers[fn# ] and said to him, 'send us thy service[fn# ] for the year.' now there were in the city fifty thousand subjects[fn# ] and in the hamlets and villages a like number; and the vizier sent to each of these, saying, 'let each of you get an egg and lay it under a hen.' so they did this and it was neither burden nor grievance to them. when twenty days had passed by, each [egg] was hatched, and the vizier bade them pair the chickens, male and female, and rear them well. so they did this and it was found a charge unto no one. then they waited for them awhile and after this the vizier enquired of the chickens and was told that they were become fowls. moreover, they brought him all their eggs and he bade set them; and after twenty days there were hatched from each [pair] of them thirty or five-and-twenty or fifteen [chickens] at the least. the vizier let note against each man the number of chickens that pertained to him, and after two months, he took the old hens and the cockerels, and there came to him from each man nigh half a score, and he left the [young] hens with them. on like wise he sent to the country folk and let the cocks abide with them. so he got him young ones [galore] and appropriated to himself the sale of the fowls, and on this wise he got him, in the course of a year, that which the regal estate required of the king and his affairs were set right for him by the vizier's contrivance. and he peopled[fn# ] the country and dealt justly by his subjects and returned to them all that he took from them and lived a happy and prosperous life. thus good judgment and prudence are better than wealth, for that understanding profiteth at all times and seasons. nor," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary than the story of the man whose caution slew him." when the king heard his vizier's words, he marvelled with the utmost wonderment and bade him retire to his lodging. [so er rehwan withdrew to his house and abode there till eventide of the next day, when he again presented himself before the king.] the fourteenth night of the month. when the vizier returned to the king, the latter sought of him the story of the man whose caution slew him and be said, "know, o august king, that story of the man whose caution was the cause of his death. there was once a man who was exceeding cautious over himself, and he set out one day on a journey to a land abounding in wild beasts. the caravan wherein he was came by night to the gate of a city; but the warders refused to open to them; so they passed the night without the city, and there were lions there. the man aforesaid, of the excess of his caution, could not fix upon a place wherein he should pass the night, for fear of the wild beasts and reptiles; so he went about seeking an empty place wherein he might lie. now there was a ruined building hard by and he climbed up on to a high wall and gave not over clambering hither and thither, of the excess of his carefulness, till his feet betrayed him and he slipped [and fell] to the bottom and died, whilst his companions arose in the morning in health [and weal]. now, if he had overmastered his corrupt[fn# ] judgment and submitted himself to fate and fortune fore-ordained, it had been safer and better [for him]; but he made light of the folk and belittled their wit and was not content to take example by them; for his soul whispered him that he was a man of understanding and he imagined that, if he abode with them, he would perish; so his folly cast him into perdition. nor," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary than the story of the man who was lavish of his house and his victual to one whom he knew not" when the king heard this, he said, "i will not isolate myself from the folk and slay my vizier." and he bade him depart to his dwelling. the fifteenth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king let fetch the vizier and required of him the [promised] story. so he said, "know, o king, that story of the man who was lavish of his house and his victual to one whom he knew not. there was once an arab of [high] rank and [goodly] presence, a man of exalted generosity and magnanimity, and he had brethren, with whom he consorted and caroused, and they were wont to assemble by turns in each other's houses. when it came to his turn, he made ready in his house all manner goodly and pleasant meats and dainty drinks and exceeding lovely flowers and excellent fruits, and made provision of all kinds of instruments of music and store of rare apothegms and marvellous stories and goodly instances and histories and witty anedotes and verses and what not else, for there was none among those with whom he was used to company but enjoyed this on every goodly wise, and in the entertainment he had provided was all whereof each had need. then he sallied forth and went round about the city, in quest of his friends, so he might assemble them; but found none of them in his house. now in that town was a man of good breeding and large generosity, a merchant of condition, young of years and bright of face, who had come to that town from his own country with great store of merchandise and wealth galore. he took up his abode therein and the place was pleasant to him and he was lavish in expenditure, so that he came to the end of all his good and there remained with him nothing save that which was upon him of raiment. so he left the lodging wherein he had abidden in the days of his affluence, after he had wasted[fn# ] that which was therein of furniture, and fell to harbouring in the houses of the townsfolk from night to night. one day, as he went wandering about the streets, he espied a woman of the utmost beauty and grace, and what he saw of her charms amazed him and there betided him what made him forget his present plight. she accosted him and jested with him and he besought her of foregathering and companionship. she consented to this and said to him, 'let us go to thy lodging.' with this he repented and was perplexed concerning his affair and grieved for that which must escape him of her company by reason of the straitness of his hand,[fn# ] for that he had no jot of spending money. but he was ashamed to say, 'no,' after he had made suit to her; so he went on before her, bethinking him how he should rid himself of her and casting about for an excuse which he might put off on her, and gave not over going from street to street, till he entered one that had no issue and saw, at the farther end, a door, whereon was a padlock. so he said to her, 'do thou excuse me, for my servant hath locked the door, and who shall open to us?' quoth she, 'o my lord, the padlock is worth [but] half a score dirhems.' so saying, she tucked up [her sleeves] from fore-arms as they were crystal and taking a stone, smote upon the padlock and broke it. then she opened the door and said to him, 'enter, o my lord.' so he entered, committing his affair to god, (to whom belong might and majesty,) and she entered after him and locked the door from within. they found themselves in a pleasant house, comprising all[fn# ] weal and gladness; and the young man went on, till he came to the sitting-chamber, and behold, it was furnished with the finest of furniture [and arrayed on the goodliest wise for the reception of guests,] as hath before been set out, [for that it was the house of the man aforesaid]. he [seated himself on the divan and] leant upon a cushion, whilst she put out her hand to her veil and did it off. then she put off her heavy outer clothes and discovered her charms, whereupon he embraced her and kissed her and swived her; after which they washed and returned to their place and he said to her, 'know that i have little knowledge [of what goes on] in my house, for that i trust to my servant; so arise thou and see what the boy hath made ready in the kitchen.' accordingly, she arose and going down into the kitchen, saw cooking pots over the fire, wherein were all manner of dainty meats, and manchet-bread and fresh almond-and-honey cakes. so she set bread on a dish and ladled out [what she would] from the pots and brought it to him. they ate and drank and sported and made merry awhile of the day; and as they were thus engaged, up came the master of the house, with his friends, whom he had brought with him, that they might carouse together, as of wont. he saw the door opened and knocked lightly, saying to his friends, 'have patience with me, for some of my family are come to visit me; wherefore excuse belongeth [first] to god the most high, and then to you.'[fn# ] so they took leave of him and went their ways, whilst he gave another light knock at the door. when the young man heard this, he changed colour and the woman said to him, 'methinks thy servant hath returned.' 'yes,' answered he; and she arose and opening the door to the master of the house, said to him, 'where hast thou been? indeed, thy master is wroth with thee.' 'o my lady,' answered he, 'i have but been about his occasions.' then he girt his middle with a handkerchief and entering, saluted the young merchant, who said to him, 'where hast thou been?' quoth he, 'i have done thine errands;' and the youth said, 'go and eat and come hither and drink.' so he went away, as he bade him, and ate. then he washed and returning to the saloon, sat down on the carpet and fell to talking with them; whereupon the young merchant's heart was comforted and his breast dilated and he addressed himself to joyance. they abode in the most delightsome life and the most abounding pleasance till a third part of the night was past, when the master of the house arose and spreading them a bed, invited them to lie down. so they lay down and the youth abode on wake, pondering their affair, till daybreak, when the woman awoke and said to her companion, 'i wish to go.' so he bade her farewell and she departed; whereupon the master of the house followed her with a purse of money and gave it to her, saying, 'blame not my master,' and made his excuse to her for the young merchant. then he returned to the youth and said to him, 'arise and come to the bath.' and he fell to shampooing his hands and feet, whilst the youth called down blessings on him and said, 'o my lord, who art thou? methinks there is not in the world the like of thee, no, nor a pleasanter than thy composition.' then each of them acquainted the other with his case and condition and they went to the bath; after which the master of the house conjured the young merchant to return with him and summoned his friends. so they ate and drank and he related to them the story, wherefore they praised the master of the house and glorified him; and their friendship was complete, what while the young merchant abode in the town, till god vouchsafed him a commodity of travel, whereupon they took leave of him and he departed; and this is the end of his story. nor," added the vizier, "o king of the age, is this more marvellous than the story of the rich man who lost his wealth and his wit." when the king heard the vizier's story, it pleased him and he bade him go to his house. the sixteenth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king sat in his sitting- chamber and sending for his vizier, bade him relate the story of the wealthy man who lost his wealth and his wit. so he said, "know, o king, that story of the idiot and the sharper. there was once a man of fortune, who lost his wealth, and chagrin and melancholy got the mastery of him, so that he became an idiot and lost his wit. there abode with him of his wealth about a score of dinars and he used to beg alms of the folk, and that which they gave him he would gather together and lay to the dinars that were left him. now there was in that town a vagabond, who made his living by sharping, and he knew that the idiot had somewhat of money; so he fell to spying upon him and gave not over watching him till he saw him put in an earthen pot that which he had with him of money and enter a deserted ruin, where he sat down, [as if] to make water, and dug a hole, in which he laid the pot and covering it up, strewed earth upon the place. then he went away and the sharper came and taking what was in the pot, covered it up again, as it was. presently, the idiot returned, with somewhat to add to his hoard, but found it not; so he bethought him who had followed him and remembered that he had found the sharper aforesaid assiduous in sitting with him and questioning him. so he went in quest of him, assured that he had taken the pot, and gave not over looking for him till he espied him sitting; whereupon he ran to him and the sharper saw him. [then the idiot stood within earshot] and muttered to himself and said, 'in the pot are threescore dinars and i have with me other score in such a place and to-day i will unite the whole in the pot.' when the sharper heard him say this to himself, muttering and mumbling after his fashion, he repented him of having taken the dinars and said, 'he will presently return to the pot and find it empty; wherefore that[fn# ] for which i am on the look-out will escape me; and meseemeth i were best restore the dinars [to their place], so he may see them and leave all that is with him in the pot, and i can take the whole.' now he feared [to return to the pot then and there], lest the idiot should follow him to the place and find nothing and so his plan be marred. so he said to him, 'o ajlan,[fn# ] i would have thee come to my lodging and eat bread with me." so the idiot went with him to his lodging and he seated him there and going to the market, sold somewhat of his clothes and pawned somewhat from his house and bought dainty food. then he betook himself to the ruin and replacing the money in the pot, buried it again; after which he returned to his lodging and gave the idiot to eat and drink, and they went out together. the sharper went away and hid himself, lest the idiot should see him, whilst the latter repaired to his hiding- place and took the pot presently, the sharper came to the ruin, rejoicing in that which he deemed he should get, and dug in the place, but found nothing and knew that the idiot had tricked him. so he buffeted his face, for chagrin, and fell to following the other whithersoever he went, so he might get what was with him, but availed not unto this, for that the idiot knew what was in his mind and was certified that he spied upon him, [with intent to rob him]; so he kept watch over himself. now, if the sharper had considered [the consequences of] haste and that which is begotten of loss therefrom, he had not done thus. nor," continued the vizier, "is this story, o king of the age, rarer or more extraordinary or more diverting than the story of khelbes and his wife and the learned man and that which befell between them." when the king heard this story, he renounced his purpose of putting the vizier to death and his soul prompted him to continue him on life. so he bade him go away to his house. the seventeenth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king summoned the vizier, and when he presented himself, he required of him the [promised] story. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. know, o august king, that story of khelbes and his wife and the learned man. there was once a man hight khelbes, who was a lewd fellow, a calamity, notorious for this fashion, and he had a fair wife, renowned for beauty and loveliness. a man of his townsfolk fell in love with her and she also loved him. now khelbes was a crafty fellow and full of tricks, and there was in his neighbourhood a learned man, to whom the folk used to resort every day and he told them stories and admonished them [with moral instances]; and khelbes was wont to be present in his assembly, for the sake of making a show before the folk. now this learned man had a wife renowned for beauty and loveliness and quickness of wit and understanding and the lover cast about for a device whereby he might win to khelbes's wife; so he came to him and told him, as a secret, what he had seen of the learned man's wife and confided to him that he was enamoured of her and besought him of help in this. khelbes told him that she was distinguished to the utterest for chastity and continence and that she exposed herself not to suspicion; but the other said, 'i cannot renounce her, [firstly,] because the woman inclineth to me and coveteth my wealth, and secondly, because of the greatness of my love for her; and nothing is wanting but thy help.' quoth khelbes, 'i will do thy will;' and the other said, 'thou shalt have of me two dirhems a day, on condition that thou sit with the learned man and that, when he riseth from the assembly, thou speak a word notifying the breaking up of the session.' so they agreed upon this and khelbes entered and sat in the assembly, whilst the lover was assured in his heart that the secret was safe with him, wherefore he rejoiced and was content to pay the two dirhems. then khelbes used to attend the learned man's assembly, whilst the other would go in to his wife and abide with her, on such wise as he thought good, till the learned man arose from his session; and when khelbes saw that he purposed rising, he would speak a word for the lover to hear, whereupon he went forth from khelbes's wife, and the latter knew not that calamity was in his own house. at last the learned man, seeing khelbes do on this wise every day, began to misdoubt of him, more by token of that which he knew of his character, and suspicion grew upon him; so, one day, he advanced the time of his rising before the wonted hour and hastening up to khelbes, laid hold of him and said to him, 'by allah, an thou speak a single syllable, i will do thee a mischief!' then he went in to his wife, with khelbes in his grasp, and behold, she was sitting, as of her wont, nor was there about her aught of suspicious or unseemly. the learned man bethought him awhile of this, then made for khelbes's house, which adjoined his own, still holding the latter; and when they entered, they found the young man lying on the bed with khelbes's wife; whereupon quoth he to him, 'o accursed one, the calamity is with thee and in thine own house!' so khelbes put away his wife and went forth, fleeing, and returned not to his own land. this, then," continued the vizier, "is the consequence of lewdness, for whoso purposeth in himself craft and perfidy, they get possession of him, and had khelbes conceived of himself that[fn# ] which he conceived of the folk of dishonour and calamity, there had betided him nothing of this. nor is this story, rare and extraordinary though it be, more extraordinary or rarer than that of the pious woman whose husband's brother accused her of lewdness." when the king heard this, wonderment gat hold of him and his admiration for the vizier redoubled; so he bade him go to his house and return to him [on the morrow], according to his wont. accordingly, the vizier withdrew to his lodging, where he passed the night and the ensuing day. end of vol. i. tales from the arabic, volume endnotes [fn# ] breslau text, vol. iv. pp. - , nights cclxxii.-ccxci. this is the story familiar to readers of the old "arabian nights" as "abon hassan, or the sleeper awakened" and is the only one of the eleven tales added by galland to his version of the (incomplete) ms. of the book of the thousand nights and one night procured by him from syria, the arabic original of which has yet been discovered. (see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. ix. pp. et seq.) the above title is of course intended to mark the contrast between the everyday (or waking) hours of aboulhusn and his fantastic life in the khalif's palace, supposed by him to have passed in a dream, and may also be rendered "the sleeper and the waker." [fn# ] i.e. the wag. [fn# ] always noted for debauchery. [fn# ] i.e. the part he had taken for spending money. [fn# ] i.e. "those," a characteristic arab idiom. [fn# ] lit. draw thee near (to them). [fn# ] i.e. that over the tigris. [fn# ] "platter bread," i.e. bread baked in a platter, instead of, as usual with the arabs, in an oven or earthen jar previously heated, to the sides of which the thin cakes of dough are applied, "is lighter than oven bread, especially if it be made thin and leavened."--shecouri, a medical writer quoted by dozy. [fn# ] or cooking-pots. [fn# ] or fats for frying. [fn# ] or clarified. [fn# ] taam, lit. food, the name given by the inhabitants of northern africa to the preparation of millet-flour (something like semolina) called kouskoussou, which forms the staple food of the people. [fn# ] or "in peace." [fn# ] eastern peoples attach great importance, for good or evil omen, to the first person met or the first thing that happens in the day. [fn# ] or "attributed as sin." [fn# ] a common eastern substitute for soap. [fn# ] this common formula of assent is an abbreviation of "hearkening and obedience are due to god and to the commander of the faithful" or other the person addressed. [fn# ] dar es selam, one of the seven "gardens" into which the mohammedan paradise is divided. [fn# ] i.e. a mattrass eighteen inches thick. [fn# ] complimentary form of address to eunuchs, generally used by inferiors only. [fn# ] the morning-prayer consists of four inclinations (rekäat) only. a certain fixed succession of prayers and acts of adoration is called a rekah (sing, of rekäat) from the inclination of the body that occurs in it. [fn# ] i.e. the terminal formula of prayer, "peace be on us and on all the righteous servants of god!" [fn# ] i.e. said "i purpose to make an end of prayer." [fn# ] or "linen." [fn# ] a well-known poet of the time. [fn# ] i.e. ibrahim of mosul, the greatest musician of his day. [fn# ] i.e., doughty men of war, guards. [fn# ] the abbaside khalifs traced their descent from abbas, the uncle of mohammed, and considered themselves, therefore, as belonging to the family of the prophet. [fn# ] i.e. may thy dwelling-place never fall into ruin. [fn# ] i.e. the raised recess situate at the upper end of an oriental saloon, wherein is the place of honour. [fn# ] ie, the necromancers. [fn# ] lit. i have not found that thou hast a heel blessed (or propitious) to me. [fn# ] i.e. o thou who art a calamity to those who have to do with thee! [fn# ] abou nuwas ibn hani, the greatest poet of the time. [fn# ] as a charm against evil spirits. [fn# ] i.e. the vein said to have been peculiar to the descendants of hashim, grandfather of abbas and great-grandson of mohammed, and to have started out between their eyes in moments of anger. [fn# ] lit. that i may do upon her sinister deeds. [fn# ] "the pitcher comes not always back unbroken from the well."--english proverb. [fn# ] i.e. of sorrow for his loss. [fn# ] i.e. of grief for her loss. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. vl. pp. - , nights ccccxxxii-ccccxxxiv. [fn# ] the eighth khalif (a.d. - ) of the house of umeyyeh and the best and most single-hearted of all the khalifs, with the exception of the second, omar ben khettab, from whom he was descended. [fn# ] a celebrated statesman of the time, afterwards governor of cuia* and bassora under omar ben abdulaziz. [fn# ] the most renowned poet of the first century of the hegira. he is said to have been equally skilled in all styles of composition grave and gay. [fn# ] or eternal. [fn# ] or "in him." [fn# ] chief of the tribe of the benou suleim. et teberi tells this story in a different way. according to him, abbas ben mirdas (who was a well-known poet), being dissatisfied with the portion of booty allotted to him by the prophet, refused it and composed a lampoon against mohammed, who said to ali, "cut off this tongue which attacketh me," i.e. "silence him by giving what will satisfy him," whereupon ali doubled the covetous chief's share. [fn# ] bilal ibn rebeh was the prophet's freedman and crier. the word bilal signifies "moisture" or (metonymically) "beneficence" and it may well be in this sense (and not as a man's name) that it is used in the text. [fn# ] said to have been the best poet ever produced by the tribe of cureish. his introduction here is an anachronism, as he died a.d. , five years before omar's accession. [fn# ] i.e. odorem pudendorum amicæ? [fn# ] a famous poet of the tribe of the benou udhreh, renowned for their passionate sincerity in love-matters. he is celebrated as the lover of butheineh, as petrarch of laura, and died a.d. , sixteen years before omar's accession. [fn# ] a friend of jemil and a poet of equal renown. he is celebrated as the lover of azzeh, whose name is commonly added to his, and kept a grocer's shop at medina. [fn# ] i.e. in the attitude of prayer. [fn# ] a famous satirical poet of the time, afterwards banished by omar for the virulence of his lampoons. his name is wrongly given by the text; it should be el ahwes. he was a descendant of the ansar or (medinan) helpers of mohammed. [fn# ] a famous poet of the tribe of the benou temim and a rival of jerir, to whom he was by some preferred. he was a notorious debauchee and jerir, in one of the satires that were perpetually exchanged between himself and el ferezdec, accuses his rival of having "never been a guest in any house, but he departed with ignominy and left behind him disgrace." [fn# ] a christian and a celebrated poet of the time. [fn# ] the poet apparently meant to insinuate that those who professed to keep the fast of ramazan ate flesh in secret. the word rendered "in public," i.e. openly, avowedly, may also perhaps be translated "in the forenoon," and in this el akhtel may have meant to contrast his free-thinking disregard of the ordinances of the fast with the strictness of the orthodox muslim, whose only meals in ramazan-time are made between sunset and dawn-peep. as soon as a white thread can be distinguished from a black, the fast is begun and a true believer must not even smoke or swallow his saliva till sunset. [fn# ] prominent words of the muezzin's fore-dawn call to prayer. [fn# ] i.e. fall down drunk. [fn# ] i.e. she who ensnares [all] eyes. [fn# ] imam, the spiritual title of the khalif, as head of the faith and leader (lit. "foreman") of the people at prayer. [fn# ] or "worldly." [fn# ] or "worldly." [fn# ] a town and province of arabia, of which (inter alia) omar ben abdulaziz was governor, before he came to the khalifate. [fn# ] syn. munificence. [fn# ] about pounds sterling s. [fn# ] i.e. what is thy news? [fn# ] or "i approve of him." [fn# ] breslau text, vol. vi. pp. - , night ccccxxxiv. [fn# ] el hejjaj ben yousuf eth thekefi, a famous statesman and soldier of the seventh and eighth centuries. he was governor of chaldaea (irak arabi), under the fifth and sixth khalifs of the ommiade dynasty, and was renowned for his cruelty, but appears to have been a prudent and capable administrator, who used no more rigour than was necessary to restrain the proverbially turbulent populations of bassora and cufa, most of the anecdotes of his brutality and tyranny, which abound in arab authors, are, in all probability, apocryphal. [fn# ] used, by synecdoche, for "heads." [fn# ] i.e. the governed, to wit, he who is led by a halter attached (metaphorically of course) to a ring passed through his nose, as with a camel. [fn# ] i.e. the governor or he who is high of rank. [fn# ] i.e. their hair, which may be considered the wealth of the head. this whole passage is a description a double-entente of a barber-surgeon. [fn# ] syn. cooking-pot. [fn# ] syn. be lowered. this passage is a similar description of an itinerant hot bean-seller. [fn# ] the rows of threads on a weaver's loom. [fn# ] syn. levelleth. [fn# ] i.e. that of wood used by the oriental weaver to govern the warp and weft. [fn# ] syn. behave aright. [fn# ] the loop of thread so called in which the weaver's foot rests. [fn# ] syn. eloquence. [fn# ] adeb, one of the terribly comprehensive words which abound in arabic literature for the confusion of translators. it signifies generally all kinds of education and means of mental and moral discipline and seems here to mean more particularly readiness of wit and speech or presence of mind. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. vi. pp. - , night ccccxxxiv. [fn# ] syn. (koranic) "thou hast swerved from justice" or "been unjust" (adeita). [fn# ] syn. (koranic) "thou hast transgressed" (caset-ta). [fn# ] or falling-away. [fn# ] koran vi. . [fn# ] or do injustice, tadilou (syn. do justice). [fn# ] koran iv. . [fn# ] el casitouna (syn. those who act righteously or equitably). [fn# ] koran lxxii. . [fn# ] name of the persian ancestor of the barmecide (properly bermeki) family. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. vi. pp. - , nights ccccxxv-cccclxxxvii. this is the arab version of the well-known story called, in persian, the bekhtyar nameh, i.e. the book of bekhtyar, by which name the prince, whose attempted ruin by the envious viziers is the central incident of the tale, is distinguished in that language. the arab redaction of the story is, to my mind, far superior to the persian, both in general simplicity and directness of style and in the absence of the irritating conceits and moral digressions with which persian (as well as indian) fiction is so often overloaded. the persian origin of the story is apparent, not only in the turn of the incidents and style and the names of the personages, but in the fact that not a single line of verse occurs in it. [fn# ] rawi; this is probably a copyist's mistake for raai, a beholder, one who seeth. [fn# ] lit. what was his affair? it may be here observed that the word keif (how?) is constantly used in the breslau text in the sense of ma (what?). [fn# ] a district of persia, here probably persia itself. [fn# ] probably a corruption of kisra (chosroës). [fn# ] i.e. waylaying travellers, robbing on the high road. [fn# ] or skill. [fn# ] lit. the descended fate. [fn# ] the arabs attribute to a man's parentage absolute power in the determination of his good and evil qualities; eg. the son of a slave, according to them, can possess none of the virtues of the free-born, whilst good qualities are in like manner considered congenitally inherent in the latter. [fn# ] or "business." [fn# ] i.e. whither he should travel. [fn# ] about half-a-crown. [fn# ] it is a common practice with eastern nations to keep a child (especially a son and one of unusual beauty) concealed until a certain age, for fear of the evil eye. see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. iii. p. ; vol. ix. p. , etc., etc. [fn# ] i.e. killing a man. [fn# ] i.e., it will always be in our power to slay him, when we will. [fn# ] i.e. the grave. [fn# ] i.e. the wedding-day. [fn# ] i.e. thy women [fn# ] i.e. hath been unduly prolonged. [fn# ] i.e. let thy secret thoughts and purposes be righteous, even as thine outward profession. [fn# ] see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. p. . [fn# ] afterwards called his "chamberlain," i.e. the keeper of the door of the harem or chief eunuch. see post, p. iii. [fn# ] i.e. the eunuch who had dissuaded dadbin from putting her to death. [fn# ] apparently referring to aboulkhair (see ante p. ), whom dabdin would seem to have put to death upon the vizier's false accusation, although no previous mention of this occurs. [fn# ] the arabs believe that each man's destiny is charactered, could we decipher it, in the sutures of his skull. [fn# ] ie. the lex talionis, which is the essence of muslim jurisprudence. [fn# ] i.e. a soldier of fortune, going about from court to court, in quest of service. [fn# ] this phrase refers to the arab idiom, "his hand (or arm) is long or short," i.e. he is a man of great or little puissance. [fn# ] the arabs consider it a want of respect to allow the hands or feet to remain exposed in the presence of a superior. [fn# ] adeb. see ante, p. , note . [fn# ] i.e. that he become my son-in-law. [fn# ] it is a common eastern practice to have the feet kneaded and pressed (shampooed) for the purpose of inducing sleep, and thus the king would habitually fall asleep with his feet on the knees of his pages. [fn# ] syn. whoso respecteth not his lord's women. [fn# ] i.e. a domed tomb. [fn# ] of a man's life. the muslims believe each man's last hour to be written in a book called "the preserved tablet." [fn# ] i.e, the autumnal equinox, one of the two great festival days (the other being the new year) of the persians. see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. iv. p. . [fn# ] i.e. heritage. [fn# ] i.e. the emperor of the romans of the lower empire, so called by the arabs. "caesar" is their generic term for the emperors of constantinople, as is kisra (chosroës) for the ancient kings of persia. [fn# ] i.e. shah khatoun. [fn# ] i.e. our power increased by his alliance, a. familiar arab idiom. [fn# ] in token of deputation of authority, a ceremony usual on the appointment of a governor of a province. [fn# ] or enigma. [fn# ] i.e. if my death be ordained of destiny to befall on an early day none may avail to postpone it to a later day. [fn# ] of life. see supra, note, p. . [fn# ] the hoopoe is fabled by the muslim chroniclers to have been to solomon what odin's ravens were to the norse god. it is said to have known all the secrets of the earth and to have revealed them to him; hence the magical virtues attributed by the mohammedans to its heart. [fn# ] this phrase may be read either literally or in its idiomatic sense, i.e., "folk convicted or suspected of murder or complicity in murder." [fn# ] or purse-belt. [fn# ] see supra, p. . [fn# ] khilaah, lit. that which one takes off from one's own person, to bestow upon a messenger of good tidings or any other whom it is desired especially to honour. the literal meaning of the phrase, here rendered "he bestowed on him a dress of honour," is "he put off on him [that which was upon himself." a khilaah commonly includes a horse, a sword, a girdle or waist-cloth and other articles, according to the rank of the recipient, and might more precisely be termed "a complete equipment of honour." [fn# ] an economical mode of rewarding merit, much in favour with eastern monarchs. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. vii. pp. - , night dlxv. [fn# ] syn. doorkeper (hajib). [fn# ] ibn khelbkan, who tells this story in a somewhat different style, on the authority of er reshid's brother ibrahim ben el mehdi, calls the person whom jaafer expected "abdulmelik ben behran, the intendant of his demesnes." [fn# ] the wearing of silk and bright colours is forbidden to the strict muslim and it is generally considered proper, in a man of position, to wear them only on festive occasions or in private, as in the text. [fn# ] the abbasides or descendants of el abbas, the prophet's uncle, were noted for their excessive pride and pretensions to strict orthodoxy in all outward observances. abdulmelik ben salih, who was a well-known general and statesman of the time, was especially renowned for pietism and austerity of manners. [fn# ] i.e. do not let my presence trouble you. [fn# ] as a member of the reigning family, he of course wore black clothes, that being the especial colour of the house of abbas, adopted by them in opposition to the rival (and fallen) dynasty of the benou umeyyeh, whose family colour was white, that of the house of ali being green. [fn# ] about £ , . ibn khellikan makes the debt four millions of dirhems or about £ , [fn# ] breslau text, vol vii, pp. - , night dlxvii. [fn# ] fourth khalif of the house of abbas, a.d. - . [fn# ] third khalif of the house of abbas, a.d. - . [fn# ] the following is et teberi's version of this anecdote. el mehdi had presented his son haroun with a ruby ring, worth a hundred thousand dinars, and the latter being one day with his brother [the then reigning khalif], el hadi saw the ring on his finger and desired it. so, when haroun went out from him, he sent after him, to seek the ring of him. the khalif's messenger overtook er reshid on the bridge over the tigris and acquainted him with his errand; whereupon the prince enraged at the demand, pulled off the ring and threw it into the river. when el hadi died and er reshid succeeded to the throne, he went with his suite to the bridge in question and bade his vizier yehya ben khalid send for divers and cause them make search for the ring. it had then been five months in the water and no one believed it would be found. however, the divers plunged into the river and found the ring in the very place where he had thrown it in, whereat haroun rejoiced with an exceeding joy, regarding it as a presage of fair fortune. [fn# ] this is an error. jaafer's father yehya was appointed by haroun his vizier and practically continued to exercise that office till the fall of the barmecides (a.d. ), his sons fezl and jaafer acting only as his assistants or lieutenants. see my essay on the history and character of the book of the thousand nights and one night. [fn# ] another mistake. it was fezl, the khalif's foster-brother, to whom he used to give this title. [fn# ] a third mistake. the whole period during which the empire was governed by yehya and his sons was only seventeen years, i.e. a.d - , but see my essay. [fn# ] the apparent meaning of this somewhat obscure saying is, "since fortune is uncertain, conciliate the favour of those with whom thou hast to do by kind offices, so thou mayst find refuge with them in time of need." [fn# ] for a detailed account of the barmecides and of their fall, see my essay. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. vii. pp. - , night dlxviii. [fn# ] aboulabbas mohammed ibn sabih, surnamed ibn es semmak (son of the fishmonger), a well-known cufan jurisconsult and ascetic of the time. he passed the latter part of his life at baghdad and enjoyed high favour with er reshid, as the only theological authority whom the latter could induce to promise him admission to paradise. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. vii. pp. - , night dlxviii. [fn# ] seventh khalif of the house of abbas, a.d. - . [fn# ] sixth khalif of the house of abbas, a.d. - , a sanguinary and incapable prince, whose contemplated treachery against his brother el mamoun, (whom, by the advice of his vizier, the worthless intriguer fezl ben rebya, the same who was one of the prime movers in the ruin of the illustrious barmecide family and who succeeded yehya and his sons in the vizierate (see my essay), he contemplated depriving of his right of succession and murdering,) was deservedly requited with the loss of his own kingdom and life. he was, by the way, put to death by el mamoun's general, in contravention of the express orders of that generous and humane prince, who wished his brother to be sent prisoner to him, on the capture of baghdad. [fn# ] i.e. forfeits. it is a favourite custom among the arabs to impose on the loser of a game, in lieu of stakes, the obligation of doing whatsoever the winner may command him. for an illustration of this practice, see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. pp. - , story of the sandalwood merchant and the sharpers. [fn# ] el mamoun was of a very swarthy complexion and is said to have been the son of a black slave-girl. zubeideh was er reshid's cousin, and el amin was, therefore, a member of the house of abbas, both on the father's and mother's side. of this purity of descent from the prophet's family (in which he is said to have stood alone among the khalifs of the abbaside dynasty) both himself and his mother were exceedingly proud, and it was doubtless this circumstance which led er reshid to prefer el amin and to assign him the precedence in the succession over the more capable and worthier el mamoun. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. viii. pp. - , nights dclx-i. [fn# ] a pre-mohammedan king of the arab kingdom of hireh (a town near cufa on the euphrates), under the suzerainty of the chosroes of persia, and a cruel and fantastic tyrant. [fn# ] the tribe to which belonged the renowned pre-mohammedan chieftain and poet, hatim tal, so celebrated in the east for his extravagant generosity and hospitality. [fn# ] i.e. i will make a solemn covenant with him before god. [fn# ] i.e. he of the tribe of tai. [fn# ] in generosity. [fn# ] a similar anecdote is told of omar ben el khettab, second successor of mohammed, and will be found in my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. iv. p. . [fn# ] breslau text, vol. viii. pp. - , nights dclxxv--vi. [fn# ] a similar story will be found in my "book of the thousand nights and one night", vol. v. p. . [fn# ] breslau text, vol xi. pp. - , nights dccclxxv-dccccxxx. [fn# ] i.e. a pilgrimage. pilgrimage is one of a muslim's urgent duties. [fn# ] by a rhetorical figure, mecca is sometimes called el hejj (the pilgrimage) and this appears to be the case here. it is one of the dearest towns in the east and the chief occupation of its inhabitants a the housing and fleecing of pilgrims. an arab proverb says, "there is no place in which money goes [so fast] as it goes in mecca." [fn# ] lit. loved with it. [fn# ] it is not clear what is here meant by el hejj; perhaps medina, though this is a "visitation" and not an obligatory part of the pilgrimage. the passage is probably corrupt. [fn# ] it is not clear what is here meant by el hejj; perhaps medina, though this is a "visitation" and not an obligatory part of the pilgrimage. the passage is probably corrupt. [fn# ] syn. whole or perfect (sehik). [fn# ] i.e. in white woollen garments. [fn# ] i.e. i desire a privy place, where i may make the preliminary ablution and pray. [fn# ] it is customary in the east to give old men and women the complimentary title of "pilgrim," assuming, as a matter of course, that they have performed the obligatory rite of pilgrimage. [fn# ] or saint. [fn# ] keniseh, a christian or other non-muslim place of worship. [fn# ] apparently the harem. [fn# ] i.e. otherwise than according to god's ordinance. [fn# ] a city of persian irak. [fn# ] lit. its apparatus, i.e. spare strings, etc.? [fn# ] i.e. the woman whose face he saw. [fn# ] lit. the place of battle, i.e. that where they had lain. [fn# ] a common eastern fashion of securing a shop, when left for a short time. the word shebekeh (net) may also be tendered a grating or network of iron or other metal. [fn# ] i.e. gave her good measure. [fn# ] i.e. she found him a good workman. equivoque erotique, apparently founded on the to-and-fro movement of the shuttle in weaving. [fn! ] equivoque érotique. [fn# ] i.e. removed the goods exposed for sale and laid them up in the inner shop or storehouse. [fn# ] the eastern oven is generally a great earthenware jar sunken in the earth. [fn# ] i.e. a boughten white slave (memlouk). [fn# ] apparently changing places. the text is here fearfully corrupt and (as in many other parts of the breslau edition) so incoherent as to be almost unintelligible. [fn# ] i.e. in the (inner) courtyard. [fn# ] i.e. the essential nature, lit. jewel. [fn# ] i.e. in proffering thee the kingship. [fn# ] without the city. [fn# ] according to the conclusion of the story, this recompense consisted in an augmentation of the old man's allowances of food. see post, p. . [fn# ] i.e. i have given my opinion. [fn# ] this passage is evidently corrupt. i have amended it, on conjecture, to the best of my power. [fn# ] the words ruteb wa menazil, here rendered "degrees and dignities," may also be rendered, "stations and mansions (of the moon and planets)." [fn# ] syn. "ailing" or "sickly." [fn# ] i.e. the caravan with which he came. [fn# ] i.e. i seek to marry thy daughter, not for her own sake, but because i desire thine alliance. [fn# ] i.e. the face of his bride. [fn# ] i.e. his wife. [fn# ] i.e. his wife. [fn# ] naming the poor man. [fn# ] naming his daughter. [fn# ] i.e. united. [fn# ] or "humble." [fn# ] i.e. one another. [fn# ] or "conquer." [fn# ] or "commandment." [fn# ] lit. "will be higher than." [fn# ] syn. device or resource (hileh). [fn# ] syn. chasten or instruct. [fn# ] students of our old popular poetry will recognize, in the principal incident of this story, the subject of the well-known ballad, "the heir of linne." [fn# ] i.e. turcomans; afterwards called sejestan. [fn# ] with a pile of stones or some such landmark. [fn# ] i.e. the extraordinary resemblance of the supposed sister to his wife. [fn# ] the foregoing passage is evidently very corrupt and the meaning is by no means plain, but, in the absence of a parallel version, it is impossible to clear up the obscurity of the text. [fn# ] this appears to be the sense of the text; but the whole passage is to obscure and corrupt that it is impossible to make sure of its exact meaning. [fn# ] meaning apparently, "thou puttest my devices to nought" or (perhaps) "thou art so skilful that i fear lest thou undermine my favour with the king and oust me from my post of vizier." [fn# ] lit. "land;" but the meaning is evidently as in the text. [fn# ] the reader will recognize the well-known story used by chaucer, boccaccio and la fontaine. [fn# ] syn. flourishing. [fn# ] syn. depopulated. [fn# ] lit. an oppressor. [fn# ] i.e. a man of commanding presence. [fn# ] syn. cause flourish. [fn# ] syn. depopulateth. [fn# ] lit. the year. [fn# ] the whole of the tither's account of himself is terribly obscure and so corrupt that it is hardly possible to make sense of it. the same remark applies to much of the rest of the story. [fn# ] or "cause flourish." [fn# ] lit. a better theologian. the muslim law being entirely based on the koran and the traditions of the prophet, the terms "lawyer" and "theologian" are necessarily synonymous among mohammedan peoples. [fn# ] a danic is the sixth of a dirhem, i.e. about one penny. [fn# ] i.e. say, "may i be [triply] divorced from my wife, if etc.!" by the muslim law, a divorce three times pronounced is irrevocable, and in case of its appearing that the user of such an oath as the above had sworn falsely, his wife would become divorced by operation of law, without further ceremony. hence the frequency and binding nature of the oath in question. [fn# ] i.e. thousandfold cuckold. [fn# ] i.e. the blows which the thief had given him. [fn# ] i.e. at least, at the most moderate reckoning. [fn# ] or "breath of god," a title given to jesus by the mohammedans. [fn# ] i.e. attaineth his desire. [fn# ] syn. guards. [fn# ] i.e. the husbandman. [fn# ] i.e. those bound to render suit and service to the king, as holders of fiefs. [fn# ] syn. the revenue or rent-charge of thy fief. [fn# ] heads of families? [fn# ] or "caused flourish." [fn# ] or froward. [fn# ] i.e. sold and spent the price of. [fn# ] i.e. his lack of means to entertain her. [fn# ] i.e. all that can conduce to. [fn# ] i.e. it is for you (after god) to excuse me. [fn# ] i.e. the [supposed] rest of his hoard. [fn# ] apparently the idiot's name. [fn# ] i.e. had he been on his own guard against that, etc. text scanned by jc byers and proof read by the volunteers of the distributed proofreaders site: http://charlz.dns go.com/gutenberg/ tales from the arabic of the breslau and calcutta ( - ) editions of the book of the thousand nights and one night not occurring in the other printed texts of the work, now first done into english by john payne in three volumes: volume the second. delhi edition contents of the second volume. breslau text. . king shah bekht and his vizier er rehwan (continued) a. story of the pious woman accused of lewdness b. story of the journeyman and the girl c. story of the weaver who became a physician by his wife's commandment d. story of the two sharpers who cheated each his fellow e. story of the sharpers with the money-changer and the ass f. story of the sharper and the merchants i. story of the hawk and the locust g. story op the king and his chamberlain wife h. story of the old woman and the draper's wife i. story of the foul-favoured man and his fair wife j. story of the king who lost kingdom and wife and wealth and god restored them to him k. story of selim and selma l. story of the king of hind and his vizier . el melik ez zahir rukneddin bibers el bunducdari and the sixteen officers of police a. the first officer's story b. the second officer's story c. the third officer's story d. the fourth officer's story e. the fifth officer's story f. the sixth officer's story g. the seventh officer's story h. the eighth officer's story i. the thief's story i. the ninth officer's story j. the tenth officer's story k. the eleventh officer's story l. the twelfth officer's story m. the thirteenth officer's story n. the fourteenth officer's story i. a merry jest of a thief ii. story of the old sharper o. the fifteenth officer's story p. the sixteenth officer's story . abdallah ben nafi and the king's son of cashghar a. story of the damsel tuhfet el culoub and the khalif haroun er reshid calcutta ( - ) text . women's craft breslau text. king shah bekht and his vizier er rehwan (continued). the eighteenth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king summoned the vizier and required of him the [promised] story; so he said, "it is well. know, o king, that story of the pious woman accused of lewdness. there was once a man of nishapour,[fn# ] who had a wife of the utmost loveliness and piety, and he was minded to set out on the pilgrimage. so he commended his wife to the care of his brother and besought him to aid her in her affairs and further her to her desires till he should return, so they both abode alive and well. then he took ship and departed and his absence was prolonged. meanwhile, the brother went in to his brother's wife, at all times and seasons, and questioned her of her circumstances and went about her occasions; and when his visits to her were prolonged and he heard her speech and looked upon her face, the love of her gat hold upon his heart and he became distraught with passion for her and his soul prompted him [to evil]. so he besought her to lie with him, but she refused and chid him for his foul deed, and he found him no way unto presumption;[fn# ] wherefore he importuned her with soft speech and gentleness. now she was righteous in all her dealings and swerved not from one word;[fn# ] so, when he saw that she consented not unto him, he misdoubted that she would tell his brother, when he returned from his journey, and said to her, 'an thou consent not to this whereof i require thee, i will cause thee fall into suspicion and thou wilt perish.' quoth she, 'be god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) [judge] betwixt me and thee, and know that, shouldst thou tear me limb from limb, i would not consent to that whereto thou biddest me.' his folly[fn# ] persuaded him that she would tell her husband; so, of his exceeding despite, he betook himself to a company of people in the mosque and told them that he had witnessed a man commit adultery with his brother's wife. they believed his saying and took act of his accusation and assembled to stone her. then they dug her a pit without the city and seating her therein, stoned her, till they deemed her dead, when they left her. presently a villager passed by [the pit and finding] her [alive,] carried her to his house and tended her, [till she recovered]. now, he had a son, and when the young man saw her, he loved her and besought her of herself; but she refused and consented not to him, whereupon he redoubled in love and longing and despite prompted him to suborn a youth of the people of his village and agree with him that he should come by night and take somewhat from his father's house and that, when he was discovered, he should say that she was of accord with him in this and avouch that she was his mistress and had been stoned on his account in the city. so he did this and coming by night to the villager's house, stole therefrom goods and clothes; whereupon the old man awoke and seizing the thief, bound him fast and beat him, to make him confess. so he confessed against the woman that she had prompted him to this and that he was her lover from the city. the news was bruited abroad and the people of the city assembled to put her to death; but the old man, with whom she was, forbade them and said, 'i brought this woman hither, coveting the recompense [of god,] and i know not [the truth of] that which is said of her and will not suffer any to hurt her.' then he gave her a thousand dirhems, by way of alms, and put her forth of the village. as for the thief, he was imprisoned for some days; after which the folk interceded for him with the old man, saying, 'this is a youth and indeed he erred;' and he released him. meanwhile, the woman went out at hazard and donning devotee's apparel, fared on without ceasing, till she came to a city and found the king's deputies dunning the towns-folk for the tribute, out of season. presently, she saw a man, whom they were pressing for the tribute; so she enquired of his case and being acquainted therewith, paid down the thousand dirhems for him and delivered him from beating; whereupon he thanked her and those who were present. when he was set free, he accosted her and besought her to go with him to his dwelling. so she accompanied him thither and supped with him and passed the night. when the night darkened on him, his soul prompted him to evil, for that which he saw of her beauty and loveliness, and he lusted after her and required her [of love]; but she repelled him and bade him fear god the most high and reminded him of that which she had done with him of kindness and how she had delivered him from beating and humiliation. however, he would not be denied, and when he saw her [constant] refusal of herself to him, he feared lest she should tell the folk of him. so, when he arose in the morning, he took a scroll and wrote in it what he would of forgery and falsehood and going up to the sultan's palace, said, '[i have] an advisement [for the king].' so he bade admit him and he delivered him the writ that he had forged, saying, 'i found this letter with the woman, the devotee, the ascetic, and indeed she is a spy, a secret informer against the king to his enemy; and i deem the king's due more incumbent on me than any other and his advisement the first [duty], for that he uniteth in himself all the people, and but for the king's presence, the subjects would perish; wherefore i have brought [thee] warning.' the king put faith in his words and sent with him those who should lay hands upon the woman and put her to death; but they found her not. as for the woman, whenas the man went out from her, she resolved to depart; so she went forth, saying in herself, 'there is no journeying for me in woman's attire.' then she donned men's apparel, such as is worn of the pious, and set out and wandered over the earth; nor did she leave going till she entered a certain city. now the king of that city had an only daughter in whom he gloried and whom he loved, and she saw the devotee and deeming her a pilgrim youth, said to her father, 'i would fain have this youth take up his abode with me, so i may learn of him wisdom and renunciation and religion.' her father rejoiced in this and commanded the [supposed] pilgrim to take up his sojourn with his daughter in his palace. now they were in one place and the king's daughter was strenuous to the utterest in continence and chastity and nobility of mind and magnanimity and devotion to the worship of god; but the ignorant slandered her[fn# ] and the folk of the realm said, 'the king's daughter loveth the pilgrim youth and he loveth her.' now the king was a very old man and destiny decreed the ending of his term of life; so he died and when he was buried, the folk assembled and many were the sayings of the people and of the king's kinsfolk and officers, and they took counsel together to slay the princess and the young pilgrim, saying, 'this fellow dishonoureth us with yonder strumpet and none accepteth dishonour but the base.' so they fell upon them and slew the princess, without questioning her of aught; whereupon the pious woman (whom they deemed a boy) said to them, 'out on ye, o misbelievers i ye have slain the pious lady.' quoth they, 'lewd fellow that thou art, dost thou bespeak us thus? thou lovedst her and she loved thee, and we will slay thee without mercy.' 'god forbid!' answered she, 'indeed, the affair is the contrary of this.' 'what proof hast thou of that?' asked they, and she said, 'bring me women.' so they brought her women, and when they looked on her, they found her a woman. when the townsfolk saw this, they repented of that which they had done and the affair was grievous to them; so they sought pardon [of god] and said to her, ' by the virtue of him whom thou servest, do thou seek pardon for us [of god!]' quoth she, 'as for me, i may no longer abide with you and i am about to depart from you.' then they humbled themselves in supplication to her and wept and said to her, 'we conjure thee, by the virtue of god the most high, that thou take upon thyself the governance of the kingdom and of the subjects.' but she refused; whereupon they came up to her and wept and gave not over supplicating her, till she consented and abode in the kingship. her first commandment was that they should bury the princess and build over her a dome[fn# ] and she abode in that palace, worshipping god the most high and ruling the people with justice, and god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) vouchsafed her, by reason of the excellence of her piety and her patience and continence, the acceptance of her prayers, so that she sought not aught of him to whom belong might and majesty, but he granted her prayer; and her report was noised abroad in all countries. so the folk resorted to her from all parts and she used to pray god (to whom belong might and majesty) for the oppressed and god granted him relief, and against his oppressor, and he broke him in sunder. moreover, she prayed for the sick and they were made whole; and on this wise she abode a great space of time. as for her husband, when he returned from the pilgrimage, his brother and the neighbours acquainted him with his wife's affair, whereat he was sore concerned and misdoubted of their story, for that which he knew of her chastity and prayerfulness; and he wept for her loss. meanwhile, she prayed to god the most high that he would establish her innocence in the eyes of her husband and the folk. so he sent down upon her husband's brother a sore disease and none knew a remedy for him; wherefore he said to his brother, ' in such a city is a pious woman, a recluse, and her prayers are answered; so do thou carry me to her, that she may pray for me and god (to whom belong might and majesty) may make me whole of this sickness.' accordingly, he took him up and fared on with him, till they came to the village where dwelt the old man, who had rescued the woman from the pit and carried her to his dwelling and tended her there, [till she recovered]. here they halted and took up their lodging with the old man, who questioned the husband of his case and that of his brother and the reason of their journey, and he said, 'i purpose to go with my brother, this sick man, to the holy woman, her whose prayers are answered, so she may pray for him and god may make him whole by the blessing of her prayers.' quoth the villager, 'by allah, my son is in a parlous plight for sickness and we have heard that the holy woman prayeth for the sick and they are made whole. indeed, the folk counsel me to carry him to her, and behold, i will go in company with you. and they said, 'it is well.' so they passed the night in that intent and on the morrow they set out for the dwelling of the holy woman, this one carrying his son and that his brother. now the man who had stolen the clothes and forged a lie against the pious woman, pretending that he was her lover, sickened of a sore sickness, and his people took him up and set out with him to visit the holy woman, and destiny brought them all together by the way. so they fared on, till they came to the city wherein the man dwelt for whom she had paid a thousand dirhems, to deliver him from torment, and found him about to travel to her, by reason of a sickness that had betided him. so they all fared on together, unknowing that the holy woman was she whom they had so foully wronged, and ceased not going till they came to her city and foregathered at the gates of her palace, to wit, that wherein was the tomb of the king's daughter. now the folk used to go in to her and salute her and crave her prayers; and it was her wont to pray for none till he had confessed to her his sins, when she would seek pardon for him and pray for him that he might be healed, and he was straightway made whole of sickness, by permission of god the most high. [so, when the four sick men were brought in to her,] she knew them forthright, though they knew her not, and said to them, ' let each of you confess his sins, so i may crave pardon for him and pray for him.' and the brother said, 'as for me, i required my brother's wife of herself and she refused; whereupon despite and folly[fn# ] prompted me and i lied against her and accused her to the townsfolk of adultery; so they stoned her and slew her unjustly and unrighteously; and this is the issue of unright and falsehood and of the slaying of the [innocent] soul, whose slaughter god hath forbidden.' then said the young man, the villager's son, 'and i, o holy woman, my father brought us a woman who had been stoned, and my people tended her till she recovered. now she was surpassing of beauty; so i required her of herself; but she refused and clave fast to god (to whom belong might and majesty), wherefore folly[fn# ] prompted me, so that i agreed with one of the youths that he should steal clothes and coin from my father's house. then i laid hands on him [and carried him] to my father and made him confess. so he avouched that the woman was his mistress from the city and had been stoned on his account and that she was of accord with him concerning the theft and had opened the doors to him, and this was a lie against her, for that she had not yielded to me in that which i sought of her. so there befell me what ye see of punishment." and the young man, the thief, said, 'i am he with whom thou agreedst concerning the theft and to whom thou openedst the door, and i am he who avouched against her falsely and calumniously and god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) knoweth that i never did evil with her, no, nor knew her in any wise before then.' then said he whom she had delivered from torture and for whom she had paid a thousand dirhems and who had required her of herself in his house, for that her beauty pleased him, and [when she refused to yield to him] had forged a letter against her and treacherously denounced her to the sultan and requited her bounty with ingratitude, 'i am he who wronged her and lied against her, and this is the issue of the oppressor's affair.' when she heard their words, in the presence of the folk, she said, 'praise be to god, the king who availeth unto all things, and blessing upon his prophets and apostles!' then quoth she [to the assembly], ' bear witness, o ye who are present, to these men's speech, and know that i am that woman whom they confess that they wronged.' and she turned to her husband's brother and said to him, 'i am thy brother's wife and god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he i) delivered me from that whereinto thou castedst me of false accusation and suspect and from the frowardness whereof thou hast spoken, and [now] hath he shown forth my innocence, of his bounty and generosity. go, for thou art absolved of the wrong thou didst me.' then she prayed for him and he was made whole of his sickness. then said she to the villager's son, 'know that i am the woman whom thy father delivered from harm and stress and whom there betided from thee of false accusation and frowardness that which thou hast named.' and she craved pardon for him and he was made whole of his sickness. [then said she to the thief, 'i am she against whom thou liedst, avouching that i was thy mistress, who had been stoned on thine account, and that i was of accord with thee concerning the robbing of the villager's house and had opened the doors to thee.' and she prayed for him and he was made whole of his sickness.] then said she to [the townsman], him of the tribute, 'i am she who gave thee the [thousand] dirhems and thou didst with me what thou didst.' and she craved pardon for him and prayed for him and he was made whole; whereupon the folk marvelled at her oppressors, who had been afflicted alike, so god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) might show forth her innocence before witnesses. then she turned to the old man who had delivered her from the pit and prayed for him and gave him presents galore and among them a myriad of money;[fn# ] and they all departed from her, except her husband. when she was alone with him, she made him draw near unto her and rejoiced in his coming and gave him the choice of abiding with her. moreover, she assembled the people of the city and set out to them his virtue and worth and counselled them to invest him with the charge of their governance and besought them to make him king over them. they fell in with her of this and he became king and took up his abode amongst them, whilst she gave herself up to her religious exercises and abode with her husband on such wise as she was with him aforetime.[fn# ] nor," added the vizier, "is this story, o king of the time, more extraordinary or more delightful than that of the journeyman and the girl whose belly he slit and fled." when king shah bekht heard this, he said, "most like all they say of the vizier is leasing and his innocence will appear, even as that of the pious woman appeared." then he comforted the vizier's heart and bade him go to his house. the nineteenth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king bade fetch the vizier and required of him the story of the journeyman and the girl. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. know, o august king, that story of the journeyman and the girl. there was once, of old time, in one of the tribes of the arabs, a woman great with child by her husband, and they had a hired servant, a man of excellent understanding. when the woman came to [the time of her] delivery, she gave birth to a maid-child in the night and they sought fire of the neighbours. so the journeyman went in quest of fire. now there was in the camp a wise woman,[fn# ] and she questioned him of the new-born child, if it was male or female. quoth he, 'it is a girl;' and she said, 'she shall do whoredom with a hundred men and a journeyman shall marry her and a spider shall slay her.' when the journeyman heard this, he returned upon his steps and going in to the woman, took the child from her by wile and slit its paunch. then he fled forth into the desert at a venture and abode in strangerhood what [while] god willed. he gained him wealth and returning to his native land, after twenty years' absence, alighted in the neighbourhood of an old woman, whom he bespoke fair and entreated with liberality, requiring of her a wench whom he might lie withal. quoth she, 'i know none but a certain fair woman, who is renowned for this fashion.'[fn# ] then she described her charms to him and made him lust after her, and he said, 'hasten to her forthright and lavish unto her that which she asketh, [in exchange for her favours].' so the old woman betook herself to the damsel and discovered to her the man's wishes and bade her to him; but she answered, saying, 'it is true that i was on this [fashion of] whoredom [aforetime]; but now i have repented to god the most high and hanker no more after this; nay, i desire lawful marriage; so, if he be content with that which is lawful, i am at his service.' the old woman returned to the man and told him what the damsel said; and he lusted after her, by reason of her beauty and her repentance; so he took her to wife, and when he went in to her, he loved her and she also loved him. on this wise they abode a great while, till one day he questioned her of the cause of a mark[fn# ] he espied on her body, and she said, 'i know nought thereof save that my mother told me a marvellous thing concerning it.' 'what was that?' asked he, and she answered, 'she avouched that she gave birth to me one night of the nights of the winter and despatched a hired man, who was with us, in quest of fire for her. he was absent a little while and presently returning, took me and slit my belly and fled. when my mother saw this, affliction overcame her and compassion possessed her; so she sewed up my belly and tended me till, by the ordinance of god (to whom belong might and majesty), the wound healed up." when her husband heard this, he said to her, 'what is thy name and what are the names of thy father and mother?' she told him their names and her own, whereby he knew that it was she whose belly he had slit and said to her, 'and where are thy father and mother?' 'they are both dead,' answered she, and he said, 'i am that journeyman who slit thy belly.' quoth she, 'why didst thou that?' and he replied, 'because of a saying i heard from the wise woman.' 'what was it?' asked his wife, and he said, 'she avouched that thou wouldst play the harlot with a hundied men and that i should after take thee to wife.' quoth she, 'ay, i have whored it with a hundred men, no more and no less, and behold, thou hast married me.' 'moreover,' continued her husband, 'the wise woman foresaid, also, that thou shouldst die, at the last of thy life, of the bite of a spider. indeed, her saying hath been verified of the harlotry and the marriage, and i fear lest her word come true no less in the matter of thy death.' then they betook themselves to a place without the city, where he builded him a mansion of solid stone and white plaster and stopped its inner [walls] and stuccoed them; yea, he left not therein cranny nor crevice and set in it two serving-women to sweep and wipe, for fear of spiders. here he abode with his wife a great while, till one day he espied a spider on the ceiling and beat it down. when his wife saw it, she said, 'this is that which the wise woman avouched would kill me; so, by thy life [i conjure thee], suffer me to slay it with mine own hand.' her husband forbade her from this, but she conjured him to let her kill the spider; then, of her fear and her eagerness, she took a piece of wood and smote it. the wood broke in sunder, of the force of the blow, and a splinter from it entered her hand and wrought upon it, so that it swelled. then her arm swelled also and the swelling spread to her side and thence grew till it reached her heart and she died. nor," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary or more wonderful than the story of the weaver who became a physician by his wife's commandment." when the king heard this, his admiration redoubled and he said, "of a truth, destiny is forewritten to all creatures, and i will not accept[fn# ] aught that is said against my vizier the loyal counsellor." and he bade him go to his house. the twentieth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king let call his vizier and he presented himself before him, whereupon he required of him the hearing of the [promised] story. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. know, o king. that story of the weaver who became a physician by his wife's commandment. there was once, in the land of fars,[fn# ] a man who took to wife a woman higher than himself in rank and nobler of lineage, but she had no guardian to preserve her from want. it misliked her to marry one who was beneath her; nevertheless, she married him, because of need, and took of him a bond in writing to the effect that he would still be under her commandment and forbiddance and would nowise gainsay her in word or deed. now the man was a weaver and he bound himself in writing to pay his wife ten thousand dirhems, [in case he should make default in the condition aforesaid]. on this wise they abode a long while till one day the wife went out in quest of water, whereof she had need, and espied a physician who had spread a carpet in the thereon he had set out great store of drugs and implements of medicine and he was speaking and muttering [charms], whilst the folk flocked to him and compassed him about on every side. the weaver's wife marvelled at the largeness of the physician's fortune[fn# ] and said in herself, 'were my husband thus, he would have an easy life of it and that wherein we are of straitness and misery would be enlarged unto him.' then she returned home, troubled and careful; and when her husband saw her on this wise, he questioned her of her case and she said to him, 'verily, my breast is straitened by reason of thee and of the simpleness of thine intent. straitness liketh me not and thou in thy [present] craft gaiuest nought; so either do thou seek out a craft other than this or pay me my due[fn# ] and let me go my way.' her husband chid her for this and admonished her;[fn# ] but she would not be turned from her intent and said to him, 'go forth and watch yonder physician how he doth and leam from him what he saith.' quoth he, 'let not thy heart be troubled: i will go every day to the physician's assembly.' so he fell to resorting daily to the physician and committing to memory his sayings and that which he spoke of jargon, till he had gotten a great matter by heart, and all this he studied throughly and digested it. then he returned to his wife and said to her, 'i have committed the physician's sayings to memory and have learned his fashion of muttering and prescribing and applying remedies[fn# ] and have gotten by heart the names of the remedies and of all the diseases, and there abideth nought [unaccomplished] of thy commandment. what wilt thou have me do now?' quoth she, 'leave weaving and open thyself a physician's shop.' but he answered, 'the people of my city know me and this affair will not profit me, save in a land of strangerhood; so come, let us go out from this city and get us to a strange land and [there] live.' and she said, 'do as thou wilt.' so he arose and taking his weaving gear, sold it and bought with the price drugs and simples and wrought himself a carpet, with which they set out and journeyed to a certain village, where they took up their abode. then the man donned a physician's habit and fell to going round about the hamlets and villages and country parts; and he began to earn his living and make gain. their affairs prospered and their case was bettered; wherefore they praised god for their present ease and the village became to them a home. [on this wise he abode a pretty while] and the days ceased not and the nights to transport him from country to country, till he came to the land of the greeks and lighted down in a city of the cities thereof, wherein was galen the sage; but the weaver knew him not, nor was he ware who he was. so he went forth, according to his wont, in quest of a place where the folk might assemble together, and hired galen's courtyard.[fn# ] there he spread his carpet and setting out thereon his drugs and instruments of medicine, praised himself and his skill and vaunted himself of understanding such as none but he might claim. galen heard that which he avouched of his understanding and it was certified unto him and established in his mind that the man was a skilled physician of the physicians of the persians and [he said in himself], 'except he had confidence in his knowledge and were minded to confront me and contend with me, he had not sought the door of my house neither spoken that which he hath spoken.' and concern gat hold upon galen and doubt. then he looked out upon[fn# ] the weaver and addressed himself to see what he should do, whilst the folk began to flock to him and set out to him their ailments, and he would answer them thereof [and prescribe for them], hitting the mark one while and missing it another, so that there appeared unto galen of his fashion nothing whereby his mind might be assured that he had formed a just opinion of his skill. presently, up came a woman with a phial of urine, and when the [mock] physician saw the phial afar off, he said to her, 'this is the urine of a man, a stranger.' 'yes,' answered she; and he continued, 'is he not a jew and is not his ailment indigestion?' 'yes,' replied the woman, and the folk marvelled at this; wherefore the man was magnified in galen's eyes, for that he heard speech such as was not of the usage of physicians, seeing that they know not urine but by shaking it and looking into it anear neither know they a man's water from a woman's water, nor a stranger's [from a countryman's], nor a jew's from a sherifs.[fn# ] then said the woman, 'what is the remedy?' quoth the weaver, 'pay down the fee.' so she paid him a dirhem and he gave her medicines contrary to that ailment and such as would aggravate the patient's malady. when galen saw what appeared to him of the [mock] physician's incapacity, he turned to his disciples and pupils and bade them fetch the other, with all his gear and drugs. so they brought him into his presence on the speediest wise, and when galen saw him before him, he said to him, 'knowest thou me?' ' no,' answered the other, 'nor did i ever set eyes on thee before this day.' quoth the sage, 'dost thou know galen?' and the weaver said, 'no.' then said galen, 'what prompted thee to that which thou dost?' so he related to him his story and gave him to know of the dowry and the obligation by which he was bound with regard to his wife, whereat galen marvelled and certified himself of the matter of the dower. then he bade lodge him near himself and was bountiful to him and took him apart and said to him, 'expound to me the story of the phial and whence then knewest that the water therein was that of a man, and he a stranger and a jew, and that his ailment was indigestion?' ' it is well,' answered the weaver. ' thou must know that we people of persia are skilled in physiognomy[fn# ] and i saw the woman to be rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed and tall. now these attributes belong to women who are enamoured of a man and are distraught for love of him;[fn# ] moreover, i saw her consumed [with anxiety]; wherefore i knew that the patient was her husband. as for his strangerhood, i observed that the woman's attire differed from that of the people of the city, wherefore i knew that she was a stranger; and in the mouth of the phial i espied a yellow rag,[fn# ] whereby i knew that the patient was a jew and she a jewess. moreover, she came to me on the first day [of the week];[fn# ] and it is the jews' custom to take pottages[fn# ] and meats that have been dressed overnight[fn# ] and eat them on the sabbath day,[fn# ] hot and cold, and they exceed in eating; wherefore indigestion betideth them. on this wise i was directed and guessed that which thou hast heard.' when galen heard this, he ordered the weaver the amount of his wife's dowry and bade him pay it to her and divorce her. moreover, he forbade him from returning to the practice of physic and warned him never again to take to wife a woman of better condition than himself; and he gave him his spending-money and bade him return to his [former] craft. nor," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary or rarer than the story of the two sharpers who cozened each his fellow." when king shah bekht heard this, he said in himself, "how like is this story to my present case with this vizier, who hath not his like!" then he bade him depart to his own house and come again at eventide. the twenty-first night of the month. when came the night, the vizier presented himself before the king, who bade him relate the [promised] story. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. know, out story of the two sharpers who cheated each his fellow. there was once, in the city of baghdad, a man, [by name el merouzi,][fn# ] who was a sharper and plagued[fn# ] the folk with his knavish tricks, and he was renowned in all quarters [for roguery]. [he went out one day], carrying a load of sheep's dung, and took an oath that he would not return to his lodging till he had sold it at the price of raisins. now there was in another city a second sharper, [by name er razi,][fn# ] one of its people, who [went out the same day], bearing a load of goat's dung, which he had sworn that he would not sell but at the price of dried figs. so each of them fared on with that which was with him and gave not over going till they met in one of the inns[fn# ] and each complained to the other of that which he had abidden of travel [in quest of custom] and of the lack of demand for his wares. now each of them had it in mind to cheat his fellow; so el merouzi said to er razi, 'wilt thou sell me that?' 'yes,' answered he, and the other continued, 'and wilt thou buy that which is with me?' er razi assented; so they agreed upon this and each of them sold his fellow that which was with him [in exchange for the other's ware]; after which they bade each other farewell and parted. as soon as they were out of each other's sight, they examined their loads, to see what was therein, and one of them found that he had a load of sheep's dung and the other that he had a load of goat's dung; whereupon each of them turned back in quest of his fellow. they met in the inn aforesaid and laughed at each other and cancelling their bargain, agreed to enter into partnership and that all that they had of money and other good should be in common between them, share and share alike. then said er razi to el merouzi, 'come with me to my city, for that it is nearer [than thine].' so he went with him, and when he came to his lodging, he said to his wife and household and neighbours, 'this is my brother, who hath been absent in the land of khorassan and is come back.' and he abode with him in all honour and worship three days' space. on the fourth day, er razi said to him, 'know, o my brother, that i purpose to do somewhat' 'what is it?' asked el merouzi. quoth the other, 'i mean to feign myself dead and do thou go to the market and hire two porters and a bier. [then come back and take me up and go round about the streets and markets with me and collect alms on my account.][fn# ] accordingly el merouzi repaired to the market and fetching that which he sought, returned to er razi's house, where he found the latter cast down in the vestibule, with his beard tied and his eyes shut; and indeed, his colour was paled and his belly blown out and his limbs relaxed. so he deemed him in truth dead and shook him; but he spoke not; and he took a knife and pricked him in the legs, but he stirred not. then said er razi, 'what is this, o fool?' and el merouzi answered, 'methought thou wast dead in very sooth.' quoth er razi, 'get thee to seriousness and leave jesting.' so he took him up and went with him to the market and collected [alms] for him that day till eventide, when he carried him back to his lodging and waited till the morrow. next morning, he again took up the bier and went round with it as before, in quest of alms. presently, the master of police, who was of those who had given alms on account of the supposed dead man on the previous day, met him; so he was angered and fell on the porters and beat them and took the [supposed] dead body, saying, 'i will bury him and earn the reward [of god].'[fn# ] so his men took him up and carrying him to the prefecture, fetched grave-diggers, who dug him a grave. then they bought him a shroud and perfumes[fn# ] and fetched an old man of the quarter, to wash him. so he recited over him [the appointed prayers and portions of the koran] and laying him on the bench, washed him and shrouded him. after he had shrouded him, he voided;[fn# ] so he renewed the washing and went away to make his ablutions,[fn# ] whilst all the folk departed, likewise, to make the [obligatory] ablution, previously to the funeral. when the dead man found himself alone, he sprang up, as he were a satan, and donning the washer's clothes,[fn# ] took the bowls and water-can and wrapped them up in the napkins. then be took his shroud under his arm and went out. the doorkeepers thought that he was the washer and said to him, 'hast thou made an end of the washing, so we may tell the amir?' 'yes,' answered the sharper and made off to his lodging, where he found el merouzi soliciting his wife and saying to her, 'nay, by thy life, thou wilt never again look upon his face; for that by this time he is buried. i myself escaped not from them but after travail and trouble, and if he speak, they will put him to death.' quoth she, 'and what wilt thou have of me?' 'accomplish my desire of thee,' answered he, 'and heal my disorder, for i am better than thy husband.' and he fell a-toying with her. when er razi heard this, he said, 'yonder wittol lusteth after my wife; but i will do him a mischief.' then he rushed in upon them, and when el merouzi saw him, he marvelled at him and said to him, 'how didst thou make thine escape?' so he told him the trick he had played and they abode talking of that which they had collected from the folk [by way of alms], and indeed they had gotten great store of money. then said el merouzi, 'verily, mine absence hath been prolonged and fain would i return to my own country.' quoth er rasi,' as thou wilt;' and the other said, 'let us divide the money we have gotten and do thou go with me to my country, so i may show thee my tricks and my fashions.' 'come to-morrow,' replied er razi, 'and we will divide the money.' so el merouzi went away and the other turned to his wife and said to her, 'we have gotten us great plenty of money, and yonder dog would fain take the half of it; but this shall never be, for that my mind hath been changed against him, since i heard him solicit thee; wherefore i purpose to play him a trick and enjoy all the money; and do not thou cross me.' ' it is well,' answered she, and he said to her, '[to-morrow] at day-peep i will feign myself dead and do thou cry out and tear thy hair, whereupon the folk will flock to me. then lay me out and bury me, and when the folk are gone away [from the burial-place], do thou dig down to me and take me; and have no fear for me, for i can abide two days in the tomb [without hurt].' and she answered, 'do what thou wilt.' so, when it was the foredawn hour, she tied his beard and spreading a veil over him, cried out, whereupon the people of the quarter flocked to her, men and women. presently, up came el merouzi, for the division of the money, and hearing the crying [of the mourners], said, 'what is to do?" quoth they, 'thy brother is dead;' and he said in himself, 'the accursed fellow putteth a cheat on me, so he may get all the money for himself, but i will do with him what shall soon bring him to life again.' then he rent the bosom of his gown and uncovered his head, weeping and saying, 'alas, my brother! alas, my chief! alas, my lord!' and he went in to the men, who rose and condoled with him. then he accosted er razi's wife and said to her, 'how came his death about?' 'i know not,' answered she, 'except that, when i arose in the morning, i found him dead.' moreover, he questioned her of the money and good that was with her, but she said, 'i have no knowledge of this and no tidings.' so he sat down at the sharper's head, and said to him, 'know, o razi, that i will not leave thee till after ten days and their nights, wherein i will wake and sleep by thy grave. so arise and be not a fool.' but he answered him not and el merouzi [drew his knife and] fell to sticking it into the other's hands and feet, thinking to make him move; but [he stirred not and] he presently grew weary of this and concluded that the sharper was dead in good earnest. [however, he still misdoubted of the case] and said in himself, 'this fellow is dissembling, so he may enjoy all the money.' therewith he addressed himself to prepare him [for burial] and bought him perfumes and what [not else] was needed. then they brought him to the washing-place and el merouzi came to him and heating water till it boiled and bubbled and a third of it was wasted,[fn# ] fell to pouring it on his skin, so that it turned red and blue and blistered; but he abode still on one case [and stirred not]. so they wrapped him in the shroud and set him on the bier. then they took up his bier and bearing him to the burial-place, laid him in the grave[fn# ] and threw the earth over him; after which the folk dispersed, but el merouzi and the widow abode by the tomb, weeping, and gave not over sitting till sundown, when the woman said to him, 'come, let us go to the house, for this weeping will not profit us, nor will it restore the dead.' 'by allah,' answered the sharper, 'i will not budge hence till i have slept and waked by this tomb ten days, with their nights!' when she heard this his speech, she feared lest he should keep his word and his oath, and so her husband perish; but she said in herself, 'this fellow dissembleth: if i go away and return to my house, he will abide by him a little while and go away.' and el merouzi said to her, 'arise, thou, and go away.' so she arose and returned to her house, whilst el merouzi abode in his place till the night was half spent, when he said to himself, 'how long [is this to last]? yet how can i let this knavish dog die and lose the money? methinks i were better open the tomb on him and bring him forth and take my due of him by dint of grievous beating and torment.' accordingly, he dug him up and pulled him forth of the tomb; after which he betook himself to an orchard hard by the burial-ground and cut thence staves and palm sticks. then he tied the dead man's legs and came down on him with the staff and beat him grievously; but he stirred not. when the time grew long on him, his shoulders became weary and he feared lest some one of the watch should pass on his round and surprise him. so he took up er razi and carrying him forth of the cemetery, stayed not till he came to the magians' burying-place and casting him down in a sepulchre[fn# ] there, rained heavy blows upon him till his shoulders failed him, but the other stirred not then he sat down by his side and rested; after which he rose and renewed the beating upon him, [but to no better effect; and thus he did] till the end of the night now, as destiny would have it, a band of thieves, whose use it was, whenas they had stolen aught, to resort to that place and divide [their booty], came thither [that night], as of their wont; and they were ten in number and had with them wealth galore, which they were carrying. when they drew near the sepulchre, they heard a noise of blows within it and the captain said, 'this is a magian whom the angels[fn# ] are tormenting.' so they entered [the burial-ground] and when they came over against el merouzi, he feared lest they should be the officers of the watch come upon him, wherefore he [arose and] fled and stood among the tombs.[fn# ] the thieves came up to the place and finding er razi bound by the feet and by him near seventy sticks, marvelled at this with an exceeding wonderment and said, 'god confound thee! this was sure an infidel, a man of many crimes; for, behold, the earth hath rejected him from her womb, and by my life, he is yet fresh! this is his first night [in the tomb] and the angels were tormenting him but now; so whosoever of you hath a sin upon his conscience, let him beat him, as a propitiatory offering to god the most high.' and the thieves said, 'we all have sins upon our consciences.' so each of them went up to the [supposed] dead man and dealt him nigh upon a hundred blows, exclaiming the while, one, 'this is for[fn# ] my father!' and another, 'this is for my grandfather!' whilst a third said, 'this is for my brother!' and a fourth, 'this is for my mother!' and they gave not over taking turns at him and beating him, till they were weary, what while el merouzi stood laughing and saying in himself, 'it is not i alone who have entered into sin against him. there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the supreme!' then the thieves addressed themselves to sharing their booty and presently fell out concerning a sword that was among the spoil, who should take it. quoth the captain, 'methinks we were better prove it; so, if it be good, we shall know its worth, and if it be ill, we shall know that.' and they said, 'try it on this dead man, for he is fresh.' so the captain took the sword and drawing it, poised it and brandished it; but, when er razi saw this, he made sure of death and said in himself, 'i have borne the washing and the boiling water and the pricking with the knife and the grave and its straitness and all this [beating], trusting in god that i might be delivered from death, and [hitherto] i have been delivered; but, as for the sword, i may not brook that, for but one stroke of it, and i am a dead man.' so saying, he sprang to his feet and catching up the thigh-bone of one of the dead, cried out at the top of his voice, saying, 'o ye dead, take them!' and he smote one of them, whilst his comrade [el merouzi] smote another and they cried out at them and buffeted them on the napes of their necks; whereupon the thieves left that which was with them of plunder and fled; and indeed their wits forsook them [for terror] and they stayed not in their flight till they came forth of the magians' burial-ground and left it a parasang's length behind them, when they halted, trembling and affrighted for the soreness of that which had betided them of fear and amazement at the dead. as for er razi and el merouzi, they made peace with each other and sat down to share the booty. quoth el merouzi, 'i will not give thee a dirhem of this money, till thou pay me my due of the money that is in thy house.' and er razi said 'i will not do it, nor will i subtract this from aught of my due.' so they fell out upon this and disputed with one another and each went saying to his fellow, 'i will not give thee a dirhem!' and words ran high between them and contention was prolonged. meanwhile, when the thieves halted, one of them said to the others, 'let us return and see;' and the captain said, 'this thing is impossible of the dead: never heard we that they came to life on this wise. so let us return and take our good, for that the dead have no occasion for good.' and they were divided in opinion as to returning: but [presently they came to a decision and] said, 'indeed, our arms are gone and we cannot avail against them and will not draw near the place where they are: only let one of us [go thither and] look at it, and if he hear no sound of them, let him advertise us what we shall do.' so they agreed that they should send a man of them and assigned him [for this service] two parts [of the booty]. accordingly, he returned to the burial-ground and gave not over going till he stood at the door of the sepulchre, when he heard el merouzi say to his fellow, 'i will not give thee a single dirhem of the money!' the other said the like and they were occupied with contention and mutual revilement and talk. so the thief returned in haste to his fellows, who said, 'what is behind thee?' quoth he, 'get you gone and flee for your lives and save yourselves, o fools; for that much people of the dead are come to life and between them are words and contention.' so the thieves fled, whilst the two sharpers retained to er razi's house and made peace with one another and laid the thieves' purchase to the money they had gotten aforetime and lived a while of time. nor, o king of the age," added the vizier, "is this rarer or more marvellous than the story of the four sharpers with the money-changer and the ass." when the king heard this story, he smiled and it pleased him and he bade the vizier go away to his own house. the twenty-second night of the month. when the evening evened, the king summoned the vizier and required of him the hearing of the [promised] story. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. know, o king, that story of the sharpers with the money-changer and the ass. four sharpers once plotted against a money-changer, a man of abounding wealth, and agreed upon a device for the taking of somewhat of his money. so one of them took an ass and laying on it a bag, wherein was money, lighted down at the money-changer's shop and sought of him change for the money. the money- changer brought out to him the change and bartered it with him, whilst the sharper was easy with him in the matter of the exchange, so he might give him confidence in himself. [as they were thus engaged,] up came the [other three] sharpers and surrounded the ass; and one of them said, '[it is] he,' and another said, 'wait till i look at him.' then he fell to looking on the ass and stroking him from his mane to his crupper; whilst the third went up to him and handled him and felt him from head to tail, saying, ' yes, [it is] in him.' quoth another, ['nay,] it is not in him.' and they gave not over doing the like of this. then they accosted the owner of the ass and chaffered with him and he said, 'i will not sell him but for ten thousand dirhems.' they offered him a thousand dirhems; but he refused and swore that he would not sell the ass but for that which he had said. they ceased not to add to their bidding, till the price reached five thousand dirhems, whilst their fellow still said, 'i will not sell him but for ten thousand dirhems.' the money-changer counselled him to sell, but he would not do this and said to him, 'harkye, gaffer! thou hast no knowledge of this ass's case. concern thyself with silver and gold and what pertaineth thereto of change and exchange; for indeed the virtue of this ass passeth thy comprehension. to every craft its craftsman and to every means of livelihood its folk.' when the affair was prolonged upon the three sharpers, they went away and sat down a little apart; then they came up to the money-changer privily and said to him, 'if thou canst buy him for us, do so, and we will give thee a score of dirhems.' quoth he, 'go away and sit down afar from him.' so they did his bidding and the money-changer went up to the owner of the ass and gave not over tempting him with money and cajoling him and saying, 'leave yonder fellows and sell me the ass, and i will reckon him a gift from thee,' till he consented to sell him the ass for five thousand and five hundred dirhems. accordingly the money-changer counted down to him five thousand and five hundred dirhems of his own money, and the owner of the ass took the price and delivered the ass to him, saying, 'whatsoever betideth, though he abide a deposit about thy neck,[fn# ] sell him not to yonder rogues for less than ten thousand dirhems, for that they would fain buy him because of a hidden treasure whereof they know, and nought can guide them thereto but this ass. so close thy hand on him and gainsay me not, or thou wilt repent.' so saying, he left him and went away, whereupon up came the three other sharpers, the comrades of him of the ass, and said to the money-changer, 'god requite thee for us with good, for that thou hast bought him! how can we requite thee!' quoth he, 'i will not sell him but for ten thousand dirhems.' when they heard this, they returned to the ass and fell again to examining him and handling him. then said they to the money-changer, 'we were mistaken in him. this is not the ass we sought and he is not worth more than half a score paras to us.' then they left him and offered to go away, whereat the money-changer was sore chagrined and cried out at their speech, saying, 'o folk, ye besought me to buy him for you and now i have bought him, ye say, "we were deceived [in him], and he is not worth more than ten paras to us."' quoth they, 'we supposed that in him was that which we desired; but, behold, in him is the contrary of that which we want; and indeed he hath a default, for that he is short of back.' and they scoffed at him and went away from him and dispersed. the money-changer thought they did but finesse with him, that they might get the ass at their own price; but, when they went away from him and he had long in vain awaited their return, he cried out, saying, 'woe!' and 'ruin!' and 'alack, my sorry chance!' and shrieked aloud and tore his clothes. so the people of the market assembled to him and questioned him of his case; whereupon he acquainted them with his plight and told them what the sharpers had said and how they had beguiled him and how it was they who had cajoled him into buying an ass worth half a hundred dirhems[fn# ] for five thousand and five hundred.[fn# ] his friends blamed him and a company of the folk laughed at him and marvelled at his folly and his credulity in accepting the sharpers' talk, without suspicion, and meddling with that which he understood not and thrusting himself into that whereof he was not assured. on this wise, o king shah bekht," continued the vizier, "is the issue of eagerness for [the goods of] the world and covetise of that which our knowledge embraceth not; indeed, [whoso doth thus] shall perish and repent nor, o king of the age, (added he) is this story more extraordinary than that of the sharper and the merchants." when the king heard this story, he said in himself, "verily, had i given ear to the sayings of my courtiers and inclined to the idle prate [of those who counselled me] in the matter of [the slaying of] my vizier, i had repented to the utterest of repentance, but praised be god, who hath disposed me to mansuetude and long-suffering and hath endowed me with patience!" then he turned to the vizier and bade him return to his dwelling and [dismissed] those who were present, as of wont. the twenty-third night of the month. when the evening evened, the king sent after the vizier and when he presented himself before him, he required of him the hearing of the [promised] story. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. know, o illustrious lord, that story of the sharper and the merchants. there was once aforetime a certain sharper, who [was so eloquent that he] would turn the ear inside out, and he was a man of understanding and quick wit and skill and perfection. it was his wont to enter a town and [give himself out as a merchant and] make a show of trafficking and insinuate himself into the intimacy of people of worth and consort with the merchants, for he was [apparently] distinguished for virtue and piety. then he would put a cheat on them and take [of them] what he might spend and go away to another city; and he ceased not to do thus a great while. it befell one day that he entered a certain city and sold somewhat that was with him of merchandise and got him friends of the merchants of the place and fell to sitting with them and entertaining them and inviting them to his lodging and his assembly, whilst they also invited him to their houses. on this wise he abode a long while, till he was minded to leave the city; and this was bruited abroad among his friends, who were concerned for parting from him. then he betook himself to him of them, who was the richest of them in substance and the most apparent of them in generosity, and sat with him and borrowed his goods; and when he was about to take leave, he desired him to give him the deposit that he had left with him. 'and what is the deposit?' asked the merchant. quoth the sharper, 'it is such a purse, with the thousand dinars therein.' and the merchant said, 'when didst thou give it me?' 'extolled be the perfection of god!' replied the sharper. 'was it not on such a day, by such a token, and thus and thus?' 'i know not of this,' rejoined the merchant, and words were bandied about between them, whilst the folk [who were present also] disputed together concerning their affair and their speech, till their voices rose high and the neighbours had knowledge of that which passed between them. then said the sharper, 'o folk, this is my friend and i deposited with him a deposit, but he denieth it; so in whom shall the folk put trust after this?' and they said, 'this [fn# ] is a man of worth and we have found in him nought but trustiness and loyality and good breeding, and he is endowed with understanding and generosity. indeed, he avoucheth no falsehood, for that we have consorted with him and mixed with him and he with us and we know the sincerity of his religion.' then quoth one of them to the merchant, 'harkye, such an one! bethink thee and consult thy memory. it may not be but that thou hast forgotten.' but he said, 'o folk, i know nothing of that which he saith, for indeed he deposited nought with me.' and the affair was prolonged between them. then said the sharper to the merchant, 'i am about to make a journey and have, praised be god the most high, wealth galore, and this money shall not escape me; but do thou swear to me.' and the folk said, 'indeed, this man doth justice upon himself.'[fn# ] whereupon the merchant fell into that which he misliked[fn# ] and came near upon [suffering] loss and ill repute. now he had a friend, who pretended to quickwittedness and understanding; so he came up to him privily and said to him, 'let me do, so i may put the change on this trickster, for i know him to be a liar and thou art near upon having to pay the money; but i will turn suspicion from thee and say to him, "the deposit is with me and thou erredst in imagining that it was with other than myself," and so divert him from thee.' 'do so,' replied the merchant, 'and rid the folk of their [false] debts.' so the friend turned to the sharper and said to him, 'o my lord, o such an one, thou goest under a delusion. the purse is with me, for it was with me that thou depositedst it, and this elder is innocent of it.' but the sharper answered him with impatience and impetuosity, saying, 'extolled be the perfection of god! as for the purse that is with thee, o noble and trusty man, i know that it is in the warrant of god and my heart is at ease concerning it, for that it is with thee as it were with me; but i began by demanding that which i deposited with this man, of my knowledge that he coveteth the folk's good.' at this the friend was confounded and put to silence and returned not an answer; [and the] only [result of his interference was that] each of them [fn# ] paid a thousand dinars. so the sharper took the two thousand dinars and made off; and when he was gone, the merchant said to his friend, the [self-styled] man of wit and intelligence, 'harkye, such an one! thou and i are like unto the hawk and the locust.' 'what was their case?' asked the other; and the merchant said, story of the hawk and the locust. 'there was once, of old time, a hawk who made himself a nest hard by that of a locust, and the latter gloried in his neighbourhood and betaking herself to him, saluted him and said, "o my lord and chief of the birds, indeed the nearness unto thee delighteth me and thou honourest me with thy neighbourhood and my soul is fortified with thee." the hawk thanked her for this and there ensued friendship between them. one day, the locust said to the hawk, "o chief of the birds, how cometh it that i see thee alone, solitary, having with thee no friend of thy kind of the birds, to whom thou mayst incline in time of easance and of whom thou mayst seek succour in time of stress? indeed, it is said, 'man goeth about seeking the ease of his body and the preservation of his strength, and in this there is nought more necessary to him than a friend who shall be the completion of his gladness and the mainstay of his life and on whom shall be his dependence in his stress and in his ease.' now i, albeit i ardently desire thy weal in that which beseemeth thy condition, yet am i weak [and unable] unto that which the soul craveth; but, if thou wilt give me leave, i will seek out for thee one of the birds who shall be conformable unto thee in thy body and thy strength." and the hawk said, "i commit this to thee and rely upon thee therein." therewithal, o my brother, the locust fell to going round about among the company of the birds, but saw nought resembling the hawk in bulk and body save the kite and deemed well of her. so she brought the hawk and the kite together and counselled the former to make friends with the latter. now it chanced that the hawk fell sick and the kite abode with him a long while [and tended him] till he recovered and became whole and strong; wherefore he thanked her [and she departed from him]. but after awhile the hawk's sickness returned to him and he needed the kite's succour. so the locust went out from him and was absent from him a day, after which she returned to him with a[nother] locust, [fn# ] saying, "i have brought thee this one." when the hawk saw her, he said, "god requite thee with good! indeed, thou hast done well in the quest and hast been subtle in the choice." all this, o my brother,' continued the merchant, 'befell because the locust had no knowledge of the secret essence that lieth hid in apparent bodies. as for thee, o my brother, (may god requite thee with good!) thou wast subtle in device and usedst precaution; but precaution sufficeth not against fate, and fortune fore-ordained baffleth contrivance. how excellent is the saying of the poet! and he recited the following verses: it chances whiles that the blind man escapes a pit, whilst he who is clear of sight falls into it. the ignorant man may speak with impunity a word that is death to the wise and the ripe of wit. the true believer is pinched for his daily bread, whilst infidel rogues enjoy all benefit. where is a man's resource and what can he do? it is the almighty's will; we most submit. nor," added the vizier, "is this, o king of the age, more extraordinary or stranger than the story of the king and his chamberlain's wife; nay, the latter is rarer than this and more delightsome." when the king heard this story, he was fortified in his resolve to spare the vizier and to leave haste in an affair whereof he was not assured; so he comforted him and bade him withdraw to his lodging. the twenty-fourth night of the month. when it was night, the king summoned the vizier and sought of him the hearing of the [promised] story. "hearkening and obedience," replied er rehwan, "know, o august king, that story of the king and his chamberlain's wife. there was once, of old days and in bygone ages and times, a king of the kings of the persians, who was passionately addicted to the love of women. his courtiers bespoke him of the wife of a chamberlain of his chamberlains, for that she was endowed with beauty and loveliness and perfection, and this prompted him to go in to her. when she saw him, she knew him and said to him, 'what prompteth the king unto this that he doth?' and he answered, saying, 'verily, i yearn after thee with an exceeding yearning and needs must i enjoy thy favours.' and he gave her of wealth that after the like whereof women hanker; but she said, 'i cannot do that whereof the king speaketh, for fear of my husband.' and she refused herself to him with the most rigorous of refusals and would not do his desire. so the king went out, full of wrath, and forgot his girdle in the place. presently, her husband entered and saw the girdle and knew it. now he was ware of the king's love for women; so he said to his wife, ' what is this that i see with thee?' quoth she, 'i will tell thee the truth,' and recounted to him the story; but he believed her not and doubt entered into his heart. as for the king, he passed that night in chagrin and concern, and when it morrowed, he summoned the chamberlain and investing him with the governance of one of his provinces, bade him betake himself thither, purposing, after he should have departed and come to his destination, to foregather with his wife. the chamberlain perceived [his intent] and knew his design; so he answered, saying, 'hearkening and obedience. i will go and set my affairs in order and give such charges as may be necessary for the welfare of my estate; then will i go about the king's occasion.' and the king said, 'do this and hasten.' so the chamberlain went about that which he needed and assembling his wife's kinsfolk, said to them, 'i am resolved to put away my wife.' they took this ill of him and complained of him and summoning him before the king, sat pleading with him. now the king had no knowledge of that which had passed; so he said to the chamberlain, 'why wilt thou put her away and how can thy soul consent unto this and why takest thou unto thyself a goodly piece of land and after forsakest it? 'may god amend the king!' answered the husband. 'by allah, o king, i saw therein the track of the lion and fear to enter the land, lest the lion devour me; and indeed the like of my affair with her is that which befell between the old woman and the draper's wife.' 'what is their story?' asked the king; and the chamberlain said, 'know, o king, that story of the old woman and the draper's wife. there was once a man of the drapers, who had a fair wife, and she was curtained [fn# ] and chaste. a certain young man saw her coming forth of the bath and loved her and his heart was occupied with her. so he cast about [to get access to her] with all manner of devices, but availed not to win to her; and when he was weary of endeavour and his patience was exhausted for weariness and his fortitude failed him and he was at an end of his resources against her, he complained of this to an old woman of ill-omen, [fn# ] who promised him to bring about union between him and her. he thanked her for this and promised her all manner of good; and she said to him, "get thee to her husband and buy of him a turban-cloth of fine linen, and let it be of the goodliest of stuffs." so he repaired to the draper and buying of him a turban-cloth of lawn, returned with it to the old woman, who took it and burned it in two places. then she donned devotees' apparel and taking the turban-cloth with her, went to the draper's house and knocked at the door. when the draper's wife saw her, she opened to her and received her kindly and made much of her and welcomed her. so the old woman went in to her and conversed with her awhile. then said she to her, "[i desire to make] the ablution [preparatory] to prayer." so the wife brought her water and she made the ablution and standing up to pray, prayed and did her occasion. when she had made an end of her prayers, she left the turban-cloth in the place of prayer and went away. presently, in came the draper, at the hour of evening prayer, and sitting down in the place where the old woman had prayed, looked about him and espied the turban. he knew it [for that which he had that day sold to the young man] and misdoubted of the case, wherefore anger appeared in his face and he was wroth with his wife and reviled her and abode his day and his night, without speaking to her, what while she knew not the cause of his anger. then she looked and seeing the turban-cloth before him and noting the traces of burning thereon, understood that his anger was on account of this and concluded that he was wroth because it was burnt. when the morning morrowed, the draper went out, still angered against his wife, and the old woman returned to her and found her changed of colour, pale of face, dejected and heart-broken. [so she questioned her of the cause of her dejection and she told her how her husband was angered against her (as she supposed) on account of the burns in the turban-cloth.] "o my daughter," rejoined the old woman, "be not concerned; for i have a son, a fine-drawer, and he, by thy life, shall fine-draw [the holes] and restore the turban-cloth as it was. "the wife rejoiced in her saying and said to her, "and when shall this be?" "to-morrow, if it please god the most high," answered the old woman, "i will bring him to thee, at the time of thy husband's going forth from thee, and he shall mend it and depart forth-right." then she comforted her heart and going forth from her, returned to the young man and told him what had passed. now, when the draper saw the turban-cloth, he resolved to put away his wife and waited but till he should get together that which was obligatory on him of the dowry and what not else,[fn# ] for fear of her people. when the old woman arose in the morning, she took the young man and carried him to the draper's house. the wife opened the door to her and the ill-omened old woman entered with him and said to the lady, "go, fetch that which thou wouldst have fine-drawn and give it to my son." so saying, she locked the door on her, whereupon the young man forced her and did his occasion of her and went forth. then said the old woman to her, "know that this is my son and that he loved thee with an exceeding love and was like to lose his life for longing after thee. so i practised on thee with this device and came to thee with this turban-cloth, which is not thy husband's, but my son's. now have i accomplished my desire; so do thou trust in me and i will put a trick on thy husband for the setting thee right with him, and thou wilt be obedient to me and to him and to my son."[fn# ] and the wife answered, saying, "it is well. do so." so the old woman returned to the lover and said to him, "i have skilfully contrived the affair for thee with her; [and now it behoveth us to amend that we have marred]. so go now and sit with the draper and bespeak him of the turban-cloth, [saying, 'the turban-cloth i bought of thee i chanced to burn in two places; so i gave it to a certain old woman, to get mended, and she took it and went away, and i know not her dwelling-place.'] when thou seest me pass by, rise and lay hold of me [and demand of me the turban-cloth], to the intent that i may amend her case with her husband and that thou mayst be even with her." so he repaired to the draper's shop and sat down by him and said to him, "thou knowest the turban-cloth i bought of thee?" "yes," answered the draper, and the other said, "knowest thou what is come of it?" "no," replied the husband, and the youth said, "after i bought it of thee, i fumigated myself[fn# ] and it befell that the turban-cloth was burnt in two places. so i gave it to a woman, whose son, they said, was a fine-drawer, and she took it and went away with it; and i know not her abiding-place." when the draper heard this, he misdoubted him [of having wrongly suspected his wife] and marvelled at the story of the turban-cloth, and his mind was set at ease concerning her. presently, up came the old woman, whereupon the young man sprang to his feet and laying hold of her, demanded of her the turban-cloth. quoth she, "know that i entered one of the houses and made the ablution and prayed in the place of prayer; and i forgot the turban-cloth there and went out. now i know not the house in which i prayed, nor have i been directed[fn# ] thereto, and i go round about every day till the night, so haply i may light on it, for i know not its owner." when the draper heard this, he said to the old woman, "verily, allah restoreth unto thee vhat which thou hast lost. rejoice, for the turban-cloth is with me and in my house." and he arose forthright and gave her the turban-cloth, as it was. she gave it to the young man, and the draper made his peace with his wife and gave her raiment and jewellery, [by way of peace-offering], till she was content and her heart was appeased. [fn# ] when the king heard his chamberlain's story, he was confounded and abashed and said to him, 'abide on thy wonted service and till thy land, for that the lion entered it, but marred it not, and he will never more return thither.'[fn# ] then he bestowed on him a dress of honour and made him a sumptuous present; and the man returned to his wife and people, rejoicing and glad, for that his heart was set at rest concerning his wife. nor," added the vizier, "o king of the age, is this rarer or more extraordinary than the story of the fair and lovely woman, endowed with amorous grace, with the foul-favoured man." when the king heard the vizier's speech, he deemed it goodly and it pleased him; so he bade him go away to his house, and there he abode his day long. the twenty-fifth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king summoned his vizier and bade him tell the [promised] story. so he said, "it is well. know, o king, that story of the foul-favoured man and his fair wife. there was once a man of the arabs who had a number of sons, and amongst them a boy, never was seen a fairer than he of favour nor a more accomplished in loveliness, no, nor a more perfect of wit. when he came to man's estate, his father married him to the daughter of one of his uncles, and she excelled not in beauty, neither was she praiseworthy of attributes; wherefore she pleased not the youth, but he bore with her, for kinship's sake. one day, he went forth in quest of certain stray camels of his and fared on all his day and night till eventide, when he [came to an arab encampment and] was fain to seek hospitality of one of the inhabitants. so he alighted at one of the tents of the camp and there came forth to him a man of short stature and loathly aspect, who saluted him and lodging him in a corner of the tent, sat entertaining him with talk, the goodliest that might be. when his food was dressed, the arab's wife brought it to the guest, and he looked at the mistress of the tent and saw a favour than which no goodlier might be. indeed, her beauty and grace and symmetry amazed him and he abode confounded, looking now at her and now at her husband. when his looking grew long, the man said to him, 'harkye, o son of the worthy! occupy thyself with thine own concerns, for by me and this woman hangeth a rare story, that is yet goodlier than that which thou seest of her beauty; and when we have made an end of our food, i will tell it thee.' so, when they had made an end of eating and drinking, the young man asked his host for the story, and he said, 'know that in my youth i was even as thou seest me in the matter of loathliness and foul favour; and i had brethren of the comeliest of the folk; wherefore my father preferred them over me and used to show them kindness, to my exclusion, and employ me, in their room [in menial service], like as one employeth slaves. one day, a she-camel of his went astray and he said to me, "go thou forth in quest of her and return not but with her." quoth i, "send other than i of thy sons." but he would not consent to this and reviled me and insisted upon me, till the matter came to such a pass with him that he took a whip and fell to beating me. so i arose and taking a riding-camel, mounted her and sallied forth at a venture, purposing to go out into the deserts and return to him no more. i fared on all my night [and the next day] and coming at eventide to [the encampment of] this my wife's people, alighted down with her father, who was a very old man, and became his guest. when the night was half spent, i arose [and went forth the tent] to do an occasion of mine, and none knew of my case save this woman. the dogs misdoubted of me and followed me and gave not over besetting me, till i fell on my back into a deep pit, wherein was water, and one of the dogs fell in with me. the woman, who was then a girl in the first bloom of youth, full of strength and spirit, was moved to pity on me, for that wherein i was fallen, and coming to me with a rope, said to me, "lay hold of this rope." so i laid hold of the rope and clung to it and she pulled me up; but, when i was halfway up, i pulled her [down] and she fell with me into the pit; and there we abode three days, she and i and the dog. when her people arose in the morning and saw her not, they sought her in the camp, but, finding her not and missing me also, doubted not but she had fled with me. now she had four brothers, as they were falcons, and they mounted and dispersed in quest of us. when the day dawned [on the fourth morning], the dog began to bark and the other dogs answered him and coming to the mouth of the pit, stood howling to him. my wife's father, hearing the howling of the dogs, came up and standing at the brink of the pit, [looked in and] beheld a marvel. now he was a man of valour and understanding, an elder versed[fn# ] in affairs so he fetched a rope and bringing us both forth, questioned us of our case. i told him all that had betided and he abode pondering the affair. presently, her brothers returned, whereupon the old man acquainted them with the whole case and said to them, "o my sons, know that your sister purposed not aught but good, and if ye slay this man, ye will earn abiding reproach and ye will wrong him, ay, and wrong yourselves and your sister, to boot; for indeed there appeareth no cause [of offence] such as calleth for slaughter, and it may not be denied that this incident is a thing the like whereof may well betide and that he may well have been baffled by the like of this chance." then he turned to me and questioned me of my lineage; so i set forth to him my genealogy and he said, "a man of equal rank, honourable [and] understanding." and he offered me [his daughter in] marriage. i consented to him of this and marrying her, took up my abode with him and god the most high hath opened on me the gates of weal and fortune, so that i am become the most abounding in substance of the folk of the tribe; and he hath stablished me in that which he hath given me of his bounties.' the young man marvelled at his story and lay the night with him; and when he arose in the morning, he found his strays. so he took them and returning [to his family.], acquainted them with what he had seen and that which had betided him. nor," added the vizier, "is this more marvellous or rarer than the story of the king who lost kingdom and wealth and wife and children and god restored them unto him and requited him with a kingdom more magnificent than that which he had lost and goodlier and rarer and greater of wealth and elevation." the vizier's story pleased the king and he bade depart to his dwelling. the twenty-sixth night of the month. when came the night, the king summoned his vizier and bade him tell the story of the king who lost kingdom and wife and wealth. "hearkening and obedience," replied er rehwan. "know, o king, that story of the king who lost kingdom and wife and wealth and god restored them to him. there was once a king of the kings of hind, who was goodly of polity, praiseworthy in administration, just to his subjects, beneficent to men of learning and piety and asceticism and devoutness and worship and shunning traitors and froward folk and those of lewd life. on this wise of polity he abode in his kingship what god the most high willed of days and hours and years, and he married the daughter of his father's brother, a beautiful and lovesome woman, endowed with brightness and perfection, who had been reared in the king's house in splendour and delight. she bore him two sons, the comeliest that might be of boys. then came fore-ordained fate, which there is no warding off, and god the most high raised up against the king another king, who came forth upon his realm, and all the folk of the city, who had a mind unto evil and lewdness, joined themselves unto him. so he fortified himself against the king and made himself master of his kingdom, putting his troops to the rout and slaying his guards. the king took his wife, the mother of his sons, and what he might [of good] and saved himself and fled in the darkness of the night, unknowing whither he should go. when travel grew sore upon them, there met them robbers by the way, who took all that was with them, [even to their clothes], so that there was left unto each of them but a shirt and trousers; yea, they left them without victual or camels or [other] riding-cattle, and they ceased not to fare on afoot, till they came to a coppice, to wit, a garden of trees, on the shore of the sea. now the road which they would have followed was crossed by an arm of the sea, but it was scant of water. so, when they came to that place, the king took up one of his children and fording the water with him, set him down on the other bank and returned for his other son. him also he set by his brother and returning for their mother, took her up and passing the water with her, came to the place [where he had left his children], but found them not. then he looked at the midst of the island and saw there an old man and an old woman, engaged in making themselves a hut of reeds. so he put down his wife over against them and set off in quest of his children, but none gave him news of them and he went round about right and left, but found not the place where they were. now the children had entered the coppice, to make water, and there was there a forest of trees, wherein, if a horseman entered, he might wander by the week, [before finding his way out], for none knew the first thereof from the last. so the boys entered therein and knew not how they should return and went astray in that wood, to an end that was willed of god the most high, whilst their father sought them, but found them not. so he returned to their mother and they abode weeping for their children. as for these latter, when they entered the wood, it swallowed them up and they went wandering in it many days, knowing not where they had entered, till they came forth, at another side, upon the open country. meanwhile, the king and queen abode in the island, over against the old man and woman, and ate of the fruits that were in the island and drank of its waters, till, one day, as they sat, there came a ship and moored to the side of the island, to fill up with water, whereupon they[fn# ] looked at each other and spoke. the master of the ship was a magian and all that was therein, both men and goods, belonged to him, for that he was a merchant and went round about the world. now covetise deluded the old man, the owner of the island, and he went up [into the ship] and gave the magian news of the king's wife, setting out to him her charms, till he made him yearn unto her and his soul prompted him to use treachery and practise upon her and take her from her hnsband. so he sent to her, saying, 'with us in the ship is a woman with child, and we fear lest she be delivered this night. hast thou skill in the delivering of women?' and she answered, 'yes.' now it was the last of the day; so he sent to her to come up into the ship and deliver the woman, for that the pangs of labour were come upon her; and he promised her clothes and spending-money. accordingly, she embarked in all assurance, with a heart at ease for herself, and transported her gear to the ship; but no sooner was she come thither than the anchors were weighed and the canvas spread and the ship set sail. when the king saw this, he cried out and his wife wept in the ship and offered to cast herself into the sea; but the magian bade the sailors lay hands on her. so they seized her and it was but a little while ere the night darkened and the ship disappeared from the king's eyes; whereupon he swooned away for excess of weeping and lamentation and passed his night bewailing his wife and children. when the morning morrowed, he recited the following verses: how long, o fate, wilt thou oppress and baffle me? tell me, was ever yet a mortal spared of thee? behold, my loved ones all are ta'en from me away. they left me and content forthright forsook my heart, upon that day my loves my presence did depart; my pleasant life for loss of friends is troubled aye. by allah, i knew not their worth nor yet how dear a good it is to have one's loved ones ever near, until they left my heart on fire without allay. ne'er shall i them forget, nay, nor the day they went and left me all forlorn, to pine for languishment, my severance to bewail in torment and dismay. i make a vow to god, if ever day or night the herald of good news my hearing shall delight, announcing the return o' th' absent ones, i'll lay upon their threshold's dust my cheeks and to my soul, "take comfort, for the loved are come again," i'll say. if for my loved ones' loss i rent my heart for dole, before i rent my clothes, reproach me not, i pray. he abode weeping for the loss of his wife and children till the morning, when he went forth wandering at a venture, knowing not what he should do, and gave not over faring along the sea-shore days and nights, unknowing whither he went and taking no food therein other than the herbs of the earth and seeing neither man nor beast nor other living thing, till his travel brought him to the top of a mountain. he took up his sojourn in the mountain and abode there [awhile] alone, eating of its fruits and drinking of its waters. then he came down thence and fared on along the high road three days, at the end of which time he came upon tilled fields and villages and gave not over going till he sighted a great city on the shore of the sea and came to the gate thereof at the last of the day. the gatekeepers suffered him not to enter; so he abode his night anhungred, and when he arose in the morning, be sat down hard by the gate. now the king of the city was dead and had left no son, and the townsfolk fell out concerning who should be king over them: and their sayings differed and their counsels, so that turmoil was like to betide between them by reason of this. at last, after long dissension, they came to an accord and agreed to leave the choice to the late king's elephant and that he unto whom he consented should be king and that they would not contest the commandment with him. so they made oath of this and on the morrow, they brought out the elephant and came forth to the utterward of the city; nor was there man or woman left in the place but was present at that time. then they adorned the elephant and setting up the throne on his back, gave him the crown in his trunk; and he went round about examining the faces of the folk, but stopped not with any of them till he came to the banished king, the forlorn, the exile, him who had lost his children and his wife, when he prostrated himself to him and placing the crown on his head, took him up and set him on his back. thereupon the folk all prostrated themselves and gave one another joy of this and the drums of good tidings beat before him, and he entered the city [and went on] till he came to the house of justice and the audience-hall of the palace and sat down on the throne of the kingdom, with the crown on his head; whereupon the folk came in to him to give him joy and offer up prayers for him. then he addressed himself, after his wont in the kingship, to ordering the affairs of the folk and ranging the troops according to their ranks and looking into their affairs and those of all the people. moreover, he released those who were in the prisons and abolished the customs dues and gave dresses of honour and bestowed gifts and largesse and conferred favours on the amirs and viziers and dignitaries, and the chamberlains and deputies presented themselves before him and did him homage. so the people of the city rejoiced in him and said, 'indeed this is none other than a king of the greatest of the kings.' moreover, he assembled the sages and the theologians and the sons of the kings and devised with them and asked them questions and problems and examined with them into many things of all fashions that might direct him to well-doing in the kingly office; and he questioned them also of subtleties and religious obligations and of the laws of the kingdom and the fashions of administration and of that which it behoveth the king to do of looking into the affairs of the people and repelling the enemy [from the realm] and fending off his malice with war; wherefore the people's contentment redoubled and their joy in that which god the most high had vouchsafed them of his elevation to the kingship over them. so he upheld the ordinance of the realm and the affairs thereof abode established upon the accepted customs. now the late king had left a wife and a daughter, and the people would fain have married the latter to the new king, to the intent that the kingship might not pass out of the old royal family. so they proposed to him that he should take her to wife, and he promised them this, but put them off from him,[fn# ] of his respect for the covenant he had made with his former wife, to wit, that he would take none other to wife than herself. then he betook himself to fasting by day and standing up by night [to pray], giving alms galore and beseeching god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) to reunite him with his children and his wife, the daughter of his father's brother. when a year had elapsed, there came to the city a ship, wherein were merchants and goods galore. now it was of their usance, from time immemorial, that, when there came a ship to the city, the king sent unto it such of his servants as he trusted in, who took charge of the goods, so they might be [first of all] shown to the king, who bought such of them as befitted him and gave the merchants leave to sell the rest. so he sent, as of wont, one who should go up to the ship and seal up the goods and set over them who should keep watch over them. to return to the queen his wife. when the magian fled with her, he proffered himself to her and lavished unto her wealth galore, but she rejected his suit and was like to slay herself for chagrin at that which had befallen and for grief for her separation from her husband. moreover, she refused meat and drink and offered to cast herself into the sea; but the magian shackled her and straitened her and clad her in a gown of wool and said to her, 'i will continue thee in misery and abjection till thou obey me and consent to my wishes.' so she took patience and looked for god to deliver her from the hand of that accursed one; and she ceased not to travel with him from place to place till he came with her to the city wherein her husband was king and his goods were put under seal. now the woman was in a chest and two youths of the pages of the late king, who were now in the new king's service, were those who had been charged with the guardianship of the vessel and the goods. when the evening evened on them, the two youths fell a-talking and recounted that which had befallen them in their days of childhood and the manner of the going forth of their father and mother from their country and royal estate, whenas the wicked overcame their land, and [called to mind] how they had gone astray in the forest and how fate had made severance between them and their parents; brief, they recounted their story, from beginning to end. when the woman heard their talk, she knew that they were her very sons and cried out to them from the chest, saying, 'i am your mother such an one, and the token between you and me is thus and thus.' the young men knew the token and falling upon the chest, broke the lock and brought out their mother, who strained them to her breast, and they fell upon her and swooned away, all three. when they came to themselves, they wept awhile and the folk assembled about them, marvelling at that which they saw, and questioned them of their case. so the young men vied with each other who should be the first to discover the story to the folk; and when the magian saw this, he came up, crying out, 'alas!' and 'woe worth the day!' and said to them, 'why have ye broken open my chest? i had in it jewels and ye have stolen them, and this damsel is my slave-girl and she hath agreed with you upon a device to take the good.' then he rent his clothes and called aloud for succour, saying, 'i appeal to god and to the just king, so he may quit me of these wrong-doing youths!' quoth they, 'this is our mother and thou stolest her.' then words waxed many between them and the folk plunged into talk and prate and discussion concerning their affair and that of the [pretended] slave-girl, and the strife waxed amain between them, so that [at last] they carried them up to the king. when the two young men presented themselves before him and set forth their case to him and to the folk and the king heard their speech, he knew them and his heart was like to fly for joyance in them: the tears poured from his eyes at their sight and that of his wife, and he thanked god the most high and praised him for that he had reunited [him with] them. then he dismissed the folk who were present about him and bade commit the magian and the woman and the two youths to his armoury[fn# ] [for the night], commanding that they should keep guard over them till god caused the morning morrow, so he might assemble the cadis and the judges and assessors and judge between them, according to the holy law, in the presence of the four cadis. so they did his bidding and the king passed the night praying and praising god the most high for that which he had vouchsafed him of kingship and puissance and victory over[fn# ] him who had wronged him and thanking him who had reunited him with his family. when the morning morrowed, he assembled the cadis and judges and assessors and sending for the magian and the two youths and their mother, questioned them of their case, whereupon the two young men began and said, 'we are the sons of the king such-an-one and enemies and wicked men got the mastery of out realm; so our father fled forth with us and wandered at a venture, for fear of the enemies.' [and they recounted to him all that had betided them, from beginning to end.] quoth he, 'ye tell a marvellous story; but what hath [fate] done with your father?' 'we know not how fortune dealt with him after our loss,' answered they; and he was silent. then he turned to the woman and said to her, 'and thou, what sayst thou?' so she expounded to him her case and recounted to him all that had betided her and her husband, first and last, up to the time when they took up their abode with the old man and woman who dwelt on the sea-shore. then she set out that which the magian had practised on her of knavery and how he had carried her off in the ship and all that had betided her of humiliation and torment, what while the cadis and judges and deputies hearkened to her speech. when the king heard the last of his wife's story, he said, 'verily, there hath betided thee a grievous matter; but hast thou knowledge of what thy husband did and what came of his affair?' 'nay, by allah,' answered she; 'i have no knowledge of him, save that i leave him no hour unremembered in fervent prayer, and never, whilst i live, will he cease to be to me the father of my children and my father's brother's son and my flesh and my blood.' then she wept and the king bowed his head, whilst his eyes brimmed over with tears at her story. then he raised his head to the magian and said to him, 'say thy say, thou also.' so the magian said, 'this is my slave-girl, whom i bought with my money from such a land and for so many dinars, and i made her my favourite[fn# ] and loved her with an exceeding love and gave her charge over my good; but she betrayed me in my substance and plotted with one of my servants to slay me, tempting him by promising him that she would be his wife. when i knew this of her and was certified that she purposed treason against me, i awoke [from my heedlessness] and did with her that which i did, of fear for myself from her craft and perfidy; for indeed she is a beguiler with her tongue and she hath taught these two youths this pretence, by way of trickery and of her perfidy and malice: so be thou not deluded by her and by her talk.' 'thou liest, o accursed one,' cried the king and bade lay hands on him and clap him in irons. then he turned to the two youths, his sons, and strained them to his breast, weeping sore and saying, 'o all ye who are present of cadis and assessors and officers of state, know that these twain are my sons and that this is my wife and the daughter of my father's brother; for that i was king aforetime in such a region.' and he recounted to them his history from beginning to end, nor is there aught of profit in repetition; whereupon the folk cried out with weeping and lamentation for the stress of that which they heard of marvellous chances and that rare story. as for the king's wife, he caused carry her into his palace and lavished upon her and upon her sons all that behoved and beseemed them of bounties, whilst the folk flocked to offer up prayers for him and give him joy of [his reunion with] his wife and children. when they had made an end of pious wishes and congratulations, they besought the king to hasten the punishment of the magian and heal their hearts of him with torment and humiliation. so he appointed them for a day on which they should assemble to witness his punishment and that which should betide him of torment, and shut himself up with his wife and sons and abode thus private with them three days, during which time they were sequestered from the folk. on the fourth day the king entered the bath, and coming forth, sat down on the throne of his kingship, with the crown on his head, whereupon the folk came in to him, according to their wont and after the measure of their several ranks and degrees, and the amirs and viziers entered, ay, and the chamberlains and deputies and captains and men of war and the falconers and armbearers. then he seated his two sons, one on his right and the other on his left hand, whilst all the folk stood before him and lifted up their voices in thanksgiving to god the most high and glorification of him and were strenuous in prayer for the king and in setting forth his virtues and excellences. he returned them the most gracious of answers and bade carry the magian forth of the town and set him on a high scaffold that had been builded for him there; and he said to the folk, 'behold, i will torture him with all kinds of fashions of torment.' then he fell to telling them that which he had wrought of knavery with the daughter of his father's brother and what he had caused betide her of severance between her and her husband and how he had required her of herself, but she had sought refuge against him with god (to whom belong might and majesty) and chose rather humiliation than yield to his wishes, notwithstanding stress of torment; neither recked she aught of that which he lavished to her of wealth and raiment and jewels. when the king had made an end of his story, he bade the bystanders spit in the magian's face and curse him; and they did this. then he bade cut out his tongue and on the morrow he bade cut off his ears and nose and pluck out his eyes. on the third day he bade cut off his hands and on the fourth his feet; and they ceased not to lop him limb from limb, and each member they cast into the fire, after its cutting-off, before his face, till his soul departed, after he had endured torments of all kinds and fashions. the king bade crucify his trunk on the city-wall three days' space; after which he let burn it and reduce its ashes to powder and scatter them abroad in the air. then the king summoned the cadi and the witnesses and bade them many the old king's daughter and sister to his own sons; so they married them, after the king had made a bride-feast three days and displayed their brides to them from eventide to peep of day. then the two princes went in to their brides and did away their maidenhead and loved them and were vouchsafed children by them. as for the king their father, he abode with his wife, their mother, what while god (to whom belong might and majesty) willed, and they rejoiced in reunion with each other. the kingship endured unto them and glory and victory, and the king continued to rule with justice and equity, so that the people loved him and still invoked on him and on his sons length of days and durance; and they lived the most delightsome of lives till there came to them the destroyer of delights and sunderer of companies, he who layeth waste the palaces and peopleth the tombs; and this is all that hath come down to us of the story of the king and his wife and children. nor," added the vizier, "if this story be a solace and a diversion, is it pleasanter or more diverting than that of the young man of khorassan and his mother and sister." when king shah bekht heard this story, it pleased him and he bade the vizier go away to his own house. the twenty-seventh night of the month when the evening came, the king bade fetch the vizier; so he presented himself before him and the king bade him tell the [promised] story. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. know, o king (but god alone knoweth his secret purpose and is versed in all that is past and was foredone among bygone peoples), that story of selim and selma. there was once, in the parts of khorassan, a man of the affluent of the country, who was a merchant of the chiefest of the merchants and was blessed with two children, a son and a daughter. he was assiduous in rearing them and making fair their education, and they grew up and throve after the goodliest fashion. he used to teach the boy, who taught his sister all that he learnt, so that the girl became perfect in the knowledge of the traditions of the prophet and in polite letters, by means of her brother. now the boy's name was selim and that of the girl selma. when they grew up and waxed, their father built them a mansion beside his own and lodged them apart therein and appointed them slave-girls and servants to tend them and assigned unto each of them pensions and allowances and all that they needed of high and low, meat and bread and wine and raiment and vessels and what not else. so selim and selma abode in that mansion, as they were one soul in two bodies, and they used to sleep on one couch; and rooted in each one's heart was love and affection and familiar friendship [for the other of them]. one night, when the night was half spent, as selim and selma sat talking and devising with each other, they heard a noise below the house; so they looked out from a lattice that gave upon the gate of their father's mansion and saw a man of goodly presence, whose clothes were hidden by a wide cloak, which covered him. he came up to the gate and laying hold of the door-ring, gave a light knock; whereupon the door opened and out came their sister, with a lighted flambeau, and after her their mother, who saluted the stranger and embraced him, saying, 'o beloved of my heart and light of mine eyes and fruit of mine entrails, enter.' so he entered and shut the door, whilst selim and selma abode amazed. then selim turned to selma and said to her, 'o sister mine, how deemest thou of this calamity and what counsellest thou thereanent?' 'o my brother,' answered she, 'indeed i know not what i shall say concerning the like of this; but he is not disappointed who seeketh direction [of god], nor doth he repent who taketh counsel. one getteth not the better of the traces of burning by[fn# ] haste, and know that this is an affliction that hath descended on us; and we have need of management to do it away, yea, and contrivance to wash withal our shame from our faces.' and they gave not over watching the gate till break of day, when the young man opened the door and their mother took leave of him; after which he went his way and she entered, she and her handmaid. then said selim to his sister, 'know that i am resolved to slay yonder man, if he return this next night, and i will say to the folk, "he was a thief," and none shall know that which hath befallen. moreover, i will address myself to the slaughter of whosoever knoweth that which is between yonder fellow and my mother.' but selma said, ' i fear lest, if thou slay him in our dwelling-place and he savour not of robberhood,[fn# ] suspicion will revert upon ourselves, and we cannot be assured but that he belongeth unto folk whose mischief is to be feared and their hostility dreaded,[fn# ] and thus wilt thou have fled from privy shame to open shame and abiding public dishonour.' 'how then deemest thou we should do?' asked selim and she said, 'is there nothing for it but to slay him? let us not hasten unto slaughter, for that the slaughter of a soul without just cause is a grave [matter].' (when shehriyar heard this, he said in himself, 'by allah, i have indeed been reckless in the slaying of women and girls, and praised be god who hath occupied me with this damsel from the slaughter of souls, for that the slaughter of souls is a grave [matter!] by allah, if shah bekht spare the vizier, i will assuredly spare shehrzad!' then he gave ear to the story and heard her say to her sister:) quoth selma to selim, 'hasten not to slay him, but ponder the matter and consider the issue to which it may lead; for whoso considereth not the issues [of his actions], fortune is no friend to him.' then they arose on the morrow and occupied themselves with devising how they should turn away their mother from that man, and she forebode mischief from them, by reason of that which she saw in their eyes of alteration, for that she was keen of wit and crafty. so she took precaution for herself against her children and selma said to selim, 'thou seest that whereinto we have fallen through this woman, and indeed she hath gotten wind of our purpose and knoweth that we have discovered her secret. so, doubtless, she will plot against us the like of that which we plot for her; for indeed up to now she had concealed her affair, and now she will forge lies against us; wherefore, methinks, there is a thing [fore-]written to us, whereof god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) knew in his foreknowledge and wherein he executeth his ordinances.' 'what is that?' asked he, and she said, 'it is that we arise, i and thou, and go forth this night from this land and seek us a land wherein we may live and witness nought of the doings of yonder traitress; for whoso is absent from the eye is absent from the heart, and quoth one of the poets in the following verse: twere better and meeter thy presence to leave, for, if the eye see not, the heart doth not grieve.' quoth selim to her, 'it is for thee to decide and excellent is that which thou counsellest; so let us do this, in the name of god the most high, trusting in him for grace and guidance.' so they arose and took the richest of their clothes and the lightest of that which was in their treasuries of jewels and things of price and gathered together a great matter. then they equipped them ten mules and hired them servants of other than the people of the country; and selim bade his sister selma don man's apparel. now she was the likest of all creatures to him, so that, [when she was clad in man's attire,] the folk knew no difference between them, extolled be the perfection of him who hath no like, there is no god but he! then he bade her mount a horse, whilst he himself bestrode another, and they set out, under cover of the night. none of their family nor of the people of their house knew of them; so they fared on into the wide world of god and gave not over going night and day two months' space, at the end of which time they came to a city on the sea-shore of the land of mekran, by name es sherr, and it is the first city in sind. they lighted down without the place and when they arose in the morning, they saw a populous and goodly city, fair of seeming and great, abounding in trees and streams and fruits and wide of suburbs. so the young man said to his sister selma, 'abide thou here in thy place, till i enter the city and examine it and make assay of its people and seek out a place which we may buy and whither we may remove. if it befit us, we will take up our abode therein, else will we take counsel of departing elsewhither.' quoth she, 'do this, trusting in the bounty of god (to whom belong might and majesty) and in his blessing.' so he took a belt, wherein were a thousand dinars, and binding it about his middle, entered the city and gave not over going round about its streets and markets and gazing upon its houses and sitting with those of its folk whose aspect bespoke them men of worth, till the day was half spent, when he resolved to return to his sister and said in himself, 'needs must i buy what we may eat of ready-[dressed] food] i and my sister.' accordingly, he accosted a man who sold roast meat and who was clean [of person], though odious in his [means of getting a] living, and said to him, 'take the price of this dish [of meat] and add thereto of fowls and chickens and what not else is in your market of meats and sweetmeats and bread and arrange it in dishes.' so the cook set apart for him what he desired and calling a porter, laid it in his basket, and selim paid the cook the price of his wares, after the fullest fashion. as he was about to go away, the cook said to him, 'o youth, doubtless thou art a stranger?' and he answered, 'yes.' quoth the cook, 'it is reported in one of the traditions [of the prophet that he said,] "loyal admonition is [a part] of religion;" and the understanding say, "admonition is of the characteristics of the true believers." and indeed that which i have seen of thy fashions pleaseth me and i would fain give thee a warning.' 'speak out thy warning,' rejoined selim, 'and may god strengthen thine affair!' then said the cook, 'know, o my son, that in this our country, whenas a stranger entereth therein and eateth of flesh-meat and drinketh not old wine thereon, this is harmful unto him and engendereth in him dangerous disorders. wherefore, if thou have provided thee somewhat thereof,[fn# ] [it is well;] but, if not, look thou procure it, ere thou take the meat and carry it away.' 'may god requite thee with good!' rejoined selim. 'canst thou direct me where it is sold?' and the cook said, 'with me is all that thou seekest thereof.' 'is there a way for me to see it?' asked the young man; and the cook sprang up and said, 'pass on.' so he entered and the cook showed him somewhat of wine; but he said, 'i desire better than this.' whereupon he opened a door and entering, said to selim, 'enter and follow me.' selim followed him till he brought him to an underground chamber and showed him somewhat of wine that was to his mind. so he occupied him with looking upon it and taking him at unawares, sprang upon him from behind and cast him to the earth and sat upon his breast. then he drew a knife and set it to his jugular; whereupon there betided selim [that wherewithal] god made him forget all that he had decreed [unto him],[fn# ] and he said to the cook, 'why dost thou this thing, o man? be mindful of god the most high and fear him. seest thou not that i am a stranger? and indeed [i have left] behind me a defenceless woman. why wilt thou slay me?' quoth the cook, 'needs must i slay thee, so i may take thy good.' and selim said, 'take my good, but slay me not, neither enter into sin against me; and do with me kindness, for that the taking of my money is lighter[fn# ] than the taking of my life.' 'this is idle talk,' answered the cook. 'thou canst not deliver thyself with this, o youth, for that in thy deliverance is my destruction.' quoth selim, 'i swear to thee and give thee the covenant of god (to whom belong might and majesty) and his bond, that he took of his prophets, that i will not discover thy secret ever.' but the cook answered, saying, 'away! away! this may no wise be.' however, selim ceased not to conjure him and make supplication to him and weep, while the cook persisted in his intent to slaughter him. then he wept and recited the following verses: haste not to that thou dost desire, for haste is still unblest; be merciful to men, as thou on mercy reckonest; for no hand is there but the hand of god is over it and no oppressor but shall be with worse than he opprest. quoth the cook, 'nothing will serve but i must slay thee, o fellow; for, if i spare thee, i shall myself be slain.' but selim said, 'o my brother, i will counsel thee somewhat[fn# ] other than this.' 'what is it?' asked the cook. 'say and be brief, ere i cut thy throat' and selim said, '[do thou suffer me to live and] keep me, that i may be a servant unto thee, and i will work at a craft, of the crafts of the skilled workmen, wherefrom there shall return to thee every day two dinars.' quoth the cook, 'what is the craft?' and selim said, 'the cutting [and polishing] of jewels.' when the cook heard this, he said in himself, 'it will do me no hurt if i imprison him and shackle him and bring him what he may work at. if he tell truth, i will let him live, and if he prove a liar, i will slay him.' so he took a pair of stout shackles and clapping them on selim's legs, imprisoned him within his house and set over him one who should guard him. then he questioned him of what tools he needed to work withal. selim set forth to him that which he required, and the cook went out from him and presently returning, brought him all he needed. so selim sat and wrought at his craft; and he used every day to earn two dinars; and this was his wont and usance with the cook, whilst the latter fed him not but half his fill. to return to his sister selma. she awaited him till the last of the day, but he came not; and she awaited him a second day and a third and a fourth, yet there came no news of him, wherefore she wept and beat with her hands on her breast and bethought her of her affair and her strangerhood and her brother's absence; and she recited the following verses: peace on thee! would our gaze might light on thee once more! so should our hearts be eased and eyes no longer sore. thou only art the whole of our desire; indeed thy love is hid within our hearts' most secret core. she abode awaiting him thus till the end of the month, but discovered no tidings of him neither happened upon aught of his trace; wherefore she was troubled with an exceeding perturbation and despatching her servants hither and thither in quest of him, abode in the sorest that might be of grief and concern. when it was the beginning of the new month, she arose in the morning and bidding cry him throughout the city, sat to receive visits of condolence, nor was there any in the city but betook himself to her, to condole with her; and they were all concerned for her, nothing doubting but she was a man. when three nights had passed over her with their days of the second month, she despaired of him and her tears dried not up. then she resolved to take up her abode in the city and making choice of a dwelling, removed thither. the folk resorted to her from all parts, to sit with her and hearken to her speech and witness her good breeding; nor was it but a little while ere the king of the city died and the folk fell out concerning whom they should invest with the kingship after him, so that strife was like to betide between them. however, the men of judgment and understanding and the folk of experience counselled them to make the youth king who had lost his brother, for that they doubted not but selma was a man. they all consented unto this and betaking themselves to selma, proffered her the kingship. she refused, but they were instant with her, till she consented, saying in herself, 'my sole desire in [accepting] the kingship is [to find] my brother.' then they seated her on the throne of the kingdom and set the crown on her head, whereupon she addressed herself to the business of administration and to the ordinance of the affairs of the people; and they rejoiced in her with the utmost joy. meanwhile, selim abode with the cook a whole year's space, earning him two dinars every day; and when his affair was prolonged, the cook inclined unto him and took compassion on him, on condition that, if he let him go, he should not discover his fashion to the sultan, for that it was his wont every little while to entrap a man and carry him to his house and slay him and take his money and cook his flesh and give it to the folk to eat. so he said to him, 'o youth, wilt thou that i release thee from this thy plight, on condition that thou be reasonable and discover not aught of thine affair ever?' and selim answered, 'i will swear to thee by whatsoever oath thou choosest that i will keep thy secret and will not speak one syllable against thy due, what while i abide on life.' quoth the cook, 'i purpose to send thee forth with my brother and cause thee travel with him on the sea, on condition that thou be unto him a boughten slave; and when he cometh to the land of hind, he shall sell thee and thus wilt thou be delivered from prison and slaughter.' and selim said, 'it is well: be it as thou sayst, may god the most high requite thee with good!' therewithal the cook equipped his brother and freighting him a ship, embarked therein merchandise. then he committed selim unto him and they set out and departed with the ship. god decreed them safety, so that they arrived [in due course] at the first city [of the land of hind], the which is known as el mensoureh, and cast anchor there. now the king of that city had died, leaving a daughter and a widow, who was the quickest-witted of women and gave out that the girl was a boy, so that the kingship might be stablished unto them. the troops and the amirs doubted not but that the case was as she avouched and that the princess was a male child; so they obeyed her and the queen mother took order for the matter and used to dress the girl in man's apparel and seat her on the throne of the kingship, so that the folk might see her. accordingly, the grandees of the kingdom and the chief officers of the realm used to go in to her and salute her and do her service and go away, nothing doubting but she was a boy. on this wise they abode months and years and the queen-mother ceased not to do thus till the cook's brother came to the town in his ship, and with him selim. so he landed with the youth and showed him to the queen, [that she might buy him]. when she saw him, she augured well of him; so she bought him from the cook's brother and was kind to him and entreated him with honour. then she fell to proving him in his parts and making assay of him in his affairs and found in him all that is in kings' sons of understanding and breeding and goodly manners and qualities. so she sent for him in private and said to him, 'i purpose to do thee a service, so thou canst but keep a secret.' he promised her all that she desired and she discovered to him her secret in the matter of her daughter, saying, 'i will marry thee to her and commit to thee the governance of her affair and make thee king and ruler over this city.' he thanked her and promised to uphold all that she should order him, and she said to him, 'go forth to such an one of the neighbouring provinces privily.' so he went forth and on the morrow she made ready bales and gear and presents and bestowed on him a great matter, all of which they loaded on the backs of camels. then she gave out among the folk that the king's father's brother's son was come and bade the grandees and troops go forth to meet him. moreover, she decorated the city in his honour and the drums of good tidings beat for him, whilst all the king's household [went out to meet him and] dismounting before him, [escorted him to the city and] lodged him with the queen-mother in her palace. then she bade the chiefs of the state attend his assembly; so they presented themselves before him and saw of his breeding and accomplishments that which amazed them and made them forget the breeding of those who had foregone him of the kings. when they were grown familiar with him, the queen-mother fell to sending [privily] for the amirs, one by one, and swearing them to secrecy; and when she was assured of their trustworthiness, she discovered to them that the king had left but a daughter and that she had done this but that she might continue the kingship in his family and that the governance should not go forth from them; after which she told them that she was minded to marry her daughter with the new-comer, her father's brother's son, and that he should be the holder of the kingship. they approved of her proposal and when she had discovered the secret to the last of them [and assured herself of their support], she published the news abroad and sent for the cadis and assessors, who drew up the contract of marriage between selim and the princess, and they lavished gifts upon the troops and overwhelmed them with bounties. then was the bride carried in procession to the young man and the kingship was stablished unto him and the governance of the realm. on this wise they abode a whole year, at the end of which time selim said to the queen-mother, 'know that my life is not pleasing to me nor can i abide with you in contentment till i get me tidings of my sister and learn in what issue her affair hath resulted and how she hath fared after me. wherefore i will go and be absent from you a year's space; then will i return to you, so it please god the most high and i accomplish of this that which i hope.' quoth she, 'i will not trust to thy word, but will go with thee and help thee to that which thou desirest of this and further thee myself therein.' so she took a ship and loaded it with all manner things of price, goods and treasures and what not else. moreover, she appointed one of the viziers, a man in whom she trusted and in his fashion and ordinance, to rule the realm in their absence, saying to him, 'abide [in the kingship] a full-told year and ordain all that whereof thou hast need. then the old queen and her daughter and son-in-law embarked in the ship and setting sail, fared on till they came to the land of mekran. their arrival there befell at the last of the day; so they passed the night in the ship, and when the day was near to break, the young king went down from the ship, that he might go to the bath, and made for the market. as he drew near the bath, the cook met him by the way and knew him; so he laid hands on him and binding his arms fast behind him, carried him to his house, where he clapped the old shackles on his feet and straightway cast him back into his whilom place of duresse. when selim found himself in that sorry plight and considered that wherewith he was afflicted of tribulation and the contrariness of his fortune, in that he had been a king and was now returned to shackles and prison and hunger, he wept and groaned and lamented and recited the following verses: my fortitude fails, my endeavour is vain; my bosom is straitened. to thee, i complain, o my god! who is stronger than thou in resource? the subtle, thou knowest my plight and my pain. to return to his wife and her mother. when the former arose in the morning and her husband returned not to her with break of day, she forebode all manner of calamity and straightway despatched her servants and all who were with her in quest of him; but they happened not on any trace of him neither fell in with aught of his news. so she bethought herself concerning her affair and complained and wept and groaned and sighed and blamed perfidious fortune, bewailing that sorry chance and reciting these verses: god keep the days of love-delight! how passing sweet they were! how joyous and how solaceful was life in them whilere! would he were not, who sundered us upon the parting-day! how many a body hath he slain, how many a bone laid bare! sans fault of mine, my blood and tears he shed and beggared me of him i love, yet for himself gained nought thereby whate'er. when she had made an end of her verses, she considered her affair and said in herself, 'by allah, all these things have betided by the ordinance of god the most high and his providence and this was written and charactered upon the forehead.' then she landed and fared on till she came to a spacious place, where she enquired of the folk and hired a house. thither she straightway transported all that was in the ship of goods and sending for brokers, sold all that was with her. then she took part of the price and fell to enquiring of the folk, so haply she might scent out tidings [of her lost husband]. moreover, she addressed herself to lavishing alms and tending the sick, clothing the naked and pouring water upon the dry ground of the forlorn. on this wise she abode a whole year, and every little while she sold of her goods and gave alms to the sick and the needy; wherefore her report was bruited abroad in the city and the folk were lavish in her praise. all this while, selim lay in shackles and strait prison, and melancholy possessed him by reason of that whereinto he had fallen of that tribulation. then, when troubles waxed on him and affliction was prolonged, he fell sick of a sore sickness. when the cook saw his plight (and indeed he was like to perish for much suffering), he loosed him from the shackles and bringing him forth of the prison, committed him to an old woman, who had a nose the bigness of a jug, and bade her tend him and medicine him and serve him and entreat him kindly, so haply he might be made whole of that his sickness. so the old woman took him and carrying him to her lodging, fell to tending him and giving him to eat and drink; and when he was quit of that torment, he recovered from his malady. now the old woman had heard from the folk of the lady who gave alms to the sick, and indeed [the news of] her bounties reached both poor and rich; so she arose and bringing out selim to the door of her house, laid him on a mat and wrapped him in a mantle and sat over against him. presently, it befell that the charitable lady passed by them, which when the old woman saw, she rose to her and offered up prayers for her, saying, 'o my daughter, o thou to whom pertain goodness and beneficence and charity and almsdoing, know that this young man is a stranger, and indeed want and vermin and hunger and nakedness and cold slay him.' when the lady heard this, she gave her alms of that which was with her; and indeed her heart inclined unto selim, [but she knew him not for her husband]. the old woman received the alms from her and carrying it to selim, took part thereof herself and with the rest bought him an old shirt, in which she clad him, after she had stripped him of that he had on. then she threw away the gown she had taken from off him and arising forthright, washed his body of that which was thereon of filth and scented him with somewhat of perfume. moreover, she bought him chickens and made him broth; so he ate and his life returned to him and he abode with her on the most solaceful of life till the morrow. next morning, the old woman said to him, 'when the lady cometh to thee, do thou arise and kiss her hand and say to her, "i am a strange man and indeed cold and hunger slay me;" so haply she may give thee somewhat that thou mayst expend upon thy case.' and he answered, 'hearkening and obedience.' then she took him by the hand and carrying him without her house, seated him at the door. as he sat, behold, the lady came up to him, whereupon the old woman rose to her and selim kissed her hand and offered up prayers for her. then he looked on her and when he saw her, he knew her for his wife; so he cried out and wept and groaned and lamented; whereupon she came up to him and cast herself upon him; for indeed she knew him with all knowledge, even as he knew her. so she laid hold of him and embraced him and called to her serving-men and attendants and those who were about her; and they took him up and carried him forth of that place. when the old woman saw this, she cried out to the cook from within the house, and he said to her, 'go before me.' so she forewent him and he ran after her till he [overtook the party and] catching hold of selim, said [to the latter's wife,] 'what aileth thee to take my servant?' whereupon she cried out at him, saying, 'know that this is my husband, whom i had lost.' and selim also cried out, saying, 'mercy! mercy! i appeal to god and to the sultan against this satan!' therewith the folk gathered together to them forthright and loud rose the clamours and the cries between them; but the most part of them said, 'refer their affair to the sultan.' so they referred the case to the sultan, who was none other than selim's sister selma. [then they went up to the palace and] the interpreter went in to selma and said to her, 'o king of the age, here is an indian woman, who cometh from the land of hind, and she hath laid hands on a young man, a servant, avouching that he is her husband, who hath been missing these two years, and she came not hither but on his account, and indeed these many days she hath done almsdeeds [in the city]. and here is a man, a cook, who avoucheth that the young man is his slave.' when the queen heard these words, her entrails quivered and she groaned from an aching heart and called to mind her brother and that which had betided him. then she bade those who were about her bring them before her, and when she saw them, she knew her brother and was like to cry aloud; but her reason restrained her; yet could she not contain herself, but she must needs rise up and sit down. however, she enforced herself unto patience and said to them, 'let each of you acquaint me with his case.' so selim came forward and kissing the earth before the [supposed] king, praised him and related to him his story from beginning to end, till the time of their coming to that city, he and his sister, telling him how he had entered the place and fallen into the hands of the cook and that which had betided him [with him] and what he had suffered from him of beating and bonds and shackles and pinioning. moreover, he told him how the cook had made him his brother's slave and how the latter had sold him in hind and he had married the princess and become king and how life was not pleasant to him till he should foregather with his sister and how the cook had fallen in with him a second time and acquainted her with that which had betided him of sickness and disease for the space of a full-told year. when he had made an end of his speech, his wife came forward forthright and told her story, from first to last, how her mother bought him from the cook's partner and the people of the kingdom came under his rule; nor did she leave telling till she came, in her story, to that city [and acquainted the queen with the manner of her falling in with her lost husband]. when she had made an end of her story, the cook exclaimed, 'alack, what impudent liars there be! by allah, o king, this woman lieth against me, for this youth is my rearling[fn# ] and he was born of one of my slave-girls. he fled from me and i found him again. when the queen heard the last of the talk, she said to the cook, 'the judgment between you shall not be but in accordance with justice.' then she dismissed all those who were present and turning to her brother, said to him, 'indeed thy soothfastness is established with me and the truth of thy speech, and praised be god who hath brought about union between thee and thy wife! so now begone with her to thy country and leave [seeking] thy sister selma and depart in peace.' but selim answered, saying, 'by allah, by the virtue of the all-knowing king, i will not turn back from seeking my sister till i die or find her, if it please god the most high!' then he called his sister to mind and broke out with the following verses from a heart endolored, afflicted, disappointed, saying: o thou that blamest me for my heart and railest at my ill, hadst them but tasted my spirit's grief, thou wouldst excuse me still. by allah, o thou that chid'st my heart concerning my sister's love, leave chiding and rather bemoan my case and help me to my will. for indeed i am mated with longing love in public and privily, nor ever my heart, alas i will cease from mourning, will i or nill. a fire in mine entrails burns, than which the fire of the hells denounced for sinners' torment less scathing is: it seeketh me to slay. when his sister selma heard what he said, she could no longer contain herself, but cast herself upon him and discovered to him her case. when he knew her, he threw himself upon her [and lay without life] awhile; after which he came to himself and said, 'praised be god, the bountiful, the beneficent!' then they complained to each other of that which they had suffered for the anguish of separation, whilst selim's wife abode wondered at this and selma's patience and constancy pleased her. so she saluted her and thanked her for her fashion, saying, 'by allah, o my lady, all that we are in of gladness is of thy blessing alone; so praised be god who hath vouchsafed us thy sight!' then they abode all three in joy and happiness and delight three days, sequestered from the folk; and it was bruited abroad in the city that the king had found his brother, who was lost years agone. on the fourth day, all the troops and the people of the realm assembled together to the [supposed] king and standing at his gate, craved leave to enter. selma bade admit them; so they entered and paid her the service of the kingship and gave her joy of her brother's safe return. she bade them do suit and service to selim, and they consented and paid him homage; after which they kept silence awhile, so they might hear what the king should command. then said selma, 'harkye, all ye soldiers and subjects, ye know that ye enforced me to [accept] the kingship and besought me thereof and i consented unto your wishes concerning my investment [with the royal dignity]; and i did this [against my will]; for know that i am a woman and that i disguised myself and donned man's apparel, so haply my case might be hidden, whenas i lost my brother. but now, behold, god hath reunited me with my brother, and it is no longer lawful to me that i be king and bear rule over the people, and i a woman; for that there is no governance for women, whenas men are present. wherefore, if it like you, do ye set my brother on the throne of the kingdom, for this is he; and i will busy myself with the worship of god the most high and thanksgiving [to him] for my reunion with my brother. or, if it like you, take your kingship and invest therewith whom ye will.' thereupon the folk all cried out, saying, 'we accept him to king over us!' and they did him suit and service and gave him joy of the kingship. so the preachers preached in his name[fn# ] and the poets praised him; and he lavished gifts upon the troops and the officers of his household and overwhelmed them with favours and bounties and was prodigal to the people of justice and equitable dealings and goodly usance and polity. when he had accomplished this much of his desire, he caused bring forth the cook and his household to the divan, but spared the old woman who had tended him, for that she had been the cause of his deliverance. then they assembled them all without the town and he tormented the cook and those who were with him with all manner of torments, after which he put him to death on the sorriest wise and burning him with fire, scattered his ashes abroad in the air. selim abode in the governance, invested with the sultanate, and ruled the people a whole year, after which he returned to el mensoureh and sojourned there another year. and he [and his wife] ceased not to go from city to city and abide in this a year and that a year, till he was vouchsafed children and they grew up, whereupon he appointed him of his sons, who was found fitting, to be his deputy in [one] kingdom [and abode himself in the other]; and he lived, he and his wife and children, what while god the most high willed. nor," added the vizier, "o king of the age, is this story rarer or more extraordinary than that of the king of hind and his wronged and envied vizier." when the king heard this, his mind was occupied [with the story he had heard and that which the vizier promised him], and he bade the latter depart to his own house. the twenty-eighth and last night of the month when the evening evened, the king summoned the vizier and bade him tell the story of the king of hind and his vizier. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. know, o king of august lineage, that story of the king of hind and his vizier. there was once in the land of hind a king of illustrious station, endowed with understanding and good sense, and his name was shah bekht. he had a vizier, a man of worth and intelligence, prudent in counsel, conformable to him in his governance and just in his judgment; wherefore his enviers were many and many were the hypocrites, who sought in him faults and set snares for him, so that they insinuated into king shah bekht's eye hatred and rancour against him and sowed despite against him in his heart; and plot followed after plot, till [at last] the king was brought to arrest him and lay him in prison and confiscate his good and avoid his estate.[fn# ] when they knew that there was left him no estate that the king might covet, they feared lest he be brought to release him, by the incidence of the vizier's [good] counsel upon the king's heart, and he return to his former case, so should their plots be marred and their ranks degraded, for that they knew that the king would have need of that which he had known from that man nor would forget that wherewith he was familiar in him. now it befell that a certain man of corrupt purpose[fn# ] found a way to the perversion of the truth and a means of glozing over falsehood and adorning it with a semblance of fair-seeming and there proceeded from him that wherewith the hearts of the folk were occupied, and their minds were corrupted by his lying tales; for that he made use of indian subtleties and forged them into a proof for the denial of the maker, the creator, extolled be his might and exalted be he! indeed, god is exalted and magnified above the speech of the deniers. he avouched that it is the planets[fn# ] that order the affairs of all creatures and he set down twelve mansions to twelve signs [of the zodiac] and made each sign thirty degrees, after the number of the days of the month, so that in twelve mansions there are three hundred and threescore [degrees], after the number of the days of the year; and he wrought a scheme, wherein he lied and was an infidel and denied [god]. then he got possession of the king's mind and the enviers and haters aided him against the vizier and insinuated themselves into his favour and corrupted his counsel against the vizier, so that he suffered of him that which he suffered and he banished him and put him away. so the wicked man attained that which he sought of the vizier and the case was prolonged till the affairs of the kingdom became disordered, by dint of ill governance, and the most part of the king's empery fell away from him and he came nigh unto ruin. therewithal he was certified of the loyalty of his [late] skilful vizier and the excellence of his governance and the justness of his judgment. so he sent after him and brought him and the wicked man before him and summoning the grandees of his realm and the chiefs of his state to his presence, gave them leave to talk and dispute and forbade the wicked man from that his lewd opinion.[fn# ] then arose that wise and skilful vizier and praised god the most high and lauded him and glorified him and hallowed him and attested his unity and disputed with the wicked man and overcame him and put him to silence; nor did he cease from him till he enforced him to make confession of repentance [and turning away] from that which he had believed. therewith king shah bekht rejoiced with an exceeding great joy and said, 'praise be to god who hath delivered me from yonder man and hath preserved me from the loss of the kingship and the cessation of prosperity from me!' so the affair of the vizier returned to order and well-being and the king restored him to his place and advanced him in rank. moreover, he assembled the folk who had missaid of him and destroyed them all, to the last man. and how like," continued the vizier, "is this story unto that of myself and king shah bekht, with regard to that whereinto i am fallen of the changing of the king's heart and his giving credence to others against me; but now is the righteousness of my dealing established in thine eyes, for that god the most high hath inspired me with wisdom and endowed thee with longanimity and patience [to hearken] from me unto that which he allotted unto those who had foregone us, till he hath shown forth my innocence and made manifest unto thee the truth. for now the days are past, wherein it was avouched to the king that i should endeavour for the destruction of my soul,[fn# ] [to wit,] the month; and behold, the probation time is over and gone, and past is the season of evil and ceased, by the king's good fortune." then he bowed his head and was silent.[fn# ] when king shah bekht heard his vizier's speech, he was confounded before him and abashed and marvelled at the gravity of his understanding and his patience. so he sprang up to him and embraced him and the vizier kissed his feet. then the king called for a sumptuous dress of honour and cast it over er rehwan and entreated him with the utmost honour and showed him special favour and restored him to his rank and vizierate. moreover he imprisoned those who had sought his destruction with leasing and committed unto himself to pass judgment upon the interpreter who had expounded to him the dream. so the vizier abode in the governance of the realm till there came to them the destroyer of delights; and this (added shehrzad) is all, o king of the age, that hath come down to us of king shah bekht and his vizier. shehrzad and shehriyar. as for king shehriyar, he marvelled at shehrzad with the utmost wonder and drew her near to his heart, of his much love for her; and she was magnified in his eyes and he said in himself, "by allah, the like of this woman is not deserving of slaughter, for indeed the time affordeth not her like. by allah, i have been heedless of mine affair, and had not god overcome me with his mercy and put this woman at my service, so she might adduce to me manifest instances and truthful cases and goodly admonitions and edifying traits, such as should restore me to the [right] road, [i had come to perdition!]. wherefore to god be the praise for this and i beseech him to make my end with her like unto that of the vizier and shah bekht." then sleep overcame the king and glory be unto him who sleepeth not! when it was the nine hundred and thirtieth night, shehrzad said, "o king, there is present in my thought a story which treateth of women's craft and wherein is a warning to whoso will be warned and an admonishment to whoso will be admonished and whoso hath discernment; but i fear lest the hearing of this lessen me with the king and lower my rank in his esteem; yet i hope that this will not be, for that it is a rare story. women are indeed corruptresses; their craft and their cunning may not be set out nor their wiles known. men enjoy their company and are not careful to uphold them [in the right way], neither do they watch over them with all vigilance, but enjoy their company and take that which is agreeable and pay no heed to that which is other than this. indeed, they are like unto the crooked rib, which if thou go about to straighten, thou distortest it, and which if thou persist in seeking to redress, thou breakest it; wherefore it behoveth the man of understanding to be silent concerning them." "o sister mine," answered dinarzad, "bring forth that which is with thee and that which is present to thy mind of the story concerning the craft of women and their wiles, and have no fear lest this endamage thee with the king; for that women are like unto jewels, which are of all kinds and colours. when a [true] jewel falleth into the hand of him who is knowing therein, he keepeth it for himself and leaveth that which is other than it. moreover, he preferreth some of them over others, and in this he is like unto the potter, who filleth his oven with all the vessels [he hath moulded] and kindleth fire thereunder. when the baking is at an end and he goeth about to take forth that which is in the oven, he findeth no help for it but that he must break some thereof, whilst other some are what the folk need and whereof they make use, and yet other some there be that return to their whilom case. wherefore fear thou not to adduce that which thou knowest of the craft of women, for that in this is profit for all folk." then said shehrzad, "they avouch, o king, (but god [alone] knowest the secret things,) that el melik ez zahir rukneddin bibers el bunducdari and the sixteen officers of police.[fn# ] there was once in the land [of egypt and] the city of cairo, [under the dynasty] of the turks,[fn# ] a king of the valiant kings and the exceeding mighty sultans, by name el melik ez zahir rukneddin bibers el bunducdari.[fn# ] he was used to storm the islamite strongholds and the fortresses of the coast[fn# ] and the nazarene citadels, and the governor of his [capital] city was just to the folk, all of them. now el melik ez zahir was passionately fond of stories of the common folk and of that which men purposed and loved to see this with his eyes and hear their sayings with his ears, and it befell that he heard one night from one of his story-tellers[fn# ] that among women are those who are doughtier than men of valour and greater of excellence and that among them are those who will do battle with the sword and others who cozen the quickest-witted of magistrates and baffle them and bring down on them all manner of calamity; whereupon quoth the sultan, 'i would fain hear this of their craft from one of those who have had to do theiewith, so i may hearken unto him and cause him tell.' and one of the story-tellers said, 'o king, send for the chief of the police of the town.' now ilmeddin senjer was at that time master of police and he was a man of experience, well versed in affairs: so the king sent for him and when he came before him, he discovered to him that which was in his mind. quoth ilmeddin senjer, 'i will do my endeavour for that which our lord the sultan seeketh.' then he arose and returning to his house, summoned the captains of the watch and the lieutenants of police and said to them, 'know that i purpose to marry my son and make him a bride-feast, and it is my wish that ye assemble, all of you, in one place. i also will be present, i and my company, and do ye relate that which ye have heard of extraordinary occurrences and that which hath betided you of experiences.' and the captains and sergeants and agents of police made answer to him, saying, 'it is well: in the name of god! we will cause thee see all this with thine eyes and hear it with thine ears.' then the master of police arose and going up to el melik ez zahir, informed him that the assembly would take place on such a day at his house; and the sultan said, 'it is well,' and gave him somewhat of money for his expenses. when the appointed day arrived, the chief of the police set apart for his officers a saloon, that had windows ranged in order and giving upon the garden, and el melik ez zahir came to him, and he seated himself, he and the sultan, in the alcove. then the tables were spread unto them for eating and they ate; and when the cup went round amongst them and their hearts were gladdened with meat and drink, they related that which was with them and discovered their secrets from concealment. the first to relate was a man, a captain of the watch, by name muineddin, whose heart was engrossed with the love of women; and he said, 'harkye, all ye people of [various] degree, i will acquaint you with an extraordinary affair which befell me aforetime. know that the first officer's story. when i entered the service of this amir,[fn# ] i had a great repute and every lewd fellow feared me of all mankind, and whenas i rode through the city, all the folk would point at me with their fingers and eyes. it befell one day, as i sat in the house of the prefecture, with my back against a wall, considering in myself, there fell somewhat in my lap, and behold, it was a purse sealed and tied. so i took it in my hand and behold, it had in it a hundred dirhems,[fn# ] but i found not who threw it and i said, "extolled be the perfection of god, the king of the kingdoms!"[fn# ] another day, [as i sat on like wise,] somewhat fell on me and startled me, and behold, it was a purse like the first. so i took it and concealing its affair, made as if i slept, albeit sleep was not with me. one day, as i was thus feigning sleep, i felt a hand in my lap, and in it a magnificent purse. so i seized the hand and behold, it was that of a fair woman. quoth i to her, "o my lady, who art thou?" and she said, "rise [and come away] from here, that i may make myself known to thee." so i arose and following her, fared on, without tarrying, till she stopped at the door of a lofty house, whereupon quoth i to her,"o my lady, who art thou? indeed, thou hast done me kindness, and what is the reason of this?" "by allah," answered she, "o captain mum, i am a woman on whom desire and longing are sore for the love of the daughter of the cadi amin el hukm. now there was between us what was and the love of her fell upon my heart and i agreed with her upon meeting, according to possibility and convenience. but her father amin el hukm took her and went away, and my heart cleaveth to her and love-longing and distraction are sore upon me on her account." i marvelled at her words and said to her, "what wouldst thou have me do?" and she answered, "o captain muin, i would have thee give me a helping hand." quoth i, "what have i to do with the daughter of the cadi amin el hukm?" and she said, "know that i would not have thee intrude upon the cadi's daughter, but i would fain contrive for the attainment of my wishes.' this is my intent and my desire, and my design will not be accomplished but by thine aid." then said she, "i mean this night to go with a stout heart and hire me trinkets of price; then will i go and sit in the street wherein is the house of amin el hukm; and when it is the season of the round and the folk are asleep, do thou pass, thou and those who are with thee of the police, and thou wilt see me sitting and on me fine raiment and ornaments and wilt smell on me the odour of perfumes; whereupon do thou question me of my case and i will say, 'i come from the citadel and am of the daughters of the deputies[fn# ] and i came down [into the town,] to do an occasion; but the night overtook me at unawares and the zuweyleh gate was shut against me and all the gates and i knew not whither i should go this night presently i saw this street and noting the goodliness of its ordinance and its cleanness, took shelter therein against break of day.' when i say this to thee with all assurance[fn# ] the chief of the watch will have no suspicion of me, but will say, 'needs must we leave her with one who will take care of her till morning.' and do thou rejoin, 'it were most fitting that she pass the night with amin el hukm and lie with his family and children till the morning.' then do thou straightway knock at the cadi's door, and thus shall i have gained admission into his house, without inconvenience, and gotten my desire; and peace be on thee!" and i said to her, "by allah, this is an easy matter." so, when the night darkened, we sallied forth to make our round, attended by men with sharp swords, and went round about the streets and compassed the city, till we came to the by-street where was the woman, and it was the middle of the night here we smelt rich scents and heard the clink of earrings; so i said to my comrades, "methinks i spy an apparition," and the captain of the watch said, "see what it is." so i came forward and entering the lane, came presently out again and said, "i have found a fair woman and she tells me that she is from the citadel and that the night surprised her and she espied this street and seeing its cleanness and the goodliness of its ordinance, knew that it appertained to a man of rank and that needs must there be in it a guardian to keep watch over it, wherefore she took shelter therein." quoth the captain of the watch to me, "take her and carry her to thy house." but i answered, "i seek refuge with allah![fn# ] my house is no place of deposit[fn# ] and on this woman are trinkets and apparel [of price]. by allah, we will not deposit her save with amin el hukrn, in whose street she hath been since the first of the darkness; wherefore do thou leave her with him till the break of day." and he said, "as thou wilt." accordingly, i knocked at the cadi's door and out came a black slave of his slaves, to whom said i, "o my lord, take this woman and let her be with you till break of day, for that the lieutenant of the amir ilmeddin hath found her standing at the door of your house, with trinkets and apparel [of price] on her, and we feared lest her responsibility be upon you;[fn# ] wherefore it is most fit that she pass the night with you." so the slave opened and took her in with him. when the morning morrowed, the first who presented himself before the amir was the cadi amin el hukm, leaning on two of his black slaves; and he was crying out and calling [on god] for aid and saying, "o crafty and perfidious amir, thou depositedst with me a woman [yesternight] and broughtest her into my house and my dwelling-place, and she arose [in the night] and took from me the good of the little orphans,[fn# ] six great bags, [containing each a thousand dinars,[fn# ] and made off;] but as for me, i will say no more to thee except in the sultan's presence."[fn# ] when the master of the police heard these words, he was troubled and rose and sat down; then he took the cadi and seating him by his side, soothed him and exhorted him to patience, till he had made an end of talk, when he turned to the officers and questioned them. they fixed the affair on me and said, "we know nothing of this affair but from captain muineddin." so the cadi turned to me and said, "thou wast of accord with this woman, for she said she came from the citadel." as for me, i stood, with my head bowed to the earth, forgetting both institutes and canons,[fn# ] and abode sunk in thought, saying, "how came i to be the dupe of yonder worthless baggage?" then said the amir to me, "what aileth thee that thou answerest not?" and i answered, saying, "o my lord, it is a custom among the folk that he who hath a payment to make at a certain date is allowed three days' grace; [so do thou have patience with me so long,] and if, [by the end of that time,] the culprit be not found, i will be answerable for that which is lost." when the folk heard my speech, they all deemed it reasonable and the master of police turned to the cadi and swore to him that he would do his utmost endeavour to recover the stolen money and that it should be restored to him. so he went away, whilst i mounted forthright and fell to going round about the world without purpose, and indeed i was become under the dominion of a woman without worth or honour; and i went round about on this wise all that my day and night, but happened not upon tidings of her; and thus i did on the morrow. on the third day i said to myself, "thou art mad or witless!" for i was going about in quest of a woman who knew me and i knew her not, seeing that indeed she was veiled, [whenas i saw her]. then i went round about the third day till the hour of afternoon prayer, and sore was my concern and my chagrin, for i knew that there abode to me of my life but [till] the morrow, when the chief of the police would seek me. when it was the time of sundown, i passed through one of the streets, and beheld a woman at a window. her door was ajar and she was clapping her hands and casting furtive glances at me, as who should say, "come up by the door." so i went up, without suspicion, and when i entered, she rose and clasped me to her breast marvelled at her affair and she said to me, "i am she whom thou depositedst with amin el hukm." quoth i to her, "o my sister, i have been going round and round in quest of thee, for indeed thou hast done a deed that will be chronicled in history and hast cast me into slaughter[fn# ] on thine account." "sayst thou this to me," asked she, "and thou captain of men?" and i answered, "how should i not be troubled, seeing that i am in concern [for an affair] that i turn over and over [in my mind], more by token that i abide my day long going about [searching for thee] and in the night i watch its stars [for wakefulness]?" quoth she, "nought shall betide but good, and thou shalt get the better of him." so saying, she rose [and going] to a chest, took out therefrom six bags full of gold and said to me, "this is what i took from amin el hukm's house. so, if thou wilt, restore it; else the whole is lawfully thine; and if thou desire other than this, [thou shalt have it;] for i have wealth in plenty and i had no design in this but to marry thee." then she arose and opening [other] chests, brought out therefrom wealth galore and i said to her, "o my sister, i have no desire for all this, nor do i covet aught but to be quit of that wherein i am." quoth she, "i came not forth of the [cadi's] house without [making provision for] thine acquittance." then said she to me, "to-morrow morning, when amin el hukm cometh, have patience with him till he have made an end of his speech, and when he is silent, return him no answer; and if the prefect say to thee, 'what ailest thee that thou answereth him not?' do thou reply, 'o lord, know that the two words are not alike, but there is no [helper] for him who is undermost[fn# ], save god the most high.'[fn# ] the cadi will say, 'what is the meaning of thy saying," the two words are not alike"?' and do thou make answer, saying, 'i deposited with thee a damsel from the palace of the sultan, and most like some losel of thy household hath transgressed against her or she hath been privily murdered. indeed, there were on her jewels and raiment worth a thousand dinars, and hadst thou put those who are with thee of slaves and slave-girls to the question, thou hadst assuredly lit on some traces [of the crime].' when he heareth this from thee, his agitation will redouble and he will be confounded and will swear that needs must thou go with him to his house; but do thou say, 'that will i not do, for that i am the party aggrieved, more by token that i am under suspicion with thee.' if he redouble in calling [on god for aid] and conjure thee by the oath of divorce, saying, 'needs must thou come,' do thou say, 'by allah, i will not go, except the prefect come also.' when thou comest to the house, begin by searching the roofs; then search the closets and cabinets; and if thou find nought, humble thyself unto the cadi and make a show of abjection and feign thyself defeated, and after stand at the door and look as if thou soughtest a place wherein to make water, for that there is a dark corner there. then come forward, with a heart stouter than granite, and lay hold upon a jar of the jars and raise it from its place. thou wilt find under it the skirt of a veil; bring it out publicly and call the prefect in a loud voice, before those who are present. then open it and thou wilt find it full of blood, exceeding of redness,[fn# ] and in it [thou wilt find also] a woman's shoes and a pair of trousers and somewhat of linen." when i heard this from her, i rose to go out and she said to me, "take these hundred dinars, so they may advantage thee; and this is my guest-gift to thee." so i took them and bidding her farewell, returned to my lodging. next morning, up came the cadi, with his face like the ox-eye,[fn# ] and said, "in the name of god, where is my debtor and where is my money?" then he wept and cried out and said to the prefect, "where is that ill-omened fellow, who aboundeth in thievery and villainy?" therewith the prefect turned to me and said, "why dost thou not answer the cadi?" and i replied, "o amir, the two heads[fn# ] are not equal, and i, i have no helper but god; but, if the right be on my side, it will appear." at this the cadi cried out and said, "out on thee, o ill-omened fellow! how wilt thou make out that the right is on thy side?" "o our lord the cadi," answered i, "i deposited with thee a trust, to wit, a woman whom we found at thy door, and on her raiment and trinkets of price. now she is gone, even as yesterday is gone; and after this thou turnest upon us and makest claim upon me for six thousand dinars. by allah, this is none other than gross unright, and assuredly some losel of thy household hath transgressed against her!" with this the cadi's wrath redoubled and he swore by the most solemn of oaths that i should go with him and search his house. "by allah," replied i, "i will not go, except the prefect be with us; for, if he be present, he and the officers, thou wilt not dare to presume upon me." and the cadi rose and swore an oath, saying, "by him who created mankind, we will not go but with the amir!" so we repaired to the cadi's house, accompanied by the prefect, and going up, searched high and low, but found nothing; whereupon fear gat hold upon me and the prefect turned to me and said, "out on thee, o ill-omened fellow! thou puttest us to shame before the men." and i wept and went round about right and left, with the tears running down my face, till we were about to go forth and drew near the door of the house. i looked at the place [behind the door] and said, "what is yonder dark place that i see?" and i said to the sergeants, "lift up this jar with me." they did as i bade them and i saw somewhat appearing under the jar and said, "rummage and see what is under it." so they searched and found a woman's veil and trousers full of blood, which when i beheld, i fell down in a swoon. when the prefect saw this, he said, "by allah, the captain is excused!" then my comrades came round about me and sprinkled water on my face, [till i came to myself,] when i arose and accosting the cadi, who was covered with confusion, said to him, "thou seest that suspicion is fallen on thee, and indeed this affair is no light matter, for that this woman's family will assuredly not sit down under her loss." therewith the cadi's heart quaked and he knew that the suspicion had reverted upon him, wherefore his colour paled and his limbs smote together; and he paid of his own money, after the measure of that which he had lost, so we would hush up the matter for him.[fn# ] then we departed from him in peace, whilst i said in myself, "indeed, the woman deceived me not." after that i tarried till three days had elapsed, when went to the bath and changing my clothes, betook myself to her house, but found the door locked and covered with dust. so i questioned the neighbours of her and they said, "this house hath been empty these many days; but three days agone there came a woman with an ass, and yesternight, at eventide, she took her gear and went away." so i turned back, confounded in my wit, and every day [after this, for many a day,] i inquired of the inhabitants [of the street] concerning her, but could light on no tidings of her. and indeed i marvelled at the eloquence of her tongue and [the readiness of] her speech; and this is the most extraordinary of that which hath betided me.' when el melik ez zahir heard muineddin's story, he marvelled thereat then rose another officer and said, 'o lord, bear what befell me in bygone days. the second officer's story. i was once an officer in the household of the amir jemaleddin el atwesh el mujhidi, who was invested with the governance of the eastern and western districts,[fn# ] and i was dear to his heart and he concealed from me nought of that which he purposed to do; and withal he was master of his reason.[fn# ] it chanced one day that it was reported to him that the daughter of such an one had wealth galore and raiment and jewels and she loved a jew, whom every day she invited to be private with her, and they passed the day eating and drinking in company and he lay the night with her. the prefect feigned to give no credence to this story, but one night he summoned the watchmen of the quarter and questioned them of this. quoth one of them, "o my lord, i saw a jew enter the street in question one night; but know not for certain to whom he went in." and the prefect said, "keep thine eye on him henceforth and note what place he entereth." so the watchman went out and kept his eye on the jew. one day, as the prefect sat [in his house], the watchman came in to him and said, "o my lord, the jew goeth to the house of such an one." whereupon el atwesh arose and went forth alone, taking with him none but myself. as he went along, he said to me, "indeed, this [woman] is a fat piece of meat."[fn# ] and we gave not over going till we came to the door of the house and stood there till a slave-girl came out, as if to buy them somewhat. we waited till she opened the door, whereupon, without further parley, we forced our way into the house and rushed in upon the girl, whom we found seated with the jew in a saloon with four estrades, and cooking-pots and candles therein. when her eyes fell on the prefect, she knew him and rising to her feet, said, "welcome and fair welcome! great honour hath betided me by my lord's visit and indeed thou honourest my dwelling." then she carried him up [to the estrade] and seating him on the couch, brought him meat and wine and gave him to drink; after which she put off all that was upon her of raiment and jewels and tying them up in a handkerchief, said to him, "o my lord, this is thy portion, all of it." moreover she turned to the jew and said to him, "arise, thou also, and do even as i." so he arose in haste and went out, scarce crediting his deliverance. when the girl was assured of his escape, she put out her hand to her clothes [and jewels] and taking them, said to the prefect, "is the requital of kindness other than kindness? thou hast deigned [to visit me and eat of my victual]; so now arise and depart from us without ill-[doing]; or i will give one cry and all who are in the street will come forth." so the amir went out from her, without having gotten a single dirhem; and on this wise she delivered the jew by the excellence of her contrivance.' the folk marvelled at this story and as for the prefect and el melik ez zahir, they said, 'wrought ever any the like of this device?' and they marvelled with the utterest of wonderment then arose a third officer and said, 'hear what betided me, for it is yet stranger and more extraordinary. the third officer's story i was one day abroad on an occasion with certain of my comrades, and as we went along, we fell in with a company of women, as they were moons, and among them one, the tallest and handsomest of them. when i saw her and she saw me, she tarried behind her companions and waited for me, till i came up to her and bespoke her. quoth she, "o my lord, (god favour thee!) i saw thee prolong thy looking on me and imagined that thou knewest me. if it be thus, vouchsafe me more knowledge of thee." "by allah," answered i, "i know thee not, save that god the most high hath cast the love of thee into my heart and the goodliness of thine attributes hath confounded me and that wherewith god hath gifted thee of those eyes that shoot with arrows; for thou hast captivated me." and she rejoined, "by allah, i feel the like of that which thou feelest; so that meseemeth i have known thee from childhood." then said i, "a man cannot well accomplish all whereof he hath need in the market-places." "hast thou a house?" asked she. "no, by allah," answered i; "nor is this town my dwelling-place." "by allah," rejoined she, "nor have i a place; but i will contrive for thee." then she went on before me and i followed her till she came to a lodging-house and said to the housekeeper, "hast thou an empty chamber?" "yes," answered she; and my mistress said, "give us the key." so we took the key and going up to see the room, entered it; after which she went out to the housekeeper and [giving her a dirhem], said to her, "take the key-money,[fn# ] for the room pleaseth us, and here is another dirhem for thy trouble. go, fetch us a pitcher of water, so we may [refresh ourselves] and rest till the time of the noonday siesta pass and the heat decline, when the man will go and fetch the [household] stuff." therewith the housekeeper rejoiced and brought us a mat and two pitchers of water on a tray and a leather rug. we abode thus till the setting-in of the time of mid-afternoon, when she said, "needs must i wash before i go." quoth i, "get water wherewithal we may wash," and pulled out from my pocket about a score of dirhems, thinking to give them to her; but she said, "i seek refuge with god!" and brought out of her pocket a handful of silver, saying, "but for destiny and that god hath caused the love of thee fall into my heart, there had not happened that which hath happened." quoth i, "take this in requital of that which thou hast spent;" and she said, "o my lord, by and by, whenas companionship is prolonged between us, thou wilt see if the like of me looketh unto money and gain or no." then she took a pitcher of water and going into the lavatory, washed[fn# ] and presently coming forth, prayed and craved pardon of god the most high for that which she had done. now i had questioned her of her name and she answered, "my name is rihaneh," and described to me her dwelling-place. when i saw her make the ablution, i said in myself, "this woman doth on this wise, and shall i not do the like of her?" then said i to her, "belike thou wilt seek us another pitcher of water?" so she went out to the housekeeper and said to her, "take this para and fetch us water therewith, so we may wash the flags withal." accordingly, the housekeeper brought two pitchers of water and i took one of them and giving her my clothes, entered the lavatory and washed. when i had made an end of washing, i cried out, saying, "harkye, my lady rihaneh!" but none answered me. so i went out and found her not; and indeed she had taken my clothes and that which was therein of money, to wit, four hundred dirhems. moreover, she had taken my turban and my handkerchief and i found not wherewithal to cover my nakedness; wherefore i suffered somewhat than which death is less grievous and abode looking about the place, so haply i might espy wherewithal to hide my shame. then i sat a little and presently going up to the door, smote upon it; whereupon up came the housekeeper and i said to her, "o my sister, what hath god done with the woman who was here?" quoth she, "she came down but now and said, 'i am going to cover the boys with the clothes and i have left him sleeping. if he awake, tell him not to stir till the clothes come to him.'" then said i, "o my sister, secrets are [safe] with the worthy and the freeborn. by allah, this woman is not my wife, nor ever in my life have i seen her before this day!" and i recounted to her the whole affair and begged her to cover me, informing her that i was discovered of the privities. she laughed and cried out to the women of the house, saying, "ho, fatimeh! ho, khedijeh! ho, herifeh! ho, senineh!" whereupon all those who were in the place of women and neighbours flocked to me and fell a-laughing at me and saying, "o blockhead, what ailed thee to meddle with gallantry?" then one of them came and looked in my face and laughed, and another said, "by allah, thou mightest have known that she lied, from the time she said she loved thee and was enamoured of thee? what is there in thee to love?" and a third said, "this is an old man without understanding." and they vied with each other in making mock of me, what while i suffered sore chagrin. however, after awhile, one of the women took pity on me and brought me a rag of thin stuff and cast it on me. with this i covered my privities, and no more, and abode awhile thus. then said i in myself, "the husbands of these women will presently gather together on me and i shall be disgraced." so i went out by another door of the house, and young and old crowded about me, running after me and saying, "a madman! a madman!" till i came to my house and knocked at the door; whereupon out came my wife and seeing me naked, tall, bareheaded, cried out and ran in again, saying,"this is a madman, a satan!" but, when she and my family knew me, they rejoiced and said to me, "what aileth thee?" i told them that thieves had taken my clothes and stripped me and had been like to kill me; and when i told them that they would have killed me, they praised god the most high and gave me joy of my safety. so consider the craft of this woman and this device that she practised upon me, for all my pretensions to sleight and quickwittedness.' the company marvelled at this story and at the doings of women. then came forward a fourth officer and said, 'verily, that which hath betided me of strange adventures is yet more extraordinary than this; and it was on this wise. the fourth officer's story. we were sleeping one night on the roof, when a woman made her way into the house and gathering into a bundle all that was therein, took it up, that she might go away with it. now she was great with child and near upon her term and the hour of her deliverance; so, when she made up the bundle and offered to shoulder it and make off with it, she hastened the coming of the pangs of labour and gave birth to a child in the dark. then she sought for the flint and steel and striking a light, kindled the lamp and went round about the house with the little one, and it was weeping. [the noise awoke us,] as we lay on the roof, and we marvelled. so we arose, to see what was to do, and looking down through the opening of the saloon,[fn# ] saw a woman, who had kindled the lamp, and heard the little one weeping. she heard our voices and raising her eyes to us, said, "are ye not ashamed to deal with us thus and discover our nakedness? know ye not that the day belongeth to you and the night to us? begone from us! by allah, were it not that ye have been my neighbours these [many] years, i would bring down the house upon you!" we doubted not but that she was of the jinn and drew back our heads; but, when we arose on the morrow, we found that she had taken all that was with us and made off with it; wherefore we knew that she was a thief and had practised [on us] a device, such as was never before practised; and we repented, whenas repentance advantaged us not.' when the company heard this story, they marvelled thereat with the utmost wonderment. then the fifth officer, who was the lieutenant of the bench,[fn# ] came forward and said, '[this is] no wonder and there befell me that which is rarer and more extraordinary than this. the fifth officer's story. as i sat one day at the door of the prefecture, a woman entered and said to me privily, "o my lord, i am the wife of such an one the physician, and with him is a company of the notables[fn# ] of the city, drinking wine in such a place." when i heard this, i misliked to make a scandal; so i rebuffed her and sent her away. then i arose and went alone to the place in question and sat without till the door opened, when i rushed in and entering, found the company engaged as the woman had set out, and she herself with them. i saluted them and they returned my greeting and rising, entreated me with honour and seated me and brought me to eat. then i informed them how one had denounced them to me, but i had driven him[fn# ] away and come to them by myself; wherefore they thanked me and praised me for my goodness. then they brought out to me from among them two thousand dirhems[fn# ] and i took them and went away. two months after this occurrence, there came to me one of the cadi's officers, with a scroll, wherein was the magistrate's writ, summoning me to him. so i accompanied the officer and went in to the cadi, whereupon the plaintiff, to wit, he who had taken out the summons, sued me for two thousand dirhems, avouching that i had borrowed them of him as the woman's agent.[fn# ] i denied the debt, but he produced against me a bond for the amount, attested by four of those who were in company [on the occasion]; and they were present and bore witness to the loan. so i reminded them of my kindness and paid the amount, swearing that i would never again follow a woman's counsel. is not this marvellous?' the company marvelled at the goodliness of his story and it pleased el melik ez zahir; and the prefect said, 'by allah, this story is extraordinary!' then came forward the sixth officer and said to the company, 'hear my story and that which befell me, to wit, that which befell such an one the assessor, for it is rarer than this and stranger. the sixth officer's story. a certain assessor was one day taken with a woman and much people assembled before his house and the lieutenant of police and his men came to him and knocked at the door. the assessor looked out of window and seeing the folk, said, "what aileth you?" quoth they, "[come,] speak with the lieutenant of police such an one." so he came down and they said to him, "bring forth the woman that is with thee." quoth he, "are ye not ashamed? how shall i bring forth my wife?" and they said, "is she thy wife by contract[fn# ] or without contract?" ["by contract,"] answered he, "according to the book of god and the institutes of his apostle." "where is the contract?" asked they; and he replied, "her contract is in her mother's house." quoth they, "arise and come down and show us the contract." and he said to them, "go from her way, so she may come forth." now, as soon as he got wind of the matter, he had written the contract and fashioned it after her fashion, to suit with the case, and written therein the names of certain of his friends as witnesses and forged the signatures of the drawer and the wife's next friend and made it a contract of marriage with his wife and appointed it for an excuse.[fn# ] so, when the woman was about to go out from him, he gave her the contract that be had forged, and the amir sent with her a servant of his, to bring her to her father. so the servant went with her and when she came to her door, she said to him, "i will not return to the citation of the amir; but let the witnesses[fn# ] present themselves and take my contract." accordingly, the servant carried this message to the lieutenant of police, who was standing at the assessor's door, and he said, "this is reasonable." then said [the assessor] to the servant, "harkye, o eunuch! go and fetch us such an one the notary;" for that he was his friend [and it was he whose name he had forged as the drawer-up of the contract]. so the lieutenant of police sent after him and fetched him to the assessor, who, when he saw him, said to him, "get thee to such an one, her with whom thou marriedst me, and cry out upon her, and when she cometh to thee, demand of her the contract and take it from her and bring it to us." and he signed to him, as who should say, "bear me out in the lie and screen me, for that she is a strange woman and i am in fear of the lieutenant of police who standeth at the door; and we beseech god the most high to screen us and you from the trouble of this world. amen." so the notary went up to the lieutenant, who was among the witnesses, and said "it is well. is she not such an one whose marriage contract we drew up in such a place?" then he betook himself to the woman's house and cried out upon her; whereupon she brought him the [forged] contract and he took it and returned with it to the lieutenant of police. when the latter had taken cognizance [of the document and professed himself satisfied, the assessor] said [to the notary,] "go to our lord and master, the cadi of the cadis, and acquaint him with that which befalleth his assessors." the notary rose to go, but the lieutenant of police feared [for himself] and was profuse in beseeching the assessor and kissing his hands, till he forgave him; whereupon the lieutenant went away in the utterest of concern and affright. on this wise the assessor ordered the case and carried out the forgery and feigned marriage with the woman; [and thus was calamity warded off from him] by the excellence of his contrivance."[fn# ] the folk marvelled at this story with the utmost wonderment and the seventh officer said, 'there befell me in alexandria the [god-]guarded a marvellous thing, [and it was that one told me the following story]. the seventh officer's story. there came one day an old woman [to the stuff-market], with a casket of precious workmanship, containing trinkets, and she was accompanied by a damsel great with child. the old woman sat down at the shop of a draper and giving him to know that the damsel was with child by the prefect of police of the city, took of him, on credit, stuffs to the value of a thousand dinars and deposited with him the casket as security. [she opened the casket and] showed him that which was therein; and he found it full of trinkets [apparently] of price; [so he trusted her with the goods] and she took leave of him and carrying the stuffs to the damsel, who was with her, [went her way]. then the old woman was absent from him a great while, and when her absence was prolonged, the draper despaired of her; so he went up to the prefect's house and enquired of the woman of his household, [who had taken his stuffs on credit;] but could get no tidings of her nor lit on aught of her trace. then he brought out the casket of jewellery [and showed it to an expert,] who told him that the trinkets were gilt and that their worth was but an hundred dirhems. when he heard this, he was sore concerned thereat and presenting himself before the sultan's deputy, made his complaint to him; whereupon the latter knew that a trick had been put off upon him and that the folk had cozened him and gotten the better of him and taken his stuffs. now the magistrate in question was a man of good counsel and judgment, well versed in affairs; so he said to the draper, "remove somewhat from thy shop, [and amongst the rest the casket,] and on the morrow break the lock and cry out and come to me and complain that they have plundered all thy shop. moreover, do thou call [upon god for succour] and cry aloud and acquaint the folk, so that all the people may resort to thee and see the breach of the lock and that which is missing from thy shop; and do thou show it to every one who presenteth himself, so the news may be noised abroad, and tell them that thy chief concern is for a casket of great value, deposited with thee by a great man of the town and that thou standest in fear of him. but be thou not afraid and still say in thy converse, 'my casket belonged to such an one, and i fear him and dare not bespeak him; but you, o company and all ye who are present, i call you to witness of this for me.' and if there be with thee more than this talk, [say it;] and the old woman will come to thee." the draper answered with "hearkening and obedience" and going forth from the deputy's presence, betook himself to his shop and brought out thence [the casket and] somewhat considerable, which he removed to his house. at break of day he arose and going to his shop, broke the lock and cried out and shrieked and called [on god for help,] till the folk assembled about him and all who were in the city were present, whereupon he cried out to them, saying even as the prefect had bidden him; and this was bruited abroad. then he made for the prefecture and presenting himself before the chief of the police, cried out and complained and made a show of distraction. after three days, the old woman came to him and bringing him the [thousand dinars, the] price of the stuffs, demanded the casket.[fn# ] when he saw her, he laid hold of her and carried her to the prefect of the city; and when she came before the cadi, he said to her, "o sataness, did not thy first deed suffice thee, but thou must come a second time?" quoth she, "i am of those who seek their salvation[fn# ] in the cities, and we foregather every month; and yesterday we foregathered." "canst thou [bring me to] lay hold of them?" asked the prefect; and she answered, "yes; but, if thou wait till to-morrow, they will have dispersed. so i will deliver them to thee to-night." quoth he to her, "go;" and she said, "send with me one who shall go with me to them and obey me in that which i shall say to him, and all that i bid him he shall give ear unto and obey me therein." so he gave her a company of men and she took them and bringing them to a certain door, said to them, "stand at this door, and whoso cometh out to you, lay hands on him; and i will come out to you last of all." "hearkening and obedience," answered they and stood at the door, whilst the old woman went in. they waited a long while, even as the sultan's deputy had bidden them, but none came out to them and their standing was prolonged. when they were weary of waiting, they went up to the door and smote upon it heavily and violently, so that they came nigh to break the lock. then one of them entered and was absent a long while, but found nought; so he returned to his comrades and said to them,"this is the door of a passage, leading to such a street; and indeed she laughed at you and left you and went away."when they heard his words, they returned to the amir and acquainted him with the case, whereby he knew that the old woman was a crafty trickstress and that she had laughed at them and cozened them and put a cheat on them, to save herself. consider, then, the cunning of this woman and that which she contrived of wiles, for all her lack of foresight in presenting herself [a second time] to the draper and not apprehending that his conduct was but a trick; yet, when she found herself in danger, she straightway devised a shift for her deliverance.' when the company heard the seventh officer's story, they were moved to exceeding mirth, and el melik ez zahir bibers rejoiced in that which he heard and said, 'by allah, there betide things in this world, from which kings are shut out, by reason of their exalted station!" then came forward another man from amongst the company and said, 'there hath reached me from one of my friends another story bearing on the malice of women and their craft, and it is rarer and more extraordinary and more diverting than all that hath been told to you." quoth the company, 'tell us thy story and expound it unto us, so we may see that which it hath of extraordinary.' and he said 'know, then, that the eighth officer's story. a friend of mine once invited me to an entertainment; so i went with him, and when we came into his house and sat down on his couch, he said to me, "this is a blessed day and a day of gladness, and [blessed is] he who liveth to [see] the like of this day. i desire that thou practise with us and deny[fn# ] us not, for that thou hast been used to hearken unto those who occupy themselves with this."[fn# ] i fell in with this and their talk happened upon the like of this subject.[fn# ] presently, my friend, who had invited me, arose from among them and said to them, "hearken to me and i will tell you of an adventure that happened to me. there was a certain man who used to visit me in my shop, and i knew him not nor he me, nor ever in his life had he seen me; but he was wont, whenever he had need of a dirhem or two, by way of loan, to come to me and ask me, without acquaintance or intermediary between me and him, [and i would give him what he sought]. i told none of him, and matters abode thus between us a long while, till he fell to borrowing ten at twenty dirhems [at a time], more or less. one day, as i stood in my shop, there came up to me a woman and stopped before me; and she as she were the full moon rising from among the stars, and the place was illumined by her light. when i saw her, i fixed my eyes on her and stared in her face; and she bespoke me with soft speech. when i heard her words and the sweetness of her speech, i lusted after her; and when she saw that i lusted after her, she did her occasion and promising me [to come again], went away, leaving my mind occupied with her and fire kindled in my heart. then i abode, perplexed and pondering my affair, whilst fire flamed in my heart, till the third day, when she came again and i scarce credited her coming. when i saw her, i talked with her and cajoled her and courted her and strove to win her favour with speech and invited her [to my house]; but she answered, saying, 'i will not go up into any one's house.' quoth i, 'i will go with thee;' and she said, 'arise and come with me.' so i arose and putting in my sleeve a handkerchief, wherein was a good sum of money, followed the woman, who went on before me and gave not over walking till she brought me to a by-street and to a door, which she bade me open. i refused and she opened it and brought me into the vestibule. as soon as i had entered, she locked the door of entrance from within and said to me, 'sit [here] till i go in to the slave-girls and cause them enter a place where they shall not see me.' 'it is well,' answered i and sat down; whereupon she entered and was absent from me a moment, after which she returned to me, without a veil, and said, 'arise, [enter,] in the name of god.'[fn# ] so i arose and went in after her and we gave not over going till we entered a saloon. when i examined the place, i found it neither handsome nor agreeable, but unseemly and desolate, without symmetry or cleanliness; nay, it was loathly to look upon and there was a foul smell in it. i seated myself amiddleward the saloon, misdoubting, and as i sat, there came down on me from the estrade seven naked men, without other clothing than leather girdles about their waists. one of them came up to me and took my turban, whilst another took my handkerchief, that was in my sleeve, with my money, and a third stripped me of my clothes; after which a fourth came and bound my hands behind me with his girdle. then they all took me up, pinioned as i was, and casting me down, fell a-dragging me towards a sink-hole that was there and were about to cut my throat, when, behold, there came a violent knocking at the door. when they heard this, they were afraid and their minds were diverted from me by fear; so the woman went out and presently returning, said to them, 'fear not; no harm shall betide you this day. it is only your comrade who hath brought you your noon-meal.' with this the new-comer entered, bringing with him a roasted lamb; and when he came in to them, he said to them, 'what is to do with you, that ye have tucked up [your sleeves and trousers]?' quoth they, '[this is] a piece of game we have caught.' when he heard this, he came up to me and looking in my face, cried out and said, 'by allah, this is my brother, the son of my mother and father! allah! allah!' then he loosed me from my bonds and kissed my head, and behold it was my friend who used to borrow money of me. when i kissed his head, he kissed mine and said, 'o my brother, be not affrighted.' then he called for my clothes [and money and restored to me all that had been taken from me] nor was aught missing to me. moreover, he brought me a bowl full of [sherbet of] sugar, with lemons therein, and gave me to drink thereof; and the company came and seated me at a table. so i ate with them and he said to me, 'o my lord and my brother, now have bread and salt passed between us and thou hast discovered our secret and [become acquainted with] our case; but secrets [are safe] with the noble.' quoth i, 'as i am a lawfully-begotten child, i will not name aught [of this] neither denounce [you!*]' and they assured themselves of me by an oath. then they brought me out and i went my way, scarce crediting but that i was of the dead. i abode in my house, ill, a whole month; after which i went to the bath and coming out, opened my shop [and sat selling and buying as usual], but saw no more of the man or the woman, till, one day, there stopped before my shop a young man, [a turcoman], as he were the full moon; and he was a sheep-merchant and had with him a bag, wherein was money, the price of sheep that he had sold. he was followed by the woman, and when he stopped at my shop, she stood by his side and cajoled him, and indeed he inclined to her with a great inclination. as for me, i was consumed with solicitude for him and fell to casting furtive glances at him and winked at him, till he chanced to look round and saw me winking at him; whereupon the woman looked at me and made a sign with her hand and went away. the turcoman followed her and i counted him dead, without recourse; wherefore i feared with an exceeding fear and shut my shop. then i journeyed for a year's space and returning, opened my shop; whereupon, behold, the woman came up to me and said, 'this is none other than a great absence.' quoth i, 'i have been on a journey;' and she said, 'why didst thou wink at the turcoman?' 'god forbid!' answered i. 'i did not wink at him.' quoth she, 'beware lest thou cross me;' and went away. awhile after this a friend of mine invited me to his house and when i came to him, we ate and drank and talked. then said he to me, 'o my friend, hath there befallen thee in thy life aught of calamity?' 'nay,' answered i; 'but tell me [first], hath there befallen thee aught?' ['yes,'] answered he. 'know that one day i espied a fair woman; so i followed her and invited her [to come home with me]. quoth she, "i will not enter any one's house; but come thou to my house, if thou wilt, and be it on such a day." accordingly, on the appointed day, her messenger came to me, purposing to carry me to her; so i arose and went with him, till we came to a handsome house and a great door. he opened the door and i entered, whereupon he locked the door [behind me] and would have gone in, but i feared with an exceeding fear and foregoing him to the second door, whereby he would have had me enter, locked it and cried out at him, saying, "by allah, an thou open not to me, i will kill thee; for i am none of those whom thou canst cozen!" quoth he, "what deemest thou of cozenage?" and i said, "verily, i am affrighted at the loneliness of the house and the lack of any at the door thereof; for i see none appear." "o my lord," answered he, "this is a privy door." "privy or public," answered i, "open to me." so he opened to me and i went out and had not gone far from the house when i met a woman, who said to me, "methinks a long life was fore-ordained to thee; else hadst thou not come forth of yonder house." "how so?" asked i, and she answered, "ask thy friend [such an one," naming thee,] "and he will acquaint thee with strange things." so, god on thee, o my friend, tell me what befell thee of wonders and rarities, for i have told thee what befell me.' 'o my brother,' answered i, 'i am bound by a solemn oath.' and he said, 'o my friend, break thine oath and tell me.' quoth i, 'indeed, i fear the issue of this.' [but he importuned me] till i told him all, whereat he marvelled. then i went away from him and abode a long while, [without farther news]. one day, another of my friends came to me and said 'a neighbour of mine hath invited me to hear [music]. [and he would have me go with him;] but i said, 'i will not foregather with any one.' however, he prevailed upon me [to accompany him]; so we repaired to the place and found there a man, who came to meet us and said, '[enter,] in the name of god!' then he pulled out a key and opened the door, whereupon we entered and he locked the door after us. quoth i, 'we are the first of the folk; but where are their voices?'[fn# ] '[they are] within the house,' answered he. 'this is but a privy door; so be not amazed at the absence of the folk.' and my friend said to me, 'behold, we are two, and what can they avail to do with us?' [then he brought us into the house,] and when we entered the saloon, we found it exceeding desolate and repulsive of aspect quoth my friend, 'we are fallen [into a trap]; but there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the supreme!' and i said, 'may god not requite thee for me with good!' then we sat down on the edge of the estrade and presently i espied a closet beside me; so i looked into it and my friend said to me, 'what seest thou?' quoth i, 'i see therein good galore and bodies of murdered folk. look.' so he looked and said, 'by allah, we are lost men!' and we fell a-weeping, i and he. as we were thus, behold, there came in upon us, by the door at which we had entered, four naked men, with girdles of leather about their middles, and made for my friend. he ran at them and dealing one of them a buffet, overthrew him, whereupon the other three fell all upon him. i seized the opportunity to escape, what while they were occupied with him, and espying a door by my side, slipped into it and found myself in an underground chamber, without window or other issue. so i gave myself up for lost and said, 'there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the supreme!' then i looked to the top of the vault and saw in it a range of glazed lunettes; so i clambered up for dear life, till i reached the lunettes, and i distracted [for fear]. i made shift to break the glass and scrambling out through the frames, found a wall behind them. so i bestrode the wall and saw folk walking in the road; whereupon i cast myself down to the ground and god the most high preserved me, so that i reached the earth, unhurt. the folk flocked round me and i acquainted them with my story. as fate would have it, the chief of the police was passing through the market; so the people told him [what was to do] and he made for the door and burst it open. we entered with a rush and found the thieves, as they had overthrown my friend and cut his throat; for they occupied not themselves with me, but said, 'whither shall yonder fellow go? indeed, he is in our grasp.' so the prefect took them with the hand[fn# ] and questioned them, and they confessed against the woman and against their associates in cairo. then he took them and went forth, after he had locked up the house and sealed it; and i accompanied him till he came without the [first] house. he found the door locked from within; so he bade break it open and we entered and found another door. this also he caused burst in, enjoining his men to silence till the doors should be opened, and we entered and found the band occupied with a new victim, whom the woman had just brought in and whose throat they were about to cut. the prefect released the man and gave him back all that the thieves had taken from him; and he laid hands on the woman and the rest and took forth of the house treasures galore. amongst the rest, they found the money-bag of the turcoman sheep-merchant. the thieves they nailed up incontinent against the wall of the house, whilst, as for the woman, they wrapped her in one of her veils and nailing her [to a board, set her] upon a camel and went round about the town with her. thus god razed their dwelling-places and did away from me that which i feared. all this befell, whilst i looked on, and i saw not my friend who had saved me from them the first time, whereat i marvelled to the utterest of marvel. however, some days afterward, he came up to me, and indeed he had renounced[fn# ] [the world] and donned a fakir's habit; and he saluted me and went away. then he again began to pay me frequent visits and i entered into converse with him and questioned him of the band and how he came to escape, he alone of them all. quoth he, 'i left them from the day on which god the most high delivered thee from them, for that they would not obey my speech; wherefore i swore that i would no longer consort with them.' and i said, 'by allah, i marvel at thee, for that thou wast the cause of my preservation!' quoth he, 'the world is full of this sort [of folk]; and we beseech god the most high for safety, for that these [wretches] practise upon men with every kind of device.' then said i to him, 'tell me the most extraordinary adventure of all that befell thee in this villainy thou wast wont to practise.' and he answered, saying, 'o my brother, i was not present when they did on this wise, for that my part with them was to concern myself with selling and buying and [providing them with] food; but i have heard that the most extraordinary thing that befell them was on this wise. the thief's story. the woman who used to act as decoy for them once caught them a woman from a bride-feast, under pretence that she had a wedding toward in her own house, and appointed her for a day, whereon she should come to her. when the appointed day arrived, the woman presented herself and the other carried her into the house by a door, avouching that it was a privy door. when she entered [the saloon], she saw men and champions[fn# ] [and knew that she had fallen into a trap]; so she looked at them and said, "harkye, lads![fn# ] i am a woman and there is no glory in my slaughter, nor have ye any feud of blood-revenge against me, wherefore ye should pursue me; and that which is upon me of [trinkets and apparel] ye are free to take." quoth they, "we fear thy denunciation." but she answered, saying, "i will abide with you, neither coming in nor going out." and they said, "we grant thee thy life." then the captain looked on her [and she pleased him]; so he took her for himself and she abode with him a whole year, doing her endeavour in their service. till they became accustomed to her [and felt assured of her]. one night she plied them with drink and they drank [till they became intoxicated]; whereupon she arose and took her clothes and five hundred dinars from the captain; after which she fetched a razor and shaved all their chins. then she took soot from the cooking-pots and blackening their faces withal, opened the doors and went out; and when the thieves awoke, they abode confounded and knew that the woman had practised upon them.'"' the company marvelled at this story and the ninth officer came forward and said, 'i will tell you a right goodly story i heard at a wedding. the ninth officer's story. a certain singing-woman was fair of favour and high in repute, and it befell one day that she went out apleasuring. as she sat,[fn# ] behold, a man lopped of the hand stopped to beg of her, and he entered in at the door. then he touched her with his stump, saying, "charity, for the love of god!" but she answered, "god open [on thee the gate of subsistence]!" and reviled him. some days after this, there came to her a messenger and gave her the hire of her going forth.[fn# ] so she took with her a handmaid and an accompanyist;[fn# ] and when she came to the appointed place, the messenger brought her into a long passage, at the end whereof was a saloon. so (quoth she) we entered and found none therein, but saw the [place made ready for an] entertainment with candles and wine and dessert, and in another place we saw food and in a third beds. we sat down and i looked at him who had opened the door to us, and behold he was lopped of the hand. i misliked this of him, and when i had sat a little longer, there entered a man, who filled the lamps in the saloon and lit the candles; and behold, he also was handlopped. then came the folk and there entered none except he were lopped of the hand, and indeed the house was full of these. when the assembly was complete, the host entered and the company rose to him and seated him in the place of honour. now he was none other than the man who had fetched me, and he was clad in sumptuous apparel, but his hands were in his sleeves, so that i knew not how it was with them. they brought him food and he ate, he and the company; after which they washed their hands and the host fell to casting furtive glances at me. then they drank till they were drunken, and when they had taken leave [of their wits], the host turned to me and said, "thou dealtest not friendly with him who sought an alms of thee and thou saidst to him, 'how loathly thou art!'" i considered him and behold, he was the lophand who had accosted me in my pleasaunce. so i said, "o my lord, what is this thou sayest?" and he answered, saying, "wait; thou shall remember it." so saying, he shook his head and stroked his beard, whilst i sat down for fear. then he put out his hand to my veil and shoes and laying them by his side, said to me, "sing, o accursed one!" so i sang till i was weary, whilst they occupied themselves with their case and intoxicated themselves and their heat redoubled.[fn# ] presently, the doorkeeper came to me and said, "fear not, o my lady; but, when thou hast a mind to go, let me know." quoth i, "thinkest thou to delude me?" and he said, "nay, by allah! but i have compassion on thee for that our captain and our chief purposeth thee no good and methinketh he will slay thee this night." quoth i to him, "an thou be minded to do good, now is the time." and he answered, saying, "when our chief riseth to do his occasion and goeth to the draught-house, i will enter before him with the light and leave the door open; and do thou go whithersoever thou wilt." then i sang and the captain said, "it is good," quoth i, "nay, but thou art loathly." he looked at me and said, "by allah, thou shalt never more scent the odour of the world!" but his comrades said to him, "do it not," and appeased him, till he said, "if it must be so, she shall abide here a whole year, not going forth." and i said, "i am content to submit to whatsoever pleaseth thee. if i have erred, thou art of those to whom pertaineth clemency." he shook his head and drank, then arose and went out to do his occasion, what while his comrades were occupied with what they were about of merry-making and drunkenness and sport. so i winked to my fellows and we slipped out into the corridor. we found the door open and fled forth, unveiled and knowing not whither we went; nor did we halt till we had left the house far behind and happened on a cook cooking, to whom said i, "hast thou a mind to quicken dead folk?" and he said, "come up." so we went up into the shop, and he said, 'lie down." accordingly, we lay down and he covered us with the grass,[fn# ] wherewith he was used to kindle [the fire] under the food. hardly had we settled ourselves in the place when we heard a noise of kicking [at the door] and people running right and left and questioning the cook and saying, "hath any one passed by thee?" "nay," answered he; "none hath passed by me." but they ceased not to go round about the shop till the day broke, when they turned back, disappointed. then the cook removed the grass and said to us, "arise, for ye are delivered from death." so we arose, and we were uncovered, without mantle or veil; but the cook carried us up into his house and we sent to our lodgings and fetched us veils; and we repented unto god the most high and renounced singing,[fn# ] for indeed this was a great deliverance after stress.' the company marvelled at this story and the tenth officer came forward and said, 'as for me, there befell me that which was yet more extraordinary than all this.' quoth el melik ez zahir, 'what was that?' and he said, the tenth officer's story. 'a great theft had been committed in the city and i was cited,[fn# ] i and my fellows. now it was a matter of considerable value and they[fn# ] pressed hard upon us; but we obtained of them some days' grace and dispersed in quest of the stolen goods. as for me, i sallied forth with five men and went round about the city that day; and on the morrow we fared forth [into the suburbs]. when we came a parasang or two parasangs' distance from the city, we were athirst; and presently we came to a garden. so i went in and going up to the water-wheel,[fn# ] entered it and drank and made the ablution and prayed. presently up came the keeper of the garden and said to me, "out on thee! who brought thee into this water-wheel?" and he cuffed me and squeezed my ribs till i was like to die. then he bound me with one of his bulls and made me turn in the water-wheel, flogging me the while with a cattle whip he had with him, till my heart was on fire; after which he loosed me and i went out, knowing not the way. when i came forth, i swooned away: so i sat down till my trouble subsided; then i made for my comrades and said to them, "i have found the booty and the thief, and i affrighted him not neither troubled him, lest he should flee; but now, come, let us go to him, so we may make shift to lay hold upon him." then i took them and repaired to the keeper of the garden, who had tortured me with beating, meaning to make him taste the like of that which he had done with me and lie against him and cause him eat stick. so we rushed into the water-wheel and seizing the keeper, pinioned him. now there was with him a youth and he said, "by allah, i was not with him and indeed it is six months since i entered the city, nor did i set eyes on the stuffs until they were brought hither." quoth we, "show us the stuffs." so he carried us to a place wherein was a pit, beside the water-wheel, and digging there, brought out the stolen goods, with not a stitch of them missing. so we took them and carried the keeper to the prefecture, where we stripped him and beat him with palm-rods till he confessed to thefts galore. now i did this by way of mockery against my comrades, and it succeeded.'[fn# ] the company marvelled at this story with the utmost wonderment, and the eleventh officer rose and said, 'i know a story yet rarer than this: but it happened not to myself. the eleventh officer's story. there was once aforetime a chief officer [of police] and there passed by him one day a jew, with a basket in his hand, wherein were five thousand dinars; whereupon quoth the officer to one of his slaves, "canst thou make shift to take that money from yonder jew's basket?" "yes," answered he, nor did he tarry beyond the next day before he came to his master, with the basket in his hand. so (quoth the officer) i said to him, "go, bury it in such a place." so he went and buried it and returned and told me. hardly had he done this when there arose a clamour and up came the jew, with one of the king's officers, avouching that the money belonged to the sultan and that he looked to none but us for it. we demanded of him three days' delay, as of wont, and i said to him who had taken the money, "go and lay somewhat in the jew's house, that shall occupy him with himself." so he went and played a fine trick, to wit, he laid in a basket a dead woman's hand, painted [with henna] and having a gold seal- ring on one of the fingers, and buried the basket under a flagstone in the jew's house. then came we and searched and found the basket, whereupon we straightway clapped the jew in irons for the murder of a woman. when it was the appointed time, there came to us the man of the sultan's guards, [who had accompanied the jew, when he came to complain of the loss of the money,] and said, "the sultan biddeth you nail up[fn# ] the jew and bring the money, for that there is no way by which five thousand dinars can be lost." wherefore we knew that our device sufficed not. so i went forth and finding a young man, a haurani,[fn# ] passing the road, laid hands on him and stripped him and beat him with palm-rods. then i clapped him in irons and carrying him to the prefecture, beat him again, saying to them, "this is the thief who stole the money." and we strove to make him confess; but he would not confess. so we beat him a third and a fourth time, till we were weary and exhausted and he became unable to return an answer. but, when we had made an end of beating and tormenting him, he said, "i will fetch the money forthright." so we went with him till he came to the place where my slave had buried the money and dug there and brought it out; whereat i marvelled with the utmost wonder and we carried it to the prefect's house. when the latter saw the money, he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and bestowed on me a dress of honour. then he restored the money straightway to the sultan and we left the youth in prison; whilst i said to my slave who had taken the money, "did yonder young man see thee, what time thou buriedst the money?" "no, by the great god!" answered he. so i went in to the young man, the prisoner, and plied him with wine till he recovered, when i said to him, "tell me how thou stolest the money." "by allah," answered he, "i stole it not, nor did i ever set eyes on it till i brought it forth of the earth!" quoth i, "how so?" and he said, "know that the cause of my falling into your hands was my mother's imprecation against me; for that i evil entreated her yesternight and beat her and she said to me, 'by allah, o my son, god shall assuredly deliver thee into the hand of the oppressor!' now she is a pious woman. so i went out forthright and thou sawest me in the way and didst that which thou didst; and when beating was prolonged on me, my senses failed me and i heard one saying to me, 'fetch it.' so i said to you what i said and he[fn# ] guided me till i came to the place and there befell what befell of the bringing out of the money." i marvelled at this with the utmost wonderment and knew that he was of the sons of the pious. so i bestirred myself for his release and tended him [till he recovered] and besought him of quittance and absolution of responsibility.' all those who were present marvelled at this story with the utmost marvel, and the twelfth officer came forward and said, 'i will tell you a pleasant trait that i had from a certain man, concerning an adventure that befell him with one of the thieves. (quoth he) the twelfth officer's story. as i was passing one day in the market, i found that a thief had broken into the shop of a money-changer and taken thence a casket, with which he had made off to the burial-grounds. so i followed him thither [and came up to him, as] he opened the casket and fell a-looking into it; whereupon i accosted him, saying, "peace be on thee!" and he was startled at me. then i left him and went away from him. some months after this, i met him again under arrest, in the midst of the guards and officers of the police, and he said to them, "seize yonder man." so they laid hands on me and carried me to the chief of the police, who said, "what hast thou to do with this fellow?" the thief turned to me and looking a long while in my face, said, "who took this man?" quoth the officers, "thou badest us take him; so we took him." and he said, "i seek refuge with god! i know not this man, nor knoweth he me; and i said not that to you but of a man other than this." so they released me, and awhile afterward the thief met me in the street and saluted me, saying, "o my lord, fright for fright! hadst thou taken aught from me, thou hadst had a part in the calamity."[fn# ] and i said to him, "god [judge] between thee and me!" and this is what i have to tell' then came forward the thirteenth officer and said, 'i will tell you a story that a man of my friends told me. (quoth he) the thirteenth officer's story. i went out one night to the house of one of my friends and when it was the middle of the night, i sallied forth alone [to go home]. when i came into the road, i espied a sort of thieves and they saw me, whereupon my spittle dried up; but i feigned myself drunken and staggered from side to side, crying out and saying, "i am drunken." and i went up to the walls right and left and made as if i saw not the thieves, who followed me till i reached my house and knocked at the door, when they went away. some days after this, as i stood at the door of my house, there came up to me a young man, with a chain about his neck and with him a trooper, and he said to me, "o my lord, charity for the love of god!" quoth i, "god open!"[fn# ] and he looked at me a long while and said, "that which thou shouldst give me would not come to the value of thy turban or thy waistcloth or what not else of thy raiment, to say nothing of the gold and the silver that was about thee." "how so?" asked i, and he said, "on such a night, when thou fellest into peril and the thieves would have stripped thee, i was with them and said to them, 'yonder man is my lord and my master who reared me.' so was i the cause of thy deliverance and thus i saved thee from them." when i heard this, i said to him, "stop;" and entering my house, brought him that which god the most high made easy [to me].[fn# ] so he went his way. and this is my story.' then came forward the fourteenth officer and said, 'know that the story i have to tell is pleasanter and more extraordinary than this; and it is as follows. the fourteenth officer's story. before i entered this corporation,[fn# ] i had a draper's shop and there used to come to me a man whom i knew not, save by his face, and i would give him what he sought and have patience with him, till he could pay me. one day, i foregathered with certain of my friends and we sat down to drink. so we drank and made merry and played at tab;[fn# ] and we made one of us vizier and another sultan and a third headsman. presently, there came in upon us a spunger, without leave, and we went on playing, whilst he played with us. then quoth the sultan to the vizier, "bring the spunger who cometh in to the folk, without leave or bidding, that we may enquire into his case. then will i cut off his head." so the headsman arose and dragged the spunger before the sultan, who bade cut off his head. now there was with them a sword, that would not cut curd;[fn# ] so the headsman smote him therewith and his head flew from his body. when we saw this, the wine fled from our heads and we became in the sorriest of plights. then my friends took up the body and went out with it, that they might hide it, whilst i took the head and made for the river. now i was drunken and my clothes were drenched with the blood; and as i passed along the road, i met a thief. when he saw me, he knew me and said to me, "harkye, such an one!" "well?" answered i, and he said, "what is that thou hast with thee?" so i acquainted him with the case and he took the head from me. then we went on till we came to the river, where he washed the head and considering it straitly, said, "by allah, this is my brother, my father's son. and he used to spunge upon the folk." then he threw the head into the river. as for me, i was like a dead man [for fear]; but he said to me, "fear not neither grieve, for thou art quit of my brother's blood." then he took my clothes and washed them and dried them, and put them on me; after which he said to me, "get thee gone to thy house." so i returned to my house and he accompanied me, till i came thither, when he said to me, "may god not forsake thee! i am thy friend [such an one, who used to take of thee goods on credit,] and i am beholden to thee for kindness; but henceforward thou wilt never see me more."' the company marvelled at the generosity of this man and his clemency[fn# ] and courtesy, and the sultan said, 'tell us another of thy stories.'[fn# ] 'it is well,' answered the officer, 'they avouch that a merry jest of a thief. a thief of the thieves of the arabs went [one night] to a certain man's house, to steal from a heap of wheat there, and the people of the house surprised him. now on the heap was a great copper measure, and the thief buried himself in the corn and covered his head with the measure, so that the folk found him not and went away; but, as they were going, behold, there came a great crack of wind forth of the corn. so they went up to the measure and [raising it], discovered the thief and laid hands on him. quoth he, "i have eased you of the trouble of seeking me: for i purposed, [in letting wind], to direct you to my [hiding-]place; wherefore do ye ease me and have compassion on me, so may god have compassion on you!" so they let him go and harmed him not. and for another story of the same kind,' continued the officer, story of the old sharper. 'there was once an old man renowned for roguery, and he went, he and his mates, to one of the markets and stole thence a parcel of stuffs. then they separated and returned each to his quarter. awhile after this, the old man assembled a company of his fellows and one of them pulled out a costly piece of stuff and said, "will any one of you sell this piece of stuff in its own market whence it was stolen, that we may confess his [pre-eminence in] sharping?" quoth the old man, "i will;" and they said, "go, and god the most high prosper thee!" so on the morrow, early, he took the stuff and carrying it to the market whence it had been stolen, sat down at the shop whence it had been stolen and gave it to the broker, who took it and cried it for sale. its owner knew it and bidding for it, [bought it] and sent after the chief of the police, who seized the sharper and seeing him an old man of venerable appearance, handsomely clad, said to him, "whence hadst thou this piece of stuff?" "i had it from this market," answered he, "and from yonder shop where i was sitting." quoth the prefect, "did its owner sell it to thee?" "nay," replied the thief; "i stole it and other than it." then said the magistrate, "how camest thou to bring it [for sale] to the place whence thou stolest it?" and he answered, "i will not tell my story save to the sultan, for that i have an advertisement[fn# ] wherewith i would fain bespeak him." quoth the prefect, "name it." and the thief said, "art thou the sultan?" "no," replied the other; and the old man said, "i will not tell it but to himself." so the prefect carried him up to the sultan and he said, "i have an advertisement for thee, o my lord." "what is thine advertisement?" asked the sultan; and the thief said, "i repent and will deliver into thy hand all who are evildoers; and whomsoever i bring not, i will stand in his stead." quoth the sultan, "give him a dress of honour and accept his profession of repentance." so he went down from the presence and returning to his comrades, related to them that which had passed and they confessed his subtlety and gave him that which they had promised him. then he took the rest of the stolen goods and went up with them to the sultan. when the latter saw him, he was magnified in his eyes and he commanded that nought should be taken from him. then, when he went down, [the sultan's] attention was diverted from him, little by little, till the case was forgotten, and so he saved the booty [for himself].' the folk marvelled at this and the fifteenth officer came forward and said, 'know that among those who make a trade of knavery are those whom god the most high taketh on their own evidence against themselves.' 'how so?' asked they; and he said. the fifteenth officer's story. 'it is told of a certain doughty thief, that he used to rob and stop the way by himself upon caravans, and whenever the prefect of police and the magistrates sought him, he would flee from them and fortify himself in the mountains. now it befell that a certain man journeyed along the road wherein was the robber in question, and this man was alone and knew not the perils that beset his way. so the highwayman came out upon him and said to him, "bring out that which is with thee, for i mean to slay thee without fail." quoth the traveller, "slay me not, but take these saddle-bags and divide [that which is in] them and take the fourth part [thereof]." and the thief answered, "i will not take aught but the whole." "take half," rejoined the traveller, "and let me go." but the robber replied, "i will take nought but the whole, and i will slay thee [to boot]." and the traveller said, "take it." so the highwayman took the saddle-bags and offered to kill the traveller, who said, "what is this? thou hast no blood-feud against me, that should make my slaughter incumbent [on thee]. quoth the other, "needs must i slay thee;" whereupon the traveller dismounted from his horse and grovelled on the earth, beseeching the robber and speaking him fair. the latter hearkened not to his prayers, but cast him to the ground; whereupon the traveller [raised his eyes and seeing a francolin flying over him,] said, in his agony," o francolin, bear witness that this man slayeth me unjustly and wickedly; for indeed i have given him all that was with me and besought him to let me go, for my children's sake; yet would he not consent unto this. but be thou witness against him, for god is not unmindful of that which is done of the oppressors." the highwayman paid no heed to this speech, but smote him and cut off his head. after this, the authorities compounded with the highwayman for his submission, and when he came before them, they enriched him and he became in such favour with the sultan's deputy that he used to eat and drink with him and there befell familiar converse between them. on this wise they abode a great while, till, one day, the sultan's deputy made a banquet, and therein, for a wonder, was a roasted francolin, which when the robber saw, he laughed aloud. the deputy was angered against him and said to him, "what is the meaning of thy laughter? seest thou default [in the entertainment] or dost thou mock at us, of thy lack of breeding?" "not so, by allah, o my lord," answered the highwayman. "but i saw yonder francolin and bethought myself thereanent of an extraordinary thing; and it was on this wise. in the days of my youth, i used to stop the way, and one day i fell in with a man, who had with him a pair of saddle-bags and money therein. so i said to him, 'leave these bags, for i mean to kill thee.' quoth he, 'take the fourth part of [that which is in] them and leave [me] the rest.' and i said, 'needs must i take the whole and slay thee, to boot.' then said he, 'take the saddle-bags and let me go my way.' but i answered, 'needs must i slay thee.' as we were in this contention, he and i, behold, he saw a francolin and turning to it, said, 'bear witness against him, o francolin, that he slayeth me unjustly and letteth me not go to my children, for all he hath gotten my money.' however, i took no pity on him neither hearkened to that which he said, but slew him and concerned not myself with the francolin's testimony." his story troubled the sultan's deputy and he was sore enraged against him; so he drew his sword and smiting him, cut off his head; whereupon one recited the following verses: an you'd of evil be quit, look that no evil yon do; nay, but do good, for the like god will still render to you. all things, indeed, that betide to you are fore-ordered of god; yet still in your deeds is the source to which their fulfilment is due. now this[fn# ] was the francolin that bore witness against him.' the company marvelled at this story and said all, 'woe to the oppressor!' then came forward the sixteenth officer and said, 'and i also will tell you a marvellous story, and it is on this wise. the sixteenth officer's story. i went forth one day, purposing to make a journey, and fell in with a man whose wont it was to stop the way. when he came up with me, he offered to slay me and i said to him, "i have nothing with me whereby thou mayst profit." quoth he, "my profit shall be the taking of thy life." "what is the cause of this?" asked i. "hath there been feud between us aforetime?" and he answered, "no; but needs must i slay thee." therewithal i fled from him to the river-side; but he overtook me and casting me to the ground, sat down on my breast. so i sought help of the sheikh el hejjaj[fn# ] and said to him, "protect me from this oppressor!" and indeed he had drawn a knife, wherewith to cut my throat, when, behold, there came a great crocodile forth of the river and snatching him up from off my breast, plunged with him into the water, with the knife still in his hand; whilst i abode extolling the perfection of god the most high and rendering thanks for my preservation to him who had delivered me from the hand of that oppressor.' abdallah ben nafi and the king's son of cashghar.[fn# ] there abode once, of old days and in bygone ages and times, in the city of baghdad, the abode of peace, the khalif haroun er reshid, and he had boon-companions and story-tellers, to entertain him by night among his boon-companions was a man called abdallah ben nan, who was high in favour with him and dear unto him, so that he was not forgetful of him a single hour. now it befell, by the ordinance of destiny, that it became manifest to abdallah that he was grown of little account with the khalif and that he paid no heed unto him; nor, if he absented himself, did he enquire concerning him, as had been his wont. this was grievous to abdallah and he said in himself, "verily, the heart of the commander of the faithful and his fashions are changed towards me and nevermore shall i get of him that cordiality wherewith he was wont to entreat me." and this was distressful to him and concern waxed upon him, so that he recited the following verses: if, in his own land, midst his folk, abjection and despite afflict a man, then exile sure were better for the wight. so get thee gone, then, from a house wherein thou art abased and let not severance from friends lie heavy on thy spright. crude amber[fn# ] in its native land unheeded goes, but, when it comes abroad, upon the necks to raise it men delight. kohl[fn# ] in its native country, too, is but a kind of stone; cast out and thrown upon the ways, it lies unvalued quite; but, when from home it fares, forthright all glory it attains and 'twixt the eyelid and the eye incontinent 'tis dight. then he could brook this no longer; so he went forth from the dominions of the commander of the faithful, under pretence of visiting certain of his kinsmen, and took with him servant nor companion, neither acquainted any with his intent, but betook himself to the road and fared on into the desert and the sandwastes, knowing not whither he went. after awhile, he fell in with travellers intending for the land of hind [and journeyed with them]. when he came thither, he lighted down [in a city of the cities of the land and took up his abode] in one of the lodging-places; and there he abode a while of days, tasting not food neither solacing himself with the delight of sleep; nor was this for lack of dirhems or dinars, but for that his mind was occupied with musing upon [the reverses of] destiny and bemoaning himself for that the revolving sphere had turned against him and the days had decreed unto him the disfavour of our lord the imam.[fn# ] on this wise he abode a space of days, after which he made himself at home in the land and took to himself comrades and got him friends galore, with whom he addressed himself to diversion and good cheer. moreover, he went a-pleasuring with his friends and their hearts were solaced [by his company] and he entertained them with stories and civilities[fn# ] and diverted them with pleasant verses and told them abundance of histories and anecdotes. presently, the report of him reached king jemhour, lord of cashghar of hind, and great was his desire [for his company]. so he went in quest of him and abdallah repaired to his court and going in to him, kissed the earth before him. jemhour welcomed him and entreated him with kindness and bade commit him to the guest-house, where he abode three days, at the end of which time the king sent [to him] a chamberlain of his chamberlains and let bring him to his presence. when he came before him, he greeted him [with the usual compliment], and the interpreter accosted him, saying, "king jemhour hath heard of thy report, that thou art a goodly boon-companion and an eloquent story-teller, and he would have thee company with him by night and entertain him with that which thou knowest of anecdotes and pleasant stories and verses." and he made answer with "hearkening and obedience." (quoth abdallah ben nan) so i became his boon-companion and entertained him by night [with stories and the like]; and this pleased him to the utmost and he took me into especial favour and bestowed on me dresses of honour and assigned me a separate lodging; brief, he was everywise bountiful to me and could not brook to be parted from me a single hour. so i abode with him a while of time and every night i caroused with him [and entertained him], till the most part of the night was past; and when drowsiness overcame him, he would rise [and betake himself] to his sleeping-place, saying to me, "forsake not my service for that of another than i and hold not aloof from my presence." and i made answer with "hearkening and obedience." now the king had a son, a pleasant child, called the amir mohammed, who was comely of youth and sweet of speech; he had read in books and studied histories and above all things in the world he loved the telling and hearing of verses and stories and anecdotes. he was dear to his father king jemhour, for that he had none other son than he on life, and indeed he had reared him in the lap of fondness and he was gifted with the utterest of beauty and grace and brightness and perfection. moreover, he had learnt to play upon the lute and upon all manner instruments of music and he was used to [carouse and] company with friends and brethren. now it was of his wont that, when the king rose to go to his sleeping-chamber, he would sit in his place and seek of me that i should entertain him with stories and verses and pleasant anecdotes; and on this wise i abode with them a great while in all cheer and delight, and the prince still loved me with an exceeding great love and entreated me with the utmost kindness. it befell one day that the king's son came to me, after his father had withdrawn, and said to me, "harkye, ibn nafil" "at thy service, o my lord," answered i; and he said, "i would have thee tell me an extraordinary story and a rare matter, that thou hast never related either to me or to my father jemhour." "o my lord," rejoined i, "what story is this that thou desirest of me and of what kind shall it be of the kinds?" quoth he, "it matters little what it is, so it be a goodly story, whether it befell of old days or in these times." "o my lord," said i, "i know many stories of various kinds; so whether of the kinds preferrest thou, and wilt thou have a story of mankind or of the jinn?" "it is well," answered he; "if thou have seen aught with thine eyes and heard it with thine ears, [tell it me."then he bethought himself] and said to me, "i conjure thee by my life, tell me a story of the stories of the jinn and that which thou hast heard and seen of them!" "o my son," replied i, "indeed thou conjurest [me] by a mighty conjuration; so [hearken and thou shalt] hear the goodliest of stories, ay, and the most extraordinary of them and the pleasantest and rarest." quoth the prince, "say on, for i am attentive to thy speech." and i said, "know, then, o my son, that story of the damsel tuhfet el culoub and the khalif haroun er reshid. the vicar of the lord of the worlds[fn# ] haroun er reshid had a boon-companion of the number of his boon-companions, by name ishac ben ibrahim en nedim el mausili,[fn# ] who was the most accomplished of the folk of his time in the art of smiting upon the lute; and of the commander of the faithful's love for him, he assigned him a palace of the choicest of his palaces, wherein he was wont to instruct slave-girls in the arts of lute-playing and singing. if any slave-girl became, by his instruction, accomplished in the craft, he carried her before the khalif, who bade her play upon the lute; and if she pleased him, he would order her to the harem; else would he restore her to ishac's palace. one day, the commander of the faithful's breast was straitened; so he sent after his vizier jaafer the barmecide and ishac the boon-companion and mesrour the eunuch, the swordsman of his vengeance; and when they came, he changed his raiment and disguised himself, whilst jaafer [and ishac] and mesrour and el fezll[fn# ] and younus[fn# ] (who were also present) did the like. then he went out, he and they, by the privy gate, to the tigris and taking boat, fared on till they came to near et taf,[fn# ] when they landed and walked till they came to the gate of the thoroughfare street.[fn# ] here there met them an old man, comely of hoariness and of a venerable and dignified bearing, pleasing[fn# ] of aspect and apparel. he kissed the earth before ishac el mausili (for that be knew but him of the company, the khalif being disguised, and deemed the others certain of his friends) and said to him, 'o my lord, there is presently with me a slave-girl, a lutanist, never saw eyes the like of her nor the like of her grace, and indeed i was on my way to pay my respects to thee and give thee to know of her; but allah, of his favour, hath spared me the trouble. so now i desire to show her to thee, and if she be to thy liking, well and good: else i will sell her.' quoth ishac, 'go before me to thy barrack, till i come to thee and see her.' the old man kissed his hand and went away; whereupon quoth er reshid to him, 'o ishac, who is yonder man and what is his occasion?' 'o my lord,' answered the other, 'this is a man called said the slave-dealer, and he it is who buyeth us slave-girls and mamelukes.[fn# ] he avoucheth that with him is a fair [slave-girl, a] lutanist, whom he hath withheld from sale, for that he could not fairly sell her till he had shown her to me.' 'let us go to him,' said the khalif,'so we may look on her, by way of diversion, and see what is in the slave-dealer's barrack of slave-girls.' and ishac answered, 'commandment belongeth to god and to the commander of the faithful.' then he went on before them and they followed in his track till they came to the slave-dealer's barrack and found it high of building and spacious of continence, with sleeping-cells and chambers therein, after the number of the slave-girls, and folk sitting upon the benches. ishac entered, he and his company, and seating themselves in the place of honour, amused themselves by looking on the slave-girls and mamelukes and watching how they were sold, till the sale came to an end, when some of the folk went away and other some sat. then said the slave-dealer, 'let none sit with us except him who buyeth by the thousand [dinars] and upwards.' so those who were present withdrew and there remained none but er reshid and his company; whereupon the slave-dealer called the damsel, after he had caused set her a chair of fawwak,[fn# ] furnished with greek brocade, and it was as she were the sun shining in the clear sky. when she entered, she saluted and sitting down, took the lute and smote upon it, after she had touched its strings and tuned it, so that all present were amazed. then she sang thereto the following verses: wind of the east, if thou pass by the land where my loved ones dwell, i pray, the fullest of greetings bear to them from me, their lover, and say that i am the pledge of passion still and that my longing love and eke my yearning do overpass all longing that was aye. o ye who have withered my heart and marred my hearing and my sight, desire and transport for your sake wax on me night and day. my heart with yearning is ever torn and tortured without cease, nor can my lids lay hold on sleep, that sees from them away. 'well done, o damsel!' cried ishac. 'by allah, this is a fair hour!' whereupon she rose and kissed his hand, saying, 'o my lord, the hands stand still in thy presence and the tongues at thy sight, and the eloquent before thee are dumb; but thou art the looser of the veil.'[fn# ] then she clung to him and said, 'stand.' so he stood and said to her, 'who art thou and what is thy need?' she raised a corner of the veil, and he beheld a damsel as she were the rising full moon or the glancing lightning, with two side locks of hair that fell down to her anklets. she kissed his hand and said to him, 'o my lord, know that i have been in this barrack these five months, during which time i have been withheld[fn# ] from sale till thou shouldst be present [and see me]; and yonder slave-dealer still made thy coming a pretext to me[fn# ] and forbade me, for all i sought of him night and day that he should cause thee come hither and vouchsafe me thy presence and bring me and thee together.' quoth ishac, 'say what thou wouldst have.' and she answered, 'i beseech thee, by god the most high, that thou buy me, so i may be with thee, by way of service.' 'is that thy desire?' asked he, and she replied, ' yes.' so ishac returned to the slave-dealer and said to him, 'harkye, gaffer said!*' 'at thy service, o my lord,' answered the old man; and ishac said, 'in the corridor is a cell and therein a damsel pale of colour. what is her price in money and how much dost thou ask for her?, quoth the slave-dealer, 'she whom thou mentionest is called tuhfet el hemca.'[fn# ] 'what is the meaning of el hemca?' asked ishac, and the old man replied, 'her price hath been paid down an hundred times and she still saith, "show me him who desireth to buy me;" and when i show her to him, she saith, "this fellow is not to my liking; he hath in him such and such a default." and in every one who would fain buy her she allegeth some default or other, so that none careth now to buy her and none seeketh her, for fear lest she discover some default in him.' quoth ishac, 'she seeketh presently to sell herself; so go thou to her and enquire of her and see her price and send her to the palace.' 'o my lord,' answered said, 'her price is an hundred dinars, though, were she whole of this paleness that is upon her face, she would be worth a thousand; but folly and pallor have diminished her value; and behold, i will go to her and consult her of this.' so he betook himself to her, and said to her, 'wilt thou be sold to ishac ben ibrahim el mausili?' 'yes,' answered she, and he said, 'leave frowardness,[fn# ] for to whom doth it happen to be in the house of ishac the boon-companion?'[fn# ] then ishac went forth of the barrack and overtook er reshid [who had foregone him]; and they walked till they came to their [landing-]place, where they embarked in the boat and fared on to theghr el khanekah.[fn# ] as for the slave-dealer, he sent the damsel to the house of ishac en nedim, whose slave-girls took her and carried her to the bath. then each damsel gave her somewhat of her apparel and they decked her with earrings and bracelets, so that she redoubled in beauty and became as she were the moon on the night of its full. when ishac returned home from the khalifs palace, tuhfeh rose to him and kissed his hand; and he saw that which the slave-girls had done with her and thanked them therefor and said to them, 'let her be in the house of instruction and bring her instruments of music, and if she be apt unto singing, teach her; and may god the most high vouchsafe her health and weal!' so there passed over her three months, what while she abode with him in the house of instruction, and they brought her the instruments of music. moreover, as time went on, she was vouchsafed health and soundness and her beauty waxed many times greater than before and her pallor was changed to white and red, so that she became a ravishment to all who looked on her. one day, ishac let bring all who were with him of slave-girls from the house of instruction and carried them up to er reshid's palace, leaving none in his house save tuhfeh and a cookmaid; for that he bethought him not of tuhfeh, nor did she occur to his mind, and none of the damsels remembered him of her. when she saw that the house was empty of the slave-girls, she took the lute (now she was unique in her time in smiting upon the lute, nor had she her like in the world, no, not ishac himself, nor any other) and sang thereto the following verses: whenas the soul desireth one other than its peer, it winneth not of fortune the wish it holdeth dear. him with my life i'd ransom whose rigours waste away my frame and cause me languish; yet, if he would but hear, it rests with him to heal me; and i (a soul he hath must suffer that which irks it), go saying, in my fear of spies, "how long, o scoffer, wilt mock at my despair, as 'twere god had created nought else whereat to jeer?" now ishac had returned to his house upon an occasion that presented itself to him; and when he entered the vestibule, he heard a sound of singing, the like whereof he had never heard in the world, for that it was [soft] as the breeze and richer[fn# ] than almond oil.[fn# ] so the delight of it gat hold of him and joyance overcame him, and he fell down aswoon in the vestibule, tuhfeh heard the noise of steps and laying the lute from her hand, went out to see what was to do. she found her lord ishac lying aswoon in the vestibule; so she took him up and strained him to her bosom, saying, 'i conjure thee in god's name, o my lord, tell me, hath aught befallen thee?' when he heard her voice, he recovered from his swoon and said to her, 'who art thou? ' quoth she, 'i am thy slave-girl tuhfeh.' and he said to her, 'art thou indeed tuhfeh?' 'yes,' answered she; and he, 'by allah, i had forgotten thee and remembered thee not till now!' then he looked at her and said, 'indeed, thy case is altered and thy pallor is grown changed to rosiness and thou hast redoubled in beauty and lovesomeness. but was it thou who was singing but now?' and she was troubled and affrighted and answered, 'even i, o my lord.' then ishac seized upon her hand and carrying her into the house, said to her, 'take the lute and sing; for never saw i nor heard thy like in smiting upon the lute; no, not even myself!' 'o my lord,' answered she, 'thou makest mock of me. who am i that thou shouldst say all this to me? indeed, this is but of thy kindness.' 'nay, by allah,' exclaimed he, 'i said but the truth to thee and i am none of those on whom pretence imposeth. these three months hath nature not moved thee to take the lute and sing thereto, and this is nought but an extraordinary thing. but all this cometh of strength in the craft and self-restraint.' then he bade her sing; and she said, 'hearkening and obedience.' so she took the lute and tightening its strings, smote thereon a number of airs, so that she confounded ishac's wit and he was like to fly for delight. then she returned to the first mode and sang thereto the following verses: still by your ruined camp a dweller i abide; ne'er will i change nor e'er shall distance us divide. far though you dwell, i'll ne'er your neighbourhood forget, o friends, whose lovers still for you are stupefied. your image midst mine eye sits nor forsakes me aye; ye are my moons in gloom of night and shadowtide. still, as my transports wax, grows restlessness on me and woes have ta'en the place of love-delight denied. when she had made an end of her song and laid down the lute, ishac looked fixedly on her, then took her hand and offered to kiss it; but she snatched it from him and said to him, 'allah, o my lord, do not that!' quoth he, 'be silent. by allah, i had said that there was not in the world the like of me; but now i have found my dinar[fn# ] in the craft but a danic,[fn# ] "for thou art, beyond comparison or approximation or reckoning, more excellent of skill than i! this very day will i carry thee up to the commander of the faithful haroun er reshid, and whenas his glance lighteth on thee, thou wilt become a princess of womankind. so, allah, allah upon thee, o my lady, whenas thou becomest of the household of the commander of the faithful, do not thou forget me!' and she replied, saying, 'allah, o my lord, thou art the source of my fortunes and in thee is my heart fortified.' so he took her hand and made a covenant with her of this and she swore to him that she would not forget him. then said he to her, 'by allah, thou art the desire of the commander of the faithful![fn# ] so take the lute and sing a song that thou shalt sing to the khalif, whenas thou goest in to him.' so she took the lute and tuning it, sang the following verses: his love on him took pity and wept for his dismay: of those that him did visit she was, as sick he lay. she let him taste her honey and wine[fn# ] before his death: this was his last of victual until the judgment day. ishac stared at her and seizing her hand, said to her, 'know that i am bound by an oath that, when the singing of a damsel pleaseth me, she shall not make an end of her song but before the commander of the faithful. but now tell me, how came it that thou abodest with the slave-dealer five months and wast not sold to any, and thou of this skill, more by token that the price set on thee was no great matter?' she laughed and answered, 'o my lord, my story is a strange one and my case extraordinary. know that i belonged aforetime to a mughrebi merchant, who bought me, when i was three years old, and there were in his house many slave-girls and eunuchs; but i was the dearest to him of them all. so he kept me with him and used not to call me but "daughterling," and indeed i am presently a clean maid. now there was with him a damsel, a lutanist, and she reared me and taught me the craft, even as thou seest. then was my master admitted to the mercy of god the most high[fn# ] and his sons divided his good. i fell to the lot of one of them; but it was only a little while ere he had squandered all his substance and there was left him no tittle of money. so i left the lute, fearing lest i should fall into the hand of a man who knew not my worth, for that i was assured that needs must my master sell me; and indeed it was but a few days ere he carried me forth to the barrack of the slave-merchant who buyeth slave-girls and showeth them to the commander of the faithful. now i desired to learn the craft; so i refused to be sold to other than thou, till god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) vouchsafed me my desire of thy presence; whereupon i came out to thee, whenas i heard of thy coming, and besought thee to buy me. thou healedst my heart and boughtedst me; and since i entered thy house, o my lord, i have not taken up the lute till now; but to-day, whenas i was quit of the slave-girls, [i took it]; and my purpose in this was that i might see if my hand were changed[fn# ] or no. as i was singing, i heard a step in the vestibule; so i laid the lute from my hand and going forth to see what was to do, found thee, o my lord, on this wise.' quoth ishac, 'indeed, this was of thy fair fortune. by allah, i know not that which thou knowest in this craft!' then he arose and going to a chest, brought out therefrom striped clothes of great price, netted with jewels and great pearls, and said to her, 'in the name of god, don these, o my lady tuhfeh.' so she arose and donned those clothes and veiled herself and went up [with ishac] to the palace of the khalifate, where he made her stand without, whilst he himself went in to the commander of the faithful (with whom was jaafer the barmecide) and kissing the earth before him, said to him, 'o commander of the faithful, i have brought thee a damsel, never saw eyes her like for excellence in singing and touching the lute; and her name is tuhfeh."[fn# ] 'and where,' asked er reshed, 'is this tuhfeh, who hath not her like in the world?' quoth ishac, 'yonder she stands, o commander of the faithful;' and he acquainted the khalif with her case from first to last. then said er reshid, 'it is a marvel to hear thee praise a slave-girl after this fashion. admit her, so we may see her, for that the morning may not be hidden.' accordingly, ishac bade admit her; so she entered, and when her eyes fell upon the commander of the faithful, she kissed the earth before him and said, 'peace be upon thee, o commander of the faithful and asylum of the people of the faith and reviver of justice among all creatures! may god make plain the treading of thy feet and vouchsafe thee enjoyment of that which he hath bestowed on thee and make paradise thy harbourage and the fire that of thine enemies!' quoth er reshid, 'and on thee be peace, o damsel! sit.' so she sat down and he bade her sing; whereupon she took the lute and tightening its strings, played thereon in many modes, so that the commander of the faithful and jaafer were confounded and like to fly for delight. then she returned to the first mode and sang the following verses: by him whom i worship, indeed, i swear, o thou that mine eye dost fill, by him in whose honour the pilgrims throng and fare to arafat's hill, though over me be the tombstone laid, if ever thou call on me, though rotten my bone should be, thy voice i'll answer, come what will. i crave none other than thou for friend, beloved of my heart; so trust in my speech, for the generous are true and trusty still. er reshid considered her beauty and the goodliness of her singing and her eloquence and what not else she comprised of qualities and rejoiced with an exceeding joyance; and for the stress of that which overcame him of delight, he descended from the couch and sitting down with her upon the ground, said to her, 'thou hast done well, o tuhfeh. by allah, thou art indeed a gift'[fn# ] then he turned to ishac and said to him, 'thou dealtest not equitably, o ishac, in the description of this damsel,[fn# ] neither settest out all that she compriseth of goodliness and skill; for that, by allah, she is incomparably more skilful than thou; and i know of this craft that which none knoweth other than i!' 'by allah,' exclaimed jaafer, 'thou sayst sooth, o my lord, o commander of the faithful. indeed, this damsel hath done away my wit' quoth ishac, 'by allah, o commander of the faithful, i had said that there was not on the face of the earth one who knew the craft of the lute like myself; but, when i heard her, my skill became nothing worth in mine eyes.' then said the khalif to her, 'repeat thy playing, o tuhfeh.' so she repeated it and he said to her, 'well done!' moreover, he said to ishac, 'thou hast indeed brought me that which is extraordinary and worth in mine eyes the empire of the earth.' then he turned to mesrour the eunuch and said to him, 'carry tuhfeh to the lodging of honour.'[fn# ] accordingly, she went away with mesrour and the khalif looked at her clothes and seeing her clad in raiment of choice, said to ishac, 'o ishac, whence hath she these clothes?' 'o my lord, answered he, 'these are somewhat of thy bounties and thy largesse, and they are a gift to her from me. by allah, o commander of the faithful, the world, all of it, were little in comparison with her!' then the khalif turned to the vizier jaafer and said to him, 'give ishac fifty thousand dirhems and a dress of honour of the apparel of choice.' 'hearkening and obedience,' replied jaafer and gave him that which the khalif ordered him. as for er reshid, he shut himself up with tuhfeh that night and found her a clean maid and rejoiced in her; and she took high rank in his heart, so that he could not endure from her a single hour and committed to her the keys of the affairs of the realm, for that which he saw in her of good breeding and wit and modesty. moreover, he gave her fifty slave-girls and two hundred thousand dinars and clothes and trinkets and jewels and precious stones, worth the kingdom of egypt; and of the excess of his love for her, he would not entrust her to any of the slave-girls or eunuchs; but, whenas he went out from her, he locked the door upon her and took the key with him, against he should return to her, forbidding the damsels to go in to her, of his fear lest they should slay her or practise on her with knife or poison; and on this wise he abode awhile. one day as she sang before the commander of the faithful, he was moved to exceeding delight, so that he took her and offered to kiss her hand; but she drew it away from him and smote upon her lute and broke it and wept er reshid wiped away her tears and said, 'o desire of the heart, what is it maketh thee weep? may god not cause an eye of thine to weep!' 'o my lord,' answered she, 'what am i that thou shouldst kiss my hand? wilt thou have god punish me for this and that my term should come to an end and my felicity pass away? for this is what none ever attained unto.' quoth he, 'well said, o tuhfeh. know that thy rank in my esteem is mighty and for that which wondered me of what i saw of thee, i offered to do this, but i will not return unto the like thereof; so be of good heart and cheerful eye, for i have no desire for other than thyself and will not die but in the love of thee, and thou to me art queen and mistress, to the exclusion of all humankind.' therewith she fell to kissing his feet; and this her fashion pleased him, so that his love for her redoubled and he became unable to brook an hour's severance from her. one day he went forth to the chase and left tuhfeh in her pavilion. as she sat looking upon a book, with a candlestick of gold before her, wherein was a perfumed candle, behold, a musk-apple fell down before her from the top of the saloon.[fn# ] so she looked up and beheld the lady zubeideh bint el casim,[fn# ] who saluted her and acquainted her with herself, whereupon tuhfeh rose to her feet and said, 'o my lady, were i not of the number of the upstarts, i had daily sought thy service; so do not thou bereave me of thine august visits.'[fn# ] the lady zubeideh called down blessings upon her and answered, 'by the life of the commander of the faithful, i knew this of thee, and but that it is not of my wont to go forth of my place, i had come out to do my service to thee.' then said she to her, 'know, o tuhfeh, that the commander of the faithful hath forsaken all his concubines and favourites on thine account, even to myself. yea, me also hath he deserted on this wise, and i am not content to be as one of the concubines; yet hath he made me of them and forsaken me, and i am come to thee, so thou mayst beseech him to come to me, though it be but once a month, that i may not be the like of the handmaids and concubines nor be evened with the slave-girls; and this is my occasion with thee.' 'hearkening and obedience,' answered tuhfeh. 'by allah, o my lady, i would well that he might be with thee a whole month and with me but one night, so thy heart might be comforted, for that i am one of thy handmaids and thou art my lady in every event.' the lady zubeideh thanked her for this and taking leave of her, returned to her palace. when the khalif returned from the chase, he betook himself to tuhfeh's pavilion and bringing out the key, opened the door and went in to her. she rose to receive him and kissed his hand, and he took her to his breast and seated her on his knee. then food was brought to them and they ate and washed their hands; after which she took the lute and sang, till er reshid was moved to sleep. when she was ware of this, she left singing and told him her adventure with the lady zubeideh, saying, 'o commander of the faithful, i would have thee do me a favour and heal my heart and accept my intercession and reject not my word, but go forthright to the lady zubeideh's lodging.' now this talk befell after he had stripped himself naked and she also had put off her clothes; and he said, 'thou shouldst have named this before we stripped ourselves naked.' but she answered, saying, ' o commander of the faithful, i did this not but in accordance with the saying of the poet in the following verses: all intercessions come and all alike do ill succeed, save tuhfeh's, daughter of merjan, for that, in very deed, the intercessor who to thee herself presenteth veiled is not her like who naked comes with thee to intercede.' when the khalif heard this, her speech pleased him and he strained her to his bosom. then he went forth from her and locked the door upon her, as before; whereupon she took the book and sat looking in it awhile. presently, she laid it down and taking the lute, tightened its strings. then she smote thereon, after a wondrous fashion, such as would have moved inanimate things [to delight], and fell to singing marvellous melodies and chanting the following verses: rail not at the vicissitudes of fate, for fortune still spites those who her berate. be patient under its calamities, for all things have an issue soon or late. how many a mirth-exciting joy amid the raiment of ill chances lies in wait! how often, too, hath gladness come to light whence nought but dole thou didst anticipate! then she turned and saw within the chamber an old man, comely of hoariness, venerable of aspect, who was dancing on apt and goodly wise, a dance the like whereof none might avail unto. so she sought refuge with god the most high from satan the stoned[fn# ] and said, 'i will not give over what i am about, for that which god decreeth, he carrieth into execution.' accordingly, she went on singing till the old man came up to her and kissed the earth before her, saying, 'well done, o queen of the east and the west! may the world be not bereaved of thee! by allah, indeed thou art perfect of qualities and ingredients, o tuhfet es sudour![fn# ] dost thou know me?' 'nay, by allah,' answered she; 'but methinks thou art of the jinn.' quoth he, 'thou sayst sooth; i am the sheikh aboultawaif[fn# ] iblis, and i come to thee every night, and with me thy sister kemeriyeh, for that she loveth thee and sweareth not but by thy life; and her life is not pleasant to her, except she come to thee and see thee, what while thou seest her not. as for me, i come to thee upon an affair, wherein thou shall find thine advantage and whereby thou shalt rise to high rank with the kings of the jinn and rule them, even as thou rulest mankind; [and to that end i would have thee come with me and be present at the festival of my son's circumcision;[fn# ]] for that the jinn are agreed upon the manifestation of thine affair.' and she answered, 'in the name of god.' so she gave him the lute and he forewent her, till he came to the house of easance, and behold, therein was a door and a stairway. when tuhfeh saw this, her reason fled; but iblis cheered her with discourse. then he descended the stair and she followed him to the bottom thereof, where she found a passage and they fared on therein, till they came to a horse standing, teady saddled and bridled and accoutred. quoth iblis, '[mount], in the name of god, o my lady tuhfeh;' and he held the stirrup for her. so she mounted and the horse shook under her and putting forth wings, flew up with her, whilst the old man flew by her side; whereat she was affrighted and clung to the pummel of the saddle; nor was it but an hour ere they came to a fair green meadow, fresh-flowered as if the soil thereof were a goodly robe, embroidered with all manner colours. midmost that meadow was a palace soaring high into the air, with battlements of red gold, set with pearls and jewels, and a two-leaved gate; and in the gateway thereof were much people of the chiefs of the jinn, clad in sumptuous apparel. when they saw the old man, they all cried out, saying, 'the lady tuhfeh is come!' and as soon as she reached the palace-gate, they came all and dismounting her from the horse's back, carried her into the palace and fell to kissing her hands. when she entered, she beheld a palace whereof never saw eyes the like; for therein were four estrades, one facing other, and its walls were of gold and its ceilings of silver. it was lofty of building, wide of continence, and those who beheld it would be puzzled to describe it. at the upper end of the hall stood a throne of red gold, set with pearls and jewels, unto which led up five steps of silver, and on the right thereof and on its left were many chairs of gold and silver; and over the dais was a curtain let down, gold and silver wrought and broidered with pearls and jewels. the old man carried tuhfeh up [to the dais and seated her] on a chair of gold beside the throne, whilst she was amazed at that which she saw in that place and magnified her lord (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) and hallowed him. then the kings of the jinn came up to the throne and seated themselves thereon; and they were in the semblance of mortals, excepting two of them, who were in the semblance of the jinn, with eyes slit endlong and jutting horns and projecting tusks. after this there came up a young lady, fair of favour and pleasant of parts; the light of her face outshone that of the flambeaux, and about her were other three women, than whom there were no fairer on the face of the earth. they saluted tuhfeh and she rose to them and kissed the earth before them; whereupon they embraced her and sat down on the chairs aforesaid. now the four women who thus accosted tuhfeh were the princess kemeriyeh, daughter of king es shisban, and her sisters; and kemeriyeh loved tuhfeh with an exceeding love. so, when she came up to her, she fell to kissing and embracing her, and iblis said, 'fair befall you! take me between you.' at this tuhfeh laughed and kemeriyeh said, 'o my sister, i love thee and doubtless hearts have their evidences,[fn# ] for, since i saw thee, i have loved thee.' 'by allah,' replied tuhfeh, 'hearts have deeps,[fn# ] and thou, by allah, art dear to me and i am thy handmaid.' kemeriyeh thanked her for this and said to her, 'these are the wives of the kings of the jinn: salute them. this is queen jemreh,[fn# ] that is queen wekhimeh and this other is queen sherareh, and they come not but for thee.' so tuhfeh rose to her feet and kissed their hands, and the three queens kissed her and welcomed her and entreated her with the utmost honour. then they brought trays and tables and amongst the rest a platter of red gold, inlaid with pearls and jewels; its margents were of gold and emerald, and thereon were graven the following verses: for the uses of food i was fashioned and made; the hands of the noble me wrought and inlaid. my maker reserved me for generous men and the niggard and sland'rer to use me forebade. so eat what i offer in surety and be the lord of all things with thanks- giving repaid! so they ate and tuhfeh looked at the two kings, who had not changed their favour and said to kemeriyeh, 'o my lady, what is yonder wild beast and that other like unto him? by allah, mine eye brooketh not the sight of them.' kemeriyeh laughed and answered, 'o my sister, that is my father es shisban and the other is meimoun the sworder; and of the pride of their souls and their arrogance, they consented not to change their [natural] fashion. indeed, all whom thou seest here are, by nature, like unto them in fashion; but, on thine account, they have changed their favour, for fear lest thou be disquieted and for the comforting of thy mind, so thou mightest make friends with them and be at thine ease.' 'o my lady,' quoth tuhfeh, 'indeed i cannot look at them. how frightful is yonder meimoun, with his [one] eye! mine eye cannot brook the sight of him, and indeed i am fearful of him.' kemeriyeh laughed at her speech, and tuhfeh said, 'by allah, o my lady, i cannot fill my eye with them!'[fn# ] then said her father es shisban to her, 'what is this laughing?' so she bespoke him in a tongue none understood but they [two] and acquainted him with that which tuhfeh had said; whereat he laughed a prodigious laugh, as it were the pealing thunder. then they ate and the tables were removed and they washed their hands; after which iblis the accursed came up to tuhfeh and said to her, 'o my lady tuhfeh, thou gladdenest the place and with thy presence enlightenest and embellishest it; but now fain would these kings hear somewhat of thy singing, for the night hath spread its wings for departure and there abideth thereof but a little.' quoth she, 'hearkening and obedience.' so she took the lute and touching its strings on rare wise, played thereon after a wondrous fashion, so that it seemed to those who were present as if the palace stirred with them for the music. then she fell a-singing and chanted the following verses: peace on you, people of my troth! with peace i do you greet. said ye not truly, aforetime, that we should live and meet? ah, then will i begin on you with chiding than the breeze more soft, ay pleasanter than clear cold water and more sweet. indeed, mine eyelids still with tears are ulcered and to you my bowels yearn to be made whole of all their pain and heat. parting hath sundered us, belov'd; indeed, i stood in dread of this, whilst yet our happiness in union was complete. to god of all the woes i've borne i plain me, for i pine for longing and lament, and him for solace i entreat the kings of the jinn were moved to delight by that fair singing and fluent speech and praised tuhfeh; and queen kemeriyeh rose to her and embraced her and kissed her between the eyes, saying, 'by allah, it is good, o my sister and solace of mine eyes and darling of my heart!' then said she, 'i conjure thee by allah, give us more of this lovely singing.' and tuhfeh answered with 'hearkening and obedience.' so she took the lute and playing thereon after a different fashion from the former one, sang the following verses: oft as my yearning waxeth, my heart consoleth me with hopes of thine enjoyment in all security. sure god shall yet, in pity, reknit our severed lives, even as he did afflict me with loneness after thee. thou whose desire possesseth my soul, the love of whom hold on my reins hath gotten and will not let me free, compared with thine enjoyment, the hardest things are light to win and all things distant draw near and easy be. god to a tristful lover be light! a man of wit, yet perishing for yearning and body-worn is he. were i cut off, beloved, from hope of thy return, slumber, indeed, for ever my wakeful lids would flee. for nought of worldly fortune i weep! my only joy in seeing thee consisteth and in thy seeing me. at this the accursed iblis was moved to delight and put his finger to his arse, whilst meimoun danced and said, 'o tuhfet es sudour, soften the mode;[fn# ] for, as delight, entereth into my heart, it bewildereth my vital spirits.' so she took the lute and changing the mode, played a third air; then she returned to the first and sang the following verses: the billows of thy love o'erwhelm me passing sore; i sink and all in vain for succour i implore. ye've drowned me in the sea of love for you; my heart denies to be consoled for those whom i adore. think not that i forget our trothplight after you. nay; god to me decreed remembrance heretofore.[fn# ] love to its victim clings without relent, and he of torments and unease complaineth evermore. the kings and all those who were present rejoiced in this with an exceeding delight and the accursed iblis came up to tuhfeh and kissing her hand, said to her, 'there abideth but little of the night; so do thou tarry with us till the morrow, when we will apply ourselves to the wedding[fn# ] and the circumcision.' then all the jinn went away, whereupon tuhfeh rose to her feet and iblis said, 'go ye up with tuhfeh to the garden for the rest of the night.' so kemeriyeh took her and carried her into the garden. now this garden contained all manner birds, nightingale and mocking-bird and ringdove and curlew[fn# ] and other than these of all the kinds, and therein were all kinds of fruits. its channels[fn# ] were of gold and silver and the water thereof, as it broke forth of its conduits, was like unto fleeing serpents' bellies, and indeed it was as it were the garden of eden.[fn# ] when tuhfeh beheld this, she called to mind her lord and wept sore and said, 'i beseech god the most high to vouchsafe me speedy deliverance, so i may return to my palace and that my high estate and queendom and glory and be reunited with my lord and master er reshid.' then she walked in that garden and saw in its midst a dome of white marble, raised on columns of black teak and hung with curtains embroidered with pearls and jewels. amiddleward this pavilion was a fountain, inlaid with all manner jacinths, and thereon a statue of gold, and [beside it] a little door. she opened the door and found herself in a long passage; so she followed it and behold, a bath lined with all kinds of precious marbles and floored with a mosaic of pearls and jewels. therein were four cisterns of alabaster, one facing other, and the ceiling of the bath was of glass coloured with all manner colours, such as confounded the understanding of the folk of understanding and amazed the wit. tuhfeh entered the bath, after she had put off her clothes, and behold, the basin thereof was overlaid with gold set with pearls and red rubies and green emeralds and other jewels; so she extolled the perfection of god the most high and hallowed him for the magnificence of that which she saw of the attributes of that bath. then she made her ablutions in that basin and pronouncing the magnification of prohibition,[fn# ] prayed the morning prayer and what else had escaped her of prayers;[fn# ] after which she went out and walked in that garden among jessamine and lavender and roses and camomile and gillyflowers and thyme and violets and sweet basil, till she came to the door of the pavilion aforesaid and sat down therein, pondering that which should betide er reshid after her, whenas he should come to her pavilion and find her not. she abode sunken in the sea of her solicitude, till presently sleep took her and she slept presently she felt a breath upon her face; whereupon she awoke and found queen kemeriyeh kissing her, and with her her three sisters, queen jemreh, queen wekhimeh and queen sherareh. so she arose and kissed their hands and rejoiced in them with the utmost joy and they abode, she and they, in talk and converse, what while she related to them her history, from the time of her purchase by the mughrebi to that of her coming to the slave-dealers' barrack, where she besought ishac en nedim to buy her, and how she won to er reshid, till the moment when iblis came to her and brought her to them. they gave not over talking till the sun declined and turned pale and the season of sundown drew near and the day departed, whereupon tuhfeh was instant in supplication to god the most high, on the occasion of the prayer of sundown, that he would reunite her with her lord er reshid. after this, she abode with the four queens, till they arose and entered the palace, where she found the candles lit and ranged in candlesticks of gold and silver and censing-vessels of gold and silver, filled with aloes-wood and ambergris, and there were the kings of the jinn sitting. so she saluted them, kissing the earth before them and doing them worship; and they rejoiced in her and in her sight. then she ascended [the estrade] and sat down upon her chair, whilst king es shisban and king el muzfir and queen louloueh and [other] the kings of the jinn sat on chairs, and they brought tables of choice, spread with all manner meats befitting kings. they ate their fill; after which the tables were removed and they washed their hands and wiped them with napkins. then they brought the wine-service and set on bowls and cups and flagons and hanaps of gold and silver and beakers of crystal and gold; and they poured out the wines and filled the flagons. then iblis took the cup and signed to tuhfeh to sing; and she said, 'hearkening and obedience.' so she took the lute and tuning it, sang the following verses: drink ever, o lovers, i rede you, of wine and praise his desert who for yearning doth pine, where lavender, myrtle, narcissus entwine, with all sweet-scented herbs, round the juice of the vine. so iblis the accursed drank and said, 'well done, o desire of hearts! but thou owest me yet another song.' then he filled the cup and signed to her to sing. quoth she, 'hearkening and obedience,' and sang the following verses: ye know i'm passion-maddened, racked with love and languishment, yet ye torment me, for to you 'tis pleasing to torment. between mine eyes and wake ye have your dwelling-place, and thus my tears flow on unceasingly, my sighs know no relent. how long shall i for justice sue to you, whilst, with desire for aid, ye war on me and still on slaying me are bent! to me your rigour love-delight, your distance nearness is; ay, your injustice equity, and eke your wrath consent. accuse me falsely, cruelly entreat me; still ye are my heart's beloved, at whose hands no rigour i resent. all who were present were delighted and the sitting-chamber shook with mirth, and iblis said, 'well done, o tuhfet es sudour!' then they gave not over wine-bibbing and rejoicing and making merry and tambourining and piping till the night waned and the dawn drew near; and indeed exceeding delight entered into them. the most of them in mirth was the sheikh iblis, and for the excess of that which betided him of delight, he put off all that was upon him of coloured clothes and cast them over tuhfeh, and among the rest a robe broidered with jewels and jacinths, worth ten thousand dinars. then he kissed the earth and danced and put his finger to his arse and taking his beard in his hand, said to her, 'sing about this beard and endeavour after mirth and pleasance, and no blame shall betide thee for this.' so she improvised and sang the following verses: beard of the old he-goat, the one-eyed, what shall be my saying of a knave, his fashion and degree? i rede thee vaunt thee not of praise from us, for lo! even as a docktailed cur thou art esteemed of me. by allah, without fail, to-morrow thou shalt see me with ox-leather dress and drub the nape of thee! all those who were present laughed at her mockery of iblis and marvelled at the goodliness of her observation[fn# ] and her readiness in improvising verses; whilst the sheikh himself rejoiced and said to her, 'o tuhfet es sudour, the night is gone; so arise and rest thyself ere the day; and to-morrow all shall be well.' then all the kings of the jinn departed, together with those who were present of guards, and tuhfeh abode alone, pondering the affair of er reshid and bethinking her of how it was with him, after her, and of that which had betided him for her loss, till the dawn gleamed, when she arose and walked in the palace. presently she saw a handsome door; so she opened it and found herself in a garden goodlier than the first, never saw eyes a fairer than it. when she beheld this garden, delight moved her and she called to mind her lord er reshid and wept sore, saying, 'i crave of the bounty of god the most high that my return to him and to my palace and my home may be near at hand!' then she walked in the garden till she came to a pavilion, lofty of building and wide of continence, never saw mortal nor heard of a goodlier than it [so she entered] and found herself in a long corridor, which led to a bath goodlier than that whereof it hath been spoken, and the cisterns thereof were full of rose-water mingled with musk. quoth tuhfeh, 'extolled be the perfection of god! indeed, this[fn# ] is none other than a mighty king.' then she put off her clothes and washed her body and made her ablution, after the fullest fashion,[fn# ] and prayed that which was due from her of prayer from the evening [of the previous day].[fn# ] when the sun rose upon the gate of the garden and she saw the wonders thereof, with that which was therein of all manner flowers and streams, and heard the voices of its birds, she marvelled at what she saw of the surpassing goodliness of its ordinance and the beauty of its disposition and sat meditating the affair of er reshid and pondering what was come of him after her. her tears ran down upon her cheek and the zephyr blew on her; so she slept and knew no more till she felt a breath on her cheek, whereupon she awoke in affright and found queen kemeriyeh kissing her face, and with her her sisters, who said to her, 'arise, for the sun hath set.' so she arose and making the ablution, prayed that which behoved her of prayers[fn# ] and accompanied the four queens to the palace, where she saw the candles lighted and the kings sitting. she saluted them and seated herself upon her couch; and behold, king es shisban had changed his favour, for all the pride of his soul. then came up iblis (whom god curse!) and tuhfeh rose to him and kissed his hands. he in turn kissed her hand and called down blessings on her and said, 'how deemest thou? is [not] this place pleasant, for all its loneliness and desolation?' quoth she, 'none may be desolate in this place;' and he said, 'know that no mortal dare tread [the soil of] this place.' but she answered, 'i have dared and trodden it, and this is of the number of thy favours.' then they brought tables and meats and viands and fruits and sweetmeats and what not else, to the description whereof mortal man availeth not, and they ate till they had enough; after which the tables were removed and the trays and platters[fn# ] set on, and they ranged the bottles and flagons and vessels and phials, together with all manner fruits and sweet-scented flowers. the first to take the cup was iblis the accursed, who said, 'o tuhfet es sudour, sing over my cup.' so she took the lute and touching it, sang the following verses: awaken, o ye sleepers all, and profit, whilst it's here by what's vouchsafed of fortune fair and life untroubled, clear. drink of the first-run wine, that shows as very flame it were, when from the pitcher 'tis outpoured, or ere the day appear. o skinker of the vine-juice, let the cup 'twixt us go round, for in its drinking is my hope and all i hold most dear. what is the pleasance of the world, except it be to see my lady's face, to drink of wine and ditties still to hear? so iblis drank off his cup, and when he had made an end of his draught, he waved his hand to tuhfeh, and putting off that which was upon him of clothes, delivered them to her. amongst them was a suit worth ten thousand dinars and a tray full of jewels worth a great sum of money. then he filled again and gave the cup to his son es shisban, who took it from his hand and kissing it, stood up and sat down again. now there was before him a tray of roses; so he said to her 'o tuhfeh sing upon these roses.' hearkening and obedience,' answered she and sang the following verses: o'er all the fragrant flowers that be i have the prefrence aye, for that i come but once a year, and but a little stay. and high is my repute, for that i wounded aforetime my lord,[fn# ] whom god made best of all the treaders of the clay. so es shisban drank off the cup in his turn and said, 'well done, o desire of hearts!' and he bestowed on her that which was upon him, to wit, a dress of cloth-of-pearl, fringed with great pearls and rubies and broidered with precious stones, and a tray wherein were fifty thousand dinars. then meimoun the sworder took the cup and fell to gazing intently upon tuhfeh. now there was in his hand a pomegranate-flower and he said to her, 'sing upon this pomegranate-flower, o queen of men and jinn; for indeed thou hast dominion over all hearts.' quoth she, 'hearkening and obedience;' and she improvised and sang the following verses: the zephyr's sweetness on the coppice blew, and as with falling fire 'twas clad anew; and to the birds' descant in the foredawns, from out the boughs it flowered forth and grew, till in a robe of sandal green 'twas clad and veil that blended rose and flame[fn# ] in hue. meinsoun drank off his cup and said to her, 'well done, o perfect of attributes!' then he signed to her and was absent awhile, after which he returned and with him a tray of jewels worth an hundred thousand dinars, [which he gave to tuhfeh]. so kemeriyeh arose and bade her slave-girl open the closet behind her, wherein she laid all that wealth. then she delivered the key to tuhfeh, saying, 'all that cometh to thee of riches, lay thou in this closet that is by thy side, and after the festival, it shall be carried to thy palace on the heads of the jinn.' tuhfeh kissed her hand, and another king, by name munir, took the cup and filling it, said to her, 'o fair one, sing to me over my cup upon the jasmine.' 'hearkening and obedience,' answered she and improvised the following verses: it is as the jasmine, when it i espy, as it glitters and gleams midst its boughs, were a sky of beryl, all glowing with beauty, wherein thick stars of pure silver shine forth to the eye. munir drank off his cup and ordered her eight hundred thousand dinars, whereat kemeriyeh rejoiced and rising to her feet, kissed tuhfeh on her face and said to her, 'may the world not be bereaved of thee, o thou who lordest it over the hearts of jinn and mortals!' then she returned to her place and the sheikh iblis arose and danced, till all present were confounded; after which he said to tuhfeh, 'indeed, thou embellishest my festival, o thou who hast commandment over men and jinn and rejoicest their hearts with thy loveliness and the excellence of thy faithfulness to thy lord. all that thy hands possess shall be borne to thee [in thy palace and placed] at thy service; but now the dawn is near at hand; so do thou rise and rest thee, as of thy wont' tuhfeh turned and found with her none of the jinn; so she laid her head on the ground and slept till she had gotten her rest; after which she arose and betaking herself to the pool, made the ablution and prayed. then she sat beside the pool awhile and pondered the affair of her lord er reshid and that which had betided him after her and wept sore. presently, she heard a blowing behind her; so she turned and behold, a head without a body and with eyes slit endlong; it was of the bigness of an elephant's head and bigger and had a mouth as it were an oven and projecting tusks, as they were grapnels, and hair that trailed upon the earth. so tuhfeh said, 'i take refuge with god from satan the stoned!' and recited the two amulets;[fn# ] what while the head drew near her and said to her, 'peace be upon thee, o princess of jinn and men and unique pearl of her age and her time! may god still continue thee on life, for all the lapsing of the days, and reunite thee with thy lord the imam!'[fn# ] 'and upon thee be peace,' answered she, 'o thou whose like i have not seen among the jinn!' quoth the head, 'we are a people who avail not to change their favours and we are called ghouls. the folk summon us to their presence, but we may not present ourselves before them [without leave]. as for me, i have gotten leave of the sheikh aboultawaif to present myself before thee and i desire of thy favour that thou sing me a song, so i may go to thy palace and question its haunters[fn# ] concerning the plight of thy lord after thee and return to thee; and know, o tuhfet es sudour, that between thee and thy lord is a distance of fifty years' journey to the diligent traveller.' 'indeed,' rejoined tuhfeh, 'thou grievest me [for him] between whom and me is fifty years' journey. and the head said to her, 'be of good heart and cheerful eye, for the kings of the jinn will restore thee to him in less than the twinkling of an eye.' quoth she,' i will sing thee an hundred songs, so thou wilt bring me news of my lord and that which hath befallen him after me.' and the head answered, saying, 'do thou favour me and sing me a song, so i may go to thy lord and bring thee news of him, for that i desire, before i go, to hear thy voice, so haply my thirst[fn# ] may be quenched.' so she took the lute and tuning it, sang the following verses: they have departed; but the steads yet full of them remain: yea, they have left me, but my heart of them doth not complain. my heart bereavement of my friends forebode; may god of them the dwellings not bereave, but send them timely home again! though they their journey's goal, alas i have hidden, in their track still will i follow on until the very planets wane. ye sleep; by allah, sleep comes not to ease my weary lids; but from mine eyes, since ye have passed away, the blood doth rain. the railers for your loss pretend that i should patient be: 'away!' i answer them: ' 'tis i, not you, that feel the pain.' what had it irked them, had they'd ta'en farewell of him they've left lone, whilst estrangement's fires within his entrails rage amain? great in delight, beloved mine, your presence is with me; yet greater still the miseries of parting and its bane. ye are the pleasaunce of my soul; or present though you be or absent from me, still my heart and thought with you remain. the head wept exceeding sore and said, 'o my lady, indeed thou hast solaced my heart, and i have nought but my life; so take it.' quoth she, 'an i but knew that thou wouldst bring me news of my lord er reshid, it were liefer to me than the empery of the world.' and the head answered her, saying, 'it shall be done as thou desirest.' then it disappeared and returning to her at the last of the night, said, 'know, o my lady, that i have been to thy palace and have questioned one of the haunters thereof of the case of the commander of the faithful and that which befell him after thee; and he said, "when the commander of the faithful came to tuhfeh's lodging and found her not and saw no sign of her, he buffeted his face and head and rent his clothes. now there was in thy lodging the eunuch, the chief of thy household, and he cried out at him, saying, 'bring me jaafer the barmecide and his father and brother forthright.' the eunuch went out, confounded in his wit for fear of the commander of the faithful, and whenas he came to jaafer, he said to him, 'come to the commander of the faithful, thou and thy father and brother.' so they arose in haste and betaking themselves to the khalif's presence, said to him, 'o commander of the faithful, what is to do?' quoth he, 'there is that to do which overpasseth description. know that i locked the door and taking the key with me, betook myself to the daughter of mine uncle, with whom i lay the night; but, when i arose in the morning and came and opened the door, i found no sign of tuhfeh.' 'o commander of the faithful,' rejoined jaafer, 'have patience, for that the damsel hath been snatched away, and needs must she return, seeing she took the lute with her, and it is her [own] lute. the jinn have assuredly carried her off and we trust in god the most high that she will return.' quoth the khalif, ' this[fn# ] is a thing that may nowise be' and he abode in her lodging, eating not neither drinking, what while the barmecides besought him to go forth to the folk; and he weepeth and abideth on this wise till she shall return." this, then, is that which hath betided him after thee.' when tuhfeh heard this, it was grievous to her and she wept sore; whereupon quoth the head to her, 'the relief of god the most high is near at hand; but now let me hear somewhat of thy speech.' so she took the lute and sang three songs, weeping the while. 'by allah,' said the head, 'thou hast been bountiful to me, may god be with thee!' then it disappeared and the season of sundown came. so she arose [and betook herself] to her place [in the hall]; whereupon the candles rose up from under the earth and kindled themselves. then the kings of the jinn appeared and saluted her and kissed her hands and she saluted them. presently, up came kemeriyeh and her three sisters and saluted tuhfeh and sat down; whereupon the tables were brought and they ate. then the tables were removed and there came the wine-tray and the drinking-service. so tuhfeh took the lute and one of the three queens filled the cup and signed to tuhfeh [to sing]. now she had in her hand a violet; so tuhfeh sang the following verses: behold, i am clad in a robe of leaves green and a garment of honour of ultramarine. though little, with beauty myself i've adorned; so the flowers are my subjects and i am their queen. if the rose be entitled the pride of the morn, before me nor after she wins it, i ween. the queen drank off her cup and bestowed on tuhfeh a dress of cloth-of-pearl, fringed with red rubies, worth twenty thousand dinars, and a tray wherein were ten thousand dinars. all this while meimoun's eye was upon her and presently he said to her, 'harkye, tuhfeh! sing to me.' but queen zelzeleh cried out at him and said, 'desist, o meimoun. thou sufferest not tuhfeh to pay heed unto us.' quoth he, 'i will have her sing to me.' and words waxed between them and queen zelzeleh cried out at him. then she shook and became like unto the jinn and taking in her hand a mace of stone, said to him, 'out on thee! what art thou that thou shouldst bespeak us thus? by allah, but for the king's worship and my fear of troubling the session and the festival and the mind of the sheikh iblis, i would assuredly beat the folly out of thy head!' when meimoun heard these her words, he rose, with the fire issuing from his eyes, and said, 'o daughter of imlac, what art thou that thou shouldst outrage me with the like of this talk?' 'out on thee, o dog of the jinn,' replied she, 'knowest thou not thy place?' so saying, she ran at him and offered to strike him with the mace, but the sheikh iblis arose and casting his turban on the ground, said, 'out on thee, o meimoun! thou still dost with us on this wise. wheresoever thou art present, thou troubleth our life! canst thou not hold thy peace till thou goest forth of the festival and this bride-feast[fn# ] be accomplished? when the circumcision is at an end and ye all return to your dwelling-places, then do as thou wilt. out on thee, o meimoun! knowest thou not that imlac is of the chiefs of the jinn? but for my worship, thou shouldst have seen what would have betided thee of humiliation and punishment; but by reason of the festival none may speak. indeed thou exceedest: knowest thou not that her sister wekhimeh is doughtier than any of the jinn? learn to know thyself: hast thou no regard for thy life?' meimoun was silent and iblis turned to tuhfeh and said to her, 'sing to the kings of the jinn this day and to-night until the morrow, when the boy will be circumcised and each shall return to his own place.' so she took the lute and kemeriyeh said to her, (now she had in her hand a cedrat), 'o my sister, sing to me on this cedrat.' 'hearkening and obedience,' replied tuhfeh, and improvising, sang the following verses: my fruit is a jewel all wroughten of gold, whose beauty amazeth all those that behold. my juice among kings is still drunken for wine and a present am i betwixt friends, young and old. at this queen kemeriyeh was moved to exceeding delight and drank off her cup, saying, 'well done, o queen of hearts!' moreover, she took off a surcoat of blue brocade, fringed with red rubies, and a necklace of white jewels, worth an hundred thousand dinars, and gave them to tuhfeh. then she passed the cup to her sister zelzeleh, who had in her hand sweet basil, and she said to tuhfeh, 'sing to me on this sweet basil.' 'hearkening and obedience,' answered she and improvised and sang the following verses: the crown of the flow'rets am i, in the chamber of wine, and allah makes mention of me 'mongst the pleasures divine; yea, ease and sweet basil and peace, the righteous are told, in eternity's garden of sweets shall to bless them combine.[fn# ] where, then, is the worth that in aught with my worth can compare and where is the rank in men's eyes can be likened to mine? thereat queen zelzeleh was moved to exceeding delight and bidding her treasuress bring a basket, wherein were fifty pairs of bracelets and the like number of earrings, all of gold, set with jewels of price, the like whereof nor men nor jinn possessed, and an hundred robes of coloured brocade and an hundred thousand dinars, gave the whole to tuhfeh. then she passed the cup to her sister sherareh, who had in her hand a stalk of narcissus; so she took it from her and turning to tuhfeh, said to her, 'o tuhfeh, sing to me on this.' 'hearkening and obedience,' answered she and improvised and sang the following verses: most like a wand of emerald my shape it is, trow i; amongst the fragrant flow'rets there's none with me can vie. the eyes of lovely women are likened unto me; indeed, amongst the gardens i open many an eye. when she had made an end of her song, sherareh was moved to exceeding delight and drinking off her cup, said to her, 'well done, o gift of hearts!' then she ordered her an hundred dresses of brocade and an hundred thousand dinars and passed the cup to queen wekhimeh. now she had in her hand somewhat of blood-red anemone; so she took the cup from her sister and turning to tuhfeh, said to her, 'o tuhfeh, sing to me on this.' quoth she, 'i hear and obey,' and improvised the following verses: the merciful dyed me with that which i wear of hues with whose goodliness none may compare. the earth is my birth-place, indeed; but my place of abidance is still in the cheeks of the fair. therewith wekhimeh was moved to exceeding delight and drinking off the cup, ordered her twenty dresses of greek brocade and a tray, wherein were thirty thousand dinars. then she gave the cup to queen shuaaeh, queen of the fourth sea, who took it and said, 'o my lady tuhfeh, sing to me on the gillyflower.' quoth she 'hearkening and obedience,' and improvised the following verses: the season of my presence is never at an end 'mongst all their time in gladness and solacement who spend, whenas the folk assemble for birling at the wine, whether in morning's splendour or when night's shades descend. the pitcher then of goblets filled full and brimming o'er with limpid wine we plunder, that pass from friend to friend. queen shuaaeh was moved to exceeding delight and emptying her cup, gave tuhfeh an hundred thousand dinars. then arose iblis (may god curse him!) and said, 'verily, the dawn gleameth.' whereupon the folk arose and disappeared, all of them, and there abode not one of them save tuhfeh, who went forth to the garden and entering the bath, made her ablutions and prayed that which had escaped her of prayers. then she sat down and when the sun rose, behold, there came up to her near an hundred thousand green birds; the branches of the trees were filled with their multitudes and they warbled in various voices, whilst tuhfeh marvelled at their fashion. presently, up came eunuchs, bearing a throne of gold, set with pearls and jewels and jacinths white and red and having four steps of gold, together with many carpets of silk and brocade and egyptian cloth of silk welted with gold. these latter they spread amiddleward the garden and setting up the throne thereon, perfumed the place with virgin musk and aloes and ambergris. after that, there appeared a queen, never saw eyes a goodlier than she nor than her attributes; she was clad in rich raiment, embroidered with pearls and jewels, and on her head was a crown set with various kinds of pearls and jewels. about her were five hundred slave-girls, high-bosomed maids, as they were moons, screening her, right and left, and she among them as she were the moon on the night of its full, for that she was the most of them in majesty and dignity. she gave not over walking, till she came to tuhfeh, whom she found gazing on her in amazement; and when the latter saw her turn to her, she rose to her, standing on her feet, and saluted her and kissed the earth before her. the queen rejoiced in her and putting out her hand to her, drew her to herself and seated her by her side on the couch; whereupon tuhfeh kissed her hands and the queen said to her, 'know, o tuhfeh, that all that thou treadest of these belong not to any of the jinn,[fn# ] for that i am the queen of them all and the sheikh aboultawaif iblis sought my permission[fn# ] and prayed me to be present at the circumcision of his son. so i sent to him, in my stead, a slave-girl of my slave-girls, to wit, shuaaeh, queen of the fourth sea, who is vice-queen of my kingdom. when she was present at the wedding and saw thee and heard thy singing, she sent to me, giving me to know of thee and setting forth to me thine elegance and pleasantness and the goodliness of thy breeding and thy singing. so i am come to thee, for that which i have heard of thy charms, and this shall bring thee great worship in the eyes of all the jinn.'[fn# ] tuhfeh arose and kissed the earth and the queen thanked her for this and bade her sit. so she sat down and the queen called for food; whereupon they brought a table of gold, inlaid with pearls and jacinths and jewels and spread with various kinds of birds and meats of divers hues, and the queen said, 'o tuhfeh, in the name of god, let us eat bread and salt together, thou and i.' so tuhfeh came forward and ate of those meats and tasted somewhat the like whereof she had never eaten, no, nor aught more delicious than it, what while the slave-girls stood compassing about the table and she sat conversing and laughing with the queen. then said the latter, 'o my sister, a slave-girl told me of thee that thou saidst, "how loathly is yonder genie meimoun! there is no eating [in his presence]."'[fn# ] 'by allah, o my lady,' answered tuhfeh, 'i cannot brook the sight of him,[fn# ] and indeed i am fearful of him.' when the queen heard this, she laughed, till she fell backward, and said, 'o my sister, by the virtue of the inscription upon the seal-ring of solomon, prophet of god, i am queen over all the jinn, and none dare so much as look on thee a glance of the eye.' and tuhfeh kissed her hand. then the tables were removed and they sat talking. presently up came the kings of the jinn from every side and kissed the earth before the queen and stood in her service; and she thanked them for this, but stirred not for one of them. then came the sheikh aboultawaif iblis (god curse him!) and kissed the earth before her, saying, 'o my lady, may i not be bereft of these steps!'[fn# ] o sheikh aboultawalf,' answered she, 'it behoveth thee to thank the bounty of the lady tuhfeh, who was the cause of my coming.' 'true,' answered he and kissed the earth. then the queen fared on [towards the palace] and there [arose and] alighted upon the trees an hundred thousand birds of various colours. quoth tuhfeh, 'how many are these birds!' and queen wekhimeh said to her, 'know, o my sister, that this queen is called queen es shuhba and that she is queen over all the jinn from east to west. these birds that thou seest are of her troops, and except they came in this shape, the earth would not contain them. indeed, they came forth with her and are present with her presence at this circumcision. she will give thee after the measure of that which hath betided thee[fn# ] from the first of the festival to the last thereof; and indeed she honoureth us all with her presence.' then the queen entered the palace and sat down on the throne of the circumcision[fn# ] at the upper end of the hall, whereupon tuhfeh took the lute and pressing it to her bosom, touched its strings on such wise that the wits of all present were bewildered and the sheikh iblis said to her, 'o my lady tuhfeh, i conjure thee, by the life of this worshipful queen, sing for me and praise thyself, and gainsay me not.' quoth she, 'hearkening and obedience; yet, but for the adjuration by which thou conjurest me, i had not done this. doth any praise himself? what manner of thing is this?' then she improvised and sang the following verses: in every rejoicing a boon[fn# ] midst the singers and minstrels am i; the folk witness bear of my worth and none can my virtues deny. my virtues 'mongst men are extolled and my glory and station rank high. her verses pleased the kings of the jinn and they said, 'by allah, thou sayst sooth!' then she rose to her feet, with the lute in her hand, and played and sang, whilst the jinn and the sheikh aboultawaif danced. then the latter came up to her and gave her a carbuncle he had taken from the hidden treasure of japhet, son of noah (on whom be peace), and which was worth the kingdom of the world; its light was as the light of the sun and he said to her, 'take this and glorify thyself withal over[fn# ] the people of the world.' she kissed his hand and rejoiced in the jewel and said, 'by allah, this beseemeth none but the commander of the faithful.' now the dancing of iblis pleased queen es shuhba and she said to him, 'by allah, this is a goodly dancing!' he thanked her for this and said to tuhfeh, 'o tuhfeh, there is not on the face of the earth a skilfuller than ishac en nedim; but thou art more skilful than he. indeed, i have been present with him many a time and have shown him passages[fn# ] on the lute, and there have betided me such and such things with him.[fn# ] indeed, the story of my dealings with him is a long one and this is no time to repeat it; but now i would fain show thee a passage on the lute, whereby thou shall be exalted over all the folk.' quoth she to him, 'do what seemeth good to thee.' so he took the lute and played thereon on wondrous wise, with rare divisions and extraordinary modulations, and showed her a passage she knew not; and this was liefer to her than all that she had gotten. then she took the lute from him and playing thereon, [sang and] presently returned to the passage that he had shown her; and he said, 'by allah, thou singest better than i!' as for tuhfeh, it was made manifest to her that her former usance[fn# ] was all of it wrong and that what she had learnt from the sheikh aboultawaif iblis was the origin and foundation [of all perfection] in the art. so she rejoiced in that which she had gotten of [new skill in] touching the lute far more than in all that had fallen to her lot of wealth and raiment and kissed the sheikh's hand. then said queen es shuhba, 'by allah, o sheikh, my sister tuhfeh is indeed unique among the folk of her time, and i hear that she singeth upon all sweet- scented flowers.' 'yes, o my lady,' answered iblis, 'and i am in the utterest of wonderment thereat. but there remaineth somewhat of sweet-scented flowers, that she hath not besung, such as the myrtle and the tuberose and the jessamine and the moss-rose and the like.' then he signed to her to sing upon the rest of the flowers, that queen es shuhba might hear, and she said, 'hearkening and obedience.' so she took the lute and played thereon in many modes, then returned to the first mode and sang the following verses: one of the host am i of lovers sad and sere for waiting long drawn out and expectation drear. my patience underneath the loss of friends and folk with pallor's sorry garb hath clad me, comrades dear. abasement, misery and heart-break after those i suffer who endured before me many a year. all through the day its light and when the night grows dark, my grief forsakes me not, no, nor my heavy cheer. my tears flow still, nor aye of bitterness i'm quit, bewildered as i am betwixten hope and fear. therewithal queen es shuhba was moved to exceeding delight and said, 'well done, o queen of delight! none can avail to describe thee. sing to us on the apple,' quoth tuhfeh, 'hearkening and obedience.' then she improvised and sang the following verses: endowed with amorous grace past any else am i; graceful of shape and lithe and pleasing to the eye. the hands of noble folk do tend me publicly; with waters clear and sweet my thirsting tongue they ply. my clothes of sendal are, my veil of the sun's light, the very handiwork of god the lord most high. whenas my sisters dear forsake me, grieved that they must leave their native place and far away must hie, the nobles' hands, for that my place i must forsake, do solace me with beds, whereon at ease i lie. lo! in the garden-ways, the place of ease and cheer, still, like the moon at full, my light thou mayst espy. queen es shubha rejoiced in this with an exceeding delight and said, 'well done! by allah, there is none surpasseth thee.' tuhfeh kissed the earth, then returned to her place and improvised on the tuberose, saying: my flower a marvel on your heads doth show, yet homeless[fn# ] am i in your land, i trow. make drink your usance in my company and flout the time that languishing doth go. camphor itself to me doth testify and in my presence owns me white as snow. so make me in your morning a delight and set me in your houses, high and low; so shall we quaff the cups in ease and cheer, in endless joyance, quit of care and woe. at this queen es shuhba was stirred to exceeding delight and said, 'well done, o queen of delight! by allah, i know not how i shall do to render thee thy due! may god the most high grant us to enjoy thy long continuance [on life]!' then she strained her to her breast and kissed her on the cheek; whereupon quoth iblis (on whom be malison!), 'indeed, this is an exceeding honour!' quoth the queen, 'know that this lady tuhfeh is my sister and that her commandment is my commandment and her forbiddance my forbiddance. so hearken all to her word and obey her commandment.' therewithal the kings rose all and kissed the earth before tuhfeh, who rejoiced in this. moreover, queen es shuhba put off on her a suit adorned with pearls and jewels and jacinths, worth an hundred thousand dinars, and wrote her on a sheet of paper a patent in her own hand, appointing her her deputy. so tuhfeh rose and kissed the earth before the queen, who said to her, 'sing to us, of thy favour, concerning the rest of the sweet-scented flowers and herbs, so i may hear thy singing and divert myself with witnessing thy skill.' 'hearkening and obedience, o lady mine,' answered tuhfeh and taking the lute, improvised the following verses: midst colours, my colour excelleth in light and i would every eye of my charms might have sight. my place is the place of the fillet and pearls and the fair are most featly with jasmine bedight, how bright and how goodly my lustre appears! yea, my wreaths are like girdles of silver so white. then she changed the measure and improvised the following: i'm the crown of every sweet and fragrant weed; when the loved one calls, i keep the tryst agreed. my favours i deny not all the year; though cessation be desired, i nothing heed. i'm the keeper of the promise and the troth, and my gathering is eath, without impede. then she changed the measure and the mode [and played] so that she amazed the wits of those who were present, and queen es shuhba was moved to mirth and said, 'well done, o queen of delight!' then she returned to the first mode and improvised the following verses on the water-lily: i fear to be seen in the air, without my consent, unaware; so i stretch out my root neath the flood and my branches turn back to it there. therewithal queen es shuhba was moved to delight and said, 'well done, o tuhfeh! let me have more of thy singing.' so she smote the lute and changing the mode, improvised the following verses on the moss-rose: look at the moss-rose, on its branches seen, midmost its leafage, covered all with green. tis gazed at for its slender swaying shape and cherished for its symmetry and sheen. lovely with longing for its love's embrace, the fear of his estrangement makes it lean. then she changed the measure and the mode and sang the following verses: o thou that questionest the lily of its scent, give ear unto my words and verses thereanent. th' amir (quoth it) am i whose charms are still desired; absent or present, all in loving me consent. when she had made an end of her song, queen es shuhba arose and said, 'never heard i from any the like of this.' and she drew tuhfeh to her and fell to kissing her. then she took leave of her and flew away; and all the birds took flight with her, so that they walled the world; whilst the rest of the kings tarried behind. when it was the fourth night, there came the boy whom they were minded to circumcise, adorned with jewels such as never saw eye nor heard ear of, and amongst the rest a crown of gold, set with pearls and jewels, the worth whereof was an hundred thousand dinars. he sat down upon the throne and tuhfeh sang to him, till the surgeon came and they circumcised him, in the presence of all the kings, who showered on him great store of jewels and jacinths and gold. queen kemeriyeh bade the servants gather up all this and lay it in tuhfeh's closet, and it was [as much in value as] all that had fallen to her, from the first of the festival to the last thereof. moreover, the sheikh iblis (whom god curse!) bestowed upon tuhfeh the crown worn by the boy and gave the latter another, whereat her reason fled. then the jinn departed, in order of rank, whilst iblis took leave of them, band by band. whilst the sheikh was thus occupied with taking leave of the kings, meimoun sought his opportunity, whenas he saw the place empty, and taking up tuhfeh on his shoulders, soared up with her to the confines of the sky and flew away with her. presently, iblis came to look for tuhfeh and see what she purposed, but found her not and saw the slave-girls buffeting their faces; so he said to them, 'out on ye! what is to do?' 'o our lord,' answered they, 'meimoun hath snatched up tuhfeh and flown away with her.' when iblis heard this, he gave a cry, to which the earth trembled, and said, 'what is to be done? out on ye! shall he carry off tuhfeh from my very palace and outrage mine honour? doubtless, this meimoun hath lost his wits.' then he cried out a second time, that the earth quaked therefor, and rose up into the air. the news came to the rest of the kings; so they [flew after him and] overtaking him, found him full of trouble and fear, with fire issuing from his nostrils, and said to him, 'o sheikh aboultawaif, what is to do?' quoth he, 'know that meimoun hath carried off tuhfeh from my palace and outraged mine honour.' when they heard this, they said, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme! by allah, he hath ventured upon a grave matter and indeed he destroyeth himself and his people!' then the sheikh iblis gave not over flying till he fell in with the tribes of the jinn, and there gathered themselves together unto him much people, none may tell the tale of them save god the most high. so they came to the fortress of copper and the citadel of lead,[fn# ] and the people of the strongholds saw the tribes of the jinn issuing from every steep mountain-pass and said, 'what is to do?' then iblis went in to king es shisban and acquainted him with that which had befallen, whereupon quoth he, 'may god destroy meimoun and his folk! he thinketh to possess tuhfeh, and she is become queen of the jinn! but have patience till we contrive that which befitteth in the matter of tuhfeh.' quoth iblis, 'and what befitteth it to do?' and es shisban said, *we will fall upon him and slay him and his people with the sword.' then said the sheikh iblis, 'we were best acquaint queen kemeriyeh and queen zelzeleh and queen sherareh and queen wekhimeh; and when they are assembled, god shall ordain [that which he deemeth] good in the matter of her release.' 'it is well seen of thee,' answered es shisban and despatched to queen kemeriyeh an afrit called selheb, who came to her palace and found her asleep; so he aroused her and she said, 'what is to do, o selheb?' 'o my lady,' answered he, 'come to the succour of thy sister tuhfeh, for that meimoun hath carried her off and outraged thine honour and that of the sheikh iblis.' quoth she, 'what sayest thou?' and she sat up and cried out with a great cry. and indeed she feared for tuhfeh and said, 'by allah, indeed she used to say that he looked upon her and prolonged the looking on her; but ill is that to which his soul hath prompted him.' then she arose in haste and mounting a she-devil of her devils, said to her, 'fly.' so she flew off and alighted with her in the palace of her sister sherareh, whereupon she sent for her sisters zelzeleh and wekhimeh and acquainted them with the news, saying, 'know that meimoun hath snatched up tuhfeh and flown off with her swiftlier than the blinding lightning.' [then they all flew off in haste and] lighting down in the place where were their father es shisban and their grandfather the sheikh aboultawaif, found the folk on the sorriest of plights. when their grandfather iblis saw them, he rose to them and wept, and they all wept for tuhfeh. then said iblis to them, 'yonder dog hath outraged mine honour and taken tuhfeh, and i doubt not but that she is like to perish [of concern] for herself and her lord er reshid and saying "all that they said and did[fn# ] was false."' quoth kemeriyeh, 'o grandfather mine, there is nothing left for it but [to use] stratagem and contrivance for her deliverance, for that she is dearer to me than everything; and know that yonder accursed one, whenas he is ware of your coming upon him, will know that he hath no power to cope with you, he who is the least and meanest [of the jinn]; but we fear that, when he is assured of defeat, he will kill tuhfeh; wherefore nothing will serve but that we contrive for her deliverance; else will she perish.' 'and what hast thou in mind of device?' asked he; and she answered, 'let us take him with fair means, and if he obey, [all will be well]; else will we practise stratagem against him; and look thou not to other than myself for her deliverance.' quoth iblis, 'the affair is thine; contrive what thou wilt, for that tuhfeh is thy sister and thy solicitude for her is more effectual than [that of] any.' so kemeriyeh cried out to an afrit of the afrits and a calamity of the calamities,[fn# ] by name el ased et teyyar,[fn# ] and said to him, 'go with my message to the crescent mountain, the abiding-place of meimoun the sworder, and enter in to him and salute him in my name and say to him, "how canst thou be assured for thyself, o meimoun?[fn# ] couldst thou find none on whom to vent thy drunken humour and whom to maltreat save tuhfeh, more by token that she is a queen? but thou art excused, for that thou didst this not but of thine intoxication, and the shekh aboultawaif pardoneth thee, for that thou wast drunken. indeed, thou hast outraged his honour; but now restore her to her palace, for that she hath done well and favoured us and done us service, and thou knowest that she is presently our queen. belike she may bespeak queen es shuhba, whereupon the matter will be aggravated and that wherein there is no good will betide. indeed, thou wilt get no tittle of profit [from this thine enterprise]; verily, i give thee good counsel, and so peace be on thee!"' 'hearkening and obedience,' answered el ased and flew till he came to the crescent mountain, when he sought audience of meimoun, who bade admit him. so he entered and kissing the earth before him, gave him queen kemeriyeh's message, which when he heard he said to the afrit, 'return whence thou comest and say to thy mistress, "be silent and thou wilt do wisely." else will i come and seize upon her and make her serve tuhfeh; and if the kings of the jinn assemble together against me and i be overcome of them, i will not leave her to scent the wind of this world and she shall be neither mine nor theirs, for that she is presently my soul[fn# ] from between my ribs; and how shall any part with his soul?' when the afrit heard meimoun's words, he said to him, 'by allah, o meimoun, thou hast lost thy wits, that thou speakest these words of my mistress, and thou one of her servants!' whereupon meimoun cried out and said to him, 'out on thee, o dog of the jinn! wilt thou bespeak the like of me with these words?' then, he bade those who were about him smite el ased, but he took flight and soaring into the air, betook himself to his mistress and told her that which had passed; and she said, 'thou hast done well, o cavalier.' then she turned to her father and said to him, 'give ear unto that which i shall say to thee.' quoth he, 'say on;' and she said, 'take thy troops and go to him, for that, when he heareth this, he in his turn will levy his troops and come forth to thee; wherepon do thou give him battle and prolong the fighting with him and make a show to him of weakness and giving way. meantime, i will practise a device for winning to tuhfeh and delivering her, what while he is occupied with you in battle; and when my messenger cometh to thee and giveth thee to know that i have gotten possession of tuhfeh and that she is with me, do thou return upon meimoun forthright and destroy him, him and his hosts, and take him prisoner. but, if my device succeed not with him and we avail not to deliver tuhfeh, he will assuredly go about to slay her, without recourse, and regret for her will abide in our hearts.' quoth iblis, 'this is the right counsel,' and let call among the troops to departure, whereupon an hundred thousand cavaliers, doughty men of war, joined themselves to him and set out for meimoun's country. as for queen kemeriyeh, she flew off to the palace of her sister wekhimeh and told her what meimoun had done and how [he avouched that], whenas he saw defeat [near at hand], he would slay tuhfeh; 'and indeed,' added she, 'he is resolved upon this; else had he not dared to commit this outrage. so do thou contrive the affair as thou deemest well, for thou hast no superior in judgment.' then they sent for queen zelzeleh and queen sherareh and sat down to take counsel, one with another, of that which they should do in the matter. then said wekhimeh, 'we were best fit out a ship in this island [wherein is my palace] and embark therein, in the guise of mortals, and fare on till we come to a little island, that lieth over against meimoun's palace. there will we [take up our abode and] sit drinking and smiting the lute and singing. now tuhfeh will of a surety be sitting looking upon the sea, and needs must she see us and come down to us, whereupon we will take her by force and she will be under our hands, so that none shall avail more to molest her on any wise. or, if meimoun be gone forth to do battle with the jinn, we will storm his stronghold and take tuhfeh and raze his palace and put to death all who are therein. when he hears of this, his heart will be rent in sunder and we will send to let our father know, whereupon he will return upon him with his troops and he will be destroyed and we shall be quit of him.' and they answered her, saying, 'this is a good counsel.' then they bade fit out a ship from behind the mountain,[fn# ] and it was fitted out in less than the twinkling of an eye. so they launched it on the sea and embarking therein, together with four thousand afrits, set out, intending for meimoun's palace. moreover, they bade other five thousand afrits betake themselves to the island under the crescent mountain and lie in wait for them there. meanwhile, the sheikh aboultawaif iblis and his son es shisban set out, as we have said, with their troops, who were of the doughtiest of the jinn and the most accomplished of them in valour and horsemanship, [and fared on till they drew near the crescent mountain], when the news of their approach reached meimoun, he cried out with a great cry to the troops, who were twenty thousand horse, [and bade them make ready for departure]. then he went in to tuhfeh and kissing her, said to her, 'know that thou art presently my life of the world, and indeed the jinn are gathered together to wage war on me on thine account. if i am vouchsafed the victory over them and am preserved alive, i will set all the kings of the jinn under thy feet and thou shall become queen of the world.' but she shook her head and wept; and he said, 'weep not, for, by the virtue of the mighty inscription engraven on the seal-ring of solomon, thou shall never again see the land of men! can any one part with his life? so give ear unto that which i say; else will i kill thee.' and she was silent. then he sent for his daughter, whose name was jemreh, and when she came, he said to her, 'harkye, jemreh! know that i am going to [meet] the clans of es shisban and queen kemeriyeh and the kings of the jinn. if i am vouchsafed the victory over them, to allah be the praise and thou shall have of me largesse; but, if thou see or hear that i am worsted and any come to thee with news of me [to this effect], hasten to slay tuhfeh, so she may fall neither to me nor to them.' then he took leave of her and mounted, saying, 'when this cometh about, pass over to the crescent mountain and take up thine abode there, and await what shall befall me and what i shall say to thee.' and jemreh answered with 'hearkening and obedience.' when tuhfeh heard this, she fell to weeping and wailing and said, 'by allah, nought irketh me save separation from my lord er reshid; but, when i am dead, let the world be ruined after me.' and she doubted not in herself but that she was lost without recourse. then meimoun set forth with his army and departed in quest of the hosts [of the jinn], leaving none in the palace save his daughter jemreh and tuhfeh and an afrit who was dear unto him. they fared on till they met with the army of es shisban; and when the two hosts came face to face, they fell upon each other and fought a passing sore battle. after awhile, es shisban's troops began to give back, and when meimoun saw them do thus, he despised them and made sure of victory over them. meanwhile, queen kemeriyeh and her company sailed on, without ceasing, till they came under the palace wherein was tuhfeh, to wit, that of meimoun the sworder; and by the ordinance of destiny, tuhfeh herself was then sitting on the belvedere of the palace, pondering the affair of haroun er reshid and her own and that which had befallen her and weeping for that she was doomed to slaughter. she saw the ship and what was therein of those whom we have named, and they in mortal guise, and said, 'alas, my sorrow for yonder ship and the mortals that be therein!' as for kemeriyeh and her company, when they drew near the palace, they strained their eyes and seeing tuhfeh sitting, said, 'yonder sits tuhfeh. may god not bereave [us] of her!' then they moored their ship and making for the island, that lay over against the palace, spread carpets and sat eating and drinking; whereupon quoth tuhfeh, 'welcome and fair welcome to yonder faces! these are my kinswomen and i conjure thee by allah, o jemreh, that thou let me down to them, so i may sit with them awhile and make friends with them and return.' quoth jemreh, 'i may on no wise do that.' and tuhfeh wept. then the folk brought out wine and drank, what while kemeriyeh took the lute and sang the following verses: by allah, but that i trusted that i should meet you again, your camel-leader to parting had summoned you in vain! parting afar hath borne you, but longing still is fain to bring you near; meseemeth mine eye doth you contain. when tuhfeh heard this, she gave a great cry, that the folk heard her and kemeriyeh said, 'relief is at hand.' then she looked out to them and called to them, saying, 'o daughters of mine uncle, i am a lonely maid, an exile from folk and country. so, for the love of god the most high, repeat that song!' so kemeriyeh repeated it and tuhfeh swooned away. when she came to herself, she said to jemreh, 'by the virtue of the apostle of god (whom may he bless and preserve!) except thou suffer me go down to them and look on them and sit with them awhile, [i swear] i will cast myself down from this palace, for that i am weary of my life and know that i am slain without recourse; wherefore i will slay myself, ere thou pass sentence upon me.' and she was instant with her in asking. when jemreh heard her words, she knew that, if she let her not down, she would assuredly destroy herself. so she said to her, 'o tuhfeh, between thee and them are a thousand fathoms; but i will bring them up to thee.' 'nay,' answered tuhfeh, 'needs must i go down to them and take my pleasance in the island and look upon the sea anear; then will we return, thou and i; for that, if thou bring them up to us, they will be affrighted and there will betide them neither easance nor gladness. as for me, i do but wish to be with them, that they may cheer me with their company neither give over their merrymaking, so haply i may make merry with them, and indeed i swear that needs must i go down to them; else will i cast myself upon them.' and she cajoled jemreh and kissed her hands, till she said, 'arise and i will set thee down beside them.' then she took tuhfeh under her armpit and flying up, swiftlier than the blinding lightning, set her down with kemeriyeh and her company; whereupon she went up to them and accosted them, saying, 'fear not, no harm shall betide you; for i am a mortal, like unto you, and i would fain look on you and talk with you and hear your singing.' so they welcomed her and abode in their place, whilst jemreh sat down beside them and fell a-snuffing their odours and saying, 'i smell the scent of the jinn! i wonder whence [it cometh!'] then said wekhimeh to her sister kemeriyeh, 'yonder filthy one [smelleth us] and presently she will take to flight; so what is this remissness concerning her?'[fn# ] thereupon kemeriyeh put out a hand,[fn# ] as it were a camel's neck,[fn# ] and dealt jemreh a buffet on the head, that made it fly from her body and cast it into the sea. then said she, 'god is most great!' and they uncovered their faces, whereupon tuhfeh knew them and said to them, 'protection!' queen kemeriyeh embraced her, as also did queen zelzeleh and queen wekhimeh and queen sherareh, and the former said to her, 'rejoice in assured deliverance, for there abideth no harm for thee; but this is no time for talk.' then they cried out, whereupon up came the afrits ambushed in the island, with swords and maces in their hands, and taking up tuhfeh, flew with her to the palace and made themselves masters thereof, whilst the afrit aforesaid, who was dear to meimoun and whose name was dukhan, fled like an arrow and stayed not in his flight till he carne to meimoun and found him engaged in sore battle with the jinn. when his lord saw him, he cried out at him, saying, 'out on thee! whom hast thou left in the palace?' and dukhan answered, saying, 'and who abideth in the palace? thy beloved tuhfeh they have taken and jemreh is slain and they have gotten possession of the palace, all of it.' with this meimoun buffeted his face and head and said, 'out on it for a calamity!' and he cried aloud. now kemeriyeh had sent to her father and acquainted him with the news, whereat the raven of parting croaked for them. so, when meimoun saw that which had betided him, (and indeed the jinn smote upon him and the wings of death overspread his host,) he planted the butt of his spear in the earth and turning the point thereof to his heart, urged his charger upon it and pressed upon it with his breast, till the point came forth, gleaming, from his back. meanwhile the messenger had reached the opposite camp with the news of tuhfeh's deliverance, whereat the sheikh aboultawaif rejoiced and bestowed on the bringer of good tidings a sumptuous dress of honour and made him commander over a company of the jinn. then they fell upon meimoun's troops and destroyed them to the last man; and when they came to meimoun, they found that he had slain himself and was even as we have said. presently kemeriyeh and her sister [wekhimeh] came up to their grandfather and told him what they had done; whereupon he came to tuhfeh and saluted her and gave her joy of her deliverance. then he delivered meimoun's palace to selheb and took all the former's riches and gave them to tuhfeh, whilst the troops encamped upon the crescent mountain. moreover, the sheikh aboultawaif said to tuhfeh, 'blame me not,' and she kissed his hands. as they were thus engaged, there appeared to them the tribes of the jinn, as they were clouds, and queen es shuhba flying in their van, with a drawn sword in her hand. when she came in sight of the folk, they kissed the earth before her and she said to them, 'tell me what hath betided queen tuhfeh from yonder dog meimoun and why did ye not send to me and tell me?' quoth they, 'and who was this dog that we should send to thee, on his account? indeed, he was the least and meanest [of the jinn].' then they told her what kemeriyeh and her sisters had done and how they had practised upon meimoun and delivered tuhfeh from his hand, fearing lest he should slay her, whenas he found himself discomfited; and she said, 'by allah, the accursed one was wont to prolong his looking upon her!' and tuhfeh fell to kissing queen es shuhba's hand, whilst the latter strained her to her bosom and kissed her, saying, 'trouble is past; so rejoice in assurance of relief.' then they arose and went up to the palace, whereupon the trays of food were brought and they ate and drank; after which quoth queen es shuhba, 'o tuhfeh, sing to us, by way of thankoffering for thy deliverance, and favour us with that which shall solace our minds, for that indeed my mind hath been occupied with thee.' quoth tuhfeh 'hearkening and obedience, o my lady.' so she improvised and sang the following verses: wind of the east, if thou pass by the land where my loved ones dwell, i pray, the fullest of greetings bear to them from me, their lover, and say that i am the pledge of passion still and that my longing love and eke my yearning do overpass all longing that was aye. therewithal queen es shuhba rejoiced and all who were present rejoiced also and admired her speech and fell to kissing her; and when she had made an end of her song, queen kemeriyeh said to her, 'o my sister, ere thou go to thy palace, i would fain bring thee to look upon el anca, daughter of behram gour, whom el anca, daughter of the wind, carried off, and her beauty; for that there is not her match on the face of the earth.' and queen es shuhba said, 'o kemeriyeh, i [also] have a mind to see her.' quoth kemeriyeh, 'i saw her three years agone; but my sister wekhimeh seeth her at all times, for that she is near unto her, and she saith that there is not in the world a fairer than she. indeed, this queen el anca is become a byword for loveliness and proverbs are made upon her beauty and grace' and wekhimeh said, 'by the mighty inscription [on the seal-ring of solomon], there is not her like in the world!' then said queen es shuhba, 'if it needs must be and the affair is as ye say, i will take tuhfeh and go with her [to el anca], so she may see her.' so they all arose and repaired to el anca, who abode in the mountain caf.[fn# ] when she saw them, she rose to them and saluted them, saying, 'o my ladies, may i not be bereaved of you!' quoth wekhimeh to her, 'who is like unto thee, o anca? behold, queen es shuhba is come to thee.' so el anca kissed the queen's feet and lodged them in her palace; whereupon tuhfeh came up to her and fell to kissing her and saying, 'never saw i a goodlier than this favour.' then she set before them somewhat of food and they ate and washed their hands; after which tuhfeh took the lute and played excellent well; and el anca also played, and they fell to improvising verses in turns, whilst tuhfeh embraced el anca every moment. quoth es shuhba, 'o my sister, each kiss is worth a thousand dinars;' and tuhfeh answered, 'indeed, a thousand dinars were little for it.' whereat el anca laughed and on the morrow they took leave of her and went away to meimoun's palace.[fn# ] here queen es shuhba bade them farewell and taking her troops, returned to her palace, whilst the kings also went away to their abodes and the sheikh aboultawaif addressed himself to divert tuhfeh till nightfall, when he mounted her on the back of one of the afrits and bade other thirty gather together all that she had gotten of treasure and raiment and jewels and dresses of honour. [then they flew off,] whilst iblis went with her, and in less than the twinkling of an eye he set her down in her sleeping-chamber. then he and those who were with him took leave of her and went away. when tuhfeh found herself in her own chamber and on her couch, her reason fled for joy and it seemed to her as if she had never stirred thence. then she took the lute and tuned it and touched it on wondrous wise and improvised verses and sang. the eunuch heard the smiting of the lute within the chamber and said, 'by allah, that is my lady tuhfeh's touch!' so he arose and went, as he were a madman, falling down and rising up, till he came to the eunuch on guard at the door at the commander of the faithful and found him sitting. when the latter saw him, and he like a madman, falling down and rising up, he said to him, 'what aileth thee and what bringeth thee hither at this hour?' quoth the other, 'wilt thou not make haste and awaken the commander of the faithful?' and he fell to crying out at him; whereupon the khalif awoke and heard them bandying words together and tuhfeh's servant saying to the other, 'out on thee! awaken the commander of the faithful in haste.' so he said, 'o sewab, what aileth thee?' and the chief eunuch answered, saying, 'o our lord, the eunuch of tuhfeh's lodging hath taken leave of his wits and saith, "awaken the commander of the faithful in haste!"' then said er reshid to one of the slave-girls, 'see what is to do.' so she hastened to admit the eunuch, who entered; and when he saw the commander of the faithful, he saluted not neither kissed the earth, but said, 'quick, quick! arise in haste! my lady tuhfeh sitteth in her chamber, singing a goodly ditty. come to her in haste and see all that i say to thee! hasten! she sitteth [in her chamber].' the khalif was amazed at his speech and said to him, 'what sayst thou?' 'didst thou not hear the first of the speech?' replied the eunuch. 'tuhfeh sitteth in the sleeping-chamber, singing and playing the lute. come thy quickliest! hasten!' so er reshid arose and donned his clothes; but he credited not the eunuch's words and said to him, 'out on thee! what is this thou sayst? hast thou not seen this in a dream?' 'by allah,' answered the eunuch, 'i know not what thou sayest, and i was not asleep.' quoth er reshid, 'if thy speech be true, it shall be for thy good luck, for i will enfranchise thee and give thee a thousand dinars; but, if it be untrue and thou have seen this in sleep, i will crucify thee.' and the eunuch said in himself, 'o protector,[fn# ] let me not have seen this in sleep!' then he left the khalif and going to the chamber-door, heard the sound of singing and lute-playing; whereupon he returned to er reshid and said to him, 'go and hearken and see who is asleep.' when er reshid drew near the door of the chamber, he heard the sound of the lute and tuhfeh's voice singing; whereat he could not restrain his reason and was like to swoon away for excess of joy. then he pulled out the key, but could not bring his hand to open the door. however, after awhile, he took heart and applying himself, opened the door and entered, saying, 'methinks this is none other than a dream or an illusion of sleep.' when tuhfeh saw him, she rose and coming to meet him, strained him to her bosom; and he cried out with a cry, wherein his soul was like to depart, and fell down in a swoon. she strained him to her bosom and sprinkled on him rose-water, mingled with musk, and washed his face, till he came to himself, as he were a drunken man, for the excess of his joy in tuhfeh's return to him, after he had despaired of her. then she took the lute and smote thereon, after the fashion she had learnt from the sheikh iblis, so that er reshid's wit was dazed for excess of delight and his understanding was confounded for joy; after which she improvised and sang the following verses: my heart will never credit that i am far from thee; in it thou art, nor ever the soul can absent be. or if to me "i'm absent" thou sayest, "'tis a lie," my heart replies, bewildered 'twixt doubt and certainty. when she had made an end of her verses, er reshid said to her, 'o tuhfeh, thine absence was extraordinary, but thy presence[fn# ] is yet more extraordinary.' 'by allah, o my lord,' answered she, 'thou sayst sooth.' and she took his hand and said to him, 'see what i have brought with me.' so he looked and saw riches such as neither words could describe nor registers avail to set out, pearls and jewels and jacinths and precious stones and great pearls and magnificent dresses of honour, adorned with pearls and jewels and embroidered with red gold. moreover, she showed him that which queen es shuhba had bestowed on her of those carpets, which she had brought with her, and that her throne, the like whereof neither chosroes nor cassar possessed, and those tables inlaid with pearls and jewels and those vessels, that amazed all who looked on them, and the crown, that was on the head of the circumcised boy, and those dresses of honour, which queen es shuhba and the sheikh aboultawaif had put off upon her, and the trays wherein were those riches; brief, she showed him treasures the like whereof he had never in his life set eyes on and which the tongue availeth not to describe and whereat all who looked thereon were amazed. er reshid was like to lose his wits for amazement at this sight and was confounded at this that he beheld and witnessed. then said he to tuhfeh, 'come, tell me thy story from first to last, [and let me know all that hath betided thee,] as if i had been present' she answered with 'hearkening and obedience,' and fell to telling him [all that had betided her] first and last, from the time when she first saw the sheikh aboultawaif, how he took her and descended with her through the side of the draught-house; and she told him of the horse she had ridden, till she came to the meadow aforesaid and described it to him, together with the palace and that which was therein of furniture, and related to him how the jinn rejoiced in her and that which she had seen of the kings of them, men and women, and of queen kemeriyeh and her sisters and queen shuaaeh, queen of the fourth sea, and queen es shuhba, queen of queens, and king es shisban, and that which each one of them had bestowed upon her. moreover, she told him the story of meimoun the sworder and described to him his loathly favour, which he had not consented to change, and related to him that which befell her from the kings of the jinn, men and women, and the coming of the queen of queens, es shuhba, and how she had loved her and appointed her her vice-queen and how she was thus become ruler over all the kings of the jinn; and she showed him the patent of investiture that queen es shuhba had written her and told him that which had betided her with the ghoul-head, whenas it appeared to her in the garden, and how she had despatched it to her palace, beseeching it to bring her news of the commander of the faithful and that which had betided him after her. then she described to him the gardens, wherein she had taken her pleasure, and the baths inlaid with pearls and jewels and told him that which had befallen meimoun the sworder, whenas he carried her off, and how he had slain himself; brief, she told him all that she had seen of wonders and rarities and that which she had beheld of all kinds and colours among the jinn. then she told him the story of anca, daughter of behram gour, with anca, daughter of the wind, and described to him her dwelling-place and her island, whereupon quoth er reshid, 'o tuhfet es sedr,[fn# ] tell me of el anca, daughter of behram gour; is she of the jinn or of mankind or of the birds? for this long time have i desired to find one who should tell me of her.' 'it is well, o commander of the faithful,' answered tuhfeh. 'i asked the queen of this and she acquainted me with her case and told me who built her the palace.' quoth er reshid, 'i conjure thee by allah, tell it me.' and tuhfeh answered, 'it is well,' and proceeded to tell him. and indeed he was amazed at that which he heard from her and what she told him and at that which she had brought back of jewels and jacinths of various colours and preciots stones of many kinds, such as amazed the beholder and confounded thought and mind. as for this, it was the means of the enrichment of the barmecides and the abbasicles, and they abode in their delight. then the khalif went forth and bade decorate the city: [so they decorated it] and the drums of glad tidings were beaten. moreover they made banquets to the people and the tables were spread seven days. and tuhfeh and the commander of the faithful ceased not to be in the most delightsome of life and the most prosperous thereof till there came to them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of companies; and thu is all that hath come down to as of their story." calcutta ( - ) text. note. the following story occupies the last five nights (cxcv-cc) of the unfinished calcutta edition of - . the only other text of it known to me is that published by monsieur langles (paris, ), as an appendix to his edition of the voyages of sindbad, and of this i have freely availed myself in making the present translation, comparing and collating with it the calcutta ( - ) text and filling up and correcting omissions and errors that occur in the latter. in the calcutta ( - ) text this story (vol. ii. pp. - ) is immediately succeeded by the seven voyages of sindbad (vol. ii. pp. - ), which conclude the work. women's craft. it is told that there was once, in the city of baghdad, a comely and well-bred youth, fair of face, tall of stature and slender of shape. his name was alaeddin and he was of the chiefs of the sons of the merchants and had a shop wherein he sold and bought one day, as he sat in his shop, there passed by him a girl of the women of pleasure,[fn# ] who raised her eyes and casting a glance at the young merchant, saw written in a flowing hand on the forepart[fn# ] of the door of his shop, these words, "verily, there is no craft but men's craft, forasmuch as it overcometh women's craft." when she beheld this, she was wroth and took counsel with herself, saying, "as my head liveth, i will assuredly show him a trick of the tricks of women and prove the untruth of[fn# ] this his inscription!" so, on the morrow, she made her ready and donning the costliest of apparel, adorned herself with the most magnificent of ornaments and the highest of price and stained her hands with henna. then she let down her tresses upon her shoulders and went forth, walking along with coquettish swimming gait and amorous grace, followed by her slave-girls, till she came to the young merchant's shop and sitting down thereat, under colour of seeking stuffs, saluted him and demanded of him somewhat of merchandise. so he brought out to her various kinds of stuffs and she took them and turned them over, talking with him the while. then said she to him, "look at the goodliness of my shape and my symmetry. seest thou in me any default?" and he answered, "no, o my lady." "is it lawful," continued she, "in any one that he should slander me and say that i am humpbacked?" then she discovered to him a part of her bosom, and when he saw her breasts, his reason took flight from his head and he said to her, "cover it up, so may god have thee in his safeguard!" quoth she, "is it fair of any one to missay of my charms?" and he answered, "how shall any missay of thy charms, and thou the sun of loveliness?" then said she, "hath any the right to say of me that i am lophanded? "and tucking up her sleeves, showed him forearms, as they were crystal; after which she unveiled to him a face, as it were a full moon breaking forth on its fourteenth night, and said to him, "is it lawful for any to missay of me [and avouch] that my face is pitted with smallpox or that i am one-eyed or crop-eared?" and he answered her, saying, "o my lady, what is it moveth thee to discover unto me that lovely face and those fair members, [of wont so jealously] veiled and guarded? tell me the truth of the matter, may i be thy ransom!" and he recited the following verses: a white one, from her sheath of tresses now laid bare and now again concealed in black, luxuriant hair;[fn# ] as if the maid the day resplendent and her locks the night that o'er it spreads its shrouding darkness were. "know, o my lord," answered she, "that i am a maiden oppressed of my father, for that he misspeaketh of me and saith to me, 'thou art foul of favour and it befitteth not that thou wear rich clothes; for thou and the slave-girls, ye are equal in rank, there is no distinguishing thee from them.' now he is a rich man, having wealth galore, [and saith not on this wise but] because he is a niggard and grudgeth the spending of a farthing; [wherefore he is loath to marry me,] lest he be put to somewhat of charge in my marriage, albeit god the most high hath been bountiful to him and he is a man puissant in his time and lacking nothing of the goods of the world." "who is thy father," asked the young merchant, "and what is his condition?" and she replied, "he is the chief cadi of the supreme court, under whose hand are all the cadis who administer justice in this city." the merchant believed her and she took leave of him and went away, leaving in his heart a thousand regrets, for that the love of her had gotten possession of him and he knew not how he should win to her; wherefore he abode enamoured, love-distraught, unknowing if he were alive or dead. as soon as she was gone, he shut his shop and going up to the court, went in to the chief cadi and saluted him. the magistrate returned his salutation and entreated him with honour and seated him by his side. then said alaeddin to him, "i come to thee, a suitor, seeking thine alliance and desiring the hand of thy noble daughter." "o my lord merchant," answered the cadi, "indeed my daughter beseemeth not the like of thee, neither sorteth she with the goodliness of thy youth and the pleasantness of thy composition and the sweetness of thy discourse;" but alaeddin rejoined, saying, "this talk behoveth thee not, neither is it seemly in thee; if i be content with her, how should this irk thee?" so they came to an accord and concluded the treaty of marriage at a dower precedent of five purses[fn# ] paid down then and there and a dower contingent of fifteen purses,[fn# ] so it might be uneath unto him to put her away, forasmuch as her father had given him fair warning, but he would not be warned. then they drew up the contract of marriage and the merchant said, "i desire to go in to her this night." so they carried her to him in procession that very night, and he prayed the prayer of eventide and entered the privy chamber prepared for him; but, when he lifted the veil from the face of the bride and looked, he saw a foul face and a blameworthy aspect; yea, he beheld somewhat the like whereof may god not show thee! loathly, dispensing from description, inasmuch as there were reckoned in her all legal defects.[fn# ] so he repented, whenas repentance availed him not, and knew that the girl had cheated him. however, he lay with the bride, against his will, and abode that night sore troubled in mind, as he were in the prison of ed dilem.[fn# ] hardly had the day dawned when he arose from her and betaking himself to one of the baths, dozed there awhile, after which he made the ablution of defilement[fn# ] and washed his clothes. then he went out to the coffee-house and drank a cup of coffee; after which he returned to his shop and opening the door, sat down, with discomfiture and chagrin written on his face. presently, his friends and acquaintances among the merchants and people of the market began to come up to him, by ones and twos, to give him joy, and said to him, laughing, "god's blessing on thee! where an the sweetmeats? where is the coffee?[fn# ] it would seem thou hast forgotten us; surely, the charms of the bride have disordered thy reason and taken thy wit, god help thee! well, well; we give thee joy, we give thee joy." and they made mock of him, whilst he gave them no answer and was like to tear his clothes and weep for vexation. then they went away from him, and when it was the hour of noon, up came his mistress, trailing her skirts and swaying in her gait, as she were a cassia-branch in a garden. she was yet more richly dressed and adorned and more bewitching[fn# ] in her symmetry and grace than on the previous day, so that she made the passers stop and stand in ranks to look on her. when she came to alaeddin's shop, she sat down thereat and said to him, "may the day be blessed to thee, o my lord alaeddin! god prosper thee and be good to thee and accomplish thy gladness and make it a wedding of weal and content!" he knitted his brows and frowned in answer to her; then said he to her, "tell me, how have i failed of thy due, or what have i done to injure thee, that thou shouldst play me this trick?" quoth she, "thou hast no wise offended against me; but this inscription that is written on the door of thy shop irketh me and vexeth my heart. if thou wilt change it and write up the contrary thereof, i will deliver thee from thy predicament." and he answered, "this that thou seekest is easy. on my head and eyes be it." so saying, he brought out a ducat[fn# ] and calling one of his mamelukes, said to him, "get thee to such an one the scribe and bid him write us an inscription, adorned with gold and ultramarine, in these words, to wit, 'there is no craft but women's craft, for that indeed their craft is a mighty craft and overcometh and humbleth the fables[fn# ] of men.'" and she said to the servant, "go forthright." so he repaired to the scribe, who wrote him the scroll, and he brought it to his master, who set it on the door and said to the damsel, "art thou satisfied?" "yes," answered she. "arise forthright and get thee to the place before the citadel, where do thou foregather with all the mountebanks and ape-dancers and bear-leaders and drummers and pipers and bid them come to thee to-morrow early, with their drums and pipes, what time thou drinkest coffee with thy father-in-law the cadi, and congratulate thee and wish thee joy, saying, 'a blessed day, o son of our uncle! indeed, thou art the vein[fn# ] of our eye! we rejoice for thee, and if thou be ashamed of us, verily, we pride ourselves upon thee; so, though thou banish us from thee, know that we will not forsake thee, albeit thou forsakest us.' and do thou fall to strewing dinars and dirhems amongst them; whereupon the cadi will question thee, and do thou answer him, saying, 'my father was an ape-dancer and this is our original condition; but out lord opened on us [the gate of fortune] and we have gotten us a name among the merchants and with their provost.' then will he say to thee, 'then thou art an ape-leader of the tribe of the mountebanks?' and do thou reply, 'i may in nowise deny my origin, for the sake of thy daughter and in her honour.' the cadi will say, 'it may not be that thou shalt be given the daughter of a sheikh who sitteth upon the carpet of the law and whose descent is traceable by genealogy to the loins of the apostle of god,[fn# ] nor is it seemly that his daughter be in the power of a man who is an ape-dancer, a minstrel.' and do thou rejoin, 'nay, o effendi, she is my lawful wife and every hair of her is worth a thousand lives, and i will not let her go, though i be given the kingship of the world.' then be thou persuaded to speak the word of divorce and so shall the marriage be dissolved and ye be delivered from each other." quoth alaeddin, "thou counsellest well," and locking up his shop, betook himself to the place before the citadel, where he foregathered with the drummers and pipers and instructed them how they should do, [even as his mistress had counselled him,] promising them a handsome reward. so they answered him with "hearkening and obedience" and on the morrow, after the morning-prayer, he betook himself to the presence of the cadi, who received him with obsequious courtesy and seated him beside himself. then he turned to him and fell to conversing with him and questioning him of matters of selling and buying and of the price current of the various commodities that were exported to baghdad from all parts, whilst alaeddin replied to him of all whereof he asked him. as they were thus engaged, behold, up came the dancers and mountebanks, with their pipes and drums, whilst one of their number forewent them, with a great banner in his hand, and played all manner antics with his voice and limbs. when they came to the courthouse, the cadi exclaimed, "i seek refuge with god from yonder satans!" and the merchant laughed, but said nothing. then they entered and saluting his highness the cadi, kissed alaeddin's hands and said, "god's blessing on thee, o son of our uncle! indeed, thou solacest our eyes in that which thou dost, and we beseech god to cause the glory of our lord the cadi to endure, who hath honoured us by admitting thee to his alliance and allotted us a part in his high rank and dignity." when the cadi heard this talk, it bewildered his wit and he was confounded and his face flushed with anger and he said to his son-in-law, "what words are these?" quoth the merchant, "knowest thou not, o my lord, that i am of this tribe? indeed this man is the son of my mother's brother and that other the son of my father's brother, and i am only reckoned of the merchants [by courtesy]!" when the cadi heard this, his colour changed and he was troubled and waxed exceeding wroth and was rike to burst for excess of rage. then said he to the merchant, "god forbid that this should be! how shall it be permitted that the daughter of the cadi of the muslims abide with a man of the dancers and vile of origin? by allah, except thou divorce her forthright, i will bid beat thee and cast thee into prison till thou die! had i foreknown that thou wast of them, i had not suffered thee to approach me, but had spat in thy face, for that thou art filthier[fn# ] than a dog or a hog." then he gave him a push and casting him down from his stead, commanded him to divorce; but he said, "be clement to me, o effendi, for that god is clement, and hasten not. i will not divorce my wife, though thou give me the kingdom of irak." the cadi was perplexed and knew that constraint was not permitted of the law;[fn# ] so he spoke the young merchant fair and said to him, "protect me,[fn# ] so may god protect thee. if thou divorce her not, this disgrace will cleave to me till the end of time." then his rage got the better of him and he said to him, "an thou divorce her not with a good grace, i will bid strike off thy head forthright and slay myself; rather flame[fn# ] than shame." the merchant bethought himself awhile, then divorced her with a manifest divorcement[fn# ] and on this wise he delivered himself from that vexation. then he returned to his shop and sought in marriage of her father her who had played him the trick aforesaid and who was the daughter of the chief of the guild of the blacksmiths. so he took her to wife and they abode with each other and lived the most solaceful of lives, in all prosperity and contentment and joyance, till the day of death; and god [alone] is all-knowing. end of vol. ii. tales from the arabic, volume endnotes [fn# ] a town of khoiassan. [fn# ] i.e., he dared not attempt to force her? [fn# ] i.e. her "yes" meant "yes" and her "no" "no." [fn# ] lit. ignorance. [fn# ] lit. spoke against her due. [fn# ] i.e. a domed monument. [fn# ] lit "ignorance," often used in the sense of "forwardness." [fn# ] i.e. my present plight. [fn# ] i.e. ten thousand dinars. [fn# ] a similar story to this, though differing considerably in detail, will be found in my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. p. , the jewish cadi and his pions wife. [fn# ] or divineress (kahinek). [fn# ] i.e. whoredom. [fn# ] or "scar" (ather). [fn# ] ie. hearken to. [fn# ] i.e. persia. [fn# ] i.e. the case with which he earned his living. [fn# ] i.e. the ten thousand dirhems of the bond. [fn# ] i.e. exhorted her to patience. [fn# ] or performing surgical operations (ilaj). [fn# ] i.e. the open space before his house. [fn# ] or "drew near unto." [fn# ] i.e. a descendant of mohammed. [fn# ] or the art of judging from external appearances (firaseh). [fn# ] sic in the text; but the passage is apparently corrupt. it is not plain why a rosy complexion, blue eyes and tallness should be peculiar to women in love. arab women being commonly short, swarthy and black eyed, the attributes mentioned appear rather to denote the foreign origin of the woman; and it is probable, therefore, that this passage has by a copyist's error, been mixed up with that which related to the signs by which the mock physician recognized her strangehood, the clause specifying the symptoms of her love lorn condition having been crowded out in the process, an accident of no infrequent occurrence in the transcription of oriental works. [fn# ] yellow was the colour prescribed for the wearing of jews by the muslim lawm in accordance with the decree issued by khalif omar ben el khettab after the taking of jerusalem in a.d. . [fn# ] i.e. sunday. [fn# ] herais, a species of "risotto," made of pounded wheat or rice and meat in shreds. [fn# ] lit. "that have passed the night," i.e. are stale and therefore indigestable. [fn# ] i.e. saturday. [fn# ] i.e. native of merv. [fn# ] or "ruined," lit. "destroyed." [fn# ] i.e. native of rei, a city of khorassia. [fn# ] the text has khenadic, ditches or valleys; but this is, in all probability, a clerical or typographical error for fenadic, inns or caravanserais. [fn# ] it is a paramount duty of the muslim to provide his dead brother in the faith with decent interment; it is, therefore, a common practice for the family of a poor arab to solicit contributions toward the expenses of his burial, nor is the well-to-do true believer safe from imposition of the kind described in the text. [fn# ] i.e. the recompense in the world to come promised to the performer of a charitable action. [fn# ] i.e. camphor and lote-tree leaves dried and powdered (sometimes mixed with rose-water) which are strewn over the dead body, before it is wrapped in the shroud. in the case of a man of wealth, more costly perfumes (such as musk, aloes and ambergris) are used. [fn# ] all the ablutions prescribed by the mohammedan ritual are avoided by the occurrence, during the process, of any cause of ceremonial impurity (such as the mentioned in the text) and must be recommenced. [fn# ] having handled a corpse, he had become in a state of legal impurity and it beloved him therefore to make the prescribed ablution. [fn# ] which he had taken off for the purpose of making abulution. this was reversing the ordinary course of affairs, the dead man's clothes being the washer's prequisite. [fn# ] i.e. till it was diminished by evaporation to two-thirds of its original volume. [fn# ] the mohammedan grave is a cell, hollowed out in the sides of a trench and so constructed as to keep out the earth, that the deceased may be able to sit up and answer the examining angels when they visit him in the tomb. there was, therefore, nothing improbable in er razi's boast that he could abide two days in the tomb. [fn# ] nawous, a sort of overground well or turricle of masonry, surmounted by an iron grating, on which the gueber's body is placed for devoration by the birds. [fn# ] munkir [munker] and nakir [nekir] are the two angels that preside at 'the examination of the tomb.' they visit a man in his grave directly after he has been buried and examine him concerning his faith; if he acknowledge that there is but one god and that mohammed is his prophet [apostle], they suffer him to rest in peace; otherwise they beat him with [red-hot] iron maces, till he roars so loud[ly] that he is heard by all from east to west, except by man and ginns [jinn]."--palmer's koran, introduction. [fn# ] lit. the oven (tennour); but this is obviously a mistake for "tombs" (cubour). [fn# ] i.e. as a propitiatory offering on behalf of. [fn# ] i.e. though he remain at thy charge or (as we should say) on thy hands. [fn# ] about twenty-five shillings. [fn# ] about £ s. [fn# ] meaning the sharper. [fn# ] i.e. he asketh nought but that which is reasonable. [fn# ] the strict muslim is averse from taking an oath, even in support at the truth, and will sometimes submit to a heavy loss rather than do so. for an instance of this, see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. p. , the king of the island. [fn# ] to wit, the merchant and his officious friend. [fn# ] there appears to be some mistake here, but i have no means of rectifying it. the passage is probably hopelessly corrupt and a portion of the conclusion of the story seems to have dropped out. [fn# ] i.e. well-guarded, confined in the harem. [fn# ] i.e. an old woman to crafty that she was a calamity to those against whom she plotted. [fn# ] i.e. the amount of the contingent dowry and of the allowance which he was bound to make her for her support during the four months and some days which must elapse before she could lawfully marry again. [fn# ] i.e. thou wilt have satisfied us all. [fn# ] with the smoke of burning aloes-wood or other perfume, a common practice among the arabs. the aloes-wood is placed upon burning charcoal in a censer perforated with holes, which is swung towards the person to be fumigated, whose clothes and hair are thus impregnated with the grateful fragrance of the burning wood. an accident such as that mentioned in the text might easily happen during the process of fumigation. [fn# ] i.e. by god. the old woman is keeping up her assumption of the character of a devotee by canting about divine direction. [fn# ] this is the same story as "the house with the belvedere." see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. p. . [fn# ] see note, vol. i. p. . also my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. p. , the king and his vizier's wife. [fn# ] or experienced. [fn# ] i.e. the inhabitants of the island and the sailors? [fn# ] i.e. postponed the fulfilment of his promise. [fn# ] sic; but apparently a state-prison or place of confinement for notable offenders is meant. [fn# ] or "getting hold of." [fn# ] lit. "betrothed." [fn# ] or "in." [fn# ] i.e. if his appearance be such as to belie the possibility of his being a thief. [fn# ] i.e. people of power and worship. [fn# ] i.e. of wine. [fn# ] i.e. all his former afflictions or (perhaps) all his commandments. [fn# ] i.e. a more venial sin. [fn# ] i.e. i have a proposal to make thee. [fn# ] i.e. he was brought up in my house. [fn# ] i.e. prayed for him by name, as the reigning sovereign, in the khutbeh, a sort of homily made up of acts of prayer and praise and of exhortations to the congregation, which forms part of the friday prayers. the mention of a newly-appointed sovereign's name in the khutbeh is equivalent with the muslims to a solemn proclamation of his accession. [fn# ] i.e. deprive him of his rank. [fn# ] or perverted belief, i.e. an infidel. [fn# ] i.e. not god. [fn# ] or corrupt belief, i.e. that the destinies of mankind were governed by the planets and not by god alone. [fn# ] i.e. "him who is to me even as mine own soul," to wit, the king. [fn# ] the whole of this story (which is apparently intended as an example of the flowery style (el bediya) of arab prose) is terribly corrupt and obscure, and in the absence of a parallel version, with which to collate it, it is impossible to be sure that the exact sense has been rendered. [fn# ] breslau text, vol xi. pp. - , nights dccccxxx-xl. [fn# ] i.e. the first or beherite dynasty of the mameluke sultans, the founder of which was originally a turkish (i.e. turcoman) slave. [fn# ] fourth sultan of the above dynasty. [fn# ] i.e. palestine (es sahil) so styled by the arabs. [fn# ] lit. his nightly entertainers, i.e. those whose place it was to entertain him by night with the relation of stories and anecdotes and the recitation of verses, etc. [fn# ] i.e. the perfect of police. [fn# ] about fifty shillings. [fn# ] i.e. those of the visible and invisible worlds. [fn# ] i.e. of the sultan's officers of the household. the sultan's palace and the lodgings of his chief officers were situate, according to eastern custom, in the citadel or central fortress of the city. [fn# ] lit. [self-]possession (temkin). [fn# ] god forbid! [fn# ] or strong place. [fn# ] i.e. lest ill-hap betide her and you be held responsible for her. [fn# ] which was in his custody in his ex-officio capacity of guardian, orphans in muslim countries being, by operation of law, wards of the cadi of their district. [fn# ] altogether six thousand dinars or about £ . [fn# ] i.e. except thou give me immediate satisfaction, i will complain of thee to the sultan. [fn# ] i.e. forgetting all that is enjoined upon the true-believer by the institutes of the prophet (sunneh) and the canons (fers) of the divine law, as deduced from the koran. [fn# ] lit. red i.e. violent or bloody) death. [fn# ] lit. the conquered one. [fn# ] i.e. my view of the matter differs from that of the cadi, but i cannot expect a hearing against a personage of his rank. [fn# ] and therefore freshly shed. [fn# ] for redness. [fn# ] or parties. [fn# ] lit. quench that fire from him. [fn# ] of cairo or (quære) the two egyptian provinces known as es sherkiyeh (the eastward) and el gherbiyeh (the westward). [fn# ] i.e, he was a man of ready wit and presence of mind. [fn# ] or (in modern slang) "there are good pickings to be had out of this job." [fn# ] lit "the douceur of the key," i.e. the gratuity which it is customary to give to the porter or portress on hiring a house or lodging. cf. the french denier à dieu, old english "god's penny." [fn# ] i.e. made the complete ablution prescribed by the muslim law after copulation. [fn# ] i.e. the round opening made in the ceiling for ventilation. [fn# ] i.e. he who sits on the bench outside the police-office, to attend to emergencies. [fn# ] lit. witnesses, i.e. those who are qualified by their general respectability and the blamelessness of their lives, to give evidence in the mohamedan courts of law. [fn# ] sic. [fn# ] about pounds. [fn# ] or guardian. [fn# ] syn. book (kitab). [fn# ] or made it a legal deed. [fn# ] lit. assessors. [fn# ] this sentence is almost unintelligible, owing to the corruptness and obscurity of the text; but the sense appears to be as above. [fn# ] apparently supposing the draper to have lost it and purposing to require a heavy indemnity for its loss. [fn# ] apparently, a cant phrase for "thieve." [fn# ] or disapprove of. [fn# ] this passage is unintelligible; the text is here again, to all appearance, corrupt. [fn# ] i.e. women's tricks? [fn# ] muslim formula of invitation. [fn# ] i.e. the singers? [fn# ] i.e. easily. [fn# ] or made a show of renouncing. [fn# ] i.e. strong men (or athletes) armed. [fn# ] fityan, arab cant name for thieves. [fn# ] apparently in a pavillion in some garden or orchard, the usual pleasure of the arabs. [fn# ] i.e. engaged her to attend an entertainment and paid her her hire in advance. [fn# ] lit. a [she-]partner, i.e. one who should relieve her, when she was weary of singing, and accompany her voice on the lute. [fn# ] i.e. they grew ever more heated with drink. [fn# ] helfeh or helfaa (vulg. alfa), a kind of coarse, rushy grass (pos. multiflora), used in the east as fuel. [fn# ] lit. "we repented to god, etc, of singing." the practice of music, vocal and instrumental, is deprecated by the strict muslim, in accordance with a tradition by which the prophet is said to have expressed his disapproval of these arts. [fn# ] i.e. required to find the thief or make good the loss. [fn# ] i.e. the parties aggrieved. [fn# ] or irrigation-work, usually a bucket-wheel, worked by oxen. [fn# ] or "came true." [fn# ] i.e. crucify. [fn# ] i.e. a native of the hauran, a district east of damascus. [fn# ] i.e. the mysterious speaker. [fn# ] i.e. in the punishment that overtook me. [fn# ] the well-known arab formula of refusal to a beggar, equivalent to the spanish "perdoneme por amor de dios, hermano!" [fn# ] i.e. what i could afford. [fn# ] i.e. that of the officers of police. [fn# ] a common oriental game, something like a rude out-door form of back-gammon, in which the players who throw certain numbers are dubbed sultan and vizier. [fn# ] lit. milk (leben), possibly a copyist's error for jubn (cheese). [fn# ] i.e. his forbearance in relinquishing his blood-revenge for his brother. [fn# ] in the text, by an evident error, shehriyar is here made to ask shehrzad for another story and she to tell it him. [fn# ] nesiheh. [fn# ] i.e. the mysterious speaker? [fn# ] apparently some famous saint. the el hajjaj whose name is familiar to readers of the thomsand and one night (see supra, vol. i. p. , note ) was anything but a saint, if we may believe the popular report of him. [fn# ] breslan text, vol. xi. pp. - and vol. xii. pp. - , nights dccccvli-dcccclvii. [fn# ] the usual meaning of the arab word anber (pronounced amber) a ambergris, i.e. the morbid secretion of the sperm-whale; but the context appears to point to amber, i.e. the fossil resin used for necklaces, etc.; unless, indeed, the allusion of the second hemistich is to ambergris, as worn, for the sake of the perfume, in amulets or pomanders (fr. pomme d'ambre) slung about the neck. [fn# ] i.e. galena or sulphuret of lead, of which, reduced to powder, alone or in combination with other ingredients, the well-known cosmetic or eye-powder called kohl consists. [fn# ] see supra, vol. . p. , note . [fn# ] or "accomplishments" (adab). [fn# ] title of the khalif. [fn# ] i.e. isaac of mosul, the greatest of arab musicians. [fn# ] elder brother of jaafer; see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. ix. p. et seq. [fn# ] yonnus ibn hebib, a renowned grammarian and philologer of the day, who taught at bassora and whose company was much sought after by distinguished men of letters and others. he was a friend of isaac of mosul. [fn# ] apparently a suburb of baghdad. [fn# ] i.e. the principal street of et taf. [fn# ] or "elegant." [fn# ] see supra, vol. i. p. , note . [fn# ] ? [fn# ] a passage has apparently dropped out here. the khalif seems to have gone away without buying, leaving ishac behind, whereupon the latter was accosted by another slave-girl, who came out of a cell in the corridor. [fn# ] or "have withheld myself." [fn# ] for not selling me? [fn# ] i.e. tuhfeh the fool. hemca is the feminine form of ahmec, fool. if by a change in the (unwritten) vowels, we read humeca, which is the plural form of ahmec, the title will signify, "gift (tuhfeh) of fools" and would thus represent a jesting alteration of the girl's real name (tuhfet el culoub, gift of hearts), in allusion to her (from the slave-merchant's point of view) foolish and vexatious behaviour in refusing to be sold to the first comer, as set out below. [fn# ] or "folly" (hemakeh). [fn# ] i.e. not every one is lucky enough to be in ishac's house. [fn# ] apparently some part of baghdad adjoining the tigris. khanekah means "a convent of dervishes." [fn# ] lit. stronger (acwa). [fn# ] the gist of this curious comparison is not very apparent. perhaps "blander" is meant. [fn# ] about s. [fn# ] about a penny; i.e. i have found all my skill in the craft but a trifle in comparison with thine. [fn# ] i.e. thou art what he wants. [fn# ] i.e. the dews of her mouth, commonly compared by oriental writers to wine and honey. [fn# ] i.e. he died. [fn# ] i.e. if my hand were out for want of practice. [fn# ] i.e. a gift or rarity. [fn# ] or "rarity" (tuhfeh) [fn# ] i.e. thou didst her not justice. [fn# ] i.e. that set apart for the chief of the concubines. [fn# ] i.e. from the opening made in the ceiling for ventilation. or the saloon in which she sat may have been open to the sky, as is not uncommon in the east. [fn# ] zubeideh was the daughter of jaafer, son of el mensour, second khalif of the house of abbas, and was therefore er reshid's first cousin. it does not appear why she is called daughter (bint) of el casim. [fn# ] lit. "of those noble steps." [fn# ] so styled by the muslums, because abraham is fabled by them to have driven him away with stones, when he strove to prevent him from sacrificing ishmael, whom they substitute for isaac as the intended victim. [fn# ] i.e. gift of breasts. the word "breasts" here is, of course, used (metonymically) for "hearts." [fn# ] i.e. "he (lit. father) of the hosts of tribes." [fn# ] see post, passim. [fn# ] lit. witnesses (shawahid). [fn# ] lit. seas (behar). [fn# ] afterwards called zelzeleh; see post, p. et seq. [fn# ] i.e. i cannot look long on them. [fn# ] i.e. change the sir to one less poignant? or (perhaps) "lower thy voice." [fn# ] i.e. from time immemorial, before the creation of the world. the most minute details of every man's life in the world are believed by the mohammedans to have been fore-ordained by god from all eternity. this belief is summed up in the koranic saying, "verily, the commandment of god is a prevenient decree." [fn# ] no mention is afterward made of any wedding, and the word is, therefore, probably used here in its implied sense of "festival," "merry-making." i am not, however acquainted with any instance of this use of the word urs. [fn# ] or "peewit." [fn# ] i.e. those that led the water to the roots of the trees, after the manner of eastern gardeners. [fn# ] one of the seven "gardens" or stages for the mohammedan heaven. [fn# ] "god is most great!" so called because its pronunciation, after that of the niyeh or intent (i.e. "i purpose to pray such and such prayers"), prohibits the speaking of any words previous to prayer. [fn# ] i.e. those of the five daily prayers (due at daybreak, noon, mid-afternoon, sundown, and nightfall respectively) which she had been prevented from praying on the previous evening, through having passed it in carousing with the jinn. it is incumbent on the strict muslim to make up his arrears of prayer in this manner. [fn# ] lit. skill in physiognomy (firaseh). [fn# ] i.e. the owner of this palace. [fn# ] the mohammedan rite of ablution, previous to prayer, is a very elaborate and complicated process, somewhat "scamped" by the ordinary "true-believer." see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. iv. pp. - . [fn# ] i.e. the prayers of nightfall, in addition to those of daybreak. [fn# ] i.e. those of noon, mid-afternoon and sundown. [fn# ] containing the dessert. [fn# ] i.e. mohammed, who was passionately fond of flowers and especially of the rose, which is fabled to have blossomed from his sweat. [fn# ] the arab name (julnar) of the promegranate is made up of the persian word for rose (gul) and the arabic fire (nar). [fn# ] i.e. chapters cxiii. and cxiv. of the koran, respectively known as the chapter of the [lord of the] daybreak and the chapter of [the lord of] men. these chapters, which it is the habit of the muslim to recite as a talisman or preventive against evil, are the last and shortest in the book and run as follows. chapter cxiii.--"in the name of the compassionate, the merciful! say [quoth gabriel] 'i take refuge with the lord of the daybreak from the evil of that which he hath created and from the evil of the beginning of the night, whenas it invadeth [the world], and from the mischief of the women who blow on knots (i.e. witches) and from the mischief of the envier, whenas he envieth.'" chapter cxiv.--"in the name of god the compassionate, the merciful! say [quoth gabriel] 'i take refuge with the lord of men, the king of men, the god of men, from the mischief of the stealthy tempter (i.e. the devil) who whispereth (i.e. insinuateth evil) into the breasts (hearts) of mankind, from jinn and men!'" these two chapters are often written on parchment etc. and worn as an amulet about the person--hence their name. [fn# ] hieratic title of the khalif, as foreman (imam) of the people at prayer. [fn# ] i.e. the jinn that dwell therein. each house, according to muslim belief, has its haunter or domestic spirit. [fn# ] i.e. yearning. [fn# ] i.e. her return. [fn# ] see ante, p. , note . [fn# ] "as for him who is of those brought near unto god, [for him shall be] easance and sweet basil (syn. victual, rihan), and a garden of pleasance."--koran lvi. - . it will be observed that this verse is somewhat garbled in the quotation. [fn# ] meaning apparently, "none of the jinn may tread these carpets, etc., that thou treadest." [fn# ] i.e. to hold festival. [fn# ] this passage may also be rendered, "and in this i do thee a great favour [and honour thee] over all the jinn." [fn# ] lit. "how loathly is that which yonder genie meimoun eateth!" but this is evidently a mistake. see ante, p. . [fn# ] lit. "i have not an eye that availeth to look upon him." [fn# ] i.e. "may i not lack of thy visits!" [fn# ] i.e. "as much again as all thou hast given." [fn# ] the attainment by a boy of the proper age for circumcision, or (so to speak) his religious majority, in a subject for great rejoicing with the mohammedans, and the occasion is celebrated by the giving of as splendid an entertainment as the means of his family will afford, during which he is displayed to view upon a throne or raised seat, arrayed in the richest and ornaments that can be found, hired or borrowed for the purpose. [fn# ] tuhfeh. [fn# ] lit. "be equitable therewith unto;" but the meaning appears to be as above. [fn# ] lit. "places" (mawazi). quaere "shifts" or "positions." [fn# ] see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. vi. p. , isaac of mosul and his mistress and the devil. [fn# ] i.e. method of playing the lute. [fn# ] i.e. not indigenous? [fn# ] apparently the residence of king es shisban. [fn# ] i.e. all the jinn's professions of affection to me and promises of protection, etc. [fn# ] i.e. one so crafty that he was a calamity to his enemies, a common arab phrase used in a complimentary sense. [fn# ] i.e. the flying lion. [fn# ] i.e. how canst thou feel assured of safety, after that which thou hast done? [fn# ] or "life" (ruh). [fn# ] quaere the mountain cat. [fn# ] i.e. why tarriest thou to make an end of her? [fn# ] i.e. arm. [fn# ] i.e. for length. [fn# ] a fabulous mountain-range, believed by the arabs to encompass the world and by which they are supposed to mean the caucasus. [fn# ] the anca, phoenix or griffin, is a fabulous bird that figures largely in persian romance. it is fabled to have dwelt in the mountain caf and to have once carried off a king's daughter on her wedding-day. it is to this legend that the story-teller appears to refer in the text; but i am not aware that the princess in question is represented to have been the daughter of behram gour, the well-known king of persia, who reigned in the first half of the fifth century and was a contemporary of the emperors theodosius the younger and honorius. [fn# ] one of the names of god. [fn# ] i.e. thy return. [fn# ] gift of the breast (heart). [fn# ] binat el hawa, lit. daughters of love. this is the ordinary meaning of the phrase; but the girl in question appears to have been of good repute and the expression, as applied to her, is probably, therefore, only intended to signify a sprightly, frolicsome damsel. [fn# ] lit. the forehead, quare the lintel. [fn# ] or "put to nought" [fn# ] comparing her body, now hidden in her flowing stresses and now showing through them, to a sword, as it flashes in and out of its sheath. [fn# ] about £ . [fn# ] about £ . [fn# ] i.e. all defects for which a man is by law entitled to return a slave-girl to her seller. [fn# ] ed dilem is the ancient media. the allusion to its prison or prisons i do not understand. [fn# ] i.e. the complete ablution prescribed by the mohammedan law after sexual intercourse. [fn# ] it is customary for a newly-married man to entertain his male acquaintances with a collation on the morning after the wedding. [fn# ] lit. more striking and cutting. [fn# ] sherifi, a small gold coin, worth about s. d. [fn# ] or "false pretences." [fn# ] or, as we should say, "the apple." [fn# ] apparently the cadi was our claimed to be a seyyid i.e. descendant of mohammed, through his daughter fatmeh. [fn# ] lit. more ill-omened. [fn# ] i.e. that the law would not allow him to compel the young merchant to divorce his wife. [fn# ] i.e. veil in honour. [fn# ] lit the fire, i.e. hell. [fn# ] i.e. by an irrevocable divorcement (telacan bainan), to wit, such a divorcement as estops the husband from taking back his divorced wife, except with her consent and after the execution of a fresh contract of marriage. text scanned by jc byers and proof read by the volunteers of the distributed proofreaders site: http://charlz.dns go.com/gutenberg/ tales from the arabic of the breslau and calcutta ( - ) editions of the book of the thousand nights and one night not occurring in the other printed texts of the work, now first done into english by john payne in three volumes: volume the third. delhi edition contents of the third volume. breslau text. . noureddin ali of damascus and the damsel sitt el milah . el abbas and the king's daughter of baghdad . the two kings and the vizier's daughters . the favourite and her lover . the merchant of cairo and the favourite of the khalif el mamoun el hakim bi amrillah conclusion calcutta ( - ) text. . story of sindbad the sailor and hindbad the porter a. the sixth voyage of sindbad the sailor b. the seventh voyage of sindbad the sailor note table of contents of the calcutta ( - ) and boulac editions table of contents of the breslau edition table of contents of the calcutta edition alphabetical table of the first lines of the verse in the "tales from the arabic" index to the names of the "tales from the arabic" breslau text. noureddin ali of damascus and the damsel sitt el milah.[fn# ] there was once, of old days and in bygone ages and times, a merchant of the merchants of damascus, by name aboulhusn, who had money and riches and slaves and slave-girls and lands and houses and baths; but he was not blessed with a child and indeed his years waxed great; wherefore he addressed himself to supplicate god the most high in private and in public and in his inclining and his prostration and at the season of the call to prayer, beseeching him to vouchsafe him, before his admittance [to his mercy], a son who should inherit his wealth and possessions; and god answered his prayer. so his wife conceived and the days of her pregnancy were accomplished and her months and her nights and the pangs of her travail came upon her and she gave birth to a male child, as he were a piece of the moon. he had not his match for beauty and he put to shame the sun and the resplendent moon; for he had a shining face and black eyes of babylonian witchery[fn# ] and aquiline nose and ruby lips; brief, he was perfect of attributes, the loveliest of the folk of his time, without doubt or gainsaying. his father rejoiced in him with the utmost joy and his heart was solaced and he was glad; and he made banquets to the folk and clad the poor and the widows. he named the boy sidi[fn# ] noureddin ali and reared him in fondness and delight among the slaves and servants. when he came to seven years of age, his father put him to school, where he learned the sublime koran and the arts of writing and reckoning: and when he reached his tenth year, he learned horsemanship and archery and to occupy himself with arts and sciences of all kinds, part and parts.[fn# ] he grew up pleasant and subtle and goodly and lovesome, ravishing all who beheld him, and inclined to companying with brethren and comrades and mixing with merchants and travellers. from these latter he heard tell of that which they had seen of the marvels of the cities in their travels and heard them say, "he who leaveth not his native land diverteth not himself [with the sight of the marvels of the world,] and especially of the city of baghdad." so he was concerned with an exceeding concern for his lack of travel and discovered this to his father, who said to him, "o my son, why do i see thee chagrined?" and he answered, "i would fain travel." quoth aboulhusn, "o my son, none travelleth save those whose occasion is urgent and those who are compelled thereunto [by need]. as for thee, o my son, thou enjoyest ample fortune; so do thou content thyself with that which god hath given thee and be bounteous [unto others], even as he hath been bounteous unto thee; and afflict not thyself with the toil and hardship of travel, for indeed it is said that travel is a piece of torment."[fn# ] but the youth said, "needs must i travel to baghdad, the abode of peace." when his father saw the strength of his determination to travel, he fell in with his wishes and equipped him with five thousand dinars in cash and the like in merchandise and sent with him two serving-men. so the youth set out, trusting in the blessing of god the most high, and his father went out with him, to take leave of him, and returned [to damascus]. as for noureddin ali, he gave not over travelling days and nights till he entered the city of baghdad and laying up his loads in the caravanserai, made for the bath, where he did away that which was upon him of the dirt of the road and putting off his travelling clothes, donned a costly suit of yemen stuff, worth an hundred dinars. then he put in his sleeve[fn# ] a thousand mithcals[fn# ] of gold and sallied forth a-walking and swaying gracefully as he went. his gait confounded all those who beheld him, as he shamed the branches with his shape and belittled the rose with the redness of his cheeks and his black eyes of babylonian witchcraft; indeed, thou wouldst deem that whoso looked on him would surely be preserved from calamity; [for he was] even as saith of him one of his describers in the following verses: thy haters say and those who malice to thee bear a true word, profiting its hearers everywhere; "the glory's not in those whom raiment rich makes fair, but those who still adorn the raiment that they wear." so he went walking in the thoroughfares of the city and viewing its ordinance and its markets and thoroughfares and gazing on its folk. presently, abou nuwas met him. (now he was of those of whom it is said, "they love the fair,"[fn# ] and indeed there is said what is said concerning him.[fn# ] when he saw noureddin ali, he stared at him in amazement and exclaimed, "say, i take refuge with the lord of the daybreak!"[fn# ] then he accosted the young damascene and saluting him, said to him, "why do i see my lord alone and forlorn? meseemeth thou art a stranger and knowest not this country; so, with my lord's permission, i will put myself at his service and acquaint him with the streets, for that i know this city." quoth noureddin, "this will be of thy favour, o uncle." whereat abou nuwas rejoiced and fared on with him, showing him the markets and thoroughfares, till they came to the house of a slave-dealer, where he stopped and said to the youth, "from what city art thou?" "from damascus," answered noureddin; and abou nuwas said, "by allah, thou art from a blessed city, even as saith of it the poet in the following verses: damascus is all gardens decked for the pleasance of the eyes; for the seeker there are black-eyed girls and boys of paradise." noureddin thanked him and they entered the slave-merchant's house. when the people of the house saw abou nuwas, they rose to do him worship, for that which they knew of his station with the commander of the faithful. moreover, the slave-dealer himself came up to them with two chairs, and they seated themselves thereon. then the slave-merchant went into the house and returning with the slave-girl, as she were a willow-wand or a bamboo-cane, clad in a vest of damask silk and tired with a black and white turban, the ends whereof fell down over her face, seated her on a chair of ebony; after which quoth he to those who were present, "i will discover to you a face as it were a full moon breaking forth from under a cloud." and they said, "do so." so he unveiled the damsel's face and behold, she was like the shining sun, with comely shape and day-bright face and slender [waist and heavy] hips; brief, she was endowed with elegance, the description whereof existeth not, [and was] even as saith of her the poet: a fair one, to idolaters if she herself should show, they'd leave their idols and her face for only lord would know; and if into the briny sea one day she chanced to spit, assuredly the salt sea's floods straight fresh and sweet would grow. the dealer stood at her head and one of the merchants said, "i bid a thousand dinars for her." quoth another, "i bid eleven hundred dinars;" [and a third, "i bid twelve hundred"]. then said a fourth merchant, "be she mine for fourteen hundred dinars." and the biddings stood still at that sum. quoth her owner, "i will not sell her save with her consent. if she desire to be sold, i will sell her to whom she willeth." and the slave-dealer said to him, "what is her name?" "her name is sitt el milah,"[fn# ] answered the other; whereupon the dealer said to her, "by thy leave, i will sell thee to yonder merchant for this price of fourteen hundred dinars." quoth she, "come hither to me." so he came up to her and when he drew near, she gave him a kick with her foot and cast him to the ground, saying, "i will not have that old man." the slave-dealer arose, shaking the dust from his clothes and head, and said, "who biddeth more? who is desirous [of buying?]" quoth one of the merchants, "i," and the dealer said to her, "o sitt el milah, shall i sell thee to this merchant?" "come hither to me," answered she; but he said "nay; speak and i will hearken to thee from my place, for i will not trust myself to thee," and she said, "i will not have him." then he looked at her and seeing her eyes fixed on the young damascene, for that in very deed he had ravished her with his beauty and grace, went up to the latter and said to him, "o my lord, art thou a looker-on or a buyer? tell me." quoth noureddin, "i am both looker-on and buyer. wilt thou sell me yonder slave-girl for sixteen hundred dinars?" and he pulled out the purse of gold. so the dealer returned, dancing and clapping his hands and saying, "so be it, so be it, or not [at all]!" then he came to the damsel and said to her, "o sitt el milah, shall i sell thee to yonder young damascene for sixteen hundred dinars?" but she answered, "no," of shamefastness before her master and the bystanders; whereupon the people of the bazaar and the slave-merchant departed, and abou nuwas and ali noureddin arose and went each his own way, whilst the damsel returned to her master's house, full of love for the young damascene. when the night darkened on her, she called him to mind and her heart clave to him and sleep visited her not; and on this wise she abode days and nights, till she sickened and abstained from food. so her lord went in to her and said to her, "o sitt el milah, how findest thou thyself?" "o my lord," answered she, "i am dead without recourse and i beseech thee to bring me my shroud, so i may look on it before my death." therewithal he went out from her, sore concerned for her, and betook himself to a friend of his, a draper, who had been present on the day when the damsel was cried [for sale]. quoth his friend to him, "why do i see thee troubled?" and he answered, "sitt el milah is at the point of death and these three days she hath neither eaten nor drunken. i questioned her to-day of her case and she said, 'o my lord, buy me a shroud, so i may look on it before my death.'" quoth the draper, "methinks nought ails her but that she is enamoured of the young damascene and i counsel thee to mention his name to her and avouch to her that he hath foregathered with thee on her account and is desirous of coming to thy house, so he may hear somewhat of her singing. if she say, 'i reck not of him, for there is that to do with me which distracteth me from the damascene and from other than he,' know that she saith sooth concerning her sickness; but, if she say to thee other than this, acquaint me therewith.'" so the man returned to his lodging and going in to his slave-girl, said to her, "o sitt el milah, i went out on thine occasion and there met me the young man of damascus, and he saluted me and saluteth thee. indeed, he seeketh to win thy favour and would fain be a guest in our dwelling, so thou mayst let him hear somewhat of thy singing." when she heard speak of the young damascene, she gave a sob, that her soul was like to depart her body, and answered, saying, "he knoweth my plight and is ware that these three days past i have eaten not nor drunken, and i beseech thee, o my lord, by the great god, to accomplish the stranger his due and bring him to my lodging and make excuse to him for me." when her master heard this, his reason fled for joy and he went to his friend the draper and said to him, "thou wast right in the matter of the damsel, for that she is enamoured of the young damascene; so how shall i do?" quoth the other, "go to the bazaar and when thou seest him, salute him and say to him, 'indeed, thy departure the other day, without accomplishing thine occasion, was grievous to me; so, if thou be still minded to buy the girl, i will abate thee an hundred dinars of that which thou badest for her, by way of hospitable entreatment of thee and making myself agreeable to thee; for that thou art a stranger in our land.' if he say to thee, 'i have no desire for her' and hold off from thee, know that he will not buy; in which case, let me know, so i may contrive thee another device; and if he say to thee other than this, conceal not from me aught. so the girl's owner betook himself to the bazaar, where he found the youth seated at the upper end of the merchants' place of session, selling and buying and taking and giving, as he were the moon on the night of its full, and saluted him. the young man returned his salutation and he said to him, "o my lord, be not thou vexed at the girl's speech the other day, for her price shall be less than that [which thou badest], to the intent that i may propitiate thy favour. if thou desire her for nought, i will send her to thee, or if thou wouldst have me abate thee of her price, i will well, for i desire nought but what shall content thee; for that thou art a stranger in our land and it behoveth us to entreat thee hospitably and have consideration for thee." "by allah," answered the youth, "i will not take her from thee but at an advance on that which i bade thee for her aforetime; so wilt thou now sell her to me for seventeen hundred dinars?" and the other answered," o my lord, i sell her to thee, may god bless thee in her." so the young man went to his lodging and fetching a purse, returned to the girl's owner and counted out to him the price aforesaid, whilst the draper was between them. then said he, "bring her forth;" but the other answered, "she cannot come forth at this present; but be thou my guest the rest of this day and night, and on the morrow thou shall take thy slave-girl and go in the protection of god." the youth fell in with him of this and he carried him to his house, where, after a little, he let bring meat and wine, and they [ate and] drank. then said noureddin to the girl's owner, "i beseech thee bring me the damsel, for that i bought her not but for the like of this time." so he arose and [going in to the girl], said to her, "o sitt el milan, the young man hath paid down thy price and we have bidden him hither; so he hath come to our dwelling and we have entertained him, and he would fain have thee be present with him." therewithal the damsel rose briskly and putting off her clothes, washed and donned sumptuous apparel and perfumed herself and went out to him, as she were a willow-wand or a bamboo-cane, followed by a black slave girl, bearing the lute. when she came to the young man, she saluted him and sat down by his side. then she took the lute from the slave-girl and tuning it, smote thereon in four-and-twenty modes, after which she returned to the first mode and sang the following verses: unto me the world's whole gladness is thy nearness and thy sight; all incumbent thy possession and thy love a law of right. in my tears i have a witness; when i call thee to my mind, down my cheeks they run like torrents, and i cannot stay their flight. none, by allah, 'mongst all creatures, none i love save thee alone! yea, for i am grown thy bondman, by the troth betwixt us plight. peace upon thee! ah, how bitter were the severance from thee! be not this thy troth-plight's ending nor the last of our delight! therewithal the young man was moved to delight and exclaimed, "by allah, thou sayest well, o sitt el milan! let me hear more." then he handselled her with fifty dinars and they drank and the cups went round among them; and her seller said to her, "o sitt el milah, this is the season of leave-taking; so let us hear somewhat on the subject." accordingly she struck the lute and avouching that which was in her heart, sang the following verses: i am filled full of longing pain and memory and dole, that from the wasted body's wounds distract the anguished soul. think not, my lords, that i forget: the case is still the same. when such a fever fills the heart, what leach can make it whole? and if a creature in his tears could swim, as in a sea, i to do this of all that breathe were surely first and sole. o skinker of the wine of woe, turn from a love-sick maid, who drinks her tears still, night and morn, thy bitter-flavoured bowl. i had not left you, had i known that severance would prove my death; but what is past is past, fate stoops to no control. as they were thus in the enjoyment of all that in most delicious of easance and delight, and indeed the wine was sweet to them and the talk pleasant, behold, there came a knocking at the door. so the master of the house went out, that he might see what was to do, and found ten men of the khalif's eunuchs at the door. when he saw this, he was amazed and said to them, "what is to do?" quoth they, "the commander of the faithful saluteth thee and requireth of thee the slave-girl whom thou hast for sale and whose name is sitt el milah." by allah," answered the other, "i have sold her." and they said, "swear by the head of the commander of the faithful that she is not in thy dwelling." he made oath that he had sold her and that she was no longer at his disposal; but they paid no *need to his word and forcing their way into the house, found the damsel and the young damascene in the sitting-chamber. so they laid hands upon her, and the youth said, "this is my slave-girl, whom i have bought with my money." but they hearkened not to his speech and taking her, carried her off to the commander of the faithful. therewithal noureddin's life was troubled; so he arose and donned his clothes, and his host said, "whither away this night, o my lord?" quoth noureddin, "i mean to go to my lodging, and to-morrow i will betake myself to the palace of the commander of the faithful and demand my slave-girl." "sleep till the morning," said the other, "and go not forth at the like of this hour." but he answered, "needs must i go;" and the host said to him, "[go] in the safeguard of god." so noureddin went forth, and drunkenness had got the mastery of him, wherefore he threw himself down on [a bench before one of] the shops. now the watch were at that hour making their round and they smelt the sweet scent [of essences] and wine that exhaled from him; so they made for it and found the youth lying on the bench, without sense or motion. they poured water upon him, and he awoke, whereupon they carried him to the house of the chief of the police and he questioned him of his affair. "o my lord," answered noureddin, "i am a stranger in this town and have been with one of my friends. so i came forth from his house and drunkenness overcame me." the prefect bade carry him to his lodging; but one of those in attendance upon him, by name el muradi, said to him, "what wilt thou do? this man is clad in rich clothes and on his finger is a ring of gold, the beazel whereof is a ruby of great price; so we will carry him away and slay him and take that which is upon him of raiment [and what not else] and bring it to thee; for that thou wilt not [often] see profit the like thereof, more by token that this fellow is a stranger and there is none to enquire concerning him." quoth the prefect, "this fellow is a thief and that which he saith is leasing." and noureddin said, "god forbid that i should be a thief!" but the prefect answered, "thou liest." so they stripped him of his clothes and taking the ring from his finger, beat him grievously, what while he cried out for succour, but none succoured him, and besought protection, but none protected him. then said he to them, "o folk, ye are quit of[fn# ] that which ye have taken from me; but now restore me to my lodging." but they answered, saying, "leave this knavery, o cheat! thine intent is to sue us for thy clothes on the morrow." "by allah, the one, the eternal," exclaimed he, "i will not sue any for them!" but they said, "we can nowise do this." and the prefect bade them carry him to the tigris and there slay him and cast him into the river. so they dragged him away, what while he wept and spoke the words which whoso saith shall nowise be confounded, to wit, "there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the sublime!" when they came to the tigris, one of them drew the sword upon him and el muradi said to the swordbearer, "smite off his head." but one of them, ahmed by name, said, "o folk, deal gently with this poor wretch and slay him not unjustly and wickedly, for i stand in fear of god the most high, lest he burn me with his fire." quoth el muradi, "a truce to this talk!" and ahmed said, "if ye do with him aught, i will acquaint the commander of the faithful." "how, then, shall we do with him?" asked they; and he answered, "let us deposit him in prison and i will be answerable to you for his provision; so shall we be quit of his blood, for indeed he is wrongfully used." so they took him up and casting him into the prison of blood,[fn# ]went away. meanwhile, they carried the damsel into the commander of the faithful and she pleased him; so he assigned her a lodging of the apartments of choice. she abode in the palace, eating not neither drinking and ceasing not from weeping night nor day, till, one night, the khalif sent for her to his sitting-chamber and said to her, "o sitt el milah, be of good heart and cheerful eye, for i will make thy rank higher than [any of] the concubines and thou shall see that which shall rejoice thee." she kissed the earth and wept; whereupon the khalif called for her lute and bade her sing. so she improvised and sang the following verses, in accordance with that which was in her heart: say, by the lightnings of thy teeth and thy soul's pure desire, moan'st thou as moan the doves and is thy heart for doubt on fire? how many a victim of the pangs of love-liking hath died! tired is my patience, but of blame my censors never tire. when she had made an end of her song, she cast the lute from her hand and wept till she swooned away, whereupon the khalif bade carry her to her chamber. now he was ravished with her and loved her with an exceeding love; so, after awhile, he again commanded to bring her to his presence, and when she came, he bade her sing. accordingly, she took the lute and spoke forth that which was in her heart and sang the following verses: what strength have i solicitude and long desire to bear? why art thou purposed to depart and leave me to despair? why to estrangement and despite inclin'st thou with the spy? yet that a bough[fn# ] from side to side incline[fn# ] small wonder 'twere. thou layst on me a load too great to bear, and thus thou dost but that my burdens i may bind and so towards thee fare. then she cast the lute from her hand and swooned away; so she was carried to her chamber and indeed passion waxed upon her. after a long while, the commander of the faithful sent for her a third time and bade her sing. so she took the lute and sang the following verses: o hills of the sands and the rugged piebald plain, shall the bondman of love win ever free from pain! i wonder, shall i and the friend who's far from me once more be granted of fate to meet, we twain! bravo for a fawn with a houri's eye of black, like the sun or the shining moon midst the starry train! to lovers, "what see ye?" he saith, and to hearts of stone, "what love ye," quoth he, "[if to love me ye disdain?"] i supplicate him, who parted us and doomed our separation, that we may meet again. when she had made an end of her song, the commander of the faithful said to her, "o damsel, thou art in love." "yes," answered she. and he said, "with whom?" quoth she, "with my lord and my master, my love for whom is as the love of the earth for rain, or as the love of the female for the male; and indeed the love of him is mingled with my flesh and my blood and hath entered into the channels of my bones. o commander of the faithful, whenas i call him to mind, mine entrails are consumed, for that i have not accomplished my desire of him, and but that i fear to die, without seeing him, i would assuredly kill myself." and he said, "art thou in my presence and bespeakest me with the like of these words? i will assuredly make thee forget thy lord." then he bade take her away; so she was carried to her chamber and he sent her a black slave-girl, with a casket, wherein were three thousand dinars and a carcanet of gold, set with pearls, great and small, and jewels, worth other three thousand, saying to her, "the slave-girl and that which is with her are a gift from me to thee." when she heard this, she said, "god forbid that i should be consoled for the love of my lord and my master, though with the earth full of gold!" and she improvised and recited the following verses: i swear by his life, yea, i swear by the life of my love without peer, to please him or save him from hurt, i'd enter the fire without fear! "console thou thyself for his love," quoth they, "with another than he;" but, "nay, by his life," answered i, "i'll never forget him my dear!" a moon is my love, in a robe of loveliness proudly arrayed, and the splendours of new-broken day from his cheeks and his forehead shine clear. then the khalif summoned her to his presence a fourth time and said to her, "o sitt el milah, sing." so she improvised and sang the following verses: to his beloved one the lover's heart's inclined; his soul's a captive slave, in sickness' hands confined. "what is the taste of love?" quoth one, and i replied, "sweet water 'tis at first; but torment lurks behind." love's slave, i keep my troth with them; but, when they vowed, fate made itself urcoub,[fn# ] whom never oath could bind. what is there in the tents? their burdens are become a lover's, whose belov'd is in the litters' shrined. in every halting-place like joseph[fn# ] she appears and he in every stead with jacob's grief[fn# ] is pined. when she had made an end of her song, she threw the lute from her hand and wept till she swooned away. so they sprinkled on her rose-water, mingled with musk, and willow-flower water; and when she came to herself, er reshid said to her, "o sitt el milah, this is not fair dealing in thee. we love thee and thou lovest another." "o commander of the faithful," answered she, "there is no help for it." therewithal he was wroth with her and said, "by the virtue of hemzeh[fn# ] and akil[fn# ] and mohammed, prince of the apostles, if thou name one other than i in my presence, i will bid strike off thy head!" then he bade return her to her chamber, whilst she wept and recited the following verses: if i must die, then welcome death to heal my woes; 'twere lighter than the pangs i feel. what if the sabre cut me limb from limb! no torment 'twere for lovers true and leal. then the khalif went in to the lady zubeideh, pale with anger, and she noted this in him and said to him, "how cometh it that i see the commander of the faithful changed of colour?" "o daughter of my uncle," answered he, "i have a beautiful slave-girl, who reciteth verses and telleth stories, and she hath taken my whole heart; but she loveth other than i and avoucheth that she loveth her [former] master; wherefore i have sworn a great oath that, if she come again to my sitting-chamber and sing for other than i, i will assuredly take a span from her highest part."[fn# ]quoth zubeideh, "let the commander of the faithful favour me with her presence, so i may look on her and hear her singing." so he bade fetch her and she came, whereupon the lady zubeideh withdrew behind the curtain, whereas she saw her not, and er reshid said to her, "sing to us." so she took the lute and tuning it, sang the following verses: lo, since the day i left you, o my masters, life is not sweet, no aye my heart is light. yea, in the night the thought of you still slays me; hidden are my traces from the wise men's sight, all for a wild deer's love, whose looks have snared me and on whose brows the morning glitters bright i am become, for severance from my loved one, like a left hand, forsaken of the right. beauty on his cheek hath written, "blest be allah, he who created this enchanting wight!" him i beseech our loves who hath dissevered, us of his grace once more to reunite. when er reshid heard this, he waxed exceeding wroth and said, "may god not reunite you twain in gladness!" then he summoned the headsman, and when he presented himself, he said to him, "strike off the head of this accursed slave-girl." so mesrour took her by the hand and [led her away; but], when she came to the door, she turned and said to the khalif, "o commander of the faithful, i conjure thee, by thy fathers and forefathers, give ear unto that i shall say!" then she improvised and recited the following verses: o amir of justice, be kind to thy subjects; for justice, indeed, of thy nature's a trait. o thou my inclining to love him that blamest, shall lovers be blamed for the errors of fate? then spare me, by him who vouchsafed thee the kingship; for a gift in this world is the regal estate. then mesrour carried her to the other end of the sitting-chamber and bound her eyes and making her sit, stood awaiting a second commandment; whereupon quoth the lady zubeideh, "o commander of the faithful, with thy permission, wilt thou not vouchsafe this damsel a share of thy clemency? indeed, if thou slay her, it were injustice." quoth he, "what is to be done with her?" and she said, "forbear to slay her and send for her lord. if he be as she describeth him in grace and goodliness, she is excused, and if he be not on this wise, then slay her, and this shall be thy justification against her."[fn# ] "be it as thou deemest," answered er reshid and caused return the damsel to her chamber, saying to her, "the lady zubeideh saith thus and thus." quoth she, "god requite her for me with good! indeed, thou dealest equitably, o commander of the faithful, in this judgment." and he answered, "go now to thy place, and to-morrow we will let bring thy lord." so she kissed the earth and recited the following verses: i am content, for him i love, to all abide; so, who will, let him blame, and who will, let him chide. at their appointed terms souls die; but for despair my soul is like to die, or ere its term betide. o thou with love of whom i'm smitten, yet content, i prithee come to me and hasten to my side. then she arose and returned to her chamber. on the morrow, the commander of the faithful sat [in his hall of audience] and his vizier jaafer ben yehya the barmecide came in to him; whereupon he called to him, saying, "i would have thee bring me a youth who is lately come to baghdad, hight [sidi noureddin ali] the damascene." quoth jaafer, "hearkening and obedience," and going forth in quest of the youth, sent to the markets and khans and caravanserais three days' space, but found no trace of him, neither lit upon tidings of him. so on the fourth day he presented himself before the khalif and said to him, "o our lord, i have sought him these three days, but have not found him." quoth er reshid, "make ready letters to damascus. belike he hath returned to his own land." so jaafer wrote a letter and despatched it by a dromedary-courier to the city of damascus; and they sought him there and found him not. meanwhile, news was brought that khorassan had been conquered;[fn# ] whereupon er reshid rejoiced and bade decorate baghdad and release all who were in the prisons, giving each of them a dinar and a dress. so jaafer addressed himself to the decoration of the city and bade his brother el fezl ride to the prison and clothe and release the prisoners. el fezl did his brother's bidding and released all but the young damascene, who abode still in the prison of blood, saying, "there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the sublime! verily, we are god's and to him we return." then said el fezl to the gaoler, "is there any prisoner left in the prison?" "no," answered he, and el fezl was about to depart, when noureddin called out to him from within the prison, saying, "o my lord, tarry, for there remaineth none in the prison other than i and indeed i am oppressed. this is a day of clemency and there is no disputing concerning it." el fezl bade release him; so they set him free and he gave him a dress and a dinar. so the young man went out, bewildered and knowing not whither he should go, for that he had abidden in the prison nigh a year and indeed his condition was changed and his favour faded, and he abode walking and turning round, lest el muradi should come upon him and cast him into another calamity. when el muradi heard of his release, he betook himself to the chief of the police and said to him, "o our lord, we are not assured from yonder youth, [the damascene], for that he hath been released from prison and we fear lest he complain of us." quoth the prefect, "how shall we do?" and el muradi answered, saying, "i will cast him into a calamity for thee." then he ceased not to follow the young damascene from place to place till he came up with him in a strait place and a by-street without an issue; whereupon he accosted him and putting a rope about his neck, cried out, saying, "a thief!" the folk flocked to him from all sides and fell to beating and reviling noureddin, whilst he cried out for succour, but none succoured him, and el muradi still said to him, "but yesterday the commander of the faithful released thee and to-day thou stealest!" so the hearts of the folk were hardened against him and el muradi carried him to the master of police, who bade cut off his hand. accordingly, the hangman took him and bringing out the knife, offered to cut off his hand, what while el muradi said to him, "cut and sever the bone and sear[fn# ] it not for him, so he may lose his blood and we be rid of him." but ahmed, he who had aforetime been the means of his deliverance, sprang up to him and said, "o folk, fear god in [your dealings with] this youth, for that i know his affair from first to last and he is void of offence and guiltless. moreover, he is of the folk of condition,[fn# ] and except ye desist from him, i will go up to the commander of the faithful and acquaint him with the case from first to last and that the youth is guiltless of crime or offence." quoth el muradi, "indeed, we are not assured from his mischief." and ahmed answered, "release him and commit him to me and i will warrant you against his affair, for ye shall never see him again after this." so they delivered noureddin to him and he took him from their hands and said to him, "o youth, have compassion on thyself, for indeed thou hast fallen into the hands of these folk twice and if they lay hold of thee a third time, they will make an end of thee; and [in dealing thus with thee], i aim at reward and recompense for thee[fn# ] and answered prayer."[fn# ] noureddin fell to kissing his hand and calling down blessings on him and said to him, "know that i am a stranger in this your city and the completion of kindness is better than the beginning thereof; wherefore i beseech thee of thy favour that thou complete to me thy good offices and kindness and bring me to the gate of the city. so will thy beneficence be accomplished unto me and may god the most high requite thee for me with good!" ["fear not,"] answered ahmed; "no harm shall betide thee. go; i will bear thee company till thou come to thy place of assurance." and he left him not till he brought him to the gate of the city and said to him, "o youth, go in the safeguard of god and return not to the city; for, if they fall in with thee [again], they will make an end of thee." noureddin kissed his hand and going forth the city, gave not over walking till he came to a mosque that stood in one of the suburbs of baghdad and entered therein with the night. now he had with him nought wherewithal he might cover himself; so he wrapped himself up in one of the rugs of the mosque [and abode thus till daybreak], when the muezzins came and finding him sitting in that case, said to him, "o youth, what is this plight?" quoth he, "i cast myself on your hospitality, imploring your protection from a company of folk who seek to kill me unjustly and oppressively, without cause." and [one of] the muezzin[s] said, "be of good heart and cheerful eye." then he brought him old clothes and covered him withal; moreover, he set before him somewhat of meat and seeing upon him signs of gentle breeding, said to him, "o my son, i grow old and desire thee of help, [in return for which] i will do away thy necessity." "hearkening and obedience," answered noureddin and abode with the old man, who rested and took his ease, what while the youth [did his service in the mosque], celebrating the praises of god and calling the faithful to prayer and lighting the lamps and filling the ewers[fn# ] and sweeping and cleaning out the place. meanwhile, the lady zubeideh, the wife of the commander of the faithful, made a banquet in her palace and assembled her slave-girls. as for sitt el milah, she came, weeping-eyed and mournful-hearted, and those who were present blamed her for this, whereupon she recited the following verses: ye chide at one who weepeth for troubles ever new; needs must th' afflicted warble the woes that make him rue. except i be appointed a day [to end my pain], i'll weep until mine eyelids with blood their tears ensue. when she had made an end of her verses, the lady zubeideh bade each damsel sing a song, till the turn came round to sitt el milah, whereupon she took the lute and tuning it, sang thereto four-and-twenty songs in four-and-twenty modes; then she returned to the first mode and sang the following verses: fortune its arrows all, through him i love, let fly at me and parted me from him for whom i sigh. lo, in my heart the heat of every heart burns high and in mine eyes unite the tears of every eye. when she had made an end of her song, she wept till she made the bystanders weep and the lady zubeideh condoled with her and said to her, "god on thee, o sitt el milah, sing us somewhat, so we may hearken to thee." "hearkening and obedience," answered the damsel and sang the following verses: assemble, ye people of passion, i pray; for the hour of our torment hath sounded to-day. the raven of parting croaks loud at our door; alas, for our raven cleaves fast to us aye! for those whom we cherish are parted and gone; they have left us in torment to pine for dismay. so arise, by your lives i conjure you, arise and come let us fare to our loved ones away. then she cast the lute from her hand and wept till she made the lady zubeideh weep, and she said to her, "o sitt el milah, methinks he whom thou lovest is not in this world, for that the commander of the faithful hath sought him in every place, but hath not found him." whereupon the damsel arose and kissing the lady zubeideh's hands, said to her, "o my lady, if thou wouldst have him found, i have a request to make to thee, wherein thou mayst accomplish my occasion with the commander of the faithful." quoth the princess, "and what is it?" "it is," answered sitt el milah, "that thou get me leave to go forth by myself and go round about in quest of him three days, for the adage saith, 'she who mourneth for herself is not the like of her who is hired to mourn.'[fn# ] if i find him, i will bring him before the commander of the faithful, so he may do with us what he will; and if i find him not, i shall be cut off from hope of him and that which is with me will be assuaged." quoth the lady zubeideh, "i will not get thee leave from him but for a whole month; so be of good heart and cheerful eye." whereupon sitt el milah was glad and rising, kissed the earth before her once more and went away to her own place, rejoicing. as for zubeideh, she went in to the khalif and talked with him awhile; then she fell to kissing him between the eyes and on his hand and asked him that which she had promised sitt el milah, saying, "o commander of the faithful, i doubt me her lord is not found in this world; but, if she go about in quest of him and find him not, her hopes will be cut off and her mind will be set at rest and she will sport and laugh; for that, what while she abideth in hope, she will never cease from her frowardness." and she gave not over cajoling him till he gave sitt el milah leave to go forth and make search for her lord a month's space and ordered her an eunuch to attend her and bade the paymaster [of the household] give her all she needed, were it a thousand dirhems a day or more. so the lady zubeideh arose and returning to her palace, sent for sitt el milah and acquainted her with that which had passed [between herself and the khalif]; whereupon she kissed her hand and thanked her and called down blessings on her. then she took leave of the princess and veiling her face, disguised herself; [fn# ] after which she mounted the mule and sallying forth, went round about seeking her lord in the thoroughfares of baghdad three days' space, but lit on no tidings of him; and on the fourth day, she rode forth without the city. now it was the noontide hour and great was the heat, and she was aweary and thirst waxed upon her. presently, she came to the mosque, wherein the young damascene had taken shelter, and lighting down at the door, said to the old man, [the muezzin], "o elder, hast thou a draught of cold water? indeed, i am overcome with heat and thirst." quoth he, "[come up] with me into my house." so he carried her up into his lodging and spreading her [a carpet and cushions], seated her [thereon]; after which he brought her cold water and she drank and said to the eunuch, "go thy ways with the mule and on the morrow come back to me here." [so he went away] and she slept and rested herself. when she awoke, she said to the old man, "o elder, hast thou aught of food?" and he answered, "o my lady, i have bread and olives." quoth she, "that is food fit but for the like of thee. as for me, i will have nought but roast lamb and broths and fat rissoled fowls and stuffed ducks and all manner meats dressed with [pounded nuts and almond-]kernels and sugar." "o my lady," replied the muezzin, "i never heard of this chapter in the koran, nor was it revealed unto our lord mohammed, whom god bless and keep!"[fn# ] she laughed and said, "o elder, the matter is even as thou sayest; but bring me inkhorn and paper." so he brought her what she sought and she wrote a letter and gave it to him, together with a seal-ring from her finger, saying, "go into the city and enquire for such an one the money-changer and give him this my letter." the old man betook himself to the city, as she bade him, and enquired for the money-changer, to whom they directed him. so he gave him the ring and the letter, which when he saw, he kissed the letter and breaking it open, read it and apprehended its purport. then he repaired to the market and buying all that she bade him, laid it in a porter's basket and bade him go with the old man. so the latter took him and went with him to the mosque, where he relieved him of his burden and carried the meats in to sitt el milah. she seated him by her side and they ate, he and she, of those rich meats, till they were satisfied, when the old man rose and removed the food from before her. she passed the night in his lodging and when she arose in the morning, she said to him, "o elder, may i not lack thy kind offices for the morning-meal! go to the money-changer and fetch me from him the like of yesterday's food." so he arose and betaking himself to the money-changer, acquainted him with that which she had bidden him. the money-changer brought him all that she required and set it on the heads of porters; and the old man took them and returned with them to sitt el milah. so she sat down with him and they ate their sufficiency, after which he removed the rest of the food. then she took the fruits and the flowers and setting them over against herself, wrought them into rings and knots and letters, whilst the old man looked on at a thing whose like he had never in his life seen and rejoiced therein. then said she to him, "o elder, i would fain drink." so he arose and brought her a gugglet of water; but she said to him, "who bade thee fetch that?" quoth he, "saidst thou not to me, 'i would fain drink'?" and she answered, "i want not this; nay, i want wine, the delight of the soul, so haply, o elder, i may solace myself therewith." "god forbid," exclaimed the old man, "that wine should be drunk in my house, and i a stranger in the land and a muezzin and an imam,[fn# ] who prayeth with the true-believers, and a servant of the house of the lord of the worlds! "quoth she, "why wilt thou forbid me to drink thereof in thy house?" "because," answered he, "it is unlawful." "o elder," rejoined she, "god hath forbidden [the eating of] blood and carrion and hog's flesh. tell me, are grapes and honey lawful or unlawful?" quoth he, "they are lawful;" and she said, "this is the juice of grapes and the water of honey." but he answered, "leave this thy talk, for thou shall never drink wine in my house." "o sheikh," rejoined she, "folk eat and drink and enjoy themselves and we are of the number of the folk and god is very forgiving, clement."[fn# ] quoth he, "this is a thing that may not be." and she said, "hast thou not heard what the poet saith ... ?" and she recited the following verses: o son of simeon, give no ear to other than my say. how bitter from the convent 'twas to part and fare away! ay, and the monks, for on the day of palms a fawn there was among the servants of the church, a loveling blithe and gay. by god, how pleasant was the night we passed, with him for third! muslim and jew and nazarene, we sported till the day. the wine was sweet to us to drink in pleasance and repose, and in a garden of the garths of paradise we lay, whose streams beneath the myrtle's shade and cassia's welled amain and birds made carol jubilant from every blossomed spray. quoth he, what while from out his hair the morning glimmered white, "this, this is life indeed, except, alas! it doth not stay." "o elder," added she, "if muslims and jews and nazarenes drink wine, who are we [that we should abstain from it]?" "by allah, o my lady," answered he, "spare thine endeavour, for this is a thing to which i will not hearken." when she knew that he would not consent to her desire, she said to him, "o elder, i am of the slave-girls of the commander of the faithful and the food waxeth on me[fn# ] and if i drink not, i shall perish,[fn# ] nor wilt thou be assured against the issue of my affair. as for me, i am quit of blame towards thee, for that i have made myself known to thee and have bidden thee beware of the wrath of the commander of the faithful." when the old man heard her words and that wherewith she menaced him, he arose and went out, perplexed and knowing not what he should do, and there met him a jew, who was his neighbour, and said to him, "o sheikh, how cometh it that i see thee strait of breast? moreover, i hear in thy house a noise of talk, such as i use not to hear with thee." quoth the muezzin, "yonder is a damsel who avoucheth that she is of the slave-girls of the commander of the faithful haroun er reshid; and she hath eaten food and now would fain drink wine in my house, but i forbade her. however she avoucheth that except she drink thereof, she will perish, and indeed i am bewildered concerning my affair." "know, o my neighbour," answered the jew, "that the slave-girls of the commander of the faithful are used to drink wine, and whenas they eat and drink not, they perish; and i fear lest some mishap betide her, in which case thou wouldst not be safe from the khalifs wrath." "what is to be done?" asked the sheikh; and the jew replied, "i have old wine that will suit her." quoth the old man, "[i conjure thee] by the right of neighbourship, deliver me from this calamity and let me have that which is with thee!" "in the name of god," answered the jew and going to his house, brought out a flagon of wine, with which the sheikh returned to sitt el milah. this pleased her and she said to him, "whence hadst thou this?" "i got it from my neighbour the jew," answered he. "i set out to him my case with thee and he gave me this." sitt el milah filled a cup and emptied it; after which she drank a second and a third. then she filled the cup a fourth time and handed it to the old man, but he would not accept it from her. however, she conjured him, by her own head and that of the commander of the faithful, that he should take it from her, till he took the cup from her hand and kissed it and would have set it down; but she conjured him by her life to smell it. so he smelt it and she said to him, "how deemest thou?" "its smell is sweet," replied he; and she conjured him, by the life of the commander of the faithful, to taste it. so he put it to his mouth and she rose to him and made him drink; whereupon, "o princess of the fair," said he, "this is none other than good." quoth she, "so deem i. hath not our lord promised us wine in paradise?" and he answered, "yes. quoth the most high, 'and rivers of wine, a delight to the drinkers.'[fn# ] and we will drink it in this world and the world to come." she laughed and emptying the cup, gave him to drink, and he said, "o princess of the fair, indeed thou art excusable in thy love for this." then he took from her another and another, till he became drunken and his talk waxed great and his prate. the folk of the quarter heard him and assembled under the window; and when he was ware of them, he opened the window and said to them, "are ye not ashamed, o pimps? every one in his own house doth what he will and none hindereth him; but we drink one poor day and ye assemble and come, cuckoldy varlets that ye are! to-day, wine, and to-morrow [another] matter; and from hour to hour [cometh] relief." so they laughed and dispersed. then the girl drank till she was intoxicated, when she called to mind her lord and wept, and the old man said to her, "what maketh thee weep, o my lady?" "o elder," replied she, "i am a lover and separated [from him i love]." quoth he, "o my lady, what is this love?" "and thou," asked she, "hast thou never been in love?" "by allah, o my lady," answered he, "never in all my life heard i of this thing, nor have i ever known it! is it of the sons of adam or of the jinn?" she laughed and said, "verily, thou art even as those of whom the poet speaketh, when as he saith ..." and she repeated the following verses: how long will ye admonished be, without avail or heed? the shepherd still his flocks forbids, and they obey his rede. i see yon like unto mankind in favour and in form; but oxen,[fn# ] verily, ye are in fashion and in deed. the old man laughed at her speech and her verses pleased him. then said she to him, "i desire of thee a lute."[fn# ] so he arose and brought her a piece of firewood. quoth she, "what is that?" and he said, "didst thou not bid me bring thee wood?" "i do not want this," answered she, and he rejoined, "what then is it that is called wood, other than this?" she laughed and said, "the lute is an instrument of music, whereunto i sing." quoth he, "where is this thing found and of whom shall i get it for thee?" and she said, "of him who gave thee the wine." so he arose and betaking himself to his neighbour the jew, said to him, "thou favouredst us aforetime with the wine; so now complete thy favours and look me out a thing called a lute, to wit, an instrument for singing; for that she seeketh this of me and i know it not" "hearkening and obedience," replied the jew and going into his house, brought him a lute. [the old man took it and carried it to sitt el milah,] whilst the jew took his drink and sat by a window adjoining the other's house, so he might hear the singing. the damsel rejoiced, when the old man returned to her with the lute, and taking it from him, tuned its strings and sang the following verses: after your loss, nor trace of me nor vestige would remain, did not the hope of union some whit my strength sustain. ye're gone and desolated by your absence is the world: requital, ay, or substitute to seek for you 'twere vain. ye, of your strength, have burdened me, upon my weakliness, with burdens not to be endured of mountain nor of plain. when from your land the breeze i scent that cometh, as i were a reveller bemused with wine, to lose my wits i'm fain. love no light matter is, o folk, nor are the woe and care and blame a little thing to brook that unto it pertain. i wander seeking east and west for you, and every time unto a camp i come, i'm told, "they've fared away again." my friends have not accustomed me to rigour; for, of old, when i forsook them, they to seek accord did not disdain. when she had made an end of her song, she wept sore, till presently sleep overcame her and she slept. on the morrow, she said to the old man, "get thee to the money-changer and fetch me the ordinary." so he repaired to the money-changer and delivered him the message, whereupon he made ready meat and drink, as of his wont, [with which the old man returned to the damsel and they ate till they had enough. when she had eaten,] she sought of him wine and he went to the jew and fetched it. then they sat down and drank; and when she grew drunken, she took the lute and smiting it, fell a-singing and chanted the following verses: how long shall i thus question my heart that's drowned in woe? i'm mute for my complaining; but tears speak, as they flow. they have forbid their image to visit me in sleep; so even my nightly phantom forsaketh me, heigho! and when she had made an end of her song, she wept sore. all this time, the young damascene was hearkening, and whiles he likened her voice to that of his slave-girl and whiles he put away from him this thought, and the damsel had no whit of knowledge of him. then she broke out again into song and chanted the following verses: "forget him," quoth my censurers, "forget him; what is he?" "if i forget him, ne'er may god," quoth i, "remember me!" now god forbid a slave forget his liege lord's love! and how of all things in the world should i forget the love of thee? pardon of god for everything i crave, except thy love, for on the day of meeting him, that will my good deed be. then she drank three cups and filling the old man other three, sang the following verses: his love he'd have hid, but his tears denounced him to the spy, for the heat of a red-hot coal that 'twixt his ribs did lie. suppose for distraction he seek in the spring and its blooms one day, the face of his loved one holds the only spring for his eye. o blamer of me for the love of him who denieth his grace, which be the delightsome of things, but those which the people deny? a sun [is my love;] but his heat in mine entrails still rageth, concealed; a moon, in the hearts of the folk he riseth, and not in the sky. when she had made an end of her song, she threw the lute from her hand and wept, whilst the old man wept for her weeping. then she fell down in a swoon and presently coming to herself, filled the cup and drinking it off, gave the old man to drink, after which she took the lute and breaking out into song, chanted the following verses: thy loss is the fairest of all my heart's woes; my case it hath altered and banished repose. the world is upon me all desolate grown. alack, my long grief and forlornness! who knows but the merciful yet may incline thee to me and unite us again, in despite of our foes! then she wept till her voice rose high and her lamentation was discovered [to those without]; after which she again began to drink and plying the old man with wine, sang the following verses: they have shut out thy person from my sight; they cannot shut thy memory from my spright. favour or flout me, still my soul shall be thy ransom, in contentment or despite. my outward of my inward testifies and this bears witness that that tells aright.[fn# ] when she had made an end of her song, she threw the lute from her hand and wept and lamented. then she slept awhile and presently awaking, said, "o elder, hast thou what we may eat?" "o my lady," answered the old man, "there is the rest of the food;" but she said, "i will not eat of a thing i have left. go down to the market and fetch us what we may eat." quoth he, "excuse me, o my lady; i cannot stand up, for that i am overcome with wine; but with me is the servant of the mosque, who is a sharp youth and an intelligent. i will call him, so he may buy thee that which thou desirest." "whence hast thou this servant?" asked she; and he replied, "he is of the people of damascus." when she heard him speak of the people of damascus, she gave a sob, that she swooned away; and when she came to herself, she said, "woe's me for the people of damascus and for those who are therein! call him, o elder, that he may do our occasions." so the old man put his head forth of the window and called the youth, who came to him from the mosque and sought leave [to enter]. the muezzin bade him enter, and when he came in to the damsel, he knew her and she knew him; whereupon he turned back in bewilderment and would have fled; but she sprang up to him and seized him, and they embraced and wept together, till they fell down on the ground in a swoon. when the old man saw them in this plight, he feared for himself and fled forth, seeing not the way for drunkenness. his neighbour the jew met him and said to him, "how comes it that i see thee confounded?" "how should i not be confounded," answered the old man, "seeing that the damsel who is with me is fallen in love with the servant of the mosque and they have embraced and fallen down in a swoon? indeed, i fear lest the khalif come to know of this and be wroth with me; so tell me thou what is to be done in this wherewith i am afflicted of the affair of this damsel." quoth the jew, "for the nonce, take this casting-bottle of rose-water and go forth-right and sprinkle them therewith. if they be aswoon for this their foregathering and embracement, they will come to themselves, and if otherwise, do thou flee." the old man took the casting-bottle from the jew and going up to noureddin and the damsel, sprinkled their faces, whereupon they came to themselves and fell to relating to each other that which they had suffered, since their separation, for the anguish of severance. moreover, noureddin acquainted sitt el milah with that which he had endured from the folk who would have slain him and made away with him; and she said to him, "o my lord, let us presently give over this talk and praise god for reunion of loves, and all this shall cease from us." then she gave him the cup and he said, "by allah, i will nowise drink it, whilst i am in this plight!" so she drank it off before him and taking the lute, swept the strings and sang the following verses: thou that wast absent from my stead, yet still with me didst bide, thou wast removed from mine eye, yet still wast by my side. thou left'st unto me, after thee, languor and carefulness; i lived a life wherein no jot of sweetness i espied. for thy sweet sake, as 'twere, indeed, an exile i had been, lone and deserted i became, lamenting, weeping-eyed. alack, my grief! thou wast, indeed, grown absent from my yiew, yet art the apple of mine eye nor couldst from me divide. when she had made an end of her song, she wept and noureddin wept also. then she took the lute and improvised and sang the following verses: god knows i ne'er recalled thy memory to my thought, but still with brimming tears straightway mine eyes were fraught; yea, passion raged in me and love-longing was like to slay me; yet my heart to solace still it wrought. light of mine eyes, my hope, my wish, my thirsting eyes with looking on thy face can never sate their drought. when noureddin heard these his slave-girl's verses, he fell a-weeping, what while she strained him to her bosom and wiped away his tears with her sleeve and questioned him and comforted his mind. then she took the lute and sweeping its strings, played thereon, after such a wise as would move the phlegmatic to delight, and sang the following verses: whenas mine eyes behold thee not, that day as of my life i do not reckon aye; and when i long to look upon thy face, my life is perished with desire straightway. on this wise they abode till the morning, tasting not the savour of sleep; and when the day lightened, behold, the eunuch came with the mule and said to sitt el milah, "the commander of the faithful calleth for thee." so she arose and taking her lord by the hand, committed him to the old man, saying, "i commend him to thy care, under god,[fn# ] till this eunuch cometh to thee; and indeed, o elder, i owe thee favour and largesse such as filleth the interspace betwixt heaven and earth." then she mounted the mule and repairing to the palace of the commander of the faithful, went in to him and kissed the earth before him. quoth he to her, as who should make mock of her, "i doubt not but thou hast found thy lord." "by thy felicity and the length of thy continuance [on life,]" answered she, "i have indeed found him!" now er reshid was leaning back; but, when he heard this, he sat up and said to her, "by my life, [is this thou sayest] true?" "ay, by thy life!" answered she; and he said, "bring him into my presence, so i may see him." but she replied, "o my lord, there have betided him many stresses and his charms are changed and his favour faded; and indeed the commander of the faithful vouchsafed me a month; wherefore i will tend him the rest of the month and then bring him to do his service to the commander of the faithful." quoth er reshid, "true; the condition was for a month; but tell me what hath betided him." "o my lord," answered she, "may god prolong thy continuance and make paradise thy place of returning and thy harbourage and the fire the abiding-place of thine enemies, when he presenteth himself to pay his respects to thee, he will expound to thee his case and will name unto thee those who have wronged him; and indeed this is an arrear that is due to the commander of the faithful, in[fn# ] whom may god fortify the faith and vouchsafe him the mastery over the rebel and the froward!" therewithal he ordered her a handsome house and bade furnish it with carpets and other furniture and vessels of choice and commanded that all she needed should be given her. this was done during the rest of the day, and when the night came, she despatched the eunuch with the mule and a suit of clothes, to fetch noureddin from the muezzin's lodging. so the young man donned the clothes and mounting; rode to the house, where he abode in luxury and delight a full-told month, what while she solaced him with four things, to wit, the eating of fowls and the drinking of wine and the lying upon brocade and the entering the bath after copulation. moreover, she brought him six suits of clothes and fell to changing his apparel day by day; nor was the appointed time accomplished ere his beauty returned to him and his goodliness; nay, his charms waxed tenfold and he became a ravishment to all who looked on him. one day the commander of the faithful bade bring him to the presence; so his slave-girl changed his raiment and clothing him in sumptuous apparel, mounted him on the mule. then he rode to the palace and presenting himself before the khalif, saluted him with the goodliest of salutations and bespoke him with eloquent and deep-thoughted speech. when er reshid saw him, he marvelled at the goodliness of his favour and his eloquence and the readiness of his speech and enquiring of him, was told that he was sitt el milah's lord; whereupon quoth he, "indeed, she is excusable in her love for him, and if we had put her to death unrighteously, as we were minded to do, her blood would have been upon our heads." then he turned to the young man and entering into discourse with him, found him well bred, intelligent, quick of wit and apprehension, generous, pleasant, elegant, erudite. so he loved him with an exceeding love and questioned him of his native city and of his father and of the manner of his journey to baghdad. noureddin acquainted him with that which he would know in the goodliest of words and with the concisest of expressions; and the khalif said to him, "and where hast thou been absent all this while? indeed, we sent after thee to damascus and mosul and other the towns, but lit on no tidings of thee." "o my lord," answered the young man, "there betided thy slave in thy city that which never yet betided any." and he acquainted him with his case from first to last and told him that which had befallen him of evil [from el muradi and his crew]. when er reshid heard this, he was sore chagrined and waxed exceeding wroth and said, "shall this happen in a city wherein i am?" and the hashimi vein[fn# ] started out between his eyes. then he bade fetch jaafer, and when he came before him, he acquainted him with the matter and said to him, "shall this come to pass in my city and i have no news of it?" then he bade jaafer fetch all whom the young damascene had named [as having maltreated him], and when they came, he let smite off their heads. moreover, he summoned him whom they called ahmed and who had been the means of the young man's deliverance a first time and a second, and thanked him and showed him favour and bestowed on him a sumptuous dress of honour and invested him with the governance over his city.[fn# ] then he sent for the old man, the muezzin, and when the messenger came to him and told him that the commander of the faithful sought him, he feared the denunciation of the damsel and accompanied him to the palace, walking and letting wind[fn# ] as he went, whilst all who passed him by laughed at him. when he came into the presence of the commander of the faithful, he fell a-trembling and his tongue was embarrassed, [so that he could not speak]. the khalif laughed at him and said to him, "o elder, thou hast done no offence; so [why] fearest thou?" "o my lord," answered the old man (and indeed he was in the sorest of that which may be of fear,) "by the virtue of thy pure forefathers, indeed i have done nought, and do thou enquire of my conduct." the khalif laughed at him and ordering him a thousand dinars, bestowed on him a sumptuous dress of honour and made him chief of the muezzins in his mosque. then he called sitt el milah and said to her, "the house [wherein thou lodgest] and that which is therein is a guerdon [from me] to thy lord. so do thou take him and depart with him in the safeguard of god the most high; but absent not yourselves from our presence." [so she went forth with noureddin and] when she came to the house, she found that the commander of the faithful had sent them gifts galore and abundance of good things. as for noureddin, he sent for his father and mother and appointed him agents and factors in the city of damascus, to take the rent of the houses and gardens and khans and baths; and they occupied themselves with collecting that which accrued to him and sending it to him every year. meanwhile, his father and mother came to him, with that which they had of monies and treasures and merchandise, and foregathering with their son, saw that he was become of the chief officers of the commander of the faithful and of the number of his session-mates and entertainers, wherefore they rejoiced in reunion with him and he also rejoiced in them. the khalif assigned them pensions and allowances and as for noureddin, his father brought him those riches and his wealth waxed and his case was goodly, till he became the richest of the folk of his time in baghdad and left not the presence of the commander of the faithful night or day. moreover, he was vouchsafed children by sitt el milah, and he ceased not to live the most delightsome of lives, he and she and his father and mother, a while of time, till aboulhusn sickened of a sore sickness and was admitted to the mercy of god the most high. after awhile, his mother died also and he carried them forth and shrouded them and buried and made them expiations and nativities.[fn# ] then his children grew up and became like unto moons, and he reared them in splendour and fondness, what while his wealth waxed and his case flourished. he ceased not to pay frequent visits to the commander of the faithful, he and his children and his slave-girl sitt el milah, and they abode, he and they, in all solace of life and prosperity till there came to them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of companies; and extolled be the perfection of the abiding one, the eternal! this is all that hath come down to us of their story. el abbas and the king's daughter of baghdad.[fn# ] there was once, of old days and in bygone ages and times, in the city of baghdad, the abode of peace, a king mighty of estate, lord of understanding and beneficence and liberality and generosity, and he was strong of sultanate and endowed with might and majesty and magnificence. his name was ins ben cais ben rebiya es sheibani,[fn# ] and when he took horse, there rode unto him [warriors] from the farthest parts of the two iraks.[fn# ] god the most high decreed that he should take to wife a woman hight afifeh, daughter of ased es sundusi, who was endowed with beauty and grace and brightness and perfection and justness of shape and symmetry; her face was like unto the new moon and she had eyes as they were gazelle's eyes and an aquiline nose like the crescent moon. she had learned horsemanship and the use of arms and had thoroughly studied the sciences of the arabs; moreover, she had gotten by heart all the dragomanish[fn# ] tongues and indeed she was a ravishment to mankind. she abode with ins ben cais twelve years, during which time he was blessed with no children by her; wherefore his breast was straitened, by reason of the failure of lineage, and he besought his lord to vouchsafe him a child. accordingly the queen conceived, by permission of god the most high; and when the days of her pregnancy were accomplished, she gave birth to a maid-child, than whom never saw eyes a goodlier, for that her face was as it were a pure pearl or a shining lamp or a golden[fn# ] candle or a full moon breaking forth of a cloud, extolled be the perfection of him who created her from vile water[fn# ] and made her a delight to the beholders! when her father saw her on this wise of loveliness, his reason fled for joy, and when she grew up, he taught her the art of writing and polite letters[fn# ] and philosophy and all manner of tongues. so she excelled the folk of her time and overpassed her peers;[fn# ] and the sons of the kings heard of her and all of them desired to look upon her. the first who sought her in marriage was king nebhan of mosul, who came to her with a great company, bringing with him an hundred she-camels laden with musk and aloes-wood and ambergris and as many laden with camphor and jewels and other hundred laden with silver money and yet other hundred laden with raiment of silken and other stuffs and brocade, besides an hundred slave-girls and an hundred magnificent horses of swift and generous breeds, completely housed and accoutred, as they were brides; and all this he laid before her father, demanding her of him in marriage. now king ins ben cais had bound himself by an oath that he would not marry his daughter but to him whom she should choose; so, when king nebhan sought her in marriage, her father went in to her and consulted her concerning his affair. she consented not and he repeated to nebhan that which she said, whereupon he departed from him. after this came king behram, lord of the white island, with riches more than the first; but she accepted not of him and he returned, disappointed; nor did the kings give over coming to her father, on her account, one after other, from the farthest of the lands and the climes, each glorying in more[fn# ] than those who forewent him; but she paid no heed unto any of one them. presently, el abbas, son of king el aziz, lord of the land of yemen and zebidoun[fn# ] and mecca (which god increase in honour and brightness and beauty!), heard of her; and he was of the great ones of mecca and the hejaz[fn# ] and was a youth without hair on his cheeks. so he presented himself one day in his father's sitting-chamber,[fn# ] whereupon the folk made way for him and the king seated him on a chair of red gold, set with pearls and jewels. the prince sat, with his head bowed to the ground, and spoke not to any; whereby his father knew that his breast was straitened and bade the boon-companions and men of wit relate marvellous histories, such as beseem the assemblies of kings; nor was there one of them but spoke forth the goodliest of that which was with him; but el abbas still abode with his head bowed down. then the king bade his session-mates withdraw, and when the chamber was void, he looked at his son and said to him, "by allah, thou rejoicest me with thy coming in to me and chagrinest me for that thou payest no heed to any of the session-mates nor of the boon-companions. what is the cause of this?" "o father mine," answered the prince, "i have heard tell that in the land of irak is a woman of the daughters of the kings, and her father is called king ins ben cais, lord of baghdad; she is renowned for beauty and grace and brightness and perfection, and indeed many folk have sought her in marriage of the kings; but her soul consented not unto any one of them. wherefore i am minded to travel to her, for that my heart cleaveth unto her, and i beseech thee suffer me to go to her." "o my son," answered his father, "thou knowest that i have none other than thyself of children and thou art the solace of mine eyes and the fruit of mine entrails; nay, i cannot brook to be parted from thee an instant and i purpose to set thee on the throne of the kingship and marry thee to one of the daughters of the kings, who shall be fairer than she." el abbas gave ear to his father's word and dared not gainsay him; so he abode with him awhile, whilst the fire raged in his entrails. then the king took counsel with himself to build his son a bath and adorn it with various paintings, so he might show it to him and divert him with the sight thereof, to the intent that his body might be solaced thereby and that the obsession of travel might cease from him and he be turned from [his purpose of] removal from his parents. so he addressed himself to the building of the bath and assembling architects and builders and artisans from all the towns and citadels and islands [of his dominions], assigned them a site and marked out its boundaries. then the workmen occupied themselves with the making of the bath and the setting out and adornment of its cabinets and roofs. they used paints and precious stones of all kinds, according to the variousness of their hues, red and green and blue and yellow and what not else of all manner colours; and each artisan wrought at his handicraft and each painter at his art, whilst the rest of the folk busied themselves with transporting thither varicoloured stones. one day, as the [chief] painter wrought at his work, there came in to him a poor man, who looked long upon him and observed his handicraft; whereupon quoth the painter to him, "knowest thou aught of painting?" "yes," answered the stranger; so he gave him tools and paints and said to him, "make us a rare piece of work." so the stranger entered one of the chambers of the bath and drew [on the walls thereof] a double border, which he adorned on both sides, after a fashion than which never saw eyes a fairer. moreover, [amiddleward the chamber] he drew a picture to which there lacked but the breath, and it was the portraiture of mariyeh, the king's daughter of baghdad. then, when he had made an end of the portrait, he went his way [and told none of what he had done], nor knew any the chambers and doors of the bath and the adornment and ordinance thereof. presently, the chief workman came to the palace and sought an audience of the king, who bade admit him. so he entered and kissing the earth, saluted him with a salutation beseeming kings and said, "o king of the time and lord of the age and the day, may felicity endure unto thee and acceptance and be thy rank exalted over all the kings both morning and evening![fn# ] the work of the bath is accomplished, by the king's fair fortune and the eminence of his magnanimity,[fn# ] and indeed we have done all that behoved us and there remaineth but that which behoveth the king." el aziz ordered him a sumptuous dress of honour and expended monies galore, giving unto each who had wroughten, after the measure of his work. then he assembled in the bath all the grandees of his state, amirs and viziers and chamberlains and lieutenants, and the chief officers of his realm and household, and sending for his son el abbas, said to him,"o my son, i have builded thee a bath, wherein thou mayst take thy pleasance; so enter thou therein, that thou mayst see it and divert thyself by gazing upon it and viewing the goodliness of its ordinance and decoration." "with all my heart," replied the prince and entered the bath, he and the king and the folk about them, so they might divert themselves with viewing that which the workmen's hands had wroughten. el abbas went in and passed from place to place and chamber to chamber, till he came to the chamber aforesaid and espied the portrait of mariyeh, whereupon he fell down in a swoon and the workmen went to his father and said to him, "thy son el abbas hath swooned away." so the king came and finding the prince cast down, seated himself at his head and bathed his face with rose-water. after awhile he revived and the king said to him, "god keep thee,[fn# ] o my son! what hath befallen thee?" "o my father," answered the prince, "i did but look on yonder picture and it bequeathed me a thousand regrets and there befell me that which thou seest." therewithal the king bade fetch the [chief] painter, and when he stood before him, he said to him, "tell me of yonder portrait and what girl is this of the daughters of the kings; else will i take thy head." "by allah, o king," answered the painter, "i limned it not, neither know i who she is; but there came to me a poor man and looked at me. so i said to him, 'knowest thou the art of painting?' and he replied, 'yes.' whereupon i gave him the gear and said to him, 'make us a rare piece of work.' so he wrought yonder portrait and went away and i know him not neither have i ever set eyes on him save that day." therewithal the king bade all his officers go round about in the thoroughfares and colleges [of the town] and bring before him all strangers whom they found there. so they went forth and brought him much people, amongst whom was the man who had painted the portrait. when they came into the presence, the sultan bade the crier make proclamation that whoso wrought the portrait should discover himself and have whatsoever he desired. so the poor man came forward and kissing the earth before the king, said to him, "o king of the age, i am he who painted yonder portrait." quoth el aziz, "and knowest thou who she is?" "yes," answered the other; "this is the portrait of mariyeh, daughter of the king of baghdad." the king ordered him a dress of honour and a slave-girl [and he went his way]. then said el abbas, "o father mine, give me leave to go to her, so i may look upon her; else shall i depart the world, without fail." the king his father wept and answered, saying, "o my son, i builded thee a bath, that it might divert thee from leaving me, and behold it hath been the cause of thy going forth; but the commandment of god is a foreordained[fn# ] decree."[fn# ] then he wept again and el abbas said to him, "fear not for me, for thou knowest my prowess and my puissance in returning answers in the assemblies of the land and my good breeding[fn# ] and skill in rhetoric; and indeed he whose father thou art and whom thou hast reared and bred and in whom thou hast united praiseworthy qualities, the repute whereof hath traversed the east and the west, thou needest not fear for him, more by token that i purpose but to seek diversion[fn# ] and return to thee, if it be the will of god the most high." quoth the king, "whom wilt thou take with thee of attendants and [what] of good?" "o father mine," replied el abbas, "i have no need of horses or camels or arms, for i purpose not battle, and i will have none go forth with me save my servant aamir and no more." as he and his father were thus engaged in talk, in came his mother and caught hold of him; and he said to her, "god on thee, let me go my gait and strive not to turn me from my purpose, for that needs must i go." "o my son," answered she, "if it must be so and there is no help for it, swear to me that them wilt not be absent from me more than a year." and he swore to her. then he entered his father's treasuries and took therefrom what he would of jewels and jacinths and everything heavy of worth and light of carriage. moreover, he bade his servant aamir saddle him two horses and the like for himself, and whenas the night darkened behind him,[fn# ] he rose from his couch and mounting his horse, set out for baghdad, he and aamir, whilst the latter knew not whither he intended. he gave not over going and the journey was pleasant to him, till they came to a goodly land, abounding in birds and wild beasts, whereupon el abbas started a gazelle and shot it with an arrow. then he dismounted and cutting its throat, said to his servant, "alight thou and skin it and carry it to the water." aamir answered him [with "hearkening and obedience"] and going down to the water, kindled a fire and roasted the gazelle's flesh. then they ate their fill and drank of the water, after which they mounted again and fared on diligently, and aamir still unknowing whither el abbas was minded to go. so he said to him, "o my lord, i conjure thee by god the great, wilt thou not tell me whither thou intendest?" el abbas looked at him and made answer with the following verses: in my soul the fire of yearning and affliction rageth aye; lo, i burn with love and longing; nought in answer can i say. to baghdad upon a matter of all moment do i fare, for the love of one whose beauties have my reason led astray. under me's a slender camel, a devourer of the waste; those who pass a cloudlet deem it, as it flitteth o'er the way. so, o aamir, haste thy going, e'en as i do, so may i heal my sickness and the draining of the cup of love essay; for the longing that abideth in my heart is hard to bear. fare with me, then, to my loved one. answer nothing, but obey. when aamir heard his lord's verses, he knew that he was a slave of love [and that she of whom he was enamoured abode] in baghdad. then they fared on night and day, traversing plains and stony wastes, till they came in sight of baghdad and lighted down in its suburbs[fn# ] and lay the night there. when they arose in the morning, they removed to the bank of the tigris and there they encamped and sojourned three days. as they abode thus on the fourth day, behold, a company of folk giving their beasts the rein and crying aloud and saying, "quick! quick! haste to our rescue, o king!" therewithal the king's chamberlains and officers accosted them and said to them, "what is behind you and what hath befallen you?" quoth they, "bring us before the king." [so they carried them to ins ben cais;] and when they saw him, they said to him, "o king, except thou succour us, we are dead men; for that we are a folk of the benou sheiban,[fn# ] who have taken up our abode in the parts of bassora, and hudheifeh the arab[fn# ] hath come down on us with his horses and his men and hath slain our horsemen and carried off our women and children; nor was one saved of the tribe but he who fled; wherefore we crave help [first] by god the most high, then by thy life." when the king heard their speech, he bade the crier make proclamation in the thoroughfares of the city that the troops should prepare [for the march] and that the horsemen should mount and the footmen come forth; nor was it but the twinkling of the eye ere the drums beat and the trumpets sounded; and scarce was the forenoon of the day passed when the city was blocked with horse and foot. so the king passed them in review and behold, they were four-and-twenty thousand in number, horsemen and footmen. he bade them go forth to the enemy and gave the commandment over them to said ibn el wakidi, a doughty cavalier and a valiant man of war. so the horsemen set out and fared on along the bank of the tigris. el abbas looked at them and saw the ensigns displayed and the standards loosed and heard the drums beating; so he bade his servant saddle him a charger and look to the girths and bring him his harness of war. quoth aamir, "and indeed i saw el abbas his eyes flash and the hair of his hands stood on end, for that indeed horsemanship[fn# ] abode [rooted in his heart]."so he mounted his charger, whilst aamir also bestrode a war-horse, and they went forth with the troops and fared on two days. on the third day, after the hour of the mid-afternoon prayer, they came in sight of the enemy and the two armies met and the ranks joined battle. the strife raged amain and sore was the smiting, whilst the dust rose in clouds and hung vaulted [over them], so that all eyes were blinded; and they ceased not from the battle till the night overtook them, when the two hosts drew off from the mellay and passed the night, perplexed concerning themselves [and the issue of their affair]. when god caused the morning morrow, the two armies drew out in battle array and the troops stood looking at one another. then came forth el harith ibn saad between the two lines and played with his lance and cried out and recited the following verses: algates ye are our prey become; this many a day and night right instantly of god we've craved to be vouchsafed your sight. so hath the merciful towards hudheifeh driven you, a champion ruling over all, a lion of great might. is there a man of you will come, that i may heal his paint with blows right profitful for him who's sick for lust of fight? by allah, come ye forth to me, for lo, i'm come to you i may he who's wronged the victory get and god defend the right![fn# ] thereupon there sallied forth to him zuheir ben hebib, and they wheeled about and feinted awhile, then came to dose quarters and exchanged strokes. el harith forewent his adversary in smiting and stretched him weltering in his gore; whereupon hudheifeh cried out to him, saying, "gifted of god art thou, o harith! call another of them." so he cried out, saying, "is there a comer-forth [to battle?]" but they of baghdad held back froni him; and when it appeared to el harith that confusion was amongst them, he fell upon them and overthrew the first of them upon their last and slew of them twelve men. then the evening overtook him and the baghdadis addressed themselves to flight. when the morning morrowed, they found themselves reduced to a fourth part of their number and there was not one of them had dismounted from his horse. so they made sure of destruction and hudheifeh came out between the ranks (now he was reckoned for a thousand cavaliers) and cried out, saying, "harkye, my masters of baghdad! let none come forth to me but your amir, so i may talk with him and he with me; and he shall meet me in single combat and i will meet him, and may he who is void of offence come off safe!" then he repeated his speech and said, "why do i not hear your amir return me an answer?" but saad, the amir of the army of baghdad, [replied not to him], and indeed his teeth chattered in his head, whenas he heard him summon him to single combat. when el abbas heard hudheifeh's challenge and saw saad in this case, he came up to the latter and said to him, "wilt thou give me leave to reply to him and i will stand thee in stead in the answering of him and the going forth to battle with him and will make myself thy sacrifice?" saad looked at him and seeing valour shining from between his eyes, said to him, "o youth, by the virtue of the chosen [prophet,] (whom god bless and keep,) tell me [who thou art and] whence thou comest to our succour." "this is no place for questioning," answered the prince; and saad said to him, "o champion, up and at hudheifeh! yet, if his devil prove too strong for thee, afflict not thyself in thy youth."[fn# ] quoth el abbas, "it is of allah that help is to be sought,"[fn# ] and taking his arms, fortified his resolution and went down [into the field], as he were a castle of the castles or a piece of a mountain. [when] hudheifeh [saw him], he cried out to him, saying, "haste thee not, o youth! who art thou of the folk?" and he answered, "i am saad [ibn] el wakidi, commander of the host of king ins, and but that thou vauntedst thyself in challenging me, i had not come forth to thee; for that thou art not of my peers neither art counted equal to me in prowess and canst not avail against my onslaught. wherefore prepare thee for departure,[fn# ] seeing that there abideth but a little of thy life." when hudheifeh heard this his speech, he threw himself backward,[fn# ] as if in mockery of him, whereat el abbas was wroth and called out to him, saying, "o hudheifeh, guard thyself against me." then he rushed upon him, as he were a swooper of the jinn,[fn# ] and hudheifeh met him and they wheeled about a long while. presently, el abbas cried out at hudheifeh a cry that astonied him and dealt him a blow, saying, "take this from the hand of a champion who feareth not the like of thee." hudheifeh met the stroke with his shield, thinking to ward it off from him; but the sword shore the target in sunder and descending upon his shoulder, came forth gleaming from the tendons of his throat and severed his arm at the armpit; whereupon he fell down, wallowing in his blood, and el abbas turned upon his host; nor had the sun departed the pavilion of the heavens ere hudheifeh's army was in full flight before el abbas and the saddles were empty of men. quoth saad, "by the virtue of the chosen [prophet], whom god bless and keep, i saw el abbas with the blood upon his saddle pads, [in gouts] like camels' livers, smiting with the sword right and left, till he scattered them abroad in every mountain-pass and desert; and when he turned [back to the camp], the men of baghdad were fearful of him." when the baghdadis saw this succour that had betided them against their enemies [and the victory that el abbas had gotten them], they turned back and gathering together the spoils [of the defeated host], arms and treasures and horses, returned to baghdad, victorious, and all by the valour of el abbas. as for saad, he foregathered with the prince, and they fared on in company till they came to the place where el abbas had taken horse, whereupon the latter dismounted from his charger and saad said to him, "o youth, wherefore alightest thou in other than thy place? indeed, thy due is incumbent upon us and upon our sultan; so go thou with us to the dwellings, that we may ransom thee with our souls." "o amir saad," replied el abbas, "from this place i took horse with thee and herein is my lodging. so, god on thee, name me not to the king, but make as if thou hadst never seen me, for that i am a stranger in the land." so saying, he turned away from him and saad fared on to the palace, where he found all the suite in attendance on the king and recounting to him that which had betided them with el abbas. quoth the king, "where is he?" and they answered, "he is with the amir saad." [so, when the latter entered], the king [looked, but] found none with him; and saad, seeing that he hankered after the youth, cried out to him, saying, "god prolong the king's days! indeed, he refuseth to present himself before thee, without leave or commandment." "o saad," asked the king, "whence cometh this man?" and the amir answered, "o my lord, i know not; but he is a youth fair of favour, lovesome of aspect, accomplished in discourse, goodly of repartee, and valour shineth from between his eyes." quoth the king, "o saad, fetch him to me, for indeed thou describest to me a masterful man."[fn# ] and he answered, saying, "by allah, o my lord, hadst thou but seen our case with hudheifeh, what while he challenged me to the field of war and the stead of thrusting and smiting and i held back from doing battle with him! then, whenas i thought to go forth to him, behold, a cavalier gave loose to his bridle-rein and called out to me, saying, 'o saad, wilt thou suffer me to fill thy room in waging war with him and i will ransom thee with myself?' and i said, 'by allah, o youth, whence cometh thou?' quoth he, 'this is no time for thy questions.'" then he recounted to the king all that had passed between himself and el abbas from first to last; whereupon quoth ins ben cais, "bring him to me in haste, so we may learn his tidings and question him of his case." "it is well," answered saad, and going forth of the king's presence, repaired to his own house, where he put off his harness of war and took rest for himself. to return to el abbas, when he alighted from his charger, he put off his harness of war and rested awhile; after which he brought out a shirt of venetian silk and a gown of green damask and donning them, covered himself with a turban of damietta stuff and girt his middle with a handkerchief. then he went out a-walking in the thoroughfares of baghdad and fared on till he came to the bazaar of the merchants. there he found a merchant, with chess before him; so he stood watching him and presently the other looked up at him and said to him, "o youth, what wilt thou stake upon the game?" and he answered, "be it thine to decide." "then be it a hundred dinars," said the merchant, and el abbas consented to him, whereupon quoth he, "o youth, produce the money, so the game may be fairly stablished." so el abbas brought out a satin purse, wherein were a thousand dinars, and laid down an hundred dinars therefrom on the edge of the carpet, whilst the merchant did the like, and indeed his reason fled for joy, whenas he saw the gold in el abbas his possession. the folk flocked about them, to divert themselves with watching the play, and they called the bystanders to witness of the wager and fell a-playing. el abbas forbore the merchant, so he might lead him on, and procrastinated with him awhile; and the merchant won and took of him the hundred dinars. then said the prince, "wilt thou play another game?" and the other answered, "o youth, i will not play again, except it be for a thousand dinars." quoth the prince, "whatsoever thou stakest, i will match thy stake with the like thereof." so the merchant brought out a thousand dinars and the prince covered them with other thousand. then they fell a-playing, but el abbas was not long with him ere he beat him in the square of the elephant,[fn# ] nor did he leave to do thus till he had beaten him four times and won of him four thousand dinars. this was all the merchant's good; so he said, "o youth, i will play thee another game for the shop." now the value of the shop was four thousand dinars; so they played and el abbas beat him and won his shop, with that which was therein; whereupon the other arose, shaking his clothes, and said to him, "up, o youth, and take thy shop." so el abbas arose and repairing to the shop, took possession thereof, after which he returned to [the place where he had left] his servant [aamir] and found there the amir saad, who was come to bid him to the presence of the king. el abbas consented to this and accompanied him till they came before king ins ben cais, whereupon he kissed the earth and saluted him and exceeded[fn# ] in the salutation. quoth the king to him, "whence comest thou, o youth?" and he answered, "i come from yemen." then said the king, "hast thou a need we may accomplish unto thee? for indeed we are exceeding beholden to thee for that which thou didst in the matter of hudheifeh and his folk." and he let cast over him a mantle of egyptian satin, worth an hundred dinars. moreover, he bade his treasurer give him a thousand dinars and said to him, "o youth, take this in part of that which thou deserves! of us; and if thou prolong thy sojourn with us, we will give thee slaves and servants." el abbas kissed the earth and said, "o king, may grant thee abiding prosperity, i deserve not all this." then he put his hand to his poke and pulling out two caskets of gold, in each of which were rubies, whose value none could tell, gave them to the king, saying, "o king, god cause thy prosperity to endure, i conjure thee by that which god hath vouchsafed thee, heal my heart by accepting these two caskets, even as i have accepted thy present." so the king accepted the two caskets and el abbas took his leave and went away to the bazaar. when the merchants saw him, they accosted him and said, "o youth, wilt thou not open thy shop?" as they were bespeaking him, up came a woman, having with her a boy, bareheaded, and [stood] looking at el abbas, till he turned to her, when she said to him, "o youth, i conjure thee by allah, look at this boy and have pity on him, for that his father hath forgotten his cap in the shop [he lost to thee]; so if thou will well to give it to him, thy reward be with god! for indeed the child maketh our hearts ache with his much weeping, and god be witness for us that, were there left us aught wherewithal to buy him a cap in its stead, we had not sought it of thee." "o adornment of womankind," replied el abbas, "indeed, thou bespeakest me with thy fair speech and supplicatest me with thy goodly words ...but bring me thy husband." so she went and fetched the merchant, whilst the folk assembled to see what el abbas would do. when the man came, he returned him the gold he had won of him, all and part, and delivered him the keys of the shop, saying, "requite us with thy pious prayers."therewithal the woman came up to him and kissed his feet, and on like wise did the merchant her husband; and all who were present blessed him, and there was no talk but of el abbas. as for the merchant, he bought him a sheep and slaughtering it, roasted it and dressed birds and [other] meats of various kinds and colours and bought dessert and sweetmeats and fresh fruits. then he repaired to el abbas and conjured him to accept of his hospitality and enter his house and eat of his victual. the prince consented to his wishes and went with him till they came to his house, when the merchant bade him enter. so el abbas entered and saw a goodly house, wherein was a handsome saloon, with a vaulted estrade. when he entered the saloon, he found that the merchant had made ready food and dessert and perfumes, such as overpass description; and indeed he had adorned the table with sweet-scented flowers and sprinkled musk and rose-water upon the food. moreover, he had smeared the walls of the saloon with ambergris and set [the smoke of burning] aloes-wood abroach therein. presently, el abbas looked out of the window of the saloon and saw thereby a house of goodly ordinance, lofty of building and abounding in chambers, with two upper stories; but therein was no sign of inhabitants. so he said to the merchant, "indeed, thou exceedest in doing us honour; but, by allah, i will not eat of thy victual till thou tell me what is the reason of the emptiness of yonder house." "o my lord," answered the other, "that was el ghitrif's house and he was admitted to the mercy of god[fn# ] and left none other heir than myself; so it became mine, and by allah, if thou hast a mind to sojourn in baghdad, do thou take up thine abode in this house, so thou mayst be in my neighbourhood; for that indeed my heart inclineth unto thee with love and i would have thee never absent from my sight, so i may still have my fill of thee and hearken to thy speech." el abbas thanked him and said to him, "indeed, thou art friendly in thy speech and exceedest [in courtesy] in thy discourse, and needs must i sojourn in baghdad. as for the house, if it like thee, i will abide therein; so take of me its price." so saying, he put his hand to his poke and bringing out therefrom three hundred dinars, gave them to the merchant, who said in himself, "except i take the money, he will not abide in the house." so he pouched the money and sold him the house, taking the folk to witness against himself of the sale. then he arose and set food before el abbas and they ate of the good things which he had provided; after which he brought him dessert and sweetmeats. they ate thereof till they had enough, when the tables were removed and they washed their hands with rose-water and willow-flower-water. then the merchant brought el abbas a napkin perfumed with the fragrant smoke of aloes-wood, on which he wiped his hand,[fn# ] and said to him, "o my lord, the house is become thy house; so bid thy servant transport thither the horses and arms and stuffs." el abbas did this and the merchant rejoiced in his neighbourhood and left him not night nor day, so that the prince said to him, "by allah, i distract thee from thy livelihood." "god on thee, o my lord," replied the merchant, "name not to me aught of this, or thou wilt break my heart, for the best of traffic is thy company and thou art the best of livelihood." so there befell strait friendship between them and ceremony was laid aside from between them. meanwhile the king said to his vizier, "how shall we do in the matter of yonder youth, the yemani, on whom we thought to confer largesse, but he hath largessed us with tenfold [our gift] and more, and we know not if he be a sojourner with us or no?" then he went into the harem and gave the rubies to his wife afifeh, who said to him, "what is the worth of these with thee and with [other] the kings?" and he answered, "they are not to be found save with the greatest of kings and none may avail to price them with money." quoth she, "whence gottest thou them?" so he recounted to her the story of el abbas from first to last, and she said, "by allah, the claims of honour are imperative on us and the king hath fallen short of his due; for that we have not seen him bid him to his assembly, nor hath he seated him on his left hand." [when the king heard his wife's words], it was as if he had been asleep and awoke; so he went forth of the harem and bade slaughter fowls and dress meats of all kinds and colours. moreover, he assembled all his retainers and let bring sweetmeats and dessert and all that beseemeth unto kings' tables. then he adorned his palace and despatched after el abbas a man of the chief officers of his household, who found him coming forth of the bath, clad in a doublet of fine goats' hair and over it a baghdadi scarf; his waist was girt with a rustec[fn# ] kerchief and on his head he wore a light turban of damietta make. the messenger wished him joy of the bath and exceeded in doing him worship. then he said to him, "the king biddeth thee in weal."[fn# ] "hearkening and obedience," answered el abbas and accompanied the messenger to the king's palace. now afifeh and her daughter mariyeh were behind the curtain, looking at him; and when he came before the king, he saluted him and greeted him with the greeting of kings, whilst all who were present stared at him and at his beauty and grace and perfection. the king seated him at the head of the table; and when afifeh saw him and straitly considered him, she said, "by the virtue of mohammed, prince of the apostles, this youth is of the sons of the kings and cometh not to these parts but for some high purpose!" then she looked at mariyeh and saw that her face was changed, and indeed her eyes were dead in her face and she turned not her gaze from el abbas a glance of the eyes, for that the love of him had gotten hold upon her heart. when the queen saw what had befallen her daughter, she feared for her from reproach concerning el abbas; so she shut the wicket of the lattice and suffered her not to look upon him more. now there was a pavilion set apart for mariyeh, and therein were privy chambers and balconies and lattices, and she had with her a nurse, who served her, after the fashion of kings' daughters. when the banquet was ended and the folk had dispersed, the king said to el abbas, "i would fain have thee [abide] with me and i will buy thee a house, so haply we may requite thee the high services for which we are beholden to thee; for indeed thy due is imperative [upon us] and thy worth is magnified in our eyes; and indeed we have fallen short of thy due in the matter of distance."[fn# ] when the prince heard the king's speech, he rose and sat down[fn# ] and kissing the earth, returned thanks for his bounty and said, "i am the king's servant, wheresoever i may be, and under his eye." then he recounted to him the story of the merchant and the manner of the buying of the house, and the king said, "indeed, i would fain have had thee with me and in my neighbourhood." then el abbas took leave of the king and went away to his own house. now it befell that he passed under the palace of mariyeh the king's daughter, and she was sitting at a window. he chanced to look round and his eyes met those of the princess, whereupon his wit departed and he was like to swoon away, whilst his colour changed and he said, "verily, we are god's and to him we return!" but he feared for himself lest estrangement betide him; so he concealed his secret and discovered not his case to any of the creatures of god the most high. when he reached his house, his servant aamir said to him, "o my lord, i seek refuge for thee with god from change of colour! hath there betided thee a pain from god the most high or hath aught of vexation befallen thee? verily, sickness hath an end and patience doth away vexation." but the prince returned him no answer. then he brought out inkhorn [and pen] and paper and wrote the following verses: quoth i (and mine a body is of passion all forslain, ay, and a heart that's all athirst for love and longing pain and eye that knoweth not the sweet of sleep; yet she, who caused my dole, may fortune's perfidies for aye from her abstain! yea, for the perfidies of fate and sev'rance i'm become even as was bishr[fn# ] of old time with hind,[fn# ] a fearful swain; a talking-stock among the folk for ever i abide; life and the days pass by, yet ne'er my wishes i attain), "knoweth my loved one when i see her at the lattice high shine as the sun that flameth forth in heaven's blue demesne?" her eye is sharper than a sword; the soul with ecstasy it takes and longing leaves behind, that nothing may assain. as at the casement high she sat, her charms i might espy, for from her cheeks the envious veil that hid them she had ta'en. she shot at me a shaft that reached my heart and i became the bond- man of despair, worn out with effort all in vain. fawn of the palace, knowst thou not that i, to look on thee, the world have traversed, far and wide, o'er many a hill and plain? read then my writ and pity thou the blackness of my fate, sick, love- distraught, without a friend to whom i may complain. now the merchant's wife aforesaid, who was the nurse of the king's daughter, was watching him from a window, unknown of him, and [when she heard his verses], she knew that there hung some rare story by him; so she went in to him and said, "peace be on thee, o afflicted one, who acquaintest not physician with thy case! verily, thou exposest thyself unto grievous peril! i conjure thee by the virtue of him who hath afflicted thee and stricken thee with the constraint of love-liking, that thou acquaint me with thine affair and discover to me the truth of thy secret; for that indeed i have heard from thee verses that trouble the wit and dissolve the body." so he acquainted her with his case and enjoined her to secrecy, whereof she consented unto him, saying, "what shall be the recompense of whoso goeth with thy letter and bringeth thee an answer thereto?" he bowed his head for shamefastness before her [and was silent]; and she said to him, "raise thy head and give me thy letter." so he gave her the letter and she took it and carrying it to the princess, said to her, "read this letter and give me the answer thereto." now the liefest of all things to mariyeh was the recitation of poems and verses and linked rhymes and the twanging [of the strings of the lute], and she was versed in all tongues; so she took the letter and opening it, read that which was therein and apprehended its purport. then she cast it on the ground and said, "o nurse, i have no answer to make to this letter." quoth the nurse, "indeed, this is weakness in thee and a reproach unto thee, for that the people of the world have heard of thee and still praise thee for keenness of wit and apprehension; so do thou return him an answer, such as shall delude his heart and weary his soul." "o nurse," rejoined the princess, "who is this that presumeth upon me with this letter? belike he is the stranger youth who gave my father the rubies." "it is himself," answered the woman, and mariyeh said, "i will answer his letter on such a wise that thou shalt not bring me other than it [from him]." quoth the nurse, "so be it." so the princess called for inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: o'erbold art thou in that to me, a stranger, thou hast sent these verses; 'twill but add to thee unease and miscontent. now god forbid thou shouldst attain thy wishes! what care i if thou have looked on me a look that caused thee languishment? who art thou, wretch, that thou shouldst hope to win me? with thy rhymes what wouldst of me? thy reason, sure, with passion is forspent. if to my favours thou aspire and covet me, good lack! what leach such madness can assain or what medicament? leave rhyming, madman that thou art, lest, bound upon the cross, thou thy presumption in the stead of abjectness repent. deem not, o youth, that i to thee incline; indeed, no part have i in those who walk the ways, the children of the tent.[fn# ] in the wide world no house thou hast, a homeless wanderer thou: to thine own place thou shall be borne, an object for lament.[fn# ] forbear thy verse-making, o thou that harbourest in the camp, lest to the gleemen thou become a name of wonderment. how many a lover, who aspires to union with his love, for all his hopes seem near, is baulked of that whereon he's bent! then get thee gone nor covet that which thou shall ne'er obtain; so shall it be, although the time seem near and the event. thus unto thee have i set forth my case; consider well my words, so thou mayst guided be aright by their intent. when she had made an end of her verses, she folded the letter and delivered it to the nurse, who took it and went with it to el abbas. when she gave it to him, he took it and breaking it open, read it and apprehended its purport; and when he came to the end of it, he swooned away. after awhile, he came to himself and said, "praised be god who hath caused her return an answer to my letter! canst thou carry her another letter, and with god the most high be thy requital?" quoth she, "and what shall letters profit thee, seeing she answereth on this wise?" but he said, "belike, she may yet be softened." then he took inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: thy letter reached me; when the words thou wrot'st therein i read, my longing waxed and pain and woe redoubled on my head. yea, wonder-words i read therein, my trouble that increased and caused emaciation wear my body to a shred. would god thou knewst what i endure for love of thee and how my vitals for thy cruelty are all forspent and dead! fain, fain would i forget thy love. alack, my heart denies to be consoled, and 'gainst thy wrath nought standeth me in stead. an thou'dst vouchsafe to favour me,'twould lighten my despair, though but in dreams thine image 'twere that visited my bed. persist not on my weakliness with thy disdain nor be treason and breach of love its troth to thee attributed; for know that hither have i fared and come to this thy land, by hopes of union with thee and near fruition led. how oft i've waked, whilst over me my comrades kept the watch! how many a stony waste i've crossed, how many a desert dread! from mine own land, to visit thee, i came at love's command, for all the distance did forbid,'twixt me and thee that spread. wherefore, by him who letteth waste my frame, have ruth on me and quench my yearning and the fires by passion in me fed. in glory's raiment clad, by thee the stars of heaven are shamed and in amaze the full moon stares to see thy goodlihead. all charms, indeed, thou dost comprise; so who shall vie with thee and who shall blame me if for love of such a fair i'm sped? when he had made an end of his verses, he folded the letter and delivering it to the nurse, charged her keep the secret. so she took it and carrying it to mariyeh, gave it to her. the princess broke it open and read it and apprehended its purport. then said she, "by allah, o nurse, my heart is burdened with an exceeding chagrin, never knew i a dourer, because of this correspondence and of these verses." and the muse made answer to her, saying, "o my lady, thou art in thy dwelling and thy place and thy heart is void of care; so return him an answer and reck thou not" accordingly, the princess called for inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: thou that the dupe of yearning art, how many a melting wight in waiting for the unkept tryst doth watch the weary night! if in night's blackness thou hast plunged into the desert's heart and hast denied thine eyes the taste of sleep and its delight, if near and far thy toiling feet have trod the ways and thou devils and marids hast ensued nor wouldst be led aright, and dar'dst, o dweller in the tents, to lift thine eyes to me, hoping by stress to win of me the amorous delight, get thee to patience fair, if thou remember thee of that whose issues (quoth the merciful) are ever benedight.[fn# ] how many a king for my sweet sake with other kings hath vied, still craving union with me and suing for my sight! whenas en nebhan strove to win my grace, himself to me with camel- loads he did commend of musk and camphor white, and aloes-wood, to boot, he brought and caskets full of pearls and priceless rubies and the like of costly gems and bright; yea, and black slaves he proffered me and slave-girls big with child and steeds of price, with splendid arms and trappings rich bedight. raiment of silk and sendal, too, he brought to us for gift, and me in marriage sought therewith; yet, all his pains despite, of me he got not what he sought and brideless did return, for that estrangement and disdain were pleasing in my sight. wherefore, o stranger, dare thou not approach me with desire, lest ruin quick and pitiless thy hardihood requite. when she had made an end of her verses, she folded the letter and delivered it to the nurse, who took it and carried it to el abbas. he broke it open and read it and apprehended its purport; then took inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: indeed, thou'st told the tale of kings and men of might, each one a lion fierce, impetuous in the fight, whose wits (like mine, alack!) thou stalest and whose hearts with shafts from out thine eyes bewitching thou didst smite. yea, and how slaves and steeds and good and virgin girls were proffered thee to gift, thou hast not failed to cite, how presents in great store thou didst refuse and eke the givers, great and small, with flouting didst requite. then came i after them, desiring thee, with me no second save my sword, my falchion keen and bright. no slaves with me have i nor camels swift of foot, nor slave-girls have i brought in curtained litters dight. yet, an thou wilt vouchsafe thy favours unto me, my sabre thou shalt see the foemen put to flight; ay, and around baghdad the horsemen shalt behold, like clouds that wall the world, full many a doughty knight, all hearkening to my word, obeying my command, in whatsoever thing is pleasing to my sight. if slaves thou fain wouldst have by thousands every day or, kneeling at thy feet, see kings of mickle might, and horses eke wouldst have led to thee day by day and girls, high- breasted maids, and damsels black and white, lo under my command the land of yemen is and trenchant is my sword against the foe in fight. whenas the couriers came with news of thee, how fair thou wast and sweet and how thy visage shone with light, all, all, for thy sweet sake, i left; ay, i forsook aziz, my sire, and those akin to me that hight and unto irak fared, my way to thee to make, and crossed the stony wastes i' the darkness of the night. then sent i speech to thee in verses such as burn the heart; reproach therein was none nor yet unright; yet with perfidiousness (sure fortune's self as thou ne'er so perfidious was) my love thou didst requite and deemedst me a waif, a homeless good-for-nought, a slave-begotten brat, a wanton, witless wight. then he folded the letter and committed it to the nurse and gave her five hundred dinars, saying, "accept this from me, for that indeed thou hast wearied thyself between us." "by allah, o my lord," answered she, "my desire is to bring about union between you, though i lose that which my right hand possesseth." and he said, "may god the most high requite thee with good!" then she carried the letter to mariyeh and said to her, "take this letter; belike it may be the end of the correspondence." so she took it and breaking it open, read it, and when she had made an end of it, she turned to the nurse and said to her, "this fellow putteth off lies upon me and avoucheth unto me that he hath cities and horsemen and footmen at his command and submitting to his allegiance; and he seeketh of me that which he shall not obtain; for thou knowest, o nurse, that kings' sons have sought me in marriage, with presents and rarities; but i have paid no heed unto aught of this; so how shall i accept of this fellow, who is the fool[fn# ] of his time and possesseth nought but two caskets of rubies, which he gave to my father, and indeed he hath taken up his abode in the house of el ghitrif and abideth without silver or gold? wherefore, i conjure thee by allah, o nurse, return to him and cut off his hope of me." accordingly the nurse returned to el abbas, without letter or answer; and when she came in to him, he saw that she was troubled and noted the marks of chagrin on her face; so he said to her, "what is this plight?" quoth she, "i cannot set out to thee that which mariyeh said; for indeed she charged me return to thee without letter or answer." "o nurse of kings," rejoined el abbas, "i would have thee carry her this letter and return not to her without it." then he took inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: my secret is disclosed, the which i strove to hide; of thee and of thy love enough have i abyed. my kinsmen and my friends for thee i did forsake and left them weeping tears that poured as 'twere a tide. yea, to baghdad i came, where rigour gave me chase and i was overthrown of cruelty and pride. repression's draught, by cups, from the beloved's hand i've quaffed; with colocynth for wine she hath me plied. oft as i strove to make her keep the troth of love, unto concealment's ways still would she turn aside. my body is dissolved with sufferance in vain; relenting, ay, and grace i hoped should yet betide; but rigour still hath waxed on me and changed my case and love hath left me bound, afflicted, weeping-eyed. how long shall i anights distracted be for love of thee? how long th' assaults of grief and woes abide? thou, thou enjoy'st repose and comfortable sleep, nor of the mis'ries reckst by which my heart is wried. i watch the stars for wake and pray that the belov'd may yet to me relent and bid my tears be dried. the pains of long desire have wasted me away; estrangement and disdain my body sore have tried. "be thou not hard of heart," quoth i. had ye but deigned to visit me in dreams, i had been satisfied. but when ye saw my writ, the standard ye o'erthrew of faith, your favours grudged and aught of grace denied. nay, though ye read therein discourse that sure should speak to heart and soul, no word thereunto ye replied, but deemed yourself secure from every changing chance nor recked the ebb and flow of fortune's treacherous tide. were my affliction thine, love's anguish hadst thou dreed and in the flaming hell of long estrangement sighed. yet shall thou suffer that which i from thee have borne and with love's woes thy heart shall yet be mortified. the bitterness of false accusing shall thou taste and eke the thing reveal that thou art fain to hide; yea, he thou lov'st shall be hard-hearted, recking not of fortune's turns or fate's caprices, in his pride. wherewith farewell, quoth i, and peace be on thee aye, what while the branches bend, what while the stars abide. when he had made an end of his verses, he folded the letter and gave it to the nurse, who took it and carried it to mariyeh. when she came into the princess's presence, she saluted her; but mariyeh returned not her salutation and she said, "o my lady, how hard is thy heart that thou grudgest to return the salutation! take this letter, for that it is the last of that which shall come to thee from him." quoth mariyeh, "take my warning and never again enter my palace, or it will be the cause of thy destruction; for i am certified that thou purposest my dishonour. so get thee gone from me." and she commanded to beat the nurse; whereupon the latter went forth fleeing from her presence, changed of colour and absent of wits, and gave not over going till she came to the house of el abbas. when the prince saw her in this plight, he was as a sleeper awakened and said to her, "what hath befallen thee? set out to me thy case." "god on thee," answered she, "nevermore send me to mariyeh, and do thou protect me, so may god protect thee from the fires of hell!" then she related to him that which had bedded her with mariyeh; which when he heard, there took him the shamefastness of the generous and this was grievous unto him. the love of mariyeh fled forth of his heart and he said to the nurse, "how much hadst thou of mariyeh every month?" "ten dinars," answered she, and he said, "be not concerned." then he put his hand to his poke and bringing out two hundred dinars, gave them to her and said, "take this for a whole year's wage and turn not again to serve any one. when the year is out, i will give thee two years' wage, for that thou hast wearied thyself with us and on account of the cutting off of thy dependence upon mariyeh." moreover, he gave her a complete suit of clothes and raising his head to her, said, "when thou toldest me that which mariyeh had done with thee, god rooted out the love of her from my heart, and never again will she occur to my mind; so extolled be the perfection of him who turneth hearts and eyes! it was she who was the cause of my coming out from yemen, and now the time is past for which i engaged with my people and i fear lest my father levy his troops and come forth in quest of me, for that he hath no child other than myself and cannot brook to be parted from me; and on like wise is it with my mother." when the nurse heard his words, she said to him, "o my lord, and which of the kings is thy father?" "my father is el aziz, lord of yemen and nubia and the islands[fn# ] of the benou kehtan and the two noble sanctuaries[fn# ] (god the most high have them in his keeping!)," answered el abbas; "and whenas he taketh horse, there mount with him an hundred and twenty and four thousand horsemen, all smiters with the sword, let alone attendants and servants and followers, all of whom give ear unto my word and obey my commandment." "why, then, o my lord," asked the nurse, "didst thou conceal the secret of thy rank and lineage and passedst thyself off for a wayfarer? alas for our disgrace before thee by reason of our shortcoming in rendering thee thy due! what shall be our excuse with thee, and thou of the sons of the kings?" but he rejoined, "by allah, thou hast not fallen short! nay, it is incumbent on me to requite thee, what while i live, though i be far distant from thee." then he called his servant aamir and said to him, "saddle the horses." when the nurse heard his words and indeed [she saw that] aamir brought him the horses and they were resolved upon departure, the tears ran down upon her cheeks and she said to him, "by allah, thy separation is grievous to me, o solace of the eye!" then said she, "where is the goal of thine intent, so we may know thy news and solace ourselves with thy report?" quoth he, "i go hence to visit akil, the son of my father's brother, for that he hath his sojourn in the camp of kundeh ben hisham, and these twenty years have i not seen him nor he me; wherefore i purpose to repair to him and discover his news and return hither. then will i go hence to yemen, if it be the will of god the most high." so saying, he took leave of the woman and her husband and set out, intending for akil, his father's brother's son. now there was between baghdad and akil's abiding-place forty days' journey; so el abbas settled himself on the back of his courser and his servant aamir mounted also and they fared forth on their way. presently, el abbas turned right and left and recited the following verses: i am the champion-slayer, the warrior without peer; my foes i slay, destroying the hosts, when i appear. tow'rds el akil my journey i take; to visit him, the wastes in praise and safety i traverse, without fear, and all the desert spaces devour, whilst to my rede, or if in sport or earnest,[fn# ] still aamir giveth ear. who letteth us or hind'reth our way, i spring on him, as springeth lynx or panther upon the frighted deer; with ruin i o'erwhelm him and abjectness and woe and cause him quaff the goblet of death and distance drear. well-ground my polished sword is and thin and keen of edge and trenchant, eke, for smiting and long my steel-barbed spear. so fell and fierce my stroke is, if on a mountain high it lit, though all of granite, right through its midst 'twould shear. nor troops have i nor henchmen nor one to lend me aid save god, to whom, my maker, my voice in praise i rear. 'tis he who pardoneth errors alike to slave and free; on him is my reliance in good and evil cheer. then they fell to journeying night and day, and as they went, behold, they sighted a camp of the camps of the arabs. so el abbas enquired thereof and was told that it was the camp of the benou zuhreh. now there were around them sheep and cattle, such as filled the earth, and they were enemies to el akil, the cousin of el abbas, upon whom they still made raids and took his cattle; wherefore he used to pay them tribute every year, for that he availed not to cope with them. when el abbas came near the camp, he dismounted from his courser and his servant aamir also dismounted; and they set down the victual and ate their sufficiency and rested awhile of the day. then said the prince to aamir, "fetch water and give the horses to drink and draw water for us in thy water-bag, by way of provision for the road." so aamir took the water-skin and made for the water; but, when he came to the well, behold, two young men with gazelles, and when they saw him, they said to him, "whither wilt thou, o youth, and of which of the arabs art thou?" "harkye, lads," answered he, "fill me my water-skin, for that i am a stranger man and a wayfarer and i have a comrade who awaiteth me." quoth they, "thou art no wayfarer, but a spy from el akil's camp." then they took him and carried him to [their king] zuheir ben shebib; and when he came before him, he said to him, "of which of the arabs art thou?" quoth aamir, "i am a wayfarer." and zuheir said, "whence comest thou and whither wilt thou?" "i am on my way to akil," answered aamir. when he named akil, those who were present were agitated; but zuheir signed to them with his eyes and said to him, "what is thine errand with akil?" quoth he, "we would fain see him, my friend and i." when zuheir heard his words, he bade smite off his head; but his vizier said to him, "slay him not, till his friend be present." so he commanded the two slaves to fetch his friend; whereupon they repaired to el abbas and called to him, saying, "o youth, answer the summons of king zuheir." "what would the king with me?" asked he, and they answered, "we know not." quoth he, "who gave the king news of me?" "we went to draw water," answered they, "and found a man by the water. so we questioned him of his case, but he would not acquaint us therewith; wherefore we carried him perforce to king zuheir, who questioned him of his case and he told him that he was going to akil. now akil is the king's enemy and he purposeth to betake himself to his camp and make prize of his offspring and cut off his traces." "and what," asked el abbas, "hath akil done with king zuheir?" and they replied, "he engaged for himself that he would bring the king every year a thousand dinars and a thousand she-camels, besides a thousand head of thoroughbred horses and two hundred black slaves and fifty slave-girls; but it hath reached the king that akil purposeth to give nought of this; wherefore he is minded to go to him. so hasten thou with us, ere the king be wroth with thee and with us." then said el abbas to them, "o youths, sit by my arms and my horse till i return." but they answered, saying, "by allah, thou prolongest discourse with that which beseemeth not of words! make haste, or we will go with thy head, for indeed the king purposeth to slay thee and to slay thy comrade and take that which is with you." when the prince heard this, his skin quaked and he cried out at them with a cry that made them tremble. then he sprang upon his horse and settling himself in the saddle, galloped till he came to the king's assembly, when he cried out at the top of his voice, saying ["to horse,] cavaliers!" and levelled his spear at the pavilion wherein was zuheir. now there were about him a thousand smiters with the sword; but el abbas fell in upon them and dispersed them from around him, and there abode none in the tent save zuheir and his vizier. then came up el abbas to the door of the tent, and therein were four-and-twenty golden doves; so he took them, after he had beaten them down with the end of his lance. then he called out, saying, "harkye, zuheir! doth it not suffice thee that thou hast quelled el akil's repute, but thou art minded to quell that of those who sojourn round about him? knowest thou not that he is of the lieutenants of kundeh ben [hisham of the benou] sheiban, a man renowned for prowess? indeed, covetise of him hath entered into thee and jealousy of him hath gotten possession of thee. doth it not suffice thee that thou hast orphaned his children[fn# ] and slain his men? by the virtue of the chosen prophet, i will make thee drink the cup of death!" so saying, he drew his sword and smiting zuheir on his shoulder, caused the steel issue, gleaming, from the tendons of his throat. then he smote the vizier and clove his head in sunder. as he was thus, behold, aamir called out to him and said, "o my lord, come to my help, or i am a dead man!" so el abbas went up to him and found him cast down on his back and chained with four chains to four pickets of iron. he loosed his bonds and said to him, "go before me, o aamir." so he fared on before him a little, and presently they looked, and behold, horsemen making to zuheir's succour, to wit, twelve thousand cavaliers, with sehl ben kaab in their van, mounted upon a jet-black steed. he charged upon aamir, who fled from him, then upon el abbas, who said, "o aamir, cleave fast to my horse and guard my back." aamir did as he bade him, whereupon el abbas cried out at the folk and falling upon them, overthrew their braves and slew of them nigh two thousand cavaliers, whilst not one of them knew what was to do nor with whom he fought. then said one of them to other, "verily, the king is slain; so with whom do we wage war? indeed ye flee from him; so do ye enter under his banners, or not one of you will be saved." thereupon they all dismounted and putting off that which was upon them of harness of war, came before el abbas and tendered him allegiance and sued for his protection. so he held his hand from them and bade them gather together the spoils. then he took the riches and the slaves and the camels, and they all became his liege-men and his retainers, to the number (according to that which is said) of fifty thousand horse. moreover, the folk heard of him and flocked to him from all sides; whereupon he divided [the spoil amongst them] and gave gifts and abode thus three days, and there came presents to him. then he bade set out for akil's abiding-place; so they fared on six days and on the seventh day they came in sight of the camp. el abbas bade his man aamir forego him and give akil the glad news of his cousin's coming. so he rode on to the camp and going in to akil, gave him the glad news of zuheir's slaughter and the conquest of his tribe. akil rejoiced in the coming of el abbas and the slaughter of his enemy and all in his camp rejoiced also and cast dresses of honour upon aamir. moreover, akil bade go forth to meet el abbas, and commanded that none, great or small, freeman or slave, should tarry behind. so they did his bidding and going forth all, met el abbas at three parasangs' distance from the camp. when they met him, they all dismounted from their horses and akil and he embraced and clapped hands.[fn# ] then they returned, rejoicing in the coming of el abbas and the slaughter of their enemy, to the camp, where tents were pitched for the new-comers and carpets spread and game killed and beasts slaughtered and royal guest-meals spread; and on this wise they abode twenty days, in the enjoyment of all delight and solace of life. to return to king el aziz. when his son el abbas left him, he was desolated for him with an exceeding desolation, he and his mother; and when tidings of him tarried long and the appointed time passed [and the prince returned not], the king caused public proclamation to be made, commanding all his troops to make ready to mount and go forth in quest of his son el abbas at the end of three days, after which time no cause of hindrance nor excuse should be admitted unto any. so on the fourth day, the king bade number the troops, and behold, they were four-and-twenty thousand horse, besides servants and followers. accordingly, they reared the standards and the drums beat to departure and the king set out [with his army], intending for baghdad; nor did he cease to fare on with all diligence, till he came within half a day's journey of the city and bade his troops encamp in [a place there called] the green meadow. so they pitched the tents there, till the country was straitened with them, and set up for the king a pavilion of green brocade, broidered with pearls and jewels. when el aziz had sat awhile, he summoned the mamelukes of his son el abbas, and they were five-and-twenty in number, besides half a score slave-girls, as they were moons, five of whom the king had brought with him and other five he had left with the prince's mother. when the mamelukes came before him, he cast over each of them a mantle of green brocade and bade them mount like horses of one and the same fashion and enter baghdad and enquire concerning their lord el abbas. so they entered the city and passed through the [streets and] markets, and there abode in baghdad nor old man nor boy but came forth to gaze on them and divert himself with the sight of their beauty and grace and the goodliness of their aspect and of their clothes and horses, for that they were even as moons. they gave not over going till they came to the royal palace, where they halted, and the king looked at them and seeing their beauty and the goodliness of their apparel and the brightness of their faces, said, "would i knew of which of the tribes these are!" and he bade the eunuch bring him news of them. so he went out to them and questioned them of their case, whereupon, "return to thy lord," answered they, "and question him of prince el abbas, if he have come unto him, for that he left his father king el aziz a full-told year agone, and indeed longing for him troubleth the king and he hath levied a part of his army and his guards and is come forth in quest of his son, so haply he may light upon tidings of him." quoth the eunuch, "is there amongst you a brother of his or a son?" "nay, by allah!" answered they. "but we are all his mamelukes and the boughten of his money, and his father el aziz hath despatched us to make enquiry of him. so go thou to thy lord and question him of the prince and return to us with that which he shall answer you." "and where is king el aziz?" asked the eunuch; and they replied, "he is encamped in the green meadow."[fn# ] the eunuch returned and told the king, who said, "indeed, we have been neglectful with regard to el abbas. what shall be our excuse with the king? by allah, my soul misdoubted me that the youth was of the sons of the kings!" the lady afifeh, his wife, saw him lamenting for [his usage of] el abbas and said to him, "o king, what is it thou regrettest with this exceeding regret?" quoth he, "thou knowest the stranger youth, who gave us the rubies?" "assuredly," answered she; and he said, "yonder youths, who have halted in the palace court, are his mamelukes, and his father king el aziz, lord of yemen, hath pitched his camp in the green meadow; for he is come with his army to seek him, and the number of his troops is [four-and-] twenty thousand men." [then he went out from her], and when she heard his words, she wept sore for him and had compassion on his case and sent after him, counselling him to send for the mamelukes and lodge them [in the palace] and entertain them. the king gave ear to her counsel and despatching the eunuch for the mamelukes, assigned them a lodging and said to them, "have patience, till the king give you tidings of your lord el abbas." when they heard his words, their eyes ran over with plenteous tears, of their much longing for the sight of their lord. then the king bade the queen enter the privy chamber[fn# ] and let down the curtain[fn# ] [before the door thereof]. so she did this and he summoned them to his presence. when they stood before him, they kissed the earth, to do him worship, and showed forth their breeding[fn# ] and magnified his dignity. he bade them sit, but they refused, till he conjured them by their lord el abbas. so they sat down and he caused set before them food of various kinds and fruits and sweetmeats. now within the lady afifeh's palace was an underground way communicating with the palace of the princess mariyeh. so the queen sent after her and she came to her, whereupon she made her stand behind the curtain and gave her to know that el abbas was the king's son of yemen and that these were his mamelukes. moreover, she told her that the prince's father had levied his troops and was come with his army in quest of him and that he had pitched his camp in the green meadow and despatched these mamelukes to make enquiry of their lord. so mariyeh abode looking upon them and upon their beauty and grace and the goodliness of their apparel, till they had eaten their fill of food and the tables were removed; whereupon the king recounted to them the story of el abbas and they took leave of him and went away. as for the princess mariyeh, when she returned to her palace, she bethought herself concerning the affair of el abbas, repenting her of that which she had done, and the love of him took root in her heart. so, when the night darkened upon her, she dismissed all her women and bringing out the letters, to wit, those which el abbas had written, fell to reading them and weeping. she gave not over weeping her night long, and when she arose in the morning, she called a damsel of her slave-girls, shefikeh by name, and said to her, "o damsel, i purpose to discover to thee mine affair, and i charge thee keep my secret; to wit, i would have thee betake thyself to the house of the nurse, who used to serve me, and fetch her to me, for that i have grave occasion for her." accordingly, shefikeh went out and repairing to the nurse's house, found her clad in apparel other[fn# ] than that which she had been wont to wear aforetime. so she saluted her and said to her, "whence hadst thou this dress, than which there is no goodlier?" "o shefikeh," answered the nurse, "thou deemest that i have gotten[fn# ] no good save of thy mistress; but, by allah, had i endeavoured for her destruction, i had done [that which was my right], for that she did with me what thou knowest[fn# ] and bade the eunuch beat me, without offence of me committed; wherefore do thou tell her that he, on whose behalf i bestirred myself with her, hath made me quit of her and her humours, for that he hath clad me in this habit and given me two hundred and fifty dinars and promised me the like thereof every year and charged me serve none of the folk." quoth shefikeh, "my mistress hath occasion for thee; so come thou with me and i will engage to restore thee to thy dwelling in weal and safety." but the nurse answered, saying, "indeed, her palace is become forbidden[fn# ] to me and never again will i enter therein, for that god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) of his favour and bounty hath rendered me independent of her." so shefikeh returned to her mistress and acquainted her with the nurse's words and that wherein she was of affluence; whereupon mariyeh confessed the unseemliness of her dealing with her and repented, whenas repentance profited her not; and she abode in that her case days and nights, whilst the fire of longing flamed in her heart. meanwhile, el abbas abode with his cousin akil twenty days, after which he made ready for the journey to baghdad and letting bring the booty he had gotten of king zuheir, divided it between himself and his cousin. then he set out for baghdad, and when he came within two days' journey of the city, he called his servant aamir and bade him mount his charger and forego him with the baggage-train and the cattle. so aamir [took horse and] fared on till he came to baghdad, and the season of his entering was the first of the day; nor was there little child or hoary old man in the city but came forth to divert himself with gazing on those flocks and herds and upon the goodliness of those slave-girls, and their wits were amazed at what they saw. presently the news reached the king that the young man el abbas, who had gone forth from him, was come back with herds and rarities and slaves and a mighty host and had taken up his sojourn without the city, whilst his servant aamir was presently come to baghdad, so he might make ready dwelling- places for his lord, wherein he should take up his abode. when the king heard these tidings of aamir, he sent for him and let bring him before him; and when he entered his presence, he kissed the earth and saluted and showed forth his breeding and greeted him with the goodliest of compliments. the king bade him raise his head and questioned him of his lord el abbas; whereupon he acquainted him with his tidings and told him that which had betided him with king zuheir and of the army that was become at his commandment and of the spoil that he had gotten. moreover, he gave him to know that el abbas was coming on the morrow, and with him more than fifty thousand cavaliers, obedient to his commandment. when the king heard his speech, he bade decorate baghdad and commanded [the inhabitants] to equip themselves with the richest of their apparel, in honour of the coming of el abbas. moreover, he sent to give king el aziz the glad tidings of his son's return and acquainted him with that which he had heard from the prince's servant. when the news reached el aziz, he rejoiced with an exceeding joy in the coming of his son and straightway took horse, he and all his army, what while the trumpets sounded and the musicians played, that the earth quaked and baghdad also trembled, and it was a notable day. when mariyeh beheld all this, she repented with the uttermost of repentance of that which she had wroughten against el abbas his due and the fires still raged in her vitals. meanwhile, the troops[fn# ] sallied forth of baghdad and went out to meet those of el abbas, who had halted in a meadow called the green island. when he espied the approaching host, he knew not what they were; so he strained his sight and seeing horsemen coming and troops and footmen, said to those about him, "among yonder troops are ensigns and banners of various kinds; but, as for the great green standard that ye see, it is the standard of my father, the which is reserved [unto him and never displayed save] over his head, and [by this] i know that he himself is come out in quest of me." and he was certified of this, he and his troops. [so he fared on towards them] and when he drew near unto them, he knew them and they knew him; whereupon they lighted down from their horses and saluting him, gave him joy of his safety and the folk flocked to him. when he came to his father, they embraced and greeted each other a long time, whilst neither of them availed unto speech, for the greatness of that which betided them of joy in reunion. then el abbas bade the folk mount; so they mounted and his mamelukes surrounded him and they entered baghdad on the most magnificent wise and in the highest worship and glory. the wife of the shopkeeper, to wit, the nurse, came out, with the rest of those who came out, to divert herself with gazing upon the show, and when she saw el abbas and beheld his beauty and the goodliness of his army and that which he had brought back with him of herds and slaves and slave-girls and mamelukes, she improvised and recited the following verses: el abbas from akil his stead is come again; prize hath he made of steeds and many a baggage-train; yea, horses hath he brought, full fair of shape and hue, whose collars, anklet-like, ring to the bridle-rein. taper of hoofs and straight of stature, in the dust they prance, as like a flood they pour across the plain; and on their saddles perched are warriors richly clad, that with their hands do smite on kettle-drums amain. couched are their limber spears, right long and lithe of point, keen- ground and polished sheer, amazing wit and brain. who dares with them to cope draws death upon himself; yea, of the deadly lance incontinent he's slain. come, then, companions mine, rejoice with me and say, "all hail to thee, o friend, and welcome fair and fain!" for whoso doth rejoice in meeting him shall have largesse and gifts galore at his dismounting gain. when the troops entered baghdad, each of them alighted in his pavilion, whilst el abbas encamped apart in a place near the tigris and commanded to slaughter for the troops, each day, that which should suffice them of oxen and sheep and bake them bread and spread the tables. so the folk ceased not to come to him and eat of his banquet. moreover, all the people of the country came to him with presents and rarities and he requited them many times the like of their gifts, so that the lands were filled with his tidings and the report of him was bruited abroad among the folk of the deserts and the cities. then, when he rode to his house that he had bought, the shopkeeper and his wife came to him and gave him joy of his safety; whereupon he ordered them three swift thoroughbred horses and ten dromedaries and an hundred head of sheep and clad them both in sumptuous dresses of honour. then he chose out ten slave-girls and ten black slaves and fifty horses and the like number of she- camels and three hundred head of sheep, together with twenty ounces of musk and as many of camphor, and sent all this to the king of baghdad. when this came to ins ben cais, his wit fled for joy and he was perplexed wherewithal to requite him. moreover, el abbas gave gifts and largesse and bestowed dresses of honour upon great and small, each after the measure of his station, save only mariyeh; for unto her he sent nothing. this was grievous to the princess and it irked her sore that he should not remember her; so she called her slave- girl shefikeh and said to her, "go to el abbas and salute him and say to him, 'what hindereth thee from sending my lady mariyeh her part of thy booty?'" so shefikeh betook herself to him and when she came to his door, the chamberlains refused her admission, until they should have gotten her leave and permission. when she entered, el abbas knew her and knew that she had somewhat of speech [with him]; so he dismissed his mamelukes and said to her, "what is thine errand, o handmaid of good?" "o my lord," answered she, "i am a slave-girl of the princess mariyeh, who kisseth thy hands and commendeth her salutation to thee. indeed, she rejoiceth in thy safety and reproacheth thee for that thou breakest her heart, alone of all the folk, for that thy largesse embraceth great and small, yet hast thou not remembered her with aught of thy booty. indeed, it is as if thou hadst hardened thy heart against her." quoth he, "extolled be the perfection of him who turneth hearts! by allah, my vitals were consumed with the love of her [aforetime] and of my longing after her, i came forth to her from my native land and left my people and my home and my wealth, and it was with her that began the hardheartedness and the cruelty. nevertheless, for all this, i bear her no malice and needs must i send her somewhat whereby she may remember me; for that i abide in her land but a few days, after which i set out for the land of yemen." then he called for a chest and bringing out thence a necklace of greek handiwork, worth a thousand dinars, wrapped it in a mantle of green silk, set with pearls and jewels and inwrought with red gold, and joined thereto two caskets of musk and ambergris. moreover, he put off upon the girl a mantle of greek silk, striped with gold, wherein were divers figures and semblants depictured, never saw eyes its like. therewithal the girl's wit fled for joy and she went forth from his presence and returned to her mistress. when she came in to her, she acquainted her with that which she had seen of el abbas and that which was with him of servants and attendants and [set out to her] the loftiness of his station and gave her that which was with her. mariyeh opened the mantle, and when she saw that necklace, and indeed the place was illumined with the lustre thereof, she looked at her slave-girl and said to her, "by allah, o shefikeh, one look at him were liefer to me than all that my hand possesseth! would i knew what i shall do, whenas baghdad is empty of him and i hear no tidings of him!" then she wept and calling for inkhorn* and paper and pen of brass, wrote the following verses: still do i yearn, whilst passion's fire flames in my liver aye; for parting's shafts have smitten me and done my strength away. oft for thy love as i would be consoled, my yearning turns to-thee- ward still and my desires my reason still gainsay. my transports i conceal for fear of those thereon that spy; yet down my cheeks the tears course still and still my case bewray. no rest is there for me, no life wherein i may delight, nor pleasant meat nor drink avails to please me, night or day. to whom save thee shall i complain, of whom relief implore, whose image came to visit me, what while in dreams i lay? reproach me not for what i did, but be thou kind to one who's sick of body and whose heart is wasted all away. the fire of love-longing i hide; severance consumeth me, a thrall of care, for long desire to wakefulness a prey. midmost the watches of the night i see thee, in a dream; a lying dream, for he i love my love doth not repay. would god thou knewest that for love of thee which i endure! it hath indeed brought down on me estrangement and dismay. read thou my writ and apprehend its purport, for my case this is and fate hath stricken me with sorrows past allay. know, then, the woes that have befall'n a lover, neither grudge her secret to conceal, but keep her counsel still, i pray. then she folded the letter and giving it to her slave-girl, bade her carry it to el abbas and bring back his answer thereto. accordingly, shefikeh took the letter and carried it to the prince, after the doorkeeper had sought leave of him to admit her. when she came in to him, she found with him five damsels, as they were moons, clad in [rich] apparel and ornaments; and when he saw her, he said to her, "what is thine occasion, o handmaid of good?" so she put out her hand to him with the letter, after she had kissed it, and he bade one of his slave-girls receive it from her. then he took it from the girl and breaking it open, read it and apprehended its purport; whereupon "we are god's and to him we return!" exclaimed he and calling for ink- horn and paper, wrote the following verses: i marvel for that to my love i see thee now incline, what time my heart, indeed, is fain to turn away from thine. whilere, the verses that i made it was thy wont to flout, saying, "no passer by the way[fn# ] hath part in me or mine. how many a king to me hath come, of troops and guards ensued, and bactrian camels brought with him, in many a laden line, and dromedaries, too, of price and goodly steeds and swift of many a noble breed, yet found no favour in my eyne!" then, after them came i to thee and union did entreat and unto thee set forth at length my case and my design; yea, all my passion and desire and love-longing in verse, as pearls in goodly order strung it were, i did enshrine. yet thou repaidst me with constraint, rigour and perfidy, to which no lover might himself on any wise resign. how many a bidder unto love, a secret-craving wight, how many a swain, complaining, saith of destiny malign, "how many a cup with bitterness o'erflowing have i quaffed! i make my moan of woes, whereat it boots not to repine." quoth thou, "the goodliest of things is patience and its use: its practice still mankind doth guide to all that's fair and fine." wherefore fair patience look thou use, for sure 'tis praiseworthy; yea, and its issues evermore are blessed and benign; and hope thou not for aught from me, who reck not with a folk to mix, who may with abjectness infect my royal line. this is my saying; apprehend its purport, then, and know i may in no wise yield consent to that thou dost opine. then he folded the letter and sealing it, delivered it to the damsel, who took it and carried it to her mistress. when the princess read the letter and apprehended its contents, she said, "meseemeth he recalleth to me that which i did aforetime." then she called for inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: me, till i stricken was therewith, to love thou didst excite, and with estrangement now, alas! heap'st sorrows on my spright. the sweet of slumber after thee i have forsworn; indeed the loss of thee hath smitten me with trouble and affright. how long shall i, in weariness, for this estrangement pine, what while the spies of severance[fn# ] do watch me all the night? my royal couch have i forsworn, sequestering myself from all, and have mine eyes forbid the taste of sleep's delight. thou taught'st me what i cannot bear; afflicted sore am i; yea, thou hast wasted me away with rigour and despite. yet, i conjure thee, blame me not for passion and desire, me whom estrangement long hath brought to sick and sorry plight. sore, sore doth rigour me beset, its onslaughts bring me near unto the straitness of the grave, ere in the shroud i'm dight. so be thou kind to me, for love my body wasteth sore, the thrall of passion i'm become its fires consume me quite. mariyeh folded the letter and gave it to shefikeh, bidding her carry it to el abbas. so she took it and going with it to his door, would have entered; but the chamberlains and serving-men forbade her, till they had gotten her leave from the prince. when she went in to him, she found him sitting in the midst of the five damsels aforesaid, whom his father had brought him. so she gave him the letter and he took it and read it. then he bade one of the damsels, whose name was khefifeh and who came from the land of china, tune her lute and sing upon the subject of separation. so she came forward and tuning the lute, played thereon in four-and-twenty modes; after which she returned to the first mode and sang the following verses: upon the parting day our loves from us did fare and left us to endure estrangement and despair. whenas the burdens all were bounden on and shrill the camel-leader's call rang out across the air, fast flowed my tears; despair gat hold upon my soul and needs mine eyelids must the sweet of sleep forbear. i wept, but those who spied to part us had no ruth on me nor on the fires that in my vitals flare. woe's me for one who burns for love and longing pain! alas for the regrets my heart that rend and tear! to whom shall i complain of what is in my soul, now thou art gone and i my pillow must forswear? the flames of long desire wax on me day by day and far away are pitched the tent-poles of my fair. o breeze of heaven, from me a charge i prithee take and do not thou betray the troth of my despair; whenas thou passest by the dwellings of my love, greet him for me with peace, a greeting debonair, and scatter musk on him and ambergris, so long as time endures; for this is all my wish and care. when the damsel had made an end of her song, el abbas swooned away and they sprinkled on him rose-water, mingled with musk, till he came to himself, when he called another damsel (now there was on her of linen and clothes and ornaments that which beggareth description, and she was endowed with brightness and loveliness and symmetry and perfection, such as shamed the crescent moon, and she was a turkish girl from the land of the greeks and her name was hafizeh) and said to her, "o hafizeh, close thine eyes and tune thy lute and sing to us upon the days of separation." she answered him with "hearkening and obedience" and taking the lute, tuned its strings and cried out from her head,[fn# ] in a plaintive voice, and sang the following verses: o friends, the tears flow ever, in mockery of my pain; my heart is sick for sev'rance and love-longing in vain. all wasted is my body and bowels tortured sore; love's fire on me still waxeth, mine eyes with tears still rain. whenas the fire of passion flamed in my breast, with tears, upon the day of wailing, to quench it i was fain. desire hath left me wasted, afflicted, sore afraid, for the spy knows the secret whereof i do complain. when i recall the season of love-delight with them, the sweet of sleep forsakes me, my body wastes amain. those who our parting plotted our sev'rance still delights; the spies, for fearful prudence, their wish of us attain. i fear me for my body from sickness and unrest, lest of the fear of sev'rance it be betrayed and slain. when hafizeh had made an end of her song, el abbas said to her, "well done! indeed, thou quickenest hearts from sorrows." then he called another damsel of the daughters of the medes, by name merjaneh, and said to her, "o merjaneh, sing to me upon the days of separation." "hearkening and obedience," answered she and improvising, sang the following verses: "fair patience practise, for thereon still followeth content." so runs the rede 'mongst all that dwell in city or in tent. how oft of dole have i made moan for love and longing pain, what while my body for desire in mortal peril went! how oft i've waked, how many a cup of sorrow have i drained, watching the stars of night go by, for sleepless languishment! it had sufficed me, had thy grace with verses come to me; my expectation still on thee in the foredawns was bent. then was my heart by that which caused my agitation seared, and from mine eyelids still the tears poured down without relent. yea, nevermore i ceased from that wherewith i stricken was; my night with wakefulness was filled, my heart with dreariment. but now hath allah from my heart blotted the love of thee, after for constancy i'd grown a name of wonderment. hence on the morrow forth i fare and leave your land behind; so take your leave of us nor fear mishap or ill event. whenas in body ye from us are far removed, would god i knew who shall to us himself with news of you present! and who can tell if ever house shall us together bring in union of life serene and undisturbed content? when merjaneh had made an end of her song, the prince said to her, "well done, o damsel! indeed, thou sayest a thing that had occurred to my mind and my tongue was like to speak it." then he signed to the fourth damsel, who was a cairene, by name sitt el husn, and bade her tune her lute and sing to him upon the [same] subject. so she tuned her lute and sang the following verses: fair patience use, for ease still followeth after stress and all things have their time and ordinance no less. though fortune whiles to thee belike may be unjust, her seasons change and man's excused if he transgress. in her revolving scheme, to bitter sweetness still succeeds and things become straight, after crookedness. thine honour, therefore, guard and eke thy secret keep, nor save to one free-born and true thy case confess. the lord's alternatives are these, wherewith he's wont the needy wretch to ply and those in sore duresse. when el abbas heard her verses, they pleased him and he said to her, "well done, o sitt el husn! indeed, thou hast done away trouble from my heart and [banished] the things that had occurred to my mind." then he heaved a sigh and signing to the fifth damsel, who was from the land of the persians and whose name was merziyeh (now she was the fairest of them all and the sweetest of speech and she was like unto a splendid star, endowed with beauty and loveliness and brightness and perfection and justness of shape and symmetry and had a face like the new moon and eyes as they were gazelle's eyes) and said to her, "o merziyeh, come forward and tune thy lute and sing to us on the [same] subject, for indeed we are resolved upon departure to the land of yemen." now this damsel had met many kings and had consorted with the great; so she tuned her lute and sang the following verses: may the place of my session ne'er lack thee i oh, why, my heart's love, hast thou saddened my mind and mine eye?[fn# ] by thy ransom,[fn# ] who dwellest alone in my heart, in despair for the loss of the loved one am i. so, by allah, o richest of all men in charms, vouchsafe to a lover, who's bankrupt well-nigh of patience, thy whilom endearments again, that i never to any divulged, nor deny the approof of my lord, so my stress and unease i may ban and mine enemies' malice defy, thine approof which shall clothe me in noblest attire and my rank in the eyes of the people raise high. when she had made an end of her song, all who were in the assembly wept for the daintiness of her speech and the sweetness of her voice and el abbas said to her, "well done, o merziyeh i indeed, thou confoundest the wits with the goodliness of thy verses and the elegance of thy speech." all this while shefikeh abode gazing upon her, and when she beheld el abbas his slave-girls and considered the goodliness of their apparel and the nimbleness of their wits and the elegance of their speech, her reason was confounded. then she sought leave of el abbas and returning to her mistress mariyeh, without letter or answer, acquainted her with his case and that wherein he was of puissance and delight and majesty and venerance and loftiness of rank. moreover, she told her what she had seen of the slave-girls and their circumstance and that which they had said and how they had made el abbas desireful of returning to his own country by the recitation of verses to the sound of the strings. when the princess heard this her slave-girl's report, she wept and lamented and was like to depart the world. then she clave to her pillow and said, "o shefikeh, i will instruct thee of somewhat that is not hidden from god the most high, and it is that thou watch over me till god the most high decree the accomplishment of his commandment, and when my days are ended, take thou the necklace and the mantle that el abbas gave me and return them to him. indeed, i deem not he will live after me, and if god the most high decree against him and his days come to an end, do thou give one charge to shroud us and bury us both in one grave." then her case changed and her colour paled; and when shefikeh saw her mistress in this plight, she repaired to her mother and told her that the lady mariyeh refused meat and drink. "since when hath this befallen her?" asked the queen, and shefikeh answered, "since yesterday;" whereat the queen was confounded and betaking herself to her daughter, that she might enquire into her case, found her as one dead. so she sat down at her head and mariyeh opened her eyes and seeing her mother sitting by her, sat up for shamefastness before her. the queen questioned her of her case and she said, "i entered the bath and it stupefied me and weakened me and left an exceeding pain in my head; but i trust in god the most high that it will cease." when her mother went out from her, mariyeh fell to chiding the damsel for that which she had done and said to her, "verily, death were leifer to me than this; so look thou discover not my affair to any and i charge thee return not to the like of this fashion." then she swooned away and lay awhile without life, and when she came to herself, she saw shefikeh weeping over her; whereupon she took the necklace from her neck and the mantle from her body and said to the damsel, "lay them in a napkin of damask and carry them to el abbas and acquaint him with that wherein i am for the persistence of estrangement and the effects of forbiddance." so shefikeh took them and carried them to el abbas, whom she found in act to depart, for that he was about to take horse for yemen. she went in to him and gave him the napkin and that which was therein, and when he opened it and saw what it contained, to wit, the mantle and the necklace, his vexation was excessive and his eyes were distorted, [so that the whites thereof appeared] and his rage was manifest in them. when shefikeh saw that which betided him, she came forward and said to him, "o bountiful lord, indeed my mistress returneth not the mantle and the necklace despitefully; but she is about to depart the world and thou hast the best right to them." "and what is the cause of this?" asked he. quoth shefikeh, "thou knowest. by allah, never among the arabs nor the barbarians nor among the sons of the kings saw i a harder of heart than thou! is it a light matter to thee that thou troublest mariyeh's life and causest her mourn for herself and depart the world on account of[fn# ] thy youth? indeed, thou wast the cause of her acquaintance with thee and now she departeth the world on thine account, she whose like god the most high hath not created among the daughters of the kings." when el abbas heard these words from the damsel, his heart irked him for mariyeh and her case was grievous to him; so he said to shefikeh, "canst thou avail to bring me in company with her, so haply i may discover her affair and allay that which aileth her?" "yes," answered the damsel, "i can do that, and thine will be the bounty and the favour." so he arose and followed her, and she forewent him, till they came to the palace. then she [opened and] locked behind them four-and-twenty doors and made them fast with bolts; and when he came to mariyeh, he found her as she were the setting sun, cast down upon a rug of taifi leather,[fn# ] among cushions stuffed with ostrich down, and not a limb of her quivered. when her maid saw her in this plight, she offered to cry out; but el abbas said to her, "do it not, but have patience till we discover her affair; and if god the most high have decreed the ending of her days, wait till thou have opened the doors to me and i have gone forth. then do what seemeth good to thee." so saying, he went up to the princess and laying his hand upon her heart, found it fluttering like a doveling and the life yet clinging to[fn# ] her bosom. so he laid his hand upon her cheek, whereupon she opened her eyes and beckoning to her maid, signed to her, as who should say, "who is this that treadeth my carpet and transgresseth against me?"[fn# ] "o my lady," answered shefikeh, "this is prince el abbas, for whose sake thou departest the world." when mariyeh heard speak of el abbas, she raised her hand from under the coverlet and laying it upon his neck, inhaled his odour awhile. then she sat up and her colour returned to her and they sat talking till a third part of the night was past. presently, the princess turned to her maid and bade her fetch them somewhat of food and sweetmeats and dessert and fruits. so shefikeh brought what she desired and they ate and drank [and abode on this wise] without lewdness, till the night departed and the day came. then said el abbas, "indeed, the day is come. shall i go to my father and bid him go to thy father and seek thee of him in marriage for me, in accordance with the book of god the most high and the institutes of his apostle (whom may he bless and keep!) so we may not enter into transgression?" and mariyeh answered, saying, "by allah, it is well counselled of thee!" so he went away to his lodging and nought befell between them; and when the day lightened, she improvised and recited the following verses: o friends, the east wind waxes, the morning draweth near; a plaintive voice[fn# ] bespeaks me and i rejoice to hear. up, to our comrade's convent, that we may visit him and drink of wine more subtle than dust;[fn# ] our trusty fere hath spent thereon his substance, withouten stint; indeed, in his own cloak he wrapped it, he tendered it so dear.[fn# ] whenas its jar was opened, the singers prostrate fell in worship of its brightness, it shone so wonder-clear. the priests from all the convent came flocking onto it: with cries of joy and welcome their voices they did rear. we spent the night in passing the cup, my mates and i, till in the eastward heaven the day-star did appear. no sin is there in drinking of wine, for it affords all that's foretold[fn# ] of union and love and happy cheer. o morn, our loves that sunder'st, a sweet and easeful life thou dost for me prohibit, with thy regard austere. be gracious, so our gladness may be fulfilled with wine and we of our beloved have easance, without fear. the best of all religions your love is, for in you are love and life made easeful, untroubled and sincere. meanwhile, el abbas betook himself to his father's camp, which was pitched in the green meadow, by the side of the tigris, and none might make his way between the tents, for the much interlacement of the tent-ropes. when the prince reached the first of the tents, the guards and servants came out to meet him from all sides and escorted him till he drew near the sitting-place of his father, who knew of his coming. so he issued forth of his pavilion and coming to meet his son, kissed him and made much of him. then they returned together to the royal pavilion and when they had seated themselves and the guards had taken up their station in attendance on them, the king said to el abbas, "o my son, make ready thine affair, so we may go to our own land, for that the folk in our absence are become as they were sheep without a shepherd." el abbas looked at his father and wept till he swooned away, and when he recovered from his swoon, he improvised and recited the following verses: i clipped her[fn# ] in mine arms and straight grew drunken with the scent of a fresh branch that had been reared in affluence and content. 'twas not of wine that i had drunk; her mouth's sweet honeyed dews it was intoxicated me with bliss and ravishment. upon the table of her cheek beauty hath writ, "alack, her charms! 'twere well thou refuge sought'st with god incontinent."[fn# ] since thou hast looked on her, mine eye, be easy, for by god nor mote nor ailment needst thou fear nor evil accident. beauty her appanage is grown in its entirety, and for this cause all hearts must bow to her arbitrament. if with her cheek and lustre thou thyself adorn,[fn# ] thou'lt find but chrysolites and gold, with nought of baser metal blent. when love-longing for her sweet sake i took upon myself, the railers flocked to me anon, on blame and chiding bent; but on no wise was i affrayed nor turned from love of her; so let the railer rave of her henceforth his heart's content. by god, forgetfulness of her shall never cross my mind, what while i wear the bonds of life nor when of death they're rent an if i live, in love of her i'll live, and if i die of love and longing for her sight, o rare! o excellent! when el abbas had made an end of his verses, his father said to him, "i seek refuge for thee with god, o my son! hast thou any want unto which thou availest not, so i may endeavour for thee therein and lavish my treasures in quest thereof?" "o father mine," answered el abbas, "i have, indeed, an urgent want, on account whereof i came forth of my native land and left my people and my home and exposed myself to perils and stresses and became an exile from my country, and i trust in god that it may be accomplished by thine august endeavour." "and what is thy want?" asked the king. quoth el abbas, "i would have thee go and demand me in marriage mariyeh, daughter of the king of baghdad, for that my heart is distraught with love of her." and he recounted to his father his story from first to last. when the king heard this from his son, he rose to his feet and calling for his charger of state, took horse with four-and-twenty amirs of the chief officers of his empire. then he betook himself to the palace of the king of baghdad, who, when he saw him coming, bade his chamberlains open the doors to him and going down himself to meet him, received him with all worship and hospitality and entreated him with the utmost honour. moreover, he carried him [and his suite] into the palace and causing make ready for them carpets and cushions, sat down upon a chair of gold, with traverses of juniper- wood, set with pearls and jewels. then he bade bring sweetmeats and confections and odoriferous flowers and commanded to slaughter four-and-twenty head of sheep and the like of oxen and make ready geese and fowls, stuffed and roasted, and pigeons and spread the tables; nor was it long before the meats were set on in dishes of gold and silver. so they ate till they had enough and when they had eaten their fill, the tables were removed and the wine-service set on and the cups and flagons ranged in order, whilst the mamelukes and the fair slave- girls sat down, with girdles of gold about their middles, inlaid with all manner pearls and diamonds and emeralds and rubies and other jewels. moreover, the king bade fetch the musicians; so there presented themselves before him a score of damsels, with lutes and psalteries and rebecks, and smote upon instruments of music, on such wise that they moved the assembly to delight. then said el aziz to the king of baghdad, "i would fain speak a word to thee; but do thou not exclude from us those who are present. if thou consent unto my wish, that which is ours shall be thine and that which is incumbent on thee shall be incumbent on us,[fn# ] and we will be to thee a mighty aid against all enemies and opposites." quoth ins ben cais, "say what thou wilt, o king, for indeed thou excellest in speech and attainest [the mark] in that which them sayest" so el aziz said to him," i desire that thou give thy daughter mariyeh in marriage to my son el abbas, for thou knowest that wherewithal he is gifted of beauty and loveliness and brightness and perfection and how he beareth himself in the frequentation of the valiant and his constancy in the stead of smiting and thrusting." "by allah, o king," answered ins ben cais, "of my love for mariyeh, i have appointed her disposal to be in her own hand; wherefore, whomsoever she chooseth of the folk, i will marry her to him." then he arose and going in to his daughter, found her mother with her; so he set out to them the case and mariyeh said, "o father mine, my wish is subject unto[fn# ] thy commandment and my will ensueth thy will; so whatsoever thou choosest, i am still obedient unto thee and under thy dominion." therewithal the king knew that mariyeh inclined unto el abbas; so he returned forthright to king el aziz and said to him, "may god amend the king! verily, the occasion is accomplished and there is no opposition unto that which thou commandest" quoth el aziz, "by god's leave are occasions accomplished. how deemest thou, o king, of fetching el abbas and drawing up the contract of marriage between mariyeh and him?" and ins ben cais answered, saying, "thine be it to decide." so el aziz sent after his son and acquainted him with that which had passed; whereupon el abbas called for four-and-twenty males and half a score horses [and as many camels] and loaded the mules with pieces of silk and rags of leather and boxes of camphor and musk and the camels [and horses] with chests of gold and silver. moreover, he took the richest of the stuffs and wrapping them in pieces of gold-striped silk, laid them on the heads of porters, and they fared on with the treasures till they reached the king of baghdad's palace, whereupon all who were present dismounted in honour of el abbas and escorting him to the presence of king ins ben cais, displayed unto the latter all that they had with them of things of price. the king bade carry all this into the harem and sent for the cadis and the witnesses, who drew up the contract and married mariyeh to prince el abbas, whereupon the latter commanded to [slaughter] a thousand head of sheep and five hundred buffaloes. so they made the bride-feast and bade thereto all the tribes of the arabs, bedouins and townsfolk, and the tables abode spread for the space of ten days. then el abbas went in to mariyeh in a happy and praiseworthy hour[fn# ] and found her an unpierced pearl and a goodly filly that had never been mounted; wherefore he rejoiced and was glad and made merry, and care and sorrow ceased from him and his life was pleasant and trouble departed and he abode with her in the gladsomest of case and in the most easeful of life, till seven days were past, when king el aziz determined to set out and return to his kingdom and bade his son seek leave of his father-in-law to depart with his wife to his own country. [so el abbas bespoke king ins of this] and he granted him the leave he sought; whereupon he chose out a red camel, taller[fn# ] than the [other] camels, and mounting mariyeh in a litter thereon, loaded it with apparel and ornaments. then they spread the ensigns and the standards, whilst the drums beat and the trumpets sounded, and set out upon the homeward journey. the king of baghdad rode forth with them and brought them three days' journey on their way, after which he took leave of them and returned with his troops to baghdad. as for king el aziz and his son, they fared on night and day and gave not over going till there abode but three days' journey between them and yemen, when they despatched three men of the couriers to the prince's mother [to acquaint her with their return], safe and laden with spoil, bringing with them mariyeh, the king's daughter of baghdad. when the queen-mother heard this, her wit fled for joy and she adorned el abbas his slave-girls after the goodliest fashion. now he had ten slave-girls, as they were moons, whereof his father had carried five with him to baghdad, as hath aforetime been set out, and other five abode with his mother. when the dromedary-posts[fn# ] came, they were certified of the approach of el abbas, and when the sun rose and their standards appeared, the prince's mother came out to meet her son; nor was there great or small, old man or infant, but went forth that day to meet the king. the drums of glad tidings beat and they entered in the utmost of worship and magnificence. moreover, the tribes heard of them and the people of the towns and brought them the richest of presents and the costliest of rarities and the prince's mother rejoiced with an exceeding joy. then they slaughtered beasts and made mighty bride-feasts to the people and kindled fires, that it might be visible afar to townsman [and bedouin] that this was the house of the guest-meal and the wedding, festival, to the intent that, if any passed them by, [without partaking of their hospitality], it should be of his own fault[fn# ] so the folk came to them from all parts and quarters and on this wise they abode days and months. then the prince's mother bade fetch the five slave-girls to that assembly; whereupon they came and the ten damsels foregathered. the queen seated five of them on her son's right hand and other five on his left and the folk assembled about them. then she bade the five who had remained with her speak forth somewhat of verse, so they might entertain therewith the assembly and that el abbas might rejoice therein. now she had clad them in the richest of raiment and adorned them with trinkets and ornaments and wroughten work of gold and silver and collars of gold, set with pearls and jewels. so they came forward, with harps and lutes and psalteries and recorders and other instruments of music before them, and one of them, a damsel who came from the land of china and whose name was baoutheh, advanced and tightened the strings of her lute. then she cried out from the top of her head[fn# ] and improvising, sang the following verses: unto its pristine lustre your land returned and more, whenas ye came, dispelling the gloom that whiles it wore. our stead, that late was desert, grew green and eke our trees, that barren were, grew loaded with ripened fruits galore. yea, to the earth that languished for lack of rain, the clouds were bounteous; so it flourished and plenteous harvests bore; and troubles, too, forsook us, who tears like dragons' blood, o lordings, for your absence had wept at every pore. indeed, your long estrangement hath caused my bowels yearn. would god i were a servant in waiting at your door! when she had made an end of her song, all who were present were moved to delight and el abbas rejoiced in this. then he bade the second damsel sing somewhat on the like subject. so she came forward and tuning the strings of her harp, which was of balass ruby,[fn# ] warbled a plaintive air and improvising, sang the following verses; the absent ones' harbinger came us unto with tidings of those who[fn# ] had caused us to rue. "my soul be thy ransom,"quoth i,"for thy grace! indeed, to the oath that thou swor'st thou wast true." on the dear nights of union, in you was our joy, but afflicted were we since ye bade us adieu. you swore you'd be faithful to us and our love, and true to your oath and your troth-plight were you; and i to you swore that a lover i was; god forbid that with treason mine oath i ensue! yea, "welcome! fair welcome to those who draw near!" i called out aloud, as to meet you i flew. the dwellings, indeed, one and all, i adorned, bewildered and dazed with delight at your view; for death in your absence to us was decreed; but, when ye came back, we were quickened anew. when she had made an end of her verses, el abbas bade the third damsel, who came from samarcand of the persians and whose name was rummaneh, sing, and she answered with "hearkening and obedience." then she took the psaltery and crying out from the midst of her bead[fn# ] improvised and sang the following verses: my watering lips, that cull the rose of thy soft cheek, declare my basil,[fn# ] lily mine, to be the myrtles of thy hair. sandhill[fn# ] and down[fn# ] betwixt there blooms a yellow willow-flower,[fn# ] pomegranate-blossoms[fn# ] and for fruits pomegranates[fn# ] that doth bear. his eyelids' sorcery from mine eyes hath banished sleep; since he from me departed, nought see i except a drowsy fair.[fn# ] he shot me with the shafts of looks launched from an eyebrow's[fn# ] bow; a chamberlain[fn# ] betwixt his eyes hath driven me to despair. my heart belike shall his infect with softness, even as me his body with disease infects, of its seductive air. yet, if with him forgotten be the troth-plight of our loves, i have a king who of his grace will not forget me e'er. his sides the tamarisk's slenderness deride, so lithe they are, whence for conceit in his own charms still drunken doth he fare. whenas he runs, his feet still show like wings,[fn# ] and for the wind when was a rider found, except king solomon it were?[fn# ] therewithal el abbas smiled and her verses pleased him. then he bade the fourth damsel come forward and sing. now she was from the land of morocco and her name was belekhsha. so she came forward and taking the lute and the psaltery, tightened the strings thereof and smote thereon in many modes; then returned to the first mode and improvising, sang the following verses: when in the sitting-chamber we for merry-making sate, with thine eyes' radiance the place thou didst illuminate and pliedst us with cups of wine, whilst from the necklace pearls[fn# ] a strange intoxicating bliss withal did circulate, whose subtleness might well infect the understanding folk; and secrets didst thou, in thy cheer, to us communicate. whenas we saw the cup, forthright we signed to past it round and sun and moon unto our eyes shone sparkling from it straight. the curtain of delight, perforce, we've lifted through the friend,[fn# ] for tidings of great joy, indeed, there came to us of late. the camel-leader singing came with the belov'd; our wish accomplished was and we were quit of all the railers' prate. when clear'd my sky was by the sweet of our foregathering and not a helper there remained to disuniting fate, i shut myself up with my love; no spy betwixt us was; we feared no enemies' despite, no envious neighbour's hate. life with our loves was grown serene, estrangement was at end: our dear ones all delight of love vouchsafed to us elate, saying, "thy fill of union take; no spy is there on us, whom we should fear, nor yet reproach our gladness may abate." our loves are joined and cruelty at last is done away; ay, and the cup of love-delight 'twixt us doth circulate. upon yon be the peace of god! may all prosperity, for what's decreed of years and lives, upon you ever wait! when belekhsha had made an end of her verses, all present were moved to delight and el abbas said to her, "well done, o damsel!" then he bade the fifth damsel come forward and sing. now she was from the land of syria and her name was rihaneh; she was surpassing of voice and when she appeared in an assembly, all eyes were fixed upon her. so she came forward and taking the rebeck (for that she was used to play upon [all manner] instruments) improvised and sang the following verses: your coming to-me-ward, indeed, with "welcome! fair welcome!" i hail. your sight to me gladness doth bring and banisheth sorrow and bale; for love with your presence grows sweet, untroubled and life is serene and the star of our fortune burns bright, that clouds in your absence did veil. yea, by allah, my longing for you ne'er waneth nor passetb away; for your like among creatures is rare and sought for in mountain and vale. ask mine eyes whether slumber hath lit on their lids since the hour of your loss or if aye on a lover they've looked. nay, an ye believe not their tale, my heart, since the leave-taking day afflicted, will tell of my case, and my body, for love and desire grown wasted and feeble and frail. could they who reproach me but see my sufferings, their hearts would relent; they'd marvel, indeed, at my case and the loss of my loved ones bewail. yea, they'd join me in pouring forth tears and help me my woes to lament, and like unto me they'd become all wasted and tortured and pale. how long did the heart for thy love that languished with longing endure a burden of passion, 'neath which e'en mountains might totter and fail! by allah, what sorrows and woes to my soul for thy sake were decreed! my heart is grown hoar, ere eld's snows have left on my tresses their trail. the fires in my vitals that rage if i did but discover to view, their ardour the world to consume, from the east to the west, might avail. but now unto me of my loves accomplished are joyance and cheer and those whom i cherish my soul with the wine of contentment regale. our lord, after sev'rance, with them hath conjoined us, for he who doth good shall ne'er disappointed abide and kindnesses kindness entail. when king el aziz heard the damsel's song, her speech and her verses pleased him and he said to el abbas, "o my son, verily, these damsels are weary with long versifying, and indeed they make us yearn after the dwellings and the homesteads with the goodliness of their songs. indeed, these five have adorned our assembly with the excellence of their melodies and have done well in that which they have said before those who are present; wherefore we counsel thee to enfranchise them for the love of god the most high." quoth el abbas, "there is no commandment but thy commandment;" and he enfranchised the ten damsels in the assembly; whereupon they kissed the hands of the king and his son and prostrated themselves in thanksgiving to god the most high. then they put off that which was upon them of ornaments and laying aside the lutes [and other] instruments of music, clave to their houses, veiled, and went not forth.[fn# ] as for king el aziz, he lived after this seven years and was admitted to the mercy of god the most high; whereupon his son el abbas carried him forth to burial on such wise as beseemeth unto kings and let make recitations and readings of the koran, in whole or in part, over his tomb. he kept up the mourning for his father a full-told month, at the end of which time he sat down on the throne of the kingship and judged and did justice and distributed silver and gold. moreover, he loosed all who were in the prisons and abolished grievances and customs dues and did the oppressed justice of the oppressor; wherefore the people prayed for him and loved him and invoked on him endurance of glory and kingship and length of continuance [on life] and eternity of prosperity and happiness. moreover, the troops submitted to him and the hosts from all parts of the kingdom, and there came to him presents from all the lands. the kings obeyed him and many were his troops and his grandees, and his subjects lived with him the most easeful and prosperous of lives. meanwhile, he ceased not, he and his beloved, queen mariyeh, in the most delightsome of life and the pleasantest thereof, and he was vouchsafed by her children; and indeed there befell friendship and love between them and the longer their companionship was prolonged, the more their love waxed, so that they became unable to endure from each other a single hour, save the time of his going forth to the divan, when he would return to her in the utterest that might be of longing. aud on this wise they abode in all solace and delight of life, till there came to them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of companies. so extolled be the perfection of him whose kingdom endureth for ever, who is never heedless neither dieth nor sleepeth! this is all that hath come down to us of their story, and so peace [be on you!] shehrzad and shehriyar.[fn# ] king shehriyar marvelled [at this story[fn# ]] and said "by allah, verily, injustice slayeth its folk!"[fn# ] and he was edified by that wherewith shehrzad bespoke him and sought help of god the most high. then said he to her, "tell me another of thy stories, o shehrzad; let it be a pleasant one and this shall be the completion of the story-telling." "with all my heart," answered shehrzad. "it hath reached me, o august king, that a man once said to his fellows, 'i will set forth to you a means[fn# ] of security[fn# ] against vexation.[fn# ] a friend of mine once related to me and said, "we attained [whiles] to security[fn# ] against vexation,[fn# ]and the origin of it was other than this; to wit, it was as follows.[fn# ] the two kings and the vizier's daughters.[fn# ] [aforetime] i journeyed in [many] lands and climes and towns and visited the great cities and traversed the ways and [exposed myself to] dangers and hardships. towards the last of my life, i entered a city [of the cities of china],[fn# ] wherein was a king of the chosroes and the tubbas[fn# ] and the caesars.[fn# ] now that city had been peopled with its inhabitants by means of justice and equitable dealing; but its [then] king was a tyrant, who despoiled souls and [did away] lives; there was no wanning oneself at his fire,[fn# ] for that indeed he oppressed the true believers and wasted the lands. now he had a younger brother, who was [king] in samarcand of the persians, and the two kings abode a while of time, each in his own city and place, till they yearned unto each other and the elder king despatched his vizier in quest of his younger brother. when the vizier came to the king of samarcand [and acquainted him with his errand], he submitted himself to the commandment [of his brother and made answer] with 'hearkening and obedience.' then he equipped himself and made ready for the journey and brought forth his tents and pavilions. a while after midnight, he went in to his wife, that he might take leave of her, and found with her a strange man, sleeping with her in one bed. so he slew them both and dragging them out by the feet, cast them away and set forth incontinent on his journey. when he came to his brother's court, the latter rejoiced in him with an exceeding joy and lodged him in the pavilion of entertainment, [to wit, the guest-house,] beside his own palace. now this pavilion overlooked a garden belonging to the elder king and there the younger brother abode with him some days. then he called to mind that which his wife had done with him and remembered him of her slaughter and bethought him how he was a king, yet was not exempt from the vicissitudes of fortune; and this wrought upon him with an exceeding despite, so that it caused him abstain from meat and drink, or, if he ate anything, it profited him not. when his brother saw him on this wise, he doubted not but that this had betided him by reason of severance from his people and family and said to him, 'come, let us go forth a-hunting.' but he refused to go with him; so the elder brother went forth to the chase, whilst the younger abode in the pavilion aforesaid. as he was diverting himself by looking out upon the garden from the window of the palace, behold, he saw his brother's wife and with her ten black slaves and as many slave-girls. each slave laid hold of a damsel [and swived her] and another slave [came forth and] did the like with the queen; and when they had done their occasions, they all returned whence they came. therewithal there betided the king of samarcand exceeding wonder and solacement and he was made whole of his malady, little by little. after a few days, his brother returned and finding him healed of his sickness, said to him, 'tell me, o my brother, what was the cause of thy sickness and thy pallor, and what is the cause of the return of health to thee and of rosiness to thy face after this?' so he acquainted him with the whole case and this was grievous to him; but they concealed their affair and agreed to leave the kingship and fare forth pilgrim-wise, wandering at a venture, for they deemed that there had befallen none the like of this which had befallen them. [so they went forth and wandered on at hazard] and as they journeyed, they saw by the way a woman imprisoned in seven chests, whereon were five locks, and sunken in the midst of the salt sea, under the guardianship of an afrit; yet for all this that woman issued forth of the sea and opened those locks and coming forth of those chests, did what she would with the two brothers, after she had circumvented the afrit. when the two kings saw that woman's fashion and how she circumvented the afrit, who had lodged her at the bottom of the sea, they turned back to their kingdoms and the younger betook himself to samarcand, whilst the elder returned to china and established unto himself a custom in the slaughter of women, to wit, his vizier used to bring him a girl every night, with whom he lay that night, and when he arose in the morning, he gave her to the vizier and bade him put her to death. on this wise he abode a great while, whilst the people murmured and the creatures [of god] were destroyed and the commons cried out by reason of that grievous affair whereinto they were fallen and feared the wrath of god the most high, dreading lest he should destroy them by means of this. still the king persisted in that fashion and in that his blameworthy intent of the killing of women and the despoilment of the curtained ones,[fn# ] wherefore the girls sought succour of god the most high and complained to him of the tyranny of the king and of his oppressive dealing with them. now the king's vizier had two daughters, own sisters, the elder of whom had read books and made herself mistress of [all] sciences and studied the writings of the sages and the histories of the boon-companions,[fn# ] and she was possessed of abundant wit and knowledge galore and surpassing apprehension. she heard that which the folk suffered from the king and his despiteous usage of their children; whereupon compassion gat hold upon her for them and jealousy and she besought god the most high that he would bring the king to renounce that his heresy,[fn# ] and god answered her prayer. then she took counsel with her younger sister and said to her, 'i mean to contrive somewhat for the liberation of the people's children; and it is that i will go up to the king [and offer myself to him], and when i come to his presence, i will seek thee. when thou comest in to me and the king hath done his occasion [of me], do thou say to me, 'o my sister, let me hear and let the king hear a story of thy goodly stories, wherewithal we may beguile the waking hours of our night, till we take leave of each other.' 'it is well,' answered the other. 'surely this contrivance will deter the king from his heresy and thou shalt be requited with exceeding favour and abounding recompense in the world to come, for that indeed thou adventurest thyself and wilt either perish or attain to thy desire.' so she did this and fair fortune aided her and the divine favour was vouchsafed unto her and she discovered her intent to her father, who forbade her therefrom, fearing her slaughter. however, she repeated her speech to him a second and a third time, but he consented not. then he cited unto her a parable, that should deter her, and she cited him a parable in answer to his, and the talk was prolonged between them and the adducing of instances, till her father saw that he availed not to turn her from her purpose and she said to him, 'needs must i marry the king, so haply i may be a sacrifice for the children of the muslims; either i shall turn him from this his heresy or i shall die.' when the vizier despaired of dissuading her, he went up to the king and acquainted him with the case, saying, 'i have a daughter and she desireth to give herself to the king.' quoth the king, 'how can thy soul consent unto this, seeing that thou knowest i lie but one night with a girl and when i arise on the morrow, i put her to death, and it is thou who slayest her, and thou hast done this again and again?' 'know, o king,' answered the vizier, 'that i have set forth all this to her, yet consented she not unto aught, but needs must she have thy company and still chooseth to come to thee and present herself before thee, notwithstanding that i have cited to her the sayings of the sages; but she hath answered me to the contrary thereof with more than that which i said to her.' and the king said, 'bring her to me this night and to-morrow morning come thou and take her and put her to death; and by allah, an thou slay her not, i will slay thee and her also!' the vizier obeyed the king's commandment and going out from before him, [returned to his own house. when it was night, he took his elder daughter and carried her up to the king; and when she came into his presence,] she wept; whereupon quoth he to her, 'what causeth thee weep? indeed, it was thou who willedst this.' and she answered, saying, 'i weep not but for longing after my little sister; for that, since we grew up, i and she, i have never been parted from her till this day; so, if it please the king to send for her, that i may look on her and take my fill of her till the morning, this were bounty and kindness of the king.' accordingly, the king bade fetch the girl [and she came]. then there befell that which befell of his foregathering with the elder sister, and when he went up to his couch, that he might sleep, the younger sister said to the elder, 'i conjure thee by allah, o my sister, an thou be not asleep, tell us a story of thy goodly stories, wherewithal we may beguile the watches of our night, against morning come and parting.' 'with all my heart,' answered she and fell to relating to her, whilst the king listened. her story was goodly and delightful, and whilst she was in the midst of telling it, the dawn broke. now the king's heart clave to the hearing of the rest of the story; so he respited her till the morrow, and when it was the next night, she told him a story concerning the marvels of the lands and the extraordinary chances of the folk, that was yet stranger and rarer than the first. in the midst of the story, the day appeared and she was silent from the permitted speech. so he let her live till the ensuing night, so he might hear the completion of the story and after put her to death. meanwhile, the people of the city rejoiced and were glad and blessed the vizier's daughter, marvelling for that three days had passed and that the king had not put her to death and exulting in that, [as they deemed,] he had turned [from his purpose] and would never again burden himself with blood-guiltiness against any of the maidens of the city. then, on the fourth night, she related to him a still more extraordinary story, and on the fifth night she told him anecdotes of kings and viziers and notables. on this wise she ceased not [to do] with him [many] days and nights, what while the king still said in himself, 'when i have heard the end of the story, i will put her to death,' and the people waxed ever in wonder and admiration. moreover, the folk of the provinces and cities heard of this thing, to wit, that the king had turned from his custom and from that which he had imposed upon himself and had renounced his heresy, wherefore they rejoiced and the folk returned to the capital and took up their abode therein, after they had departed thence; yea, they were constant in prayer to god the most high that he would stablish the king in that his present case; and this," said shehrzad, "is the end of that which my friend related to me." "o shehrzad," quoth shehriyar, "finish unto us the story that thy friend told thee, for that it resembleth the story of a king whom i knew; but fain would i hear that which betided the people of this city and what they said of the affair of the king, so i may return from that wherein i was." "with all my heart," answered shehrzad. "know, o august king and lord of just judgment and praiseworthy excellence and exceeding prowess, that, when the folk heard that the king had put away from him his custom and returned from that which had been his wont, they rejoiced in this with an exceeding joy and offered up prayers for him. then they talked with one another of the cause of the slaughter of the girls, and the wise said, 'they[fn# ] are not all alike, nor are the fingers of the hand alike.'" shehrzad and shehriyar.[fn# ] (conclusion) when king shehriyar heard this story, he came to himself and awaking from his drunkenness,[fn# ] said, "by allah, this story is my story and this case is my case, for that indeed i was in wrath[fn# ] and [danger of] punishment till thou turnedst me back from this into the right way, extolled be the perfection of the causer of causes and the liberator of necks! indeed, o shehrzad," continued he, "thou hast awakened me unto many things and hast aroused me from mine ignorance." then said she to him, "o chief of the kings, the wise say, 'the kingship is a building, whereof the troops are the foundation,' and whenas the foundation is strong, the building endureth; wherefore it behoveth the king to strengthen the foundation, for that they say, 'whenas the foundation is weak, the building falleth.' on like wise it behoveth the king to care for his troops and do justice among his subjects, even as the owner of the garden careth for his trees and cutteth away the weeds that have no profit in them; and so it behoveth the king to look into the affairs of his subjects and fend off oppression from them. as for thee, o king," continued shehrzad, "it behoveth thee that thy vizier be virtuous and versed in the knowledge of the affairs of the folk and the common people; and indeed god the most high hath named his name[fn# ] in the history of moses (on whom be peace!) whenas he saith, [quoth moses] 'and make me a vizier of my people, aaron [my brother].[fn# ] could a vizier have been dispensed withal, moses ben imran had been worthier [than any of this dispensation].[fn# ] as for the vizier, the sultan discovereth unto him his affairs, private and public; and know, o king, that the similitude of thee with the people is that of the physician with the sick man; and the condition[fn# ] of the vizier is that he be truthful in his sayings, trustworthy in all his relations, abounding in compassion for the folk and in tender solicitude over them. indeed, it is said, o king, that good troops[fn# ] are like the druggist; if his perfumes reach thee not, thou still smallest the sweet scent of them; and ill troops are like the black-smith; if his sparks burn thee not, thou smellest his nauseous smell. so it behoveth thee take unto thyself a virtuous vizier, a man of good counsel, even as thou takest unto thee a wife displayed before thy face, for that thou hast need of the man's righteousness for thine own amendment,[fn# ] seeing that, if thou do righteously, the commons will do likewise, and if thou do evil, they also will do evil." when the king heard this, drowsiness overcame him and he slept and presently awaking, called for the candles. so they were lighted and he sat down on his couch and seating shehrzad by him, smiled in her face. she kissed the earth before him and said, "o king of the age and lord of the time and the day, extolled be the perfection of [god] the forgiving one, the bountiful giver, who hath sent me unto thee, of his favour and beneficence, so i have informed thee with longing after paradise; for that this which thou wast used to do was never done of any of the kings before thee. as for women, god the most high [in his holy book] maketh mention of them, [whenas he saith, 'verily, men who submit [themselves unto god] and women who submit] and true-believing men and true-believing women and obedient men and obedient women and soothfast men and soothfast women [and long-suffering men and long-suffering women and men who order themselves humbly and women who order themselves humbly and charitable men and charitable women and men who fast and women who fast] and men who guard their privities and women who guard their privities [and men who are constantly mindful of god and women who are constantly mindful, god hath prepared unto them forgiveness and a mighty recompense].[fn# ] as for that which hath befallen thee, verily, it hath befallen [many] kings before thee and their women have played them false, for all they were greater of puissance than thou, yea, and mightier of kingship and more abounding in troops. if i would, i could relate unto thee, o king, concerning the wiles of women, that whereof i could not make an end all my life long; and indeed, aforetime, in all these my nights that i have passed before thee, i have told thee [many stories and anecdotes] of the artifices of women and of their craft and perfidy; but indeed the things abound on me;[fn# ] wherefore, if it like thee, o king, i will relate unto thee [somewhat] of that which befell kings of old time of the perfidy of their women and of the calamities which overtook them by reason of these latter." "how so?" asked the king. "tell on." "hearkening and obedience,"answered shehrzad."it hath been told me, o king, that a man once related to a company and spoke as follows: the favourite and her lover.[fn# ] one day, a day of excessive heat, as i stood at the door of my house, i saw a fair woman approaching, and with her a slave-girl carrying a parcel. they gave not over going till they came up to me, when the woman stopped and said to me, 'hast thou a draught of water?' 'yes,' answered i. 'enter the vestibule, o my lady, so thou mayst drink.' accordingly, she entered and i went up into the house and fetched two mugs of earthenware, perfumed with musk[fn# ] and full of cold water. she took one of them and discovered her face, [that she might drink]; whereupon i saw that she was as the shining sun or the rising moon and said to her, 'o my lady, wilt thou not come up into the house, so thou mayst rest thyself till the air grow cool and after go away to thine own place?' quoth she, 'is there none with thee?' 'indeed,' answered i, 'i am a [stranger] and a bachelor and have none belonging to me, nor is there a living soul in the house.' and she said, 'an thou be a stranger, thou art he in quest of whom i was going about.' then she went up into the house and put off her [walking] clothes and i found her as she were the full moon. i brought her what i had by me of meat and drink and said to her, 'o my lady, excuse me: this is that which is ready.' quoth she, 'this is abundant kindness and indeed it is what i sought' and she ate and gave the slave-girl that which was left; after which i brought her a casting-bottle of rose-water, mingled with musk, and she washed her hands and abode with me till the season of afternoon-prayer, when she brought out of the parcel that she had with her a shirt and trousers and an upper garment[fn# ] and a kerchief wroughten with gold and gave them to me; saying, 'know that i am one of the favourites of the khalif, and we are forty favourites, each one of whom hath a lover who cometh to her as often as she would have him; and none is without a lover save myself, wherefore i came forth to-day to find me a gallant and behold, i have found thee. thou must know that the khalif lieth each night with one of us, whilst the other nine-and-thirty favourites take their ease with the nine-and-thirty men, and i would have thee be with me on such a day, when do thou come up to the palace of the khalif and wait for me in such a place, till a little eunuch come out to thee and say to thee a [certain] word, to wit, "art thou sendel?" and do thou answer, "yes," and go with him.' then she took leave of me and i of her, after i had strained her to my bosom and embraced her and we had kissed awhile. so she went away and i abode expecting the appointed day, till it came, when i arose and went forth, intending for the trysting-place; but a friend of mine met me by the way [and would have me go home with him. so i accompanied him to his house] and when i came up [into his sitting-chamber] he locked the door on me and went forth to fetch what we might eat and drink. he was absent till mid-day, then till the hour of afternoon-prayer, whereat i was sore disquieted. then he was absent till sundown, and i was like to die of chagrin and impatience; [and indeed he returned not] and i passed my night on wake, nigh upon death, for that the door was locked on me, and my soul was like to depart my body on account of the tryst. at daybreak, my friend returned and opening the door, came in, bringing with him meat-pottage[fn# ] and fritters and bees' honey,[fn# ] and said to me, 'by allah, thou must needs excuse me, for that i was with a company and they locked the door on me and have but now let me go.' but i returned him no answer. then he set before me that which was with him and i ate a single mouthful and went out, running, so haply i might overtake that which had escaped me.[fn# ] when i came to the palace, i saw over against it eight-and-thirty gibbets set up, whereon were eight-and-thirty men crucified, and under them eight-and-thirty concubines as they were moons. so i enquired of the reason of the crucifixion of the men and concerning the women in question, and it was said unto me, 'the men [whom thou seest] crucified the khalif found with yonder damsels, who are his favourites.' when i heard this, i prostrated myself in thanksgiving to god and said, 'god requite thee with good, o my friend!' for that, had he not invited me [and kept me perforce in his house] that night, i had been crucified with these men, wherefore praise be to god! thus," continued shehrzad, "none is safe from the calamities of fortune and the vicissitudes of time, and [in proof of this], i will relate unto thee yet another story still rarer and more extraordinary than this. know, o king, that one said to me, 'a friend of mine, a merchant, told me the following story. quoth he, the merchant of cairo and the favourite of the khalif el mamoun el hakim bi amrillah.[fn# ] as i sat one day in my shop, there came up to me a fair woman, as she were the moon at its rising, and with her a slave-girl. now i was a handsome man in my time; so the lady sat down on [the bench before] my shop and buying stuffs of me, paid down the price and went away. i questioned the girl of her and she said, "i know not her name." quoth i, "where is her abode?" "in heaven," answered the slave-girl; and i said, "she is presently on the earth; so when doth she ascend to heaven and where is the ladder by which she goeth up?" quoth the girl, "she hath her lodging in a palace between two rivers,[fn# ] to wit, the palace of el mamoun el hakim bi amrillah."[fn# ] then said i, "i am a dead man, without recourse; "but she replied, "have patience, for needs must she return unto thee and buy stuffs of thee yet again." "and how cometh it," asked i, "that the commander of the faithful trusteth her to go out?" "he loveth her with an exceeding love," answered she, "and is wrapped up in her and gainsayeth her not." then the girl went away, running, after her mistress, whereupon i left the shop and set out after them, so i might see her abiding-place. i followed after them all the way, till she disappeared from mine eyes, when i returned to my place, with a heart on fire. some days after, she came to me again and bought stuffs of me. i refused to take the price and she said, "we have no need of thy goods." quoth i, "o my lady, accept them from me as a gift;" but she said, "[wait] till i try thee and make proof of thee." then she brought out of her pocket a purse and gave me therefrom a thousand dinars, saying, "trade with this till i return to thee." so i took the purse and she went away [and returned not to me] till six months had passed by. meanwhile, i traded with the money and sold and bought and made other thousand dinars profit [on it]. presently, she came to me again and i said to her, "here is thy money and i have gained [with it] other thousand dinars." quoth she, "keep it by thee and take these other thousand dinars. as soon as i have departed from thee, go thou to er rauzeh[fn# ] and build there a goodly pavilion, and when the building thereof is accomplished, give me to know thereof." so saying, she left me and went away. as soon as she was gone, i betook myself to er rauzeh and addressed myself to the building of the pavilion, and when it was finished, i furnished it with the goodliest of furniture and sent to the lady to tell her that i had made an end of its building; whereupon she sent back to me, saying, "let him meet me to-morrow at daybreak at the zuweyleh gate and bring with him a good ass." so i got me an ass and betaking myself to the zuweyleh gate, at the appointed time, found there a young man on horse- back, awaiting her, even as i awaited her. as we stood, behold, up came the lady, and with her a slave-girl. when she saw the young man, she said to him, "art thou here?" and he answered, "yes, o my lady." quoth she, "to-day i am bidden by this man. wilt thou go with us?" and he replied, "yes." then said she, "thou hast brought me [hither] against my will and perforce. wilt thou go with us in any event?"[fn# ] "yes, yes," answered he and we fared on, [all three,] till we came to er rauzeh and entered the pavilion. the lady diverted herself awhile with viewing its ordinance and furniture, after which she put off her [walking-]clothes and sat down [with the young man] in the goodliest and chiefest place. then i went forth and brought them what they should eat at the first of the day; moreover, i went out also and fetched them what they should eat at the last of the day and brought them wine and dessert and fruits and flowers. on this wise i abode in their service, standing on my feet, and she said not unto me, "sit," nor "take, eat" nor "take, drink," what while she and the young man sat toying and laughing, and he fell to kissing her and pinching her and hopping about upon the ground and laughing. they abode thus awhile and presently she said, "up to now we have not become drunken; let me pour out." so she took the cup and gave him to drink and plied him with liquor, till he became drunken, when she took him and carried him into a closet. then she came out, with his head in her hand, what while i stood silent, fixing not mine eyes on hers neither questioning her of this; and she said to me, "what is this?" "i know not," answered i; and she said, "take it and cast it into the river." i obeyed her commandment and she arose and stripping herself of her clothes, took a knife and cut the dead man's body in pieces, which she laid in three baskets, and said to me, "throw them into the river." i did as she bade me and when i returned, she said to me, "sit, so i may relate to thee yonder fellow's case, lest thou be affrighted at that which hath befallen him. thou must know that i am the khalif's favourite, nor is there any more in honour with him than i; and i am allowed six nights in each month, wherein i go down [into the city and take up my abode] with my [former] mistress, who reared me; and when i go down thus, i dispose of myself as i will. now this young man was the son of neighbours of my mistress, when i was a virgin girl. one day, my mistress was [engaged] with the chief [officers] of the palace and i was alone in the house. when the night came on, i went up to the roof, so i might sleep there, and before i was aware, this youth came up from the street and falling upon me, knelt on my breast. he was armed with a poniard and i could not win free of him till he had done away my maidenhead by force; and this sufficed him not, but he must needs disgrace me with all the folk, for, as often as i came down from the palace, he would lie in wait for me by the way and swive me against my will and follow me whithersoever i went. this, then, is my story, and as for thee, thou pleasest me and thy patience pleaseth me and thy good faith and loyal service, and there abideth with me none dearer than thou." then i lay with her that night and there befell what befell between us till the morning, when she gave me wealth galore and fell to coming to the pavilion six days in every month. on this wise we abode a whole year, at the end of which time she was absent[fn# ] from me a month's space, wherefore fire raged in my heart on her account. when it was the next month, behold, a little eunuch presented himself to me and said, "i am a messenger to thee from such an one," [naming my mistress], "who giveth thee to know that the commander of the faithful hath sentenced her to be drowned, her and those who are with her, six-and-twenty slave-girls, on such a day at deir et tin,[fn# ] for that they have confessed against one another of lewdness, and she biddeth thee look how thou mayst do with her and how thou mayst contrive to deliver her, even if thou gather together all her money and spend it upon her, for that this is the time of manhood."[fn# ] quoth i, "i know not this woman; belike it is other than i [to whom this message is addressed]; so beware, o eunuch, lest thou cast me into stress." quoth he, "behold, i have told thee [that which i had to say,"] and went away, leaving me in concern [on her account]. [when the appointed day arrived], i arose and changing my clothes and favour, donned sailor's apparel; then i took with me a purse full of gold and buying good [victual for the] morning-meal, accosted a boatman [at deir et tin] and sat down and ate with him; after which said i to him, "wilt thou hire me thy boat?" quoth he, "the commander of the faithful hath commanded me to be here;" and he told me the story of the concubines and how the khalif purposed to drown them that day. when i heard this from him, i brought out to him half a score dinars and discovered to him my case, whereupon quoth he to me, "o my brother, get thee empty calabashes, and when thy mistress cometh, give me to know of her and i will contrive the trick." i kissed his hand and thanked him, and as i was walking about, [waiting,] up came the guards and eunuchs with the women, who were weeping and crying out and taking leave of one another. the eunuchs cried out to us, whereupon we came with the boat, and they said to the boatman, "who is this?" "this is my mate," answered he, "[whom i have brought,] to help me, so one of us may keep the boat, whilst another doth your service." then they brought out to us the women, one by one, saying, "throw them [in] by the island;" and we answered, "it is well." now each of them was shackled and they had made a jar of sand fast about her neck. we did as the eunuchs bade us and ceased not to take the women, one after another, and cast them in, till they gave us my mistress and i winked to my comrade. so we took her and carried her out into mid-stream, where i gave her the empty calabashes[fn# ] and said to her, "wait for me at the mouth of the canal." then we cast her in, after we had loosed the jar of sand from her neck and done off her fetters, and returned. now there remained one after her; so we took her and drowned her and the eunuchs went away, whilst we dropped down the river with the boat till we came to the mouth of the canal, where i saw my mistress awaiting me. so we took her up into the boat and returned to our pavilion on er rauzeh. then i rewarded the boatman and he took his boat and went away; whereupon quoth she to me, "thou art indeed a friend in need."[fn# ] and i abode with her some days; but the shock wrought upon her so that she sickened and fell to wasting away and redoubled in languishment and weakness till she died. i mourned for her with an exceeding mourning and buried her; after which i removed all that was in the pavilion to my own house [and abandoned the former]. now she had brought to the pavilion aforetime a little brass coffer and laid it in a place whereof i knew not; so, when the inspector of inheritances[fn# ] came, he searched the pavilion and found the coffer, with the key in the lock. so he opened it and finding it full of jewels and jacinths and earrings and seal-rings and precious stones, such as are not found save with kings and sultans, took it, and me with it, and ceased not to put me to the question with beating and torment till i confessed to them the whole affair from beginning to end, whereupon they carried me to the khalif and i told him all that had passed between me and her; and he said to me, "o man, depart from this city, for i acquit thee for thy valiance sake and because of thy [constancy in] keeping thy secret and thy daring in exposing thyself to death." so i arose forthright and departed his city; and this is what befell me.'" shehrzad and shehriyar. king shehriyar marvelled at these things and shehrzad said to him, "thou marvelledst at that which befell thee on the part of women; yet hath there befallen the kings of the chosroes before thee what was more grievous than that which befell thee, and indeed i have set forth unto thee that which betided khalifs and kings and others than they with their women, but the exposition is long and hearkening groweth tedious, and in this [that i have already told thee] is sufficiency for the man of understanding and admonishment for the wise." then she was silent, and when the king heard her speech and profited by that which she said, he summoned up his reasoning faculties and cleansed his heart and caused his understanding revert [to the right way] and turned [with repentance] to god the most high and said in himself, "since there befell the kings of the chosroes more than that which hath befallen me, never, whilst i abide [on life], shall i cease to blame myself [for that which i did in the slaughter of the daughters of the folk]. as for this shehrzad, her like is not found in the lands; so extolled be the perfection of him who appointed her a means for the deliverance of his creatures from slaughter and oppression!" then he arose from his session and kissed her head, whereat she rejoiced with an exceeding joy, she and her sister dinarzad. when the morning morrowed, the king went forth and sitting down on the throne of the kingship, summoned the grandees of his empire; whereupon the chamberlains and deputies and captains of the host went in to him and kissed the earth before him. he distinguished the vizier with his especial favour and bestowed on him a dress of honour and entreated him with the utmost kindness, after which he set forth briefly to his chief officers that which had betided him with shehrzad and how he had turned from that his former usance and repented him of what he had done aforetime and purposed to take the vizier's daughter shehrzad to wife and let draw up the contract of marriage with her. when those who were present heard this, they kissed the earth before him and offered up prayers for him and for the damsel shehrzad, and the vizier thanked her. then shehriyar made an end of the session in all weal, whereupon the folk dispersed to their dwelling-places and the news was bruited abroad that the king purposed to marry the vizier's daughter shehrzad. then he proceeded to make ready the wedding gear, and [when he had made an end of his preparations], he sent after his brother king shahzeman, who came, and king shehriyar went forth to meet him with the troops. moreover, they decorated the city after the goodliest fashion and diffused perfumes [from the censing-vessels] and [burnt] aloes-wood and other perfumes in all the markets and thoroughfares and rubbed themselves with saffron, what while the drums beat and the flutes and hautboys sounded and it was a notable day. when they came to the palace, king shehriyar commanded to spread the tables with beasts roasted [whole] and sweetmeats and all manner viands and bade the crier make proclamation to the folk that they should come up to the divan and eat and drink and that this should be a means of reconciliation between him and them. so great and small came up unto him and they abode on that wise, eating and drinking, seven days with their nights. then the king shut himself up with his brother and acquainted him with that which had betided him with the vizier's daughter [shehrzad] in those three years [which were past] and told him what he had heard from her of saws and parables and chronicles and pleasant traits and jests and stories and anecdotes and dialogues and histories and odes and verses; whereat king shahzeman marvelled with the utterest of marvel and said, "fain would i take her younger sister to wife, so we may be two own brothers to two own sisters, and they on likewise be sisters unto us; for that the calamity which befell me was the means of the discovering of that which befell thee and all this time of three years past i have taken no delight in woman, save that i lie each night with a damsel of my kingdom, and when i arise in the morning, i put her to death; but now i desire to marry thy wife's sister dinarzad." when king shehriyar heard his brother's words he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and arising forthright, went in to his wife shehrzad and gave her to know of that which his brother purposed, to wit, that he sought her sister dinarzad in marriage; whereupon, "o king of the age," answered she, "we seek of him one condition, to wit, that he take up his abode with us, for that i cannot brook to be parted from my sister an hour, because we were brought up together and may not brook severance from each other. if he accept this condition, she is his handmaid." king shehriyar returned to his brother and acquainted him with that which shehrzad had said; and he answered, saying, "indeed, this is what was in my mind, for that i desire nevermore to be parted from thee. as for the kingdom, god the most high shall send unto it whom he chooseth, for that there abideth to me no desire for the kingship." when king shehriyar heard his brother's words, he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and said, "verily, this is what i had wished, o my brother. so praised be god who hath brought about union between us!" then he sent after the cadis and learned men and captains and notables, and they married the two brothers to the two sisters. the contracts were drawn up and the two kings bestowed dresses of honour of silk and satin on those who were present, whilst the city was decorated and the festivities were renewed. the king commanded each amir and vizier and chamberlain and deputy to decorate his palace and the folk of the city rejoiced in the presage of happiness and content. moreover, king shehriyar bade slaughter sheep and get up kitchens and made bride-feasts and fed all comers, high and low. then the eunuchs went forth, that they might perfume the bath [for the use of the brides]; so they essenced it with rose-water and willow-flower-water and bladders of musk and fumigated it with cakili[fn# ] aloes-wood and ambergris. then shehrzad entered, she and her sister dinarzad, and they cleansed their heads and clipped their hair. when they came forth of the bath, they donned raiment and ornaments, [such as were] prepared for the kings of the chosroes; and among shehrzad's apparel was a dress charactered with red gold and wroughten with semblants of birds and beasts. moreover, they both encircled their necks with necklaces of jewels of price, in the like whereof iskender[fn# ] rejoiced not, for therein were great jewels such as amazed the wit and the eye, and the thought was bewildered at their charms, for indeed, each of them was brighter than the sun and the moon. before them they kindled lighted flambeaux in torch-holders of gold, but their faces outshone the flambeaux, for that they had eyes sharper than drawn swords and the lashes of their eyelids ensorcelled all hearts. their cheeks were rosy and their necks and shapes swayed gracefully and their eyes wantoned. and the slave-girls came to meet them with instruments of music. then the two kings entered the bath, and when they came forth, they sat down on a couch, inlaid with pearls and jewels, whereupon the two sisters came up to them and stood before them, as they were moons, swaying gracefully from side to side in their beauty and grace. presently they brought forward shehrzad and displayed her, for the first dress, in a red suit; whereupon king shehriyar rose to look upon her and the wits of all present, men and women, were confounded, for that she was even as saith of her one of her describers: like a sun at the end of a cane in a hill of sand, she shines in a dress of the hue of pomegranate flower. she gives me to drink of her cheeks and her honeyed lips and quenches the worst of the fires that my heart devour. then they attired dinarzad in a dress of blue brocade and she became as she were the full moon, whenas it shineth forth. so they displayed her in this, for the first dress, before king shahzeman, who rejoiced in her and well-nigh took leave of his wits for longing and amorous desire; yea, he was distraught with love for her, whenas he saw her, for, indeed, she was as saith of her one of her describers in the following verses: she comes in a robe the colour of ultramarine, blue as the stainless sky, unflecked with white; i view her with yearning eyes and she seems to me a moon of the summer, set in a winter's night. then they returned to shehrzad and displayed her in the second dress. they clad her in a dress of surpassing goodliness, and veiled her face to the eyes with her hair. moreover, they let down her side locks and she was even as saith of her one of her describers in the following verses: bravo for her whose loosened locks her cheeks do overcloud! she slays me with her cruelty, so fair she is and proud. quoth i, "thou overcurtainest the morning with the night;" and she, "not so; it is the moon that with the dark i shroud." then they displayed dinarzad in a second and a third and a fourth dress and she came forward, as she were the rising sun, and swayed coquettishly to and fro; and indeed she was even as saith the poet of her in the following verses: a sun of beauty she appears to all who look on her, glorious in arch and amorous grace, with coyness beautified; and when the sun of morning sees her visage and her smile, o'ercome. he hasteneth his face behind the clouds to hide. then they displayed shehrzad in the third dress and the fourth and the fifth, and she became as she were a willow-wand or a thirsting gazelle, goodly of grace and perfect of attributes, even as saith of her one in the following verses: like the full moon she shows upon a night of fortune fair, slender of shape and charming all with her seductive air. she hath an eye, whose glances pierce the hearts of all mankind, nor can cornelian with her cheeks for ruddiness compare. the sable torrent of her locks falls down unto her hips; beware the serpents of her curls, i counsel thee, beware! indeed her glance, her sides are soft; but none the less, alas! her heart is harder than the rock; there is no mercy there. the starry arrows of her looks she darts above her veil; they hit and never miss the mark, though from afar they fare. then they returned to dinarzad and displayed her in the fifth dress and in the sixth, which was green. indeed, she overpassed with her loveliness the fair of the four quarters of the world and outshone, with the brightness of her countenance, the full moon at its rising; for she was even as saith of her the poet in the following verses: a damsel made for love and decked with subtle grace; thou'dst deem the very sun had borrowed from her face. she came in robes of green, the likeness of the leaf that the pomegranate's flower doth in the bud encase. "how call'st thou this thy dress?" quoth we, and she replied a word wherein the wise a lesson well might trace; "breaker of hearts," quoth she, "i call it, for therewith i've broken many a heart among the amorous race." then they displayed shehrzad in the sixth and seventh dresses and clad her in youths' apparel, whereupon she came forward, swaying coquettishly from side to side; and indeed she ravished wits and hearts and ensorcelled with her glances [all who looked on her]. she shook her sides and wagged her hips, then put her hair on the hilt of her sword and went up to king shehriyar, who embraced her, as the hospitable man embraces the guest, and threatened her in her ear with the taking of the sword; and indeed she was even as saith of her the poet in these verses: were not the darkness[fn# ] still in gender masculine, as ofttimes is the case with she-things passing fine, tirewomen to the bride, who whiskers, ay, and beard upon her face produce, they never would assign.[fn# ] on this wise they did with her sister dinarzad, and when they had made an end of displaying the two brides, the king bestowed dresses of honour on all who were present and dismissed them to their own places. then shehrzad went in to king shehriyar and dinarzad to king shahzeman and each of them solaced himself with the company of his beloved and the hearts of the folk were comforted. when the morning morrowed, the vizier came in to the two kings and kissed the ground before them; wherefore they thanked him and were bountiful to him. then they went forth and sat down upon couches of estate, whilst all the viziers and amirs and grandees and the chief officers of the realm and the household presented themselves before them and kissed the earth. king shehriyar ordered them dresses of honour and largesse and they offered up prayers for the abiding continuance [on life] of the king and his brother. then the two kings appointed their father-in-law the vizier to be viceroy in samarcand and assigned him five of the chief amirs to accompany him, charging them attend him and do him service. the vizier kissed the earth and prayed that they might be vouchsafed length of life. then he went in to his daughters, whilst the eunuchs and ushers walked before him, and saluted them and bade them farewell. they kissed his hands and gave him joy of the kingship and bestowed on him treasures galore. then he took leave of them and setting out, journeyed days and nights till he came within three days' journey of samarcand, where the townspeople met him and rejoiced in him with an exceeding joy. so he entered samarcand and they decorated the city, and it was a notable day. he sat down on the throne of his kingship and the viziers did him homage and the grandees and amirs of samarcand and prayed that he might be vouchsafed justice and victory and length of continuance [on life]. so he bestowed on them dresses of honour and entreated them with worship and they made him sultan over them. as soon as his father-in-law had departed for samarcand, king shehriyar summoned the grandees of his realm and made them a magnificent banquet of all manner rich meats and exquisite sweetmeats. moreover, he bestowed on them dresses of honour and guerdoned them and divided the kingdoms between himself and his brother in their presence, whereat the folk rejoiced. then the two kings abode, ruling each a day in turn and they accorded with each other, what while their wives continued in the love of god the most high and in thanksgiving to him; and the subjects and the provinces were at peace and the preachers prayed for them from the pulpits, and their report was bruited abroad and the travellers bore tidings of them [to all countries]. moreover, king shehriyar summoned chroniclers and copyists and bade them write all that had betided him with his wife, first and last; so they wrote this and named it "the stories of the thousand nights and one night." the book came to[fn# ] thirty volumes and these the king laid up in his treasury. then the two kings abode with their wives in all delight and solace of life, for that indeed god the most high had changed their mourning into joyance; and on this wise they continued till there took them the destroyer of delights and sunderer of companies, he who maketh void the dwelling-places and peopleth the tombs, and they were translated to the mercy of god the most high; their houses were laid waste and their palaces ruined and the kings inherited their riches. then there reigned after them an understanding king, who was just, keen-witted and accomplished and loved stories, especially those which chronicle the doings of kings and sultans, and he found [in the treasuries of the kings who had foregone him] these marvellous and rare and delightful stories, [written] in the thirty volumes aforesaid. so he read in them a first book and a second and a third and [so on] to the last of them, and each book pleased him more than that which forewent it, till he came to the end of them. then he marvelled at that which he had read [therein] of stories and discourse and witty traits and anecdotes and moral instances and reminiscences and bade the folk copy them and publish them in all lands and climes; wherefore their report was bruited abroad and the people named them "the marvels and rarities of the thousand nights and one night." this is all that hath come down to us of [the history of] this book, and god is all-knowing.[fn# ] calcutta ( - ) text. sindbad the sailor and hindbad the porter note. as the version of the sixth and seventh voyages of sindbad the sailor contained in[fn# ] the calcutta edition ( - ) of the first two hundred nights and in the text of the voyages published by m. langles (paris, ) differs very materially from that of the complete calcutta ( - ) edition[fn# ] (which is, in this case, practically identical with those of boulac and breslau), adopted by me as my standard text in the translation of "the book of the thousand nights and one night," the story of the seventh voyage in particular turning upon an altogether different set of incidents, related nearly as in the old version of m. galland, i now give a translation of the text of the two voyages in question afforded by the calcutta ( - ) edition, corrected and completed by collation with that of m. langles, from which it differs only in being slightly less full. it will be observed that in this version of the story the name sindbad is reserved for the sailor, the porter being called hindbad. sindbad the sailor and hindbad the porter. on the morrow they[fn# ] returned to their place, as of their wont, and betook themselves to eating and drinking and merry-making and sporting till the last of the day, when sindbad bade them hearken to his relation concerning his sixth voyage, the which (quoth he) is of the most extraordinary of pleasant stories and the most startling [for that which it compriseth] of tribulations and disasters. then said he, the sixth voyage of sindbad the sailor. "when i returned from my fifth voyage, i gave myself up to eating and drinking and passed my time in solace and delight and forgot that which i had suffered of stresses and afflictions, nor was it long before the thought of travel again presented itself to my mind and my soul hankered after the sea. so i brought out the goods and binding up the bales, departed from baghdad, [intending] for certain of the lands, and came to the sea-coast, where i embarked in a stout ship, in company with a number of other merchants of like mind with myself, and we [set out and] sailed till we came among certain distant islands and found ourselves in difficult and dangerous case. [one day], as the ship was sailing along, and we unknowing where we were, behold, the captain came down [from the mast] and casting his turban from his head, fell to buffeting his face and plucking at his beard and weeping and supplicating [god for deliverance]. we asked him what ailed him, and he answered, saying, 'know, o my masters, that the ship is fallen among shallows and drifteth upon a sand-bank of the sea. another moment [and we shall be upon it]. if we clear the bank, [well and good]; else, we are all dead men and not one of us will be saved; wherefore pray ye to god the most high, so haply he may deliver us from these deadly perils, or we shall lose our lives.' so saying, he mounted [the mast] and set the sail, but at that moment a contrary wind smote the ship, and it rose upon the crest of the waves and sank down again into the trough of the sea. now there was before us a high mountain,[fn# ] rising [abruptly] from the sea, and the ship fell off into an eddy,[fn# ] which bore it on till presently it struck upon the skirt[fn# ] of the mountain and broke in sunder; whereupon the captain came down [from the mast], weeping, and said, 'god's will be done! take leave of one another and look yourselves out graves from to-day, for we have fallen into a predicament[fn# ] from which there is no escape, and never yet hath any been cast away here and come off alive.' so all the folk fell a-weeping and gave themselves up for lost, despairing of deliverance; friend took leave of friend and sore was the mourning and lamentation; for that hope was cut off and they were left without guide or pilot.[fn# ] then all who were in the ship landed on the skirt of the mountain and found themselves on a long island, whose shores were strewn with [wrecks], beyond count or reckoning, [of] ships that had been cast away [there] and whose crews had perished; and there also were dry bones and dead bodies, heaped upon one another, and goods without number and riches past count so we abode confounded, drunken, amazed, humbling ourselves [in supplication to god] and repenting us [of having exposed ourselves to the perils of travel]; but repentance availed not in that place. in this island is a river of very sweet water, issuing from the shore of the sea and entering in at a wide cavern in the skirt of an inaccessible mountain, and the stones of the island are all limpid sparkling crystal and jacinths of price. therein also is a spring of liquid, welling up like [molten] pitch, and when it cometh to the shore of the island, the fish swallow it, then return and cast it up, and it becometh changed from its condition and that which it was aforetime; and it is crude ambergris. moreover, the trees of the island are all of the most precious aloes-wood, both chinese and comorin; but there is no way of issue from the place, for it is as an abyss midmost the sea; the steepness of its shore forbiddeth the drawing up of ships, and if any approach the mountain, they fall into the eddy aforesaid; nor is there any resource[fn# ] in that island. so we abode there, daily expecting death, and whoso of us had with him a day's victual ate it in five days, and after this he died; and whoso had with him a month's victual ate it in five months and died also. as for me, i had with me great plenty of victual; so i buried it in a certain place and brought it out, [little by little,] and fed on it; and we ceased not to be thus, burying one the other, till all died but myself and i abode alone, having buried the last of my companions, and but little victual remained to me. so i said in myself, 'who will bury me in this place?' and i dug me a grave and abode in expectation of death, for that i was in a state of exhaustion. then, of the excess of my repentance, i blamed and reproached myself for my much [love of] travel and said, 'how long wilt thou thus imperil thyself?' and i abode as i were a madman, unable to rest; but, as i was thus melancholy and distracted, god the most high inspired me with an idea, and it was that i looked at the river aforesaid, as it entered in at the mouth of the cavern in the skirt of the mountain, and said in myself, 'needs must this water have issue in some place.' so i arose and gathering wood and planks from the wrecks, wrought of them the semblance of a boat [to wit, a raft,] and bound it fast with ropes, saying, 'i will embark thereon and fare with this water into the inward of the mountain. if it bring me to the mainland or to a place where i may find relief and safety, [well and good]; else i shall [but] perish, even as my companions have perished.' then i collected of the riches and gold and precious stuffs, cast up there, whose owners had perished, a great matter, and of jacinths and crude ambergris and emeralds somewhat past count, and laid all this on the raft [together with what was left me of victual]. then i launched it on the river and seating myself upon it, put my trust in god the most high and committed myself to the stream. the raft fared on with me, running along the surface of the river, and entered into the inward of the mountain, where the light of day forsook me and i abode dazed and stupefied, unknowing whither i went. whenas i hungered, i ate a little of the victual i had with me, till it was all spent and i abode expecting the mercy of the lord of all creatures.[fn# ] presently i found myself in a strait [channel] in the darkness and my head rubbed against the roof of the cave; and in this case i abode awhile, knowing not night from day, whilst anon the channel grew straiter and anon widened out; and whenas my breast was straitened and i was confounded at my case, sleep took me and i knew neither little nor much. when i awoke and opened my eyes, i found myself [in the open air] and the raft moored to the bank of the stream, whilst about me were folk of the blacks of hind. when they saw that i was awake, they came up to me, to question me; so i rose to them and saluted them. they bespoke me in a tongue i knew not, whilst i deemed myself in a dream, and for the excess of my joy, i was like to fly and my reason refused to obey me. then there came to my mind the verses of the poet and i recited, saying: let destiny with loosened rein its course appointed fare and lie thou down to sleep by night, with heart devoid of care; for 'twixt the closing of an eye and th'opening thereof, god hath it in his power to change a case from foul to fair. when they heard me speak in arabic, one of them came up to me and saluting me [in that language], questioned me of my case. quoth i, 'what [manner of men] are ye and what country is this?' 'o my brother,' answered he, 'we are husbandmen and come to this river, to draw water, wherewithal to water our fields; and whilst we were thus engaged to-day, as of wont, this boat appeared to us on the surface of the water, issuing from the inward of yonder mountain. so we came to it and finding thee asleep therein, moored it to the shore, against thou shouldst awake. acquaint us, therefore, with thy history and tell us how thou camest hither and whence thou enteredst this river and what land is behind yonder mountain, for that we have never till now known any make his way thence to us.' but i said to them, 'give me somewhat to eat and after question me.' so they brought me food and i ate and my spirits revived and i was refreshed. then i related to them all that had befallen me, whereat they were amazed and confounded and said, 'by allah, this is none other than a marvellous story, and needs must we carry thee to our king, that thou mayst acquaint him therewith.' so they carried me before their king, and i kissed his hand and saluted him. now he was the king of the land of serendib,[fn# ] and he welcomed me and entreated me with kindness, bidding me be seated and admitting me to his table and converse. so i talked with him and called down blessings upon him and he took pleasure in my discourse and showed me satisfaction and said to me, 'what is thy name?' 'o my lord,' answered i, 'my name is sindbad the sailor;' and he said, 'and what countryman art thou?' quoth i, 'i am of baghdad.' 'and how earnest thou hither?' asked he. so i told him my story and he marvelled mightily thereat and said, 'by allah, o sindbad, this thy story is marvellous and it behoveth that it be written in characters of gold.' then they brought the raft before him and i said to him, 'o my lord, i am in thy hands, i and all my good.' he looked at the raft and seeing therein jacinths and emeralds and crude ambergris, the like whereof was not in his treasuries, marvelled and was amazed at this. then said he, 'o sindbad, god forbid that we should covet that which god the most high hath vouchsafed unto thee! nay, it behoveth us rather to further thee on thy return to thine own country.' so i called down blessings on him and thanked him. then he signed to one of his attendants, who took me and established me in a goodly lodging, and the king assigned me a daily allowance and pages to wait on me. and every day i used to go in to him and he entertained me and entreated me friendly and delighted in my converse; and as often as our assembly broke up, i went out and walked about the town and the island, diverting myself by viewing them. now this island is under the equinoctial line; its night is still twelve hours and its day the like. its length is fourscore parasangs and its breadth thirty, and it is a great island, stretching between a lofty mountain and a deep valley. this mountain is visible at a distance of three days' journey and therein are various kinds of jacinths and other precious stones and metals of all kinds and all manner spice-trees, and its soil is of emery, wherewith jewels are wrought. in its streams are diamonds, and pearls are in its rivers.[fn# ] i ascended to its summit and diverted myself by viewing all the marvels therein, which are such as beggar description; after which i returned to the king and sought of him permission to return to my own country. he gave me leave, after great pressure, and bestowed on me abundant largesse from his treasuries. moreover, he gave me a present and a sealed letter and said to me, 'carry this to the khalif haroun er reshid and salute him for us with abundant salutation.' and i said, 'i hear and obey.' now this letter was written with ultramarine upon the skin of the hog-deer, the which is goodlier than parchment or paper and inclineth unto yellow, and was to the following effect: 'from the king of hind, before whom are a thousand elephants and on the battlements of his palace a thousand jewels, [to the khalif haroun er reshid, greeting]. to proceed:[fn# ] we send thee some small matter of presents, which do thou accept and be to us as a brother and a friend, for that the love of thee aboundeth in our heart and we would have thee to know that we look to thee for an answer. indeed, we are sharers with thee in love and fear, ceasing[fn# ] never to do thee honour; and for a beginning, we send thee the book of the quintessence of balms and a present after the measure of that which is fallen to our lot. indeed, this is unworthy of thy rank, but we beseech thee, o brother, to favour us by accepting it, and peace be on thee!' now this present was a cup of ruby, a span high and a finger's length broad, full of fine pearls, each a mithcal[fn# ] in weight and a bed covered with the skin of the serpent that swalloweth the elephant, marked with spots, each the bigness of a dinar, whereon whoso sitteth shall never sicken; also an hundred thousand mithcals of indian aloes-wood and thirty grains of camphor, each the bigness of a pistachio-nut, and a slave-girl with her paraphernalia, a charming creature, as she were the resplendent moon. then the king took leave of me, commending me to the merchants and the captain of the ship, and i set out, with that which was entrusted to my charge and my own good, and we ceased not to pass from island to island and from country to country, till we came to baghdad, when i entered my house and foregathered with my family and brethren. then i took the present and a token of service from myself to the khalif and [presenting myself before him], kissed his hands and laid the whole before him, together with the king of hind's letter. he read the letter and taking the present, rejoiced therein with an exceeding joy and entreated me with the utmost honour. then said he to me, 'o sindbad, is this king, indeed, such as he avoucheth in this letter?' i kissed the earth and answered, saying, 'o my lord, i myself have seen the greatness of his kingship to be manifold that which he avoucheth in his letter. on the day of his audience,[fn# ] there is set up for him a throne on the back of a huge elephant, eleven cubits high, whereon he sitteth and with him are his officers and pages and session-mates, standing in two ranks on his right hand and on his left. at his head standeth a man, having in his hand a golden javelin, and behind him another, bearing a mace of the same metal, tipped with an emerald, a span long and an inch thick. when he mounteth, a thousand riders take horse with him, arrayed in gold and silk; and whenas he rideth forth, he who is before him proclaimeth and saith, "this is the king, mighty of estate and high of dominion!" and he proceedeth to praise him on this wise and endeth by saying, "this is the king, lord of the crown the like whereof nor solomon[fn# ] nor mihraj[fn# ] possessed!" then is he silent, whilst he who is behind the king proclaimeth and saith, "he shall die! he shall die! and again i say, he shall die!" and the other rejoineth, saying, "extolled be the perfection of the living one who dieth not!" and by reason of his justice and judgment[fn# ] and understanding, there is no cadi in his [capital] city; but all the people of his realm distinguish truth from falsehood and know [and practise] truth and right for themselves.' the khalif marvelled at my speech and said, 'how great is this king! indeed, his letter testifieth of him; and as for the magnificence of his dominion, thou hast acquainted us with that which thou hast seen; so, by allah, he hath been given both wisdom and dominion.' then he bestowed on me largesse and dismissed me, so i returned to my house and paid the poor-rate[fn# ] and gave alms and abode in my former easy and pleasant case, forgetting the grievous stresses i had suffered. yea, i cast out from my heart the cares of travel and traffic and put away travail from my thought and gave myself up to eating and drinking and pleasure and delight." sindbad the sailor and hindbad the porter. when sindbad the sailor had made an end of his story, all who were present marvelled at that which had befallen him. then he bade his treasurer give the porter an hundred mithcals of gold and dismissed him, charging him return on the morrow, with the rest of the folk, to hear the history of his seventh voyage. so the porter went away to his house, rejoicing; and on the morrow he presented himself with the rest of the guests, who sat down, as of their wont, and occupied themselves with eating and drinking and merry-making till the end of the day, when their host bade them hearken to the story of his seventh voyage. quoth sindbad the sailor, the seventh voyage of sindbad the sailor. "when i [returned from my sixth voyage, i] forswore travel and renounced commerce, saying in myself, 'what hath befallen me sufficeth me.' so i abode at home and passed my time in pleasance and delight, till, one day, as i sat at mine ease, plying the wine-cup [with my friends], there came a knocking at the door. the doorkeeper opened and found without one of the khalif's pages, who came in to me and said, 'the commander of the faithful biddeth thee to him.' so i accompanied him to the presence of the khalif and kissing the earth before him, saluted him. he bade me welcome and entreated me with honour and said to me, 'o sindbad, i have an occasion with thee, which i would have thee accomplish for me.' so i kissed his hand and said, 'o my lord, what is the lord's occasion with the slave?' quoth he, 'i would have thee go to the king of serendib and carry him our letter and our present, even as he sent us a present and a letter.' at this i trembled and replied, 'by the most great god, o my lord, i have taken a loathing to travel, and whenas any maketh mention to me of travel by sea or otherwise, i am like to swoon for affright, by reason of that which hath befallen me and what i have suffered of hardships and perils. indeed, i have no jot of inclination left for this, and i have sworn never again to leave baghdad.' and i related to him all that had befallen me, first and last; whereat he marvelled exceedingly and said, 'by the most great god, o sindbad, never was heard from time immemorial of one whom there betided that which hath betided thee and well may it behove thee never again to mention travel! but for my sake go thou this once and carry my letter to the king of serendib and return in haste, if it be the will of god the most high, so we may not remain indebted to the king for favour and courtesy.' and i answered him with 'hearkening and obedience,' for that i dared not gainsay his commandment then he gave me the present and letter and money for my expenses. so i kissed his hand and going out from before him, repaired to the sea-coast, where i took ship with many other merchants and we sailed days and nights, till, after a prosperous voyage, god vouchsafed us a safe arrival at the island of serendib. we landed and went up to the city, where i carried the letter and present to the king and kissing the earth fell [prostrate before him], invoking blessings on him. when he saw me, 'welcome to thee, o sindbad!' quoth he. 'by the most great god, we have longed for thy sight and the day is blessed on which we behold thee once more.' then he took my hand and seating me by his side, welcomed me and entreated me friendly and rejoiced in me with an exceeding joy; after which he fell to conversing with me and caressing me and said, 'what brings thee to us, o sindbad?' i kissed his hand and thanking him, said, 'o my lord, i bring thee a present and a letter from my lord the khalif haroun er reshid.' then i brought out to him the present and the letter and he read the latter and accepted the former, rejoicing therein with an exceeding joy. now this present was a horse worth ten thousand dinars and all its housings and trappings of gold set with jewels, and a book and five different kinds of suits of apparel and an hundred pieces of fine white linen cloths of egypt and silks of suez and cufa and alexandria and a crimson carpet and another of tebaristan[fn# ] make and an hundred pieces of cloth of silk and flax mingled and a goblet of glass of the time of the pharaohs, a finger-breadth thick and a span wide, amiddleward which was the figure of a lion and before him an archer kneeling, with his arrow drawn to the head, and the table of solomon son of david,[fn# ] on whom be peace; and the contents of the letter were as follows: 'from the khalif haroun er reshid, unto whom and to his forefathers (on whom be peace) god hath vouchsafed the rank of the noble and exceeding glory, to the august, god-aided sultan, greeting. thy letter hath reached us and we rejoiced therein and have sent thee the book [called] "the divan of hearts and the garden of wits," of the translation whereof when thou hast taken cognizance, its excellence will be established in thine eyes; and the superscription of this book we have made unto thee. moreover, we send thee divers other kingly presents;[fn# ] so do thou favour us by accepting them, and peace be on thee!' when the king had read this letter, he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and bestowed on me great store of presents and entreated me with the utmost honour. some days after this, i sought of him leave to depart, but he granted it not to me save after much pressing. so i took leave of him and shipped with divers merchants and others, intending for my own country and having no desire for travel or traffic. we sailed on, without ceasing, till we had passed many islands; but, one day, as we fared on over a certain tract of the sea, there came forth upon us a multitude of boats full of men like devils, clad in chain-mail and armed with swords and daggers and bows and arrows, and surrounded us on every side. they entreated us after the cruellest fashion, smiting and wounding and slaying those who made head against them, and taking the ship, with the crew and all that were therein, carried us to an island, where they sold us all for a low price. a rich man bought me and taking me into his house, gave me to eat and drink and clothed me and entreated me kindly, till my heart was comforted and i was somewhat restored. one day my master said to me, 'knowest thou not some art or handicraft?' and i answered, saying, 'o my lord, i am a merchant and know nought but traffic.' quoth he, 'knowest thou how to shoot with a bow and arrows?' and i replied, 'yes, i know that.' so he brought me a bow and arrows and mounting me behind him on an elephant, set out with me, at the last of the night, and fared on till we came to a forest of great trees; whereupon he made me climb a high and stout tree and giving me the bow and arrows, said to me, 'sit here, and when the elephants come hither by day, shoot at them, so haply thou shalt hit one of them; and if any of them fall, come at nightfall and tell me.' then he went away and left me trembling and fearful. i abode hidden in the tree till the sun rose, when the elephants came out and fared hither and thither among the trees, and i gave not over shooting at them with arrows, till i brought down one of them. so, at eventide, i went and told my master, who rejoiced in me and rewarded me; then he came and carried away the dead elephant. on this wise i abode a while of time, every day shooting an elephant, whereupon my master came and carried it away, till, one day, as i sat hidden in the tree, there came up elephants without number, roaring and trumpeting, so that meseemed the earth trembled for the din. they all made for the tree whereon i was and the girth whereof was fifty cubits, and compassed it about. then a huge elephant came up to the tree and winding his trunk about it, tugged at it, till he plucked it up by the roots and cast it to the ground. i fell among the elephants, and the great elephant, coming up to me, as i lay aswoon for affright, wound his trunk about me and tossing me on to his back, made off with me, accompanied by the others; nor did he leave faring on with me, and i absent from the world, till he brought me to a certain place and casting me down from off his back, went away, followed by the rest. i lay there awhile, till my trouble subsided and my senses returned to me, when i sat up, deeming myself in a dream, and found myself on a great hill, stretching far and wide and all of elephants' bones. so i knew that this was their burial-place and that they had brought me thither on account of the bones. then i arose and fared on a day and a night, till i came to the house of my master, who saw me pale and disfeatured for fear and hunger. he rejoiced in my return and said to me, 'by allah, thou hast made my heart ache on thine account; for i went and finding the tree torn up by the roots, doubted not but the elephants had destroyed thee. tell me then how it was with thee.' so i told him what had befallen me and he marvelled exceedingly and rejoiced, saying, 'knowst thou where this hill is?' 'yes, o my lord,' answered i. so he took me up with him on an elephant and we rode till we came to the elephants' burial-place. when he saw those many bones, he rejoiced therein with an exceeding joy and carried away what he had a mind to thereof. then we returned to his house and he entreated me with increased favour and said to me, 'verily, o my son, thou hast directed us to a passing great gain, may god requite thee with all good! thou art free for the sake of god the most high. every year these elephants used to kill of us much people on account of these bones; but god delivered thee from them and thou hast done us good service in the matter of these bones, of which thou hast given us to know; wherefore thou meritest a great recompense, and thou art free.' 'o my lord,' answered i, 'may god free thy neck from the fire! i desire of thee that thou give me leave to return to my own country.' 'so be it,' replied he; 'but we have a fair, on occasion whereof the merchants come hither to us and take of us these elephants' bones. the time of the fair is now at hand, and when they come to us, i will send thee with them and give thee somewhat to bring thee to thine own country.' i blessed him and thanked him and abode with him in all honour and consideration, till, after a little, the merchants came, even as he had said, and bought and sold and bartered; and when they were about to depart, my master came to me and said, 'the merchants are about to depart; arise, that thou mayst go with them to thy country.' so i betook myself to the folk, and behold, they had bought great store of elephants' bones and bound up their loads and embarked in the ship; and my master took passage for me with them and paid my hire and all that was chargeable upon me.[fn# ] moreover, he gave me great store of goods and we set sail and passed from island to island, till we traversed the sea and arrived at the port of our destination; whereupon the merchants brought out their goods and sold; and i also brought out that which was with me and sold it at a good profit. then i bought of the best and finest of the produce and rarities of the country and all i had a mind to and a good hackney[fn# ] and we set out again and traversed the deserts from country to country till we came to baghdad. then i went in to the khalif and saluted him and kissed his hand; after which i acquainted him with all that had passed and that which had befallen me. he rejoiced in my deliverance and thanked god the most high; then he caused write my story in letters of gold and i betook myself to my house and foregathered with my brethren and family. this, then," added sindbad, "is the last of that which befell me in my travels, and praise be to god, the one, the creator, the maker!" when sindbad the sailor had made an end of his story, he bade his servant give the porter an hundred mithcals of gold and said to him, "how now, my brother! hast ever in the world heard of one whom such calamities have betided as have betided me and hath any suffered that which i have suffered of afflictions or undergone that which i have undergone of hardships? wherefore it behoveth that i have these pleasures in requital of that which i have undergone of travail and humiliations." so the porter came forward and kissing the merchant's hands, said to him, "o my lord, thou hast indeed suffered grievous perils and hast well deserved these bounteous favours [that god hath vouchsafed thee]. abide, then, o my lord, in thy delights and put away from thee [the remembrance of] thy troubles; and may god the most high crown thine enjoyments with perfection and accomplish thy days in pleasance until the hour of thine admission [to his mercy]!" therewithal sindbad the sailor bestowed largesse upon him and made him his boon-companion, and he abode, leaving him not night or day, to the last of their lives. praise be to god the glorious, the omnipotent, the strong, the exalted of estate, creator of heaven and earth and land and sea, to whom belongeth glorification! amen. amen. praise be to god, the lord of the worlds! amen. note. as stated in the prefatory note to my "book of the thousand nights and one night," four printed editions (of which three are more or less complete) exist of the arabic text of the original work, namely those of calcutta ( - ), boulac (cairo), breslau (tunis) and calcutta ( - ). the first two are, for purposes of tabulation, practically identical, one whole story only,[fn# ] of those that occur in the calcutta ( - ) edition, (which is the most complete of all,) being omitted from that of boulac; and i have, therefore, given but one table of contents for these two editions. the breslau edition, though differing widely from those of calcutta ( - ) and boulac in contents, resembles them in containing the full number (a thousand and one) of nights, whilst that of calcutta ( - ) is but a fragment, comprising only the first two hundred nights and the voyages of sindbad, as a separate tale. the subscribers to my "book of the thousand nights and one night" and the present "tales from the arabic" have now before them a complete english rendering (the first ever made) of all the tales contained in the four printed (arabic) texts of the original work and i have, therefore, thought it well to add to this, the last volume of my translation, full tables of contents of these latter, a comparison of which will show the exact composition of the different editions and the particulars in which they differ from one another, together with the manner in which the various stories that make up the respective collections are distributed over the nights. in each table, the titles of the stories occurring only in the edition of which it gives the contents are printed in italics and each tale is referred to the number of the night on which it is begun. the breslau edition, which was printed from a manuscript of the book of the thousand nights and one night alleged to have been furnished to the editor by a learned arab of tunis, whom he styles "herr m. annaggar" (quære en nejjar, the carpenter), the lacunes found in which were supplemented from various other ms. sources indicated by silvestre de sacy and other eminent orientalists, is edited with a perfection of badness to which only german scholars (at once the best and worst editors in the world) can attain. the original editor, dr. maximilian habicht, was during the period ( - ) of publication of the first eight volumes, engaged in continual and somewhat acrimonious[fn# ] controversy concerning the details of his editorship with prof. h. l. fleischer, who, after his death, undertook the completion of his task and approved himself a worthy successor of his whilom adversary, his laches and shortcomings in the matter of revision and collation of the text being at least equal in extent and gravity to those of his predecessor, whilst he omitted the one valuable feature of the latter's work, namely, the glossary of arabic words, not occurring in the dictionaries, appended to the earlier volumes. as an instance of the extreme looseness with which the book was edited, i may observe that the first four vols. were published without tables of contents, which were afterwards appended en bloc to the fifth volume. the state of corruption and incoherence in which the printed text was placed before the public by the two learned editors, who were responsible for its production, is such as might well drive a translator to despair: the uncorrected errors of the press would alone fill a volume and the verse especially is so corrupt that one of the most laborious of english arabic scholars pronounced its translation a hopeless task. i have not, however, in any single instance, allowed myself to be discouraged by the difficulties presented by the condition of the text, but have, to the best of my ability, rendered into english, without abridgment or retrenchment, the whole of the tales, prose and verse, contained in the breslau edition, which are not found in those of calcutta ( - ) and boulac. in this somewhat ungrateful task, i have again had the cordial assistance of captain burton, who has (as in the case of my "book of the thousand nights and one night") been kind enough to look over the proofs of my translation and to whom i beg once more to tender my warmest thanks. some misconception seems to exist as to the story of seif dhoul yezen, a fragment of which was translated by dr. habicht and included, with a number of tales from the breslau text, in the fourteenth vol. of the extraordinary gallimaufry published by him in - as a complete translation of the nights[fn# ] and it has, under the mistaken impression that this long but interesting romance forms part of the book of the thousand nights and one night, been suggested that a complete translation of it should be included in the present publication. the romance in question does not, however, in any way, belong to my original and forms no part of the breslau text, as will be at once apparent from an examination of the table of contents of the latter (see post, p. ), by which all the nights are accounted for. dr. habicht himself tells us, in his preface to the first vol. of the arabic text, that he found the fragment (undivided into nights) at the end of the fifth volume of his ms., into which other detached tales, having no connection with the nights, appear to have also found their way. this being the case, it is evident that the romance of seif dhoul yezen in no way comes within the scope of the present work and would (apart from the fact that its length would far overpass my limits) be a manifestly improper addition to it. it is, however, possible that, should i come across a suitable text of the work, i may make it the subject of a separate publication; but this is, of course, a matter for future consideration. table of contents of the calcutta ( - ) and boulac editions of the arabic text of the book of the thousand nights and one night. night introduction.--story of king shehriyar and his brother. a. story of the ox and the ass . the merchant and the genie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .i a. the first old man's story . . . . . . . . . . . . .i b. the second old man's story. . . . . . . . . . . . ii c. the third old man's story . . . . . . . . . . . . ii . the fisherman and the genie. . . . . . . . . . . . . .iii a. story of the physician douban . . . . . . . . . . iv aa. story of king sindbad and his falcon. . . . .v ab. story of the king's son and the ogress. . . .v b. story of the enchanted youth. . . . . . . . . . .vii . the porter and the three ladies of baghdad . . . . . . ix a. the first calender's story. . . . . . . . . . . . xi b. the second calender's story . . . . . . . . . . .xii ba. story of the envier and the envied[fn# ]xiii c. the third calender's story. . . . . . . . . . . .xiv d. the eldest lady's story . . . . . . . . . . . . xvii e. the story of the portress . . . . . . . . . . .xviii . the three apples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .xix . noureddin ali of cairo and his son bedreddin hassan. . xx . story of the hunchback . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .xxv a. the christian broker's story. . . . . . . . . . .xxv b. the controller's story. . . . . . . . . . . . .xxvii c. the jewish physician's story. . . . . . . . . xxviii d. the tailor's story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxix e. the barber's story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxxi ea. story of the barber's first brother . . . xxxi eb. story of the barber's second brother. . . xxxi ec. story of the barber's third brother . . .xxxii ed. story of the barber's fourth brother. . .xxxii ee. story of the barber's fifth brother . . .xxxii ef. story of the barber's sixth brother . . xxxiii . noureddin ali and the damsel enis el jelis . . . . .xxxiv . ghanim ben eyoub the slave of love . . . . . . . . .xxxix a. story of the eunuch bekhit. . . . . . . . . . .xxxix b. story of the eunuch kafour. . . . . . . . . . .xxxix . the history of king omar ben ennuman and his sons sherkan and zoulmekanxlv a. story of taj el mulouk and the princess dunya . cvii aa. story of aziz and azizeh. . . . . . . . cxliii b. bakoun's story of the hashish-eater . . . . . cxliii c. hemmad the bedouin's story. . . . . . . . . . .cxliv . the birds and beasts and the son of adam. . . . . .cxlvi . the hermits . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cxlviii . the waterfowl and the tortoise. . . . . . . . . .cxlviii . the wolf and the fox. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cxlviii a. the hawk and the partridge. . . . . . . . . . .cxlix . the mouse and the weasel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cl . the cat and the crow. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cl . the fox and the crow. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cl a. the mouse and the flea. . . . . . . . . . . . . .cli b. the falcon and the birds. . . . . . . . . . . . clii c. the sparrow and the eagle . . . . . . . . . . . clii . the hedgehog and the pigeons. . . . . . . . . . . . clii a. the merchant and the two sharpers . . . . . . . clii . the thief and his monkey. . . . . . . . . . . . . . clii a. the foolish weaver. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . clii . the sparrow and the peacock . . . . . . . . . . . . clii . ali ben bekkar and shemsennehar . . . . . . . . . .cliii . kemerezzeman and budour . . . . . . . . . . . . . . clxx a. nimeh ben er rebya and num his slave-girl . ccxxxvii . alaeddin abou esh shamat. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .ccl . hatim et tal; his generosity after death. . . . . .cclxx . maan ben zaideh and the three girls . . . . . . . cclxxi . maan ben zaideh and the bedouin . . . . . . . . . cclxxi . the city of lebtait . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cclxxii . the khalif hisham and the arab youth. . . . . . . cclxxi . ibrahim ben el mehdi and the barber-surgeon . . cclxxiii . the city of irem. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cclxxvi . isaac of mosul's story of khedijeh and the khalif mamouncclxxix . the scavenger and the noble lady of baghdad . . cclxxxii . the mock khalif . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cclxxxvi . ali the persian and the kurd sharper. . . . . . . ccxciv . the imam abou yousuf with haroun er reshid and his vizier jaaferccxcvi . the lover who feigned himself a thief to save his mistress's honourccxcvii . jaafer the barmecide and the bean-seller. . . . . ccxcix . abou mohammed the lazy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .ccc . yehya ben khalid and mensour. . . . . . . . . . . . .ccv . yehya ben khalid and the man who forged a letter in his nameccvi . the khalif el mamoun and the strange doctor . . . .cccvi . ali shar and zumurrud . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cccvii . the loves of jubeir ben umeir and the lady budourcccxxvii . the man of yemen and his six slave-girls. . . . cccxxxiv . haroun er reshid with the damsel and abou nuwascccxxxviii . the man who stole the dog's dish of gold. . . . . .cccxl . the sharper of alexandria and the master of policecccxli . el melik en nasir and the three masters of policecccxliii a. story of the chief of the new cairo police. cccxliii b. story of the chief of the boulac police . . .cccxliv c. story of the chief of the old cairo police. .cccxliv . the thief and the money-changer . . . . . . . . . ccxliv . the chief of the cous police and the sharper. . . cccxlv . ibrahim ben el mehdi and the merchant's sister night ccxlvi . the woman whose hands were cut off for almsgivingcccxlviii . the devout israelite. . . . . . . . . . . . . .cccxlviii . abou hassan es ziyadi and the man from khorassan night ccxlix . the poor man and his generous friend. . . . . . . .cccli . the ruined man who became rich again through a dreamcccli . el mutawekkil and his favourite mehboubeh . . . . .cccli . werdan the butcher's adventure with the lady and the bearcccliii . the king's daughter and the ape . . . . . . . . . .ccclv . the enchanted horse night . . . . . . . . . . . cclvii . uns el wujoud and the vizier's daughter rose-in-budccclxxi . abou nuwas with the three boys and the khalif haroun er reshidccclxxxi . abdallah ben maamer with the man of bassora and his slave-girlccclxxxiii . the lovers of the benou udhreh. . . . . . . . ccclxxxiii . tht vizier of yemen and his young brother . . .ccclxxxiv . the loves of the boy and girl at school . . . . ccclxxxv . el mutelemmis and his wife umeimeh. . . . . . . ccclxxxv . haroun er reshid and zubeideh in the bath . . . ccclxxxv . haroun er reshid and the three poets. . . . . .ccclxxxvi . musab ben ez zubeir and aaisheh his wife. . . .ccclxxxvi . aboulaswed and his squinting slave-girl . . . ccclxxxvii . haroun er reshid and the two girls. . . . . . ccclxxxvii . haroun er reshid and the three girls. . . . . ccclxxxvii . the miller and his wife . . . . . . . . . . . ccclxxxvii . the simpleton and the sharper . . . . . . . .ccclxxxviii . the imam abou yousuf with haroun er reshld and zubeidehccclxxxviii . the khalif el hakim and the merchant. . . . . .ccclxxxix . king kisra anoushirwan and the village damsel .ccclxxxix . the water-carrier and the goldsmith's wife. . . . .cccxc . khusrau and shirin and the fisherman. . . . . . . cccxci . yehya ben khalid and the poor man . . . . . . . . cccxci . mohammed el amin and jaafer ben el hadi . . . . .cccxcii . said ben salim and the barmecides . . . . . . . .cccxcii . the woman's trick against her husband . . . . . cccxciii . the devout woman and the two wicked elders. . . .cccxciv . jaafer the barmecide and the old bedouin. . . . . cccxcv . omar ben el khettab and the young bedouin . . . . cccxcv . el mamoun and the pyramids of egypt . . . . . .cccxcviii . the thief turned merchant and the other thief .cccxcviii . mesrour and ibn el caribi . . . . . . . . . . . .cccxcix . the devout prince . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cccci . the schoolmaster who fell in love by report . . . ccccii . the foolish schoolmaster. . . . . . . . . . . . .cccciii . the ignorant man who set up for a schoolmaster. .cccciii . the king and the virtuous wife. . . . . . . . . . cccciv . abdurrehman the moor's story of the roc . . . . . cccciv . adi ben zeid and the princess hind. . . . . . . . .ccccv . dibil el khuzai with the lady and muslin ben el welidccccvii . isaac of mosul and the merchant . . . . . . . . .ccccvii . the three unfortunate lovers. . . . . . . . . . . ccccix . the lovers of the benou tai. . . . . . . . . . . .ccccx . the mad lover. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ccccxi . the apples of paradise . . . . . . . . . . . . .ccccxii . the loves of abou isa and curret el ain. . . . .ccccxiv . el amin and his uncle ibrahim ben el mehdi . .ccccxviii . el feth ben khacan and el mutawekkil . . . . . .ccccxix . the man's dispute with the learned woman of the relative excellence of the sexes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .ccccxix . abou suweid and the handsome old woman . . . .ccccxxiii . ali ben tahir and the girl mounis. . . . . . . ccccxxiv . the woman who had a boy and the other who had a man to loverccccxxiv . the haunted house in baghdad . . . . . . . . . ccccxxiv . the pilgrim and the old woman who dwelt in the desertccccxxxiv . aboulhusn and his slave-girl taweddud. . . . .ccccxxxvi . the angel of death with the proud king and the devout mancccclxii . the angel of death and the rich king . . . . . cccclxii . the angel of death and the king of the children of israelcccclxiii . iskender dhoulkernein and a certain tribe of poor folkcccclxiv . the righteousness of king anoushirwan. . . . . cccclxiv . the jewish cadi and his pious wife . . . . . . .cccclxv . the shipwrecked woman and her child. . . . . . cccclxvi . the pious black slave. . . . . . . . . . . . .cccclxvii . the devout platter-maker and his wife. . . . cccclxviii . el hejjaj ben yousuf and the pious man . . . . .cccclxx . the blacksmith who could handle fire without hurtcccclxxi . the saint to whom god gave a cloud to serve him and the devout kingcccclxxiii . the muslim champion and the christian lady . .cccclxxiv . ibrahim ben el khawwas and the christian king's daughtercccclxxvii . the justice of providence. . . . . . . . . .cccclxxviii . the ferryman of the nile and the hermit. . . .cccclxxix . the king of the island . . . . . . . . . . . .cccclxxix . abulhusn ed durraj and abou jaafer the leper .cccclxxxi . the queen of the serpents. . . . . . . . . . cccclxxxii a. the adventures of beloukiya . . . . . . . cccclxxxvi b. the story of janshah. . . . . . . . . . . . ccccxcix . sindbad the sailor and sindbad the porter. . . . dxxxvi a. the first voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . dxxxviii b. the second voyage of sindbad the sailor . . . dxliii c. the third voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . . .dxlvi d. the fourth voyage of sindbad the sailor . . . . . dl e. the fifth voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . . . dlvi f. the sixth voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . . . dlix g. the seventh voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . dlxiii . the city of brass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dlxvi . the malice of women. . . . . . . . . . . . . . dlxxviii a. the king and his vizier's wife. . . . . . . dlxxviii b. the merchant's wife and the parrot. . . . . . dlxxix c. the fuller and his son. . . . . . . . . . . . dlxxix d. the lover's trick against the chaste wife . . .dlxxx e. the niggard and the loaves of bread . . . . . .dlxxx f. the lady and her two lovers . . . . . . . . . dlxxxi g. the king's son and the ogress . . . . . . . . dlxxxi h. the drop of honey . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dlxxxii i. the woman who made her husband sift dust. . .dlxxxii j. the enchanted springs . . . . . . . . . . . .dlxxxii k. the vizier's son and the bathkeeper's wife. .dlxxxiv l. the wife's device to cheat her husband. . . .dlxxxiv m. the goldsmith and the cashmere singing- girl.dlxxxvi n. the man who never laughed again . . . . . . dlxxxvii o. the king's son and the merchant's wife. . . . . dxci p. the page who feigned to know the speech of birdsdxcii q. the lady and her five suitors . . . . . . . . dxciii r. the man who saw the night of power. . . . . . .dxcvi s. the stolen necklace . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dxcvi t. the two pigeons . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dxcvii u. prince behram of persia and the princess ed detmadxcvii v. the house with the belvedere. . . . . . . . .dxcviii w. the king's son and the afrit's mistress . . . . dcii x. the sandal-wood merchant and the sharpers . . .dciii y. the debauchee and the three-year-old child. . . .dcv z. the stolen purse. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dcv . jouder and his brothers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . dcvi . the history ot gherib and his brother agib . . . dcxxiv . otbeh and reyya. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dclxxx . hind daughter of en numan and el hejjaj. . . . .dclxxxi . khuzeimeh ben bishr and ikrimeh el feyyas. . . dclxxxii . younus the scribe and the khalif welid ben sehldclxxxiv . haroun er reshid and the arab girl . . . . . . .dclxxxv . el asmai and the three girls of bassora. . . . dclxxxvi . ibrahim of mosul and the devil . . . . . . . .dclxxxvii . the lovers of the benou udhreh . . . . . . . dclxxxviii . the bedouin and his wife . . . . . . . . . . . . .dcxci . the lovers of bassora. . . . . . . . . . . . . .dcxciii . isaac of mosul and his mistress and the devil. . .dcxcr . the lovers of medina . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dcxcvi . el melik en nasir and his vizier . . . . . . . .dcxcvii . the rogueries of delileh the crafty and her daughter zeyneb the trickstressdcxcviii . the adventures of quicksilver ali of cairo, a sequel to the rogueries of delileh the crafty . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dccviil . ardeshir and heyat en nufous . . . . . . . . . . .dccxu . julnar of the sea and her son king bedr basim of persiaiccxxxviii . king mohammed ben sebaik and the merchant hassan dcclvi a. story of prince seif el mulouk and the princess bediya el jemal dcclviii . hassan of bassora and the king's daughter of the jinndcclxxviii . khelifeh the fisherman of baghdad. . . . . . . cccxxxii . mesrour and zein el mewasif. . . . . . . . . . .dcccxlv . ali noureddin and the frank king's daughter. .dccclxiii . the man of upper egypt and his frank wife. . . dcccxciv . the ruined man of baghdad and his slave-girl . dcccxcvi . king jelyaad of hind and his vizier shimas: whereafter ensueth the history of king wird khan son of king jelyaad and his women and viziersdcccxciz a. the cat and the mouse . . . . . . . . . . . . .dccoc b. the fakir and his pot of butter . . . . . . .dccccii c. the fishes and the crab . . . . . . . . . . dcccciii d. the crow and the serpent. . . . . . . . . . dcccciii e. the fox and the wild ass. . . . . . . . . . .dcccciv f. the unjust king and the pilgrim prince. . . . dccccv g. the crows and the hawk. . . . . . . . . . . .dccccvi k. the serpent-charmer and his wife. . . . . . dccccvii i. the spider and the wind . . . . . . . . . .dccccviii j. the two kings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dccccix k. the blind man and the cripple . . . . . . . . dccccx l. the foolish fisherman . . . . . . . . . . dccccxviii m. the boy and the thieves . . . . . . . . . dccccxviii n. the man and his wilful wife . . . . . . . . dccccxix o. the merchant and the thieves. . . . . . . . .dccccxx p. the foxes and the wolf. . . . . . . . . . . dccccxxi q. the shepherd and the thief. . . . . . . . . dccccxxi r. the heathcock and the tortoises . . . . . .dccccxxiv . aboukir the dyer and abousir the barber. . . . dccccxxx . abdallah the fisherman and abdallah the merman .dccccxl . the merchant of oman . . . . . . . . . . . . .dccccxlvi . ibrahim and jemileh. . . . . . . . . . . . . . dcccciii . aboulhusn of khorassan . . . . . . . . . . . . dcccclix . kemerezzeman and the jeweller's wife . . . . dcccclxiii . abdallah ben fasil and his brothers. . . . dcccclixviii . marouf the cobbler and his wife fatimeh. dcccclxxxix-mi conclusion. table of contents of the breslau (tunis) edition of the arabic text of the book of the thousand nights and one night. night introduction.--story of king shehriyar and his brother. a. story of the ox and the ass . the merchant and the genie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .i a. the first old man's story . . . . . . . . . . . . iv b. the second old man's story. . . . . . . . . . . . vi c. the third old man's story . . . . . . . . . . . viii . the fisherman and the genie. . . . . . . . . . . . . viii a. story of the physician douban . . . . . . . . . . xi aa. story of the jealous man and the parrot[fn# ]xiv ab. story of the king's son and the ogress. . . xv b. story of the enchanted youth. . . . . . . . . . .xxi . the porter and the three ladies of baghdad . . . . xxviii a. the first calender's story. . . . . . . . . . xxxvii b. the second calender's story . . . . . . . . . . . xl ba. the envier and the envied . . . . . . . . xlvi c. the third calender's story. . . . . . . . . . . liii d. the eldest lady's story . . . . . . . . . . . .lxiii e. story of the portress . . . . . . . . . . . . .lxvii . the three apples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . lxix . noureddin ali of cairo and his son bedreddin hassan.lxxii . story of the hunchback . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cii a. the christian broker's story. . . . . . . . . . cvii b. the controller's story. . . . . . . . . . . . . cxix c. the jewish physician's story. . . . . . . . . .cxxix d. the tailor's story. . . . . . . . . . . . . .cxxxvii e. the barber's story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cxlix ea. story of the barber's first brother . . . . ci eb. story of the barber's second brother. . . cliv ec. story of the barber's third brother . . .clvii ed. story of the barber's fourth brother. . clviii ee. story of the barber's fifth brother . . . .clx ef. story of the barber's sixth brother . . .clxiv . ali ben bekkar and shemsennehar. . . . . . . . . . .clxix . noureddin ali and the damsel enis el jelii . . . . .cxcix . kemerezzeman and budour. . . . . . . . . . . . . .ccxviii . the enchanted horse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ccxlir . the voyages of sindbad the sailor . . . . . . . . ccxliv a. the first voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . . .cclii b. the second voyage of sindbad the sailor . . . ccliii c. the third voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . . . cclv d. the fourth voyage of sindbad the sailor . . . .cclix e. the fifth voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . .cclxiii f. the sixth voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . . cclxvi g. the seventh voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . cclxix . asleep and awake. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cclxxi a. the lackpenny and the cook. . . . . . . . . cclxxiii . seif el mulouk and bediya el jemal. . . . . . . . ccxci . khelif the fisherman [fn# ] . . . . . . . . . . cccxxi . ghanim ben eyoub the slave of love. . . . . . . cccxxxii a. story of the eunuch sewab [fn# ]. . . . . cccxxxiv b. story of the eunuch kafour ,, . uns el wujoud and the vizier's daughter rose- in-budcccxli . the merchant of oman. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cccliv . ardeshir and heyat en nufous. . . . . . . . . . .ccclxiv . hassan of bassora and the king's daughter of the jinncclxxxvi . haroun er reshid and the three poets. . . . . .ccccxxxii . omar ben abdulaziz and the poets. . . . . . . .ccccxxxii . el hejjaj and the three young mem . . . . . . .ccccxxxiv . er reshid and the woman of the barmecides . . .ccccxxxiv . the ten viziers; or the history of king azad- bekht and his sonccccxxxv a. the unlucky merchant. . . . . . . . . . . . . ccccxl b. the merchant and his sons . . . . . . . . . ccccxliv c. abou sabir. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ccccxlviii d. prince bihzad . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ccccliii e. king dadbin and his viziers . . . . . . . . . cccclv f. king bekhtzeman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cccclxi g. king bihkerd. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cccclxiv h. ilan shah and abou temam. . . . . . . . . . cccclxvi i. king ibrahim and his son. . . . . . . . . . cccclxxi j. king suleiman shah and his sons . . . . . . cccclxxv k. the prisoner and how god gave him relief . cccclxxxv . the city of brass . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cccclxxxvii . nimeh ben er rebya and num his slave-girl . . . . . . di . alaeddin abou es shamat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dxx . hatim tai; his generosity after death . . . . . . .dxxxi . maan ben zaideh and the three girls . . . . . . . dxxxii . maan ben zaideh and the bedouin . . . . . . . . . dxxxii . the city of lebtait . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dxxxii . the khalif hisham and the arab youth. . . . . . . dxxxiv . ibrahim ben el mehdi and the barber-surgeon . . . dxxxiv . the city of irem. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dxxxviii . isaac of mosul's story of khedijeh and the khalif mamoundxl . the mock khalif . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dxliii . the imam abou yousuf with er reshid and jaafer. . . .dlv . the lover who feigned himself a thief to save his mistress's honourdlvii . abou mohammed the lazy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . dlviii . jaafer ben yehya and abdulmelik ben salih . . . . . dlxv . jaafer ben yehya [fn# ] and the man who forged a letter in his namedlxvi . er reshid and the barmecides. . . . . . . . . . . dlxvii . ibn es semmak and er reshid . . . . . . . . . . .dlxviii . el mamoun and zubeideh. . . . . . . . . . . . . .dlxviii . ali shir [fn# ] and zumurrud. . . . . . . . . . .dlxix . the loves of budour and jubeir ben umeir. . . . dlxxxvii . the man of yemen and his six slave-girls. . . . . . dxcv . haroun er reshid with the damsel and abou nuwas . . . dc . the man who stole the dog's dish of gold. . . . . . dcii . el melik en nasir and the three masters of police .dciii a. story of the chief of the new cairo police. . . dciv b. story of the chief of the boulac police . . . . .dcv c. story of the chief of the old cairo police. . . .dcv . the thief and the money-changer . . . . . . . . . . .dcv . ibrahim ben el mehdi and the merchant's sister. . . dcvi . king kelyaad [fn# ] of hind and his vizier shimas dcix a. the cat and the mouse . . . . . . . . . . . . . dcix b. the fakir and his pot of butter . . . . . . . . .dcx c. the fishes and the crab . . . . . . . . . . . . dcxi d. the crow and the serpent. . . . . . . . . . . . dcxi e. the fox and the wild ass. . . . . . . . . . . . dcxi f. the unjust king and the pilgrim prince. . . . .dcxii g. the crows and the hawk. . . . . . . . . . . . dcxiii h. the serpent-charmer and his wife. . . . . . . .dcxiv i. the spider and the wind . . . . . . . . . . . . dcxv j. the two kings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dcxvi k. the blind man and the cripple . . . . . . . . .dcxvi l. the foolish fisherman . dcxxvi m. the boy and the thieves . . . . . . . . . . .dcxxvii n. the man and his wilful wife . . . . . . . . dcxxviii o. the merchant and the thieves. . . . . . . . . dcxxix p. the foxes and the wolf. . . . . . . . . . . . .dcxxx q. the shepherd and the thief. . . . . . . . . .dcxxxii r. the heathcock and the tortoises . . . . . . .dcxxxiv . the woman whose hands were cut off for almsgiving .dcxli . the poor man and his generous friend. . . . . . .dcxliii . the ruined man who became rich again through a dreamdcxliv . abou nuwas with the three boys and the khalif haroun er reshiddcxlv . the lovers of the benou udhreh [fn# ] . . . . . dcxlvi . el mutelemmis and his wife umeimeh. . . . . . . dcxlviii . haroun er reshid and zubeideh in the bath . . . dcxlviii . musab ben ez zubeir and aaisheh his wife. . . . . dcxlix . aboulaswed and his squinting slave-girl . . . . . . dcli . haroun er reshid and the two girls. . . . . . . . . dcli . haroun er reshid and the three girls. . . . . . . . dcli . the simpleton and the sharper . . . . . . . . . . .dclii . the imam abou yousuf with er reshid and zubeideh. .dclii . the khalif el hakim and the merchant. . . . . . . dcliii . kisra anoushirwan and the village damsel. . . . . dcliii . the water-carrier and the goldsmith's wife. . . . .dcliv . khusrau and shirin and the fisherman. . . . . . . .dclvi . yehya ben khalid and the poor man . . . . . . . . .dclvi . mohammed el amin and jaafer ben el hadi . . . . . dclvii . the woman's trick against her husband . . . . . .dclviii . the devout woman and the two wicked elders. . . . .dclix el fezl ben rebiya[fn# ] and the old bedouin . . . dclx en numan and the arab of the benou tai . . . . . . . dclx the draper and the thief[fn# ] . . . . . . . . . .dclxi . mesrour and ibn el caribi . . . . . . . . . . . . dclxii . the devout prince . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dclxiv . the schoolmaster who fell in love by report . . . .dclxv . the foolish schoolmaster. . . . . . . . . . . . . dclxvi . the ignorant man who set up for a schoolmaster. .dclxvii . adi ben zeid and the princess hind. . . . . . . dclxviii . dibil el khuzai with the lady and muslim ben el weliddclxx . isaac of mosul and the merchant . . . . . . . . . .dclxx . the three unfortunate lovers. . . . . . . . . . .dclxxii . the lovers of the benou tai . . . . . . . . . . dclxxiii . the mad lover . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dclxxiv . firous and his wife . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dclxxv . the apples of paradise. . . . . . . . . . . . . .dclxxvi . the loves of abou isa and curret el ain . . . .dclxxviii . el amin and his uncle ibrahim ben el mehdi. . . dclxxxii . el feth ben khacan and el mutawekkil. . . . . .dclxxxiii . the man's dispute with the learned woman of the relative excellence of the sexes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dclxxxiii . abou suweid and the handsome old woman. . . . .dclxxxvii . ali ben tahir and the girl mounis . . . . . . dclxxxviii . the woman who had a boy and the other who had a man to loverdclxxxviii . the haunted house in baghdad. . . . . . . . . dclxxxviii . the history of gherib and his brother agib. . . dcxcviii . the rogueries of delileh the crafty and her daughter zeyneb the trickstressdcclvi . the adventures of quicksilver ali of cairo . . .dcclxvi . jouder and his brothers. . . . . . . . . . . . .dcclxxv . julnar of the sea and her son king bedr basim of persiadccxciv . mesrour and zein el mewasif. . . . . . . . . . .dcccxxi . ali noureddin and the frank king's daughter. . dcccxxxi . the man of upper egypt and his frank wife. . . dccclxii . the ruined man of baghdad and his slave-girl . dccclxiv . aboukir the dyer and abousir the barber. . . .dccclxvii . abdallah the fisherman and abdallah the mermandccclxxvii . king shah bekhi and his vizier er rehwan . . .dccclxxxv a. the man of khorassan, his son and his governordccclxxxvi b. the singer and the druggist . . . . . . dccclxxxviii c. the king who knew the quintessence of things.dcccxci d. the rich man who gave his fair daughter in marriage to the poor old man. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dcccxcii e. the rich man and his wasteful son . . . . .dcccxciii f. the king's son who fell in love with the picturedcccxciv g. the fuller and his wife . . . . . . . . . . dcccxcvi h. the old woman, the merchant and the king. . dcccxcvi i. the credulous husband . . . . . . . . . . dcccxcviii j. the unjust king and the tither. . . . . . . dcccxcix ja. story of david and solomon. . . . . . dcccxcix h. the thief and the woman . . . . . . . . . . dcccxcix l. the three men and our lord jesus. . . . . . . dcccci la. the disciple's story. . . . . . . . . . dcccci m. the dethroned king whose kingdom and good were restored to himdcccci n. the man whose caution was the cause of his deathdcccciii o. the man who was lavish of his house and his victual to one whom he knew not . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dcccciv p. the idiot and the sharper . . . . . . . . . . dccccv q. khelbes and his wife and the learned man. . .dccccvi r. the pious woman accused of lewdness . . . . dccccvii s. the journeyman and the girl . . . . . . . . .dccccix t. the weaver who became a physician by his wife's commandmentdccccix u. the two sharpers who cheated each his fellow.dccccxi v. the sharpers with the money-changer and the assdccccxiv w. the sharper and the merchants . . . . . . . .dccccxv wa. the hawk and the locust . . . . . . . dccccxvi x. the king and his chamberlain's wife . . . .dccccxvii xa. the old woman and the draper's wife .dccccxvii y. the foul-favoured man and his fair wife . dccccxviii z. the king who lost kingdom and wife and wealth and god restored them to him. . . . . . . . . . . dccccxix aa. selim and selma. . . . . . . . . . . . . .dccccxxii bb. the king of hind and his visier. . . . .dccccxxviii el melik es zahir rukneddin bibers el bunducdari and the sixteen officers of police . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dccccxxx a. the first officer's story . . . . . . . . . dccccxxx b. the second officer's story. . . . . . . . dccccxxxii c. the third officer's story . . . . . . . . dccccxxxii d. the fourth officer's story. . . . . . . . dccccxxxiv e. the fifth officer's story . . . . . . . . dccccxxxiv f. the sixth officer's story . . . . . . . . dccccxxxiv g. the seventh officer's story . . . . . . . dccccxxxiv h. the eighth officer's story. . . . . . . . .dccccxxxv ha. the thief's story . . . . . . . . dccccxxxviii i the ninth officer's story. . . . . . . . dccccxxxviii j. the tenth officer's story . . . . . . . dccccxxxviii k. the eleventh officer's story. . . . . . dccccxxxviii l. the twelfth officer's story . . . . . . . dccccxxxix m. the thirteenth officer's story. . . . . . dccccxxxix n. the fourteenth officer's story. . . . . . dccccxxxix na. a merry jest of a thief . . . . . . . .dccccxl nb. story of the old sharper. . . . . . . .dccccxl o. the fifteenth officer's story . . . . . . . .dccccxl p. the sixteenth officer's story . . . . . . . .dccccxl . abdallah ben nafi and the king's son of cashghardccccxli a. story of tuhfet el culoub and haroun er reshiddccccxlii . noureddin ali and sitt el milah. . . . . . . dcccclviii . el abbas and the king's daughter of baghdad. .dcccclxvi . the malice of women. . . . . . . . . . . . . dcccclxxix a. the king and his vizier's wife. . . . . . .dcccclxxx b, the merchant's wife and the parrot. . . . .dcccclxxx c. the fuller and his son. . . . . . . . . . .dcccclxxx d. the lover's trick against the chaste wife .dcccclxxx e. the niggard and the loaves of bread . . .dcccclxxxiv f. the lady and her two lovers . . . . . . .dcccclxxxiv g. the king's son and the ogress . . . . . . dcccclxxxv h. the drop of honey . . . . . . . . . . . .dcccclxxxvi i. the woman who made her husband sift dust.dcccclxxxvi j. the enchanted springs . . . . . . . . . .dcccclxxxvi k. the vizier's son and the bathkeeper's wifedcccclxxxviii l. the wife's device to cheat her husband. .dcccclxxxix m. the goldsmith and the cashmere singing-girl .dccccxc n. the man who never laughed again . . . . . . dccccxci o. the king's son and the merchant's wife. . dccccxciii p. the man who saw the night of power. . . . dccccxciii q. the stolen necklace . . . . . . . . . . . .dccccxciv r. prince behram of persia and the princess ed detmadccccxciv s. the house with the belvedere. . . . . . . . dccccxcv t. the sandalwood merchant and the sharpers.dccccxcviii u. the debauchee and the three-year-old childdccccxcviii v. the stolen purse. . . . . . . . . . . . . .dccccxcix w. the fox and the folk[fn# ]. . . . . . . . . . . .m . the two kings and the vizier's daughters . . . . . . .m . the favourite and her lover. . . . . . . . . . . . . .m . the merchant of cairo and the favourite of the khalif el mamoun el hikim bi amrillak . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .m conclusion table of contents of the unfinished calcutta ( - ) edition (first two hundred nights only) of the arabic text of the book of the thousand nights and one night. introduction. a. the ox and the ass . the merchant and the genie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .i a. the first old man's story . . . . . . . . . . . . ii b. the second old man's story[fn# ]. . . . . . . . iv . the fisherman and the genie. . . . . . . . . . . . . viii a. the physician douban. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi aa. the merchant and the parrot . . . . . . . .xiv ab. the king's son and the ogress . . . . . . . xv b. the enchanted youth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .xxi . the porter and the three ladies of baghdad . . . . xxviii a. the first calender's story. . . . . . . . . . .xxxix b. the second calender's story . . . . . . . . . . xlii ba. the envier and the envied . . . . . . . . xlvi c. the third calender's story. . . . . . . . . . . liii d. the eldest lady's story[fn# ] . . . . . . . . lxiv . the three apples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . lxviii . noureddin ali of cairo and his son bedreddin hassan.lxxii . isaac of mosul's story of khedijeh and the khalif el mamounxciv . story of the hunchback . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ci a. the christian broker's story. . . . . . . . . . .cix b. the cook's story[fn# ]. . . . . . . . . . . . cxxi c. the jewish physician's story. . . . . . . . . .cxxix d. the tailor's story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . cxxxvi e. the barber's story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . cxliii ea. story of the barber's first brother . . . cxlv eb. story of the barber's second brother. .cxlviii ec. story of the barber's third brother . . . .cli ed. story of the barber's fourth brother. . . clii ee. story of the barber's fifth brother . . . cliv ef. story of the barber's sixth brother . . clviii . ali ben bekkar and shemsennehar. . . . . . . . . . clxiii . noureddin ali and the damsel ennis el jelis. . . . clxxxi . women's craft . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cxcv-cc . sindbad the sailor and hindbad the porter[fn# ] a. the first voyage of sindbad the sailor b. the second voyage of sindbad the sailor c. the third voyage of sindbad the sailor d. the fourth voyage of sindbad the sailor e. the fifth voyage of sindbad the sailor f. the sixth voyage of sindbad the sailor g. the seventh voyage of sindbad the sailor alphabetical table of the first lines of the verse in the "tales from the arabic." n.b.--the roman numerals denote the volume, the arabic the page a damsel made for love and decked with subtle grace, iii. . a fair one, to idolaters if she herself should show, iii. . a sun of beauty she appears to all who look on her, iii. . a white one, from her sheath of tresses now laid bare, ii. . after your loss, nor trace of me nor vestige would remain, iii. . algates ye are our prey become; this many a day and night, iii. . all intercessions come and all alike do ill succeed, ii. . an if my substance fail, no one there is will succour me, i. . an if ye'd of evil be quit, look that no evil ye do, ii. . assemble, ye people of passion, i pray, iii. . awaken, o ye sleepers all, and profit, whilst it's here, ii. . beard of the old he-goat, the one-eyed, what shall be, ii. . behold, i am clad in a robe of leaves green, ii. . but for the spying of the eyes [ill-omened,] we had seen, i. . by allah, but that i trusted that i should meet you again, ii. . by him whom i worship, indeed, i swear, o thou that mine eye dost fill, ii. . damascus is all gardens decked for the pleasance of the eyes, iii. . drink ever, o lovers, i rede you, of wine, ii. . el abbas from akil his stead is come again, iii. . endowed with amorous grace past any else am i, ii . fair fall the maid whose loosened locks her cheeks do overcloud! iii. . fair patience practise, for thereon still followeth content, iii. . fair patience use, for ease still followeth after stress, iii. . for the uses of food i was fashioned and made, ii. . "forget him," quoth my censurers, "forget him; what is he?" iii. . fortune its arrows all, through him i love, let fly, iii. . full many a man incited me to infidelity, i. . god judge betwixt me and her lord! away, i. . god keep the days of love-delight! how dearly sweet they were! i. . god keep the days of love-delight! how passing sweet they were! ii. god knows i ne'er recalled thy memory to my thought, iii. . had we thy coming known, we would for sacrifice, i. . haste not to that thou dost desire; for haste is still unblest, ii. . he who mohammed sent, as prophet to mankind, i. . his love he'd have hid, but his tears denounced him to the spy, iii. his love on him took pity and wept for his dismay, ii. . how long, o fate, wilt thou oppress and baffle me? ii. . how long shall i thus question my heart that's drowned in woe? iii. . how long will ye admonished be, without avail or heed? iii. . how many, in yemameh, dishevelled widows plain! i. . i am content, for him i love, to all abide, iii. . i am filled full of longing pain and memory and dole, iii. . i am the champion-slayer he warrior without peer, iii. . ---- i clipped her in mine arms and straight grew drunken with the scent, iii. . i fear to be seen in the air, ii. . i marvel for that to my love i see thee now incline, iii. . i saw thee, o thou best of all the human race, display, i. . i swear by his life, yea, i swear by the life of my love without peer, iii. . if i must die, then welcome death to heal, iii. . if, in his own land, midst his folk, abjection and despite, ii. . i'm the crown of every sweet and fragrant weed, ii. . in every rejoicing a boon[fn# ] midst the singers and minstrels am i, ii. in my soul the fire of yearning and affliction rageth aye, iii. . indeed, thou'st told the tale of kings and men of might, iii. . it chances whiles that the blind man escapes a pit, ii. . it is as the jasmine, when it i espy, ii. . let destiny with loosened rein its course appointed fare, iii. like a sun at the end of a cane in a hill of sand, iii. . like the full moon she shows upon a night of fortune fair, iii. . lo, since the day i left you, o my masters, iii. . look at the moss-rose, on its branches seen, ii. . may the place of my session ne'er lack thee! oh, why, iii. me, till i stricken was therewith, to love thou didst excite, iii. midst colours, my colour excelleth in light, ii. . most like a wand of emerald my shape it is, trow i, ii. . my flower a marvel on your heads doth show, ii. . my fortitude fails, my endeavour is vain, ii. . my fruit is a jewel all wroughten of gold, ii. . my heart will never credit that i am far from thee, ii. . my secret is disclosed, the which i strove to hide, iii. . my watering lips, that cull the rose of thy soft cheek, declare, iii. . no good's in life (to the counsel list of one who's purpose-whole), i. . o amir of justice, be kind to thy subjects, iii. . o friends, the east wind waxeth, the morning draweth near, iii. . o friends, the tears flow ever, in mockery of my pain, iii. . o hills of the sands and the rugged piebald plain, iii. . o thou that blamest me for my heart and railest at my ill, ii. . o thou that questionest the lily of its scent, ii. . o son of simeon, give no ear to other than my say, iii. . o'er all the fragrant flowers that be i have the pref'rence aye, ii. . o'erbold art thou in that to me, a stranger, thou hast sent, iii. . oft as my yearning waxeth, my heart consoleth me, ii. . one of the host am i of lovers sad and sere, ii. . pease on thee! would our gaze might light on thee once more! ii. . peace on you, people of my troth! with peace i do you greet, ii. . quoth i (and mine a body is of passion all forslain), iii. . rail not at the vicissitudes of fate, ii. . ramazan in my life ne'er i fasted, nor e'er, i. . say, by the lightnings of thy teeth and thy soul's pure desire, iii. . she comes in a robe the colour of ultramarine, iii. . sherik ben amrou, what device avails the hand of death to stay? i. . some with religion themselves concern and make it their business all, i. . still by your ruined camp a dweller i abide, ii. . still do i yearn, whilst passion's fire flames in my liver are, iii. the absent ones' harbinger came us unto, iii. . the billows of thy love o'erwhelm me passing sore, ii. . the crown of the flow'rets am i, in the chamber of wine, ii. . the merciful dyed me with that which i wear, ii. . the season of my presence is never at an end, ii. . the two girls let me down from fourscore fathoms' height, i. . the zephyr's sweetness on the coppice blew, ii. . they have departed, but the steads yet full of them remain, ii. . they have shut out thy person from my sight, iii. . thou that the dupe of yearning art, how many a melting wight, iii. . thou that wast absent from my stead, yet still with me didst bide, iii. . thy haters say and those who malice to thee bear, iii. . thy letter reached me; when the words thou wrot'st therein i read, iii. . thy loss is the fairest of all my heart's woes, iii. . thy presence honoureth us and we, i. . to his beloved one the lover's heart's inclined, iii. . 'twere better and meeter thy presence to leave, ii. . 'twere fitter and better my loves that i leave, i. . unto its pristine lustre your land returned and more, iii. . unto me the whole world's gladness is thy nearness and thy sight, iii. . upon the parting day our loves from us did fare, iii. . were not the darkness still in gender masculine, iii. . what strength have i solicitude and long desire to bear, iii. . when in the sitting-chamber we for merry-making sate, iii. . whenas mine eyes behold thee not, that day, iii. . whenas the soul desireth one other than its peer, ii . wind of the east, if thou pass by the land where my loved ones dwell, i pray, ii. , . would god upon that bitterest day, when my death calls for me, i. would we may live together, and when we come to die, i. . ye chide at one who weepeth for troubles ever new, iii. . ye know i'm passion-maddened, racked with love and languishment, ii. . your coming to-me-ward, indeed, with "welcome! fair welcome!" i hail, iii. . your water i'll leave without drinking, for there, i. . index to the names of the "tales from the arabic" n.b.-the roman numerals denote the volume, the arabic the page abbas (el) and the king's daughter of baghdad, iii. . abbaside, jaafer ben yehya and abdulmelik ben salih the, i. . abdallah ben nafi and the king's son of cashghar, ii. . abdulmelik ben salih the abbaside, jaafer ben yehya, and, i. . abou sabir, story of, i. . abou temam, story of ilan shah and, i. . actions, of the issues of good and evil, i. . advantages of patience, of the, i. . affairs, of looking to the issues of, i. . ali of damascus and sitt el milah, noureddin, iii. . appointed term, of the, i. . arab of the benou tai, en numan and the, i. . asleep and awake, i. . ass, the sharpers, the money-changer and the, ii. . awake, asleep and, i. . azadbekht and his son, history of king, i. baghdad, el abbas and the king's daughter of, iii. . barmecides, er reshid and the, i. . barmecides, haroun er reshid and the woman of the, i. . bekhtzeman, story of king, i. . benou tai, en numan and the arab of the, i. . bibers el bunducdari and the sixteen officers of police, el melik ez zahir rukneddin, ii. . bihkerd, story of king, i. . bihzad, story of prince, i. . bunducdari (el) and the sixteen officers of police, el melik ez zahir rukneddin bibers, ii. . cairo (the merchant of) and the favourite of the khalif el mamoun el hakim bi amrillah, iii. . cashghar, abdallah ben nafi and the king's son of, ii. . caution was the cause of his death, the man whose, i . chamberlain's wife, the king and his, ii. . clemency, of, i. . cook, the lackpenny and the, i. . craft, women's, ii. . credulous husband, the, i. . dadbin (king) and his viziers, story of, i. . damascus (noureddin ali of) and sitt el milah, iii. . daughter of the poor old man, the rich man who married his fair, i. . daughters, the two kings and the vizier's, iii. . david and solomon, i. . death, the man whose caution was the cause of his, i. . destiny, of, i. . dethroned king whose kingdom and good were restored to him, the, i. . disciple's story, the, i. . draper's wife, the old woman and the, ii. . druggist, the singer and the, i. . eighth officer's story, the, ii. . eleventh officer's story, the, ii. . endeavour against persistent ill fortune, of the uselessness of, i. . envy and malice, of, i. . favourite and her lover, the, iii. . favourite of the khalif el mamoun el hakim bi amrillah, the merchant of cairo and the, iii. . fifteenth officer's story, the, ii. . fifth officer's story, the, ii. . firouz and his wife, i. . first officer's story, the, ii. . forehead, of that which is written on the, i. . fortune, of the uselessness of endeavour against persistent ill, i. . foul-favoured man and his fair wife, the, ii. . fourteenth officer's story, the, ii. . fourth officer's story, the, ii. . fuller and his wife, the, i. . girl, the journeyman and the, ii. . god, of the speedy relief of, i. . god, of trust in, i. . governor, story of the man of khorassan, his son and his, i. . hakim (el) bi amrillah, the merchant and the favourite of the khalif el mamoun, iii. . haroun er reshid, tuhfet el culoub and, ii. . haroun er reshid and the woman of the barmecides, i. . hawk and the locust, the, ii. . hejjaj (el) and the three young men, i. . hind and his vizier, the king of, ii. . hindbad the porter, sindbad the sailor and, iii. . husband, the credulous, i. . ibn es semmak and er reshid, i. . ibrahim and his son, story of king, i. . idiot and the sharper, the, i. . ilan shah and abou temam, story of, i. . ill effects of precipitation, of the, i. . ill fortune, of the uselessness of endeavour against persistent, i . issues of affairs, of looking to the, i. . issues of good and evil actions, of the, i. . jaafer ben yehya and abdulmelik ben salih the abbaside, i. . jest of a thief, a merry, ii. . jesus, the three men and our lord, i. . journeyman and the girl, the, ii. . khalif, el mamoun el hakim bi amrillah, the merchant of cairo and the favourite of the, iii. . khalif omar ben abdulaziz and the poets, the, i. . khelbes and his wife and the learned man, i. . khorassan, his son and his governor, story of the man of, i. . king azadbekht and his son, history of, i. . king bekhtzeman, story of, i. . king bihkerd, story of, i. . king and his chamberlain's wife, the, ii. . king dadbin and his viziers, story of, i. . king (the dethroned), whose kingdom and good were restored to him, i. . king of ind and his vizier, the, ii. . king ibrahim and his son, story of, i. . king who lost kingdom and wife and wealth, the, ii. . king, the old woman, the merchant and the, i. . king who knew the quintessence of things, the, i. . king shah bekht and his vizier er rehwan, i. . king suleiman shah and his sons, story of, i. king (the unjust) and the tither, i. . king's daughter of baghdad, el abbas and the, iii. . king's son of cashghar, abdullah ben nafi and the, ii. . kings and the vizier's daughters, the two, iii. . lackpenny and the cook, the, i. . lavish of house and victual to one whom he knew not, the man who was, i. . learned man, khelbes and his wife and the, i. . lewdness, the pious woman accused of, ii. . locust, the hawk and the, ii. . looking to the issues of affairs, of, i. . lover, the favourite and her, iii. . malice, of envy and, i. . mamoun (el) el hakim bi amrillah, the merchant and the favourite of the khalif, iii. . mamoun (el) and zubeideh, i. . man whose caution was the cause of his death, the, i. . man and his fair wife, the foul-favoured, ii. . man of khorassan, his son and his governor, story of the, i. . man who was lavish of house and victual to one whom he knew not, the, i . mariyeh, el abbas and, iii. . marriage to the poor old man, the rich man who gave his fair daughter in, i. . melik (el) ez zahir rukneddin bibers el bunducdari and the sixteen officers of police, ii. . men and our lord jesus, the three, i. . merchant of cairo and the favourite of the khalif el maraoun el hakim bi amrillah, the, iii. . merchant and the king, the old woman, the, i. . merchant and his sons, the, i. . merchant, the unlucky, i. . merchants, the sharper and the, ii. . merouzi (el) and er razi, ii. . merry jest of a thief, a, ii. . money-changer and the ass, the sharpers, the, ii. . ninth officer's story, the, ii. . noureddin ali of damascus and sitt el milan, iii, . numan (en) and the arab of the benou tai, i. . officer's story, the first, ii. . officer's story, the second, ii. . officer's story, the third, ii. . officer's story, the fourth, ii. . officer's story, the fifth, ii. . officer's story, the sixth, ii. . officer's story, the seventh, ii. . officer's story, the eighth, ii. . officer's story, the ninth, ii. . officer's story, the tenth, ii. . officer's story, the eleventh, ii. . officer's story, the twelfth, ii. . officer's story, the thirteenth, ii. . officer's story, the fourteenth, ii. . officer's story, the fifteenth, ii. . officer's story, the sixteenth, ii. . officers of police, el melik ez zahir rukneddin bibers el bunducdar and the sixteen, ii. . old sharper, story of the, ii. . old woman and the draper's wife, the, ii. . old woman, the merchant and the king, the, i. . omar ben abdulaziz and the poets, the khalif, i. . patience, of the advantages of, i. . physician by his wife's commandment, the weaver who became a, ii. . picture, the prince who fell in love with the, i. . pious woman accused of lewdness, the, ii. . poets, the khalif omar ben abdulaziz and the, i. . police, el melik ez zahir rukneddin bibers el bunducdari and the sixteen officers of, ii. . poor old man, the rich man who gave his fair daughter in marriage to the, i. . porter, sindbad the sailor and hindbad the, iii. precipitation, of the ill effects of, i. prince bihzad, story of, i. . prince who fell in love with the picture, the, i. . prisoner and how god gave him relief, story of the, i. . quintessence of things, the king who knew the, i. . razi (er) and el merouzi, ii. . rehwan (er), king shah bekht and his vizier, i. . relief of god, of the speedy, i. . relief, story of the prisoner and how god gave him, i. . reshid (er) and the barmecides, i. . reshid (er), ibn es semmak and, i. . reshid (er), tuhfet el culoub and, ii. . reshid (haroun er) and the woman of the barmecides, i. . rich man who gave his fair daughter in marriage to the poor old man, the, i. . rich man and his wasteful son, the, i. . sabir (abou), story of, i. . sailor and hindbad the porter, sindbad the, iii. . second officer's story, the, ii. . selim and selma, ii. . selma, selim and, ii. . semmak (ibn es) and er reshid, i. . seventh officer's story, the, ii. . seventh voyage of sindbad the sailor, the, iii. . shah bekht and his vizier er rehwan, king, i. . sharper, the idiot and the, i. . sharper and the merchant, the, ii. sharper, story of the old, ii. . sharpers who cheated each his fellow, the two, ii. . sharpers, the money-changer and the ass, the, ii. . shehriyar, shehrzad and, ii. , iii. , . shehrzad and shehriyar, ii. , iii. , . sindbad the sailor and hindbad the porter, iii. . sindbad the sailor, the seventh voyage of, iii. . sindbad the sailor, the sixth voyage of, iii. . singer and the druggist, the, i. . sitt el milah, noureddin ali of damascus and, iii. . sixteen officers of police, el melik ez zahir rukneddin bibers el bunducdari and the, ii. . sixteenth officer's story, the, ii. . sixth officer's story, the, ii. . sixth voyage of sindbad the sailor, the, iii. . solomon, david and, i. . son, the history of king azadbekht and his, i. . son and his governor, story of the man of khorassan, his, i. son, story of king ibrahim and his, i. . son, the rich man and his wasteful, i. . sons, story of king suleiman shah and his, i. . sons, the merchant and his, i. . speedy relief of god, of the, i. . suleiman shah and his sons, story of king, i. . tai, en numan and the arab of the benou. i. . temam (abou), story of ilan shah and, i. . ten viziers, the, i. tenth officer's story, the, ii. term, of the appointed, i. . thief, a merry jest of a, ii. . thiefs story, the, ii. . thief and the woman, the, i. things, the king who knew the quintessence of, i. third officer's story, the, ii. . thirteenth officer's story, the, ii. . three men and our lord jesus, the, i. . three young men, el hejjaj and the, i. . tither, the unjust king and the, i. . trust in god, of, . tuhfet el culoub and er reshid, ii. . twelfth officer's story, the, ii. i . two kings and the vizier's daughters, the, iii. unjust king and the tither, the, i. unlucky merchant, the, i . uselessness of endeavour against persistent ill fortune, of the, i. vizier, the king of hind and his, ii. . vizier er rehwan, king shah bekht and his, i. . vizier's daughters, the two kings and the, iii. , viziers, story of king dadbin and his. i. . viziers, the ten, i. . voyage of sindbad the sailor, the seventh, iii. . voyage of sindbad the sailor, the sixth, iii. . wasteful son, the rich man and his, i. . weaver who became a physician by his wife's commandment, the ii. . wife, the king and his chamberlain's, ii. . wife, the old woman and the draper's, ii. . wife, firouz aad his, i. . wife, the fuller and his, i. . wife and the learned man, khelbes and his, i. . woman accused of lewdness, the pious, ii. . woman of the barmecides, haroun er reshid and the, i. . woman, the thief and the, i. . woman (the old) and the draper's wife, ii. . woman (the old), the merchant and the king, i. . women's craft, ii. . young men, el hejjaj and the three, i. . zubeideh, el mamoun and, i. the end. tales from the arabic, volume endnotes [fn# ] breslau text, vol. xii. pp. - , nights dcccclviii-dcccclxv. [fn# ] babylon, according to the muslims, is the head-quarters of sorcery and it is there that the two fallen angels, harout and marout, who are appointed to tempt mankind by teaching them the art of magic, are supposed to be confined. [fn# ] i.e. "my lord," a title generally prefixed to the names of saints. it is probable, therefore, that the boy was named after some saint or other, whose title, as well as name, was somewhat ignorantly appropriated to him. [fn# ] i.e. one and all? [fn# ] i.e. a foretaste of hell. [fn# ] lit. he loaded his sleeve with. [fn# ] a mithcal is the same as a dinar, i.e. about ten shillings. [fn# ] masculine. [fn# ] he was a noted debauchee, as well as the greatest poet of his day see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. iv. p. , and vol. ix. p. . [fn# ] see ante, vol. ii. p. . note. [fn# ] princess of the fair. [fn# ] i.e. ye are welcome to. [fn# ] i.e. the place in which those accused or convicted of crimes of violence were confined. [fn# ] i.e. a youth slender and flexile as a bough. [fn# ] i.e. sway gracefully. a swimming gait is the ideal of elegance to the arab. [fn# ] an arab of medina, proverbial for faithlessness. [fn# ] joseph is the mohammedan prototype of beauty. [fn# ] for the loss of joseph. jacob, in like manner, is the muslim type of inconsolable grief. [fn# ] uncle of the prophet. [fn# ] first cousin of the prophet. [fn# ] i.e. cut off her head. [fn# ] when asked, on the day of judgment, why he had slain her. [fn# ] i.e. that some one of the many risings in khorassan (which was in a chronic state of rebellion during er reshid's reign) had been put down. [fn# ] lit. fry. the custom is to sear the stump by plunging it into boiling oil. [fn# ] lit. of those having houses. [fn# ] i.e. from god in the world to come. [fn# ] i look to get god's favour in consequence of thy fervent prayers for me. [fn# ] provided for ablution. [fn# ] i.e. if you want a thing done, do it yourself. [fn# ] i.e. put on the ordinary walking dress of the eastern lady, which completely hides the person. [fn# ] this is apparently said in jest; but the muslim puritan (such as the strict wehhabi) is often exceedingly punctilious in refusing to eat or use anything that is not sanctified by mention in the koran or the traditions of the prophet, in the same spirit as the old calvinist scotchwoman of popular tradition, who refused to eat muffins, because they "warna mentioned in the bible." [fn# ] i.e. a leader (lit. foreman, antistes) of the people at prayer. [fn# ] koran ii. . [fn# ] i.e. i have eaten largely and the food lies heavy on my stomach. [fn# ] wine is considered by the arabs a sovereign digestive. see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. iv. p. . [fn# ] "the similitude of paradise, the which is promised unto those who fear [god]. therein are rivers of water incorruptible and rivers of milk, the taste whereof changeth not, and rivers of wine, a delight to the drinkers, and rivers of clarified honey."--koran xlvii. , . [fn# ] the ox is the arab type of stupidity, as with us the ass. [fn# ] syn. wood (oud). [fn# ] i.e. my pallor and emaciation testify to the affliction of my heart and the latter bears witness that the external symptoms correctly indicate the internal malady. [fn# ] lit. he is [first] the deposit of god, then thy deposit. [fn# ] or "by." [fn# ] see supra, vol. i. p. , note. [fn# ] i.e. made him chief of the police of baghdad, in place of the former prefect, whom he had put to death with the rest of noureddin's oppressors. [fn# ] for affright. [fn# ] i.e. religious ceremonies so called. see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. ix. p. , note. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. xii. pp. - , nights dcccclxvi-dcccclxxix. [fn# ] i.e. a member of the tribe of sheiban. no such king of baghdad (which was not founded till the eighth century) as ins ben cais is, i believe, known to history. [fn# ] the cities and provinces of bassora and cufa are generally known as "the two iraks"; but the name is here in all probability used in its wider meaning of irak arabi (chaldaea) and irak farsi (persian irak). [fn# ] i.e. all those languages the knowledge whereof is necessary to an interpreter or dragoman (properly terjeman). or quaere is the word terjemaniyeh (dragomanish) here a mistranscription for turkumaniyeh (turcoman). [fn# ] i.e. gilded? [fn# ] i.e. sperma hominis. [fn# ] syn. good breeding. [fn# ] i.e. those women of equal age and rank with herself. [fn# ] i.e. vaunting himself of offering richer presents. [fn# ] apparently zebid, the ancient capital of the province of tehameh in yemen, a town on the red sea, about sixty miles north of mocha. the copyist of the tunis ms. appears to have written the name with the addition of the characteristic desinence (oun) of the nominative case, which is dropped except in the koran and in poetry. [fn# ] name of the province in which mecca is situated. [fn# ] syn. assembly. [fn# ] i.e. day and night, to wit, for ever. [fn# ] syn. the loftiness of his purpose. [fn# ] lit "i charm thee by invoking the aid of god for thee against evil" or "i seek refuge with god for thee." [fn# ] or "determinate." [fn# ] koran xxxiii. . [fn# ] or "accomplishments." [fn# ] i.e. to make a pleasure-excursion. [fn# ] lit. beset his back. [fn# ] lit. in its earth. [fn# ] the king's own tribe. [fn# ] i.e. the arab of the desert or bedouin (el aarabi), the nomad. [fn# ] i.e. the martial instinct. [fn# ] lit. "and he who is oppressed shall become oppressor." [fn# ] i.e. be not ashamed to flee rather than perish in thy youth, if his prowess (attributed to diabolical aid or possession) prove too much for thee. [fn# ] a periphrastic way of saying, "i look to god for help." [fn# ] i.e. from the world. [fn# ] in laughter. [fn# ] i.e. as he were a flying genie, swooping down upon a mortal from the air, hawk-fashion. [fn# ] syn. "thou settest out to me a mighty matter." [fn# ] i.e. the castle. [fn# ] i.e. was eloquent and courtly to the utmost. [fn# ] i.e. died. [fn# ] the arabs use the right hand only in eating. [fn# ] name of a quarter of baghdad. [fn# ] i.e. he summoneth thee to his presence by way of kindness and not because he is wroth with thee. [fn# ] i.e. in allowing thee hitherto to remain at a distance from as and not inviting thee to attach thyself to our person. [fn# ] an arab idiom, meaning "he showed agitation." [fn# ] apparently two well-known lovers. [fn# ] apparently two well-known lovers. [fn# ] i.e. the wandering arabs. [fn# ] i.e. slain. [fn# ] "o ye who believe, seek aid of patience and prayer; verily, god is with the patient."--koran ii. . [fn# ] lit. "ignorant one" (jahil). [fn# ] i.e. peninsula. jezireh (sing, of jezair, islands) is constantly used by the arabs in this sense; hence much apparent confusion in topographical passages. [fn# ] i.e. mecca and medina. [fn# ] i.e. whether on a matter of sport, such as the chase, or a grave matter, such as war, etc. [fn# ] i.e. the children of his fighting-men whom thou slewest. [fn# ] arab fashion of shaking hands. see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. ix p. , note. [fn# ] lit. a cleft meadow (merj selia). this is probably a mistranscription for merj sselia, a treeless champaign. [fn# ] i.e. one of the small rooms opening upon the hall of audience at saloon of estate. [fn# ] so she might hear and see what passed, herself unseen. [fn# ] or knowledge of court etiquette. [fn# ] i.e. richer. [fn# ] lit. seen. [fn# ] lit. what she did. [fn# ] i.e. tabooed or unlawful in a religious sense (heram). [fn# ] i.e. those of el aziz, who had apparently entered the city or passed through it on their way to the camp of el abbas. [fn# ] lit. none of the sons of the road. [fn# ] i.e. the stars. [fn# ] i.e. in falsetto? [fn# ] by thine absence. [fn# ] common abbreviation for "may i be thy ransom!" [fn# ] i.e. for love of and longing for. [fn# ] i.e. leather from et taif, a town of the hejaz, renowned for the manufacture of scented goats' leather. [fn# ] or "suspended in." [fn# ] i.e. violateth my privacy. [fn# ] i.e. the plaintive song of a nightingale or turtle-dove. [fn# ] this curious comparison appears to be founded upon the extreme tenuity of the particles of fine dust, so minutely divided as to seem almost fluid. [fn# ] i.e. he carried it into the convent, hidden under his cloak. [fn# ] i.e. all the delights of paradise, as promised to the believer by the koran. [fn# ] "him" in the text and so on throughout the piece; but mariyeh is evidently the person alluded to, according to the common practice of muslim poets of a certain class, who consider it indecent openly to mention a woman as an object of love. [fn# ] i.e. from the witchery of her beauty. see vol. ii. p. , note. [fn# ] lit "if thou kohl thyself" i.e. use them as a cosmetic for the eye. [fn# ] i.e. we will assume thy debts and responsibilities. [fn# ] lit "behind." [fn# ] i.e. a specially auspicious hour, as ascertained by astrological calculations. eastern peoples have always laid great stress upon the necessity of commencing all important undertakings at an (astrologically) favourable time. [fn# ] or "more valuable." red camels are considered better than those of other colours by some of the arabs. [fn# ] i.e. couriers mounted on dromedaries, which animals are commonly used for this purpose, being (for long distances) swifter and more enduring than horses. [fn# ] lit. he sinned against himself. [fn# ] i.e. in falsetto? [fn# ] i.e. of gold or rare wood, set with balass rubies. [fn# ] i.e. whose absence. [fn# ] i.e. in a throat voice? [fn# ] koranic synonym, victual (rihan). see vol. ii. p. , note. [fn# ] apparently, the apple of the throat. [fn# ] apparently, the belly. [fn# ] apparently, the bosom. [fn# ] cf. fletcher's well-known song in the bloody brother; "hide, o hide those hills of snow, that thy frozen bosom bears, on whose tops the pinks that grow are of those that april wears." [fn# ] i.e. the breasts themselves. [fn# ] i.e. your languishing beauties are alone present to my mind's eye. a drowsy voluptuous air of languishment is considered by the arabs an especial charm. [fn# ] syn. chamberlain (hajib). [fn# ] syn. eyebrow (hajib). the usual trifling play of words is of course intended. [fn# ] lit. feathers. [fn# ] solomon is fabled by the muslims to have compelled the wind to bear his throne when placed upon his famous magic carpet. see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. pp. - . [fn# ] quære the teeth. [fn# ] i.e. the return of our beloved hath enabled us to remove the barriers that stood between us and delight. [fn# ] singing (as i have before pointed out) is not, in the eyes of the strict muslim, a reputable occupation and it is, therefore, generally the first idea of the "repentant" professional songstress or (as in this case) enfranchised slave-girl, who has been wont to entertain her master with the display of her musical talents, to free herself from all signs of her former profession and identify herself as closely as possible with the ordinary "respectable" bourgeoise of the harem, from whom she has been distinguished hitherto by unveiled face and freedom of ingress and egress; and with this aim in view she would naturally be inclined to exaggerate the rigour of muslim custom, as applied to herself. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. xii. pp. - (night mi). [fn# ] i.e. that of the king, his seven viziers, his son and his favourite, which in the breslau edition immediately follows the story of el abbas and mariyeh and occupies pp. - of vol. xii. (nights dcccclxxix-m). it will be found translated in my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. pp. - , under the name of "the malice of women." [fn# ] i.e. those who practise it. [fn# ] or "cause" (sebeb). [fn# ] or "preservation" (selameh). [fn# ] or "turpitude, anything that is hateful or vexatious" (keraheh). [fn# ] or "preservation" (selameh). [fn# ] or "turpitude, anything that is hateful or vexatious" (keraheh). [fn# ] these preliminary words of shehrzad have no apparent connection with the story that immediately follows and which is only her own told in the third person, and it is difficult to understand why they should be here introduced. the author may have intended to connect them with the story by means of a further development of the latter and with the characteristic carelessness of the eastern story-teller, forgotten or neglected to carry out his intention; or, again, it is possible that the words in question may have been intended as an introduction to the story of the favourite and her lover (see post, p. ), to which they seem more suitable, and have been misplaced by an error of transcription. in any case, the text is probably (as usual) corrupt. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. xii. pp. - . [fn# ] the kingdom of the elder brother is afterwards referred to as situate in china. see post, p. . [fn# ] tubba was the dynastic title of the ancient himyerite kings of yemen, even as chosroës and cæsar of the kings of persia and the emperors of constantinople respectively. [fn# ] i.e. a king similar in magnificence and dominion to the monarchs of the three dynasties aforesaid, whose names are in arab literature synonyms for regal greatness. [fn# ] i.e. his rage was ungovernable, so that none dared approach him in his heat of passion. [fn# ] i.e. maidens cloistered or concealed behind curtains and veiled in the harem. [fn# ] i.e. those whose business it is to compose or compile stories, verses, etc., for the entertainment of kings and grandees. [fn# ] i.e. that his new and damnable custom. the literal meaning of bidah is "an innovation or invention, anything new;" but the word is commonly used in the sense of "heresy" or "heterodox innovation," anything new being naturally heretical in the eyes of the orthodox religionist. [fn# ] i.e. women. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. xii. pp. - . [fn# ] i.e. his apathy or indifference to the principles of right and wrong and the consequences of his wicked behaviour. [fn# ] i.e. in a state of reprobation, having incurred the wrath of god. [fn# ] hath mentioned the office of vizier. [fn# ] koran xx. . [fn# ] i.e. none had been better qualified to dispense with a vizier than he. [fn# ] i.e. the essential qualification. [fn# ] the word jeish (troops) is here apparently used in the sense at officials, ministers of government. [fn# ] or "rectification." [fn# ] koran xxxiii. . [fn# ] i.e. i know not which to choose of the superabundant material at my command in the way of instances of women's craft. [fn# ] breslau text, vol xii. pp. - . [fn# ] i.e. incensed with the smoke of burning musk. it is a common practice in the east to fumigate drinking-vessels with the fragrant smoke of aloes-wood and other perfumes, for the purpose of giving a pleasant flavour to the water, etc., drunk from them. [fn# ] huneini foucaniyeh. foucaniyeh means "upper" (fem.); but the meaning of huneini is unknown to me. [fn# ] heriseh. see supra, vol. ii. p. , note . [fn# ] the arabs distinguish three kinds of honey, i.e. bees' honey, cane honey (treacle or syrup of sugar) and drip-honey (date-syrup). [fn# ] i.e. yet arrive in time for the rendezvous. [fn# ] breslau text, pp. - . [fn# ] i.e. on an island between two branches of the nile. [fn# ] it is not plain what khalif is here meant, though it is evident, from the context, that an egyptian prince is referred to, unless the story is told of the abbaside khalif el mamoun, son of er reshid (a.d. - ), during his temporary residence in egypt, which he is said to have visited. this is, however, unlikely, as his character was the reverse of sanguinary; besides, el mamoun was not his name, but his title (aboulabbas abdallah el mamoun billah). two khalifs of egypt assumed the title of el hakim bi amrillah (he who rules or decrees by or in accordance with the commandment of god), i.e. the fatimite abou ali el mensour (a.d. - ), and the faineant abbaside aboulabbas ahmed (a.d. - ); but neither of these was named el mamoun. it is probable, however, that the first named is the prince referred to in the story, the latter having neither the power nor the inclination for such wholesale massacres as that described in the text, which are perfectly in character with the brutal and fantastic nature of the founder of the druse religion. [fn# ] i.e. the well-known island of that name (the garden). [fn# ] i.e. "whatever may betide" or "will i, nill i"? [fn# ] lit. she was cut off or cut herself off. [fn# ] lit. "the convent of clay." [fn# ] i.e. this is the time to approve thyself a man. [fn# ] to keep her afloat. [fn# ] lit "thou art the friend who is found (or present) (or the vicissitudes of time (or fortune)." [fn# ] i.e. the officer whose duty it is to search out the estates of intestates and lay hands upon such property as escheats to the crown for want of heirs. [fn# ] i.e. sumatran. [fn# ] i.e. alexander. [fn# ] i.e. the blackness of the hair. [fn# ] the ingenuity of the bride's attendants, on the occasion of a wedding, is strained to the utmost to vary her attire and the manner in which the hair is dressed on the occasion of her being displayed to her husband, and one favourite trick consists in fastening her tresses about her chin and cheeks, so as to produce a sort of imitation of beard and whiskers. [fn# ] literal. [fn# ] i.e. god only knows if it be true or not. [fn# ] or rather appended to. the voyages of sindbad the sailor form no part of the scheme of nights in this edition, but are divided into "voyages" only and form a sort of appendix, following the two hundredth night. see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. ix. pp. - . [fn# ] see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. pp. and . [fn# ] i.e. the porter and the other guests. [fn# ] i.e. a mountainous island. [fn# ] kherabeh, lit. a hole. syn. ruin or destruction. [fn# ] i.e. an outlying spur or reef. [fn# ] syn. perilous place. [fn# ] lit. their guide was disappointed. [fn# ] i.e. means (hileh) of sustaining life. [fn# ] i.e. death. [fn# ] i.e. ceylon. [fn# ] audiyeh (plural of wadi, a valley). the use of the word in this sense points to an african origin of this version of the story. the moors of africa and spain commonly called a river "a valley," by a natural figure of metonymy substituting the container for the contained; e.g. guadalquiver (wadi el kebir, the great river), guadiana, etc. [fn# ] i.e. after the usual compliments, the letter proceeded thus. [fn# ] i.e. we are thine allies in peace and war, for offence and defence. those whom thou lovest we love, and those whom thou hatest we hate. [fn# ] about seventy-two grains. [fn# ] or public appearance. [fn# ] solomon was the dynastic name of the kings of the prae-adamite jinn and is here used in a generic sense, as chosroes for the ancient kings of persia, caesar for the emperors of constantinople, tubba for the himyerite kings of yemen, etc., etc. [fn# ] i.e. maharajah. [fn# ] or "government." [fn# ] every muslim is bound by law to give alms to the extent of two and half per cent. of his property. [fn# ] in north-east persia. [fn# ] alleged to have been found by the arab conquerors of spain on the occasion of the sack of toledo and presented by them to the ommiade khalif el welid ben abdulmelik (a.d. - ). see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. iii. p. . [fn# ] i.e. such as are fit to be sent from king to king. [fn# ] i.e, the price of his victual and other necessaries for the voyage. [fn# ] lit. riding-beast (french monture, no exact english equivalent), whether camel, mule or horse does not appear. [fn# ] the envier and the envied. [fn# ] after the manner of orientalists, a far more irritable folk than any poets. [fn# ] by the by, apropos of this soi-disant complete translation of the great arabian collection of romantic fiction, it is difficult to understand how an orientalist of repute, such as dr. habicht, can have put forth publication of this kind, which so swarms with blunders of every description as to throw the mistakes of all other translators completely into the shade and to render it utterly useless to the arabic scholar as a book of reference. we can only conjecture that he must have left the main portion of the work to be executed, without efficient supervision, by incapable collaborators or that he undertook and executed the translation in such haste as to preclude the possibility of any preliminary examination and revision, worthy of the name, of the original ms.; and this latter supposition appears to be borne out by the fact that the translation was entirely published before the appearance of any portion of the arabic text, as printed from the tunis manuscript. whilst on the subject of german translations, it may be well to correct an idea, which appears to prevail among non-arabic scholars, to the effect that complete translations of the book of the thousand nights and one night exist in the language of hoffmann and heine, and which is (as far, at least, as my own knowledge extends) a completely erroneous one. i have, i believe, examined all the german translations in existence and have found not one of them worthy of serious consideration; the best, that of hammer-purgstall, to which i had looked for help in the elucidation of doubtful and corrupt passages, being so loose and unfaithful, so disfigured by ruthless retrenchments and abridgments, no less than by gross errors of all kinds, that i found myself compelled to lay it aside as useless. it is but fair, however, to the memory of the celebrated austrian orientalist, to state that the only form in which von hammer's translation is procurable is that of the german rendering of prof. zinserling ( - ), executed from the original (french) manuscript, which latter was unfortunately lost before publication. [fn# ] the boulac edition omits this story altogether. [fn# ] calcutta ( - ) and boulac b. "the merchant's wife and the parrot." [fn# ] this will be found translated in my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. vii. p. , as an appendix to the calcutta ( - ) and boulac version of the story, from which it differs in detail. [fn# ] called "bekhit" in calcutta ( - ) and boulac editions. [fn# ] yehya ben khalid (calcutta ( - ) and boulac). [fn# ] "shar" (calcutta ( - ) and boulac). [fn# ] "jelyaad" (calcutta ( - ) and boulac). [fn# ] calcutta ( - ) and boulac, no. . see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. iv. p. . [fn# ] calcutta ( - ) and boulac, "jaafer the barmecide." [fn# ] calcutta ( - ) and boulac, "the thief turned merchant and the other thief," no. . [fn# ] this story will be found translated in my "book at the thousand nights and one night,' vol. v. p. . [fn# ] the third old man's story is wanting. [fn# ] the story of the portress is wanting. [fn# ] calcutta ( - ), boulac and breslan, "the controller's story." [fn# ] calcutta ( - ) and boulac, "sindbad the sailor and sindbad the porter." [fn# ] tuhfeh. none text scanned by jc byers and proof read by the volunteers of the distributed proofreaders site: http://charlz.dns go.com/gutenberg/ tales from the arabic of the breslau and calcutta ( - ) editions of the book of the thousand nights and one night not occurring in the other printed texts of the work, now first done into english by john payne in three volumes: volume the third. delhi edition contents of the third volume. breslau text. . noureddin ali of damascus and the damsel sitt el milah . el abbas and the king's daughter of baghdad . the two kings and the vizier's daughters . the favourite and her lover . the merchant of cairo and the favourite of the khalif el mamoun el hakim bi amrillah conclusion calcutta ( - ) text. . story of sindbad the sailor and hindbad the porter a. the sixth voyage of sindbad the sailor b. the seventh voyage of sindbad the sailor note table of contents of the calcutta ( - ) and boulac editions table of contents of the breslau edition table of contents of the calcutta edition alphabetical table of the first lines of the verse in the "tales from the arabic" index to the names of the "tales from the arabic" breslau text. noureddin ali of damascus and the damsel sitt el milah.[fn# ] there was once, of old days and in bygone ages and times, a merchant of the merchants of damascus, by name aboulhusn, who had money and riches and slaves and slave-girls and lands and houses and baths; but he was not blessed with a child and indeed his years waxed great; wherefore he addressed himself to supplicate god the most high in private and in public and in his inclining and his prostration and at the season of the call to prayer, beseeching him to vouchsafe him, before his admittance [to his mercy], a son who should inherit his wealth and possessions; and god answered his prayer. so his wife conceived and the days of her pregnancy were accomplished and her months and her nights and the pangs of her travail came upon her and she gave birth to a male child, as he were a piece of the moon. he had not his match for beauty and he put to shame the sun and the resplendent moon; for he had a shining face and black eyes of babylonian witchery[fn# ] and aquiline nose and ruby lips; brief, he was perfect of attributes, the loveliest of the folk of his time, without doubt or gainsaying. his father rejoiced in him with the utmost joy and his heart was solaced and he was glad; and he made banquets to the folk and clad the poor and the widows. he named the boy sidi[fn# ] noureddin ali and reared him in fondness and delight among the slaves and servants. when he came to seven years of age, his father put him to school, where he learned the sublime koran and the arts of writing and reckoning: and when he reached his tenth year, he learned horsemanship and archery and to occupy himself with arts and sciences of all kinds, part and parts.[fn# ] he grew up pleasant and subtle and goodly and lovesome, ravishing all who beheld him, and inclined to companying with brethren and comrades and mixing with merchants and travellers. from these latter he heard tell of that which they had seen of the marvels of the cities in their travels and heard them say, "he who leaveth not his native land diverteth not himself [with the sight of the marvels of the world,] and especially of the city of baghdad." so he was concerned with an exceeding concern for his lack of travel and discovered this to his father, who said to him, "o my son, why do i see thee chagrined?" and he answered, "i would fain travel." quoth aboulhusn, "o my son, none travelleth save those whose occasion is urgent and those who are compelled thereunto [by need]. as for thee, o my son, thou enjoyest ample fortune; so do thou content thyself with that which god hath given thee and be bounteous [unto others], even as he hath been bounteous unto thee; and afflict not thyself with the toil and hardship of travel, for indeed it is said that travel is a piece of torment."[fn# ] but the youth said, "needs must i travel to baghdad, the abode of peace." when his father saw the strength of his determination to travel, he fell in with his wishes and equipped him with five thousand dinars in cash and the like in merchandise and sent with him two serving-men. so the youth set out, trusting in the blessing of god the most high, and his father went out with him, to take leave of him, and returned [to damascus]. as for noureddin ali, he gave not over travelling days and nights till he entered the city of baghdad and laying up his loads in the caravanserai, made for the bath, where he did away that which was upon him of the dirt of the road and putting off his travelling clothes, donned a costly suit of yemen stuff, worth an hundred dinars. then he put in his sleeve[fn# ] a thousand mithcals[fn# ] of gold and sallied forth a-walking and swaying gracefully as he went. his gait confounded all those who beheld him, as he shamed the branches with his shape and belittled the rose with the redness of his cheeks and his black eyes of babylonian witchcraft; indeed, thou wouldst deem that whoso looked on him would surely be preserved from calamity; [for he was] even as saith of him one of his describers in the following verses: thy haters say and those who malice to thee bear a true word, profiting its hearers everywhere; "the glory's not in those whom raiment rich makes fair, but those who still adorn the raiment that they wear." so he went walking in the thoroughfares of the city and viewing its ordinance and its markets and thoroughfares and gazing on its folk. presently, abou nuwas met him. (now he was of those of whom it is said, "they love the fair,"[fn# ] and indeed there is said what is said concerning him.[fn# ] when he saw noureddin ali, he stared at him in amazement and exclaimed, "say, i take refuge with the lord of the daybreak!"[fn# ] then he accosted the young damascene and saluting him, said to him, "why do i see my lord alone and forlorn? meseemeth thou art a stranger and knowest not this country; so, with my lord's permission, i will put myself at his service and acquaint him with the streets, for that i know this city." quoth noureddin, "this will be of thy favour, o uncle." whereat abou nuwas rejoiced and fared on with him, showing him the markets and thoroughfares, till they came to the house of a slave-dealer, where he stopped and said to the youth, "from what city art thou?" "from damascus," answered noureddin; and abou nuwas said, "by allah, thou art from a blessed city, even as saith of it the poet in the following verses: damascus is all gardens decked for the pleasance of the eyes; for the seeker there are black-eyed girls and boys of paradise." noureddin thanked him and they entered the slave-merchant's house. when the people of the house saw abou nuwas, they rose to do him worship, for that which they knew of his station with the commander of the faithful. moreover, the slave-dealer himself came up to them with two chairs, and they seated themselves thereon. then the slave-merchant went into the house and returning with the slave-girl, as she were a willow-wand or a bamboo-cane, clad in a vest of damask silk and tired with a black and white turban, the ends whereof fell down over her face, seated her on a chair of ebony; after which quoth he to those who were present, "i will discover to you a face as it were a full moon breaking forth from under a cloud." and they said, "do so." so he unveiled the damsel's face and behold, she was like the shining sun, with comely shape and day-bright face and slender [waist and heavy] hips; brief, she was endowed with elegance, the description whereof existeth not, [and was] even as saith of her the poet: a fair one, to idolaters if she herself should show, they'd leave their idols and her face for only lord would know; and if into the briny sea one day she chanced to spit, assuredly the salt sea's floods straight fresh and sweet would grow. the dealer stood at her head and one of the merchants said, "i bid a thousand dinars for her." quoth another, "i bid eleven hundred dinars;" [and a third, "i bid twelve hundred"]. then said a fourth merchant, "be she mine for fourteen hundred dinars." and the biddings stood still at that sum. quoth her owner, "i will not sell her save with her consent. if she desire to be sold, i will sell her to whom she willeth." and the slave-dealer said to him, "what is her name?" "her name is sitt el milah,"[fn# ] answered the other; whereupon the dealer said to her, "by thy leave, i will sell thee to yonder merchant for this price of fourteen hundred dinars." quoth she, "come hither to me." so he came up to her and when he drew near, she gave him a kick with her foot and cast him to the ground, saying, "i will not have that old man." the slave-dealer arose, shaking the dust from his clothes and head, and said, "who biddeth more? who is desirous [of buying?]" quoth one of the merchants, "i," and the dealer said to her, "o sitt el milah, shall i sell thee to this merchant?" "come hither to me," answered she; but he said "nay; speak and i will hearken to thee from my place, for i will not trust myself to thee," and she said, "i will not have him." then he looked at her and seeing her eyes fixed on the young damascene, for that in very deed he had ravished her with his beauty and grace, went up to the latter and said to him, "o my lord, art thou a looker-on or a buyer? tell me." quoth noureddin, "i am both looker-on and buyer. wilt thou sell me yonder slave-girl for sixteen hundred dinars?" and he pulled out the purse of gold. so the dealer returned, dancing and clapping his hands and saying, "so be it, so be it, or not [at all]!" then he came to the damsel and said to her, "o sitt el milah, shall i sell thee to yonder young damascene for sixteen hundred dinars?" but she answered, "no," of shamefastness before her master and the bystanders; whereupon the people of the bazaar and the slave-merchant departed, and abou nuwas and ali noureddin arose and went each his own way, whilst the damsel returned to her master's house, full of love for the young damascene. when the night darkened on her, she called him to mind and her heart clave to him and sleep visited her not; and on this wise she abode days and nights, till she sickened and abstained from food. so her lord went in to her and said to her, "o sitt el milah, how findest thou thyself?" "o my lord," answered she, "i am dead without recourse and i beseech thee to bring me my shroud, so i may look on it before my death." therewithal he went out from her, sore concerned for her, and betook himself to a friend of his, a draper, who had been present on the day when the damsel was cried [for sale]. quoth his friend to him, "why do i see thee troubled?" and he answered, "sitt el milah is at the point of death and these three days she hath neither eaten nor drunken. i questioned her to-day of her case and she said, 'o my lord, buy me a shroud, so i may look on it before my death.'" quoth the draper, "methinks nought ails her but that she is enamoured of the young damascene and i counsel thee to mention his name to her and avouch to her that he hath foregathered with thee on her account and is desirous of coming to thy house, so he may hear somewhat of her singing. if she say, 'i reck not of him, for there is that to do with me which distracteth me from the damascene and from other than he,' know that she saith sooth concerning her sickness; but, if she say to thee other than this, acquaint me therewith.'" so the man returned to his lodging and going in to his slave-girl, said to her, "o sitt el milah, i went out on thine occasion and there met me the young man of damascus, and he saluted me and saluteth thee. indeed, he seeketh to win thy favour and would fain be a guest in our dwelling, so thou mayst let him hear somewhat of thy singing." when she heard speak of the young damascene, she gave a sob, that her soul was like to depart her body, and answered, saying, "he knoweth my plight and is ware that these three days past i have eaten not nor drunken, and i beseech thee, o my lord, by the great god, to accomplish the stranger his due and bring him to my lodging and make excuse to him for me." when her master heard this, his reason fled for joy and he went to his friend the draper and said to him, "thou wast right in the matter of the damsel, for that she is enamoured of the young damascene; so how shall i do?" quoth the other, "go to the bazaar and when thou seest him, salute him and say to him, 'indeed, thy departure the other day, without accomplishing thine occasion, was grievous to me; so, if thou be still minded to buy the girl, i will abate thee an hundred dinars of that which thou badest for her, by way of hospitable entreatment of thee and making myself agreeable to thee; for that thou art a stranger in our land.' if he say to thee, 'i have no desire for her' and hold off from thee, know that he will not buy; in which case, let me know, so i may contrive thee another device; and if he say to thee other than this, conceal not from me aught. so the girl's owner betook himself to the bazaar, where he found the youth seated at the upper end of the merchants' place of session, selling and buying and taking and giving, as he were the moon on the night of its full, and saluted him. the young man returned his salutation and he said to him, "o my lord, be not thou vexed at the girl's speech the other day, for her price shall be less than that [which thou badest], to the intent that i may propitiate thy favour. if thou desire her for nought, i will send her to thee, or if thou wouldst have me abate thee of her price, i will well, for i desire nought but what shall content thee; for that thou art a stranger in our land and it behoveth us to entreat thee hospitably and have consideration for thee." "by allah," answered the youth, "i will not take her from thee but at an advance on that which i bade thee for her aforetime; so wilt thou now sell her to me for seventeen hundred dinars?" and the other answered," o my lord, i sell her to thee, may god bless thee in her." so the young man went to his lodging and fetching a purse, returned to the girl's owner and counted out to him the price aforesaid, whilst the draper was between them. then said he, "bring her forth;" but the other answered, "she cannot come forth at this present; but be thou my guest the rest of this day and night, and on the morrow thou shall take thy slave-girl and go in the protection of god." the youth fell in with him of this and he carried him to his house, where, after a little, he let bring meat and wine, and they [ate and] drank. then said noureddin to the girl's owner, "i beseech thee bring me the damsel, for that i bought her not but for the like of this time." so he arose and [going in to the girl], said to her, "o sitt el milan, the young man hath paid down thy price and we have bidden him hither; so he hath come to our dwelling and we have entertained him, and he would fain have thee be present with him." therewithal the damsel rose briskly and putting off her clothes, washed and donned sumptuous apparel and perfumed herself and went out to him, as she were a willow-wand or a bamboo-cane, followed by a black slave girl, bearing the lute. when she came to the young man, she saluted him and sat down by his side. then she took the lute from the slave-girl and tuning it, smote thereon in four-and-twenty modes, after which she returned to the first mode and sang the following verses: unto me the world's whole gladness is thy nearness and thy sight; all incumbent thy possession and thy love a law of right. in my tears i have a witness; when i call thee to my mind, down my cheeks they run like torrents, and i cannot stay their flight. none, by allah, 'mongst all creatures, none i love save thee alone! yea, for i am grown thy bondman, by the troth betwixt us plight. peace upon thee! ah, how bitter were the severance from thee! be not this thy troth-plight's ending nor the last of our delight! therewithal the young man was moved to delight and exclaimed, "by allah, thou sayest well, o sitt el milan! let me hear more." then he handselled her with fifty dinars and they drank and the cups went round among them; and her seller said to her, "o sitt el milah, this is the season of leave-taking; so let us hear somewhat on the subject." accordingly she struck the lute and avouching that which was in her heart, sang the following verses: i am filled full of longing pain and memory and dole, that from the wasted body's wounds distract the anguished soul. think not, my lords, that i forget: the case is still the same. when such a fever fills the heart, what leach can make it whole? and if a creature in his tears could swim, as in a sea, i to do this of all that breathe were surely first and sole. o skinker of the wine of woe, turn from a love-sick maid, who drinks her tears still, night and morn, thy bitter-flavoured bowl. i had not left you, had i known that severance would prove my death; but what is past is past, fate stoops to no control. as they were thus in the enjoyment of all that in most delicious of easance and delight, and indeed the wine was sweet to them and the talk pleasant, behold, there came a knocking at the door. so the master of the house went out, that he might see what was to do, and found ten men of the khalif's eunuchs at the door. when he saw this, he was amazed and said to them, "what is to do?" quoth they, "the commander of the faithful saluteth thee and requireth of thee the slave-girl whom thou hast for sale and whose name is sitt el milah." by allah," answered the other, "i have sold her." and they said, "swear by the head of the commander of the faithful that she is not in thy dwelling." he made oath that he had sold her and that she was no longer at his disposal; but they paid no *need to his word and forcing their way into the house, found the damsel and the young damascene in the sitting-chamber. so they laid hands upon her, and the youth said, "this is my slave-girl, whom i have bought with my money." but they hearkened not to his speech and taking her, carried her off to the commander of the faithful. therewithal noureddin's life was troubled; so he arose and donned his clothes, and his host said, "whither away this night, o my lord?" quoth noureddin, "i mean to go to my lodging, and to-morrow i will betake myself to the palace of the commander of the faithful and demand my slave-girl." "sleep till the morning," said the other, "and go not forth at the like of this hour." but he answered, "needs must i go;" and the host said to him, "[go] in the safeguard of god." so noureddin went forth, and drunkenness had got the mastery of him, wherefore he threw himself down on [a bench before one of] the shops. now the watch were at that hour making their round and they smelt the sweet scent [of essences] and wine that exhaled from him; so they made for it and found the youth lying on the bench, without sense or motion. they poured water upon him, and he awoke, whereupon they carried him to the house of the chief of the police and he questioned him of his affair. "o my lord," answered noureddin, "i am a stranger in this town and have been with one of my friends. so i came forth from his house and drunkenness overcame me." the prefect bade carry him to his lodging; but one of those in attendance upon him, by name el muradi, said to him, "what wilt thou do? this man is clad in rich clothes and on his finger is a ring of gold, the beazel whereof is a ruby of great price; so we will carry him away and slay him and take that which is upon him of raiment [and what not else] and bring it to thee; for that thou wilt not [often] see profit the like thereof, more by token that this fellow is a stranger and there is none to enquire concerning him." quoth the prefect, "this fellow is a thief and that which he saith is leasing." and noureddin said, "god forbid that i should be a thief!" but the prefect answered, "thou liest." so they stripped him of his clothes and taking the ring from his finger, beat him grievously, what while he cried out for succour, but none succoured him, and besought protection, but none protected him. then said he to them, "o folk, ye are quit of[fn# ] that which ye have taken from me; but now restore me to my lodging." but they answered, saying, "leave this knavery, o cheat! thine intent is to sue us for thy clothes on the morrow." "by allah, the one, the eternal," exclaimed he, "i will not sue any for them!" but they said, "we can nowise do this." and the prefect bade them carry him to the tigris and there slay him and cast him into the river. so they dragged him away, what while he wept and spoke the words which whoso saith shall nowise be confounded, to wit, "there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the sublime!" when they came to the tigris, one of them drew the sword upon him and el muradi said to the swordbearer, "smite off his head." but one of them, ahmed by name, said, "o folk, deal gently with this poor wretch and slay him not unjustly and wickedly, for i stand in fear of god the most high, lest he burn me with his fire." quoth el muradi, "a truce to this talk!" and ahmed said, "if ye do with him aught, i will acquaint the commander of the faithful." "how, then, shall we do with him?" asked they; and he answered, "let us deposit him in prison and i will be answerable to you for his provision; so shall we be quit of his blood, for indeed he is wrongfully used." so they took him up and casting him into the prison of blood,[fn# ]went away. meanwhile, they carried the damsel into the commander of the faithful and she pleased him; so he assigned her a lodging of the apartments of choice. she abode in the palace, eating not neither drinking and ceasing not from weeping night nor day, till, one night, the khalif sent for her to his sitting-chamber and said to her, "o sitt el milah, be of good heart and cheerful eye, for i will make thy rank higher than [any of] the concubines and thou shall see that which shall rejoice thee." she kissed the earth and wept; whereupon the khalif called for her lute and bade her sing. so she improvised and sang the following verses, in accordance with that which was in her heart: say, by the lightnings of thy teeth and thy soul's pure desire, moan'st thou as moan the doves and is thy heart for doubt on fire? how many a victim of the pangs of love-liking hath died! tired is my patience, but of blame my censors never tire. when she had made an end of her song, she cast the lute from her hand and wept till she swooned away, whereupon the khalif bade carry her to her chamber. now he was ravished with her and loved her with an exceeding love; so, after awhile, he again commanded to bring her to his presence, and when she came, he bade her sing. accordingly, she took the lute and spoke forth that which was in her heart and sang the following verses: what strength have i solicitude and long desire to bear? why art thou purposed to depart and leave me to despair? why to estrangement and despite inclin'st thou with the spy? yet that a bough[fn# ] from side to side incline[fn# ] small wonder 'twere. thou layst on me a load too great to bear, and thus thou dost but that my burdens i may bind and so towards thee fare. then she cast the lute from her hand and swooned away; so she was carried to her chamber and indeed passion waxed upon her. after a long while, the commander of the faithful sent for her a third time and bade her sing. so she took the lute and sang the following verses: o hills of the sands and the rugged piebald plain, shall the bondman of love win ever free from pain! i wonder, shall i and the friend who's far from me once more be granted of fate to meet, we twain! bravo for a fawn with a houri's eye of black, like the sun or the shining moon midst the starry train! to lovers, "what see ye?" he saith, and to hearts of stone, "what love ye," quoth he, "[if to love me ye disdain?"] i supplicate him, who parted us and doomed our separation, that we may meet again. when she had made an end of her song, the commander of the faithful said to her, "o damsel, thou art in love." "yes," answered she. and he said, "with whom?" quoth she, "with my lord and my master, my love for whom is as the love of the earth for rain, or as the love of the female for the male; and indeed the love of him is mingled with my flesh and my blood and hath entered into the channels of my bones. o commander of the faithful, whenas i call him to mind, mine entrails are consumed, for that i have not accomplished my desire of him, and but that i fear to die, without seeing him, i would assuredly kill myself." and he said, "art thou in my presence and bespeakest me with the like of these words? i will assuredly make thee forget thy lord." then he bade take her away; so she was carried to her chamber and he sent her a black slave-girl, with a casket, wherein were three thousand dinars and a carcanet of gold, set with pearls, great and small, and jewels, worth other three thousand, saying to her, "the slave-girl and that which is with her are a gift from me to thee." when she heard this, she said, "god forbid that i should be consoled for the love of my lord and my master, though with the earth full of gold!" and she improvised and recited the following verses: i swear by his life, yea, i swear by the life of my love without peer, to please him or save him from hurt, i'd enter the fire without fear! "console thou thyself for his love," quoth they, "with another than he;" but, "nay, by his life," answered i, "i'll never forget him my dear!" a moon is my love, in a robe of loveliness proudly arrayed, and the splendours of new-broken day from his cheeks and his forehead shine clear. then the khalif summoned her to his presence a fourth time and said to her, "o sitt el milah, sing." so she improvised and sang the following verses: to his beloved one the lover's heart's inclined; his soul's a captive slave, in sickness' hands confined. "what is the taste of love?" quoth one, and i replied, "sweet water 'tis at first; but torment lurks behind." love's slave, i keep my troth with them; but, when they vowed, fate made itself urcoub,[fn# ] whom never oath could bind. what is there in the tents? their burdens are become a lover's, whose belov'd is in the litters' shrined. in every halting-place like joseph[fn# ] she appears and he in every stead with jacob's grief[fn# ] is pined. when she had made an end of her song, she threw the lute from her hand and wept till she swooned away. so they sprinkled on her rose-water, mingled with musk, and willow-flower water; and when she came to herself, er reshid said to her, "o sitt el milah, this is not fair dealing in thee. we love thee and thou lovest another." "o commander of the faithful," answered she, "there is no help for it." therewithal he was wroth with her and said, "by the virtue of hemzeh[fn# ] and akil[fn# ] and mohammed, prince of the apostles, if thou name one other than i in my presence, i will bid strike off thy head!" then he bade return her to her chamber, whilst she wept and recited the following verses: if i must die, then welcome death to heal my woes; 'twere lighter than the pangs i feel. what if the sabre cut me limb from limb! no torment 'twere for lovers true and leal. then the khalif went in to the lady zubeideh, pale with anger, and she noted this in him and said to him, "how cometh it that i see the commander of the faithful changed of colour?" "o daughter of my uncle," answered he, "i have a beautiful slave-girl, who reciteth verses and telleth stories, and she hath taken my whole heart; but she loveth other than i and avoucheth that she loveth her [former] master; wherefore i have sworn a great oath that, if she come again to my sitting-chamber and sing for other than i, i will assuredly take a span from her highest part."[fn# ]quoth zubeideh, "let the commander of the faithful favour me with her presence, so i may look on her and hear her singing." so he bade fetch her and she came, whereupon the lady zubeideh withdrew behind the curtain, whereas she saw her not, and er reshid said to her, "sing to us." so she took the lute and tuning it, sang the following verses: lo, since the day i left you, o my masters, life is not sweet, no aye my heart is light. yea, in the night the thought of you still slays me; hidden are my traces from the wise men's sight, all for a wild deer's love, whose looks have snared me and on whose brows the morning glitters bright i am become, for severance from my loved one, like a left hand, forsaken of the right. beauty on his cheek hath written, "blest be allah, he who created this enchanting wight!" him i beseech our loves who hath dissevered, us of his grace once more to reunite. when er reshid heard this, he waxed exceeding wroth and said, "may god not reunite you twain in gladness!" then he summoned the headsman, and when he presented himself, he said to him, "strike off the head of this accursed slave-girl." so mesrour took her by the hand and [led her away; but], when she came to the door, she turned and said to the khalif, "o commander of the faithful, i conjure thee, by thy fathers and forefathers, give ear unto that i shall say!" then she improvised and recited the following verses: o amir of justice, be kind to thy subjects; for justice, indeed, of thy nature's a trait. o thou my inclining to love him that blamest, shall lovers be blamed for the errors of fate? then spare me, by him who vouchsafed thee the kingship; for a gift in this world is the regal estate. then mesrour carried her to the other end of the sitting-chamber and bound her eyes and making her sit, stood awaiting a second commandment; whereupon quoth the lady zubeideh, "o commander of the faithful, with thy permission, wilt thou not vouchsafe this damsel a share of thy clemency? indeed, if thou slay her, it were injustice." quoth he, "what is to be done with her?" and she said, "forbear to slay her and send for her lord. if he be as she describeth him in grace and goodliness, she is excused, and if he be not on this wise, then slay her, and this shall be thy justification against her."[fn# ] "be it as thou deemest," answered er reshid and caused return the damsel to her chamber, saying to her, "the lady zubeideh saith thus and thus." quoth she, "god requite her for me with good! indeed, thou dealest equitably, o commander of the faithful, in this judgment." and he answered, "go now to thy place, and to-morrow we will let bring thy lord." so she kissed the earth and recited the following verses: i am content, for him i love, to all abide; so, who will, let him blame, and who will, let him chide. at their appointed terms souls die; but for despair my soul is like to die, or ere its term betide. o thou with love of whom i'm smitten, yet content, i prithee come to me and hasten to my side. then she arose and returned to her chamber. on the morrow, the commander of the faithful sat [in his hall of audience] and his vizier jaafer ben yehya the barmecide came in to him; whereupon he called to him, saying, "i would have thee bring me a youth who is lately come to baghdad, hight [sidi noureddin ali] the damascene." quoth jaafer, "hearkening and obedience," and going forth in quest of the youth, sent to the markets and khans and caravanserais three days' space, but found no trace of him, neither lit upon tidings of him. so on the fourth day he presented himself before the khalif and said to him, "o our lord, i have sought him these three days, but have not found him." quoth er reshid, "make ready letters to damascus. belike he hath returned to his own land." so jaafer wrote a letter and despatched it by a dromedary-courier to the city of damascus; and they sought him there and found him not. meanwhile, news was brought that khorassan had been conquered;[fn# ] whereupon er reshid rejoiced and bade decorate baghdad and release all who were in the prisons, giving each of them a dinar and a dress. so jaafer addressed himself to the decoration of the city and bade his brother el fezl ride to the prison and clothe and release the prisoners. el fezl did his brother's bidding and released all but the young damascene, who abode still in the prison of blood, saying, "there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the sublime! verily, we are god's and to him we return." then said el fezl to the gaoler, "is there any prisoner left in the prison?" "no," answered he, and el fezl was about to depart, when noureddin called out to him from within the prison, saying, "o my lord, tarry, for there remaineth none in the prison other than i and indeed i am oppressed. this is a day of clemency and there is no disputing concerning it." el fezl bade release him; so they set him free and he gave him a dress and a dinar. so the young man went out, bewildered and knowing not whither he should go, for that he had abidden in the prison nigh a year and indeed his condition was changed and his favour faded, and he abode walking and turning round, lest el muradi should come upon him and cast him into another calamity. when el muradi heard of his release, he betook himself to the chief of the police and said to him, "o our lord, we are not assured from yonder youth, [the damascene], for that he hath been released from prison and we fear lest he complain of us." quoth the prefect, "how shall we do?" and el muradi answered, saying, "i will cast him into a calamity for thee." then he ceased not to follow the young damascene from place to place till he came up with him in a strait place and a by-street without an issue; whereupon he accosted him and putting a rope about his neck, cried out, saying, "a thief!" the folk flocked to him from all sides and fell to beating and reviling noureddin, whilst he cried out for succour, but none succoured him, and el muradi still said to him, "but yesterday the commander of the faithful released thee and to-day thou stealest!" so the hearts of the folk were hardened against him and el muradi carried him to the master of police, who bade cut off his hand. accordingly, the hangman took him and bringing out the knife, offered to cut off his hand, what while el muradi said to him, "cut and sever the bone and sear[fn# ] it not for him, so he may lose his blood and we be rid of him." but ahmed, he who had aforetime been the means of his deliverance, sprang up to him and said, "o folk, fear god in [your dealings with] this youth, for that i know his affair from first to last and he is void of offence and guiltless. moreover, he is of the folk of condition,[fn# ] and except ye desist from him, i will go up to the commander of the faithful and acquaint him with the case from first to last and that the youth is guiltless of crime or offence." quoth el muradi, "indeed, we are not assured from his mischief." and ahmed answered, "release him and commit him to me and i will warrant you against his affair, for ye shall never see him again after this." so they delivered noureddin to him and he took him from their hands and said to him, "o youth, have compassion on thyself, for indeed thou hast fallen into the hands of these folk twice and if they lay hold of thee a third time, they will make an end of thee; and [in dealing thus with thee], i aim at reward and recompense for thee[fn# ] and answered prayer."[fn# ] noureddin fell to kissing his hand and calling down blessings on him and said to him, "know that i am a stranger in this your city and the completion of kindness is better than the beginning thereof; wherefore i beseech thee of thy favour that thou complete to me thy good offices and kindness and bring me to the gate of the city. so will thy beneficence be accomplished unto me and may god the most high requite thee for me with good!" ["fear not,"] answered ahmed; "no harm shall betide thee. go; i will bear thee company till thou come to thy place of assurance." and he left him not till he brought him to the gate of the city and said to him, "o youth, go in the safeguard of god and return not to the city; for, if they fall in with thee [again], they will make an end of thee." noureddin kissed his hand and going forth the city, gave not over walking till he came to a mosque that stood in one of the suburbs of baghdad and entered therein with the night. now he had with him nought wherewithal he might cover himself; so he wrapped himself up in one of the rugs of the mosque [and abode thus till daybreak], when the muezzins came and finding him sitting in that case, said to him, "o youth, what is this plight?" quoth he, "i cast myself on your hospitality, imploring your protection from a company of folk who seek to kill me unjustly and oppressively, without cause." and [one of] the muezzin[s] said, "be of good heart and cheerful eye." then he brought him old clothes and covered him withal; moreover, he set before him somewhat of meat and seeing upon him signs of gentle breeding, said to him, "o my son, i grow old and desire thee of help, [in return for which] i will do away thy necessity." "hearkening and obedience," answered noureddin and abode with the old man, who rested and took his ease, what while the youth [did his service in the mosque], celebrating the praises of god and calling the faithful to prayer and lighting the lamps and filling the ewers[fn# ] and sweeping and cleaning out the place. meanwhile, the lady zubeideh, the wife of the commander of the faithful, made a banquet in her palace and assembled her slave-girls. as for sitt el milah, she came, weeping-eyed and mournful-hearted, and those who were present blamed her for this, whereupon she recited the following verses: ye chide at one who weepeth for troubles ever new; needs must th' afflicted warble the woes that make him rue. except i be appointed a day [to end my pain], i'll weep until mine eyelids with blood their tears ensue. when she had made an end of her verses, the lady zubeideh bade each damsel sing a song, till the turn came round to sitt el milah, whereupon she took the lute and tuning it, sang thereto four-and-twenty songs in four-and-twenty modes; then she returned to the first mode and sang the following verses: fortune its arrows all, through him i love, let fly at me and parted me from him for whom i sigh. lo, in my heart the heat of every heart burns high and in mine eyes unite the tears of every eye. when she had made an end of her song, she wept till she made the bystanders weep and the lady zubeideh condoled with her and said to her, "god on thee, o sitt el milah, sing us somewhat, so we may hearken to thee." "hearkening and obedience," answered the damsel and sang the following verses: assemble, ye people of passion, i pray; for the hour of our torment hath sounded to-day. the raven of parting croaks loud at our door; alas, for our raven cleaves fast to us aye! for those whom we cherish are parted and gone; they have left us in torment to pine for dismay. so arise, by your lives i conjure you, arise and come let us fare to our loved ones away. then she cast the lute from her hand and wept till she made the lady zubeideh weep, and she said to her, "o sitt el milah, methinks he whom thou lovest is not in this world, for that the commander of the faithful hath sought him in every place, but hath not found him." whereupon the damsel arose and kissing the lady zubeideh's hands, said to her, "o my lady, if thou wouldst have him found, i have a request to make to thee, wherein thou mayst accomplish my occasion with the commander of the faithful." quoth the princess, "and what is it?" "it is," answered sitt el milah, "that thou get me leave to go forth by myself and go round about in quest of him three days, for the adage saith, 'she who mourneth for herself is not the like of her who is hired to mourn.'[fn# ] if i find him, i will bring him before the commander of the faithful, so he may do with us what he will; and if i find him not, i shall be cut off from hope of him and that which is with me will be assuaged." quoth the lady zubeideh, "i will not get thee leave from him but for a whole month; so be of good heart and cheerful eye." whereupon sitt el milah was glad and rising, kissed the earth before her once more and went away to her own place, rejoicing. as for zubeideh, she went in to the khalif and talked with him awhile; then she fell to kissing him between the eyes and on his hand and asked him that which she had promised sitt el milah, saying, "o commander of the faithful, i doubt me her lord is not found in this world; but, if she go about in quest of him and find him not, her hopes will be cut off and her mind will be set at rest and she will sport and laugh; for that, what while she abideth in hope, she will never cease from her frowardness." and she gave not over cajoling him till he gave sitt el milah leave to go forth and make search for her lord a month's space and ordered her an eunuch to attend her and bade the paymaster [of the household] give her all she needed, were it a thousand dirhems a day or more. so the lady zubeideh arose and returning to her palace, sent for sitt el milah and acquainted her with that which had passed [between herself and the khalif]; whereupon she kissed her hand and thanked her and called down blessings on her. then she took leave of the princess and veiling her face, disguised herself; [fn# ] after which she mounted the mule and sallying forth, went round about seeking her lord in the thoroughfares of baghdad three days' space, but lit on no tidings of him; and on the fourth day, she rode forth without the city. now it was the noontide hour and great was the heat, and she was aweary and thirst waxed upon her. presently, she came to the mosque, wherein the young damascene had taken shelter, and lighting down at the door, said to the old man, [the muezzin], "o elder, hast thou a draught of cold water? indeed, i am overcome with heat and thirst." quoth he, "[come up] with me into my house." so he carried her up into his lodging and spreading her [a carpet and cushions], seated her [thereon]; after which he brought her cold water and she drank and said to the eunuch, "go thy ways with the mule and on the morrow come back to me here." [so he went away] and she slept and rested herself. when she awoke, she said to the old man, "o elder, hast thou aught of food?" and he answered, "o my lady, i have bread and olives." quoth she, "that is food fit but for the like of thee. as for me, i will have nought but roast lamb and broths and fat rissoled fowls and stuffed ducks and all manner meats dressed with [pounded nuts and almond-]kernels and sugar." "o my lady," replied the muezzin, "i never heard of this chapter in the koran, nor was it revealed unto our lord mohammed, whom god bless and keep!"[fn# ] she laughed and said, "o elder, the matter is even as thou sayest; but bring me inkhorn and paper." so he brought her what she sought and she wrote a letter and gave it to him, together with a seal-ring from her finger, saying, "go into the city and enquire for such an one the money-changer and give him this my letter." the old man betook himself to the city, as she bade him, and enquired for the money-changer, to whom they directed him. so he gave him the ring and the letter, which when he saw, he kissed the letter and breaking it open, read it and apprehended its purport. then he repaired to the market and buying all that she bade him, laid it in a porter's basket and bade him go with the old man. so the latter took him and went with him to the mosque, where he relieved him of his burden and carried the meats in to sitt el milah. she seated him by her side and they ate, he and she, of those rich meats, till they were satisfied, when the old man rose and removed the food from before her. she passed the night in his lodging and when she arose in the morning, she said to him, "o elder, may i not lack thy kind offices for the morning-meal! go to the money-changer and fetch me from him the like of yesterday's food." so he arose and betaking himself to the money-changer, acquainted him with that which she had bidden him. the money-changer brought him all that she required and set it on the heads of porters; and the old man took them and returned with them to sitt el milah. so she sat down with him and they ate their sufficiency, after which he removed the rest of the food. then she took the fruits and the flowers and setting them over against herself, wrought them into rings and knots and letters, whilst the old man looked on at a thing whose like he had never in his life seen and rejoiced therein. then said she to him, "o elder, i would fain drink." so he arose and brought her a gugglet of water; but she said to him, "who bade thee fetch that?" quoth he, "saidst thou not to me, 'i would fain drink'?" and she answered, "i want not this; nay, i want wine, the delight of the soul, so haply, o elder, i may solace myself therewith." "god forbid," exclaimed the old man, "that wine should be drunk in my house, and i a stranger in the land and a muezzin and an imam,[fn# ] who prayeth with the true-believers, and a servant of the house of the lord of the worlds! "quoth she, "why wilt thou forbid me to drink thereof in thy house?" "because," answered he, "it is unlawful." "o elder," rejoined she, "god hath forbidden [the eating of] blood and carrion and hog's flesh. tell me, are grapes and honey lawful or unlawful?" quoth he, "they are lawful;" and she said, "this is the juice of grapes and the water of honey." but he answered, "leave this thy talk, for thou shall never drink wine in my house." "o sheikh," rejoined she, "folk eat and drink and enjoy themselves and we are of the number of the folk and god is very forgiving, clement."[fn# ] quoth he, "this is a thing that may not be." and she said, "hast thou not heard what the poet saith ... ?" and she recited the following verses: o son of simeon, give no ear to other than my say. how bitter from the convent 'twas to part and fare away! ay, and the monks, for on the day of palms a fawn there was among the servants of the church, a loveling blithe and gay. by god, how pleasant was the night we passed, with him for third! muslim and jew and nazarene, we sported till the day. the wine was sweet to us to drink in pleasance and repose, and in a garden of the garths of paradise we lay, whose streams beneath the myrtle's shade and cassia's welled amain and birds made carol jubilant from every blossomed spray. quoth he, what while from out his hair the morning glimmered white, "this, this is life indeed, except, alas! it doth not stay." "o elder," added she, "if muslims and jews and nazarenes drink wine, who are we [that we should abstain from it]?" "by allah, o my lady," answered he, "spare thine endeavour, for this is a thing to which i will not hearken." when she knew that he would not consent to her desire, she said to him, "o elder, i am of the slave-girls of the commander of the faithful and the food waxeth on me[fn# ] and if i drink not, i shall perish,[fn# ] nor wilt thou be assured against the issue of my affair. as for me, i am quit of blame towards thee, for that i have made myself known to thee and have bidden thee beware of the wrath of the commander of the faithful." when the old man heard her words and that wherewith she menaced him, he arose and went out, perplexed and knowing not what he should do, and there met him a jew, who was his neighbour, and said to him, "o sheikh, how cometh it that i see thee strait of breast? moreover, i hear in thy house a noise of talk, such as i use not to hear with thee." quoth the muezzin, "yonder is a damsel who avoucheth that she is of the slave-girls of the commander of the faithful haroun er reshid; and she hath eaten food and now would fain drink wine in my house, but i forbade her. however she avoucheth that except she drink thereof, she will perish, and indeed i am bewildered concerning my affair." "know, o my neighbour," answered the jew, "that the slave-girls of the commander of the faithful are used to drink wine, and whenas they eat and drink not, they perish; and i fear lest some mishap betide her, in which case thou wouldst not be safe from the khalifs wrath." "what is to be done?" asked the sheikh; and the jew replied, "i have old wine that will suit her." quoth the old man, "[i conjure thee] by the right of neighbourship, deliver me from this calamity and let me have that which is with thee!" "in the name of god," answered the jew and going to his house, brought out a flagon of wine, with which the sheikh returned to sitt el milah. this pleased her and she said to him, "whence hadst thou this?" "i got it from my neighbour the jew," answered he. "i set out to him my case with thee and he gave me this." sitt el milah filled a cup and emptied it; after which she drank a second and a third. then she filled the cup a fourth time and handed it to the old man, but he would not accept it from her. however, she conjured him, by her own head and that of the commander of the faithful, that he should take it from her, till he took the cup from her hand and kissed it and would have set it down; but she conjured him by her life to smell it. so he smelt it and she said to him, "how deemest thou?" "its smell is sweet," replied he; and she conjured him, by the life of the commander of the faithful, to taste it. so he put it to his mouth and she rose to him and made him drink; whereupon, "o princess of the fair," said he, "this is none other than good." quoth she, "so deem i. hath not our lord promised us wine in paradise?" and he answered, "yes. quoth the most high, 'and rivers of wine, a delight to the drinkers.'[fn# ] and we will drink it in this world and the world to come." she laughed and emptying the cup, gave him to drink, and he said, "o princess of the fair, indeed thou art excusable in thy love for this." then he took from her another and another, till he became drunken and his talk waxed great and his prate. the folk of the quarter heard him and assembled under the window; and when he was ware of them, he opened the window and said to them, "are ye not ashamed, o pimps? every one in his own house doth what he will and none hindereth him; but we drink one poor day and ye assemble and come, cuckoldy varlets that ye are! to-day, wine, and to-morrow [another] matter; and from hour to hour [cometh] relief." so they laughed and dispersed. then the girl drank till she was intoxicated, when she called to mind her lord and wept, and the old man said to her, "what maketh thee weep, o my lady?" "o elder," replied she, "i am a lover and separated [from him i love]." quoth he, "o my lady, what is this love?" "and thou," asked she, "hast thou never been in love?" "by allah, o my lady," answered he, "never in all my life heard i of this thing, nor have i ever known it! is it of the sons of adam or of the jinn?" she laughed and said, "verily, thou art even as those of whom the poet speaketh, when as he saith ..." and she repeated the following verses: how long will ye admonished be, without avail or heed? the shepherd still his flocks forbids, and they obey his rede. i see yon like unto mankind in favour and in form; but oxen,[fn# ] verily, ye are in fashion and in deed. the old man laughed at her speech and her verses pleased him. then said she to him, "i desire of thee a lute."[fn# ] so he arose and brought her a piece of firewood. quoth she, "what is that?" and he said, "didst thou not bid me bring thee wood?" "i do not want this," answered she, and he rejoined, "what then is it that is called wood, other than this?" she laughed and said, "the lute is an instrument of music, whereunto i sing." quoth he, "where is this thing found and of whom shall i get it for thee?" and she said, "of him who gave thee the wine." so he arose and betaking himself to his neighbour the jew, said to him, "thou favouredst us aforetime with the wine; so now complete thy favours and look me out a thing called a lute, to wit, an instrument for singing; for that she seeketh this of me and i know it not" "hearkening and obedience," replied the jew and going into his house, brought him a lute. [the old man took it and carried it to sitt el milah,] whilst the jew took his drink and sat by a window adjoining the other's house, so he might hear the singing. the damsel rejoiced, when the old man returned to her with the lute, and taking it from him, tuned its strings and sang the following verses: after your loss, nor trace of me nor vestige would remain, did not the hope of union some whit my strength sustain. ye're gone and desolated by your absence is the world: requital, ay, or substitute to seek for you 'twere vain. ye, of your strength, have burdened me, upon my weakliness, with burdens not to be endured of mountain nor of plain. when from your land the breeze i scent that cometh, as i were a reveller bemused with wine, to lose my wits i'm fain. love no light matter is, o folk, nor are the woe and care and blame a little thing to brook that unto it pertain. i wander seeking east and west for you, and every time unto a camp i come, i'm told, "they've fared away again." my friends have not accustomed me to rigour; for, of old, when i forsook them, they to seek accord did not disdain. when she had made an end of her song, she wept sore, till presently sleep overcame her and she slept. on the morrow, she said to the old man, "get thee to the money-changer and fetch me the ordinary." so he repaired to the money-changer and delivered him the message, whereupon he made ready meat and drink, as of his wont, [with which the old man returned to the damsel and they ate till they had enough. when she had eaten,] she sought of him wine and he went to the jew and fetched it. then they sat down and drank; and when she grew drunken, she took the lute and smiting it, fell a-singing and chanted the following verses: how long shall i thus question my heart that's drowned in woe? i'm mute for my complaining; but tears speak, as they flow. they have forbid their image to visit me in sleep; so even my nightly phantom forsaketh me, heigho! and when she had made an end of her song, she wept sore. all this time, the young damascene was hearkening, and whiles he likened her voice to that of his slave-girl and whiles he put away from him this thought, and the damsel had no whit of knowledge of him. then she broke out again into song and chanted the following verses: "forget him," quoth my censurers, "forget him; what is he?" "if i forget him, ne'er may god," quoth i, "remember me!" now god forbid a slave forget his liege lord's love! and how of all things in the world should i forget the love of thee? pardon of god for everything i crave, except thy love, for on the day of meeting him, that will my good deed be. then she drank three cups and filling the old man other three, sang the following verses: his love he'd have hid, but his tears denounced him to the spy, for the heat of a red-hot coal that 'twixt his ribs did lie. suppose for distraction he seek in the spring and its blooms one day, the face of his loved one holds the only spring for his eye. o blamer of me for the love of him who denieth his grace, which be the delightsome of things, but those which the people deny? a sun [is my love;] but his heat in mine entrails still rageth, concealed; a moon, in the hearts of the folk he riseth, and not in the sky. when she had made an end of her song, she threw the lute from her hand and wept, whilst the old man wept for her weeping. then she fell down in a swoon and presently coming to herself, filled the cup and drinking it off, gave the old man to drink, after which she took the lute and breaking out into song, chanted the following verses: thy loss is the fairest of all my heart's woes; my case it hath altered and banished repose. the world is upon me all desolate grown. alack, my long grief and forlornness! who knows but the merciful yet may incline thee to me and unite us again, in despite of our foes! then she wept till her voice rose high and her lamentation was discovered [to those without]; after which she again began to drink and plying the old man with wine, sang the following verses: they have shut out thy person from my sight; they cannot shut thy memory from my spright. favour or flout me, still my soul shall be thy ransom, in contentment or despite. my outward of my inward testifies and this bears witness that that tells aright.[fn# ] when she had made an end of her song, she threw the lute from her hand and wept and lamented. then she slept awhile and presently awaking, said, "o elder, hast thou what we may eat?" "o my lady," answered the old man, "there is the rest of the food;" but she said, "i will not eat of a thing i have left. go down to the market and fetch us what we may eat." quoth he, "excuse me, o my lady; i cannot stand up, for that i am overcome with wine; but with me is the servant of the mosque, who is a sharp youth and an intelligent. i will call him, so he may buy thee that which thou desirest." "whence hast thou this servant?" asked she; and he replied, "he is of the people of damascus." when she heard him speak of the people of damascus, she gave a sob, that she swooned away; and when she came to herself, she said, "woe's me for the people of damascus and for those who are therein! call him, o elder, that he may do our occasions." so the old man put his head forth of the window and called the youth, who came to him from the mosque and sought leave [to enter]. the muezzin bade him enter, and when he came in to the damsel, he knew her and she knew him; whereupon he turned back in bewilderment and would have fled; but she sprang up to him and seized him, and they embraced and wept together, till they fell down on the ground in a swoon. when the old man saw them in this plight, he feared for himself and fled forth, seeing not the way for drunkenness. his neighbour the jew met him and said to him, "how comes it that i see thee confounded?" "how should i not be confounded," answered the old man, "seeing that the damsel who is with me is fallen in love with the servant of the mosque and they have embraced and fallen down in a swoon? indeed, i fear lest the khalif come to know of this and be wroth with me; so tell me thou what is to be done in this wherewith i am afflicted of the affair of this damsel." quoth the jew, "for the nonce, take this casting-bottle of rose-water and go forth-right and sprinkle them therewith. if they be aswoon for this their foregathering and embracement, they will come to themselves, and if otherwise, do thou flee." the old man took the casting-bottle from the jew and going up to noureddin and the damsel, sprinkled their faces, whereupon they came to themselves and fell to relating to each other that which they had suffered, since their separation, for the anguish of severance. moreover, noureddin acquainted sitt el milah with that which he had endured from the folk who would have slain him and made away with him; and she said to him, "o my lord, let us presently give over this talk and praise god for reunion of loves, and all this shall cease from us." then she gave him the cup and he said, "by allah, i will nowise drink it, whilst i am in this plight!" so she drank it off before him and taking the lute, swept the strings and sang the following verses: thou that wast absent from my stead, yet still with me didst bide, thou wast removed from mine eye, yet still wast by my side. thou left'st unto me, after thee, languor and carefulness; i lived a life wherein no jot of sweetness i espied. for thy sweet sake, as 'twere, indeed, an exile i had been, lone and deserted i became, lamenting, weeping-eyed. alack, my grief! thou wast, indeed, grown absent from my yiew, yet art the apple of mine eye nor couldst from me divide. when she had made an end of her song, she wept and noureddin wept also. then she took the lute and improvised and sang the following verses: god knows i ne'er recalled thy memory to my thought, but still with brimming tears straightway mine eyes were fraught; yea, passion raged in me and love-longing was like to slay me; yet my heart to solace still it wrought. light of mine eyes, my hope, my wish, my thirsting eyes with looking on thy face can never sate their drought. when noureddin heard these his slave-girl's verses, he fell a-weeping, what while she strained him to her bosom and wiped away his tears with her sleeve and questioned him and comforted his mind. then she took the lute and sweeping its strings, played thereon, after such a wise as would move the phlegmatic to delight, and sang the following verses: whenas mine eyes behold thee not, that day as of my life i do not reckon aye; and when i long to look upon thy face, my life is perished with desire straightway. on this wise they abode till the morning, tasting not the savour of sleep; and when the day lightened, behold, the eunuch came with the mule and said to sitt el milah, "the commander of the faithful calleth for thee." so she arose and taking her lord by the hand, committed him to the old man, saying, "i commend him to thy care, under god,[fn# ] till this eunuch cometh to thee; and indeed, o elder, i owe thee favour and largesse such as filleth the interspace betwixt heaven and earth." then she mounted the mule and repairing to the palace of the commander of the faithful, went in to him and kissed the earth before him. quoth he to her, as who should make mock of her, "i doubt not but thou hast found thy lord." "by thy felicity and the length of thy continuance [on life,]" answered she, "i have indeed found him!" now er reshid was leaning back; but, when he heard this, he sat up and said to her, "by my life, [is this thou sayest] true?" "ay, by thy life!" answered she; and he said, "bring him into my presence, so i may see him." but she replied, "o my lord, there have betided him many stresses and his charms are changed and his favour faded; and indeed the commander of the faithful vouchsafed me a month; wherefore i will tend him the rest of the month and then bring him to do his service to the commander of the faithful." quoth er reshid, "true; the condition was for a month; but tell me what hath betided him." "o my lord," answered she, "may god prolong thy continuance and make paradise thy place of returning and thy harbourage and the fire the abiding-place of thine enemies, when he presenteth himself to pay his respects to thee, he will expound to thee his case and will name unto thee those who have wronged him; and indeed this is an arrear that is due to the commander of the faithful, in[fn# ] whom may god fortify the faith and vouchsafe him the mastery over the rebel and the froward!" therewithal he ordered her a handsome house and bade furnish it with carpets and other furniture and vessels of choice and commanded that all she needed should be given her. this was done during the rest of the day, and when the night came, she despatched the eunuch with the mule and a suit of clothes, to fetch noureddin from the muezzin's lodging. so the young man donned the clothes and mounting; rode to the house, where he abode in luxury and delight a full-told month, what while she solaced him with four things, to wit, the eating of fowls and the drinking of wine and the lying upon brocade and the entering the bath after copulation. moreover, she brought him six suits of clothes and fell to changing his apparel day by day; nor was the appointed time accomplished ere his beauty returned to him and his goodliness; nay, his charms waxed tenfold and he became a ravishment to all who looked on him. one day the commander of the faithful bade bring him to the presence; so his slave-girl changed his raiment and clothing him in sumptuous apparel, mounted him on the mule. then he rode to the palace and presenting himself before the khalif, saluted him with the goodliest of salutations and bespoke him with eloquent and deep-thoughted speech. when er reshid saw him, he marvelled at the goodliness of his favour and his eloquence and the readiness of his speech and enquiring of him, was told that he was sitt el milah's lord; whereupon quoth he, "indeed, she is excusable in her love for him, and if we had put her to death unrighteously, as we were minded to do, her blood would have been upon our heads." then he turned to the young man and entering into discourse with him, found him well bred, intelligent, quick of wit and apprehension, generous, pleasant, elegant, erudite. so he loved him with an exceeding love and questioned him of his native city and of his father and of the manner of his journey to baghdad. noureddin acquainted him with that which he would know in the goodliest of words and with the concisest of expressions; and the khalif said to him, "and where hast thou been absent all this while? indeed, we sent after thee to damascus and mosul and other the towns, but lit on no tidings of thee." "o my lord," answered the young man, "there betided thy slave in thy city that which never yet betided any." and he acquainted him with his case from first to last and told him that which had befallen him of evil [from el muradi and his crew]. when er reshid heard this, he was sore chagrined and waxed exceeding wroth and said, "shall this happen in a city wherein i am?" and the hashimi vein[fn# ] started out between his eyes. then he bade fetch jaafer, and when he came before him, he acquainted him with the matter and said to him, "shall this come to pass in my city and i have no news of it?" then he bade jaafer fetch all whom the young damascene had named [as having maltreated him], and when they came, he let smite off their heads. moreover, he summoned him whom they called ahmed and who had been the means of the young man's deliverance a first time and a second, and thanked him and showed him favour and bestowed on him a sumptuous dress of honour and invested him with the governance over his city.[fn# ] then he sent for the old man, the muezzin, and when the messenger came to him and told him that the commander of the faithful sought him, he feared the denunciation of the damsel and accompanied him to the palace, walking and letting wind[fn# ] as he went, whilst all who passed him by laughed at him. when he came into the presence of the commander of the faithful, he fell a-trembling and his tongue was embarrassed, [so that he could not speak]. the khalif laughed at him and said to him, "o elder, thou hast done no offence; so [why] fearest thou?" "o my lord," answered the old man (and indeed he was in the sorest of that which may be of fear,) "by the virtue of thy pure forefathers, indeed i have done nought, and do thou enquire of my conduct." the khalif laughed at him and ordering him a thousand dinars, bestowed on him a sumptuous dress of honour and made him chief of the muezzins in his mosque. then he called sitt el milah and said to her, "the house [wherein thou lodgest] and that which is therein is a guerdon [from me] to thy lord. so do thou take him and depart with him in the safeguard of god the most high; but absent not yourselves from our presence." [so she went forth with noureddin and] when she came to the house, she found that the commander of the faithful had sent them gifts galore and abundance of good things. as for noureddin, he sent for his father and mother and appointed him agents and factors in the city of damascus, to take the rent of the houses and gardens and khans and baths; and they occupied themselves with collecting that which accrued to him and sending it to him every year. meanwhile, his father and mother came to him, with that which they had of monies and treasures and merchandise, and foregathering with their son, saw that he was become of the chief officers of the commander of the faithful and of the number of his session-mates and entertainers, wherefore they rejoiced in reunion with him and he also rejoiced in them. the khalif assigned them pensions and allowances and as for noureddin, his father brought him those riches and his wealth waxed and his case was goodly, till he became the richest of the folk of his time in baghdad and left not the presence of the commander of the faithful night or day. moreover, he was vouchsafed children by sitt el milah, and he ceased not to live the most delightsome of lives, he and she and his father and mother, a while of time, till aboulhusn sickened of a sore sickness and was admitted to the mercy of god the most high. after awhile, his mother died also and he carried them forth and shrouded them and buried and made them expiations and nativities.[fn# ] then his children grew up and became like unto moons, and he reared them in splendour and fondness, what while his wealth waxed and his case flourished. he ceased not to pay frequent visits to the commander of the faithful, he and his children and his slave-girl sitt el milah, and they abode, he and they, in all solace of life and prosperity till there came to them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of companies; and extolled be the perfection of the abiding one, the eternal! this is all that hath come down to us of their story. el abbas and the king's daughter of baghdad.[fn# ] there was once, of old days and in bygone ages and times, in the city of baghdad, the abode of peace, a king mighty of estate, lord of understanding and beneficence and liberality and generosity, and he was strong of sultanate and endowed with might and majesty and magnificence. his name was ins ben cais ben rebiya es sheibani,[fn# ] and when he took horse, there rode unto him [warriors] from the farthest parts of the two iraks.[fn# ] god the most high decreed that he should take to wife a woman hight afifeh, daughter of ased es sundusi, who was endowed with beauty and grace and brightness and perfection and justness of shape and symmetry; her face was like unto the new moon and she had eyes as they were gazelle's eyes and an aquiline nose like the crescent moon. she had learned horsemanship and the use of arms and had thoroughly studied the sciences of the arabs; moreover, she had gotten by heart all the dragomanish[fn# ] tongues and indeed she was a ravishment to mankind. she abode with ins ben cais twelve years, during which time he was blessed with no children by her; wherefore his breast was straitened, by reason of the failure of lineage, and he besought his lord to vouchsafe him a child. accordingly the queen conceived, by permission of god the most high; and when the days of her pregnancy were accomplished, she gave birth to a maid-child, than whom never saw eyes a goodlier, for that her face was as it were a pure pearl or a shining lamp or a golden[fn# ] candle or a full moon breaking forth of a cloud, extolled be the perfection of him who created her from vile water[fn# ] and made her a delight to the beholders! when her father saw her on this wise of loveliness, his reason fled for joy, and when she grew up, he taught her the art of writing and polite letters[fn# ] and philosophy and all manner of tongues. so she excelled the folk of her time and overpassed her peers;[fn# ] and the sons of the kings heard of her and all of them desired to look upon her. the first who sought her in marriage was king nebhan of mosul, who came to her with a great company, bringing with him an hundred she-camels laden with musk and aloes-wood and ambergris and as many laden with camphor and jewels and other hundred laden with silver money and yet other hundred laden with raiment of silken and other stuffs and brocade, besides an hundred slave-girls and an hundred magnificent horses of swift and generous breeds, completely housed and accoutred, as they were brides; and all this he laid before her father, demanding her of him in marriage. now king ins ben cais had bound himself by an oath that he would not marry his daughter but to him whom she should choose; so, when king nebhan sought her in marriage, her father went in to her and consulted her concerning his affair. she consented not and he repeated to nebhan that which she said, whereupon he departed from him. after this came king behram, lord of the white island, with riches more than the first; but she accepted not of him and he returned, disappointed; nor did the kings give over coming to her father, on her account, one after other, from the farthest of the lands and the climes, each glorying in more[fn# ] than those who forewent him; but she paid no heed unto any of one them. presently, el abbas, son of king el aziz, lord of the land of yemen and zebidoun[fn# ] and mecca (which god increase in honour and brightness and beauty!), heard of her; and he was of the great ones of mecca and the hejaz[fn# ] and was a youth without hair on his cheeks. so he presented himself one day in his father's sitting-chamber,[fn# ] whereupon the folk made way for him and the king seated him on a chair of red gold, set with pearls and jewels. the prince sat, with his head bowed to the ground, and spoke not to any; whereby his father knew that his breast was straitened and bade the boon-companions and men of wit relate marvellous histories, such as beseem the assemblies of kings; nor was there one of them but spoke forth the goodliest of that which was with him; but el abbas still abode with his head bowed down. then the king bade his session-mates withdraw, and when the chamber was void, he looked at his son and said to him, "by allah, thou rejoicest me with thy coming in to me and chagrinest me for that thou payest no heed to any of the session-mates nor of the boon-companions. what is the cause of this?" "o father mine," answered the prince, "i have heard tell that in the land of irak is a woman of the daughters of the kings, and her father is called king ins ben cais, lord of baghdad; she is renowned for beauty and grace and brightness and perfection, and indeed many folk have sought her in marriage of the kings; but her soul consented not unto any one of them. wherefore i am minded to travel to her, for that my heart cleaveth unto her, and i beseech thee suffer me to go to her." "o my son," answered his father, "thou knowest that i have none other than thyself of children and thou art the solace of mine eyes and the fruit of mine entrails; nay, i cannot brook to be parted from thee an instant and i purpose to set thee on the throne of the kingship and marry thee to one of the daughters of the kings, who shall be fairer than she." el abbas gave ear to his father's word and dared not gainsay him; so he abode with him awhile, whilst the fire raged in his entrails. then the king took counsel with himself to build his son a bath and adorn it with various paintings, so he might show it to him and divert him with the sight thereof, to the intent that his body might be solaced thereby and that the obsession of travel might cease from him and he be turned from [his purpose of] removal from his parents. so he addressed himself to the building of the bath and assembling architects and builders and artisans from all the towns and citadels and islands [of his dominions], assigned them a site and marked out its boundaries. then the workmen occupied themselves with the making of the bath and the setting out and adornment of its cabinets and roofs. they used paints and precious stones of all kinds, according to the variousness of their hues, red and green and blue and yellow and what not else of all manner colours; and each artisan wrought at his handicraft and each painter at his art, whilst the rest of the folk busied themselves with transporting thither varicoloured stones. one day, as the [chief] painter wrought at his work, there came in to him a poor man, who looked long upon him and observed his handicraft; whereupon quoth the painter to him, "knowest thou aught of painting?" "yes," answered the stranger; so he gave him tools and paints and said to him, "make us a rare piece of work." so the stranger entered one of the chambers of the bath and drew [on the walls thereof] a double border, which he adorned on both sides, after a fashion than which never saw eyes a fairer. moreover, [amiddleward the chamber] he drew a picture to which there lacked but the breath, and it was the portraiture of mariyeh, the king's daughter of baghdad. then, when he had made an end of the portrait, he went his way [and told none of what he had done], nor knew any the chambers and doors of the bath and the adornment and ordinance thereof. presently, the chief workman came to the palace and sought an audience of the king, who bade admit him. so he entered and kissing the earth, saluted him with a salutation beseeming kings and said, "o king of the time and lord of the age and the day, may felicity endure unto thee and acceptance and be thy rank exalted over all the kings both morning and evening![fn# ] the work of the bath is accomplished, by the king's fair fortune and the eminence of his magnanimity,[fn# ] and indeed we have done all that behoved us and there remaineth but that which behoveth the king." el aziz ordered him a sumptuous dress of honour and expended monies galore, giving unto each who had wroughten, after the measure of his work. then he assembled in the bath all the grandees of his state, amirs and viziers and chamberlains and lieutenants, and the chief officers of his realm and household, and sending for his son el abbas, said to him,"o my son, i have builded thee a bath, wherein thou mayst take thy pleasance; so enter thou therein, that thou mayst see it and divert thyself by gazing upon it and viewing the goodliness of its ordinance and decoration." "with all my heart," replied the prince and entered the bath, he and the king and the folk about them, so they might divert themselves with viewing that which the workmen's hands had wroughten. el abbas went in and passed from place to place and chamber to chamber, till he came to the chamber aforesaid and espied the portrait of mariyeh, whereupon he fell down in a swoon and the workmen went to his father and said to him, "thy son el abbas hath swooned away." so the king came and finding the prince cast down, seated himself at his head and bathed his face with rose-water. after awhile he revived and the king said to him, "god keep thee,[fn# ] o my son! what hath befallen thee?" "o my father," answered the prince, "i did but look on yonder picture and it bequeathed me a thousand regrets and there befell me that which thou seest." therewithal the king bade fetch the [chief] painter, and when he stood before him, he said to him, "tell me of yonder portrait and what girl is this of the daughters of the kings; else will i take thy head." "by allah, o king," answered the painter, "i limned it not, neither know i who she is; but there came to me a poor man and looked at me. so i said to him, 'knowest thou the art of painting?' and he replied, 'yes.' whereupon i gave him the gear and said to him, 'make us a rare piece of work.' so he wrought yonder portrait and went away and i know him not neither have i ever set eyes on him save that day." therewithal the king bade all his officers go round about in the thoroughfares and colleges [of the town] and bring before him all strangers whom they found there. so they went forth and brought him much people, amongst whom was the man who had painted the portrait. when they came into the presence, the sultan bade the crier make proclamation that whoso wrought the portrait should discover himself and have whatsoever he desired. so the poor man came forward and kissing the earth before the king, said to him, "o king of the age, i am he who painted yonder portrait." quoth el aziz, "and knowest thou who she is?" "yes," answered the other; "this is the portrait of mariyeh, daughter of the king of baghdad." the king ordered him a dress of honour and a slave-girl [and he went his way]. then said el abbas, "o father mine, give me leave to go to her, so i may look upon her; else shall i depart the world, without fail." the king his father wept and answered, saying, "o my son, i builded thee a bath, that it might divert thee from leaving me, and behold it hath been the cause of thy going forth; but the commandment of god is a foreordained[fn# ] decree."[fn# ] then he wept again and el abbas said to him, "fear not for me, for thou knowest my prowess and my puissance in returning answers in the assemblies of the land and my good breeding[fn# ] and skill in rhetoric; and indeed he whose father thou art and whom thou hast reared and bred and in whom thou hast united praiseworthy qualities, the repute whereof hath traversed the east and the west, thou needest not fear for him, more by token that i purpose but to seek diversion[fn# ] and return to thee, if it be the will of god the most high." quoth the king, "whom wilt thou take with thee of attendants and [what] of good?" "o father mine," replied el abbas, "i have no need of horses or camels or arms, for i purpose not battle, and i will have none go forth with me save my servant aamir and no more." as he and his father were thus engaged in talk, in came his mother and caught hold of him; and he said to her, "god on thee, let me go my gait and strive not to turn me from my purpose, for that needs must i go." "o my son," answered she, "if it must be so and there is no help for it, swear to me that them wilt not be absent from me more than a year." and he swore to her. then he entered his father's treasuries and took therefrom what he would of jewels and jacinths and everything heavy of worth and light of carriage. moreover, he bade his servant aamir saddle him two horses and the like for himself, and whenas the night darkened behind him,[fn# ] he rose from his couch and mounting his horse, set out for baghdad, he and aamir, whilst the latter knew not whither he intended. he gave not over going and the journey was pleasant to him, till they came to a goodly land, abounding in birds and wild beasts, whereupon el abbas started a gazelle and shot it with an arrow. then he dismounted and cutting its throat, said to his servant, "alight thou and skin it and carry it to the water." aamir answered him [with "hearkening and obedience"] and going down to the water, kindled a fire and roasted the gazelle's flesh. then they ate their fill and drank of the water, after which they mounted again and fared on diligently, and aamir still unknowing whither el abbas was minded to go. so he said to him, "o my lord, i conjure thee by god the great, wilt thou not tell me whither thou intendest?" el abbas looked at him and made answer with the following verses: in my soul the fire of yearning and affliction rageth aye; lo, i burn with love and longing; nought in answer can i say. to baghdad upon a matter of all moment do i fare, for the love of one whose beauties have my reason led astray. under me's a slender camel, a devourer of the waste; those who pass a cloudlet deem it, as it flitteth o'er the way. so, o aamir, haste thy going, e'en as i do, so may i heal my sickness and the draining of the cup of love essay; for the longing that abideth in my heart is hard to bear. fare with me, then, to my loved one. answer nothing, but obey. when aamir heard his lord's verses, he knew that he was a slave of love [and that she of whom he was enamoured abode] in baghdad. then they fared on night and day, traversing plains and stony wastes, till they came in sight of baghdad and lighted down in its suburbs[fn# ] and lay the night there. when they arose in the morning, they removed to the bank of the tigris and there they encamped and sojourned three days. as they abode thus on the fourth day, behold, a company of folk giving their beasts the rein and crying aloud and saying, "quick! quick! haste to our rescue, o king!" therewithal the king's chamberlains and officers accosted them and said to them, "what is behind you and what hath befallen you?" quoth they, "bring us before the king." [so they carried them to ins ben cais;] and when they saw him, they said to him, "o king, except thou succour us, we are dead men; for that we are a folk of the benou sheiban,[fn# ] who have taken up our abode in the parts of bassora, and hudheifeh the arab[fn# ] hath come down on us with his horses and his men and hath slain our horsemen and carried off our women and children; nor was one saved of the tribe but he who fled; wherefore we crave help [first] by god the most high, then by thy life." when the king heard their speech, he bade the crier make proclamation in the thoroughfares of the city that the troops should prepare [for the march] and that the horsemen should mount and the footmen come forth; nor was it but the twinkling of the eye ere the drums beat and the trumpets sounded; and scarce was the forenoon of the day passed when the city was blocked with horse and foot. so the king passed them in review and behold, they were four-and-twenty thousand in number, horsemen and footmen. he bade them go forth to the enemy and gave the commandment over them to said ibn el wakidi, a doughty cavalier and a valiant man of war. so the horsemen set out and fared on along the bank of the tigris. el abbas looked at them and saw the ensigns displayed and the standards loosed and heard the drums beating; so he bade his servant saddle him a charger and look to the girths and bring him his harness of war. quoth aamir, "and indeed i saw el abbas his eyes flash and the hair of his hands stood on end, for that indeed horsemanship[fn# ] abode [rooted in his heart]."so he mounted his charger, whilst aamir also bestrode a war-horse, and they went forth with the troops and fared on two days. on the third day, after the hour of the mid-afternoon prayer, they came in sight of the enemy and the two armies met and the ranks joined battle. the strife raged amain and sore was the smiting, whilst the dust rose in clouds and hung vaulted [over them], so that all eyes were blinded; and they ceased not from the battle till the night overtook them, when the two hosts drew off from the mellay and passed the night, perplexed concerning themselves [and the issue of their affair]. when god caused the morning morrow, the two armies drew out in battle array and the troops stood looking at one another. then came forth el harith ibn saad between the two lines and played with his lance and cried out and recited the following verses: algates ye are our prey become; this many a day and night right instantly of god we've craved to be vouchsafed your sight. so hath the merciful towards hudheifeh driven you, a champion ruling over all, a lion of great might. is there a man of you will come, that i may heal his paint with blows right profitful for him who's sick for lust of fight? by allah, come ye forth to me, for lo, i'm come to you i may he who's wronged the victory get and god defend the right![fn# ] thereupon there sallied forth to him zuheir ben hebib, and they wheeled about and feinted awhile, then came to dose quarters and exchanged strokes. el harith forewent his adversary in smiting and stretched him weltering in his gore; whereupon hudheifeh cried out to him, saying, "gifted of god art thou, o harith! call another of them." so he cried out, saying, "is there a comer-forth [to battle?]" but they of baghdad held back froni him; and when it appeared to el harith that confusion was amongst them, he fell upon them and overthrew the first of them upon their last and slew of them twelve men. then the evening overtook him and the baghdadis addressed themselves to flight. when the morning morrowed, they found themselves reduced to a fourth part of their number and there was not one of them had dismounted from his horse. so they made sure of destruction and hudheifeh came out between the ranks (now he was reckoned for a thousand cavaliers) and cried out, saying, "harkye, my masters of baghdad! let none come forth to me but your amir, so i may talk with him and he with me; and he shall meet me in single combat and i will meet him, and may he who is void of offence come off safe!" then he repeated his speech and said, "why do i not hear your amir return me an answer?" but saad, the amir of the army of baghdad, [replied not to him], and indeed his teeth chattered in his head, whenas he heard him summon him to single combat. when el abbas heard hudheifeh's challenge and saw saad in this case, he came up to the latter and said to him, "wilt thou give me leave to reply to him and i will stand thee in stead in the answering of him and the going forth to battle with him and will make myself thy sacrifice?" saad looked at him and seeing valour shining from between his eyes, said to him, "o youth, by the virtue of the chosen [prophet,] (whom god bless and keep,) tell me [who thou art and] whence thou comest to our succour." "this is no place for questioning," answered the prince; and saad said to him, "o champion, up and at hudheifeh! yet, if his devil prove too strong for thee, afflict not thyself in thy youth."[fn# ] quoth el abbas, "it is of allah that help is to be sought,"[fn# ] and taking his arms, fortified his resolution and went down [into the field], as he were a castle of the castles or a piece of a mountain. [when] hudheifeh [saw him], he cried out to him, saying, "haste thee not, o youth! who art thou of the folk?" and he answered, "i am saad [ibn] el wakidi, commander of the host of king ins, and but that thou vauntedst thyself in challenging me, i had not come forth to thee; for that thou art not of my peers neither art counted equal to me in prowess and canst not avail against my onslaught. wherefore prepare thee for departure,[fn# ] seeing that there abideth but a little of thy life." when hudheifeh heard this his speech, he threw himself backward,[fn# ] as if in mockery of him, whereat el abbas was wroth and called out to him, saying, "o hudheifeh, guard thyself against me." then he rushed upon him, as he were a swooper of the jinn,[fn# ] and hudheifeh met him and they wheeled about a long while. presently, el abbas cried out at hudheifeh a cry that astonied him and dealt him a blow, saying, "take this from the hand of a champion who feareth not the like of thee." hudheifeh met the stroke with his shield, thinking to ward it off from him; but the sword shore the target in sunder and descending upon his shoulder, came forth gleaming from the tendons of his throat and severed his arm at the armpit; whereupon he fell down, wallowing in his blood, and el abbas turned upon his host; nor had the sun departed the pavilion of the heavens ere hudheifeh's army was in full flight before el abbas and the saddles were empty of men. quoth saad, "by the virtue of the chosen [prophet], whom god bless and keep, i saw el abbas with the blood upon his saddle pads, [in gouts] like camels' livers, smiting with the sword right and left, till he scattered them abroad in every mountain-pass and desert; and when he turned [back to the camp], the men of baghdad were fearful of him." when the baghdadis saw this succour that had betided them against their enemies [and the victory that el abbas had gotten them], they turned back and gathering together the spoils [of the defeated host], arms and treasures and horses, returned to baghdad, victorious, and all by the valour of el abbas. as for saad, he foregathered with the prince, and they fared on in company till they came to the place where el abbas had taken horse, whereupon the latter dismounted from his charger and saad said to him, "o youth, wherefore alightest thou in other than thy place? indeed, thy due is incumbent upon us and upon our sultan; so go thou with us to the dwellings, that we may ransom thee with our souls." "o amir saad," replied el abbas, "from this place i took horse with thee and herein is my lodging. so, god on thee, name me not to the king, but make as if thou hadst never seen me, for that i am a stranger in the land." so saying, he turned away from him and saad fared on to the palace, where he found all the suite in attendance on the king and recounting to him that which had betided them with el abbas. quoth the king, "where is he?" and they answered, "he is with the amir saad." [so, when the latter entered], the king [looked, but] found none with him; and saad, seeing that he hankered after the youth, cried out to him, saying, "god prolong the king's days! indeed, he refuseth to present himself before thee, without leave or commandment." "o saad," asked the king, "whence cometh this man?" and the amir answered, "o my lord, i know not; but he is a youth fair of favour, lovesome of aspect, accomplished in discourse, goodly of repartee, and valour shineth from between his eyes." quoth the king, "o saad, fetch him to me, for indeed thou describest to me a masterful man."[fn# ] and he answered, saying, "by allah, o my lord, hadst thou but seen our case with hudheifeh, what while he challenged me to the field of war and the stead of thrusting and smiting and i held back from doing battle with him! then, whenas i thought to go forth to him, behold, a cavalier gave loose to his bridle-rein and called out to me, saying, 'o saad, wilt thou suffer me to fill thy room in waging war with him and i will ransom thee with myself?' and i said, 'by allah, o youth, whence cometh thou?' quoth he, 'this is no time for thy questions.'" then he recounted to the king all that had passed between himself and el abbas from first to last; whereupon quoth ins ben cais, "bring him to me in haste, so we may learn his tidings and question him of his case." "it is well," answered saad, and going forth of the king's presence, repaired to his own house, where he put off his harness of war and took rest for himself. to return to el abbas, when he alighted from his charger, he put off his harness of war and rested awhile; after which he brought out a shirt of venetian silk and a gown of green damask and donning them, covered himself with a turban of damietta stuff and girt his middle with a handkerchief. then he went out a-walking in the thoroughfares of baghdad and fared on till he came to the bazaar of the merchants. there he found a merchant, with chess before him; so he stood watching him and presently the other looked up at him and said to him, "o youth, what wilt thou stake upon the game?" and he answered, "be it thine to decide." "then be it a hundred dinars," said the merchant, and el abbas consented to him, whereupon quoth he, "o youth, produce the money, so the game may be fairly stablished." so el abbas brought out a satin purse, wherein were a thousand dinars, and laid down an hundred dinars therefrom on the edge of the carpet, whilst the merchant did the like, and indeed his reason fled for joy, whenas he saw the gold in el abbas his possession. the folk flocked about them, to divert themselves with watching the play, and they called the bystanders to witness of the wager and fell a-playing. el abbas forbore the merchant, so he might lead him on, and procrastinated with him awhile; and the merchant won and took of him the hundred dinars. then said the prince, "wilt thou play another game?" and the other answered, "o youth, i will not play again, except it be for a thousand dinars." quoth the prince, "whatsoever thou stakest, i will match thy stake with the like thereof." so the merchant brought out a thousand dinars and the prince covered them with other thousand. then they fell a-playing, but el abbas was not long with him ere he beat him in the square of the elephant,[fn# ] nor did he leave to do thus till he had beaten him four times and won of him four thousand dinars. this was all the merchant's good; so he said, "o youth, i will play thee another game for the shop." now the value of the shop was four thousand dinars; so they played and el abbas beat him and won his shop, with that which was therein; whereupon the other arose, shaking his clothes, and said to him, "up, o youth, and take thy shop." so el abbas arose and repairing to the shop, took possession thereof, after which he returned to [the place where he had left] his servant [aamir] and found there the amir saad, who was come to bid him to the presence of the king. el abbas consented to this and accompanied him till they came before king ins ben cais, whereupon he kissed the earth and saluted him and exceeded[fn# ] in the salutation. quoth the king to him, "whence comest thou, o youth?" and he answered, "i come from yemen." then said the king, "hast thou a need we may accomplish unto thee? for indeed we are exceeding beholden to thee for that which thou didst in the matter of hudheifeh and his folk." and he let cast over him a mantle of egyptian satin, worth an hundred dinars. moreover, he bade his treasurer give him a thousand dinars and said to him, "o youth, take this in part of that which thou deserves! of us; and if thou prolong thy sojourn with us, we will give thee slaves and servants." el abbas kissed the earth and said, "o king, may grant thee abiding prosperity, i deserve not all this." then he put his hand to his poke and pulling out two caskets of gold, in each of which were rubies, whose value none could tell, gave them to the king, saying, "o king, god cause thy prosperity to endure, i conjure thee by that which god hath vouchsafed thee, heal my heart by accepting these two caskets, even as i have accepted thy present." so the king accepted the two caskets and el abbas took his leave and went away to the bazaar. when the merchants saw him, they accosted him and said, "o youth, wilt thou not open thy shop?" as they were bespeaking him, up came a woman, having with her a boy, bareheaded, and [stood] looking at el abbas, till he turned to her, when she said to him, "o youth, i conjure thee by allah, look at this boy and have pity on him, for that his father hath forgotten his cap in the shop [he lost to thee]; so if thou will well to give it to him, thy reward be with god! for indeed the child maketh our hearts ache with his much weeping, and god be witness for us that, were there left us aught wherewithal to buy him a cap in its stead, we had not sought it of thee." "o adornment of womankind," replied el abbas, "indeed, thou bespeakest me with thy fair speech and supplicatest me with thy goodly words ...but bring me thy husband." so she went and fetched the merchant, whilst the folk assembled to see what el abbas would do. when the man came, he returned him the gold he had won of him, all and part, and delivered him the keys of the shop, saying, "requite us with thy pious prayers."therewithal the woman came up to him and kissed his feet, and on like wise did the merchant her husband; and all who were present blessed him, and there was no talk but of el abbas. as for the merchant, he bought him a sheep and slaughtering it, roasted it and dressed birds and [other] meats of various kinds and colours and bought dessert and sweetmeats and fresh fruits. then he repaired to el abbas and conjured him to accept of his hospitality and enter his house and eat of his victual. the prince consented to his wishes and went with him till they came to his house, when the merchant bade him enter. so el abbas entered and saw a goodly house, wherein was a handsome saloon, with a vaulted estrade. when he entered the saloon, he found that the merchant had made ready food and dessert and perfumes, such as overpass description; and indeed he had adorned the table with sweet-scented flowers and sprinkled musk and rose-water upon the food. moreover, he had smeared the walls of the saloon with ambergris and set [the smoke of burning] aloes-wood abroach therein. presently, el abbas looked out of the window of the saloon and saw thereby a house of goodly ordinance, lofty of building and abounding in chambers, with two upper stories; but therein was no sign of inhabitants. so he said to the merchant, "indeed, thou exceedest in doing us honour; but, by allah, i will not eat of thy victual till thou tell me what is the reason of the emptiness of yonder house." "o my lord," answered the other, "that was el ghitrif's house and he was admitted to the mercy of god[fn# ] and left none other heir than myself; so it became mine, and by allah, if thou hast a mind to sojourn in baghdad, do thou take up thine abode in this house, so thou mayst be in my neighbourhood; for that indeed my heart inclineth unto thee with love and i would have thee never absent from my sight, so i may still have my fill of thee and hearken to thy speech." el abbas thanked him and said to him, "indeed, thou art friendly in thy speech and exceedest [in courtesy] in thy discourse, and needs must i sojourn in baghdad. as for the house, if it like thee, i will abide therein; so take of me its price." so saying, he put his hand to his poke and bringing out therefrom three hundred dinars, gave them to the merchant, who said in himself, "except i take the money, he will not abide in the house." so he pouched the money and sold him the house, taking the folk to witness against himself of the sale. then he arose and set food before el abbas and they ate of the good things which he had provided; after which he brought him dessert and sweetmeats. they ate thereof till they had enough, when the tables were removed and they washed their hands with rose-water and willow-flower-water. then the merchant brought el abbas a napkin perfumed with the fragrant smoke of aloes-wood, on which he wiped his hand,[fn# ] and said to him, "o my lord, the house is become thy house; so bid thy servant transport thither the horses and arms and stuffs." el abbas did this and the merchant rejoiced in his neighbourhood and left him not night nor day, so that the prince said to him, "by allah, i distract thee from thy livelihood." "god on thee, o my lord," replied the merchant, "name not to me aught of this, or thou wilt break my heart, for the best of traffic is thy company and thou art the best of livelihood." so there befell strait friendship between them and ceremony was laid aside from between them. meanwhile the king said to his vizier, "how shall we do in the matter of yonder youth, the yemani, on whom we thought to confer largesse, but he hath largessed us with tenfold [our gift] and more, and we know not if he be a sojourner with us or no?" then he went into the harem and gave the rubies to his wife afifeh, who said to him, "what is the worth of these with thee and with [other] the kings?" and he answered, "they are not to be found save with the greatest of kings and none may avail to price them with money." quoth she, "whence gottest thou them?" so he recounted to her the story of el abbas from first to last, and she said, "by allah, the claims of honour are imperative on us and the king hath fallen short of his due; for that we have not seen him bid him to his assembly, nor hath he seated him on his left hand." [when the king heard his wife's words], it was as if he had been asleep and awoke; so he went forth of the harem and bade slaughter fowls and dress meats of all kinds and colours. moreover, he assembled all his retainers and let bring sweetmeats and dessert and all that beseemeth unto kings' tables. then he adorned his palace and despatched after el abbas a man of the chief officers of his household, who found him coming forth of the bath, clad in a doublet of fine goats' hair and over it a baghdadi scarf; his waist was girt with a rustec[fn# ] kerchief and on his head he wore a light turban of damietta make. the messenger wished him joy of the bath and exceeded in doing him worship. then he said to him, "the king biddeth thee in weal."[fn# ] "hearkening and obedience," answered el abbas and accompanied the messenger to the king's palace. now afifeh and her daughter mariyeh were behind the curtain, looking at him; and when he came before the king, he saluted him and greeted him with the greeting of kings, whilst all who were present stared at him and at his beauty and grace and perfection. the king seated him at the head of the table; and when afifeh saw him and straitly considered him, she said, "by the virtue of mohammed, prince of the apostles, this youth is of the sons of the kings and cometh not to these parts but for some high purpose!" then she looked at mariyeh and saw that her face was changed, and indeed her eyes were dead in her face and she turned not her gaze from el abbas a glance of the eyes, for that the love of him had gotten hold upon her heart. when the queen saw what had befallen her daughter, she feared for her from reproach concerning el abbas; so she shut the wicket of the lattice and suffered her not to look upon him more. now there was a pavilion set apart for mariyeh, and therein were privy chambers and balconies and lattices, and she had with her a nurse, who served her, after the fashion of kings' daughters. when the banquet was ended and the folk had dispersed, the king said to el abbas, "i would fain have thee [abide] with me and i will buy thee a house, so haply we may requite thee the high services for which we are beholden to thee; for indeed thy due is imperative [upon us] and thy worth is magnified in our eyes; and indeed we have fallen short of thy due in the matter of distance."[fn# ] when the prince heard the king's speech, he rose and sat down[fn# ] and kissing the earth, returned thanks for his bounty and said, "i am the king's servant, wheresoever i may be, and under his eye." then he recounted to him the story of the merchant and the manner of the buying of the house, and the king said, "indeed, i would fain have had thee with me and in my neighbourhood." then el abbas took leave of the king and went away to his own house. now it befell that he passed under the palace of mariyeh the king's daughter, and she was sitting at a window. he chanced to look round and his eyes met those of the princess, whereupon his wit departed and he was like to swoon away, whilst his colour changed and he said, "verily, we are god's and to him we return!" but he feared for himself lest estrangement betide him; so he concealed his secret and discovered not his case to any of the creatures of god the most high. when he reached his house, his servant aamir said to him, "o my lord, i seek refuge for thee with god from change of colour! hath there betided thee a pain from god the most high or hath aught of vexation befallen thee? verily, sickness hath an end and patience doth away vexation." but the prince returned him no answer. then he brought out inkhorn [and pen] and paper and wrote the following verses: quoth i (and mine a body is of passion all forslain, ay, and a heart that's all athirst for love and longing pain and eye that knoweth not the sweet of sleep; yet she, who caused my dole, may fortune's perfidies for aye from her abstain! yea, for the perfidies of fate and sev'rance i'm become even as was bishr[fn# ] of old time with hind,[fn# ] a fearful swain; a talking-stock among the folk for ever i abide; life and the days pass by, yet ne'er my wishes i attain), "knoweth my loved one when i see her at the lattice high shine as the sun that flameth forth in heaven's blue demesne?" her eye is sharper than a sword; the soul with ecstasy it takes and longing leaves behind, that nothing may assain. as at the casement high she sat, her charms i might espy, for from her cheeks the envious veil that hid them she had ta'en. she shot at me a shaft that reached my heart and i became the bond- man of despair, worn out with effort all in vain. fawn of the palace, knowst thou not that i, to look on thee, the world have traversed, far and wide, o'er many a hill and plain? read then my writ and pity thou the blackness of my fate, sick, love- distraught, without a friend to whom i may complain. now the merchant's wife aforesaid, who was the nurse of the king's daughter, was watching him from a window, unknown of him, and [when she heard his verses], she knew that there hung some rare story by him; so she went in to him and said, "peace be on thee, o afflicted one, who acquaintest not physician with thy case! verily, thou exposest thyself unto grievous peril! i conjure thee by the virtue of him who hath afflicted thee and stricken thee with the constraint of love-liking, that thou acquaint me with thine affair and discover to me the truth of thy secret; for that indeed i have heard from thee verses that trouble the wit and dissolve the body." so he acquainted her with his case and enjoined her to secrecy, whereof she consented unto him, saying, "what shall be the recompense of whoso goeth with thy letter and bringeth thee an answer thereto?" he bowed his head for shamefastness before her [and was silent]; and she said to him, "raise thy head and give me thy letter." so he gave her the letter and she took it and carrying it to the princess, said to her, "read this letter and give me the answer thereto." now the liefest of all things to mariyeh was the recitation of poems and verses and linked rhymes and the twanging [of the strings of the lute], and she was versed in all tongues; so she took the letter and opening it, read that which was therein and apprehended its purport. then she cast it on the ground and said, "o nurse, i have no answer to make to this letter." quoth the nurse, "indeed, this is weakness in thee and a reproach unto thee, for that the people of the world have heard of thee and still praise thee for keenness of wit and apprehension; so do thou return him an answer, such as shall delude his heart and weary his soul." "o nurse," rejoined the princess, "who is this that presumeth upon me with this letter? belike he is the stranger youth who gave my father the rubies." "it is himself," answered the woman, and mariyeh said, "i will answer his letter on such a wise that thou shalt not bring me other than it [from him]." quoth the nurse, "so be it." so the princess called for inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: o'erbold art thou in that to me, a stranger, thou hast sent these verses; 'twill but add to thee unease and miscontent. now god forbid thou shouldst attain thy wishes! what care i if thou have looked on me a look that caused thee languishment? who art thou, wretch, that thou shouldst hope to win me? with thy rhymes what wouldst of me? thy reason, sure, with passion is forspent. if to my favours thou aspire and covet me, good lack! what leach such madness can assain or what medicament? leave rhyming, madman that thou art, lest, bound upon the cross, thou thy presumption in the stead of abjectness repent. deem not, o youth, that i to thee incline; indeed, no part have i in those who walk the ways, the children of the tent.[fn# ] in the wide world no house thou hast, a homeless wanderer thou: to thine own place thou shall be borne, an object for lament.[fn# ] forbear thy verse-making, o thou that harbourest in the camp, lest to the gleemen thou become a name of wonderment. how many a lover, who aspires to union with his love, for all his hopes seem near, is baulked of that whereon he's bent! then get thee gone nor covet that which thou shall ne'er obtain; so shall it be, although the time seem near and the event. thus unto thee have i set forth my case; consider well my words, so thou mayst guided be aright by their intent. when she had made an end of her verses, she folded the letter and delivered it to the nurse, who took it and went with it to el abbas. when she gave it to him, he took it and breaking it open, read it and apprehended its purport; and when he came to the end of it, he swooned away. after awhile, he came to himself and said, "praised be god who hath caused her return an answer to my letter! canst thou carry her another letter, and with god the most high be thy requital?" quoth she, "and what shall letters profit thee, seeing she answereth on this wise?" but he said, "belike, she may yet be softened." then he took inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: thy letter reached me; when the words thou wrot'st therein i read, my longing waxed and pain and woe redoubled on my head. yea, wonder-words i read therein, my trouble that increased and caused emaciation wear my body to a shred. would god thou knewst what i endure for love of thee and how my vitals for thy cruelty are all forspent and dead! fain, fain would i forget thy love. alack, my heart denies to be consoled, and 'gainst thy wrath nought standeth me in stead. an thou'dst vouchsafe to favour me,'twould lighten my despair, though but in dreams thine image 'twere that visited my bed. persist not on my weakliness with thy disdain nor be treason and breach of love its troth to thee attributed; for know that hither have i fared and come to this thy land, by hopes of union with thee and near fruition led. how oft i've waked, whilst over me my comrades kept the watch! how many a stony waste i've crossed, how many a desert dread! from mine own land, to visit thee, i came at love's command, for all the distance did forbid,'twixt me and thee that spread. wherefore, by him who letteth waste my frame, have ruth on me and quench my yearning and the fires by passion in me fed. in glory's raiment clad, by thee the stars of heaven are shamed and in amaze the full moon stares to see thy goodlihead. all charms, indeed, thou dost comprise; so who shall vie with thee and who shall blame me if for love of such a fair i'm sped? when he had made an end of his verses, he folded the letter and delivering it to the nurse, charged her keep the secret. so she took it and carrying it to mariyeh, gave it to her. the princess broke it open and read it and apprehended its purport. then said she, "by allah, o nurse, my heart is burdened with an exceeding chagrin, never knew i a dourer, because of this correspondence and of these verses." and the muse made answer to her, saying, "o my lady, thou art in thy dwelling and thy place and thy heart is void of care; so return him an answer and reck thou not" accordingly, the princess called for inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: thou that the dupe of yearning art, how many a melting wight in waiting for the unkept tryst doth watch the weary night! if in night's blackness thou hast plunged into the desert's heart and hast denied thine eyes the taste of sleep and its delight, if near and far thy toiling feet have trod the ways and thou devils and marids hast ensued nor wouldst be led aright, and dar'dst, o dweller in the tents, to lift thine eyes to me, hoping by stress to win of me the amorous delight, get thee to patience fair, if thou remember thee of that whose issues (quoth the merciful) are ever benedight.[fn# ] how many a king for my sweet sake with other kings hath vied, still craving union with me and suing for my sight! whenas en nebhan strove to win my grace, himself to me with camel- loads he did commend of musk and camphor white, and aloes-wood, to boot, he brought and caskets full of pearls and priceless rubies and the like of costly gems and bright; yea, and black slaves he proffered me and slave-girls big with child and steeds of price, with splendid arms and trappings rich bedight. raiment of silk and sendal, too, he brought to us for gift, and me in marriage sought therewith; yet, all his pains despite, of me he got not what he sought and brideless did return, for that estrangement and disdain were pleasing in my sight. wherefore, o stranger, dare thou not approach me with desire, lest ruin quick and pitiless thy hardihood requite. when she had made an end of her verses, she folded the letter and delivered it to the nurse, who took it and carried it to el abbas. he broke it open and read it and apprehended its purport; then took inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: indeed, thou'st told the tale of kings and men of might, each one a lion fierce, impetuous in the fight, whose wits (like mine, alack!) thou stalest and whose hearts with shafts from out thine eyes bewitching thou didst smite. yea, and how slaves and steeds and good and virgin girls were proffered thee to gift, thou hast not failed to cite, how presents in great store thou didst refuse and eke the givers, great and small, with flouting didst requite. then came i after them, desiring thee, with me no second save my sword, my falchion keen and bright. no slaves with me have i nor camels swift of foot, nor slave-girls have i brought in curtained litters dight. yet, an thou wilt vouchsafe thy favours unto me, my sabre thou shalt see the foemen put to flight; ay, and around baghdad the horsemen shalt behold, like clouds that wall the world, full many a doughty knight, all hearkening to my word, obeying my command, in whatsoever thing is pleasing to my sight. if slaves thou fain wouldst have by thousands every day or, kneeling at thy feet, see kings of mickle might, and horses eke wouldst have led to thee day by day and girls, high- breasted maids, and damsels black and white, lo under my command the land of yemen is and trenchant is my sword against the foe in fight. whenas the couriers came with news of thee, how fair thou wast and sweet and how thy visage shone with light, all, all, for thy sweet sake, i left; ay, i forsook aziz, my sire, and those akin to me that hight and unto irak fared, my way to thee to make, and crossed the stony wastes i' the darkness of the night. then sent i speech to thee in verses such as burn the heart; reproach therein was none nor yet unright; yet with perfidiousness (sure fortune's self as thou ne'er so perfidious was) my love thou didst requite and deemedst me a waif, a homeless good-for-nought, a slave-begotten brat, a wanton, witless wight. then he folded the letter and committed it to the nurse and gave her five hundred dinars, saying, "accept this from me, for that indeed thou hast wearied thyself between us." "by allah, o my lord," answered she, "my desire is to bring about union between you, though i lose that which my right hand possesseth." and he said, "may god the most high requite thee with good!" then she carried the letter to mariyeh and said to her, "take this letter; belike it may be the end of the correspondence." so she took it and breaking it open, read it, and when she had made an end of it, she turned to the nurse and said to her, "this fellow putteth off lies upon me and avoucheth unto me that he hath cities and horsemen and footmen at his command and submitting to his allegiance; and he seeketh of me that which he shall not obtain; for thou knowest, o nurse, that kings' sons have sought me in marriage, with presents and rarities; but i have paid no heed unto aught of this; so how shall i accept of this fellow, who is the fool[fn# ] of his time and possesseth nought but two caskets of rubies, which he gave to my father, and indeed he hath taken up his abode in the house of el ghitrif and abideth without silver or gold? wherefore, i conjure thee by allah, o nurse, return to him and cut off his hope of me." accordingly the nurse returned to el abbas, without letter or answer; and when she came in to him, he saw that she was troubled and noted the marks of chagrin on her face; so he said to her, "what is this plight?" quoth she, "i cannot set out to thee that which mariyeh said; for indeed she charged me return to thee without letter or answer." "o nurse of kings," rejoined el abbas, "i would have thee carry her this letter and return not to her without it." then he took inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: my secret is disclosed, the which i strove to hide; of thee and of thy love enough have i abyed. my kinsmen and my friends for thee i did forsake and left them weeping tears that poured as 'twere a tide. yea, to baghdad i came, where rigour gave me chase and i was overthrown of cruelty and pride. repression's draught, by cups, from the beloved's hand i've quaffed; with colocynth for wine she hath me plied. oft as i strove to make her keep the troth of love, unto concealment's ways still would she turn aside. my body is dissolved with sufferance in vain; relenting, ay, and grace i hoped should yet betide; but rigour still hath waxed on me and changed my case and love hath left me bound, afflicted, weeping-eyed. how long shall i anights distracted be for love of thee? how long th' assaults of grief and woes abide? thou, thou enjoy'st repose and comfortable sleep, nor of the mis'ries reckst by which my heart is wried. i watch the stars for wake and pray that the belov'd may yet to me relent and bid my tears be dried. the pains of long desire have wasted me away; estrangement and disdain my body sore have tried. "be thou not hard of heart," quoth i. had ye but deigned to visit me in dreams, i had been satisfied. but when ye saw my writ, the standard ye o'erthrew of faith, your favours grudged and aught of grace denied. nay, though ye read therein discourse that sure should speak to heart and soul, no word thereunto ye replied, but deemed yourself secure from every changing chance nor recked the ebb and flow of fortune's treacherous tide. were my affliction thine, love's anguish hadst thou dreed and in the flaming hell of long estrangement sighed. yet shall thou suffer that which i from thee have borne and with love's woes thy heart shall yet be mortified. the bitterness of false accusing shall thou taste and eke the thing reveal that thou art fain to hide; yea, he thou lov'st shall be hard-hearted, recking not of fortune's turns or fate's caprices, in his pride. wherewith farewell, quoth i, and peace be on thee aye, what while the branches bend, what while the stars abide. when he had made an end of his verses, he folded the letter and gave it to the nurse, who took it and carried it to mariyeh. when she came into the princess's presence, she saluted her; but mariyeh returned not her salutation and she said, "o my lady, how hard is thy heart that thou grudgest to return the salutation! take this letter, for that it is the last of that which shall come to thee from him." quoth mariyeh, "take my warning and never again enter my palace, or it will be the cause of thy destruction; for i am certified that thou purposest my dishonour. so get thee gone from me." and she commanded to beat the nurse; whereupon the latter went forth fleeing from her presence, changed of colour and absent of wits, and gave not over going till she came to the house of el abbas. when the prince saw her in this plight, he was as a sleeper awakened and said to her, "what hath befallen thee? set out to me thy case." "god on thee," answered she, "nevermore send me to mariyeh, and do thou protect me, so may god protect thee from the fires of hell!" then she related to him that which had bedded her with mariyeh; which when he heard, there took him the shamefastness of the generous and this was grievous unto him. the love of mariyeh fled forth of his heart and he said to the nurse, "how much hadst thou of mariyeh every month?" "ten dinars," answered she, and he said, "be not concerned." then he put his hand to his poke and bringing out two hundred dinars, gave them to her and said, "take this for a whole year's wage and turn not again to serve any one. when the year is out, i will give thee two years' wage, for that thou hast wearied thyself with us and on account of the cutting off of thy dependence upon mariyeh." moreover, he gave her a complete suit of clothes and raising his head to her, said, "when thou toldest me that which mariyeh had done with thee, god rooted out the love of her from my heart, and never again will she occur to my mind; so extolled be the perfection of him who turneth hearts and eyes! it was she who was the cause of my coming out from yemen, and now the time is past for which i engaged with my people and i fear lest my father levy his troops and come forth in quest of me, for that he hath no child other than myself and cannot brook to be parted from me; and on like wise is it with my mother." when the nurse heard his words, she said to him, "o my lord, and which of the kings is thy father?" "my father is el aziz, lord of yemen and nubia and the islands[fn# ] of the benou kehtan and the two noble sanctuaries[fn# ] (god the most high have them in his keeping!)," answered el abbas; "and whenas he taketh horse, there mount with him an hundred and twenty and four thousand horsemen, all smiters with the sword, let alone attendants and servants and followers, all of whom give ear unto my word and obey my commandment." "why, then, o my lord," asked the nurse, "didst thou conceal the secret of thy rank and lineage and passedst thyself off for a wayfarer? alas for our disgrace before thee by reason of our shortcoming in rendering thee thy due! what shall be our excuse with thee, and thou of the sons of the kings?" but he rejoined, "by allah, thou hast not fallen short! nay, it is incumbent on me to requite thee, what while i live, though i be far distant from thee." then he called his servant aamir and said to him, "saddle the horses." when the nurse heard his words and indeed [she saw that] aamir brought him the horses and they were resolved upon departure, the tears ran down upon her cheeks and she said to him, "by allah, thy separation is grievous to me, o solace of the eye!" then said she, "where is the goal of thine intent, so we may know thy news and solace ourselves with thy report?" quoth he, "i go hence to visit akil, the son of my father's brother, for that he hath his sojourn in the camp of kundeh ben hisham, and these twenty years have i not seen him nor he me; wherefore i purpose to repair to him and discover his news and return hither. then will i go hence to yemen, if it be the will of god the most high." so saying, he took leave of the woman and her husband and set out, intending for akil, his father's brother's son. now there was between baghdad and akil's abiding-place forty days' journey; so el abbas settled himself on the back of his courser and his servant aamir mounted also and they fared forth on their way. presently, el abbas turned right and left and recited the following verses: i am the champion-slayer, the warrior without peer; my foes i slay, destroying the hosts, when i appear. tow'rds el akil my journey i take; to visit him, the wastes in praise and safety i traverse, without fear, and all the desert spaces devour, whilst to my rede, or if in sport or earnest,[fn# ] still aamir giveth ear. who letteth us or hind'reth our way, i spring on him, as springeth lynx or panther upon the frighted deer; with ruin i o'erwhelm him and abjectness and woe and cause him quaff the goblet of death and distance drear. well-ground my polished sword is and thin and keen of edge and trenchant, eke, for smiting and long my steel-barbed spear. so fell and fierce my stroke is, if on a mountain high it lit, though all of granite, right through its midst 'twould shear. nor troops have i nor henchmen nor one to lend me aid save god, to whom, my maker, my voice in praise i rear. 'tis he who pardoneth errors alike to slave and free; on him is my reliance in good and evil cheer. then they fell to journeying night and day, and as they went, behold, they sighted a camp of the camps of the arabs. so el abbas enquired thereof and was told that it was the camp of the benou zuhreh. now there were around them sheep and cattle, such as filled the earth, and they were enemies to el akil, the cousin of el abbas, upon whom they still made raids and took his cattle; wherefore he used to pay them tribute every year, for that he availed not to cope with them. when el abbas came near the camp, he dismounted from his courser and his servant aamir also dismounted; and they set down the victual and ate their sufficiency and rested awhile of the day. then said the prince to aamir, "fetch water and give the horses to drink and draw water for us in thy water-bag, by way of provision for the road." so aamir took the water-skin and made for the water; but, when he came to the well, behold, two young men with gazelles, and when they saw him, they said to him, "whither wilt thou, o youth, and of which of the arabs art thou?" "harkye, lads," answered he, "fill me my water-skin, for that i am a stranger man and a wayfarer and i have a comrade who awaiteth me." quoth they, "thou art no wayfarer, but a spy from el akil's camp." then they took him and carried him to [their king] zuheir ben shebib; and when he came before him, he said to him, "of which of the arabs art thou?" quoth aamir, "i am a wayfarer." and zuheir said, "whence comest thou and whither wilt thou?" "i am on my way to akil," answered aamir. when he named akil, those who were present were agitated; but zuheir signed to them with his eyes and said to him, "what is thine errand with akil?" quoth he, "we would fain see him, my friend and i." when zuheir heard his words, he bade smite off his head; but his vizier said to him, "slay him not, till his friend be present." so he commanded the two slaves to fetch his friend; whereupon they repaired to el abbas and called to him, saying, "o youth, answer the summons of king zuheir." "what would the king with me?" asked he, and they answered, "we know not." quoth he, "who gave the king news of me?" "we went to draw water," answered they, "and found a man by the water. so we questioned him of his case, but he would not acquaint us therewith; wherefore we carried him perforce to king zuheir, who questioned him of his case and he told him that he was going to akil. now akil is the king's enemy and he purposeth to betake himself to his camp and make prize of his offspring and cut off his traces." "and what," asked el abbas, "hath akil done with king zuheir?" and they replied, "he engaged for himself that he would bring the king every year a thousand dinars and a thousand she-camels, besides a thousand head of thoroughbred horses and two hundred black slaves and fifty slave-girls; but it hath reached the king that akil purposeth to give nought of this; wherefore he is minded to go to him. so hasten thou with us, ere the king be wroth with thee and with us." then said el abbas to them, "o youths, sit by my arms and my horse till i return." but they answered, saying, "by allah, thou prolongest discourse with that which beseemeth not of words! make haste, or we will go with thy head, for indeed the king purposeth to slay thee and to slay thy comrade and take that which is with you." when the prince heard this, his skin quaked and he cried out at them with a cry that made them tremble. then he sprang upon his horse and settling himself in the saddle, galloped till he came to the king's assembly, when he cried out at the top of his voice, saying ["to horse,] cavaliers!" and levelled his spear at the pavilion wherein was zuheir. now there were about him a thousand smiters with the sword; but el abbas fell in upon them and dispersed them from around him, and there abode none in the tent save zuheir and his vizier. then came up el abbas to the door of the tent, and therein were four-and-twenty golden doves; so he took them, after he had beaten them down with the end of his lance. then he called out, saying, "harkye, zuheir! doth it not suffice thee that thou hast quelled el akil's repute, but thou art minded to quell that of those who sojourn round about him? knowest thou not that he is of the lieutenants of kundeh ben [hisham of the benou] sheiban, a man renowned for prowess? indeed, covetise of him hath entered into thee and jealousy of him hath gotten possession of thee. doth it not suffice thee that thou hast orphaned his children[fn# ] and slain his men? by the virtue of the chosen prophet, i will make thee drink the cup of death!" so saying, he drew his sword and smiting zuheir on his shoulder, caused the steel issue, gleaming, from the tendons of his throat. then he smote the vizier and clove his head in sunder. as he was thus, behold, aamir called out to him and said, "o my lord, come to my help, or i am a dead man!" so el abbas went up to him and found him cast down on his back and chained with four chains to four pickets of iron. he loosed his bonds and said to him, "go before me, o aamir." so he fared on before him a little, and presently they looked, and behold, horsemen making to zuheir's succour, to wit, twelve thousand cavaliers, with sehl ben kaab in their van, mounted upon a jet-black steed. he charged upon aamir, who fled from him, then upon el abbas, who said, "o aamir, cleave fast to my horse and guard my back." aamir did as he bade him, whereupon el abbas cried out at the folk and falling upon them, overthrew their braves and slew of them nigh two thousand cavaliers, whilst not one of them knew what was to do nor with whom he fought. then said one of them to other, "verily, the king is slain; so with whom do we wage war? indeed ye flee from him; so do ye enter under his banners, or not one of you will be saved." thereupon they all dismounted and putting off that which was upon them of harness of war, came before el abbas and tendered him allegiance and sued for his protection. so he held his hand from them and bade them gather together the spoils. then he took the riches and the slaves and the camels, and they all became his liege-men and his retainers, to the number (according to that which is said) of fifty thousand horse. moreover, the folk heard of him and flocked to him from all sides; whereupon he divided [the spoil amongst them] and gave gifts and abode thus three days, and there came presents to him. then he bade set out for akil's abiding-place; so they fared on six days and on the seventh day they came in sight of the camp. el abbas bade his man aamir forego him and give akil the glad news of his cousin's coming. so he rode on to the camp and going in to akil, gave him the glad news of zuheir's slaughter and the conquest of his tribe. akil rejoiced in the coming of el abbas and the slaughter of his enemy and all in his camp rejoiced also and cast dresses of honour upon aamir. moreover, akil bade go forth to meet el abbas, and commanded that none, great or small, freeman or slave, should tarry behind. so they did his bidding and going forth all, met el abbas at three parasangs' distance from the camp. when they met him, they all dismounted from their horses and akil and he embraced and clapped hands.[fn# ] then they returned, rejoicing in the coming of el abbas and the slaughter of their enemy, to the camp, where tents were pitched for the new-comers and carpets spread and game killed and beasts slaughtered and royal guest-meals spread; and on this wise they abode twenty days, in the enjoyment of all delight and solace of life. to return to king el aziz. when his son el abbas left him, he was desolated for him with an exceeding desolation, he and his mother; and when tidings of him tarried long and the appointed time passed [and the prince returned not], the king caused public proclamation to be made, commanding all his troops to make ready to mount and go forth in quest of his son el abbas at the end of three days, after which time no cause of hindrance nor excuse should be admitted unto any. so on the fourth day, the king bade number the troops, and behold, they were four-and-twenty thousand horse, besides servants and followers. accordingly, they reared the standards and the drums beat to departure and the king set out [with his army], intending for baghdad; nor did he cease to fare on with all diligence, till he came within half a day's journey of the city and bade his troops encamp in [a place there called] the green meadow. so they pitched the tents there, till the country was straitened with them, and set up for the king a pavilion of green brocade, broidered with pearls and jewels. when el aziz had sat awhile, he summoned the mamelukes of his son el abbas, and they were five-and-twenty in number, besides half a score slave-girls, as they were moons, five of whom the king had brought with him and other five he had left with the prince's mother. when the mamelukes came before him, he cast over each of them a mantle of green brocade and bade them mount like horses of one and the same fashion and enter baghdad and enquire concerning their lord el abbas. so they entered the city and passed through the [streets and] markets, and there abode in baghdad nor old man nor boy but came forth to gaze on them and divert himself with the sight of their beauty and grace and the goodliness of their aspect and of their clothes and horses, for that they were even as moons. they gave not over going till they came to the royal palace, where they halted, and the king looked at them and seeing their beauty and the goodliness of their apparel and the brightness of their faces, said, "would i knew of which of the tribes these are!" and he bade the eunuch bring him news of them. so he went out to them and questioned them of their case, whereupon, "return to thy lord," answered they, "and question him of prince el abbas, if he have come unto him, for that he left his father king el aziz a full-told year agone, and indeed longing for him troubleth the king and he hath levied a part of his army and his guards and is come forth in quest of his son, so haply he may light upon tidings of him." quoth the eunuch, "is there amongst you a brother of his or a son?" "nay, by allah!" answered they. "but we are all his mamelukes and the boughten of his money, and his father el aziz hath despatched us to make enquiry of him. so go thou to thy lord and question him of the prince and return to us with that which he shall answer you." "and where is king el aziz?" asked the eunuch; and they replied, "he is encamped in the green meadow."[fn# ] the eunuch returned and told the king, who said, "indeed, we have been neglectful with regard to el abbas. what shall be our excuse with the king? by allah, my soul misdoubted me that the youth was of the sons of the kings!" the lady afifeh, his wife, saw him lamenting for [his usage of] el abbas and said to him, "o king, what is it thou regrettest with this exceeding regret?" quoth he, "thou knowest the stranger youth, who gave us the rubies?" "assuredly," answered she; and he said, "yonder youths, who have halted in the palace court, are his mamelukes, and his father king el aziz, lord of yemen, hath pitched his camp in the green meadow; for he is come with his army to seek him, and the number of his troops is [four-and-] twenty thousand men." [then he went out from her], and when she heard his words, she wept sore for him and had compassion on his case and sent after him, counselling him to send for the mamelukes and lodge them [in the palace] and entertain them. the king gave ear to her counsel and despatching the eunuch for the mamelukes, assigned them a lodging and said to them, "have patience, till the king give you tidings of your lord el abbas." when they heard his words, their eyes ran over with plenteous tears, of their much longing for the sight of their lord. then the king bade the queen enter the privy chamber[fn# ] and let down the curtain[fn# ] [before the door thereof]. so she did this and he summoned them to his presence. when they stood before him, they kissed the earth, to do him worship, and showed forth their breeding[fn# ] and magnified his dignity. he bade them sit, but they refused, till he conjured them by their lord el abbas. so they sat down and he caused set before them food of various kinds and fruits and sweetmeats. now within the lady afifeh's palace was an underground way communicating with the palace of the princess mariyeh. so the queen sent after her and she came to her, whereupon she made her stand behind the curtain and gave her to know that el abbas was the king's son of yemen and that these were his mamelukes. moreover, she told her that the prince's father had levied his troops and was come with his army in quest of him and that he had pitched his camp in the green meadow and despatched these mamelukes to make enquiry of their lord. so mariyeh abode looking upon them and upon their beauty and grace and the goodliness of their apparel, till they had eaten their fill of food and the tables were removed; whereupon the king recounted to them the story of el abbas and they took leave of him and went away. as for the princess mariyeh, when she returned to her palace, she bethought herself concerning the affair of el abbas, repenting her of that which she had done, and the love of him took root in her heart. so, when the night darkened upon her, she dismissed all her women and bringing out the letters, to wit, those which el abbas had written, fell to reading them and weeping. she gave not over weeping her night long, and when she arose in the morning, she called a damsel of her slave-girls, shefikeh by name, and said to her, "o damsel, i purpose to discover to thee mine affair, and i charge thee keep my secret; to wit, i would have thee betake thyself to the house of the nurse, who used to serve me, and fetch her to me, for that i have grave occasion for her." accordingly, shefikeh went out and repairing to the nurse's house, found her clad in apparel other[fn# ] than that which she had been wont to wear aforetime. so she saluted her and said to her, "whence hadst thou this dress, than which there is no goodlier?" "o shefikeh," answered the nurse, "thou deemest that i have gotten[fn# ] no good save of thy mistress; but, by allah, had i endeavoured for her destruction, i had done [that which was my right], for that she did with me what thou knowest[fn# ] and bade the eunuch beat me, without offence of me committed; wherefore do thou tell her that he, on whose behalf i bestirred myself with her, hath made me quit of her and her humours, for that he hath clad me in this habit and given me two hundred and fifty dinars and promised me the like thereof every year and charged me serve none of the folk." quoth shefikeh, "my mistress hath occasion for thee; so come thou with me and i will engage to restore thee to thy dwelling in weal and safety." but the nurse answered, saying, "indeed, her palace is become forbidden[fn# ] to me and never again will i enter therein, for that god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) of his favour and bounty hath rendered me independent of her." so shefikeh returned to her mistress and acquainted her with the nurse's words and that wherein she was of affluence; whereupon mariyeh confessed the unseemliness of her dealing with her and repented, whenas repentance profited her not; and she abode in that her case days and nights, whilst the fire of longing flamed in her heart. meanwhile, el abbas abode with his cousin akil twenty days, after which he made ready for the journey to baghdad and letting bring the booty he had gotten of king zuheir, divided it between himself and his cousin. then he set out for baghdad, and when he came within two days' journey of the city, he called his servant aamir and bade him mount his charger and forego him with the baggage-train and the cattle. so aamir [took horse and] fared on till he came to baghdad, and the season of his entering was the first of the day; nor was there little child or hoary old man in the city but came forth to divert himself with gazing on those flocks and herds and upon the goodliness of those slave-girls, and their wits were amazed at what they saw. presently the news reached the king that the young man el abbas, who had gone forth from him, was come back with herds and rarities and slaves and a mighty host and had taken up his sojourn without the city, whilst his servant aamir was presently come to baghdad, so he might make ready dwelling- places for his lord, wherein he should take up his abode. when the king heard these tidings of aamir, he sent for him and let bring him before him; and when he entered his presence, he kissed the earth and saluted and showed forth his breeding and greeted him with the goodliest of compliments. the king bade him raise his head and questioned him of his lord el abbas; whereupon he acquainted him with his tidings and told him that which had betided him with king zuheir and of the army that was become at his commandment and of the spoil that he had gotten. moreover, he gave him to know that el abbas was coming on the morrow, and with him more than fifty thousand cavaliers, obedient to his commandment. when the king heard his speech, he bade decorate baghdad and commanded [the inhabitants] to equip themselves with the richest of their apparel, in honour of the coming of el abbas. moreover, he sent to give king el aziz the glad tidings of his son's return and acquainted him with that which he had heard from the prince's servant. when the news reached el aziz, he rejoiced with an exceeding joy in the coming of his son and straightway took horse, he and all his army, what while the trumpets sounded and the musicians played, that the earth quaked and baghdad also trembled, and it was a notable day. when mariyeh beheld all this, she repented with the uttermost of repentance of that which she had wroughten against el abbas his due and the fires still raged in her vitals. meanwhile, the troops[fn# ] sallied forth of baghdad and went out to meet those of el abbas, who had halted in a meadow called the green island. when he espied the approaching host, he knew not what they were; so he strained his sight and seeing horsemen coming and troops and footmen, said to those about him, "among yonder troops are ensigns and banners of various kinds; but, as for the great green standard that ye see, it is the standard of my father, the which is reserved [unto him and never displayed save] over his head, and [by this] i know that he himself is come out in quest of me." and he was certified of this, he and his troops. [so he fared on towards them] and when he drew near unto them, he knew them and they knew him; whereupon they lighted down from their horses and saluting him, gave him joy of his safety and the folk flocked to him. when he came to his father, they embraced and greeted each other a long time, whilst neither of them availed unto speech, for the greatness of that which betided them of joy in reunion. then el abbas bade the folk mount; so they mounted and his mamelukes surrounded him and they entered baghdad on the most magnificent wise and in the highest worship and glory. the wife of the shopkeeper, to wit, the nurse, came out, with the rest of those who came out, to divert herself with gazing upon the show, and when she saw el abbas and beheld his beauty and the goodliness of his army and that which he had brought back with him of herds and slaves and slave-girls and mamelukes, she improvised and recited the following verses: el abbas from akil his stead is come again; prize hath he made of steeds and many a baggage-train; yea, horses hath he brought, full fair of shape and hue, whose collars, anklet-like, ring to the bridle-rein. taper of hoofs and straight of stature, in the dust they prance, as like a flood they pour across the plain; and on their saddles perched are warriors richly clad, that with their hands do smite on kettle-drums amain. couched are their limber spears, right long and lithe of point, keen- ground and polished sheer, amazing wit and brain. who dares with them to cope draws death upon himself; yea, of the deadly lance incontinent he's slain. come, then, companions mine, rejoice with me and say, "all hail to thee, o friend, and welcome fair and fain!" for whoso doth rejoice in meeting him shall have largesse and gifts galore at his dismounting gain. when the troops entered baghdad, each of them alighted in his pavilion, whilst el abbas encamped apart in a place near the tigris and commanded to slaughter for the troops, each day, that which should suffice them of oxen and sheep and bake them bread and spread the tables. so the folk ceased not to come to him and eat of his banquet. moreover, all the people of the country came to him with presents and rarities and he requited them many times the like of their gifts, so that the lands were filled with his tidings and the report of him was bruited abroad among the folk of the deserts and the cities. then, when he rode to his house that he had bought, the shopkeeper and his wife came to him and gave him joy of his safety; whereupon he ordered them three swift thoroughbred horses and ten dromedaries and an hundred head of sheep and clad them both in sumptuous dresses of honour. then he chose out ten slave-girls and ten black slaves and fifty horses and the like number of she- camels and three hundred head of sheep, together with twenty ounces of musk and as many of camphor, and sent all this to the king of baghdad. when this came to ins ben cais, his wit fled for joy and he was perplexed wherewithal to requite him. moreover, el abbas gave gifts and largesse and bestowed dresses of honour upon great and small, each after the measure of his station, save only mariyeh; for unto her he sent nothing. this was grievous to the princess and it irked her sore that he should not remember her; so she called her slave- girl shefikeh and said to her, "go to el abbas and salute him and say to him, 'what hindereth thee from sending my lady mariyeh her part of thy booty?'" so shefikeh betook herself to him and when she came to his door, the chamberlains refused her admission, until they should have gotten her leave and permission. when she entered, el abbas knew her and knew that she had somewhat of speech [with him]; so he dismissed his mamelukes and said to her, "what is thine errand, o handmaid of good?" "o my lord," answered she, "i am a slave-girl of the princess mariyeh, who kisseth thy hands and commendeth her salutation to thee. indeed, she rejoiceth in thy safety and reproacheth thee for that thou breakest her heart, alone of all the folk, for that thy largesse embraceth great and small, yet hast thou not remembered her with aught of thy booty. indeed, it is as if thou hadst hardened thy heart against her." quoth he, "extolled be the perfection of him who turneth hearts! by allah, my vitals were consumed with the love of her [aforetime] and of my longing after her, i came forth to her from my native land and left my people and my home and my wealth, and it was with her that began the hardheartedness and the cruelty. nevertheless, for all this, i bear her no malice and needs must i send her somewhat whereby she may remember me; for that i abide in her land but a few days, after which i set out for the land of yemen." then he called for a chest and bringing out thence a necklace of greek handiwork, worth a thousand dinars, wrapped it in a mantle of green silk, set with pearls and jewels and inwrought with red gold, and joined thereto two caskets of musk and ambergris. moreover, he put off upon the girl a mantle of greek silk, striped with gold, wherein were divers figures and semblants depictured, never saw eyes its like. therewithal the girl's wit fled for joy and she went forth from his presence and returned to her mistress. when she came in to her, she acquainted her with that which she had seen of el abbas and that which was with him of servants and attendants and [set out to her] the loftiness of his station and gave her that which was with her. mariyeh opened the mantle, and when she saw that necklace, and indeed the place was illumined with the lustre thereof, she looked at her slave-girl and said to her, "by allah, o shefikeh, one look at him were liefer to me than all that my hand possesseth! would i knew what i shall do, whenas baghdad is empty of him and i hear no tidings of him!" then she wept and calling for inkhorn* and paper and pen of brass, wrote the following verses: still do i yearn, whilst passion's fire flames in my liver aye; for parting's shafts have smitten me and done my strength away. oft for thy love as i would be consoled, my yearning turns to-thee- ward still and my desires my reason still gainsay. my transports i conceal for fear of those thereon that spy; yet down my cheeks the tears course still and still my case bewray. no rest is there for me, no life wherein i may delight, nor pleasant meat nor drink avails to please me, night or day. to whom save thee shall i complain, of whom relief implore, whose image came to visit me, what while in dreams i lay? reproach me not for what i did, but be thou kind to one who's sick of body and whose heart is wasted all away. the fire of love-longing i hide; severance consumeth me, a thrall of care, for long desire to wakefulness a prey. midmost the watches of the night i see thee, in a dream; a lying dream, for he i love my love doth not repay. would god thou knewest that for love of thee which i endure! it hath indeed brought down on me estrangement and dismay. read thou my writ and apprehend its purport, for my case this is and fate hath stricken me with sorrows past allay. know, then, the woes that have befall'n a lover, neither grudge her secret to conceal, but keep her counsel still, i pray. then she folded the letter and giving it to her slave-girl, bade her carry it to el abbas and bring back his answer thereto. accordingly, shefikeh took the letter and carried it to the prince, after the doorkeeper had sought leave of him to admit her. when she came in to him, she found with him five damsels, as they were moons, clad in [rich] apparel and ornaments; and when he saw her, he said to her, "what is thine occasion, o handmaid of good?" so she put out her hand to him with the letter, after she had kissed it, and he bade one of his slave-girls receive it from her. then he took it from the girl and breaking it open, read it and apprehended its purport; whereupon "we are god's and to him we return!" exclaimed he and calling for ink- horn and paper, wrote the following verses: i marvel for that to my love i see thee now incline, what time my heart, indeed, is fain to turn away from thine. whilere, the verses that i made it was thy wont to flout, saying, "no passer by the way[fn# ] hath part in me or mine. how many a king to me hath come, of troops and guards ensued, and bactrian camels brought with him, in many a laden line, and dromedaries, too, of price and goodly steeds and swift of many a noble breed, yet found no favour in my eyne!" then, after them came i to thee and union did entreat and unto thee set forth at length my case and my design; yea, all my passion and desire and love-longing in verse, as pearls in goodly order strung it were, i did enshrine. yet thou repaidst me with constraint, rigour and perfidy, to which no lover might himself on any wise resign. how many a bidder unto love, a secret-craving wight, how many a swain, complaining, saith of destiny malign, "how many a cup with bitterness o'erflowing have i quaffed! i make my moan of woes, whereat it boots not to repine." quoth thou, "the goodliest of things is patience and its use: its practice still mankind doth guide to all that's fair and fine." wherefore fair patience look thou use, for sure 'tis praiseworthy; yea, and its issues evermore are blessed and benign; and hope thou not for aught from me, who reck not with a folk to mix, who may with abjectness infect my royal line. this is my saying; apprehend its purport, then, and know i may in no wise yield consent to that thou dost opine. then he folded the letter and sealing it, delivered it to the damsel, who took it and carried it to her mistress. when the princess read the letter and apprehended its contents, she said, "meseemeth he recalleth to me that which i did aforetime." then she called for inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: me, till i stricken was therewith, to love thou didst excite, and with estrangement now, alas! heap'st sorrows on my spright. the sweet of slumber after thee i have forsworn; indeed the loss of thee hath smitten me with trouble and affright. how long shall i, in weariness, for this estrangement pine, what while the spies of severance[fn# ] do watch me all the night? my royal couch have i forsworn, sequestering myself from all, and have mine eyes forbid the taste of sleep's delight. thou taught'st me what i cannot bear; afflicted sore am i; yea, thou hast wasted me away with rigour and despite. yet, i conjure thee, blame me not for passion and desire, me whom estrangement long hath brought to sick and sorry plight. sore, sore doth rigour me beset, its onslaughts bring me near unto the straitness of the grave, ere in the shroud i'm dight. so be thou kind to me, for love my body wasteth sore, the thrall of passion i'm become its fires consume me quite. mariyeh folded the letter and gave it to shefikeh, bidding her carry it to el abbas. so she took it and going with it to his door, would have entered; but the chamberlains and serving-men forbade her, till they had gotten her leave from the prince. when she went in to him, she found him sitting in the midst of the five damsels aforesaid, whom his father had brought him. so she gave him the letter and he took it and read it. then he bade one of the damsels, whose name was khefifeh and who came from the land of china, tune her lute and sing upon the subject of separation. so she came forward and tuning the lute, played thereon in four-and-twenty modes; after which she returned to the first mode and sang the following verses: upon the parting day our loves from us did fare and left us to endure estrangement and despair. whenas the burdens all were bounden on and shrill the camel-leader's call rang out across the air, fast flowed my tears; despair gat hold upon my soul and needs mine eyelids must the sweet of sleep forbear. i wept, but those who spied to part us had no ruth on me nor on the fires that in my vitals flare. woe's me for one who burns for love and longing pain! alas for the regrets my heart that rend and tear! to whom shall i complain of what is in my soul, now thou art gone and i my pillow must forswear? the flames of long desire wax on me day by day and far away are pitched the tent-poles of my fair. o breeze of heaven, from me a charge i prithee take and do not thou betray the troth of my despair; whenas thou passest by the dwellings of my love, greet him for me with peace, a greeting debonair, and scatter musk on him and ambergris, so long as time endures; for this is all my wish and care. when the damsel had made an end of her song, el abbas swooned away and they sprinkled on him rose-water, mingled with musk, till he came to himself, when he called another damsel (now there was on her of linen and clothes and ornaments that which beggareth description, and she was endowed with brightness and loveliness and symmetry and perfection, such as shamed the crescent moon, and she was a turkish girl from the land of the greeks and her name was hafizeh) and said to her, "o hafizeh, close thine eyes and tune thy lute and sing to us upon the days of separation." she answered him with "hearkening and obedience" and taking the lute, tuned its strings and cried out from her head,[fn# ] in a plaintive voice, and sang the following verses: o friends, the tears flow ever, in mockery of my pain; my heart is sick for sev'rance and love-longing in vain. all wasted is my body and bowels tortured sore; love's fire on me still waxeth, mine eyes with tears still rain. whenas the fire of passion flamed in my breast, with tears, upon the day of wailing, to quench it i was fain. desire hath left me wasted, afflicted, sore afraid, for the spy knows the secret whereof i do complain. when i recall the season of love-delight with them, the sweet of sleep forsakes me, my body wastes amain. those who our parting plotted our sev'rance still delights; the spies, for fearful prudence, their wish of us attain. i fear me for my body from sickness and unrest, lest of the fear of sev'rance it be betrayed and slain. when hafizeh had made an end of her song, el abbas said to her, "well done! indeed, thou quickenest hearts from sorrows." then he called another damsel of the daughters of the medes, by name merjaneh, and said to her, "o merjaneh, sing to me upon the days of separation." "hearkening and obedience," answered she and improvising, sang the following verses: "fair patience practise, for thereon still followeth content." so runs the rede 'mongst all that dwell in city or in tent. how oft of dole have i made moan for love and longing pain, what while my body for desire in mortal peril went! how oft i've waked, how many a cup of sorrow have i drained, watching the stars of night go by, for sleepless languishment! it had sufficed me, had thy grace with verses come to me; my expectation still on thee in the foredawns was bent. then was my heart by that which caused my agitation seared, and from mine eyelids still the tears poured down without relent. yea, nevermore i ceased from that wherewith i stricken was; my night with wakefulness was filled, my heart with dreariment. but now hath allah from my heart blotted the love of thee, after for constancy i'd grown a name of wonderment. hence on the morrow forth i fare and leave your land behind; so take your leave of us nor fear mishap or ill event. whenas in body ye from us are far removed, would god i knew who shall to us himself with news of you present! and who can tell if ever house shall us together bring in union of life serene and undisturbed content? when merjaneh had made an end of her song, the prince said to her, "well done, o damsel! indeed, thou sayest a thing that had occurred to my mind and my tongue was like to speak it." then he signed to the fourth damsel, who was a cairene, by name sitt el husn, and bade her tune her lute and sing to him upon the [same] subject. so she tuned her lute and sang the following verses: fair patience use, for ease still followeth after stress and all things have their time and ordinance no less. though fortune whiles to thee belike may be unjust, her seasons change and man's excused if he transgress. in her revolving scheme, to bitter sweetness still succeeds and things become straight, after crookedness. thine honour, therefore, guard and eke thy secret keep, nor save to one free-born and true thy case confess. the lord's alternatives are these, wherewith he's wont the needy wretch to ply and those in sore duresse. when el abbas heard her verses, they pleased him and he said to her, "well done, o sitt el husn! indeed, thou hast done away trouble from my heart and [banished] the things that had occurred to my mind." then he heaved a sigh and signing to the fifth damsel, who was from the land of the persians and whose name was merziyeh (now she was the fairest of them all and the sweetest of speech and she was like unto a splendid star, endowed with beauty and loveliness and brightness and perfection and justness of shape and symmetry and had a face like the new moon and eyes as they were gazelle's eyes) and said to her, "o merziyeh, come forward and tune thy lute and sing to us on the [same] subject, for indeed we are resolved upon departure to the land of yemen." now this damsel had met many kings and had consorted with the great; so she tuned her lute and sang the following verses: may the place of my session ne'er lack thee i oh, why, my heart's love, hast thou saddened my mind and mine eye?[fn# ] by thy ransom,[fn# ] who dwellest alone in my heart, in despair for the loss of the loved one am i. so, by allah, o richest of all men in charms, vouchsafe to a lover, who's bankrupt well-nigh of patience, thy whilom endearments again, that i never to any divulged, nor deny the approof of my lord, so my stress and unease i may ban and mine enemies' malice defy, thine approof which shall clothe me in noblest attire and my rank in the eyes of the people raise high. when she had made an end of her song, all who were in the assembly wept for the daintiness of her speech and the sweetness of her voice and el abbas said to her, "well done, o merziyeh i indeed, thou confoundest the wits with the goodliness of thy verses and the elegance of thy speech." all this while shefikeh abode gazing upon her, and when she beheld el abbas his slave-girls and considered the goodliness of their apparel and the nimbleness of their wits and the elegance of their speech, her reason was confounded. then she sought leave of el abbas and returning to her mistress mariyeh, without letter or answer, acquainted her with his case and that wherein he was of puissance and delight and majesty and venerance and loftiness of rank. moreover, she told her what she had seen of the slave-girls and their circumstance and that which they had said and how they had made el abbas desireful of returning to his own country by the recitation of verses to the sound of the strings. when the princess heard this her slave-girl's report, she wept and lamented and was like to depart the world. then she clave to her pillow and said, "o shefikeh, i will instruct thee of somewhat that is not hidden from god the most high, and it is that thou watch over me till god the most high decree the accomplishment of his commandment, and when my days are ended, take thou the necklace and the mantle that el abbas gave me and return them to him. indeed, i deem not he will live after me, and if god the most high decree against him and his days come to an end, do thou give one charge to shroud us and bury us both in one grave." then her case changed and her colour paled; and when shefikeh saw her mistress in this plight, she repaired to her mother and told her that the lady mariyeh refused meat and drink. "since when hath this befallen her?" asked the queen, and shefikeh answered, "since yesterday;" whereat the queen was confounded and betaking herself to her daughter, that she might enquire into her case, found her as one dead. so she sat down at her head and mariyeh opened her eyes and seeing her mother sitting by her, sat up for shamefastness before her. the queen questioned her of her case and she said, "i entered the bath and it stupefied me and weakened me and left an exceeding pain in my head; but i trust in god the most high that it will cease." when her mother went out from her, mariyeh fell to chiding the damsel for that which she had done and said to her, "verily, death were leifer to me than this; so look thou discover not my affair to any and i charge thee return not to the like of this fashion." then she swooned away and lay awhile without life, and when she came to herself, she saw shefikeh weeping over her; whereupon she took the necklace from her neck and the mantle from her body and said to the damsel, "lay them in a napkin of damask and carry them to el abbas and acquaint him with that wherein i am for the persistence of estrangement and the effects of forbiddance." so shefikeh took them and carried them to el abbas, whom she found in act to depart, for that he was about to take horse for yemen. she went in to him and gave him the napkin and that which was therein, and when he opened it and saw what it contained, to wit, the mantle and the necklace, his vexation was excessive and his eyes were distorted, [so that the whites thereof appeared] and his rage was manifest in them. when shefikeh saw that which betided him, she came forward and said to him, "o bountiful lord, indeed my mistress returneth not the mantle and the necklace despitefully; but she is about to depart the world and thou hast the best right to them." "and what is the cause of this?" asked he. quoth shefikeh, "thou knowest. by allah, never among the arabs nor the barbarians nor among the sons of the kings saw i a harder of heart than thou! is it a light matter to thee that thou troublest mariyeh's life and causest her mourn for herself and depart the world on account of[fn# ] thy youth? indeed, thou wast the cause of her acquaintance with thee and now she departeth the world on thine account, she whose like god the most high hath not created among the daughters of the kings." when el abbas heard these words from the damsel, his heart irked him for mariyeh and her case was grievous to him; so he said to shefikeh, "canst thou avail to bring me in company with her, so haply i may discover her affair and allay that which aileth her?" "yes," answered the damsel, "i can do that, and thine will be the bounty and the favour." so he arose and followed her, and she forewent him, till they came to the palace. then she [opened and] locked behind them four-and-twenty doors and made them fast with bolts; and when he came to mariyeh, he found her as she were the setting sun, cast down upon a rug of taifi leather,[fn# ] among cushions stuffed with ostrich down, and not a limb of her quivered. when her maid saw her in this plight, she offered to cry out; but el abbas said to her, "do it not, but have patience till we discover her affair; and if god the most high have decreed the ending of her days, wait till thou have opened the doors to me and i have gone forth. then do what seemeth good to thee." so saying, he went up to the princess and laying his hand upon her heart, found it fluttering like a doveling and the life yet clinging to[fn# ] her bosom. so he laid his hand upon her cheek, whereupon she opened her eyes and beckoning to her maid, signed to her, as who should say, "who is this that treadeth my carpet and transgresseth against me?"[fn# ] "o my lady," answered shefikeh, "this is prince el abbas, for whose sake thou departest the world." when mariyeh heard speak of el abbas, she raised her hand from under the coverlet and laying it upon his neck, inhaled his odour awhile. then she sat up and her colour returned to her and they sat talking till a third part of the night was past. presently, the princess turned to her maid and bade her fetch them somewhat of food and sweetmeats and dessert and fruits. so shefikeh brought what she desired and they ate and drank [and abode on this wise] without lewdness, till the night departed and the day came. then said el abbas, "indeed, the day is come. shall i go to my father and bid him go to thy father and seek thee of him in marriage for me, in accordance with the book of god the most high and the institutes of his apostle (whom may he bless and keep!) so we may not enter into transgression?" and mariyeh answered, saying, "by allah, it is well counselled of thee!" so he went away to his lodging and nought befell between them; and when the day lightened, she improvised and recited the following verses: o friends, the east wind waxes, the morning draweth near; a plaintive voice[fn# ] bespeaks me and i rejoice to hear. up, to our comrade's convent, that we may visit him and drink of wine more subtle than dust;[fn# ] our trusty fere hath spent thereon his substance, withouten stint; indeed, in his own cloak he wrapped it, he tendered it so dear.[fn# ] whenas its jar was opened, the singers prostrate fell in worship of its brightness, it shone so wonder-clear. the priests from all the convent came flocking onto it: with cries of joy and welcome their voices they did rear. we spent the night in passing the cup, my mates and i, till in the eastward heaven the day-star did appear. no sin is there in drinking of wine, for it affords all that's foretold[fn# ] of union and love and happy cheer. o morn, our loves that sunder'st, a sweet and easeful life thou dost for me prohibit, with thy regard austere. be gracious, so our gladness may be fulfilled with wine and we of our beloved have easance, without fear. the best of all religions your love is, for in you are love and life made easeful, untroubled and sincere. meanwhile, el abbas betook himself to his father's camp, which was pitched in the green meadow, by the side of the tigris, and none might make his way between the tents, for the much interlacement of the tent-ropes. when the prince reached the first of the tents, the guards and servants came out to meet him from all sides and escorted him till he drew near the sitting-place of his father, who knew of his coming. so he issued forth of his pavilion and coming to meet his son, kissed him and made much of him. then they returned together to the royal pavilion and when they had seated themselves and the guards had taken up their station in attendance on them, the king said to el abbas, "o my son, make ready thine affair, so we may go to our own land, for that the folk in our absence are become as they were sheep without a shepherd." el abbas looked at his father and wept till he swooned away, and when he recovered from his swoon, he improvised and recited the following verses: i clipped her[fn# ] in mine arms and straight grew drunken with the scent of a fresh branch that had been reared in affluence and content. 'twas not of wine that i had drunk; her mouth's sweet honeyed dews it was intoxicated me with bliss and ravishment. upon the table of her cheek beauty hath writ, "alack, her charms! 'twere well thou refuge sought'st with god incontinent."[fn# ] since thou hast looked on her, mine eye, be easy, for by god nor mote nor ailment needst thou fear nor evil accident. beauty her appanage is grown in its entirety, and for this cause all hearts must bow to her arbitrament. if with her cheek and lustre thou thyself adorn,[fn# ] thou'lt find but chrysolites and gold, with nought of baser metal blent. when love-longing for her sweet sake i took upon myself, the railers flocked to me anon, on blame and chiding bent; but on no wise was i affrayed nor turned from love of her; so let the railer rave of her henceforth his heart's content. by god, forgetfulness of her shall never cross my mind, what while i wear the bonds of life nor when of death they're rent an if i live, in love of her i'll live, and if i die of love and longing for her sight, o rare! o excellent! when el abbas had made an end of his verses, his father said to him, "i seek refuge for thee with god, o my son! hast thou any want unto which thou availest not, so i may endeavour for thee therein and lavish my treasures in quest thereof?" "o father mine," answered el abbas, "i have, indeed, an urgent want, on account whereof i came forth of my native land and left my people and my home and exposed myself to perils and stresses and became an exile from my country, and i trust in god that it may be accomplished by thine august endeavour." "and what is thy want?" asked the king. quoth el abbas, "i would have thee go and demand me in marriage mariyeh, daughter of the king of baghdad, for that my heart is distraught with love of her." and he recounted to his father his story from first to last. when the king heard this from his son, he rose to his feet and calling for his charger of state, took horse with four-and-twenty amirs of the chief officers of his empire. then he betook himself to the palace of the king of baghdad, who, when he saw him coming, bade his chamberlains open the doors to him and going down himself to meet him, received him with all worship and hospitality and entreated him with the utmost honour. moreover, he carried him [and his suite] into the palace and causing make ready for them carpets and cushions, sat down upon a chair of gold, with traverses of juniper- wood, set with pearls and jewels. then he bade bring sweetmeats and confections and odoriferous flowers and commanded to slaughter four-and-twenty head of sheep and the like of oxen and make ready geese and fowls, stuffed and roasted, and pigeons and spread the tables; nor was it long before the meats were set on in dishes of gold and silver. so they ate till they had enough and when they had eaten their fill, the tables were removed and the wine-service set on and the cups and flagons ranged in order, whilst the mamelukes and the fair slave- girls sat down, with girdles of gold about their middles, inlaid with all manner pearls and diamonds and emeralds and rubies and other jewels. moreover, the king bade fetch the musicians; so there presented themselves before him a score of damsels, with lutes and psalteries and rebecks, and smote upon instruments of music, on such wise that they moved the assembly to delight. then said el aziz to the king of baghdad, "i would fain speak a word to thee; but do thou not exclude from us those who are present. if thou consent unto my wish, that which is ours shall be thine and that which is incumbent on thee shall be incumbent on us,[fn# ] and we will be to thee a mighty aid against all enemies and opposites." quoth ins ben cais, "say what thou wilt, o king, for indeed thou excellest in speech and attainest [the mark] in that which them sayest" so el aziz said to him," i desire that thou give thy daughter mariyeh in marriage to my son el abbas, for thou knowest that wherewithal he is gifted of beauty and loveliness and brightness and perfection and how he beareth himself in the frequentation of the valiant and his constancy in the stead of smiting and thrusting." "by allah, o king," answered ins ben cais, "of my love for mariyeh, i have appointed her disposal to be in her own hand; wherefore, whomsoever she chooseth of the folk, i will marry her to him." then he arose and going in to his daughter, found her mother with her; so he set out to them the case and mariyeh said, "o father mine, my wish is subject unto[fn# ] thy commandment and my will ensueth thy will; so whatsoever thou choosest, i am still obedient unto thee and under thy dominion." therewithal the king knew that mariyeh inclined unto el abbas; so he returned forthright to king el aziz and said to him, "may god amend the king! verily, the occasion is accomplished and there is no opposition unto that which thou commandest" quoth el aziz, "by god's leave are occasions accomplished. how deemest thou, o king, of fetching el abbas and drawing up the contract of marriage between mariyeh and him?" and ins ben cais answered, saying, "thine be it to decide." so el aziz sent after his son and acquainted him with that which had passed; whereupon el abbas called for four-and-twenty males and half a score horses [and as many camels] and loaded the mules with pieces of silk and rags of leather and boxes of camphor and musk and the camels [and horses] with chests of gold and silver. moreover, he took the richest of the stuffs and wrapping them in pieces of gold-striped silk, laid them on the heads of porters, and they fared on with the treasures till they reached the king of baghdad's palace, whereupon all who were present dismounted in honour of el abbas and escorting him to the presence of king ins ben cais, displayed unto the latter all that they had with them of things of price. the king bade carry all this into the harem and sent for the cadis and the witnesses, who drew up the contract and married mariyeh to prince el abbas, whereupon the latter commanded to [slaughter] a thousand head of sheep and five hundred buffaloes. so they made the bride-feast and bade thereto all the tribes of the arabs, bedouins and townsfolk, and the tables abode spread for the space of ten days. then el abbas went in to mariyeh in a happy and praiseworthy hour[fn# ] and found her an unpierced pearl and a goodly filly that had never been mounted; wherefore he rejoiced and was glad and made merry, and care and sorrow ceased from him and his life was pleasant and trouble departed and he abode with her in the gladsomest of case and in the most easeful of life, till seven days were past, when king el aziz determined to set out and return to his kingdom and bade his son seek leave of his father-in-law to depart with his wife to his own country. [so el abbas bespoke king ins of this] and he granted him the leave he sought; whereupon he chose out a red camel, taller[fn# ] than the [other] camels, and mounting mariyeh in a litter thereon, loaded it with apparel and ornaments. then they spread the ensigns and the standards, whilst the drums beat and the trumpets sounded, and set out upon the homeward journey. the king of baghdad rode forth with them and brought them three days' journey on their way, after which he took leave of them and returned with his troops to baghdad. as for king el aziz and his son, they fared on night and day and gave not over going till there abode but three days' journey between them and yemen, when they despatched three men of the couriers to the prince's mother [to acquaint her with their return], safe and laden with spoil, bringing with them mariyeh, the king's daughter of baghdad. when the queen-mother heard this, her wit fled for joy and she adorned el abbas his slave-girls after the goodliest fashion. now he had ten slave-girls, as they were moons, whereof his father had carried five with him to baghdad, as hath aforetime been set out, and other five abode with his mother. when the dromedary-posts[fn# ] came, they were certified of the approach of el abbas, and when the sun rose and their standards appeared, the prince's mother came out to meet her son; nor was there great or small, old man or infant, but went forth that day to meet the king. the drums of glad tidings beat and they entered in the utmost of worship and magnificence. moreover, the tribes heard of them and the people of the towns and brought them the richest of presents and the costliest of rarities and the prince's mother rejoiced with an exceeding joy. then they slaughtered beasts and made mighty bride-feasts to the people and kindled fires, that it might be visible afar to townsman [and bedouin] that this was the house of the guest-meal and the wedding, festival, to the intent that, if any passed them by, [without partaking of their hospitality], it should be of his own fault[fn# ] so the folk came to them from all parts and quarters and on this wise they abode days and months. then the prince's mother bade fetch the five slave-girls to that assembly; whereupon they came and the ten damsels foregathered. the queen seated five of them on her son's right hand and other five on his left and the folk assembled about them. then she bade the five who had remained with her speak forth somewhat of verse, so they might entertain therewith the assembly and that el abbas might rejoice therein. now she had clad them in the richest of raiment and adorned them with trinkets and ornaments and wroughten work of gold and silver and collars of gold, set with pearls and jewels. so they came forward, with harps and lutes and psalteries and recorders and other instruments of music before them, and one of them, a damsel who came from the land of china and whose name was baoutheh, advanced and tightened the strings of her lute. then she cried out from the top of her head[fn# ] and improvising, sang the following verses: unto its pristine lustre your land returned and more, whenas ye came, dispelling the gloom that whiles it wore. our stead, that late was desert, grew green and eke our trees, that barren were, grew loaded with ripened fruits galore. yea, to the earth that languished for lack of rain, the clouds were bounteous; so it flourished and plenteous harvests bore; and troubles, too, forsook us, who tears like dragons' blood, o lordings, for your absence had wept at every pore. indeed, your long estrangement hath caused my bowels yearn. would god i were a servant in waiting at your door! when she had made an end of her song, all who were present were moved to delight and el abbas rejoiced in this. then he bade the second damsel sing somewhat on the like subject. so she came forward and tuning the strings of her harp, which was of balass ruby,[fn# ] warbled a plaintive air and improvising, sang the following verses; the absent ones' harbinger came us unto with tidings of those who[fn# ] had caused us to rue. "my soul be thy ransom,"quoth i,"for thy grace! indeed, to the oath that thou swor'st thou wast true." on the dear nights of union, in you was our joy, but afflicted were we since ye bade us adieu. you swore you'd be faithful to us and our love, and true to your oath and your troth-plight were you; and i to you swore that a lover i was; god forbid that with treason mine oath i ensue! yea, "welcome! fair welcome to those who draw near!" i called out aloud, as to meet you i flew. the dwellings, indeed, one and all, i adorned, bewildered and dazed with delight at your view; for death in your absence to us was decreed; but, when ye came back, we were quickened anew. when she had made an end of her verses, el abbas bade the third damsel, who came from samarcand of the persians and whose name was rummaneh, sing, and she answered with "hearkening and obedience." then she took the psaltery and crying out from the midst of her bead[fn# ] improvised and sang the following verses: my watering lips, that cull the rose of thy soft cheek, declare my basil,[fn# ] lily mine, to be the myrtles of thy hair. sandhill[fn# ] and down[fn# ] betwixt there blooms a yellow willow-flower,[fn# ] pomegranate-blossoms[fn# ] and for fruits pomegranates[fn# ] that doth bear. his eyelids' sorcery from mine eyes hath banished sleep; since he from me departed, nought see i except a drowsy fair.[fn# ] he shot me with the shafts of looks launched from an eyebrow's[fn# ] bow; a chamberlain[fn# ] betwixt his eyes hath driven me to despair. my heart belike shall his infect with softness, even as me his body with disease infects, of its seductive air. yet, if with him forgotten be the troth-plight of our loves, i have a king who of his grace will not forget me e'er. his sides the tamarisk's slenderness deride, so lithe they are, whence for conceit in his own charms still drunken doth he fare. whenas he runs, his feet still show like wings,[fn# ] and for the wind when was a rider found, except king solomon it were?[fn# ] therewithal el abbas smiled and her verses pleased him. then he bade the fourth damsel come forward and sing. now she was from the land of morocco and her name was belekhsha. so she came forward and taking the lute and the psaltery, tightened the strings thereof and smote thereon in many modes; then returned to the first mode and improvising, sang the following verses: when in the sitting-chamber we for merry-making sate, with thine eyes' radiance the place thou didst illuminate and pliedst us with cups of wine, whilst from the necklace pearls[fn# ] a strange intoxicating bliss withal did circulate, whose subtleness might well infect the understanding folk; and secrets didst thou, in thy cheer, to us communicate. whenas we saw the cup, forthright we signed to past it round and sun and moon unto our eyes shone sparkling from it straight. the curtain of delight, perforce, we've lifted through the friend,[fn# ] for tidings of great joy, indeed, there came to us of late. the camel-leader singing came with the belov'd; our wish accomplished was and we were quit of all the railers' prate. when clear'd my sky was by the sweet of our foregathering and not a helper there remained to disuniting fate, i shut myself up with my love; no spy betwixt us was; we feared no enemies' despite, no envious neighbour's hate. life with our loves was grown serene, estrangement was at end: our dear ones all delight of love vouchsafed to us elate, saying, "thy fill of union take; no spy is there on us, whom we should fear, nor yet reproach our gladness may abate." our loves are joined and cruelty at last is done away; ay, and the cup of love-delight 'twixt us doth circulate. upon yon be the peace of god! may all prosperity, for what's decreed of years and lives, upon you ever wait! when belekhsha had made an end of her verses, all present were moved to delight and el abbas said to her, "well done, o damsel!" then he bade the fifth damsel come forward and sing. now she was from the land of syria and her name was rihaneh; she was surpassing of voice and when she appeared in an assembly, all eyes were fixed upon her. so she came forward and taking the rebeck (for that she was used to play upon [all manner] instruments) improvised and sang the following verses: your coming to-me-ward, indeed, with "welcome! fair welcome!" i hail. your sight to me gladness doth bring and banisheth sorrow and bale; for love with your presence grows sweet, untroubled and life is serene and the star of our fortune burns bright, that clouds in your absence did veil. yea, by allah, my longing for you ne'er waneth nor passetb away; for your like among creatures is rare and sought for in mountain and vale. ask mine eyes whether slumber hath lit on their lids since the hour of your loss or if aye on a lover they've looked. nay, an ye believe not their tale, my heart, since the leave-taking day afflicted, will tell of my case, and my body, for love and desire grown wasted and feeble and frail. could they who reproach me but see my sufferings, their hearts would relent; they'd marvel, indeed, at my case and the loss of my loved ones bewail. yea, they'd join me in pouring forth tears and help me my woes to lament, and like unto me they'd become all wasted and tortured and pale. how long did the heart for thy love that languished with longing endure a burden of passion, 'neath which e'en mountains might totter and fail! by allah, what sorrows and woes to my soul for thy sake were decreed! my heart is grown hoar, ere eld's snows have left on my tresses their trail. the fires in my vitals that rage if i did but discover to view, their ardour the world to consume, from the east to the west, might avail. but now unto me of my loves accomplished are joyance and cheer and those whom i cherish my soul with the wine of contentment regale. our lord, after sev'rance, with them hath conjoined us, for he who doth good shall ne'er disappointed abide and kindnesses kindness entail. when king el aziz heard the damsel's song, her speech and her verses pleased him and he said to el abbas, "o my son, verily, these damsels are weary with long versifying, and indeed they make us yearn after the dwellings and the homesteads with the goodliness of their songs. indeed, these five have adorned our assembly with the excellence of their melodies and have done well in that which they have said before those who are present; wherefore we counsel thee to enfranchise them for the love of god the most high." quoth el abbas, "there is no commandment but thy commandment;" and he enfranchised the ten damsels in the assembly; whereupon they kissed the hands of the king and his son and prostrated themselves in thanksgiving to god the most high. then they put off that which was upon them of ornaments and laying aside the lutes [and other] instruments of music, clave to their houses, veiled, and went not forth.[fn# ] as for king el aziz, he lived after this seven years and was admitted to the mercy of god the most high; whereupon his son el abbas carried him forth to burial on such wise as beseemeth unto kings and let make recitations and readings of the koran, in whole or in part, over his tomb. he kept up the mourning for his father a full-told month, at the end of which time he sat down on the throne of the kingship and judged and did justice and distributed silver and gold. moreover, he loosed all who were in the prisons and abolished grievances and customs dues and did the oppressed justice of the oppressor; wherefore the people prayed for him and loved him and invoked on him endurance of glory and kingship and length of continuance [on life] and eternity of prosperity and happiness. moreover, the troops submitted to him and the hosts from all parts of the kingdom, and there came to him presents from all the lands. the kings obeyed him and many were his troops and his grandees, and his subjects lived with him the most easeful and prosperous of lives. meanwhile, he ceased not, he and his beloved, queen mariyeh, in the most delightsome of life and the pleasantest thereof, and he was vouchsafed by her children; and indeed there befell friendship and love between them and the longer their companionship was prolonged, the more their love waxed, so that they became unable to endure from each other a single hour, save the time of his going forth to the divan, when he would return to her in the utterest that might be of longing. aud on this wise they abode in all solace and delight of life, till there came to them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of companies. so extolled be the perfection of him whose kingdom endureth for ever, who is never heedless neither dieth nor sleepeth! this is all that hath come down to us of their story, and so peace [be on you!] shehrzad and shehriyar.[fn# ] king shehriyar marvelled [at this story[fn# ]] and said "by allah, verily, injustice slayeth its folk!"[fn# ] and he was edified by that wherewith shehrzad bespoke him and sought help of god the most high. then said he to her, "tell me another of thy stories, o shehrzad; let it be a pleasant one and this shall be the completion of the story-telling." "with all my heart," answered shehrzad. "it hath reached me, o august king, that a man once said to his fellows, 'i will set forth to you a means[fn# ] of security[fn# ] against vexation.[fn# ] a friend of mine once related to me and said, "we attained [whiles] to security[fn# ] against vexation,[fn# ]and the origin of it was other than this; to wit, it was as follows.[fn# ] the two kings and the vizier's daughters.[fn# ] [aforetime] i journeyed in [many] lands and climes and towns and visited the great cities and traversed the ways and [exposed myself to] dangers and hardships. towards the last of my life, i entered a city [of the cities of china],[fn# ] wherein was a king of the chosroes and the tubbas[fn# ] and the caesars.[fn# ] now that city had been peopled with its inhabitants by means of justice and equitable dealing; but its [then] king was a tyrant, who despoiled souls and [did away] lives; there was no wanning oneself at his fire,[fn# ] for that indeed he oppressed the true believers and wasted the lands. now he had a younger brother, who was [king] in samarcand of the persians, and the two kings abode a while of time, each in his own city and place, till they yearned unto each other and the elder king despatched his vizier in quest of his younger brother. when the vizier came to the king of samarcand [and acquainted him with his errand], he submitted himself to the commandment [of his brother and made answer] with 'hearkening and obedience.' then he equipped himself and made ready for the journey and brought forth his tents and pavilions. a while after midnight, he went in to his wife, that he might take leave of her, and found with her a strange man, sleeping with her in one bed. so he slew them both and dragging them out by the feet, cast them away and set forth incontinent on his journey. when he came to his brother's court, the latter rejoiced in him with an exceeding joy and lodged him in the pavilion of entertainment, [to wit, the guest-house,] beside his own palace. now this pavilion overlooked a garden belonging to the elder king and there the younger brother abode with him some days. then he called to mind that which his wife had done with him and remembered him of her slaughter and bethought him how he was a king, yet was not exempt from the vicissitudes of fortune; and this wrought upon him with an exceeding despite, so that it caused him abstain from meat and drink, or, if he ate anything, it profited him not. when his brother saw him on this wise, he doubted not but that this had betided him by reason of severance from his people and family and said to him, 'come, let us go forth a-hunting.' but he refused to go with him; so the elder brother went forth to the chase, whilst the younger abode in the pavilion aforesaid. as he was diverting himself by looking out upon the garden from the window of the palace, behold, he saw his brother's wife and with her ten black slaves and as many slave-girls. each slave laid hold of a damsel [and swived her] and another slave [came forth and] did the like with the queen; and when they had done their occasions, they all returned whence they came. therewithal there betided the king of samarcand exceeding wonder and solacement and he was made whole of his malady, little by little. after a few days, his brother returned and finding him healed of his sickness, said to him, 'tell me, o my brother, what was the cause of thy sickness and thy pallor, and what is the cause of the return of health to thee and of rosiness to thy face after this?' so he acquainted him with the whole case and this was grievous to him; but they concealed their affair and agreed to leave the kingship and fare forth pilgrim-wise, wandering at a venture, for they deemed that there had befallen none the like of this which had befallen them. [so they went forth and wandered on at hazard] and as they journeyed, they saw by the way a woman imprisoned in seven chests, whereon were five locks, and sunken in the midst of the salt sea, under the guardianship of an afrit; yet for all this that woman issued forth of the sea and opened those locks and coming forth of those chests, did what she would with the two brothers, after she had circumvented the afrit. when the two kings saw that woman's fashion and how she circumvented the afrit, who had lodged her at the bottom of the sea, they turned back to their kingdoms and the younger betook himself to samarcand, whilst the elder returned to china and established unto himself a custom in the slaughter of women, to wit, his vizier used to bring him a girl every night, with whom he lay that night, and when he arose in the morning, he gave her to the vizier and bade him put her to death. on this wise he abode a great while, whilst the people murmured and the creatures [of god] were destroyed and the commons cried out by reason of that grievous affair whereinto they were fallen and feared the wrath of god the most high, dreading lest he should destroy them by means of this. still the king persisted in that fashion and in that his blameworthy intent of the killing of women and the despoilment of the curtained ones,[fn# ] wherefore the girls sought succour of god the most high and complained to him of the tyranny of the king and of his oppressive dealing with them. now the king's vizier had two daughters, own sisters, the elder of whom had read books and made herself mistress of [all] sciences and studied the writings of the sages and the histories of the boon-companions,[fn# ] and she was possessed of abundant wit and knowledge galore and surpassing apprehension. she heard that which the folk suffered from the king and his despiteous usage of their children; whereupon compassion gat hold upon her for them and jealousy and she besought god the most high that he would bring the king to renounce that his heresy,[fn# ] and god answered her prayer. then she took counsel with her younger sister and said to her, 'i mean to contrive somewhat for the liberation of the people's children; and it is that i will go up to the king [and offer myself to him], and when i come to his presence, i will seek thee. when thou comest in to me and the king hath done his occasion [of me], do thou say to me, 'o my sister, let me hear and let the king hear a story of thy goodly stories, wherewithal we may beguile the waking hours of our night, till we take leave of each other.' 'it is well,' answered the other. 'surely this contrivance will deter the king from his heresy and thou shalt be requited with exceeding favour and abounding recompense in the world to come, for that indeed thou adventurest thyself and wilt either perish or attain to thy desire.' so she did this and fair fortune aided her and the divine favour was vouchsafed unto her and she discovered her intent to her father, who forbade her therefrom, fearing her slaughter. however, she repeated her speech to him a second and a third time, but he consented not. then he cited unto her a parable, that should deter her, and she cited him a parable in answer to his, and the talk was prolonged between them and the adducing of instances, till her father saw that he availed not to turn her from her purpose and she said to him, 'needs must i marry the king, so haply i may be a sacrifice for the children of the muslims; either i shall turn him from this his heresy or i shall die.' when the vizier despaired of dissuading her, he went up to the king and acquainted him with the case, saying, 'i have a daughter and she desireth to give herself to the king.' quoth the king, 'how can thy soul consent unto this, seeing that thou knowest i lie but one night with a girl and when i arise on the morrow, i put her to death, and it is thou who slayest her, and thou hast done this again and again?' 'know, o king,' answered the vizier, 'that i have set forth all this to her, yet consented she not unto aught, but needs must she have thy company and still chooseth to come to thee and present herself before thee, notwithstanding that i have cited to her the sayings of the sages; but she hath answered me to the contrary thereof with more than that which i said to her.' and the king said, 'bring her to me this night and to-morrow morning come thou and take her and put her to death; and by allah, an thou slay her not, i will slay thee and her also!' the vizier obeyed the king's commandment and going out from before him, [returned to his own house. when it was night, he took his elder daughter and carried her up to the king; and when she came into his presence,] she wept; whereupon quoth he to her, 'what causeth thee weep? indeed, it was thou who willedst this.' and she answered, saying, 'i weep not but for longing after my little sister; for that, since we grew up, i and she, i have never been parted from her till this day; so, if it please the king to send for her, that i may look on her and take my fill of her till the morning, this were bounty and kindness of the king.' accordingly, the king bade fetch the girl [and she came]. then there befell that which befell of his foregathering with the elder sister, and when he went up to his couch, that he might sleep, the younger sister said to the elder, 'i conjure thee by allah, o my sister, an thou be not asleep, tell us a story of thy goodly stories, wherewithal we may beguile the watches of our night, against morning come and parting.' 'with all my heart,' answered she and fell to relating to her, whilst the king listened. her story was goodly and delightful, and whilst she was in the midst of telling it, the dawn broke. now the king's heart clave to the hearing of the rest of the story; so he respited her till the morrow, and when it was the next night, she told him a story concerning the marvels of the lands and the extraordinary chances of the folk, that was yet stranger and rarer than the first. in the midst of the story, the day appeared and she was silent from the permitted speech. so he let her live till the ensuing night, so he might hear the completion of the story and after put her to death. meanwhile, the people of the city rejoiced and were glad and blessed the vizier's daughter, marvelling for that three days had passed and that the king had not put her to death and exulting in that, [as they deemed,] he had turned [from his purpose] and would never again burden himself with blood-guiltiness against any of the maidens of the city. then, on the fourth night, she related to him a still more extraordinary story, and on the fifth night she told him anecdotes of kings and viziers and notables. on this wise she ceased not [to do] with him [many] days and nights, what while the king still said in himself, 'when i have heard the end of the story, i will put her to death,' and the people waxed ever in wonder and admiration. moreover, the folk of the provinces and cities heard of this thing, to wit, that the king had turned from his custom and from that which he had imposed upon himself and had renounced his heresy, wherefore they rejoiced and the folk returned to the capital and took up their abode therein, after they had departed thence; yea, they were constant in prayer to god the most high that he would stablish the king in that his present case; and this," said shehrzad, "is the end of that which my friend related to me." "o shehrzad," quoth shehriyar, "finish unto us the story that thy friend told thee, for that it resembleth the story of a king whom i knew; but fain would i hear that which betided the people of this city and what they said of the affair of the king, so i may return from that wherein i was." "with all my heart," answered shehrzad. "know, o august king and lord of just judgment and praiseworthy excellence and exceeding prowess, that, when the folk heard that the king had put away from him his custom and returned from that which had been his wont, they rejoiced in this with an exceeding joy and offered up prayers for him. then they talked with one another of the cause of the slaughter of the girls, and the wise said, 'they[fn# ] are not all alike, nor are the fingers of the hand alike.'" shehrzad and shehriyar.[fn# ] (conclusion) when king shehriyar heard this story, he came to himself and awaking from his drunkenness,[fn# ] said, "by allah, this story is my story and this case is my case, for that indeed i was in wrath[fn# ] and [danger of] punishment till thou turnedst me back from this into the right way, extolled be the perfection of the causer of causes and the liberator of necks! indeed, o shehrzad," continued he, "thou hast awakened me unto many things and hast aroused me from mine ignorance." then said she to him, "o chief of the kings, the wise say, 'the kingship is a building, whereof the troops are the foundation,' and whenas the foundation is strong, the building endureth; wherefore it behoveth the king to strengthen the foundation, for that they say, 'whenas the foundation is weak, the building falleth.' on like wise it behoveth the king to care for his troops and do justice among his subjects, even as the owner of the garden careth for his trees and cutteth away the weeds that have no profit in them; and so it behoveth the king to look into the affairs of his subjects and fend off oppression from them. as for thee, o king," continued shehrzad, "it behoveth thee that thy vizier be virtuous and versed in the knowledge of the affairs of the folk and the common people; and indeed god the most high hath named his name[fn# ] in the history of moses (on whom be peace!) whenas he saith, [quoth moses] 'and make me a vizier of my people, aaron [my brother].[fn# ] could a vizier have been dispensed withal, moses ben imran had been worthier [than any of this dispensation].[fn# ] as for the vizier, the sultan discovereth unto him his affairs, private and public; and know, o king, that the similitude of thee with the people is that of the physician with the sick man; and the condition[fn# ] of the vizier is that he be truthful in his sayings, trustworthy in all his relations, abounding in compassion for the folk and in tender solicitude over them. indeed, it is said, o king, that good troops[fn# ] are like the druggist; if his perfumes reach thee not, thou still smallest the sweet scent of them; and ill troops are like the black-smith; if his sparks burn thee not, thou smellest his nauseous smell. so it behoveth thee take unto thyself a virtuous vizier, a man of good counsel, even as thou takest unto thee a wife displayed before thy face, for that thou hast need of the man's righteousness for thine own amendment,[fn# ] seeing that, if thou do righteously, the commons will do likewise, and if thou do evil, they also will do evil." when the king heard this, drowsiness overcame him and he slept and presently awaking, called for the candles. so they were lighted and he sat down on his couch and seating shehrzad by him, smiled in her face. she kissed the earth before him and said, "o king of the age and lord of the time and the day, extolled be the perfection of [god] the forgiving one, the bountiful giver, who hath sent me unto thee, of his favour and beneficence, so i have informed thee with longing after paradise; for that this which thou wast used to do was never done of any of the kings before thee. as for women, god the most high [in his holy book] maketh mention of them, [whenas he saith, 'verily, men who submit [themselves unto god] and women who submit] and true-believing men and true-believing women and obedient men and obedient women and soothfast men and soothfast women [and long-suffering men and long-suffering women and men who order themselves humbly and women who order themselves humbly and charitable men and charitable women and men who fast and women who fast] and men who guard their privities and women who guard their privities [and men who are constantly mindful of god and women who are constantly mindful, god hath prepared unto them forgiveness and a mighty recompense].[fn# ] as for that which hath befallen thee, verily, it hath befallen [many] kings before thee and their women have played them false, for all they were greater of puissance than thou, yea, and mightier of kingship and more abounding in troops. if i would, i could relate unto thee, o king, concerning the wiles of women, that whereof i could not make an end all my life long; and indeed, aforetime, in all these my nights that i have passed before thee, i have told thee [many stories and anecdotes] of the artifices of women and of their craft and perfidy; but indeed the things abound on me;[fn# ] wherefore, if it like thee, o king, i will relate unto thee [somewhat] of that which befell kings of old time of the perfidy of their women and of the calamities which overtook them by reason of these latter." "how so?" asked the king. "tell on." "hearkening and obedience,"answered shehrzad."it hath been told me, o king, that a man once related to a company and spoke as follows: the favourite and her lover.[fn# ] one day, a day of excessive heat, as i stood at the door of my house, i saw a fair woman approaching, and with her a slave-girl carrying a parcel. they gave not over going till they came up to me, when the woman stopped and said to me, 'hast thou a draught of water?' 'yes,' answered i. 'enter the vestibule, o my lady, so thou mayst drink.' accordingly, she entered and i went up into the house and fetched two mugs of earthenware, perfumed with musk[fn# ] and full of cold water. she took one of them and discovered her face, [that she might drink]; whereupon i saw that she was as the shining sun or the rising moon and said to her, 'o my lady, wilt thou not come up into the house, so thou mayst rest thyself till the air grow cool and after go away to thine own place?' quoth she, 'is there none with thee?' 'indeed,' answered i, 'i am a [stranger] and a bachelor and have none belonging to me, nor is there a living soul in the house.' and she said, 'an thou be a stranger, thou art he in quest of whom i was going about.' then she went up into the house and put off her [walking] clothes and i found her as she were the full moon. i brought her what i had by me of meat and drink and said to her, 'o my lady, excuse me: this is that which is ready.' quoth she, 'this is abundant kindness and indeed it is what i sought' and she ate and gave the slave-girl that which was left; after which i brought her a casting-bottle of rose-water, mingled with musk, and she washed her hands and abode with me till the season of afternoon-prayer, when she brought out of the parcel that she had with her a shirt and trousers and an upper garment[fn# ] and a kerchief wroughten with gold and gave them to me; saying, 'know that i am one of the favourites of the khalif, and we are forty favourites, each one of whom hath a lover who cometh to her as often as she would have him; and none is without a lover save myself, wherefore i came forth to-day to find me a gallant and behold, i have found thee. thou must know that the khalif lieth each night with one of us, whilst the other nine-and-thirty favourites take their ease with the nine-and-thirty men, and i would have thee be with me on such a day, when do thou come up to the palace of the khalif and wait for me in such a place, till a little eunuch come out to thee and say to thee a [certain] word, to wit, "art thou sendel?" and do thou answer, "yes," and go with him.' then she took leave of me and i of her, after i had strained her to my bosom and embraced her and we had kissed awhile. so she went away and i abode expecting the appointed day, till it came, when i arose and went forth, intending for the trysting-place; but a friend of mine met me by the way [and would have me go home with him. so i accompanied him to his house] and when i came up [into his sitting-chamber] he locked the door on me and went forth to fetch what we might eat and drink. he was absent till mid-day, then till the hour of afternoon-prayer, whereat i was sore disquieted. then he was absent till sundown, and i was like to die of chagrin and impatience; [and indeed he returned not] and i passed my night on wake, nigh upon death, for that the door was locked on me, and my soul was like to depart my body on account of the tryst. at daybreak, my friend returned and opening the door, came in, bringing with him meat-pottage[fn# ] and fritters and bees' honey,[fn# ] and said to me, 'by allah, thou must needs excuse me, for that i was with a company and they locked the door on me and have but now let me go.' but i returned him no answer. then he set before me that which was with him and i ate a single mouthful and went out, running, so haply i might overtake that which had escaped me.[fn# ] when i came to the palace, i saw over against it eight-and-thirty gibbets set up, whereon were eight-and-thirty men crucified, and under them eight-and-thirty concubines as they were moons. so i enquired of the reason of the crucifixion of the men and concerning the women in question, and it was said unto me, 'the men [whom thou seest] crucified the khalif found with yonder damsels, who are his favourites.' when i heard this, i prostrated myself in thanksgiving to god and said, 'god requite thee with good, o my friend!' for that, had he not invited me [and kept me perforce in his house] that night, i had been crucified with these men, wherefore praise be to god! thus," continued shehrzad, "none is safe from the calamities of fortune and the vicissitudes of time, and [in proof of this], i will relate unto thee yet another story still rarer and more extraordinary than this. know, o king, that one said to me, 'a friend of mine, a merchant, told me the following story. quoth he, the merchant of cairo and the favourite of the khalif el mamoun el hakim bi amrillah.[fn# ] as i sat one day in my shop, there came up to me a fair woman, as she were the moon at its rising, and with her a slave-girl. now i was a handsome man in my time; so the lady sat down on [the bench before] my shop and buying stuffs of me, paid down the price and went away. i questioned the girl of her and she said, "i know not her name." quoth i, "where is her abode?" "in heaven," answered the slave-girl; and i said, "she is presently on the earth; so when doth she ascend to heaven and where is the ladder by which she goeth up?" quoth the girl, "she hath her lodging in a palace between two rivers,[fn# ] to wit, the palace of el mamoun el hakim bi amrillah."[fn# ] then said i, "i am a dead man, without recourse; "but she replied, "have patience, for needs must she return unto thee and buy stuffs of thee yet again." "and how cometh it," asked i, "that the commander of the faithful trusteth her to go out?" "he loveth her with an exceeding love," answered she, "and is wrapped up in her and gainsayeth her not." then the girl went away, running, after her mistress, whereupon i left the shop and set out after them, so i might see her abiding-place. i followed after them all the way, till she disappeared from mine eyes, when i returned to my place, with a heart on fire. some days after, she came to me again and bought stuffs of me. i refused to take the price and she said, "we have no need of thy goods." quoth i, "o my lady, accept them from me as a gift;" but she said, "[wait] till i try thee and make proof of thee." then she brought out of her pocket a purse and gave me therefrom a thousand dinars, saying, "trade with this till i return to thee." so i took the purse and she went away [and returned not to me] till six months had passed by. meanwhile, i traded with the money and sold and bought and made other thousand dinars profit [on it]. presently, she came to me again and i said to her, "here is thy money and i have gained [with it] other thousand dinars." quoth she, "keep it by thee and take these other thousand dinars. as soon as i have departed from thee, go thou to er rauzeh[fn# ] and build there a goodly pavilion, and when the building thereof is accomplished, give me to know thereof." so saying, she left me and went away. as soon as she was gone, i betook myself to er rauzeh and addressed myself to the building of the pavilion, and when it was finished, i furnished it with the goodliest of furniture and sent to the lady to tell her that i had made an end of its building; whereupon she sent back to me, saying, "let him meet me to-morrow at daybreak at the zuweyleh gate and bring with him a good ass." so i got me an ass and betaking myself to the zuweyleh gate, at the appointed time, found there a young man on horse- back, awaiting her, even as i awaited her. as we stood, behold, up came the lady, and with her a slave-girl. when she saw the young man, she said to him, "art thou here?" and he answered, "yes, o my lady." quoth she, "to-day i am bidden by this man. wilt thou go with us?" and he replied, "yes." then said she, "thou hast brought me [hither] against my will and perforce. wilt thou go with us in any event?"[fn# ] "yes, yes," answered he and we fared on, [all three,] till we came to er rauzeh and entered the pavilion. the lady diverted herself awhile with viewing its ordinance and furniture, after which she put off her [walking-]clothes and sat down [with the young man] in the goodliest and chiefest place. then i went forth and brought them what they should eat at the first of the day; moreover, i went out also and fetched them what they should eat at the last of the day and brought them wine and dessert and fruits and flowers. on this wise i abode in their service, standing on my feet, and she said not unto me, "sit," nor "take, eat" nor "take, drink," what while she and the young man sat toying and laughing, and he fell to kissing her and pinching her and hopping about upon the ground and laughing. they abode thus awhile and presently she said, "up to now we have not become drunken; let me pour out." so she took the cup and gave him to drink and plied him with liquor, till he became drunken, when she took him and carried him into a closet. then she came out, with his head in her hand, what while i stood silent, fixing not mine eyes on hers neither questioning her of this; and she said to me, "what is this?" "i know not," answered i; and she said, "take it and cast it into the river." i obeyed her commandment and she arose and stripping herself of her clothes, took a knife and cut the dead man's body in pieces, which she laid in three baskets, and said to me, "throw them into the river." i did as she bade me and when i returned, she said to me, "sit, so i may relate to thee yonder fellow's case, lest thou be affrighted at that which hath befallen him. thou must know that i am the khalif's favourite, nor is there any more in honour with him than i; and i am allowed six nights in each month, wherein i go down [into the city and take up my abode] with my [former] mistress, who reared me; and when i go down thus, i dispose of myself as i will. now this young man was the son of neighbours of my mistress, when i was a virgin girl. one day, my mistress was [engaged] with the chief [officers] of the palace and i was alone in the house. when the night came on, i went up to the roof, so i might sleep there, and before i was aware, this youth came up from the street and falling upon me, knelt on my breast. he was armed with a poniard and i could not win free of him till he had done away my maidenhead by force; and this sufficed him not, but he must needs disgrace me with all the folk, for, as often as i came down from the palace, he would lie in wait for me by the way and swive me against my will and follow me whithersoever i went. this, then, is my story, and as for thee, thou pleasest me and thy patience pleaseth me and thy good faith and loyal service, and there abideth with me none dearer than thou." then i lay with her that night and there befell what befell between us till the morning, when she gave me wealth galore and fell to coming to the pavilion six days in every month. on this wise we abode a whole year, at the end of which time she was absent[fn# ] from me a month's space, wherefore fire raged in my heart on her account. when it was the next month, behold, a little eunuch presented himself to me and said, "i am a messenger to thee from such an one," [naming my mistress], "who giveth thee to know that the commander of the faithful hath sentenced her to be drowned, her and those who are with her, six-and-twenty slave-girls, on such a day at deir et tin,[fn# ] for that they have confessed against one another of lewdness, and she biddeth thee look how thou mayst do with her and how thou mayst contrive to deliver her, even if thou gather together all her money and spend it upon her, for that this is the time of manhood."[fn# ] quoth i, "i know not this woman; belike it is other than i [to whom this message is addressed]; so beware, o eunuch, lest thou cast me into stress." quoth he, "behold, i have told thee [that which i had to say,"] and went away, leaving me in concern [on her account]. [when the appointed day arrived], i arose and changing my clothes and favour, donned sailor's apparel; then i took with me a purse full of gold and buying good [victual for the] morning-meal, accosted a boatman [at deir et tin] and sat down and ate with him; after which said i to him, "wilt thou hire me thy boat?" quoth he, "the commander of the faithful hath commanded me to be here;" and he told me the story of the concubines and how the khalif purposed to drown them that day. when i heard this from him, i brought out to him half a score dinars and discovered to him my case, whereupon quoth he to me, "o my brother, get thee empty calabashes, and when thy mistress cometh, give me to know of her and i will contrive the trick." i kissed his hand and thanked him, and as i was walking about, [waiting,] up came the guards and eunuchs with the women, who were weeping and crying out and taking leave of one another. the eunuchs cried out to us, whereupon we came with the boat, and they said to the boatman, "who is this?" "this is my mate," answered he, "[whom i have brought,] to help me, so one of us may keep the boat, whilst another doth your service." then they brought out to us the women, one by one, saying, "throw them [in] by the island;" and we answered, "it is well." now each of them was shackled and they had made a jar of sand fast about her neck. we did as the eunuchs bade us and ceased not to take the women, one after another, and cast them in, till they gave us my mistress and i winked to my comrade. so we took her and carried her out into mid-stream, where i gave her the empty calabashes[fn# ] and said to her, "wait for me at the mouth of the canal." then we cast her in, after we had loosed the jar of sand from her neck and done off her fetters, and returned. now there remained one after her; so we took her and drowned her and the eunuchs went away, whilst we dropped down the river with the boat till we came to the mouth of the canal, where i saw my mistress awaiting me. so we took her up into the boat and returned to our pavilion on er rauzeh. then i rewarded the boatman and he took his boat and went away; whereupon quoth she to me, "thou art indeed a friend in need."[fn# ] and i abode with her some days; but the shock wrought upon her so that she sickened and fell to wasting away and redoubled in languishment and weakness till she died. i mourned for her with an exceeding mourning and buried her; after which i removed all that was in the pavilion to my own house [and abandoned the former]. now she had brought to the pavilion aforetime a little brass coffer and laid it in a place whereof i knew not; so, when the inspector of inheritances[fn# ] came, he searched the pavilion and found the coffer, with the key in the lock. so he opened it and finding it full of jewels and jacinths and earrings and seal-rings and precious stones, such as are not found save with kings and sultans, took it, and me with it, and ceased not to put me to the question with beating and torment till i confessed to them the whole affair from beginning to end, whereupon they carried me to the khalif and i told him all that had passed between me and her; and he said to me, "o man, depart from this city, for i acquit thee for thy valiance sake and because of thy [constancy in] keeping thy secret and thy daring in exposing thyself to death." so i arose forthright and departed his city; and this is what befell me.'" shehrzad and shehriyar. king shehriyar marvelled at these things and shehrzad said to him, "thou marvelledst at that which befell thee on the part of women; yet hath there befallen the kings of the chosroes before thee what was more grievous than that which befell thee, and indeed i have set forth unto thee that which betided khalifs and kings and others than they with their women, but the exposition is long and hearkening groweth tedious, and in this [that i have already told thee] is sufficiency for the man of understanding and admonishment for the wise." then she was silent, and when the king heard her speech and profited by that which she said, he summoned up his reasoning faculties and cleansed his heart and caused his understanding revert [to the right way] and turned [with repentance] to god the most high and said in himself, "since there befell the kings of the chosroes more than that which hath befallen me, never, whilst i abide [on life], shall i cease to blame myself [for that which i did in the slaughter of the daughters of the folk]. as for this shehrzad, her like is not found in the lands; so extolled be the perfection of him who appointed her a means for the deliverance of his creatures from slaughter and oppression!" then he arose from his session and kissed her head, whereat she rejoiced with an exceeding joy, she and her sister dinarzad. when the morning morrowed, the king went forth and sitting down on the throne of the kingship, summoned the grandees of his empire; whereupon the chamberlains and deputies and captains of the host went in to him and kissed the earth before him. he distinguished the vizier with his especial favour and bestowed on him a dress of honour and entreated him with the utmost kindness, after which he set forth briefly to his chief officers that which had betided him with shehrzad and how he had turned from that his former usance and repented him of what he had done aforetime and purposed to take the vizier's daughter shehrzad to wife and let draw up the contract of marriage with her. when those who were present heard this, they kissed the earth before him and offered up prayers for him and for the damsel shehrzad, and the vizier thanked her. then shehriyar made an end of the session in all weal, whereupon the folk dispersed to their dwelling-places and the news was bruited abroad that the king purposed to marry the vizier's daughter shehrzad. then he proceeded to make ready the wedding gear, and [when he had made an end of his preparations], he sent after his brother king shahzeman, who came, and king shehriyar went forth to meet him with the troops. moreover, they decorated the city after the goodliest fashion and diffused perfumes [from the censing-vessels] and [burnt] aloes-wood and other perfumes in all the markets and thoroughfares and rubbed themselves with saffron, what while the drums beat and the flutes and hautboys sounded and it was a notable day. when they came to the palace, king shehriyar commanded to spread the tables with beasts roasted [whole] and sweetmeats and all manner viands and bade the crier make proclamation to the folk that they should come up to the divan and eat and drink and that this should be a means of reconciliation between him and them. so great and small came up unto him and they abode on that wise, eating and drinking, seven days with their nights. then the king shut himself up with his brother and acquainted him with that which had betided him with the vizier's daughter [shehrzad] in those three years [which were past] and told him what he had heard from her of saws and parables and chronicles and pleasant traits and jests and stories and anecdotes and dialogues and histories and odes and verses; whereat king shahzeman marvelled with the utterest of marvel and said, "fain would i take her younger sister to wife, so we may be two own brothers to two own sisters, and they on likewise be sisters unto us; for that the calamity which befell me was the means of the discovering of that which befell thee and all this time of three years past i have taken no delight in woman, save that i lie each night with a damsel of my kingdom, and when i arise in the morning, i put her to death; but now i desire to marry thy wife's sister dinarzad." when king shehriyar heard his brother's words he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and arising forthright, went in to his wife shehrzad and gave her to know of that which his brother purposed, to wit, that he sought her sister dinarzad in marriage; whereupon, "o king of the age," answered she, "we seek of him one condition, to wit, that he take up his abode with us, for that i cannot brook to be parted from my sister an hour, because we were brought up together and may not brook severance from each other. if he accept this condition, she is his handmaid." king shehriyar returned to his brother and acquainted him with that which shehrzad had said; and he answered, saying, "indeed, this is what was in my mind, for that i desire nevermore to be parted from thee. as for the kingdom, god the most high shall send unto it whom he chooseth, for that there abideth to me no desire for the kingship." when king shehriyar heard his brother's words, he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and said, "verily, this is what i had wished, o my brother. so praised be god who hath brought about union between us!" then he sent after the cadis and learned men and captains and notables, and they married the two brothers to the two sisters. the contracts were drawn up and the two kings bestowed dresses of honour of silk and satin on those who were present, whilst the city was decorated and the festivities were renewed. the king commanded each amir and vizier and chamberlain and deputy to decorate his palace and the folk of the city rejoiced in the presage of happiness and content. moreover, king shehriyar bade slaughter sheep and get up kitchens and made bride-feasts and fed all comers, high and low. then the eunuchs went forth, that they might perfume the bath [for the use of the brides]; so they essenced it with rose-water and willow-flower-water and bladders of musk and fumigated it with cakili[fn# ] aloes-wood and ambergris. then shehrzad entered, she and her sister dinarzad, and they cleansed their heads and clipped their hair. when they came forth of the bath, they donned raiment and ornaments, [such as were] prepared for the kings of the chosroes; and among shehrzad's apparel was a dress charactered with red gold and wroughten with semblants of birds and beasts. moreover, they both encircled their necks with necklaces of jewels of price, in the like whereof iskender[fn# ] rejoiced not, for therein were great jewels such as amazed the wit and the eye, and the thought was bewildered at their charms, for indeed, each of them was brighter than the sun and the moon. before them they kindled lighted flambeaux in torch-holders of gold, but their faces outshone the flambeaux, for that they had eyes sharper than drawn swords and the lashes of their eyelids ensorcelled all hearts. their cheeks were rosy and their necks and shapes swayed gracefully and their eyes wantoned. and the slave-girls came to meet them with instruments of music. then the two kings entered the bath, and when they came forth, they sat down on a couch, inlaid with pearls and jewels, whereupon the two sisters came up to them and stood before them, as they were moons, swaying gracefully from side to side in their beauty and grace. presently they brought forward shehrzad and displayed her, for the first dress, in a red suit; whereupon king shehriyar rose to look upon her and the wits of all present, men and women, were confounded, for that she was even as saith of her one of her describers: like a sun at the end of a cane in a hill of sand, she shines in a dress of the hue of pomegranate flower. she gives me to drink of her cheeks and her honeyed lips and quenches the worst of the fires that my heart devour. then they attired dinarzad in a dress of blue brocade and she became as she were the full moon, whenas it shineth forth. so they displayed her in this, for the first dress, before king shahzeman, who rejoiced in her and well-nigh took leave of his wits for longing and amorous desire; yea, he was distraught with love for her, whenas he saw her, for, indeed, she was as saith of her one of her describers in the following verses: she comes in a robe the colour of ultramarine, blue as the stainless sky, unflecked with white; i view her with yearning eyes and she seems to me a moon of the summer, set in a winter's night. then they returned to shehrzad and displayed her in the second dress. they clad her in a dress of surpassing goodliness, and veiled her face to the eyes with her hair. moreover, they let down her side locks and she was even as saith of her one of her describers in the following verses: bravo for her whose loosened locks her cheeks do overcloud! she slays me with her cruelty, so fair she is and proud. quoth i, "thou overcurtainest the morning with the night;" and she, "not so; it is the moon that with the dark i shroud." then they displayed dinarzad in a second and a third and a fourth dress and she came forward, as she were the rising sun, and swayed coquettishly to and fro; and indeed she was even as saith the poet of her in the following verses: a sun of beauty she appears to all who look on her, glorious in arch and amorous grace, with coyness beautified; and when the sun of morning sees her visage and her smile, o'ercome. he hasteneth his face behind the clouds to hide. then they displayed shehrzad in the third dress and the fourth and the fifth, and she became as she were a willow-wand or a thirsting gazelle, goodly of grace and perfect of attributes, even as saith of her one in the following verses: like the full moon she shows upon a night of fortune fair, slender of shape and charming all with her seductive air. she hath an eye, whose glances pierce the hearts of all mankind, nor can cornelian with her cheeks for ruddiness compare. the sable torrent of her locks falls down unto her hips; beware the serpents of her curls, i counsel thee, beware! indeed her glance, her sides are soft; but none the less, alas! her heart is harder than the rock; there is no mercy there. the starry arrows of her looks she darts above her veil; they hit and never miss the mark, though from afar they fare. then they returned to dinarzad and displayed her in the fifth dress and in the sixth, which was green. indeed, she overpassed with her loveliness the fair of the four quarters of the world and outshone, with the brightness of her countenance, the full moon at its rising; for she was even as saith of her the poet in the following verses: a damsel made for love and decked with subtle grace; thou'dst deem the very sun had borrowed from her face. she came in robes of green, the likeness of the leaf that the pomegranate's flower doth in the bud encase. "how call'st thou this thy dress?" quoth we, and she replied a word wherein the wise a lesson well might trace; "breaker of hearts," quoth she, "i call it, for therewith i've broken many a heart among the amorous race." then they displayed shehrzad in the sixth and seventh dresses and clad her in youths' apparel, whereupon she came forward, swaying coquettishly from side to side; and indeed she ravished wits and hearts and ensorcelled with her glances [all who looked on her]. she shook her sides and wagged her hips, then put her hair on the hilt of her sword and went up to king shehriyar, who embraced her, as the hospitable man embraces the guest, and threatened her in her ear with the taking of the sword; and indeed she was even as saith of her the poet in these verses: were not the darkness[fn# ] still in gender masculine, as ofttimes is the case with she-things passing fine, tirewomen to the bride, who whiskers, ay, and beard upon her face produce, they never would assign.[fn# ] on this wise they did with her sister dinarzad, and when they had made an end of displaying the two brides, the king bestowed dresses of honour on all who were present and dismissed them to their own places. then shehrzad went in to king shehriyar and dinarzad to king shahzeman and each of them solaced himself with the company of his beloved and the hearts of the folk were comforted. when the morning morrowed, the vizier came in to the two kings and kissed the ground before them; wherefore they thanked him and were bountiful to him. then they went forth and sat down upon couches of estate, whilst all the viziers and amirs and grandees and the chief officers of the realm and the household presented themselves before them and kissed the earth. king shehriyar ordered them dresses of honour and largesse and they offered up prayers for the abiding continuance [on life] of the king and his brother. then the two kings appointed their father-in-law the vizier to be viceroy in samarcand and assigned him five of the chief amirs to accompany him, charging them attend him and do him service. the vizier kissed the earth and prayed that they might be vouchsafed length of life. then he went in to his daughters, whilst the eunuchs and ushers walked before him, and saluted them and bade them farewell. they kissed his hands and gave him joy of the kingship and bestowed on him treasures galore. then he took leave of them and setting out, journeyed days and nights till he came within three days' journey of samarcand, where the townspeople met him and rejoiced in him with an exceeding joy. so he entered samarcand and they decorated the city, and it was a notable day. he sat down on the throne of his kingship and the viziers did him homage and the grandees and amirs of samarcand and prayed that he might be vouchsafed justice and victory and length of continuance [on life]. so he bestowed on them dresses of honour and entreated them with worship and they made him sultan over them. as soon as his father-in-law had departed for samarcand, king shehriyar summoned the grandees of his realm and made them a magnificent banquet of all manner rich meats and exquisite sweetmeats. moreover, he bestowed on them dresses of honour and guerdoned them and divided the kingdoms between himself and his brother in their presence, whereat the folk rejoiced. then the two kings abode, ruling each a day in turn and they accorded with each other, what while their wives continued in the love of god the most high and in thanksgiving to him; and the subjects and the provinces were at peace and the preachers prayed for them from the pulpits, and their report was bruited abroad and the travellers bore tidings of them [to all countries]. moreover, king shehriyar summoned chroniclers and copyists and bade them write all that had betided him with his wife, first and last; so they wrote this and named it "the stories of the thousand nights and one night." the book came to[fn# ] thirty volumes and these the king laid up in his treasury. then the two kings abode with their wives in all delight and solace of life, for that indeed god the most high had changed their mourning into joyance; and on this wise they continued till there took them the destroyer of delights and sunderer of companies, he who maketh void the dwelling-places and peopleth the tombs, and they were translated to the mercy of god the most high; their houses were laid waste and their palaces ruined and the kings inherited their riches. then there reigned after them an understanding king, who was just, keen-witted and accomplished and loved stories, especially those which chronicle the doings of kings and sultans, and he found [in the treasuries of the kings who had foregone him] these marvellous and rare and delightful stories, [written] in the thirty volumes aforesaid. so he read in them a first book and a second and a third and [so on] to the last of them, and each book pleased him more than that which forewent it, till he came to the end of them. then he marvelled at that which he had read [therein] of stories and discourse and witty traits and anecdotes and moral instances and reminiscences and bade the folk copy them and publish them in all lands and climes; wherefore their report was bruited abroad and the people named them "the marvels and rarities of the thousand nights and one night." this is all that hath come down to us of [the history of] this book, and god is all-knowing.[fn# ] calcutta ( - ) text. sindbad the sailor and hindbad the porter note. as the version of the sixth and seventh voyages of sindbad the sailor contained in[fn# ] the calcutta edition ( - ) of the first two hundred nights and in the text of the voyages published by m. langles (paris, ) differs very materially from that of the complete calcutta ( - ) edition[fn# ] (which is, in this case, practically identical with those of boulac and breslau), adopted by me as my standard text in the translation of "the book of the thousand nights and one night," the story of the seventh voyage in particular turning upon an altogether different set of incidents, related nearly as in the old version of m. galland, i now give a translation of the text of the two voyages in question afforded by the calcutta ( - ) edition, corrected and completed by collation with that of m. langles, from which it differs only in being slightly less full. it will be observed that in this version of the story the name sindbad is reserved for the sailor, the porter being called hindbad. sindbad the sailor and hindbad the porter. on the morrow they[fn# ] returned to their place, as of their wont, and betook themselves to eating and drinking and merry-making and sporting till the last of the day, when sindbad bade them hearken to his relation concerning his sixth voyage, the which (quoth he) is of the most extraordinary of pleasant stories and the most startling [for that which it compriseth] of tribulations and disasters. then said he, the sixth voyage of sindbad the sailor. "when i returned from my fifth voyage, i gave myself up to eating and drinking and passed my time in solace and delight and forgot that which i had suffered of stresses and afflictions, nor was it long before the thought of travel again presented itself to my mind and my soul hankered after the sea. so i brought out the goods and binding up the bales, departed from baghdad, [intending] for certain of the lands, and came to the sea-coast, where i embarked in a stout ship, in company with a number of other merchants of like mind with myself, and we [set out and] sailed till we came among certain distant islands and found ourselves in difficult and dangerous case. [one day], as the ship was sailing along, and we unknowing where we were, behold, the captain came down [from the mast] and casting his turban from his head, fell to buffeting his face and plucking at his beard and weeping and supplicating [god for deliverance]. we asked him what ailed him, and he answered, saying, 'know, o my masters, that the ship is fallen among shallows and drifteth upon a sand-bank of the sea. another moment [and we shall be upon it]. if we clear the bank, [well and good]; else, we are all dead men and not one of us will be saved; wherefore pray ye to god the most high, so haply he may deliver us from these deadly perils, or we shall lose our lives.' so saying, he mounted [the mast] and set the sail, but at that moment a contrary wind smote the ship, and it rose upon the crest of the waves and sank down again into the trough of the sea. now there was before us a high mountain,[fn# ] rising [abruptly] from the sea, and the ship fell off into an eddy,[fn# ] which bore it on till presently it struck upon the skirt[fn# ] of the mountain and broke in sunder; whereupon the captain came down [from the mast], weeping, and said, 'god's will be done! take leave of one another and look yourselves out graves from to-day, for we have fallen into a predicament[fn# ] from which there is no escape, and never yet hath any been cast away here and come off alive.' so all the folk fell a-weeping and gave themselves up for lost, despairing of deliverance; friend took leave of friend and sore was the mourning and lamentation; for that hope was cut off and they were left without guide or pilot.[fn# ] then all who were in the ship landed on the skirt of the mountain and found themselves on a long island, whose shores were strewn with [wrecks], beyond count or reckoning, [of] ships that had been cast away [there] and whose crews had perished; and there also were dry bones and dead bodies, heaped upon one another, and goods without number and riches past count so we abode confounded, drunken, amazed, humbling ourselves [in supplication to god] and repenting us [of having exposed ourselves to the perils of travel]; but repentance availed not in that place. in this island is a river of very sweet water, issuing from the shore of the sea and entering in at a wide cavern in the skirt of an inaccessible mountain, and the stones of the island are all limpid sparkling crystal and jacinths of price. therein also is a spring of liquid, welling up like [molten] pitch, and when it cometh to the shore of the island, the fish swallow it, then return and cast it up, and it becometh changed from its condition and that which it was aforetime; and it is crude ambergris. moreover, the trees of the island are all of the most precious aloes-wood, both chinese and comorin; but there is no way of issue from the place, for it is as an abyss midmost the sea; the steepness of its shore forbiddeth the drawing up of ships, and if any approach the mountain, they fall into the eddy aforesaid; nor is there any resource[fn# ] in that island. so we abode there, daily expecting death, and whoso of us had with him a day's victual ate it in five days, and after this he died; and whoso had with him a month's victual ate it in five months and died also. as for me, i had with me great plenty of victual; so i buried it in a certain place and brought it out, [little by little,] and fed on it; and we ceased not to be thus, burying one the other, till all died but myself and i abode alone, having buried the last of my companions, and but little victual remained to me. so i said in myself, 'who will bury me in this place?' and i dug me a grave and abode in expectation of death, for that i was in a state of exhaustion. then, of the excess of my repentance, i blamed and reproached myself for my much [love of] travel and said, 'how long wilt thou thus imperil thyself?' and i abode as i were a madman, unable to rest; but, as i was thus melancholy and distracted, god the most high inspired me with an idea, and it was that i looked at the river aforesaid, as it entered in at the mouth of the cavern in the skirt of the mountain, and said in myself, 'needs must this water have issue in some place.' so i arose and gathering wood and planks from the wrecks, wrought of them the semblance of a boat [to wit, a raft,] and bound it fast with ropes, saying, 'i will embark thereon and fare with this water into the inward of the mountain. if it bring me to the mainland or to a place where i may find relief and safety, [well and good]; else i shall [but] perish, even as my companions have perished.' then i collected of the riches and gold and precious stuffs, cast up there, whose owners had perished, a great matter, and of jacinths and crude ambergris and emeralds somewhat past count, and laid all this on the raft [together with what was left me of victual]. then i launched it on the river and seating myself upon it, put my trust in god the most high and committed myself to the stream. the raft fared on with me, running along the surface of the river, and entered into the inward of the mountain, where the light of day forsook me and i abode dazed and stupefied, unknowing whither i went. whenas i hungered, i ate a little of the victual i had with me, till it was all spent and i abode expecting the mercy of the lord of all creatures.[fn# ] presently i found myself in a strait [channel] in the darkness and my head rubbed against the roof of the cave; and in this case i abode awhile, knowing not night from day, whilst anon the channel grew straiter and anon widened out; and whenas my breast was straitened and i was confounded at my case, sleep took me and i knew neither little nor much. when i awoke and opened my eyes, i found myself [in the open air] and the raft moored to the bank of the stream, whilst about me were folk of the blacks of hind. when they saw that i was awake, they came up to me, to question me; so i rose to them and saluted them. they bespoke me in a tongue i knew not, whilst i deemed myself in a dream, and for the excess of my joy, i was like to fly and my reason refused to obey me. then there came to my mind the verses of the poet and i recited, saying: let destiny with loosened rein its course appointed fare and lie thou down to sleep by night, with heart devoid of care; for 'twixt the closing of an eye and th'opening thereof, god hath it in his power to change a case from foul to fair. when they heard me speak in arabic, one of them came up to me and saluting me [in that language], questioned me of my case. quoth i, 'what [manner of men] are ye and what country is this?' 'o my brother,' answered he, 'we are husbandmen and come to this river, to draw water, wherewithal to water our fields; and whilst we were thus engaged to-day, as of wont, this boat appeared to us on the surface of the water, issuing from the inward of yonder mountain. so we came to it and finding thee asleep therein, moored it to the shore, against thou shouldst awake. acquaint us, therefore, with thy history and tell us how thou camest hither and whence thou enteredst this river and what land is behind yonder mountain, for that we have never till now known any make his way thence to us.' but i said to them, 'give me somewhat to eat and after question me.' so they brought me food and i ate and my spirits revived and i was refreshed. then i related to them all that had befallen me, whereat they were amazed and confounded and said, 'by allah, this is none other than a marvellous story, and needs must we carry thee to our king, that thou mayst acquaint him therewith.' so they carried me before their king, and i kissed his hand and saluted him. now he was the king of the land of serendib,[fn# ] and he welcomed me and entreated me with kindness, bidding me be seated and admitting me to his table and converse. so i talked with him and called down blessings upon him and he took pleasure in my discourse and showed me satisfaction and said to me, 'what is thy name?' 'o my lord,' answered i, 'my name is sindbad the sailor;' and he said, 'and what countryman art thou?' quoth i, 'i am of baghdad.' 'and how earnest thou hither?' asked he. so i told him my story and he marvelled mightily thereat and said, 'by allah, o sindbad, this thy story is marvellous and it behoveth that it be written in characters of gold.' then they brought the raft before him and i said to him, 'o my lord, i am in thy hands, i and all my good.' he looked at the raft and seeing therein jacinths and emeralds and crude ambergris, the like whereof was not in his treasuries, marvelled and was amazed at this. then said he, 'o sindbad, god forbid that we should covet that which god the most high hath vouchsafed unto thee! nay, it behoveth us rather to further thee on thy return to thine own country.' so i called down blessings on him and thanked him. then he signed to one of his attendants, who took me and established me in a goodly lodging, and the king assigned me a daily allowance and pages to wait on me. and every day i used to go in to him and he entertained me and entreated me friendly and delighted in my converse; and as often as our assembly broke up, i went out and walked about the town and the island, diverting myself by viewing them. now this island is under the equinoctial line; its night is still twelve hours and its day the like. its length is fourscore parasangs and its breadth thirty, and it is a great island, stretching between a lofty mountain and a deep valley. this mountain is visible at a distance of three days' journey and therein are various kinds of jacinths and other precious stones and metals of all kinds and all manner spice-trees, and its soil is of emery, wherewith jewels are wrought. in its streams are diamonds, and pearls are in its rivers.[fn# ] i ascended to its summit and diverted myself by viewing all the marvels therein, which are such as beggar description; after which i returned to the king and sought of him permission to return to my own country. he gave me leave, after great pressure, and bestowed on me abundant largesse from his treasuries. moreover, he gave me a present and a sealed letter and said to me, 'carry this to the khalif haroun er reshid and salute him for us with abundant salutation.' and i said, 'i hear and obey.' now this letter was written with ultramarine upon the skin of the hog-deer, the which is goodlier than parchment or paper and inclineth unto yellow, and was to the following effect: 'from the king of hind, before whom are a thousand elephants and on the battlements of his palace a thousand jewels, [to the khalif haroun er reshid, greeting]. to proceed:[fn# ] we send thee some small matter of presents, which do thou accept and be to us as a brother and a friend, for that the love of thee aboundeth in our heart and we would have thee to know that we look to thee for an answer. indeed, we are sharers with thee in love and fear, ceasing[fn# ] never to do thee honour; and for a beginning, we send thee the book of the quintessence of balms and a present after the measure of that which is fallen to our lot. indeed, this is unworthy of thy rank, but we beseech thee, o brother, to favour us by accepting it, and peace be on thee!' now this present was a cup of ruby, a span high and a finger's length broad, full of fine pearls, each a mithcal[fn# ] in weight and a bed covered with the skin of the serpent that swalloweth the elephant, marked with spots, each the bigness of a dinar, whereon whoso sitteth shall never sicken; also an hundred thousand mithcals of indian aloes-wood and thirty grains of camphor, each the bigness of a pistachio-nut, and a slave-girl with her paraphernalia, a charming creature, as she were the resplendent moon. then the king took leave of me, commending me to the merchants and the captain of the ship, and i set out, with that which was entrusted to my charge and my own good, and we ceased not to pass from island to island and from country to country, till we came to baghdad, when i entered my house and foregathered with my family and brethren. then i took the present and a token of service from myself to the khalif and [presenting myself before him], kissed his hands and laid the whole before him, together with the king of hind's letter. he read the letter and taking the present, rejoiced therein with an exceeding joy and entreated me with the utmost honour. then said he to me, 'o sindbad, is this king, indeed, such as he avoucheth in this letter?' i kissed the earth and answered, saying, 'o my lord, i myself have seen the greatness of his kingship to be manifold that which he avoucheth in his letter. on the day of his audience,[fn# ] there is set up for him a throne on the back of a huge elephant, eleven cubits high, whereon he sitteth and with him are his officers and pages and session-mates, standing in two ranks on his right hand and on his left. at his head standeth a man, having in his hand a golden javelin, and behind him another, bearing a mace of the same metal, tipped with an emerald, a span long and an inch thick. when he mounteth, a thousand riders take horse with him, arrayed in gold and silk; and whenas he rideth forth, he who is before him proclaimeth and saith, "this is the king, mighty of estate and high of dominion!" and he proceedeth to praise him on this wise and endeth by saying, "this is the king, lord of the crown the like whereof nor solomon[fn# ] nor mihraj[fn# ] possessed!" then is he silent, whilst he who is behind the king proclaimeth and saith, "he shall die! he shall die! and again i say, he shall die!" and the other rejoineth, saying, "extolled be the perfection of the living one who dieth not!" and by reason of his justice and judgment[fn# ] and understanding, there is no cadi in his [capital] city; but all the people of his realm distinguish truth from falsehood and know [and practise] truth and right for themselves.' the khalif marvelled at my speech and said, 'how great is this king! indeed, his letter testifieth of him; and as for the magnificence of his dominion, thou hast acquainted us with that which thou hast seen; so, by allah, he hath been given both wisdom and dominion.' then he bestowed on me largesse and dismissed me, so i returned to my house and paid the poor-rate[fn# ] and gave alms and abode in my former easy and pleasant case, forgetting the grievous stresses i had suffered. yea, i cast out from my heart the cares of travel and traffic and put away travail from my thought and gave myself up to eating and drinking and pleasure and delight." sindbad the sailor and hindbad the porter. when sindbad the sailor had made an end of his story, all who were present marvelled at that which had befallen him. then he bade his treasurer give the porter an hundred mithcals of gold and dismissed him, charging him return on the morrow, with the rest of the folk, to hear the history of his seventh voyage. so the porter went away to his house, rejoicing; and on the morrow he presented himself with the rest of the guests, who sat down, as of their wont, and occupied themselves with eating and drinking and merry-making till the end of the day, when their host bade them hearken to the story of his seventh voyage. quoth sindbad the sailor, the seventh voyage of sindbad the sailor. "when i [returned from my sixth voyage, i] forswore travel and renounced commerce, saying in myself, 'what hath befallen me sufficeth me.' so i abode at home and passed my time in pleasance and delight, till, one day, as i sat at mine ease, plying the wine-cup [with my friends], there came a knocking at the door. the doorkeeper opened and found without one of the khalif's pages, who came in to me and said, 'the commander of the faithful biddeth thee to him.' so i accompanied him to the presence of the khalif and kissing the earth before him, saluted him. he bade me welcome and entreated me with honour and said to me, 'o sindbad, i have an occasion with thee, which i would have thee accomplish for me.' so i kissed his hand and said, 'o my lord, what is the lord's occasion with the slave?' quoth he, 'i would have thee go to the king of serendib and carry him our letter and our present, even as he sent us a present and a letter.' at this i trembled and replied, 'by the most great god, o my lord, i have taken a loathing to travel, and whenas any maketh mention to me of travel by sea or otherwise, i am like to swoon for affright, by reason of that which hath befallen me and what i have suffered of hardships and perils. indeed, i have no jot of inclination left for this, and i have sworn never again to leave baghdad.' and i related to him all that had befallen me, first and last; whereat he marvelled exceedingly and said, 'by the most great god, o sindbad, never was heard from time immemorial of one whom there betided that which hath betided thee and well may it behove thee never again to mention travel! but for my sake go thou this once and carry my letter to the king of serendib and return in haste, if it be the will of god the most high, so we may not remain indebted to the king for favour and courtesy.' and i answered him with 'hearkening and obedience,' for that i dared not gainsay his commandment then he gave me the present and letter and money for my expenses. so i kissed his hand and going out from before him, repaired to the sea-coast, where i took ship with many other merchants and we sailed days and nights, till, after a prosperous voyage, god vouchsafed us a safe arrival at the island of serendib. we landed and went up to the city, where i carried the letter and present to the king and kissing the earth fell [prostrate before him], invoking blessings on him. when he saw me, 'welcome to thee, o sindbad!' quoth he. 'by the most great god, we have longed for thy sight and the day is blessed on which we behold thee once more.' then he took my hand and seating me by his side, welcomed me and entreated me friendly and rejoiced in me with an exceeding joy; after which he fell to conversing with me and caressing me and said, 'what brings thee to us, o sindbad?' i kissed his hand and thanking him, said, 'o my lord, i bring thee a present and a letter from my lord the khalif haroun er reshid.' then i brought out to him the present and the letter and he read the latter and accepted the former, rejoicing therein with an exceeding joy. now this present was a horse worth ten thousand dinars and all its housings and trappings of gold set with jewels, and a book and five different kinds of suits of apparel and an hundred pieces of fine white linen cloths of egypt and silks of suez and cufa and alexandria and a crimson carpet and another of tebaristan[fn# ] make and an hundred pieces of cloth of silk and flax mingled and a goblet of glass of the time of the pharaohs, a finger-breadth thick and a span wide, amiddleward which was the figure of a lion and before him an archer kneeling, with his arrow drawn to the head, and the table of solomon son of david,[fn# ] on whom be peace; and the contents of the letter were as follows: 'from the khalif haroun er reshid, unto whom and to his forefathers (on whom be peace) god hath vouchsafed the rank of the noble and exceeding glory, to the august, god-aided sultan, greeting. thy letter hath reached us and we rejoiced therein and have sent thee the book [called] "the divan of hearts and the garden of wits," of the translation whereof when thou hast taken cognizance, its excellence will be established in thine eyes; and the superscription of this book we have made unto thee. moreover, we send thee divers other kingly presents;[fn# ] so do thou favour us by accepting them, and peace be on thee!' when the king had read this letter, he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and bestowed on me great store of presents and entreated me with the utmost honour. some days after this, i sought of him leave to depart, but he granted it not to me save after much pressing. so i took leave of him and shipped with divers merchants and others, intending for my own country and having no desire for travel or traffic. we sailed on, without ceasing, till we had passed many islands; but, one day, as we fared on over a certain tract of the sea, there came forth upon us a multitude of boats full of men like devils, clad in chain-mail and armed with swords and daggers and bows and arrows, and surrounded us on every side. they entreated us after the cruellest fashion, smiting and wounding and slaying those who made head against them, and taking the ship, with the crew and all that were therein, carried us to an island, where they sold us all for a low price. a rich man bought me and taking me into his house, gave me to eat and drink and clothed me and entreated me kindly, till my heart was comforted and i was somewhat restored. one day my master said to me, 'knowest thou not some art or handicraft?' and i answered, saying, 'o my lord, i am a merchant and know nought but traffic.' quoth he, 'knowest thou how to shoot with a bow and arrows?' and i replied, 'yes, i know that.' so he brought me a bow and arrows and mounting me behind him on an elephant, set out with me, at the last of the night, and fared on till we came to a forest of great trees; whereupon he made me climb a high and stout tree and giving me the bow and arrows, said to me, 'sit here, and when the elephants come hither by day, shoot at them, so haply thou shalt hit one of them; and if any of them fall, come at nightfall and tell me.' then he went away and left me trembling and fearful. i abode hidden in the tree till the sun rose, when the elephants came out and fared hither and thither among the trees, and i gave not over shooting at them with arrows, till i brought down one of them. so, at eventide, i went and told my master, who rejoiced in me and rewarded me; then he came and carried away the dead elephant. on this wise i abode a while of time, every day shooting an elephant, whereupon my master came and carried it away, till, one day, as i sat hidden in the tree, there came up elephants without number, roaring and trumpeting, so that meseemed the earth trembled for the din. they all made for the tree whereon i was and the girth whereof was fifty cubits, and compassed it about. then a huge elephant came up to the tree and winding his trunk about it, tugged at it, till he plucked it up by the roots and cast it to the ground. i fell among the elephants, and the great elephant, coming up to me, as i lay aswoon for affright, wound his trunk about me and tossing me on to his back, made off with me, accompanied by the others; nor did he leave faring on with me, and i absent from the world, till he brought me to a certain place and casting me down from off his back, went away, followed by the rest. i lay there awhile, till my trouble subsided and my senses returned to me, when i sat up, deeming myself in a dream, and found myself on a great hill, stretching far and wide and all of elephants' bones. so i knew that this was their burial-place and that they had brought me thither on account of the bones. then i arose and fared on a day and a night, till i came to the house of my master, who saw me pale and disfeatured for fear and hunger. he rejoiced in my return and said to me, 'by allah, thou hast made my heart ache on thine account; for i went and finding the tree torn up by the roots, doubted not but the elephants had destroyed thee. tell me then how it was with thee.' so i told him what had befallen me and he marvelled exceedingly and rejoiced, saying, 'knowst thou where this hill is?' 'yes, o my lord,' answered i. so he took me up with him on an elephant and we rode till we came to the elephants' burial-place. when he saw those many bones, he rejoiced therein with an exceeding joy and carried away what he had a mind to thereof. then we returned to his house and he entreated me with increased favour and said to me, 'verily, o my son, thou hast directed us to a passing great gain, may god requite thee with all good! thou art free for the sake of god the most high. every year these elephants used to kill of us much people on account of these bones; but god delivered thee from them and thou hast done us good service in the matter of these bones, of which thou hast given us to know; wherefore thou meritest a great recompense, and thou art free.' 'o my lord,' answered i, 'may god free thy neck from the fire! i desire of thee that thou give me leave to return to my own country.' 'so be it,' replied he; 'but we have a fair, on occasion whereof the merchants come hither to us and take of us these elephants' bones. the time of the fair is now at hand, and when they come to us, i will send thee with them and give thee somewhat to bring thee to thine own country.' i blessed him and thanked him and abode with him in all honour and consideration, till, after a little, the merchants came, even as he had said, and bought and sold and bartered; and when they were about to depart, my master came to me and said, 'the merchants are about to depart; arise, that thou mayst go with them to thy country.' so i betook myself to the folk, and behold, they had bought great store of elephants' bones and bound up their loads and embarked in the ship; and my master took passage for me with them and paid my hire and all that was chargeable upon me.[fn# ] moreover, he gave me great store of goods and we set sail and passed from island to island, till we traversed the sea and arrived at the port of our destination; whereupon the merchants brought out their goods and sold; and i also brought out that which was with me and sold it at a good profit. then i bought of the best and finest of the produce and rarities of the country and all i had a mind to and a good hackney[fn# ] and we set out again and traversed the deserts from country to country till we came to baghdad. then i went in to the khalif and saluted him and kissed his hand; after which i acquainted him with all that had passed and that which had befallen me. he rejoiced in my deliverance and thanked god the most high; then he caused write my story in letters of gold and i betook myself to my house and foregathered with my brethren and family. this, then," added sindbad, "is the last of that which befell me in my travels, and praise be to god, the one, the creator, the maker!" when sindbad the sailor had made an end of his story, he bade his servant give the porter an hundred mithcals of gold and said to him, "how now, my brother! hast ever in the world heard of one whom such calamities have betided as have betided me and hath any suffered that which i have suffered of afflictions or undergone that which i have undergone of hardships? wherefore it behoveth that i have these pleasures in requital of that which i have undergone of travail and humiliations." so the porter came forward and kissing the merchant's hands, said to him, "o my lord, thou hast indeed suffered grievous perils and hast well deserved these bounteous favours [that god hath vouchsafed thee]. abide, then, o my lord, in thy delights and put away from thee [the remembrance of] thy troubles; and may god the most high crown thine enjoyments with perfection and accomplish thy days in pleasance until the hour of thine admission [to his mercy]!" therewithal sindbad the sailor bestowed largesse upon him and made him his boon-companion, and he abode, leaving him not night or day, to the last of their lives. praise be to god the glorious, the omnipotent, the strong, the exalted of estate, creator of heaven and earth and land and sea, to whom belongeth glorification! amen. amen. praise be to god, the lord of the worlds! amen. note. as stated in the prefatory note to my "book of the thousand nights and one night," four printed editions (of which three are more or less complete) exist of the arabic text of the original work, namely those of calcutta ( - ), boulac (cairo), breslau (tunis) and calcutta ( - ). the first two are, for purposes of tabulation, practically identical, one whole story only,[fn# ] of those that occur in the calcutta ( - ) edition, (which is the most complete of all,) being omitted from that of boulac; and i have, therefore, given but one table of contents for these two editions. the breslau edition, though differing widely from those of calcutta ( - ) and boulac in contents, resembles them in containing the full number (a thousand and one) of nights, whilst that of calcutta ( - ) is but a fragment, comprising only the first two hundred nights and the voyages of sindbad, as a separate tale. the subscribers to my "book of the thousand nights and one night" and the present "tales from the arabic" have now before them a complete english rendering (the first ever made) of all the tales contained in the four printed (arabic) texts of the original work and i have, therefore, thought it well to add to this, the last volume of my translation, full tables of contents of these latter, a comparison of which will show the exact composition of the different editions and the particulars in which they differ from one another, together with the manner in which the various stories that make up the respective collections are distributed over the nights. in each table, the titles of the stories occurring only in the edition of which it gives the contents are printed in italics and each tale is referred to the number of the night on which it is begun. the breslau edition, which was printed from a manuscript of the book of the thousand nights and one night alleged to have been furnished to the editor by a learned arab of tunis, whom he styles "herr m. annaggar" (quære en nejjar, the carpenter), the lacunes found in which were supplemented from various other ms. sources indicated by silvestre de sacy and other eminent orientalists, is edited with a perfection of badness to which only german scholars (at once the best and worst editors in the world) can attain. the original editor, dr. maximilian habicht, was during the period ( - ) of publication of the first eight volumes, engaged in continual and somewhat acrimonious[fn# ] controversy concerning the details of his editorship with prof. h. l. fleischer, who, after his death, undertook the completion of his task and approved himself a worthy successor of his whilom adversary, his laches and shortcomings in the matter of revision and collation of the text being at least equal in extent and gravity to those of his predecessor, whilst he omitted the one valuable feature of the latter's work, namely, the glossary of arabic words, not occurring in the dictionaries, appended to the earlier volumes. as an instance of the extreme looseness with which the book was edited, i may observe that the first four vols. were published without tables of contents, which were afterwards appended en bloc to the fifth volume. the state of corruption and incoherence in which the printed text was placed before the public by the two learned editors, who were responsible for its production, is such as might well drive a translator to despair: the uncorrected errors of the press would alone fill a volume and the verse especially is so corrupt that one of the most laborious of english arabic scholars pronounced its translation a hopeless task. i have not, however, in any single instance, allowed myself to be discouraged by the difficulties presented by the condition of the text, but have, to the best of my ability, rendered into english, without abridgment or retrenchment, the whole of the tales, prose and verse, contained in the breslau edition, which are not found in those of calcutta ( - ) and boulac. in this somewhat ungrateful task, i have again had the cordial assistance of captain burton, who has (as in the case of my "book of the thousand nights and one night") been kind enough to look over the proofs of my translation and to whom i beg once more to tender my warmest thanks. some misconception seems to exist as to the story of seif dhoul yezen, a fragment of which was translated by dr. habicht and included, with a number of tales from the breslau text, in the fourteenth vol. of the extraordinary gallimaufry published by him in - as a complete translation of the nights[fn# ] and it has, under the mistaken impression that this long but interesting romance forms part of the book of the thousand nights and one night, been suggested that a complete translation of it should be included in the present publication. the romance in question does not, however, in any way, belong to my original and forms no part of the breslau text, as will be at once apparent from an examination of the table of contents of the latter (see post, p. ), by which all the nights are accounted for. dr. habicht himself tells us, in his preface to the first vol. of the arabic text, that he found the fragment (undivided into nights) at the end of the fifth volume of his ms., into which other detached tales, having no connection with the nights, appear to have also found their way. this being the case, it is evident that the romance of seif dhoul yezen in no way comes within the scope of the present work and would (apart from the fact that its length would far overpass my limits) be a manifestly improper addition to it. it is, however, possible that, should i come across a suitable text of the work, i may make it the subject of a separate publication; but this is, of course, a matter for future consideration. table of contents of the calcutta ( - ) and boulac editions of the arabic text of the book of the thousand nights and one night. night introduction.--story of king shehriyar and his brother. a. story of the ox and the ass . the merchant and the genie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .i a. the first old man's story . . . . . . . . . . . . .i b. the second old man's story. . . . . . . . . . . . ii c. the third old man's story . . . . . . . . . . . . ii . the fisherman and the genie. . . . . . . . . . . . . .iii a. story of the physician douban . . . . . . . . . . iv aa. story of king sindbad and his falcon. . . . .v ab. story of the king's son and the ogress. . . .v b. story of the enchanted youth. . . . . . . . . . .vii . the porter and the three ladies of baghdad . . . . . . ix a. the first calender's story. . . . . . . . . . . . xi b. the second calender's story . . . . . . . . . . .xii ba. story of the envier and the envied[fn# ]xiii c. the third calender's story. . . . . . . . . . . .xiv d. the eldest lady's story . . . . . . . . . . . . xvii e. the story of the portress . . . . . . . . . . .xviii . the three apples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .xix . noureddin ali of cairo and his son bedreddin hassan. . xx . story of the hunchback . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .xxv a. the christian broker's story. . . . . . . . . . .xxv b. the controller's story. . . . . . . . . . . . .xxvii c. the jewish physician's story. . . . . . . . . xxviii d. the tailor's story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxix e. the barber's story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxxi ea. story of the barber's first brother . . . xxxi eb. story of the barber's second brother. . . xxxi ec. story of the barber's third brother . . .xxxii ed. story of the barber's fourth brother. . .xxxii ee. story of the barber's fifth brother . . .xxxii ef. story of the barber's sixth brother . . xxxiii . noureddin ali and the damsel enis el jelis . . . . .xxxiv . ghanim ben eyoub the slave of love . . . . . . . . .xxxix a. story of the eunuch bekhit. . . . . . . . . . .xxxix b. story of the eunuch kafour. . . . . . . . . . .xxxix . the history of king omar ben ennuman and his sons sherkan and zoulmekanxlv a. story of taj el mulouk and the princess dunya . cvii aa. story of aziz and azizeh. . . . . . . . cxliii b. bakoun's story of the hashish-eater . . . . . cxliii c. hemmad the bedouin's story. . . . . . . . . . .cxliv . the birds and beasts and the son of adam. . . . . .cxlvi . the hermits . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cxlviii . the waterfowl and the tortoise. . . . . . . . . .cxlviii . the wolf and the fox. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cxlviii a. the hawk and the partridge. . . . . . . . . . .cxlix . the mouse and the weasel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cl . the cat and the crow. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cl . the fox and the crow. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cl a. the mouse and the flea. . . . . . . . . . . . . .cli b. the falcon and the birds. . . . . . . . . . . . clii c. the sparrow and the eagle . . . . . . . . . . . clii . the hedgehog and the pigeons. . . . . . . . . . . . clii a. the merchant and the two sharpers . . . . . . . clii . the thief and his monkey. . . . . . . . . . . . . . clii a. the foolish weaver. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . clii . the sparrow and the peacock . . . . . . . . . . . . clii . ali ben bekkar and shemsennehar . . . . . . . . . .cliii . kemerezzeman and budour . . . . . . . . . . . . . . clxx a. nimeh ben er rebya and num his slave-girl . ccxxxvii . alaeddin abou esh shamat. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .ccl . hatim et tal; his generosity after death. . . . . .cclxx . maan ben zaideh and the three girls . . . . . . . cclxxi . maan ben zaideh and the bedouin . . . . . . . . . cclxxi . the city of lebtait . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cclxxii . the khalif hisham and the arab youth. . . . . . . cclxxi . ibrahim ben el mehdi and the barber-surgeon . . cclxxiii . the city of irem. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cclxxvi . isaac of mosul's story of khedijeh and the khalif mamouncclxxix . the scavenger and the noble lady of baghdad . . cclxxxii . the mock khalif . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cclxxxvi . ali the persian and the kurd sharper. . . . . . . ccxciv . the imam abou yousuf with haroun er reshid and his vizier jaaferccxcvi . the lover who feigned himself a thief to save his mistress's honourccxcvii . jaafer the barmecide and the bean-seller. . . . . ccxcix . abou mohammed the lazy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .ccc . yehya ben khalid and mensour. . . . . . . . . . . . .ccv . yehya ben khalid and the man who forged a letter in his nameccvi . the khalif el mamoun and the strange doctor . . . .cccvi . ali shar and zumurrud . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cccvii . the loves of jubeir ben umeir and the lady budourcccxxvii . the man of yemen and his six slave-girls. . . . cccxxxiv . haroun er reshid with the damsel and abou nuwascccxxxviii . the man who stole the dog's dish of gold. . . . . .cccxl . the sharper of alexandria and the master of policecccxli . el melik en nasir and the three masters of policecccxliii a. story of the chief of the new cairo police. cccxliii b. story of the chief of the boulac police . . .cccxliv c. story of the chief of the old cairo police. .cccxliv . the thief and the money-changer . . . . . . . . . ccxliv . the chief of the cous police and the sharper. . . cccxlv . ibrahim ben el mehdi and the merchant's sister night ccxlvi . the woman whose hands were cut off for almsgivingcccxlviii . the devout israelite. . . . . . . . . . . . . .cccxlviii . abou hassan es ziyadi and the man from khorassan night ccxlix . the poor man and his generous friend. . . . . . . .cccli . the ruined man who became rich again through a dreamcccli . el mutawekkil and his favourite mehboubeh . . . . .cccli . werdan the butcher's adventure with the lady and the bearcccliii . the king's daughter and the ape . . . . . . . . . .ccclv . the enchanted horse night . . . . . . . . . . . cclvii . uns el wujoud and the vizier's daughter rose-in-budccclxxi . abou nuwas with the three boys and the khalif haroun er reshidccclxxxi . abdallah ben maamer with the man of bassora and his slave-girlccclxxxiii . the lovers of the benou udhreh. . . . . . . . ccclxxxiii . tht vizier of yemen and his young brother . . .ccclxxxiv . the loves of the boy and girl at school . . . . ccclxxxv . el mutelemmis and his wife umeimeh. . . . . . . ccclxxxv . haroun er reshid and zubeideh in the bath . . . ccclxxxv . haroun er reshid and the three poets. . . . . .ccclxxxvi . musab ben ez zubeir and aaisheh his wife. . . .ccclxxxvi . aboulaswed and his squinting slave-girl . . . ccclxxxvii . haroun er reshid and the two girls. . . . . . ccclxxxvii . haroun er reshid and the three girls. . . . . ccclxxxvii . the miller and his wife . . . . . . . . . . . ccclxxxvii . the simpleton and the sharper . . . . . . . .ccclxxxviii . the imam abou yousuf with haroun er reshld and zubeidehccclxxxviii . the khalif el hakim and the merchant. . . . . .ccclxxxix . king kisra anoushirwan and the village damsel .ccclxxxix . the water-carrier and the goldsmith's wife. . . . .cccxc . khusrau and shirin and the fisherman. . . . . . . cccxci . yehya ben khalid and the poor man . . . . . . . . cccxci . mohammed el amin and jaafer ben el hadi . . . . .cccxcii . said ben salim and the barmecides . . . . . . . .cccxcii . the woman's trick against her husband . . . . . cccxciii . the devout woman and the two wicked elders. . . .cccxciv . jaafer the barmecide and the old bedouin. . . . . cccxcv . omar ben el khettab and the young bedouin . . . . cccxcv . el mamoun and the pyramids of egypt . . . . . .cccxcviii . the thief turned merchant and the other thief .cccxcviii . mesrour and ibn el caribi . . . . . . . . . . . .cccxcix . the devout prince . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cccci . the schoolmaster who fell in love by report . . . ccccii . the foolish schoolmaster. . . . . . . . . . . . .cccciii . the ignorant man who set up for a schoolmaster. .cccciii . the king and the virtuous wife. . . . . . . . . . cccciv . abdurrehman the moor's story of the roc . . . . . cccciv . adi ben zeid and the princess hind. . . . . . . . .ccccv . dibil el khuzai with the lady and muslin ben el welidccccvii . isaac of mosul and the merchant . . . . . . . . .ccccvii . the three unfortunate lovers. . . . . . . . . . . ccccix . the lovers of the benou tai. . . . . . . . . . . .ccccx . the mad lover. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ccccxi . the apples of paradise . . . . . . . . . . . . .ccccxii . the loves of abou isa and curret el ain. . . . .ccccxiv . el amin and his uncle ibrahim ben el mehdi . .ccccxviii . el feth ben khacan and el mutawekkil . . . . . .ccccxix . the man's dispute with the learned woman of the relative excellence of the sexes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .ccccxix . abou suweid and the handsome old woman . . . .ccccxxiii . ali ben tahir and the girl mounis. . . . . . . ccccxxiv . the woman who had a boy and the other who had a man to loverccccxxiv . the haunted house in baghdad . . . . . . . . . ccccxxiv . the pilgrim and the old woman who dwelt in the desertccccxxxiv . aboulhusn and his slave-girl taweddud. . . . .ccccxxxvi . the angel of death with the proud king and the devout mancccclxii . the angel of death and the rich king . . . . . cccclxii . the angel of death and the king of the children of israelcccclxiii . iskender dhoulkernein and a certain tribe of poor folkcccclxiv . the righteousness of king anoushirwan. . . . . cccclxiv . the jewish cadi and his pious wife . . . . . . .cccclxv . the shipwrecked woman and her child. . . . . . cccclxvi . the pious black slave. . . . . . . . . . . . .cccclxvii . the devout platter-maker and his wife. . . . cccclxviii . el hejjaj ben yousuf and the pious man . . . . .cccclxx . the blacksmith who could handle fire without hurtcccclxxi . the saint to whom god gave a cloud to serve him and the devout kingcccclxxiii . the muslim champion and the christian lady . .cccclxxiv . ibrahim ben el khawwas and the christian king's daughtercccclxxvii . the justice of providence. . . . . . . . . .cccclxxviii . the ferryman of the nile and the hermit. . . .cccclxxix . the king of the island . . . . . . . . . . . .cccclxxix . abulhusn ed durraj and abou jaafer the leper .cccclxxxi . the queen of the serpents. . . . . . . . . . cccclxxxii a. the adventures of beloukiya . . . . . . . cccclxxxvi b. the story of janshah. . . . . . . . . . . . ccccxcix . sindbad the sailor and sindbad the porter. . . . dxxxvi a. the first voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . dxxxviii b. the second voyage of sindbad the sailor . . . dxliii c. the third voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . . .dxlvi d. the fourth voyage of sindbad the sailor . . . . . dl e. the fifth voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . . . dlvi f. the sixth voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . . . dlix g. the seventh voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . dlxiii . the city of brass. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dlxvi . the malice of women. . . . . . . . . . . . . . dlxxviii a. the king and his vizier's wife. . . . . . . dlxxviii b. the merchant's wife and the parrot. . . . . . dlxxix c. the fuller and his son. . . . . . . . . . . . dlxxix d. the lover's trick against the chaste wife . . .dlxxx e. the niggard and the loaves of bread . . . . . .dlxxx f. the lady and her two lovers . . . . . . . . . dlxxxi g. the king's son and the ogress . . . . . . . . dlxxxi h. the drop of honey . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dlxxxii i. the woman who made her husband sift dust. . .dlxxxii j. the enchanted springs . . . . . . . . . . . .dlxxxii k. the vizier's son and the bathkeeper's wife. .dlxxxiv l. the wife's device to cheat her husband. . . .dlxxxiv m. the goldsmith and the cashmere singing- girl.dlxxxvi n. the man who never laughed again . . . . . . dlxxxvii o. the king's son and the merchant's wife. . . . . dxci p. the page who feigned to know the speech of birdsdxcii q. the lady and her five suitors . . . . . . . . dxciii r. the man who saw the night of power. . . . . . .dxcvi s. the stolen necklace . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dxcvi t. the two pigeons . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dxcvii u. prince behram of persia and the princess ed detmadxcvii v. the house with the belvedere. . . . . . . . .dxcviii w. the king's son and the afrit's mistress . . . . dcii x. the sandal-wood merchant and the sharpers . . .dciii y. the debauchee and the three-year-old child. . . .dcv z. the stolen purse. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dcv . jouder and his brothers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . dcvi . the history ot gherib and his brother agib . . . dcxxiv . otbeh and reyya. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dclxxx . hind daughter of en numan and el hejjaj. . . . .dclxxxi . khuzeimeh ben bishr and ikrimeh el feyyas. . . dclxxxii . younus the scribe and the khalif welid ben sehldclxxxiv . haroun er reshid and the arab girl . . . . . . .dclxxxv . el asmai and the three girls of bassora. . . . dclxxxvi . ibrahim of mosul and the devil . . . . . . . .dclxxxvii . the lovers of the benou udhreh . . . . . . . dclxxxviii . the bedouin and his wife . . . . . . . . . . . . .dcxci . the lovers of bassora. . . . . . . . . . . . . .dcxciii . isaac of mosul and his mistress and the devil. . .dcxcr . the lovers of medina . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dcxcvi . el melik en nasir and his vizier . . . . . . . .dcxcvii . the rogueries of delileh the crafty and her daughter zeyneb the trickstressdcxcviii . the adventures of quicksilver ali of cairo, a sequel to the rogueries of delileh the crafty . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dccviil . ardeshir and heyat en nufous . . . . . . . . . . .dccxu . julnar of the sea and her son king bedr basim of persiaiccxxxviii . king mohammed ben sebaik and the merchant hassan dcclvi a. story of prince seif el mulouk and the princess bediya el jemal dcclviii . hassan of bassora and the king's daughter of the jinndcclxxviii . khelifeh the fisherman of baghdad. . . . . . . cccxxxii . mesrour and zein el mewasif. . . . . . . . . . .dcccxlv . ali noureddin and the frank king's daughter. .dccclxiii . the man of upper egypt and his frank wife. . . dcccxciv . the ruined man of baghdad and his slave-girl . dcccxcvi . king jelyaad of hind and his vizier shimas: whereafter ensueth the history of king wird khan son of king jelyaad and his women and viziersdcccxciz a. the cat and the mouse . . . . . . . . . . . . .dccoc b. the fakir and his pot of butter . . . . . . .dccccii c. the fishes and the crab . . . . . . . . . . dcccciii d. the crow and the serpent. . . . . . . . . . dcccciii e. the fox and the wild ass. . . . . . . . . . .dcccciv f. the unjust king and the pilgrim prince. . . . dccccv g. the crows and the hawk. . . . . . . . . . . .dccccvi k. the serpent-charmer and his wife. . . . . . dccccvii i. the spider and the wind . . . . . . . . . .dccccviii j. the two kings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dccccix k. the blind man and the cripple . . . . . . . . dccccx l. the foolish fisherman . . . . . . . . . . dccccxviii m. the boy and the thieves . . . . . . . . . dccccxviii n. the man and his wilful wife . . . . . . . . dccccxix o. the merchant and the thieves. . . . . . . . .dccccxx p. the foxes and the wolf. . . . . . . . . . . dccccxxi q. the shepherd and the thief. . . . . . . . . dccccxxi r. the heathcock and the tortoises . . . . . .dccccxxiv . aboukir the dyer and abousir the barber. . . . dccccxxx . abdallah the fisherman and abdallah the merman .dccccxl . the merchant of oman . . . . . . . . . . . . .dccccxlvi . ibrahim and jemileh. . . . . . . . . . . . . . dcccciii . aboulhusn of khorassan . . . . . . . . . . . . dcccclix . kemerezzeman and the jeweller's wife . . . . dcccclxiii . abdallah ben fasil and his brothers. . . . dcccclixviii . marouf the cobbler and his wife fatimeh. dcccclxxxix-mi conclusion. table of contents of the breslau (tunis) edition of the arabic text of the book of the thousand nights and one night. night introduction.--story of king shehriyar and his brother. a. story of the ox and the ass . the merchant and the genie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .i a. the first old man's story . . . . . . . . . . . . iv b. the second old man's story. . . . . . . . . . . . vi c. the third old man's story . . . . . . . . . . . viii . the fisherman and the genie. . . . . . . . . . . . . viii a. story of the physician douban . . . . . . . . . . xi aa. story of the jealous man and the parrot[fn# ]xiv ab. story of the king's son and the ogress. . . xv b. story of the enchanted youth. . . . . . . . . . .xxi . the porter and the three ladies of baghdad . . . . xxviii a. the first calender's story. . . . . . . . . . xxxvii b. the second calender's story . . . . . . . . . . . xl ba. the envier and the envied . . . . . . . . xlvi c. the third calender's story. . . . . . . . . . . liii d. the eldest lady's story . . . . . . . . . . . .lxiii e. story of the portress . . . . . . . . . . . . .lxvii . the three apples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . lxix . noureddin ali of cairo and his son bedreddin hassan.lxxii . story of the hunchback . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cii a. the christian broker's story. . . . . . . . . . cvii b. the controller's story. . . . . . . . . . . . . cxix c. the jewish physician's story. . . . . . . . . .cxxix d. the tailor's story. . . . . . . . . . . . . .cxxxvii e. the barber's story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cxlix ea. story of the barber's first brother . . . . ci eb. story of the barber's second brother. . . cliv ec. story of the barber's third brother . . .clvii ed. story of the barber's fourth brother. . clviii ee. story of the barber's fifth brother . . . .clx ef. story of the barber's sixth brother . . .clxiv . ali ben bekkar and shemsennehar. . . . . . . . . . .clxix . noureddin ali and the damsel enis el jelii . . . . .cxcix . kemerezzeman and budour. . . . . . . . . . . . . .ccxviii . the enchanted horse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ccxlir . the voyages of sindbad the sailor . . . . . . . . ccxliv a. the first voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . . .cclii b. the second voyage of sindbad the sailor . . . ccliii c. the third voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . . . cclv d. the fourth voyage of sindbad the sailor . . . .cclix e. the fifth voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . .cclxiii f. the sixth voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . . cclxvi g. the seventh voyage of sindbad the sailor. . . cclxix . asleep and awake. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cclxxi a. the lackpenny and the cook. . . . . . . . . cclxxiii . seif el mulouk and bediya el jemal. . . . . . . . ccxci . khelif the fisherman [fn# ] . . . . . . . . . . cccxxi . ghanim ben eyoub the slave of love. . . . . . . cccxxxii a. story of the eunuch sewab [fn# ]. . . . . cccxxxiv b. story of the eunuch kafour ,, . uns el wujoud and the vizier's daughter rose- in-budcccxli . the merchant of oman. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cccliv . ardeshir and heyat en nufous. . . . . . . . . . .ccclxiv . hassan of bassora and the king's daughter of the jinncclxxxvi . haroun er reshid and the three poets. . . . . .ccccxxxii . omar ben abdulaziz and the poets. . . . . . . .ccccxxxii . el hejjaj and the three young mem . . . . . . .ccccxxxiv . er reshid and the woman of the barmecides . . .ccccxxxiv . the ten viziers; or the history of king azad- bekht and his sonccccxxxv a. the unlucky merchant. . . . . . . . . . . . . ccccxl b. the merchant and his sons . . . . . . . . . ccccxliv c. abou sabir. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ccccxlviii d. prince bihzad . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ccccliii e. king dadbin and his viziers . . . . . . . . . cccclv f. king bekhtzeman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cccclxi g. king bihkerd. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cccclxiv h. ilan shah and abou temam. . . . . . . . . . cccclxvi i. king ibrahim and his son. . . . . . . . . . cccclxxi j. king suleiman shah and his sons . . . . . . cccclxxv k. the prisoner and how god gave him relief . cccclxxxv . the city of brass . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cccclxxxvii . nimeh ben er rebya and num his slave-girl . . . . . . di . alaeddin abou es shamat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dxx . hatim tai; his generosity after death . . . . . . .dxxxi . maan ben zaideh and the three girls . . . . . . . dxxxii . maan ben zaideh and the bedouin . . . . . . . . . dxxxii . the city of lebtait . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dxxxii . the khalif hisham and the arab youth. . . . . . . dxxxiv . ibrahim ben el mehdi and the barber-surgeon . . . dxxxiv . the city of irem. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dxxxviii . isaac of mosul's story of khedijeh and the khalif mamoundxl . the mock khalif . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dxliii . the imam abou yousuf with er reshid and jaafer. . . .dlv . the lover who feigned himself a thief to save his mistress's honourdlvii . abou mohammed the lazy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . dlviii . jaafer ben yehya and abdulmelik ben salih . . . . . dlxv . jaafer ben yehya [fn# ] and the man who forged a letter in his namedlxvi . er reshid and the barmecides. . . . . . . . . . . dlxvii . ibn es semmak and er reshid . . . . . . . . . . .dlxviii . el mamoun and zubeideh. . . . . . . . . . . . . .dlxviii . ali shir [fn# ] and zumurrud. . . . . . . . . . .dlxix . the loves of budour and jubeir ben umeir. . . . dlxxxvii . the man of yemen and his six slave-girls. . . . . . dxcv . haroun er reshid with the damsel and abou nuwas . . . dc . the man who stole the dog's dish of gold. . . . . . dcii . el melik en nasir and the three masters of police .dciii a. story of the chief of the new cairo police. . . dciv b. story of the chief of the boulac police . . . . .dcv c. story of the chief of the old cairo police. . . .dcv . the thief and the money-changer . . . . . . . . . . .dcv . ibrahim ben el mehdi and the merchant's sister. . . dcvi . king kelyaad [fn# ] of hind and his vizier shimas dcix a. the cat and the mouse . . . . . . . . . . . . . dcix b. the fakir and his pot of butter . . . . . . . . .dcx c. the fishes and the crab . . . . . . . . . . . . dcxi d. the crow and the serpent. . . . . . . . . . . . dcxi e. the fox and the wild ass. . . . . . . . . . . . dcxi f. the unjust king and the pilgrim prince. . . . .dcxii g. the crows and the hawk. . . . . . . . . . . . dcxiii h. the serpent-charmer and his wife. . . . . . . .dcxiv i. the spider and the wind . . . . . . . . . . . . dcxv j. the two kings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dcxvi k. the blind man and the cripple . . . . . . . . .dcxvi l. the foolish fisherman . dcxxvi m. the boy and the thieves . . . . . . . . . . .dcxxvii n. the man and his wilful wife . . . . . . . . dcxxviii o. the merchant and the thieves. . . . . . . . . dcxxix p. the foxes and the wolf. . . . . . . . . . . . .dcxxx q. the shepherd and the thief. . . . . . . . . .dcxxxii r. the heathcock and the tortoises . . . . . . .dcxxxiv . the woman whose hands were cut off for almsgiving .dcxli . the poor man and his generous friend. . . . . . .dcxliii . the ruined man who became rich again through a dreamdcxliv . abou nuwas with the three boys and the khalif haroun er reshiddcxlv . the lovers of the benou udhreh [fn# ] . . . . . dcxlvi . el mutelemmis and his wife umeimeh. . . . . . . dcxlviii . haroun er reshid and zubeideh in the bath . . . dcxlviii . musab ben ez zubeir and aaisheh his wife. . . . . dcxlix . aboulaswed and his squinting slave-girl . . . . . . dcli . haroun er reshid and the two girls. . . . . . . . . dcli . haroun er reshid and the three girls. . . . . . . . dcli . the simpleton and the sharper . . . . . . . . . . .dclii . the imam abou yousuf with er reshid and zubeideh. .dclii . the khalif el hakim and the merchant. . . . . . . dcliii . kisra anoushirwan and the village damsel. . . . . dcliii . the water-carrier and the goldsmith's wife. . . . .dcliv . khusrau and shirin and the fisherman. . . . . . . .dclvi . yehya ben khalid and the poor man . . . . . . . . .dclvi . mohammed el amin and jaafer ben el hadi . . . . . dclvii . the woman's trick against her husband . . . . . .dclviii . the devout woman and the two wicked elders. . . . .dclix el fezl ben rebiya[fn# ] and the old bedouin . . . dclx en numan and the arab of the benou tai . . . . . . . dclx the draper and the thief[fn# ] . . . . . . . . . .dclxi . mesrour and ibn el caribi . . . . . . . . . . . . dclxii . the devout prince . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dclxiv . the schoolmaster who fell in love by report . . . .dclxv . the foolish schoolmaster. . . . . . . . . . . . . dclxvi . the ignorant man who set up for a schoolmaster. .dclxvii . adi ben zeid and the princess hind. . . . . . . dclxviii . dibil el khuzai with the lady and muslim ben el weliddclxx . isaac of mosul and the merchant . . . . . . . . . .dclxx . the three unfortunate lovers. . . . . . . . . . .dclxxii . the lovers of the benou tai . . . . . . . . . . dclxxiii . the mad lover . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dclxxiv . firous and his wife . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dclxxv . the apples of paradise. . . . . . . . . . . . . .dclxxvi . the loves of abou isa and curret el ain . . . .dclxxviii . el amin and his uncle ibrahim ben el mehdi. . . dclxxxii . el feth ben khacan and el mutawekkil. . . . . .dclxxxiii . the man's dispute with the learned woman of the relative excellence of the sexes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dclxxxiii . abou suweid and the handsome old woman. . . . .dclxxxvii . ali ben tahir and the girl mounis . . . . . . dclxxxviii . the woman who had a boy and the other who had a man to loverdclxxxviii . the haunted house in baghdad. . . . . . . . . dclxxxviii . the history of gherib and his brother agib. . . dcxcviii . the rogueries of delileh the crafty and her daughter zeyneb the trickstressdcclvi . the adventures of quicksilver ali of cairo . . .dcclxvi . jouder and his brothers. . . . . . . . . . . . .dcclxxv . julnar of the sea and her son king bedr basim of persiadccxciv . mesrour and zein el mewasif. . . . . . . . . . .dcccxxi . ali noureddin and the frank king's daughter. . dcccxxxi . the man of upper egypt and his frank wife. . . dccclxii . the ruined man of baghdad and his slave-girl . dccclxiv . aboukir the dyer and abousir the barber. . . .dccclxvii . abdallah the fisherman and abdallah the mermandccclxxvii . king shah bekhi and his vizier er rehwan . . .dccclxxxv a. the man of khorassan, his son and his governordccclxxxvi b. the singer and the druggist . . . . . . dccclxxxviii c. the king who knew the quintessence of things.dcccxci d. the rich man who gave his fair daughter in marriage to the poor old man. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dcccxcii e. the rich man and his wasteful son . . . . .dcccxciii f. the king's son who fell in love with the picturedcccxciv g. the fuller and his wife . . . . . . . . . . dcccxcvi h. the old woman, the merchant and the king. . dcccxcvi i. the credulous husband . . . . . . . . . . dcccxcviii j. the unjust king and the tither. . . . . . . dcccxcix ja. story of david and solomon. . . . . . dcccxcix h. the thief and the woman . . . . . . . . . . dcccxcix l. the three men and our lord jesus. . . . . . . dcccci la. the disciple's story. . . . . . . . . . dcccci m. the dethroned king whose kingdom and good were restored to himdcccci n. the man whose caution was the cause of his deathdcccciii o. the man who was lavish of his house and his victual to one whom he knew not . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dcccciv p. the idiot and the sharper . . . . . . . . . . dccccv q. khelbes and his wife and the learned man. . .dccccvi r. the pious woman accused of lewdness . . . . dccccvii s. the journeyman and the girl . . . . . . . . .dccccix t. the weaver who became a physician by his wife's commandmentdccccix u. the two sharpers who cheated each his fellow.dccccxi v. the sharpers with the money-changer and the assdccccxiv w. the sharper and the merchants . . . . . . . .dccccxv wa. the hawk and the locust . . . . . . . dccccxvi x. the king and his chamberlain's wife . . . .dccccxvii xa. the old woman and the draper's wife .dccccxvii y. the foul-favoured man and his fair wife . dccccxviii z. the king who lost kingdom and wife and wealth and god restored them to him. . . . . . . . . . . dccccxix aa. selim and selma. . . . . . . . . . . . . .dccccxxii bb. the king of hind and his visier. . . . .dccccxxviii el melik es zahir rukneddin bibers el bunducdari and the sixteen officers of police . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dccccxxx a. the first officer's story . . . . . . . . . dccccxxx b. the second officer's story. . . . . . . . dccccxxxii c. the third officer's story . . . . . . . . dccccxxxii d. the fourth officer's story. . . . . . . . dccccxxxiv e. the fifth officer's story . . . . . . . . dccccxxxiv f. the sixth officer's story . . . . . . . . dccccxxxiv g. the seventh officer's story . . . . . . . dccccxxxiv h. the eighth officer's story. . . . . . . . .dccccxxxv ha. the thief's story . . . . . . . . dccccxxxviii i the ninth officer's story. . . . . . . . dccccxxxviii j. the tenth officer's story . . . . . . . dccccxxxviii k. the eleventh officer's story. . . . . . dccccxxxviii l. the twelfth officer's story . . . . . . . dccccxxxix m. the thirteenth officer's story. . . . . . dccccxxxix n. the fourteenth officer's story. . . . . . dccccxxxix na. a merry jest of a thief . . . . . . . .dccccxl nb. story of the old sharper. . . . . . . .dccccxl o. the fifteenth officer's story . . . . . . . .dccccxl p. the sixteenth officer's story . . . . . . . .dccccxl . abdallah ben nafi and the king's son of cashghardccccxli a. story of tuhfet el culoub and haroun er reshiddccccxlii . noureddin ali and sitt el milah. . . . . . . dcccclviii . el abbas and the king's daughter of baghdad. .dcccclxvi . the malice of women. . . . . . . . . . . . . dcccclxxix a. the king and his vizier's wife. . . . . . .dcccclxxx b, the merchant's wife and the parrot. . . . .dcccclxxx c. the fuller and his son. . . . . . . . . . .dcccclxxx d. the lover's trick against the chaste wife .dcccclxxx e. the niggard and the loaves of bread . . .dcccclxxxiv f. the lady and her two lovers . . . . . . .dcccclxxxiv g. the king's son and the ogress . . . . . . dcccclxxxv h. the drop of honey . . . . . . . . . . . .dcccclxxxvi i. the woman who made her husband sift dust.dcccclxxxvi j. the enchanted springs . . . . . . . . . .dcccclxxxvi k. the vizier's son and the bathkeeper's wifedcccclxxxviii l. the wife's device to cheat her husband. .dcccclxxxix m. the goldsmith and the cashmere singing-girl .dccccxc n. the man who never laughed again . . . . . . dccccxci o. the king's son and the merchant's wife. . dccccxciii p. the man who saw the night of power. . . . dccccxciii q. the stolen necklace . . . . . . . . . . . .dccccxciv r. prince behram of persia and the princess ed detmadccccxciv s. the house with the belvedere. . . . . . . . dccccxcv t. the sandalwood merchant and the sharpers.dccccxcviii u. the debauchee and the three-year-old childdccccxcviii v. the stolen purse. . . . . . . . . . . . . .dccccxcix w. the fox and the folk[fn# ]. . . . . . . . . . . .m . the two kings and the vizier's daughters . . . . . . .m . the favourite and her lover. . . . . . . . . . . . . .m . the merchant of cairo and the favourite of the khalif el mamoun el hikim bi amrillak . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .m conclusion table of contents of the unfinished calcutta ( - ) edition (first two hundred nights only) of the arabic text of the book of the thousand nights and one night. introduction. a. the ox and the ass . the merchant and the genie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .i a. the first old man's story . . . . . . . . . . . . ii b. the second old man's story[fn# ]. . . . . . . . iv . the fisherman and the genie. . . . . . . . . . . . . viii a. the physician douban. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi aa. the merchant and the parrot . . . . . . . .xiv ab. the king's son and the ogress . . . . . . . xv b. the enchanted youth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .xxi . the porter and the three ladies of baghdad . . . . xxviii a. the first calender's story. . . . . . . . . . .xxxix b. the second calender's story . . . . . . . . . . xlii ba. the envier and the envied . . . . . . . . xlvi c. the third calender's story. . . . . . . . . . . liii d. the eldest lady's story[fn# ] . . . . . . . . lxiv . the three apples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . lxviii . noureddin ali of cairo and his son bedreddin hassan.lxxii . isaac of mosul's story of khedijeh and the khalif el mamounxciv . story of the hunchback . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ci a. the christian broker's story. . . . . . . . . . .cix b. the cook's story[fn# ]. . . . . . . . . . . . cxxi c. the jewish physician's story. . . . . . . . . .cxxix d. the tailor's story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . cxxxvi e. the barber's story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . cxliii ea. story of the barber's first brother . . . cxlv eb. story of the barber's second brother. .cxlviii ec. story of the barber's third brother . . . .cli ed. story of the barber's fourth brother. . . clii ee. story of the barber's fifth brother . . . cliv ef. story of the barber's sixth brother . . clviii . ali ben bekkar and shemsennehar. . . . . . . . . . clxiii . noureddin ali and the damsel ennis el jelis. . . . clxxxi . women's craft . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .cxcv-cc . sindbad the sailor and hindbad the porter[fn# ] a. the first voyage of sindbad the sailor b. the second voyage of sindbad the sailor c. the third voyage of sindbad the sailor d. the fourth voyage of sindbad the sailor e. the fifth voyage of sindbad the sailor f. the sixth voyage of sindbad the sailor g. the seventh voyage of sindbad the sailor alphabetical table of the first lines of the verse in the "tales from the arabic." n.b.--the roman numerals denote the volume, the arabic the page a damsel made for love and decked with subtle grace, iii. . a fair one, to idolaters if she herself should show, iii. . a sun of beauty she appears to all who look on her, iii. . a white one, from her sheath of tresses now laid bare, ii. . after your loss, nor trace of me nor vestige would remain, iii. . algates ye are our prey become; this many a day and night, iii. . all intercessions come and all alike do ill succeed, ii. . an if my substance fail, no one there is will succour me, i. . an if ye'd of evil be quit, look that no evil ye do, ii. . assemble, ye people of passion, i pray, iii. . awaken, o ye sleepers all, and profit, whilst it's here, ii. . beard of the old he-goat, the one-eyed, what shall be, ii. . behold, i am clad in a robe of leaves green, ii. . but for the spying of the eyes [ill-omened,] we had seen, i. . by allah, but that i trusted that i should meet you again, ii. . by him whom i worship, indeed, i swear, o thou that mine eye dost fill, ii. . damascus is all gardens decked for the pleasance of the eyes, iii. . drink ever, o lovers, i rede you, of wine, ii. . el abbas from akil his stead is come again, iii. . endowed with amorous grace past any else am i, ii . fair fall the maid whose loosened locks her cheeks do overcloud! iii. . fair patience practise, for thereon still followeth content, iii. . fair patience use, for ease still followeth after stress, iii. . for the uses of food i was fashioned and made, ii. . "forget him," quoth my censurers, "forget him; what is he?" iii. . fortune its arrows all, through him i love, let fly, iii. . full many a man incited me to infidelity, i. . god judge betwixt me and her lord! away, i. . god keep the days of love-delight! how dearly sweet they were! i. . god keep the days of love-delight! how passing sweet they were! ii. god knows i ne'er recalled thy memory to my thought, iii. . had we thy coming known, we would for sacrifice, i. . haste not to that thou dost desire; for haste is still unblest, ii. . he who mohammed sent, as prophet to mankind, i. . his love he'd have hid, but his tears denounced him to the spy, iii. his love on him took pity and wept for his dismay, ii. . how long, o fate, wilt thou oppress and baffle me? ii. . how long shall i thus question my heart that's drowned in woe? iii. . how long will ye admonished be, without avail or heed? iii. . how many, in yemameh, dishevelled widows plain! i. . i am content, for him i love, to all abide, iii. . i am filled full of longing pain and memory and dole, iii. . i am the champion-slayer he warrior without peer, iii. . ---- i clipped her in mine arms and straight grew drunken with the scent, iii. . i fear to be seen in the air, ii. . i marvel for that to my love i see thee now incline, iii. . i saw thee, o thou best of all the human race, display, i. . i swear by his life, yea, i swear by the life of my love without peer, iii. . if i must die, then welcome death to heal, iii. . if, in his own land, midst his folk, abjection and despite, ii. . i'm the crown of every sweet and fragrant weed, ii. . in every rejoicing a boon[fn# ] midst the singers and minstrels am i, ii. in my soul the fire of yearning and affliction rageth aye, iii. . indeed, thou'st told the tale of kings and men of might, iii. . it chances whiles that the blind man escapes a pit, ii. . it is as the jasmine, when it i espy, ii. . let destiny with loosened rein its course appointed fare, iii. like a sun at the end of a cane in a hill of sand, iii. . like the full moon she shows upon a night of fortune fair, iii. . lo, since the day i left you, o my masters, iii. . look at the moss-rose, on its branches seen, ii. . may the place of my session ne'er lack thee! oh, why, iii. me, till i stricken was therewith, to love thou didst excite, iii. midst colours, my colour excelleth in light, ii. . most like a wand of emerald my shape it is, trow i, ii. . my flower a marvel on your heads doth show, ii. . my fortitude fails, my endeavour is vain, ii. . my fruit is a jewel all wroughten of gold, ii. . my heart will never credit that i am far from thee, ii. . my secret is disclosed, the which i strove to hide, iii. . my watering lips, that cull the rose of thy soft cheek, declare, iii. . no good's in life (to the counsel list of one who's purpose-whole), i. . o amir of justice, be kind to thy subjects, iii. . o friends, the east wind waxeth, the morning draweth near, iii. . o friends, the tears flow ever, in mockery of my pain, iii. . o hills of the sands and the rugged piebald plain, iii. . o thou that blamest me for my heart and railest at my ill, ii. . o thou that questionest the lily of its scent, ii. . o son of simeon, give no ear to other than my say, iii. . o'er all the fragrant flowers that be i have the pref'rence aye, ii. . o'erbold art thou in that to me, a stranger, thou hast sent, iii. . oft as my yearning waxeth, my heart consoleth me, ii. . one of the host am i of lovers sad and sere, ii. . pease on thee! would our gaze might light on thee once more! ii. . peace on you, people of my troth! with peace i do you greet, ii. . quoth i (and mine a body is of passion all forslain), iii. . rail not at the vicissitudes of fate, ii. . ramazan in my life ne'er i fasted, nor e'er, i. . say, by the lightnings of thy teeth and thy soul's pure desire, iii. . she comes in a robe the colour of ultramarine, iii. . sherik ben amrou, what device avails the hand of death to stay? i. . some with religion themselves concern and make it their business all, i. . still by your ruined camp a dweller i abide, ii. . still do i yearn, whilst passion's fire flames in my liver are, iii. the absent ones' harbinger came us unto, iii. . the billows of thy love o'erwhelm me passing sore, ii. . the crown of the flow'rets am i, in the chamber of wine, ii. . the merciful dyed me with that which i wear, ii. . the season of my presence is never at an end, ii. . the two girls let me down from fourscore fathoms' height, i. . the zephyr's sweetness on the coppice blew, ii. . they have departed, but the steads yet full of them remain, ii. . they have shut out thy person from my sight, iii. . thou that the dupe of yearning art, how many a melting wight, iii. . thou that wast absent from my stead, yet still with me didst bide, iii. . thy haters say and those who malice to thee bear, iii. . thy letter reached me; when the words thou wrot'st therein i read, iii. . thy loss is the fairest of all my heart's woes, iii. . thy presence honoureth us and we, i. . to his beloved one the lover's heart's inclined, iii. . 'twere better and meeter thy presence to leave, ii. . 'twere fitter and better my loves that i leave, i. . unto its pristine lustre your land returned and more, iii. . unto me the whole world's gladness is thy nearness and thy sight, iii. . upon the parting day our loves from us did fare, iii. . were not the darkness still in gender masculine, iii. . what strength have i solicitude and long desire to bear, iii. . when in the sitting-chamber we for merry-making sate, iii. . whenas mine eyes behold thee not, that day, iii. . whenas the soul desireth one other than its peer, ii . wind of the east, if thou pass by the land where my loved ones dwell, i pray, ii. , . would god upon that bitterest day, when my death calls for me, i. would we may live together, and when we come to die, i. . ye chide at one who weepeth for troubles ever new, iii. . ye know i'm passion-maddened, racked with love and languishment, ii. . your coming to-me-ward, indeed, with "welcome! fair welcome!" i hail, iii. . your water i'll leave without drinking, for there, i. . index to the names of the "tales from the arabic" n.b.-the roman numerals denote the volume, the arabic the page abbas (el) and the king's daughter of baghdad, iii. . abbaside, jaafer ben yehya and abdulmelik ben salih the, i. . abdallah ben nafi and the king's son of cashghar, ii. . abdulmelik ben salih the abbaside, jaafer ben yehya, and, i. . abou sabir, story of, i. . abou temam, story of ilan shah and, i. . actions, of the issues of good and evil, i. . advantages of patience, of the, i. . affairs, of looking to the issues of, i. . ali of damascus and sitt el milah, noureddin, iii. . appointed term, of the, i. . arab of the benou tai, en numan and the, i. . asleep and awake, i. . ass, the sharpers, the money-changer and the, ii. . awake, asleep and, i. . azadbekht and his son, history of king, i. baghdad, el abbas and the king's daughter of, iii. . barmecides, er reshid and the, i. . barmecides, haroun er reshid and the woman of the, i. . bekhtzeman, story of king, i. . benou tai, en numan and the arab of the, i. . bibers el bunducdari and the sixteen officers of police, el melik ez zahir rukneddin, ii. . bihkerd, story of king, i. . bihzad, story of prince, i. . bunducdari (el) and the sixteen officers of police, el melik ez zahir rukneddin bibers, ii. . cairo (the merchant of) and the favourite of the khalif el mamoun el hakim bi amrillah, iii. . cashghar, abdallah ben nafi and the king's son of, ii. . caution was the cause of his death, the man whose, i . chamberlain's wife, the king and his, ii. . clemency, of, i. . cook, the lackpenny and the, i. . craft, women's, ii. . credulous husband, the, i. . dadbin (king) and his viziers, story of, i. . damascus (noureddin ali of) and sitt el milah, iii. . daughter of the poor old man, the rich man who married his fair, i. . daughters, the two kings and the vizier's, iii. . david and solomon, i. . death, the man whose caution was the cause of his, i. . destiny, of, i. . dethroned king whose kingdom and good were restored to him, the, i. . disciple's story, the, i. . draper's wife, the old woman and the, ii. . druggist, the singer and the, i. . eighth officer's story, the, ii. . eleventh officer's story, the, ii. . endeavour against persistent ill fortune, of the uselessness of, i. . envy and malice, of, i. . favourite and her lover, the, iii. . favourite of the khalif el mamoun el hakim bi amrillah, the merchant of cairo and the, iii. . fifteenth officer's story, the, ii. . fifth officer's story, the, ii. . firouz and his wife, i. . first officer's story, the, ii. . forehead, of that which is written on the, i. . fortune, of the uselessness of endeavour against persistent ill, i. . foul-favoured man and his fair wife, the, ii. . fourteenth officer's story, the, ii. . fourth officer's story, the, ii. . fuller and his wife, the, i. . girl, the journeyman and the, ii. . god, of the speedy relief of, i. . god, of trust in, i. . governor, story of the man of khorassan, his son and his, i. . hakim (el) bi amrillah, the merchant and the favourite of the khalif el mamoun, iii. . haroun er reshid, tuhfet el culoub and, ii. . haroun er reshid and the woman of the barmecides, i. . hawk and the locust, the, ii. . hejjaj (el) and the three young men, i. . hind and his vizier, the king of, ii. . hindbad the porter, sindbad the sailor and, iii. . husband, the credulous, i. . ibn es semmak and er reshid, i. . ibrahim and his son, story of king, i. . idiot and the sharper, the, i. . ilan shah and abou temam, story of, i. . ill effects of precipitation, of the, i. . ill fortune, of the uselessness of endeavour against persistent, i . issues of affairs, of looking to the, i. . issues of good and evil actions, of the, i. . jaafer ben yehya and abdulmelik ben salih the abbaside, i. . jest of a thief, a merry, ii. . jesus, the three men and our lord, i. . journeyman and the girl, the, ii. . khalif, el mamoun el hakim bi amrillah, the merchant of cairo and the favourite of the, iii. . khalif omar ben abdulaziz and the poets, the, i. . khelbes and his wife and the learned man, i. . khorassan, his son and his governor, story of the man of, i. . king azadbekht and his son, history of, i. . king bekhtzeman, story of, i. . king bihkerd, story of, i. . king and his chamberlain's wife, the, ii. . king dadbin and his viziers, story of, i. . king (the dethroned), whose kingdom and good were restored to him, i. . king of ind and his vizier, the, ii. . king ibrahim and his son, story of, i. . king who lost kingdom and wife and wealth, the, ii. . king, the old woman, the merchant and the, i. . king who knew the quintessence of things, the, i. . king shah bekht and his vizier er rehwan, i. . king suleiman shah and his sons, story of, i. king (the unjust) and the tither, i. . king's daughter of baghdad, el abbas and the, iii. . king's son of cashghar, abdullah ben nafi and the, ii. . kings and the vizier's daughters, the two, iii. . lackpenny and the cook, the, i. . lavish of house and victual to one whom he knew not, the man who was, i. . learned man, khelbes and his wife and the, i. . lewdness, the pious woman accused of, ii. . locust, the hawk and the, ii. . looking to the issues of affairs, of, i. . lover, the favourite and her, iii. . malice, of envy and, i. . mamoun (el) el hakim bi amrillah, the merchant and the favourite of the khalif, iii. . mamoun (el) and zubeideh, i. . man whose caution was the cause of his death, the, i. . man and his fair wife, the foul-favoured, ii. . man of khorassan, his son and his governor, story of the, i. . man who was lavish of house and victual to one whom he knew not, the, i . mariyeh, el abbas and, iii. . marriage to the poor old man, the rich man who gave his fair daughter in, i. . melik (el) ez zahir rukneddin bibers el bunducdari and the sixteen officers of police, ii. . men and our lord jesus, the three, i. . merchant of cairo and the favourite of the khalif el maraoun el hakim bi amrillah, the, iii. . merchant and the king, the old woman, the, i. . merchant and his sons, the, i. . merchant, the unlucky, i. . merchants, the sharper and the, ii. . merouzi (el) and er razi, ii. . merry jest of a thief, a, ii. . money-changer and the ass, the sharpers, the, ii. . ninth officer's story, the, ii. . noureddin ali of damascus and sitt el milan, iii, . numan (en) and the arab of the benou tai, i. . officer's story, the first, ii. . officer's story, the second, ii. . officer's story, the third, ii. . officer's story, the fourth, ii. . officer's story, the fifth, ii. . officer's story, the sixth, ii. . officer's story, the seventh, ii. . officer's story, the eighth, ii. . officer's story, the ninth, ii. . officer's story, the tenth, ii. . officer's story, the eleventh, ii. . officer's story, the twelfth, ii. . officer's story, the thirteenth, ii. . officer's story, the fourteenth, ii. . officer's story, the fifteenth, ii. . officer's story, the sixteenth, ii. . officers of police, el melik ez zahir rukneddin bibers el bunducdar and the sixteen, ii. . old sharper, story of the, ii. . old woman and the draper's wife, the, ii. . old woman, the merchant and the king, the, i. . omar ben abdulaziz and the poets, the khalif, i. . patience, of the advantages of, i. . physician by his wife's commandment, the weaver who became a, ii. . picture, the prince who fell in love with the, i. . pious woman accused of lewdness, the, ii. . poets, the khalif omar ben abdulaziz and the, i. . police, el melik ez zahir rukneddin bibers el bunducdari and the sixteen officers of, ii. . poor old man, the rich man who gave his fair daughter in marriage to the, i. . porter, sindbad the sailor and hindbad the, iii. precipitation, of the ill effects of, i. prince bihzad, story of, i. . prince who fell in love with the picture, the, i. . prisoner and how god gave him relief, story of the, i. . quintessence of things, the king who knew the, i. . razi (er) and el merouzi, ii. . rehwan (er), king shah bekht and his vizier, i. . relief of god, of the speedy, i. . relief, story of the prisoner and how god gave him, i. . reshid (er) and the barmecides, i. . reshid (er), ibn es semmak and, i. . reshid (er), tuhfet el culoub and, ii. . reshid (haroun er) and the woman of the barmecides, i. . rich man who gave his fair daughter in marriage to the poor old man, the, i. . rich man and his wasteful son, the, i. . sabir (abou), story of, i. . sailor and hindbad the porter, sindbad the, iii. . second officer's story, the, ii. . selim and selma, ii. . selma, selim and, ii. . semmak (ibn es) and er reshid, i. . seventh officer's story, the, ii. . seventh voyage of sindbad the sailor, the, iii. . shah bekht and his vizier er rehwan, king, i. . sharper, the idiot and the, i. . sharper and the merchant, the, ii. sharper, story of the old, ii. . sharpers who cheated each his fellow, the two, ii. . sharpers, the money-changer and the ass, the, ii. . shehriyar, shehrzad and, ii. , iii. , . shehrzad and shehriyar, ii. , iii. , . sindbad the sailor and hindbad the porter, iii. . sindbad the sailor, the seventh voyage of, iii. . sindbad the sailor, the sixth voyage of, iii. . singer and the druggist, the, i. . sitt el milah, noureddin ali of damascus and, iii. . sixteen officers of police, el melik ez zahir rukneddin bibers el bunducdari and the, ii. . sixteenth officer's story, the, ii. . sixth officer's story, the, ii. . sixth voyage of sindbad the sailor, the, iii. . solomon, david and, i. . son, the history of king azadbekht and his, i. . son and his governor, story of the man of khorassan, his, i. son, story of king ibrahim and his, i. . son, the rich man and his wasteful, i. . sons, story of king suleiman shah and his, i. . sons, the merchant and his, i. . speedy relief of god, of the, i. . suleiman shah and his sons, story of king, i. . tai, en numan and the arab of the benou. i. . temam (abou), story of ilan shah and, i. . ten viziers, the, i. tenth officer's story, the, ii. term, of the appointed, i. . thief, a merry jest of a, ii. . thiefs story, the, ii. . thief and the woman, the, i. things, the king who knew the quintessence of, i. third officer's story, the, ii. . thirteenth officer's story, the, ii. . three men and our lord jesus, the, i. . three young men, el hejjaj and the, i. . tither, the unjust king and the, i. . trust in god, of, . tuhfet el culoub and er reshid, ii. . twelfth officer's story, the, ii. i . two kings and the vizier's daughters, the, iii. unjust king and the tither, the, i. unlucky merchant, the, i . uselessness of endeavour against persistent ill fortune, of the, i. vizier, the king of hind and his, ii. . vizier er rehwan, king shah bekht and his, i. . vizier's daughters, the two kings and the, iii. , viziers, story of king dadbin and his. i. . viziers, the ten, i. . voyage of sindbad the sailor, the seventh, iii. . voyage of sindbad the sailor, the sixth, iii. . wasteful son, the rich man and his, i. . weaver who became a physician by his wife's commandment, the ii. . wife, the king and his chamberlain's, ii. . wife, the old woman and the draper's, ii. . wife, firouz aad his, i. . wife, the fuller and his, i. . wife and the learned man, khelbes and his, i. . woman accused of lewdness, the pious, ii. . woman of the barmecides, haroun er reshid and the, i. . woman, the thief and the, i. . woman (the old) and the draper's wife, ii. . woman (the old), the merchant and the king, i. . women's craft, ii. . young men, el hejjaj and the three, i. . zubeideh, el mamoun and, i. the end. tales from the arabic, volume endnotes [fn# ] breslau text, vol. xii. pp. - , nights dcccclviii-dcccclxv. [fn# ] babylon, according to the muslims, is the head-quarters of sorcery and it is there that the two fallen angels, harout and marout, who are appointed to tempt mankind by teaching them the art of magic, are supposed to be confined. [fn# ] i.e. "my lord," a title generally prefixed to the names of saints. it is probable, therefore, that the boy was named after some saint or other, whose title, as well as name, was somewhat ignorantly appropriated to him. [fn# ] i.e. one and all? [fn# ] i.e. a foretaste of hell. [fn# ] lit. he loaded his sleeve with. [fn# ] a mithcal is the same as a dinar, i.e. about ten shillings. [fn# ] masculine. [fn# ] he was a noted debauchee, as well as the greatest poet of his day see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. iv. p. , and vol. ix. p. . [fn# ] see ante, vol. ii. p. . note. [fn# ] princess of the fair. [fn# ] i.e. ye are welcome to. [fn# ] i.e. the place in which those accused or convicted of crimes of violence were confined. [fn# ] i.e. a youth slender and flexile as a bough. [fn# ] i.e. sway gracefully. a swimming gait is the ideal of elegance to the arab. [fn# ] an arab of medina, proverbial for faithlessness. [fn# ] joseph is the mohammedan prototype of beauty. [fn# ] for the loss of joseph. jacob, in like manner, is the muslim type of inconsolable grief. [fn# ] uncle of the prophet. [fn# ] first cousin of the prophet. [fn# ] i.e. cut off her head. [fn# ] when asked, on the day of judgment, why he had slain her. [fn# ] i.e. that some one of the many risings in khorassan (which was in a chronic state of rebellion during er reshid's reign) had been put down. [fn# ] lit. fry. the custom is to sear the stump by plunging it into boiling oil. [fn# ] lit. of those having houses. [fn# ] i.e. from god in the world to come. [fn# ] i look to get god's favour in consequence of thy fervent prayers for me. [fn# ] provided for ablution. [fn# ] i.e. if you want a thing done, do it yourself. [fn# ] i.e. put on the ordinary walking dress of the eastern lady, which completely hides the person. [fn# ] this is apparently said in jest; but the muslim puritan (such as the strict wehhabi) is often exceedingly punctilious in refusing to eat or use anything that is not sanctified by mention in the koran or the traditions of the prophet, in the same spirit as the old calvinist scotchwoman of popular tradition, who refused to eat muffins, because they "warna mentioned in the bible." [fn# ] i.e. a leader (lit. foreman, antistes) of the people at prayer. [fn# ] koran ii. . [fn# ] i.e. i have eaten largely and the food lies heavy on my stomach. [fn# ] wine is considered by the arabs a sovereign digestive. see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. iv. p. . [fn# ] "the similitude of paradise, the which is promised unto those who fear [god]. therein are rivers of water incorruptible and rivers of milk, the taste whereof changeth not, and rivers of wine, a delight to the drinkers, and rivers of clarified honey."--koran xlvii. , . [fn# ] the ox is the arab type of stupidity, as with us the ass. [fn# ] syn. wood (oud). [fn# ] i.e. my pallor and emaciation testify to the affliction of my heart and the latter bears witness that the external symptoms correctly indicate the internal malady. [fn# ] lit. he is [first] the deposit of god, then thy deposit. [fn# ] or "by." [fn# ] see supra, vol. i. p. , note. [fn# ] i.e. made him chief of the police of baghdad, in place of the former prefect, whom he had put to death with the rest of noureddin's oppressors. [fn# ] for affright. [fn# ] i.e. religious ceremonies so called. see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. ix. p. , note. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. xii. pp. - , nights dcccclxvi-dcccclxxix. [fn# ] i.e. a member of the tribe of sheiban. no such king of baghdad (which was not founded till the eighth century) as ins ben cais is, i believe, known to history. [fn# ] the cities and provinces of bassora and cufa are generally known as "the two iraks"; but the name is here in all probability used in its wider meaning of irak arabi (chaldaea) and irak farsi (persian irak). [fn# ] i.e. all those languages the knowledge whereof is necessary to an interpreter or dragoman (properly terjeman). or quaere is the word terjemaniyeh (dragomanish) here a mistranscription for turkumaniyeh (turcoman). [fn# ] i.e. gilded? [fn# ] i.e. sperma hominis. [fn# ] syn. good breeding. [fn# ] i.e. those women of equal age and rank with herself. [fn# ] i.e. vaunting himself of offering richer presents. [fn# ] apparently zebid, the ancient capital of the province of tehameh in yemen, a town on the red sea, about sixty miles north of mocha. the copyist of the tunis ms. appears to have written the name with the addition of the characteristic desinence (oun) of the nominative case, which is dropped except in the koran and in poetry. [fn# ] name of the province in which mecca is situated. [fn# ] syn. assembly. [fn# ] i.e. day and night, to wit, for ever. [fn# ] syn. the loftiness of his purpose. [fn# ] lit "i charm thee by invoking the aid of god for thee against evil" or "i seek refuge with god for thee." [fn# ] or "determinate." [fn# ] koran xxxiii. . [fn# ] or "accomplishments." [fn# ] i.e. to make a pleasure-excursion. [fn# ] lit. beset his back. [fn# ] lit. in its earth. [fn# ] the king's own tribe. [fn# ] i.e. the arab of the desert or bedouin (el aarabi), the nomad. [fn# ] i.e. the martial instinct. [fn# ] lit. "and he who is oppressed shall become oppressor." [fn# ] i.e. be not ashamed to flee rather than perish in thy youth, if his prowess (attributed to diabolical aid or possession) prove too much for thee. [fn# ] a periphrastic way of saying, "i look to god for help." [fn# ] i.e. from the world. [fn# ] in laughter. [fn# ] i.e. as he were a flying genie, swooping down upon a mortal from the air, hawk-fashion. [fn# ] syn. "thou settest out to me a mighty matter." [fn# ] i.e. the castle. [fn# ] i.e. was eloquent and courtly to the utmost. [fn# ] i.e. died. [fn# ] the arabs use the right hand only in eating. [fn# ] name of a quarter of baghdad. [fn# ] i.e. he summoneth thee to his presence by way of kindness and not because he is wroth with thee. [fn# ] i.e. in allowing thee hitherto to remain at a distance from as and not inviting thee to attach thyself to our person. [fn# ] an arab idiom, meaning "he showed agitation." [fn# ] apparently two well-known lovers. [fn# ] apparently two well-known lovers. [fn# ] i.e. the wandering arabs. [fn# ] i.e. slain. [fn# ] "o ye who believe, seek aid of patience and prayer; verily, god is with the patient."--koran ii. . [fn# ] lit. "ignorant one" (jahil). [fn# ] i.e. peninsula. jezireh (sing, of jezair, islands) is constantly used by the arabs in this sense; hence much apparent confusion in topographical passages. [fn# ] i.e. mecca and medina. [fn# ] i.e. whether on a matter of sport, such as the chase, or a grave matter, such as war, etc. [fn# ] i.e. the children of his fighting-men whom thou slewest. [fn# ] arab fashion of shaking hands. see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. ix p. , note. [fn# ] lit. a cleft meadow (merj selia). this is probably a mistranscription for merj sselia, a treeless champaign. [fn# ] i.e. one of the small rooms opening upon the hall of audience at saloon of estate. [fn# ] so she might hear and see what passed, herself unseen. [fn# ] or knowledge of court etiquette. [fn# ] i.e. richer. [fn# ] lit. seen. [fn# ] lit. what she did. [fn# ] i.e. tabooed or unlawful in a religious sense (heram). [fn# ] i.e. those of el aziz, who had apparently entered the city or passed through it on their way to the camp of el abbas. [fn# ] lit. none of the sons of the road. [fn# ] i.e. the stars. [fn# ] i.e. in falsetto? [fn# ] by thine absence. [fn# ] common abbreviation for "may i be thy ransom!" [fn# ] i.e. for love of and longing for. [fn# ] i.e. leather from et taif, a town of the hejaz, renowned for the manufacture of scented goats' leather. [fn# ] or "suspended in." [fn# ] i.e. violateth my privacy. [fn# ] i.e. the plaintive song of a nightingale or turtle-dove. [fn# ] this curious comparison appears to be founded upon the extreme tenuity of the particles of fine dust, so minutely divided as to seem almost fluid. [fn# ] i.e. he carried it into the convent, hidden under his cloak. [fn# ] i.e. all the delights of paradise, as promised to the believer by the koran. [fn# ] "him" in the text and so on throughout the piece; but mariyeh is evidently the person alluded to, according to the common practice of muslim poets of a certain class, who consider it indecent openly to mention a woman as an object of love. [fn# ] i.e. from the witchery of her beauty. see vol. ii. p. , note. [fn# ] lit "if thou kohl thyself" i.e. use them as a cosmetic for the eye. [fn# ] i.e. we will assume thy debts and responsibilities. [fn# ] lit "behind." [fn# ] i.e. a specially auspicious hour, as ascertained by astrological calculations. eastern peoples have always laid great stress upon the necessity of commencing all important undertakings at an (astrologically) favourable time. [fn# ] or "more valuable." red camels are considered better than those of other colours by some of the arabs. [fn# ] i.e. couriers mounted on dromedaries, which animals are commonly used for this purpose, being (for long distances) swifter and more enduring than horses. [fn# ] lit. he sinned against himself. [fn# ] i.e. in falsetto? [fn# ] i.e. of gold or rare wood, set with balass rubies. [fn# ] i.e. whose absence. [fn# ] i.e. in a throat voice? [fn# ] koranic synonym, victual (rihan). see vol. ii. p. , note. [fn# ] apparently, the apple of the throat. [fn# ] apparently, the belly. [fn# ] apparently, the bosom. [fn# ] cf. fletcher's well-known song in the bloody brother; "hide, o hide those hills of snow, that thy frozen bosom bears, on whose tops the pinks that grow are of those that april wears." [fn# ] i.e. the breasts themselves. [fn# ] i.e. your languishing beauties are alone present to my mind's eye. a drowsy voluptuous air of languishment is considered by the arabs an especial charm. [fn# ] syn. chamberlain (hajib). [fn# ] syn. eyebrow (hajib). the usual trifling play of words is of course intended. [fn# ] lit. feathers. [fn# ] solomon is fabled by the muslims to have compelled the wind to bear his throne when placed upon his famous magic carpet. see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. pp. - . [fn# ] quære the teeth. [fn# ] i.e. the return of our beloved hath enabled us to remove the barriers that stood between us and delight. [fn# ] singing (as i have before pointed out) is not, in the eyes of the strict muslim, a reputable occupation and it is, therefore, generally the first idea of the "repentant" professional songstress or (as in this case) enfranchised slave-girl, who has been wont to entertain her master with the display of her musical talents, to free herself from all signs of her former profession and identify herself as closely as possible with the ordinary "respectable" bourgeoise of the harem, from whom she has been distinguished hitherto by unveiled face and freedom of ingress and egress; and with this aim in view she would naturally be inclined to exaggerate the rigour of muslim custom, as applied to herself. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. xii. pp. - (night mi). [fn# ] i.e. that of the king, his seven viziers, his son and his favourite, which in the breslau edition immediately follows the story of el abbas and mariyeh and occupies pp. - of vol. xii. (nights dcccclxxix-m). it will be found translated in my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. pp. - , under the name of "the malice of women." [fn# ] i.e. those who practise it. [fn# ] or "cause" (sebeb). [fn# ] or "preservation" (selameh). [fn# ] or "turpitude, anything that is hateful or vexatious" (keraheh). [fn# ] or "preservation" (selameh). [fn# ] or "turpitude, anything that is hateful or vexatious" (keraheh). [fn# ] these preliminary words of shehrzad have no apparent connection with the story that immediately follows and which is only her own told in the third person, and it is difficult to understand why they should be here introduced. the author may have intended to connect them with the story by means of a further development of the latter and with the characteristic carelessness of the eastern story-teller, forgotten or neglected to carry out his intention; or, again, it is possible that the words in question may have been intended as an introduction to the story of the favourite and her lover (see post, p. ), to which they seem more suitable, and have been misplaced by an error of transcription. in any case, the text is probably (as usual) corrupt. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. xii. pp. - . [fn# ] the kingdom of the elder brother is afterwards referred to as situate in china. see post, p. . [fn# ] tubba was the dynastic title of the ancient himyerite kings of yemen, even as chosroës and cæsar of the kings of persia and the emperors of constantinople respectively. [fn# ] i.e. a king similar in magnificence and dominion to the monarchs of the three dynasties aforesaid, whose names are in arab literature synonyms for regal greatness. [fn# ] i.e. his rage was ungovernable, so that none dared approach him in his heat of passion. [fn# ] i.e. maidens cloistered or concealed behind curtains and veiled in the harem. [fn# ] i.e. those whose business it is to compose or compile stories, verses, etc., for the entertainment of kings and grandees. [fn# ] i.e. that his new and damnable custom. the literal meaning of bidah is "an innovation or invention, anything new;" but the word is commonly used in the sense of "heresy" or "heterodox innovation," anything new being naturally heretical in the eyes of the orthodox religionist. [fn# ] i.e. women. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. xii. pp. - . [fn# ] i.e. his apathy or indifference to the principles of right and wrong and the consequences of his wicked behaviour. [fn# ] i.e. in a state of reprobation, having incurred the wrath of god. [fn# ] hath mentioned the office of vizier. [fn# ] koran xx. . [fn# ] i.e. none had been better qualified to dispense with a vizier than he. [fn# ] i.e. the essential qualification. [fn# ] the word jeish (troops) is here apparently used in the sense at officials, ministers of government. [fn# ] or "rectification." [fn# ] koran xxxiii. . [fn# ] i.e. i know not which to choose of the superabundant material at my command in the way of instances of women's craft. [fn# ] breslau text, vol xii. pp. - . [fn# ] i.e. incensed with the smoke of burning musk. it is a common practice in the east to fumigate drinking-vessels with the fragrant smoke of aloes-wood and other perfumes, for the purpose of giving a pleasant flavour to the water, etc., drunk from them. [fn# ] huneini foucaniyeh. foucaniyeh means "upper" (fem.); but the meaning of huneini is unknown to me. [fn# ] heriseh. see supra, vol. ii. p. , note . [fn# ] the arabs distinguish three kinds of honey, i.e. bees' honey, cane honey (treacle or syrup of sugar) and drip-honey (date-syrup). [fn# ] i.e. yet arrive in time for the rendezvous. [fn# ] breslau text, pp. - . [fn# ] i.e. on an island between two branches of the nile. [fn# ] it is not plain what khalif is here meant, though it is evident, from the context, that an egyptian prince is referred to, unless the story is told of the abbaside khalif el mamoun, son of er reshid (a.d. - ), during his temporary residence in egypt, which he is said to have visited. this is, however, unlikely, as his character was the reverse of sanguinary; besides, el mamoun was not his name, but his title (aboulabbas abdallah el mamoun billah). two khalifs of egypt assumed the title of el hakim bi amrillah (he who rules or decrees by or in accordance with the commandment of god), i.e. the fatimite abou ali el mensour (a.d. - ), and the faineant abbaside aboulabbas ahmed (a.d. - ); but neither of these was named el mamoun. it is probable, however, that the first named is the prince referred to in the story, the latter having neither the power nor the inclination for such wholesale massacres as that described in the text, which are perfectly in character with the brutal and fantastic nature of the founder of the druse religion. [fn# ] i.e. the well-known island of that name (the garden). [fn# ] i.e. "whatever may betide" or "will i, nill i"? [fn# ] lit. she was cut off or cut herself off. [fn# ] lit. "the convent of clay." [fn# ] i.e. this is the time to approve thyself a man. [fn# ] to keep her afloat. [fn# ] lit "thou art the friend who is found (or present) (or the vicissitudes of time (or fortune)." [fn# ] i.e. the officer whose duty it is to search out the estates of intestates and lay hands upon such property as escheats to the crown for want of heirs. [fn# ] i.e. sumatran. [fn# ] i.e. alexander. [fn# ] i.e. the blackness of the hair. [fn# ] the ingenuity of the bride's attendants, on the occasion of a wedding, is strained to the utmost to vary her attire and the manner in which the hair is dressed on the occasion of her being displayed to her husband, and one favourite trick consists in fastening her tresses about her chin and cheeks, so as to produce a sort of imitation of beard and whiskers. [fn# ] literal. [fn# ] i.e. god only knows if it be true or not. [fn# ] or rather appended to. the voyages of sindbad the sailor form no part of the scheme of nights in this edition, but are divided into "voyages" only and form a sort of appendix, following the two hundredth night. see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. ix. pp. - . [fn# ] see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. pp. and . [fn# ] i.e. the porter and the other guests. [fn# ] i.e. a mountainous island. [fn# ] kherabeh, lit. a hole. syn. ruin or destruction. [fn# ] i.e. an outlying spur or reef. [fn# ] syn. perilous place. [fn# ] lit. their guide was disappointed. [fn# ] i.e. means (hileh) of sustaining life. [fn# ] i.e. death. [fn# ] i.e. ceylon. [fn# ] audiyeh (plural of wadi, a valley). the use of the word in this sense points to an african origin of this version of the story. the moors of africa and spain commonly called a river "a valley," by a natural figure of metonymy substituting the container for the contained; e.g. guadalquiver (wadi el kebir, the great river), guadiana, etc. [fn# ] i.e. after the usual compliments, the letter proceeded thus. [fn# ] i.e. we are thine allies in peace and war, for offence and defence. those whom thou lovest we love, and those whom thou hatest we hate. [fn# ] about seventy-two grains. [fn# ] or public appearance. [fn# ] solomon was the dynastic name of the kings of the prae-adamite jinn and is here used in a generic sense, as chosroes for the ancient kings of persia, caesar for the emperors of constantinople, tubba for the himyerite kings of yemen, etc., etc. [fn# ] i.e. maharajah. [fn# ] or "government." [fn# ] every muslim is bound by law to give alms to the extent of two and half per cent. of his property. [fn# ] in north-east persia. [fn# ] alleged to have been found by the arab conquerors of spain on the occasion of the sack of toledo and presented by them to the ommiade khalif el welid ben abdulmelik (a.d. - ). see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. iii. p. . [fn# ] i.e. such as are fit to be sent from king to king. [fn# ] i.e, the price of his victual and other necessaries for the voyage. [fn# ] lit. riding-beast (french monture, no exact english equivalent), whether camel, mule or horse does not appear. [fn# ] the envier and the envied. [fn# ] after the manner of orientalists, a far more irritable folk than any poets. [fn# ] by the by, apropos of this soi-disant complete translation of the great arabian collection of romantic fiction, it is difficult to understand how an orientalist of repute, such as dr. habicht, can have put forth publication of this kind, which so swarms with blunders of every description as to throw the mistakes of all other translators completely into the shade and to render it utterly useless to the arabic scholar as a book of reference. we can only conjecture that he must have left the main portion of the work to be executed, without efficient supervision, by incapable collaborators or that he undertook and executed the translation in such haste as to preclude the possibility of any preliminary examination and revision, worthy of the name, of the original ms.; and this latter supposition appears to be borne out by the fact that the translation was entirely published before the appearance of any portion of the arabic text, as printed from the tunis manuscript. whilst on the subject of german translations, it may be well to correct an idea, which appears to prevail among non-arabic scholars, to the effect that complete translations of the book of the thousand nights and one night exist in the language of hoffmann and heine, and which is (as far, at least, as my own knowledge extends) a completely erroneous one. i have, i believe, examined all the german translations in existence and have found not one of them worthy of serious consideration; the best, that of hammer-purgstall, to which i had looked for help in the elucidation of doubtful and corrupt passages, being so loose and unfaithful, so disfigured by ruthless retrenchments and abridgments, no less than by gross errors of all kinds, that i found myself compelled to lay it aside as useless. it is but fair, however, to the memory of the celebrated austrian orientalist, to state that the only form in which von hammer's translation is procurable is that of the german rendering of prof. zinserling ( - ), executed from the original (french) manuscript, which latter was unfortunately lost before publication. [fn# ] the boulac edition omits this story altogether. [fn# ] calcutta ( - ) and boulac b. "the merchant's wife and the parrot." [fn# ] this will be found translated in my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. vii. p. , as an appendix to the calcutta ( - ) and boulac version of the story, from which it differs in detail. [fn# ] called "bekhit" in calcutta ( - ) and boulac editions. [fn# ] yehya ben khalid (calcutta ( - ) and boulac). [fn# ] "shar" (calcutta ( - ) and boulac). [fn# ] "jelyaad" (calcutta ( - ) and boulac). [fn# ] calcutta ( - ) and boulac, no. . see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. iv. p. . [fn# ] calcutta ( - ) and boulac, "jaafer the barmecide." [fn# ] calcutta ( - ) and boulac, "the thief turned merchant and the other thief," no. . [fn# ] this story will be found translated in my "book at the thousand nights and one night,' vol. v. p. . [fn# ] the third old man's story is wanting. [fn# ] the story of the portress is wanting. [fn# ] calcutta ( - ), boulac and breslan, "the controller's story." [fn# ] calcutta ( - ) and boulac, "sindbad the sailor and sindbad the porter." [fn# ] tuhfeh. text scanned by jc byers and proof read by the volunteers of the distributed proofreaders site: http://charlz.dns go.com/gutenberg/ tales from the arabic of the breslau and calcutta ( - ) editions of the book of the thousand nights and one night not occurring in the other printed texts of the work, now first done into english by john payne in three volumes: volume the first. delhi edition contents of the first volume. breslau text. . asleep and awake a. story of the lackpenny and the cook . the khalif omar ben abdulaziz and the poets . el hejjaj and the three young men . haroun er reshid and the woman of the barmecides . the ten viziers; or the history of king azadbekht and his son a. of the uselessness of endeavour against persistent ill fortune i. story of the unlucky merchant b. of looking to the issues of affairs i. story of the merchant and his sons c. of the advantages of patience i. story of abou sabir d. of the ill effects of precipitation i. story of prince bihzad e. of the issues of good and evil actions i. story of king dadbin and his viziers f. of trust in god i. story of king bexhtzeman g. of clemency i. story of king bihkerd h. of envy and malice i. story of ilan shah and abou temam i. of destiny or that which is written on the forehead i. story of king abraham and his son j. of the appointed term, which, if it be advanced, may not be deferred and if it be deferred, may not be advanced i. story of king suleiman shah and his sons k. of the speedy relief of god i. story of the prisoner and how god gave him relief . jaafer ben yehya and abdulmelik ben salih the abbaside . er reshid and the barmecides . ibn es semmak and er reshid . el mamoun and zubeideh . en numan and the arab of the benou tai . firouz and his wife . king shah bekht and his vizier er rehwan a. story of the man of khorassan, his son and his governor b. story of the singer and the druggist c. story of the king who knew the quintessence of things d. story of the rich man who gave his fair daughter in marriage to the poor old man e. story of the rich man and his wasteful son f. the king's son who fell in love with the picture g. story of the fuller and his wife h. story of the old woman, the merchant and the king i. story of the credulous husband j. story of the unjust king and the tither i. story of david and solomon k. story of the thief and the woman l. story of the three men and our lord jesus i. the disciple's story m. story of the dethroned king whose kingdom and good were restorfd to him n. story of the man whose caution was the cause of his death o. story of the man who was lavish of his house and his victual to one whom he knew not p. story of the idiot and the sharper q. story of khelbes and his wife and the learned man breslau text. asleep and awake[fn# ] there was once [at baghdad], in the khalifate of haroun er reshid, a man, a merchant, who had a son by name aboulhusn el khelia.[fn# ] the merchant died and left his son great store of wealth, which he divided into two parts, one of which he laid up and spent of the other half; and he fell to companying with persians[fn# ] and with the sons of the merchants and gave himself up to good eating and good drinking, till all that he had with him of wealth[fn# ] was wasted and gone; whereupon he betook himself to his friends and comrades and boon-companions and expounded to them his case, discovering to them the failure of that which was in his hand of wealth; but not one of them took heed of him neither inclined unto him. so he returned to his mother (and indeed his spirit was broken), and related to her that which had happened to him and what had betided him from his friends, how they, had neither shared with him nor requited him with speech. "o aboulhusn," answered she, "on this wise are the sons[fn# ]of this time: if thou have aught, they make much of thee,[fn# ] and if thou have nought, they put thee away [from them]." and she went on to condole with him, what while he bewailed himself and his tears flowed and he repeated the following verses: an if my substance fail, no one there is will succour me, but if my wealth abound, of all i'm held in amity. how many a friend, for money's sake, hath companied with me! how many an one, with loss of wealth, hath turned mine enemy! then he sprang up [and going] to the place wherein was the other half of his good, [took it] and lived with it well; and he swore that he would never again consort with those whom he knew, but would company only with the stranger nor entertain him but one night and that, whenas it morrowed, he would never know him more. so he fell to sitting every night on the bridge[fn# ] and looking on every one who passed by him; and if he saw him to be a stranger, he made friends with him and carried him to his house, where he caroused with him till the morning. then he dismissed him and would never more salute him nor ever again drew near unto him neither invited him. on this wise he continued to do for the space of a whole year, till, one day, as he sat on the bridge, according to his custom, expecting who should come to him, so he might take him and pass the night with him, behold, [up came] the khalif and mesrour, the swordsman of his vengeance, disguised [in merchants' habits] as of their wont. so he looked at them and rising up, for that he knew them not, said to them, "what say ye? will you go with me to my dwelling-place, so ye may eat what is ready and drink what is at hand, to wit, bread baked in the platter[fn# ] and meat cooked and wine clarified?" the khalif refused this, but he conjured him and said to him, "god on thee, o my lord, go with me, for thou art my guest this night, and disappoint not my expectation concerning thee!" and he ceased not to press him till he consented to him; whereat aboulhusn rejoiced and going on before him, gave not over talking with him till they came to his [house and he carried the khalif into the] saloon. er reshid entered and made his servant abide at the door; and as soon as he was seated, aboulhusn brought him somewhat to eat; so he ate, and aboulhusn ate with him, so eating might be pleasant to him. then he removed the tray and they washed their hands and the khalif sat down again; whereupon aboulhusn set on the drinking vessels and seating himself by his side, fell to filling and giving him to drink and entertaining him with discourse. his hospitality pleased the khalif and the goodliness of his fashion, and he said to him, "o youth, who art thou? make me acquainted with thyself, so i may requite thee thy kindness." but aboulhusn smiled and said, "o my lord, far be it that what is past should recur and that i be in company with thee at other than this time!" "why so?" asked the khalif. "and why wilt thou not acquaint me with thy case?" and aboulhusn said, "know, o my lord, that my story is extraordinary and that there is a cause for this affair." quoth the khalif, "and what is the cause?" and he answered, "the cause hath a tail." the khalif laughed at his words and aboulhusn said, "i will explain to thee this [saying] by the story of the lackpenny and the cook. know, o my lord, that story of the lackpenny and the cook. one of the good-for-noughts found himself one day without aught and the world was straitened upon him and his patience failed; so he lay down to sleep and gave not over sleeping till the sun burnt him and the foam came out upon his mouth, whereupon he arose, and he was penniless and had not so much as one dirhem. presently, he came to the shop of a cook, who had set up therein his pans[fn# ] [over the fire] and wiped his scales and washed his saucers and swept his shop and sprinkled it; and indeed his oils[fn# ] were clear[fn# ] and his spices fragrant and he himself stood behind his cooking-pots [waiting for custom]. so the lackpenny went up to him and saluting him, said to him, 'weigh me half a dirhem's worth of meat and a quarter of a dirhem's worth of kouskoussou[fn# ] and the like of bread.' so the cook weighed out to him [that which he sought] and the lackpenny entered the shop, whereupon the cook set the food before him and he ate till he had gobbled up the whole and licked the saucers and abode perplexed, knowing not how he should do with the cook concerning the price of that which he had eaten and turning his eyes about upon everything in the shop. presently, he caught sight of an earthen pan turned over upon its mouth; so he raised it from the ground and found under it a horse's tail, freshly cut off, and the blood oozing from it; whereby he knew that the cook adulterated his meat with horses' flesh. when he discovered this default, he rejoiced therein and washing his hands, bowed his head and went out; and when the cook saw that he went and gave him nought, he cried out, saying, 'stay, o sneak, o slink-thief!' so the lackpenny stopped and said to him, 'dost thou cry out upon me and becall [me] with these words, o cuckold?' whereat the cook was angry and coming down from the shop, said, 'what meanest thou by thy speech, o thou that devourest meat and kouskoussou and bread and seasoning and goest forth with "peace[fn# ][be on thee!]," as it were the thing had not been, and payest down nought for it?' quoth the lackpenny, 'thou liest, o son of a cuckold!' wherewith the cook cried out and laying hold of the lackpenny's collar, said, 'o muslims, this fellow is my first customer[fn# ] this day and he hath eaten my food and given me nought.' so the folk gathered together to them and blamed the lackpenny and said to him, 'give him the price of that which thou hast eaten.' quoth he, 'i gave him a dirhem before i entered the shop;' and the cook said, 'be everything i sell this day forbidden[fn# ] to me, if he gave me so much as the name of a piece of money! by allah, he gave me nought, but ate my food and went out and [would have] made off, without aught [said i]' 'nay,' answered the lackpenny, 'i gave thee a dirhem,' and he reviled the cook, who returned his abuse; whereupon he dealt him a cuff and they gripped and grappled and throttled each other. when the folk saw them on this wise, they came up to them and said to them, 'what is this strife between you, and no cause for it?' 'ay, by allah,' replied the lackpenny, 'but there is a cause for it, and the cause hath a tail!' whereupon, 'yea, by allah,' cried the cook, 'now thou mindest me of thyself and thy dirhem! yes, he gave me a dirhem and [but] a quarter of the price is spent. come back and take the rest of the price of thy dirhem.' for that he understood what was to do, at the mention of the tail; and i, o my brother," added aboulhusn, "my story hath a cause, which i will tell thee." the khalif laughed at his speech and said, "by allah, this is none other than a pleasant tale! tell me thy story and the cause." "with all my heart," answered aboulhusn. "know, o my lord, that my name is aboulhusn el khelia and that my father died and left me wealth galore, of which i made two parts. one i laid up and with the other i betook myself to [the enjoyment of the pleasures of] friendship [and conviviality] and consorting with comrades and boon-companions and with the sons of the merchants, nor did i leave one but i caroused with him and he with me, and i spent all my money on companionship and good cheer, till there remained with me nought [of the first half of my good]; whereupon i betook myself to the comrades and cup-companions upon whom i had wasted my wealth, so haply they might provide for my case; but, when i resorted to them and went round about to them all, i found no avail in one of them, nor broke any so much as a crust of bread in my face. so i wept for myself and repairing to my mother, complained to her of my case. quoth she, 'on this wise are friends; if thou have aught, they make much of thee and devour thee, but, if thou have nought, they cast thee off and chase thee away.' then i brought out the other half of my money and bound myself by an oath that i would never more entertain any, except one night, after which i would never again salute him nor take note of him; hence my saying to thee, 'far be it that what is past should recur!' for that i will never again foregather with thee, after this night." when the khalif heard this, he laughed heartily and said, "by allah, o my brother, thou art indeed excused in this matter, now that i know the cause and that the cause hath a tail. nevertheless if it please god, i will not sever myself from thee." "o my guest," replied aboulhusn, "did i not say to thee, 'far be it that what is past should recur! for that i will never again foregather with any'?" then the khalif rose and aboulhusn set before him a dish of roast goose and a cake of manchet-bread and sitting down, fell to cutting off morsels and feeding the khalif therewith. they gave not over eating thus till they were content, when aboulhusn brought bowl and ewer and potash[fn# ] and they washed their hands. then he lighted him three candles and three lamps and spreading the drinking-cloth, brought clarified wine, limpid, old and fragrant, the scent whereof was as that of virgin musk. he filled the first cup and saying, "o my boon-companion, by thy leave, be ceremony laid aside between us! i am thy slave; may i not be afflicted with thy loss!" drank it off and filled a second cup, which he handed to the khalif, with a reverence. his fashion pleased the khalif and the goodliness of his speech and he said in himself, "by allah, i will assuredly requite him for this!" then aboulhusn filled the cup again and handed it to the khalif, reciting the following verses: had we thy coming known, we would for sacrifice have poured thee out heart's blood or blackness of the eyes; ay, and we would have spread our bosoms in thy way, that so thy feet might fare on eyelids, carpet-wise. when the khalif heard his verses, he took the cup from his hand and kissed it and drank it off and returned it to aboulhusn, who made him an obeisance and filled and drank. then he filled again and kissing the cup thrice, recited the following verses: thy presence honoureth us and we confess thy magnanimity; if thou forsake us, there is none can stand to us instead of thee. then he gave the cup to the khalif, saying, "drink [and may] health and soundness [attend it]! it doth away disease and bringeth healing and setteth the runnels of health abroach." they gave not over drinking and carousing till the middle of the night, when the khalif said to his host, "o my brother, hast thou in thy heart a wish thou wouldst have accomplished or a regret thou wouldst fain do away?" "by allah," answered he, "there is no regret in my heart save that i am not gifted with dominion and the power of commandment and prohibition, so i might do what is in my mind!" quoth the khalif, "for god's sake, o my brother, tell me what is in thy mind!" and aboulhusn said, "i would to god i might avenge myself on my neighbours, for that in my neighbourhood is a mosque and therein four sheikhs, who take it ill, whenas there cometh a guest to me, and vex me with talk and molest me in words and threaten me that they will complain of me to the commander of the faithful, and indeed they oppress me sore, and i crave of god the most high one day's dominion, that i may beat each of them with four hundred lashes, as well as the imam of the mosque, and parade them about the city of baghdad and let call before them, 'this is the reward and the least of the reward of whoso exceedeth [in talk] and spiteth the folk and troubleth on them their joys.' this is what i wish and no more." quoth the khalif, "god grant thee that thou seekest! let us drink one last cup and rise before the dawn draw near, and to-morrow night i will be with thee again." "far be it!" said aboulhusn. then the khalif filled a cup and putting therein a piece of cretan henbane, gave it to his host and said to him, "my life on thee, o my brother, drink this cup from my hand!" "ay, by thy life," answered aboulhusn, "i will drink it from thy hand." so he took it and drank it off; but hardly had he done so, when his head forewent his feet and he fell to the ground like a slain man; whereupon the khalif went out and said to his servant mesrour, "go in to yonder young man, the master of the house, and take him up and bring him to me at the palace; and when thou goest out, shut the door." so saying, he went away, whilst mesrour entered and taking up aboulhusn, shut the door after him, and followed his master, till he reached the palace, what while the night drew to an end and the cocks cried out, and set him down before the commander of the faithful, who laughed at him. then he sent for jaafer the barmecide and when he came before him, he said to him, "note this young man and when thou seest him to-morrow seated in my place of estate and on the throne of my khalifate and clad in my habit, stand thou in attendance upon him and enjoin the amirs and grandees and the people of my household and the officers of my realm to do the like and obey him in that which he shall command them; and thou, if he bespeak thee of anything, do it and hearken unto him and gainsay him not in aught in this coming day." jaafer answered with, "hearkening and obedience,"[fn# ] and withdrew, whilst the khalif went in to the women of the palace, who came to him, and he said to them, "whenas yonder sleeper awaketh to-morrow from his sleep, kiss ye the earth before him and make obeisance to him and come round about him and clothe him in the [royal] habit and do him the service of the khalifate and deny not aught of his estate, but say to him, 'thou art the khalif.'" then he taught them what they should say to him and how they should do with him and withdrawing to a privy place, let down a curtain before himself and slept. meanwhile, aboulhusn gave not over snoring in his sleep, till the day broke and the rising of the sun drew near, when a waiting-woman came up to him and said to him, "o our lord [it is the hour of] the morning- prayer." when he heard the girl's words, he laughed and opening his eyes, turned them about the place and found himself in an apartment the walls whereof were painted with gold and ultramarine and its ceiling starred with red gold. around it were sleeping-chambers, with curtains of gold-embroidered silk let down over their doors, and all about vessels of gold and porcelain and crystal and furniture and carpets spread and lamps burning before the prayer-niche and slave-girls and eunuchs and white slaves and black slaves and boys and pages and attendants. when he saw this, he was confounded in his wit and said, "by allah, either i am dreaming, or this is paradise and the abode of peace!"[fn# ] and he shut his eyes and went to sleep again. quoth the waiting-woman, "o my lord, this is not of thy wont, o commander of the faithful!" then the rest of the women of the palace came all to him and lifted him into a sitting posture, when he found himself upon a couch, stuffed all with floss-silk and raised a cubit's height from the ground.[fn# ] so they seated him upon it and propped him up with a pillow, and he looked at the apartment and its greatness and saw those eunuchs and slave-girls in attendance upon him and at his head, whereat he laughed at himself and said, "by allah, it is not as i were on wake, and [yet] i am not asleep!" then he arose and sat up, whilst the damsels laughed at him and hid [their laughter] from him; and he was confounded in his wit and bit upon his finger. the bite hurt him and he cried "oh!" and was vexed; and the khalif watched him, whence he saw him not, and laughed. presently aboulhusn turned to a damsel and called to her; whereupon she came to him and he said to her, "by the protection of god, o damsel, am i commander of the faithful?" "yes, indeed," answered she; "by the protection of god thou in this time art commander of the faithful." quoth he, "by allah, thou liest, o thousandfold strumpet!" then he turned to the chief eunuch and called to him, whereupon he came to him and kissing the earth before him, said, "yes, o commander of the faithful." "who is commander of the faithful?" asked aboulhusn. "thou," replied the eunuch and aboulhusn said, "thou liest, thousandfold catamite that thou art!" then he turned to another eunuch and said to him, "o my chief,[fn# ] by the protection of god, am i commander of the faithful?" "ay, by allah, o my lord!" answered he. "thou in this time art commander of the faithful and vicar of the lord of the worlds." aboulhusn laughed at himself and misdoubted of his reason and was perplexed at what he saw and said, "in one night i am become khalif! yesterday i was aboulhusn the wag, and to-day i am commander of the faithful." then the chief eunuch came up to him and said, "o commander of the faithful, (the name of god encompass thee!) thou art indeed commander of the faithful and vicar of the lord of the worlds!" and the slave-girls and eunuchs came round about him, till he arose and abode wondering at his case. presently, one of the slave-girls brought him a pair of sandals wrought with raw silk and green silk and embroidered with red gold, and he took them and put them in his sleeve, whereat the slave cried out and said, "allah! allah! o my lord, these are sandals for the treading of thy feet, so thou mayst enter the draught-house." aboulhusn was confounded and shaking the sandals from his sleeve, put them on his feet, whilst the khalif [well-nigh] died of laughter at him. the slave forewent him to the house of easance, where he entered and doing his occasion, came out into the chamber, whereupon the slave- girls brought him a basin of gold and an ewer of silver and poured water on his hands and he made the ablution. then they spread him a prayer-carpet and he prayed. now he knew not how to pray and gave not over bowing and prostrating himself, [till he had prayed the prayers] of twenty inclinations,[fn# ] pondering in himself the while and saying, "by allah, i am none other than the commander of the faithful in very sooth! this is assuredly no dream, for all these things happen not in a dream." and he was convinced and determined in himself that he was commander of the faithful; so he pronounced the salutation[fn# ] and made an end[fn# ] of his prayers; whereupon the slaves and slave-girls came round about him with parcels of silk and stuffs[fn# ] and clad him in the habit of the khalifate and gave him the royal dagger in his hand. then the chief eunuch went out before him and the little white slaves behind him, and they ceased not [going] till they raised the curtain and brought him into the hall of judgment and the throne-room of the khalifate. there he saw the curtains and the forty doors and el ijli and er recashi[fn# ] and ibdan and jedim and abou ishac [fn# ] the boon-companions and beheld swords drawn and lions [fn# ] encompassing [the throne] and gilded glaives and death-dealing bows and persians and arabs and turks and medes and folk and peoples and amirs and viziers and captains and grandees and officers of state and men of war, and indeed there appeared the puissance of the house of abbas [fn# ] and the majesty of the family of the prophet. so he sat down upon the throne of the khalifate and laid the dagger in his lap, whereupon all [present] came up to kiss the earth before him and called down on him length of life and continuance [of glory and prosperity]. then came forward jaafer the barmecide and kissing the earth, said, "may the wide world of god be the treading of thy feet and may paradise be thy dwelling-place and the fire the habitation of thine enemies! may no neighbour transgress against thee nor the lights of fire die out for thee, [fn# ] o khalif of [all] cities and ruler of [all] countries!" therewithal aboulhusn cried out at him and said, "o dog of the sons of bermek, go down forthright, thou and the master of the police of the city, to such a place in such a street and deliver a hundred dinars to the mother of aboulhusn the wag and bear her my salutation. [then, go to such a mosque] and take the four sheikhs and the imam and beat each of them with four hundred lashes and mount them on beasts, face to tail, and go round with them about all the city and banish them to a place other than the city; and bid the crier make proclamation before them, saying, 'this is the reward and the least of the reward of whoso multiplieth words and molesteth his neighbours and stinteth them of their delights and their eating and drinking!'" jaafer received the order [with submission] and answered with ["hearkening and] obedience;" after which he went down from before aboulhusn to the city and did that whereunto he had bidden him. meanwhile, aboulhusn abode in the khalifate, taking and giving, ordering and forbidding and giving effect to his word, till the end of the day, when he gave [those who were present] leave and permission [to withdraw], and the amirs and officers of state departed to their occasions. then the eunuchs came to him and calling down on him length of life and continuance [of glory and prosperity], walked in attendance upon him and raised the curtain, and he entered the pavilion of the harem, where he found candles lighted and lamps burning and singing-women smiting [on instruments of music]. when he saw this, he was confounded in his wit and said in himself, "by allah, i am in truth commander of the faithful!" as soon as he appeared, the slave-girls rose to him and carrying him up on to the estrade,[fn# ] brought him a great table, spread with the richest meats. so he ate thereof with all his might, till he had gotten his fill, when he called one of the slave-girls and said to her, "what is thy name?" "my name is miskeh," replied she, and he said to another, "what is thy name?" quoth she, "my name is terkeh." then said he to a third, "what is thy name?" "my name is tuhfeh," answered she; and he went on to question the damsels of their names, one after another, [till he had made the round of them all], when he rose from that place and removed to the wine-chamber. he found it every way complete and saw therein ten great trays, full of all fruits and cakes and all manner sweetmeats. so he sat down and ate thereof after the measure of his sufficiency, and finding there three troops of singing-girls, was amazed and made the girls eat. then he sat and the singers also seated themselves, whilst the black slaves and the white slaves and the eunuchs and pages and boys stood, and the slave-girls, some of them, sat and some stood. the damsels sang and warbled all manner melodies and the place answered them for the sweetness of the songs, whilst the pipes cried out and the lutes made accord with them, till it seemed to aboulhusn that he was in paradise and his heart was cheered and his breast dilated. so he sported and joyance waxed on him and he bestowed dresses of honour on the damsels and gave and bestowed, challenging this one and kissing that and toying with a third, plying one with wine and another with meat, till the night fell down. all this while the khalif was diverting himself with watching him and laughing, and at nightfall he bade one of the slave-girls drop a piece of henbane in the cup and give it to aboulhusn to drink. so she did as he bade her and gave aboulhusn the cup, whereof no sooner had he drunken than his head forewent his feet [and he fell down, senseless]. therewith the khalif came forth from behind the curtain, laughing, and calling to the servant who had brought aboulhusn to the palace, said to him, "carry this fellow to his own place." so mesrour took him up [and carrying him to his own house], set him down in the saloon. then he went forth from him and shutting the saloon-door upon him, returned to the khalif, who slept till the morrow. as for aboulhusn, he gave not over sleeping till god the most high brought on the morning, when he awoke, crying out and saying, "ho, tuffaheh! ho, rahet el culoub! ho, miskeh! ho, tuhfeh!" and he gave not over calling upon the slave-girls till his mother heard him calling upon strange damsels and rising, came to him and said, "the name of god encompass thee! arise, o my son, o aboulhusn! thou dreamest." so he opened his eyes and finding an old woman at his head, raised his eyes and said to her, "who art thou?" quoth she, "i am thy mother;" and he answered, "thou liest! i am the commander of the faithful, the vicar of god." whereupon his mother cried out and said to him, "god preserve thy reason! be silent, o my son, and cause not the loss of our lives and the spoiling of thy wealth, [as will assuredly betide,] if any hear this talk and carry it to the khalif." so he rose from his sleep and finding himself in his own saloon and his mother by him, misdoubted of his wit and said to her, "by allah, o my mother, i saw myself in a dream in a palace, with slave-girls and servants about me and in attendance upon me, and i sat upon the throne of the khalifate and ruled. by allah, o my mother, this is what i saw, and verily it was not a dream!" then he bethought himself awhile and said, "assuredly, i am aboulhusn el khelia, and this that i saw was only a dream, and [it was in a dream that] i was made khalif and commanded and forbade." then he bethought himself again and said, "nay, but it was no dream and i am no other than the khalif, and indeed i gave gifts and bestowed dresses of honour." quoth his mother to him, "o my son, thou sportest with thy reason: thou wilt go to the hospital and become a gazing-stock. indeed, that which thou hast seen is only from the devil and it was a delusion of dreams, for whiles satan sporteth with men's wits in all manner ways." then said she to him, "o my son, was there any one with thee yesternight?" and he bethought himself and said, "yes; one lay the night with me and i acquainted him with my case and told him my story. doubtless, he was from the devil, and i, o my mother, even as thou sayst truly, am aboulhusn el khelia." "o my son," rejoined she, "rejoice in tidings of all good, for yesterday's record is that there came the vivier jaafer the barmecide [and his company] and beat the sheikhs of the mosque and the imam, each four hundred lashes; after which they paraded them about the city, making proclamation before them and saying, 'this is the reward and the least of the reward of whoso lacketh of goodwill to his neighbours and troubleth on them their lives!' and banished them from baghdad. moreover, the khalif sent me a hundred dinars and sent to salute me." whereupon aboulhusn cried out and said to her, "o old woman of ill-omen, wilt thou contradict me and tell me that i am not the commander of the faithful? it was i who commanded jaafer the barmecide to beat the sheikhs and parade them about the city and make proclamation before them and who sent thee the hundred dinars and sent to salute thee, and i, o beldam of ill-luck, am in very deed the commander of the faithful, and thou art a liar, who would make me out a dotard." so saying, he fell upon her and beat her with a staff of almond-wood, till she cried out, "[help], o muslims!" and he redoubled the beating upon her, till the folk heard her cries and coming to her, [found] aboulhusn beating her and saying to her, "o old woman of ill-omen, am i not the commander of the faithful? thou hast enchanted me!" when the folk heard his words, they said, "this man raveth," and doubted not of his madness. so they came in upon him and seizing him, pinioned him and carried him to the hospital. quoth the superintendant, "what aileth this youth?" and they said, "this is a madman." "by allah," cried aboulhusn, "they lie against me! i am no madman, but the commander of the faithful." and the superintendant answered him, saying, "none lieth but thou, o unluckiest of madmen!" then he stripped him of his clothes and clapping on his neck a heavy chain, bound him to a high lattice and fell to drubbing him two bouts a day and two anights; and on this wise he abode the space of ten days. then his mother came to him and said, "o my son, o aboulhusn, return to thy reason, for this is the devil's doing." quoth he, "thou sayst sooth, o my mother, and bear thou witness of me that i repent [and forswear] that talk and turn from my madness. so do thou deliver me, for i am nigh upon death." so his mother went out to the superintendant and procured his release and he returned to his own house. now this was at the beginning of the month, and when it was the end thereof, aboulhusn longed to drink wine and returning to his former usance, furnished his saloon and made ready food and let bring wine; then, going forth to the bridge, he sat there, expecting one whom he should carouse withal, as of his wont. as he sat thus, behold, up came the khalif [and mesrour] to him; but aboulhusn saluted them not and said to them, "no welcome and no greeting to the perverters![fn# ] ye are no other than devils." however, the khalif accosted him and said to him, "o my brother, did i not say to thee that i would return to thee?" quoth aboulhusn, "i have no need of thee; and as the byword says in verse: 'twere fitter and better my loves that i leave, for, if the eye see not, the heart will not grieve. and indeed, o my brother, the night thou camest to me and we caroused together, i and thou, it was as if the devil came to me and troubled me that night." "and who is he, the devil?" asked the khalif. "he is none other than thou," answered aboulhusn; whereat the khalif smiled and sitting down by him, coaxed him and spoke him fair, saying, "o my brother, when i went out from thee, i forgot [to shut] the door [and left it] open, and belike satan came in to thee." quoth aboulhusn, "ask me not of that which hath betided me. what possessed thee to leave the door open, so that the devil came in to me and there befell me with him this and that?" and he related to him all that had befallen him, from first to last, aud there is no advantage in the repetition of it; what while the khalif laughed and hid his laughter. then said he to aboulhusn, "praised be god who hath done away from thee that which irked thee and that i see thee in weal!" and aboulhusn said, "never again will i take thee to boon-companion or sitting-mate; for the byword saith, 'whoso stumbleth on a stone and returneth thereto, blame and reproach be upon him.' and thou, o my brother, nevermore will i entertain thee nor use companionship with thee, for that i have not found thy commerce propitious to me."[fn# ] but the khalif blandished him and conjured him, redoubling words upon him with "verily, i am thy guest; reject not the guest," till aboulhusn took him and [carrying him home], brought him into the saloon and set food before him and friendly entreated him in speech. then he told him all that had befallen him, whilst the khalif was like to die of hidden laughter; after which aboulhusn removed the tray of food and bringing the wine-tray, filled a cup and emptied it out three times, then gave it to the khalif, saying, "o boon-companion mine, i am thy slave and let not that which i am about to say irk thee, and be thou not vexed, neither do thou vex me." and he recited these verses: no good's in life (to the counsel list of one who's purpose-whole,) an if thou be not drunken still and gladden not thy soul. ay, ne'er will i leave to drink of wine, what while the night on me darkens, till drowsiness bow down my head upon my bowl. in wine, as the glittering sunbeams bright, my heart's contentment is, that banishes hence, with various joys, all kinds of care and dole. when the khalif heard these his verses, he was moved to exceeding delight and taking the cup, drank it off, and they ceased not to drink and carouse till the wine rose to their heads. then said aboulhusn to the khalif, "o boon-companion mine, of a truth i am perplexed concerning my affair, for meseemed i was commander of the faithful and ruled and gave gifts and largesse, and in very deed, o my brother, it was not a dream." "these were the delusions of sleep," answered the khalif and crumbling a piece of henbane into the cup, said to him, "by my life, do thou drink this cup." and aboulhusn said, "surely i will drink it from thy hand." then he took the cup from the khalifs hand and drank it off, and no sooner had it settled in his belly than his head forewent his feet [and he fell down senseless]. now his parts and fashions pleased the khalif and the excellence of his composition and his frankness, and he said in himself, "i will assuredly make him my cup- companion and sitting-mate." so he rose forthright and saying to mesrour, "take him up," [returned to the palace]. accordingly, mesrour took up aboulhusn and carrying him to the palace of the khalifate, set him down before er reshid, who bade the slaves and slave- girls encompass him about, whilst he himself hid in a place where aboulhusn could not see him. then he commanded one of the slave-girls to take the lute and strike it at aboulhusn's head, whilst the rest smote upon their instruments. [so they played and sang,] till aboulhusn awoke at the last of the night and heard the noise of lutes and tabrets and the sound of the pipes and the singing of the slave-girls, whereupon he opened his eyes and finding himself in the palace, with the slave-girls and eunuchs about him, exclaimed, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme! verily, i am fearful of the hospital and of that which i suffered therein aforetime, and i doubt not but the devil is come to me again, as before. o my god, put thou satan to shame!" then he shut his eyes and laid his head in his sleeve and fell to laughing softly and raising his head [bytimes], but [still] found the apartment lighted and the girls singing. presently, one of the eunuchs sat down at his head and said to him, "sit up, o commander of the faithful, and look on thy palace and thy slave-girls." quoth aboulhusn, "by the protection of god, am i in truth commander of the faithful and dost thou not lie? yesterday, i went not forth neither ruled, but drank and slept, and this eunuch cometh to rouse me up." then he sat up and bethought himself of that which had betided him with his mother and how he had beaten her and entered the hospital, and he saw the marks of the beating, wherewithal the superintendant of the hospital had beaten him, and was perplexed concerning his affair and pondered in himself, saying, "by allah, i know not how my case is nor what is this that betideth me!" then he turned to a damsel of the damsels and said to her, "who am i?" quoth she, "thou art the commander of the faithful;" and he said, "thou liest, o calamity![fn# ] if i be indeed the commander of the faithful, bite my finger." so she came to him and bit it with her might, and he said to her, "it sufficeth." then he said to the chief eunuch, "who am i?" and he answered, "thou art the commander of the faithful." so he left him and turning to a little white slave, said to him, "bite my ear;" and he bent down to him and put his ear to his mouth. now the slave was young and lacked understanding; so he closed his teeth upon aboulhusn's ear with his might, till he came near to sever it; and he knew not arabic, so, as often as aboulhusn said to him, "it sufficeth," he concluded that he said, "bite harder," and redoubled his bite and clenched his teeth upon the ear, whilst the damsels were diverted from him with hearkening to the singing-girls, and aboulhusn cried out for succour from the boy and the khalif [well-nigh] lost his senses for laughter. then he dealt the boy a cuff and he let go his ear, whereupon aboulhusn put off his clothes and abode naked, with his yard and his arse exposed, and danced among the slave-girls. they bound his hands and he wantoned among them, what while they [well-nigh] died of laughing at him and the khalif swooned away for excess of laughter. then he came to himself and going forth to aboulhusn, said to him, "out on thee, o aboulhusn! thou slayest me with laughter." so he turned to him and knowing him, said to him, "by allah, it is thou slayest me and slayest my mother and slewest the sheikhs and the imam of the mosque!" then the khalif took him into his especial favour and married him and bestowed largesse on him and lodged him with himself in the palace and made him of the chief of his boon-companions, and indeed he was preferred with him above them and the khalif advanced him over them all. now they were ten in number, to wit, el ijli and er recashi and ibdan and hassan el feresdec and el lauz and es seker and omar et tertis and abou nuwas[fn# ] and abou ishac en nedim and aboulhusn el khelia, and by each of them hangeth a story that is told in other than this book. and indeed aboulhusn became high in honour with the khalif and favoured above all, so that he sat with him and the lady zubeideh bint el casim and married the latter's treasuress, whose name was nuzhet el fuad. aboulhusn abode with his wife in eating and drinking and all delight of life, till all that was with them was spent, when he said to her, "harkye, o nuzhet el fuad!" "at thy service," answered she, and he said, "i have it in mind to play a trick on the khalif and thou shalt do the like with the lady zubeideh, and we will take of them, in a twinkling, two hundred dinars and two pieces of silk." "as thou wilt," answered she; "but what thinkest thou to do?" and he said,"we will feign ourselves dead and this is the trick. i will die before thee and lay myself out, and do thou spread over me a kerchief of silk and loose [the muslin of] my turban over me and tie my toes and lay on my heart a knife, and a little salt.[fn# ] then let down thy hair and betake thyself to thy mistress zubeideh, tearing thy dress and buffeting thy face and crying out. she will say to thee, 'what aileth thee?' and do thou answer her, saying, 'may thy head outlive aboulhusn el khelia! for he is dead." she will mourn for me and weep and bid her treasuress give thee a hundred dinars and a piece of silk and will say to thee, 'go lay him out and carry him forth [to burial].' so do thou take of her the hundred dinars and the piece of silk and come back, and when thou returnest to me, i will rise up and thou shalt lie down in my place, and i will go to the khalif and say to him, 'may thy head outlive nuzhet el fuad!' and tear my dress and pluck at my beard. he will mourn for thee and say to his treasurer, 'give aboulhusn a hundred dinars and a piece of silk.' then he will say to me, 'go; lay her out and carry her forth;' and i will come back to thee." therewith nuzhet el fuad rejoiced and said, "indeed, this is an excellent device." [then aboulhusn stretched himself out] forthright and she shut his eyes and tied his feet and covered him with the kerchief and did what [else] her lord had bidden her; after which she rent her dress and uncovering her head, let down her hair and went in to the lady zubeideh, crying out and weeping, when the princess saw her in this case, she said to her, "what plight is this [in which i see thee]? what is thy story and what maketh thee weep?" and nuzhet el fuad answered, weeping and crying out the while, "o my lady, may thy head live and mayst thou survive aboulhusn el khelia! for he is dead." the lady zubeideh mourned for him and said, "alas for aboulhusn el khelia!" and she wept for him awhile. then she bade her treasuress give nuzhet el fuad a hundred dinars and a piece of silk and said to her, "o nuzhet el fuad, go, lay him out and carry him forth." so she took the hundred dinars and the piece of silk and returned to her dwelling, rejoicing, and went in to aboulhusn and told him what had befallen, whereupon he arose and rejoiced and girt his middle and danced and took the hundred dinars and the piece of silk and laid them up. then he laid out nuzhet el fuad and did with her even as she had done with him; after which he rent his clothes and plucked out his beard and disordered his turban [and went forth] and gave not over running till he came in to the khalif, who was sitting in the hall of audience, and he in this plight, beating upon his breast. quoth the khalif to him, "what aileth thee, o aboulhusn!" and he wept and said, "would thy boon-companion had never been and would his hour had never come!" "tell me [thy case,]" said the khalif; and aboulhusn said, "o my lord, may thy head outlive nuzhet el fuad!" quoth the khalif, "there is no god but god!" and he smote hand upon hand. then he comforted aboulhusn and said to him, "grieve not, for we will give thee a concubine other than she." and he bade the treasurer give him a hundred dinars and a piece of silk. so the treasurer gave him what the khalif bade him, and the latter said to him,"go, lay her out and carry her forth and make her a handsome funeral." so aboulhusn took that which he had given him and returning to his house, rejoicing, went in to nuzhet el fuad and said to her, "arise, for the wish is accomplished unto us." so she arose and he laid before her the hundred dinars and the piece of silk, whereat she rejoiced, and they added the gold to the gold and the silk to the silk and sat talking and laughing at one another. meanwhile, when aboulhusn went out from the presence of the khalif and went to lay out nuzhet el fuad, the prince mourned for her and dismissing the divan, arose and betook himself, leaning upon mesrour, the swordsman of his vengeance, [to the pavilion of the harem, where he went in] to the lady zubeideh, that he might condole with her for her slave-girl. he found the princess sitting weeping and awaiting his coming, so she might condole with him for [his boon-companion] aboulhusn el khelia. so he said to her, "may thy head outlive thy slave-girl nuzhet el fuad!" and she answered, saying, "o my lord, god preserve my slave-girl! mayst thou live and long survive thy boon-companion aboulhusn el khelia! for he is dead." the khalif smiled and said to his eunuch, "o mesrour, verily women are little of wit. i conjure thee, by allah, say, was not aboulhusn with me but now?" ["yes, o commander of the faithful," answered mesrour] quoth the lady zubeideh, laughing from a heart full of wrath, "wilt thou not leave thy jesting? is it not enough that aboulhusn is dead, but thou must kill my slave-girl also and bereave us of the two and style me little of wit?" "indeed," answered the khalif, "it is nuzhet el fuad who is dead." and zubeideh said, "indeed he hath not been with thee, nor hast thou seen him, and none was with me but now but nuzhet el fuad, and she sorrowful, weeping, with her clothes torn. i exhorted her to patience and gave her a hundred dinars and a piece of silk; and indeed i was awaiting thy coming, so i might condole with thee for thy boon- companion aboulhusn el khelia, and was about to send for thee." the khalif laughed and said, "none is dead but nuzhet el fuad;" and she, "no, no, my lord; none is dead but aboulhusn." with this the khalif waxed wroth, and the hashimi vein[fn# ] started out from between his eyes and he cried out to mesrour and said to him, "go forth and see which of them is dead." so mesrour went out, running, and the khalif said to zubeideh, "wilt thou lay me a wager?" "yes," answered she; "i will wager, and i say that aboulhusn is dead." "and i," rejoined the khalif, "wager and say that none is dead save nuzhet el fuad; and the stake shall be the garden of pleasance against thy palace and the pavilion of pictures." so they [agreed upon this and] abode awaiting mesrour, till such time as he should return with news. as for mesrour, he gave not over running till he came to the by-street, [wherein was the house] of aboulhusn el khelia. now the latter was sitting reclining at the lattice, and chancing to look round, saw mesrour running along the street and said to nuzhet el fuad, "meseemeth the khalif, when i went forth from him, dismissed the divan and went in to the lady zubeideh, to condole with her [for thee;] whereupon she arose and condoled with him [for me,] saying, 'god greaten thy recompence for [the loss of] aboulhusn el khelia!' and he said to her, 'none is dead save nuzhet el fuad, may thy head outlive her!' quoth she, 'it is not she who is dead, but aboulhusn el khelia, thy boon-companion.' and he to her, 'none is dead but nuzhet el fuad.' and they gainsaid one another, till the khalif waxed wroth and they laid a wager, and he hath sent mesrour the sword- bearer to see who is dead. wherefore it were best that thou lie down, so he may see thee and go and acquaint the khalif and confirm my saying." so nuzhet el fuad stretched herself out and aboulhusn covered her with her veil and sat at her head, weeping. presently, in came mesrour the eunuch to him and saluted him and seeing nuzhet el fuad stretched out, uncovered her face and said, "there is no god but god! our sister nuzhet el fuad is dead. how sudden was the [stroke of] destiny! may god have mercy on thee and acquit thee of responsibility!" then he returned and related what had passed before the khalif and the lady zubeideh, and he laughing. "o accursed one,' said the khalif, "is this a time for laughter? tell us which is dead of them." "by allah, o my lord," answered mesrour, "aboulhusn is well and none is dead but nuzhet el fuad." quoth the khalif to zubeideh, "thou hast lost thy pavilion in thy play," and he laughed at her and said to mesrour, "o mesrour, tell her what thou sawest." "verily, o my lady," said the eunuch, "i ran without ceasing till i came in to aboulhusn in his house and found nuzhet el fuad lying dead and aboulhusn sitting at her head, weeping. i saluted him and condoled with him and sat down by his side and uncovered the face of nuzhet el fuad and saw her dead and her face swollen. so i said to him, 'carry her out forthright [to burial], so we may pray over her.' he answered, 'it is well;' and i left him to lay her out and came hither, that i might tell you the news." the khalif laughed and said, "tell it again and again to thy lady lack-wit." when the lady zubeideh heard mesrour's words [and those of the khalif,] she was wroth and said, "none lacketh wit but he who believeth a black slave." and she reviled mesrour, whilst the khalif laughed. mesrour was vexed at this and said to the khalif, "he spoke sooth who said, 'women lack wit and religion.'" then said the lady zubeideh to the khalif, "o commander of the faithful, thou sportest and jestest with me, and this slave hoodwinketh me, to please thee; but i will send and see which is dead of them." and he answered, saying, "send one who shall see which is dead of them." so the lady zubeideh cried out to an old woman, a stewardess, and said to her, "go to the house of nuzhet el fuad in haste and see who is dead and loiter not." and she railed at her. the old woman went out, running, whilst the khalif and mesrour laughed, and gave not over running till she came into the street. aboulhusn saw her and knowing her, said to his wife, "o nuzhet el fuad, meseemeth the lady zubeideh hath sent to us to see who is dead and hath not given credence to mesrour's report of thy death; so she hath despatched the old woman, her stewardess, to discover the truth; wherefore it behoveth me to be dead in my turn, for the sake of thy credit with the lady zubeideh." accordingly, he lay down and stretched himself out, and she covered him and bound his eyes and feet and sat at his head, weeping. presently, the old woman came in to her and saw her sitting at aboulhusn's head, weeping and lamenting; and when she saw the old woman, she cried out and said to her, "see what hath betided me! indeed, aboulhusn is dead and hath left me alone and forlorn!" then she cried out and tore her clothes and said to the old woman, "o my mother, how good he was!" quoth the other, "indeed thou art excused, for thou wast used to him and he to thee." then she considered what mesrour had reported to the khalif and the lady zubeideh and said to her, "indeed, mesrour goeth about to sow discord between the khalif and the lady zubeideh." "and what is the [cause of] discord, o my mother?" asked nuzhet el fuad. "o my daughter," answered the old woman, "mesrour came to the khalif and the lady zubeideh and gave them news of thee that thou wast dead and that aboulhusn was well. "and nuzhet el fuad said to her, "o my aunt, i was with my lady but now and she gave me a hundred dinars and a piece of silk; and now see my condition and that which hath befallen me! indeed, i am bewildered, and how shall i do, and i alone, forlorn? would god i had died and he had lived!" then she wept and the old woman with her and the latter went up to aboulhusn and uncovering his face, saw his eyes bound and swollen for the binding. so she covered him again and said, "indeed, o nuzhet el fuad, thou art afflicted in aboulhusn!" then she condoled with her and going out from her, ran without ceasing till she came in to the lady zubeideh and related to her the story; and the princess said to her, laughing, "tell it over again to the khalif, who maketh me out scant of wit and lacking of religion, and to this ill-omened slave, who presumeth to contradict me." quoth mesrour, "this old woman lieth; for i saw aboulhusn well and nuzhet el fuad it was who lay dead." "it is thou that liest," rejoined the stewardess, "and wouldst fain sow discord between the khalif and the lady zubeideh." and he said, "none lieth but thou, o old woman of ill-omen, and thy lady believeth thee, and she doteth." whereupon the lady zubeideh cried out at him, and indeed she was enraged at him and at his speech and wept. then said the khalif to her, "i lie and my eunuch lieth, and thou liest and thy waiting-woman lieth; so methinks we were best go, all four of us together, that we may see which of us telleth the truth." quoth mesrour, "come, let us go, that i may put this ill-omened old woman to shame[fn# ] and deal her a sound drubbing for her lying." and she answered him, saying, "o dotard, is thy wit like unto my wit? indeed, thy wit is as the hen's wit." mesrour was incensed at her words and would have laid violent hands on her, but the lady zubeideh warded him off from her and said to him, "her sooth-fastness will presently be distinguished from thy sooth-fastness and her leasing from thy leasing." then they all four arose, laying wagers with one another, and went forth, walking, from the palace-gate [and fared on] till they came in at the gate of the street in which aboulhusn el khelia dwelt. he saw them and said to his wife nuzhet el fuad, "verily, all that is sticky is not a pancake and not every time cometh the jar off safe.[fn# ]' meseemeth the old woman hath gone and told her lady and acquainted her with our case and she hath disputed with mesrour the eunuch and they have laid wagers with one another about our death and are come to us, all four, the khalif and the eunuch and the lady zubeideh and the old woman." when nuzhet el fuad heard this, she started up from her lying posture and said, "how shall we do?" and he said, "we will both feign ourselves dead and stretch ourselves out and hold our breath." so she hearkened unto him and they both lay down on the siesta[-carpet] and bound their feet and shut their eyes and covered themselves with the veil and held their breath. presently, up came the khalif and the lady zubeideh and mesrour and the old woman and entering, found aboulhusn and his wife both stretched out [apparently] dead; which when the lady zubeideh saw, she wept and said, "they ceased not to bring [ill] news of my slave- girl, till she died; methinketh aboulhusn's death was grievous to her and that she died after him."[fn# ]. quoth the khalif, "thou shalt not forestall me with talk and prate. she certainly died before aboulhusn, for he came to me with his clothes torn and his beard plucked out, beating his breast with two bricks, and i gave him a hundred dinars and a piece of silk and said to him, 'go, carry her forth [and bury her] and i will give thee a concubine other than she and handsomer, and she shall be in stead of her.' but it would appear that her death was no light matter to him and he died after her;[fn# ] so it is i who have beaten thee and gotten thy stake." the lady zubeideh answered him many words and the talk waxed amain between them. at last the khalif sat down at the heads of the pair and said, "by the tomb of the apostle of god (may he bless and preserve him!) and the sepulchres of my fathers and forefathers, whoso will tell me which of them died before the other, i will willingly give him a thousand dinars!" when aboulhusn heard the khalifs words, he sprang up in haste and said, "i died first, o commander of the faithful! hand over the thousand dinars and quit thine oath and the conjuration by which thou sworest." then nuzhet el fuad rose also and stood up before the khalif and the lady zubeideh, who both rejoiced in this and in their safety, and the princess chid her slave-girl. then the khalif and the lady zubeideh gave them joy at their well-being and knew that this [pretended] death was a device to get the money; and the princess said to nuzhet el fuad, "thou shouldst have sought of me that which thou desiredst, without this fashion, and not have consumed my heart for thee." and she said, "indeed, i was ashamed, o my lady." as for the khalif, he swooned away for laughing and said, "o aboulhusn, thou wilt never cease to be a wag and do rarities and oddities!" quoth he, "o commander of the faithful, i played off this trick, for that the money was exhausted, which thou gavest me, and i was ashamed to ask of thee again. when i was single, i could never keep money; but since thou marriedst me to this damsel here, if i possessed thy wealth, i should make an end of it. so, when all that was in my hand was spent, i wrought this trick, so i might get of thee the hundred dinars and the piece of silk; and all this is an alms from our lord. but now make haste to give me the thousand dinars and quit thee of thine oath." the khalif and the lady zubeideh laughed and returned to the palace; and he gave aboulhusn the thousand dinars, saying, "take them as a thank-offering for thy preservation from death," whilst the princess did the like with nuzhet el fuad. moreover, the khalif increased aboulhusn in his stipends and allowances, and he [and his wife] ceased not [to live] in joy and contentment, till there came to them the destroyer of delights and sunderer of companies, he who layeth waste the palaces and peopleth the tombs. the khalif omar ben abdulaziz and the poets.[fn# ] it is said that, when the khalifate devolved on omar ben abdulaziz[fn# ] (of whom god accept), the poets [of the time] resorted to him, as they had been used to resort to the khalifs before him, and abode at his door days and days, but he gave them not leave to enter, till there came to omar adi ben artah,[fn# ] who stood high in esteem with him. jerir[fn# ] accosted him and begged him to crave admission for them [to the khalif]. "it is well," answered adi and going in to omar, said to him, "the poets are at thy door and have been there days and days; yet hast thou not given them leave to enter, albeit their sayings are abiding[fn# ] and their arrows go straight to the mark." quoth omar, "what have i to do with the poets?" and adi answered, saying, "o commander of the faithful, the prophet (whom god bless and preserve) was praised [by a poet] and gave [him largesse,] and therein[fn# ] is an exemplar to every muslim." quoth omar, "and who praised him?" "abbas ben mirdas[fn# ] praised him," replied adi, "and he clad him with a suit and said, 'o bilal,[fn# ] cut off from me his tongue!'" "dost thou remember what he said?" asked the khalif; and adi said, "yes." "then repeat it," rejoined omar. so adi recited the following verses: i saw thee, o thou best of all the human race, display a book that came to teach the truth to those in error's way. thou madest known to us therein the road of righteousness, when we had wandered from the truth, what while in gloom it lay. a dark affair thou littest up with islam and with proof quenchedst the flaming red-coals of error and dismay. mohammed, then, i do confess, god's chosen prophet is, and every man requited is for that which he doth say. the road of right thou hast made straight, that erst was crooked grown; yea, for its path of old had fall'n to ruin and decay. exalted mayst thou be above th' empyrean heaven of joy and may god's glory greater grow and more exalted aye! "and indeed," continued adi, "this ode on the prophet (may god bless and keep him!) is well known and to comment it would be tedious." quoth omar, "who is at the door?" "among them is omar ibn [abi] rebya the cureishite,"[fn# ] answered adi, and the khalif said, "may god show him no favour neither quicken him! was it not he who said ... ?" and he recited the following verses: would god upon that bitterest day, when my death calls for me, what's 'twixt thine excrement and blood[fn# ] i still may smell of thee! yea, so but selma in the dust my bedfellow may prove, fair fall it thee! in heaven or hell i reck not if it be. "except," continued the khalif, "he were the enemy of god, he had wished for her in this world, so he might after [repent and] return to righteous dealing. by allah, he shall not come in to me! who is at the door other than he?" quoth adi, "jemil ben mamer el udhri[fn# ] is at the door;" and omar said, "it is he who says in one of his odes" ... [and he recited the following:] would we may live together and when we come to die, god grant the death-sleep bring me within her tomb to lie! for if "her grave above her is levelled" it be said, of life and its continuance no jot indeed reck i. "away with him from me! who is at the door?" "kutheiyir azzeh,"[fn# ] replied adi, and omar said, "it is he who says in one of his odes ... " [and he repeated the following verses:] some with religion themselves concern and make it their business all; sitting,[fn# ] they weep for the pains of hell and still for mercy bawl! if they could hearken to azzeh's speech, as i, i hearken to it, they straight would humble themselves to her and prone before her fall. "leave the mention of him. who is at the door?" quoth adi, "el akhwes el ansari."[fn# ] "god the most high put him away and estrange him from his mercy!" cried omar. "is it not he who said, berhyming on a man of medina his slave-girl, so she might outlive her master ... ?" [and he repeated the following line:] god [judge] betwixt me and her lord! away with her he flees me and i follow aye. "he shall not come in to me. who is at the door, other than he?" "heman ben ghalib el ferezdec,"[fn# ] answered adi; and omar said, "it is he who saith, glorying in adultery ..." [and he repeated the following verses:] the two girls let me down from fourscore fathoms' height, as swoops a hawk, with wings all open in full flight; and when my feet trod earth, "art slain, that we should fear," quoth they, "or live, that we may hope again thy sight?" "he shall not come in to me. who is at the door, other than he?" "el akhtel et teghlibi,"[fn# ] answered adi; and omar said, "he is the unbeliever who says in his verse ..." [and he repeated the following:] ramazan in my life ne'er i fasted, nor e'er have i eaten of flesh, save in public[fn# ] it were. no exhorter am i to abstain from the fair, nor to love mecca's vale for my profit i care; nor, like others a little ere morning appear who bawl, "come to safety!"[fn# ] i stand up to prayer. nay, at daybreak i drink of the wind-freshened wine and prostrate me[fn# ] instead in the dawn-whitened air. "by allah, he treadeth no carpet of mine! who is at the door other than he?" "jerir ibn el khetefa," answered adi; and omar said, "it is he who saith ... " [and he recited as follows:] but for the spying of the eyes [ill-omened,] we had seen wild cattle's eyes and antelopes' tresses of sable sheen. the huntress of th' eyes[fn# ] by night came to me. "turn in peace," [quoth i to her;] "this is no time for visiting, i ween." "if it must be and no help, admit jerir." so adi went forth and admitted jerir, who entered, saying: he, who mohammed sent, as prophet to mankind, hath to a just high-priest[fn# ] the khalifate assigned. his justice and his truth all creatures do embrace; the erring he corrects and those of wandering mind. i hope for present[fn# ] good [and bounty at thy hand,] for souls of men are still to present[fn# ] good inclined. quoth omar, "o jerir, keep the fear of god before thine eyes and say nought but the truth." and jerir recited the following verses: how many, in yemameh,[fn# ] dishevelled widows plain! how many a weakling orphan unsuccoured doth remain, for whom is thy departure even as a father's loss! to fly or creep, like nestlings, alone, they strive in vain. now that the clouds have broken their promise to our hope, we trust the khalif's bounty will stand to us for rain.[fn# ] when the khalif heard this, he said, "by allah, o jerir, omar possesseth but a hundred dirhems."[fn# ] [and he cried out to his servant, saying,] "ho, boy! give them to him." moreover, he gave him the ornaments of his sword; and jerir went forth to the [other] poets, who said to him, "what is behind thee?"[fn# ] and he answered, "a man who giveth to the poor and denieth the poets, and i am well-pleased with him."[fn# ] el hejjaj and the three young men.[fn# ] they tell that el hejjaj[fn# ] once commanded the master of police [of bassora] to go round about [the city] by night, and whomsoever he found [abroad] after nightfall, that he should strike off his head. so he went round one night of the nights and came upon three youths staggering from side to side, and on them signs of [intoxication with] wine. so the officers laid hold of them and the captain of the watch said to them, "who are ye that ye transgress the commandment of the [lieutenant of the] commander of the faithful and come abroad at this hour?" quoth one of the youths, "i am the son of him to whom [all] necks[fn# ] abase themselves, alike the nose-pierced[fn# ] of them and the [bone-]breaker;[fn# ] they come to him in their own despite, abject and submissive, and he taketh of their wealth[fn# ] and of their blood." the master of police held his hand from him, saying, "belike he is of the kinsmen of the commander of the faithful," and said to the second, "who art thou?" quoth he, "i am the son of him whose rank[fn# ] time abaseth not, and if it descend[fn# ] one day, it will assuredly return [to its former height]; thou seest the folk [crowd] in troops to the light of his fire, some standing around it and some sitting." so the master of the police refrained from slaying him and said to the third, "who art thou?" quoth he, "i am the son of him who plungeth through the ranks[fn# ] with his might and correcteth[fn# ] them with the sword,[fn# ] so that they stand straight;[fn# ] his feet are not loosed from the stirrup,[fn# ] whenas the horsemen on the day of battle are weary." so the master of police held his hand from him also, saying, "belike, he is the son of a champion of the arabs." then he kept them under guard, and when the morning morrowed, he referred their case to el hejjaj, who caused bring them before him and enquiring into their affair, found that the first was the son of a barber-surgeon, the second of a [hot] bean-seller and the third of a weaver. so he marvelled at their readiness of speech[fn# ] and said to his session-mates, "teach your sons deportment;[fn# ] for, by allah, but for their ready wit, i had smitten off their heads!" haroun er reshid and the woman of the barmecides.[fn# ] they tell that haroun er reshid was sitting one day to do away grievances, when there came up to him a woman and said to him, "o commander of the faithful, may god accomplish thine affair and cause thee rejoice in that which he hath given thee and increase thee in elevation! indeed, thou hast done justice[fn# ] and wrought equitably."[fn# ] quoth the khalif to those who were present with him, "know ye what this woman meaneth by her saying?" and they answered, "of a surety, she meaneth not otherwise than well, o commander of the faithful." "nay," rejoined haroun; "she purposeth only in this an imprecation against me. as for her saying, 'god accomplish thine affair!' she hath taken it from the saying of the poet, 'when an affair is accomplished, its abatement[fn# ] beginneth. beware of cessation, whenas it is said, "it is accomplished."' as for her saying 'god cause thee rejoice in that which he hath given thee,' she took it from the saying of god the most high, 'till, whenas they rejoiced in that which they were given, we took them suddenly and lo, they were confounded!'[fn# ] as for her saying, 'god increase thee in elevation!' she took it from the saying of the poet, 'no bird flieth and riseth up on high, but, like as he flieth, he falleth.' and as for her saying, 'indeed, thou hast done justice and wrought equitably,' it is from the saying of the most high, '[if ye deviate[fn# ] or lag behind or turn aside, verily, god of that which ye do is aware;'[fn# ] and] 'as for the transgressors,'[fn# ] they are fuel for hell[-fire]."[fn# ] then he turned to the woman and said to her, "is it not thus?" "yes, o commander of the faithful," answered she; and he said, "what prompted thee to this?" quoth she, "thou slewest my father and my mother and my kinsfolk and tookest their goods." "whom meanest thou?" asked the khalif, and she replied, "i am of the house of bermek."[fn# ] then said he to her, "as for the dead, they are of those who are past away, and it booteth not to speak of them; but, as for that which i took of wealth, it shall be restored to thee, yea, and more than it." and he was bountiful to her to the utmost of munificence. the ten viziers; or the history of king azadbekht and his son.[fn# ] there was once, of old days, a king of the kings, whose name was azadbekht; his [capital] city was called kuneim mudoud and his kingdom extended to the confines of seistan and from the frontiers of hindustan to the sea he had ten viziers, who ordered his state and his dominion, and he was possessed of judgment and exceeding wisdom. one day he went forth with certain of his guards to the chase and fell in with an eunuch on horseback, holding in his hand the halter of a mule, which he led along. on the mule's back was a litter of gold-inwoven brocade, garded about with an embroidered band set with gold and jewels, and over against the litter was a company of horsemen. when king azadbekht saw this, he separated himself from his companions and making for the mule and the horsemen, questioned the latter, saying, "to whom belongeth this litter and what is therein?". the eunuch answered, (for he knew not that he was king azadbekht,) saying, "this litter belongeth to isfehend, vizier to king azadbekht, and therein is his daughter, whom he purposeth to marry to zad shah the king." as the eunuch was speaking with the king, behold, the damsel raised a corner of the curtain that shut in the litter, so she might look upon the speaker, and saw the king. when azadbekht beheld her and noted her fashion and her loveliness (and indeed never set story-teller[fn# ] eyes on her like,) his soul inclined to her and she took hold upon his heart and he was ravished by her sight. so he said to the eunuch, "turn the mule's head and return, for i am king azadbekht and i will marry her myself, for that isfehend her father is my vizier and he will accept of this affair and it will not be grievous to him." "o king," answered the eunuch, "may god prolong thy continuance, have patience till i acquaint my lord her father, and thou shalt take her in the way of approof, for it befitteth thee not neither is it seemly unto thee that thou take her on this wise, seeing that it will be an affront to her father if thou take her without his knowledge." quoth azadbekht, "i have not patience [to wait] till thou go to her father and return, and no dishonour will betide him, if i marry her." "o my lord," rejoined the eunuch, "nought that is done in haste is long of durance nor doth the heart rejoice therein; and indeed it behoveth thee not to take her on this foul wise. whatsoever betideth thee, destroy not thyself with [undue] haste, for i know that her father's breast will be straitened by this affair and this that thou dost will not profit thee." but the king said, "verily, isfehend is [my boughten] servant and a slave of my slaves, and i reck not of her father, if he be vexed or pleased." so saying, he drew the reins of the mule and carrying the damsel, whose name was behrjaur, to his house, married her. meanwhile, the eunuch betook himself, he and the horsemen, to her father and said to him, "o my lord, the king is beholden to thee for many years' service and thou hast not failed him a day of the days; and now, behold, he hath taken thy daughter against thy wish and without thy permission." and he related to him what had passed and how the king had taken her by force. when isfehend heard the eunuch's story, he was exceeding wroth and assembling many troops, said to them, "whenas the king was occupied with his women [and concerned not himself with the affairs of his kingdom], we took no reck of him; but now he putteth out his hand to our harem; wherefore methinketh we should do well to look us out a place, wherein we may have sanctuary." then he wrote a letter to king azadbekht, saying to him, "i am a servant of thy servants and a slave of thy slaves and my daughter is a handmaid at thy service, and may god the most high prolong thy days and appoint thy times [to be] in delight and contentment! indeed, i still went girded of the waist in thy service and in caring for the preservation of thy dominion and warding off thine enemies from thee; but now i abound yet more than before in zeal and watchfulness, for that i have taken this to charge upon myself, since my daughter is become thy wife." and he despatched a messenger to the king with the letter and a present. when the messenger came to king azadbekht and he read the letter and the present was laid before him, he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and occupied himself with eating and drinking, hour after hour. but the chief vizier of his viziers came to him and said, " king, know that isfehend the vizier is thine enemy, for that his soul liketh not that which thou hast done with him, and the message that he hath sent thee [is a trick; so] rejoice thou not therein, neither be thou deluded by the sweetness of his words and the softness of his speech." the king hearkened [not] to his vizier's speech, but made light of the matter and presently, [dismissing it from his thought], busied himself with that which he was about of eating and drinking and merrymaking and delight meanwhile, isfehend the vizier wrote a letter and despatched it to all the amirs, acquainting them with that which had betided him with king azadbekht and how he had taken his daughter by force and adding, "and indeed he will do with you more than he hath done with me." when the letter reached the chiefs [of the people and troops], they all assembled together to isfehend and said to him, "what is to do with him?"[fn# ] so he discovered to them the affair of his daughter and they all agreed, of one accord, that they should endeavour for the slaughter of the king and taking horse with their troops, set out, intending for him. azadbekht knew not [of their design] till the noise [of the invasion] beset his capital city, when he said to his wife behrjaur, "how shall we do?" and she answered, saying, "thou knowest best and i am at thy commandment." so he let bring two swift horses and bestrode one himself, whilst his wife mounted the other. then they took what they might of gold and went forth, fleeing, in the night, to the desert of kerman; what while isfehend entered the city and made himself king. now king azadbekht's wife was big with child and the pains of labour took her in the mountain; so they alighted at the mountain-foot, by a spring of water, and she gave birth to a boy as he were the moon. behrjaur his mother pulled off a gown of gold-inwoven brocade and wrapped the child therein, and they passed the night [in that place], what while she gave him suck till the morning. then said the king to her, "we are hampered by this child and cannot abide here nor can we carry him with us; so methinks we were better leave him here and go, for allah is able to send him one who shall take him and rear him." so they wept over him exceeding sore and left him beside the spring, wrapped in the gown of brocade: then they laid at his head a thousand dinars in a bag and mounting their horses, departed, fleeing. now, by the ordinance of god the most high, a company of thieves fell in upon a caravan hard by that mountain and made prize of that which was with them of merchandise. then they betook themselves to the mountain, so they might share their booty, and looking at the foot thereof, espied the gown of brocade. so they descended, to see what it was, and finding the child wrapped therein and the gold laid at his head, marvelled and said, "extolled be the perfection of god! by what wickedness cometh this child here?" then they divided the money between them and the captain of the thieves took the boy and made him his son and fed him with sweet milk and dates, till he came to his house, when he appointed him a nurse, who should rear him. meanwhile, king azadbekht and his wife stayed not in their flight till they came to [the court of] the king of fars,[fn# ] whose name was kutrou.[fn# ] when they presented themselves to him, he entreated them with honour and entertained them handsomely, and azadbekht told him his story, first and last. so he gave him a great army and wealth galore and he abode with him some days, till he was rested, when he made ready with his host and setting out for his own dominions, waged war upon isfehend and falling in upon the capital, defeated the rebel vizier and slew him. then he entered the city and sat down on the throne of his kingship; and whenas he was rested and the kingdom was grown peaceful for him, he despatched messengers to the mountain aforesaid in quest of the child; but they returned and informed the king that they had not found him. as time went on, the boy, the son of the king, grew up and fell to stopping the way[fn# ] with the thieves, and they used to carry him with them, whenas they went a-thieving. they sallied forth one day upon a caravan in the land of seistan, and there were in that caravan strong and valiant men and with them merchandise galore. now they had heard that in that land were thieves; so they gathered themselves together and made ready their arms and sent out spies, who returned and gave them news of the thieves. accordingly, they prepared for battle, and when the robbers drew near the caravan, they fell in upon them and they fought a sore battle. at last the folk of the caravan overmastered the thieves, by dint of numbers, and slew some of them, whilst the others fled. moreover they took the boy, the son of king azadbekht, and seeing him as he were the moon, possessed of beauty and grace, brightfaced and comely of fashion, questioned him, saying, "who is thy father, and how camest thou with these thieves?" and he answered, saying, "i am the son of the captain of the thieves." so they took him and carried him to the capital of his father king azadbekht when they reached the city, the king heard of their coming and commanded that they should attend him with what befitted [of their merchandise]. so they presented themselves before him, [and the boy with them,] whom when the king saw, he said to them, "to whom belongeth this boy?" and they answered, "o king, we were going in such a road, when there came out upon us a sort of robbers; so we made war upon them and overcame them and took this boy prisoner. then we questioned him, saying, 'who is thy father?' and he answered, 'i am the captain's son of the thieves.'" quoth the king, "i would fain have this boy." and the captain of the caravan said, "god maketh thee gift of him, o king of the age, and we all are thy slaves." then the king dismissed [the people of] the caravan and let carry the youth into his palace and he became as one of the servants, what while his father the king knew not that he was his son. as time went on, the king observed in him good breeding and understanding and knowledge[fn# ] galore and he pleased him; so he committed his treasuries to his charge and straitened the viziers' hand therefrom, commanding that nought should be taken forth therefrom except by leave of the youth. on this wise he abode a number of years and the king saw in him nought but fidelity and studiousness in well-doing. now the treasuries aforetime had been in the viziers' hand, so they might do with them what they would, and when they came under the youth's hand, that of the viziers was straitened from them, and the youth became dearer to the king than a son and he could not brook to be separated from him. when the viziers saw this, they were jealous of him and envied him and cast about for a device against him whereby they might oust him from the king's favour, but found no opportunity. at last, when came the destined hour,[fn# ] it chanced that the youth one day drank wine and became drunken and wandered from his wits; so he fell to going round about within the palace of the king and fate led him to the lodging of the women, in which there was a little sleeping-chamber, where the king lay with his wife. thither came the youth and entering the chamber, found there a couch spread, to wit, a sleeping place, and a candle burning. so he cast himself on the couch, marvelling at the paintings that were in the chamber, and slept and slumbered heavily till eventide, when there came a slave-girl, bringing with her all the dessert, eatables and drinkables, that she was wont to make ready for the king and his wife, and seeing the youth lying on his back, (and none knowing of his case and he in his drunkenness unknowing where he was,) thought that he was the king asleep on his bed; so she set the censing-vessel and laid the essences by the couch, then shut the door and went away. presently, the king arose from the wine-chamber and taking his wife by the hand, repaired with her to the chamber in which he slept. he opened the door and entering, saw the youth lying on the bed, whereupon he turned to his wife and said to her, "what doth this youth here? this fellow cometh not hither but on thine account." quoth she, "i have no knowledge of him." with this, the youth awoke and seeing the king, sprang up and prostrated himself before him, and azadbekht said to him, "o vile of origin,[fn# ] o lack-loyalty, what hath prompted thee to outrage my dwelling?" and he bade imprison him in one place and the woman in another. the first day. of the uselessness of endeavour against persistent ill fortune. when the morning morrowed and the king sat on the throne of his kingship, he summoned the chief of his viziers and said to him, "what deemest thou of this that yonder robber-youth hath done? behold, he hath entered my house and lain down on my bed and i fear lest there be an intrigue between him and the woman. how deemest thou of the affair?" "god prolong the king's continuance!" replied the vizier. "what sawest thou in this youth [to make thee trust in him]? is he not vile of origin, the son of thieves? needs must a thief revert to his vile origin, and whoso reareth the young of the serpent shall get of them nought but biting. as for the woman, she is not at fault; for, since [the] time [of her marriage with thee] till now, there hath appeared from her nought but good breeding and modesty; and now, if the king give me leave, i will go to her and question her, so i may discover to thee the affair." the king gave him leave for this and the vizier betook himself to the queen and said to her, "i am come to thee, on account of a grave reproach, and i would have thee be truthful with me in speech and tell me how came the youth into the sleeping-chamber." quoth she, "i have no knowledge whatsoever [of it]" and swore to him a solemn oath thereof, whereby he knew that she had no knowledge of the matter and that she was not at fault and said to her, "i will teach thee a device, where- with thou mayst acquit thyself and thy face be whitened before the king." "what is it?" asked she; and he answered, saying, "when the king calleth for thee and questioneth thee of this, say thou to him, 'yonder youth saw me in the privy-chamber and sent me a message, saying, "i will give thee a hundred jewels, to whose price money may not avail, so thou wilt suffer me to foregather with thee." i laughed at him who bespoke me with these words and rebuffed him; but he sent again to me, saying, "an thou fall not in with my wishes, i will come one of the nights, drunken, and enter and lie down in the sleeping-chamber, and the king will see me and kill me; so wilt thou be put to shame and thy face will be blackened with him and thine honour abased."' be this thy saying to the king, and i will presently go to him and repeat this to him." quoth the queen, "and i also will say thus." so the vizier returned to the king and said to him, "verily, this youth hath merited grievous punishment, after abundance of bounty [bestowed on him], and it may not be that a bitter kernel should ever become sweet; but, as for the woman, i am certified that there is no fault in her." then he repeated to the king the story which he had taught the queen, which when azadbekht heard, he rent his clothes and bade fetch the youth. so they brought him and stationed him before the king, who let bring the headsman, and the folk all fixed their eyes upon the youth, so they might see what the king should do with him. then said azadbekht to him (and indeed his words were [prompted] by anger and those of the youth by presence of mind and good breeding), "i bought thee with my money and looked for fidelity from thee, wherefore i chose thee over all my grandees and servants and made thee keeper of my treasuries. why, then, hast thou outraged my honour and entered my house and played the traitor with me and tookest no thought unto that which i have done thee of benefits?" "o king," answered the youth, "i did this not of my choice and freewill and i had no [evil] intent in being there; but, of the littleness of my luck, i was driven thither, for that fate was contrary and fair fortune lacking. indeed, i had striven with all endeavour that nought of foul should proceed from me and kept watch over myself, lest default appear in me; but none may avail to make head against ill fortune, nor doth endeavour profit in case of lack of luck, as appeareth by the example of the merchant who was stricken with ill luck and his endeavour profited him not and he succumbed to the badness of his fortune." "what is the story of the merchant," asked the king, "and how was his luck changed upon him by the sorriness of his fortune?" "may god prolong the king's continuance!" answered the youth. story of the unlucky merchant. "there was once a man, a merchant, who was fortunate in trade, and at one time his [every] dirhem profited [him] fifty. presently, his luck turned against him and he knew it not; so he said in himself, 'i have wealth galore, yet do i weary myself and go round about from country to country; i were better abide in my own country and rest myself in my house from this travail and affliction and sell and buy at home.' then he made two parts of his money, with one whereof he bought wheat in summer, saying, 'when the winter cometh, i will sell it at a great profit.' but, when the winter came, wheat became at half the price for which he had bought it, whereat he was sore concerned and left it till the next year. however, next year, the price fell yet lower and one of his friends said to him, 'thou hast no luck in this wheat; so do thou sell it at whatsoever price.' quoth the merchant, 'this long while have i profited and it is allowable that i lose this time. god is all- knowing! if it abide [with me] half a score years, i will not sell it save at a profit.' then, in his anger, he walled up the door of the granary with clay, and by the ordinance of god the most high, there came a great rain and descended from the roofs of the house wherein was the wheat [so that the latter rotted]; and needs must the merchant give the porters five hundred dirhems from his purse, so they should carry it forth and cast it without the city, for that the smell of it was noisome. so his friend said to him, 'how often did i tell thee thou hadst no luck in wheat? but thou wouldst not give ear to my speech, and now it behoveth thee to go to the astrologer and question him of thy star.' accordingly the merchant betook himself to the astrologer and questioned him of his star, and the astrologer said to him, 'thy star is unpropitious. put not thy hand to any business, for thou wilt not prosper therein.' however, he paid no heed to the astrologer's words and said in himself, 'if i do my occasion,[fn# ] i am not afraid of aught.' then he took the other part of his money, after he had spent therefrom three years, and built [therewith] a ship, which he loaded with all that seemed good to him and all that was with him and embarked on the sea, so he might travel. the ship tarried with him some days, till he should be certified what he would do,[fn# ] and he said, 'i will enquire of the merchants what this merchandise profiteth and in what country it lacketh and how much is the gain thereon.' [so he questioned them and] they directed him to a far country, where his dirhem should profit a hundredfold. accordingly, he set sail and steered for the land in question; but, as he went, there blew on him a tempestuous wind and the ship foundered. the merchant saved himself on a plank and the wind cast him up, naked as he was, on the sea-shore, hard by a town there. so he praised god and gave him thanks for his preservation; then, seeing a great village hard by, he betook himself thither and saw, seated therein, a very old man, whom he acquainted with his case and that which had betided him. the old man grieved sore for him, when he heard his story, and set food before him. so he ate and the old man said to him, 'abide here with me, so i may make thee my steward and factor over a farm i have here, and thou shall have of me five dirhems [fn# ] a day.' 'god make fair thy reward,' answered the merchant, 'and requite thee with benefits!' so he abode in this employ, till he had sowed and reaped and threshed and winnowed, and all was sheer in his hand and the owner appointed neither inspector nor overseer, but relied altogether upon him. then he bethought himself and said, '_i_* misdoubt me the owner of this grain will not give me my due; so i were better take of it, after the measure of my hire; and if he give me my due, i will restore him that which i have taken.' so he took of the grain, after the measure of that which fell to him, and hid it in a privy place. then he carried the rest to the old man and meted it out to him, and he said to him, 'come, take [of the grain, after the measure of] thy hire, for which i agreed with thee, and sell it and buy with the price clothes and what not else; and though thou abide with me half a score years, yet shall thou still have this wage and i will acquit it to thee thus.' quoth the merchant in himself, 'indeed, i have done a foul thing in that i look it without his leave.' then he went to fetch that which he had hidden of the grain, but found it not and returned, perplexed and sorrowful, to the old man, who said to him, 'what aileth thee to be sorrowful?' and he answered, 'methought thou wouldst not pay me my due; so i took of the grain, after the measure of my hire; and now thou hast paid me my due and i went to bring back to thee that which i had hidden from thee, but found it gone, for those who had happened upon it had stolen it.' the old man was wroth, when he heard this, and said to the merchant, 'there is no device [can cope] with ill luck! i had given thee this, but, of the sorriness of thy luck and thy fortune, thou hast done this deed, o oppressor of thine own self! thou deemedst i would not acquit thee thy wage; but, by allah, nevermore will i give thee aught.' and he drove him away from him. so the merchant went forth, afflicted, sorrowful, weeping, [and wandered on along the sea-shore], till he came to a sort of divers diving in the sea for pearls. they saw him weeping and mourning and said to him, 'what is thy case and what maketh thee weep?' so he acquainted them with his history, from first to last, whereby they knew him and said to him, 'art thou [such an one] son of such an one?' 'yes,' answered he; whereupon they condoled with him and wept sore for him and said to him, 'abide here till we dive for thy luck this next time and whatsoever betideth us shall be between us and thee.' accordingly, they dived and brought up ten oysters, in each two great pearls; whereat they marvelled and said to him, 'by allah, thy luck hath returned and thy good star is in the ascendant!' then they gave him ten pearls and said to him, 'sell two of them and make them thy capital [whereon to trade]; and hide the rest against the time of thy straitness.' so he took them, joyful and contented, and addressed himself to sew eight of them in his gown, keeping the two others in his mouth; but a thief saw him and went and advertised his mates of him; whereupon they gathered together upon him and took his gown and departed from him. when they were gone away, he arose, saying, 'these two pearls [in my mouth] will suffice me,' and made for the [nearest] city, where he brought out the pearls [and repairing to the jewel- market, gave them to the broker], that he might sell them. now, as destiny would have it, a certain jeweller of the town had been robbed of ten pearls, like unto those which were with the merchant; so, when he saw the two pearls in the broker's hand, he said to him, 'to whom do these pearls belong?' and the broker answered, 'to yonder man.' [the jeweller looked at the merchant and] seeing him in sorry case and clad in tattered clothes, misdoubted of him and said to him (purposing to surprise him into confession), 'where are the other eight pearls?' the merchant thought he asked him of those which were in the gown and answered, 'the thieves stole them from me.' when the jeweller heard his reply, he doubted not but that it was he who had taken his good; so he laid hold of him and haling him before the chief of the police, said to him, 'this is the man who stole my pearls: i have found two of them upon him and he confesseth to the other eight.' now the magistrate knew of the theft of the pearls; so he bade clap the merchant in prison. accordingly they imprisoned him and flogged him, and he abode in the prison a whole year, till, by the ordinance of god the most high, the master of police arrested one of the divers aforesaid and imprisoned him in the prison where the merchant lay. he saw the latter and knowing him, questioned him of his case; whereupon he told them his story and that which had befallen him, and the diver marvelled at the sorriness of his luck. so, when he came forth of the prison, he acquainted the sultan with the merchant's case and told him that it was he who had given him the pearls. the sultan bade bring him forth of the prison and questioned him of his story, whereupon he told him all that had befallen him and the sultan pitied him and assigned him a lodging in his own palace, together with an allowance for his living. now the lodging in question adjoined the king's house, and whilst the merchant was rejoicing in this and saying, 'verily, my luck hath returned and i shall live in this king's shadow the rest of my life,' he espied an opening walled up with stones and clay. so he pulled out the stones and clearing away the earth from the opening, found that it was a window giving upon the lodging of the king's women. when he saw this, he was affrighted and rising in haste, fetched clay and stopped it up again. but one of the eunuchs saw him and misdoubting of him, repaired to the sultan and told him of this. so he came and seeing the stones pulled out, was wroth with the merchant and said to him, 'is this my recompense from thee, that thou seekest to violate my harem?' and he bade pluck out his eyes. so they did as he commanded and the merchant took his eyes in his hand and said, 'how long [wilt thou afflict me], o star of ill-omen? first my wealth and now my life!' and he bewailed himself, saying, 'endeavour profiteth me nought against evil fortune. the compassionate aided me not and endeavour was useless.' on like wise, o king," continued the youth, "whilst fortune was favourable to me, all that i did came to good; but now that it is grown contrary to me, everything turneth against me." when the youth had made an end of his story, the king's anger subsided a little and he said, "restore him to the prison, for the day draweth to an end, and tomorrow we will took into his affair." of looking to the issues of affairs. when it was the second day, the second of the king's viziers, whose name was beheroun, came in to him and said, "god advance the king! this that yonder youth hath done is a grave matter and a foul deed and a heinous against the household of the king." so azadbekht bade fetch the youth, because of the saying of the vizier; and when he came into his presence, he said to him, "out on thee, o youth! needs must i slay thee by the worst of deaths, for indeed thou hast committed a grave crime, and i will make thee a warning to the folk." "o king," answered the youth, "hasten not, for the looking to the issues of affairs is a pillar of the realm and [a cause of] continuance and sure stablishment for the kingship. whoso looketh not to the issues of affairs, there befalleth him that which befell the merchant, and whoso looketh to the issues of affairs, there betideth him of joyance that which betided the merchant's son." "and what is the story of the merchant and his son?" asked the king. "o king," answered the youth, story of the merchant and his sons. "there was once a man, a merchant, who had a wife and abundant wealth. he set out one day on a journey with merchandise, leaving his wife big with child, and said to her, 'if it be the will of god the most high, i will return before the birth of the child.' then he took leave of her and setting out, journeyed from country to country till he came to the court of one of the kings and foregathered with him. now this king was in need of one who should order his affairs and those of his kingdom and seeing the merchant well-bred and intelligent, he charged him abide with him and entreated him with honour and munificence. after awhile, he sought of the king leave to go to his own house, but the latter would not consent to this; whereupon he said to him, 'o king, suffer me go and see my children and come again.' so he gave him leave for this and took surety of him for his return. moreover, he gave him a purse, wherein were a thousand gold dinars, and the merchant embarked in a ship and set sail, intending for his own country. meanwhile, news came to his wife that her husband had taken service with king such-an-one; so she arose and taking her two sons, (for she had given birth to twin boys in his absence,) set out for those parts. as fate would have it, they happened upon an island and her husband came thither that very night in the ship. [when the woman heard of the coming of the ship], she said to her children, 'this ship cometh from the country where your father is; so go ye to the sea-shore, that ye may enquire of him.' so they repaired to the sea-shore and [going up into the ship], fell to playing about it and occupied themselves with their play till the evening. now the merchant their father lay asleep in the ship, and the crying of the boys troubled him; so he rose to call out to them [and silence them] and let the purse [with the thousand dinars therein] fall among the bales of merchandise. he sought for it and finding it not, buffeted his head and seized upon the boys, saying, 'none took the purse but you. ye were playing about the bales, so ye might steal somewhat, and there was none here but you.' then he took a staff and laying hold of the children, fell to beating them and flogging them, whilst they wept, and the sailors came round about them and said, 'the boys of this island are all thieves and robbers.' then, of the greatness of the merchant's wrath, he swore that, if they brought not out the purse, he would drown them in the sea; so when [by reason of their denial] his oath became binding upon him, he took the two boys and lashing them [each] to a bundle of reeds, cast them into the sea. presently, the mother of the two boys, finding that they tarried from her, went searching for them, till she came to the ship and fell to saying, 'who hath seen two boys of mine? their fashion is thus and thus and their age thus and thus.' when they heard her words, they said, 'this is the description of the two boys who were drowned in the sea but now.' their mother heard and fell to calling on them and saying, 'alas, my anguish for your loss, o my sons! where was the eye of your father this day, that it might have seen you?' then one of the crew questioned her, saying, 'whose wife art thou?' and she answered, 'i am the wife of such an one the merchant. i was on my way to him, and there hath befallen me this calamity.' when the merchant heard her speech, he knew her and rising to his feet, rent his clothes and buffeted his head and said to his wife, 'by allah, i have destroyed my children with mine own hand! this is the end of whoso looketh not to the issues of affairs.' then he fell a-wailing and weeping over them, he and his wife, and he said, 'by allah, i shall have no ease of my life, till i light upon news of them!' and he betook himself to going round about the sea, in quest of them, but found them not. meanwhile, the wind carried the two children [out to sea and thence driving them] towards the land, cast them up on the sea-shore. as for one of them, a company of the guards of the king of those parts found him and carried him to their master, who marvelled at him with an exceeding wonderment and adopted him to his son, giving out to the folk that he was his [very] son, whom he had hidden,[fn# ] of his love for him. so the folk rejoiced in him with an exceeding joy, for the king's sake, and the latter appointed him his heir-apparent and the inheritor of his kingdom. on this wise, a number of years passed, till the king died and they crowned the youth king in his room. so he sat down on the throne of his kingship and his estate flourished and his affairs prospered. meanwhile, his father and mother had gone round about all the islands of the sea in quest of him and his brother, hoping that the sea might have cast them up, but found no trace of them; so they despaired of finding them and took up their abode in one of the islands. one day, the merchant, being in the market, saw a broker, and in his hand a boy he was calling for sale, and said in himself, 'i will buy yonder boy, so i may console myself with him for my sons.' so he bought him and carried him to his house; and when his wife saw him, she cried out and said, 'by allah, this is my son!' so his father and mother rejoiced in him with an exceeding joy and questioned him of his brother; but he answered, 'the sea parted us and i knew not what became of him.' therewith his father and mother consoled themselves with him and on this wise a number of years passed. now the merchant and his wife had taken up their abode in a city in the land whereof their [other] son was king, and when the boy [whom they had found] grew up, his father assigned unto him merchandise, so he might travel therewith. so he set out and entered the city wherein his brother was king. news reached the latter that there was a merchant come thither with merchandise befitting kings. so he sent for him and the young merchant obeyed the summons and going in to him, sat down before him. neither of them knew the other; but blood stirred between them and the king said to the young merchant, 'i desire of thee that thou abide with me and i will exalt thy station and give thee all that thou desirest and cravest.' so he abode with him awhile, quitting him not; and when he saw that he would not suffer him to depart from him, he sent to his father and mother and bade them remove thither to him. so they addressed them to remove to that island, and their son increased still in honour with the king, albeit he knew not that he was his brother. it chanced one night that the king sallied forth without the city and drank and the wine got the mastery of him and he became drunken. so, of the youth's fearfulness for him, he said, 'i will keep watch myself over the king this night, seeing that he deserveth this from me, for that which he hath wrought with me of kindnesses.' so he arose forthright and drawing his sword, stationed himself at the door of the king's pavilion. now one of the royal servants saw him standing there, with the drawn sword in his hand, and he was of those who envied him his favour with the king; so he said to him, 'why dost thou on this wise at this season and in the like of this place?' quoth the youth, 'i am keeping watch over the king myself, in requital of his bounties to me.' the servant said no more to him, but, when it was morning, he acquainted a number of the king's servants with this and they said, 'this is an opportunity for us. come let us assemble together and acquaint the king with this, so the young merchant may lose favour with him and he rid us of him and we be at rest from him.' so they assembled together and going in to the king, said to him, 'we have a warning we would give thee.' quoth he, 'and what is your warning?' and they said, 'yonder youth, the merchant, whom thou hast taken into favour and whose rank thou hast exalted above the chiefs of the people of thy household, we saw yesterday draw his sword and offer to fall upon thee, so he might slay thee.' when the king heard this, his colour changed and he said to them, 'have ye proof of this?' quoth they, 'what proof wouldst thou have? if thou desire this, feign thyself drunken again this night and lie down, as if asleep, and watch him, and thou wilt see with thine eyes all that we have named to thee.' then they went to the youth and said to him, 'know that the king thanketh thee for thy dealing yesternight and exceedeth in [praise of] thy good deed;' and they prompted him to do the like again. so, when the next night came, the king abode on wake; watching the youth; and as for the latter, he went to the door of the pavilion and drawing his sword, stood in the doorway. when the king saw him do thus, he was sore disquieted and bade seize him and said to him, 'is this my requital from thee? i showed thee favour more than any else and thou wouldst do with me this vile deed.' then arose two of the king's servants and said to him, 'o our lord, if thou command it, we will strike off his head.' but the king said, 'haste in slaying is a vile thing, for it[fn# ] is a grave matter; the quick we can slay, but the slain we cannot quicken, and needs must we look to the issue of affairs. the slaying of this [youth] will not escape us.'[fn# ] therewith he bade imprison him, whilst he himself returned [to the city] and despatching his occasions, went forth to the chase. then he returned to the city and forgot the youth; so the servants went in to him and said to him, 'o king, if thou keep silence concerning yonder youth, who would have slain thee, all thy servants will presume upon thee, and indeed the folk talk of this matter.' with this the king waxed wroth and saying, 'fetch him hither,' commanded the headsman to strike off his head. so they [brought the youth and] bound his eyes; and the headsman stood at his head and said to the king, 'by thy leave, o my lord, i will strike off his head.' but the king said, 'stay, till i look into his affair. needs must i put him to death and the slaying of him will not escape [me].' so he restored him to the prison and there he abode till it should be the king's will to put him to death. presently, his father and his mother heard of the matter; whereupon the former arose and going up to the place, wrote a letter and [presented it to the king, who] read it, and behold, therein was written, saying, 'have pity on me, so may god have pity on thee, and hasten not in the slaughter [of my son]; for indeed i acted hastily in a certain affair and drowned his brother in the sea, and to this day i drink the cup of his anguish. if thou must needs kill him, kill me in his stead.' therewith the old merchant prostrated himself before the king and wept; and the latter said to him, 'tell me thy story.' 'o my lord,' answered the merchant, 'this youth had a brother and i [in my haste] cast them both into the sea.' and he related to him his story from first to last, whereupon the king cried out with an exceeding great cry and casting himself down from the throne, embraced his father and brother and said to the former, 'by allah, thou art my very father and this is my brother and thy wife is our mother.' and they abode weeping, all three. then the king acquainted the people [of his court] with the matter and said to them,' o folk, how deem ye of my looking to the issues of affairs?' and they all marvelled at his wisdom and foresight. then he turned to his father and said to him, 'hadst thou looked to the issue of thine affair and dealt deliberately in that which thou didst, there had not betided thee this repentance and grief all this time.' then he let bring his mother and they rejoiced in each other and lived all their days in joy and gladness. what then," continued the young treasurer, "is more grievous than the lack of looking to the issues of affairs? wherefore hasten thou not in the slaying of me, lest repentance betide thee and sore concern." when the king heard this, he said, "restore him to the prison till the morrow, so we may look into his affair; for that deliberation in affairs is advisable and the slaughter of this [youth] shall not escape [us]." the third day. of the advantages of patience. when it was the third day, the third vizier came in to the king and said to him, "o king, delay not the affair of this youth, for that his deed hath caused us fall into the mouths of the folk, and it behoveth that thou slay him presently, so the talk may be estopped from us and it be not said, 'the king saw on his bed a man with his wife and spared him.'"* the king was chagrined by this speech and bade bring the youth. so they brought him in shackles, and indeed the king's anger was roused against him by the speech of the vizier and he was troubled; so he said to him, "o base of origin, thou hast dishonoured us and marred our repute, and needs must i do away thy life from the world." quoth the youth, "o king, make use of patience in all thine affairs, so wilt thou attain thy desire, for that god the most high hath appointed the issue of patience [to be] in abounding good, and indeed by patience abou sabir ascended from the pit and sat down upon the throne." "who was abou sabir," asked the king, "and what is his story?" and the youth answered, saying, "o king, story of abou sabir. there was once a man, a headman [of a village], by name abou sabir, and he had much cattle and a fair wife, who had borne him two sons. they abode in a certain village and there used to come thither a lion and devour abou sabir's cattle, so that the most part thereof was wasted and his wife said to him one day, 'this lion hath wasted the most part of our cattle. arise, mount thy horse and take thy men and do thine endeavour to kill him, so we may be at rest from him.' but abou sabir said, 'have patience, o woman, for the issue of patience is praised. this lion it is that transgresseth against us, and the transgressor, needs must allah destroy him. indeed, it is our patience that shall slay him, and he that doth evil, needs must it revert upon him.' a little after, the king went forth one day to hunt and falling in with the lion, he and his troops, gave chase to him and ceased not [to follow] after him till they slew him. this came to abou sabir's knowledge and he said to his wife, 'said i not to thee, o woman, that whoso doth evil, it shall revert upon him? belike, if i had sought to slay the lion myself, i had not availed against him, and this is the issue of patience.' it befell, after this, that a man was slain in abou sabir's village; wherefore the sultan caused plunder the village, and they plundered the headman's goods with the rest so his wife said to him, 'all the sultan's officers know thee; so do thou prefer thy plaint to the king, that he may cause thy beasts to be restored to thee.' but he said to her, 'o woman, said i not to thee that he who doth evil shall suffer it? indeed, the king hath done evil, and he shall suffer [the consequences of] his deed, for whoso taketh the goods of the folk, needs must his goods be taken.' a man of his neighbours heard his speech, and he was an envier of his; so he went to the sultan and acquainted him therewith, whereupon he sent and plundered all [the rest of] his goods and drove him forth from the village, and his wife [and children] with him. so they went wandering in the desert and his wife said to him, 'all that hath befallen us cometh of thy slothfulness in affairs and thy default.' but he said to her, 'have patience, for the issue of patience is good.' then they went on a little, and thieves met them and despoiling them of that which remained with them, stripped them of their raiment and took the children from them; whereupon the woman wept and said to her husband, 'o man, put away from thee this folly and arise, let us follow the thieves, so haply they may have compassion on us and restore the children to us.' 'o woman,' answered he, 'have patience, for he who doth evil shall be requited with evil and his wickedness shall revert upon him. were i to follow them, most like one of them would take his sword and smite off my head and slay me; but have patience, for the issue of patience is praised.' then they fared on till they drew near a village in the land of kirman, and by it a river of water. so he said to his wife, 'abide thou here, whilst i enter the village and look us out a place wherein we may take up our lodging.' and he left her by the water and entered the village. presently, up came a horseman in quest of water, so he might water his horse. he saw the woman and she was pleasing in his sight; so he said to her, 'arise, mount with me and i will take thee to wife and entreat thee kindly.' quoth she, 'spare me, so may god spare thee! indeed, i have a husband.' but he drew his sword and said to her, 'an thou obey me not, i will smite thee and kill thee.' when she saw his malice, she wrote on the ground in the sand with her finger, saying, 'o abou sabir, thou hast not ceased to be patient, till thy wealth is gone from thee and thy children and [now] thy wife, who was more precious in thy sight than everything and than all thy wealth, and indeed thou abidest in thy sorrow all thy life long, so thou mayst see what thy patience will profit thee.' then the horseman took her, and setting her behind him, went his way. as for abou sabir, when he returned, he saw not his wife and read what was written on the ground, wherefore he wept and sat [awhile] sorrowing. then said he to himself, 'o abou sabir, it behoveth thee to be patient, for belike there shall betide [thee] an affair yet sorer than this and more grievous;' and he went forth wandering at a venture, like to the love-distraught, the madman, till he came to a sort of labourers working upon the palace of the king, by way of forced labour. when [the overseers] saw him, they laid hold of him and said to him, 'work thou with these folk at the palace of the king; else will we imprison thee for life.' so he fell to working with them as a labourer and every day they gave him a cake of bread. he wrought with them a month's space, till it chanced that one of the labourers mounted a ladder and falling, broke his leg; whereupon he cried out and wept. quoth abou sabir to him, 'have patience and weep not; for thou shall find ease in thy patience.' but the man said to him, 'how long shall i have patience?' and he answered, saying, 'patience bringeth a man forth of the bottom of the pit and seateth him on the throne of the kingdom.' now the king was seated at the lattice, hearkening to their talk, and abou sabir's words angered him; so he bade bring him before him and they brought him forthright. now there was in the king's palace an underground dungeon and therein a vast deep pit, into which the king caused cast abou sabir, saying to him, 'o lackwit, now shall we see how thou wilt come forth of the pit to the throne of the kingdom.' then he used to come and stand at the mouth of the pit and say, 'o lackwit, o abou sabir, i see thee not come forth of the pit and sit down on the king's throne!' and he assigned him each day two cakes of bread, whilst abou sabir held his peace and spoke not, but bore with patience that which betided him. now the king had a brother, whom he had imprisoned in that pit of old time, and he had died [there]; but the folk of the realm thought that he was alive, and when his [supposed] imprisonment grew long, the king's officers used to talk of this and of the tyranny of the king, and the report spread abroad that the king was a tyrant, wherefore they fell upon him one day and slew him. then they sought the well and brought out abou sabir therefrom, deeming him the king's brother, for that he was the nearest of folk to him [in favour] and the likest, and he had been long in the prison. so they doubted not but that he was the prince in question and said to him, 'reign thou in thy brother's room, for we have slain him and thou art king in his stead.' but abou sabir was silent and spoke not a word; and he knew that this was the issue of his patience. then he arose and sitting down on the king's throne, donned the royal raiment and discovered justice and equity and the affairs [of the realm] prospered [in his hand]; wherefore the folk obeyed him and the people inclined to him and many were his troops. now the king, who had plundered abou sabir['s goods] and driven him forth of his village, had an enemy; and the latter took horse against him and overcame him and captured his [capital] city; wherefore he addressed himself to flight and came to abou sabir's city, craving protection of him and seeking that he should succour him. he knew not that the king of the city was the headman whom he had despoiled; so he presented himself before him and made complaint to him; but abou sabir knew him and said to him, 'this is somewhat of the issue of patience. god the most high hath given me power over thee.' then he bade his guards plunder the [unjust] king and his attendants; so they plundered them and stripping them of their clothes, put them forth of his country. when abou sabir's troops saw this, they marvelled and said, 'what is this deed that the king doth? there cometh a king to him, craving protection, and he despoileth him! this is not of the fashion of kings.' but they dared not [be]speak [him] of this. after this, news came to the king of robbers in his land; so he set out in quest of them and ceased not to follow after them, till he seized on them all, and behold, they were the [very] thieves who had despoiled him [and his wife] by the way and taken his children. so he bade bring them before him, and when they came into his presence, he questioned them, saying, 'where are the two boys ye took on such a day?' quoth they, 'they are with us and we will present them to our lord the king for slaves to serve him and give him wealth galore that we have gotten together and divest ourselves of all that we possess and repent from sin and fight in thy service.' abou sabir, however, paid no heed to their speech, but took all their good and bade put them all to death. moreover, he took the two boys and rejoiced in them with an exceeding joy, whereat the troops murmured among themselves, saying, 'verily, this is a greater tyrant than his brother! there come to him a sort of robbers and seek to repent and proffer two boys [by way of peace-offering], and he taketh the two boys and all their good and slayeth them!' after this came the horseman, who had taken abou sabir's wife, and complained of her to the king that she would not give him possession of herself, avouching that she was his wife. the king bade bring her before him, that he might hear her speech and pronounce judgment upon her. so the horseman came with her before him, and when the king saw her, he knew her and taking her from her ravisher, bade put the latter to death. then he became aware of the troops, that they murmured against him and spoke of him as a tyrant; so he turned to his officers and viziers and said to them, 'as for me, by god the great, i am not the king's brother! nay, i am but one whom the king imprisoned upon a word he heard from me and used every day to taunt me therewith. ye think that i am the king's brother; but i am abou sabir and god hath given me the kingship in virtue of my patience. as for the king who sought protection of me and i despoiled him, it was he who first wronged me, for that he despoiled me aforetime and drove me forth of my native land and banished me, without due [cause]; wherefore i requited him with that which he had done to me, in the way of lawful vengeance. as for the thieves who proffered repentance, there was no repentance for them with me, for that they began upon me with foul [dealing] and waylaid me by the road and despoiled me and took my good and my sons. now these two boys, that i took of them and whom ye deemed slaves, are my very sons; so i avenged myself on the thieves of that which they did with me aforetime and requited them with equity. as for the horseman whom i slew, the woman i took from him was my wife and he took her by force, but god the most high hath restored her [to me]; so this was my right, and my deed that i have done was just, albeit ye, [judging] by the outward of the matter, deemed that i had done this by way of tyranny.' when the folk heard this, they marvelled and fell prostrate before him; and they redoubled in esteem for him and exceeding affection and excused themselves to him, marvelling at that which god had done with him and how he had given him the kingship by reason of his longsuffering and his patience and how he had raised himself by his patience from the bottom of the pit to the throne of the kingdom, what while god cast down the [late] king from the throne into the pit.[fn# ] then abou sabir foregathered with his wife and said to her, 'how deemest thou of the fruit of patience and its sweetness and the fruit of haste and its bitterness? verily, all that a man doth of good and evil, he shall assuredly abide.' on like wise, o king," continued the young treasurer, "it behoveth thee to practise patience, whenas it is possible to thee, for that patience is of the fashion of the noble, and it is the chiefest of their reliance, especially for kings." when the king heard this from the youth, his anger subsided; so he bade restore him to the prison, and the folk dispersed that day. the fourth day. of the ill effects of precipitation. when it was the fourth day, the fourth vizier, whose name was zoushad, made his appearance and prostrating himself to the king, said to him, "o king, suffer not the talk of yonder youth to delude thee, for that he is not a truth-teller. so long as he abideth on life, the folk will not give over talking nor will thy heart cease to be occupied with him." "by allah," cried the king, "thou sayst sooth and i will cause fetch him this day and slay him before me." then he commanded to bring the youth; so they brought him in shackles and he said to him, "out on thee! thinkest thou to appease my heart with thy prate, whereby the days are spent in talk? i mean to slay thee this day and be quit of thee." "o king," answered the youth, "it is in thy power to slay me whensoever thou wilt, but haste is of the fashion of the base and patience of that of the noble. if thou put me to death, thou wilt repent, and if thou desire to bring me back to life, thou wilt not be able thereunto. indeed, whoso acteth hastily in an affair, there befalleth him what befell bihzad, son of the king." quoth the king, "and what is his story?" "o king," replied the young treasurer, story of prince bihzad. "there was once, of old time, a king and he had a son [named bihzad], there was not in his day a goodlier than he and he loved to consort with the folk and to sit with the merchants and converse with them. one day, as he sat in an assembly, amongst a number of folk, he heard them talking of his own goodliness and grace and saying, 'there is not in his time a goodlier than he.' but one of the company said, 'indeed, the daughter of king such-an-one is handsomer than he.' when bihzad heard this saying, his reason fled and his heart fluttered and he called the last speaker and said to him, 'repeat to me that which thou saidst and tell me the truth concerning her whom thou avouchest to be handsomer than i and whose daughter she is.' quoth the man, 'she is the daughter of king such-an-one;' whereupon bihzad's heart clave to her and his colour changed. the news reached his father, who said to him, 'o my son, this damsel to whom thy heart cleaveth is at thy commandment and we have power over her; so wait till i demand her [in marriage] for thee.' but the prince said, 'i will not wait.' so his father hastened in the matter and sent to demand her of her father, who required of him a hundred thousand dinars to his daughter's dowry. quoth bihzad's father, 'so be it,' and paid down what was in his treasuries, and there remained to his charge but a little of the dower. so he said to his son, 'have patience, o my son, till we gather together the rest of the money and send to fetch her to thee, for that she is become thine.' therewith the prince waxed exceeding wroth and said, 'i will not have patience;' so he took his sword and his spear and mounting his horse, went forth and fell to stopping the way, [so haply that he might win what lacked of the dowry]. it chanced one day that he fell in upon a company of folk and they overcame him by dint of numbers and taking him prisoner, pinioned him and carried him to the lord of that country. the latter saw his fashion and grace and misdoubting of him, said, 'this is no robber's favour. tell me truly, o youth, who thou art.' bihzad thought shame to acquaint him with his condition and chose rather death for himself; so he answered, 'i am nought but a thief and a bandit.' quoth the king, 'it behoveth us not to act hastily in the matter of this youth, but that we look into his affair, for that haste still engendereth repentance.' so he imprisoned him in his palace and assigned him one who should serve him. meanwhile, the news spread abroad that bihzad, son of the king, was lost, whereupon his father sent letters in quest of him [to all the kings and amongst others to him with whom he was imprisoned]. when the letter reached the latter, he praised god the most high for that he had not anydele hastened in bihzad's affair and letting bring him before himself, said to him, 'art thou minded to destroy thyself?' quoth bihzad, '[i did this] for fear of reproach;' and the king said, 'an thou fear reproach, thou shouldst not practise haste [in that thou dost]; knowest thou not that the fruit of haste is repentance? if we had hasted, we also, like unto thee, we had repented.' then he conferred on him a dress of honour and engaged to him for the completion of the dowry and sent to his father, giving him the glad news and comforting his heart with [the tidings of] his son's safety; after which he said to bihzad, arise, o my son, and go to thy father.' 'o king,' rejoined the prince, 'complete thy kindness to me by [hastening] my going-in to my wife; for, if i go back to my father, till he send a messenger and he return, promising me, the time will be long.' the king laughed and marvelled at him and said to him, 'i fear for thee from this haste, lest thou come to shame and attain not thy desire.' then he gave him wealth galore and wrote him letters, commending him to the father of the princess, and despatched him to them. when he drew near their country, the king came forth to meet him with the people of his realm and assigned him a handsome lodging and bade hasten the going-in of his daughter to him, in compliance with the other king's letter. moreover, he advised the prince's father [of his son's coming] and they busied themselves with the affair of the damsel. when it was the day of the going-in,[fn# ] bihzad, of his haste and lack of patience, betook himself to the wall, which was between himself and the princess's lodging and in which there was a hole pierced, and looked, so he might see his bride, of his haste. but the bride's mother saw him and this was grievous to her; so she took from one of the servants two red-hot iron spits and thrust them into the hole through which the prince was looking. the spits ran into his eyes and put them out and he fell down aswoon and joyance was changed and became mourning and sore concern. see, then, o king," continued the youth, "the issue of the prince's haste and lack of deliberation, for indeed his haste bequeathed him long repentance and his joy was changed to mourning; and on like wise was it with the woman who hastened to put out his eyes and deliberated not. all this was the doing of haste; wherefore it behoveth the king not to be hasty in putting me to death, for that i am under the grasp of his hand, and what time soever thou desirest my slaughter, it shall not escape [thee]." when the king heard this, his anger subsided and he said, "carry him back to prison till to-morrow, to we may look into his affair." the fifth day of the issues of good and evil actions. when it was the fifth day, the fifth vizier, whose name was jehrbaur, came in to the king and prostrating himself before him, said, "o king, it behoveth thee, if thou see or hear that one look on thy house,[fn# ] that thou put out his eyes. how then should it be with him whom thou sawest midmost thy house and on thy very bed, and he suspected with thy harem, and not of thy lineage nor of thy kindred? wherefore do thou away this reproach by putting him to death. indeed, we do but urge thee unto this for the assurance of thine empire and of our zeal for thy loyal counselling and of our love to thee. how can it be lawful that this youth should live for a single hour?" therewith the king was filled with wrath and said, "bring him forthright," so they brought the youth before him, shackled, and the king said to him, "out on thee! thou hast sinned a great sin and the time of thy life hath been long;[fn# ] but needs must we put thee to death, for that there is for us no ease in thy life after this," "o king," answered he, "know that i, by allah, am guiltless, and by reason of this i hope for life, for that he who is guiltless of offence goeth not in fear of punishment neither maketh great his mourning and his concern; but whoso hath sinned, needs must his sin be expiated upon him, though his life be prolonged, and it shall overtake him, even as it overtook dadbin the king and his vizier." "how was that?" asked azadbekht, and the youth said, story of king dadbin and his viziers. "there was once a king in the land of teberistan, by name dadbin, and he had two viziers, called one zourkhan and the other kardan. the vizier zourkhan had a daughter, there was not in her time a handsomer than she nor yet a chaster nor a more pious, for she was a faster, a prayer and a worshipper of god the most high, and her name was arwa. now dadbin heard tell of her charms; so his heart clave to her and he called the vizier [her father] and said to him, 'i desire of thee that thou marry me to thy daughter.' quoth zourkhan, 'allow me to consult her, and if she consent, i will marry thee with her.' and the king said, 'hasten unto this.' so the vizier went in to his daughter and said to her, 'o my daughter, the king seeketh thee of me and desireth to marry thee.' 'o my father,' answered she 'i desire not a husband and if thou wilt marry me, marry me not but with one who shall be below me in rank and i nobler than he, so he may not turn to other than myself nor lift his eyes upon me, and marry me not to one who is nobler than i, lest i be with him as a slave-girl and a serving-woman.' so the vizier returned to the king and acquainted him with that which his daughter had said, whereat he redoubled in desire and love-liking for her and said to her father, 'an thou marry me not to her of good grace, i will take her by force in thy despite.' the vizier again betook himself to his daughter and repeated to her the king's words, but she replied, 'i desire not a husband.' so he returned to the king and told him what she said, and he was wroth and threatened the vizier, whereupon the latter took his daughter and fled with her. when this came to the king's knowledge, he despatched troops in pursuit of zourkhan, to stop the road upon him, whilst he himself went out and overtaking the vizier, smote him on the head with his mace and slew him. then he took his daughter by force and returning to his dwelling-place, went in to her and married her. arwa resigned herself with patience to that which betided her and committed her affair to god the most high; and indeed she was used to serve him day and night with a goodly service in the house of king dabdin her husband. it befell one day that the king had occasion to make a journey; so he called his vizier kardan and said to him, 'i have a trust to commit to thy care, and it is yonder damsel, my wife, the daughter of the vizier [zourkhan], and i desire that thou keep her and guard her thyself, for that there is not in the world aught dearer to me than she.' quoth kardan in himself, 'of a truth, the king honoureth me with an exceeding honour [in entrusting me] with this damsel.' and he answered 'with all my heart.' when the king had departed on his journey, the vizier said in himself, 'needs must i look upon this damsel whom the king loveth with all this love.' so he hid himself in a place, that he might look upon her, and saw her overpassing description; wherefore he was confounded at her and his wit was dazed and love got the mastery of him, so that he said to her, saying, 'have pity on me, for indeed i perish for the love of thee.' she sent back to him, saying, 'o vizier, thou art in the place of trust and confidence, so do not thou betray thy trust, but make thine inward like unto thine outward[fn# ] and occupy thyself with thy wife and that which is lawful to thee. as for this, it is lust and [women are all of] one taste.[fn# ] and if thou wilt not be forbidden from this talk, i will make thee a byword and a reproach among the folk.' when the vizier heard her answer, he knew that she was chaste of soul and body; wherefore he repented with the utmost of repentance and feared for himself from the king and said, 'needs must i contrive a device wherewithal i may destroy her; else shall i be disgraced with the king.' when the king returned from his journey, he questioned his vizier of the affairs of his kingdom and the latter answered, 'all is well, o king, save a vile matter, which i have discovered here and wherewith i am ashamed to confront the king; but, if i hold my peace thereof, i fear lest other than i discover it and i [be deemed to] have played traitor to the king in the matter of my [duty of] loyal warning and my trust.' quoth dabdin, 'speak, for thou art none other than a truth-teller, a trusty one, a loyal counsellor in that which thou sayest, undistrusted in aught.' and the vizier said, 'o king, this woman to whose love thy heart cleaveth and of whose piety thou talkest and her fasting and praying, i will make plain to thee that this is craft and guile.' at this, the king was troubled and said, 'what is to do?' 'know,' answered the vizier, 'that some days after thy departure, one came to me and said to me, "come, o vizier, and look." so i went to the door of the [queen's] sleeping-chamber and beheld her sitting with aboulkhair, her father's servant, whom she favoureth, and she did with him what she did, and this is the manner of that which i saw and heard.' when dabdin heard this, he burnt with rage and said to one of his eunuchs,[fn# ] 'go and slay her in her chamber.' but the eunuch said to him, 'o king, may god prolong thy continuance! indeed, the killing of her may not be at this time; but do thou bid one of thine eunuchs take her up on a camel and carry her to one of the trackless deserts and cast her down there; so, if she be at fault, god shall cause her to perish, and if she be innocent, he will deliver her, and the king shall be free from sin against her, for that this damsel is dear to thee and thou slewest her father by reason of thy love for her.' quoth the king, 'by allah, thou sayst sooth!' then he bade one of his eunuchs carry her on a camel to one of the far-off deserts and there leave her and go away, and he forbade [him] to prolong her torment. so he took her up and betaking himself with her to the desert, left her there without victual or water and returned, whereupon she made for one of the [sand-]hills and ranging stones before her [in the form of a prayer-niche], stood praying. now it chanced that a camel-driver, belonging to kisra the king, lost certain camels and the king threatened him, if he found them not, that he would slay him. so he set out and plunged into the deserts till he came to the place where the damsel was and seeing her standing praying, waited till she had made an end of her prayer, when he went up to her and saluted her, saying, 'who art thou?' quoth she, 'i am a handmaid of god.' 'what dost thou in this desolate place?' asked he, and she said, 'i serve god the most high.' when he saw her beauty and grace, he said to her, 'harkye! do thou take me to husband and i will be tenderly solicitous over thee and use thee with exceeding compassion and i will further thee in obedience to god the most high.' but she answered, saying, 'i have no need of marriage and i desire to abide here [alone] with my lord and his service; but, if thou wouldst deal compassionately with me and further me in the obedience of god the most high, carry me to a place where there is water and thou wilt have done me a kindness.' so he carried her to a place wherein was running water and setting her down on the ground, left her and went away, marvelling at her. after he left her, he found his camels, by her blessing, and when he returned, king kisra asked him, 'hast thou found the camels?' ['yes,' answered he] and acquainted him with the affair of the damsel and set out to him her beauty and grace; whereupon the king's heart clave to her and he mounted with a few men and betook himself to that place, where he found the damsel and was amazed at her, for that he saw her overpassing the description wherewith the camel-driver had described her to him. so he accosted her and said to her, 'i am king kisra, greatest of the kings. wilt thou not have me to husband?' quoth she, 'what wilt thou do with me, o king, and i a woman abandoned in the desert?' and he answered, saying, 'needs must this be, and if thou wilt not consent to me, i will take up my sojourn here and devote myself to god's service and thine and worship him with thee.' then he bade set up for her a tent and another for himself, facing hers, so he might worship god with her, and fell to sending her food; and she said in herself, 'this is a king and it is not lawful for me that i suffer him forsake his subjects and his kingdom for my sake. so she said to the serving-woman, who used to bring her the food, 'speak to the king, so he may return to his women, for he hath no need of me and i desire to abide in this place, so i may worship god the most high therein.' the slave-girl returned to the king and told him this, whereupon he sent back to her, saying, 'i have no need of the kingship and i also desire to abide here and worship god with thee in this desert.' when she found this earnestness in him, she consented to his wishes and said, 'o king, i will consent unto thee in that which thou desirest and will be to thee a wife, but on condition that thou bring me dadbin the king and his vizier kardan and his chamberlain[fn# ] and that they be present in thine assembly, so i may speak a word with them in thy presence, to the intent that thou mayest redouble in affection for me.' quoth kisra, 'and what is thine occasion unto this?' so she related to him her story from first to last, how she was the wife of dadbin the king and how the latter's vizier had miscalled her honour. when king kisra heard this, he redoubled in loveliking for her and affection and said to her, 'do what thou wilt.' so he let bring a litter and carrying her therein to his dwelling-place, married her and entreated her with the utmost honour. then he sent a great army to king dadbin and fetching him and his vizier and the chamberlain, caused bring them before him, unknowing what he purposed with them. moreover, he caused set up for arwa a pavilion in the courtyard of his palace and she entered therein and let down the curtain before herself. when the servants had set their seats and they had seated themselves, arwa raised a corner of the curtain and said, 'o kardan, rise to thy feet, for it befitteth not that thou sit in the like of this assembly, before this mighty king kisra.' when the vizier heard these words, his heart quaked and his joints were loosened and of his fear, he rose to his feet. then said she to him, 'by the virtue of him who hath made thee stand in this place of standing [up to judgment], and thou abject and humiliated, i conjure thee speak the truth and say what prompted thee to lie against me and cause me go forth from my house and from the hand of my husband and made thee practise thus against a man,[fn# ] a true believer, and slay him. this is no place wherein leasing availeth nor may prevarication be therein.' when the vizier was ware that she was arwa and heard her speech, he knew that it behoved him not to lie and that nought would avail him but truth-speaking; so he bowed [his head] to the ground and wept and said, 'whoso doth evil, needs must he abide it, though his day be prolonged. by allah, i am he who hath sinned and transgressed, and nought prompted me unto this but fear and overmastering desire and the affliction written upon my forehead;[fn# ] and indeed this woman is pure and chaste and free from all fault.' when king dadbin heard this, he buffeted his face and said to his vizier, 'god slay thee! it is thou that hast parted me and my wife and wronged me!' but kisra the king said to him, 'god shall surely slay thee, for that thou hastenedst and lookedst not into thine affair and knewest not the guilty from the guiltless. hadst thou wrought deliberately, the false had been made manifest to thee from the true; so where was thy judgment and thy sight?" then said he to arwa, "what wilt thou that i do with them?" and she answered, saying, "accomplish on them the ordinance of god the most high;[fn# ] the slayer shall be slain and the transgressor transgressed against, even as he transgressed against us; yea, and the well-doer, good shall be done unto him, even as he did unto us." so she gave [her officers] commandment concerning dadbin and they smote him on the head with a mace and slew him, and she said, "this is for the slaughter of my father." then she bade set the vizier on a beast [and carry him] to the desert whither he had caused carry her [and leave him there without victual or water]; and she said to him, "an thou be guilty, thou shalt abide [the punishment of] thy guilt and perish of hunger and thirst in the desert; but, if there be no guilt in thee, thou shalt be delivered, even as i was delivered." as for the eunuch, the chamberlain, who had counselled king dadbin [not to slay her, but] to [cause] carry her to the desert [and there abandon her], she bestowed on him a sumptuous dress of honour and said to him, "the like of thee it behoveth kings to hold in favour and set in high place, for that thou spokest loyally and well, and a man is still requited according to his deed." and kisra the king invested him with the governance of one of the provinces of his empire. know, therefore, o king," continued the youth, "that whoso doth good is requited therewith and he who is guiltless of sin and reproach feareth not the issue of his affair. and i, o king, am free from guilt, wherefore i trust in god that he will show forth the truth and vouchsafe me the victory over enemies and enviers." when the king heard this, his wrath subsided and he said, "carry him back to the prison till the morrow, so we may look into his affair." the sixth day of trust in god. when it was the sixth day, the viziers' wrath redoubled, for that they had not compassed their desire of the youth and they feared for themselves from the king; so three of them went in to him and prostrating themselves before him, said to him, "o king, indeed we are loyal counsellors to thy dignity and tenderly solicitous for thee. verily, thou persistest long in sparing this youth alive and we know not what is thine advantage therein. every day findeth him yet on life and the talk redoubleth suspicions on thee; so do thou put him to death, that the talk may be made an end of." when the king heard this speech, he said, "by allah, indeed, ye say sooth and speak rightly!" then he let bring the young treasurer and said to him, "how long shall i look into thine affair and find no helper for thee and see them all athirst for thy blood?" "o king," answered the youth, "i hope for succour only from god, not from created beings: if he aid me, none can avail to harm me, and if he be with me and on my side, because of the truth, who is it i shall fear, because of falsehood? indeed, i have made my intent with god a pure and sincere intent and have severed my expectation from the help of the creature; and whoso seeketh help [of god] findeth of his desire that which bekhtzeman found." quoth the king, "who was bekhtzeman and what is his story?" "o king," replied the youth, story of king bekhtzeman. "there was once a king of the kings, whose name was bekhtzeman, and he was a great eater and drinker and carouser. now enemies of his made their appearance in certain parts of his realm and threatened him; and one of his friends said to him, 'o king, the enemy maketh for thee: be on thy guard against him.' quoth bekhtzeman, 'i reck not of him, for that i have arms and wealth and men and am not afraid of aught.' then said his friends to him, 'seek aid of god, o king, for he will help thee more than thy wealth and thine arms and thy men.' but he paid no heed to the speech of his loyal counsellors, and presently the enemy came upon him and waged war upon him and got the victory over him and his trust in other than god the most high profited him nought. so he fled from before him and seeking one of the kings, said to him, 'i come to thee and lay hold upon thy skirts and take refuge with thee, so thou mayst help me against mine enemy.' the king gave him money and men and troops galore and bekhtzeman said in himself, 'now am i fortified with this army and needs must i conquer my enemy therewith and overcome him;' but he said not, 'with the aid of god the most high.' so his enemy met him and overcame him again and he was defeated and put to the rout and fled at a venture. his troops were dispersed from him and his money lost and the enemy followed after him. so he sought the sea and passing over to the other side, saw a great city and therein a mighty citadel. he asked the name of the city and to whom it belonged and they said to him, 'it belongeth to khedidan the king.' so he fared on till he came to the king's palace aud concealing his condition, passed himself off for a horseman[fn# ] and sought service with king khedidan, who attached him to his household and entreated him with honour; but his heart still clave to his country and his home. presently, it chanced that an enemy attacked king khedidan; so he sent out his troops to him and made bekhtzeman head of the army. then they went forth to the field and khedidan also came forth and ranged his troops and took the spear and sallied out in person and fought a sore battle and overcame his enemy, who fled, he and his troops, ignominiously. when the king and his army returned in triumph, bekhtzeman said to him, 'harkye, o king! meseemeth this is a strange thing of thee that thou art compassed about with this vast army, yet dost thou apply thyself in person to battle and adventurest thyself.' quoth the king, 'dost thou call thyself a cavalier and a man of learning and deemest that victory is in abundance of troops?' 'ay,' answered bekhtzeman; 'that is indeed my belief.' and khedidan said, 'by allah, then, thou errest in this thy belief! woe and again woe to him whose trust is in other than god! indeed, this army is appointed only for adornment and majesty, and victory is from god alone. i too, o bekhtzeman, believed aforetime that victory was in the multitude of men, and an enemy came out against me with eight hundred men, whilst i had eight hundred thousand. i trusted in the number of my troops, whilst mine enemy trusted in god; so he defeated me and routed me and i was put to a shameful flight and hid myself in one of the mountains, where i met with a recluse, [who had] withdrawn [himself from the world]. so i joined myself to him and complained to him of my case and acquainted him with all that had befallen me. quoth he, "knowest thou why this befell thee and thou wast defeated?" "i know not," answered i, and he said, "because thou puttest thy trust in the multitude of thy troops and reliedst not upon god the most high. hadst thou put thy trust in god and believed in him that it is he [alone] who advantageth and endamageth thee, thine enemy had not availed to cope with thee. return unto god." so i returned to myself and repented at the hands of the solitary, who said to me, "turn back with what remaineth to thee of troops and confront thine enemies, for, if their intents be changed from god, thou wilt overcome them, wert thou alone." when i heard these words, i put my trust in god the most high, and gathering together those who remained with me, fell upon mine enemies at unawares in the night. they deemed us many and fled on the shamefullest wise, whereupon i entered my city and repossessed myself of my place by the might of god the most high, and now i fight not but [trusting] in his aid.' when bekhtzeman heard this, he awoke from his heedlessness and said, 'extolled be the perfection of god the great! o king, this is my case and my story, nothing added and nought diminished, for i am king bekhtzeman and all this happened to me; wherefore i will seek the gate of god['s mercy] and repent unto him.' so he went forth to one of the mountains and there worshipped god awhile, till one night, as he slept, one appeared to him in a dream and said to him, 'o bekhtzeman, god accepteth thy repentance and openeth on thee [the gate of succour] and will further thee against thine enemy.' when he was certified of this in the dream, he arose and turned back, intending for his own city; and when he drew near thereunto, he saw a company of the king's retainers, who said to him, 'whence art thou? we see that thou art a stranger and fear for thee from this king, for that every stranger who enters this city, he destroys him, of his fear of king bekhtzeman.' quoth bekhtzeman, 'none shall hurt him nor advantage him save god the most high.' and they answered, saying, 'indeed, he hath a vast army and his heart is fortified in the multitude of his troops.' when king bekhtzeman heard this, his heart was comforted and he said in himself, 'i put my trust in god. if he will, i shall overcome mine enemy by the might of god the most high.' so he said to the folk, ' know ye not who i am?' and they answered, ' no, by allah.' quoth he, 'i am king bekhtzeman.' when they heard this and knew that it was indeed he, they dismounted from their horses and kissed his stirrup, to do him honour, and said to him, 'o king, why hast thou thus adventured thyself?' quoth he, 'indeed, my life is a light matter to me and i put my trust in god the most high, looking to him for protection.' and they answered him, saying, 'may this suffice thee! we will do with thee that which is in our power and whereof thou art worthy: comfort thy heart, for we will succour thee with our goods and our lives, and we are his chief officers and the most in favour with him of all folk. so we will take thee with us and cause the folk follow after thee, for that the inclination of the people, all of them, is to thee.' quoth he, 'do that unto which god the most high enableth you.' so they carried him into the city and hid him with them. moreover, they agreed with a company of the king's chief officers, who had aforetime been those of bekhtzeman, and acquainted them with this; whereat they rejoiced with an exceeding joy. then they assembled together to bekhtzeman and made a covenant and handfast [of fealty] with him and fell upon the enemy at unawares and slew him and seated king bekhtzeman again on the throne of his kingship. and his affairs prospered and god amended his estate and restored his bounty to him, and he ruled his subjects justly and abode in the obedience of the most high. on this wise, o king," continued the young treasurer, "he with whom god is and whose intent is pure, meeteth nought but good. as for me, i have no helper other than god, and i am content to submit myself to his ordinance, for that he knoweth the purity of my intent." with this the king's wrath subsided and he said, "restore him to the prison till the morrow, so we may look into his affair." the seventh day. of clemency. when it was the seventh day, the seventh vizier, whose name was bihkemal, came in to the king and prostrating himself to him, said, "o king, what doth thy long-suffering with this youth advantage thee? indeed the folk talk of thee and of him. why, then, dost thou postpone the putting him to death?" the vizier's words aroused the king's anger and he bade bring the youth. so they brought him before him, shackled, and azadbekht said to him, "out on thee! by allah, after this day there abideth no deliverance for thee from my hand, for that thou hast outraged mine honour, and there can be no forgiveness for thee." "o king," answered the youth, "there is no great forgiveness save in case of a great crime, for according as the offence is great, in so much is forgiveness magnified and it is no dishonour to the like of thee if he spare the like of me. verily, allah knoweth that there is no fault in me, and indeed he commandeth unto clemency, and no clemency is greater than that which spareth from slaughter, for that thy forgiveness of him whom thou purposest to put to death is as the quickening of a dead man; and whoso doth evil shall find it before him, even as it was with king bihkerd." "and what is the story of king bihkerd?" asked the king. "o king," answered the youth, story of king bihkerd. "there was once a king named bihkerd aed he had wealth galore and many troops; but his deeds were evil and he would punish for a slight offence and never forgave. he went forth one day to hunt and one of his servants shot an arrow, which lit on the king's ear and cut it off. quoth bihkerd, 'who shot that arrow?' so the guards brought him in haste the offender, whose name was yetrou, and he of his fear fell down on the ground in a swoon. then said the king, 'put him to death;' but yetrou said, 'o king, this that hath befallen was not of my choice nor of my knowledge; so do thou pardon me, in the hour of thy power over me, for that clemency is of the goodliest of things and belike it shall be [in this world] a provision and a good work [for which thou shall be requited] one of these days, and a treasure [laid up to thine account] with god in the world to come. pardon me, therefore, and fend off evil from me, so shall god fend off from thee evil the like thereof.' when the king heard this, it pleased him and he pardoned the servant, albeit he had never before pardoned any. now this servant was of the sons of the kings and had fled from his father, on account of an offence he had committed. then he went and took service with king bihkerd and there happened to him what happened. after awhile, it chanced that a man recognized him and went and told his father, who sent him a letter, comforting his heart and mind and [beseeching him] to return to him. so he returned to his father, who came forth to meet him and rejoiced in him, and the prince's affairs were set right with him. it befell, one day of the days, that king bihkerd embarked in a ship and put out to sea, so he might fish; but the wind blew on them and the ship foundered. the king won ashore on a plank, unknown of any, and came forth, naked, on one of the coasts; and it chanced that he landed in the country whereof the father of the youth aforesaid, [his sometime servant], was king. so he came in the night to the gate of the latter's city and [finding it shut], took up his lodging [for the night] in a burying-place there. when the morning morrowed and the folk came forth of the city, they found a murdered man cast down in a corner of the burial-ground and seeing bihkerd there, doubted not but it was he who had slain him; so they laid hands on him and carried him up to the king and said to him, 'this fellow hath slain a man.' the king bade imprison him; [so they clapped him in prison] and he fell a-saying in himself, what while he was in the prison, 'all that hath befallen me is of the abundance of my sins and my tyranny, for, indeed, i have slain much people unrighteously and this is the requital of my deeds and that which i have wrought aforetime of oppression.' as he was thus pondering in himself, there came a bird and lighted down on the coign of the prison, whereupon, of his much eagerness in the chase, he took a stone and cast it at the bird. now the king's son was playing in the exercise-ground with the ball and the mall, and the stone lit on his ear and cut it off, whereupon the prince fell down in a swoon. so they enquired who had thrown the stone and [finding that it was bihkerd,] took him and carried him before the prince, who bade put him to death. accordingly, they cast the turban from his head and were about to bind his eyes, when the prince looked at him and seeing him cropped of an ear, said to him, 'except thou wert a lewd fellow, thine ear had not been cut off.' 'not so, by allah!' answered bihkerd. 'nay, but the story [of the loss] of my ear is thus and thus, and i pardoned him who smote me with an arrow and cut off my ear.' when the prince heard this, he looked in his face and knowing him, cried out and said, 'art thou not bihkerd the king?' 'yes,' answered he, and the prince said to him 'what bringeth thee here?' so he told him all that had betided him and the folk marvelled and extolled the perfection of god the most high. then the prince rose to him and embraced him and kissed him and entreated him with honour. moreover, he seated him in a chair and bestowed on him a dress of honour; and he turned to his father and said to him, 'this is the king who pardoned me and this is his ear that i cut off with an arrow; and indeed he deserveth pardon from me, for that he pardoned me.' then said he to bihkerd, 'verily, the issue of clemency hath been a provision for thee [in thine hour of need].' and they entreated him with the utmost kindness and sent him back to his own country in all honour and worship know, then, o king," continued the youth, "that there is no goodlier thing than clemency and that all thou dost thereof, thou shalt find before thee, a treasure laid up for thee." when the king heard this, his wrath subsided and he said, "carry him back to the prison till the morrow, so we may look into his affair." the eighth day. of envy and malice. when it was the eighth day, the viziers all assembled and took counsel together and said, "how shall we do with this youth, who baffleth us with his much talk? indeed, we fear lest he be saved and we fall [into perdition]. wherefore, let us all go in to the king and unite our efforts to overcome him, ere he appear without guilt and come forth and get the better of us." so they all went in to the king and prostrating themselves before him, said to him, "o king, have a care lest this youth beguile thee with his sorcery and bewitch thee with his craft. if thou heardest what we hear, thou wouldst not suffer him live, no, not one day. so pay thou no heed to his speech, for we are thy viziers, [who endeavour for] thy continuance, and if thou hearken not to our word, to whose word wilt thou hearken? see, we are ten viziers who testify against this youth that he is guilty and entered not the king's sleeping-chamber but with evil intent, so he might put the king to shame and outrage his honour; and if the king slay him not, let him banish him his realm, so the tongue of the folk may desist from him." when the king heard his viziers' words, he was exceeding wroth and bade bring the youth, and when he came in to the king, the viziers all cried out with one voice, saying, "o scant o' grace, thinkest thou to save thyself from slaughter by craft and guile, that thou beguilest the king with thy talk and hopest pardon for the like of this great crime which thou hast committed?" then the king bade fetch the headsman, so he might smite off his head; whereupon each of the viziers fell a-saying, "i will slay him;" and they sprang upon him. quote the youth, "o king, consider and ponder these men's eagerness. is this of envy or no? they would fain make severance between thee and me, so there may fall to them what they shall plunder, as aforetime." and the king said to him, "consider their testimony against thee." "o king," answered the young man, "how shall they testify of that which they saw not? this is but envy and rancour; and thou, if thou slay me, thou wilt regret me, and i fear lest there betide thee of repentance that which betided ilan shah, by reason of the malice of his viziers." "and what is his story?" asked azadbekht. "o king," replied the youth, story of ilan shah and abou temam. "there was once a merchant named abou temam, and he was a man of understanding and good breeding, quick-witted and truthful in all his affairs, and he had wealth galore. now there was in his land an unjust king and a jealous, and abou temam feared for his wealth from this king and said, 'i will remove hence to another place where i shall not be in fear.' so he made for the city of ilan shah and built himself a palace therein and transporting his wealth thither, took up his abode there. presently, the news of him reached king ilan shah; so he sent to bid him to his presence and said to him, 'we know of thy coming to us and thine entry under our allegiance, and indeed we have heard of thine excellence and wit and generosity; so welcome to thee and fair welcome! the land is thy land and at thy commandment, and whatsoever occasion thou hast unto us, it is [already] accomplished unto thee; and it behoveth that thou be near our person and of our assembly.' abou temam prostrated himself to the king and said to him, 'o king, i will serve thee with my wealth and my life, but do thou excuse me from nearness unto thee, for that, [if i took service about thy person], i should not be safe from enemies and enviers.' then he addressed himself to serve the king with presents and largesses, and the king saw him to be intelligent, well-bred and of good counsel; so he committed to him the ordinance of his affairs and in his hand was the power to bind and loose. now ilan shah had three viziers, in whose hands the affairs [of the kingdom] were [aforetime] and they had been used to leave not the king night nor day; but they became shut out from him by reason of abou temam and the king was occupied with him to their exclusion. so they took counsel together upon the matter and said, 'what counsel ye we should do, seeing that the king is occupied from us with yonder man, and indeed he honoureth him more than us? but now come, let us cast about for a device, whereby we may remove him from the king.' so each of them spoke forth that which was in his mind, and one of them said, 'the king of the turks hath a daughter, whose like there is not in the world, and whatsoever messenger goeth to demand her in marriage, her father slayeth him. now our king hath no knowledge of this; so, come, let us foregather with him and bring up the talk of her. when his heart is taken with her, we will counsel him to despatch abou temam to seek her hand in marriage; whereupon her father will slay him and we shall be quit of him, for we have had enough of his affair." accordingly, they all went in to the king one day (and abou temam was present among them,) and mentioned the affair of the damsel, the king's daughter of the turks, and enlarged upon her charms, till the king's heart was taken with her and he said to them, 'we will send one to demand her in marriage for us; but who shall be our messenger?' quoth the viziers, 'there is none for this business but abou temam, by reason of his wit and good breeding;' and the king said, 'indeed, even as ye say, none is fitting for this affair but he.' then he turned to abou temam and said to him, 'wilt thou not go with my message and seek me [in marriage] the king's daughter of the turks?' and he answered, 'hearkening and obedience, o king.' so they made ready his affair and the king conferred on him a dress of honour, and he took with him a present and a letter under the king's hand and setting out, fared on till he came to the [capital] city of turkestan. when the king of the turks knew of his coming, he despatched his officers to receive him and entreated him with honour and lodged him as befitted his rank. then he entertained him three days, after which he summoned him to his presence and abou temam went in to him and prostrating himself before him, as beseemeth unto kings, laid the present before him and gave him the letter. the king read the letter and said to abou temam, "we will do what behoveth in the matter; but, o abou temam, needs must thou see my daughter and she thee, and needs must thou hear her speech and she thine.' so saying, he sent him to the lodging of the princess, who had had notice of this; so that they had adorned her sitting-chamber with the costliest that might be of utensils of gold and silver and the like, and she seated herself on a throne of gold, clad in the most sumptuous of royal robes and ornaments. when abou temam entered, he bethought himself and said, 'the wise say, he who restraineth his sight shall suffer no evil and he who guardeth his tongue shall hear nought of foul, and he who keepeth watch over his hand, it shall be prolonged and not curtailed.'[fn# ] so he entered and seating himself on the ground, [cast down his eyes and] covered his hands and feet with his dress.[fn# ] quoth the king's daughter to him, 'lift thy head, o abou temam, and look on me and speak with me.' but he spoke not neither raised his head, and she continued, 'they sent thee but that thou mightest look on me and speak with me, and behold, thou speakest not at all. take of these pearls that be around thee and of these jewels and gold and silver. but he put not forth his hand unto aught, and when she saw that he paid no heed to anything, she was angry and said, 'they have sent me a messenger, blind, dumb and deaf.' then she sent to acquaint her father with this; whereupon the king called abou temam to him and said to him, 'thou camest not but to see my daughter. why, then, hast thou not looked upon her?' quoth abou temam, 'i saw everything.' and the king said, 'why didst thou not take somewhat of that which thou sawest of jewels and the like? for they were set for thee.' but he answered, 'it behoveth me not to put out my hand to aught that is not mine.' when the king heard his speech, he gave him a sumptuous dress of honour and loved him exceedingly and said to him, 'come, look at this pit.' so abou temam went up [to the mouth of the pit] and looked, and behold, it was full of heads of men; and the king said to him, 'these are the heads of ambassadors, whom i slew, for that i saw them without loyalty to their masters, and i was used, whenas i saw an ambassador without breeding, [fn# ] to say, "he who sent him is less of breeding than he, for that the messenger is the tongue of him who sendeth him and his breeding is of his master's breeding; and whoso is on this wise, it befitteth not that he be akin to me."[fn# ] so, because of this, i used to put the messengers to death; but, as for thee, thou hast overcome us and won my daughter, of the excellence of thy breeding; so be of good heart, for she is thy master's.' then he sent him back to king ilan shah with presents and rarities and a letter, saying, 'this that i have done is in honour of thee and of thine ambassador.' when abou temam returned with [news of] the accomplishment of his errand and brought the presents and the letter, king ilan shah rejoiced in this and redoubled in showing him honour and made much of him. some days thereafterward, the king of turkestan sent his daughter and she went in to king ilan shah, who rejoiced in her with an exceeding joy and abou temam's worth was exalted in his sight. when the viziers saw this, they redoubled in envy and despite and said, 'an we contrive us not a device to rid us of this man, we shall perish of rage.' so they bethought them [and agreed upon] a device they should practise. then they betook themselves to two boys affected to the [special] service of the king, who slept not but on their knee,[fn# ] and they lay at his head, for that they were his pages of the chamber, and gave them each a thousand dinars of gold, saying, 'we desire of you that ye do somewhat for us and take this gold as a provision against your occasion.' quoth the boys, 'what is it ye would have us do?' and the viziers answered, 'this abou temam hath marred our affairs for us, and if his case abide on this wise, he will estrange us all from the king's favour; and what we desire of you is that, when ye are alone with the king and he leaneth back, as he were asleep, one of you say to his fellow, "verily, the king hath taken abou temam into his especial favour and hath advanced him to high rank with him, yet is he a transgressor against the king's honour and an accursed one." then let the other of you ask, "and what is his transgression?" and the first make answer, "he outrageth the king's honour and saith, 'the king of turkestan was used, whenas one went to him to seek his daughter in marriage, to slay him; but me he spared, for that she took a liking to me, and by reason of this he sent her hither, because she loved me.'" then let his fellow say, "knowest thou this for truth?" and the other reply, "by allah, this is well known unto all the folk, but, of their fear of the king, they dare not bespeak him thereof; and as often as the king is absent a-hunting or on a journey, abou temam comes to her and is private with her."' and the boys answered, 'we will say this.' accordingly, one night, when they were alone with the king and he leant back, as he were asleep, they said these words and the king heard it all and was like to die of rage and said in himself, 'these are young boys, not come to years of discretion, and have no intrigue with any; and except they had heard these words from some one, they had not spoken with each other thereof.' when it was morning, wrath overmastered him, so that he stayed not neither deliberated, but summoned abou temam and taking him apart, said to him, 'whoso guardeth not his lord's honour,[fn# ] what behoveth unto him?' quoth abou temam, 'it behoveth that his lord guard not his honour.' 'and whoso entereth the king's house and playeth the traitor with him,' continued the king, 'what behoveth unto him?' and abou temam answered, 'he shall not be left on life.' whereupon the king spat in his face and said to him, 'both these things hast thou done.' then he drew his dagger on him in haste and smiting him in the belly, slit it and he died forthright; whereupon the king dragged him to a well that was in his palace and cast him therein. after he had slain him, he fell into repentance and mourning and chagrin waxed upon him, and none, who questioned him, would he acquaint with the cause thereof, nor, of his love for his wife, did he tell her of this, and whenas she asked him of [the cause of] his grief, he answered her not. when the viziers knew of abou temam's death, they rejoiced with an exceeding joy and knew that the king's grief arose from regret for him. as for ilan shah, he used, after this, to betake himself by night to the sleeping-chamber of the two boys and spy upon them, so he might hear what they said concerning his wife. as he stood one night privily at the door of their chamber, he saw them spread out the gold before them and play with it and heard one of them say, 'out on us! what doth this gold profit us? for that we cannot buy aught therewith neither spend it upon ourselves. nay, but we have sinned against abou temam and done him to death unjustly.' and the other answered, 'had we known that the king would presently kill him, we had not done what we did.' when the king heard this, he could not contain himself, but rushed in upon them and said to them, 'out on you! what did ye? tell me.' and they said, 'pardon, o king.' quoth he, 'an ye would have pardon from god and me, it behoveth you to tell me the truth, for nothing shall save you from me but truth-speaking.' so they prostrated themselves before him and said, 'by allah, o king, the viziers gave us this gold and taught us to lie against abou teman, so thou mightest put him to death, and what we said was their words.' when the king heard this, he plucked at his beard, till he was like to tear it up by the roots and bit upon his fingers, till he well-nigh sundered them in twain, for repentance and sorrow that he had wrought hastily and had not delayed with abou temam, so he might look into his affair. then he sent for the viziers and said to them, 'o wicked viziers, ye thought that god was heedless of your deed, but your wickedness shall revert upon you. know ye not that whoso diggeth a pit for his brother shall fall into it? take from me the punishment of this world and to-morrow ye shall get the punishment of the world to come and requital from god.' then he bade put them to death; so [the headsman] smote off their heads before the king, and he went in to his wife and acquainted her with that wherein he had transgressed against abou temam; whereupon she grieved for him with an exceeding grief and the king and the people of his household left not weeping and repenting all their lives. moreover, they brought abou temam forth of the well and the king built him a dome[fn# ] in his palace and buried him therein. see, then, o august king," continued the youth, "what envy doth and injustice and how god caused the viziers' malice revert upon their own necks; and i trust in god that he will succour me against all who envy me my favour with the king and show forth the truth unto him. indeed, i fear not for my life from death; only i fear lest the king repent of my slaughter, for that i am guiltless of offence, and if i knew that i were guilty of aught, my tongue would be mute." when the king heard this, he bowed [his head] in perplexity and confusion and said, "carry him back to the prison till the morrow, so we may look into his affair." the ninth day of destiny or that which is written on the forehead. when it was the ninth day, the viziers [foregathered and] said, one to another, "verily, this youth baffleth us, for as often as the king is minded to put him to death, he beguileth him and ensorcelleth him with a story; so what deem ye we should do, that we may slay him and be at rest from him?" then they took counsel together and were of accord that they should go to the king's wife [and prompt her to urge the king to slaughter the youth. so they betook themselves to her] and said to her, "thou art heedless of this affair wherein thou art and this heedlessness will not profit thee; whilst the king is occupied with eating and drinking and diversion and forgetteth that the folk beat upon tabrets and sing of thee and say, 'the king's wife loveth the youth;' and what while he abideth on life, the talk will increase and not diminish." quoth she, "by allah, it was ye set me on against him, and what shall i do [now]?" and they answered, "do thou go in to the king and weep and say to him, 'verily, the women come to me and tell me that i am become a byword in the city, and what is thine advantage in the sparing of this youth? if thou wilt not slay him, slay me, so this talk may be estopped from us.'" so she arose and tearing her clothes, went in to the king, in the presence of the viziers, and cast herself upon him, saying, "o king, falleth my shame not upon thee and fearest thou not reproach? indeed, this is not of the behoof of kings that their jealousy over their women should be thus [laggard]. thou art heedless and all the folk of the realm prate of thee, men and women. so either slay him, that the talk may be cut off, or slay me, if thy soul will not consent to his slaughter." thereupon the king's wrath waxed hot and he said to her, "i have no pleasure in his continuance [on life] and needs must i slay him this day. so return to thy house and comfort thy heart." then he bade fetch the youth; so they brought him before him and the viziers said, "o base of origin, out on thee! thy term is at hand and the earth hungereth for thy body, so it may devour it." but he answered them, saying, "death is not in your word nor in your envy; nay, it is an ordinance written upon the forehead; wherefore, if aught be written upon my forehead, needs must it come to pass, and neither endeavour nor thought-taking nor precaution will deliver me therefrom; [but it will surely happen] even as happened to king ibrahim and his son." quoth the king, "who was king ibrahim and who was his son?" and the youth said, "o king, story of king ibrahim and his son. there was once a king of the kings, by name ibrahim, to whom the kings abased themselves and did obedience; but he had no son and was straitened of breast because of this, fearing lest the kingship go forth of his hand. he ceased not vehemently to desire a son and to buy slave-girls and lie with them, till one of them conceived, whereat he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and gave gifts and largesse galore. when the girl's months were accomplished and the season of her delivery drew near, the king summoned the astrologers and they watched for the hour of her child-bearing and raised astrolabes [towards the sun] and took strait note of the time. the damsel gave birth to a male child, whereat the king rejoiced with an exceeding joy, and the people heartened each other with the glad news of this. then the astrologers made their calculations and looked into his nativity and his ascendant, whereupon their colour changed and they were confounded. quoth the king to them, 'acquaint me with his horoscope and ye shall have assurance and fear ye not of aught' 'o king,' answered they, 'this child's nativity denotes that, in the seventh year of his age, there is to be feared for him from a lion, which will attack him; and if he be saved from the lion, there will betide an affair yet sorer and more grievous.' 'what is that?' asked the king; and they said, 'we will not speak, except the king command us thereto and give us assurance from [that which we] fear.' quoth the king, 'god assure you!' and they said, 'if he be saved from the lion, the king's destruction will be at his hand.' when the king heard this, his colour changed and his breast was straitened; but he said in himself, 'i will be watchful and do my endeavour and suffer not the lion to eat him. it cannot be that he will kill me, and indeed the astrologers lied.' then he caused rear him among the nurses and matrons; but withal he ceased not to ponder the saying of the astrologers and indeed his life was troubled. so he betook himself to the top of a high mountain and dug there a deep pit and made in it many dwelling-places and closets and filled it with all that was needful of victual and raiment and what not else and made in it conduits of water from the mountain and lodged the boy therein, with a nurse who should rear him. moreover, at the first of each month he used to go to the mountain and stand at the mouth of the pit and let down a rope he had with him and draw up the boy to him and strain him to his bosom and kiss him and play with him awhile, after which he would let him down again into the pit to his place and return; and he used to count the days till the seven years should pass by. when came the time [of the accomplishment] of the foreordered fate and the fortune graven on the forehead and there abode for the boy but ten days till the seven years should be complete, there came to the mountain hunters hunting wild beasts and seeing a lion, gave chase to him. he fled from them and seeking refuge in the mountain, fell into the pit in its midst. the nurse saw him forthright and fled from him into one of the closets; whereupon the lion made for the boy and seizing upon him, tore his shoulder, after which he sought the closet wherein was the nurse and falling upon her, devoured her, whilst the boy abode cast down in a swoon. meanwhile, when the hunters saw that the lion had fallen into the pit, they came to the mouth thereof and heard the shrieking of the boy and the woman; and after awhile the cries ceased, whereby they knew that the lion had made an end of them. presently, as they stood by the mouth of the pit, the lion came scrambling up the sides and would have issued forth; but, as often as he showed his head, they pelted him with stones, till they beat him down and he fell; whereupon one of the hunters descended into the pit and despatched him and saw the boy wounded; after which he went to the cabinet, where he found the woman dead, and indeed the lion had eaten his fill of her. then he noted that which was therein of clothes and what not else, and advising his fellows thereof, fell to passing the stuff up to them. moreover, he took up the boy and bringing him forth of the pit, carried him to their dwelling-place, where they dressed his wounds and he grew up with them, but acquainted them not with his affair; and indeed, when they questioned him, he knew not what he should say, for that he was little, when they let him down into the pit. the hunters marvelled at his speech and loved him with an exceeding love and one of them took him to son and abode rearing him with him [and instructing him] in hunting and riding on horseback, till he attained the age of twelve and became a champion, going forth with the folk to the chase and to the stopping of the way. it chanced one day that they sallied forth to stop the way and fell in upon a caravan in the night; but the people of the caravan were on their guard; so they joined battle with the robbers and overcame them and slew them and the boy fell wounded and abode cast down in that place till the morrow, when he opened his eyes and finding his comrades slain, lifted himself up and rose to walk in the way. presently, there met him a man, a treasure-seeker, and said to him, 'whither goest thou, o youth?' so he told him what had betided him and the other said, 'be of good heart, for that [the season of] thy fair fortune is come and god bringeth thee joy and solace. i am one who am in quest of a hidden treasure, wherein is vast wealth. so come with me, that thou mayst help me, and i will give thee wealth, wherewith thou shalt provide thyself thy life long.' then he carried the youth to his dwelling and dressed his wound, and he abode with him some days, till he was rested; when he took him and two beasts and all that he needed, and they fared on till they came to a precipitous mountain. here the treasure-seeker brought out a book and reading therein, dug in the crest of the mountain five cubits deep, whereupon there appeared to him a stone. he pulled it up and behold, it was a trap-door covering the mouth of a pit. so he waited till the [foul] air was come forth from the midst of the pit, when he bound a rope about the boy's middle and let him down to the bottom, and with him a lighted flambeau. the boy looked and beheld, at the upper end of the pit, wealth galore; so the treasure-seeker let down a rope and a basket and the boy fell to filling and the man to drawing up, till the latter had gotten his sufficiency, when he loaded his beasts and did his occasion, whilst the boy looked for him to let down to him the rope and draw him up; but he rolled a great stone to the mouth of the pit and went away. when the boy saw what the treasure-seeker had done with him he committed his affair to god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) and abode perplexed concerning his case and said, 'how bitter is this death!' for that indeed the world was darkened on him and the pit was blinded to him. so he fell a-weeping and saying, 'i was delivered from the lion and the thieves and now is my death [appointed to be] in this pit, where i shall die lingeringly.' and he abode confounded and looked for nothing but death. as he pondered [his affair], behold, he heard a sound of water running with a mighty noise; so he arose and walked in the pit, following after the sound, till he came to a corner and heard the mighty running of water. so he laid his ear to the sound of the current and hearing it a great strength, said in himself, 'this is the running of a mighty water and needs must i die in this place, be it to-day or to-morrow; so i will cast myself into the water and not die a lingering death in this pit.' then he braced up his courage and gathering his skirts about him, threw himself into the water, and it bore him along with an exceeding might and carrying him under the earth, stayed not till it brought him out into a deep valley, wherethrough ran a great river, that welled up from under the earth. when he found himself on the surface of the earth, he abode perplexed and dazed all that day; after which he came to himself and rising, fared on along the valley, till he came to an inhabited land and a great village in the dominions of the king his father. so he entered the village and foregathered with its inhabitants, who questioned him of his case; whereupon he related to them his history and they marvelled at him, how god had delivered him from all this. then he took up his abode with them and they loved him exceedingly. to return to the king his father. when he went to the pit, as of his wont, and called the nurse, she returned him no answer, whereat his breast was straitened and he let down a man who [found the nurse dead and the boy gone and] acquainted the king therewith; which when he heard, he buffeted his head and wept passing sore and descended into the midst of the pit, so he might see how the case stood. there he found the nurse slain and the lion dead, but saw not the boy; so he [returned and] acquainted the astrologers with the verification of their words, and they said, 'o king, the lion hath eaten him; destiny hath been accomplished upon him and thou art delivered from his hand; for, had he been saved from the lion, by allah, we had feared for thee from him, for that the king's destruction should have been at his hand.' so the king left [sorrowing for] this and the days passed by and the affair was forgotten. meanwhile, the boy [grew up and] abode with the people of the village, and when god willed the accomplishment of his ordinance, the which endeavour availeth not to avert, he went forth with a company of the villagers, to stop the way. the folk complained of them to the king, who sallied out with a company of his men and surrounded the highwaymen and the boy with them, whereupon the latter drew forth an arrow and launched it at them, and it smote the king in his vitals and wounded him. so they carried him to his house, after they had laid hands upon the youth and his companions and brought them before the king, saying, 'what biddest thou that we do with them?' quoth he, 'i am presently in concern for myself; so bring me the astrologers.' accordingly, they brought them before him and he said to them, 'ye told me that my death should be by slaying at the hand of my son: how, then, befalleth it that i have gotten my death-wound on this wise of yonder thieves?' the astrologers marvelled and said to him, 'o king, it is not impossible to the lore of the stars, together with the fore-ordinance of god, that he who hath smitten thee should be thy son.' when ibrahim heard this, he let fetch the thieves and said to them, 'tell me truly, which of you shot the arrow that wounded me.' quoth they, 'it was this youth that is with us.' whereupon the king fell to looking upon him and said to him, 'o youth, acquaint me with thy case and tell me who was thy father and thou shalt have assurance from god.' 'o my lord,' answered the youth, 'i know no father; as for me, my father lodged me in a pit [when i was little], with a nurse to rear me, and one day, there fell in upon us a lion, which tore my shoulder, then left me and occupied himself with the nurse and rent her in pieces; and god vouchsafed me one who brought me forth of the pit.' then he related to him all that had befallen him, first and last; which when ibrahim heard, he cried out and said, 'by allah, this is my very son!' and he said to him, 'uncover thy shoulder.' so he uncovered it and behold, it was scarred. then the king assembled his nobles and commons and the astrologers and said to them, 'know that what god hath graven upon the forehead, be it fair fortune or calamity, none may avail to efface, and all that is decreed unto a man he must needs abide. indeed, this my caretaking and my endeavour profited me nought, for that which god decreed unto my son, he hath abidden and that which he decreed unto me hath betided me. nevertheless, i praise god and thank him for that this was at my son's hand and not at the hand of another, and praised be he for that the kingship is come to my son!' and he strained the youth to his breast and embraced him and kissed him, saying, 'o my son, this matter was on such a wise, and of my care and watchfulness over thee from destiny, i lodged thee in that pit; but caretaking availed not.' then he took the crown of the kingship and set it on his son's head and caused the folk and the people swear fealty to him and commended the subjects to his care and enjoined him to justice and equity. and he took leave of him that night and died and his son reigned in his stead. on like wise, o king," continued the young treasurer, "is it with thee. if god have written aught on my forehead, needs must it befall me and my speech to the king shall not profit me, no, nor my adducing to him of [illustrative] instances, against the fore-ordinance of god. so with these viziers, for all their eagerness and endeavour for my destruction, this shall not profit them; for, if god [be minded to] save me, he will give me the victory over them." when the king heard these words, he abode in perplexity and said, "restore him to the prison till the morrow, so we may look into his affair, for the day draweth to an end and i mean to put him to death on exemplary wise, and [to-morrow] we will do with him that which he meriteth." the tenth day. of the appointed term,[fn# ] which, if it be advanced, may not be deferred and if it be deferred, may not be advanced. when it was the tenth day, (now this day was called el mihrjan[fn# ] and it was the day of the coming in of the folk, gentle and simple, to the king, so they might give him joy and salute him and go forth), the counsel of the viziers fell of accord that they should speak with a company of the notables of the city [and urge them to demand of the king that he should presently put the youth to death]. so they said to them, "when ye go in to-day to the king and salute him, do ye say to him, 'o king, (to god be the praise!) thou art praiseworthy of policy and governance, just to all thy subjects; but this youth, to whom thou hast been bountiful, yet hath he reverted to his base origin and wrought this foul deed, what is thy purpose in his continuance [on life]? indeed, thou hast prisoned him in thy house, and every day thou hearest his speech and thou knowest not what the folk say.'" and they answered with "hearkening and obedience." so, when they entered with the folk and had prostrated themselves before the king and given him joy and he had raised their rank, [they sat down]. now it was the custom of the folk to salute and go forth, so, when they sat down, the king knew that they had a word that they would fain say. so he turned to them and said, "ask your need." and the viziers also were present. accordingly, they bespoke him with all that these latter had taught them and the viziers also spoke with them; and azadbekht said to them, "o folk, i know that this your speech, there is no doubt of it, proceedeth from love and loyal counsel to me, and ye know that, were i minded to slay half these folk, i could avail to put them to death and this would not be difficult to me; so how shall i not slay this youth and he in my power and under the grip of my hand? indeed, his crime is manifest and he hath incurred pain of death and i have only deferred his slaughter by reason of the greatness of the offence; for, if i do this with him and my proof against him be strengthened, my heart is healed and the heart of the folk; and if i slay him not to-day, his slaughter shall not escape me to-morrow." then he bade fetch the youth and when he was present before him, he prostrated himself to him and prayed for him; whereupon quoth the king to him, "out on thee! how long shall the folk upbraid me on thine account and blame me for delaying thy slaughter? even the people of my city blame me because of thee, so that i am grown a talking-stock among them, and indeed they come in to me and upbraid me [and urge me] to put thee to death. how long shall i delay this? indeed, this very day i mean to shed thy blood and rid the folk of thy prate." "o king," answered the youth, "if there have betided thee talk because of me, by allah, by allah the great, those who have brought on thee this talk from the folk are these wicked viziers, who devise with the folk and tell them foul things and evil concerning the king's house; but i trust in god that he will cause their malice to revert upon their heads. as for the king's menace of me with slaughter, i am in the grasp of his hand; so let not the king occupy his mind with my slaughter, for that i am like unto the sparrow in the hand of the fowler; if he will, he slaughtereth him, and if he will, he looseth him. as for the delaying of my slaughter, it [proceedeth] not [from] the king, but from him in whose hand is my life; for, by allah, o king, if god willed my slaughter, thou couldst not avail to postpone it, no, not for a single hour. indeed, man availeth not to fend off evil from himself, even as it was with the son of king suleiman shah, whose anxiety and carefulness for the accomplishment of his desire of the new-born child [availed him nothing], for his last hour was deferred how many a time! and god saved him until he had accomplished his [foreordained] period and had fulfilled [the destined term of] his life." "out on thee!" exclaimed the king. "how great is thy craft and thy talk! tell me, what was their story." and the youth said, "o king, story of king suleiman shah and his sons. there was once a king named suleiman shah, who was goodly of polity and judgment, and he had a brother who died and left a daughter. so suleiman shah reared her on the goodliest wise and the girl grew up, endowed with reason and perfection, nor was there in her time a fairer than she. now the king had two sons, one of whom he had appointed in himself that he would marry her withal, and the other purposed in himself that he would take her. the elder son's name was belehwan and that of the younger melik shah, and the girl was called shah khatoun. one day, king suleiman shah went in to his brother's daughter and kissing her head, said to her, 'thou art my daughter and dearer to me than a child, for the love of thy father deceased; wherefore i am minded to marry thee to one of my sons and appoint him my heir apparent, so he may be king after me. look, then, which thou wilt have of my sons, for that thou hast been reared with them and knowest them.' the damsel arose and kissing his hand, said to him, 'o my lord, i am thine handmaid and thou art the ruler over me; so whatsoever pleaseth thee, do, for that thy wish is higher and more honourable and nobler [than mine] and if thou wouldst have me serve thee, [as a handmaid], the rest of my life, it were liefer to me than any [husband].' the king approved her speech and bestowed on her a dress of honour and gave her magnificent gifts; after which, for that his choice had fallen upon his younger son, melik shah, he married her with him and made him his heir apparent and caused the folk swear fealty to him. when this came to the knowledge of his brother belehwan and he was ware that his younger brother had been preferred over him, his breast was straitened and the affair was grievous to him and envy entered into him and rancour; but he concealed this in his heart, whilst fire raged therein because of the damsel and the kingship. meanwhile shah khatoun went in to the king's son and conceived by him and bore a son, as he were the resplendent moon. when belehwan saw this that had betided his brother, jealousy and envy overcame him; so he went in one night to his father's house and coming to his brother's lodging, saw the nurse sleeping at the chamber-door, with the cradle before her and therein his brother's child asleep. belehwan stood by him and fell to looking upon his face, the radiance whereof was as that of the moon, and satan insinuated himself into his heart, so that he bethought himself and said, 'why is not this child mine? indeed, i am worthier of him than my brother, [yea], and of the damsel and the kingship.' then envy got the better of him and anger spurred him, so that he took out a knife and setting it to the child's gullet, cut his throat and would have severed his windpipe. so he left him for dead and entering his brother's chamber, saw him asleep, with the damsel by his side, and thought to slay her, but said in himself, 'i will leave the damsel for myself.' then he went up to his brother and cutting his throat, severed his head from his body, after which he left him and went away. therewithal the world was straitened upon him and his life was a light matter to him and he sought his father suleiman shah's lodging, that he might slay him, but could not win to him. so he went forth from the palace and hid himself in the city till the morrow, when he repaired to one of his father's strengths and fortified himself therein. meanwhile, the nurse awoke, that she might give the child suck, and seeing the bed running with blood, cried out; whereupon the sleepers and the king awoke and making for the place, found the child with his throat cut and the cradle running over with blood and his father slain and dead in his sleeping chamber. so they examined the child and found life in him and his windpipe whole and sewed up the place of the wound. then the king sought his son belehwan, but found him not and saw that he had fled; whereby he knew that it was he who had done this deed, and this was grievous to the king and to the people of his realm and to the lady shah katoun. so the king laid out his son melik shah and buried him and made him a mighty funeral and they mourned passing sore; after which he addressed himself to the rearing of the infant as for belehwan, when he fled and fortified himself, his power waxed amain and there remained for him but to make war upon his father, who had cast his affection upon the child and used to rear him on his knees and supplicate god the most high that he might live, so he might commit the commandment to him. when he came to five years of age, the king mounted him on horseback and the people of the city rejoiced in him and invoked on him length of life, so he might take his father's leavings[fn# ] and [heal] the heart of his grandfather. meanwhile, belehwan the froward addressed himself to pay court to caesar, king of the greeks,[fn# ] and seek help of him in making war upon his father, and he inclined unto him and gave him a numerous army. his father the king heard of this and sent to caesar, saying, 'o king of illustrious might, succour not an evil-doer. this is my son and he hath done thus and thus and cut his brother's throat and that of his brother's son in the cradle.' but he told not the king of the greeks that the child [had recovered and] was alive. when caesar heard [the truth] of the matter, it was grievous to him and he sent back to suleiman shah, saying, 'if it be thy will, o king, i will cut off his head and send it to thee.' but he made answer, saying, 'i reck not of him: the reward of his deed and his crimes shall surely overtake him, if not to-day, then to-morrow.' and from that day he continued to correspond with caesar and to exchange letters and presents with him. now the king of the greeks heard tell of the damsel[fn# ] and of the beauty and grace wherewith she was gifted, wherefore his heart clave to her and he sent to seek her in marriage of suleiman shah, who could not refuse him. so he arose and going in to shah khatoun, said to her, 'o my daughter, the king of the greeks hath sent to me to seek thee in marriage. what sayst thou?' she wept and answered, saying, 'o king, how canst thou find it in thy heart to bespeak me thus? abideth there husband for me, after the son of my uncle?' 'o my daughter,' rejoined the king, 'it is indeed as thou sayest; but let us look to the issues of affairs. needs must i take account of death, for that i am an old man and fear not but for thee and for thy little son; and indeed i have written to the king of the greeks and others of the kings and said, "his uncle slew him," and said not that he [hath recovered and] is living, but concealed his affair. now hath the king of the greeks sent to demand thee in marriage, and this is no thing to be refused and fain would we have our back strengthened with him."[fn# ] and she was silent and spoke not. so king suleiman shah made answer unto caesar with 'hearkening and obedience.' then he arose and despatched her to him, and cassar went in to her and found her overpassing the description wherewithal they had described her to him; wherefore he loved her with an exceeding love and preferred her over all his women and his love for suleiman shah was magnified; but shah khatoun's heart still clave to her son and she could say nought. as for suleiman shah's rebellious son, belehwan, when he saw that shah khatoun had married the king of the greeks, this was grievous to him and he despaired of her. meanwhile, his father suleiman shah kept strait watch over the child and cherished him and named him melik shah, after the name of his father. when he reached the age of ten, he made the folk swear fealty to him and appointed him his heir apparent, and after some days, [the hour of] the old king's admission [to the mercy of god] drew near and he died. now a party of the troops had banded themselves together for belehwan; so they sent to him and bringing him privily, went in to the little melik shah and seized him and seated his uncle belehwan on the throne of the kingship. then they proclaimed him king and did homage to him all, saying, 'verily, we desire thee and deliver to thee the throne of the kingship; but we wish of thee that thou slay not thy brother's son, for that on our consciences are the oaths we swore to his father and grandfather and the covenants we made with them.' so belehwan granted them this and imprisoned the boy in an underground dungeon and straitened him. presently, the heavy news reached his mother and this was grievous to her; but she could not speak and committed her affair to god the most high, daring not name this to king caesar her husband, lest she should make her uncle king suleiman shah a liar. so belehwan the froward abode king in his father's room and his affairs prospered, what while the young melik shah lay in the underground dungeon four full-told years, till his charms faded and his favour changed. when god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) willed to relieve him and bring him forth of the prison, belehwan sat one day with his chief officers and the grandees of his state and discoursed with them of the story of king suleiman shah and what was in his heart. now there were present certain viziers, men of worth, and they said to him, 'o king, verily god hath been bountiful unto thee and hath brought thee to thy wish, so that thou art become king in thy father's stead and hast gotten thee that which thou soughtest. but, as for this boy, there is no guilt in him, for that, from the day of his coming into the world, he hath seen neither ease nor joyance, and indeed his favour is faded and his charms changed [with long prison]. what is his offence that he should merit this punishment? indeed, it is others than he who were to blame, and god hath given thee the victory over them, and there is no fault in this poor wight.' quoth belehwan, 'indeed, it is as ye say; but i am fearful of his craft and am not assured from his mischief; belike the most part of the folk will incline unto him.' 'o king,' answered they, 'what is this boy and what power hath he? if thou fear him, send him to one of the frontiers.' and belehwan said, 'ye say sooth: we will send him to be captain over such an one of the marches.' now over against the place in question was a host of enemies, hard of heart, and in this he purposed the youth's slaughter. so he bade bring him forth of the underground dungeon and caused him draw near to him and saw his case. then he bestowed on him a dress of honour and the folk rejoiced in this. moreover, he tied him an ensign[fn# ] and giving him a numerous army, despatched him to the region aforesaid, whither all who went were still slain or made prisoners. so melik shah betook himself thither with his army and when it was one of the days, behold, the enemy fell in upon them in the night; whereupon some of his men fled and the rest the enemy took; and they took melik shah also and cast him into an underground dungeon, with a company of his men. there he abode a whole year in evil plight, whilst his fellows mourned over his beauty and grace. now it was the enemy's wont, at every year's end, to bring forth their prisoners and cast them down from the top of the citadel to the bottom. so they brought them forth, at the end of the year, and cast them down, and melik shah with them. however, he fell upon the [other] men and the earth touched him not, for his term was [god-]guarded. now those that were cast down there were slain and their bodies ceased not to lie there till the wild beasts ate them and the winds dispersed them. melik shah abode cast down in his place, aswoon, all that day and night, and when he recovered and found himself whole, he thanked god the most high for his safety [and rising, fared on at a venture]. he gave not over walking, unknowing whither he went and feeding upon the leaves of the trees; and by day he hid himself whereas he might and fared on all his night at hazard; and thus he did some days, till he came to an inhabited land and seeing folk there, accosted them and acquainted them with his case, giving them to know that he had been imprisoned in the fortress and that they had cast him down, but god the most high had delivered him and brought him off alive. the folk took compassion on him and gave him to eat and drink and he abode with them awhile. then he questioned them of the way that led to the kingdom of his uncle belehwan, but told them not that he was his uncle. so they taught him the way and he ceased not to go barefoot, till he drew near his uncle's capital, and he naked and hungry, and indeed his body was wasted and his colour changed. he sat down at the gate of the city, and presently up came a company of king belehwan's chief officers, who were out a-hunting and wished to water their horses. so they lighted down to rest and the youth accosted them, saying, 'i will ask you of somewhat, wherewith do ye acquaint me.' quoth they, 'ask what thou wilt.' and he said, 'is king belehwan well?' they laughed at him and answered, 'what a fool art thou, o youth! thou art a stranger and a beggar, and what concern hast thou with the king's health?' quoth he, 'indeed, he is my uncle;' whereat they marvelled and said, 'it was one question[fn# ] and now it is become two.' then said they to him, 'o youth, it is as thou wert mad. whence pretendest thou to kinship with the king? indeed, we know not that he hath aught of kinsfolk, except a brother's son, who was prisoned with him, and he despatched him to wage war upon the infidels, so that they slew him.' 'i am he,' answered melik shah, 'and they slew me not, but there betided me this and that.' they knew him forthright and rising to him, kissed his hands and rejoiced in him and said to him, 'o our lord, in good sooth, thou art a king and the son of a king, and we desire thee nought but good and beseech [god to grant] thee continuance. consider how god hath rescued thee from this thy wicked uncle, who sent thee to a place whence none came ever off alive, purposing not in this but thy destruction; and indeed thou fellest into [peril of] death and god delivered thee therefrom. so how wilt thou return and cast thyself again into thine enemy's hand? by allah, save thyself and return not to him again. belike thou shall abide upon the face of the earth till it please god the most high [to vouchsafe thee relief]; but, if thou fall again into his hand, he will not suffer thee live a single hour.' the prince thanked them and said to them, 'god requite you with all good, for indeed ye give me loyal counsel; but whither would ye have me go?' quoth they, 'get thee to the land of the greeks, the abiding-place of thy mother.' and he said, 'my grandfather suleiman shah, when the king of the greeks wrote to him, demanding my mother in marriage, concealed my affair and hid my secret; [and she hath done the like,] and i cannot make her a liar.' 'thou sayst sooth,' rejoined they; 'but we desire thine advantage, and even if thou tookest service with the folk, it were a means of thy continuance [on life].' then each of them brought out to him money and gave to him and clad him and fed him and fared on with him a parasang's distance till they brought him far from the city, and giving him to know that he was safe, departed from him, whilst he fared on till he came forth of the dominions of his uncle and entered those [of the king] of the greeks. then he entered a village and taking up his abode therein, betook himself to serving one there in ploughing and sowing and the like. as for his mother, shah khatoun, great was her longing for her son and she [still] thought of him and news of him was cut off from her, wherefore her life was troubled and she forswore sleep and could not make mention of him before king caesar her husband. now she had an eunuch who had come with her from the court of her uncle king suleiman shah, and he was intelligent, quickwitted, a man of good counsel. so she took him apart one day and said to him, 'thou hast been my servant from my childhood to this day; canst thou not therefore avail to get me news of my son, for that i cannot speak of his matter?' 'o my lady,' answered he, 'this is an affair that thou hast concealed from the first, and were thy son here, it would not be possible for thee to harbour him, lest thine honour fall into suspicion with the king; for they would never credit thee, since the news hath been spread abroad that thy son was slain by his uncle.' quoth she, 'the case is even as thou sayst and thou speakest truly; but, provided i know that my son is alive, let him be in these parts pasturing sheep and let me not see him nor he me.' and he said to her, 'how shall we contrive in this affair?' 'here are my treasures and my wealth,' answered she. 'take all thou wilt and bring me my son or else news of him.' then they agreed upon a device between them, to wit, that they should feign an occasion in their own country, under pretext that she had there wealth buried from the time of her husband melik shah and that none knew of it but this eunuch who was with her, wherefore it behoved that he should go and fetch it. so she acquainted the king her husband with this and sought of him leave for the eunuch to go: and the king granted him permission for the journey and charged him cast about for a device, lest any get wind of him. accordingly, the eunuch disguised himself as a merchant and repairing to belehwan's city, began to enquire concerning the youth's case; whereupon they told him that he had been prisoned in an underground dungeon and that his uncle had released him and dispatched him to such a place, where they had slain him. when the eunuch heard this, it was grievous to him and his breast was straitened and he knew not what he should do. it chanced one day that one of the horsemen, who had fallen in with the young melik shah by the water and clad him and given him spending-money, saw the eunuch in the city, disguised as a merchant, and recognizing him, questioned him of his case and of [the reason of] his coming. quoth he, 'i come to sell merchandise.' and the horseman said, 'i will tell thee somewhat, if thou canst keep it secret.' 'it is well,' answered the eunuch; 'what is it?' and the other said, 'we met the king's son melik shah, i and certain of the arabs who were with me, and saw him by such a water and gave him spending-money and sent him towards the land of the greeks, near his mother, for that we feared for him, lest his uncle belehwan should kill him.' then he told him all that had passed between them, whereupon the eunuch's countenance changed and he said to the cavalier, 'assurance!' 'thou shalt have assurance,' answered the other, 'though thou come in quest of him.' and the eunuch rejoined, saying, 'truly, that is my errand, for there abideth no repose for his mother, lying down or rising up, and she hath sent me to seek news of him.' quoth the cavalier, 'go in safety, for he is in a [certain] part of the land of the greeks, even as i said to thee.' the eunuch thanked him and blessed him and mounting, returned upon his way, following the trace, whilst the cavalier rode with him to a certain road, when he said to him, 'this is where we left him.' then he took leave of him and returned to his own city, whilst the eunuch fared on along the road, enquiring of the youth in every village he entered by the description which the cavalier had given him, and he ceased not to do thus till he came to the village where the young melik shah was. so he entered and lighting down therein, made enquiry after the prince, but none gave him news of him; whereat he abode perplexed concerning his affair and addressed himself to depart. accordingly he mounted his horse [and set out homeward]; but, as he passed through the village, he saw a cow bound with a rope and a youth asleep by her side, with the end of the halter in his hand; so he looked at him and passed on and took no heed of him in his heart; but presently he stopped and said in himself; 'if he of whom i am in quest be come to the like [of the condition] of yonder sleeping youth, by whom i passed but now, how shall i know him? alas, the length of my travail and weariness! how shall i go about in quest of a wight whom i know not and whom, if i saw him face to face, i should not know?' then he turned back, pondering upon that sleeping youth, and coming to him, as he slept, lighted down from his horse and sat down by him. he fixed his eyes upon his face and considered him awhile and said in himself, 'for aught i know, this youth may be melik shah.' and he fell a-hemming and saying, 'harkye, o youth!' whereupon the sleeper awoke and sat up; and the eunuch said to him, 'who is thy father in this village and where is thy dwelling?' the youth sighed and answered, 'i am a stranger;' and the eunuch said, 'from what land art thou and who is thy father?' quoth the other, 'i am from such a land,' and the eunuch ceased not to question him and he to answer him, till he was certified of him and knew him. so he rose and embraced him and kissed him and wept over his case. moreover, he told him that he was going about in quest of him and informed him that he was come privily from the king his mother's husband and that his mother would be content [to know] that he was alive and well, though she saw him not. then he re-entered the village and buying the prince a horse, mounted him thereon and they ceased not going, till they came to the frontier of their own country, where there fell robbers upon them by the way and took all that was with them and pinioned them; after which they cast them into a pit hard by the road and went away and left them to die there, and indeed they had cast many folk into that pit and they had died. the eunuch fell a-weeping in the pit and the youth said to him, 'what is this weeping and what shall it profit here?' quoth the eunuch, 'i weep not for fear of death, but of pity for thee and the sorriness of thy case and because of thy mother's heart and for that which thou hast suffered of horrors and that thy death should be this abject death, after the endurance of all manner stresses.' but the youth said, 'that which hath betided me was forewrit to me and that which is written none hath power to efface; and if my term be advanced, none may avail to defer it.'[fn# ] then they passed that night and the following day and the next night and the next day [in the pit], till they were weak with hunger and came near upon death and could but groan feebly. now it befell, by the ordinance of god the most high and his providence, that caesar, king of the greeks, the husband of melik shah's mother shah khatoun, [went forth to the chase that day]. he started a head of game, he and his company, and chased it, till they came up with it by that pit, whereupon one of them lighted down from his horse, to slaughter it, hard by the mouth of the pit. he heard a sound of low moaning from the bottom of the pit} so he arose and mounting his horse, waited till the troops were assembled. then he acquainted the king with this and he bade one of his servants [descend into the pit]. so the man descended and brought out the youth [and the eunuch], aswoon. they cut their bonds and poured wine into their gullets, till they came to themselves, when the king looked at the eunuch and recognizing him, said, 'harkye, such an one!' 'yes, o my lord the king,' replied the man and prostrated himself to him; whereat the king marvelled with an exceeding wonder and said to him, 'how earnest thou to this place and what hath befallen thee?" quoth the eunuch, 'i went and took out the treasure and brought it hither; but the [evil] eye was behind me and i unknowing. so the thieves took us alone here and seized the money and cast us into this pit, so we might die of hunger, even as they had done with other than we; but god the most high sent thee, in pity to us.' the king marvelled, he and his company, and praised god the most high for that he had come thither; after which he turned to the eunuch and said to him, 'what is this youth thou hast with thee?' 'o king,' answered he, 'this is the son of a nurse who belonged to us and we left him little. i saw him to-day and his mother said to me, 'take him with thee.' so i brought him with me, that he might be a servant to the king, for that he is an adroit and quickwitted youth.' then the king fared on, he and his company, and the eunuch and the youth with them, what while he questioned the former of belehwan and his dealing with his subjects, and he answered, saying, 'as thy head liveth, o king, the folk with him are in sore straits and not one of them desireth to look on him, gentle or simple.' [when the king returned to his palace,] he went in to his wife shah khatoun and said to her, 'i give thee the glad news of thine eunuch's return.' and he told her what had betided and of the youth whom he had brought with him. when she heard this, her wits fled and she would have cried out, but her reason restrained her, and the king said to her, 'what is this? art thou overcome with grief for [the loss of] the treasure or [for that which hath befallen] the eunuch?' 'nay, as thy head liveth, o king!' answered she. 'but women are fainthearted.' then came the servant and going in to her, told her all that had befallen him and acquainted her with her son's case also and with that which he had suffered of stresses and how his uncle had exposed him to slaughter and he had been taken prisoner and they had cast him into the pit and hurled him from the top of the citadel and how god had delivered him from these perils, all of them; and he went on to tell her [all that had betided him], whilst she wept. then said she to him, 'when the king saw him and questioned thee of him, what saidst thou to him?' and he answered, 'i said to him, "this is the son of a nurse who belonged to us. we left him little and he grew up; so i brought him, that he might be servant to the king,"' quoth she, 'thou didst well.' and she charged him to be instant in the service of the prince. as for the king, he redoubled in kindness to the eunuch and appointed the youth a liberal allowance and he abode going in to the king's house and coming out therefrom and standing in his service, and every day he grew in favour with him; whilst, as for shah khatoun, she used to stand a-watch for him at the windows and balconies and gaze upon him, and she on coals of fire on his account, yet could she not speak. on this wise she abode a great while and indeed yearning for him came nigh to slay her; so she stood and watched for him one day at the door of her chamber and straining him to her bosom, kissed him on the cheek and breast. at this moment, out came the master of the king's household and seeing her embracing the youth, abode amazed. then he asked to whom that chamber belonged and was answered, 'to shah khatoun, wife of the king,' whereupon he turned back, trembling as [one smitten by] a thunderbolt. the king saw him quaking and said to him, 'out on thee! what is the matter?' 'o king,' answered he, 'what matter is graver than that which i see?' 'what seest thou?' asked the king and the officer said, 'i see that yonder youth, who came with the eunuch, he brought not with him but on account of shah khatoun; for that i passed but now by her chamber door, and she was standing, watching; [and when the youth came up,] she rose to him and clipped him and kissed him on his cheek.' when the king heard this, he bowed [his head] in amazement and perplexity and sinking into a seat, clutched at his beard and shook it, till he came nigh to pluck it out. then he arose forthright and laid hands on the youth and clapped him in prison. moreover, he took the eunuch also and cast them both into an underground dungeon in his house, after which he went in to shah khatoun and said to her, 'thou hast done well, by allah, o daughter of nobles, o thou whom kings sought in marriage, for the excellence of thy repute and the goodliness of the reports of thee! how fair is thy semblance! may god curse her whose inward is the contrary of her outward, after the likeness of thy base favour, whose outward is comely and its inward foul, fair face and foul deeds! verily, i mean to make of thee and of yonder good-for-nought an example among the folk, for that thou sentest not thine eunuch but of intent on his account, so that he took him and brought him into my house and thou hast trampled my head with him; and this is none other than exceeding hardihood; but thou shall see what i will do with you.' so saying, he spat in her face and went out from her; whilst shah khatoun made him no answer, knowing that, if she spoke at that time, he would not credit her speech. then she humbled herself in supplication to god the most high and said, 'o god the great, thou knowest the hidden things and the outward parts and the inward' if an advanced term[fn# ] be [appointed] to me, let it not be deferred, and if a deferred one, let it not be advanced!' on this wise she passed some days, whilst the king fell into perplexity and forswore meat and drink and sleep and abode knowing not what he should do and saying [in himself], 'if i kill the eunuch and the youth, my soul will not be solaced, for they are not to blame, seeing that she sent to fetch him, and my heart will not suffer me to slay them all three. but i will not be hasty in putting them to death, for that i fear repentance.' then he left them, so he might look into the affair. now he had a nurse, a foster-mother, on whose knees he had been reared, and she was a woman of understanding and misdoubted of him, but dared not accost him [with questions]. so she went in to shah khatoun and finding her in yet sorrier plight than he, asked her what was to do; but she refused to answer. however, the nurse gave not over coaxing and questioning her, till she exacted of her an oath of secrecy. so the old woman swore to her that she would keep secret all that she should say to her, whereupon the queen related to her her history from first to last and told her that the youth was her son. with this the old woman prostrated herself before her and said to her, 'this is an easy matter.' but the queen answered, saying, 'by allah, o my mother, i choose my destruction and that of my son rather than defend myself by avouching a thing whereof they will not credit me; for they will say, "she avoucheth this, but that she may fend off reproach from herself" and nought will avail me but patience.' the old woman was moved by her speech and her intelligence and said to her, 'indeed, o my daughter, it is as thou sayst, and i hope in god that he will show forth the truth. have patience and i will presently go in to the king and hear what he saith and contrive somewhat in this matter, if it be the will of god the most high.' then she arose and going in to the king, found him with his head between his knees, and he lamenting. so she sat down by him awhile and bespoke him with soft words and said to him, 'indeed, o my son, thou consumest mine entrails, for that these [many] days thou hast not mounted to horse, and thou lamentest and i know not what aileth thee.' 'o my mother,' answered he, '[this my chagrin] is due to yonder accursed woman, of whom i still deemed well and who hath done thus and thus.' then he related to her the whole story from first to last, and she said to him, 'this thy concern is on account of a worthless woman.' quoth he, 'i was but considering by what death i should slay them, so the folk may [be admonished by their fate and] repent.' and she said, 'o my son, beware of haste, for it engendereth repentance and the slaying of them will not escape [thee]. when thou art assured of this affair, do what thou wilt.' 'o my mother,' rejoined he; 'there needeth no assurance concerning him for whom she despatched her eunuch and he fetched him.' but she said, 'there is a thing wherewith we will make her confess, and all that is in her heart shall be discovered to thee.' 'what is that?' asked the king, and she answered, 'i will bring thee a hoopoe's heart,[fn# ] which, when she sleepeth, do thou lay upon her heart and question her of all thou wilt, and she will discover this unto thee and show forth the truth to thee." the king rejoiced in this and said to his nurse, 'hasten and let none know of thee.' so she arose and going in to the queen, said to her, 'i have done thine occasion and it is on this wise. this night the king will come in to thee and do thou feign thyself asleep; and if he ask thee of aught, do thou answer him, as if in thy sleep.' the queen thanked her and the old woman went away and fetching the hoopoe's heart, gave it to the king. hardly was the night come, when he went in to his wife and found her lying back, [apparently] asleep; so he sat down by her side and laying the hoopoe's heart on her breast, waited awhile, so he might be certified that she slept. then said he to her, 'shah khatoun, shah khatoun, is this my recompense from thee?' quoth she, 'what offence have i committed?' and he, 'what offence can be greater than this? thou sentest after yonder youth and broughtest him hither, on account of the desire of thy heart, so thou mightest do with him that for which thou lustedst.' 'i know not desire,' answered she. 'verily, among thy servants are those who are comelier and handsomer than he; yet have i never desired one of them.' 'why, then,' asked he, 'didst thou lay hold of him and kiss him!' and she said, 'this is my son and a piece of my heart; and of my longing and love for him, i could not contain myself, but sprang upon him and kissed him.' when the king heard this, he was perplexed and amazed and said to her, 'hast thou a proof that this youth is thy son? indeed, i have a letter from thine uncle king suleiman shah, [wherein he giveth me to know] that his unck belehwan cut his throat.' 'yes,' answered she, 'he did indeed cut his throat, but severed not the windpipe; so my uncle sewed up the wound and reared him, [and he lived,] for that his hour was not come.' when the king heard this, he said, 'this proof sufficeth me,' and rising forthright in the night, let bring the youth and the eunuch. then he examined the former's throat with a candle and saw [the scar where] it [had been] cut from ear to ear, and indeed the place had healed up and it was like unto a stretched-out thread. therewithal the king fell down prostrate to god, [in thanksgiving to him] for that he had delivered the prince from all these perils and from the stresses that he had undergone, and rejoiced with an exceeding joy for that he had wrought deliberately and had not made haste to slay him, in which case sore repentance had betided him. as for the youth," continued the young treasurer, "he was not saved but because his term was deferred, and on like wise, o king, is it with me; i too have a deferred term, which i shall attain, and a period which i shall accomplish, and i trust in god the most high that he will give me the victory over these wicked viziers." when the youth had made an end of his speech, the king said, "carry him back to the prison;" and when they had done this, he turned to the viziers and said to them, "yonder youth looseth his tongue upon you, but i know your affectionate solicitude for the welfare of my empire and your loyal counsel to me; so be of good heart, for all that ye counsel me i will do." when they heard tnese words, they rejoiced and each of them said his say then said the king, "i have not deferred his slaughter but to the intent that the talk might be prolonged and that words might abound, and i desire [now] that ye sit up for him a gibbet without the town and make proclamation among the folk that they assemble and take him and carry him in procession to the gibbet, with the crier crying before him and saying, 'this is the recompense of him whom the king delighted to favour and who hath betrayed him!'" the viziers rejoiced, when they heard this, and slept not that night, of their joy; and they made proclamation in the city and set up the gibbet. the eleventh day. of the speedy relief of god. when it was the eleventh day, the viziers betook them early in the morning to the king's gate and said to him, "o king, the folk are assembled from the king's gate to the gibbet, so they may see [the execution of] the king's commandment on the youth." so the king bade fetch the prisoner and they brought him; whereupon the viziers turned to him and said to him, "o vile of origin, doth any hope of life remain with thee and lookest thou still for deliverance after this day?" "o wicked viziers," answered he, "shall a man of understanding renounce hope in god the most high? indeed, howsoever a man be oppressed, there cometh to him deliverance from the midst of stress and life from the midst of death, [as is shown by the case of] the prisoner and how god delivered him." "what is his story?" asked the king; and the youth answered, saying, "o king, they tell that story of the prisoner and how god gave him relief. there was once a king of the kings, who had a high palace, overlooking a prison of his, and he used to hear in the night one saying, 'o ever-present deliverer, o thou whose relief is nigh, relieve thou me!' one day the king waxed wroth and said, "yonder fool looketh for relief from [the consequences of] his crime. 'then said he to his officers, 'who is in yonder prison?' and they answered, 'folk upon whom blood hath been found.'[fn# ] so the king bade bring the man in question before him and said to him, 'o fool, little of wit, how shall thou be delivered from this prison, seeing that thine offence is great?' then he committed him to a company of his guards and said to them, 'take this fellow and crucify him without the city.' now it was the night-season. so the soldiers carried him without the city, thinking to crucify him, when, behold, there came out upon them thieves and fell in on them with swords and [other] weapons. thereupon the guards left him whom they purposed to put to death [and took to flight], whilst the man who was going to slaughter fled forth at a venture and plunging into the desert, knew not whither he went before he found himself in a thicket and there came out upon him a lion of frightful aspect, which snatched him up and set him under him. then he went up to a tree and tearing it up by the roots, covered the man therewith and made off into the thicket, in quest of the lioness. as for the man, he committed his affair to god the most high, relying upon him for deliverance, and said in himself, 'what is this affair?' then he did away the leaves from himself and rising, saw great plenty of men's bones there, of those whom the lion had devoured. he looked again and saw a heap of gold lying alongside a girdle;[fn# ] whereat he marvelled and gathering up the gold in his skirts, went forth of the thicket and fled in affright at hazard, turning neither to the right nor to the left, in his fear of the lion; till he came to a village and cast himself down, as he were dead. he lay there till the day appeared and he was rested from his fatigue, when he arose and burying the gold, entered the village. thus god gave him relief and he came by the gold." then said the king, "how long wilt thou beguile us with thy prate, o youth? but now the hour of thy slaughter is come." and he bade crucify him upon the gibbet. [so they carried him to the place of execution] and were about to hoist him up [upon the cross,] when, behold, the captain of the thieves, who had found him and reared him,[fn# ] came up at that moment and asked what was that assembly and [the cause of] the crowds gathered there. they told him that a servant of the king had committed a great crime and that he was about to put him to death. so the captain of the thieves pressed forward and looking upon the prisoner, knew him, whereupon he went up to him and embraced him and clipped him and fell to kissing him upon his mouth. then said he, "this is a boy whom i found under such a mountain, wrapped in a gown of brocade, and i reared him and he fell to stopping the way with us. one day, we set upon a caravan, but they put us to flight and wounded some of us and took the boy and went their way. from that day to this i have gone round about the lands in quest of him, but have not lighted on news of him [till now;] and this is he." when the king heard this, he was certified that the youth was his very son; so he cried out at the top of his voice and casting himself upon him, embraced him and wept and said, "had i put thee to death, as was my intent, i should have died of regret for thee." then he cut his bonds and taking his crown from his head, set it on that of his son, whereupon the people raised cries of joy, whilst the trumpets sounded and the drums beat and there befell a great rejoicing. they decorated the city and it was a glorious day; the very birds stayed their flight in the air, for the greatness of the clamour and the noise of the crying. the army and the folk carried the prince [to the palace] in magnificent procession, and the news came to his mother behrjaur, who came forth and threw herself upon him. moreover, the king bade open the prison and bring forth all who were therein, and they held high festival seven days and seven nights and rejoiced with a mighty rejoicing; whilst terror and silence and confusion and affright fell upon the viziers and they gave themselves up for lost. after this the king sat, with his son by his side and the viziers sitting before him, and summoned his chief officers and the folk of the city. then the prince turned to the viziers and said to them, "see, o wicked viziers, that which god hath done and the speedy [coming of] relief." but they answered not a word and the king said, "it sufficeth me that there is nothing alive but rejoiceth with me this day, even to the birds in the sky, but ye, your breasts are straitened. indeed, this is the greatest of ill-will in you to me, and had i hearkened to you, my regret had been prolonged and i had died miserably of grief." "o my father," quoth the prince, "but for the fairness of thy thought and thy judgment and thy longanimity and deliberation in affairs, there had not bedded thee this great joyance. hadst thou slain me in haste, repentance would have been sore on thee and long grief, and on this wise doth he who ensueth haste repent." then the king sent for the captain of the thieves and bestowed on him a dress of honour,[fn# ] commanding that all who loved the king should put off [their raiment and cast it] upon him.[fn# ] so there fell dresses of honour [and other presents] on him, till he was wearied with their much plenty, and azadbekht invested him with the mastership of the police of his city. then he bade set up other nine gibbets beside the first and said to his son, "thou art guiltless, and yet these wicked viziers endeavoured for thy slaughter." "o my father," answered the prince, "i had no fault [in their eyes] but that i was a loyal counsellor to thee and still kept watch over thy good and withheld their hands from thy treasuries; wherefore they were jealous and envied me and plotted against me and sought to slay me," quoth the king, "the time [of retribution] is at hand, o my son; but what deemest thou we should do with them in requital of that which they did with thee? for that they have endeavoured for thy slaughter and exposed thee to public ignominy and soiled my honour among the kings." then he turned to the viziers and said to them, "out on ye! what liars ye are! what excuse is left you?" "o king," answered they, "there abideth no excuse for us and our sin hath fallen upon us and broken us in pieces. indeed we purposed evil to this youth and it hath reverted upon us, and we plotted mischief against him and it hath overtaken us; yea, we digged a pit for him and have fallen ourselves therein." so the king bade hoist up the viziers upon the gibbets and crucify them there, for that god is just and ordaineth that which is right. then azadbekht and his wife and son abode in joyance and contentment, till there came to them the destroyer of delights and they died all; and extolled be the perfection of the [ever-]living one, who dieth not, to whom be glory and whose mercy be upon us for ever and ever! amen. jaafer ben yehya and abdulmeilik ben salih the abbaside.[fn# ] it is told of jaafer ben yehya the barmecide that he sat down one day to drink and being minded to be private (with his friends), sent for his boon-companions, in whom he delighted, and charged the chamberlain[fn# ] that he should suffer none of the creatures of god the most high to enter, save a man of his boon-companions, by name abdulmelik ben salih,[fn# ] who was behindhand with them. then they donned coloured clothes,[fn# ] for that it was their wont, whenas they sat in the wine-chamber, to don raiment of red and yellow and green silk, and sat down to drink, and the cups went round and the lutes pulsed. now there was a man of the kinsfolk of the khalif [haroun er reshid], by name abdulmelik ben salih ben ali ben abdallah ben el abbas,[fn# ] who was great of gravity and piety and decorousness, and er reshid was used instantly to require of him that he should keep him company in his carousals and drink with him and had proffered him, to this end, riches galore, but he still refused. it chanced that this abdulmelik es salih came to the door of jaafer ben yehya, that he might bespeak him of certain occasions of his, and the chamberlain, doubting not but he was the abdulmelik ben salih aforesaid, whom jaafer had charged him admit and that he should suffer none but him to enter, allowed him to go in to his master. when jaafer saw him, his reason was like to depart for shame and he knew that the chamberlain had been deceived by the likeness of the name; and abdulmelik also perceived how the case stood and confusion was manifest to him in jaafer's face. so he put on a cheerful favour and said, "no harm be upon you![fn# ] bring us of these dyed clothes." so they brought him a dyed gown[fn# ] and he put it on and sat discoursing cheerily with jaafer and jesting with him. then said he, "give us to drink of your wine." so they poured him out a pint and he said, "be ye indulgent with us, for we have no wont of this." then he chatted and jested with them till jaafer's breast dilated and his constraint ceased from him and his shamefastness, and he rejoiced in this with an exceeding joy and said to abdulmelik, "what is thine errand?" quoth the other, "i come (may god amend thee!) on three occasions, whereof i would have thee bespeak the khalif; to wit, firstly, i have on me a debt to the amount of a thousand thousand dirhems,[fn# ] which i would have discharged; secondly, i desire for my son the office of governor of a province, whereby his rank may be raised; and thirdly, i would fain have thee marry him to a daughter of the khalif, for that she is his cousin and he is a match for her." and jaafer said, "god accomplished! unto thee these three occasions. as for the money, it shall presently be carried to thy house; as for the government, i make thy son viceroy of egypt; and as for the marriage, i give him to wife such an one, the daughter of our lord the commander of the faithful, at a dowry of such and such a sum. so depart in the assurance of god the most high." so abdulmelik went away to his house, whither he found that the money had foregone him, and on the morrow jaafer presented himself before the khalif and acquainted him with what had passed and that he had appointed abdulmelik's son governor of egypt and had promised him his daughter in marriage. er reshid approved of this and confirmed the appointment and the marriage. [then he sent for the young man] and he went not forth of the palace of the khalif till he wrote him the patent [of investiture with the government] of egypt; and he let bring the cadis and the witnesses and drew up the contract of marriage. er reshid and the barmecides.[fn# ] it is said that the most extraordinary of that which happened to er reshid was as follows: his brother el hadi,[fn# ] when he succeeded to the khalifate, enquired of a seal-ring of great price, that had belonged to his father el mehdi,[fn# ] and it came to his knowledge that er reshid had taken it. so he required it of the latter, who refused to give it up, and el hadi insisted upon him, but he still denied the seal-ring of the khalifate. now this was on the bridge [over the tigris], and he threw the ring into the river. when el hadi died and er reshid succeeded to the khalifate, he came in person to that bridge, with a seal-ring of lead, which he threw into the river at the same place, and bade the divers seek it. so they did [his bidding] and brought up the first ring, and this was reckoned [an omen] of er reshid's good fortune and [a presage of] the continuance of his reign.[fn# ] when er reshid came to the throne, he invested jaafer ben yehya ben khalid el bermeki[fn# ] with the vizierate. now jaafer was eminently distinguished for generosity and munificence, and the stories of him to this effect are renowned and are written in the books. none of the viziers attained to the rank and favour which he enjoyed with er reshid, who was wont to call him brother[fn# ] and used to carry him with him into his house. the period of his vizierate was nineteen years,[fn# ] and yehya one day said to his son jaafer, "o my son, what time thy reed trembleth, water it with kindness."[fn# ] opinions differ concerning the reason of jaafer's slaughter, but the better is as follows. er reshid could not brook to be parted from jaafer nor from his [own] sister abbaseh, daughter of el mehdi, a single hour, and she was the loveliest woman of her time; so he said to jaafer, "i will marry thee to her, that it may be lawful to thee to look upon her, but thou shalt not touch her." [accordingly, they were married] and they used both to be present in er reshid's sitting chamber. now the khalif would rise bytimes [and go forth] from the chamber, and they being both young and filled with wine, jaafer would rise to her and swive her. she conceived by him and bore a handsome boy and fearing er reshid, despatched the newborn child by one of her confidants to mecca the holy, may god the most high advance it in honour and increase it in venerance and nobility and magnification! the affair abode concealed till there befell despite between abbaseh and one of her slave-girls, whereupon the latter discovered the affair of the child to er reshid and acquainted him with its abiding-place. so, when the khalif made the pilgrimage, he despatched one who brought him the boy and found the affair true, wherefore he caused befall the barmecides that which befell.[fn# ] ibn es semmak and er reshid.[fn# ] it is related that ibn es semmak[fn# ] went in one day to er reshid and the khalif, being athirst, called for drink. so his cup was brought him, and when he took it, ibn es semmak said to him, "softly, o commander of the faithful! if thou wert denied this draught, with what wouldst thou buy it?" "with the half of my kingdom," answered the khalif; and ibn es semmak said, "drink and god prosper it to thee!" then, when he had drunken, he said to him, "if thou wert denied the going forth of the draught from thy body, with what wouldst thou buy its issue?" "with the whole of my kingdom," answered er reshid: and ibn es semmak said, "o commander of the faithful, verily, a kingdom that weigheth not in the balance against a draught [of water] or a voiding of urine is not worth the striving for." and haroun wept. el mamoun and zubeideh[fn# ] it is said that el mamoun[fn# ] came one day upon zubeideh, mother of el amin,[fn# ] and saw her moving her lips and muttering somewhat he understood not; so he said to her, "o mother mine, dost thou imprecate [curses] upon me, for that i slew thy son and despoiled him of his kingdom?" "not so, by allah, o commander of the faithful!" answered she, and he said, "what then saidst thou?" quoth she, "let the commander of the faithful excuse me." but he was instant with her, saying, "needs must thou tell it." and she replied, "i said, 'god confound importunity!'" "how so?" asked the khalif, and she said, "i played one day at chess with the commander of the faithful [haroun er reshid] and he imposed on me the condition of commandment and acceptance.[fn# ] he beat me and bade me put off my clothes and go round about the palace, naked; so i did this, and i incensed against him. then we fell again to playing and i beat him; so i bade him go to the kitchen and swive the foulest and sorriest wench of the wenches thereof. [i went to the kitchen] and found not a slave-girl fouler and filthier than thy mother;[fn# ] so i bade him swive her. he did as i bade him and she became with child by him of thee, and thus was i [by my unlucky insistance] the cause of the slaying of my son and the despoiling him of his kingdom." when el mamoun heard this, he turned away, saying, "god curse the importunate!" to wit, himself, who had importuned her till she acquainted him with that matter. en numan and the arab of the benou tai.[fn# ] it is said that en numan[fn# ] had two boon-companions, one of whom was called ibn saad and the other amrou ben el melik, and he became one night drunken and bade bury them alive; so they buried them. when he arose on the morrow, he enquired for them and was acquainted with their case, whereupon he built over them a monument and appointed to himself a day of ill-luck and a day of good-luck. if any met him on his day of ill-omen, he slew him and with his blood he washed the monument aforesaid, the which is a place well known in cufa; and if any met him on his day of grace, he enriched him. now there accosted him once, on his day of ill-omen, an arab of the benou tai,[fn# ] and en numan would have put him to death; but the arab said, "god quicken the king! i have two little girls and have made none guardian over them; so, if the king see fit to grant me leave to go to them, i will give him the covenant of god[fn# ] that i will return to him, whenas i have appointed them a guardian." en numan had compassion on him and said to him, "if a man will be surety for thee of those who are with us, [i will let thee go], and if thou return not, i will put him to death." now there was with en numan his vizier sherik ben amrou; so the tai[fn# ] looked at him and said, sherik ben amrou, what device avails the hand of death to stay? o brother of the brotherless, brother of all th' afflicted, say. brother of en numan, with thee lies an old man's anguish to allay, a graybeard slain, may god make fair his deeds upon the reckoning-day! quoth sherik, "on me be his warranty, may god assain the king!" so the tai departed, after a term had been assigned him for his coming. when the appointed day arrived, en numan sent for sherik and said to him, "verily the first part of this day is past." and sherik answered, "the king hath no recourse against me till it be eventide." when it evened, there appeared one afar off and en numan fell to looking upon him and on sherik, and the latter said to him, "thou hast no right over me till yonder fellow come, for belike he is my man." as he spoke, up came the tai in haste and en numan said "by allah, never saw i [any] more generous than you two! i know not whether of you is the more generous, this one who became warrant for thee in [danger of] death or thou who returnest unto slaughter." then said he to sherik, "what prompted thee to become warrant for him, knowing that it was death?" and he said, "[i did this] lest it be said, 'generosity hath departed from viziers.'" then said en numan to the tai, "and thou, what prompted thee to return, knowing that therein was death and thine own destruction?" quoth the arab, "[i did this] lest it be said, 'fidelity hath departed from the folk.'" and en numan said, "by allah, i will be the third of you,[fn# ] lest it be said, 'clemency hath departed from kings.'" so he pardoned him and bade abolish the day of ill-omen; whereupon the arab recited the following verses: full many a man incited me to infidelity, but i refused, for all the talk wherewith they set on me. i am a man in whom good faith's a natural attribute; the deeds of every upright man should with his speech agree. quoth en numan, "what prompted thee to keep faith, the case being as thou sayest?" "o king," answered the arab, "it was my religion." and en numan said, "what is thy religion?" "the christian," replied the other. quoth the king, "expound it unto me." [so the tai expounded it to him] and en numan became a christian.[fn# ] firouz and his wife[fn# ] a certain king sat one day on the roof of his palace, diverting himself with looking about him, and presently, chancing to look aside, he espied, on [the roof of] a house over against his palace, a woman, never saw his eyes her like. so he turned to those who were present and said to them, "to whom belongeth yonder house?" "to thy servant firouz," answered they, "and that is his wife." so he went down, (and indeed love had made him drunken and he was passionately enamoured of her), and calling firouz, said to him, "take this letter and go with it to such a city and bring me the answer." firouz took the letter and going to his house, laid it under his head and passed that night. when the morning morrowed, he took leave of his wife and set out for the city in question, unknowing what the king purposed against him. as for the king, he arose in haste and disguising himself, repaired to the house of firouz and knocked at the door. quoth firouz's wife, "who is at the door?" and he answered, saying, "i am the king, thy husband's master." so she opened the door and he entered and sat down, saying, "we are come to visit thee." quoth she, "i seek refuge [with god] from this visitation, for indeed i deem not well thereof." and the king said, "o desire of hearts, i am thy husband's master and methinks thou knowest me not." "nay," answered she, "i know thee, o my lord and master, and i know thy purpose and that which thou seekest and that thou art my husband's lord. i understand what thou wishest, and indeed the poet hath forestalled thee in his saying of the following verses, in reference to thy case: your water i'll leave without drinking, for there too many already have drunken whilere. when the flies light on food, from the platter my hand i raise, though my spirit should long for the fare; and whenas the dogs at a fountain have lapped, the lions to drink of the water forbear." then said she, "o king, comest thou to a [watering-]place whereat thy dog hath drunken and wilt thou drink thereof?" the king was abashed at her and at her words and went out from her, but forgot his sandal in the house. as for firouz, when he went forth from his house, he sought the letter, but found it not; so he returned home. now his return fell in with the king's going forth and he found the latter's sandal in his house, whereat his wit was dazed and he knew that the king had not sent him away but for a purpose of his own. however, he held his peace and spoke not a word, but, taking the letter, went on his errand and accomplished it and returned to the king, who gave him a hundred dinars. so firouz betook himself to the market and bought what beseemeth women of goodly gifts and returning to his wife, saluted her and gave her all that he had brought and said to her, "arise [go] to thy father's house." "wherefore?" asked she, and he said, "verily, the king hath been bountiful to me and i would have thee show forth this, so thy father may rejoice in that which he seeth upon thee." "with all my heart," answered she and arising forthright, betook herself to the house of her father, who rejoiced in her coming and in that which he saw upon her; and she abode with him a month's space, and her husband made no mention of her. then came her brother to him and said, "o firouz, an thou wilt not acquaint me with the reason of thine anger against thy wife, come and plead with us before the king." quoth he, "if ye will have me plead with you, i will do so." so they went to the king and found the cadi sitting with him; whereupon quoth the damsel's brother, "god assist our lord the cadi! i let this man on hire a high-walled garden, with a well in good case and trees laden with fruit; but he beat down its walls and ruined its well and ate its fruits, and now he desireth to return it to me." the cadi turned to firouz and said to him, "what sayst thou, o youth?" and he answered, "indeed, i delivered him the garden in the goodliest of case." so the cadi said to the brother, "hath he delivered thee the garden, as he saith?" and the other replied, "no; but i desire to question him of the reason of his returning it." quoth the cadi, "what sayst thou, o youth?" and firouz answered, "i returned it in my own despite, for that i entered it one day and saw the track of the lion; wherefore i feared lest, if i entered it again, the lion should devour me. so that which i did, i did of reverence to him and for fear of him." now the king was leaning back upon the cushion, when he heard the man's words, he knew the purport thereof; so he sat up and said, "return to thy garden in all assurance and ease of heart; for, by allah, never saw i the like of thy garden nor stouter of ward than its walls over its trees!" so firouz returned to his wife, and the cadi knew not the truth of the affair, no, nor any of those who were in that assembly, save the king and the husband and the damsel's brother.[fn# ] king shah bekht and his vizier er rehwan.[fn# ] there was once, of old days and in bygone ages and times, a king of the kings of the time, by name shah bekht, who had troops and servants and guards galore and a vizier called er rehwan, who was wise, understanding, a man of good counsel and a cheerful acceptor of the commandments of god the most high, to whom belong might and majesty. the king committed to him the affairs of his kingdom and his subjects and said according to his word, and on this wise he abode a long space of time. now this vizier had many enemies, who envied him his high place and still sought to do him hurt, but found no way thereunto, and god, in his fore-knowledge and his fore-ordinance from time immemorial, decreed that the king dreamt that the vizier er rehwan gave him a fruit from off a tree and he ate it and died. so he awoke, affrighted and troubled, and when the vizier had presented himself before him [and withdrawn] and the king was alone with those in whom he trusted, he related to them his dream and they counselled him to send for the astrologers and interpreters [of dreams] and commended to him a sage, for whose skill and wisdom they vouched. so the king sent for him and entreated him with honour and made him draw near to himself. now there had been private with the sage in question a company of the vizier's enemies, who besought him to slander the vizier to the king and counsel him to put him to death, in consideration of that which they promised him of wealth galore; and he agreed with them of this and told the king that the vizier would slay him in the course of the [ensuing] month and bade him hasten to put him to death, else would he surely slay him. presently, the vizier entered and the king signed to him to cause avoid the place. so he signed to those who were present to withdraw, and they departed; whereupon quoth the king to him, "how deemest thou, o excellent vizier, o loyal counsellor in all manner of governance, of a vision i have seen in my sleep?" "what is it, o king?" asked the vizier, and shah bekht related to him his dream, adding, "and indeed the sage interpreted it to me and said to me, 'an thou put not the vizier to death within a month, he will slay thee.' now i am exceeding both to put the like of thee to death, yet do i fear to leave thee on life. what then dost thou counsel me that i should do in this matter?" the vizier bowed his head awhile, then raised it and said, "god prosper the king! verily, it skills not to continue him on life of whom the king is afraid, and my counsel is that thou make haste to put me to death." when the king heard his speech, he turned to him and said, "it is grievous to me, o vizier of good counsel." and he told him that the [other] sages testified [to the correctness of their fellow's interpretation of the dream]; whereupon er rehwan sighed and knew that the king went in fear of him; but he showed him fortitude and said to him, "god assain the king! my counsel is that the king accomplish his commandment and execute his ordinance, for that needs must death be and it is liefer to me that i die, oppressed, than that i die, an oppressor. but, if the king see fit to defer the putting of me to death till the morrow and will pass this night with me and take leave of me, when the morrow cometh, the king shall do what he will." then he wept till he wet his gray hairs and the king was moved to compassion for him and granted him that which he sought and vouchsafed him that night's respite. the first night of the month when it was eventide, the king caused avoid his sitting chamber and summoned the vizier, who presented himself and making his obeisance to the king, kissed the earth before him and bespoke him as follows: story of the man of khorassan, his son and his governor. "there was once a man of khorassan and he had a son, whose improvement he ardently desired; but the young man sought to be alone and to remove himself from his father's eye, so he might give himself up to pleasance and delight. so he sought of his father [leave to make] the pilgrimage to the holy house of god and to visit the tomb of the prophet (whom god bless and keep!). now between them and mecca was a journey of five hundred parasangs; but his father could not gainsay him, for that the law of god made this[fn# ] incumbent on him and because of that which he hoped for him of improvement [therefrom]. so he joined unto him a governor, in whom he trusted, and gave him much money and took leave of him. the son set out on the holy pilgrimage[fn# ] with the governor and abode on that wise, spending freely and using not thrift. now there was in his neighbourhood a poor man, who had a slave-girl of surpassing beauty and loveliness, and the youth became enamoured of her and suffered grief and concern for the love of her and her loveliness, so that he was like to perish for passion; and she also loved him with a love yet greater than his love for her. so she called an old woman who used to visit her and acquainted her with her case, saying, 'an i foregather not with him, i shall die.' the old woman promised her that she would do her endeavour to bring her to her desire; so she veiled herself and repairing to the young man, saluted him and acquainted him with the girl's case, saying, 'her master is a covetous man; so do thou invite him [to thy lodging] and tempt him with money, and he will sell thee the damsel.' accordingly, he made a banquet, and stationing himself in the man's way, invited him and carried him to his house, where they sat down and ate and drank and abode in discourse. presently, the young man said to the other, 'i hear that thou hast with thee a slave-girl, whom thou desirest to sell.' and he answered, saying, 'by allah, o my lord, i have no mind to sell her!' quoth the youth, 'i hear that she cost thee a thousand dinars, and i will give thee six hundred, to boot.' and the other said, 'i sell her to thee [at that price].' so they fetched notaries, who drew up the contract of sale, and the young man counted out to the girl's master half the purchase money, saying, 'let her be with thee till i complete to thee the rest of the price and take my slave-girl.' the other consented to this and took of him a bond for the rest of the money, and the girl abode with her master, on deposit. as for the youth, he gave his governor a thousand dirhems and despatched him to his father, to fetch money from him, so he might pay the rest of the girl's price, saying to him, 'be not [long] absent.' but the governor said in himself, 'how shall i go to his father and say to him, "thy son hath wasted thy money and wantoned it away"?[fn# ] with what eye shall i look on him, and indeed, i am he in whom he confided and to whom he hath entrusted his son? indeed, this were ill seen. nay, i will fare on to the pilgrimage[fn# ] [with the caravan of pilgrims], in despite of this fool of a youth; and when he is weary [of waiting], he will demand back the money [he hath already paid] and return to his father, and i shall be quit of travail and reproach.' so he went on with the caravan to the pilgrimage[fn# ] and took up his abode there. meanwhile, the youth abode expecting his governor's return, but he returned not; wherefore concern and chagrin waxed upon him, because of his mistress, and his longing for her redoubled and he was like to slay himself. she became aware of this and sent him a messenger, bidding him to her. so he went to her and she questioned him of the case; whereupon he told her what was to do of the matter of his governor, and she said to him, 'with me is longing the like of that which is with thee, and i misdoubt me thy messenger hath perished or thy father hath slain him; but i will give thee all my trinkets and my clothes, and do thou sell them and pay the rest of my price, and we will go, i and thou, to thy father.' so she gave him all that she possessed and he sold it and paid the rest of her price; after which there remained to him a hundred dirhems. these he spent and lay that night with the damsel in all delight of life, and his soul was like to fly for joy; but when he arose in the morning, he sat weeping and the damsel said to him, 'what aileth thee to weep?' and he said, 'i know not if my father be dead, and he hath none other heir but myself; and how shall i win to him, seeing i have not a dirhem?' quoth she, 'i have a bracelet; do thou sell it and buy small pearls with the price. then bray them and fashion them into great pearls, and thereon thou shalt gain much money, wherewith we may make our way to thy country.' so he took the bracelet and repairing to a goldsmith, said to him, 'break up this bracelet and sell it.' but he said, 'the king seeketh a good[fn# ] bracelet; i will go to him and bring thee the price thereof.' so he carried the bracelet to the sultan and it pleased him greatly, by reason of the goodliness of its workmanship. then he called an old woman, who was in his palace, and said to her, 'needs must i have the mistress of this bracelet, though but for a single night, or i shall die.' and the old woman answered, 'i will bring her to thee.' so she donned a devotee's habit and betaking herself to the goldsmith, said to him, 'to whom belongeth the bracelet that is in the king's hand?' quoth he, 'it belongeth to a man, a stranger, who hath bought him a slave-girl from this city and lodgeth with her in such a place.' so the old woman repaired to the young man's house and knocked at the door. the damsel opened to her and seeing her clad in devotee's apparel,[fn# ] saluted her and said to her, ' belike thou hast an occasion with us?' 'yes,' answered the old woman; 'i desire privacy and ablution.'[fn# ] quoth the girl, 'enter.' so she entered and did her occasion and made the ablution and prayed. then she brought out a rosary and began to tell her beads thereon, and the damsel said to her, 'whence comest thou, o pilgrim?'[fn# ] quoth she '[i come] from [visiting] the idol[fn# ] of the absent in such a church.[fn# ] there standeth up no woman [to prayer] before him, who hath an absent friend and discovereth to him her need, but he acquainteth her with her case and giveth her tidings of her absent one.' 'o pilgrim,' said the damsel, 'we have an absent one, and my lord's heart cleaveth to him and i desire to go to the idol and question him of him.' quoth the old woman, '[wait] till to-morrow and ask leave of thy husband, and i will come to thee and go with thee in weal.' then she went away, and when the girl's master came, she sought his leave to go with the old woman and he granted her leave. so the beldam took her and carried her to the king's door. the damsel entered with her, unknowing whither she went, and beheld a goodly house and chambers adorned [with gold and colours] that were no idol's chambers. then came the king and seeing her beauty and grace, went up to her, to kiss her; whereupon she fell down in a fit and strove with her hands and feet. when he saw this, he was solicitous for her and held aloof from her and left her; but the thing was grievous to her and she refused meat and drink, and as often as the king drew near her, she fled from him in affright, wherefore he swore by allah that he would not approach her, save with her consent, and fell to guerdoning her with trinkets and raiment, but she only redoubled in aversion to him. meanwhile, the youth her master abode expecting her; but she returned not and his heart forbode him of the draught [of separation]; so he went forth at hazard, distraught and knowing not what he should do, and fell to strewing dust upon his head and crying out, 'the old woman hath taken her and gone away!' the boys followed him with stones and pelted him, saying, 'a madman! a madman!' presently, the king's chamberlain, who was a man of age and worth, met him, and when he saw his youth, he forbade the boys and drove there away from him, after which he accosted him and questioned him of his case. so he told him how it was with him and the chamberlain said to him, 'fear not: all shall yet be well with thee. i will deliver thy slave-girl for thee: so calm thy trouble.' and he went on to speak him fair and comfort him, till he put faith in his speech. then he carried him to his house and stripping him of his clothes, clad him in rags; after which he called an old woman, who was his stewardess, and said to her. 'take this youth and clap on his neck this iron chain and go round about with him in all the thoroughfares of the city; and when thou hast made an end of this, go up with him to the palace of the king.' and he said to the youth, 'in whatsoever place thou seest the damsel, speak not a syllable, but acquaint me with her place and thou shall owe her deliverance to none but me.' the youth thanked him and went with the old woman on such wise as the chamberlain bade him. she fared on with him till they entered the city [and made the round thereof]; after which she went up to the palace of the king and fell to saying, 'o people of affluence, look on a youth whom the devils take twice in the day and pray for preservation from [a like] affliction!' and she ceased not to go round about with him till she came to the eastern wing[fn# ] of the palace, whereupon the slave-girls came out to look upon him and when they saw him they were amazed at his beauty and grace and wept for him. then they told the damsel, who came forth and looked upon him and knew him not. but he knew her; so he bowed his head and wept. she was moved to compassion for him and gave him somewhat and returned to her place, whilst the youth returned with the stewardess to the chamberlain and told him that she was in the king's house, whereat he was chagrined and said, 'by allah, i will assuredly contrive a device for her and deliver her!' whereupon the youth kissed his hands and feet. then he turned to the old woman and bade her change her apparel and her favour. now this old woman was goodly of speech and nimble of wit; so he gave her costly and delicious perfumes and said to her, 'get thee to the king's slave girls and sell them these [perfumes] and make thy way to the damsel and question her if she desire her master or not.' so the old woman went out and making her way to the palace, went in to the damsel and drew near her and recited the following verses: god keep the days of love-delight! how dearly sweet they were! how joyous and how solaceful was life in them whilere! would he were not who sundered us upon the parting day! how many a body hath he slain, how many a bone laid bare? sans fault of mine, my blood and tears he shed and beggared me of him i love, yet for himself gained nought thereby whate'er. when the damsel heard these verses, she wept till her clothes were drenched and drew near the old woman, who said to her, 'knowest thou such an one?' and wept and said, 'he is my lord. whence knowest thou him?' 'o my lady,' answered the old woman, 'sawst thou not the madman who came hither yesterday with the old woman? he was thy lord. but this is no time for talk. when it is night, get thee to the top of the palace [and wait] on the roof till thy lord come to thee and contrive for thy deliverance.' then she gave her what she would of perfumes and returning to the chamberlain, acquainted him with that which had passed, and he told the youth. when it was eventide, the chamberlain let bring two horses and great store of water and victual and a saddle-camel and a man to show them the way. these he hid without the town, whilst he and the young man took with them a long rope, made fast to a staple, and repaired to the palace. when they came thither, they looked and beheld the damsel standing on the roof. so they threw her the rope and the staple; whereupon she [made the latter fast to the parapet and] wrapping her sleeves about her hands, slid down [the rope] and landed with them. they carried her without the town, where they mounted, she and her lord, and fared on, whilst the guide forewent them, directing them in the way, and they gave not over going night and day till they entered his father's house. the young man saluted his father, who rejoiced in him, and he related to him all that had befallen him, whereupon he rejoiced in his safety. as for the governor, he wasted all that was with him and returned to the city, where he saw the youth and excused himself to him. then he questioned him of what had befallen him and he told him, whereat he marvelled and returned to companionship with him; but the youth ceased to have regard for him and gave him not stipends, as of his [former] wont, neither discovered to him aught of his secrets. when the governor saw that there was no profit for him with the young khorassani, he returned to the king, the ravisher of the damsel, and told him what the chamberlain had done and counselled him to slay the latter and incited him to recover the damsel, [promising] to give his friend to drink of poison and return. so the king sent for the chamberlain and upbraided him; whereupon he fell upon him and slew him and the king's servants fell upon the chamberlain and slew him. meanwhile, the governor returned to the youth, who questioned him of his absence, and he told him that he had been in the city of the king who had taken the damsel. when the youth heard this, he misdoubted of the governor and never again trusted him in aught, but was still on his guard against him. then the governor made great store of sweetmeats and put in them deadly poison and presented them to the youth. when the latter saw the sweetmeats, he said in himself, 'this is an extraordinary thing of the governor! needs must there be mischief in this sweetmeat, and i will make proof of it upon himself.' so he made ready victual and set on the sweetmeat amongst it and bade the governor to his house and set food before him. he ate and amongst the rest, they brought him the poisoned sweetmeat; so he ate thereof and died forthright; whereby the youth knew that this was a plot against himself and said, 'he who seeketh his fortune of his own [unaided] might[fn# ] attaineth it not.' nor (continued the vizier) is this, o king of the age, more extraordinary than the story of the druggist and his wife and the singer." when king shah bekht heard his vizier's story, he gave him leave to withdraw to his own house and he abode there the rest of the night and the next day till the evening. the second night of the month when the evening evened, the king sat in his privy sitting-chamber and his mind was occupied with the story of the singer and the druggist. so he called the vizier and bade him tell the story. "it is well," answered he, "they tell, o my lord, that story of the singer and the druggist. there was once in the city of hemadan[fn# ] a young man of comely aspect and excellently skilled in singing to the lute, and he was well seen of the people of the city. he went forth one day of his city, with intent to travel, and gave not over journeying till his travel brought him to a goodly city. now he had with him a lute and what pertained thereto,[fn# ] so he entered and went round about the city till he fell in with a druggist, who, when he espied him, called to him. so he went up to him and he bade him sit down. accordingly, he sat down by him and the druggist questioned him of his case. the singer told him what was in his mind and the other took him up into his shop and brought him food and fed him. then said he to him, 'arise and take up thy lute and beg about the streets, and whenas thou smellest the odour of wine, break in upon the drinkers and say to them, "i am a singer." they will laugh and say, "come, [sing] to us." and when thou singest, the folk will know thee and bespeak one another of thee; so shall thou become known in the city and thine affairs will prosper.' so he went round about, as the druggist bade him, till the sun grew hot, but found none drinking. then he entered a by-street, that he might rest himself, and seeing there a handsome and lofty house, stood in its shade and fell to observing the goodliness of its ordinance. as he was thus engaged, behold, a window opened and there appeared thereat a face, as it were the moon. quoth she,[fn# ] 'what aileth thee to stand there? dost thou want aught?' and he answered, 'i am a stranger,' and acquainted her with his case; whereupon quoth she, 'what sayst thou to meat and drink and the enjoyment of a fair-face[d one] and getting thee what thou mayst spend?' 'o my lady,' answered he, 'this is my desire and that in quest whereof i am going about.' so she opened the door to him and brought him in. then she seated him at the upper end of the room and set food before him. so he ate and drank and lay with her and swived her. then she sat down in his lap and they toyed and laughed and kissed till the day was half spent, when her husband came home and she could find nothing for it but to hide the singer in a rug, in which she rolled him up. the husband entered and seeing the place disordered[fn# ] and smelling the odour of wine, questioned her of this. quoth she, 'i had with me a friend of mine and i conjured her [to drink with me]; so we drank a jar [of wine], she and i, and she went away but now, before thy coming in.' her husband, (who was none other than the singer's friend the druggist, that had invited him and fed him), deemed her words true and went away to his shop, whereupon the singer came forth and he and the lady returned to their sport and abode on this wise till eventide, when she gave him money and said to him, 'come hither to-morrow in the forenoon.' 'it is well,' answered he and departed; and at nightfall he went to the bath. on the morrow, he betook himself to the shop of his friend the druggist, who welcomed him and questioned him of his case and how he had fared that day. quoth the singer, 'may god requite thee with good, o my brother! for that thou hast directed me unto easance!' and he related to him his adventure with the woman, till he came to the mention of her husband, when he said, 'and at midday came the cuckold her husband and knocked at the door. so she wrapped me in the mat, and when he had gone about his business, i came forth and we returned to what we were about.' this was grievous to the druggist and he repented of having taught him [how he should do] and misdoubted of his wife. so he said to the singer, 'and what said she to thee at thy going away?' and the other answered, 'she bade me come back to her on the morrow. so, behold, i am going to her and i came not hither but that i might acquaint thee with this, lest thy heart be occupied with me.' then he took leave of him and went his way. as soon as the druggist was assured that he had reached the house, he cast the net over his shop[fn# ] and made for his house, misdoubting of his wife, and knocked at the door. now the singer had entered and the druggist's wife said to him, 'arise, enter this chest.' so he entered it and she shut the lid on him and opened to her husband, who came in, in a state of bewilderment, and searched the house, but found none and overlooked the chest. so he said in himself, 'the house [of which the singer spoke] is one which resembleth my house and the woman is one who resembles my wife,' and returned to his shop; whereupon the singer came forth of the chest and falling upon the druggist's wife, did his occasion and paid her her due and weighed down the scale for her.[fn# ] then they ate and drank and kissed and clipped, and on this wise they abode till the evening, when she gave him money, for that she found his weaving good,[fn# ] and made him promise to come to her on the morrow. so he left her and slept his night and on the morrow he repaired to the shop of his friend the druggist and saluted him. the other welcomed him and questioned him of his case; whereupon he told him how he had fared, till he came to the mention of the woman's husband, when he said, 'then came the cuckold her husband and she clapped me into the chest and shut the lid on me, whilst her addlepated pimp of a husband went round about the house, top and bottom; and when he had gone his way, we returned to what we were about.' with this, the druggist was certified that the house was his house and the wife his wife, and he said, 'and what wilt thou do to-day?' quoth the singer, 'i shall return to her and weave for her and full her yarn,[fn# ] and i came but to thank thee for thy dealing with me.' then he went away, whilst the fire was loosed in the heart of the druggist and he shut his shop and betaking himself to his house, knocked at the door. quoth the singer, 'let me get into the chest, for he saw me not yesterday.' 'nay,' answered she, 'wrap thyself up in the rug.' so he wrapped himself up in the rug and stood in a corner of the room, whilst the druggist entered and went straight to the chest, but found it empty. then he went round about the house and searched it from top to bottom, but found nothing and no one and abode between belief and disbelief, and said in himself, 'belike, i suspect my wife of that which is not in her.' so he was certified of her innocence and returned to his shop, whereupon out came the singer and they abode on their former case, as of wont, till eventide, when she gave him one of her husband's shirts and he took it and going away, passed the night in his lodging. on the morrow, he repaired to the druggist, who saluted him and came to meet him and rejoiced in him and smiled in his face, deeming his wife innocent. then he questioned him of his yesterday's case and he told him how he had fared, saying, 'o my brother, when the cuckold knocked at the door, i would have entered the chest; but his wife forbade me and rolled me up in the rug. the man entered and thought of nothing but the chest; so he broke it open and abode as he were a madman, going up and coming down. then he went his way and i came out and we abode on our wonted case till eventide, when she gave me this shirt of her husband's; and behold, i am going to her.' when the druggist heard the singer's words, he was certified of the case and knew that the calamity, all of it, was in his own house and that the wife was his wife; and he saw the shirt, whereupon he redoubled in certainty and said to the singer, 'art thou now going to her?' 'yes, o my brother,' answered he and taking leave of him, went away; whereupon the druggist started up, as he were a madman, and ungarnished his shop.[fn# ] whilst he was thus engaged, the singer won to the house, and presently up came the druggist and knocked at the door. the singer would have wrapped himself up in the rug, but she forbade him and said to him, 'get thee down to the bottom of the house and enter the oven[fn# ] and shut the lid upon thyself.' so he did as she bade him and she went down to her husband and opened the door to him, whereupon he entered and went round about the house, but found no one and overlooked the oven. so he stood meditating and swore that he would not go forth of the house till the morrow. as for the singer, when his [stay in the oven] grew long upon him, he came forth therefrom, thinking that her husband had gone away. then he went up to the roof and looking down, beheld his friend the druggist; whereat he was sore concerned and said in himself, 'alas, the disgrace of it! this is my friend the druggist, who dealt kindly with me and wrought me fair and i have requited him with foul' and he feared to return to the druggist; so he went down and opened the first door and would have gone out; but, when he came to the outer door, he found it locked and saw not the key. so he stole up again to the roof and cast himself down into the [next] house. the people of the house heard him and hastened to him, deeming him a thief. now the house in question belonged to a persian; so they laid hands on him and the master of the house began to beat him, saying to him, 'thou art a thief.' 'nay,' answered he, 'i am no thief, but a singing-man, a stranger. i heard your voices and came to sing to you.' when the folk heard his words, they talked of letting him go; but the persian said, 'o folk, let not his speech beguile you. this fellow is none other than a thief who knoweth how to sing, and when he happeneth on the like of us, he is a singer.' 'o our lord,' answered they, 'this man is a stranger, and needs must we release him.' quoth he, 'by allah, my heart revolteth from this fellow! let me make an end of him with beating.' but they said, 'thou mayst nowise do that' so they delivered the singer from the persian, the master of the house, and seated him amongst them, whereupon he fell to singing to them and they rejoiced in him. now the persian had a mameluke,[fn# ] as he were the full moon, and he arose [and went out], and the singer followed him and wept before him, professing love to him and kissing his hands and feet. the mameluke took compassion on him and said to him, 'when the night cometh and my master entereth [the harem] and the folk go away, i will grant thee thy desire; and i lie in such a place.' then the singer returned and sat with the boon-companions, and the persian rose and went out, he and the mameluke beside him. [then they returned and sat down.][fn# ] now the singer knew the place that the mameluke occupied at the first of the night; but it befell that he rose from his place and the candle went out. the persian, who was drunken, fell over on his face, and the singer, supposing him to be the mameluke, said, 'by allah, it is good!' and threw himself upon him and clipped him, whereupon the persian started up, crying out, and laying hands on the singer, pinioned him and beat him grievously, after which he bound him to a tree that was in the house.[fn# ] now there was in the house a fair singing-girl and when she saw the singer pinioned and bound to the tree, she waited till the persian lay down on his couch, when she arose and going to the singer, fell to condoling with him over what had betided him and ogling him and handling his yard and rubbing it, till it rose on end. then said she to him, 'do thou swive me and i will loose thy bonds, lest he return and beat thee again; for he purposeth thee evil.' quoth he, 'loose me and i will do.' but she said, 'i fear that, [if i loose thee], thou wilt not do. but i will do, and thou standing; and when i have done, i will loose thee.' so saying, she pulled up her clothes and sitting down on the singer's yard, fell to going and coming. now there was in the house a ram, with which the persian used to butt, and when he saw what the woman did, he thought she would butt with him; so he broke his halter and running at her, butted her and broke her head. she fell on her back and cried out; whereupon the persian started up from sleep in haste and seeing the singing-girl [cast down on her back] and the singer with his yard on end, said to the latter, 'o accursed one, doth not what thou hast already done suffice thee?' then he beat him soundly and opening the door, put him out in the middle of the night. he lay the rest of the night in one of the ruins, and when he arose in the morning, he said, 'none is to blame. i sought my own good, and he is no fool who seeketh good for himself; and the druggist's wife also sought good for herself; but destiny overcometh precaution and there remaineth no abiding for me in this town.' so he went forth from the city. nor (added the vizier) is this story, extraordinary though it be, more extraordinary than that of the king and his son and that which bedded them of wonders and rarities." when the king heard this story, he deemed it pleasant and said, "this story is near unto that which i know and meseemeth i should do well to have patience and hasten not to slay my vizier, so i may get of him the story of the king and his son." then he gave the vizier leave to go away to his own house; so he thanked him and abode in his house all that day. the third night of the month when it was the time of the evening meal, the king repaired to the sitting-chamber and summoning the vizier, sought of him the story he had promised him; and the vizier said, "they avouch, o king, that story of the king who knew the quintessence[fn# ] of things. there came to a king of the kings, in his old age, a son, who grew up comely, quick-witted and intelligent, and when he came to years of discretion and became a young man, his father said to him, 'take this kingdom and govern it in my stead, for i desire to flee [from the world] to god the most high and don the gown of wool and give myself up to devotion.' quoth the prince, 'and i also desire to take refuge with god the most high.' and the king said, 'arise, let us flee forth and make for the mountains and worship in them, for shamefastness before god the most high.' so they gat them raiment of wool and clothing themselves therewith, went forth and wandered in the deserts and wastes; but, when some days had passed over them, they became weak for hunger and repented them of that which they had done, whenas repentance profited them not, and the prince complained to his father of weariness and hunger. 'dear my son,' answered the king, 'i did with thee that which behoved me,[fn# ] but thou wouldst not hearken to me, and now there is no means of returning to thy former estate, for that another hath taken the kingdom and become its defender; but i will counsel thee of somewhat, wherein do thou pleasure me.' quoth the prince, 'what is it?' and his father said, 'take me and go with me to the market and sell me and take my price and do with it what thou wilt, and i shall become the property of one who will provide for my support,' 'who will buy thee of me,' asked the prince, 'seeing thou art a very old man? nay, do thou rather sell me, for the demand for me will be greater.' but the king said, 'an thou wert king, thou wouldst require me of service.' so the youth obeyed his father's commandment and taking him, carried him to the slave-dealer and said to the latter, 'sell me this old man.' quoth the dealer, 'who will buy this fellow, and he a man of fourscore?' then said he to the king, 'in what crafts dost thou excel?' quoth he, 'i know the quintessence of jewels and i know the quintessence of horses and that of men; brief, i know the quintessence of all things.' so the dealer took him and went about, offering him for sale to the folk; but none would buy. presently, up came the overseer of the [sultan's] kitchen and said, 'what is this man?' and the dealer answered, 'this is a slave for sale.' the cook marvelled at this and bought the king for ten thousand dirhems, after questioning him of what he could do. then he paid down the money and carried him to his house, but dared not employ him in aught of service; so he appointed him an allowance, such as should suffice for his livelihood, and repented him of having bought him, saying, 'what shall i do with the like of this fellow?' presently, the king [of the city] was minded to go forth to his garden,[fn# ] a-pleasuring, and bade the cook forego him thither and appoint in his stead one who should dress meat for the king, so that, when he returned, he might find it ready. so the cook fell a-considering of whom he should appoint and was bewildered concerning his affair. as he was on this wise, the old man came to him and seeing him perplexed how he should do, said to him, 'tell me what is in thy mind; belike, i may avail to relieve thee.' so he acquainted him with the king's wishes and he said, 'have no care for this, but leave me one of the serving-men and go thou in peace and surety, for i will suffice thee of this.' so the cook departed with the king, after he had brought the old man what he needed and left him a man of the guards. when he was gone, the old man bade the trooper wash the kitchen-vessels and made ready passing goodly food. when the king returned, he set the meat before him, and he tasted food whose like he had never known; whereat he marvelled and asked who had dressed it. so they acquainted him with the old man's case and he summoned him to his presence and awarded him a handsome recompense.[fn# ] moreover, he commanded that they should cook together, he and the cook, and the old man obeyed his commandment. awhile after this, there came two merchants to the king with two pearls of price and each of them avouched that his pearl was worth a thousand dinars, but there was none who availed to value them. then said the cook, 'god prosper the king! verily, the old man whom i bought avouched that he knew the quintessence of jewels and that he was skilled in cookery. we have made proof of him in cookery and have found him the skilfullest of men; and now, if we send after him and prove him on jewels, [the truth or falsehood of] his pretension will be made manifest to us.' so the king bade fetch the old man and he came and stood before the sultan, who showed him the two pearls. quoth he, 'as for this one, it is worth a thousand dinars.' and the king said, 'so saith its owner.' 'but for this other,' continued the old man, 'it is worth but five hundred.' the folk laughed and marvelled at his saying, and the merchant, [the owner of the second pearl], said to him, 'how can this, which is greater of bulk and purer of water and more perfect of rondure, be less of worth than that?' and the old man answered, 'i have said what is with me.'[fn# ] then said the king to him, 'indeed, the outward appearance thereof is like unto that of the other pearl; why then is it worth but the half of its price?' 'yes,' answered the old man, '[its outward resembleth the other]; but its inward is corrupt.' 'hath a pearl then an outward and an inward?' asked the merchant, and the old man said, 'yes. in its inward is a boring worm; but the other pearl is sound and secure against breakage.' quoth the merchant, 'give us a token of this and prove to us the truth of thy saying.' and the old man answered, 'we will break the pearl. if i prove a, liar, here is my head, and if i speak truth, thou wilt have lost thy pearl.' and the merchant said, 'i agree to that.' so they broke the pearl and it was even as the old man had said, to wit, in its midst was a boring worm. the king marvelled at what he saw and questioned him of [how he came by] the knowledge of this. 'o king,' answered the old man, 'this [kind of] jewel is engendered in the belly of a creature called the oyster and its origin is a drop of rain and it is firm to the touch [and groweth not warm, when held in the hand]; so, when [i took the second pearl and felt that] it was warm to the touch, i knew that it harboured some living thing, for that live things thrive not but in heat.'[fn# ] so the king said to the cook, 'increase his allowance.' and he appointed to him [fresh] allowances. awhile after this, two merchants presented themselves to the king with two horses, and one said, 'i ask a thousand dinars for my horse,' and the other, 'i seek five thousand for mine.' quoth the cook, 'we have experienced the old man's just judgment; what deemeth the king of fetching him?' so the king bade fetch him, and when he saw the two horses, he said, 'this one is worth a thousand and the other two thousand dinars.' quoth the folk, 'this [horse that thou judgeth the lesser worth] is an evident thoroughbred and he is younger and swifter and more compact of limb than the other, ay, and finer of head and clearer of skin and colour. what token, then, hast thou of the truth of thy saying?' and the old man said, 'this ye say is all true, but his sire is old and this other is the son of a young horse. now, when the son of an old horse standeth still [to rest,] his breath returneth not to him and his rider falleth into the hand of him who followeth after him; but the son of a young horse, if thou put him to speed and make him run, [then check him] and alight from off him, thou wilt find him untired, by reason of his robustness.' quoth the merchant, 'indeed, it is as the old man avoucheth and he is an excellent judge.' and the king said, 'increase his allowance.' but the old man stood still and did not go away. so the king said to him, 'why dost thou not go about thy business?' and he answered, 'my business is with the king.' 'name what thou wouldst have,' said the king, and the other replied, 'i would have thee question me of the quintessences of men, even as thou hast questioned me of the quintessences of horses.' quoth the king, 'we have no occasion to question thee of [this].' but the old man replied, 'i have occasion to acquaint thee.' 'say what thou pleasest,' rejoined the king, and the old man said, 'verily, the king is the son of a baker.' quoth the king 'how knowest thou that?' and the other replied, 'know, o king, that i have examined into degrees and dignities[fn# ] and have learnt this.' thereupon the king went in to his mother and questioned her of his father, and she told him that me king her husband was weak;[fn# ] 'wherefore,' quoth she, 'i feared for the kingdom, lest it pass away, after his death; so i took to my bed a young man, a baker, and conceived by him [and bore a son]; and the kingship came into the hand of my son, to wit, thyself.' so the king returned to the old man and said to him, 'i am indeed the son of a baker; so do thou expound to me the means whereby thou knewest me for this.' quoth the other, 'i knew that, hadst thou been a king's son, thou wouldst have given largesse of things of price, such as rubies [and the like]; and wert thou the son of a cadi, thou hadst given largesse of a dirhem or two dirhems, and wert thou the son of a merchant, thou hadst given wealth galore. but i saw that thou guerdonest me not but with cakes of bread [and other victual], wherefore i knew that thou wast the son of a baker.' quoth the king, 'thou hast hit the mark.' and he gave him wealth galore and advanced him to high estate." this story pleased king shah bekht and he marvelled thereat; but the vizier said to him, "this story is not more extraordinary than that of the rich man who married his fair daughter to the poor old man." the king's mind was occupied with the [promised] story and he bade the vizier withdraw to his lodging. so he [returned to his house and] abode there the rest of the night and the whole of the following day. the fourth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king withdrew to his privy sitting-chamber and bade fetch the vizier. when he presented himself before him, he said to him, "tell me the story of the wealthy man who married his daughter to the poor old man." "it is well," answered the vizier. "know, o puissant king, that story of the rich man who gave his fair daughter in marriage to the poor old man. a certain wealthy merchant had a fair daughter, who was as the full moon, and when she attained the age of fifteen, her father betook himself to an old man and spreading him a carpet in his sitting-chamber, gave him to eat and caroused with him. then said he to him, 'i desire to marry thee to my daughter.' the other excused himself, because of his poverty, and said to him, 'i am not worthy of her nor am i a match for thee.' the merchant was instant with him, but he repeated his answer to him, saying, 'i will not consent to this till thou acquaint me with the reason of thy desire for me. if i find it reasonable, i will fall in with thy wish; and if not, i will not do this ever.' 'know, then,' said the merchant, 'that i am a man from the land of china and was in my youth well-favoured and well-to-do. now i made no account of womankind, one and all, but followed after boys, and one night i saw, in a dream, as it were a balance set up, and it was said by it, "this is the portion of such an one." presently, i heard my own name; so i looked and beheld a woman of the utmost loathliness; whereupon i awoke in affright and said, "i will never marry, lest haply this loathly woman fall to my lot." then i set out for this city with merchandise and the voyage was pleasant to me and the sojourn here, so that i took up my abode here awhile and got me friends and factors, till i had sold all my merchandise and taken its price and there was left me nothing to occupy me till the folk[fn# ] should depart and depart with them. one day, i changed my clothes and putting money in my sleeve, sallied forth to explore the holes and corners of this city, and as i was going about, i saw a handsome house. its goodliness pleased me; so i stood looking on it, and behold, a lovely woman [at the lattice]. when she saw me, she made haste and descended, whilst i abode confounded. then i betook myself to a tailor there and questioned him of the house and to whom it belonged. quoth he, "it belongeth to such an one the notary, may god curse him!" "is he her father?" asked i; [and he replied, "yes."] so i repaired in haste to a man, with whom i had been used to deposit my goods for sale, and told him that i desired to gain access to such an one the notary. accordingly he assembled his friends and we betook ourselves to the notary's house. when we came in to him, we saluted him and sat with him, and i said to him, "i come to thee as a suitor, desiring the hand of thy daughter in marriage." quoth he, "i have no daughter befitting this man." and i rejoined, "god aid thee! my desire is for thee and not for her."[fn# ] but he still refused and his friends said to him, "this is an honourable man and thine equal in estate, and it is not lawful to thee that thou hinder the girl of her fortune." quoth he to them, "verily, my daughter whom ye seek is passing foul-favoured and in her are all blameworthy qualities." and i said, "i accept her, though she be as thou sayest." then said the folk, "extolled be the perfection of god! a truce to talk! [the thing is settled;] so say the word, how much wilt thou have [to her dowry]?" quoth he, "i must have four thousand dinars." and i said, "hearkening and obedience." so the affair was concluded and we drew up the contract of marriage and i made the bride-feast; but on the wedding-night i beheld a thing[fn# ] than which never made god the most high aught more loathly. methought her people had contrived this by way of sport; so i laughed and looked for my mistress, whom i had seen [at the lattice], to make her appearance; but saw her not. when the affair was prolonged and i found none but her, i was like to go mad for vexation and fell to beseeching my lord and humbling myself in supplication to him that he would deliver me from her. when i arose in the morning, there came the chamber-woman and said to me, "hast thou occasion for the bath?" "no," answered i; and she said, "art thou for breakfast?" but i replied, "no;" and on this wise i abode three days, tasting neither meat nor drink. when the damsel[fn# ] saw me in this plight, she said to me, "o man, tell me thy story, for, by allah, an i may avail to thy deliverance, i will assuredly further thee thereto." i gave ear to her speech and put faith in her loyalty and told her the story of the damsel whom i had seen [at the lattice] and how i had fallen in love with her; whereupon quoth she, "if the girl belong to me, that which i possess is thine, and if she belong to my father, i will demand her of him and deliver her to thee." then she fell to calling slave-girl after slave-girl and showing them to me, till i saw the damsel whom i loved and said, "this is she." quoth my wife, "let not thy heart be troubled, for this is my slave-girl. my father gave her to me and i give her to thee. so comfort thyself and be of good heart and cheerful eye." then, when it was night, she brought her to me, after she had adorned her and perfumed her, and said to her, "gainsay not this thy lord in aught that he shall seek of thee." when she came to bed with me, i said in myself, "verily, this damsel[fn# ] is more generous than i!" then i sent away the slave-girl and drew not nigh unto her, but arose forthright and betaking myself to my wife, lay with her and did away her maidenhead. she straightway conceived by me and accomplishing the time of her pregnancy, gave birth to this dear little daughter; in whom i rejoiced, for that she was lovely to the utterest, and she hath inherited her mother's wit and her father's comeliness. indeed, many of the notables of the people have sought her of me in marriage, but i would not marry her to any, for that, one night, i saw, in a dream, the balance aforesaid set up and men and women being weighed, one against the other, therein, and meseemed i saw thee [and her] and it was said to me, "this is such a man,[fn# ] the allotted portion of such a woman."[fn# ] wherefore i knew that god the most high had allotted unto her none other than thyself, and i choose rather to marry thee to her in my lifetime than that thou shouldst marry her after my death.' when the poor man heard the merchant's story, he became desirous of marrying his daughter. so he took her to wife and was vouchsafed of her exceeding love. nor," added the vizier, "is this story more extraordinary than that of the rich man and his wasteful heir." when the king heard his vizier's story, he was assured that he would not slay him and said, "i will have patience with him, so i may get of him the story of the rich man and his wasteful heir." and he bade him depart to his own house. the fifth night of the month when the evening evened, the king sat in his privy closet and summoning the vizier, required of him the promised story. so er rehwan said, "know, o king, that story of the rich man and his wasteful son. there was once a sage of the sages, who had three sons and sons' sons, and when they waxed many and their posterity multiplied, there befell dissension between them. so he assembled them and said to them, 'be ye one hand[fn# ] against other than you and despise[fn# ] not [one another,] lest the folk despise you, and know that the like of you is as the rope which the man cut, when it was single; then he doubled [it] and availed not to cut it; on this wise is division and union. and beware lest ye seek help of others against yourselves[fn# ] or ye will fall into perdition, for by whosesoever means ye attain your desire,[fn# ] his word[fn# ] will have precedence of[fn# ] your word. now i have wealth which i will bury in a certain place, so it may be a store for you, against the time of your need.' then they left him and dispersed and one of the sons fell to spying upon his father, so that he saw him hide the treasure without the city. when he had made an end of burying it, he returned to his house; and when the morning morrowed, his son repaired to the place where he had seen his father bury the treasure and dug and took it and went his way. when the [hour of the] old man's admission [to the mercy of god] drew nigh, he called his sons to him and acquainted them with the place where he had hidden his riches. as soon as he was dead, they went and dug up the treasure and found wealth galore, for that the money, which the first son had taken by stealth, was on the surface and he knew not that under it was other money. so they took it and divided it and the first son took his share with the rest and laid it to that which he had taken aforetime, behind [the backs of] his father and his brethren. then he took to wife the daughter of his father's brother and was vouchsafed by her a male child, who was the goodliest of the folk of his time. when the boy grew up, his father feared for him from poverty and change of case, so he said to him, 'dear my son, know that in my youth i wronged my brothers in the matter of our father's good, and i see thee in weal; but, if thou [come to] need, ask not of one of them nor of any other, for i have laid up for thee in yonder chamber a treasure; but do not thou open it until thou come to lack thy day's food.' then he died, and his wealth, which was a great matter, fell to his son. the young man had not patience to wait till he had made an end of that which was with him, but rose and opened the chamber, and behold, it was [empty and its walls were] whitened, and in its midst was a rope hanging down and half a score bricks, one upon another, and a scroll, wherein was written, 'needs must death betide; so hang thyself and beg not of any, but kick away the bricks, so there may be no escape[fn# ] for thee, and thou shall be at rest from the exultation of enemies and enviers and the bitterness of poverty.' when the youth saw this, he marvelled at that which his father had done and said, 'this is a sorry treasure.' then he went forth and fell to eating and drinking with the folk, till nothing was left him and he abode two days without tasting food, at the end of which time he took a handkerchief and selling it for two dirhems, bought bread and milk with the price and left it on the shelf [and went out. whilst he was gone,] a dog came and took the bread and spoiled the milk, and when the man returned and saw this, he buffeted his face and went forth, distraught, at a venture. presently, he met a friend of his, to whom he discovered his case, and the other said to him, 'art thou not ashamed to talk thus? how hast thou wasted all this wealth and now comest telling lies and saying, "the dog hath mounted on the shelf," and talking nonsense?' and he reviled him. so the youth returned to his house, and indeed the world was grown black in his eyes and he said, 'my father said sooth.' then he opened the chamber door and piling up the bricks under his feet, put the rope about his neck and kicked away the bricks and swung himself off; whereupon the rope gave way with him [and he fell] to the ground and the ceiling clove in sunder and there poured down on him wealth galore, so he knew that his father meant to discipline[fn# ] him by means of this and invoked god's mercy on him. then he got him again that which he had sold of lands and houses and what not else and became once more in good case. moreover, his friends returned to him and he entertained them some days. then said he to them one day, 'there was with us bread and the locusts ate it; so we put in its place a stone, a cubit long and the like broad, and the locusts came and gnawed away the stone, because of the smell of the bread.' quoth one of his friends (and it was he who had given him the lie concerning the dog and the bread and milk), 'marvel not at this, for mice do more than that.' and he said, 'go to your houses. in the days of my poverty, i was a liar [when i told you] of the dog's climbing upon the shelf and eating the bread and spoiling the milk; and to-day, for that i am rich again, i say sooth [when i tell you] that locusts devoured a stone a cubit long and a cubit broad.' they were confounded at his speech and departed from him; and the youth's good flourished and his case was amended.[fn# ] nor," added the vizier,"is this stranger or more extraordinary than the story of the king's son who fell in love with the picture." quoth the king, "belike, if i hear this story, i shall gain wisdom from it; so i will not hasten in the slaying of this vizier, nor will i put him to death before the thirty days have expired." then he gave him leave to withdraw, and he went away to his own house. the sixth night of the month when the day departed and the evening came, the king sat in his privy chamber and summoned the vizier, who presented himself to him and he questioned him of the story. so the vizier said, "know, o august king, that the king's son who fell in love with the picture. there was once, in a province of persia, a king of the kings, who was mighty of estate, endowed with majesty and venerance and having troops and guards at his command; but he was childless. towards the end of his life, his lord vouchsafed him a male child, and the boy grew up and was comely and learned all manner of knowledge. he made him a private place, to wit, a lofty palace, builded with coloured marbles and [adorned with] jewels and paintings. when the prince entered the palace, he saw in its ceiling the picture [of a woman], than whom he had never beheld a fairer of aspect, and she was compassed about with slave-girls; whereupon he fell down in a swoon and became distraught for love of her. then he sat under the picture, till, one day, his father came in to him and finding him wasted of body and changed of colour, by reason of his [continual] looking on that picture, thought that he was ill and sent for the sages and physicians, that they might medicine him. moreover, he said to one of his boon- companions, 'if thou canst learn what aileth my son, thou shalt have of me largesse.' so the courtier went in to the prince and spoke him fair and cajoled him, till he confessed to him that his malady was caused by the picture. then he returned to the king and told him what ailed his son, whereupon he transported the prince to another palace and made his former lodging the guest-house; and whosoever of the arabs was entertained therein, he questioned of the picture, but none could give him tidings thereof. one day, there came a traveller and seeing the picture, said, 'there is no god but god! my brother wrought this picture.' so the king sent for him and questioned him of the affair of the picture and where was he who had wrought it. 'o my lord,' answered the traveller, 'we are two brothers and one of us went to the land of hind and fell in love with the king's daughter of the country, and it is she who is the original of the portrait. in every city he entereth, he painteth her portrait, and i follow him, and long is my journey.' when the king's son heard this, he said,'needs must i travel to this damsel.' so he took all manner rarities and store of riches and journeyed days and nights till he entered the land of hind, nor did he win thereto save after sore travail. then he enquired of the king of hind and he also heard of him. when the prince came before him, he sought of him his daughter in marriage, and the king said, 'indeed, thou art her equal, but none dare name a man to her, because of her aversion to men.' so the prince pitched his tents under the windows of the princess's palace, till one day he got hold of one of her favourite slave-girls and gave her wealth galore. quoth she to him, 'hast thou a wish?' �yes,' answered he and acquainted her with his case; and she said, 'indeed thou puttest thyself in peril.' then he abode, flattering himself with false hopes, till all that he had with him was gone and the servants fled from him; whereupon quoth he to one in whom he trusted, 'i am minded to go to my country and fetch what may suffice me and return hither.' and the other answered, 'it is for thee to decide.' so they set out to return, but the way was long to them and all that the prince had with him was spent and his company died and there abode but one with him, on whom he loaded what remained of the victual and they left the rest and fared on. then there came out a lion and ate the servant, and the prince abode alone. he went on, till his beast stood still, whereupon he left her and fared on afoot till his feet swelled. presently he came to the land of the turks,[fn# ] and he naked and hungry and having with him nought but somewhat of jewels, bound about his fore-arm. so he went to the bazaar of the goldsmiths and calling one of the brokers, gave him the jewels. the broker looked and seeing two great rubies, said to him, 'follow me.' so he followed him, till he brought him to a goldsmith, to whom he gave the jewels, saying, 'buy these.' quoth he, 'whence hadst thou these?' and the broker replied, 'this youth is the owner of them.' then said the goldsmith to the prince, 'whence hadst thou these rubies?' and he told him all that had befallen him and that he was a king's son. the goldsmith marvelled at his story and bought of him the rubies for a thousand dinars. then said the prince to him, 'make ready to go with me to my country.' so he made ready and went with the prince till he drew near the frontiers of his father's kingdom, where the people received him with the utmost honour and sent to acquaint his father with his son's coming. the king came out to meet him and they entreated the goldsmith with honour. the prince abode awhile with his father, then set out, [he and the goldsmith] to return to the country of the fair one, the daughter of the king of hind; but there met him robbers by the way and he fought the sorest of battles and was slain. the goldsmith buried him and marked his grave[fn# ] and returned, sorrowing and distraught to his own country, without telling any of the prince's death. to return to the king's daughter of whom the prince went in quest and on whose account he was slain. she had been used to look out from the top of her palace and gaze on the youth and on his beauty and grace; so she said to her slave-girl one day, 'harkye! what is come of the troops that were encamped beside my palace?' quoth the maid, 'they were the troops of the youth, the king's son of the persians, who came to demand thee in marriage, and wearied himself on thine account, but thou hadst no compassion on him.' 'out on thee!' cried the princess. 'why didst thou not tell me?' and the damsel answered, 'i feared thy wrath.' then she sought an audience of the king her father and said to him, 'by allah, i will go in quest of him, even as he came in quest of me; else should i not do him justice.' so she made ready and setting out, traversed the deserts and spent treasures till she came to sejestan, where she called a goldsmith to make her somewhat of trinkets. [now the goldsmith in question was none other than the prince's friend]; so, when he saw her, he knew her (for that the prince had talked with him of her and had depictured her to him) and questioned her of her case. she acquainted him with her errand, whereupon he buffeted his face and rent his clothes and strewed dust on his head and fell a-weeping. quoth she, 'why dost thou thus?' and he acquainted her with the prince's case and how he was his comrade and told her that he was dead; whereat she grieved for him and faring on to his father and mother, [acquainted them with the case]. so the prince's father and his uncle and his mother and the grandees of the realm repaired to his tomb and the princess made lamentation over him, crying aloud. she abode by the tomb a whole month; then she let fetch painters and caused them limn her portraiture and that of the king's son. moreover, she set down in writing their story and that which had befallen them of perils and afflictions and set it [together with the pictures], at the head of the tomb; and after a little, they departed from the place. nor," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary, o king of the age, than the story of the fuller and his wife and the trooper and what passed between them." with this the king bade the vizier go away to his lodging, and when he arose in the morning, he abode his day in his house. the seventh night of the month. at eventide the king sat [in his privy sitting-chamber] and sending for the vizier, said to him, "tell me the story of the fuller and his wife." "with all my heart," answered the vizier. so he came forward and said, "know, o king of the age, that story of the fuller and his wife. there was once in a certain city a woman fair of favour, who had to lover a trooper. her husband was a fuller, and when he went out to his business, the trooper used to come to her and abide with her till the time of the fuller's return, when he would go away. on this wise they abode awhile, till one day the trooper said to his mistress, 'i mean to take me a house near unto thine and dig an underground passage from my house to thy house, and do thou say to thy husband, "my sister hath been absent with her husband and now they have returned from their travels; and i have made her take up her sojourn in my neighbourhood, so i may foregather with her at all times. so go thou to her husband the trooper and offer him thy wares [for sale], and thou wilt see my sister with him and wilt see that she is i and i am she, without doubt. so, allah, allah, go to my sister's husband and give ear to that which he shall say to thee."' accordingly, the trooper bought him a house near at hand and made therein an underground passage communicating with his mistress's house. when he had accomplished his affair, the wife bespoke her husband as her lover had lessoned her and he went out to go to the trooper's house, but turned back by the way, whereupon quoth she to him, 'by allah, go forthright, for that my sister asketh of thee.' so the dolt of a fuller went out and made for the trooper's house, whilst his wife forewent him thither by the secret passage, and going up, sat down beside her lover. presently, the fuller entered and saluted the trooper and his [supposed] wife and was confounded at the coincidence of the case.[fn# ] then doubt betided him and he returned in haste to his dwelling; but she forewent him by the underground passage to her chamber and donning her wonted clothes, sat [waiting] for him and said to him, 'did i not bid thee go to my sister and salute her husband and make friends with them?' quoth he, 'i did this, but i misdoubted of my affair, when i saw his wife.' and she said, 'did i not tell thee that she resembleth me and i her, and there is nought to distinguish between us but our clothes? go back to her.' so, of the heaviness of his wit, he believed her and turning back, went in to the trooper; but she had foregone him, and when he saw her beside her lover, he fell to looking on her and pondering. then he saluted her and she returned him the salutation; and when she spoke, he was bewildered. so the trooper said to him, 'what ails thee to be thus?' and he answered, 'this woman is my wife and the voice is her voice.' then he rose in haste and returning to his own house, saw his wife, who had foregone him by the secret passage. so he went back to the trooper's house and saw her sitting as before; whereupon he was abashed before her and sitting down in the trooper's sitting-chamber, ate and drank with him and became drunken and abode without sense all that day till nightfall, when the trooper arose and shaving off some of the fuller's hair (which was long and flowing) after the fashion of the turks, clipped the rest short and clapped a tarboush on his head. then he thrust his feet into boots and girt him with a sword and a girdle and bound about his middle a quiver and a bow and arrows. moreover, he put money in his pocket and thrust into his sleeve letters-patent addressed to the governor of ispahan, bidding him assign to rustem khemartekeni a monthly allowance of a hundred dirhems and ten pounds of bread and five pounds of meat and enrol him among the turks under his commandment. then he took him up and carrying him forth, left him in one of the mosques. the fuller gave not over sleeping till sunrise, when he awoke and finding himself in this plight, misdoubted of his affair and imagined that he was a turk and abode putting one foot forward and drawing the other back. then said he in himself, 'i will go to my dwelling, and if my wife know me, then am i ahmed the fuller; but, if she know me not, i am a turk.' so he betook himself to his house; but when the artful baggage his wife saw him, she cried out in his face, saying, 'whither away, o trooper? wilt thou break into the house of ahmed the fuller, and he a man of repute, having a brother-in-law a turk, a man of high standing with the sultan? an thou depart not, i will acquaint my husband and he will requite thee thy deed.' when he heard her words, the dregs of the drunkenness wrought in him and he imagined that he was indeed a turk. so he went out from her and putting his hand to his sleeve, found therein a scroll and gave it to one who read it to him. when he heard that which was written in the scroll, his mind was confirmed in the false supposition; but he said in himself, 'maybe my wife seeketh to put a cheat on me; so i will go to my fellows the fullers; and if they know me not, then am i for sure khemartekeni the turk.' so he betook himself to the fullers and when they espied him afar off, they thought that he was one of the turks, who used to wash their clothes with them without payment and give them nothing. now they had complained of them aforetime to the sultan, and he said, 'if any of the turks come to you, pelt them with stones.' so, when they saw the fuller, they fell upon him with sticks and stones and pelted him; whereupon quoth he [in himself], 'verily, i am a turk and knew it not.' then he took of the money in his pocket and bought him victual [for the journey] and hired a hackney and set out for ispahan, leaving his wife to the trooper. nor," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary than the story of the merchant and the old woman and the king." the vizier's story pleased king shah bekht and his heart clave to the story of the merchant and the old woman; so he bade er rehwan withdraw to his lodging, and he went away to his house and abode there the next day. the eight night of the month when the evening evened, the king sat in his privy chamber and bade fetch the vizier, who presented himself before him, and the king required of him the promised story. so the vizier answered, "with all my heart. know, o king, that story of the old woman, the merchant and the king. there was once in a city of khorassan a family of affluence and distinction, and the townsfolk used to envy them for that which god had vouchsafed them. as time went on, their fortune ceased from them and they passed away, till there remained of them but one old woman. when she grew feeble and decrepit, the townsfolk succoured her not with aught, but put her forth of the city, saying, 'this old woman shall not harbour with us, for that we do her kindness and she requiteth us with evil.' so she took shelter in a ruined place and strangers used to bestow alms upon her, and on this wise she abode a while of time. now the uncle's son of the king of the city had aforetime disputed [the kingship] with him, and the people misliked the king; but god the most high decreed that he should get the better of his cousin. however, jealousy of him abode in his heart and he acquainted the vizier, who hid it not and sent [him] money. moreover, he fell to summoning [all strangers who came to the town], man after man, and questioning them of their faith and their worldly estate, and whoso answered him not [to his liking], he took his good.[fn# ] now a certain wealthy man of the muslims was on a journey and it befell that he arrived at that city by night, unknowing what was to do, and coming to the ruin aforesaid, gave the old woman money and said to her, 'no harm upon thee.' whereupon she lifted up her voice and prayed [for him], he set down his merchandise by her [and abode with her] the rest of the night and the next day. now thieves had followed him, so they might rob him of his good, but availed not unto aught; wherefore he went up to the old woman and kissed her head and exceeded in munificence to her. then she [warned him of that which awaited strangers entering the town and] said to him, 'i like not this for thee and i fear mischief for thee from these questions that the vizier hath appointed for the confrontation of the ignorant.' and she expounded to him the case according to its fashion. then said she to him, 'but have no concern: only carry me with thee to thy lodging, and if he question thee of aught, whilst i am with thee, i will expound the answers to thee.' se he carried her with him to the city and established her in his lodging and entreated her kindly. presently, the vizier heard of the merchant's coming; so he sent to him and let bring him to his house and talked with him awhile of his travels and of that which he had abidden therein, and the merchant answered him thereof. then said the vizier, 'i will put certain questions to thee, which if thou answer me, it will be well [for thee].' and the merchant rose and made him no answer. quoth the vizier, 'what is the weight of the elephant?' the merchant was perplexed and returned him no answer and gave himself up for lost. then said he, 'grant me three days' time.' so the vizier granted him the delay he sought and he returned to his lodging and related what had passed to the old woman, who said, 'when the morrow cometh, go to the vizier and say to him, "make a ship and launch it on the sea and put in it an elephant, and when it sinketh in the water, [under the beast's weight], mark the place to which the water riseth. then take out the elephant and cast in stones in its place, till the ship sink to the mark aforesaid; whereupon do thou take out the stones and weigh them and thou wilt know the weight of the elephant"' so, when he arose in the morning, he repaired to the vizier and repeated to him that which the old woman had taught him; whereat the vizier marvelled and said to him, 'what sayst thou of a man, who seeth in his house four holes, and in each a viper offering to come out and kill him, and in his house are four staves and each hole may not be stopped but with the ends of two staves? how shall he stop all the holes and deliver himself from the vipers?' when the merchant heard this, there betided him [of concern] what made him forget the first and he said to the vizier, 'grant me time, so i may consider the answer.' 'go out,' replied the vizier, 'and bring me the answer, or i will seize thy good.' the merchant went out and returned to the old woman, who, seeing him changed of colour, said to him, 'what did he ask thee, [may god confound] his hoariness?' so he acquainted her with the case and she said to him, 'fear not; i will bring thee forth of this [strait].' quoth he, 'god requite thee with good!' and she said, 'to-morrow go to him with a stout heart and say, "the answer to that whereof thou askest me is that thou put the heads of two staves into one of the holes; then take the other two staves and lay them across the middle of the first two and stop with their heads the second hole and with their butts the fourth hole. then take the butts of the first two staves and stop with them the third hole."'[fn# ] so he repaired to the vizier and repeated to him the answer; and he marvelled at its justness and said to him, 'go; by allah, i will ask thee no more questions, for thou with thy skill marrest my foundation.'[fn# ] then he entreated him friendly and the merchant acquainted him with the affair of the old woman; whereupon quoth the vizier, 'needs must the man of understanding company with those of understanding.' thus did this weak woman restore to that man his life and good on the easiest wise. nor," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary than the story of the credulous husband." when the king heard this story, he said, "how like is this to our own case!" then he bade the vizier retire to his lodging; so he withdrew to his house and on the morrow he abode at home [till the king should summon him to his presence.] the ninth night of the month. when the night came, the king sat in his privy chamber and sending after the vizier, sought of him the promised story; and he said, "know, o august king, that story of the credulous husband there was once of old time a foolish, ignorant man, who had wealth galore, and his wife was a fair woman, who loved a handsome youth. the latter used to watch for her husband's absence and come to her, and on this wise he abode a long while. one day, as the woman was private with her lover, he said to her, 'o my lady and my beloved, if thou desire me and love me, give me possession of thyself and accomplish my need in thy husband's presence; else will i never again come to thee nor draw near thee, what while i abide on life.' now she loved him with an exceeding love and could not brook his separation an hour nor could endure to vex him; so, when she heard his words, she said to him, ['so be it,] in god's name, o my beloved and solace of mine eyes, may he not live who would vex thee!' quoth he, 'to-day?' and she said, 'yes, by thy life,' and appointed him of this. when her husband came home, she said to him, 'i desire to go a-pleasuring.' and he said, ' with all my heart.' so he went, till he came to a goodly place, abounding in vines and water, whither he carried her and pitched her a tent beside a great tree; and she betook herself to a place beside the tent and made her there an underground hiding-place, [in which she hid her lover]. then said she to her husband, 'i desire to mount this tree.' and he said, 'do so.' so she climbed up and when she came to the top of the tree, she cried out and buffeted her face, saying, 'lewd fellow that thou art, are these thy usages? thou sworest [fidelity to me] and liedst.' and she repeated her speech twice and thrice. then she came down from the tree and rent her clothes and said, 'o villain, if these be thy dealings with me before my eyes, how dost thou when thou art absent from me?' quoth he, 'what aileth thee?' and she said, 'i saw thee swive the woman before my very eyes.' 'not so, by allah!' cried he. 'but hold thy peace till i go up and see.' so he climbed the tree and no sooner did he begin to do so than up came the lover [from his hiding-place] and taking the woman by the legs, [fell to swiving her]. when the husband came to the top of the tree, he looked and beheld a man swiving his wife. so he said, 'o strumpet, what doings are these?' and he made haste to come down from the tree to the ground; [but meanwhile the lover had returned to his hiding- place] and his wife said to him, 'what sawest thou?' 'i saw a man swive thee,' answered he; and she said, 'thou liest; thou sawest nought and sayst this but of conjecture.' on this wise they did three times, and every time [he climbed the tree] the lover came up out of the underground place and bestrode her, whilst her husband looked on and she still said, 'o liar, seest thou aught?' 'yes,' would he answer and came down in haste, but saw no one and she said to him, 'by my life, look and say nought but the truth!' then said he to her, 'arise, let us depart this place,[fn# ] for it is full of jinn and marids.' [so they returned to their house] and passed the night [there] and the man arose in the morning, assured that this was all but imagination and illusion. and so the lover accomplished his desire.[fn# ] nor, o king of the age," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary than the story of the king and the tither." when the king heard this from the vizier, he bade him go away [and he withdrew to his house]. the tenth night of the month. when it was eventide, the king summoned the vizier and sought of him the story of the king and the tither, and he said, "know, o king, that story of the unjust king and the tither. there was once a king of the kings of the earth, who dwelt in a populous[fn# ] city, abounding in good; but he oppressed its people and used them foully, so that he ruined[fn# ] the city; and he was named none other than tyrant and misdoer. now he was wont, whenas he heard of a masterful man[fn# ] in another land, to send after him and tempt him with money to take service with him; and there was a certain tither, who exceeded all his brethren in oppression of the people and foulness of dealing. so the king sent after him and when he stood before him, he found him a mighty man[fn# ] and said to him, 'thou hast been praised to me, but meseemeth thou overpassest the description. set out to me somewhat of thy sayings and doings, so i may be dispensed therewith from [enquiring into] all thy circumstance.' 'with all my heart,' answered the other. 'know, o king, that i oppress the folk and people[fn# ] the land, whilst other than i wasteth[fn# ] it and peopleth it not.' now the king was leaning back; so he sat up and said, 'tell me of this.' 'it is well,' answered the tither. 'i go to the man whom i purpose to tithe and circumvent him and feign to be occupied with certain business, so that i seclude myself therewith from the folk; and meanwhile the man is squeezed after the foulest fashion, till nothing is left him. then i appear and they come in to me and questions befall concerning him and i say, "indeed, i was ordered worse than this, for some one (may god curse him!) hath slandered him to the king." then i take half of his good and return him the rest publicly before the folk and send him away to his house, in all honour and worship, and he causeth the money returned to be carried before him, whilst he and all who are with him call down blessings on me. so is it published in the city that i have returned him his money and he himself saith the like, so he may have a claim on me for the favour due to whoso praiseth me. then i feign to forget him till some time[fn# ] hath passed over him, when i send for him and recall to him somewhat of that which hath befallen aforetime and demand [of him] somewhat privily. so he doth this and hasteneth to his dwelling and sendeth what i bid him, with a glad heart. then i send to another man, between whom and the other is enmity, and lay hands upon him and feign to the first man that it is he who hath traduced him to the king and taken the half of his good; and the people praise me.'[fn# ] the king marvelled at this and at his dealing and contrivance and invested him with [the control of] all his affairs and of his kingdom and the land abode [under his governance] and he said to him, 'take and people.'[fn# ] one day, the tither went out and saw an old man, a woodcutter, and with him wood; so he said to him, 'pay a dirhem tithe for thy load.' quoth the old man, 'behold, thou killest me and killest my family.' 'what [meanest thou]?' said the tither. 'who killeth the folk?' and the other answered, 'if thou suffer me enter the city, i shall sell the wood there for three dirhems, whereof i will give thee one and buy with the other two what will support my family; but, if thou press me for the tithe without the city, the load will sell but for one dirhem and thou wilt take it and i shall abide without food, i and my family. indeed, thou and i in this circumstance are like unto david and solomon, on whom be peace!' ['how so?' asked the tither, and the woodcutter said], 'know that story of david and solomon. certain husbandmen once made complaint to david (on whom be peace!) against certain owners of sheep, whose flocks had fallen upon their crops by night and devoured them, and he bade value the crops [and that the shepherds should make good the amount]. but solomon (on whom be peace!) rose and said, "nay, but let the sheep be delivered to the husbandmen, so they may take their milk and wool, till they have repaid themselves the value of their crops; then let the sheep return to their owners." so david withdrew his own ordinance and caused execute that of solomon; yet was david no oppressor; but solomon's judgment was more pertinent and he showed himself therein better versed in jurisprudence.'[fn# ] when the tither heard the old man's speech, he relented towards him and said to him, 'o old man, i make thee a present of that which is due from thee, and do thou cleave to me and leave me not, so haply i may get of thee profit that shall do away from me my errors and guide me into the way of righteousness.' so the old man followed him, and there met him another with a load of wood. quoth the tither to him, 'pay what is due from thee.' and he answered, 'have patience with me till to-morrow, for i owe the hire of a house, and i will sell another load of wood and pay thee two days' tithe.' but he refused him this and the old man said to him, 'if thou constrain him unto this, thou wilt enforce him quit thy country, for that he is a stranger here and hath no domicile; and if he remove on account of one dirhem, thou wilt lose [of him] three hundred and threescore dirhems a year. thus wilt thou lose the much in keeping the little.' quoth the tither, 'i give him a dirhem every month to the hire of his lodging.' then he went on and presently there met him a third woodcutter and he said to him, 'pay what is due from thee.' and he answered, 'i will pay thee a dirhem when i enter the city; or take of me four danics[fn# ] [now].' quoth the tither, 'i will not do it,' but the old man said to him, 'take of him the four danics presently, for it is easy to take and hard to restore.' 'by allah,' quoth the tither, 'it is good!' and he arose and went on, crying out, at the top of his voice and saying, 'i have no power to-day [to do evil].' then he put off his clothes and went forth wandering at a venture, repenting unto his lord. nor," added the vizier, "is this story more extraordinary than that of the thief who believed the woman and sought refuge with god against falling in with her like, by reason of her cunning contrivance for herself." when the king heard this, he said in himself, "since the tither repented, in consequence of the admonitions [of the woodcutter], it behoves that i spare this vizier, so i may hear the story of the thief and the woman." and he bade er rehwan withdraw to his lodging. the eleventh night of the month. when the evening came and the king sat in his privy chamber, he summoned the vizier and required of him the story of the thief and the woman. quoth the vizier, "know, o king, that story of the thief and the woman. a certain thief was a [cunning] workman and used not to steal aught, till he had spent all that was with him; moreover, he stole not from his neighbours, neither companied with any of the thieves, lest some one should come to know him and his case get wind. on this wise he abode a great while, in flourishing case, and his secret was concealed, till god the most high decreed that he broke in upon a poor man, deeming that he was rich. when he entered the house, he found nought, whereat he was wroth, and necessity prompted him to wake the man, who was asleep with his wife. so he aroused him and said to him, 'show me thy treasure.' now he had no treasure; but the thief believed him not and insisted upon him with threats and blows. when he saw that he got no profit of him, he said to him, 'swear by the oath of divorce from thy wife[fn# ] [that thou hast nothing].' so he swore and his wife said to him, 'out on thee! wilt thou divorce me? is not the treasure buried in yonder chamber?' then she turned to the thief and conjured him to multiply blows upon her husband, till he should deliver to him the treasure, concerning which he had sworn falsely. so he drubbed him grievously, till he carried him to a certain chamber, wherein she signed to him that the treasure was and that he should take it up. so the thief entered, he and the husband; and when they were both in the chamber, she locked on them the door, which was a stout one, and said to the thief, 'out on thee, o fool! thou hast fallen [into the trap] and now i have but to cry out and the officers of the police will come and take thee and thou wilt lose thy life, o satan!' quoth he, 'let me go forth;' and she said, 'thou art a man and i am a woman; and in thy hand is a knife and i am afraid of thee.' quoth he, 'take the knife from me.' so she took the knife from him and said to her husband, 'art thou a woman and he a man? mar his nape with beating, even as he did with thee; and if he put out his hand to thee, i will cry out and the police will come and take him and cut him in sunder.' so the husband said to him, 'o thousand-horned,[fn# ] o dog, o traitor, i owe thee a deposit,[fn# ] for which thou dunnest me.' and he fell to beating him grievously with a stick of live-oak, whilst he called out to the woman for help and besought her of deliverance; but she said, 'abide in thy place till the morning, and thou shalt see wonders.' and her husband beat him within the chamber, till he [well- nigh] made an end of him and he swooned away. then he left beating him and when the thief came to himself, the woman said to her husband, 'o man, this house is on hire and we owe its owners much money, and we have nought; so how wilt thou do?' and she went on to bespeak him thus. quoth the thief, 'and what is the amount of the rent?' 'it will be fourscore dirhems,' answered the husband; and the thief said, 'i will pay this for thee and do thou let me go my way.' then said the wife, 'o man, how much do we owe the baker and the greengrocer?' quoth the thief, 'what is the sum of this?' and the husband said, 'sixscore dirhems.' 'that makes two hundred dirhems,' rejoined the other; 'let me go my way and i will pay them.' but the wife said, 'o my dear one, and the girl groweth up and needs must we marry her and equip her and [do] what else is needful' so the thief said to the husband, 'how much dost thou want?' and he answered, 'a hundred dirhems, in the way of moderation.'[fn# ] quoth the thief, 'that makes three hundred dirhems.' and the woman said, 'o my dear one, when the girl is married, thou wilt need money for winter expenses, charcoal and firewood and other necessaries.' 'what wouldst thou have?' asked the thief; and she said, 'a hundred dirhems.' 'be it four hundred dirhems,' rejoined he; and she said, 'o my dear one and solace of mine eyes, needs must my husband have capital in hand, wherewith he may buy merchandise and open him a shop.' 'how much will that be?' asked he, and she said, 'a hundred dirhems.' quoth the thief, '[that makes five hundred dirhems; i will pay it;] but may i be divorced from my wife if all my possessions amount to more than this, and that the savings of twenty years! let me go my way, so i may deliver them to thee.' 'o fool,' answered she, 'how shall i let thee go thy way? give me a right token.' [so he gave her a token for his wife] and she cried out to her young daughter and said to her, 'keep this door.' then she charged her husband keep watch over the thief, till she should return, and repairing to his wife, acquainted her with his case and told her that her husband the thief had been taken and had compounded for his release, at the price of seven hundred dirhems, and named to her the token. so she gave her the money and she took it and returned to her house. by this time, the dawn had broken; so she let the thief go his way, and when he went out, she said to him, 'o my dear one, when shall i see thee come and take the treasure?' 'o indebted one,' answered he, 'when thou needest other seven hundred dirhems, wherewithal to amend thy case and that of thy children and to discharge thy debts.' and he went out, hardly believing in his deliverance from her. nor," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary than the story of the three men and our lord jesus." and the king bade him depart to his own house. the twelfth night of the month. when it was eventide, the king summoned the vizier and bade him tell the [promised] story, "hearkening and obedience," answered he. "know, o king, that story of the three men and our lord jesus. three men once went out in quest of riches and came upon a block of gold, weighing a hundred pounds. when they saw it, they took it up on their shoulders and fared on with it, till they drew near a certain city, when one of them said, 'let us sit in the mosque, whilst one of us goes and buys us what we may eat." so they sat down in the mosque and one of them arose and entered the city. when he came therein, his soul prompted him to play his fellows false and get the gold for himself alone. so he bought food and poisoned it; but, when he returned to his comrades, they fell upon him and slew him, so they might enjoy the gold without him. then they ate of the [poisoned] food and died, and the gold abode cast down over against them. presently, jesus, son of mary (on whom be peace!) passed by and seeing this, besought god the most high for tidings of their case; so he told him what had betided them, whereat great was his wonderment and he related to his disciples what he had seen. quoth one of them, 'o spirit of god,[fn# ] nought resembleth this but my own story.' 'how so?' asked jesus, and the other said, the disciple's story. 'i was aforetime in such a city and hid a thousand dirhems in a monastery there. after awhile, i went thither and taking the money, bound it about my middle. [then i set out to return] and when i came to the desert, the carrying of the money was burdensome to me. presently, i espied a horseman pricking after me; so i [waited till he came up and] said to him, "o horseman, carry this money [for me] and earn reward and recompense [from god]." "nay," answered he; "i will not do it, for i should weary myself and weary my horse." then he went on, but, before he had gone far, he said in himself, "if i take up the money and spur my horse and forego him, how shall he overtake me?" and i also said in myself, "verily, i erred [in asking him to carry the money]; for, had he taken it and made off, i could have done nought." then he turned back to me and said to me, "hand over the money, that i may carry it for thee." but i answered him, saying, "that which hath occurred to thy mind hath occurred to mine also; so go in peace."' quoth jesus (on whom be peace!), 'had these dealt prudently, they had taken thought for themselves; but they neglected the issues of events; for that whoso acteth prudently is safe and conquereth,[fn# ] and whoso neglecteth precaution perisheth and repenteth.' nor," added the vizier," is this more extraordinary nor goodlier than the story of the king, whose kingdom was restored to him and his wealth, after he had become poor, possessing not a single dirhem." when the king heard this, he said in himself "how like is this to my own story in the matter of the vizier and his slaughter! had i not used precaution, i had put him to death." and he bade er rehwan depart to his own house. the thirteenth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king sent for the vizier to his privy sitting chamber and bade him [tell] the [promised] story. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. they avouch, o king, that story of the dethroned king whose kingdom and good were restored to him. there was once, in a city of hind, a just and beneficent king, and he had a vizier, a man of understanding, just in his judgment, praiseworthy in his policy, in whose hand was the governance of all the affairs of the realm; for he was firmly stablished in the king's favour and high in esteem with the folk of his time, and the king set great store by him and committed himself to him in all his affairs, by reason of his contrivance for his subjects, and he had helpers[fn# ] who were content with him. now the king had a brother, who envied him and would fain have been in his place; and when he was weary of looking for his death and the term of his life seemed distant unto him, he took counsel with certain of his partisans and they said, 'the vizier is the king's counsellor and but for him, there would be left the king no kingdom.' so the king's brother cast about for the ruin of the vizier, but could find no means of accomplishing his design; and when the affair grew long upon him, he said to his wife, 'what deemest thou will advantage us in this?' quoth she, 'what is it?' and he replied, 'i mean in the matter of yonder vizier, who inciteth my brother to devoutness with all his might and biddeth him thereto, and indeed the king is infatuated with his counsel and committeth to him the governance of all things and matters.' quoth she, 'thou sayst truly; but how shall we do with him?' and he answered, 'i have a device, so thou wilt help me in that which i shall say to thee.' quoth she, 'thou shall have my help in whatsoever thou desirest.' and he said, 'i mean to dig him a pit in the vestibule and dissemble it artfully.' so he did this, and when it was night, he covered the pit with a light covering, so that, whenas the vizier stepped upon it, it would give way with him. then he sent to him and summoned him to the presence in the king's name, and the messenger bade him enter by the privy door. so he entered in thereat, alone, and when he stepped upon the covering of the pit, it gave way with him and he fell to the bottom; whereupon the king's brother fell to pelting him with stones. when the vizier saw what had betided him, he gave himself up for lost; so he stirred not and lay still. the prince, seeing him make no motion, [deemed him dead]; so he took him forth and wrapping him up in his clothes, cast him into the billows of the sea in the middle of the night. when the vizier felt the water, he awoke from the swoon and swam awhile, till a ship passed by him, whereupon he cried out to the sailors and they took him up. when the morning morrowed, the people went seeking for him, but found him not; and when the king knew this, he was perplexed concerning his affair and abode unknowing what he should do. then he sought for a vizier to fill his room, and the king's brother said, 'i have a vizier, a sufficient man.' 'bring him to me,' said the king. so he brought him a man, whom he set at the head of affairs; but he seized upon the kingdom and clapped the king in irons and made his brother king in his stead. the new king gave himself up to all manner of wickedness, whereat the folk murmured and his vizier said to him, 'i fear lest the indians take the old king and restore him to the kingship and we both perish; wherefore, if we take him and cast him into the sea, we shall be at rest from him; and we will publish among the folk that he is dead.' and they agreed upon this. so they took him up and carrying him out to sea, cast him in. when he felt the water, he struck out, and gave not over swimming till he landed upon an island, where he abode five days, finding nothing which he might eat or drink; but, on the sixth day, when he despaired of himself, he caught sight of a passing ship; so he made signals to the crew and they came and took him up and fared on with him to an inhabited country, where they set him ashore, naked as he was. there he saw a man tilling; so he sought guidance of him and the husbandman said, 'art thou a stranger?' 'yes,' answered the king and sat with him and they talked. the husbandman found him quickwitted and intelligent and said to him, 'if thou sawest a comrade of mine, thou wouldst see him the like of what i see thee, for his case is even as thy case, and he is presently my friend.' quoth the king, 'verily, thou makest me long to see him. canst thou not bring us together?' 'with all my heart,' answered the husbandman, and the king sat with him till he had made an end of his tillage, when he carried him to his dwelling-place and brought him in company with the other stranger, aud behold, it was his vizier. when they saw each other, they wept and embraced, and the husbandman wept for their weeping; but the king concealed their affair and said to him, 'this is a man from my country and he is as my brother.' so they abode with the husbandman and helped him for a wage, wherewith they supported themselves a long while. meanwhile, they sought news of their country and learned that which its people suffered of straitness and oppression. one day, there came a ship and in it a merchant from their own country, who knew them and rejoiced in them with an exceeding joy and clad them in goodly apparel. moreover, he acquainted them with the manner of the treachery that had been practised upon them and counselled them to return to their own land, they and he with whom they had made friends,[fn# ] assuring them that god the most high would restore them to their former estate. so the king returned and the folk joined themselves to him and he fell upon his brother and his vizier and took them and clapped them in prison. then he sat down again upon the throne of his kingship, whilst the vizier stood before him, and they returned to their former estate, but they had nought of the [goods of the world]. so the king said to his vizier, 'how shall we avail to abide in this city, and we in this state of poverty?' and he answered, 'be at thine ease and have no concern.' then he singled out one of the soldiers[fn# ] and said to him, 'send us thy service[fn# ] for the year.' now there were in the city fifty thousand subjects[fn# ] and in the hamlets and villages a like number; and the vizier sent to each of these, saying, 'let each of you get an egg and lay it under a hen.' so they did this and it was neither burden nor grievance to them. when twenty days had passed by, each [egg] was hatched, and the vizier bade them pair the chickens, male and female, and rear them well. so they did this and it was found a charge unto no one. then they waited for them awhile and after this the vizier enquired of the chickens and was told that they were become fowls. moreover, they brought him all their eggs and he bade set them; and after twenty days there were hatched from each [pair] of them thirty or five-and-twenty or fifteen [chickens] at the least. the vizier let note against each man the number of chickens that pertained to him, and after two months, he took the old hens and the cockerels, and there came to him from each man nigh half a score, and he left the [young] hens with them. on like wise he sent to the country folk and let the cocks abide with them. so he got him young ones [galore] and appropriated to himself the sale of the fowls, and on this wise he got him, in the course of a year, that which the regal estate required of the king and his affairs were set right for him by the vizier's contrivance. and he peopled[fn# ] the country and dealt justly by his subjects and returned to them all that he took from them and lived a happy and prosperous life. thus good judgment and prudence are better than wealth, for that understanding profiteth at all times and seasons. nor," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary than the story of the man whose caution slew him." when the king heard his vizier's words, he marvelled with the utmost wonderment and bade him retire to his lodging. [so er rehwan withdrew to his house and abode there till eventide of the next day, when he again presented himself before the king.] the fourteenth night of the month. when the vizier returned to the king, the latter sought of him the story of the man whose caution slew him and be said, "know, o august king, that story of the man whose caution was the cause of his death. there was once a man who was exceeding cautious over himself, and he set out one day on a journey to a land abounding in wild beasts. the caravan wherein he was came by night to the gate of a city; but the warders refused to open to them; so they passed the night without the city, and there were lions there. the man aforesaid, of the excess of his caution, could not fix upon a place wherein he should pass the night, for fear of the wild beasts and reptiles; so he went about seeking an empty place wherein he might lie. now there was a ruined building hard by and he climbed up on to a high wall and gave not over clambering hither and thither, of the excess of his carefulness, till his feet betrayed him and he slipped [and fell] to the bottom and died, whilst his companions arose in the morning in health [and weal]. now, if he had overmastered his corrupt[fn# ] judgment and submitted himself to fate and fortune fore-ordained, it had been safer and better [for him]; but he made light of the folk and belittled their wit and was not content to take example by them; for his soul whispered him that he was a man of understanding and he imagined that, if he abode with them, he would perish; so his folly cast him into perdition. nor," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary than the story of the man who was lavish of his house and his victual to one whom he knew not" when the king heard this, he said, "i will not isolate myself from the folk and slay my vizier." and he bade him depart to his dwelling. the fifteenth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king let fetch the vizier and required of him the [promised] story. so he said, "know, o king, that story of the man who was lavish of his house and his victual to one whom he knew not. there was once an arab of [high] rank and [goodly] presence, a man of exalted generosity and magnanimity, and he had brethren, with whom he consorted and caroused, and they were wont to assemble by turns in each other's houses. when it came to his turn, he made ready in his house all manner goodly and pleasant meats and dainty drinks and exceeding lovely flowers and excellent fruits, and made provision of all kinds of instruments of music and store of rare apothegms and marvellous stories and goodly instances and histories and witty anedotes and verses and what not else, for there was none among those with whom he was used to company but enjoyed this on every goodly wise, and in the entertainment he had provided was all whereof each had need. then he sallied forth and went round about the city, in quest of his friends, so he might assemble them; but found none of them in his house. now in that town was a man of good breeding and large generosity, a merchant of condition, young of years and bright of face, who had come to that town from his own country with great store of merchandise and wealth galore. he took up his abode therein and the place was pleasant to him and he was lavish in expenditure, so that he came to the end of all his good and there remained with him nothing save that which was upon him of raiment. so he left the lodging wherein he had abidden in the days of his affluence, after he had wasted[fn# ] that which was therein of furniture, and fell to harbouring in the houses of the townsfolk from night to night. one day, as he went wandering about the streets, he espied a woman of the utmost beauty and grace, and what he saw of her charms amazed him and there betided him what made him forget his present plight. she accosted him and jested with him and he besought her of foregathering and companionship. she consented to this and said to him, 'let us go to thy lodging.' with this he repented and was perplexed concerning his affair and grieved for that which must escape him of her company by reason of the straitness of his hand,[fn# ] for that he had no jot of spending money. but he was ashamed to say, 'no,' after he had made suit to her; so he went on before her, bethinking him how he should rid himself of her and casting about for an excuse which he might put off on her, and gave not over going from street to street, till he entered one that had no issue and saw, at the farther end, a door, whereon was a padlock. so he said to her, 'do thou excuse me, for my servant hath locked the door, and who shall open to us?' quoth she, 'o my lord, the padlock is worth [but] half a score dirhems.' so saying, she tucked up [her sleeves] from fore-arms as they were crystal and taking a stone, smote upon the padlock and broke it. then she opened the door and said to him, 'enter, o my lord.' so he entered, committing his affair to god, (to whom belong might and majesty,) and she entered after him and locked the door from within. they found themselves in a pleasant house, comprising all[fn# ] weal and gladness; and the young man went on, till he came to the sitting-chamber, and behold, it was furnished with the finest of furniture [and arrayed on the goodliest wise for the reception of guests,] as hath before been set out, [for that it was the house of the man aforesaid]. he [seated himself on the divan and] leant upon a cushion, whilst she put out her hand to her veil and did it off. then she put off her heavy outer clothes and discovered her charms, whereupon he embraced her and kissed her and swived her; after which they washed and returned to their place and he said to her, 'know that i have little knowledge [of what goes on] in my house, for that i trust to my servant; so arise thou and see what the boy hath made ready in the kitchen.' accordingly, she arose and going down into the kitchen, saw cooking pots over the fire, wherein were all manner of dainty meats, and manchet-bread and fresh almond-and-honey cakes. so she set bread on a dish and ladled out [what she would] from the pots and brought it to him. they ate and drank and sported and made merry awhile of the day; and as they were thus engaged, up came the master of the house, with his friends, whom he had brought with him, that they might carouse together, as of wont. he saw the door opened and knocked lightly, saying to his friends, 'have patience with me, for some of my family are come to visit me; wherefore excuse belongeth [first] to god the most high, and then to you.'[fn# ] so they took leave of him and went their ways, whilst he gave another light knock at the door. when the young man heard this, he changed colour and the woman said to him, 'methinks thy servant hath returned.' 'yes,' answered he; and she arose and opening the door to the master of the house, said to him, 'where hast thou been? indeed, thy master is wroth with thee.' 'o my lady,' answered he, 'i have but been about his occasions.' then he girt his middle with a handkerchief and entering, saluted the young merchant, who said to him, 'where hast thou been?' quoth he, 'i have done thine errands;' and the youth said, 'go and eat and come hither and drink.' so he went away, as he bade him, and ate. then he washed and returning to the saloon, sat down on the carpet and fell to talking with them; whereupon the young merchant's heart was comforted and his breast dilated and he addressed himself to joyance. they abode in the most delightsome life and the most abounding pleasance till a third part of the night was past, when the master of the house arose and spreading them a bed, invited them to lie down. so they lay down and the youth abode on wake, pondering their affair, till daybreak, when the woman awoke and said to her companion, 'i wish to go.' so he bade her farewell and she departed; whereupon the master of the house followed her with a purse of money and gave it to her, saying, 'blame not my master,' and made his excuse to her for the young merchant. then he returned to the youth and said to him, 'arise and come to the bath.' and he fell to shampooing his hands and feet, whilst the youth called down blessings on him and said, 'o my lord, who art thou? methinks there is not in the world the like of thee, no, nor a pleasanter than thy composition.' then each of them acquainted the other with his case and condition and they went to the bath; after which the master of the house conjured the young merchant to return with him and summoned his friends. so they ate and drank and he related to them the story, wherefore they praised the master of the house and glorified him; and their friendship was complete, what while the young merchant abode in the town, till god vouchsafed him a commodity of travel, whereupon they took leave of him and he departed; and this is the end of his story. nor," added the vizier, "o king of the age, is this more marvellous than the story of the rich man who lost his wealth and his wit." when the king heard the vizier's story, it pleased him and he bade him go to his house. the sixteenth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king sat in his sitting- chamber and sending for his vizier, bade him relate the story of the wealthy man who lost his wealth and his wit. so he said, "know, o king, that story of the idiot and the sharper. there was once a man of fortune, who lost his wealth, and chagrin and melancholy got the mastery of him, so that he became an idiot and lost his wit. there abode with him of his wealth about a score of dinars and he used to beg alms of the folk, and that which they gave him he would gather together and lay to the dinars that were left him. now there was in that town a vagabond, who made his living by sharping, and he knew that the idiot had somewhat of money; so he fell to spying upon him and gave not over watching him till he saw him put in an earthen pot that which he had with him of money and enter a deserted ruin, where he sat down, [as if] to make water, and dug a hole, in which he laid the pot and covering it up, strewed earth upon the place. then he went away and the sharper came and taking what was in the pot, covered it up again, as it was. presently, the idiot returned, with somewhat to add to his hoard, but found it not; so he bethought him who had followed him and remembered that he had found the sharper aforesaid assiduous in sitting with him and questioning him. so he went in quest of him, assured that he had taken the pot, and gave not over looking for him till he espied him sitting; whereupon he ran to him and the sharper saw him. [then the idiot stood within earshot] and muttered to himself and said, 'in the pot are threescore dinars and i have with me other score in such a place and to-day i will unite the whole in the pot.' when the sharper heard him say this to himself, muttering and mumbling after his fashion, he repented him of having taken the dinars and said, 'he will presently return to the pot and find it empty; wherefore that[fn# ] for which i am on the look-out will escape me; and meseemeth i were best restore the dinars [to their place], so he may see them and leave all that is with him in the pot, and i can take the whole.' now he feared [to return to the pot then and there], lest the idiot should follow him to the place and find nothing and so his plan be marred. so he said to him, 'o ajlan,[fn# ] i would have thee come to my lodging and eat bread with me." so the idiot went with him to his lodging and he seated him there and going to the market, sold somewhat of his clothes and pawned somewhat from his house and bought dainty food. then he betook himself to the ruin and replacing the money in the pot, buried it again; after which he returned to his lodging and gave the idiot to eat and drink, and they went out together. the sharper went away and hid himself, lest the idiot should see him, whilst the latter repaired to his hiding- place and took the pot presently, the sharper came to the ruin, rejoicing in that which he deemed he should get, and dug in the place, but found nothing and knew that the idiot had tricked him. so he buffeted his face, for chagrin, and fell to following the other whithersoever he went, so he might get what was with him, but availed not unto this, for that the idiot knew what was in his mind and was certified that he spied upon him, [with intent to rob him]; so he kept watch over himself. now, if the sharper had considered [the consequences of] haste and that which is begotten of loss therefrom, he had not done thus. nor," continued the vizier, "is this story, o king of the age, rarer or more extraordinary or more diverting than the story of khelbes and his wife and the learned man and that which befell between them." when the king heard this story, he renounced his purpose of putting the vizier to death and his soul prompted him to continue him on life. so he bade him go away to his house. the seventeenth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king summoned the vizier, and when he presented himself, he required of him the [promised] story. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. know, o august king, that story of khelbes and his wife and the learned man. there was once a man hight khelbes, who was a lewd fellow, a calamity, notorious for this fashion, and he had a fair wife, renowned for beauty and loveliness. a man of his townsfolk fell in love with her and she also loved him. now khelbes was a crafty fellow and full of tricks, and there was in his neighbourhood a learned man, to whom the folk used to resort every day and he told them stories and admonished them [with moral instances]; and khelbes was wont to be present in his assembly, for the sake of making a show before the folk. now this learned man had a wife renowned for beauty and loveliness and quickness of wit and understanding and the lover cast about for a device whereby he might win to khelbes's wife; so he came to him and told him, as a secret, what he had seen of the learned man's wife and confided to him that he was enamoured of her and besought him of help in this. khelbes told him that she was distinguished to the utterest for chastity and continence and that she exposed herself not to suspicion; but the other said, 'i cannot renounce her, [firstly,] because the woman inclineth to me and coveteth my wealth, and secondly, because of the greatness of my love for her; and nothing is wanting but thy help.' quoth khelbes, 'i will do thy will;' and the other said, 'thou shalt have of me two dirhems a day, on condition that thou sit with the learned man and that, when he riseth from the assembly, thou speak a word notifying the breaking up of the session.' so they agreed upon this and khelbes entered and sat in the assembly, whilst the lover was assured in his heart that the secret was safe with him, wherefore he rejoiced and was content to pay the two dirhems. then khelbes used to attend the learned man's assembly, whilst the other would go in to his wife and abide with her, on such wise as he thought good, till the learned man arose from his session; and when khelbes saw that he purposed rising, he would speak a word for the lover to hear, whereupon he went forth from khelbes's wife, and the latter knew not that calamity was in his own house. at last the learned man, seeing khelbes do on this wise every day, began to misdoubt of him, more by token of that which he knew of his character, and suspicion grew upon him; so, one day, he advanced the time of his rising before the wonted hour and hastening up to khelbes, laid hold of him and said to him, 'by allah, an thou speak a single syllable, i will do thee a mischief!' then he went in to his wife, with khelbes in his grasp, and behold, she was sitting, as of her wont, nor was there about her aught of suspicious or unseemly. the learned man bethought him awhile of this, then made for khelbes's house, which adjoined his own, still holding the latter; and when they entered, they found the young man lying on the bed with khelbes's wife; whereupon quoth he to him, 'o accursed one, the calamity is with thee and in thine own house!' so khelbes put away his wife and went forth, fleeing, and returned not to his own land. this, then," continued the vizier, "is the consequence of lewdness, for whoso purposeth in himself craft and perfidy, they get possession of him, and had khelbes conceived of himself that[fn# ] which he conceived of the folk of dishonour and calamity, there had betided him nothing of this. nor is this story, rare and extraordinary though it be, more extraordinary or rarer than that of the pious woman whose husband's brother accused her of lewdness." when the king heard this, wonderment gat hold of him and his admiration for the vizier redoubled; so he bade him go to his house and return to him [on the morrow], according to his wont. accordingly, the vizier withdrew to his lodging, where he passed the night and the ensuing day. end of vol. i. tales from the arabic, volume endnotes [fn# ] breslau text, vol. iv. pp. - , nights cclxxii.-ccxci. this is the story familiar to readers of the old "arabian nights" as "abon hassan, or the sleeper awakened" and is the only one of the eleven tales added by galland to his version of the (incomplete) ms. of the book of the thousand nights and one night procured by him from syria, the arabic original of which has yet been discovered. (see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. ix. pp. et seq.) the above title is of course intended to mark the contrast between the everyday (or waking) hours of aboulhusn and his fantastic life in the khalif's palace, supposed by him to have passed in a dream, and may also be rendered "the sleeper and the waker." [fn# ] i.e. the wag. [fn# ] always noted for debauchery. [fn# ] i.e. the part he had taken for spending money. [fn# ] i.e. "those," a characteristic arab idiom. [fn# ] lit. draw thee near (to them). [fn# ] i.e. that over the tigris. [fn# ] "platter bread," i.e. bread baked in a platter, instead of, as usual with the arabs, in an oven or earthen jar previously heated, to the sides of which the thin cakes of dough are applied, "is lighter than oven bread, especially if it be made thin and leavened."--shecouri, a medical writer quoted by dozy. [fn# ] or cooking-pots. [fn# ] or fats for frying. [fn# ] or clarified. [fn# ] taam, lit. food, the name given by the inhabitants of northern africa to the preparation of millet-flour (something like semolina) called kouskoussou, which forms the staple food of the people. [fn# ] or "in peace." [fn# ] eastern peoples attach great importance, for good or evil omen, to the first person met or the first thing that happens in the day. [fn# ] or "attributed as sin." [fn# ] a common eastern substitute for soap. [fn# ] this common formula of assent is an abbreviation of "hearkening and obedience are due to god and to the commander of the faithful" or other the person addressed. [fn# ] dar es selam, one of the seven "gardens" into which the mohammedan paradise is divided. [fn# ] i.e. a mattrass eighteen inches thick. [fn# ] complimentary form of address to eunuchs, generally used by inferiors only. [fn# ] the morning-prayer consists of four inclinations (rekäat) only. a certain fixed succession of prayers and acts of adoration is called a rekah (sing, of rekäat) from the inclination of the body that occurs in it. [fn# ] i.e. the terminal formula of prayer, "peace be on us and on all the righteous servants of god!" [fn# ] i.e. said "i purpose to make an end of prayer." [fn# ] or "linen." [fn# ] a well-known poet of the time. [fn# ] i.e. ibrahim of mosul, the greatest musician of his day. [fn# ] i.e., doughty men of war, guards. [fn# ] the abbaside khalifs traced their descent from abbas, the uncle of mohammed, and considered themselves, therefore, as belonging to the family of the prophet. [fn# ] i.e. may thy dwelling-place never fall into ruin. [fn# ] i.e. the raised recess situate at the upper end of an oriental saloon, wherein is the place of honour. [fn# ] ie, the necromancers. [fn# ] lit. i have not found that thou hast a heel blessed (or propitious) to me. [fn# ] i.e. o thou who art a calamity to those who have to do with thee! [fn# ] abou nuwas ibn hani, the greatest poet of the time. [fn# ] as a charm against evil spirits. [fn# ] i.e. the vein said to have been peculiar to the descendants of hashim, grandfather of abbas and great-grandson of mohammed, and to have started out between their eyes in moments of anger. [fn# ] lit. that i may do upon her sinister deeds. [fn# ] "the pitcher comes not always back unbroken from the well."--english proverb. [fn# ] i.e. of sorrow for his loss. [fn# ] i.e. of grief for her loss. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. vl. pp. - , nights ccccxxxii-ccccxxxiv. [fn# ] the eighth khalif (a.d. - ) of the house of umeyyeh and the best and most single-hearted of all the khalifs, with the exception of the second, omar ben khettab, from whom he was descended. [fn# ] a celebrated statesman of the time, afterwards governor of cuia* and bassora under omar ben abdulaziz. [fn# ] the most renowned poet of the first century of the hegira. he is said to have been equally skilled in all styles of composition grave and gay. [fn# ] or eternal. [fn# ] or "in him." [fn# ] chief of the tribe of the benou suleim. et teberi tells this story in a different way. according to him, abbas ben mirdas (who was a well-known poet), being dissatisfied with the portion of booty allotted to him by the prophet, refused it and composed a lampoon against mohammed, who said to ali, "cut off this tongue which attacketh me," i.e. "silence him by giving what will satisfy him," whereupon ali doubled the covetous chief's share. [fn# ] bilal ibn rebeh was the prophet's freedman and crier. the word bilal signifies "moisture" or (metonymically) "beneficence" and it may well be in this sense (and not as a man's name) that it is used in the text. [fn# ] said to have been the best poet ever produced by the tribe of cureish. his introduction here is an anachronism, as he died a.d. , five years before omar's accession. [fn# ] i.e. odorem pudendorum amicæ? [fn# ] a famous poet of the tribe of the benou udhreh, renowned for their passionate sincerity in love-matters. he is celebrated as the lover of butheineh, as petrarch of laura, and died a.d. , sixteen years before omar's accession. [fn# ] a friend of jemil and a poet of equal renown. he is celebrated as the lover of azzeh, whose name is commonly added to his, and kept a grocer's shop at medina. [fn# ] i.e. in the attitude of prayer. [fn# ] a famous satirical poet of the time, afterwards banished by omar for the virulence of his lampoons. his name is wrongly given by the text; it should be el ahwes. he was a descendant of the ansar or (medinan) helpers of mohammed. [fn# ] a famous poet of the tribe of the benou temim and a rival of jerir, to whom he was by some preferred. he was a notorious debauchee and jerir, in one of the satires that were perpetually exchanged between himself and el ferezdec, accuses his rival of having "never been a guest in any house, but he departed with ignominy and left behind him disgrace." [fn# ] a christian and a celebrated poet of the time. [fn# ] the poet apparently meant to insinuate that those who professed to keep the fast of ramazan ate flesh in secret. the word rendered "in public," i.e. openly, avowedly, may also perhaps be translated "in the forenoon," and in this el akhtel may have meant to contrast his free-thinking disregard of the ordinances of the fast with the strictness of the orthodox muslim, whose only meals in ramazan-time are made between sunset and dawn-peep. as soon as a white thread can be distinguished from a black, the fast is begun and a true believer must not even smoke or swallow his saliva till sunset. [fn# ] prominent words of the muezzin's fore-dawn call to prayer. [fn# ] i.e. fall down drunk. [fn# ] i.e. she who ensnares [all] eyes. [fn# ] imam, the spiritual title of the khalif, as head of the faith and leader (lit. "foreman") of the people at prayer. [fn# ] or "worldly." [fn# ] or "worldly." [fn# ] a town and province of arabia, of which (inter alia) omar ben abdulaziz was governor, before he came to the khalifate. [fn# ] syn. munificence. [fn# ] about pounds sterling s. [fn# ] i.e. what is thy news? [fn# ] or "i approve of him." [fn# ] breslau text, vol. vi. pp. - , night ccccxxxiv. [fn# ] el hejjaj ben yousuf eth thekefi, a famous statesman and soldier of the seventh and eighth centuries. he was governor of chaldaea (irak arabi), under the fifth and sixth khalifs of the ommiade dynasty, and was renowned for his cruelty, but appears to have been a prudent and capable administrator, who used no more rigour than was necessary to restrain the proverbially turbulent populations of bassora and cufa, most of the anecdotes of his brutality and tyranny, which abound in arab authors, are, in all probability, apocryphal. [fn# ] used, by synecdoche, for "heads." [fn# ] i.e. the governed, to wit, he who is led by a halter attached (metaphorically of course) to a ring passed through his nose, as with a camel. [fn# ] i.e. the governor or he who is high of rank. [fn# ] i.e. their hair, which may be considered the wealth of the head. this whole passage is a description a double-entente of a barber-surgeon. [fn# ] syn. cooking-pot. [fn# ] syn. be lowered. this passage is a similar description of an itinerant hot bean-seller. [fn# ] the rows of threads on a weaver's loom. [fn# ] syn. levelleth. [fn# ] i.e. that of wood used by the oriental weaver to govern the warp and weft. [fn# ] syn. behave aright. [fn# ] the loop of thread so called in which the weaver's foot rests. [fn# ] syn. eloquence. [fn# ] adeb, one of the terribly comprehensive words which abound in arabic literature for the confusion of translators. it signifies generally all kinds of education and means of mental and moral discipline and seems here to mean more particularly readiness of wit and speech or presence of mind. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. vi. pp. - , night ccccxxxiv. [fn# ] syn. (koranic) "thou hast swerved from justice" or "been unjust" (adeita). [fn# ] syn. (koranic) "thou hast transgressed" (caset-ta). [fn# ] or falling-away. [fn# ] koran vi. . [fn# ] or do injustice, tadilou (syn. do justice). [fn# ] koran iv. . [fn# ] el casitouna (syn. those who act righteously or equitably). [fn# ] koran lxxii. . [fn# ] name of the persian ancestor of the barmecide (properly bermeki) family. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. vi. pp. - , nights ccccxxv-cccclxxxvii. this is the arab version of the well-known story called, in persian, the bekhtyar nameh, i.e. the book of bekhtyar, by which name the prince, whose attempted ruin by the envious viziers is the central incident of the tale, is distinguished in that language. the arab redaction of the story is, to my mind, far superior to the persian, both in general simplicity and directness of style and in the absence of the irritating conceits and moral digressions with which persian (as well as indian) fiction is so often overloaded. the persian origin of the story is apparent, not only in the turn of the incidents and style and the names of the personages, but in the fact that not a single line of verse occurs in it. [fn# ] rawi; this is probably a copyist's mistake for raai, a beholder, one who seeth. [fn# ] lit. what was his affair? it may be here observed that the word keif (how?) is constantly used in the breslau text in the sense of ma (what?). [fn# ] a district of persia, here probably persia itself. [fn# ] probably a corruption of kisra (chosroës). [fn# ] i.e. waylaying travellers, robbing on the high road. [fn# ] or skill. [fn# ] lit. the descended fate. [fn# ] the arabs attribute to a man's parentage absolute power in the determination of his good and evil qualities; eg. the son of a slave, according to them, can possess none of the virtues of the free-born, whilst good qualities are in like manner considered congenitally inherent in the latter. [fn# ] or "business." [fn# ] i.e. whither he should travel. [fn# ] about half-a-crown. [fn# ] it is a common practice with eastern nations to keep a child (especially a son and one of unusual beauty) concealed until a certain age, for fear of the evil eye. see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. iii. p. ; vol. ix. p. , etc., etc. [fn# ] i.e. killing a man. [fn# ] i.e., it will always be in our power to slay him, when we will. [fn# ] i.e. the grave. [fn# ] i.e. the wedding-day. [fn# ] i.e. thy women [fn# ] i.e. hath been unduly prolonged. [fn# ] i.e. let thy secret thoughts and purposes be righteous, even as thine outward profession. [fn# ] see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. p. . [fn# ] afterwards called his "chamberlain," i.e. the keeper of the door of the harem or chief eunuch. see post, p. iii. [fn# ] i.e. the eunuch who had dissuaded dadbin from putting her to death. [fn# ] apparently referring to aboulkhair (see ante p. ), whom dabdin would seem to have put to death upon the vizier's false accusation, although no previous mention of this occurs. [fn# ] the arabs believe that each man's destiny is charactered, could we decipher it, in the sutures of his skull. [fn# ] ie. the lex talionis, which is the essence of muslim jurisprudence. [fn# ] i.e. a soldier of fortune, going about from court to court, in quest of service. [fn# ] this phrase refers to the arab idiom, "his hand (or arm) is long or short," i.e. he is a man of great or little puissance. [fn# ] the arabs consider it a want of respect to allow the hands or feet to remain exposed in the presence of a superior. [fn# ] adeb. see ante, p. , note . [fn# ] i.e. that he become my son-in-law. [fn# ] it is a common eastern practice to have the feet kneaded and pressed (shampooed) for the purpose of inducing sleep, and thus the king would habitually fall asleep with his feet on the knees of his pages. [fn# ] syn. whoso respecteth not his lord's women. [fn# ] i.e. a domed tomb. [fn# ] of a man's life. the muslims believe each man's last hour to be written in a book called "the preserved tablet." [fn# ] i.e, the autumnal equinox, one of the two great festival days (the other being the new year) of the persians. see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. iv. p. . [fn# ] i.e. heritage. [fn# ] i.e. the emperor of the romans of the lower empire, so called by the arabs. "caesar" is their generic term for the emperors of constantinople, as is kisra (chosroës) for the ancient kings of persia. [fn# ] i.e. shah khatoun. [fn# ] i.e. our power increased by his alliance, a. familiar arab idiom. [fn# ] in token of deputation of authority, a ceremony usual on the appointment of a governor of a province. [fn# ] or enigma. [fn# ] i.e. if my death be ordained of destiny to befall on an early day none may avail to postpone it to a later day. [fn# ] of life. see supra, note, p. . [fn# ] the hoopoe is fabled by the muslim chroniclers to have been to solomon what odin's ravens were to the norse god. it is said to have known all the secrets of the earth and to have revealed them to him; hence the magical virtues attributed by the mohammedans to its heart. [fn# ] this phrase may be read either literally or in its idiomatic sense, i.e., "folk convicted or suspected of murder or complicity in murder." [fn# ] or purse-belt. [fn# ] see supra, p. . [fn# ] khilaah, lit. that which one takes off from one's own person, to bestow upon a messenger of good tidings or any other whom it is desired especially to honour. the literal meaning of the phrase, here rendered "he bestowed on him a dress of honour," is "he put off on him [that which was upon himself." a khilaah commonly includes a horse, a sword, a girdle or waist-cloth and other articles, according to the rank of the recipient, and might more precisely be termed "a complete equipment of honour." [fn# ] an economical mode of rewarding merit, much in favour with eastern monarchs. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. vii. pp. - , night dlxv. [fn# ] syn. doorkeper (hajib). [fn# ] ibn khelbkan, who tells this story in a somewhat different style, on the authority of er reshid's brother ibrahim ben el mehdi, calls the person whom jaafer expected "abdulmelik ben behran, the intendant of his demesnes." [fn# ] the wearing of silk and bright colours is forbidden to the strict muslim and it is generally considered proper, in a man of position, to wear them only on festive occasions or in private, as in the text. [fn# ] the abbasides or descendants of el abbas, the prophet's uncle, were noted for their excessive pride and pretensions to strict orthodoxy in all outward observances. abdulmelik ben salih, who was a well-known general and statesman of the time, was especially renowned for pietism and austerity of manners. [fn# ] i.e. do not let my presence trouble you. [fn# ] as a member of the reigning family, he of course wore black clothes, that being the especial colour of the house of abbas, adopted by them in opposition to the rival (and fallen) dynasty of the benou umeyyeh, whose family colour was white, that of the house of ali being green. [fn# ] about £ , . ibn khellikan makes the debt four millions of dirhems or about £ , [fn# ] breslau text, vol vii, pp. - , night dlxvii. [fn# ] fourth khalif of the house of abbas, a.d. - . [fn# ] third khalif of the house of abbas, a.d. - . [fn# ] the following is et teberi's version of this anecdote. el mehdi had presented his son haroun with a ruby ring, worth a hundred thousand dinars, and the latter being one day with his brother [the then reigning khalif], el hadi saw the ring on his finger and desired it. so, when haroun went out from him, he sent after him, to seek the ring of him. the khalif's messenger overtook er reshid on the bridge over the tigris and acquainted him with his errand; whereupon the prince enraged at the demand, pulled off the ring and threw it into the river. when el hadi died and er reshid succeeded to the throne, he went with his suite to the bridge in question and bade his vizier yehya ben khalid send for divers and cause them make search for the ring. it had then been five months in the water and no one believed it would be found. however, the divers plunged into the river and found the ring in the very place where he had thrown it in, whereat haroun rejoiced with an exceeding joy, regarding it as a presage of fair fortune. [fn# ] this is an error. jaafer's father yehya was appointed by haroun his vizier and practically continued to exercise that office till the fall of the barmecides (a.d. ), his sons fezl and jaafer acting only as his assistants or lieutenants. see my essay on the history and character of the book of the thousand nights and one night. [fn# ] another mistake. it was fezl, the khalif's foster-brother, to whom he used to give this title. [fn# ] a third mistake. the whole period during which the empire was governed by yehya and his sons was only seventeen years, i.e. a.d - , but see my essay. [fn# ] the apparent meaning of this somewhat obscure saying is, "since fortune is uncertain, conciliate the favour of those with whom thou hast to do by kind offices, so thou mayst find refuge with them in time of need." [fn# ] for a detailed account of the barmecides and of their fall, see my essay. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. vii. pp. - , night dlxviii. [fn# ] aboulabbas mohammed ibn sabih, surnamed ibn es semmak (son of the fishmonger), a well-known cufan jurisconsult and ascetic of the time. he passed the latter part of his life at baghdad and enjoyed high favour with er reshid, as the only theological authority whom the latter could induce to promise him admission to paradise. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. vii. pp. - , night dlxviii. [fn# ] seventh khalif of the house of abbas, a.d. - . [fn# ] sixth khalif of the house of abbas, a.d. - , a sanguinary and incapable prince, whose contemplated treachery against his brother el mamoun, (whom, by the advice of his vizier, the worthless intriguer fezl ben rebya, the same who was one of the prime movers in the ruin of the illustrious barmecide family and who succeeded yehya and his sons in the vizierate (see my essay), he contemplated depriving of his right of succession and murdering,) was deservedly requited with the loss of his own kingdom and life. he was, by the way, put to death by el mamoun's general, in contravention of the express orders of that generous and humane prince, who wished his brother to be sent prisoner to him, on the capture of baghdad. [fn# ] i.e. forfeits. it is a favourite custom among the arabs to impose on the loser of a game, in lieu of stakes, the obligation of doing whatsoever the winner may command him. for an illustration of this practice, see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. pp. - , story of the sandalwood merchant and the sharpers. [fn# ] el mamoun was of a very swarthy complexion and is said to have been the son of a black slave-girl. zubeideh was er reshid's cousin, and el amin was, therefore, a member of the house of abbas, both on the father's and mother's side. of this purity of descent from the prophet's family (in which he is said to have stood alone among the khalifs of the abbaside dynasty) both himself and his mother were exceedingly proud, and it was doubtless this circumstance which led er reshid to prefer el amin and to assign him the precedence in the succession over the more capable and worthier el mamoun. [fn# ] breslau text, vol. viii. pp. - , nights dclx-i. [fn# ] a pre-mohammedan king of the arab kingdom of hireh (a town near cufa on the euphrates), under the suzerainty of the chosroes of persia, and a cruel and fantastic tyrant. [fn# ] the tribe to which belonged the renowned pre-mohammedan chieftain and poet, hatim tal, so celebrated in the east for his extravagant generosity and hospitality. [fn# ] i.e. i will make a solemn covenant with him before god. [fn# ] i.e. he of the tribe of tai. [fn# ] in generosity. [fn# ] a similar anecdote is told of omar ben el khettab, second successor of mohammed, and will be found in my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. iv. p. . [fn# ] breslau text, vol. viii. pp. - , nights dclxxv--vi. [fn# ] a similar story will be found in my "book of the thousand nights and one night", vol. v. p. . [fn# ] breslau text, vol xi. pp. - , nights dccclxxv-dccccxxx. [fn# ] i.e. a pilgrimage. pilgrimage is one of a muslim's urgent duties. [fn# ] by a rhetorical figure, mecca is sometimes called el hejj (the pilgrimage) and this appears to be the case here. it is one of the dearest towns in the east and the chief occupation of its inhabitants a the housing and fleecing of pilgrims. an arab proverb says, "there is no place in which money goes [so fast] as it goes in mecca." [fn# ] lit. loved with it. [fn# ] it is not clear what is here meant by el hejj; perhaps medina, though this is a "visitation" and not an obligatory part of the pilgrimage. the passage is probably corrupt. [fn# ] it is not clear what is here meant by el hejj; perhaps medina, though this is a "visitation" and not an obligatory part of the pilgrimage. the passage is probably corrupt. [fn# ] syn. whole or perfect (sehik). [fn# ] i.e. in white woollen garments. [fn# ] i.e. i desire a privy place, where i may make the preliminary ablution and pray. [fn# ] it is customary in the east to give old men and women the complimentary title of "pilgrim," assuming, as a matter of course, that they have performed the obligatory rite of pilgrimage. [fn# ] or saint. [fn# ] keniseh, a christian or other non-muslim place of worship. [fn# ] apparently the harem. [fn# ] i.e. otherwise than according to god's ordinance. [fn# ] a city of persian irak. [fn# ] lit. its apparatus, i.e. spare strings, etc.? [fn# ] i.e. the woman whose face he saw. [fn# ] lit. the place of battle, i.e. that where they had lain. [fn# ] a common eastern fashion of securing a shop, when left for a short time. the word shebekeh (net) may also be tendered a grating or network of iron or other metal. [fn# ] i.e. gave her good measure. [fn# ] i.e. she found him a good workman. equivoque erotique, apparently founded on the to-and-fro movement of the shuttle in weaving. [fn! ] equivoque érotique. [fn# ] i.e. removed the goods exposed for sale and laid them up in the inner shop or storehouse. [fn# ] the eastern oven is generally a great earthenware jar sunken in the earth. [fn# ] i.e. a boughten white slave (memlouk). [fn# ] apparently changing places. the text is here fearfully corrupt and (as in many other parts of the breslau edition) so incoherent as to be almost unintelligible. [fn# ] i.e. in the (inner) courtyard. [fn# ] i.e. the essential nature, lit. jewel. [fn# ] i.e. in proffering thee the kingship. [fn# ] without the city. [fn# ] according to the conclusion of the story, this recompense consisted in an augmentation of the old man's allowances of food. see post, p. . [fn# ] i.e. i have given my opinion. [fn# ] this passage is evidently corrupt. i have amended it, on conjecture, to the best of my power. [fn# ] the words ruteb wa menazil, here rendered "degrees and dignities," may also be rendered, "stations and mansions (of the moon and planets)." [fn# ] syn. "ailing" or "sickly." [fn# ] i.e. the caravan with which he came. [fn# ] i.e. i seek to marry thy daughter, not for her own sake, but because i desire thine alliance. [fn# ] i.e. the face of his bride. [fn# ] i.e. his wife. [fn# ] i.e. his wife. [fn# ] naming the poor man. [fn# ] naming his daughter. [fn# ] i.e. united. [fn# ] or "humble." [fn# ] i.e. one another. [fn# ] or "conquer." [fn# ] or "commandment." [fn# ] lit. "will be higher than." [fn# ] syn. device or resource (hileh). [fn# ] syn. chasten or instruct. [fn# ] students of our old popular poetry will recognize, in the principal incident of this story, the subject of the well-known ballad, "the heir of linne." [fn# ] i.e. turcomans; afterwards called sejestan. [fn# ] with a pile of stones or some such landmark. [fn# ] i.e. the extraordinary resemblance of the supposed sister to his wife. [fn# ] the foregoing passage is evidently very corrupt and the meaning is by no means plain, but, in the absence of a parallel version, it is impossible to clear up the obscurity of the text. [fn# ] this appears to be the sense of the text; but the whole passage is to obscure and corrupt that it is impossible to make sure of its exact meaning. [fn# ] meaning apparently, "thou puttest my devices to nought" or (perhaps) "thou art so skilful that i fear lest thou undermine my favour with the king and oust me from my post of vizier." [fn# ] lit. "land;" but the meaning is evidently as in the text. [fn# ] the reader will recognize the well-known story used by chaucer, boccaccio and la fontaine. [fn# ] syn. flourishing. [fn# ] syn. depopulated. [fn# ] lit. an oppressor. [fn# ] i.e. a man of commanding presence. [fn# ] syn. cause flourish. [fn# ] syn. depopulateth. [fn# ] lit. the year. [fn# ] the whole of the tither's account of himself is terribly obscure and so corrupt that it is hardly possible to make sense of it. the same remark applies to much of the rest of the story. [fn# ] or "cause flourish." [fn# ] lit. a better theologian. the muslim law being entirely based on the koran and the traditions of the prophet, the terms "lawyer" and "theologian" are necessarily synonymous among mohammedan peoples. [fn# ] a danic is the sixth of a dirhem, i.e. about one penny. [fn# ] i.e. say, "may i be [triply] divorced from my wife, if etc.!" by the muslim law, a divorce three times pronounced is irrevocable, and in case of its appearing that the user of such an oath as the above had sworn falsely, his wife would become divorced by operation of law, without further ceremony. hence the frequency and binding nature of the oath in question. [fn# ] i.e. thousandfold cuckold. [fn# ] i.e. the blows which the thief had given him. [fn# ] i.e. at least, at the most moderate reckoning. [fn# ] or "breath of god," a title given to jesus by the mohammedans. [fn# ] i.e. attaineth his desire. [fn# ] syn. guards. [fn# ] i.e. the husbandman. [fn# ] i.e. those bound to render suit and service to the king, as holders of fiefs. [fn# ] syn. the revenue or rent-charge of thy fief. [fn# ] heads of families? [fn# ] or "caused flourish." [fn# ] or froward. [fn# ] i.e. sold and spent the price of. [fn# ] i.e. his lack of means to entertain her. [fn# ] i.e. all that can conduce to. [fn# ] i.e. it is for you (after god) to excuse me. [fn# ] i.e. the [supposed] rest of his hoard. [fn# ] apparently the idiot's name. [fn# ] i.e. had he been on his own guard against that, etc. this ebook was produced by jc byers. text scanned and proofread by jc byers (http://www.capitalnet.com/~jcbyers/index.htm) the "aldine" edition of the arabian nights entertainments illustrated by s. l. wood from the text of dr. jonathan scott in four volumes volume london pickering and chatto contents of volume ii. the story of the little hunch-back the story told by the christian merchant the story told by the sultan of casgar's purveyor the story told by the jewish physician the story told by the tailor the story told by the barber the story told by the barber's eldest brother the story told by the barber's second brother the story told by the barber's third brother the story told by the barber's fourth brother the story told by the barber's fifth brother the story told by the barber's sixth brother the history of aboulhassen ali ebn ecar, and schemselnihar, favourite of caliph haroon al rusheed the story of the loves of kummir al zummaun, prince of the isles of the children of khaledan, and of badoura, princess of china the story of the princes amgiad and assad the story of the prince amgiad and a lady of the city of magicians the story of noor ad deen and the fair persian the story of the little hunch-back. there was in former times at casgar, on the extreme boundaries of tartary, a tailor who had a pretty wife, whom he affectionately loved, and by whom he was beloved with reciprocal tenderness. one day while he was at work, a little hunch-back seated himself at the shop door and began to sing, and play upon a tabor. the tailor was pleased with his performance, and resolved to take him to his house to entertain his wife: "this little fellow," said he, "will divert us both this evening." he accordingly invited him, and the other readily accepted the invitation: so the tailor shut up his shop, and carried him home. immediately after their arrival the tailor's wife placed before them a good dish of fish; but as the little man was eating, he unluckily swallowed a bone, which, notwithstanding all that the tailor and his wife could do, choked him. this accident greatly alarmed them both, dreading, if the magistrates should hear of it, that they would be punished as murderers. however, the husband devised a scheme to get rid of the corpse. he reflected that a jewish doctor lived just by, and having formed his plan, his wife and he took the corpse, the one by the feet and the other by the head, and carried it to the physician's house. they knocked at the door, from which a steep flight of stairs led to his chamber. the servant maid came down without any light, and opening the door, asked what they wanted. "have the goodness," said the tailor, "to go up again, and tell your master we have brought him a man who is very ill, and wants his advice. here," continued he, putting a piece of money into her hand, "give him that beforehand, to convince him that we do not mean to impose." while the servant was gone up to inform her master, the tailor and his wife hastily conveyed the hunchbacked corpse to the head of the stairs, and leaving it there, hurried away. in the mean time, the maid told the doctor, that a man and woman waited for him at the door, desiring he would come down and look at a sick man whom they had brought with them, and clapped into his hand the money she had received. the doctor was transported with joy; being paid beforehand, he thought it must needs be a good patient, and should not be neglected. "light, light," cried he to the maid; "follow me quickly." as he spoke, he hastily ran towards the head of the stairs without waiting for a light, and came against the corpse with so much violence that he precipitated it to the bottom, and had nearly fallen with it. "bring me a light," cried he to the maid; "quick, quick." at last she brought one, and he went down stairs with her; but when he saw that what he had kicked down was a dead man, he was so frightened, that he invoked moses, aaron, joshua, esdras, and all the other prophets of his nation. "unhappy man that i am," said he, "why did i attempt to come without a light! i have killed the poor fellow who was brought to me to be cured: doubtless i am the cause of his death, and unless esdras's ass come to assist me, i am ruined: mercy on me, they will be here out of hand, and drag me out of my house for a murderer." notwithstanding the perplexity and confusion into which he was thrown, he had the precaution to shut his door, for fear any one passing by should observe the accident of which he reckoned himself to be the author. he then took the corpse into his wife's chamber, who was ready to swoon at the sight. "alas," cried she, "we are utterly ruined and undone, unless we can devise some expedient to get the corpse out of our house this night. if we harbour it till morning we are lost. what a deplorable misfortune is this! what have you done to kill this man?" "that is not now the question," replied the jew; "our business at present is, to find a remedy for the evil which threatens us." the doctor and his wife consulted how to dispose of the corpse that night. the doctor racked his brain in vain, he could not think of any stratagem to relieve his embarrassment; but his wife, who was more fertile in invention, said, "a thought is just come into my head; let us carry the corpse to the terrace of our house, and throw it down the chimney of our mussulmaun neighbour." this mussulmaun was one of the sultan's purveyors for furnishing oil, butter, and articles of a similar nature, and had a magazine in his house, where the rats and mice made prodigious havoc. the jewish doctor approving the proposed expedient, the wife and he took the little hunch-back up to the roof of the house; and clapping ropes under his arm-pits, let him down the chimney into the purveyor's chamber so dexterously that he stood upright against the wall, as if he had been alive. when they found he had reached the bottom, they pulled up the ropes, and left the corpse in that posture. they were scarcely got down into their chamber, when the purveyor, who had just returned from a wedding feast, went into his room, with a lanthorn in his hand. he was not a little surprised to discover a man standing in his chimney; but being a stout fellow, and apprehending him to be a thief, he took up a stick, and making straight up to the hunch-back, "ah!" said he, "i thought the rats and mice ate my butter and tallow; but it is you who come down the chimney to rob me? however, i think you will have no wish to come here again." upon this he attacked hunch-back, and struck him several times with his stick. the corpse fell down flat on the ground, and the purveyor redoubled his blows. but, observing that the body did not move, he stood a little time to regard it; and then, perceiving it to be dead, fear succeeded his anger. "wretched man that i am," said he, "what have i done! i have killed a man; alas, i have carried my revenge too far. good god, unless thou pity me my life is gone! cursed, ten thousand times accursed, be the fat and the oil that occasioned me to commit so criminal an action." he stood pale and thunderstruck; he fancied he already saw the officers come to drag him to condign punishment, and could not tell what resolution to take. the sultan of casgar's purveyor had never noticed the little man's hump-back when he was beating him, but as soon as he perceived it, he uttered a thousand imprecations against him. "ah, thou cursed hunch-back," cried he, "thou crooked wretch, would to god thou hadst robbed me of all my fat, and i had not found thee here. i then should not have been thrown into this perplexity on account of this and thy vile hunch. ye stars that twinkle in the heavens, give your light to none but me in this dangerous juncture." as soon as he had uttered these words, he took the crooked corpse upon his shoulders, and carried it to the end of the street, where he placed it in an upright posture against a shop; he then returned without once looking behind him. a few minutes before day-break, a christian merchant, who was very rich, and furnished the sultan's palace with various articles, having sat up all night at a debauch, happened to come from his house in this direction on his way to the bath. though he was intoxicated, he was sensible that the night was far spent, and that the people would soon be called to morning prayers; he therefore quickened his pace to get to the bath in time, lest some mussulmaun, in his way to the mosque, should meet him and carry him to prison for a drunkard. when he came to the end of the street, he had occasion to stop by the shop where the sultan's purveyor had put the hunch-backed corpse; which being jostled by him, tumbled upon the merchant's back. the merchant thinking he was attacked by a robber, knocked it down, and after redoubling his blows, cried out "thieves!" the outcry alarmed the watch, who came up immediately, and finding a christian beating a mussulmaun (for hump-back was of our religion), "what reason have you," said he, "to abuse a mussulmaun in this manner?" "he would have robbed me," replied the merchant, "and jumped upon my back in order to take me by the throat." "if he did," said the watch, "you have revenged yourself sufficiently; come, get off him." at the same time he stretched out his hand to help little hump-back up, but observing he was dead, "oh!" said he, "is it thus that a christian dares to assassinate a mussulmaun?" so saying, he laid hold of the christian, and carried him to the house of the officer of the police, where he was kept till the judge was stirring, and ready to examine him. in the mean time, the christian merchant became sober, and the more he reflected upon his adventure, the less could he conceive how such slight blows of his fist could have killed the man. the judge having heard the report of the watch, and viewed the corpse, which they had taken care to bring to his house, interrogated the christian merchant, who could not deny the crime, though he had not committed it. but the judge considering that little hump-back belonged to the sultan, for he was one of his buffoons, would not put the christian to death till he knew the sultan's pleasure. for this end he went to the palace, and acquainted the sultan with what had happened; and received this answer: "i have no mercy to show to a christian who kills a mussulmaun." upon this the judge ordered a stake to be prepared, and sent criers all over the city to proclaim that they were about to impale a christian for killing a mussulmaun. at length the merchant was brought to the place of execution; and the executioner was about to do his duty, when the sultan's purveyor pushed through the crowd, calling to him to stop for that the christian had not committed the murder, but he himself had done it. upon that, the officer who attended the execution began to question the purveyor, who told him every circumstance of his having killed the little hunchback, and how he had conveyed his corpse to the place where the christian merchant had found it. "you were about," added he, "to put to death an innocent person; for how can he be guilty of the death of a man who was dead before he touched him? it is enough for me to have killed a mussulmaun without loading my conscience with the death of a christian who is not guilty." the sultan of casgar's purveyor having publicly charged himself with the death of the little hunchbacked man, the officer could do no less than execute justice on the merchant. "let the christian go," said he to the executioner, "and impale this man in his stead, since it appears by his own confession that he is guilty." thereupon the executioner released the merchant, and seized the purveyor; but just as he was going to impale him, he heard the voice of the jewish doctor, earnestly intreating him to suspend the execution, and make room for him to approach. when he appeared before the judge, "my lord," said he, "this mussulmaun you are going to execute is not guilty. i am the criminal. last night a man and a woman, unknown to me, came to my door with a sick man; my maid went and opened it without a light, and received from them a piece of money with a commission to come and desire me, in their name, to step down and look at the patient. while she was delivering her message, they conveyed the sick person to the stair-head, and disappeared. i went, without staying till my servant had lighted a candle, and in the dark happened to stumble upon the sick person, and kick him down stairs. at length i saw he was dead, and that it was the crooked mussulmaun whose death you are now about to avenge. my wife and i took the corpse, and, after conveying it up to the roof of the purveyor, our next neighbour, whom you were going to put to death unjustly, let it down the chimney into his chamber. the purveyor finding it in his house, took the little man for a thief, and after beating him concluded he had killed him. but that it was not so you will be convinced by this my deposition; i am the sole author of the murder; and though it was committed undesignedly, i am resolved to expiate my crime, that i may not have to charge myself with the death of two mussulmauns." the chief justice being persuaded that the jewish doctor was the murderer, gave orders to the executioner to seize him and release the purveyor. accordingly the doctor was just going to be impaled, when the tailor appeared, crying to the executioner to hold his hand, and make room for him, that he might come and make his confession to the chief judge. room being made, "my lord," said he, "you have narrowly escaped taking away the lives of three innocent persons; but if you will have the patience to hear me, i will discover to you the real murderer of the crook backed man. if his death is to be expiated by another, that must be mine. yesterday, towards the evening, as i was at work in my shop, and was disposed to be merry, the little hunch-back came to my door half-drunk, and sat down. he sung a little, and so i invited him to pass the evening at my house. he accepted the invitation and went in with me. we sat down to supper and i gave him a plate of fish; but in eating, a bone stuck in his throat, and though my wife and i did our utmost to relieve him, he died in a few minutes. his death afflicted us extremely, and for fear of being charged with it, we carried the corpse to the jewish doctor's house and knocked. the maid came. and opened the door; i desired her to go up again and ask her master to come down and give his advice to a sick person whom we had brought along with us; and withal, to encourage him, i charged her to give him a piece of money, which i put into her hand. when she was gone, i carried the hunch-back up stairs, and laid him upon the uppermost step, and then my wife and i made the best of our way home. the doctor coming, threw the corpse down stairs, and concluded himself to be the author of his death. this being the case," continued he, "release the doctor, and let me die in his stead." the chief justice, and all the spectators, wondered at the strange events which had ensued upon the death of the little hunch-back. "let the jewish doctor go," said the judge, "and seize the tailor, since he confesses the crime. it is certain this history is very uncommon, and deserves to be recorded in letters of gold." the executioner having dismissed the doctor prepared to impale the tailor. while the executioner was making ready to impale the tailor, the sultan of casgar, wanting the company of his crooked jester, asked where he was; and one of his officers told him; "the hunch- back, sir, whom you inquire after, got drunk last night, and contrary to his custom slipped out of the palace, and went strolling about the city, and this morning was found dead. a man was brought before the chief justice, and charged with the murder of him; but when he was going to be impaled, up came a man, and after him another, who took the charge upon themselves and cleared one another, and the judge is now examining a third, who gives himself out for the real author of the murder." upon this intelligence the sultan of casgar sent an officer to the place of execution. "go," said he, "with all expedition, and tell the judge to bring the accused persons before me immediately and bring also the corpse of poor hunch-back, that i may see him once more." accordingly the officer went, and happened to arrive at the place of execution at the very time that the executioner had laid his hands upon the tailor. he called aloud to him to suspend the execution. the executioner knowing the officer, did not dare to proceed, but released the tailor; and then the officer acquainted the judge with the sultan's pleasure. the judge obeyed, and went directly to the palace accompanied by the tailor, the jewish doctor, and the christian merchant; and made four of his men carry the hunch-backed corpse along with him. when they appeared in the sultan's presence, the judge threw himself at the prince's feet and after recovering himself, gave him a faithful relation of what he knew of the story of the hunch-backed man. the story appeared so extraordinary to the sultan, that he ordered his own historian to write it down with all its circumstances. then addressing himself to the audience; "did you ever hear," said he, "such a surprising event as has happened on the account of my little crooked buffoon?" the christian merchant, after falling down, and touching the earth with his forehead, spoke as follows: "most puissant monarch, i know a story yet more astonishing than this; if your majesty will give me leave, i will relate it. the circumstances are such, that no one can hear them without emotion." "well," said the sultan, "you have my permission:" and the merchant went on as follows: the story told by the christian merchant. sir, before i commence the recital of the story you have permitted me to relate, i beg leave to acquaint you, that i have not the honour to be born in any part of your majesty's empire. i am a stranger, born at cairo in egypt, a copt by nation, and by religion a christian. my father was a broker, and realized considerable property, which he left me at his death. i followed his example, and pursued the same employment. while i was standing in the public inn frequented by the corn merchants, there came up to me a handsome young man, well dressed, and mounted on an ass. he saluted me, and pulling out a handkerchief, in which he had a sample of sesame or turkey corn, asked me how much a bushel of such sesame would fetch. i examined the corn the young man shewed me, and told him it was worth a hundred dirhems of silver per bushel. "pray," said he, "look out for some merchant to take it at that price, and come to me at the victory gate, where you will see a khan at a distance from the houses." so saying, he left me the sample, and i shewed it to several merchants, who told me, that they would take as much as i could spare at a hundred and ten dirhems per bushel, so that i reckoned on getting ten dirhems per bushel for my commission. full of the expectation of this profit, i went to the victory gate, where i found the young merchant expecting me, and he took me into his granary, which was full of sesame. he had then a hundred and fifty bushels, which i measured out, and having carried them off upon asses, sold them for five thousand dirhems of silver. "out of this sum," said the young man, "there are five hundred dirhems coming to you, at the rate of ten dirhems per bushel. this i give you; and as for the rest which pertains to me, take it out of the merchants' hands, and keep it till i call or send for it, for i have no occasion for it at present." i answered, it should be ready for him whenever he pleased to demand it; and so, kissing his hand, took leave of him, with a grateful sense of his generosity. a month passed before he came near me: then he asked for the sum he had committed to my trust. i told him it was ready, and should be counted to him immediately. he was mounted on his ass, and i desired him to alight, and do me the honour to eat a mouthful with me before he received his money. "no," said he, "i cannot alight at present, i have urgent business that obliges me to be at a place just by; but i will return this way, and then take the money which i desired you would have in readiness." this said, he disappeared, and i still expected his return, but it was a full month before i saw him again. "this young merchant," thought i, "has great confidence in me, leaving so great a sum in my hands without knowing me; any other man would have been afraid i should have run away with it." to be short, he came again at the end of the third month, and was still mounted on his ass, but more handsomely dressed than before. as soon as i saw the young man, i intreated him to alight, and asked him if he would not take his money? "there is no hurry," said he, with a pleasant easy air, "i know it is in good hands; i will come and take it when my other money is all gone. adieu," continued he, "i will return towards the end of the week." with that he struck the ass, and soon disappeared. "well," thought i, "he says he will see me towards the end of the week, but he may not perhaps return for a great while; i will make the most i can of his money, which may bring me much profit." as it happened, i was not deceived in my conjecture; for it was a full year before i saw my young merchant again. he then appeared as richly appareled as before, but seemed to have something on his spirits. i asked him to do me the honour to walk into my house. "for this time," replied he, "i will: but on this condition, that you shall put yourself to no extraordinary charge on my account." "i will do just as you please," said i, "only do me the favour to alight and walk in." accordingly he complied. i gave orders to have a repast prepared, and while this was doing, we entered into conversation. all things being ready, we sat down. i observed he took the first mouthful with his left hand, and not with the right. i was at a loss what to think of this. "ever since i have known this young man," said i inwardly, "he has always appeared very polite; is it possible he can do this out of contempt? what can be the reason he does not use his right hand?" after we had done eating, and every thing was taken away, we sat upon a sofa, and i presented him with a lozenge by way of dainty; but still he took it with his left hand. i said to him, "pardon, sir, the liberty i take in asking you what reason you have for not using your right hand? perhaps you have some complaint in that hand." instead of answering, he heaved a deep sigh, and pulling out his right arm, which he had hitherto kept under his vest, shewed me, to my great astonishment, that it had been cut off. "doubtless you were displeased," said he, "to see me feed myself with the left hand; but i leave you to judge, whether it was in my power to do otherwise." "may one ask," said i, "by what mischance you lost your right hand?" upon that he burst into tears, and after wiping his eyes, gave me the following relation. you must know that i am a native of bagdad, the son of a rich merchant, the most eminent in that city for rank and opulence. i had scarcely launched into the world, when falling into the company of travellers, and hearing their wonderful accounts of egypt, especially of grand cairo, i was interested by their discourse, and felt a strong desire to travel. but my father was then alive, and would not grant me permission. at length he died; and being then my own master, i resolved to take a journey to cairo. i laid out a large sum of money in the purchase of several sorts of fine stuffs of bagdad and moussol. and departed. arriving at cairo, i went to the khan, called the khan of mesrour, and there took lodgings, with a warehouse for my bales, which i had brought with me upon camels. this done, i retired to my chamber to rest, after the fatigue of my journey, and gave some money to my servants, with orders to buy some provisions and dress them. after i had eaten, i went to view the castle, some mosques, the public squares, and the other most remarkable places. next day i dressed myself, and ordered some of the finest and richest of my bales to be selected and carried by my slaves to the circassian bazaar, whither i followed. i had no sooner made my appearance, than i was surrounded with brokers and criers who had heard of my arrival. i gave patterns of my stuffs to several of the criers, who shewed them all over the bazaar; but none of the merchants offered near so much as prime cost and carriage. this vexed me, and the criers observing i was dissatisfied, said, "if you will take our advice, we will put you in a way to sell your goods without loss." the brokers and the criers, having thus promised to put me in a way of losing nothing by my goods, i asked them what course they would have me pursue . "divide your goods," said they, among several merchants, they will sell them by retail; and twice a week, that is on mondays and thursdays, you may receive what money they may have taken. by this means, instead of losing, you will turn your goods to advantage, and the merchants will gain by you. in the mean while you will have time to take your pleasure about the town or go upon the nile." i took their advice, and conducted them to my warehouse; from whence i brought all my goods to the bazaar, and there divided them among the merchants whom they represented as most reputable and able to pay; and the merchants gave me a formal receipt before witnesses, stipulating that i should not making any demands upon them for the first month. having thus regulated my affairs, my mind was occupied with ordinary pleasures. i contracted acquaintance with divers persons of nearly the same age with myself, which made the time pass agreeably. after the first month had expired, i began to visit my merchants twice a week, taking with me a public officer to inspect their books of sale, and a banker to see that they paid me in good money, and to regulate the value of the several coins. every pay-day, i had a good sum of money to carry home to my lodging at the khan of mesrour. i went on other days to pass the morning sometimes at one merchant's house, and sometimes at that of another. in short, i amused myself in conversing with them, and seeing what passed in the bazaar. one monday, as i was sitting in a merchant �s shop, whose name was buddir ad deen, a lady of quality, as might easily be perceived by her air, her apparel, and by a well-dressed slave attending her, came into the shop, and sat down by me. her external appearance, joined to a natural grace that shone in all her actions, prepossessed me in her favour, and inspired me with a desire to be better acquainted with her. i know not whether she observed that i took pleasure in gazing on her, and whether this attention on my part was not agreeable to her; but she let down the crepe that hung over the muslin which covered her face, and gave me the opportunity of seeing her large black eyes; which perfectly charmed me. in fine, she inflamed my love to the height by the agreeable sound of her voice, her graceful carriage in saluting the merchant, and asking him how he did since she had seen him last. after conversing with him some time upon indifferent subjects, she gave him to understand that she wanted a particular kind of stuff with a gold ground; that she came to his shop, as affording the best choice of any in all the bazaar; and that if he had any such as she asked for, he would oblige her in showing them. buddir ad deen produced several pieces, one of which she pitched upon, and he asked for it eleven hundred dirhems of silver. "i will," said she, "give you your price for it, but i have not money enough about me; so i hope you will give me credit till to- morrow, and in the mean time allow me to carry home the stuff. i shall not fail," added she, "to send you tomorrow the eleven hundred dirhems." "madam," said buddir ad deen, "i would give you credit with all my heart if the stuff were mine; but it belongs to the young man you see here, and this is the day on which we settle our accounts." "why," said the lady in surprise, "do you use me so? am not i a customer to your shop and when i have bought of you, and carried home the things without paying ready money for them, did i in any instance fail to send you your money next morning?" "madam," said the merchant, "all this is true, but this very day i have occasion for the money." "there," said she, throwing the stuff to him, "take your stuff, i care not for you nor any of the merchants. you are all alike; you respect no one." as she spoke, she rose up in anger, and walked out. when i saw that the lady walked away, i felt interested on her behalf, and called her back, saying, "madam, do me the favour to return, perhaps i can find a way to satisfy you both." she returned, saying, it was on my account that she complied. "buddir ad deen," said i to the merchant, "what is the price you must have for this stuff that belongs to me?" "i must have," replied he, "eleven hundred dirhems, i cannot take less." "give it to the lady then," said i, "let her take it home with her; i allow a hundred dirhems profit to yourself, and shall now write you a note, empowering you to deduct that sum upon the produce of the other goods you have of mine." in fine, i wrote, signed, and gave him the note, and then delivered the stuff to the lady. "madam," said i, "you may take the stuff with you, and as for the money, you may either send it to-morrow or the next day; or, if you will, accept it as a present from me." "pardon me," returned she, "i mean no such thing. you treat me with so much politeness, that i should be unworthy to appear in the world again, were i to omit making you my best acknowledgments. may god reward you, by an increase of your fortune; may you live many years after i am dead; may the gate of paradise be open to you when you remove to the other world, and may all the city proclaim your generosity." these words inspired me with some assurance. "madam," i replied, "i desire no other reward for the service i have done you than the happiness of seeing your face; which will repay me with interest." i had no sooner spoken than she turned towards me, took off her veil, and discovered to me a wonderful beauty. i became speechless with admiration. i could have gazed upon her for ever; but fearing any one should observe her, she quickly covered her face, and letting down the crepe, took up the piece of stuff, and went away, leaving me in a very different state of mind from that in which i had entered the shop. i continued for some time in great confusion and perplexity. before i took leave of the merchant, i asked him, if he knew the lady; "yes," said he, "she is the daughter of an emir." i went back to the khan of mesrour, and sat down to supper, but could not eat, neither could i shut my eyes all the night, which seemed the longest in my life. as soon as it was day i arose, in hopes of once more beholding the object that disturbed my repose: and to engage her affection, i dressed myself much richer than i had done the day before. i had but just reached buddir ad deen's shop, when i saw the lady coming in more magnificent apparel than before, and attended by her slave. when she entered, she did not regard the merchant, but addressing herself to me, said, "sir, you see i am punctual to my word. i am come for the express purpose of paying the sum you were so kind as to pass your word for yesterday, though you had no knowledge of me. such uncommon generosity i shall never forget." "madam," said i, "you had no occasion to be in such haste; i was well satisfied as to my money, and am sorry you should put yourself to so much trouble." "i had been very unjust," answered she, "if i had abused your generosity." with these words she put the money into my hand, and sat down by me. having this opportunity of conversing with her, i determined to improve it, and mentioned to her the love i had for her; but she rose and left me very abruptly, as if she had been angry with the declaration i had made. i followed her with my eyes as long as she continued in sight; then taking leave of the merchant walked out of the bazaar, without knowing where i went. i was musing on this adventure, when i felt somebody pulling me behind, and turning to see who it was, i was agreeably surprised to perceive it was the lady's slave. "my mistress," said she, "i mean the young lady you spoke to in the merchant's shop, wants to speak with you, if you please to give yourself the trouble to follow me." accordingly i followed her, and found her mistress sitting waiting for me in a banker's shop. she made me sit down by her, and spoke to this purpose. "do not be surprised, that i left you so abruptly. i thought it not proper, before that merchant, to give a favourable answer to the discovery you made of your affection for me. but to speak the truth, i was so far from being offended at it, that it gave me pleasure; and i account myself infinitely happy in having a man of your merit for my lover. i do not know what impression the first sight of me may have made on you, but i assure you, i had no sooner beheld you than i found my heart moved with the tenderest emotions of love. since yesterday i have done nothing but think of what you said to me; and my eagerness to seek you this morning may convince you of my regard." "madam," i replied, transported with love and joy, "nothing can be more agreeable to me than this declaration. no passion can exceed that with which i love you. my eyes were dazzled with so many charms, that my heart yielded without resistance." "let us not trifle away the time in needless discourse," said she, interrupting me; "make no doubt of your sincerity, and you shall quickly be convinced of mine. will you do me the honour to come to my residence? or if you will i will go to yours." "madam," i returned, "i am a stranger lodged in a khan, which is not the proper place for the reception of a lady of your quality. it is more proper, madam, that i should visit you at your house; have the goodness to tell me where it is." the lady consented; "come," said she, "on friday, which is the day after to-morrow, after noon-prayers, and ask for the house of abon schama, surnamed bercour, late master of the emirs; there you will find me." this said, we parted; and i passed the next day in great impatience. on friday i put on my richest apparel, and took fifty pieces of gold in my purse. i mounted an ass i had bespoken the day before, and set out, accompanied by the man who let me the ass. i directed the owner of the ass to inquire for the house i wanted; he found it, and conducted me thither. i paid him liberally, directing him to observe narrowly where he left me, and not to fail to return next morning with the ass, to carry me again to the khan of mesrour. i knocked at the door, and presently two little female slaves, white as snow, and neatly dressed came and opened it. "be pleased to come in, sir, said they, "our mistress expects you impatiently; these two days she has talked of nothing but you. i entered the court, and saw a pavilion raised seven steps, and surrounded with iron rails that parted it from a very pleasant garden. besides the trees which only embellished the place, and formed an agreeable shade, there was an infinite number of others loaded with all sorts of fruit. i was charmed with the warbling of a great number of birds, that joined their notes to the murmurings of a fountain, in the middle of a parterre enamelled with flowers. this fountain formed a very agreeable object; four large gilded dragons at the angles of the basin, which was of a square form, spouted out water clearer than rock-crystal. this delicious place gave me a charming idea of the conquest i had made. the two little slaves conducted me into a saloon magnificently furnished; and while one of them went to acquaint her mistress with my arrival, the other tarried with me, and pointed out to me the beauties of the hall. i did not wait long in the hall, ere the lady i loved appeared, adorned with pearls and diamonds ; but the splendour of her eyes far outshone that of her jewels. her shape, which was now not disguised by the habit she wore in the city, appeared the most slender and delicate. i need not mention with what joy we met once more; it far exceeded all expression. when the first compliments were over, we sat down upon a sofa, and there conversed together with the highest satisfaction. we had the most delicious refreshments served up to us; and after eating, continued our conversation till night. we then had excellent wine brought up, and fruit adapted to promote drinking, and timed our cups to the sound of musical instruments, joined to the voices of the slaves. the lady of the house sung herself, and by her songs raised my passion to the height. in short, i passed the night in full enjoyment. next morning i slipped under the bolster of the bed the purse with the fifty pieces of gold i had brought with me, and took leave of the lady, who asked me when i would see her again. "madam," said i, "i give you my promise to return this night." she seemed to be transported with my answer, and conducting me to the door, conjured me at parting to be mindful of my promise. the same man who had carried me thither waited for me with his ass, which i mounted, and went directly to the khan; ordering the man to come to me again in the afternoon at a certain hour, to secure which, i deferred paying him till that time came. as soon as i arrived at my lodging, my first care was to order my people to buy a lamb, and several sorts of cakes, which i sent by a porter as a present to the lady. when that was done i attended to my business till the owner of the ass arrived. i then went along with him to the lady's house, and was received by her with as much joy as before, and entertained with equal magnificence. next morning i took leave, left her another purse with fifty pieces of gold, and returned to my khan. i continued to visit the lady every day, and to leave her every time a purse with fifty pieces of gold, till the merchants whom i employed to sell my goods, and whom i visited regularly twice a week, had paid me the whole amount of my goods and, in short, i came at last to be moneyless, and hopeless of having any more. in this forlorn condition i walked out of my lodging, not knowing what course to take, and by chance went towards the castle, where there was a great crowd to witness a spectacle given by the sultan of egypt. as soon as i came up, i wedged in among the crowd, and by chance happened to stand by a horseman well mounted and handsomely clothed, who had upon the pommel of his saddle a bag, half open, with a string of green silk hanging out of it. i clapped my hand to the bag, concluding the silk-twist might be the string of a purse within: in the mean time a porter, with a load of wood upon his back, passed by on the other side of the horse so near, that the rider was forced to turn his head towards him, to avoid being hurt, or having his clothes torn by the wood. in that moment the devil tempted me; i took the string in one hand, and with the other pulled out the purse so dexterously, that nobody perceived me. the purse was heavy, and i did not doubt but it contained gold or silver. as soon as the porter had passed, the horseman, who probably had some suspicion of what i had done while his head was turned, presently put his hand to his bag, and finding his purse was gone, gave me such a blow, that he knocked me down. this violence shocked all who saw it. some took hold of the horse's bridle to stop the gentleman, and asked him what reason he had to strike me, or how he came to treat a mussulmaun so rudely. "do not you trouble yourselves," said he briskly, "i had reason for what i did; this fellow is a thief." at these words i started up, and from my appearance every one took my part, and cried out he was a liar, for that it was incredible a young man such as i was should be guilty of so base an action: but while they were holding his horse by the bridle to favour my escape, unfortunately passed by the judge, who seeing such a crowd about the gentleman on horseback, came up and asked what the matter was. every body present reflected on the gentleman for treating me so unjustly upon the presence of robbery. the judge did not give ear to all that was said; but asked the cavalier if he suspected any body else beside me? the cavalier told him he did not, and gave his reasons why he believed his suspicions not to be groundless. upon this the judge ordered his followers to seize me, which they presently did; and finding the purse upon me, exposed it to the view of all the people. the disgrace was so great, i could not bear it, and i swooned away. in the mean time the judge called for the purse. when the judge had got the purse in his hand, he asked the horseman if it was his, and how much money it contained. the cavalier knew it to be his own, and assured the judge he had put twenty sequins into it. upon which the judge called me before him; "come, young man," said he, "confess the truth. was it you that took the gentleman's purse from him? do not wait for the torture to extort confession." then with downcast eyes, thinking that if i denied the fact, they, having found the purse upon me, would convict me of a lie, to avoid a double punishment i looked up and confessed my guilt. i had no sooner made the confession, than the judge called people to witness it, and ordered my hand to be cutoff. this sentence was immediately put in execution, to the great regret of all the spectators; nay, i observed, by the cavalier's countenance, that he was moved with pity as much as the rest. the judge would likewise have ordered my foot to be cut off, but i begged the cavalier to intercede for my pardon; which he did, and obtained it. when the judge was gone, the cavalier came up to me, and holding out the purse, said, "i see plainly that necessity drove you to an action so disgraceful and unworthy of such a young man as you appear. here, take that fatal purse; i freely give it you, and am heartily sorry for the misfortune you have undergone." having thus spoken, he went away. being very weak by loss of blood, some of the good people of the neighbourhood had the kindness to carry me into a house and give me a glass of cordial; they likewise dressed my arm, and wrapped up the dismembered hand in a cloth, which i carried away with me fastened to my girdle. had i returned to the khan of mesrour in this melancholy condition, i should not have found there such relief as i wanted; and to offer to go to the young lady was running a great hazard, it being likely she would not look upon me after being informed of my disgrace. i resolved, however, to put her to the trial; and to tire out the crowd that followed me, i turned down several by- streets, and at last arrived at the lady's house very weak, and so much fatigued, that i presently threw myself down upon a sofa, keeping my right arm under my garment, for i took great care to conceal my misfortune. in the mean time the lady, hearing of my arrival, and that i was not well, came to me in haste; and seeing me pale and dejected, said, "my dear love, what is the matter with you?" "madam," i replied, dissembling, "i have a violent pain in my head." the lady seemed to be much concerned, and asked me to sit down, for i had arisen to receive her. "tell me," said she, "how your illness was occasioned. the last time i had the pleasure to see you, you were very well. there must be something that you conceal from me, let me know what it is." i stood silent, and instead of an answer, tears trickled down my cheeks. "i cannot conceive," resumed she, "what it is that afflicts you. have i unthinkingly given you any occasion of uneasiness? or do you come on purpose to tell me you no longer love me?" "it is not that, madam," said i, heaving a deep sigh; "your unjust suspicion adds to my misfortune." i could not think of discovering to her the true cause. when night came, supper was brought, and she pressed me to eat; but considering i could only feed myself with my left hand, i begged to be excused upon the plea of having no appetite. "it will return," said she, "if you would but discover what you so obstinately conceal from me. your want of appetite, without doubt, is only owing to your irresolution." "alas! madam," returned i, "i find i must resolve at last." i had no sooner spoken, than she filled me a cup full of wine, and offering it to me, "drink that," said she, "it will give you courage." i reached out my left hand, and took the cup. when i had taken the cup in my hand, i redoubled my tears and sighs. "why do you sigh and weep so bitterly?" asked the lady; "and why do you take the cup with your left hand, rather than your right?" "ah! madam," i replied, "i beseech you excuse me; i have a swelling in my right hand." "let me see that swelling," said she; "i will open it." i desired to be excused, alleging it was not ripe enough for such an operation; and drank off the cup, which was very large. the fumes of the wine, joined to my weakness and weariness, set me asleep, and i slept very soundly till morning. in the mean time the lady, curious to know what ailed my right hand, lifted up my garment that covered it; and saw to her great astonishment that it was cut off, and that i had brought it along with me wrapped up in a cloth. she presently apprehended what was my reason for declining a discovery, notwithstanding all her pressing solicitation; and passed the night in the greatest uneasiness on account of my disgrace, which she concluded had been occasioned only by the love i bore to her. when i awoke, i discerned by her countenance that she was extremely grieved. however, that she might not increase my uneasiness she said not a word. she called for jelly-broth of fowl, which she had ordered to be prepared, and made me eat and drink to recruit my strength. after that, i offered to take leave of her; but she declared i should not go out of her doors. "though you tell me nothing of the matter," said she, "i am persuaded i am the cause of the misfortune that has befallen you. the grief that i feel on that account will soon end my days, but before i die, i must execute a design for your benefit." she had no sooner spoken, than she called for a judge and witnesses, and ordered a writing to be drawn up, putting me in possession of her whole property. after this was done, and every body dismissed, she opened a large trunk where lay all the purses i had given her from the commencement of our amour. "there they are all entire," said she; "i have not touched one of them. here is the key ; take it, for all is yours." after i had returned her thanks for her generosity and goodness; "what i have done for you," said she, "is nothing; i shall not be satisfied unless i die, to show how much i love you." i conjured her, by all the powers of love, to relinquish such a fatal resolution. but all my remonstrances were ineffectual: she was so afflicted to see me have but one hand, that she sickened, and died after five or six weeks' illness. after mourning for her death as long as was decent, i took possession of all her property, a particular account of which she gave me before she died; and the corn you sold for me was part of it. "what i have now told you," said he, "will plead my excuse for eating with my left hand. i am highly obliged to you for the trouble you have given yourself on my account. i can never sufficiently recompense your fidelity. since i have still, thanks to god, a competent estate, notwithstanding i have spent a great deal, i beg you to accept of the sum now in your hand, as a present from me. i have besides a proposal to make to you. as i am obliged, on account of this fatal accident, to quit cairo, i am resolved never to return to it again. if you choose to accompany me, we will trade together as equal partners, and share the profits." i thanked the young man for the present he had made me, and i willingly embraced the proposal of travelling with him, assuring him, that his interest should always be as dear to me as my own. we fixed a day for our departure, and accordingly entered upon our travels. we passed through syria and mesopotamia, travelled over persia, and after stopping at several cities, came at last, sir, to your capital. some time after our arrival here, the young man having formed a design of returning to persia, and settling there, we balanced our accounts, and parted very good friends. he went from hence, and i, sir, continue here in your majesty's service. this is the story i had to relate. does not your majesty find it more surprising than that of the hunch-back buffoon? the sultan of casgar fell into a passion against the christian merchant. "thou art a presumptuous fellow," said he, "to tell me a story so little worth hearing, and then to compare it to that of my jester. canst thou flatter thyself so far as to believe that the trifling adventures of a young debauchee are more interesting than those of my jester? i will have you all four impaled, to revenge his death. hearing this, the purveyor prostrated himself at the sultan's feet. "sir," said he, "i humbly beseech your majesty to suspend your wrath, and hear my story; and if it appears to be more extraordinary than that of your jester, to pardon us." the sultan having granted his request, the purveyor began thus. the story told by the sultan of casgar's purveyor. sir, a person of quality invited me yesterday to his daughter's wedding. i went to his house in the evening at the hour appointed, and found there a large company of men of the law, ministers of justice, and others of the first rank in the city. after the ceremony was over, we partook of a splendid feast. among other dishes set upon the table, there was one seasoned with garlic, which was very delicious, and generally relished. we observed, however, that one of the guests did not touch it, though it stood just before him. we invited him to taste it, but he intreated us not to press him. "i will take good care," said he, "how i touch any dish that is seasoned with garlic; i have not yet forgotten what the tasting of such a dish once cost me." we requested him to inform us what the reason was of his aversion to garlic. but before he had time to answer, the master of the house exclaimed, "is it thus you honour my table? this dish is excellent, do not expect to be excused from eating of it; you must do me that favour as well as the rest." "sir," said the gentleman, who was a bagdad merchant, "i hope you do not think my refusal proceeds from any mistaken delicacy; if you insist on my compliance i will submit, but it must be on this condition, that after having eaten, i may, with your permission, wash my hands with alkali forty times, forty times more with ashes, and forty times again with soap. i hope you will not feel displeased at this stipulation, as i have made an oath never to taste garlic but on these terms." as the master of the house, continued the purveyor of the sultan of casgar, would not dispense with the merchant's partaking of the dish seasoned with garlic, he ordered his servants to provide a basin of water, together with some alkali, the ashes, and soap, that the merchant might wash as often as he pleased. after he had given these instructions, he addressed the merchant and said, "i hope you will now do as we do." the merchant, apparently displeased with the constraint put upon him, took up a bit, which he put to his mouth trembling, and ate with a reluctance that astonished us. but what surprised us yet more was, that he had no thumb; which none of us had observed before, though he had eaten of other dishes. "you have lost your thumb," said the master of the house. "this must have been occasioned by some extraordinary accident, a relation of which will be agreeable to the company." "sir," replied the merchant, "i have no thumb on either the right or the left hand." as he spoke he put out his left hand, and shewed us that what he said was true. "but this is not all," continued he: "i have no great toe on either of my feet: i was maimed in this manner by an unheard-of adventure, which i am willing to relate, if you will have the patience to hear me. the account will excite at once your astonishment and your pity. only allow me first to wash my hands." with this he rose from the table, and after washing his hands a hundred and twenty times, reseated himself, and proceeded with his narrative as follows. in the reign of the caliph haroon al rusheed, my father lived at bagdad, the place of my nativity, and was reputed one of the richest merchants in the city. but being a man addicted to his pleasures, and neglecting his private affairs, instead of leaving me an ample fortune, he died in such embarrassed circumstances, that i was reduced to the necessity of using all the economy possible to discharge the debts he had contracted. i at last, however, paid them all; and by care and good management my little fortune began to wear a smiling aspect. one morning, as i opened my shop, a lady mounted upon a mule, and attended by an eunuch and two slaves, stopped near my door, and with the assistance of the eunuch alighted. "madam," said the eunuch, "i told you you would be too early; you see there is no one yet in the bazaar: had you taken my advice, you might have saved yourself the trouble of waiting here." the lady looked and perceiving no shop open but mine, asked permission to sit in it till the other merchants arrived. with this request i of course readily complied. the lady took a seat in my shop, and observing there was no one in the bazaar but the eunuch and myself, uncovered her face to take the air. i had never beheld any thing so beautiful. i became instantly enamoured, and kept my eyes fixed upon her. i flattered myself that my attention was not unpleasant to her; for she allowed me time to view her deliberately, and only concealed her face so far as she thought necessary to avoid being observed. after she had again lowered her veil, she told me she wanted several sorts of the richest and finest stuffs, and asked me if i had them. "alas! madam," i replied, "i am but a young man just beginning the world; i have not capital sufficient for such extensive traffic. i am much mortified not to be able to accommodate you with the articles you want. but to save you the trouble of going from shop to shop, when the merchants arrive, i will, if you please, go and get those articles from them, and ascertain the lowest prices." she assented to this proposal, and entered into conversation with me, which i prolonged, making her believe the merchants that could furnish what she wanted were not yet come. i was not less charmed with her wit than i had been before with the beauty of her face; but was obliged to forego the pleasure of her conversation. i ran for the stuffs she wanted, and after she had fixed upon what she liked, we agreed for five thousand dirhems of coined silver; i wrapped up the stuffs in a small bundle, and gave it to the eunuch, who put it under his arm. she then rose and took leave. i followed her with my eyes till she had reached the bazaar gate, and even after she had remounted her mule. the lady had no sooner disappeared, than i perceived that love had led me to a serious oversight. it had so engrossed my thoughts, that i did not reflect that she went away without paying, and that i had not informed myself who she was, or where she resided. i soon felt sensible, however, that i was accountable for a large sum to the merchants, who, perhaps, would not have patience to wait for their money: i went to them, and made the best excuse i could, pretending that i knew the lady; and then returned home, equally affected with love, and with the burden of such a heavy debt. i had desired my creditors to wait eight days for their money: when this period had elapsed, they did not fail to dun me. i then intreated them to give me eight days more, to which they consented; but the next day i saw the lady enter the bazaar, mounted on her mule, with the same attendants as before, and exactly the same hour of the day. she came straight to my shop. "i have made you wait some time," said she, "but here is your money at last; carry it to the banker, and see that it is all good and right." the eunuch who carried the money went along with me to the banker, and we found it quite right. i returned, and had the happiness of conversing with the lady till all the shops of the bazaar were open. though we talked but of ordinary things, she gave them such a turn, that they appeared new and uncommon; and convinced me that i was not mistaken in admiring her wit at our first interview. as soon as the merchants had arrived and opened their shops, i carried to the respective owners the money due for their stuffs, and was readily intrusted with more, which the lady had desired to see. she chose some from these to the value of one thousand pieces of gold, and carried them away as before without paying; nay, without speaking a word, or informing me who she was. what distressed me was the consideration that while at this rate she risked nothing, she left me without any security against being made answerable for the goods in case she did not return. "she has paid me," thought i, "a considerable sum; but she leaves me responsible for a greater, surely she cannot be a cheat. the merchants do not know her, they will all come upon me." in short, my love was not so powerful as to stifle the uneasiness i felt, when i reflected upon the circumstances in which i was placed. a whole month passed before i heard any thing of the lady again; and during that time my alarm increased. the merchants were impatient for their money, and to satisfy them, i was going to sell off all i had, when one morning the lady returned with the same equipage as before. "take your weights," said she, "and weigh the gold i have brought you." these words dispelled my fear, and inflamed my love. before we counted the money, she asked me several questions, and particularly if i was married. i answered i never had been. then reaching out the gold to the eunuch, "let us have your interposition," said she, "to accommodate our matters." upon which the eunuch fell a laughing, and calling me aside, made me weigh the gold. while i was thus occupied, the eunuch whispered in my ear, "i know by your eyes you love this lady, and i am surprised that you have not the courage to disclose your passion. she loves you more ardently than you do her. do not imagine that she has any real occasion for your stuffs. she only makes this her presence to come here, because you have inspired her with a violent passion. it was for this reason she asked you if you were married. it will be your own fault, if you do not marry her." "it is true," i replied, "i have loved her since i first beheld her; but i durst not aspire to the happiness of thinking my attachment could meet her approbation. i am entirely hers, and shall not fail to retain a grateful sense of your good offices in this affair." i finished weighing the gold, and while i was putting it into the bag, the eunuch turned to the lady, and told her i was satisfied; that being the word they had agreed upon between themselves. presently after, the lady rose and took her leave; telling me she would send her eunuch to me, and that i had only to obey the directions he might give me in her name. i carried each of the merchants their money, and waited some days with impatience for the eunuch. at last he came. i received the eunuch very kindly, and inquired after his mistress's health. "you are," said he, "the happiest lover in the world; she is impatient to see you; aud were she mistress of her own conduct, would not fail to come to you herself, and willingly pass in your society all the days of her life." "her noble mien and graceful carriage," i replied, "convinced me, that she was a lady beyond the common rank." "you have not erred in your judgment on that head," said the eunuch; "she is the favourite of zobeide the caliph's wife, who is the more affectionately attached to her from having brought her up from her infancy, and intrusts her with all her affairs. having a wish to marry, she has declared to her mistress that she has fixed her affections upon you, and has desired her consent. zobeide told her, she would not withhold her consent; but that she would see you first, in order to judge if she had made a good choice; in which case she meant herself to defray the expenses of the wedding. thus you see your felicity is certain; since you have pleased the favourite, you will be equally agreeable to the mistress, who seeks only to oblige her, and would by no means thwart her inclination. all you have to do is to come to the palace. i am sent hither to invite you." "my resolution is already formed," said i, "and i am ready to follow you whithersoever you please." "very well," said the eunuch; "but you know men are not allowed to enter the ladies' apartments in the palace, and you must be introduced with great secrecy. the favourite lady has contrived the matter well. on your side you must act your part discreetly; for if you do not, your life is at stake." i gave him repeated assurances punctually to perform whatever he might require. "then," said he, "in the evening, you must be at the mosque built by the caliph's lady on the bank of the tigris, and wait there till somebody comes to conduct you." to this i agreed; and after passing the day in great impatience, went in the evening to the prayer that is said an hour and a half after sun-set in the mosque, and remained there after all the people had departed. soon after i saw a boat making up to the mosque, the rowers of which were all eunuchs, who came on shore, put several large trunks into the mosque, and then retired. one of them stayed behind, whom i perceived to be the eunuch that had accompanied the lady, and had been with me that morning. i saw the lady also enter the mosque; and approaching her, told her i was ready to obey her orders. "we have no time to lose," said she; and opening one of the trunks, desired me to get into it, that being necessary both for her safety and mine. "fear nothing," added she, "leave the management of all to me." i considered with myself that i had gone too far to recede, and obeyed her orders; when she immediately locked the trunk. this done, the eunuch her confidant called the other eunuchs who had brought in the trunks, and ordered them to carry them on board again. the lady and the eunuch re-embarked, and the boatmen rowed to zobeide's apartment. in the meantime i reflected very seriously upon the danger to which i had exposed myself, and made vows and prayers, though it was then too late. the boat stopped at the palace-gate, and the trunks were carried into the apartment of the officer of the eunuchs, who keeps the key of the ladies' apartments, and suffers nothing to enter without a narrow inspection. the officer was then in bed, and it was necessary to call him up. the officer of the eunuchs was displeased at having his rest disturbed, and severely chid the favourite lady for coming home so late. "you shall not come off so easily as you think," said he: "not one of these trunks shall pass till i have opened it." at the same time he commanded the eunuchs to bring them before him, and open them one by one. the first they took was that wherein i lay, which put me into inexpressible fear. the favourite lady, who had the key, protested it should not be opened. "you know very well," said she, "i bring nothing hither but what is for the use of zobeide, your mistress and mine. this trunk is filled with rich goods, which i purchased from some merchants lately arrived, besides a number of bottles of zemzem water sent from mecca; and if any of these should happen to break, the goods will be spoiled, and you must answer for them; depend upon it, zobeide will resent your insolence." she insisted upon this in such peremptory terms, that the officer did not dare to open any of the trunks. "let them go," said he angrily; "you may take them away." upon this the door of the women's apartment was opened, and all the trunks were carried in. this had been scarcely accomplished, when i heard the people cry, "here is the caliph! here comes the caliph!" this put me in such alarm, that i wonder i did not die upon the spot; for as they announced, it proved to be the caliph. "what hast thou got in these trunks?" said he to the favourite. "some stuffs," she replied, "lately arrived, which the empress wishes to see." "open them," cried he, "and let me see them." she excused herself, alleging the stuffs were only proper for ladies, and that by opening them, his lady would be deprived of the pleasure of seeing them first. "i say open them," resumed the caliph; "i will see them." she still represented that her mistress would be angry with her, if she complied: "no, no," said he, "i will engage she shall not say a word to you. come, come, open them, and do not keep me waiting." it was necessary to obey, which gave me such alarm, that i tremble every time i recollect my situation. the caliph sat down; and the favourite ordered all the trunks to be brought before him one after another. she opened some of them; and to lengthen out the time, displayed the beauties of each particular stuff, thinking in this manner to tire out his patience; but her stratagem did not succeed. being as unwilling as myself to have the trunk where i lay opened, she left that to the last. when all the rest were viewed, "come," said the caliph, "let us see what is in that." i am at a loss to tell you whether i was dead or alive that moment; for i little thought of escaping such imminent danger. when zobeide's favourite saw that the caliph persisted in having this trunk opened: "as for this," said she, "your majesty will please to dispense with the opening of it; there are some things in it which i cannot shew you without your lady be present." "well, well," said the caliph, "since that is the case, i am satisfied; order the trunks to be carried away." the words were no sooner spoken than they were moved into her chamber, where i began to revive again. as soon as the eunuchs, who had brought them, were gone, she opened the trunk in which i was confined. "come out," said she; "go up these stairs that lead to an upper room, and wait there till i come to you." the door, which led to the stairs, she locked after me; and that was no sooner done, than the caliph came and sat down on the very trunk which had been my prison. the occasion of this visit did not respect me. he wished to question the lady about what she had seen or heard in the city. so they conversed together some time; he then left her, and retired to his apartment. when she found the coast clear, she came to the chamber where i lay concealed, and made many apologies for the alarms she had given me. "my uneasiness," said she, "was no less than yours; you cannot well doubt of that, since i have run the same risk out of love to you. perhaps another person in my situation would not, upon so delicate an occasion, have had the presence of mind to manage so difficult a business with so much dexterity; nothing less than the love i had for you could have inspired me with courage to do what i have. but come, take heart, the danger is now over." after much tender conversation, she told me it was time to go to rest, and that she would not fail to introduce me to zobeide her mistress, some hour on the morrow, "which will be very easy," added she; "for the caliph never sees her but at night." encouraged by these words, i slept very well, or if my sleep was interrupted, it was by agreeable disquietudes, caused by the hopes of possessing a lady blest with so much wit and beauty. the next day, before i was introduced to zobeide, her favourite instructed me how to conduct myself, mentioning what questions she would probably put to me, and dictating the answers i was to return. she then carried me into a very magnificent and richly furnished hall. i had no sooner entered, than twenty female slaves, advanced in age, dressed in rich and uniform habits, came out of zobeide's apartment, and placed themselves before the throne in two equal rows; they were followed by twenty other younger ladies, clothed after the same fashion, only their habits appeared somewhat gayer. in the middle of these appeared zobeide with a majestic air, and so laden with jewels, that she could scarcely walk. she ascended the throne, and the favourite lady, who had accompanied her, stood just by her right hand; the other ladies, who were slaves, being placed at some distance on each side of the throne. as soon as the caliph's lady was seated, the slaves who came in first made a sign for me to approach. i advanced between the two rows they had formed, and prostrated myself upon the carpet that was under the princess's feet. she ordered me to rise, did me the honour to ask my name, my family, and the state of my fortune; to all which i gave her satisfactory answers, as i perceived, not only by her countenance, but by her words. "i am glad," said she, "that my daughter," (so she used to call the favourite lady,) "for i look upon her as such after the care i have take of her education, has made this choice; i approve of it, and consent to your marriage. i will myself give orders for having it solemnized; but i wish my daughter to remain with me ten days before the solemnity; in that time i will speak to the caliph, and obtain his consent: mean while do you remain here; you shall be taken care of." pursuant to the commands of the caliph's lady, i remained ten days in the women's apartments, and during that time was deprived of the pleasure of seeing the favourite lady: but was so well used by her orders, that i had no reason to be dissatisfied. zobeide told the caliph her resolution of marrying the favourite lady; and the caliph leaving to her the liberty to act in the business as she thought proper, granted the favourite a considerable sum by way of settlement. when the ten days were expired, zobeide ordered the contract of marriage to be drawn up and brought to her, and the necessary preparations being made for the solemnity, the musicians and the dancers, both male and female, were called in, and there were great rejoicings in the palace for nine days. the tenth day being appointed for the last ceremony of the marriage, the favourite lady was conducted to a bath, and i to another. at night i had all manner of dishes served up to me, and among others, one seasoned with garlic, such as you have now forced me to eat. this i liked so well, that i scarcely touched any of the other dishes. but to my misfortune, when i rose from table, instead of washing my hands well, i only wiped them; a piece of negligence of which i had never before been guilty. as it was then night, the whole apartment of the ladies was lighted up so as to equal the brightness of day. nothing was to be heard through the palace but musical instruments, dances, and acclamations of joy. my bride and i were introduced into a great hall, where we were placed upon two thrones. the women who attended her made her robe herself several times, according to the usual custom on wedding days; and they shewed her to me every time she changed her habit. all these ceremonies being over, we were conducted to the nuptial chamber: as soon as the company retired, i approached my wife; but instead of returning my transports, she pushed me away, and cried out, upon which all the ladies of the apartment came running in to inquire the cause: and for my own part, i was so thunderstruck, that i stood like a statue, without the power of even asking what she meant. "dear sister," said they to her, "what has happened since we left you? let us know, that we may try to relieve you." "take," said she, "take that vile fellow out of my sight." "why, madam?" i asked, "wherein have i deserved your displeasure?" "you are a villain," said she in a furious passion, "to eat garlic, and not wash your hands! do you think i would suffer such a polluted wretch to poison me? down with him, down with him on the ground," continued she, addressing herself to the ladies, "and bring me a bastinado." they immediately did as they were desired; and while some held my hands, and others my feet, my wife, who was presently furnished with a weapon, laid on me as long as she could stand. she then said to the ladies, "take him, send him to the judge, and let the hand be cut off with which he fed upon the garlic dish." "alas!" cried i, "must i be beaten unmercifully, and, to complete my affliction, have my hand cut off, for partaking of a dish seasoned with garlic, and forgetting to wash my hands? what proportion is there between the punishment and the crime? curse on the dish, on the cook who dressed it, and on him who served it up." "all the ladies who had seen me receive the thousand strokes, took pity on me, when they heard the cutting off of my hand mentioned. "dear madam, dear sister," said they to the favourite lady, "you carry your resentment too far. we own he is a man quite ignorant of the world, of your quality, and the respect that is due to you: but we beseech you to overlook and pardon his fault." "i have not received adequate satisfaction," said she; "i will teach him to know the world; i will make him bear sensible marks of his impertinence, and be cautious hereafter how he tastes a dish seasoned with garlic without washing his hands." they renewed their solicitations, fell down at her feet, and kissing her fair hands, said, "good madam, moderate your anger, and grant us the favour we supplicate." she made no reply, but got up, and after uttering a thousand reproaches against me, walked out of the chamber: all the ladies followed her, leaving me in inconceivable affliction. i continued thus ten days, without seeing any body but an old female slave that brought me victuals. i asked her what was become of the favourite lady. "she is sick," said the old woman; "she is sick of the poisoned smell with which you infected her. why did you not take care to wash your hands after eating of that cursed dish?" "is it possible," thought i, "that these ladies can be so nice, and so vindictive for such a trifling fault!" i loved my wife notwithstanding all her cruelty, and could not help pitying her. one day the old woman told me my spouse was recovered, and gone to bathe, and would come to see me the next day. "so," said she, "i would have you call up your patience, and endeavour to accommodate yourself to her humour. for she is in other respects a woman of good sense and discretion, and beloved by all the ladies about the court of our respected mistress zobeide." my wife accordingly came on the following evening, and accosted me thus: "you perceive that i must possess much tenderness to you, after the affront you have offered me: but still i cannot be reconciled till i have punished you according to your demerit, in not washing your hands after eating of the garlic dish." she then called the ladies, who, by her order, threw me upon the ground; and after binding me fast, she had the barbarity to cut off my thumbs and great toes herself, with a razor. one of the ladies applied a certain root to staunch the blood; but by bleeding and by the pain, i swooned away. when i came to myself, they gave me wine to drink, to recruit my strength. "ah! madam," said i to my wife, "if ever i again eat of a dish with garlic in it, i solemnly swear to wash my hands a hundred and twenty times with alkali, with ashes, and with soap." "well," replied she, "upon that condition i am willing to forget what is past, and live with you as my husband." "this," continued the bagdad merchant, addressing himself to the company, "is the reason why i refused to eat of the dish seasoned with what is now on the table." the ladies applied to my wounds not only the root i mentioned, but likewise some balsam of mecca, which they were well assured was not adulterated, because they had it out of the caliph's own dispensatory. by virtue of that admirable balsam, i was in a few days perfectly cured, and my wife and i lived together as agreeably as if i had never eaten of the garlic dish. but having been all my lifetime used to enjoy my liberty, i grew weary of being confined to the caliph's palace; yet i said nothing to my wife on the subject, for fear of displeasing her. however, she suspected my feelings; and eagerly wished for liberty herself, for it was gratitude alone that made her continue with zobeide. she represented to her mistress in such lively terms the constraint i was under, in not living in the city with people of my own rank, as i had always done, that the good princess chose rather to deprive herself of the pleasure of having her favourite about her than not to grant what we both equally desired. a month after our marriage, my wife came into my room with several eunuchs, each carrying a bag of silver. when the eunuchs were gone; "you never told me," said she, "that you were uneasy in being confined to court; but i perceived it, and have happily found means to make you contented. my mistress zobeide gives us permission to quit the palace; and here are fifty thousand sequins, of which she has made us a present, in order to enable us to live comfortably in the city. take ten thousand of them, and go and buy us a house." i quickly found a house for the money, and after furnishing it richly, we went to reside in it, kept a great many slaves of both sexes, and made a good figure. we thus began to live in a very agreeable manner: but my felicity was of short continuance; for at the end of a year my wife fell sick and died. i might have married again, and lived honourably at bagdad; but curiosity to see the world put me upon another plan. i sold my house, and after purchasing several kinds of merchandize, went with a caravan to persia; from persia i travelled to samarcand, and from thence to this city. "this," said the purveyor to the sultan of casgar, "is the story that the bagdad merchant related in a company where i was yesterday." "this story," said the sultan, "has something in it extraordinary; but it does not come near that of the little hunch-back." the jewish physician prostrated himself before the sultan's throne, and addressed the prince in the following manner: "sir, if you will be so good as to hear me, i flatter myself you will be pleased with a story i have to tell you." "well spoken," said the sultan; "but if it be not more surprising than that of little hunch-back, you must not expect to live." the jewish physician, finding the sultan of casgar disposed to hear him, gave the following relation. the story told by the jewish physician. when i was studying physic at damascus, and was just beginning to practise that noble profession with some reputation, a slave called me to see a patient in the governor of the city's family. accordingly i went, and was conducted into a room, where i found a very handsome young man, much dejected by his disorder. i saluted him, and sat down by him; but he made no return to my compliments, only a sign with his eyes that he heard me, and thanked me. "pray, sir," said i, "give me your hand, that i may feel your pulse." but instead of stretching out his right, he gave me his left hand, at which i was extremely surprised. however, i felt his pulse, wrote him a prescription, and took leave. i continued my visits for nine days, and every time i felt his pulse, he still gave me his left hand. on the tenth day he seemed to be so far recovered, that i only deemed it necessary to prescribe bathing to him. the governor of damascus, who was by, in testimony of his satisfaction with my service, invested me with a very rich robe, saying, he had appointed me a physician of the city hospital, and physician in ordinary to his house, where i might eat at his table when i pleased. the young man likewise shewed me many civilities, and asked me to accompany him to the bath. accordingly we went together, and when his attendants had undressed him, i perceived he wanted the right hand, and that it had not long been cut off, which had been the occasion of his disorder, though concealed from me; for while the people about him were applying proper remedies externally, they had called me to prevent the ill consequence of the fever which was on him. i was much surprised and concerned on seeing his misfortune; which he observed by my countenance. "doctor," cried he, "do not be astonished that my hand is cut off; some day or other i will tell you the cause; and in that relation you will hear very surprising adventures." after we had returned from the bath, we sat down to a collation; and he asked me if it would be any prejudice to his health if he went and took a walk out of town in the governor's garden? i made answer, that the air would be of service to him. "then," said he, "if you will give me your company, i will recount to you my history." i replied i was at his command for all that day. upon which he presently called his servants, and we went to the governor's garden. having taken two or three turns there, we seated ourselves on a carpet that his servants had spread under a tree, which gave a pleasant shade. the young man then gave me his history in the following terms; i was born at moussol, of one of the most considerable families in the city. my father was the eldest of ten brothers, who were all alive and married when my grandfather died. all the brothers were childless, except my father; and he had no child but me. he took particular care of my education; and made me learn every thing proper for my rank. when i was grown up, and began to enter into the world, i happened one friday to be at noon-prayers with my father and my uncles in the great mosque of moussol. after prayers were over, the rest of the company going away, my father and my uncles continued sitting upon the best carpet in the mosque; and i sat down by them. they discoursed of several things, but the conversation fell insensibly, i know not how, upon the subject of travelling. they extolled the beauties and peculiar rarities of some kingdoms, and of their principal cities. but one of my uncles said, that according to the uniform report of an infinite number of voyagers, there was not in the world a pleasanter country than egypt, on account of the nile; and the description he gave infused into me such high admiration, that from that moment i had a desire to travel thither. whatever my other uncles said, by way of preference to bagdad and the tigris, in calling bagdad the residence of the mussulmaun religion, and the metropolis of all the cities of the earth, made no impression upon me. my father joined in opinion with those of his brothers who had spoken in favour of egypt; which filled me with joy. "say what you will," said he, "the man that has not seen egypt has not seen the greatest rarity in the world. all the land there is golden; i mean, it is so fertile, that it enriches its inhabitants. all the women of that country charm you by their beauty and their agreeable carriage. if you speak of the nile, where is there a more wonderful river? what water was ever lighter or more delicious? the very slime it carries along in its overflowing fattens the fields, which produce a thousand times more than other countries that are cultivated with the greatest labour. observe what a poet said of the egyptians, when he was obliged to depart from egypt: �your nile loads you with blessings every day; it is for you only that it runs from such a distance. alas! in removing from you, my tears will flow as abundantly as its waters; you are to continue in the enjoyment of its sweetnesses, while i am condemned to deprive myself of them against my will.' "if you look," added my father, "towards the island that is formed by the two greatest branches of the nile, what variety of verdure! what enamel of all sorts of flowers! what a prodigious number of cities, villages, canals, and a thousand other agreeable objects! if you turn your eyes on the other side, up towards ethiopia, how many other subjects of admiration! i cannot compare the verdure of so many plains, watered by the different canals of the island, better than to brilliant emeralds set in silver. is not grand cairo the largest, the most populous, and the richest city in the world? what a number of magnificent edifices both public and private! if you view the pyramids, you will be filled with astonishment at the sight of the masses of stone of an enormous thickness, which rear their heads to the skies! you will be obliged to confess, that the pharaohs, who employed such riches, and so many men in building them, must have surpassed in magnificence and invention all the monarchs who have appeared since, not only in egypt, but in all the world, for having left monuments so worthy of their memory: monuments so ancient, that the learned cannot agree upon the date of their erection; yet such as will last to the end of time. i pass over in silence the maritime cities of the kingdom of egypt, such as damietta, rosetta, and alexandria, where nations come for various sorts of grain, cloth, and an infinite number of commodities calculated for accommodation and delight. i speak of what i know; for i spent some years there in my youth, which i shall always reckon the most agreeable part of my life." my uncles could make no reply, and assented to all my father had said of the nile, of cairo, and of the whole kingdom of egypt. my imagination was so full of these subjects, i could not sleep that night. soon after, my uncles declared how much they were struck with my father's account. they made a proposal to him, that they should travel all together into egypt. to this he assented; and being rich merchants, they resolved to carry with them such commodities as were likely to suit the market. when i found that they were making preparations for their departure, i went to my father, and begged of him, with tears in my eyes, that he would suffer me to make one of the party, and allow me some stock of goods to trade with on my own account. "you are too young," said he, "to travel into egypt; the fatigue is too great for you; and, besides, i am sure you will come off a loser in your traffic." these words, however, did not suppress my eager desire to travel. i made use of my uncles' interest with my father, who at last granted me permission to go as far as damascus, where they were to leave me, till they had travelled through egypt. "the city of damascus," said my father, "may likewise glory in its beauties, and my son must be content with leave to go so far." though my curiosity to see egypt was very pressing, i considered he was my father, and submitted to his will. i set out from moussol in company with him and my uncles. we travelled through mesopotamia, passed the euphrates, and arrived at aleppo, where we stayed some days. from thence we went to damascus, the first sight of which struck me with agreeable surprise we lodged all together in one khan; and i had the view of a city that was large, populous, full of handsome people, and well fortified. we employed some days in walking up and down the delicious gardens that surrounded it; and we all agreed that damascus was justly said to be seated in a paradise. at last my uncles thought of pursuing their journey; but took care, before they went, to sell my goods so advantageously for me, that i gained by them five hundred per cent. this sale brought me a sum so considerable, as to fill me with delight. my father and my uncles left me in damascus, and pursued their journey. after their departure, i used great caution not to lay out my money idly. but at the same time i took a stately house, built of marble, adorned with paintings of gold, silver foliage, and a garden with fine water-works. i furnished it, not so richly indeed as the magnificence of the place deserved, but at least handsomely enough for a young man of my rank. it formerly belonged to one of the principal lords of the city; but was then the property of a rich jewel-merchant, to whom i paid for it only two sherifs a month. i had a number of domestics, and lived honourably; sometimes i gave entertainments to such people as i had made an acquaintance with, and sometimes was treated by them. thus did i spend my time at damascus, waiting for my father's return; no passion disturbed my repose, and my only employment was conversing with people of credit. one day, as i sat taking the cool air at my gate, a very handsome, well-dressed lady came to me, and asked if i did not sell stuffs? she had no sooner spoken the words, than she went into my house. when i saw that the lady had entered the house, i rose, and having shut the gate, conducted into a hall, and prayed her to sit down. "madam," said i, "i have had stuffs fit to be strewn to you, but at present, i am sorry to say, i have none." she removed the veil from her face, and discovered such beauty as affected me with emotions i had never felt before. "i have no occasion for stuffs," replied she, "i only come to see you, and, if you please, to pass the evening in your company; all i ask of you is a light collation." transported with joy, i ordered the servants to bring us several sorts of fruit, and some bottles of wine. these being speedily served, we ate, drank, and made merry till midnight. in short, i had not before passed a night so agreeably as this. next morning i would have put ten sherifs into the lady's hands, but she drew back instantly. "i am not come to see you," said she, "from interested motives; you therefore do me wrong. so far from receiving money from you, i must insist on your taking some from me, or else i will see you no more." in speaking this, she put her hand into her purse, took out ten sherifs, and forced me to take them, saying, "you may expect me three days hence after sun- set. she then took leave of me, and i felt that when she went she carried my heart along with her." she did not fail to return at the appointed hour three days after; and i received her with all the joy of a person who waited impatiently for her arrival. the evening and the night we spent as before; and next day at parting she promised to return the third day after. she did not, however, leave me without forcing me to take ten sherifs more. she returned a third time; and at that interview, when we were both warm with wine, she spoke thus: "my dear love, what do you think of me? am i not handsome and agreeable?" "madam," i replied, "i think this an unnecessary question: the love which i shew you ought to persuade you that i admire you; i am charmed to see and to possess you. you are my queen, my sultaness; in you lies all the felicity of my life." "ah!" returned she, "i am sure you would speak otherwise, if you saw a certain lady of my acquaintance, who is younger and handsomer than i am. she is of such a pleasant lively temper, that she would make the most melancholy people merry: i must bring her hither; i spoke of you to her, and from the account i have given of you she is dying with desire to see you. she intreated me to procure her that pleasure, but i did not dare to promise her without speaking to you beforehand." "madam," said i, "do what you please; but whatever you may say of your friend, i defy all her charms to tear my heart from you, to whom it is so inviolably attached, that nothing can disengage it." "be not too positive," returned she; "i now tell you, i am about to put your heart to a severe trial." we continued together all night, and next morning at parting, instead of ten sherifs she gave me fifteen, which i was forced to accept. "remember," said she, "that in two days' time you are to have a new guest; pray take care to give her a good reception: we will come at the usual hour." i had my hall put in great order, and a handsome collation prepared against they came. i waited for the two ladies with impatience and at last they arrived at the close of the day. they both unveiled, and as i had been surprised with the beauty of the first, i had reason to be much more so when i saw her friend. she had regular features, an elegant person, and such sparkling eyes, that i could hardly bear their splendour. i thanked her for the honour she did me, and entreated her to excuse me if i did not give her the reception she deserved. "no compliments," replied she; "it should be my part to make them to you, for allowing my friend to bring me hither. but since you are pleased to suffer it, let us lay aside all ceremony, and think only of amusing ourselves." i had given orders, as soon as the ladies arrived, to have the collation served up, and we soon sat down to our entertainment. i placed myself opposite the stranger, who never ceased looking upon me with a smiling countenance. i could not resist her conquering eyes, and she made herself mistress of my heart, without opposition. but while she inspired me with a flame, she caught it herself; and so far from appearing to be under any constraint, she conversed in very free and lively language. the other lady, who observed us, did nothing at first but laugh. "i told you," said she, addressing herself to me, "you would find my friend full of charms; and i perceive you have already violated the oath you made of being faithful to me." "madam," replied i, laughing as well as she, "you would have reason to complain, if i were wanting in civility to a lady whom you brought hither, and who is your intimate friend; both of you might then upbraid me for not performing duly the rites of hospitality." we continued to drink; but as the wine warmed us, the strange lady and i ogled one another with so little reserve, that her friend grew jealous, and quickly gave us a dismal proof of the inveteracy of her feelings. she rose from the table and went out, saying, she would be with us presently again: but in a few moments after, the lady who stayed with me changed countenance, fell into violent convulsions, and expired in my arms while i was calling for assistance to relieve her. i went out immediately, and enquired for the other lady; when my people told me, she had opened the street door and was gone. i then suspected what was but too true, that she had been the cause of her friend's death. she had the dexterity, and the malice, to put some very strong poison into the last glass, which she gave her with her own hand. i was afflicted beyond measure with the accident. "what shall i do?" i exclaimed in agony. "what will become of me?" i considered there was no time to lose, and it being then moon-light, i ordered my servants to take up one of the large pieces of marble, with which the court of my house was paved, dig a hole, and there inter the corpse of the young lady. after replacing the stone, i put on a travelling suit, took what money i had; and having locked up every thing, affixed my own seal on the door of my house. this done i went to the jewel-merchant my landlord, paid him what i owed, with a year's rent in advance and giving him the key, prayed him to keep it for me. "a very urgent affair," said i, "obliges me to be absent for some time; i am under the necessity of going to visit my uncles at cairo." i took my leave of him, immediately mounted my horse, and departed with my attendants from damascus. i had a good journey, and arrived at cairo without any accident. there i met with my uncles, who were much surprised to see me. to excuse myself, i pretended i was tired of waiting; and hearing nothing of them, was so uneasy, that i could not be satisfied without coming to cairo. they received me kindly, and promised that my father should not be displeased with me for leaving damascus without his permission. i lodged in the same khan with them, and saw all the curiosities of cairo. having finished their traffic, they began to talk of returning to moussol, and to make preparations for their departure; but i, having a wish to view in egypt what i had not yet seen, left my uncles, and went to lodge in another quarter at a distance from their khan, and did not appear any more till they were gone. they sought for me all over the city; but not finding me, supposed remorse for having come to egypt without my father's consent had occasioned me to return to damascus, without saying any thing to them. so they began their journey, expecting to find me at damascus, and there to take me up. after their departure i continued at cairo three years, more completely to indulge my curiosity in seeing all the wonders of egypt. during that time i took care to remit money to the jewel- merchant, ordering him to keep my house for me; for i designed to return to damascus, and reside there some years longer. i had no adventure at cairo worth relating; but doubtless you will be much surprised at that which befell me on my return to damascus. arriving at this city, i went to the jewel-merchant's, who received me joyfully, and would accompany me to my house, to shew me that no one had entered it whilst i was absent. the seal was still entire upon the lock; and when i went in, i found every thing in the order in which i had left it. in sweeping and cleaning out the hall where i had eaten with the ladies, one of my servants found a gold chain necklace, with ten very large and perfect pearls strung upon it at certain distances. he brought it to me, when i knew it to be the same i had seen upon the lady's neck who was poisoned; and concluded it had broken off and fallen. i could not look upon it without shedding tears, when i called to mind the lovely creature i had seen die in such a shocking manner. i wrapped it up, and put it in my bosom. i rested some days to recover from the fatigues of my journey; after which, i began to visit my former acquaintance. i abandoned myself to every species of pleasure, and gradually squandered away all my money. being thus reduced, instead of selling my furniture, i resolved to part with the necklace; but i had so little skill in pearls, that i took my measures very ill, as you shall hear. i went to the bazaar, where i called a crier aside, and strewing him the necklace, told him i wished to sell it, and desired him to show it to the principal jewellers. the crier was surprised to see such a valuable ornament. "how beautiful," exclaimed he, gazing upon it with admiration, "never did our merchants see any thing so rich; i am sure i shall oblige them highly in strewing it to them; and you need not doubt they will set a high price upon it, in emulation of each other." he carried me to a shop which proved to be my landlord's: "stop here," said the crier, "i will return presently and bring you an answer." while he was running about to shew the necklace, i sat with the jeweller, who was glad to see me, and we conversed on different subjects. the crier returned, and calling me aside, instead of telling me the necklace was valued at two thousand sherifs, assured me nobody would give me more than fifty. "the reason is," added he, "the pearls are false; consider if you will part with it at that price." i took him at his word, wanting money. "go," said i, "i take your word, and that of those who know better than myself; deliver it to them, and bring me the money immediately." the crier had been ordered to offer me fifty sherifs by one of the richest jewellers in town who had only made that offer to sound me, and try if i was well acquainted with the value of the pearls. he had no sooner received my answer, than he carried the crier to the judge, and shewing him the necklace; "sir," said he, "here is a necklace which was stolen from me, and the thief, under the character of a merchant, has had the impudence to offer it to sale, and is at this minute in the bazaar. he is willing to take fifty sherifs for a necklace that is worth two thousand which is a clear proof of his having stolen it." the judge sent immediately to seize me, and when i came before him, he asked me if the necklace he had in his hand was not the same that i had exposed to sale in the bazaar. i told him it was. "is it true," demanded he, "that you are willing to sell it for fifty sherifs,?" i answered i was. "well," continued he, in a scoffing way "give him the bastinado; he will quickly confess notwithstanding his merchant's disguise, that he is only an artful thief; let him be beaten till he owns his guilt." the pain of the torture made me tell a lie; i confessed, though it was not true that i had stolen the necklace; and the judge ordered my hand to be cut off according to the sentence of our law. this made a great noise in the bazaar, and i was scarcely returned to my house when my landlord came. "my son," said he, "you seem to be a young man well educated, and of good sense; how is it possible you could be guilty of such an unworthy action, as that i hear talked of? you gave me an account of your property yourself, and i do not doubt but the account was just. why did not you request money of me, and i would have lent it you? however, after what has happened, i cannot allow you to remain longer in my house; you must go and seek for other lodgings." i was extremely troubled at this; and entreated the jeweller, with tears in my eyes, to let me stay three days longer; which he granted. "alas," thought i, "this misfortune and affront are unsufferable; how shall i dare to return to moussol? nothing i can say to my father will persuade him that i am innocent." three hours after this fatal accident my house was forcibly entered by the judge's officers, accompanied by my landlord, and the merchant who had falsely accused me of having stolen the necklace. i asked them, what brought them there? but instead of giving me any answer, they bound and gagged me, calling me a thousand abusive names, and telling me the necklace belonged to the governor of damascus, who had lost it above three years before, and that one of his daughters had not been heard of since. judge of my sensations when i heard this intelligence. however, i summoned all my resolution, "i will," thought i, "tell the governor the truth, and it will rest with him either to put me to death, or to protect my innocence." when i was brought before him, i observed he looked upon me with an eye of compassion, from whence i augured well. he ordered me to be untied, and addressing himself to the jeweller who accused me, and to my landlord: "is this the man," asked he, "that sold the pearl necklace?" they had no sooner answered yes, than he continued, "i am sure he did not steal the necklace, and i am much astonished at the injustice that has been done him." these words giving me courage: "sir," said i, "i do assure you i am perfectly innocent. i am likewise fully persuaded the necklace never did belong to my accuser, whom i never saw, and whose horrible perfidy is the cause of my unjust treatment. it is true, i made a confession as if i had stolen it; but this i did contrary to my conscience, through the force of torture, and for another reason that i am ready to give you, if you will have the goodness to hear me." "i know enough of it already," replied the governor, "to do you one part of the justice to which you are entitled. take from hence," continued he, "the false accuser; let him undergo the same punishment as he caused to be inflicted on this young man, whose innocence is known to myself." the governor's orders were immediately put in execution; the jeweller was punished as he deserved. then the governor, having ordered all present to withdraw, said to me: "my son, tell me without fear how this necklace fell into your hands, conceal nothing from me." i related plainly all that had passed, and declared i had chosen rather to pass for a thief than to reveal that tragical adventure. "good god," exclaimed the governor, "thy judgments are incomprehensible, and we ought to submit to them without murmuring. i receive, with entire submission, the stroke thou hast been pleased to inflict upon me." then directing his discourse to me: "my son," said he, "having now heard the cause of your disgrace, for which i am truly concerned, i will give you an account of the affliction which has befallen myself. know then, that i am the father of both the young ladies you were speaking of. the first lady, who had the impudence to come to your house, was my eldest daughter. i had given her in marriage at cairo to one of her cousins, my brother's son. her husband died, and she returned home corrupted by every vice too often contracted in egypt. before i took her home, her younger sister, who died in that deplorable manner in your arms, was a truly virtuous girl, and had never given me any occasion to complain of her conduce. but after that, the elder sister became very intimate with her, and insensibly made her as wicked as herself. the day after the death of the younger not finding her at home, i asked her elder sister what was become of her; but she, instead of answering, affected to weep bitterly; from whence i formed a fatal presage. i pressed her to inform me of what she knew respecting her sister �father,' replied she, sobbing, �i can tell you no more than that my sister put on yesterday her richest dress, with her valuable pearl necklace, went out, and has not been heard of since.' i searched for her all over the town, but could learn nothing of her unhappy fate. in the mean time the elder, who doubtless repented of her jealous fury, became melancholy, and incessantly bewailed the death of her sister; she denied her self all manner of food, and so put an end to her deplorable days. such is the condition of mankind! such are the misfortunes to which we are exposed! however, my son," added he, "since we are both of us equally unfortunate, let us unite our sorrow, and not abandon one another. i will give you in marriage a third daughter i have still left, she is younger than her sisters, and in no respect imitates their conduct; besides, she is handsomer, and i assure you is of a disposition calculated to make you happy. you shall have no other house but mine, and, after my death, you and she shall be heirs to all my property." "my lord," i replied, "i am overcome by your favours, and shall never be able to make a sufficient acknowledgment." "enough," said he, interrupting me, "let us not waste time in idle words." he then called for witnesses, ordered the contract of marriage to be drawn, and i became the husband of his third daughter. he was not satisfied with punishing the jeweller, who had falsely accused me, but confiscated for my use all his property, which was very considerable. as for the rest, since you have been called to the governor's house, you may have seen what respect they pay me there. i must tell you further, that a person despatched by my uncles to egypt, on purpose to inquire for me there, passing through this city found me out last night, and delivered me a letter from them. they inform me of my father's death, and invite me to come and take possession of his property at moussol. but as the alliance and friendship of the governor have fixed me here, and will not suffer me to leave him, i have sent back the express with a power, which will secure to me my inheritance. after what you have heard, i hope you will pardon my seeming incivility during the course of my illness, in giving you my left instead of my right hand. " this," said the jewish physician, "is the story i heard from the young man of moussol. i continued at damascus as long as the governor lived; after his death, being still in the vigour of my age, i had the curiosity to travel. accordingly i went through persia to the indies, and came at last to settle in this your capital, where i have practised physic with reputation." the sultan of casgar was well pleased with this story. "i must confess," said he to the jew, "the story you have told me is very singular; but i declare freely, that of the little hump-back is: yet more extraordinary, and much more diverting; so you are not to expect that i will give you your life, any more than the rest. i will have you all four executed." "pray, sir, stay a minute," said the tailor, advancing, and prostrating himself at the sultan's feet. "since your majesty loves pleasant stories, i have one to tell you that will not displease you." "well, i will hear thee too," said the sultan; "but do not flatter thyself that i will suffer thee to live, unless thou tellest me some adventure that is yet more diverting than that of my hump-backed jester." upon this the tailor, as if he had been sure of success, spoke boldly to the following purpose. the story told by the tailor. a citizen of this city did me the honour two days ago to invite me to an entertainment, which he was to give to his friends yesterday morning. accordingly i went early, and found there about twenty persons. the master of the house was gone out upon some business, but in a short time returned, and brought with him a young man, a stranger, very well dressed, and handsome, but lame. when he entered, we all rose, and out of respect to the master of the house, invited the young man to sit down with us upon the estrade. he was going to comply; but suddenly perceiving a barber in our company, flew backwards, and made towards the door. the master of the house, surprised at his behaviour, stopped him. "where are you going?" demanded he. "i bring you along with me to do me the honour of being my guest among the rest of my friends, and you are no sooner got into my house, than you are for running away." "sir," replied the young man, "for god's sake do not stop me, let me go, i cannot without horror look upon that abominable barber, who, though he was born in a country where all the natives are white, resembles an ethiopian; and his soul is yet blacker and more horrible than his face." we were all surprised to hear the young man speak in this manner, and began to have a very bad opinion of the barber, without knowing what ground the young man had for what he said. nay, we protested we would not suffer any one to remain in our company, who bore so horrid a character. the master of the house intreated the stranger to tell us what reason he had for hating the barber. "gentlemen," resumed the young man, "you must know this cursed barber is the cause of my being lame, and having fallen into the most ridiculous and teasing situation you can imagine. for this reason i have sworn to avoid all the places where he is, and even not to stay in the cities where he resides. it was for this reason that i left bagdad, where he then dwelt; and travelled so far to settle in this city, at the extremity of tartary; a place where i flattered myself i should never see him. and now, after all, contrary to my expectation, i find him here. this obliges me, gentlemen, against my will, to deprive myself of the honour of being merry with you. this very day i shall take leave of your town, and go, if i can, to hide my head where he cannot come." this said, he would have left us, but the master of the house earnestly intreated him to stay, and tell us the cause of his aversion for the barber, who all this while looked down and said not a word. we joined with the master of the house in his request; and at last the young man, yielding to our importunities, sat down; and, after turning his back on the barber, that he might not see him, gave us the following narrative of his adventures. my father's quality might have entitled him to the highest posts in the city of bagdad, but he always preferred a quiet life to the honours of a public station. i was his only child, and when he died i had finished my education, and was of age to dispose of the plentiful fortune he had left me; which i did not squander away foolishly, but applied to such uses as obtained for me everybody's respect. i had not yet been disturbed by any passion: i was so far from being sensible of love, that i bashfully avoided the conversation of women. one day, walking in the streets, i saw a large party of ladies before me; and that i might not meet them, i turned down a narrow lane, and sat down upon a bench by a door. i was placed opposite a window, where stood a pot of beautiful flowers, on which i had my eyes fixed, when the window opened, and a young lady appeared, whose beauty struck me. immediately she fixed her eyes upon me; and in watering the flowerpot with a hand whiter than alabaster, looked upon me with a smile, that inspired me with as much love for her as i had formerly aversion for all women. after having watered her flowers, and darted upon me a glance full of charms that pierced my heart, she shut the window, and left me in inconceivable perplexity, from which i should not have recovered, if a noise in the street had not brought me to myself. i lifted up my head, and turning, saw the first cauzee of the city, mounted on a mule, and attended by five or six servants: he alighted at the door of the house, where the young lady had opened the window, and went in; from whence i concluded he was her father. i went home in an altered state of mind; agitated by a passion the more violent, as i had never felt its assaults before: i retired to bed in a violent fever, at which all the family were much concerned. my relations, who had a great affection for me, were so alarmed by the sudden disorder, that they importuned me to tell the cause; which i took care not to discover. my silence created an uneasiness that the physicians could not dispel, because they knew nothing of my distemper, and by their medicines rather inflamed than checked it. my relations began to despair of my life, when an old lady of our acquaintance, hearing i was ill, came to see me. she considered me with great attention, and after having examined me, penetrated, i know not how, into the real cause of my illness. she took my relations aside, and desired all my people would retire out of the room, and leave her with me alone. when the room was clear, she sat down on the side of my bed. "my son," said she, "you have obstinately concealed the cause of your illness; but you have no occasion to reveal it to me. i have experience enough to penetrate into a secret; you will not deny when i tell you it is love that makes you sick. i can find a way to cure you, if you will but inform me who that happy lady is, that could move a heart so insensible as yours; for you have the character of a woman-hater, and i was not the last who perceived that such was your disposition; but what i foresaw has come to pass, and i am now glad of the opportunity to employ my talents in relieving your pain." the old lady having thus spoken, paused, expecting my answer; but though what she had said had made a strong impression upon me, i durst not lay open to her the bottom of my heart; i only turned to her, and heaved a deep sigh, without replying a word. "is it bashfulness," said she, "that keeps you silent? or is it want of confidence in me? do you doubt the effect of my promise? i could mention to you a number of young men of your acquaintance, who have been in the same condition with yourself, and have received relief from me." the good lady told me so many more circumstances that i broke silence, declared to her my complaint, pointed out to her the place where i had seen the object which occasioned it, and unravelled all the circumstances of my adventure. "if you succeed," added i, "and procure me the happiness of seeing that charming beauty, and revealing to her the passion with which i burn for her, you may depend upon it i will be grateful." "my son," replied the old woman, "i know the lady you speak of; she is, as you rightly judged, the daughter of the first cauzee of this city: i am not surprised that you are in love with her. she is the handsomest and most lovely lady in bagdad, but very proud, and of difficult access. you know how strict our judges are, in enjoining the punctual observance of the severe laws that confine women; and they are yet more strict in the observation of them in their own families; the cauzee you saw is more rigid in that point than any of the other magistrates. they are always preaching to their daughters what a heinous crime it is to shew themselves to men; and the girls themselves are so prepossessed with the notion, that they make no other use of their own eves but to conduct them along the street, when necessity obliges them to go abroad. i do not say absolutely that the first cauzee's daughter is of that humour; but that does not hinder my fearing to meet with as great obstacles on her side, as on her father's. would to god you had loved any other, then i should not have had so many difficulties to surmount. however, i will employ all my wits to compass the matter; but it requires time. in the mean while take courage and trust to me." the old woman took leave; and as i weighed within myself all the obstacles she had been talking of, the fear of her not succeeding in her undertaking inflamed my disorder. next day she came again, and i read in her countenance that she had no favourable news to impart. she spoke thus: "my son, i was not mistaken, i have somewhat else to conquer besides the vigilance of a father. you love an insensible object, who takes pleasure in making every one miserable who suffers himself to be charmed by her; she will not deign them the least comfort: she heard me with pleasure, when i spoke of nothing but the torment she made you undergo; but i no sooner opened my mouth to engage her to allow you to see her, and converse with her, but casting at me a terrible look, �you are very presumptuous,' said she, �to make such a proposal to me; i charge you never to insult me again with such language.' "do not let this cast you down," continued she; "i am not easily disheartened, and am not without hope but i shall compass my end." to shorten my story, this good woman made several fruitless attacks in my behalf on the proud enemy of my rest. the vexation i suffered inflamed my distemper to that degree, that my physicians gave me over. i was considered as a dead man, when the old woman came to recall me to life. that no one might hear what was said, she whispered in my ear; "remember the present you owe for the good news i bring you." these words produced a marvellous effect; i raised myself up in the bed, and with transport replied, "you shall not go without a present; but what is the news you bring me?" "dear sir," said she "you shall not die; i shall speedily have the pleasure to see you in perfect health, and very well satisfied with me. yesterday i went to see the lady you love, and found her in good humour. as soon as i entered, i put on a sad countenance heaved many deep sighs, and began to squeeze out some tears. �my good mother,' demanded she �what is the matter with you, why are you so cast down?' �alas, my dear and honourable lady,' i replied, �i have just been with the young gentleman of whom i spoke to you the other day, who is dying on your account.' �i am at a loss to know,' said she, �how you make me to be the cause of his death. how can i have contributed to it?' �how?' replied i; �did not you tell me the other day, that he sat down before your window when you opened it to water your flower-pot? he then saw that prodigy of beauty, those charms that your mirror daily represents to you. from that moment he languished, and his disorder has so increased, that he is reduced to the deplorable condition i have mentioned.' "�you well remember,' added i, �how harshly you treated me at our last interview; when i was speaking to you of his illness, and proposing a way to save him from the threatened consequences of his complaint. after i left you i went directly to his house, and he no sooner learnt from my countenance that i had brought no favourable answer than his distemper increased. from that time, madam, he has been at the point of death; and i doubt whether your compassion would not now come too late to save his life.' the fear of your death alarmed her, and i saw her face change colour. �is your account true?' she asked. �has he actually no other disorder than what is occasioned by his love of me?' �ah, madam!' i replied, �it is too true; would it were false!' �do you believe,' said she, �that the hopes of seeing me would at all contribute to rescue him from his danger?' i answered, �perhaps it may, and if you will permit me, i will try the remedy.'? �well,' resumed she, sighing, �give him hopes of seeing me; but he must pretend to no other favours, unless he aspire to marry me, and obtains my father's consent.' �madam,' replied i. �your goodness overcomes me; i will instantly seek the young gentleman, and tell him he is to have the pleasure of an interview with you.' �the best opportunity i can think of,' said she, �for granting him that favour, will be next friday at the hour of noon prayers. let him observe when my father goes out, and then, if his health permits him to be abroad, come and place himself opposite the house. i shall then see him from my window, and will come down and open the door for him: we will converse together during prayer-time; but he must depart before my father returns.' "it is now tuesday," continued the old lady "you have the interval between this and friday to recover your strength, and make the necessary dispositions for the interview." while the good old lady was speaking, i felt my illness decrease, or rather, by the time she had done, i found myself perfectly recovered. "here, take this," said i, reaching out to her my purse, which was full, "it is to you alone that i owe my cure. i reckon this money better employed than all that i gave the physicians, who have only tormented me during my illness." when the lady was gone, i found i had strength enough to get up: and my relations finding me so well, complimented me on the occasion, and went home. on friday morning the old woman came, just as i was dressing, and choosing out the richest clothes in my wardrobe, said, "i do not ask you how you are, what you are about is intimation enough of your health; but will not you bathe before you go?" "that will take up too much time," i replied; "i will content myself with sending for a barber, to shave my head." immediately i ordered one of my slaves to call a barber that could do his business cleverly and expeditiously. the slave brought me the wretch you see here, who came, and after saluting me, said, "sir, you look as if you were not well." i told him i was just recovered from a fit of sickness. "may god," resumed he, "deliver you from all mischance; may his grace always go along with you." "i hope he will grant your wish, for which i am obliged to you." "since you are recovering from a fit of sickness," he continued, "i pray god preserve your health; but now let me know what i am to do; i have brought my razors and my lancets, do you desire to be shaved or to be bled?" i replied, "i am just recovered from a fit of sickness, and you may readily judge i only want to be shaved: come, do not lose time in prattling; for i am in haste, and have an appointment precisely at noon." the barber spent much time in opening his case, and preparing his razors instead of putting water into the basin, he took a very handsome astrolabe out of his case, and went very gravely out of my room to the middle of the court to take the height of the sun: he returned with the same grave pace, and entering my room, said, "sir, you will be pleased to know this day is friday the th of the moon suffir, in the year , from the retreat of our great prophet from mecca to medina, and in the year of the epocha of the great iskender with two horns; and that the conjunction of mars and mercury signifies you cannot choose a better time than this very day and hour for being shaved. but, on the other hand, the same conjunction is a bad presage to you. i learn from it, that this day you run a great risk, not indeed of losing your life, but of an inconvenience which will attend you while you live. you are obliged to me for the advice i now give you, to avoid this accident; i shall be sorry if it befall you." you may guess, gentlemen, how vexed i was at having fallen into the hands of such a prattling, impertinent fellow; what an unseasonable adventure was it for a lover preparing for an interview with his mistress! i was quite irritated. "i care not," said i, in anger, "for your advice and predictions; i did not call you to consult your astrology; you came hither to shave me; shave me, or begone." "i will call another barber, sir," replied he, with a coolness that put me out of all patience; "what reason have you to be angry with me? you do not know, that all of my profession are not like me; and that if you made it your business to search, you would not find such another. you only sent for a barber; but here, in my person, you have the best barber in bagdad, an experienced physician, a profound chemist, an infallible astrologer, a finished grammarian, a complete orator, a subtle logician, a mathematician perfectly well versed in geometry, arithmetic, astronomy, and all the refinements of algebra; an historian fully master of the histories of all the kingdoms of the universe. besides, i understand all parts of philosophy. i have all our sacred traditions by heart. i am a poet, i am an architect; and what is it i am not? there is nothing in nature hidden from me. your deceased father, to whose memory i pay a tribute of tears every time i think of him, was fully convinced of my merit; he was fond of me, and spoke of me in all companies as the first man in the world. out of gratitude and friendship for him, i am willing to attach myself to you, to take you under my protection, and guard you from all the evils that your stars may threaten." when i heard all this jargon, i could not forbear laughing, notwithstanding my anger. "you impertinent prattler!" said i, "will you have done, and begin to shave me?" "sir," replied the barber, "you affront me in calling me a prattler; on the contrary, all the world gives me the honourable title of silent. i had six brothers, whom you might justly have called prattlers. these indeed were impertinent chatterers, but for me, who am a younger brother, i am grave and concise in my discourse." for god's sake, gentlemen, do but suppose you had been in my place. what could i say when i saw myself so cruelly delayed? "give him three pieces of gold," said i to the slave who was my housekeeper, "and send him away, that he may disturb me no more; i will not be shaved this day." "sir," said the barber, "pray what do you mean? i did not come to seek for you, you sent for me; and as that is the case i swear by the faith of a moosulmaun, i will not stir out of these doors till i have shaved you. if you do not know my value, it is not my fault. your deceased father did me more justice. every time he sent for me to let him blood, he made me sit down by him, and was charmed with hearing what witty things i said. i kept him in a continual strain of admiration; i elevated him; and when i had finished my discourse, �my god,' he would exclaim, �you are an inexhaustible source of science, no man can reach the depth of your knowledge.' �my dear sir,' i would answer, �you do me more honour than deserve. if i say anything that is worth hearing, it is owing to the favourable audience you vouchsafe me; it is your liberality that inspires me with the sublime thoughts which have the happiness to please you.' one day, when he was charmed with an admirable discourse i had made him, he said, �give him a hundred pieces of gold, and invest him with one of my richest robes.' i instantly received the present. i then drew his horoscope, and found it the happiest in the world. nav. i carried my gratitude further; i let him blood with cupping-glasses." this was not all; he spun out another harangue that was a full half hour long. tired with hearing him, and fretted at the loss of time, which was almost spent before i was half ready, i did not know what to say. "it is impossible," i exclaimed, "there should be such another man in the world who takes pleasure, as you do, in making people mad." i thought i might perhaps succeed better if i dealt mildly with my barber. "in the name of god," said i, "leave off talking, and shave me directly: business of the last importance calls me, as i have already told you." at these words he fell a laughing: "it would be fortunate," said he, "if our minds were always in the same state; if we were always wise and prudent. i am willing, however, to believe, that if you are angry with me, it is your disorder that has caused the change in your temper, for which reason you stand in need of some instructions, and you cannot do better than follow the example of your father and grandfather. they came and consulted me upon all occasions, and i can say, without vanity, that they always highly prized my advice. pray observe, sir, men never succeed in their undertakings without the counsel of persons of understanding. a man cannot, says the proverb, be wise without receiving advice from the wise. i am entirely at service, and you have only to command me." "what! cannot i prevail with you then," i demanded,, interrupting him, "to leave off these long speeches, that tend to nothing but to distract my head, and detain me from my business? shave me, i say, or begone:" with that i started up in anger, stamping my foot against the ground. when he saw i was in earnest, he said, "sir, do not be angry, we are going to begin." he lathered my head, and began to shave me; but had not given four strokes with his razor before he stopped, and addressed me, "sir, you are hasty, you should avoid these transports that only come from the devil. i am entitled to some consideration on account of my age, my knowledge, and my great virtues." "go on and shave me," said i, interrupting him again, "and talk no more." "that is to say," replied he, "you have some urgent business to go about; i will lay you a wager i guess right." "why i told you two hours ago," i returned, "you ought to have shaved me before." "moderate your passion," replied he; "perhaps you have not maturely weighed what you are going about; when things are done precipitately, they are generally repented of. i wish you would tell me what mighty business this is you are so earnest upon. i would tell you my opinion of it; besides, you have time enough, since your appointment is not till noon, and it wants three hours of that yet." "i do not mind that," said i; "persons of honour and of their word are rather before their time than after. but i forget that by reasoning with you, i give into the faults of you prattling barbers; have done, have done; shave me." the more haste i was in, the less speed he made. he laid down the razor, and took up his astrolabe; then laid down his astrolabe, and took up his razor again. the barber quitted his razor again, and took up his astrolabe a second time; and so left me half shaved, to go and see precisely what hour it was. back he came, and exclaimed, "sir, i knew i was not mistaken, it wants three hours of noon. i am sure of it, or else all the rules of astronomy are false." "just heaven!" cried i, "my patience is exhausted, i can bear this no longer. you cursed barber, you barber of mischief, i can scarcely forbear falling upon you and strangling you." "softly, sir," said he, very calmly, without being moved by my anger: "are you not afraid of a relapse? be not in a passion, i am going to shave you this minute." in speaking these words, he clapped his astrolabe in his case, took up his razor, and passing it over the strap which was fixed to his belt, fell to shaving me again; but all the while he was thus employed, the dog could not forbear prattling. "if you would be pleased, sir," said he, "to tell me what the business is you are going about at noon, i could give you some advice that might be of use to you." to satisfy the fellow, i told him i was going to meet some friends at an entertainment at noon, to make merry with me on the recovery of ray health. when the barber heard me talk of regaling; "god bless you this day, as well as all other days!" he cried: "you put me in mind that yesterday i invited four or five friends to come and eat with me as this day; indeed i had forgotten the engagement, and have made no preparation for them." "do not let that trouble you," said i; "though i dine abroad, my larder is always well furnished. i make you a present of all that it contains; and besides, i will order you as much wine as you have occasion for; i have excellent wine in my cellar; only you must hasten to finish shaving me: and pray remember, as my father made you presents to encourage you to speak, i give you mine to induce you to be silent." he was not satisfied with my promise, but exclaimed, "god reward you, sir, for your kindness: pray shew me these provisions now, that i may see if there will be enough to entertain my friends. i would have them satisfied with the good fare i make them." "i have," said i, "a lamb, six capons, a dozen chickens, and enough to make four courses." i ordered a slave to bring all before him, with four great pitchers of wine. "it is very well," returned the barber; "but we shall want fruit, and sauce for the meat." these i ordered likewise; but then he left off shaving, to look over every thing one after another; and this survey lasted almost half an hour. i raged and stormed like a madman; but it signified nothing, the wretch made no more haste. however, he took up his razor again, and shaved me for some minutes; then stopping suddenly, exclaimed, "i could not have believed, sir, that you would have been so liberal; i begin to perceive that your deceased father lives again in you. most certainly, i do not deserve the favours with which you have loaded me; and i assure you i shall have them in perpetual remembrance; for, sir, to let you know, i have nothing but what i obtain from the generosity of such gentlemen as you: in which respect, i am like to zantout, who rubs the people in the baths; to sali, who cries boiled peas in the streets; to salout, who sells beans; to akerscha, who sells greens; to aboumecarez, who sprinkles the streets to lay the dust; and to cassem, the caliph's lifeguard man. of all these persons, not one is apt so be melancholy; they are neither impertinent nor quarrelsome; they are more contented with their lot, than the caliph in the midst of his court; they are always gay, ready to sing and dance, and have each of them their peculiar song and dance, with which they divert the city of bagdad; but what i esteem most in them is, that they are no great talkers, any more than your slave, that has bow the honour to speak to you. here, sir, is the song and dance of zantout, who rubs the people in the baths; mind me, pray, and see if i do not imitate it exactly." the barber sung the song, and danced the dance of zantout; and let me say what i could to oblige him to finish his buffooneries, he did not cease till he had imitated, in like manner, the songs and dances of the other persons he had named. "after that," addressing himself to me, "i am going," said he, "to invite all these honest men to my house; if you will take my advice you will join us, and disappoint your friends, who perhaps are great talkers. they will only teaze you to death with their impertinent discourse, and make you relapse into a disorder worse than that from which you are so lately recovered; whereas at my house you shall have nothing but pleasure." notwithstanding my anger, i could not forbear laughing at the fellow's impertinence. "i wish i had no business upon my hands," i replied, "i would accept your invitation, and go with all my heart to partake of your entertainment; but i beg to be excused, i am too much engaged; another day i shall be more at leisure, and then we will make up the same party. come, finish shaving me, and make haste home; perhaps your friends are already arrived at your house." "sir," replied he, "do not refuse me the favour i ask of you; were you but once in our company, it would afford you so much pleasure as abundantly to compensate you for forsaking your friends." "let us talk no more of that," said i; "i cannot be your guest." i found i gained no ground by mild terms. "since you will not come to my house," replied the barber, "you must allow me to go along with you: i will carry these things to my house, where my friends may eat of them if they like, and i will return immediately; i would not be so uncivil as to leave you alone. you deserve this piece of complaisance at my hands." "heavens!" cried i, "then i shall not get clear of this troublesome fellow to-day. in the name of the living god, leave off your unreasonable jargon; go to your friends, drink, eat, and be merry with them, and leave me at liberty to go to mine. i must go alone, i have no occasion for company; besides, i must needs tell you, the place to which i go is not one where you can be received." "you jest, sir," said he; "if your friends have invited you to a feast, what should prevent you from allowing me to go with you? you will please them, i am sure, by introducing to them a man who can talk wittily like me, and knows how to divert company. but say what you will, i am determined to accompany you." these words, gentlemen, perplexed me much. "how," thought i, "shall i get rid of this cursed barber? if i persist in contradicting him, we shall never have done." besides, i heard at this instant the first call to noon-prayers, and it was time for me to go. in fine, i resolved to say nothing, and to make as if i consented to his accompanying me. he then finished shaving me, and i said to him, "take some of my servants to carry these provisions along with you, and return hither; i will stay for you, and shall not go without you." at last he went, and i dressed myself as expeditiously as i could. i heard the last call to prayers, and hastened to set out: but the malicious barber, who guessed my intention, went with my servants only within sight of the house and stood there till he saw them enter it, after which he concealed himself at the corner of the street, with an intent to observe and follow me. in fine, when i arrived at the cauzee's door, i looked back and saw him at the head of the street which alarmed me to the last degree. the cauzee's door was half open, and as i went in i saw an old woman waiting for me, who, after she had shut the door, conducted me to the chamber of the young lady who was the object of my love; but we had scarcely begun to converse, when we heard a noise in the streets. the young lady put her head to the window, and saw through the gate that it was her father already returning from prayers. at the same time i looked, and saw the barber sitting over-against the house, on the bench from which i had first seen the young lady. i had then two things to fear, the arrival of the cauzee, and the presence of the barber. the young lady mitigated my apprehension on the first head, by assuring me the cauzee, came but seldom to her chamber, and as she had forseen that this misadventure might happen, she had contrived a way to convey me out safely: but the indiscretion of the accursed barber made me very uneasy; and you shall hear that my uneasiness was not without ground. as soon as the cauzee was come in, he caned one of his slaves, who had deserved chastisement. this slave made a horrid noise, which was heard in the streets; the barber thought it was i who cried out, and was maltreated. prepossessed with this thought, he roared out aloud, rent his clothes, threw dust upon his head, and called the neighbourhood to his assistance. the neighbours collected, and asked what assistance he wanted? "alas!" cried he, "they are assassinating my master, my dear patron;" and without saying anything more, he ran all the way to my house, with the very same cry in his mouth. from thence he returned, followed by all my domestics armed with sticks. they knocked with inconceivable fury at the door, and the cauzee sent slave to see what was the matter; but the slave being frightened, returned to his master, crying, "sir, above ten thousand men are going to break into your house by force." immediately the cauzee himself ran, opened the door, and asked what they wanted. his venerable presence could not inspire them with respect. they insolently said to him, "you cursed cauzee, what reason have you to assassinate our master? what has he done to you?" "good people," replied the magistrate, "for what should i assassinate your master, whom i do not know and who has done me no harm? my house is open to you, come and search." "you bastinadoed him," said the barber; "i heard his cries not a minute ago." "what harm could your master do to me," replied the cauzee, "to oblige me to abuse him at that rate? is he in my house? if he is, how came he in, or who could have introduced him?" "ah! wretched cauzee, cried the barber, "you and your long beard shall never make me believe you; i know your daughter is in love with our master, and appointed him a meeting during the time of noon-prayer, you without doubt have had notice of it, returned home, and surprised him, and made your slaves bastinado him: but this your wicked action shall not pass with impunity; the caliph shall be acquainted with it, and he will give true and brief justice. let him come out, deliver him to us immediately; or if you do not, we will go in and take him out to your shame." "there is no occasion for so many words," replied the cauzee, "nor to make so great a noise: if what you say is true, go and find him out, i give you free liberty." thereupon the barber and my domestics rushed into the house like furies, and looked for me all about. as i heard all that the barber said to the cauzee, i sought for a place to conceal myself, and could find nothing but a large empty trunk, in which i lay down, and shut it upon me. the barber, after he had searched everywhere, came into the chamber where i was, and opened the trunk. as soon as he saw me, he took it upon his head and carried it away. he descended a high staircase into a court, which he crossed hastily, and at length reached the street door. while he was carrying me, the trunk unfortunately flew open, and not being able to endure the shame of being exposed to the view and shouts of the mob who followed us, i leaped out into the street with so much haste, that i have been lame ever since. i was not sensible of the hurt at first, and therefore got up quickly to avoid the people, who laughed at me; nay, i threw handfuls of gold and silver among them, and whilst they were gathering it up, i made my escape by cross streets and alleys. but the cursed barber followed me close, crying, "stay, sir; why do you run so fast? if you knew how much i am afflicted at the ill treatment you received from the cauzee, you, who are so generous, and to whom i and my friends are so much obliged! did i not tell you truly, that you would expose your life by your obstinate refusal to let me go with you? see what has happened to you, by your own fault; and if i had not resolutely followed, to see whither you went, what would have become of you? whither do you go, sir? stay for me." thus the barber cried aloud in the street it was not enough for him to have occasioned so great a scandal in the quarter where the cauzee lived, but he would have it known through the whole town. i was in such a rage, that i had a great mind to stop and cut his throat; but considering this would have perplexed me farther, i chose another course. perceiving that his calling after me exposed me to vast numbers of people, who crowded to the doors or windows, or stopped in the street to gaze at me, i entered an inn, the chamberlain of which knew me, and finding him at the gate, whither the noise had brought him, i prayed him, for the sake of heaven, to hinder that madman from coming in after me. he promised to do so, and was as good as his word, but not without a great deal of trouble; for the obstinate barber would enter in spite of him, and did not retire without calling him a thousand names. after the chamberlain had shut the gate, the barber continued telling all he met what great service he had done me. thus i rid myself of that troublesome fellow. after this, the chamberlain prayed me to tell him my adventure, which i did, and then desired him to let me have an apartment until i was cured . "but sir," said he, "will it not be more convenient for you to go home?" "i will not return thither," replied i: "for the detestable barber will continue plaguing me there, and i shall die of vexation to be continually teazed by him. besides, after what has befallen me to-day, i cannot think of staying any longer in this town; i must go whither my ill-fortune leads me." accordingly, when i was. cured, i took all the money i thought necessary for my travels, and divided the rest of my property among my kindred. thus, gentlemen, i left bagdad, and came hither. i had ground to hope that i should not meet this pernicious barber in a country so far from my own, and yet i find him amongst you. be not surprised then at my haste to be gone: you may easily judge how unpleasant to me is the sight of a man who was the occasion of my lameness, and of my being reduced to the melancholy necessity of living so far from my kindred, friends, and country. when he had spoken these words, the lame young man rose up and went out; the master of the house conducted him to the gate, and told him, he was sorry that he had given him, though innocently, so great a subject of mortification. when the young man was gone, continued the tailor, we were all astonished at the story, and turning to the barber, told him he was very much to-blame, if what we had just heard was true. "gentlemen," answered he, raising up his head, which till then he had held down, "my silence during the young man's discourse is sufficient to testify that he advanced nothing that was not true: but for all that he has said to you, i maintain that i ought to have done what i did; i leave you to be judges. did not he throw himself into danger, and could he have come off so well without my assistance? he may think himself happy to have escaped with the lame leg did not i expose myself to greater danger to get him out of a house where i thought he was ill-treated? has he any reason to complain of and abuse me? this is what one gets by serving unthankful people. he accuses me of being a prattling fellow, which is a mere slander: of seven brothers, i speak least, and have most wit to my share; and to convince you of this, gentlemen, i need only relate my own story and theirs. honour me, i beseech you, with your attention." the story of the barber. in the reign of the caliph mustunsir billah, that is, seeking victory of god, a prince so famous for his liberality towards the poor, ten highwaymen infested the roads about bagdad, and for a long time committed unheard-of robberies and cruelties. the caliph, having notice of this, sent for the judge of the police, some days before the feast of bairam, and ordered him, on pain of death, to bring all the ten to him. the judge of the police used so much diligence, and sent so many people in pursuit of the ten robbers, that they were taken on the very day of bairam. i was walking at the time on the banks of the tigris, and saw ten men richly appareled go into a boat. had i but observed the guards who had them in custody, i might have concluded they were robbers; but my attention was fixed on the men themselves, and thinking they were people who designed to spend the festival in jollity, i entered the boat with them, hoping they would not object to my making one of the company. we descended the tigris, and landed before the caliph's palace: i had by this time had leisure to reflect, and to discover my mistake. when we quitted the boat, we were surrounded by a new troop of the judge of the police's guard, who bound us all, and carried us before the caliph. i suffered myself to be bound as well as the rest, without speaking one word: for what would it have availed to have spoken, or made any resistance? that had been the way to have got myself ill-treated by the guards, who would not have listened to me, for they are brutish fellows, who will hear no reason: i was with the robbers, and that was enough to make them believe me to be one of their number. when we had been brought before the caliph, he ordered the ten highwaymen's heads to be cut off immediately. the executioner drew us up in a file within reach of his arm, and by good fortune i was placed last. he cut off the heads of the ten highwaymen, beginning at the first; and when he came to me, he stopped. the caliph perceiving that he did not strike me, grew angry: "did not i command thee," said he, "to cut off the heads of ten highwaymen, and why hast thou cut off but nine?" "commander of the faithful," he replied, "heaven preserve me from disobeying your majesty's orders: here are ten bodies upon the ground, and as many heads which i have cut off; your majesty may count them." when the caliph saw that what the executioner said was true, he looked at me with amazement, and perceiving that i had not the face of a highwayman, said to me, "good old man, how came you to be among those wretches, who have deserved a thousand deaths?" i answered, "commander of the faithful, i will make a true confession. this morning i saw those ten persons, whose punishment is a proof of your majesty's justice, take boat: i embarked with them, thinking they were men going to celebrate this day, which is the most distinguished in our religion." the caliph could not forbear laughing at my adventure; and instead of treating me as a prattling fellow, as this lame young man did, he admired my discretion and taciturnity. "commander of the faithful," i resumed, "your majesty need not wonder at my silence on such an occasion, as would have made another apt to speak. i make a particular profession of holding my peace, and on that account have acquired the glorious title of silent; by which i am distinguished from my six brothers. this is the effect of my philosophy; and, in a word, in this virtue consists my glory and happiness." "i am glad," said the caliph, smiling, "that they gave you a title which you know so well how to use. but tell me what sort of men were your brothers, were they like you?" "by no means," i replied; "they were all of them loquacious, prating fellows. and as to their persons, there was still a greater difference betwixt them and me. the first was hump-backed; the second had rotten teeth; the third had but one eye; the fourth was blind; the fifth had his ears cut off; and the sixth had hare-lips. they had met with such adventures as would enable you to judge of their characters, had i the honour of relating them to your majesty:" and the caliph seemed desirous to hear their several stories, i went on without waiting his commands. the story of the barber's eldest brother. my eldest brother, whose name was bacbouc the hump-back, was a tailor: when he came out of his apprenticeship, he hired a shop opposite a mill, and having but very little business, could scarcely maintain himself. the miller, on the contrary, was very wealthy, and had a handsome wife. one day as my brother was at work in his shop, he saw the miller's wife looking out of the window, and was charmed with her beauty. the woman took no notice of him, but shut her window, and made her appearance no more that day the poor tailor did nothing all day long but lift up his eyes towards the mill. he pricked his finger oftener than once, and his work was not very regular. at night, when he was to shut his shop, he could scarcely tell how to do it, because he still hoped the miller's wife would once more come to the window; but at last he was forced to shut up, and go home, where he passed but a very uncomfortable night. he arose betimes in the morning, and ran to his shop, in hopes to see his mistress; but he was no happier than the day before, for the miller's wife did not appear at the window above a minute in the course of the day, but that minute made the tailor the most amorous man that ever lived. the third day he had more ground of satisfaction, for the miller's wife cast her eyes upon him by chance, and surprised him as he was gazing at her, which convinced her of what passed in his mind. no sooner did the miller's wife perceive my brother's inclination, than, instead of allowing it to excite her resentment, she resolved to divert herself with it. she looked at him with a smiling countenance, and my brother returned her smile, but in so ludicrous a way, that the miller's wife hastily shut her window, lest her loud laughter should make him sensible that she only ridiculed him. poor bacbouc interpreted her carriage to his own advantage, and flattered himself that she looked upon him with pleasure. the miller's wife resolved to have sport with my brother: she had a piece of very fine stuff, with which she had a long time designed to make a vest; she wrapped it up in a fine embroidered silk handkerchief, and sent it to him by a young slave whom she kept; who being taught her lesson, went to the tailor's shop, and told him, "my mistress gives you her service, and prays you to make her a vest of this stuff according to this pattern; she changes her dress often, so that her custom will be profitable to you." my brother doubted not but the miller's wife loved him, and thought she had sent him work so soon after what had passed betwixt them, only to signify that she knew his mind, and convince him that he had obtained her favour. he charged the slave to tell her mistress, that he would lay aside all work for hers and that the vest should be ready next morning. he worked at it with so much diligence, that he finished it in the course of the same day. next morning the young slave came to see if the vest was ready. bacbouc delivered it to her neatly folded up, telling her, "i am too much concerned to please your mistress to neglect her work; i would engage her by my diligence to employ no other than myself for the time to come." the young slave went some steps as if she had intended to go away, and then coming back, whispered to my brother, "i had forgotten part of my commission; my mistress charged me to make her compliments to you, and to ask how you passed the night; as for her, poor woman, she loves you to that degree that she could not sleep." "tell her," answered my silly brother, "i have so strong a passion for her, that for these four nights i have not slept one wink." after such a compliment from the miller's wife, my brother thought she would not let him languish long in expectation of her favours. about a quarter of an hour after, the slave returned to my brother with a piece of satin: "my mistress," said she, "is very well pleased with her vest, nothing in the world can fit her better, and as it is very handsome, she will not wear it without a new pair of drawers; she prays you to make her one, as soon as you can, of this piece of satin." "enough," said bacbouc, "i will do it before i leave my shop: you shall have it in the evening." the miller's wife shewed herself often at her window, and was very prodigal of her charms, to encourage my brother. you would have laughed to see him work. the pair of drawers was soon made, and the slave came for it, but brought the tailor no money, neither for the trimming he had bought for the vest, nor for the making. in the mean time, this unfortunate lover, whom they only amused, though he could not see it, had eaten nothing all that day, and was forced to borrow money at night to buy his supper. next morning, as soon as he arrived at his shop, the young slave came to tell him that the miller wanted to speak to him. "my mistress," said she, "spoke to him so much in your praise, when she shewed him your work, that he has a mind you should work for him also; she does this on purpose, that the connection she wishes to form betwixt you and him may crown your mutual wishes with success." my brother was easily persuaded, and went to the mill with the slave. the miller received him very kindly, and shewed him a piece of cloth, and told him he wanted shirts, bade him make it into twenty, and return him again what was left. my brother had work enough for five or six days to make twenty shirts for the miller, who afterwards gave him another piece of cloth to make him as many pair of drawers. when they were finished, bacbouc carried them to the miller, who asked him what he must have for his pains. my brother answered, he would be content with twenty dirhems of silver. the miller immediately called the young slave, and bade her bring him his weights to see if his money was right. the slave, who had her lesson, looked at my brother with an angry countenance, to signify to him, that he would spoil all if he took money. he knew her meaning, and refused to take any, though he wanted it so much that he was forced to borrow some to buy the thread to sew the shirts and drawers. when he left the miller, he came to me to borrow money to purchase provisions, and told me they did not pay him. i gave him some copper money i had in my purse, and upon that he subsisted for some days. it is true, indeed, he lived upon nothing but broth, nor had he his fill of that. one day he went to the miller, who was busy at his work, and thinking my brother came for money, offered him some; but the young slave being present, made him another sign not to take it, which he complied with, and told the miller he did not come for his money, but only to know how he did. the miller thanked him, and gave him an upper garment to make. bacbouc carried it to him the next day. when the miller drew out his purse, the young slave gave my brother the usual sign, on which he said to the miller, "neighbour, there is no haste, we will reckon another time;" so that the poor ninny went to his shop again, with three terrible distempers, love, hunger, and an empty purse. the miller's wife was not only avaricious, but ill-natured; for, not content with cheating my brother of his due, she provoked her husband to revenge himself upon him for making love to her, which they accomplished thus. the miller invited bacbouc one night to supper, and after giving him a very sorry treat, said to him, "brother, it is too late for you to return home, you had better stay here all night," and then took him to a place in the mill, where there was a bed; there he left him, and went to bed with his wife. about the middle of the night, the miller came to my brother, and said, "neighbour, are you asleep? my mule is ill, and i have a quantity of corn to grind; you will do me a great kindness if you will turn the mill in her stead." bacbouc, to shew his good nature, told him, he was ready to do him that service, if he would shew him how. the miller tied him by the middle in the mule's place, and whipping him soundly over the back, said to him, "go on, neighbour." "ho!" exclaimed my brother, "why do you beat me?" "it is to make you brisk," replied the miller, "for without a whip my mule will not go." bacbouc was amazed at this treatment, but durst not complain. when he had gone five or six rounds, he would fain have rested; but the miller gave him a dozen sound lashes, saying, "courage, neighbour! do not stop, pray; you must go on without taking breath, otherwise you will spoil my meal." the miller obliged my brother to turn the mill thus all night. about break of day he left him without untying him, and went to his wife's chamber. bacbouc continued there for some time, and at last the young slave came and untied him. "ah!" said the treacherous wretch, "how my mistress and i pitied you! we had no hand in this wicked trick which her husband has played you." the wretched bacbouc answered not a word, he was so much fatigued with work and blows; but crept home to his house, resolving never to think more of the miller's wife. the telling of this story, continued the barber, made the caliph laugh. "go home," said he to me, "i have ordered something to be given you to make up for the loss of the good dinner you expected." "commander of the faithful," i replied, "i pray your majesty to let me stay till i have told the story of my other brothers." the caliph having signified by his silence that he was willing to hear me, i went on thus. the story of the barber's second brother. my second brother, who was called backbarah the toothless, going one day through the city, met in a distant street an old woman, who came up to him, and said, "i want one word with you, pray stop a moment." he did so, and asked what she would have. "if you have time to come with me," said she, "i will bring you into a stately palace, where you shall see a lady as fair as the day. she will receive you with much pleasure, and treat you with excellent wine. i need say no more." "but is what you say true?" demanded my brother. "i am no lying hussy," replied the old woman. "i say nothing to you but what is true. but hark, i have something to ask of you. you must be prudent, say but little, and be extremely polite." backbarah agreed to all this. the old woman went on, and he followed her. they came to the gate of a great palace, where there was a number of officers and domestics. some of them would have stopped my brother, but no sooner did the old woman speak to them than they let him pass. then turning to my brother, she said to him, "you must remember that the young lady i bring you to loves good-nature and modesty, and cannot endure to be contradicted; if you please her in these respects, you may be sure to obtain of her what you please." backbarah thanked her for this advice, and promised to follow it. she brought him into a superb court, answerable to the magnificence of the palace. there was a gallery round it, and a garden in the middle. the old woman made him sit down on a handsome sofa, and bade him stay a moment, till she went to acquaint the young lady with his arrival. my brother, who had never been in such a stately palace before, gazed on the fine things that he saw; and judging of his good fortune by the magnificence of the palace, he was scarcely able to contain himself for joy. in a short time he heard a great noise, occasioned by a troop of merry slaves, who came towards him with loud fits of laughter; and in the middle of them he perceived a young lady of extraordinary beauty, who was easily known to be their mistress by the respect they paid her. backbarah, who expected private conversation with the lady, was extremely surprised when he saw so much company with her. in the mean time, the slaves, as they drew near, put on a grave countenance; and when the young lady came up to the sofa, my brother rose and made her a low obeisance. she took the upper seat, prayed him to sit down, and said to him with a smiling countenance, "i am much pleased to see you, and wish you all the happiness you can desire." "madam," replied backbarah, "i cannot desire a greater happiness than to be in your company." "you seem to be of a pleasant humour," said she, "and to be disposed to pass the time agreeably." she commanded a collation to be brought; and immediately a table was covered with several baskets of fruit and sweetmeats. the lady sat down at the table with the slaves and my brother; and he being placed just opposite to her, when he opened his mouth to eat, she perceived he had no teeth; and taking notice of this to her slaves, she and they laughed heartily. backbarah, from time to time, lifted up his head to look at her, and perceiving her laugh, concluded it was from the pleasure she derived from his company, and flattered himself that she would speedily send away her slaves, and remain with him alone. she guessed his thoughts, and amusing herself to flatter him in this mistake, addressed him in the most pleasant language, and presented him the best of every thing with her own hand. the entertainment being finished, they rose from the table; ten slaves took musical instruments, and began to play and sing, and others to dance. my brother, to please them, danced likewise, and the lady danced with them. after they had danced some time, they sat down to take breath, and the young lady calling for a glass of wine, looked upon my brother with a smiling countenance, to signify that she was going to drink his health. he rose and stood while she drank. when she had done instead of giving back the glass, she ordered it to be filled, and presented it to my brother, that he might pledge her. my brother took the glass from the young lady's hand, which he kissed at the same time and stood and drank to her, in return for the favour she had done him. the lady then made him sit down by her, and began to caress him. she put her hand behind his head, and gave him some tips from time to time with her fingers: ravished with these favours, he thought himself the happiest man in the world, and felt disposed to kiss the charming lady, but durst not take that liberty before so many slaves, who had their eyes upon him, and laughed at their lady's wanton tricks. the young lady continued to tip him with her fingers, but at last gave him such a sound box on the ear, that he grew angry; the colour came into his face, and he rose up to remove to a greater distance from such a rude playfellow. then the old woman, who brought him thither, gave him a look, to let him know that he was in the wrong, and that he had forgotten her advice, to be very complaisant. he owned his fault, and to make amends, went near the young lady again, pretending that he did not remove out of any ill-humour. she drew him by the arm, made him sit down by her, and gave him a thousand malicious squeezes. her slaves took their part in the diversion; one gave poor backbarah several fillips on the nose with all her might; another pulled him by the ears, as if she would have pulled them off; and others boxed him in a manner that might have made it appear they were not in jest. my brother bore all this with admirable patience, affecting a gay air, and looking at the old woman, said to her with a forced smile, "you told me, indeed, that i should find the lady perfectly kind, pleasant, and charming; i am mightily obliged to you!" "all this is nothing," replied the old woman; "let her go on, you will see other things by and by." then the young lady said to him, "brother, you are a brave man; i am glad to find you are so good-humoured and complaisant to bear with my little caprices, and that your humour is so conformable to mine." "madam," replied backbarah, who was charmed with this address, "l am no more at my own disposal, i am wholly yours, you may do with me as you please." "how you oblige me," returned the lady, "by such submission! i am well pleased with you, and would have you be so with me: bring him perfume, and rose-water." upon this, two slaves went out and returned speedily, one with a silver casket, filled with the best of aloes wood, with which she perfumed him; and the other with rose-water, which she sprinkled on his face and hands. my brother was quite enraptured with this handsome treatment. after this ceremony, the young lady commanded the slaves, who had already played on their instruments and sung, to renew their concerts. they obeyed, and while they were thus employed, the lady called another slave, and ordered her to take my brother with her, and do what she knew, and bring him back to her again. backbarah, who heard this order, got up quickly, and going to the old woman, who also rose to accompany him and the slave, prayed her to inform him what they were to do with him. "my mistress is only curious," replied the old woman softly; "she has a mind to see how you look in a woman's dress, and this slave, who is desired to take you with her, has orders to paint your eyebrows, to cut off your whiskers, and to dress you like a woman." "you may paint my eyebrows as much as you please," said my brother, "i consent to that, because i can wash it off again; but to shave me, you know i must not permit. how can i appear abroad again without moustaches?" "beware of refusing what is asked of you," returned the old woman, you will spoil your fortune, which is now in as favourable a train as heart can wish. the lady loves you, and has a mind to make you happy; and will you, for a nasty whisker, renounce the most delicious favours that man can obtain?" backbarah listened to the old woman, and without saying a word went to a chamber with the slave, where they painted his eyebrows with red, cut off his whiskers, and were going to do the like with his beard.. my brother's patience then began to fail: "oh!" said he, "i will never part with my beard." the slave told him, that it was to no purpose to have parted with his whiskers, if he would not also part with his beard, which could never comport with "woman's dress; and she wondered that a man, who was upon the point of being loved by the finest lady in bagdad, should be concerned about his beard. the old woman threatened him with the loss of the young lady's favour; so that at last he allowed them to do what they would. when he was dressed in female attire, they brought him before the young lady, who laughed so heartily when she saw him, that she fell backward on the sofa. the slaves laughed and clapped their hands, so that my brother was quite out of countenance. the young lady got up, and still laughing, said to him, "after so much complaisance, i should be very much to blame not to love you with all my heart: but there is one thing more you must do for me, and that is, to dance as we do." he obeyed, and the young lady and her slaves danced with him, laughing as if they had been mad. after they had danced some time, they all fell upon the poor wretch, and did so box and kick him, that he fell down like one out of his senses. the old woman helped him up again: and that he might not have time to think of his ill-treatment, bade him take courage, and whispered in his ear, that all his sufferings were at an end, and that he was just about to receive his reward. the old woman continued her discourse to backbarah thus: "you have only one thing more to do, and that is but a small one. you must know that my mistress has a custom, when she has drunk a little, as you see she has done to-day, to let no one that she loves come near her, except they be stripped to their shirt; and when they have done so, she takes a little advantage of them and begins running before them through the gallery, and from chamber to chamber, till they catch her. this is one more of her humours: what advantage soever she takes of you, considering your nimbleness, you will soon overtake her; strip yourself then to your shirt, undress yourself without ceremony." my silly brother had done too much to hesitate at anything now. he undressed himself; and in the mean time the young lady was stripped to her shift and drawers, that she might run the more nimbly. when they were ready, the young lady took the advantage of twenty paces, and then began to run with surprising swiftness: my brother followed as fast as he could, the slaves in the mean time laughing heartily and clapping their hands. the young lady, instead of losing ground, gained upon my brother: she made him run two or three times round the gallery, and then entering a long dark passage, made her escape. backbarah, who still followed, having lost sight of her in the passage, was obliged to slacken his pace, because of the darkness of the place: at last perceiving a light, he ran towards it, and went out at a door, which was immediately shut after him. you may imagine how he was surprised to find himself in a street inhabited by curriers, and they were no less surprised to see him in his shirt, his eyes painted red, and without beard or moustaches: they began to clap their hands and shout at him, and some of them ran after him and lashed his back with leather straps. they then took him and set him upon an ass which they met by chance, and carried him through the town exposed to the laughter of the people. to complete his misfortune, as he went by the judge's house, he would needs know the cause of the tumult. the curriers told him, that they saw him come in that condition from the gate of the apartments of the grand vizier's women, which opened into their street; upon which the judge ordered unfortunate backbarah to have a hundred blows with a cane on the soles of his feet, and sent him out of the town with orders never to return. "thus, commander of the faithful," said i to the caliph, "i have given an account of the adventure of my second brother, who did not know that our greatest ladies divert themselves sometimes by putting such tricks upon young people, who are so foolish as to be caught in the snare." the barber, without breaking off, told the story of his third brother in the following manner. the story of the barber's third brother. commander of the faithful, my third brother, whose name was backbac, was blind, and his evil destiny reduced him to beg from door to door. he had been so long accustomed to walk through the streets alone, that he wanted none to lead him: he had a custom to knock at people's doors, and not to answer till they opened to him. one day he knocked thus, and the master of the house, who was alone, cried, "who is there?" my brother made no answer, and knocked a second time: the master of the house asked again and again, "who is there?" but to no purpose, no one answered; upon which he came down, opened the door, and asked my brother what he wanted? "give me something for heaven's sake," said backbac. "you seem to be blind," replied the master of the house. "yes, to my sorrow," answered my brother. "give me your hand," resumed the master of the house. my brother did so, thinking he was going to give him alms; but he only took him by the hand to lead him up to his chamber. backbac thought he had been carrying him to dine with him, as many other people had done. when they reached the chamber, the man let go his hand, and sitting down, asked him again what he wanted? "i have already told you," said backbac, "that i want something for god's sake." "good blind man," replied the master of the house, "all that i can do for you is to wish that god may restore you your sight." "you might have told me that at the door," replied my brother, "and not have given me the trouble to come up stairs." "and why, fool," said the man of the house, "do not you answer at first, when people ask you who is there? why do you give any body the trouble to come and open the door when they speak to you?" "what will you do with me then?" asked my brother. "i tell you again," said the man of the house, "i have nothing to give you." "help me down the stairs then, as you brought me up." "the stairs are before you," said the man of the house, "and you may go down by yourself if you will." my brother attempted to descend, but missing a step about the middle of the stairs, fell to the bottom and hurt his head and his back: he got up again with much difficulty, and went out cursing the master of the house. who laughed at his fall. as my brother went out of the house, two blind men, his companions, were going by, knew him by his voice, and asked him what was the matter? he told them what had happened; and afterwards said, "i have eaten nothing to-day; i conjure you to go along with me to my house, that i may take some of the money that we three have in common to buy me something for supper." the two blind men agreed, and they went home with him. you must know that the master of the house where my brother was so ill used was a robber, and of a cunning and malicious disposition. he overheard from his window what backbac had said to his companions, and came down and followed them to my brother's house. the blind men being seated, backbac said to them, "brothers, we must shut the door, and take care there be no stranger with us." at this the robber was much perplexed, but perceiving a rope hanging down from a beam, he caught hold of it, and hung by it, while the blind men shut the door, and felt about the room with their sticks. when they had done, and had sat down again in their places, the robber left his rope, and seated himself softly by my brother, who thinking himself alone with his blind comrades, said to them, "brothers, since you have trusted me with the money, which we have been a long time gathering, i will show you that i am not unworthy of the confidence you repose in me. the last time we reckoned, you know we had ten thousand dirhems, and that we put them into ten bags; i will shew you that i have not touched one of them:" having so said, he put his hand among some old clothes, and taking out the bags one after another, gave them to his comrades, saying, "there they are; you may judge by their weight that they are whole, or you may tell them if you please." his comrades answered there was no need, they did not mistrust him; so he opened one of the bags, and took out ten dirhems, and each of the other blind men did the like. my brother put the bags into their place again: after which, one of the blind men said to him, "there is no need to lay out anything for supper, for i have collected as much victuals from good people as will serve us all." at the same time he took out of his bag bread and cheese, and some fruit, and putting all upon the table, they began to eat, the robber, who sat at my brother's right hand, picked out the best, and eat with them; but whatever care he took to make no noise, backbac heard his chaps going, and cried out immediately, "we are undone, there is a stranger among us:" having so said, he stretched out his hand, and caught hold of the robber by the arm, cried out "thieves!" fell upon him, and struck him. the other blind men fell upon him in like manner; the robber defended himself as well as he could, and being young and vigorous, besides having the advantage of his eyes, gave furious blows, sometimes to one, sometimes to another, and cried out "thieves!" louder than they did. the neighbours came running at the noise, broke open the door, and had much ado to separate the combatants; but having at last succeeded, they asked the cause of their quarrel. my brother, who still had hold of the robber, cried out, "gentlemen, this man i have hold of is a thief, and stole in with us on purpose to rob us of the little money we have." the thief, who shut his eyes as soon as the neighbours came, feigned himself blind, and exclaimed, "gentlemen, he is a liar. i swear to you by heaven, and by the life of the caliph, that i am their companion, and they refuse to give me my just share. they have all three fallen upon me, and i demand justice." the neighbours would not interfere in their quarrel, but carried them all before the judge. when they came before the magistrate, the robber, without staying to be examined, cried out, still feigning himself blind, "sir, since you are deputed to administer justice by the caliph, whom god prosper, i declare to you that we are equally criminal, my three comrades and i; but we have all engaged, upon oath, to confess nothing except we be bastinadoed; so that if you would know our crime, you need only order us to be bastinadoed, and begin with me." my brother would have spoken, but was not allowed to do so: and the robber was put under the bastinado. the robber being under the bastinado, had the courage to bear twenty or thirty blows; when, pretended to be overcome with pain, he first opened one eve, and then the other, and crying out for mercy, begged the judge would put a stop to the blows. the judge perceiving that he looked upon him with his eyes open, was much surprised, and said to him, "rogue, what is the meaning of this miracle?" "sir," replied the robber, "i will discover to you an important secret, if you will pardon me, and give me, as a pledge that you will keep your word, the seal-ring which you have on your finger." the judge consented, gave him his ring, and promised him pardon. "under this promise," continued the robber, "i must confess to you sir, that i and my three comrades do all of us see very well. we feigned ourselves to be blind, that we might freely enter people's houses, and women's apartments, where we abuse their weakness. i must farther confess to you, that by this trick we have gained together ten thousand dirhems. this day i demanded of my partners two thousand five hundred that belonged to my share, but they refused because i told them i would leave them; and they were afraid i should accuse them. upon my pressing still to have my share, they fell upon me; for which i appeal to those people who brought us before you. i expect from your justice, sir, that you will make them deliver me the two thousand five hundred dirhems which is my due; and if you have a mind that my comrades should confess the truth, you must order them three times as many blows as i have had, and you will find they will open their eyes as well as i have done." my brother and the other two blind men would have cleared themselves of this horrid charge, but the judge would not hear them: "villains," said he, "do you feign yourselves blind then, and, under that pretext of moving their compassion, cheat people, and commit such crimes?" "he is an impostor," cried my brother, "and we take god to witness that none of us can see." all that my brother could say was in vain, his comrades and he received each of them two hundred blows. the judge expected them to open their eyes, and ascribed to their obstinacy what really they could not do. all the while the robber said to the blind men, "poor fools that you are, open your eyes, and do not suffer yourselves to be beaten to death." then addressing himself to the judge, said, "i perceive, sir, that they will be maliciously obstinate to the last, and will never open their eyes. they wish certainly to avoid the shame of reading their own condemnation in the face of every one that looks upon them; it were better, if you think fit, to pardon them, and to send some person along with me for the ten thousand dirhems they have hidden." the judge consented to give the robber two thousand five hundred dirhems, and kept the rest himself; and as for my brother and his two companions, he thought he shewed them pity by sentencing them only to be banished. as soon as i heard what had befallen my brother, i went to him; he told me his misfortune, and i brought him back secretly to the town. i could easily have justified him to the judge, and have had the robber punished as he deserved, but durst not make the attempt, for fear of bringing myself into danger of assassination. thus i finished the sad adventure of my honest blind brother. the caliph laughed at it, as much as at those he had heard before, and ordered again that something should be given me; but without staying for it, i began the story of my fourth brother. the story of the barber's fourth brother. alcouz was the name of the fourth brother who lost one of his eyes, upon an occasion that i shall have the honour to relate to your majesty. he was a butcher by profession, and had a particular way of teaching rams to fight, by which he gained the acquaintance and friendship of the chief lords of the country, who loved that sport, and for that end kept rams at their houses. he had besides a very good trade, and had his shop always full of the best meat, because he spared no cost for the prime of every sort. one day when he was in his shop, an old man with a long white beard came and bought six pounds of meat of him, gave him money for it, and went his way. my brother thought the money so pure and well coined, that he put it apart by itself: the same old man came every day for five months together, bought a like quantity of meat, and paid for it in the same kind of money, which my brother continued to lay apart. at the end of five months, alcouz having a mind to buy a lot of sheep, and to pay for them in this money, opened his chest; but instead of finding his money, was extremely surprised to see nothing in the place where he had laid it, but a parcel of leaves clipped round. he beat his head, and cried out aloud, which presently brought the neighbours about him, who were as much surprised as he, when he told them the story. "o!" cried my brother, weeping, "that this treacherous old fellow would come now with his hypocritical looks!" he had scarcely spoken, when he saw him at a distance; he ran to him, and laid hands on him; "moosulmauns," cried he, as loud as he could, "help! hear what a cheat this wicked fellow has put upon me," and at the same time told a great crowd of people, who came about him, what he had formerly told his neighbours. when he had done, the old man said to him very gravely and calmly, "you had better let me go, and by that means make amends for the affront you have put upon me before so many people, for fear i should put a greater affront upon you, which i should be sorry to do." "how," said my brother, "what have you to say against me? i am an honest man in my business, and fear not you, nor any body." "you would have me speak out then," resumed the old man in the same tone; and turning to the crowd, said to them, "know, good people, that this fellow, instead of selling mutton as he ought to do, sells human flesh." "you are a cheat," said my brother. "no, no," continued the old man; "good people, this very minute while i am speaking to him, there is a man with his throat cut hung up in the shop like a sheep; do any of you go thither, and see if what i say be not true." just before my brother had opened his chest he had killed a sheep, dressed it, and exposed it in the shop, according to custom: he protested that what the old man said was false; but notwithstanding all his protestations, the credulous mob, prejudiced against a man accused of such a heinous crime, would go to see whether the charge were true. they obliged my brother to quit the old man, laid hold of him, and ran like madmen into his shop, where they saw, to all appearance, a man hung up with his throat cut, as the old man had told them; for he was a magician, and deceived the eyes of all people, as he did my brother, when he made him take leaves instead of money. at this sight, one of those who held alcouz gave him a violent blow with his fist, and said to him, "thou wicked villain, dost thou make us eat man's flesh instead of mutton?" and at the same time the old man gave him another blow, which beat out one of his eyes. every body that could get near him struck him; and not content with that, they carried him before a judge, with the pretended carcase of the man, to be evidence against him." "sir," said the old magician to the judge, "we have brought you a man, who is so barbarous as to murder people, and to sell their flesh instead of mutton. the public expects that you will punish him in an exemplary manner." the judge heard my brother with patience, but would believe nothing of the story of the money changed into leaves, called my brother a cheat, told him he would believe his own eyes, and ordered him to receive five hundred blows. he afterwards made him tell him where his money was, took it all from him, and banished him for ever, after having made him ride three days through the city upon a camel, exposed to the insults of the people. i was not at bagdad when this tragical adventure befell my fourth brother. he retired into a remote place, where he lay concealed till he was cured of the blows with which his back was terribly mangled. when he was able to walk, he went by night to a certain town where nobody knew him; and there he took a lodging, from whence he seldom moved; but being weary of this confined life, he went to walk in one of the suburbs, where suddenly he heard a noise of horsemen coming behind him. he was then by chance near the gate of a house, and fearing, after what had befallen him, that these horsemen were pursuing him, he opened the gate in order to hide himself, and after he had shut it, entered a court, where immediately two servants came and collared him, saying, "heaven be praised, that you have come of your own accord to surrender yourself; you have alarmed us so much these three last nights, that we could not sleep; nor would you have spared our lives, if we had not prevented your design." you may well imagine my brother was much surprised. "good people," said he, "i know not what you mean; you certainly take me for somebody else." "no, no," replied they, "we know that you and your comrades are robbers: you were not contented to rob our master of all that he had, and to reduce him to beggary, but you conspired to take his life. let us see if you have not a knife about you, which you had in your hand when you pursued us last night." having said thus, they searched him, and found he had a knife. "ho! ho!" cried they, laying hold of him, "and dare you say that you are not a robber?" "why," said my brother, "cannot a man carry a knife about him without being a robber? if you will hearken to my story, instead of having so bad an opinion of me, you will be touched with compassion at my misfortunes." but far from attending to him, they fell upon him, trod upon him, took away his clothes, and tore his shirt. then seeing the scars on his back, "o dog," said they, redoubling their blows, "would you have us believe you are an honest man, when your back shews us the contrary?" "alas!" said my brother, "my crimes must be very great, since, after having been abused already so unjustly, i am thus treated a second time without being more culpable!" the two servants, no way moved with his complaint, carried him before the judge, who asked him how he durst presume to go into their house, and pursue them with a drawn knife? "sir," replied the unfortunate alcouz, "i am the most innocent man in the world, and am undone if you will not be pleased to hear me patiently: no one deserves more compassion." "sir," exclaimed one of the domestics, "will you listen to a robber, who enters people's houses to plunder and murder them? if you will not believe us, only look upon his back;" and while he said so he uncovered my brother's back, and shewed it to the judge, who, without any other information, commanded his officers immediately to give him a hundred lashes over the shoulders, and made him afterwards be carried through the town on a camel, with one crying before him, "thus are men punished who enter people's houses by force." after having treated him thus, they banished him the town, and forbad him ever to return. some people, who met him after the second misfortune, brought me word where he was; i went, brought him to bagdad privately, and gave him all the assistance i could. the caliph did not laugh so much at this story as at the other. he was pleased to pity the unfortunate alcouz, and ordered something to be given me. but without giving his servants time to obey his orders, i continued my discourse, and said to him: "my sovereign lord and master, you see that i do not talk much; and since your majesty has been pleased to do me the favour to listen to me so far, i beg you would likewise hear the adventures of my two other brothers; i hope they will be as diverting as those of the former. you may make a complete history of them, that will not be unworthy of your library: i shall do myself the honour then to acquaint you, that the fifth brother was called alnaschar." the story of the barber's fifth brother. alnaschar, as long as our father lived, was very lazy; instead of working he used to beg in the evening, and live upon what he got. our father died at a very old age, and left among us seven hundred dirhems: we divided equally, so that each of us had a hundred for his share. alnaschar, who had never before possessed so much money, was much perplexed to know what he should do with it. he consulted a long time with himself, and at last resolved to lay it out in glass-ware which he bought of a wholesale dealer. he put all in an open basket, and sat with it before him, and his back against a wall, in a place where he might sell it. in this posture, with his eyes fixed on his basket, he began to meditate; during which he spoke as follows: "this basket cost me a hundred dirhems, which is all i have in the world. i shall make two hundred of them by retailing my glass, and of these two hundred, which i will again lay out in glass-ware, i shall make four hundred; and going on thus, i shall at last make four thousand dirhems; of four thousand i shall easily make eight thousand, and when i come to ten thousand, i will leave off selling glass and turn jeweller; i will trade in diamonds, pearls, and all sorts of precious stones: then when i am as rich as i can wish, i will buy a fine mansion, a great estate, slaves, eunuchs, and horses. i will keep a good house, and make a great figure in the world; i will send for all the musicians and dancers of both sexes in town. nor will i stop here, for, i will, by the favour of heaven, go on till i get one hundred thousand dirhems, and when i have amassed so much, i will send to demand the grand vizier's daughter in marriage; and represent to that minister, that i have heard much of the wonderful beauty, understanding, wit, and all the other qualities of his daughter; in a word, that i will give him a thousand pieces of gold the first night after we are married; and if the vizier be so uncivil as to refuse his daughter, which cannot be supposed, i will go and carry her off before his face, and take her to my house whether he will or no. as soon as i have married the grand vizier's daughter, i will buy her ten young black eunuchs, the handsomest that can be had; i will clothe my self like a prince, and mounted upon a fine horse, with a saddle of fine gold, with housings of cloth of gold, finely embroidered with diamonds and pearls, i will ride through the city, attended by slaves before and behind. i will go to the vizier's palace in view of all the people great and small, who will show me the most profound respect. when i alight at the foot of the vizier's staircase, i will ascend through my own people, ranged in files on the right and left; and the grand vizier, receiving me as his son-in-law, shall give me the right hand and set me above him, to do me the more honour. if this comes to pass, as i hope it will, two of my people shall each of them have a purse with a thousand pieces of gold, which they shall carry with them. i will take one, and presenting it to the grand vizier, tell him, �there is the thousand pieces of gold that i promised the first night of marriage:' and i will offer him the other and say to him, �there is as much more, to shew you that i am a man of my word, and even better than my promise.' after such an action as this, all the world will talk of my generosity. i will return to my own house in the same pomp. my wife will send some officer to compliment me, on account of my visit to the vizier, her father: i will honour the officer with a fine robe, and send him back with a rich present. if she send me a present, i will not accept it, but dismiss the bearer. i will not suffer her to go out of her apartment on any account whatever, without giving me notice: and when i have a mind to come to her apartment, it shall be in such a manner as to make her respect me. in short, no house shall be better ordered than mine. i will be always richly clad. when i retire with my wife in the evening, i will sit on the upper seat, i will affect a grave air, without turning my head to one side or the other. i will speak little; and whilst my wife, beautiful as the full moon, stands before me in all her charms, i will make as if i did not see her. her women about her will say to me, �our dear lord and master, here is your spouse, your humble servant, before you, ready to receive your caresses, but much mortified that you do not vouchsafe to look upon her; she is wearied with standing so long, bid her, at least, sit down.' i will make no answer, which will increase their surprise and grief. they will prostrate themselves at my feet; and after they have for a considerable time entreated me to relent, i will at last lift up my head, give her a careless look, and resume my former posture: they will suppose that my wife is not handsomely enough dressed, and will carry her to her closet to change her apparel. at the same time i will get up and put on a more magnificent suit; they will return and address me as before, but i will not so much as look upon my wife, till they have prayed and entreated as long as they did at first. thus i will begin on the first day of marriage, to teach her what she is to expect during the rest of her life. "after the ceremonies of the marriage, i will take from one of my servants, who shall be about me, a purse of five hundred pieces of gold, which i will give to the tire-women, that they may leave me alone with my spouse: when they are gone, my wife shall go to bed first; then i will lie down by her with my back towards her, and will not say one wore to her all night. the next morning she will certainly complain of my contempt and of my pride, to her mother the grand vizier's wife, which will rejoice my heart. her mother will come to wait upon me, respectfully kiss my hands, and say to me, �sir' (for she will not dare to call me son-in-law, for fear of provoking me by such a familiar style), �i entreat you not to disdain to look on my daughter, and refuse to come near her. i assure you that her chief delight is to please you, and that she loves you with all her soul.' but in spite of all my mother-in-law can say, i will not answer her one word, but keep an obstinate gravity. then she will throw herself at my feet, kiss them repeatedly, and say to me, �sir, is it possible that you can suspect my daughter's virtue? you are the first man who ever saw her face: do not mortify her so much; do her the favour to look upon her, to speak to her, and confirm her in her good intentions to satisfy you in every thing.' but nothing of this shall prevail with me. upon which my mother-in-law will take a glass of wine, and putting it in the hand of her daughter my wife, will say, �go, present him this glass of wine yourself; perhaps he will not be so cruel as to refuse it from so fair a hand.' my wife will come with the glass and stand trembling before me; and when she finds that i do not look towards her, but that i continue to disdain her, she will say to me with tears in her eyes, �my heart, my dear soul, my amiable lord, i conjure you, by the favours which heaven heaps upon you, to receive this glass of wine from the hand of your most humble servant:' but i will not look upon her still, nor answer her. �my charming spouse,' will she say, redoubling her tears, and putting the glass to my mouth, "i will never cease till i prevail with you to drink;' then, wearied with her entreaties, i will dart a terrible look at her, shake my hand in her face, and spurn her from me with my foot." my brother was so full of these chimerical visions, that he acted with his foot as if she had been really before him, and unfortunately gave such a push to his basket and glasses, that they were thrown down, and broken into a thousand pieces, on this fatal accident, he came to himself, and perceiving that he had brought misfortune upon himself by his insupportable pride, beat his face, tore his clothes, and cried so loud, that the neighbours came about him; and the people, who were going to their noon prayers, stopped to know what was the matter. being on a friday, more people went to prayers than usual; some of them took pity on alnaschar, and others only laughed at his extravagance. in the mean time, his vanity being dispersed with his property, he bitterly bewailed his loss; and a lady of rank passing by upon a mule richly caparisoned, my brother's situation moved her compassion. she asked who he was, and what he cried for? they told her, that he was a poor man, who had laid out the little money he possessed in the purchase of a basket of glassware, that the basket had fallen, and all his glasses were broken. the lady immediately turned to an eunuch who attended her, and said to him, "give the poor man what you have about you." the eunuch obeyed, and put into my brother's hands a purse with five hundred pieces of gold. alnaschar was ready to die with joy when he received it. he gave a thousand blessings to the lady, and shutting up his shop, where he had no more occasion to sit, went to his house. while he was pondering over his good luck, he heard somebody knock at his door. before he opened, he asked who it was, and knowing by the voice that it was a woman, he let her in. "my son," said she, "i have a favour to beg of you: the hour of prayer is come, let me perform my ablutions in your house, that i may be fit to say my prayers." my brother looking at her, and seeing that she was well advanced in years, though he knew her not, granted her request, and sat down again still full of his new adventure. he put his gold in a long strait purse, proper to carry at his girdle. the old woman in the mean time said her prayers, and when she had done, came to my brother and bowed twice to the ground, so low, that she touched it with her forehead: then rising up, she wished him all happiness. the old woman then bowed again, and thanked him for his civility. being meanly clad, and very humble, he thought she asked alms; upon which he offered her two pieces of gold. the old woman stepped back in a sort of surprise, as if my brother had affronted her. "good god!" said she, "what is the meaning of this? is it possible, sir, that you took me for one of those impudent beggars who push into people's houses to ask alms? take back your money: thank heaven, i need it not. i belong to a young lady of this city, who is a perfect beauty, and very rich; she lets me want for nothing." my brother was not cunning enough to perceive the craft of the old woman, who only refused the two pieces of gold, that she might catch more. he asked her, if she could not procure him the honour of seeing that lady. "with all my heart," she replied; "she will be very glad to marry you, and to put you in possession of her fortune, by making you master of her person. take up your money, and follow me." my brother, transported with his good luck in finding so great a sum of money, and almost at the same time a beautiful and rich wife, shut his eyes to all other considerations; so that he took his five hundred pieces of gold, and followed the old woman. she walked on, and he followed at a distance, to the gate of a great house, where she knocked. he came up just as a young greek slave opened the gate. the old woman made him enter first, crossed a well-paved court, and introduced him into a hall, the furniture of which confirmed him in the good opinion he had conceived of the mistress of the house. while the old woman went to acquaint the lady, he sat down, and the weather being hot, put off his turban, and laid it by him. he speedily saw the young lady enter: her beauty and rich apparel perfectly surprised him; he arose as soon as he saw her. the lady, with a smiling countenance, prayed him to sit down again, and placed herself by him. she told him, she was very glad to see him; and after having spoken some engaging words, said, "we do not sit here at our ease. come, give me your hand." at these words she presented him hers, and conducted him into an inner chamber, where she conversed with him for some time: she then left him, saying that she would be with him in a moment. he waited for her; but instead of the lady came in a great black slave with a cimeter in his hand, and looking upon my brother with a terrible aspect, said to him fiercely, "what have you to do here?" alnaschar was so frightened, that he had no power to answer. the black stripped him, carried off his gold, and gave him several flesh wounds with his cimeter. my unhappy brother fell to the ground, where he lay without motion, though he had still the use of his senses. the black thinking him to be dead, asked for salt: the greek slave brought him a basin full: they rubbed my brother's wounds with it, but he had so much command of himself, notwithstanding the intolerable pain it put him to, that he lay still without giving any sign of life. the black and the greek slave having retired, the old woman, who had enticed my brother into the snare, came and dragged him by the feet to a trapdoor, which she opened, and threw him into a place under ground, among the bodies of several other people who had been murdered. he perceived this as soon as he came to himself, for the violence of the fall had taken away his senses. the salt rubbed into his wounds preserved his life, and he recovered strength by degrees, so as to be able to walk. after two days he opened the trap-door in the night, and finding in the court a place proper to hide himself in, continued there till break of day, when he saw the cursed old woman open the street gate, and go out to seek another victim. he stayed in the place some time after she was gone, that she might not see him, and then came to me for shelter, when he told me of his adventures. in a month's time he was perfectly cured of his wounds by medicines that i gave him, and resolved to avenge himself of the old woman, who had put such a barbarous cheat upon him. to this end he took a bag, large enough to contain five hundred pieces of gold, and filled it with pieces of glass. my brother fastened the bag of glass about him, disguised himself like an old woman, and took a cimeter under his gown. one morning he met the old woman walking through the town to seek her prey; he went up to her, and counterfeiting a woman's voice, said, "cannot you lend me a pair of scales? i am newly come from persia, have brought five hundred pieces of gold with me, and would know if they are weight." "good woman," answered the old hag, "you could not have applied to a fitter person: follow me, i will conduct you to my son, who changes money, and will weigh them himself to save you the trouble. let us make haste, for fear he should go to his shop." my brother followed her to the house where she carried him at first, and the greek slave opened the door. the old woman took my brother to the hall where she desired him to wait till she called her son. the pretended son came, and proved to be the villainous black slave. "come, old woman," said he to my brother, "rise and follow me:" having spoken thus, he went before to conduct him to the place where he designed to murder him. alnaschar got up, followed him, and drawing his cimeter, gave him such a dexterous blow behind on the neck, that he cut off his head, which he took in one hand, and dragging the corpse with the other, threw them both into the place under ground before-mentioned. the greek slave, who was accustomed to the trade, came presently with a basin of salt; but when she saw alnaschar with his cimeter in his hand, and without his veil, she laid down the basin, and fled. but my brother overtaking her, cut off her head also. the wicked old woman came running at the noise, and my brother seizing her, said to her, "treacherous wretch, do not you know me?" "alas, sir!" answered she trembling, "who are you? i do not remember that i ever saw you." "i am," replied he, "the person to whose house you came the other day to wash and say your prayers. hypocritical hag, do not you remember?" then she fell on her knees to beg his pardon, but he cut her in four pieces. there remained only the lady, who knew nothing of what had passed: he sought her out, and found her in a chamber, where she was ready to sink when she saw him: she begged her life, which he generously granted. "madam," said he, "how could you live with such wicked people, as i have so justly revenged myself upon?" "i was," she answered, "wife to an honest merchant; and the old woman, whose wickedness i did not then know, used sometimes to come to see me; �madam,' said she to me one day, �we have a wedding at our house, which you will be pleased to see, if you will give us the honour of your company:' i was persuaded by her, put on my best apparel, and took with me a hundred pieces of gold. i followed her; she brought me to this house, where the black has since kept me by force, and i have been three years here to my great sorrow." "by the trade which that cursed black followed," replied my brother, "he must have gathered together a vast deal of riches." "there is so much," said she "that you will be made for ever, if you can carry them off: follow me, and you shall see them." alnaschar followed her to a chamber, where she shewed him several coffers full of gold, which he beheld with admiration. "go," said she, "and fetch people to carry it all off." my brother went out, got ten men together, and brought them with him, but was much surprised to find the gate open, the lady and the coffers gone, for she being more diligent than he, had conveyed them all off and disappeared. however, being resolved not to return empty-handed, he carried off all the furniture of the house, which was a great deal more than enough to make up the five hundred pieces of gold he had been robbed of; but when he went out of the house, he forgot to shut the gate. the neighbours, who saw my brother and the porters come and go, went and acquainted the magistrate, for they looked upon my brother's conduct as suspicious. alnaschar slept well enough all night, but the next morning, when he came out of his house, twenty of the magistrate's men seized him. "come along with us," said they, "our master would speak with you." my brother prayed them to have patience for a moment, and offered them a sum of money to let him escape; but instead of listening to him, they bound him, and forced him to go with them. they met in the street an old acquaintance of my brother's, who stopped them awhile, asked them why they had seized my brother, offered them a considerable sum to let him escape, and tell the magistrate they could not find him, but in vain. when the officers brought him before the magistrate, he asked him where he had the goods which he had carried home the preceding evening? "sir," replied alnaschar, "i am ready to tell you all the truth; but allow me first to have recourse to your clemency, and to beg your promise, that i shall not be punished." "i give it you," said the magistrate. my brother then told him the whole story without disguise, from the period the old woman came into his house to say her prayers, to the time the lady made her escape, after he had killed the black, the greek slave, and the old woman: and as for what he had carried to his house, he prayed the judge to leave him part of it, for the five hundred pieces of gold of which he had been robbed. the judge, without promising any thing, sent his officers to bring off the whole, and having put the goods into his own warehouse, commanded my brother to quit the town immediately, and never to return, for he was afraid, if he had stayed in the city, he would have found some way to represent this injustice to the caliph. in the mean time, alnaschar obeyed without murmuring, and left that town to go to another. by the way, he met with highwaymen, who stripped him naked; and when the ill news was brought to me, i carried him a suit, and brought him secretly into the town, where i took the like care of him as i did of his other brothers. the story of the barber's sixth brother. i have now only to relate the story of my sixth brother, called schacabac, with the hare lips. at first he was industrious enough to improve the hundred dirhems of silver which fell to his share, and went on very well; but a reverse of fortune brought him to beg his bread, which he did with a great deal of dexterity. he studied chiefly to get into great men's houses by means of their servants and officers, that he might have access to their masters, and obtain their charity. one day as he passed by a magnificent house, whose high gate shewed a very spacious court, where there was a multitude of servants, he went to one of them, and asked him to whom that house belonged? "good man," replied the servant, "whence do you come that you ask me such a question? does not all that you behold point out to you that it is the palace of a barmecide?" "my brother, who very well knew the liberality and generosity of the barmecides, addressed himself to one of his porters (for he had more than one), and prayed him to give him alms. "go in," said he, "nobody hinders you, and address yourself to the master of the house; he will send you back satisfied." my brother, who expected no such civility, thanked the porters, and with their permission entered the palace, which was so large, that it took him a considerable time to reach the barmecide's. apartment; at last he came to an arcade square building of an excellent architecture, and entered by parterres of flowers intersected by walks of several colours, extremely pleasant to the eye: the lower apartments round this square were most of them open, and were shut only with great curtains to keep out the sun, which were opened again when the heat was over to let in the fresh air. such an agreeable place would have struck my brother with admiration, even if his mind had been more at ease than it was. he went on till he came into a hall richly furnished and adorned with painting of gold and azure foliage, where he saw a venerable man with a long white beard, sitting at the upper end on a sofa, whence he concluded him to be the master of the house; and in fact it was the barmecide himself, who said to my brother in a very civil manner, that he was welcome; and asked him what he wanted? "my lord," answered my brother, in a begging tone, "i am a poor man who stands in need of the help of such rich and generous persons as yourself." he could not have addressed himself to a fitter person than this lord, who had a thousand good qualities. the barmecide seemed to be astonished at my brother's answer, and putting both his hands to his stomach, as if he would rend his clothes for grief, "is it possible," cried he, "that i am at bagdad, and that such a man as you is so poor as you say? this is what must never be." my brother, fancying that he was going to give him some singular mark of his bounty, blessed him a thousand times, and wished him all happiness. "it shall not be said," replied the barmecide, "that i will abandon you, nor will i have you leave me." "sir," replied my brother, "i swear to you i have not eaten one bit to-day." "is it true," demanded the barmecide, "that you are fasting till now? alas, poor man! he is ready to die for hunger. ho, boy," cried he, with a loud voice, "bring a basin and water presently, that we may wash our hands." though no boy appeared, and my brother saw neither water nor basin, the barmecide fell to rubbing his hands as if one had poured water upon them, and bade my brother come and wash with him. schacabac judged by this, that the barmecide lord loved to be merry, and he himself understanding raillery, and knowing that the poor must be complaisant to the rich, if they would have any thing from them, came forward and did as he was required. "come on," said the barmecide, "bring us something to eat, and do not let us wait." when he had spoken, though nothing appeared, he began to cut as if something had been brought him upon a plate, and putting his hand to his mouth began to chew, and said to my brother, "come, friend, eat as freely as if you were at home; come, eat; you said you were like to die of hunger, but you eat as if you had no appetite." "pardon me, my lord," said schacabac, who perfectly imitated what he did, "you see i lose no time, and that i play my part well enough." "how like you this bread," said the barmecide; "do not you find it very good?" "o! my lord," replied my brother, who saw neither bread nor meat, "i have never eaten anything so white and so fine." "eat your belly-full," said the barmecide; "i assure you the woman who bakes me this good bread cost me five hundred pieces of gold to purchase her." the barmecide, after having boasted so much of his bread, which my brother ate only in idea, cried, "boy, bring us another dish:" and though no boy appeared, "come, my good friend," continued he, "taste this new dish; and tell me if ever you ate better mutton and barley-broth than this." "it is admirably good," replied my brother, "and therefore you see i eat heartily." "you oblige me highly," resumed the barmecide; "i conjure you then, by the satisfaction i have to see you eat so heartily, that you eat all up, since you like it so well." a little while after he called for a goose and sweet sauce, made up of vinegar, honey, dry raisins, grey peas, and dry figs, which were brought just in the same manner as the others had. "the goose is very fat," said the barmecide, "eat only a leg and a wing; we must save our stomachs, for we have abundance of other dishes to come." he actually called for several others, of which my brother, who was ready to die of hunger, pretended to eat; but what he boasted of more than all the rest was a lamb fed with pistachio nuts, which he ordered to be brought up in the same manner. "here is a dish," said the barmecide "that you will see at nobody's table but my own; i would have you eat your belly-full of it." having spoken thus, he stretched out his hand as if he had had a piece of lamb in it, and putting it to my brother's mouth, "there," said he, "swallow that, and you will judge whether i had not reason to boast of this dish." my brother thrust out his head, opened his mouth, and made as if he took the piece of lamb, and eat it with extreme pleasure. "i knew you would like it," said the barmecide. "there is nothing in the world finer," replied my brother; "your table is most delicious." "come, bring the ragout; i fancy you will like that as well as you did the lamb: well, how do you relish it?" "o! it is wonderful," replied schacabac; "for here we taste all at once, amber, cloves, nutmeg, ginger, pepper, and the most odoriferous herbs, and all these delicacies are so well mixed, that one does not prevent our tasting the other." "how pleasant! honour this ragout," said the barmecide, "by eating heartily of it. ho, boy, bring us another ragout." "no, my lord, if it please you," replied my brother, "for indeed i can eat no more." "come, take away then," said the barmecide, "and bring the fruit." he stayed a moment as it were to give time for his servants to carry away; after which, he addressed my brother, "taste these almonds, they are good and fresh gathered." both of them made as if they had peeled the almonds, and eaten them; after this, the barmecide invited my brother to eat something else. "look," said he, "there are all sorts of fruits, cakes, dry sweetmeats, and conserves, take what you like;" then stretching out his hand, as if he had reached my brother something, "look," he continued, "there is a lozenge, very good for digestion." schacabac made as if he ate it, and said, "my lord, there is no want of musk here." "these lozenges," replied the barmecide, "are made at my own house, where nothing is wanting to make every article good." he still bade my brother eat, and said to him, "methinks you do not eat as if you had been so hungry as you complained you were when you came in." "my lord," replied schacabac, whose jaws ached with moving and having nothing to eat, "i assure you i am so full that i cannot eat one bit more." "well, then, friend," resumed the barmecide, "we must drink now, after we have eaten so well." "you may drink wine, my lord," replied my brother, "but i will drink none if you please, because i am forbidden." "you are too scrupulous," rejoined the barmecide; "do as i do." "i will drink then out of complaisance," said schacabac, "for i see you will have nothing wanting to make your treat complete; but since i am not accustomed to drink wine, i am afraid i shall commit some error in point of good breeding, and contrary to the respect that is due to you; therefore i pray you, once more, to excuse me from drinking any wine; i will be content with water." "no, no," said the barmecide, "you shall drink wine," and at the same time he commanded some to be brought, in the same manner as the meat and fruit had been served before. he made as if he poured out wine, and drank first himself, and then pouring out for my brother, presented him the glass, saying, "drink my health, and let us know if you think this wine good." my brother made as if he took the glass, and looked as if the colour was good, and put it to his nose to try the flavour: he then made a low salute to the barmecide, to signify that he took the liberty to drink his health, and lastly he appeared to drink with all the signs of a man that drinks with pleasure: "my lord," said he, "this is very excellent wine, but i think it is not strong enough." "if you would have stronger," answered the barmecide, "you need only speak, for i have several sorts in my cellar. try how you like this." upon which he made as if he poured out another glass for himself, and one for my brother; and did this so often, that schacabac, feigning to be intoxicated with the wine, and acting a drunken man, lifted up his hand, and gave the barmecide such a box on the ear as made him fall down. he was going to give him another blow, but the barmecide holding up his hand to ward it off, cried, "are you mad?" then my brother, making as if he had come to himself again, said, "my lord, you have been so good as to admit your slave into your house, and give him a treat; you should have been satisfied with making me eat, and not have obliged me to drink wine; for i told you beforehand, that it might occasion me to fail in my respect for you. i am very sorry for it, and beg you a thousand pardons." scarcely had he finished these words, when the barmecide, instead of being in a passion, fell a laughing with all his might. "i have been long," said he, "seeking a man of your character." the barmecide caressed schacabac mightily, and told him, "i not only forgive the blow you have given me, but i desire henceforward we should be friends, and that you take my house for your home: you have had the complaisance to accommodate yourself to my humour, and the patience to keep the jest up to the last; we will now eat in good earnest." when he had finished these words, he clapped his hands, and commanded his servants, who then appeared, to cover the table; which was speedily done, and my brother was treated with all those dishes in reality, which he ate of before in fancy. at last they cleared the table, and brought in the wine, and at the same time a number of handsome slaves, richly appareled, came and sung some agreeable airs to their musical instruments. in a word, schacabac had all the reason in the world to be satisfied with the barmecide's civility and bounty; for he treated him as his familiar friend, and ordered him a suit from his wardrobe. the barmecide found my brother to be a man of so much wit and understanding, that in a few days after he entrusted him with the care of his household and all his affairs. my brother acquitted himself very well in that employment for twenty years; at the end of which the generous barmecide died, and leaving no heirs, all his property was confiscated to the use of the prince; and my brother lost all he had acquired. being reduced to his first condition, he joined a caravan of pilgrims going to mecca, designing to accomplish that pilgrimage by their charity; but unfortunately the caravan was attacked and plundered by a number of bedouins, superior to that of the pilgrims. my brother was then taken as a slave by one of the bedouins, who put him under the bastinado for several days, to oblige him to ransom himself. schacabac protested that it was all in vain. "i am your slave," said he, "you may dispose of me as you please; but i declare to you that i am extremely poor, and not able to redeem myself." in a word, my brother discovered to him all his misfortunes, and endeavoured to soften him with tears; but the bedouin was not to be moved, and being vexed to find himself disappointed of a considerable sum of which he reckoned himself sure, he took his knife and slit my brother's lips. to avenge himself by this inhumanity for the loss that he thought he had sustained. the bedouin had a handsome wife, and frequently when he went on his excursions left my brother alone with her. at such times she used all her endeavours to comfort my brother under the rigour of his slavery. she gave him tokens enough that she loved him, but he durst not return her passion, for fear he should repent; and therefore avoided being alone with her, as much as she sought the opportunity to be alone with him. she was so much in the habit of caressing and playing with the miserable schacabac, whenever she saw him, that one day she happened to act in the same manner, in the presence of her husband. my brother, without taking notice that he observed them (so his sins would have it), played likewise with her. the bedouin, immediately supposing that they lived together in a criminal manner, fell upon my brother in a rage, and after he had mutilated him in a barbarous manner, carried him on a camel to the top of a desert mountain, where he left him. the mountain was on the road to bagdad, so that the passengers who saw him there informed me where he was. i went thither speedily, and found unfortunate schacabac in a deplorable condition: i gave him what help he stood in need of, and brought him back to the city. this is what i told the caliph; that prince applauded me with new fits of laughter. "now," said he, "i cannot doubt but they justly give you the surname of silent. no one can say the contrary for certain reasons, however, i command you to depart this town immediately, and let me hear no more of you." i yielded to necessity, and travelled for several years in distant countries. understanding at last that the caliph was dead, i returned to bagdad, where i found not one of my brothers alive. it was on my return to this city that i did the lame young man the important service which you have heard. you are, however, witnesses of his ingratitude, and of the injurious manner in which he treated me; instead of testifying his obligation, he rather chose to fly from me and leave his own country. when i understood that he was not at bagdad, though no one could tell me whither he was gone, i determined to seek him. i travelled from province to province a long time; and when i least expected, met him this day, but i little thought to find him so incensed against me. when the barber had concluded his story, we found that the young man was not to blame for calling him a great chatterer. however, he wished him to stay with us, and partake of the entertainment which the master of the house had prepared. we sat down to table, and were merry together till afternoon prayers; when all the company parted, and i went to my shop, till it was time to return home. it was during this interval that humpback came half drunk before my shop, where he sung and played on his tabor. i thought that, by carrying him home with me, i should divert my wife, therefore i took him in: my wife gave us a dish of fish, and i presented humpback with some, which he ate, without taking notice of a bone. he fell down dead before us, and after having in vain essayed to help him, in the trouble and fear occasioned by such an unlucky accident, we carried the corpse out, and dexterously lodged him with the jewish doctor. the jewish doctor put him into the chamber of the purveyor, and the purveyor carried him out into the street, where it was believed the merchant had killed him. "this sir," added the tailor, "is what i had to say to satisfy your majesty, who must pronounce whether we be worthy of mercy or wrath, life or death." the sultan of casgar shewed a satisfaction in his countenance, which restored the tailor and his comrades to life. "i cannot but acknowledge," said he, "that i am more struck with the history of the young cripple, with that of the barber, and with the adventures of his brothers, than with the story of my jester: but before i send you all away, and we proceed to bury humpback, i should like to see the barber who is the occasion of my pardoning you; since he is in my capital, it is easy to satisfy my curiosity." at the same time he sent an officer with the tailor to find him. the officer and the tailor went immediately and brought the barber, whom they presented to the sultan: the barber was a venerable man about ninety years of age; his eye-brows and beard were white as snow, his ears hanging down, and his nose very long. the sultan could not forbear laughing when he saw him. "silent man," said he to him, "i understand that you know wonderful stories, will you tell me some of them?" "sir," answered the barber, "let us forbear the stories, if you please, at present. i most humbly beg your majesty to permit me to ask what that christian, that jew, that moosulmaun and that dead humpback, who ties on the ground, do here before your majesty?" the sultan smiled at the barber's freedom, and replied, "why do you ask?" "sir," replied the barber, "it concerns me to ask, that your majesty may know i am not so great a talker as some represent me, but a man justly called silent." the sultan commanded them to tell him the story of the humpback, which he seemed earnestly to wish for. when the barber heard it, he shook his head, as if he would say, there was something under this which he did not understand. "truly," cried he, "this is a surprising story; but i wish to examine humpback a little nearer." he approached him, sat down on the ground, took his head between his knees, and after he had looked upon him steadfastly, fell into so great a fit of laughter, and had so little command of himself, that he fell backwards on the ground, without considering that he was before the sultan of casgar. as soon as he came to himself, "it is said," cried he, "and not without reason, that no man dies without a cause. if ever any history deserved to be written in letters of gold, it is that of this humpback." at this all the people looked on the barber as a buffoon, or an old dotard. "silent man," said the sultan, "why do you laugh?" "sir," answered the barber, "i swear by your majesty's benevolence, that humpback is not dead: he is yet alive, and i shall be content to pass for a madman if i do not convince you this minute." so saying, he took a box wherein he had several medicines that he carried about him to use as occasion might require; and drew out a little phial of balsam, with which he rubbed humpback's neck a long time; then he took out of his case a neat iron instrument, which he put betwixt his teeth, and after he had opened his mouth, he thrust down his throat a pair of small pincers, with which he took out a bit of fish and bone, which he shewed to all the people. immediately humpback sneezed, stretched forth his arms and feet, opened his eyes, and shewed several other signs of life. the sultan of casgar, and all who were witnesses of this operation, were less surprised to see humpback revive, after he had passed a whole night, and great part of a day, without giving any sign of life, than at the merit and capacity of the barber, who performed this; and notwithstanding all his faults, began to look upon him as a great physician. the sultan, transported with joy and admiration, ordered the story of humpback to be written down, with that of the barber, that the memory of them might, as it deserved, be preserved for ever. nor did he stop here; but, that the tailor, jewish doctor, purveyor, and christian merchant might remember the adventure, which the accident of humpback had occasioned to them, with pleasure, he did not send them away till he had given each of them a very rich robe, with which he caused them to be clothed in his presence. as for the barber, he honoured him with a great pension, and kept him near his person. the history of aboulhassen ali ebn becar, and schemselnihar, favourite of caliph maroon al rusheed. in the reign of the caliph haroon al rusheed, there lived at bagdad a druggist, named alboussan ebn thaher, a very rich handsome man. he had more wit and politeness than people of his profession generally possess: his integrity, sincerity, and good humour made him beloved and sought after by all sorts of people. the caliph, who knew his merit, had entire confidence in him. he held him in such high esteem, that he entrusted him to provide his favourite ladies with all the things they stood in need of. he chose for them their clothes, furniture, and jewels, with admirable taste. his good qualities, and the favour of the caliph, occasioned the sons of emirs, and other officers of the first rank, to be always about him: his house was the rendezvous of all the nobility of the court among the young lords that went daily to visit him, was one whom he took more notice of than the rest, and with whom he contrasted a particular friendship, called aboulhassen ali ebn becar, originally of an ancient royal family of persia. this family had continued at bagdad ever since the conquest of that kingdom. nature seemed to have taken pleasure in endowing this young prince with the rarest qualities of body and mind: his face was so very beautiful, his shape so fine, his air so easy, and his physiognomy so engaging, that it was impossible to see him without immediately loving him. when he spoke, he expressed himself in terms proper and well chosen, with a new and agreeable turn, and his voice charmed all that heard him: he had besides so much wit and judgment, that he thought and spoke of all subjects with admirable exactness. he was so reserved and modest, that he advanced nothing till after he had taken all possible care to avoid giving any ground of suspicion that he preferred his own opinion to that of others. being such a person as i have represented him, we need not wonder that ebn thaher distinguished him from all the other young noblemen of the court, most of whom had the vices which composed the opposites to his virtues. one day, when the prince was with ebn thaher, there came a lady mounted on a piebald mule, in the midst of ten female slaves who accompanied her on foot, all very handsome, as far as could be judged by their air, and through their veils which covered their faces. the lady had a girdle of a rose colour, four inches broad, embroidered with pearls and diamonds of an extraordinary bigness; and for beauty it was easy to perceive that she surpassed all her women, as far as the full moon does that of two days old. she came to buy something, and as she wanted to speak to ebn thaher, entered his shop, which was very neat and spacious; and he received her with all the marks of the most profound respect, entreating her to sit down, and directing her to the most honourable place. in the mean time, the prince of persia, unwilling to lose such an opportunity of strewing his good breeding and gallantry, adjusted the cushion of cloth of gold, for the lady to lean on; after which he hastily retired, that she might sit down; and having saluted her, by kissing the carpet under her feet, rose and stood before her at the lower end of the sofa. it being her custom to be free with ebn thaher, she lifted up her veil, and discovered to the prince of persia such an extraordinary beauty as struck him to the heart. on the other hand, the lady could not refrain from looking upon the prince, the sight of whom had made the same impressions upon her. "my lord," said she to him, with an obliging air, "pray sit down." the prince of persia obeyed, and sat on the edge of the sofa. he had his eyes constantly fixed upon her, and swallowed large draughts of the sweet poison of love. she quickly perceived what passed in his heart, and this discovery served to inflame her the more towards him. she arose, went to ebn thaher, and after she had whispered to him the cause of her coming, asked the name and country of the prince. "madam," answered ebn thaher, "this young nobleman's name is aboulhassen ali ebn becar, and he is a prince of the blood royal of persia." the lady was transported at hearing that the person she already loved so passionately was of so high a rank. "do you really mean," said she, "that he is descended from the kings of persia?" "yes, madam," replied ebn thaher, "the last kings of persia were his ancestors, and since the conquest of that kingdom, the princes of his family have always made themselves very acceptable at the court of our caliphs." "you will oblige me much," added she, "by making me acquainted with this young nobleman: when i send this woman," pointing to one of her slaves, "to give you notice to come and see me, pray bring him with you; i shall be glad to afford him the opportunity of seeing the magnificence of my house, that he may have it in his power to say, that avarice does not reign at bagdad among persons of quality. you know what i mean." ebn thaher was a man of too much penetration not to perceive the lady's mind by these words: "my princess, my queen," replied he, "god preserve me from giving you any occasion of anger: i shall always make it a law to obey your commands." at this answer, the lady bowed to ebn thaher, and took her leave; and after she had given a favorable look to the prince of persia, she remounted her mule, and departed. the prince of persia was so deeply in love with the lady, that he looked after her as far as he could; and long after she was out of sight directed his eyes that way. ebn thaher told him, that he remarked several persons observing him, and began to laugh to see him in this posture. "alas!" said the prince, "the world and you would pity me, if you knew that the beautiful lady, who is just gone from you, has carried with her the best part of me, and that the remaining part seeks for an opportunity to go after her. tell me, i conjure you," added he, "what cruel lady is this, who forces people to love her, without giving them time to reflect?" "my lord," answered ebn thaher, "this is the celebrated schemselnihar, the principal favourite of the caliph, our master." "she is justly so called," added the prince, "since she is more beautiful than the sun at noonday." "true," replied ebn thaher; "therefore the commander of the faithful loves, or rather adores her. he gave me express orders to furnish her with all that she asked for, and to anticipate her wishes as far as lies in my power." he spoke thus to hinder him from engaging in a passion which could not but prove unfortunate to him; but this served only to inflame it the more. "i feared, charming schemselnihar," cried he, "i should not be allowed so much as to think of you; i perceive, however, that without hopes of being loved in return, i cannot forbear loving you; i will love you then, and bless my lot that i am the slave of an object fairer than the meridian sun." while the prince of persia thus consecrated his heart to the fair schemselnihar, this lady, as she went home, contrived how she might see, and have free converse with him. she no sooner entered her palace, than she sent to ebn thaher the woman she had pointed out to him, and in whom she placed all her confidence, to tell him to come and see her without delay, and bring the prince of persia with him. the slave came to ebn thaher's shop, while he was speaking to the prince, and endeavouring to dissuade him, by very strong arguments, from loving the caliph's favourite. when she saw them together, "gentlemen," said she, "my honourable mistress schemselnihar the chief favourite of the commander of the faithful, entreats you to come to her palace, where she waits for you." ebn thaher, to testify his obedience, rose up immediately, without answering the slave, and followed her, not without some reluctance. the prince also followed he, without reflecting on the danger there might be in such a visit. the presence of ebn thaher, who had liberty to go to the favourite when he pleased, made the prince very easy: they followed the slave, who went a little before them, and entered after her into the caliph's palace, and joined her at the gate of schemselnihar's pavilion, which was ready open. she introduced them into a great hall, where she prayed them to be seated. the prince of persia thought himself in one of those delicious palaces that are promised to us in the other world: he had never seen any thing that came near the magnificence of the place. the carpets, cushions, and other appendages of the sofa, the furniture, ornaments, and architecture, were surprisingly rich and beautiful. a little time after ebn thaher and he had seated themselves, a very handsome black slave brought in a table covered with several delicacies, the admirable smell of which evinced how deliciously they were seasoned. while they were eating, the slave who brought them in waited upon them; she took particular care to invite them to eat of what she knew to be the greatest dainties. the other slaves brought them excellent wine after they had eaten. when they had done, there was presented to each of them a gold basin full of water to wash their hands; after which, they brought them a golden pot full of the wood of aloes, with which they perfumed their beards and clothes. odoriferous water was not forgotten, but served in a golden vessel enriched with diamonds and rubies, and it was thrown upon their beards and faces according to custom; they then resumed their places, but had scarcely sat down, when the slave entreated them to arise and follow her. she opened a door, and conducted them into a large saloon of wonderful structure. it was a dome of the most agreeable form, supported by a hundred pillars of marble, white as alabaster. the bases and chapiters of the pillars were adorned with four-footed beasts, and birds of various sorts, gilded. the carpet of this noble saloon consisted of one piece of cloth of gold, embroidered with bunches of roses in red and white silk; and the dome painted in the same manner, after the arabian fashion, presented to the mind one of the most charming objects. in every space between the columns was a little sofa adorned in the same manner, and great vessels of china, crystal, jasper, jet, porphyry, agate, and other precious materials, garnished with gold and jewels; in these spaces were also so many large windows, with balconies projecting breast high, fitted up as the sofas, and looking out into the most delicious garden; the walks were of little pebbles of different colours, of the same pattern as the carpet of the saloon; so that, looking upon the carpet within and without it seemed as if the dome and the garden with all its ornaments had been upon the same carpet. the prospect was, at the end of the walks, terminated by two canals of clear water, of the same circular figure as the dome, one of which being higher than the other, emptied its water into the lowermost, in form of a sheet; and curious pots of gilt brass, with flowers and shrubs, were set upon the banks of the canals at equal distances. those walks lay betwixt great plots of ground planted with straight and bushy trees, where a thousand birds formed a melodious concert, and diverted the eye by flying about, and playing together, or fighting in the air. the prince of persia and ebn thaher were a long time engaged in viewing the magnificence of the place, and expressed their surprise at every thing thing saw, especially the prince, who had never beheld any thing like it. ebn thaher, though he had been several times in that delicious place, could not but observe many new beauties, in a word they never grew weary in admiring so many singularities, and were thus agreeably employed, when they perceived a company of ladies richly appareled sitting without, at some distance from the dome, each of them upon a seat of indian plane wood inlaid with silver filigree in compartments, with instruments of music in their hands, waiting for orders to play. they both went forward, and had a full view of the ladies, and on the right they saw a great court with a stair up from the garden, encompassed with beautiful apartments. the slave had left them, and being alone, they conversed together; "for you, who are a wise man," said the prince of persia, "i doubt not but you look with a great deal of satisfaction upon all these marks of grandeur and power; for my part, i do not think there is any thing in the world more surprising. but when i consider that this is the glorious habitation of the lovely schemselnihar, and that the greatest monarch of the earth keeps her here, i confess to you that i look upon myself to be the most unfortunate of all mankind, and that no destiny can be more cruel than mine, to love an object possessed by my rival, and that too in a place where he is so potent, that i cannot think myself sure of my life one moment." ebn thaher, hearing the prince of persia speak, replied, "sir, i wish you could give me as good assurance of the happy success of your passion, as i can give you of the safety of your life. though this stately palace belongs to the caliph, who built it on purpose for schemselnihar, and called it the palace of eternal pleasures, and though it makes part of his own palace, yet you must know that this lady lives here at absolute liberty. she is not beset by eunuchs to be spies upon her; this is her private house, absolutely at her disposal. she goes into the city when she pleases, and returns again, without asking leave of any body: and the caliph never comes to see her, but he sends mesrour, the chief of his eunuchs, to give her notice, that she may be prepared to receive him. therefore you may be easy, and give full attention to the concert of music, which, i perceive, schemselnihar is preparing for you." just as ebn thaher had spoken these words, the prince of persia, and he, saw the favourite's trusty slave giving orders to the ladies to begin to sing, and play with the instruments: they all began immediately to play together as a prelude, and after they had played some time, one of them began to sing alone, and accompanied herself at the same time admirably upon her lute, being informed beforehand upon what subject she was to sing. the words were so agreeable to the prince of persia's sentiments, that he could not forbear applauding her at the end of the couplet. "is it possible," cried he, "that you have the gift of knowing people's hearts, and that the knowledge of what is passing in my mind has occasioned you to give us a taste of your charming voice by those words? i should not express myself otherwise, were i to choose." the lady made no reply, but went on and sung several other stanzas, with which the prince was so affected, that he repeated some of them with tears in his eyes; which discovered plainly enough that he applied them to himself. when she had finished, she and her companions rose up and sung a chorus, signifying by their words, that the full moon was going to rise in all her splendour, and that they should speedily see her approach the sun. intimating, that schemselnihar was coming, and that the prince of persia would soon have the pleasure of beholding her. in fact, as they looked towards the court, they saw schemselnihar's confidant coming towards them, followed by ten black women, who, with much difficulty, carried a throne of massive silver curiously wrought, which they set down before them at a certain distance; the black slaves then retired behind the trees, to the entrance of a walk. after this came twenty handsome ladies richly appareled alike; they advanced in two rows, each singing and playing upon instruments which she held in her hands, and placed themselves on each side of the throne. all these things kept the prince of persia and ebn thaher in so much the greater expectation, as they were curious to know how they would end. at length they saw advancing from the gate through which the ten black women had proceeded ten other ladies equally handsome, and well dressed, who halted a few moments, expecting the favourite, who came out last, and placed herself in the midst of them. schemselnihar was easily distinguished from the rest, by her fine shape and majestic air, as well as by a sort of mantle, of a very fine stuff of gold and sky-blue, fastened to her shoulders, over her other apparel, which was the most handsome, most magnificent, and best contrived that could be imagined. the pearls, rubies, and diamonds, which adorned her, were well disposed; not many in number, but chosen with taste, and of inestimable value. she came forward, with a majesty resembling the sun in its course amidst the clouds, which receive his splendour without hiding his lustre, and sat upon the silver throne that had been brought for her. as soon as the prince of persia saw schemselnihar, his eyes were rivetted on her. "we cease inquiring," said he to ebn thaher, "after what we seek, when once it is in view; and no doubt remains, when once the truth is made apparent. do you see this charming beauty? she is the cause of all my sufferings, which i bless, and will never forbear to bless, however severe and lasting. at the sight of this objets, i am not my own master; my soul is disturbed, and rebels, and seems disposed to leave me. go then, my soul, i allow thee; but let it be for the welfare and preservation of this weak body. it is you, cruel ebn thaher, who are the cause of this disorder, in bringing me hither. you thought to do me a great pleasure; but i perceive i am only come to complete my ruin. pardon me," he continued, interrupting himself; "i am mistaken. i would come, and can blame no one but myself;" and at these words he burst into tears. "i am glad," said ebn thaher, "that you do me justice. when i told you at first, that schemselnihar was the caliph's chief favourite, i did it on purpose to prevent that fatal passion which you please yourself with entertaining. all that you see here ought to disengage you, and you are to think of nothing but of acknowledging the honour which schemselnihar has done you, by ordering me to bring you with me; recall then your wandering reason, and prepare to appear before her, as good breeding requires. see, she advances: were we to begin again, i would take other measures, but since the thing is done, i pray god we may not have cause to repent. all that i have now to say to you is, that love is a traitor, who may involve you in difficulties from which you will never be able to extricate yourself." ebn thaher had no time to say more, because schemselnihar approached, and sitting down upon her throne, saluted them both by bowing her head; but she fixed her eyes on the prince of persia, and they spoke to one another in a silent language intermixed with sighs; by which in a few moments they spoke more than they could have done by words in a much longer time. the more schemselnihar, looked upon the prince, the more she found in his looks to confirm her opinion that he was in love with her; and being thus persuaded of his passion, thought herself the happiest woman in the world. at last she turned her eyes from him, to command the women, who began to sing first, to come near; they rose, and as they advanced, the black women, who came out of the walk into which they had retired, brought their seats, and placed them near the window, in the front of the dome where ebn thaher and the prince of persia stood, and their seats were so disposed, that, with the favourite's throne and the women on each side of her, they formed a semicircle before them. the women, who were sitting before she came resumed their places, with the permission of schemselnihar, who ordered them by a sign; that charming favourite chose one of those women to sing, who, after she had spent some moments in tuning her lute, sung a song, the meaning whereof was, that when two lovers entirely loved one another with affection boundless, their hearts, though in two bodies, were united; and, when any thing opposed their desires, could say with tears in their eyes, "if we love because we find one another amiable, ought we to be blamed? let destiny bear the blame." schemselnihar evinced so plainly by her eyes and gestures that those words were applicable to herself and the prince of persia, that he could not contain himself. he arose, and advancing to a balustrade, which he leaned upon, beckoned to one of the companions of the woman who had just done singing, to approach. when she had got near enough, he said to her, "do me the favour to accompany me with your lute, in a song which you shall hear me sing." he then sung with an air so tender and passionate, as perfectly expressed the violence of his love. as soon as he had done, schemselnihar, following his example, said to one of the women, "attend to me likewise, and accompany my song." at the same time she sung in such a manner, as more deeply to penetrate the heart of the prince of persia, who answered her by a new air, more passionate than the former. the two lovers having declared their mutual affection by their songs, schemselnihar yielded to the force of hers. she arose from her throne in transport, and advanced towards the door of the hall. the prince, who perceived her design, rose up immediately, and went to meet her. they met at the door, where they took one another by the hand, and embraced with so much passion, that they fainted, and would have fallen, if the woman who followed schemselnihar had not hindered them. they supported them to a sofa, where they were brought to themselves, by throwing odoriferous water on their faces, and applying pungent odours to their nostrils. when they had recovered, the first thing schemselnihar did was to look about: and not seeing ebn thaher, she asked, with eagerness, where he was? he had withdrawn out of respect whilst her women were engaged in recovering her, and dreaded, not without reason, that some disagreeable consequence might follow what he had seen; but as soon as he heard schemselnihar inquire for him, he came forward. schemselnihar was much pleased to see ebn thaher, and expressed her joy in the most obliging terms: "ebn thaher, i know not how to make you proper returns for the great obligations you have put upon me; without you, i should never have seen the prince of persia, nor have loved the most amiable person in the world. assure yourself i shall not die ungrateful, and that my gratitude, if possible, shall be equal to the obligation." ebn thaher answered this compliment by a low obeisance, and wished the favourite the accomplishment of all her desires. schemselnihar, turning towards the prince of persia, who sat by her, and looking upon him with some confusion after what had passed, said to him, "i am well assured you love me, and how great soever your love may be to me, you need not doubt but mine is as great towards you: but let us not flatter ourselves; for, notwithstanding this conformity of our sentiments, i see nothing for you and me but trouble, impatience, and tormenting grief. there is no other remedy for our evils but to love one another constantly, to refer ourselves to the disposal of heaven, and to wait its determination of our destiny." "madam," replied the prince of persia, "you will do me the greatest injustice, if you doubt for a moment the continuance of my love. it is so interwoven with my soul, that i can justly say it makes the best part of it, and will continue so after death. pains, torments, obstacles, nothing shall prevent my loving you." speaking these words he shed tears in abundance, and schemselnihar was not able to restrain hers. ebn thaher took this opportunity to speak to the favourite. "madam, allow me to represent to you, that, instead of melting into tears, you ought to rejoice that you are now together. i understand not this grief. what will it be when you are obliged to part? but why do i talk of that? we have been a long while here, and you know, madam, it is time for us to be going." "ah! how cruel are you!" replied schemselnihar, "you, who know the cause of my tears, have you no pity for my unfortunate condition? oh! sad fatality! what have i done to subject myself to the severe law of not being able to join with the only person i love?" persuaded as she was that ebn thaher spoke to her only out of friendship, she did not take amiss what he said, but made a proper use of his intimation she made a sign to the slave her confidant, who immediately went out, and in a little time brought a collation of fruits upon a small silver table, which she set down betwixt her mistress and the prince of persia. schemselnihar took some of the best, and presented it to the prince, praying him to eat it for her sake; he took it, and put to his mouth that part which she had touched; and then he presented some to her, which she took, and ate in the same manner. she did not forget to invite ebn thaher to eat with them; but he thinking himself not safe in that place, and wishing himself at home, ate only out of complaisance. after the collation was taken away, they brought a silver basin, with water in a vessel of gold, and washed together; they afterwards returned to their places, and three of the ten black women brought each a cup of rock crystal full of exquisite wine, upon a golden salver; which they placed before schemselnihar, the prince of persia, and ebn thaher. that they might be the more private, schemselnihar kept with her only ten black women, with ten others who began to sing, and play upon instruments; and after she had sent away all the rest, she took up one of the cups, and holding it in her hand sung some tender words, which one of her women accompanied with her lute. when she had done, she drank, and afterwards took up one of the other cups and presented it to the prince, praying him to drink for love of her, as she had drunk for love of him. he received the cup with a transport of love and joy; but before he drank, he sung also a song, which another woman accompanied with an instrument: and as he sang the tears fell from his eyes in such abundance, that he could not forbear expressing in his song, that he knew not whether he was going to drink the wine she had presented to him, or his own tears. schemselnihar at last presented the third cup to ebn thaher, who thanked her for her kindness, and for the honour she did him. after this she took a lute from one of her women, and sung to it in such a passionate manner, that she seemed to be transported out of herself: and the prince of persia stood with his eyes fixed upon her, as if he had been enchanted. at this instant, her trusty slave came in great alarm, and addressing herself to her mistress, said, "madam mesrour and two other officers, with several eunuchs that attend them, are at the gate, and want to speak with you from the caliph." when the prince of persia and ebn thaher heard these words, they changed colour, and began to tremble as if they had been undone: but schemselnihar who perceived their agitation, revived their courage by a sigh. after schemselnihar had quieted the fears of the prince of persia and ebn thaher, she ordered the slave, her confidant, to go and speak to mesrour, and the two other officers, till she had put herself in a condition to receive them, and could send her to introduce them. immediately she ordered all the windows of' the saloon to be shut, and the painted cloth on the side of the garden to be let down: and after having assured the prince and ebn thaher that they might continue there without any fear, she went out at the gate leading to the garden, and closed it upon them: but whatever assurance she had given them of their safety, they were full of apprehension all the while they remained there. as soon as schemselnihar had reached the garden with the women that had followed her, she ordered all the seats, which served the women who played on the instruments, to be placed near the window, where the prince of persia and ebn thaher heard them; and having got things in order, she sat down upon her silver throne: she then sent notice to the slave her confidant to bring in the chief of the eunuchs, and his two subaltern officers. they appeared, followed by twenty black eunuchs all handsomely clothed, with cimeters by their sides, and gold belts of four inches broad. as soon as they perceived the favourite schemselnihar at a distance, they made her a profound reverence, which she returned them from her throne. when they approached, she arose and went to meet mesrour, who advanced first; she asked what news he brought? he answered, "madam, the commander of the faithful has sent me to signify that he cannot live longer without seeing you; he designs to do himself that pleasure this night, and i am come to give you notice, that you may be ready to receive him. he hopes, madam, that you will receive him with as much pleasure as he feels impatience to see you." at these words the favourite schemselnihar prostrated herself to the ground, as a mark of that submission with which she received the caliph's order. when she rose, she said, "pray tell the commander of the faithful, that i shall always reckon it my glory to execute his majesty's commands, and that his slave will do her utmost to receive him with all the respect that is due to him." at the same time she ordered the slave her confidant to tell the black women appointed for that service to get the palace ready to receive the caliph, and dismissing the chief of the eunuchs, said to him, "you see it requires some time to get all things ready, therefore i entreat you to curb his majesty's impatience, that, when he arrives, he may not find things out of order." the chief of the eunuchs and his retinue being gone, schemselnihar returned to the saloon, extremely concerned at the necessity she was under of sending back the prince of persia sooner than she had intended. she came up to him again with tears in her eyes, which heightened ebn thaher's fear, who thought it no good omen. "madam," said the prince to her, "i perceive you are come to tell me that we must part: if there be nothing more to dread, i hope heaven will give me the patience which is necessary to support your absence." "alas!" replied the too tender schemselnihar, "how happy do i think you, and how unhappy do i think myself, when i compare your lot with my sad destiny! no doubt you will suffer by my absence, but that is all, and you may comfort yourself with hopes of seeing me again; but as for me, just heaven! what a terrible trial am i brought to! i must not only be deprived of the sight of the only person whom i love, but i must be tormented with the presence of one whom you have made hateful to me. will not the arrival of the caliph put me in mind of your departure? and how can i, when i am taken up with your dear image, express to that prince the joy which he always observed in my eyes whenever he came to see me? i shall have my mind perplexed when i speak to him, and the least complaisance which i shew to his love will stab me to the heart. can i relish his kind words and caresses? think, prince, to what torments i shall be exposed when i can see you no more." her tears and sighs hindered her from going on, and the prince of persia would have replied, but his own grief, and that of his mistress, deprived him of the power of speech. ebn thaher, who only wished to get out of the palace, was obliged to comfort them, and to exhort them to have patience: but the trusty slave again interrupted them. "madam," said she to schemselnihar, "you have no time to lose; the eunuchs begin to arrive, and you know the caliph will be here immediately." "o heaven! how cruel is this separation!" cried the favourite. "make haste," said she to the confidant, "take them both to the gallery which looks into the garden on the one side, and to the tigris on the other; and when the night grows dark, let them out by the back gate, that they may retire with safety." having spoken thus, she tenderly embraced the prince of persia, without being able to say one word more, and went to meet the caliph in such disorder as cannot well be imagined. in the mean time, the trusty slave conducted the prince and ebn thaher to the gallery, as schemselnihar had appointed; and left them there, assuring them, as she closed the door upon them, that they had nothing to fear, and that she would come for them when it was time when schemselnihar's trusty slave had left the prince of persia and ebn thaher, they forgot she had assured them they had nothing to apprehend. they examined the gallery, and were seized with extreme fear, because they knew no means of escape, if the caliph or any of his officers should happen to come there. a great light, which they suddenly beheld through the lattices on the garden side, caused them to approach them to see from whence it came. it was occasioned by a hundred flambeaux of white wax, carried by as many young eunuchs: these were followed by more than a hundred others, who guarded the ladies of the caliph's palace, clothed, and armed with cimeters, in the same manner as those i spoke of before; and the caliph came after them, betwixt mesrour their captain on his right, and vassif their second officer on his left hand. schemselnihar waited for the caliph at the entrance of a walk, accompanied by twenty women all of surprising beauty, adorned with necklaces and ear-rings of large diamonds; they played and sung on their instruments, and formed a charming concert. the favourite no sooner saw the prince appear, but she advanced and prostrated herself at his feet; and while she was doing this, "prince of persia," said she, within herself, "if your sad eyes witness what i do, judge of my hard lot; if i were humbling myself so before you, my heart would feel no reluctance." the caliph was delighted to see schemselnihar: "rise, madam," said he to her, "come near, i am angry with myself that i should have deprived myself so long of the pleasure of seeing you." as he spoke, he took her by the hand, and, with many tender expressions, went and sat down upon the silver throne which schemselnihar caused to be brought for him, and she sat down on a seat before him. the twenty women made a circle round them upon other seats, while the young eunuchs, who carried flambeaux, dispersed themselves at a certain distance from one another, that the caliph might the better enjoy the cool of the evening. when the caliph had seated himself, he looked round him, and beheld with great satisfaction the garden illuminated with many other lights, besides those flambeaux which the young eunuchs held; but taking notice that the saloon was shut, expressed his surprise, and demanded the reason. it was done on purpose to surprise him; for he had no sooner spoken, than all the windows flew open at once, and he saw it illuminated within and without, in a much better manner than ever he had beheld it before. "charming schemselnihar," cried he, at this sight, "i understand you; you would have me know there are as fine nights as days. after what i have seen, i cannot deny this." let us return to the prince of persia and ebn thaher, whom we left in the gallery. ebn thaher could not enough admire all that he saw: "i am not young," said he, "and i have seen great entertainments in my time; but i do not think any thing can be seen so surprising and magnificent! all that is said of enchanted palaces does not come up to the prodigious spectacle we now behold. what riches and magnificence united!" the prince of persia was not at all interested by the objects which so delighted ebn thaher; he could look on nothing but schemselnihar, and the presence of the caliph threw him into inconceivable grief. "dear ebn thaher," he exclaimed, "would to god i had my mind as much at liberty to attend to those objects of admiration as you! but alas! i am in a quite different situation, all these things serve only to increase my torment. can i see the caliph familiar with the objets of my love, and not die of grief? must so ardent a passion as mine be disturbed with so potent a rival? o heavens! how cruel and strange is my destiny! it is but a moment since i esteemed myself the most fortunate lover in the world, and at this instant i feel a death stroke to my heart. i cannot resist it, my dear ebn thaher; my patience is exhausted, my disorder overwhelms me, and my courage fails." while he was speaking, he saw something pass in the garden, which obliged him to be silent and to turn all his attention that way. the caliph had ordered one of the women, who was near him, to play upon her lute, and she began to sing. the words she sung were very passionate, and the caliph, persuaded that she sung thus by order of schemselnihar, who had frequently entertained him with the like testimonies of her affection, interpreted them in his own favour. but this was not now schemselnihar's meaning; she applied them to her dear ali ebn becar, and was so sensibly touched with grief, to have before her an object whose presence she could no longer enjoy, that she fainted and fell backwards upon her seat, which having no arms to support her, she must have fallen, had not some of the women given her timely assistance, taken her up, and carried her into the saloon. ebn thaher, who was in the gallery, being surprised at this accident, turned towards the prince of persia; but instead of finding him standing, and looking through the window as before, he was extremely amazed to discover him iying at his feet motionless. this convinced him of the violence of the prince's passion for schemselnihar, and he admired that strange effect of sympathy, which put him into a mortal fear on account of the place they were in. he did all he could to recover the prince, but in vain. ebn thaher was in this perplexity, when schemselnihar's confidant opened the gallery door, and entered out of breath, as one who knew not where she was. "come speedily," cried she "that i may let you out; all is in confusion here; and i fear this will be the last of our days." "alas! how would you have us go?" replied ebn thaher, with a mournful voice; "approach, and see what a condition the prince of persia is in." when the slave saw him in a swoon, she ran for water, and returned in an instant. at last the prince of persia, after they had thrown water on his face, recovered. "prince," said ebn thaher to him, "we run the risk of perishing if we stay here any longer; exert yourself, therefore, let us endeavour to save our lives." he was so feeble, that he could not rise alone; ebn thaher and the confidant lent him their hands, and supported him on each side. they reached a little iron gate which opened towards the tigris, went out at it, and came to the side of a little canal which communicated with the river. the confidant clapped her hands, and immediately a little boat appeared, and came towards them with one rower. ali ebn becar and his comrade went aboard, and the confidant remained at the side of the canal. as soon as the prince was seated in the boat, he stretched out one hand towards the palace, and laying the other on his heart, exclaimed with a feeble voice, "dear object of my soul, receive my faith with this hand, while i assure you with the other, that my heart shall for ever preserve the fire with which it burns for you." in the mean time the boatman rowed with all his might, and schemselnihar's confidant accompanied the prince of persia and ebn thaher walking along the side of the canal, until they came to the tigris, and when she could go no farther she took leave of them and returned. the prince of persia continued very feeble. ebn thaher comforted him, and exhorted him to take courage. "consider," said he, "that when we are landed, we have a great way to walk before we reach my house, and i would not advise you to go to your palace, which is a great deal farther, at this hour and in this condition." at last they went out of the boat, but the prince had so little strength that he could not walk, which put ebn thaher into great perplexity. he recollected he had a friend in the neighbourhood, and carried the prince thither with great difficulty. his friend received him very cheerfully, and when he had made them sit down, he asked them where they had been so late. ebn thaher answered, "i heard this evening that a man who owed me a considerable sum of money was setting out on a long voyage. i lost no time to find him, and by the way i met with this young nobleman, to whom i am under a thousand obligations; for knowing my debtor, he did me the favour to go along with me. we had a great deal of trouble to bring the man to reason. we have at length succeeded, and that is the cause of our being so late. in our return home, this good lord, to whom i am for ever bound to shew all possible respect, was attacked by a sudden illness, which made me take the liberty to knock at your door, flattering myself that you would be pleased to lodge us this night." ebn thaher's friend took all this for truth, told them they were welcome, and offered the prince of persia, whom he knew not, all the assistance he could desire; but ebn thaher spoke for the prince, and said, that his distemper was of such a nature as to require nothing but rest. his friend understood by this that they desired to go to bed. upon which he conducted them to an apartment, where he left them. though the prince of persia slept, he was interrupted by troublesome dreams, which represented schemselnihar in a swoon at the caliph's feet, and increased his affliction. ebn thaher was very impatient to be at home, and doubted not but his family was under great apprehension, because he never used to sleep out. he arose and departed early in the morning, after he had taken leave of his friend, who rose at break of day to prayers at last he reached his house, and the first thing the prince of persia did, who had walked so far with much trouble, was to lie down upon a sofa, as weary as if he had been a long journey. not being in a state to go to his own palace, ebn thaher ordered a chamber to be prepared for him, and sent to acquaint his friends with his condition, and where he was. in the mean time he begged him to compose himself, to command in his house, and to dispose of all things as he pleased. "i thank you heartily for your obliging offers," said the prince; "but that i may not be any ways troublesome to you, i conjure you to deal with me as if i were not at your house. i would not stay one moment, if i thought my presence would incommode you in the least." as soon as ebn thaher had time to recollect himself, he told his family all that had passed at schemselnihar's palace, and concluded by thanking god, who had delivered him from the danger he had been in. the prince of persia's principal domestics came to receive his orders at ebn thaher's house, and in a little time there arrived several of his friends, who had notice of his indisposition. those friends passed the greatest part of the day with him; and though their conversation could not extinguish those melancholy ideas which were the cause of his trouble, yet it afforded him some relief. he would have taken his leave of ebn thaher towards the evening; but this faithful friend found him still so weak, that he obliged him to stay till next day, and in the mean time, to divert him, gave a concert of vocal and instrumental music in the evening; but this concert served only to remind him of the preceding night, and renewed his trouble, instead of assuaging it; so that next day his distemper seemed to increase. upon this ebn thaher did not oppose his going home, but took care to accompany him; and when he was with him alone in his chamber, he represented to him all those arguments which might influence him to a generous effort to overcome his passion, which in the end would neither prove fortunate to himself nor to the favourite. "ah! dear ebn thaher," exclaimed the prince, "how easy is it for you to give this advice, but how hard for me to follow it! i am sensible of its importance, but am not able to profit by it. i have said already, that i shall carry to the grave the love i bear to schemselnihar." when ebn thaher saw that he could gain nothing upon the prince, he took his leave, and would have retired. the prince of persia interrupted him, and said, "kind ebn thaher, since i have declared to you that it is not in my power to follow your wise counsels, i beg you would not charge it on me as a crime, nor forbear to give me the usual testimonies of your friendship. you cannot do me a greater favour than to inform me of the destiny of my dear schemselnihar, when you hear of her. the uncertainty i am in concerning her fate, and the apprehensions her fainting have occasioned in me, keep me in this languishing condition you reproach me with." "my lord," answered ebn thaher, "you have reason to hope that her fainting was not attended with any bad consequences: her confidant will quickly come and inform me of the issue; and as soon as i know the particulars, i will not fail to impart them." ebn thaher left the prince in this hope, and returned home, where he expected schemselnihar's confidant all the rest of the day, but in vain, nor did she come on the following. his uneasiness to know the state of the prince of persia's health would not suffer him to wait any longer without seeing him. he went to his palace to exhort him to patience, and found him lying on his bed as ill as ever, surrounded by a great many of his friends, and several physicians, who used all their art to discover the cause of his disorder. as soon as he saw ebn thaher, he looked at him with a smile, to signify that he had two things to tell him; the one, that he was glad to see him; the other how much the physicians, who could not discover the cause of his illness, were out in their reasonings. his friends and physicians retired one after another, so that ebn thaher being alone with him, approached his bed to ask him how he had been since he had last seen him. "i must tell you," answered the prince, "that my passion, which continually gathers new strength, and the uncertainty of the lovely schemselnihar's fate, augment my disorder every moment, and cast me into such a state as afflicts my kindred and friends, and breaks the measures of my physicians, who do not understand it. you cannot think," he added, "how much i suffer by seeing so many people about me, who importune me, and whom i cannot in civility put away. your company alone relieves me; but i conjure you not to dissemble with me: what news do you bring of schemselnihar? have you seen her confidant? what says she to you?" ebn thaher answered, that he had not seen her yet. no sooner had he communicated to the prince of persia this sad intelligence, than the tears came into his eyes; he could not answer one word, his heart was so oppressed. "prince," added ebn thaher, "suffer me to tell you, that you are too ingenious in tormenting yourself. in the name of god, wipe away your tears: if any of your people should come in, they would discover you by this, notwithstanding the care you ought to take to conceal your thoughts." whatever his judicious adviser could say, it was not possible for the prince to refrain from weeping. "wise ebn thaher," said he, when he had recovered his speech, "i may indeed hinder my tongue from revealing the secrets of my heart, but i have no power over my tears, upon such an alarming subject as schemselnihar's danger. if that adorable and only objets of my desires be no longer in the world, i shall not survive her a moment." "reject so afflicting a thought," replied ebn thaher; "schemselnihar is yet alive, you need not doubt it: if you have heard no news of her, it is because she could find no opportunity to send to you, and i hope you will hear from her to-day." to this he added several other consoling arguments, and then withdrew. ebn thaher had scarcely reached his own house, when schemselnihar's confidant arrived with a melancholy countenance, which he reckoned a bad omen. he asked news of her mistress. "tell me yours first," said the confidant, "for i was in great trouble to see the prince of persia go away in that condition." ebn thaher told her all that she wished to know, and when he had done, the slave began thus: "if the prince of persia has suffered, and does still suffer for my mistress, she suffers no less for him. after i departed from you, i returned to the saloon, where i found schemselnihar not yet recovered from her swoon, notwithstanding all the assistance they endeavoured to give her. the caliph was sitting near her with all the signs of real grief. he asked all the women, and me in particular, if we knew the cause of her disorder; but we kept all secret, and told him we were altogether ignorant of it. in the mean time we all wept to see her suffer so long, and forgot nothing that might any ways relieve her. in a word, it was almost midnight before she came to herself. the caliph, who had the patience to wait the event, was rejoiced at her recovery, and asked schemselnihar the cause of her illness. as soon as she heard him speak, she endeavoured to recover her seat; and after she had kissed his feet, before he could hinder her, �sir,' said she, �i have reason to complain of heaven, that it did not allow me to expire at your majesty's feet to testify thereby how sensible i am of your favours.' "�i am persuaded you love me,' replied the caliph, �and i command you to preserve yourself for my sake. you have probably exceeded in something to-day, which has occasioned this indisposition; take care, i entreat you; abstain from it for the future. i am glad to see you better, and advise you to stay here to-night, and not return to your chamber, for fear the motion should affect you.' he then commanded a little wine to be brought to strengthen her; and taking leave of her, returned to his apartment. "as soon as the caliph had departed, my mistress gave me a sign to come near her. she asked me earnestly concerning you: i assured her that you had been gone a long time, which made her easy on that head. i took care not to speak of the prince of persia's fainting, lest she should fall into the same state, from which we had so much trouble to recover her: but my precautions were in vain, as you shall hear. �prince,' exclaimed she, �i henceforth renounce all pleasure as long as i am deprived of the sight of you. if i have understood your heart right, i only follow your example. you will not cease to weep and mourn until i see you.' at these words, which she uttered in a manner expressive of the violence of her passion, she fainted a second time in my arms. "my companions and i were a long time recovering her; at last she came to herself; and then i said to her, �madam, are you resolved to kill yourself, and to make us also die with you? i entreat you, in the name of the prince of persia, who is so deeply interested in your life, to preserve it.' �i am much obliged to you,' replied she, � for your care, your zeal, and your advice; but alas! they are useless to me: you are not to flatter us with any hopes, for we can expect no end of our torment but in the grave' "one of my companions would have diverted these sad thoughts by playing on the lute, but she commanded her to be silent, and ordered all of them to retire, except me, whom she kept all night with her. o heavens! what a night it was! she passed it in tears and groans, and incessantly naming the prince of persia. she lamented her lot, that had destined her to the caliph, whom she could not love, and not for him whom she loved so dearly. "next morning, as she was not commodiously lodged in the saloon, i helped her to her chamber, which she had no sooner reached, than all the physicians of the palace came to see her, by order of the caliph, who was not long before he arrived himself. the medicines which the physicians prescribed to schemselnihar were ineffectual, because they were ignorant of the cause of her malady, which was augmented by the presence of the caliph. she got a little rest however this night, and as soon as she awoke, she charged me to come to you, to learn some news of the prince of persia." "i have already informed you of his case," said ebn thaher; "so return to your mistress, and assure her, that the prince of persia waits for some account of her with an impatience equal to her own. above all, exhort her to moderation, and to overcome her feelings, for fear she should drop before the caliph some word, which may prove fatal to us all." "as for me," replied the confidant, "i confess i dread her transports. i have taken the liberty to tell her my mind, and am persuaded that she will not take it ill that i tell her this from you." ebn thaher, who had but just come from the prince of persia's lodgings, thought it not convenient to return so soon, and neglect his own important affairs; he therefore went not till the evening. the prince was alone, and no better than in the morning. "ebn thaher," said he to him, as soon as he saw him, "you have doubtless many friends, but they do not know your worth, which you discover to me by your zeal, your care, and the trouble you give yourself to oblige me. i am confounded with all that you do for me with so much affection, and i know not how i shall be able to express my gratitude." "prince," answered ebn thaher, "do not speak thus, i entreat you. i am ready, not only to give one of my eyes to save one of yours, but to sacrifice my life for you. but this is not the present business. i come to tell you that schemselnihar sent her confidant to ask me about you, and at the same time to inform me of her condition. you may assure yourself that i said nothing but what might confirm the excess of your passion for her mistress, and the constancy with which you love her." then ebn thaher gave him a particular account of all that had passed betwixt the trusty slave and him. the prince listened with all the different emotions of fear, jealousy, affection, and compassion, which this conversation could inspire, making, upon every thing which he heard, all the afflicting or comforting reflections that so passionate a lover was capable of. their conversation continued so long that the night was far advanced, so that the prince of persia obliged ebn thaher to stay with him. the next morning, as this trusty friend returned home, there came a woman to him whom he knew to be schemselnihar's confidant, and immediately she spoke to him thus: "my mistress salutes you, and i am come to entreat you in her name to deliver this letter to the prince of persia." the zealous ebn thaher took the letter, and returned to the prince, accompanied by the confidant slave. when ebn thaher entered the prince of persia's house with schemselnihar's confidant, he prayed her to stay, and wait for him a moment in the ante-room. as soon as the prince saw him, he asked earnestly what news he had to communicate? "the best you can expect," answered ebn thaher: "you are as dearly beloved as you love; schemselnihar's confidant is in your anteroom; she has brought you a letter from her mistress, and waits for your orders to come in." "let her enter," cried the prince, with a transport of joy; and so saying, sat up to receive her. the prince's attendants retired as soon as they saw ebn thaher, and left him alone with their master. ebn thaher opened the door himself, and brought in the confidant. the prince knew her, and received her with great politeness. "my lord," said she to him, "i am sensible of the affliction you have endured since i had the honour to conduct you to the boat which waited to bring you back; but i hope the letter i have brought will contribute to your cure." so saying, she presented him the letter. he took it, and after he had kissed it several times, opened it, and read as follows: letter from schemselnihar to the prince of persia. "the person who will deliver to you this letter will give you more correct information concerning me than i can, for i have not been myself since i saw you. deprived of your presence, i endeavour to deceive myself by conversing with you by these ill- written lines, with the same pleasure as if i had the happiness of speaking to you in person. "it is said that patience is a cure for all evils, but instead of relieving it heightens my sufferings. although your picture is deeply engraver in my heart, my eyes desire to have the original continually before them; and they will lose all their light, if they be any considerable time deprived of this felicity. may i flatter myself that yours have the same impatience to see me? yes, i can; their tender glances have sufficiently assured me of this. how happy, prince, would it be for you, how happy for schemselnihar, if our united desires were not thwarted by invincible obstacles; obstacles which afflict me the more sensibly as they affect you. "these thoughts which my fingers write, and which i express with incredible pleasure, repeating them again and again, proceed from the bottom of my heart, and from the incurable wound which you have made in it; a wound which i bless a thousand times, notwithstanding the cruel torments i endure through your absence. i would reckon all that opposes our love nothing, were i only allowed to see you sometimes with freedom; i should then enjoy your company, and what could i desire more? "do not imagine that i say more than i think. alas! whatever expressions i use, i feel that i think more than i can tell you. my eyes, which are continually watching and weeping for your return; my afflicted heart, which desires you alone; the sighs that escape me as often as i think on you, and that is every moment; my imagination, which represents no other object to me than my dear prince; the complaints that i make to heaven for the rigour of my destiny; m a word, my grief, my distress, my torments, which have allowed me no ease since i was deprived of your presence, will vouch for what i write. "am not i unhappy to be born to dove, without hope of enjoying the object of my passion? this afflicting thought oppresses me so that i should die, were i not persuaded that you love me: but this sweet comfort balances my despair, and preserves my life. tell me that you love me always. i will keep your letter carefully, and read it a thousand times a-day: i shall endure my afflictions with less impatience: i pray heaven may cease to be angry at us, and grant us an opportunity to say that we love one another without fear; and that we shall never cease thus to love. adieu. i salute ebn thaher, to whom we are so much obliged." the prince of persia was not satisfied with reading the letter once; he thought he had perused it with too little attention, and therefore read it again with more leisure; and while so doing, sometimes heaved deep sighs, sometimes shed tears, and sometimes broke out into transports of joy and tenderness as the contents affected him. in short, he could not keep his eyes off those characters drawn by so beloved a hand, and was beginning to read it a third time, when ebn thaher observed to him that the confidant had no time to lose, and that he ought to think of giving an answer. "alas!" cried the prince, "how would you have me reply to so kind a letter! in what terms shall i express myself in my present disturbed state! my mind is tossed with a thousand tormenting thoughts, which are lost the moment they are conceived, to make way for others. so long as my body is influenced by the impressions of my mind, how shall i be able to hold the paper, or guide a reed to write." so saying, he took out of a little desk which was near him, paper, a cane ready cut, and an inkhorn. the prince of persia, before he began to write, gave schemselnihar's letter to ebn thaher, and prayed him to hold it open while he wrote, that by casting his eyes upon it he might the better see what to answer. he began to write; but the tears that fell from his eyes upon the paper obliged him several times to stop, that they might fall the more freely. at last he finished his letter, and giving it to ebn thaher, "read it, i pray," said he, "and do me the favour to see if the disorder of my mind has allowed me to give a favourable answer." ebn thaher took it, and read as follows: the prince of persia's answer to schemselnihar's letter. "i was plunged in the deepest grief when i received your letter, but at the sight of it i was transported with unspeakable joy. when i beheld the characters written by your fair hand, my eyes were enlightened by a stronger light than they lost, when yours were suddenly closed at the feet of my rival. the words contained in your kind epistle are so many rays which have dispelled the darkness wherewith my soul was obscured; they shew me how much you suffer from your love of me, and that you are not ignorant of what i endure on your account. thus they comfort me in my afflictions. on the one hand they cause me to shed tears in abundance; and on the other, inflame my heart with a fire which supports it, and prevents my dying of grief. i have not had one moment's rest since our cruel separation. your letter alone gave me some ease. i kept a mournful silence till the moment i received it, and then recovered my speech. i was buried in profound melancholy, but it inspired me with joy, which immediately appeared in my eyes and countenance. but my surprise at receiving a favour which i had not yet deserved was so great, that i knew not how to begin to testify my thankfulness. in a word, after having kissed it several times, as a precious pledge of your goodness, i read it over and over, and was confounded at the excess of my good fortune. you would have me declare that i always love you. ah! did i not love you so perfectly as i do, i could not forbear adoring you, after all the marks you have given me of an affection so uncommon: yes, i love you, my dear soul, and shall account it my glory to burn all my days with that sweet fire you have kindled in my heart. i will never complain of that ardour with which i feel it consumes me: and how rigorous soever the evils i suffer, i will bear them with fortitude, in hopes some time or other to see you. would to heaven it were to-day, and that, instead of sending you my letter, i might be allowed to come and assure you in person, that i die for you! my tears hinder me from saying more. adieu." ebn thaher could not read these last lines without weeping. he returned the letter to the prince of persia, and assured him it wanted no correction. the prince closed it, and when he had sealed it, he desired the trusty slave to come near, and said to her, "this is my answer to you dear mistress's letter. i conjure you to carry it to her, and to salute her in my name." the slave took the letter, and retired with ebn thaher. after ebn thaher had walked some way with the slave, he left her, and went to his house, and began to think in earnest upon the amorous intrigue in which he found himself unhappily engaged. he considered, that the prince of persia and schemselnihar, notwithstanding their interest to conceal their correspondence, conducted themselves with so little discretion, that it could not be long a secret. he drew all the consequences from it, which a man of good sense might have anticipated. "were schemselnihar," said he to himself, "a lady of common rank, i would contribute all in my power to make her and her lover happy; but she is the caliph's favourite, and no man can without danger attempt to engage the affections of the objets of his choice. his anger would fall in the first instance on schemselnihar; it will next cost the prince of persia his life, and i should be involved in his misfortune. in the mean time i have my honour, my quiet, my family, and my property to preserve. i must, while i can, extricate myself out of such a perilous situation." these thoughts occupied his mind all that day. next morning he went to the prince of persia, with a design of making one more effort to induce him to conquer his passion. he represented to him what he had before urged in vain; that it would be much better for him to summon all his resolution, to overcome his inclination for schemselnihar, than to suffer himself to be hurried away by it; and that his passion was so much the more dangerous, as his rival was powerful. "in short, sir," added he, "if you will hearken to me, you ought to think of nothing but to triumph over your love; otherwise you run the risk of destroying yourself with schemselnihar, whose life ought to be dearer to you than your own. i give you this advice as a friend, for which you will some time or other thank me." the prince heard ebn thaher with great impatience, but suffered him to speak his mind, and then replied to him thus: "ebn thaher, do you think i can cease to love schemselnihar, who loves me so tenderly? she is not afraid to expose her life for me, and would you have me regard mine? no; whatever misfortunes befall me, i will love schemselnihar to my last breath." abn thaher, shocked at the obstinacy of the prince of persia, left him hastily, and going to his own house, recalled his former reflections, and began to think seriously what he should do. in the mean time a jeweller, one of his intimate friends, came to see him. the jeweller had perceived that schemselnihar's confidant came oftener to ebn thaher than usual, and that he was constantly with the prince of persia, whose sickness was known to every one, though not the cause. this had awakened the jeweller's suspicions, and finding ebn thaher very pensive, he presently judged that he was perplexed with some important affair, and fancying that he knew the cause, he asked what schemselnihar's confidant wanted with him? ebn thaher being struck with this question, would have dissembled, and told him, that it was on some trifling errand she came so frequently to him. "you do not tell me the truth," said the jeweller, "and your dissimulation only serves to prove to me that this trifle is a more important affair than at first i thought it to be." ebn thaher, perceiving that his friend pressed him so much, said to him, "it is true, that it is an affair of the greatest consequence. i had resolved to keep it secret, but since i know how much you are my friend, i choose rather to make you my confidant, than to suffer you to be under a mistake about it. i do not bind you to secrecy, for you will easily judge by what i am going to tell you how impossible it is to keep it unknown." after this preamble, he told him the amour between schemselnihar and the prince of persia. "you know," he continued, "in what esteem i am at court, in the city, and with lords and ladies of the greatest quality; what a disgrace would it be for me, should this rash amour come to be discovered? but what do i say; should not i and my family be completely ruined! that is what perplexes my mind; but i have just formed my resolution: i will go immediately and satisfy my creditors, and recover my debts, and when i have secured my property, will retire to bussorah, and stay till the storm, that i foresee, is blown over. my friendship for schemselnihar and the prince of persia makes me very sensible to what dangers they are exposed. i pray heaven to convince them of their peril, and to preserve them; but if their evil destiny should bring their attachment to the knowledge of the caliph, i shall, at least, be out of the reach of his resentment; for i do not think them so wicked as to design to involve me in their misfortunes. it would be the height of ingratitude, and a bad reward for the service i have done them, and the good advice i have given, particularly to the prince of persia, who may save both himself and his mistress from this precipice. he may as easily leave bagdad as i; and absence will insensibly disenage him from a passion, which will only increase whilst he continues in this place." the jeweller was extremely surprised at what ebn thaher told him. "what you say," said he, "is of so much importance, that i cannot understand how schemselnihar and the prince could have abandoned themselves to such a violent passion. what inclination soever they may have for one another, instead of yielding to it, they ought to resist it, and make a better use of their reason. is it possible they can be insensible of the danger of their correspondence? how deplorable is their blindness! i anticipate all its consequences as well as yourself; but you are wise and prudent, and i approve your resolution; as it is the only way to deliver yourself from the fatal events which you have reason to fear." after this conversation the jeweller rose, and took his leave of ebn thaher. before the jeweller retired, ebn thaher conjured him by the friendship betwixt them, to say nothing of what he had heard. "fear not," replied the jeweller, "i will keep this secret at the peril of my life." two days after, the jeweller went to ebn thaher's shop, and seeing it shut, he doubted not but he had executed his design; but, to be more sure, he asked a neighbour, if he knew why it was not opened? the neighbour answered that he knew not, unless ebn thaher was gone a journey. there was no need of his enquiring farther, and he immediately thought of the prince of persia: "unhappy prince," said he to himself, "what will be your grief when you hear this news? how will you now carry on your correspondence with schemselnihar? i fear you will die of despair. i pity you, and must repair your loss of a too timid confidant." the business that obliged him to come abroad was of no consequence, so that he neglected it, and though he had no knowledge of the prince of persia, only by having sold him some jewels, he went to his house. he addressed himself to one of his servants, and desired him to tell his master, that he wished to speak with him about business of very great importance. the servant returned immediately to the jeweller, and introduced him to the prince's chamber. he was leaning on a sofa, with his head on a cushion. as soon as the prince saw him, he rose up to receive and welcome him, and entreated him to sit down; asked him if he could serve him in any thing, or if he came to tell him any thing interesting concerning himself. "prince," answered the jeweller, "though i have not the honour to be particularly acquainted with you, yet the desire of testifying my zeal has made me take the liberty to come to your house, to impart to you a piece of news that concerns you. i hope you will pardon my boldness for my good intention." after this introduction, the jeweller entered upon the matter, and continued: "prince, i shall have the honour to tell you, that it is a long time since conformity of disposition, and some business we have had together, united ebn thaher and myself in strict friendship. i know you are acquainted with him, and that he has employed himself in obliging you to his utmost. i have learnt this from himself, for he keeps nothing secret from me, nor i from him. i went just now to his shop, and was surprised to find it shut. i addressed myself to one of his neighbours, to ask the reason; he answered me, that two days ago ebn thaher took leave of him, and other neighbours, offering them his service at bussorah, whither he is gone, said he, about an affair of great importance. not being satisfied with this answer, my concern for his welfare determined me to come and ask if you knew any thing particular concerning this his sudden departure." at this discourse, which the jeweller accommodated to the subject, the better to compass his design, the prince of persia changed colour, and looked at the jeweller in a manner which convinced him how much he was disconcerted at the intelligence. "i am surprised at what you inform me," said he; "a greater misfortune could not befall me: ah!" he continued, with tears in his eyes, "if what you tell me be true, i am undone! has ebn thaher, who was all my comfort, in whom i put all my confidence, left me? i cannot think of living after so cruel a blow." the jeweller needed no more to convince him fully of the prince of persia's violent passion, which ebn thaher had told him of: mere friendship would not make him speak so; nothing but love could produce such lively sensations. the prince continued some moments absorbed in melancholy thoughts; at last he lifted up his head, and calling one of his servants, said, "go, to ebn thaher's house, and ask some of his domestics if he be gone to bussorah: run, and come back quickly with the answer." while the servant was gone, the jeweller endeavoured to entertain the prince of persia with indifferent subjects; but the prince gave little heed to him. he was a prey to fatal grief: sometimes he could not persuade himself that ebn thaher was gone, and at others he did not doubt of it, when he reflected upon the conversation he had had with him the last time he had seen him, and the abrupt manner in which he had left him. at last the prince's servant returned, and reported that he had spoken with one of ebn thaher's servants, who assured him that he had been gone two days to bussorah. "as i came from ebn thaher's house," added the servant. "a slave well dressed met me, and after she had asked me if i had the honour to belong to you, told me she wanted to speak with you, and begged at the same time that she might accompany me: she is in the outer room, and i believe has a letter to deliver to you from some person of consequence." the prince commanded her to be immediately introduced, not doubting but it was schemselnihar's confidant slave, as indeed it was. the jeweller knew her, having seen her several times at ebn thaher's house: she could not have come at a better time to save the prince from despair. she saluted him. the prince of persia returned the salute of schemselnihar's confidant. the jeweller arose as soon as he saw her and retired, to leave them at liberty to converse together. the confidant, after she had spoken some time with the prince, took her leave and departed. she left him quite another person from what he was before; his eyes appeared brighter, and his countenance more gay, which satisfied the jeweller that the good slave came to tell him something favourable to his amour. the jeweller having taken his place again near the prince, said to him smiling, "i see, prince, you have business of importance at the caliph's palace." the prince of persia, astonished and alarmed at these words, answered the jeweller, "what leads you to suppose that i have business at the caliph's palace?" "i judge so," replied the jeweller, "by the slave who has just left you." "and to whom, think you, belongs this slave?" demanded the prince. "to schemselnihar the caliph's favourite," answered the jeweller: "i know," continued he, "both the slave and her mistress, who has several times done me the honour to come to my house, and buy jewels. besides, i know that schemselnihar keeps nothing secret from this slave; and i have seen her pass backwards and forwards for several days along the streets, as i thought very much troubled; i imagined that it was for some affair of consequence concerning her mistress." the jeweller's words greatly troubled the prince of persia. "he would not say so," said he to himself, "if he did not suspect, or rather were not acquainted with my secret." he remained silent for some time, not knowing what course to take. at last he began, and said to the jeweller, "you have told me things which make me believe that you know yet more than you have acquainted me with; it concerns my repose that i be perfectly informed; i conjure you therefore not to conceal any thing from me." then the jeweller, who desired nothing more, gave him a particular account of what had passed betwixt ebn thaher and himself. he informed him that he was apprised of his correspondence with schemselnihar. and forgot not to tell him that ebn thaher, alarmed at the danger of being his confidant in the matter, had communicated to him his intention of retiring to bussorah, until the storm which he dreaded should be blown over. "this he has executed," added the jeweller, "and i am surprised how he could determine to abandon you, in the condition he informed me you were in. as for me, prince, i confess, i am moved with compassion towards you, and am come to offer you my service. if you do me the favour to accept of it, i engage myself to be as faithful to you as ebn thaher; besides, i promise to be more resolute. i am ready to sacrifice my honour and life for you: and, that you may not doubt of my sincerity, i swear by all that is sacred in our religion, to keep your secret inviolable. be persuaded then, prince, that you will find in me the friend whom you have lost." this declaration encouraged the prince, and comforted him under ebn thaher's absence. "i am glad," said he to the jeweller, "to find in you a reparation of my loss; i want words to express the obligations i am under to you. i pray god to recompense your generosity, and i accept your obliging offer with all my heart. believe me," continued he, "schemselnihar's confidant came to speak to me concerning you. she told me that it was you who advised ebn thaher to go from bagdad; these were the last words she spoke to me, as she went away, and she seemed persuaded of what she said; but they do not do you justice. i doubt not, after what you have told me, she is deceived." "prince" replied the jeweller, "i have had the honour to give you a faithful account of my conversation with ebn thaher. it is true, when he told me he meant to retire to bussorah, i did not oppose his design; but let not this prevent your putting confidence in me. i am ready to serve you with all imaginable zeal. if you do not use my service, this shall not hinder me from keeping your secret religiously, according to my oath." "i have already told you," replied the prince, "that i did not believe what the confidant said: it is her zeal which inspired her with this groundless suspicion, and you ought to excuse it, as i do." they continued their conversation for some time, and consulted together about the most convenient means to keep up the prince's correspondence with schemselnihar. they agreed to begin by undeceiving the confidant, who was so unjustly prepossessed against the jeweller. the prince engaged to remove her mistake the first time he saw her again, and to intreat her to address herself to the jeweller whenever she might bring letters, or any other information from her mistress to him. in short, they determined, that she ought not to come so frequently to the prince's house, because thereby she might lead to the discovery of what it was of so great importance to conceal. at last the jeweller arose, and, after having again intreated the prince of persia to place an unreserved confidence in him, withdrew. the jeweller returning to his house perceived before him a letter, which somebody had dropped in the street. he took it up, and as it was not sealed, he opened it, and read as follows: letter from schemselnihar to the prince of persia. "i have received from my confidant intelligence which gives me no less concern than it must give you. in ebn thaher, we have indeed sustained a great loss; but let this not hinder you, dear prince, from thinking of your own preservation. if our friend has abandoned us through fear, let us consider that it is a misfortune which we could not avoid. i confess ebn thaher has left us at a time when we most needed his assistance; but let us bear this unexpected stroke with patience, and let us not forbear to love one another constantly. fortify your heart under this misfortune. the object of our wishes is not to be obtained without trouble. let us not be discouraged, but hope that heaven will favour us, and that, after so many afflictions, we shall see a happy accomplishment of our desires. adieu." while the jeweller was conversing with the prince of persia, the confidant had time to return to the palace and communicate to her mistress the ill news of ebn thaher's departure. schemselnihar immediately wrote this letter, and sent back her confidant with it to the prince of persia, but she negligently dropped it on her way. the jeweller was glad to find it, for it furnished him with an opportunity of justifying himself to the confidant, and bringing her to the point he desired. when he had read it, he perceived the slave seeking for it with the greatest anxiety. he closed it again quickly, and put it into his bosom; but the slave observed him, and running to him, said, "sir, i have dropped a letter, which you had just now in your hand; i beseech you to restore it." the jeweller, pretending not to hear her, continued his way till he came to his house. he left his door open, that the confidant, who followed him, might enter after him. she followed him in, and when she came to his apartment, said, "sir, you can make no use of that letter you have found, and you would not hesitate to return it to me, if you knew from whom it came, and to whom it is directed. besides, allow me to tell you, you cannot honestly keep it." before the jeweller returned her any answer he made her sit down, and then said to her, "is not this letter from schemselnihar, and is it not directed to the prince of persia?" the slave, who expected no such question, blushed. "the question embarrasses you," continued he; "but i assure you i do not put it rashly: i could have given you the letter in the street, but i wished you to follow me, on purpose that i might come to some explanation with you. is it just, tell me, to impute a misfortune to persons who have no ways contributed towards it? yet this you have done, in telling the prince of persia that it was i who advised ebn thaher to leave bagdad for his own safety. i do not intend to waste time in justifying myself; it is enough that the prince of persia is fully persuaded of my innocence; i will only tell you, that instead of contributing to ebn thaher's departure, i have been extremely afflicted at it, not so much from my friendship to him, as out of compassion for the condition in which he left the prince of persia, whose correspondence with schemselnihar he has discovered to me. as soon as i knew certainly that ebn thaher was gone from bagdad, i went and presented myself to the prince, in whose house you found me, to inform him of this event, and to offer to undertake the service in which he had been employed; and provided you put the same confidence in me, that you did in ebn thaher, it will be your own fault if you do not make my assistance of use to you. inform your mistress of what i have told you, and assure her, that though i should die for engaging in so dangerous an intrigue, i should not repent of having sacrificed myself for two lovers so worthy of one another." the confidant, after having heard the jeweller with great satisfaction, begged him to pardon the ill opinion she had conceived of him, for the zeal she had for her mistress's interest.? i am beyond measure glad," she added, "that schemselnihar and the prince have found in you a person so fit to supply ebn thaher's place i will not fail to convince my mistress of the good-will you bear her." after the confidant had testified to the jeweller her joy to see him so well disposed to serve schemselnihar and the prince of persia, the jeweller took the letter out of his bosom, and restored it to her, saying, "go, carry it quickly to the prince, and return this way that i may see his reply. forget not to give him an account of our conversation." the confidant took the letter and carried it to the prince, who answered it immediately. she returned to the jeweller's house to shew him the answer, which was in these words: the prince of persia's answer to schemselnihar. "your precious letter has had a great effect upon me, but not so great as i could have wished. you endeavour to comfort me for the loss of ebn thaher; alas! however sensible i am of this, it is but the least of my troubles. you know these troubles, and you know also that your presence alone can cure me. when will the time come that i shall enjoy it without fear of a separation? how distant does it seem to me! or shall we flatter ourselves that we may ever see it? you command me to preserve myself; i will obey you, since i have renounced my own will to follow only yours. adieu." after the jeweller had read this letter, he returned it to the confidant, who said, as she was going away, "i will desire my mistress to put the same confidence in you that she did in ebn thaher. you shall hear of me to-morrow." accordingly, next day she returned with a pleasant countenance. "your very looks," said he to her, "inform me that you have brought schemselnihar to the point you wished." "it is true," replied the confidant, "and you shall hear how i succeeded. i found yesterday, on my return, schemselnihar expecting me with impatience, i gave her the prince of persia's letter, and she read it with tears in her eyes. when she had done, i saw that she had abandoned herself to her usual sorrow. �madam,' said i to her, �it is doubtless ebn thaher's removal that troubles you; but suffer me to conjure you in the name of god, to alarm yourself no farther on this account. we have found another ebn thaher, who offers to oblige you with equal zeal; and, what is yet more important, with greater courage.' then i spoke to her of you," continued the slave, "and acquainted her with the motive which led you to the prince of persia's house. in short, i assured her that you would keep inviolably the secret betwixt her and the prince of persia, and that you were resolved to favour their amour with all your might. she seemed to be much relieved by my discourse. �ah! what obligations,' said she, �are the prince of persia and i under to that honest man you speak of! i must be acquainted with him and see him, that i may hear from his own mouth what you tell me, and thank him for such unheard-of generosity towards persons on whose account he is no way obliged to interest himself. the sight of him will give me pleasure, and i shall omit nothing to confirm him in those good sentiments. fail not to bring him to me to- morrow.' therefore, sir, be so good as to accompany me to the palace." the confidant's proposal perplexed the jeweller. "your mistress," replied he, "must allow me to say that she has not duly considered what she requires of me. ebn thaher's access to the caliph gave him admission every where; and the officers who knew him, allowed him free access to schemselnihar's palace; but as for me, how dare i enter? you see clearly that it is impossible. i entreat you to represent to schemselnihar the reasons which prevent me from affording her that satisfaction; and acquaint her with all the ill consequences that would attend my compliance. lf she considered it ever so little, she would find that it would expose me needlessly to very imminent danger." the confidant endeavoured to encourage the jeweller. "can you believe," said she, "that schemselnihar is so unreasonable as to expose you to the least danger by bringing you to her, from whom she expects such important services? consider with yourself that there is not the least appearance of risk. my mistress and i are too much interested in this affair to involve you in any danger. you may depend upon me, and leave yourself to my conduit. after the thing is over you will be the first to confess that your apprehensions were groundless." the jeweller yielded to the confidant's assurances, and rose up to follow her, but notwithstanding his boasted courage, he was seized with such terror that his whole body trembled. "in your present state," said she, "i perceive it will be better for you to remain at home, and that schemselnihar should take other measures to see you. it is not to be doubted but that to satisfy her desire she will come hither herself: the case being so, sir, i would not have you go: i am persuaded it will not be long ere you see her here." the confidant foresaw this; for she no sooner informed schemselnihar of the jeweller's fear, but she prepared to go to his house. he received her with all the expressions of profound respect. when she sat down, being a little fatigued, she unveiled herself, and exhibited to the jeweller such beauty as convinced him that the prince of persia was excusable in giving his heart to the caliph's favourite. then she saluted the jeweller with a graceful air, and said to him, "i could not hear with what zeal you have engaged in the prince of persia's concerns and mine, without immediately determining to express my gratitude in person. i thank heaven for having so soon made up to us the loss of ebn thaher." schemselnihar said many other obliging things to the jeweller, after which she returned to her palace. the jeweller went immediately to give an account of this visit to the prince of persia; who said to him, as soon as he saw him, "i have expected you impatiently. the trusty slave has brought me a letter from her mistress, but it does not relieve me. whatever the lovely schemselnihar says, i dare not hope, and my patience is exhausted; i know not now what measures to pursue; ebn thaher's departure reduces me to despair. he was my only support: in him i have lost every thing. i had flattered myself with some hopes by reason of his access to schemselnihar." after these words, which the prince spoke with so much eagerness, that he gave the jeweller no time to interrupt him, he said to the prince, "no man can take more interest in your affliction than i do; and if you will have patience to hear me you will perceive that i can relieve you." upon this the prince became silent, and listened to him. "i see," said the jeweller, "that the only way to give you satisfaction is to devise a plan that will afford you an opportunity of conversing freely with schemselnihar. this i wish to procure you, and to-morrow will make the attempt. you must by no means expose yourself to enter schemselnihar's palace; you know by experience the danger of that step. i know a fitter place for this interview, where you will be safe." when the jeweller had finished, the prince embraced him with transports of joy. "you revive," said he, "by this promise, a wretched lover, who was condemned to die. you have fully repaired the loss of ebn thaher; whatever you do will be well performed; i leave myself entirely to your conduct." after the prince had thus thanked him for his zeal, the jeweller returned home, and next morning schemselnihar's confidant came to him. he told her that he had given the prince of persia hopes that he should shortly see her mistress. "i am come on purpose," answered she, "to concert measures with you for that end. i think this house will be convenient enough for their interview." "i could receive them very well here," replied he, "but i think they will have more liberty in another house of mine where no one resides at present; i will immediately furnish it for their reception." "there remains nothing then for me to do," replied the confidant, "but to bring schemselnihar to consent to this. i will go and speak to her, and return speedily with an answer." she was as diligent as her promise, and returning to the jeweller, told him that her mistress would not fail to keep the appointment in the evening. in the mean time she gave him a purse, and told him it was to prepare a collation. he carried her immediately to the house where the lovers were to meet, that she might know whither to bring her mistress: and when she was gone, he went to borrow from his friends gold and silver plate, tapestry, rich cushions, and other furniture, with which he furnished the house very magnificently; and when he had put all things in order, went to the prince of persia. you may easily conceive the prince of persia's joy, when the jeweller told him that he came to conduct him to the house he had prepared to receive him and schemselnihar. this news made him forget all his former trouble. he put on a magnificent robe, and went without his retinue along with the jeweller; who led him through several by-streets that nobody might observe them, and at last brought him to the house, where they conversed together until schemselnihar's arrival. they did not wait long for this passionate lover. she came after evening prayer, with her confidant, and two other slaves. it is impossible to express the excess of joy that seized these two lovers when they saw one another. they sat down together upon a sofa, looking upon one another for some time, without being able to speak, they were so much overjoyed: but when their speech returned, they soon made up for their silence. they said to each other so many tender things, as made the jeweller, the confidant, and the two other slaves weep. the jeweller however restrained his tears, to attend the collation, which he brought in himself. the lovers ate and drank little, after which they sat down again upon the sofa: schemselnihar asked the jeweller if he had a lute, or any other instrument, the jeweller, who took care to provide all that could please her, brought her a lute: she spent some time in tuning it, and then sung. while schemselnihar was charming the prince of persia, and expressing her passion by words composed extempore, a great noise was heard; and immediately the slave, whom. the jeweller had brought with him, came in great alarm to tell him that some people were breaking in at the gate; that he asked who they were, but instead of any answer the blows were redoubled. the jeweller, being alarmed, left schemselnihar and the prince to inform himself of the truth of this intelligence. no sooner had he got to the court, than he perceived, notwithstanding the darkness of the night, a company of men armed with spears and cimeters, who had broken the gate, and came directly towards him. he stood close to a wall for fear of his life, and saw ten of them pass without being perceived by them. finding he could give no great assistance to the prince of persia and schemselnihar, he contented himself with lamenting their fate, and fled for refuge to a neighbour's house, who was not yet gone to bed. he did not doubt but this unexpected violence was by the caliph's order, who, he thought, had been informed of his favourite's meeting the prince of persia there. he heard a great noise in his house, which continued till midnight: and when all was quiet, as he thought, he desired his neighbour to lend him a cimeter; and being thus armed, went on till he came to the gate of his own house: he entered the court full of fear, and perceived a man, who asked him who he was; he knew by his voice that it was his own slave. "how did you manage," said he, "to avoid being taken by the watch?" "sir," answered the slave, "i hid myself in a corner of the court, and i went out as soon as i heard the noise. but it was not the watch who broke into your house: they were robbers, who within these few days robbed another house in this neighbourhood. they doubtless had notice of the rich furniture you brought hither, and had that in view." the jeweller thought his slave's conjecture probable enough. he entered the house, and saw that the robbers had taken all the furniture out of the apartment where he received schemselnihar and her lover, that they had also carried off the gold and silver plate, and, in a word, had left nothing. perceiving this desolation, he exclaimed, "o heaven! i am irrecoverably ruined! what will my friends say, and what excuse can i make when i shall tell them that the robbers have broken into my house, and robbed me of all they had generously lent me? i shall never be able to make up their loss. besides, what is become of schemselnihar and the prince of persia? this business will be so public, that it will be impossible but it must reach the caliph's ears. he will get notice of this meeting, and i shall fall a sacrifice to his fury." the slave, who was very much attached to him, endeavoured to comfort him. "as to schemselnihar," said he, "the robbers would probably consent themselves with stripping her, and you have reason to think that she is retired to her palace with her slaves. the prince of persia too has probably escaped, so that you have reason to hope the caliph will never know of this adventure. as for the loss your friends have sustained, that is a misfortune that you could not avoid. they know very well the robbers are numerous, that they have not only pillaged the house i have already spoken of, but many other houses of the principal noblemen of the court: and they are not ignorant that, notwithstanding the orders given to apprehend them, nobody has been yet able to seize any of them. you will be acquitted by restoring your friends the value of the things that are stolen, and, blessed be god, you will have enough left." while they were waiting for day-light, the jeweller ordered the slave to mend the street door, which was broken, as well as he could: after which he returned to his usual residence with his slave, making melancholy reflections on what had happened. "ebn thaher," said he to himself, "has been wiser than i; he foresaw the misfortune into which i have blindly thrown myself: would to god i had never meddled in this intrigue, which will, perhaps, cost me my life!" it was scarcely day when the report of the robbery spread through the city, and a great many of his friends and neighbours came to his house to express their concern for his misfortune; but were curious to know the particulars. he thanked them for their affection, and had at least the consolation, that he heard no one mention schemselnihar. or the prince of persia: which made him believe they were at their houses, or in some secure place. when the jeweller was alone, his servants brought him something to eat, but he had no appetite. about noon one of his slaves came to tell him there was a man at the gate, whom he knew not, that desired to speak with him. the jeweller, not choosing to receive a stranger into his house, rose up, and went to speak to him. "though you do not know me," said the man; "i know you, and i am come to talk to you about an important affair." the jeweller desired him to come in. "no," answered the stranger "if you please, rather take the trouble to go with me to your other house." "how know you," asked the jeweller, "that i have another house?" "i know very well," answered the stranger; "follow me, and do not fear any thing: i have something to communicate which will please you." the jeweller went immediately with him; and after he had considered by the way how the house they were going to had been robbed, he said to him that it was not fit to receive him. when they were before the house, and the stranger saw the gate half broken down, he said to the jeweller, "i see you have told me the truth. i will conduct you to a place where we shall be better accommodated." when he had thus spoken, he went on, and walked all the rest of the day without stopping. the jeweller being fatigued with his walk, vexed to see night approach, and that the stranger went on without telling him where he was going, began to lose his patience, when they came to a path which led to the tigris. as soon as they reached the river, they embarked in a little boat, and went over. the stranger led the jeweller through a long street, where he had never been before; and after he had brought him through several by-streets, he stopped at a gate, which he opened. he made the jeweller go in before him, he then shut and bolted the gate, with a huge iron bolt, and conducted him to a chamber, where there were ten other men, all of them as great strangers to the jeweller as he who had brought him hither. these ten men received him without much ceremony. they desired him to sit down, of which he had great need; for he was not only out of breath with walking so far, but his terror at finding himself with people whom he thought he had reason to fear would have disabled him from standing. they waited for their leader to go to supper, and as soon as he came it was served up. they washed their hands, obliged the jeweller to do the like, and to sit at table with them. after supper the men asked him, if he knew whom he spoke to? he answered, "no; and that he knew not the place he was in." "tell us your last night's adventure," said they to him, "and conceal nothing from us." the jeweller, being astonished at this request, answered, "gentlemen, it is probable you know it already." "that is true," replied they; "the young man and the young lady, who were at your house yesternight, told it us; but we would know it from your own mouth." the jeweller needed no more to inform him that he spoke to the robbers who had broken into and plundered his house. "gentlemen," said he, "i am much troubled for that young man and lady; can you give me any tidings of them?" upon the jeweller's inquiry of the thieves, if they knew any thing of the young man and the young lady, they answered, "be not concerned for them, they are safe and well," so saying, they shewed him two closets, where they assured him they were separately shut up. they added, "we are informed you alone know what relates to them, which we no sooner came to understand, but we shewed them all imaginable respect, and were so far from doing them any injury, that we treated them with all possible kindness on your account. we answer for the same," proceeded they, "for your own person, you may put unlimited confidence in us." the jeweller being encouraged by this assurance, and overjoyed to hear that the prince of persia and schemselnihar were safe, resolved to engage the robbers yet farther in their interest. he commended them, flattered them, and gave them a thousand benedictions. "gentlemen," said he, "i must confess i have not the honour to know you, yet it is no small happiness to me that i am not wholly unknown to you; and i can never be sufficiently grateful for the favours which that knowledge has procured me at your hands. not to mention your great humanity, i am fully persuaded now, that persons of your character are capable of keeping a secret faithfully, and none are so fit to undertake a great enterprise, which you can best bring to a good issue by your zeal, courage, and intrepidity. confiding in these qualities, which are so much your due, i hesitate not to tell you my whole history, with that of those two persons you found in my house, with all the fidelity you desire me." after the jeweller had thus secured, as he thought, the confidence of the robbers, he made no scruple to relate to them the whole amour of the prince of persia and schemselnihar, from the beginning of it to the time he had received them into his house. the robbers were greatly astonished at all the particulars they heard, and could not forbear exclaiming, "how! is it possible that the young man should be the illustrious ali ebn becar, prince of persia, and the young lady the fair and celebrated beauty schemselnihar?" the jeweller assured them nothing was more certain, and that they need not think it strange, that persons of so distinguished a character should wish not to be known. upon this assurance of their quality, the robbers went immediately, one after another, and threw themselves at their feet, imploring their pardon, and protesting that nothing of the kind would have happened to them, had they been informed of the quality of their persons before they broke into the house; and that they would by their future conduct endeavour to make amends for the crime they had thus ignorantly committed. then turning to the jeweller, they told him, they were heartily sorry they could not restore to him all that had been taken from him, part of it being no longer in their possession. but as for what remained, if he would content himself with his plate, it should be forthwith put into his hand. the jeweller was overjoyed at the favour done him, and after the robbers had delivered to him the plate, they required of the prince, schemselnihar, and him, to promise them upon oath, that they would not betray them, and they would carry them to a place whence they might easily return to their respective homes. the prince, schemselnihar, and the jeweller, replied, that they might rely on their words, but since they desired an oath of them, they solemnly swore not to discover them. the thieves, satisfied with this, immediately went out with them. on the way, the jeweller, uneasy at not seeing the confidant and the two slaves, came up to schemselnihar, and begged her to inform him what was become of them. she answered, she knew nothing of them, and that all she could tell him was, that she was carried away from his house, ferried over the river, and brought to the place from whence they were just come. schemselnihar and the jeweller had no farther conversation; they let the robbers conduit them with the prince to the river's side, when the robbers immediately took boat, and carried them over to the opposite bank. while the prince, schemselnihar, and the jeweller were landing, they heard the noise of the horse patrol coming towards them, just as the boat had conveyed the robbers back. the commander of the brigade demanded of the prince, schemselnihar, and the jeweller, who they were, and whence they had come so late? frightened as they were, and apprehensive of saying any thing that might prejudice them, they could not speak; but at length it was necessary they should. the jeweller's mind being most at ease, he said, "sir, i can assure you, we are respectable people of the city. the persons who have just landed us, and are now returned to the other side of the water, are thieves, who having last night broke open the house where we were, pillaged it, and afterwards carried us to their quarters, whence by fair words, we prevailed on them to let us have our liberty; and they brought us hither. they have restored us part of the booty they had taken from us." at which words he shewed the parcel of plate he had recovered. the commander, not satisfied with what the jeweller had told him, came up to him and the prince of persia, and looking steadfastly at them, said, "tell me truly, who is this lady? how came you to know her?" these questions embarrassed them so much that neither of them could answer; till at length schemselnihar extricated them from their difficulty, and taking the commander aside, told him who she was; which he no sooner heard, than he alighted with expressions of great respect and politeness, and ordered his men to bring two boats. when the boats were come, he put schemselnihar into one, and the prince of persia and the jeweller into the other, with two of his people in each boat; with orders to accompany each of them whithersoever they were bound. the boats took different routes, but we shall at present speak only of that which contained the prince and the jeweller. the prince, to save his guides trouble, bade them land the jeweller at his house, naming the place. the guide, by this direction, stopped just before the caliph's palace, which put both him and the jeweller into great alarm; for although they had heard the commander's orders to his men, they could not help imagining they were to be delivered up to the guard, to be brought before the caliph next morning. this nevertheless was not the intention of the guides. for after they had landed them, they, by their master's command, recommended them to an officer of the caliph's guard who assigned them two soldiers to conduct them by land to the prince's house, which was at some distance from the river. they arrived there, but so tired and weary that they could hardly move. the prince being come home, with the fatigue of his journey, and this misadventure to himself and schemselnihar, which deprived him of all hope of ever seeing her more, fell into a swoon on his sofa. while the greatest part of his servants were endeavoring to recover him, the rest gathered about the jeweller, and begged him to tell them what had happened to the prince their lord, whose absence had occasioned them such inexpressible uneasiness. while the greatest part of the prince's domestics were endeavouring to recover him from his swoon, others of them got about the jeweller, desiring to know what had happened to their lord. the jeweller, who took care to discover nothing that was not proper for them to know, told them that it was an extraordinary case, but that it was not a time to relate it, and that they would do better to go and assist the prince. by good fortune the prince came to himself that moment, and those that but just before required his history with so much earnestness retreated to a respectful distance. although the prince had in some measure recovered his recollection, he continued so weak that he could not open his mouth to speak. he answered only by signs, even to his nearest relations, when they spoke to him. he remained in this condition till next morning, when the jeweller came to take leave of him. he could answer only by a movement of his eyes, and holding out his right hand; but when he saw he was laden with a bundle of plate, which the thieves had returned to him, he made a sign to his servants that they should take it and carry it to his house. the jeweller had been expected with great impatience by his family the day he departed with the stranger; but now he was quite given over, and it was no longer doubted but some disaster had befallen him. his wife, children, and servants, were in the greatest alarm, and lamenting him. when he arrived, their joy was excessive; yet they were troubled to see that he was so much altered in the short interval, that he was hardly to be known. this was occasioned by the great fatigue of the preceding day, and the fears he had undergone all night, which would not permit him to sleep. finding himself much indisposed, he continued at home two days, and would admit only one of his intimate friends to visit him. the third day, finding himself something better, he thought he might recover strength by going abroad to take the air; and therefore went to the shop of a rich merchant of his acquaintance, with whom he continued long in conversation. as he was rising to take leave of his friend to return home, he observed a woman making a sign to him, whom he presently knew to be the confidant of schemselnihar. between fear and joy, he made what haste he could away, without looking at her; but she followed him, as he feared she would, the place they were in being by no means proper to converse in. as he quickened his pace, she, not being able to overtake him, every now and then called out to him to stay. he heard her; but after what had happened, he did not think fit to speak to her in public, for fear of giving cause to suspect that he was connected with schemselnihar. it was known to every body in bagdad, that this woman belonged to her, and executed all her little commissions. he continued the same pace, and at length reached a mosque, where he knew but few people came. he entered, and she followed him, and they had a long conversation together, without any body overhearing them. both the jeweller and confidant expressed much joy at seeing each other, after the strange adventure of the robbers, and their reciprocal apprehension for each other, without regarding their own particular persons. the jeweller wished her to relate to him how she escaped with the two slaves, and what she knew of schemselnihar from the time he lost sight of her; but so great was her eagerness to know what had happened to him from the time of their unexpected separation, that he found himself obliged to satisfy her. "having given you the detail you desired," said he, "oblige me in your turn," which she did in the following manner. "when i first saw the robbers, i hastily imagined that they were soldiers of the caliph's guard, and that the caliph being informed of schemselnihar's going out, had sent them to put her, the prince, and all of us to death. under this impression i immediately got up to the terrace of your house, when the thieves entered the apartment where the prince and schemselnihar were, and i was soon after followed by that lady's two slaves. from terrace to terrace, we came at last to a house of very honest people, who received us with much civility, and with whom we lodged that night. "next morning, after thanking the master of the house for our good usage, we returned to schemselnihar's palace, where we entered in great disorder and distress, because we could not learn the fate of the two unfortunate lovers. the other women of schemselnihar were astonished to see me return without their lady. we told them, we had left her at the house of one of her female friends, and that she would send for us when she wished to come home; with which excuse they seemed well satisfied. "for my part, i spent the day in great uneasiness, and when night arrived, opening a small private gate, i espied a little boat on the canal which seemed driven by the stream. i called to the waterman, and desired him to row up each side of the river, and look if he could not see a lady; and if he found her, to bring her along with him. the two slaves and i waited impatiently for his return, and at length, about midnight, we saw the boat coming down with two men in it, and a woman lying along in the stern. when the boat was come up, the two men helped the woman to rise, and then it was i knew her to be schemselnihar. i cannot express my joy at seeing her. "i gave my hand to schemselnihar to help her out of the boat; she had great need of my assistance, for she could hardly stand. when she was landed, she whispered me in a tone expressive of her affliction, and bade me go and take a purse of one thousand pieces of gold and give it to the two soldiers that had accompanied her. i left her to the care of the two slaves to support her, and having ordered the two soldiers to wait for me a moment, i took the purse, and returned instantly; i gave it to them, and having paid the waterman, shut the door. "i then followed my lady, and overtook her before she had reached her chamber. we immediately undressed her, and put her to bed, where she had not long been, before she became so ill that for the whole of the night we almost despaired of her life. the day following, her other women expressed a great desire to see her; but i told them she had been greatly fatigued, and wanted rest. the other two women and i gave her all the assistance in our power; but we should have given over every hope of her recovery, had i not at last perceived that the wine which we every now and then gave her had a sensible effect in recruiting her strength. by importunity we at length prevailed with her to eat. "when she recovered the use of her speech, for she had hitherto only wept, groaned, and sighed, i begged of her to tell me how she had escaped out of the hands of the robbers. �why would you require of me,' said she, with a profound sigh, �to renew my grief? would to god the robbers had taken away my life, rather than have preserved it; my misfortunes would then have had an end, whereas i live but to increase my sufferings.' "madam,' i replied, �i beg you would not refuse me this favour. you cannot but know that the wretched feel a consolation in relating their greatest misfortunes; what i ask would alleviate yours, if you would have the goodness to gratify me.' "�hear then,' said she, �the most afflicting adventure that could possibly have happened to one so deeply in love as myself, who considered myself as at the utmost point of my wishes. you must know, when i first saw the robbers enter, sword in hand, i considered it as the last moment of our lives. but death was not an object of regret, since i thought i was to die with the prince of persia. however, instead of murdering us, as i expected, two of the robbers were ordered to take care of us, whilst their companions were busied in packing up the goods they found in the house. when they had done, and got their bundles upon their backs, they went out, and took us with them. "�as we went along, one of those that had charge of us demanded of me who i was? i answered, i was a dancer. he put the same question to the prince, who replied, he was a citizen. "when we had reached the place of our destination, a new alarm seized us. they gathered about us, and after having considered my dress, and the rich jewels i was adorned with, they seemed to suspect i had disguised my quality. "dancers," said they, "do not use to be dressed as you are. tell us truly who you are?" "�when they saw i made no reply, they asked the prince once more who he was, for they told him they plainly perceived he was not the person he pretended to be. he did not satisfy them much more than i had done; he only told them he came to see the jeweller, naming him, who was the owner of the house where they found us. "i know this jeweller," replied one of the rogues, who seemed to have some authority over the rest: "i owe him some obligations, which he knows nothing of, and i take upon me to bring him hither to-morrow morning; but you must not expect," continued he, "to be released till he arrives and tells us who you are; in the mean time, i promise you there shall be no injury offered to you." "� the jeweller was brought next morning, who thinking to oblige us, as he really did, declared to the robbers the whole truth. they immediately came and asked my pardon, and i believe did the like to the prince, who was shut up in another room. they protested to me, they would not have broken open the house where we were, had they known it was the jeweller's. they soon after took us (the prince, the jeweller, and myself), carried us to the river side, put us aboard a boat, and rowed us across the water; but we were no sooner landed, than a party of horse-patrol came up to us. "the robbers fled; i took the commander aside, and told him my name, and that the night before i had been seized by robbers, who forced me along with them; but having been told who i was, released me, and the two persons he saw with me, on my account. he alighted out of respect to me; and expressing great joy at being able to oblige me, caused two boats to be brought: putting me and two of his soldiers, whom you have seen, into one, he escorted me hither: but what is become of the prince and his friend i cannot tell. "�i trust,' added she, melting into tears, �no harm has befallen them since our separation; and i do not doubt but the prince's concern for me is equal to mine for him. the jeweller, to whom we have been so much obliged, ought to be recompensed for the loss he has sustained on our account. fail not, therefore, to take two purses of a thousand pieces of gold in each, and carry them to him to-morrow morning in my name, and be sure to inquire after the prince's welfare.' "when my good mistress had done speaking, i endeavoured, as to the last article of inquiring into the prince's welfare, to persuade her to endeavour to triumph over her passion, after the danger she had so lately escaped almost by miracle. �make me no answer,' said she, �but do what i require.' "i was obliged to be silent, and am come hither to obey her commands. i have been at your house, but not finding you at home, and uncertain as i was of where you might be found, was about going to the prince of persia; but not daring to attempt the journey, i have left the two purses with a particular friend, and if you will wait here, i will go and fetch them immediately." the confidant soon returned to the jeweller in the mosque, where she had left him, and giving him the two purses, bade him out of them satisfy his friends. "they are much more than is necessary," said he, "but i dare not refuse the present from so good and generous a lady to her most humble servant; i beseech you to assure her from me, that i shall preserve an eternal remembrance of her goodness." he then agreed with the confidant, that she should find him at the house where she had first seen him, whenever she had occasion to impart any thing from schemselnihar, or to hear any tidings of the prince of persia: and so they parted. the jeweller returned home well pleased, not only that he had got wherewithal so fully to satisfy his friends, but also to think that no person in bagdad could possibly know that the prince and schemselnihar had been in his other house when it was robbed. it is true, he had acquainted the thieves with it, but on their secrecy he thought he might very well depend. next morning he visited the friends who had obliged him, and found no difficulty in satisfying them. he had money in hand to furnish his other house, in which he placed servants. thus he forgot all his past danger, and the next evening waited on the prince of persia. the prince's domestics told the jeweller, that he came very opportunely, as the prince, since he had parted with him, was reduced to such a state that his life was in danger. they introduced him softly into his chamber, and he found him in a condition that excited his pity. he was lying on his bed, with his eyes closed; but when the jeweller saluted him, and exhorted him to take courage, he recollected him, opened his eyes, and gave him a look that sufficiently declared the greatness of his affliction, infinitely beyond what he felt after he first saw schemselnihar. he grasped him by the hand, to testify his friendship, and told him, in a feeble voice, that he was extremely obliged to him for coming so far to visit one so unhappy and wretched. "prince," replied the jeweller, "mention not, i beseech you, any obligations you owe to me. i wish the good offices i have endeavoured to do you had had a better effect; but at present, let us talk only of your health; which, in the state i see you, i fear you greatly injure by unreasonably abstaining from proper nourishment." the prince's servants took this opportunity to tell him, it was with the greatest difficulty they had prevailed on their master to take the smallest refreshment, and that for some time he had taken nothing. this obliged the jeweller to entreat the prince to let his servants bring him something to eat. after the prince had, through the persuasion of the jeweller, eaten more than he had hitherto done, he commanded the servants to leave him alone with his friend. when the room was clear, he said, "besides the misfortune that distracts me, i have been exceedingly concerned to think what a loss you have sustained on my account; and it is but just i should make you some recompence. but before i do this, after begging your pardon a thousand times, i conjure you to tell me whether you have learnt any tidings of schemselnihar, since i had the misfortune to be parted from her." here the jeweller, instructed by the confidant, related to him all that he knew of schemselnihar's arrival at her palace, her state of health from that time till she recovered, and how she had sent her confidant to him to inquire after his welfare. to all this the prince replied only by sighs and tears. he made an effort to get up, and calling his servants, went himself to his wardrobe, and having caused several bundles of rich furniture and plate to be packed up, he ordered them to be carried to the jeweller's house. the jeweller would fain have declined this kind offer; but although he represented that schemselnihar had already made him more than sufficient amends for what he had lost, the prince would be obeyed. the jeweller was therefore obliged to make all possible acknowledgments, and protested how much he was confounded at his highness's liberality. he would then have taken his leave, but the prince desired him to stay, and they passed good part of the night in conversation. next morning the jeweller waited again on the prince, who made him sit down by him. "you know," said he, "there is an end proposed in all things: that which the lover proposes, is to enjoy the beloved object in spite of all opposition. if once he loses that hope, he must not think to live. such is my hard case; for twice when i have been at the very point of fulfilling my desires, i have suddenly been torn from her i loved in the most cruell manner imaginable. it remains for me only to think of death, and i had sought it, but that our holy religion forbids suicide; but i need not anticipate it; i need not wait long." here he stopped, and vented his passion in groans, sighs, sobs, and tears, which flowed abundantly. the jeweller, who knew no better way of diverting him from his despair than by bringing schemselnihar into his mind, and giving him some shadow of hope, told him, he feared the confidant might be come from her lady, and therefore it would not be proper to stay any longer from home. "i will let you go," said the prince, "but conjure you, that if you see her, you recommend to her to assure schemselnihar, that if i die, as i expect to do shortly, i shall love her to the last moment, even in the grave." the jeweller returned home, and waited in expectation of seeing the confidant, who came some hours after, but all in tears, and in great affliction. the jeweller alarmed, asked her what was the matter? she answered, that schemselnihar, the prince, herself, and he, were all ruined. "hear the sad news," said she, "as it was told me just upon my entering the palace after i had left you "schemselnihar had for some fault chastised one of the slaves you saw with her when you met in your other house. the slave, enraged at the ill treatment, ran immediately away, and finding the gate open, went out; so that we have just reason to believe she has discovered all to an eunuch of the guard, who gave her protection. "but this is not all; the other slave her companion has fled too, and has taken refuge in the caliph's palace. so that we may well fear she has borne her part in this discovery: for just as i came away, the caliph had sent twenty of his eunuchs for schemselnihar, who have carried her to the palace. i just found means to come and tell you this. i know not what has passed, yet i fear no good; but above all, i recommend to you to keep the secret inviolate." the confidant added to what she had related before to the jeweller, that it was proper he should go immediately and acquaint the prince with the whole affair, that he might be prepared for every event, and keep faithful to the common cause. she went away in haste, without staying for any answer. what answer could the jeweller have made in the condition he was in? he stood motionless as if thunderstruck. he found, however, that there was no time to be lost, and immediately went to give the prince information. he addressed him with an air, that sufficiently shewed the bad news he brought. "prince," said he, "arm yourself with courage and patience, and prepare to receive the most terrible shock that ever you had to encounter." "tell me in a few words," replied the prince, "what is the matter, without keeping me in suspense; i am, if necessary, prepared to die." then the jeweller repeated all that he had learnt from the confidant. "you see," continued he, "your destruction is inevitable. rise, save yourself by flight, for the time is precious. you, of all men, must not expose yourself to the anger of the caliph, and, less than any, confess in the midst of torture." at these words the prince was ready to expire through grief, affliction, and fear. however, he recovered himself, and asked the jeweller what resolution he would advise him to take in this conjuncture, every moment of which ought to be employed. the jeweller told him, he thought nothing remained, but that he should immediately take horse, and hasten away towards anbar, that he might get thither before day. "take what servants and swift horses you think necessary," continued he, "and suffer me to escape with you." the prince, seeing nothing more to be done, immediately gave orders to prepare such an equipage as would be least troublesome; took money and jewels, and having taken leave of his mother, departed with the jeweller and such servants as he had chosen. they travelled all night without stopping, till at length, both their horses and themselves being spent with so long a journey, they halted to rest themselves. they had hardly alighted before they found themselves surrounded and assaulted by a band of robbers. they defended their lives for some time courageously; but at length the prince's servants being all killed, both he and the jeweller were obliged to yield at discretion. the robbers, however, spared their dives, but after they had seized the horses and baggage, they took away their clothes and left them naked. when the thieves were gone, the prince said to the jeweller, "what think you of our adventure and condition? had i not better have tarried in bagdad, and awaited my death?" "prince," replied the jeweller, "it is the decree of heaven that we should thus suffer. it has pleased god to add affliction to affliction. and we must not murmur, but receive his chastisements with submission. let us stay no longer here, but seek for some retreat where we may perhaps be relieved." "let me die," said the prince; "for what signifies it whether i die here or elsewhere. perhaps while we are talking, schemselnihar is no more, and why should i endeavour to live after she is dead!" the jeweller, by his entreaty, at length prevailed on him, and they had not gone far before they came to a mosque, which was open; they entered it, and passed there the remainder of the night. at day-break a man came into the mosque. when he had ended his prayer, as he turned about to go away, he perceived the prince and jeweller, who were sitting in a corner. he came up to them, and after having saluted them with a great deal of civility, said, "i perceive you are strangers." the jeweller answered, "you are not deceived. we have been robbed to-night in coming from bagdad, as you may see, and have retired hither for shelter, but we know not to whom to apply." "if you think fit to accompany me to my house," answered the man, "i will give you all the assistance in my power." upon this obliging offer, the jeweller turned to the prince, and whispered, "this man, as you perceive, sir, does not know us, and we have reason to fear that somebody else may come who does. we cannot, i think, refuse his offer." "do as you please," said the prince; "i am willing to be guided by your discretion." the man observing the prince and jeweller consulting together, and thinking they made some difficulty to accept his offer, asked them if they were resolved what to do? the jeweller answered "we are ready to follow you; all we hesitate about is that we are ashamed to appear thus naked." fortunately the man had it in his power to cover them sufficiently till they could get to his house. as soon as they had entered, he brought a very handsome suit for each of them. as he thought they must be hungry, and might wish to be alone, he had several dishes brought to them by a slave; but they ate little, especially the prince who was so dejected and dispirited, that he gave the jeweller cause to fear he would die. their host visited them several times in the course of the day, and in the evening, as he knew they wanted rest, he left them early. but he was no sooner in bed, than the jeweller was forced to call him again to assist at the death of the prince of persia. he found him breathe short, and with difficulty, which gave him reason to fear he had but few minutes to live. coming near him, the prince said, "it is all over, and i am glad you are witness of my last words. i quit life with a great deal of satisfaction; i need not tell you the reason, for you know it already. all my concern is, that i cannot die in the arms of my dear mother, who has always loved me tenderly, and for whom i had a reciprocal affection. let her know how much i was concerned at this, and request her in my name to have my body removed to bagdad, that she may have an opportunity to bedew my tomb with her tears, and assist my departed soul with her prayers." he then took notice of the master of the house, and thanked him for his kindness in taking him in; and after desiring him to let his body rest with him till it should be conveyed to bagdad, he expired. the day after the prince's death, the jeweller took the opportunity of a numerous caravan that was going to bagdad, and arrived there in safety. he first went home to change his clothes, and then hastened to the prince's palace, where every body was alarmed at not seeing the prince with him. he desired them to acquaint the prince's mother that he wished to speak with her, and it was not long before he was introduced to her in a hall, with several of her women about her. "madam," said he to her, with an air that sufficiently denoted the ill news he brought, "god preserve you, and shower down upon you the choicest of his blessings. you cannot be ignorant that he alone disposes of us at his pleasure." the princess would not permit him to proceed, but exclaimed, "alas! you bring me the news of my son's death?" she and her women at the same time wept and sobbed loudly. at length she checked her sighs and groans, and begged of him to continue without concealing from her the least circumstance of such a melancholy separation. he satisfied her, and when he had done, she farther demanded of him, if her son the prince had not given him in charge something more particular in his last moments? he assured her his last words were, that it was to him the most afflicting circumstance that he must die so far distant from his dear mother, and that the only thing he wished was, that she would have his corpse transported to bagdad. accordingly early next morning the princess set out with her women and great part of her slaves, to bring her son's body to her own palace. when the jeweller, whom she had detained, had seen her depart, he returned home very sad and melancholy, at the reflection that so accomplished and amiable a prince was thus cut off in the flower of his age. as he walked towards his house, dejected and musing, he saw a woman standing before him. he recognized her to be schemselnihar's confidant. at the sight of her, his tears began to flow afresh but he said nothing to her; and going into his own house, she followed him. they sat down; when the jeweller beginning the conversation, asked the confidant, with a deep sigh, if she had heard of the death of the prince of persia, and if it was on his account that she grieved. "alas!" answered she, "what! is that charming prince then dead? he has not lived long after his dear schemselnihar. beauteous souls," continued she, "in whatsoever place ye now are, ye must be happy that your loves will no more be interrupted. your bodies were an obstacle to your wishes; but heaven has delivered you from them; ye may now form the closest union." the jeweller, who had heard nothing of schemselnihar's death, and had not reflected that the confidant was in mourning, suffered fresh grief at this intelligence. "is schemselnihar then dead?" cried he. "she is," replied the confidant, weeping afresh, "and it is for her i wear these weeds. the circumstances of her death were extraordinary," continued she, "and deserve to be known to you: but before i give you an account of them, i beg you to acquaint me with those of the prince of persia, whom, with my dearest friend and mistress, i shall lament as long as i live." the jeweller then gave the confidant the information she desired; and after he had told her all, even to the departure of the prince's mother to bring her son's body to bagdad, she began and said, "you have not forgotten that i told you the caliph had sent for schemselnihar to his palace. he had, as we had every reason to believe, been informed of the amour betwixt her and the prince by the two slaves, whom he had examined apart. you may imagine, he would be exceedingly enraged at schemselnihar's conduct, and give striking proofs of his jealousy and of his impending vengeance against the prince. but this was by no means the case. he pitied schemselnihar, and in some measure blamed himself for what had happened, in giving her so much freedom to walk about the city without being attended by his eunuchs. this is the only conclusion that could be drawn from his extraordinary behavior towards her, as you will hear. "he received her with an open countenance; and when he observed that the melancholy which oppressed her did not lessen her beauty (for she appeared thus before him without surprise or fear), with a goodness worthy himself, he said �schemselnihar, i cannot bear your appearing before me thus with an air which gives me infinite pain. you must needs be sensible how much i have always loved you, and be convinced of the sincerity of my passion by the continued demonstrations i have given of it. i can never change my mind, for i love you more than ever. you have enemies, schemselnihar,' proceeded he, �and those enemies have insinuated things against your conduct, but all they have said against you has not made the least impression upon me. shake off then this melancholy, and prepare to entertain me this night with some amusing conversation, after your accustomed manner.' he said many other obliging things to her, and then desired her to step into a magnificent apartment near her own, and wait for him. "the afflicted schemselnihar was very sensible of the caliph's kindness; but the more she thought herself obliged to him, the more she was concerned that she was so far removed, perhaps for ever, from her prince, without whom she could not live. "this interview between the caliph and schemselnihar," continued the confidant, "took place whilst i was come to speak to you, and i learned the particulars of it from my companions who were present. but i had no sooner left you," proceeded she, "than i went to my dear mistress again, and was eye-witness to what happened in the evening. i found her in the apartment i told you of; and as she though i came from you, she drew near me, and whispering me, said, �i am much obliged to you for the service you have done me, but i feel it will be the last.' she said no more; but i was not in a place proper to offer any thing to comfort her. "the caliph was introduced at night with the sound of instruments which her women played upon, and the collation was immediately served up. he took his mistress by the hand, and made her sit down with him on the sofa; she put such a force upon herself to please him, that she expired a few minutes after. in short, she was hardly set down, when she fell backwards. the caliph believed she had only fainted, and so we all thought; but she never recovered, and in this manner we lost her. "the caliph did her the honour to weep over her, not being able to refrain from tears; and before he left the room ordered all the musical instruments to be broken; this was immediately done. i stayed with her corpse all night, and next morning washed and dressed her for her funeral, bathing her with my tears. the caliph had her interred in a magnificent tomb he had erected for her in her lifetime, in a place she had desired to be buried in. now since you tell me," said she, "the prince of persia's body is to be brought to bagdad, i will use my best endeavours that he shall be interred in the same tomb." the jeweller was much surprised at this resolution of the confidant, and said, "certainly you do not consider that the caliph will never suffer this?" "you think the thing impossible," replied she; "it is not. you will alter your opinion when i tell you that the caliph has given liberty to all her slaves, with a pension to each for their support. he has committed to me the care and keeping of my mistress's tomb, and allotted me an annual income for that purpose, and for my maintenance. besides, the caliph, who was not ignorant of the amour between schemselnihar and the prince, as i have already told you, without being offended, will not be sorry if after her death he be buried with her." to all this the jeweller had not a word to say. he earnestly entreated the confidant to conduct him to her mistress's tomb, that he might say his prayers over her. when he came in sight of it, he was not a little surprised to find a vast concourse of people of both sexes, who were come thither from all parts of bagdad. as he could not come near the tomb, he said his prayers at a distance; and then going to the confidant, who was waiting hard by, said to her, "i am now so far from thinking that what you proposed cannot be put in execution, that you and i need only publish abroad what we know of the amour of this unfortunate couple, and how the prince died much about the same time with his mistress. before his corpse arrives, all bagdad will concur to desire that two such faithful lovers, whom nothing could divide in affection whilst they lived, should not be separated when dead." it happened as he said; for as soon as it was known that the corpse was within a day's journey of the city, an infinite number of people went above twenty miles to meet it, and afterwards walked before it till it came to the city gate; where the confidant, waiting for that purpose, presented herself before the prince's mother, and begged of her in the name of the whole city, who earnestly desired it, that she would be pleased to consent that the bodies of the two lovers, who had but one heart whilst they lived, from the time their mutual passion commenced, might be buried in the same tomb. the princess immediately consented; and the corpse of the prince, instead of being deposited in his own burying-place, was laid by schemselnihar's side, after it had been carried along in procession at the head of an infinite number of people of all ranks. from that time all the inhabitants of bagdad, and even strangers from all parts of the world where the mahummedan religion prevails have held that tomb in the highest veneration, and pay their devotions at it. the story of the loves of kummir al zummaun, prince of the isles of the children of khaledan, and of badoura, princess of china. about twenty days' sail from the coast of persia, there are islands in the main ocean called the islands of the children of khaledan. these islands are divided into four great provinces, which have all of them very flourishing and populous cities, forming together a powerful kingdom. it was formerly governed by a king named shaw zummaun, who had four lawful wives, all daughters of kings, and sixty concubines. shaw zummaun thought himself the most happy monarch of the world, on account of his peaceful and prosperous reign. one thing only disturbed his happiness; which was, that he was advanced in years, and had no children, though he had so many wives. he knew not to what to attribute this barrenness; and what increased his affliction was, that he was likely to leave his kingdom without a successor. he dissembled his discontent, and this dissimulation only heightened his uneasiness. at length he broke silence; and one day after he had complained bitterly of his misfortune to his grand vizier, he asked him if he knew any remedy for it? that wise minister replied, "if what your majesty requires of me had depended on the ordinary rules of human wisdom, you had soon had an answer to your satisfaction; but my experience and knowledge fall far short of your question. it is to god only that we can apply in cases of this kind. in the midst of our prosperities, which often tempt us to forget him, he is pleased to mortify us in some instance, that we may address our thoughts to him, acknowledge his omnipotence, and ask of him what we ought to expect from him alone. your majesty has subjects," proceeded he "who make a profession of honouring and serving god, and suffering great hardships for his sake; to them i would advise you to have recourse, and engage them, by alms, to join their prayers with yours. perhaps some one among them may be so pure and pleasing to god as to obtain a hearing for your prayers." shaw zummaun approved this advice, and thanked his vizier. he immediately caused alms to be given to every community of these holy men in his dominions: and having sent for the superiors, declared to them his intention, and desired them to acquaint their devout men with it. the king obtained of heaven what he requested, for in nine months' time he had a son by one of his wives. to express his gratitude to heaven, he sent fresh alms to the communities of devotees, and the prince's birth-day was celebrated not only in his capital, but throughout his dominions, for a whole week. the prince was brought to him as soon as born, and he found him so beautiful that he gave him the name of kummir al zummaun, or moon of the age. he was brought up with all imaginable care; and when he had arrived at a proper age, his father appointed him an experienced governor and able preceptors. these persons, distinguished by their capacity, found in him a ready wit capable of receiving all the instructions that were proper to be given him, as well in relation to morals as other knowledge which a prince ought to possess. as he grew up, he learned all his exercises, and acquitted himself with such grace and wonderful address, as to charm all that saw him, and particularly the sultan his father. when he had attained the age of fifteen, the sultan, who tenderly loved him, and gave him every day new marks of his affection, proposed to afford a still higher demonstration by resigning his throne to him, and he accordingly acquainted his grand vizier with his intentions. "i fear," said he, "lest my son should lose in the inactivity of youth those advantages which nature and my education have give him; therefore, since i am advanced in age, and ought to think of retirement i propose to resign the government to him, and pass the remainder of my days in the satisfaction of seeing him reign. i have borne the fatigue of a crown till i am weary of it, and think it is now proper for me to retire." the grand vizier declined offering all the reasons he could have alleged to dissuade the sultan from such a proceeding; on the contrary, he appeared to acquiesce with him in his opinion. "sir," replied he, "the prince is yet but young, and it would not, in my humble opinion, be advisable to burden him with the weight of a crown so soon. your majesty fears, with great reason, his youth may be corrupted by indolence: but to avoid this danger, do not you think it would be proper to marry him? marriage forms attachment, and prevents dissipation. your majesty might then admit him of your council, where he would learn by degrees the art of reigning; and so be prepared to receive your authority, whenever by your own experience you shall think him qualified." shaw zummaun approved the advice of his prime minister; and summoned the prince to appear before him, at the same time that he dismissed the grand vizier. the prince, who had been accustomed to see his father only at certain times without being sent for, was a little startled at this summons; when, therefore, he came into his presence, he saluted him with great respect, and stood with his eyes fixed on the ground. the sultan perceiving his constraint, addressed him with great mildness, "do you know, son, for what reason i have sent for you?" the prince modestly replied, "god alone knows the heart: i shall hear it from your majesty with pleasure." "i sent for you," resumed the sultan, "to inform you that it is my intention to provide a proper marriage for you: what do you think of my design?" the prince heard this with great uneasiness: he was greatly agitated, and knew not what answer to make. after a few moments silence, he replied, "sir, i beseech you to pardon me if i seem surprised at the declaration you have made. i did not expect such proposals at my present age. i know not whether i could prevail on myself to marry, on account of the trouble incident to a married life, and the many treacheries of women, which i have read of. i may not be always of the same mind, yet i conceive it will require time to determine on what your majesty requires of me." the prince's answer extremely afflicted his father. he was not a little grieved to discover his aversion to marriage; yet would not charge him with disobedience, nor exert his paternal authority. he contented himself with telling him, he would not force his inclinations, but give him time to consider of the proposal; and reflect, that a prince destined to govern a great kingdom ought to take some care to leave a successor; and that in giving himself that satisfaction he communicated it to his father, who would be glad to see himself revive in his son and his issue. shaw zummaun said no more to the prince but admitted him into his council, and gave him every reason to be satisfied. at the end of the year he took him aside, and said to him; "my son, have you thoroughly considered what i proposed to you last year about marrying? will you still refuse me that pleasure i expect from your obedience, and suffer me to die without affording me that satisfaction?" the prince seemed less disconcerted than before; and was not long answering his father to this effect: "sir, i have not neglected to consider of your proposal; but after the maturest reflection find myself more confirmed in my resolution to continue in a state of celibacy. the infinite mischief which women have caused in the world, and which are on record in our histories, and the accounts i daily hear to their disadvantage, are the motives which powerfully influence me against having any thing to do with them; so that i hope your majesty will pardon me if i presume to tell you, it will be in vain to solicit me any further upon this subject." as soon as he had thus spoken, he quitted the sultan abruptly without waiting his answer. any monarch but shaw zummaun would have been angry at such freedom in a son, and would have made him repent; but he loved him, and preferred gentle methods before he proceeded to compulsion. he communicated this new cause of discontent to his prime minister. "i have followed your advice," said he, "but kummir al zummaun is farther than ever from complying with my desires. he delivered his determination in such free terms, that it required all my reason and moderation to keep my temper. fathers who so earnestly desire children as i did this son are fools, who seek to deprive themselves of that rest which it is in their own power to enjoy without control. tell me, i beseech you, how i shall reclaim a disposition so rebellious to my will?" "sir," answered the grand vizier, "patience brings many things about that before seemed impracticable; but it may be this affair is of a nature not likely to succeed that way. your majesty will have no cause to reproach yourself for precipitation, if you would give the prince another year to consider your proposal. if in this interval he return to his duty, you will have the greater satisfaction, as you will have employed only paternal love to induce him; and if he still continue averse when this is expired, your majesty may in full council observe, that it is highly necessary for the good of the state that he should marry; and it is not likely he will refuse to comply before so grave an assembly, which you honour with your presence." the sultan, who so anxiously desired to see his son married, thought this long delay an age; however, though with much difficulty, he yielded to his grand vizier's reasons, which he could not disapprove. after the grand vizier was gone, the sultan went to the apartment of the mother of prince kummir al zummaun, to whom he had often expressed his desire to see the prince married. when he had told her, with much concern, how his son had a second time refused to comply with his wishes, and the indulgence which, by the advice of his grand vizier, he was inclined to shew him; he said, "i know he has more confidence in you than he has in me, and will be more likely to attend to your advice. i therefore desire you would take an opportunity to talk to him seriously, and urge upon him, that if he persists in his obstinacy, he will oblige me to have recourse to measures which would be disagreeable to me, and which would give him cause to repent having disobeyed me." fatima, for so was the lady called, told the prince the first time she saw him, that she had been informed of his second refusal to marry; and how much chagrin his resolution had occasioned his father. "madam," replied the prince, "i beseech you not to renew my grief upon that head. i fear, under my present uneasiness, something may escape me, which may not be consistent with the respect i owe you." fatima judged from this answer that this was not a proper time to speak to him, and therefore deferred what she had to say to another opportunity. some considerable time after, fatima thought she had found a more favourable season, which gave her hopes of being heard upon that subject. "son," said she, "i beg of you, if it be not disagreeable, to tell me what reason you have for your great aversion to marriage? if it be the wickedness of some women, nothing can be more unreasonable and weak. i will not undertake the defence of those that are bad; there are a great number of them undoubtedly; but it would be the height of injustice on their account to condemn all the sex. alas! my son, you have in your books read of many bad women, who have occasioned great mischief, and i will not excuse them: but you do not consider how many monarchs, sultans, and other princes there have been in the world, whose tyrannies, barbarities, and cruelties astonish those that read of them, as well as myself. now, for one wicked woman, you will meet with a thousand tyrants and barbarians; and what torment do you think must a good woman undergo, who is matched with any of these wretches?" "madam," replied the prince, "i doubt not there are a great number of wise, virtuous, good, affable, and well-behaved women in the world; would to god they all resembled you! but what deters me is, the hazardous choice a man is obliged to make, and oftentimes one has not the liberty of following his inclination. "let us suppose then, madam," continued he, "that i had a mind to marry, as the sultan my father so earnestly desires; what wife, think you, would he be likely to provide for me? probably a princess whom he would demand of some neighbouring prince, and who would think it an honour done him to send her. handsome or ugly, she must be taken; nay, suppose no other princess excelled her in beauty, who can be certain that her temper would be good; that she would be affable, complaisant, easy, obliging, and the like? that her conversation would generally turn on solid subjects, and not on dress, fashions, ornaments, and a thousand such fooleries, which would disgust any man of sense? in a word, that she would not be haughty, proud, arrogant, impertinent, scornful, and waste an estate in frivolous expenses, such as gay clothes, jewels, toys, and foolish mistaken magnificence? "you see, madam," continued he, "by one single article, how many reasons a man may have to be disgusted at marriage. let this princess be ever so perfect, accomplished, and irreproachable in her conduct, i have yet a great many more reasons not to alter my opinion and resolution." "what, son," exclaimed fatima; "have you then more reasons after those you have already alleged? i do not doubt of being able to answer them, and stop your mouth with a word." "you may proceed, madam," returned the prince, "and perhaps i may find a reply to your answer." "i mean, son," said fatima, "that it is easy for a prince, who has had the misfortune to marry such a wife as you describe, to get rid of her, and take care that she may not ruin the state." "ah, madam," replied the prince, "but you do not consider what a mortification it would be to a person of my quality to be obliged to come to such an extremity. would it not have been more for his honour and quiet that he had never run such a risk?" "but, son," said fatima once more, "as you take the case, i apprehend you have a mind to be the last king of your race, who have reigned so long and gloriously over the isles of the children of khaledan?" "madam," replied the prince, "for myself i do not desire to survive the king my father; and if i should die before him, it would be no great matter of wonder, since so many children have died before their parents. but it is always glorious to a race of kings, that it should end with a prince worthy to be so, as i should endeavour to make myself like my predecessors, and like the first of our race." from that time fatima had frequent conferences with her son the prince on the same subject; and she omitted no opportunity or argument to endeavour to root out his aversion to the fair sex; but he eluded all her reasonings by such arguments as she could not well answer, and continued unaltered. the year expired, and, to the great regret of the sultan, prince kummir al zummaun gave not the least proof of having changed his sentiments. one day, therefore, when there was a great council held, the prime vizier, the other viziers, the principal officers of the crown, and the generals of the army being present, the sultan thus addressed the prince: "my son, it is now a long while since i expressed to you my earnest desire to see you married, and i imagined you would have had more complaisance for a father, who required nothing unreasonable of you, than to oppose him so long. but after such a resistance on your part, which has almost worn out my patience, i have thought fit to propose the same thing once more to you in the presence of my council. it is not merely to oblige a parent that you ought to have acceded to my wish, the well-being of my dominions requires your compliance, and this assembly join with me in expecting it: declare yourself, then; that your answer may regulate my proceedings." the prince answered with so little reserve, or rather with so much warmth, that the sultan, enraged to see himself thwarted by him in full council, exclaimed, "how, unnatural son! have you the insolence to talk thus to your father and sultan?" he ordered the guards to take him away, and carry him to an old tower that had been long unoccupied; where he was shut up, with only a bed, a little furniture, some books, and one slave to attend him. kummir al zummaun, thus deprived of liberty, was nevertheless pleased that he had the freedom to converse with his books, which made him regard his confinement with indifference. in the evening he bathed and said his prayers; and after having read some chapters in the koraun, with the same tranquillity of mind as if he had been in the sultan's palace, he undressed himself and went to bed, leaving his lamp burning by him while he slept. in this tower was a well, which served in the daytime for a retreat to a certain fairy, named maimoune, daughter of damriat, king or head of a legion of genies. it was about midnight when maimoune sprung lightly to the mouth of the well, to wander about the world after her wonted custom, where her curiosity led her. she was surprised to see a light in the prince's chamber. she entered, and without stopping at the slave who lay at the door, approached the bed. the prince had but half covered his face with the bed-clothes, which maimoune lifted up, and perceived the finest young man she had ever seen in her rambles through the world. "what beauty, or rather what prodigy of beauty," said she within herself, "must this youth appear, when the eyes, concealed by such well-formed eyelids, shall be open? what crime can he have committed, that a man of his high rank can deserve to be treated thus rigorously?" for she had already heard his story, and could hardly believe it. she could not forbear admiring the prince, till at length having kissed him gently on both cheeks, and in the middle of the forehead, without waking him, she laid the bed-clothes in the order they were in before, and took her flight into the air. as she was ascending into the middle region, she heard a great flapping of wings, towards which she directed her course; and when she approached, she knew it was a genie who made the noise, but it was one of those that are rebellious against god. as for maimoune, she belonged to that class whom the great solomon had compelled to acknowledge him. this genie, whose name was danhasch, and son of schamhourasch, knew maimoune, and was seized with fear, being sensible how much power she had over him by her submission to the almighty. he would fain have avoided her, but she was so near him, he must either fight or yield. he therefore broke silence first. "brave maimoune," said he, in the tone of a suppliant, "swear to me in the name of the great god, that you will not hurt me; and i swear also on my part not to do you any harm." "cursed genie," replied maimoune, "what hurt canst thou do me? i fear thee not; but i will grant thee this favour; i will swear not to do thee any harm. tell me then, wandering spirit, whence thou comest, what thou hast seen, and what thou hast done this night?" "fair lady," answered danhasch, "you meet me in a good time to hear something very wonderful." danhasch, the genie rebellious against god, proceeded and said to maimoune, "since you desire, i will inform you that i have come from the utmost limits of china, which comprise the remotest islands of this hemisphere. . . . . but, charming maimoune," said danhasch, who trembled with fear at the sight of this fairy, so that he could hardly speak, "promise me at least you will forgive me, and let me proceed after i have satisfied your request." "go on, cursed spirit," replied maimoune; "go on, and fear nothing. dost thou think i am as perfidious as thyself, and capable of breaking the solemn oath i have made? be sure you relate nothing but what is true, or i shall clip thy wings, and treat thee as thou deserves" danhasch, a little encouraged by the words of maimoune, said, "my dear lady, i will tell you nothing but what is strictly true, if you will but have the goodness to hear me. the country of china, from whence i come, is one of the largest and most powerful kingdoms of the earth, on which depend the remotest islands of this hemisphere, as i have already told you. the king of this country is at present gaiour, who has an only daughter, the finest woman that ever was seen in the world since it has been a world. neither you nor i, neither your class nor mine, nor all our respective genies, have expressions forcible enough, nor eloquence sufficient to convey an adequate description of her charms. her hair is brown, and of such length as to trail on the ground; and so thick, that when she has fastened it in buckles on her head, it may be fitly compared to one of those fine clusters of grapes whose fruit is so very large. her forehead is as smooth as the best polished mirror, and admirably formed. her eyes are black, sparkling, and full of fire. her nose is neither too long nor too short, and her mouth small and of a vermilion colour. her teeth are like two rows of pearls, and surpass the finest in whiteness. when she moves her tongue to speak, she utters a sweet and most agreeable voice; and expresses herself in such terms, as sufficiently indicate the vivacity of her wit. the whitest alabaster is not fairer than her neck. in a word, by this imperfect sketch, you may guess there is no beauty likely to exceed her in the world. "any one that did not know the king, the father of this incomparable princess, would be apt to imagine, from the great respect and kindness he shews her, that he was enamoured with her. never did a lover more for the most beloved mistress than he has been seen to do for her. the most violent jealousy never suggested such measures as his care has led him to adopt, to keep her from every one but the man who is to marry her: and that the retreat in which he has resolved to place her may not seem irksome, he has built for her seven palaces, the most extraordinary and magnificent that ever were known. "the first palace is of rock crystal, the second of brass, the third of fine steel, the fourth of another kind of brass more valuable than the former and also than steel, the fifth of touchstone, the sixth of silver, and the seventh of massive gold. he has furnished these palaces most sumptuously, each in a manner corresponding to the materials of the structure. he has embellished the gardens with parterres of grass and flowers, intermixed with pieces of water, water-works, jets d'eau, canals, cascades, and several great groves of trees, where the eye is lost in the perspective, and where the sun never enters, and all differently arranged. king gaiour, in a word, has shewn that his paternal love has led him to spare no expense. "upon the fame of this incomparable princess's beauty, the most powerful neighbouring kings have sent ambassadors to solicit her in marriage. the king of china received them all in the same obliging manner; but as he resolved not to marry his daughter without her consent, and she did not like any of the parties, the ambassadors were forced to return as they came, as to the subject of their embassy; they were perfectly satisfied with the great honours and civilities they had received. "�sir,' said the princess to the king her father, � you have an inclination to see me married, and think to oblige me by it; but where shall i find such stately palaces and delicious gardens as are furnished me by your majesty? through your good pleasure i am under no constraint, and have the same honours shewn to me as are paid to yourself. these are advantages i cannot expect to find any where else, whoever may be my husband; men love to be masters, and i have no inclination to be commanded.' "after several other embassies on the same occasion, there arrived one from a king more opulent and powerful than any of the preceding. this prince the king of china recommended to his daughter for her husband, urging many forcible arguments to shew how much it would be to her advantage to accept him, but she entreated her father to excuse her compliance for the reasons she had before urged. he pressed her; but instead of consenting, she lost all the respect due to the king her father: � sir,' said she, in anger, �talk to me no more of this or any other match, unless you would have me plunge this dagger in my bosom, to deliver myself from your importunities' "the king, greatly enraged, said, �daughter, you are mad, and i must treat you accordingly.' in a word, he had her shut up in a single apartment of one of his palaces, and allowed her only ten old women to wait upon her, and keep her company, the chief of whom had been her nurse that the kings his neighbours, who had sent embassies to him on her account, might not think any more of her, he despatched envoys to them severally, to let them know how averse his daughter was to marriage; and as he did not doubt but she was really mad, he charged them to make known in every court, that if there were any physician that would undertake to cure her, he should, if he succeeded, have her for his pains. "fair maimoune," continued danhasch, "all that i have told you is true; and i have gone every day regularly to contemplate this incomparable beauty, to whom i would be sorry to do the least harm, notwithstanding my natural inclination to mischief. come and see her, i conjure you; it would be well worth your while. when you have seen from your own observation that i am no liar, i am persuaded you will think yourself obliged to me for the sight of a princess unequalled in beauty." instead of answering danhasch, maimoune burst out into violent laughter, which lasted for some time; and danhasch, not knowing what might be the occasion of it, was astonished beyond measure. when she had done laughing, she exclaimed, "good, good, very good! you would have me then believe all you have told me? i thought you designed to tell me something surprising and extraordinary, and you have been talking all this while of a mad woman. fie, fie! what would you say, cursed genie, if you had seen the beautiful prince from whom i am just come, and whom i love as he deserves. i am confident you would soon give up the contest, and not pretend to compare your choice with mine." "agreeable maimoune," replied danhasch, "may i presume to ask who this prince you speak of is?" "know," answered maimoune, "the same thing has happened to him as to your princess. the king his father would have married him against his will; but after much importunity, he frankly told him he would have nothing to do with a wife. for this reason he is at this moment imprisoned in an old tower where i reside." "i will not absolutely contradict you," replied danhasch; "but, my pretty lady, you must give me leave to be of opinion, till i have seen your prince, that no mortal upon earth can equal my princess in beauty." "hold thy tongue, cursed sprite," replied maimoune. "i tell thee once more thou art wrong." "i will not contend with you," said danhasch, "but the way to be convinced, whether what i say be true or false, is to accept of my proposal to go and see my princess, and after that i will go with you to your prince." "there is no need i should be at so much trouble," replied maimoune; "there is another way to satisfy us both; and that is, for you to bring your princess, and place her at my prince's bed- side: by this means it will be easy for us to compare them together, and determine the dispute." danhasch consented, and determined to set out immediately for china. but maimoune drew him aside, and told him, she must first shew him the tower whither he was to bring the princess. they flew together to the tower, and when maimoune had strewn it to danhasch, she cried, "go fetch your princess, and do it quickly, you will find me here." danhasch left maimoune, and flew towards china, whence he soon returned with incredible speed, bringing the fair princess along with him asleep. maimoune received him, and introduced him into the chamber of kummir al zummaun, where they placed the princess by the prince's side. when the prince and princess were thus laid together, there arose a sharp contest between the genie and the fairy about the preference of their beauty. they were some time admiring and comparing them without speaking; at length danhasch said to maimoune, "you see, and i have already told you, my princess was handsomer than your prince; now, i hope, you are convinced." "how! convinced!" replied maimoune; "i am not convinced, and you must be blind, if you cannot see that my prince excels in the comparison. that the princess is fair, i do not deny; but if you compare them together without prejudice, you will soon see the difference." "how much soever i may compare them," returned danhasch, "i shall never change my opinion. i saw at first sight what i now behold, and time will not make me see differently: however, this shall not hinder my yielding to you, charming maimoune, if you desire it." "what! have you yield to me as a favour! i scorn it," said maimoune, "i would not receive a favour at the hand of such a wicked genie. i will refer the matter to an umpire, and if you do not consent, i shall win by your refusal." danhasch, who was ready to have shewn a different kind of complaisance, no sooner gave his consent, than maimoune stamped with her foot. the earth opened, and out came a hideous, hump- backed, squinting, and lame genie, with six horns upon his head, and claws on his hands and feet. as soon as he was come out, and the earth had closed, perceiving maimoune, he threw himself at her feet, and then rising on one knee, inquired her commands. "rise, caschcasch," said maimoune, "i brought you hither to determine a difference between me and this cursed danhasch. look on that bed, and tell me without partiality who is the handsomer of those two that lie there asleep, the young man or the young lady." caschcasch looked on the prince and princess with great attention, admiration, and surprise; and after he had considered them a good while, without being able to determine, he turned to maimoune, and said, "madam, i must confess i should deceive you, and betray myself, if i pretended to say one was handsomer than the other. the more i examine them, the more clearly it appears to me each possesses, in a sovereign degree, the beauty of which both partake. neither of them appears to have the least defect, to yield to the other the palm of superiority; but if there be any difference, the best way to determine it is, to awaken them one after the other, and to agree that the person who shall express most love for the other by ardour, eagerness, and passion, shall be deemed to have in some respect less beauty." this proposal of caschcasch's pleased both maimoune and danhasch. maimoune then changed herself into a flea, and leaping on the prince's neck, stung him so smartly, that he awoke, and put up his hand to the place; but maimoune skipped away, and resumed her pristine form, which, like those of the two genies, was invisible, the better to observe what he would do. in drawing back his hand, the prince chanced to let it fall on that of the princess of china. he opened his eyes, and was exceedingly surprised to find lying by him a lady of the greatest beauty. he raised his head, and leaned on his elbow, the better to observe her. her blooming youth and incomparable beauty fired him in a moment with a flame of which he had never yet been sensible, and from which he had hitherto guarded himself with the greatest attention. love seized on his heart in the most lively manner, and he exclaimed, "what beauty! what charms! my heart! my soul!" as he spoke he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and her mouth with so little caution, that he would have awakened her, had she not slept sounder than ordinary, through the enchantment of danhasch. "how!" said the prince, "do you not awake at these testimonies of love?" he was going to awake her, but suddenly refrained. "is not this she," said he, "that the sultan my father would have had me marry? he was in the wrong not to let me see her sooner. i should not have offended him by my disobedience and passionate language to him in public, and he would have spared himself the confusion which i have occasioned him." the prince began to repent sincerely of the fault he had committed, and was once more on the point of awaking the princess of china. "it may be," said he, "that the sultan my father has a mind to surprise me; and has sent this young lady to try if i had really that aversion to marriage which i pretended. who knows but he has brought her himself, and is hidden behind the hangings, to observe me, and make me ashamed of my dissimulation? the second fault would be greater than the first. at all events, i will content myself with this ring, as a remembrance of her." he then gently drew off a ring which the princess had on her finger, and immediately replaced it with one of his own. after this he fell into a more profound sleep than before, through the enchantment of the genies. danhasch now transformed himself into a flea in his turn, and bit the princess so rudely on the lip, that she awoke, started up, and on opening her eyes, was not a little surprised to see a man lying by her side. from surprise she proceeded to admiration, and from admiration to a transport of joy, at beholding so beautiful and lovely a youth. "what!" cried she, "is it you the king my father has designed me for a husband? would that i had known it, for then i should not have displeased him, nor been deprived of a husband whom i cannot forbear loving. wake then, awake!" so saying, she took the prince by the arm, and shook him so violently, that he would have awaked, had not maimoune increased his sleep by her enchantment. she shook him several times, and finding he did not awake, exclaimed, "what is come to thee? what jealous rival, envying thy happiness and mine, has had recourse to magic to throw thee into this unconquerable drowsiness when thou shouldst be most awake?" tired at length with her fruitless endeavours to awaken the prince; "since," said she, "i find it is not in my power to awake thee, i will no longer disturb thy repose, but wait our next meeting." after having kissed his cheek, she lay down and fell asleep by enchantment. maimoune now cried out to danhasch, "ah, cursed genie, art thou not now convinced how much thy princess is inferior to my prince? another time believe me when i assert any thing." then turning to caschcasch, "as for you," said she, "i thank you for your trouble; take the princess, in conjunction with danhasch, and convey her back again to her bed, from whence he has taken her." danhasch and caschcasch did as they were commanded, and maimoune retired to her well. kummir al zummaun on waking next morning, looked if the lady whom he had seen the night before were by him. when he found she was gone, he cried out, "i thought indeed this was a trick the king my father designed to play me. i am glad i was aware of it." he then awaked the slave, who was still asleep, and after he had washed and said his prayers, took a book and read some time. after these usual exercises, he called the slave, and said to him, "come hither, and be sure you do not tell me a lie. how came the lady hither who lay with me to-night, and who brought her?" "my lord," answered the slave with great astonishment, "i know not what lady your highness speaks of." "i speak," said the prince, "of her who came, or rather was brought hither, and lay with me to-night." "my lord," replied the slave, "i swear i know of no such lady; and how should she come in without my knowledge, since i lay at the door?" "you are a lying knave," replied the prince, "and in the plot to vex and provoke me." he then gave him a box on the ear, which knocked him down; and after having stamped upon him for some time, he tied the well-rope under his arms, and plunged him several times into the water, neck and heels. "i will drown thee," cried he, "if thou dost not tell me directly who this lady was, and who brought her." the slave, perplexed and half dead, said within himself, "the prince must have lost his senses through grief, and i shall not escape if i do not tell him a falsehood. my lord," cried he, in a suppliant tone, "i beseech your highness to spare my life, and i will tell you the truth." the prince drew the slave up, and pressed him to tell him. as soon as he was out of the well, "my lord," said he, trembling, "your highness must perceive it is impossible for me to satisfy you in my present condition; i beg you to give me leave first to go and change my clothes." "i permit you, but do it quickly," said the prince; "and be sure you conceal nothing." the slave went out, and having locked the door upon the prince, ran to the palace just as he was. the king was at that time in discourse with his prime vizier, to whom he had just related the grief in which he had passed the night on account of his son's disobedience and opposition to his will. the minister endeavoured to comfort his master, by telling him, the prince himself had given him cause for his severity. "sir," said he, "your majesty need not repent of having treated your son in this manner. have but patience to let him continue a while in prison, and assure yourself his heat will abate, and he will submit to all you require." the grand vizier had but just done speaking when the slave came in, and cast himself at the feet of the sovereign. "my lord," said he, "i am sorry to be the messenger of ill news to your majesty, which i know must occasion you fresh affliction. the prince is distracted; he raves of a lady having lain with him all night, and his treatment of me, as you may see, too plainly proves the state of his mind." then he proceeded to relate the particulars of what the prince had said, and the violence with which he had been treated. the king, who did not expect to hear any thing of this afflicting kind, said to the prime minister, "this is a melancholy turn, very different from the hopes you gave me: go immediately and examine the condition of my son." the grand vizier obeyed; and coming into the prince's chamber, found him sitting on his bed with a book in his hand, which he was reading. after mutual salutations, the vizier said, "my lord, i wish that a slave of yours were punished for coming to alarm the king your father by news that he has brought him." "what is it," demanded the prince, "that could give my father so much uneasiness?" "prince," answered the vizier, "god forbid that the intelligence he has conveyed to your father concerning you should be true; indeed, i find it to be false, by the calm temper in which i observe you, and which i pray you to continue." "it may be," replied the prince, "he did not make himself well understood; but since you are come, who ought to know something of the matter, permit me to ask you who that lady was that lay with me last night?" the grand vizier was thunderstruck at this question; he recovered himself and said, "my lord, be not surprised at my astonishment at your question. is it possible, that a lady or any other person should penetrate by night into this place without entering at the door, and walking over the body of your slave? i beseech you, recollect yourself, and you will find it is only a dream which has made this impression on you." "i give no ear to what you say," replied the prince, raising his voice. "i must know from you absolutely what is become of the lady; and if you hesitate, i am in a place where i shall soon be able to force you to obey me." at this stern language, the grand vizier began to feel more alarmed than before, and to think how he could extricate himself. he endeavoured to pacify the prince, and begged of him, in the most humble and guarded manner, to tell him if he had seen this lady. "yes, yes," answered the prince, "i have seen her, and am very well satisfied you sent her here to tempt me. she played the part in which you had instructed her admirably well. she pretended to be asleep, and i had no sooner fallen into a slumber, than she arose and left me. you know all this; for i doubt not she has been to make her report to you." "my lord," replied the vizier, "i swear to you nothing of this kind has been acted; neither your father nor i sent this lady you speak of; permit me therefore once more to suggest to your highness, that you have only seen this lady in a dream." "do you come to affront and contradict me," said the prince in a rage, "and to tell me to my face, that what i have told you is a dream?" at the same time he took him by the beard, and loaded him with blows, as long as he could stand. the grand vizier endured with respectful patience all the violence of the prince's indignation, and could not help saying within himself, "now am i in as bad a condition as the slave, and shall think myself happy, if i can, like him, escape from any further danger." in the midst of repeated blows, he cried out but for a moment's audience, which the prince, after he had nearly tired himself with beating him, consented to give him. "i own, my prince," said the grand vizier dissembling, "there is something in what your highness suspects; but you cannot be ignorant of the necessity a minister is under to obey his royal master's commands: yet, if you will but be pleased to set me at liberty, i will go and tell him any thing on your behalf that you shall think fit to require." "go then," said the prince, "and tell him from me, if he pleases, i will marry the lady he sent me, or, rather, that was brought to me last night. do this immediately, and bring me a speedy answer." the grand vizier made a profound reverence and went away, not thinking himself altogether safe till he had got out of the tower, and had closed the door on the prince. he came and presented himself before shaw zummaun, with a countenance that sufficiently shewed he had been ill used, and which the king could not behold without concern. "well," said the king, "in what condition did you find my son?" "sir," answered the vizier, "what the slave reported to your majesty is but too true." he then began to relate his interview with the prince, how he flew into a passion upon his endeavouring to persuade him it was impossible the lady he spoke of should have been introduced; the ill treatment he had received from him; how he had used him, and by what means he had made his escape. the king, the more concerned as he loved the prince with excessive tenderness, resolved to find out the truth, and therefore proposed to go himself and see his son in the tower, accompanied by the grand vizier. the prince received his father in the tower, where he was confined, with great respect. the king put several questions to him, which he answered calmly. the king every now and then looked on the grand vizier, as intimating he did not find his son had lost his wits, but rather thought he had lost his. the king at length spoke of the lady to the prince. "my son," said he, "i desire you to tell me what lady it was who lay with you last night." "sir," answered the prince, "i beg of your majesty not to give me more vexation on that head, but rather to oblige me by letting me have her in marriage; whatever aversion i may hitherto have discovered for women, this young lady has charmed me to that degree, that i cannot help confessing my weakness. i am ready to receive her at your majesty's hands, with the deepest gratitude." shaw zummaun was surprised at this answer of the prince, so remote, as he thought, from the good sense he had strewn before. "my son," said he, "you fill me with the greatest astonishment by what you say: i swear to you i know nothing of the lady you mention; and if any such has come to you, it was without my knowledge or privily. but how could she get into this tower without my consent? for whatever my grand vizier told you, it was only to appease your anger, it must therefore be a mere dream; and i beg of you not to believe otherwise, but recover your senses." "sir," replied the prince, "i should be for ever unworthy of your majesty's favour, if i did not give entire credit to what you are pleased to say but i humbly beseech you at the same time to give a patient hearing to what i shall relate, and then to judge whether what i have the honour to tell you be a dream or not." the prince then related to his father how he had been awaked, exaggerating the beauty and charms of the lady he found by his side, the instantaneous love he conceived for her, and the pains he took to awaken her without effect. shewing the king the ring he had taken from her finger he added, "after this, i hope you will be convinced that i have not lost my senses, as you have been almost made to believe." shaw zummaun was so perfectly convinced of the truth of what his son had been telling him, that he could make no reply, remaining astonished for some time, and not being able to utter a syllable. the prince took advantage of this opportunity, and said, "the passion i have conceived for this charming lady, whose lovely image i bear continually in my mind, is so ardent, that i cannot resist it. i entreat you therefore to have compassion, and procure me the happiness of being united to her." "son," replied the king, "after what i have just heard, and what i see by the ring on your finger, i cannot doubt but that your passion is real, and that you have seen this lady, who is the object of it. would to god i knew who she was. i would instantly comply with your wishes, and should be the happiest father in the world! but where shall i seek her? how came she here, and by what conveyance, without my consent? why did she come to sleep with you only to display her beauty, to kindle a flame of love while she slept, and then leave you while you were in a slumber? these things, i must confess, i do not understand; and if heaven do not favour us in our perplexity, i fear we must both go down to the grave together." as he spoke, he took the prince by the hand, and said, "come then, my son, let us go and grieve together; you with hopeless love, and i with seeing your affliction, without being able to afford you relief." shaw zummaun then led his son out of the tower, and conveyed him to the palace, where he had no sooner arrived, than in despair at loving an unknown object he fell sick, and took to his bed; the king shut himself up with him, without attending to the affairs of his kingdom for many days. the prime minister, who was the only person that had admittance, at length informed him, that the whole court, and even the people, began to murmur at not seeing him, and that he did not administer justice every day as he was wont to do; adding, he knew not what disorder it might occasion. "i humbly beg your majesty, therefore," proceeded he, "to pay some attention. i am sensible your majesty's company is a great comfort to the prince, and that his tends to relieve your grief; but you must not run the risk of letting all be lost. permit me to propose to your majesty, to remove with the prince to the castle near the port, where you may give audience to your subjects twice a week only. during these absences the prince will be so agreeably amused with the beauty, prospect, and good air of the place, that he will bear them with the less uneasiness." the king approved this proposal: he removed thither with the prince; and, excepting when he gave audience, never left him, but passed all his time endeavouring to comfort him by sharing his distress. whilst matters passed thus in the capital of shaw zummaun, the two genies, danhasch and caschcasch, had carried the princess of china back to the palace where the king her father had confined her, and laid her in her bed as before. when she awoke next morning, and found that prince kummir al zummaun was not by her, she cried out in such a manner to her women, that she soon brought them to her bed. her nurse, who arrived first, desired to be informed if any thing disagreeable had happened to her. "tell me," said the princess, "what is become of the young man that has passed the night with me, and whom i love with all my soul?" "madam," replied the nurse, "we cannot understand your highness, unless you will be pleased to explain yourself." "a young man, the handsomest and most amiable," said the princess, "slept with me last night, whom, with all my caresses, i could not awake; i ask you where he is?"' "madam,"answered the nurse, "your highness asks us these questions in jest. i beseech you to rise." "i am in earnest," said the princess, "and i must know where this young man is." "madam," insisted the nurse, "you were alone when you went to bed last night; and how any man could come to you without our knowledge we cannot imagine, for we all lay about the door of your chamber, which was locked, and i had the key in my pocket." at this the princess lost all patience,and taking her nurse by the hair of her head, and giving her two or three sound cuffs, cried, "you shall tell me where this young man is, you old sorceress, or i will put you to death." the nurse struggled to get from her, and at last succeeded. she went immediately with tears in her eyes, and her face all bloody, to complain to the queen, who was not a little surprised to see her in this condition, and asked who had misused her. "madam," began the nurse, "you see how the princess has treated me; she had certainly murdered me, if i had not had the good fortune to escape out of her hands." she then related what had been the cause of all that violent passion in the princess. the queen was surprised at her account, and could not guess how she came to be so infatuated as to take that for a reality which could be no other than a dream. "your majesty must conclude from all this," continued the nurse, "that the princess is out of her senses. you will think so yourself if you will go and see her." the queen's affection for the princess deeply interested her in what she heard; she ordered the nurse to follow her; and they immediately went together to the princess's palace. the queen of china sat down by her daughter's bed-side on her arrival in her apartment, and after she had informed herself about her health began to ask her what had made her so angry with her nurse, as to treat her in the manner she had done. "daughter," said she, "this is not right, and a great princess like you should not suffer herself to be so transported by passion," "madam," replied the princess, "i plainly perceive your majesty is come to mock me; but i declare i will never let you rest till you consent to my marrying the young man who lay with me last night. you must know where he is, and therefore i beg of your majesty to let him come to me again." "daughter," answered the queen, "you surprise me; i do not understand your meaning." the princess now forgot all respect for the queen; "madam," replied she, "the king my father and you have persecuted me about marrying, when i had no inclination; i now have an inclination, and i will have this young man i told you of for my husband, or i will destroy myself." the queen endeavoured to calm the princess by conciliatory language: "daughter," said she, "you know well you are guarded in this apartment, how then could any man come to you?" but instead of attending to her, the princess interrupted her, by such extravagancies as obliged the queen to leave her, and retire in great affliction, to inform the king of all that had passed. when the king had heard the account, he wished likewise to be satisfied in person, and coming to his daughter's apartment, asked her, if what he had been told was true? "sir," replied the princess, "let us talk no more of that; i only beseech your majesty to grant me the favour, that i may marry the young man i lay with last night." "what! daughter," said the king, "has any one lain with you last night?" "how, sir," replied the princess, without giving him time to go on, "do you ask me if any one lay with me last night? your majesty knows that but too well. he was the most beautiful youth the sun ever saw: i ask him of you for my husband; i entreat you do not refuse me. but that your majesty may not longer doubt whether i have seen this young man, whether he has lain with me, whether i have caressed him, or whether i did not my utmost to awake him without succeeding, see, if you please, this ring." she then reached forth her hand, and shewed the king a man's ring on her finger. the king was perplexed what to think. he had confined his daughter as mad, he began now to think her more insane than ever. without saying any thing more to her, lest she might do violence to herself or somebody about her, he had her chained, and confined more closely than before, allowing her only the nurse to wait on her, with a good guard at the door. the king, exceedingly concerned at this indisposition of his daughter, sought all possible means to effect her cure. he assembled his council, and after having acquainted them with her condition "if any of you," said he, "is capable of undertaking to restore her to health, and succeed, i will give her to him in marriage, and make him heir to my dominions." the desire of obtaining a handsome young princess, and the hopes of one day governing so great a kingdom as that of china, had a powerful effect on an emir, already advanced in years, who was present at this council. as he was well skilled in magic, he offered the king to recover his daughter, and flattered himself with success. "i consent to the trial," said the king; "but i forgot to tell you one condition, and that is, that if you do not succeed, you shall lose your head. it would not be reasonable you should have so great a reward, and yet run no risk: and what i say to you," continued the king, "i say to all others who shall come after you, that they may consider beforehand what they undertake." the emir accepted the condition, and the king conducted him to the princess's place of confinement. she covered her face as soon as she saw them enter, and exclaimed, "your majesty surprises me, in bringing with you a man whom i do not know, and by whom my religion forbids me to let myself be seen." "daughter," replied the king, "you need not be scandalized, it is only one of my emirs who is come to demand you in marriage." "it is not, i perceive, the person that you have already given me, and whose faith is plighted by the ring i wear," replied the princess; "be not offended that i will never marry any other." the emir expected the princess would have said or done some extravagant thing, and was not a little disappointed when he heard her talk so calmly and rationally; for he then concluded that her disease was nothing but a violent and deep-rooted passion. he therefore threw himself at his majesty's feet, and said, "after what i have heard and observed, sir, it will be to no purpose for me to think of curing the princess, since i have no remedies proper for her malady; for which reason i humbly submit my life to your majesty's pleasure." the king, enraged at his incapacity, and the trouble he had given him, caused him to be immediately beheaded. some days after, unwilling to have it said that he had neglected his daughter's cure, the king put forth a proclamation in his capital, importing, that if there were any physician, astrologer, or magician who would undertake to restore the princess to her senses, he needed only to offer himself, and he should be employed, on condition of losing his head if he failed. he had the same published in the other principal cities and towns of his dominions, and in the courts of the princes his neighbours. the first that presented himself was an astrologer and magician, whom the king caused to be conducted to the princess's prison by an eunuch. the astrologer drew forth, out of a bag he carried under his arm, an astrolabe, a small sphere, a chafing-dish, several sorts of drugs proper for fumigations, a brass pot, with many other articles, and desired he might have a fire. the princess demanded what all these preparations were for. "madam," answered the eunuch, "they are to exorcise the evil spirit that possesses you, to shut him up in this pot, and throw him into the sea." "foolish astrologer," replied the princess, "i have no occasion for any of your preparations, but am in my perfect senses, and you alone are mad. if your art can bring him i love to me, i shall be obliged to you; otherwise you may go about your business, for i have nothing to do with you." "madam," said the astrologer, "if your case be so, i shall desist from all endeavours, believing the king your father only can remove your disorder:" so putting up his trinkets again, he marched away, much concerned that he had so easily undertaken to cure an imaginary malady. the eunuch conducted the astrologer to the king, whom the astrologer thus addressed: "according to what your majesty published in your proclamation, and what you were pleased to confirm to me yourself, i thought the princess was insane, and depended on being able to recover her by the secrets i have long been acquainted with; but i soon found she had no other disease but that of love, over which my art has no power: your majesty alone is the physician who can cure her, by giving her in marriage the person whom she desires." the king was much enraged at the astrologer, and had his head instantly cut off. a hundred and fifty astrologers, physicians, and magicians, came on this account, who all underwent the same fate; and their heads were set upon poles on every gate of the city. the princess of china's nurse had a son whose name was marzavan, who had been foster-brother to the princess, and brought up with her, the friendship was so great during their childhood, and all the time they had been together, that as they grew up, even some time after their separation, they treated each other as brother and sister. marzavan, among other studies, had from his youth been much addicted to judicial astrology, geomancy, and the like secret arts, wherein he became exceedingly skilful. not satisfied with what he had learned from masters, he travelled, and there was hardly any person of note in any science or art, but he sought him in the most remote cities, to obtain information, so great was his thirst after knowledge. after several years' absence in foreign parts, he returned to the capital of his native country, where, seeing so many heads on the gate by which he entered, he was exceedingly surprised, and demanded for what reason they had been placed there; but he more particularly inquired after the princess his foster-sister. as he could not receive an answer to one inquiry without the other, he heard at length a general account of what had happened, and waited for further particulars till he could see his mother, the princess's nurse. although the nurse, the mother of marzavan, was much employed about the princess, yet she no sooner heard her son was returned, than she found time to come out, embrace him, and converse with him a little. having told him, with tears in her eyes, the unhappy condition of the princess, and for what reason the king her father had confined her; her son desired to know if she could not procure him a private view of her royal mistress, without the king's knowledge. after some pause, she told him she could give him no answer for the present; but if he would meet her the next day at the same hour, she would inform him. the nurse knowing none could approach the princess but herself; without leave of the eunuch, who commanded the guard at the gate, addressed: herself to him, and said, "you know i have brought up and suckled the princess, and you may likewise have heard that i had a daughter whom i brought up along with her. this daughter has been since married, yet the princess still does her the honour to love her, and wishes to see her, without any person's observing her enter or depart." the nurse was proceeding, but the eunuch interrupted her and exclaimed, "say no more, i will with pleasure do any thing to oblige the princess; go and fetch your daughter, or send for her about midnight,and the gate shall be open for you." as soon as it was dark, the nurse went to marzavan, and having dressed him so well in women's clothes, that nobody could suspect he was a man, carried him along with her; and the eunuch believing it was her daughter, admitted them. the nurse, before she presented marzavan, went to the princess, and said, "madam, this is not a woman i have brought to you, it is my son marzavan in disguise, newly arrived from his travels; having a great desire to kiss your hand, i hope your highness will vouchsafe him that honour." "what! my brother marzavan," exclaimed the princess, with great joy; "approach, and take off that veil; for it is not unreasonable that a brother and a sister should see each other without covering their faces." marzavan saluted her with profound respect, while, without giving him time to speak, she continued, "i rejoice to see you returned in good health, after so many years' absence, and without sending any account of your welfare, even to your good mother." "madam," replied marzavan, "i am infinitely obliged to your goodness. i hoped to have heard a better account of your health than has been given me, and which i lament to find confirmed by your appearance. it gives me pleasure, however, to have come so seasonably to bring your highness that remedy which your situation requires. should i reap no other benefit from my studies and travels, i should think myself amply recompensed." having thus spoken, marzavan drew out of his pocket a book and some other things, which from the account he had had from his mother of the princess's distemper, he thought he might want. the princess, observing these preparations, exclaimed, "what! brother, are you one of those who believe me mad? undeceive yourself, and hear me." the princess then related to marzavan all the particulars of her story, without omitting the least circumstance, even to the ring which was exchanged for hers, and which she shewed him. "i have not concealed the least incident from you," continued she; "there is something in this business which i cannot comprehend, and which has given occasion for some persons to think me mad. but no one will attend to the rest, which is literally as i have stated." after the princess had concluded, marzavan, filled with wonder and astonishment, remained for some time with his eyes fixed on the ground, without speaking a word; but at length he lifted up his head, and said, "if it be as your highness says, and which i do not in the least doubt, i do not despair of being able to procure you the gratification of your wishes. but i must first entreat your highness to arm yourself with patience, till i have travelled over kingdoms which i have not yet visited, and when you hear of my return, be assured the object of your desire is not far distant." having thus spoken, marzavan took leave of the princess, and set out the next morning on his intended travels. he journeyed from city to city, from province to province, and from island to island; and in every place he visited, he could hear of nothing but the princess badoura (which was the princess of china's name) and her history. about four months after, our traveller arrived at torf, a sea- port town, large and populous, where the theme was changed; he no more heard of the princess badoura, but all the talk was of prince kummir al zummaun, who was sick, and whose history greatly resembled hers. marzavan was extremely delighted on hearing this, and informed himself where the prince was to be found. there were two ways to it; one, by land and sea; the other, by sea only, which was the shortest. marzavan chose the latter; and embarking on board a merchant ship, arrived safely in sight of shaw zummaun's capital; but just before it entered the port, the ship struck upon a rock, by the unskilfulness of the pilot, and foundered: it went down in sight of the castle, where at that time were the king and his grand vizier. marzavan, who could swim well, immediately upon the ship's sinking cast himself into the sea, and got safe on shore under the castle, where he was soon relieved by the grand vizier's order. after he had changed his clothes, and been well treated, he was introduced to the grand vizier, who lead sent for him. marzavan being a young man of good address, the minister received him with great politeness; and was induced, from the just and pertinent answers he returned to the questions put to him, to regard him with great esteem. finding by degrees that he possessed great variety and extent of information, he said to him, "from what i can understand, i perceive you are no common man; you have travelled much: would to god you had discovered some remedy for a malady which has been long a source of great affliction at this court." marzavan replied, if he knew what malady it was, he might perhaps find a remedy applicable to it. the grand vizier then related to him the story of prince kummir al zummaun. he concealed nothing relating to his birth, which had been so earnestly desired, his education, the wish of the king his father to see him early married, his resistance and extraordinary aversion from marriage, his disobeying his father in full council, his imprisonment, his extravagancies in prison, which were afterwards changed into a violent passion for some unknown lady, who, he pretended, had exchanged a ring with him, though, for his part, he verily believed there was no such person in the world. marzavan gave great attention to all the grand vizier said, and was infinitely rejoiced to find that, by means of his shipwreck, he had so fortunately lighted on the person he was seeking. he saw no reason to doubt that the prince was the man whom the princess of china so ardently loved, and that this princess was equally the object of his passion. without explaining himself farther to the vizier, he desired to see the prince, that he might be better able to judge of his disorder and its cure. "follow me," said the grand vizier, "and you will find the king with him, who has already desired i should introduce you." on entering the prince's chamber, the first thing marzavan observed was the prince upon his bed languishing, and with his eyes shut. notwithstanding his condition, and regardless of the presence of the king his father, who was sitting by him, he could not avoid exclaiming, "heavens! was there ever a greater resemblance?" he meant to the princess of china; for it seems the princess and the prince were much alike. this exclamation of marzavan excited the prince's curiosity; he opened his eyes and looked at him. marzavan, who had a ready wit, seized that opportunity, and made his compliment in extempore verse; but in such a disguised manner, that neither the king nor the grand vizier under stood his meaning. he represented so exactly what had happened to him with the princess of china, that the prince had no reason to doubt he knew her, and could give him tidings of her. his countenance immediately brightened up with joy. after marzavan had finished his compliment in verse, which surprised kummir al zummaun so agreeably, the prince took the liberty of making a sign to the king his father, to give his place to marzavan, and allow him to sit by him. the king, overjoyed at this alteration, which inspired him with hopes of his son's speedy recovery, quitted his place, and taking marzavan by the hand, led him to it, obliging him to sit. he then demanded of him who he was, and whence he had come? and upon marzavan's answering he was a subject of china, and came from that kingdom, the king exclaimed, "heaven grant you may be able to recover my son from this profound melancholy; i shall be eternally obliged to you, and all the world shall see how handsomely i will reward you." having said thus, he left the prince to converse at full liberty with the stranger, whilst he went and rejoiced with the grand vizier on this happy incident. marzavan leaning down to the prince, addressed him in a low voice: "prince, it is time you should cease to grieve. the lady, for whom you suffer, is the princess badoura, daughter of gaiour, king of china. this i can assure your highness from what she has told me of her adventure, and what i have learned of yours. she has suffered no less on your account than you have on hers." here he related all that he knew of the princess's story, from the night of their extraordinary interview. he omitted not to acquaint him how the king had treated those who had failed in their endeavours to cure the princess of her indisposition. "but your highness is the only person," added he, "that can cure her effectually, and you may present yourself without fear. however, before you undertake so long a voyage, i would have you perfectly recovered, and then we will take what measures may be necessary. think then immediately of the recovery of your health." this account had a marvellous effect on the prince. the hopes of speedily fulfilling his desires so much relieved him, that he felt he had strength sufficient to rise, and begged permission of his father to dress himself, with such an air as gave him incredible pleasure. shaw zummaun, without inquiring into the means he had used to produce this wonderful effect, could not refrain from embracing marzavan, and soon after went out of the prince's chamber with the grand vizier, to publish the agreeable tidings. he ordered public rejoicings for several days together, gave great largesses to his officers and the people, and alms to the poor, and caused the prisoners to be set at liberty throughout his kingdom the joy was soon general in the capital, and in every part of his dominions. kummir al zummaun, though extremely weakened by almost continual privation of sleep and long abstinence, soon recovered his health. when he found himself in a condition to undertake the voyage, he took marzavan aside, and said, "dear marzavan, it is now time to perform the promise you have made me. my impatience to behold the charming princess, and to relieve her of the torments she is now suffering on my account, is such, that if we do not shortly depart, i shall relapse into my former indisposition. one thing still afflicts me," continued he, "and that is the difficulty i shall find, from his tender affection for me, to obtain my father's permission to travel into a distant country. you observe he scarcely allows me to be a moment out of his sight." at these words the prince wept. marzavan then replied, "i foresaw this difficulty, and i will take care it shall not obstruct us. my principal design in this voyage was to cure the princess of china of her malady, and this on account of the mutual affection which we have borne to each other from our birth, as well as from the zeal and affection i otherwise owe her. i should therefore be wanting in my duty to her, if i did not use my best endeavours to effect her cure and yours. this is then the mode i have devised to obtain the king your father's consent. you have not stirred abroad for some time, therefore request his permission to go upon a hunting party with me. he will no doubt comply. when you have obtained his leave, obtain two fleet coursers for each of us to be got ready, one to mount, the other to change, and leave the rest to me." the following day the prince did as he had been instructed. he acquainted the king he was desirous of taking the air, and, if he pleased, would go and hunt for two or three days with marzavan. the king gave his consent, but wished him not to be absent more than one night, since too much exercise at first might impair his health and a longer absence would make him uneasy. he then ordered him to choose the best horses in the royal stable, and took particular care that nothing should be wanting for his accommodation. when all was ready, he embraced the prince, and having recommended to marzavan to be careful of him, he let him go. kummir al zummaun and marzavan were soon mounted, when, to amuse the two grooms who led the spare horses, they made as if they were going to hunt, and under this pretence got as far from the city and out of the high road as was possible. when night began to approach, they alighted at a caravanserai or inn, where they supped, and slept till about midnight; when marzavan awakened the prince, and desired his highness to let him have his dress, and to take another for himself, which was brought in his baggage. thus equipped, they mounted the fresh horses, and after marzavan had taken one of the grooms' horses by the bridle, they left the caravanserai. at day-break they found themselves in a forest, where four roads met. here marzavan, desiring the prince to wait for him a little, went into the wood. he then cut the throat of the groom's horse, and after having torn the suit which the prince had taken off, and besmeared it with blood, threw it into the highway. the prince inquired his reason for what he had done. he replied, he was sure that when the king his father found he did not return, and should learn that he had departed without the grooms, he would suspect something wrong, and immediately send in quest of them. "they who may come this way, finding this bloody habit, will conclude you are devoured by wild beasts, and that i have escaped to avoid the king's anger. the king, concluding you are dead, will stop further pursuit, and we may have leisure to continue our journey without fear of being followed." "i must confess," continued marzavan, "it is a violent way of proceeding, to alarm a fond father with the death of his son, but his joy will be the greater when he shall hear you are alive and happy." "breve marzavan," replied the prince, "i cannot but approve such an ingenious stratagem, or sufficiently admire your conduct: you place me under fresh obligations to you." the prince and marzavan being well provided for their expenses, continued their journey both by land and sea, and found no other obstacle but the length of the time which it necessarily took up. they arrived at length at the capital of china, where marzavan, instead of going to his house, carried the prince to a public inn. they remained there incognito three days, to rest themselves after the fatigue of the voyage; during which time marzavan caused an astrologer's habit to be made for the prince. the three days being expired, they went together to the bath, where the prince put on his astrologer's dress: from thence marzavan conducted him to the neighbourhood of the king of china's palace, where he left him, to go and inform his mother of his arrival. kummir al zummaun, instructed by marzavan what he was to do, came next morning to the gate of the king's palace, and cried aloud, "i am an astrologer, and am come to cure the illustrious princess badoura, daughter of the most high and mighty monarch gaiour king of china, on the conditions proposed by his majesty, to marry her if i succeed, or else to lose my life for my fruitless and presumptuous attempt." besides the guards and porters at the gate, this incident drew together a great number of people about the prince. there had no physician, astrologer, or magician appeared for a long time on this account, being deterred by the many tragical examples of ill success that appeared before; it was therefore thought there remained no more of these professions in the world, or none so mad as those that had already forfeited their lives. the prince's appearance, his noble air, and blooming youth, made every one who saw him pity him. "what mean you, sir," said some that were nearest to him, "thus to expose a life of such promising expectations to certain death? cannot the heads you see on all the gates of this city deter you from such an undertaking? in the name of god consider what you do! abandon this rash attempt, and depart." the prince continued firm, notwithstanding all these remonstrances; and as he saw no one coming to introduce him, he repeated the same cry with a boldness that made every body tremble. they all then exclaimed, "let him alone, he is resolved to die; god have mercy on his youth and his soul!"" he then proceeded to cry a third time in the same manner, when the grand vizier came in person, and introduced him to the king of china. as soon as the prince came into the presence, he bowed and kissed the ground. the king, who, among all that had hitherto presumptuously exposed their lives on this occasion, had not before seen one worthy of his attention, felt real compassion for kummir al zummaun, on account of the danger to which he exposed himself. "young man," said he, "i can hardly believe that at this age you can have acquired experience enough to dare attempt the cure of my daughter. i wish you may succeed, and would give her to you in marriage with all my heart, and with the greatest joy, more willingly than i should have done to others that have offered themselves before you; but i must declare to you at the same time, though with great concern, that if you fail, notwithstanding your noble appearance and your youth, you must lose your head." "sir," replied the prince, "i have infinite obligations to your majesty for the honour you design me, and the great goodness you shew to a stranger; but i desire your majesty to believe i would not have come from so remote a country as i have done, the name of which perhaps may be unknown in your dominions, if i had not been certain of the cure i propose. what would not the world say of my fickleness, if, after such great fatigues and so many dangers as i have undergone in the pursuit, i should abandon this generous enterprise? even your majesty would lose that esteem you have conceived for me. if i perish, i shall die with the satisfaction of not having forfeited your good opinion. i beseech your majesty therefore to keep me no longer from displaying the certainty of my art, by the proof i am ready to afford." the king now commanded the eunuch, who had the custody of the princess, to introduce kummir al zummaun into her apartment: but before he would let him go, reminded him once more that he was at liberty to renounce his design; but the prince paid no regard to this, and with astonishing resolution and eagerness followed the eunuch. when they had entered a long gallery, at the end of which was the princess's apartment, the prince, who saw himself so near the objets of his wishes, who had occasioned him so many tears, pushed on, and got before the eunuch. the eunuch redoubling his pace, with difficulty got up to him, "wither so fast?"" cried he, taking him by the arm; "you cannot get in without me; and it should seem you have a great desire for death, thus to run to it headlong. not one of all those many astrologers and magicians i have introduced before made such haste as yourself, to a place whence i fear you will come but too soon." "friend," replied the prince, looking earnestly on the eunuch, and continuing his pace, "this was because none of the astrologers you speak of were so confident in their art as i am: they were certain indeed they should die, if they did not succeed, .but they had no certainty of their success. on this account they had reason to tremble on approaching this spot, where i am sure to find my happiness." he had just spoken these words when he reached the door. the eunuch opened it, and introduced him into a great hall, whence was an entrance into the princess's apartment, divided from it only by a piece of tapestry. the prince stopped before he entered, speaking more softly to the eunuch for fear of being heard by the princess. "to convince you," said he; "there is neither presumption, nor whim, nor youthful conceit in my undertaking, i leave it to your choice whether i shall cure the princess in her presence, or where we are, without going any farther, or seeing her?" the eunuch was amazed to hear the prince talk to him with such confidence: he left off jeering, and said seriously to him, "it is no matter where it is done, provided it be effected: cure her how you will, if you succeed you will gain immortal honour, not only in this court, but over all the world." the prince replied, "it will be best then to cure her without seeing her, that you may be witness of my skill; notwithstanding my impatience to see a princess of her rank, who is to be my wife, yet out of respect to you, i will deprive myself of that pleasure for a little while." being furnished with every thing proper for an astrologer to carry about him, he took pen, ink, and paper our of his pocket, and wrote the following billet to the princess. "the impassioned kummir al zummaun cannot recite the inexpressible pain he has endured since that fatal night in which your charms deprived him of the liberty which he had resolved to preserve. he only tells you that he devoted his heart to you in your charming slumbers; those obstinate slumbers which hindered him from beholding the brightness of your piercing eyes, notwithstanding all his endeavours to oblige you to open them. he presumed to present you with his ring as a token of his passion; and to take yours in exchange, which he encloses. if you condescend to return his as a reciprocal pledge of love, he will esteem himself the happiest of mankind. if not, the sentence of death, which your refusal must draw upon him, will be received with resignation, since he will perish on account of his love for you." when the prince had finished his billet, he folded it up, and enclosed in it the princess's ring. "there, friend," said he to the eunuch, "carry this to your mistress; if it does not cure her as soon as she reads it, and sees what it contains, i give you leave to tell every body, that i am the most ignorant and impudent astrologer that ever existed." the eunuch entering the princess of china's apartment, gave her the packet, saying, "the boldest astrologer that ever lived is arrived here, and pretends, that on reading this letter and seeing what it encloses, you will be cured; i wish he may prove neither a liar nor an impostor." the princess badoura took the billet, and opened it with indifference: but when she saw the ring, she had not patience to read it through: she rose hastily, broke the chain that held her, ran to the door and opened it. they immediately recognized each other, tenderly embraced, and without being able to speak for excess of joy, looked at one another, wondering how they met again after their first interview. the princess's nurse, who ran to the door with her, made them come into her apartment, where the princess badoura gave the prince her ring, saying, "take it, i cannot keep it without restoring yours; which i will never part with; neither can it be in better hands." the eunuch went immediately to inform the king of china of what had happened: "sir," said he, "all the astrologers and doctors who have hitherto pretended to cure the princess were fools compared with the present. he made use neither of schemes nor conjurations, of perfumes, nor any thing else, but cured her without seeing her." the monarch was agreeably surprised at this intelligence, and going to the princess's apartment, he embraced her, and afterwards the prince, and taking his hand joined it to the princess's, saying, "happy stranger, whoever you are, i will keep my word, and give you my daughter for your wife; though, by what i see in you, it is impossible for me to believe you are really what you pretend, and would have me take you to be." kummir al zummaun thanked the king in the most humble expressions, that he might the better shew his gratitude. "as for my condition," said he, "i must own i am not an astrologer, as your majesty has guessed; i only put on the habit of one, that i might succeed the more easily in my ambition to be allied to the most potent monarch in the world. i was born a prince, and the son of a king and of a queen; my name is kummir al zummaun; my father is shaw zummaun, who now reigns over the islands that are well known by the name of the islands of the children of khaledan." he then related to him his history, and how wonderful had been the origin of his love; that the princess's was altogether as marvellous; and that both were confirmed by the exchange of the two rings. when the prince had done speaking, the king said to him, "this history is so extraordinary, it deserves to be known to posterity; i will take care it shall; and the original being deposited in my royal archives, i will spread copies of it abroad, that my own kingdoms and the kingdoms around me may know it." the marriage was solemnized the same day, and the rejoicings were universal all over the empire of china. nor was marzavan forgotten: the king gave him an honourable post in his court, and a promise of further advancement. the prince and princess enjoyed the fulness of their wishes in the sweets of marriage; and the king kept continual feastings for several months, to manifest his joy on the occasion. in the midst of these pleasures kummir al zummaun dreamt one night that he saw his father on his bed at the point of death, and heard him thus address his attendants: "my son, to whom i gave birth; my son, whom i so tenderly loved whom i bred with so much fondness, so much care, has abandoned me, and is himself the cause of my death." he awoke with a profound sigh, which alarmed the princess, who asked him the cause. "alas! my love," replied the prince, "perhaps at the very moment while i am speaking, the king my father is no more." he then acquainted her with his melancholy dream, which occasioned him so much uneasiness. the princess, who studied to please him in every thing, went to her father the next day, kissed his hand, and thus addressed him: "i have a favour to beg of your majesty, and i beseech you not to deny me; but that you may not believe i ask it at the solicitation of the prince my husband, i assure you beforehand he knows nothing of my request: it is, that you will grant me your permission to go with him and visit his father." "daughter," replied the king, "though i shall be sorry to part with you for so long a time as a journey to a place so distant will require, yet i cannot disapprove of your resolution; it is worthy of yourself: go, child, i give you leave, but on condition that you stay no longer than a year in shaw zummaun's court. i hope the king will agree to this, that we shall alternately see, he his son and his daughter-in-law, and i my daughter and my son- in-law." the princess communicated the king of china's consent to her husband, who was transported to receive it, and returned her thanks for this new token of her love. the king of china gave orders for preparations to be made for their departure; and when all things were ready, he accompanied the prince and princess several days' journey on their way; they parted at length with much affliction on both sides: the king embraced them; and having desired the prince to be kind to his daughter, and to love her always with the same tenderness he now did, he left them to proceed, and to divert himself, hunted as he returned to his capital. when the prince and princess had recovered from their grief, they comforted themselves with considering how glad shaw zummaun would be to see them, and how they should rejoice to see the king. after travelling about a month, they one day entered a plain of great extent, planted at convenient distances with tall trees, forming an agreeable shade. the day being unusually hot, the prince thought it best to encamp there, and proposed it to badoura, who, having the same wish, the more readily consented. they alighted in one of the finest spots; a tent was presently set up; the princess, rising from the shade under which she had sat down, entered it. the prince then ordered his attendants to pitch their tents, and went himself to give directions. the princess, weary with the fatigues of the journey, bade her women untie her girdle, which they laid down by her; and she falling asleep, they left her alone. kummir al zummaun having seen all things in order, came to the tent where the princess was sleeping: he entered, and sat down without making any noise, intending to repose himself; but observing the princess's girdle lying by her, he took it up, and looked at the diamonds and rubies one by one. in viewing it he observed a little purse hanging to it, sewed neatly on the stuff, and tied fast with a riband; he felt it, and found it contained something solid. desirous to know what it was, he opened the purse, and took out a cornelian, engraven with unknown figures and characters. "this cornelian," said the prince to himself, "must be something very valuable, or my princess would not carry it with so much care." it was badoura's talisman, which the queen of china had given her daughter as a charm, that would keep her, as she said, from any harm as long as she had it about her. the prince, the better to look at the talisman, took it out to the light, the tent being dark; and while he was holding it up in his hand, a bird darted down from the air and snatched it away from him. one will easily conceive the concern and grief of the prince, when he saw the bird fly away with the talisman. he was more troubled than words can express, and cursed his unseasonable curiosity, by which his dear princess had lost a treasure, that was so precious, and so valued by her. the bird having got its prize, settled on the ground not far off, with the talisman in its mouth. the prince drew near it, hoping it would drop it; but as he approached, the bird took wing, and settled again on the ground further off. kummir al zummaun followed, and the bird took a further flight: the prince being very dexterous at a mark, thought to kill it with a stone, and still pursued; the further it flew, the more eager he grew in pursuing, keeping it always in view. thus the bird drew him along from hill to valley, and valley to hill, all the day, every step leading him out of the way from the plain where he had left his camp and the princess badoura: and instead of perching at night on a bush, where he might probably have taken it, roosted on a high tree, safe from his pursuit. the prince, vexed to the heart at having taken so much pains to no purpose, thought of returning; "but," said he to himself, "which way shall i return? shall i go down the hills and valleys which i have passed overt' shall i wander in darkness? and will my strength bear me out? how shall i dare appear before my princess without her talisman?" overwhelmed with such thoughts, and tired with the pursuit, sleep came upon him, and he lay down under a tree, where he passed the night. he awoke the next morning before the bird had left the tree, and as soon as he saw it on the wing, followed it again the whole of that day, with no better success than he had done the last, eating nothing but herbs and fruits as he went. he did the same for ten days together, pursuing the bird, and keeping it in view from morning to night, lying always under the tree where it roosted. on the eleventh day, the bird continued flying, and kummir al zummaun pursuing it, came near a great city. when the bird had reached the walls, it flew over them, and the prince saw no more of it; so that he despaired of ever recovering the princess badoura's talisman. the prince, whose grief was beyond expression, went into the city, which was built on the seaside, and had a fine port; he walked up and down the streets without knowing where he was, or where to stop. at last he came to the port, in as great uncertainty as ever what he should do. walking along the shore, he perceived the gate of a garden open, and an old gardener at work in it; the good man looking up, saw he was a stranger and a moosulmaun, and asked him to come in, and shut the door after him. kummir al zummaun entered, and demanded of the gardener why he was so cautious? "because," replied the old man, "i see you are a stranger newly arrived; and this city is inhabited for the most part by idolaters, who have a mortal aversion to us moosulmauns, and treat a few of us that are here with great barbarity. i suppose you did not know this, and it is a miracle that you have escaped as you have thus far: these idolaters being very apt to fall upon strangers, or draw them into a snare. i bless god, who has brought you into a place of safety." kummir al zummaun thanked the honest gardener for his advice, and the security he offered him in his house; he would have said more, but the good man interrupted him, saying, "let us leave complimenting; you are weary, and must want to refresh yourself. come in, and rest." he conducted him into his little hut; and after the prince had eaten heartily of what he set before him, with a cordiality that charmed him, he requested him to relate how he had come there. the prince complied; and when he had finished his story, without concealing any part of it, asked him which was the nearest route to his father's territories; saying, "it is in vain for me to think of finding my princess where i left her, after wandering eleven days from the spot by so extraordinary an adventure. ah!" continued he, "how do i know she is alive?" and saying this, he burst into tears. the gardener replied, "there was no possibility of his going thither by land, the ways were so difficult, and the journey so long; besides, there was no accommodation for his subsistence; or, if there were, he must necessarily pass through the countries of so many barbarous nations, that he would never reach his father's. it was a year's journey from the city where he then was to any country inhabited only by moosulmauns; that the quickest passage for him would be to go to the isle of ebene, whence he might easily transport himself to the isles of the children of khaledan; that a ship sailed from the port every year to ebene, and he might take that opportunity of returning to those islands. "the ship departed," said he, "but a few days ago; if you had come a little sooner, you might have taken your passage in it. you must wait till it makes the voyage again, and if you will stay with me and accept of my house, such as it is, you shall be as welcome to it as to your own." the prince was glad he had met with such an asylum, in a place where he had no acquaintance. he accepted the offer, and lived with the gardener till the time arrived that the ship was to sail to the isle of ebene. he spent the interval in working by day in the garden, and passing the night in sighs, tears, and complaints, thinking of his dear princess badoura. we must leave him in this place, to return to the princess, whom we left asleep in her tent. the princess slept a long time, and when she awoke, wondered that the prince was not with her; she called her women, and asked if they knew where he was. they told her they saw him enter the tent, but did not see him go out. while they were talking to her, she took up her girdle, found her little purse open, and that the talisman was gone. she did not doubt but that the prince had taken it to see what it was, and that he would bring it back with him. she waited for him impatiently till night, and could not imagine what made him stay away from her so long. when it was quite dark, and she could hear no tidings of him, she fell into violent grief: she cursed the talisman, and him that made it; and, had not she been restrained by duty, would have cursed the queen her mother, who had given her such a fatal present. she was the more troubled, because she could not imagine how her talisman should have caused the prince's separation from her; she did not however lose her judgment, and came to a courageous resolution, not common with persons of her sex. only herself and her women knew of the prince's absence; for his men were reposing or asleep in their tents. the princess, fearing they would betray her, if they had any knowledge of this circumstance, moderated her grief, and forbade her women to say or do any thing that might create the least suspicion. she then laid aside her own habit, and put on one of kummir al zummaun's. she was so much like him, that the next day, when she came abroad, the male attendants took her for the prince. she commanded them to pack up their baggage and begin their march; and when all things were ready, she ordered one of her women to go into her litter, she herself mounting on horseback, and riding by her side. she travelled several months by land and sea; the princess continuing the journey under the name of kummir al zummaun. they touched at ebene in their way to the isles of the children of khaledan, and went to the capital of the island, where a king reigned, whose name was armanos. the persons who first landed, giving out that the ship carried prince kummir al zummaun, who was returning from a long voyage, and was forced in by a storm, the news of his arrival was soon carried to court. king armanos, accompanied by his courtiers' went immediately to wait on the prince, and met the princess just as she was landing, and going to the palace that had been prepared for her. he received her as the son of a king, who was his friend, and with whom he always kept up a good understanding: he conducted her to the palace, where an apartment was prepared for her and all her attendants; though she would fain have excused herself. he shewed her all possible honour, and entertained her three days together with extraordinary magnificence. at the end of this time king armanos understanding that the princess intended proceeding on her voyage, charmed with the air and qualities of such an accomplished prince, as he supposed her, took an opportunity when she was alone, and spoke to her in this manner: "you see, prince, that i am old, and to my great mortification have not a son to whom i may leave my crown. heaven has only blest me with one daughter, whose beauty cannot be better matched than with a prince of your rank and accomplishments. instead of going home, stay and accept my crown, which i will resign in your favour. it is time for me to rest, and nothing could be a greater pleasure to me in my retirement, than to see my people ruled by so worthy a successor to my throne." the king's offer to bestow his only daughter in marriage, and with her his kingdom, on the princess badoura, put her into unexpected perplexity. she thought it would not become a princess of her rank to undeceive the king, and to own that she was not prince kummir al zummaun, whose part she had hitherto acted so well. she was also afraid to decline the honour he offered her, lest, being so much bent upon the conclusion of the marriage, his kindness might turn to aversion, and he might attempt something even against her life. these considerations, added to the prospect of obtaining a kingdom for the prince her husband, in case she found him again, determined her to accept the proposal of king armanos, and marry his daughter. after having stood silent for some minutes, she with blushes, which the king took for a sign of modesty, answered, "i am infinitely obliged to your majesty for your good opinion of me, for the honour you do me, and the great favour you offer, which i cannot pretend to merit, and dare not refuse." "but," continued she, "i cannot accept this great alliance on any other condition, than that your majesty will assist me with your counsels, and that i do nothing without having first obtained your approbation." the marriage treaty being thus concluded, the ceremony was put off till the next day. in the mean time princess badoura gave notice to her officers, who still took her for their prince, of what she was about to do, that they might not be surprised, assuring them the princess badoura consented. she talked also to her women, and charged them to continue to keep the secret she had entrusted to them. the king of the isle of ebene, rejoicing that he had found a son- in-law so much to his satisfaction, next morning summoned his council, and acquainted them with his design of marrying his daughter to prince kummir al zummaun, whom he introduced to them, and told them he resigned the crown to him, and required them to acknowledge him for their king, and swear fealty to him. having said this, he descended from his throne, and the princess badoura, by his order, ascended it. as soon as the council broke up, the new king was proclaimed through the city, rejoicings were appointed for several days, and couriers despatched over all the kingdom, to see the same ceremonies observed with the usual demonstrations of joy. at night there were extraordinary feastings at the palace, and the princess haiatalnefous was conducted to the princess badoura, whom every body took for a man, dressed like a royal bride: the wedding was solemnized with the utmost splendour: they were left together, and retired to bed. in the morning, while the princess badoura went to receive the compliments of the nobility in the hall of audience, where they congratulated her on her marriage and accession to the throne, king armanos and his queen went to the apartment of their daughter to inquire after her health. instead of answering, she held down her head, and by her looks they saw plainly enough that she was disappointed. king armanos, to comfort the princess haiatalnefous, bade her not be troubled. "prince kummir al zummaun," said he, "when he landed here might think only of going to his father's court. though we have engaged him to stay by arguments, with which he ought to be well satisfied, yet it is probable he grieves at being so suddenly deprived of the hopes of seeing either his father or any of his family. you must wait till those first emotions of filial love are over; he will then conduct himself towards you as a good husband ought to do." the princess badoura, under the name and character of kummir al zummaun, the king of ebene, spent the whole day in receiving the compliments of the courtiers and the nobility of the. kingdom who were in and about the city, and in reviewing the regular troops of her household; and entered on the administration of affairs with so much dignity and judgment, that she gained the general applause of all who were witnesses of her conduct. it was evening before she returned to queen haiatalnefous's apartment, and she perceived by the reception she gave her, that the bride was not at all pleased with the preceding night. she endeavoured to dissipate her grief by a long conversation, in which she employed all the wit she had (and she possessed a good share), to persuade her she loved her entirely. she then gave her time to go to bed, and while she was undressing she went to her devotions; her prayers were so long, that queen haiatalnefous was asleep before they were ended. she then left off, and lay down softly by the new queen, without waking her, and was as much afflicted at being forced to act a part which did not belong to her, as in the loss of her dear kummir al zummaun, for whom she: ceased not to sigh. she rose as soon as it was day, before haiatalnefous was awake; and, being dressed in her royal robes as king, went to council. king armanos, as he had done the day before, came early to visit the queen his daughter, whom he found in tears; he wanted nothing more to be informed of the cause of her trouble. provoked at the contempt, as he thought, put upon his daughter, of which he could not imagine the reason: "daughter," said he, "have patience for another night. i raised your husband to the throne, and can pull him down again, and drive him thence with shame, unless he shews you proper regard. his treatment of you has provoked me so much, i cannot tell to what my resentment may transport me; the affront is as great to me as to you." it was late again before the princess badoura came to queen haiatalnefous. she talked to her as she had done the night before, and after the same manner went to her devotions, desiring the queen to go to bed. but haiatalnefous would not be so served; she held her back, and obliged her to sit down. "tell me, i beseech you," said she, "what can you dislike in a princess of my youth and beauty, who not only loves but adores you, and thinks herself the happiest of women in having so amiable a prince for her husband. any body but me would be not merely offended but shocked by the slight, or rather the unpardonable affront you have put upon me, and abandon you to your evil destiny. however, though i did not love you so well as i do, yet out of pure good- nature and humanity, which makes me pity the misfortunes of persons for whom i am less concerned, i cannot forbear telling you, that the king my father is enraged against you for your behaviour towards me, and to-morrow will make you feel the weight of his just anger, if you continue to neglect me as you have hitherto done. do not therefore drive to despair a princess, who, notwithstanding all your ill usage, cannot help loving you." this address embarrassed the princess badoura inexpressibly. she did not doubt the truth of what haiatalnefous had said. king armanos's coldness to her the day before had given her but too much reason to see he was highly dissatisfied with her. the only way to justify her conduit was, to communicate her sex to the princess haiatalnefous. but though she had foreseen she should be under a necessity of making such a discovery to her, yet her uncertainty as to the manner in which she would receive it, made her tremble; but, considering that if kummir al zummaun was alive, he must necessarily touch at the isle of ebene in his way to his father's kingdom, she ought to preserve herself for his sake; and that it was impossible to do this, if she did not let the princess haiatalnefous know who and what she was, she resolved to venture the experiment. the princess badoura stood as one who had been struck dumb, and haiatalnefous being impatient to hear what she could say, was about to speak to her again, when she prevented her by these words: "lovely and too charming princess! i own i have been in the wrong, and i condemn myself for it; but i hope you will pardon me, and keep the secret i am going to reveal to you for my justification." she then opened her bosom, and proceeded thus: "see, princess, if a woman like yourself does not deserve to be forgiven. i believe you will be so generous, at least when you know my story, and the afflicting circumstance that forced me to act the part i have done." the princess badoura having discovered her sex to the princess of the isle of ebene, she again prayed her to keep the secret, and to pretend to be satisfied with her as a husband, till the prince's arrival, which she hoped would be in a little time. "princess," replied haiatalnefous, "your fortune is indeed strange, that a marriage, so happy as yours, should be shortened by so unaccountable an accident, after a passion so reciprocal and full of wonders. pray heaven you may soon meet with your husband again, and assure yourself i will keep religiously the secret committed to me. it will be to me the greatest pleasure in the world to be the only person in the great kingdom of the isle of ebene who knows what and who you are, while you go on governing the people as happily as you have begun. i only ask of you at present to be your friend." then the two princesses tenderly embraced each other, and after a thousand expressions of mutual friendship lay down to rest. the two princesses having decided on a way to make belief that the marriage had been consummated: queen haiatalnefous's women were deceived themselves next morning, and it deceived armanos, his queen, and the whole court. from this time the princess badoura rose in the king's esteem and affection, governing the kingdom peaceably and prosperously. while things passed as already mentioned in the court of the isle of ebene, prince kummir al zummaun remained in the city of idolaters with the gardener, who had offered him his house for a retreat till the ship should sail to convey him away. one morning early, when the prince was as usual preparing to work in the garden, the gardener prevented him, saying, "this day is a great festival among the idolaters, and because they abstain from all work themselves, to spend the time in their assemblies and public rejoicings, they will not let the moosulmauns labour; who, to gain their favour, generally attend their shows, which are worth seeing. you will therefore have nothing to do to-day: i leave you here. as the time approaches, at which it is usual for the ship to sail for the isle of ebene, i will call on some of my friends to know when it will depart, and secure you a passage." the gardener put on his best apparel, and went out. when the prince was alone, instead of going out to share in the public joy of the city, his solitude brought to his mind, with more than usual violence, the loss of his dear princess. he walked up and down the garden sighing and lamenting, till the noise which two birds made on a neighbouring tree led him to lift up his head, to see what was the matter. kummir al zummaun was surprised to observe that the birds were fighting furiously: in a very little while, one of them fell down dead at the foot of the tree; the victorious bird took wing again, and flew away. in an instant, two other large birds, that had beheld the battle at a distance, came from the other side of the garden, and pitched on the ground, one at the feet, and the other at the head of the dead bird: they looked at it for some time, shaking their heads in token of grief; after which they dug a grave with their talons, and buried it. when they had filled up the grave with the earth they had turned up, they flew away, but returned in a few minutes, bringing with them the bird that had committed the murder, one holding one of its wings in its beak, and the other one of its legs; the criminal all the while crying out in a doleful manner, and struggling to escape. they carried it to the grave of the bird which it had lately sacrificed to its rage, and there killed it in just revenge for the murder it had committed. they opened its belly, tore out the entrails, left the body on the spot unburied, and flew away. the prince had remained in astonishment all the time that he stood beholding this singular spectacle. he now drew near the tree where this scene had passed, and casting his eyes on the scattered entrails of the bird that had been last killed, spied something red hanging out of the stomach. he took it up, and found it was his beloved princess badoura's talisman, which had cost him so much pain and sorrow, and so many sighs, since the bird had snatched it out of his hand. "ah, cruel!" said he to himself; still looking on the bird, "thou took'st delight in doing mischief, so i have the less reason to complain of that which thou didst to me: but the greater it was, the more do i wish well to those that revenged my quarrel, punishing thee for the murder of one of their own kind." it is impossible to express the prince's joy: "dear princess," continued he to himself, "this happy minute, which restores to me a treasure so precious to thee, is, without doubt, a presage of our meeting again, and perhaps sooner than i think of. thank heaven who sent me this good fortune, and gives me hope of the greatest felicity that my heart can desire." saying this, he kissed the talisman, wrapped it up in a riband, and tied it carefully about his arm. he had been almost every night a stranger to rest, the recollection of his misfortunes keeping him awake, but this night he enjoyed calm repose: he rose somewhat later the next morning than he used to do, and went to the gardener for orders. the good man bade him root up an old tree which bore no fruit. kummir al zummaun took an axe and began his work. in cutting off a branch of the root, he found his axe struck against something that resisted the blow. he removed the earth, and discovered a broad plate of brass, under which was a staircase of ten steps. he went down, and at the bottom saw a cavity about six yards square with fifty brass urns placed in order, each with a cover over it. he opened them all, one after another, and found they were all of them full of gold-dust. he came out of the cave, rejoicing that he had found such a vast treasure, put the brass plate on the staircase, and had the tree rooted up by the gardener's return. the gardener had ascertained that the ship which was bound for the isle of ebene, would sail in a few days, but the exact time was not yet fixed. his friend promised to let him know the day, if he called upon him on the morrow; and while the prince was rooting up the tree, he went to have his answer. he returned with a joyful countenance, by which the prince guessed he brought him good news. "son," said the old man (so he always called him on account of the difference of years between him and the prince) "be joyful, and prepare to embark in three days; the ship will then certainly sail; i have agreed with the captain for your passage." "in my present situation," replied kummir al zummaun, "you could not bring me more agreeable intelligence; and in return, i have also tidings that will be as welcome to you: come along with me, and you shall see what good fortune heaven has in store for you." the prince led the gardener to the place where he had rooted up the tree, made him go down into the cave, shewed him what a treasure he had discovered, thanking providence for rewarding his virtue, and the pains he had been at for so many years. "what do you mean?" replied the gardener: "do you imagine i will take these riches as mine? the property is yours: i have no right to it. for fourscore years, since my father's death, i have done nothing but dig in this garden, and could not discover this treasure, which is a sign it was destined for you, since god has permitted you to find it. it is better suited to a prince like you than to me; i have one foot in the grave, and am in no want of any thing. providence has bestowed it upon you, just when you are returning to that country, which will one day be your own, where you will make good use of it." kummir al zummaun would not be surpassed in generosity by the gardener. they disputed for some time. at last the prince solemnly protested, that he would have none of it, unless the gardener would divide it with him. the good man, to please the prince, consented; so they shared it between them, and each had twenty-five urns. "having thus divided it, son," said the gardener to the prince, "it is not enough that you have got this treasure; we must now contrive to carry it privately aboard, otherwise you will run the risk of losing it. there are no olives in the isle of ebene, those that are exported hence are a good commodity there: you know i have plenty of them, take what you will; fill fifty pots, half with the gold-dust and half with olives, and i will get them carried to the ship when you embark." the prince followed this advice, and spent the rest of the day in packing up the gold and the olives in the fifty pots, and fearing the talisman, which he wore on his arm, might be lost again, he carefully put it into one of the pots, with a particular mark to distinguish it from the rest. when they were all ready to be shipped, night coming on, the prince retired with the gardener, and related to him the battle of the birds, with the circumstance by which he had found the talisman. the gardener was equally surprised and joyful to hear it on his account. whether the old man was quite worn out with age, or had exhausted himself too much that day, the gardener had a very bad night; he grew worse the next day, and on the third day, when the prince was to embark, was so ill, that it was plain he was near his end. as soon as day broke, the captain of the ship came with several seamen to the gardener's; they knocked at the garden-door, which the prince opened to them. they asked him for the passenger who was to go with them. the prince answered, "i am he; the gardener who agreed with you for my passage is sick, and cannot be spoken with; come in, and let your men carry those pots of olives and my baggage aboard for me; i will only take leave of the gardener, and follow you." the seamen took the pots and the baggage, and the captain bade the prince make haste, the wind being fair. when the captain and his men were gone, kummir al zummaun went to the gardener to take his leave of him, and thanked him for all his good offices; but found him in the agonies of death, and had scarcely time to bid him rehearse the articles of his faith, which all good moosulmauns do before they die, before the gardener expired. the prince being under the necessity of embarking immediately, hastened to pay the last duty to the deceased. he washed his body, buried him in his own garden, and having nobody to assist him, it was almost evening before he had put him into the ground. as soon as he had done, he ran to the water-side, carrying with him the key of the garden, designing, if he had time, to give it to the landlord; otherwise to deposit it in some trusty person's hand before a witness, that he might have it after he was gone. when he reached the port, he was told the ship had sailed several hours, and was already out of sight. it had waited three hours for him, and the wind standing fair, the captain durst not stay longer. it is easy to imagine that kummir al zummaun was exceedingly grieved at being forced to remain longer in a country where he neither had, nor wished to have, any acquaintance; to think that he must wait another year for the opportunity he had lost. but the greatest affliction of all was, his having parted with the princess badoura's talisman, which he now considered lost. the only course left him was to return to the garden from whence he had come, to rent it of the landlord and continue to cultivate it by himself, deploring his misery and misfortunes. he hired a boy to assist him to do some part of the drudgery: that he might not lose the other half of the treasure which came to him by the death of the gardener, who died without heirs, he put the gold- dust into fifty other jars, which he filled up with olives, to be ready against the ship's return. while the prince was beginning another year of labour, sorrow, and impatience, the ship having a fair wind, continued her voyage to the isle of ebene, and happily arrived at the capital. the palace being by the sea side, the new king, or rather the princess badoura, espying the ship as she was entering into the port, with all her flags, asked what vessel it was: she was answered, that it came annually from the city of the idolaters, and was generally richly laden. the princess, who always had kummir al zummaun in her mind, imagined that the prince might be aboard; and resolved to visit the ship and meet him, without discovering herself; but to observe him, and take proper measures for their making themselves mutually known. under pretence of inquiring what merchandize was on board, and having the first sight of the goods, she commanded a horse to be brought, which she mounted, accompanied by several officers in waiting, and arrived at the port, just as the captain came ashore. she ordered him to be brought before her, asked whence he had come, how long he had been on his voyage, and what good or bad fortune he had met with: if he had no stranger of quality aboard, and particularly with what his ship was laden. the captain gave a satisfactory answer to all her demands; and as to passengers, assured her there were none but merchants in his ship, who used to come every year, and bring rich stuffs from several parts of the world to trade with, the finest linens painted and plain, diamonds, musk, ambergris, camphire, civet, spices, drugs, olives, and many other articles. the princess badoura loved olives extremely when she heard the captain speak of them, "land them," said she, "i will take them off your hands; as to the other goods, tell the merchants to bring them to me, and let me see them before they dispose of, or shew them to any one." the captain taking her for the king of the isle of ebene, replied, "sire, there are fifty great jars of olives, but they belong to a merchant whom i was forced to leave behind. i gave him notice myself that i stayed for him, and waited a long time, but he not coming, and the wind offering, i was afraid of losing the opportunity, and so set sail." the princess answered, "no matter, bring them ashore; we will nevertheless make a bargain for them." the captain sent the boat, which in a little time returned with the olives. the princess demanded how much the fifty jars might be worth in the isle of ebene? "sir," replied the captain, "the merchant is very poor, and your majesty will do him a singular favour if you give him one thousand pieces of silver." "to satisfy him," said the princess, "and because you tell me he is poor, i will order you one thousand pieces of gold for him, which do you take care to give him." the money was accordingly paid, and the jars carried to the palace. night drawing on the princess withdrew into the inner palace, and went to the princess haiatalnefous's apartment, ordering the olives to be brought thither. she opened one jar to let the princess haiatalnefous taste them, and poured them into a dish. great was her astonishment, when she found the olives were mingled with gold-dust. "what can this mean!" said she, "it is wonderful beyond comprehension." her curiosity increasing from so extraordinary an adventure, she ordered haiatalnefous's women to open and empty all the jars in her presence; and her wonder was still greater, when she saw that the olives in all of them were mixed with gold-dust; but when she saw her talisman drop out, she was so surprised that she fainted away. haiatalnefous and her women brought the princess to herself, by throwing cold water in her face. when she recovered, she took the talisman, and kissed it again and again; but not being willing that the princess haiatalnefous's women, who were ignorant of her disguise, should hear what she said, and it growing late, she dismissed them. "princess," said she to haiatalnefous, as soon as they were gone, "you who have heard my story, doubtless, guessed it was at the sight of the talisman that i fainted. this is that talisman, and the fatal cause of my dosing my husband; but as it was that which caused our separation, so i foresee it will be the means of our meeting." the next day, as soon as it was light, she sent for the captain of the ship; and when he came, spoke to him thus: "i want to know something more of the merchant to whom the olives belong, that i bought of you yesterday. i think you told me you left him behind in the city of the idolaters; can you tell me what is his employment there?" "yes," replied the captain, "i can speak from my own knowledge. i agreed for his passage with a very old gardener, who told me i should find him in his garden, where he worked under him. he shewed me the place, and for that reason i told your majesty he was poor. i went thither to call him. i told him what haste i was in, spoke to him myself in the garden, and cannot be mistaken in the man." "if what you say is true," replied the princess, "you must set sail this very day for the city of idolaters, and bring me that gardener's man, who is my debtor; else i will not only confiscate all your goods and those of your merchants, but your life and theirs shall answer for his. i have ordered my seal to be put on the warehouses where their goods are deposited, which shall not be taken off till your return: this is all i have to say to you; go and do as i command you." the captain could make no reply to this order, the disobeying of which must have proved of such loss to him and his merchants. he acquainted them with it; and they hastened him away as fast as they could, after he had laid in a stock of provisions and fresh water for his voyage. they were so diligent, that he set sail the same day. he had a prosperous voyage to the city of the idolaters, where he arrived in the night. when he was got as near the city as he thought convenient, he would not cast anchor, but lay to off shore; and going into his boat, with six of his stoutest seamen, landed a little way off the port, whence he went directly to the garden of kummir al zummaun. though it was about midnight when he came there, the prince was not asleep. his separation from the fair princess of china his wife afflicted him as usual. he cursed the minute in which his curiosity tempted him to touch the fatal girdle. thus was he passing those hours which are devoted to rest, when he heard somebody knock at the garden-door: he ran hastily to it; but he had no sooner opened it than the captain and his seamen took hold of him, and carried him to the boat, and so on ship- board. as soon as he was safely lodged, they set sail, and made the best of their way to the isle of ebene. hitherto kummir al zummaun, the captain, and his men, had not said a word to one another; at last the prince asked the captain, whom he knew again, why they had taken him away by force? the captain in his turn demanded of the prince, whether he was not a debtor of the king of ebene? "i the king of ebene's debtor!" replied the prince in amazement; "i do not know him, and have never set foot in his kingdom." the captain answered, "you should know that better than i; you will talk to him yourself in a little while; till then stay here and have patience." the captain was not long on his voyage back to the isle of ebene. though it was night when he cast anchor in the port, he landed immediately, and taking his prisoner with him, hastened to the palace, where he demanded to be introduced to the king. the princess badoura had withdrawn into the inner palace, but as soon as she heard of the captain's return, she came out to speak to him. immediately as she cast her eyes on the prince, for whom she had shed so many tears, she recognized him in his gardener's habit. as for the prince, who trembled in the presence of a king, as he thought her, to whom he was to answer for an imaginary debt, it could not enter into his thoughts, that the person whom he so earnestly desired to see stood before him. if the princess had followed the dictates of her inclination, she would have run to him, and, by embracing, discovered herself to him; but she put a constraint on herself, believing that it was for the interest of both that she should act the king a little longer before she made herself known. she contented herself for the present to put him into the hands of an officer, who was then in waiting, charging him to take care of him, and use him well, till the next day. when the princess badoura had provided for kummir al zummaun, she turned to the captain, whom she was now to reward for the important service he had done her. she commanded another officer to go immediately to take the seal off the warehouse which contained his goods, and gave him a rich diamond, worth much more than the expense he had been at in both his voyages. she also bade him keep the thousand pieces of gold she had given for the olives, telling him she would make up the account with the merchant whom he had brought with him. this done, she returned to the princess of the isle of ebene's apartment, to whom she communicated her joy, praying her to keep the secret still. she told how she intended to manage the discovering of herself to kummir al zumrnaun, and resignation of the kingdom to him; adding, there was so vast a distance between a gardener, as he would appear to the public, and a great prince, that it might be dangerous to raise him at once from the lowest condition of the people to the highest honour, however justice might require it should be done. the princess of the isle of ebene was so far from betraying her, that she rejoiced with her, and entered into the design. the next morning the princess of china ordered kummir al zummaun to be conducted early to the bath, and then to be appareled in the robes of an emir or governor of a province. she commanded him to be introduced into the council, where his fine person and majestic air drew upon him the eyes of all the lords present. the princess badoura herself was charmed to see him look as lovely as ever, and her pleasure inspired her to speak the more warmly in his praise. when she spoke to the council, having ordered the prince to take his seat among the emirs, she addressed them thus: "my lords, kummir al zummaun, whom i have advanced to the same dignity with yourselves, is not unworthy of the place assigned him. i have known enough of him in my travels to answer for him, and i can assure you he will make his merit known to all of you, as well by his velour, as by a thousand other brilliant qualities, and the extent of his genius." the prince was extremely amazed to hear the king of the isle of ebene, whom he was far from taking for a woman, much less for his dear princess, name him, and declare that he knew him, while he thought himself certain he had never seen him before. he was much more surprised when he heard him praise him so highly. those praises however from the mouth of majesty did not disconcert him, though he received them with such modesty, as shewed that he deserved them. he prostrated himself before the throne of the king, and rising again, said, "sire, i want words to express my gratitude to your majesty for the honour you have done me; i shall do all in my power to render myself worthy of your royal favour." from the council-board the prince was conducted to a palace, which the princess badoura had ordered to be fitted up for him; where he found officers and domestics ready to obey his commands, a stable full of fine horses, and every thing suitable to the quality of an emir. when he was in his closet, the steward of his household brought him a strong box full of gold for his expenses. the less he could conceive whence his happiness proceeded, the more he wondered, but he never once imagined that he owed it to the princess of china. two or three days after, the princess badoura, that he might be nearer her person and in a more distinguished post, made him high treasurer, which office had lately become vacant. he conducted himself in his new charge with so much integrity, yet obliging every body, that he not only gained the friendship of the great, but also the affections of the people, by his uprightness and bounty. kummir al zummaun had been the happiest man in the world, to see himself in so high favour with a foreign king as he conceived, and increasing in the esteem of all his subjects, if he had had his princess with him. in the midst of his good fortune he never ceased lamenting her, and grieved that he could hear no tidings of her, especially in a country which she must necessarily have visited in her way to his father's court after their separation. he would have mistrusted something, had the princess still gone by the name of kummir al zummaun, which she took with his habit; but on her accession to the throne, she had changed it, and taken that of armanos, in honour of the old king her father-in-law. the princess desiring that her husband should owe the discovery of her to herself alone, resolved to put an end to her own torments and his; for she had observed, that as often as she discoursed with him about the affairs of office, he heaved such deep sighs, as could be addressed to nobody but her. while she herself lived in such a constraint, that she could endure it no longer. the princess badoura had no sooner formed her resolution in concert with the princess haiatalnefous, than she the same day took kummir al zummaun aside, saying, "i must talk with you about an affair which requires much consideration, and on which i want your advice. as i do not see how it can be done so conveniently as in the night, come hither in the evening, and leave word at home not to be waited for; i will take care to provide you a lodging." kummir al zummaun came punctually to the palace at the hour appointed by the princess; she took him with her into the inner apartment, and having told the chief eunuch, who prepared to follow her, that she had no occasion for his service, conducted him into a different apartment from that of the princess haiatalnefous, where she used to sleep. when the prince and princess entered the chamber, she shut the door, and taking the talisman out of a little box, gave it to kummir al zummaun, saying, "it is not long since an astrologer presented me with this talisman; you being skilful in all things, may perhaps tell me its use." kummir al zummaun took the talisman, and drew near a lamp to view it. as soon as he recollected it, with an astonishment which gave the princess great pleasure, "sire," said he to the prince, "your majesty asked me the use of this talisman. alas! its only purpose is to kill me with grief and despair, if i do not quickly find the most charming and lovely princess in the world to whom it belonged, whose loss it occasioned me by a strange adventure, the recital of which will move your majesty to pity such an unfortunate husband and lover as i am." "you shall tell me the particulars another time," replied the princess; "i know something of them already: remain here a little, and i will soon return to you." at these words she went into her closet, put off her royal turban, and in a few minutes dressed herself in her female attire; and having the girdle round her, which she had on the day of their separation, re-entered the chamber. kummir al zummaun immediately recognized his dear princess, ran to her, and tenderly embraced her, exclaiming, "how much am i obliged to the king who has so agreeably surprised me!" "do not expect to see the king any more," replied the princess, embracing him in her turn, with tears in her eyes: "you see him in me; sit down, and i will explain this enigma to you." they seated themselves, and the princess related the plan she had formed in the plain where they were encamped the last time they were together, as soon as she perceived she waited for him to no purpose; how she went through with it till she arrived at the isle of ebene, where she had been obliged to marry the princess haiatalnefous, and accept of the crown, which king armanos offered her as a condition of the marriage: how the princess, whose merit she highly extolled, had obliged her to make declaration of her sex: and how she found the talisman in the pots of olives mingled with the gold-dust, which she had bought, and how this circumstance had proved the cause of her sending for him from the city of the idolaters. when she had concluded her adventure, she obliged the prince to tell her by what means the talisman had occasioned their separation. he satisfied her inquiries; after which, it growing late, they retired to rest. the princess badoura and kummir al zummaun rose next morning as soon as it was light, but the princess would no more put on her royal robes as king; she dressed herself in her female attire, and then sent the chief eunuch to king armanos, her father-in- law, to desire he would oblige her by coming to her apartment. when the king entered the chamber, he was amazed at seeing a lady who was unknown to him, and the high treasurer with her, who was not by etiquette permitted to come within the inner palace. he sat down, and asked where the king was. the princess answered, "yesterday i was king, but to-day i am only princess of china, wife to the true prince kummir al zummaun. if your majesty will have patience to hear our adventures, i hope you will not condemn me for putting an innocent deceit upon you." the king bade her go on, and heard her narrative from beginning to end with astonishment. the princess on finishing said to him, "sir, though women do not easily comply with the liberty assumed by men to have several wives; yet if your majesty will consent to give your daughter the princess haiatalnefous in marriage to the prince, i will with all my heart yield up to her the rank and quality of queen, which of right belongs to her, and content myself with the second place. if this precedence were not her due, i would resign it to her, after the obligation i have to her for keeping my secret so generously. if your majesty refer it to her consent, i am sure of that, having already consulted her; and i will pass my word that she will be very well satisfied." king armanos listened to the princess with astonishment, and when she had done, turned to kummir al zummaun, saying, "son, since the princess badoura your wife, whom i have all along thought to be my son-in-law, through a deceit of which i cannot complain, assures me, that she will divide your bed with my daughter; i would know if you are willing to marry her, and accept of the crown, which the princess badoura would deservedly wear, if she did not quit it out of love to you." "sir," replied kummir al zummaun, "though i desire nothing so earnestly as to see the king my father, yet the obligations i have to your majesty and the princess haiatalnefous are so weighty, i can refuse her nothing." the prince was then proclaimed king, and married the same day with all possible demonstrations of joy; and had every reason to be well pleased with the princess haiatalnefous's beauty, wit, and love for him. the two queens lived together afterwards on the same friendly terms and in the same cordiality as they had done before, both being contented with kummir al zummaun's equal carriage towards them. the next year each brought him a son at the same time, and the births of the two princes were celebrated with extraordinary rejoicings: the first, whom the princess badoura was delivered of, was named amgiad (most illustrious); and the other, born of queen haiatalnefous, assad (most virtuous). the story of the princes amgiad and assad. the two princes were brought up with great care; and, when they were old enough, had the same governor, the same instructors in the arts and sciences, and the same master for each exercise. the affection which from their infancy they conceived for each other occasioned an uniformity of manners and inclination, which increased it. when they were of an age to have separate households, they loved one another so tenderly, that they begged the king to let them live together. he consented, and they had the same domestics, the same equipages, the same apartment, and the same table. kummir al zummaun had formed so good an opinion of their capacity and integrity, that he made no scruple of admitting them into his council at the age of eighteen, and letting them, by turns, preside there, while he took the diversion of hunting, or amused himself with his queens at his houses of pleasure. the princes being equally handsome, the two queens loved them with incredible tenderness; but the princess badoura had a greater kindness for prince assad, queen haiatalnefous's son, than for her own; and queen haiatalnefous loved amgiad, the princess badoura's son, better than her own son assad. the two queens thought at first this inclination was nothing but a regard which proceeded from an excess of their own friendship for each other, which they still preserved: but as the two princes advanced in years, that friendship grew into a violent love, when they appeared in their eyes to possess graces that blinded their reason. they knew how criminal their passion was, and did all they could to resist it; but the familiar intercourse with them, and the habit of admiring, praising, and caressing them from their infancy, which they could not restrain when they grew up, inflamed their desires to such a height as to overcome their reason and virtue. it was their and the princes' ill- fortune, that the latter being used to be so treated by them, had not the least suspicion of their infamous passion. the two queens had not concealed from each other this passion, but had not the boldness to declare it to the princes they loved; they at last resolved to do it by a letter, and to execute their wicked design, availed themselves of the king's absence, when he was gone on a hunting party for three or four days. prince amgiad presided at the council on the day of his father's departure, and administered justice till two or three o'clock in the afternoon. as he returned to the palace from the council- chamber, an eunuch took him aside, and gave him a letter from queen haiatalnefous. amgiad took it, and read it with horror. "traitor," said he, to the eunuch. as soon as he had perused it through, "is this the fidelity thou owest thy master and thy king?" at these words he drew his sabre and cut off his head. having done this in a transport of anger he ran to the princess badoura his mother, shewed her the letter, told her the contents of it, and from whom it came. instead of hearkening to him, she fell into a passion, and said, "son, it is all a calumny and imposture; queen haiatalnefous is a very discreet princess, and you are very bold to talk to me against her." the prince, enraged at his mother, exclaimed, "you are both equally wicked, and were it not for the respect i owe my father, this day should have been the last of haiatalnefous's life." queen badoura might have imagined by the example of her son amgiad, that prince assad, who was not less virtuous, would not receive more favourably a declaration of love, similar to that which had been made to his brother. yet that did not hinder her persisting in her abominable design; she, the next day, wrote him a letter, which she entrusted to an old woman who had access to the palace, to convey to him. the old woman watched her opportunity to put it into his hands as he was coming from the council-chamber, where he presided that day in his turn. the prince took it, and reading it, fell into such a rage, that, without giving himself time to finish it, he drew his sabre and punished the old woman as she deserved. he ran immediately to the apartment of his mother queen haiatalnefous, with the letter in his hand: he would have shewn it to her, but she did not give him time, crying out, "i know what you mean; you are as impertinent as your brother amgiad: be gone, and never come into my presence again." assad stood as one thunder-struck at these words, so little expected. he was so enraged, that he had like to have given fatal demonstrations of his anger; but he contained himself, and withdrew without making any reply, fearing if he stayed he might say something unworthy the greatness of his soul. amgiad had not mentioned to him the letter which he had received the preceding day; and finding by what his mother had said to him that she was altogether as criminal as queen haiatalnefous, he went to his brother, to chide him for not communicating the hated secret to him, and to mingle his own sorrow with his. the two queens, rendered desperate by finding in the two princes such virtue as should have made them look inwardly on themselves, renounced all sentiments of nature and of mothers and conspired together to destroy them. they made their women believe the two princes had attempted their virtue: they counterfeited the matter to the life by their tears, cries, and curses; and lay in the same bed, as if the resistance they pretended to have made had reduced them almost to death's-door. when kummir al zummaun returned to the palace from hunting, he was much surprised to find them in bed together, in tears, acting despondency so well, that he was touched with compassion. he asked them with earnestness what had happened to them. at this question, the dissembling queens wept and sobbed more bitterly than before; and after he had pressed them again and again to tell him, queen badoura at last answered him: "sir, our grief is so well founded, that we ought not to see the light of the sun, or live a day, after the violence that has been offered us by the unparalleled brutality of the princes your sons. they formed a horrid design, encouraged by your absence, and had the boldness and insolence to attempt our honour. your majesty will excuse us from saying any more; you may guess the rest by our affliction." the king sent for the two princes, and would have killed them both with his own hand, had not old king armanos his father-in- law, who was present, held his hand: "son," said he, "what are you going to do? will you stain your hands and your palace with your own blood? there are other ways of punishing them, if they are really guilty." he endeavoured thus to appease him, and desired him to examine whether they did indeed commit the crime of which they were accused. it was no difficult matter for kummir al zummaun to restrain himself so far as not to butcher his own children. he ordered them to be put under arrest, and sent for an emir called jehaun- dar, whom he commanded to conduct them out of the city, and put them to death, at a great distance, and in what place he pleased, but not to see him again, unless he brought their clothes with him, as a token of his having executed his orders. jehaun-dar travelled with them all night, and early next morning made them alight, telling them, with tears in his eyes, the commands he had received. "believe me, princes," said he, "it is a trying duty imposed on me by your father, to execute this cruel order: would to heaven i could avoid it!" the princes replied, "do your duty; we know well you are not the cause of our death, and forgive you with all our hearts." they then embraced, and bade each other a last adieu with so much tenderness, that it was a long time before they could leave one another's arms. prince assad was the first who prepared himself for the fatal stroke. "begin with me," said he "that i may not have the affliction to see my dear brother amgiad die." to this amgiad objected; and jehaun-dar could not, without weeping more than before, be witness of this dispute between them; which shewed how perfect and sincere was their affection. at last they determined the contest, by desiring jehaun-dar to tie them together, and put them in the most convenient posture for him to give them the fatal stroke at one blow. "do not refuse the comfort of dying together to two unfortunate brothers, who from their birth have shared every thing, even their innocence," said the generous princes. jehaun-dar granted their request; he tied them to each other, breast to breast; and when he had placed them so that he thought he might strike the blow with more certainty, asked them if they had any thing to command him before they died. "we have only one thing to desire of you," replied the princes, "which is, to assure the king our father on your return, that we are innocent; but that we do not charge him with our deaths, knowing he is not well informed of the truth of the crime of which we are accused." jehaun-dar promised to do what they desired and drew his sabre, when his horse, being tied to a tree just by, started at the sight of the sabre, which glittered against the sun, broke his bridle, and ran away into the country. he was a very valuable horse, and so richly caparisoned, that the emir could not bear the loss of him. this accident so vexed him, that instead of beheading the two princes, he threw away his sabre, and ran after his horse. the horse galloped on before him, and led him several miles into a wood. jehaun-dar followed him, and the horse's neighing roused a lion that was asleep. the lion started up, and instead of running after the horse, made directly towards jehaun-dar, who thought no more of his horse, but how to save his life. he ran into the thickest of the wood, the lion keeping him in view, pursuing him among the trees. in this extremity he said to himself, "heaven had not punished me in this manner, but to shew the innocence of the princes whom i was commanded to put to death; and now, to my misfortune, i have not my sabre to defend myself." while jehaun-dar was gone, the two princes were seized with a violent thirst, occasioned by the fear of death, notwithstanding their noble resolution to submit to the king their father's cruel order. prince amgiad told the prince his brother there was a spring not far off. "ah! brother," said assad, "we have so little time to live, what need have we to quench our thirst? we can bear it a few minutes longer." amgiad taking no notice of his brother's remonstrance, unbound himself, and the prince his brother. they went to the spring, and having refreshed themselves, heard the roaring of the lion. they also heard jehaun-dar's dreadful cries in the wood, which he and the horse had entered. amgiad took up the sabre which lay on the ground, saying to assad, "come, brother, let us go and save the unfortunate jehaun-dar; perhaps we may arrive soon enough to deliver him from the danger to which he is now exposed." the two princes ran to the wood, and entered it just as the lion was going to fall on jehaun-dar. the beast seeing prince amgiad advancing towards him with a sabre in his hand, left his prey, and rushed towards him with great fury. the prince met him intrepidly, and gave him a blow so forcibly and dexterously, that it felled him to the ground. when jehaun-dar saw that he owed his life to the two princes, he threw himself at their feet, and thanked them for the obligation, in words which sufficiently testified his gratitude. "princes," said he, rising up and kissing their hands, with tears in his eyes, "god forbid that ever i should attempt any thing against your lives, after you have so kindly and bravely saved mine. it shall never he said, that the emir jehaun-dar was guilty of such ingratitude." "the service we have done you," answered the princes, "ought not to prevent you from executing the orders you have received: let us first catch your horse, and then return to the place where you left us."--they were at no great trouble to take the horse, whose mettle was abated with running. when they had restored him to jehaun-dar, and were come near the fountain, they begged of him to do as their father had commanded; but all to no purpose. "i only take the liberty to desire," said jehaun-dar, "and i pray you not to deny me, that you will divide my clothes between you, and give me yours; and go to such a distance, that the king your father may never hear of you more." the princes were forced to comply with his request. each of them gave him his clothes, and covered themselves with what he could spare them of his. he also gave them all the money he had about him, and took his leave of them. after the emir jehaun-dar had parted from the princes, he passed through the wood where amgiad had killed the lion, in whose blood he dipped their clothes: which having done, he proceeded on his way to the capital of the isle of ebene. on his arrival there, kummir al zummaun inquired if he had done as commanded? jehaun-dar replied, "behold, sir, the proofs of my obedience;" giving him at the same time the princes' clothes. "how did they bear their punishment?" jehaun-dar answered, "with wonderful constancy and resignation to the decrees of heaven, which shewed how sincerely they made profession of their religion: but particularly with great respect towards your majesty, and an inconceivable submission to the sentence of death. �we die innocent,' said they; �but we do not murmur: we take our death from the hand of heaven, and forgive our father; for we know he has not been rightly informed of the truth.'" kummir al zummaun was sensibly touched at jehaun-dar's relation. a thought occurred to him to search the princes' pockets; he began with prince amgiad's where he found a letter open, which he read. he no sooner recognized the hand-writing than he was chilled with horror. he then, trembling, put his hand into that of assad, and finding there queen badoura's letter, his horror was so great, that he fainted. never was grief equal to kummir all zummaun's, when he recovered from his fit: "barbarous father," cried he, "what hast thou done? thou hast murdered thy own children, thy innocent children! did not their wisdom, their modesty, their obedience, their submission to thy will in all things, their virtue, all plead in their behalf? blind and insensible father! dost thou deserve to live after the execrable crime thou hast committed? i have brought this abomination on my own head; and heaven chastises me for not persevering in that aversion to women with which i was born. and, oh ye detestable wives! i will not, no, i will not, as ye deserve, wash off the guilt of your sins with your blood; ye are unworthy of my rage: but i will never see you more!" kummir al zummaun was a man of too much religion to break his vow: he commanded the two queens to be lodged in separate apartments that very day, where they were kept under strong guards, and he never saw them again as long as he lived. while the king of the isle of ebene was afflicting himself for the loss of his sons, of whose death he thought he had been the author by his too rashly condemning them, the royal youths wandered through deserts, endeavouring to avoid all places that were inhabited, and shun every human creature. they lived on herbs and wild fruits, and drank only rain-water, which they found in the crevices of the rocks. they slept and watched by turns at night, for fear of wild beasts. when they had travelled about a month, they came to the foot of a frightful mountain of black stones, and to all appearance inaccessible. they at last espied a kind of path, but so narrow and difficult that they durst not venture to follow it: this obliged them to go along by the foot of the mountain, in hopes of finding a more easy way to reach the summit, but could discover nothing like a path, so they were forced to return to that which they had neglected. they still thought it would be in vain for them to attempt it. they deliberated for a long time what they should do, and at last, encouraging one another, resolved to ascend. the more they advanced the higher and steeper the mountain appeared, which made them think several times of giving over their enterprise. when the one was weary, the other stopped, and they took breath together; sometimes they were both so tired, that they wanted strength to proceed: then despairing of being able to reach the top they thought they must lie down and die of fatigue and weariness. a few minutes after, when they found they recovered strength, they animated each other and went on. notwithstanding all their endeavours, their courage and perseverance, they could not reach the summit that day; night came on, and prince assad was so spent, that he stopped and said to amgiad, "brother, i can go no farther, i am just dying." "let us rest ourselves," replied prince amgiad, "as long as you will, and have a good heart: it is but a little way to the top, and the moon befriends us." they rested about half an hour, and then assad making a new effort, they ascended what remained of the way to the summit, where they both at last arrived, and lay down. amgiad rose first, and advancing, saw a tree at a little distance. he went to it, and found it was a pomegranate, with large fruit upon it, and he perceived there was a spring at its foot: he ran to his brother assad to tell him the good news, and conduct him to the tree by the fountain side. here they refreshed themselves by eating each a pomegranate, after which they fell asleep. when they awoke the next morning, "come, brother," said amgiad to assad, "let us go on; i see the mountain is easier to be travelled over on this side than the other, all our way now is down hill." but assad was so tired with the preceding day's exertions, that he wanted three days' repose to recover himself. they spent these days as they had done many before, in conversing on their mothers' inordinate passion, which had reduced them to such a deplorable state: but, said they, "since heaven has so visibly declared itself in our favour, we ought to bear our misfortunes with patience, and comfort ourselves with hopes that we shall see an end of them." after having rested three days, the two brothers continued their travels. as the mountain on that side was composed of several shelves of extensive flat, they were five days in descending before they came into the plain. they then discovered a large city, at which they rejoiced: "brother," said amgiad to assad, "are not you of my opinion that you should stay in some place out of the city, where i may find you again, while i go and inform myself what country we are in, and when i come back i will bring provisions with me? it may not be safe for us to go there together." "brother," replied assad, "your plan is both safe and prudent, and i approve of what you say but if one of us must part from the other on that account, i will not suffer it shall be you; you must allow me to go; for what shall i suffer, if any accident should befall you?" "but, brother," answered amgiad, "the very accident you fear would befall me, i have as much reason to fear would happen to you: i entreat you to let me go, and do you remain here patiently." "i will never consent to this," said assad; "if any ill happen to me, it will be some comfort to think you are safe." amgiad was forced to submit, and assad going towards the city, he stayed under the trees at the foot of the mountain. prince assad took the purse of money which amgiad had in charge, and went forwards towards the city. he had not proceeded far in the first street, before he met with a reverend old man with a cane in his hand. he was neatly dressed, and the prince took him for a man of note in the place, who would not put a trick upon him, so he accosted him thus: "pray, my lord, which is the way to the market-place?" the old man looked at prince assad smiling; "child," said he, "it is plain you are a stranger, or you would not have asked that question." "yes, my lord, i am a stranger," replied assad. the old man answered, "you are welcome then; our country will be honoured by the presence of so handsome a young man as you are: tell me what business you have at the market-place." "my lord," replied assad, "it is near two months since my brother and i set out from our own country: we have not ceased travelling, and we arrived here but to-day; my brother, tired with such a long journey, stays at the foot of the mountain, and i am come to buy some provisions for him and myself." "son," said the old man, "you could not have come in a better time, and i am glad of it for your and your brother's sake. i made a feast today for some friends of mine: come along with me; you shall eat as much as you please; and when you have done, i will give you enough to last your brother and yourself several days. do not spend your money, when there is no occasion; travellers are always in want of it: while you are eating i will give you an account of our city, which no one can do better than myself, who have borne all the honourable offices in it. it is well for you that you happen to light upon me; for i must tell you, all our citizens cannot so well assist and inform you. i can assure you some of them are very wicked. come, you shall see the difference between a real honest man, as i am, and such as boast of being so, and are not." "i am infinitely obliged to you," replied assad, "for your kindness; i put myself entirely into your hands, and am ready to go with you where you please." the old man, as he walked along by his side, laughed inwardly, to think he had got the prince in his clutches; and all the way, lest he should perceive his dissimulation, talked of various subjects, to preserve the favourable opinion assad had of him. among other things, he said, "it must be confessed you were very fortunate to have spoken to me, rather than to any one else: i thank god i met with you; you will know why, when you come to my house." at length they arrived at the residence of the old man, who introduced assad into a hall, where there were forty such old fellows as himself, who made a circle round a flaming fire, which they were adoring. the prince was not less struck with horror at the sight of so many men mistakenly worshipping the creature for the creator, than he was with fear at finding himself betrayed into so abominable a place. while the prince stood motionless with astonishment, the old cheat saluted the forty gray-headed men. "devout adorers of fire," said he to them, "this is a happy day for us; where is gazban? call him." he spake these words aloud, when a negro who waited at the lower end of the hall immediately came up to him. this black was gazban, who, as soon as he saw the disconsolate assad, imagined for what purpose he was called. he rushed upon him immediately, threw him down, and bound his hands with wonderful activity. when he had done, "carry him down," said the old man, "and fail not to order my daughters, bostama and cavama, to give him every day a severe bastinado, with only a loaf morning and night for his subsistence; this is enough to keep him alive till the next ship departs for the blue sea and the fiery mountain, where he shall be offered up an acceptable sacrifice to our divinity." as soon as the old man had given the cruel order, gazban hurried prince assad under the hall, through several doors, till they came to a dungeon, down to which led twenty steps; there he left him in chains of prodigious weight and bigness, fastened to his feet. when he had done, he went to give the old man's daughters notice: but their father had before sent for them, and given them their instructions himself: "daughters," said he to them, "go down and give the mussulmaun i just now brought in the bastinado: do not spare him; you cannot better shew your zeal for the worship of the fire." bostama and cavama, who were bred up in their hatred to the faithful, received this order with joy. they descended into the dungeon that instant, stripped assad, and bastinadoed him unmercifully, till the blood issued out of his wounds and he was almost dead. after this cruel treatment, they put a loaf of bread and a pot of water by him, and retired. assad did not come to himself again for a long time; when he revived, he burst out into a flood of tears, deploring his misery. his comfort however was, that this misfortune had not happened to his brother. amgiad waited for his brother till evening with impatience; as two, three, or four of the clock in the morning arrived, and assad did not return, he was in despair. he spent the night in extreme uneasiness; and as soon as it was day went to the city, where he was surprised to see but very few mussulmauns. he accosted the first he met, and asked him the name of the place. he was told it was the city of the magicians, so called from the great number of magicians, who adored the fire; and that it contained but few mussulmauns. amgiad then demanded how far it was to the isle of ebene? he was answered, four months' voyage by sea, and a year's journey by land. the man he talked to left him hastily, having satisfied him as to these two questions. amgiad, who had been but six weeks coming from the isle of ebene with his brother assad, could not comprehend how they had reached this city in so short a time, unless it was by enchantment, or that the way across the mountain was a much shorter one, but not frequented because of its difficulty. going farther into the town, he stopped at a tailor's shop, whom he knew to be a mussulmaun by his dress. having saluted him, he sat down, and told him the occasion of the trouble he was in. when prince amgiad had done talking, the tailor replied, "if your brother has fallen into the hands of some magicians, depend upon it you will never see him more. he is lost past all recovery; and i advise you to comfort yourself as well as you can, and to beware of falling into the same misfortune: to which end, if you will take my advice, you shall stay at my house, and i will tell you all the tricks of these magicians, that you may take care of yourself, when you go out." amgiad, afflicted for the loss of his brother, accepted the tailor's offer and thanked him a thousand times for his kindness to him. the story of the prince amgiad and a lady of the city of the magicians. for a whole month prince amgiad never went out of the tailor's house without being accompanied by his host. at last he ventured to go alone to the bath. as he was returning home, he met a lady on the way. seeing a handsome young man, she lifted up her veil, asked him with a smiling air, and bewitching look, whither he was going? amgiad was overpowered by her charms, and replied, "madam, i am going to my own house, or, if you please, i will go to yours." "my lord," resumed the lady, with a smile, "ladies of my quality never take men to their houses, they always accompany them to theirs." amgiad was much perplexed by this unexpected reply. he durst not venture to take her home to his landlord's house, lest he should give him offence, and thereby lose his protection, of which he had so much need, in a city which required him to be always on his guard. he knew so little of the town, that he could not tell where to convey her, and he could not make up his mind to suffer the adventure to go unimproved. in this uncertainty, he determined to throw himself upon chance; and without making any answer, went on, and the lady followed him. amgiad led her from street to street, from square to square, till they were both weary with walking. at last they entered a street, at the end of which was a closed gateway leading to a handsome mansion. on each side of the gateway was a bench. amgiad sat down on one of them, as if to take breath: and the lady, more weary than he, seated herself on the other. when she had taken her seat, she asked him, whether that was his house? "you see it, madam," said amgiad. "why do you not open the gate then," demanded the lady; "what do you wait for?" "fair lady," answered amgiad, "i have not the key; i left it with my slave, when i sent him on an errand, and he cannot be come back yet: besides, i ordered him afterwards to provide something good for dinner; so that i am afraid we shall wait a long time for him." the prince, meeting with so many obstacles to the satisfying of his passion, began to repent of having proceeded so far, and contrived this answer, in hopes that the lady would take the hint, would leave him out of resentment, and seek elsewhere for a lover; but he was mistaken. "this is a most impertinent slave," said the lady, "to make us wait so long. i will chastise him myself as he deserves, if you do not, when he comes back. it is not decent that i should sit here alone with a man." saying this, she arose, and took up a stone to break the lock, which was only of wood, and weak, according to the fashion of the country. amgiad gave himself over for a lost man, when he saw the door forced open. he paused to consider whether he should go into the house or make off as fast as he could, to avoid the danger which he believed was inevitable; and he was going to fly when the lady returned. seeing he did not enter, she asked, "why do not you come into your house?" the prince answered, "i am looking to see if my slave is coming, fearing we have nothing ready." "come in, come in," resumed she, we had better wait for him within doors than without." amgiad, much against his will, followed her into the house. passing through a spacious court, neatly paved, they ascended by several steps into a grand vestibule, which led to a large open hall very well furnished, where he and the lady found a table ready spread with all sorts of delicacies, another heaped with fruit, and a sideboard covered with bottles of wine. when amgiad beheld these preparations, he gave himself up for lost. "unfortunate amgiad," said he to himself, "thou wilt soon follow thy dear brother assad." the lady, on the contrary, transported at the sight, exclaimed, "how, my lord, did you fear there was nothing ready? you see your slave has done more than you expected. but, if i am not mistaken, these preparations were made for some other lady, and not for me: no matter, let her come, i promise you i will not be jealous; i only beg the favour of you to permit me to wait on her and you." amgiad, greatly as he was troubled at this accident, could not help laughing at the lady's pleasantry. "madam," said he, thinking of something else that tormented his mind, "there is nothing in what you imagine; this is my common dinner, and no extraordinary preparation, i assure you." as he could not bring himself to sit down at a. table which was not provided for him, he would have taken his seat on a sofa, but the lady would not permit him. "come, sir," said she, "you must be hungry after bathing, let us eat and enjoy ourselves." amgiad was forced to comply: they both sat down, and began to regale themselves. after having taken a little, the lady took a bottle and glass, poured out some wine, and when she had drunk herself, filled another glass, and gave it to amgiad, who pledged her. the more the prince reflected on this adventure, the more he was amazed that the master of the house did not appear; and that a mansion, so rich and well provided, should be left without a servant. "it will be fortunate," said he to himself, "if the master of the house do not return till i am got clear of this intrigue." while he was occupied with these thoughts, and others more troublesome, she ate and drank heartily, and obliged him to do the same. just as they were proceeding to the dessert, the master of the house arrived. it happened to be bahader, master of the horse to the king of the magicians. this mansion belonged to him, but he commonly resided in another; and seldom came to this, unless to regale himself with two or three chosen friends he always sent provisions from his other house on such occasions, and had done so this day by some of his servants, who were just gone when the lady and amgiad entered. bahader came as he used to do, in disguise, and without attendants, and a little before the time appointed for the assembling of his friends. he was not a little surprised to find the door broken open; he entered, making no noise, and hearing some persons talking and making merry in the hall, he stole along under the wall, and put his head half way within the door to see who they were. perceiving a young man and a young lady eating at his table the victuals that had been provided for his friends and himself, and that there was no great harm done, he resolved to divert himself with the adventure. the lady's back was a little turned towards him, and she did not see the master of the horse, but amgiad perceived him immediately. the glass was at the time in his hand, and he was going to drink; he changed colour at the sight of bahader, who made a sign to him not to say a word, but to come and speak to him. amgiad drank and rose: "where are you going?" inquired the lady. the prince answered, "pray, madam, stay here a little; i shall return directly." bahader waited for him in the vestibule, and led him into the court to talk to him without being overheard by the lady. when bahader and amgiad were in the court, bahader demanded of the prince, how the lady came into his house? and why they broke open his door? "my lord," replied amgiad, "you may very reasonably think me guilty of a very unwarrantable action: but if you will have patience to hear me, i hope i shall convince you of my innocence." he then related, in a few words, what had happened, without disguising any part of the truth; and to shew him that he was not capable of committing such an action as to break into a house, told him he was a prince, and informed him of the reason of his coming to the city of the magicians. bahader, who was a good man, was pleased with an opportunity of obliging one of amgiad's rank: for by his air, his actions, and his well-turned conversation, he did not in the least doubt the truth of what he had asserted. "prince," said bahader, "i am glad i can oblige you in so pleasent an adventure. far from disturbing the feast, it will gratify me to contribute to your satisfaction in any thing. before i say any more on this subject, i must inform you my name is bahader; i am master of the horse to the king of the magicians; i commonly reside in another house, which i have in the city, and come here sometimes to have the more liberty with my friends. you have made this lady believe you have a slave, though you have none; i will personate that slave, and that this may not make you uneasy, and to prevent your excuses, i repeat again, that i will positively have it to be so; you will soon know my reason. go to your place, and continue to divert yourself. when i return again, and come to you in a slave's habit, chide me for staying so long, do not be afraid even to strike me. i will wait upon you while you are at table till night; you shall sleep here, and so shall the lady, and to-morrow morning you may send her home with honour. i shall afterwards endeavour to do you more important services: go, and lose no time." amgiad would have made him an answer, but the master of the horse would not suffer him, forcing him to return to the lady. he had scarcely reentered the hall before bahader's friends, whom he had invited, arrived. bahader excused himself for not entertaining them that day, telling them they would approve of his reason when they should be informed of it, which they should be in due time. when they were gone, he went and dressed himself in a slave's habit. prince amgiad returned to the lady much pleased at finding the house belonged to a man of quality, who had received him so courteously. when he sat down again, he said, "madam, i beg a thousand pardons for my rudeness. i was vexed that my slave should tarry so long; the rascal shall pay for it when he comes: i will teach him to make me wait so for him." "let not that trouble you," said the lady. "the evil is his; if he is guilty of any faults, let him pay for it: but do not let us think of him, we will enjoy ourselves without him." they continued at the table with the more pleasure, as amgiad was under no apprehensions of the consequence of the lady's indiscretion in breaking open the door. the prince was now as merry as the lady: they said a thousand pleasant things, and drank more than they ate, till bahader arrived in his disguise. bahader entered like a slave who feared his master's displeasure for staying out when he had company with him. he fell down at his feet and kissed the ground, to implore his clemency; and when he had done, stood behind him with his hands across, waiting his commands. "sirrah," said amgiad, with a fierce tone, and angry look, "where have you been? what have you been doing, that you came no sooner?" "my lord," replied bahader, "i ask your pardon; i was executing your orders, and did not think you would return home so early." "you are a rascal," said amgiad, "and i will break your bones, to teach you to lie, and disappoint me." he then rose up, took a stick, and gave him two or three slight blows; after which he sat down again. the lady was not satisfied with this chastisement. she also rose, took the stick, and fell upon bahader so unmercifully, that the tears came into his eyes. amgiad, offended to the last degree at the freedom she took, and that she should use one of the king's chief officers so ill, called out to her in vain to forbear. "let me alone," said she "i will give him enough, and teach him to be absent so long another time." she continued beating him with great fury, till amgiad rose from the table, and forced the stick out of her hand which she did not relinquish without much struggling. when she found she could beat bahader no longer, she sat down, railed at and cursed him. bahader wiped his eyes, and stood up to fill out wine when he saw they had done eating and drinking, he took away the cloth, cleared the hall, put every thing in its place; and night coming on, lighted up the lamps. every time he came in, or went out, the lady muttered, threatened him, and gave him abusive language, to amgiad's great regret, who would have hindered her, but could not. when it was time for them to retire to bed, bahader prepared one for them on the sofa, and withdrew into a chamber, where he laid himself down, and soon fell asleep, having been fatigued with his beating. amgiad and the lady entertained one another for some time afterwards. the lady before she went to bed having occasion to go to another part of the house, passing through the vestibule, heard bahader snore, and having seen a sabre hanging up in the hall, turned back, and said to amgiad, "my lord, as you love me, do one thing for me." "in what can i serve you?" asked the prince. "oblige me so far as to take down this sabre and cut off your slave's head." amgiad was astonished at such a proposal from a lady, and made no doubt but it was the wine she had drunk that induced her to make it. "madam," said he, "let us suffer him to rest, he is not worthy of your farther notice: i have beaten him, and you have beaten him: that ought to be sufficient; besides, i am in other respects well satisfied with him." "that shall not satisfy me," replied the lady, in a violent passion; "the rascal shall die, if not by your hands, by mine." as she spoke, she took down the sabre from the place where it hung, drew it out of the scabbard, and prepared to execute her wicked design. amgiad met her in the vestibule, saying, "you shall be satisfied, madam, since you will have it so; but i should be sorry that any one besides myself should kill my slave." when she had given him the sabre, "come, follow me," said he; "make no noise, lest we should awaken him." they went into bahader's chamber, where amgiad, instead of striking him, aimed his blow at the lady, and cut off her head, which fell upon bahader. bahader was awakened by the head of the lady falling upon him. he was amazed to see amgiad standing by him with a bloody sabre, and the body of the lady lying headless on the ground. the prince told him what had passed, and said, "i had no other way to prevent this furious woman from killing you, but to take away her life." "my lord," replied bahader, full of gratitude, "persons of your rank and generosity are incapable of doing such a wicked action: as she desired of you. you are my deliverer, and i cannot sufficiently thank you." after having embraced him, to evince the sense he entertained of his obligations to him, he said, "we must carry this corpse out before it is quite day; leave it to me, i will do it." amgiad would not consent to this, saying, "he would carry it away himself, since he had struck the blow." bahader replied, "you are a stranger in this city, and cannot do it so well as one who is acquainted with the place. i must do it, if for no other reason, yet for the safety of both of us, to prevent our being questioned about her death. remain you here, and if i do not return before day, you may be sure the watch has seized me; and for fear of the worst, i will by writing give this house and furniture for your habitation." when he had written, signed, and delivered the paper to prince amgiad, he put the lady's body in a bag, head and all; laid it on his shoulder, and went out with it from one street to another, taking the way to the sea-side. he had not proceeded far before he met one of the judges of the city, who was going the rounds in person. bahader was stopped by the judge's followers, who, opening the bag, found the body of a murdered lady, bundled up with the head. the judge, who knew the master of the horse notwithstanding his disguise, took him home to his house, and not daring to put him to death without telling the king, on account of his rank, carried him to court as soon as it was day. when the king had been informed by the judge of the crime bahader had, as he believed from the circumstances, committed, he addressed himself to the master of the horse as follows: "it is thus then that thou murderess my subjects, to rob them, and then wouldst throw their dead bodies into the sea, to hide thy villainy? let us get rid of him; execute him immediately." innocent as bahader was, he received sentence of death with resignation, and said not a word in his justification. the judge carried him to his house, and while the pale was preparing, sent a crier to publish throughout the city, that at noon the master of the horse was to be impaled for a murder. prince amgiad, who had in vain expected bahader's return, was struck with consternation when he heard the crier publish the approaching execution of the master of the horse. "if," said he to himself, "any one ought to die for the murder of such a wicked woman, it is i, and not bahader; i will never suffer an innocent man to be punished for the guilty." without deliberating, he then hastened to the place of execution, whither the people were running from all parts. when amgiad saw the judge bringing bahader to the pale, he went up to him, and said, "i am come to assure you, that the master of the horse, whom you are leading to execution, is wholly innocent of the lady's death; i alone am guilty of the crime, if it be one, to have killed a detestable woman, who would have murdered bahader." he then related to him how it had happened. the prince having informed the judge of the manner in which he had met her coming from the bath; how she had occasioned his going into the master of the horse's pleasure-house, and all that had passed to the moment in which he was forced to cut off her head, to save bahader's life; the judge ordered execution to be stopped, and conducted amgiad to the king, taking the master of the horse with them. the king wished to hear the story from amgiad himself; and the prince, the better to prove his own innocence and that of the master of the horse, embraced the opportunity to discover who he was, and what had driven him and his brother assad to that city, with all the accidents that had befallen them, from their departure from the isle of ebene. the prince having finished his account, the king said to him, "i rejoice that i have by this means been made acquainted with you; i not only give you your own life, and that of my master of the horse, whom i commend for his kindness to you, but i restore him to his office; and as for you, prince, i declare you my grand vizier, to make amends for your father's unjust usage, though it is also excusable, and i permit you to employ all the authority with which i now invest you to find out prince assad." amgiad having thanked the king for the honour he had done him, on taking possession of his office of grand vizier used every possible means to find out the prince his brother. he ordered the common criers to promise a great reward to any who should discover him, or give any tidings of him. he sent men up and down the country to the same purpose; but in vain. assad in the meanwhile continued in the dungeon in chains; bostama and cavama, the cunning old conjuror's daughters, treating him daily with the same cruelty and inhumanity as at first. the solemn festival of the adorers of fire approached; and a ship was fitted out for the fiery mountain as usual: the captain's name was behram, a great bigot to his religion. he loaded it with proper merchandize; and when it was ready to sail, put assad in a chest, which was half full of goods, a few crevices being left between the boards to give him air. before the ship sailed, the grand vizier amgiad, who had been told that the adorers of fire used to sacrifice a mussulmaun every year on the fiery mountain, suspecting that assad might have fallen into their hands, and be designed for a victim, resolved to search the ship in person. he ordered all the passengers and seamen to be brought upon deck, and commanded his men to search all over the ship, which they did, but assad could not be found, he was so well concealed. when the grand vizier had done searching the vessel, she sailed. as soon as behram was got out to sea, he ordered prince assad to be taken out of the chest, and fettered, to secure him, lest he should throw himself into the sea in despair since he knew he was going to be sacrificed. the wind was very favourable for a few days, after which there arose a furious storm. the vessel was driven out of her course, so that neither behram nor his pilot knew where they were. they were afraid of being wrecked on the rocks, for in the violence of the storm they discovered land, and a dangerous shoal before them. behram perceived that he was driven into the port and capital of queen margiana, which occasioned him great mortification. this queen margiana was a devout professor of the mahummedan faith, and a mortal enemy to the adorers of fire. she had banished all of them out of her dominions, and would not suffer their ships to touch at her ports. it was no longer in the power of behram to avoid putting into the harbour, for he had no alternative but to be dashed to pieces against the frightful rocks that lay off the shore. in this extremity he held a council with his pilot and seamen. "my lads," said he, "you see to what a necessity we are reduced. we must choose one of two things; either to resolve to be swallowed up by the waves, or put into queen margiana's port, whose hatred to all persons of our religion you well know. she will certainly seize our vessel and put us all to death, without mercy. i see but one way to escape her, which is, to take off the fetters from the mussulmaun we have aboard, and dress him like a slave. when queen margiana commands me to come before her, and asks what trade i follow, i will tell her i deal in slaves; that i have sold all i had, but one, whom i keep to be my clerk, because he can read and write. she will by this means see him, and he being handsome, and of her own religion, will have pity on him. no doubt she will then ask to buy him of me, and on this account will let us stay in the port till the weather is fair. if any of you have any thing else to propose that will be preferable, i am ready to attend to it." the pilot and seamen applauded his judgment, and agreed to follow his advice. behram commanded prince assad's chains to be taken off, and had him neatly habited like a slave, as became one who was to pass for his clerk before the queen of the country. they had scarcely time to do this, before the ship drove into the port, and dropped anchor. queen margiana's palace was so near the sea, that her garden extended down to the shore. she saw the ship anchor, and sent to the captain to come to her, and the sooner to satisfy her curiosity waited for him in her garden. behram landed with prince assad, whom he required to confirm what he had said of his being a slave, and his clerk. when he was introduced to the queen, he threw himself at her feet, and informed her of the necessity he was under to put into her port: that he dealt in slaves, and had sold all he had but one, who was assad, whom he kept for his clerk. the queen was taken with assad from the moment she first saw him, and was extremely glad to hear that he was a slave; resolving to buy him, cost what he would. she asked assad what was his name. "great queen," he replied, with tears in his eyes, "does your majesty ask what my name was formerly, or what it is now?" the queen answered, "have you two names then?" "alas! i have," said assad: "i was once called assad (most happy); and now my name is motar" (devoted to be sacrificed). margiana not being able to comprehend the meaning of his answer, interpreted it to refer to his condition of a slave. "since you are clerk to the captain," said she, "no doubt you can write well; let me see your hand." behram had furnished assad with pen, ink, and paper, as a token of his office, that the queen might take him for what he designed she should. the prince stepped a little aside, and wrote as follows, suitable to his wretched circumstances: "the blind man avoids the ditch into which the clear-sighted falls. fools advance themselves to honours, by discourses which signify nothing, while men of sense and eloquence live in poverty and contempt. the mussulmaun with all his riches is miserable. the infidel triumphs. we cannot hope things will be otherwise. the almighty has decreed it shall be so." assad presented the paper to queen margiana, who admired alike the moral of the sentences, and the goodness of the writing. she needed no more to have her heart inflamed, and to feel a sincere concern for his misfortunes. she had no sooner read the lines, than she addressed herself to behram, saying, "do which you will, either sell me this slave, or make me a present of him; perhaps it will turn most to your account to do the latter." behram answered insolently, that he could neither give nor sell him; that he wanted his slave, and would keep him. queen margiana, provoked at his rudeness, would not talk to him any more on the subject. she took the prince by the arm, and turned him before her to the palace, sending behram word, that if he stayed the night in her port, she would confiscate his goods, and burn his ship. he was therefore forced to return to his vessel, and prepare to put to sea again, notwithstanding the tempest had not yet subsided. queen margiana, on entering her palace, commanded supper to be got ready; and while it was providing, she ordered assad to be brought into her apartment, where she bade him sit down. assad would have excused himself: "it becomes not a slave," said he, "to presume to this honour." "to a slave! "replied the queen: "you were so a moment ago; henceforward you are no more a slave. sit down near me, and tell me the story of your life; for by what you wrote, and the insolence of that slave-merchant, i guess there is something extraordinary in your history." prince assad obeyed her; and sitting down, began thus: "mighty queen, your majesty is not mistaken, in thinking there is something extraordinary in the story of my life: it is indeed more so than you can imagine. the ills, the incredible torments i have suffered, and the death to which i was devoted, and from which i am delivered by your royal generosity, will shew the greatness of my obligation to you, never to be forgotten. but before i enter into particulars of my miseries, which will strike horror into the hearts of all that hear them, i must trace the origin of them to its source." this preamble increased queen margiana's curiosity. the prince then told her of his royal birth; of his brother amgiad, and their mutual friendship; of their mothers' criminal passion, the cause of all their sufferings; of the king his father's rage; how miraculously their lives were saved; how he had lost his brother; how he had been long imprisoned and tortured, and was devoted to be sacrificed on the fiery mountain. when assad had finished his recital' the queen was more than ever enraged at the adorers of fire. "prince," said she, "though i have always had an aversion to the adorers of fire, yet hitherto i have had some humanity for them: but after their barbarous usage of you, and their execrable design to sacrifice you, i will henceforth wage perpetual war against them." she was proceeding, but supper being served in, she made prince assad sit down at table with her, being charmed with his beauty and eloquence, and touched with a passion which she hoped soon to have an opportunity of making known to him "prince," said she, "we must make you amends for so many fasts and wretched meals, to which the pitiless adorers of fire made you submit; you must want nourishment after such sufferings." with conversation of this kind she helped him at supper; and ordered him to drink a good deal of wine to recover his spirits; by which means he drank more than he could well bear. the cloth being taken away, assad having occasion to go out, took an opportunity when the queen did not observe him. he descended into the court, and seeing the garden-door open, went into it. being tempted by the pleasantness of the place, he walked there for some time. at last he came to a fountain, where he washed his face and hands to refresh himself, and lying down on the turf by the fountain, fell asleep. behram, to prevent the queen from executing her threats, had weighed anchor, vexed at the loss of assad, by which he was disappointed of a most acceptable sacrifice. he comforted himself as well as he could, with the thoughts that the storm was over, and that a land breeze favoured his getting off the coast. as soon as he was towed out of the port by the help of his boat, before it was hoisted up into the ship again, "stop, my lads," said he to the seamen, "do not come on board yet; i will give you some casks to fill with water, and wait for you." behram had observed, while he was talking to the queen in the garden, that there was a fountain at the end of it, near the port. "go," said he, "land before the palace-garden; the wall is not above breast high, you may easily get over; there is a basin in the middle of the garden, where you may fill all your barrels, and hand them aboard without difficulty." the sailors went ashore at the place he directed them to, and laying their casks on their shoulders easily got over the wall. as they approached the basin, they perceived a man sleeping on the grass, and knew him to be assad. they immediately divided themselves; and while some of the crew filled their barrels with as little noise as possible, others surrounded assad, and watched to seize him if he should awake. he slept on undisturbed, giving them time to fill all their casks; which they afterwards handed over the wall to others of the crew who waited to carry them aboard. they next seized assad, and conveyed him away, without giving him time to recollect himself. they got him over the wall into their boat with the casks, and rowed to the ship. when they drew near her they cried out for joy, "captain, sound your trumpets, beat your drums, we have brought you your slave." behram, who could not imagine how the seamen could find and take him again, and did not see assad in the boat, it being night, waited their arrival with impatience, to ask what they meant; but when he saw him, he could not contain himself for joy. he commanded him to be chained, without staying to inquire how they came by him; and having hoisted the boat on board, set sail for the fiery mountain. in the meanwhile queen margiana was in alarm. she was not at first apprehensive when she found prince assad was gone out, because she did not doubt but he would soon return when some time had passed without his appearing, she began to be uneasy, and commanded her women to look for him. they sought for him in every direction, and at night renewed their search by torch-light, but all to no purpose. queen margiana was so impatient and alarmed, that she went herself with lights, and finding the garden-door open, entered, and walked all over it with her women to seek for him. passing by the fountain and basin, she espied a slipper, which she took up, and knew it to be prince assad's, her women also recognized it to be his. this circumstance, together with the water being spilt about the edge of the basin, induced her to believe that behram had carried him off. she sent immediately to see if he was still in the port; and hearing he had sailed a little before it was dark, that he lay-to some time off the shore, while he sent his boat for water from the fountain, she sent word to the commander of ten ships of war, which lay always ready in the harbour, to sail on the shortest notice, that she would embark herself next morning as soon as it was day. the commander lost no time, ordered the captains, seamen and soldiers aboard, and was ready to sail at the time appointed. she embarked, and when the squadron was at sea, told the commander her intention. "make all the sail you can," said she, "and chase the merchantman that sailed last night out of this port. if you capture it, i assign it to you as your property; but if you fail, your life shall answer." the ten ships chased behram's vessel two whole days without seeing her. the third day in the morning they discovered her, and at noon had so surrounded her, that she could not escape. as soon as behram espied the ten ships of war, he made sure it was queen margiana's squadron in pursuit of him; and upon that he ordered assad to be bastinadoed, which he had done every day. he was much perplexed what to do, when he found he was surrounded. to keep assad, was to declare himself guilty; to kill him was as dangerous, for he feared some marks of the murder might be seen. he therefore commanded him to be unfettered and brought from the bottom of the hold where he lay. when he came before him, "it is thou," said he, "that art the cause of my being pursued;" and so saying, he flung him into the sea. prince assad being an expert swimmer, made such good use of his feet and hands, that he reached the shore in safety. the first thing he did after he had landed, was to thank god who had delivered him from so great a danger, and once more rescued him out of the hands of the adorers of fire. he then stripped himself, and wringing the water out of his clothes, spread them on a rock, where, by the heat of the sun, and of the rock, they soon dried. after this he lay down to rest himself, deploring his miserable condition, not knowing in what country he was nor which way to direct his course. he dressed himself again and walked on, keeping as near the sea-side as he could. at last he entered a kind of path, which he followed, and travelled on ten days through an uninhabited country, living on herbs, plants, and wild fruits. at last he approached a city, which he recognized to be that of the magicians, where he had been so ill used and where his brother amgiad was grand vizier. he rejoiced to discover where he was, but resolved not to approach any of the adorers of fire, and to converse only with moosulmauns, for he remembered he had seen some the first time he entered the town. it being late, and knowing the shops were already shut, and few people in the streets, he resolved to remain in a burying ground near the city, where there were several tombs built in the form of mausoleums. he found the door of one of them open, which he entered, designing to pass the night there. we must now return to behram's ship, which, after he had thrown prince assad overboard, was soon surrounded on all sides by queen margiana's squadron. the ship in which queen margiana was in person first came up with him, and behram, being in no condition of defence against so many, furled his sails as a mark of his submission. the queen herself boarded his ship, and demanded where the clerk was, whom he had the boldness to take or cause to be taken out of her palace. behram replied, "o queen! i swear by your majesty, he is not in my ship; you will, by searching, be convinced of my innocence." margiana ordered the ship to be searched as narrowly as possible, but she could not find the man, whom she so much wished to recover, as well on account of her love for him, as of the generosity for which she was distinguished. she once resolved to kill behram with her own hand, but refrained, and contented herself with seizing his ship and cargo, and turning him and his men on shore in their boat. behram and his seamen arrived at the city of the magicians the same night as assad, and stopped at the same burying-ground, the city gates being shut, intending to stay in some tomb till the next day, when they should be opened again. to assad's misfortune, behram came to that in which the prince was sleeping with his head wrapped up in his habit, and entered it. assad awoke at the noise of his footsteps, and demanded who was there. behram immediately recognized him. "hah, hah," said he, "thou art the man who has ruined me for ever; thou hast escaped being sacrificed this year, but depend on it thou shalt not be so fortunate the next." saying this, he flew upon him, clapped his handkerchief into his mouth to prevent his making a noise, and with the assistance of his seamen bound him. the next morning as soon as the city gates were open, behram and his men easily carried assad through streets, where no one was yet stirring, to the old man's house, where he had been so inhumanly treated. as soon as he was brought in, he was again thrown into the same dungeon. behram acquainted the old man with the unfortunate circumstances of his return, and the ill success of his voyage. the old savage, upon this, commanded his two daughters bostama and cavama to treat him, if possible, more cruelly than before. assad was overwhelmed with terror at seeing himself again in the hands of persecutors from whom he had suffered so much, and expected the repetition of the torments from which he hoped that he had been delivered. he was lamenting the severity of his fate, when bostama entered with a stick in her hand, a loaf and a pitcher of water. he trembled at the sight of this unmerciful wretch, and at the very thoughts of the sufferings he was to endure for another year, at the conclusion of which he was to die the most horrible death. bostama treated prince assad as inhumanly as she had done during his first confinement. but his cries, lamentations, and earnest entreaties to her to spare him, joined with his tears, were so affecting, that she could not help shedding tears. "my lord," said she, covering his shoulders again, "i ask a thousand pardons for my inhuman treatment of you formerly, and for making you once more feel its effect. till now i was afraid of disobeying a father, who is unjustly enraged against you, and resolved on your destruction, but at last i abhor this barbarity. be comforted, your evil days are over. i will endeavour by better treatment to make amends for all my crimes, of the enormity of which you will find i am duly sensible. you have hitherto regarded me as an infidel; henceforth believe me one of your own religion; having been taught it by a slave, i hope your lessons will complete my conversion. to convince you of my sincerity, i first beg pardon of the true god for all my sins, in dealing so cruelly by you, and i trust he will put it in my power to set you entirely at liberty." this address afforded the prince much comfort. he thanked the almighty for the change wrought in her heart, he also thanked her for her favourable disposition towards him, and omitted no arguments which he thought would have any effect in confirming her conversion to the moosulmaun religion. he afterwards related to her the whole story of his life to that time. when he was fully assured of her good intentions respecting him, he asked her how she could continue to keep her sister cavama in ignorance of them; and prevent her treating him as barbarously as she used to do? "let not that trouble you," replied bostama; "i know how to order matters so that she shall never come near you." she accordingly every day prevented her sister's coming down into the dungeon, where she often visited the prince. instead of carrying him bread and water, she now brought him the best wine and the choicest victuals she could procure, which were prepared by her twelve mahommedan slaves. she ate with him herself from time to time, and did all in her power to alleviate his misfortunes. a few days afterwards, bostama, as she stood at her father's door, observed the public crier making proclamation, but she could not hear what it was about, being too far off. as he was proceeding in the direction of her father's house, she went in, and holding the door half open, perceived that he went before the grand vizier amgiad, brother to assad; who was accompanied by several officers, and other attendants. the crier, a few steps from the house, repeated the proclamation with a loud voice, as follows: "the most excellent and illustrious grand vizier is come in person to seek for his dear brother, from whom he was separated about a year ago. he is a young man of such an appearance; if any one has him in keeping, or knows where he is, his excellency commands that they bring him forth, or give him notice where to find him, promising a great reward to the person that shall give the information. if any one conceal him, and he be hereafter found, his excellency declares' he shall be punished with death, together with his wife, children, and all his family, and his house to be razed to the ground. bostama, as soon as she had heard this, shut the door as fast as she could, and ran to assad in the dungeon. "prince," said she, with joy, "your troubles are at an end; follow me immediately. she had taken off his fetters the day he was brought in, and the prince followed her into the street, where she cried, "there he is, there he is!" the grand vizier, who was not far from the house, returned. assad knew him to be his brother, ran to him, and embraced him. amgiad, who immediately recollected him, returned his embrace with all possible tenderness; made him mount one of his officers' horses, who alighted for that purpose; and conducted him in triumph to the palace, where he presented him to the king, by whom he was advanced to the post of a vizier. bostama not wishing to return to her father's house, which was the next day razed to the ground, was sent to the queen's apartments. the old man her father, behram, and all their families were brought before the king, who condemned them to be beheaded. they threw themselves at his feet, and implored his mercy. "there is no mercy for you to expect," said the king, "unless you renounce the adoration of fire, and profess the mahummedan religion." they accepted the condition, and were pardoned at the intercession of assad, in consideration of bostama's friendship; for whose sake cavama's life, and the lives of the rest of their families were saved. amgiad, in consideration of behram turning mussulmaun, and to compensate for the loss which he had suffered before he deserved his favour, made him one of his principal officers, and lodged him in his house. behram, being informed of amgiad and his brother assad's story, proposed to his benefactor, to fit out a vessel to convey them to their father's court: "for," said he, "the king must certainly have heard of your innocence, and impatiently desire to see you: otherwise we can easily inform him of the truth before we land, and if he is still in the same mind, you can but return." the two brothers accepted the proposal, communicated it to the king of the city of the magicians, who approved of it; and commanded a ship to be equipped. behram undertook the employment cheerfully, and soon got in readiness to sail. the two princes, when they understood the ship was ready, waited upon the king to take leave. while they were making their compliments, and thanking the king for his favours, they were interrupted by a great tumult in the city: and presently an officer came to give them notice that a numerous army was advancing against the city, nobody knowing who they were, or whence they had come. the king being alarmed at the intelligence, amgiad addressed him thus: "sir, though i have just resigned into your majesty's hands the dignity of your first minister, with which you were pleased to honour me, i am ready to do you all the service in my power. i desire therefore that you would be pleased to let me go and see who this enemy is, that comes to attack you in your capital, without having first declared war." the king desired him to do so. amgiad departed immediately, with a very small retinue, to see what enemy approached, and what was the reason of their coming. it was not long before prince amgiad descried the army, which appeared very formidable, and which approached nearer and nearer. the advanced guards received him favourably, and conducted him to a princess, who stopped, and commanded her army to halt, while she talked with the prince; who, bowing profoundly to her, demanded if she came as a friend or an enemy: if as an enemy, what cause of complaint she had against the king his master? "i come as a friend," replied the princess, "and have no cause of complaint against the king of the city of the magicians. his territories and mine are so situated, that it is almost impossible for us to have any dispute. i only come to require a slave named assad, to be delivered up to me. he was carried away by one behram, a captain of a ship belonging to this city, the most insolent man in the world. i hope your king will do me justice, when he knows i am margiana." the prince answered, "mighty queen, the slave whom you take so much pains to seek is my brother: i lost him, and have found him again. come, and i will deliver him up to you myself; and will do myself the honour to tell you the rest of the story: the king my master will rejoice to see you." the queen ordered her army to pitch their tents, and encamp where they were; and accompanied prince amgiad to the city and palace, where he presented her to the king; who received her in a manner becoming her dignity. assad, who was present, and knew her as soon as he saw her, also paid his respects to her. she appeared greatly rejoiced to see him. while they were thus engaged, tidings came, that an army more powerful than the former approached on the other side of the city. the king of the magicians was more terrified than before, understanding the second army was more numerous than the first, for he saw this by the clouds of dust they raised, which hid the face of the heavens. "amgiad," cried he, "what shall we do now? a new army comes to destroy us." amgiad guessed what the king meant; he mounted on horseback again, and galloped towards the second army. he demanded of the advanced guards to speak with their general, and they conducted him to their king. when he drew near him, he alighted, prostrated himself to the ground, and asked what he required of the king his master. the monarch replied, "i am gaiour, king of china; my desire to learn tidings of a daughter, whose name is badoura, whom i married to kummir al zummaun, son of shaw zummaun, king of the isles of the children of khaledan, obliged me to leave my dominions. i suffered that prince to go to see his father, on condition that he came back in a year with my daughter; from that time i have heard nothing of them. your king will lay an infinite obligation on an afflicted father, by telling him if he knows what is become of them." prince amgiad, perceiving by his discourse that the king was his grandfather, kissed his hand with tenderness, and answered him thus: "i hope your majesty will pardon my freedom, when you know that i only pay my duty to my grandfather. i am the son of kummir al zummaun, king of the isle of ebene, and of queen badoura, for whom you are thus troubled; and i doubt not but they are both in good health in their kingdom." the king of china, overjoyed to see his grandson, tenderly embraced him. such a meeting, so happy and unexpected, drew tears from both. the king inquiring on what occasion he had come into a strange country, the prince told him all that had happened to him and his brother assad. when he had finished his relation, "my son," replied the king of china, "it is not just that such innocent princes as you are should be longer ill used. comfort yourself, i will carry you and your brother home, and make your peace. return, and acquaint your brother with my arrival." while the king of china encamped in the place where prince amgiad met him, the prince returned to inform the king of the magicians, who waited for him impatiently, how he had succeeded. the king was astonished that so mighty a king as that of china should undertake such a long and troublesome journey, out of a desire to see his daughter. he gave orders to make preparations for his reception, and went forth to meet him. while these things were transacting, a great dust was seen on another side of the town; and suddenly news was brought of the arrival of a third army, which obliged the king to stop, and to desire prince amgiad once more to see who they were, and on what account they came. amgiad went accordingly, and prince assad accompanied him. they found it was kummir al zummaun their father's army, with whom he was coming to seek for them. he was so grieved for the loss of his sons, that at last emir jehaun-dar declared that he had saved their lives, which made him resolve to seek for them wherever he was likely to find them. the afflicted father embraced the two princes with tears of joy, which put an end to those he had a long time shed for grief. the princes had no sooner told him the king of china, his father-in- law, was arrived, than, accompanied by them and a small party, he rode to wait upon him in his camp. they had not gone far, before they saw a fourth army advancing in good order, which seemed to come from persia. kummir al zummaun desired the two princes to go and see what army it was, and he would in the meanwhile wait for them. they departed immediately, and coming up to it, were presented to the king to whom the army belonged; and, after having saluted him with due reverence, they demanded on what design he approached so near the king of the magicians' capital. the grand vizier, who was present, answered in the name of the king his master, "the monarch to whom you speak is shaw zummaun, king of the isles of the children of khaledan, who has a longtime travelled, thus attended, to seek his son, who left his dominions many years ago: if you know any thing of him, you cannot oblige him more than by communicating to him all the information in your power." the princes only replied, that they would shortly bring him an answer, and galloping back as fast as they could, told kummir al zummaun that the king his father was approaching with his army. wonder, surprise, joy, and grief, had such an effect on kummir al zummaun, that he fainted as soon as he heard he was so near. prince amgiad and prince assad, by their assiduities, at length brought him to himself; and when he had recovered his strength, he went to his father's tent, and threw himself at his feet. never was there a more affecting interview. shaw zummaun gently upbraided his son with unkindness in so cruelly leaving him; and kummir al zummaun discovered a hearty sorrow for the fault which love had urged him to commit. the three kings, and queen margiana, stayed three days at the court of the king of the magicians, who treated them magnificently. these three days were rendered more remarkable by prince assad's marriage with queen margiana, and prince amgiad with bostama, for the service she had done his brother assad. at length the three kings, and queen margiana, with her husband assad, returned to their respective kingdoms. as for amgiad, the king of the magicians had such an affection for him, he could not part with him; and being very old, he resigned his crown to him. amgiad, when he had the supreme authority, did his utmost to exterminate the worship of fire, and establish the mahummedan religion throughout his dominions. the story of noor ad deen and the fair persian. the city of bussorah was for many years the capital of a kingdom tributary to the caliphs of arabia. the king who governed it in the days of the caliph haroon al rusheed was named zinebi, who not thinking it proper to commit the administration of his affairs to a single vizier, made choice of two, khacan and saouy. khacan was of a sweet, generous, and affable temper, and took pleasure in obliging, to the utmost of his power, those with whom he had any business to transact, without violating the justice which it became him to dispense to all. he was therefore universally respected, at court, in the city, and throughout the whole kingdom; and the praises he so highly deserved were the general theme. saouy was of a very different character: he was always sullen and morose, and disgusted every body, without regard to their rank or quality. instead of commanding respect by the liberal distribution of his immense wealth, he was so perfect a miser as to deny himself the necessaries of life. in short, nobody could endure him; and nothing good was said of him. but what rendered him most hateful to the people, was his implacable aversion to khacan. he was always putting the worst construction on the actions of that worthy minister, and endeavouring as much as possible to prejudice him with the king. one day after council, the king of bussorah amused himself with his two viziers and some other members. the conversation turned upon the female slaves that are daily bought and sold, and who hold nearly the same rank as the lawful wives. some were of opinion, that personal beauty in slaves so purchased was of itself sufficient to render them proper substitutes for wives, which, often on account of alliance or interest in families, men are obliged to marry, though they are not always possessed of any perfection, either of mind or body. others maintained, and amongst the rest khacan, that personal charms were by no means the only qualifications to be desired in a slave; but that they ought to be accompanied with a great share of wit, a cultivated understanding, modesty, and, if possible, every agreeable accomplishment. the reason they gave was, that nothing could be more gratifying to persons on whom the management of important affairs devolved, than, after having spent the day in fatiguing employment, to have a companion in their retirement, whose conversation would be not only pleasing, but useful and instructive: for, in short, continued they, there is but little difference between brutes and those men who keep a slave only to look at, and to gratify a passion that we have in common with them. the king entirely concurred in this opinion, and accordingly ordered khacan to buy him a slave, of perfect beauty, mistress of all the qualifications they had enumerated, and possessed, above all things, of an enlightened understanding. saouy, jealous of the honour the king had done khacan, and differing widely with him in opinion, said, "sire, it will be very difficult to find a slave so accomplished as your majesty requires; and should such a one be discovered, which i scarcely believe possible, she will be cheap at ten thousand pieces of gold." "saouy," replied the king, "i perceive plainly you think the sum too great; it may be so for you, though not for me." then turning to his high treasurer, he ordered him to send the ten thousand pieces of gold to the vizier's house. khacan, as soon as he had returned home, sent for all the brokers who used to deal in women-slaves, and strictly charged them, that, if ever they met with one who answered the description he gave them, they should immediately apprise him. the brokers, partly to oblige the vizier, and partly for their own interest, promised to use their utmost endeavours to procure for him one that would accord with his wishes. scarcely a day passed but they brought him a slave for his inspection, but he always discovered in each something defective. one day, early in the morning, as khacan was mounting his horse to go to court, a broker came to him, and, taking hold of the stirrup with great eagerness, told him a persian merchant had arrived very late the day before, who had a slave to sell, so surprisingly beautiful that she excelled all the women his eyes had ever beheld; "and for wit and knowledge," added he, "the merchant engages she shall match the most acute and learned persons of the age." khacan, overjoyed at this intelligence, which promised him a favourable opportunity for making his court, ordered him to bring the slave to his palace against his return, and departed. the broker failed not to be at the vizier's at the appointed hour; and khacan, finding the lovely slave so much beyond his expectation, immediately gave her the name of the fair persian. as he had himself much wit and learning, he soon perceived by her conversation, that it was in vain to search further for a slave that surpassed her in any of the qualifications required by the king; and therefore he asked the broker at what sum the persian merchant valued her. "sir," replied the broker, "he is a man of few words in bargaining, and he tells me, that the very lowest price he will take for her is ten thousand pieces of gold: he has also sworn to me, that, without reckoning his care and pains from the time of his first taking her under his charge, he has laid out nearly that sum on her education in masters to improve her form and cultivate her mind, besides what she has cost him in clothes and maintenance. as he always thought her fit for a king, he has from her infancy, when he first bought her, been sparing of nothing that might contribute towards advancing her to that high distinction. she plays upon all kinds of instruments to perfection; she sings, dances, writes better than the most celebrated authors, makes verses, and there is scarcely any book but she has read; so that there never was a slave so accomplished heard of before." the vizier khacan, who could estimate the merits of the fair persian better than the broker, who only reported what he had heard from the merchant, was unwilling to defer the bargain to a future opportunity, and therefore sent one of his servants to look for the merchant, where the broker told him he was to be found. as soon as the persian merchant arrived, "it is not for myself, but for the king," said the vizier khacan, "that i buy your slave; but, nevertheless, you must let him have her at a more reasonable price than you have set upon her." "sir," replied the merchant, "i should do myself unspeakable honour in offering her as a present to his majesty, if it became a person in my situation to make him one of such inestimable value. i ask no more than her education and accomplishments have cost me; and all i have to say is, that i believe his majesty will be extremely pleased with the purchase." the vizier khacan would stand no longer bargaining with the merchant, but paid him the money immediately. "sir," said he to the vizier, upon taking his leave of him, "since the slave is designed for the king's use, give me leave to tell you, that being extremely fatigued with our long journey, you see her at present under great disadvantage. though she has not her equal in the world for beauty, yet if you please to keep her at your own house for a fortnight, she will appear quite another creature. you may then present her to the king with honour and credit; for which i hope you will think yourself much obliged to me. the sun, you perceive, has a little injured her complexion; but after two or three times bathing, and when you have dressed her as you think proper, she will be so changed, that she will appear infinitely more charming." khacan was pleased with the instructions the merchant gave him, and resolved to abide by them. he assigned the fair persian a particular apartment near his lady's, whom he desired to invite her to an entertainment, and thenceforth to treat her as a person designed for the king: he also provided for her several suits of the richest clothes that could be had, and would become her best. before he took his leave of the fair persian, he said "your happiness, madam, cannot be greater than what i am about to procure for you; you shall judge for yourself; it is for the king i have purchased you; and i hope he will be even more pleased with possessing you than i am in having discharged the commission with which his majesty has honoured me. i think it, however, my duty to warn you that i have a son, who, though he does not want wit, is yet young, insinuating, and forward; and to caution you how you suffer him to come near you." the fair persian thanked him for his advice; and after she had given him assurance of her intention to follow it, he withdrew. noor ad deen, for so the vizier's son was named, had free access to the apartment of his mother, with whom he usually ate his meals. he was young, handsome in person, agreeable in manners, and firm in his temper; and having great readiness of wit, and fluency of language, was perfect master of the art of persuasion. he saw the fair persian; and from their first interview, though he knew his father had bought her purposely for the king, and had so informed him, yet he never used the least endeavour to check the violence of his passion. in short, he resigned himself wholly to the power of her charms, by which his heart was at first captivated; and, from his first conversation with her, resolved to use his utmost endeavours to keep her from the king. the fair persian, on her part, had no dislike to noor ad deen. "the vizier," said she to herself, "has done me honour in purchasing me for the king; but i should have thought myself very happy if he had designed me only for his own son." noor ad deen was not remiss in improving the advantage he enjoyed of seeing and conversing with a beauty of whom he was so passionately enamoured; for he would never leave her till obliged by his mother. "my son," she would say, "it is not proper for a young man like you to be always in the women's apartments; go, mind your studies, and endeavour to qualify yourself to succeed to the honours of your father." the fair persian not having bathed for a considerable time on account of the length of her journey, the vizier's lady, five or six days after she was purchased, ordered the bath in her own house to be got ready purposely for her. she sent her to it accompanied by many other women-slaves, who were charged by the vizier's lady to be as attentive to her as to herself, and, after bathing, to put her on a very rich suit of clothes that she had provided for her. she was the more careful in order to ingratiate herself with her husband, by letting him see how much she interested herself in every thing that contributed to his pleasure. as soon as she came out of the bath, the fair persian, a thousand times more beautiful than she had appeared to khacan when he bought her, went to visit his lady, who at first hardly knew her. the fair persian gracefully kissed her hand, and said, "madam, i know not how you like me in this dress you have been pleased to order for me; but your women, who tell me it becomes me so extremely well they should scarcely know me, certainly flatter me. from you alone i expect to hear the truth; but, if what they say be really so, i am indebted to you, madam, for the advantage it has given me." "oh! my daughter," cried the vizier's lady, transported with joy, "you have no reason to believe my women have flattered you; i am better skilled in beauty than they; and, setting aside your dress, which becomes you admirably well, your beauty is so much improved by the bath, that i hardly knew you myself. if i thought the bath was warm enough, i would take my turn; for i am now of an age to require its frequent use." "madam," replied the fair persian, "i have nothing to say to the undeserved civilities you have been pleased to shew me. as for the bath, it is in fine order; and if you design to go in, you have no time to lose, as your women can inform you." the vizier's lady, considering that she had not bathed for some days, was desirous to avail herself of that opportunity; and accordingly acquainted her women with her intention, who immediately prepared all things necessary for the occasion. the fair persian withdrew to her apartment; and the vizier's lady, before she went to bathe, ordered two little female slaves to stay with her, with a strict charge that if noor ad deen came, they should not give him admittance. while the vizier's lady was bathing, and the fair slave was alone in her apartment, noor ad deen came in, and not finding his mother in her chamber, went directly towards the fair persian's, and found the two little slaves in the antechamber. he asked them where his mother was? they told him in the bath. "where is the fair persian, then?" demanded noor ad deen. "in her chamber," answered the slaves; "but we have positive orders from your mother not to admit you." the entrance into the fair persian's chamber being only covered with a piece of tapestry, noor ad deen went to lift it up, in order to enter, but was opposed by the two slaves, who placed themselves before it, to stop his passage. he presently caught them both by the arms, and, thrusting them out of the antechamber, locked the door upon them. they immediately ran with loud lamentations to the bath, and with tears in their eyes, told their lady, that noor ad deen, having driven them away by force, had gone into the fair persian's chamber. the vizier's lady received the account of her son's presumption with the greatest concern. she immediately left the bath, and dressing herself with all possible speed, came directly to the fair persian's chamber; but before she could get thither, noor ad deen had gone away. the fair persian was extremely surprised to see the vizier's lady enter her chamber in tears, and in the utmost confusion. "madam," said she, "may i presume to ask you the occasion of your concern; and what accident has happened in the bath, to make you leave it so soon?" "what!" cried the vizier's lady, "can you so calmly ask that. question, after my son has been with you alone in your chamber? can there happen a greater misfortune to him or me?" "i beseech you, madam," replied the fair slave, "what prejudice can this action of noor ad deen's do to you or him?" "how," returned the vizier's lady, "did not my husband tell you that you were designed for the king, and sufficiently caution you to beware of our son?" "i have not forgotten that, madam," replied the fair persian; "but your son came to tell me the vizier his father had changed his purpose, and instead of reserving me for the king, as he first designed, had made him a present of my person. i easily believed him; for, oh! think how a slave as i am, accustomed from my infant years to the laws of servitude, could or ought to resist him! i must own i did it with the less reluctance, on account of the affection for him, which the freedom of our conversation and daily intercourse has excited in my heart. i could without regret resign the hope of ever being the king's, and think myself perfectly happy in spending my whole life with noor ad deen." at this discourse of the fair persian's, the vizier's lady exclaimed, "would to god that what you say were true! i should hear it with joy; but, believe me, noor ad deen has deceived you; for it is impossible his father should ever make him such a present. ah! wretched youth, how miserable has he made me! and more especially his father, by the dismal consequences we must all expect to share with him! neither my prayers nor tears will be able to prevail, or obtain a pardon for him; for as soon as his father hears of his violence to you, he will inevitably sacrifice him to his resentment." at these words she wept bitterly; and the slaves, who were as much alarmed for noor ad deen as herself, joined in her tears. shortly after the vizier khacan entered; and being surprised to find his lady and her slaves all in tears, and the fair persian very melancholy asked the reason; but instead of answering him his wife and the slaves continued weeping and lamenting. this astonished him still more; at last, addressing himself to his wife, "i command you," said he, "to let me know the reason of your tears, and to tell me the whole truth." the disconsolate lady could no longer refuse to satisfy her husband. "sir," said she, "first promise not to use me unkindly on account of what i shall inform you, since i assure you, that what has happened has not been occasioned by any fault of mine." without waiting for his answer, she then proceeded, "whilst i was bathing with my women, your son seizing that fatal opportunity to ruin us both, came hither, and made the fair persian believe, that instead of reserving her for the king, you had given her to him as a present. i will not say what he did after such a wicked falsehood, but shall leave you to judge. this is the cause of my affliction, on your account, and his, for whom i want confidence to implore your pardon." it is impossible to express the vizier khacan's distraction at this account of the insolence of his son. "ah!" cried he, beating his breast, and tearing his beard, "miserable son! unworthy of life! hast thou at last thrown thy father from the highest pinnacle of happiness into a misfortune that must inevitably involve thee also in his ruin? neither will the king be satisfied with thy blood or mine, to avenge the affront offered to his royal person." his lady endeavoured to comfort him. "afflict yourself no more," said she; "i shall easily raise, with part of my jewels, ten thousand pieces of gold, and you may buy another slave, more beautiful and more worthy of the king." "ah!" replied the vizier, "could you think me capable of being so extremely afflicted at losing ten thousand pieces of gold? it is not that loss, nor the loss of all i am worth, for that i should not feel; but the forfeiting my honour, more precious than all the riches in the world, that distresses me." "however," replied the lady, "a loss that can be repaired by money cannot be so very great." "how!" exclaimed the vizier; "do you not know that saouy is my mortal enemy; and as soon as this affair comes to his knowledge, do you think he will not exult over me before the king? �your majesty,' will he not say to him, �is always talking of khacan's zeal and affection for your service; but see what a proof he has lately given of his claim to the regard you have hitherto shewn him. he has received ten thousand pieces of gold to buy a slave; and, to do him justice, he has most honourably acquitted himself of that commission, by purchasing the most beautiful that ever eyes beheld; but, instead of bringing her to your majesty, he has thought it better to make a present of her to his son. "here, my son," said he, "take this slave, since thou art more worthy of her than the king."' then, with his usual malice, will he not go on, �his son has her now entirely in his possession, and every day revels in her arms, without the least disturbance. this, sir, is the exact truth, that i have done myself the honour of acquainting you with; and if your majesty questions my veracity, you may easily satisfy yourself.' do you not plainly see," continued the vizier, "how, upon such a malicious insinuation as this, i am every moment liable to have my house forced by the king's guards, and the fair persian taken from me, besides a thousand other misfortunes that will unavoidably follow?" "sir," replied the vizier's lady to her husband, "i am sensible the malice of saouy is very great, and that, if he have but the least intimation of this affair, he will certainly give it a turn very disadvantageous to your interest; but how is it possible that he or any one else should know what has been privately transacted in your family? suppose it comes to the king's ears, and he should ask you about it; cannot you say, that upon a strict examination you did not deem the slave so fit for his majesty's use as you had at first thought her; that the merchant has cheated you; that, indeed, she has considerable beauty, but is by no means so accomplished as she had been represented. the king will certainly believe what you say, and saouy be vexed to the soul, to see all his malicious design of ruining you disappointed. take courage then, and, if you will follow my advice, send for all the brokers, tell them you do not like the fair persian, and order them to be as expeditious as possible in procuring for you another slave." as this advice appeared rational to the vizier khacan, and as his passion began to cool, he resolved to abide by it, but his indignation against his son remained as violent as ever. noor ad deen did not make his appearance during the whole of that day, and not daring to hide himself among his young companions, lest his father should search for him in their houses, he went a little way out of town, and took sanctuary in a garden, where he had never been before, and where he was totally unknown. he did not return home till it was very late, when he knew his father was in bed; and then his mother's women, opening the door very softly; admitted him without any noise. he quitted the house again next morning before his father was stirring; and this plan he pursued for a whole month, to his great mortification. indeed, the women never flattered him, but told him plainly, his father's anger was not at all diminished, and that he protested if he came into his sight he would certainly kill him. the vizier's lady learnt from her women that noor ad deen slept every night in the house, but she could not summon resolution to supplicate her husband for his pardon. at last, however, she ventured. one day she said to him, "i have hitherto been silent, sir, not daring to take the liberty of talking to you about your son; but now give me leave to ask what you design to do with him? it is impossible for a son to have acted more criminally towards a father than he has done, in depriving you of the honour and gratification of presenting to the king a slave so accomplished as the fair persian. this i acknowledge; but, after all, are you resolved to destroy him, and, instead of a light evil no more to be thought of, to draw upon yourself a far greater than perhaps you at present apprehend? are you not afraid that the malicious world, which inquires after the reason of your son's absconding, may find out the true cause, which you are so desirous of concealing? should that happen, you would justly fall into a misfortune, which it is so much your interest to avoid." "madam," returned the vizier, "there is much reason in what you have urged; but i cannot think of pardoning our son, till i have mortified him as he deserves." "he will be sufficiently mortified," replied the lady, "if you will only do what has just suggested itself to my mind. your son comes home every night after you have retired; he sleeps here, and steals out every morning before you are stirring. wait for his coming in to-night, make as if you designed to kill him, upon which i will run to his assistance, and when he finds he owes his life entirely to my prayers and entreaties, you may oblige him to take the fair persian on what condition you please. he loves her, and i am well satisfied the fair slave has no aversion for him." khacan readily consented to this stratagem. accordingly, when noor ad deen came at the usual hour, before the door was opened, he placed himself behind it: as soon as he entered, he rushed suddenly upon him, and got him down under his feet. noor ad deen, lifting up his head, saw his father with a dagger in his hand, ready to stab him. at that instant his mother arrived, and catching hold of the vizier's arm, cried, "sir, what are you doing?" "let me alone," replied the vizier, "that i may kill this base, unworthy son." "you shall kill me first," returned the mother; "never will i suffer you to imbue your hands in your own blood." noor ad deen improved this moment. "my father," cried he with tears in his eyes, "i implore your clemency and compassion; nor must you deny me pardon, since i ask it in his name before whom we must all appear at the last day." khacan suffered the dagger to be taken out of his hand; and as soon as noor ad deen was released, he threw himself at his father's feet and kissed them, to shew how sincerely he repented of having offended him. "son," said the vizier, "return thanks to your mother, since it is for her sake i pardon you. i propose also to give you the fair persian, on condition that you will bind yourself by an oath not to regard her any longer as a slave, but as your wife; that you will not sell her, nor ever be divorced from her. as she possesses an excellent understanding, and abundantly more wit and prudence than yourself, i doubt not but that she will be able to moderate those rash sallies of youth, which are otherwise so likely to effect your ruin." noor ad deen, who little expected such indulgent treatment, returned his father a thousand thanks, and the fair persian and he were well pleased with being united to each other. the vizier khacan, without waiting for the king's inquiries about the success of the commission he had given him, took particular care to mention the subject often, representing to his majesty the many difficulties he met, and how fearful he was of not acquitting himself to his majesty's satisfaction. in short, he managed the business with so much address, that the king insensibly forgot it. though saouy had gained some intimation of the transaction, yet khacan was so much in the king's favour, that he was afraid to divulge what he had heard. this delicate affair had now been kept rather more than a year with greater secrecy than the vizier at first expected, when being one day in the bath, and some important business obliging him to leave it, warm as he was, the air, which was then cold, struck to his breast, caused a defluxion to fall upon his lungs, which threw him into a violent fever, and confined him to his bed. his illness increasing every day, and perceiving he had not long to live, he thus addressed himself to his son, who never quitted him during the whole of his illness: "my son," said he, "i know not whether i have well employed the riches heaven has blessed me with, but you see they are not able to save me from the hands of death. the last thing i desire of you with my dying breath is, that you would be mindful of the promise you made me concerning the fair persian, and in this assurance i shall die content." these were the vizier khacan's last words. he expired a few moments after, and left his family, the court, and the whole city, in great affliction, the king lamented him as a wise, zealous, and faithful minister; and the people bewailed him as their protector and benefactor.. never was there a funeral in bussorah solemnized with greater pomp and magnificence. the viziers, emirs, and in general all the grandees of the court, strove for the honour of bearing his coffin, one after another, upon their shoulders, to the place of burial; and both rich and poor accompanied him, dissolved in tears. noor ad deen exhibited all the demonstrations of a sorrow proportioned to the loss he had sustained, and long refrained from seeing any company. at last he admitted of a visit from an intimate acquaintance. his friend endeavoured to comfort him; and finding him inclined to hear reason, told him, that having paid what was due to the memory of his father, and fully satisfied all that decency required of him, it was now high time to appear again in the world, to converse with his friends, and maintain a character suitable to his birth and talents. "for," continued he, "though we should sin against the laws both of nature and society, and be thought insensible, if on the death of our fathers we neglected to pay them the duties which filial love imposes upon us; yet having performed these, and put it out of the power of any to reproach us for our conduct, it behoves us to return to the world, and our customary occupations. dry up your tears then, and reassume that wonted air of gaiety which has always inspired with joy those who have had the honour of your friendship." this advice seemed too reasonable to be rejected, and had noor ad deen strictly abided by it, he would certainly have avoided all the misfortunes that afterwards befell him. he entertained his friend honourably; and when he took his leave, desired him to come again the next day, and bring with him three or four friends of their acquaintance. by this means he insensibly fell into the society of about ten young men nearly of his own age, with whom he spent his time in continual feasting and entertainments; and scarcely a day passed but he made every one of them some considerable present. the fair persian, who never approved of his extravagant way of living, often spoke her mind freely. "i question not," said she, "but the vizier your father has left you an ample fortune: but great as it may be, be not displeased with your slave for telling you, that at this rate of living you will quickly see an end of it. we may sometimes indeed treat our friends, and be merry with them; but to make a daily practice of it, is certainly the high road to ruin and destruction: for your own honour and reputation, you would do better to follow the footsteps of your deceased father, that in time you may rise to that dignity by which he acquired so much glory and renown." noor ad deen hearkened to the fair persian with a smile: and when she had done, "my charmer," said he, with the same air of gaiety, "say no more of that; let us talk of nothing but mirth and pleasure. in my father's lifetime i was always under restraint; and i am now resolved to enjoy the liberty i so much sighed for before his death. it will be time enough for me hereafter to think of leading the sober, regular life you talk of; and a man of my age ought to taste the pleasures of youth." what contributed still more to the ruin of noor ad deen's fortune, was his unwillingness to reckon with his steward; for whenever he brought in his accounts, he still sent him away without examining them: "go, go," said he, "i trust wholly to your honesty; only take care to provide good entertainments for my friends." "you are the master, sir," replied he, "and i but the steward; however, you would do well to think upon the proverb, �he that spends much, and has but little, must at last insensibly be reduced to poverty.' you are not contented with keeping an extravagant table, but you must lavish away your estate with both hands: and were your coffers as large as mountains, they would not be sufficient to maintain you." "begone," replied noor ad deen, "i want not your grave lessons; only take care to provide good eating and drinking, and trouble your head no farther about the rest." in the meantime, noor ad deen's friends were constant guests at his table, and never failed to take advantage of the easiness of his temper. they praised and flattered him, extolling his most indifferent actions; but, above all, they took particular care to commend whatever belonged to him; and in this they found their account. "sir," said one of them, "i came the other day by your estate that lies in such a place; nothing can be so magnificent or so handsomely furnished as your house; and the garden belonging to it is a paradise upon earth." "i am very glad it pleases you," replied noor ad deen: "bring me pen, ink, and paper; without more words, it is at your service; i make you a present of it." no sooner had others commended one of his houses, baths, or public buildings erected for the use of strangers, the yearly revenue of which was very considerable, than he immediately gave them away. the fair persian could not forbear stating to him how much injury he did himself; but, instead of paying any regard to her remonstrances, he continued his extravagances, and the first opportunity that offered, squandered away the little he had left. in short, noor ad deen did nothing for a whole year but feast and make merry, wasting and consuming, with the utmost prodigality, the great wealth that his predecessors, and the good vizier his father, had with so much pains and care acquired and preserved. the year was but just expired, when a person one day knocked at the door of the hall, where he and his friends were at dinner together by themselves, having sent away the slaves, that they might enjoy the greater liberty. one of his friends offered to rise; but noor ad deen stepping before him, opened the door himself. it was the steward; and noor ad deen, going a little out of the hall to know his business, left the door half open. the friend that offered to rise from his seat, seeing it was the steward, and being curious to know what he had to say, placed himself between the hangings and the door, where he plainly overheard the steward's discourse to his master. "sir," said he, "i ask a thousand pardons for coming to disturb you in the height of your pleasure; but what i have to say is of such importance, that i thought myself bound in duty to acquaint you with it. i am come, sir, to make up my last accounts, and to tell you, that what i all along foresaw, and have often warned you of, is at last come to pass. i have not the smallest piece left of all the sums i have received from you for your expenses; the other funds you assigned me are all exhausted. the farmers, and those that owe you rent, have made it so plainly appear to me, that you have assigned over to others what they held of you, that it is impossible for me to get any more from them on your account. here are my books; if you please, examine them; and if you wish i should continue useful to you, assign me other funds, or else give me leave to quit your service." noor ad deen was so astonished at his statement, that he gave him no answer. the friend who had been listening all this while, and had heard every syllable of what the steward said, immediately came in, and told the company what he had overheard. "it is your business, gentlemen," said he, "to make your use of this caution; for my part, i declare to you, this is the last visit i design ever to make noor ad deen." "nay," replied they, "if matters go thus, we have as little business here as you; and for the future shall take care not to trouble him with our company." noor ad deen returned presently after; notwithstanding all his efforts to appear gay to his guests, he could not so dissemble his concern, but they plainly perceived the truth of what they had heard. he was scarcely sat down in his place, when one of his friends arose: "sir," said he, "i am sorry i cannot have the honour of keeping you company any longer; and therefore i hope you will excuse my rudeness in leaving you so soon." "what urgent affair," demanded noor ad deen, "obliges you to be going so soon?" "my wife, sir," he replied, "is brought to bed to-day; and upon such an occasion, you know a husband's company is always necessary." so making a very low bow, he went away. a minute afterwards a second took his leave, with another excuse. the rest did the same, one after another, till at last not one of the ten friends that had hitherto kept noor ad deen company remained. as soon as they were gone, noor ad deen, little suspecting the resolution they had formed never to see him again, went directly to the fair persian's apartment; to whom he related all the steward had told him, and seemed extremely concerned at the ill state of his affairs. "sir," said the fair persian, "allow me to say, you would never take my advice, but always managed your concerns after your own way, and now you see the fatal consequences. i find i was not mistaken, when i presaged to what a miserable condition you would bring yourself at last: but what afflicts me the more is, that at present you do not see the worst of your misfortunes. whenever i presumed freely to remonstrate with you, �let us be merry,' you replied, �and improve the time that fortune offers us; perhaps she will not always be so prodigal of her favours:' but was i to blame in telling you, that we are ourselves the makers of our own fortunes by a prudent management of them? you would not hearken to me; and i was forced, however reluctantly, to let you go on." "i must own," replied noor ad deen, "i was extremely in the wrong in not following the advice which with such admirable prudence you gave me. it is true, i have spent my estate; but do you not consider, it is among a chosen set of friends, whom i have long known, and who, i am persuaded, have more generosity and gratitude than to abandon me in distress?" "sir," replied the fair persian, "if you have nothing but the gratitude of your friends to depend on, your case is desperate; for, believe me, that hope is ill-grounded, and you will tell me so yourself in time." to this noor ad deen replied, "charming persian, i have a better opinion of my friends' generosity: to-morrow i design to visit them all, before the usual time of their coming hither; and you shall see me return with a round sum that they will assist me with. i am resolved to alter my way of living, and, with the money they lend me, to set up in some business." next morning, noor ad deen visited his ten friends, who lived in the same street. he knocked at the first door, where one of the richest of them resided. a slave came to the door: but before he would open it, asked who was there. "tell your master," said he to the slave, "it is noor ad deen, the late vizier khacan's son." the slave opened the door, and shewed him into a hall, where he left him, in order to inform his master, who was in an inner room, that noor ad deen was come to wait on him, "noor ad deen!" cried he, in a disdainful tone, loud enough for him to hear: "go tell him i am not at home; and whenever he may come again, be sure you give him the same answer." the slave returned, and told noor ad deen he thought his master was within, but was mistaken. noor ad deen came away in the greatest confusion. "ah! base, ungrateful wretch!" cried he, "to treat me so to-day after the vows and protestations of friendship that he made me yesterday." he went to another door, but that friend ordered his slave also to say he was gone out. he had the same answer at the third; and, in short, all the rest denied themselves, though every one was at home. noor ad deen now began in earnest to reflect with himself, and see the folly of relying upon the protestations of attachment that his false friends had solemnly made him in the time of his prosperity, when he could treat them sumptuously, and load them with favours. "it is true," said he to himself, "that a fortunate man, as i was, may be compared to a tree laden with fruit, which, as long as there is any on its boughs, people will be crowding round, and gathering; but as soon as it is stripped of all, they immediately leave it, and go to another." he smothered his passion as much as possible while he was abroad; but no sooner was he got home than he gave a loose to his affliction, and discovered it to the fair persian. the fair persian seeing him so extremely concerned, guessed he had not found his friends so ready to assist him as he expected. "well, sir," said she, "are you now convinced of the truth of what i told you?" "ah!" cried he, "thou hast been too true a prophetess; for not one of them would know me, see me, or speak to me. who could ever have believed, that persons so highly obliged to me, and on whom i have spent my estate, could have used me so ungratefully? i am distracted; and i fear shall commit some action unworthy myself, in the deplorable and desperate condition i am reduced to, unless you assist me with your prudent advice." "sir," replied the fair persian, "i see no other way of supporting yourself in your misfortunes, but selling off your slaves and furniture, and living on the money they produce, till heaven points out some other means to deliver you from your present misery." noor ad deen was loth to resort to this expedient; but what could he do in the necessitous circumstances to which he was reduced? he first sold off his slaves, those unprofitable mouths, which would have been a greater expense to him than in his present condition he could bear. he lived on the money for some time; and when it was spent, ordered his goods to be carried into the market-place, where they were sold for half their value, though there were among them several articles that had cost immense sums. upon the produce of these he lived a considerable time; but this supply failing at last, he had nothing left by which he could raise any more money, of which he informed the fair persian in the most sorrowful expressions. noor ad deen little expected the answer this prudent woman made him. "sir," said she, "i am your slave; and the late vizier your father gave ten thousand pieces of gold for me. i know i am a little sunk in value since that time; but i believe i shall sell for pretty near that sum. let me entreat you then instantly to carry me to the market, and expose me to sale; and with the money that you get for me, which will be very considerable, you may turn merchant in some city where you are not known, and by that means find a way of living, if not in splendour, yet with happiness and content." "lovely and adorable persian!" cried noor ad deen, "is it possible you can entertain such a thought? have i given you such slender proofs of my love, that you should think me capable of so base an action? but suppose me so vile a wretch, could i do it without being guilty of perjury, after the oath i have taken to my late father never to sell you? i would sooner die than break it, and part with you, whom i love infinitely beyond myself; though, by the unreasonable proposal you have made me, you shew me that your love is by no means reciprocal." "sir," replied the fair persian, "i am convinced that your passion for me is as sincere as you express; and heaven, who knows with what reluctance i have made this proposal which induces you to think so hardly of me, is my witness, that mine is as great as yours; but to silence your reasons, i need only bid you remember, that necessity has no law. i love you to that degree that it is impossible for you to love me more; and be assured, that to what master soever i shall belong, my love for you will continue undiminished; and if you are ever able to redeem me, as i hope you may, it will be the greatest pleasure in the world to be restored to you again. i confess it is a fatal and cruel necessity to which we are driven; but i see no other way of freeing ourselves from the misery that involves us both." noor ad deen, convinced of the truth of what the fair persian had said, and that there was no other way of avoiding a shameful poverty, was forced to yield to her proposal. accordingly he led her to the market where the women-slaves are exposed to sale, with a regret that cannot easily be expressed. he applied himself to a broker, named hagi hassan. "hagi hassan," said he, "here is a slave whom i mean to sell; what will they give for her?" hagi hassan desired noor ad deen and the fair persian to walk into a room; and when she had pulled off the veil that covered her face, "sir," said hagi hassan, in surprise, "if i am not mistaken, this is the slave your father, the late vizier, gave ten thousand pieces of gold for?" noor ad deen assured him she was the same and hagi hassan gave him some hopes of selling her at a high price, and promised to use all his art to raise her value as high as he could. hagi hassan and noor ad deen went out of the room; and hagi hassan locked the fair persian in. he went immediately to the merchants; but they being busy in buying slaves from different countries, greeks, franks, africans, tartars, and others, he was forced to wait till the market was over. when the sale was ended, and the greatest part of them were got together again, "my masters," said he to them, with an air of gaiety in his looks and actions, "every thing that is round is not a nut, every thing that is long is not a fig, all that is red is not flesh, and all eggs are not fresh; it is true you have seen and bought a great many slaves in your lives, but you never yet saw one comparable to her i am going to tell you of. she is the very pearl of slaves. come, follow me, you shall see her yourselves, and judge at what rate i shall cry her." the merchants followed hagi hassan into the apartment where he had left the fair persian, and as soon as they beheld her were so surprised at her beauty, that they unanimously agreed, four thousand pieces of gold was the very lowest price they could set upon her. the merchants left the room; and hagi hassan, who came out with them, without going any farther, proclaimed with a loud voice, "four thousand pieces of gold for a persian slave." none of the merchants had yet offered anything, and were consulting together about what they might afford to give for her, when the vizier saouy appeared. perceiving noor ad deen in the market, he said to himself, "noor ad deen is certainly still making money of his goods" (for he knew he had exposed them to sale), "and is come hither to buy a slave with the product." he advanced forward just as hagi hassan began to proclaim a second time, "four thousand pieces of gold for a persian slave." the vizier saouy, who concluded by the high price, that the slave must be extraordinarily beautiful, was very desirous to see her; so spurring his horse forward, he rode up to hagi hassan, who was surrounded by the merchants. "open the door," said he, "and let me see the slave." it was not the custom to shew a slave to a particular person after the merchants had seen her, and were treating for her; but none of them durst dispute their right with the vizier; and hagi hassan was obliged to open the door, and he made a sign to the fair persian to come forward, that saouy might see her, without alighting from his horse. the vizier was astonished at the sight of so beautiful a slave; and knowing the broker's name (having formerly dealt with him), "hagi hassan," said he, "is it not at four thousand pieces of gold that you cry her?" "yes, sir," answered he; "the merchants just now agreed that i should put her up at that price: i wait their advance; and i question not but they will give a great deal more." "if no one offers more, i will give that sum," replied saouy, looking at the merchants at the same time with a countenance that forbad them to advance the price. he was so universally dreaded, that no one durst speak a word, even to complain of his encroaching upon their privilege. the vizier having stayed some time, and finding none of the merchants outbid him, "what do you stay for?" said he to hagi hassan. "inquire after the seller, and strike a bargain with him at four thousand pieces of gold, or ask if he demands more." hagi hassan having locked the chamber-door, went to confer with noor ad deen. "sir," said he to him, "i am very sorry to bring you the ill news of your slave's going to be sold for nothing." "how so?" replied noor ad deen. "why sir," continued hagi hassan, "you must know that the business at first went on well; for as soon as the merchants had seen your slave, they ordered me, without hesitation, to cry her at four thousand pieces of gold; accordingly i cried her at that price, but presently the vizier saouy came, and his presence has stopped the mouths of all the merchants, who seemed disposed to raise her, at least to the same price your deceased father gave for her. saouy will give no more than four thousand pieces; and it is much against my inclination that i am come to tell you his despicable offer. the slave indeed is your own; but i will never advise you to part with her upon those terms, since you and every one else are sensible of her being worth infinitely more; besides, he is base enough to contrive a way to trick you out of the money." "hagi hassan," replied noor ad deen, "i am highly obliged to thee for thy advice: do not think i will ever sell my slave to any enemy of our family; my necessities, indeed, are at present very great; but i would sooner die in the utmost poverty than consent to delivering her up to him. i have only one thing to beg of thee, who art skilful in all the turns and shifts of sale, that thou wouldst put me in a way to prevent the completion of the bargain." "sir," said hagi hassan, "nothing is more easy: you must pretend that, being in a violent passion with your slave, you swore to expose her in the market, and for the sake of your oath have now brought her hither, without any intention of selling her. this will satisfy every one; and saouy will have nothing to say against it. come along with me then; and just as i am presenting her to saouy as if it were by your own consent, pull her to you, give her two or three blows, and send her home." "i thank thee for thy counsel," said noor ad deen, "and will make use of it." hagi hassan went back to the chamber; and having privately acquainted the fair persian with their design, that she might not be surprised, took her by the hand, and led her to the vizier saouy, who was still on horseback at the door "sir," said he, "here is the slave, she is yours; take her." the words were scarcely out of hagi hassan's mouth, when noor ad deen, catching hold of the fair persian, pulled her to him, and giving her a box on the ear, "come hither, impertinence," said he, "and get you home again; for though your ill-humour obliged me to swear i should bring you hither, yet i never intended to sell you: i have business for you to do yet; and it will be time enough to part with you when i have nothing else left." this conduct of noor ad deen put the vizier saouy into a violent passion. "miserable debauchee," cried he, "wouldst thou have me believe thou hast any thing else left to make money of but thy slave?" and at the same instant, spurring his horse directly against him, endeavoured to carry off the fair persian. noor ad deen. nettled to the quick at the affront the vizier had put upon him, quitted the fair persian, and laying hold of his horse's bridle, made him run two or three paces backwards. "vile dotard," said he to the vizier, "i would tear thy soul out of thy body this moment, were it not out of respect for the crowd of people here present." the vizier saouy being hated by all, there was not one among them but was pleased to see noor ad deen mortify him; and by signs they gave him to understand, that he might revenge himself upon him as much as he pleased, for nobody would interfere in their quarrel. saouy endeavoured to force noor ad deen to quit the bridle; but he being a lusty, vigorous man, and encouraged by those that stood by, pulled him off his horse, gave him several blows, and dashed his head against the stones, till it was all over blood. the slaves who waited upon the vizier would have drawn their cimeters, and fallen upon noor ad deen; but the merchants interposing prevented them. "what do you mean?" said they to them; "do you not see that one is a vizier, the other a vizier's son? let them fight it out; perhaps they will be reconciled one time or another; whereas, if you had killed noor ad deen, your master, with all his greatness, could not have been able to protest you against the law?" noor ad deen having given over beating the vizier saouy, left him in the mire, and taking the fair persian, marched home with her, attended by the people, with shouts and acclamations for the action he had performed. the vizier, cruelly bruised with the blows he had received, made shift to get up, with the assistance of his slaves, and had the mortification to see himself besmeared with blood and dirt. he leaned on the shoulders of two slaves, and in that condition went straight to the palace in the sight of all the people, with the greater confusion, because no one pitied him. as soon as he reached the king's apartment, he began to cry out, and call for justice in a lamentable tone. the king ordered him to be admitted; and asked who it was that had abused and put him into that miserable plight. "sire," cried saouy, "it is the favour of your majesty, and being admitted into your sacred councils, that has occasioned me to be so barbarously treated." "say no more of that," replied the king, "only let me hear the whole story simply, and who the offender is; and if he is in the wrong, you may depend upon it he shall be severely punished." "sire," said saouy, telling the whole matter to his own advantage, "having occasion for a cook, i went to the market of women-slaves to buy one: when i came thither, there was a slave just cried at four thousand pieces of gold; i ordered them to bring her before me, and i think my eyes never did nor will behold a more beautiful creature: i had no sooner examined her beauty with the highest satisfaction, than i immediately asked to whom she belonged; and upon inquiry found that noor ad deen, son to the late vizier khacan, had the disposing of her. "your majesty may remember, that about two or three years ago, you gave that vizier ten thousand pieces of gold, strictly charging him to buy you a slave with that sum. the money, indeed, was laid out upon this very slave; but instead of bringing her to your majesty, thinking his son deserved her better, he made him a present of her. noor ad deen, since his father's death, having wasted his whole fortune in riot and feasting, has nothing left but this slave, whom he at last resolved to part with; and she was to be sold in his name, i sent for him; and, without mentioning any thing of his father's prevarication, or rather treachery to your majesty, i in the civilest manner said to him, �noor ad deen, the merchants, i perceive, have put your slave up at four thousand pieces of gold; and i question not, but, in emulation of each other, they will raise the price considerably: let me have her for the four thousand pieces; i am going to buy her for the king our lord and master; this will be a handsome opportunity of making your court to him: and his favour will be worth far more than the merchants can propose to give you.' "instead of returning me a civil answer, the insolent wretch, beholding me with a fierce air, "impotent villain,' said he, �i would rather give my slave to a jew for nothing than to thee for money.' �noor ad deen,' i replied, without passion, though i had some reason to be a little warm,'you do not consider, that by talking in this manner you affront the king, who raised both your father and me to the honours we have enjoyed.' "this admonition, instead of softening him, only provoked him to a higher degree; so that, falling upon me like a madman, without regard to my age or rank, he pulled me off my horse, and put me into this miserable plight. i beseech your majesty to consider, that it is on your account i have been so publicly affronted." the abused king, highly incensed against noor ad deen by this relation, so full of malice and artifice, discovered by his countenance the violence of his anger; and turning to the captain of his guards, who stood near him, "take forty of your soldiers," said he, "immediately plunder noor ad deen's house, and having ordered it to be razed to the ground, bring him and his slave to the presence." before the captain of the guards was gone out of the king's presence, an officer belonging to the court, who overheard the order given, hastened out. his name was sangiar; and he had been formerly a slave of the vizier khacan who had introduced him at court, where by degrees he had raised himself. sangiar, full of gratitude to his old master and affection for noor ad deen, whom he remembered a child, being no stranger to saouy's hatred of khacan's family, could not hear the order without concern. "this action," said he to himself, "may not be altogether so black as saouy has represented it. he has prejudiced the king against him, who will certainly put him to death, without allowing him time to justify himself." he made so much haste to noor ad deen's house, as to get thither soon enough to acquaint him with what had passed at court, and give him time to provide for his own and the fair persian's safety. he knocked so violently at the door, that noor ad deen, who had been a great while without any servant, ran immediately to open it. "my dear lord," said sangiar, "there is no safety for you in bussorah; you must lose no time, but depart hence this moment." "how so?" demanded noor ad deen. "what is the reason i must be gone so soon?" "make haste away, sir," replied sangiar, "and take your slave with you. in short, saouy has been just now acquainting the king, after his own way of telling it, all that passed between you and him; and the captain of the guards will be here in an instant, with forty soldiers, to seize you and the fair persian. take these forty pieces of gold to assist you in repairing to some place of safety. i would give you more if i had it about me. excuse my not staying any longer; i leave you with reluctance." sangiar gave noor ad deen but just time to thank him, and departed. noor ad deen acquainted the fair persian with the absolute necessity of their going that moment. she only put on her veil; they both stole out of the house, and were fortunate enough not only to get clear of the city, but also safely to arrive at the euphrates, which was not far off, where they embarked in a vessel that lay ready to weigh anchor. as soon as they were on board, the captain came on deck amongst his passengers. "children," said he to them, "are you all here? have any of you any more business to do in the city? or have you left any thing behind you?" they were all there, they answered him, and ready; so that he might sail as soon as he pleased. when noor ad deen came aboard, the first question he asked was, whither the vessel was bound? and being told for bagdad, he rejoiced at it. the captain, having weighed anchor, set sail; and the vessel, with a very favourable wind, lost sight of bussorah. the captain of the guards came to noor ad deen's house, and knocked at the door; but no one answering, he ordered his soldiers to break it open, who immediately obeyed him, and rushed in. they searched the house; but neither he nor the fair persian were to be found. the captain of the guards made them inquire of the neighbours; and he himself asked if they had seen them lately. it was all in vain; for if they had seen him go out of his house, so universally beloved was noor ad deen by the people, that not one of them would have said the least word to his prejudice. while they were rifling the house, and levelling it to the ground, he went to acquaint the king with the news. "look for them," said he, "every where; for i am resolved to have them." the captain of the guards made a second search, and the king dismissed the vizier saouy with honour. "go home," said he, "trouble yourself no farther to punish noor ad deen; i will revenge your injuries." without delay the king ordered to be proclaimed throughout the whole city a reward of a thousand pieces of gold for any person that should apprehend noor ad deen and the fair persian, also a severe punishment upon those who should conceal them. no tidings however could be heard of them; and the vizier saouy had only the comfort of seeing the king espouse his quarrel. in the mean time, noor ad deen and the fair persian, after a prosperous voyage, landed safe at bagdad. as soon as the captain came within sight of that city, pleased that his voyage was at an end, "rejoice, my children," cried he to the passengers; "yonder is that great and wonderful city, where there is a perpetual concourse of people from all parts of the world: there you shall meet with innumerable crowds, and never feel the extremity of cold in winter, nor the excess of heat in summer, but enjoy an eternal spring with all its flowers, and the delicious fruits of autumn." when the vessel came to anchor, a little below the city, the passengers went ashore, each to their respective place of abode. noor ad deen gave the captain five pieces of gold for his passage, and went ashore also with the fair persian; but being a perfect stranger in bagdad, was at a loss for a lodging. they rambled a considerable time along the gardens that bordered on the tigris, and keeping close to one of them that was enclosed with a very long wall, at the end of it they turned into a street well paved, where they perceived a magnificent gateway and a fountain near it. the inner door happened to be shut, but the portal was open, in which there was an estrade on each side. "this is a very convenient place for us," said noor ad deen to the fair persian; "night comes on apace; and though we have eaten nothing since our landing, i am for passing the night here, and to-morrou we shall have time enough to look for a lodging." "sir," replied the fair persian, "you know your wishes are mine; les us go no farther, since you are willing to stay here." each of them having drunk a draught of water at the fountain, they laid themselves down upon one of the estrades; and after a little chat, being soothed by the agreeable murmur of the water, fell asleep. the garden belonged to the caliph: and in the middle of it there was a pavilion, called the pavilion of pictures, because its chief ornaments were pictures after the persian manner, drawn by the most celebrated painters in persia, whom the caliph had sent for on purpose. the stately hall within this pavilion was lighted by fourscore arches and a lustre in each; but these were lighted only when the caliph came thither to spend the evening. on such occasions they made a glorious illumination, and could be seen at a great distance in the country on that side, and by great part of the city. the office of keeper of this pleasure house was at this time held by a very aged officer, named scheich ibrahim, whom the caliph, for some important service, had put into that employment, with strict charge not to let all sorts of people in, but especially to suffer no one either to sit or lie down on the estrades at the outward door, that they might always be clean; and whenever he found any body there, to punish them severely. some business had obliged this officer to go abroad, and he was not yet returned. when he came back, there was just day-light enough for him to discern two persons asleep upon one of the estrades, with their heads under a piece of linen, to defend them from the gnats. "very well," said scheich ibrahim to himself; "these people disobey the caliph's orders: but i will take care to teach them better manners." upon this he opened the door very softly, and a moment after returned with a cane in his hand, and his sleeve tucked up to the elbow: he was just going to lay on them both with all his might, but withholding his arm, began to reason with himself after this manner: "thou wast going, without reflection, to strike these people, who perhaps are strangers, destitute of a lodging, and utterly ignorant of the caliph's order; so that it would be advisable to know first who they are." upon this he gently lifted up the linen that covered their heads, and was astonished to see a young man so well shaped, and a young woman so beautiful; he then waked noor ad deen, by pulling him softly by the feet. noor ad deen, lifting up his head, and seeing an old man with a long white beard standing at his feet, got up, and throwing himself upon his knees, and taking his hand, kissed it. "good father," said he, "heaven preserve you!" "what do you want, my son?" replied scheich ibrahim; "who are you, and whence came you?" "we are strangers newly arrived," answered noor ad deen, "and would fain tarry here till to-morrow." "this is not a proper place for you," said scheich ibrahim; "come in with me, and i will find one fitter for you to sleep in than this; and the sight of the garden, which is very fine, will please you, when you see it to-morrow by day light." "is this garden your own?" asked noor ad deen. "yes," replied scheich ibrahim, smiling; "it is an inheritance left me by my father: pray walk in, for i am sure you will not repent seeing it." noor ad deen rose to thank scheich ibrahim for the civility he had strewn, as did afterwards the fair persian; and they entered the garden. scheich ibrahim locked the door, and going before, led them to a spot from whence, at one view, they might see the disposition, grandeur, and beauty of the whole. noor ad deen had seen very fine gardens, but never any comparable to this. having satisfied his curiosity, as he was walking in one of the walks, he turned about to the officer, and asked his name. as soon as he had told him it was scheich ibrahim; "scheich ibrahim," said he to him, "i must confess this is a charming garden indeed. heaven send you long to enjoy the pleasures of it; we cannot sufficiently thank you for the favour you have done by shewing us a place so well worth seeing; however, it is but just that we should make you some amends for your kindness; here are two pieces of gold; take them and get us something to eat, that we may be merry together." at the sight of the two pieces of gold, scheich ibrahim, who was a great admirer of that metal, laughed in his sleeve: he took them, and leaving noor ad deen and the fair persian by themselves, went to provide what was necessary; for he was alone. said he to himself with great joy, "these are generous people; i should have done very wrong, if, through imprudence, i had ill- treated and driven them away. a tenth part of the money will suffice to treat them; and the rest i will keep for my pains." while scheich ibrahim was gone to fetch something for his own supper, as well as for his guests noor ad deen and the fair persian walked up and down the garden, till at last they came to the pavilion of pictures. they stood awhile to admire its wonderful structure, size, and loftiness; and after taking a full view of it on every side, went up many steps of fine white marble to the hall-door, which they found locked. they were but just returned to the bottom of the steps, when scheich ibrahim arrived, loaded with provisions. "scheich ibrahim," said noor ad deen, in great surprise, "did you not tell us that this was your garden?" "i did," replied scheich ibrahim, "and do so still." "and does this magnificent pavilion also belong to you?" scheich ibrahim was staggered at this unexpected question. "if," said he to himself, "i should say it is none of mine, they will ask me how i can be master of the garden and not of the pavilion.' as he had made them believe the garden was his, he said the same of the pavilion. "my son," said he, "the pavilion is not distinct from the garden; but they both belong to me." "if so," said noor ad deen, "since you invite us to be your guests to-night, do us the favour to shew us the inside of it; for if we may judge by the outward appearance, it must certainly be extraordinarily magnificent." it would have been a great piece of incivility in scheich ibrahim to refuse this favour, after what he had already done: moreover, he considered that the caliph not having given him notice, according to his usual custom, it was likely he would not be there that night, and therefore resolved to treat his guests, and sup with them in the pavilion. he laid the provisions on the first step, while he went to his apartment for the key: he soon returned with a light, and opened the door. noor ad deen and the fair persian entered the hall, and were never tired with admiring the beauty and richness of the place. indeed, without saying anything of the pictures. which were admirably well drawn, the sofas were very noble and costly; and besides lustres suspended from every arch, there was between each a silver branch supporting a wax candle. noor ad deen could not behold these glorious objects without recollecting his former splendour, and sighing. in the mean time scheich ibrahim was getting supper ready; and the cloth being laid upon a sofa, and every thing in order, noor ad deen, the fair persian, and he sat down and ate together. when supper was finished, and they had washed their hands, noor ad deen opened a lattice, and calling the fair persian to him, "come hither," said he, "and with me admire the charming prospect and beauty of the garden by moon-light; nothing can be more agreeable." she came to him; and they both enjoyed the view, while scheich ibrahim was busy in taking away the cloth. when scheich ibrahim came to his guests again, noor ad deen asked him whether he had any liquor to treat them with. "what liquor would you have?" replied scheich ibrahim--"sherbet? i have the best in the world; but sherbet, you know, my son, is never drunk after supper." "i know that very well," said noor ad deen; "it is not sherbet, but another sort of liquor that we ask you for, and i am surprised at your not understanding me." "it is wine then you mean?" said scheich ibrahim. "you guess right," replied noor ad deen, "and if you have any, oblige us with a bottle: you know a bottle after supper is a very proper companion to spend the hours with till bed-time." "heaven defend me from keeping wine in my house," cried scheich ibrahim, "and from ever coming to a place where any is found! a man who, like me, has been a pilgrimage four times to mecca, has renounced wine for ever." "you would do us a singular kindness," said noor ad deen, "in getting a little for our own drinking; and if it be not too much trouble, i will put you in a way how you may do it, without going into a vintner's shop, or so much as laying your hand upon the vessel that contains it." "upon that condition i will do it," replied scheich ibrahim, "only let me know what i am to do." "why then," said noor ad deen, "we just now saw an ass tied at the entrance of your garden, which certainly must be yours, and which you may make use of in this extremity: here are two pieces of gold more; take them, and lead your ass with the panniers to the next vintner's; you may stand at as great a distance as you please, do but give something to the first person that comes by, and desire him to go with your ass, and procure two pitchers of wine; put one in one pannier, in another, another, which he must pay for out of the money you give him, and so let him bring the ass back to you: you will have nothing to do, but to drive the beast hither before you; we will take the wine out of the panniers: by this means you will do nothing that will give you any scruple." the two last pieces of gold that scheich ibrahim was going to receive wrought wonderfully upon his mind. "ah! my son," cried he, "you have an excellent contrivance; and had it not been for your invention, i should never have thought of this way of getting you some wine without any scruple of conscience." away he went to execute the orders, which he did in a little time; and, upon his return, noor ad deen taking the pitchers out of the panniers, carried them into the hall. scheich ibrahim having led the ass to the place from whence he took him, came back again, "scheich ibrahim," said noor ad deen, "we cannot enough thank you for the trouble we have already given you; but we want something yet." "what is that? "replied scheich: "what more service can i do you?" "we have no cups to drink out of," said noor ad deen, "and a little fruit, if you had any, would be very acceptable." "do but say what you have a mind to," replied scheich ibrahim, "and you shall have every thing to your heart's content." down went scheich ibrahim, and in a short time spread a carpet for them with beautiful porcelain dishes, full of all sorts of delicious fruits, besides gold and silver cups to drink out of; and having asked them if they wanted any thing else, he withdrew, though they pressed him earnestly to stay. noor ad deen and the fair persian sat down again, and drank each a cup. they were pleased with the wine, which was excellent. "well, my dear," said noor ad deen to the fair persian, "are we not the most fortunate persons in the world, after so many dangers, to meet with so charming and agreeable a place? let us be merry, and think no more on the hardships of our voyage. can my happiness be greater in this world, than to have you on one side of me, and my glass on the other?" they drank freely, and diverted themselves with agreeable conversation, each singing a song. both having very fine voices, but especially the fair persian, their singing attracted scheich ibrahim, who had stood hearkening a great while on the steps, without discovering himself. he could contain himself no longer; but thrusting his head in at the door, "courage, sir," said he to noor ad deen, whom he took to be quite drunk, "i am glad to see you so pleased." "ah! scheich ibrahim," cried noor ad deen, turning to him, "you are a glorious man, and we are extremely obliged to you. we dare not ask you to drink a cup; but walk in; come, sit down, and let us have the honour at least of your company." "go on, go on," said scheich ibrahim; "the pleasure of hearing your songs is sufficient for me." upon this he immediately retired. the fair persian perceiving scheich ibrahim, through one of the windows, standing upon the steps, told noor ad deen of it. "sir," said she, "you see what an aversion he has for wine; yet i question not in the least to make him drink, if you will do as i would have you." noor ad deen asked her what it was. "do but say the word," replied he, "and i am ready to do what you please." "prevail with him then only to come in, and bear us company; some time after fill up a bumper, and give it him; if he refuses, drink it yourself, pretend to be asleep, and leave the rest to me." noor ad deen understood the fair persian's design, and called to scheich ibrahim, who came again to the door. "scheich ibrahim," said he, "we are your guests; you have entertained us in the most obliging manner, and will you now refuse our solicitations to honour us with your company? we do not ask you to drink, but only the favour of seeing you." scheich ibrahim being at last prevailed upon, came into the hall, and sat down on the edge of a sofa nearest to the door. "you do not sit well there," said noor ad deen, "and we cannot have the honour of seeing you; pray come nearer, and sit you down by the lady; she will like it much." "i will obey you," replied scheich ibrahim, so coming forward, simpering, to think he should be seated near so beautiful a creature, he placed himself at some distance from the fair persian. noor ad deen desired a song of her, in return for the honour scheich ibrahim had done them; and she sung one that charmed him. when the fair persian had ended her song, noor ad deen poured out a cup of wine, and presented it to scheich ibrahim. "scheich ibrahim," said he, "i entreat you, drink this to our healths." "sir," replied he, starting back, as if he abhorred the very sight of the wine, "i beseech you to excuse me; i have already told you that i have forsworn the use of wine these many years." "then since you will not drink our healths," said noor ad deen, "give me leave to drink yours." while noor ad deen was drinking, the fair persian cut half an apple, and presented it to scheich ibrahim. "though you refused drinking," said she, "yet i believe you will not refuse tasting this apple; it is very excellent." scheich ibrahim had no power to refuse it from so fair a hand; but taking it with a very low bow, put it in his mouth. she said a great many pleasant things on the occasion; and noor ad deen, falling back upon a sofa, pretended to fall fast asleep. the fair persian presently advanced towards scheich ibrahim, and speaking in a low voice, "look at him," said she, "thus in all our merry parties he constantly serves me; and no sooner has he drunk a cup or two, but he falls asleep, and leaves me alone; but i hope you will have the goodness to keep me company till he awakes." at this the fair persian took a cup, and filling it with wine, offered it to scheich ibrahim. "here," said she, "drink off this to my health; i am going to pledge you." scheich ibrahim made a great many difficulties, and begged her to excuse him from drinking; but she pressed him so, that overcome by her charms and entreaties he took the cup, and drank off every drop of the wine. the good old man loved a chirruping cup to his heart, but was ashamed to drink among strangers. he often went to the tavern in private, as many other people do; and he did not take the precaution recommended, but went directly where he was well known (night serving him instead of a cloak), and saved the money that noor ad deen had ordered him to give the messenger who was to have gone for the wine. while scheich ibrahim was eating fruit after his draught, the fair persian filled him out another, which he received with less difficulty than the former, but made none at all at the third. in short, a fourth was quaffing, when noor ad deen started up from his pretended sleep; and bursting out into a violent fit of laughter, and looking at him, "ha! ha!" said he, "scheich ibrahim, have i caught you at last? did you not tell me you had forsworn wine? and now you have drunk it all up from me." scheich ibrahim, not expecting to be surprised, blushed a little; however, that did not spoil his draught; but when he had done, "sir," said he laughing, "if there is any crime in what i have done, it lies at this fair lady's door, not mine: for who could possibly resist so many charms?" the fair persian, who perfectly understood noor ad deen, took scheich ibrahim's part. "let him talk," said she, "scheich ibrahim, take no notice of him, but let us drink on and be merry." awhile after noor ad deen filled out a cup for himself and the fair persian; but when scheich ibrahim saw that noor ad deen had forgotten him in his turn, he took his cup, and presenting it to the fair persian, "madam," said he, "do you suppose i cannot drink as well as you?" at these words noor ad deen and the fair persian laughed very heartily. they poured him out some wine; and sat laughing, chatting, and drinking, till near midnight. about that hour the fair persian began to notice that there was but one candle on the carpet. "scheich ibrahim," said she to the good old officer, "you have afforded us but one candle, when there are so many wax- lights yonder; pray do us the favour to light some of them, that we may see a little better what we are doing." scheich ibrahim making use of the liberty that wine inspires when it gets into the head, and not caring to be interrupted in his discourse, bade the fair persian light them herself. "it is fitter for a young person like you to do it," said he, "than for me; but be sure not to light above five or six" up rose the fair persian immediately, and taking a wax candle in her hand, lighted it with that which stood upon the carpet, and without any regard to scheich ibrahim's order, lighted up the whole fourscore. by and by, while scheich ibrahim was entertaining the fair persian with some discourse, noor ad deen took his turn to desire him to light up some of the candles in the lustres, not taking notice that all the wax-lights were already in a blaze. "certainly," replied scheich ibrahim, "you must be very lazy, or less vigorous than i am, that you are not able to light them yourself; get you gone, and light them; but be sure you light no more than three." to work he went; but instead of that number, he lighted them all, and opened the shutters of the fourscore windows, before scheich ibrahim, who was deeply engaged with the fair persian, knew any thing of the matter. the caliph haroon al rusheed being not yet gone to rest, was in a room of his palace on the river tigris, from whence he could command a view both of the garden and pavilion. he accidentally opened the casement, and was extremely surprised at seeing the pavilion illuminated; and at first, by the greatness of the light, thought the city was on fire. the grand vizier jaaffier was still with him, waiting for his going to rest. the caliph, in a great rage, called the vizier to him. "careless vizier," said he, "come hither, come hither; look at the pavilion of pictures, and tell me the reason of its being illuminated at this hour, now i am not there." the grand vizier at this account fell into a violent trembling; but when he came nearer, and with his own eyes saw the truth of what the caliph had told him, he was more alarmed than before. some excuse must be made to appease the caliph's anger. "commander of the true believers," said he, "all that i can say to your majesty about this matter is, that some five or six days ago scheich ibrahim came to acquaint me, that he had a design to assemble the ministers of his mosque, to assist at a ceremony he was ambitious of performing in honour of your majesty's auspicious reign. i asked him if i could be any way serviceable to him in this affair; upon which he entreated me to get leave of your majesty to perform the ceremony in the pavilion. i sent him away with leave to hold the assembly, telling him i would take care to acquaint your majesty with it; and i ask pardon for having quite forgotten it." "scheich ibrahim," continued he, "has certainly made choice of this day for the ceremony; and after treating the ministers of his mosque, was willing to indulge them with the sight of this illumination." "jaaffier," said the caliph, with a tone that plainly shewed his anger was a little mollified, "according to your own account, you have committed three faults; the first, in giving scheich ibrahim leave to perform this ceremony in my pavilion, for a person in such an office is not worthy of so great an honour; the second, in not acquainting me with it; and the third, in not diving into the bottom of the good old man's intention. for my part, i am persuaded he only did it to try if he could get any money towards bearing the charge of it; but that never came into your head." the grand vizier, overjoyed to hear the caliph put the matter upon that footing, very willingly owned the faults he reproached him with, and freely confessed he was to blame in not giving scheich ibrahim a few pieces of gold. "since the case is so," added the caliph, "it is just that thou shouldst be punished for thy mistakes, but thy punishment shall be light: thou shalt spend the remainder of the night as i mean to do, with these honest people, whose company i shall be well pleased with; and while i am putting on a citizen's habit, go thou and disguise thyself with mesrour, and come both of you along with me." the vizier would have persuaded him it was late, and that all the company would be gone before he could get thither: but the caliph said he would positively go. the vizier, who knew that not a syllable of what he had said was true, began to be in great consternation; but there was no reply to be made, and go he must. the caliph then, disguised like a citizen, with the grand vizier jaaffier and mesrour, chief of the eunuchs, stole out of the palace together. they rambled through the streets of bagdad till they came to the garden; the door, through the carelessness of scheich ibrahim, was open, he having forgotten to shut it when he came back with the wine. the caliph was very angry at this. "jaaffier," said he to the grand vizier, "what excuse have you for the door's being open at this unseasonable hour?" "is it possible that scheich ibrahim makes a custom of leaving it thus all night? i rather believe the hurry of the feast has been the occasion of this neglect." the caliph went into the garden; and when he came to the pavilion, resolving not to go into the hall till he knew what was doing, consulted with the grand vizier whether it was not his best way to climb up into one of the trees that was near, to observe what was going forward. the grand vizier casting his eyes upon the door, perceived it stood half open, and told the caliph. it seems scheich ibrahim had left it so, when he was prevailed upon to come in and bear noor ad deen and the fair persian company. the caliph laying aside his first design, stole softly up to the hall-door, which standing half open, he could see all the company within, without being discovered himself. but how was he surprised, when he saw a lady of incomparable beauty and a handsome young man sitting, with scheich ibrahim by them. scheich ibraham held a cup in his hand. "my fair lady," said he to the fair persian, "a true toper never drinks without singing a song first: if you please to hear, i will give you one of my best songs." scheich ibrahim sung, and the caliph was the more surprised, because till that moment he never knew of his drinking wine, but always took him for a grave, solid man, as he seemed to be to outward appearance. the caliph retired from the door with the same caution as he had made his approaches to it; and coming to the grand vizier, who was standing on the steps a little lower, "come up," said he to him, "and see if those within are the ministers of the mosque, as you would have made me believe." by the tone of voice in which the caliph spoke these last words, the vizier understood that things went ill on his side: however, he went up the steps; but when he had peeped in at the door, and saw the three sitting in that condition, he trembled for his life. he returned to the caliph, but in such confusion, that he knew not what to say. "what riotous doings are here?" said the caliph to him: "who are these people that have presumed to take the liberty of diverting themselves in my garden and pavilion? and how durst scheich ibrahim give them admittance, and partake of the diversion with them? i must, however, confess, i never saw two persons more beautiful or better paired in my life; and therefore, before i discover my anger, i will inform myself better, and know who they are, and the reason of their being here." he went to the door again to observe them more narrowly; and the vizier, who followed, stood behind him, while he fixed his eyes upon them. they both plainly heard every word that scheich ibrahim said to the fair persian. "is there any thing, my charming lady, wanting to render the pleasure of the evening more complete?" "nothing but a lute," replied the fair persian, "and methinks, if you could get me one, all would be well." "can you play upon it?" said scheich ibrahim. "fetch me one," replied the fair persian, "and you shall hear whether i can or not." scheich ibrahim, without stirring very far from his place, took a lute out of a press, and presented it to the fair persian, who begun to tune it. the caliph, in the mean time, turning to the grand vizier, "jaaffier," said he, "the young lady is going to play upon the lute; and if she performs well, i will forgive her, and the young man for her sake; but as for thee, i will have thee impaled." "commander of the true believers," replied the grand vizier, "if that is your intention, i wish to god she may play ill." "why so?" said the caliph. "because," replied the grand vizier, "the longer we live in this world, the more reason we shall have to comfort ourselves with the hopes of dying in good sociable company." the caliph, who loved a repartee, began to laugh at this; and putting his ear to the opening of the door, listened to hear the fair persian play. the fair persian began in such a style, that, from the first moment of her touching the lute, the caliph perceived she did it with a masterly hand. afterwards accompanying the lute with her voice, which was admirably fine, she sung and played with so much skill and sweetness, that the caliph was quite ravished to hear her. as soon as the fair persian had finished her song, the caliph went down the steps, and the vizier followed him. when he came to the bottom, "i never," said he to the vizier, "heard a more charming voice, or a lute better touched. isaac, whom i thought the most skilful player in the world, does not come up to her. i am so charmed with her music, that i will go in, and hear her play before me. we must, therefore, consider how i can do it." "commander of the true believers," said the grand vizier, "if you should go in, and scheich ibrahim chance to know you, he would infallibly die with the fright." "it is that which hurts me," replied the caliph, "and i should be loth to be the occasion of his death, after so many years service. a thought is just come into my head, that may succeed; stay here with mesrour, and wait for me in the next walk." the neighbourhood of the tigris had given the caliph an opportunity of turning the stream under a stately bridge into his garden, through a piece of water, whither the choicest fish of the river used to retire. the fishermen knew it well; but the caliph had expressly charged scheich ibrahim not to suffer any of them to come near it. however, that night, a fisherman passing by the garden-door, which the caliph had left open as he found it, made use of the opportunity, and going in, went directly to the canal. the fisherman immediately fell to work with his nets, and was just ready to draw them, when the caliph, fearing what would be the effect of scheich ibrahim's negligence, but willing to make use of it to bring his design about, came to the same place. the fisherman, in spite of his disguise, knew him, and throwing himself at his feet, humbly implored his pardon, and excused himself on account of his poverty. "rise," said the caliph, "and be not afraid; only draw your nets, that i may see what fish you have got." the fisherman, recovered of his fright, quickly obeyed the caliph's orders. he drew out five or six very large fishes; and the caliph choosing the two biggest, tied them together by the head, with the twig of a tree. "after this," said he to the fisherman, "give me thy clothes, and take mine." the exchange was soon made; and the caliph being dressed like a fisherman, even to his boots and turban, "take thy nets," said he to the fisherman, "and get thee about thy business." when the fisherman, well pleased with his good fortune, was gone, the caliph, taking the two fishes in his hand, went to look after the grand vizier and mesrour; he first met jaaffier, who, not knowing him, asked what he wanted, and bade him go about his business. the caliph fell a laughing; by which the vizier recognising him, "commander of the true believers," said he, "is it possible it can be you? i knew you not; and i ask a thousand pardons for my rudeness. you are so disguised that you may venture into the hall without any fear of being discovered by scheich ibrahim." stay you here with mesrour," said the caliph, "while i go and play my part." the caliph went up to the hall, and knocked at the door. noor ad deen hearing him first, told scheich ibrahim of it, who asked who was there? the caliph opened the door, and stepping a little way into the hall to shew himself, "scheich ibrahim," said he, "i am the fisherman kerim, who being informed of your design to treat some of your friends, have brought you two very fine fishes, fresh caught, to ask if you have any occasion for them." noor ad deen and the fair persian were pleased to hear him name fish. "pray," said the latter to scheich ibrahim, "let him come in, that we may look at them." scheich ibrahim, by this time, was incapable of asking this counterfeit fisherman how or which way he came thither, his whole thought being only to oblige the fair persian. with much ado he turned his head towards the door, being quite drunk, and, in a stammering tone, calling to the caliph, whom he took to be a fisherman, "come hither, thou nightly thief," said he, "and let us see what thou hast got." the caliph went forwards, and counterfeiting all the actions of a fisherman, presented the two fishes. "these are very fine ones indeed," said the fair persian, "and if they were well dressed and seasoned, i should be glad to eat some of them." "the lady is in the right," answered scheich ibrahim; "but what can you do with your fish, unless it were dressed? go, dress it thyself, and bring it to us; thou wilt find every thing necessary in my kitchen." the caliph went back to the grand vizier. "jaaffier," said he, "i have been very well received; but they want the fish to be dressed." "i will take care to dress it myself," said the grand vizier, "and they shall have it in a moment." "nay," replied the caliph, "so eager am i to accomplish my design, that i will take that trouble myself; for since i have personated the fisherman so well, surely i can play the cook for once; in my younger days, i dealt a little in cookery, and always came off with credit." so saying, he went directly towards scheich ibrahim's lodgings, and the grand vizier and mesrour followed him. they all fell to work; and though scheich ibrahim's kitchen was not very large, yet there was every thing in it that they wanted. the fish was quickly cooked; and the caliph served it up, putting to every one's place a lemon to squeeze into the sauce, if they thought proper. they all ate very heartily, but especially noor ad deen and the fair persian; and the caliph stood before them. as soon as the repast was over, noor ad deen looking at the caliph, "fisherman," said he, "there never was better fish eaten; and you have done us the greatest favour." at the same time, putting his hand into his bosom, and pulling out a purse of thirty pieces of gold, the remainder of forty that sangiar, the officer of the king of bussorah, had given him just upon his departure, "take it," said he to him; "if i had any more, thou shouldst have it; had i known thee in my prosperity, i would have taken care to secure thee from want: do not refuse the small present i make thee, but accept of it as kindly as if it were much greater." the caliph took the purse, thanked noor ad deen, and perceiving by the weight that it contained gold, "sir," said he to him, "i cannot enough thank you for your liberality, and i think myself very fortunate in having to do with a person of your generosity; but before i take my leave i have a favour to ask, which i beg you not to deny me. yonder is a lute, which makes me believe that the lady understands playing upon it; and if you can prevail with her to play but one tune, i shall go away perfectly satisfied; for a lute, sir, is an instrument i am particularly fond of." "fair persian," said noor ad deen, immediately addressing himself to her, "i ask that favour of you, and i hope you will not refuse me." she took up the lute without more entreaties, and putting it presently in tune, played and sung with such an air, as charmed the very soul of the caliph. afterwards she played upon the lute without singing, but with so much strength and softness, as to transport him into an ecstasy. when the fair persian had given over playing, the caliph cried out, "what a voice! what a hand! what skill! was there ever finer singing, or better playing upon the lute? never was there any seen or heard like it." noor ad deen, who was accustomed to give all that belonged to him to persons who praised him, said, "fisherman, i find thou hast some taste for music; since thou art so delighted with her performance, she is thine, i make thee a present of her." at the same time he rose up, and taking his robe which he had laid by, was going away, and leaving the caliph, whom he believed to be no other than a fisherman, in possession of the fair persian. the fair persian was extremely surprised at noor ad deen's liberality; she took hold of him, and looking tenderly at him, "whither, sir," said she, "are you going? sit down in your place, i entreat you, and hearken to what i am going to sing and play." he did as she desired him, and then the fair persian, touching the lute, and looking upon him with tears in her eyes, sung some verses that she had made ex tempore, to reproach him with his indifference, and the easiness as well as cruelty with which he resigned her to kerim. she only hinted, without explaining herself any farther to a fisherman; for she, as well as noor ad deen, was ignorant of his being the caliph. when she had done playing, she put the lute down by her, and clapped a handkerchief to her face, to hide the tears she could not repress. noor ad deen made no answer to all these reproaches, but by his silence seemed to declare he did not repent of what he had done the caliph, surprised at what he had heard, said, "sir, as far as i see, this beautiful, rare, and accomplished lady, of whom so generously you have made me a present, is your slave?" "it is very true, kerim," replied noor ad deen, "and thou wouldst be more surprised than thou art now, should i tell thee all the misfortunes that have happened to me upon her account." "ah! i beseech you, sir," replied the caliph, still behaving like a fisherman, "oblige me so far as to let me hear part of your story." noor ad deen, who had already obliged him in several things of more consequence, was so complaisant as to relate the whole story to him. he began with the vizier his father's buying the fair persian for the king of bussorah, and omitted nothing of what he had done, or what had happened to him, from that time to their arrival at bagdad, and to the very moment he was talking to him. when noor ad deen had ended his story, "and whither are you going now?" asked the caliph. "where heaven shall direct me," answered noor ad deen. "if you will believe me," replied the caliph, "you shall go no farther, but, on the contrary, you must return to bussorah: i will write a short letter, which you shall give the king in my name: you shall see upon the reading it, he will give you a very handsome reception, and nobody will dare to speak against you." "kerim," said noor ad deen, "what thou hast told me is very singular; i never heard that a poor fisherman, as thou art, had any correspondence with a king?" "be not astonished at that," replied the caliph: "you must know, that we both studied together under the same masters, and were always the best friends in the world: it is true, fortune has not been equally favourable to us; she has made him a king, and me a fisherman. but this inequality has not lessened our friendship. he has often expressed a readiness and desire to advance my fortune, but i always refused; and am better pleased with the satisfaction of knowing that he will never deny me whatever i ask for the service and advantage of my friends: let me do it, and you shall see the success." noor ad deen consented to what the caliph had proposed; and there being every thing necessary for writing in the hall, the caliph wrote a letter to the king of bussorah; at the top of which he placed this form, "in the name of the most merciful god," to shew he would be absolutely obeyed. "haroon al rusheed, son of mhadi, sends this letter to zinebi, his cousin. as soon as noor ad deen, son to the late vizier khacan, the bearer, has delivered you this letter, and you have read it, pull off the royal vestments, put them on his shoulders, and place him in thy seat without fail. farewell." the caliph folded up the letter, sealed it, and giving it to noor ad deen, without saying any thing of what was in it, "go," said he, "embark immediately in a vessel that is ready to go off (as there did constantly every day at the same hour); you may sleep when you are aboard." noor ad deen took the letter, and departed with the little money he had about him when sangiar gave him his purse; and the fair persian, distracted with grief at his departure, retired to one of the sofas, and wept bitterly. noor ad deen was scarcely gone out of the hall, when scheich lbrahim, who had been silent during the whole transaction, looking steadfastly upon the caliph, whom he still took for the fisherman kerim, "hark'e," said he, "kerim, thou hast brought us two fishes, that are worth twenty pieces of copper at most, and thou hast got a purse and a slave: but dost thou think to have all for thyself? i here declare, that i will go halves with thee in the slave; and as for the purse, shew me what is in the inside: if it is silver, thou shalt have one piece for thyself; but if it is gold, i will have it all, and give thee in exchange some pieces of copper which i have in my purse." the caliph, before his serving up the fish, had dispatched the grand vizier to his palace, with orders to get four slaves with a rich habit, and to wait on the other side of the pavilion till he gave a signal with his finger against the window. the grand vizier performed his commission; and he, mesrour, and the four slaves, waited at the appointed place, expecting the sign. the caliph, still personating the fisherman, answered scheich ibrahim boldly, "i know not what there is in the purse; gold or silver, you shall freely go my halves: but as to the slave, i will have her all to myself; and if you will not accept these conditions, you shall have nothing." scheich lbrahim, enraged to the last degree at this insolence, considering him only as a fisherman, snatched up one of the china dishes which were on the table, and flung it at the caliph's head. the caliph easily avoided the blow, being thrown by a person in liquor; but the dish striking against the wall, was dashed into a thousand pieces. scheich ibrahim grew more enraged at having missed his aim, and catching up the candle that stood upon the table, rose from his seat, and went staggering down a pair of back-stairs to look for a cane. the caliph took this opportunity, and striking his hands against the window, the grand vizier, mesrour, and the four slaves were with him in an instant: the slaves quickly pulled off the fisherman's clothes, and put him on the habit they had brought. they had not quite dressed the caliph, who had seated himself on the throne that was in the hall, but were busy about him when scheich ibrahim, spurred on by interest, came back with a cane in his hand, with which he designed to pay the pretended fisherman soundly; but instead of finding him, he saw his clothes in the middle of the hall, and the caliph on his throne, with the grand vizier and mesrour on each side of him. he stood awhile gazing on this unexpected sight, doubting whether he was awake or asleep. the caliph fell a laughing at his astonishment; and calling to him, "scheich ibrahim," said he, "what dost thou want? whom dost thou look after?" scheich ibrahim, no longer doubting that it was the caliph, immediately threw himself at his feet, with his face and long beard to the ground. "commander of the true believers," cried he, "your vile slave has offended you; but he implores your clemency, and asks a thousand pardons for his offence." as soon as the slaves had finished dressing him, he came down from his throne, and advancing towards him, "rise," said he, "i forgive thee." the caliph then addressed himself to the fair persian, who had suspended her sorrow as soon as she understood that the garden and pavilion belonged to that prince, and not to scheich ibrahim, as he had all along made her believe, and that it was he himself disguised in the fisherman's clothes. "fair persian," said he, "rise, and follow me: by what you have lately seen, you ought to know who i am, and to believe that i am above taking any advantage of the present which noor ad deen, with a generosity not to be paralleled, has made me of your person. i have sent him to bussorah as king; and when i have given him the dispatches necessary for his establishment, you shall go thither and be queen. in the mean time i am going to order an apartment for you in my palace, where you shall be treated according to your desert." this discourse encouraged the fair persian, and comforted her very sensibly. the joy for the advancement of noor ad deen, whom she passionately loved, to so high an honour, made her sufficient amends for her affliction. the caliph kept his promise, and recommended her to the care of his empress zobeide, whom he acquainted with the esteem he had entertained for noor ad deen. noor ad deen's return to bussorah was more fortunate, and speedier by some days than he could have expected. upon his arrival, without visiting any of his friends or relations he went directly to the palace, where the king at that time was giving public audience. with the letter held up in his hand, he pressed through the crowd, who presently made way for him to come forward and deliver it. the king took and opened it, and his colour changed in reading it; he kissed it thrice, and was just about to obey the caliph's orders, when he bethought himself of strewing it to the vizier saony, noor ad deen's irreconcileable enemy. saouy, who had discovered noor ad deen, and began to conjecture, with great uneasiness, what might be the design of his coming, was no less surprised than the king at the order contained in the letter; and being as much concerned in it, he instantly devised a method to evade it. he pretended not to have read the letter quite through, and therefore desiring a second view of it, turned himself a little on one side as if he wanted a better light, and, without being perceived by any body, dexterously tore off from the top of it the form which shewed the caliph would be absolutely obeyed, and putting it into his mouth, swallowed it. after this egregious piece of villainy, saouy turned to the king, and giving him the letter, "sir," said he to him in a low voice, "what does your majesty intend to do?" "what the caliph has commanded me," replied the king. "have a care, sir," said the wicked vizier, "what you do. it is true this is the caliph's hand, but the form is not to it." the king had observed it, but in his confusion thought his eyes had deceived him when he saw it was gone. "sir," continued the vizier, "we have no reason to doubt but that the caliph, on the complaints he has made against your majesty and myself, has granted him this letter to get rid of him, and not with any intention of having the order contained in it executed. besides, we must consider he has sent no express with a patent; and without that the order is of no force. and since a king like your majesty was never deposed without that formality, any other man as well as noor ad deen might come with a forged letter: let who will bring such a letter as this, it ought not to be put in execution. your majesty may depend upon it, that is never done; and i will take upon myself all the consequence of disobeying this order." king zinebi, easily persuaded by this pernicious counsel, left noor ad deen entirely to the discretion of the vizier saouy, who led him to his house in a very insulting manner; and after causing him to be bastinadoed till he was almost dead, he ordered him to a prison, where he commanded him to be put into the darkest and deepest dungeon, with a strict charge to the gaoler to give him nothing but bread and water. when noor ad deen, half dead with the strokes, came to himself, and found what a dismal dungeon he was in, he bewailed his misfortunes in the most pathetic manner. "ah! fisherman," cried he, "how hast thou cheated me; and how easy have i been in believing thee! could i, after the civility i shewed thee, expect such inhuman and barbarous usage? however, may heaven reward thee; for i cannot persuade myself that thy intention was so base; and i will with patience wait the end of my afflictions." the disconsolate noor ad deen remained six whole days in this miserable condition; and saouy did not forget that he had confined him there; but being resolved to put him to a shameful death, and not daring to do it by his own authority, to accomplish his villainous design, loaded some of his slaves with rich presents, which he, at the head of them, went and presented to the king. "behold, sire," said he, with the blackest malice, "what the new king has sent you upon his accession to the crown, and begs your majesty to accept." the king taking the matter just as saouy intended, "what!" replied he, "is that wretch still living? i thought you had put him to death already." "sire, i have no power," answered the vizier, "to take any person's life; that only belongs to your majesty." "go," said the king, "behead him instantly; i give you full authority." "sire," replied the vizier saouy, "i am infinitely obliged to your majesty for the justice you do me; but since noor ad deen has publicly affronted me, i humbly beg the favour, that his execution may be performed before the palace; and that the criers may publish it in every quarter of the city, so that every body may be satisfied he has made a sufficient reparation for the affront." the king granted his request; and the criers in performing their office diffused universal sorrow through the whole city. the memory of his father's virtues being yet fresh among them, no one could hear, without horror and indignation, that the son was going to suffer an ignominious death. saouy went in person to the prison, accompanied by twenty slaves, ministers of his cruelty, who took noor ad deen out of the dungeon, and put him upon a shabby horse without a saddle. when noor ad deen saw himself in the hands of his enemy, "thou triumphest now," said he, "and abusest thy power; but i trust in the truth of what is written in our scripture, �you judge unjustly, and in a little time you shall be judged yourself.'" the vizier saouy triumphed in his heart. "what! insolent," said he, "darest thou insult me yet? but i care not what may happen to me, so i have the pleasure of seeing thee lose thy head in the public view of all bussorah. thou oughtest also to remember what another of our books says, �what signifies if one dies the next day after the death of his enemy?'" the vizier, implacable in his hatred and enmity, surrounded by his slaves in arms, conducted noor ad deen towards the palace. the people were ready to fall upon him as he passed; and if any one had set the example, would certainly have stoned him to death. when he had brought him to the place of suffering, which was to be in sight of the king's apartment, he left him in the executioner's hands, and went straight to the king, who was in his closet, ready to glut his eyes with the bloody spectacle he had prepared. the king's guard and the vizier's slaves, who made a circle round noor ad deen, had much trouble to withstand the people, who made all possible efforts to break through, and carry him off by force. the executioner coming up to him, said, "i hope you will forgive me, i am but a slave, and cannot help doing my duty. if you have no occasion for any thing more, i beseech you to prepare yourself; for the king is just going to give me orders to strike the blow." the unfortunate noor ad deen, at that moment, looking round upon the people, "will no charitable body," cried he, "bring me a little water to quench my thirst?" which immediately they did, and handed it up to him upon the scaffold. the vizier saouy perceiving this delay, called out to the executioner from the king's closet window, where he had planted himself, "strike, what dost thou stay for?" at these inhuman words the whole place echoed with loud imprecations against him; and the king, jealous of his authority, made it appear, by enjoining him to stop awhile, that he was angry at his presumption. but there was another reason; for the king that very moment casting his eye towards a street that faced him, saw a troop of horsemen advancing full speed towards the palace. "vizier," said the king immediately, "look yonder; what is the meaning of those horsemen?" saouy, who knew not who they might be, earnestly pressed the king to give the executioner the sign. "no," replied the king; "i will first know who those horsemen are." it was the vizier jaaffier, with his train, who came in person from bagdad by the caliph's order. to understand the occasion of this minister's coming to bussorah, we must observe, that after noor ad deen's departure with the letter, the caliph the next day, nor for several days after, thought not of sending him the patent which he mentioned to the fair persian. he happened one day to be in the inner palace, which was that of the women, and passing by her apartment, heard the sound of a fine voice: he listened to it; and he had no sooner heard the words of one complaining for the absence of somebody, than he asked the officer of the eunuchs who attended him who the woman was that lived in that apartment? the officer told him it was the young stranger's slave whom he had sent to bussorah to be king in the room of mahummud zinebi. "ah! poor noor ad deen," cried the caliph, "i had forgotten thee; but hasten," said he to the officer, "and bid jaaffier come to me." the vizier was with him in an instant. as soon as he came, "jaaffier," said he, "i have hitherto neglected sending the patent which was to confirm noor ad deen king of bussorah; but we have no time now to draw up one; therefore immediately take post- horses, and with some of your servants, make what haste you can to that city. if noor ad deen is no longer alive, but put to death by them, order the vizier saouy to be impaled; but if he is living, bring him to me with the king and the vizier." the grand vizier stayed no longer than just to get on horseback; and being attended by a great train of officers belonging to his household departed for bussorah, where he arrived in the manner and at the time already mentioned. as soon as he came to the palace-yard, the people cleared the way for him, crying out, "a pardon for noor ad deen!" and with his whole train he rode into the palace, even to the very stairs, where he alighted. the king of bussorah, knowing him to be the caliph's chief minister, went to meet him, and received him at the entrance of his apartment. the first question the vizier asked was, if noor ad deen was living? and if he was, he desired that he might be sent for. the king made answer, he was alive, and gave orders to have him brought in. accordingly he soon made his appearance as he was, bound with cords. the grand vizier jaaffier caused him to be unbound, and setting him at liberty, ordered the vizier saoay to be seized, and bound him with the same cords. the grand vizier remained but one night at bussorah; and, according to the order he had received, carried saouy, the king of bussorah, and noor ad deen, along with him. upon his arrival at bagdad, he presented them to the caliph: and after he had given him an account of his journey, and particularly the miserable condition in which he found noor ad deen, and his ill- usage by the advice and malice of saony, the caliph desired noor ad deen to behead the vizier himself. "commander of the true believers," said the generous youth, "notwithstanding the injury this wicked man has done me, and the mischief he endeavoured to do my deceased father, i should think myself the basest of mankind if i stained my hands with his blood." the caliph was pleased with his generosity, and ordered justice to be done by the executioner. the caliph would fain have sent noor ad deen to bussorah as king: but he humbly begged to be excused from accepting the offer. "commander of the true believers," said noor ad deen, "the city of bussorah, after the misfortunes that have happened to me there, will be so much my aversion, that i beseech your majesty to give me leave to keep the oath which i have made, of never returning thither again; and i shall think it my greatest glory to serve near your royal person, if you are pleased to allow me the honour." the caliph consented; and placing him among the number of those courtiers who were his greatest favourites, restored the fair persian to him again. to all these favours he added a plentiful fortune; and he and the fair persian lived together thenceforth, with all the happiness this world could afford. as for the king of bussorah, the caliph contented himself with hinting how careful he ought to be in the choice of his viziers, and sent him back to his kingdom. end of volume . this ebook was produced by jc byers. text scanned and proofread by jc byers. (http://www.capitalnet.com/~jcbyers/index.htm) the "aldine" edition of the arabian nights entertainments illustrated by s. l. wood from the text of dr. jonathan scott in four volumes volume only copies of the small paper edition are printed for america, of which this is no. london pickering and chatto the publishers' preface. this, the "aldine edition" of "the arabian nights entertainments," forms the first four volumes of a proposed series of reprints of the standard works of fiction which have appeared in the english language. it is our intention to publish the series in an artistic way, well illustrating a text typographically as perfect as possible. the texts in all cases will be carefully chosen from approved editions. the series is intended for those who appreciate well printed and illustrated books, or who are in want of a handy and handsome edition of such works to place upon their bookshelves. the exact origin of the tales, which appear in the arabic as "the thousand and one nights," is unknown. the caliph haroon al rusheed, who, figures in so lifelike a manner in many of the stories, was a contemporary of the emperor charlemagne, and there is internal evidence that the collection was made in the arabic language about the end of the tenth century. they undoubtedly convey a picturesque impression of the manners, sentiments, and customs of eastern mediaeval life. the stories were translated from the arabic by m. galland and first found their way into english in , when they were retranslated from m. galland's french text and at once became exceedingly popular. this process of double translation had great disadvantages; it induced dr. jonathan scott, oriental professor, to publish in , a new edition, revised and corrected from the arabic. it is upon this text that the present edition is formed. it will be found free from that grossness which is unavoidable in a strictly literal translation of the original into english; and which has rendered the splendid translations of sir r. burton and mr. j. payne quite unsuitable as the basis of a popular edition, though at the same time stamping the works as the two most perfect editions for the student. the scholarly translation of lane, by the too strict an adherence to oriental forms of expression, and somewhat pedantic rendering of the spelling of proper names, is found to be tedious to a very large number of readers attracted by the rich imagination, romance, and humour of these tales. the arabian nights entertainments. the chronicles of the sassanians, ancient kings of persia, who extended their empire into the indies, over all the adjacent islands, and a great way beyond the ganges, as far as china, acquaint us, that there was formerly a king of that potent family, who was regarded as the most excellent prince of his time. he was as much beloved by his subjects for his wisdom and prudence, as he was dreaded by his neighbours, on account of his velour, and well-disciplined troops. he had two sons; the elder shier-ear, the worthy heir of his father, and endowed with all his virtues; the younger shaw-zummaun, a prince of equal merit. after a long and glorious reign, this king died; and shier-ear mounted his throne. shaw-zummaun, being excluded from all share in the government by the laws of the empire, and obliged to live a private life, was so far from envying the happiness of his brother, that he made it his whole business to please him, and in this succeeded without much difficulty. shier-ear, who had naturally a great affection the prince his brother, gave him the kingdom of great tartary. shaw-zummaun went immediately and took possession of it, and fixed the seat of his government at samarcand, the metropolis of the country. after they had been separated ten years, shier-ear, being very desirous of seeing his brother, resolved to send an ambassador to invite him to his court. he made choice of his prime vizier for the embassy, and sent him to tartary, with a retinue answerable to his dignity. the vizier proceeded with all possible expedition to samarcand. when he came near the city, shaw-zummaun was informed of his approach, and went to meet him attended by the principal lords of his court, who, to shew the greater honour to the sultan's minister, appeared in magnificent apparel. the king of tartary received the ambassador with the greatest demonstrations of joy; and immediately asked him concerning the welfare of the sultan his brother. the vizier having acquainted him that he was in health, informed him of the purpose of his embassy. shaw-zummaun was much affected, and answered: "sage vizier, the sultan my brother does me too much honour; nothing could be more agreeable to me, for i as ardently long to see him as he does to see me. time has not diminished my friendship more than his. my kingdom is in peace, and i want no more than ten days to get myself ready to return with you. there is therefore no necessity for your entering the city for so short a period. i pray you to pitch your tents here, and i will order everything necessary to be provided for yourself and your attendants." the vizier readily complied; and as soon as the king returned to the city, he sent him a prodigious quantity of provisions of all sorts, with presents of great value. in the meanwhile, shaw-zummaun prepared for his journey, gave orders about his most important affairs, appointed a council to govern in his absence, and named a minister, of whose wisdom he had sufficient experience, and in whom he had entire confidence, to be their president. at the end of ten days, his equipage being ready, he took leave of the queen his wife, and went out of town in the evening with his retinue. he pitched his royal pavilion near the vizier's tent, and conversed with him till midnight. wishing once more to see the queen, whom he ardently loved, he returned alone to his palace, and went directly to her majesty's apartments. but she, not expecting his return, had taken one of the meanest officers of her household to her bed. the king entered without noise, and pleased himself to think how he should surprise his wife who he thought loved him with reciprocal tenderness. but how great was his astonishment, when, by the light of the flambeau, he beheld a man in her arms! he stood immovable for some time, not knowing how to believe his own eyes. but finding there was no room for doubt, "how!" said he to himself, "i am scarcely out of my palace, and but just under the walls of samarcand, and dare they put such an outrage upon me? perfidious wretches! your crime shall not go unpunished. as a king, i am bound to punish wickedness committed in my dominions; and as an enraged husband, i must sacrifice you to my just resentment." the unfortunate prince, giving way to his rage, then drew his cimeter, and approaching the bed killed them both with one blow, their sleep into death; and afterwards taking them up, he threw them out of a window into the ditch that surrounded the palace. having thus avenged himself, he returned to his pavilion without saying one word of what had happened, gave orders that the tents should be struck, and everything made ready for his journey. all was speedily prepared, and before day he began his march, with kettle-drums and other instruments of music, that filled everyone with joy, excepting the king; he was so much afflicted by the disloyalty of his wife, that he was seized with extreme melancholy, which preyed upon his spirits during the whole of his journey. when he drew near the capital of the indies, the sultan shier-ear and all his court came out to meet him. the princes were overjoyed to see one another, and having alighted, after mutual embraces and other marks of affection and respect, remounted, and entered the city, amidst the acclamations of the people. the sultan conducted his brother to the palace provided for him, which had a communication with his own by a garden. it was so much the more magnificent as it was set apart as a banqueting- house for public entertainments, and other diversions of the court, and its splendour had been lately augmented by new furniture. shier-ear immediately left the king of tartary, that he might give him time to bathe, and to change his apparel. as soon as he had done, he returned to him again, and they sat down together on a sofa or alcove. the courtiers out of respect kept at a distance, and the two princes entertained one another suitably to their friendship, their consanguinity, and their long separation. the time of supper being come, they ate together, after which they renewed their conversation, which continued till shier-ear, perceiving that it was very late, left his brother to repose. the unfortunate shaw-zummaun retired to bed. though the conversation of his brother had suspended his grief for some time, it returned again with increased violence; so that, instead of taking his necessary rest, he tormented himself with the bitterest reflections. all the circumstances of his wife's disloyalty presented themselves afresh to his imagination, in so lively a manner, that he was like one distracted. being able to sleep, he arose, and abandoned himself to the most afflicting thoughts, which made such an impression upon his countenance, as it was impossible for the sultan not to observe. "what," said he, "can be the matter with the king of tartary that he is so melancholy? has he any cause to complain of his reception? no, surely; i have received him as a brother whom i love, so that i can charge myself with no omission in that respect. perhaps it grieves him to be at such a distance from his dominions, or from the queen his wife? if that be the case, i must forthwith give him the presents i designed for him, that he may return to samarcand." accordingly the next day shier-ear sent him part of those presents, being the greatest rarities and the richest things that the indies could afford. at the same time he endeavoured to divert his brother every day by new objects of pleasure, and the most splendid entertainments. but these, instead of affording him ease, only increased his sorrow. one day, shier-ear having appointed a great hunting-match, about two days journey from his capital, in a place that abounded with deer, shaw-zummaun besought him to excuse his attendance, for his health would not allow him to bear him company. the sultan, unwilling to put any constraint upon him, left him at his liberty, and went a-hunting with his nobles. the king of tartary being thus left alone, shut himself up in his apartment, and sat down at a window that looked into the garden. that delicious place, and the sweet harmony of an infinite number of birds, which chose it for their retreat, must certainly have diverted him, had he been capable of taking pleasure in anything; but being perpetually tormented with the fatal remembrance of his queen's infamous conduct, his eyes were not so much fixed upon the garden, as lifted up to heaven to bewail his misfortune. while he was thus absorbed in grief, a circumstance occurred which attracted the whole of his attention. a secret gate of the sultan's palace suddenly opened, and there came out of it twenty women, in the midst of whom walked the sultaness, who was easily distinguished from the rest by her majestic air. this princess thinking that the king of tartary was gone a-hunting with his brother the sultan, came with her retinue near the windows of his apartment. for the prince had so placed himself that he could see all that passed in the garden without being perceived himself. he observed, that the persons who accompanied the sultaness threw off their veils and long robes, that they might be more at their ease, but he was greatly surprised to find that ten of them were black men, and that each of these took his mistress. the sultaness, on her part, was not long without her gallant. she clapped her hands, and called "masoud, masoud," and immediately a black descended from a tree, and ran towards her with great speed. modesty will not allow, nor is it necessary, to relate what passed between the blacks and the ladies. it is sufficient to say, that shaw-zummaun saw enough to convince him, that his brother was as much to be pitied as himself. this amorous company continued together till midnight, and having bathed together in a great piece of water, which was one of the chief ornaments of the garden, they dressed themselves, and re-entered the palace by the secret door, all except masoud, who climbed up his tree, and got over the garden wall as he had come in. these things having passed in the king of tartary's sight, filled him with a multitude of reflections. "how little reason had i," said he, "to think that none was so unfortunate as myself? it is surely the unavoidable fate of all husbands, since even the sultan my brother, who is sovereign of so-many dominions, and the greatest prince of the earth, could not escape. such being the case, what a fool am i to kill myself with grief? i am resolved that the remembrance of a misfortune so common shall never more disturb my peace." from that moment he forbore afflicting himself. he called for his supper, ate with a better appetite than he had done since his leaving samarcand, and listened with some degree of pleasure to the agreeable concert of vocal and instrumental music that was appointed to entertain him while at table. he continued after this very cheerful; and when he was informed that the sultan was returning, went to meet him, and paid him his compliments with great gaiety. shier-ear at first took no notice of this alteration. he politely expostulated with him for not bearing him company, and without giving him time to reply, entertained him with an account of the great number of deer and other game they had killed, and the pleasure he had received in the chase. shaw-zummaun heard him with attention; and being now relieved from the melancholy which had before depressed his spirits, and clouded his talents, took up the conversation in his turn, and spoke a thousand agreeable and pleasant things to the sultan. shier-ear, who expected to have found him in the same state as he had left him, was overjoyed to see him so cheerful: "dear brother," said he, "i return thanks to heaven for the happy change it has wrought in you during my absence. i am indeed extremely rejoiced. but i have a request to make to you, and conjure you not to deny me."i can refuse you nothing," replied the king of tartary; "you may command shaw-zummaun as you please: speak, i am impatient to know what you desire of me." "ever since you came to my court," resumed shier-ear, "i have found you immersed in a deep melancholy, and i have in vain attempted to remove it by different diversions. i imagined it might be occasioned by your distance from your dominions, or that love might have a great share in it; and that the queen of samarcand, who, no doubt, is an accomplished beauty, might be the cause. i do not know whether i am mistaken in my conjecture; but i must own, that it was for this very reason i would not importune you upon the subject, for fear of making you uneasy. but without myself contributing anything towards effecting the change, i find on my return that your mind is entirely delivered from the black vapour which disturbed it. pray do me the favour to tell me why you were so melancholy, and wherefore you are no longer so." the king of tartary continued for some time as if he had been meditating and contriving what he should answer; but at last replied, "you are my sultan and master; but excuse me, i beseech you, from answering your question." "no, dear brother," said the sultan, "you must answer me, i will take no denial." shaw- zummaun, not being able to withstand these pressing entreaties, replied, "well then, brother, i will satisfy you, since you command me ;" and having told him the story of the queen of samarcand's treachery "this," said he, "was the cause of my grief; judge whether i had not sufficient reason for my depression." "o! my brother," said the sultan, (in a tone which shewed what interest he took in the king of tartary's affliction), "what a horrible event do you tell me! i commend you for punishing the traitors who offered you such an outrage. none can blame you for what you have done. it was just; and for my part, had the case been mine, should scarcely have been so moderate. i could not have satisfied myself with the life of one woman; i should have sacrificed a thousand to my fury. i now cease to wonder at your melancholy. the cause was too afflicting and too mortifying not to overwhelm you. o heaven! what a strange adventure! nor do i believe the like ever befell any man but yourself. but i must bless god, who has comforted you; and since i doubt not but your consolation is well-grounded, be so good as to inform me what it is, and conceal nothing from me." shaw-zummaun was not so easily prevailed upon in this point as he had been in the other, on his brother's account. but being obliged to yield to his pressing instances, answered, "i must obey you then, since your command is absolute, yet i am afraid that my obedience will occasion your trouble to be greater than my own. but you must blame yourself, since you force me to reveal what i should otherwise have buried in eternal oblivion." "what you say," answered shier-ear, "serves only to increase my curiosity. discover the secret, whatever it be." the king of tartary being no longer able to refuse, related to him the particulars of the blacks in disguise, of the ungoverned passion of the sultaness, and her ladies; nor did he forget masoud. after having been witness to these infamous actions, he continued, "i believed all women to be naturally lewd; and that they could not resist their inclination. being of this opinion, it seemed to me to be in men an unaccountable weakness to place any confidence in their fidelity. this reflection brought on many others; and in short, i thought the best thing i could do was to make myself easy. it cost me some pains indeed, but at last i grew reconciled; and if you will take my advice, you will follow my example." though the advice was good, the sultan could not approve of it, but fell into a rage. "what!" said he, "is the sultaness of the indies capable of prostituting herself in so base a manner! no, brother, i cannot believe what you state unless i beheld it with my own eyes. yours must needs have deceived you; the matter is so important that i must be satisfied of it myself." "dear brother," answered shaw-zummaun, "that you may without much difficulty. appoint another hunting-match, and when we are out of town with your court and mine, we will rest under our tents, and at night let you and i return unattended to my apartments. i am certain the next day you will see a repetition of the scene." the sultan approving the stratagem, immediately appointed another hunting- match. and that same day the tents were pitched at the place appointed. the next day the two princes set out with all their retinue; they arrived at the place of encampment, and stayed there till night. shier-ear then called his grand vizier, and, without acquainting him with his design, commanded him during his absence to suffer no person to quit the camp on any presence whatever. as soon as he had given this order, the king of grand tartary and he took horse, passed through the camp incognito, returned to the city, and went to shaw-zummaun's apartment. they had scarcely placed themselves in the window whence the king of tartary had beheld the scene of the disguised blacks, when the secret gate opened, the sultaness and her ladies entered the garden with the blacks, and she having called to masoud, the sultan saw more than enough fully to convince him of his dishonour and misfortune. "oh heavens!" he exclaimed, "what indignity! what horror! can the wife of a sovereign be capable of such infamous conduct? after this, let no prince boast of being perfectly happy. alas! my brother," continued he, embracing the king of tartery, "let us both renounce the world, honour is banished out of it; if it flatter us one day, it betrays us the next. let us abandon our dominions, and go into foreign countries, where we may lead an obscure life, and conceal our misfortunes." shaw-zummaun did not at all approve of this plan, but did not think fit to contradict shierear in the heat of his passion. "dear brother," he replied, "your will shall be mine. i am ready to follow you whithersoever you please: but promise me that you will return, if we meet with any one more unhappy than ourselves." "to this i agree," said the sultan, "but doubt much whether we shall." "i am not of your opinion in this," replied the king of tartary; "i fancy our journey will be but short." having thus resolved, they went secretly out of the palace. they travelled as long as day-light continued; and lay the first night under trees. they arose about break of day, went on till they came to a fine meadow on the seashore, that was be-sprinkled with large trees they sat down under one of them to rest and refresh themselves, and the chief subject of their conversation was the infidelity or their wives. they had not rested long, before they heard a frightful noise from the sea, and a terrible cry, which filled them with fear. the sea then opened, and there arose something like a great black column, which reached almost to the clouds. this redoubled their terror, made them rise with haste, and climb up into a tree m bide themselves. they had scarcely got up, when looking to the place from whence the noise proceeded, and where the sea had opened, they observed that the black column advanced, winding about towards the: shore, cleaving the water before it. they could not at first think what this could mean, but in a little time they found that it was one of those malignant genies that are mortal enemies to mankind, and are always doing them mischief. he was black and frightful, had the shape of a giant, of a prodigious stature, and carried on his head a large glass box, fastened with four locks of fine steel. he entered the meadow with his burden, which he laid down just at the foot of the tree where the two princes were concealed, who gave themselves over as lost. the genie sat down by his box, and opening it with four keys that he had at his girdle, there came out a lady magnificently appareled, of a majestic stature, and perfect beauty. the monster made her sit down by him, and eyeing her with an amorous look, said, "lady, nay, most accomplished of all ladies who are admired for their beauty, my charming mistress, whom i carried off on your wedding-day, and have loved so constantly ever since, let me sleep a few moments by you; for i found myself so very drowsy that i came to this place to take a little rest." having spoken thus, he laid down his huge head upon the lady's knees, and stretching out his legs, which reached as far as the sea, he fell asleep presently, and snored so loud that he made the shores echo. the lady happening at this time to look up, saw the two princes in the tree, and made a sign to them with her hand to come down without making any noise. their fear was extreme when they found themselves discovered, and they prayed the lady, by other signs, to excuse them. but she, after having laid the monster's head softly on the ground, rose up and spoke to them, with a low but eager voice, to come down to her; she would take no denial. they informed her by signs that they were afraid of the genie, and would fain have been excused. upon which she ordered them to come down, and threatened if they did not make haste, to awaken the genie, and cause him to put them to death. these words so much intimidated the princes, that they began to descend with all possible precaution lest they should awake the genie. when they had come down, the lady took them by the hand, and going a little farther with them under the trees, made them a very urgent proposal. at first they rejected it, but she obliged them to comply by her threats. having obtained what she desired, she perceived that each of them had a ring on his finger, which she demanded. as soon as she had received them, she pulled out a string of other rings, which she shewed the princes, and asked them if they knew what those jewels meant? "no," said they, "we hope you will be pleased to inform us." "these are," she replied, "the rings of all the men to whom i have granted my favours. there are fourscore and eighteen, which i keep as memorials of them; and i asked for yours to make up the hundred. so that i have had a hundred gallants already, notwithstanding the vigilance of this wicked genie, who never leaves me. he may lock me up in this glass box and hide me in the bottom of the sea; but i find methods to elude his vigilance. you may see by this, that when a woman has formed a project, there is no husband or lover that can prevent her from putting it in execution. men had better not put their wives under such restraint, as it only serves to teach them cunning." having spoken thus to them, she put their rings on the same string with the rest, and sitting down by the monster, as before, laid his head again upon her lap, end made a sign to the princes to depart. they returned immediately the way they had come, and when they were out of sight of the lady and the genie shier-ear said to shaw-zummaun "well, brother, what do you think of this adventure? has not the genie a very faithful mistress? and do you not agree that there is no wickedness equal to that of women?" "yes, brother," answered the king of great tartary; "and you must also agree that the monster is more unfortunate, and more to be pitied than ourselves. therefore, since we have found what we sought for, let us return to our dominions, and let not this hinder us from marrying. for my part, i know a method by which to preserve the fidelity of my wife inviolable. i will say no more at present, but you will hear of it in a little time, and i am sure you will follow my example." the sultan agreed with his brother; and continuing their journey, they arrived in the camp the third night after their departure. the news of the sultan's return being spread, the courtiers came betimes in the morning before his pavilion to wait his pleasure. he ordered them to enter, received them with a more pleasant air than he had formerly done, and gave each of them a present. after which, he told them he would go no farther, ordered them to take horse, and returned with expedition to his palace. as soon as he arrived, he proceeded to the sultaness's apartment, commanded her to be bound before him, and delivered her to his grand vizier, with an order to strangle her, which was accordingly executed by that minister, without inquiring into her crime. the enraged prince did not stop here, but cut off the heads of all the sultaness's ladies with his own hand. after this rigorous punishment, being persuaded that no woman was chaste, he resolved, in order to prevent the disloyalty of such as he should afterwards marry, to wed one every night, and have her strangled next morning. having imposed this cruel law upon himself, he swore that he would put it in force immediately after the departure of the king of tartary, who shortly took leave of him, and being laden with magnificent presents, set forward on his journey. shaw-zummaun having departed, shier-ear ordered his grand vizier to bring him the daughter of one of his generals. the vizier obeyed. the sultan lay with her, and putting her next morning into his hands again in order to have her strangled, commanded him to provide him another the next night. whatever reluctance the vizier might feel to put such orders in execution, as he owed blind obedience to the sultan his master, he was forced to submit. he brought him then the daughter of a subaltern, whom he also put to death the next day. after her he brought a citizen's daughter; and, in a word, there was every day a maid married, and a wife murdered. the rumour of this unparalleled barbarity occasioned a general consternation in the city, where there was nothing but crying and lamentation. here, a father in tears, and inconsolable for the loss of his daughter; and there, tender mothers dreating lest their daughters should share the same fate, filling the air with cries of distress and apprehension. so that, instead of the commendation and blessings which the sultan had hitherto received from his subjects, their mouths were now filled with imprecations. the grand vizier who, as has been already observed, was the unwilling executioner of this horrid course of injustice, had two daughters, the elder called scheherazade, and the younger dinarzade. the latter was highly accomplished; but the former possessed courage, wit, and penetration, infinitely above her sex. she had read much, and had so admirable a memory, that she never forgot any thing she had read. she had successfully applied herself to philosophy, medicine, history, and the liberal arts; and her poetry excelled the compositions of the best writers of her time. besides this, she was a perfect beauty, and all her accomplishments were crowned by solid virtue. the vizier loved this daughter, so worthy of his affection. one day, as they were conversing together, she said to him, "father, i have one favour to beg of you, and most humbly pray you to grant it." "i will not refuse," answered he, "provided it be just and reasonable." "for the justice of it," resumed she, "there can be no question, and you may judge of this by the motive which obliges me to make the request. i wish to stop that barbarity which the sultan exercises upon the families of this city. i would dispel those painful apprehensions which so many mothers feel of losing their daughters in such a fatal manner." "your design, daughter," replied the vizier "is very commendable; but the evil you would remedy seems to me incurable. how do you propose to effect your purpose?" "father," said scheherazade, "since by your means the sultan makes every day a new marriage, i conjure you, by the tender affection you bear me, to procure me the honour of his bed." the vizier could not hear this without horror. "o heaven!" he replied in a passion, "have you lost your senses, daughter, that you make such a dangerous request? you know the sultan has sworn, that he will never lie above one night with the same woman, and to command her to be killed the next morning; would you then have me propose you to him? consider well to what your indiscreet zeal will expose you." "yes, dear father," replied the virtuous daughter, "i know the risk i run; but that does not alarm me. if i perish, my death will be glorious; and if i succeed, i shall do my country an important service." "no, no," said the vizier "whatever you may offer to induce me to let you throw yourself into such imminent danger, do not imagine that i will ever consent. when the sultan shall command me to strike my poniard into your heart, alas! i must obey; and what an employment will that be for a father! ah! if you do not dread death, at least cherish some fears of afflicting me with the mortal grief of imbuing my hands in your blood." "once more father," replied scheherazade, "grant me the favour i solicit." "your stubbornness," resumed the vizier "will rouse my anger; why will you run headlong to your ruin? they who do not foresee the end of a dangerous enterprise can never conduct it to a happy issue. i am afraid the same thing will happen to you as befell the ass, which was well off, but could not remain so." "what misfortune befell the ass?" demanded scheherazade. "i will tell you," replied the vizier, "if you will hear me." the ass, the ox, and the labourer. a very wealthy merchant possessed several country-houses, where he kept a large number of cattle of every kind. he retired with his wife and family to one of these estates, in order to improve it under his own direction. he had the gift of understanding the language of beasts, but with this condition, that he should not, on pain of death, interpret it to any one else. and this hindered him from communicating to others what he learned by means of this faculty. he kept in the same stall an ox and an ass. one day as he sat near them, and was amusing himself in looking at his children who were playing about him, he heard the ox say to the ass, "sprightly, o! how happy do i think you, when i consider the ease you enjoy, and the little labour that is required of you. you are carefully rubbed down and washed, you have well-dressed corn, and fresh clean water. your greatest business is to carry the merchant, our master, when he has any little journey to make, and were it not for that you would be perfectly idle. i am treated in a very different manner, and my condition is as deplorable as yours is fortunate. daylight no sooner appears than i am fastened to a plough, and made to work till night, which so fatigues me, that sometimes my strength entirely fails. besides, the labourer, who is always behind me, beats me continually. by drawing the plough, my tail is all flayed; and in short, after having laboured from morning to night, when i am brought in they give me nothing to eat but sorry dry beans, not so much as cleansed from dirt, or other food equally bad; and to heighten my misery, when i have filled my belly with such ordinary stuff, i am forced to lie all night in my own dung: so that you see i have reason to envy your lot." the ass did not interrupt the ox; but when he had concluded, answered, "they that called you a foolish beast did not lie. you are too simple; you suffer them to conduct you whither they please, and shew no manner of resolution. in the mean time, what advantage do you reap from all the indignities you suffer." you kill yourself for the ease, pleasure, and profit of those who give you no thanks for your service. but they would not treat you so, if you had as much courage as strength. when they come to fasten you to the stall, why do you not resist? why do you not gore them with your horns, and shew that you arc angry, by striking your foot against the ground? and, in short, why do not you frighten them by bellowing aloud? nature has furnished you with means to command respect; but you do not use them. they bring you sorry beans and bad straw; eat none of them, only smell and then leave them. if you follow my advice, you will soon experience a change, for which you will thank me." the ox took the ass's advice in very good part, and owned he was much obliged to him. "dear sprightly," added he, "i will not fail to do as you direct, and you shall see how i will acquit myself." here ended their conversation, of which the merchant lost not a word. early the next morning the labourer went for the ox. he fastened him to the plough and conducted him to his usual work. the ox, who had not forgotten the ass's counsel, was very troublesome and untowardly all that day, and in the evening, when the labourer brought him back to the stall, and began to fasten him, the malicious beast instead of presenting his head willingly as he used to do, was restive, and drew back bellowing; and then made at the labourer, as if he would have gored him with his horns. in a word, he did all that the ass had advised him. the day following, the labourer came as usual, to take the ox to his labour; but finding the stall full of beans, the straw that he had put in the night before not touched, and the ox lying on the ground with his legs stretched out, and panting in a strange manner, he believed him to be unwell, pitied him, and thinking that it was not proper to take him to work, went immediately and acquainted his master with his condition. the merchant perceiving that the ox had followed all the mischievous advice of the ass, determined to punish the latter, and accordingly ordered the labourer to go and put him in the ox's place, and to he sure to work him hard. the labourer did as he was desired. the ass was forced to draw the plough all that day, which fatigued him so much the more, as he was not accustomed to that kind of labour; besides he had been so soundly beaten, that he could scarcely stand when he came back. meanwhile, the ox was mightily pleased; he ate up all that was in his stall, and rested himself the whole day. he rejoiced that he had followed the ass's advice, blessed him a thousand times for the kindness he had done him, and did not fail to express his obligations when the ass had returned. the ass made no reply, so vexed was he at the ill treatment he had received; but he said within himself, "it is by my own imprudence i have brought this misfortune upon myself. i lived happily, every thing smiled upon me; i had all that i could wish; it is my own fault that i am brought to this miserable condition; and if i cannot contrive some way to get out of it, i am certainly undone." as he spoke, his strength was so much exhausted that he fell down in his stall, as if he had been half dead. here the grand vizier, himself to scheherazade, and said, "daughter, you act just like this ass; you will expose yourself to destruction by your erroneous policy. take my advice, remain quiet, and do not seek to hasten your death." "father," replied scheherazade, "the example you have set before me will not induce me to change my resolution. i will never cease importuning you until you present me to the sultan as his bride." the vizier, perceiving that she persisted in her demand, replied, "alas! then, since you will continue obstinate, i shall be obliged to treat you in the same manner as the merchant whom i before referred to treated his wife a short time after." the merchant understanding that the ass was in a lamentable condition, was desirous of knowing what passed between him and the ox, therefore after supper he went out by moonlight, and sat down by them, his wife bearing him company. after his arrival, he heard the ass say to the ox "comrade, tell me, i pray you, what you intend to do to-morrow, when the labourer brings you meat?" "what will i do?" replied the ox, "i will continue to act as you taught me. i will draw back from him and threaten him with my horns, as i did yesterday: i will feign myself ill, and at the point of death." "beware of that," replied the ass, "it will ruin you; for as i came home this evening, i heard the merchant, our master, say something that makes me tremble for you." "alas! what did you hear?" demanded the ox; "as you love me, withhold nothing from me, my dear sprightly." "our master," replied the ass, "addressed himself thus to the labourer: �since the ox does not eat, and is not able to work, i would have him killed to-morrow, and we will give his flesh as an alms to the poor for god's sake, as for the skin, that will be of use to us, and i would have you give it the currier to dress; therefore be sure to send for the butcher.' this is what i had to tell you," said the ass. "the interest i feel in your preservation, and my friendship for you, obliged me to make it known to you, and to give you new advice. as soon as they bring you your bran and straw, rise up and eat heartily. our master will by this think that you are recovered, and no doubt will recall his orders for killing you; but, if you act otherwise, you will certainly be slaughtered." this discourse had the effect which the ass designed. the ox was greatly alarmed, and bellowed for fear. the merchant, who heard the conversation very attentively, fell into a loud fit of laughter. his wife was greatly surprised, and asked, "pray, husband, tell me what you laugh at so heartily, that i may laugh with you." "wife," replied he, "you must content yourself with hearing me laugh." "no," returned she, "i will know the reason." "i cannot afford you that satisfaction," he, "and can only inform you that i laugh at what our ass just now said to the ox. the rest is a secret, which i am not allowed to reveal." "what," demanded she "hinders you from revealing the secret?" "if i tell it you," replied he, "i shall forfeit my life." "you only jeer me," cried his wife, "what you would have me believe cannot be true. if you do not directly satisfy me as to what you laugh at, and tell me what the ox and the ass said to one another, i swear by heaven that you and i shall never bed together again." having spoken thus, she went into the house, and seating herself in a corner, cried there all night. her husband lay alone, and finding next morning that she continued in the same humour, told her, she was very foolish to afflict herself in that manner; that the thing was not worth so much; that it concerned her very little to know while it was of the utmost consequence to him to keep the secret: "therefore," continued he, "i conjure you to think no more of it." "i shall still think so much of it," replied she, "as never to forbear weeping till you have satisfied my curiosity." "but i tell you very seriously," answered he, "that it will cost me my life if i yield to your indiscreet solicitations." "let what will happen," said she, "i do insist upon it." "i perceive," resumed the merchant, "that it is impossible to bring you to reason, and since i foresee that you will occasion your own death by your obstinacy, i will call in your children, that they may see you before you die." accordingly he called for them, and sent for her father and mother, and other relations. when they were come and had heard the reason of their being summoned, they did all they could to convince her that she was in the wrong, but to no purpose: she told them she would rather die than yield that point to her husband. her father and mother spoke to her by herself, and told her that what she desired to know was of no importance to her; but they could produce no effect upon her, either by their authority or intreaties. when her children saw that nothing would prevail to draw her out of that sullen temper, they wept bitterly. the merchant himself was half frantic, and almost ready to risk his own life to save that of his wife, whom he sincerely loved. the merchant had fifty hens and one cock, with a dog that gave good heed to all that passed. while the merchant was considering what he had best do, he saw his dog run towards the cock as he was treading a hen, and heard him say to him: "cock, i am sure heaven will not let you live long; are you not ashamed to ad thus to-day?" the cock standing up on tiptoe, answered fiercely: "and why not to-day as well as other days?" "if you do not know," replied the dog, "then i will tell you, that this day our master is in great perplexity. his wife would have him reveal a secret which is of such a nature, that the disclosure would cost him his life. things are come to that pass, that it is to be feared he will scarcely have resolution enough to resist his wife's obstinacy; for he loves her, and is affected by the tears she continually sheds. we are all alarmed at his situation, while you only insult our melancholy, and have the impudence to divert yourself with your hens." the cock answered the dog's reproof thus: "what, has our master so little sense? he has but one wife, and cannot govern her, and though i have fifty, i make them all do what i please. let him use his reason, he will soon find a way to rid himself of his trouble." "how?" demanded the dog; "what would you have him do?" "let him go into the room where his wife is," resumed the cock, "lock the door, and take a stick and thrash her well; and i will answer for it, that will bring her to her senses, and make her forbear to importune him to discover what he ought not to reveal." the merchant had no sooner heard what the cock said, than he took up a stick, went to his wife, whom he found still crying, and shutting the door, belaboured her so soundly, that she cried out, "enough, husband, enough, forbear, and i will never ask the question more." upon this, perceiving that she repented of her impertinent curiosity, he desisted; and opening the door, her friends came in, were glad to find her cured of her obstinacy, and complimented her husband upon this happy expedient to bring his wife to reason. "daughter," added the grand vizier, "you deserve to be treated as the merchant treated his wife." "father," replied scheherazade, "i beg you would not take it ill that i persist in my opinion. i am nothing moved by the story of this woman. i could relate many, to persuade you that you ought not to oppose my design. besides, pardon me for declaring, that your opposition is vain; for if your paternal affection should hinder you from granting my request, i will go and offer myself to the sultan." in short, the father, being overcome by the resolution of his daughter, yielded to her importunity, and though he was much grieved that he could not divert her from so fatal a resolution, he went instantly to acquaint the sultan, that next night he would bring him scheherazade. the sultan was much surprized at the sacrifice which the grand vizier proposed to make. "how could you", said he, "resolve to bring me your own daughter?" "sir," answered the vizier, "it is her own offer. the sad destiny that awaits her could not intimidate her; she prefers the honour of being your majesty's wile for one night, to her life." "but do not act under a mistake, vizier," said the sultan; "to-morrow. when i place scheherazade in your hands, i expect you will put her to death; and if you fail, i swear that your own life shall answer." "sir," rejoined the vizier "my heart without doubt will be full of grief to execute your commands; but it is to no purpose for nature to murmur. though i am her father, i will answer for the fidelity of my hand to obey your order." shier-ear accepted his minister's offer, and told him he might bring his daughter when he pleased. t'he grand vizicr went with the intelligence to schcherazade, who received it with as much joy as if it had been the most agreeable information she could have received. she thanked her father for having so greatly obliged her; and perceiving that he was overwhelmed with grief, told him for his consolation, that she hoped he would never repent of having married her to the sultan; and that, on the contrary, he should have reason to rejoice at his compliance all his days. her business now was to adorn herself to appear before the sultan; but before she went, she took her sister dinarzade apart, and said to her, "my dear sister, i have need of your assistance in a matter of great importance, and must pray you not to deny it me. my father is going to conduct me to the sultan; do not let this alarm you, but hear me with patience. as soon as i am in his presence, i will pray him to allow you to lie in the bride- chamber, that i may enjoy your company this one night more. if i obtain that favour, as i hope to do, remember to awake me to- morrow an hour before day, and to address me in these or some such words: �my sister, if you be not asleep, i pray you that till day-break, which will be very shortly, you will relate to me one of the entertaining stories of which you have read so many.' i will immediately tell you one; and i hope by this means to deliver the city from the consternation it is under at present." dinarzade answered that she would with pleasure act as she required her. the grand vizier conducted schcherazade to the palace, and retired, after having introduced her into the sultan's apartment. as soon as the sultan was left alone with her, he ordered her to uncover her face: he found her so beautiful that he was perfectly charmed; but perceiving her to be in tears, demanded the reason. "sir," answered scheherazade, "i have a sister who loves me tenderly, and i could wish that she might be allowed to pass the night in this chamber, that i might see her, and once more bid her adieu. will you be pleased to allow me the consolation of giving her this last testimony of my affection?" shier-ear having consented, dinarzade was sent for, who came with all possible expedition. an hour before day, dinarzade failed not to do as her sister had ordered. "my dear sister," cried she, "if you be not asleep, i pray that until daybreak, which will be very shortly, you will tell me one of those pleasant stories you have read. alas! this may perhaps be the last time that i shall enjoy that pleasure." scheherazade, instead of answering her sister, addressed herself to the sultan: "sir, will your majesty be pleased to allow me to afford my sister this satisfaction?" "with all my heart," replied the sultan. scheherazade then bade her sister attend, and afterwards, addressing herself to shier-ear, proceeded as follows. the merchant and the genie. there was formerly a merchant who possessed much property in lands, goods, and money, and had a great number of clerks, factors, and slaves. he was obliged from time to time to visit his correspondents on business; and one day being under the necessity of going a long journey on an affair of importance, he took horse, and carried with him a wallet containing biscuits and dates, because he had a great desert to pass over, where he could procure no sort of provisions. he arrived without any accident at the end of his journey; and having dispatched his affairs, took horse again, in order to return home. the fourth day of his journey, he was so much incommoded by the heat of the sun, and the reflection of that heat from the earth, that he turned out of the road, to refresh himself under some trees. he found at the root of a large tree a fountain of very clear running water. having alighted, he tied his horse to a branch, and sitting down by the fountain, took some biscuits and dates out of his wallet. as he ate his dates, he threw the shells carelessly in different directions. when he had finished his repast, being a good moosulmaun, he washed his hands, face, and feet, and said his prayers. before he had finished, and while he was yet on his knees, he saw a genie, white with age, and of a monstrous bulk, advancing towards him with a cimeter in his hand. the genie spoke to him in a terrible voice: "rise, that i may kill thee with this cimeter, as thou hast killed my son;" and accompanied these words with a frightful cry. the merchant being as much alarmed at the hideous shape of the monster as at his threatening language, answered him, trembling, "alas! my good lord, of what crime can i be guilty towards you, that you should take away my life?" "i will," replied the genie, "kill thee, as thou hast killed my son." "heavens," exclaimed the merchant, "how could i kill your son? i never knew, never saw him." "did not you sit down when you came hither?" demanded the genie: "did you not take dates out of your wallet, and as you ate them, did not you throw the shells about in different directions?" "i did all that you say," answered the merchant, "i cannot deny it." "if it be so," resumed the genie, "i tell thee that thou hast killed my son; and in this manner: when thou wert throwing the shells about, my son was passing by, and thou didst throw one into his eye, which killed him; therefore i must kill thee." "ah! my lord! pardon me!" cried the merchant. "no pardon," exclaimed the genie, "no mercy. is it not just to kill him that has killed another?" "i agree it is," replied the merchant, "but certainly i never killed your son; and if i have, it was unknown to me, and i did it innocently; i beg you therefore to pardon me, and suffer me to live." "no, no," returned the genie, persisting in his resolution, "i must kill thee, since thou hast killed my son." then taking the merchant by the arm, he threw him with his face on the ground, and lifted up his cimeter to cut off his head. the merchant, with tears, protested he was innocent, bewailed his wife and children, and supplicated the genie, in the most moving expressions. the genie, with his cimeter still lifted up, had the patience to hear his unfortunate victims to the end of his lamentations, but would not relent. "all this whining," said the monster, "is to no purpose; though you should shed tears of blood, they should not hinder me from killing thee, as thou hast killed my son." "what!" exclaimed the merchant, "can nothing prevail with you? will you absolutely take away the life of a poor innocent?" "yes," replied the genie, "i am resolved." as soon as she had spoken these words, perceiving it was day, and knowing that the sultan rose early in the morning to say his prayers, and hold his council, scheherazade discontinued her story. "dear sister," said dinarzade, "what a wonderful story is this!" "the remainder of it," replied scheherazade "is more surprising, and you will be of this opinion, if the sultan will but permit me to live over this day, and allow me to proceed with the relation the ensuing night." shier-ear, who had listened to scheherazade with much interest, said to himself, "i will wait till to-morrow, for i can at any time put her to death when she has concluded her story." having thus resolved not to put scheherazade to death that day, he rose and went to his prayers, and to attend his council. during this time the grand vizier was in the utmost distress. instead of sleeping, he spent the night in sighs and groans, bewailing the lot of his daughter, of whom he believed he should himself shortly be the executioner. as, with this melancholy prospect before him, he dreaded to meet the sultan, he was agreeably surprised when he found the prince entered the council chamber without giving him the fatal orders he expected. the sultan, according to his custom, spent the day in regulating his affairs; and when the night had closed in, retired with scheherazade. the next morning before day, dinarzade failed not to call to her sister: "my dear sister, if you be not asleep, i pray you till day-break, which is very near, to go on with the story you began last night." the sultan, without waiting for scheherazade to ask his permission, bade her proceed with the story of the genie and the merchant; upon which scheherazade continued her relation as follows. [fn: in the original work scheherazade continually breaks off to ask the sultan to spare her life for another day, that she may finish the story she is relating. as these interruptions considerably interfere with the continued interest of the stories, it has been deemed advisable to omit them.] when the merchant saw that the genie was going to cut off his head, he cried out aloud to him, "for heaven's sake hold your hand! allow me one word. have the goodness to grant me some respite, to bid my wife and children adieu, and to divide my estate among them by will, that they may not go to law after my death. when i have done this, i will come back and submit to whatever you shall please to command." "but," said the genie, "if i grant you the time you ask, i doubt you will never return?" "if you will believe my oath," answered the merchant, "i swear by all that is sacred, that i will come and meet you here without fail." "what time do you require then?" demanded the genie. "i ask a year," said the merchant; "i cannot in less settle my affairs, and prepare myself to die without regret. but i promise you, that this day twelve months i will return under these trees, to put myself into your hands." "do you take heaven to be witness to this promise?" said the genie. "i do," answered the merchant, "and you may rely on my oath." upon this the genie left him near the fountain, and disappeared. the merchant being recovered from his terror, mounted his horse, and proceeded on his journey, glad on the one hand that he had escaped so great a danger, but grieved on the other, when he reflected on his fatal oath. when he reached home, his wife and children received him with all the demonstrations of perfect joy. but he, instead of returning their caresses, wept so bitterly, that his family apprehended something calamitous had befallen him. his wife enquire reason of his excessive grief and tears; "we are all overjoyed," said she, "at your return; but you alarm us by your lamentations; pray tell us the cause of your sorrow." "alas!" replied the husband, "i have but a year to live." he then related what had passed betwixt him and the genie, and informed her that he had given him his oath to return at the end of the year, to receive death from his hands. when they heard this afflicting intelligence, they all began to lament in the most distressing manner. his wife uttered the most piteous cries, beat her face, and tore her hair. the children, all in tears, made the house resound with their groans; and the father, not being able to resist the impulse of nature, mingled his tears with theirs: so that, in a word, they exhibited the most affecting spectacle possible. on the following morning the merchant applied himself to put his affairs in order; and first of all to pay his debts. he made presents to his friends, gave liberal alms to the poor, set his slaves of both sexes at liberty, divided his property among his children, appointed guardians for such of them as were not of age; and after restoring to his wife all that was due to her by their marriage contract, he gave her in addition as much as the law would allow him. at last the year expired, and he was obliged to depart. he put his burial clothes in his wallet; but when he came to bid his wife and children adieu, their grief surpassed description. they could not reconcile their minds to the separation, but resolved to go and die with him. when, however, it became necessary for him to tear himself from these dear objects, he addressed them in the following terms: "my dear wife and children, i obey the will of heaven in quitting you. follow my example, submit with fortitude to this necessity, and consider that it is the destiny of man to die." having thus spoken, he went out of the hearing of the cries of his family; and pursuing his journey, arrived on the day appointed at the place where he had promised to meet the genie. he alighted, and seating himself down by the fountain, waited the coming of the genie, with all the sorrow imaginable. whilst he languished under this painful expectation, an old man leading a hind appeared and drew near him. after they had saluted one another, the old man said to him, "brother, may i ask why you are come into this desert place, which is possessed solely by evil spirits, and where consequently you cannot be safe? from the beautiful trees which are seen here, one might indeed suppose the place inhabited; but it is in reality a wilderness, where it is dangerous to remain long." the merchant satisfied his curiosity, and related to him the adventure which obliged him to be there. the old man listened with astonishment, and when he had done, exclaimed, "this is the most surprising thing in the world! and you are bound by the most inviolable oath. however, i will be witness of your interview with the genie." he then seated himself by the merchant, and they entered into conversation. "but i see day," said scheherazade, "and must leave off; yet the best of the story is to come." the sultan resolving to hear the end of it, suffered her to live that day also. the next morning dinarzade made the same request to her sister as before: "my dear sister," said she, "if you be not asleep, tell me one of those pleasant stories that you have read." but the sultan, wishing to learn what followed betwixt the merchant and the genie, bade her proceed with that, which she did as follows. sir, while the merchant and the old man who led the hind were conversing, they saw another old man coming towards them, followed by two black dogs; after they had saluted one another, he asked them what they did in that place? the old man with the hind told him the adventure of the merchant and genie, with all that had passed between them, particularly the merchant's oath. he added, that it was the day agreed on, and that he was resolved to stay and see the issue. the second old man thinking it also worth his curiosity, resolved to do the same, and took his seat by them. they had scarcely begun to converse together, when there arrived a third old man leading a mule. he addressed himself to the two former, and asked why the merchant who sat with them looked so melancholy? they told him the reason, which appeared to him so extraordinary, that he also resolved to witness the result; and for that purpose sat down with them. in a short time they perceived a thick vapour, like a cloud of dust raised by a whirlwind, advancing towards them. when it had come up to them it suddenly vanished, and the genie appeared; who, without saluting them, went to the merchant with a drawn cimeter, and taking him by the arm, said, "get thee up, that i may kill thee, as thou didst my son." the merchant and the three old men began to lament and fill the air with their cries. when the old man who led the hind saw the genie lay hold of the merchant, and about to kill him, he threw himself at the feet of the monster, and kissing them, said to him, "prince of genies, i most humbly request you to suspend your anger, and do me the favour to hear me. i will tell you the history of my life, and of the hind you see; and if you think it more wonderful and surprising than the adventure of the merchant, i hope you will pardon the unfortunate man a third of his offence." the genie took some time to deliberate on this proposal, but answered at last, "well then, i agree." the story of the first old man and the hind. i shall begin my story then; listen to me, i pray you, with attention. this hind you see is my cousin; nay, what is more, my wife. she was only twelve years of age when i married her, so that i may justly say, she ought to regard me equally as her father, her kinsman, and her husband. we lived together twenty years, without any children. her barrenness did not effect any change in my love; i still treated her with much kindness and affection. my desire of having children only induced me to purchase a slave, by whom i had a son, who was extremely promising. my wife being jealous, cherished a hatred for both mother and child, but concealed her aversion so well, that i knew nothing of it till it was too late. mean time my son grew up, and was ten years old, when i was obliged to undertake a long journey. before i went, i recommended to my wife, of whom i had no mistrust, the slave and her son, and prayed her to take care of them during my absence, which was to be for a whole year. she however employed that time to satisfy her hatred. she applied herself to magic, and when she had learnt enough of that diabolical art to execute her horrible design, the wretch carried my son to a desolate place, where, by her enchantments, she changed him into a calf, and gave him to my farmer to fatten, pretending she had bought him. her enmity did not stop at this abominable action, but she likewise changed the slave into a cow, and gave her also to my farmer. at my return, i enquired for the mother and child. "your slave," said she, "is dead; and as for your son, i know not what is become of him, i have not seen him this two months." i was afflicted at the death of the slave, but as she informed me my son had only disappeared, i was in hopes he would shortly return. however, eight months passed, and i heard nothing of him. when the festival of the great bairam was to be celebrated, i sent to my farmer for one of the fattest cows to sacrifice. he accordingly sent me one, and the cow which was brought me proved to be my slave, the unfortunate mother of my son. i bound her, but as i was going to sacrifice her, she bellowed piteously, and i could perceive tears streaming from her eyes. this seemed to me very extraordinary, and finding myself moved with compassion, i could not find in my heart to give her a blow, but ordered my farmer to get me another. my wife, who was present, was enraged at my tenderness, and resisting an order which disappointed her malice, she cried out, "what are you doing, husband? sacrifice that cow; your farmer has not a finer, nor one fitter for the festival." out of deference to my wife, i came again to the cow, and combating my compassion, which suspended the sacrifice, was going to give her the fatal blow, when the victim redoubling her tears, and bellowing, disarmed me a second time. i then put the mallet into the farmer's hands, and desired him to take it and sacrifice her himself, for her tears and bellowing pierced my heart. the farmer, less compassionate than myself; sacrificed her; but when he flayed her, found her to be nothing except bones, though to she seemed very fat. "take her yourself," said i to him, "dispose of her in alms, or any way you please: and if you have a very fat calf, bring it me in her stead." i did not enquire what he did with the cow, but soon after he had taken her away, he returned with a fat calf. though i knew not the calf was my son, yet i could not forbear being moved at the sight of him. on his part, as soon as he beheld me, he made so great an effort to come near me, that he broke his cord, threw himself at my feet, with his head against the ground, as if he meant to excite my compassion, conjuring me not to be so cruel as to take his life; and did as much as was possible for him, to signify that he was my son. i was more surprised and affected with this action, than with the tears of the cow. i felt a tender pity, which interested me on his behalf, or rather, nature did its duty. "go," said i to the farmer, "carry home that calf, take great care of him, and bring me another in his stead immediately." as soon as my wife heard me give this order, she exclaimed, "what are you about, husband? take my advice, sacrifice no other calf but that." "wife," i replied, "i will not sacrifice him, i will spare him, and pray do not you oppose me." the wicked woman had no regard to my wishes; she hated my son too much to consent that i should save him. i tied the poor creature, and taking up the fatal knife, was going to plunge it into my son's throat, when turning his eyes bathed with tears, in a languishing manner, towards me, he affected me so much that i had not strength to kill him. i let the knife fall, and told my wife positively that i would have another calf to sacrifice, and not that. she used all her endeavours to persuade me to change my resolution; but i continued firm, and pacified her a little, by promising that i would sacrifice him against the bairam of the following year. the next morning my farmer desired to speak with me alone. "i come," said he, "to communicate to you a piece of intelligence, for which i hope you will return me thanks. i have a daughter that has some skill in magic. yesterday, as i carried back the calf which you would not sacrifice, i perceived she laughed when she saw him, and in a moment after fell a weeping. i asked her why she acted two such opposite parts at one and the same time. � rather,' replied she, � the calf you bring back is our landlord's son; i laughed for joy to see him still alive, and wept at the remembrance of the sacrifice that was made the other day of his mother, who was changed into a cow. these two metamorphoses were made by the enchantments of our master's wife, who hated both the mother and son.' this is what my daughter told me," said the farmer, "and i come to acquaint you with it." i leave you to judge how much i was surprised. i went immediately to my farmer, to speak to his daughter myself. as soon as i arrived, i went forthwith to the stall where my son was kept; he could not return my embraces, but received them in such a manner, as fully satisfied me he was my son. the farmer's daughter then came to us: "my good maid," said i, "can you restore my son to his former shape?" "yes," she replied, "i can." "ah!" said i, "if you do, i will make you mistress of all my fortune." she answered me, smiling, "you are our master, and i well know what i owe to you; but i cannot restore your son to his former shape, except on two conditions: the first is, that you give him to me for my husband; and the second, that you allow me to punish the person who changed him into a calf." "as to the first," i replied, "i agree with all my heart: nay, i promise you more, a considerable fortune for yourself, independently of what i design for my son: in a word, you shall see how i will reward the great service i expect from you. as to what relates to my wife, i also agree; a person who has been capable of committing such a criminal action, justly deserves to be punished. i leave her to your disposal, only i must pray you not to take her life." "i am going then," answered she, "to treat her as she treated your son." "to this i consent," said i, "provided you first of all restore to me my son." the damsel then took a vessel full of water, pronounced over it words that i did not understand, and addressing herself to the calf, "o calf, if thou west created by the almighty and sovereign master of the world such as thou appearest at this time, continue in that form; but if thou be a man, and art changed into a calf by enchantment, return to thy natural shape, by the permission of the sovereign creator." as she spoke, she threw water upon him, and in an instant he recovered his natural form. "my son, my dear son," cried i, immediately embracing him with such a transport of joy that i knew not what i was doing, "it is heaven that hath sent us this young maid, to remove the horrible charm by which you were enchanted, and to avenge the injury done to you and your mother. i doubt not but in acknowledgment you will make your deliverer your wife, as i have promised." he joyfully consented; but before they married, she changed my wife into a hind; and this is she whom you see here. i desired she might have this shape, rather than another less agreeable, that we might see her in the family without horror. since that time, my son is become a widower, and gone to travel. it being now several years since i heard of him, i am come abroad to inquire after him; and not being willing to trust anybody with my wife, till i should return home, i thought fit to take her everywhere with me. "this is the history of myself and this hind: is it not one of the most wonderful and surprising?" "i admit it is," said the genie, "and on that account forgive the merchant one third of his crime." when the first old man had finished his story, the second, who led the two black dogs, addressed the genie, and said: "i am going to tell you what happened to me, and these two black dogs you see by me; and i am certain you will say, that my story is yet more surprising than that which you have just heard. but when i have done this, i hope you will be pleased to pardon the merchant another third of his offence." "i will," replied the genie, "provided your story surpass that of the hind." then the second old man began in this manner-- the story of the second old man and the two black dogs. great prince of genies, you must know that we are three brothers, the two black dogs and myself. our father, when he died, left each of us one thousand sequins. with that sum, we all became merchants. a little time after we had opened shop, my eldest brother, one of these two dogs, resolved to travel and trade in foreign countries. with this view, he sold his estate, and bought goods suited to the trade intended to follow. he went away, and was absent a whole year. at the expiration of this time, a poor man, who i thought had come to ask alms, presented himself before me in my shop. i said to him, "god help you." he returned my salutation, and continued, "is it possible you do not know me?" upon this i looked at him narrowly, and recognised him: "ah, brother," cried i, embracing him, "how could i know you in this condition?" i made him come into my house, and asked him concerning his health and the success of his travels. "do not ask me that question," said he; "when you see me, you see all: it would only renew my grief, to relate to you the particulars of the misfortunes i have experienced since i left you, which have reduced me to my present condition." i immediately shut up my shop, and taking him to a bath, gave him the best clothes i had. finding on examining my books, that i had doubled my stock, that is to say, that i was worth two thousand sequins, i gave him one half; "with that," said i, "brother, you may make up your loss." he joyfully accepted the present, and having repaired his fortunes, we lived together, as before. some time after, my second brother, who is the other of these two dogs, would also sell his estate. his elder brother and myself did all we could to divert him from his purpose, but without effect. he disposed of it, and with the money bought such goods as were suitable to the trade which he designed to follow. he joined a caravan, and departed. at the end of the year he returned in the same condition as my other brother. having myself by this time gained another thousand sequins, i made him a present of them. with this sum he furnished his shop, and continued his trade. some time after, one of my brothers came to me to propose that i should join them in a trading voyage; i immediately declined. "you have travelled," said i, "and what have you gained by it? who can assure me, that i shall be more successful than you have been?" it was in vain that they urged open me all the considerations they thought likely to gain me over to their design, for i constantly refused; but after having resisted their solicitations five whole years, they importuned me so much, that at last they overcame my resolution. when, however, the time arrived that we were to make preparations for our voyage, to buy the goods necessary to the undertaking, i found they had spent all, and had not one dirrim left of the thousand sequins i had given to each of them. i did not, on this account, upbraid them. on the contrary, my stock being still six thousand sequins, i shared the half of it with them, telling them, "my brothers, we must venture these three thousand sequins, and hide the rest in some secure place: that in case our voyage be not more successful than yours was formerly, we may have wherewith to assist us, and to enable us to follow our ancient way of living." i gave each of them a thousand sequins, and keeping as much for myself, i buried the other three thousand in a corner of my house. we purchased goods, and having embarked them on board a vessel, which we freighted betwixt us, we put to sea with a favourable wind. after two months sail, we arrived happily at port, where we landed, and had a very good market for our goods. i, especially, sold mine so well, that i gained ten to one. with the produce we bought commodities of that country, to carry back with us for sale. when we were ready to embark on our return, i met on the sea- shore a lady, handsome enough, but poorly clad. she walked up to me gracefully, kissed my hand, besought me with the greatest earnestness imaginable to marry her, and take her along with me. i made some difficulty to agree to this proposal; but she urged so many things to persuade me that i ought not to object to her on account of her poverty, and that i should have all the reason in the world to be satisfied with her conduct, that at last i yielded. i ordered proper apparel to be made for her; and after having married her, according to form, i took her on board, and we set sail. i found my wife possessed so many good qualities, that my love to her every day increased. in the mean time my two brothers, who had not managed their affairs as successfully as i had mine, envied my prosperity; and suffered their feelings to carry them so far, that they conspired against my life; and one night, when my wife and i were asleep, threw us both into the sea. my wife proved to be a fairy, and, by consequence, a genie, so that she could not be drowned; but for me, it is certain i must have perished, without her help. i had scarcely fallen into the water, when she took me up, and carried me to an island. when day appeared, she said to me, "you see, husband, that by saving your life, i have not rewarded you ill for your kindness to me. you must know, that i am a fairy, and being upon the sea-shore, when you were going to embark, i felt a strong desire to have you for my husband; i had a mind to try your goodness, and presented myself before you in disguise. you have dealt generously by me, and i am glad of an opportunity of returning my acknowledgment. but i am incensed against your brothers, and nothing will satisfy me but their lives." i listened to this discourse with admiration; i thanked the fairy the best way i could, for the great kindness she had done me; "but, madam," said i, "as for my brothers, i beg you to pardon them; whatever cause of resentment they have given me, i am not cruel enough to desire their death." i then informed her what i had done for them, but this increased her indignation; and she exclaimed, "i must immediately pursue those ungrateful traitors, and take speedy vengeance on them. i will destroy their vessel, and sink them into the bottom of the sea." "my good lady," replied i, "for heaven's sake forbear; moderate your anger, consider that they are my brothers, and that we ought to return good for evil." i pacified her by these words; and as soon as i had concluded, she transported me in a moment from the island to the roof of my own house, which was terraced, and instantly disappeared. i descended, opened the doors, and dug up the three thousand sequins i had formerly secreted. i went afterwards to my shop, which i also opened; and was complimented by the merchants, my neighbours, upon my return. when i went back to my house, i perceived there two black dogs, which came up to me in a very submissive manner: i could not divine the meaning of this circumstance, which greatly astonished me. but the fairy, who immediately appeared, said, "husband, be not surprised to see these dogs, they are your brothers." i was troubled at this declaration, and asked her by what power they were so transformed. "i did it," said she, "or at least authorised one of my sisters to do it, who at the same time sunk their ship. you have lost the goods you had on board, but i will compensate you another way. as to your two brothers, i have condemned them to remain five years in that shape. their perfidiousness too well deserves such a penance." having thus spoken and told me where i might hear of her, she disappeared. the five years being now nearly expired, i am travelling in quest of her; and as i passed this way, i met this merchant, and the good old man who led the hind, and sat down by them. this is my history, o prince of genies! do not you think it very extraordinary?" "i own it is," replied the genie, "and on that account i remit the merchant the second third of the crime which he has committed against me." as soon as the second old man had finished, the third began his story, after repeating the request of the two former, that the genie would pardon the merchant the other third of his crime, provided what he should relate surpassed in singularity of incidents the narratives he had already heard. the genie made him the same promise as he had given the others. the third old man related his story to the genie; and it exceeded the two former stories so much, in the variety of wonderful adventures, that the genie was astonished; and no sooner heard the conclusion, than he said to the old man, "i remit the other third of the merchant's crime on account of your story. he is greatly obliged to all of you, for having delivered him out of his danger by what you have related, for to this he owes his life." having spoken thus he disappeared, to the great contentment of the company. the merchant failed not to make due acknowledgment to his deliverers. they rejoiced to see him out of danger; and bidding him adieu, each of them proceeded on his way. the merchant returned to his wife and children, and passed the rest of his days with them in peace. the story of the fisherman. there was an aged fisherman, who was so poor, that he could scarcely as much as would maintain himself, his wife, and three children. he went every day to fish betimes in the morning; and imposed it as a law upon himself, not to cast his nets above four times a-day. he went one morning by moon-light, and coming to the seaside, undressed himself, and cast in his nets. as he drew them towards the shore, he found them very heavy, and thought he had a good draught of fish, at which he rejoiced; but in a moment after, perceiving that instead of fish his nets contained nothing but the carcass of an ass, he was much vexed. when the fisherman had mended his nets, which the carcass of the ass had broken in several places, he threw them in a second time; and when he drew them, found a great deal of resistance, which made him think he had taken abundance of fish; but he found nothing except a basket full of gravel and slime, which grieved him extremely. "o fortune!" cried he, with a lamentable tone, "be not angry with me, nor persecute a wretch who prays thee to spare him. i came hither from my house to seek for my livelihood, and thou pronouncest against me a sentence of death. i have no other trade but this to subsist by: and notwithstanding all my care, i can scarcely provide what is absolutely necessary for my family. but i am to blame to complain of thee; thou takest pleasure to persecute honest people, and to leave great men in obscurity, while thou shewest favour to the wicked, and advancest those who have no virtue to recommend them." having finished this complaint, he fretfully threw away the basket, and washing his nets from the slime, cast them the third time; but brought up nothing, except stones, shells, and mud. no language can express his disappointment; he was almost distracted. however, when day began to appear, he did not forget to say his prayers, like a good moosulmaun, and he added to them this petition: "lord, thou knowest that i cast my nets only four times a day; i have already drawn them three times, without the least reward for my labour: i am only to cast them once more; i pray thee to render the sea favourable to me, as thou didst to moses " the fisherman having finished this prayer, cast his nets the fourth time; and when he thought it was proper, drew them as formerly, with great difficulty; but instead of fish, found nothing in them but a vessel of yellow copper, which from its weight seemed not to be empty; and he observed that it was shut up and sealed with lead, having the impression of a seal upon it. this turn of fortune rejoiced him; "i will sell it," said he, "to the founder, and with the money buy a measure of corn." he examined the vessel on all sides, and shook it, to try if its contents made any noise, but heard nothing. this circumstance, with the impression of the seal upon the leaden cover, made him think it inclosed something precious. to try this, he took a knife, and opened it with very little labour. he turned the mouth downward, but nothing came out; which surprised him extremely. he placed it before him, but while he viewed it attentively, there came out a very thick smoke, which obliged him to retire two or three paces back. the smoke ascended to the clouds, and extending itself along the sea and upon the shore formed a great mist, which we may well imagine filled the fisherman with astonishment. when the smoke was all out of the vessel, it re-united and became a solid body, of which was formed a genie twice as high as the greatest of giants. at the sight of a monster of such an unwieldy bulk, the fisherman would fain have fled, but was so frightened, that he could not move. "solomon," cried the genie immediately, "solomon, the great prophet, pardon, pardon; i will never more oppose your will, i will obey all your commands." when the fisherman heard these words of the genie, he recovered his courage, and said to him, "thou proud spirit, what is it you say? it is above eighteen hundred years since the prophet solomon died, and we are now at the end of time. tell me your history, and how you came to be shut up in this vessel." the genie turning to the fisherman, with a fierce look, said. "thou must speak to me with more respect; thou art a presumptuous fellow to call me a proud spirit." "very well," replied the fisherman, "shall i speak to you more civilly, and call you the owl of good luck?" "i say," answered the genie, "speak to me more respectfully, or i will kill thee." "ah!" replied the fisherman, "why would you kill me? did i not just now set you at liberty, and have you already forgotten my services?" "yes, i remember it," said the genie, "but that shall not save thy life: i have only one favour to grant thee." "and what is that?" asked the fisherman. "it is," answered the genie, "to give thee thy choice, in what manner thou wouldst have me put thee to death." "but wherein have i offended you?" demanded the fisherman. "is that your reward for the service i have rendered you?" "i cannot treat thee otherwise," said the genie; "and that thou mayest know the reason, hearken to my story." "i am one of those rebellious spirits that opposed the will of heaven; nearly all the other genies owned solomon, the great prophet, and yielded to his authority. sabhir and i were the only two that would never be guilty of a mean submission: and to avenge himself, that great monarch sent asaph, the son of barakhia, his chief minister, to apprehend me. that was accordingly done. asaph seized my person, and brought me by force before his master's throne. "solomon, the son of david, commanded me to acknowledge his power, and to submit to his commands: i bravely refused, and told him, i would rather expose myself to his resentment, than swear fealty as he required. to punish me, he shut me up in this copper vessel; and that i might not break my prison, he himself stamps upon this leaden cover, his seal with the great name of god engraver upon it. he then gave the vessel to one of the genies who had submitted, with orders to throw me into the sea, which to my sorrow were executed. "during the first hundred years of my imprisonment, i swore that if any one should deliver me before the expiration of that period, i would make him rich, even after his death: but that century ran out, and nobody did me that good office. during the second, i made an oath, that i would open all the treasures of the earth to any one that might set me at liberty; but with no better success. in the third, i promised to make my deliverer a potent monarch, to be always near him in spirit, and to grant him every day three requests, of what nature soever they might be: but this century passed as well as the two former, and i continued in prison. at last being angry, or rather mad, to find myself a prisoner so long, i swore, that if afterwards any one should deliver me, i would kill him without mercy, and grant him no other favour but to choose the manner of his death; and therefore, since thou hast delivered me to-day, i give thee that choice." this discourse afflicted the fisherman extremely: "i am very unfortunate," cried he, "to come hither to do such a kindness to one that is so ungrateful. i beg you to consider your injustice, and revoke such an unreasonable oath; pardon me, and heaven will pardon you; if you grant me my life, heaven will protest you from all attempts against your own." "no, thy death is resolved on," said the genie, "only choose in what manner you will die." the fisherman perceiving the genie to be resolute, was extremely grieved, not so much for himself, as on account of his three children; and bewailed the misery they must be reduced to by his death. he endeavoured still to appease the genie, and said, "alas! be pleased to take pity on me, in consideration of the service i have done you." "i have told thee already," replied the genie, "it is for that very reason i must kill thee." "that is strange," said the fisherman, "are you resolved to reward good with evil? the proverb says, �that he who does good to one who deserves it not is always ill rewarded.' i must confess, i thought it was false; for certainly there can be nothing more contrary to reason, or the laws of society. nevertheless, i find now by cruel experience that it is but too true." "do not lose time," interrupted the genie; "all thy reasonings shall not divert me from my purpose: make haste, and tell me what kind of death thou preferest?" necessity is the mother of invention. the fisherman bethought himself of a stratagem. "since i must die then," said he to the genie, "i submit to the will of heaven; but before i choose the manner of my death, i conjure you by the great name which was engraver upon the seal of the prophet solomon, the son of david, to answer me truly the question i am going to ask you." the genie finding himself obliged to a positive answer by this adjuration, trembled; and replied to the fisherman, "ask what thou wilt, but make haste." the fisherman then said to him, "i wish to know if you were actually in this vessel: dare you swear it by the name of the great god?" "yes," replied the genie, "i do swear by that great name, that i was." "in good faith," answered the fisherman, "i cannot believe you; the vessel is not capable of holding one of your size, and how should it be possible that your whole body should lie in it?" "i swear to thee, notwithstanding," replied the genie, "that i was there just as you see me here: is it possible, that thou cost not believe me after the solemn oath i have taken?" "truly not i," said the fisherman; "nor will i believe you, unless you go into the vessel again." upon which the body of the genie dissolved and changed itself into smoke, extending as before upon the sea shore; and at last, being collected, it began to re-enter the vessel, which it continued to do by a slow and equal motion, till no part remained out; when immediately a voice came forth, which said to the fisherman, "well now, incredulous fellow, i am in the vessel, do not you believe me now?" the fisherman, instead of answering the genie, took the cover of lead, and having speedily replaced it on the vessel, "genie," cried he, "now it is your turn to beg my favour, and to choose which way i shall put you to death; but not so, it is better that i should throw you into the sea, whence i took you: and then i will build a house upon the shore, where i will reside and give notice to all fishermen who come to throw in their nets, to beware of such a wicked genie as thou art, who hast made an oath to kill him that shall set thee at liberty." the genie, enraged at these expressions, struggled to set himself at liberty; but it was impossible, for the impression of solomon's seal prevented him. perceiving that the fisherman had got the advantage of him, for he thought fit to dissemble his anger; "fishermen," said he, "take heed you do not what you threaten; for what i spoke to you was only by way of jest." "o genie!" replied the fisherman, "thou who wast but a moment ago the greatest of all genies, and now art the least of them, thy crafty discourse will signify nothing, to the sea thou shalt return. if thou hast been there already so long as thou hast told me, thou may'st very well stay there till the day of judgment. i begged of thee in god's name not to take away my life, and thou didst reject my prayers; i am obliged to treat thee in the same manner." the genie omitted nothing that he thought likely to prevail with the fisherman: "open the vessel," said he, "give me my liberty, and i promise to satisfy thee to thy own content." "thou art a traitor," replied the fisherman, "i should deserve to lose my life, if i were such a fool as to trust thee: thou wilt not fail to treat me in the same manner as a certain grecian king treated the physician douban. it is a story i have a mind to tell thee, therefore listen to it." the story of the grecian king and the physician douban. there was in the country of yunaun or greece, a king who was leprous, and his physicians had in vain endeavoured his cure; when a very able physician, named douban, arrived at his court. this physician had learnt the theory of his profession in greek, persian, turkish, arabic, latin, syriac, and hebrew books; he was an experienced natural philosopher, and fully understood the good and bad qualities of plants and drugs. as soon as he was informed of the king's distemper, and understood that his physicians had given him over, he found means to present himself before him. "i know," said he, after the usual ceremonials, "that your majesty's physicians have not been able to heal you of the leprosy; but if you will accept my service, i will engage to cure you without potions, or external applications." the king listened to what he said, and answered, "if you be able to perform what you promise, i will enrich you and your posterity. do you assure me that you will cure my leprosy without potion, or applying any external medicine?" "yes, sire," replied the physician, "i promise myself success, through god's assistance, and to-morrow, with your majesty's permission, i will make the trial." the physician returned to his quarters, made a hollow mace, and at the handle he put in his drugs; he made also a ball in such a manner as suited his purpose, with which next morning he presented himself before the king, and falling down at his feet, kissed the ground. the physician douban rose up, and after a profound reverence, said to the king, he judged it meet that his majesty should take horse, and go to the place where he used to play at mall. the king did so, and when he arrived there, the physician came to him with the mace, and said, "exercise yourself with this mace, and strike the ball until you find your hands and body perspire. when the medicine i have put up in the handle of the mace is heated with your hand, it will penetrate your whole body; and as soon as you perspire, you may leave off the exercise, for then the medicine will have had its effect. immediately on your return to your palace, go into the bath, and cause yourself to be well washed and rubbed; then retire to bed, and when you rise to- morrow you will find yourself cured." the king took the mace, and struck the ball, which was returned by his officers who played with him; he played so long, that his hands and his whole body were in a sweat, and then the medicine shut up in the handle of the mace had its operation, as the physician had said. upon this the king left off play, returned to his palace, entered the bath, and observed very exactly his physician had prescribed to him. the next morning when he arose, he perceived with equal wonder and joy, that his leprosy was cured, and his body as clean as if it had never been affected. as soon as he was dressed, he came into the hall of audience, where he ascended his throne, and shewed himself to his courtiers: who, eager to know the success of the new medicine, came thither betimes, and when they saw the king perfectly cured, expressed great joy. the physician douban entering the hall, bowed himself before the throne, with his face to the ground. the king perceiving him, made him sit down by his side, presented him to the assembly, and gave him all the commendation he deserved. his majesty did not stop here: but as he treated all his court that day, made him eat at his table alone with him. the grecian king was not satisfied with having admitted the physician douban to his table, but caused him to be clad in a rich robe, ordered him two thousand pieces of gold, and thinking that he could never sufficiently acknowledge his obligations to him, continued every day to load him with new favours. but this king had a vizier, who was avaricious, envious, and naturally capable of every kind of mischief. he could not behold without envy the presents that were given to the physician, whose other merits had already begun to make him jealous, and he therefore resolved to lessen him in the king's esteem. to effect this, he went to the king, and told him in private, that he had some information of the greatest consequence to communicate. the king having asked what it was? "sire," said he, "it is highly dangerous for a monarch to confide in a man whose fidelity he has never tried. though you heap favours upon the physician douban, your majesty does not know that he is a traitor, sent by your enemies to take away your life." "from whom," demanded the king, "have you the suggestion which you dare pronounce? consider to whom you are speaking, and that you are advancing what i shall not easily believe." "sire," replied the vizier, "i am well informed of what i have had the honour to reveal to your majesty; therefore do not rest in dangerous security: if your majesty be asleep, be pleased to awake; for i once more repeat, that the physician douban left his native country, and came to settle himself at your court, for the sole purpose of executing the horrible design which i have intimated." "no, no, vizier," interrupted the king; "i am certain, that this physician, whom you suspect to be a villain and a traitor, is one of the best and most virtuous of men. you know by what medicine, or rather by what miracle, he cured me of my leprosy: if he had had a design upon my life, why did he save me then? he needed only to have left me to my disease; i could not have escaped it, as life was fast decaying. forbear then to fill me with unjust suspicions: instead of listening to you, i tell you, that from this day forward i will give that great man a pension of a thousand pieces of gold per month for his life; nay, though i were to share with him all my riches and dominions, i should never pay him sufficiently for what he has done. i perceive it to be his virtue that raises your envy; but do not think i will be unjustly prejudiced against him. i remember too well what a vizier said to king sinbad, his master, to prevent his putting to death the prince his son." what the grecian king said about king sinbad raised the vizier's curiosity, who said, "i pray your majesty to pardon me, if i have the boldness to ask what the vizier of king sinbad said to his master to divert him from putting the prince his son to death." the grecian king had the condescension to satisfy him: "that vizier," said he, "after having represented to king sinbad, that he ought to beware, lest on the accusation of a mother-in-law he should commit an action of which he might afterwards repent, told him this story." the story of the husband and the parrot. a certain man had a beautiful wife, whom he loved so dearly, that he could scarcely allow her to be out of his sight. one day, some urgent affairs obliging him to go from home, he went to a place where all sorts of birds were sold, and bought a parrot, which not only spoke well, but could also give an account of every thing that was done in its presence. he brought it in a cage to his house, desired his wife to put it in his chamber, and take care of it during his absence, and then departed. on his return, he questioned the parrot concerning what had passed while he was from home, and the bird told him such things as gave him occasion to upbraid his wife. she concluded some of her slaves had betrayed her, but all of them swore they had been faithful, and agreed that the parrot must have been the tell- tale. upon this, the wife began to devise how she might remove her husband's jealousy, and at the same time revenge herself on the parrot. her husband being gone another journey, she commanded a slave in the night-time to turn a hand-mill under the parrot's cage; she ordered another to sprinkle water, in resemblance of rain, over the cage; and a third to move a looking-glass, backward and forward against a candle, before the parrot. the slaves spent a great part of the night in doing what their mistress desired them, and acquitted themselves with much skill. next night the husband returned, and examined the parrot again about what had passed during his absence. the bird answered, "good master, the lightning, thunder, and rain so much disturbed me all night, that i cannot tell how much i suffered." the husband, who knew that there had been neither thunder, lightning, nor rain in the night, fancied that the parrot, not having spoken truth in this, might also have lied in the other relation; upon which he took it out of the cage, and threw it with so much force to the ground that he killed it. yet afterwards he understood from his neigbours, that the poor parrot had not deceived him in what it had stated of his wife's base conduct, made him repent that he had killed it. when the grecian king had finished the story of the parrot, he added, "and you, vizier, because of the hatred you bear to the physician douban, who never did you any injury, you would have me cut him off; but i will beware lest i should repent as the husband did after killing his parrot." the mischievous vizier was too desirous of effecting the ruin of the physician douban to stop here. "sir," said he, "the death of the parrot was but a trifle, and i believe his master did not mourn for him long: but why should your fear of wronging an innocent man, hinder your putting this physician to death? is it not sufficient justification that he is accused of a design against your life? when the business in question is to secure the life of a king, bare suspicion ought to pass for certainty; and it is better to sacrifice the innocent than to spare the guilty. but, sir, this is not a doubtful case; the physician douban has certainly a mind to assassinate you. it is not envy which makes me his enemy; it is only my zeal, with the concern i have for preserving your majesty's life, that makes me give you my advice in a matter of this importance. if the accusation be false, i deserve to be punished in the same manner as a vizier formerly was." "what had the vizier done," demands the grecian king, "to deserve punishment?" "i will inform your majesty," said the vizier, "if you will be pleased to hear me." the story of the vizier that was punished. there was a king who had a son that loved hunting. he allowed him to pursue that diversion often; but gave orders to his grand vizier always to attend him. one hunting day, the huntsman having roused a deer, the prince, who thought the vizier followed him, pursued the game so far, and with so much earnestness, that he separated himself from the company. perceiving he had lost his way he stopped, and endeavoured to return to the vizier; but not knowing the country he wandered farther. whilst he was thus riding about, he met on his way a handsome lady, who wept bitterly. he stopped his horse, and enquired who she was, how she came to be alone in that place, and what she wanted. "i am," replied she, "the daughter of an indian king. as i was taking the air on horseback, in the country, i grew sleepy, and fell from my horse, who is run away, and i know not what is become of him." the young prince taking compassion on her, requested her to get up behind him, which she willingly did. as they were passing by the ruins of a house, the lady expressed a desire to alight. the prince stopped, and having put her down, dismounted himself, and went near the building, leading his horse after him. but you may judge how much he was surprised, when he heard the pretended lady utter these words: "be glad, my children, i bring you a young man for your repast;" and other voices, which answered immediately, "where is he, for we are very hungry?" the prince heard enough to convince him of his danger. he perceived that the lady, who called herself the daughter of an indian king, was one of those savage demons, called gholes, who live in desolated places, and employ a thousand wiles to surprise passengers, whom they afterwards devour. the prince instantly remounted his horse, and luckily escaped. the pretended princess appeared that very moment, and perceiving she had missed her prey, exclaimed, "fear nothing, prince: who are you? whom do you seek?" "i have lost my way," replied he, "and am endeavouring to find it." "if you have lost your way," said she, "recommend yourself to god, he will deliver you out of your perplexity." after the counterfeit indian princess had bidden the young prince recommend himself to god, he could not believe she spoke sincerely, but thought herself sure of him; and therefore lifting up his hands to heaven, said, "almighty lord, cast shine eyes upon me, and deliver me from this enemy." after this prayer, the ghole entered the ruins again, and the prince rode off with all possible haste. he happily found his way, and arrived safe at the court of his father, to whom he gave a particular account of the danger he had been in through the vizier's neglect: upon which the king, being incensed against that minister, ordered him to be immediately strangled. "sir," continued the grecian king's vizier, "to return to the physician douban, if you do not take care, the confidence you put in him will be fatal to you; i am very well assured that he is a spy sent by your enemies to attempt your majesty's life. he has cured you, you will say: but alas! who can assure you of that? he has perhaps cured you only in appearance, and not radically; who knows but the medicine he has given you, may in time have pernicious effects?" the grecian king was not able to discover the wicked design of his vizier, nor had he firmness enough to persist in his first opinion. this discourse staggered him: "vizier," said he, "thou art in the right; he may be come on purpose to take away my life, which he may easily do by the smell of his drugs." when the vizier found the king in such a temper as he wished, "sir," said he, "the surest and speediest method you can take to secure your life, is to send immediately for the physician douban, and order his head to be struck off." "in truth," said the king, "i believe that is the way we must take to frustrate his design." when he had spoken thus, he called for one of his officers, and ordered him to go for the physician; who, knowing nothing of the king's purpose, came to the palace in haste. "knowest thou," said the king, when he saw him, "why i sent for thee?" "no, sir," answered he; "i wait till your majesty be pleased to inform me." "i sent for thee," replied the king, "to rid myself of thee, by taking away thy life." no man can express the surprise of the physician, when he heard the sentence of death pronounced against him. "sir," said he, "why would your majesty take my life? what crime have i committed?" "i am informed," replied the king, "that you came to my court only to attempt my life; but to prevent you, i will be sure of yours. give the blow," said he to the executioner, who was present, "and deliver me from a perfidious wretch, who came hither on purpose to assassinate me." when the physician heard this cruel order, he readily judged that the honours and presents he had received from the king had procured him enemies, and that the weak prince was imposed on. he repented that he had cured him of his leprosy; but it was now too late. "is it thus," asked the physician, "that you reward me for curing you?" the king would not hearken to him, but a second time ordered the executioner to strike the fatal blow. the physician then had recourse to his prayers; "alas, sir," cried he, "prolong my days, and god will prolong yours; do not put me to death, lest god treat you in the same manner." the fisherman broke off his discourse here, to apply it to the genie. "well, genie," said he, "you see that what passed betwixt the grecian king and his physician douban is acted just now by us." the grecian king, continued he, instead of having regard to the prayers of the physician, who begged him to spare his life, cruelly replied, "no, no; i must of necessity cut you off, otherwise you may assassinate with as much art as you cured me." the physician, without bewailing himself for being so ill rewarded by the king, prepared for death. the executioner tied his hands, and was going to draw his cimeter. the courtiers who were present, being moved with compassion, begged the king to pardon him, assuring his majesty that he was not guilty of the crime laid to his charge, and that they would answer for his innocence: but the king was inflexible. the physician being on his knees, his eyes tied up, and ready to receive the fatal blow, addressed himself once more to the king: "sir," said he, "since your majesty will not revoke the sentence of death, i beg, at least, that you would give me leave to return to my house, to give orders about my burial, to bid farewell to my family, to give alms, and to bequeath my books to those who are capable of making good use of them. i have one particularly i would present to your majesty; it is a very precious book, and worthy of being laid up carefully in your treasury." "what is it," demanded the king, "that makes it so valuable?" "sir," replied the physician, "it possesses many singular and curious properties; of which the chief is, that if your majesty will give yourself the trouble to open it at the sixth leaf, and read the third line of the left page, my head, after being cut off, will answer all the questions you ask it." the king being curious, deferred his death till next day, and sent him home under a strong guard. the physician, during that time, put his affairs in order; and the report being spread, that an unheard of prodigy was to happen after his death, the viziers, emirs, officers of the guard, and, in a word, the whole court, repaired next day to the hall of audience, that they might be witnesses of it. the physician douban was brought in, and advancing to the foot of the throne, with a book in his hand, he called for a basin, and laid upon it the cover in which the book was wrapped; then presenting the book to the king, "take this," said he, "and after my head is cut off, order that it be put into the basin upon that cover; as soon as it is placed there, the blood will stop; then open the book, and my head will answer your questions. but permit me once more to implore your majesty's clemency; for god's sake grant my request, i protest to you that i am innocent." "your prayers," answered the king, "are in vain; and were it for nothing but to hear your head speak after your death, it is my will you should die." as he said this, he took the book out of the physician's hand, and ordered the executioner to do his duty. the head was so dexterously cut off that it fell into the basin, and was no sooner laid upon the cover of the book than the blood stopped; then to the great surprise of the king, and all the spectators, its eyes, and said, "sir, will your majesty be pleased to open the book?" the king proceeded to do so; but finding that the leaves adhered to each other, that he might turn them with more ease, he put his finger to his mouth, and wetted it with spittle. he did thus till he came to the sixth leaf, and finding no writing on the place where he was desired to look for it, "physician," said he, "there is nothing written." "turn over some more leaves," replied the head. the king went on, putting always his finger to his mouth, until the poison with which each leaf was imbued, coming to have its effect, the prince found himself suddenly taken with an extraordinary fit, his eye-sight failed, and he fell down at the foot of the throne in violent convulsions. when the physician douban, or rather his head, saw that the poison had taken effect, and that the king had but a few moments to live; "tyrant," it cried, "now you see how princes are treated, who, abusing their authority, cut off innocent men: god punishes soon or late their injustice and cruelty." scarcely had the head spoken these words, when the king fell down dead, and the head itself lost what life it had. as soon as the fisherman had concluded the history of the greek king and his physician douban, he made the application to the genie, whom he still kept shut up in the vessel. "if the grecian king," said he, "had suffered the physician to live, god would have continued his life also; but he rejected his most humble prayers, and the case is the same with thee, o genie! could i have prevailed with thee to grant me the favour i supplicated, i should now take pity on thee; but since, notwithstanding the extreme obligation thou west under to me, for having set thee at liberty, thou didst persist in thy design to kill me, i am obliged, in my turn, to be equally hard-hearted to thee." "my good friend fisherman," replied the genie, "i conjure thee once more, not to be guilty of such cruelty; consider, that it is not good to avenge one's self, and that on the other hand, it is commendable to do good for evil; do not treat me as imama formerly treated ateca." "and what did imama to ateca?" enquired the fisherman. "ho!" says the genie, "if you have a mind to be informed, open the vessel: do you think that i can be in an humour to relate stories in so strait a prison? i will tell you as many as you please, when you have let me out." "no," said the fisherman, "i will not let thee out; it is in vain to talk of it; i am just going to throw thee into the bottom of the sea." "hear me one word more," cried the genie; "i promise to do thee no hurt; nay, far from that, i will shew thee a way to become exceedingly rich." the hope of delivering himself from poverty, prevailed with the fisherman. "i could listen to thee," said he, "were there any credit to be given to thy word; swear to me by the great name of god, that you will faithfully perform what you promise, and i will open the vessel; i do not believe you will dare to break such an oath." the genie swore to him, upon which the fisherman immediately took off the covering of the vessel. at that instant the smoke ascended, and the genie having resumed his form, the first thing he did was to kick the vessel into the sea. this action alarmed the fisherman. "genie," said he, "will not you keep the oath you just now made? and must i say to you, as the physician douban said to the grecian king, suffer me to live, and god will prolong your days." the genie laughed at the fisherman's fear, and answered, "no, fisherman, be not afraid, i only did it to divert myself, and to see if thou wouldst be alarmed at it: but to convince thee that i am in earnest, take thy nets and follow me." as he spoke these words, he walked before the fisherman, who having taken up his nets, followed him, but with some distrust. they passed by the town, and came to the top of a mountain, from whence they descended into a vast plain, which brought them to a lake, that lay betwixt four hills. when they reached the side of the lake, the genie said to the fisherman, "cast in thy nets, and catch fish; "the fisherman did not doubt of taking some, because he saw a great number in the water; but he was extremely surprised, when he found they were of four colours, that is to say, white, red, blue, and yellow. he threw in his nets, and brought out one of each colour. having never seen the like before, he could not but admire them, and judging that he might get a considerable sum for them, he was very joyful. "carry those fish," said the genie to him, "and present them to thy sultan; he will give thee more money for them. thou mayest come every day to fish in this lake; but i give thee warning not to throw in thy nets above once a day, otherwise thou wilt repent." having spoken thus, he struck his foot upon the ground, which opened, and after it had swallowed him up closed again. the fisherman being resolved to follow the genie's advice, forbore casting in his nets a second time; and returned to the town very well satisfied; and making a thousand reflections upon his adventure. he went immediately to the sultan's palace, to offer his fish. the sultan was much surprised, when he saw the four fish which the fisherman presented. he took them up one after another, and viewed them with attention; and after having admired them a long time, "take those fish," said he to his vizier, "and carry them to the cook, whom the emperor of the greeks has sent me. i cannot imagine but that they must be as good as they are beautiful." the vizier, carried them as he was directed, and delivering them to the cook, said, "here are four fish just brought to the sultan; he orders you to dress them:" he then returned to the sultan his master, who ordered him to give the fisherman four hundred pieces of gold of the coin of that country, which he did accordingly. the fisherman, who had never seen so much money, could scarcely believe his good fortune, but thought the whole must be a dream, until he found it otherwise, by being able to provide necessaries for his family with the produce of his fish. as soon as the sultan's cook had gutted the fish, she put them upon the fire in a frying-pan, with oil, and when she thought them fried enough on one side, she turned them upon the other; but, o monstrous prodigy! scarcely were they turned, when the wall of the kitchen divided, and a young lady of wonderful beauty entered from the opening. she was clad in flowered satin, after the egyptian manner, with pendants in her ears, a necklace of large pearls, and bracelets of gold set with rubies, with a rod in her hand. she moved towards the frying-pan, to the great amazement of the cook, who continued fixed by the sight, and striking one of the fish with the end of the rod, said, "fish, fish, are you in duty?" the fish having answered nothing, she repeated these words, and then the four fish lifted up their heads, and replied, "yes, yes: if you reckon, we reckon; if you pay your debts, we pay ours; if you fly, we overcome, and are content." as soon as they had finished these words, the lady overturned the frying-pan, and returned into the open part of the wall, which closed immediately, and became as it was before. the cook was greatly frightened at what had happened, and coming a little to herself, went to take up the fish that had fallen on the hearth, but found them blacker than coal, and not fit to be carried to the sultan. this grievously troubled her, and she fell to weeping most bitterly. "alas!" said she, "what will become of me? if i tell the sultan what i have seen, i am sure he will not believe me, but will be enraged against me." while she was thus bewailing herself, the grand vizier entered, and asked her if the fish were ready? she told him all that had occurred, which we may easily imagine astonished him; but without speaking a word of it to the sultan, he invented an excuse that satisfied him, and sending immediately for the fisherman, bid him bring four more such fish, for a misfortune had befallen the others, so that they were not fit to be carried to the sultan. the fisherman, without saying any thing of what the genie had told him, in order to excuse himself from bringing them that day, told the vizier, he had a great way to go for them, but would certainly bring them on the morrow. accordingly the fisherman went away by night, and coming to the lake, threw in his nets betimes next morning, took four fish like the former, and brought them to the vizier, at the hour appointed. the minister took them himself, carried them to the kitchen, and shutting himself up with the cook, she gutted them, and put them on the fire, as she had done the four others the day before. when they were fried on one side, and she had turned them upon the other, the kitchen wall again opened, and the same lady came in with the rod in her hand, struck one of the fish, spoke to it as before, and all four gave her the same answer. after the four fish had answered the young lady, she overturned the frying-pan with her rod, and retired into the wall. the grand vizier, being witness to what had passed: "this is too wonderful and extraordinary," said he, "to be concealed from the sultan; i will inform him of this prodigy." the sultan, being much surprised, sent immediately for the fisherman, and said to him, "friend, cannot you bring me four more such fish?" the fisherman replied, "if your majesty will be pleased to allow me three days, i will do it." having obtained his time, he went to the lake immediately, and at the first throwing in of his net, he caught four fish, and brought them directly to the sultan; who was so much the more rejoiced, as he did not expect them so soon, and ordered him four hundred pieces of gold. as soon as the sultan had the fish, he ordered them to be carried into his closet, with all that was necessary for frying them; and having shut himself up with the vizier, the minister gutted them, put them into the pan, and when they were fried on one side, turned them upon the other; then the wall of the closet opened, but instead of the young lady, there came out a black, in the habit of a slave, and of a gigantic stature, with a great green staff in his hand. he advanced towards the pan, and touching one of the fish with his staff, said with a terrible voice, "fish, are you in your duty?" at these words, the fish raised up their heads, and answered, "yes, yes; we are: if you reckon, we reckon; if you pay your debts, we pay ours; if you fly, we overcome, and are content." the fish had no sooner finished these words, than the black threw the pan into the middle of the closet, and reduced the fish to a coal. having done this, he retired fiercely, and entering again into the aperture, it closed, and the wall appeared just as it did before. "after what i have seen," said the sultan to the vizier, "it will not be possible for me to be easy: these fish, without doubt, signify something extraordinary." he sent for the fisherman, and when he came, said to him, "fisherman, the fish you have brought us, make me very uneasy; where did you catch them?" "sir," answered he, "i fished for them in a lake situated betwixt four hills, beyond the mountain that we see from hence." "knowst thou not that lake?" said the sultan to the vizier. "no," replied the vizier. "i never so much as heard of it, although i have for sixty years hunted beyond that mountain." the sultan asked the fisherman, how far the lake might be from the palace? the fisherman answered, it was not above three hours journey; upon this assurance, the sultan commanded all his court to take horse, and the fisherman served them for a guide. they all ascended the mountain, and at the foot of it they saw, to their great surprise, a vast plain, that nobody had observed till then, and at last they came to the lake, which they found to be situated betwixt four hills as the fisherman had described. the water was so transparent, that they observed all the fish to be like those which the fisherman had brought to the palace. the sultan stood upon the bank of the lake, and after beholding the fish with admiration, demanded of his courtiers, if it were possible they had never seen this lake, which was within so short a distance of the town. they all answered, that they had never so much as heard of it. "since you all agree that you never heard of it, and as i am no less astonished than you are, at this novelty, i am resolved not to return to my palace till i learn how this lake came here, and why all the fish in it are of four colours." having spoken thus, he ordered his court to encamp; and immediately his pavilion and the tents of his household were planted upon the banks of the lake. when night came, the sultan retired under his pavilion, and spoke to the grand vizier. thus: "vizier, my mind is uneasy: this lake transported hither; the black that appeared to us in my closet, and the fish that we heard speak; all these things so much excite my curiosity, that i cannot resist my impatient desire to have it satisfied. to this end, i am resolved to withdraw alone from the camp, and i order you to keep my absence secret: stay in my pavilion, and to-morrow morning, when the emirs and courtiers come to attend my levee, send them away, and tell them, that i am somewhat indisposed, and wish to be alone; and the following days tell them the same thing, till i return." the grand vizier. endeavoured to divert the sultan from this design; he represented to him the danger to which he might be exposed, and that all his labour might perhaps be in vain: but it was to no purpose; the sultan was resolved. he put on a suit fit for walking, and took his cimeter; and as soon as he found that all was quiet in the camp, went out alone, and passed over one of the hills without much difficulty; he found the descent still more easy, and when he came to the plain, walked on till the sun arose, and then he saw before him, at a considerable distance, a vast building. he rejoiced at the sight, in hopes of receiving there the information he sought. when he drew near, he found it was a magnificent palace, or rather a strong castle, of black polished marble, and covered with fine steel, as smooth as glass. being highly pleased that he had so speedily met with something worthy his curiosity, he stopped before the front of the castle, and considered it with attention. he then advanced towards the gate, which had two leaves, one of them open; though he might immediately have entered, yet he thought it best to knock. this he did at first softly, and waited for some time; but seeing no one, and supposing he had not been heard, he knocked harder the second time, and after that he knocked again and again, but no one yet appearing, he was exceedingly surprised; for he could not think that a castle in such repair was without inhabitants. "if there be no one in it," said he to himself, "i have nothing to fear; and if it be inhabited, i have wherewith to defend myself." at last he entered, and when he came within the porch, he cried, "is there no one here to receive a stranger, who comes in for some refreshment as he passes by?" he repeated the same words two or three times; but though he spoke very loud, he was not answered. the silence increased his astonishment: he came into a spacious court, and looked on every side for inhabitants, but discovered none. the sultan entered the grand halls, which were hung with silk tapestry, the alcoves and sofas were covered with stuffs of mecca, and the porches with the richest stuffs of india, mixed with gold and silver. he came afterwards into a superb saloon, in the middle of which was a fountain, with a lion of massy gold at each angle: water issued from the mouths of the four lions; and as it fell, formed diamonds and pearls, resembling a jet d'eau, which springing from the middle of the fountain, rose nearly to the top of a cupola painted in arabesque. the castle, on three sides, was encompassed by a garden, with parterres of flowers, shrubbery, and whatever could concur to embellish it; and to complete the beauty of the place, an infinite number of birds filled the air with their harmonious notes, and always remained there, nets being spread over the garden, and fastened to the palace to confine them. the sultan walked from apartment to apartment, where he found every thing rich and magnificent. being tired with walking, he sat down in a verandah or arcade closet, which had a view over the garden, reflecting what he had already seen, and then beheld: when suddenly he heard the voice of one complaining, in lamentable tones. he listened with attention, and heard distinctly these words: "o fortune! thou who wouldst not suffer me longer to enjoy a happy lot, forbear to persecute me, and by a speedy death put an end to my sorrows. alas! is it possible that i am still alive, after so many torments as i have suffered!" the sultan rose up, advanced toward the place whence he heard the voice; and coming to the door of a great hall, opened it, and saw a handsome young man, richly habited, seated upon a throne raised a little above the ground. melancholy was painted on his countenance. the sultan drew near, and saluted him; the young man returned his salutation by an inclination of his head, not being able to rise, at the same time saying, "my lord, i should rise to receive you; but am hindered by sad necessity, and therefore hope you will not be offended." "my lord," replied the sultan, "i am much obliged to you for having so good an opinion of me: as to the reason of your not rising, whatever your apology be, i heartily accept it. being drawn hither by your complaints, and afflicted by your grief, i come to offer you my help; would to god that it lay in my power to ease you of your trouble! i would do my utmost to effect it. i flatter myself that you will relate to me the history of your misfortunes; but inform me first of the meaning of the lake near the palace, where the fish are of four colours? whose this castle is? how you came to be here? and why you are alone?" instead of answering these questions, the young man began to weep bitterly. "how inconstant is fortune!" cried he; "she takes pleasure to pull down those she had raised. where are they who enjoy quietly the happiness which they hold of her, and whose day is always clear and serene?" the sultan, moved with compassion to see him in such a condition, prayed him to relate the cause of his excessive grief. "alas! my lord," replied the young man, "how is it possible but i should grieve, and my eyes be inexhaustible fountains of tears?" at these words, lifting up his robe, he shewed the sultan that he was a man only from the head to the girdle, and that the other half of his body was black marble. the sultan was much surprised, when he saw the deplorable condition of the young man. "that which you shew me," said he, "while it fills me with horror, excites my curiosity, so that i am impatient to hear your history, which, no doubt, must be extraordinary, and i am persuaded that the lake and the fish make some part of it; therefore i conjure you to relate it. you will find some comfort in so doing, since it is certain, that the unfortunate find relief in making known their distress." "i will not refuse your request," replied the young man, "though i cannot comply without renewing my grief. but i give you notice before hand, to prepare your ears, your mind, and even your eyes, for things which surpass all that the imagination can conceive." the history of the young king of the black isles. you must know that my father, named mahmoud, was king of this country. this is the kingdom of the black isles, which takes its name from the four small neighbouring mountains; for these mountains were formerly isles: the capital where the king my father resided was situated on the spot now occupied by the lake you have seen. the sequel of my history will inform you of those changes. the king my father died when he was seventy years of age; i had no sooner succeeded him, than i married, and the lady i chose to share the royal dignity with me, was my cousin. i had so much reason to be satisfied with her affection, and, on my part, loved her with so much tenderness, that nothing could surpass the harmony and pleasure of our union. this lasted five years, at the end of which time, i perceived the queen, my cousin, ceased to delight in my attentions. one day, after dinner, while she was at the bath, i found myself inclined to repose and lay down upon a sofa. two of her ladies, who were then in my chamber, came and sat down, one at my head, and the other at my feet, with fans in their hands to moderate the heat, and to prevent the flies from disturbing me. they thought i was asleep, and spoke in whispers; but as i only closed my eyes, i heard all their conversation. one of them said to the other, "is not the queen wrong, not to love so amiable a prince?" "certainly," replied the other; "i do not understand the reason, neither can i conceive why she goes out every night, and leaves him alone!" "is it possible that he does not perceive it?" "alas!" said the first, "how should he? she mixes every evening in his liquor, the juice of a certain herb, which makes him sleep so sound all night, that she has time to go where she pleases, and as day begins to appear, she comes and lies down by him again, and wakes him by the smell of something she puts under his nostrils." you may guess, my lord, how much i was surprised at this conversation, and with what sentiments it inspired me; yet, whatever emotion it excited, i had sufficient self-command to dissemble, and feigned to awake without having heard a word. the queen returned from the bath, we supped together and she presented me with a cup full of such water as i was accustomed to drink; but instead of putting it to my mouth, i went to a window that was open, and threw out the water so quickly, that she did not perceive it, and returned. we went to bed together, and soon after, believing that i was asleep, she got up with so little precaution, that she said loud enough for me to hear her distinctly, "sleep on, and may you never wake again!" she dressed herself, and went out of the chamber. as soon as the queen my wife was gone, i dressed myself in haste, took my cimeter, and followed her so quickly, that i soon heard the sound of her feet before me, and then walked softly after her, for fear of being heard. she passed through several gates, which opened upon her pronouncing some magical words, and the last she opened was that of the garden, which she entered. i stopt at this gate, that she might not perceive me, as she passed along a parterre; then looking after her as far as the darkness of the night permitted, i saw her enter a little wood, whose walks were guarded by thick palisadoes. i went thither by another way, and concealing myself behind the palisadoes of a long walk, i saw her walking there with a man. i did not fail to lend the most attentive ear to their discourse, and heard her address herself thus to her gallant: "i do not deserve to be reproached by you for want of diligence. you well know the reason; but if all the proofs of affection i have already given you be not sufficient to convince you of my sincerity, i am ready to give you others more decisive: you need but command me, you know my power; i will, if you desire it, before sun-rise convert this great city, and this superb palace, into frightful ruins, inhabited only by wolves, owls, and revens. if you would have me transport all the stones of those walls so solidly built, beyond mount caucasus, or the bounds of the habitable world, speak but the word, and all shall be changed." as the queen finished these words she and her lover came to the end of the walk, turned to enter another, and passed before me. i had already drawn my cimeter, and her lover being next me, i struck him on the neck, and brought him to the ground. i concluded i had killed him, and therefore retired speedily without making myself known to the queen, whom i chose to spare, because she was my kinswoman. the wound i had given her lover was mortal; but by her enchantments she preserved him in an existence in which he could not be said to be either dead or alive. as i crossed the garden to return to the palace, i heard the queen loudly lamenting, and judging by her cries how much she was grieved, i was pleased that i had spared her life. as soon as i had reached my apartment, i went to bed, and being satisfied with having punished the villain who had injured me, fell asleep; and when i awoke next morning, found the queen lying. i cannot tell you whether she slept or not; but i arose, went to my closet, and dressed myself. i afterwards held my council. at my return, the queen, clad in mourning, her hair dishevelled, and part of it torn off, presented herself before me, and said; "i come to beg your majesty not to be surprised to see me in this condition. my heavy affliction is occasioned by intelligence of three distressing events which i have just received." "alas! what are they, madam?" said i. "the death of the queen my dear mother," she replied, "that of the king my father killed in battle, and of one of my brothers, who has fallen down a precipice." i was not displeased that she used this pretext to conceal the true cause of her grief, and i concluded she had not suspected me of being the author of her lover's death. "madam," said i, "so far from blaming, i assure you i heartily commiserate your sorrow. i should feel surprise if you were insensible to such heavy calamities: weep on; your tears are so many proofs of your tenderness; but i hope that time and reflection will moderate your grief." she retired into her apartment, where, giving herself wholly up to sorrow, she spent a whole year in mourning and lamentation. at the end of that period, she begged permission to erect a burying place for herself, within the bounds of the palace, where she would continue, she told me, to the end of her days: i consented, and she built a stately edifice, crowned by a cupola, which may be seen from hence, and called it the palace of tears. when it was finished, she caused her lover to be conveyed thither, from the place to which she had caused him to be carried the night i wounded him: she had hitherto prevented his dying, by potions which she had administered to him; and she continued to convey them to him herself every day after he came to the palace of tears. yet, with all her enchantments, she could not cure him; he was not only unable to walk or support himself, but had also lost the use of his speech, and exhibited no sign of life except in his looks. though the queen had no other consolation but to see him, and to say to him all that her senseless passion could inspire, yet every day she made him two long visits. i was well apprised of this, but pretended ignorance. one day my curiosity induced me to go to the palace of tears, to observe how the princess employed herself, and from a place where she could not see me, i heard her thus address her lover: "i am afflicted to the highest degree to behold you in this condition; i am as sensible as yourself of the tormenting pain you endure; but, dear soul, i am continually speaking to you, and you do not answer me: how long will you remain silent? speak only one word: alas! the sweetest moments of my life are these i spend here in partaking of your grief. i cannot live at a distance from you, and would prefer the pleasure of having you always before me, to the empire of the universe." at these words, which were several times interrupted by her sighs and sobs, i lost all patience: and discovering myself, came up to her, and said, "madam, you have wept enough, it is time to give over this sorrow, which dishonours both; you have too much forgotten what you owe to me and to yourself." "sire," said she, "if you have any kindness or compassion for me left, i beseech you to put no restraint upon me; allow me to indulge my grief, which it is impossible for time to assuage." when i perceived that my remonstrance, instead of restoring her to a sense of duty, served only to increase her anguish, i gave over and retired. she continued every day to visit her lover, and for two whole years abandoned herself to grief and despair. i went a second time to the palace of tears, while she was there. i concealed myself again, and heard her thus address her lover: "it is now three years since you spoke one word to me; you answer not the proofs i give you of my love by my sighs and lamentations. is it from insensibility, or contempt? o tomb! hast thou destroyed that excess of affection which he bare me? hast thou closed those eyes that evinced so much love, and were all my delight? no, no, this i cannot think. tell me rather, by what miracle thou becamest the depositary of the rarest treasure the world ever contained." i must confess, my lord, i was enraged at these expressions; for, in truth, this beloved, this adored mortal, was by no means what you would imagine him to have been. he was a black indian, one of the original natives of this country. i was so enraged at the language addressed to him, that i discovered myself, and apostrophising the tomb in my turn; i cried, "o tomb! why dost not thou swallow up that monster so revolting to human nature, or rather why dost not thou swallow up both the lover and his mistress?" i had scarcely uttered these words, when the queen, who sat by the black, rose up like a fury. "miscreant!" said she "thou art the cause of my grief; do not think i am ignorant of this, i have dissembled too long. it was thy barbarous hand that brought the objets of my fondness into this lamentable condition; and thou hast the cruelty to come and insult a despairing lover." "yes," said i, in a rage, "it was i that chastised that monster, according to his desert; i ought to have treated thee in the same manner; i now repent that i did not; thou hast too long abused my goodness." as i spoke these words, i drew out my cimeter, and lifted up my hand to punish her; but regarding me stedfastly, she said with a jeering smile, "moderate thy anger." at the same time, she pronounced words i did not understand; and afterwards added, "by virtue of my enchantments, i command thee to become half marble and half man." immediately, my lord, i became what you see, a dead man among the living, and a living man among the dead. after the cruel sorceress, unworthy of the name of queen, had metamorphosed me thus, and brought me into this hall, by another enchantment she destroyed my capital, which was very flourishing and populous; she annihilated the houses, the public places and markets, and reduced the site of the whole to the lake and desert plain you have seen; the fishes of four colours in the lake are the four kinds of inhabitants of different religions, which the city contained. the white are the moosulmauns; the red, the persians, who worship fire; the blue, the christians and the yellow, the jews. the four little hills were the four islands that gave name to this kingdom. i learned all this from the enchantress, who, to add to my affliction, related to me these effects of her rage. but this is not all; her revenge not being satisfied with the destruction of my dominions, and the metamorphosis of my person, she comes every day, and gives me over my naked shoulders a hundred lashes with a whip until i am covered with blood. when she has finished this part of my punishment, she throws over me a coarse stuff of goat's hair, and over that this robe of brocade, not to honour, but to mock me. when he came to this part of the narrative, the young king could not restrain his tears; and the sultan was himself so affected by the relation, that he could not find utterance for any words of consolation. shortly after, the young king, lifting up his eyes to heaven, exclaimed, "mighty creator of all things, i submit myself to thy judgments, and to the decrees of thy providence: i endure my calamities with patience, since it is thy will things should be as they are; but i hope thy infinite goodness will ultimately reward me." the sultan, greatly moved by the recital of this affecting story, and anxious to avenge the sufferings of the unfortunate prince, said to him, "inform me whither this perfidious sorceress retires, and where may be found her vile paramour, who is entombed before his death." "my lord," replied the prince, "her lover, as i have already told you, is lodged in the palace of tears, in a superb tomb constructed in the form of a dome: this palace joins the castle on the side in which the gate is placed. as to the queen, i cannot tell you precisely whither she retires, but every day at sun-rise she goes to visit her paramour, after having executed her bloody vengeance upon me; and you see i am not in a condition to defend myself. she carries to him the potion with which she had hitherto prevented his dying, and always complains of his never having spoken to her since he was wounded." "prince," said the sultan, "your condition can never be sufficiently deplored: no one can be more sensibly affected by your misfortunes than i am. never did any thing so extraordinary befall any man, and those who write your history will have the advantage of relating what surpasses all that has hitherto been recorded. one thing only is wanting; the revenge to which you are entitled, and i will omit nothing in my power to effect it." in his subsequent conversation with the young prince, the sultan told him who he was, and for what purpose he had entered the castle; and afterwards informed him of a mode of revenge which he had devised. they agreed upon the measures they were to take for accomplishing their design, but deferred the execution of it till the following day. in the mean time, the night being far spent, the sultan took some rest; but the young prince passed the night as usual, without sleep, having never slept since he was enchanted, still indulging some hopes of being speedily delivered from his misery. next morning the sultan arose with the dawn, and prepared to execute his design, hiding his upper garment, which might encumber him; he then proceeded to the palace of tears. he found it lighted up with an infinite number of flambeaux of white wax, and perfumed by a delicious scent issuing from several censers of fine gold of admirable workmanship. as soon as he perceived the bed where the black lay, he drew his cimeter, and without resistance deprived him of his wretched life, dragged his corpse into the court of the castle, and threw it into a well. after this, he went and lay down in the black's bed, placed his cimeter under the covering, and waited to complete his design. the queen arrived shortly after. she first went into the chamber of her husband, the king of the black islands, stripped him, and with unexampled barbarity gave him a hundred stripes. the unfortunate prince filled the palace with his lamentations, and conjured her in the most affecting tone to take pity on him; but the cruel wretch ceased not till she had given the usual number of blows. "you had no compassion on my lover," said she, "and you are to expect none from me." after the enchantress had given the king, her husband, a hundred blows with the whip, she put on again his covering of goat's hair, and his brocade gown over all; she went afterwards to the palace of tears, and as she entered renewed her tears and lamentations: then approaching the bed, where she thought her paramour lay, "what cruelty," cried she, "was it to disturb the satisfaction so tender and passionate a lover as i am? o cruel prince, who reproachest me that i am inhuman, when i make thee feel the effects of my resentment! does not thy barbarity surpass my vengeance? traitor! in attempting the life of the object which i adore, hast thou not robbed me of mine? alas!" said she, addressing herself to the sultan, conceiving him to be the black "my sun, my life, will you always be silent! are you resolved to let me die, without affording me the comfort of hearing again from your own lips that you love me? my soul, speak one word to me at least, i conjure you." the sultan, as if he had awaked out of a deep sleep, and counterfeiting the pronunciation of the blacks, answered the queen with a grave tone, "there is no strength or power but in god alone, who is almighty." at these words the enchantress, who did not expect them, uttered a loud exclamation of joy. "my dear lord," cried she, "do not i deceive myself; is it certain that i hear you, and that you speak to me?" "unhappy woman," said the sultan, "art thou worthy that i should answer thee?" "alas!" replied the queen, "why do you reproach me thus?" "the cries," returned the sultan, "the groans and tears of thy husband, whom thou treatest every day with so much indignity and barbarity, prevent my sleeping night or day. hadst thou disenchanted him, i should long since have been cured, and have recovered the use of my speech. this is the cause of my silence, of which you complain." "well," said the enchantress, "to pacify you, i am ready to execute your commands; would you have me restore him?" "yes," replied the sultan; "make haste to set him at liberty, that i be no longer disturbed by his lamentations." the enchantress went immediately out of the palace of tears; she took a cup of water, and pronounced some words over it, which caused it to boil, as if it had been on the fire. she afterwards proceeded to the young king her husband, and threw the water upon him, saying, "if the creator of all things did form thee as thou art at present; or if he be angry with thee, do not change; but if thou art in that condition merely by virtue of my enchantments, resume thy natural shape, and become what thou west before." she had scarcely spoken these words, when the prince, finding himself restored to his former condition, rose up and returned thanks to god. the enchantress then said to him, "get thee from this castle, and never return on pain of death." the young king, yielding to necessity, went away from the enchantress, without replying a word; and retired to a remote place, where he patiently awaited the event of the design which the sultan had so happily begun. meanwhile, the enchantress returned to the palace of tears, and supposing that she still spoke to the black, said, "dear love, i have done what you required; nothing now prevents your rising and giving me the satisfaction of which i have so long been deprived." the sultan, still counterfeiting the pronunciation of the blacks, said, "what you have now done is by no means sufficient for my cure; you have only removed a part of the evil; you must cut it up by the root." "my lovely black," resumed the queen, "what do you mean by the root?" "wretched woman," replied the sultan, "understand you not that i allude to the town, and its inhabitants, and the four islands, destroyed by thy enchantments? the fish every night at midnight raise their heads out of the lake, and cry for vengeance against thee and me. this is the true cause of the delay of my cure. go speedily, restore things to their former state, and at thy return i will give thee my hand, and thou shalt help me to arise." the enchantress, inspired with hope from these words, cried out in a transport of joy, "my heart, my soul, you shall soon be restored to your health, for i will immediately do as you command me." accordingly she went that instant, and when she came to the brink of the lake, she took a little water in her hand, and sprinkling it, had no sooner pronounced some words over the fish and the lake, than the city was immediately restored. the fish became men, women, and children; mahummedans, christians, persians, or jews; freemen or slaves, as they were before: every one having recovered his natural form. the houses and shops were immediately filled with their inhabitants, who found all things as they were before the enchantment. the sultan's numerous retinue, who found themselves encamped in the largest square, were astonished to see themselves in an instant in the middle of a large, handsome, well-peopled city. to return to the enchantress: as soon as she had effected this wonderful change, she returned with all expedition to the palace of tears, that she might receive her reward. "my dear lord," cried she, as she entered, "i come to rejoice with you in the return of your health: i have done all that you required of me, then pray rise, and give me your hand." "come near," said the sultan, still counterfeiting the pronunciation of the blacks. she did so. "you are not near enough," he continued, "approach nearer." she obeyed. he then rose up, and seizing her by the arm so suddenly, that she had not time to discover him, he with a blow of his cimeter cut her in two, so that one half fell one way and the other another. this done he left the body on the spot, and going out of the palace of tears, went to seek the young king of the black isles, who waited for him with great impatience. when he found him, "prince," said he, embracing him, "rejoice; you have now nothing to fear; your cruel enemy is dead." the young prince returned thanks to the sultan in a manner that sufficiently the sincerity of his gratitude, and in return wished him long life and happiness. "you may henceforward," said the sultan, "dwell peaceably in your capital, unless you will accompany me to mine, which is near: you shall there be welcome, and have as much honour and respect shown you as if you were in your own kingdom." "potent monarch, to whom i am so much indebted," replied the king, "you think then that you are near your capital?" "yes," said the sultan, "i know it is not above four or five hours' journey." "it will take you a whole year to return," said the prince "i do indeed believe that you came hither from your capital in the time you mention, because mine was enchanted; but since the enchantment is taken off, things are changed: however, this shall not prevent my following you, were it to the utmost corners of the earth. you are my deliverer, and that i may give you proofs of my acknowledging this during my whole life, i am willing to accompany you, and to leave my kingdom without regret." the sultan was extremely surprised to understand that he was so far from his dominions, and could not imagine how it could be. but the young king of the black islands convinced him beyond a possibility of doubt. then the sultan replied, "it is no matter; the trouble of returning to my own country is sufficiently recompensed by the satisfaction of having obliged you, and by acquiring you for a son; for since you will do me the honour to accompany me, as i have no child, i look upon you as such, and from this moment appoint you my heir and successor." the conversation between the sultan and the king of the black islands concluded with most affectionate embraces, after which the young prince employed himself in making preparations for his journey, which were finished in three weeks, to the great regret of his court and subjects, who agreed to receive at his hands one of his nearest kindred for their monarch. at length, the sultan and the young prince began their journey, with a hundred camels laden with inestimable riches from the treasury of the young king, followed by fifty handsome gentlemen on horseback, perfectly well mounted and dressed they had a pleasant journey; and when the sultan, who had sent couriers to give advice of his delay, and of the adventure which had occasioned it, approached his capital, the principal officers came to receive him, and to assure him that his long absence had occasioned no alteration in his empire. the inhabitants also came out in great crowds, received him with acclamations, and made public rejoicings for several days. the day after his arrival the sultan gave all his courtiers a very ample account of the circumstances, which, contrary to his expectation, had detained him so long. he acquainted them with his having adopted the king of the four black islands, who was willing to leave a great kingdom, to accompany and live with him; and, in reward for their loyalty, he made each of them presents according to their rank. as for the fisherman, as he was the first cause of the deliverance of the young prince, the sultan gave him a plentiful fortune, which made him and his family happy the rest of their days. story of the three calenders, sons of sultans; and of the five ladies of bagdad. in the reign of caliph haroon al rusheed, there was at bagdad, a porter, who, notwithstanding his mean and laborious business, was a fellow of wit and good humour. one morning as he was at the place where he usually plyed, with a great basket, waiting for employment, a handsome young lady, covered with a great muslin veil, accosted him, and said with a pleasant air, "hark you, porter, take your basket and follow me." the porter, charmed with these words, pronounced in so agreeable a manner, took his basket immediately, set it on his head, and followed the lady, exclaiming, "o happy day, o day of good luck!" in a short time the lady stopped before a gate that was shut, and knocked: a christian, with a venerable long white beard, opened it; and she put money into his hand, without speaking; but the christian, who knew what she wanted, went in, and in a little time, brought a large jug of excellent wine. "take this jug," said the lady to the porter, "and put it in your basket." this being done, she commanded him to follow her; and as she proceeded, the porter continued his exclamation, "o happy day! this is a day of agreeable surprise and joy." the lady stopped at a fruit-shop, where she bought several sorts of apples, apricots, peaches, quinces, lemons, citrons, oranges; myrtles, sweet basil, lilies, jessamin, and some other flowers and fragrant plants; she bid the porter put all into his basket, and follow her. as she went by a butcher's stall, she made him weigh her twenty five pounds of his best meat, which she ordered the porter to put also into his basket. at another shop, she took capers, tarragon, cucumbers, sassafras, and other herbs, preserved in vinegar: at another, she bought pistachios, walnuts, filberts, almonds, kernels of pine-apples, and such other fruits; and at another, all sorts of confectionery. when the porter had put all these things into his basket, and perceived that it grew full, "my good lady," said he, "you ought to have given me notice that you had so much provision to carry, and then i would have brought a horse, or rather a camel, for the purpose; for if you buy ever so little more, i shall not be able to bear it." the lady laughed at the fellow's pleasant humour, and ordered him still to follow her. she then went to a druggist, where she furnished herself with all manner of sweet-scented waters, cloves, musk, pepper, ginger, and a great piece of ambergris, and several other indian spices; this quite filled the porter's basket, and she ordered him to follow her. they walked till they came to a magnificent house, whose front was adorned with fine columns, and had a gate of ivory. there they stopped, and the lady knocked softly. while the young lady and the porter waited for the opening of the gate, the porter made a thousand reflections. he wondered that such a fine lady should come abroad to buy provisions; he concluded she could not be a slave, her air was too noble, and therefore he thought she must needs be a woman of quality. just as he was about to ask her some questions upon this head, another lady came to open the gate, and appeared to him so beautiful, that he was perfectly surprised, or rather so much struck with her charms, that he had nearly suffered his basket to fall, for he had never seen any beauty that equalled her. the lady who brought the porter with her, perceiving his disorder, and knowing the cause, was greatly diverted, and took so much pleasure in watching his looks, that she forgot the gate was opened. "pray, sister," said the beautiful portress, "come in, what do you stay for? do not you see this poor man so heavy laden, that he is scarcely able to stand," when she entered with the porter, the lady who had opened the gate shut it, and all three, after having passed through a splendid vestibule, entered a spacious court, encompassed with an open gallery, which had a communication with several apartments of extraordinary magnificence. at the farther end of the court there was a platform, richly furnished, with a throne of amber in the middle, supported by four columns of ebony, enriched with diamonds and pearls of an extraordinary size, and covered with red satin embroidered with indian gold of admirable workmanship. in the middle of the court there was a fountain, faced with white marble, and full of clear water, which was copiously supplied out of the mouth of a lion of brass. the porter, though heavy laden, could not but admire the magnificence of this house, and the excellent order in which every thing was placed; but what particularly captivated his attention, was a third lady, who seemed to be more beautiful than the second, and was seated upon the throne just mentioned; she descended as soon as she saw the two others, and advanced towards them: he judged by the respect which the other ladies showed her, that she was the chief, in which he was not mistaken. this lady was called zobeide, she who opened the gate safie, and she who went to buy the provisions was named amene. zobeide said to the two ladies, when she came to them, "sisters, do not you see that this honest man is ready to sink under his burden, why do not you ease him of it?" then amene and safie took the basket, the one before and the other behind; zobeide also assisted, and all three together set it on the ground; then emptied it; and when they had done, the beautiful amene took out money, and paid the porter liberally. the porter was well satisfied with the money he had received; but when he ought to have departed, he could not summon sufficient resolution for the purpose. he was chained to the spot by the pleasure of beholding three such beauties, who appeared to him equally charming; for amene having now laid aside her veil, proved to be as handsome as either of the others. what surprised him most was, that he saw no man about the house, yet most of the provisions he had brought in, as the dry fruits, and the several sorts of cakes and confections, were adapted chiefly for those who could drink and make merry. zobeide thought at first, that the porter staid only to take breath, but perceiving that he remained too long, "what do you wait for," said she, "are you not sufficiently paid?" and turning to amene. she continued, "sister, give him something more, that he may depart satisfied." "madam," replied the porter, "it is not that which detains me, i am already more than paid for my services; i am sensible that i act rudely in staying longer than i ought, but i hope you will the goodness to pardon me, when i tell you, that i am astonished not to see a man with three ladies of such extraordinary beauty: and you know that a company of women without men is as melancholy as a company of men without women." to this he added several other pleasant things, to prove what he said, and did not forget the bagdad proverb, "that the table is not completely furnished, except there be four in company:" and so concluded, that since they were but three, they wanted another. the ladies fell a laughing at the porter's reasoning; after which zobeide gravely addressed him, "friend, you presume rather too much; and though you do not deserve that i should enter into any explanation with you, i have no objection to inform you that we are three sisters, who transact our affairs with so much secrecy that no one knows any thing of them. we have but too much reason to be cautious of acquainting indiscreet persons with our counsel; and a good author that we have read, says, �keep thy own secret, and do not reveal it to any one. he that makes his secret known it no longer its master. if thy own breast cannot keep thy counsel, how canst thou expect the breast of another to be more faithful?'" "my ladies," replied the porter, "by your very air, i judged at first that you were persons of extraordinary merit, and i conceive that i am not mistaken. though fortune has not given me wealth enough to raise me above my mean profession, yet i have not omitted to cultivate my mind as much as i could, by reading books of science and history; and allow me, i beseech you, to say, that i have also read in another author a maxim which i have always happily followed: �we conceal our secret from such persons only as are known to all the world to want discretion, and would abuse our confidence; but we hesitate not to discover it to the prudent, because we know that with them it is safe.' a secret in my keeping is as secure as if it were locked up in a cabinet, the key of which is lost, and the door sealed up." zobeide perceiving that the porter was not deficient in wit, but thinking he wished to share in their festivity, answered him, smiling, "you know that we have been making preparations to regale ourselves, and that, as you have seen, at a considerable expense; it is not just that you should now partake of the entertainment without contributing to the cost." the beautiful safie seconded her sister, and said to the porter, "friend. have you never heard the common saying, �if you bring something with you, you shall carry something away, but if you bring nothing, you shall depart empty?'" the porter, notwithstanding his rhetoric, must, in all probability, have retired in confusion, if amene had not taken his part, and said to zobeide and safie, "my dear sisters, i conjure you to let him remain; i need not tell you that he will afford us some diversion, of this you perceive he is capable: i assure you, had it not been for his readiness, his alacrity, and courage to follow me, i could not have done so much business, in so short a time; besides, where i to repeat to you all the obliging expressions he addressed to me by the way, you would not feel surprised at my taking his part." at these words of amene, the porter was so transported with joy, that he fell on his knees, kissed the ground at her feet, and raising himself up, said, "most beautiful lady, you began my good fortune to-day, and now you complete it by this generous conduct; i cannot adequately express my acknowledgments. as to the rest, ladies," said he, addressing himself to all the three sisters, "since you do me so great an honour, do not think that i will abuse it, or look upon myself as deserving of the distinction. no, i shall always look upon myself as one of your most humble slaves." when he had spoken these words he would have returned the money he had received, but zobeide ordered him to keep it. "what we have once given," said she, "to reward those who have served us, we never take back. my friend, in consenting to your staying with us, i must forewarn you, that it is not the only condition we impose upon you that you keep inviolable the secret we may entrust to you, but we also require you to attend to the strictest rules of good manners." during this address, the charming amene put off the apparel she went abroad with, and fastened her robe to her girdle that she might act with the greater freedom; she then brought in several sorts of meat, wine, and cups of gold. soon after, the ladies took their places, and made the porter sit down by them, who was overjoyed to see himself seated with three such admirable beauties. after they had eaten a little, amene took a cup, poured some wine into it, and drank first herself; she then filled the cup to her sisters, who drank in course as they sat; and at last she filled it the fourth time for the porter, who, as he received it, kissed amene's hand; and before he drank, sung a song to this purpose. that as the wind bears with it the sweet scents of the purfumed places over which it passes, so the wine he was going to drink, coming from her fair hands, received a more exquisite flavour than it naturally possessed. the song pleased the ladies much, and each of them afterwards sung one in her turn. in short, they were all very pleasant during the repast, which lasted a considerable time, and nothing was wanting that could serve to render it agreeable. the day drawing to a close, safie spoke in the name of the three ladies, and said to the porter, "arise, it is time for you to depart." but the porter, not willing to leave good company, cried, "alas! ladies, whither do you command me to go in my present condition? what with drinking and your society, i am quite beside myself. i shall never find the way home; allow me this night to recover myself, in any place you please, but go when i will, i shall leave the best part of myself behind." amene pleaded the second time for the porter, saying, "sisters, he is right, i am pleased with the request, he having already diverted us so well; and, if you will take my advice, or if you love me as much as i think you do, let us keep him for the remainder of the night." "sister," answered zobeide, "we can refuse you nothing;" and then turning to the porter, said, "we are willing once more to grant your request, but upon this new condition, that, whatever we do in your presence relating either to ourselves or any thing else, you do not so much as open your mouth to ask the reason; for if you put any questions respecting what does not concern you, you may chance to hear what you will not like; beware therefore, and be not too inquisitive to pry into the motives of our actions. "madam," replied the porter, "i promise to abide by this condition, that you shall have no cause to complain, and far less to punish my indiscretion; my tongue shall be immovable on this occasion, and my eye like a looking-glass, which retains nothing of the objets that is set before it." "to shew you," said zobeide with a serious countenance, "that what we demand of you is not a new thing among us, read what is written over our gate on the inside." the porter went and read these words, written in large characters of gold: "he who speaks of things that do not concern him, shall hear things that will not please him." returning again to the three sisters, "ladies," said he, "i swear to you that you shall never hear me utter a word respecting what does not relate to me, or wherein you may have any concern." these preliminaries being settled, amene brought in supper, and after she had lighted up the room with tapers, made of aloe-wood and ambergris, which yield a most agreeable perfume, as well as a delicate light, she sat down with her sisters and the porter. they began again to eat and drink, to sing, and repeat verses. the ladies diverted themselves in intoxicating the porter, under pretext of making him drink their healths, and the repast was enlivened by reciprocal flashes of wit. when they were all in the best humour possible, they heard a knocking at the gate. when the ladies heard the knocking, they all three got up to open the gate; but safie was the nimblest; which her sisters perceiving, they resumed their seats. safie returning, said, "sisters, we have a very fine opportunity of passing a good part of the night pleasantly, and if you agree with me, you will not suffer it to go by. there are three calenders at our gate, at least they appear to be such by their habit; but what will surprise you is, they are all three blind of the right eye, and have their heads, beards, and eye-brows shaved. they say, they are but just come to bagdad, where they never were before; it being night, and not knowing where to find a lodging, they happened by chance to knock at this gate, and pray us, for the love of heaven, to have compassion on them, and receive them into the house. they care not what place we put them in, provided they may be under shelter; they would be satisfied with a stable. they are young and handsome, and seem not to want spirit. but i cannot without laughing think of their amusing and uniform figure." here safie laughed so heartily, that the two sisters and the porter could not refrain from laughing also. "my dear sisters," said she, "you will permit them to come in; it is impossible but that with such persons as i have described them to be, we shall finish the day better than we began it; they will afford us diversion enough, and put us to no charge, because they desire shelter only for this night, and resolve to leave us as soon as day appears." zobeide and amene made some difficulty to grant safie's request, for reasons which she herself well knew. but being very desirous to obtain this favour, they could not refuse her; "go then," said zobeide, "and bring them in, but do not forget to acquaint them that they must not speak of any thing which does not concern them, and cause them to read what is written over the gate." safie ran out with joy, and in a little time after returned with the three calenders. at their entrance they made a profound obeisance to the ladies, who rose up to receive them, and told them courteously that they were welcome, that they were glad of the opportunity to oblige them, and to contribute towards relieving the fatigues of their journey, and at last invited them to sit down with them. the magnificence of the place, and the civility they received, inspired the calenders with high respect for the ladies: but, before they sat down, having by chance cast their eyes upon the porter, whom they saw clad almost like those devotees with whom they have continual disputes respecting several points of discipline, because they never shave their beards nor eye-brows; one of them said, "i believe we have got here one of our revolted arabian brethren." the porter having his head warm with wine, took offence and with a fierce look, without stirring from his place, answered, "sit you down, and do not meddle with what does not concern you: have you not read the inscription over the gate? do not pretend to make people live after your fashion, but follow ours." "honest man," said the calender, "do not put yourself in a passion; we should be sorry to give you the least occasion; on the contrary, we are ready to receive your commands." upon which, to put an end to the dispute, the ladies interposed, and pacified them. when the calenders were seated, the ladies served them with meat; and safie, being highly pleased with them, did not let them want for wine. after the calenders had eaten and drunk liberally, they signified to the ladies, that they wished to entertain them with a concert of music, if they had any instruments in the house, and would cause them to be brought: they willingly accepted the proposal, and fair safie going to fetch them, returned again in a moment, and presented them with a flute of her own country fashion, another of the persian, and a tabor. each man took the instrument he liked, and all three together began to play a tune the ladies, who knew the words of a merry song that suited the air, joined the concert with their voices; but the words of the song made them now and then stop, and fall into excessive laughter. in the height of this diversion, when the company were in the midst of their jollity, a knocking was heard at the gate; safie left off singing, and went to see who it was. the caliph haroon al rusheed was frequently in the habit of walking abroad in disguise by night, that he might discover if every thing was quiet in the city, and see that no disorders were committed. this night the caliph went out on his rambles, accompanied by jaaffier his grand vizier, and mesrour the chief of the eunuchs of his palace, all disguised in merchants' habits; and passing through the street where the three ladies dwelt, he heard the sound of music and fits of loud laughter; upon which he commanded the vizier, to knock, as he wished to enter to ascertain the reason. the vizier, in vain represented to him that the noise proceeded from some women who were merry-making, that without question their heads were warm with wine, and that it would not be proper he should expose himself to be affronted by them: besides, it was not yet an unlawful hour, and therefore he ought not to disturb them in their mirth. "no matter," said the caliph, "i command you to knock." jaaffier complied; safie opened the gate, and the vizier, perceiving by the light in her hand, that she was an incomparable beauty, with a very low salutation said, "we are three merchants of mossoul, who arrived here about ten days ago with rich merchandise, which we have in a warehouse at a caravan-serai, where we have also our lodging. we happened this evening to be with a merchant of this city, who invited us to his house, where we had a splendid entertainment: and the wine having put us in good humour, he sent for a company of dancers. night being come on, and the music and dancers making a great noise, the watch, passing by, caused the gate to be opened and some of the company to be taken up; but we had the good fortune to escape by getting over the wall. being strangers, and somewhat overcome with wine, we are afraid of meeting that or some other watch, before we get home to our khan. besides, before we can arrive there the gates will be shut, and will not be opened till morning: wherefore, hearing, as we passed by this way, the sound of music, we supposed you were not yet going to rest, and made bold to knock at your gate, to beg the favour of lodging ourselves in the house till morning; and if you think us worthy of your good company, we will endeavour to contribute to your diversion to the best of our power, to make some amends for the interruption we have given you; if not, we only beg the favour of staying this night in your vestibule." whilst jaaffier was speaking, safie had time to observe the vizier, and his two companions, who were said to be merchants like himself, and told them that she was not mistress of the house; but if they would have a minute's patience, she would return with an answer. safie made the business known to her sisters, who considered for some time what to do: but being naturally of a good disposition, and having granted the same favour to the three calenders, they at last consented to let them in. the caliph, his grand vizier, and the chief of the eunuchs, being introduced by the fair safie, very courteously saluted the ladies and the calenders. the ladies returned their salutations, supposing them to be merchants. zobeide, as the chief, addressed them with a grave and serious countenance, which was natural to her, and said, "you are welcome. but before i proceed farther, i hope you will not take it ill if we desire one favour of you." "alas!" said the vizier, "what favour? we can refuse nothing to such fair ladies." zobeide continued, "it is that, while here, you would have eyes, but no tongues; that you question us not for the reason of any thing you may see, and speak not of any thing that does not concern you, lest you hear what will by no means please you." "madam," replied the vizier, "you shall be obeyed. we are not censorious, nor impertinently curious; it is enough for us to notice affairs that concern us, without meddling with what does not belong to us." upon this they all sat down, and the company being united, they drank to the health of the new-comers. while the vizier, entertained the ladies in conversation, the caliph could not forbear admiring their extraordinary beauty, graceful behaviour, pleasant humour, and ready wit; on the other hand, nothing struck him with more surprise than the calenders being all three blind of the right eye. he would gladly have learnt the cause of this singularity; but the conditions so lately imposed upon himself and his companions would not allow him to speak. these circumstances, with the richness of the furniture, the exact order of every thing, and the neatness of the house, made him think they were in some enchanted place. their conversation happening to turn upon diversions, and the different ways of making merry; the calenders arose, and danced after their fashion, which augmented the good opinion the ladies had conceived of them, and procured them the esteem of the caliph and his companions. when the three calenders had finished their dance, zobeide arose, and taking amene by the hand, said, "pray, sister, arise, for the company will not be offended if we use our freedom, and their presence need not hinder the performance of our customary exercise." amene understanding her sister's meaning, rose from her seat, carried away the dishes, the flasks and cups, together with the instruments which the calenders had played upon. safie was not idle, but swept the room, put every thing again in its place, trimmed the lamps, and put fresh aloes and ambergris to them; this being done, she requested the three calenders to sit down upon the sofa at one side, and the caliph with his companions on the other: then addressing herself to the porter, she said, "get up, and prepare yourself to assist us in what we are going to do; a man like you, who is one of the family, ought not to be idle." the porter, being somewhat recovered from his wine, arose immediately, and having tied the sleeve of his gown to his belt, answered, "here am i, ready to obey your commands." "very well," replied safie, "stay till you are spoken to; and you shall not be idle long." a little time after, amene came in with a chair, which she placed in the middle of the room; and then went towards a closet. having opened the door, she beckoned to the porter, and said, "come hither and assist me." he obeyed, and entered the closet, and returned immediately, leading two black bitches, each of them secured by a collar and chain; they appeared as if they had been severely whipped with rods, and he brought them into the middle of the apartment. zobeide, rising from her seat between the calenders and the caliph, moved very gravely towards the porter; "come," said she, heaving a deep sigh, "let us perform our duty:" she then tucked up her sleeves above her elbows, and receiving a rod from safie, "porter," said she, "deliver one of the bitches to my sister amene, and bring the other to me." the porter did as he was commanded. upon this the bitch that he held in his hand began to howl, and turning towards zobeide, held her head up in a supplicating posture; but zobeide, having no regard to the sad countenance of the animal, which would have moved pity, nor to her cries that resounded through the house, whipped her with the rod till she was out of breath; and having spent her strength, threw down the rod, and taking the chain from the porter, lifted up the bitch by her paws, and looking upon her with a sad and pitiful countenance, they both wept: after which, zobeide, with her handkerchief, wiped the tears from the bitch's eye, kissed her, returned the chain to the porter, desired him to carry her to the place whence he took her, and bring her the other. the porter led back the whipped bitch to the closet, and receiving the other from amene, presented her to zobeide, who requested him to hold her as he had done the first, took up the rod, and treated her after the same manner; and when she had wept over her, she dried her eyes, kissed her, and returned her to the porter: but amene spared him the trouble of leading her back into the closet, and did it herself. the three calenders, with the caliph and his companions, were extremely surprised at this exhibition, and could not comprehend why zobeide, after having so furiously beaten those two bitches, that by the moosulman religion are reckoned unclean animals, should weep with them, wipe off their tears, and kiss them. they muttered among themselves, and the caliph, who, being more impatient than the rest, longed exceedingly to be informed of the cause of so strange a proceeding, could not forbear making signs to the vizier to ask the question: the vizier turned his head another way; but being pressed by repeated signs, he answered by others, that it was not yet time for the caliph to satisfy his curiosity. zobeide sat still some time in the middle of the room, where she had whipped the two bitches, to recover herself of her fatigue; and safie called to her, "dear sister, will you not be pleased to return to your place, that i may also aft my part?" "yes, sister," replied zobeide; and then went, and sat down upon the sofa, having the caliph, jaaffier, and mesrour, on her right hand, and the three calenders, with the porter, on her left. after zobeide had taken her seat, the whole company remained silent for some time; at last, safie, sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, spoke to her sister amene, "dear sister, i conjure you to rise; you know what i would say." amene rose, and went into another closet, near to that where the bitches were, and brought out a case covered with yellow satin, richly embroidered with gold and green silk. she went towards safie and opened the case, from whence she took a lute, and presented it to her: and after some time spent in tuning it, safie began to play, and accompanying the instrument with her voice, sung a song about the torments that absence creates to lovers, with so much sweetness, that it charmed the caliph and all the company. having sung with much passion and action, she said to amene, "pray take it, sister, for my voice fails me; oblige the company with a tune, and a song in my stead." "very willingly," replied amene, who, taking the lute from her sister safie, sat down in her place. amene played and sung almost as long upon the same subject, but with so much vehemence, and was so much affected, or rather transported, by the words of the song, that her strength failed her as she finished. zobeide, desirous of testifying her satisfaction, said, "sister, you have done wonders, and we may easily see that you feel the grief you have expressed in so lively a manner." amene was prevented from answering this civility, her heart being so sensibly touched at the moment, that she was obliged, for air, to uncover her neck and bosom, which did not appear so fair as might have been expected; but, on the contrary, were black and full of scars, which surprised and affected all the spectators. however, this gave her no ease, for she fell into a fit. when zobeide and safie had run to help their sister, one of the calenders could not forbear saying, "we had better have slept in the streets than have come hither to behold such spectacles." the caliph, who heard this, came to him and the other calenders, and asked them what might be the meaning of all this? they answered, "we know no more than you do." "what," said the caliph, "are you not of the family? can you not resolve us concerning the two black bitches and the lady that fainted away, who appears to have been so basely abused?" "sir," said the calenders, "this is the first time of our being in the house; we came in but a few minutes before you." this increased the caliph's astonishment: "probably," said he, "this man who is with you may know something of the matter." one of the calenders beckoned the porter to come near; and asked him, whether he knew why those two black bitches had been whipped, and why amene's bosom was so scarred. "sir," said the porter, "i can swear by heaven, that if you know nothing of all this, i know as little as you do. it is true, i live in this city, but i never was in the house until now, and if you are surprised to see me i am as much so to find myself in your company; and that which increases my wonder is, that i have not seen one man with these ladies." the caliph and his company, as well as the calenders, had supposed the porter to be one of the family, and hoped he would have been able to give them the information they sought; but finding he could not, and resolving to satisfy his curiosity, the caliph said to the rest, "we are seven men, and have but three women to deal with; let us try if we can oblige them to explain what we have seen, and if they refuse by fair means, we are in a condition to compel them by force." the grand vizier jaaffier objected to this, and shewed the caliph what might be the consequence. without discovering the prince to the calenders, he addressed him as if he had been a merchant, and said, "consider, i pray you, that our reputation is at stake. you know the conditions on which these ladies consented to receive us, and which we agreed to observe; what will they say of us if we break them? we shall be still more to blame, if any mischief befall us; for it is not likely that they would have extorted such a promise from us, without knowing themselves to be in a condition to punish us for its violation." here the vizier took the caliph aside, and whispered to him, "the night will soon be at an end, and if your majesty will only be pleased to have so much patience, i will to-morrow morning bring these ladies before your throne, where you may be informed of all that you desire to know." though this advice was very judicious, the caliph rejected it, desired the vizier to hold his tongue, and said, he would not wait so long, but would immediately have his curiosity satisfied. the next business was to settle who should carry the message. the caliph endeavoured to prevail with the calenders to speak first; but they excused themselves, and at last they agreed that the porter should be the man: as they were consulting how to word this fatal question, zobeide returned from her sister amene, who was recovered of her fit. she drew near them, and having overheard them speaking pretty loud, said, "gentlemen, what is the subject of your conversation? what are you disputing about?" the porter answered immediately, "madam, these gentlemen beseech you to inform them why you wept over your two bitches after you had whipped them so severely, and how the bosom of that lady who lately fainted away came to be so full of scars? these are the questions i am ordered to ask in their name." at these words, zobeide put on a stern countenance, and turning towards the caliph and the rest of the company, "is it true, gentlemen," said she, "that you desired him to ask me these questions?" all of them, except the vizier jaaffier, who spoke not a word, answered, "yes." on which she exclaimed, in a tone that sufficiently expressed her resentment, "before we granted you the favour of receiving you into our house, and to prevent all occasion of trouble from you, because we are alone, we imposed the condition that you should not speak of any thing that did not concern you, lest you might hear that which would not please you; and yet after having received and entertained you, you make no scruple to break your promise. it is true that our easy temper has occasioned this, but that shall not excuse your rudeness." as she spoke these words, she gave three stamps with her foot, and clapping her hands as often together, cried, "come quickly:" upon this, a door flew open, and seven black slaves rushed in; every one seized a man, threw him on the ground, and dragged him into the middle of the room, brandishing a cimeter over his head. we may easily conceive the caliph then repented, but too late, that he had not taken the advice of his vizier, who, with mesrour, the calenders and porter, was from his ill-timed curiosity on the point of forfeiting his life. before they would strike the fatal blow, one of the slaves said to zobeide, and her sisters: "high, mighty, and adorable mistresses, do you command us to strike off their heads?" "stay," said zobeide, "i must examine them first." the frightened porter interrupted her thus: "in the name of heaven, do not put me to death for another man's crime. i am innocent; they are to blame." "alas!" said he, weeping, "how pleasantly did we pass our time! those blind calenders are the cause of this misfortune; there is no town in the world but suffers wherever these inauspicious fellows come. madam, i beg you not to destroy the innocent with the guilty, and consider, that it is more glorious to pardon such a wretch as i am, who have no way to help myself, than to sacrifice me to your resentment." zobeide, notwithstanding her anger, could not but laugh within herself at the porter's lamentation: but without replying to him, she spoke a second time to the rest; "answer me, and say who you are, otherwise you shall not live one moment longer: i cannot believe you to be honest men, or persons of authority or distinction in your own countries; for if you were, you would have been more modest and more respectful to us." the caliph, naturally warm, was infinitely more indignant than the rest, to find his life depending upon the command of a woman: but he began to conceive some hopes, when he found she wished to know who they all were; for he imagined she would not put him to death, when informed of his quality; therefore he spoke with a low voice to the vizier, who was near him, to declare it speedily: but the vizier, more prudent, resolved to save his master's honour, and not let the world know the affront he had brought upon himself by his own imprudence; and therefore answered, "we have what we deserve." but if he had intended to speak as the caliph commanded him, zobeide would not have allowed him time: for having turned to the calenders, and seeing them all blind with one eye, she asked if they were brothers. one of them answered, "no, madam, no otherwise than as we are calenders; that is to say, as we observe the same rules." "were you born blind of the right eye," continued she? "no, madam," answered he; "i lost my eye in such a surprising adventure, that it would be instructive to every body were it in writing: after that misfortune i shaved my beard and eyebrows, and took the habit of a calender which i now wear." zobeide asked the other two calenders the same question, and had the same answers; but the last who spoke added, "madam, to shew you that we are no common fellows, and that you may have some consideration for us, be pleased to know, that we are all three sons of sultans; and though we never met together till this evening, yet we have had time enough to make that known to one another; and i assure you that the sultans from whom we derive our being were famous in the world." at this discourse zobeide suppressed her anger, and said to the slaves, "give them their liberty a while, but remain where you are. those who tell us their history, and the occasion of their coming, do them no hurt, let them go where they please; but do not spare those who refuse to give us that satisfaction." the three calendars, the caliph, the grand vizier, jaaffier, the eunuch mesrour, and the porter, were all in the middle of the hall, seated upon a carpet in the presence of the three ladies, who reclined upon a sofa, and the slaves stood ready to do whatever their mistresses should command. the porter, understanding that he might extricate himself from danger by telling his history, spoke first, and said, "madam, you know my history already, and the occasion of my coming hither; so that what i have to say will be very short. my lady, your sister, called me this morning at the place where i plyed as porter to see if any body would employ me, that i might get my bread; i followed her to a vintner's, then to a herb-shop, then to one where oranges, lemons, and citrons were sold, then to a grocer's, next to a confectioner's, and a druggist's, with my basket upon my head as full as i was able to carry it; then i came hither, where you had the goodness to suffer me to continue till now, a favour that i shall never forget. this, madam, is my history." when the porter had done, zobeide said to him, "depart, let us see you here no more." "madam," replied the porter, "i beg you to let me stay; it would not be just, after the rest have had the pleasure to hear my history, that i should not also have the satisfaction of hearing theirs." and having spoken thus, he sat down at the end of the sofa, glad at heart to have escaped the danger that had frightened him so much. after him, one of the three calenders directing his speech to zobeide, as the principal of the three ladies, began thus: the history of the first calender. madam, in order to inform you how i lost my right eye, and why i was obliged to put myself into a calender's habit, i must tell you, that i am a sultan's son born: my father had a brother who reigned over a neighbouring kingdom; and the prince his son and i were nearly of the same age. after i had learned my exercises, the sultan my father granted me such liberty as suited my dignity. i went regularly every year to see my uncle, at whose court i amused myself for a month or two, and then returned again to my father's. these journeys cemented a firm and intimate friendship between the prince my cousin and myself. the last time i saw him, he received me with greater demonstrations of tenderness than he had done at any time before; and resolving one day to give me a treat, he made great preparations for that purpose. we continued a long time at table, and after we had both supped; "cousin," said he, "you will hardly be able to guess how i have been employed since your last departure from hence, about a year past. i have had a great many men at work to perfect a design i have formed; i have caused an edifice to be built, which is now finished so as to be habitable: you will not be displeased if i shew it you. but first you are to promise me upon oath, that you will keep my secret, according to the confidence i repose in you." the affection and familiarity that subsisted between us would not allow me to refuse him any thing. i very readily took the oath required of me: upon which he said to me, "stay here till i return, i will be with you in a moment; and accordingly he came with a lady in his hand, of singular beauty, and magnificently apparelled: he did not intimate who she was, neither did i think it would be polite to enquire. we sat down again with this lady at table, where we continued some time, conversing upon indifferent subjects; and now and then filling a glass to each other's health. after which the prince said, "cousin, we must lose no time; therefore pray oblige me by taking this lady along with you, and conducting her to such a place, where you will see a tomb newly built in form of a dome: you will easily know it; the gate is open; enter it together, and tarry till i come, which will be very speedily." being true to my oath, i made no farther enquiry, but took the lady by the hand, and by the directions which the prince my cousin had given me, i brought her to the place. we were scarcely got thither, when we saw the prince following us, carrying a pitcher of water, a hatchet, and a little bag of mortar. the hatchet served him to break down the empty sepulchre in the middle of the tomb; he took away the stones one after another, and laid them in a corner; he then dug up the ground, where i saw a trap-door under the sepulchre, which he lifted up, and underneath perceived the head of a staircase leading into a vault. then my cousin, speaking to the lady, said, "madam, it is by this way that we are to go to the place i told you of:" upon which the lady advanced, and went down, and the prince began to follow; but first turning to me, said, "my dear cousin, i am infinitely obliged to you for the trouble you have taken; i thank you. adieu." "dear cousin," i cried, "what is the meaning of this?" "be content," replied he; "you may return the way you came." i could get nothing farther from him, but was obliged to take my leave. as i returned to my uncle's palace, the vapours of the wine got up into my head; however, i reached my apartment, and went to bed. next morning, when i awoke, i began to reflect upon what had happened, and after recollecting all the circumstances of such a singular adventure, i fancied it was nothing but a dream. full of these thoughts, i sent to enquire if the prince my cousin was ready to receive a visit from me; but when they brought word back that he did not lie in his own lodgings that night, that they knew not what was become of him, and were in much trouble in consequence, i conceived that the strange event of the tomb was too true. i was sensibly afflicted, and went to the public burying-place, where there were several tombs like that which i had seen: i spent the day in viewing them one after another, but could not find that i sought for, and thus i spent four days successively in vain. you must know, that all this while the sultan my uncle was absent, and had been hunting for several days; i grew weary of waiting for him, and having prayed his ministers to make my apology at his return, left his palace, and set out towards my father's court. i left the ministers of the sultan my uncle in great trouble, surmising what was become of the prince: but because of my oath to keep his secret, i durst not tell them what i had seen. i arrived at my father's capital, where, contrary to custom, i found a numerous guard at the gate of the palace, who surrounded me as i entered. i asked the reason, and the commanding officer replied, "prince, the army has proclaimed the grand vizier, instead of your father, who is dead, and i take you prisoner in the name of the new sultan." at these words the guards laid hold of me, and carried me before the tyrant: i leave you to judge, madam, how much i was surprised and grieved. this rebel vizier, had long entertained a mortal hatred against me; for this reason. when i was a stripling, i loved to shoot with a cross-bow; and being one day upon the terrace of the palace with my bow, a bird happening to come by, i shot but missed him, and the ball by misfortune hit the vizier, who was taking the air upon the terrace of his own house, and put out one of his eyes. as soon as i understood this, i not only sent to make my excuse to him, but did it in person: yet he never forgave me, and, as opportunity offered, made me sensible of his resentment. but now that he had me in his power, he expressed his feelings; for he came to me like a madman, as soon as he saw me, and thrusting his finger into my right eye, pulled it out, and thus i became blind of one eye. but the usurper's cruelty did not stop here; he ordered me to be shut up in a machine, and commanded the executioner to carry me into the country, to cut off my head, and leave me to be devoured by birds of prey. the executioner conveyed me thus shut up into the country, in order to execute the barbarous sentence; but by my prayers and tears, i moved the man's compassion: "go," said he to me, "get you speedily out of the kingdom, and take heed of returning, or you will certainly meet your own ruin, and be the cause of mine." i thanked him for the favour he did me; and as soon as i was left alone, comforted myself for the loss of my eye, by considering that i had very narrowly escaped a much greater evil. being in such a condition, i could not travel far at a time; i retired to remote places during the day, and travelled as far by night as my strength would allow me. at last i arrived in the dominions of the sultan my uncle, and came to his capital. i gave him a long detail of the tragical cause of my return, and of the sad condition he saw me in. "alas!" cried he, "was it not enough for me to have lost my son, but must i have also news of the death of a brother i loved so dearly, and see you reduced to this deplorable condition?" he told me how uneasy he was that he could hear nothing of his son, notwithstanding all the enquiry he could make. at these words, the unfortunate father burst into tears, and was so much afflicted, that pitying his grief, it was impossible for me to keep the secret any longer; so that, notwithstanding my oath to the prince my cousin, i told the sultan all that i knew. his majesty listened to me with some sort of comfort, and when i had done, "nephew," said he, "what you tell me gives me some hope. i knew that my son ordered that tomb to be built, and i can guess pretty nearly the place; and with the idea you still have of it, i fancy we shall find it: but since he ordered it to be built privately, and you took your oath to keep his secret, i am of opinion, that we ought to go in quest of it without other attendants." but he had another reason for keeping the matter secret, which he did not then tell me, and an important one it was, as you will perceive by the sequel of my story. we disguised ourselves and went out by a door of the garden which opened into the fields, and soon found what we sought for. i knew the tomb, and was the more rejoiced, because i had formerly sought it a long time in vain. we entered, and found the iron trap pulled down at the head of the staircase; we had great difficulty in raising it, because the prince had fastened it inside with the water and mortar formerly mentioned, but at last we succeeded. the sultan my uncle descended first, i followed, and we went down about fifty steps. when we came to the foot of the stairs, we found a sort of antechamber, full of thick smoke of an ill scent, which obscured the lamp, that gave a very faint light. from this antechamber we came into another, very large, supported by columns, and lighted by several branched candlesticks. there was a cistern in the middle, and provisions of several sorts stood on one side of it; but we were much surprised not to see any person. before us there appeared a high estrade, which we mounted by several steps, and upon this there was a large bed, with curtains drawn. the sultan went up, and opening the curtains, perceived the prince his son and the lady in bed together, but burnt and changed to cinder, as if they had been thrown into a fire, and taken out before they were consumed. but what surprised me most was, that though this spectacle filled me with horror, the sultan my uncle, instead of testifying his sorrow to see the prince his son in such a condition, spat on his face, and exclaimed, with a disdainful air, "this is the punishment of this world, but that of the other will last to eternity;" and not content with this, he pulled off his sandal, and gave the corpse of his son a blow on the cheek. i cannot adequately express how much i was astonished when i saw the sultan my uncle abuse his son thus after he was dead. "sir," said i, "whatever grief this dismal sight has impressed upon me, i am forced to suspend it, to enquire of your majesty what crime the prince my cousin may have committed, that his corpse should deserve such indignant treatment?" "nephew," replied the sultan, "i must tell you, that my son (who is unworthy of that name) loved his sister from his infancy, as she did him: i did not check their growing fondness, because i did not foresee its pernicious consequence. this tenderness increased as they grew in years, and to such a height, that i dreaded the end of it. at last, i applied such remedies as were in my power: i not only gave my son a severe reprimand in private, laying before him the horrible nature of the passion he entertained, and the eternal disgrace he would bring upon my family, if he persisted; but i also represented the same to my daughter, and shut her up so close that she could have no conversation with her brother. but that unfortunate creature had swallowed so much of the poison, that all the obstacles which by my prudence i could lay in the way served only to inflame her love. "my son being persuaded of his sister's constancy, on presence of building a tomb, caused this subterraneous habitation to be made, in hopes of finding one day or other an opportunity to possess himself of that objets which was the cause of his flame, and to bring her hither. he took advantage of my absence, to enter by force into the place of his sister's confinement; but this was a circumstance which my honour would not suffer me to make public. and after so damnable an action, he came and shut himself up with her in this place, which he has supplied, as you see, with all sorts of provisions, that he might enjoy detestable pleasures, which ought to be a subject of horror to all the world; but god, who would not suffer such an abomination, has justly punished them both." at these words, he melted into tears, and i joined mine with his. after a while, casting his eyes upon me, "dear nephew," cried he, embracing me, "if i have lost that unworthy son, i shall happily find in you what will better supply his place." the reflections he made on the doleful end of the prince and princess his daughter made us both weep afresh. we ascended the stairs again, and departed at last from that dismal place. we let down the trap door, and covered it with earth, and such other materials as the tomb was built of, on purpose to hide, as much as lay in our power, so terrible an effect of the wrath of god. we had not been long returned to the palace, unperceived by any one, but we heard a confused noise of trumpets, drums, and other instruments of war. we soon understood by the thick cloud of dust, which almost darkened the air, that it was the arrival of a formidable army: and it proved to be the same vizier that had dethroned my father, and usurped his place, who with a vast number of troops was come to possess himself of that also of the sultan my uncle. my uncle, who then had only his usual guards about him, could not resist so numerous an enemy; they invested the city, and the gates being opened to them without any resistance, soon became masters of it, and broke into the palace where my uncle defended himself, and sold his life at a dear rate. i fought as valiantly for a while; but seeing we were forced to submit to a superior power, i thought on my retreat, which i had the good fortune to effect by some back ways, and got to one of the sultan's servants on whose fidelity i could depend. being thus surrounded with sorrows and persecuted by fortune, i had recourse to a stratagem, which was the only means left me to save my life: i caused my beard and eye-brows to be shaved, and putting on a calender's habit, i passed, unknown by any, out of the city; after that, by degrees, i found it easy to quit my uncle's kingdom, by taking the bye-roads. i avoided passing through towns, until i had reached the empire of the mighty governor of the moosulmauns, the glorious and renowned caliph haroon al rusheed, when i thought myself out of danger; and considering what i was to do, i resolved to come to bagdad, intending to throw myself at the feet of that monarch, whose generosity is renowned throughout the world. "i shall move him to compassion," said i to myself, "by the relation of my uncommon misfortunes, and without doubt he will take pity on a persecuted prince, and not suffer me to implore his assistance in vain." in short, after a journey of several months, i arrived yesterday at the gate of this city, into which i entered about the dusk of evening ; and stopping a little while to consider which way i was to turn, another calender came up; he saluted me, and i him: "you appear," said i, "to be a stranger, as i am." "you are not mistaken," replied he. he had no sooner returned this answer, than a third calender overtook us. he saluted us, and told us he was a stranger newly come to bagdad; so that as brethren we joined together, resolving not to separate from one another. it was now late, and we knew not where to seek a lodging in the city, where we had never been before. but good fortune having brought us to your gate, we made bold to knock, when you received us with so much kindness, that we are incapable of rendering suitable thanks. "this, madam," said he, "is, in obedience to your commands, the account i was to give how i lost my right eye, wherefore my beard and eye-brows are shaved, and how i came to be with you at this time." "it is enough," said zobeide; "you may retire to what place you think fit." the calender begged the ladies' permission to stay till he had heard the relations of his two comrades, "whom i cannot," said he, "leave with honour;" and that he might also hear those of the three other persons in company. the story of the first calender seemed wonderful to the whole company, but especially to the caliph, who, notwithstanding the slaves stood by with their cimeters drawn, could not forbear whispering to the vizier "many stories have i heard, but never any that equalled in surprising incident that of the calender." whilst he was saying this, the second calender began, addressing himself to zobeide. the story of the second calender. madam, to obey your commands, and to shew you by what strange accident i became blind of the right eye, i must of necessity give you the account of my life. i was scarcely past my infancy, when the sultan my father (for you must know i am a prince by birth) perceived that i was endowed with good natural ability, and spared nothing proper for improving it. no sooner was i able to read and write, but i learned the koraun from beginning to end by heart, that admirable book, which contains the foundation, the precepts, and the rules of our religion; and that i might be thoroughly instructed in it, i read the works of the most approved divines, by whose commentaries it had been explained. i added to this study, that of all the traditions collected from the mouth of our prophet, by the great men that were contemporary with him. i was not satisfied with the knowledge of all that had any relation to our religion, but made also a particular search into our histories. i made myself perfect in polite learning, in the works of poets, and versification. i applied myself to geography, chronology, and to speak the arabian language in its purity; not forgetting in the meantime all such exercises as were proper for a prince to understand. but one thing which i was fond of, and succeeded in, was penmanship; wherein i surpassed all the celebrated scribes of our kingdom. fame did me more honour than i deserved, for she not only spread the renown of my talents through all the dominions of the sultan my father, but carried it as far as the empire of hindoostan, whose potent monarch, desirous to see me, sent an ambassador with rich presents: my father, who rejoiced at this embassy for several reasons, was persuaded, that nothing could be more improving to a prince of my age than to travel and visit foreign courts; and he wished to gain the friendship of the indian monarch. i departed with the ambassador, but with no great retinue. when we had travelled about a month, we discovered at a distance a cloud of dust, and under that we saw very soon fifty horsemen well armed, who were robbers, advancing towards us at full speed. as we had ten horses laden with baggage, and presents to the sultan of hindoostan, from my father, and my retinue was but small, you may easily judge that these robbers came boldly up to us; and not being in a posture to make any opposition, we told them, that we were ambassadors, and hoped they would attempt nothing contrary to the respect due to such sacred characters, thinking by this means to save our equipage and our lives: but the robbers most insolently replied, "for what reason would you have us shew any respect to the sultan your master? we are none of his subjects, nor are we upon his territories:" having spoken thus, they surrounded and fell upon us: i defended myself as long as i could; but finding myself wounded, and seeing the ambassador with his attendants and mine lying on the ground, i made use of what strength was yet remaining in my horse, who was also very much wounded, and rode away as fast as he could carry me; but he shortly after, from weariness and the loss of blood, fell down dead. i cleared myself from him unhurt, and finding that i was not pursued, judged the robbers were not willing to quit the booty they had obtained. here you see me, alone, wounded, destitute of help, and in a strange country. i durst not take the high road, fearing i might fall again into the hands of these robbers. when i had bound up my wound, which was not dangerous, i walked on the rest of the day, and arrived at the foot of mountain, where i perceived a passage into a cave; i went in, and staid there that night with little satisfaction, after i had eaten some fruits that i had gathered by the way. i continued my journey for several days following, without finding any place of abode: but after a month's time, i came to a large town well inhabited, and situated so much the more advantageously, as it was surrounded by several streams, so that it enjoyed perpetual spring. the pleasant objects which then presented themselves to my view afforded me some joy, and suspended for a time the sorrow with which i was overwhelmed. my face, hands, and feet were black and sun-burnt; and, by my long journey, my boots were quite worn out, so that i was forced to walk bare-footed; and besides, my clothes were all in rags i entered the town to inform myself where i was, and addressed myself to a tailor that was at work in his shop; who, perceiving by my air that i was a person of more note than my outward appearance bespoke, made me sit down by him, and asked me who i was, from whence i came, and what had brought me thither? i did not conceal anything that had befallen me, nor made i any scruple to discover my quality. the tailor listened to me with attention; but after had done speaking, instead of giving me any consolation, he augmented my sorrow: "take heed," said he, "how you discover to any person what you have related to me; for the prince of this country is the greatest enemy your father has, and he will certainly do you some mischief, should he hear of your being in this city." i made no doubt of the tailor's sincerity, when he named the prince: but since that enmity which is between my father and him has no relation to my adventures, i pass it over in silence. i returned the tailor thanks for his advice, expressed himself disposed to follow his counsel, and assured him that his favours should never be forgotten. he ordered something to be brought for me to eat, and offered me at the same time a lodging in his house, which i accepted. some days after, finding me tolerably well recovered of the fatigue i had endured by a long and tedious journey, and reflecting that most princes of our religion applied themselves to some art or calling that might be serviceable to them upon occasion, he asked me, if i had learned any whereby i might get a livelihood, and not be burdensome to others? i told him that i understood the laws, both divine and human; that i was a grammarian and poet; and above all, that i could write with great perfection. "by all this," said he, "you will not be able, in this country, to purchase yourself one morsel of bread; nothing is of less use here than those sciences; but if you will be advised by me, dress yourself in a labourer's habit; and since you appear to be strong, and of a good constitution, you shall go into the next forest and cut fire-wood, which you may bring to the market to be sold; and i can assure you this employment will turn to so good an account that you may live by it, without dependence upon any man; and by this means you will be in a condition to wait for the favourable minute, when heaven shall think fit to dispel those clouds of misfortune that thwart your happiness, and oblige you to conceal your birth; i will take care to supply you with a rope and a hatchet." the fear of being known, and the necessity i was under of getting a livelihood, made me agree to this proposal, notwithstanding the meanness and hardships that attended it. the day following the tailor brought me a rope. a hatchet, and a short coat, and recommended me to some poor people who gained their bread after the same manner, that they might take me into their company. they conducted me to the wood, and the first day i brought in as much upon my head as procured me half a piece of gold, of the money of that country; for though the wood was not far distant from the town, yet it was very scarce, by reason that few would be at the trouble of fetching it for themselves. i gained a good sum of money in a short time, and repaid my tailor what he had advanced to me i continued this way of living for a whole year. one day, having by chance penetrated farther into the wood than usual, i happened to light on a pleasant spot, where i began to cut; and in pulling up the root of a tree, i espied an iron ring, fastened to a trap door of the same metal. i took away the earth that covered it, and having lifted it up, discovered a flight of stairs, which i descended with my axe in my hand. when i had reached the bottom, i found myself in a palace, and felt great consternation, on account of a great light which appeared as clear in it as if it had been above ground in the open air. i went forward along a gallery, supported by pillars of jasper, the base and capitals of messy gold: but seeing a lady of a noble and graceful air, extremely beautiful, coming towards me, my eyes were taken off from every other objets. being desirous to spare the lady the trouble of coming to me, i hastened to meet her; and as i was saluting her with a low obeisance, she asked me, "what are you, a man or a genie?" "a man, madam," said i; "i have no correspondence with genies." "by what adventure," said she, fetching a deep sigh, "are you come hither? i have lived here twenty-five years, and you are the: first man i have beheld in that time." her great beauty, which had already smitten me, and the sweetness and civility wherewith she received me, emboldened me to say, "madam, before i have the honour to satisfy your curiosity, give me leave to tell you, that i am infinitely gratified with this unexpected meeting, which offers me an occasion of consolation in the midst of my affliction; and perhaps it may give me an opportunity of making you also more happy than you are." i related to her by what strange accident she beheld me, the son of a sultan, in such a condition as i appeared in her presence; and how fortune had directed that i should discover the entrance into that magnificent prison where i had found her, according to appearance, in an unpleasant situation. "alas! prince," said she, sighing once more, "you have just cause to believe this rich and pompous prison cannot be otherwise than a most wearisome abode: the most charming place in the world being no way delightful when we are detained there contrary to our will. it is not possible but you have heard of the sultan of the isle of ebene, so called from that precious wood which it produces in abundance; i am the princess his daughter. "the sultan, my father, had chosen for me a husband, a prince who was my cousin; but on my wedding-night, in the midst of the rejoicings of the court and capital, before i was conducted to my husband, a genie took me away. i fainted with alarm, and when i recovered, found myself in this place. i was long inconsolable, but time and necessity have accustomed me to see and receive the genie. twenty-five years i have continued in this place, where, i must confess, i have all that i can wish for necessary to life, and also every thing that can satisfy a princess fond of dress and splendour. "every ten days," continued the princess, "the genie comes hither, and remains with me one night, which he never exceeds; and the excuse he makes for it is, that he is married to another wife, who would grow jealous if she should know his infidelity. meanwhile, if i have occasion for him by day or night, as soon as i touch a talisman, which is at the entrance into my chamber, the genie appears. it is now the fourth day since he was here, and i do not expect him before the end of six more; so, if you please, you may stay five days, and i will endeavour to entertain you according to your quality and merit." i thought myself too fortunate, to have obtained so great a favour without asking, to refuse so obliging an offer. the princess made me go into a bath, the most commodious, and the most sumptuous imaginable; and when i came forth, instead of my own clothes i found another very costly suit, which i did not esteem so much for its richness, as because it made me appear worthy to be in her company. we sat down on a sofa covered with rich tapestry, with cushions of the rarest indian brocade; and some time after she covered a table with several dishes of delicate meats. we ate, and passed the remaining part of the day with much satisfaction, as also the evening, together. the next day, as she contrived every means to please me, she brought in, at dinner, a bottle of old wine, the most excellent that ever was tasted, and out of complaisance drank some part of it with me. when my head grew warm with the agreeable liquor, "fair princess," said i, "you have been too long thus buried alive; follow me, enjoy the real day, of which you have been deprived so many years, and abandon this artificial though brilliant glare." "prince," replied she, with a smile, "leave this discourse; if you out of ten days will grant me nine, and resign the last to the genie, the fairest day would be nothing in my esteem." "princess," said i, "it is the fear of the genie that makes you speak thus; for my part, i value him so little, that i will break in pieces his talisman, with the conjuration that is written about it. let him come, i will expect him; and how brave or redoubtable soever he be, i will make him feel the weight of my arm: i swear solemnly that i will extirpate all the genies in the world, and him first." the princess, who knew the consequence, conjured me not to touch the talisman. "for that would be the means," said she, "of ruining both you and me; i know what belongs to genies better than you." the fumes of the wine did not suffer me to hearken to her reasons; but i gave the talisman a kick with my foot, and broke it in several pieces. the talisman was no sooner broken than the palace began to shake, and seemed ready to fall, with a hideous noise like thunder, accompanied with flashes of lightning, and alternate darkness. this terrible noise in a moment dispelled the fumes of my wine, and made me sensible, but too late, of the folly i had committed. "princess," cried i, "what means all this?" she answered, without any concern for her own misfortune, "alas! you are undone, if you do not fly immediately." i followed her advice, but my fears were so great, that i forgot my hatchet and cords. i had scarcely reached the stairs by which i had descended, when the enchanted palace opened at once, and made a passage for the genie: he asked the princess in great anger, "what has happened to you, and why did you call me?" "a violent spasm," said the princess, "made me fetch this bottle which you see here, out of which i drank twice or thrice, and by mischance made a false step, and fell upon the talisman, which is broken, and that is all." at this answer, the furious genie told her, "you are a false woman, and speak not the truth; how came that axe and those cords there?" "i never saw them till this moment," said the princess. "your coming in such an impetuous manner has, it may be, forced them up in some place as you came along, and so brought them hither without your knowing it." the genie made no other answer but what was accompanied with reproaches and blows, of which i heard the noise. i could not endure to hear the pitiful cries of the princess so cruelly abused. i had already taken off the suit she had presented to me, and put on my own, which i had laid on the stairs the day before, when i came out of the bagnio: i made haste upstairs, the more distracted with sorrow and compassion, as i had been the cause of so great a misfortune; and by sacrificing the fairest princess on earth to the barbarity of a merciless genie, i was becoming the most criminal and ungrateful of mankind. "it is true," said i, "she has been a prisoner these twenty-five years; but, liberty excepted she wanted nothing that could make her happy. my folly has put an end to her happiness, and brought upon her the cruelty of an unmerciful devil." i let down the trap-door, covered it again with earth, and returned to the city with a burden of wood, which i bound up without knowing what i did, so great was my trouble and sorrow. my landlord, the tailor, was very much rejoiced to see me: "your absence," said he, "has disquieted me much, as you had entrusted me with the secret of your birth, and i knew not what to think; i was afraid somebody had discovered you; god be praised for your return." i thanked him for his zeal and affection, but not a word durst i say of what had passed, nor of the reason why i came back without my hatchet and cords. i retired to my chamber, where i reproached myself a thousand times for my excessive imprudence: "nothing," said i, "could have paralleled the princess's good fortune and mine, had i forborne to break the talisman." while i was thus giving myself over to melancholy thoughts, the tailor came in and said, "an old man, whom i do not know, brings your hatchet and cords, which he found in his way as he tells me, and says he understood from your comrades that you lodge here; come out and speak to him, for he will deliver them to none but yourself." at these words i changed colour, and fell a trembling. while the tailor was asking me the reason, my chamber-door opened, and the old man, having no patience to stay, appeared to us with my hatchet and cords. this was the genie, the ravisher of the fair princess of the isle of ebene, who had thus disguised himself, after he had treated her with the utmost barbarity. "i am a genie," said he, speaking to me, "son of the daughter of eblis, prince of genies: is not this your hatchet, and are not these your cords?" after the genie had put the question to me, he gave me no time to answer, nor was it in my power, so much had his terrible aspect disordered me. he grasped me by the middle, dragged me out of the chamber, and mounting into the air, carried me up to the skies with such swiftness, that i was not able to take notice of the way he conveyed me. he descended again in like manner to the earth, which on a sudden he caused to open with a stroke of his foot, and sunk down at once, when i found myself in the enchanted palace, before the fair princess of the isle of ebene. but, alas! what a spectacle was there! i saw what pierced me to the heart; this poor princess was quite naked, weltering in her blood, and laid upon the ground, more like one dead than alive, with her cheeks bathed in tears. "perfidious wretch!" said the genie to her, pointing at me, "is not this your gallant?" she cast her languishing eyes upon me, and answered mournfully, "i do not know him, i never saw him till this moment." "what!" said the genie, "he is the cause of thy being in the condition thou art justly in; and yet darest thou say thou cost not know him?" "if i do not know him," said the princess, "would you have me lie on purpose to ruin him?" "oh then," said the genie, pulling out a cimeter and presenting it to the princess, "if you never saw him before, take this, and cut off his head." "alas," replied the princess, "how is it possible that i should execute such an act? my strength is so far spent that i cannot lift up my arm; and if i could, how should i have the heart to take away the life of an innocent man, and one whom i do not know?" "this refusal," said the genie to the princess, "sufficiently informs me of your crime." upon which, turning to me, "and thou," said he, "dost thou not know her?" i should have been the most ungrateful wretch, and the most perfidious of all mankind, if i had not strewn myself as faithful to the princess as she had been to me, who had been the cause of her misfortunes. i therefore answered the genie, "how should i know her, when i never saw her till now?" "if it be so," said he, "take the cimeter and cut off her head: on this condition i will set thee at liberty, for then i shall be convinced that thou hast never seen her till this moment, as thou gayest." "with all my heart," replied i, and took the cimeter in my hand. do not think, madam, that i drew near to the fair princess of the isle of ebene to be the executioner of the genie's barbarity. i did it only to demonstrate by my behaviour, as much as possible, that as she had strewn her resolution to sacrifice her life for my sake, i would not refuse to sacrifice mine for hers. the princess, notwithstanding her pain and suffering, understood my meaning; which she signified by an obliging look, and made me understand her willingness to die for me; and that she was satisfied to see how ready i was also to die for her. upon this i stepped back, and threw the cimeter on the ground. "i should for ever," said i to the genie, "be hateful to all mankind were i to be so base as to murder, not only a person whom i do not know, but a lady like this, who is already on the point of expiring: do with me what you please, since i am in your power; i cannot obey your barbarous commands." "i see," said the genie, "that you both out-brave me, and insult my jealousy; but both of you shall know by my treatment of you of what i am capable." at these words the monster took up the cimeter and cut off one of her hands, which left her only so much life as to give me a token with the other that she bade me for ever adieu. for the blood she had lost before, and that which gushed out then, did not permit her to live above one or two moments after this barbarous cruelty; the sight of which threw me into a fit. when i was come to myself again, i expostulated with the genie, why he made me languish in expectation of death: "strike," cried i, "for i am ready to receive the mortal blow, and expect it as the greatest favour you can show me." but instead of agreeing to that, "behold," said he, "how genies treat their wives whom they suspect of unfaithfulness; she has received thee here, and were i certain that she had put any further affront upon me, i would put thee to death this minute: but i will content myself with transforming thee into a dog, ape, lion, or bird; take thy choice of any of these, i will leave it to thyself." these words gave me some hopes of being able to appease him: "o genie," said i, "moderate your passion, and since you will not take away my life, give it me generously. i shall always remember your clemency, if you pardon me, as one of the best men in the world pardoned one of his neighbours that bore him a mortal hatred. the genie asked me what had passed between those two neighbours, and said, he would have patience till he heard the story, which i related to him; and i believe, madam, you will not be displeased if i now repeat it. the story of the envious man, and of him that he envied. in a considerable town two persons dwelt in adjoining houses. one of them conceived such a violent hatred against the other, that the hated party resolved to remove to a distance, being persuaded that their being neighbours was the only cause of this animosity; for though he had done him several pieces of service, he found that his hatred was not diminished; he therefore sold his house, with what goods he had left, and retired to the capital city of a kingdom which was not far distant. here he bought a little spot of ground, which lay about half a league from the city; where he had a convenient house, with a garden, and a pretty spacious court, wherein there was a deep well, which was not in use. the honest man having made this purchase put on a dervise's habit, intending to lead a retired life, and caused several cells to be made in the house, where in a short time he established a numerous society of dervises. he soon came to be publicly known by his virtue, through which he acquired the esteem of many people, as well of the commonalty as of the chief of the city. in short, he was much honoured and courted by all ranks. people came from afar to recommend themselves to his prayers; and all who visited him, published what blessings they received through his means. the great reputation of this honest man having spread to the town from whence he had come, it touched the envious man so much to the quick, that he left his house and affairs with a resolution to ruin him. with this intent he went to the new convent of dervises, of which his former neighbour was the head, who received him with all imaginable tokens of friendship. the envious man told him that he was come on purpose to communicate a business of importance, which he could not do but in private; and "that nobody may hear us, let us," said he, "take a walk in your court; and seeing night begins to draw on, command your dervises to retire to their cells." the chief of the dervises did as he was required. when the envious man saw that he was alone with this good man, he began to tell him his errand, walking side by side in the court, till he saw his opportunity; and getting the good man near the brink of the well, he gave him a thrust, and pushed him into it, without being seen by any one. having done thus, he returned, got out at the gate of the convent without being known, and reached his own house well satisfied with his journey, being fully persuaded that the object of his hatred was no more; but he found himself mistaken. this old well was inhabited by fairies and genies, which happened luckily for the relief of the head of the convent; for they received and supported him, and carried him to the bottom, so that he got no hurt. he perceived that there was something extraordinary in his fall, which must otherwise have cost him his life; but he neither saw nor felt anything. he soon heard a voice, however, which said, "do you know what honest man this is, to whom we have done this piece of service?" another voice answered, "no." to which the first replied, "then i will tell you. this man out of charity, the purest ever known, left the town he lived in, and has established himself in this place, in hopes to cure one of his neighbours of the envy he had conceived against him; he had acquired such a general esteem, that the envious man, not able to endure it, came hither on purpose to ruin him; and he would have accomplished his design, had it not been for the assistance we have given this honest man, whose reputation is so great, that the sultan, who keeps his residence in the neighbouring city, was to pay him a visit to-morrow, to recommend the princess his daughter to his prayers." another voice asked, "what need had the princess of the dervise's prayers?" to which the first answered, "you do not know, it seems, that she is possessed by genie maimoun, the son of dimdim, who is fallen in love with her. but i well know how this good head of the dervises may cure her; the thing is very easy, and i will explain it to you. he has a black cat in his convent, with a white spot at the end of her tail, about the bigness of a small piece of arabian money; let him only pull seven hairs out of the white spot, burn them, and smoke the princess's head with the fume, she will not only be immediately cured, but be so safely delivered from maimoun, the son of dimdim, that he will never dare to approach her again." the head of the dervises remembered every word of the conversation between the fairies and the genies, who remained silent the remainder of the night. the next morning, as soon as daylight appeared, and he could discern the nature of his situation, the well being broken down in several places, he saw a hole, by which he crept out with ease. the other dervises, who had been seeking for him, were rejoiced to see him; he gave them a brief account of the wickedness of the man to whom he had given so kind a reception the day before, and retired into his cell. shortly after the black cat, which the fairies and the genies had mentioned the night before, came to fawn upon her master, as she was accustomed to do; he took her up, and pulled seven hairs from the white spot that was upon her tail, and laid them aside for his use when occasion should serve. soon after sunrise the sultan, who would leave no means untried that he thought likely to restore the princess to perfect health, arrived at the gate of the convent. he commanded his guards to halt, whilst he with his principal officers went in. the dervises received him with profound respect. the sultan called their chief aside, and said, "good sheik, you may probably be already acquainted with the cause of my visit." "yes, sir," replied he gravely, "if i do not mistake, it is the disease of the princess which procures me this unmerited honour." "that is the real case," replied the sultan. "you will give me new life if your prayers, as i hope they may, restore my daughter's health." "sir," said the good man, "if your majesty will be pleased to let her come hither, i am in hopes, through god's assistance and favour, that she will be effectually cured." the prince, transported with joy, sent immediately for his daughter, who soon appeared with a numerous train of ladies and eunuchs, but veiled, so that her face was not seen. the chief of the dervises caused a pall to be held over her head, and he had no sooner thrown the seven hairs upon the burning coals, than the genie maimoun, the son of dimdim, uttered a great cry, and without being seen, left the princess at liberty; upon which, she took the veil from her face, and rose up to see where she was, saying, "where am i, and who brought me hither?" at these words the sultan, overcome with excess of joy, embraced his daughter, and kissed her eyes; he also kissed the chief of the dervises' hands, and said to his officers, "what reward does he deserve that has thus cured my daughter?" they all cried, "he deserves her in marriage." "that is what i had in my thoughts," said the sultan; "and i make him my son-in-law from this moment." some time after the prime vizier died, and the sultan conferred the place on the dervise. the sultan himself also died without heirs male; upon which the religious orders and the militia consulted together, and the good man was declared and acknowledged sultan by general consent. the honest dervise, having ascended the throne of his father-in- law, as he was one day in the midst of his courtiers on a march, espied the envious man among the crowd that stood as he passed along, and calling one of the viziers that attended him, whispered him in his ear, "go, bring me that man you see there; but take care you do not frighten him." the vizier obeyed, and when the envious man was brought into his presence, the sultan said, "friend, i am extremely glad to see you." upon which he called an officer, "go immediately," said he, "and cause to be paid to this man out of my treasury, one hundred pieces of gold: let him have also twenty loads of the richest merchandize in my storehouses, and a sufficient guard to conduit him to his house." after he had given this charge to the officer, he bade the envious man farewell, and proceeded on his march. when i had finished the recital of this story to the genie, the murderer of the princess of the isle of ebene, i made an application of it to himself: "o genie!" said i, "this bountiful sultan was not satisfied with merely overlooking the design of the envious man to take away his life, but also treated him kindly, and sent him back loaded with the favours i have enumerated." in short, i employed all my eloquence to persuade him to imitate so good an example, and to grant me pardon; but it was impossible to move his compassion. "all that i can do for thee," said he, "is, to grant thee thy life; but do not flatter thyself that i will allow thee to return safe and well; i must let thee feel what i am able to do by my enchantments." so saying, he seized me violently, and carried me through the arched roof of the subterraneous palace, which opened to give him passage; he ascended with me into the air to such a height, that the earth appeared like a little white cloud; he then descended again like lightning, and alighted upon the summit of a mountain. here he took up a handful of earth, and pronouncing, or rather muttering, some words which i did not understand, threw it upon me. "quit," said he, "the form of a man, and take that of an ape." he instantly disappeared, and left me alone, transformed into an ape, and overwhelmed with sorrow in a strange country, not knowing whether i was near or far from my father's dominions. i descended the mountain, and entered a plain level country, which took me a month to travel over, and then i came to the sea- side. it happened at the time to be perfectly calm, and i espied a vessel about half a league from the shore: unwilling to lose so good an opportunity, i broke off a large branch from a tree, carried it into the sea, and placed myself astride upon it, with a stick in each hand to serve me for oars. i launched out in this posture, and rowed towards the ship. when i had approached sufficiently near to be seen, i exhibited to the seamen and passengers on the deck an extraordinary spectacle, and all of them regarded me with astonishment. in the meantime i got on board, and laying hold of a rope, jumped upon the deck, but having lost my speech i found myself in great perplexity: and indeed the risk i ran was not less than when i was at the mercy of the genie. the merchants, being both superstitious and scrupulous, thought if they received me on board i should be the occasion of some misfortune to them during their voyage. on this account one of them said, "i will destroy him with a blow of this handspike;" another, "i will shoot an arrow through his body;" and a third, "let us throw him into the sea." some one of them would not have failed to carry his threat into execution had i not gone to the captain, thrown myself at his feet, and taken hold of his skirt in a supplicating posture. this action, together with the tears which he saw gush from my eyes, moved his compassion. he took me under his protection, threatened to be revenged on any one that would do me the least hurt, and loaded me with a thousand caresses. on my part, though i had not power to speak, i showed by my gestures every mark of gratitude in my power. the wind that succeeded the calm was not strong, but favourable; it continued to blow in the same direction for fifty days, and brought us safe to the port of a city, well peopled, and of great trade, the capital of a powerful state, where we came to anchor. our vessel was instantly surrounded with an infinite number of boats full of people, who came to congratulate their friends on their safe arrival, or to inquire for those they had left behind them in the country from whence they had come, or out of curiosity to see a ship that had performed so long a voyage. amongst the rest, some officers came on board, desiring in the name of the sultan to speak with the merchants. the merchants appearing, one of the officers told them, "the sultan our master hath commanded us to acquaint you, that he rejoices in your safe arrival, and beseeches each of you to take the trouble to write a few lines upon this roll. that you may understand the design of this request, you must know that we had a prime vizier, who besides possessing great abilities for the management of public affairs could write in the highest perfection. this minister a few days since died. the event has greatly affected the sultan; and since he can never behold his writing without admiration, he has made a solemn vow, not to give the place to any one who cannot write equally well. many have presented specimens of their skill; but to this day, no one in the empire has been judged worthy to supply the vizier's place." those of the merchants who thought they could write well enough to aspire to this high dignity, wrote one after another what they thought fit. after they had done, i advanced, and took the roll out of the gentleman's hand; but all the people, especially the merchants, cried out, that i would tear it, or throw it into the sea, till they saw how properly i held the roll, and made a sign that i would write in my turn: their apprehensions then changed into wonder. however, as they had never seen an ape that could write, and could not be persuaded that i was more ingenious than others of my kind, they wished to take the roll out of my hand; but the captain took my part once more. "let him alone," said he, "allow him to write. if he only scribbles the paper, i promise you that i will immediately punish him. if, on the contrary, he writes well, as i hope he will, because i never saw an ape so clever and ingenious, and so quick of apprehension, i declare that i will adopt him as my son." perceiving that no one opposed my design, i took the pen, and wrote six sorts of hands used among the arabians, and each specimen contained an extemporary distich or quatrain in praise of the sultan. my writing not only excelled that of the merchants, but was such as they had not before seen in that country. when i had done, the officers took the roll, and carried it to the sultan. the sultan took little notice of any of the writings, except mine, which pleased him so much that he said to the officers, "take the finest horse in my stable, with the richest trappings, and a robe of the most sumptuous brocade to put on the person who wrote the six hands, and bring him thither." at this command the officers could not forbear laughing. the sultan was incensed at their rudeness, and would have punished them had they not explained: "sir," said they, "we humbly beg your majesty's pardon: these hands were not written by a man, but by an ape." "what do you say?" exclaimed the sultan. "those admirable characters, are they not written by the hands of a man?" "no, sir," replied the officers; "we assure your majesty that it was an ape, who wrote them in our presence." the sultan was too much surprised at this account not to desire a sight of me, and therefore said, "do what i command you, and bring me speedily that wonderful ape." the officers returned to the vessel and shewed the captain their order, who answered, "the sultan's command must be obeyed." whereupon they clothed me with the rich brocade robe, and carried me ashore, where they set me on horseback, whilst the sultan waited for me at his palace with a great number of courtiers, whom he gathered together to do me the more honour. the procession commenced; the harbour, the streets, the public places, windows, terraces, palaces, and houses, were filled with an infinite number of people of all ranks, who flocked from every part of the city to see me; for the rumour was spread in a moment, that the sultan had chosen an ape to be his grand vizier, and after having served for a spectacle to the people, who could not forbear to express their surprise by redoubling their shouts and cries, i arrived at the sultan's palace. i found the prince on his throne in the midst of the grandees; i made my obeisance three times very low, and at last kneeled and kissed the ground before him, and afterwards took my seat in the posture of an ape. the whole assembly viewed me with admiration, and could not comprehend how it was possible that an ape should so well understand how to pay the sultan his due respect; and he himself was more astonished than any. in short, the usual ceremony of the audience would have been complete, could i have added speech to my behaviour; but apes never speak, and the advantage i had of having been a man did not now yield me that privilege. the sultan dismissed his courtiers, and none remained by him but the chief of the eunuchs, a little young slave, and myself. he went from his chamber of audience into his own apartment, where he ordered dinner to be brought. as he sat at table he made me a sign to approach and eat with them: to shew my obedience i kissed the ground, arose, and placed myself at the table, and ate with discretion and moderation. before the table was cleared, i espied a standish, which i made a sign to have brought me; having got it, i wrote upon a large peach some verses expressive of my acknowledgment to the sultan; who having read them after i had presented the peach to him, was still more astonished. when the things were removed, they brought him a particular liquor, of which he caused them to give me a glass. i drank, and wrote upon the glass some new verses, which explained the state i was reduced to, after many sufferings. the sultan read these likewise, and said, "a man that was capable of doing so much would be above the greatest of his species." the sultan caused to be brought to him a chessboard, and asked me by a sign if i understood that game, and would play with him? i kissed the ground, and laying my hand upon my head, signified that i was ready to receive that honour. he won the first game, but i won the second and third; and perceiving he was somewhat displeased at my success, i made a quatrain to satisfy him; in which i told him that two potent armies had been fighting furiously all day, but that they concluded a peace towards the evening, and passed the remaining part of the night very amicably together upon the field of battle. so many circumstances appearing to the sultan beyond whatever had either been seen or known of the cleverness or sense of apes, he determined not to be the only witness of these prodigies himself, but having a daughter, called the lady of beauty, on whom the chief of the eunuchs, then present, waited; "go," said the sultan to him, "and bid your lady come hither: i am desirous she should share my pleasure." the eunuch went, and immediately brought the princess, who had her face uncovered; but she had no sooner come into the room, than she put on her veil, and said to the sultan, "sir, your majesty must needs have forgotten yourself; i am surprised that your majesty has sent for me to appear among men." "how, daughter!" said the sultan, "you do not know what you say: there is no one here, but the little slave, the eunuch your governor, and myself, who have the liberty to see your face; and yet you lower your veil, and blame me for having sent for you." "sir," said the princess, "your majesty shall soon understand that i am not in the wrong. that seeming ape is a young prince, son of a powerful sultan, and has been metamorphosed into an ape by enchantment. a genie, son of the daughter of eblis, has maliciously done him this wrong, after having cruelly taken away the life of the princess of the isle of ebene." the sultan, astonished at this declaration, turned towards me, and speaking no more by signs, but in plain words, asked me, if what his daughter said was true? finding i could not speak, i put my hand to my head' to signify that what the princess spoke was correct. upon this the sultan said again to his daughter, "how do you know that this prince has been transformed by enchantments into an ape?" "sir," replied the lady of beauty, "your majesty may remember that when i was past my infancy i had an old lady who waited on me; she was a most expert magician, and taught me seventy rules of magic, by virtue of which i can, in the twinkling of an eye, transport your capital into the midst of the sea, or beyond mount caucasus. by this science i know all enchanted persons at first sight: i know who they are, and by whom they have been enchanted; therefore do not be surprised if i should forthwith relieve this prince, in spite of the enchantments, from that which prevents his appearing in your sight in his natural form." "daughter," said the sultan, "i did not believe you to have understood so much." "sir," replied the princess, "these things are curious and worth knowing; but i think i ought not to boast of them." "since it is so," said the sultan, "you can dispel the prince's enchantment." "yes, sir," said the princess, "i can restore him to his original shape." "do it then," said the sultan, "you cannot do me a greater pleasure; for i will have him to be my vizier, and he shall marry you." "sir," said the princess, "i am ready to obey you in all that you should be pleased to command me." the princess, the lady of beauty, went into her apartment, and brought thence a knife, which had some hebrew words engraven on the blade: she made the sultan, the master of the eunuchs, the little slave, and myself, descend into a private court of the palace, and there left us under a gallery that went round it. she placed herself in the middle of the court, where she made a great circle, and within it she wrote several words in arabian characters, some of them ancient. when she had finished and prepared the circle as she thought fit, she placed herself in the centre of it, where she began incantations, and repeated verses of the koraun. the air grew insensibly dark, as if it had been night, and the whole world were about to be dissolved: we found ourselves struck with consternation, and our fear increased when we saw the genie, the son of the daughter of eblis, appear suddenly in the shape of a lion of a gigantic size. as soon as the princess perceived this monster, "dog," said she, "instead of creeping before me, dare you present yourself in this shape, thinking to frighten me?" "and thou," replied the lion, "art thou not afraid to break the treaty which was solemnly made and confirmed between us by oath, not to wrong or do one another any injury?" "wretch," replied the princess, "i justly may reproach thee with having done so." the lion answered fiercely, "thou shalt quickly have thy reward for the trouble thou hast given me:" with that he opened his monstrous jaws, and sprang forward to devour her; but she, being on her guard, stepped back, got time to pull out one of her hairs, and by pronouncing three or four words, changed it into a sharp sword, with which she cut the lion in two through the middle. the two parts of the lion disappeared, while the head changed into a large scorpion. immediately the princess turned herself into a serpent, and fought the scorpion, who, finding himself worsted, took the shape of an eagle, and flew away: but the serpent at the same time took also the shape of an eagle, that was black and much stronger, and pursued him, so that we lost sight of them both. some time after they had disappeared, the ground opened before us, and out of it came forth a black and white cat, with her hair standing on end, and mewing in a frightful manner; a black wolf followed close after her, and gave her no time to rest. the cat, being thus hard pressed, changed into a worm, and being near a pomegranate accidentally fallen from a tree on the side of a canal which was deep, but not broad, pierced the pomegranate in an instant, and hid itself, but the pomegranate swelled immediately, and became as big as a gourd, which, mounting up to the roof of the gallery, rolled there for some time backward and forward; it then fell down again into the court, and broke into several pieces. the wolf had in the meanwhile transformed itself into a cock, and now fell to picking up the seeds of the pomegranate one after another; but finding no more, he came towards us with his wings spread, making a great noise, as if he would ask us whether there were any more seed. there was one lying on the brink of the canal, which the cock perceiving as he went back, ran speedily thither; but just as he was going to pick it up, the seed rolled into the river, and turned into a little fish. the cock leaped into the river, turned into a pike, and pursued the small fish; they continued both under water above two hours, and we knew not what was become of them, but suddenly we heard terrible cries, which made us tremble, and a little while after we saw the genie and princess all in flames. they threw flashes of fire out of their mouths at each other, till they came to close combat; then the two fires increased, with a thick burning smoke which mounted so high that we had reason to apprehend it would set the palace on fire. but we very soon had a more pressing occasion of fear, for the genie having got loose from the princess, came to the gallery where we stood, and blew flames of fire upon us. we must all have perished had not the princess, running to our assistance, forced him to retire, and defend himself against her; yet, notwithstanding all her exertions, she could not hinder the sultan's beard from being burnt, and his face scorched, the chief of the eunuchs from being stifled, and a spark from entering my right eye, and making it blind. the sultan and i expected but death, when we heard a cry of "victory! victory!" and instantly the princess appeared in her natural shape, but the genie was reduced to a heap of ashes. the princess approached us, and hastily called for a cup-full of water, which the young slave, who had received no hurt, brought her. she took it, and after pronouncing some words over it, threw it upon me, saying, "if thou art become an ape by enchantment, change thy shape, and take that of a man which thou hadst before." these words were hardly uttered, when i again became a man, in every respect as i was before my transformation, excepting the loss of my eye. i was prepared to return the princess my thanks, but she prevented me by addressing herself to her father: "sir, i have gained the victory over the genie, as your majesty may see; but it is a victory that costs me dear; i have but a few minutes to live, and you will not have the satisfaction to make the match you intended; the fire has pierced me during the terrible combat, and i find it is gradually consuming me. this would not have happened, had i perceived the last of the pomegranate seeds, and swallowed it, as i did the others when i was changed into a cock: the genie had fled thither as to his last intrenchment, and upon that the success of the combat depended, which would have been successful, and without danger to me. this oversight obliged me to have recourse to fire, and to fight with those mighty arms as i did, between heaven and earth, in your presence; for, in spite of all his redoubtable art and experience, i made the genie know that i understood more than he; i have conquered and reduced him to ashes, but i cannot escape death, which is approaching." the sultan suffered the princess, the lady of beauty, to go on with the recital of her combat, and when she had done, addressed her in a tone that sufficiently testified his grief; "my daughter," said he, "you see in what condition your father is; alas! i wonder that i am yet alive! your governor, the eunuch, is dead, and the prince whom you have delivered from his enchantment has lost one of his eyes." he could say no more, for his tears, sighs, and sobs, deprived him of the power of utterance. suddenly the princess exclaimed, "i burn! i burn!" she found that the fire had at last seized upon her vital parts, which made her still cry "i burn!" until death had put an end to her intolerable pains. the effect of that fire was so extraordinary, that in a few moments she was wholly reduced to ashes, as the genie had been. i cannot tell you, madam, how much i was grieved at so dismal a spectacle; i had rather all my life have continued an ape or a dog, than to have seen my benefactress thus miserably perish. the sultan being afflicted all that can be imagined, cried piteously, and beat himself on his head and breast, until being quite overcome with grief, he fainted away, which made me fear for his life. in the mean time, the eunuchs and officers came running at the sultan's lamentations, and with much difficulty brought him to himself. it was not necessary that the prince or myself should relate the circumstances of the adventure, to convince them of the affliction it had occasioned us. the two heaps of ashes, to which the princess and the genie had been reduced, were a sufficient demonstration. the sultan was hardly able to stand, but was under the necessity of being supported to his apartment. when the knowledge of this tragical event had spread through the palace and the city, all the people bewailed the misfortune of the princess, the lady of beauty, and commiserated the sultan's affliction. public mourning was observed for seven days, and many ceremonies were performed. the ashes of the genie were thrown into the air, but those of the princess were collected into a precious urn, to be preserved, and the urn was deposited in a superb mausoleum, constructed for that purpose on the spot where the princess had been consumed. the grief of the sultan for the loss of his daughter confined him to his chamber for a whole month. before he had fully recovered his strength he sent for me: "prince," said he, "attend to the commands i now give you; your life must answer if you do not carry them into execution." i assured him of exalt obedience; upon which he went on thus: "i have constantly lived in perfect felicity, but by your arrival all the happiness i possessed has vanished; my daughter is dead, her governor is no more, and it is only through a miracle that i am myself yet alive you are the cause of all these misfortunes, under which it is impossible that i should be comforted; depart hence therefore in peace, without farther delay, for i must myself perish if you remain any longer. i am persuaded that your presence brings misfortune with it. depart, and take care never to appear again in my dominions. no consideration whatever shall hinder me from making you repent your temerity should you violate my injunction." i was going to speak, but he prevented me by words full of anger; and i was obliged to quit the palace, rejected, banished, an outcast from the world. before i left the city i went into a bagnio, here i caused my beard and eyebrows to be shaved, and put on a calender's habit. i began my journey, not so much deploring my own miseries, as the death of the two fair princesses, of which i have been the occasion. i passed through many countries without making myself known; at last i resolved to come to bagdad, in hopes of getting myself introduced to the commander of the faithful, to move his compassion by relating to him my unfortunate adventures. i arrived this evening, and the first man i met was this calender, our brother, who spoke before me. you know the remaining part, madam, and the cause of my having the honour to be here. when the second calender had concluded his story, zobeide, to whom he had addressed his speech, said, "it is well, you are at liberty." but instead of departing, he also petitioned the lady to shew him the same favour vouchsafed to the first calender, and went and sat down by him. the history of the third calender. my story, most honourable lady, very much differs from what you have already heard. the two princes who have spoken before me have each lost an eye by the pure effects of their destiny, but mine i lost through my own fault, and by hastening to seek my own misfortune, as you shall hear by the sequel of the story. my name is agib, and i am the son of a sultan who was called cassib. after his death i took possession of his dominions, and continued in the city where he had resided. it is situated on the sea-coast, has one of the finest and safest harbours in the world, an arsenal capable of fitting out for sea one hundred and fifty men of war, besides merchantmen and light vessels. my kingdom is composed of several fine provinces upon the main land, besides a number of valuable islands, which lie almost in sight of my capital. my first object was to visit the provinces: i afterwards caused my whole fleet to be fitted out, and went to my islands to gain the hearts of my subjects by my presence, and to confirm them in their loyalty. these voyages gave me some taste for navigation, in which i took so much pleasure, that i resolved to make some discoveries beyond my own territories; to which end i caused ten ships to be fitted out, embarked, and set sail. our voyage was very pleasant for forty days successively, but on the forty-first night the wind became contrary, and withal so boisterous that we were near being lost: about break of day the storm abated, the clouds dispersed, and the weather became fair. we reached an island, where we remained two days to take in fresh provisions; and then put off again to sea. after ten days' sail we were in hopes of seeing land, for the tempests we had experienced had so much abated my curiosity, that i gave orders to steer back to my own coast; but i perceived at the same time that my pilot knew not where we were. upon the tenth day, a seaman being sent to look out for land from the mast head, gave notice that on starboard and larboard he could see nothing but sky and sea, but that right a-head he perceived a great blackness. the pilot changed colour at this account, and throwing his turban on the deck with one hand, and beating his breast with the other, cried, "oh, sir, we are all lost; not one of us can escape; and with all my skill it is not in my power to effect our deliverance." having spoken thus, he lamented like a man who foresaw unavoidable ruin; his despondence threw the whole ship's crew into consternation. i asked him what reason he had thus to despair? he exclaimed, "the tempest has brought us so far out of our course, that to-morrow about noon we shall be near the black mountain, or mine of adamant, which at this very minute draws all your fleet towards it, by virtue of the iron in your ships; and when we approach within a certain distance, the attraction of the adamant will have such force, that all the nails will be drawn out of the sides and bottoms of the ships, and fasten to the mountain, so that your vessels will fall to pieces and sink. "this mountain," continued the pilot, "is inaccessible. on the summit there is a dome of fine brass, supported by pillars of the same metal, and on the top of that dome stands a horse, likewise of brass, with a rider on his back, who has a plate or lead fixed to his breast, upon which some talismanic characters are engraver. sir, the tradition is, that this statue is the chief cause why so many ships and men have been lost and sunk in this place, and that it will ever continue to be fatal to all those who have the misfortune to approach, until it shall be thrown down." the pilot having finished his discourse, began to weep afresh, and all the rest of the ship's company did the same. i had no other thought but that my days were there to terminate. in the mean time every one began to provide for his own safety, and to that end took all imaginable precaution; and being uncertain of the event, they all made one another their heirs, by virtue of a will, for the benefit of those that should happen to be saved. the next morning we distinctly perceived the black mountain. about noon we were so near, that we found what the pilot had foretold to be true; for all the nails and iron in the ships flew towards the mountain, where they fixed, by the violence of the attraction, with a horrible noise; the ships split asunder, and their cargoes sunk into the sea. all my people were drowned, but god had mercy on me, and permitted me to save myself by means of a plank, which the wind drove ashore just at the foot of the mountain. i did not receive the least hurt, and my good fortune brought me to a landing place, where there were steps that led up to the summit of the mountain. at the sight of these steps, for there was not a space of ground either on the right or left whereon a man could set his foot, i gave thanks to god; and recommended myself to his holy protection, as i began to ascend the steps, which were so narrow, that had the wind raged it would have thrown me into the sea. but, at last, i reached the top, without accident. i went into the dome, and kneeling on the ground, gave god thanks for his mercies. i passed the night under the dome. in my sleep an old grave man appeared to me, and said, "hearken, agib; as soon as thou art awake dig up the ground under thy feet: thou wilt find a bow of brass, and three arrows of lead, that are made under certain constellations, to deliver mankind from the many calamities that threaten them. shoot the three arrows at the statue, and the rider will fall into the sea, but the horse will fall by thy side; thou must bury it in the place where thou findest the bow and arrows: this being done, the sea will swell and rise to the foot of the dome. when it has come so high, thou wilt perceive a boat with one man holding an oar in each hand; this man is also of metal, but different from that thou hast thrown down; step on board, but without mentioning the name of god, and let him conduct thee. he will in ten days' time bring thee into another sea, where thou shalt find an opportunity to return to thy country, provided, as i have told thee, thou dost not mention the name of god during the whole voyage." this was the substance of the old man's discourse. when i awoke i felt much comforted by the vision, and did not fail to observe everything that he had commanded me. i took the bow and arrows out of the ground, shot at the horseman, and with the third arrow i overthrew him; he fell into the sea, and the horse fell by my side; i buried it in the place whence i took the bow and arrows. in the mean time, the sea swelled and rose up by degrees. when it came as high as the foot of the dome upon the top of the mountain, i saw, afar off, a boat rowing towards me, and i returned god thanks that everything succeeded according to my dream. at last the boat made land, and i perceived the man was made of metal, as i had dreamt. i stept aboard, and took great heed not to pronounce the name of god, neither spoke i one word. i sat down, and the man of metal began to row off from the mountain. he rowed without ceasing till the ninth day, when i saw some islands, which gave me hopes that i should escape all the danger that i feared. the excess of my joy made me forget what i was forbidden: "blessed be god," said i; "god be praised." i had no sooner spoken these words, than the boat sunk with the man of metal, leaving me upon the surface. i swam the remaining part of the day towards that land which appeared nearest. a very dark night succeeded, and not knowing where i was, i swam at random. my strength at last began to fail, and i despaired of being able to save myself, but the wind began to blow hard, and a wave vast as a mountain threw me on a flat, where it left me, and retreated. i made haste ashore, fearing another wave might wash me back. the first thing i did was to strip, wring the water out of my clothes, and lay them on the dry sand, which was still warm from the heat of the day. next morning the sun dried my clothes; i put them on, and went forward to discover what sort of country i was in. i had not walked far before i found i was upon a desert, though a very pleasant, island, as it displayed several sorts of trees and wild shrubs bearing fruit; but i perceived it was far from the continent, which much diminished the joy i felt at having escaped the danger of the seas. nevertheless, i recommended myself to god and prayed him to dispose of me according to his will. immediately after, i saw a vessel coming from the main land, before the wind, directly towards the island. i doubted not but they were coming to anchor there; and being uncertain what sort of people they might be, whether friends or foes, i thought it not safe to be seen. i got up into a very thick tree, from whence i might safely view them. the vessel came into a little creek, where ten slaves landed, carrying a spade and other instruments for digging up the ground. they went towards the middle of the island, where i saw them stop, and dig for a considerable time, after which i thought i perceived them lift up a trap door. they returned again to the vessel, and unloaded several sorts of provisions and furniture, which they carried to the place where they had been digging: they then descended, which made me suppose it led to a subterraneous dwelling. i saw them once more go to the ship, and return soon after with an old man, who led in his hand a handsome lad of about fourteen or fifteen years of age. they all descended when the trap door had been opened. after they had again come up, they let down the trap door, covered it over with earth, and returned to the creek where the ship lay, but i saw not the young man in their company. this made me believe that he had staid behind in the subterraneous place, a circumstance which exceedingly surprised me. the old man and the slaves went on board, and getting the vessel under weigh, steered their course towards the main land. when i perceived they had proceeded to such a distance that i could not be seen by them, i came down from the tree, and went directly to the place where i had seen the ground broken. i removed the earth by degrees, till i came to a stone that was two or three feet square. i lifted it up, and found that it covered the head of a flight of stairs, which were also of stone. i descended, and at the bottom found myself in a large room, furnished with a carpet, a couch covered with tapestry, and cushions of rich stuff, upon which the young man sat, with a fan in his hand. these things, together with fruits and flower-pot standing about him, i saw by the light of two wax tapers. the young man, when he perceived me was considerably alarmed; but to quiet his apprehensions, i said to him as i entered, "whoever you are, sir, do not fear; a sultan, and the son of a sultan, as i am, is not capable of doing you any injury: on the contrary, it is probable that your good destiny may have brought me hither to deliver you out of this tomb, where it seems you have been buried alive, for reasons to me unknown. but what surprises me (for you must know that i have been witness to all that hath passed since your coming into this island), is, that you suffered yourself to be entombed in this place without any resistance." the young man felt assured at these words, and with a smiling countenance requested me to take a seat by him. when i had complied, he said "prince, i am to acquaint you with what will surprise you by its singularity. "my father is a merchant jeweller, who, by his industry and professional skill, has acquired considerable property. he has many slaves, and also agents, whom he employs as supercargoes in his own ships, to maintain his correspondence at the several courts, which he furnishes with precious stones. "he had been long married without having issue, when it was intimated to him in a dream that he should have a son, though his life would be but short; at which he was much concerned when he awoke. some days after, my mother acquainted him that she was with child, and what she supposed to be the time of her conception agreed exactly with the day of his dream. at the end of nine months she was brought to bed of me; which occasioned great joy in the family. "my father, who had observed the very moment of my birth, consulted astrologers about my nativity; and was answered, �your son shall live happily till the age of fifteen, when his life will be exposed to a danger which he will hardly be able to escape. but if his good destiny preserve him beyond that time, he will live to a great age. it will be' (said they) �when the statue of brass, that stands upon the summit of the mountain of adamant, shall be thrown into the sea by prince agib, son of king cassib; and, as the stars prognosticate, your son will be killed fifty days afterwards by that prince.' "my father took all imaginable care of my education until this year, which is the fifteenth of my age. he had notice given him yesterday, that the statue of brass had been thrown into the sea about ten days ago. this news alarmed him much. "upon the prediction the astrologers, he sought by all means possible to falsify my horoscope, and to preserve my life. he took the precaution to form this subterranean habitation to hide me in, till the expiration of the fifty days after the throwing down of the statue; and therefore, as it is ten days since this happened, he came hastily hither to conceal me, and promised at the end of forty days to return and fetch me away. for my own part i am sanguine in my hopes, and cannot believe that prince agib will seek for me in a place under ground, in the midst of a desert island." while the jeweller's son was relating this story, i laughed at the astrologers who had foretold that i should take away his life; for i thought myself so far from being likely to verify their prediction, that he had scarcely done speaking, when i told him with great joy, "dear sir, trust in the goodness of god, and fear nothing; consider it as a debt you had to pay; but that you are acquitted of it from this hour. i rejoice that after my shipwreck i came so fortunately hither to defend you against all who would attempt your life. i will not leave you till the forty days have expired, of which the foolish astrologers have made you apprehensive; and in the mean while i will do you all the service in my power: after which, with leave of your father and yourself, i shall have the benefit of getting to the main land in your vessel; and when i am returned into my kingdom, i will remember the obligations i owe you, and endeavour to demonstrate my gratitude by suitable acknowedgments." this discourse encouraged the jeweller's son, and inspired him with confidence. i took care not to inform him i was the very agib whom he dreaded, lest i should alarm his fears, and used every precaution not to give him any cause to suspect who i was. we passed the time in various conversation till night came on. i found the young man of ready wit, and partook with him of his provisions, of which he had enough to have lasted beyond the forty days, though he had had more guests than myself. after supper we conversed for some time; and at last retired to bed. the next morning, when he arose, i held the basin of water to him; i also provided dinner, and at the proper time placed it on the table: after we had dined i invented a play for our amusement, not only for that day, but for those that followed. i prepared supper after the same manner as i had done the dinner; and having supped, we retired to bed as before. we had sufficient time to contrast mutual friendship and esteem for each other. i found he loved me; and i on my part regarded him with so much affection, that i often said to myself, "those astrologers who predicted to his father that his son should die by my hand were impostors; for it is not possible that i could commit so base a crime." in short, madam, we spent thirty-nine days in the pleasantest manner possible in this subterraneous abode. the fortieth day appeared: and in the morning, when the young man awoke, he said to me with a transport of joy that he could not restrain, "prince, this is the fortieth day, and i am not dead, thanks to god and your good company. my father will not fail to make you, very shortly, every acknowledgment of his gratitude for your attentions, and will furnish you with every necessary accommodation for your return to your kingdom: but," continued he, "while we are waiting his arrival, i beg you will provide me some warm water in that portable bath, that i may wash my body and change my dress, to receive my father with the more respect." i set the water on the fire, and when it was hot poured it into the moveable bath; the youth went in, and i both washed and rubbed him. at last he came out, and laid himself down in his bed that i had prepared. after he had slept a while, he awoke, and said, "dear prince, pray do me the favour to fetch me a melon and some sugar, that i may eat some to refresh me." out of several melons that remained i took the best, and laid it on a plate; and as i could not find a knife to cut it with, i asked the young man if he knew where there was one. "there is one," said he, "upon this cornice over my head:" i accordingly saw it there, and made so much haste to reach it, that, while i had it in my hand, my foot being entangled in the carpet, i fell most unhappily upon the young man, and the knife pierced his heart. at this spectacle i cried out with agony. i beat my head, my face, and breast; i tore my clothes; i threw myself on the ground with unspeakable sorrow and grief! "alas!" i exclaimed, "there were only some hours wanting to have put him out of that danger from which he sought sanctuary here; and when i thought the danger past, then i became his murderer, and verified the prediction. but, o lord!" said i, lifting up my face and my hands to heaven, "i intreat thy pardon, and if i be guilty of his death, let me not live any longer." after this misfortune i would have embraced death without any reluctance, had it presented itself to me. but what we wish, whether it be good or evil, will not always happen according to our desire. nevertheless, considering that all my tears and sorrows would not restore the young man to life, and, the forty days being expired, i might be surprised by his father, i quitted the subterranean dwelling, laid down the great stone upon the entrance, and covered it with earth. i had scarcely done, when, casting my eyes upon the sea towards the main land, i perceived the vessel coming to fetch away the young man. i began then to consider what i had best do. i said to myself, "if i am seen by the old man, he will certainly seize me, and perhaps cause me to be massacred by his slaves, when he has discovered that his son is killed: all that i can allege to justify myself will not convince him of my innocence. it is better then to withdraw while it is in my power, than to expose myself to his resentment." there happened to be near a large tree thick with leaves, which i ascended in hopes of concealment, and was no sooner fixed in a place where i could not be perceived, than i saw the vessel come to the creek where she lay the first time. the old man with his slaves landed immediately, and advanced towards the subterranean dwelling, with a countenance that shewed some hope; but when they saw the earth had been newly removed, they changed colour, particularly the old man. they lifted up the stone, and went down; they called the young man by his name, but he not answering, their fears increased. they proceeded to seek him; and at length found him lying upon the bed with the knife in his heart, for i had not power to take it out. at this sight they cried out lamentably, which increased my sorrow: the old man fell down in a swoon. the slaves, to give him air, brought him up in their arms, and laid him at the foot of the tree where i was concealed; but notwithstanding all the pains they took to recover him, the unfortunate father continued a long while insensible, and made them more than once despair of his life; but at last he came to himself. the slaves then brought up his son's corpse, dressed in his best apparel, and when they had made a grave they buried it. the old man, supported by two slaves, and his face covered with tears, threw the first earth upon the body, after which the slaves filled up the grave. this being done, all the furniture was brought up, and, with the remaining provisions, put on board the vessel. the old man, overcome with sorrow, and not being able to stand, was laid upon a litter, and carried to the ship, which stood out to sea, and in a short time was out of sight. after the old man and his slaves were gone, i was left alone upon the island. i lay that night in the subterranean dwelling, which they had shut up, and when the day came, i walked round the island, and stopped in such places as i thought most proper for repose. i led this wearisome life for a whole month. at the expiration of this time i perceived that the sea had receded; that the island had increased in dimensions; the main land too seemed to be drawing nearer. in fact, the water sunk so low, that there remained between me and the continent but a small stream, which i crossed, and the water did not reach above the middle of my leg. i walked so long a way upon the slime and sand that i was very weary: at last i got upon more firm ground, and when i had proceeded some distance from the sea, i saw a good way before me something that resembled a great fire, which afforded me some comfort; for i said to myself, i shall find here some persons, it not being possible that this fire should kindle of itself. as i drew nearer, however, i found my error, and discovered that what i had taken for a fire was a castle of red copper, which the beams of the sun made to appear at a distance like flames. i stopped in the neighbourhood of the castle, and sat down to admire its noble structure, and to rest myself. before i had taken such a view of this magnificent building as it deserved, i saw ten handsome young men coming along, as if they had been taking a walk; but what surprised me was, that they were all blind of the right eye. they were accompanied by an old man, who was very tall, and of a venerable aspect. i could not suppress my astonishment at the sight of so many half blind men in company, and every one deprived of the same eye. as i was conjecturing by what adventure these men could come together, they approached, and seemed glad to see me. after the first salutations, they inquired what had brought me thither. i told them my story would be somewhat tedious, but if they would take the trouble to sit down, would satisfy their curiosity. they did so, and i related to them all that had happened to me since i had left my kingdom, which filled them with astonishment. after i had concluded my account, the young gentlemen prayed me to accompany them into the castle. i accepted their offer, and we passed through a great many halls, ante-chambers, bed-chambers, and closets, very well furnished, and came at last into a spacious hall, where there were ten small blue sofas set round, separate from one another, on which they sat by day and slept at night. in the middle of this circle stood an eleventh sofa, not so high as the rest, but of the same colour, upon which the old man before-mentioned sat down, and the young gentlemen occupied the other ten. but as each sofa could only contain one man, one of the young men said to me, "comrade, sit down upon that carpet in the middle of the room, and do not inquire into anything that concerns us, nor the reason why we are all blind of the right eye; be content with what you see, and let not your curiosity extend any farther." the old man having sat a short time, arose, and went out; but he returned in a minute or two, brought in supper, distributed to each man separately his proportion, and likewise brought me mine, which i ate apart, as the rest did; and when supper was almost ended, he presented to each of us a cup of wine. they thought my story so extraordinary, that they made me repeat it after supper, and it furnished conversation for a good part of the night. one of the gentlemen observing that it was late, said to the old man, "you do not bring us that with which we may acquit ourselves of our duty." at these words the old man arose, and went into a closet, and brought out thence upon his head ten basins, one after another, all covered with blue stuff; he placed one before every gentleman, together with a light. they uncovered their basins, which contained ashes, coal-dust, and lamp-black; they mixed all together, and rubbed and bedaubed their faces with it in such a manner as to make themselves look very frightful. after having thus blackened themselves, they wept and lamented, beating their heads and breasts, and crying continually, "this is the fruit of our idleness and debauches." they continued this strange employment nearly the whole of the night, and when they left off, the old man brought them water, with which they washed their faces and hands; they changed all their clothes, which were spoiled, and put on others; so that they exhibited no appearance of what they had been doing. you may judge how uneasy i felt all this time. i wished a thousand times to break the silence which had been imposed upon me, and ask questions; nor was it possible for me to sleep that night. the next day, soon after we had arisen, we went out to walk, and then i said to them, "gentlemen, i declare to you, that i must renounce the law which you prescribed to me last night, for i cannot observe it. you are men of sense, you have convinced me that you do not want understanding; yet, i have seen you do such actions as none but madmen could be capable of. whatever misfortune befalls me, i cannot forbear asking, why you bedaubed your faces with black? how it has happened that each of you has but one eye? some singular circumstance must certainly be the cause; therefore i conjure you to satisfy my curiosity." to these pressing instances they answered only, that it was no business of mine to make such inquiries, and that i should do well to hold my peace. we passed that day in conversation upon indifferent subjects; and when night was come and every man had supped, the old man brought in the blue basins, and the young gentlemen as before bedaubed their faces, wept and beat themselves, crying, "this is the fruit of our idleness and debauches," and continued the same actions the following night. at last, not being able to resist my curiosity, i earnestly prayed them to satisfy me, or to shew me how to return to my own kingdom; for it was impossible for me to keep them company any longer, and to see every night such an odd exhibition, without being permitted to know the reason. one of the gentlemen answered on behalf of the rest, "do not wonder at our conduit in regard to yourself, and that hitherto we have not granted your request: it is out of kindness, to save you the pain of being reduced to the same condition with ourselves. if you have a mind to try our unfortunate destiny, you need but speak, and we will give you the satisfaction you desire." i told them i was resolved on it, let what would be the consequence. "once more," said the same gentleman, "we advise you to restrain your curiosity: it will cost you the loss of your right eye." "no matter," i replied; "be assured that if such a misfortune befall me, i will not impute it to you, but to myself." he farther represented to me, that when i had lost an eye i must not hope to remain with them, if i were so disposed, because their number was complete, and no addition could be made to it. i told them, that it would be a great satisfaction to me never to part from such agreeable gentlemen, but if there were a necessity for it, i was ready to submit; and let it cost me what it would, i begged them to grant my request. the ten gentlemen perceiving that i was so fixed in my resolution, took a sheep, killed it, and after they had taken off the skin, presented me with a knife, telling me it would be useful to me on an occasion which they would soon explain. "we must sew you in this skin," said they, "and then leave you; upon which a bird of a monstrous size, called a roc, will appear in the air, and taking you for a sheep, will pounce upon you, and soar with you to the sky: but let not that alarm you; he will descend with you again, and lay you on the top of a mountain. when you find yourself on the ground, cut the skin with your knife, and throw it off. as soon as the roc sees you, he will fly away for fear, and leave you at liberty. do not stay, but walk on till you come to a spacious castle, covered with plates of gold, large emeralds, and other precious stones: go up to the gate, which always stands open, and walk in. we have each of us been in that castle; but will tell you nothing of what we saw, or what befell us there; you will learn by your own experience. all that we can inform you is, that it has cost each of us our right eye, and the penance which you have been witness to, is what we are obliged to observe in consequence of having been there. the history of each of us is so full of extraordinary adventures, that a large volume would not contain them. but we cannot explain ourselves farther." when the gentleman had thus spoken, i wrapt myself in the sheep's skin, held fast the knife which was given me; and after the young gentlemen had been at the trouble to sew the skin about me, they retired into the hall, and left me alone. the roc they spoke of soon arrived; he pounced upon me, took me in his talons like a sheep, and carried me up the summit of the mountain. when i found myself on the ground, i cut the skin with the knife, and throwing it off, the roc at the sight of me flew sway. this roc is a white bird, of a monstrous size; his strength is such, that he can lift up elephants from the plains, and carry them to the tops of mountains, where he feeds upon them. being impatient to reach the castle, i lost no time; but made so much haste, that i got thither in half a day's journey, and i must say that i found it surpassed the description they had given me of its magnificence. the gate being open, i entered a square court, so large that there were round it ninety-nine gates of wood of sanders and aloes, and one of gold, without reckoning those of several superb staircases, that led to apartments above, besides many more which i could not see. the hundred doors i spoke of opened into gardens or store-houses full of riches, or into apartments which contained many things wonderful to be seen. i saw a door standing open just before me, through which i entered into a large hall. here i found forty young ladies of such perfect beauty as imagination could not surpass: they were all most sumptuously appareled. as soon as they saw me they arose, and without waiting my salutations, said to me, with demonstrations of joy, "noble sir, you are welcome." and one thus addressed me in the name of the rest, "we have long been in expectation of such a gentleman as you; your mien assures us, that you are master of all the good qualities we can desire; and we hope you will not find our company disagreeable or unworthy of yours." they obliged me, notwithstanding all the opposition i could make, to sit down on a seat that was higher than their own; and when i expressed my uneasiness, "that is your place," said they, "you are at present our lord, master, and judge, and we are your slaves, ready to obey your commands." nothing, madam, so much astonished me, as the solicitude and eagerness of those fair ladies to do me all possible service. one brought hot water to wash my feet, a second poured sweet scented water on my hands; others brought me all kinds of necessaries, and change of apparel; others again brought in a magnificent collation; and the rest came with glasses in their hands to fill me delicious wines, all in good order, and in the most charming manner possible. i ate and drank; after which the ladies placed themselves about me, and desired an account of my travels. i gave them a full relation of my adventures, which lasted till night came on. when i had finished my narrative to the forty ladies, some of them who sat nearest me staid to keep me company, whilst the rest, seeing it was dark, rose to fetch tapers. they brought a prodigious number, which by the wonderful light they emitted exhibited the resemblance of day, and they disposed them with so much taste as to produce the most beautiful effect possible. other ladies covered a table with dry fruits, sweetmeats, and everything proper to relish the liquor; a side-board was set out with several sorts of wine and other liquors. some of the ladies brought in musical instruments, and when everything was ready, they invited me to sit down to supper. the ladies sat down with me, and we continued a long while at our repast. they that were to play upon the instruments and sing arose, and formed a most charming concert. the others began a kind of ball, and danced two and two, couple after couple, with admirable grace. it was past midnight ere these amusements ended. at length one of the ladies said to me, "you are doubtless wearied by the journey you have taken to-day; it is time for you to retire to rest; your lodging is prepared: but before you depart choose which of us you like best to be your bedfellow." i answered, "that i knew not how to make my own choice, as they were all equally beautiful, witty, and worthy of my respects and service, and that i would not be guilty of so much incivility as to prefer one before another." the lady who had spoken to me before answered, "we are very well satisfied of your civility, and find it is your fear to create jealousy among us that occasions your diffidence; but let not this hinder you. we assure you, that the good fortune of her whom you choose shall cause no feeling of the kind; for we are agreed among ourselves, that every one of us shall in her turn have the same honour; and when forty days are past, to begin again; therefore make your selection, and lose no time to take the repose you need." i was obliged to yield to their entreaties, and offered my hand to the lady who spoke, and who, in return, gave me hers. we were conducted to a sumptuous apartment, where they left us; and then every one retired to her own chamber. i was scarcely dressed next morning, when the other thirty-nine ladies came into my chamber, all in different dresses from those they had worn the day before: they bade me good-morrow, and inquired after my health. after which they conveyed me to a bath, where they washed me themselves, and whether i would or no, served me with everything i needed; and when i came out of the bath, they made me put on another suit much richer than the former. we passed the whole day almost constantly at table; and when it was bed-time, they prayed me again to make choice of one of them for my companion in short, madam, not to weary you with repetitions, i must tell you that i continued a whole year among those forty ladies, and received them into my bed one after another: and during all the time of this voluptuous life, we met not with the least kind of trouble. when the year was expired, i was greatly surprised that these forty ladies, instead of appearing with their usual cheerfulness to ask me how i did, entered my chamber one morning all in tears. they embraced me with great tenderness one after another, saying, "adieu, dear prince, adieu! for we must leave you." their tears affected. i prayed them to tell me the reason of their grief, and of the separation they spoke of. "fair ladies, let me know," said i, "if it be in my power to comfort you, or if my assistance can be any way useful to you." instead of returning a direct answer, "would," said they, "we had never seen or known you! several gentlemen have honoured us with their company before you; but never one of them had that comeliness, that sweetness, that pleasantness of humour, and that merit which you possess; we know not how to live without you." after they had spoken these words, they began to weep bitterly. "my dear ladies," said i, "have the kindness not to keep me any longer in suspense: tell me the cause of your sorrow." "alas!" said they, "what but the necessity of parting from you could thus afflict us? perhaps we shall never see you more; but if it be your wish we should, and if you possess sufficient self-command for the purpose, it is not impossible but that we may again enjoy the pleasure of your company." "ladies," i replied, "i understand not what you mean; pray explain yourselves more clearly." "well," said one of them, "to satisfy you, we must acquaint you that we are all princesses, daughters of kings. we live here together in the manner you have seen; but at the end of every year we are obliged to be absent forty days upon indispensable duties, which we are not permitted to reveal: and afterwards we return again to this castle. yesterday was the last of the year; to day we must leave you, and this circumstance is the cause of our grief. before we depart we will leave you the keys of everything, especially those of the hundred doors, where you will find enough to satisfy your curiosity, and to relieve your solitude during our absence. but for your benefit, and our own personal interests, we recommend you to forbear opening the golden door; for if you do we shall never see you again; and the apprehension of this augments our grief. we hope, nevertheless, that you will attend to our advice; your own peace, and the happiness of your life, depends upon your compliance; therefore take heed. if you suffer yourself to be swayed by a foolish curiosity, you will do yourself a considerable injury. we conjure you to avoid the indiscretion, and to give us the satisfaction finding you here again at the end of forty days. we would willingly take the key of the golden door with us; but that it would be an affront to a prince like you to question your discretion and firmness." this speech of the fair princesses grieved me extremely. i omitted not to declare how much their absence would afflict me. i thanked then for their good advice, assuring them that i would follow it, and expressed my willingness to perform what was much more difficult, to secure the happiness of passing the rest of my days with ladies of such beauty and accomplishments. we separated with much tenderness, and after i had embraced them all, they departed, and i remained alone in the castle. the agreeableness of their company, their hospitality, their musical entertainments, and other amusements, had so much absorbed my attention during the whole year, that i neither had time nor desire to see the wonders contained in this enchanted palace. i did not even notice a thousand curious objects that every day offered themselves to my view, so much was i charmed by the beauty of those ladies, and the pleasure they seemed to take in promoting my gratification. their departure sensibly afflicted me; and though their absence was to be only forty days, it seemed to me an age to live without them. i determined not to forget the important advice they had given me, not to open the golden door; but as i was permitted to satisfy my curiosity in everything else, i took the first of the keys of the other doors, which were hung in regular order. i opened the first door, and entered an orchard, which i believe the universe could not equal. i could not imagine any thing to surpass it, except that which our religion promises us after death. the symmetry, the neatness, the admirable order of the trees, the abundance and diversity of unknown fruits, their freshness and beauty, delighted my senses. nor must i omit to inform you, that this delicious orchard was watered in a very particular manner. there were channels so artificially and proportionately dug, that they carried water in considerable quantities to the roots of such trees as required much moisture. others conveyed it in smaller quantities to those whose fruits were already formed: some carried still less to those whose fruits were swelling, and others carried only so much as was just requisite to water those which had their fruits come to perfection, and only wanted to be ripened. they far exceeded in size the ordinary fruits of our gardens. lastly, those channels that watered the trees whose fruit was ripe had no more moisture than just what would preserve them from withering. i should never have tired in examining and admiring so delightful a place; nor have left it, had i not conceived a still higher idea of the other things which i had not seen. i went out at last with my mind filled with the wonders i had viewed: i shut the door, and opened the next. instead of an orchard, i found here a flower garden, which was no less extraordinary in its kind. it contained a spacious plot, not watered so profusely as the former, but with greater niceness, furnishing no more water than just what each flower required. the roses, jessamines, violets, daffodils, hyacinths, anemonies, tulips, pinks, lilies, and an infinite number of flowers, which do not grow in other places but at certain times, were there flourishing all at once, and nothing could be more delicious than the fragrant smell which they emitted. i opened the third door, and found a large aviary, paved with marble of several fine and uncommon colours. the trellis work was made of sandal wood and wood of aloes. it contained a vast number of nightingales, gold-finches, canary birds, larks, and other rare singing-birds, which i had never heard of; and the vessels that held their seed and water were of the most precious jasper or agate. besides, this aviary was so exceedingly neat, that, considering its extent, i judged there must be not less than a hundred persons to keep it clean; but all this while not one appeared, either here or in the gardens i had before examined; and yet i could not perceive a weed, or any thing superfluous or offensive to sight. the sun went down, and i retired, charmed with the chirping notes of the multitude of birds, who then began to perch upon such places as suited them for repose during the night. i went to my chamber, resolving on the following days to open all the rest of the doors, excepting that of gold. the next day i opened the fourth door. if what i had seen before was capable of exciting my surprise, what i now beheld transported me into perfect ecstacy. i entered a large court surrounded with buildings of an admirable structure, the description of which i will omit, to avoid prolixity. this building had forty doors, all open, and through each of them was an entrance into a treasury: several of these treasuries contained as much wealth as the largest kingdoms. the first was stored with heaps of pearls: and, what is almost incredible, the number of those stones which are most precious, and as large as pigeons' eggs, exceeded the number of those of the ordinary size. in the second treasury, there were diamonds, carbuncles, and rubies; in the third, emeralds; in the fourth, ingots of gold; in the fifth, money; in the sixth, ingots of silver; and in the two following, money. the rest contained amethysts, chrysolites, topazes, opals, turquoises, and hyacinths, with all the other stones known to us, without mentioning agate, jasper, cornelian, and coral, of which there was a store house filled, not only with branches, but whole trees. filled with astonishment and admiration at the view of all these riches, i exclaimed, "if all the treasures of the kings of the universe were gathered together in one place, they could not equal the value of these. how fortunate am i to possess all this wealth with so many admirable princesses! " i will not tire you, madam, with a detail of all the other objects of curiosity and value which i discovered on the following day. i shall only say, that thirty-nine days afforded me but just as much time as was necessary to open ninety-nine doors, and to admire all that presented itself to my view, so that there was only the hundredth door left, which i was forbidden to open. the fortieth day after the departure of those charming princesses arrived, and had i but retained so much self-command as i ought to have had, i should have been this day the happiest of all mankind, whereas now i am the most unfortunate. they were to return the next day, and the pleasure of seeing them again ought to have restrained my curiosity: but through my weakness, which i shall ever repent, i yielded to the temptations of the evil spirit, who allowed me no rest till i had involved myself in the misfortunes i have since suffered. i opened that fatal door! but before i had moved my foot to enter, a smell pleasant enough, but too powerful for my senses, made me faint away. however, i soon recovered: but instead of taking warning from this incident to close the door, and restrain my curiosity, after waiting some time for the external air to correct the effluvia of the place, i entered, and felt myself no longer incommoded. i found myself in a spacious vaulted apartment, the pavement of which was strewed with saffron. it was illuminated by several large tapers which emitted the perfume of aloes and ambergris, and were placed in candlesticks of solid gold. this light was augmented by gold and silver lamps, burning perfumed oils of various kinds. among the many objects that attracted my attention was a black horse, of the most perfect symmetry and beauty that ever was beheld. i approached in order the better to observe him, and found he had on a saddle and bridle of massive gold, curiously wrought. one part of his manger was filled with clean barley and sesame, and the other with rose-water. i laid hold of his bridle, and led him out to view him by daylight. i mounted, and endeavoured to make him move: but finding he did not stir, i struck him with a switch i had taken up in his magnificent stable. he had no sooner felt the blow, than he began to neigh in a most horrible manner, and extending his wings, which i had not before perceived, flew up with me into the air. my thoughts were fully in keeping my seat; and considering the fear that had seized me, i sat well. at length he directed his course towards the earth, and lighted upon the terrace of a castle, and, without giving me time to dismount, shook me out of the saddle with such force, as to throw me behind him, and with the end of his tail he struck out my eye. thus it was i became blind of one eye. i then recollected the predictions of the ten young gentlemen. the horse again took wing, and soon disappeared. i got up much vexed at the misfortune i had brought upon myself. i walked upon the terrace, covering my eye with one of my hands, for it pained me exceedingly, and then descended, and entered into a hall. i soon discoved by the ten sofas in a circle, and the eleventh in the middle, lower than the rest, that i was in the castle whence i had been carried by the roc. the ten young gentlemen were not in the hall when i entered; but came in soon after, attended by the old man. they seemed not at all surprised to see me, nor at the loss of my eye; but said, "we are sorry that we cannot congratulate you on your return, as we could wish; but we are not the cause of your misfortune." "i should do you wrong," i replied, "to lay it to your charge; i have only myself to accuse." "if," said they, "it be a subject of consolation to the afflicted to know that others share their sufferings, you have in us this alleviation of your misfortune. all that has happened to you we have also endured; we each of us tasted the same pleasures during a year; and we had still continued to enjoy them, had we not opened the golden door, when the princesses were absent. you have been no wiser than we, and have incurred the same punishment. we would gladly receive you into our company, to join with us in the penance to which we are bound, and the duration of which we know not. but we have already stated to you the reasons that render this impossible: depart, therefore, and proceed to the court of bagdad, where you will meet with the person who is to decide your destiny." after they had explained to me the road i was to travel, i departed. on the road i caused my beard and eye-brows to be shaven, and assumed a calender's habit. i have had a long journey, but at last i arrived this evening, and met these my brother calenders at the gate, being strangers as well as myself. we were mutually surprised at one another, to see that we were all blind of the same eye; but we had not leisure to converse long on the subject of our misfortunes. we have only had time enough to bring us hither, to implore those favours which you have been generously pleased to grant us. the third calender having finished this relation of his adventures, zobeide addressed him and his fellow calenders thus: "go wherever you think proper, you are at liberty." but one of them answered, "madam, we beg you to pardon our curiosity, and permit us to hear the stories of those gentlemen who have not yet spoken." then the lady turned to the caliph, the vizier jaaffier, and mesrour, and said to them, "it is now your turn to relate your adventures, therefore speak." the grand vizier who had all along been the spokesman, answered zobeide: "madam, in order to obey you, we need only repeat what we have already said. we are merchants of moussol come to bagdad to sell our merchandize, which lies in the khan where we lodge. we dined today with several other persons of our condition, at a merchant's house of this city; who, after he had treated us with choice dainties and excellent wines, sent for men and women dancers, and musicians. the great noise we made brought in the watch, who arrested some of the company, and we had the good fortune to escape: but it being already late, and the door of our khan shut up, we knew not whither to retire. we chanced as we passed along this street to hear mirth at your house, which made us determine to knock at your gate. this is all the account that we can give you, in obedience to your commands." zobeide having heard this statement, seemed to hesitate what to say, which the calenders perceiving, prayed her to grant the same favour to the three moussol merchants as she had done to them. "well then," said she, "you shall all be equally obliged to me; i pardon you all, provided you immediately depart." zobeide having given this command in a tone that signified she would be obeyed, the caliph, the vizier mesrour, the three calenders, and the porter departed, without saying one word: for the presence of the seven slaves with their weapons awed them into silence. as soon as they had quitted the house, and the gate was closed after them, the caliph said to the calenders, without making himself known, "you gentlemen, who are newly come to town, which way do you design to go, since it is not yet day?" "it is this," they replied, "that perplexes us." "follow us," resumed the caliph, "and we will convey you out of danger." he then whispered to the vizier, "take them along with you, and tomorrow morning bring them to me; i will cause their history to be put in writing, for it deserves a place in the annals of my reign." the vizier jaaffier took the three calenders along with him; the porter went to his quarters, and the caliph and mesrour returned to the palace. the caliph went to bed, but could not sleep, being perplexed by the extraordinary things he had seen and heard. but above all, he was most concerned to know the history of zobeide; what reason she could have to be so severe to the two black bitches, and why amene had her bosom so scarred. day began to appear whilst he was thinking upon these things; he arose and went to his council chamber, and sat upon his throne. the grand vizier entered soon after, and paid his respects as usual. "vizier," said the caliph, "the affairs that we have to consider at present are not very pressing; that of the three ladies and the two black bitches is the most urgent: my mind cannot rest till i am thoroughly satisfied, in all those matters that have so much surprised me. go, bring those ladies and the calenders at the same time; make haste, and remember that i impatiently expect your return." the vizier who knew his master's quick and fiery temper, hastened to obey, and went to the ladies, to whom he communicated, in a civil way,. the orders with which he was charged, to bring them before the caliph, without taking any notice of what had passed the night before at their house. the ladies put on their veils, and went with the vizier as he passed his own house, he took along with him the three calenders, who in the interval had learnt that they had seen and spoken with the caliph, without knowing him. the vizier conducted them to the palace with so much expedition, that the caliph was much pleased. this prince, that he might observe proper decorum before the officers of his court who were then present, ordered that the ladies should be placed behind the hangings of the door which led to his own chamber, and placed the three calenders near his person, who, by their respectful behaviour, sufficiently evinced that they were not ignorant before whom they had the honour to appear. when the ladies were thus disposed of, the caliph turned towards them, and said, "when i acquaint you that i was last night in your house, disguised in a merchant's habit, you may probably be alarmed, lest you may have given me offence; you may perhaps believe that i have sent for you for no other purpose than to shew some marks of my resentment; but be not afraid; you may rest assured that i have forgotten all that has past, and am well satisfied with your conduct. i wish that all the ladies of bagdad had as much discretion as you evinced before me. i shall always remember the moderation with which you acted, after the rudeness of which we were guilty. i was then a merchant of moussol, but am at present haroon al rusheed, the fifth caliph of the glorious house of abbas, and hold the place of our great prophet. i have only sent for you to know who you are, and to ask for what reason one of you, after severely whipping the two black bitches, wept with them? and i am no less curious to know, why another of you has her bosom so full of scars." though the caliph pronounced these words very distinctly, the three ladies heard him well enough, yet the vizier out of ceremony, repeated them. zobeide, after the caliph by his address had encouraged her, began thus: the story of zobeide. commander of the faithful, the relation which i am about to give your majesty is singularly extraordinary. the two black bitches and myself are sisters by the same father and mother; and i shall acquaint you by what strange accident they came to be metamorphosed. the two ladies who live with me, and are now here, are also my sisters by the father's side, but by another mother: she that has the scars upon her breast is named amene; the name of the other is safie, and my own zobeide. after our father's death, the property that he left was equally divided among us, and as soon as these two sisters received their portions, they left me to live with their mother. my other two sisters and myself stayed with our mother, who was then alive, and who when she afterwards died left each of us a thousand sequins. as soon as we had received our portions, the two eldest (for i am the youngest) married, and left me alone. some time after, my eldest sister's husband sold all that he had, and with that money and my sister's portion they went both into africa, where her husband, by riotous living and debauchery' spent all; and finding himself reduced to poverty, found a pretext for divorcing my sister, and put her away. she returned to this city, and having suffered incredible hardships by the way, came to me in so lamentable a condition that it would have moved the hardest heart to compassion to behold her. i received her with every possible tenderness, and inquiring into the cause of her distress, she told me with tears how inhumanly her husband had behaved towards her. her misfortunes affected me: and i mingled my tears with hers. i took her to a bath, clothed her with my own apparel, and thus addressed her: "sister, you are the elder, and i esteem you as my mother: during your absence, god has blest the portion that fell to my share, and the employment i follow of breeding silk-worms. assure yourself there is nothing i have but is at your service, and as much at your disposal as my own." we lived very comfortably together for some months. as we were one day conversing about our third sister, and wondering we received no intelligence of her, she came in as bad a condition as the eldest: her husband had treated her after the same manner; and i received her likewise with the same affection as i had done the former. some time after, my two sisters, on presence that they would not be chargeable to me, told me they intended to marry again. i observed, that if putting me to expense was the only reason, they might lay those thoughts aside, and be welcome to remain: for what i had would be sufficient to maintain us all three, in a manner answerable to our condition. "but," i added, "i rather believe you wish to marry again; i shall feel much surprised if such be the case. after the experience you have had of the little satisfaction there is in wedlock, is it possible you dare venture a second time? you know how rare it is to meet with a husband perfectly virtuous and deserving. believe what i say, and let us live together as comfortably as we can." all my persuasion was in vain; they were resolved to marry, and soon accomplished their wishes. but after some months were past, they returned again, and begged my pardon a thousand times for not following my advice. "you are our youngest sister," said they, "but abundantly more wise than we; if you will vouchsafe to receive us once more into your house, and account us your slaves, we shall never commit a similar fault again." my answer was, "dear sisters, i have not altered my mind with respect to you since we last parted: come again, and take part of what i have." upon this i embraced them, and we lived together as before. we continued thus a whole year in perfect love and harmony. seeing that god had increased my small stock, i projected a voyage, to embark some of it in a commercial speculation. to this end, i went with my two sisters to bussorah, where i bought a ship ready fitted for sea, and laded her with such merchandise as i had carried with me from bagdad. we set sail with a fair wind, and soon cleared the persian gulf; when we had reached the open sea, we steered our course to the indies; and the twentieth day saw land. it was a very high mountain, at the bottom of which we perceived a great town: having a fresh gale, we soon reached the harbour, and cast anchor. i had not patience to wait till my sisters were dressed to go along with me, but went ashore alone in the boat. making directly to the gate of the town, i saw there a great number of men upon guard, some sitting, and others standing with sticks in their hands; and they had all such dreadful countenances that i was greatly alarmed; but perceiving they remained stationary, and did not so much as move their eyes, i took courage, and went nearer, when i found they were all turned into stones. i entered the town and passed through several streets, where at different intervals stood men in various attitudes, but all motionless and petrified. in the quarter inhabited by the merchants i found most of the shops shut, and in such as were open i likewise found the people petrified. having reached a vast square, in the heart of the city, i perceived a large folding gate, covered with plates of gold, which stood open; a curtain of silk stuff seemed to be drawn before it: a lamp hung over the entrance. after i had surveyed the building, i made no doubt but it was the palace of the prince who reigned over that country: and being much astonished that i had not met with one living creature, i approached in hopes to find some. i lifted up the curtain, and was surprised at beholding no one but the guards in the vestibule all petrified; some standing, some sitting, and some lying. i came to a large court, where i saw before me a stately building, the windows of which were inclosed with gates of messy gold: i concluded it to be the queen's apartments. i entered; and in a large hall i found several black eunuchs turned into stone. i went from thence into a room richly furnished, where i perceived a lady in the same situation. i knew it to be the queen, by the crown of gold on her head, and a necklace of pearls about her neck, each of them as large as a nut; i approached her to have a nearer view of it, and never beheld a finer objets. i stood some time admiring the riches and magnificence of the room; but above all, the carpet, the cushions, and the sofas, which were all ornamented with indian stuff of gold, and representations of men and beasts in silver, admirably executed. i quitted the chamber where the petrified queen was, and passed through several other apartments and closets richly furnished, and at last came into a large room, where there was a throne of massive gold, raised several steps above the floor, and enriched with large enchased emeralds, and upon the throne there was a bed of rich stuff embroidered with pearls. what surprised me most was a sparkling light which came from above the bed. being curious to know whence it proceeded, i ascended the steps, and lifting up my head, saw a diamond as large as the egg of an ostrich, lying upon a low stool; it was so pure, that i could not find the least blemish in it, and it sparkled with so much brilliancy, that when i saw it by day-light i could not endure its lustre. at the head of the bed there stood on each side a lighted flambeau, but for what use i could not comprehend; however, it made me imagine that there was some living creature in this place; for i could not believe that the torches continued thus burning of themselves. several other rarities detained my curiosity in this room, which was inestimable in value, were it only for the diamond i mentioned. the doors being all open, or but half shut, i surveyed some other apartments, that were as beautiful as those i had already seen. i looked into the offices and store-rooms, which were full of riches. in short, the wonders that everywhere appeared so wholly engrossed my attention, that i forgot my ship and my sisters, and thought of nothing but gratifying my curiosity. in the mean time night came on, which reminded me that it was time to retire. i proposed to return the way i had entered, but i could not find it; i lost myself among the apartments; and perceiving i was come back again to the large room, where the throne, the couch, the large diamond, and the torches stood, i resolved to take my night's lodging there, and to depart the next morning early, to get aboard my ship. i laid myself down upon a couch, not without some dread to be alone in a desolate place; and this fear hindered my sleep. about midnight i heard a voice like that of a man reading the koraun, after the same manner, and in the same tone as it is read in our mosques. being extremely glad to hear it, i immediately arose, and taking a torch in my hand, passed from one chamber to another on that side from whence the sound proceeded. i came to the closet-door, and stood still, not doubting that it came from thence. i set down my torch upon the ground, and looking through a window, found it to be an oratory. it had, as we have in our mosques, a niche, to direct us whither we are to turn to say our prayers: there were also lamps hung up, and two candlesticks with large tapers of white wax burning. i saw a little carpet laid down like those we have to kneel upon when we say our prayers, and a comely young man sat on this carpet reading with great devotion the koraun, which lay before him on a desk. at this sight i was transported with admiration. i wondered how it came to pass that he should be the only living creature in a town where all the people were turned into stones, and i did not doubt but there was something in the circumstance very extraordinary. the door being only half shut, i opened it, went in, and standing upright before the niche, i repeated this prayer aloud: "praise be to god, who has favoured us with a happy voyage, and may he be graciously pleased to protect us in the same manner, until we arrive again in our own country. hear me, o lord, and grant my request." the young man turned his eyes towards me, and said, "my good lady, pray let me know who you are, and what has brought you to this desolate city? and, in return, i will you who i am, what has happened to me, why the inhabitants of this city are reduced to the state you see them in, and why i alone am safe in the midst of such a terrible disaster." i told him in a few words whence i had come, what had made me undertake the voyage, and how i safely arrived at the port after twenty days' sailing; when i had done, i prayed him to perform his promise, and told him how much i was struck by the frightful desolation which i had seen in the city. "lady," said the young man, "have patience for a moment." at these words he shut the koraun, put it into a rich case, and laid it in the niche. i took that opportunity to observe him, and perceiving in him so much good nature and beauty, i felt emotions i had never known before. he made me sit down by him, and before he began his discourse, i could not forbear saying, with an air that discovered the sentiments i felt, "amiable sir, dear object of my soul, i can scarcely have patience to wait for an account of all these wonderful objects that i have seen since i came into your city; and my curiosity cannot be satisfied too soon: therefore pray, sir, let me know by what miracle you alone are left alive among so many persons that have died in so strange a manner." "madam," said the young man, "by the prayer you just now addressed to him, you have given me to understand that you have a knowledge of the true god. i will acquaint you with the most remarkable effect of his greatness and power. you must know, that this city was the metropolis of a mighty kingdom, over which the sultan my father reigned. that prince, his whole court, the inhabitants of the city, and all his other subjects, were magi, worshippers of fire, and of nardoun, the ancient king of the giants, who rebelled against god. "but though i was born of an idolatrous father and mother, i had the good fortune in my youth to have a governess who was a good moosulmaun. �dear prince,' would she oftentimes say, �there is but one true god; take heed that you do not acknowledge and adore any other.' she taught me to read arabic, and the book she gave me to study was the koraun. as soon as i was capable of understanding it, she explained to me all the passages of this excellent book, and infused piety into my mind, unknown to my father or any other person. she happened to die, but not before she had perfectly instructed me in all that was necessary to convince me of the truth of the moosulmaun religion. after her death i persisted with constancy in the belief of its divinity: and i abhor the false god nardoun, and the adoration of fire. "about three years and some months ago, a thundering voice was suddenly sounded so distinctly, through the whole city, that nobody could miss hearing it. the words were these: �inhabitants, abandon the worship of nardoun, and of fire, and worship the only god who shews mercy.' "this voice was heard three years successively, but no one was converted. on the last day of that year, at four o'clock in the morning, all the inhabitants were changed in an instant into stone, every one in the condition and posture they happened to be in. the sultan, my father, shared the same fate, for he was metamorphosed into a black stone, as he is to be seen in this palace, and the queen, my mother, had the like destiny. "i am the only person who did not suffer under that heavy judgment, and ever since i have continued to serve god with more fervency than before. i am persuaded, dear lady, that he has sent you hither for my comfort, for which i render him infinite thanks; for i must own that this solitary life is extremely irksome." all these expressions, and particularly the last, greatly increased my love for him. "prince," said i, "there is no doubt but providence has brought me into your port, to afford you an opportunity of withdrawing from this dismal place. the ship i came in may serve in some measure to convince you that i am in some esteem at bagdad, where i have left considerable property; and i dare engage to promise you sanctuary there, until the mighty commander of the faithful, vicegerent to our prophet whom you acknowledge, shew you the honour that is due to your merit. this renowned prince lives at bagdad, and as soon as he is informed of your arrival in his capital, you will find that it is not in vain to implore his assistance. it is impossible you can stay any longer in a city where all the objects you behold must renew your grief: my vessel is at your service, where you may absolutely command as you shall think fit." he accepted the offer, and we conversed the remainder of the night concerning our embarkation. as soon as it was day we left the palace, and went aboard my ship, where we found my sisters, the captain, and the slaves, all much troubled at my absence. after i had presented my sisters to the prince, i told them what had hindered my return the day before, how i had met with the young prince, his story, and the cause of the desolation of so fine a city. the seamen were taken up several days in unlading the merchandize i brought with me, and embarking in its stead all the precious things in the palace, such as jewels, gold, and money. we left the furniture and goods, which consisted of an infinite quantity of plate, &c., because our vessel could not carry it, for it would have required several vessels more to convey to bagdad all the riches that we might have chosen to take with us. after we had laden the vessel with what we thought most desirable, we took such provisions and water aboard as were necessary for our voyage (for we had still a great deal of those provisions left that we had taken in at bussorah); at last we set sail with a wind as favourable as we could wish. the young prince, my sisters and myself, enjoyed ourselves for some time very agreeably. but alas! this good understanding did not last long, for my sisters grew jealous of the friendship between the prince and myself, and maliciously asked me one day, what we should do with him when we came to bagdad? i perceived immediately that they put this question on purpose to discover my inclinations; therefore, resolving to put it off with a jest, i answered, "i will take him for my husband;" and upon that, turning myself to the prince, said, "sir, i humbly beg of you to give your consent, for as soon as we come to bagdad i desire to offer you my person to be your slave, to do you all the service that is in my power, and to resign myself wholly to your commands." the prince replied, "i know not, madam, whether you be in jest or no; but for my part, i seriously declare before these ladies, your sisters, that from this moment i heartily accept your offer, not with any intention to have you as a slave, but as my lady and mistress: nor will i pretend to have any power over your actions." at these words my sisters changed colour, and i could perceive afterwards that they did not love me as before. we entered the persian gulf, and had come within a short distance of bussorah (where i hoped, considering the fair wind, we might have arrived the day following), when in the night, while i was asleep, my sisters watched their opportunity, and threw me overboard. they did the same to the prince, who was drowned. i floated some minutes on the water, and by good fortune, or rather miracle, i felt ground. i went towards a dark spot, that, by what i could discern, seemed to be land, and proved to be a flat on the coast, which, when day appeared, i found to be a desert island, lying about twenty miles from bussorah. i soon dried my clothes in the sun, and as i walked along i found several kinds of fruit, and likewise fresh water, which gave me some hopes of preserving my life. i had just laid myself down to rest in a shade, when i perceived a very large winged serpent coming towards me, with an irregular waving movement, and hanging out its tongue, which induced me to conclude it had received some injury. i instantly arose, and perceived that it was pursued by a larger serpent which had hold of its tail, and was endeavouring to devour it. this perilous situation of the first serpent excited my pity, and instead of retreating i assumed courage to take up a stone that lay near me, and to throw it with all my strength at the other, which i hit upon the head and killed. the other, finding itself at liberty, took wing and flew away. i looked after it for some time till it disappeared. i then sought another shady spot for repose, and fell asleep. judge what was my surprise when i awoke, to see standing by me a black woman of lively and agreeable features, who held in her hand two bitches of the same colour, fastened together. i sat up, and asked her who she was? "i am," said she, "the serpent whom you lately delivered from my mortal enemy. i did not know in what way i could better requite the important services you have rendered me than by what i have just done. the treachery of your sisters was well known to me, and to avenge your wrongs, as soon as i was liberated by your generous assistance, i called together several of my companions, fairies like myself, conveyed into your storehouses at bagdad all the lading of your vessel, and afterwards sunk it. "these two black bitches are your sisters, whom i have transformed into this shape. but this punishment will not suffice; and my will is that you treat them hereafter in the way i shall direst." as soon as she had thus spoken the fairy took me under one of her arms, and the two bitches under the other, and conveyed us to my house in bagdad; where i found in my storehouses all the riches with which my vessel had been laden. before she left me, she delivered to me the two bitches, and said, "if you would not be changed into a similar form, i command you, in the name of him that governs the sea, to give each of your sisters every night one hundred lashes with a rod, as the punishment of the crime they have committed against yourself, and the young prince, whom they have drowned." i was forced to promise obedience. since that time i have whipped them every night, though with regret, whereof your majesty has been a witness. my tears testify with how much sorrow and reluctance i perform this painful duty; and in this your majesty may see i am more to be pitied than blamed. if there be any thing else relating to myself that you desire to know, my sister amene will give you full information in the relation of her story. after the caliph had heard zobeide with much astonishment, he desired his grand vizier to request amene to acquaint him wherefore her breast was disfigured with so many scars. amene addressed herself to the caliph, and began her story after this manner: the story of amene. commander of the faithful, to avoid repeating what your majesty has already heard in my sister's story, i shall only add, that after my mother had taken a house for herself to live in, during her widowhood, she gave me in marriage, with the portion my father left me, to a gentleman who had one of the best estates in the city. i had scarcely been a year married when i became a widow, and was left in possession of all my husband's property, which amounted to , sequins. the interest of this money was sufficient to maintain me very honourably. when the first six months of my mourning was over, i caused to be made for me ten different dresses, of such magnificence that each came to a thousand sequins; and at the end of the year i began to wear them. one day, while i was alone engaged in my domestic affairs, i was told that a lady desired to speak to me. i gave orders that she should be admitted. she was a person advanced in years; she saluted me by kissing the ground, and said to me kneeling, "dear lady, excuse the freedom i take to trouble you, the confidence i have in your charity makes me thus bold. i must acquaint your ladyship that i have an orphan daughter, who is to be married this day. she and i are both strangers, and have no acquaintance in this town; which much perplexes me, for we wish the numerous family with whom we are going to ally ourselves to think we are not altogether unknown and without credit: therefore, most beautiful lady, if you would vouchsafe to honour the wedding with your presence, we shall be infinitely obliged, because the ladies of our country, when informed that a lady of your rank has strewn us this respect, will then know that we are not regarded here as unworthy and despised persons. but, alas! madam, if you refuse this request, how great will be our mortification! we know not where else to apply." this poor woman's address, which she spoke with tears, moved my compassion. "good woman," said i, "do not afflict yourself, i will grant you the favour you desire; tell me whither i must go, and i will meet you as soon as i am dressed." the old woman was so transported with joy at my answer, that she kissed my feet before i had time to prevent her. "my compassionate lady," said she, rising, "god will reward the kindness you have shewed to your servants, and make your heart as joyful as you have made theirs. you need not at present trouble yourself; it will be time enough for you to go when i call for you in the evening. so farewell, madam, till i have the honour to see you again." as soon as she was gone, i took the suit i liked best, with a necklace of large pearls, bracelets, pendents for my ears, and rings set with the finest and most sparkling diamonds; for my mind presaged what would befall me. when the night closed in, the old woman called upon me, with a countenance full of joy. she kissed my hands, and said, "my dear lady, the relations of my son-in-law, who are the principal ladies of the city, are now met together; you may come when you please; i am ready to conduct you." we immediately set out; she walked before me, and i was followed by a number of my women and slaves properly dressed for the occasion. we stopt in a wide street, newly swept and watered, at a spacious gate with a lamp, by the light of which i read this inscription in golden letters over the entrance: "this is the everlasting abode of pleasure and joy." the old woman knocked, and the gate was opened immediately. i was conducted towards the lower end of the court, into a large hall, where i was received by a young lady of admirable beauty. she drew near, and after having embraced me, made me sit down by her upon a sofa, on which was raised a throne of precious wood set with diamonds. "madam," said she, "you are brought hither to assist at a wedding; but i hope it will be a different wedding from what you expected. i have a brother, one of the handsomest men in the world: he is fallen so much in love with the fame of your beauty, that his fate depends wholly upon you, and he will be the unhappiest of men if you do not take pity on him. he knows your quality, and i can assure you he is in no respect unworthy of your alliance. if my prayers, madam, can prevail, i shall join them with his, and humbly beg you will not refuse the proposal of being his wife." after the death of my husband i had not thought of marrying again. but i had no power to refuse the solicitation of so charming a lady. as soon as i had given consent by my silence, accompanied with a blush, the young lady claps her hands, and immediately a closet-door opened, out of which came a young man of a majestic air, and so graceful a behaviour, that i thought myself happy to have made so great a conquest. he sat down by me, and i found from his conversation that his merits far exceeded the eulogium of his sister. when she perceived that we were satisfied with one another, she claps her hands a second time, and out came a cauzee, who wrote our contract of marriage, signed it himself, and caused it to be attested by four witnesses he brought along with him. the only condition that my new husband imposed upon me was, that i should not be seen by nor speak to any other man but himself, and he vowed to me that, if i complied in this respect, i should have no reason to complain of him. our marriage was concluded and finished after this manner; so i became the principal actress in a wedding to which i had only been invited as a guest. about a month after our marriage, having occasion for some stuffs, i asked my husband's permission to go out to buy them, which he granted; and i took with me the old woman of whom i spoke before, she being one of the family, and two of my own female slaves. when we came to the street where the merchants reside, the old woman said, "dear mistress, since you want silk stuffs, i must take you to a young merchant of my acquaintance, who has a great variety; and that you may not fatigue yourself by running from shop to shop, i can assure you that you will find in his what no other can furnish." i was easily persuaded, and we entered a shop belonging to a young merchant who was tolerably handsome. i sat down, and bade the old woman desire him to shew me the finest silk stuffs he had. the woman desired me to speak myself; but i told her it was one of the articles of my marriage contract not to speak to any man but my husband, which i ought to keep. the merchant shewed me several stuffs, of which one pleased me better than the rest; but i bade her ask the price. he answered the old woman, "i will not sell it for gold or money, but i will make her a present of it, if she will give me leave to kiss her cheek." i ordered the old woman to tell him, that he was very rude to propose such a freedom. but instead of obeying me, she said, "what the merchant desires of you is no such great matter; you need not speak, but only present him your cheek." the stuff pleased me so much, that i was foolish enough to take her advice. the old woman and my slaves stood up, that nobody might see, and i put up my veil; but instead of kissing me, the merchant bit me so violently as to draw blood. the pain and my surprise were so great, that i fell down in a swoon, and continued insensible so long, that the merchant had time to escape. when i came to myself, i found my cheek covered with blood: the old woman and my slaves took care to cover it with my veil, that the people who came about us could not perceive it, but supposed i had only had a fainting fit. the old woman who accompanied me being extremely troubled at this accident, endeavoured to comfort me. "my dear mistress," said she, "i beg your pardon, for i am the cause of this misfortune, having brought you to this merchant, because he is my countryman: but i never thought he would be guilty of such a villainous action. but do not grieve; let us hasten home, i will apply a remedy that shall in three days so perfectly cure you, that not the least mark shall be visible." the fit had made me so weak, that i was scarcely able to walk. but at last i got home, where i again fainted, as i went into my chamber. meanwhile, the old woman applied her remedy; i came to myself, and went to bed. my husband came to me at night, and seeing my head bound up, asked me the reason. i told him i had the head-ache, which i hoped would have satisfied him, but he took a candle, and saw my cheek was hurt: "how comes this wound?" said he. though i did not consider myself as guilty of any great offence, yet i could not think of owning the truth. besides, to make such an avowal to a husband, i considered as somewhat indecorous; i therefore said, "that as i was going, under his permission, to purchase some silk stuff, a porter, carrying a load of wood, came so near to me, in a narrow street, that one of the sticks grazed my cheek; but had not done me much hurt." this account put my husband into a violent passion. "this act," said he, "shall not go unpunished. i will to-morrow order the lieutenant of the police to seize all those brutes of porters, and cause them to be hanged." fearful of occasioning the death of so many innocent persons, i said, "sir, i should be sorry so great a piece of injustice should be committed. pray refrain; for i should deem myself unpardonable, were i to be the cause of so much mischief." "then tell me sincerely," said he, "how came you by this wound." "i answered, "that it was occasioned by the inadvertency of a broom-seller upon an ass, who coming behind me, while he was looking another way, his ass came against me with so much violence, that i fell down, and hurt my cheek upon some glass." "if that is the case," said my husband, "to-morrow morning, before sun-rise, the grand vizier jaaffier shall be informed of this insolence, and cause all the broom-sellers to be put to death." "for the love of god, sir," said i, "let me beg of you to pardon them, for they are not guilty." "how, madam," he demanded, "what then am i to believe? speak, for i am resolved to know the truth from your own mouth." "sir," i replied, "i was taken with a giddiness, and fell down, and that is the whole matter." at these words my husband lost all patience. "i have," said he, "too long listened to your falsehoods." as he spoke he clapped his hands, and in came three slaves: "pull her out of bed," said he, "and lay her in the middle of the floor." the slaves obeyed, one holding me by the head, another by the feet; he commanded the third to fetch a cimeter, and when he had brought it, "strike," said he, "cut her in two, and then throw her into the tygris. this is the punishment i inflict on those to whom i have given my heart, when they falsify their promise." when he saw that the slave hesitated to obey him, "why do you not strike?" said he. "what do you wait for?" "madam," said the slave then, "you are near the last moment of your life, consider if you have any thing to dispose of before you die." i begged permission to speak one word, which was granted me. i lifted up my head, and casting an affectionate look on my husband, said, "alas! to what a condition am i reduced! must i then die in the prime of my youth!" i could say no more, for my tears and sighs choked my utterance. my husband was not at all moved, but, on the contrary, went on to reproach me; and it would have been in vain to attempt a reply. i had recourse to intreaties and prayers; but he had no regard to them, and commanded the slaves to proceed to execution. the old woman, who had been his nurse, came in just at that moment, fell down upon her knees, and endeavoured to appease his wrath. "my son," said she, "since i have been your nurse and brought you up, let me beg the favour of you to grant me her life. consider, that he who kills shall be killed, and that you will stain your reputation, and forfeit the esteem of mankind. what will the world say of such sanguinary violence?" she spoke these words in such an affecting manner, accompanied with tears, that she prevailed upon him at last to abandon his purpose, "well then," said he to his nurse, "for your sake i will spare her life; but she shall bear about her person some marks to make her remember her offence." when he had thus spoken, one of the slaves, by his order, gave me upon my sides and breast so many blows, with a little cane, that he tore away both skin and flesh, which threw me into a swoon. in this state he caused the same slaves, the executioners of his fury, to carry me into a house, where the old woman took care of me. i kept my bed four months; at last i recovered: the scars which, contrary to my wish, you saw yesterday, have remained ever since. as soon as i was able to walk, and go abroad, i resolved to retire to the house which was left me by my first husband, but i could not find the site whereon it had stood. my second husband, in the heat of his resentment, was not satisfied with the demolition of that, but caused every other house in the same street to be razed to the ground. i believe such an act of violence was never heard of before; but against whom could i complain? the perpetrator had taken good care to conceal himself. but suppose i had discovered him, is it not easily seen that his conduct must have proceeded from absolute power? how then could i dare to complain? being left thus destitute and helpless, i had recourse to my dear sister zobeide, whose adventures your majesty has just heard. to her i made known my misfortune; she received me with her accustomed goodness, and advised me to bear my ambition patience. "this is the way of the world," said she, "which either robs us of our property, our friends, or our lovers; and some. times of all together." in confirmation of her remark, she at the same time gave me an account of the loss of the young prince, occasioned by the jealousy of her two sisters. she told me also by what accident they were transformed into bitches: and in the last place, after a thousand testimonials of her love towards me, she introduced me to my youngest sister, who had likewise taken sanctuary with her after the death of her mother. having returned our grateful acknowledgments to god for having thus brought us together, we resolved to preserve our freedom, and never again to separate. we have now long enjoyed this tranquil life. as it was my business to manage the affairs of the house, i always took pleasure in going myself to purchase what we wanted. i happened to go abroad yesterday for this purpose, and the things i bought i caused to be carried home by a porter, who proving to be a sensible and jocose fellow, we kept with us for a little diversion. three calenders happened to come to our door as it began to grow dark, and prayed us to give them shelter till the next morning we admitted them upon certain conditions which they agreed to observe; and after we had made them sit at table with us, they in their own way entertained us with a concert of music. at this time we heard knocking at our gate. this proceeded from three merchants of moussol, men of good appearance, who begged the same favour which the calenders had obtained before. we consented upon the same conditions, but neither of them kept their promise. though we had power, as well as justice on our side, to punish them, yet we contented ourselves with demanding from them the history of their lives; and afterwards confined our revenge to dismissing them, after they had done, and denying them the asylum they requested. the caliph was well pleased to be thus informed of what he desired to know; and publicly expressed his admiration of what he had heard. the caliph having satisfied his curiosity, thought himself obliged to shew his generosity to the calender princes, and also to give the three ladies some proof of his bounty. he himself, without making use of his minister, the grand vizier, spoke to zobeide. "madam, did not this fairy, that shewed herself to you in the shape of a serpent, and imposed such a rigorous command upon you, tell you where her place of abode was? or rather, did she not promise to see you, and restore those bitches to their natural shape?" "commander of the faithful," answered zobeide, "i forgot to tell your majesty that the fairy left with me a bundle of hair, saying, that her presence would one day be of use to me; and then, if i only burnt two tufts of this hair, she would be with me in a moment, though she were beyond mount caucasus." "madam," demanded the caliph, "where is the bundle of hair?" she answered, "ever since that time i have been so careful of it, that i always carry it about me." upon which she pulled it out, opened the case which contained it, and shewed it to him. "well then," said the caliph, "let us bring the fairy hither; you could not call her in a better time, for i long to see her." zobeide having consented, fire was brought in, and she threw the whole bundle of hair into it. the palace at that instant began to shake, and the fairy appeared before the caliph in the form of a lady very richly dressed. "commander of the faithful," said she to the prince, "you see i am ready to receive your commands. the lady who gave me this call by your order did me essential service. to evince my gratitude, i revenged her of her sisters' inhumanity, by changing them to bitches; but if your majesty commands me, i will restore them to their former shape." "generous fairy," replied the caliph, "you cannot do me a greater pleasure; vouchsafe them that favour, and i will find some means to comfort them for their hard penance. but besides, i have another boon to ask in favour of that lady, who has had such cruel usage from an unknown husband. as you undoubtedly know all things, oblige me with the name of this barbarous wretch, who could not be contented to exercise his outrageous and unmanly cruelty upon her person, but has also most unjustly taken from her all her substance. i only wonder how such an unjust and inhuman action could be performed under my authority, and even in my residence, without having come to my knowledge." "to oblige your majesty," answered the fairy, "i will restore the two bitches to their former state, and i will so cure the lady of her scars, that it shall never appear she was so beaten; and i will also tell you who it was that abused her." the caliph sent for the two bitches from zobeide's house, and when they came, a glass of water was brought to the fairy by her desire. she pronounced over it some words which nobody understood; then throwing some part of it upon amene, and the rest upon the bitches, the latter became two ladies of surprising beauty, and the scars that were upon amene disappeared. after which the fairy said to the caliph, "commander of the faithful, i must now discover to you the unknown husband you enquire after. he is very nearly related to yourself, for it is prince amin, your eldest son, who falling passionately in love with this lady from the fame of her beauty, by stratagem had her brought to his house, where he married her. as to the blows he caused to be given her, he is in some measure excusable; for the lady his spouse had been a little too easy, and the excuses she had made were calculated to lead him to believe she was more faulty than she really was. this is all i can say to satisfy your curiosity." at these words she saluted the caliph, and vanished. the prince being filled with admiration, and having much satisfaction in the changes that had happened through his means, acted in such a manner as will perpetuate his memory to all ages. first, he sent for his son amin, told him that he was informed of his secret marriage, and how he had ill-treated amene upon a very slight cause. upon this the prince did not wait for his father's commands, but received her again immediately. after which the caliph declared that he would give his own heart and hand to zobeide, and offered the other three sisters to the calenders, sons of sultans, who accepted them for their brides with much joy. the caliph assigned each of them a magnificent palace in the city of bagdad, promoted them to the highest dignities of his empire, and admitted them to his councils. the chief cauzee of bagdad being called, with witnesses, wrote the contracts of marriage; and the caliph in promoting by his patronage the happiness of many persons who had suffered such incredible calamities, drew a thousand blessings upon himself. the story of sinbad the voyager. in the reign of the same caliph haroun al rusheed, whom i have already mentioned, there lived at bagdad a poor porter called hindbad. one day, when the weather was excessively hot, he was employed to carry a heavy burden from one end of the town to the other. being much fatigued, and having still a great way to go, he came into a street where a refreshing breeze blew on his face, and the pavement was sprinkled with rose-water. as he could not desire a better place to rest and recruit himself, he took off his load and sat upon it, near a large mansion. he was much pleased that he stopped in this place; for the agreeable smell of wood of aloes, and of pastils that came from the house, mixing with the scent of the rose-water, completely perfumed and embalmed the air. besides, he heard from within a concert of instrumental music, accompanied with the harmonious notes of nightingales, and other birds, peculiar to the climate. this charming melody, and the smell of several sorts of savoury dishes, made the porter conclude there was a feast, with great rejoicings within. his business seldom leading him that way, he knew not to whom the mansion belonged; but to satisfy his curiosity, he went to some of the servants, whom he saw standing at the gate in magnificent apparel, and asked the name of the proprietor. "how," replied one of them, "do you live in bagdad, and know not that this is the house of sinbad, the sailor, that famous voyager, who has sailed round the world?" the porter, who had heard of this sinbad's riches, could not but envy a man whose condition he thought to be as happy as his own was deplorable: and his mind being fretted with these reflections, he lifted up his eyes to heaven, and said loud enough to be heard, "almighty creator of all things, consider the difference between sinbad and me! i am every day exposed to fatigues and calamities, and can scarcely get coarse barley-bread for myself and my family, whilst happy sinbad profusely expends immense riches, and leads a life of continual pleasure. what has he done to obtain from thee a lot so agreeable? and what have i done to deserve one so wretched?" having finished his expostulation, he struck his foot against the ground, like a man absorbed in grief and despair. whilst the porter was thus indulging his melancholy, a servant came out of the house, and taking him by the arm, bade him follow him, for sinbad, his master, wanted to speak to him. sir, your majesty may easily imagine, that the repining hindbad was not a little surprised at this compliment. for, considering what he had said, he was afraid sinbad had sent for him to punish him: therefore he would have excused himself, alleging, that he could not leave his burden in the middle of the street. but sinbad's servants assured him they would look to it, and were so urgent with him, that he was obliged to yield. the servants brought him into a great hall, where a number of people sat round a table, covered with all sorts of savoury dishes. at the upper end sat a comely venerable gentleman, with a long white beard, and behind him stood a number of officers and domestics, all ready to attend his pleasure. this personage was sinbad. the porter, whose fear was increased at the sight of so many people, and of a banquet so sumptuous, saluted the company trembling. sinbad bade him draw near, and seating him at his right hand, served him himself, and gave him excellent wine, of which there was abundance upon the sideboard. when the repast was over, sinbad addressed his conversation to hindbad; and calling him brother, according to the manner of the arabians, when they are familiar one with another, enquired his name and employment. "my lord," answered he, "my name is hindbad." "i am very glad to see you," replied sinbad; "and i daresay the same on behalf of all the company: but i wish to hear from your own mouth what it was you lately said in the street." sinbad had himself heard the porter complain through the window, and this it was that induced him to have him brought in. at this request, hindbad hung down his head in confusion, and replied, "my lord, i confess that my fatigue put me out of humour, and occasioned me to utter some indiscreet words, which i beg you to pardon." "do not think i am so unjust," resumed sinbad, "as to resent such a complaint. i consider your condition, and instead of upbraiding, commiserate you. but i must rectify your error concerning myself. you think, no doubt, that i have acquired, without labour and trouble, the ease and indulgence which i now enjoy. but do not mistake; i did not attain to this happy condition, without enduring for several years more trouble of body and mind than can well be imagined. yes, gentlemen," he added, speaking to the whole company, "i can assure you, my troubles were so extraordinary, that they were calculated to discourage the most covetous from undertaking such voyages as i did, to acquire riches. perhaps you have never heard a distinct account of my wonderful adventures, and the dangers i encountered, in my seven voyages; and since i have this opportunity, i will give you a faithful account of them, not doubting but it will be acceptable." as sinbad wished to relate his adventures chiefly on the porter's account, he ordered his burden to be carried to the place of its destination, and then proceeded. the first voyage. i inherited from my father considerable property, the greater part of which i squandered in my youth in dissipation; but i perceived my error, and reflected that riches were perishable, and quickly consumed by such ill managers as myself. i farther considered, that by my irregular way of living i wretchedly misspent my time; which is, of all things, the most valuable. i remembered the saying of the great solomon, which i had frequently heard from my father; that death is more tolerable than poverty. struck with these reflections, i collected the remains of my fortune, and sold all my effects by public auction. i then entered into a contract with some merchants, who traded by sea. i took the advice of such as i thought most capable of assisting me: and resolving to improve what money i had, i went to bussorah, and embarked with several merchants on board a ship which we had jointly fitted out. we set sail, and steered our course towards the indies, through the persian gulf, which is formed by the coasts of arabia felix on the right, and by those of persia on the left, and, according to common opinion is seventy leagues wide at the broadest place. the eastern sea, as well as that of the indies, is very spacious. it is bounded on one side by the coasts of abyssinia, and is , leagues in length to the isles of vakvak. at first i was troubled with the sea-sickness, but speedily recovered my health, and was not afterwards subject to that complaint. in our voyage we touched at several islands, where we sold or exchanged our goods. one day, whilst under sail, we were becalmed near a small island, but little elevated above the level of the water, and resembling a green meadow. the captain ordered his sails to be furled, and permitted such persons as were so inclined to land; of this number i was one. but while we were enjoying ourselves in eating and drinking, and recovering ourselves from the fatigue of the sea, the island on a sudden trembled, and shook us terribly. the trembling of the island was perceived on board the ship, and we were called upon to re-embark speedily, or we should all be lost; for what we took for an island proved to be the back of a sea monster. the nimblest got into the sloop, others betook themselves to swimming; but for myself i was still upon the back of the creature, when he dived into the sea, and i had time only to catch hold of a piece of wood that we had brought out of the ship to make a fire. meanwhile, the captain, having received those on board who were in the sloop, and taken up some of those that swam, resolved to improve the favourable gale that had just risen, and hoisting his sails pursued his voyage, so that it was impossible for me to recover the ship. thus was i exposed to the mercy of the waves. i struggled for my life all the rest of the day and the following night. by this time i found my strength gone, and despaired of saving my life, when happily a wave threw me against an island, the bank was high and rugged; so that i could scarcely have got up, had it not been for some roots of trees, which fortune seemed to have preserved in this place for my safety. having reached the land, i lay down upon the ground half dead, until the sun appeared. then, though i was very feeble, both from hard labour and want of food, i crept along to find some herbs fit to eat, and had the good luck not only to procure some, but likewise to discover a spring of excellent water, which contributed much to recover me. after this i advanced farther into the island, and at last reached a fine plain, where at a great distance i perceived a horse feeding. i went towards it, fluctuating between hope and fear, for i knew not whether in advancing i was more likely to endanger or to preserve my life. as i approached, i perceived it to be a very fine mare, tied to a stake. whilst i was admiring its beauty, i heard from beneath the voice of a man, who immediately appeared, and asked me who i was? i related to him my adventure, after which, taking me by the hand, he led me into a cave, where there were several other people, no less amazed to see me than i was to see them. i partook of some provisions which they offered me. i then asked them what they did in such a desert place? to which they answered, that they were grooms belonging to maha-raja, sovereign of the island; that every year, at the same season, they brought thither the king's mares, and fastened them as i had seen, until they were covered by a sea-horse, who afterwards endeavoured to destroy the mares; but was prevented by their noise, and obliged to return to the sea. the mares when in foal were taken back, and the horses thus produced were kept for the king's use, and called seahorses. they added, that they were to return home on the morrow, and had i been one day later, i must have perished, because the inhabited part of the island was at a great distance, and it would have been impossible for me to have got thither without a guide. while they entertained me thus, the horse came out of the sea, as they had told me, covered the mare, and afterwards would have devoured her; but upon a great noise made by the grooms, he left her, and plunged into the sea. next morning they returned with their mares to the capital of the island, took me with them, and presented me to the maha-raja. he asked me who i was, and by what adventure i had come into his dominions? after i had satisfied him, he told me he was much concerned for my misfortune, and at the same time ordered that i should want nothing; which commands his officers were so generous and careful as to see exactly fulfilled. being a merchant, i frequented men of my own profession, and particularly enquired for those who were strangers, that perchance i might hear news from bagdad, or find an opportunity to return. for the maha-raja's capital is situated on the sea- coast, and has a fine harbour, where ships arrive daily from the different quarters of the world. i frequented also the society of the learned indians, and took delight to hear them converse; but withal, i took care to make my court regularly to the maha-raja, and conversed with the governors and petty kings, his tributaries, that were about him. they put a thousand questions respecting my country; and i being willing to inform myself as to their laws and customs, asked them concerning every thing which i thought worth knowing. there belongs to this king an island named cassel. they assured me that every night a noise of drums was heard there, whence the mariners fancied that it was the residence of degial. i determined to visit this wonderful place, and in my way thither saw fishes of and cubits long, that occasion more fear than hurt; for they are so timorous, that they will fly upon the rattling of two sticks or boards. i saw likewise other fish about a cubit in length, that had heads like owls. as i was one day at the port after my return, a ship arrived, and as soon as she cast anchor, they began to unload her, and the merchants on board ordered their goods to be carried into the customhouse. as i cast my eye upon some bales, and looked to the name, i found my own, and perceived the bales to be the same that i had embarked at bussorah. i also knew the captain; but being persuaded that he believed me to be drowned, i went, and asked him whose bales these were? he replied, that they belonged to a merchant at bagdad, called sinbad, who came to sea with him; but one day, being near an island, as was supposed, he went ashore, with several other passengers, upon this island, which was only a monstrous fish, that lay asleep upon the the sur-face of the water: but as soon as he felt the heat of the fire they had kindled upon his back, to dress some victuals, began to move, and dived under water. most of the persons who were upon him perished, and among them the unfortunate sinbad. those bales belonged to him, and i am resolved to trade with them until i meet with some of his family, to whom i may return the profit. "i am that sinbad," said i, "whom you thought to be dead, and those bales are mine." when the captain heard me speak thus, "heavens!" he exclaimed, "whom can we trust in these times? there is no faith left among men. i saw sinbad perish with my own eyes, as did also the passengers on board, and yet you tell me you are that sinbad. what impudence is this? to look on you, one would take you to be a man of probity, and yet you tell a horrible falsehood, in order to possess yourself of what does not belong to you." "have patience," replied i; "do me the favour to hear what i have to say." "very well," said he, "speak, i am ready to hear you." then i told him how i had escaped, and by what adventure i met with the grooms of maha-raja, who had brought me to his court. his confidence began to abate upon this declaration, and he was at length persuaded that i was no cheat: for there came people from his ship who knew me, paid me great compliments, and expressed much joy at seeing me alive. at last he recollected me himself, and embracing me, "heaven be praised," said he, "for your happy escape. i cannot express the joy it affords, me; there are your goods, take and do with them as you please." i thanked him, acknowledged his probity, and in requital, offered him part of my goods as a present, which he generously refused. i took out what was most valuable in my bales, and presented them to the maha-raja, who, knowing my misfortune, asked me how i came by such rarities. i acquainted him with the circumstance of their recovery. he was pleased at my good luck, accepted my present, and in return gave me one much more considerable. upon this, i took leave of him, and went aboard the same ship, after i had exchanged my goods for the commodities of that country. i carried with me wood of aloes, sandal, camphire, nutmegs, cloves, pepper, and ginger. we passed by several islands, and at last arrived at bussorah, from whence i came to this city, with the value of l , sequins. my family and i received one another with all the transports of sincere affection. i bought slaves of both sexes, and a landed estate, and built a magnificent house. thus i settled myself, resolving to forget the miseries i had suffered, and to enjoy the pleasures of life. sinbad stopped here, and ordered the musicians to proceed with their concert, which the story had interrupted. the company continued enjoying themselves till the evening, and it was time to retire, when sinbad sent for a purse of sequins and giving it to the porter, said, "take this, hindbad, return to your home, and come back to-morrow to hear more of my adventures." the porter went away, astonished at the honour done, and the present made him. the account of this adventure proved very agreeable to his wife and children, who did not fail to return thanks to god for what providence had sent him by the hand of sinbad. hindbad put on his best apparel next day, and returned to the bountiful traveller, who received him with a pleasant air, and welcomed him heartily. when all the guests had arrived, dinner was served, and continued a long time. when it was ended, sinbad, addressing himself to the company, said, "gentlemen, be pleased to listen to the adventures of my second voyage; they deserve your attention even more than those of the first." upon which every one held his peace, and sinbad proceeded. the second voyage. i designed, after my first voyage, to spend the rest of my days at bagdad, as i had the honour to tell you yesterday; but it was not long ere i grew weary of an indolent life. my inclination to trade revived. i bought goods proper for the commerce i intended, and put to sea a second time with merchants of known probity. we embarked on board a good ship, and after recommending ourselves to god, set sail. we traded from island to island, and exchanged commodities with great profit. one day we landed in an island covered with several sorts of fruit-trees, but we could see neither man nor animal. we went to take a little fresh air in the meadows, along the streams that watered them. whilst some diverted themselves with gathering flowers, and other fruits, i took my wine and provisions, and sat down near a stream betwixt two high trees, which formed a thick shade. i made a good meal, and afterwards fell asleep. i cannot tell how long i slept, but when i awoke the ship was gone. i was much alarmed at finding the ship gone. i got up and looked around me, but could not see one of the merchants who landed with me. i perceived the ship under sail, but at such a distance, that i lost sight of her in a short time. i leave you to guess at my melancholy reflections in this sad condition: i was ready to die with grief. i cried out in agony; beat my head and breast, and threw myself upon the ground, where i lay some time in despair, one afflicting thought being succeeded by another still more afflicting. i upbraided myself a hundred times for not being content with the produce of my first voyage, that might have sufficed me all my life. but all this was in vain, and my repentance too late. at last i resigned myself to the will of god. not knowing what to do, i climbed up to the top of a lofty tree, from whence i looked about on all sides, to see if i could discover any thing that could give me hopes. when i gazed towards the sea i could see nothing but sky and water; but looking over the land i beheld something white; and coming down, i took what provision i had left, and went towards it, the distance being so great, that i could not distinguish what it was. as i approached, i thought it to be a white dome, of a prodigious height and extent; and when i came up to it, i touched it, and found it to be very smooth. i went round to see if it was open on any side, but saw it was not, and that there was no climbing up to the top as it was so smooth. it was at least fifty paces round. by this time the sun was about to set, and all of a sudden the sky became as dark as if it had been covered with a thick cloud. i was much astonished at this sudden darkness, but much more when i found it occasioned by a bird of a monstrous size, that came flying toward me. i remembered that i had often heard mariners speak of a miraculous bird called roc, and conceived that the great dome which i so much admired must be its egg. in short, the bird alighted, and sat over the egg. as i perceived her coming, i crept to the egg, so that i had before me one of the legs of the bird, which was as big as the trunk of a tree. i tied myself strongly to it with my turban, in hopes that the roc next morning would carry me with her out of this desert island. after having passed the night in this condition, the bird flew away as soon as it was daylight, and carried me so high, that i could not discern the earth; she afterwards descended with so much rapidity that i lost my senses. but when i found myself on the ground, i speedily untied the knot, and had scarcely done so, when the roc, having taken up a serpent of a monstrous length in her bill, flew away. the spot where it left me was encompassed on all sides by mountains, that seemed to reach above the clouds, and so steep that there was no possibility of getting out of the valley. this was a new perplexity: so that when i compared this place with the desert island from which the roc had brought me, i found that i had gained nothing by the change. as i walked through this valley, i perceived it was strewed with diamonds, some of which were of a surprising bigness. i took pleasure in looking upon them; but shortly saw at a distance such objects as greatly diminished my satisfaction, and which i could not view without terror, namely, a great number of serpents, so monstrous, that the least of them was capable of swallowing an elephant. they retired in the day-time to their dens, where they hid themselves from the roc their enemy, and came out only in the night. i spent the day in walking about in the valley, resting myself at times in such places as i thought most convenient. when night came on, i went into a cave, where i thought i might repose in safety. i secured the entrance, which was low and narrow, with a great stone to preserve me from the serpents; but not so far as to exclude the light. i supped on part of my provisions, but the serpents, which began hissing round me, put me into such extreme fear, that you may easily imagine i did not sleep. when day appeared, the serpents retired, and i came out of the cave trembling. i can justly say, that i walked upon diamonds, without feeling any inclination to touch them. at last i sat down, and notwithstanding my apprehensions, not having closed my eyes during the night, fell asleep, after having eaten a little more of my provision. but i had scarcely shut my eyes, when something that fell by me with a great noise awaked me. this was a large piece of raw meat; and at the same time i saw several others fall down from the rocks in different places. i had always regarded as fabulous what i had heard sailors and others relate of the valley of diamonds, and of the stratagems employed by merchants to obtain jewels from thence; but now i found that they had stated nothing but truth. for the fact is, that the merchants come to the neighbourhood of this valley, when the eagles have young ones, and throwing great joints of meat into the valley, the diamonds, upon whose points they fall, stick to them; the eagles, which are stronger in this country than any where else, pounce with great force upon those pieces of meat, and carry them to their nests on the precipices of the rocks to feed their young: the merchants at this time run to their nests, disturb and drive off the eagles by their shouts, and take away the diamonds that stick to the meat. until i perceived the device i had concluded it to be impossible for me to get from this abyss, which i regarded as my grave; but now i changed my opinion, and began to think upon the means of my deliverance. i began to collect together the largest diamonds i could find, and put them into the leather bag in which i used to carry my provisions. i afterwards took the largest of the pieces of meat, tied it close round me with the cloth of my turban, and then laid myself upon the ground with my face downward, the bag of diamonds being made fast to my girdle. i had scarcely placed myself in this posture when the eagles came. each of them seized a piece of meat, and one of the strongest having taken me up, with the piece of meat to which i was fastened, carried me to his nest on the top of the mountain. the merchants immediately began their shouting to frighten the eagles; and when they had obliged them to quit their prey, one of them came to the nest where i was. he was much alarmed when he saw me; but recovering himself, instead of enquiring how i came thither began to quarrel with me, and asked, why i stole his goods? "you will treat me," replied i, "with more civility, when you know me better. do not be uneasy, i have diamonds enough for you and myself, more than all the other merchants together. whatever they have they owe to chance, but i selected for myself in the bottom of the valley those which you see in this bag." i had scarcely done speaking, when the other merchants came crowding about us, much astonished to see me; but they were much more surprised when i told them my story. yet they did not so much admire my stratagem to effect my deliverance, as my courage in putting it into execution. they conducted me to their encampment, and there having opened my bag, they were surprised at the largeness of my diamonds, and confessed that in all the courts which they had visited they had never seen any of such size and perfection. i prayed the merchant, who owned the nest to which i had been carried (for every merchant had his own), to take as many for his share as he pleased. he contented himself with one, and that too the least of them; and when i pressed him to take more, without fear of doing me any injury, "no," said he, "i am very well satisfied with this, which is valuable enough to save me the trouble of making any more voyages, and will raise as great a fortune as i desire." i spent the night with the merchants, to whom i related my story a second time, for the satisfaction of those who had not heard it. i could not moderate my joy when i found myself delivered from the danger i have mentioned. i thought myself in a dream, and could scarcely believe myself out of danger. the merchants had thrown their pieces of meat into the valley for several days. and each of them being satisfied with the diamonds that had fallen to his lot, we left the place the next morning, and travelled near high mountains, where there were serpents of a prodigious length, which we had the good fortune to escape. we took shipping at the first port we reached, and touched at the isle of roha, where the trees grow that yield camphire. this tree is so large, and its branches so thick, that one hundred men may easily sit under its shade. the juice, of which the camphire is made, exudes from a hole bored in the upper part of the tree, is received in a vessel, where it thickens to a consistency, and becomes what we call camphire; after the juice is thus drawn out, the tree withers and dies. in this island is also found the rhinoceros, an animal less than the elephant, but larger than the buffalo. it has a horn upon its nose, about a cubit in length; this horn is solid, and cleft through the middle, upon this may be seen white lines, representing the figure of a man. the rhinoceros fights with the elephant, runs his horn into his belly, and carries him off upon his head but the blood and the fat of the elephant running into his eyes, and making him blind, he falls to the ground; and then, strange to relate! the roc comes and carries them both away in her claws, for food for her young ones. i pass over many other things peculiar to this island, lest i should be troublesome to you. here i exchanged some of my diamonds for merchandize. from hence we went to other islands, and at last, having touched at several trading towns of the continent, we landed at bussorah, from whence i proceeded to bagdad. there i immediately gave large presents to the poor, and lived honourably upon the vast riches i had brought, and gained with so much fatigue. thus sinbad ended the relation of the second voyage, gave hindbad another hundred sequins, and invited him to come the next day to hear the account of the third. the rest of the guests returned to their homes, and came again the following day at the same hour, and one may be sure the porter did not fail, having by this time almost forgotten his former poverty. when dinner was over, sinbad demanded attention, and gave them an account of his third voyage, as follows. the third voyage. i soon lost in the pleasures of life the remembrance of the perils i had encountered in my two former voyages; and being in the flower of my age, i grew weary of living without business, and hardening myself against the thought of any danger i might incur, went from bagdad to bussorah with the richest commodities of the country. there i embarked again with some merchants. we made a long voyage, and touched at several ports, where we carried on a considerable trade. one day, being out in the main ocean, we were overtaken by a dreadful tempest, which drove us from our course. the tempest continued several days, and brought us before the port of an island, which the captain was very unwilling to enter; but we were obliged to cast anchor. when we had furled our sails, the captain told us, that this, and some other neighbouring islands, were inhabited by hairy savages, who would speedily attack us; and. though they were but dwarfs, yet our misfortune was such, that we must make no resistance, for they were more in number than the locusts; and if we happened to kill one of them, they would all fall upon us and destroy us. this account of the captain, continued sinbad put the whole company into great consternation and we soon found that what he had told us was but too true; an innumerable multitude of frightful savages, about two feet high, covered all over with red hair, came swimming towards us, and encompassed our ship. they spoke to us as they came near, but we understood not their language; they climbed up the sides of the ship with such agility as surprised us. we beheld all this with dread, but without daring to defend ourselves, or to divert them from their mischievous design. in short, they took down our sails, cut the cable, and hauling to the shore, made us all get out, and afterwards carried the ship into another island from whence they had come. all voyagers carefully avoided the island where they left us, it being very dangerous to stay there, for a reason you shall presently hear; but we were forced to bear our affliction with patience. we went forward into the island, where we gathered some fruits and herbs to prolong our lives as long as we could; but we expected nothing but death. as we advanced, we perceived at a distance a vast pile of building, and made towards it. we found it to be a palace, elegantly built, and very lofty, with a gate of ebony of two leaves, which we forced open. we entered the court, where we saw before us a large apartment, with a porch, having on one side a heap of human bones, and on the other a vast number of roasting spits. we trembled at this spectacle, and being fatigued with travelling, fell to the ground, seized with deadly apprehension, and lay a long time motionless. the sun set, and whilst we were in the lamentable condition i have described, the gate of the apartment opened with a loud crash, and there came out the horrible figure of a black man, as tall as a lofty palm-tree. he had but one eye, and that in the middle of his forehead, where it looked as red as a burning coal. his fore-teeth were very long and sharp, and stood out of his mouth, which was as deep as that of a horse. his upper lip hung down upon his breast. his ears resembled those of an elephant, and covered his shoulders; and his nails were as long and crooked as the talons of the greatest birds. at the sight of so frightful a giant, we became insensible, and lay like dead men. at last we came to ourselves, and saw him sitting in the porch looking at us. when he had considered us well, he advanced towards us, and laying his hand upon me, took me up by the nape of my neck, and turned round as a butcher would do a sheep's head. after having examined me, and perceiving me to be so lean that i had nothing but skin and bone, he let me go. he took up all the rest one by one, and viewed them in the same manner. the captain being the fattest, he held him with one hand, as i would do a sparrow, and thrust a spit through him; he then kindled a great fire, roasted, and ate him in his apartment for his supper. having finished his repast, he returned to his porch, where he lay and fell asleep, snoring louder than thunder. he slept thus till morning. as to ourselves, it was not possible for us to enjoy any rest, so that we passed the night in the most painful apprehension that can be imagined. when day appeared the giant awoke, got up, went out, and left us in the palace. when we thought him at a distance, we broke the melancholy silence we had preserved the whole of the night, and filled the palace with our lamentations and groans. though we were several in number, and had but one enemy, it never occurred to us to effect our deliverance by putting him to death. this enterprize however, though difficult of execution, was the only design we ought naturally to have formed. we thought of several other expedients, but determined upon none; and submitting ourselves to what it should please god to order concerning us, we spent the day in traversing the island, supporting ourselves with fruits and herbs as we had done the day before. in the evening we sought for some place of shelter, but found none; so that we were forced, whether we would or not, to return to the palace. the giant failed not to return, and supped once more upon one of our companions, after which he slept, and snored till day, and then went out and left us as before. our situation appeared to us so dreadful, that several of my comrades designed to throw themselves into the sea, rather than die so painful a death; and endeavoured to persuade the others to follow their example. upon which one of the company answered, "that we were forbidden to destroy ourselves: but even if that were not the case, it was much more reasonable to devise some method to rid ourselves of the monster who had destined us to so horrible a fate." having thought of a project for this purpose, i communicated it to my comrades, who approved it. "brethren," said i, "you know there is much timber floating upon the coast; if you will be advised by me, let us make several rafts capable of bearing us, and when they are done, leave them there till we find it convenient to use them. in the mean time, we will carry into execution the design i proposed to you for our deliverance from the giant, and if it succeed, we may remain here patiently awaiting the arrival of some ship to carry us out of this fatal island; but if it happen to miscarry, we will take to our rafts, and put to sea. i admit that by exposing ourselves to the fury of the waves, we run a risk of losing our lives; but is it not better to be buried in the sea than in the entrails of this monster, who has already devoured two of our number?" my advice was approved, and we made rafts capable of carrying three persons on each. we returned to the palace towards the evening, and the giant arrived shortly after. we were forced to submit to seeing another of our comrades roasted. but at last we revenged ourselves on the brutish giant in the following manner. after he had finished his cursed supper, he lay down on his back, and fell asleep. as soon as we heard him snore, according to his custom, nine of the boldest among us, and myself, took each of us a spit, and putting the points of them into the fire till they were burning hot, we thrust them into his eye all at once, and blinded him. the pain made him break out into a frightful yell: he started up, and stretched out his hands, in order to sacrifice some of us to his rage: but we ran to such places as he could not reach; and after having sought for us in vain, he groped for the gate, and went out, howling in agony. we quitted the palace after the giant, and came to the shore, where we had left our rafts, and put them immediately to sea. we waited till day, in order to get upon them, in case the giant should come towards us with any guide of his own species, but we hoped if he did not appear by sun-rising, and gave over his howling, which we still heard, that he would prove to be dead; and if that happened to be the case, we resolved to stay in that island, and not to risk our lives upon the rafts: but day had scarcely appeared, when we perceived our cruel enemy, accompanied with two others almost of the same size, leading him; and a great number more coming before him at a quick pace. we did not hesitate to take to our rafts, and put to sea with all the speed we could. the giants, who perceived this, took up great stones, and running to the shore, entered the water up to the middle, and threw so exactly, that they sunk all the rafts but that i was upon; and all my companions, except the two with me, were drowned. we rowed with all our might, and got out of the reach of the giants. but when we got out to sea, we were exposed to the mercy of the waves and winds, and tossed about, sometimes on one side, and sometimes on another, and spent that night and the following day under the most painful uncertainty as to our fate; but next morning we had the good fortune to be thrown upon an island, where we landed with much joy. we found excellent fruit, which afforded us great relief, and recruited our strength. at night we went to sleep on the sea-shore but were awakened by the noise of a serpent of surprising length and thickness, whose scales made a rustling noise as he wound himself along. it swallowed up one of my comrades, notwithstanding his loud cries, and the efforts he made to extricate himself from it; dashing him several times against the ground, it crushed him, and we could hear it gnaw and tear the poor wretch's bones, though we had fled to a considerable distance. the following day, to our great terror, we saw the serpent again, when i exclaimed, "o heaven, to what dangers are we exposed! we rejoiced yesterday at having escaped from the cruelty of a giant and the rage of the waves, now are we fallen into another danger equally dreadful." as we walked about, we saw a large tall tree upon which we designed to pass the following night, for our security; and having satisfied our hunger with fruit, we mounted it according. shortly after, the serpent came hissing to the foot of the tree; raised himself up against the trunk of it, and meeting with my comrade, who sat lower than i, swallowed him at once, and went off. i remained upon the tree till it was day, and then came down, more like a dead man than one alive, expecting the same fate with my two companions. this filled me with horror, and i advanced some steps to throw myself into the sea; but the natural love of life prompting us to prolong it as long as we can, i withstood this dictate of despair, and submitted myself to the will of god, who disposes of our lives at his pleasure. in the mean time i collected together a great quantity of small wood, brambles, and dry thorns, . and making them up into faggots, made a wide circle with them round the tree, and also tied some of them to the branches over my head. having done this, when the evening came, i shut myself up within this circle, with the melancholy satisfaction, that i had neglected nothing which could preserve me from the cruel destiny with which i was threatened. the serpent failed not to come at the usual hour, and went round the tree, seeking for an opportunity to devour me, but was prevented by the rampart i had made; so that he lay till day, like a cat watching in vain for a mouse that has fortunately reached a place of safety. when day appeared, he retired, but i dared not to leave my fort until the sun arose. i felt so much fatigued by the labour to which it had put me, and suffered so much from his poisonous breath, that death seemed more eligible to me than the horrors of such a state. i came down from the tree, and, not thinking of the resignation i had the preceding day resolved to exercise, i ran towards the sea, with a design to throw myself into it. god took compassion on my hopeless state; for just as i was going to throw myself into the sea, i perceived a ship at a considerable distance. i called as loud as i could, and taking the linen from my turban, displayed it, that they might observe me. this had the desired effect; the crew perceived me, and the captain sent his boat for me. as soon as i came on board, the merchants and seamen flocked about me, to know how i came into that desert island; and after i had related to them all that had befallen me, the oldest among them said to me, they had several times heard of the giants that dwelt in that island, that they were cannibals, and ate men raw as well as roasted; and as to the serpents, they added, that there were abundance in the island that hid themselves by day, and came abroad by night. after having testified their joy at my escaping so many dangers, they brought me the best of their provisions; and the captain, seeing that i was in rags, was so generous as to give me one of his own suits. we continued at sea for some time, touched at several islands, and at last landed at that of salabat, where sandal wood is obtained, which is of great use in medicine. we entered the port, and came to anchor. the merchants began to unload their goods, in order to sell or exchange them. in the mean time, the captain came to me, and said, "brother, i have here some goods that belonged to a merchant, who sailed some time on board this ship, and he being dead, i design to dispose of them for the benefit of his heirs, when i find who they are." the bales he spoke of lay on the deck, and shewing them to me, he said, "there are the goods; i hope you will take care to sell them, and you shall have factorage." i thanked him for thus affording me an opportunity of employing myself, because i hated to be idle. the clerk of the ship took an account of all the bales, with the names of the merchants to whom they belonged. and when he asked the captain in whose name he should enter those he had given me the charge of; "enter them," said the captain, "in the name of sinbad." i could not hear myself named without some emotion; and looking stedfastly on the captain, i knew him to be the person who, in my second voyage, had left me in the island where i fell asleep, and sailed without me, or sending to see for me. but i could not recollect him at first, he was so much altered since i had seen him. i was not surprised that he, believing me to be dead, did not recognize me. "captain," said i, "was the merchant's name, to whom those bales belonged, sinbad?" "yes," replied he, "that was his name; he came from bagdad, and embarked on board my ship at bussorah. one day, when we landed at an island to take in water and other refreshments, i knew not by what mistake, i sailed without observing that he did not re-embark with us; neither i nor the merchants perceived it till four hours after. we had the wind in our stern, and so fresh a gale, that it was not then possible for us to tack about for him." "you believe him then to be dead?" said i. "certainly," answered he. "no, captain," i resumed; "look at me, and you may know that i am sinbad, whom you left in that desert island." the captain, continued sinbad, having considered me attentively, recognized me. "god be praised," said he, embracing me; "i rejoice that fortune has rectified my fault. there are your goods, which i always took care to preserve." i took them from him, and made him the acknowledgments to which he was entitled. from the isle of salabat, we went to another, where i furnished myself with cloves, cinnamon, and other spices. as we sailed from this island, we saw a tortoise twenty cubits in length and breadth. we observed also an amphibious animal like a cow, which gave milk; its skin is so hard, that they usually make bucklers of it. i saw another, which had the shape and colour of a camel. in short, after a long voyage, i arrived at bussorah, and from thence returned to bagdad, with so much wealth that i knew not its extent. i gave a great deal to the poor, and bought another considerable estate in addition to what i had already. thus sinbad finished the history of his third voyage; gave another hundred sequins to hindbad, invited him to dinner again the next day, to hear the story of his fourth voyage. hindbad and the company retired; and on the following day, when they returned, sinbad after dinner continued the relation of his adventures. the fourth voyage. the pleasures and amusements which i enjoyed after my third voyage had not charms sufficient to divert me from another. my passion for trade, and my love of novelty, again prevailed. i therefore settled my affairs, and having provided a stock of goods fit for the traffic i designed to engage in, i set out on my journey. i took the route of persia, travelled over several provinces, and then arrived at a port, where i embarked. we hoisted our sails, and touched at several ports of the continent, and some of the eastern islands, and put out to sea: we were overtaken by such a sudden gust of wind, as obliged the captain to lower his yards, and take all other necessary precautions to prevent the danger that threatened us. but all was in vain our endeavours had no effect; the sails were split in a thousand pieces, and the ship was stranded; several of the merchants and seamen were drowned and the cargo was lost. i had the good fortune, with several of the merchants and mariners, to get upon some planks, and we were carried by the current to an island which lay before us. there we found fruit and spring water, which preserved our lives. we staid all night near the place where we had been cast ashore, without consulting what we should do; our misfortune had so much dispirited us that we could not deliberate. next morning, as soon as the sun was up, we walked from the shore, and advancing into the island, saw some houses, which we approached. as soon as we drew near, we were encompassed by a great number of negroes, who seized us, shared us among them, and carried us to their respective habitations. i, and five of my comrades, were carried to one place; here they made us sit down, and gave us a certain herb, which they made signs to us to eat. my comrades not taking notice that the blacks ate none of it themselves, thought only of satisfying their hunger, and ate with greediness. but i, suspecting some trick, would not so much as taste it, which happened well for me; for in little time after, i perceived my companions had lost their senses, and that when they spoke to me, they knew not what they said. the negroes fed us afterwards with rice, prepared with oil of cocoa-nuts; and my comrades, who had lost their reason, ate of it greedily. i also partook of it, but very sparingly. they gave us that herb at first on purpose to deprive us of our senses, that we might not be aware of the sad destiny prepared for us; and they supplied us with rice to fatten us; for, being cannibals, their design was to eat us as soon as we grew fat. this accordingly happened, for they devoured my comrades, who were not sensible of their condition; but my senses being entire, you may easily guess that instead of growing fat, as the rest did, i grew leaner every day. the fear of death under which i laboured, turned all my food into poison. i fell into a languishing distemper, which proved my safety; for the negroes, having killed and eaten my companions, seeing me to be withered, lean, and sick, deferred my death. meanwhile i had much liberty, so that scarcely any notice was taken of what i did, and this gave me an opportunity one day to get at a distance from the houses, and to make my escape. an old man, who saw me, and suspected my design, called to me as loud as he could to return; but instead of obeying him, i redoubled my speed, and quickly got out of sight. at that time there was none but the old man about the houses, the rest being abroad, and not to return till night, which was usual with them. therefore, being sure that they could not arrive time enough to pursue me, i went on till night, when i stopped to rest a little, and to eat some of the provisions i had secured; but i speedily set forward again, and travelled seven days, avoiding those places which seemed to be inhabited, and lived for the most part upon cocoa- nuts, which served me both for meat and drink. on the eighth day i came near the sea, and saw some white people like myself, gathering pepper, of which there was great plenty in that place. this i took to be a good omen, and went to them without any scruple. the people who gathered pepper came to meet me as soon as they saw me, and asked me in arabic who i was, and whence i came? i was overjoyed to hear them speak in my own language, and satisfied their curiosity, by giving them an account of my shipwreck, and how i fell into the hands of the negroes. "those negroes," replied they, "eat men, and by what miracle did you escape their cruelty?" i related to them the circumstances i have just mentioned, at which they were wonderfully surprised. i staid with them till they had gathered their quantity of pepper, and then sailed with them to the island from whence they had come. they presented me to their king, who was a good prince. he had the patience to hear the relation of my adventures, which surprised him; and he afterwards gave me clothes, and commanded care to be taken of me. the island was very well peopled, plentiful in everything, and the capital a place of great trade. this agreeable retreat was very comfortable to me after my misfortunes, and the kindness of this generous prince completed my satisfaction. in a word, there was not a person more in favour with him than myself; and, consequently, every man in court and city sought to oblige me; so that in a very little time i was looked upon rather as a native than a stranger. i observed one thing, which to me appeared very extraordinary. all the people, the king himself not excepted, rode their horses without saddle, bridle, or stirrups. this made me one day take the liberty to ask the king how it came to pass? his majesty answered, that i talked to him of things which nobody knew the use of in his dominions. i went immediately to a workman, and gave him a model for making the stock of a saddle. when that was done, i covered it myself with velvet and leather, and embroidered it with gold. i afterwards went to a smith, who made me a bit, according to the pattern i shewed him, and also some stirrups. when i had all things completed, i presented them to the king, and put them upon one of his horses. his majesty mounted immediately, and was so pleased with them, that he testified his satisfaction by large presents. i could not avoid making several others for the ministers and principal officers of his household, who all of them made me presents that enriched me in a little time. i also made some for the people of best quality in the city, which gained me great reputation and regard. as i paid my court very constantly to the king, he said to me one day, "sinbad, i love thee; and all my subjects who know thee, treat thee according to my example. i have one thing to demand of thee, which thou must grant." "sir," answered i, "there is nothing but i will do, as a mark of my obedience to your majesty, whose power over me is absolute." "i have a mind thou shouldst marry," replied he, "that so thou mayst stay in my dominions, and think no more of thy own country." i durst not resist the prince's will, and he gave me one of the ladies of his court, noble, beautiful, and rich. the ceremonies of marriage being over, i went and dwelt with my wife, and for some time we lived together in perfect harmony. i was not, however, satisfied with my banishment, therefore designed to make my escape the first opportunity, and to return to bagdad; which my present settlement, how advantageous soever, could not make me forget. at this time the wife of one of my neighbours, with whom i had contrasted a very strict friendship, fell sick, and died. i went to see and comfort him in his affliction, and finding him absorbed in sorrow, i said to him as soon as i saw him, "god preserve you and grant you a long life." "alas!" replied he, "how do you think i should obtain the favour you wish me? i have not above an hour to live." "pray," said i, "do not entertain such a melancholy thought; i hope i shall enjoy your company many years." "i wish you," he replied, "a long life; but my days are at an end, for i must be buried this day with my wife. this is a law which our ancestors established in this island, and it is always observed inviolably. the living husband is interred with the dead wife, and the living wife with the dead husband. nothing can save me; every one must submit to this law." while he was giving me an account of this barbarous custom, the very relation of which chilled my blood, his kindred, friends, and neighbours, came in a body to assist at the funeral. they dressed the corpse of the woman in her richest apparel, and all her jewels, as if it had been her wedding-day; then they placed her on an open coffin, and began their march to the place of burial. the husband walked at the head of the company, and followed the corpse. they proceeded to a high mountain, and when they had reached the place of their destination, they took up a large stone, which covered the mouth of a deep pit, and let down the corpse with all its apparel and jewels. then the husband, embracing his kindred and friends, suffered himself to be put into another open coffin without resistance, with a pot of water, and seven small loaves, and was let down in the same manner. the mountain was of considerable length, and extended along the sea- shore, and the pit was very deep. the ceremony being over, the aperture was again covered with the stone, and the company returned. it is needless for me to tell you that i was a most melancholy spectator this funeral, while the rest were scarcely moved, the custom was to them so familiar. i could not forbear communicating to the king my sentiment respecting the practice: "sir," i said, "i cannot but feel astonished at the strange usage observed in this country, of burying the living with the dead. i have been a great traveller, and seen many countries, but never heard of so cruel a law." "what do you mean, sinbad?" replied the king: "it is a common law. i shall be interred with the queen, my wife, if she die first." "but, sir," said i, "may i presume to ask your majesty, if strangers be obliged to observe this law?" "without doubt," returned the king (smiling at the occasion of my question), "they are not exempted, if they be married in this island." i returned home much depressed by this answer; for the fear of my wife's dying first, and that i should be interred alive with her, occasioned me very uneasy reflections. but there was no remedy; i must have patience, and submit to the will of god. i trembled however at every little indisposition of my wife. alas! in a little time my fears were realized, for she fell sick, and died. judge of my sorrow; to be interred alive, seemed to me as deplorable a termination of life as to be devoured by cannibals. it was necessary, however, to submit. the king and all his court expressed their wish to honour the funeral with their presence, and the most considerable people of the city did the same. when all was ready for the ceremony, the corpse was put into a coffin, with all her jewels and her most magnificent apparel. the procession began, and as second actor in this doleful tragedy, i went next the corpse, with my eyes full of tears, bewailing my deplorable fate. before we reached the mountain, i made an attempt to affect the minds of the spectators: i addressed myself to the king first, and then to all those that were round me; bowing before them to the earth, and kissing the border of their garments, i prayed them to have compassion upon me. "consider," said i, "that i am a stranger, and ought not to be subject to this rigorous law, and that i have another wife and children in my own country." although i spoke in the most pathetic manner, no one was moved by my address; on the contrary, they ridiculed my dread of death as cowardly, made haste to let my wife's corpse into the pit, and lowered me down the next moment in an open coffin, with full of water and seven loaves. in short, the fatal ceremony being performed, they covered over the mouth of the pit, notwithstanding my grief and piteous lamentations. as i approached the bottom, i discovered by the aid of the little light that came from above the nature of this subterranean place, it seemed an endless cavern, and might be about fifty fathom deep. i was annoyed by an insufferable stench proceeding from the multitude of bodies which i saw on the right and left; nay, i fancied that i heard some of them sigh out their last. however, when i got down, i immediately left my coffin, and getting at a distance from the bodies, held my nose, and lay down upon the ground, where i stayed a considerable time, bathed in tears. at last, reflecting on my melancholy case, "it is true," said i, "that god disposes all things according to the degrees of his providence; but, unhappy sinbad, hast thou any but thyself to blame that thou art brought to die so strange a death? would to god thou hadst perished in some of those tempests which thou hast escaped! then thy death had not been so lingering, and so terrible in all its circumstances. but thou hast drawn all this upon thyself by thy inordinate avarice. ah, unfortunate wretch! shouldst thou not rather have remained at home, and quietly enjoyed the fruits of thy labour?" such were the vain complaints with which i filled the cave, beating my head and breast out of rage and despair, and abandoning myself to the most afflicting thoughts. nevertheless, i must tell you, that instead of calling death to my assistance in that miserable condition, i felt still an inclination to live, and to do all i could to prolong my days. i went groping about, with my nose stopped, for the bread and water that was in my coffin, and took some of it. though the darkness of the cave was so great that i could not distinguish day and night, yet i always found my coffin again, and the cave seemed to be more spacious and fuller of bodies than it had appeared to be at first. i lived for some days upon my bread and water, which being all spent, i at last prepared for death. as i was thinking of death, i heard the stone lifted up from the mouth of the cave, and immediately the corpse of a man was let down when reduced to necessity, it is natural to come to extreme resolutions. while they let down the woman i approached the place where her coffin was to be put, and as soon as i perceived they were again covering the mouth of the cave, gave the unfortunate wretch two or three violent blows over the head, with a large bone; which stunned, or, to say the truth, killed her. i committed this inhuman action merely for the sake of the bread and water that was in her coffin, and thus i had provision for some days more. when that was spent, they letdown another dead woman, and a living man; i killed the man in the same manner, and, as there was then a sort of mortality in the town, by continuing this practice i did not want for provisions. one day after i had dispatched another woman, i heard something tread, and breathing or panting as it walked. i advanced towards that side from whence i heard the noise, and on my approach the creature puffed and blew harder, as if running away from me. i followed the noise, and the thing seemed to stop sometimes, but always fled and blew as i approached. i pursued it for a considerable time, till at last i perceived a light, resembling a star; i went on, sometimes lost sight of it, but always found it again, and at last discovered that it came through a hole in the rock, large enough to admit a man. upon this, i stopped some time to rest, being much fatigued with the rapidity of my progress: afterwards coming up to the hole, i got through, and found myself upon the sea shore. i leave you to guess the excess of my joy: it was such, that i could scarcely persuade myself that the whole was not a dream. but when i was recovered from my surprise, and convinced of the reality of my escape, i perceived what i had followed to be a creature which came out of the sea, and was accustomed to enter the cavern and feed upon the bodies of the dead. i examined the mountain, and found it to be situated betwixt the sea and the town, but without any passage to or communication with the latter; the rocks on the sea side being high and perpendicularly steep. i prostrated myself on the shore to thank god for this mercy, and afterwards entered the cave again to fetch bread and water, which i ate by daylight with a better appetite than i had done since my interment in the dark cavern i returned thither a second time, and groped among the coffins for all the diamonds, rubies,, pearls, gold bracelets, and rich stuffs i could find; these i brought to the shore, and tying them up neatly into bales, with the cords that let down the coffins, i laid them together upon the beach, waiting till some ship might appear, without fear of rain, for it was then the dry season. after two or three days, i perceived a ship just come out of the harbour, making for the place where i was. i made a sign with the linen of my turban, and called to the crew as loud as i could. they heard me, and sent a boat to bring me on board, when they asked by what misfortune i came thither; i told them that i had suffered shipwreck two days before, and made shift to get ashore with the goods they saw. it was fortunate for me that these people did not consider the place where i was, nor enquire into the probability of what i told them; but without hesitation took me on board with my goods. when i came to the ship, the captain was so well pleased to have saved me, and so much taken up with his own affairs, that he also took the story of my pretended shipwreck upon trust, and generously refused some jewels which i offered him. we passed by several islands, and among others that called the isle of bells, about ten days' sail from serendib, with a regular wind, and six from that of kela, where we landed. this island produces lead mines, indian canes, and excellent camphire. the king of the isle of kela is very rich and powerful, and the isle of bells, which is about two days journey in extent, is also subject to him. the inhabitants are so barbarous that they still eat human flesh. after we had finished our traffic in that island, we put to sea again, and touched at several other ports; at last i arrived happily at bagdad with infinite riches, of which it is needless to trouble you with the detail. out of gratitude to god for his mercies, i contributed liberally towards the support of several mosques, and the subsistence of the poor, gave myself up to the society of my kindred and friends, enjoying myself with them in festivities and amusements. here sinbad finished the relation of his fourth voyage, which appeared more surprising to the company than the three former. he made a new present of one hundred sequins to hindbad, whom he requested to return with the rest next day at the same hour to dine with him, and hear the story of his fifth voyage. hindbad and the other guests took their leave and retired. next morning when they all met, they sat down at table, and when dinner was over, sinbad began the relation of his fifth voyage as follows. the fifth voyage. the pleasures i enjoyed had again charms enough to make me forget all the troubles and calamities i had undergone, but could not cure me of my inclination to make new voyages. i therefore bought goods, departed with them for the best sea-port; and there, that i might not be obliged to depend upon a captain, but have a ship at my own command, i remained till one was built on purpose, at my own charge. when the ship was ready, i went on board with my goods; but not having enough to load her, i agreed to take with me several merchants of different nations with their merchandize. we sailed with the first fair wind, and after a long navigation the first place we touched at was a desert island, where we found an egg of a roe, equal in size to that i formerly mentioned. there was a young roc it just ready to be hatched, and its bill had begun to appear. the merchants whom i had taken on board, and who landed with me, broke the egg with hatchets, and made a hole in it, pulled out the young roc piecemeal, and roasted it. i had earnestly intreated them not to meddle with the egg, but they would not listen to me. scarcely had they finished their repast, when there appeared in the air at a considerable distance from us two great clouds. the captain whom i had hired to navigate my ship, knowing by experience what they meant, said they were the male and female roc that belonged to the young one, and pressed us to re-embark with all speed, to prevent the misfortune which he saw would otherwise befall us. we hastened on board, and set sail with all possible expedition. in the mean time, the two roes approached with a frightful noise, which they redoubled when they saw the egg broken, and their young one gone. they flew back in the direction they had come, and disappeared for some time, while we made all the sail we could to endeavour to prevent that which unhappily befell us. they soon returned, and we observed that each of them carried between its talons stones, or rather rocks, of a monstrous size. when they came directly over my ship, they hovered, and one of them let fall a stone, but by the dexterity of the steersman it missed us, and falling into the sea, divided the water so that we could almost see the bottom. the other roe, to our misfortune, threw his messy burden so exactly upon the middle of the ship, as to split it into a thousand pieces. the mariners and passengers were all crushed to death, or sunk. i myself was of the number of the latter; but as i came up again, i fortunately caught hold of a piece of the wreck, and swimming sometimes with one hand, and sometimes with the other, but always holding fast my board, the wind and the tide favouring me, i came to an island, whose shore was very steep. i overcame that difficulty, however, and got ashore. i sat down upon the grass, to recover myself from my fatigue, after which i went into the island to explore it. it seemed to be a delicious garden. i found trees everywhere, some of them bearing green, and others ripe fruits, and streams of fresh pure water running in pleasant meanders. i ate of the fruits, which i found excellent; and drank of the water, which was very light and good. when night closed in, i lay down upon the grass in a convenient spot, but could not sleep an hour at a time, my mind being apprehensive of danger. i spent best part of the night in alarm, and reproached myself for my imprudence in not remaining at home, rather than undertaking this last voyage. these reflections carried me so far, that i began to form a design against my life; but daylight dispersed these melancholy thoughts. i got up, and walked among the trees, but not without some fears. when i was a little advanced into the island, i saw an old man, who appeared very weak and infirm. he was sitting on the bank of a stream, and at first i took him to be one who had been shipwrecked like myself. i went towards him and saluted him, but he only slightly bowed his head. i asked him why he sat so still, but instead of answering me, he made a sign for me to take him upon my back, and carry him over the brook, signifying that it was to gather fruit. i believed him really to stand in need of my assistance, took him upon my back, and having carried him over, bade him get down, and for that end stooped, that he might get off with ease; but instead of doing so (which i laugh at every time i think of it) the old man, who to me appeared quite decrepid, clasped his legs nimbly about my neck, when i perceived his skin to resemble that of a cow. he sat astride upon my shoulders, and held my throat so tight, that i thought he would have strangled me, the apprehension of which make me swoon and fall down. notwithstanding my fainting, the ill-natured old fellow kept fast about my neck, but opened his legs a little to give me time to recover my breath. when i had done so, he thrust one of his feet against my stomach, and struck me so rudely on the side with the other, that he forced me to rise up against my will. having arisen, he made me walk under the trees, and forced me now and then to stop, to gather and eat fruit such as we found. he never left me all day, and when i lay down to rest at night, laid himself down with me, holding always fast about my neck. every morning he pushed me to make me awake, and afterwards obliged me to get up and walk, and pressed me with his feet. you may judge then, gentlemen, what trouble i was in, to be loaded with such a burden of which i could not get rid. one day i found in my way several dry calebashes that had fallen from a tree. i took a large one, and after cleaning it, pressed into it some juice of grapes, which abounded in the island; having filled the calebash, i put it by in a convenient place, and going thither again some days after, i tasted it, and found the wine so good, that it soon made me forget my sorrow, gave me new vigour, and so exhilarated my spirits, that i began to sing and dance as i walked along. the old man, perceiving the effect which this liquor had upon me, and that i carried him with more ease than before, made me a sign to give him some of it. i handed him the calebash, and the liquor pleasing his palate, he drank it all off. there being a considerable quantity of it, he became drunk immediately, and the fumes getting up into his head, he began to sing after his manner, and to dance with his breech upon my shoulders. his jolting made him vomit, and he loosened his legs from about me by degrees. finding that he did not press me as before, i threw him upon the ground, where he lay without motion; i then took up a great stone, and crushed his head to pieces. i was extremely glad to be thus freed for ever from this troublesome fellow. i now walked towards the beach, where i met the crew of a ship that had cast anchor, to take in water. they were surprised to see me, but more so at hearing the particulars of my adventures. "you fell," said they, "into the hands of the old man of the sea, and are the first who ever escaped strangling by his malicious tricks. he never quitted those he had once made himself master of, till he had destroyed them, and he has made this island notorious by the number of men he has slain; so that the merchants and mariners who landed upon it, durst not advance into the island but in numbers at a time." after having informed me of these things, they carried me with them to the ship; the captain received me with great kindness, when they told him what had befallen me. he put out again to sea, and after some days' sail, we arrived at the harbour of a great city, the houses of which were built with hewn stone. one of the merchants who had taken me into his friendship invited me to go along with him, and carried me to a place appointed for the accommodation of foreign merchants. he gave me a large bag, and having recommended me to some people of the town, who used to gather cocoa-nuts, desired them to take me with them. "go," said he, "follow them, and act as you see them do, but do not separate from them, otherwise you may endanger your life." having thus spoken, he gave me provisions for the journey, and i went with them. we came to a thick forest of cocoa-trees, very lofty, with trunks so smooth that it was not possible to climb to the branches that bore the fruit. when we entered the forest we saw a great number of apes of several sizes, who fled as soon as they perceived us, and climbed up to the top of the trees with surprising swiftness. the merchants with whom i was, gathered stones and threw them at the apes on the trees. i did the same, and the apes out of revenge threw cocoa-nuts at us so fast, and with such gestures, as sufficiently testified their anger and resentment. we gathered up the cocoa-nuts, and from time to time threw stones to provoke the apes; so that by this stratagem we filled our bags with cocoa-nuts, which it had been impossible otherwise to have done. when we had gathered our number, we returned to the city, where the merchant, who had sent me to the forest, gave me the value of the cocoas i brought: "go on," said he, "and do the like every day, until you have got money enough to carry you home." i thanked him for his advice, and gradually collected as many cocoa-nuts as produced me a considerable sum. the vessel in which i had come sailed with some merchants, who loaded her with cocoa-nuts. i expected the arrival of another, which anchored soon after for the like loading. i embarked in her all the cocoa-nuts i had, and when she was ready to sail, took leave of the merchant who had been so kind to me; but he could not embark with me, because he had not finished his business at the port. we sailed towards the islands, where pepper grows in great plenty. from thence we went to the isle of comari, where the best species of wood of aloes grows, and whose inhabitants have made it an inviolable law to themselves to drink no wine, and suffer no place of debauch. i exchanged my cocoa in those two islands for pepper and wood of aloes, and went with other merchants a pearl-fishing. i hired divers, who brought me up some that were very large and pure. i embarked in a vessel that happily arrived at bussorah; from thence i returned to bagdad, where i made vast sums of my pepper, wood of aloes, and pearls. i gave the tenth of my gains in alms, as i had done upon my return from my other voyages, and endeavoured to dissipate my fatigues by amusements of different kinds. when sinbad had finished his story, he ordered one hundred sequins to be given to hindbad, who retired with the other guests; but next morning the same company returned to dine with rich sinbad; who, after having treated them as formerly, requested their attention, and gave the following account of his sixth voyage. the sixth voyage. gentlemen, you long without doubt to know, how, after having been shipwrecked five times, and escaped so many dangers, i could resolve again to tempt fortune, and expose myself to new hardships? i am, myself, astonished at my conduct when i reflect upon it, and must certainly have been actuated by my destiny. but be that as it may, after a year's rest i prepared for a sixth voyage, notwithstanding the intreaties of my kindred and friends, who did all in their power to dissuade me. instead of taking my way by the persian gulf, i travelled once more through several provinces of persia and the indies, and arrived at a sea-port, where i embarked in a ship, the captain of which was bound on a long voyage. it was long indeed, and at the same time so unfortunate, that the captain and pilot lost their course. they however at last discovered where they were, but we had no reason to rejoice at the circumstance. suddenly we saw the captain quit his post, uttering loud lamentations. he threw off his turban, pulled his beard, and beat his head like a madman. we asked him the reason, and he answered, that he was in the most dangerous place in all the ocean. "a rapid current carries the ship along with it, and we shall all perish in less than a quarter of an hour. pray to god to deliver us from this peril; we cannot escape, if he do not take pity on us." at these words he ordered the sails to be lowered; but all the ropes broke, and the ship was carried by the current to the foot of an inaccessible mountain, where she struck and went to pieces, yet in such a manner that we saved our lives, our provisions, and the best of our goods. this being over, the captain said to us, "god has done what pleased him. each of us may dig his grave, and bid the world adieu; for we are all in so fatal a place, that none shipwrecked here ever returned to their homes." his discourse afflicted us sensibly, and we embraced each other, bewailing our deplorable lot. the mountain at the foot of which we were wrecked formed part of the coast of a very large island. it was covered with wrecks, and from the vast number of human bones we saw everywhere, and which filled us with horror, we concluded that multitudes of people had perished there. it is also incredible what a quantity of goods and riches we found cast ashore. all these objects served only to augment our despair. in all other places, rivers run from their channels into the sea, but here a river of fresh water runs out of the sea into a dark cavern, whose entrance is very high and spacious. what is most remarkable in this place is, that the stones of the mountain are of crystal, rubies, or other precious stones. here is also a sort of fountain of pitch or bitumen, that runs into the sea, which the fish swallow, and evacuate soon afterwards, turned into ambergris: and this the waves throw up on the beach in great quantities. trees also grow here, most of which are wood of aloes, equal in goodness to those of comari. to finish the description of this place, which may well be called a gulf, since nothing ever returns from it, it is not possible for ships to get off when once they approach within a certain distance. if they be driven thither by a wind from the sea, the wind and the current impel them; and if they come into it when a land-wind blows, which might seem to favour their getting out again, the height of the mountain stops the wind, and occasions a calm, so that the force of the current carries them ashore: and what completes the misfortune is, that there is no possibility of ascending the mountain, or of escaping by sea. we continued upon the shore in a state of despair, and expected death every day. at first we divided our provisions as equally as we could, and thus every one lived a longer or shorter time, according to his temperance, and the use he made of his provisions. those who died first were interred by the survivors, and i paid the last duty to all my companions: nor are you to wonder at this; for besides that i husbanded the provision that fell to my share better than they, i had some of my own which i did not share with my comrades; yet when i buried the last, i had so little remaining, that i thought i could not long survive: i dug a grave, resolving to lie down in it, because there was no one left to inter me. i must confess to you at the same time, that while i was thus employed, i could not but reproach myself as the cause of my own ruin, and repented that i had ever undertaken this last voyage. nor did i stop at reflections only, but had well nigh hastened my own death, and began to tear my hands with my teeth. but it pleased god once more to take compassion on me, and put it in my mind to go to the bank of the river which ran into the great cavern. considering its probable course with great attention, i said to myself, "this river, which runs thus under ground, must somewhere have an issue. if i make a raft, and leave myself to the current, it will convey me to some inhabited country, or i shall perish. if i be drowned, i lose nothing, but only change one kind of death for another; and if i get out of this fatal place, i shall not only avoid the sad fate of my comrades, but perhaps find some new occasion of enriching myself. who knows but fortune waits, upon my getting off this dangerous shelf, to compensate my shipwreck with usury." i immediately went to work upon large pieces of timber and cables, for i had choice of them, and tied them together so strongly, that i soon made a very solid raft. when i had finished, i loaded it with some bulses of rubies, emeralds, ambergris, rock-crystal, and bales of rich stuffs. having balanced my cargo exactly, and fastened it well to the raft, i went on board with two oars that i had made, and leaving it to the course of the river, resigned myself to the will of god. as soon as i entered the cavern, i lost all light, and the stream carried me i knew not whither. thus i floated some days in perfect darkness, and once found the arch so low, that it very nearly touched my head, which made me cautious afterwards to avoid the like danger. all this while i ate nothing but what was just necessary to support nature; yet, notwithstanding my frugality, all my provisions were spent. then a pleasing stupor seized upon me. i cannot tell how long it continued; but when i revived, i was surprised to find myself in an extensive plain on the brink of a river, where my raft was tied, amidst a great number of negroes. i got up as soon as i saw them, and saluted them. they spoke to me, but i did not understand their language. i was so transported with joy, that i knew not whether i was asleep or awake; but being persuaded that i was not asleep, i recited the following words in arabic aloud: "call upon the almighty, he will help thee; thou needest not perplex thyself about any thing else: shut thy eyes, and while thou art asleep, god will change thy bad fortune into good." one of the blacks, who understood arabic, hearing me speak thus, came towards me, and said, "brother, be not surprised to see us, we are inhabitants of this country, and came hither to-day to water our fields, by digging little canals from this river, which comes out of the neighbouring mountain. we observed something floating upon the water, went to see what it was, and, perceiving your raft, one of us swam into the river, and brought it thither, where we fastened it, as you see, until you should awake. pray tell us your history, for it must be extraordinary; how did you venture yourself into this river, and whence did you come?" "i begged of them first to give me something to eat, and then i would satisfy. their curiosity. they gave me several sorts of food, and when i had satisfied my hunger, i related all that had befallen me, which they listened to with attentive surprise. as soon as i had finished, they told me, by the person who spoke arabic and interpreted to them what i said, that it was one of the most wonderful stories they had ever heard, and that i must go along with them, and tell it their king myself; it being too extraordinary to be related by any other than the person to whom the events had happened. i assured them that i was ready to do whatever they pleased. they immediately sent for a horse, which was brought in a little time; and having helped me to mount, some of them walked before to shew the way, while the rest took my raft and cargo and followed. we marched till we came to the capital of serendib, for it was in that island i had landed. the blacks presented me to their king; i approached his throne, and saluted him as i used to do the kings of the indies; that is to say, i prostrated myself at his feet. the prince ordered me to rise, received me with an obliging air, and made me sit down near him. he first asked me my name, and i answered, "people call me sinbad the voyager, because of the many voyages i have undertaken, and i am a citizen of bagdad." "but," resumed he, "how came you into my dominions, and from whence came you last?" i concealed nothing from the king; i related to him all that i have told you, and his majesty was so surprised and pleased, that he commanded my adventures to be written in letters of gold, and laid up in the archives of his kingdom. at last my raft was brought in, and the bales opened in his presence; he admired the quantity of wood of aloes and ambergris, but, above all, the rubies and emeralds, for he had none in his treasury that equalled them. observing that he looked on my jewels with pleasure, and viewed the most remarkable among them one after another, i fell prostrate at his feet, and took the liberty to say to him, "sir, not only my person is at your majesty's service, but the cargo of the raft, and i would beg of you to dispose of it as your own." he answered me with a smile, "sinbad, i will take care not to covet any thing of yours, or to take any thing from you that god has given you; far from lessening your wealth, i design to augment it, and will not let you quit my dominions without marks of my liberality." all the answer i returned were prayers for the prosperity of that nobly minded prince, and commendations of his generosity and bounty. he charged one of his officers to take care of me, and ordered people to serve me at his own expence. the officer was very faithful in the execution of his commission, and caused all the goods to be carried to the lodgings provided for me. i went every day at a set hour to make my court to the king, and spent the rest of my time in viewing the city, and what was most worthy of notice. the isle of serendib is situated just under the equinoctial line; so that the days and nights there are always of twelve hours each, and the island is eighty parasangs in length, and as many in breadth. the capital stands at the end of a fine valley, in the middle of the island, encompassed by mountains the highest in the world. they are seen three days' sail off at sea. rubies and several sorts of minerals abound, and the rocks are for the most part composed of a metalline stone made use of to cut and polish other precious stones. all kinds of rare plants and trees grow there, especially cedars and cocoa-nut. there is also a pearl-fishing in the mouth of its principal river; and in some of its valleys are found diamonds. i made, by way of devotion, a pilgrimage to the place where adam was confined after his banishment from paradise, and had the curiosity to go to the top of the mountain. when i returned to the city, i prayed the king to allow me to return to my own country, and he granted me permission in the most obliging and most honourable manner. he would needs force a rich present upon me; and when i went to take my leave of him, he gave me one much more considerable, and at the same time charged me with a letter for the commander of the faithful, our sovereign, saying to me, "i pray you give this present from me, and this letter to the caliph, and assure him of my friendship." i took the present and letter in a very respectful manner, and promised his majesty punctually to execute the commission with which he was pleased to honour me. before i embarked, this prince sent for the captain and the merchants who were to go with me, and ordered them to treat me with all possible respect. the letter from the king of serendib was written on the skin of a certain animal of great value, because of its being so scarce, and of a yellowish colour. the characters of this letter were of azure, and the contents as follows: "the king of the indies, before whom march one hundred elephants, who lives in a palace that shines with one hundred thousand rubies, and who has in his treasury twenty thousand crowns enriched with diamonds, to caliph haroon al rusheed. "though the present we send you be inconsiderable, receive it however as a brother and a friend, in consideration of the hearty friendship which we bear for you, and of which we are willing to give you proof. we desire the same part in your friendship, considering that we believe it to be our merit, being of the same dignity with yourself. we conjure you this in quality of a brother. adieu." the present consisted first, of one single ruby made into a cup, about half a foot high, an inch thick, and filled with round pearls of half a drachm each. . the skin of a serpent, whose scales were as large as an ordinary piece of gold, and had the virtue to preserve from sickness those who lay upon it. . fifty thousand drachms of the best wood of aloes, with thirty grains of camphire as big as pistachios. . a female slave of ravishing beauty, whose apparel was all covered over with jewels. the ship set sail, and after a very successful navigation we landed at bussorah, and from thence i went to bagdad, where the first thing i did was to acquit myself of my commission. scheherazade stopped, because day appeared, and next night proceeded thus. i took the king of serendib's letter, and went to present myself at the gate of the commander of the faithful, followed by the beautiful slave, and such of my own family as carried the presents. i stated the reason of my coming, and was immediately conducted to the throne of the caliph. i made my reverence, and, after a short speech, gave him the letter and present. when he had read what the king of serendib wrote to him, he asked me, if that prince were really so rich and potent as he represented himself in his letter? i prostrated myself a second time, and rising again, said, "commander of the faithful, i can assure your majesty he doth not exceed the truth. i bear him witness. nothing is more worthy of admiration than the magnificence of his palace. when the prince appears in public, he has a throne fixed on the back of an elephant, and marches betwixt two ranks of his ministers, favourites, and other people of his court; before him, upon the same elephant, an officer carries a golden lance in his hand; and behind the throne there is another, who stands upright, with a column of gold, on the top of which is an emerald half a foot long, and an inch thick; before him march a guard of one thousand men, clad in cloth of gold and silk, and mounted on elephants richly caparisoned. "while the king is on his march, the officer, who is before him on the same elephant, cries from time to time, with a loud voice, �behold the great monarch, the potent and redoubtable sultan of the indies, whose palace is covered with one hundred thousand rubies, and who possesses twenty thousand crowns of diamonds. behold the monarch greater than solomon, and the powerful maha-raja.' after he has pronounced those words, the officer behind the throne cries in his turn, �this monarch, so great and so powerful, must die, must die, must die.' and the officer before replies, �praise be to him who lives for ever.' "farther, the king of serendib is so just, that there are no judges in his dominions. his people have no need of them. they understand and observe justice rigidly of themselves." the caliph was much pleased with my account. "the wisdom of that king," said he, "appears in his letter, and after what you tell me, i must confess, that his wisdom is worthy of his people, and his people deserve so wise a prince." having spoken thus, he dismissed me, and sent me home with a rich present. sinbad left off, and his company retired, hindbad having first received one hundred sequins; and next day they returned to hear the relation of his seventh and last voyage. the seventh and last voyage. being returned from my sixth voyage, said sinbad, i absolutely laid aside all thoughts of travelling; for, besides that my age now required rest, i was resolved no more to expose myself to such risks as i had encountered; so that i thought of nothing but to pass the rest of my days in tranquillity. one day as i was treating my friends, one of my servants came and told me that an officer of the caliph's enquired for me. i rose from table, and went to him. "the caliph," he said, "has sent me to tell you, that he must speak with you." i followed the officer to the palace, where being presented to the caliph, i saluted him by prostrating myself at his feet. "sinbad," said he to me, "i stand in need of your service; you must carry my answer and present to the king of serendib. it is but just i should return his civility." this command of the caliph was to me like a clap of thunder. "commander of the faithful," i replied, "i am ready to do whatever your majesty shall think fit to command; but i beseech you most humbly to consider what i have undergone. i have also made a vow never to go out of bagdad." hence i took occasion to give him a full and particular account of all my adventures, which he had the patience to hear out. as soon as i had finished, "i confess," said he, "that the things you tell me are very extraordinary, yet you must for my sake undertake this voyage which i propose to you. you will only have to go to the isle of serendib, and deliver the commission which i give you. after that you are at liberty to return. but you must go; for you know it would not comport with my dignity, to be indebted to the king of that island." perceiving that the caliph insisted upon my compliance, i submitted, and told him that i was willing to obey. he was very well pleased, and ordered me one thousand sequins for the expences of my journey. i prepared for my departure in a few days, and as soon as the caliph's letter and present were delivered to me, i went to bussorah, where i embarked, and had a very happy voyage. having arrived at the isle of serendib, i acquainted the king's ministers with my commission, and prayed them to get me speedy audience. they did so, and i was conducted to the palace in an honourable manner, where i saluted the king by prostration, according to custom. that prince knew me immediately, and testified very great joy at seeing me. "sinbad," said he, "you are welcome; i have many times thought of you since you departed; i bless the day on which we see one another once more." i made my compliment to him, and after having thanked him for his kindness, delivered the caliph's letter and present, which he received with all imaginable satisfaction. the caliph's present was a complete suit of cloth of gold, valued at one thousand sequins; fifty robes of rich stuff, a hundred of white cloth, the finest of cairo, suez, and alexandria; a vessel of agate broader than deep, an inch thick, and half a foot wide, the bottom of which represented in bass relief a man with one knee on the ground, who held bow and an arrow, ready to discharge at a lion. he sent him also a rich tablet, which, according to tradition, belonged to the great solomon. the caliph's letter was as follows: "greeting, in the name of the sovereign guide of the right way, from the dependent on god, haroon al rusheed, whom god hath set in the place of vicegerent to his prophet, after his ancestors of happy memory, to the potent and esteemed raja of serendib. "we received your letter with joy, and send you this from our imperial residence, the garden of superior wits. we hope when you look upon it, you will perceive our good intention and be pleased with it. adieu." the king of serendib was highly gratified that the caliph answered his friendship. a little time after this audience, i solicited leave to depart, and had much difficulty to obtain it. i procured it however at last, and the king, when he dismissed me, made me a very considerable present. i embarked immediately to return to bagdad, but had not the good fortune to arrive there so speedily as i had hoped. god ordered it otherwise. three or four days after my departure, we were attacked by corsairs, who easily seized upon our ship, because it was no vessel of force. some of the crew offered resistance, which cost them their lives. but for myself and the rest, who were not so imprudent, the corsairs saved us on purpose to make slaves of us. we were all stripped, and instead of our own clothes, they gave us sorry rags, and carried us into a remote island, where they sold us. i fell into the hands of a rich merchant, who, as soon as he bought me, carried me to his house, treated me well, and clad me handsomely for a slave. some days after, not knowing who i was, he asked me if i understood any trade? i answered, that i was no mechanic, but a merchant, and that the corsairs, who sold me, had robbed me of all i possessed. "but tell me," replied he, "can you shoot with a bow?" i answered, that the bow was one of my exercises in my youth. he gave me a bow and arrows, and, taking me behind him upon an elephant, carried me to a thick forest some leagues from the town. we penetrated a great way into the wood, and when he thought fit to stop, he bade me alight; then shewing me a great tree, "climb up that," said he, "and shoot at the elephants as you see them pass by, for there is a prodigious number of them in this forest, and if any of them fall, come and give me notice." having spoken thus, he left me victuals, and returned to the town, and i continued upon the tree all night. i saw no elephant during that time, but next morning, as soon as the sun was up, i perceived a great number. i shot several arrows among them, and at last one of the elephants fell, when the rest retired immediately, and left me at liberty to go and acquaint my patron with my booty. when i had informed him, he gave me a good meal, commended my dexterity, and caressed me highly. we went afterwards together to the forest, where we dug a hole for the elephant; my patron designing to return when it was rotten, and take his teeth to trade with. i continued this employment for two months, and killed an elephant every day, getting sometimes upon one tree, and sometimes upon another. one morning, as i looked for the elephants, i perceived with extreme amazement, that, instead of passing by me across the forest as usual, they stopped, and came to me with a horrible noise, in such number that the plain was covered, and shook under them. they encompassed the tree in which i was concealed, with their trunks extended, and all fixed their eyes upon. at this alarming spectacle i continued immoveable, and was so much terrified, that my bow and arrows fell out of my hand. my fears were not without cause; for after the elephants had stared upon me some time, one of the largest of them put his trunk round the foot of the tree, plucked it up, and threw it on the ground; i fell with the tree, and the elephant taking me up with his trunk, laid me on his back, where i sat more like one dead than alive, with my quiver on my shoulder. he put himself afterwards at the head of the rest, who followed him in troops, carried me a considerable way, then laid me down on the ground, and retired with all his companions. conceive, if you can, the condition i was in: i thought myself in a dream. after having lain some time, and seeing the elephants gone, i got up, and found i was upon a long and broad hill, almost covered with the bones and teeth of elephants. i confess to you, that this object furnished me with abundance of reflections. i admired the instinct of those animals; i doubted not but that was their burying place, and that they carried me thither on purpose to tell me that i should forbear to persecute them, since i did it only for their teeth. i did not stay on the hill, but turned towards the city, and, after having travelled a day and a night, i came to my patron. i met no elephant in my way, which made me think they had retired farther into the forest, to leave me at liberty to come back to the hill without any obstacle. as soon as my patron saw me; "ah, poor sinbad," exclaimed he, "i was in great trouble to know what was become of you. i have been at the forest, where i found a tree newly pulled up, and a bow and arrows on the ground, and after having sought for you in vain, i despaired of ever, seeing you more. pray tell me what befell you, and by what good chance thou art still alive." i satisfied his curiosity, and going both of us next morning to the hill, he found to his great joy that what i had told him was true. we loaded the elephant which had carried us with as many teeth as he could bear; and when we were returned, "brother," said my patron, "for i will treat you no more as my slave, after having made such a discovery as will enrich me, god bless you with all happiness and prosperity. i declare before him, that i give you your liberty. i concealed from you what i am now going to tell you. "the elephants of our forest have every year killed us a great many slaves, whom we sent to seek ivory. for all the cautions we could give them, those crafty animals destroyed them one time or other. god has delivered you from their fury, and has bestowed that favour upon you only. it is a sign that he loves you, and has some use for your service in the world. you have procured me incredible wealth. formerly we could not procure ivory but by exposing the lives of our slaves, and now our whole city is enriched by your means. do not think i pretend to have rewarded you by giving you your liberty, i will also give you considerable riches. i could engage all our city to contribute towards making your fortune, but i will have the glory of doing it myself." to this obliging declaration i replied, "patron, god preserve you. your giving me my liberty is enough to discharge what you owe me, and i desire no other reward for the service i had the good fortune to do to you and your city, but leave to return to my own country." "very well," said he, "the monsoon will in a little time bring ships for ivory. i will then send you home, and give you wherewith to bear your charges." i thanked him again for my liberty and his good intentions towards me. i staid with him expecting the monsoon; and during that time, we made so many journeys to the hill, that we filled all our warehouses with ivory. the other merchants, who traded in it, did the same, for it could not be long concealed from them. the ships arrived at last, and my patron, himself having made choice of the ship wherein i was to embark, loaded half of it with ivory on my account, laid in provisions in abundance for my passage, and besides obliged me to accept a present of some curiosities of the country of great value. after i had returned him a thousand thanks for all his favours, i went aboard. we set sail, and as the adventure which procured me this liberty was very extraordinary, i had it continually in my thoughts. we stopped at some islands to take in fresh provisions. our vessel being come to a port on the main land in the indies, we touched there, and not being willing to venture by sea to bussorah, i landed my proportion of the ivory, resolving to proceed on my journey by land. i made vast sums of my ivory, bought several rarities, which i intended for presents, and when my equipage was ready, set out in company with a large caravan of merchants. i was a long time on the way, and suffered much, but endured all with patience, when i considered that i had nothing to fear from the seas, from pirates, from serpents, or from the other perils to which i had been exposed. all these fatigues ended at last, and i arrived safe at bagdad. i went immediately to wait upon the caliph, and gave him an account of my embassy. that prince said he had been uneasy, as i was so long in returning, but that he always hoped god would preserve me. when i told him the adventure of the elephants, he seemed much surprised, and would never have given any credit to it had he not known my veracity. he deemed this story, and the other relations i had given him, to be so curious, that he ordered one of his secretaries to write them in characters of gold, and lay them up in his treasury. i retired well satisfied with the honours i received, and the presents which he gave me; and ever since i have devoted myself wholly to my family, kindred, and friends. sinbad here finished the relation of his seventh and last voyage, and then addressing himself to hindbad, "well, friend," said he, "did you ever hear of any person that suffered so much as i have done, or of any mortal that has gone through so many vicissitudes? is it not reasonable that, after all this i should enjoy a quiet and pleasant life?" as he said this, hindbad drew near to him, and kissing his hand, said, "i must acknowledge, sir, that you have gone through many imminent dangers; my troubles are not comparable to yours: if they afflict me for a time, i comfort myself with the thoughts of the profit i get by them. you not only deserve a quiet life, but are worthy of all the riches you enjoy, because you make of them such a good and generous use. may you therefore continue to live in happiness and joy till the day of your death!" sinbad gave him one hundred sequins more, received him into the number of his friends, desired him to quit his porter's employment, and come and dine every day with him, that he might have reason to remember sinbad the voyager. the three apples. the caliph haroon al rusheed one day commanded the grand vizier jaffier to come to his palace the night following. "vizier," said he, "i will take a walk round the town, to inform myself what people say, and particularly how they are pleased with my officers of justice. if there be any against whom they have cause of just complaint, we will turn them out, and put others in their stead, who shall officiate better. if, on the contrary, there be any that have gained their applause, we will have that esteem for them which they deserve." the grand vizier being come to the palace at the hour appointed, the caliph, he, and mesrour the chief of the eunuchs, disguised themselves so that they could not be known, and went out all three together. they passed through several places, and by several markets. as they entered a small street, they perceived by the light of the moon, a tall man, with a white beard, who carried nets on his head, and a staff in his hand. "to judge from his appearance," said the caliph, "that old man is not rich; let us go to him and inquire into his circumstances." "honest man," said the vizier, "who art thou?" the old man replied, "sir, i am a fisher, but one of the poorest and most miserable of the trade. i went from my house about noon a fishing, and from that time to this i have not been able to catch one fish; at the same time i have a wife and small children, and nothing to maintain them." the caliph, moved with compassion, said to the fisherman, "hast thou the courage to go back and cast thy net once more? we will give thee a hundred sequins for what thou shalt bring up." at this proposal, the fisherman, forgetting all his day's toil, took the caliph at his word, and returned to the tigris, accompanied by the caliph, jaaffier, and mesrour; saying to himself as he went, "these gentlemen seem too honest and reasonable not to reward my pains; and if they give me the hundredth part of what they promise, it will be an ample recompence." they came to the bank of the river, and the fisherman, having thrown in his net, when he drew it again, brought up a trunk close shut, and very heavy. the caliph made the grand vizier pay him one hundred sequins immediately, and sent him away. mesrour, by his master's order, carried the trunk on his shoulder, and the caliph was so very eager to know what it contained, that he returned to the palace with all speed. when the trunk was opened, they found in it a large basket made of palm-leaves, shut up, and the covering of it sewed with red thread. to satisfy the caliph's impatience, they would not take time to undo it, but cut the thread with a knife, and took out of the basket a package wrapt up in a sorry piece of hanging, and bound about with a rope; which being untied, they found, to their great amazement, the corpse of a young lady, whiter than snow, all cut in pieces. the astonishment of the caliph was great at this dreadful spectacle. his surprise was instantly changed into passion, and darting an angry look at the vizier, "thou wretch," said he, "is this your inspection into the actions of my people? do they commit such impious murders under thy ministry in my capital, and throw my subjects into the tigris, that they may cry for vengeance against me at the day of judgment? if thou dost not speedily avenge the murder of this woman, by the death of her murderer, i swear by heaven, that i will cause thee and forty more of thy kindred to be impaled." "commander of the faithful," replied the grand vizier, "i beg your majesty to grant me time to make enquiry." "i will allow thee no more," said the caliph, "than three days." the vizier jaaffier went home in great perplexity. "alas!" said he "how is it possible that in such a vast and populous city as bagdad, i should he able to detect a murderer, who undoubtedly committed the crime without witness, and perhaps may be already gone from hence? any other vizier than i would take some wretched person out of prison, and cause him to be put to death to satisfy the caliph; but i will not burden my conscience with such a barbarous action; i will rather die than preserve my life by the sacrifice of another innocent person." he ordered the officers of the police and justice to make strict search for the criminal. they sent their servants about, and they were not idle themselves, for they were no less concerned in this matter than the vizier. but all their endeavours were to no purpose; what pains soever they took they could not discover the murderer; so that the vizier concluded his life to be lost. the third day being arrived, an officer came to the unfortunate minister, with a summons to follow him, which the vizier obeyed. the caliph asked him for the murderer. he answered, "commander of the faithful, i have not found any person that could give me the least account of him." the caliph, full of fury and rage, gave him many reproachful words, and ordered that he and forty bermukkees should be impaled at the gate of the palace. in the mean while the stakes were preparing, and orders were sent to seize forty bermukkees in their houses; a public crier was sent about the city by the caliph's order, to cry thus: "those who have a desire to see the grand vizier jaaffier impaled, with forty of his kindred, let them come to the square before the palace." when all things were ready, the criminal judge, and many officers belonging to the palace, having brought out the grand vizier with the forty bermukkees, set each by the stake designed for him. the multitude of people that filled the square could not without grief and tears behold this tragical sight; for the grand vizier and the bermukkees were loved and honoured on account of their probity, bounty, and impartiality, not only in bagdad, but through all the dominions of the caliph. nothing could prevent the execution of this prince's severe and irrevocable sentence, and the lives of the most deserving people in the city were just going to be sacrificed, when a young man of handsome mien pressed through the crowd till he came up to the grand vizier, and after he had kissed his hand, said, "most excellent vizier, chief of the emirs of this court, and comforter of the poor, you are not guilty of the crime for which you stand here. withdraw, and let me expiate the death of the lady that was thrown into the tigris. it is i who murdered her, and i deserve to be punished for my offence." though these words occasioned great joy to the vizier, yet he could not but pity the young man, in whose look he saw something that instead of evincing guilt was engaging: but as he was about to answer him, a tall man advanced in years, who had likewise forced his way through the crowd, came up to him, saying, "do not believe what this young man tells you, i killed that lady who was found in the trunk, and this punishment ought only to fall upon me. i conjure you in the name of god not to punish the innocent for the guilty." "sir," said the young man to the vizier, "i do protest that i am he who committed this vile act, and nobody else had any concern in it." "my son," said the old man, "it is despair that brought you hither, and you would anticipate your destiny. i have lived a long while in the world, and it is time for me to be gone; let me therefore sacrifice my life for yours." "sir," said he again to the vizier, "i tell you once more i am the murderer; let me die without delay." the controversy between the old and the young man induced the grand vizier to carry them both before the caliph, to which the judge criminal consented, being glad to serve the vizier. when he came before the prince, he kissed the ground seven times, and spake after this manner: "commander of the faithful, i have brought here before your majesty this old and this young man, each of whom declares himself to be the sole murderer of the lady." the caliph asked the criminals which of them it was that so cruelly murdered the lady, and threw her into the tigris? the young man assured him it was he, but the old man maintained the contrary. "go," said the caliph to the grand vizier, "and cause them both to be impaled." "but, sir," said the vizier, "if only one of them be guilty, it would be unjust to take the lives of both." at these words the young man spoke again, "i swear by the great god, who has raised the heavens so high, that i am the man who killed the lady, cut her in pieces, and about four days ago threw her into the tigris. i renounce my part of happiness amongst the just at the day of judgment, if what i say be not truth; therefore i am he that ought to suffer." the caliph being surprised at this oath, believed him; especially since the old man made no answer. whereupon, turning to the young man, "wretch," said he, "what made thee commit that detestable crime, and what is it that moves thee to offer thyself voluntarily to die?" "commander of the faithful," said he, "if all that has past between that lady and me were set down in writing, it would be a history that might be useful to other men." "i command thee then to relate it," said the caliph. the young man obeyed, and began his history. the story of the lady who was murdered, and of the young man her husband. commander of the faithful, this murdered lady was my wife, daughter of this old man, who is my uncle by the father's side. she was not above twelve years old, when eleven years ago he gave her to me. i have three children by her, all boys, yet alive, and i must do her the justice to say, that she never gave me the least occasion for offence; she was chaste, of good behaviour, and made it her whole business to please me. and on my part i ardently loved her, and in every thing rather anticipated than opposed her wishes. about two months ago she fell sick; i took all imaginable care of her, and spared nothing that could promote her speedy recovery. after a month thus passed she began to grow better, and expressed a wish to go to the bath. before she went, "cousin," said she (for so she used to call me out of familiarity), "i long for some apples; if you would get me any, you would greatly please me. i have longed for them a great while, and i must own it is come to that height, that if i be not satisfied very soon, i fear some misfortune will befall me." "i will cheerfully try," said i, "and do all in my power to make you easy." i went immediately round all the markets and shops in the town to seek for apples, but i could not get one, though i offered to pay a sequin a piece. i returned home much dissatisfied at my failure; and for my wife, when she returned from the bagnio, and saw no apples, she became so very uneasy, that she could not sleep all night. i got up by times in the morning, and went through all the gardens, but had no better success than the day before; only i happened to meet an old gardener, who told me, that all my pains would signify nothing, for i could not expect to find apples any where but in your majesty's garden at bussorah. as i loved my wife passionately, and would not neglect to satisfy her, i dressed myself in a traveller's habit, and after i had told her my design, went to bussorah, and made my journey with such speed, that i returned at the end of fifteen days with three apples, which cost me a sequin apiece, for as there were no more left, the gardener would not let me have them for less. as soon as i came home, i presented them to my wife, but her longing had ceased, she satisfied herself with receiving them, and laid them down by her. in the mean time she continued sickly, and i knew not what remedy to procure for her relief. some few days after i returned from my journey, sitting in my shop in the public place where all sorts of fine stuffs are sold, i saw an ugly, tall, black slave come in, with an apple in his hand, which i knew to be one of those i had brought from bussorah. i had no reason to doubt it, because i was certain there was not one to be had in bagdad, nor in any of the gardens in the vicinity. i called to him, and said, "good slave, pr'ythee tell me where thou hadst this apple?" "it is a present" (said he, smiling) "from my mistress. i went to see her to-day, and found her out of order. i saw three apples lying by her, and asked her where she had them. she told me the good man, her husband, had made a fortnight's journey on purpose, and brought them to her. we had a collation together; and, when i took my leave of her, i brought away this apple." this account rendered me distracted. i rose, shut up my shop, ran home with all speed, and going to my wife's chamber, looked immediately for the apples, and seeing only two, asked what was become of the third. my wife, turning her head to the place where the apples lay, and perceiving there were but two, answered me coldly, "cousin, i know not what is become of it." at this reply i was convinced what the slave had told me was true; and giving myself up to madness and jealousy, drew my knife from my girdle, and thrust it into the unfortunate creature's throat. i afterwards cut off her head, and divided her body into four quarters, which i packed up in a bundle, sewed it up with a thread of red yarn, put all together in a trunk, and when night came, carried it on my shoulder down to the tigris, where i sunk it. the two youngest of my children were asleep, the third was out; but at my return, i found him sitting by my gate, weeping. i asked him the reason; "father," said he, "i took this morning from my mother, without her knowledge, one of those three apples you brought her, and kept it a long while; but, as i was playing some time ago with my little brother in the street, a tall slave passing by snatched it out of my hands, and carried it away. i ran after him, demanding it back, and besides told him, that it belonged to my mother, who was sick; and that you had made a fortnight's journey to procure it; but all to no purpose, he would not restore it. and as i still followed him, crying out, he turned and beat me, and then ran away as fast as he could from one lane to another, till at length i lost sight of him. i have since been walking without the town expecting your return, to pray you, dear father, not to tell my mother of it, lest it should make her worse!" when he had thus spoken he fell a weeping again more bitterly than before. my son's account afflicted me beyond measure. i then found myself guilty of an enormous crime, and repented too late of having so easily believed the calumnies of a wretched slave, who, from what he had learnt of my son, had invented that fatal falsehood. my uncle here present came just at that time to see his daughter, but instead of finding her alive, understood from me that she was dead, for i concealed nothing from him; and without staying for his censure, declared myself the greatest criminal in the world. upon this, instead of reproaching me, he joined his tears with mine, and we together wept three days without intermission, he for the loss of a daughter whom he had loved tenderly; and i for the loss of a beloved wife, of whom i had deprived myself in so cruel a manner by giving too easy credit to the report of a lying slave. this, commander of the faithful, is the sincere confession your majesty required from me. you have now heard all the circumstances of my crime, and i must humbly beg of you to order the punishment due for it; how severe soever it may be, i shall not in the least complain, but esteem it too easy and light. the caliph was much astonished at the young man's relation. but this just prince, finding he was rather to be pitied than condemned, began to speak in his favour: "this young man's crime," said he, "is pardonable before god, and excusable with men. the wicked slave is the sole cause of this murder; it is he alone that must be punished: wherefore," continued he, looking upon the grand vizier, "i give you three days' time to find him out; if you do not bring him within that space, you shall die in his stead." the unfortunate jaaffier, had thought himself out of danger, was perplexed at this order of the caliph; but as he durst not return any answer to the prince, whose hasty temper he knew too well, he departed from his presence, and retired melancholy to his house, convinced that he had but three days to live; for he was so fully persuaded that he should not find the slave, that he made not the least enquiry after him. "is it possible," said he, "that in such a city as bagdad, where there is an infinite number of negro slaves, i should be able to find him out that is guilty? unless god be pleased to interpose as he hath already to detest the murderer, nothing can save my life." he spent the first two days in mourning with his family, who sat round him weeping and complaining of the caliph's cruelty. the third day being arrived, he prepared himself to die with courage, as an honest minister, and one who had nothing to trouble his conscience; he sent for notaries and witnesses' who signed his will. after which he took leave of his wife and children, and bade them farewell. all his family were drowned in tears, so that there never was a more sorrowful spectacle. at last a messenger came from the caliph to tell him that he was out of all patience, having heard nothing from him concerning the negro slave whom he had commanded him to search for; "i am therefore ordered," said the messenger, "to bring you before his throne." the afflicted vizier, obeyed the mandate, but as he was going out, they brought him his youngest daughter, about five or six years of age, to receive his last blessing. as he had a particular affection for that child, he prayed the messenger to give him leave to stop a moment, and taking his daughter in his arms, kissed her several times: as he kissed her, he perceived she had something in her bosom that looked bulky, and had a sweet scent. "my dear little one," said he, "what hast thou in thy bosom?" "my dear father," she replied, "it is an apple which our slave rihan sold me for two sequins." at these words apple and slave, the grand vizier, uttered an exclamation of surprise, intermixed with joy, and putting his hand into the child's bosom, pulled out the apple. he caused the slave, who was not far off, to be brought immediately, and when he came, "rascal," said he, "where hadst thou this apple?" "my lord," replied the slave, "i swear to you that i neither stole it in your house, nor out of the commander of the faithful's garden; but the other day, as i was passing through a street where three or four children were at play, one of them having it in his hand, i snatched it from him, and carried it away. the child ran after me, telling me it was not his own, but belonged mother, who was sick; and that his father, to satisfy her longing, had made a long journey, and brought home three apples, whereof this was one, which he had taken from his mother without her knowledge. he said all he could to prevail upon me to give it him back, but i refused, and so brought it home, and sold it for two sequins to the little lady your daughter." jaaffier could not reflect without astonishment that the mischievousness of a slave had been the cause of an innocent woman's death, and nearly of his own. he carried the slave along with him, and when he came before the caliph, gave the prince an exact account of what the slave had told him, and the chance which led him to the discovery of his crime. never was any surprise so great as that of the caliph, yet he could not refrain from falling into excessive fits of laughter. at last he recovered himself, and with a serious air told the vizier, that since his slave had been the occasion of murder, he deserved an exemplary punishment. "i must own it," said the vizier, "but his guilt is not unpardonable: i remember the wonderful history of a vizier, of cairo, and am ready to relate it, upon condition that if your majesty finds it more astonishing than that which gives me occasion to tell it, you will be pleased to pardon my slave." "i consent," said the caliph; "but you undertake a hard task, for i do not believe you can save your slave, the story of the apples being so very singular." upon this, jaaffier began his story thus: the story of noor ad deen ali and buddir ad deen houssun. commander of the faithful, there was formerly a sultan of egypt, a strict observer of justice, gracious, merciful, and liberal, and his valour made him terrible to his neighbours. he loved the poor, and protected the learned, whom he advanced to the highest dignities. this sultan had a vizier, who was prudent, wise, sagacious, and well versed in all sciences. this minister had two sons, who in every thing followed his footsteps. the eldest was called shumse ad deen mahummud, and the younger noor ad deen ali. the latter was endowed with all the good qualities that man could possess. the vizier their father being dead, the sultan caused them both to put on the robes of a vizier, "i am as sorry," said he, "as you are for the loss of your father; and because i know you live together, and love one another cordially, i will bestow his dignity upon you conjointly; go, and imitate your father's conduct." the two new viziers humbly thanked the sultan, and retired to make due preparation for their father's interment. they did not go abroad for a month, after which they repaired to court, and attended their duties. when the sultan hunted, one of the brothers accompanied him, and this honour they had by turns. one evening as they were conversing together after a cheerful meal, the next day being the elder brother's turn to hunt with the sultan, he said to his younger brother, "since neither of us is yet married, and we live so affectionately together, let us both wed the same day sisters out of some family that may suit our quality. what do you think of this plan?" "brother," answered the other vizier, "there cannot be a better thought; for my part, i will agree to any thing you approve." "but this is not all," said the elder; "my fancy carries me farther: suppose both our wives should conceive the first night of our marriage, and should happen to be brought to bed on one day, yours of a son, and mine of a daughter, we will give them to each other in marriage." "nay," said noor ad deen aloud, "i must acknowledge that this prospect is admirable; such a marriage will perfect our union, and i willingly consent to it. but then, brother," said he farther, "if this marriage should happen, would you expect that my son should settle a jointure on your daughter?" "there is no difficulty in that," replied the other; "for i am persuaded, that besides the usual articles of the marriage contract, you will not fail to promise in his name at least three thousand sequins, three landed estates, and three slaves." "no," said the younger "i will not consent to that; are we not brethren, and equal in title and dignity? do not you and i know what is just? the male being nobler than the female, it is your part to give a large dowry with your daughter. by what i perceive, you are a man that would have your business done at another's charge." although noor ad deen spoke these words in jest, his brother being of a hasty temper, was offended, and falling into a passion said, "a mischief upon your son, since you prefer him before my daughter. i wonder you had so much confidence as to believe him worthy of her; you must needs have lost your judgment to think you are my equal, and say we are colleagues. i would have you to know, that since you are so vain, i would not marry my daughter to your son though you would give him more than you are worth." this pleasant quarrel between two brothers about the marriage of their children before they were born went so far, that shumse ad deen concluded by threatening: "were i not to-morrow," said he, "to attend the sultan, i would treat you as you deserve; but at my return, i will make you sensible that it does not become a younger brother to speak so insolently to his elder as you have done to me." upon this he retired to his apartment in anger. shumse ad deen rising early next morning, attended the sultan, who went to hunt near the pyramids. as for noor ad deen, he was very uneasy all night, and supposing it would not be possible to live longer with a brother who had treated him with so much haughtiness, he provided a stout mule, furnished himself with money and jewels, and having told his people that he was going on a private journey for two or three days, departed. when out of cairo, he rode by way of the desert towards arabia; but his mule happening to tire, was forced to continue his journey on foot. a courier who was going to bussorah, by good fortune overtaking him, took him up behind him. as soon as the courier reached that city, noor ad deen alighted, and returned him thanks for his kindness. as he went about to seek for a lodging, he saw a person of quality with a numerous retinue, to whom all the people shewed the greatest respect, and stood still till he had passed. this personage was grand vizier, to the sultan of bussorah, who was passing through the city to see that the inhabitants kept good order and discipline. this minister casting his eyes by chance on noor ad deen ali, perceiving something extraordinary in his aspect, looked very attentively upon him, and as he saw him in a traveller's habit, stopped his train, asked him who he was, and from whence he came? "sir," said noor ad deen, "i am an egyptian, born at cairo, and have left my country, because of the unkindness of a near relation, resolved to travel through the world, and rather to die than return home." the grand vizier, who was a good-natured man, after hearing these words, said to him, "son, beware; do not pursue your design; you are not sensible of the hardships you must endure. follow me; i may perhaps make you forget the misfortunes which have forced you to leave your own country." noor ad deen followed the grand vizier, who soon discovered his good qualities, and conceived for him so great an affection, that one day he said to him in private, "my son, i am, as you see, so far gone in years, that it is not probable i shall live much longer. heaven has bestowed on me only one daughter, who is as beautiful as you are handsome, and now fit for marriage. several nobles of the highest rank at this court have sought her for their sons, but i would not grant their request. i have an affection for you, and think you so worthy to be received into my family, that, preferring you before all those who have demanded her, i am ready to accept you for my son-in-law. if you like the proposal, i will acquaint the sultan my master that i have adopted you by this marriage, and intreat him to grant you the reversion of my dignity of grand vizier in the kingdom of bussorah. in the mean time, nothing being more requisite for me than ease in my old age, i will not only put you in possession of great part of my estate, but leave the administration of public affairs to your management." when the grand vizier had concluded this kind and generous proposal, noor ad deen fell at his feet, and expressing himself in terms that demonstrated his joy and gratitude, assured him, that he was at his command in every way. upon this the vizier sent for his chief domestics, ordered them to adorn the great hall of his palace, and prepare a splendid feast. he afterwards sent to invite the nobility of the court and city, to honour him with their company; and when they were all met (noor ad deen having made known his quality), he said to the noblemen present, for he thought it proper to speak thus on purpose to satisfy those to whom he had refused his alliance, "i am now, my lords, to discover a circumstance which hitherto i have keep a secret. i have a brother, who is grand vizier to the sultan of egypt. this brother has but one son, whom he would not marry in the court of egypt, but sent him hither to wed my daughter in order that both branches of our family may be united. his son, whom i knew to be my nephew as soon as i saw him, is the young man i now present to you as my son-in-law. i hope you will do me the honour to be present at his wedding, which i am resolved to celebrate this day." the noblemen, who could not be offended at his preferring his nephew to the great matches that had been proposed, allowed that he had very good reason for his choice, were willing to be witnesses to the ceremony, and wished that god might prolong his days to enjoy the satisfaction of the happy match. the lords met at the vizier of bussorah's palace, having testified their satisfaction at the marriage of his daughter with noor ad deen ali, sat down to a magnificent repast, after which, notaries came in with the marriage contrast, and the chief lords signed it; and when the company had departed, the grand vizier ordered his servants to have every thing in readiness for noor ad deen ali, to bathe. he had fine new linen, and rich vestments provided for him in the greatest profusion. having bathed and dressed, he was perfumed with the most odoriferous essences, and went to compliment the vizier, his father-in-law, who was exceedingly pleased with his noble demeanour. having made him sit down, "my son," said he, "you have declared to me who you are, and the office you held at the court of egypt. you have also told me of a difference betwixt you and your brother, which occasioned you to leave your country. i desire you to make me your entire confidant, and to acquaint me with the cause of your quarrel; for now you have no reason either to doubt my affection, or to conceal any thing from me." noor ad deen informed him of every circumstance of the quarrel; at which the vizier, burst out into a fit of laughter, and said, "this is one of the strangest occurrences i ever heard. is it possible, my son, that your quarrel should rise so high about an imaginary marriage? i am sorry you fell out with your elder brother upon such a frivolous matter; but he was also wrong in being angry at what you only spoke in jest, and i ought to thank heaven for that difference which has procured me such a son-in- law. but," continued the vizier, "it is late, and time for you to retire; go to your bride, my son, she expects you: to-morrow, i will present you to the sultan, and hope he will receive you in such a manner as shall satisfy us both." noor ad deen ali took leave of his father-in-law, and retired to his bridal apartment. it is remarkable that shumse ad deen mahummud happened also to marry at cairo the very same day that this marriage was solemnized at bussorah, the particulars of which are as follow: after noor ad deen ali left cairo, with an intention never to return, his elder brother, who was hunting with the sultan of egypt, was absent for a month; for the sultan being fond of the chase, continued it often for so long a period. at his return, shumse ad deen was much surprised when he understood, that under presence of taking a short journey his brother departed from cairo on a mule the same day as the sultan, and had never appeared since. it vexed him so much the more, because he did not doubt but the harsh words he had used had occasioned his flight. he sent a messenger in search of him, who went to damascus, and as far as aleppo, but noor ad deen was then at bussorah. when the courier returned and brought no news of him, shumse ad deen intended to make further inquiry after him in other parts; but in the meantime matched with the daughter of one of the greatest lords in cairo, upon the same day in which his brother married the daughter of the grand vizier, of bussorah. at the end of nine months the wife of shumse ad deen was brought to bed of a daughter at cairo, and on the same day the lady of noor ad deen was delivered of a son at bussorah, who was called buddir ad deen houssun. the grand vizier, of bussorah testified his joy for the birth of his grandson by gifts and public entertainments. and to shew his son-in-law the great esteem he had for him, he went to the palace, and most humbly besought the sultan to grant noor ad deen ali his office, that he might have the comfort before his death to see his son in-law made grand vizier, in his stead. the sultan, who had conceived a distinguished regard for noor ad deen when the vizier, had presensed him upon his marriage, and had ever since heard every body speak well of him, readily granted his father-in-law's request, and caused noor ad deen immediately to be invested with the robe and insignia of the vizarut, such as state drums, standards, and writing apparatus of gold richly enamelled and set with jewels. the next day, when the father saw his son-in-law preside in council, as he himself had done, and perform all the offices of grand vizier, his joy was complete. noor ad deen ali conducted himself with that dignity and propriety which shewed him to have been used to state affairs, and engaged the approbation of the sultan, and reverence and affection of the people. the old vizier of bussorah died about four years afterwards with great satisfaction, seeing a. branch of his family that promised so fair to support its future consequence and respectability. noor ad deen ali, performed his last duty to him with all possible love and gratitude. and as soon as his son buddir ad deen houssun had attained the age of seven years, provided him an excellent tutor, who taught him such things as became his birth. the child had a ready wit, and a genius capable of receiving all the good instructions that could be given. after buddir ad deen had been two years under the tuition of his master, who taught him perfectly to read, he learnt the koran by heart. his father put him afterwards to other tutors, by whom his mind was cultivated to such a degree, that when he was twelve years of age he had no more occasion for them. and then, as his physiognomy promised wonders, he was admired by all who saw him. hitherto his father had kept him to study, but now he introduced him to the sultan, who received him graciously. the people who saw him in the streets were charmed with his demeanour, and gave him a thousand blessings. his father proposing to render him capable of supplying his place, accustomed him to business of the greatest moment, on purpose to qualify him betimes. in short, he omitted nothing to advance a son he loved so well. but as he began to enjoy the fruits of his labour, he was suddenly seized by a violent fit of sickness; and finding himself past recovery, disposed himself to die a good mussulmaun. in that last and precious moment he forgot not his son, but called for him, and said, "my son, you see this world is transitory; there is nothing durable but in that to which i shall speedily go. you must therefore from henceforth begin to fit yourself for this change, as i have done; you must prepare for it without murmuring, so as to have no trouble of conscience for not having acted the part of a really honest man. as for your religion, you are sufficiently instructed in it, by what you have learnt from your tutors, and your own study; and as to what belongs to an upright man, i shall give you some instructions, of which i hope you will make good use. as it is a necessary thing to know one's self, and you cannot come to that knowledge without you first understand who i am, i shall now inform you. "i am a native of egypt; my father, your grandfather, was first minister to the sultan of that kingdom. i had myself the honour to be vizier, to that sultan, and so has my brother, your uncle, who i suppose is yet alive; his name is shumse ad deen mahummud. i was obliged to leave him, and come into this country, where i have raised myself to the high dignity i now enjoy. but you will understand all these matters more fully by a manuscript that i shall give you." at the same time, noor ad deen ali gave to his son a memorandum book, saying, "take and read it at your leisure; you will find, among other things, the day of my marriage, and that of your birth. these are circumstances which perhaps you may hereafter have occasion to know, therefore you must keep it very carefully." buddir ad deen houssun being sincerely afflicted to see his father in this condition, and sensibly touched with his discourse, could not but weep when he received the memorandum book, and promised at the same time never to part with it. that very moment noor ad deen fainted, so that it was thought he would have expired; but he came to himself again, and spoke as follows: "my son, the first instruction i give you, is, not to make yourself familiar with all sorts of people. the way to live happy is to keep your mind to yourself, and not to tell your thoughts too easily. "secondly, not to do violence to any body whatever, for in that case you will draw every body's hatred upon you. you ought to consider the world as a creditor, to whom you owe moderation, compassion, and forbearance. "thirdly, not to say a word when you are reproached; for, as the proverb says, �he that keeps silence is out of danger.' and in this case particularly you ought to practice it. you also know what one of our poets says upon this subject, �that silence is the ornament and safe-guard of life'; that our speech ought not to be like a storm of hail that spoils all. never did any man yet repent of having spoken too little, whereas many have been sorry that they spoke so much. "fourthly, to drink no wine, for that is the source of all vices. " fifthly, to be frugal in your way of living; if you do not squander your estate, it will maintain you in time of necessity. i do not mean you should be either profuse or niggardly; for though you have little, if you husband it well, and lay it out on proper occasions, you will have many friends; but if on the contrary you have great riches, and make but a bad use of them, all the world will forsake you, and leave you to yourself. in short, the virtuous noor ad deen continued till the last aspiration of his breath to give good advice to his son; and when he was dead he was magnificently interred. noor ad deen was buried with all the honours due to his rank. buddir ad deen houssun of bussorah, for so he was called, because born in that city, was with grief for the death of his father, that instead of a month's time to mourn, according to custom, he kept himself shut up in tears and solitude about two months, without seeing any body, or so much as going abroad to pay his duty to his sovereign. the sultan being displeased at his neglect, and looking upon it as a alight, suffered his passion to prevail, and in his anger, called for the new grand vizier, (for he had created another on the death of noor ad deen), commanded him to go to the house of the deceased, and seize upon it, with all his other houses, lands, and effects, without leaving any thing for buddir ad deen houssun, and to confine his person. the new grand vizier, accompanied by his officers, went immediately to execute his commission. but one of buddir ad deen houssun's slaves happening accidentally to come into the crowd, no sooner understood the vizier's errand, than he ran before to give his master warning. he found him sitting in the vestibule of his house, as melancholy as if his father had been but newly dead. he fell down at his feet out of breath, and alter he had kissed the hem of his garment, cried out, "my lord, save yourself immediately." the unfortunate youth lifting up his head, exclaimed, "what news dost thou bring?" "my lord," said he, "there is no time to be lost; the sultan is incensed against you, has sent to confiscate your estates, and to seize your person." the words of this faithful and affectionate slave occasioned buddir ad deen houssun great alarm. "may not i have so much time," said he, "as to take some money and jewels along with me?" ``no, sir," replied the slave, "the grand vizier, will be here this moment; be gone immediately, save yourself." the unhappy youth rose hastily from his sofa, put his feet in his sandals, and after he had covered his head with the skirt of his vest, that his face might not be known, fled, without knowing what way to go, to avoid the impending danger. he ran without stopping till he came to the public burying- ground, and as it was growing dark, resolved to pass that night in his father's tomb. it was a large edifice, covered by a dome, which noor ad deen ali, as is common with the mussulmauns, had erected for his sepulture. on the way buddir ad deen met a jew, who was a banker and merchant, and was returning from a place where his affairs had called him, to the city. the jew, knowing buddir ad deen, stopped, and saluted him very courteously. isaac the jew, after he had paid his respects to buddir ad deen houssun, by kissing his hand, said, "my lord, dare i be so bold as to ask whither you are going at this time of night alone, and so much troubled? has any thing disquieted you?" "yes," said buddir ad deen, "a while ago i was asleep, and my father appeared to me in a dream, looking very fiercely upon me, as if much displeased. i started out of my sleep in alarm, and came out immediately to go and pray upon his tomb." "my lord," said the jew (who did not know the true reason why buddir ad deen had left the town), "your father of happy memory, and my good lord, had store of merchandize in several vessels, which are yet at sea, and belong to you; i beg the favour of you to grant me the refusal of them before any other merchant. i am able to pay down ready money for all the goods that are in your ships: and to begin, if you will give me those that happen to come in the first that arrives in safety, i will pay you down in part of payment a thousand sequins," and drawing out a bag from under his vest, he shewed it him sealed up with one seal. buddir ad deen houssun being banished from home, and dispossessed of all that he had in the world, looked on this proposal of the jew as a favour from heaven, and therefore accepted it with joy. "my lord," said the jew, "then you sell me for a thousand sequins the lading of the first of your ships that shall arrive in port?" "yes," answered buddir ad deen, "i sell it to you for a thousand sequins; it is done." upon this the jew delivered him the bag of a thousand sequins, and offered to count them, but buddir ad deen said he would trust his word. "since it is so, my lord," said he, "be pleased to favour me with a small note of the bargain we have made." as he spoke, he pulled the inkhorn from his girdle, and taking a small reed out of it neatly cut for writing, presented it to him with a piece of paper. buddir ad deen houssun wrote these words: "this writing is to testify, that buddir ad deen houssun of bussorah, has sold to isaac the jew, for the sum of one thousand sequins, received in hand, the lading of the first of his ships that shall arrive in this port." this note he delivered to the jew, after having stamped it with his seal, and then took his leave of him. while isaac pursued his journey to the city, buddir ad deen made the best of his way to his father's tomb. when he came to it, he prostrated himself to the ground, and, with his eyes full of tears, deplored his miserable condition. "alas!" said he, "unfortunate buddir ad deen, what will become of thee? whither canst thou fly for refuge against the unjust prince who persecutes thee? was it not enough to be afflicted by the death of so dear a father? must fortune needs add new misfortunes to just complaints?" he continued a long time in this posture, but at last rose up, and leaning his head upon his father's tombstone, his sorrows returned more violently than before; so that he sighed and mourned, till, overcome with heaviness, he sunk upon the floor, and drops asleep. he had not slept long, when a genie, who had retired to the cemetery during the day, and was intending, according to his custom, to range about the world at night, entered the sepulchre, and finding buddir ad deen lying on his back, was surprised at his beauty. when the genie had attentively considered buddir ad deen houssun, he said to himself, "to judge of this creature by his beauty, he would seem to be an angel of the terrestrial paradise, whom god has sent to put the world in a flame by his charms." at last, after he had satisfied himself with looking at him, he tool; a flight into the air, where meeting by chance with a perie, they saluted one another; after which he said to her, "pray descend with me into the cemetery, where i dwell, and i will shew you a beauty worthy your admiration." the perie consented, and both descended in an instant; they came into the tomb. "look," said the genie, shewing her buddir ad deen houssun, "did you ever see a youth more beautiful?" the perie having attentively observed buddir ad deen, replied, "i must confess that he is a very handsome man, but i am just come from seeing an objets at cairo, more admirable than this; and if you will hear me, i will relate her unhappy fate." "you will very much oblige me," answered the genie. "you must know then," said the perie, "that the sultan of egypt has a vizier, shumse ad deen mahummud, who has a daughter most beautiful and accomplished. the sultan having heard of this young lady's beauty, sent the other day for her father, and said, �i understand you have a daughter to marry; i would have her for my bride: will not you consent?' the vizier, who did not expect this proposal, was troubled, and instead of accepting it joyfully, which another in his place would certainly have done, he answered the sultan: �may it please your majesty, i am not worthy of the honour you would confer upon me, and i most humbly beseech you to pardon me, if i do not accede to your request. you know i had a brother, who had the honour, as well as myself, to be one of your viziers: we had some difference together, which was the cause of his leaving me suddenly. since that time i have had no account of him till within these four days, that i heard he died at bussorah, being grand vizier to the sultan of that kingdom. "�he has left a son, and there having been an agreement between us to match our children together, i am persuaded he intended that match when he died; and being desirous to fulfil the promise on my part, i conjure your majesty to grant me permission.' "the sultan of egypt, provoked at this denial of his vizier said to him in anger which he could not restrain: �is this the way in which you requite my condescension in stooping so low as to desire your alliance? i know how to revenge your presumption in daring to prefer another to me, and i swear that your daughter shall be married to the most contemptible and ugly of my slaves.' having thus spoken, he angrily commanded the vizier to quit his presence. the vizier retired to his palace full of confusion, and overwhelmed in despair. "this very day the sultan sent for one of his grooms, who is hump-backed, big-bellied, crook legged, and as ugly as a hobgoblin; and after having commanded the vizier to marry his daughter to this ghastly slave, he caused the contract to be made and signed by witnesses in his own presence. the preparations for this fantastical wedding are all ready, and this very moment all the slaves belonging to the lords of the court of egypt are waiting at the door of a bath, each with a flambeau in his hand, for the crook-back groom, who is bathing, to go along with them to his bride, who is already dressed to receive him; and when i departed from cairo, the ladies met for that purpose were going to conduct her in her nuptial attire to the hall, where she is to receive her hump-backed bridegroom, and is this minute expecting him. i have seen her, and do assure you, that no person can behold her without admiration." when the perie left off speaking, the genie said to her, "whatever you think or say, i cannot be persuaded that the girl's beauty exceeds that of this young man." "i will not dispute it with you," answered the perie; "for i must confess he deserves to be married to that charming creature, whom they design for hump- back; and i think it were a deed worthy of us to obstruct the sultan of egypt's injustice, and put this young gentleman in the room of the slave." "you are in the right," answered the genie; "i am extremely obliged to you for so good a thought; let us deceive him. i consent to your revenge upon the sultan of egypt; let us comfort a distressed father, and make his daughter as happy as she thinks herself miserable. i will do my utmost endeavours to make this project succeed, and i am persuaded you will not be backward. i will be at the pains to carry him to cairo before he awakes, and afterwards leave it to your care to carry him elsewhere, when we have accomplished our design." the perie and the genie having thus concerted what they had to do, the genie lifted up buddir ad deen houssun gently, and with an inconceivable swiftness conveyed him through the air and set him down at the door of a building next to the bath, whence hump- back was to come with a train of slaves that waited for him. buddir ad deen awoke, and was naturally alarmed at finding himself in the middle of a city he knew not; he was going to cry out, but the genie touched him gently on the shoulder, and forbad him to speak. he then put a torch in his hand, saying, "go, and mix with the crowd at the door of the bath; follow them till you come into a hall, where they are going to celebrate a marriage. the bridegroom is a hump-backed fellow, and by that you will easily know him. put yourself at the right hand as you go in, open the purse of sequins you have in your bosom, distribute them among the musicians and dancers as they go along; and when you are got into the hall, give money also to the female slaves you see about the bride; but every time you put your hand in your purse, be sure to take out a whole handful, and do not spare them. observe to do everything exactly as i have desired you; be not afraid of any person, and leave the rest to a superior power, who will order matters as he thinks fit." buddir ad deen, being well instructed in all that he was to do, advanced towards the door of the bath. the first thing he did was to light his torch at that of a slave; and then mixing among them as if he belonged to some noblemen of cairo, he marched along as they did, and followed humpback, who came out of the bath, and mounted a horse from the sultan's own stable. buddir ad deen coming near to the musicians, and men and women dancers, who went just before the bridegroom, pulled out time after time whole handfuls of sequins, which he distributed among them: and as he thus gave his money with an unparalleled grace and engaging mien, all who received it fixed their eyes upon him; and after they had a full view of his face, they found him so handsome that they could not withdraw their attention. at last they came to the gates of the vizier who little thought his nephew was so near. the doorkeepers, to prevent any disorder, kept back all the slaves that carried torches, and would not admit them. buddir ad deen was likewise refused; but the musicians, who had free entrance, stood still, and protested they would not go in, if they hindered him from accompanying them. "he is not one of the slaves'" said they; "look upon him, and you will soon be satisfied. he is certainly a young stranger, who is curious to see the ceremonies observed at marriages in this city;" and saying thus, they put him in the midst of them, and carried him with them in spite of the porters. they took his torch out of his hand, gave it to the first they met, and having brought him into the hall, placed him at the right hand of the hump-backed bridegroom, who sat near the vizier's daughter on a throne most richly adorned. she appeared very lovely, but in her face there was nothing to be seen but vexation and grief. the cause of this was easily to be guessed, when she had by her side a bridegroom so very deformed, and so unworthy of her love. the nuptial seat was in the midst of an estrade. the ladies of the emirs, viziers, those of the sultan's bed-chamber, and several other ladies of the court and city, were placed on each side, a little lower, every one according to her rank, and richly dressed, holding a large wax taper in her hands. when they saw buddir ad deen houssun, all fixed their eyes upon him, and admiring his shape, his behaviour, and the beauty of his face, they could not forbear looking upon him. when he was seated every one deft their seats, came near him to have a full view of his face, and all found themselves moved with love and admiration. the disparity between buddir ad deen houssun and the hump-backed groom, who made such a contemptible figure, occasioned great murmuring among the company; insomuch that the ladies cried out, "we must give our bride to this handsome young gentleman, and not to this ugly humpback." nor did they rest here, but uttered imprecations against the sultan, who, abusing his absolute power, would unite ugliness and beauty together. they also mocked the bridegroom, so as to put him out of countenance, to the great satisfaction of the spectators, whose shouts for some time put a stop to the concert of music in the hall. at last the musicians began again, and the women who had dressed the bride surrounded her. each time that the bride retired to change her dress, she on her return passed by hump-back without giving him one look, and went towards buddir ad deen, before whom she presented herself in her new attire. on this occasion, buddir ad deen, according to the instructions given him by the genie, failed not to put his hands in his purse, and pulled out handfuls of sequins, which he distributed among the women that followed the bride. nor did he forget the players and dancers, but also threw money to them. it was pleasant to see how they pushed one another to gather it up. they shewed themselves thankful for his liberality. when the ceremony of changing habits was passed, the music ceased and the company retired. the bride repaired to the nuptial chamber, whither her attendants followed to undress her, and none remained in the hall but the hump-back groom, buddir ad deen, and some of the domestics. hump-back, who was enraged at buddir ad deen, suspecting him to be his rival, gave him a cross look, and said, "and thou, what dost thou wait for? why art thou not gone as well as the rest? depart!" buddir ad deen having no pretence to stay, withdrew, not knowing what to do with himself. but before he got out of the vestibule, the genie and the perie met and stopped him. "whither are you going?" said the perie; "stay, hump-back is not in the hall, return, and introduce yourself into the bride's chamber. as soon as you are alone with her, tell her boldly that you are her husband, that the sultan's intention was only to make sport with the groom. in the mean time we will take care that the hump-back shall not return, and let nothing hinder your passing the night with your bride, for she is yours and not his." while the perie thus encouraged buddir ad deen, and instructed him how he should behave himself, hump-back had really gone out of the room for a moment. the genie went to him in the shape of a monstrous cat, mewing at a most fearful rate. hump-back called to the cat, he clapped his hands to drive her away, but instead of retreating, she stood upon her hinder feet, staring with her eyes like fire, looking fiercely at him, mewing louder than she did at first, and increasing in size till she was as large as an ass. at this sight, hump-back would have cried out for help, but his fear was so great, that he stood gaping and could not utter one word. that he might have no time to recover, the genie changed himself immediately into a large buffalo, and in this stripe called to him, with a voice that redoubled his fear, "thou hump-backed villain!" at these words the affrighted groom cast himself upon the ground, and covering his face with his vest, that he might not see this dreadful beast, "sovereign prince of buffaloes," said he, "what is it you want of me?" "woe be to thee," replied the genie, "hast thou the presumption to venture to marry my mistress?" "o my lord," said hump-back, "i pray you to pardon me, if i am guilty, it is through ignorance. i did not know that this lady had a buffalo to her sweetheart: command me in anything you please, i give you my oath that i am ready to obey you." "by death," replied the genie; "if thou goest out from hence, or speakest a word till the sun rises, i will crush thy head to pieces. i warn thee to obey, for if thou hast the impudence to return, it shall cost thee thy life." when the genie had done speaking, he transformed himself into the shape of a man, took hump-back by the legs, and after having set him against the wall with his head downwards, "if thou stir," said he, "before the sun rise, as i have told thee already, i will take thee by the heels again, and dash thy head in a thousand pieces against the wall." to return to buddir ad deen. prompted by the genie and the presence of the perie, he returned to the hall, from whence he slips into the bride-chamber, where he sat down, expecting the success of his adventure. after a while the bride arrived, conducted by an old matron, who came no farther than the door, without looking in to see whether it were hump-back or another that was there, and then retired. the beautiful bride was agreeably surprised to find instead of hump-back a handsome youth, who gracefully addressed her. "what! my dear friend," said she, "by your being here at this time of night you must be my husband's comrade?" "no, madam," said buddir ad deen, "i am of another quality than that ugly hump-back." "but," said she, "you do not consider that you speak degradingly of my husband." "he your husband," replied he: "can you retain those thoughts so long? be convinced of your mistake, for so much beauty must never be sacrificed to the most contemptible of mankind. it is i that am the happy mortal for whom it is reserved. the sultan had a mind to make himself merry, by putting this trick upon the vizier your father, but he chose me to be your real husband. you might have observed how the ladies, the musicians, the dancers, your women, and all the servants of your family, were pleased with this comedy. we have sent hump-back to his stable again." at this discourse the vizier's daughter (who was more like one dead than alive when she came into the bride-chamber) put on a gay air, which made her so handsome, that buddir ad deen was charmed with her graces. "i did not expect," said she, "to meet with so pleasing a surprise; and i had condemned myself to live unhappy all my days. but my good fortune is so much the greater, that i possess in you a man worthy of my tenderest affection." buddir ad deen, overjoyed to see himself possessor of so many charms, retired with his bride, and laid his vesture aside, with the bag that he had from the jew; which, notwithstanding all the money he had dispersed, was still full. towards morning, while the two lovers were asleep, the genie, who had met again with the perie, said, "it is time to finish what we have so successfully carried on; let us not be overtaken by day- light, which will soon appear; go you and bring off the young man again without awaking him." the perie went into the bed-chamber where the two lovers were fast asleep, took up buddir ad deen in his under vest and drawers; and in company with the genie with wonderful swiftness fled away with him to the gates of damascus in syria, where they arrived just at the time when the officers of the mosques, appointed for that end, were calling the people to prayers at break of day. the perie laid buddir ad deen softly on the ground, close by the gate, and departed with the genie. the gate of the city being opened, and many people assembled, they were surprised to see a youth lying in his shirt and drawers upon the ground. one said, "he has been hard put to it to get away from his mistress, that he could not get time to put on his clothes." "look," said another, "how people expose themselves; sure enough he has spent most part of the night in drinking with his friends, till he has got drunk, and then, perhaps, having occasion to go out, instead of returning, is come this length, and not having his senses about him, was overtaken with sleep." others were of another opinion; but nobody could guess what had been the real occasion of his coming thither. a small puff of wind happening to blow at this time, uncovered his breast, which was whiter than snow. every one being struck with admiration at the fineness of his complexion, they spoke so loud that they awaked him. his surprise was as great as theirs, when he found himself at the gate of a city where he had never been before, and encompassed by a crowd of people gazing at him. "inform me," said he, "for god's sake, where i am, and what you would have?" one of the crowd spoke to him saying, "young man, the gates of the city were just now opened, and as we came out we found you lying here in this condition: have you lain here all night? and do not you know that you are at one of the gates of damascus?" "at one of the gates of damascus!" answered buddir ad deen, "surely you mock me. when i lay down to sleep last night i was at cairo." when he had said this, some of the people, moved with compassion for him, exclaimed, "it is a pity that such a handsome young man should have lost his senses;" and so went away. "my son," said an old man to him, "you know not what you say. how is it possible that you, being this morning at damascus, could be last night at cairo?" "it is true," said buddir ad deen, "and i swear to you, that i was all day yesterday at bussorah." he had no sooner said this than all the people fell into a fit of laughter, and cried out, "he's a fool, he's a madman." there were some, however, that pitied him because of his youth; and one among the company said to him, "my son, you must certainly be crazed, you do not consider what you say. is it possible that a man could yesterday be at bussorah, the same night at cairo, and this morning at damascus? surely you are asleep still, come rouse up your spirits." "what i say," answered buddir ad deen houssun, "is so true that last night i was married in the city of cairo." all those who laughed before, could not forbear again at this declaration. "recollect yourself," said the same person who spoke before; "you must have dreamt all this, and the fancy still possesses your brain." "i am sensible of what i say," answered the young man. "pray can you tell me how it was possible for me to go in a dream to cairo, where i am very certain i was in person, and where my bride was seven times brought before me, each time dressed in a different habit, and where i saw an ugly hump backed fellow, to whom they intended to give her? besides, i want to know what is become of my vest, my turban, and the bag of sequins i had at cairo?" though he assured them that all these things were matters of fact, yet they could not forbear to laugh at him: which put him into such confusion, that he knew not what to think of all those adventures. after buddir ad deen houssun had confidently affirmed all that he said to be true, he rose up to go into the town, and every one who followed him called out, "a madman, a fool." upon this some looked out at their windows, some came to their doors, and others joined with those that were about him, calling out as they did, "a madman;" but not knowing for what. in this perplexity the affrighted young man happened to come before a pastry-cook's shop, and went into it to avoid the rabble. this pastry-cook had formerly been captain to a troop of arabian robbers, who plundered the caravans; and though he was become a citizen of damascus, where he behaved himself to every one's satisfaction, yet he was dreaded by all who knew him; wherefore, as soon as he came out to the rabble who followed buddir ad deen, they dispersed. the pastry-cook asked him who he was, and what brought him thither. buddir ad deen told him all, not concealing his birth, nor the death of his father the grand vizier. he afterwards gave him an account why he had left bussorah; how, after he had fallen asleep the night following upon his father's tomb, he found himself when he awoke at cairo, where he had married a lady; and at last, in what amazement he was, when he found himself at damascus, without being able to penetrate into all those wonderful adventures. "your history is one of the most surprising," said the pastry- cook; "but if you will follow my advice, you will let no man know those matters you have revealed to me, but patiently wait till heaven thinks fit to put an end to your misfortunes. you shall be welcome to stay with me till then; and as i have no children, i will own you for my son, if you consent; after you are so adopted, you may freely walk the city, without being exposed any more to the insults of the rabble." though this adoption was below the son of a grand vizier, buddir ad deen was glad to accept of the pastry-cook's proposal, judging it the best thing he could do, considering his circumstances. the cook clothed him, called for witnesses, and went before a notary, where he acknowledged him for his son. after this, buddir ad deen lived with him under the name of houssun, and learned the pastry- trade. while this passed at damascus, the daughter of shumse ad deen awoke, and finding buddir ad deen gone, supposed he had risen softly for fear of disturbing her, but would soon return. as she was in expectation of him, her father the vizier. (who was vexed at the affront put upon him by the sultan) came and knocked at her chamber-door, to bewail her sad destiny. he called her by her name, and she knowing him by his voice, immediately got up, and opened the door. she kissed his hand, and received him with so much pleasure in her countenance, that she surprised the vizier. who expected to find her drowned in tears, and as much grieved as himself. "unhappy wretch!" said he in a passion, "do you appear before me thus? after the hideous sacrifice you have just consummated, can you see me with so much satisfaction?" the new bride seeing her father angry at her pleasant countenance, said to him, "for god's sake, sir, do not reproach me wrongfully; it is not the hump-back fellow, whom i abhor more than death, it is not that monster i have married. every body laughed him to scorn, and put him so out of countenance, that he was forced to run away and hide himself, to make room for a noble youth, who is my real husband." "what fable do you tell me?" said shumse ad deen, roughly. "what! did not crook-back lie with you tonight?" "no, sir," said she, "it was the youth i mentioned, who has large eyes and black eyebrows." at these words the vizier. lost all patience, and exclaimed in anger, "ah, wicked woman! you will make me distracted!" "it is you, father," said she, "that put me out of my senses by your incredulity." "so, it is not true," replied the vizier, "that hump-back----" "let us talk no more of hump-back," said she, "a curse upon hump-back. father, i assure you once more, that i did not bed with him, but with my dear spouse, who, i believe, is not far off." shumse ad deen went out to seek him, but, instead of seeing buddir ad deen, was surprised to find hump-back with his head on the ground, and his heels uppermost, as the genie had set him against the wall. "what is the meaning of this?" said he; "who placed you thus?" crookback, knowing it to be the vizier. answered, "alas! alas! it is you then that would marry me to the mistress of a genie in the form of a buffalo." shumse ad deen mabummud, when he heard hump-back speak thus, thought he was raving, bade him move, and stand upon his legs. "i will take care how i stir," said hump-back, "unless the sun be risen. know, sir, that when i came last night to your palace, suddenly a black cat appeared to me, and in an instant grew as big as a buffalo. i have not forgotten what he enjoined me, therefore you may depart, and leave me here." the vizier. instead of going away, took him by the heels, and made him stand up, when hump-back ran off, without looking behind him; and coming to the palace presented himself to the sultan, who laughed heartily when informed how the genie had served him. shumse ad deen returned to his daughter's chamber, more astonished than before. "my abused daughter," said he, "can you give me no farther light in this miraculous affair?" "sir," replied she, "i can give you no other account than i have done already. here are my husband's clothes, which he put off last night; perhaps you may find something among them that may solve your doubt." she then shewed him buddir ad deen's turban, which he examined narrowly on all sides, saying, "i should take this to be a vizier's turban, if it were not made after the bussorah fashion." but perceiving something to be sewed between the stuff and the lining, he called for scissors, and having unripped it, found the paper which noor ad deen ali had given to his son upon his deathbed, and which buddir ad deen houssun had sewn in his turban for security. shumse ad deen having opened the paper, knew his brother's hand, and found this superscription, "for my son buddir ad deen houssun." before he could make any reflections upon it, his daughter delivered him the bag, that lay under the garments, which he likewise opened, and found it full of sequins: for, notwithstanding all the liberality of buddir ad deen, it was still kept full by the genie and perie. he read the following words upon a note in the bag: "a thousand sequins belonging to isaac the jew." and these lines underneath, which the jew had written, "delivered to my lord buddir ad deen houssun, for the cargo of the first of those ships that formerly belonged to the noble vizier, his father, of blessed memory, sold to me upon its arrival in this place." he had scarcely read these words, when he groaned heavily, and fainted away. the vizier shumse ad deen being recovered from his fit by the aid of his daughter, and the women she called to her assistance; "daughter," said he, "do not alarm yourself at this accident, occasioned by what is scarcely credible. your bridegroom is your cousin, the son of my beloved and deceased brother. the thousand sequins in the bag reminds me of a quarrel i had with him, and is without the dowry he gives you. god be praised for all things, and particularly for this miraculous adventure, which demonstrates his almighty power." then looking again upon his brother's writing, he kissed it several times, shedding abundance of tears. he looked over the book from beginning to end. in it he found the date of his brother's arrival at bussorah, of his marriage, and of the birth of his son; and when he compared them with the day of his own marriage, and the birth of his daughter at cairo, he wondered at the exact coincidence which appeared in every circumstance. the happy discovery put him into such a transport of joy, that he took the book, with the ticket of the bag, and shewed them to the sultan, who pardoned what was past, and was so much pleased with the relation of this adventure, that he caused it with all its circumstances to be put in writing for the information of posterity. meanwhile, the vizier. shumse ad deen could not comprehend the reason why his nephew did not appear; he expected him every moment, and was impatient to receive him to his arms. after he had waited seven days in vain, he searched through all cairo, but could procure no intelligence of him, which threw him into great perplexity. "this is the strangest occurrence," said he, "that ever happened." in order to certify it, he thought fit to draw up in writing with his own hand an account of the manner in which the wedding had been solemnized; how the hall and his daughter's bed-chamber were furnished, with the other circumstances. he likewise made the turban, the bag, and the rest of buddir ad deen's raiment into a bundle, and locked them up. after some days were past, the vizier's daughter perceived herself pregnant, and after nine months was brought to bed of a son. a nurse was provided for the child, besides other women and slaves to wait upon him; and his grandfather called him agib. when young agib had attained the age of seven, the vizier, instead of teaching him to read at home, put him to school with a master who was in great esteem; and two slaves were ordered to wait upon him. agib used to play with his schoolfellows, and as they were all inferior to him in rank, they shewed him great respect, according to the example of their master, who many times would pass by faults in him that he would correct in his other pupils. this indulgence spoiled agib; he became proud and insolent, would have his play-fellows bear all from him, and would submit to nothing from them, but be master every where; and if any took the liberty to thwart him, he would call them a thousand names, and many times beat them. in short, all the scholars grew weary of his insolence, and complained of him to their master. he answered, "that they must have patience." but when he saw that agib grew still more and more overbearing, and occasioned him much trouble, "children," said he to his scholars, "i find agib is a little insolent gentleman; i will shew you how to mortify him, so that he shall never torment you any more. nay, i believe it will make him leave the school. when he comes again to-morrow, place yourselves round him, and let one of you call out, "come, let us play, but upon condition, that every one who desires to play shall tell his own name, and the names of his father and mother; they who refuse shall be esteemed bastards, and not be suffered to play in our company." next day when they were gathered together, they failed not to follow their master's instructions. they placed themselves round agib, and one of them called out, "let us begin a play, but on condition that he who cannot tell his own name, and that of his father and mother, shall not play at all." they all cried out, and so did agib, "we consent." then he that spoke first asked every one the question, and all fulfilled the condition except agib, who answered, "my name is agib, my mother is called the lady of beauty, and my father shumse ad deen mahummud, vizier to the sultan." at these words all the children cried out, "agib, what do you say? that is not the name of your father, but your grandfather." "a curse on you," said he in a passion. "what! dare you say that the vizier is not my father?" "no, no," cried they with great laughter, "he is your grandfather, and you shall not play with us. nay we will take care how we come into your company." having spoken thus, they all left him, scoffing him, and laughing among themselves, which mortified agib so much that he wept. the schoolmaster who was near, and heard all that passed, came up, and speaking to agib, said, "agib, do not you know that the vizier is not your father, but your grandfather, and the father of your mother the lady of beauty? we know not the name of your father any more than you do. we only know that the sultan was going to marry your mother to one of his grooms, a humpback fellow; but a genie lay with her. this is hard upon you, but ought to teach you to treat your schoolfellows with less haughtiness." agib being nettled at this, ran hastily out of the school. he went directly sobbing to his mother's chamber, who being alarmed to see him thus grieved, asked the reason. he could not answer for tears, so great was his mortification, and it was long ere he could speak plain enough to repeat what had been said to him, and had occasioned his sorrow. when he came to himself. "mother," said he "for the love of god be pleased to tell me who is my father?" "my son," she replied, "shumse ad deen mahummud, who every day caresses you so kindly, is your father." "you do not tell me truth," returned agib; "he is your father, and none of mine. but whose son am i?" at this question, the lady of beauty calling to mind her wedding night, which had been succeeded by a long widowhood, began to shed tears, repining bitterly at the loss of so handsome a husband as buddir ad deen. whilst the lady of beauty and agib were both weeping, the vizier entered, who demanded the reason of their sorrow. the lady told him the shame agib had undergone at school, which so much affected the vizier that he joined his tears with theirs, and judging from this that the misfortune which had happened to his daughter was the common discourse of the town, he was mortified to the quick. being thus afflicted, he went to the sultan's palace, and falling prostrate at his feet, most humbly intreated permission to make a journey in search of his nephew buddir ad deen houssun. for he could not bear any longer that the people of the city should believe a genie had disgraced his daughter. the sultan was much concerned at the vizier's affliction, approved his resolution, and gave him leave to travel. he caused a passport also to be written for him, requesting in the strongest terms all kings and princes in whose dominions buddir ad deen might sojourn, to grant that the vizier might conduct him to cairo. shumse ad deen, not knowing how to express his gratitude to the sultan, fell down before him a second time, while the floods of tears he shed bore sufficient testimony to his feelings. at last, having wished the sultan all manner of prosperity, he took his leave and returned to his house, where he disposed every thing for his journey; and the preparations were carried on with so much diligence, that in four days after he left the city, accompanied with his daughter the lady of beauty, and his grandson agib. they travelled nineteen days without intermission; but on the twentieth, arriving at a pleasant mead, a small distance from the gate of damascus, they halted, and pitched their tents upon the banks of a river which fertilizes the vicinity, and runs through the town, one of the pleasantest in syria, once the capital of the caliphs; and celebrated for its elegant buildings, the politeness of its inhabitants, and the abundance of its conveniences. the vizier declared he would stay in that pleasent place two days, and pursue his journey on the third. in the mean time he gave his retinue leave to go to damascus; and almost all of them made use of it: some influenced by curiosity to see a city they had heard so much of, and others by the opportunity of vending the egyptian goods they had brought with them, or buying stuffs, and the rarities of the country. the beautiful lady desiring her son agib might share in the satisfaction of viewing that celebrated city, ordered the black eunuch, who acted in quality of his governor, to conduct him thither. agib, in magnificent apparel, went with the eunuch, who had a large cane in his hand. they had no sooner entered the city, than agib, fair and glorious as the day, attracted the eyes of the people. some got out of their houses to gain a nearer and narrower view of him; others put their heads out of the windows, and those who passed along the street were not satisfied in stopping to look upon him, but kept pace with him, to prolong the pleasure of the agreeable sight: in fine, there was not a person that did not admire him, and bestow a thousand benedictions on the father and mother that had given being to so fine a child. by chance the eunuch and he passed by the shop of buddir ad deen houssun, and there the crowd was so great, that they were forced to halt. the pastry-cook who had adopted buddir ad deen houssun had died some years before, and left him his shop and all his property, and he conducted the pastry trade so dexterously, that he had gained great reputation in damascus. buddir ad deen seeing so great a crowd before his door, who were gazing so attentively upon agib and the black eunuch, stepped out to see them himself. having cast his eyes upon agib, buddir ad deen found himself moved, he knew not how, nor for what reason. he was not struck like the people with the brilliant beauty of the boy; another cause unknown to him gave rise to the uneasiness and emotion he felt. it was the force of blood that wrought in this tender father; who, laying aside his business, made up to agib, and with an engaging air, said to him: "my little lord, who hast won my soul, be so kind as to come into my shop, and eat a bit of such fare as i have; that i may have the pleasure of admiring you at my ease." these words he pronounced with such tenderness, that tears trickled from his eyes. little agib was moved when he saw his emotion; and turning to the eunuch, said, "this honest man speaks in such an affectionate manner, that i cannot avoid complying with his request; let us step into his house, and taste his pastry." "it would be a fine thing truly," replied the slave, "to see the son of a vizier go into a pastry-cook's shop to eat; do not imagine that i will suffer any such thing." "alas! my lord," cried buddir ad deen, "it is cruelty to trust the conduct of you in the hands of a person who treats you so harshly." then applying himself to the eunuch, "my good friend," continued he, "pray do not hinder this young lord from granting me the favour i ask; do not put such mortification upon me: rather do me the honour to walk in along with him, and by so doing, you will let the world know, that, though your outside is brown like a chestnut, your inside is as white. do you know," continued he, "that i am master of the secret to make you white, instead of being black as you are?" this set the eunuch a laughing, and then he asked what that secret was. "i will tell you," replied buddir ad deen, who repeated some verses in praise of black eunuchs, implying, that it was by their ministry that the honour of princes and of all great men was secured. the eunuch was so charmed with these verses, that, without further hesitation, he suffered agib to go into the shop, and went in with him himself. buddir ad deen houssun was overjoyed at having obtained what he had so passionately desired, and, falling again to the work he had discontinued "i was making," said he, "cream-tarts; and you must, with submission, eat of them. i am persuaded you will find them good; for my own mother, who made them incomparably well, taught me, and the people send to buy them of me from all quarters of the town." this said, he took a cream-tart out of the oven, and after strewing upon it some pomegranate kernels and sugar, set it before agib, who found it very delicious. another was served up to the eunuch, and he gave the same judgment. while they were both eating, buddir ad deen viewed agib very attentively; and after looking upon him again and again, it came into his mind that possibly he might have such a son by his charming wife, from whom he had been so soon and so cruelly separated; and the very thought drew tears from his eyes. he intended to have put some questions to little agib about his journey to damascus; but the child had no time to gratify his curiosity, for the eunuch pressing him to return to his grandfather's tent, took him away as soon as he had done eating. buddir ad deen houssun, not contented with looking after him, shut up his shop immediately, and followed him. buddir ad deen houssun ran after agib and the eunuch, and overtook them before they had reached the gate of the city. the eunuch perceiving he followed them, was extremely surprised: "you impertinent fellow," said he, with an angry tone, "what do you want?" "my dear friend," replied buddir ad deen, "do not trouble yourself; i have a little business out of town, and i must needs go and look after it." this answer, however, did not at all satisfy the eunuch, who turning to agib, said, "this is all owing to you; i foresaw i should repent of my complaisance; you would needs go into the man's shop; it was not wisely done in me to give you leave." "perhaps," replied agib, "he has real business out of town, and the road is free to every body." while this passed they kept walking together, without looking behind them, till they came near the vizier's tents, upon which they turned about to see if buddir ad deen followed them. agib, perceiving he was within two paces of him, reddened and whitened alternately, according to the different emotions that affected him. he was afraid the grand vizier his grandfather should come to know he had been in the pastry shop, and had eaten there. in this dread, he took up a large stone that lay at his foot and throwing it at buddir ad deen, hit him in the forehead, and wounded him so that his face was covered with blood. the eunuch gave buddir ad deen to understand, he had no reason to complain of a mischance that he had merited and brought upon himself. buddir ad deen turned towards the city staunching the blood of the wound with his apron, which he had not put off. "i was a fool," said he within himself, "for leaving my house, to take so much pains about this brat; for doubtless he would never have used me after this manner, if he had not thought i had some ill design against him." when he got home, he had his wound dressed, and softened the sense of his mischance by the reflection that there was an infinite number of people upon the earth, who were yet more unfortunate than he. buddir ad deen kept on the pastry-trade at damascus, and his uncle shumse ad deen mahummud went from thence three days after his arrival. he went by way of emaus, hanah, and halep; then crossed the euphrates, and after passing through mardin, moussoul, singier, diarbeker, and several other towns, arrived at last at bussorah. immediately after his arrival he desired audience of the sultan, who was no sooner informed of his quality than he admitted him to his presence, received him very favourably, and inquired the occasion of his journey to bussorah. "sire," replied the vizier "i come to know what is become of the son of my brother, who has had the honour to serve your majesty." "noor ad deen ali," said the sultan, "has been long dead; as for his son, all i can tell you of him is, that he disappeared suddenly, about two months after his father's death, and nobody has seen him since, notwithstanding all the inquiry i ordered to be made. but his mother, who is the daughter of one of my viziers, is still alive." shumse ad deen mahummud desired leave of the sultan to take her to egypt; and having obtained permission, without waiting till the next day, inquired after her place of abode, and that very hour went to her house, accompanied with his daughter and his grandson. the widow of noor ad deen ali resided still in the same place where her husband had lived. it was a stately fabric, adorned with marble pillars: but shumse ad deen did not stop to view it. at his entry he kissed the gate, and the piece of marble upon which his brother's name was written in letters of gold. he asked to speak with his sister-in-law, and was told by her servants, that she was in a small building covered by a dome, to which they directed in the middle of a very spacious court. this tender mother used to spend the greatest part of the day and night in that room which she had built as a representation of the tomb of her son buddir ad deen houssun, whom she supposed to be dead after so long an absence. she was pouring tears over his memorial when shumse ad deen entering, found her buried in the deepest affliction. he made his compliment, and after beseeching her to suspend her tears and sighs, informed her he had the honour to be her brother-in-law, and acquainted her with the reason of his journey from cairo to bussorah. shumse ad deen mahummud, after acquainting his sister-in-law with all that had passed at cairo on his daughter's wedding-night, and informing her of the surprise occasioned by the discovery of the paper sewed up in buddir ad deen's turban, presented to her agib and the beautiful lady. the widow of noor ad deen, who had still continued sitting like a woman dejected, and weaned from the affairs of this world, no sooner understood by his discourse that her dear son, whom she lamented so bitterly, might still be alive, than she arose, and repeatedly embraced the beautiful lady and her grandchild agib; and perceiving in the youth the features of buddir ad deen, drops tears different from what she had been so long accustomed to shed. she could not forbear kissing the youth, who, for his part, received her embraces with all the demonstrations of joy he was capable of shewing. "sister," said shumse ad deen, "it is time to dry your tears, and suppress your sighs; you must think of going with us to egypt. the sultan of bussorah gives me leave to carry you thither, and i doubt not you will consent. i am in hopes we shall at last find out your son my nephew; and if we do, the history of him, of you, of my own daughter, and of my own adventures, will deserve to be committed to writing, and transmitted to posterity." the widow of noor ad deen heard this proposal with pleasure, and ordered preparations to be made for her departure. while they were making, shumse ad deen desired a second audience, and after taking leave of the sultan, who dismissed him with ample marks of respect, and gave him a considerable present for himself, and another of great value for the sultan of egypt, he set out from bussorah once more for the city of damascus. when he arrived in the neighbourhood of damascus, he ordered his tents to be pitched without the gate, at which he designed to enter the city; and gave out he would tarry there three days, to give his suit rest, and buy up curiosities to present to the sultan of egypt. while he was employed in selecting the finest stuffs which the principal merchants had brought to his tents, agib begged the black eunuch his governor to carry him through the city, in order to see what he had not had leisure to view before; and to inquire what was become of the pastry cook whom he had wounded. the eunuch complying with his request, went along with him towards the city, after leave obtained of the beautiful lady his mother. they entered damascus by the paradise-gate, which lay next to the tents of the vizier they walked through the great squares and the public places where the richest goods were sold, and took a view of the superb mosque at the hour of prayer, between noon and sun- set. when they passed by the shop of buddir ad deen houssun, whom they still found employed in making cream tarts, "i salute you sir," said agib; "do you know me? do you remember you ever saw me before?" buddir ad deen hearing these words, fixed his eyes upon him, and recognizing him (such was the surprising effect of paternal love!), felt the same emotion as when he saw him first; he was confused, and instead of making any answer, continued a long time without uttering a word. at length, recovering himself, "my lord," said he, "be so kind as to come once more with your governor into my house, and taste a cream-tart. i beg your lordship's pardon, for the trouble i gave you in following you out of town; i was at that time not myself, i did not know what i did. you drew me after you, and the violence of the attraction was so soft, that i could not withstand it." agib, astonished at what buddir ad deen said, replied: "there is an excess in the kindness you express, and unless you engage under oath not to follow me when i go from hence, i will not enter your house. if you give me your promise, and prove a man of your word, i will visit you again to-morrow, since the vizier my grandfather, is still employed in buying up rarities for a present to the sultan of egypt." "my lord," replied buddir ad deen, "i will do whatever you would have me." this said, agib and the eunuch went into the shop. presently after, buddir ad deen set before them a cream-tart, that was full as good as what they had eaten before; "come," said agib, "sit down by me, and eat with us." buddir ad deen sat down, and attempted to embrace agib, as a testimony of the joy he conceived upon sitting by him. but agib pushed him away, desiring him not to be too familiar. buddir ad deen obeyed, and repeated some extempore verses in praise of agib: he did not eat, but made it his business to serve his guests. when they had done, he brought them water to wash, and a very white napkin to wipe their hands. then he filled a large china cup with sherbet, and put snow into it; and offering it to agib, "this," said he, "is sherbet of roses; and i am sure you never tasted better." agib having drunk of it with pleasure, buddir ad deen took the cup from him, and presented it to the eunuch, who drank it all off at once. in fine, agib and his governor having fared well, returned thanks to the pastry-cook for their good entertainment, and moved homewards, it being then late. when they arrived at the tents of shumse ad deen mahummud, agib's grandmother received him with transports of joy: her son ran always in her mind, and in embracing agib, the remembrance of him drew tears from her eyes. "ah, my child!" said she, "my joy would be perfect, if i had the pleasure of embracing your father as i now embrace you." she made agib sit by her, and put several questions to him, relating to the walk he had been taking with the eunuch; and when he complained of being hungry, she gave him a piece of cream-tart, which she had made for herself, and was indeed very good: she likewise gave some to the eunuch. agib no sooner touched the piece of cream-tart that had been set before him, than he pretended he did not like it, and left it uncut; and shubbaunee (which was the eunuch's name) did the same. the widow of noor ad deen ali observed with regret that her grandson did not like the tart. "what!" said she, "does my child thus despise the work of my hands? be it known to you, no one in the world can make such besides myself and your father, whom i taught." "my good mother," replied agib, "give me leave to tell you, if you do not know how to make better, there is a pastry- cook in this town that outdoes you. we were at his shop, and ate of one much better than yours." on hearing this, the grandmother, frowning upon the eunuch, said, "how now, shubbaunee, was the care of my grandchild committed to you, to carry him to eat at pastry-shops like a beggar?" "madam," replied the eunuch, "it is true, we did stop a little while and talked with the pastry-cook, but we did not eat with him." "pardon me," said agib, "we went into his shop, and there ate a cream-tart." upon this, the lady, more incensed against the eunuch than before, rose in a passion from the table, and running to the tent of shumse ad deen, informed him of the eunuch's crime; and that in such terms, as tended more to inflame the vizier than to dispose him to excuse it. the vizier who was naturally passionate, did not fail on this occasion to display his anger. he went forthwith to his sister- in-law's tent, and said to the eunuch, "wretch, have you the impudence to abuse the trust i repose in you?" shubbaunee, though sufficiently convicted by agib's testimony, denied the fact still. but the child persisting in what he had affirmed, "grandfather," said he, "i can assure you we not only ate, but that so very heartily, that we have no occasion for supper: besides, the pastry-cook treated us also with a great bowl of sherbet." "well," cried shumse ad deen, "after all this, will you continue to deny that you entered the pastry-cook's house, and ate there?" shubbaunee had still the impudence to swear it was not true. "then you are a liar," said the vizier "i believe my grandchild; but after all, if you can eat up this cream-tart i shall be persuaded you have truth on your side." though shubbaunee had crammed himself up to the throat before, he agreed to stand that test, and accordingly took a piece of tart; but his stomach rising against it, he was obliged to spit it out of his mouth. yet he still pursued the lie, and pretended he had over-eaten himself the day before, and had not recovered his appetite. the vizier irritated with all the eunuch's frivolous presences, and convinced of his guilt, ordered him to be soundly bastinadoed. in undergoing this punishment, the poor wretch shrieked out aloud, and at last confessed the truth; "i own," cried he, "that we did eat a cream-tart at the pastry cook's, and that it was much better than that upon the table." the widow of noor ad deen thought it was out of spite to her, and with a desire to mortify her, that shubbaunee commended the pastry-cook's tart; and accordingly said, "i cannot believe the cook's tarts are better than mine; i am resolved to satisfy myself upon that head. where does he live? go immediately and buy me one of his tarts." the eunuch repaired to buddir ad deen's shop, and said, "let me have one of your cream-tarts; one of our ladies wants to taste them." buddir ad deen chose one of the best, and gave it to the eunuch. shubbaunee returned speedily to the tents, gave the tart to noor ad deen's widow, who, snatching it greedily, broke a piece off; but no sooner put it to her mouth, than she cried out and swooned away. the vizier was extremely surprised at the accident; he threw water upon her face, and was very active in recovering her. as soon as she came to herself, "my god!" cried she, "it must needs be my son, my dear buddir ad deen who made this tart." when the vizier shumse ad deen heard his sister-in-law say, that the maker of the tart, brought by the eunuch, must needs be her son, he was overjoyed; but reflecting that his joy might prove groundless, and the conjecture of noor ad deen's widow be false, "madam," said he, "do you think there may not be a pastry-cook in the world, who knows how to make cream-tarts as well as your son?" "i own," replied she, "there may be pastry-cooks that can make as good tarts as he; but as i make them in a peculiar manner, and only my son was let into the secret, it must absolutely be he that made this. come, my brother," added she in a transport, "let us call up mirth and joy; we have at last found what we have been so long looking for." "madam," said the vizier answer, "i entreat you to moderate your impatience, for we shall quickly know the truth. all we have to do, is to bring the pastry-cook hither; and then you and my daughter will readily distinguish whether he be your son or not. but you must both be concealed so as to have a view of buddir ad deen while he cannot see you; for i would not have our interview and mutual discovery happen at damascus. my design is to delay the discovery till we return to cairo." this said, he left the ladies in their tent, and retired to his own; where he called for fifty of his men, and said to them: "take each of you a stick in your hands, and follow shubbaunee, who will conduct you to a pastry-cook in this city. when you arrive there, break and dash in pieces all you find in the shop: if he demand the reason of your outrage, only ask him in return if it was not he that made the cream-tart that was brought from his house. if he answer in the affirmative, seize his person, fetter him, and bring him along with you; but take care you do not beat him, nor do him the least harm. go, and lose no time." the vizier's orders were immediately executed. the detachment, conducted by the black eunuch, went with expedition to buddir ad deen's house, broke in pieces the plates, kettles, copper pans, and all the other moveables and utensils they met with, and inundated the sherbet-shop with cream and comfits. buddir ad deen, astonished at the sight, said with a pitiful tone, "pray, good people, why do you serve me so? what is the matter? what have i done?" "was it not you," said they, "that sold this eunuch the cream-tart?" "yes," replied he, "i am the man; and who says any thing against it? i defy any one to make a better." instead of giving him an answer, they continued to break all round them, and the oven itself was not spared. in the mean time the neighbours took the alarm, and surprised to see fifty armed men committing such a disorder, asked the reason of such violence; and buddir ad deen said once more to the rioters, "pray tell me what crime i have committed to deserve this usage?" "was it not you," replied they, "that made the cream-tart you sold to the eunuch?" "yes, yes, it was i," replied he; "i maintain it is a good one. i do not deserve this treatment." however, without listening to him, they seized his person, and, snatching the cloth off his turban, tied his hands with it behind his back, and, after dragging him by force out of his shop, marched off. the mob gathering, from compassion to buddir ad deen, took his part; but officers from the governor of the city dispersed the people, and favoured the carrying off of buddir ad deen, for shumse ad deen mahummud had in the mean time gone to the governor's house to acquaint him with the order he had given, and to demand the interposition of force to favour the execution; and the governor, who commanded all syria in the name of the sultan of egypt, was unwilling to refuse any thing to his master's vizier. it was in vain for buddir ad deen to ask those who carried him off, what fault had been found with his cream-tart: they gave him no answer. in short, they conducted him to the tents, and made him wait there till shumse ad deen returned from the governor of damascus. upon the vizier's return, the pretended culprit was brought before him. "my lord," said buddir ad deen, with tears in his eyes, "pray do me the favour to let me know wherein i have displeased you." "why, you wretch," exclaimed the vizier "was it not you that made the cream-tart you sent me?" "i own i am the man," replied buddir ad deen, "but pray what crime is that?" "i will punish you according to your deserts," said shumse ad deen, "it shall cost you your life, for sending me such a sorry tart." "ah!" exclaimed buddir ad deen, "is it a capital crime to make a bad cream-tart?" "yes," said the vizier "and you are to expect no other usage from me." while this interview lasted, the ladies, who were concealed behind curtains, saw buddir ad deen, and recognized him, notwithstanding he had been so long absent. they were so transported with joy, that they swooned away; and when they recovered, would fain have run up and fallen upon his neck, but the promise they had made to the vizier of not discovering themselves, restrained the tender emotions of love and of nature. shumse ad deen having resolved to set out that night, ordered the tents to be struck, and the necessary preparations to be made for his journey. he ordered buddir ad deen to be secured in a sort of cage, and laid on a camel. the vizier and his retinue began their march, and travelled the rest of that night, and all the next day, without stopping in the evening they halted, and buddir ad deen was taken out of his cage, in order to be served with the necessary refreshments, but still carefully kept at a distance from his mother and his wife; and during the whole expedition, which lasted twenty days, was served in the same manner. when they arrived at cairo, they encamped in the neighbourhood of the city; shumse ad deen called for buddir ad deen, and gave orders, in his presence, to prepare a stake. "alas!" said buddir ad deen, "what do you mean to do with a stake?" "why, to impale you," replied shumse ad deen, "and then to have you carried through all the quarters of the town, that the people may have the spectacle of a worthless pastry-cook, who makes cream-tarts without pepper." this said, buddir ad deen cried out so ludicrously, that shumse ad deen could hardly keep his countenance: "alas!" said he, "must i suffer a death as cruel as it is ignominious, for not putting pepper in a cream-tart?" "how," said buddir ad deen, "must i be rifled; must i be imprisoned in a chest, and at last impaled, and all for not putting pepper in a cream-tart? are these the actions of moosulmauns, of persons who make a profession of probity, justice, and good works?" with these words he shed tears, and then renewing his complaint; "no," continued he, "never was a man used so unjustly, nor so severely. is it possible they should be capable of taking a man's life for not putting pepper in a cream- tart? cursed be all cream-tarts, as well as the hour in which i was born! would to god l had died that minute!" the disconsolate buddir ad deen did not cease his lamentations; and when the stake was brought, cried out bitterly at the horrid sight. "heaven!" said he, "can you suffer me to die an ignominious and painful death? and all this, for what crime? not for robbery or murder, or renouncing my religion, but for not putting pepper in a cream tart," night being then pretty far advanced, the vizier ordered buddir ad deen to be conveyed again to his cage, saying to him, "stay there till to-morrow; the day shall not elapse before i give orders for your death." the chest or cage then was carried away and laid upon the camel that had brought it from damascus: at the same time all the other camels were loaded again; and the vizier mounting his horse, ordered the camel that carried his nephew to march before him, and entered the city with all his suit. after passing through several streets, where no one appeared, he arrived at his palace, where he ordered the chest to be taken down, but not opened till farther orders. while his retinue were unlading the other camels, he took buddir ad deen's mother and his daughter aside; and addressed himself to the latter: "god be praised," said he, "my child, for this happy occasion of meeting your cousin and your husband! you remember, of course, what order your chamber was in on your wedding night: go and put all things as they were then placed; and if your memory do not serve you, i can aid it by a written account, which i caused to be taken upon that occasion." the beautiful lady went joyfully to execute her father's orders; and he at the same time commanded the hall to be adorned as when buddir ad deen houssun was there with the sultan of egypt's hunch-backed groom. as he went over his manuscript, his domestics placed every moveable in the described order. the throne was not forgotten, nor the lighted wax candles. when every thing was arranged in the hall, the vizier went into his daughter's chamber and put in their due place buddir ad deen's apparel, with the purse of sequins. this done, he said to the beautiful lady, "undress yourself, my child, and go to bed. as soon as buddir ad deen enters your room, complain of his being from you so long, and tell him, that when you awoke, you were astonished you did not find him by you. press him to come to bed again; and to- morrow morning you will divert your mother-in-law and me, by giving us an account of your interview." this said, he went from his daughter's apartment, and left her to undress herself and go to bed. shumse ad deen mahummud ordered all his domestics to depart the hall, excepting two or three, whom he desired to remain. these he commanded to go and take buddir ad deen out of the cage, to strip him to his under vest and drawers, to conduct him in that condition to the hall, to leave him there alone, and shut the door upon him. buddir ad deen, though overwhelmed with grief, was asleep so soundly, that the vizier's domestics had taken him out of the chest and stripped him before he awoke; and they carried him so suddenly into the hall, that they did not give him time to see where he was. when he found himself alone in the hall, he looked round him, and the objects he beheld recalling to his memory the circumstances of his marriage, he perceived, with astonishment, that it was the place where he had seen the sultan's groom of the stables. his surprise was still the greater, when approaching softly the door of a chamber which he found open, he spied his own raiments where he remembered to have left them on his wedding night. "my god!" said he, rubbing his eyes, "am i asleep or awake?" the beautiful lady, who in the mean time was diverting herself with his astonishment, opened the curtains of her bed suddenly, and bending her head forward, "my dear lord," said she, with a soft, tender air, "what do you do at the door? you have been out of bed a long time. i was strangely surprised when i awoke in not finding you by me." buddir ad deen was enraptured; he entered the room, but reverting to all that had passed during a ten years' interval, and not being able to persuade himself that it could all have happened in the compass of one night, he went to the place where his vestments lay with the purse of sequins; and after examining them very carefully, exclaimed, "by allah these are mysteries which i can by no means comprehend!" the lady, who was pleased to see his confusion, said, once more, "my lord, what do you wait for?" he stepped towards the bed, and said to her, "is it long since i left you?" "the question," answered she, "surprises me. did not you rise from me but now? surely your mind is deranged." "madam," replied buddir ad deen, "i do assure you my thoughts are not very composed. i remember indeed to have been with you, but i remember at the same time, that i have since lived ten years at damascus. now, if i was actually in bed with you this night, i cannot have been from you so long. these two points are inconsistent. pray tell me what i am to think; whether my marriage with you is an illusion, or whether my absence from you is only a dream?" "yes, my lord," cried she, "doubtless you were light-headed when you thought you were at damascus." upon this buddir ad deen laughed heartily, and said, "what a comical fancy is this! i assure you, madam, this dream of mine will be very pleasant to you. do but imagine, if you please, that i was at the gate of damascus in my shirt and drawers, as i am here now; that i entered the town with the halloo of a mob who followed and insulted me; that i fled to a pastry cook who adopted me, taught me his trade, and left me all he had when he died; that after his death i kept a shop. in fine, i had an infinity of other adventures, too tedious to recount: and all i can say is, that it was well that i awoke, for they were going to impale me!" "and for what," cried the lady, feigning astonishment, "would they have used you so cruelly? surely you must have committed some enormous crime." "not the least," replied buddir ad deen; "it was for nothing but a mere trifle, the most ridiculous thing you can imagine. all the crime i was charged with, was selling a cream-tart that had no pepper in it." "as for that matter," said the beautiful lady laughing heartily, "i must say they did you great injustice." "ah!" replied he, "that was not all. for this cursed cream-tart was every thing in my shop broken to pieces, myself bound and fettered, and flung into a chest, where i lay so close, that methinks i am there still, but thanks be to god all was a dream." buddir ad deen was not easy all night. he awoke from time to time, and put the question to himself, whether he dreamed or was awake. he distrusted his felicity; and, to be sure whether it was true or not, looked round the room. "i am not mistaken," said he; "this is the same chamber where i entered instead of the hunch- backed groom of the stables; and i am now in bed with the fair lady designed for him." day-light, which then appeared, had not yet dispelled his uneasiness, when the vizier shumse ad deen, his uncle, knocked at the door, and at the same time went in to bid him good morrow. buddir ad deen was extremely surprised to see a man he knew so well, and who now appeared with a different air from that with which he pronounced the terrible sentence of death against him. "ah!" cried buddir ad deen, "it was you who condemned me so unjustly to a kind of death, the thoughts of which make me shudder, and all for a cream-tart without pepper." the vizier fell a laughing, and to put him out of suspense, told him how, by the ministry of a genie (for hunch-back's relation made him suspect the adventure), he had been at his palace, and had married his daughter instead of the sultan's groom of the stables; then he acquainted him that he had discovered him to be his nephew by the memorandum of his father, and pursuant to that discovery had gone from cairo to bussorah in quest of him. "my dear nephew," added he, embracing him with every expression of tenderness, "i ask your pardon for all i have made you undergo since i discovered you. i resolved to bring you to my palace before i told you your happiness; which ought now to be so much the dearer to you, as it has cost you so much perplexity and distress. to atone for all your afflictions, comfort yourself with the joy of being in the company of those who ought to be dearest to you. while you are dressing yourself i will go and acquaint your mother, who is beyond measure impatient to see you; and will likewise bring to you your son, whom you saw at damascus, and for whom, without knowing him, you shewed so much affection." no words can adequately express the joy of buddir ad deen, when he saw his mother and his son. they embraced, and shewed all the transports that love and tenderness could inspire. the mother spoke to buddir ad deen in the most moving terms; she mentioned the grief she had felt for his long absence, and the tears she had shed. little ajib, instead of flying his father's embraces, as at damascus, received them with all the marks of pleasure. and buddir ad deen houssun, divided between two objects so worthy of his love, thought he could not give sufficient testimonies of his affection. while this passed, the vizier was gone to the palace, to give the sultan an account of the happy success of his travels; and the sultan was so moved with the recital of the story, that he ordered it to be taken down in writing, and carefully preserved among the archives of the kingdom. after shumse ad deen's return to his palace, he sat down with his family, and all the household passed the day in festivity and mirth. the vizier jaaffier having thus concluded the story of buddir ad deen, told the caliph that this was what he had to relate to his majesty. the caliph found the story so surprising, that without farther hesitation he granted his slave rihan's pardon; and to console the young man for the grief of having unhappily deprived himself of a woman whom he had loved so tenderly, married him to one of his slaves, bestowed liberal gifts upon him, and maintained him till he died. the history of ganem, son of abou ayoub, and known by the surname of love's slave. there was formerly at damascus a merchant, who had by care and industry acquired great wealth, on which he lived in a very honourable manner. his name was abou ayoub, and he had one son and a daughter. the son was called ganem, but afterwards surnamed love's slave. his person was graceful, and the excellent qualities of his mind had been improved by able masters. the daughter's name was alcolom, signifying ravisher of hearts, because her beauty was so perfect that whoever saw her could not avoid loving her. abou ayoub died, and left immense riches: a hundred loads of brocades and other silks that lay in his warehouse were the least part. the loads were ready made up, and on every bale was written in large characters, "for bagdad." mahummud, the son of soliman, surnamed zinebi, reigned at that time at damascus, the capital of syria. his kinsman, haroon al rusheed, had bestowed that kingdom on him as his tributary. soon after the death of abou ayoub, ganem conversed with his mother about their domestic affairs, and concerning the loads of merchandize in the warehouse, asked her the meaning of what was written upon each bale. "my son," answered his mother, "your father used to travel sometimes into one province, and sometimes into another; and it was customary with him, before he set out, to write the name of the city he designed to repair to on every bade. he had provided all things to take a journey to bagdad, and was on the point of setting out, when death"----she had not power to finish; the lively remembrance of the loss of her husband would not permit her to say more, and drew from her a shower of tears. ganem could not see his mother so sensibly affected, without being equally so himself. they continued some time silent; but at length he recovered himself, and as soon as he found his mother calm enough to listen to him, said, "since my father designed these goods for bagdad, i will prepare myself to perform that journey; and i think it will be proper for me to hasten my departure, for fear those commodities should perish, or that we should lose the opportunity of selling them to the best advantage." abou ayoub's widow, who tenderly loved her son, was much concerned at this resolution, and replied, "my dear child, i cannot but commend you for designing to follow your father's example; but consider, that you are too young, inexperienced, and unaccustomed to the fatigue of travelling. besides, can you think of leaving me, and adding to that sorrow with which i am already oppressed? is it not better to sell those goods to the merchants of damascus, and take up with a moderate profit, than expose yourself to the danger of perishing?" it was in vain for her to oppose ganem's resolution by the strongest arguments; they had no weight with him. an inclination to travel, and to accomplish himself by a thorough knowledge of the world, urged him to set out, and prevailed over all his mother's remonstrances, her entreaties, and even her tears. he went to the market where slaves were sold, and bought such as were able-bodied, hired a hundred camels, and having provided all other necessaries, entered upon his journey, with five or six merchants of damascus, who were going to trade at bagdad. those merchants, attended by their slaves, and accompanied by several other travellers, made up such a considerable caravan, that they had nothing to fear from the bedouin arabs, who make it their only profession to range the country; and attack and plunder the caravans when they are not strong enough to repulse them. they had no other difficulty to encounter, than the usual fatigues of a long journey, which were easily forgotten when they came in sight of the city of bagdad, where they arrived in safety. they alighted at the most magnificent and most frequented khan in the city; but ganem chose to be lodged conveniently, and by himself. he only left his goods there in a warehouse for their greater security, and hired a spacious house in the neighbourhood, richly furnished, having a garden which was very delightful, on account of its many waterworks and shady groves. some days after this young merchant had been settled in his house, and perfectly recovered of the fatigue of his journey, he dressed himself richly, and repaired to the public place, where the merchants met to transact business. a slave followed him, carrying a parcel of fine stuffs and silks. the merchants received ganem very courteously, and their syndic, or chief, to whom he first made application, bought all his parcel, at the price set down in the ticket annexed to every piece of stuff. ganem continued his trade so successfully, that he every day sold all the goods he exposed. he had but one bale left, which he had caused to be carried from the warehouse to his own house; he then went to the public rendezvous, where he found all the shops shut. this seemed somewhat extraordinary to him and having asked the cause, he was told, that one of the first merchants, whom he knew, was dead, and that all his brother traders were gone to his funeral. ganem inquired for the mosque, where prayer was to be said, and whence the body was to be conducted to the grave; and having been informed, sent back his slave with the goods, and walked towards the mosque. he got thither before the prayers were ended, which were said in a hall hung with black satin. the corpse was taken up, and followed by the kindred, the merchants, and ganem, to the place of burial, which was at some distance without the city. it was a stone structure, in form of a dome, purposely built to receive the bodies of all the family of the deceased, and being very small, they had pitched tents around, that all the company might be sheltered during the ceremony. the monument was opened, and the corpse laid in it, after which it was shut up. then the imam, and other ministers of the mosque, sat down in a ring on carpets, in the largest tent, and recited the rest of the prayers. they also read the fateah, or introductory chapter of the koraun, appointed for the burial of the dead. the kindred and merchants sat round, in the same manner, behind the ministers. it was near night before all was ended: ganem who had not expected such a long ceremony, began to be uneasy, and the more so, when he saw meat served up, in memory of the deceased, according to the custom of the mahummedans. he was also told that the tents had been set up not only against the heat of the sun, but also against the evening dew, because they should not return to the city before the next morning. these words perplexed ganem. "i am a stranger," said he to himself, "and have the reputation of being a rich merchant; thieves may take the opportunity of my absence, and rob my house. my slaves may be tempted by so favourable an opportunity; they may run away with all the gold i have received for my goods, and whither shall i go to look for them?" full of these thoughts, he ate a few mouthfuls hastily, and slipped away from the company. he made all possible haste; but, as it often happens that the more a man hurries the less he advances, he went astray in the dark, so that it was near midnight when he came to the city gate; which, to add to his misfortune, was shut. this was a fresh affliction to him, and he was obliged to look for some convenient place in which to pass the rest of the night till the gate was opened. he went into a burial-place, so spacious, that it reached from the city to the very place he had left. he advanced to some high walls, which enclosed a small field, being the mausoleum of a family, and in which there was a palm-tree. ganem, finding that the burial-place where the palm-tree grew was open, went into it, and shut the door after him. he lay down on the grass and tried to sleep; but his uneasiness at being absent from home would not permit him. he got up, and after having passed before the door several times, opened it, without knowing why, and immediately perceived at a distance a light, which seemed to come towards him. he was startled at the sight, closed the door, which had nothing to secure it but a latch, and got up as fast as he could to the top of the palm-tree; looking upon that as the safest retreat under his present apprehensions. no sooner was he up, than by the help of the light which had alarmed him, he plainly perceived three men, whom, by their habit, he knew to be slaves, enter into the burial-place. one of them advanced with a lantern, and the two others followed him, loaded with a chest, between five and six feet long, which they carried on their shoulders. they set it down, and then one of the three slaves said to his comrades, "brethren, if you will be advised by me, we will leave the chest here, and return to the city." "no, no," replied another, "that would not be executing our mistress's orders; we may have cause to repent not doing as we were commanded. let us bury the chest, since we are enjoined so to do." the two other slaves complied. they began to break ground with the tools they had brought for that purpose. when they had made a deep trench, they put the chest into it, and covered it with the earth they had taken out, and then departed. ganem, who from the top of the palm-tree had heard every word the slaves had spoken, could not tell what to think of the adventure. he concluded that the chest must contain something of value, and that the person to whom it belonged had some particular reasons for causing it to be buried in the cemetery. he resolved immediately to satisfy his curiosity, came down from the palm- tree, the departure of the slaves having dissipated his fear, and fell to work upon the pit, plying his hands and feet so well, that in a short time he uncovered the chest, but found it secured by a padlock. this new obstacle to the satisfying of his curiosity was no small mortification to him, yet he was not discouraged, but the day beginning then to appear, he saw several great stones about the burial-place. he picked out one, with which he easily knocked off the padlock, and then with much impatience opened the chest. ganem was strangely surprised, when, instead of money, he discovered a young lady of incomparable beauty. her fresh and rosy complexion, and her gentle regular breathing, satisfied him she was alive, but he could not conceive why, if she were only asleep, she had not awaked at the noise he made in forcing off the padlock. her habit was so costly, with bracelets and pendants of diamonds, and a necklace of pearls, so large, that he made not the least doubt of her being one of the principal ladies of the court. at the sight of so beautiful an object, not only compassion and natural inclination to relieve persons in danger, but something more powerful, which ganem could not then account for, prevailed on him to afford the unfortunate beauty all the assistance in his power. he first shut the gate of the burial-place, which the slaves had left open; then, returning, took the lady in his arms, and laid her on the soft earth which he had thrown off the chest. as soon as she was exposed to the air, she sneezed, and, by the motion in turning her head, there came from her mouth a liquor, with which her stomach seemed to have been loaded; then opening and rubbing her eyes, she with such a voice as charmed ganem, whom she did not see, cried out, "zohorob bostan, shijher al mirjaun, casabos souccar, nouron nihar, nagmatos sohi, nonzbetos zaman, why do you not answer? where are you?" these were the names of six female slaves that used to wait on her. she called them, and wondered that nobody answered; but at length looking about, and perceiving she was in a burial-place, was seized with fear. "what," cried she, much louder than before, "are the dead raised? is the day of judgment come? what a wonderful change is this from evening to morning?" ganem did not think fit to leave the lady any longer in her perplexity, but presented himself before her with all possible respect, and in the most courteous manner. "madam," said he, "i am not able to express my joy at having happened to be here to do you the service i have, and to offer you all the assistance you may need under your present circumstances." in order to persuade the lady to repose confidence in him, he, in the first place, told her who he was, and what accident had brought him to that place. next he acquainted her with the coming of the three slaves, and how they had buried the chest. the lady, who had covered her face with her veil as soon as ganem appeared, was extremely sensible of the obligations she owed him. "i return thanks to god," said she "for having sent so worthy a person as you are to deliver me from death; but since you have begun so charitable a work, i conjure you not to leave it imperfect. let me beg of you to go into the city, and provide a muleteer, to come with his mule, and carry me to your house in this chest; for, should i go with you on foot, my dress being different from that of the city ladies, some one might take notice of it, and follow me, which it highly concerns me to prevent. when i shall be in your house, i will give you an account of myself; and in the mean time be assured that you have not obliged an ungrateful person." before the young merchant left the lady, he drew the chest out of the pit, which he filled up with earth, laid her again in the chest, and shut it in such a manner, that it did not look as if the padlock had been forced off; but for fear of stifling her, he did not put it quite close, leaving room for the admittance of air. going out of the burial-place, he drew the door after him; and the city gate being then open, soon found what he sought. he returned with speed to the burial place, and helped the muleteer to lay the chest across his mule, telling him, to remove all cause of suspicion, that he came to that place the night before, with another muleteer, who, being in haste to return home, had laid down the chest where he saw it. ganem, who, since his arrival at bagdad, had minded nothing but his business, was still unacquainted with the power of love, and now felt its first attacks. it had not been in his power to look upon the young lady without being dazzled; and the uneasiness he felt at following the muleteer at a distance, and the fear lest any accident might happen by the way that should deprive him of his conquest, taught him to unravel his thoughts. he was more than usually delighted, when, being arrived safe at home, he saw the chest unloaded. he dismissed the muleteer, and having caused a slave to shut the door of his house, opened the chest, helped the lady out, gave her his hand, and conducted her to his apartment, lamenting how much she must have endured in such close confinement. "if i have suffered," said she, "i have satisfaction sufficient in what you have done for me, and in the pleasure of seeing myself out of danger." though ganem's apartment was very richly furnished, the lady did not so much regard its appearance, as she did the handsome presence and engaging mien of her deliverer, whose politeness and obliging behaviour heightened her gratitude. she sat down on a sofa, and to give the merchant to understand how sensible she was of the service done her, took off her veil. ganem on his part was sensible of the favour so lovely a lady did in uncovering her face to him, or rather felt he had already a most violent passion for her. whatever obligations she owed him, he thought himself more than requited by so singular a favour. the lady dived into ganem's thoughts, yet was not at all alarmed, because he appeared very respectful. he, judging she might have occasion to eat, and not willing to trust any but himself with the care of entertaining so charming a guest, went out with a slave to an eating-house, to give directions for an entertainment. from thence he went to a fruiterer, where he chose the finest and best fruit; buying also the choicest wine, and the same bread that was eaten at the caliph's table. as soon as he returned home, he with his own hands made a pyramid of the fruit he had bought, and serving it up himself to the lady in a large dish, of the finest china-ware, "madam," said he, "be pleased to make choice of some of this fruit, while a more solid entertainment, and more worthy yourself, is preparing." he would have continued standing before her, but she declared she would not touch any thing, unless he sat down and ate with her. he obeyed; and when they had eaten a little, ganem observing that the lady's veil, which she laid down by her on a sofa, was embroidered along the edge with golden letters, begged her permission to look on the embroidery. the lady immediately took up the veil, and delivered it to him, asking him whether he could read? "madam," replied he, with a modest air, "a merchant would be ill-qualified to manage his business if he could not at least read and write." "well, then," said she, "read the words which are embroidered on that veil, which gives me an opportunity of telling you my story." ganem took the veil, and read these words, "i am yours, and you are mine, thou descendant from the prophet's uncle." that descendant from the prophet's uncle was the caliph haroon al rusheed, who then reigned, and was descended from abbas, mahummud's uncle. when ganem perceived these words, "alas! madam," said he, in a melancholy tone, "i have just saved your life, and this writing is my death! i do not comprehend all the mystery; but it convinces me i am the most unfortunate of men. pardon, madam, the liberty i take, but it was impossible for me to see you without giving you my heart. you are not ignorant yourself, that it was not in my power to refuse it you, and that makes my presumption excusable. i proposed to myself to touch your heart by my respectful behaviour, my care, my assiduity, my submission, my constancy; and no sooner have i formed the flattering design, than i am robbed of all my hopes. i cannot long survive so great a misfortune. but, be that as it will, i shall have the satisfaction of dying entirely yours. proceed, madam, i conjure you, and give me full information of my unhappy fate." he could not utter those words without letting fall some tears. the lady was moved; but was so far from being displeased at the declaration he made, that she felt secret joy; for her heart began to yield. however, she concealed her feelings, and as if she had not regarded what ganem had said. "i should have been very cautious," answered she, "of strewing you my veil, had i thought it would have given you so much uneasiness; but i do not perceive that what i have to say to you can make your condition so deplorable as you imagine." "you must understand," proceeded she, "in order to acquaint you with my story, that my name is fetnah (which signifies disturbance), which was given me at my birth, because it was judged that the sight of me would one day occasion many calamities. of this you cannot be ignorant, since there is nobody in bagdad but knows that the caliph, my sovereign lord and yours, has a favourite so called. "i was carried into his palace in my tenderest years, and i have been brought up with all the care that is usually taken with such persons of my sex as are destined to reside there. i made no little progress in all they took the pains to teach me; and that, with some share of beauty, gained me the affection of the caliph, who allotted me a particular apartment adjoining to his own. that prince was not satisfied with such a mark of distinction; he appointed twenty women to wait on me, and as many eunuchs; and ever since he has made me such considerable presents, that i saw myself richer than any queen in the world. you may judge by what i have said, that zobeide, the caliph's wife and kinswoman, could not but be jealous of my happiness. though haroon has all the regard imaginable for her, she has taken every possible opportunity to ruin me. "hitherto i had secured myself against all her snares, but at length i fell under the last effort of her jealousy; and, had it not been for you, must now have been exposed to inevitable death. i question not but she had corrupted one of my slaves, who last night, in some lemonade, gave me a drug, which causes such a dead sleep, that it is easy to dispose of those who have taken it; for that sleep is so profound, that nothing can dispel it for the space of seven or eight hours. i have the more reason to judge so, because naturally i am a very bad sleeper, and apt to wake at the least noise. "zobeide, the better to put her design in execution, has availed herself of the absence of the caliph, who went lately to put himself at the head of his troops, to chastise some neighbouring kings, who have formed a league of rebellion. were it not for this opportunity, my rival, outrageous as she is, durst not have presumed to attempt any thing against my life. i know not what she will do to conceal this action from the caliph, but you see it highly concerns me that you should keep my secret. my life depends on it. i shall be safe in your house as long as the caliph is from bagdad. it concerns you to keep my adventure private; for should zobeide know the obligation i owe you, she would punish you for having saved me. "when the caliph returns, i shall not need to be so much upon my guard. i shall find means to acquaint him with all that has happened, and i am fully persuaded he will be more earnest than myself to requite a service which restores me to his love." as soon as haroon al rusheed's beautiful favourite had done speaking, ganem said, "madam, i return you a thousand thanks for having given me the information i took the liberty to desire of you; and i beg of you to believe, that you are here in safety; the sentiments you have inspired are a pledge of my secrecy. "as for my slaves, they may perhaps fail of the fidelity they owe me, should they know by what accident and in what place i had the happiness to find you. i dare assure you, however, that they will not have the curiosity to inquire. it is so natural for young men to purchase beautiful slaves, that it will be no way surprising to them to see you here, believing you to be one, and that i have bought you. they will also conclude that i have some particular reasons for bringing you home as they saw i did. set your heart, therefore, at rest, as to that point, and remain satisfied that you shall be served with all the respect that is due to the favourite of so great a monarch as our sovereign the caliph. but great as he is, give me leave, madam, to declare, that nothing can make me recall the present i have made you of my heart. i know, and shall never forget, �that what belongs to the master is forbidden to the slave;' but i loved you before you told me that you were engaged to the caliph; it is not in my power to overcome a passion which, though now in its infancy, has all the force of a love strengthened by a perfect of situation. i wish your august and most fortunate lover may avenge you of the malice of zobeide, by calling you back to him; and when you shall be restored to his wishes, that you may remember the unfortunate ganem, who is no less your conquest than the caliph. powerful as that prince is, i flatter myself he will not be able to blot me out of your remembrance. he cannot love you more passionately than i do; and i shall never cease to love you into whatever part of the world i may go to expire, after having lost you." fetnah perceived that ganem was under the greatest of afflictions, and his situation affected her; but considering the uneasiness she was likely to bring upon herself, by prosecuting the conversation on that subject, which might insensibly lead her to discover the inclination she felt for him; "i perceive," said she, "that this conversetion gives you too much uneasiness; let us change the subject, and talk of the infinite obligation i owe you. i can never sufficiently express my gratitude, when i reflect that, without your assistance, i should never again have beheld the light of the sun." it was happy for them both, that somebody just then knocked at the door; ganem went to see who it was, and found it to be one of his slaves come to acquaint him that the entertainment was ready. ganem, who, by way of precaution, would have none of his slaves come into the room where fetnah was, took what was brought, and served it up himself to his beautiful guest, whose soul was ravished to behold what attention he paid her. when they had eaten, ganem took away, as he had covered the table; and having delivered all things at the door of the apartment to his slaves, "madam," said he to fetnah, "you may now perhaps desire to take some rest; i will leave you, and when you have reposed yourself, you shall find me ready to receive your commands." having thus spoken, he left her, and went to purchase two women- slaves. he also bought two parcels, one of fine linen, and the other of all such things as were proper to make up a toilet fit for the caliph's favourite. having conducted home the two women- slaves, he presented them to fetnah, saying, "madam, a person of your quality cannot be without two waiting-maids, at least, to serve you; be pleased to accept of these." fetnah, admiring ganem's attention, said, "my lord, i perceive you are not one that will do things by halves: you add by your courtesy to the obligations i owe you already; but i hope i shall not die ungrateful, and that heaven will soon place me in a condition to requite all your acts of generosity." when the women-slaves were withdrawn into a chamber adjoining, he sat down on the sofa, but at some distance from fetnah, in token of respect. he then began to discourse of his passion. "i dare not so much as hope," said he, "to excite the least sensibility in a heart like yours, destined for the greatest prince in the world. alas! it would be a comfort to me in my misfortune, if i could but flatter myself, that you have not looked upon the excess of my love with indifference." "my lord," answered fetnah "alas! madam," said ganem, interrupting her at the word lord, "this is the second time you have done me the honour to call me lord; the presence of the women-slaves hindered me the first time from taking notice of it to you: in the name of god, madam, do not give me this title of honour; it does not belong to me; treat me, i beseech you, as your slave: i am, and shall never cease to be so." "no, no," replied fetnah, interrupting him in her turn, "i shall be cautious how i treat with such disrespect a man to whom i owe my life. i should be ungrateful, could i say or do any thing that did not become you. leave me, therefore, to follow the dictates of my gratitude, and do not require of me, that i should misbehave myself towards you, in return for the benefits i have received. i shall never be guilty of such conduct; i am too sensible of your respectful behaviour to abuse it; and i will not hesitate to own, that i do not regard your care with indifference. you know the reasons that condemn me to silence." ganem was enraptured at this declaration; he wept for joy, and not being able to find expressions significant enough, in his own opinion, to return fetnah thanks, was satisfied with telling her, that as she knew what she owed to the caliph, he, on his part, was not ignorant "that what belongs to the master is forbidden to the slave." night drawing on, he rose up to fetch a light, which he brought in himself, as also a collation. they both sat down at table, and at first complimented each other on the fruit as they presented it reciprocally. the excellence of the wine insensibly drew them both to drink; and having drunk two or three glasses, they agreed that neither should take another glass without first singing some air. ganem sung verses ex tempore, expressive of the vehemence of his passion; and fetnah, encouraged by his example, composed and sung verses relating to her adventure, and always containing something which ganem might take in a sense favourable to himself; except in this, she most exactly observed the fidelity due to the caliph. the collation continued till very late, and the night was far advanced before they thought of parting. ganem then withdrew to another apartment, leaving fetnah where she was, the women slaves he had bought coming in to wait upon her. they lived together in this manner for several days. the young merchant went not abroad, unless upon of the utmost consequence, and even for that took the time when the lady was reposing; for he could not prevail upon himself to lose a moment that might be spent in her company. all his thoughts were taken up with his dear fetnah, who, on her side, gave way to her inclination, confessed she had no less affection for him than he had for her. however, fond as they were of each other, their respect for the caliph kept them within due bounds, which still heightened their passion. whilst fetnah, thus snatched from the jaws of death, passed her time so agreeably with ganem, zobeide was not without some apprehensions in the palace of haroon al rusheed. no sooner had the three slaves, entrusted with the execution of her revenge, carried away the chest, without knowing what it contained, or so much as the least curiosity to inquire (being used to pay a blind obedience to her commands), than she was seized with a tormenting uneasiness; a thousand perplexing thoughts disturbed her rest; sleep fled from her eyes, and she spent the night in contriving how to conceal her crime. "my consort," said she, "loves fetnah more than ever he did any of his favourites. what shall i say to him at his return, when he inquires of me after her?" many contrivances occurred to her, but none were satisfactory. still she met with difficulties, and knew not where to fix. there lived with her a lady advanced in years, who had bred her up from her infancy. as soon as it was day, she sent for her, and having entrusted her with the secret, said, "my good mother, you have always assisted me with your advice; if ever i stood in need of it, it is now, when the business before you is to still my thoughts, distracted by a mortal anxiety, and to show me some way to satisfy the caliph." "my dear mistress," replied the old lady, "it had been much better not to have run yourself into the difficulties you labour under; but since the thing is done, the best consolation is to think no more of it. all that must now be thought of, is how to deceive the commander of the believers; and i am of opinion, that you should immediately cause a wooden image resembling a dead body to be carved. we will shroud it up in linen, and when shut up in a coffin, it shall be buried in some part of the palace; you shall then immediately cause a marble mausoleum to be built, in the form of a dome, over the burial place, and erect a tomb, which shall be covered with embroidered cloth, and set about with great candlesticks and large wax tapers. there is another thing," added the old lady, "which ought not to be forgotten; you must put on mourning, and cause the same to be done by your own and fetnah's women, your eunuchs, and all the officers of the palace. when the caliph returns, and sees you all and the palace in mourning, he will not fail to ask the occasion of it. you will then have an opportunity of insinuating yourself into his favour, by saying, it was out of respect to him that you paid the last honours to fetnah, snatched away by sudden death. you may tell him, you have caused a mausoleum to be built, and, in short, that you have paid all the last honours to his favourite, as he would have done himself had he been present. his passion for her being extraordinary, he will certainly go to shed tears upon her grave; and perhaps," added the old woman, �`he will not believe she is really dead. he may, possibly, suspect you have turned her out of the palace through jealousy, and look upon all the mourning as an artifice to deceive him, and prevent his making inquiries after her. it is likely he will cause the coffin to be taken up and opened, and it is certain he will be convinced of her death, as soon as he shall see the figure of a dead body buried. he will be pleased with all you shall have done, and express his gratitude. as for the wooden image, i will myself undertake to have it cut by a carver in the city, who shall not know the purpose for which it is designed. as for your part, madam, order fetnah's woman, who yesterday gave her the lemonade, to give out, among her companions, that she has just found her mistress dead in her bed; and in order that they may only think of lamenting, without offering to go into her chamber, let her add, she has already acquainted you with the circumstance, and that you have ordered mesrour to cause her to be buried." as soon as the old lady had spoken, zobeide took a rich diamond ring out of her casket, and putting it on her finger, and embracing her in a transport of joy, said, "how infinitely am i beholden to you, my good mother! i should never have thought of so ingenious a contrivance. it cannot fail of success, and i begin to recover my peace. i leave the care of the wooden figure to you, and will go myself to order the rest." the wooden image was got ready with as much expedition as zobeide could have wished, and then conveyed by the old lady herself into fetnah's bed-chamber, where she dressed it like a dead body, and put it into a coffin. then mesrour, who was himself deceived by it, caused the coffin and the representation of fetnah to be carried away, and buried with the usual ceremonies in the place appointed by zobeide, the favourite's women weeping and lamenting, she who had given her the lemonade setting them an example by her cries and lamentations. that very day zobeide sent for the architect of the palace, and, according to orders, the mausoleum was finished in a short time. such potent princesses as the consort of a monarch, whose power extended from east to west, are always punctually obeyed in whatsoever they command. she soon put on mourning with all the court; so that the news of fetnah's death was quickly spread over the city. ganem was one of the last who heard of it; for, as i have before observed, he hardly ever went abroad. being, however, at length informed of it, "madam," said he to the caliph's fair favourite, "you are supposed in bagdad to be dead, and i do not question but that zobeide herself believes it. i bless heaven that i am the cause, and the happy witness of your being alive; would to god, that, taking advantage of this false report, you would share my fortune, and go far from hence to reign in my heart! but whither does this pleasing transport carry me? i do not consider that you are born to make the greatest prince in the world happy; and that only haroon al rusheed is worthy of you. supposing you could resolve to give him up for me, and that you would follow me, ought i to consent? no, it is my part always to remember, �that what belongs to the master is forbidden to the slave.'" the lovely fetnah, though moved by the tenderness of the passion he expressed, yet prevailed with herself not to encourage it. "my lord," said she to him, "we cannot obstruct the momentary triumph of zobeide. i am not surprised at the artifice she uses to conceal her guilt: but let her go on; i flatter myself that sorrow will soon follow her triumph. the caliph will return, and we shall find the means privately to inform him of all that has happened. in the mean time let us be more cautious than ever, that she may not know i am alive. i have already told you the consequences to be apprehended from such a discovery." at the end of three months the caliph returned to bagdad with glory, having vanquished all his enemies. he entered the palace with impatience to embrace fetnah; but was amazed to see all the officers in mourning; and his concern was redoubled when, approaching the apartment of zobeide, he beheld that princess coming to meet him in mourning with all her women. he immediately asked her the cause, with much agitation. "commander of the believers," answered zobeide, "i am in mourning for your slave fetnah; who died so suddenly that it was impossible to apply any remedy to her disorder." she would have proceeded, but the caliph did not give her time, being so agitated at the news, that he uttered a feeble exclamation, and fainted. on recovering himself, he, with a feeble voice, which sufficiently expressed his extreme grief, asked where his dear fetnah had been buried. "sir," said zobeide, "i myself took care of her funeral, and spared no cost to make it magnificent. i have caused a marble mausoleum to be built over her grave, and will attend you thither if you desire." the caliph would not permit zobeide to take that trouble, but contented himself to have mesrour to conduct him. he went thither just as he was, in his camp dress. when he saw the tomb, the wax- lights round it, and the magnificence of the mausoleum, he was amazed that zobeide should have performed the obsequies of her rival with so much pomp; and being naturally of a jealous temper, suspected his wife's generosity and fancied his mistress might perhaps be yet alive; that zobeide, taking advantage of his long absence, might have turned her out of the palace, ordering those she had entrusted to conduct her, to convey her so far off that she might never more be heard of. this was all he suspected; for he did not think zobeide wicked enough to have attempted the life of his favourite. the better to discover the truth himself, he ordered the tomb to be removed, and caused the grave and the coffin to be opened in his presence; but when he saw the linen wrapped round the wooden image, he durst not proceed any farther. this devout caliph thought it would be a sacrilegious act to suffer the body of the dead lady to be touched; and this scrupulous fear prevailed over his love and curiosity. he doubted not of fetnah's death. he caused the coffin to be shut up again, the grave to be filled, and the tomb to be made as it was before. the caliph thinking himself obliged to pay some respect to the grave of his favourite, sent for the ministers of religion, the officers of the palace, and the readers of the koraun; and, whilst they were collecting together, he remained in the mausoleum, moistening with his tears the marble that covered the phantom of his mistress. when all the persons he had sent for were come, he stood before the tomb, and recited long prayers; after which the readers of the koraun read several, chapters. the same ceremony was performed every day for a whole month, morning and evening, the caliph being always present, with the grand vizier, and the principal officers of the court, all of them in mourning, as well as the caliph himself, who all the time ceased not to honour the memory of fetnah with his tears, and would not hear of any business. the last day of the month, the prayers and reading of the koraun lasted from morning till break of day the next morning. the caliph, being tired with sitting up so long, went to take some rest in his apartment, and fell asleep upon a sofa, between two of the court ladies, one of them sitting at the bed's-head, and the other at the feet, who, whilst he slept, were working some embroidery, and observed a profound silence. she who sat at the bed's-head, and whose name was nouron-nihar, perceiving the caliph was asleep, whispered to the other, called nagmatos sohi,"there is great news! the commander of the believers our master will be overjoyed when he awakes, and hears what i have to tell him; fetnah is not dead, she is in perfect health." "o heavens!" cried nagmatos sohi, in a transport of joy, "is it possible, that the beautiful, the charming, the incomparable fetnah should be still among the living?" she uttered these words with so much vivacity, and so loud, that the caliph awoke. he asked why they had disturbed his rest? "alas! my sovereign lord," answered the slave, "pardon me this indiscretion; i could not without transport hear that fetnah is still alive; it caused such emotion in me, as i could not suppress." "what then is become of her," demanded the caliph, "if she is not dead?" "chief of the believers," replied the other, "i this evening received a note from a person unknown, written with fetnah's own hand; she gives me an account of her melancholy adventure, and orders me to acquaint you with it. i thought fit, before i fulfilled my commission, to let you take some few moments' rest, believing you must stand in need of it, after your fatigue; and----" "give me that note," said the caliph, interrupting her eagerly, "you were wrong to defer delivering it to me." the slave immediately presented to him the note, which he opened with much impatience, and in it fetnah gave a particular account of all that had befallen her, but enlarged a little too much on the attentions of ganem. the caliph, who was naturally jealous, instead of being provoked at the inhumanity of zobeide, was more concerned at the infidelity he fancied fetnah had been guilty of towards him. "is it so?" said he, after reading the note; "the perfidious wretch has been four months with a young merchant, and has the effrontery to boast of his attention to her. thirty days are past since my return to bagdad, and she now thinks of sending me news of herself. ungrateful creature! whilst i spend the days in bewailing her, she passes them in betraying me. go to, let us take vengeance of a bold woman, and that bold youth who affronts me." having spoken these words, the caliph rose, and went into a hall where he used to appear in public, and give audience to his court. the first gate was opened, and immediately all the courtiers, who were waiting without, entered. the grand vizier, came in, and prostrated himself before the throne. then rising, he stood before his master, who, in a tone which denoted he would be instantly obeyed, said to him, "jaaffier, your presence is requisite, for putting in execution an important affair i am about to commit to you. take four hundred men of my guards with you, and first inquire where a merchant of damascus lives whose name is ganem, the son of abou ayoub. when you have learnt this, repair to his house, and cause it to be razed to the foundations; but first secure ganem, and bring him hither, with my slave fetnah, who has lived with him these four months. i will punish her, and make an example of that insolent man, who has presumed to fail in respell to me." the grand vizier, having received this positive command, made a low prostration to the caliph, having his hand on his head, in token that he would rather lose it than disobey him, and departed. the first thing he did, was to send to the syndic of the dealers in foreign stuffs and silks, with strict orders to find out the house of the unfortunate merchant. the officer he sent with these orders brought him back word, that he had scarcely been seen for some months, and no man knew what could keep him at home, if he was there. the same officer likewise told jaaffier where ganem lived. upon this information, that minister, without losing time, went to the judge of the police, whom he caused to bear him company, and attended by a great number of carpenters and masons, with the necessary tools for razing a house, came to ganem's residence; and finding it stood detached from any other, he posted his soldiers round it, to prevent the young merchant's making his escape. fetnah and ganem had just dined: the lady was sitting at a window next the street; hearing a noise, she looked out through the lattice, and seeing the grand vizier, approach with his attendants, concluded she was their object as well as ganem. she perceived her note had been received, but had not expected such a consequence, having hoped that the caliph would have taken the matter in a different light. she knew not how long the prince had been returned from his campaign, and though she was acquainted with his jealous temper, yet apprehended nothing on that account. however, the sight of the grand vizier, and the soldiers made her tremble, not indeed for herself, but for ganem: she did not question clearing herself, provided the caliph would but hear her. as for ganem, whom she loved less out of gratitude than inclination, she plainly foresaw that his incensed rival might be apt to condemn him, on account of his youth and person. full of this thought, she turned to the young merchant and said, "alas! ganem, we are undone." ganem looked through the lattice, and was seized with dread, when he beheld the caliph's guards with their naked cimeters, and the grand vizier, with the civil magistrate at the head of them. at this sight he stood motionless, and had not power to utter one word. "ganem," said the favourite, "there is no time to be lost; if you love me, put on the habit of one of your slaves immediately, and disfigure your face and arms with soot. then put some of these dishes on your head; you may be taken for a servant belonging to the eating house, and they will let you pass. if they happen to ask you where the master of the house is, answer, without any hesitation, that he is within." "alas! madam," answered harem, concerned for himself than for fetnah, "you only take care of me, what will become of you?" "let not that trouble you," replied fetnah, "it is my part to look to that. as for what you leave in this house, i will take care of it, and i hope it will be one day faithfully restored to you, when the caliph's anger shall be over; but at present avoid his fury. the orders he gives in the heat of passion are always fatal." the young merchant's affliction was so great, that he knew not what course to pursue, and would certainly have suffered himself to be seized by the caliph's soldiers, had not fetnah pressed him to disguise himself. he submitted to her persuasions, put on the habit of a slave, daubed himself with soot, and as they were knocking at the door, all they could do was to embrace each other tenderly. they were both so overwhelmed with sorrow, that they could not utter a word. thus they parted. ganem went out with some dishes on his head: he was taken for the servant of an eating-house, and no one offered to stop him. on the contrary, the grand vizier, who was the first that met him, gave way and let him pass, little thinking that he was the man he looked for. those who were behind the grand vizier, made way as he had done, and thus favoured his escape he soon reached one of the gates, and got clear of the city. whilst he was making the best of his way from the grand vizier, that minister came into the room where fetnah was sitting on a sofa, and where there were many chests full of ganem's clothes, and of the money he had made of his goods. as soon as fetnah saw the grand vizier, come into the room, she fell upon her face, and continuing in that posture, as it were to receive her death; "my lord," said she, "i am ready to undergo the sentence passed against me by the commander of the believers; you need only make it known to me." "madam," answered jaaffier, falling also down till she had raised herself, "god forbid any man should presume to lay profane hands on you. i do not intend to offer you the least harm. i have no farther orders, than to intreat you will be pleased to go with me to the palace, and to conduct you thither, with the merchant that lives in this house." "my lord," replied the favourite, "let us go; i am ready to follow you. as for the young merchant, to whom i am indebted for my life, he is not here, he has been gone about a month since to damascus, whither his business called him, and has left these chests you see under my care, till he returns. i conjure you to cause them to be carried to the palace, and order them to be secured, that i may perform the promise i made him to take all possible care of them." "you shall be obeyed," said jaaffier, and immediately sent for porters, whom he commanded to take up the chests, and carry them to mesrour. as soon as the porters were gone, he whispered the civil magistrate, committing to him the care of seeing the house razed, but first to cause diligent search to be made for ganem, who, he suspected, might be hidden, notwithstanding what fetnah had told him. he then went out, taking her with him, attended by the two slaves who waited on her. as for ganem's slaves, they were not regarded; they ran in among the crowd, and it was not known what became of them. no sooner was jaaffier out of the house, than the masons and carpenters began to demolish it, and did their business so effectually, that in a few hours none of it remained. but the civil magistrate, not finding ganem, after the strictest search, sent to acquaint the grand vizier, before that minister reached the palace. "well," said haroon al rusheed, seeing him come into his closet, "have you executed my orders?" "yes," answered jaaffier "the house ganem lived in is levelled with the ground, and i have brought you your favourite fetnah; she is at your closet door, and i will call her in, if you command me. as for the young merchant, we could not find him, though every place has been searched, and fetnah affirms that he has been gone a month to damascus." never was passion equal to that of the caliph, when he heard that ganem had made his escape. as for his favourite, believing that she had been false to him, he would neither see nor speak to her. "mesrour," said he to the chief of the eunuchs, who was then present, "take the ungrateful and perfidious fetnah, and shut her up in the dark tower." that tower was within the precinct of the palace, and commonly served as a prison for the favourites who any way offended the caliph. mesrour being used to execute his sovereign's orders, however unjust, without making any answer, obeyed this with some reluctance. he signified his concern to fetnah, who was the more grieved because she had assured herself, that the caliph would not refuse to speak to her. she was obliged to submit to her hard fate, and to follow mesrour, who conducted her to the dark tower, and there left her. in the mean time, the enraged caliph dismissed his grand vizier, and only hearkening to his passion, wrote the following letter with his own hand to the king of syria, his cousin and tributary, who resided at damascus. "this letter is to inform you, that a merchant of damascus, whose name is ganem, the son of abou ayoub, has seduced the most amiable of my women slaves, called fetnah, and is fled. it is my will, that when you have read my letter, you cause search to be made for ganem, and secure him. when he is in your power, you shall cause him to be loaded with irons, and for three days successively let him receive fifty strokes of the bastinado. then let him be led through all parts of the city by a crier, proclaiming, �this is the smallest punishment the commander of the believers inflicts on him that offends his lord, and debauches one of his slaves.' after that you shall send him to me under a strong guard. it is my will that you cause his house to be plundered; and after it has been razed, order the materials to be carried out of the city into the middle of the plain. besides this, if he has father, mother, sister, wives, daughters, or other kindred, cause them to be stripped; and when they are naked, expose them three days to the whole city, forbidding any person on pain of death to afford them shelter. i expect you will without delay execute my command." the caliph having written this letter, dispatched it by an express, ordering him to make all possible speed, and to take pigeons along with him, that he might the sooner hear what had been done by mahummud zinebi. the pigeons of bagdad have this peculiar quality, that from wherever they may be carried to, they return to bagdad as soon as they are set at liberty, especially when they have young ones. a letter rolled up is made fast under their wing, and by that means advice is speedily received from such places as it is desired. the caliph's courier travelled night and day, as his master's impatience required; and being come to damascus, went directly to king zinebi's palace, who sat upon his throne to receive the caliph's letter. the courier having delivered it, mahummud looking at it, and knowing the hand, stood up to shew his respect, kissed the letter, and laid it on his head, to denote he was ready submissively to obey the orders it contained. he opened it, and having read it, immediately descended from his throne, and without losing time, mounted on horseback with the principal officers of his household. he sent for the civil magistrate; and went directly to ganem's house, attended by all his guards. ganem's mother had never received any letter from him since he had left damascus; but the other merchants with whom he went to bagdad were returned, and all of them told her they had left her son in perfect however, seeing he did not return, she could not but be persuaded that he was dead, and was so fully convinced of this in her imagination, that she went into mourning. she bewailed ganem as if she had seen him die, and had herself closed his eyes: never mother expressed greater sorrow; and so far was she from seeking any comfort, that she delighted in indulging her grief. she had caused a dome to be built in the middle of the court belonging to her house, in which she placed a tomb. she spent the greatest part of the days and nights in weeping under that dome, as if her son had been buried there: her daughter bore her company, and mixed her tears with hers. it was now some time since they had thus devoted themselves to sorrow, and the neighbourhood, hearing their cries and lamentations, pitied such tender relations, when king mahummud zinebi knocked at the door, which being opened by a slave belonging to the family, he hastily entered the house, inquiring for ganem, the son of abou ayoub. though the slave had never seen king zinebi, she guessed by his retinue that he must be one of the principal officers of damascus. "my lord," said she, "that ganem you inquire for is dead; my mistress, his mother, is in that monument, lamenting him." the king, not regarding what was said by the slave, caused all the house to be diligently searched by his guards for ganem. he then advanced towards the monument, where he saw the mother and daughter sitting on a mat, and their faces appeared to him bathed in tears. these poor women immediately veiled themselves, as soon as they beheld a man at the door of the dome; but the mother, knowing the king of damascus, got up, and ran to cast herself at his feet. "my good lady," said he, "i was looking for your son, ganem, is he here?" "alas! sir," cried the mother, "it is a long time since he has ceased to be: would to god i had at least put him into his coffin with my own hands, and had had the comfort of having his bones in this monument! o my son, my dear son!" she would have said more, but was oppressed with such violent sorrow that she was unable to proceed. zinebi was moved; for he was a prince of a mild nature, and had much compassion for the sufferings of the unfortunate. "if ganem alone be guilty," thought he to himself, "why should the mother and the daughter, who are innocent, be punished? ah! cruel haroon al rusheed! what a mortification do you put upon me, in making me the executioner of your vengeance, obliging me to persecute persons who have not offended you." the guards whom the king had ordered to search for ganem, came and told him their search had been vain. he was fully convinced of this; the tears of those two women would not leave him any room to doubt. it distracted him to be obliged to execute the caliph's order. "my good lady," said he to ganem's mother, "quit this monument with your daughter, it is no place of safety for you." they went out, and he, to secure them against any insult, took off his own robe, and covered them both with it, bidding them keep close to him. he then ordered the populace to be let in to plunder, which was performed with the utmost rapaciousness, and with shouts which terrified ganem's mother and sister the more, because they knew not the reason. the rabble carried off the richest goods, chests full of wealth, fine persian and indian carpets, cushions covered with cloth of gold and silver, fine china ware; in short, all was taken away, till nothing remained but the bare walls of the house: and it was a dismal spectacle for the unhappy ladies, to see all their goods plundered, without knowing why they were so cruelly treated. when the house was plundered, mahummud ordered the civil magistrate to raze the house and monument; and while that was doing, he carried away the mother and daughter to his palace. there it was he redoubled their affliction, by acquainting them with the caliph's will. "he commands me," said he to them, "to cause you to be stripped, and exposed naked for three days to the view of the people. it is with the utmost reluctance that i execute such a cruel and ignominious sentence." the king delivered these words with such an air, as plainly made it appear his heart was really pierced with grief and compassion. though the fear of being dethroned prevented his following the dictates of his pity, yet he in some measure moderated the rigour of the caliph's orders, by causing large shifts, without sleeves, to be made of coarse horse-hair for ganem's mother, and his sister. the next day, these two victims of the caliph's rage were stripped of their clothes, and their horse-hair shifts put upon them; their head-dress was also taken away, so that their dishevelled hair hung floating on their backs. the daughter had the finest hair, and it hung down to the ground. in this condition they were exposed to the people. the civil magistrate, attended by his officers, were along with them, and they were conducted through the city. a crier went before them, who every now and then cried, "this is the punishment due to those who have drawn on themselves the indignation of the commander of the believers." whilst they walked in this manner along the streets of damascus, with their arms and feet naked, clad in such a strange garment, and endeavouring to hide their confusion under their hair, with which they covered their faces, all the people were dissolved in tears; more especially the ladies, considering them as innocent persons, as they beheld them through their lattice windows, and being particularly moved by the daughter's youth and beauty, they made the air ring with their shrieks, as they passed before their houses. the very children, frightened at those shrieks, and at the spectacle that occasioned them, mixed their cries with the general lamentation. in short, had an enemy been in damascus, putting all to fire and sword, the consternation could not have been greater. it was near night when this dismal scene concluded. the mother and daughter were both conducted back to king mahummud's palace. not being used to walk bare-foot, they were so spent, that they lay a long time in a swoon. the queen of damascus, highly afflicted at their misfortunes, notwithstanding the caliph's prohibition to relieve them, sent some of her women to comfort them, with all sorts of refreshments and wine, to recover their spirits. the queen's women found them still in a swoon, and almost past receiving any benefit by what they offered them. however, with much difficulty they were brought to themselves. ganem's mother immediately returned them thanks for their courtesy. "my good madam," said one of the queen's ladies to her, "we are highly concerned at your affliction, and the queen of syria, our mistress, has done us a favour in employing us to assist you. we can assure you, that princess is much afflicted at your misfortunes, as well as the king her consort." ganem's mother entreated the queen's women to return her majesty a thousand thanks from her and her daughter, and then directing her discourse to the lady who spoke to her, "madam," said she, "the king has not told me why the chief of the believers inflicts so many outrages on us: pray be pleased to tell us what crimes we have been guilty of." "my good lady," answered the other, "the origin of your misfortunes proceeds from your son ganem. he is not dead, as you imagine. he is accused of having seduced the beautiful fetnah, the best beloved of the caliph's favourites; but having, by flight, withdrawn himself from that prince's indignation, the punishment is fallen on you. all condemn the caliph's resentment, but all fear him; and you see king zinebi himself dares not resist his orders, for fear of incurring his displeasure. all we can do is to pity you, and exhort you to have patience." "i know my son," answered ganem's mother; "i have educated him carefully, and in that respect which is due to the commander of the believers. he cannot have committed the crime he is accused of; i dare answer for his innocence. but i will cease to murmur and complain, since it is for him that i suffer, and he is not dead. o ganem!" added she, in a transport of affection and joy, "my dear son ganem! is possible that you are still alive? i am no longer concerned for the loss of my fortune; and how harsh and unjust soever the caliph's orders may be, i forgive him, provided heaven has preserved my son. i am only concerned for my daughter; her sufferings alone afflict me; yet i believe her to be so good a sister as to follow my example." on hearing these words, the young lady, who till then had appeared insensible, turned to her mother, and clasping her arms about her neck, "yes, dear mother," said she, "i will always follow your example, whatever extremity your love for my brother may reduce us to." the mother and daughter thus interchanging their sighs and tears, continued a considerable time in such moving embraces. in the mean time the queen's women, who were much affected at the spectacle, omitted no persuasions to prevail with ganem's mother to take some sustenance. she ate a morsel out of complaisance, and her daughter did the like. the caliph having ordered that ganem's kindred should be exposed three days successively to the sight of the people, in the condition already mentioned, the unhappy ladies afforded the same spectacle the second time next day, from morning till night. but that day and the following, the streets, which at first had been full of people, were now quite empty. all the merchants, incensed at the ill usage of abou ayoub's widow and daughter, shut up their shops, and kept themselves close within their houses. the ladies, instead of looking through their lattice windows, withdrew into the back parts of their houses. there was not a person to be seen in the public places through which those unfortunate women were carried. it seemed as if all the inhabitants of damascus had abandoned their city. on the fourth day, the king resolving punctually to obey the caliph's orders, though he did not approve of them, sent criers into all quarters of the city to make proclamation, strictly commanding all the inhabitants of damascus, and strangers, of what condition soever, upon pain of death, and having their bodies cast to the dogs to be devoured, not to receive ganem's mother and sister into their houses, or give them a morsel of bread or a drop of water, and, in a word, not to afford them the least support, or hold the least correspondence with them. when the criers had performed what the king had enjoined them, that prince ordered the mother and the daughter to be turned out of the palace, and left to their choice to go where they thought fit. as soon as they appeared, all persons fled from them, so great an impression had the late prohibition made upon all. they easily perceived that every body shunned them; but not knowing the reason, were much surprised; and their amazement was the greater, when coming into any street, or among any persons, they recollected some of their best friends, who immediately retreated with as much haste as the rest. "what is the meaning of this," said ganem's mother; "do we carry the plague about us? must the unjust and barbarous usage we have received render us odious to our fellow-citizens? come, my child," added she, "let us depart from damascus with all speed; let us not stay any longer in a city where we are become frightful to our very friends." the two wretched ladies, discoursing in this manner, came to one of the extremities of the city, and retired to a ruined house to pass the night. thither some mussulmauns, out of charity and compassion, resorted to them after the day was shut in. they carried them provisions, but durst not stay to comfort them, for fear of being discovered, and punished for disobeying the caliph's orders. in the mean time king zinebi had let fly a pigeon to give the caliph an account of his exact obedience. he informed him of all that had been executed, and conjured him to direct what he would have done with ganem's mother and sister. he soon received the caliph's answer in the same way, which was, that he should banish them from damascus for ever. immediately the king of syria sent men to the old house, with orders to take the mother and daughter, and to conduct them three days' journey from damascus, and there to leave them, forbidding them ever to return to the city. zinebi's men executed their commission, but being less exact their master, in the strict performance of the caliph's orders, they in pity gave the wretched ladies some small pieces of money, and each of them a scrip, which they hung about their necks, to carry their provisions. in this miserable state they came to the first village. the peasants' wives flocked about them, and, as it appeared through their disguise that they were people of some condition, asked them what was the occasion of their travelling in a habit that did not seem to belong to them. instead of answering the question, they fell to weeping, which only served to heighten the curiosity of the peasants, and to move their compassion. ganem's mother told them what she and her daughter had endured; at which the good countrywomen were sensibly afflicted, and endeavoured to comfort them. they treated them as well as their poverty would permit, took off their horse-hair shifts, which were very uneasy to them, and put on them others which they gave them, with shoes, and something to cover their heads, and save their hair. having expressed their gratitude to those charitable women, jalib al koolloob and her mother departed from that village, taking short journeys towards aleppo. they used at dusk to retire near or into the mosques, where they passed the night on the mat, if there was any, or else on the bare pavement; and sometimes rested in the public places appointed for the use of travellers. as for sustenance, they did not want, for they often came to places where bread, boiled rice, and other provisions are distributed to all travellers who desire it. at length they came to aleppo, but would not stay there, and continuing their journey towards the euphrates, crossed the river, and entered mesopotamia, which they traversed as far as moussoul. thence, notwithstanding all they had endured, they proceeded to bagdad. that was the place they had fixed their thoughts upon, hoping to find ganem, though they ought not to have fancied that he was in a city where the caliph resided; but they hoped, because they wished it; their affection for him increasing instead of diminishing, with their misfortunes. their conversation was generally about him, and they inquired for him of all they met. but let us leave jalib al koolloob and her mother, and return to fetnah. she was still confined closely in the dark tower, since the day that had been so fatal to ganem and herself. however, disagreeable as her prison was to her, it was much less grievous than the thoughts of ganem's misfortune, the uncertainty of whose fate was a killing affliction. there was scarcely a moment in which she did not lament him. the caliph was accustomed to walk frequently at night within the enclosure of his palace, for he was the most inquisitive prince in the world, and sometimes, by those night-walks, came to the knowledge of things that happened in his court, which would otherwise never have reached his ear. one of those nights, in his walk, he happened to pass by the dark tower, and fancying he heard somebody talk, stops, and drawing near the door to listen, distinctly heard these words, which fetnah, whose thoughts were always on ganem, uttered with a loud voice: "o ganem, too unfortunate ganem! where are you at this time, whither has thy cruel fate led thee? alas! it is i that have made you wretched! why did you not let me perish miserably, rather than afford me your generous relief? what melancholy return have you received for your care and respect? the commander of the faithful, who ought to have rewarded, persecutes you; and in requital for having always regarded me as a person reserved for his bed, you lose your fortune, and are obliged to seek for safety in flight. o caliph, barbarous caliph, how can you exculpate yourself, when you shall appear with ganem before the tribunal of the supreme judge, and the angels shall testify the truth before your face? all the power you are now invested with, and which makes almost the whole world tremble, will not prevent your being condemned and punished for your violent and unjust proceedings." here fetnah ceased her complaints, her sighs and tears putting a stop to her utterance. this was enough to make the caliph reflect. he plainly perceived, that if what he had heard was true, his favourite must be innocent, and that he had been too hasty in giving such orders against ganem and his family. being resolved to be rightly informed in an affair which so nearly concerned him in point of equity, on which he valued himself, he immediately returned to his apartment, and that moment ordered mesrour to repair to the dark tower, and bring fetnah before him. by this command, and much more by the caliph's manner of speaking, the chief of the eunuchs guessed that his master designed to pardon his favourite, and take her to him again. he was overjoyed at the thought, for he respected fetnah, and had been much concerned at her disgrace; therefore flying instantly to the tower, "madam," said he to the favourite, with such an air as expressed his satisfaction, "be pleased to follow me; i hope you will never more return to this melancholy abode: the commander of the faithful wishes to speak with you, and i draw from this a happy omen." fetnah followed mesrour, who conducted her into the caliph's closet. she prostrated herself before him, and so continued, her face bathed in tears. "fetnah," said the caliph, without bidding her rise, "i think you charge me with violence and injustice. who is he, that, notwithstanding the regard and respell he had for me, is in a miserable condition? speak freely, you know the natural goodness of my disposition, and that i love to do justice." by these words the favourite was convinced that the caliph had heard what she had said, and availed herself of so favourable an opportunity to clear ganem. "commander of the true believers," said she, "if i have let fall any word that is not agreeable to your majesty, i most humbly beseech you to forgive me; but he whose innocence and wretched state you desire to be informed of is ganem, the unhappy son of abou ayoub, late a rich merchant of damascus. he saved my life from a grave, and afforded me a sanctuary in his house. i must own, that, from the first moment he saw me, he perhaps designed to devote himself to me, and conceived hopes of engaging me to admit his love. i guessed at this, by the eagerness which he shewed in entertaining me, and doing me all the good offices i so much wanted under the circumstances i was then in; but as soon as he heard that i had the honour to belong to you, �ah, madam,' said he, �that which belongs to the master is forbidden to the slave.' from that moment, i owe this justice to his virtue to declare, his behaviour was always suitable to his words. you, commander of the true believers, well know with what rigour you have treated him, and you will answer for it before the tribunal of god." the caliph was not displeased with fetnah for the freedom of these words; "but may i," said he, "rely on the assurance you give me of ganem's virtue?" "yes," replied fetnah, "you may. i would not for the world conceal the truth from you; and to prove to you that i am sincere, i must make a confession, which perhaps may displease you, but i beg pardon of your majesty beforehand." "speak, daughter," said haroon al rusheed, "i forgive you all, provided you conceal nothing from me." "well, then," replied fetnah, "let me inform you, that ganem's respectful behaviour, joined to all the good offices he did me, gained him my esteem. i went further yet: you know the tyranny of love: i felt some tender inclination rising in my breast. he perceived it; but far from availing himself of my frailty, and notwithstanding the flame which consumed him, he still remained steady in his duty, and all that his passion could force from him were the words i have already repeated to your majesty, �that which belongs to the master is forbidden to the slave.'" this ingenuous confession might have provoked any other man than the caliph; but it completely appeased that prince. he commanded her to rise, and making her sit by him, "tell me your story," said he, "from the beginning to the end." she did so, with artless simplicity, passing slightly over what regarded zobeide, and enlarging on the obligations she owed to ganem; but above all, she highly extolled his discretion, endeavouring by that means to make the caliph sensible that she had been under the necessity of remaining concealed in ganem's house, to deceive zobeide. she concluded with the young merchant's escape, which she plainly told the caliph she had compelled him to, that he might avoid his indignation. when she had done speaking, the caliph said to her, "i believe all you have told me; but why was it so long before you let me hear from you? was there any need of staying a whole month after my return, before you sent me word where you were?" "commander of the true believers," answered fetnah, "ganem went abroad so very seldom, that you need not wonder we were not the first that heard of your return. besides, ganem, who took upon him to deliver the letter i wrote to nouron nihar, was a long time before he could find an opportunity of putting it into her own hands." "it is enough, fetnah," replied the caliph; "i acknowledge my fault, and would willingly make amends for it, by heaping favours on the young merchant of damascus. consider, therefore, what i can do for him. ask what you think fit, and i will grant it." hereupon the favourite fell down at the caliph's feet, with her face to the ground; and rising again, said, "commander of the true believers, after returning your majesty thanks for ganem, i most humbly entreat you to cause it to be published throughout your do minions, that you pardon the son of abou ayoub, and that he may safely come to you." "i must do more," rejoined the prince, "in requital for having saved your life, and the respect he has strewn for me, to make amends for the loss of his fortune. in short, to repair the wrong i have done to himself and his family, i give him to you for a husband." fetnah had no words expressive enough to thank the caliph for his generosity: she then withdrew into the apartment she had occupied before her melancholy adventure. the same furniture was still in it, nothing had been removed; but that which pleased her most was, to find ganem's chests and bales, which mesrour had received the caliph's orders to convey thither. the next day haroon al rusheed ordered the grand vizier, to cause proclamation to be made throughout all his dominions, that he pardoned ganem the son of abou ayoub; but this proved of no effect, for a long time elapsed without any news of the young merchant. fetnah concluded, that he had not been able to survive the pain of losing her. a dreadful uneasiness seized her mind; but as hope is the last thing which forsakes lovers, she entreated the caliph to give her leave to seek for ganem herself; which being granted, she took a purse containing a thousand pieces of gold, and went one morning out of the palace, mounted on a mule from the caliph's stables, very richly caparisoned. black eunuchs attended her, with a hand placed on each side of the mule's back. thus she went from mosque to mosque, bestowing her alms among the devotees of the mahummedan religion, desiring their prayers for the accomplishment of an affair, on which the happiness of two persons, she told them, depended. she spend the whole day and the thousand pieces of gold in giving alms at the mosques, and returned to the palace in the evening. the next day she took another purse of the same value, and in the like equipage as the day before, went to the square of the jewellers' shops, and stopping at the gateway without alighting, sent one of her black eunuchs for the syndic or chief of them. the syndic, who was a most charitable man, and spent above two- thirds of his income in relieving poor strangers, sick or in distress, did not make fetnah wait, knowing by her dress that she was a lady belonging to the palace. "i apply myself to you," said she, putting the purse into his hands, "as a person whose piety is celebrated throughout the city. i desire you to distribute that gold among the poor strangers you relieve, for i know you make it your business to assist those who apply to your charity. i am also satisfied that you prevent their wants, and that nothing is more grateful to you, than to have an opportunity of relieving their misery." "madam," answered the syndic, "i shall obey your commands with pleasure; but if you desire to exercise your charity in person, and will be pleased to step to my house, you will there see two women worthy of your compassion; i met them yesterday as they were coming into the city; they were in a deplorable condition, and it moved me the more, because i thought they were persons of rank. through all the rags that covered them, notwithstanding the impression the sun has made on their faces, i discovered a noble air, not to be commonly found in those people i relieve. i carried them both to my house, and delivered them to my wife, who was of the same opinion with me. she caused her slaves to provide them good beds, whilst she herself led them to our warm bath, and gave them clean linen. we know not as yet who they are, because we wish to let them take some rest before we trouble them with our questions." fetnah, without knowing why, felt a curiosity to see them. the syndic would have conducted her to his house, but she would not give him the trouble, and was satisfied that a slave should shew her the way. she alighted at the door, and followed the syndic's slave, who was gone before to give notice to his mistress, she being then in the chamber with jalib al koolloob and her mother, for they were the persons the syndic had been speaking of to fetnah. the syndic's wife being informed by the slave, that a lady from the palace was in her house, was hastening to meet her; but fetnah, who had followed the slave, did not give her time: on her coming into the chamber, the syndic's wife prostrated herself before her, to express the respect she had for all who belonged to the caliph. fetnah raised her up, and said, "my good lady, i desire you will let me speak with those two strangers that arrived at bagdad last night." "madam," answered the syndic's wife, "they lie in those beds you see by each other." the favourite immediately drew near the mother's, and viewing her carefully, "good woman," said she, "i come to offer you my assistance: i have considerable interest in this city, and may be of service to you and your companion." "madam," answered ganem's mother, "i perceive by your obliging offers, that heaven has not quite forsaken us, though we had cause to believe it had, after so many misfortunes as have befallen us." having uttered these words, she wept so bitterly that fetnah and the syndic's wife could not forbear letting fall some tears. the caliph's favourite having dried up hers, said to ganem's mother, "be so kind as to tell us your misfortunes, and recount your story. you cannot make the relation to any persons better disposed to use all possible means to comfort you." "madam," replied abou ayoub's disconsolate widow, "a favourite of the commander of the true believers, a lady whose name is fetnah, is the occasion of all our misfortunes." these words were like a thunderbolt to the favourite; but suppressing her agitation and concern, she suffered ganem's mother to proceed in the following manner: "i am the widow of abou ayoub, a merchant of damascus; i had a son called ganem, who, coming to trade at bagdad, has been accused of carrying off fetnah. the caliph caused search to be made for him every where, to put him to death; but not finding him, he wrote to the king of damascus, to cause our house to be plundered and razed, and to expose my daughter and myself three days successively, naked, to the populace, and then to banish us out of syria for ever. but how unworthy soever our usage has been, i should be still comforted were my son alive, and i could meet with him. what a pleasure would it be for his sister and me to see him again! embracing him we should forget the loss of our property, and all the evils we have suffered on his account. alas! i am fully persuaded he is only the innocent cause of them; and that he is no more guilty towards the caliph than his sister and myself." "no doubt of it," said fetnah, interrupting her there, "he is no more guilty than you are; i can assure you of his innocence; for i am that very fetnah, you so much complain of; who, through some fatality in my stars, have occasioned you so many misfortunes. to me you must impute the loss of your son, if he is no more; but if i have occasioned your misfortune, i can in some measure relieve it. i have already justified ganem to the caliph; who has caused it to be proclaimed throughout his dominions, that he pardons the son of abou ayoub; and doubt not he will do you as much good as he has done you injury. you are no longer his enemies. he waits for ganem, to requite the service he has done me, by uniting our fortunes; he gives me to him for his consort, therefore look on me as your daughter, and permit me to vow eternal duty and affection." "having so said, she bowed down on ganem's mother, who was so astonished that she could return no answer. fetnah held her long in her arms, and only left her to embrace the daughter, who, sitting up, held out her arms to receive her. when the caliph's favourite had strewn the mother and daughter all tokens of affection, as ganem's wife, she said to them, "the wealth ganem had in this city is not lost, it is in my apartment in the palace; but i know all the treasure of the world cannot comfort you without ganem, if i may judge of you by myself. blood is no less powerful than love in great minds; but why should we despair of seeing him again? we shall find him; the happiness of meeting with you makes me conceive fresh hopes. perhaps this is the last day of your sufferings, and the beginning of a greater felicity than you enjoyed in damascus, when ganem was with you." fetnah would have proceeded, but the syndic of the jewellers coming in interrupted her: "madam," said he to her, "i come from seeing a very moving object, it is a young man, whom a camel- driver had just carried to an hospital: he was bound with cords on a camel, because he had not strength enough to sit. they had already unbound him, and were carrying him into the hospital, when i happened to pass by. i went up to the young man, viewed him attentively, and fancied his countenance was not altogether unknown to me. i asked him some questions concerning his family and his country; but all the answers i could get were sighs and tears. i took pity on him, and being so much used to sick people, perceived that he had need to have particular care taken of him. i would not permit him to be put into the hospital; for i am too well acquainted with their way of managing the sick, and am sensible of the incapacity of the physicians. i have caused him to be brought to my own house, by my slaves; and they are now in a private room where i placed him, putting on some of my own linen, and treating him as they would do myself." fetnah's heart beat at these words of the jeweller, and she felt a sudden emotion, for which she could not account: "shew me," said she to the syndic, "into the sick man's room; i should be glad to see him." the syndic conducted her, and whilst she was going thither, ganem's mother said to jalib al koolloob, "alas! daughter, wretched as that sick stranger is, your brother, if he be living, is not perhaps in a more happy condition." the caliph's favourite coming into the chamber of the sick stranger, drew near the bed, in which the syndic's slaves had already laid him. she saw a young man, whose eyes were closed, his countenance pale, disfigured, and bathed in tears. she gazed earnestly on him, her heart beat, and she fancied she beheld ganem; but yet she would not believe her eyes. though she found something of ganem in the objets she beheld, yet in other respects he appeared so different, that she durst not imagine it was he that lay before her. unable, however, to withstand the earnest desire of being satisfied, "ganem," said she, with a trembling voice, "is it you i behold?" having spoken these words, she stopped to give the young man time to answer, but observing that he seemed insensible; "alas! ganem," added she, "it is not you that i address! my imagination being overcharged with your image, has given to a stranger a deceitful resemblance. the son of abou ayoub, however indisposed, would know the voice of fetnah." at the name of fetnah, ganem (for it was really he) opened his eyes, sprang up, and knowing the caliph's favourite; "ah! madam," said he, "by what miracle" he could say no more; such a sudden transport of joy seized him that he fainted away. fetnah and the syndic did all they could to bring him to himself; but as soon as they perceived he began to revive, the syndic desired the lady to withdraw, lest the sight of her should heighten his disorder. the young man having recovered, looked all around, and not seeing what he sought, exclaimed, "what is become of you, charming fetnah? did you really appear before my eyes, or was it only an illusion?" "no, sir," said the syndic, "it was no illusion. it was i that caused the lady to withdraw, but you shall see her again, as soon as you are in a condition to bear the interview. you now stand in need of rest, and nothing ought to obstruct your taking it. the situation of your affairs is altered, since you are, as i suppose, that ganem, in favour of whom the commander of the true believers has caused a proclamation to be made in bagdad, declaring, that he forgives him what is passed. be satisfied, for the present, with knowing so much; the lady, who just now spoke to you, will acquaint you with the rest, therefore think of nothing but recovering your health; i will contribute all in my power towards it." having spoke these words, he left ganem to take his rest, and went himself to provide for him such medicines as were proper to recover his strength, exhausted by hard living and toil. during this time fetnah was in the room with jalib al koolloob and her mother, where almost the same scene was acted over again; for when ganem's mother understood that the sick stranger whom the syndic had brought into his house was ganem himself, she was so overjoyed, that she also swooned away, and when, with the assistance of fetnah and the syndic's wife, she was again come to herself, she would have arisen to go and see her son; but the syndic coming in, hindered her, representing that ganem was so weak and emaciated, that it would endanger his life to excite in him those emotions, which must be the consequence of the unexpected sight of a beloved mother and sister. there was no occasion for the syndic's saying any more to ganem's mother; as soon as she was told that she could not converse with her son, without hazarding his life, she ceased insisting to go and see him. fetnah then said, "let us bless heaven for having brought us all together. i will return to the palace to give the caliph an account of these adventures, and tomorrow morning i will return to you." this said, she embraced the mother and the daughter, and went away. as soon as she came to the palace, she sent mesrour to request a private audience of the caliph, which was immediately granted; and being brought into the prince's closet, where he was alone, she prostrated herself at his feet, with her face on the ground, according to custom. he commanded her to rise, and having made her sit down, asked whether she had heard any news of ganem? "commander of the true believers," said she, "i have been so successful, that i have found him, and also his mother and sister." the caliph was curious to know how she had discovered them in so short a time, and she satisfied his inquiries, saying so many things in commendation of ganem's mother and sister, he desired to see them as well as the young merchant. though haroon al rusheed was passionate, and in his heat sometimes guilty of cruel actions; yet he was just, and the most generous prince in the world, when the storm of anger was over, and he was made sensible of the wrong he had done. having therefore no longer cause to doubt but that he had unjustly persecuted ganem and his family, and had publicly wronged them, he resolved to make them public satisfaction. "i am overjoyed," said he to fetnah, "that your search has proved so successful; it is a real satisfaction to me, not so much for your sake as for my own. i will keep the promise i have made you. you shall marry ganem, and i here declare you are no longer my slave; you are free. go back to that young merchant, and as soon as he has recovered his health, you shall bring him to me with his mother and sister." the next morning early fetnah repaired to the syndic of the jewellers, being impatient to hear of ganem's health, and tell the mother and daughter the good news she had for them. the first person she met was the syndic, who told her that ganem had rested well that night; and that his disorder proceeding altogether from melancholy, the cause being removed, he would soon recover his health. accordingly the son of abou ayoub was speedily much amended. rest, and the good medicines he had taken, but above all the different situation of his mind, had wrought so good an effect, that the syndic thought he might without danger see his mother, his sister, and his mistress, provided he was prepared to receive them; because there was ground to fear, that, not knowing his mother and sister were at bagdad, the sight of them might occasion too great surprise and joy. it was therefore resolved, that fetnah should first go alone into ganem's chamber, and then make a sign to the two other ladies to appear, when she thought it was proper. matters being so ordered, the syndic announced fetnah's coming to the sick man, who was so transported to see her, that he was again near fainting away, "well, ganem," said she, drawing near to his bed, "you have again found your fetnah, whom you thought you had lost for ever." "ah! madam," exclaimed he, eagerly interrupting her, "what miracle has restored you to my sight? i thought you were in the caliph's palace; he has doubtless listened to you. you have dispelled his jealousy, and he has restored you to his favour." "yes, my dear ganem," answered fetnah, "i have cleared myself before the commander of the true believers, who, to make amends for the wrong he has done you, bestows me on you for a wife." these last words occasioned such an excess of joy in ganem, that he knew not for a while how to express himself, otherwise than by that passionate silence so well known to lovers. at length he broke out in these words: "beautiful fetnah, may i give credit to what you tell me? may i believe that the caliph really resigns you to abou ayoub's son?" "nothing is more certain," answered the lady. "the caliph, who before caused search to be made for you, to take away your life, and who in his fury caused your mother and your sister to suffer a thousand indignities, desires now to see you, that he may reward the respect you had for him; and there is no question but that he will load your family with favours." ganem asked, what the caliph had done to his mother and sister, which fetnah told him; and he could not forbear letting fall some tears at the relation, notwithstanding the thoughts which arose in his mind at the prospect of being married to his mistress. but when fetnah informed him, that they were actually in bagdad, and in the same house with him, he appeared so impatient to see them, that the favourite could no longer defer giving him the satisfaction; and accordingly called them in. they were at the door waiting for that moment. they entered, went up to ganem, and embracing him in their turns, kissed him a thousand times. what tears were shed amidst those embraces! ganem's face was bathed with them, as well as his mother's and sisters; and fetnah let fall abundance. the syndic himself and his wife were so moved at the spectacle, that they could not forbear weeping, nor sufficiently admire the secret workings of providence which had brought together into their house four persons, whom fortune had so cruelly persecuted. when they had dried up their tears, ganem drew them afresh, by the recital of what he had suffered from the day he left fetnah, till the moment the syndic brought him to his house. he told them, that having taken refuge in a small village, he there fell sick; that some charitable peasants had taken care of him, but finding he did not recover, a camel-driver had undertaken to carry him to the hospital at bagdad. fetnah also told them all the uneasiness of her imprisonment, how the caliph, having heard her talk in the tower, had sent for her into his closet, and how she had cleared herself. in conclusion, when they had related what accidents had befallen them, fetnah said, "let us bless heaven, which has brought us all together again, and let us think of nothing but the happiness that awaits us. as soon as ganem has recovered his health, he must appear before the caliph, with his mother and sister; but i will go and make some provision for them." this said, she went to the palace, and soon returned with a purse containing a thousand pieces of gold, which she delivered to the syndic, desiring him to buy apparel for the mother and daughter. the syndic, who was a man of a good taste, chose such as were very handsome, and had them made up with all expedition. they were finished in three days, and ganem finding himself strong enough, prepared to go abroad; but on the day he had appointed to pay his respects to the caliph, while he was making ready, with his mother and sister, the grand vizier, jaaffier came to the syndic's house. he had come on horseback, attended by a great number of officers. "sir," said he to ganem, as soon as he entered, "i am come from the commander of the true believers, my master and yours; the orders i have differ much from those which i do not wish to revive in your memory; i am to bear you company, and to present you to the caliph, who is desirous to see you." ganem returned no other answer to the vizier's compliment, than by profoundly bowing his head, and then mounted a horse brought from the caliph's stables, which he managed very gracefully. the mother and daughter were mounted on mules belonging to the palace, and whilst fetnah on another mule led them by a bye-way to the prince's court, jaaffier conducted ganem, and brought him into the hall of audience. the caliph was sitting on his throne, encompassed with emirs, viziers, and. other attendants and courtiers, arabs, persians, egyptians, africans, and syrians, of his own dominions, not to mention strangers. when the vizier had conducted ganem to the foot of the throne, the young merchant paid his obeisance, prostrating himself with his face to the ground, and then rising, made a handsome compliment in verse, which, though the effusion of the moment, met with the approbation of the whole court. after his compliment, the caliph caused him to approach, and said, "i am glad to see you, and desire to hear from your own mouth where you found my favourite, and all that you have done for her." ganem obeyed, and appeared so sincere, that the caliph was convinced of his veracity. he ordered a very rich vest to be given him, according to the custom observed towards those who are admitted to audience. after which he said to him, "ganem, i will have you live in my court." "commander of the true believers," answered the young merchant, "a slave has no will but his master's, on whom his life and fortune depend." the caliph was highly pleased with ganem's reply, and assigned him a considerable pension. he then descended from his throne, and causing only ganem and the grand vizier, follow him, retired into his own apartment. not questioning but that fetnah was in waiting, with abou ayoub's widow and daughter, he caused them to be called in. they prostrated themselves before him: he made them rise; and was so charmed by jalib al koolloob's beauty, that, after viewing her very attentively, he said, "i am so sorry for having treated your charms so unworthily, that i owe them such a satisfaction as may surpass the injury i have done. i take you to wife; and by that means shall punish zobeide, who shall become the first cause of your good fortune, as she was of your past sufferings. this is not all," added he, turning towards ganem's mother; "you are still young, i believe you will not disdain to be allied to my grand vizier, i give you to jaaffier, and you, fetnah, to ganem. let a cauzee and witnesses be called, and the three contracts be drawn up and signed immediately." ganem would have represented to the caliph, that it would be honour enough for his sister to be one of his favourites; but he was resolved to marry her. haroon thought this such an extraordinary story, that he ordered his historiographer to commit it to writing with all its circumstances. it was afterwards laid up in his library, and many copies being transcribed, it became public. end of volume . christine sturrock. the "aldine" edition of the arabian nights entertainments illustrated by s. l. wood from the text of dr. jonathan scott in four volumes volume only copies of the small paper edition are printed for america, of which this is no. london pickering and chatto the publishers' preface. this, the "aldine edition" of "the arabian nights entertainments," forms the first four volumes of a proposed series of reprints of the standard works of fiction which have appeared in the english language. it is our intention to publish the series in an artistic way, well illustrating a text typographically as perfect as possible. the texts in all cases will be carefully chosen from approved editions. the series is intended for those who appreciate well printed and illustrated books, or who are in want of a handy and handsome edition of such works to place upon their bookshelves. the exact origin of the tales, which appear in the arabic as "the thousand and one nights," is unknown. the caliph haroon al rusheed, who, figures in so lifelike a manner in many of the stories, was a contemporary of the emperor charlemagne, and there is internal evidence that the collection was made in the arabic language about the end of the tenth century. they undoubtedly convey a picturesque impression of the manners, sentiments, and customs of eastern mediaeval life. the stories were translated from the arabic by m. galland and first found their way into english in , when they were retranslated from m. galland's french text and at once became exceedingly popular. this process of double translation had great disadvantages; it induced dr. jonathan scott, oriental professor, to publish in , a new edition, revised and corrected from the arabic. it is upon this text that the present edition is formed. it will be found free from that grossness which is unavoidable in a strictly literal translation of the original into english; and which has rendered the splendid translations of sir r. burton and mr. j. payne quite unsuitable as the basis of a popular edition, though at the same time stamping the works as the two most perfect editions for the student. the scholarly translation of lane, by the too strict an adherence to oriental forms of expression, and somewhat pedantic rendering of the spelling of proper names, is found to be tedious to a very large number of readers attracted by the rich imagination, romance, and humour of these tales. contents of volume i. the ass, the ox, and the labourer. the merchant and the genie. the story of the first old man and the hind. the story of the second old man and the two black dogs. the story of the fisherman. the story of the grecian king and the physician douban. the story of the husband and the parrot. the story of the vizier that was punished. the history of the young king of the black isles. story of the three calenders, sons of sultans; and of the five ladies of bagdad. the history of the first calender. the story of the second calender. the story of the envious man, and of him that he envied. the history of the third calender. the story of zobeide. the story of amene. the story of sinbad the voyager. the first voyage. the second voyage. the third voyage. the fourth voyage. the fifth voyage. the sixth voyage. the seventh and last voyage. the three apples. the story of the lady who was murdered, and of the young man her husband. the story of noor ad deen ali and buddir ad deen houssun. the history of ganem, son of abou ayoub, and known by the surname of love's slave. the arabian nights entertainments. the chronicles of the sassanians, ancient kings of persia, who extended their empire into the indies, over all the adjacent islands, and a great way beyond the ganges, as far as china, acquaint us, that there was formerly a king of that potent family, who was regarded as the most excellent prince of his time. he was as much beloved by his subjects for his wisdom and prudence, as he was dreaded by his neighbours, on account of his velour, and well-disciplined troops. he had two sons; the elder shier-ear, the worthy heir of his father, and endowed with all his virtues; the younger shaw-zummaun, a prince of equal merit. after a long and glorious reign, this king died; and shier-ear mounted his throne. shaw-zummaun, being excluded from all share in the government by the laws of the empire, and obliged to live a private life, was so far from envying the happiness of his brother, that he made it his whole business to please him, and in this succeeded without much difficulty. shier-ear, who had naturally a great affection the prince his brother, gave him the kingdom of great tartary. shaw-zummaun went immediately and took possession of it, and fixed the seat of his government at samarcand, the metropolis of the country. after they had been separated ten years, shier-ear, being very desirous of seeing his brother, resolved to send an ambassador to invite him to his court. he made choice of his prime vizier for the embassy, and sent him to tartary, with a retinue answerable to his dignity. the vizier proceeded with all possible expedition to samarcand. when he came near the city, shaw-zummaun was informed of his approach, and went to meet him attended by the principal lords of his court, who, to shew the greater honour to the sultan's minister, appeared in magnificent apparel. the king of tartary received the ambassador with the greatest demonstrations of joy; and immediately asked him concerning the welfare of the sultan his brother. the vizier having acquainted him that he was in health, informed him of the purpose of his embassy. shaw-zummaun was much affected, and answered: "sage vizier, the sultan my brother does me too much honour; nothing could be more agreeable to me, for i as ardently long to see him as he does to see me. time has not diminished my friendship more than his. my kingdom is in peace, and i want no more than ten days to get myself ready to return with you. there is therefore no necessity for your entering the city for so short a period. i pray you to pitch your tents here, and i will order everything necessary to be provided for yourself and your attendants." the vizier readily complied; and as soon as the king returned to the city, he sent him a prodigious quantity of provisions of all sorts, with presents of great value. in the meanwhile, shaw-zummaun prepared for his journey, gave orders about his most important affairs, appointed a council to govern in his absence, and named a minister, of whose wisdom he had sufficient experience, and in whom he had entire confidence, to be their president. at the end of ten days, his equipage being ready, he took leave of the queen his wife, and went out of town in the evening with his retinue. he pitched his royal pavilion near the vizier's tent, and conversed with him till midnight. wishing once more to see the queen, whom he ardently loved, he returned alone to his palace, and went directly to her majesty's apartments. but she, not expecting his return, had taken one of the meanest officers of her household to her bed. the king entered without noise, and pleased himself to think how he should surprise his wife who he thought loved him with reciprocal tenderness. but how great was his astonishment, when, by the light of the flambeau, he beheld a man in her arms! he stood immovable for some time, not knowing how to believe his own eyes. but finding there was no room for doubt, "how!" said he to himself, "i am scarcely out of my palace, and but just under the walls of samarcand, and dare they put such an outrage upon me? perfidious wretches! your crime shall not go unpunished. as a king, i am bound to punish wickedness committed in my dominions; and as an enraged husband, i must sacrifice you to my just resentment." the unfortunate prince, giving way to his rage, then drew his cimeter, and approaching the bed killed them both with one blow, their sleep into death; and afterwards taking them up, he threw them out of a window into the ditch that surrounded the palace. having thus avenged himself, he returned to his pavilion without saying one word of what had happened, gave orders that the tents should be struck, and everything made ready for his journey. all was speedily prepared, and before day he began his march, with kettle-drums and other instruments of music, that filled everyone with joy, excepting the king; he was so much afflicted by the disloyalty of his wife, that he was seized with extreme melancholy, which preyed upon his spirits during the whole of his journey. when he drew near the capital of the indies, the sultan shier-ear and all his court came out to meet him. the princes were overjoyed to see one another, and having alighted, after mutual embraces and other marks of affection and respect, remounted, and entered the city, amidst the acclamations of the people. the sultan conducted his brother to the palace provided for him, which had a communication with his own by a garden. it was so much the more magnificent as it was set apart as a banqueting-house for public entertainments, and other diversions of the court, and its splendour had been lately augmented by new furniture. shier-ear immediately left the king of tartary, that he might give him time to bathe, and to change his apparel. as soon as he had done, he returned to him again, and they sat down together on a sofa or alcove. the courtiers out of respect kept at a distance, and the two princes entertained one another suitably to their friendship, their consanguinity, and their long separation. the time of supper being come, they ate together, after which they renewed their conversation, which continued till shier-ear, perceiving that it was very late, left his brother to repose. the unfortunate shaw-zummaun retired to bed. though the conversation of his brother had suspended his grief for some time, it returned again with increased violence; so that, instead of taking his necessary rest, he tormented himself with the bitterest reflections. all the circumstances of his wife's disloyalty presented themselves afresh to his imagination, in so lively a manner, that he was like one distracted being able to sleep, he arose, and abandoned himself to the most afflicting thoughts, which made such an impression upon his countenance, as it was impossible for the sultan not to observe. "what," said he, "can be the matter with the king of tartary that he is so melancholy? has he any cause to complain of his reception? no, surely; i have received him as a brother whom i love, so that i can charge myself with no omission in that respect. perhaps it grieves him to be at such a distance from his dominions, or from the queen his wife? if that be the case, i must forthwith give him the presents i designed for him, that he may return to samarcand." accordingly the next day shier-ear sent him part of those presents, being the greatest rarities and the richest things that the indies could afford. at the same time he endeavoured to divert his brother every day by new objects of pleasure, and the most splendid entertainments. but these, instead of affording him ease, only increased his sorrow. one day, shier-ear having appointed a great hunting-match, about two days journey from his capital, in a place that abounded with deer, shaw-zummaun besought him to excuse his attendance, for his health would not allow him to bear him company. the sultan, unwilling to put any constraint upon him, left him at his liberty, and went a-hunting with his nobles. the king of tartary being thus left alone, shut himself up in his apartment, and sat down at a window that looked into the garden. that delicious place, and the sweet harmony of an infinite number of birds, which chose it for their retreat, must certainly have diverted him, had he been capable of taking pleasure in anything; but being perpetually tormented with the fatal remembrance of his queen's infamous conduct, his eyes were not so much fixed upon the garden, as lifted up to heaven to bewail his misfortune. while he was thus absorbed in grief, a circumstance occurred which attracted the whole of his attention. a secret gate of the sultan's palace suddenly opened, and there came out of it twenty women, in the midst of whom walked the sultaness, who was easily distinguished from the rest by her majestic air. this princess thinking that the king of tartary was gone a-hunting with his brother the sultan, came with her retinue near the windows of his apartment. for the prince had so placed himself that he could see all that passed in the garden without being perceived himself. he observed, that the persons who accompanied the sultaness threw off their veils and long robes, that they might be more at their ease, but he was greatly surprised to find that ten of them were black men, and that each of these took his mistress. the sultaness, on her part, was not long without her gallant. she clapped her hands, and called "masoud, masoud," and immediately a black descended from a tree, and ran towards her with great speed. modesty will not allow, nor is it necessary, to relate what passed between the blacks and the ladies. it is sufficient to say, that shaw-zummaun saw enough to convince him, that his brother was as much to be pitied as himself. this amorous company continued together till midnight, and having bathed together in a great piece of water, which was one of the chief ornaments of the garden, they dressed themselves, and re-entered the palace by the secret door, all except masoud, who climbed up his tree, and got over the garden wall as he had come in. these things having passed in the king of tartary's sight, filled him with a multitude of reflections. "how little reason had i," said he, "to think that none was so unfortunate as myself? it is surely the unavoidable fate of all husbands, since even the sultan my brother, who is sovereign of so-many dominions, and the greatest prince of the earth, could not escape. such being the case, what a fool am i to kill myself with grief? i am resolved that the remembrance of a misfortune so common shall never more disturb my peace." from that moment he forbore afflicting himself. he called for his supper, ate with a better appetite than he had done since his leaving samarcand, and listened with some degree of pleasure to the agreeable concert of vocal and instrumental music that was appointed to entertain him while at table. he continued after this very cheerful; and when he was informed that the sultan was returning, went to meet him, and paid him his compliments with great gaiety. shier-ear at first took no notice of this alteration. he politely expostulated with him for not bearing him company, and without giving him time to reply, entertained him with an account of the great number of deer and other game they had killed, and the pleasure he had received in the chase. shaw-zummaun heard him with attention; and being now relieved from the melancholy which had before depressed his spirits, and clouded his talents, took up the conversation in his turn, and spoke a thousand agreeable and pleasant things to the sultan. shier-ear, who expected to have found him in the same state as he had left him, was overjoyed to see him so cheerful: "dear brother," said he, "i return thanks to heaven for the happy change it has wrought in you during my absence. i am indeed extremely rejoiced. but i have a request to make to you, and conjure you not to deny me." "i can refuse you nothing," replied the king of tartary; "you may command shaw-zummaun as you please: speak, i am impatient to know what you desire of me." "ever since you came to my court," resumed shier-ear, "i have found you immersed in a deep melancholy, and i have in vain attempted to remove it by different diversions. i imagined it might be occasioned by your distance from your dominions, or that love might have a great share in it; and that the queen of samarcand, who, no doubt, is an accomplished beauty, might be the cause. i do not know whether i am mistaken in my conjecture; but i must own, that it was for this very reason i would not importune you upon the subject, for fear of making you uneasy. but without myself contributing anything towards effecting the change, i find on my return that your mind is entirely delivered from the black vapour which disturbed it. pray do me the favour to tell me why you were so melancholy, and wherefore you are no longer so." the king of tartary continued for some time as if he had been meditating and contriving what he should answer; but at last replied, "you are my sultan and master; but excuse me, i beseech you, from answering your question." "no, dear brother," said the sultan, "you must answer me, i will take no denial." shaw-zummaun, not being able to withstand these pressing entreaties, replied, "well then, brother, i will satisfy you, since you command me;" and having told him the story of the queen of samarcand's treachery "this," said he, "was the cause of my grief; judge whether i had not sufficient reason for my depression." "o! my brother," said the sultan, (in a tone which shewed what interest he took in the king of tartary's affliction), "what a horrible event do you tell me! i commend you for punishing the traitors who offered you such an outrage. none can blame you for what you have done. it was just; and for my part, had the case been mine, i should scarcely have been so moderate. i could not have satisfied myself with the life of one woman; i should have sacrificed a thousand to my fury. i now cease to wonder at your melancholy. the cause was too afflicting and too mortifying not to overwhelm you. o heaven! what a strange adventure! nor do i believe the like ever befell any man but yourself. but i must bless god, who has comforted you; and since i doubt not but your consolation is well-grounded, be so good as to inform me what it is, and conceal nothing from me." shaw-zummaun was not so easily prevailed upon in this point as he had been in the other, on his brother's account. but being obliged to yield to his pressing instances, answered, "i must obey you then, since your command is absolute, yet i am afraid that my obedience will occasion your trouble to be greater than my own. but you must blame yourself, since you force me to reveal what i should otherwise have buried in eternal oblivion." "what you say," answered shier-ear, "serves only to increase my curiosity. discover the secret, whatever it be." the king of tartary being no longer able to refuse, related to him the particulars of the blacks in disguise, of the ungoverned passion of the sultaness, and her ladies; nor did he forget masoud. after having been witness to these infamous actions, he continued, "i believed all women to be naturally lewd; and that they could not resist their inclination. being of this opinion, it seemed to me to be in men an unaccountable weakness to place any confidence in their fidelity. this reflection brought on many others; and in short, i thought the best thing i could do was to make myself easy. it cost me some pains indeed, but at last i grew reconciled; and if you will take my advice, you will follow my example." though the advice was good, the sultan could not approve of it, but fell into a rage. "what!" said he, "is the sultaness of the indies capable of prostituting herself in so base a manner! no, brother, i cannot believe what you state unless i beheld it with my own eyes. yours must needs have deceived you; the matter is so important that i must be satisfied of it myself." "dear brother," answered shaw-zummaun, "that you may without much difficulty. appoint another hunting-match, and when we are out of town with your court and mine, we will rest under our tents, and at night let you and i return unattended to my apartments. i am certain the next day you will see a repetition of the scene." the sultan approving the stratagem, immediately appointed another hunting-match. and that same day the tents were pitched at the place appointed. the next day the two princes set out with all their retinue; they arrived at the place of encampment, and stayed there till night. shier-ear then called his grand vizier, and, without acquainting him with his design, commanded him during his absence to suffer no person to quit the camp on any presence whatever. as soon as he had given this order, the king of grand tartary and he took horse, passed through the camp incognito, returned to the city, and went to shaw-zummaun's apartment. they had scarcely placed themselves in the window whence the king of tartary had beheld the scene of the disguised blacks, when the secret gate opened, the sultaness and her ladies entered the garden with the blacks, and she having called to masoud, the sultan saw more than enough fully to convince him of his dishonour and misfortune. "oh heavens!" he exclaimed, "what indignity! what horror! can the wife of a sovereign be capable of such infamous conduct? after this, let no prince boast of being perfectly happy. alas! my brother," continued he, embracing the king of tartery, "let us both renounce the world, honour is banished out of it; if it flatter us one day, it betrays us the next. let us abandon our dominions, and go into foreign countries, where we may lead an obscure life, and conceal our misfortunes." shaw-zummaun did not at all approve of this plan, but did not think fit to contradict shierear in the heat of his passion. "dear brother," he replied, "your will shall be mine. i am ready to follow you whithersoever you please: but promise me that you will return, if we meet with any one more unhappy than ourselves." "to this i agree," said the sultan, "but doubt much whether we shall." "i am not of your opinion in this," replied the king of tartary; "i fancy our journey will be but short." having thus resolved, they went secretly out of the palace. they travelled as long as day-light continued; and lay the first night under trees. they arose about break of day, went on till they came to a fine meadow on the seashore, that was be-sprinkled with large trees they sat down under one of them to rest and refresh themselves, and the chief subject of their conversation was the infidelity or their wives. they had not rested long, before they heard a frightful noise from the sea, and a terrible cry, which filled them with fear. the sea then opened, and there arose something like a great black column, which reached almost to the clouds. this redoubled their terror, made them rise with haste, and climb up into a tree to bide themselves. they had scarcely got up, when looking to the place from whence the noise proceeded, and where the sea had opened, they observed that the black column advanced, winding about towards the shore, cleaving the water before it. they could not at first think what this could mean, but in a little time they found that it was one of those malignant genies that are mortal enemies to mankind, and are always doing them mischief. he was black and frightful, had the shape of a giant, of a prodigious stature, and carried on his head a large glass box, fastened with four locks of fine steel. he entered the meadow with his burden, which he laid down just at the foot of the tree where the two princes were concealed, who gave themselves over as lost. the genie sat down by his box, and opening it with four keys that he had at his girdle, there came out a lady magnificently appareled, of a majestic stature, and perfect beauty. the monster made her sit down by him, and eyeing her with an amorous look, said, "lady, nay, most accomplished of all ladies who are admired for their beauty, my charming mistress, whom i carried off on your wedding-day, and have loved so constantly ever since, let me sleep a few moments by you; for i found myself so very drowsy that i came to this place to take a little rest." having spoken thus, he laid down his huge head upon the lady's knees, and stretching out his legs, which reached as far as the sea, he fell asleep presently, and snored so loud that he made the shores echo. the lady happening at this time to look up, saw the two princes in the tree, and made a sign to them with her hand to come down without making any noise. their fear was extreme when they found themselves discovered, and they prayed the lady, by other signs, to excuse them. but she, after having laid the monster's head softly on the ground, rose up and spoke to them, with a low but eager voice, to come down to her; she would take no denial. they informed her by signs that they were afraid of the genie, and would fain have been excused. upon which she ordered them to come down, and threatened if they did not make haste, to awaken the genie, and cause him to put them to death. these words so much intimidated the princes, that they began to descend with all possible precaution lest they should awake the genie. when they had come down, the lady took them by the hand, and going a little farther with them under the trees, made them a very urgent proposal. at first they rejected it, but she obliged them to comply by her threats. having obtained what she desired, she perceived that each of them had a ring on his finger, which she demanded. as soon as she had received them, she pulled out a string of other rings, which she shewed the princes, and asked them if they knew what those jewels meant? "no," said they, "we hope you will be pleased to inform us." "these are," she replied, "the rings of all the men to whom i have granted my favours. there are fourscore and eighteen, which i keep as memorials of them; and i asked for yours to make up the hundred. so that i have had a hundred gallants already, notwithstanding the vigilance of this wicked genie, who never leaves me. he may lock me up in this glass box and hide me in the bottom of the sea; but i find methods to elude his vigilance. you may see by this, that when a woman has formed a project, there is no husband or lover that can prevent her from putting it in execution. men had better not put their wives under such restraint, as it only serves to teach them cunning." having spoken thus to them, she put their rings on the same string with the rest, and sitting down by the monster, as before, laid his head again upon her lap, end made a sign to the princes to depart. they returned immediately the way they had come, and when they were out of sight of the lady and the genie shier-ear said to shaw-zummaun "well, brother, what do you think of this adventure? has not the genie a very faithful mistress? and do you not agree that there is no wickedness equal to that of women?" "yes, brother," answered the king of great tartary; "and you must also agree that the monster is more unfortunate, and more to be pitied than ourselves. therefore, since we have found what we sought for, let us return to our dominions, and let not this hinder us from marrying. for my part, i know a method by which to preserve the fidelity of my wife inviolable. i will say no more at present, but you will hear of it in a little time, and i am sure you will follow my example." the sultan agreed with his brother; and continuing their journey, they arrived in the camp the third night after their departure. the news of the sultan's return being spread, the courtiers came betimes in the morning before his pavilion to wait his pleasure. he ordered them to enter, received them with a more pleasant air than he had formerly done, and gave each of them a present. after which, he told them he would go no farther, ordered them to take horse, and returned with expedition to his palace. as soon as he arrived, he proceeded to the sultaness's apartment, commanded her to be bound before him, and delivered her to his grand vizier, with an order to strangle her, which was accordingly executed by that minister, without inquiring into her crime. the enraged prince did not stop here, but cut off the heads of all the sultaness's ladies with his own hand. after this rigorous punishment, being persuaded that no woman was chaste, he resolved, in order to prevent the disloyalty of such as he should afterwards marry, to wed one every night, and have her strangled next morning. having imposed this cruel law upon himself, he swore that he would put it in force immediately after the departure of the king of tartary, who shortly took leave of him, and being laden with magnificent presents, set forward on his journey. shaw-zummaun having departed, shier-ear ordered his grand vizier to bring him the daughter of one of his generals. the vizier obeyed. the sultan lay with her, and putting her next morning into his hands again in order to have her strangled, commanded him to provide him another the next night. whatever reluctance the vizier might feel to put such orders in execution, as he owed blind obedience to the sultan his master, he was forced to submit. he brought him then the daughter of a subaltern, whom he also put to death the next day. after her he brought a citizen's daughter; and, in a word, there was every day a maid married, and a wife murdered. the rumour of this unparalleled barbarity occasioned a general consternation in the city, where there was nothing but crying and lamentation. here, a father in tears, and inconsolable for the loss of his daughter; and there, tender mothers dreating lest their daughters should share the same fate, filling the air with cries of distress and apprehension. so that, instead of the commendation and blessings which the sultan had hitherto received from his subjects, their mouths were now filled with imprecations. the grand vizier who, as has been already observed, was the unwilling executioner of this horrid course of injustice, had two daughters, the elder called scheherazade, and the younger dinarzade. the latter was highly accomplished; but the former possessed courage, wit, and penetration, infinitely above her sex. she had read much, and had so admirable a memory, that she never forgot any thing she had read. she had successfully applied herself to philosophy, medicine, history, and the liberal arts; and her poetry excelled the compositions of the best writers of her time. besides this, she was a perfect beauty, and all her accomplishments were crowned by solid virtue. the vizier loved this daughter, so worthy of his affection. one day, as they were conversing together, she said to him, "father, i have one favour to beg of you, and most humbly pray you to grant it." "i will not refuse," answered he, "provided it be just and reasonable." "for the justice of it," resumed she, "there can be no question, and you may judge of this by the motive which obliges me to make the request. i wish to stop that barbarity which the sultan exercises upon the families of this city. i would dispel those painful apprehensions which so many mothers feel of losing their daughters in such a fatal manner." "your design, daughter," replied the vizier "is very commendable; but the evil you would remedy seems to me incurable. how do you propose to effect your purpose?" "father," said scheherazade, "since by your means the sultan makes every day a new marriage, i conjure you, by the tender affection you bear me, to procure me the honour of his bed." the vizier could not hear this without horror. "o heaven!" he replied in a passion, "have you lost your senses, daughter, that you make such a dangerous request? you know the sultan has sworn, that he will never lie above one night with the same woman, and to command her to be killed the next morning; would you then have me propose you to him? consider well to what your indiscreet zeal will expose you." "yes, dear father," replied the virtuous daughter, "i know the risk i run; but that does not alarm me. if i perish, my death will be glorious; and if i succeed, i shall do my country an important service." "no, no," said the vizier "whatever you may offer to induce me to let you throw yourself into such imminent danger, do not imagine that i will ever consent. when the sultan shall command me to strike my poniard into your heart, alas! i must obey; and what an employment will that be for a father! ah! if you do not dread death, at least cherish some fears of afflicting me with the mortal grief of imbuing my hands in your blood." "once more father," replied scheherazade, "grant me the favour i solicit." "your stubbornness," resumed the vizier "will rouse my anger; why will you run headlong to your ruin? they who do not foresee the end of a dangerous enterprise can never conduct it to a happy issue. i am afraid the same thing will happen to you as befell the ass, which was well off, but could not remain so." "what misfortune befell the ass?" demanded scheherazade. "i will tell you," replied the vizier, "if you will hear me." the ass, the ox, and the labourer. a very wealthy merchant possessed several country-houses, where he kept a large number of cattle of every kind. he retired with his wife and family to one of these estates, in order to improve it under his own direction. he had the gift of understanding the language of beasts, but with this condition, that he should not, on pain of death, interpret it to any one else. and this hindered him from communicating to others what he learned by means of this faculty. he kept in the same stall an ox and an ass. one day as he sat near them, and was amusing himself in looking at his children who were playing about him, he heard the ox say to the ass, "sprightly, o! how happy do i think you, when i consider the ease you enjoy, and the little labour that is required of you. you are carefully rubbed down and washed, you have well-dressed corn, and fresh clean water. your greatest business is to carry the merchant, our master, when he has any little journey to make, and were it not for that you would be perfectly idle. i am treated in a very different manner, and my condition is as deplorable as yours is fortunate. daylight no sooner appears than i am fastened to a plough, and made to work till night, which so fatigues me, that sometimes my strength entirely fails. besides, the labourer, who is always behind me, beats me continually. by drawing the plough, my tail is all flayed; and in short, after having laboured from morning to night, when i am brought in they give me nothing to eat but sorry dry beans, not so much as cleansed from dirt, or other food equally bad; and to heighten my misery, when i have filled my belly with such ordinary stuff, i am forced to lie all night in my own dung: so that you see i have reason to envy your lot." the ass did not interrupt the ox; but when he had concluded, answered, "they that called you a foolish beast did not lie. you are too simple; you suffer them to conduct you whither they please, and shew no manner of resolution. in the mean time, what advantage do you reap from all the indignities you suffer. you kill yourself for the ease, pleasure, and profit of those who give you no thanks for your service. but they would not treat you so, if you had as much courage as strength. when they come to fasten you to the stall, why do you not resist? why do you not gore them with your horns, and shew that you are angry, by striking your foot against the ground? and, in short, why do not you frighten them by bellowing aloud? nature has furnished you with means to command respect; but you do not use them. they bring you sorry beans and bad straw; eat none of them, only smell and then leave them. if you follow my advice, you will soon experience a change, for which you will thank me." the ox took the ass's advice in very good part, and owned he was much obliged to him. "dear sprightly," added he, "i will not fail to do as you direct, and you shall see how i will acquit myself." here ended their conversation, of which the merchant lost not a word. early the next morning the labourer went for the ox. he fastened him to the plough and conducted him to his usual work. the ox, who had not forgotten the ass's counsel, was very troublesome and untowardly all that day, and in the evening, when the labourer brought him back to the stall, and began to fasten him, the malicious beast instead of presenting his head willingly as he used to do, was restive, and drew back bellowing; and then made at the labourer, as if he would have gored him with his horns. in a word, he did all that the ass had advised him. the day following, the labourer came as usual, to take the ox to his labour; but finding the stall full of beans, the straw that he had put in the night before not touched, and the ox lying on the ground with his legs stretched out, and panting in a strange manner, he believed him to be unwell, pitied him, and thinking that it was not proper to take him to work, went immediately and acquainted his master with his condition. the merchant perceiving that the ox had followed all the mischievous advice of the ass, determined to punish the latter, and accordingly ordered the labourer to go and put him in the ox's place, and to be sure to work him hard. the labourer did as he was desired. the ass was forced to draw the plough all that day, which fatigued him so much the more, as he was not accustomed to that kind of labour; besides he had been so soundly beaten, that he could scarcely stand when he came back. meanwhile, the ox was mightily pleased; he ate up all that was in his stall, and rested himself the whole day. he rejoiced that he had followed the ass's advice, blessed him a thousand times for the kindness he had done him, and did not fail to express his obligations when the ass had returned. the ass made no reply, so vexed was he at the ill treatment he had received; but he said within himself, "it is by my own imprudence i have brought this misfortune upon myself. i lived happily, every thing smiled upon me; i had all that i could wish; it is my own fault that i am brought to this miserable condition; and if i cannot contrive some way to get out of it, i am certainly undone." as he spoke, his strength was so much exhausted that he fell down in his stall, as if he had been half dead. here the grand vizier, himself to scheherazade, and said, "daughter, you act just like this ass; you will expose yourself to destruction by your erroneous policy. take my advice, remain quiet, and do not seek to hasten your death." "father," replied scheherazade, "the example you have set before me will not induce me to change my resolution. i will never cease importuning you until you present me to the sultan as his bride." the vizier, perceiving that she persisted in her demand, replied, "alas! then, since you will continue obstinate, i shall be obliged to treat you in the same manner as the merchant whom i before referred to treated his wife a short time after." the merchant understanding that the ass was in a lamentable condition, was desirous of knowing what passed between him and the ox, therefore after supper he went out by moonlight, and sat down by them, his wife bearing him company. after his arrival, he heard the ass say to the ox "comrade, tell me, i pray you, what you intend to do to-morrow, when the labourer brings you meat?" "what will i do?" replied the ox, "i will continue to act as you taught me. i will draw back from him and threaten him with my horns, as i did yesterday: i will feign myself ill, and at the point of death." "beware of that," replied the ass, "it will ruin you; for as i came home this evening, i heard the merchant, our master, say something that makes me tremble for you." "alas! what did you hear?" demanded the ox; "as you love me, withhold nothing from me, my dear sprightly." "our master," replied the ass, "addressed himself thus to the labourer: since the ox does not eat, and is not able to work, i would have him killed to-morrow, and we will give his flesh as an alms to the poor for god's sake, as for the skin, that will be of use to us, and i would have you give it the currier to dress; therefore be sure to send for the butcher.' this is what i had to tell you," said the ass. "the interest i feel in your preservation, and my friendship for you, obliged me to make it known to you, and to give you new advice. as soon as they bring you your bran and straw, rise up and eat heartily. our master will by this think that you are recovered, and no doubt will recall his orders for killing you; but, if you act otherwise, you will certainly be slaughtered." this discourse had the effect which the ass designed. the ox was greatly alarmed, and bellowed for fear. the merchant, who heard the conversation very attentively, fell into a loud fit of laughter. his wife was greatly surprised, and asked, "pray, husband, tell me what you laugh at so heartily, that i may laugh with you." "wife," replied he, "you must content yourself with hearing me laugh." "no," returned she, "i will know the reason." "i cannot afford you that satisfaction," he, "and can only inform you that i laugh at what our ass just now said to the ox. the rest is a secret, which i am not allowed to reveal." "what," demanded she "hinders you from revealing the secret?" "if i tell it you," replied he, "i shall forfeit my life." "you only jeer me," cried his wife, "what you would have me believe cannot be true. if you do not directly satisfy me as to what you laugh at, and tell me what the ox and the ass said to one another, i swear by heaven that you and i shall never bed together again." having spoken thus, she went into the house, and seating herself in a corner, cried there all night. her husband lay alone, and finding next morning that she continued in the same humour, told her, she was very foolish to afflict herself in that manner; that the thing was not worth so much; that it concerned her very little to know while it was of the utmost consequence to him to keep the secret: "therefore," continued he, "i conjure you to think no more of it." "i shall still think so much of it," replied she, "as never to forbear weeping till you have satisfied my curiosity." "but i tell you very seriously," answered he, "that it will cost me my life if i yield to your indiscreet solicitations." "let what will happen," said she, "i do insist upon it." "i perceive," resumed the merchant, "that it is impossible to bring you to reason, and since i foresee that you will occasion your own death by your obstinacy, i will call in your children, that they may see you before you die." accordingly he called for them, and sent for her father and mother, and other relations. when they were come and had heard the reason of their being summoned, they did all they could to convince her that she was in the wrong, but to no purpose: she told them she would rather die than yield that point to her husband. her father and mother spoke to her by herself, and told her that what she desired to know was of no importance to her; but they could produce no effect upon her, either by their authority or intreaties. when her children saw that nothing would prevail to draw her out of that sullen temper, they wept bitterly. the merchant himself was half frantic, and almost ready to risk his own life to save that of his wife, whom he sincerely loved. the merchant had fifty hens and one cock, with a dog that gave good heed to all that passed. while the merchant was considering what he had best do, he saw his dog run towards the cock as he was treading a hen, and heard him say to him: "cock, i am sure heaven will not let you live long; are you not ashamed to ad thus to-day?" the cock standing up on tiptoe, answered fiercely: "and why not to-day as well as other days?" "if you do not know," replied the dog, "then i will tell you, that this day our master is in great perplexity. his wife would have him reveal a secret which is of such a nature, that the disclosure would cost him his life. things are come to that pass, that it is to be feared he will scarcely have resolution enough to resist his wife's obstinacy; for he loves her, and is affected by the tears she continually sheds. we are all alarmed at his situation, while you only insult our melancholy, and have the impudence to divert yourself with your hens." the cock answered the dog's reproof thus: "what, has our master so little sense? he has but one wife, and cannot govern her, and though i have fifty, i make them all do what i please. let him use his reason, he will soon find a way to rid himself of his trouble." "how?" demanded the dog; "what would you have him do?" "let him go into the room where his wife is," resumed the cock, "lock the door, and take a stick and thrash her well; and i will answer for it, that will bring her to her senses, and make her forbear to importune him to discover what he ought not to reveal." the merchant had no sooner heard what the cock said, than he took up a stick, went to his wife, whom he found still crying, and shutting the door, belaboured her so soundly, that she cried out, "enough, husband, enough, forbear, and i will never ask the question more." upon this, perceiving that she repented of her impertinent curiosity, he desisted; and opening the door, her friends came in, were glad to find her cured of her obstinacy, and complimented her husband upon this happy expedient to bring his wife to reason. "daughter," added the grand vizier, "you deserve to be treated as the merchant treated his wife." "father," replied scheherazade, "i beg you would not take it ill that i persist in my opinion. i am nothing moved by the story of this woman. i could relate many, to persuade you that you ought not to oppose my design. besides, pardon me for declaring, that your opposition is vain; for if your paternal affection should hinder you from granting my request, i will go and offer myself to the sultan." in short, the father, being overcome by the resolution of his daughter, yielded to her importunity, and though he was much grieved that he could not divert her from so fatal a resolution, he went instantly to acquaint the sultan, that next night he would bring him scheherazade. the sultan was much surprized at the sacrifice which the grand vizier proposed to make. "how could you", said he, "resolve to bring me your own daughter?" "sir," answered the vizier, "it is her own offer. the sad destiny that awaits her could not intimidate her; she prefers the honour of being your majesty's wile for one night, to her life." "but do not act under a mistake, vizier," said the sultan; "to-morrow when i place scheherazade in your hands, i expect you will put her to death; and if you fail, i swear that your own life shall answer." "sir," rejoined the vizier "my heart without doubt will be full of grief to execute your commands; but it is to no purpose for nature to murmur. though i am her father, i will answer for the fidelity of my hand to obey your order." shier-ear accepted his minister's offer, and told him he might bring his daughter when he pleased. the grand vizier went with the intelligence to schcherazade, who received it with as much joy as if it had been the most agreeable information she could have received. she thanked her father for having so greatly obliged her; and perceiving that he was overwhelmed with grief, told him for his consolation, that she hoped he would never repent of having married her to the sultan; and that, on the contrary, he should have reason to rejoice at his compliance all his days. her business now was to adorn herself to appear before the sultan; but before she went, she took her sister dinarzade apart, and said to her, "my dear sister, i have need of your assistance in a matter of great importance, and must pray you not to deny it me. my father is going to conduct me to the sultan; do not let this alarm you, but hear me with patience. as soon as i am in his presence, i will pray him to allow you to lie in the bride-chamber, that i may enjoy your company this one night more. if i obtain that favour, as i hope to do, remember to awake me to-morrow an hour before day, and to address me in these or some such words: 'my sister, if you be not asleep, i pray you that till day-break, which will be very shortly, you will relate to me one of the entertaining stories of which you have read so many.' i will immediately tell you one; and i hope by this means to deliver the city from the consternation it is under at present." dinarzade answered that she would with pleasure act as she required her. the grand vizier conducted schcherazade to the palace, and retired, after having introduced her into the sultan's apartment. as soon as the sultan was left alone with her, he ordered her to uncover her face: he found her so beautiful that he was perfectly charmed; but perceiving her to be in tears, demanded the reason. "sir," answered scheherazade, "i have a sister who loves me tenderly, and i could wish that she might be allowed to pass the night in this chamber, that i might see her, and once more bid her adieu. will you be pleased to allow me the consolation of giving her this last testimony of my affection?" shier-ear having consented, dinarzade was sent for, who came with all possible expedition. an hour before day, dinarzade failed not to do as her sister had ordered. "my dear sister," cried she, "if you be not asleep, i pray that until daybreak, which will be very shortly, you will tell me one of those pleasant stories you have read. alas! this may perhaps be the last time that i shall enjoy that pleasure." scheherazade, instead of answering her sister, addressed herself to the sultan: "sir, will your majesty be pleased to allow me to afford my sister this satisfaction?" "with all my heart," replied the sultan. scheherazade then bade her sister attend, and afterwards, addressing herself to shier-ear, proceeded as follows. the merchant and the genie. there was formerly a merchant who possessed much property in lands, goods, and money, and had a great number of clerks, factors, and slaves. he was obliged from time to time to visit his correspondents on business; and one day being under the necessity of going a long journey on an affair of importance, he took horse, and carried with him a wallet containing biscuits and dates, because he had a great desert to pass over, where he could procure no sort of provisions. he arrived without any accident at the end of his journey; and having dispatched his affairs, took horse again, in order to return home. the fourth day of his journey, he was so much incommoded by the heat of the sun, and the reflection of that heat from the earth, that he turned out of the road, to refresh himself under some trees. he found at the root of a large tree a fountain of very clear running water. having alighted, he tied his horse to a branch, and sitting down by the fountain, took some biscuits and dates out of his wallet. as he ate his dates, he threw the shells carelessly in different directions. when he had finished his repast, being a good moosulmaun, he washed his hands, face, and feet, and said his prayers. before he had finished, and while he was yet on his knees, he saw a genie, white with age, and of a monstrous bulk, advancing towards him with a cimeter in his hand. the genie spoke to him in a terrible voice: "rise, that i may kill thee with this cimeter, as thou hast killed my son;" and accompanied these words with a frightful cry. the merchant being as much alarmed at the hideous shape of the monster as at his threatening language, answered him, trembling, "alas! my good lord, of what crime can i be guilty towards you, that you should take away my life?" "i will," replied the genie, "kill thee, as thou hast killed my son." "heavens," exclaimed the merchant, "how could i kill your son? i never knew, never saw him." "did not you sit down when you came hither?" demanded the genie: "did you not take dates out of your wallet, and as you ate them, did not you throw the shells about in different directions?" "i did all that you say," answered the merchant, "i cannot deny it." "if it be so," resumed the genie, "i tell thee that thou hast killed my son; and in this manner: when thou wert throwing the shells about, my son was passing by, and thou didst throw one into his eye, which killed him; therefore i must kill thee." "ah! my lord! pardon me!" cried the merchant. "no pardon," exclaimed the genie, "no mercy. is it not just to kill him that has killed another?" "i agree it is," replied the merchant, "but certainly i never killed your son; and if i have, it was unknown to me, and i did it innocently; i beg you therefore to pardon me, and suffer me to live." "no, no," returned the genie, persisting in his resolution, "i must kill thee, since thou hast killed my son." then taking the merchant by the arm, he threw him with his face on the ground, and lifted up his cimeter to cut off his head. the merchant, with tears, protested he was innocent, bewailed his wife and children, and supplicated the genie, in the most moving expressions. the genie, with his cimeter still lifted up, had the patience to hear his unfortunate victims to the end of his lamentations, but would not relent. "all this whining," said the monster, "is to no purpose; though you should shed tears of blood, they should not hinder me from killing thee, as thou hast killed my son." "what!" exclaimed the merchant, "can nothing prevail with you? will you absolutely take away the life of a poor innocent?" "yes," replied the genie, "i am resolved." as soon as she had spoken these words, perceiving it was day, and knowing that the sultan rose early in the morning to say his prayers, and hold his council, scheherazade discontinued her story. "dear sister," said dinarzade, "what a wonderful story is this!" "the remainder of it," replied scheherazade "is more surprising, and you will be of this opinion, if the sultan will but permit me to live over this day, and allow me to proceed with the relation the ensuing night." shier-ear, who had listened to scheherazade with much interest, said to himself, "i will wait till to-morrow, for i can at any time put her to death when she has concluded her story." having thus resolved not to put scheherazade to death that day, he rose and went to his prayers, and to attend his council. during this time the grand vizier was in the utmost distress. instead of sleeping, he spent the night in sighs and groans, bewailing the lot of his daughter, of whom he believed he should himself shortly be the executioner. as, with this melancholy prospect before him, he dreaded to meet the sultan, he was agreeably surprised when he found the prince entered the council chamber without giving him the fatal orders he expected. the sultan, according to his custom, spent the day in regulating his affairs; and when the night had closed in, retired with scheherazade. the next morning before day, dinarzade failed not to call to her sister: "my dear sister, if you be not asleep, i pray you till day-break, which is very near, to go on with the story you began last night." the sultan, without waiting for scheherazade to ask his permission, bade her proceed with the story of the genie and the merchant; upon which scheherazade continued her relation as follows. [fn: in the original work scheherazade continually breaks off to ask the sultan to spare her life for another day, that she may finish the story she is relating. as these interruptions considerably interfere with the continued interest of the stories, it has been deemed advisable to omit them.] when the merchant saw that the genie was going to cut off his head, he cried out aloud to him, "for heaven's sake hold your hand! allow me one word. have the goodness to grant me some respite, to bid my wife and children adieu, and to divide my estate among them by will, that they may not go to law after my death. when i have done this, i will come back and submit to whatever you shall please to command." "but," said the genie, "if i grant you the time you ask, i doubt you will never return?" "if you will believe my oath," answered the merchant, "i swear by all that is sacred, that i will come and meet you here without fail." "what time do you require then?" demanded the genie. "i ask a year," said the merchant; "i cannot in less settle my affairs, and prepare myself to die without regret. but i promise you, that this day twelve months i will return under these trees, to put myself into your hands." "do you take heaven to be witness to this promise?" said the genie. "i do," answered the merchant, "and you may rely on my oath." upon this the genie left him near the fountain, and disappeared. the merchant being recovered from his terror, mounted his horse, and proceeded on his journey, glad on the one hand that he had escaped so great a danger, but grieved on the other, when he reflected on his fatal oath. when he reached home, his wife and children received him with all the demonstrations of perfect joy. but he, instead of returning their caresses, wept so bitterly, that his family apprehended something calamitous had befallen him. his wife enquire reason of his excessive grief and tears; "we are all overjoyed," said she, "at your return; but you alarm us by your lamentations; pray tell us the cause of your sorrow." "alas!" replied the husband, "i have but a year to live." he then related what had passed betwixt him and the genie, and informed her that he had given him his oath to return at the end of the year, to receive death from his hands. when they heard this afflicting intelligence, they all began to lament in the most distressing manner. his wife uttered the most piteous cries, beat her face, and tore her hair. the children, all in tears, made the house resound with their groans; and the father, not being able to resist the impulse of nature, mingled his tears with theirs: so that, in a word, they exhibited the most affecting spectacle possible. on the following morning the merchant applied himself to put his affairs in order; and first of all to pay his debts. he made presents to his friends, gave liberal alms to the poor, set his slaves of both sexes at liberty, divided his property among his children, appointed guardians for such of them as were not of age; and after restoring to his wife all that was due to her by their marriage contract, he gave her in addition as much as the law would allow him. at last the year expired, and he was obliged to depart. he put his burial clothes in his wallet; but when he came to bid his wife and children adieu, their grief surpassed description. they could not reconcile their minds to the separation, but resolved to go and die with him. when, however, it became necessary for him to tear himself from these dear objects, he addressed them in the following terms: "my dear wife and children, i obey the will of heaven in quitting you. follow my example, submit with fortitude to this necessity, and consider that it is the destiny of man to die." having thus spoken, he went out of the hearing of the cries of his family; and pursuing his journey, arrived on the day appointed at the place where he had promised to meet the genie. he alighted, and seating himself down by the fountain, waited the coming of the genie, with all the sorrow imaginable. whilst he languished under this painful expectation, an old man leading a hind appeared and drew near him. after they had saluted one another, the old man said to him, "brother, may i ask why you are come into this desert place, which is possessed solely by evil spirits, and where consequently you cannot be safe? from the beautiful trees which are seen here, one might indeed suppose the place inhabited; but it is in reality a wilderness, where it is dangerous to remain long." the merchant satisfied his curiosity, and related to him the adventure which obliged him to be there. the old man listened with astonishment, and when he had done, exclaimed, "this is the most surprising thing in the world! and you are bound by the most inviolable oath. however, i will be witness of your interview with the genie." he then seated himself by the merchant, and they entered into conversation. "but i see day," said scheherazade, "and must leave off; yet the best of the story is to come." the sultan resolving to hear the end of it, suffered her to live that day also. the next morning dinarzade made the same request to her sister as before: "my dear sister," said she, "if you be not asleep, tell me one of those pleasant stories that you have read." but the sultan, wishing to learn what followed betwixt the merchant and the genie, bade her proceed with that, which she did as follows. sir, while the merchant and the old man who led the hind were conversing, they saw another old man coming towards them, followed by two black dogs; after they had saluted one another, he asked them what they did in that place? the old man with the hind told him the adventure of the merchant and genie, with all that had passed between them, particularly the merchant's oath. he added, that it was the day agreed on, and that he was resolved to stay and see the issue. the second old man thinking it also worth his curiosity, resolved to do the same, and took his seat by them. they had scarcely begun to converse together, when there arrived a third old man leading a mule. he addressed himself to the two former, and asked why the merchant who sat with them looked so melancholy? they told him the reason, which appeared to him so extraordinary, that he also resolved to witness the result; and for that purpose sat down with them. in a short time they perceived a thick vapour, like a cloud of dust raised by a whirlwind, advancing towards them. when it had come up to them it suddenly vanished, and the genie appeared; who, without saluting them, went to the merchant with a drawn cimeter, and taking him by the arm, said, "get thee up, that i may kill thee, as thou didst my son." the merchant and the three old men began to lament and fill the air with their cries. when the old man who led the hind saw the genie lay hold of the merchant, and about to kill him, he threw himself at the feet of the monster, and kissing them, said to him, "prince of genies, i most humbly request you to suspend your anger, and do me the favour to hear me. i will tell you the history of my life, and of the hind you see; and if you think it more wonderful and surprising than the adventure of the merchant, i hope you will pardon the unfortunate man a third of his offence." the genie took some time to deliberate on this proposal, but answered at last, "well then, i agree." the story of the first old man and the hind. i shall begin my story then; listen to me, i pray you, with attention. this hind you see is my cousin; nay, what is more, my wife. she was only twelve years of age when i married her, so that i may justly say, she ought to regard me equally as her father, her kinsman, and her husband. we lived together twenty years, without any children. her barrenness did not effect any change in my love; i still treated her with much kindness and affection. my desire of having children only induced me to purchase a slave, by whom i had a son, who was extremely promising. my wife being jealous, cherished a hatred for both mother and child, but concealed her aversion so well, that i knew nothing of it till it was too late. mean time my son grew up, and was ten years old, when i was obliged to undertake a long journey. before i went, i recommended to my wife, of whom i had no mistrust, the slave and her son, and prayed her to take care of them during my absence, which was to be for a whole year. she however employed that time to satisfy her hatred. she applied herself to magic, and when she had learnt enough of that diabolical art to execute her horrible design, the wretch carried my son to a desolate place, where, by her enchantments, she changed him into a calf, and gave him to my farmer to fatten, pretending she had bought him. her enmity did not stop at this abominable action, but she likewise changed the slave into a cow, and gave her also to my farmer. at my return, i enquired for the mother and child. "your slave," said she, "is dead; and as for your son, i know not what is become of him, i have not seen him this two months." i was afflicted at the death of the slave, but as she informed me my son had only disappeared, i was in hopes he would shortly return. however, eight months passed, and i heard nothing of him. when the festival of the great bairam was to be celebrated, i sent to my farmer for one of the fattest cows to sacrifice. he accordingly sent me one, and the cow which was brought me proved to be my slave, the unfortunate mother of my son. i bound her, but as i was going to sacrifice her, she bellowed piteously, and i could perceive tears streaming from her eyes. this seemed to me very extraordinary, and finding myself moved with compassion, i could not find in my heart to give her a blow, but ordered my farmer to get me another. my wife, who was present, was enraged at my tenderness, and resisting an order which disappointed her malice, she cried out, "what are you doing, husband? sacrifice that cow; your farmer has not a finer, nor one fitter for the festival." out of deference to my wife, i came again to the cow, and combating my compassion, which suspended the sacrifice, was going to give her the fatal blow, when the victim redoubling her tears, and bellowing, disarmed me a second time. i then put the mallet into the farmer's hands, and desired him to take it and sacrifice her himself, for her tears and bellowing pierced my heart. the farmer, less compassionate than myself; sacrificed her; but when he flayed her, found her to be nothing except bones, though to she seemed very fat. "take her yourself," said i to him, "dispose of her in alms, or any way you please: and if you have a very fat calf, bring it me in her stead." i did not enquire what he did with the cow, but soon after he had taken her away, he returned with a fat calf. though i knew not the calf was my son, yet i could not forbear being moved at the sight of him. on his part, as soon as he beheld me, he made so great an effort to come near me, that he broke his cord, threw himself at my feet, with his head against the ground, as if he meant to excite my compassion, conjuring me not to be so cruel as to take his life; and did as much as was possible for him, to signify that he was my son. i was more surprised and affected with this action, than with the tears of the cow. i felt a tender pity, which interested me on his behalf, or rather, nature did its duty. "go," said i to the farmer, "carry home that calf, take great care of him, and bring me another in his stead immediately." as soon as my wife heard me give this order, she exclaimed, "what are you about, husband? take my advice, sacrifice no other calf but that." "wife," i replied, "i will not sacrifice him, i will spare him, and pray do not you oppose me." the wicked woman had no regard to my wishes; she hated my son too much to consent that i should save him. i tied the poor creature, and taking up the fatal knife, was going to plunge it into my son's throat, when turning his eyes bathed with tears, in a languishing manner, towards me, he affected me so much that i had not strength to kill him. i let the knife fall, and told my wife positively that i would have another calf to sacrifice, and not that. she used all her endeavours to persuade me to change my resolution; but i continued firm, and pacified her a little, by promising that i would sacrifice him against the bairam of the following year. the next morning my farmer desired to speak with me alone. "i come," said he, "to communicate to you a piece of intelligence, for which i hope you will return me thanks. i have a daughter that has some skill in magic. yesterday, as i carried back the calf which you would not sacrifice, i perceived she laughed when she saw him, and in a moment after fell a weeping. i asked her why she acted two such opposite parts at one and the same time. 'rather,' replied she, 'the calf you bring back is our landlord's son; i laughed for joy to see him still alive, and wept at the remembrance of the sacrifice that was made the other day of his mother, who was changed into a cow. these two metamorphoses were made by the enchantments of our master's wife, who hated both the mother and son.' this is what my daughter told me," said the farmer, "and i come to acquaint you with it." i leave you to judge how much i was surprised. i went immediately to my farmer, to speak to his daughter myself. as soon as i arrived, i went forthwith to the stall where my son was kept; he could not return my embraces, but received them in such a manner, as fully satisfied me he was my son. the farmer's daughter then came to us: "my good maid," said i, "can you restore my son to his former shape?" "yes," she replied, "i can." "ah!" said i, "if you do, i will make you mistress of all my fortune." she answered me, smiling, "you are our master, and i well know what i owe to you; but i cannot restore your son to his former shape, except on two conditions: the first is, that you give him to me for my husband; and the second, that you allow me to punish the person who changed him into a calf." "as to the first," i replied, "i agree with all my heart: nay, i promise you more, a considerable fortune for yourself, independently of what i design for my son: in a word, you shall see how i will reward the great service i expect from you. as to what relates to my wife, i also agree; a person who has been capable of committing such a criminal action, justly deserves to be punished. i leave her to your disposal, only i must pray you not to take her life." "i am going then," answered she, "to treat her as she treated your son." "to this i consent," said i, "provided you first of all restore to me my son." the damsel then took a vessel full of water, pronounced over it words that i did not understand, and addressing herself to the calf, "o calf, if thou west created by the almighty and sovereign master of the world such as thou appearest at this time, continue in that form; but if thou be a man, and art changed into a calf by enchantment, return to thy natural shape, by the permission of the sovereign creator." as she spoke, she threw water upon him, and in an instant he recovered his natural form. "my son, my dear son," cried i, immediately embracing him with such a transport of joy that i knew not what i was doing, "it is heaven that hath sent us this young maid, to remove the horrible charm by which you were enchanted, and to avenge the injury done to you and your mother. i doubt not but in acknowledgment you will make your deliverer your wife, as i have promised." he joyfully consented; but before they married, she changed my wife into a hind; and this is she whom you see here. i desired she might have this shape, rather than another less agreeable, that we might see her in the family without horror. since that time, my son is become a widower, and gone to travel. it being now several years since i heard of him, i am come abroad to inquire after him; and not being willing to trust anybody with my wife, till i should return home, i thought fit to take her everywhere with me. "this is the history of myself and this hind: is it not one of the most wonderful and surprising?" "i admit it is," said the genie, "and on that account forgive the merchant one third of his crime." when the first old man had finished his story, the second, who led the two black dogs, addressed the genie, and said: "i am going to tell you what happened to me, and these two black dogs you see by me; and i am certain you will say, that my story is yet more surprising than that which you have just heard. but when i have done this, i hope you will be pleased to pardon the merchant another third of his offence." "i will," replied the genie, "provided your story surpass that of the hind." then the second old man began in this manner-- the story of the second old man and the two black dogs. great prince of genies, you must know that we are three brothers, the two black dogs and myself. our father, when he died, left each of us one thousand sequins. with that sum, we all became merchants. a little time after we had opened shop, my eldest brother, one of these two dogs, resolved to travel and trade in foreign countries. with this view, he sold his estate, and bought goods suited to the trade intended to follow. he went away, and was absent a whole year. at the expiration of this time, a poor man, who i thought had come to ask alms, presented himself before me in my shop. i said to him, "god help you." he returned my salutation, and continued, "is it possible you do not know me?" upon this i looked at him narrowly, and recognised him: "ah, brother," cried i, embracing him, "how could i know you in this condition?" i made him come into my house, and asked him concerning his health and the success of his travels. "do not ask me that question," said he; "when you see me, you see all: it would only renew my grief, to relate to you the particulars of the misfortunes i have experienced since i left you, which have reduced me to my present condition." i immediately shut up my shop, and taking him to a bath, gave him the best clothes i had. finding on examining my books, that i had doubled my stock, that is to say, that i was worth two thousand sequins, i gave him one half; "with that," said i, "brother, you may make up your loss." he joyfully accepted the present, and having repaired his fortunes, we lived together, as before. some time after, my second brother, who is the other of these two dogs, would also sell his estate. his elder brother and myself did all we could to divert him from his purpose, but without effect. he disposed of it, and with the money bought such goods as were suitable to the trade which he designed to follow. he joined a caravan, and departed. at the end of the year he returned in the same condition as my other brother. having myself by this time gained another thousand sequins, i made him a present of them. with this sum he furnished his shop, and continued his trade. some time after, one of my brothers came to me to propose that i should join them in a trading voyage; i immediately declined. "you have travelled," said i, "and what have you gained by it? who can assure me, that i shall be more successful than you have been?" it was in vain that they urged open me all the considerations they thought likely to gain me over to their design, for i constantly refused; but after having resisted their solicitations five whole years, they importuned me so much, that at last they overcame my resolution. when, however, the time arrived that we were to make preparations for our voyage, to buy the goods necessary to the undertaking, i found they had spent all, and had not one dirhem left of the thousand sequins i had given to each of them. i did not, on this account, upbraid them. on the contrary, my stock being still six thousand sequins, i shared the half of it with them, telling them, "my brothers, we must venture these three thousand sequins, and hide the rest in some secure place: that in case our voyage be not more successful than yours was formerly, we may have wherewith to assist us, and to enable us to follow our ancient way of living." i gave each of them a thousand sequins, and keeping as much for myself, i buried the other three thousand in a corner of my house. we purchased goods, and having embarked them on board a vessel, which we freighted betwixt us, we put to sea with a favourable wind. after two months sail, we arrived happily at port, where we landed, and had a very good market for our goods. i, especially, sold mine so well, that i gained ten to one. with the produce we bought commodities of that country, to carry back with us for sale. when we were ready to embark on our return, i met on the sea-shore a lady, handsome enough, but poorly clad. she walked up to me gracefully, kissed my hand, besought me with the greatest earnestness imaginable to marry her, and take her along with me. i made some difficulty to agree to this proposal; but she urged so many things to persuade me that i ought not to object to her on account of her poverty, and that i should have all the reason in the world to be satisfied with her conduct, that at last i yielded. i ordered proper apparel to be made for her; and after having married her, according to form, i took her on board, and we set sail. i found my wife possessed so many good qualities, that my love to her every day increased. in the mean time my two brothers, who had not managed their affairs as successfully as i had mine, envied my prosperity; and suffered their feelings to carry them so far, that they conspired against my life; and one night, when my wife and i were asleep, threw us both into the sea. my wife proved to be a fairy, and, by consequence, a genie, so that she could not be drowned; but for me, it is certain i must have perished, without her help. i had scarcely fallen into the water, when she took me up, and carried me to an island. when day appeared, she said to me, "you see, husband, that by saving your life, i have not rewarded you ill for your kindness to me. you must know, that i am a fairy, and being upon the sea-shore, when you were going to embark, i felt a strong desire to have you for my husband; i had a mind to try your goodness, and presented myself before you in disguise. you have dealt generously by me, and i am glad of an opportunity of returning my acknowledgment. but i am incensed against your brothers, and nothing will satisfy me but their lives." i listened to this discourse with admiration; i thanked the fairy the best way i could, for the great kindness she had done me; "but, madam," said i, "as for my brothers, i beg you to pardon them; whatever cause of resentment they have given me, i am not cruel enough to desire their death." i then informed her what i had done for them, but this increased her indignation; and she exclaimed, "i must immediately pursue those ungrateful traitors, and take speedy vengeance on them. i will destroy their vessel, and sink them into the bottom of the sea." "my good lady," replied i, "for heaven's sake forbear; moderate your anger, consider that they are my brothers, and that we ought to return good for evil." i pacified her by these words; and as soon as i had concluded, she transported me in a moment from the island to the roof of my own house, which was terraced, and instantly disappeared. i descended, opened the doors, and dug up the three thousand sequins i had formerly secreted. i went afterwards to my shop, which i also opened; and was complimented by the merchants, my neighbours, upon my return. when i went back to my house, i perceived there two black dogs, which came up to me in a very submissive manner: i could not divine the meaning of this circumstance, which greatly astonished me. but the fairy, who immediately appeared, said, "husband, be not surprised to see these dogs, they are your brothers." i was troubled at this declaration, and asked her by what power they were so transformed. "i did it," said she, "or at least authorised one of my sisters to do it, who at the same time sunk their ship. you have lost the goods you had on board, but i will compensate you another way. as to your two brothers, i have condemned them to remain five years in that shape. their perfidiousness too well deserves such a penance." having thus spoken and told me where i might hear of her, she disappeared. "the five years being now nearly expired, i am travelling in quest of her; and as i passed this way, i met this merchant, and the good old man who led the hind, and sat down by them. this is my history, o prince of genies! do not you think it very extraordinary?" "i own it is," replied the genie, "and on that account i remit the merchant the second third of the crime which he has committed against me." as soon as the second old man had finished, the third began his story, after repeating the request of the two former, that the genie would pardon the merchant the other third of his crime, provided what he should relate surpassed in singularity of incidents the narratives he had already heard. the genie made him the same promise as he had given the others. the third old man related his story to the genie; and it exceeded the two former stories so much, in the variety of wonderful adventures, that the genie was astonished; and no sooner heard the conclusion, than he said to the old man, "i remit the other third of the merchant's crime on account of your story. he is greatly obliged to all of you, for having delivered him out of his danger by what you have related, for to this he owes his life." having spoken thus he disappeared, to the great contentment of the company. the merchant failed not to make due acknowledgment to his deliverers. they rejoiced to see him out of danger; and bidding him adieu, each of them proceeded on his way. the merchant returned to his wife and children, and passed the rest of his days with them in peace. the story of the fisherman. there was an aged fisherman, who was so poor, that he could scarcely as much as would maintain himself, his wife, and three children. he went every day to fish betimes in the morning; and imposed it as a law upon himself, not to cast his nets above four times a-day. he went one morning by moon-light, and coming to the seaside, undressed himself, and cast in his nets. as he drew them towards the shore, he found them very heavy, and thought he had a good draught of fish, at which he rejoiced; but in a moment after, perceiving that instead of fish his nets contained nothing but the carcass of an ass, he was much vexed. when the fisherman had mended his nets, which the carcass of the ass had broken in several places, he threw them in a second time; and when he drew them, found a great deal of resistance, which made him think he had taken abundance of fish; but he found nothing except a basket full of gravel and slime, which grieved him extremely. "o fortune!" cried he, with a lamentable tone, "be not angry with me, nor persecute a wretch who prays thee to spare him. i came hither from my house to seek for my livelihood, and thou pronouncest against me a sentence of death. i have no other trade but this to subsist by: and notwithstanding all my care, i can scarcely provide what is absolutely necessary for my family. but i am to blame to complain of thee; thou takest pleasure to persecute honest people, and to leave great men in obscurity, while thou shewest favour to the wicked, and advancest those who have no virtue to recommend them." having finished this complaint, he fretfully threw away the basket, and washing his nets from the slime, cast them the third time; but brought up nothing, except stones, shells, and mud. no language can express his disappointment; he was almost distracted. however, when day began to appear, he did not forget to say his prayers, like a good moosulmaun, and he added to them this petition: "lord, thou knowest that i cast my nets only four times a day; i have already drawn them three times, without the least reward for my labour: i am only to cast them once more; i pray thee to render the sea favourable to me, as thou didst to moses." the fisherman having finished this prayer, cast his nets the fourth time; and when he thought it was proper, drew them as formerly, with great difficulty; but instead of fish, found nothing in them but a vessel of yellow copper, which from its weight seemed not to be empty; and he observed that it was shut up and sealed with lead, having the impression of a seal upon it. this turn of fortune rejoiced him; "i will sell it," said he, "to the founder, and with the money buy a measure of corn." he examined the vessel on all sides, and shook it, to try if its contents made any noise, but heard nothing. this circumstance, with the impression of the seal upon the leaden cover, made him think it inclosed something precious. to try this, he took a knife, and opened it with very little labour. he turned the mouth downward, but nothing came out; which surprised him extremely. he placed it before him, but while he viewed it attentively, there came out a very thick smoke, which obliged him to retire two or three paces back. the smoke ascended to the clouds, and extending itself along the sea and upon the shore formed a great mist, which we may well imagine filled the fisherman with astonishment. when the smoke was all out of the vessel, it re-united and became a solid body, of which was formed a genie twice as high as the greatest of giants. at the sight of a monster of such an unwieldy bulk, the fisherman would fain have fled, but was so frightened, that he could not move. "solomon," cried the genie immediately, "solomon, the great prophet, pardon, pardon; i will never more oppose your will, i will obey all your commands." when the fisherman heard these words of the genie, he recovered his courage, and said to him, "thou proud spirit, what is it you say? it is above eighteen hundred years since the prophet solomon died, and we are now at the end of time. tell me your history, and how you came to be shut up in this vessel." the genie turning to the fisherman, with a fierce look, said. "thou must speak to me with more respect; thou art a presumptuous fellow to call me a proud spirit." "very well," replied the fisherman, "shall i speak to you more civilly, and call you the owl of good luck?" "i say," answered the genie, "speak to me more respectfully, or i will kill thee." "ah!" replied the fisherman, "why would you kill me? did i not just now set you at liberty, and have you already forgotten my services?" "yes, i remember it," said the genie, "but that shall not save thy life: i have only one favour to grant thee." "and what is that?" asked the fisherman. "it is," answered the genie, "to give thee thy choice, in what manner thou wouldst have me put thee to death." "but wherein have i offended you?" demanded the fisherman. "is that your reward for the service i have rendered you?" "i cannot treat thee otherwise," said the genie; "and that thou mayest know the reason, hearken to my story." "i am one of those rebellious spirits that opposed the will of heaven; nearly all the other genies owned solomon, the great prophet, and yielded to his authority. sabhir and i were the only two that would never be guilty of a mean submission: and to avenge himself, that great monarch sent asaph, the son of barakhia, his chief minister, to apprehend me. that was accordingly done. asaph seized my person, and brought me by force before his master's throne. "solomon, the son of david, commanded me to acknowledge his power, and to submit to his commands: i bravely refused, and told him, i would rather expose myself to his resentment, than swear fealty as he required. to punish me, he shut me up in this copper vessel; and that i might not break my prison, he himself stamps upon this leaden cover, his seal with the great name of god engraver upon it. he then gave the vessel to one of the genies who had submitted, with orders to throw me into the sea, which to my sorrow were executed. "during the first hundred years of my imprisonment, i swore that if any one should deliver me before the expiration of that period, i would make him rich, even after his death: but that century ran out, and nobody did me that good office. during the second, i made an oath, that i would open all the treasures of the earth to any one that might set me at liberty; but with no better success. in the third, i promised to make my deliverer a potent monarch, to be always near him in spirit, and to grant him every day three requests, of what nature soever they might be: but this century passed as well as the two former, and i continued in prison. at last being angry, or rather mad, to find myself a prisoner so long, i swore, that if afterwards any one should deliver me, i would kill him without mercy, and grant him no other favour but to choose the manner of his death; and therefore, since thou hast delivered me to-day, i give thee that choice." this discourse afflicted the fisherman extremely: "i am very unfortunate," cried he, "to come hither to do such a kindness to one that is so ungrateful. i beg you to consider your injustice, and revoke such an unreasonable oath; pardon me, and heaven will pardon you; if you grant me my life, heaven will protest you from all attempts against your own." "no, thy death is resolved on," said the genie, "only choose in what manner you will die." the fisherman perceiving the genie to be resolute, was extremely grieved, not so much for himself, as on account of his three children; and bewailed the misery they must be reduced to by his death. he endeavoured still to appease the genie, and said, "alas! be pleased to take pity on me, in consideration of the service i have done you." "i have told thee already," replied the genie, "it is for that very reason i must kill thee." "that is strange," said the fisherman, "are you resolved to reward good with evil? the proverb says, 'that he who does good to one who deserves it not is always ill rewarded.' i must confess, i thought it was false; for certainly there can be nothing more contrary to reason, or the laws of society. nevertheless, i find now by cruel experience that it is but too true." "do not lose time," interrupted the genie; "all thy reasonings shall not divert me from my purpose: make haste, and tell me what kind of death thou preferest?" necessity is the mother of invention. the fisherman bethought himself of a stratagem. "since i must die then," said he to the genie, "i submit to the will of heaven; but before i choose the manner of my death, i conjure you by the great name which was engraver upon the seal of the prophet solomon, the son of david, to answer me truly the question i am going to ask you." the genie finding himself obliged to a positive answer by this adjuration, trembled; and replied to the fisherman, "ask what thou wilt, but make haste." the fisherman then said to him, "i wish to know if you were actually in this vessel: dare you swear it by the name of the great god?" "yes," replied the genie, "i do swear by that great name, that i was." "in good faith," answered the fisherman, "i cannot believe you; the vessel is not capable of holding one of your size, and how should it be possible that your whole body should lie in it?" "i swear to thee, notwithstanding," replied the genie, "that i was there just as you see me here: is it possible, that thou cost not believe me after the solemn oath i have taken?" "truly not i," said the fisherman; "nor will i believe you, unless you go into the vessel again." upon which the body of the genie dissolved and changed itself into smoke, extending as before upon the sea shore; and at last, being collected, it began to re-enter the vessel, which it continued to do by a slow and equal motion, till no part remained out; when immediately a voice came forth, which said to the fisherman, "well now, incredulous fellow, i am in the vessel, do not you believe me now?" the fisherman, instead of answering the genie, took the cover of lead, and having speedily replaced it on the vessel, "genie," cried he, "now it is your turn to beg my favour, and to choose which way i shall put you to death; but not so, it is better that i should throw you into the sea, whence i took you: and then i will build a house upon the shore, where i will reside and give notice to all fishermen who come to throw in their nets, to beware of such a wicked genie as thou art, who hast made an oath to kill him that shall set thee at liberty." the genie, enraged at these expressions, struggled to set himself at liberty; but it was impossible, for the impression of solomon's seal prevented him. perceiving that the fisherman had got the advantage of him, for he thought fit to dissemble his anger; "fishermen," said he, "take heed you do not what you threaten; for what i spoke to you was only by way of jest." "o genie!" replied the fisherman, "thou who wast but a moment ago the greatest of all genies, and now art the least of them, thy crafty discourse will signify nothing, to the sea thou shalt return. if thou hast been there already so long as thou hast told me, thou may'st very well stay there till the day of judgment. i begged of thee in god's name not to take away my life, and thou didst reject my prayers; i am obliged to treat thee in the same manner." the genie omitted nothing that he thought likely to prevail with the fisherman: "open the vessel," said he, "give me my liberty, and i promise to satisfy thee to thy own content." "thou art a traitor," replied the fisherman, "i should deserve to lose my life, if i were such a fool as to trust thee: thou wilt not fail to treat me in the same manner as a certain grecian king treated the physician douban. it is a story i have a mind to tell thee, therefore listen to it." the story of the grecian king and the physician douban. there was in the country of yunaun or greece, a king who was leprous, and his physicians had in vain endeavoured his cure; when a very able physician, named douban, arrived at his court. this physician had learnt the theory of his profession in greek, persian, turkish, arabic, latin, syriac, and hebrew books; he was an experienced natural philosopher, and fully understood the good and bad qualities of plants and drugs. as soon as he was informed of the king's distemper, and understood that his physicians had given him over, he found means to present himself before him. "i know," said he, after the usual ceremonials, "that your majesty's physicians have not been able to heal you of the leprosy; but if you will accept my service, i will engage to cure you without potions, or external applications." the king listened to what he said, and answered, "if you be able to perform what you promise, i will enrich you and your posterity. do you assure me that you will cure my leprosy without potion, or applying any external medicine?" "yes, sire," replied the physician, "i promise myself success, through god's assistance, and to-morrow, with your majesty's permission, i will make the trial." the physician returned to his quarters, made a hollow mace, and at the handle he put in his drugs; he made also a ball in such a manner as suited his purpose, with which next morning he presented himself before the king, and falling down at his feet, kissed the ground. the physician douban rose up, and after a profound reverence, said to the king, he judged it meet that his majesty should take horse, and go to the place where he used to play at mall. the king did so, and when he arrived there, the physician came to him with the mace, and said, "exercise yourself with this mace, and strike the ball until you find your hands and body perspire. when the medicine i have put up in the handle of the mace is heated with your hand, it will penetrate your whole body; and as soon as you perspire, you may leave off the exercise, for then the medicine will have had its effect. immediately on your return to your palace, go into the bath, and cause yourself to be well washed and rubbed; then retire to bed, and when you rise to-morrow you will find yourself cured." the king took the mace, and struck the ball, which was returned by his officers who played with him; he played so long, that his hands and his whole body were in a sweat, and then the medicine shut up in the handle of the mace had its operation, as the physician had said. upon this the king left off play, returned to his palace, entered the bath, and observed very exactly his physician had prescribed to him. the next morning when he arose, he perceived with equal wonder and joy, that his leprosy was cured, and his body as clean as if it had never been affected. as soon as he was dressed, he came into the hall of audience, where he ascended his throne, and shewed himself to his courtiers: who, eager to know the success of the new medicine, came thither betimes, and when they saw the king perfectly cured, expressed great joy. the physician douban entering the hall, bowed himself before the throne, with his face to the ground. the king perceiving him, made him sit down by his side, presented him to the assembly, and gave him all the commendation he deserved. his majesty did not stop here: but as he treated all his court that day, made him eat at his table alone with him. the grecian king was not satisfied with having admitted the physician douban to his table, but caused him to be clad in a rich robe, ordered him two thousand pieces of gold, and thinking that he could never sufficiently acknowledge his obligations to him, continued every day to load him with new favours. but this king had a vizier, who was avaricious, envious, and naturally capable of every kind of mischief. he could not behold without envy the presents that were given to the physician, whose other merits had already begun to make him jealous, and he therefore resolved to lessen him in the king's esteem. to effect this, he went to the king, and told him in private, that he had some information of the greatest consequence to communicate. the king having asked what it was? "sire," said he, "it is highly dangerous for a monarch to confide in a man whose fidelity he has never tried. though you heap favours upon the physician douban, your majesty does not know that he is a traitor, sent by your enemies to take away your life." "from whom," demanded the king, "have you the suggestion which you dare pronounce? consider to whom you are speaking, and that you are advancing what i shall not easily believe." "sire," replied the vizier, "i am well informed of what i have had the honour to reveal to your majesty; therefore do not rest in dangerous security: if your majesty be asleep, be pleased to awake; for i once more repeat, that the physician douban left his native country, and came to settle himself at your court, for the sole purpose of executing the horrible design which i have intimated." "no, no, vizier," interrupted the king; "i am certain, that this physician, whom you suspect to be a villain and a traitor, is one of the best and most virtuous of men. you know by what medicine, or rather by what miracle, he cured me of my leprosy: if he had had a design upon my life, why did he save me then? he needed only to have left me to my disease; i could not have escaped it, as life was fast decaying. forbear then to fill me with unjust suspicions: instead of listening to you, i tell you, that from this day forward i will give that great man a pension of a thousand pieces of gold per month for his life; nay, though i were to share with him all my riches and dominions, i should never pay him sufficiently for what he has done. i perceive it to be his virtue that raises your envy; but do not think i will be unjustly prejudiced against him. i remember too well what a vizier said to king sinbad, his master, to prevent his putting to death the prince his son." what the grecian king said about king sinbad raised the vizier's curiosity, who said, "i pray your majesty to pardon me, if i have the boldness to ask what the vizier of king sinbad said to his master to divert him from putting the prince his son to death." the grecian king had the condescension to satisfy him: "that vizier," said he, "after having represented to king sinbad, that he ought to beware, lest on the accusation of a mother-in-law he should commit an action of which he might afterwards repent, told him this story." the story of the husband and the parrot. a certain man had a beautiful wife, whom he loved so dearly, that he could scarcely allow her to be out of his sight. one day, some urgent affairs obliging him to go from home, he went to a place where all sorts of birds were sold, and bought a parrot, which not only spoke well, but could also give an account of every thing that was done in its presence. he brought it in a cage to his house, desired his wife to put it in his chamber, and take care of it during his absence, and then departed. on his return, he questioned the parrot concerning what had passed while he was from home, and the bird told him such things as gave him occasion to upbraid his wife. she concluded some of her slaves had betrayed her, but all of them swore they had been faithful, and agreed that the parrot must have been the tell-tale. upon this, the wife began to devise how she might remove her husband's jealousy, and at the same time revenge herself on the parrot. her husband being gone another journey, she commanded a slave in the night-time to turn a hand-mill under the parrot's cage; she ordered another to sprinkle water, in resemblance of rain, over the cage; and a third to move a looking-glass, backward and forward against a candle, before the parrot. the slaves spent a great part of the night in doing what their mistress desired them, and acquitted themselves with much skill. next night the husband returned, and examined the parrot again about what had passed during his absence. the bird answered, "good master, the lightning, thunder, and rain so much disturbed me all night, that i cannot tell how much i suffered." the husband, who knew that there had been neither thunder, lightning, nor rain in the night, fancied that the parrot, not having spoken truth in this, might also have lied in the other relation; upon which he took it out of the cage, and threw it with so much force to the ground that he killed it. yet afterwards he understood from his neigbours, that the poor parrot had not deceived him in what it had stated of his wife's base conduct, made him repent that he had killed it. when the grecian king had finished the story of the parrot, he added, "and you, vizier, because of the hatred you bear to the physician douban, who never did you any injury, you would have me cut him off; but i will beware lest i should repent as the husband did after killing his parrot." the mischievous vizier was too desirous of effecting the ruin of the physician douban to stop here. "sir," said he, "the death of the parrot was but a trifle, and i believe his master did not mourn for him long: but why should your fear of wronging an innocent man, hinder your putting this physician to death? is it not sufficient justification that he is accused of a design against your life? when the business in question is to secure the life of a king, bare suspicion ought to pass for certainty; and it is better to sacrifice the innocent than to spare the guilty. but, sir, this is not a doubtful case; the physician douban has certainly a mind to assassinate you. it is not envy which makes me his enemy; it is only my zeal, with the concern i have for preserving your majesty's life, that makes me give you my advice in a matter of this importance. if the accusation be false, i deserve to be punished in the same manner as a vizier formerly was." "what had the vizier done," demands the grecian king, "to deserve punishment?" "i will inform your majesty," said the vizier, "if you will be pleased to hear me." the story of the vizier that was punished. there was a king who had a son that loved hunting. he allowed him to pursue that diversion often; but gave orders to his grand vizier always to attend him. one hunting day, the huntsman having roused a deer, the prince, who thought the vizier followed him, pursued the game so far, and with so much earnestness, that he separated himself from the company. perceiving he had lost his way he stopped, and endeavoured to return to the vizier; but not knowing the country he wandered farther. whilst he was thus riding about, he met on his way a handsome lady, who wept bitterly. he stopped his horse, and enquired who she was, how she came to be alone in that place, and what she wanted. "i am," replied she, "the daughter of an indian king. as i was taking the air on horseback, in the country, i grew sleepy, and fell from my horse, who is run away, and i know not what is become of him." the young prince taking compassion on her, requested her to get up behind him, which she willingly did. as they were passing by the ruins of a house, the lady expressed a desire to alight. the prince stopped, and having put her down, dismounted himself, and went near the building, leading his horse after him. but you may judge how much he was surprised, when he heard the pretended lady utter these words: "be glad, my children, i bring you a young man for your repast;" and other voices, which answered immediately, "where is he, for we are very hungry?" the prince heard enough to convince him of his danger. he perceived that the lady, who called herself the daughter of an indian king, was one of those savage demons, called gholes, who live in desolated places, and employ a thousand wiles to surprise passengers, whom they afterwards devour. the prince instantly remounted his horse, and luckily escaped. the pretended princess appeared that very moment, and perceiving she had missed her prey, exclaimed, "fear nothing, prince: who are you? whom do you seek?" "i have lost my way," replied he, "and am endeavouring to find it." "if you have lost your way," said she, "recommend yourself to god, he will deliver you out of your perplexity." after the counterfeit indian princess had bidden the young prince recommend himself to god, he could not believe she spoke sincerely, but thought herself sure of him; and therefore lifting up his hands to heaven, said, "almighty lord, cast shine eyes upon me, and deliver me from this enemy." after this prayer, the ghole entered the ruins again, and the prince rode off with all possible haste. he happily found his way, and arrived safe at the court of his father, to whom he gave a particular account of the danger he had been in through the vizier's neglect: upon which the king, being incensed against that minister, ordered him to be immediately strangled. "sir," continued the grecian king's vizier, "to return to the physician douban, if you do not take care, the confidence you put in him will be fatal to you; i am very well assured that he is a spy sent by your enemies to attempt your majesty's life. he has cured you, you will say: but alas! who can assure you of that? he has perhaps cured you only in appearance, and not radically; who knows but the medicine he has given you, may in time have pernicious effects?" the grecian king was not able to discover the wicked design of his vizier, nor had he firmness enough to persist in his first opinion. this discourse staggered him: "vizier," said he, "thou art in the right; he may be come on purpose to take away my life, which he may easily do by the smell of his drugs." when the vizier found the king in such a temper as he wished, "sir," said he, "the surest and speediest method you can take to secure your life, is to send immediately for the physician douban, and order his head to be struck off." "in truth," said the king, "i believe that is the way we must take to frustrate his design." when he had spoken thus, he called for one of his officers, and ordered him to go for the physician; who, knowing nothing of the king's purpose, came to the palace in haste. "knowest thou," said the king, when he saw him, "why i sent for thee?" "no, sir," answered he; "i wait till your majesty be pleased to inform me." "i sent for thee," replied the king, "to rid myself of thee, by taking away thy life." no man can express the surprise of the physician, when he heard the sentence of death pronounced against him. "sir," said he, "why would your majesty take my life? what crime have i committed?" "i am informed," replied the king, "that you came to my court only to attempt my life; but to prevent you, i will be sure of yours. give the blow," said he to the executioner, who was present, "and deliver me from a perfidious wretch, who came hither on purpose to assassinate me." when the physician heard this cruel order, he readily judged that the honours and presents he had received from the king had procured him enemies, and that the weak prince was imposed on. he repented that he had cured him of his leprosy; but it was now too late. "is it thus," asked the physician, "that you reward me for curing you?" the king would not hearken to him, but a second time ordered the executioner to strike the fatal blow. the physician then had recourse to his prayers; "alas, sir," cried he, "prolong my days, and god will prolong yours; do not put me to death, lest god treat you in the same manner." the fisherman broke off his discourse here, to apply it to the genie. "well, genie," said he, "you see that what passed betwixt the grecian king and his physician douban is acted just now by us." the grecian king, continued he, instead of having regard to the prayers of the physician, who begged him to spare his life, cruelly replied, "no, no; i must of necessity cut you off, otherwise you may assassinate with as much art as you cured me." the physician, without bewailing himself for being so ill rewarded by the king, prepared for death. the executioner tied his hands, and was going to draw his cimeter. the courtiers who were present, being moved with compassion, begged the king to pardon him, assuring his majesty that he was not guilty of the crime laid to his charge, and that they would answer for his innocence: but the king was inflexible. the physician being on his knees, his eyes tied up, and ready to receive the fatal blow, addressed himself once more to the king: "sir," said he, "since your majesty will not revoke the sentence of death, i beg, at least, that you would give me leave to return to my house, to give orders about my burial, to bid farewell to my family, to give alms, and to bequeath my books to those who are capable of making good use of them. i have one particularly i would present to your majesty; it is a very precious book, and worthy of being laid up carefully in your treasury." "what is it," demanded the king, "that makes it so valuable?" "sir," replied the physician, "it possesses many singular and curious properties; of which the chief is, that if your majesty will give yourself the trouble to open it at the sixth leaf, and read the third line of the left page, my head, after being cut off, will answer all the questions you ask it." the king being curious, deferred his death till next day, and sent him home under a strong guard. the physician, during that time, put his affairs in order; and the report being spread, that an unheard of prodigy was to happen after his death, the viziers, emirs, officers of the guard, and, in a word, the whole court, repaired next day to the hall of audience, that they might be witnesses of it. the physician douban was brought in, and advancing to the foot of the throne, with a book in his hand, he called for a basin, and laid upon it the cover in which the book was wrapped; then presenting the book to the king, "take this," said he, "and after my head is cut off, order that it be put into the basin upon that cover; as soon as it is placed there, the blood will stop; then open the book, and my head will answer your questions. but permit me once more to implore your majesty's clemency; for god's sake grant my request, i protest to you that i am innocent." "your prayers," answered the king, "are in vain; and were it for nothing but to hear your head speak after your death, it is my will you should die." as he said this, he took the book out of the physician's hand, and ordered the executioner to do his duty. the head was so dexterously cut off that it fell into the basin, and was no sooner laid upon the cover of the book than the blood stopped; then to the great surprise of the king, and all the spectators, its eyes, and said, "sir, will your majesty be pleased to open the book?" the king proceeded to do so; but finding that the leaves adhered to each other, that he might turn them with more ease, he put his finger to his mouth, and wetted it with spittle. he did thus till he came to the sixth leaf, and finding no writing on the place where he was desired to look for it, "physician," said he, "there is nothing written." "turn over some more leaves," replied the head. the king went on, putting always his finger to his mouth, until the poison with which each leaf was imbued, coming to have its effect, the prince found himself suddenly taken with an extraordinary fit, his eye-sight failed, and he fell down at the foot of the throne in violent convulsions. when the physician douban, or rather his head, saw that the poison had taken effect, and that the king had but a few moments to live; "tyrant," it cried, "now you see how princes are treated, who, abusing their authority, cut off innocent men: god punishes soon or late their injustice and cruelty." scarcely had the head spoken these words, when the king fell down dead, and the head itself lost what life it had. as soon as the fisherman had concluded the history of the greek king and his physician douban, he made the application to the genie, whom he still kept shut up in the vessel. "if the grecian king," said he, "had suffered the physician to live, god would have continued his life also; but he rejected his most humble prayers, and the case is the same with thee, o genie! could i have prevailed with thee to grant me the favour i supplicated, i should now take pity on thee; but since, notwithstanding the extreme obligation thou west under to me, for having set thee at liberty, thou didst persist in thy design to kill me, i am obliged, in my turn, to be equally hard-hearted to thee." "my good friend fisherman," replied the genie, "i conjure thee once more, not to be guilty of such cruelty; consider, that it is not good to avenge one's self, and that on the other hand, it is commendable to do good for evil; do not treat me as imama formerly treated ateca." "and what did imama to ateca?" enquired the fisherman. "ho!" says the genie, "if you have a mind to be informed, open the vessel: do you think that i can be in an humour to relate stories in so strait a prison? i will tell you as many as you please, when you have let me out." "no," said the fisherman, "i will not let thee out; it is in vain to talk of it; i am just going to throw thee into the bottom of the sea." "hear me one word more," cried the genie; "i promise to do thee no hurt; nay, far from that, i will shew thee a way to become exceedingly rich." the hope of delivering himself from poverty, prevailed with the fisherman. "i could listen to thee," said he, "were there any credit to be given to thy word; swear to me by the great name of god, that you will faithfully perform what you promise, and i will open the vessel; i do not believe you will dare to break such an oath." the genie swore to him, upon which the fisherman immediately took off the covering of the vessel. at that instant the smoke ascended, and the genie having resumed his form, the first thing he did was to kick the vessel into the sea. this action alarmed the fisherman. "genie," said he, "will not you keep the oath you just now made? and must i say to you, as the physician douban said to the grecian king, suffer me to live, and god will prolong your days." the genie laughed at the fisherman's fear, and answered, "no, fisherman, be not afraid, i only did it to divert myself, and to see if thou wouldst be alarmed at it: but to convince thee that i am in earnest, take thy nets and follow me." as he spoke these words, he walked before the fisherman, who having taken up his nets, followed him, but with some distrust. they passed by the town, and came to the top of a mountain, from whence they descended into a vast plain, which brought them to a lake, that lay betwixt four hills. when they reached the side of the lake, the genie said to the fisherman, "cast in thy nets, and catch fish;" the fisherman did not doubt of taking some, because he saw a great number in the water; but he was extremely surprised, when he found they were of four colours, that is to say, white, red, blue, and yellow. he threw in his nets, and brought out one of each colour. having never seen the like before, he could not but admire them, and judging that he might get a considerable sum for them, he was very joyful. "carry those fish," said the genie to him, "and present them to thy sultan; he will give thee more money for them. thou mayest come every day to fish in this lake; but i give thee warning not to throw in thy nets above once a day, otherwise thou wilt repent." having spoken thus, he struck his foot upon the ground, which opened, and after it had swallowed him up closed again. the fisherman being resolved to follow the genie's advice, forbore casting in his nets a second time; and returned to the town very well satisfied; and making a thousand reflections upon his adventure. he went immediately to the sultan's palace, to offer his fish. the sultan was much surprised, when he saw the four fish which the fisherman presented. he took them up one after another, and viewed them with attention; and after having admired them a long time, "take those fish," said he to his vizier, "and carry them to the cook, whom the emperor of the greeks has sent me. i cannot imagine but that they must be as good as they are beautiful." the vizier, carried them as he was directed, and delivering them to the cook, said, "here are four fish just brought to the sultan; he orders you to dress them:" he then returned to the sultan his master, who ordered him to give the fisherman four hundred pieces of gold of the coin of that country, which he did accordingly. the fisherman, who had never seen so much money, could scarcely believe his good fortune, but thought the whole must be a dream, until he found it otherwise, by being able to provide necessaries for his family with the produce of his fish. as soon as the sultan's cook had gutted the fish, she put them upon the fire in a frying-pan, with oil, and when she thought them fried enough on one side, she turned them upon the other; but, o monstrous prodigy! scarcely were they turned, when the wall of the kitchen divided, and a young lady of wonderful beauty entered from the opening. she was clad in flowered satin, after the egyptian manner, with pendants in her ears, a necklace of large pearls, and bracelets of gold set with rubies, with a rod in her hand. she moved towards the frying-pan, to the great amazement of the cook, who continued fixed by the sight, and striking one of the fish with the end of the rod, said, "fish, fish, are you in duty?" the fish having answered nothing, she repeated these words, and then the four fish lifted up their heads, and replied, "yes, yes: if you reckon, we reckon; if you pay your debts, we pay ours; if you fly, we overcome, and are content." as soon as they had finished these words, the lady overturned the frying-pan, and returned into the open part of the wall, which closed immediately, and became as it was before. the cook was greatly frightened at what had happened, and coming a little to herself, went to take up the fish that had fallen on the hearth, but found them blacker than coal, and not fit to be carried to the sultan. this grievously troubled her, and she fell to weeping most bitterly. "alas!" said she, "what will become of me? if i tell the sultan what i have seen, i am sure he will not believe me, but will be enraged against me." while she was thus bewailing herself, the grand vizier entered, and asked her if the fish were ready? she told him all that had occurred, which we may easily imagine astonished him; but without speaking a word of it to the sultan, he invented an excuse that satisfied him, and sending immediately for the fisherman, bid him bring four more such fish, for a misfortune had befallen the others, so that they were not fit to be carried to the sultan. the fisherman, without saying any thing of what the genie had told him, in order to excuse himself from bringing them that day, told the vizier, he had a great way to go for them, but would certainly bring them on the morrow. accordingly the fisherman went away by night, and coming to the lake, threw in his nets betimes next morning, took four fish like the former, and brought them to the vizier, at the hour appointed. the minister took them himself, carried them to the kitchen, and shutting himself up with the cook, she gutted them, and put them on the fire, as she had done the four others the day before. when they were fried on one side, and she had turned them upon the other, the kitchen wall again opened, and the same lady came in with the rod in her hand, struck one of the fish, spoke to it as before, and all four gave her the same answer. after the four fish had answered the young lady, she overturned the frying-pan with her rod, and retired into the wall. the grand vizier, being witness to what had passed: "this is too wonderful and extraordinary," said he, "to be concealed from the sultan; i will inform him of this prodigy." the sultan, being much surprised, sent immediately for the fisherman, and said to him, "friend, cannot you bring me four more such fish?" the fisherman replied, "if your majesty will be pleased to allow me three days, i will do it." having obtained his time, he went to the lake immediately, and at the first throwing in of his net, he caught four fish, and brought them directly to the sultan; who was so much the more rejoiced, as he did not expect them so soon, and ordered him four hundred pieces of gold. as soon as the sultan had the fish, he ordered them to be carried into his closet, with all that was necessary for frying them; and having shut himself up with the vizier, the minister gutted them, put them into the pan, and when they were fried on one side, turned them upon the other; then the wall of the closet opened, but instead of the young lady, there came out a black, in the habit of a slave, and of a gigantic stature, with a great green staff in his hand. he advanced towards the pan, and touching one of the fish with his staff, said with a terrible voice, "fish, are you in your duty?" at these words, the fish raised up their heads, and answered, "yes, yes; we are: if you reckon, we reckon; if you pay your debts, we pay ours; if you fly, we overcome, and are content." the fish had no sooner finished these words, than the black threw the pan into the middle of the closet, and reduced the fish to a coal. having done this, he retired fiercely, and entering again into the aperture, it closed, and the wall appeared just as it did before. "after what i have seen," said the sultan to the vizier, "it will not be possible for me to be easy: these fish, without doubt, signify something extraordinary." he sent for the fisherman, and when he came, said to him, "fisherman, the fish you have brought us, make me very uneasy; where did you catch them?" "sir," answered he, "i fished for them in a lake situated betwixt four hills, beyond the mountain that we see from hence." "knowst thou not that lake?" said the sultan to the vizier. "no," replied the vizier. "i never so much as heard of it, although i have for sixty years hunted beyond that mountain." the sultan asked the fisherman, how far the lake might be from the palace? the fisherman answered, it was not above three hours journey; upon this assurance, the sultan commanded all his court to take horse, and the fisherman served them for a guide. they all ascended the mountain, and at the foot of it they saw, to their great surprise, a vast plain, that nobody had observed till then, and at last they came to the lake, which they found to be situated betwixt four hills as the fisherman had described. the water was so transparent, that they observed all the fish to be like those which the fisherman had brought to the palace. the sultan stood upon the bank of the lake, and after beholding the fish with admiration, demanded of his courtiers, if it were possible they had never seen this lake, which was within so short a distance of the town. they all answered, that they had never so much as heard of it. "since you all agree that you never heard of it, and as i am no less astonished than you are, at this novelty, i am resolved not to return to my palace till i learn how this lake came here, and why all the fish in it are of four colours." having spoken thus, he ordered his court to encamp; and immediately his pavilion and the tents of his household were planted upon the banks of the lake. when night came, the sultan retired under his pavilion, and spoke to the grand vizier thus: "vizier, my mind is uneasy: this lake transported hither; the black that appeared to us in my closet, and the fish that we heard speak; all these things so much excite my curiosity, that i cannot resist my impatient desire to have it satisfied. to this end, i am resolved to withdraw alone from the camp, and i order you to keep my absence secret: stay in my pavilion, and to-morrow morning, when the emirs and courtiers come to attend my levee, send them away, and tell them, that i am somewhat indisposed, and wish to be alone; and the following days tell them the same thing, till i return." the grand vizier endeavoured to divert the sultan from this design; he represented to him the danger to which he might be exposed, and that all his labour might perhaps be in vain: but it was to no purpose; the sultan was resolved. he put on a suit fit for walking, and took his cimeter; and as soon as he found that all was quiet in the camp, went out alone, and passed over one of the hills without much difficulty; he found the descent still more easy, and when he came to the plain, walked on till the sun arose, and then he saw before him, at a considerable distance, a vast building. he rejoiced at the sight, in hopes of receiving there the information he sought. when he drew near, he found it was a magnificent palace, or rather a strong castle, of black polished marble, and covered with fine steel, as smooth as glass. being highly pleased that he had so speedily met with something worthy his curiosity, he stopped before the front of the castle, and considered it with attention. he then advanced towards the gate, which had two leaves, one of them open; though he might immediately have entered, yet he thought it best to knock. this he did at first softly, and waited for some time; but seeing no one, and supposing he had not been heard, he knocked harder the second time, and after that he knocked again and again, but no one yet appearing, he was exceedingly surprised; for he could not think that a castle in such repair was without inhabitants. "if there be no one in it," said he to himself, "i have nothing to fear; and if it be inhabited, i have wherewith to defend myself." at last he entered, and when he came within the porch, he cried, "is there no one here to receive a stranger, who comes in for some refreshment as he passes by?" he repeated the same words two or three times; but though he spoke very loud, he was not answered. the silence increased his astonishment: he came into a spacious court, and looked on every side for inhabitants, but discovered none. the sultan entered the grand halls, which were hung with silk tapestry, the alcoves and sofas were covered with stuffs of mecca, and the porches with the richest stuffs of india, mixed with gold and silver. he came afterwards into a superb saloon, in the middle of which was a fountain, with a lion of massy gold at each angle: water issued from the mouths of the four lions; and as it fell, formed diamonds and pearls, resembling a jet d'eau, which springing from the middle of the fountain, rose nearly to the top of a cupola painted in arabesque. the castle, on three sides, was encompassed by a garden, with parterres of flowers, shrubbery, and whatever could concur to embellish it; and to complete the beauty of the place, an infinite number of birds filled the air with their harmonious notes, and always remained there, nets being spread over the garden, and fastened to the palace to confine them. the sultan walked from apartment to apartment, where he found every thing rich and magnificent. being tired with walking, he sat down in a verandah or arcade closet, which had a view over the garden, reflecting what he had already seen, and then beheld: when suddenly he heard the voice of one complaining, in lamentable tones. he listened with attention, and heard distinctly these words: "o fortune! thou who wouldst not suffer me longer to enjoy a happy lot, forbear to persecute me, and by a speedy death put an end to my sorrows. alas! is it possible that i am still alive, after so many torments as i have suffered!" the sultan rose up, advanced toward the place whence he heard the voice; and coming to the door of a great hall, opened it, and saw a handsome young man, richly habited, seated upon a throne raised a little above the ground. melancholy was painted on his countenance. the sultan drew near, and saluted him; the young man returned his salutation by an inclination of his head, not being able to rise, at the same time saying, "my lord, i should rise to receive you; but am hindered by sad necessity, and therefore hope you will not be offended." "my lord," replied the sultan, "i am much obliged to you for having so good an opinion of me: as to the reason of your not rising, whatever your apology be, i heartily accept it. being drawn hither by your complaints, and afflicted by your grief, i come to offer you my help; would to god that it lay in my power to ease you of your trouble! i would do my utmost to effect it. i flatter myself that you will relate to me the history of your misfortunes; but inform me first of the meaning of the lake near the palace, where the fish are of four colours? whose this castle is? how you came to be here? and why you are alone?" instead of answering these questions, the young man began to weep bitterly. "how inconstant is fortune!" cried he; "she takes pleasure to pull down those she had raised. where are they who enjoy quietly the happiness which they hold of her, and whose day is always clear and serene?" the sultan, moved with compassion to see him in such a condition, prayed him to relate the cause of his excessive grief. "alas! my lord," replied the young man, "how is it possible but i should grieve, and my eyes be inexhaustible fountains of tears?" at these words, lifting up his robe, he shewed the sultan that he was a man only from the head to the girdle, and that the other half of his body was black marble. the sultan was much surprised, when he saw the deplorable condition of the young man. "that which you shew me," said he, "while it fills me with horror, excites my curiosity, so that i am impatient to hear your history, which, no doubt, must be extraordinary, and i am persuaded that the lake and the fish make some part of it; therefore i conjure you to relate it. you will find some comfort in so doing, since it is certain, that the unfortunate find relief in making known their distress." "i will not refuse your request," replied the young man, "though i cannot comply without renewing my grief. but i give you notice before hand, to prepare your ears, your mind, and even your eyes, for things which surpass all that the imagination can conceive." the history of the young king of the black isles. you must know that my father, named mahmoud, was king of this country. this is the kingdom of the black isles, which takes its name from the four small neighbouring mountains; for these mountains were formerly isles: the capital where the king my father resided was situated on the spot now occupied by the lake you have seen. the sequel of my history will inform you of those changes. the king my father died when he was seventy years of age; i had no sooner succeeded him, than i married, and the lady i chose to share the royal dignity with me, was my cousin. i had so much reason to be satisfied with her affection, and, on my part, loved her with so much tenderness, that nothing could surpass the harmony and pleasure of our union. this lasted five years, at the end of which time, i perceived the queen, my cousin, ceased to delight in my attentions. one day, after dinner, while she was at the bath, i found myself inclined to repose and lay down upon a sofa. two of her ladies, who were then in my chamber, came and sat down, one at my head, and the other at my feet, with fans in their hands to moderate the heat, and to prevent the flies from disturbing me. they thought i was asleep, and spoke in whispers; but as i only closed my eyes, i heard all their conversation. one of them said to the other, "is not the queen wrong, not to love so amiable a prince?" "certainly," replied the other; "i do not understand the reason, neither can i conceive why she goes out every night, and leaves him alone!" "is it possible that he does not perceive it?" "alas!" said the first, "how should he? she mixes every evening in his liquor, the juice of a certain herb, which makes him sleep so sound all night, that she has time to go where she pleases, and as day begins to appear, she comes and lies down by him again, and wakes him by the smell of something she puts under his nostrils." you may guess, my lord, how much i was surprised at this conversation, and with what sentiments it inspired me; yet, whatever emotion it excited, i had sufficient self-command to dissemble, and feigned to awake without having heard a word. the queen returned from the bath, we supped together and she presented me with a cup full of such water as i was accustomed to drink; but instead of putting it to my mouth, i went to a window that was open, and threw out the water so quickly, that she did not perceive it, and returned. we went to bed together, and soon after, believing that i was asleep, she got up with so little precaution, that she said loud enough for me to hear her distinctly, "sleep on, and may you never wake again!" she dressed herself, and went out of the chamber. as soon as the queen my wife was gone, i dressed myself in haste, took my cimeter, and followed her so quickly, that i soon heard the sound of her feet before me, and then walked softly after her, for fear of being heard. she passed through several gates, which opened upon her pronouncing some magical words, and the last she opened was that of the garden, which she entered. i stopt at this gate, that she might not perceive me, as she passed along a parterre; then looking after her as far as the darkness of the night permitted, i saw her enter a little wood, whose walks were guarded by thick palisadoes. i went thither by another way, and concealing myself behind the palisadoes of a long walk, i saw her walking there with a man. i did not fail to lend the most attentive ear to their discourse, and heard her address herself thus to her gallant: "i do not deserve to be reproached by you for want of diligence. you well know the reason; but if all the proofs of affection i have already given you be not sufficient to convince you of my sincerity, i am ready to give you others more decisive: you need but command me, you know my power; i will, if you desire it, before sun-rise convert this great city, and this superb palace, into frightful ruins, inhabited only by wolves, owls, and ravens. if you would have me transport all the stones of those walls so solidly built, beyond mount caucasus, or the bounds of the habitable world, speak but the word, and all shall be changed." as the queen finished these words she and her lover came to the end of the walk, turned to enter another, and passed before me. i had already drawn my cimeter, and her lover being next me, i struck him on the neck, and brought him to the ground. i concluded i had killed him, and therefore retired speedily without making myself known to the queen, whom i chose to spare, because she was my kinswoman. the wound i had given her lover was mortal; but by her enchantments she preserved him in an existence in which he could not be said to be either dead or alive. as i crossed the garden to return to the palace, i heard the queen loudly lamenting, and judging by her cries how much she was grieved, i was pleased that i had spared her life. as soon as i had reached my apartment, i went to bed, and being satisfied with having punished the villain who had injured me, fell asleep; and when i awoke next morning, found the queen lying. i cannot tell you whether she slept or not; but i arose, went to my closet, and dressed myself. i afterwards held my council. at my return, the queen, clad in mourning, her hair dishevelled, and part of it torn off, presented herself before me, and said; "i come to beg your majesty not to be surprised to see me in this condition. my heavy affliction is occasioned by intelligence of three distressing events which i have just received." "alas! what are they, madam?" said i. "the death of the queen my dear mother," she replied, "that of the king my father killed in battle, and of one of my brothers, who has fallen down a precipice." i was not displeased that she used this pretext to conceal the true cause of her grief, and i concluded she had not suspected me of being the author of her lover's death. "madam," said i, "so far from blaming, i assure you i heartily commiserate your sorrow. i should feel surprise if you were insensible to such heavy calamities: weep on; your tears are so many proofs of your tenderness; but i hope that time and reflection will moderate your grief." she retired into her apartment, where, giving herself wholly up to sorrow, she spent a whole year in mourning and lamentation. at the end of that period, she begged permission to erect a burying place for herself, within the bounds of the palace, where she would continue, she told me, to the end of her days: i consented, and she built a stately edifice, crowned by a cupola, which may be seen from hence, and called it the palace of tears. when it was finished, she caused her lover to be conveyed thither, from the place to which she had caused him to be carried the night i wounded him: she had hitherto prevented his dying, by potions which she had administered to him; and she continued to convey them to him herself every day after he came to the palace of tears. yet, with all her enchantments, she could not cure him; he was not only unable to walk or support himself, but had also lost the use of his speech, and exhibited no sign of life except in his looks. though the queen had no other consolation but to see him, and to say to him all that her senseless passion could inspire, yet every day she made him two long visits. i was well apprised of this, but pretended ignorance. one day my curiosity induced me to go to the palace of tears, to observe how the princess employed herself, and from a place where she could not see me, i heard her thus address her lover: "i am afflicted to the highest degree to behold you in this condition; i am as sensible as yourself of the tormenting pain you endure; but, dear soul, i am continually speaking to you, and you do not answer me: how long will you remain silent? speak only one word: alas! the sweetest moments of my life are these i spend here in partaking of your grief. i cannot live at a distance from you, and would prefer the pleasure of having you always before me, to the empire of the universe." at these words, which were several times interrupted by her sighs and sobs, i lost all patience: and discovering myself, came up to her, and said, "madam, you have wept enough, it is time to give over this sorrow, which dishonours both; you have too much forgotten what you owe to me and to yourself." "sire," said she, "if you have any kindness or compassion for me left, i beseech you to put no restraint upon me; allow me to indulge my grief, which it is impossible for time to assuage." when i perceived that my remonstrance, instead of restoring her to a sense of duty, served only to increase her anguish, i gave over and retired. she continued every day to visit her lover, and for two whole years abandoned herself to grief and despair. i went a second time to the palace of tears, while she was there. i concealed myself again, and heard her thus address her lover: "it is now three years since you spoke one word to me; you answer not the proofs i give you of my love by my sighs and lamentations. is it from insensibility, or contempt? o tomb! hast thou destroyed that excess of affection which he bare me? hast thou closed those eyes that evinced so much love, and were all my delight? no, no, this i cannot think. tell me rather, by what miracle thou becamest the depositary of the rarest treasure the world ever contained." i must confess, my lord, i was enraged at these expressions; for, in truth, this beloved, this adored mortal, was by no means what you would imagine him to have been. he was a black indian, one of the original natives of this country. i was so enraged at the language addressed to him, that i discovered myself, and apostrophising the tomb in my turn; i cried, "o tomb! why dost not thou swallow up that monster so revolting to human nature, or rather why dost not thou swallow up both the lover and his mistress?" i had scarcely uttered these words, when the queen, who sat by the black, rose up like a fury. "miscreant!" said she "thou art the cause of my grief; do not think i am ignorant of this, i have dissembled too long. it was thy barbarous hand that brought the objets of my fondness into this lamentable condition; and thou hast the cruelty to come and insult a despairing lover." "yes," said i, in a rage, "it was i that chastised that monster, according to his desert; i ought to have treated thee in the same manner; i now repent that i did not; thou hast too long abused my goodness." as i spoke these words, i drew out my cimeter, and lifted up my hand to punish her; but regarding me stedfastly, she said with a jeering smile, "moderate thy anger." at the same time, she pronounced words i did not understand; and afterwards added, "by virtue of my enchantments, i command thee to become half marble and half man." immediately, my lord, i became what you see, a dead man among the living, and a living man among the dead. after the cruel sorceress, unworthy of the name of queen, had metamorphosed me thus, and brought me into this hall, by another enchantment she destroyed my capital, which was very flourishing and populous; she annihilated the houses, the public places and markets, and reduced the site of the whole to the lake and desert plain you have seen; the fishes of four colours in the lake are the four kinds of inhabitants of different religions, which the city contained. the white are the moosulmauns; the red, the persians, who worship fire; the blue, the christians and the yellow, the jews. the four little hills were the four islands that gave name to this kingdom. i learned all this from the enchantress, who, to add to my affliction, related to me these effects of her rage. but this is not all; her revenge not being satisfied with the destruction of my dominions, and the metamorphosis of my person, she comes every day, and gives me over my naked shoulders a hundred lashes with a whip until i am covered with blood. when she has finished this part of my punishment, she throws over me a coarse stuff of goat's hair, and over that this robe of brocade, not to honour, but to mock me. when he came to this part of the narrative, the young king could not restrain his tears; and the sultan was himself so affected by the relation, that he could not find utterance for any words of consolation. shortly after, the young king, lifting up his eyes to heaven, exclaimed, "mighty creator of all things, i submit myself to thy judgments, and to the decrees of thy providence: i endure my calamities with patience, since it is thy will things should be as they are; but i hope thy infinite goodness will ultimately reward me." the sultan, greatly moved by the recital of this affecting story, and anxious to avenge the sufferings of the unfortunate prince, said to him, "inform me whither this perfidious sorceress retires, and where may be found her vile paramour, who is entombed before his death." "my lord," replied the prince, "her lover, as i have already told you, is lodged in the palace of tears, in a superb tomb constructed in the form of a dome: this palace joins the castle on the side in which the gate is placed. as to the queen, i cannot tell you precisely whither she retires, but every day at sun-rise she goes to visit her paramour, after having executed her bloody vengeance upon me; and you see i am not in a condition to defend myself. she carries to him the potion with which she had hitherto prevented his dying, and always complains of his never having spoken to her since he was wounded." "prince," said the sultan, "your condition can never be sufficiently deplored: no one can be more sensibly affected by your misfortunes than i am. never did any thing so extraordinary befall any man, and those who write your history will have the advantage of relating what surpasses all that has hitherto been recorded. one thing only is wanting; the revenge to which you are entitled, and i will omit nothing in my power to effect it." in his subsequent conversation with the young prince, the sultan told him who he was, and for what purpose he had entered the castle; and afterwards informed him of a mode of revenge which he had devised. they agreed upon the measures they were to take for accomplishing their design, but deferred the execution of it till the following day. in the mean time, the night being far spent, the sultan took some rest; but the young prince passed the night as usual, without sleep, having never slept since he was enchanted, still indulging some hopes of being speedily delivered from his misery. next morning the sultan arose with the dawn, and prepared to execute his design, hiding his upper garment, which might encumber him; he then proceeded to the palace of tears. he found it lighted up with an infinite number of flambeaux of white wax, and perfumed by a delicious scent issuing from several censers of fine gold of admirable workmanship. as soon as he perceived the bed where the black lay, he drew his cimeter, and without resistance deprived him of his wretched life, dragged his corpse into the court of the castle, and threw it into a well. after this, he went and lay down in the black's bed, placed his cimeter under the covering, and waited to complete his design. the queen arrived shortly after. she first went into the chamber of her husband, the king of the black islands, stripped him, and with unexampled barbarity gave him a hundred stripes. the unfortunate prince filled the palace with his lamentations, and conjured her in the most affecting tone to take pity on him; but the cruel wretch ceased not till she had given the usual number of blows. "you had no compassion on my lover," said she, "and you are to expect none from me." after the enchantress had given the king, her husband, a hundred blows with the whip, she put on again his covering of goat's hair, and his brocade gown over all; she went afterwards to the palace of tears, and as she entered renewed her tears and lamentations: then approaching the bed, where she thought her paramour lay, "what cruelty," cried she, "was it to disturb the satisfaction so tender and passionate a lover as i am? o cruel prince, who reproachest me that i am inhuman, when i make thee feel the effects of my resentment! does not thy barbarity surpass my vengeance? traitor! in attempting the life of the object which i adore, hast thou not robbed me of mine? alas!" said she, addressing herself to the sultan, conceiving him to be the black "my sun, my life, will you always be silent! are you resolved to let me die, without affording me the comfort of hearing again from your own lips that you love me? my soul, speak one word to me at least, i conjure you." the sultan, as if he had awaked out of a deep sleep, and counterfeiting the pronunciation of the blacks, answered the queen with a grave tone, "there is no strength or power but in god alone, who is almighty." at these words the enchantress, who did not expect them, uttered a loud exclamation of joy. "my dear lord," cried she, "do not i deceive myself; is it certain that i hear you, and that you speak to me?" "unhappy woman," said the sultan, "art thou worthy that i should answer thee?" "alas!" replied the queen, "why do you reproach me thus?" "the cries," returned the sultan, "the groans and tears of thy husband, whom thou treatest every day with so much indignity and barbarity, prevent my sleeping night or day. hadst thou disenchanted him, i should long since have been cured, and have recovered the use of my speech. this is the cause of my silence, of which you complain." "well," said the enchantress, "to pacify you, i am ready to execute your commands; would you have me restore him?" "yes," replied the sultan; "make haste to set him at liberty, that i be no longer disturbed by his lamentations." the enchantress went immediately out of the palace of tears; she took a cup of water, and pronounced some words over it, which caused it to boil, as if it had been on the fire. she afterwards proceeded to the young king her husband, and threw the water upon him, saying, "if the creator of all things did form thee as thou art at present; or if he be angry with thee, do not change; but if thou art in that condition merely by virtue of my enchantments, resume thy natural shape, and become what thou west before." she had scarcely spoken these words, when the prince, finding himself restored to his former condition, rose up and returned thanks to god. the enchantress then said to him, "get thee from this castle, and never return on pain of death." the young king, yielding to necessity, went away from the enchantress, without replying a word; and retired to a remote place, where he patiently awaited the event of the design which the sultan had so happily begun. meanwhile, the enchantress returned to the palace of tears, and supposing that she still spoke to the black, said, "dear love, i have done what you required; nothing now prevents your rising and giving me the satisfaction of which i have so long been deprived." the sultan, still counterfeiting the pronunciation of the blacks, said, "what you have now done is by no means sufficient for my cure; you have only removed a part of the evil; you must cut it up by the root." "my lovely black," resumed the queen, "what do you mean by the root?" "wretched woman," replied the sultan, "understand you not that i allude to the town, and its inhabitants, and the four islands, destroyed by thy enchantments? the fish every night at midnight raise their heads out of the lake, and cry for vengeance against thee and me. this is the true cause of the delay of my cure. go speedily, restore things to their former state, and at thy return i will give thee my hand, and thou shalt help me to arise." the enchantress, inspired with hope from these words, cried out in a transport of joy, "my heart, my soul, you shall soon be restored to your health, for i will immediately do as you command me." accordingly she went that instant, and when she came to the brink of the lake, she took a little water in her hand, and sprinkling it, had no sooner pronounced some words over the fish and the lake, than the city was immediately restored. the fish became men, women, and children; mahummedans, christians, persians, or jews; freemen or slaves, as they were before: every one having recovered his natural form. the houses and shops were immediately filled with their inhabitants, who found all things as they were before the enchantment. the sultan's numerous retinue, who found themselves encamped in the largest square, were astonished to see themselves in an instant in the middle of a large, handsome, well-peopled city. to return to the enchantress: as soon as she had effected this wonderful change, she returned with all expedition to the palace of tears, that she might receive her reward. "my dear lord," cried she, as she entered, "i come to rejoice with you in the return of your health: i have done all that you required of me, then pray rise, and give me your hand." "come near," said the sultan, still counterfeiting the pronunciation of the blacks. she did so. "you are not near enough," he continued, "approach nearer." she obeyed. he then rose up, and seizing her by the arm so suddenly, that she had not time to discover him, he with a blow of his cimeter cut her in two, so that one half fell one way and the other another. this done he left the body on the spot, and going out of the palace of tears, went to seek the young king of the black isles, who waited for him with great impatience. when he found him, "prince," said he, embracing him, "rejoice; you have now nothing to fear; your cruel enemy is dead." the young prince returned thanks to the sultan in a manner that sufficiently the sincerity of his gratitude, and in return wished him long life and happiness. "you may henceforward," said the sultan, "dwell peaceably in your capital, unless you will accompany me to mine, which is near: you shall there be welcome, and have as much honour and respect shown you as if you were in your own kingdom." "potent monarch, to whom i am so much indebted," replied the king, "you think then that you are near your capital?" "yes," said the sultan, "i know it is not above four or five hours' journey." "it will take you a whole year to return," said the prince "i do indeed believe that you came hither from your capital in the time you mention, because mine was enchanted; but since the enchantment is taken off, things are changed: however, this shall not prevent my following you, were it to the utmost corners of the earth. you are my deliverer, and that i may give you proofs of my acknowledging this during my whole life, i am willing to accompany you, and to leave my kingdom without regret." the sultan was extremely surprised to understand that he was so far from his dominions, and could not imagine how it could be. but the young king of the black islands convinced him beyond a possibility of doubt. then the sultan replied, "it is no matter; the trouble of returning to my own country is sufficiently recompensed by the satisfaction of having obliged you, and by acquiring you for a son; for since you will do me the honour to accompany me, as i have no child, i look upon you as such, and from this moment appoint you my heir and successor." the conversation between the sultan and the king of the black islands concluded with most affectionate embraces, after which the young prince employed himself in making preparations for his journey, which were finished in three weeks, to the great regret of his court and subjects, who agreed to receive at his hands one of his nearest kindred for their monarch. at length, the sultan and the young prince began their journey, with a hundred camels laden with inestimable riches from the treasury of the young king, followed by fifty handsome gentlemen on horseback, perfectly well mounted and dressed they had a pleasant journey; and when the sultan, who had sent couriers to give advice of his delay, and of the adventure which had occasioned it, approached his capital, the principal officers came to receive him, and to assure him that his long absence had occasioned no alteration in his empire. the inhabitants also came out in great crowds, received him with acclamations, and made public rejoicings for several days. the day after his arrival the sultan gave all his courtiers a very ample account of the circumstances, which, contrary to his expectation, had detained him so long. he acquainted them with his having adopted the king of the four black islands, who was willing to leave a great kingdom, to accompany and live with him; and, in reward for their loyalty, he made each of them presents according to their rank. as for the fisherman, as he was the first cause of the deliverance of the young prince, the sultan gave him a plentiful fortune, which made him and his family happy the rest of their days. story of the three calenders, sons of sultans; and of the five ladies of bagdad. in the reign of caliph haroon al rusheed, there was at bagdad, a porter, who, notwithstanding his mean and laborious business, was a fellow of wit and good humour. one morning as he was at the place where he usually plyed, with a great basket, waiting for employment, a handsome young lady, covered with a great muslin veil, accosted him, and said with a pleasant air, "hark you, porter, take your basket and follow me." the porter, charmed with these words, pronounced in so agreeable a manner, took his basket immediately, set it on his head, and followed the lady, exclaiming, "o happy day, o day of good luck!" in a short time the lady stopped before a gate that was shut, and knocked: a christian, with a venerable long white beard, opened it; and she put money into his hand, without speaking; but the christian, who knew what she wanted, went in, and in a little time, brought a large jug of excellent wine. "take this jug," said the lady to the porter, "and put it in your basket." this being done, she commanded him to follow her; and as she proceeded, the porter continued his exclamation, "o happy day! this is a day of agreeable surprise and joy." the lady stopped at a fruit-shop, where she bought several sorts of apples, apricots, peaches, quinces, lemons, citrons, oranges; myrtles, sweet basil, lilies, jessamin, and some other flowers and fragrant plants; she bid the porter put all into his basket, and follow her. as she went by a butcher's stall, she made him weigh her twenty five pounds of his best meat, which she ordered the porter to put also into his basket. at another shop, she took capers, tarragon, cucumbers, sassafras, and other herbs, preserved in vinegar: at another, she bought pistachios, walnuts, filberts, almonds, kernels of pine-apples, and such other fruits; and at another, all sorts of confectionery. when the porter had put all these things into his basket, and perceived that it grew full, "my good lady," said he, "you ought to have given me notice that you had so much provision to carry, and then i would have brought a horse, or rather a camel, for the purpose; for if you buy ever so little more, i shall not be able to bear it." the lady laughed at the fellow's pleasant humour, and ordered him still to follow her. she then went to a druggist, where she furnished herself with all manner of sweet-scented waters, cloves, musk, pepper, ginger, and a great piece of ambergris, and several other indian spices; this quite filled the porter's basket, and she ordered him to follow her. they walked till they came to a magnificent house, whose front was adorned with fine columns, and had a gate of ivory. there they stopped, and the lady knocked softly. while the young lady and the porter waited for the opening of the gate, the porter made a thousand reflections. he wondered that such a fine lady should come abroad to buy provisions; he concluded she could not be a slave, her air was too noble, and therefore he thought she must needs be a woman of quality. just as he was about to ask her some questions upon this head, another lady came to open the gate, and appeared to him so beautiful, that he was perfectly surprised, or rather so much struck with her charms, that he had nearly suffered his basket to fall, for he had never seen any beauty that equalled her. the lady who brought the porter with her, perceiving his disorder, and knowing the cause, was greatly diverted, and took so much pleasure in watching his looks, that she forgot the gate was opened. "pray, sister," said the beautiful portress, "come in, what do you stay for? do not you see this poor man so heavy laden, that he is scarcely able to stand." when she entered with the porter, the lady who had opened the gate shut it, and all three, after having passed through a splendid vestibule, entered a spacious court, encompassed with an open gallery, which had a communication with several apartments of extraordinary magnificence. at the farther end of the court there was a platform, richly furnished, with a throne of amber in the middle, supported by four columns of ebony, enriched with diamonds and pearls of an extraordinary size, and covered with red satin embroidered with indian gold of admirable workmanship. in the middle of the court there was a fountain, faced with white marble, and full of clear water, which was copiously supplied out of the mouth of a lion of brass. the porter, though heavy laden, could not but admire the magnificence of this house, and the excellent order in which every thing was placed; but what particularly captivated his attention, was a third lady, who seemed to be more beautiful than the second, and was seated upon the throne just mentioned; she descended as soon as she saw the two others, and advanced towards them: he judged by the respect which the other ladies showed her, that she was the chief, in which he was not mistaken. this lady was called zobeide, she who opened the gate safie, and she who went to buy the provisions was named amene. zobeide said to the two ladies, when she came to them, "sisters, do not you see that this honest man is ready to sink under his burden, why do not you ease him of it?" then amene and safie took the basket, the one before and the other behind; zobeide also assisted, and all three together set it on the ground; then emptied it; and when they had done, the beautiful amene took out money, and paid the porter liberally. the porter was well satisfied with the money he had received; but when he ought to have departed, he could not summon sufficient resolution for the purpose. he was chained to the spot by the pleasure of beholding three such beauties, who appeared to him equally charming; for amene having now laid aside her veil, proved to be as handsome as either of the others. what surprised him most was, that he saw no man about the house, yet most of the provisions he had brought in, as the dry fruits, and the several sorts of cakes and confections, were adapted chiefly for those who could drink and make merry. zobeide thought at first, that the porter staid only to take breath, but perceiving that he remained too long, "what do you wait for," said she, "are you not sufficiently paid?" and turning to amene, she continued, "sister, give him something more, that he may depart satisfied." "madam," replied the porter, "it is not that which detains me, i am already more than paid for my services; i am sensible that i act rudely in staying longer than i ought, but i hope you will the goodness to pardon me, when i tell you, that i am astonished not to see a man with three ladies of such extraordinary beauty: and you know that a company of women without men is as melancholy as a company of men without women." to this he added several other pleasant things, to prove what he said, and did not forget the bagdad proverb, "that the table is not completely furnished, except there be four in company:" and so concluded, that since they were but three, they wanted another. the ladies fell a laughing at the porter's reasoning; after which zobeide gravely addressed him, "friend, you presume rather too much; and though you do not deserve that i should enter into any explanation with you, i have no objection to inform you that we are three sisters, who transact our affairs with so much secrecy that no one knows any thing of them. we have but too much reason to be cautious of acquainting indiscreet persons with our counsel; and a good author that we have read, says, 'keep thy own secret, and do not reveal it to any one. he that makes his secret known it no longer its master. if thy own breast cannot keep thy counsel, how canst thou expect the breast of another to be more faithful?'" "my ladies," replied the porter, "by your very air, i judged at first that you were persons of extraordinary merit, and i conceive that i am not mistaken. though fortune has not given me wealth enough to raise me above my mean profession, yet i have not omitted to cultivate my mind as much as i could, by reading books of science and history; and allow me, i beseech you, to say, that i have also read in another author a maxim which i have always happily followed: 'we conceal our secret from such persons only as are known to all the world to want discretion, and would abuse our confidence; but we hesitate not to discover it to the prudent, because we know that with them it is safe.' a secret in my keeping is as secure as if it were locked up in a cabinet, the key of which is lost, and the door sealed up." zobeide perceiving that the porter was not deficient in wit, but thinking he wished to share in their festivity, answered him, smiling, "you know that we have been making preparations to regale ourselves, and that, as you have seen, at a considerable expense; it is not just that you should now partake of the entertainment without contributing to the cost." the beautiful safie seconded her sister, and said to the porter, "friend, have you never heard the common saying, 'if you bring something with you, you shall carry something away, but if you bring nothing, you shall depart empty?'" the porter, notwithstanding his rhetoric, must, in all probability, have retired in confusion, if amene had not taken his part, and said to zobeide and safie, "my dear sisters, i conjure you to let him remain; i need not tell you that he will afford us some diversion, of this you perceive he is capable: i assure you, had it not been for his readiness, his alacrity, and courage to follow me, i could not have done so much business, in so short a time; besides, where i to repeat to you all the obliging expressions he addressed to me by the way, you would not feel surprised at my taking his part." at these words of amene, the porter was so transported with joy, that he fell on his knees, kissed the ground at her feet, and raising himself up, said, "most beautiful lady, you began my good fortune to-day, and now you complete it by this generous conduct; i cannot adequately express my acknowledgments. as to the rest, ladies," said he, addressing himself to all the three sisters, "since you do me so great an honour, do not think that i will abuse it, or look upon myself as deserving of the distinction. no, i shall always look upon myself as one of your most humble slaves." when he had spoken these words he would have returned the money he had received, but zobeide ordered him to keep it. "what we have once given," said she, "to reward those who have served us, we never take back. my friend, in consenting to your staying with us, i must forewarn you, that it is not the only condition we impose upon you that you keep inviolable the secret we may entrust to you, but we also require you to attend to the strictest rules of good manners." during this address, the charming amene put off the apparel she went abroad with, and fastened her robe to her girdle that she might act with the greater freedom; she then brought in several sorts of meat, wine, and cups of gold. soon after, the ladies took their places, and made the porter sit down by them, who was overjoyed to see himself seated with three such admirable beauties. after they had eaten a little, amene took a cup, poured some wine into it, and drank first herself; she then filled the cup to her sisters, who drank in course as they sat; and at last she filled it the fourth time for the porter, who, as he received it, kissed amene's hand; and before he drank, sung a song to this purpose. that as the wind bears with it the sweet scents of the perfumed places over which it passes, so the wine he was going to drink, coming from her fair hands, received a more exquisite flavour than it naturally possessed. the song pleased the ladies much, and each of them afterwards sung one in her turn. in short, they were all very pleasant during the repast, which lasted a considerable time, and nothing was wanting that could serve to render it agreeable. the day drawing to a close, safie spoke in the name of the three ladies, and said to the porter, "arise, it is time for you to depart." but the porter, not willing to leave good company, cried, "alas! ladies, whither do you command me to go in my present condition? what with drinking and your society, i am quite beside myself. i shall never find the way home; allow me this night to recover myself, in any place you please, but go when i will, i shall leave the best part of myself behind." amene pleaded the second time for the porter, saying, "sisters, he is right, i am pleased with the request, he having already diverted us so well; and, if you will take my advice, or if you love me as much as i think you do, let us keep him for the remainder of the night." "sister," answered zobeide, "we can refuse you nothing;" and then turning to the porter, said, "we are willing once more to grant your request, but upon this new condition, that, whatever we do in your presence relating either to ourselves or any thing else, you do not so much as open your mouth to ask the reason; for if you put any questions respecting what does not concern you, you may chance to hear what you will not like; beware therefore, and be not too inquisitive to pry into the motives of our actions. "madam," replied the porter, "i promise to abide by this condition, that you shall have no cause to complain, and far less to punish my indiscretion; my tongue shall be immovable on this occasion, and my eye like a looking-glass, which retains nothing of the objets that is set before it." "to shew you," said zobeide with a serious countenance, "that what we demand of you is not a new thing among us, read what is written over our gate on the inside." the porter went and read these words, written in large characters of gold: "he who speaks of things that do not concern him, shall hear things that will not please him." returning again to the three sisters, "ladies," said he, "i swear to you that you shall never hear me utter a word respecting what does not relate to me, or wherein you may have any concern." these preliminaries being settled, amene brought in supper, and after she had lighted up the room with tapers, made of aloe-wood and ambergris, which yield a most agreeable perfume, as well as a delicate light, she sat down with her sisters and the porter. they began again to eat and drink, to sing, and repeat verses. the ladies diverted themselves in intoxicating the porter, under pretext of making him drink their healths, and the repast was enlivened by reciprocal flashes of wit. when they were all in the best humour possible, they heard a knocking at the gate. when the ladies heard the knocking, they all three got up to open the gate; but safie was the nimblest; which her sisters perceiving, they resumed their seats. safie returning, said, "sisters, we have a very fine opportunity of passing a good part of the night pleasantly, and if you agree with me, you will not suffer it to go by. there are three calenders at our gate, at least they appear to be such by their habit; but what will surprise you is, they are all three blind of the right eye, and have their heads, beards, and eye-brows shaved. they say, they are but just come to bagdad, where they never were before; it being night, and not knowing where to find a lodging, they happened by chance to knock at this gate, and pray us, for the love of heaven, to have compassion on them, and receive them into the house. they care not what place we put them in, provided they may be under shelter; they would be satisfied with a stable. they are young and handsome, and seem not to want spirit. but i cannot without laughing think of their amusing and uniform figure." here safie laughed so heartily, that the two sisters and the porter could not refrain from laughing also. "my dear sisters," said she, "you will permit them to come in; it is impossible but that with such persons as i have described them to be, we shall finish the day better than we began it; they will afford us diversion enough, and put us to no charge, because they desire shelter only for this night, and resolve to leave us as soon as day appears." zobeide and amene made some difficulty to grant safie's request, for reasons which she herself well knew. but being very desirous to obtain this favour, they could not refuse her; "go then," said zobeide, "and bring them in, but do not forget to acquaint them that they must not speak of any thing which does not concern them, and cause them to read what is written over the gate." safie ran out with joy, and in a little time after returned with the three calenders. at their entrance they made a profound obeisance to the ladies, who rose up to receive them, and told them courteously that they were welcome, that they were glad of the opportunity to oblige them, and to contribute towards relieving the fatigues of their journey, and at last invited them to sit down with them. the magnificence of the place, and the civility they received, inspired the calenders with high respect for the ladies: but, before they sat down, having by chance cast their eyes upon the porter, whom they saw clad almost like those devotees with whom they have continual disputes respecting several points of discipline, because they never shave their beards nor eye-brows; one of them said, "i believe we have got here one of our revolted arabian brethren." the porter having his head warm with wine, took offence and with a fierce look, without stirring from his place, answered, "sit you down, and do not meddle with what does not concern you: have you not read the inscription over the gate? do not pretend to make people live after your fashion, but follow ours." "honest man," said the calender, "do not put yourself in a passion; we should be sorry to give you the least occasion; on the contrary, we are ready to receive your commands." upon which, to put an end to the dispute, the ladies interposed, and pacified them. when the calenders were seated, the ladies served them with meat; and safie, being highly pleased with them, did not let them want for wine. after the calenders had eaten and drunk liberally, they signified to the ladies, that they wished to entertain them with a concert of music, if they had any instruments in the house, and would cause them to be brought: they willingly accepted the proposal, and fair safie going to fetch them, returned again in a moment, and presented them with a flute of her own country fashion, another of the persian, and a tabor. each man took the instrument he liked, and all three together began to play a tune the ladies, who knew the words of a merry song that suited the air, joined the concert with their voices; but the words of the song made them now and then stop, and fall into excessive laughter. in the height of this diversion, when the company were in the midst of their jollity, a knocking was heard at the gate; safie left off singing, and went to see who it was. the caliph haroon al rusheed was frequently in the habit of walking abroad in disguise by night, that he might discover if every thing was quiet in the city, and see that no disorders were committed. this night the caliph went out on his rambles, accompanied by jaaffier his grand vizier, and mesrour the chief of the eunuchs of his palace, all disguised in merchants' habits; and passing through the street where the three ladies dwelt, he heard the sound of music and fits of loud laughter; upon which he commanded the vizier, to knock, as he wished to enter to ascertain the reason. the vizier, in vain represented to him that the noise proceeded from some women who were merry-making, that without question their heads were warm with wine, and that it would not be proper he should expose himself to be affronted by them: besides, it was not yet an unlawful hour, and therefore he ought not to disturb them in their mirth. "no matter," said the caliph, "i command you to knock." jaaffier complied; safie opened the gate, and the vizier, perceiving by the light in her hand, that she was an incomparable beauty, with a very low salutation said, "we are three merchants of mossoul, who arrived here about ten days ago with rich merchandise, which we have in a warehouse at a caravan-serai, where we have also our lodging. we happened this evening to be with a merchant of this city, who invited us to his house, where we had a splendid entertainment: and the wine having put us in good humour, he sent for a company of dancers. night being come on, and the music and dancers making a great noise, the watch, passing by, caused the gate to be opened and some of the company to be taken up; but we had the good fortune to escape by getting over the wall. being strangers, and somewhat overcome with wine, we are afraid of meeting that or some other watch, before we get home to our khan. besides, before we can arrive there the gates will be shut, and will not be opened till morning: wherefore, hearing, as we passed by this way, the sound of music, we supposed you were not yet going to rest, and made bold to knock at your gate, to beg the favour of lodging ourselves in the house till morning; and if you think us worthy of your good company, we will endeavour to contribute to your diversion to the best of our power, to make some amends for the interruption we have given you; if not, we only beg the favour of staying this night in your vestibule." whilst jaaffier was speaking, safie had time to observe the vizier, and his two companions, who were said to be merchants like himself, and told them that she was not mistress of the house; but if they would have a minute's patience, she would return with an answer. safie made the business known to her sisters, who considered for some time what to do: but being naturally of a good disposition, and having granted the same favour to the three calenders, they at last consented to let them in. the caliph, his grand vizier, and the chief of the eunuchs, being introduced by the fair safie, very courteously saluted the ladies and the calenders. the ladies returned their salutations, supposing them to be merchants. zobeide, as the chief, addressed them with a grave and serious countenance, which was natural to her, and said, "you are welcome. but before i proceed farther, i hope you will not take it ill if we desire one favour of you." "alas!" said the vizier, "what favour? we can refuse nothing to such fair ladies." zobeide continued, "it is that, while here, you would have eyes, but no tongues; that you question us not for the reason of any thing you may see, and speak not of any thing that does not concern you, lest you hear what will by no means please you." "madam," replied the vizier, "you shall be obeyed. we are not censorious, nor impertinently curious; it is enough for us to notice affairs that concern us, without meddling with what does not belong to us." upon this they all sat down, and the company being united, they drank to the health of the new-comers. while the vizier, entertained the ladies in conversation, the caliph could not forbear admiring their extraordinary beauty, graceful behaviour, pleasant humour, and ready wit; on the other hand, nothing struck him with more surprise than the calenders being all three blind of the right eye. he would gladly have learnt the cause of this singularity; but the conditions so lately imposed upon himself and his companions would not allow him to speak. these circumstances, with the richness of the furniture, the exact order of every thing, and the neatness of the house, made him think they were in some enchanted place. their conversation happening to turn upon diversions, and the different ways of making merry; the calenders arose, and danced after their fashion, which augmented the good opinion the ladies had conceived of them, and procured them the esteem of the caliph and his companions. when the three calenders had finished their dance, zobeide arose, and taking amene by the hand, said, "pray, sister, arise, for the company will not be offended if we use our freedom, and their presence need not hinder the performance of our customary exercise." amene understanding her sister's meaning, rose from her seat, carried away the dishes, the flasks and cups, together with the instruments which the calenders had played upon. safie was not idle, but swept the room, put every thing again in its place, trimmed the lamps, and put fresh aloes and ambergris to them; this being done, she requested the three calenders to sit down upon the sofa at one side, and the caliph with his companions on the other: then addressing herself to the porter, she said, "get up, and prepare yourself to assist us in what we are going to do; a man like you, who is one of the family, ought not to be idle." the porter, being somewhat recovered from his wine, arose immediately, and having tied the sleeve of his gown to his belt, answered, "here am i, ready to obey your commands." "very well," replied safie, "stay till you are spoken to; and you shall not be idle long." a little time after, amene came in with a chair, which she placed in the middle of the room; and then went towards a closet. having opened the door, she beckoned to the porter, and said, "come hither and assist me." he obeyed, and entered the closet, and returned immediately, leading two black bitches, each of them secured by a collar and chain; they appeared as if they had been severely whipped with rods, and he brought them into the middle of the apartment. zobeide, rising from her seat between the calenders and the caliph, moved very gravely towards the porter; "come," said she, heaving a deep sigh, "let us perform our duty:" she then tucked up her sleeves above her elbows, and receiving a rod from safie, "porter," said she, "deliver one of the bitches to my sister amene, and bring the other to me." the porter did as he was commanded. upon this the bitch that he held in his hand began to howl, and turning towards zobeide, held her head up in a supplicating posture; but zobeide, having no regard to the sad countenance of the animal, which would have moved pity, nor to her cries that resounded through the house, whipped her with the rod till she was out of breath; and having spent her strength, threw down the rod, and taking the chain from the porter, lifted up the bitch by her paws, and looking upon her with a sad and pitiful countenance, they both wept: after which, zobeide, with her handkerchief, wiped the tears from the bitch's eye, kissed her, returned the chain to the porter, desired him to carry her to the place whence he took her, and bring her the other. the porter led back the whipped bitch to the closet, and receiving the other from amene, presented her to zobeide, who requested him to hold her as he had done the first, took up the rod, and treated her after the same manner; and when she had wept over her, she dried her eyes, kissed her, and returned her to the porter: but amene spared him the trouble of leading her back into the closet, and did it herself. the three calenders, with the caliph and his companions, were extremely surprised at this exhibition, and could not comprehend why zobeide, after having so furiously beaten those two bitches, that by the moosulman religion are reckoned unclean animals, should weep with them, wipe off their tears, and kiss them. they muttered among themselves, and the caliph, who, being more impatient than the rest, longed exceedingly to be informed of the cause of so strange a proceeding, could not forbear making signs to the vizier to ask the question: the vizier turned his head another way; but being pressed by repeated signs, he answered by others, that it was not yet time for the caliph to satisfy his curiosity. zobeide sat still some time in the middle of the room, where she had whipped the two bitches, to recover herself of her fatigue; and safie called to her, "dear sister, will you not be pleased to return to your place, that i may also aft my part?" "yes, sister," replied zobeide; and then went, and sat down upon the sofa, having the caliph, jaaffier, and mesrour, on her right hand, and the three calenders, with the porter, on her left. after zobeide had taken her seat, the whole company remained silent for some time; at last, safie, sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, spoke to her sister amene, "dear sister, i conjure you to rise; you know what i would say." amene rose, and went into another closet, near to that where the bitches were, and brought out a case covered with yellow satin, richly embroidered with gold and green silk. she went towards safie and opened the case, from whence she took a lute, and presented it to her: and after some time spent in tuning it, safie began to play, and accompanying the instrument with her voice, sung a song about the torments that absence creates to lovers, with so much sweetness, that it charmed the caliph and all the company. having sung with much passion and action, she said to amene, "pray take it, sister, for my voice fails me; oblige the company with a tune, and a song in my stead." "very willingly," replied amene, who, taking the lute from her sister safie, sat down in her place. amene played and sung almost as long upon the same subject, but with so much vehemence, and was so much affected, or rather transported, by the words of the song, that her strength failed her as she finished. zobeide, desirous of testifying her satisfaction, said, "sister, you have done wonders, and we may easily see that you feel the grief you have expressed in so lively a manner." amene was prevented from answering this civility, her heart being so sensibly touched at the moment, that she was obliged, for air, to uncover her neck and bosom, which did not appear so fair as might have been expected; but, on the contrary, were black and full of scars, which surprised and affected all the spectators. however, this gave her no ease, for she fell into a fit. when zobeide and safie had run to help their sister, one of the calenders could not forbear saying, "we had better have slept in the streets than have come hither to behold such spectacles." the caliph, who heard this, came to him and the other calenders, and asked them what might be the meaning of all this? they answered, "we know no more than you do." "what," said the caliph, "are you not of the family? can you not resolve us concerning the two black bitches and the lady that fainted away, who appears to have been so basely abused?" "sir," said the calenders, "this is the first time of our being in the house; we came in but a few minutes before you." this increased the caliph's astonishment: "probably," said he, "this man who is with you may know something of the matter." one of the calenders beckoned the porter to come near; and asked him, whether he knew why those two black bitches had been whipped, and why amene's bosom was so scarred. "sir," said the porter, "i can swear by heaven, that if you know nothing of all this, i know as little as you do. it is true, i live in this city, but i never was in the house until now, and if you are surprised to see me i am as much so to find myself in your company; and that which increases my wonder is, that i have not seen one man with these ladies." the caliph and his company, as well as the calenders, had supposed the porter to be one of the family, and hoped he would have been able to give them the information they sought; but finding he could not, and resolving to satisfy his curiosity, the caliph said to the rest, "we are seven men, and have but three women to deal with; let us try if we can oblige them to explain what we have seen, and if they refuse by fair means, we are in a condition to compel them by force." the grand vizier jaaffier objected to this, and shewed the caliph what might be the consequence. without discovering the prince to the calenders, he addressed him as if he had been a merchant, and said, "consider, i pray you, that our reputation is at stake. you know the conditions on which these ladies consented to receive us, and which we agreed to observe; what will they say of us if we break them? we shall be still more to blame, if any mischief befall us; for it is not likely that they would have extorted such a promise from us, without knowing themselves to be in a condition to punish us for its violation." here the vizier took the caliph aside, and whispered to him, "the night will soon be at an end, and if your majesty will only be pleased to have so much patience, i will to-morrow morning bring these ladies before your throne, where you may be informed of all that you desire to know." though this advice was very judicious, the caliph rejected it, desired the vizier to hold his tongue, and said, he would not wait so long, but would immediately have his curiosity satisfied. the next business was to settle who should carry the message. the caliph endeavoured to prevail with the calenders to speak first; but they excused themselves, and at last they agreed that the porter should be the man: as they were consulting how to word this fatal question, zobeide returned from her sister amene, who was recovered of her fit. she drew near them, and having overheard them speaking pretty loud, said, "gentlemen, what is the subject of your conversation? what are you disputing about?" the porter answered immediately, "madam, these gentlemen beseech you to inform them why you wept over your two bitches after you had whipped them so severely, and how the bosom of that lady who lately fainted away came to be so full of scars? these are the questions i am ordered to ask in their name." at these words, zobeide put on a stern countenance, and turning towards the caliph and the rest of the company, "is it true, gentlemen," said she, "that you desired him to ask me these questions?" all of them, except the vizier jaaffier, who spoke not a word, answered, "yes." on which she exclaimed, in a tone that sufficiently expressed her resentment, "before we granted you the favour of receiving you into our house, and to prevent all occasion of trouble from you, because we are alone, we imposed the condition that you should not speak of any thing that did not concern you, lest you might hear that which would not please you; and yet after having received and entertained you, you make no scruple to break your promise. it is true that our easy temper has occasioned this, but that shall not excuse your rudeness." as she spoke these words, she gave three stamps with her foot, and clapping her hands as often together, cried, "come quickly:" upon this, a door flew open, and seven black slaves rushed in; every one seized a man, threw him on the ground, and dragged him into the middle of the room, brandishing a cimeter over his head. we may easily conceive the caliph then repented, but too late, that he had not taken the advice of his vizier, who, with mesrour, the calenders and porter, was from his ill-timed curiosity on the point of forfeiting his life. before they would strike the fatal blow, one of the slaves said to zobeide, and her sisters: "high, mighty, and adorable mistresses, do you command us to strike off their heads?" "stay," said zobeide, "i must examine them first." the frightened porter interrupted her thus: "in the name of heaven, do not put me to death for another man's crime. i am innocent; they are to blame." "alas!" said he, weeping, "how pleasantly did we pass our time! those blind calenders are the cause of this misfortune; there is no town in the world but suffers wherever these inauspicious fellows come. madam, i beg you not to destroy the innocent with the guilty, and consider, that it is more glorious to pardon such a wretch as i am, who have no way to help myself, than to sacrifice me to your resentment." zobeide, notwithstanding her anger, could not but laugh within herself at the porter's lamentation: but without replying to him, she spoke a second time to the rest; "answer me, and say who you are, otherwise you shall not live one moment longer: i cannot believe you to be honest men, or persons of authority or distinction in your own countries; for if you were, you would have been more modest and more respectful to us." the caliph, naturally warm, was infinitely more indignant than the rest, to find his life depending upon the command of a woman: but he began to conceive some hopes, when he found she wished to know who they all were; for he imagined she would not put him to death, when informed of his quality; therefore he spoke with a low voice to the vizier, who was near him, to declare it speedily: but the vizier, more prudent, resolved to save his master's honour, and not let the world know the affront he had brought upon himself by his own imprudence; and therefore answered, "we have what we deserve." but if he had intended to speak as the caliph commanded him, zobeide would not have allowed him time: for having turned to the calenders, and seeing them all blind with one eye, she asked if they were brothers. one of them answered, "no, madam, no otherwise than as we are calenders; that is to say, as we observe the same rules." "were you born blind of the right eye," continued she? "no, madam," answered he; "i lost my eye in such a surprising adventure, that it would be instructive to every body were it in writing: after that misfortune i shaved my beard and eyebrows, and took the habit of a calender which i now wear." zobeide asked the other two calenders the same question, and had the same answers; but the last who spoke added, "madam, to shew you that we are no common fellows, and that you may have some consideration for us, be pleased to know, that we are all three sons of sultans; and though we never met together till this evening, yet we have had time enough to make that known to one another; and i assure you that the sultans from whom we derive our being were famous in the world." at this discourse zobeide suppressed her anger, and said to the slaves, "give them their liberty a while, but remain where you are. those who tell us their history, and the occasion of their coming, do them no hurt, let them go where they please; but do not spare those who refuse to give us that satisfaction." the three calendars, the caliph, the grand vizier, jaaffier, the eunuch mesrour, and the porter, were all in the middle of the hall, seated upon a carpet in the presence of the three ladies, who reclined upon a sofa, and the slaves stood ready to do whatever their mistresses should command. the porter, understanding that he might extricate himself from danger by telling his history, spoke first, and said, "madam, you know my history already, and the occasion of my coming hither; so that what i have to say will be very short. my lady, your sister, called me this morning at the place where i plyed as porter to see if any body would employ me, that i might get my bread; i followed her to a vintner's, then to a herb-shop, then to one where oranges, lemons, and citrons were sold, then to a grocer's, next to a confectioner's, and a druggist's, with my basket upon my head as full as i was able to carry it; then i came hither, where you had the goodness to suffer me to continue till now, a favour that i shall never forget. this, madam, is my history." when the porter had done, zobeide said to him, "depart, let us see you here no more." "madam," replied the porter, "i beg you to let me stay; it would not be just, after the rest have had the pleasure to hear my history, that i should not also have the satisfaction of hearing theirs." and having spoken thus, he sat down at the end of the sofa, glad at heart to have escaped the danger that had frightened him so much. after him, one of the three calenders directing his speech to zobeide, as the principal of the three ladies, began thus: the history of the first calender. madam, in order to inform you how i lost my right eye, and why i was obliged to put myself into a calender's habit, i must tell you, that i am a sultan's son born: my father had a brother who reigned over a neighbouring kingdom; and the prince his son and i were nearly of the same age. after i had learned my exercises, the sultan my father granted me such liberty as suited my dignity. i went regularly every year to see my uncle, at whose court i amused myself for a month or two, and then returned again to my father's. these journeys cemented a firm and intimate friendship between the prince my cousin and myself. the last time i saw him, he received me with greater demonstrations of tenderness than he had done at any time before; and resolving one day to give me a treat, he made great preparations for that purpose. we continued a long time at table, and after we had both supped; "cousin," said he, "you will hardly be able to guess how i have been employed since your last departure from hence, about a year past. i have had a great many men at work to perfect a design i have formed; i have caused an edifice to be built, which is now finished so as to be habitable: you will not be displeased if i shew it you. but first you are to promise me upon oath, that you will keep my secret, according to the confidence i repose in you." the affection and familiarity that subsisted between us would not allow me to refuse him any thing. i very readily took the oath required of me: upon which he said to me, "stay here till i return, i will be with you in a moment;" and accordingly he came with a lady in his hand, of singular beauty, and magnificently apparelled: he did not intimate who she was, neither did i think it would be polite to enquire. we sat down again with this lady at table, where we continued some time, conversing upon indifferent subjects; and now and then filling a glass to each other's health. after which the prince said, "cousin, we must lose no time; therefore pray oblige me by taking this lady along with you, and conducting her to such a place, where you will see a tomb newly built in form of a dome: you will easily know it; the gate is open; enter it together, and tarry till i come, which will be very speedily." being true to my oath, i made no farther enquiry, but took the lady by the hand, and by the directions which the prince my cousin had given me, i brought her to the place. we were scarcely got thither, when we saw the prince following us, carrying a pitcher of water, a hatchet, and a little bag of mortar. the hatchet served him to break down the empty sepulchre in the middle of the tomb; he took away the stones one after another, and laid them in a corner; he then dug up the ground, where i saw a trap-door under the sepulchre, which he lifted up, and underneath perceived the head of a staircase leading into a vault. then my cousin, speaking to the lady, said, "madam, it is by this way that we are to go to the place i told you of:" upon which the lady advanced, and went down, and the prince began to follow; but first turning to me, said, "my dear cousin, i am infinitely obliged to you for the trouble you have taken; i thank you. adieu." "dear cousin," i cried, "what is the meaning of this?" "be content," replied he; "you may return the way you came." i could get nothing farther from him, but was obliged to take my leave. as i returned to my uncle's palace, the vapours of the wine got up into my head; however, i reached my apartment, and went to bed. next morning, when i awoke, i began to reflect upon what had happened, and after recollecting all the circumstances of such a singular adventure, i fancied it was nothing but a dream. full of these thoughts, i sent to enquire if the prince my cousin was ready to receive a visit from me; but when they brought word back that he did not lie in his own lodgings that night, that they knew not what was become of him, and were in much trouble in consequence, i conceived that the strange event of the tomb was too true. i was sensibly afflicted, and went to the public burying-place, where there were several tombs like that which i had seen: i spent the day in viewing them one after another, but could not find that i sought for, and thus i spent four days successively in vain. you must know, that all this while the sultan my uncle was absent, and had been hunting for several days; i grew weary of waiting for him, and having prayed his ministers to make my apology at his return, left his palace, and set out towards my father's court. i left the ministers of the sultan my uncle in great trouble, surmising what was become of the prince: but because of my oath to keep his secret, i durst not tell them what i had seen. i arrived at my father's capital, where, contrary to custom, i found a numerous guard at the gate of the palace, who surrounded me as i entered. i asked the reason, and the commanding officer replied, "prince, the army has proclaimed the grand vizier, instead of your father, who is dead, and i take you prisoner in the name of the new sultan." at these words the guards laid hold of me, and carried me before the tyrant: i leave you to judge, madam, how much i was surprised and grieved. this rebel vizier, had long entertained a mortal hatred against me; for this reason. when i was a stripling, i loved to shoot with a cross-bow; and being one day upon the terrace of the palace with my bow, a bird happening to come by, i shot but missed him, and the ball by misfortune hit the vizier, who was taking the air upon the terrace of his own house, and put out one of his eyes. as soon as i understood this, i not only sent to make my excuse to him, but did it in person: yet he never forgave me, and, as opportunity offered, made me sensible of his resentment. but now that he had me in his power, he expressed his feelings; for he came to me like a madman, as soon as he saw me, and thrusting his finger into my right eye, pulled it out, and thus i became blind of one eye. but the usurper's cruelty did not stop here; he ordered me to be shut up in a machine, and commanded the executioner to carry me into the country, to cut off my head, and leave me to be devoured by birds of prey. the executioner conveyed me thus shut up into the country, in order to execute the barbarous sentence; but by my prayers and tears, i moved the man's compassion: "go," said he to me, "get you speedily out of the kingdom, and take heed of returning, or you will certainly meet your own ruin, and be the cause of mine." i thanked him for the favour he did me; and as soon as i was left alone, comforted myself for the loss of my eye, by considering that i had very narrowly escaped a much greater evil. being in such a condition, i could not travel far at a time; i retired to remote places during the day, and travelled as far by night as my strength would allow me. at last i arrived in the dominions of the sultan my uncle, and came to his capital. i gave him a long detail of the tragical cause of my return, and of the sad condition he saw me in. "alas!" cried he, "was it not enough for me to have lost my son, but must i have also news of the death of a brother i loved so dearly, and see you reduced to this deplorable condition?" he told me how uneasy he was that he could hear nothing of his son, notwithstanding all the enquiry he could make. at these words, the unfortunate father burst into tears, and was so much afflicted, that pitying his grief, it was impossible for me to keep the secret any longer; so that, notwithstanding my oath to the prince my cousin, i told the sultan all that i knew. his majesty listened to me with some sort of comfort, and when i had done, "nephew," said he, "what you tell me gives me some hope. i knew that my son ordered that tomb to be built, and i can guess pretty nearly the place; and with the idea you still have of it, i fancy we shall find it: but since he ordered it to be built privately, and you took your oath to keep his secret, i am of opinion, that we ought to go in quest of it without other attendants." but he had another reason for keeping the matter secret, which he did not then tell me, and an important one it was, as you will perceive by the sequel of my story. we disguised ourselves and went out by a door of the garden which opened into the fields, and soon found what we sought for. i knew the tomb, and was the more rejoiced, because i had formerly sought it a long time in vain. we entered, and found the iron trap pulled down at the head of the staircase; we had great difficulty in raising it, because the prince had fastened it inside with the water and mortar formerly mentioned, but at last we succeeded. the sultan my uncle descended first, i followed, and we went down about fifty steps. when we came to the foot of the stairs, we found a sort of antechamber, full of thick smoke of an ill scent, which obscured the lamp, that gave a very faint light. from this antechamber we came into another, very large, supported by columns, and lighted by several branched candlesticks. there was a cistern in the middle, and provisions of several sorts stood on one side of it; but we were much surprised not to see any person. before us there appeared a high estrade, which we mounted by several steps, and upon this there was a large bed, with curtains drawn. the sultan went up, and opening the curtains, perceived the prince his son and the lady in bed together, but burnt and changed to cinder, as if they had been thrown into a fire, and taken out before they were consumed. but what surprised me most was, that though this spectacle filled me with horror, the sultan my uncle, instead of testifying his sorrow to see the prince his son in such a condition, spat on his face, and exclaimed, with a disdainful air, "this is the punishment of this world, but that of the other will last to eternity;" and not content with this, he pulled off his sandal, and gave the corpse of his son a blow on the cheek. i cannot adequately express how much i was astonished when i saw the sultan my uncle abuse his son thus after he was dead. "sir," said i, "whatever grief this dismal sight has impressed upon me, i am forced to suspend it, to enquire of your majesty what crime the prince my cousin may have committed, that his corpse should deserve such indignant treatment?" "nephew," replied the sultan, "i must tell you, that my son (who is unworthy of that name) loved his sister from his infancy, as she did him: i did not check their growing fondness, because i did not foresee its pernicious consequence. this tenderness increased as they grew in years, and to such a height, that i dreaded the end of it. at last, i applied such remedies as were in my power: i not only gave my son a severe reprimand in private, laying before him the horrible nature of the passion he entertained, and the eternal disgrace he would bring upon my family, if he persisted; but i also represented the same to my daughter, and shut her up so close that she could have no conversation with her brother. but that unfortunate creature had swallowed so much of the poison, that all the obstacles which by my prudence i could lay in the way served only to inflame her love. "my son being persuaded of his sister's constancy, on presence of building a tomb, caused this subterraneous habitation to be made, in hopes of finding one day or other an opportunity to possess himself of that objets which was the cause of his flame, and to bring her hither. he took advantage of my absence, to enter by force into the place of his sister's confinement; but this was a circumstance which my honour would not suffer me to make public. and after so damnable an action, he came and shut himself up with her in this place, which he has supplied, as you see, with all sorts of provisions, that he might enjoy detestable pleasures, which ought to be a subject of horror to all the world; but god, who would not suffer such an abomination, has justly punished them both." at these words, he melted into tears, and i joined mine with his. after a while, casting his eyes upon me, "dear nephew," cried he, embracing me, "if i have lost that unworthy son, i shall happily find in you what will better supply his place." the reflections he made on the doleful end of the prince and princess his daughter made us both weep afresh. we ascended the stairs again, and departed at last from that dismal place. we let down the trap door, and covered it with earth, and such other materials as the tomb was built of, on purpose to hide, as much as lay in our power, so terrible an effect of the wrath of god. we had not been long returned to the palace, unperceived by any one, but we heard a confused noise of trumpets, drums, and other instruments of war. we soon understood by the thick cloud of dust, which almost darkened the air, that it was the arrival of a formidable army: and it proved to be the same vizier that had dethroned my father, and usurped his place, who with a vast number of troops was come to possess himself of that also of the sultan my uncle. my uncle, who then had only his usual guards about him, could not resist so numerous an enemy; they invested the city, and the gates being opened to them without any resistance, soon became masters of it, and broke into the palace where my uncle defended himself, and sold his life at a dear rate. i fought as valiantly for a while; but seeing we were forced to submit to a superior power, i thought on my retreat, which i had the good fortune to effect by some back ways, and got to one of the sultan's servants on whose fidelity i could depend. being thus surrounded with sorrows and persecuted by fortune, i had recourse to a stratagem, which was the only means left me to save my life: i caused my beard and eye-brows to be shaved, and putting on a calender's habit, i passed, unknown by any, out of the city; after that, by degrees, i found it easy to quit my uncle's kingdom, by taking the bye-roads. i avoided passing through towns, until i had reached the empire of the mighty governor of the moosulmauns, the glorious and renowned caliph haroon al rusheed, when i thought myself out of danger; and considering what i was to do, i resolved to come to bagdad, intending to throw myself at the feet of that monarch, whose generosity is renowned throughout the world. "i shall move him to compassion," said i to myself, "by the relation of my uncommon misfortunes, and without doubt he will take pity on a persecuted prince, and not suffer me to implore his assistance in vain." in short, after a journey of several months, i arrived yesterday at the gate of this city, into which i entered about the dusk of evening; and stopping a little while to consider which way i was to turn, another calender came up; he saluted me, and i him: "you appear," said i, "to be a stranger, as i am." "you are not mistaken," replied he. he had no sooner returned this answer, than a third calender overtook us. he saluted us, and told us he was a stranger newly come to bagdad; so that as brethren we joined together, resolving not to separate from one another. it was now late, and we knew not where to seek a lodging in the city, where we had never been before. but good fortune having brought us to your gate, we made bold to knock, when you received us with so much kindness, that we are incapable of rendering suitable thanks. "this, madam," said he, "is, in obedience to your commands, the account i was to give how i lost my right eye, wherefore my beard and eye-brows are shaved, and how i came to be with you at this time." "it is enough," said zobeide; "you may retire to what place you think fit." the calender begged the ladies' permission to stay till he had heard the relations of his two comrades, "whom i cannot," said he, "leave with honour;" and that he might also hear those of the three other persons in company. the story of the first calender seemed wonderful to the whole company, but especially to the caliph, who, notwithstanding the slaves stood by with their cimeters drawn, could not forbear whispering to the vizier "many stories have i heard, but never any that equalled in surprising incident that of the calender." whilst he was saying this, the second calender began, addressing himself to zobeide. the story of the second calender. madam, to obey your commands, and to shew you by what strange accident i became blind of the right eye, i must of necessity give you the account of my life. i was scarcely past my infancy, when the sultan my father (for you must know i am a prince by birth) perceived that i was endowed with good natural ability, and spared nothing proper for improving it. no sooner was i able to read and write, but i learned the koraun from beginning to end by heart, that admirable book, which contains the foundation, the precepts, and the rules of our religion; and that i might be thoroughly instructed in it, i read the works of the most approved divines, by whose commentaries it had been explained. i added to this study, that of all the traditions collected from the mouth of our prophet, by the great men that were contemporary with him. i was not satisfied with the knowledge of all that had any relation to our religion, but made also a particular search into our histories. i made myself perfect in polite learning, in the works of poets, and versification. i applied myself to geography, chronology, and to speak the arabian language in its purity; not forgetting in the meantime all such exercises as were proper for a prince to understand. but one thing which i was fond of, and succeeded in, was penmanship; wherein i surpassed all the celebrated scribes of our kingdom. fame did me more honour than i deserved, for she not only spread the renown of my talents through all the dominions of the sultan my father, but carried it as far as the empire of hindoostan, whose potent monarch, desirous to see me, sent an ambassador with rich presents: my father, who rejoiced at this embassy for several reasons, was persuaded, that nothing could be more improving to a prince of my age than to travel and visit foreign courts; and he wished to gain the friendship of the indian monarch. i departed with the ambassador, but with no great retinue. when we had travelled about a month, we discovered at a distance a cloud of dust, and under that we saw very soon fifty horsemen well armed, who were robbers, advancing towards us at full speed. as we had ten horses laden with baggage, and presents to the sultan of hindoostan, from my father, and my retinue was but small, you may easily judge that these robbers came boldly up to us; and not being in a posture to make any opposition, we told them, that we were ambassadors, and hoped they would attempt nothing contrary to the respect due to such sacred characters, thinking by this means to save our equipage and our lives: but the robbers most insolently replied, "for what reason would you have us shew any respect to the sultan your master? we are none of his subjects, nor are we upon his territories:" having spoken thus, they surrounded and fell upon us: i defended myself as long as i could; but finding myself wounded, and seeing the ambassador with his attendants and mine lying on the ground, i made use of what strength was yet remaining in my horse, who was also very much wounded, and rode away as fast as he could carry me; but he shortly after, from weariness and the loss of blood, fell down dead. i cleared myself from him unhurt, and finding that i was not pursued, judged the robbers were not willing to quit the booty they had obtained. here you see me, alone, wounded, destitute of help, and in a strange country. i durst not take the high road, fearing i might fall again into the hands of these robbers. when i had bound up my wound, which was not dangerous, i walked on the rest of the day, and arrived at the foot of the mountain, where i perceived a passage into a cave; i went in, and staid there that night with little satisfaction, after i had eaten some fruits that i had gathered by the way. i continued my journey for several days following, without finding any place of abode: but after a month's time, i came to a large town well inhabited, and situated so much the more advantageously, as it was surrounded by several streams, so that it enjoyed perpetual spring. the pleasant objects which then presented themselves to my view afforded me some joy, and suspended for a time the sorrow with which i was overwhelmed. my face, hands, and feet were black and sun-burnt; and, by my long journey, my boots were quite worn out, so that i was forced to walk bare-footed; and besides, my clothes were all in rags i entered the town to inform myself where i was, and addressed myself to a tailor that was at work in his shop; who, perceiving by my air that i was a person of more note than my outward appearance bespoke, made me sit down by him, and asked me who i was, from whence i came, and what had brought me thither? i did not conceal anything that had befallen me, nor made i any scruple to discover my quality. the tailor listened to me with attention; but after had done speaking, instead of giving me any consolation, he augmented my sorrow: "take heed," said he, "how you discover to any person what you have related to me; for the prince of this country is the greatest enemy your father has, and he will certainly do you some mischief, should he hear of your being in this city." i made no doubt of the tailor's sincerity, when he named the prince: but since that enmity which is between my father and him has no relation to my adventures, i pass it over in silence. i returned the tailor thanks for his advice, expressed himself disposed to follow his counsel, and assured him that his favours should never be forgotten. he ordered something to be brought for me to eat, and offered me at the same time a lodging in his house, which i accepted. some days after, finding me tolerably well recovered of the fatigue i had endured by a long and tedious journey, and reflecting that most princes of our religion applied themselves to some art or calling that might be serviceable to them upon occasion, he asked me, if i had learned any whereby i might get a livelihood, and not be burdensome to others? i told him that i understood the laws, both divine and human; that i was a grammarian and poet; and above all, that i could write with great perfection. "by all this," said he, "you will not be able, in this country, to purchase yourself one morsel of bread; nothing is of less use here than those sciences; but if you will be advised by me, dress yourself in a labourer's habit; and since you appear to be strong, and of a good constitution, you shall go into the next forest and cut fire-wood, which you may bring to the market to be sold; and i can assure you this employment will turn to so good an account that you may live by it, without dependence upon any man; and by this means you will be in a condition to wait for the favourable minute, when heaven shall think fit to dispel those clouds of misfortune that thwart your happiness, and oblige you to conceal your birth; i will take care to supply you with a rope and a hatchet." the fear of being known, and the necessity i was under of getting a livelihood, made me agree to this proposal, notwithstanding the meanness and hardships that attended it. the day following the tailor brought me a rope, a hatchet, and a short coat, and recommended me to some poor people who gained their bread after the same manner, that they might take me into their company. they conducted me to the wood, and the first day i brought in as much upon my head as procured me half a piece of gold, of the money of that country; for though the wood was not far distant from the town, yet it was very scarce, by reason that few would be at the trouble of fetching it for themselves. i gained a good sum of money in a short time, and repaid my tailor what he had advanced to me. i continued this way of living for a whole year. one day, having by chance penetrated farther into the wood than usual, i happened to light on a pleasant spot, where i began to cut; and in pulling up the root of a tree, i espied an iron ring, fastened to a trap door of the same metal. i took away the earth that covered it, and having lifted it up, discovered a flight of stairs, which i descended with my axe in my hand. when i had reached the bottom, i found myself in a palace, and felt great consternation, on account of a great light which appeared as clear in it as if it had been above ground in the open air. i went forward along a gallery, supported by pillars of jasper, the base and capitals of messy gold: but seeing a lady of a noble and graceful air, extremely beautiful, coming towards me, my eyes were taken off from every other objets. being desirous to spare the lady the trouble of coming to me, i hastened to meet her; and as i was saluting her with a low obeisance, she asked me, "what are you, a man or a genie?" "a man, madam," said i; "i have no correspondence with genies." "by what adventure," said she, fetching a deep sigh, "are you come hither? i have lived here twenty-five years, and you are the first man i have beheld in that time." her great beauty, which had already smitten me, and the sweetness and civility wherewith she received me, emboldened me to say, "madam, before i have the honour to satisfy your curiosity, give me leave to tell you, that i am infinitely gratified with this unexpected meeting, which offers me an occasion of consolation in the midst of my affliction; and perhaps it may give me an opportunity of making you also more happy than you are." i related to her by what strange accident she beheld me, the son of a sultan, in such a condition as i appeared in her presence; and how fortune had directed that i should discover the entrance into that magnificent prison where i had found her, according to appearance, in an unpleasant situation. "alas! prince," said she, sighing once more, "you have just cause to believe this rich and pompous prison cannot be otherwise than a most wearisome abode: the most charming place in the world being no way delightful when we are detained there contrary to our will. it is not possible but you have heard of the sultan of the isle of ebene, so called from that precious wood which it produces in abundance; i am the princess his daughter. "the sultan, my father, had chosen for me a husband, a prince who was my cousin; but on my wedding-night, in the midst of the rejoicings of the court and capital, before i was conducted to my husband, a genie took me away. i fainted with alarm, and when i recovered, found myself in this place. i was long inconsolable, but time and necessity have accustomed me to see and receive the genie. twenty-five years i have continued in this place, where, i must confess, i have all that i can wish for necessary to life, and also every thing that can satisfy a princess fond of dress and splendour. "every ten days," continued the princess, "the genie comes hither, and remains with me one night, which he never exceeds; and the excuse he makes for it is, that he is married to another wife, who would grow jealous if she should know his infidelity. meanwhile, if i have occasion for him by day or night, as soon as i touch a talisman, which is at the entrance into my chamber, the genie appears. it is now the fourth day since he was here, and i do not expect him before the end of six more; so, if you please, you may stay five days, and i will endeavour to entertain you according to your quality and merit." i thought myself too fortunate, to have obtained so great a favour without asking, to refuse so obliging an offer. the princess made me go into a bath, the most commodious, and the most sumptuous imaginable; and when i came forth, instead of my own clothes i found another very costly suit, which i did not esteem so much for its richness, as because it made me appear worthy to be in her company. we sat down on a sofa covered with rich tapestry, with cushions of the rarest indian brocade; and some time after she covered a table with several dishes of delicate meats. we ate, and passed the remaining part of the day with much satisfaction, as also the evening, together. the next day, as she contrived every means to please me, she brought in, at dinner, a bottle of old wine, the most excellent that ever was tasted, and out of complaisance drank some part of it with me. when my head grew warm with the agreeable liquor, "fair princess," said i, "you have been too long thus buried alive; follow me, enjoy the real day, of which you have been deprived so many years, and abandon this artificial though brilliant glare." "prince," replied she, with a smile, "leave this discourse; if you out of ten days will grant me nine, and resign the last to the genie, the fairest day would be nothing in my esteem." "princess," said i, "it is the fear of the genie that makes you speak thus; for my part, i value him so little, that i will break in pieces his talisman, with the conjuration that is written about it. let him come, i will expect him; and how brave or redoubtable soever he be, i will make him feel the weight of my arm: i swear solemnly that i will extirpate all the genies in the world, and him first." the princess, who knew the consequence, conjured me not to touch the talisman. "for that would be the means," said she, "of ruining both you and me; i know what belongs to genies better than you." the fumes of the wine did not suffer me to hearken to her reasons; but i gave the talisman a kick with my foot, and broke it in several pieces. the talisman was no sooner broken than the palace began to shake, and seemed ready to fall, with a hideous noise like thunder, accompanied with flashes of lightning, and alternate darkness. this terrible noise in a moment dispelled the fumes of my wine, and made me sensible, but too late, of the folly i had committed. "princess," cried i, "what means all this?" she answered, without any concern for her own misfortune, "alas! you are undone, if you do not fly immediately." i followed her advice, but my fears were so great, that i forgot my hatchet and cords. i had scarcely reached the stairs by which i had descended, when the enchanted palace opened at once, and made a passage for the genie: he asked the princess in great anger, "what has happened to you, and why did you call me?" "a violent spasm," said the princess, "made me fetch this bottle which you see here, out of which i drank twice or thrice, and by mischance made a false step, and fell upon the talisman, which is broken, and that is all." at this answer, the furious genie told her, "you are a false woman, and speak not the truth; how came that axe and those cords there?" "i never saw them till this moment," said the princess. "your coming in such an impetuous manner has, it may be, forced them up in some place as you came along, and so brought them hither without your knowing it." the genie made no other answer but what was accompanied with reproaches and blows, of which i heard the noise. i could not endure to hear the pitiful cries of the princess so cruelly abused. i had already taken off the suit she had presented to me, and put on my own, which i had laid on the stairs the day before, when i came out of the bagnio: i made haste upstairs, the more distracted with sorrow and compassion, as i had been the cause of so great a misfortune; and by sacrificing the fairest princess on earth to the barbarity of a merciless genie, i was becoming the most criminal and ungrateful of mankind. "it is true," said i, "she has been a prisoner these twenty-five years; but, liberty excepted she wanted nothing that could make her happy. my folly has put an end to her happiness, and brought upon her the cruelty of an unmerciful devil." i let down the trap-door, covered it again with earth, and returned to the city with a burden of wood, which i bound up without knowing what i did, so great was my trouble and sorrow. my landlord, the tailor, was very much rejoiced to see me: "your absence," said he, "has disquieted me much, as you had entrusted me with the secret of your birth, and i knew not what to think; i was afraid somebody had discovered you; god be praised for your return." i thanked him for his zeal and affection, but not a word durst i say of what had passed, nor of the reason why i came back without my hatchet and cords. i retired to my chamber, where i reproached myself a thousand times for my excessive imprudence: "nothing," said i, "could have paralleled the princess's good fortune and mine, had i forborne to break the talisman." while i was thus giving myself over to melancholy thoughts, the tailor came in and said, "an old man, whom i do not know, brings your hatchet and cords, which he found in his way as he tells me, and says he understood from your comrades that you lodge here; come out and speak to him, for he will deliver them to none but yourself." at these words i changed colour, and fell a trembling. while the tailor was asking me the reason, my chamber-door opened, and the old man, having no patience to stay, appeared to us with my hatchet and cords. this was the genie, the ravisher of the fair princess of the isle of ebene, who had thus disguised himself, after he had treated her with the utmost barbarity. "i am a genie," said he, speaking to me, "son of the daughter of eblis, prince of genies: is not this your hatchet, and are not these your cords?" after the genie had put the question to me, he gave me no time to answer, nor was it in my power, so much had his terrible aspect disordered me. he grasped me by the middle, dragged me out of the chamber, and mounting into the air, carried me up to the skies with such swiftness, that i was not able to take notice of the way he conveyed me. he descended again in like manner to the earth, which on a sudden he caused to open with a stroke of his foot, and sunk down at once, when i found myself in the enchanted palace, before the fair princess of the isle of ebene. but, alas! what a spectacle was there! i saw what pierced me to the heart; this poor princess was quite naked, weltering in her blood, and laid upon the ground, more like one dead than alive, with her cheeks bathed in tears. "perfidious wretch!" said the genie to her, pointing at me, "is not this your gallant?" she cast her languishing eyes upon me, and answered mournfully, "i do not know him, i never saw him till this moment." "what!" said the genie, "he is the cause of thy being in the condition thou art justly in; and yet darest thou say thou cost not know him?" "if i do not know him," said the princess, "would you have me lie on purpose to ruin him?" "oh then," said the genie, pulling out a cimeter and presenting it to the princess, "if you never saw him before, take this, and cut off his head." "alas," replied the princess, "how is it possible that i should execute such an act? my strength is so far spent that i cannot lift up my arm; and if i could, how should i have the heart to take away the life of an innocent man, and one whom i do not know?" "this refusal," said the genie to the princess, "sufficiently informs me of your crime." upon which, turning to me, "and thou," said he, "dost thou not know her?" i should have been the most ungrateful wretch, and the most perfidious of all mankind, if i had not strewn myself as faithful to the princess as she had been to me, who had been the cause of her misfortunes. i therefore answered the genie, "how should i know her, when i never saw her till now?" "if it be so," said he, "take the cimeter and cut off her head: on this condition i will set thee at liberty, for then i shall be convinced that thou hast never seen her till this moment, as thou gayest." "with all my heart," replied i, and took the cimeter in my hand. do not think, madam, that i drew near to the fair princess of the isle of ebene to be the executioner of the genie's barbarity. i did it only to demonstrate by my behaviour, as much as possible, that as she had strewn her resolution to sacrifice her life for my sake, i would not refuse to sacrifice mine for hers. the princess, notwithstanding her pain and suffering, understood my meaning; which she signified by an obliging look, and made me understand her willingness to die for me; and that she was satisfied to see how ready i was also to die for her. upon this i stepped back, and threw the cimeter on the ground. "i should for ever," said i to the genie, "be hateful to all mankind were i to be so base as to murder, not only a person whom i do not know, but a lady like this, who is already on the point of expiring: do with me what you please, since i am in your power; i cannot obey your barbarous commands." "i see," said the genie, "that you both out-brave me, and insult my jealousy; but both of you shall know by my treatment of you of what i am capable." at these words the monster took up the cimeter and cut off one of her hands, which left her only so much life as to give me a token with the other that she bade me for ever adieu. for the blood she had lost before, and that which gushed out then, did not permit her to live above one or two moments after this barbarous cruelty; the sight of which threw me into a fit. when i was come to myself again, i expostulated with the genie, why he made me languish in expectation of death: "strike," cried i, "for i am ready to receive the mortal blow, and expect it as the greatest favour you can show me." but instead of agreeing to that, "behold," said he, "how genies treat their wives whom they suspect of unfaithfulness; she has received thee here, and were i certain that she had put any further affront upon me, i would put thee to death this minute: but i will content myself with transforming thee into a dog, ape, lion, or bird; take thy choice of any of these, i will leave it to thyself." these words gave me some hopes of being able to appease him: "o genie," said i, "moderate your passion, and since you will not take away my life, give it me generously. i shall always remember your clemency, if you pardon me, as one of the best men in the world pardoned one of his neighbours that bore him a mortal hatred." the genie asked me what had passed between those two neighbours, and said, he would have patience till he heard the story, which i related to him; and i believe, madam, you will not be displeased if i now repeat it. the story of the envious man, and of him that he envied. in a considerable town two persons dwelt in adjoining houses. one of them conceived such a violent hatred against the other, that the hated party resolved to remove to a distance, being persuaded that their being neighbours was the only cause of this animosity; for though he had done him several pieces of service, he found that his hatred was not diminished; he therefore sold his house, with what goods he had left, and retired to the capital city of a kingdom which was not far distant. here he bought a little spot of ground, which lay about half a league from the city; where he had a convenient house, with a garden, and a pretty spacious court, wherein there was a deep well, which was not in use. the honest man having made this purchase put on a dervise's habit, intending to lead a retired life, and caused several cells to be made in the house, where in a short time he established a numerous society of dervises. he soon came to be publicly known by his virtue, through which he acquired the esteem of many people, as well of the commonalty as of the chief of the city. in short, he was much honoured and courted by all ranks. people came from afar to recommend themselves to his prayers; and all who visited him, published what blessings they received through his means. the great reputation of this honest man having spread to the town from whence he had come, it touched the envious man so much to the quick, that he left his house and affairs with a resolution to ruin him. with this intent he went to the new convent of dervises, of which his former neighbour was the head, who received him with all imaginable tokens of friendship. the envious man told him that he was come on purpose to communicate a business of importance, which he could not do but in private; and "that nobody may hear us, let us," said he, "take a walk in your court; and seeing night begins to draw on, command your dervises to retire to their cells." the chief of the dervises did as he was required. when the envious man saw that he was alone with this good man, he began to tell him his errand, walking side by side in the court, till he saw his opportunity; and getting the good man near the brink of the well, he gave him a thrust, and pushed him into it, without being seen by any one. having done thus, he returned, got out at the gate of the convent without being known, and reached his own house well satisfied with his journey, being fully persuaded that the object of his hatred was no more; but he found himself mistaken. this old well was inhabited by fairies and genies, which happened luckily for the relief of the head of the convent; for they received and supported him, and carried him to the bottom, so that he got no hurt. he perceived that there was something extraordinary in his fall, which must otherwise have cost him his life; but he neither saw nor felt anything. he soon heard a voice, however, which said, "do you know what honest man this is, to whom we have done this piece of service?" another voice answered, "no." to which the first replied, "then i will tell you. this man out of charity, the purest ever known, left the town he lived in, and has established himself in this place, in hopes to cure one of his neighbours of the envy he had conceived against him; he had acquired such a general esteem, that the envious man, not able to endure it, came hither on purpose to ruin him; and he would have accomplished his design, had it not been for the assistance we have given this honest man, whose reputation is so great, that the sultan, who keeps his residence in the neighbouring city, was to pay him a visit to-morrow, to recommend the princess his daughter to his prayers." another voice asked, "what need had the princess of the dervise's prayers?" to which the first answered, "you do not know, it seems, that she is possessed by genie maimoun, the son of dimdim, who is fallen in love with her. but i well know how this good head of the dervises may cure her; the thing is very easy, and i will explain it to you. he has a black cat in his convent, with a white spot at the end of her tail, about the bigness of a small piece of arabian money; let him only pull seven hairs out of the white spot, burn them, and smoke the princess's head with the fume, she will not only be immediately cured, but be so safely delivered from maimoun, the son of dimdim, that he will never dare to approach her again." the head of the dervises remembered every word of the conversation between the fairies and the genies, who remained silent the remainder of the night. the next morning, as soon as daylight appeared, and he could discern the nature of his situation, the well being broken down in several places, he saw a hole, by which he crept out with ease. the other dervises, who had been seeking for him, were rejoiced to see him; he gave them a brief account of the wickedness of the man to whom he had given so kind a reception the day before, and retired into his cell. shortly after the black cat, which the fairies and the genies had mentioned the night before, came to fawn upon her master, as she was accustomed to do; he took her up, and pulled seven hairs from the white spot that was upon her tail, and laid them aside for his use when occasion should serve. soon after sunrise the sultan, who would leave no means untried that he thought likely to restore the princess to perfect health, arrived at the gate of the convent. he commanded his guards to halt, whilst he with his principal officers went in. the dervises received him with profound respect. the sultan called their chief aside, and said, "good sheik, you may probably be already acquainted with the cause of my visit." "yes, sir," replied he gravely, "if i do not mistake, it is the disease of the princess which procures me this unmerited honour." "that is the real case," replied the sultan. "you will give me new life if your prayers, as i hope they may, restore my daughter's health." "sir," said the good man, "if your majesty will be pleased to let her come hither, i am in hopes, through god's assistance and favour, that she will be effectually cured." the prince, transported with joy, sent immediately for his daughter, who soon appeared with a numerous train of ladies and eunuchs, but veiled, so that her face was not seen. the chief of the dervises caused a pall to be held over her head, and he had no sooner thrown the seven hairs upon the burning coals, than the genie maimoun, the son of dimdim, uttered a great cry, and without being seen, left the princess at liberty; upon which, she took the veil from her face, and rose up to see where she was, saying, "where am i, and who brought me hither?" at these words the sultan, overcome with excess of joy, embraced his daughter, and kissed her eyes; he also kissed the chief of the dervises' hands, and said to his officers, "what reward does he deserve that has thus cured my daughter?" they all cried, "he deserves her in marriage." "that is what i had in my thoughts," said the sultan; "and i make him my son-in-law from this moment." some time after the prime vizier died, and the sultan conferred the place on the dervise. the sultan himself also died without heirs male; upon which the religious orders and the militia consulted together, and the good man was declared and acknowledged sultan by general consent. the honest dervise, having ascended the throne of his father-in-law, as he was one day in the midst of his courtiers on a march, espied the envious man among the crowd that stood as he passed along, and calling one of the viziers that attended him, whispered him in his ear, "go, bring me that man you see there; but take care you do not frighten him." the vizier obeyed, and when the envious man was brought into his presence, the sultan said, "friend, i am extremely glad to see you." upon which he called an officer, "go immediately," said he, "and cause to be paid to this man out of my treasury, one hundred pieces of gold: let him have also twenty loads of the richest merchandize in my storehouses, and a sufficient guard to conduit him to his house." after he had given this charge to the officer, he bade the envious man farewell, and proceeded on his march. when i had finished the recital of this story to the genie, the murderer of the princess of the isle of ebene, i made an application of it to himself: "o genie!" said i, "this bountiful sultan was not satisfied with merely overlooking the design of the envious man to take away his life, but also treated him kindly, and sent him back loaded with the favours i have enumerated." in short, i employed all my eloquence to persuade him to imitate so good an example, and to grant me pardon; but it was impossible to move his compassion. "all that i can do for thee," said he, "is, to grant thee thy life; but do not flatter thyself that i will allow thee to return safe and well; i must let thee feel what i am able to do by my enchantments." so saying, he seized me violently, and carried me through the arched roof of the subterraneous palace, which opened to give him passage; he ascended with me into the air to such a height, that the earth appeared like a little white cloud; he then descended again like lightning, and alighted upon the summit of a mountain. here he took up a handful of earth, and pronouncing, or rather muttering, some words which i did not understand, threw it upon me. "quit," said he, "the form of a man, and take that of an ape." he instantly disappeared, and left me alone, transformed into an ape, and overwhelmed with sorrow in a strange country, not knowing whether i was near or far from my father's dominions. i descended the mountain, and entered a plain level country, which took me a month to travel over, and then i came to the sea-side. it happened at the time to be perfectly calm, and i espied a vessel about half a league from the shore: unwilling to lose so good an opportunity, i broke off a large branch from a tree, carried it into the sea, and placed myself astride upon it, with a stick in each hand to serve me for oars. i launched out in this posture, and rowed towards the ship. when i had approached sufficiently near to be seen, i exhibited to the seamen and passengers on the deck an extraordinary spectacle, and all of them regarded me with astonishment. in the meantime i got on board, and laying hold of a rope, jumped upon the deck, but having lost my speech i found myself in great perplexity: and indeed the risk i ran was not less than when i was at the mercy of the genie. the merchants, being both superstitious and scrupulous, thought if they received me on board i should be the occasion of some misfortune to them during their voyage. on this account one of them said, "i will destroy him with a blow of this handspike;" another, "i will shoot an arrow through his body;" and a third, "let us throw him into the sea." some one of them would not have failed to carry his threat into execution had i not gone to the captain, thrown myself at his feet, and taken hold of his skirt in a supplicating posture. this action, together with the tears which he saw gush from my eyes, moved his compassion. he took me under his protection, threatened to be revenged on any one that would do me the least hurt, and loaded me with a thousand caresses. on my part, though i had not power to speak, i showed by my gestures every mark of gratitude in my power. the wind that succeeded the calm was not strong, but favourable; it continued to blow in the same direction for fifty days, and brought us safe to the port of a city, well peopled, and of great trade, the capital of a powerful state, where we came to anchor. our vessel was instantly surrounded with an infinite number of boats full of people, who came to congratulate their friends on their safe arrival, or to inquire for those they had left behind them in the country from whence they had come, or out of curiosity to see a ship that had performed so long a voyage. amongst the rest, some officers came on board, desiring in the name of the sultan to speak with the merchants. the merchants appearing, one of the officers told them, "the sultan our master hath commanded us to acquaint you, that he rejoices in your safe arrival, and beseeches each of you to take the trouble to write a few lines upon this roll. that you may understand the design of this request, you must know that we had a prime vizier, who besides possessing great abilities for the management of public affairs could write in the highest perfection. this minister a few days since died. the event has greatly affected the sultan; and since he can never behold his writing without admiration, he has made a solemn vow, not to give the place to any one who cannot write equally well. many have presented specimens of their skill; but to this day, no one in the empire has been judged worthy to supply the vizier's place." those of the merchants who thought they could write well enough to aspire to this high dignity, wrote one after another what they thought fit. after they had done, i advanced, and took the roll out of the gentleman's hand; but all the people, especially the merchants, cried out, that i would tear it, or throw it into the sea, till they saw how properly i held the roll, and made a sign that i would write in my turn: their apprehensions then changed into wonder. however, as they had never seen an ape that could write, and could not be persuaded that i was more ingenious than others of my kind, they wished to take the roll out of my hand; but the captain took my part once more. "let him alone," said he, "allow him to write. if he only scribbles the paper, i promise you that i will immediately punish him. if, on the contrary, he writes well, as i hope he will, because i never saw an ape so clever and ingenious, and so quick of apprehension, i declare that i will adopt him as my son." perceiving that no one opposed my design, i took the pen, and wrote six sorts of hands used among the arabians, and each specimen contained an extemporary distich or quatrain in praise of the sultan. my writing not only excelled that of the merchants, but was such as they had not before seen in that country. when i had done, the officers took the roll, and carried it to the sultan. the sultan took little notice of any of the writings, except mine, which pleased him so much that he said to the officers, "take the finest horse in my stable, with the richest trappings, and a robe of the most sumptuous brocade to put on the person who wrote the six hands, and bring him thither." at this command the officers could not forbear laughing. the sultan was incensed at their rudeness, and would have punished them had they not explained: "sir," said they, "we humbly beg your majesty's pardon: these hands were not written by a man, but by an ape." "what do you say?" exclaimed the sultan. "those admirable characters, are they not written by the hands of a man?" "no, sir," replied the officers; "we assure your majesty that it was an ape, who wrote them in our presence." the sultan was too much surprised at this account not to desire a sight of me, and therefore said, "do what i command you, and bring me speedily that wonderful ape." the officers returned to the vessel and shewed the captain their order, who answered, "the sultan's command must be obeyed." whereupon they clothed me with the rich brocade robe, and carried me ashore, where they set me on horseback, whilst the sultan waited for me at his palace with a great number of courtiers, whom he gathered together to do me the more honour. the procession commenced; the harbour, the streets, the public places, windows, terraces, palaces, and houses, were filled with an infinite number of people of all ranks, who flocked from every part of the city to see me; for the rumour was spread in a moment, that the sultan had chosen an ape to be his grand vizier, and after having served for a spectacle to the people, who could not forbear to express their surprise by redoubling their shouts and cries, i arrived at the sultan's palace. i found the prince on his throne in the midst of the grandees; i made my obeisance three times very low, and at last kneeled and kissed the ground before him, and afterwards took my seat in the posture of an ape. the whole assembly viewed me with admiration, and could not comprehend how it was possible that an ape should so well understand how to pay the sultan his due respect; and he himself was more astonished than any. in short, the usual ceremony of the audience would have been complete, could i have added speech to my behaviour; but apes never speak, and the advantage i had of having been a man did not now yield me that privilege. the sultan dismissed his courtiers, and none remained by him but the chief of the eunuchs, a little young slave, and myself. he went from his chamber of audience into his own apartment, where he ordered dinner to be brought. as he sat at table he made me a sign to approach and eat with them: to shew my obedience i kissed the ground, arose, and placed myself at the table, and ate with discretion and moderation. before the table was cleared, i espied a standish, which i made a sign to have brought me; having got it, i wrote upon a large peach some verses expressive of my acknowledgment to the sultan; who having read them after i had presented the peach to him, was still more astonished. when the things were removed, they brought him a particular liquor, of which he caused them to give me a glass. i drank, and wrote upon the glass some new verses, which explained the state i was reduced to, after many sufferings. the sultan read these likewise, and said, "a man that was capable of doing so much would be above the greatest of his species." the sultan caused to be brought to him a chessboard, and asked me by a sign if i understood that game, and would play with him? i kissed the ground, and laying my hand upon my head, signified that i was ready to receive that honour. he won the first game, but i won the second and third; and perceiving he was somewhat displeased at my success, i made a quatrain to satisfy him; in which i told him that two potent armies had been fighting furiously all day, but that they concluded a peace towards the evening, and passed the remaining part of the night very amicably together upon the field of battle. so many circumstances appearing to the sultan beyond whatever had either been seen or known of the cleverness or sense of apes, he determined not to be the only witness of these prodigies himself, but having a daughter, called the lady of beauty, on whom the chief of the eunuchs, then present, waited; "go," said the sultan to him, "and bid your lady come hither: i am desirous she should share my pleasure." the eunuch went, and immediately brought the princess, who had her face uncovered; but she had no sooner come into the room, than she put on her veil, and said to the sultan, "sir, your majesty must needs have forgotten yourself; i am surprised that your majesty has sent for me to appear among men." "how, daughter!" said the sultan, "you do not know what you say: there is no one here, but the little slave, the eunuch your governor, and myself, who have the liberty to see your face; and yet you lower your veil, and blame me for having sent for you." "sir," said the princess, "your majesty shall soon understand that i am not in the wrong. that seeming ape is a young prince, son of a powerful sultan, and has been metamorphosed into an ape by enchantment. a genie, son of the daughter of eblis, has maliciously done him this wrong, after having cruelly taken away the life of the princess of the isle of ebene." the sultan, astonished at this declaration, turned towards me, and speaking no more by signs, but in plain words, asked me, if what his daughter said was true? finding i could not speak, i put my hand to my head' to signify that what the princess spoke was correct. upon this the sultan said again to his daughter, "how do you know that this prince has been transformed by enchantments into an ape?" "sir," replied the lady of beauty, "your majesty may remember that when i was past my infancy i had an old lady who waited on me; she was a most expert magician, and taught me seventy rules of magic, by virtue of which i can, in the twinkling of an eye, transport your capital into the midst of the sea, or beyond mount caucasus. by this science i know all enchanted persons at first sight: i know who they are, and by whom they have been enchanted; therefore do not be surprised if i should forthwith relieve this prince, in spite of the enchantments, from that which prevents his appearing in your sight in his natural form." "daughter," said the sultan, "i did not believe you to have understood so much." "sir," replied the princess, "these things are curious and worth knowing; but i think i ought not to boast of them." "since it is so," said the sultan, "you can dispel the prince's enchantment." "yes, sir," said the princess, "i can restore him to his original shape." "do it then," said the sultan, "you cannot do me a greater pleasure; for i will have him to be my vizier, and he shall marry you." "sir," said the princess, "i am ready to obey you in all that you should be pleased to command me." the princess, the lady of beauty, went into her apartment, and brought thence a knife, which had some hebrew words engraven on the blade: she made the sultan, the master of the eunuchs, the little slave, and myself, descend into a private court of the palace, and there left us under a gallery that went round it. she placed herself in the middle of the court, where she made a great circle, and within it she wrote several words in arabian characters, some of them ancient. when she had finished and prepared the circle as she thought fit, she placed herself in the centre of it, where she began incantations, and repeated verses of the koraun. the air grew insensibly dark, as if it had been night, and the whole world were about to be dissolved: we found ourselves struck with consternation, and our fear increased when we saw the genie, the son of the daughter of eblis, appear suddenly in the shape of a lion of a gigantic size. as soon as the princess perceived this monster, "dog," said she, "instead of creeping before me, dare you present yourself in this shape, thinking to frighten me?" "and thou," replied the lion, "art thou not afraid to break the treaty which was solemnly made and confirmed between us by oath, not to wrong or do one another any injury?" "wretch," replied the princess, "i justly may reproach thee with having done so." the lion answered fiercely, "thou shalt quickly have thy reward for the trouble thou hast given me:" with that he opened his monstrous jaws, and sprang forward to devour her; but she, being on her guard, stepped back, got time to pull out one of her hairs, and by pronouncing three or four words, changed it into a sharp sword, with which she cut the lion in two through the middle. the two parts of the lion disappeared, while the head changed into a large scorpion. immediately the princess turned herself into a serpent, and fought the scorpion, who, finding himself worsted, took the shape of an eagle, and flew away: but the serpent at the same time took also the shape of an eagle, that was black and much stronger, and pursued him, so that we lost sight of them both. some time after they had disappeared, the ground opened before us, and out of it came forth a black and white cat, with her hair standing on end, and mewing in a frightful manner; a black wolf followed close after her, and gave her no time to rest. the cat, being thus hard pressed, changed into a worm, and being near a pomegranate accidentally fallen from a tree on the side of a canal which was deep, but not broad, pierced the pomegranate in an instant, and hid itself, but the pomegranate swelled immediately, and became as big as a gourd, which, mounting up to the roof of the gallery, rolled there for some time backward and forward; it then fell down again into the court, and broke into several pieces. the wolf had in the meanwhile transformed itself into a cock, and now fell to picking up the seeds of the pomegranate one after another; but finding no more, he came towards us with his wings spread, making a great noise, as if he would ask us whether there were any more seed. there was one lying on the brink of the canal, which the cock perceiving as he went back, ran speedily thither; but just as he was going to pick it up, the seed rolled into the river, and turned into a little fish. the cock leaped into the river, turned into a pike, and pursued the small fish; they continued both under water above two hours, and we knew not what was become of them, but suddenly we heard terrible cries, which made us tremble, and a little while after we saw the genie and princess all in flames. they threw flashes of fire out of their mouths at each other, till they came to close combat; then the two fires increased, with a thick burning smoke which mounted so high that we had reason to apprehend it would set the palace on fire. but we very soon had a more pressing occasion of fear, for the genie having got loose from the princess, came to the gallery where we stood, and blew flames of fire upon us. we must all have perished had not the princess, running to our assistance, forced him to retire, and defend himself against her; yet, notwithstanding all her exertions, she could not hinder the sultan's beard from being burnt, and his face scorched, the chief of the eunuchs from being stifled, and a spark from entering my right eye, and making it blind. the sultan and i expected but death, when we heard a cry of "victory! victory!" and instantly the princess appeared in her natural shape, but the genie was reduced to a heap of ashes. the princess approached us, and hastily called for a cup-full of water, which the young slave, who had received no hurt, brought her. she took it, and after pronouncing some words over it, threw it upon me, saying, "if thou art become an ape by enchantment, change thy shape, and take that of a man which thou hadst before." these words were hardly uttered, when i again became a man, in every respect as i was before my transformation, excepting the loss of my eye. i was prepared to return the princess my thanks, but she prevented me by addressing herself to her father: "sir, i have gained the victory over the genie, as your majesty may see; but it is a victory that costs me dear; i have but a few minutes to live, and you will not have the satisfaction to make the match you intended; the fire has pierced me during the terrible combat, and i find it is gradually consuming me. this would not have happened, had i perceived the last of the pomegranate seeds, and swallowed it, as i did the others when i was changed into a cock: the genie had fled thither as to his last intrenchment, and upon that the success of the combat depended, which would have been successful, and without danger to me. this oversight obliged me to have recourse to fire, and to fight with those mighty arms as i did, between heaven and earth, in your presence; for, in spite of all his redoubtable art and experience, i made the genie know that i understood more than he; i have conquered and reduced him to ashes, but i cannot escape death, which is approaching." the sultan suffered the princess, the lady of beauty, to go on with the recital of her combat, and when she had done, addressed her in a tone that sufficiently testified his grief; "my daughter," said he, "you see in what condition your father is; alas! i wonder that i am yet alive! your governor, the eunuch, is dead, and the prince whom you have delivered from his enchantment has lost one of his eyes." he could say no more, for his tears, sighs, and sobs, deprived him of the power of utterance. suddenly the princess exclaimed, "i burn! i burn!" she found that the fire had at last seized upon her vital parts, which made her still cry "i burn!" until death had put an end to her intolerable pains. the effect of that fire was so extraordinary, that in a few moments she was wholly reduced to ashes, as the genie had been. i cannot tell you, madam, how much i was grieved at so dismal a spectacle; i had rather all my life have continued an ape or a dog, than to have seen my benefactress thus miserably perish. the sultan being afflicted all that can be imagined, cried piteously, and beat himself on his head and breast, until being quite overcome with grief, he fainted away, which made me fear for his life. in the mean time, the eunuchs and officers came running at the sultan's lamentations, and with much difficulty brought him to himself. it was not necessary that the prince or myself should relate the circumstances of the adventure, to convince them of the affliction it had occasioned us. the two heaps of ashes, to which the princess and the genie had been reduced, were a sufficient demonstration. the sultan was hardly able to stand, but was under the necessity of being supported to his apartment. when the knowledge of this tragical event had spread through the palace and the city, all the people bewailed the misfortune of the princess, the lady of beauty, and commiserated the sultan's affliction. public mourning was observed for seven days, and many ceremonies were performed. the ashes of the genie were thrown into the air, but those of the princess were collected into a precious urn, to be preserved, and the urn was deposited in a superb mausoleum, constructed for that purpose on the spot where the princess had been consumed. the grief of the sultan for the loss of his daughter confined him to his chamber for a whole month. before he had fully recovered his strength he sent for me: "prince," said he, "attend to the commands i now give you; your life must answer if you do not carry them into execution." i assured him of exalt obedience; upon which he went on thus: "i have constantly lived in perfect felicity, but by your arrival all the happiness i possessed has vanished; my daughter is dead, her governor is no more, and it is only through a miracle that i am myself yet alive you are the cause of all these misfortunes, under which it is impossible that i should be comforted; depart hence therefore in peace, without farther delay, for i must myself perish if you remain any longer. i am persuaded that your presence brings misfortune with it. depart, and take care never to appear again in my dominions. no consideration whatever shall hinder me from making you repent your temerity should you violate my injunction." i was going to speak, but he prevented me by words full of anger; and i was obliged to quit the palace, rejected, banished, an outcast from the world. before i left the city i went into a bagnio, here i caused my beard and eyebrows to be shaved, and put on a calender's habit. i began my journey, not so much deploring my own miseries, as the death of the two fair princesses, of which i have been the occasion. i passed through many countries without making myself known; at last i resolved to come to bagdad, in hopes of getting myself introduced to the commander of the faithful, to move his compassion by relating to him my unfortunate adventures. i arrived this evening, and the first man i met was this calender, our brother, who spoke before me. you know the remaining part, madam, and the cause of my having the honour to be here. when the second calender had concluded his story, zobeide, to whom he had addressed his speech, said, "it is well, you are at liberty." but instead of departing, he also petitioned the lady to shew him the same favour vouchsafed to the first calender, and went and sat down by him. the history of the third calender. my story, most honourable lady, very much differs from what you have already heard. the two princes who have spoken before me have each lost an eye by the pure effects of their destiny, but mine i lost through my own fault, and by hastening to seek my own misfortune, as you shall hear by the sequel of the story. my name is agib, and i am the son of a sultan who was called cassib. after his death i took possession of his dominions, and continued in the city where he had resided. it is situated on the sea-coast, has one of the finest and safest harbours in the world, an arsenal capable of fitting out for sea one hundred and fifty men of war, besides merchantmen and light vessels. my kingdom is composed of several fine provinces upon the main land, besides a number of valuable islands, which lie almost in sight of my capital. my first object was to visit the provinces: i afterwards caused my whole fleet to be fitted out, and went to my islands to gain the hearts of my subjects by my presence, and to confirm them in their loyalty. these voyages gave me some taste for navigation, in which i took so much pleasure, that i resolved to make some discoveries beyond my own territories; to which end i caused ten ships to be fitted out, embarked, and set sail. our voyage was very pleasant for forty days successively, but on the forty-first night the wind became contrary, and withal so boisterous that we were near being lost: about break of day the storm abated, the clouds dispersed, and the weather became fair. we reached an island, where we remained two days to take in fresh provisions; and then put off again to sea. after ten days' sail we were in hopes of seeing land, for the tempests we had experienced had so much abated my curiosity, that i gave orders to steer back to my own coast; but i perceived at the same time that my pilot knew not where we were. upon the tenth day, a seaman being sent to look out for land from the mast head, gave notice that on starboard and larboard he could see nothing but sky and sea, but that right a-head he perceived a great blackness. the pilot changed colour at this account, and throwing his turban on the deck with one hand, and beating his breast with the other, cried, "oh, sir, we are all lost; not one of us can escape; and with all my skill it is not in my power to effect our deliverance." having spoken thus, he lamented like a man who foresaw unavoidable ruin; his despondence threw the whole ship's crew into consternation. i asked him what reason he had thus to despair? he exclaimed, "the tempest has brought us so far out of our course, that to-morrow about noon we shall be near the black mountain, or mine of adamant, which at this very minute draws all your fleet towards it, by virtue of the iron in your ships; and when we approach within a certain distance, the attraction of the adamant will have such force, that all the nails will be drawn out of the sides and bottoms of the ships, and fasten to the mountain, so that your vessels will fall to pieces and sink. "this mountain," continued the pilot, "is inaccessible. on the summit there is a dome of fine brass, supported by pillars of the same metal, and on the top of that dome stands a horse, likewise of brass, with a rider on his back, who has a plate or lead fixed to his breast, upon which some talismanic characters are engraver. sir, the tradition is, that this statue is the chief cause why so many ships and men have been lost and sunk in this place, and that it will ever continue to be fatal to all those who have the misfortune to approach, until it shall be thrown down." the pilot having finished his discourse, began to weep afresh, and all the rest of the ship's company did the same. i had no other thought but that my days were there to terminate. in the mean time every one began to provide for his own safety, and to that end took all imaginable precaution; and being uncertain of the event, they all made one another their heirs, by virtue of a will, for the benefit of those that should happen to be saved. the next morning we distinctly perceived the black mountain. about noon we were so near, that we found what the pilot had foretold to be true; for all the nails and iron in the ships flew towards the mountain, where they fixed, by the violence of the attraction, with a horrible noise; the ships split asunder, and their cargoes sunk into the sea. all my people were drowned, but god had mercy on me, and permitted me to save myself by means of a plank, which the wind drove ashore just at the foot of the mountain. i did not receive the least hurt, and my good fortune brought me to a landing place, where there were steps that led up to the summit of the mountain. at the sight of these steps, for there was not a space of ground either on the right or left whereon a man could set his foot, i gave thanks to god; and recommended myself to his holy protection, as i began to ascend the steps, which were so narrow, that had the wind raged it would have thrown me into the sea. but, at last, i reached the top, without accident. i went into the dome, and kneeling on the ground, gave god thanks for his mercies. i passed the night under the dome. in my sleep an old grave man appeared to me, and said, "hearken, agib; as soon as thou art awake dig up the ground under thy feet: thou wilt find a bow of brass, and three arrows of lead, that are made under certain constellations, to deliver mankind from the many calamities that threaten them. shoot the three arrows at the statue, and the rider will fall into the sea, but the horse will fall by thy side; thou must bury it in the place where thou findest the bow and arrows: this being done, the sea will swell and rise to the foot of the dome. when it has come so high, thou wilt perceive a boat with one man holding an oar in each hand; this man is also of metal, but different from that thou hast thrown down; step on board, but without mentioning the name of god, and let him conduct thee. he will in ten days' time bring thee into another sea, where thou shalt find an opportunity to return to thy country, provided, as i have told thee, thou dost not mention the name of god during the whole voyage." this was the substance of the old man's discourse. when i awoke i felt much comforted by the vision, and did not fail to observe everything that he had commanded me. i took the bow and arrows out of the ground, shot at the horseman, and with the third arrow i overthrew him; he fell into the sea, and the horse fell by my side; i buried it in the place whence i took the bow and arrows. in the mean time, the sea swelled and rose up by degrees. when it came as high as the foot of the dome upon the top of the mountain, i saw, afar off, a boat rowing towards me, and i returned god thanks that everything succeeded according to my dream. at last the boat made land, and i perceived the man was made of metal, as i had dreamt. i stept aboard, and took great heed not to pronounce the name of god, neither spoke i one word. i sat down, and the man of metal began to row off from the mountain. he rowed without ceasing till the ninth day, when i saw some islands, which gave me hopes that i should escape all the danger that i feared. the excess of my joy made me forget what i was forbidden: "blessed be god," said i; "god be praised." i had no sooner spoken these words, than the boat sunk with the man of metal, leaving me upon the surface. i swam the remaining part of the day towards that land which appeared nearest. a very dark night succeeded, and not knowing where i was, i swam at random. my strength at last began to fail, and i despaired of being able to save myself, but the wind began to blow hard, and a wave vast as a mountain threw me on a flat, where it left me, and retreated. i made haste ashore, fearing another wave might wash me back. the first thing i did was to strip, wring the water out of my clothes, and lay them on the dry sand, which was still warm from the heat of the day. next morning the sun dried my clothes; i put them on, and went forward to discover what sort of country i was in. i had not walked far before i found i was upon a desert, though a very pleasant, island, as it displayed several sorts of trees and wild shrubs bearing fruit; but i perceived it was far from the continent, which much diminished the joy i felt at having escaped the danger of the seas. nevertheless, i recommended myself to god and prayed him to dispose of me according to his will. immediately after, i saw a vessel coming from the main land, before the wind, directly towards the island. i doubted not but they were coming to anchor there; and being uncertain what sort of people they might be, whether friends or foes, i thought it not safe to be seen. i got up into a very thick tree, from whence i might safely view them. the vessel came into a little creek, where ten slaves landed, carrying a spade and other instruments for digging up the ground. they went towards the middle of the island, where i saw them stop, and dig for a considerable time, after which i thought i perceived them lift up a trap door. they returned again to the vessel, and unloaded several sorts of provisions and furniture, which they carried to the place where they had been digging: they then descended, which made me suppose it led to a subterraneous dwelling. i saw them once more go to the ship, and return soon after with an old man, who led in his hand a handsome lad of about fourteen or fifteen years of age. they all descended when the trap door had been opened. after they had again come up, they let down the trap door, covered it over with earth, and returned to the creek where the ship lay, but i saw not the young man in their company. this made me believe that he had staid behind in the subterraneous place, a circumstance which exceedingly surprised me. the old man and the slaves went on board, and getting the vessel under weigh, steered their course towards the main land. when i perceived they had proceeded to such a distance that i could not be seen by them, i came down from the tree, and went directly to the place where i had seen the ground broken. i removed the earth by degrees, till i came to a stone that was two or three feet square. i lifted it up, and found that it covered the head of a flight of stairs, which were also of stone. i descended, and at the bottom found myself in a large room, furnished with a carpet, a couch covered with tapestry, and cushions of rich stuff, upon which the young man sat, with a fan in his hand. these things, together with fruits and flower-pot standing about him, i saw by the light of two wax tapers. the young man, when he perceived me was considerably alarmed; but to quiet his apprehensions, i said to him as i entered, "whoever you are, sir, do not fear; a sultan, and the son of a sultan, as i am, is not capable of doing you any injury: on the contrary, it is probable that your good destiny may have brought me hither to deliver you out of this tomb, where it seems you have been buried alive, for reasons to me unknown. but what surprises me (for you must know that i have been witness to all that hath passed since your coming into this island), is, that you suffered yourself to be entombed in this place without any resistance." the young man felt assured at these words, and with a smiling countenance requested me to take a seat by him. when i had complied, he said "prince, i am to acquaint you with what will surprise you by its singularity. "my father is a merchant jeweller, who, by his industry and professional skill, has acquired considerable property. he has many slaves, and also agents, whom he employs as supercargoes in his own ships, to maintain his correspondence at the several courts, which he furnishes with precious stones. "he had been long married without having issue, when it was intimated to him in a dream that he should have a son, though his life would be but short; at which he was much concerned when he awoke. some days after, my mother acquainted him that she was with child, and what she supposed to be the time of her conception agreed exactly with the day of his dream. at the end of nine months she was brought to bed of me; which occasioned great joy in the family. "my father, who had observed the very moment of my birth, consulted astrologers about my nativity; and was answered, 'your son shall live happily till the age of fifteen, when his life will be exposed to a danger which he will hardly be able to escape. but if his good destiny preserve him beyond that time, he will live to a great age. it will be' (said they) 'when the statue of brass, that stands upon the summit of the mountain of adamant, shall be thrown into the sea by prince agib, son of king cassib; and, as the stars prognosticate, your son will be killed fifty days afterwards by that prince.' "my father took all imaginable care of my education until this year, which is the fifteenth of my age. he had notice given him yesterday, that the statue of brass had been thrown into the sea about ten days ago. this news alarmed him much. "upon the prediction the astrologers, he sought by all means possible to falsify my horoscope, and to preserve my life. he took the precaution to form this subterranean habitation to hide me in, till the expiration of the fifty days after the throwing down of the statue; and therefore, as it is ten days since this happened, he came hastily hither to conceal me, and promised at the end of forty days to return and fetch me away. for my own part i am sanguine in my hopes, and cannot believe that prince agib will seek for me in a place under ground, in the midst of a desert island." while the jeweller's son was relating this story, i laughed at the astrologers who had foretold that i should take away his life; for i thought myself so far from being likely to verify their prediction, that he had scarcely done speaking, when i told him with great joy, "dear sir, trust in the goodness of god, and fear nothing; consider it as a debt you had to pay; but that you are acquitted of it from this hour. i rejoice that after my shipwreck i came so fortunately hither to defend you against all who would attempt your life. i will not leave you till the forty days have expired, of which the foolish astrologers have made you apprehensive; and in the mean while i will do you all the service in my power: after which, with leave of your father and yourself, i shall have the benefit of getting to the main land in your vessel; and when i am returned into my kingdom, i will remember the obligations i owe you, and endeavour to demonstrate my gratitude by suitable acknowledgments." this discourse encouraged the jeweller's son, and inspired him with confidence. i took care not to inform him i was the very agib whom he dreaded, lest i should alarm his fears, and used every precaution not to give him any cause to suspect who i was. we passed the time in various conversation till night came on. i found the young man of ready wit, and partook with him of his provisions, of which he had enough to have lasted beyond the forty days, though he had had more guests than myself. after supper we conversed for some time; and at last retired to bed. the next morning, when he arose, i held the basin of water to him; i also provided dinner, and at the proper time placed it on the table: after we had dined i invented a play for our amusement, not only for that day, but for those that followed. i prepared supper after the same manner as i had done the dinner; and having supped, we retired to bed as before. we had sufficient time to contrast mutual friendship and esteem for each other. i found he loved me; and i on my part regarded him with so much affection, that i often said to myself, "those astrologers who predicted to his father that his son should die by my hand were impostors; for it is not possible that i could commit so base a crime." in short, madam, we spent thirty-nine days in the pleasantest manner possible in this subterraneous abode. the fortieth day appeared: and in the morning, when the young man awoke, he said to me with a transport of joy that he could not restrain, "prince, this is the fortieth day, and i am not dead, thanks to god and your good company. my father will not fail to make you, very shortly, every acknowledgment of his gratitude for your attentions, and will furnish you with every necessary accommodation for your return to your kingdom: but," continued he, "while we are waiting his arrival, i beg you will provide me some warm water in that portable bath, that i may wash my body and change my dress, to receive my father with the more respect." i set the water on the fire, and when it was hot poured it into the moveable bath; the youth went in, and i both washed and rubbed him. at last he came out, and laid himself down in his bed that i had prepared. after he had slept a while, he awoke, and said, "dear prince, pray do me the favour to fetch me a melon and some sugar, that i may eat some to refresh me." out of several melons that remained i took the best, and laid it on a plate; and as i could not find a knife to cut it with, i asked the young man if he knew where there was one. "there is one," said he, "upon this cornice over my head:" i accordingly saw it there, and made so much haste to reach it, that, while i had it in my hand, my foot being entangled in the carpet, i fell most unhappily upon the young man, and the knife pierced his heart. at this spectacle i cried out with agony. i beat my head, my face, and breast; i tore my clothes; i threw myself on the ground with unspeakable sorrow and grief! "alas!" i exclaimed, "there were only some hours wanting to have put him out of that danger from which he sought sanctuary here; and when i thought the danger past, then i became his murderer, and verified the prediction. but, o lord!" said i, lifting up my face and my hands to heaven, "i intreat thy pardon, and if i be guilty of his death, let me not live any longer." after this misfortune i would have embraced death without any reluctance, had it presented itself to me. but what we wish, whether it be good or evil, will not always happen according to our desire. nevertheless, considering that all my tears and sorrows would not restore the young man to life, and, the forty days being expired, i might be surprised by his father, i quitted the subterranean dwelling, laid down the great stone upon the entrance, and covered it with earth. i had scarcely done, when, casting my eyes upon the sea towards the main land, i perceived the vessel coming to fetch away the young man. i began then to consider what i had best do. i said to myself, "if i am seen by the old man, he will certainly seize me, and perhaps cause me to be massacred by his slaves, when he has discovered that his son is killed: all that i can allege to justify myself will not convince him of my innocence. it is better then to withdraw while it is in my power, than to expose myself to his resentment." there happened to be near a large tree thick with leaves, which i ascended in hopes of concealment, and was no sooner fixed in a place where i could not be perceived, than i saw the vessel come to the creek where she lay the first time. the old man with his slaves landed immediately, and advanced towards the subterranean dwelling, with a countenance that shewed some hope; but when they saw the earth had been newly removed, they changed colour, particularly the old man. they lifted up the stone, and went down; they called the young man by his name, but he not answering, their fears increased. they proceeded to seek him; and at length found him lying upon the bed with the knife in his heart, for i had not power to take it out. at this sight they cried out lamentably, which increased my sorrow: the old man fell down in a swoon. the slaves, to give him air, brought him up in their arms, and laid him at the foot of the tree where i was concealed; but notwithstanding all the pains they took to recover him, the unfortunate father continued a long while insensible, and made them more than once despair of his life; but at last he came to himself. the slaves then brought up his son's corpse, dressed in his best apparel, and when they had made a grave they buried it. the old man, supported by two slaves, and his face covered with tears, threw the first earth upon the body, after which the slaves filled up the grave. this being done, all the furniture was brought up, and, with the remaining provisions, put on board the vessel. the old man, overcome with sorrow, and not being able to stand, was laid upon a litter, and carried to the ship, which stood out to sea, and in a short time was out of sight. after the old man and his slaves were gone, i was left alone upon the island. i lay that night in the subterranean dwelling, which they had shut up, and when the day came, i walked round the island, and stopped in such places as i thought most proper for repose. i led this wearisome life for a whole month. at the expiration of this time i perceived that the sea had receded; that the island had increased in dimensions; the main land too seemed to be drawing nearer. in fact, the water sunk so low, that there remained between me and the continent but a small stream, which i crossed, and the water did not reach above the middle of my leg. i walked so long a way upon the slime and sand that i was very weary: at last i got upon more firm ground, and when i had proceeded some distance from the sea, i saw a good way before me something that resembled a great fire, which afforded me some comfort; for i said to myself, i shall find here some persons, it not being possible that this fire should kindle of itself. as i drew nearer, however, i found my error, and discovered that what i had taken for a fire was a castle of red copper, which the beams of the sun made to appear at a distance like flames. i stopped in the neighbourhood of the castle, and sat down to admire its noble structure, and to rest myself. before i had taken such a view of this magnificent building as it deserved, i saw ten handsome young men coming along, as if they had been taking a walk; but what surprised me was, that they were all blind of the right eye. they were accompanied by an old man, who was very tall, and of a venerable aspect. i could not suppress my astonishment at the sight of so many half blind men in company, and every one deprived of the same eye. as i was conjecturing by what adventure these men could come together, they approached, and seemed glad to see me. after the first salutations, they inquired what had brought me thither. i told them my story would be somewhat tedious, but if they would take the trouble to sit down, i would satisfy their curiosity. they did so, and i related to them all that had happened to me since i had left my kingdom, which filled them with astonishment. after i had concluded my account, the young gentlemen prayed me to accompany them into the castle. i accepted their offer, and we passed through a great many halls, ante-chambers, bed-chambers, and closets, very well furnished, and came at last into a spacious hall, where there were ten small blue sofas set round, separate from one another, on which they sat by day and slept at night. in the middle of this circle stood an eleventh sofa, not so high as the rest, but of the same colour, upon which the old man before-mentioned sat down, and the young gentlemen occupied the other ten. but as each sofa could only contain one man, one of the young men said to me, "comrade, sit down upon that carpet in the middle of the room, and do not inquire into anything that concerns us, nor the reason why we are all blind of the right eye; be content with what you see, and let not your curiosity extend any farther." the old man having sat a short time, arose, and went out; but he returned in a minute or two, brought in supper, distributed to each man separately his proportion, and likewise brought me mine, which i ate apart, as the rest did; and when supper was almost ended, he presented to each of us a cup of wine. they thought my story so extraordinary, that they made me repeat it after supper, and it furnished conversation for a good part of the night. one of the gentlemen observing that it was late, said to the old man, "you do not bring us that with which we may acquit ourselves of our duty." at these words the old man arose, and went into a closet, and brought out thence upon his head ten basins, one after another, all covered with blue stuff; he placed one before every gentleman, together with a light. they uncovered their basins, which contained ashes, coal-dust, and lamp-black; they mixed all together, and rubbed and bedaubed their faces with it in such a manner as to make themselves look very frightful. after having thus blackened themselves, they wept and lamented, beating their heads and breasts, and crying continually, "this is the fruit of our idleness and debauches." they continued this strange employment nearly the whole of the night, and when they left off, the old man brought them water, with which they washed their faces and hands; they changed all their clothes, which were spoiled, and put on others; so that they exhibited no appearance of what they had been doing. you may judge how uneasy i felt all this time. i wished a thousand times to break the silence which had been imposed upon me, and ask questions; nor was it possible for me to sleep that night. the next day, soon after we had arisen, we went out to walk, and then i said to them, "gentlemen, i declare to you, that i must renounce the law which you prescribed to me last night, for i cannot observe it. you are men of sense, you have convinced me that you do not want understanding; yet, i have seen you do such actions as none but madmen could be capable of. whatever misfortune befalls me, i cannot forbear asking, why you bedaubed your faces with black? how it has happened that each of you has but one eye? some singular circumstance must certainly be the cause; therefore i conjure you to satisfy my curiosity." to these pressing instances they answered only, that it was no business of mine to make such inquiries, and that i should do well to hold my peace. we passed that day in conversation upon indifferent subjects; and when night was come and every man had supped, the old man brought in the blue basins, and the young gentlemen as before bedaubed their faces, wept and beat themselves, crying, "this is the fruit of our idleness and debauches," and continued the same actions the following night. at last, not being able to resist my curiosity, i earnestly prayed them to satisfy me, or to shew me how to return to my own kingdom; for it was impossible for me to keep them company any longer, and to see every night such an odd exhibition, without being permitted to know the reason. one of the gentlemen answered on behalf of the rest, "do not wonder at our conduit in regard to yourself, and that hitherto we have not granted your request: it is out of kindness, to save you the pain of being reduced to the same condition with ourselves. if you have a mind to try our unfortunate destiny, you need but speak, and we will give you the satisfaction you desire." i told them i was resolved on it, let what would be the consequence. "once more," said the same gentleman, "we advise you to restrain your curiosity: it will cost you the loss of your right eye." "no matter," i replied; "be assured that if such a misfortune befall me, i will not impute it to you, but to myself." he farther represented to me, that when i had lost an eye i must not hope to remain with them, if i were so disposed, because their number was complete, and no addition could be made to it. i told them, that it would be a great satisfaction to me never to part from such agreeable gentlemen, but if there were a necessity for it, i was ready to submit; and let it cost me what it would, i begged them to grant my request. the ten gentlemen perceiving that i was so fixed in my resolution, took a sheep, killed it, and after they had taken off the skin, presented me with a knife, telling me it would be useful to me on an occasion which they would soon explain. "we must sew you in this skin," said they, "and then leave you; upon which a bird of a monstrous size, called a roc, will appear in the air, and taking you for a sheep, will pounce upon you, and soar with you to the sky: but let not that alarm you; he will descend with you again, and lay you on the top of a mountain. when you find yourself on the ground, cut the skin with your knife, and throw it off. as soon as the roc sees you, he will fly away for fear, and leave you at liberty. do not stay, but walk on till you come to a spacious castle, covered with plates of gold, large emeralds, and other precious stones: go up to the gate, which always stands open, and walk in. we have each of us been in that castle; but will tell you nothing of what we saw, or what befell us there; you will learn by your own experience. all that we can inform you is, that it has cost each of us our right eye, and the penance which you have been witness to, is what we are obliged to observe in consequence of having been there. the history of each of us is so full of extraordinary adventures, that a large volume would not contain them. but we cannot explain ourselves farther." when the gentleman had thus spoken, i wrapt myself in the sheep's skin, held fast the knife which was given me; and after the young gentlemen had been at the trouble to sew the skin about me, they retired into the hall, and left me alone. the roc they spoke of soon arrived; he pounced upon me, took me in his talons like a sheep, and carried me up the summit of the mountain. when i found myself on the ground, i cut the skin with the knife, and throwing it off, the roc at the sight of me flew sway. this roc is a white bird, of a monstrous size; his strength is such, that he can lift up elephants from the plains, and carry them to the tops of mountains, where he feeds upon them. being impatient to reach the castle, i lost no time; but made so much haste, that i got thither in half a day's journey, and i must say that i found it surpassed the description they had given me of its magnificence. the gate being open, i entered a square court, so large that there were round it ninety-nine gates of wood of sanders and aloes, and one of gold, without reckoning those of several superb staircases, that led to apartments above, besides many more which i could not see. the hundred doors i spoke of opened into gardens or store-houses full of riches, or into apartments which contained many things wonderful to be seen. i saw a door standing open just before me, through which i entered into a large hall. here i found forty young ladies of such perfect beauty as imagination could not surpass: they were all most sumptuously appareled. as soon as they saw me they arose, and without waiting my salutations, said to me, with demonstrations of joy, "noble sir, you are welcome." and one thus addressed me in the name of the rest, "we have long been in expectation of such a gentleman as you; your mien assures us, that you are master of all the good qualities we can desire; and we hope you will not find our company disagreeable or unworthy of yours." they obliged me, notwithstanding all the opposition i could make, to sit down on a seat that was higher than their own; and when i expressed my uneasiness, "that is your place," said they, "you are at present our lord, master, and judge, and we are your slaves, ready to obey your commands." nothing, madam, so much astonished me, as the solicitude and eagerness of those fair ladies to do me all possible service. one brought hot water to wash my feet, a second poured sweet scented water on my hands; others brought me all kinds of necessaries, and change of apparel; others again brought in a magnificent collation; and the rest came with glasses in their hands to fill me delicious wines, all in good order, and in the most charming manner possible. i ate and drank; after which the ladies placed themselves about me, and desired an account of my travels. i gave them a full relation of my adventures, which lasted till night came on. when i had finished my narrative to the forty ladies, some of them who sat nearest me staid to keep me company, whilst the rest, seeing it was dark, rose to fetch tapers. they brought a prodigious number, which by the wonderful light they emitted exhibited the resemblance of day, and they disposed them with so much taste as to produce the most beautiful effect possible. other ladies covered a table with dry fruits, sweetmeats, and everything proper to relish the liquor; a side-board was set out with several sorts of wine and other liquors. some of the ladies brought in musical instruments, and when everything was ready, they invited me to sit down to supper. the ladies sat down with me, and we continued a long while at our repast. they that were to play upon the instruments and sing arose, and formed a most charming concert. the others began a kind of ball, and danced two and two, couple after couple, with admirable grace. it was past midnight ere these amusements ended. at length one of the ladies said to me, "you are doubtless wearied by the journey you have taken to-day; it is time for you to retire to rest; your lodging is prepared: but before you depart choose which of us you like best to be your bedfellow." i answered, "that i knew not how to make my own choice, as they were all equally beautiful, witty, and worthy of my respects and service, and that i would not be guilty of so much incivility as to prefer one before another." the lady who had spoken to me before answered, "we are very well satisfied of your civility, and find it is your fear to create jealousy among us that occasions your diffidence; but let not this hinder you. we assure you, that the good fortune of her whom you choose shall cause no feeling of the kind; for we are agreed among ourselves, that every one of us shall in her turn have the same honour; and when forty days are past, to begin again; therefore make your selection, and lose no time to take the repose you need." i was obliged to yield to their entreaties, and offered my hand to the lady who spoke, and who, in return, gave me hers. we were conducted to a sumptuous apartment, where they left us; and then every one retired to her own chamber. i was scarcely dressed next morning, when the other thirty-nine ladies came into my chamber, all in different dresses from those they had worn the day before: they bade me good-morrow, and inquired after my health. after which they conveyed me to a bath, where they washed me themselves, and whether i would or no, served me with everything i needed; and when i came out of the bath, they made me put on another suit much richer than the former. we passed the whole day almost constantly at table; and when it was bed-time, they prayed me again to make choice of one of them for my companion in short, madam, not to weary you with repetitions, i must tell you that i continued a whole year among those forty ladies, and received them into my bed one after another: and during all the time of this voluptuous life, we met not with the least kind of trouble. when the year was expired, i was greatly surprised that these forty ladies, instead of appearing with their usual cheerfulness to ask me how i did, entered my chamber one morning all in tears. they embraced me with great tenderness one after another, saying, "adieu, dear prince, adieu! for we must leave you." their tears affected. i prayed them to tell me the reason of their grief, and of the separation they spoke of. "fair ladies, let me know," said i, "if it be in my power to comfort you, or if my assistance can be any way useful to you." instead of returning a direct answer, "would," said they, "we had never seen or known you! several gentlemen have honoured us with their company before you; but never one of them had that comeliness, that sweetness, that pleasantness of humour, and that merit which you possess; we know not how to live without you." after they had spoken these words, they began to weep bitterly. "my dear ladies," said i, "have the kindness not to keep me any longer in suspense: tell me the cause of your sorrow." "alas!" said they, "what but the necessity of parting from you could thus afflict us? perhaps we shall never see you more; but if it be your wish we should, and if you possess sufficient self-command for the purpose, it is not impossible but that we may again enjoy the pleasure of your company." "ladies," i replied, "i understand not what you mean; pray explain yourselves more clearly." "well," said one of them, "to satisfy you, we must acquaint you that we are all princesses, daughters of kings. we live here together in the manner you have seen; but at the end of every year we are obliged to be absent forty days upon indispensable duties, which we are not permitted to reveal: and afterwards we return again to this castle. yesterday was the last of the year; to day we must leave you, and this circumstance is the cause of our grief. before we depart we will leave you the keys of everything, especially those of the hundred doors, where you will find enough to satisfy your curiosity, and to relieve your solitude during our absence. but for your benefit, and our own personal interests, we recommend you to forbear opening the golden door; for if you do we shall never see you again; and the apprehension of this augments our grief. we hope, nevertheless, that you will attend to our advice; your own peace, and the happiness of your life, depends upon your compliance; therefore take heed. if you suffer yourself to be swayed by a foolish curiosity, you will do yourself a considerable injury. we conjure you to avoid the indiscretion, and to give us the satisfaction finding you here again at the end of forty days. we would willingly take the key of the golden door with us; but that it would be an affront to a prince like you to question your discretion and firmness." this speech of the fair princesses grieved me extremely. i omitted not to declare how much their absence would afflict me. i thanked then for their good advice, assuring them that i would follow it, and expressed my willingness to perform what was much more difficult, to secure the happiness of passing the rest of my days with ladies of such beauty and accomplishments. we separated with much tenderness, and after i had embraced them all, they departed, and i remained alone in the castle. the agreeableness of their company, their hospitality, their musical entertainments, and other amusements, had so much absorbed my attention during the whole year, that i neither had time nor desire to see the wonders contained in this enchanted palace. i did not even notice a thousand curious objects that every day offered themselves to my view, so much was i charmed by the beauty of those ladies, and the pleasure they seemed to take in promoting my gratification. their departure sensibly afflicted me; and though their absence was to be only forty days, it seemed to me an age to live without them. i determined not to forget the important advice they had given me, not to open the golden door; but as i was permitted to satisfy my curiosity in everything else, i took the first of the keys of the other doors, which were hung in regular order. i opened the first door, and entered an orchard, which i believe the universe could not equal. i could not imagine any thing to surpass it, except that which our religion promises us after death. the symmetry, the neatness, the admirable order of the trees, the abundance and diversity of unknown fruits, their freshness and beauty, delighted my senses. nor must i omit to inform you, that this delicious orchard was watered in a very particular manner. there were channels so artificially and proportionately dug, that they carried water in considerable quantities to the roots of such trees as required much moisture. others conveyed it in smaller quantities to those whose fruits were already formed: some carried still less to those whose fruits were swelling, and others carried only so much as was just requisite to water those which had their fruits come to perfection, and only wanted to be ripened. they far exceeded in size the ordinary fruits of our gardens. lastly, those channels that watered the trees whose fruit was ripe had no more moisture than just what would preserve them from withering. i should never have tired in examining and admiring so delightful a place; nor have left it, had i not conceived a still higher idea of the other things which i had not seen. i went out at last with my mind filled with the wonders i had viewed: i shut the door, and opened the next. instead of an orchard, i found here a flower garden, which was no less extraordinary in its kind. it contained a spacious plot, not watered so profusely as the former, but with greater niceness, furnishing no more water than just what each flower required. the roses, jessamines, violets, daffodils, hyacinths, anemonies, tulips, pinks, lilies, and an infinite number of flowers, which do not grow in other places but at certain times, were there flourishing all at once, and nothing could be more delicious than the fragrant smell which they emitted. i opened the third door, and found a large aviary, paved with marble of several fine and uncommon colours. the trellis work was made of sandal wood and wood of aloes. it contained a vast number of nightingales, gold-finches, canary birds, larks, and other rare singing-birds, which i had never heard of; and the vessels that held their seed and water were of the most precious jasper or agate. besides, this aviary was so exceedingly neat, that, considering its extent, i judged there must be not less than a hundred persons to keep it clean; but all this while not one appeared, either here or in the gardens i had before examined; and yet i could not perceive a weed, or any thing superfluous or offensive to sight. the sun went down, and i retired, charmed with the chirping notes of the multitude of birds, who then began to perch upon such places as suited them for repose during the night. i went to my chamber, resolving on the following days to open all the rest of the doors, excepting that of gold. the next day i opened the fourth door. if what i had seen before was capable of exciting my surprise, what i now beheld transported me into perfect ecstacy. i entered a large court surrounded with buildings of an admirable structure, the description of which i will omit, to avoid prolixity. this building had forty doors, all open, and through each of them was an entrance into a treasury: several of these treasuries contained as much wealth as the largest kingdoms. the first was stored with heaps of pearls: and, what is almost incredible, the number of those stones which are most precious, and as large as pigeons' eggs, exceeded the number of those of the ordinary size. in the second treasury, there were diamonds, carbuncles, and rubies; in the third, emeralds; in the fourth, ingots of gold; in the fifth, money; in the sixth, ingots of silver; and in the two following, money. the rest contained amethysts, chrysolites, topazes, opals, turquoises, and hyacinths, with all the other stones known to us, without mentioning agate, jasper, cornelian, and coral, of which there was a store house filled, not only with branches, but whole trees. filled with astonishment and admiration at the view of all these riches, i exclaimed, "if all the treasures of the kings of the universe were gathered together in one place, they could not equal the value of these. how fortunate am i to possess all this wealth with so many admirable princesses!" i will not tire you, madam, with a detail of all the other objects of curiosity and value which i discovered on the following day. i shall only say, that thirty-nine days afforded me but just as much time as was necessary to open ninety-nine doors, and to admire all that presented itself to my view, so that there was only the hundredth door left, which i was forbidden to open. the fortieth day after the departure of those charming princesses arrived, and had i but retained so much self-command as i ought to have had, i should have been this day the happiest of all mankind, whereas now i am the most unfortunate. they were to return the next day, and the pleasure of seeing them again ought to have restrained my curiosity: but through my weakness, which i shall ever repent, i yielded to the temptations of the evil spirit, who allowed me no rest till i had involved myself in the misfortunes i have since suffered. i opened that fatal door! but before i had moved my foot to enter, a smell pleasant enough, but too powerful for my senses, made me faint away. however, i soon recovered: but instead of taking warning from this incident to close the door, and restrain my curiosity, after waiting some time for the external air to correct the effluvia of the place, i entered, and felt myself no longer incommoded. i found myself in a spacious vaulted apartment, the pavement of which was strewed with saffron. it was illuminated by several large tapers which emitted the perfume of aloes and ambergris, and were placed in candlesticks of solid gold. this light was augmented by gold and silver lamps, burning perfumed oils of various kinds. among the many objects that attracted my attention was a black horse, of the most perfect symmetry and beauty that ever was beheld. i approached in order the better to observe him, and found he had on a saddle and bridle of massive gold, curiously wrought. one part of his manger was filled with clean barley and sesame, and the other with rose-water. i laid hold of his bridle, and led him out to view him by daylight. i mounted, and endeavoured to make him move: but finding he did not stir, i struck him with a switch i had taken up in his magnificent stable. he had no sooner felt the blow, than he began to neigh in a most horrible manner, and extending his wings, which i had not before perceived, flew up with me into the air. my thoughts were fully in keeping my seat; and considering the fear that had seized me, i sat well. at length he directed his course towards the earth, and lighted upon the terrace of a castle, and, without giving me time to dismount, shook me out of the saddle with such force, as to throw me behind him, and with the end of his tail he struck out my eye. thus it was i became blind of one eye. i then recollected the predictions of the ten young gentlemen. the horse again took wing, and soon disappeared. i got up much vexed at the misfortune i had brought upon myself. i walked upon the terrace, covering my eye with one of my hands, for it pained me exceedingly, and then descended, and entered into a hall. i soon discovered by the ten sofas in a circle, and the eleventh in the middle, lower than the rest, that i was in the castle whence i had been carried by the roc. the ten young gentlemen were not in the hall when i entered; but came in soon after, attended by the old man. they seemed not at all surprised to see me, nor at the loss of my eye; but said, "we are sorry that we cannot congratulate you on your return, as we could wish; but we are not the cause of your misfortune." "i should do you wrong," i replied, "to lay it to your charge; i have only myself to accuse." "if," said they, "it be a subject of consolation to the afflicted to know that others share their sufferings, you have in us this alleviation of your misfortune. all that has happened to you we have also endured; we each of us tasted the same pleasures during a year; and we had still continued to enjoy them, had we not opened the golden door, when the princesses were absent. you have been no wiser than we, and have incurred the same punishment. we would gladly receive you into our company, to join with us in the penance to which we are bound, and the duration of which we know not. but we have already stated to you the reasons that render this impossible: depart, therefore, and proceed to the court of bagdad, where you will meet with the person who is to decide your destiny." after they had explained to me the road i was to travel, i departed. on the road i caused my beard and eye-brows to be shaven, and assumed a calender's habit. i have had a long journey, but at last i arrived this evening, and met these my brother calenders at the gate, being strangers as well as myself. we were mutually surprised at one another, to see that we were all blind of the same eye; but we had not leisure to converse long on the subject of our misfortunes. we have only had time enough to bring us hither, to implore those favours which you have been generously pleased to grant us. the third calender having finished this relation of his adventures, zobeide addressed him and his fellow calenders thus: "go wherever you think proper, you are at liberty." but one of them answered, "madam, we beg you to pardon our curiosity, and permit us to hear the stories of those gentlemen who have not yet spoken." then the lady turned to the caliph, the vizier jaaffier, and mesrour, and said to them, "it is now your turn to relate your adventures, therefore speak." the grand vizier who had all along been the spokesman, answered zobeide: "madam, in order to obey you, we need only repeat what we have already said. we are merchants of moussol come to bagdad to sell our merchandize, which lies in the khan where we lodge. we dined today with several other persons of our condition, at a merchant's house of this city; who, after he had treated us with choice dainties and excellent wines, sent for men and women dancers, and musicians. the great noise we made brought in the watch, who arrested some of the company, and we had the good fortune to escape: but it being already late, and the door of our khan shut up, we knew not whither to retire. we chanced as we passed along this street to hear mirth at your house, which made us determine to knock at your gate. this is all the account that we can give you, in obedience to your commands." zobeide having heard this statement, seemed to hesitate what to say, which the calenders perceiving, prayed her to grant the same favour to the three moussol merchants as she had done to them. "well then," said she, "you shall all be equally obliged to me; i pardon you all, provided you immediately depart." zobeide having given this command in a tone that signified she would be obeyed, the caliph, the vizier mesrour, the three calenders, and the porter departed, without saying one word: for the presence of the seven slaves with their weapons awed them into silence. as soon as they had quitted the house, and the gate was closed after them, the caliph said to the calenders, without making himself known, "you gentlemen, who are newly come to town, which way do you design to go, since it is not yet day?" "it is this," they replied, "that perplexes us." "follow us," resumed the caliph, "and we will convey you out of danger." he then whispered to the vizier, "take them along with you, and tomorrow morning bring them to me; i will cause their history to be put in writing, for it deserves a place in the annals of my reign." the vizier jaaffier took the three calenders along with him; the porter went to his quarters, and the caliph and mesrour returned to the palace. the caliph went to bed, but could not sleep, being perplexed by the extraordinary things he had seen and heard. but above all, he was most concerned to know the history of zobeide; what reason she could have to be so severe to the two black bitches, and why amene had her bosom so scarred. day began to appear whilst he was thinking upon these things; he arose and went to his council chamber, and sat upon his throne. the grand vizier entered soon after, and paid his respects as usual. "vizier," said the caliph, "the affairs that we have to consider at present are not very pressing; that of the three ladies and the two black bitches is the most urgent: my mind cannot rest till i am thoroughly satisfied, in all those matters that have so much surprised me. go, bring those ladies and the calenders at the same time; make haste, and remember that i impatiently expect your return." the vizier who knew his master's quick and fiery temper, hastened to obey, and went to the ladies, to whom he communicated, in a civil way, the orders with which he was charged, to bring them before the caliph, without taking any notice of what had passed the night before at their house. the ladies put on their veils, and went with the vizier as he passed his own house, he took along with him the three calenders, who in the interval had learnt that they had seen and spoken with the caliph, without knowing him. the vizier conducted them to the palace with so much expedition, that the caliph was much pleased. this prince, that he might observe proper decorum before the officers of his court who were then present, ordered that the ladies should be placed behind the hangings of the door which led to his own chamber, and placed the three calenders near his person, who, by their respectful behaviour, sufficiently evinced that they were not ignorant before whom they had the honour to appear. when the ladies were thus disposed of, the caliph turned towards them, and said, "when i acquaint you that i was last night in your house, disguised in a merchant's habit, you may probably be alarmed, lest you may have given me offence; you may perhaps believe that i have sent for you for no other purpose than to shew some marks of my resentment; but be not afraid; you may rest assured that i have forgotten all that has past, and am well satisfied with your conduct. i wish that all the ladies of bagdad had as much discretion as you evinced before me. i shall always remember the moderation with which you acted, after the rudeness of which we were guilty. i was then a merchant of moussol, but am at present haroon al rusheed, the fifth caliph of the glorious house of abbas, and hold the place of our great prophet. i have only sent for you to know who you are, and to ask for what reason one of you, after severely whipping the two black bitches, wept with them? and i am no less curious to know, why another of you has her bosom so full of scars." though the caliph pronounced these words very distinctly, the three ladies heard him well enough, yet the vizier out of ceremony, repeated them. zobeide, after the caliph by his address had encouraged her, began thus: the story of zobeide. commander of the faithful, the relation which i am about to give your majesty is singularly extraordinary. the two black bitches and myself are sisters by the same father and mother; and i shall acquaint you by what strange accident they came to be metamorphosed. the two ladies who live with me, and are now here, are also my sisters by the father's side, but by another mother: she that has the scars upon her breast is named amene; the name of the other is safie, and my own zobeide. after our father's death, the property that he left was equally divided among us, and as soon as these two sisters received their portions, they left me to live with their mother. my other two sisters and myself stayed with our mother, who was then alive, and who when she afterwards died left each of us a thousand sequins. as soon as we had received our portions, the two eldest (for i am the youngest) married, and left me alone. some time after, my eldest sister's husband sold all that he had, and with that money and my sister's portion they went both into africa, where her husband, by riotous living and debauchery' spent all; and finding himself reduced to poverty, found a pretext for divorcing my sister, and put her away. she returned to this city, and having suffered incredible hardships by the way, came to me in so lamentable a condition that it would have moved the hardest heart to compassion to behold her. i received her with every possible tenderness, and inquiring into the cause of her distress, she told me with tears how inhumanly her husband had behaved towards her. her misfortunes affected me: and i mingled my tears with hers. i took her to a bath, clothed her with my own apparel, and thus addressed her: "sister, you are the elder, and i esteem you as my mother: during your absence, god has blest the portion that fell to my share, and the employment i follow of breeding silk-worms. assure yourself there is nothing i have but is at your service, and as much at your disposal as my own." we lived very comfortably together for some months. as we were one day conversing about our third sister, and wondering we received no intelligence of her, she came in as bad a condition as the eldest: her husband had treated her after the same manner; and i received her likewise with the same affection as i had done the former. some time after, my two sisters, on presence that they would not be chargeable to me, told me they intended to marry again. i observed, that if putting me to expense was the only reason, they might lay those thoughts aside, and be welcome to remain: for what i had would be sufficient to maintain us all three, in a manner answerable to our condition. "but," i added, "i rather believe you wish to marry again; i shall feel much surprised if such be the case. after the experience you have had of the little satisfaction there is in wedlock, is it possible you dare venture a second time? you know how rare it is to meet with a husband perfectly virtuous and deserving. believe what i say, and let us live together as comfortably as we can." all my persuasion was in vain; they were resolved to marry, and soon accomplished their wishes. but after some months were past, they returned again, and begged my pardon a thousand times for not following my advice. "you are our youngest sister," said they, "but abundantly more wise than we; if you will vouchsafe to receive us once more into your house, and account us your slaves, we shall never commit a similar fault again." my answer was, "dear sisters, i have not altered my mind with respect to you since we last parted: come again, and take part of what i have." upon this i embraced them, and we lived together as before. we continued thus a whole year in perfect love and harmony. seeing that god had increased my small stock, i projected a voyage, to embark some of it in a commercial speculation. to this end, i went with my two sisters to bussorah, where i bought a ship ready fitted for sea, and laded her with such merchandise as i had carried with me from bagdad. we set sail with a fair wind, and soon cleared the persian gulf; when we had reached the open sea, we steered our course to the indies; and the twentieth day saw land. it was a very high mountain, at the bottom of which we perceived a great town: having a fresh gale, we soon reached the harbour, and cast anchor. i had not patience to wait till my sisters were dressed to go along with me, but went ashore alone in the boat. making directly to the gate of the town, i saw there a great number of men upon guard, some sitting, and others standing with sticks in their hands; and they had all such dreadful countenances that i was greatly alarmed; but perceiving they remained stationary, and did not so much as move their eyes, i took courage, and went nearer, when i found they were all turned into stones. i entered the town and passed through several streets, where at different intervals stood men in various attitudes, but all motionless and petrified. in the quarter inhabited by the merchants i found most of the shops shut, and in such as were open i likewise found the people petrified. having reached a vast square, in the heart of the city, i perceived a large folding gate, covered with plates of gold, which stood open; a curtain of silk stuff seemed to be drawn before it: a lamp hung over the entrance. after i had surveyed the building, i made no doubt but it was the palace of the prince who reigned over that country: and being much astonished that i had not met with one living creature, i approached in hopes to find some. i lifted up the curtain, and was surprised at beholding no one but the guards in the vestibule all petrified; some standing, some sitting, and some lying. i came to a large court, where i saw before me a stately building, the windows of which were inclosed with gates of messy gold: i concluded it to be the queen's apartments. i entered; and in a large hall i found several black eunuchs turned into stone. i went from thence into a room richly furnished, where i perceived a lady in the same situation. i knew it to be the queen, by the crown of gold on her head, and a necklace of pearls about her neck, each of them as large as a nut; i approached her to have a nearer view of it, and never beheld a finer objets. i stood some time admiring the riches and magnificence of the room; but above all, the carpet, the cushions, and the sofas, which were all ornamented with indian stuff of gold, and representations of men and beasts in silver, admirably executed. i quitted the chamber where the petrified queen was, and passed through several other apartments and closets richly furnished, and at last came into a large room, where there was a throne of massive gold, raised several steps above the floor, and enriched with large enchased emeralds, and upon the throne there was a bed of rich stuff embroidered with pearls. what surprised me most was a sparkling light which came from above the bed. being curious to know whence it proceeded, i ascended the steps, and lifting up my head, saw a diamond as large as the egg of an ostrich, lying upon a low stool; it was so pure, that i could not find the least blemish in it, and it sparkled with so much brilliancy, that when i saw it by day-light i could not endure its lustre. at the head of the bed there stood on each side a lighted flambeau, but for what use i could not comprehend; however, it made me imagine that there was some living creature in this place; for i could not believe that the torches continued thus burning of themselves. several other rarities detained my curiosity in this room, which was inestimable in value, were it only for the diamond i mentioned. the doors being all open, or but half shut, i surveyed some other apartments, that were as beautiful as those i had already seen. i looked into the offices and store-rooms, which were full of riches. in short, the wonders that everywhere appeared so wholly engrossed my attention, that i forgot my ship and my sisters, and thought of nothing but gratifying my curiosity. in the mean time night came on, which reminded me that it was time to retire. i proposed to return the way i had entered, but i could not find it; i lost myself among the apartments; and perceiving i was come back again to the large room, where the throne, the couch, the large diamond, and the torches stood, i resolved to take my night's lodging there, and to depart the next morning early, to get aboard my ship. i laid myself down upon a couch, not without some dread to be alone in a desolate place; and this fear hindered my sleep. about midnight i heard a voice like that of a man reading the koraun, after the same manner, and in the same tone as it is read in our mosques. being extremely glad to hear it, i immediately arose, and taking a torch in my hand, passed from one chamber to another on that side from whence the sound proceeded. i came to the closet-door, and stood still, not doubting that it came from thence. i set down my torch upon the ground, and looking through a window, found it to be an oratory. it had, as we have in our mosques, a niche, to direct us whither we are to turn to say our prayers: there were also lamps hung up, and two candlesticks with large tapers of white wax burning. i saw a little carpet laid down like those we have to kneel upon when we say our prayers, and a comely young man sat on this carpet reading with great devotion the koraun, which lay before him on a desk. at this sight i was transported with admiration. i wondered how it came to pass that he should be the only living creature in a town where all the people were turned into stones, and i did not doubt but there was something in the circumstance very extraordinary. the door being only half shut, i opened it, went in, and standing upright before the niche, i repeated this prayer aloud: "praise be to god, who has favoured us with a happy voyage, and may he be graciously pleased to protect us in the same manner, until we arrive again in our own country. hear me, o lord, and grant my request." the young man turned his eyes towards me, and said, "my good lady, pray let me know who you are, and what has brought you to this desolate city? and, in return, i will you who i am, what has happened to me, why the inhabitants of this city are reduced to the state you see them in, and why i alone am safe in the midst of such a terrible disaster." i told him in a few words whence i had come, what had made me undertake the voyage, and how i safely arrived at the port after twenty days' sailing; when i had done, i prayed him to perform his promise, and told him how much i was struck by the frightful desolation which i had seen in the city. "lady," said the young man, "have patience for a moment." at these words he shut the koraun, put it into a rich case, and laid it in the niche. i took that opportunity to observe him, and perceiving in him so much good nature and beauty, i felt emotions i had never known before. he made me sit down by him, and before he began his discourse, i could not forbear saying, with an air that discovered the sentiments i felt, "amiable sir, dear object of my soul, i can scarcely have patience to wait for an account of all these wonderful objects that i have seen since i came into your city; and my curiosity cannot be satisfied too soon: therefore pray, sir, let me know by what miracle you alone are left alive among so many persons that have died in so strange a manner." "madam," said the young man, "by the prayer you just now addressed to him, you have given me to understand that you have a knowledge of the true god. i will acquaint you with the most remarkable effect of his greatness and power. you must know, that this city was the metropolis of a mighty kingdom, over which the sultan my father reigned. that prince, his whole court, the inhabitants of the city, and all his other subjects, were magi, worshippers of fire, and of nardoun, the ancient king of the giants, who rebelled against god. "but though i was born of an idolatrous father and mother, i had the good fortune in my youth to have a governess who was a good moosulmaun. 'dear prince,' would she oftentimes say, 'there is but one true god; take heed that you do not acknowledge and adore any other.' she taught me to read arabic, and the book she gave me to study was the koraun. as soon as i was capable of understanding it, she explained to me all the passages of this excellent book, and infused piety into my mind, unknown to my father or any other person. she happened to die, but not before she had perfectly instructed me in all that was necessary to convince me of the truth of the moosulmaun religion. after her death i persisted with constancy in the belief of its divinity: and i abhor the false god nardoun, and the adoration of fire. "about three years and some months ago, a thundering voice was suddenly sounded so distinctly, through the whole city, that nobody could miss hearing it. the words were these: 'inhabitants, abandon the worship of nardoun, and of fire, and worship the only god who shews mercy.' "this voice was heard three years successively, but no one was converted. on the last day of that year, at four o'clock in the morning, all the inhabitants were changed in an instant into stone, every one in the condition and posture they happened to be in. the sultan, my father, shared the same fate, for he was metamorphosed into a black stone, as he is to be seen in this palace, and the queen, my mother, had the like destiny. "i am the only person who did not suffer under that heavy judgment, and ever since i have continued to serve god with more fervency than before. i am persuaded, dear lady, that he has sent you hither for my comfort, for which i render him infinite thanks; for i must own that this solitary life is extremely irksome." all these expressions, and particularly the last, greatly increased my love for him. "prince," said i, "there is no doubt but providence has brought me into your port, to afford you an opportunity of withdrawing from this dismal place. the ship i came in may serve in some measure to convince you that i am in some esteem at bagdad, where i have left considerable property; and i dare engage to promise you sanctuary there, until the mighty commander of the faithful, vicegerent to our prophet whom you acknowledge, shew you the honour that is due to your merit. this renowned prince lives at bagdad, and as soon as he is informed of your arrival in his capital, you will find that it is not in vain to implore his assistance. it is impossible you can stay any longer in a city where all the objects you behold must renew your grief: my vessel is at your service, where you may absolutely command as you shall think fit." he accepted the offer, and we conversed the remainder of the night concerning our embarkation. as soon as it was day we left the palace, and went aboard my ship, where we found my sisters, the captain, and the slaves, all much troubled at my absence. after i had presented my sisters to the prince, i told them what had hindered my return the day before, how i had met with the young prince, his story, and the cause of the desolation of so fine a city. the seamen were taken up several days in unlading the merchandize i brought with me, and embarking in its stead all the precious things in the palace, such as jewels, gold, and money. we left the furniture and goods, which consisted of an infinite quantity of plate, &c., because our vessel could not carry it, for it would have required several vessels more to convey to bagdad all the riches that we might have chosen to take with us. after we had laden the vessel with what we thought most desirable, we took such provisions and water aboard as were necessary for our voyage (for we had still a great deal of those provisions left that we had taken in at bussorah); at last we set sail with a wind as favourable as we could wish. the young prince, my sisters and myself, enjoyed ourselves for some time very agreeably. but alas! this good understanding did not last long, for my sisters grew jealous of the friendship between the prince and myself, and maliciously asked me one day, what we should do with him when we came to bagdad? i perceived immediately that they put this question on purpose to discover my inclinations; therefore, resolving to put it off with a jest, i answered, "i will take him for my husband;" and upon that, turning myself to the prince, said, "sir, i humbly beg of you to give your consent, for as soon as we come to bagdad i desire to offer you my person to be your slave, to do you all the service that is in my power, and to resign myself wholly to your commands." the prince replied, "i know not, madam, whether you be in jest or no; but for my part, i seriously declare before these ladies, your sisters, that from this moment i heartily accept your offer, not with any intention to have you as a slave, but as my lady and mistress: nor will i pretend to have any power over your actions." at these words my sisters changed colour, and i could perceive afterwards that they did not love me as before. we entered the persian gulf, and had come within a short distance of bussorah (where i hoped, considering the fair wind, we might have arrived the day following), when in the night, while i was asleep, my sisters watched their opportunity, and threw me overboard. they did the same to the prince, who was drowned. i floated some minutes on the water, and by good fortune, or rather miracle, i felt ground. i went towards a dark spot, that, by what i could discern, seemed to be land, and proved to be a flat on the coast, which, when day appeared, i found to be a desert island, lying about twenty miles from bussorah. i soon dried my clothes in the sun, and as i walked along i found several kinds of fruit, and likewise fresh water, which gave me some hopes of preserving my life. i had just laid myself down to rest in a shade, when i perceived a very large winged serpent coming towards me, with an irregular waving movement, and hanging out its tongue, which induced me to conclude it had received some injury. i instantly arose, and perceived that it was pursued by a larger serpent which had hold of its tail, and was endeavouring to devour it. this perilous situation of the first serpent excited my pity, and instead of retreating i assumed courage to take up a stone that lay near me, and to throw it with all my strength at the other, which i hit upon the head and killed. the other, finding itself at liberty, took wing and flew away. i looked after it for some time till it disappeared. i then sought another shady spot for repose, and fell asleep. judge what was my surprise when i awoke, to see standing by me a black woman of lively and agreeable features, who held in her hand two bitches of the same colour, fastened together. i sat up, and asked her who she was? "i am," said she, "the serpent whom you lately delivered from my mortal enemy. i did not know in what way i could better requite the important services you have rendered me than by what i have just done. the treachery of your sisters was well known to me, and to avenge your wrongs, as soon as i was liberated by your generous assistance, i called together several of my companions, fairies like myself, conveyed into your storehouses at bagdad all the lading of your vessel, and afterwards sunk it. "these two black bitches are your sisters, whom i have transformed into this shape. but this punishment will not suffice; and my will is that you treat them hereafter in the way i shall direst." as soon as she had thus spoken the fairy took me under one of her arms, and the two bitches under the other, and conveyed us to my house in bagdad; where i found in my storehouses all the riches with which my vessel had been laden. before she left me, she delivered to me the two bitches, and said, "if you would not be changed into a similar form, i command you, in the name of him that governs the sea, to give each of your sisters every night one hundred lashes with a rod, as the punishment of the crime they have committed against yourself, and the young prince, whom they have drowned." i was forced to promise obedience. since that time i have whipped them every night, though with regret, whereof your majesty has been a witness. my tears testify with how much sorrow and reluctance i perform this painful duty; and in this your majesty may see i am more to be pitied than blamed. if there be any thing else relating to myself that you desire to know, my sister amene will give you full information in the relation of her story. after the caliph had heard zobeide with much astonishment, he desired his grand vizier to request amene to acquaint him wherefore her breast was disfigured with so many scars. amene addressed herself to the caliph, and began her story after this manner: the story of amene. commander of the faithful, to avoid repeating what your majesty has already heard in my sister's story, i shall only add, that after my mother had taken a house for herself to live in, during her widowhood, she gave me in marriage, with the portion my father left me, to a gentleman who had one of the best estates in the city. i had scarcely been a year married when i became a widow, and was left in possession of all my husband's property, which amounted to , sequins. the interest of this money was sufficient to maintain me very honourably. when the first six months of my mourning was over, i caused to be made for me ten different dresses, of such magnificence that each came to a thousand sequins; and at the end of the year i began to wear them. one day, while i was alone engaged in my domestic affairs, i was told that a lady desired to speak to me. i gave orders that she should be admitted. she was a person advanced in years; she saluted me by kissing the ground, and said to me kneeling, "dear lady, excuse the freedom i take to trouble you, the confidence i have in your charity makes me thus bold. i must acquaint your ladyship that i have an orphan daughter, who is to be married this day. she and i are both strangers, and have no acquaintance in this town; which much perplexes me, for we wish the numerous family with whom we are going to ally ourselves to think we are not altogether unknown and without credit: therefore, most beautiful lady, if you would vouchsafe to honour the wedding with your presence, we shall be infinitely obliged, because the ladies of our country, when informed that a lady of your rank has strewn us this respect, will then know that we are not regarded here as unworthy and despised persons. but, alas! madam, if you refuse this request, how great will be our mortification! we know not where else to apply." this poor woman's address, which she spoke with tears, moved my compassion. "good woman," said i, "do not afflict yourself, i will grant you the favour you desire; tell me whither i must go, and i will meet you as soon as i am dressed." the old woman was so transported with joy at my answer, that she kissed my feet before i had time to prevent her. "my compassionate lady," said she, rising, "god will reward the kindness you have shewed to your servants, and make your heart as joyful as you have made theirs. you need not at present trouble yourself; it will be time enough for you to go when i call for you in the evening. so farewell, madam, till i have the honour to see you again." as soon as she was gone, i took the suit i liked best, with a necklace of large pearls, bracelets, pendents for my ears, and rings set with the finest and most sparkling diamonds; for my mind presaged what would befall me. when the night closed in, the old woman called upon me, with a countenance full of joy. she kissed my hands, and said, "my dear lady, the relations of my son-in-law, who are the principal ladies of the city, are now met together; you may come when you please; i am ready to conduct you." we immediately set out; she walked before me, and i was followed by a number of my women and slaves properly dressed for the occasion. we stopt in a wide street, newly swept and watered, at a spacious gate with a lamp, by the light of which i read this inscription in golden letters over the entrance: "this is the everlasting abode of pleasure and joy." the old woman knocked, and the gate was opened immediately. i was conducted towards the lower end of the court, into a large hall, where i was received by a young lady of admirable beauty. she drew near, and after having embraced me, made me sit down by her upon a sofa, on which was raised a throne of precious wood set with diamonds. "madam," said she, "you are brought hither to assist at a wedding; but i hope it will be a different wedding from what you expected. i have a brother, one of the handsomest men in the world: he is fallen so much in love with the fame of your beauty, that his fate depends wholly upon you, and he will be the unhappiest of men if you do not take pity on him. he knows your quality, and i can assure you he is in no respect unworthy of your alliance. if my prayers, madam, can prevail, i shall join them with his, and humbly beg you will not refuse the proposal of being his wife." after the death of my husband i had not thought of marrying again. but i had no power to refuse the solicitation of so charming a lady. as soon as i had given consent by my silence, accompanied with a blush, the young lady claps her hands, and immediately a closet-door opened, out of which came a young man of a majestic air, and so graceful a behaviour, that i thought myself happy to have made so great a conquest. he sat down by me, and i found from his conversation that his merits far exceeded the eulogium of his sister. when she perceived that we were satisfied with one another, she claps her hands a second time, and out came a cauzee, who wrote our contract of marriage, signed it himself, and caused it to be attested by four witnesses he brought along with him. the only condition that my new husband imposed upon me was, that i should not be seen by nor speak to any other man but himself, and he vowed to me that, if i complied in this respect, i should have no reason to complain of him. our marriage was concluded and finished after this manner; so i became the principal actress in a wedding to which i had only been invited as a guest. about a month after our marriage, having occasion for some stuffs, i asked my husband's permission to go out to buy them, which he granted; and i took with me the old woman of whom i spoke before, she being one of the family, and two of my own female slaves. when we came to the street where the merchants reside, the old woman said, "dear mistress, since you want silk stuffs, i must take you to a young merchant of my acquaintance, who has a great variety; and that you may not fatigue yourself by running from shop to shop, i can assure you that you will find in his what no other can furnish." i was easily persuaded, and we entered a shop belonging to a young merchant who was tolerably handsome. i sat down, and bade the old woman desire him to shew me the finest silk stuffs he had. the woman desired me to speak myself; but i told her it was one of the articles of my marriage contract not to speak to any man but my husband, which i ought to keep. the merchant shewed me several stuffs, of which one pleased me better than the rest; but i bade her ask the price. he answered the old woman, "i will not sell it for gold or money, but i will make her a present of it, if she will give me leave to kiss her cheek." i ordered the old woman to tell him, that he was very rude to propose such a freedom. but instead of obeying me, she said, "what the merchant desires of you is no such great matter; you need not speak, but only present him your cheek." the stuff pleased me so much, that i was foolish enough to take her advice. the old woman and my slaves stood up, that nobody might see, and i put up my veil; but instead of kissing me, the merchant bit me so violently as to draw blood. the pain and my surprise were so great, that i fell down in a swoon, and continued insensible so long, that the merchant had time to escape. when i came to myself, i found my cheek covered with blood: the old woman and my slaves took care to cover it with my veil, that the people who came about us could not perceive it, but supposed i had only had a fainting fit. the old woman who accompanied me being extremely troubled at this accident, endeavoured to comfort me. "my dear mistress," said she, "i beg your pardon, for i am the cause of this misfortune, having brought you to this merchant, because he is my countryman: but i never thought he would be guilty of such a villainous action. but do not grieve; let us hasten home, i will apply a remedy that shall in three days so perfectly cure you, that not the least mark shall be visible." the fit had made me so weak, that i was scarcely able to walk. but at last i got home, where i again fainted, as i went into my chamber. meanwhile, the old woman applied her remedy; i came to myself, and went to bed. my husband came to me at night, and seeing my head bound up, asked me the reason. i told him i had the head-ache, which i hoped would have satisfied him, but he took a candle, and saw my cheek was hurt: "how comes this wound?" said he. though i did not consider myself as guilty of any great offence, yet i could not think of owning the truth. besides, to make such an avowal to a husband, i considered as somewhat indecorous; i therefore said, "that as i was going, under his permission, to purchase some silk stuff, a porter, carrying a load of wood, came so near to me, in a narrow street, that one of the sticks grazed my cheek; but had not done me much hurt." this account put my husband into a violent passion. "this act," said he, "shall not go unpunished. i will to-morrow order the lieutenant of the police to seize all those brutes of porters, and cause them to be hanged." fearful of occasioning the death of so many innocent persons, i said, "sir, i should be sorry so great a piece of injustice should be committed. pray refrain; for i should deem myself unpardonable, were i to be the cause of so much mischief." "then tell me sincerely," said he, "how came you by this wound." i answered, "that it was occasioned by the inadvertency of a broom-seller upon an ass, who coming behind me, while he was looking another way, his ass came against me with so much violence, that i fell down, and hurt my cheek upon some glass." "if that is the case," said my husband, "to-morrow morning, before sun-rise, the grand vizier jaaffier shall be informed of this insolence, and cause all the broom-sellers to be put to death." "for the love of god, sir," said i, "let me beg of you to pardon them, for they are not guilty." "how, madam," he demanded, "what then am i to believe? speak, for i am resolved to know the truth from your own mouth." "sir," i replied, "i was taken with a giddiness, and fell down, and that is the whole matter." at these words my husband lost all patience. "i have," said he, "too long listened to your falsehoods." as he spoke he clapped his hands, and in came three slaves: "pull her out of bed," said he, "and lay her in the middle of the floor." the slaves obeyed, one holding me by the head, another by the feet; he commanded the third to fetch a cimeter, and when he had brought it, "strike," said he, "cut her in two, and then throw her into the tygris. this is the punishment i inflict on those to whom i have given my heart, when they falsify their promise." when he saw that the slave hesitated to obey him, "why do you not strike?" said he. "what do you wait for?" "madam," said the slave then, "you are near the last moment of your life, consider if you have any thing to dispose of before you die." i begged permission to speak one word, which was granted me. i lifted up my head, and casting an affectionate look on my husband, said, "alas! to what a condition am i reduced! must i then die in the prime of my youth!" i could say no more, for my tears and sighs choked my utterance. my husband was not at all moved, but, on the contrary, went on to reproach me; and it would have been in vain to attempt a reply. i had recourse to intreaties and prayers; but he had no regard to them, and commanded the slaves to proceed to execution. the old woman, who had been his nurse, came in just at that moment, fell down upon her knees, and endeavoured to appease his wrath. "my son," said she, "since i have been your nurse and brought you up, let me beg the favour of you to grant me her life. consider, that he who kills shall be killed, and that you will stain your reputation, and forfeit the esteem of mankind. what will the world say of such sanguinary violence?" she spoke these words in such an affecting manner, accompanied with tears, that she prevailed upon him at last to abandon his purpose. "well then," said he to his nurse, "for your sake i will spare her life; but she shall bear about her person some marks to make her remember her offence." when he had thus spoken, one of the slaves, by his order, gave me upon my sides and breast so many blows, with a little cane, that he tore away both skin and flesh, which threw me into a swoon. in this state he caused the same slaves, the executioners of his fury, to carry me into a house, where the old woman took care of me. i kept my bed four months; at last i recovered: the scars which, contrary to my wish, you saw yesterday, have remained ever since. as soon as i was able to walk, and go abroad, i resolved to retire to the house which was left me by my first husband, but i could not find the site whereon it had stood. my second husband, in the heat of his resentment, was not satisfied with the demolition of that, but caused every other house in the same street to be razed to the ground. i believe such an act of violence was never heard of before; but against whom could i complain? the perpetrator had taken good care to conceal himself. but suppose i had discovered him, is it not easily seen that his conduct must have proceeded from absolute power? how then could i dare to complain? being left thus destitute and helpless, i had recourse to my dear sister zobeide, whose adventures your majesty has just heard. to her i made known my misfortune; she received me with her accustomed goodness, and advised me to bear my ambition patience. "this is the way of the world," said she, "which either robs us of our property, our friends, or our lovers; and some times of all together." in confirmation of her remark, she at the same time gave me an account of the loss of the young prince, occasioned by the jealousy of her two sisters. she told me also by what accident they were transformed into bitches: and in the last place, after a thousand testimonials of her love towards me, she introduced me to my youngest sister, who had likewise taken sanctuary with her after the death of her mother. having returned our grateful acknowledgments to god for having thus brought us together, we resolved to preserve our freedom, and never again to separate. we have now long enjoyed this tranquil life. as it was my business to manage the affairs of the house, i always took pleasure in going myself to purchase what we wanted. i happened to go abroad yesterday for this purpose, and the things i bought i caused to be carried home by a porter, who proving to be a sensible and jocose fellow, we kept with us for a little diversion. three calenders happened to come to our door as it began to grow dark, and prayed us to give them shelter till the next morning we admitted them upon certain conditions which they agreed to observe; and after we had made them sit at table with us, they in their own way entertained us with a concert of music. at this time we heard knocking at our gate. this proceeded from three merchants of moussol, men of good appearance, who begged the same favour which the calenders had obtained before. we consented upon the same conditions, but neither of them kept their promise. though we had power, as well as justice on our side, to punish them, yet we contented ourselves with demanding from them the history of their lives; and afterwards confined our revenge to dismissing them, after they had done, and denying them the asylum they requested. the caliph was well pleased to be thus informed of what he desired to know; and publicly expressed his admiration of what he had heard. the caliph having satisfied his curiosity, thought himself obliged to shew his generosity to the calender princes, and also to give the three ladies some proof of his bounty. he himself, without making use of his minister, the grand vizier, spoke to zobeide. "madam, did not this fairy, that shewed herself to you in the shape of a serpent, and imposed such a rigorous command upon you, tell you where her place of abode was? or rather, did she not promise to see you, and restore those bitches to their natural shape?" "commander of the faithful," answered zobeide, "i forgot to tell your majesty that the fairy left with me a bundle of hair, saying, that her presence would one day be of use to me; and then, if i only burnt two tufts of this hair, she would be with me in a moment, though she were beyond mount caucasus." "madam," demanded the caliph, "where is the bundle of hair?" she answered, "ever since that time i have been so careful of it, that i always carry it about me." upon which she pulled it out, opened the case which contained it, and shewed it to him. "well then," said the caliph, "let us bring the fairy hither; you could not call her in a better time, for i long to see her." zobeide having consented, fire was brought in, and she threw the whole bundle of hair into it. the palace at that instant began to shake, and the fairy appeared before the caliph in the form of a lady very richly dressed. "commander of the faithful," said she to the prince, "you see i am ready to receive your commands. the lady who gave me this call by your order did me essential service. to evince my gratitude, i revenged her of her sisters' inhumanity, by changing them to bitches; but if your majesty commands me, i will restore them to their former shape." "generous fairy," replied the caliph, "you cannot do me a greater pleasure; vouchsafe them that favour, and i will find some means to comfort them for their hard penance. but besides, i have another boon to ask in favour of that lady, who has had such cruel usage from an unknown husband. as you undoubtedly know all things, oblige me with the name of this barbarous wretch, who could not be contented to exercise his outrageous and unmanly cruelty upon her person, but has also most unjustly taken from her all her substance. i only wonder how such an unjust and inhuman action could be performed under my authority, and even in my residence, without having come to my knowledge." "to oblige your majesty," answered the fairy, "i will restore the two bitches to their former state, and i will so cure the lady of her scars, that it shall never appear she was so beaten; and i will also tell you who it was that abused her." the caliph sent for the two bitches from zobeide's house, and when they came, a glass of water was brought to the fairy by her desire. she pronounced over it some words which nobody understood; then throwing some part of it upon amene, and the rest upon the bitches, the latter became two ladies of surprising beauty, and the scars that were upon amene disappeared. after which the fairy said to the caliph, "commander of the faithful, i must now discover to you the unknown husband you enquire after. he is very nearly related to yourself, for it is prince amin, your eldest son, who falling passionately in love with this lady from the fame of her beauty, by stratagem had her brought to his house, where he married her. as to the blows he caused to be given her, he is in some measure excusable; for the lady his spouse had been a little too easy, and the excuses she had made were calculated to lead him to believe she was more faulty than she really was. this is all i can say to satisfy your curiosity." at these words she saluted the caliph, and vanished. the prince being filled with admiration, and having much satisfaction in the changes that had happened through his means, acted in such a manner as will perpetuate his memory to all ages. first, he sent for his son amin, told him that he was informed of his secret marriage, and how he had ill-treated amene upon a very slight cause. upon this the prince did not wait for his father's commands, but received her again immediately. after which the caliph declared that he would give his own heart and hand to zobeide, and offered the other three sisters to the calenders, sons of sultans, who accepted them for their brides with much joy. the caliph assigned each of them a magnificent palace in the city of bagdad, promoted them to the highest dignities of his empire, and admitted them to his councils. the chief cauzee of bagdad being called, with witnesses, wrote the contracts of marriage; and the caliph in promoting by his patronage the happiness of many persons who had suffered such incredible calamities, drew a thousand blessings upon himself. the story of sinbad the voyager. in the reign of the same caliph haroun al rusheed, whom i have already mentioned, there lived at bagdad a poor porter called hindbad. one day, when the weather was excessively hot, he was employed to carry a heavy burden from one end of the town to the other. being much fatigued, and having still a great way to go, he came into a street where a refreshing breeze blew on his face, and the pavement was sprinkled with rose-water. as he could not desire a better place to rest and recruit himself, he took off his load and sat upon it, near a large mansion. he was much pleased that he stopped in this place; for the agreeable smell of wood of aloes, and of pastils that came from the house, mixing with the scent of the rose-water, completely perfumed and embalmed the air. besides, he heard from within a concert of instrumental music, accompanied with the harmonious notes of nightingales, and other birds, peculiar to the climate. this charming melody, and the smell of several sorts of savoury dishes, made the porter conclude there was a feast, with great rejoicings within. his business seldom leading him that way, he knew not to whom the mansion belonged; but to satisfy his curiosity, he went to some of the servants, whom he saw standing at the gate in magnificent apparel, and asked the name of the proprietor. "how," replied one of them, "do you live in bagdad, and know not that this is the house of sinbad, the sailor, that famous voyager, who has sailed round the world?" the porter, who had heard of this sinbad's riches, could not but envy a man whose condition he thought to be as happy as his own was deplorable: and his mind being fretted with these reflections, he lifted up his eyes to heaven, and said loud enough to be heard, "almighty creator of all things, consider the difference between sinbad and me! i am every day exposed to fatigues and calamities, and can scarcely get coarse barley-bread for myself and my family, whilst happy sinbad profusely expends immense riches, and leads a life of continual pleasure. what has he done to obtain from thee a lot so agreeable? and what have i done to deserve one so wretched?" having finished his expostulation, he struck his foot against the ground, like a man absorbed in grief and despair. whilst the porter was thus indulging his melancholy, a servant came out of the house, and taking him by the arm, bade him follow him, for sinbad, his master, wanted to speak to him. sir, your majesty may easily imagine, that the repining hindbad was not a little surprised at this compliment. for, considering what he had said, he was afraid sinbad had sent for him to punish him: therefore he would have excused himself, alleging, that he could not leave his burden in the middle of the street. but sinbad's servants assured him they would look to it, and were so urgent with him, that he was obliged to yield. the servants brought him into a great hall, where a number of people sat round a table, covered with all sorts of savoury dishes. at the upper end sat a comely venerable gentleman, with a long white beard, and behind him stood a number of officers and domestics, all ready to attend his pleasure. this personage was sinbad. the porter, whose fear was increased at the sight of so many people, and of a banquet so sumptuous, saluted the company trembling. sinbad bade him draw near, and seating him at his right hand, served him himself, and gave him excellent wine, of which there was abundance upon the sideboard. when the repast was over, sinbad addressed his conversation to hindbad; and calling him brother, according to the manner of the arabians, when they are familiar one with another, enquired his name and employment. "my lord," answered he, "my name is hindbad." "i am very glad to see you," replied sinbad; "and i daresay the same on behalf of all the company: but i wish to hear from your own mouth what it was you lately said in the street." sinbad had himself heard the porter complain through the window, and this it was that induced him to have him brought in. at this request, hindbad hung down his head in confusion, and replied, "my lord, i confess that my fatigue put me out of humour, and occasioned me to utter some indiscreet words, which i beg you to pardon." "do not think i am so unjust," resumed sinbad, "as to resent such a complaint. i consider your condition, and instead of upbraiding, commiserate you. but i must rectify your error concerning myself. you think, no doubt, that i have acquired, without labour and trouble, the ease and indulgence which i now enjoy. but do not mistake; i did not attain to this happy condition, without enduring for several years more trouble of body and mind than can well be imagined. yes, gentlemen," he added, speaking to the whole company, "i can assure you, my troubles were so extraordinary, that they were calculated to discourage the most covetous from undertaking such voyages as i did, to acquire riches. perhaps you have never heard a distinct account of my wonderful adventures, and the dangers i encountered, in my seven voyages; and since i have this opportunity, i will give you a faithful account of them, not doubting but it will be acceptable." as sinbad wished to relate his adventures chiefly on the porter's account, he ordered his burden to be carried to the place of its destination, and then proceeded. the first voyage. i inherited from my father considerable property, the greater part of which i squandered in my youth in dissipation; but i perceived my error, and reflected that riches were perishable, and quickly consumed by such ill managers as myself. i farther considered, that by my irregular way of living i wretchedly misspent my time; which is, of all things, the most valuable. i remembered the saying of the great solomon, which i had frequently heard from my father; that death is more tolerable than poverty. struck with these reflections, i collected the remains of my fortune, and sold all my effects by public auction. i then entered into a contract with some merchants, who traded by sea. i took the advice of such as i thought most capable of assisting me: and resolving to improve what money i had, i went to bussorah, and embarked with several merchants on board a ship which we had jointly fitted out. we set sail, and steered our course towards the indies, through the persian gulf, which is formed by the coasts of arabia felix on the right, and by those of persia on the left, and, according to common opinion is seventy leagues wide at the broadest place. the eastern sea, as well as that of the indies, is very spacious. it is bounded on one side by the coasts of abyssinia, and is , leagues in length to the isles of vakvak. at first i was troubled with the sea-sickness, but speedily recovered my health, and was not afterwards subject to that complaint. in our voyage we touched at several islands, where we sold or exchanged our goods. one day, whilst under sail, we were becalmed near a small island, but little elevated above the level of the water, and resembling a green meadow. the captain ordered his sails to be furled, and permitted such persons as were so inclined to land; of this number i was one. but while we were enjoying ourselves in eating and drinking, and recovering ourselves from the fatigue of the sea, the island on a sudden trembled, and shook us terribly. the trembling of the island was perceived on board the ship, and we were called upon to re-embark speedily, or we should all be lost; for what we took for an island proved to be the back of a sea monster. the nimblest got into the sloop, others betook themselves to swimming; but for myself i was still upon the back of the creature, when he dived into the sea, and i had time only to catch hold of a piece of wood that we had brought out of the ship to make a fire. meanwhile, the captain, having received those on board who were in the sloop, and taken up some of those that swam, resolved to improve the favourable gale that had just risen, and hoisting his sails pursued his voyage, so that it was impossible for me to recover the ship. thus was i exposed to the mercy of the waves. i struggled for my life all the rest of the day and the following night. by this time i found my strength gone, and despaired of saving my life, when happily a wave threw me against an island, the bank was high and rugged; so that i could scarcely have got up, had it not been for some roots of trees, which fortune seemed to have preserved in this place for my safety. having reached the land, i lay down upon the ground half dead, until the sun appeared. then, though i was very feeble, both from hard labour and want of food, i crept along to find some herbs fit to eat, and had the good luck not only to procure some, but likewise to discover a spring of excellent water, which contributed much to recover me. after this i advanced farther into the island, and at last reached a fine plain, where at a great distance i perceived a horse feeding. i went towards it, fluctuating between hope and fear, for i knew not whether in advancing i was more likely to endanger or to preserve my life. as i approached, i perceived it to be a very fine mare, tied to a stake. whilst i was admiring its beauty, i heard from beneath the voice of a man, who immediately appeared, and asked me who i was? i related to him my adventure, after which, taking me by the hand, he led me into a cave, where there were several other people, no less amazed to see me than i was to see them. i partook of some provisions which they offered me. i then asked them what they did in such a desert place? to which they answered, that they were grooms belonging to maha-raja, sovereign of the island; that every year, at the same season, they brought thither the king's mares, and fastened them as i had seen, until they were covered by a sea-horse, who afterwards endeavoured to destroy the mares; but was prevented by their noise, and obliged to return to the sea. the mares when in foal were taken back, and the horses thus produced were kept for the king's use, and called seahorses. they added, that they were to return home on the morrow, and had i been one day later, i must have perished, because the inhabited part of the island was at a great distance, and it would have been impossible for me to have got thither without a guide. while they entertained me thus, the horse came out of the sea, as they had told me, covered the mare, and afterwards would have devoured her; but upon a great noise made by the grooms, he left her, and plunged into the sea. next morning they returned with their mares to the capital of the island, took me with them, and presented me to the maha-raja. he asked me who i was, and by what adventure i had come into his dominions? after i had satisfied him, he told me he was much concerned for my misfortune, and at the same time ordered that i should want nothing; which commands his officers were so generous and careful as to see exactly fulfilled. being a merchant, i frequented men of my own profession, and particularly enquired for those who were strangers, that perchance i might hear news from bagdad, or find an opportunity to return. for the maha-raja's capital is situated on the sea-coast, and has a fine harbour, where ships arrive daily from the different quarters of the world. i frequented also the society of the learned indians, and took delight to hear them converse; but withal, i took care to make my court regularly to the maha-raja, and conversed with the governors and petty kings, his tributaries, that were about him. they put a thousand questions respecting my country; and i being willing to inform myself as to their laws and customs, asked them concerning every thing which i thought worth knowing. there belongs to this king an island named cassel. they assured me that every night a noise of drums was heard there, whence the mariners fancied that it was the residence of degial. i determined to visit this wonderful place, and in my way thither saw fishes of and cubits long, that occasion more fear than hurt; for they are so timorous, that they will fly upon the rattling of two sticks or boards. i saw likewise other fish about a cubit in length, that had heads like owls. as i was one day at the port after my return, a ship arrived, and as soon as she cast anchor, they began to unload her, and the merchants on board ordered their goods to be carried into the customhouse. as i cast my eye upon some bales, and looked to the name, i found my own, and perceived the bales to be the same that i had embarked at bussorah. i also knew the captain; but being persuaded that he believed me to be drowned, i went, and asked him whose bales these were? he replied, that they belonged to a merchant at bagdad, called sinbad, who came to sea with him; but one day, being near an island, as was supposed, he went ashore, with several other passengers, upon this island, which was only a monstrous fish, that lay asleep upon the the sur-face of the water: but as soon as he felt the heat of the fire they had kindled upon his back, to dress some victuals, began to move, and dived under water. most of the persons who were upon him perished, and among them the unfortunate sinbad. those bales belonged to him, and i am resolved to trade with them until i meet with some of his family, to whom i may return the profit. "i am that sinbad," said i, "whom you thought to be dead, and those bales are mine." when the captain heard me speak thus, "heavens!" he exclaimed, "whom can we trust in these times? there is no faith left among men. i saw sinbad perish with my own eyes, as did also the passengers on board, and yet you tell me you are that sinbad. what impudence is this? to look on you, one would take you to be a man of probity, and yet you tell a horrible falsehood, in order to possess yourself of what does not belong to you." "have patience," replied i; "do me the favour to hear what i have to say." "very well," said he, "speak, i am ready to hear you." then i told him how i had escaped, and by what adventure i met with the grooms of maha-raja, who had brought me to his court. his confidence began to abate upon this declaration, and he was at length persuaded that i was no cheat: for there came people from his ship who knew me, paid me great compliments, and expressed much joy at seeing me alive. at last he recollected me himself, and embracing me, "heaven be praised," said he, "for your happy escape. i cannot express the joy it affords, me; there are your goods, take and do with them as you please." i thanked him, acknowledged his probity, and in requital, offered him part of my goods as a present, which he generously refused. i took out what was most valuable in my bales, and presented them to the maha-raja, who, knowing my misfortune, asked me how i came by such rarities. i acquainted him with the circumstance of their recovery. he was pleased at my good luck, accepted my present, and in return gave me one much more considerable. upon this, i took leave of him, and went aboard the same ship, after i had exchanged my goods for the commodities of that country. i carried with me wood of aloes, sandal, camphire, nutmegs, cloves, pepper, and ginger. we passed by several islands, and at last arrived at bussorah, from whence i came to this city, with the value of , sequins. my family and i received one another with all the transports of sincere affection. i bought slaves of both sexes, and a landed estate, and built a magnificent house. thus i settled myself, resolving to forget the miseries i had suffered, and to enjoy the pleasures of life. sinbad stopped here, and ordered the musicians to proceed with their concert, which the story had interrupted. the company continued enjoying themselves till the evening, and it was time to retire, when sinbad sent for a purse of sequins and giving it to the porter, said, "take this, hindbad, return to your home, and come back to-morrow to hear more of my adventures." the porter went away, astonished at the honour done, and the present made him. the account of this adventure proved very agreeable to his wife and children, who did not fail to return thanks to god for what providence had sent him by the hand of sinbad. hindbad put on his best apparel next day, and returned to the bountiful traveller, who received him with a pleasant air, and welcomed him heartily. when all the guests had arrived, dinner was served, and continued a long time. when it was ended, sinbad, addressing himself to the company, said, "gentlemen, be pleased to listen to the adventures of my second voyage; they deserve your attention even more than those of the first." upon which every one held his peace, and sinbad proceeded. the second voyage. i designed, after my first voyage, to spend the rest of my days at bagdad, as i had the honour to tell you yesterday; but it was not long ere i grew weary of an indolent life. my inclination to trade revived. i bought goods proper for the commerce i intended, and put to sea a second time with merchants of known probity. we embarked on board a good ship, and after recommending ourselves to god, set sail. we traded from island to island, and exchanged commodities with great profit. one day we landed in an island covered with several sorts of fruit-trees, but we could see neither man nor animal. we went to take a little fresh air in the meadows, along the streams that watered them. whilst some diverted themselves with gathering flowers, and other fruits, i took my wine and provisions, and sat down near a stream betwixt two high trees, which formed a thick shade. i made a good meal, and afterwards fell asleep. i cannot tell how long i slept, but when i awoke the ship was gone. i was much alarmed at finding the ship gone. i got up and looked around me, but could not see one of the merchants who landed with me. i perceived the ship under sail, but at such a distance, that i lost sight of her in a short time. i leave you to guess at my melancholy reflections in this sad condition: i was ready to die with grief. i cried out in agony; beat my head and breast, and threw myself upon the ground, where i lay some time in despair, one afflicting thought being succeeded by another still more afflicting. i upbraided myself a hundred times for not being content with the produce of my first voyage, that might have sufficed me all my life. but all this was in vain, and my repentance too late. at last i resigned myself to the will of god. not knowing what to do, i climbed up to the top of a lofty tree, from whence i looked about on all sides, to see if i could discover any thing that could give me hopes. when i gazed towards the sea i could see nothing but sky and water; but looking over the land i beheld something white; and coming down, i took what provision i had left, and went towards it, the distance being so great, that i could not distinguish what it was. as i approached, i thought it to be a white dome, of a prodigious height and extent; and when i came up to it, i touched it, and found it to be very smooth. i went round to see if it was open on any side, but saw it was not, and that there was no climbing up to the top as it was so smooth. it was at least fifty paces round. by this time the sun was about to set, and all of a sudden the sky became as dark as if it had been covered with a thick cloud. i was much astonished at this sudden darkness, but much more when i found it occasioned by a bird of a monstrous size, that came flying toward me. i remembered that i had often heard mariners speak of a miraculous bird called roc, and conceived that the great dome which i so much admired must be its egg. in short, the bird alighted, and sat over the egg. as i perceived her coming, i crept to the egg, so that i had before me one of the legs of the bird, which was as big as the trunk of a tree. i tied myself strongly to it with my turban, in hopes that the roc next morning would carry me with her out of this desert island. after having passed the night in this condition, the bird flew away as soon as it was daylight, and carried me so high, that i could not discern the earth; she afterwards descended with so much rapidity that i lost my senses. but when i found myself on the ground, i speedily untied the knot, and had scarcely done so, when the roc, having taken up a serpent of a monstrous length in her bill, flew away. the spot where it left me was encompassed on all sides by mountains, that seemed to reach above the clouds, and so steep that there was no possibility of getting out of the valley. this was a new perplexity: so that when i compared this place with the desert island from which the roc had brought me, i found that i had gained nothing by the change. as i walked through this valley, i perceived it was strewed with diamonds, some of which were of a surprising bigness. i took pleasure in looking upon them; but shortly saw at a distance such objects as greatly diminished my satisfaction, and which i could not view without terror, namely, a great number of serpents, so monstrous, that the least of them was capable of swallowing an elephant. they retired in the day-time to their dens, where they hid themselves from the roc their enemy, and came out only in the night. i spent the day in walking about in the valley, resting myself at times in such places as i thought most convenient. when night came on, i went into a cave, where i thought i might repose in safety. i secured the entrance, which was low and narrow, with a great stone to preserve me from the serpents; but not so far as to exclude the light. i supped on part of my provisions, but the serpents, which began hissing round me, put me into such extreme fear, that you may easily imagine i did not sleep. when day appeared, the serpents retired, and i came out of the cave trembling. i can justly say, that i walked upon diamonds, without feeling any inclination to touch them. at last i sat down, and notwithstanding my apprehensions, not having closed my eyes during the night, fell asleep, after having eaten a little more of my provision. but i had scarcely shut my eyes, when something that fell by me with a great noise awaked me. this was a large piece of raw meat; and at the same time i saw several others fall down from the rocks in different places. i had always regarded as fabulous what i had heard sailors and others relate of the valley of diamonds, and of the stratagems employed by merchants to obtain jewels from thence; but now i found that they had stated nothing but truth. for the fact is, that the merchants come to the neighbourhood of this valley, when the eagles have young ones, and throwing great joints of meat into the valley, the diamonds, upon whose points they fall, stick to them; the eagles, which are stronger in this country than any where else, pounce with great force upon those pieces of meat, and carry them to their nests on the precipices of the rocks to feed their young: the merchants at this time run to their nests, disturb and drive off the eagles by their shouts, and take away the diamonds that stick to the meat. until i perceived the device i had concluded it to be impossible for me to get from this abyss, which i regarded as my grave; but now i changed my opinion, and began to think upon the means of my deliverance. i began to collect together the largest diamonds i could find, and put them into the leather bag in which i used to carry my provisions. i afterwards took the largest of the pieces of meat, tied it close round me with the cloth of my turban, and then laid myself upon the ground with my face downward, the bag of diamonds being made fast to my girdle. i had scarcely placed myself in this posture when the eagles came. each of them seized a piece of meat, and one of the strongest having taken me up, with the piece of meat to which i was fastened, carried me to his nest on the top of the mountain. the merchants immediately began their shouting to frighten the eagles; and when they had obliged them to quit their prey, one of them came to the nest where i was. he was much alarmed when he saw me; but recovering himself, instead of enquiring how i came thither began to quarrel with me, and asked, why i stole his goods? "you will treat me," replied i, "with more civility, when you know me better. do not be uneasy, i have diamonds enough for you and myself, more than all the other merchants together. whatever they have they owe to chance, but i selected for myself in the bottom of the valley those which you see in this bag." i had scarcely done speaking, when the other merchants came crowding about us, much astonished to see me; but they were much more surprised when i told them my story. yet they did not so much admire my stratagem to effect my deliverance, as my courage in putting it into execution. they conducted me to their encampment, and there having opened my bag, they were surprised at the largeness of my diamonds, and confessed that in all the courts which they had visited they had never seen any of such size and perfection. i prayed the merchant, who owned the nest to which i had been carried (for every merchant had his own), to take as many for his share as he pleased. he contented himself with one, and that too the least of them; and when i pressed him to take more, without fear of doing me any injury, "no," said he, "i am very well satisfied with this, which is valuable enough to save me the trouble of making any more voyages, and will raise as great a fortune as i desire." i spent the night with the merchants, to whom i related my story a second time, for the satisfaction of those who had not heard it. i could not moderate my joy when i found myself delivered from the danger i have mentioned. i thought myself in a dream, and could scarcely believe myself out of danger. the merchants had thrown their pieces of meat into the valley for several days. and each of them being satisfied with the diamonds that had fallen to his lot, we left the place the next morning, and travelled near high mountains, where there were serpents of a prodigious length, which we had the good fortune to escape. we took shipping at the first port we reached, and touched at the isle of roha, where the trees grow that yield camphire. this tree is so large, and its branches so thick, that one hundred men may easily sit under its shade. the juice, of which the camphire is made, exudes from a hole bored in the upper part of the tree, is received in a vessel, where it thickens to a consistency, and becomes what we call camphire; after the juice is thus drawn out, the tree withers and dies. in this island is also found the rhinoceros, an animal less than the elephant, but larger than the buffalo. it has a horn upon its nose, about a cubit in length; this horn is solid, and cleft through the middle, upon this may be seen white lines, representing the figure of a man. the rhinoceros fights with the elephant, runs his horn into his belly, and carries him off upon his head but the blood and the fat of the elephant running into his eyes, and making him blind, he falls to the ground; and then, strange to relate! the roc comes and carries them both away in her claws, for food for her young ones. i pass over many other things peculiar to this island, lest i should be troublesome to you. here i exchanged some of my diamonds for merchandize. from hence we went to other islands, and at last, having touched at several trading towns of the continent, we landed at bussorah, from whence i proceeded to bagdad. there i immediately gave large presents to the poor, and lived honourably upon the vast riches i had brought, and gained with so much fatigue. thus sinbad ended the relation of the second voyage, gave hindbad another hundred sequins, and invited him to come the next day to hear the account of the third. the rest of the guests returned to their homes, and came again the following day at the same hour, and one may be sure the porter did not fail, having by this time almost forgotten his former poverty. when dinner was over, sinbad demanded attention, and gave them an account of his third voyage, as follows. the third voyage. i soon lost in the pleasures of life the remembrance of the perils i had encountered in my two former voyages; and being in the flower of my age, i grew weary of living without business, and hardening myself against the thought of any danger i might incur, went from bagdad to bussorah with the richest commodities of the country. there i embarked again with some merchants. we made a long voyage, and touched at several ports, where we carried on a considerable trade. one day, being out in the main ocean, we were overtaken by a dreadful tempest, which drove us from our course. the tempest continued several days, and brought us before the port of an island, which the captain was very unwilling to enter; but we were obliged to cast anchor. when we had furled our sails, the captain told us, that this, and some other neighbouring islands, were inhabited by hairy savages, who would speedily attack us; and though they were but dwarfs, yet our misfortune was such, that we must make no resistance, for they were more in number than the locusts; and if we happened to kill one of them, they would all fall upon us and destroy us. this account of the captain, continued sinbad put the whole company into great consternation and we soon found that what he had told us was but too true; an innumerable multitude of frightful savages, about two feet high, covered all over with red hair, came swimming towards us, and encompassed our ship. they spoke to us as they came near, but we understood not their language; they climbed up the sides of the ship with such agility as surprised us. we beheld all this with dread, but without daring to defend ourselves, or to divert them from their mischievous design. in short, they took down our sails, cut the cable, and hauling to the shore, made us all get out, and afterwards carried the ship into another island from whence they had come. all voyagers carefully avoided the island where they left us, it being very dangerous to stay there, for a reason you shall presently hear; but we were forced to bear our affliction with patience. we went forward into the island, where we gathered some fruits and herbs to prolong our lives as long as we could; but we expected nothing but death. as we advanced, we perceived at a distance a vast pile of building, and made towards it. we found it to be a palace, elegantly built, and very lofty, with a gate of ebony of two leaves, which we forced open. we entered the court, where we saw before us a large apartment, with a porch, having on one side a heap of human bones, and on the other a vast number of roasting spits. we trembled at this spectacle, and being fatigued with travelling, fell to the ground, seized with deadly apprehension, and lay a long time motionless. the sun set, and whilst we were in the lamentable condition i have described, the gate of the apartment opened with a loud crash, and there came out the horrible figure of a black man, as tall as a lofty palm-tree. he had but one eye, and that in the middle of his forehead, where it looked as red as a burning coal. his fore-teeth were very long and sharp, and stood out of his mouth, which was as deep as that of a horse. his upper lip hung down upon his breast. his ears resembled those of an elephant, and covered his shoulders; and his nails were as long and crooked as the talons of the greatest birds. at the sight of so frightful a giant, we became insensible, and lay like dead men. at last we came to ourselves, and saw him sitting in the porch looking at us. when he had considered us well, he advanced towards us, and laying his hand upon me, took me up by the nape of my neck, and turned round as a butcher would do a sheep's head. after having examined me, and perceiving me to be so lean that i had nothing but skin and bone, he let me go. he took up all the rest one by one, and viewed them in the same manner. the captain being the fattest, he held him with one hand, as i would do a sparrow, and thrust a spit through him; he then kindled a great fire, roasted, and ate him in his apartment for his supper. having finished his repast, he returned to his porch, where he lay and fell asleep, snoring louder than thunder. he slept thus till morning. as to ourselves, it was not possible for us to enjoy any rest, so that we passed the night in the most painful apprehension that can be imagined. when day appeared the giant awoke, got up, went out, and left us in the palace. when we thought him at a distance, we broke the melancholy silence we had preserved the whole of the night, and filled the palace with our lamentations and groans. though we were several in number, and had but one enemy, it never occurred to us to effect our deliverance by putting him to death. this enterprize however, though difficult of execution, was the only design we ought naturally to have formed. we thought of several other expedients, but determined upon none; and submitting ourselves to what it should please god to order concerning us, we spent the day in traversing the island, supporting ourselves with fruits and herbs as we had done the day before. in the evening we sought for some place of shelter, but found none; so that we were forced, whether we would or not, to return to the palace. the giant failed not to return, and supped once more upon one of our companions, after which he slept, and snored till day, and then went out and left us as before. our situation appeared to us so dreadful, that several of my comrades designed to throw themselves into the sea, rather than die so painful a death; and endeavoured to persuade the others to follow their example. upon which one of the company answered, "that we were forbidden to destroy ourselves: but even if that were not the case, it was much more reasonable to devise some method to rid ourselves of the monster who had destined us to so horrible a fate." having thought of a project for this purpose, i communicated it to my comrades, who approved it. "brethren," said i, "you know there is much timber floating upon the coast; if you will be advised by me, let us make several rafts capable of bearing us, and when they are done, leave them there till we find it convenient to use them. in the mean time, we will carry into execution the design i proposed to you for our deliverance from the giant, and if it succeed, we may remain here patiently awaiting the arrival of some ship to carry us out of this fatal island; but if it happen to miscarry, we will take to our rafts, and put to sea. i admit that by exposing ourselves to the fury of the waves, we run a risk of losing our lives; but is it not better to be buried in the sea than in the entrails of this monster, who has already devoured two of our number?" my advice was approved, and we made rafts capable of carrying three persons on each. we returned to the palace towards the evening, and the giant arrived shortly after. we were forced to submit to seeing another of our comrades roasted. but at last we revenged ourselves on the brutish giant in the following manner. after he had finished his cursed supper, he lay down on his back, and fell asleep. as soon as we heard him snore, according to his custom, nine of the boldest among us, and myself, took each of us a spit, and putting the points of them into the fire till they were burning hot, we thrust them into his eye all at once, and blinded him. the pain made him break out into a frightful yell: he started up, and stretched out his hands, in order to sacrifice some of us to his rage: but we ran to such places as he could not reach; and after having sought for us in vain, he groped for the gate, and went out, howling in agony. we quitted the palace after the giant, and came to the shore, where we had left our rafts, and put them immediately to sea. we waited till day, in order to get upon them, in case the giant should come towards us with any guide of his own species, but we hoped if he did not appear by sun-rising, and gave over his howling, which we still heard, that he would prove to be dead; and if that happened to be the case, we resolved to stay in that island, and not to risk our lives upon the rafts: but day had scarcely appeared, when we perceived our cruel enemy, accompanied with two others almost of the same size, leading him; and a great number more coming before him at a quick pace. we did not hesitate to take to our rafts, and put to sea with all the speed we could. the giants, who perceived this, took up great stones, and running to the shore, entered the water up to the middle, and threw so exactly, that they sunk all the rafts but that i was upon; and all my companions, except the two with me, were drowned. we rowed with all our might, and got out of the reach of the giants. but when we got out to sea, we were exposed to the mercy of the waves and winds, and tossed about, sometimes on one side, and sometimes on another, and spent that night and the following day under the most painful uncertainty as to our fate; but next morning we had the good fortune to be thrown upon an island, where we landed with much joy. we found excellent fruit, which afforded us great relief, and recruited our strength. at night we went to sleep on the sea-shore but were awakened by the noise of a serpent of surprising length and thickness, whose scales made a rustling noise as he wound himself along. it swallowed up one of my comrades, notwithstanding his loud cries, and the efforts he made to extricate himself from it; dashing him several times against the ground, it crushed him, and we could hear it gnaw and tear the poor wretch's bones, though we had fled to a considerable distance. the following day, to our great terror, we saw the serpent again, when i exclaimed, "o heaven, to what dangers are we exposed! we rejoiced yesterday at having escaped from the cruelty of a giant and the rage of the waves, now are we fallen into another danger equally dreadful." as we walked about, we saw a large tall tree upon which we designed to pass the following night, for our security; and having satisfied our hunger with fruit, we mounted it according. shortly after, the serpent came hissing to the foot of the tree; raised himself up against the trunk of it, and meeting with my comrade, who sat lower than i, swallowed him at once, and went off. i remained upon the tree till it was day, and then came down, more like a dead man than one alive, expecting the same fate with my two companions. this filled me with horror, and i advanced some steps to throw myself into the sea; but the natural love of life prompting us to prolong it as long as we can, i withstood this dictate of despair, and submitted myself to the will of god, who disposes of our lives at his pleasure. in the mean time i collected together a great quantity of small wood, brambles, and dry thorns, and making them up into faggots, made a wide circle with them round the tree, and also tied some of them to the branches over my head. having done this, when the evening came, i shut myself up within this circle, with the melancholy satisfaction, that i had neglected nothing which could preserve me from the cruel destiny with which i was threatened. the serpent failed not to come at the usual hour, and went round the tree, seeking for an opportunity to devour me, but was prevented by the rampart i had made; so that he lay till day, like a cat watching in vain for a mouse that has fortunately reached a place of safety. when day appeared, he retired, but i dared not to leave my fort until the sun arose. i felt so much fatigued by the labour to which it had put me, and suffered so much from his poisonous breath, that death seemed more eligible to me than the horrors of such a state. i came down from the tree, and, not thinking of the resignation i had the preceding day resolved to exercise, i ran towards the sea, with a design to throw myself into it. god took compassion on my hopeless state; for just as i was going to throw myself into the sea, i perceived a ship at a considerable distance. i called as loud as i could, and taking the linen from my turban, displayed it, that they might observe me. this had the desired effect; the crew perceived me, and the captain sent his boat for me. as soon as i came on board, the merchants and seamen flocked about me, to know how i came into that desert island; and after i had related to them all that had befallen me, the oldest among them said to me, they had several times heard of the giants that dwelt in that island, that they were cannibals, and ate men raw as well as roasted; and as to the serpents, they added, that there were abundance in the island that hid themselves by day, and came abroad by night. after having testified their joy at my escaping so many dangers, they brought me the best of their provisions; and the captain, seeing that i was in rags, was so generous as to give me one of his own suits. we continued at sea for some time, touched at several islands, and at last landed at that of salabat, where sandal wood is obtained, which is of great use in medicine. we entered the port, and came to anchor. the merchants began to unload their goods, in order to sell or exchange them. in the mean time, the captain came to me, and said, "brother, i have here some goods that belonged to a merchant, who sailed some time on board this ship, and he being dead, i design to dispose of them for the benefit of his heirs, when i find who they are." the bales he spoke of lay on the deck, and shewing them to me, he said, "there are the goods; i hope you will take care to sell them, and you shall have factorage." i thanked him for thus affording me an opportunity of employing myself, because i hated to be idle. the clerk of the ship took an account of all the bales, with the names of the merchants to whom they belonged. and when he asked the captain in whose name he should enter those he had given me the charge of; "enter them," said the captain, "in the name of sinbad." i could not hear myself named without some emotion; and looking stedfastly on the captain, i knew him to be the person who, in my second voyage, had left me in the island where i fell asleep, and sailed without me, or sending to see for me. but i could not recollect him at first, he was so much altered since i had seen him. i was not surprised that he, believing me to be dead, did not recognize me. "captain," said i, "was the merchant's name, to whom those bales belonged, sinbad?" "yes," replied he, "that was his name; he came from bagdad, and embarked on board my ship at bussorah. one day, when we landed at an island to take in water and other refreshments, i knew not by what mistake, i sailed without observing that he did not re-embark with us; neither i nor the merchants perceived it till four hours after. we had the wind in our stern, and so fresh a gale, that it was not then possible for us to tack about for him." "you believe him then to be dead?" said i. "certainly," answered he. "no, captain," i resumed; "look at me, and you may know that i am sinbad, whom you left in that desert island." the captain, continued sinbad, having considered me attentively, recognized me. "god be praised," said he, embracing me; "i rejoice that fortune has rectified my fault. there are your goods, which i always took care to preserve." i took them from him, and made him the acknowledgments to which he was entitled. from the isle of salabat, we went to another, where i furnished myself with cloves, cinnamon, and other spices. as we sailed from this island, we saw a tortoise twenty cubits in length and breadth. we observed also an amphibious animal like a cow, which gave milk; its skin is so hard, that they usually make bucklers of it. i saw another, which had the shape and colour of a camel. in short, after a long voyage, i arrived at bussorah, and from thence returned to bagdad, with so much wealth that i knew not its extent. i gave a great deal to the poor, and bought another considerable estate in addition to what i had already. thus sinbad finished the history of his third voyage; gave another hundred sequins to hindbad, invited him to dinner again the next day, to hear the story of his fourth voyage. hindbad and the company retired; and on the following day, when they returned, sinbad after dinner continued the relation of his adventures. the fourth voyage. the pleasures and amusements which i enjoyed after my third voyage had not charms sufficient to divert me from another. my passion for trade, and my love of novelty, again prevailed. i therefore settled my affairs, and having provided a stock of goods fit for the traffic i designed to engage in, i set out on my journey. i took the route of persia, travelled over several provinces, and then arrived at a port, where i embarked. we hoisted our sails, and touched at several ports of the continent, and some of the eastern islands, and put out to sea: we were overtaken by such a sudden gust of wind, as obliged the captain to lower his yards, and take all other necessary precautions to prevent the danger that threatened us. but all was in vain our endeavours had no effect; the sails were split in a thousand pieces, and the ship was stranded; several of the merchants and seamen were drowned and the cargo was lost. i had the good fortune, with several of the merchants and mariners, to get upon some planks, and we were carried by the current to an island which lay before us. there we found fruit and spring water, which preserved our lives. we staid all night near the place where we had been cast ashore, without consulting what we should do; our misfortune had so much dispirited us that we could not deliberate. next morning, as soon as the sun was up, we walked from the shore, and advancing into the island, saw some houses, which we approached. as soon as we drew near, we were encompassed by a great number of negroes, who seized us, shared us among them, and carried us to their respective habitations. i, and five of my comrades, were carried to one place; here they made us sit down, and gave us a certain herb, which they made signs to us to eat. my comrades not taking notice that the blacks ate none of it themselves, thought only of satisfying their hunger, and ate with greediness. but i, suspecting some trick, would not so much as taste it, which happened well for me; for in little time after, i perceived my companions had lost their senses, and that when they spoke to me, they knew not what they said. the negroes fed us afterwards with rice, prepared with oil of cocoa-nuts; and my comrades, who had lost their reason, ate of it greedily. i also partook of it, but very sparingly. they gave us that herb at first on purpose to deprive us of our senses, that we might not be aware of the sad destiny prepared for us; and they supplied us with rice to fatten us; for, being cannibals, their design was to eat us as soon as we grew fat. this accordingly happened, for they devoured my comrades, who were not sensible of their condition; but my senses being entire, you may easily guess that instead of growing fat, as the rest did, i grew leaner every day. the fear of death under which i laboured, turned all my food into poison. i fell into a languishing distemper, which proved my safety; for the negroes, having killed and eaten my companions, seeing me to be withered, lean, and sick, deferred my death. meanwhile i had much liberty, so that scarcely any notice was taken of what i did, and this gave me an opportunity one day to get at a distance from the houses, and to make my escape. an old man, who saw me, and suspected my design, called to me as loud as he could to return; but instead of obeying him, i redoubled my speed, and quickly got out of sight. at that time there was none but the old man about the houses, the rest being abroad, and not to return till night, which was usual with them. therefore, being sure that they could not arrive time enough to pursue me, i went on till night, when i stopped to rest a little, and to eat some of the provisions i had secured; but i speedily set forward again, and travelled seven days, avoiding those places which seemed to be inhabited, and lived for the most part upon cocoa-nuts, which served me both for meat and drink. on the eighth day i came near the sea, and saw some white people like myself, gathering pepper, of which there was great plenty in that place. this i took to be a good omen, and went to them without any scruple. the people who gathered pepper came to meet me as soon as they saw me, and asked me in arabic who i was, and whence i came? i was overjoyed to hear them speak in my own language, and satisfied their curiosity, by giving them an account of my shipwreck, and how i fell into the hands of the negroes. "those negroes," replied they, "eat men, and by what miracle did you escape their cruelty?" i related to them the circumstances i have just mentioned, at which they were wonderfully surprised. i staid with them till they had gathered their quantity of pepper, and then sailed with them to the island from whence they had come. they presented me to their king, who was a good prince. he had the patience to hear the relation of my adventures, which surprised him; and he afterwards gave me clothes, and commanded care to be taken of me. the island was very well peopled, plentiful in everything, and the capital a place of great trade. this agreeable retreat was very comfortable to me after my misfortunes, and the kindness of this generous prince completed my satisfaction. in a word, there was not a person more in favour with him than myself; and, consequently, every man in court and city sought to oblige me; so that in a very little time i was looked upon rather as a native than a stranger. i observed one thing, which to me appeared very extraordinary. all the people, the king himself not excepted, rode their horses without saddle, bridle, or stirrups. this made me one day take the liberty to ask the king how it came to pass? his majesty answered, that i talked to him of things which nobody knew the use of in his dominions. i went immediately to a workman, and gave him a model for making the stock of a saddle. when that was done, i covered it myself with velvet and leather, and embroidered it with gold. i afterwards went to a smith, who made me a bit, according to the pattern i shewed him, and also some stirrups. when i had all things completed, i presented them to the king, and put them upon one of his horses. his majesty mounted immediately, and was so pleased with them, that he testified his satisfaction by large presents. i could not avoid making several others for the ministers and principal officers of his household, who all of them made me presents that enriched me in a little time. i also made some for the people of best quality in the city, which gained me great reputation and regard. as i paid my court very constantly to the king, he said to me one day, "sinbad, i love thee; and all my subjects who know thee, treat thee according to my example. i have one thing to demand of thee, which thou must grant." "sir," answered i, "there is nothing but i will do, as a mark of my obedience to your majesty, whose power over me is absolute." "i have a mind thou shouldst marry," replied he, "that so thou mayst stay in my dominions, and think no more of thy own country." i durst not resist the prince's will, and he gave me one of the ladies of his court, noble, beautiful, and rich. the ceremonies of marriage being over, i went and dwelt with my wife, and for some time we lived together in perfect harmony. i was not, however, satisfied with my banishment, therefore designed to make my escape the first opportunity, and to return to bagdad; which my present settlement, how advantageous soever, could not make me forget. at this time the wife of one of my neighbours, with whom i had contrasted a very strict friendship, fell sick, and died. i went to see and comfort him in his affliction, and finding him absorbed in sorrow, i said to him as soon as i saw him, "god preserve you and grant you a long life." "alas!" replied he, "how do you think i should obtain the favour you wish me? i have not above an hour to live." "pray," said i, "do not entertain such a melancholy thought; i hope i shall enjoy your company many years." "i wish you," he replied, "a long life; but my days are at an end, for i must be buried this day with my wife. this is a law which our ancestors established in this island, and it is always observed inviolably. the living husband is interred with the dead wife, and the living wife with the dead husband. nothing can save me; every one must submit to this law." while he was giving me an account of this barbarous custom, the very relation of which chilled my blood, his kindred, friends, and neighbours, came in a body to assist at the funeral. they dressed the corpse of the woman in her richest apparel, and all her jewels, as if it had been her wedding-day; then they placed her on an open coffin, and began their march to the place of burial. the husband walked at the head of the company, and followed the corpse. they proceeded to a high mountain, and when they had reached the place of their destination, they took up a large stone, which covered the mouth of a deep pit, and let down the corpse with all its apparel and jewels. then the husband, embracing his kindred and friends, suffered himself to be put into another open coffin without resistance, with a pot of water, and seven small loaves, and was let down in the same manner. the mountain was of considerable length, and extended along the sea-shore, and the pit was very deep. the ceremony being over, the aperture was again covered with the stone, and the company returned. it is needless for me to tell you that i was a most melancholy spectator this funeral, while the rest were scarcely moved, the custom was to them so familiar. i could not forbear communicating to the king my sentiment respecting the practice: "sir," i said, "i cannot but feel astonished at the strange usage observed in this country, of burying the living with the dead. i have been a great traveller, and seen many countries, but never heard of so cruel a law." "what do you mean, sinbad?" replied the king: "it is a common law. i shall be interred with the queen, my wife, if she die first." "but, sir," said i, "may i presume to ask your majesty, if strangers be obliged to observe this law?" "without doubt," returned the king (smiling at the occasion of my question), "they are not exempted, if they be married in this island." i returned home much depressed by this answer; for the fear of my wife's dying first, and that i should be interred alive with her, occasioned me very uneasy reflections. but there was no remedy; i must have patience, and submit to the will of god. i trembled however at every little indisposition of my wife. alas! in a little time my fears were realized, for she fell sick, and died. judge of my sorrow; to be interred alive, seemed to me as deplorable a termination of life as to be devoured by cannibals. it was necessary, however, to submit. the king and all his court expressed their wish to honour the funeral with their presence, and the most considerable people of the city did the same. when all was ready for the ceremony, the corpse was put into a coffin, with all her jewels and her most magnificent apparel. the procession began, and as second actor in this doleful tragedy, i went next the corpse, with my eyes full of tears, bewailing my deplorable fate. before we reached the mountain, i made an attempt to affect the minds of the spectators: i addressed myself to the king first, and then to all those that were round me; bowing before them to the earth, and kissing the border of their garments, i prayed them to have compassion upon me. "consider," said i, "that i am a stranger, and ought not to be subject to this rigorous law, and that i have another wife and children in my own country." although i spoke in the most pathetic manner, no one was moved by my address; on the contrary, they ridiculed my dread of death as cowardly, made haste to let my wife's corpse into the pit, and lowered me down the next moment in an open coffin, with full of water and seven loaves. in short, the fatal ceremony being performed, they covered over the mouth of the pit, notwithstanding my grief and piteous lamentations. as i approached the bottom, i discovered by the aid of the little light that came from above the nature of this subterranean place, it seemed an endless cavern, and might be about fifty fathom deep. i was annoyed by an insufferable stench proceeding from the multitude of bodies which i saw on the right and left; nay, i fancied that i heard some of them sigh out their last. however, when i got down, i immediately left my coffin, and getting at a distance from the bodies, held my nose, and lay down upon the ground, where i stayed a considerable time, bathed in tears. at last, reflecting on my melancholy case, "it is true," said i, "that god disposes all things according to the degrees of his providence; but, unhappy sinbad, hast thou any but thyself to blame that thou art brought to die so strange a death? would to god thou hadst perished in some of those tempests which thou hast escaped! then thy death had not been so lingering, and so terrible in all its circumstances. but thou hast drawn all this upon thyself by thy inordinate avarice. ah, unfortunate wretch! shouldst thou not rather have remained at home, and quietly enjoyed the fruits of thy labour?" such were the vain complaints with which i filled the cave, beating my head and breast out of rage and despair, and abandoning myself to the most afflicting thoughts. nevertheless, i must tell you, that instead of calling death to my assistance in that miserable condition, i felt still an inclination to live, and to do all i could to prolong my days. i went groping about, with my nose stopped, for the bread and water that was in my coffin, and took some of it. though the darkness of the cave was so great that i could not distinguish day and night, yet i always found my coffin again, and the cave seemed to be more spacious and fuller of bodies than it had appeared to be at first. i lived for some days upon my bread and water, which being all spent, i at last prepared for death. as i was thinking of death, i heard the stone lifted up from the mouth of the cave, and immediately the corpse of a man was let down when reduced to necessity, it is natural to come to extreme resolutions. while they let down the woman i approached the place where her coffin was to be put, and as soon as i perceived they were again covering the mouth of the cave, gave the unfortunate wretch two or three violent blows over the head, with a large bone; which stunned, or, to say the truth, killed her. i committed this inhuman action merely for the sake of the bread and water that was in her coffin, and thus i had provision for some days more. when that was spent, they letdown another dead woman, and a living man; i killed the man in the same manner, and, as there was then a sort of mortality in the town, by continuing this practice i did not want for provisions. one day after i had dispatched another woman, i heard something tread, and breathing or panting as it walked. i advanced towards that side from whence i heard the noise, and on my approach the creature puffed and blew harder, as if running away from me. i followed the noise, and the thing seemed to stop sometimes, but always fled and blew as i approached. i pursued it for a considerable time, till at last i perceived a light, resembling a star; i went on, sometimes lost sight of it, but always found it again, and at last discovered that it came through a hole in the rock, large enough to admit a man. upon this, i stopped some time to rest, being much fatigued with the rapidity of my progress: afterwards coming up to the hole, i got through, and found myself upon the sea shore. i leave you to guess the excess of my joy: it was such, that i could scarcely persuade myself that the whole was not a dream. but when i was recovered from my surprise, and convinced of the reality of my escape, i perceived what i had followed to be a creature which came out of the sea, and was accustomed to enter the cavern and feed upon the bodies of the dead. i examined the mountain, and found it to be situated betwixt the sea and the town, but without any passage to or communication with the latter; the rocks on the sea side being high and perpendicularly steep. i prostrated myself on the shore to thank god for this mercy, and afterwards entered the cave again to fetch bread and water, which i ate by daylight with a better appetite than i had done since my interment in the dark cavern. i returned thither a second time, and groped among the coffins for all the diamonds, rubies, pearls, gold bracelets, and rich stuffs i could find; these i brought to the shore, and tying them up neatly into bales, with the cords that let down the coffins, i laid them together upon the beach, waiting till some ship might appear, without fear of rain, for it was then the dry season. after two or three days, i perceived a ship just come out of the harbour, making for the place where i was. i made a sign with the linen of my turban, and called to the crew as loud as i could. they heard me, and sent a boat to bring me on board, when they asked by what misfortune i came thither; i told them that i had suffered shipwreck two days before, and made shift to get ashore with the goods they saw. it was fortunate for me that these people did not consider the place where i was, nor enquire into the probability of what i told them; but without hesitation took me on board with my goods. when i came to the ship, the captain was so well pleased to have saved me, and so much taken up with his own affairs, that he also took the story of my pretended shipwreck upon trust, and generously refused some jewels which i offered him. we passed by several islands, and among others that called the isle of bells, about ten days' sail from serendib, with a regular wind, and six from that of kela, where we landed. this island produces lead mines, indian canes, and excellent camphire. the king of the isle of kela is very rich and powerful, and the isle of bells, which is about two days journey in extent, is also subject to him. the inhabitants are so barbarous that they still eat human flesh. after we had finished our traffic in that island, we put to sea again, and touched at several other ports; at last i arrived happily at bagdad with infinite riches, of which it is needless to trouble you with the detail. out of gratitude to god for his mercies, i contributed liberally towards the support of several mosques, and the subsistence of the poor, gave myself up to the society of my kindred and friends, enjoying myself with them in festivities and amusements. here sinbad finished the relation of his fourth voyage, which appeared more surprising to the company than the three former. he made a new present of one hundred sequins to hindbad, whom he requested to return with the rest next day at the same hour to dine with him, and hear the story of his fifth voyage. hindbad and the other guests took their leave and retired. next morning when they all met, they sat down at table, and when dinner was over, sinbad began the relation of his fifth voyage as follows. the fifth voyage. the pleasures i enjoyed had again charms enough to make me forget all the troubles and calamities i had undergone, but could not cure me of my inclination to make new voyages. i therefore bought goods, departed with them for the best sea-port; and there, that i might not be obliged to depend upon a captain, but have a ship at my own command, i remained till one was built on purpose, at my own charge. when the ship was ready, i went on board with my goods; but not having enough to load her, i agreed to take with me several merchants of different nations with their merchandize. we sailed with the first fair wind, and after a long navigation the first place we touched at was a desert island, where we found an egg of a roe, equal in size to that i formerly mentioned. there was a young roc it just ready to be hatched, and its bill had begun to appear. the merchants whom i had taken on board, and who landed with me, broke the egg with hatchets, and made a hole in it, pulled out the young roc piecemeal, and roasted it. i had earnestly intreated them not to meddle with the egg, but they would not listen to me. scarcely had they finished their repast, when there appeared in the air at a considerable distance from us two great clouds. the captain whom i had hired to navigate my ship, knowing by experience what they meant, said they were the male and female roc that belonged to the young one, and pressed us to re-embark with all speed, to prevent the misfortune which he saw would otherwise befall us. we hastened on board, and set sail with all possible expedition. in the mean time, the two roes approached with a frightful noise, which they redoubled when they saw the egg broken, and their young one gone. they flew back in the direction they had come, and disappeared for some time, while we made all the sail we could to endeavour to prevent that which unhappily befell us. they soon returned, and we observed that each of them carried between its talons stones, or rather rocks, of a monstrous size. when they came directly over my ship, they hovered, and one of them let fall a stone, but by the dexterity of the steersman it missed us, and falling into the sea, divided the water so that we could almost see the bottom. the other roe, to our misfortune, threw his messy burden so exactly upon the middle of the ship, as to split it into a thousand pieces. the mariners and passengers were all crushed to death, or sunk. i myself was of the number of the latter; but as i came up again, i fortunately caught hold of a piece of the wreck, and swimming sometimes with one hand, and sometimes with the other, but always holding fast my board, the wind and the tide favouring me, i came to an island, whose shore was very steep. i overcame that difficulty, however, and got ashore. i sat down upon the grass, to recover myself from my fatigue, after which i went into the island to explore it. it seemed to be a delicious garden. i found trees everywhere, some of them bearing green, and others ripe fruits, and streams of fresh pure water running in pleasant meanders. i ate of the fruits, which i found excellent; and drank of the water, which was very light and good. when night closed in, i lay down upon the grass in a convenient spot, but could not sleep an hour at a time, my mind being apprehensive of danger. i spent best part of the night in alarm, and reproached myself for my imprudence in not remaining at home, rather than undertaking this last voyage. these reflections carried me so far, that i began to form a design against my life; but daylight dispersed these melancholy thoughts. i got up, and walked among the trees, but not without some fears. when i was a little advanced into the island, i saw an old man, who appeared very weak and infirm. he was sitting on the bank of a stream, and at first i took him to be one who had been shipwrecked like myself. i went towards him and saluted him, but he only slightly bowed his head. i asked him why he sat so still, but instead of answering me, he made a sign for me to take him upon my back, and carry him over the brook, signifying that it was to gather fruit. i believed him really to stand in need of my assistance, took him upon my back, and having carried him over, bade him get down, and for that end stooped, that he might get off with ease; but instead of doing so (which i laugh at every time i think of it) the old man, who to me appeared quite decrepit, clasped his legs nimbly about my neck, when i perceived his skin to resemble that of a cow. he sat astride upon my shoulders, and held my throat so tight, that i thought he would have strangled me, the apprehension of which make me swoon and fall down. notwithstanding my fainting, the ill-natured old fellow kept fast about my neck, but opened his legs a little to give me time to recover my breath. when i had done so, he thrust one of his feet against my stomach, and struck me so rudely on the side with the other, that he forced me to rise up against my will. having arisen, he made me walk under the trees, and forced me now and then to stop, to gather and eat fruit such as we found. he never left me all day, and when i lay down to rest at night, laid himself down with me, holding always fast about my neck. every morning he pushed me to make me awake, and afterwards obliged me to get up and walk, and pressed me with his feet. you may judge then, gentlemen, what trouble i was in, to be loaded with such a burden of which i could not get rid. one day i found in my way several dry calebashes that had fallen from a tree. i took a large one, and after cleaning it, pressed into it some juice of grapes, which abounded in the island; having filled the calebash, i put it by in a convenient place, and going thither again some days after, i tasted it, and found the wine so good, that it soon made me forget my sorrow, gave me new vigour, and so exhilarated my spirits, that i began to sing and dance as i walked along. the old man, perceiving the effect which this liquor had upon me, and that i carried him with more ease than before, made me a sign to give him some of it. i handed him the calebash, and the liquor pleasing his palate, he drank it all off. there being a considerable quantity of it, he became drunk immediately, and the fumes getting up into his head, he began to sing after his manner, and to dance with his breech upon my shoulders. his jolting made him vomit, and he loosened his legs from about me by degrees. finding that he did not press me as before, i threw him upon the ground, where he lay without motion; i then took up a great stone, and crushed his head to pieces. i was extremely glad to be thus freed for ever from this troublesome fellow. i now walked towards the beach, where i met the crew of a ship that had cast anchor, to take in water. they were surprised to see me, but more so at hearing the particulars of my adventures. "you fell," said they, "into the hands of the old man of the sea, and are the first who ever escaped strangling by his malicious tricks. he never quitted those he had once made himself master of, till he had destroyed them, and he has made this island notorious by the number of men he has slain; so that the merchants and mariners who landed upon it, durst not advance into the island but in numbers at a time." after having informed me of these things, they carried me with them to the ship; the captain received me with great kindness, when they told him what had befallen me. he put out again to sea, and after some days' sail, we arrived at the harbour of a great city, the houses of which were built with hewn stone. one of the merchants who had taken me into his friendship invited me to go along with him, and carried me to a place appointed for the accommodation of foreign merchants. he gave me a large bag, and having recommended me to some people of the town, who used to gather cocoa-nuts, desired them to take me with them. "go," said he, "follow them, and act as you see them do, but do not separate from them, otherwise you may endanger your life." having thus spoken, he gave me provisions for the journey, and i went with them. we came to a thick forest of cocoa-trees, very lofty, with trunks so smooth that it was not possible to climb to the branches that bore the fruit. when we entered the forest we saw a great number of apes of several sizes, who fled as soon as they perceived us, and climbed up to the top of the trees with surprising swiftness. the merchants with whom i was, gathered stones and threw them at the apes on the trees. i did the same, and the apes out of revenge threw cocoa-nuts at us so fast, and with such gestures, as sufficiently testified their anger and resentment. we gathered up the cocoa-nuts, and from time to time threw stones to provoke the apes; so that by this stratagem we filled our bags with cocoa-nuts, which it had been impossible otherwise to have done. when we had gathered our number, we returned to the city, where the merchant, who had sent me to the forest, gave me the value of the cocoas i brought: "go on," said he, "and do the like every day, until you have got money enough to carry you home." i thanked him for his advice, and gradually collected as many cocoa-nuts as produced me a considerable sum. the vessel in which i had come sailed with some merchants, who loaded her with cocoa-nuts. i expected the arrival of another, which anchored soon after for the like loading. i embarked in her all the cocoa-nuts i had, and when she was ready to sail, took leave of the merchant who had been so kind to me; but he could not embark with me, because he had not finished his business at the port. we sailed towards the islands, where pepper grows in great plenty. from thence we went to the isle of comari, where the best species of wood of aloes grows, and whose inhabitants have made it an inviolable law to themselves to drink no wine, and suffer no place of debauch. i exchanged my cocoa in those two islands for pepper and wood of aloes, and went with other merchants a pearl-fishing. i hired divers, who brought me up some that were very large and pure. i embarked in a vessel that happily arrived at bussorah; from thence i returned to bagdad, where i made vast sums of my pepper, wood of aloes, and pearls. i gave the tenth of my gains in alms, as i had done upon my return from my other voyages, and endeavoured to dissipate my fatigues by amusements of different kinds. when sinbad had finished his story, he ordered one hundred sequins to be given to hindbad, who retired with the other guests; but next morning the same company returned to dine with rich sinbad; who, after having treated them as formerly, requested their attention, and gave the following account of his sixth voyage. the sixth voyage. gentlemen, you long without doubt to know, how, after having been shipwrecked five times, and escaped so many dangers, i could resolve again to tempt fortune, and expose myself to new hardships? i am, myself, astonished at my conduct when i reflect upon it, and must certainly have been actuated by my destiny. but be that as it may, after a year's rest i prepared for a sixth voyage, notwithstanding the intreaties of my kindred and friends, who did all in their power to dissuade me. instead of taking my way by the persian gulf, i travelled once more through several provinces of persia and the indies, and arrived at a sea-port, where i embarked in a ship, the captain of which was bound on a long voyage. it was long indeed, and at the same time so unfortunate, that the captain and pilot lost their course. they however at last discovered where they were, but we had no reason to rejoice at the circumstance. suddenly we saw the captain quit his post, uttering loud lamentations. he threw off his turban, pulled his beard, and beat his head like a madman. we asked him the reason, and he answered, that he was in the most dangerous place in all the ocean. "a rapid current carries the ship along with it, and we shall all perish in less than a quarter of an hour. pray to god to deliver us from this peril; we cannot escape, if he do not take pity on us." at these words he ordered the sails to be lowered; but all the ropes broke, and the ship was carried by the current to the foot of an inaccessible mountain, where she struck and went to pieces, yet in such a manner that we saved our lives, our provisions, and the best of our goods. this being over, the captain said to us, "god has done what pleased him. each of us may dig his grave, and bid the world adieu; for we are all in so fatal a place, that none shipwrecked here ever returned to their homes." his discourse afflicted us sensibly, and we embraced each other, bewailing our deplorable lot. the mountain at the foot of which we were wrecked formed part of the coast of a very large island. it was covered with wrecks, and from the vast number of human bones we saw everywhere, and which filled us with horror, we concluded that multitudes of people had perished there. it is also incredible what a quantity of goods and riches we found cast ashore. all these objects served only to augment our despair. in all other places, rivers run from their channels into the sea, but here a river of fresh water runs out of the sea into a dark cavern, whose entrance is very high and spacious. what is most remarkable in this place is, that the stones of the mountain are of crystal, rubies, or other precious stones. here is also a sort of fountain of pitch or bitumen, that runs into the sea, which the fish swallow, and evacuate soon afterwards, turned into ambergris: and this the waves throw up on the beach in great quantities. trees also grow here, most of which are wood of aloes, equal in goodness to those of comari. to finish the description of this place, which may well be called a gulf, since nothing ever returns from it, it is not possible for ships to get off when once they approach within a certain distance. if they be driven thither by a wind from the sea, the wind and the current impel them; and if they come into it when a land-wind blows, which might seem to favour their getting out again, the height of the mountain stops the wind, and occasions a calm, so that the force of the current carries them ashore: and what completes the misfortune is, that there is no possibility of ascending the mountain, or of escaping by sea. we continued upon the shore in a state of despair, and expected death every day. at first we divided our provisions as equally as we could, and thus every one lived a longer or shorter time, according to his temperance, and the use he made of his provisions. those who died first were interred by the survivors, and i paid the last duty to all my companions: nor are you to wonder at this; for besides that i husbanded the provision that fell to my share better than they, i had some of my own which i did not share with my comrades; yet when i buried the last, i had so little remaining, that i thought i could not long survive: i dug a grave, resolving to lie down in it, because there was no one left to inter me. i must confess to you at the same time, that while i was thus employed, i could not but reproach myself as the cause of my own ruin, and repented that i had ever undertaken this last voyage. nor did i stop at reflections only, but had well nigh hastened my own death, and began to tear my hands with my teeth. but it pleased god once more to take compassion on me, and put it in my mind to go to the bank of the river which ran into the great cavern. considering its probable course with great attention, i said to myself, "this river, which runs thus under ground, must somewhere have an issue. if i make a raft, and leave myself to the current, it will convey me to some inhabited country, or i shall perish. if i be drowned, i lose nothing, but only change one kind of death for another; and if i get out of this fatal place, i shall not only avoid the sad fate of my comrades, but perhaps find some new occasion of enriching myself. who knows but fortune waits, upon my getting off this dangerous shelf, to compensate my shipwreck with usury." i immediately went to work upon large pieces of timber and cables, for i had choice of them, and tied them together so strongly, that i soon made a very solid raft. when i had finished, i loaded it with some bulses of rubies, emeralds, ambergris, rock-crystal, and bales of rich stuffs. having balanced my cargo exactly, and fastened it well to the raft, i went on board with two oars that i had made, and leaving it to the course of the river, resigned myself to the will of god. as soon as i entered the cavern, i lost all light, and the stream carried me i knew not whither. thus i floated some days in perfect darkness, and once found the arch so low, that it very nearly touched my head, which made me cautious afterwards to avoid the like danger. all this while i ate nothing but what was just necessary to support nature; yet, notwithstanding my frugality, all my provisions were spent. then a pleasing stupor seized upon me. i cannot tell how long it continued; but when i revived, i was surprised to find myself in an extensive plain on the brink of a river, where my raft was tied, amidst a great number of negroes. i got up as soon as i saw them, and saluted them. they spoke to me, but i did not understand their language. i was so transported with joy, that i knew not whether i was asleep or awake; but being persuaded that i was not asleep, i recited the following words in arabic aloud: "call upon the almighty, he will help thee; thou needest not perplex thyself about any thing else: shut thy eyes, and while thou art asleep, god will change thy bad fortune into good." one of the blacks, who understood arabic, hearing me speak thus, came towards me, and said, "brother, be not surprised to see us, we are inhabitants of this country, and came hither to-day to water our fields, by digging little canals from this river, which comes out of the neighbouring mountain. we observed something floating upon the water, went to see what it was, and, perceiving your raft, one of us swam into the river, and brought it thither, where we fastened it, as you see, until you should awake. pray tell us your history, for it must be extraordinary; how did you venture yourself into this river, and whence did you come?" "i begged of them first to give me something to eat, and then i would satisfy their curiosity. they gave me several sorts of food, and when i had satisfied my hunger, i related all that had befallen me, which they listened to with attentive surprise. as soon as i had finished, they told me, by the person who spoke arabic and interpreted to them what i said, that it was one of the most wonderful stories they had ever heard, and that i must go along with them, and tell it their king myself; it being too extraordinary to be related by any other than the person to whom the events had happened. i assured them that i was ready to do whatever they pleased." they immediately sent for a horse, which was brought in a little time; and having helped me to mount, some of them walked before to shew the way, while the rest took my raft and cargo and followed. we marched till we came to the capital of serendib, for it was in that island i had landed. the blacks presented me to their king; i approached his throne, and saluted him as i used to do the kings of the indies; that is to say, i prostrated myself at his feet. the prince ordered me to rise, received me with an obliging air, and made me sit down near him. he first asked me my name, and i answered, "people call me sinbad the voyager, because of the many voyages i have undertaken, and i am a citizen of bagdad." "but," resumed he, "how came you into my dominions, and from whence came you last?" i concealed nothing from the king; i related to him all that i have told you, and his majesty was so surprised and pleased, that he commanded my adventures to be written in letters of gold, and laid up in the archives of his kingdom. at last my raft was brought in, and the bales opened in his presence; he admired the quantity of wood of aloes and ambergris, but, above all, the rubies and emeralds, for he had none in his treasury that equalled them. observing that he looked on my jewels with pleasure, and viewed the most remarkable among them one after another, i fell prostrate at his feet, and took the liberty to say to him, "sir, not only my person is at your majesty's service, but the cargo of the raft, and i would beg of you to dispose of it as your own." he answered me with a smile, "sinbad, i will take care not to covet any thing of yours, or to take any thing from you that god has given you; far from lessening your wealth, i design to augment it, and will not let you quit my dominions without marks of my liberality." all the answer i returned were prayers for the prosperity of that nobly minded prince, and commendations of his generosity and bounty. he charged one of his officers to take care of me, and ordered people to serve me at his own expence. the officer was very faithful in the execution of his commission, and caused all the goods to be carried to the lodgings provided for me. i went every day at a set hour to make my court to the king, and spent the rest of my time in viewing the city, and what was most worthy of notice. the isle of serendib is situated just under the equinoctial line; so that the days and nights there are always of twelve hours each, and the island is eighty parasangs in length, and as many in breadth. the capital stands at the end of a fine valley, in the middle of the island, encompassed by mountains the highest in the world. they are seen three days' sail off at sea. rubies and several sorts of minerals abound, and the rocks are for the most part composed of a metalline stone made use of to cut and polish other precious stones. all kinds of rare plants and trees grow there, especially cedars and cocoa-nut. there is also a pearl-fishing in the mouth of its principal river; and in some of its valleys are found diamonds. i made, by way of devotion, a pilgrimage to the place where adam was confined after his banishment from paradise, and had the curiosity to go to the top of the mountain. when i returned to the city, i prayed the king to allow me to return to my own country, and he granted me permission in the most obliging and most honourable manner. he would needs force a rich present upon me; and when i went to take my leave of him, he gave me one much more considerable, and at the same time charged me with a letter for the commander of the faithful, our sovereign, saying to me, "i pray you give this present from me, and this letter to the caliph, and assure him of my friendship." i took the present and letter in a very respectful manner, and promised his majesty punctually to execute the commission with which he was pleased to honour me. before i embarked, this prince sent for the captain and the merchants who were to go with me, and ordered them to treat me with all possible respect. the letter from the king of serendib was written on the skin of a certain animal of great value, because of its being so scarce, and of a yellowish colour. the characters of this letter were of azure, and the contents as follows: "the king of the indies, before whom march one hundred elephants, who lives in a palace that shines with one hundred thousand rubies, and who has in his treasury twenty thousand crowns enriched with diamonds, to caliph haroon al rusheed. "though the present we send you be inconsiderable, receive it however as a brother and a friend, in consideration of the hearty friendship which we bear for you, and of which we are willing to give you proof. we desire the same part in your friendship, considering that we believe it to be our merit, being of the same dignity with yourself. we conjure you this in quality of a brother. adieu." the present consisted first, of one single ruby made into a cup, about half a foot high, an inch thick, and filled with round pearls of half a drachm each. . the skin of a serpent, whose scales were as large as an ordinary piece of gold, and had the virtue to preserve from sickness those who lay upon it. . fifty thousand drachms of the best wood of aloes, with thirty grains of camphire as big as pistachios. . a female slave of ravishing beauty, whose apparel was all covered over with jewels. the ship set sail, and after a very successful navigation we landed at bussorah, and from thence i went to bagdad, where the first thing i did was to acquit myself of my commission. scheherazade stopped, because day appeared, and next night proceeded thus. i took the king of serendib's letter, and went to present myself at the gate of the commander of the faithful, followed by the beautiful slave, and such of my own family as carried the presents. i stated the reason of my coming, and was immediately conducted to the throne of the caliph. i made my reverence, and, after a short speech, gave him the letter and present. when he had read what the king of serendib wrote to him, he asked me, if that prince were really so rich and potent as he represented himself in his letter? i prostrated myself a second time, and rising again, said, "commander of the faithful, i can assure your majesty he doth not exceed the truth. i bear him witness. nothing is more worthy of admiration than the magnificence of his palace. when the prince appears in public, he has a throne fixed on the back of an elephant, and marches betwixt two ranks of his ministers, favourites, and other people of his court; before him, upon the same elephant, an officer carries a golden lance in his hand; and behind the throne there is another, who stands upright, with a column of gold, on the top of which is an emerald half a foot long, and an inch thick; before him march a guard of one thousand men, clad in cloth of gold and silk, and mounted on elephants richly caparisoned. "while the king is on his march, the officer, who is before him on the same elephant, cries from time to time, with a loud voice, 'behold the great monarch, the potent and redoubtable sultan of the indies, whose palace is covered with one hundred thousand rubies, and who possesses twenty thousand crowns of diamonds. behold the monarch greater than solomon, and the powerful maha-raja.' after he has pronounced those words, the officer behind the throne cries in his turn, 'this monarch, so great and so powerful, must die, must die, must die.' and the officer before replies, 'praise be to him who lives for ever.' "farther, the king of serendib is so just, that there are no judges in his dominions. his people have no need of them. they understand and observe justice rigidly of themselves." the caliph was much pleased with my account. "the wisdom of that king," said he, "appears in his letter, and after what you tell me, i must confess, that his wisdom is worthy of his people, and his people deserve so wise a prince." having spoken thus, he dismissed me, and sent me home with a rich present. sinbad left off, and his company retired, hindbad having first received one hundred sequins; and next day they returned to hear the relation of his seventh and last voyage. the seventh and last voyage. being returned from my sixth voyage, said sinbad, i absolutely laid aside all thoughts of travelling; for, besides that my age now required rest, i was resolved no more to expose myself to such risks as i had encountered; so that i thought of nothing but to pass the rest of my days in tranquillity. one day as i was treating my friends, one of my servants came and told me that an officer of the caliph's enquired for me. i rose from table, and went to him. "the caliph," he said, "has sent me to tell you, that he must speak with you." i followed the officer to the palace, where being presented to the caliph, i saluted him by prostrating myself at his feet. "sinbad," said he to me, "i stand in need of your service; you must carry my answer and present to the king of serendib. it is but just i should return his civility." this command of the caliph was to me like a clap of thunder. "commander of the faithful," i replied, "i am ready to do whatever your majesty shall think fit to command; but i beseech you most humbly to consider what i have undergone. i have also made a vow never to go out of bagdad." hence i took occasion to give him a full and particular account of all my adventures, which he had the patience to hear out. as soon as i had finished, "i confess," said he, "that the things you tell me are very extraordinary, yet you must for my sake undertake this voyage which i propose to you. you will only have to go to the isle of serendib, and deliver the commission which i give you. after that you are at liberty to return. but you must go; for you know it would not comport with my dignity, to be indebted to the king of that island." perceiving that the caliph insisted upon my compliance, i submitted, and told him that i was willing to obey. he was very well pleased, and ordered me one thousand sequins for the expences of my journey. i prepared for my departure in a few days, and as soon as the caliph's letter and present were delivered to me, i went to bussorah, where i embarked, and had a very happy voyage. having arrived at the isle of serendib, i acquainted the king's ministers with my commission, and prayed them to get me speedy audience. they did so, and i was conducted to the palace in an honourable manner, where i saluted the king by prostration, according to custom. that prince knew me immediately, and testified very great joy at seeing me. "sinbad," said he, "you are welcome; i have many times thought of you since you departed; i bless the day on which we see one another once more." i made my compliment to him, and after having thanked him for his kindness, delivered the caliph's letter and present, which he received with all imaginable satisfaction. the caliph's present was a complete suit of cloth of gold, valued at one thousand sequins; fifty robes of rich stuff, a hundred of white cloth, the finest of cairo, suez, and alexandria; a vessel of agate broader than deep, an inch thick, and half a foot wide, the bottom of which represented in bass relief a man with one knee on the ground, who held bow and an arrow, ready to discharge at a lion. he sent him also a rich tablet, which, according to tradition, belonged to the great solomon. the caliph's letter was as follows: "greeting, in the name of the sovereign guide of the right way, from the dependent on god, haroon al rusheed, whom god hath set in the place of vicegerent to his prophet, after his ancestors of happy memory, to the potent and esteemed raja of serendib. "we received your letter with joy, and send you this from our imperial residence, the garden of superior wits. we hope when you look upon it, you will perceive our good intention and be pleased with it. adieu." the king of serendib was highly gratified that the caliph answered his friendship. a little time after this audience, i solicited leave to depart, and had much difficulty to obtain it. i procured it however at last, and the king, when he dismissed me, made me a very considerable present. i embarked immediately to return to bagdad, but had not the good fortune to arrive there so speedily as i had hoped. god ordered it otherwise. three or four days after my departure, we were attacked by corsairs, who easily seized upon our ship, because it was no vessel of force. some of the crew offered resistance, which cost them their lives. but for myself and the rest, who were not so imprudent, the corsairs saved us on purpose to make slaves of us. we were all stripped, and instead of our own clothes, they gave us sorry rags, and carried us into a remote island, where they sold us. i fell into the hands of a rich merchant, who, as soon as he bought me, carried me to his house, treated me well, and clad me handsomely for a slave. some days after, not knowing who i was, he asked me if i understood any trade? i answered, that i was no mechanic, but a merchant, and that the corsairs, who sold me, had robbed me of all i possessed. "but tell me," replied he, "can you shoot with a bow?" i answered, that the bow was one of my exercises in my youth. he gave me a bow and arrows, and, taking me behind him upon an elephant, carried me to a thick forest some leagues from the town. we penetrated a great way into the wood, and when he thought fit to stop, he bade me alight; then shewing me a great tree, "climb up that," said he, "and shoot at the elephants as you see them pass by, for there is a prodigious number of them in this forest, and if any of them fall, come and give me notice." having spoken thus, he left me victuals, and returned to the town, and i continued upon the tree all night. i saw no elephant during that time, but next morning, as soon as the sun was up, i perceived a great number. i shot several arrows among them, and at last one of the elephants fell, when the rest retired immediately, and left me at liberty to go and acquaint my patron with my booty. when i had informed him, he gave me a good meal, commended my dexterity, and caressed me highly. we went afterwards together to the forest, where we dug a hole for the elephant; my patron designing to return when it was rotten, and take his teeth to trade with. i continued this employment for two months, and killed an elephant every day, getting sometimes upon one tree, and sometimes upon another. one morning, as i looked for the elephants, i perceived with extreme amazement, that, instead of passing by me across the forest as usual, they stopped, and came to me with a horrible noise, in such number that the plain was covered, and shook under them. they encompassed the tree in which i was concealed, with their trunks extended, and all fixed their eyes upon. at this alarming spectacle i continued immoveable, and was so much terrified, that my bow and arrows fell out of my hand. my fears were not without cause; for after the elephants had stared upon me some time, one of the largest of them put his trunk round the foot of the tree, plucked it up, and threw it on the ground; i fell with the tree, and the elephant taking me up with his trunk, laid me on his back, where i sat more like one dead than alive, with my quiver on my shoulder. he put himself afterwards at the head of the rest, who followed him in troops, carried me a considerable way, then laid me down on the ground, and retired with all his companions. conceive, if you can, the condition i was in: i thought myself in a dream. after having lain some time, and seeing the elephants gone, i got up, and found i was upon a long and broad hill, almost covered with the bones and teeth of elephants. i confess to you, that this object furnished me with abundance of reflections. i admired the instinct of those animals; i doubted not but that was their burying place, and that they carried me thither on purpose to tell me that i should forbear to persecute them, since i did it only for their teeth. i did not stay on the hill, but turned towards the city, and, after having travelled a day and a night, i came to my patron. i met no elephant in my way, which made me think they had retired farther into the forest, to leave me at liberty to come back to the hill without any obstacle. as soon as my patron saw me; "ah, poor sinbad," exclaimed he, "i was in great trouble to know what was become of you. i have been at the forest, where i found a tree newly pulled up, and a bow and arrows on the ground, and after having sought for you in vain, i despaired of ever, seeing you more. pray tell me what befell you, and by what good chance thou art still alive." i satisfied his curiosity, and going both of us next morning to the hill, he found to his great joy that what i had told him was true. we loaded the elephant which had carried us with as many teeth as he could bear; and when we were returned, "brother," said my patron, "for i will treat you no more as my slave, after having made such a discovery as will enrich me, god bless you with all happiness and prosperity. i declare before him, that i give you your liberty. i concealed from you what i am now going to tell you. "the elephants of our forest have every year killed us a great many slaves, whom we sent to seek ivory. for all the cautions we could give them, those crafty animals destroyed them one time or other. god has delivered you from their fury, and has bestowed that favour upon you only. it is a sign that he loves you, and has some use for your service in the world. you have procured me incredible wealth. formerly we could not procure ivory but by exposing the lives of our slaves, and now our whole city is enriched by your means. do not think i pretend to have rewarded you by giving you your liberty, i will also give you considerable riches. i could engage all our city to contribute towards making your fortune, but i will have the glory of doing it myself." to this obliging declaration i replied, "patron, god preserve you. your giving me my liberty is enough to discharge what you owe me, and i desire no other reward for the service i had the good fortune to do to you and your city, but leave to return to my own country." "very well," said he, "the monsoon will in a little time bring ships for ivory. i will then send you home, and give you wherewith to bear your charges." i thanked him again for my liberty and his good intentions towards me. i staid with him expecting the monsoon; and during that time, we made so many journeys to the hill, that we filled all our warehouses with ivory. the other merchants, who traded in it, did the same, for it could not be long concealed from them. the ships arrived at last, and my patron, himself having made choice of the ship wherein i was to embark, loaded half of it with ivory on my account, laid in provisions in abundance for my passage, and besides obliged me to accept a present of some curiosities of the country of great value. after i had returned him a thousand thanks for all his favours, i went aboard. we set sail, and as the adventure which procured me this liberty was very extraordinary, i had it continually in my thoughts. we stopped at some islands to take in fresh provisions. our vessel being come to a port on the main land in the indies, we touched there, and not being willing to venture by sea to bussorah, i landed my proportion of the ivory, resolving to proceed on my journey by land. i made vast sums of my ivory, bought several rarities, which i intended for presents, and when my equipage was ready, set out in company with a large caravan of merchants. i was a long time on the way, and suffered much, but endured all with patience, when i considered that i had nothing to fear from the seas, from pirates, from serpents, or from the other perils to which i had been exposed. all these fatigues ended at last, and i arrived safe at bagdad. i went immediately to wait upon the caliph, and gave him an account of my embassy. that prince said he had been uneasy, as i was so long in returning, but that he always hoped god would preserve me. when i told him the adventure of the elephants, he seemed much surprised, and would never have given any credit to it had he not known my veracity. he deemed this story, and the other relations i had given him, to be so curious, that he ordered one of his secretaries to write them in characters of gold, and lay them up in his treasury. i retired well satisfied with the honours i received, and the presents which he gave me; and ever since i have devoted myself wholly to my family, kindred, and friends. sinbad here finished the relation of his seventh and last voyage, and then addressing himself to hindbad, "well, friend," said he, "did you ever hear of any person that suffered so much as i have done, or of any mortal that has gone through so many vicissitudes? is it not reasonable that, after all this i should enjoy a quiet and pleasant life?" as he said this, hindbad drew near to him, and kissing his hand, said, "i must acknowledge, sir, that you have gone through many imminent dangers; my troubles are not comparable to yours: if they afflict me for a time, i comfort myself with the thoughts of the profit i get by them. you not only deserve a quiet life, but are worthy of all the riches you enjoy, because you make of them such a good and generous use. may you therefore continue to live in happiness and joy till the day of your death!" sinbad gave him one hundred sequins more, received him into the number of his friends, desired him to quit his porter's employment, and come and dine every day with him, that he might have reason to remember sinbad the voyager. the three apples. the caliph haroon al rusheed one day commanded the grand vizier jaffier to come to his palace the night following. "vizier," said he, "i will take a walk round the town, to inform myself what people say, and particularly how they are pleased with my officers of justice. if there be any against whom they have cause of just complaint, we will turn them out, and put others in their stead, who shall officiate better. if, on the contrary, there be any that have gained their applause, we will have that esteem for them which they deserve." the grand vizier being come to the palace at the hour appointed, the caliph, he, and mesrour the chief of the eunuchs, disguised themselves so that they could not be known, and went out all three together. they passed through several places, and by several markets. as they entered a small street, they perceived by the light of the moon, a tall man, with a white beard, who carried nets on his head, and a staff in his hand. "to judge from his appearance," said the caliph, "that old man is not rich; let us go to him and inquire into his circumstances." "honest man," said the vizier, "who art thou?" the old man replied, "sir, i am a fisher, but one of the poorest and most miserable of the trade. i went from my house about noon a fishing, and from that time to this i have not been able to catch one fish; at the same time i have a wife and small children, and nothing to maintain them." the caliph, moved with compassion, said to the fisherman, "hast thou the courage to go back and cast thy net once more? we will give thee a hundred sequins for what thou shalt bring up." at this proposal, the fisherman, forgetting all his day's toil, took the caliph at his word, and returned to the tigris, accompanied by the caliph, jaaffier, and mesrour; saying to himself as he went, "these gentlemen seem too honest and reasonable not to reward my pains; and if they give me the hundredth part of what they promise, it will be an ample recompence." they came to the bank of the river, and the fisherman, having thrown in his net, when he drew it again, brought up a trunk close shut, and very heavy. the caliph made the grand vizier pay him one hundred sequins immediately, and sent him away. mesrour, by his master's order, carried the trunk on his shoulder, and the caliph was so very eager to know what it contained, that he returned to the palace with all speed. when the trunk was opened, they found in it a large basket made of palm-leaves, shut up, and the covering of it sewed with red thread. to satisfy the caliph's impatience, they would not take time to undo it, but cut the thread with a knife, and took out of the basket a package wrapt up in a sorry piece of hanging, and bound about with a rope; which being untied, they found, to their great amazement, the corpse of a young lady, whiter than snow, all cut in pieces. the astonishment of the caliph was great at this dreadful spectacle. his surprise was instantly changed into passion, and darting an angry look at the vizier, "thou wretch," said he, "is this your inspection into the actions of my people? do they commit such impious murders under thy ministry in my capital, and throw my subjects into the tigris, that they may cry for vengeance against me at the day of judgment? if thou dost not speedily avenge the murder of this woman, by the death of her murderer, i swear by heaven, that i will cause thee and forty more of thy kindred to be impaled." "commander of the faithful," replied the grand vizier, "i beg your majesty to grant me time to make enquiry." "i will allow thee no more," said the caliph, "than three days." the vizier jaaffier went home in great perplexity. "alas!" said he "how is it possible that in such a vast and populous city as bagdad, i should be able to detect a murderer, who undoubtedly committed the crime without witness, and perhaps may be already gone from hence? any other vizier than i would take some wretched person out of prison, and cause him to be put to death to satisfy the caliph; but i will not burden my conscience with such a barbarous action; i will rather die than preserve my life by the sacrifice of another innocent person." he ordered the officers of the police and justice to make strict search for the criminal. they sent their servants about, and they were not idle themselves, for they were no less concerned in this matter than the vizier. but all their endeavours were to no purpose; what pains soever they took they could not discover the murderer; so that the vizier concluded his life to be lost. the third day being arrived, an officer came to the unfortunate minister, with a summons to follow him, which the vizier obeyed. the caliph asked him for the murderer. he answered, "commander of the faithful, i have not found any person that could give me the least account of him." the caliph, full of fury and rage, gave him many reproachful words, and ordered that he and forty bermukkees should be impaled at the gate of the palace. in the mean while the stakes were preparing, and orders were sent to seize forty bermukkees in their houses; a public crier was sent about the city by the caliph's order, to cry thus: "those who have a desire to see the grand vizier jaaffier impaled, with forty of his kindred, let them come to the square before the palace." when all things were ready, the criminal judge, and many officers belonging to the palace, having brought out the grand vizier with the forty bermukkees, set each by the stake designed for him. the multitude of people that filled the square could not without grief and tears behold this tragical sight; for the grand vizier and the bermukkees were loved and honoured on account of their probity, bounty, and impartiality, not only in bagdad, but through all the dominions of the caliph. nothing could prevent the execution of this prince's severe and irrevocable sentence, and the lives of the most deserving people in the city were just going to be sacrificed, when a young man of handsome mien pressed through the crowd till he came up to the grand vizier, and after he had kissed his hand, said, "most excellent vizier, chief of the emirs of this court, and comforter of the poor, you are not guilty of the crime for which you stand here. withdraw, and let me expiate the death of the lady that was thrown into the tigris. it is i who murdered her, and i deserve to be punished for my offence." though these words occasioned great joy to the vizier, yet he could not but pity the young man, in whose look he saw something that instead of evincing guilt was engaging: but as he was about to answer him, a tall man advanced in years, who had likewise forced his way through the crowd, came up to him, saying, "do not believe what this young man tells you, i killed that lady who was found in the trunk, and this punishment ought only to fall upon me. i conjure you in the name of god not to punish the innocent for the guilty." "sir," said the young man to the vizier, "i do protest that i am he who committed this vile act, and nobody else had any concern in it." "my son," said the old man, "it is despair that brought you hither, and you would anticipate your destiny. i have lived a long while in the world, and it is time for me to be gone; let me therefore sacrifice my life for yours." "sir," said he again to the vizier, "i tell you once more i am the murderer; let me die without delay." the controversy between the old and the young man induced the grand vizier to carry them both before the caliph, to which the judge criminal consented, being glad to serve the vizier. when he came before the prince, he kissed the ground seven times, and spake after this manner: "commander of the faithful, i have brought here before your majesty this old and this young man, each of whom declares himself to be the sole murderer of the lady." the caliph asked the criminals which of them it was that so cruelly murdered the lady, and threw her into the tigris? the young man assured him it was he, but the old man maintained the contrary. "go," said the caliph to the grand vizier, "and cause them both to be impaled." "but, sir," said the vizier, "if only one of them be guilty, it would be unjust to take the lives of both." at these words the young man spoke again, "i swear by the great god, who has raised the heavens so high, that i am the man who killed the lady, cut her in pieces, and about four days ago threw her into the tigris. i renounce my part of happiness amongst the just at the day of judgment, if what i say be not truth; therefore i am he that ought to suffer." the caliph being surprised at this oath, believed him; especially since the old man made no answer. whereupon, turning to the young man, "wretch," said he, "what made thee commit that detestable crime, and what is it that moves thee to offer thyself voluntarily to die?" "commander of the faithful," said he, "if all that has past between that lady and me were set down in writing, it would be a history that might be useful to other men." "i command thee then to relate it," said the caliph. the young man obeyed, and began his history. the story of the lady who was murdered, and of the young man her husband. commander of the faithful, this murdered lady was my wife, daughter of this old man, who is my uncle by the father's side. she was not above twelve years old, when eleven years ago he gave her to me. i have three children by her, all boys, yet alive, and i must do her the justice to say, that she never gave me the least occasion for offence; she was chaste, of good behaviour, and made it her whole business to please me. and on my part i ardently loved her, and in every thing rather anticipated than opposed her wishes. about two months ago she fell sick; i took all imaginable care of her, and spared nothing that could promote her speedy recovery. after a month thus passed she began to grow better, and expressed a wish to go to the bath. before she went, "cousin," said she (for so she used to call me out of familiarity), "i long for some apples; if you would get me any, you would greatly please me. i have longed for them a great while, and i must own it is come to that height, that if i be not satisfied very soon, i fear some misfortune will befall me." "i will cheerfully try," said i, "and do all in my power to make you easy." i went immediately round all the markets and shops in the town to seek for apples, but i could not get one, though i offered to pay a sequin a piece. i returned home much dissatisfied at my failure; and for my wife, when she returned from the bagnio, and saw no apples, she became so very uneasy, that she could not sleep all night. i got up by times in the morning, and went through all the gardens, but had no better success than the day before; only i happened to meet an old gardener, who told me, that all my pains would signify nothing, for i could not expect to find apples any where but in your majesty's garden at bussorah. as i loved my wife passionately, and would not neglect to satisfy her, i dressed myself in a traveller's habit, and after i had told her my design, went to bussorah, and made my journey with such speed, that i returned at the end of fifteen days with three apples, which cost me a sequin apiece, for as there were no more left, the gardener would not let me have them for less. as soon as i came home, i presented them to my wife, but her longing had ceased, she satisfied herself with receiving them, and laid them down by her. in the mean time she continued sickly, and i knew not what remedy to procure for her relief. some few days after i returned from my journey, sitting in my shop in the public place where all sorts of fine stuffs are sold, i saw an ugly, tall, black slave come in, with an apple in his hand, which i knew to be one of those i had brought from bussorah. i had no reason to doubt it, because i was certain there was not one to be had in bagdad, nor in any of the gardens in the vicinity. i called to him, and said, "good slave, pr'ythee tell me where thou hadst this apple?" "it is a present" (said he, smiling) "from my mistress. i went to see her to-day, and found her out of order. i saw three apples lying by her, and asked her where she had them. she told me the good man, her husband, had made a fortnight's journey on purpose, and brought them to her. we had a collation together; and, when i took my leave of her, i brought away this apple." this account rendered me distracted. i rose, shut up my shop, ran home with all speed, and going to my wife's chamber, looked immediately for the apples, and seeing only two, asked what was become of the third. my wife, turning her head to the place where the apples lay, and perceiving there were but two, answered me coldly, "cousin, i know not what is become of it." at this reply i was convinced what the slave had told me was true; and giving myself up to madness and jealousy, drew my knife from my girdle, and thrust it into the unfortunate creature's throat. i afterwards cut off her head, and divided her body into four quarters, which i packed up in a bundle, sewed it up with a thread of red yarn, put all together in a trunk, and when night came, carried it on my shoulder down to the tigris, where i sunk it. the two youngest of my children were asleep, the third was out; but at my return, i found him sitting by my gate, weeping. i asked him the reason; "father," said he, "i took this morning from my mother, without her knowledge, one of those three apples you brought her, and kept it a long while; but, as i was playing some time ago with my little brother in the street, a tall slave passing by snatched it out of my hands, and carried it away. i ran after him, demanding it back, and besides told him, that it belonged to my mother, who was sick; and that you had made a fortnight's journey to procure it; but all to no purpose, he would not restore it. and as i still followed him, crying out, he turned and beat me, and then ran away as fast as he could from one lane to another, till at length i lost sight of him. i have since been walking without the town expecting your return, to pray you, dear father, not to tell my mother of it, lest it should make her worse!" when he had thus spoken he fell a weeping again more bitterly than before. my son's account afflicted me beyond measure. i then found myself guilty of an enormous crime, and repented too late of having so easily believed the calumnies of a wretched slave, who, from what he had learnt of my son, had invented that fatal falsehood. my uncle here present came just at that time to see his daughter, but instead of finding her alive, understood from me that she was dead, for i concealed nothing from him; and without staying for his censure, declared myself the greatest criminal in the world. upon this, instead of reproaching me, he joined his tears with mine, and we together wept three days without intermission, he for the loss of a daughter whom he had loved tenderly; and i for the loss of a beloved wife, of whom i had deprived myself in so cruel a manner by giving too easy credit to the report of a lying slave. this, commander of the faithful, is the sincere confession your majesty required from me. you have now heard all the circumstances of my crime, and i must humbly beg of you to order the punishment due for it; how severe soever it may be, i shall not in the least complain, but esteem it too easy and light. the caliph was much astonished at the young man's relation. but this just prince, finding he was rather to be pitied than condemned, began to speak in his favour: "this young man's crime," said he, "is pardonable before god, and excusable with men. the wicked slave is the sole cause of this murder; it is he alone that must be punished: wherefore," continued he, looking upon the grand vizier, "i give you three days' time to find him out; if you do not bring him within that space, you shall die in his stead." the unfortunate jaaffier, had thought himself out of danger, was perplexed at this order of the caliph; but as he durst not return any answer to the prince, whose hasty temper he knew too well, he departed from his presence, and retired melancholy to his house, convinced that he had but three days to live; for he was so fully persuaded that he should not find the slave, that he made not the least enquiry after him. "is it possible," said he, "that in such a city as bagdad, where there is an infinite number of negro slaves, i should be able to find him out that is guilty? unless god be pleased to interpose as he hath already to detest the murderer, nothing can save my life." he spent the first two days in mourning with his family, who sat round him weeping and complaining of the caliph's cruelty. the third day being arrived, he prepared himself to die with courage, as an honest minister, and one who had nothing to trouble his conscience; he sent for notaries and witnesses' who signed his will. after which he took leave of his wife and children, and bade them farewell. all his family were drowned in tears, so that there never was a more sorrowful spectacle. at last a messenger came from the caliph to tell him that he was out of all patience, having heard nothing from him concerning the negro slave whom he had commanded him to search for; "i am therefore ordered," said the messenger, "to bring you before his throne." the afflicted vizier, obeyed the mandate, but as he was going out, they brought him his youngest daughter, about five or six years of age, to receive his last blessing. as he had a particular affection for that child, he prayed the messenger to give him leave to stop a moment, and taking his daughter in his arms, kissed her several times: as he kissed her, he perceived she had something in her bosom that looked bulky, and had a sweet scent. "my dear little one," said he, "what hast thou in thy bosom?" "my dear father," she replied, "it is an apple which our slave rihan sold me for two sequins." at these words apple and slave, the grand vizier, uttered an exclamation of surprise, intermixed with joy, and putting his hand into the child's bosom, pulled out the apple. he caused the slave, who was not far off, to be brought immediately, and when he came, "rascal," said he, "where hadst thou this apple?" "my lord," replied the slave, "i swear to you that i neither stole it in your house, nor out of the commander of the faithful's garden; but the other day, as i was passing through a street where three or four children were at play, one of them having it in his hand, i snatched it from him, and carried it away. the child ran after me, telling me it was not his own, but belonged mother, who was sick; and that his father, to satisfy her longing, had made a long journey, and brought home three apples, whereof this was one, which he had taken from his mother without her knowledge. he said all he could to prevail upon me to give it him back, but i refused, and so brought it home, and sold it for two sequins to the little lady your daughter." jaaffier could not reflect without astonishment that the mischievousness of a slave had been the cause of an innocent woman's death, and nearly of his own. he carried the slave along with him, and when he came before the caliph, gave the prince an exact account of what the slave had told him, and the chance which led him to the discovery of his crime. never was any surprise so great as that of the caliph, yet he could not refrain from falling into excessive fits of laughter. at last he recovered himself, and with a serious air told the vizier, that since his slave had been the occasion of murder, he deserved an exemplary punishment. "i must own it," said the vizier, "but his guilt is not unpardonable: i remember the wonderful history of a vizier, of cairo, and am ready to relate it, upon condition that if your majesty finds it more astonishing than that which gives me occasion to tell it, you will be pleased to pardon my slave." "i consent," said the caliph; "but you undertake a hard task, for i do not believe you can save your slave, the story of the apples being so very singular." upon this, jaaffier began his story thus: the story of noor ad deen ali and buddir ad deen houssun. commander of the faithful, there was formerly a sultan of egypt, a strict observer of justice, gracious, merciful, and liberal, and his valour made him terrible to his neighbours. he loved the poor, and protected the learned, whom he advanced to the highest dignities. this sultan had a vizier, who was prudent, wise, sagacious, and well versed in all sciences. this minister had two sons, who in every thing followed his footsteps. the eldest was called shumse ad deen mahummud, and the younger noor ad deen ali. the latter was endowed with all the good qualities that man could possess. the vizier their father being dead, the sultan caused them both to put on the robes of a vizier, "i am as sorry," said he, "as you are for the loss of your father; and because i know you live together, and love one another cordially, i will bestow his dignity upon you conjointly; go, and imitate your father's conduct." the two new viziers humbly thanked the sultan, and retired to make due preparation for their father's interment. they did not go abroad for a month, after which they repaired to court, and attended their duties. when the sultan hunted, one of the brothers accompanied him, and this honour they had by turns. one evening as they were conversing together after a cheerful meal, the next day being the elder brother's turn to hunt with the sultan, he said to his younger brother, "since neither of us is yet married, and we live so affectionately together, let us both wed the same day sisters out of some family that may suit our quality. what do you think of this plan?" "brother," answered the other vizier, "there cannot be a better thought; for my part, i will agree to any thing you approve." "but this is not all," said the elder; "my fancy carries me farther: suppose both our wives should conceive the first night of our marriage, and should happen to be brought to bed on one day, yours of a son, and mine of a daughter, we will give them to each other in marriage." "nay," said noor ad deen aloud, "i must acknowledge that this prospect is admirable; such a marriage will perfect our union, and i willingly consent to it. but then, brother," said he farther, "if this marriage should happen, would you expect that my son should settle a jointure on your daughter?" "there is no difficulty in that," replied the other; "for i am persuaded, that besides the usual articles of the marriage contract, you will not fail to promise in his name at least three thousand sequins, three landed estates, and three slaves." "no," said the younger "i will not consent to that; are we not brethren, and equal in title and dignity? do not you and i know what is just? the male being nobler than the female, it is your part to give a large dowry with your daughter. by what i perceive, you are a man that would have your business done at another's charge." although noor ad deen spoke these words in jest, his brother being of a hasty temper, was offended, and falling into a passion said, "a mischief upon your son, since you prefer him before my daughter. i wonder you had so much confidence as to believe him worthy of her; you must needs have lost your judgment to think you are my equal, and say we are colleagues. i would have you to know, that since you are so vain, i would not marry my daughter to your son though you would give him more than you are worth." this pleasant quarrel between two brothers about the marriage of their children before they were born went so far, that shumse ad deen concluded by threatening: "were i not to-morrow," said he, "to attend the sultan, i would treat you as you deserve; but at my return, i will make you sensible that it does not become a younger brother to speak so insolently to his elder as you have done to me." upon this he retired to his apartment in anger. shumse ad deen rising early next morning, attended the sultan, who went to hunt near the pyramids. as for noor ad deen, he was very uneasy all night, and supposing it would not be possible to live longer with a brother who had treated him with so much haughtiness, he provided a stout mule, furnished himself with money and jewels, and having told his people that he was going on a private journey for two or three days, departed. when out of cairo, he rode by way of the desert towards arabia; but his mule happening to tire, was forced to continue his journey on foot. a courier who was going to bussorah, by good fortune overtaking him, took him up behind him. as soon as the courier reached that city, noor ad deen alighted, and returned him thanks for his kindness. as he went about to seek for a lodging, he saw a person of quality with a numerous retinue, to whom all the people shewed the greatest respect, and stood still till he had passed. this personage was grand vizier, to the sultan of bussorah, who was passing through the city to see that the inhabitants kept good order and discipline. this minister casting his eyes by chance on noor ad deen ali, perceiving something extraordinary in his aspect, looked very attentively upon him, and as he saw him in a traveller's habit, stopped his train, asked him who he was, and from whence he came? "sir," said noor ad deen, "i am an egyptian, born at cairo, and have left my country, because of the unkindness of a near relation, resolved to travel through the world, and rather to die than return home." the grand vizier, who was a good-natured man, after hearing these words, said to him, "son, beware; do not pursue your design; you are not sensible of the hardships you must endure. follow me; i may perhaps make you forget the misfortunes which have forced you to leave your own country." noor ad deen followed the grand vizier, who soon discovered his good qualities, and conceived for him so great an affection, that one day he said to him in private, "my son, i am, as you see, so far gone in years, that it is not probable i shall live much longer. heaven has bestowed on me only one daughter, who is as beautiful as you are handsome, and now fit for marriage. several nobles of the highest rank at this court have sought her for their sons, but i would not grant their request. i have an affection for you, and think you so worthy to be received into my family, that, preferring you before all those who have demanded her, i am ready to accept you for my son-in-law. if you like the proposal, i will acquaint the sultan my master that i have adopted you by this marriage, and intreat him to grant you the reversion of my dignity of grand vizier in the kingdom of bussorah. in the mean time, nothing being more requisite for me than ease in my old age, i will not only put you in possession of great part of my estate, but leave the administration of public affairs to your management." when the grand vizier had concluded this kind and generous proposal, noor ad deen fell at his feet, and expressing himself in terms that demonstrated his joy and gratitude, assured him, that he was at his command in every way. upon this the vizier sent for his chief domestics, ordered them to adorn the great hall of his palace, and prepare a splendid feast. he afterwards sent to invite the nobility of the court and city, to honour him with their company; and when they were all met (noor ad deen having made known his quality), he said to the noblemen present, for he thought it proper to speak thus on purpose to satisfy those to whom he had refused his alliance, "i am now, my lords, to discover a circumstance which hitherto i have keep a secret. i have a brother, who is grand vizier to the sultan of egypt. this brother has but one son, whom he would not marry in the court of egypt, but sent him hither to wed my daughter in order that both branches of our family may be united. his son, whom i knew to be my nephew as soon as i saw him, is the young man i now present to you as my son-in-law. i hope you will do me the honour to be present at his wedding, which i am resolved to celebrate this day." the noblemen, who could not be offended at his preferring his nephew to the great matches that had been proposed, allowed that he had very good reason for his choice, were willing to be witnesses to the ceremony, and wished that god might prolong his days to enjoy the satisfaction of the happy match. the lords met at the vizier of bussorah's palace, having testified their satisfaction at the marriage of his daughter with noor ad deen ali, sat down to a magnificent repast, after which, notaries came in with the marriage contrast, and the chief lords signed it; and when the company had departed, the grand vizier ordered his servants to have every thing in readiness for noor ad deen ali, to bathe. he had fine new linen, and rich vestments provided for him in the greatest profusion. having bathed and dressed, he was perfumed with the most odoriferous essences, and went to compliment the vizier, his father-in-law, who was exceedingly pleased with his noble demeanour. having made him sit down, "my son," said he, "you have declared to me who you are, and the office you held at the court of egypt. you have also told me of a difference betwixt you and your brother, which occasioned you to leave your country. i desire you to make me your entire confidant, and to acquaint me with the cause of your quarrel; for now you have no reason either to doubt my affection, or to conceal any thing from me." noor ad deen informed him of every circumstance of the quarrel; at which the vizier, burst out into a fit of laughter, and said, "this is one of the strangest occurrences i ever heard. is it possible, my son, that your quarrel should rise so high about an imaginary marriage? i am sorry you fell out with your elder brother upon such a frivolous matter; but he was also wrong in being angry at what you only spoke in jest, and i ought to thank heaven for that difference which has procured me such a son-in-law. but," continued the vizier, "it is late, and time for you to retire; go to your bride, my son, she expects you: to-morrow, i will present you to the sultan, and hope he will receive you in such a manner as shall satisfy us both." noor ad deen ali took leave of his father-in-law, and retired to his bridal apartment. it is remarkable that shumse ad deen mahummud happened also to marry at cairo the very same day that this marriage was solemnized at bussorah, the particulars of which are as follow: after noor ad deen ali left cairo, with an intention never to return, his elder brother, who was hunting with the sultan of egypt, was absent for a month; for the sultan being fond of the chase, continued it often for so long a period. at his return, shumse ad deen was much surprised when he understood, that under presence of taking a short journey his brother departed from cairo on a mule the same day as the sultan, and had never appeared since. it vexed him so much the more, because he did not doubt but the harsh words he had used had occasioned his flight. he sent a messenger in search of him, who went to damascus, and as far as aleppo, but noor ad deen was then at bussorah. when the courier returned and brought no news of him, shumse ad deen intended to make further inquiry after him in other parts; but in the meantime matched with the daughter of one of the greatest lords in cairo, upon the same day in which his brother married the daughter of the grand vizier, of bussorah. at the end of nine months the wife of shumse ad deen was brought to bed of a daughter at cairo, and on the same day the lady of noor ad deen was delivered of a son at bussorah, who was called buddir ad deen houssun. the grand vizier, of bussorah testified his joy for the birth of his grandson by gifts and public entertainments. and to shew his son-in-law the great esteem he had for him, he went to the palace, and most humbly besought the sultan to grant noor ad deen ali his office, that he might have the comfort before his death to see his son in-law made grand vizier, in his stead. the sultan, who had conceived a distinguished regard for noor ad deen when the vizier, had presensed him upon his marriage, and had ever since heard every body speak well of him, readily granted his father-in-law's request, and caused noor ad deen immediately to be invested with the robe and insignia of the vizarut, such as state drums, standards, and writing apparatus of gold richly enamelled and set with jewels. the next day, when the father saw his son-in-law preside in council, as he himself had done, and perform all the offices of grand vizier, his joy was complete. noor ad deen ali conducted himself with that dignity and propriety which shewed him to have been used to state affairs, and engaged the approbation of the sultan, and reverence and affection of the people. the old vizier of bussorah died about four years afterwards with great satisfaction, seeing a branch of his family that promised so fair to support its future consequence and respectability. noor ad deen ali, performed his last duty to him with all possible love and gratitude. and as soon as his son buddir ad deen houssun had attained the age of seven years, provided him an excellent tutor, who taught him such things as became his birth. the child had a ready wit, and a genius capable of receiving all the good instructions that could be given. after buddir ad deen had been two years under the tuition of his master, who taught him perfectly to read, he learnt the koran by heart. his father put him afterwards to other tutors, by whom his mind was cultivated to such a degree, that when he was twelve years of age he had no more occasion for them. and then, as his physiognomy promised wonders, he was admired by all who saw him. hitherto his father had kept him to study, but now he introduced him to the sultan, who received him graciously. the people who saw him in the streets were charmed with his demeanour, and gave him a thousand blessings. his father proposing to render him capable of supplying his place, accustomed him to business of the greatest moment, on purpose to qualify him betimes. in short, he omitted nothing to advance a son he loved so well. but as he began to enjoy the fruits of his labour, he was suddenly seized by a violent fit of sickness; and finding himself past recovery, disposed himself to die a good mussulmaun. in that last and precious moment he forgot not his son, but called for him, and said, "my son, you see this world is transitory; there is nothing durable but in that to which i shall speedily go. you must therefore from henceforth begin to fit yourself for this change, as i have done; you must prepare for it without murmuring, so as to have no trouble of conscience for not having acted the part of a really honest man. as for your religion, you are sufficiently instructed in it, by what you have learnt from your tutors, and your own study; and as to what belongs to an upright man, i shall give you some instructions, of which i hope you will make good use. as it is a necessary thing to know one's self, and you cannot come to that knowledge without you first understand who i am, i shall now inform you. "i am a native of egypt; my father, your grandfather, was first minister to the sultan of that kingdom. i had myself the honour to be vizier, to that sultan, and so has my brother, your uncle, who i suppose is yet alive; his name is shumse ad deen mahummud. i was obliged to leave him, and come into this country, where i have raised myself to the high dignity i now enjoy. but you will understand all these matters more fully by a manuscript that i shall give you." at the same time, noor ad deen ali gave to his son a memorandum book, saying, "take and read it at your leisure; you will find, among other things, the day of my marriage, and that of your birth. these are circumstances which perhaps you may hereafter have occasion to know, therefore you must keep it very carefully." buddir ad deen houssun being sincerely afflicted to see his father in this condition, and sensibly touched with his discourse, could not but weep when he received the memorandum book, and promised at the same time never to part with it. that very moment noor ad deen fainted, so that it was thought he would have expired; but he came to himself again, and spoke as follows: "my son, the first instruction i give you, is, not to make yourself familiar with all sorts of people. the way to live happy is to keep your mind to yourself, and not to tell your thoughts too easily. "secondly, not to do violence to any body whatever, for in that case you will draw every body's hatred upon you. you ought to consider the world as a creditor, to whom you owe moderation, compassion, and forbearance. "thirdly, not to say a word when you are reproached; for, as the proverb says, 'he that keeps silence is out of danger.' and in this case particularly you ought to practice it. you also know what one of our poets says upon this subject, 'that silence is the ornament and safe-guard of life'; that our speech ought not to be like a storm of hail that spoils all. never did any man yet repent of having spoken too little, whereas many have been sorry that they spoke so much. "fourthly, to drink no wine, for that is the source of all vices. "fifthly, to be frugal in your way of living; if you do not squander your estate, it will maintain you in time of necessity. i do not mean you should be either profuse or niggardly; for though you have little, if you husband it well, and lay it out on proper occasions, you will have many friends; but if on the contrary you have great riches, and make but a bad use of them, all the world will forsake you, and leave you to yourself." in short, the virtuous noor ad deen continued till the last aspiration of his breath to give good advice to his son; and when he was dead he was magnificently interred. noor ad deen was buried with all the honours due to his rank. buddir ad deen houssun of bussorah, for so he was called, because born in that city, was with grief for the death of his father, that instead of a month's time to mourn, according to custom, he kept himself shut up in tears and solitude about two months, without seeing any body, or so much as going abroad to pay his duty to his sovereign. the sultan being displeased at his neglect, and looking upon it as a alight, suffered his passion to prevail, and in his anger, called for the new grand vizier, (for he had created another on the death of noor ad deen), commanded him to go to the house of the deceased, and seize upon it, with all his other houses, lands, and effects, without leaving any thing for buddir ad deen houssun, and to confine his person. the new grand vizier, accompanied by his officers, went immediately to execute his commission. but one of buddir ad deen houssun's slaves happening accidentally to come into the crowd, no sooner understood the vizier's errand, than he ran before to give his master warning. he found him sitting in the vestibule of his house, as melancholy as if his father had been but newly dead. he fell down at his feet out of breath, and alter he had kissed the hem of his garment, cried out, "my lord, save yourself immediately." the unfortunate youth lifting up his head, exclaimed, "what news dost thou bring?" "my lord," said he, "there is no time to be lost; the sultan is incensed against you, has sent to confiscate your estates, and to seize your person." the words of this faithful and affectionate slave occasioned buddir ad deen houssun great alarm. "may not i have so much time," said he, "as to take some money and jewels along with me?" "no, sir," replied the slave, "the grand vizier, will be here this moment; be gone immediately, save yourself." the unhappy youth rose hastily from his sofa, put his feet in his sandals, and after he had covered his head with the skirt of his vest, that his face might not be known, fled, without knowing what way to go, to avoid the impending danger. he ran without stopping till he came to the public burying-ground, and as it was growing dark, resolved to pass that night in his father's tomb. it was a large edifice, covered by a dome, which noor ad deen ali, as is common with the mussulmauns, had erected for his sepulture. on the way buddir ad deen met a jew, who was a banker and merchant, and was returning from a place where his affairs had called him, to the city. the jew, knowing buddir ad deen, stopped, and saluted him very courteously. isaac the jew, after he had paid his respects to buddir ad deen houssun, by kissing his hand, said, "my lord, dare i be so bold as to ask whither you are going at this time of night alone, and so much troubled? has any thing disquieted you?" "yes," said buddir ad deen, "a while ago i was asleep, and my father appeared to me in a dream, looking very fiercely upon me, as if much displeased. i started out of my sleep in alarm, and came out immediately to go and pray upon his tomb." "my lord," said the jew (who did not know the true reason why buddir ad deen had left the town), "your father of happy memory, and my good lord, had store of merchandize in several vessels, which are yet at sea, and belong to you; i beg the favour of you to grant me the refusal of them before any other merchant. i am able to pay down ready money for all the goods that are in your ships: and to begin, if you will give me those that happen to come in the first that arrives in safety, i will pay you down in part of payment a thousand sequins," and drawing out a bag from under his vest, he shewed it him sealed up with one seal. buddir ad deen houssun being banished from home, and dispossessed of all that he had in the world, looked on this proposal of the jew as a favour from heaven, and therefore accepted it with joy. "my lord," said the jew, "then you sell me for a thousand sequins the lading of the first of your ships that shall arrive in port?" "yes," answered buddir ad deen, "i sell it to you for a thousand sequins; it is done." upon this the jew delivered him the bag of a thousand sequins, and offered to count them, but buddir ad deen said he would trust his word. "since it is so, my lord," said he, "be pleased to favour me with a small note of the bargain we have made." as he spoke, he pulled the inkhorn from his girdle, and taking a small reed out of it neatly cut for writing, presented it to him with a piece of paper. buddir ad deen houssun wrote these words: "this writing is to testify, that buddir ad deen houssun of bussorah, has sold to isaac the jew, for the sum of one thousand sequins, received in hand, the lading of the first of his ships that shall arrive in this port." this note he delivered to the jew, after having stamped it with his seal, and then took his leave of him. while isaac pursued his journey to the city, buddir ad deen made the best of his way to his father's tomb. when he came to it, he prostrated himself to the ground, and, with his eyes full of tears, deplored his miserable condition. "alas!" said he, "unfortunate buddir ad deen, what will become of thee? whither canst thou fly for refuge against the unjust prince who persecutes thee? was it not enough to be afflicted by the death of so dear a father? must fortune needs add new misfortunes to just complaints?" he continued a long time in this posture, but at last rose up, and leaning his head upon his father's tombstone, his sorrows returned more violently than before; so that he sighed and mourned, till, overcome with heaviness, he sunk upon the floor, and drops asleep. he had not slept long, when a genie, who had retired to the cemetery during the day, and was intending, according to his custom, to range about the world at night, entered the sepulchre, and finding buddir ad deen lying on his back, was surprised at his beauty. when the genie had attentively considered buddir ad deen houssun, he said to himself, "to judge of this creature by his beauty, he would seem to be an angel of the terrestrial paradise, whom god has sent to put the world in a flame by his charms." at last, after he had satisfied himself with looking at him, he tool; a flight into the air, where meeting by chance with a perie, they saluted one another; after which he said to her, "pray descend with me into the cemetery, where i dwell, and i will shew you a beauty worthy your admiration." the perie consented, and both descended in an instant; they came into the tomb. "look," said the genie, shewing her buddir ad deen houssun, "did you ever see a youth more beautiful?" the perie having attentively observed buddir ad deen, replied, "i must confess that he is a very handsome man, but i am just come from seeing an objets at cairo, more admirable than this; and if you will hear me, i will relate her unhappy fate." "you will very much oblige me," answered the genie. "you must know then," said the perie, "that the sultan of egypt has a vizier, shumse ad deen mahummud, who has a daughter most beautiful and accomplished. the sultan having heard of this young lady's beauty, sent the other day for her father, and said, 'i understand you have a daughter to marry; i would have her for my bride: will not you consent?' the vizier, who did not expect this proposal, was troubled, and instead of accepting it joyfully, which another in his place would certainly have done, he answered the sultan: 'may it please your majesty, i am not worthy of the honour you would confer upon me, and i most humbly beseech you to pardon me, if i do not accede to your request. you know i had a brother, who had the honour, as well as myself, to be one of your viziers: we had some difference together, which was the cause of his leaving me suddenly. since that time i have had no account of him till within these four days, that i heard he died at bussorah, being grand vizier to the sultan of that kingdom. "'he has left a son, and there having been an agreement between us to match our children together, i am persuaded he intended that match when he died; and being desirous to fulfil the promise on my part, i conjure your majesty to grant me permission.' "the sultan of egypt, provoked at this denial of his vizier said to him in anger which he could not restrain: 'is this the way in which you requite my condescension in stooping so low as to desire your alliance? i know how to revenge your presumption in daring to prefer another to me, and i swear that your daughter shall be married to the most contemptible and ugly of my slaves.' having thus spoken, he angrily commanded the vizier to quit his presence. the vizier retired to his palace full of confusion, and overwhelmed in despair. "this very day the sultan sent for one of his grooms, who is hump-backed, big-bellied, crook legged, and as ugly as a hobgoblin; and after having commanded the vizier to marry his daughter to this ghastly slave, he caused the contract to be made and signed by witnesses in his own presence. the preparations for this fantastical wedding are all ready, and this very moment all the slaves belonging to the lords of the court of egypt are waiting at the door of a bath, each with a flambeau in his hand, for the crook-back groom, who is bathing, to go along with them to his bride, who is already dressed to receive him; and when i departed from cairo, the ladies met for that purpose were going to conduct her in her nuptial attire to the hall, where she is to receive her hump-backed bridegroom, and is this minute expecting him. i have seen her, and do assure you, that no person can behold her without admiration." when the perie left off speaking, the genie said to her, "whatever you think or say, i cannot be persuaded that the girl's beauty exceeds that of this young man." "i will not dispute it with you," answered the perie; "for i must confess he deserves to be married to that charming creature, whom they design for hump-back; and i think it were a deed worthy of us to obstruct the sultan of egypt's injustice, and put this young gentleman in the room of the slave." "you are in the right," answered the genie; "i am extremely obliged to you for so good a thought; let us deceive him. i consent to your revenge upon the sultan of egypt; let us comfort a distressed father, and make his daughter as happy as she thinks herself miserable. i will do my utmost endeavours to make this project succeed, and i am persuaded you will not be backward. i will be at the pains to carry him to cairo before he awakes, and afterwards leave it to your care to carry him elsewhere, when we have accomplished our design." the perie and the genie having thus concerted what they had to do, the genie lifted up buddir ad deen houssun gently, and with an inconceivable swiftness conveyed him through the air and set him down at the door of a building next to the bath, whence hump-back was to come with a train of slaves that waited for him. buddir ad deen awoke, and was naturally alarmed at finding himself in the middle of a city he knew not; he was going to cry out, but the genie touched him gently on the shoulder, and forbad him to speak. he then put a torch in his hand, saying, "go, and mix with the crowd at the door of the bath; follow them till you come into a hall, where they are going to celebrate a marriage. the bridegroom is a hump-backed fellow, and by that you will easily know him. put yourself at the right hand as you go in, open the purse of sequins you have in your bosom, distribute them among the musicians and dancers as they go along; and when you are got into the hall, give money also to the female slaves you see about the bride; but every time you put your hand in your purse, be sure to take out a whole handful, and do not spare them. observe to do everything exactly as i have desired you; be not afraid of any person, and leave the rest to a superior power, who will order matters as he thinks fit." buddir ad deen, being well instructed in all that he was to do, advanced towards the door of the bath. the first thing he did was to light his torch at that of a slave; and then mixing among them as if he belonged to some noblemen of cairo, he marched along as they did, and followed humpback, who came out of the bath, and mounted a horse from the sultan's own stable. buddir ad deen coming near to the musicians, and men and women dancers, who went just before the bridegroom, pulled out time after time whole handfuls of sequins, which he distributed among them: and as he thus gave his money with an unparalleled grace and engaging mien, all who received it fixed their eyes upon him; and after they had a full view of his face, they found him so handsome that they could not withdraw their attention. at last they came to the gates of the vizier who little thought his nephew was so near. the doorkeepers, to prevent any disorder, kept back all the slaves that carried torches, and would not admit them. buddir ad deen was likewise refused; but the musicians, who had free entrance, stood still, and protested they would not go in, if they hindered him from accompanying them. "he is not one of the slaves'" said they; "look upon him, and you will soon be satisfied. he is certainly a young stranger, who is curious to see the ceremonies observed at marriages in this city;" and saying thus, they put him in the midst of them, and carried him with them in spite of the porters. they took his torch out of his hand, gave it to the first they met, and having brought him into the hall, placed him at the right hand of the hump-backed bridegroom, who sat near the vizier's daughter on a throne most richly adorned. she appeared very lovely, but in her face there was nothing to be seen but vexation and grief. the cause of this was easily to be guessed, when she had by her side a bridegroom so very deformed, and so unworthy of her love. the nuptial seat was in the midst of an estrade. the ladies of the emirs, viziers, those of the sultan's bed-chamber, and several other ladies of the court and city, were placed on each side, a little lower, every one according to her rank, and richly dressed, holding a large wax taper in her hands. when they saw buddir ad deen houssun, all fixed their eyes upon him, and admiring his shape, his behaviour, and the beauty of his face, they could not forbear looking upon him. when he was seated every one deft their seats, came near him to have a full view of his face, and all found themselves moved with love and admiration. the disparity between buddir ad deen houssun and the hump-backed groom, who made such a contemptible figure, occasioned great murmuring among the company; insomuch that the ladies cried out, "we must give our bride to this handsome young gentleman, and not to this ugly humpback." nor did they rest here, but uttered imprecations against the sultan, who, abusing his absolute power, would unite ugliness and beauty together. they also mocked the bridegroom, so as to put him out of countenance, to the great satisfaction of the spectators, whose shouts for some time put a stop to the concert of music in the hall. at last the musicians began again, and the women who had dressed the bride surrounded her. each time that the bride retired to change her dress, she on her return passed by hump-back without giving him one look, and went towards buddir ad deen, before whom she presented herself in her new attire. on this occasion, buddir ad deen, according to the instructions given him by the genie, failed not to put his hands in his purse, and pulled out handfuls of sequins, which he distributed among the women that followed the bride. nor did he forget the players and dancers, but also threw money to them. it was pleasant to see how they pushed one another to gather it up. they shewed themselves thankful for his liberality. when the ceremony of changing habits was passed, the music ceased and the company retired. the bride repaired to the nuptial chamber, whither her attendants followed to undress her, and none remained in the hall but the hump-back groom, buddir ad deen, and some of the domestics. hump-back, who was enraged at buddir ad deen, suspecting him to be his rival, gave him a cross look, and said, "and thou, what dost thou wait for? why art thou not gone as well as the rest? depart!" buddir ad deen having no pretence to stay, withdrew, not knowing what to do with himself. but before he got out of the vestibule, the genie and the perie met and stopped him. "whither are you going?" said the perie; "stay, hump-back is not in the hall, return, and introduce yourself into the bride's chamber. as soon as you are alone with her, tell her boldly that you are her husband, that the sultan's intention was only to make sport with the groom. in the mean time we will take care that the hump-back shall not return, and let nothing hinder your passing the night with your bride, for she is yours and not his." while the perie thus encouraged buddir ad deen, and instructed him how he should behave himself, hump-back had really gone out of the room for a moment. the genie went to him in the shape of a monstrous cat, mewing at a most fearful rate. hump-back called to the cat, he clapped his hands to drive her away, but instead of retreating, she stood upon her hinder feet, staring with her eyes like fire, looking fiercely at him, mewing louder than she did at first, and increasing in size till she was as large as an ass. at this sight, hump-back would have cried out for help, but his fear was so great, that he stood gaping and could not utter one word. that he might have no time to recover, the genie changed himself immediately into a large buffalo, and in this stripe called to him, with a voice that redoubled his fear, "thou hump-backed villain!" at these words the affrighted groom cast himself upon the ground, and covering his face with his vest, that he might not see this dreadful beast, "sovereign prince of buffaloes," said he, "what is it you want of me?" "woe be to thee," replied the genie, "hast thou the presumption to venture to marry my mistress?" "o my lord," said hump-back, "i pray you to pardon me, if i am guilty, it is through ignorance. i did not know that this lady had a buffalo to her sweetheart: command me in anything you please, i give you my oath that i am ready to obey you." "by death," replied the genie; "if thou goest out from hence, or speakest a word till the sun rises, i will crush thy head to pieces. i warn thee to obey, for if thou hast the impudence to return, it shall cost thee thy life." when the genie had done speaking, he transformed himself into the shape of a man, took hump-back by the legs, and after having set him against the wall with his head downwards, "if thou stir," said he, "before the sun rise, as i have told thee already, i will take thee by the heels again, and dash thy head in a thousand pieces against the wall." to return to buddir ad deen. prompted by the genie and the presence of the perie, he returned to the hall, from whence he slips into the bride-chamber, where he sat down, expecting the success of his adventure. after a while the bride arrived, conducted by an old matron, who came no farther than the door, without looking in to see whether it were hump-back or another that was there, and then retired. the beautiful bride was agreeably surprised to find instead of hump-back a handsome youth, who gracefully addressed her. "what! my dear friend," said she, "by your being here at this time of night you must be my husband's comrade?" "no, madam," said buddir ad deen, "i am of another quality than that ugly hump-back." "but," said she, "you do not consider that you speak degradingly of my husband." "he your husband," replied he: "can you retain those thoughts so long? be convinced of your mistake, for so much beauty must never be sacrificed to the most contemptible of mankind. it is i that am the happy mortal for whom it is reserved. the sultan had a mind to make himself merry, by putting this trick upon the vizier your father, but he chose me to be your real husband. you might have observed how the ladies, the musicians, the dancers, your women, and all the servants of your family, were pleased with this comedy. we have sent hump-back to his stable again." at this discourse the vizier's daughter (who was more like one dead than alive when she came into the bride-chamber) put on a gay air, which made her so handsome, that buddir ad deen was charmed with her graces. "i did not expect," said she, "to meet with so pleasing a surprise; and i had condemned myself to live unhappy all my days. but my good fortune is so much the greater, that i possess in you a man worthy of my tenderest affection." buddir ad deen, overjoyed to see himself possessor of so many charms, retired with his bride, and laid his vesture aside, with the bag that he had from the jew; which, notwithstanding all the money he had dispersed, was still full. towards morning, while the two lovers were asleep, the genie, who had met again with the perie, said, "it is time to finish what we have so successfully carried on; let us not be overtaken by day-light, which will soon appear; go you and bring off the young man again without awaking him." the perie went into the bed-chamber where the two lovers were fast asleep, took up buddir ad deen in his under vest and drawers; and in company with the genie with wonderful swiftness fled away with him to the gates of damascus in syria, where they arrived just at the time when the officers of the mosques, appointed for that end, were calling the people to prayers at break of day. the perie laid buddir ad deen softly on the ground, close by the gate, and departed with the genie. the gate of the city being opened, and many people assembled, they were surprised to see a youth lying in his shirt and drawers upon the ground. one said, "he has been hard put to it to get away from his mistress, that he could not get time to put on his clothes." "look," said another, "how people expose themselves; sure enough he has spent most part of the night in drinking with his friends, till he has got drunk, and then, perhaps, having occasion to go out, instead of returning, is come this length, and not having his senses about him, was overtaken with sleep." others were of another opinion; but nobody could guess what had been the real occasion of his coming thither. a small puff of wind happening to blow at this time, uncovered his breast, which was whiter than snow. every one being struck with admiration at the fineness of his complexion, they spoke so loud that they awaked him. his surprise was as great as theirs, when he found himself at the gate of a city where he had never been before, and encompassed by a crowd of people gazing at him. "inform me," said he, "for god's sake, where i am, and what you would have?" one of the crowd spoke to him saying, "young man, the gates of the city were just now opened, and as we came out we found you lying here in this condition: have you lain here all night? and do not you know that you are at one of the gates of damascus?" "at one of the gates of damascus!" answered buddir ad deen, "surely you mock me. when i lay down to sleep last night i was at cairo." when he had said this, some of the people, moved with compassion for him, exclaimed, "it is a pity that such a handsome young man should have lost his senses;" and so went away. "my son," said an old man to him, "you know not what you say. how is it possible that you, being this morning at damascus, could be last night at cairo?" "it is true," said buddir ad deen, "and i swear to you, that i was all day yesterday at bussorah." he had no sooner said this than all the people fell into a fit of laughter, and cried out, "he's a fool, he's a madman." there were some, however, that pitied him because of his youth; and one among the company said to him, "my son, you must certainly be crazed, you do not consider what you say. is it possible that a man could yesterday be at bussorah, the same night at cairo, and this morning at damascus? surely you are asleep still, come rouse up your spirits." "what i say," answered buddir ad deen houssun, "is so true that last night i was married in the city of cairo." all those who laughed before, could not forbear again at this declaration. "recollect yourself," said the same person who spoke before; "you must have dreamt all this, and the fancy still possesses your brain." "i am sensible of what i say," answered the young man. "pray can you tell me how it was possible for me to go in a dream to cairo, where i am very certain i was in person, and where my bride was seven times brought before me, each time dressed in a different habit, and where i saw an ugly hump backed fellow, to whom they intended to give her? besides, i want to know what is become of my vest, my turban, and the bag of sequins i had at cairo?" though he assured them that all these things were matters of fact, yet they could not forbear to laugh at him: which put him into such confusion, that he knew not what to think of all those adventures. after buddir ad deen houssun had confidently affirmed all that he said to be true, he rose up to go into the town, and every one who followed him called out, "a madman, a fool." upon this some looked out at their windows, some came to their doors, and others joined with those that were about him, calling out as they did, "a madman;" but not knowing for what. in this perplexity the affrighted young man happened to come before a pastry-cook's shop, and went into it to avoid the rabble. this pastry-cook had formerly been captain to a troop of arabian robbers, who plundered the caravans; and though he was become a citizen of damascus, where he behaved himself to every one's satisfaction, yet he was dreaded by all who knew him; wherefore, as soon as he came out to the rabble who followed buddir ad deen, they dispersed. the pastry-cook asked him who he was, and what brought him thither. buddir ad deen told him all, not concealing his birth, nor the death of his father the grand vizier. he afterwards gave him an account why he had left bussorah; how, after he had fallen asleep the night following upon his father's tomb, he found himself when he awoke at cairo, where he had married a lady; and at last, in what amazement he was, when he found himself at damascus, without being able to penetrate into all those wonderful adventures. "your history is one of the most surprising," said the pastry-cook; "but if you will follow my advice, you will let no man know those matters you have revealed to me, but patiently wait till heaven thinks fit to put an end to your misfortunes. you shall be welcome to stay with me till then; and as i have no children, i will own you for my son, if you consent; after you are so adopted, you may freely walk the city, without being exposed any more to the insults of the rabble." though this adoption was below the son of a grand vizier, buddir ad deen was glad to accept of the pastry-cook's proposal, judging it the best thing he could do, considering his circumstances. the cook clothed him, called for witnesses, and went before a notary, where he acknowledged him for his son. after this, buddir ad deen lived with him under the name of houssun, and learned the pastry-trade. while this passed at damascus, the daughter of shumse ad deen awoke, and finding buddir ad deen gone, supposed he had risen softly for fear of disturbing her, but would soon return. as she was in expectation of him, her father the vizier, (who was vexed at the affront put upon him by the sultan) came and knocked at her chamber-door, to bewail her sad destiny. he called her by her name, and she knowing him by his voice, immediately got up, and opened the door. she kissed his hand, and received him with so much pleasure in her countenance, that she surprised the vizier who expected to find her drowned in tears, and as much grieved as himself. "unhappy wretch!" said he in a passion, "do you appear before me thus? after the hideous sacrifice you have just consummated, can you see me with so much satisfaction?" the new bride seeing her father angry at her pleasant countenance, said to him, "for god's sake, sir, do not reproach me wrongfully; it is not the hump-back fellow, whom i abhor more than death, it is not that monster i have married. every body laughed him to scorn, and put him so out of countenance, that he was forced to run away and hide himself, to make room for a noble youth, who is my real husband." "what fable do you tell me?" said shumse ad deen, roughly. "what! did not crook-back lie with you tonight?" "no, sir," said she, "it was the youth i mentioned, who has large eyes and black eyebrows." at these words the vizier, lost all patience, and exclaimed in anger, "ah, wicked woman! you will make me distracted!" "it is you, father," said she, "that put me out of my senses by your incredulity." "so, it is not true," replied the vizier, "that hump-back----" "let us talk no more of hump-back," said she, "a curse upon hump-back. father, i assure you once more, that i did not bed with him, but with my dear spouse, who, i believe, is not far off." shumse ad deen went out to seek him, but, instead of seeing buddir ad deen, was surprised to find hump-back with his head on the ground, and his heels uppermost, as the genie had set him against the wall. "what is the meaning of this?" said he; "who placed you thus?" crookback, knowing it to be the vizier answered, "alas! alas! it is you then that would marry me to the mistress of a genie in the form of a buffalo." shumse ad deen mahummud, when he heard hump-back speak thus, thought he was raving, bade him move, and stand upon his legs. "i will take care how i stir," said hump-back, "unless the sun be risen. know, sir, that when i came last night to your palace, suddenly a black cat appeared to me, and in an instant grew as big as a buffalo. i have not forgotten what he enjoined me, therefore you may depart, and leave me here." the vizier instead of going away, took him by the heels, and made him stand up, when hump-back ran off, without looking behind him; and coming to the palace presented himself to the sultan, who laughed heartily when informed how the genie had served him. shumse ad deen returned to his daughter's chamber, more astonished than before. "my abused daughter," said he, "can you give me no farther light in this miraculous affair?" "sir," replied she, "i can give you no other account than i have done already. here are my husband's clothes, which he put off last night; perhaps you may find something among them that may solve your doubt." she then shewed him buddir ad deen's turban, which he examined narrowly on all sides, saying, "i should take this to be a vizier's turban, if it were not made after the bussorah fashion." but perceiving something to be sewed between the stuff and the lining, he called for scissors, and having unripped it, found the paper which noor ad deen ali had given to his son upon his deathbed, and which buddir ad deen houssun had sewn in his turban for security. shumse ad deen having opened the paper, knew his brother's hand, and found this superscription, "for my son buddir ad deen houssun." before he could make any reflections upon it, his daughter delivered him the bag, that lay under the garments, which he likewise opened, and found it full of sequins: for, notwithstanding all the liberality of buddir ad deen, it was still kept full by the genie and perie. he read the following words upon a note in the bag: "a thousand sequins belonging to isaac the jew." and these lines underneath, which the jew had written, "delivered to my lord buddir ad deen houssun, for the cargo of the first of those ships that formerly belonged to the noble vizier, his father, of blessed memory, sold to me upon its arrival in this place." he had scarcely read these words, when he groaned heavily, and fainted away. the vizier shumse ad deen being recovered from his fit by the aid of his daughter, and the women she called to her assistance; "daughter," said he, "do not alarm yourself at this accident, occasioned by what is scarcely credible. your bridegroom is your cousin, the son of my beloved and deceased brother. the thousand sequins in the bag reminds me of a quarrel i had with him, and is without the dowry he gives you. god be praised for all things, and particularly for this miraculous adventure, which demonstrates his almighty power." then looking again upon his brother's writing, he kissed it several times, shedding abundance of tears. he looked over the book from beginning to end. in it he found the date of his brother's arrival at bussorah, of his marriage, and of the birth of his son; and when he compared them with the day of his own marriage, and the birth of his daughter at cairo, he wondered at the exact coincidence which appeared in every circumstance. the happy discovery put him into such a transport of joy, that he took the book, with the ticket of the bag, and shewed them to the sultan, who pardoned what was past, and was so much pleased with the relation of this adventure, that he caused it with all its circumstances to be put in writing for the information of posterity. meanwhile, the vizier. shumse ad deen could not comprehend the reason why his nephew did not appear; he expected him every moment, and was impatient to receive him to his arms. after he had waited seven days in vain, he searched through all cairo, but could procure no intelligence of him, which threw him into great perplexity. "this is the strangest occurrence," said he, "that ever happened." in order to certify it, he thought fit to draw up in writing with his own hand an account of the manner in which the wedding had been solemnized; how the hall and his daughter's bed-chamber were furnished, with the other circumstances. he likewise made the turban, the bag, and the rest of buddir ad deen's raiment into a bundle, and locked them up. after some days were past, the vizier's daughter perceived herself pregnant, and after nine months was brought to bed of a son. a nurse was provided for the child, besides other women and slaves to wait upon him; and his grandfather called him agib. when young agib had attained the age of seven, the vizier, instead of teaching him to read at home, put him to school with a master who was in great esteem; and two slaves were ordered to wait upon him. agib used to play with his schoolfellows, and as they were all inferior to him in rank, they shewed him great respect, according to the example of their master, who many times would pass by faults in him that he would correct in his other pupils. this indulgence spoiled agib; he became proud and insolent, would have his play-fellows bear all from him, and would submit to nothing from them, but be master every where; and if any took the liberty to thwart him, he would call them a thousand names, and many times beat them. in short, all the scholars grew weary of his insolence, and complained of him to their master. he answered, "that they must have patience." but when he saw that agib grew still more and more overbearing, and occasioned him much trouble, "children," said he to his scholars, "i find agib is a little insolent gentleman; i will shew you how to mortify him, so that he shall never torment you any more. nay, i believe it will make him leave the school. when he comes again to-morrow, place yourselves round him, and let one of you call out, 'come, let us play, but upon condition, that every one who desires to play shall tell his own name, and the names of his father and mother; they who refuse shall be esteemed bastards, and not be suffered to play in our company.'" next day when they were gathered together, they failed not to follow their master's instructions. they placed themselves round agib, and one of them called out, "let us begin a play, but on condition that he who cannot tell his own name, and that of his father and mother, shall not play at all." they all cried out, and so did agib, "we consent." then he that spoke first asked every one the question, and all fulfilled the condition except agib, who answered, "my name is agib, my mother is called the lady of beauty, and my father shumse ad deen mahummud, vizier to the sultan." at these words all the children cried out, "agib, what do you say? that is not the name of your father, but your grandfather." "a curse on you," said he in a passion. "what! dare you say that the vizier is not my father?" "no, no," cried they with great laughter, "he is your grandfather, and you shall not play with us. nay we will take care how we come into your company." having spoken thus, they all left him, scoffing him, and laughing among themselves, which mortified agib so much that he wept. the schoolmaster who was near, and heard all that passed, came up, and speaking to agib, said, "agib, do not you know that the vizier is not your father, but your grandfather, and the father of your mother the lady of beauty? we know not the name of your father any more than you do. we only know that the sultan was going to marry your mother to one of his grooms, a humpback fellow; but a genie lay with her. this is hard upon you, but ought to teach you to treat your schoolfellows with less haughtiness." agib being nettled at this, ran hastily out of the school. he went directly sobbing to his mother's chamber, who being alarmed to see him thus grieved, asked the reason. he could not answer for tears, so great was his mortification, and it was long ere he could speak plain enough to repeat what had been said to him, and had occasioned his sorrow. when he came to himself. "mother," said he "for the love of god be pleased to tell me who is my father?" "my son," she replied, "shumse ad deen mahummud, who every day caresses you so kindly, is your father." "you do not tell me truth," returned agib; "he is your father, and none of mine. but whose son am i?" at this question, the lady of beauty calling to mind her wedding night, which had been succeeded by a long widowhood, began to shed tears, repining bitterly at the loss of so handsome a husband as buddir ad deen. whilst the lady of beauty and agib were both weeping, the vizier entered, who demanded the reason of their sorrow. the lady told him the shame agib had undergone at school, which so much affected the vizier that he joined his tears with theirs, and judging from this that the misfortune which had happened to his daughter was the common discourse of the town, he was mortified to the quick. being thus afflicted, he went to the sultan's palace, and falling prostrate at his feet, most humbly intreated permission to make a journey in search of his nephew buddir ad deen houssun. for he could not bear any longer that the people of the city should believe a genie had disgraced his daughter. the sultan was much concerned at the vizier's affliction, approved his resolution, and gave him leave to travel. he caused a passport also to be written for him, requesting in the strongest terms all kings and princes in whose dominions buddir ad deen might sojourn, to grant that the vizier might conduct him to cairo. shumse ad deen, not knowing how to express his gratitude to the sultan, fell down before him a second time, while the floods of tears he shed bore sufficient testimony to his feelings. at last, having wished the sultan all manner of prosperity, he took his leave and returned to his house, where he disposed every thing for his journey; and the preparations were carried on with so much diligence, that in four days after he left the city, accompanied with his daughter the lady of beauty, and his grandson agib. they travelled nineteen days without intermission; but on the twentieth, arriving at a pleasant mead, a small distance from the gate of damascus, they halted, and pitched their tents upon the banks of a river which fertilizes the vicinity, and runs through the town, one of the pleasantest in syria, once the capital of the caliphs; and celebrated for its elegant buildings, the politeness of its inhabitants, and the abundance of its conveniences. the vizier declared he would stay in that pleasant place two days, and pursue his journey on the third. in the mean time he gave his retinue leave to go to damascus; and almost all of them made use of it: some influenced by curiosity to see a city they had heard so much of, and others by the opportunity of vending the egyptian goods they had brought with them, or buying stuffs, and the rarities of the country. the beautiful lady desiring her son agib might share in the satisfaction of viewing that celebrated city, ordered the black eunuch, who acted in quality of his governor, to conduct him thither. agib, in magnificent apparel, went with the eunuch, who had a large cane in his hand. they had no sooner entered the city, than agib, fair and glorious as the day, attracted the eyes of the people. some got out of their houses to gain a nearer and narrower view of him; others put their heads out of the windows, and those who passed along the street were not satisfied in stopping to look upon him, but kept pace with him, to prolong the pleasure of the agreeable sight: in fine, there was not a person that did not admire him, and bestow a thousand benedictions on the father and mother that had given being to so fine a child. by chance the eunuch and he passed by the shop of buddir ad deen houssun, and there the crowd was so great, that they were forced to halt. the pastry-cook who had adopted buddir ad deen houssun had died some years before, and left him his shop and all his property, and he conducted the pastry trade so dexterously, that he had gained great reputation in damascus. buddir ad deen seeing so great a crowd before his door, who were gazing so attentively upon agib and the black eunuch, stepped out to see them himself. having cast his eyes upon agib, buddir ad deen found himself moved, he knew not how, nor for what reason. he was not struck like the people with the brilliant beauty of the boy; another cause unknown to him gave rise to the uneasiness and emotion he felt. it was the force of blood that wrought in this tender father; who, laying aside his business, made up to agib, and with an engaging air, said to him: "my little lord, who hast won my soul, be so kind as to come into my shop, and eat a bit of such fare as i have; that i may have the pleasure of admiring you at my ease." these words he pronounced with such tenderness, that tears trickled from his eyes. little agib was moved when he saw his emotion; and turning to the eunuch, said, "this honest man speaks in such an affectionate manner, that i cannot avoid complying with his request; let us step into his house, and taste his pastry." "it would be a fine thing truly," replied the slave, "to see the son of a vizier go into a pastry-cook's shop to eat; do not imagine that i will suffer any such thing." "alas! my lord," cried buddir ad deen, "it is cruelty to trust the conduct of you in the hands of a person who treats you so harshly." then applying himself to the eunuch, "my good friend," continued he, "pray do not hinder this young lord from granting me the favour i ask; do not put such mortification upon me: rather do me the honour to walk in along with him, and by so doing, you will let the world know, that, though your outside is brown like a chestnut, your inside is as white. do you know," continued he, "that i am master of the secret to make you white, instead of being black as you are?" this set the eunuch a laughing, and then he asked what that secret was. "i will tell you," replied buddir ad deen, who repeated some verses in praise of black eunuchs, implying, that it was by their ministry that the honour of princes and of all great men was secured. the eunuch was so charmed with these verses, that, without further hesitation, he suffered agib to go into the shop, and went in with him himself. buddir ad deen houssun was overjoyed at having obtained what he had so passionately desired, and, falling again to the work he had discontinued "i was making," said he, "cream-tarts; and you must, with submission, eat of them. i am persuaded you will find them good; for my own mother, who made them incomparably well, taught me, and the people send to buy them of me from all quarters of the town." this said, he took a cream-tart out of the oven, and after strewing upon it some pomegranate kernels and sugar, set it before agib, who found it very delicious. another was served up to the eunuch, and he gave the same judgment. while they were both eating, buddir ad deen viewed agib very attentively; and after looking upon him again and again, it came into his mind that possibly he might have such a son by his charming wife, from whom he had been so soon and so cruelly separated; and the very thought drew tears from his eyes. he intended to have put some questions to little agib about his journey to damascus; but the child had no time to gratify his curiosity, for the eunuch pressing him to return to his grandfather's tent, took him away as soon as he had done eating. buddir ad deen houssun, not contented with looking after him, shut up his shop immediately, and followed him. buddir ad deen houssun ran after agib and the eunuch, and overtook them before they had reached the gate of the city. the eunuch perceiving he followed them, was extremely surprised: "you impertinent fellow," said he, with an angry tone, "what do you want?" "my dear friend," replied buddir ad deen, "do not trouble yourself; i have a little business out of town, and i must needs go and look after it." this answer, however, did not at all satisfy the eunuch, who turning to agib, said, "this is all owing to you; i foresaw i should repent of my complaisance; you would needs go into the man's shop; it was not wisely done in me to give you leave." "perhaps," replied agib, "he has real business out of town, and the road is free to every body." while this passed they kept walking together, without looking behind them, till they came near the vizier's tents, upon which they turned about to see if buddir ad deen followed them. agib, perceiving he was within two paces of him, reddened and whitened alternately, according to the different emotions that affected him. he was afraid the grand vizier his grandfather should come to know he had been in the pastry shop, and had eaten there. in this dread, he took up a large stone that lay at his foot and throwing it at buddir ad deen, hit him in the forehead, and wounded him so that his face was covered with blood. the eunuch gave buddir ad deen to understand, he had no reason to complain of a mischance that he had merited and brought upon himself. buddir ad deen turned towards the city staunching the blood of the wound with his apron, which he had not put off. "i was a fool," said he within himself, "for leaving my house, to take so much pains about this brat; for doubtless he would never have used me after this manner, if he had not thought i had some ill design against him." when he got home, he had his wound dressed, and softened the sense of his mischance by the reflection that there was an infinite number of people upon the earth, who were yet more unfortunate than he. buddir ad deen kept on the pastry-trade at damascus, and his uncle shumse ad deen mahummud went from thence three days after his arrival. he went by way of emaus, hanah, and halep; then crossed the euphrates, and after passing through mardin, moussoul, singier, diarbeker, and several other towns, arrived at last at bussorah. immediately after his arrival he desired audience of the sultan, who was no sooner informed of his quality than he admitted him to his presence, received him very favourably, and inquired the occasion of his journey to bussorah. "sire," replied the vizier "i come to know what is become of the son of my brother, who has had the honour to serve your majesty." "noor ad deen ali," said the sultan, "has been long dead; as for his son, all i can tell you of him is, that he disappeared suddenly, about two months after his father's death, and nobody has seen him since, notwithstanding all the inquiry i ordered to be made. but his mother, who is the daughter of one of my viziers, is still alive." shumse ad deen mahummud desired leave of the sultan to take her to egypt; and having obtained permission, without waiting till the next day, inquired after her place of abode, and that very hour went to her house, accompanied with his daughter and his grandson. the widow of noor ad deen ali resided still in the same place where her husband had lived. it was a stately fabric, adorned with marble pillars: but shumse ad deen did not stop to view it. at his entry he kissed the gate, and the piece of marble upon which his brother's name was written in letters of gold. he asked to speak with his sister-in-law, and was told by her servants, that she was in a small building covered by a dome, to which they directed in the middle of a very spacious court. this tender mother used to spend the greatest part of the day and night in that room which she had built as a representation of the tomb of her son buddir ad deen houssun, whom she supposed to be dead after so long an absence. she was pouring tears over his memorial when shumse ad deen entering, found her buried in the deepest affliction. he made his compliment, and after beseeching her to suspend her tears and sighs, informed her he had the honour to be her brother-in-law, and acquainted her with the reason of his journey from cairo to bussorah. shumse ad deen mahummud, after acquainting his sister-in-law with all that had passed at cairo on his daughter's wedding-night, and informing her of the surprise occasioned by the discovery of the paper sewed up in buddir ad deen's turban, presented to her agib and the beautiful lady. the widow of noor ad deen, who had still continued sitting like a woman dejected, and weaned from the affairs of this world, no sooner understood by his discourse that her dear son, whom she lamented so bitterly, might still be alive, than she arose, and repeatedly embraced the beautiful lady and her grandchild agib; and perceiving in the youth the features of buddir ad deen, drops tears different from what she had been so long accustomed to shed. she could not forbear kissing the youth, who, for his part, received her embraces with all the demonstrations of joy he was capable of shewing. "sister," said shumse ad deen, "it is time to dry your tears, and suppress your sighs; you must think of going with us to egypt. the sultan of bussorah gives me leave to carry you thither, and i doubt not you will consent. i am in hopes we shall at last find out your son my nephew; and if we do, the history of him, of you, of my own daughter, and of my own adventures, will deserve to be committed to writing, and transmitted to posterity." the widow of noor ad deen heard this proposal with pleasure, and ordered preparations to be made for her departure. while they were making, shumse ad deen desired a second audience, and after taking leave of the sultan, who dismissed him with ample marks of respect, and gave him a considerable present for himself, and another of great value for the sultan of egypt, he set out from bussorah once more for the city of damascus. when he arrived in the neighbourhood of damascus, he ordered his tents to be pitched without the gate, at which he designed to enter the city; and gave out he would tarry there three days, to give his suit rest, and buy up curiosities to present to the sultan of egypt. while he was employed in selecting the finest stuffs which the principal merchants had brought to his tents, agib begged the black eunuch his governor to carry him through the city, in order to see what he had not had leisure to view before; and to inquire what was become of the pastry cook whom he had wounded. the eunuch complying with his request, went along with him towards the city, after leave obtained of the beautiful lady his mother. they entered damascus by the paradise-gate, which lay next to the tents of the vizier they walked through the great squares and the public places where the richest goods were sold, and took a view of the superb mosque at the hour of prayer, between noon and sun-set. when they passed by the shop of buddir ad deen houssun, whom they still found employed in making cream tarts, "i salute you sir," said agib; "do you know me? do you remember you ever saw me before?" buddir ad deen hearing these words, fixed his eyes upon him, and recognizing him (such was the surprising effect of paternal love!), felt the same emotion as when he saw him first; he was confused, and instead of making any answer, continued a long time without uttering a word. at length, recovering himself, "my lord," said he, "be so kind as to come once more with your governor into my house, and taste a cream-tart. i beg your lordship's pardon, for the trouble i gave you in following you out of town; i was at that time not myself, i did not know what i did. you drew me after you, and the violence of the attraction was so soft, that i could not withstand it." agib, astonished at what buddir ad deen said, replied: "there is an excess in the kindness you express, and unless you engage under oath not to follow me when i go from hence, i will not enter your house. if you give me your promise, and prove a man of your word, i will visit you again to-morrow, since the vizier my grandfather, is still employed in buying up rarities for a present to the sultan of egypt." "my lord," replied buddir ad deen, "i will do whatever you would have me." this said, agib and the eunuch went into the shop. presently after, buddir ad deen set before them a cream-tart, that was full as good as what they had eaten before; "come," said agib, "sit down by me, and eat with us." buddir ad deen sat down, and attempted to embrace agib, as a testimony of the joy he conceived upon sitting by him. but agib pushed him away, desiring him not to be too familiar. buddir ad deen obeyed, and repeated some extempore verses in praise of agib: he did not eat, but made it his business to serve his guests. when they had done, he brought them water to wash, and a very white napkin to wipe their hands. then he filled a large china cup with sherbet, and put snow into it; and offering it to agib, "this," said he, "is sherbet of roses; and i am sure you never tasted better." agib having drunk of it with pleasure, buddir ad deen took the cup from him, and presented it to the eunuch, who drank it all off at once. in fine, agib and his governor having fared well, returned thanks to the pastry-cook for their good entertainment, and moved homewards, it being then late. when they arrived at the tents of shumse ad deen mahummud, agib's grandmother received him with transports of joy: her son ran always in her mind, and in embracing agib, the remembrance of him drew tears from her eyes. "ah, my child!" said she, "my joy would be perfect, if i had the pleasure of embracing your father as i now embrace you." she made agib sit by her, and put several questions to him, relating to the walk he had been taking with the eunuch; and when he complained of being hungry, she gave him a piece of cream-tart, which she had made for herself, and was indeed very good: she likewise gave some to the eunuch. agib no sooner touched the piece of cream-tart that had been set before him, than he pretended he did not like it, and left it uncut; and shubbaunee (which was the eunuch's name) did the same. the widow of noor ad deen ali observed with regret that her grandson did not like the tart. "what!" said she, "does my child thus despise the work of my hands? be it known to you, no one in the world can make such besides myself and your father, whom i taught." "my good mother," replied agib, "give me leave to tell you, if you do not know how to make better, there is a pastry-cook in this town that outdoes you. we were at his shop, and ate of one much better than yours." on hearing this, the grandmother, frowning upon the eunuch, said, "how now, shubbaunee, was the care of my grandchild committed to you, to carry him to eat at pastry-shops like a beggar?" "madam," replied the eunuch, "it is true, we did stop a little while and talked with the pastry-cook, but we did not eat with him." "pardon me," said agib, "we went into his shop, and there ate a cream-tart." upon this, the lady, more incensed against the eunuch than before, rose in a passion from the table, and running to the tent of shumse ad deen, informed him of the eunuch's crime; and that in such terms, as tended more to inflame the vizier than to dispose him to excuse it. the vizier who was naturally passionate, did not fail on this occasion to display his anger. he went forthwith to his sister-in-law's tent, and said to the eunuch, "wretch, have you the impudence to abuse the trust i repose in you?" shubbaunee, though sufficiently convicted by agib's testimony, denied the fact still. but the child persisting in what he had affirmed, "grandfather," said he, "i can assure you we not only ate, but that so very heartily, that we have no occasion for supper: besides, the pastry-cook treated us also with a great bowl of sherbet." "well," cried shumse ad deen, "after all this, will you continue to deny that you entered the pastry-cook's house, and ate there?" shubbaunee had still the impudence to swear it was not true. "then you are a liar," said the vizier "i believe my grandchild; but after all, if you can eat up this cream-tart i shall be persuaded you have truth on your side." though shubbaunee had crammed himself up to the throat before, he agreed to stand that test, and accordingly took a piece of tart; but his stomach rising against it, he was obliged to spit it out of his mouth. yet he still pursued the lie, and pretended he had over-eaten himself the day before, and had not recovered his appetite. the vizier irritated with all the eunuch's frivolous presences, and convinced of his guilt, ordered him to be soundly bastinadoed. in undergoing this punishment, the poor wretch shrieked out aloud, and at last confessed the truth; "i own," cried he, "that we did eat a cream-tart at the pastry cook's, and that it was much better than that upon the table." the widow of noor ad deen thought it was out of spite to her, and with a desire to mortify her, that shubbaunee commended the pastry-cook's tart; and accordingly said, "i cannot believe the cook's tarts are better than mine; i am resolved to satisfy myself upon that head. where does he live? go immediately and buy me one of his tarts." the eunuch repaired to buddir ad deen's shop, and said, "let me have one of your cream-tarts; one of our ladies wants to taste them." buddir ad deen chose one of the best, and gave it to the eunuch. shubbaunee returned speedily to the tents, gave the tart to noor ad deen's widow, who, snatching it greedily, broke a piece off; but no sooner put it to her mouth, than she cried out and swooned away. the vizier was extremely surprised at the accident; he threw water upon her face, and was very active in recovering her. as soon as she came to herself, "my god!" cried she, "it must needs be my son, my dear buddir ad deen who made this tart." when the vizier shumse ad deen heard his sister-in-law say, that the maker of the tart, brought by the eunuch, must needs be her son, he was overjoyed; but reflecting that his joy might prove groundless, and the conjecture of noor ad deen's widow be false, "madam," said he, "do you think there may not be a pastry-cook in the world, who knows how to make cream-tarts as well as your son?" "i own," replied she, "there may be pastry-cooks that can make as good tarts as he; but as i make them in a peculiar manner, and only my son was let into the secret, it must absolutely be he that made this. come, my brother," added she in a transport, "let us call up mirth and joy; we have at last found what we have been so long looking for." "madam," said the vizier answer, "i entreat you to moderate your impatience, for we shall quickly know the truth. all we have to do, is to bring the pastry-cook hither; and then you and my daughter will readily distinguish whether he be your son or not. but you must both be concealed so as to have a view of buddir ad deen while he cannot see you; for i would not have our interview and mutual discovery happen at damascus. my design is to delay the discovery till we return to cairo." this said, he left the ladies in their tent, and retired to his own; where he called for fifty of his men, and said to them: "take each of you a stick in your hands, and follow shubbaunee, who will conduct you to a pastry-cook in this city. when you arrive there, break and dash in pieces all you find in the shop: if he demand the reason of your outrage, only ask him in return if it was not he that made the cream-tart that was brought from his house. if he answer in the affirmative, seize his person, fetter him, and bring him along with you; but take care you do not beat him, nor do him the least harm. go, and lose no time." the vizier's orders were immediately executed. the detachment, conducted by the black eunuch, went with expedition to buddir ad deen's house, broke in pieces the plates, kettles, copper pans, and all the other moveables and utensils they met with, and inundated the sherbet-shop with cream and comfits. buddir ad deen, astonished at the sight, said with a pitiful tone, "pray, good people, why do you serve me so? what is the matter? what have i done?" "was it not you," said they, "that sold this eunuch the cream-tart?" "yes," replied he, "i am the man; and who says any thing against it? i defy any one to make a better." instead of giving him an answer, they continued to break all round them, and the oven itself was not spared. in the mean time the neighbours took the alarm, and surprised to see fifty armed men committing such a disorder, asked the reason of such violence; and buddir ad deen said once more to the rioters, "pray tell me what crime i have committed to deserve this usage?" "was it not you," replied they, "that made the cream-tart you sold to the eunuch?" "yes, yes, it was i," replied he; "i maintain it is a good one. i do not deserve this treatment." however, without listening to him, they seized his person, and, snatching the cloth off his turban, tied his hands with it behind his back, and, after dragging him by force out of his shop, marched off. the mob gathering, from compassion to buddir ad deen, took his part; but officers from the governor of the city dispersed the people, and favoured the carrying off of buddir ad deen, for shumse ad deen mahummud had in the mean time gone to the governor's house to acquaint him with the order he had given, and to demand the interposition of force to favour the execution; and the governor, who commanded all syria in the name of the sultan of egypt, was unwilling to refuse any thing to his master's vizier. it was in vain for buddir ad deen to ask those who carried him off, what fault had been found with his cream-tart: they gave him no answer. in short, they conducted him to the tents, and made him wait there till shumse ad deen returned from the governor of damascus. upon the vizier's return, the pretended culprit was brought before him. "my lord," said buddir ad deen, with tears in his eyes, "pray do me the favour to let me know wherein i have displeased you." "why, you wretch," exclaimed the vizier "was it not you that made the cream-tart you sent me?" "i own i am the man," replied buddir ad deen, "but pray what crime is that?" "i will punish you according to your deserts," said shumse ad deen, "it shall cost you your life, for sending me such a sorry tart." "ah!" exclaimed buddir ad deen, "is it a capital crime to make a bad cream-tart?" "yes," said the vizier "and you are to expect no other usage from me." while this interview lasted, the ladies, who were concealed behind curtains, saw buddir ad deen, and recognized him, notwithstanding he had been so long absent. they were so transported with joy, that they swooned away; and when they recovered, would fain have run up and fallen upon his neck, but the promise they had made to the vizier of not discovering themselves, restrained the tender emotions of love and of nature. shumse ad deen having resolved to set out that night, ordered the tents to be struck, and the necessary preparations to be made for his journey. he ordered buddir ad deen to be secured in a sort of cage, and laid on a camel. the vizier and his retinue began their march, and travelled the rest of that night, and all the next day, without stopping in the evening they halted, and buddir ad deen was taken out of his cage, in order to be served with the necessary refreshments, but still carefully kept at a distance from his mother and his wife; and during the whole expedition, which lasted twenty days, was served in the same manner. when they arrived at cairo, they encamped in the neighbourhood of the city; shumse ad deen called for buddir ad deen, and gave orders, in his presence, to prepare a stake. "alas!" said buddir ad deen, "what do you mean to do with a stake?" "why, to impale you," replied shumse ad deen, "and then to have you carried through all the quarters of the town, that the people may have the spectacle of a worthless pastry-cook, who makes cream-tarts without pepper." this said, buddir ad deen cried out so ludicrously, that shumse ad deen could hardly keep his countenance: "alas!" said he, "must i suffer a death as cruel as it is ignominious, for not putting pepper in a cream-tart?" "how," said buddir ad deen, "must i be rifled; must i be imprisoned in a chest, and at last impaled, and all for not putting pepper in a cream-tart? are these the actions of moosulmauns, of persons who make a profession of probity, justice, and good works?" with these words he shed tears, and then renewing his complaint; "no," continued he, "never was a man used so unjustly, nor so severely. is it possible they should be capable of taking a man's life for not putting pepper in a cream-tart? cursed be all cream-tarts, as well as the hour in which i was born! would to god i had died that minute!" the disconsolate buddir ad deen did not cease his lamentations; and when the stake was brought, cried out bitterly at the horrid sight. "heaven!" said he, "can you suffer me to die an ignominious and painful death? and all this, for what crime? not for robbery or murder, or renouncing my religion, but for not putting pepper in a cream tart." night being then pretty far advanced, the vizier ordered buddir ad deen to be conveyed again to his cage, saying to him, "stay there till to-morrow; the day shall not elapse before i give orders for your death." the chest or cage then was carried away and laid upon the camel that had brought it from damascus: at the same time all the other camels were loaded again; and the vizier mounting his horse, ordered the camel that carried his nephew to march before him, and entered the city with all his suit. after passing through several streets, where no one appeared, he arrived at his palace, where he ordered the chest to be taken down, but not opened till farther orders. while his retinue were unlading the other camels, he took buddir ad deen's mother and his daughter aside; and addressed himself to the latter: "god be praised," said he, "my child, for this happy occasion of meeting your cousin and your husband! you remember, of course, what order your chamber was in on your wedding night: go and put all things as they were then placed; and if your memory do not serve you, i can aid it by a written account, which i caused to be taken upon that occasion." the beautiful lady went joyfully to execute her father's orders; and he at the same time commanded the hall to be adorned as when buddir ad deen houssun was there with the sultan of egypt's hunch-backed groom. as he went over his manuscript, his domestics placed every moveable in the described order. the throne was not forgotten, nor the lighted wax candles. when every thing was arranged in the hall, the vizier went into his daughter's chamber and put in their due place buddir ad deen's apparel, with the purse of sequins. this done, he said to the beautiful lady, "undress yourself, my child, and go to bed. as soon as buddir ad deen enters your room, complain of his being from you so long, and tell him, that when you awoke, you were astonished you did not find him by you. press him to come to bed again; and to-morrow morning you will divert your mother-in-law and me, by giving us an account of your interview." this said, he went from his daughter's apartment, and left her to undress herself and go to bed. shumse ad deen mahummud ordered all his domestics to depart the hall, excepting two or three, whom he desired to remain. these he commanded to go and take buddir ad deen out of the cage, to strip him to his under vest and drawers, to conduct him in that condition to the hall, to leave him there alone, and shut the door upon him. buddir ad deen, though overwhelmed with grief, was asleep so soundly, that the vizier's domestics had taken him out of the chest and stripped him before he awoke; and they carried him so suddenly into the hall, that they did not give him time to see where he was. when he found himself alone in the hall, he looked round him, and the objects he beheld recalling to his memory the circumstances of his marriage, he perceived, with astonishment, that it was the place where he had seen the sultan's groom of the stables. his surprise was still the greater, when approaching softly the door of a chamber which he found open, he spied his own raiments where he remembered to have left them on his wedding night. "my god!" said he, rubbing his eyes, "am i asleep or awake?" the beautiful lady, who in the mean time was diverting herself with his astonishment, opened the curtains of her bed suddenly, and bending her head forward, "my dear lord," said she, with a soft, tender air, "what do you do at the door? you have been out of bed a long time. i was strangely surprised when i awoke in not finding you by me." buddir ad deen was enraptured; he entered the room, but reverting to all that had passed during a ten years' interval, and not being able to persuade himself that it could all have happened in the compass of one night, he went to the place where his vestments lay with the purse of sequins; and after examining them very carefully, exclaimed, "by allah these are mysteries which i can by no means comprehend!" the lady, who was pleased to see his confusion, said, once more, "my lord, what do you wait for?" he stepped towards the bed, and said to her, "is it long since i left you?" "the question," answered she, "surprises me. did not you rise from me but now? surely your mind is deranged." "madam," replied buddir ad deen, "i do assure you my thoughts are not very composed. i remember indeed to have been with you, but i remember at the same time, that i have since lived ten years at damascus. now, if i was actually in bed with you this night, i cannot have been from you so long. these two points are inconsistent. pray tell me what i am to think; whether my marriage with you is an illusion, or whether my absence from you is only a dream?" "yes, my lord," cried she, "doubtless you were light-headed when you thought you were at damascus." upon this buddir ad deen laughed heartily, and said, "what a comical fancy is this! i assure you, madam, this dream of mine will be very pleasant to you. do but imagine, if you please, that i was at the gate of damascus in my shirt and drawers, as i am here now; that i entered the town with the halloo of a mob who followed and insulted me; that i fled to a pastry cook who adopted me, taught me his trade, and left me all he had when he died; that after his death i kept a shop. in fine, i had an infinity of other adventures, too tedious to recount: and all i can say is, that it was well that i awoke, for they were going to impale me!" "and for what," cried the lady, feigning astonishment, "would they have used you so cruelly? surely you must have committed some enormous crime." "not the least," replied buddir ad deen; "it was for nothing but a mere trifle, the most ridiculous thing you can imagine. all the crime i was charged with, was selling a cream-tart that had no pepper in it." "as for that matter," said the beautiful lady laughing heartily, "i must say they did you great injustice." "ah!" replied he, "that was not all. for this cursed cream-tart was every thing in my shop broken to pieces, myself bound and fettered, and flung into a chest, where i lay so close, that methinks i am there still, but thanks be to god all was a dream." buddir ad deen was not easy all night. he awoke from time to time, and put the question to himself, whether he dreamed or was awake. he distrusted his felicity; and, to be sure whether it was true or not, looked round the room. "i am not mistaken," said he; "this is the same chamber where i entered instead of the hunch-backed groom of the stables; and i am now in bed with the fair lady designed for him." day-light, which then appeared, had not yet dispelled his uneasiness, when the vizier shumse ad deen, his uncle, knocked at the door, and at the same time went in to bid him good morrow. buddir ad deen was extremely surprised to see a man he knew so well, and who now appeared with a different air from that with which he pronounced the terrible sentence of death against him. "ah!" cried buddir ad deen, "it was you who condemned me so unjustly to a kind of death, the thoughts of which make me shudder, and all for a cream-tart without pepper." the vizier fell a laughing, and to put him out of suspense, told him how, by the ministry of a genie (for hunch-back's relation made him suspect the adventure), he had been at his palace, and had married his daughter instead of the sultan's groom of the stables; then he acquainted him that he had discovered him to be his nephew by the memorandum of his father, and pursuant to that discovery had gone from cairo to bussorah in quest of him. "my dear nephew," added he, embracing him with every expression of tenderness, "i ask your pardon for all i have made you undergo since i discovered you. i resolved to bring you to my palace before i told you your happiness; which ought now to be so much the dearer to you, as it has cost you so much perplexity and distress. to atone for all your afflictions, comfort yourself with the joy of being in the company of those who ought to be dearest to you. while you are dressing yourself i will go and acquaint your mother, who is beyond measure impatient to see you; and will likewise bring to you your son, whom you saw at damascus, and for whom, without knowing him, you shewed so much affection." no words can adequately express the joy of buddir ad deen, when he saw his mother and his son. they embraced, and shewed all the transports that love and tenderness could inspire. the mother spoke to buddir ad deen in the most moving terms; she mentioned the grief she had felt for his long absence, and the tears she had shed. little ajib, instead of flying his father's embraces, as at damascus, received them with all the marks of pleasure. and buddir ad deen houssun, divided between two objects so worthy of his love, thought he could not give sufficient testimonies of his affection. while this passed, the vizier was gone to the palace, to give the sultan an account of the happy success of his travels; and the sultan was so moved with the recital of the story, that he ordered it to be taken down in writing, and carefully preserved among the archives of the kingdom. after shumse ad deen's return to his palace, he sat down with his family, and all the household passed the day in festivity and mirth. the vizier jaaffier having thus concluded the story of buddir ad deen, told the caliph that this was what he had to relate to his majesty. the caliph found the story so surprising, that without farther hesitation he granted his slave rihan's pardon; and to console the young man for the grief of having unhappily deprived himself of a woman whom he had loved so tenderly, married him to one of his slaves, bestowed liberal gifts upon him, and maintained him till he died. the history of ganem, son of abou ayoub, and known by the surname of love's slave. there was formerly at damascus a merchant, who had by care and industry acquired great wealth, on which he lived in a very honourable manner. his name was abou ayoub, and he had one son and a daughter. the son was called ganem, but afterwards surnamed love's slave. his person was graceful, and the excellent qualities of his mind had been improved by able masters. the daughter's name was alcolom, signifying ravisher of hearts, because her beauty was so perfect that whoever saw her could not avoid loving her. abou ayoub died, and left immense riches: a hundred loads of brocades and other silks that lay in his warehouse were the least part. the loads were ready made up, and on every bale was written in large characters, "for bagdad." mahummud, the son of soliman, surnamed zinebi, reigned at that time at damascus, the capital of syria. his kinsman, haroon al rusheed, had bestowed that kingdom on him as his tributary. soon after the death of abou ayoub, ganem conversed with his mother about their domestic affairs, and concerning the loads of merchandize in the warehouse, asked her the meaning of what was written upon each bale. "my son," answered his mother, "your father used to travel sometimes into one province, and sometimes into another; and it was customary with him, before he set out, to write the name of the city he designed to repair to on every bade. he had provided all things to take a journey to bagdad, and was on the point of setting out, when death"----she had not power to finish; the lively remembrance of the loss of her husband would not permit her to say more, and drew from her a shower of tears. ganem could not see his mother so sensibly affected, without being equally so himself. they continued some time silent; but at length he recovered himself, and as soon as he found his mother calm enough to listen to him, said, "since my father designed these goods for bagdad, i will prepare myself to perform that journey; and i think it will be proper for me to hasten my departure, for fear those commodities should perish, or that we should lose the opportunity of selling them to the best advantage." abou ayoub's widow, who tenderly loved her son, was much concerned at this resolution, and replied, "my dear child, i cannot but commend you for designing to follow your father's example; but consider, that you are too young, inexperienced, and unaccustomed to the fatigue of travelling. besides, can you think of leaving me, and adding to that sorrow with which i am already oppressed? is it not better to sell those goods to the merchants of damascus, and take up with a moderate profit, than expose yourself to the danger of perishing?" it was in vain for her to oppose ganem's resolution by the strongest arguments; they had no weight with him. an inclination to travel, and to accomplish himself by a thorough knowledge of the world, urged him to set out, and prevailed over all his mother's remonstrances, her entreaties, and even her tears. he went to the market where slaves were sold, and bought such as were able-bodied, hired a hundred camels, and having provided all other necessaries, entered upon his journey, with five or six merchants of damascus, who were going to trade at bagdad. those merchants, attended by their slaves, and accompanied by several other travellers, made up such a considerable caravan, that they had nothing to fear from the bedouin arabs, who make it their only profession to range the country; and attack and plunder the caravans when they are not strong enough to repulse them. they had no other difficulty to encounter, than the usual fatigues of a long journey, which were easily forgotten when they came in sight of the city of bagdad, where they arrived in safety. they alighted at the most magnificent and most frequented khan in the city; but ganem chose to be lodged conveniently, and by himself. he only left his goods there in a warehouse for their greater security, and hired a spacious house in the neighbourhood, richly furnished, having a garden which was very delightful, on account of its many waterworks and shady groves. some days after this young merchant had been settled in his house, and perfectly recovered of the fatigue of his journey, he dressed himself richly, and repaired to the public place, where the merchants met to transact business. a slave followed him, carrying a parcel of fine stuffs and silks. the merchants received ganem very courteously, and their syndic, or chief, to whom he first made application, bought all his parcel, at the price set down in the ticket annexed to every piece of stuff. ganem continued his trade so successfully, that he every day sold all the goods he exposed. he had but one bale left, which he had caused to be carried from the warehouse to his own house; he then went to the public rendezvous, where he found all the shops shut. this seemed somewhat extraordinary to him and having asked the cause, he was told, that one of the first merchants, whom he knew, was dead, and that all his brother traders were gone to his funeral. ganem inquired for the mosque, where prayer was to be said, and whence the body was to be conducted to the grave; and having been informed, sent back his slave with the goods, and walked towards the mosque. he got thither before the prayers were ended, which were said in a hall hung with black satin. the corpse was taken up, and followed by the kindred, the merchants, and ganem, to the place of burial, which was at some distance without the city. it was a stone structure, in form of a dome, purposely built to receive the bodies of all the family of the deceased, and being very small, they had pitched tents around, that all the company might be sheltered during the ceremony. the monument was opened, and the corpse laid in it, after which it was shut up. then the imam, and other ministers of the mosque, sat down in a ring on carpets, in the largest tent, and recited the rest of the prayers. they also read the fateah, or introductory chapter of the koraun, appointed for the burial of the dead. the kindred and merchants sat round, in the same manner, behind the ministers. it was near night before all was ended: ganem who had not expected such a long ceremony, began to be uneasy, and the more so, when he saw meat served up, in memory of the deceased, according to the custom of the mahummedans. he was also told that the tents had been set up not only against the heat of the sun, but also against the evening dew, because they should not return to the city before the next morning. these words perplexed ganem. "i am a stranger," said he to himself, "and have the reputation of being a rich merchant; thieves may take the opportunity of my absence, and rob my house. my slaves may be tempted by so favourable an opportunity; they may run away with all the gold i have received for my goods, and whither shall i go to look for them?" full of these thoughts, he ate a few mouthfuls hastily, and slipped away from the company. he made all possible haste; but, as it often happens that the more a man hurries the less he advances, he went astray in the dark, so that it was near midnight when he came to the city gate; which, to add to his misfortune, was shut. this was a fresh affliction to him, and he was obliged to look for some convenient place in which to pass the rest of the night till the gate was opened. he went into a burial-place, so spacious, that it reached from the city to the very place he had left. he advanced to some high walls, which enclosed a small field, being the mausoleum of a family, and in which there was a palm-tree. ganem, finding that the burial-place where the palm-tree grew was open, went into it, and shut the door after him. he lay down on the grass and tried to sleep; but his uneasiness at being absent from home would not permit him. he got up, and after having passed before the door several times, opened it, without knowing why, and immediately perceived at a distance a light, which seemed to come towards him. he was startled at the sight, closed the door, which had nothing to secure it but a latch, and got up as fast as he could to the top of the palm-tree; looking upon that as the safest retreat under his present apprehensions. no sooner was he up, than by the help of the light which had alarmed him, he plainly perceived three men, whom, by their habit, he knew to be slaves, enter into the burial-place. one of them advanced with a lantern, and the two others followed him, loaded with a chest, between five and six feet long, which they carried on their shoulders. they set it down, and then one of the three slaves said to his comrades, "brethren, if you will be advised by me, we will leave the chest here, and return to the city." "no, no," replied another, "that would not be executing our mistress's orders; we may have cause to repent not doing as we were commanded. let us bury the chest, since we are enjoined so to do." the two other slaves complied. they began to break ground with the tools they had brought for that purpose. when they had made a deep trench, they put the chest into it, and covered it with the earth they had taken out, and then departed. ganem, who from the top of the palm-tree had heard every word the slaves had spoken, could not tell what to think of the adventure. he concluded that the chest must contain something of value, and that the person to whom it belonged had some particular reasons for causing it to be buried in the cemetery. he resolved immediately to satisfy his curiosity, came down from the palm-tree, the departure of the slaves having dissipated his fear, and fell to work upon the pit, plying his hands and feet so well, that in a short time he uncovered the chest, but found it secured by a padlock. this new obstacle to the satisfying of his curiosity was no small mortification to him, yet he was not discouraged, but the day beginning then to appear, he saw several great stones about the burial-place. he picked out one, with which he easily knocked off the padlock, and then with much impatience opened the chest. ganem was strangely surprised, when, instead of money, he discovered a young lady of incomparable beauty. her fresh and rosy complexion, and her gentle regular breathing, satisfied him she was alive, but he could not conceive why, if she were only asleep, she had not awaked at the noise he made in forcing off the padlock. her habit was so costly, with bracelets and pendants of diamonds, and a necklace of pearls, so large, that he made not the least doubt of her being one of the principal ladies of the court. at the sight of so beautiful an object, not only compassion and natural inclination to relieve persons in danger, but something more powerful, which ganem could not then account for, prevailed on him to afford the unfortunate beauty all the assistance in his power. he first shut the gate of the burial-place, which the slaves had left open; then, returning, took the lady in his arms, and laid her on the soft earth which he had thrown off the chest. as soon as she was exposed to the air, she sneezed, and, by the motion in turning her head, there came from her mouth a liquor, with which her stomach seemed to have been loaded; then opening and rubbing her eyes, she with such a voice as charmed ganem, whom she did not see, cried out, "zohorob bostan, shijher al mirjaun, casabos souccar, nouron nihar, nagmatos sohi, nonzbetos zaman, why do you not answer? where are you?" these were the names of six female slaves that used to wait on her. she called them, and wondered that nobody answered; but at length looking about, and perceiving she was in a burial-place, was seized with fear. "what," cried she, much louder than before, "are the dead raised? is the day of judgment come? what a wonderful change is this from evening to morning?" ganem did not think fit to leave the lady any longer in her perplexity, but presented himself before her with all possible respect, and in the most courteous manner. "madam," said he, "i am not able to express my joy at having happened to be here to do you the service i have, and to offer you all the assistance you may need under your present circumstances." in order to persuade the lady to repose confidence in him, he, in the first place, told her who he was, and what accident had brought him to that place. next he acquainted her with the coming of the three slaves, and how they had buried the chest. the lady, who had covered her face with her veil as soon as ganem appeared, was extremely sensible of the obligations she owed him. "i return thanks to god," said she "for having sent so worthy a person as you are to deliver me from death; but since you have begun so charitable a work, i conjure you not to leave it imperfect. let me beg of you to go into the city, and provide a muleteer, to come with his mule, and carry me to your house in this chest; for, should i go with you on foot, my dress being different from that of the city ladies, some one might take notice of it, and follow me, which it highly concerns me to prevent. when i shall be in your house, i will give you an account of myself; and in the mean time be assured that you have not obliged an ungrateful person." before the young merchant left the lady, he drew the chest out of the pit, which he filled up with earth, laid her again in the chest, and shut it in such a manner, that it did not look as if the padlock had been forced off; but for fear of stifling her, he did not put it quite close, leaving room for the admittance of air. going out of the burial-place, he drew the door after him; and the city gate being then open, soon found what he sought. he returned with speed to the burial place, and helped the muleteer to lay the chest across his mule, telling him, to remove all cause of suspicion, that he came to that place the night before, with another muleteer, who, being in haste to return home, had laid down the chest where he saw it. ganem, who, since his arrival at bagdad, had minded nothing but his business, was still unacquainted with the power of love, and now felt its first attacks. it had not been in his power to look upon the young lady without being dazzled; and the uneasiness he felt at following the muleteer at a distance, and the fear lest any accident might happen by the way that should deprive him of his conquest, taught him to unravel his thoughts. he was more than usually delighted, when, being arrived safe at home, he saw the chest unloaded. he dismissed the muleteer, and having caused a slave to shut the door of his house, opened the chest, helped the lady out, gave her his hand, and conducted her to his apartment, lamenting how much she must have endured in such close confinement. "if i have suffered," said she, "i have satisfaction sufficient in what you have done for me, and in the pleasure of seeing myself out of danger." though ganem's apartment was very richly furnished, the lady did not so much regard its appearance, as she did the handsome presence and engaging mien of her deliverer, whose politeness and obliging behaviour heightened her gratitude. she sat down on a sofa, and to give the merchant to understand how sensible she was of the service done her, took off her veil. ganem on his part was sensible of the favour so lovely a lady did in uncovering her face to him, or rather felt he had already a most violent passion for her. whatever obligations she owed him, he thought himself more than requited by so singular a favour. the lady dived into ganem's thoughts, yet was not at all alarmed, because he appeared very respectful. he, judging she might have occasion to eat, and not willing to trust any but himself with the care of entertaining so charming a guest, went out with a slave to an eating-house, to give directions for an entertainment. from thence he went to a fruiterer, where he chose the finest and best fruit; buying also the choicest wine, and the same bread that was eaten at the caliph's table. as soon as he returned home, he with his own hands made a pyramid of the fruit he had bought, and serving it up himself to the lady in a large dish, of the finest china-ware, "madam," said he, "be pleased to make choice of some of this fruit, while a more solid entertainment, and more worthy yourself, is preparing." he would have continued standing before her, but she declared she would not touch any thing, unless he sat down and ate with her. he obeyed; and when they had eaten a little, ganem observing that the lady's veil, which she laid down by her on a sofa, was embroidered along the edge with golden letters, begged her permission to look on the embroidery. the lady immediately took up the veil, and delivered it to him, asking him whether he could read? "madam," replied he, with a modest air, "a merchant would be ill-qualified to manage his business if he could not at least read and write." "well, then," said she, "read the words which are embroidered on that veil, which gives me an opportunity of telling you my story." ganem took the veil, and read these words, "i am yours, and you are mine, thou descendant from the prophet's uncle." that descendant from the prophet's uncle was the caliph haroon al rusheed, who then reigned, and was descended from abbas, mahummud's uncle. when ganem perceived these words, "alas! madam," said he, in a melancholy tone, "i have just saved your life, and this writing is my death! i do not comprehend all the mystery; but it convinces me i am the most unfortunate of men. pardon, madam, the liberty i take, but it was impossible for me to see you without giving you my heart. you are not ignorant yourself, that it was not in my power to refuse it you, and that makes my presumption excusable. i proposed to myself to touch your heart by my respectful behaviour, my care, my assiduity, my submission, my constancy; and no sooner have i formed the flattering design, than i am robbed of all my hopes. i cannot long survive so great a misfortune. but, be that as it will, i shall have the satisfaction of dying entirely yours. proceed, madam, i conjure you, and give me full information of my unhappy fate." he could not utter those words without letting fall some tears. the lady was moved; but was so far from being displeased at the declaration he made, that she felt secret joy; for her heart began to yield. however, she concealed her feelings, and as if she had not regarded what ganem had said. "i should have been very cautious," answered she, "of shewing you my veil, had i thought it would have given you so much uneasiness; but i do not perceive that what i have to say to you can make your condition so deplorable as you imagine." "you must understand," proceeded she, "in order to acquaint you with my story, that my name is fetnah (which signifies disturbance), which was given me at my birth, because it was judged that the sight of me would one day occasion many calamities. of this you cannot be ignorant, since there is nobody in bagdad but knows that the caliph, my sovereign lord and yours, has a favourite so called. "i was carried into his palace in my tenderest years, and i have been brought up with all the care that is usually taken with such persons of my sex as are destined to reside there. i made no little progress in all they took the pains to teach me; and that, with some share of beauty, gained me the affection of the caliph, who allotted me a particular apartment adjoining to his own. that prince was not satisfied with such a mark of distinction; he appointed twenty women to wait on me, and as many eunuchs; and ever since he has made me such considerable presents, that i saw myself richer than any queen in the world. you may judge by what i have said, that zobeide, the caliph's wife and kinswoman, could not but be jealous of my happiness. though haroon has all the regard imaginable for her, she has taken every possible opportunity to ruin me. "hitherto i had secured myself against all her snares, but at length i fell under the last effort of her jealousy; and, had it not been for you, must now have been exposed to inevitable death. i question not but she had corrupted one of my slaves, who last night, in some lemonade, gave me a drug, which causes such a dead sleep, that it is easy to dispose of those who have taken it; for that sleep is so profound, that nothing can dispel it for the space of seven or eight hours. i have the more reason to judge so, because naturally i am a very bad sleeper, and apt to wake at the least noise. "zobeide, the better to put her design in execution, has availed herself of the absence of the caliph, who went lately to put himself at the head of his troops, to chastise some neighbouring kings, who have formed a league of rebellion. were it not for this opportunity, my rival, outrageous as she is, durst not have presumed to attempt any thing against my life. i know not what she will do to conceal this action from the caliph, but you see it highly concerns me that you should keep my secret. my life depends on it. i shall be safe in your house as long as the caliph is from bagdad. it concerns you to keep my adventure private; for should zobeide know the obligation i owe you, she would punish you for having saved me. "when the caliph returns, i shall not need to be so much upon my guard. i shall find means to acquaint him with all that has happened, and i am fully persuaded he will be more earnest than myself to requite a service which restores me to his love." as soon as haroon al rusheed's beautiful favourite had done speaking, ganem said, "madam, i return you a thousand thanks for having given me the information i took the liberty to desire of you; and i beg of you to believe, that you are here in safety; the sentiments you have inspired are a pledge of my secrecy. "as for my slaves, they may perhaps fail of the fidelity they owe me, should they know by what accident and in what place i had the happiness to find you. i dare assure you, however, that they will not have the curiosity to inquire. it is so natural for young men to purchase beautiful slaves, that it will be no way surprising to them to see you here, believing you to be one, and that i have bought you. they will also conclude that i have some particular reasons for bringing you home as they saw i did. set your heart, therefore, at rest, as to that point, and remain satisfied that you shall be served with all the respect that is due to the favourite of so great a monarch as our sovereign the caliph. but great as he is, give me leave, madam, to declare, that nothing can make me recall the present i have made you of my heart. i know, and shall never forget, 'that what belongs to the master is forbidden to the slave;' but i loved you before you told me that you were engaged to the caliph; it is not in my power to overcome a passion which, though now in its infancy, has all the force of a love strengthened by a perfect of situation. i wish your august and most fortunate lover may avenge you of the malice of zobeide, by calling you back to him; and when you shall be restored to his wishes, that you may remember the unfortunate ganem, who is no less your conquest than the caliph. powerful as that prince is, i flatter myself he will not be able to blot me out of your remembrance. he cannot love you more passionately than i do; and i shall never cease to love you into whatever part of the world i may go to expire, after having lost you." fetnah perceived that ganem was under the greatest of afflictions, and his situation affected her; but considering the uneasiness she was likely to bring upon herself, by prosecuting the conversation on that subject, which might insensibly lead her to discover the inclination she felt for him; "i perceive," said she, "that this conversation gives you too much uneasiness; let us change the subject, and talk of the infinite obligation i owe you. i can never sufficiently express my gratitude, when i reflect that, without your assistance, i should never again have beheld the light of the sun." it was happy for them both, that somebody just then knocked at the door; ganem went to see who it was, and found it to be one of his slaves come to acquaint him that the entertainment was ready. ganem, who, by way of precaution, would have none of his slaves come into the room where fetnah was, took what was brought, and served it up himself to his beautiful guest, whose soul was ravished to behold what attention he paid her. when they had eaten, ganem took away, as he had covered the table; and having delivered all things at the door of the apartment to his slaves, "madam," said he to fetnah, "you may now perhaps desire to take some rest; i will leave you, and when you have reposed yourself, you shall find me ready to receive your commands." having thus spoken, he left her, and went to purchase two women-slaves. he also bought two parcels, one of fine linen, and the other of all such things as were proper to make up a toilet fit for the caliph's favourite. having conducted home the two women-slaves, he presented them to fetnah, saying, "madam, a person of your quality cannot be without two waiting-maids, at least, to serve you; be pleased to accept of these." fetnah, admiring ganem's attention, said, "my lord, i perceive you are not one that will do things by halves: you add by your courtesy to the obligations i owe you already; but i hope i shall not die ungrateful, and that heaven will soon place me in a condition to requite all your acts of generosity." when the women-slaves were withdrawn into a chamber adjoining, he sat down on the sofa, but at some distance from fetnah, in token of respect. he then began to discourse of his passion. "i dare not so much as hope," said he, "to excite the least sensibility in a heart like yours, destined for the greatest prince in the world. alas! it would be a comfort to me in my misfortune, if i could but flatter myself, that you have not looked upon the excess of my love with indifference." "my lord," answered fetnah "alas! madam," said ganem, interrupting her at the word lord, "this is the second time you have done me the honour to call me lord; the presence of the women-slaves hindered me the first time from taking notice of it to you: in the name of god, madam, do not give me this title of honour; it does not belong to me; treat me, i beseech you, as your slave: i am, and shall never cease to be so." "no, no," replied fetnah, interrupting him in her turn, "i shall be cautious how i treat with such disrespect a man to whom i owe my life. i should be ungrateful, could i say or do any thing that did not become you. leave me, therefore, to follow the dictates of my gratitude, and do not require of me, that i should misbehave myself towards you, in return for the benefits i have received. i shall never be guilty of such conduct; i am too sensible of your respectful behaviour to abuse it; and i will not hesitate to own, that i do not regard your care with indifference. you know the reasons that condemn me to silence." ganem was enraptured at this declaration; he wept for joy, and not being able to find expressions significant enough, in his own opinion, to return fetnah thanks, was satisfied with telling her, that as she knew what she owed to the caliph, he, on his part, was not ignorant "that what belongs to the master is forbidden to the slave." night drawing on, he rose up to fetch a light, which he brought in himself, as also a collation. they both sat down at table, and at first complimented each other on the fruit as they presented it reciprocally. the excellence of the wine insensibly drew them both to drink; and having drunk two or three glasses, they agreed that neither should take another glass without first singing some air. ganem sung verses ex tempore, expressive of the vehemence of his passion; and fetnah, encouraged by his example, composed and sung verses relating to her adventure, and always containing something which ganem might take in a sense favourable to himself; except in this, she most exactly observed the fidelity due to the caliph. the collation continued till very late, and the night was far advanced before they thought of parting. ganem then withdrew to another apartment, leaving fetnah where she was, the women slaves he had bought coming in to wait upon her. they lived together in this manner for several days. the young merchant went not abroad, unless upon of the utmost consequence, and even for that took the time when the lady was reposing; for he could not prevail upon himself to lose a moment that might be spent in her company. all his thoughts were taken up with his dear fetnah, who, on her side, gave way to her inclination, confessed she had no less affection for him than he had for her. however, fond as they were of each other, their respect for the caliph kept them within due bounds, which still heightened their passion. whilst fetnah, thus snatched from the jaws of death, passed her time so agreeably with ganem, zobeide was not without some apprehensions in the palace of haroon al rusheed. no sooner had the three slaves, entrusted with the execution of her revenge, carried away the chest, without knowing what it contained, or so much as the least curiosity to inquire (being used to pay a blind obedience to her commands), than she was seized with a tormenting uneasiness; a thousand perplexing thoughts disturbed her rest; sleep fled from her eyes, and she spent the night in contriving how to conceal her crime. "my consort," said she, "loves fetnah more than ever he did any of his favourites. what shall i say to him at his return, when he inquires of me after her?" many contrivances occurred to her, but none were satisfactory. still she met with difficulties, and knew not where to fix. there lived with her a lady advanced in years, who had bred her up from her infancy. as soon as it was day, she sent for her, and having entrusted her with the secret, said, "my good mother, you have always assisted me with your advice; if ever i stood in need of it, it is now, when the business before you is to still my thoughts, distracted by a mortal anxiety, and to show me some way to satisfy the caliph." "my dear mistress," replied the old lady, "it had been much better not to have run yourself into the difficulties you labour under; but since the thing is done, the best consolation is to think no more of it. all that must now be thought of, is how to deceive the commander of the believers; and i am of opinion, that you should immediately cause a wooden image resembling a dead body to be carved. we will shroud it up in linen, and when shut up in a coffin, it shall be buried in some part of the palace; you shall then immediately cause a marble mausoleum to be built, in the form of a dome, over the burial place, and erect a tomb, which shall be covered with embroidered cloth, and set about with great candlesticks and large wax tapers. there is another thing," added the old lady, "which ought not to be forgotten; you must put on mourning, and cause the same to be done by your own and fetnah's women, your eunuchs, and all the officers of the palace. when the caliph returns, and sees you all and the palace in mourning, he will not fail to ask the occasion of it. you will then have an opportunity of insinuating yourself into his favour, by saying, it was out of respect to him that you paid the last honours to fetnah, snatched away by sudden death. you may tell him, you have caused a mausoleum to be built, and, in short, that you have paid all the last honours to his favourite, as he would have done himself had he been present. his passion for her being extraordinary, he will certainly go to shed tears upon her grave; and perhaps," added the old woman, "he will not believe she is really dead. he may, possibly, suspect you have turned her out of the palace through jealousy, and look upon all the mourning as an artifice to deceive him, and prevent his making inquiries after her. it is likely he will cause the coffin to be taken up and opened, and it is certain he will be convinced of her death, as soon as he shall see the figure of a dead body buried. he will be pleased with all you shall have done, and express his gratitude. as for the wooden image, i will myself undertake to have it cut by a carver in the city, who shall not know the purpose for which it is designed. as for your part, madam, order fetnah's woman, who yesterday gave her the lemonade, to give out, among her companions, that she has just found her mistress dead in her bed; and in order that they may only think of lamenting, without offering to go into her chamber, let her add, she has already acquainted you with the circumstance, and that you have ordered mesrour to cause her to be buried." as soon as the old lady had spoken, zobeide took a rich diamond ring out of her casket, and putting it on her finger, and embracing her in a transport of joy, said, "how infinitely am i beholden to you, my good mother! i should never have thought of so ingenious a contrivance. it cannot fail of success, and i begin to recover my peace. i leave the care of the wooden figure to you, and will go myself to order the rest." the wooden image was got ready with as much expedition as zobeide could have wished, and then conveyed by the old lady herself into fetnah's bed-chamber, where she dressed it like a dead body, and put it into a coffin. then mesrour, who was himself deceived by it, caused the coffin and the representation of fetnah to be carried away, and buried with the usual ceremonies in the place appointed by zobeide, the favourite's women weeping and lamenting, she who had given her the lemonade setting them an example by her cries and lamentations. that very day zobeide sent for the architect of the palace, and, according to orders, the mausoleum was finished in a short time. such potent princesses as the consort of a monarch, whose power extended from east to west, are always punctually obeyed in whatsoever they command. she soon put on mourning with all the court; so that the news of fetnah's death was quickly spread over the city. ganem was one of the last who heard of it; for, as i have before observed, he hardly ever went abroad. being, however, at length informed of it, "madam," said he to the caliph's fair favourite, "you are supposed in bagdad to be dead, and i do not question but that zobeide herself believes it. i bless heaven that i am the cause, and the happy witness of your being alive; would to god, that, taking advantage of this false report, you would share my fortune, and go far from hence to reign in my heart! but whither does this pleasing transport carry me? i do not consider that you are born to make the greatest prince in the world happy; and that only haroon al rusheed is worthy of you. supposing you could resolve to give him up for me, and that you would follow me, ought i to consent? no, it is my part always to remember, 'that what belongs to the master is forbidden to the slave.'" the lovely fetnah, though moved by the tenderness of the passion he expressed, yet prevailed with herself not to encourage it. "my lord," said she to him, "we cannot obstruct the momentary triumph of zobeide. i am not surprised at the artifice she uses to conceal her guilt: but let her go on; i flatter myself that sorrow will soon follow her triumph. the caliph will return, and we shall find the means privately to inform him of all that has happened. in the mean time let us be more cautious than ever, that she may not know i am alive. i have already told you the consequences to be apprehended from such a discovery." at the end of three months the caliph returned to bagdad with glory, having vanquished all his enemies. he entered the palace with impatience to embrace fetnah; but was amazed to see all the officers in mourning; and his concern was redoubled when, approaching the apartment of zobeide, he beheld that princess coming to meet him in mourning with all her women. he immediately asked her the cause, with much agitation. "commander of the believers," answered zobeide, "i am in mourning for your slave fetnah; who died so suddenly that it was impossible to apply any remedy to her disorder." she would have proceeded, but the caliph did not give her time, being so agitated at the news, that he uttered a feeble exclamation, and fainted. on recovering himself, he, with a feeble voice, which sufficiently expressed his extreme grief, asked where his dear fetnah had been buried. "sir," said zobeide, "i myself took care of her funeral, and spared no cost to make it magnificent. i have caused a marble mausoleum to be built over her grave, and will attend you thither if you desire." the caliph would not permit zobeide to take that trouble, but contented himself to have mesrour to conduct him. he went thither just as he was, in his camp dress. when he saw the tomb, the wax-lights round it, and the magnificence of the mausoleum, he was amazed that zobeide should have performed the obsequies of her rival with so much pomp; and being naturally of a jealous temper, suspected his wife's generosity and fancied his mistress might perhaps be yet alive; that zobeide, taking advantage of his long absence, might have turned her out of the palace, ordering those she had entrusted to conduct her, to convey her so far off that she might never more be heard of. this was all he suspected; for he did not think zobeide wicked enough to have attempted the life of his favourite. the better to discover the truth himself, he ordered the tomb to be removed, and caused the grave and the coffin to be opened in his presence; but when he saw the linen wrapped round the wooden image, he durst not proceed any farther. this devout caliph thought it would be a sacrilegious act to suffer the body of the dead lady to be touched; and this scrupulous fear prevailed over his love and curiosity. he doubted not of fetnah's death. he caused the coffin to be shut up again, the grave to be filled, and the tomb to be made as it was before. the caliph thinking himself obliged to pay some respect to the grave of his favourite, sent for the ministers of religion, the officers of the palace, and the readers of the koraun; and, whilst they were collecting together, he remained in the mausoleum, moistening with his tears the marble that covered the phantom of his mistress. when all the persons he had sent for were come, he stood before the tomb, and recited long prayers; after which the readers of the koraun read several, chapters. the same ceremony was performed every day for a whole month, morning and evening, the caliph being always present, with the grand vizier, and the principal officers of the court, all of them in mourning, as well as the caliph himself, who all the time ceased not to honour the memory of fetnah with his tears, and would not hear of any business. the last day of the month, the prayers and reading of the koraun lasted from morning till break of day the next morning. the caliph, being tired with sitting up so long, went to take some rest in his apartment, and fell asleep upon a sofa, between two of the court ladies, one of them sitting at the bed's-head, and the other at the feet, who, whilst he slept, were working some embroidery, and observed a profound silence. she who sat at the bed's-head, and whose name was nouron-nihar, perceiving the caliph was asleep, whispered to the other, called nagmatos sohi, "there is great news! the commander of the believers our master will be overjoyed when he awakes, and hears what i have to tell him; fetnah is not dead, she is in perfect health." "o heavens!" cried nagmatos sohi, in a transport of joy, "is it possible, that the beautiful, the charming, the incomparable fetnah should be still among the living?" she uttered these words with so much vivacity, and so loud, that the caliph awoke. he asked why they had disturbed his rest? "alas! my sovereign lord," answered the slave, "pardon me this indiscretion; i could not without transport hear that fetnah is still alive; it caused such emotion in me, as i could not suppress." "what then is become of her," demanded the caliph, "if she is not dead?" "chief of the believers," replied the other, "i this evening received a note from a person unknown, written with fetnah's own hand; she gives me an account of her melancholy adventure, and orders me to acquaint you with it. i thought fit, before i fulfilled my commission, to let you take some few moments' rest, believing you must stand in need of it, after your fatigue; and----" "give me that note," said the caliph, interrupting her eagerly, "you were wrong to defer delivering it to me." the slave immediately presented to him the note, which he opened with much impatience, and in it fetnah gave a particular account of all that had befallen her, but enlarged a little too much on the attentions of ganem. the caliph, who was naturally jealous, instead of being provoked at the inhumanity of zobeide, was more concerned at the infidelity he fancied fetnah had been guilty of towards him. "is it so?" said he, after reading the note; "the perfidious wretch has been four months with a young merchant, and has the effrontery to boast of his attention to her. thirty days are past since my return to bagdad, and she now thinks of sending me news of herself. ungrateful creature! whilst i spend the days in bewailing her, she passes them in betraying me. go to, let us take vengeance of a bold woman, and that bold youth who affronts me." having spoken these words, the caliph rose, and went into a hall where he used to appear in public, and give audience to his court. the first gate was opened, and immediately all the courtiers, who were waiting without, entered. the grand vizier, came in, and prostrated himself before the throne. then rising, he stood before his master, who, in a tone which denoted he would be instantly obeyed, said to him, "jaaffier, your presence is requisite, for putting in execution an important affair i am about to commit to you. take four hundred men of my guards with you, and first inquire where a merchant of damascus lives whose name is ganem, the son of abou ayoub. when you have learnt this, repair to his house, and cause it to be razed to the foundations; but first secure ganem, and bring him hither, with my slave fetnah, who has lived with him these four months. i will punish her, and make an example of that insolent man, who has presumed to fail in respell to me." the grand vizier, having received this positive command, made a low prostration to the caliph, having his hand on his head, in token that he would rather lose it than disobey him, and departed. the first thing he did, was to send to the syndic of the dealers in foreign stuffs and silks, with strict orders to find out the house of the unfortunate merchant. the officer he sent with these orders brought him back word, that he had scarcely been seen for some months, and no man knew what could keep him at home, if he was there. the same officer likewise told jaaffier where ganem lived. upon this information, that minister, without losing time, went to the judge of the police, whom he caused to bear him company, and attended by a great number of carpenters and masons, with the necessary tools for razing a house, came to ganem's residence; and finding it stood detached from any other, he posted his soldiers round it, to prevent the young merchant's making his escape. fetnah and ganem had just dined: the lady was sitting at a window next the street; hearing a noise, she looked out through the lattice, and seeing the grand vizier, approach with his attendants, concluded she was their object as well as ganem. she perceived her note had been received, but had not expected such a consequence, having hoped that the caliph would have taken the matter in a different light. she knew not how long the prince had been returned from his campaign, and though she was acquainted with his jealous temper, yet apprehended nothing on that account. however, the sight of the grand vizier, and the soldiers made her tremble, not indeed for herself, but for ganem: she did not question clearing herself, provided the caliph would but hear her. as for ganem, whom she loved less out of gratitude than inclination, she plainly foresaw that his incensed rival might be apt to condemn him, on account of his youth and person. full of this thought, she turned to the young merchant and said, "alas! ganem, we are undone." ganem looked through the lattice, and was seized with dread, when he beheld the caliph's guards with their naked cimeters, and the grand vizier, with the civil magistrate at the head of them. at this sight he stood motionless, and had not power to utter one word. "ganem," said the favourite, "there is no time to be lost; if you love me, put on the habit of one of your slaves immediately, and disfigure your face and arms with soot. then put some of these dishes on your head; you may be taken for a servant belonging to the eating house, and they will let you pass. if they happen to ask you where the master of the house is, answer, without any hesitation, that he is within." "alas! madam," answered harem, concerned for himself than for fetnah, "you only take care of me, what will become of you?" "let not that trouble you," replied fetnah, "it is my part to look to that. as for what you leave in this house, i will take care of it, and i hope it will be one day faithfully restored to you, when the caliph's anger shall be over; but at present avoid his fury. the orders he gives in the heat of passion are always fatal." the young merchant's affliction was so great, that he knew not what course to pursue, and would certainly have suffered himself to be seized by the caliph's soldiers, had not fetnah pressed him to disguise himself. he submitted to her persuasions, put on the habit of a slave, daubed himself with soot, and as they were knocking at the door, all they could do was to embrace each other tenderly. they were both so overwhelmed with sorrow, that they could not utter a word. thus they parted. ganem went out with some dishes on his head: he was taken for the servant of an eating-house, and no one offered to stop him. on the contrary, the grand vizier, who was the first that met him, gave way and let him pass, little thinking that he was the man he looked for. those who were behind the grand vizier, made way as he had done, and thus favoured his escape he soon reached one of the gates, and got clear of the city. whilst he was making the best of his way from the grand vizier, that minister came into the room where fetnah was sitting on a sofa, and where there were many chests full of ganem's clothes, and of the money he had made of his goods. as soon as fetnah saw the grand vizier, come into the room, she fell upon her face, and continuing in that posture, as it were to receive her death; "my lord," said she, "i am ready to undergo the sentence passed against me by the commander of the believers; you need only make it known to me." "madam," answered jaaffier, falling also down till she had raised herself, "god forbid any man should presume to lay profane hands on you. i do not intend to offer you the least harm. i have no farther orders, than to intreat you will be pleased to go with me to the palace, and to conduct you thither, with the merchant that lives in this house." "my lord," replied the favourite, "let us go; i am ready to follow you. as for the young merchant, to whom i am indebted for my life, he is not here, he has been gone about a month since to damascus, whither his business called him, and has left these chests you see under my care, till he returns. i conjure you to cause them to be carried to the palace, and order them to be secured, that i may perform the promise i made him to take all possible care of them." "you shall be obeyed," said jaaffier, and immediately sent for porters, whom he commanded to take up the chests, and carry them to mesrour. as soon as the porters were gone, he whispered the civil magistrate, committing to him the care of seeing the house razed, but first to cause diligent search to be made for ganem, who, he suspected, might be hidden, notwithstanding what fetnah had told him. he then went out, taking her with him, attended by the two slaves who waited on her. as for ganem's slaves, they were not regarded; they ran in among the crowd, and it was not known what became of them. no sooner was jaaffier out of the house, than the masons and carpenters began to demolish it, and did their business so effectually, that in a few hours none of it remained. but the civil magistrate, not finding ganem, after the strictest search, sent to acquaint the grand vizier, before that minister reached the palace. "well," said haroon al rusheed, seeing him come into his closet, "have you executed my orders?" "yes," answered jaaffier "the house ganem lived in is levelled with the ground, and i have brought you your favourite fetnah; she is at your closet door, and i will call her in, if you command me. as for the young merchant, we could not find him, though every place has been searched, and fetnah affirms that he has been gone a month to damascus." never was passion equal to that of the caliph, when he heard that ganem had made his escape. as for his favourite, believing that she had been false to him, he would neither see nor speak to her. "mesrour," said he to the chief of the eunuchs, who was then present, "take the ungrateful and perfidious fetnah, and shut her up in the dark tower." that tower was within the precinct of the palace, and commonly served as a prison for the favourites who any way offended the caliph. mesrour being used to execute his sovereign's orders, however unjust, without making any answer, obeyed this with some reluctance. he signified his concern to fetnah, who was the more grieved because she had assured herself, that the caliph would not refuse to speak to her. she was obliged to submit to her hard fate, and to follow mesrour, who conducted her to the dark tower, and there left her. in the mean time, the enraged caliph dismissed his grand vizier, and only hearkening to his passion, wrote the following letter with his own hand to the king of syria, his cousin and tributary, who resided at damascus. "this letter is to inform you, that a merchant of damascus, whose name is ganem, the son of abou ayoub, has seduced the most amiable of my women slaves, called fetnah, and is fled. it is my will, that when you have read my letter, you cause search to be made for ganem, and secure him. when he is in your power, you shall cause him to be loaded with irons, and for three days successively let him receive fifty strokes of the bastinado. then let him be led through all parts of the city by a crier, proclaiming, 'this is the smallest punishment the commander of the believers inflicts on him that offends his lord, and debauches one of his slaves.' after that you shall send him to me under a strong guard. it is my will that you cause his house to be plundered; and after it has been razed, order the materials to be carried out of the city into the middle of the plain. besides this, if he has father, mother, sister, wives, daughters, or other kindred, cause them to be stripped; and when they are naked, expose them three days to the whole city, forbidding any person on pain of death to afford them shelter. i expect you will without delay execute my command." the caliph having written this letter, dispatched it by an express, ordering him to make all possible speed, and to take pigeons along with him, that he might the sooner hear what had been done by mahummud zinebi. the pigeons of bagdad have this peculiar quality, that from wherever they may be carried to, they return to bagdad as soon as they are set at liberty, especially when they have young ones. a letter rolled up is made fast under their wing, and by that means advice is speedily received from such places as it is desired. the caliph's courier travelled night and day, as his master's impatience required; and being come to damascus, went directly to king zinebi's palace, who sat upon his throne to receive the caliph's letter. the courier having delivered it, mahummud looking at it, and knowing the hand, stood up to shew his respect, kissed the letter, and laid it on his head, to denote he was ready submissively to obey the orders it contained. he opened it, and having read it, immediately descended from his throne, and without losing time, mounted on horseback with the principal officers of his household. he sent for the civil magistrate; and went directly to ganem's house, attended by all his guards. ganem's mother had never received any letter from him since he had left damascus; but the other merchants with whom he went to bagdad were returned, and all of them told her they had left her son in perfect however, seeing he did not return, she could not but be persuaded that he was dead, and was so fully convinced of this in her imagination, that she went into mourning. she bewailed ganem as if she had seen him die, and had herself closed his eyes: never mother expressed greater sorrow; and so far was she from seeking any comfort, that she delighted in indulging her grief. she had caused a dome to be built in the middle of the court belonging to her house, in which she placed a tomb. she spent the greatest part of the days and nights in weeping under that dome, as if her son had been buried there: her daughter bore her company, and mixed her tears with hers. it was now some time since they had thus devoted themselves to sorrow, and the neighbourhood, hearing their cries and lamentations, pitied such tender relations, when king mahummud zinebi knocked at the door, which being opened by a slave belonging to the family, he hastily entered the house, inquiring for ganem, the son of abou ayoub. though the slave had never seen king zinebi, she guessed by his retinue that he must be one of the principal officers of damascus. "my lord," said she, "that ganem you inquire for is dead; my mistress, his mother, is in that monument, lamenting him." the king, not regarding what was said by the slave, caused all the house to be diligently searched by his guards for ganem. he then advanced towards the monument, where he saw the mother and daughter sitting on a mat, and their faces appeared to him bathed in tears. these poor women immediately veiled themselves, as soon as they beheld a man at the door of the dome; but the mother, knowing the king of damascus, got up, and ran to cast herself at his feet. "my good lady," said he, "i was looking for your son, ganem, is he here?" "alas! sir," cried the mother, "it is a long time since he has ceased to be: would to god i had at least put him into his coffin with my own hands, and had had the comfort of having his bones in this monument! o my son, my dear son!" she would have said more, but was oppressed with such violent sorrow that she was unable to proceed. zinebi was moved; for he was a prince of a mild nature, and had much compassion for the sufferings of the unfortunate. "if ganem alone be guilty," thought he to himself, "why should the mother and the daughter, who are innocent, be punished? ah! cruel haroon al rusheed! what a mortification do you put upon me, in making me the executioner of your vengeance, obliging me to persecute persons who have not offended you." the guards whom the king had ordered to search for ganem, came and told him their search had been vain. he was fully convinced of this; the tears of those two women would not leave him any room to doubt. it distracted him to be obliged to execute the caliph's order. "my good lady," said he to ganem's mother, "quit this monument with your daughter, it is no place of safety for you." they went out, and he, to secure them against any insult, took off his own robe, and covered them both with it, bidding them keep close to him. he then ordered the populace to be let in to plunder, which was performed with the utmost rapaciousness, and with shouts which terrified ganem's mother and sister the more, because they knew not the reason. the rabble carried off the richest goods, chests full of wealth, fine persian and indian carpets, cushions covered with cloth of gold and silver, fine china ware; in short, all was taken away, till nothing remained but the bare walls of the house: and it was a dismal spectacle for the unhappy ladies, to see all their goods plundered, without knowing why they were so cruelly treated. when the house was plundered, mahummud ordered the civil magistrate to raze the house and monument; and while that was doing, he carried away the mother and daughter to his palace. there it was he redoubled their affliction, by acquainting them with the caliph's will. "he commands me," said he to them, "to cause you to be stripped, and exposed naked for three days to the view of the people. it is with the utmost reluctance that i execute such a cruel and ignominious sentence." the king delivered these words with such an air, as plainly made it appear his heart was really pierced with grief and compassion. though the fear of being dethroned prevented his following the dictates of his pity, yet he in some measure moderated the rigour of the caliph's orders, by causing large shifts, without sleeves, to be made of coarse horse-hair for ganem's mother, and his sister. the next day, these two victims of the caliph's rage were stripped of their clothes, and their horse-hair shifts put upon them; their head-dress was also taken away, so that their dishevelled hair hung floating on their backs. the daughter had the finest hair, and it hung down to the ground. in this condition they were exposed to the people. the civil magistrate, attended by his officers, were along with them, and they were conducted through the city. a crier went before them, who every now and then cried, "this is the punishment due to those who have drawn on themselves the indignation of the commander of the believers." whilst they walked in this manner along the streets of damascus, with their arms and feet naked, clad in such a strange garment, and endeavouring to hide their confusion under their hair, with which they covered their faces, all the people were dissolved in tears; more especially the ladies, considering them as innocent persons, as they beheld them through their lattice windows, and being particularly moved by the daughter's youth and beauty, they made the air ring with their shrieks, as they passed before their houses. the very children, frightened at those shrieks, and at the spectacle that occasioned them, mixed their cries with the general lamentation. in short, had an enemy been in damascus, putting all to fire and sword, the consternation could not have been greater. it was near night when this dismal scene concluded. the mother and daughter were both conducted back to king mahummud's palace. not being used to walk bare-foot, they were so spent, that they lay a long time in a swoon. the queen of damascus, highly afflicted at their misfortunes, notwithstanding the caliph's prohibition to relieve them, sent some of her women to comfort them, with all sorts of refreshments and wine, to recover their spirits. the queen's women found them still in a swoon, and almost past receiving any benefit by what they offered them. however, with much difficulty they were brought to themselves. ganem's mother immediately returned them thanks for their courtesy. "my good madam," said one of the queen's ladies to her, "we are highly concerned at your affliction, and the queen of syria, our mistress, has done us a favour in employing us to assist you. we can assure you, that princess is much afflicted at your misfortunes, as well as the king her consort." ganem's mother entreated the queen's women to return her majesty a thousand thanks from her and her daughter, and then directing her discourse to the lady who spoke to her, "madam," said she, "the king has not told me why the chief of the believers inflicts so many outrages on us: pray be pleased to tell us what crimes we have been guilty of." "my good lady," answered the other, "the origin of your misfortunes proceeds from your son ganem. he is not dead, as you imagine. he is accused of having seduced the beautiful fetnah, the best beloved of the caliph's favourites; but having, by flight, withdrawn himself from that prince's indignation, the punishment is fallen on you. all condemn the caliph's resentment, but all fear him; and you see king zinebi himself dares not resist his orders, for fear of incurring his displeasure. all we can do is to pity you, and exhort you to have patience." "i know my son," answered ganem's mother; "i have educated him carefully, and in that respect which is due to the commander of the believers. he cannot have committed the crime he is accused of; i dare answer for his innocence. but i will cease to murmur and complain, since it is for him that i suffer, and he is not dead. o ganem!" added she, in a transport of affection and joy, "my dear son ganem! is possible that you are still alive? i am no longer concerned for the loss of my fortune; and how harsh and unjust soever the caliph's orders may be, i forgive him, provided heaven has preserved my son. i am only concerned for my daughter; her sufferings alone afflict me; yet i believe her to be so good a sister as to follow my example." on hearing these words, the young lady, who till then had appeared insensible, turned to her mother, and clasping her arms about her neck, "yes, dear mother," said she, "i will always follow your example, whatever extremity your love for my brother may reduce us to." the mother and daughter thus interchanging their sighs and tears, continued a considerable time in such moving embraces. in the mean time the queen's women, who were much affected at the spectacle, omitted no persuasions to prevail with ganem's mother to take some sustenance. she ate a morsel out of complaisance, and her daughter did the like. the caliph having ordered that ganem's kindred should be exposed three days successively to the sight of the people, in the condition already mentioned, the unhappy ladies afforded the same spectacle the second time next day, from morning till night. but that day and the following, the streets, which at first had been full of people, were now quite empty. all the merchants, incensed at the ill usage of abou ayoub's widow and daughter, shut up their shops, and kept themselves close within their houses. the ladies, instead of looking through their lattice windows, withdrew into the back parts of their houses. there was not a person to be seen in the public places through which those unfortunate women were carried. it seemed as if all the inhabitants of damascus had abandoned their city. on the fourth day, the king resolving punctually to obey the caliph's orders, though he did not approve of them, sent criers into all quarters of the city to make proclamation, strictly commanding all the inhabitants of damascus, and strangers, of what condition soever, upon pain of death, and having their bodies cast to the dogs to be devoured, not to receive ganem's mother and sister into their houses, or give them a morsel of bread or a drop of water, and, in a word, not to afford them the least support, or hold the least correspondence with them. when the criers had performed what the king had enjoined them, that prince ordered the mother and the daughter to be turned out of the palace, and left to their choice to go where they thought fit. as soon as they appeared, all persons fled from them, so great an impression had the late prohibition made upon all. they easily perceived that every body shunned them; but not knowing the reason, were much surprised; and their amazement was the greater, when coming into any street, or among any persons, they recollected some of their best friends, who immediately retreated with as much haste as the rest. "what is the meaning of this," said ganem's mother; "do we carry the plague about us? must the unjust and barbarous usage we have received render us odious to our fellow-citizens? come, my child," added she, "let us depart from damascus with all speed; let us not stay any longer in a city where we are become frightful to our very friends." the two wretched ladies, discoursing in this manner, came to one of the extremities of the city, and retired to a ruined house to pass the night. thither some mussulmauns, out of charity and compassion, resorted to them after the day was shut in. they carried them provisions, but durst not stay to comfort them, for fear of being discovered, and punished for disobeying the caliph's orders. in the mean time king zinebi had let fly a pigeon to give the caliph an account of his exact obedience. he informed him of all that had been executed, and conjured him to direct what he would have done with ganem's mother and sister. he soon received the caliph's answer in the same way, which was, that he should banish them from damascus for ever. immediately the king of syria sent men to the old house, with orders to take the mother and daughter, and to conduct them three days' journey from damascus, and there to leave them, forbidding them ever to return to the city. zinebi's men executed their commission, but being less exact their master, in the strict performance of the caliph's orders, they in pity gave the wretched ladies some small pieces of money, and each of them a scrip, which they hung about their necks, to carry their provisions. in this miserable state they came to the first village. the peasants' wives flocked about them, and, as it appeared through their disguise that they were people of some condition, asked them what was the occasion of their travelling in a habit that did not seem to belong to them. instead of answering the question, they fell to weeping, which only served to heighten the curiosity of the peasants, and to move their compassion. ganem's mother told them what she and her daughter had endured; at which the good countrywomen were sensibly afflicted, and endeavoured to comfort them. they treated them as well as their poverty would permit, took off their horse-hair shifts, which were very uneasy to them, and put on them others which they gave them, with shoes, and something to cover their heads, and save their hair. having expressed their gratitude to those charitable women, jalib al koolloob and her mother departed from that village, taking short journeys towards aleppo. they used at dusk to retire near or into the mosques, where they passed the night on the mat, if there was any, or else on the bare pavement; and sometimes rested in the public places appointed for the use of travellers. as for sustenance, they did not want, for they often came to places where bread, boiled rice, and other provisions are distributed to all travellers who desire it. at length they came to aleppo, but would not stay there, and continuing their journey towards the euphrates, crossed the river, and entered mesopotamia, which they traversed as far as moussoul. thence, notwithstanding all they had endured, they proceeded to bagdad. that was the place they had fixed their thoughts upon, hoping to find ganem, though they ought not to have fancied that he was in a city where the caliph resided; but they hoped, because they wished it; their affection for him increasing instead of diminishing, with their misfortunes. their conversation was generally about him, and they inquired for him of all they met. but let us leave jalib al koolloob and her mother, and return to fetnah. she was still confined closely in the dark tower, since the day that had been so fatal to ganem and herself. however, disagreeable as her prison was to her, it was much less grievous than the thoughts of ganem's misfortune, the uncertainty of whose fate was a killing affliction. there was scarcely a moment in which she did not lament him. the caliph was accustomed to walk frequently at night within the enclosure of his palace, for he was the most inquisitive prince in the world, and sometimes, by those night-walks, came to the knowledge of things that happened in his court, which would otherwise never have reached his ear. one of those nights, in his walk, he happened to pass by the dark tower, and fancying he heard somebody talk, stops, and drawing near the door to listen, distinctly heard these words, which fetnah, whose thoughts were always on ganem, uttered with a loud voice: "o ganem, too unfortunate ganem! where are you at this time, whither has thy cruel fate led thee? alas! it is i that have made you wretched! why did you not let me perish miserably, rather than afford me your generous relief? what melancholy return have you received for your care and respect? the commander of the faithful, who ought to have rewarded, persecutes you; and in requital for having always regarded me as a person reserved for his bed, you lose your fortune, and are obliged to seek for safety in flight. o caliph, barbarous caliph, how can you exculpate yourself, when you shall appear with ganem before the tribunal of the supreme judge, and the angels shall testify the truth before your face? all the power you are now invested with, and which makes almost the whole world tremble, will not prevent your being condemned and punished for your violent and unjust proceedings." here fetnah ceased her complaints, her sighs and tears putting a stop to her utterance. this was enough to make the caliph reflect. he plainly perceived, that if what he had heard was true, his favourite must be innocent, and that he had been too hasty in giving such orders against ganem and his family. being resolved to be rightly informed in an affair which so nearly concerned him in point of equity, on which he valued himself, he immediately returned to his apartment, and that moment ordered mesrour to repair to the dark tower, and bring fetnah before him. by this command, and much more by the caliph's manner of speaking, the chief of the eunuchs guessed that his master designed to pardon his favourite, and take her to him again. he was overjoyed at the thought, for he respected fetnah, and had been much concerned at her disgrace; therefore flying instantly to the tower, "madam," said he to the favourite, with such an air as expressed his satisfaction, "be pleased to follow me; i hope you will never more return to this melancholy abode: the commander of the faithful wishes to speak with you, and i draw from this a happy omen." fetnah followed mesrour, who conducted her into the caliph's closet. she prostrated herself before him, and so continued, her face bathed in tears. "fetnah," said the caliph, without bidding her rise, "i think you charge me with violence and injustice. who is he, that, notwithstanding the regard and respell he had for me, is in a miserable condition? speak freely, you know the natural goodness of my disposition, and that i love to do justice." by these words the favourite was convinced that the caliph had heard what she had said, and availed herself of so favourable an opportunity to clear ganem. "commander of the true believers," said she, "if i have let fall any word that is not agreeable to your majesty, i most humbly beseech you to forgive me; but he whose innocence and wretched state you desire to be informed of is ganem, the unhappy son of abou ayoub, late a rich merchant of damascus. he saved my life from a grave, and afforded me a sanctuary in his house. i must own, that, from the first moment he saw me, he perhaps designed to devote himself to me, and conceived hopes of engaging me to admit his love. i guessed at this, by the eagerness which he shewed in entertaining me, and doing me all the good offices i so much wanted under the circumstances i was then in; but as soon as he heard that i had the honour to belong to you, 'ah, madam,' said he, 'that which belongs to the master is forbidden to the slave.' from that moment, i owe this justice to his virtue to declare, his behaviour was always suitable to his words. you, commander of the true believers, well know with what rigour you have treated him, and you will answer for it before the tribunal of god." the caliph was not displeased with fetnah for the freedom of these words; "but may i," said he, "rely on the assurance you give me of ganem's virtue?" "yes," replied fetnah, "you may. i would not for the world conceal the truth from you; and to prove to you that i am sincere, i must make a confession, which perhaps may displease you, but i beg pardon of your majesty beforehand." "speak, daughter," said haroon al rusheed, "i forgive you all, provided you conceal nothing from me." "well, then," replied fetnah, "let me inform you, that ganem's respectful behaviour, joined to all the good offices he did me, gained him my esteem. i went further yet: you know the tyranny of love: i felt some tender inclination rising in my breast. he perceived it; but far from availing himself of my frailty, and notwithstanding the flame which consumed him, he still remained steady in his duty, and all that his passion could force from him were the words i have already repeated to your majesty, 'that which belongs to the master is forbidden to the slave.'" this ingenuous confession might have provoked any other man than the caliph; but it completely appeased that prince. he commanded her to rise, and making her sit by him, "tell me your story," said he, "from the beginning to the end." she did so, with artless simplicity, passing slightly over what regarded zobeide, and enlarging on the obligations she owed to ganem; but above all, she highly extolled his discretion, endeavouring by that means to make the caliph sensible that she had been under the necessity of remaining concealed in ganem's house, to deceive zobeide. she concluded with the young merchant's escape, which she plainly told the caliph she had compelled him to, that he might avoid his indignation. when she had done speaking, the caliph said to her, "i believe all you have told me; but why was it so long before you let me hear from you? was there any need of staying a whole month after my return, before you sent me word where you were?" "commander of the true believers," answered fetnah, "ganem went abroad so very seldom, that you need not wonder we were not the first that heard of your return. besides, ganem, who took upon him to deliver the letter i wrote to nouron nihar, was a long time before he could find an opportunity of putting it into her own hands." "it is enough, fetnah," replied the caliph; "i acknowledge my fault, and would willingly make amends for it, by heaping favours on the young merchant of damascus. consider, therefore, what i can do for him. ask what you think fit, and i will grant it." hereupon the favourite fell down at the caliph's feet, with her face to the ground; and rising again, said, "commander of the true believers, after returning your majesty thanks for ganem, i most humbly entreat you to cause it to be published throughout your do minions, that you pardon the son of abou ayoub, and that he may safely come to you." "i must do more," rejoined the prince, "in requital for having saved your life, and the respect he has strewn for me, to make amends for the loss of his fortune. in short, to repair the wrong i have done to himself and his family, i give him to you for a husband." fetnah had no words expressive enough to thank the caliph for his generosity: she then withdrew into the apartment she had occupied before her melancholy adventure. the same furniture was still in it, nothing had been removed; but that which pleased her most was, to find ganem's chests and bales, which mesrour had received the caliph's orders to convey thither. the next day haroon al rusheed ordered the grand vizier, to cause proclamation to be made throughout all his dominions, that he pardoned ganem the son of abou ayoub; but this proved of no effect, for a long time elapsed without any news of the young merchant. fetnah concluded, that he had not been able to survive the pain of losing her. a dreadful uneasiness seized her mind; but as hope is the last thing which forsakes lovers, she entreated the caliph to give her leave to seek for ganem herself; which being granted, she took a purse containing a thousand pieces of gold, and went one morning out of the palace, mounted on a mule from the caliph's stables, very richly caparisoned. black eunuchs attended her, with a hand placed on each side of the mule's back. thus she went from mosque to mosque, bestowing her alms among the devotees of the mahummedan religion, desiring their prayers for the accomplishment of an affair, on which the happiness of two persons, she told them, depended. she spend the whole day and the thousand pieces of gold in giving alms at the mosques, and returned to the palace in the evening. the next day she took another purse of the same value, and in the like equipage as the day before, went to the square of the jewellers' shops, and stopping at the gateway without alighting, sent one of her black eunuchs for the syndic or chief of them. the syndic, who was a most charitable man, and spent above two-thirds of his income in relieving poor strangers, sick or in distress, did not make fetnah wait, knowing by her dress that she was a lady belonging to the palace. "i apply myself to you," said she, putting the purse into his hands, "as a person whose piety is celebrated throughout the city. i desire you to distribute that gold among the poor strangers you relieve, for i know you make it your business to assist those who apply to your charity. i am also satisfied that you prevent their wants, and that nothing is more grateful to you, than to have an opportunity of relieving their misery." "madam," answered the syndic, "i shall obey your commands with pleasure; but if you desire to exercise your charity in person, and will be pleased to step to my house, you will there see two women worthy of your compassion; i met them yesterday as they were coming into the city; they were in a deplorable condition, and it moved me the more, because i thought they were persons of rank. through all the rags that covered them, notwithstanding the impression the sun has made on their faces, i discovered a noble air, not to be commonly found in those people i relieve. i carried them both to my house, and delivered them to my wife, who was of the same opinion with me. she caused her slaves to provide them good beds, whilst she herself led them to our warm bath, and gave them clean linen. we know not as yet who they are, because we wish to let them take some rest before we trouble them with our questions." fetnah, without knowing why, felt a curiosity to see them. the syndic would have conducted her to his house, but she would not give him the trouble, and was satisfied that a slave should shew her the way. she alighted at the door, and followed the syndic's slave, who was gone before to give notice to his mistress, she being then in the chamber with jalib al koolloob and her mother, for they were the persons the syndic had been speaking of to fetnah. the syndic's wife being informed by the slave, that a lady from the palace was in her house, was hastening to meet her; but fetnah, who had followed the slave, did not give her time: on her coming into the chamber, the syndic's wife prostrated herself before her, to express the respect she had for all who belonged to the caliph. fetnah raised her up, and said, "my good lady, i desire you will let me speak with those two strangers that arrived at bagdad last night." "madam," answered the syndic's wife, "they lie in those beds you see by each other." the favourite immediately drew near the mother's, and viewing her carefully, "good woman," said she, "i come to offer you my assistance: i have considerable interest in this city, and may be of service to you and your companion." "madam," answered ganem's mother, "i perceive by your obliging offers, that heaven has not quite forsaken us, though we had cause to believe it had, after so many misfortunes as have befallen us." having uttered these words, she wept so bitterly that fetnah and the syndic's wife could not forbear letting fall some tears. the caliph's favourite having dried up hers, said to ganem's mother, "be so kind as to tell us your misfortunes, and recount your story. you cannot make the relation to any persons better disposed to use all possible means to comfort you." "madam," replied abou ayoub's disconsolate widow, "a favourite of the commander of the true believers, a lady whose name is fetnah, is the occasion of all our misfortunes." these words were like a thunderbolt to the favourite; but suppressing her agitation and concern, she suffered ganem's mother to proceed in the following manner: "i am the widow of abou ayoub, a merchant of damascus; i had a son called ganem, who, coming to trade at bagdad, has been accused of carrying off fetnah. the caliph caused search to be made for him every where, to put him to death; but not finding him, he wrote to the king of damascus, to cause our house to be plundered and razed, and to expose my daughter and myself three days successively, naked, to the populace, and then to banish us out of syria for ever. but how unworthy soever our usage has been, i should be still comforted were my son alive, and i could meet with him. what a pleasure would it be for his sister and me to see him again! embracing him we should forget the loss of our property, and all the evils we have suffered on his account. alas! i am fully persuaded he is only the innocent cause of them; and that he is no more guilty towards the caliph than his sister and myself." "no doubt of it," said fetnah, interrupting her there, "he is no more guilty than you are; i can assure you of his innocence; for i am that very fetnah, you so much complain of; who, through some fatality in my stars, have occasioned you so many misfortunes. to me you must impute the loss of your son, if he is no more; but if i have occasioned your misfortune, i can in some measure relieve it. i have already justified ganem to the caliph; who has caused it to be proclaimed throughout his dominions, that he pardons the son of abou ayoub; and doubt not he will do you as much good as he has done you injury. you are no longer his enemies. he waits for ganem, to requite the service he has done me, by uniting our fortunes; he gives me to him for his consort, therefore look on me as your daughter, and permit me to vow eternal duty and affection." having so said, she bowed down on ganem's mother, who was so astonished that she could return no answer. fetnah held her long in her arms, and only left her to embrace the daughter, who, sitting up, held out her arms to receive her. when the caliph's favourite had strewn the mother and daughter all tokens of affection, as ganem's wife, she said to them, "the wealth ganem had in this city is not lost, it is in my apartment in the palace; but i know all the treasure of the world cannot comfort you without ganem, if i may judge of you by myself. blood is no less powerful than love in great minds; but why should we despair of seeing him again? we shall find him; the happiness of meeting with you makes me conceive fresh hopes. perhaps this is the last day of your sufferings, and the beginning of a greater felicity than you enjoyed in damascus, when ganem was with you." fetnah would have proceeded, but the syndic of the jewellers coming in interrupted her: "madam," said he to her, "i come from seeing a very moving object, it is a young man, whom a camel-driver had just carried to an hospital: he was bound with cords on a camel, because he had not strength enough to sit. they had already unbound him, and were carrying him into the hospital, when i happened to pass by. i went up to the young man, viewed him attentively, and fancied his countenance was not altogether unknown to me. i asked him some questions concerning his family and his country; but all the answers i could get were sighs and tears. i took pity on him, and being so much used to sick people, perceived that he had need to have particular care taken of him. i would not permit him to be put into the hospital; for i am too well acquainted with their way of managing the sick, and am sensible of the incapacity of the physicians. i have caused him to be brought to my own house, by my slaves; and they are now in a private room where i placed him, putting on some of my own linen, and treating him as they would do myself." fetnah's heart beat at these words of the jeweller, and she felt a sudden emotion, for which she could not account: "shew me," said she to the syndic, "into the sick man's room; i should be glad to see him." the syndic conducted her, and whilst she was going thither, ganem's mother said to jalib al koolloob, "alas! daughter, wretched as that sick stranger is, your brother, if he be living, is not perhaps in a more happy condition." the caliph's favourite coming into the chamber of the sick stranger, drew near the bed, in which the syndic's slaves had already laid him. she saw a young man, whose eyes were closed, his countenance pale, disfigured, and bathed in tears. she gazed earnestly on him, her heart beat, and she fancied she beheld ganem; but yet she would not believe her eyes. though she found something of ganem in the objets she beheld, yet in other respects he appeared so different, that she durst not imagine it was he that lay before her. unable, however, to withstand the earnest desire of being satisfied, "ganem," said she, with a trembling voice, "is it you i behold?" having spoken these words, she stopped to give the young man time to answer, but observing that he seemed insensible; "alas! ganem," added she, "it is not you that i address! my imagination being overcharged with your image, has given to a stranger a deceitful resemblance. the son of abou ayoub, however indisposed, would know the voice of fetnah." at the name of fetnah, ganem (for it was really he) opened his eyes, sprang up, and knowing the caliph's favourite; "ah! madam," said he, "by what miracle" he could say no more; such a sudden transport of joy seized him that he fainted away. fetnah and the syndic did all they could to bring him to himself; but as soon as they perceived he began to revive, the syndic desired the lady to withdraw, lest the sight of her should heighten his disorder. the young man having recovered, looked all around, and not seeing what he sought, exclaimed, "what is become of you, charming fetnah? did you really appear before my eyes, or was it only an illusion?" "no, sir," said the syndic, "it was no illusion. it was i that caused the lady to withdraw, but you shall see her again, as soon as you are in a condition to bear the interview. you now stand in need of rest, and nothing ought to obstruct your taking it. the situation of your affairs is altered, since you are, as i suppose, that ganem, in favour of whom the commander of the true believers has caused a proclamation to be made in bagdad, declaring, that he forgives him what is passed. be satisfied, for the present, with knowing so much; the lady, who just now spoke to you, will acquaint you with the rest, therefore think of nothing but recovering your health; i will contribute all in my power towards it." having spoke these words, he left ganem to take his rest, and went himself to provide for him such medicines as were proper to recover his strength, exhausted by hard living and toil. during this time fetnah was in the room with jalib al koolloob and her mother, where almost the same scene was acted over again; for when ganem's mother understood that the sick stranger whom the syndic had brought into his house was ganem himself, she was so overjoyed, that she also swooned away, and when, with the assistance of fetnah and the syndic's wife, she was again come to herself, she would have arisen to go and see her son; but the syndic coming in, hindered her, representing that ganem was so weak and emaciated, that it would endanger his life to excite in him those emotions, which must be the consequence of the unexpected sight of a beloved mother and sister. there was no occasion for the syndic's saying any more to ganem's mother; as soon as she was told that she could not converse with her son, without hazarding his life, she ceased insisting to go and see him. fetnah then said, "let us bless heaven for having brought us all together. i will return to the palace to give the caliph an account of these adventures, and tomorrow morning i will return to you." this said, she embraced the mother and the daughter, and went away. as soon as she came to the palace, she sent mesrour to request a private audience of the caliph, which was immediately granted; and being brought into the prince's closet, where he was alone, she prostrated herself at his feet, with her face on the ground, according to custom. he commanded her to rise, and having made her sit down, asked whether she had heard any news of ganem? "commander of the true believers," said she, "i have been so successful, that i have found him, and also his mother and sister." the caliph was curious to know how she had discovered them in so short a time, and she satisfied his inquiries, saying so many things in commendation of ganem's mother and sister, he desired to see them as well as the young merchant. though haroon al rusheed was passionate, and in his heat sometimes guilty of cruel actions; yet he was just, and the most generous prince in the world, when the storm of anger was over, and he was made sensible of the wrong he had done. having therefore no longer cause to doubt but that he had unjustly persecuted ganem and his family, and had publicly wronged them, he resolved to make them public satisfaction. "i am overjoyed," said he to fetnah, "that your search has proved so successful; it is a real satisfaction to me, not so much for your sake as for my own. i will keep the promise i have made you. you shall marry ganem, and i here declare you are no longer my slave; you are free. go back to that young merchant, and as soon as he has recovered his health, you shall bring him to me with his mother and sister." the next morning early fetnah repaired to the syndic of the jewellers, being impatient to hear of ganem's health, and tell the mother and daughter the good news she had for them. the first person she met was the syndic, who told her that ganem had rested well that night; and that his disorder proceeding altogether from melancholy, the cause being removed, he would soon recover his health. accordingly the son of abou ayoub was speedily much amended. rest, and the good medicines he had taken, but above all the different situation of his mind, had wrought so good an effect, that the syndic thought he might without danger see his mother, his sister, and his mistress, provided he was prepared to receive them; because there was ground to fear, that, not knowing his mother and sister were at bagdad, the sight of them might occasion too great surprise and joy. it was therefore resolved, that fetnah should first go alone into ganem's chamber, and then make a sign to the two other ladies to appear, when she thought it was proper. matters being so ordered, the syndic announced fetnah's coming to the sick man, who was so transported to see her, that he was again near fainting away, "well, ganem," said she, drawing near to his bed, "you have again found your fetnah, whom you thought you had lost for ever." "ah! madam," exclaimed he, eagerly interrupting her, "what miracle has restored you to my sight? i thought you were in the caliph's palace; he has doubtless listened to you. you have dispelled his jealousy, and he has restored you to his favour." "yes, my dear ganem," answered fetnah, "i have cleared myself before the commander of the true believers, who, to make amends for the wrong he has done you, bestows me on you for a wife." these last words occasioned such an excess of joy in ganem, that he knew not for a while how to express himself, otherwise than by that passionate silence so well known to lovers. at length he broke out in these words: "beautiful fetnah, may i give credit to what you tell me? may i believe that the caliph really resigns you to abou ayoub's son?" "nothing is more certain," answered the lady. "the caliph, who before caused search to be made for you, to take away your life, and who in his fury caused your mother and your sister to suffer a thousand indignities, desires now to see you, that he may reward the respect you had for him; and there is no question but that he will load your family with favours." ganem asked, what the caliph had done to his mother and sister, which fetnah told him; and he could not forbear letting fall some tears at the relation, notwithstanding the thoughts which arose in his mind at the prospect of being married to his mistress. but when fetnah informed him, that they were actually in bagdad, and in the same house with him, he appeared so impatient to see them, that the favourite could no longer defer giving him the satisfaction; and accordingly called them in. they were at the door waiting for that moment. they entered, went up to ganem, and embracing him in their turns, kissed him a thousand times. what tears were shed amidst those embraces! ganem's face was bathed with them, as well as his mother's and sisters; and fetnah let fall abundance. the syndic himself and his wife were so moved at the spectacle, that they could not forbear weeping, nor sufficiently admire the secret workings of providence which had brought together into their house four persons, whom fortune had so cruelly persecuted. when they had dried up their tears, ganem drew them afresh, by the recital of what he had suffered from the day he left fetnah, till the moment the syndic brought him to his house. he told them, that having taken refuge in a small village, he there fell sick; that some charitable peasants had taken care of him, but finding he did not recover, a camel-driver had undertaken to carry him to the hospital at bagdad. fetnah also told them all the uneasiness of her imprisonment, how the caliph, having heard her talk in the tower, had sent for her into his closet, and how she had cleared herself. in conclusion, when they had related what accidents had befallen them, fetnah said, "let us bless heaven, which has brought us all together again, and let us think of nothing but the happiness that awaits us. as soon as ganem has recovered his health, he must appear before the caliph, with his mother and sister; but i will go and make some provision for them." this said, she went to the palace, and soon returned with a purse containing a thousand pieces of gold, which she delivered to the syndic, desiring him to buy apparel for the mother and daughter. the syndic, who was a man of a good taste, chose such as were very handsome, and had them made up with all expedition. they were finished in three days, and ganem finding himself strong enough, prepared to go abroad; but on the day he had appointed to pay his respects to the caliph, while he was making ready, with his mother and sister, the grand vizier, jaaffier came to the syndic's house. he had come on horseback, attended by a great number of officers. "sir," said he to ganem, as soon as he entered, "i am come from the commander of the true believers, my master and yours; the orders i have differ much from those which i do not wish to revive in your memory; i am to bear you company, and to present you to the caliph, who is desirous to see you." ganem returned no other answer to the vizier's compliment, than by profoundly bowing his head, and then mounted a horse brought from the caliph's stables, which he managed very gracefully. the mother and daughter were mounted on mules belonging to the palace, and whilst fetnah on another mule led them by a bye-way to the prince's court, jaaffier conducted ganem, and brought him into the hall of audience. the caliph was sitting on his throne, encompassed with emirs, viziers, and other attendants and courtiers, arabs, persians, egyptians, africans, and syrians, of his own dominions, not to mention strangers. when the vizier had conducted ganem to the foot of the throne, the young merchant paid his obeisance, prostrating himself with his face to the ground, and then rising, made a handsome compliment in verse, which, though the effusion of the moment, met with the approbation of the whole court. after his compliment, the caliph caused him to approach, and said, "i am glad to see you, and desire to hear from your own mouth where you found my favourite, and all that you have done for her." ganem obeyed, and appeared so sincere, that the caliph was convinced of his veracity. he ordered a very rich vest to be given him, according to the custom observed towards those who are admitted to audience. after which he said to him, "ganem, i will have you live in my court." "commander of the true believers," answered the young merchant, "a slave has no will but his master's, on whom his life and fortune depend." the caliph was highly pleased with ganem's reply, and assigned him a considerable pension. he then descended from his throne, and causing only ganem and the grand vizier, follow him, retired into his own apartment. not questioning but that fetnah was in waiting, with abou ayoub's widow and daughter, he caused them to be called in. they prostrated themselves before him: he made them rise; and was so charmed by jalib al koolloob's beauty, that, after viewing her very attentively, he said, "i am so sorry for having treated your charms so unworthily, that i owe them such a satisfaction as may surpass the injury i have done. i take you to wife; and by that means shall punish zobeide, who shall become the first cause of your good fortune, as she was of your past sufferings. this is not all," added he, turning towards ganem's mother; "you are still young, i believe you will not disdain to be allied to my grand vizier, i give you to jaaffier, and you, fetnah, to ganem. let a cauzee and witnesses be called, and the three contracts be drawn up and signed immediately." ganem would have represented to the caliph, that it would be honour enough for his sister to be one of his favourites; but he was resolved to marry her. haroon thought this such an extraordinary story, that he ordered his historiographer to commit it to writing with all its circumstances. it was afterwards laid up in his library, and many copies being transcribed, it became public. end of volume . the "aldine" edition of the arabian nights entertainments illustrated by s. l. wood from the text of dr. jonathan scott in four volumes volume london pickering and chatto contents of volume ii. the story of the little hunch-back the story told by the christian merchant the story told by the sultan of casgar's purveyor the story told by the jewish physician the story told by the tailor the story told by the barber the story told by the barber's eldest brother the story told by the barber's second brother the story told by the barber's third brother the story told by the barber's fourth brother the story told by the barber's fifth brother the story told by the barber's sixth brother the history of aboulhassen ali ebn ecar, and schemselnihar, favourite of caliph haroon al rusheed the story of the loves of kummir al zummaun, prince of the isles of the children of khaledan, and of badoura, princess of china the story of the princes amgiad and assad the story of the prince amgiad and a lady of the city of magicians the story of noor ad deen and the fair persian the story of the little hunch-back. there was in former times at casgar, on the extreme boundaries of tartary, a tailor who had a pretty wife, whom he affectionately loved, and by whom he was beloved with reciprocal tenderness. one day while he was at work, a little hunch-back seated himself at the shop door and began to sing, and play upon a tabor. the tailor was pleased with his performance, and resolved to take him to his house to entertain his wife: "this little fellow," said he, "will divert us both this evening." he accordingly invited him, and the other readily accepted the invitation: so the tailor shut up his shop, and carried him home. immediately after their arrival the tailor's wife placed before them a good dish of fish; but as the little man was eating, he unluckily swallowed a bone, which, notwithstanding all that the tailor and his wife could do, choked him. this accident greatly alarmed them both, dreading, if the magistrates should hear of it, that they would be punished as murderers. however, the husband devised a scheme to get rid of the corpse. he reflected that a jewish doctor lived just by, and having formed his plan, his wife and he took the corpse, the one by the feet and the other by the head, and carried it to the physician's house. they knocked at the door, from which a steep flight of stairs led to his chamber. the servant maid came down without any light, and opening the door, asked what they wanted. "have the goodness," said the tailor, "to go up again, and tell your master we have brought him a man who is very ill, and wants his advice. here," continued he, putting a piece of money into her hand, "give him that beforehand, to convince him that we do not mean to impose." while the servant was gone up to inform her master, the tailor and his wife hastily conveyed the hunchbacked corpse to the head of the stairs, and leaving it there, hurried away. in the mean time, the maid told the doctor, that a man and woman waited for him at the door, desiring he would come down and look at a sick man whom they had brought with them, and clapped into his hand the money she had received. the doctor was transported with joy; being paid beforehand, he thought it must needs be a good patient, and should not be neglected. "light, light," cried he to the maid; "follow me quickly." as he spoke, he hastily ran towards the head of the stairs without waiting for a light, and came against the corpse with so much violence that he precipitated it to the bottom, and had nearly fallen with it. "bring me a light," cried he to the maid; "quick, quick." at last she brought one, and he went down stairs with her; but when he saw that what he had kicked down was a dead man, he was so frightened, that he invoked moses, aaron, joshua, esdras, and all the other prophets of his nation. "unhappy man that i am," said he, "why did i attempt to come without a light! i have killed the poor fellow who was brought to me to be cured: doubtless i am the cause of his death, and unless esdras's ass come to assist me, i am ruined: mercy on me, they will be here out of hand, and drag me out of my house for a murderer." notwithstanding the perplexity and confusion into which he was thrown, he had the precaution to shut his door, for fear any one passing by should observe the accident of which he reckoned himself to be the author. he then took the corpse into his wife's chamber, who was ready to swoon at the sight. "alas," cried she, "we are utterly ruined and undone, unless we can devise some expedient to get the corpse out of our house this night. if we harbour it till morning we are lost. what a deplorable misfortune is this! what have you done to kill this man?" "that is not now the question," replied the jew; "our business at present is, to find a remedy for the evil which threatens us." the doctor and his wife consulted how to dispose of the corpse that night. the doctor racked his brain in vain, he could not think of any stratagem to relieve his embarrassment; but his wife, who was more fertile in invention, said, "a thought is just come into my head; let us carry the corpse to the terrace of our house, and throw it down the chimney of our mussulmaun neighbour." this mussulmaun was one of the sultan's purveyors for furnishing oil, butter, and articles of a similar nature, and had a magazine in his house, where the rats and mice made prodigious havoc. the jewish doctor approving the proposed expedient, the wife and he took the little hunch-back up to the roof of the house; and clapping ropes under his arm-pits, let him down the chimney into the purveyor's chamber so dexterously that he stood upright against the wall, as if he had been alive. when they found he had reached the bottom, they pulled up the ropes, and left the corpse in that posture. they were scarcely got down into their chamber, when the purveyor, who had just returned from a wedding feast, went into his room, with a lanthorn in his hand. he was not a little surprised to discover a man standing in his chimney; but being a stout fellow, and apprehending him to be a thief, he took up a stick, and making straight up to the hunch-back, "ah!" said he, "i thought the rats and mice ate my butter and tallow; but it is you who come down the chimney to rob me? however, i think you will have no wish to come here again." upon this he attacked hunch-back, and struck him several times with his stick. the corpse fell down flat on the ground, and the purveyor redoubled his blows. but, observing that the body did not move, he stood a little time to regard it; and then, perceiving it to be dead, fear succeeded his anger. "wretched man that i am," said he, "what have i done! i have killed a man; alas, i have carried my revenge too far. good god, unless thou pity me my life is gone! cursed, ten thousand times accursed, be the fat and the oil that occasioned me to commit so criminal an action." he stood pale and thunderstruck; he fancied he already saw the officers come to drag him to condign punishment, and could not tell what resolution to take. the sultan of casgar's purveyor had never noticed the little man's hump-back when he was beating him, but as soon as he perceived it, he uttered a thousand imprecations against him. "ah, thou cursed hunch-back," cried he, "thou crooked wretch, would to god thou hadst robbed me of all my fat, and i had not found thee here. i then should not have been thrown into this perplexity on account of this and thy vile hunch. ye stars that twinkle in the heavens, give your light to none but me in this dangerous juncture." as soon as he had uttered these words, he took the crooked corpse upon his shoulders, and carried it to the end of the street, where he placed it in an upright posture against a shop; he then returned without once looking behind him. a few minutes before day-break, a christian merchant, who was very rich, and furnished the sultan's palace with various articles, having sat up all night at a debauch, happened to come from his house in this direction on his way to the bath. though he was intoxicated, he was sensible that the night was far spent, and that the people would soon be called to morning prayers; he therefore quickened his pace to get to the bath in time, lest some mussulmaun, in his way to the mosque, should meet him and carry him to prison for a drunkard. when he came to the end of the street, he had occasion to stop by the shop where the sultan's purveyor had put the hunch-backed corpse; which being jostled by him, tumbled upon the merchant's back. the merchant thinking he was attacked by a robber, knocked it down, and after redoubling his blows, cried out "thieves!" the outcry alarmed the watch, who came up immediately, and finding a christian beating a mussulmaun (for hump-back was of our religion), "what reason have you," said he, "to abuse a mussulmaun in this manner?" "he would have robbed me," replied the merchant, "and jumped upon my back in order to take me by the throat." "if he did," said the watch, "you have revenged yourself sufficiently; come, get off him." at the same time he stretched out his hand to help little hump-back up, but observing he was dead, "oh!" said he, "is it thus that a christian dares to assassinate a mussulmaun?" so saying, he laid hold of the christian, and carried him to the house of the officer of the police, where he was kept till the judge was stirring, and ready to examine him. in the mean time, the christian merchant became sober, and the more he reflected upon his adventure, the less could he conceive how such slight blows of his fist could have killed the man. the judge having heard the report of the watch, and viewed the corpse, which they had taken care to bring to his house, interrogated the christian merchant, who could not deny the crime, though he had not committed it. but the judge considering that little hump-back belonged to the sultan, for he was one of his buffoons, would not put the christian to death till he knew the sultan's pleasure. for this end he went to the palace, and acquainted the sultan with what had happened; and received this answer: "i have no mercy to show to a christian who kills a mussulmaun." upon this the judge ordered a stake to be prepared, and sent criers all over the city to proclaim that they were about to impale a christian for killing a mussulmaun. at length the merchant was brought to the place of execution; and the executioner was about to do his duty, when the sultan's purveyor pushed through the crowd, calling to him to stop for that the christian had not committed the murder, but he himself had done it. upon that, the officer who attended the execution began to question the purveyor, who told him every circumstance of his having killed the little hunchback, and how he had conveyed his corpse to the place where the christian merchant had found it. "you were about," added he, "to put to death an innocent person; for how can he be guilty of the death of a man who was dead before he touched him? it is enough for me to have killed a mussulmaun without loading my conscience with the death of a christian who is not guilty." the sultan of casgar's purveyor having publicly charged himself with the death of the little hunchbacked man, the officer could do no less than execute justice on the merchant. "let the christian go," said he to the executioner, "and impale this man in his stead, since it appears by his own confession that he is guilty." thereupon the executioner released the merchant, and seized the purveyor; but just as he was going to impale him, he heard the voice of the jewish doctor, earnestly intreating him to suspend the execution, and make room for him to approach. when he appeared before the judge, "my lord," said he, "this mussulmaun you are going to execute is not guilty. i am the criminal. last night a man and a woman, unknown to me, came to my door with a sick man; my maid went and opened it without a light, and received from them a piece of money with a commission to come and desire me, in their name, to step down and look at the patient. while she was delivering her message, they conveyed the sick person to the stair-head, and disappeared. i went, without staying till my servant had lighted a candle, and in the dark happened to stumble upon the sick person, and kick him down stairs. at length i saw he was dead, and that it was the crooked mussulmaun whose death you are now about to avenge. my wife and i took the corpse, and, after conveying it up to the roof of the purveyor, our next neighbour, whom you were going to put to death unjustly, let it down the chimney into his chamber. the purveyor finding it in his house, took the little man for a thief, and after beating him concluded he had killed him. but that it was not so you will be convinced by this my deposition; i am the sole author of the murder; and though it was committed undesignedly, i am resolved to expiate my crime, that i may not have to charge myself with the death of two mussulmauns." the chief justice being persuaded that the jewish doctor was the murderer, gave orders to the executioner to seize him and release the purveyor. accordingly the doctor was just going to be impaled, when the tailor appeared, crying to the executioner to hold his hand, and make room for him, that he might come and make his confession to the chief judge. room being made, "my lord," said he, "you have narrowly escaped taking away the lives of three innocent persons; but if you will have the patience to hear me, i will discover to you the real murderer of the crook backed man. if his death is to be expiated by another, that must be mine. yesterday, towards the evening, as i was at work in my shop, and was disposed to be merry, the little hunch-back came to my door half-drunk, and sat down. he sung a little, and so i invited him to pass the evening at my house. he accepted the invitation and went in with me. we sat down to supper and i gave him a plate of fish; but in eating, a bone stuck in his throat, and though my wife and i did our utmost to relieve him, he died in a few minutes. his death afflicted us extremely, and for fear of being charged with it, we carried the corpse to the jewish doctor's house and knocked. the maid came and opened the door; i desired her to go up again and ask her master to come down and give his advice to a sick person whom we had brought along with us; and withal, to encourage him, i charged her to give him a piece of money, which i put into her hand. when she was gone, i carried the hunch-back up stairs, and laid him upon the uppermost step, and then my wife and i made the best of our way home. the doctor coming, threw the corpse down stairs, and concluded himself to be the author of his death. this being the case," continued he, "release the doctor, and let me die in his stead." the chief justice, and all the spectators, wondered at the strange events which had ensued upon the death of the little hunch-back. "let the jewish doctor go," said the judge, "and seize the tailor, since he confesses the crime. it is certain this history is very uncommon, and deserves to be recorded in letters of gold." the executioner having dismissed the doctor prepared to impale the tailor. while the executioner was making ready to impale the tailor, the sultan of casgar, wanting the company of his crooked jester, asked where he was; and one of his officers told him; "the hunch-back, sir, whom you inquire after, got drunk last night, and contrary to his custom slipped out of the palace, and went strolling about the city, and this morning was found dead. a man was brought before the chief justice, and charged with the murder of him; but when he was going to be impaled, up came a man, and after him another, who took the charge upon themselves and cleared one another, and the judge is now examining a third, who gives himself out for the real author of the murder." upon this intelligence the sultan of casgar sent an officer to the place of execution. "go," said he, "with all expedition, and tell the judge to bring the accused persons before me immediately and bring also the corpse of poor hunch-back, that i may see him once more." accordingly the officer went, and happened to arrive at the place of execution at the very time that the executioner had laid his hands upon the tailor. he called aloud to him to suspend the execution. the executioner knowing the officer, did not dare to proceed, but released the tailor; and then the officer acquainted the judge with the sultan's pleasure. the judge obeyed, and went directly to the palace accompanied by the tailor, the jewish doctor, and the christian merchant; and made four of his men carry the hunch-backed corpse along with him. when they appeared in the sultan's presence, the judge threw himself at the prince's feet and after recovering himself, gave him a faithful relation of what he knew of the story of the hunch-backed man. the story appeared so extraordinary to the sultan, that he ordered his own historian to write it down with all its circumstances. then addressing himself to the audience; "did you ever hear," said he, "such a surprising event as has happened on the account of my little crooked buffoon?" the christian merchant, after falling down, and touching the earth with his forehead, spoke as follows: "most puissant monarch, i know a story yet more astonishing than this; if your majesty will give me leave, i will relate it. the circumstances are such, that no one can hear them without emotion." "well," said the sultan, "you have my permission:" and the merchant went on as follows: the story told by the christian merchant. sir, before i commence the recital of the story you have permitted me to relate, i beg leave to acquaint you, that i have not the honour to be born in any part of your majesty's empire. i am a stranger, born at cairo in egypt, a copt by nation, and by religion a christian. my father was a broker, and realized considerable property, which he left me at his death. i followed his example, and pursued the same employment. while i was standing in the public inn frequented by the corn merchants, there came up to me a handsome young man, well dressed, and mounted on an ass. he saluted me, and pulling out a handkerchief, in which he had a sample of sesame or turkey corn, asked me how much a bushel of such sesame would fetch. i examined the corn the young man shewed me, and told him it was worth a hundred dirhems of silver per bushel. "pray," said he, "look out for some merchant to take it at that price, and come to me at the victory gate, where you will see a khan at a distance from the houses." so saying, he left me the sample, and i shewed it to several merchants, who told me, that they would take as much as i could spare at a hundred and ten dirhems per bushel, so that i reckoned on getting ten dirhems per bushel for my commission. full of the expectation of this profit, i went to the victory gate, where i found the young merchant expecting me, and he took me into his granary, which was full of sesame. he had then a hundred and fifty bushels, which i measured out, and having carried them off upon asses, sold them for five thousand dirhems of silver. "out of this sum," said the young man, "there are five hundred dirhems coming to you, at the rate of ten dirhems per bushel. this i give you; and as for the rest which pertains to me, take it out of the merchants' hands, and keep it till i call or send for it, for i have no occasion for it at present." i answered, it should be ready for him whenever he pleased to demand it; and so, kissing his hand, took leave of him, with a grateful sense of his generosity. a month passed before he came near me: then he asked for the sum he had committed to my trust. i told him it was ready, and should be counted to him immediately. he was mounted on his ass, and i desired him to alight, and do me the honour to eat a mouthful with me before he received his money. "no," said he, "i cannot alight at present, i have urgent business that obliges me to be at a place just by; but i will return this way, and then take the money which i desired you would have in readiness." this said, he disappeared, and i still expected his return, but it was a full month before i saw him again. "this young merchant," thought i, "has great confidence in me, leaving so great a sum in my hands without knowing me; any other man would have been afraid i should have run away with it." to be short, he came again at the end of the third month, and was still mounted on his ass, but more handsomely dressed than before. as soon as i saw the young man, i intreated him to alight, and asked him if he would not take his money? "there is no hurry," said he, with a pleasant easy air, "i know it is in good hands; i will come and take it when my other money is all gone. adieu," continued he, "i will return towards the end of the week." with that he struck the ass, and soon disappeared. "well," thought i, "he says he will see me towards the end of the week, but he may not perhaps return for a great while; i will make the most i can of his money, which may bring me much profit." as it happened, i was not deceived in my conjecture; for it was a full year before i saw my young merchant again. he then appeared as richly appareled as before, but seemed to have something on his spirits. i asked him to do me the honour to walk into my house. "for this time," replied he, "i will: but on this condition, that you shall put yourself to no extraordinary charge on my account." "i will do just as you please," said i, "only do me the favour to alight and walk in." accordingly he complied. i gave orders to have a repast prepared, and while this was doing, we entered into conversation. all things being ready, we sat down. i observed he took the first mouthful with his left hand, and not with the right. i was at a loss what to think of this. "ever since i have known this young man," said i inwardly, "he has always appeared very polite; is it possible he can do this out of contempt? what can be the reason he does not use his right hand?" after we had done eating, and every thing was taken away, we sat upon a sofa, and i presented him with a lozenge by way of dainty; but still he took it with his left hand. i said to him, "pardon, sir, the liberty i take in asking you what reason you have for not using your right hand? perhaps you have some complaint in that hand." instead of answering, he heaved a deep sigh, and pulling out his right arm, which he had hitherto kept under his vest, shewed me, to my great astonishment, that it had been cut off. "doubtless you were displeased," said he, "to see me feed myself with the left hand; but i leave you to judge, whether it was in my power to do otherwise." "may one ask," said i, "by what mischance you lost your right hand?" upon that he burst into tears, and after wiping his eyes, gave me the following relation. you must know that i am a native of bagdad, the son of a rich merchant, the most eminent in that city for rank and opulence. i had scarcely launched into the world, when falling into the company of travellers, and hearing their wonderful accounts of egypt, especially of grand cairo, i was interested by their discourse, and felt a strong desire to travel. but my father was then alive, and would not grant me permission. at length he died; and being then my own master, i resolved to take a journey to cairo. i laid out a large sum of money in the purchase of several sorts of fine stuffs of bagdad and moussol and departed. arriving at cairo, i went to the khan, called the khan of mesrour, and there took lodgings, with a warehouse for my bales, which i had brought with me upon camels. this done, i retired to my chamber to rest, after the fatigue of my journey, and gave some money to my servants, with orders to buy some provisions and dress them. after i had eaten, i went to view the castle, some mosques, the public squares, and the other most remarkable places. next day i dressed myself, and ordered some of the finest and richest of my bales to be selected and carried by my slaves to the circassian bazaar, whither i followed. i had no sooner made my appearance, than i was surrounded with brokers and criers who had heard of my arrival. i gave patterns of my stuffs to several of the criers, who shewed them all over the bazaar; but none of the merchants offered near so much as prime cost and carriage. this vexed me, and the criers observing i was dissatisfied, said, "if you will take our advice, we will put you in a way to sell your goods without loss." the brokers and the criers, having thus promised to put me in a way of losing nothing by my goods, i asked them what course they would have me pursue. "divide your goods," said they, "among several merchants, they will sell them by retail; and twice a week, that is on mondays and thursdays, you may receive what money they may have taken. by this means, instead of losing, you will turn your goods to advantage, and the merchants will gain by you. in the mean while you will have time to take your pleasure about the town or go upon the nile." i took their advice, and conducted them to my warehouse; from whence i brought all my goods to the bazaar, and there divided them among the merchants whom they represented as most reputable and able to pay; and the merchants gave me a formal receipt before witnesses, stipulating that i should not making any demands upon them for the first month. having thus regulated my affairs, my mind was occupied with ordinary pleasures. i contracted acquaintance with divers persons of nearly the same age with myself, which made the time pass agreeably. after the first month had expired, i began to visit my merchants twice a week, taking with me a public officer to inspect their books of sale, and a banker to see that they paid me in good money, and to regulate the value of the several coins. every pay-day, i had a good sum of money to carry home to my lodging at the khan of mesrour. i went on other days to pass the morning sometimes at one merchant's house, and sometimes at that of another. in short, i amused myself in conversing with them, and seeing what passed in the bazaar. one monday, as i was sitting in a merchant's shop, whose name was buddir ad deen, a lady of quality, as might easily be perceived by her air, her apparel, and by a well-dressed slave attending her, came into the shop, and sat down by me. her external appearance, joined to a natural grace that shone in all her actions, prepossessed me in her favour, and inspired me with a desire to be better acquainted with her. i know not whether she observed that i took pleasure in gazing on her, and whether this attention on my part was not agreeable to her; but she let down the crepe that hung over the muslin which covered her face, and gave me the opportunity of seeing her large black eyes; which perfectly charmed me. in fine, she inflamed my love to the height by the agreeable sound of her voice, her graceful carriage in saluting the merchant, and asking him how he did since she had seen him last. after conversing with him some time upon indifferent subjects, she gave him to understand that she wanted a particular kind of stuff with a gold ground; that she came to his shop, as affording the best choice of any in all the bazaar; and that if he had any such as she asked for, he would oblige her in showing them. buddir ad deen produced several pieces, one of which she pitched upon, and he asked for it eleven hundred dirhems of silver. "i will," said she, "give you your price for it, but i have not money enough about me; so i hope you will give me credit till to-morrow, and in the mean time allow me to carry home the stuff. i shall not fail," added she, "to send you tomorrow the eleven hundred dirhems." "madam," said buddir ad deen, "i would give you credit with all my heart if the stuff were mine; but it belongs to the young man you see here, and this is the day on which we settle our accounts." "why," said the lady in surprise, "do you use me so? am not i a customer to your shop and when i have bought of you, and carried home the things without paying ready money for them, did i in any instance fail to send you your money next morning?" "madam," said the merchant, "all this is true, but this very day i have occasion for the money." "there," said she, throwing the stuff to him, "take your stuff, i care not for you nor any of the merchants. you are all alike; you respect no one." as she spoke, she rose up in anger, and walked out. when i saw that the lady walked away, i felt interested on her behalf, and called her back, saying, "madam, do me the favour to return, perhaps i can find a way to satisfy you both." she returned, saying, it was on my account that she complied. "buddir ad deen," said i to the merchant, "what is the price you must have for this stuff that belongs to me?" "i must have," replied he, "eleven hundred dirhems, i cannot take less." "give it to the lady then," said i, "let her take it home with her; i allow a hundred dirhems profit to yourself, and shall now write you a note, empowering you to deduct that sum upon the produce of the other goods you have of mine." in fine, i wrote, signed, and gave him the note, and then delivered the stuff to the lady. "madam," said i, "you may take the stuff with you, and as for the money, you may either send it to-morrow or the next day; or, if you will, accept it as a present from me." "pardon me," returned she, "i mean no such thing. you treat me with so much politeness, that i should be unworthy to appear in the world again, were i to omit making you my best acknowledgments. may god reward you, by an increase of your fortune; may you live many years after i am dead; may the gate of paradise be open to you when you remove to the other world, and may all the city proclaim your generosity." these words inspired me with some assurance. "madam," i replied, "i desire no other reward for the service i have done you than the happiness of seeing your face; which will repay me with interest." i had no sooner spoken than she turned towards me, took off her veil, and discovered to me a wonderful beauty. i became speechless with admiration. i could have gazed upon her for ever; but fearing any one should observe her, she quickly covered her face, and letting down the crepe, took up the piece of stuff, and went away, leaving me in a very different state of mind from that in which i had entered the shop. i continued for some time in great confusion and perplexity. before i took leave of the merchant, i asked him, if he knew the lady; "yes," said he, "she is the daughter of an emir." i went back to the khan of mesrour, and sat down to supper, but could not eat, neither could i shut my eyes all the night, which seemed the longest in my life. as soon as it was day i arose, in hopes of once more beholding the object that disturbed my repose: and to engage her affection, i dressed myself much richer than i had done the day before. i had but just reached buddir ad deen's shop, when i saw the lady coming in more magnificent apparel than before, and attended by her slave. when she entered, she did not regard the merchant, but addressing herself to me, said, "sir, you see i am punctual to my word. i am come for the express purpose of paying the sum you were so kind as to pass your word for yesterday, though you had no knowledge of me. such uncommon generosity i shall never forget." "madam," said i, "you had no occasion to be in such haste; i was well satisfied as to my money, and am sorry you should put yourself to so much trouble." "i had been very unjust," answered she, "if i had abused your generosity." with these words she put the money into my hand, and sat down by me. having this opportunity of conversing with her, i determined to improve it, and mentioned to her the love i had for her; but she rose and left me very abruptly, as if she had been angry with the declaration i had made. i followed her with my eyes as long as she continued in sight; then taking leave of the merchant walked out of the bazaar, without knowing where i went. i was musing on this adventure, when i felt somebody pulling me behind, and turning to see who it was, i was agreeably surprised to perceive it was the lady's slave. "my mistress," said she, "i mean the young lady you spoke to in the merchant's shop, wants to speak with you, if you please to give yourself the trouble to follow me." accordingly i followed her, and found her mistress sitting waiting for me in a banker's shop. she made me sit down by her, and spoke to this purpose. "do not be surprised, that i left you so abruptly. i thought it not proper, before that merchant, to give a favourable answer to the discovery you made of your affection for me. but to speak the truth, i was so far from being offended at it, that it gave me pleasure; and i account myself infinitely happy in having a man of your merit for my lover. i do not know what impression the first sight of me may have made on you, but i assure you, i had no sooner beheld you than i found my heart moved with the tenderest emotions of love. since yesterday i have done nothing but think of what you said to me; and my eagerness to seek you this morning may convince you of my regard." "madam," i replied, transported with love and joy, "nothing can be more agreeable to me than this declaration. no passion can exceed that with which i love you. my eyes were dazzled with so many charms, that my heart yielded without resistance." "let us not trifle away the time in needless discourse," said she, interrupting me; "make no doubt of your sincerity, and you shall quickly be convinced of mine. will you do me the honour to come to my residence? or if you will i will go to yours." "madam," i returned, "i am a stranger lodged in a khan, which is not the proper place for the reception of a lady of your quality. it is more proper, madam, that i should visit you at your house; have the goodness to tell me where it is." the lady consented; "come," said she, "on friday, which is the day after to-morrow, after noon-prayers, and ask for the house of abou schama, surnamed bercour, late master of the emirs; there you will find me." this said, we parted; and i passed the next day in great impatience. on friday i put on my richest apparel, and took fifty pieces of gold in my purse. i mounted an ass i had bespoken the day before, and set out, accompanied by the man who let me the ass. i directed the owner of the ass to inquire for the house i wanted; he found it, and conducted me thither. i paid him liberally, directing him to observe narrowly where he left me, and not to fail to return next morning with the ass, to carry me again to the khan of mesrour. i knocked at the door, and presently two little female slaves, white as snow, and neatly dressed came and opened it. "be pleased to come in, sir," said they, "our mistress expects you impatiently; these two days she has talked of nothing but you." i entered the court, and saw a pavilion raised seven steps, and surrounded with iron rails that parted it from a very pleasant garden. besides the trees which only embellished the place, and formed an agreeable shade, there was an infinite number of others loaded with all sorts of fruit. i was charmed with the warbling of a great number of birds, that joined their notes to the murmurings of a fountain, in the middle of a parterre enamelled with flowers. this fountain formed a very agreeable object; four large gilded dragons at the angles of the basin, which was of a square form, spouted out water clearer than rock-crystal. this delicious place gave me a charming idea of the conquest i had made. the two little slaves conducted me into a saloon magnificently furnished; and while one of them went to acquaint her mistress with my arrival, the other tarried with me, and pointed out to me the beauties of the hall. i did not wait long in the hall, ere the lady i loved appeared, adorned with pearls and diamonds; but the splendour of her eyes far outshone that of her jewels. her shape, which was now not disguised by the habit she wore in the city, appeared the most slender and delicate. i need not mention with what joy we met once more; it far exceeded all expression. when the first compliments were over, we sat down upon a sofa, and there conversed together with the highest satisfaction. we had the most delicious refreshments served up to us; and after eating, continued our conversation till night. we then had excellent wine brought up, and fruit adapted to promote drinking, and timed our cups to the sound of musical instruments, joined to the voices of the slaves. the lady of the house sung herself, and by her songs raised my passion to the height. in short, i passed the night in full enjoyment. next morning i slipped under the bolster of the bed the purse with the fifty pieces of gold i had brought with me, and took leave of the lady, who asked me when i would see her again. "madam," said i, "i give you my promise to return this night." she seemed to be transported with my answer, and conducting me to the door, conjured me at parting to be mindful of my promise. the same man who had carried me thither waited for me with his ass, which i mounted, and went directly to the khan; ordering the man to come to me again in the afternoon at a certain hour, to secure which, i deferred paying him till that time came. as soon as i arrived at my lodging, my first care was to order my people to buy a lamb, and several sorts of cakes, which i sent by a porter as a present to the lady. when that was done i attended to my business till the owner of the ass arrived. i then went along with him to the lady's house, and was received by her with as much joy as before, and entertained with equal magnificence. next morning i took leave, left her another purse with fifty pieces of gold, and returned to my khan. i continued to visit the lady every day, and to leave her every time a purse with fifty pieces of gold, till the merchants whom i employed to sell my goods, and whom i visited regularly twice a week, had paid me the whole amount of my goods and, in short, i came at last to be moneyless, and hopeless of having any more. in this forlorn condition i walked out of my lodging, not knowing what course to take, and by chance went towards the castle, where there was a great crowd to witness a spectacle given by the sultan of egypt. as soon as i came up, i wedged in among the crowd, and by chance happened to stand by a horseman well mounted and handsomely clothed, who had upon the pommel of his saddle a bag, half open, with a string of green silk hanging out of it. i clapped my hand to the bag, concluding the silk-twist might be the string of a purse within: in the mean time a porter, with a load of wood upon his back, passed by on the other side of the horse so near, that the rider was forced to turn his head towards him, to avoid being hurt, or having his clothes torn by the wood. in that moment the devil tempted me; i took the string in one hand, and with the other pulled out the purse so dexterously, that nobody perceived me. the purse was heavy, and i did not doubt but it contained gold or silver. as soon as the porter had passed, the horseman, who probably had some suspicion of what i had done while his head was turned, presently put his hand to his bag, and finding his purse was gone, gave me such a blow, that he knocked me down. this violence shocked all who saw it. some took hold of the horse's bridle to stop the gentleman, and asked him what reason he had to strike me, or how he came to treat a mussulmaun so rudely. "do not you trouble yourselves," said he briskly, "i had reason for what i did; this fellow is a thief." at these words i started up, and from my appearance every one took my part, and cried out he was a liar, for that it was incredible a young man such as i was should be guilty of so base an action: but while they were holding his horse by the bridle to favour my escape, unfortunately passed by the judge, who seeing such a crowd about the gentleman on horseback, came up and asked what the matter was. every body present reflected on the gentleman for treating me so unjustly upon the presence of robbery. the judge did not give ear to all that was said; but asked the cavalier if he suspected any body else beside me? the cavalier told him he did not, and gave his reasons why he believed his suspicions not to be groundless. upon this the judge ordered his followers to seize me, which they presently did; and finding the purse upon me, exposed it to the view of all the people. the disgrace was so great, i could not bear it, and i swooned away. in the mean time the judge called for the purse. when the judge had got the purse in his hand, he asked the horseman if it was his, and how much money it contained. the cavalier knew it to be his own, and assured the judge he had put twenty sequins into it. upon which the judge called me before him; "come, young man," said he, "confess the truth. was it you that took the gentleman's purse from him? do not wait for the torture to extort confession." then with downcast eyes, thinking that if i denied the fact, they, having found the purse upon me, would convict me of a lie, to avoid a double punishment i looked up and confessed my guilt. i had no sooner made the confession, than the judge called people to witness it, and ordered my hand to be cutoff. this sentence was immediately put in execution, to the great regret of all the spectators; nay, i observed, by the cavalier's countenance, that he was moved with pity as much as the rest. the judge would likewise have ordered my foot to be cut off, but i begged the cavalier to intercede for my pardon; which he did, and obtained it. when the judge was gone, the cavalier came up to me, and holding out the purse, said, "i see plainly that necessity drove you to an action so disgraceful and unworthy of such a young man as you appear. here, take that fatal purse; i freely give it you, and am heartily sorry for the misfortune you have undergone." having thus spoken, he went away. being very weak by loss of blood, some of the good people of the neighbourhood had the kindness to carry me into a house and give me a glass of cordial; they likewise dressed my arm, and wrapped up the dismembered hand in a cloth, which i carried away with me fastened to my girdle. had i returned to the khan of mesrour in this melancholy condition, i should not have found there such relief as i wanted; and to offer to go to the young lady was running a great hazard, it being likely she would not look upon me after being informed of my disgrace. i resolved, however, to put her to the trial; and to tire out the crowd that followed me, i turned down several by-streets, and at last arrived at the lady's house very weak, and so much fatigued, that i presently threw myself down upon a sofa, keeping my right arm under my garment, for i took great care to conceal my misfortune. in the mean time the lady, hearing of my arrival, and that i was not well, came to me in haste; and seeing me pale and dejected, said, "my dear love, what is the matter with you?" "madam," i replied, dissembling, "i have a violent pain in my head." the lady seemed to be much concerned, and asked me to sit down, for i had arisen to receive her. "tell me," said she, "how your illness was occasioned. the last time i had the pleasure to see you, you were very well. there must be something that you conceal from me, let me know what it is." i stood silent, and instead of an answer, tears trickled down my cheeks. "i cannot conceive," resumed she, "what it is that afflicts you. have i unthinkingly given you any occasion of uneasiness? or do you come on purpose to tell me you no longer love me?" "it is not that, madam," said i, heaving a deep sigh; "your unjust suspicion adds to my misfortune." i could not think of discovering to her the true cause. when night came, supper was brought, and she pressed me to eat; but considering i could only feed myself with my left hand, i begged to be excused upon the plea of having no appetite. "it will return," said she, "if you would but discover what you so obstinately conceal from me. your want of appetite, without doubt, is only owing to your irresolution." "alas! madam," returned i, "i find i must resolve at last." i had no sooner spoken, than she filled me a cup full of wine, and offering it to me, "drink that," said she, "it will give you courage." i reached out my left hand, and took the cup. when i had taken the cup in my hand, i redoubled my tears and sighs. "why do you sigh and weep so bitterly?" asked the lady; "and why do you take the cup with your left hand, rather than your right?" "ah! madam," i replied, "i beseech you excuse me; i have a swelling in my right hand." "let me see that swelling," said she; "i will open it." i desired to be excused, alleging it was not ripe enough for such an operation; and drank off the cup, which was very large. the fumes of the wine, joined to my weakness and weariness, set me asleep, and i slept very soundly till morning. in the mean time the lady, curious to know what ailed my right hand, lifted up my garment that covered it; and saw to her great astonishment that it was cut off, and that i had brought it along with me wrapped up in a cloth. she presently apprehended what was my reason for declining a discovery, notwithstanding all her pressing solicitation; and passed the night in the greatest uneasiness on account of my disgrace, which she concluded had been occasioned only by the love i bore to her. when i awoke, i discerned by her countenance that she was extremely grieved. however, that she might not increase my uneasiness she said not a word. she called for jelly-broth of fowl, which she had ordered to be prepared, and made me eat and drink to recruit my strength. after that, i offered to take leave of her; but she declared i should not go out of her doors. "though you tell me nothing of the matter," said she, "i am persuaded i am the cause of the misfortune that has befallen you. the grief that i feel on that account will soon end my days, but before i die, i must execute a design for your benefit." she had no sooner spoken, than she called for a judge and witnesses, and ordered a writing to be drawn up, putting me in possession of her whole property. after this was done, and every body dismissed, she opened a large trunk where lay all the purses i had given her from the commencement of our amour. "there they are all entire," said she; "i have not touched one of them. here is the key; take it, for all is yours." after i had returned her thanks for her generosity and goodness; "what i have done for you," said she, "is nothing; i shall not be satisfied unless i die, to show how much i love you." i conjured her, by all the powers of love, to relinquish such a fatal resolution. but all my remonstrances were ineffectual: she was so afflicted to see me have but one hand, that she sickened, and died after five or six weeks' illness. after mourning for her death as long as was decent, i took possession of all her property, a particular account of which she gave me before she died; and the corn you sold for me was part of it. "what i have now told you," said he, "will plead my excuse for eating with my left hand. i am highly obliged to you for the trouble you have given yourself on my account. i can never sufficiently recompense your fidelity. since i have still, thanks to god, a competent estate, notwithstanding i have spent a great deal, i beg you to accept of the sum now in your hand, as a present from me. i have besides a proposal to make to you. as i am obliged, on account of this fatal accident, to quit cairo, i am resolved never to return to it again. if you choose to accompany me, we will trade together as equal partners, and share the profits." i thanked the young man for the present he had made me, and i willingly embraced the proposal of travelling with him, assuring him, that his interest should always be as dear to me as my own. we fixed a day for our departure, and accordingly entered upon our travels. we passed through syria and mesopotamia, travelled over persia, and after stopping at several cities, came at last, sir, to your capital. some time after our arrival here, the young man having formed a design of returning to persia, and settling there, we balanced our accounts, and parted very good friends. he went from hence, and i, sir, continue here in your majesty's service. this is the story i had to relate. does not your majesty find it more surprising than that of the hunch-back buffoon? the sultan of casgar fell into a passion against the christian merchant. "thou art a presumptuous fellow," said he, "to tell me a story so little worth hearing, and then to compare it to that of my jester. canst thou flatter thyself so far as to believe that the trifling adventures of a young debauchee are more interesting than those of my jester? i will have you all four impaled, to revenge his death." hearing this, the purveyor prostrated himself at the sultan's feet. "sir," said he, "i humbly beseech your majesty to suspend your wrath, and hear my story; and if it appears to be more extraordinary than that of your jester, to pardon us." the sultan having granted his request, the purveyor began thus. the story told by the sultan of casgar's purveyor. sir, a person of quality invited me yesterday to his daughter's wedding. i went to his house in the evening at the hour appointed, and found there a large company of men of the law, ministers of justice, and others of the first rank in the city. after the ceremony was over, we partook of a splendid feast. among other dishes set upon the table, there was one seasoned with garlic, which was very delicious, and generally relished. we observed, however, that one of the guests did not touch it, though it stood just before him. we invited him to taste it, but he intreated us not to press him. "i will take good care," said he, "how i touch any dish that is seasoned with garlic; i have not yet forgotten what the tasting of such a dish once cost me." we requested him to inform us what the reason was of his aversion to garlic. but before he had time to answer, the master of the house exclaimed, "is it thus you honour my table? this dish is excellent, do not expect to be excused from eating of it; you must do me that favour as well as the rest." "sir," said the gentleman, who was a bagdad merchant, "i hope you do not think my refusal proceeds from any mistaken delicacy; if you insist on my compliance i will submit, but it must be on this condition, that after having eaten, i may, with your permission, wash my hands with alkali forty times, forty times more with ashes, and forty times again with soap. i hope you will not feel displeased at this stipulation, as i have made an oath never to taste garlic but on these terms." as the master of the house, continued the purveyor of the sultan of casgar, would not dispense with the merchant's partaking of the dish seasoned with garlic, he ordered his servants to provide a basin of water, together with some alkali, the ashes, and soap, that the merchant might wash as often as he pleased. after he had given these instructions, he addressed the merchant and said, "i hope you will now do as we do." the merchant, apparently displeased with the constraint put upon him, took up a bit, which he put to his mouth trembling, and ate with a reluctance that astonished us. but what surprised us yet more was, that he had no thumb; which none of us had observed before, though he had eaten of other dishes. "you have lost your thumb," said the master of the house. "this must have been occasioned by some extraordinary accident, a relation of which will be agreeable to the company." "sir," replied the merchant, "i have no thumb on either the right or the left hand." as he spoke he put out his left hand, and shewed us that what he said was true. "but this is not all," continued he: "i have no great toe on either of my feet: i was maimed in this manner by an unheard-of adventure, which i am willing to relate, if you will have the patience to hear me. the account will excite at once your astonishment and your pity. only allow me first to wash my hands." with this he rose from the table, and after washing his hands a hundred and twenty times, reseated himself, and proceeded with his narrative as follows. in the reign of the caliph haroon al rusheed, my father lived at bagdad, the place of my nativity, and was reputed one of the richest merchants in the city. but being a man addicted to his pleasures, and neglecting his private affairs, instead of leaving me an ample fortune, he died in such embarrassed circumstances, that i was reduced to the necessity of using all the economy possible to discharge the debts he had contracted. i at last, however, paid them all; and by care and good management my little fortune began to wear a smiling aspect. one morning, as i opened my shop, a lady mounted upon a mule, and attended by an eunuch and two slaves, stopped near my door, and with the assistance of the eunuch alighted. "madam," said the eunuch, "i told you you would be too early; you see there is no one yet in the bazaar: had you taken my advice, you might have saved yourself the trouble of waiting here." the lady looked and perceiving no shop open but mine, asked permission to sit in it till the other merchants arrived. with this request i of course readily complied. the lady took a seat in my shop, and observing there was no one in the bazaar but the eunuch and myself, uncovered her face to take the air. i had never beheld any thing so beautiful. i became instantly enamoured, and kept my eyes fixed upon her. i flattered myself that my attention was not unpleasant to her; for she allowed me time to view her deliberately, and only concealed her face so far as she thought necessary to avoid being observed. after she had again lowered her veil, she told me she wanted several sorts of the richest and finest stuffs, and asked me if i had them. "alas! madam," i replied, "i am but a young man just beginning the world; i have not capital sufficient for such extensive traffic. i am much mortified not to be able to accommodate you with the articles you want. but to save you the trouble of going from shop to shop, when the merchants arrive, i will, if you please, go and get those articles from them, and ascertain the lowest prices." she assented to this proposal, and entered into conversation with me, which i prolonged, making her believe the merchants that could furnish what she wanted were not yet come. i was not less charmed with her wit than i had been before with the beauty of her face; but was obliged to forego the pleasure of her conversation. i ran for the stuffs she wanted, and after she had fixed upon what she liked, we agreed for five thousand dirhems of coined silver; i wrapped up the stuffs in a small bundle, and gave it to the eunuch, who put it under his arm. she then rose and took leave. i followed her with my eyes till she had reached the bazaar gate, and even after she had remounted her mule. the lady had no sooner disappeared, than i perceived that love had led me to a serious oversight. it had so engrossed my thoughts, that i did not reflect that she went away without paying, and that i had not informed myself who she was, or where she resided. i soon felt sensible, however, that i was accountable for a large sum to the merchants, who, perhaps, would not have patience to wait for their money: i went to them, and made the best excuse i could, pretending that i knew the lady; and then returned home, equally affected with love, and with the burden of such a heavy debt. i had desired my creditors to wait eight days for their money: when this period had elapsed, they did not fail to dun me. i then intreated them to give me eight days more, to which they consented; but the next day i saw the lady enter the bazaar, mounted on her mule, with the same attendants as before, and exactly the same hour of the day. she came straight to my shop. "i have made you wait some time," said she, "but here is your money at last; carry it to the banker, and see that it is all good and right." the eunuch who carried the money went along with me to the banker, and we found it quite right. i returned, and had the happiness of conversing with the lady till all the shops of the bazaar were open. though we talked but of ordinary things, she gave them such a turn, that they appeared new and uncommon; and convinced me that i was not mistaken in admiring her wit at our first interview. as soon as the merchants had arrived and opened their shops, i carried to the respective owners the money due for their stuffs, and was readily intrusted with more, which the lady had desired to see. she chose some from these to the value of one thousand pieces of gold, and carried them away as before without paying; nay, without speaking a word, or informing me who she was. what distressed me was the consideration that while at this rate she risked nothing, she left me without any security against being made answerable for the goods in case she did not return. "she has paid me," thought i, "a considerable sum; but she leaves me responsible for a greater, surely she cannot be a cheat. the merchants do not know her, they will all come upon me." in short, my love was not so powerful as to stifle the uneasiness i felt, when i reflected upon the circumstances in which i was placed. a whole month passed before i heard any thing of the lady again; and during that time my alarm increased. the merchants were impatient for their money, and to satisfy them, i was going to sell off all i had, when one morning the lady returned with the same equipage as before. "take your weights," said she, "and weigh the gold i have brought you." these words dispelled my fear, and inflamed my love. before we counted the money, she asked me several questions, and particularly if i was married. i answered i never had been. then reaching out the gold to the eunuch, "let us have your interposition," said she, "to accommodate our matters." upon which the eunuch fell a laughing, and calling me aside, made me weigh the gold. while i was thus occupied, the eunuch whispered in my ear, "i know by your eyes you love this lady, and i am surprised that you have not the courage to disclose your passion. she loves you more ardently than you do her. do not imagine that she has any real occasion for your stuffs. she only makes this her presence to come here, because you have inspired her with a violent passion. it was for this reason she asked you if you were married. it will be your own fault, if you do not marry her." "it is true," i replied, "i have loved her since i first beheld her; but i durst not aspire to the happiness of thinking my attachment could meet her approbation. i am entirely hers, and shall not fail to retain a grateful sense of your good offices in this affair." i finished weighing the gold, and while i was putting it into the bag, the eunuch turned to the lady, and told her i was satisfied; that being the word they had agreed upon between themselves. presently after, the lady rose and took her leave; telling me she would send her eunuch to me, and that i had only to obey the directions he might give me in her name. i carried each of the merchants their money, and waited some days with impatience for the eunuch. at last he came. i received the eunuch very kindly, and inquired after his mistress's health. "you are," said he, "the happiest lover in the world; she is impatient to see you; and were she mistress of her own conduct, would not fail to come to you herself, and willingly pass in your society all the days of her life." "her noble mien and graceful carriage," i replied, "convinced me, that she was a lady beyond the common rank." "you have not erred in your judgment on that head," said the eunuch; "she is the favourite of zobeide the caliph's wife, who is the more affectionately attached to her from having brought her up from her infancy, and intrusts her with all her affairs. having a wish to marry, she has declared to her mistress that she has fixed her affections upon you, and has desired her consent. zobeide told her, she would not withhold her consent; but that she would see you first, in order to judge if she had made a good choice; in which case she meant herself to defray the expenses of the wedding. thus you see your felicity is certain; since you have pleased the favourite, you will be equally agreeable to the mistress, who seeks only to oblige her, and would by no means thwart her inclination. all you have to do is to come to the palace. i am sent hither to invite you." "my resolution is already formed," said i, "and i am ready to follow you whithersoever you please." "very well," said the eunuch; "but you know men are not allowed to enter the ladies' apartments in the palace, and you must be introduced with great secrecy. the favourite lady has contrived the matter well. on your side you must act your part discreetly; for if you do not, your life is at stake." i gave him repeated assurances punctually to perform whatever he might require. "then," said he, "in the evening, you must be at the mosque built by the caliph's lady on the bank of the tigris, and wait there till somebody comes to conduct you." to this i agreed; and after passing the day in great impatience, went in the evening to the prayer that is said an hour and a half after sun-set in the mosque, and remained there after all the people had departed. soon after i saw a boat making up to the mosque, the rowers of which were all eunuchs, who came on shore, put several large trunks into the mosque, and then retired. one of them stayed behind, whom i perceived to be the eunuch that had accompanied the lady, and had been with me that morning. i saw the lady also enter the mosque; and approaching her, told her i was ready to obey her orders. "we have no time to lose," said she; and opening one of the trunks, desired me to get into it, that being necessary both for her safety and mine. "fear nothing," added she, "leave the management of all to me." i considered with myself that i had gone too far to recede, and obeyed her orders; when she immediately locked the trunk. this done, the eunuch her confidant called the other eunuchs who had brought in the trunks, and ordered them to carry them on board again. the lady and the eunuch re-embarked, and the boatmen rowed to zobeide's apartment. in the meantime i reflected very seriously upon the danger to which i had exposed myself, and made vows and prayers, though it was then too late. the boat stopped at the palace-gate, and the trunks were carried into the apartment of the officer of the eunuchs, who keeps the key of the ladies' apartments, and suffers nothing to enter without a narrow inspection. the officer was then in bed, and it was necessary to call him up. the officer of the eunuchs was displeased at having his rest disturbed, and severely chid the favourite lady for coming home so late. "you shall not come off so easily as you think," said he: "not one of these trunks shall pass till i have opened it." at the same time he commanded the eunuchs to bring them before him, and open them one by one. the first they took was that wherein i lay, which put me into inexpressible fear. the favourite lady, who had the key, protested it should not be opened. "you know very well," said she, "i bring nothing hither but what is for the use of zobeide, your mistress and mine. this trunk is filled with rich goods, which i purchased from some merchants lately arrived, besides a number of bottles of zemzem water sent from mecca; and if any of these should happen to break, the goods will be spoiled, and you must answer for them; depend upon it, zobeide will resent your insolence." she insisted upon this in such peremptory terms, that the officer did not dare to open any of the trunks. "let them go," said he angrily; "you may take them away." upon this the door of the women's apartment was opened, and all the trunks were carried in. this had been scarcely accomplished, when i heard the people cry, "here is the caliph! here comes the caliph!" this put me in such alarm, that i wonder i did not die upon the spot; for as they announced, it proved to be the caliph. "what hast thou got in these trunks?" said he to the favourite. "some stuffs," she replied, "lately arrived, which the empress wishes to see." "open them," cried he, "and let me see them." she excused herself, alleging the stuffs were only proper for ladies, and that by opening them, his lady would be deprived of the pleasure of seeing them first. "i say open them," resumed the caliph; "i will see them." she still represented that her mistress would be angry with her, if she complied: "no, no," said he, "i will engage she shall not say a word to you. come, come, open them, and do not keep me waiting." it was necessary to obey, which gave me such alarm, that i tremble every time i recollect my situation. the caliph sat down; and the favourite ordered all the trunks to be brought before him one after another. she opened some of them; and to lengthen out the time, displayed the beauties of each particular stuff, thinking in this manner to tire out his patience; but her stratagem did not succeed. being as unwilling as myself to have the trunk where i lay opened, she left that to the last. when all the rest were viewed, "come," said the caliph, "let us see what is in that." i am at a loss to tell you whether i was dead or alive that moment; for i little thought of escaping such imminent danger. when zobeide's favourite saw that the caliph persisted in having this trunk opened: "as for this," said she, "your majesty will please to dispense with the opening of it; there are some things in it which i cannot shew you without your lady be present." "well, well," said the caliph, "since that is the case, i am satisfied; order the trunks to be carried away." the words were no sooner spoken than they were moved into her chamber, where i began to revive again. as soon as the eunuchs, who had brought them, were gone, she opened the trunk in which i was confined. "come out," said she; "go up these stairs that lead to an upper room, and wait there till i come to you." the door, which led to the stairs, she locked after me; and that was no sooner done, than the caliph came and sat down on the very trunk which had been my prison. the occasion of this visit did not respect me. he wished to question the lady about what she had seen or heard in the city. so they conversed together some time; he then left her, and retired to his apartment. when she found the coast clear, she came to the chamber where i lay concealed, and made many apologies for the alarms she had given me. "my uneasiness," said she, "was no less than yours; you cannot well doubt of that, since i have run the same risk out of love to you. perhaps another person in my situation would not, upon so delicate an occasion, have had the presence of mind to manage so difficult a business with so much dexterity; nothing less than the love i had for you could have inspired me with courage to do what i have. but come, take heart, the danger is now over." after much tender conversation, she told me it was time to go to rest, and that she would not fail to introduce me to zobeide her mistress, some hour on the morrow, "which will be very easy," added she; "for the caliph never sees her but at night." encouraged by these words, i slept very well, or if my sleep was interrupted, it was by agreeable disquietudes, caused by the hopes of possessing a lady blest with so much wit and beauty. the next day, before i was introduced to zobeide, her favourite instructed me how to conduct myself, mentioning what questions she would probably put to me, and dictating the answers i was to return. she then carried me into a very magnificent and richly furnished hall. i had no sooner entered, than twenty female slaves, advanced in age, dressed in rich and uniform habits, came out of zobeide's apartment, and placed themselves before the throne in two equal rows; they were followed by twenty other younger ladies, clothed after the same fashion, only their habits appeared somewhat gayer. in the middle of these appeared zobeide with a majestic air, and so laden with jewels, that she could scarcely walk. she ascended the throne, and the favourite lady, who had accompanied her, stood just by her right hand; the other ladies, who were slaves, being placed at some distance on each side of the throne. as soon as the caliph's lady was seated, the slaves who came in first made a sign for me to approach. i advanced between the two rows they had formed, and prostrated myself upon the carpet that was under the princess's feet. she ordered me to rise, did me the honour to ask my name, my family, and the state of my fortune; to all which i gave her satisfactory answers, as i perceived, not only by her countenance, but by her words. "i am glad," said she, "that my daughter," (so she used to call the favourite lady,) "for i look upon her as such after the care i have take of her education, has made this choice; i approve of it, and consent to your marriage. i will myself give orders for having it solemnized; but i wish my daughter to remain with me ten days before the solemnity; in that time i will speak to the caliph, and obtain his consent: mean while do you remain here; you shall be taken care of." pursuant to the commands of the caliph's lady, i remained ten days in the women's apartments, and during that time was deprived of the pleasure of seeing the favourite lady: but was so well used by her orders, that i had no reason to be dissatisfied. zobeide told the caliph her resolution of marrying the favourite lady; and the caliph leaving to her the liberty to act in the business as she thought proper, granted the favourite a considerable sum by way of settlement. when the ten days were expired, zobeide ordered the contract of marriage to be drawn up and brought to her, and the necessary preparations being made for the solemnity, the musicians and the dancers, both male and female, were called in, and there were great rejoicings in the palace for nine days. the tenth day being appointed for the last ceremony of the marriage, the favourite lady was conducted to a bath, and i to another. at night i had all manner of dishes served up to me, and among others, one seasoned with garlic, such as you have now forced me to eat. this i liked so well, that i scarcely touched any of the other dishes. but to my misfortune, when i rose from table, instead of washing my hands well, i only wiped them; a piece of negligence of which i had never before been guilty. as it was then night, the whole apartment of the ladies was lighted up so as to equal the brightness of day. nothing was to be heard through the palace but musical instruments, dances, and acclamations of joy. my bride and i were introduced into a great hall, where we were placed upon two thrones. the women who attended her made her robe herself several times, according to the usual custom on wedding days; and they shewed her to me every time she changed her habit. all these ceremonies being over, we were conducted to the nuptial chamber: as soon as the company retired, i approached my wife; but instead of returning my transports, she pushed me away, and cried out, upon which all the ladies of the apartment came running in to inquire the cause: and for my own part, i was so thunderstruck, that i stood like a statue, without the power of even asking what she meant. "dear sister," said they to her, "what has happened since we left you? let us know, that we may try to relieve you." "take," said she, "take that vile fellow out of my sight." "why, madam?" i asked, "wherein have i deserved your displeasure?" "you are a villain," said she in a furious passion, "to eat garlic, and not wash your hands! do you think i would suffer such a polluted wretch to poison me? down with him, down with him on the ground," continued she, addressing herself to the ladies, "and bring me a bastinado." they immediately did as they were desired; and while some held my hands, and others my feet, my wife, who was presently furnished with a weapon, laid on me as long as she could stand. she then said to the ladies, "take him, send him to the judge, and let the hand be cut off with which he fed upon the garlic dish." "alas!" cried i, "must i be beaten unmercifully, and, to complete my affliction, have my hand cut off, for partaking of a dish seasoned with garlic, and forgetting to wash my hands? what proportion is there between the punishment and the crime? curse on the dish, on the cook who dressed it, and on him who served it up." all the ladies who had seen me receive the thousand strokes, took pity on me, when they heard the cutting off of my hand mentioned. "dear madam, dear sister," said they to the favourite lady, "you carry your resentment too far. we own he is a man quite ignorant of the world, of your quality, and the respect that is due to you: but we beseech you to overlook and pardon his fault." "i have not received adequate satisfaction," said she; "i will teach him to know the world; i will make him bear sensible marks of his impertinence, and be cautious hereafter how he tastes a dish seasoned with garlic without washing his hands." they renewed their solicitations, fell down at her feet, and kissing her fair hands, said, "good madam, moderate your anger, and grant us the favour we supplicate." she made no reply, but got up, and after uttering a thousand reproaches against me, walked out of the chamber: all the ladies followed her, leaving me in inconceivable affliction. i continued thus ten days, without seeing any body but an old female slave that brought me victuals. i asked her what was become of the favourite lady. "she is sick," said the old woman; "she is sick of the poisoned smell with which you infected her. why did you not take care to wash your hands after eating of that cursed dish?" "is it possible," thought i, "that these ladies can be so nice, and so vindictive for such a trifling fault!" i loved my wife notwithstanding all her cruelty, and could not help pitying her. one day the old woman told me my spouse was recovered, and gone to bathe, and would come to see me the next day. "so," said she, "i would have you call up your patience, and endeavour to accommodate yourself to her humour. for she is in other respects a woman of good sense and discretion, and beloved by all the ladies about the court of our respected mistress zobeide." my wife accordingly came on the following evening, and accosted me thus: "you perceive that i must possess much tenderness to you, after the affront you have offered me: but still i cannot be reconciled till i have punished you according to your demerit, in not washing your hands after eating of the garlic dish." she then called the ladies, who, by her order, threw me upon the ground; and after binding me fast, she had the barbarity to cut off my thumbs and great toes herself, with a razor. one of the ladies applied a certain root to staunch the blood; but by bleeding and by the pain, i swooned away. when i came to myself, they gave me wine to drink, to recruit my strength. "ah! madam," said i to my wife, "if ever i again eat of a dish with garlic in it, i solemnly swear to wash my hands a hundred and twenty times with alkali, with ashes, and with soap." "well," replied she, "upon that condition i am willing to forget what is past, and live with you as my husband." "this," continued the bagdad merchant, addressing himself to the company, "is the reason why i refused to eat of the dish seasoned with what is now on the table." the ladies applied to my wounds not only the root i mentioned, but likewise some balsam of mecca, which they were well assured was not adulterated, because they had it out of the caliph's own dispensatory. by virtue of that admirable balsam, i was in a few days perfectly cured, and my wife and i lived together as agreeably as if i had never eaten of the garlic dish. but having been all my lifetime used to enjoy my liberty, i grew weary of being confined to the caliph's palace; yet i said nothing to my wife on the subject, for fear of displeasing her. however, she suspected my feelings; and eagerly wished for liberty herself, for it was gratitude alone that made her continue with zobeide. she represented to her mistress in such lively terms the constraint i was under, in not living in the city with people of my own rank, as i had always done, that the good princess chose rather to deprive herself of the pleasure of having her favourite about her than not to grant what we both equally desired. a month after our marriage, my wife came into my room with several eunuchs, each carrying a bag of silver. when the eunuchs were gone; "you never told me," said she, "that you were uneasy in being confined to court; but i perceived it, and have happily found means to make you contented. my mistress zobeide gives us permission to quit the palace; and here are fifty thousand sequins, of which she has made us a present, in order to enable us to live comfortably in the city. take ten thousand of them, and go and buy us a house." i quickly found a house for the money, and after furnishing it richly, we went to reside in it, kept a great many slaves of both sexes, and made a good figure. we thus began to live in a very agreeable manner: but my felicity was of short continuance; for at the end of a year my wife fell sick and died. i might have married again, and lived honourably at bagdad; but curiosity to see the world put me upon another plan. i sold my house, and after purchasing several kinds of merchandize, went with a caravan to persia; from persia i travelled to samarcand, and from thence to this city. "this," said the purveyor to the sultan of casgar, "is the story that the bagdad merchant related in a company where i was yesterday." "this story," said the sultan, "has something in it extraordinary; but it does not come near that of the little hunch-back." the jewish physician prostrated himself before the sultan's throne, and addressed the prince in the following manner: "sir, if you will be so good as to hear me, i flatter myself you will be pleased with a story i have to tell you." "well spoken," said the sultan; "but if it be not more surprising than that of little hunch-back, you must not expect to live." the jewish physician, finding the sultan of casgar disposed to hear him, gave the following relation. the story told by the jewish physician. when i was studying physic at damascus, and was just beginning to practise that noble profession with some reputation, a slave called me to see a patient in the governor of the city's family. accordingly i went, and was conducted into a room, where i found a very handsome young man, much dejected by his disorder. i saluted him, and sat down by him; but he made no return to my compliments, only a sign with his eyes that he heard me, and thanked me. "pray, sir," said i, "give me your hand, that i may feel your pulse." but instead of stretching out his right, he gave me his left hand, at which i was extremely surprised. however, i felt his pulse, wrote him a prescription, and took leave. i continued my visits for nine days, and every time i felt his pulse, he still gave me his left hand. on the tenth day he seemed to be so far recovered, that i only deemed it necessary to prescribe bathing to him. the governor of damascus, who was by, in testimony of his satisfaction with my service, invested me with a very rich robe, saying, he had appointed me a physician of the city hospital, and physician in ordinary to his house, where i might eat at his table when i pleased. the young man likewise shewed me many civilities, and asked me to accompany him to the bath. accordingly we went together, and when his attendants had undressed him, i perceived he wanted the right hand, and that it had not long been cut off, which had been the occasion of his disorder, though concealed from me; for while the people about him were applying proper remedies externally, they had called me to prevent the ill consequence of the fever which was on him. i was much surprised and concerned on seeing his misfortune; which he observed by my countenance. "doctor," cried he, "do not be astonished that my hand is cut off; some day or other i will tell you the cause; and in that relation you will hear very surprising adventures." after we had returned from the bath, we sat down to a collation; and he asked me if it would be any prejudice to his health if he went and took a walk out of town in the governor's garden? i made answer, that the air would be of service to him. "then," said he, "if you will give me your company, i will recount to you my history." i replied i was at his command for all that day. upon which he presently called his servants, and we went to the governor's garden. having taken two or three turns there, we seated ourselves on a carpet that his servants had spread under a tree, which gave a pleasant shade. the young man then gave me his history in the following terms: i was born at moussol, of one of the most considerable families in the city. my father was the eldest of ten brothers, who were all alive and married when my grandfather died. all the brothers were childless, except my father; and he had no child but me. he took particular care of my education; and made me learn every thing proper for my rank. when i was grown up, and began to enter into the world, i happened one friday to be at noon-prayers with my father and my uncles in the great mosque of moussol. after prayers were over, the rest of the company going away, my father and my uncles continued sitting upon the best carpet in the mosque; and i sat down by them. they discoursed of several things, but the conversation fell insensibly, i know not how, upon the subject of travelling. they extolled the beauties and peculiar rarities of some kingdoms, and of their principal cities. but one of my uncles said, that according to the uniform report of an infinite number of voyagers, there was not in the world a pleasanter country than egypt, on account of the nile; and the description he gave infused into me such high admiration, that from that moment i had a desire to travel thither. whatever my other uncles said, by way of preference to bagdad and the tigris, in calling bagdad the residence of the mussulmaun religion, and the metropolis of all the cities of the earth, made no impression upon me. my father joined in opinion with those of his brothers who had spoken in favour of egypt; which filled me with joy. "say what you will," said he, "the man that has not seen egypt has not seen the greatest rarity in the world. all the land there is golden; i mean, it is so fertile, that it enriches its inhabitants. all the women of that country charm you by their beauty and their agreeable carriage. if you speak of the nile, where is there a more wonderful river? what water was ever lighter or more delicious? the very slime it carries along in its overflowing fattens the fields, which produce a thousand times more than other countries that are cultivated with the greatest labour. observe what a poet said of the egyptians, when he was obliged to depart from egypt: 'your nile loads you with blessings every day; it is for you only that it runs from such a distance. alas! in removing from you, my tears will flow as abundantly as its waters; you are to continue in the enjoyment of its sweetnesses, while i am condemned to deprive myself of them against my will.' "if you look," added my father, "towards the island that is formed by the two greatest branches of the nile, what variety of verdure! what enamel of all sorts of flowers! what a prodigious number of cities, villages, canals, and a thousand other agreeable objects! if you turn your eyes on the other side, up towards ethiopia, how many other subjects of admiration! i cannot compare the verdure of so many plains, watered by the different canals of the island, better than to brilliant emeralds set in silver. is not grand cairo the largest, the most populous, and the richest city in the world? what a number of magnificent edifices both public and private! if you view the pyramids, you will be filled with astonishment at the sight of the masses of stone of an enormous thickness, which rear their heads to the skies! you will be obliged to confess, that the pharaohs, who employed such riches, and so many men in building them, must have surpassed in magnificence and invention all the monarchs who have appeared since, not only in egypt, but in all the world, for having left monuments so worthy of their memory: monuments so ancient, that the learned cannot agree upon the date of their erection; yet such as will last to the end of time. i pass over in silence the maritime cities of the kingdom of egypt, such as damietta, rosetta, and alexandria, where nations come for various sorts of grain, cloth, and an infinite number of commodities calculated for accommodation and delight. i speak of what i know; for i spent some years there in my youth, which i shall always reckon the most agreeable part of my life." my uncles could make no reply, and assented to all my father had said of the nile, of cairo, and of the whole kingdom of egypt. my imagination was so full of these subjects, i could not sleep that night. soon after, my uncles declared how much they were struck with my father's account. they made a proposal to him, that they should travel all together into egypt. to this he assented; and being rich merchants, they resolved to carry with them such commodities as were likely to suit the market. when i found that they were making preparations for their departure, i went to my father, and begged of him, with tears in my eyes, that he would suffer me to make one of the party, and allow me some stock of goods to trade with on my own account. "you are too young," said he, "to travel into egypt; the fatigue is too great for you; and, besides, i am sure you will come off a loser in your traffic." these words, however, did not suppress my eager desire to travel. i made use of my uncles' interest with my father, who at last granted me permission to go as far as damascus, where they were to leave me, till they had travelled through egypt. "the city of damascus," said my father, "may likewise glory in its beauties, and my son must be content with leave to go so far." though my curiosity to see egypt was very pressing, i considered he was my father, and submitted to his will. i set out from moussol in company with him and my uncles. we travelled through mesopotamia, passed the euphrates, and arrived at aleppo, where we stayed some days. from thence we went to damascus, the first sight of which struck me with agreeable surprise we lodged all together in one khan; and i had the view of a city that was large, populous, full of handsome people, and well fortified. we employed some days in walking up and down the delicious gardens that surrounded it; and we all agreed that damascus was justly said to be seated in a paradise. at last my uncles thought of pursuing their journey; but took care, before they went, to sell my goods so advantageously for me, that i gained by them five hundred per cent. this sale brought me a sum so considerable, as to fill me with delight. my father and my uncles left me in damascus, and pursued their journey. after their departure, i used great caution not to lay out my money idly. but at the same time i took a stately house, built of marble, adorned with paintings of gold, silver foliage, and a garden with fine water-works. i furnished it, not so richly indeed as the magnificence of the place deserved, but at least handsomely enough for a young man of my rank. it formerly belonged to one of the principal lords of the city; but was then the property of a rich jewel-merchant, to whom i paid for it only two sherifs a month. i had a number of domestics, and lived honourably; sometimes i gave entertainments to such people as i had made an acquaintance with, and sometimes was treated by them. thus did i spend my time at damascus, waiting for my father's return; no passion disturbed my repose, and my only employment was conversing with people of credit. one day, as i sat taking the cool air at my gate, a very handsome, well-dressed lady came to me, and asked if i did not sell stuffs? she had no sooner spoken the words, than she went into my house. when i saw that the lady had entered the house, i rose, and having shut the gate, conducted into a hall, and prayed her to sit down. "madam," said i, "i have had stuffs fit to be strewn to you, but at present, i am sorry to say, i have none." she removed the veil from her face, and discovered such beauty as affected me with emotions i had never felt before. "i have no occasion for stuffs," replied she, "i only come to see you, and, if you please, to pass the evening in your company; all i ask of you is a light collation." transported with joy, i ordered the servants to bring us several sorts of fruit, and some bottles of wine. these being speedily served, we ate, drank, and made merry till midnight. in short, i had not before passed a night so agreeably as this. next morning i would have put ten sherifs into the lady's hands, but she drew back instantly. "i am not come to see you," said she, "from interested motives; you therefore do me wrong. so far from receiving money from you, i must insist on your taking some from me, or else i will see you no more." in speaking this, she put her hand into her purse, took out ten sherifs, and forced me to take them, saying, "you may expect me three days hence after sun-set. she then took leave of me, and i felt that when she went she carried my heart along with her." she did not fail to return at the appointed hour three days after; and i received her with all the joy of a person who waited impatiently for her arrival. the evening and the night we spent as before; and next day at parting she promised to return the third day after. she did not, however, leave me without forcing me to take ten sherifs more. she returned a third time; and at that interview, when we were both warm with wine, she spoke thus: "my dear love, what do you think of me? am i not handsome and agreeable?" "madam," i replied, "i think this an unnecessary question: the love which i shew you ought to persuade you that i admire you; i am charmed to see and to possess you. you are my queen, my sultaness; in you lies all the felicity of my life." "ah!" returned she, "i am sure you would speak otherwise, if you saw a certain lady of my acquaintance, who is younger and handsomer than i am. she is of such a pleasant lively temper, that she would make the most melancholy people merry: i must bring her hither; i spoke of you to her, and from the account i have given of you she is dying with desire to see you. she intreated me to procure her that pleasure, but i did not dare to promise her without speaking to you beforehand." "madam," said i, "do what you please; but whatever you may say of your friend, i defy all her charms to tear my heart from you, to whom it is so inviolably attached, that nothing can disengage it." "be not too positive," returned she; "i now tell you, i am about to put your heart to a severe trial." we continued together all night, and next morning at parting, instead of ten sherifs she gave me fifteen, which i was forced to accept. "remember," said she, "that in two days' time you are to have a new guest; pray take care to give her a good reception: we will come at the usual hour." i had my hall put in great order, and a handsome collation prepared against they came. i waited for the two ladies with impatience and at last they arrived at the close of the day. they both unveiled, and as i had been surprised with the beauty of the first, i had reason to be much more so when i saw her friend. she had regular features, an elegant person, and such sparkling eyes, that i could hardly bear their splendour. i thanked her for the honour she did me, and entreated her to excuse me if i did not give her the reception she deserved. "no compliments," replied she; "it should be my part to make them to you, for allowing my friend to bring me hither. but since you are pleased to suffer it, let us lay aside all ceremony, and think only of amusing ourselves." i had given orders, as soon as the ladies arrived, to have the collation served up, and we soon sat down to our entertainment. i placed myself opposite the stranger, who never ceased looking upon me with a smiling countenance. i could not resist her conquering eyes, and she made herself mistress of my heart, without opposition. but while she inspired me with a flame, she caught it herself; and so far from appearing to be under any constraint, she conversed in very free and lively language. the other lady, who observed us, did nothing at first but laugh. "i told you," said she, addressing herself to me, "you would find my friend full of charms; and i perceive you have already violated the oath you made of being faithful to me." "madam," replied i, laughing as well as she, "you would have reason to complain, if i were wanting in civility to a lady whom you brought hither, and who is your intimate friend; both of you might then upbraid me for not performing duly the rites of hospitality." we continued to drink; but as the wine warmed us, the strange lady and i ogled one another with so little reserve, that her friend grew jealous, and quickly gave us a dismal proof of the inveteracy of her feelings. she rose from the table and went out, saying, she would be with us presently again: but in a few moments after, the lady who stayed with me changed countenance, fell into violent convulsions, and expired in my arms while i was calling for assistance to relieve her. i went out immediately, and enquired for the other lady; when my people told me, she had opened the street door and was gone. i then suspected what was but too true, that she had been the cause of her friend's death. she had the dexterity, and the malice, to put some very strong poison into the last glass, which she gave her with her own hand. i was afflicted beyond measure with the accident. "what shall i do?" i exclaimed in agony. "what will become of me?" i considered there was no time to lose, and it being then moon-light, i ordered my servants to take up one of the large pieces of marble, with which the court of my house was paved, dig a hole, and there inter the corpse of the young lady. after replacing the stone, i put on a travelling suit, took what money i had; and having locked up every thing, affixed my own seal on the door of my house. this done i went to the jewel-merchant my landlord, paid him what i owed, with a year's rent in advance and giving him the key, prayed him to keep it for me. "a very urgent affair," said i, "obliges me to be absent for some time; i am under the necessity of going to visit my uncles at cairo." i took my leave of him, immediately mounted my horse, and departed with my attendants from damascus. i had a good journey, and arrived at cairo without any accident. there i met with my uncles, who were much surprised to see me. to excuse myself, i pretended i was tired of waiting; and hearing nothing of them, was so uneasy, that i could not be satisfied without coming to cairo. they received me kindly, and promised that my father should not be displeased with me for leaving damascus without his permission. i lodged in the same khan with them, and saw all the curiosities of cairo. having finished their traffic, they began to talk of returning to moussol, and to make preparations for their departure; but i, having a wish to view in egypt what i had not yet seen, left my uncles, and went to lodge in another quarter at a distance from their khan, and did not appear any more till they were gone. they sought for me all over the city; but not finding me, supposed remorse for having come to egypt without my father's consent had occasioned me to return to damascus, without saying any thing to them. so they began their journey, expecting to find me at damascus, and there to take me up. after their departure i continued at cairo three years, more completely to indulge my curiosity in seeing all the wonders of egypt. during that time i took care to remit money to the jewel-merchant, ordering him to keep my house for me; for i designed to return to damascus, and reside there some years longer. i had no adventure at cairo worth relating; but doubtless you will be much surprised at that which befell me on my return to damascus. arriving at this city, i went to the jewel-merchant's, who received me joyfully, and would accompany me to my house, to shew me that no one had entered it whilst i was absent. the seal was still entire upon the lock; and when i went in, i found every thing in the order in which i had left it. in sweeping and cleaning out the hall where i had eaten with the ladies, one of my servants found a gold chain necklace, with ten very large and perfect pearls strung upon it at certain distances. he brought it to me, when i knew it to be the same i had seen upon the lady's neck who was poisoned; and concluded it had broken off and fallen. i could not look upon it without shedding tears, when i called to mind the lovely creature i had seen die in such a shocking manner. i wrapped it up, and put it in my bosom. i rested some days to recover from the fatigues of my journey; after which, i began to visit my former acquaintance. i abandoned myself to every species of pleasure, and gradually squandered away all my money. being thus reduced, instead of selling my furniture, i resolved to part with the necklace; but i had so little skill in pearls, that i took my measures very ill, as you shall hear. i went to the bazaar, where i called a crier aside, and shewing him the necklace, told him i wished to sell it, and desired him to show it to the principal jewellers. the crier was surprised to see such a valuable ornament. "how beautiful," exclaimed he, gazing upon it with admiration, "never did our merchants see any thing so rich; i am sure i shall oblige them highly in shewing it to them; and you need not doubt they will set a high price upon it, in emulation of each other." he carried me to a shop which proved to be my landlord's: "stop here," said the crier, "i will return presently and bring you an answer." while he was running about to shew the necklace, i sat with the jeweller, who was glad to see me, and we conversed on different subjects. the crier returned, and calling me aside, instead of telling me the necklace was valued at two thousand sherifs, assured me nobody would give me more than fifty. "the reason is," added he, "the pearls are false; consider if you will part with it at that price." i took him at his word, wanting money. "go," said i, "i take your word, and that of those who know better than myself; deliver it to them, and bring me the money immediately." the crier had been ordered to offer me fifty sherifs by one of the richest jewellers in town who had only made that offer to sound me, and try if i was well acquainted with the value of the pearls. he had no sooner received my answer, than he carried the crier to the judge, and shewing him the necklace; "sir," said he, "here is a necklace which was stolen from me, and the thief, under the character of a merchant, has had the impudence to offer it to sale, and is at this minute in the bazaar. he is willing to take fifty sherifs for a necklace that is worth two thousand which is a clear proof of his having stolen it." the judge sent immediately to seize me, and when i came before him, he asked me if the necklace he had in his hand was not the same that i had exposed to sale in the bazaar. i told him it was. "is it true," demanded he, "that you are willing to sell it for fifty sherifs?" i answered i was. "well," continued he, in a scoffing way "give him the bastinado; he will quickly confess notwithstanding his merchant's disguise, that he is only an artful thief; let him be beaten till he owns his guilt." the pain of the torture made me tell a lie; i confessed, though it was not true that i had stolen the necklace; and the judge ordered my hand to be cut off according to the sentence of our law. this made a great noise in the bazaar, and i was scarcely returned to my house when my landlord came. "my son," said he, "you seem to be a young man well educated, and of good sense; how is it possible you could be guilty of such an unworthy action, as that i hear talked of? you gave me an account of your property yourself, and i do not doubt but the account was just. why did not you request money of me, and i would have lent it you? however, after what has happened, i cannot allow you to remain longer in my house; you must go and seek for other lodgings." i was extremely troubled at this; and entreated the jeweller, with tears in my eyes, to let me stay three days longer; which he granted. "alas," thought i, "this misfortune and affront are unsufferable; how shall i dare to return to moussol? nothing i can say to my father will persuade him that i am innocent." three hours after this fatal accident my house was forcibly entered by the judge's officers, accompanied by my landlord, and the merchant who had falsely accused me of having stolen the necklace. i asked them, what brought them there? but instead of giving me any answer, they bound and gagged me, calling me a thousand abusive names, and telling me the necklace belonged to the governor of damascus, who had lost it above three years before, and that one of his daughters had not been heard of since. judge of my sensations when i heard this intelligence. however, i summoned all my resolution, "i will," thought i, "tell the governor the truth, and it will rest with him either to put me to death, or to protect my innocence." when i was brought before him, i observed he looked upon me with an eye of compassion, from whence i augured well. he ordered me to be untied, and addressing himself to the jeweller who accused me, and to my landlord: "is this the man," asked he, "that sold the pearl necklace?" they had no sooner answered yes, than he continued, "i am sure he did not steal the necklace, and i am much astonished at the injustice that has been done him." these words giving me courage: "sir," said i, "i do assure you i am perfectly innocent. i am likewise fully persuaded the necklace never did belong to my accuser, whom i never saw, and whose horrible perfidy is the cause of my unjust treatment. it is true, i made a confession as if i had stolen it; but this i did contrary to my conscience, through the force of torture, and for another reason that i am ready to give you, if you will have the goodness to hear me." "i know enough of it already," replied the governor, "to do you one part of the justice to which you are entitled. take from hence," continued he, "the false accuser; let him undergo the same punishment as he caused to be inflicted on this young man, whose innocence is known to myself." the governor's orders were immediately put in execution; the jeweller was punished as he deserved. then the governor, having ordered all present to withdraw, said to me: "my son, tell me without fear how this necklace fell into your hands, conceal nothing from me." i related plainly all that had passed, and declared i had chosen rather to pass for a thief than to reveal that tragical adventure. "good god," exclaimed the governor, "thy judgments are incomprehensible, and we ought to submit to them without murmuring. i receive, with entire submission, the stroke thou hast been pleased to inflict upon me." then directing his discourse to me: "my son," said he, "having now heard the cause of your disgrace, for which i am truly concerned, i will give you an account of the affliction which has befallen myself. know then, that i am the father of both the young ladies you were speaking of. the first lady, who had the impudence to come to your house, was my eldest daughter. i had given her in marriage at cairo to one of her cousins, my brother's son. her husband died, and she returned home corrupted by every vice too often contracted in egypt. before i took her home, her younger sister, who died in that deplorable manner in your arms, was a truly virtuous girl, and had never given me any occasion to complain of her conduce. but after that, the elder sister became very intimate with her, and insensibly made her as wicked as herself. the day after the death of the younger not finding her at home, i asked her elder sister what was become of her; but she, instead of answering, affected to weep bitterly; from whence i formed a fatal presage. i pressed her to inform me of what she knew respecting her sister 'father,' replied she, sobbing, 'i can tell you no more than that my sister put on yesterday her richest dress, with her valuable pearl necklace, went out, and has not been heard of since.' i searched for her all over the town, but could learn nothing of her unhappy fate. in the mean time the elder, who doubtless repented of her jealous fury, became melancholy, and incessantly bewailed the death of her sister; she denied her self all manner of food, and so put an end to her deplorable days. such is the condition of mankind! such are the misfortunes to which we are exposed! however, my son," added he, "since we are both of us equally unfortunate, let us unite our sorrow, and not abandon one another. i will give you in marriage a third daughter i have still left, she is younger than her sisters, and in no respect imitates their conduct; besides, she is handsomer, and i assure you is of a disposition calculated to make you happy. you shall have no other house but mine, and, after my death, you and she shall be heirs to all my property." "my lord," i replied, "i am overcome by your favours, and shall never be able to make a sufficient acknowledgment." "enough," said he, interrupting me, "let us not waste time in idle words." he then called for witnesses, ordered the contract of marriage to be drawn, and i became the husband of his third daughter. he was not satisfied with punishing the jeweller, who had falsely accused me, but confiscated for my use all his property, which was very considerable. as for the rest, since you have been called to the governor's house, you may have seen what respect they pay me there. i must tell you further, that a person despatched by my uncles to egypt, on purpose to inquire for me there, passing through this city found me out last night, and delivered me a letter from them. they inform me of my father's death, and invite me to come and take possession of his property at moussol. but as the alliance and friendship of the governor have fixed me here, and will not suffer me to leave him, i have sent back the express with a power, which will secure to me my inheritance. after what you have heard, i hope you will pardon my seeming incivility during the course of my illness, in giving you my left instead of my right hand. "this," said the jewish physician, "is the story i heard from the young man of moussol. i continued at damascus as long as the governor lived; after his death, being still in the vigour of my age, i had the curiosity to travel. accordingly i went through persia to the indies, and came at last to settle in this your capital, where i have practised physic with reputation." the sultan of casgar was well pleased with this story. "i must confess," said he to the jew, "the story you have told me is very singular; but i declare freely, that of the little hump-back is: yet more extraordinary, and much more diverting; so you are not to expect that i will give you your life, any more than the rest. i will have you all four executed." "pray, sir, stay a minute," said the tailor, advancing, and prostrating himself at the sultan's feet. "since your majesty loves pleasant stories, i have one to tell you that will not displease you." "well, i will hear thee too," said the sultan; "but do not flatter thyself that i will suffer thee to live, unless thou tellest me some adventure that is yet more diverting than that of my hump-backed jester." upon this the tailor, as if he had been sure of success, spoke boldly to the following purpose. the story told by the tailor. a citizen of this city did me the honour two days ago to invite me to an entertainment, which he was to give to his friends yesterday morning. accordingly i went early, and found there about twenty persons. the master of the house was gone out upon some business, but in a short time returned, and brought with him a young man, a stranger, very well dressed, and handsome, but lame. when he entered, we all rose, and out of respect to the master of the house, invited the young man to sit down with us upon the estrade. he was going to comply; but suddenly perceiving a barber in our company, flew backwards, and made towards the door. the master of the house, surprised at his behaviour, stopped him. "where are you going?" demanded he. "i bring you along with me to do me the honour of being my guest among the rest of my friends, and you are no sooner got into my house, than you are for running away." "sir," replied the young man, "for god's sake do not stop me, let me go, i cannot without horror look upon that abominable barber, who, though he was born in a country where all the natives are white, resembles an ethiopian; and his soul is yet blacker and more horrible than his face." we were all surprised to hear the young man speak in this manner, and began to have a very bad opinion of the barber, without knowing what ground the young man had for what he said. nay, we protested we would not suffer any one to remain in our company, who bore so horrid a character. the master of the house intreated the stranger to tell us what reason he had for hating the barber. "gentlemen," resumed the young man, "you must know this cursed barber is the cause of my being lame, and having fallen into the most ridiculous and teasing situation you can imagine. for this reason i have sworn to avoid all the places where he is, and even not to stay in the cities where he resides. it was for this reason that i left bagdad, where he then dwelt; and travelled so far to settle in this city, at the extremity of tartary; a place where i flattered myself i should never see him. and now, after all, contrary to my expectation, i find him here. this obliges me, gentlemen, against my will, to deprive myself of the honour of being merry with you. this very day i shall take leave of your town, and go, if i can, to hide my head where he cannot come." this said, he would have left us, but the master of the house earnestly intreated him to stay, and tell us the cause of his aversion for the barber, who all this while looked down and said not a word. we joined with the master of the house in his request; and at last the young man, yielding to our importunities, sat down; and, after turning his back on the barber, that he might not see him, gave us the following narrative of his adventures. my father's quality might have entitled him to the highest posts in the city of bagdad, but he always preferred a quiet life to the honours of a public station. i was his only child, and when he died i had finished my education, and was of age to dispose of the plentiful fortune he had left me; which i did not squander away foolishly, but applied to such uses as obtained for me everybody's respect. i had not yet been disturbed by any passion: i was so far from being sensible of love, that i bashfully avoided the conversation of women. one day, walking in the streets, i saw a large party of ladies before me; and that i might not meet them, i turned down a narrow lane, and sat down upon a bench by a door. i was placed opposite a window, where stood a pot of beautiful flowers, on which i had my eyes fixed, when the window opened, and a young lady appeared, whose beauty struck me. immediately she fixed her eyes upon me; and in watering the flowerpot with a hand whiter than alabaster, looked upon me with a smile, that inspired me with as much love for her as i had formerly aversion for all women. after having watered her flowers, and darted upon me a glance full of charms that pierced my heart, she shut the window, and left me in inconceivable perplexity, from which i should not have recovered, if a noise in the street had not brought me to myself. i lifted up my head, and turning, saw the first cauzee of the city, mounted on a mule, and attended by five or six servants: he alighted at the door of the house, where the young lady had opened the window, and went in; from whence i concluded he was her father. i went home in an altered state of mind; agitated by a passion the more violent, as i had never felt its assaults before: i retired to bed in a violent fever, at which all the family were much concerned. my relations, who had a great affection for me, were so alarmed by the sudden disorder, that they importuned me to tell the cause; which i took care not to discover. my silence created an uneasiness that the physicians could not dispel, because they knew nothing of my distemper, and by their medicines rather inflamed than checked it. my relations began to despair of my life, when an old lady of our acquaintance, hearing i was ill, came to see me. she considered me with great attention, and after having examined me, penetrated, i know not how, into the real cause of my illness. she took my relations aside, and desired all my people would retire out of the room, and leave her with me alone. when the room was clear, she sat down on the side of my bed. "my son," said she, "you have obstinately concealed the cause of your illness; but you have no occasion to reveal it to me. i have experience enough to penetrate into a secret; you will not deny when i tell you it is love that makes you sick. i can find a way to cure you, if you will but inform me who that happy lady is, that could move a heart so insensible as yours; for you have the character of a woman-hater, and i was not the last who perceived that such was your disposition; but what i foresaw has come to pass, and i am now glad of the opportunity to employ my talents in relieving your pain." the old lady having thus spoken, paused, expecting my answer; but though what she had said had made a strong impression upon me, i durst not lay open to her the bottom of my heart; i only turned to her, and heaved a deep sigh, without replying a word. "is it bashfulness," said she, "that keeps you silent? or is it want of confidence in me? do you doubt the effect of my promise? i could mention to you a number of young men of your acquaintance, who have been in the same condition with yourself, and have received relief from me." the good lady told me so many more circumstances that i broke silence, declared to her my complaint, pointed out to her the place where i had seen the object which occasioned it, and unravelled all the circumstances of my adventure. "if you succeed," added i, "and procure me the happiness of seeing that charming beauty, and revealing to her the passion with which i burn for her, you may depend upon it i will be grateful." "my son," replied the old woman, "i know the lady you speak of; she is, as you rightly judged, the daughter of the first cauzee of this city: i am not surprised that you are in love with her. she is the handsomest and most lovely lady in bagdad, but very proud, and of difficult access. you know how strict our judges are, in enjoining the punctual observance of the severe laws that confine women; and they are yet more strict in the observation of them in their own families; the cauzee you saw is more rigid in that point than any of the other magistrates. they are always preaching to their daughters what a heinous crime it is to shew themselves to men; and the girls themselves are so prepossessed with the notion, that they make no other use of their own eves but to conduct them along the street, when necessity obliges them to go abroad. i do not say absolutely that the first cauzee's daughter is of that humour; but that does not hinder my fearing to meet with as great obstacles on her side, as on her father's. would to god you had loved any other, then i should not have had so many difficulties to surmount. however, i will employ all my wits to compass the matter; but it requires time. in the mean while take courage and trust to me." the old woman took leave; and as i weighed within myself all the obstacles she had been talking of, the fear of her not succeeding in her undertaking inflamed my disorder. next day she came again, and i read in her countenance that she had no favourable news to impart. she spoke thus: "my son, i was not mistaken, i have somewhat else to conquer besides the vigilance of a father. you love an insensible object, who takes pleasure in making every one miserable who suffers himself to be charmed by her; she will not deign them the least comfort: she heard me with pleasure, when i spoke of nothing but the torment she made you undergo; but i no sooner opened my mouth to engage her to allow you to see her, and converse with her, but casting at me a terrible look, 'you are very presumptuous,' said she, 'to make such a proposal to me; i charge you never to insult me again with such language.' "do not let this cast you down," continued she; "i am not easily disheartened, and am not without hope but i shall compass my end." to shorten my story, this good woman made several fruitless attacks in my behalf on the proud enemy of my rest. the vexation i suffered inflamed my distemper to that degree, that my physicians gave me over. i was considered as a dead man, when the old woman came to recall me to life. that no one might hear what was said, she whispered in my ear; "remember the present you owe for the good news i bring you." these words produced a marvellous effect; i raised myself up in the bed, and with transport replied, "you shall not go without a present; but what is the news you bring me?" "dear sir," said she "you shall not die; i shall speedily have the pleasure to see you in perfect health, and very well satisfied with me. yesterday i went to see the lady you love, and found her in good humour. as soon as i entered, i put on a sad countenance heaved many deep sighs, and began to squeeze out some tears. 'my good mother,' demanded she 'what is the matter with you, why are you so cast down?' 'alas, my dear and honourable lady,' i replied, 'i have just been with the young gentleman of whom i spoke to you the other day, who is dying on your account.' 'i am at a loss to know,' said she, 'how you make me to be the cause of his death. how can i have contributed to it?' 'how?' replied i; 'did not you tell me the other day, that he sat down before your window when you opened it to water your flower-pot? he then saw that prodigy of beauty, those charms that your mirror daily represents to you. from that moment he languished, and his disorder has so increased, that he is reduced to the deplorable condition i have mentioned.' "'you well remember,' added i, 'how harshly you treated me at our last interview; when i was speaking to you of his illness, and proposing a way to save him from the threatened consequences of his complaint. after i left you i went directly to his house, and he no sooner learnt from my countenance that i had brought no favourable answer than his distemper increased. from that time, madam, he has been at the point of death; and i doubt whether your compassion would not now come too late to save his life.' the fear of your death alarmed her, and i saw her face change colour. 'is your account true?' she asked. 'has he actually no other disorder than what is occasioned by his love of me?' 'ah, madam!' i replied, 'it is too true; would it were false!' 'do you believe,' said she, 'that the hopes of seeing me would at all contribute to rescue him from his danger?' i answered, 'perhaps it may, and if you will permit me, i will try the remedy.'? 'well,' resumed she, sighing, 'give him hopes of seeing me; but he must pretend to no other favours, unless he aspire to marry me, and obtains my father's consent.' 'madam,' replied i. 'your goodness overcomes me; i will instantly seek the young gentleman, and tell him he is to have the pleasure of an interview with you.' 'the best opportunity i can think of,' said she, 'for granting him that favour, will be next friday at the hour of noon prayers. let him observe when my father goes out, and then, if his health permits him to be abroad, come and place himself opposite the house. i shall then see him from my window, and will come down and open the door for him: we will converse together during prayer-time; but he must depart before my father returns.' "it is now tuesday," continued the old lady "you have the interval between this and friday to recover your strength, and make the necessary dispositions for the interview." while the good old lady was speaking, i felt my illness decrease, or rather, by the time she had done, i found myself perfectly recovered. "here, take this," said i, reaching out to her my purse, which was full, "it is to you alone that i owe my cure. i reckon this money better employed than all that i gave the physicians, who have only tormented me during my illness." when the lady was gone, i found i had strength enough to get up: and my relations finding me so well, complimented me on the occasion, and went home. on friday morning the old woman came, just as i was dressing, and choosing out the richest clothes in my wardrobe, said, "i do not ask you how you are, what you are about is intimation enough of your health; but will not you bathe before you go?" "that will take up too much time," i replied; "i will content myself with sending for a barber, to shave my head." immediately i ordered one of my slaves to call a barber that could do his business cleverly and expeditiously. the slave brought me the wretch you see here, who came, and after saluting me, said, "sir, you look as if you were not well." i told him i was just recovered from a fit of sickness. "may god," resumed he, "deliver you from all mischance; may his grace always go along with you." "i hope he will grant your wish, for which i am obliged to you." "since you are recovering from a fit of sickness," he continued, "i pray god preserve your health; but now let me know what i am to do; i have brought my razors and my lancets, do you desire to be shaved or to be bled?" i replied, "i am just recovered from a fit of sickness, and you may readily judge i only want to be shaved: come, do not lose time in prattling; for i am in haste, and have an appointment precisely at noon." the barber spent much time in opening his case, and preparing his razors instead of putting water into the basin, he took a very handsome astrolabe out of his case, and went very gravely out of my room to the middle of the court to take the height of the sun: he returned with the same grave pace, and entering my room, said, "sir, you will be pleased to know this day is friday the th of the moon suffir, in the year , from the retreat of our great prophet from mecca to medina, and in the year of the epocha of the great iskender with two horns; and that the conjunction of mars and mercury signifies you cannot choose a better time than this very day and hour for being shaved. but, on the other hand, the same conjunction is a bad presage to you. i learn from it, that this day you run a great risk, not indeed of losing your life, but of an inconvenience which will attend you while you live. you are obliged to me for the advice i now give you, to avoid this accident; i shall be sorry if it befall you." you may guess, gentlemen, how vexed i was at having fallen into the hands of such a prattling, impertinent fellow; what an unseasonable adventure was it for a lover preparing for an interview with his mistress! i was quite irritated. "i care not," said i, in anger, "for your advice and predictions; i did not call you to consult your astrology; you came hither to shave me; shave me, or begone." "i will call another barber, sir," replied he, with a coolness that put me out of all patience; "what reason have you to be angry with me? you do not know, that all of my profession are not like me; and that if you made it your business to search, you would not find such another. you only sent for a barber; but here, in my person, you have the best barber in bagdad, an experienced physician, a profound chemist, an infallible astrologer, a finished grammarian, a complete orator, a subtle logician, a mathematician perfectly well versed in geometry, arithmetic, astronomy, and all the refinements of algebra; an historian fully master of the histories of all the kingdoms of the universe. besides, i understand all parts of philosophy. i have all our sacred traditions by heart. i am a poet, i am an architect; and what is it i am not? there is nothing in nature hidden from me. your deceased father, to whose memory i pay a tribute of tears every time i think of him, was fully convinced of my merit; he was fond of me, and spoke of me in all companies as the first man in the world. out of gratitude and friendship for him, i am willing to attach myself to you, to take you under my protection, and guard you from all the evils that your stars may threaten." when i heard all this jargon, i could not forbear laughing, notwithstanding my anger. "you impertinent prattler!" said i, "will you have done, and begin to shave me?" "sir," replied the barber, "you affront me in calling me a prattler; on the contrary, all the world gives me the honourable title of silent. i had six brothers, whom you might justly have called prattlers. these indeed were impertinent chatterers, but for me, who am a younger brother, i am grave and concise in my discourse." for god's sake, gentlemen, do but suppose you had been in my place. what could i say when i saw myself so cruelly delayed? "give him three pieces of gold," said i to the slave who was my housekeeper, "and send him away, that he may disturb me no more; i will not be shaved this day." "sir," said the barber, "pray what do you mean? i did not come to seek for you, you sent for me; and as that is the case i swear by the faith of a moosulmaun, i will not stir out of these doors till i have shaved you. if you do not know my value, it is not my fault. your deceased father did me more justice. every time he sent for me to let him blood, he made me sit down by him, and was charmed with hearing what witty things i said. i kept him in a continual strain of admiration; i elevated him; and when i had finished my discourse, 'my god,' he would exclaim, 'you are an inexhaustible source of science, no man can reach the depth of your knowledge.' 'my dear sir,' i would answer, 'you do me more honour than deserve. if i say anything that is worth hearing, it is owing to the favourable audience you vouchsafe me; it is your liberality that inspires me with the sublime thoughts which have the happiness to please you.' one day, when he was charmed with an admirable discourse i had made him, he said, 'give him a hundred pieces of gold, and invest him with one of my richest robes.' i instantly received the present. i then drew his horoscope, and found it the happiest in the world. nay i carried my gratitude further; i let him blood with cupping-glasses." this was not all; he spun out another harangue that was a full half hour long. tired with hearing him, and fretted at the loss of time, which was almost spent before i was half ready, i did not know what to say. "it is impossible," i exclaimed, "there should be such another man in the world who takes pleasure, as you do, in making people mad." i thought i might perhaps succeed better if i dealt mildly with my barber. "in the name of god," said i, "leave off talking, and shave me directly: business of the last importance calls me, as i have already told you." at these words he fell a laughing: "it would be fortunate," said he, "if our minds were always in the same state; if we were always wise and prudent. i am willing, however, to believe, that if you are angry with me, it is your disorder that has caused the change in your temper, for which reason you stand in need of some instructions, and you cannot do better than follow the example of your father and grandfather. they came and consulted me upon all occasions, and i can say, without vanity, that they always highly prized my advice. pray observe, sir, men never succeed in their undertakings without the counsel of persons of understanding. a man cannot, says the proverb, be wise without receiving advice from the wise. i am entirely at service, and you have only to command me." "what! cannot i prevail with you then," i demanded, interrupting him, "to leave off these long speeches, that tend to nothing but to distract my head, and detain me from my business? shave me, i say, or begone:" with that i started up in anger, stamping my foot against the ground. when he saw i was in earnest, he said, "sir, do not be angry, we are going to begin." he lathered my head, and began to shave me; but had not given four strokes with his razor before he stopped, and addressed me, "sir, you are hasty, you should avoid these transports that only come from the devil. i am entitled to some consideration on account of my age, my knowledge, and my great virtues." "go on and shave me," said i, interrupting him again, "and talk no more." "that is to say," replied he, "you have some urgent business to go about; i will lay you a wager i guess right." "why i told you two hours ago," i returned, "you ought to have shaved me before." "moderate your passion," replied he; "perhaps you have not maturely weighed what you are going about; when things are done precipitately, they are generally repented of. i wish you would tell me what mighty business this is you are so earnest upon. i would tell you my opinion of it; besides, you have time enough, since your appointment is not till noon, and it wants three hours of that yet." "i do not mind that," said i; "persons of honour and of their word are rather before their time than after. but i forget that by reasoning with you, i give into the faults of you prattling barbers; have done, have done; shave me." the more haste i was in, the less speed he made. he laid down the razor, and took up his astrolabe; then laid down his astrolabe, and took up his razor again. the barber quitted his razor again, and took up his astrolabe a second time; and so left me half shaved, to go and see precisely what hour it was. back he came, and exclaimed, "sir, i knew i was not mistaken, it wants three hours of noon. i am sure of it, or else all the rules of astronomy are false." "just heaven!" cried i, "my patience is exhausted, i can bear this no longer. you cursed barber, you barber of mischief, i can scarcely forbear falling upon you and strangling you." "softly, sir," said he, very calmly, without being moved by my anger: "are you not afraid of a relapse? be not in a passion, i am going to shave you this minute." in speaking these words, he clapped his astrolabe in his case, took up his razor, and passing it over the strap which was fixed to his belt, fell to shaving me again; but all the while he was thus employed, the dog could not forbear prattling. "if you would be pleased, sir," said he, "to tell me what the business is you are going about at noon, i could give you some advice that might be of use to you." to satisfy the fellow, i told him i was going to meet some friends at an entertainment at noon, to make merry with me on the recovery of my health. when the barber heard me talk of regaling; "god bless you this day, as well as all other days!" he cried: "you put me in mind that yesterday i invited four or five friends to come and eat with me as this day; indeed i had forgotten the engagement, and have made no preparation for them." "do not let that trouble you," said i; "though i dine abroad, my larder is always well furnished. i make you a present of all that it contains; and besides, i will order you as much wine as you have occasion for; i have excellent wine in my cellar; only you must hasten to finish shaving me: and pray remember, as my father made you presents to encourage you to speak, i give you mine to induce you to be silent." he was not satisfied with my promise, but exclaimed, "god reward you, sir, for your kindness: pray shew me these provisions now, that i may see if there will be enough to entertain my friends. i would have them satisfied with the good fare i make them." "i have," said i, "a lamb, six capons, a dozen chickens, and enough to make four courses." i ordered a slave to bring all before him, with four great pitchers of wine. "it is very well," returned the barber; "but we shall want fruit, and sauce for the meat." these i ordered likewise; but then he left off shaving, to look over every thing one after another; and this survey lasted almost half an hour. i raged and stormed like a madman; but it signified nothing, the wretch made no more haste. however, he took up his razor again, and shaved me for some minutes; then stopping suddenly, exclaimed, "i could not have believed, sir, that you would have been so liberal; i begin to perceive that your deceased father lives again in you. most certainly, i do not deserve the favours with which you have loaded me; and i assure you i shall have them in perpetual remembrance; for, sir, to let you know, i have nothing but what i obtain from the generosity of such gentlemen as you: in which respect, i am like to zantout, who rubs the people in the baths; to sali, who cries boiled peas in the streets; to salout, who sells beans; to akerscha, who sells greens; to aboumecarez, who sprinkles the streets to lay the dust; and to cassem, the caliph's lifeguard man. of all these persons, not one is apt so be melancholy; they are neither impertinent nor quarrelsome; they are more contented with their lot, than the caliph in the midst of his court; they are always gay, ready to sing and dance, and have each of them their peculiar song and dance, with which they divert the city of bagdad; but what i esteem most in them is, that they are no great talkers, any more than your slave, that has bow the honour to speak to you. here, sir, is the song and dance of zantout, who rubs the people in the baths; mind me, pray, and see if i do not imitate it exactly." the barber sung the song, and danced the dance of zantout; and let me say what i could to oblige him to finish his buffooneries, he did not cease till he had imitated, in like manner, the songs and dances of the other persons he had named. "after that," addressing himself to me, "i am going," said he, "to invite all these honest men to my house; if you will take my advice you will join us, and disappoint your friends, who perhaps are great talkers. they will only teaze you to death with their impertinent discourse, and make you relapse into a disorder worse than that from which you are so lately recovered; whereas at my house you shall have nothing but pleasure." notwithstanding my anger, i could not forbear laughing at the fellow's impertinence. "i wish i had no business upon my hands," i replied, "i would accept your invitation, and go with all my heart to partake of your entertainment; but i beg to be excused, i am too much engaged; another day i shall be more at leisure, and then we will make up the same party. come, finish shaving me, and make haste home; perhaps your friends are already arrived at your house." "sir," replied he, "do not refuse me the favour i ask of you; were you but once in our company, it would afford you so much pleasure as abundantly to compensate you for forsaking your friends." "let us talk no more of that," said i; "i cannot be your guest." i found i gained no ground by mild terms. "since you will not come to my house," replied the barber, "you must allow me to go along with you: i will carry these things to my house, where my friends may eat of them if they like, and i will return immediately; i would not be so uncivil as to leave you alone. you deserve this piece of complaisance at my hands." "heavens!" cried i, "then i shall not get clear of this troublesome fellow to-day. in the name of the living god, leave off your unreasonable jargon; go to your friends, drink, eat, and be merry with them, and leave me at liberty to go to mine. i must go alone, i have no occasion for company; besides, i must needs tell you, the place to which i go is not one where you can be received." "you jest, sir," said he; "if your friends have invited you to a feast, what should prevent you from allowing me to go with you? you will please them, i am sure, by introducing to them a man who can talk wittily like me, and knows how to divert company. but say what you will, i am determined to accompany you." these words, gentlemen, perplexed me much. "how," thought i, "shall i get rid of this cursed barber? if i persist in contradicting him, we shall never have done." besides, i heard at this instant the first call to noon-prayers, and it was time for me to go. in fine, i resolved to say nothing, and to make as if i consented to his accompanying me. he then finished shaving me, and i said to him, "take some of my servants to carry these provisions along with you, and return hither; i will stay for you, and shall not go without you." at last he went, and i dressed myself as expeditiously as i could. i heard the last call to prayers, and hastened to set out: but the malicious barber, who guessed my intention, went with my servants only within sight of the house and stood there till he saw them enter it, after which he concealed himself at the corner of the street, with an intent to observe and follow me. in fine, when i arrived at the cauzee's door, i looked back and saw him at the head of the street which alarmed me to the last degree. the cauzee's door was half open, and as i went in i saw an old woman waiting for me, who, after she had shut the door, conducted me to the chamber of the young lady who was the object of my love; but we had scarcely begun to converse, when we heard a noise in the streets. the young lady put her head to the window, and saw through the gate that it was her father already returning from prayers. at the same time i looked, and saw the barber sitting over-against the house, on the bench from which i had first seen the young lady. i had then two things to fear, the arrival of the cauzee, and the presence of the barber. the young lady mitigated my apprehension on the first head, by assuring me the cauzee, came but seldom to her chamber, and as she had forseen that this misadventure might happen, she had contrived a way to convey me out safely: but the indiscretion of the accursed barber made me very uneasy; and you shall hear that my uneasiness was not without ground. as soon as the cauzee was come in, he caned one of his slaves, who had deserved chastisement. this slave made a horrid noise, which was heard in the streets; the barber thought it was i who cried out, and was maltreated. prepossessed with this thought, he roared out aloud, rent his clothes, threw dust upon his head, and called the neighbourhood to his assistance. the neighbours collected, and asked what assistance he wanted? "alas!" cried he, "they are assassinating my master, my dear patron;" and without saying anything more, he ran all the way to my house, with the very same cry in his mouth. from thence he returned, followed by all my domestics armed with sticks. they knocked with inconceivable fury at the door, and the cauzee sent slave to see what was the matter; but the slave being frightened, returned to his master, crying, "sir, above ten thousand men are going to break into your house by force." immediately the cauzee himself ran, opened the door, and asked what they wanted. his venerable presence could not inspire them with respect. they insolently said to him, "you cursed cauzee, what reason have you to assassinate our master? what has he done to you?" "good people," replied the magistrate, "for what should i assassinate your master, whom i do not know and who has done me no harm? my house is open to you, come and search." "you bastinadoed him," said the barber; "i heard his cries not a minute ago." "what harm could your master do to me," replied the cauzee, "to oblige me to abuse him at that rate? is he in my house? if he is, how came he in, or who could have introduced him?" "ah! wretched cauzee," cried the barber, "you and your long beard shall never make me believe you; i know your daughter is in love with our master, and appointed him a meeting during the time of noon-prayer, you without doubt have had notice of it, returned home, and surprised him, and made your slaves bastinado him: but this your wicked action shall not pass with impunity; the caliph shall be acquainted with it, and he will give true and brief justice. let him come out, deliver him to us immediately; or if you do not, we will go in and take him out to your shame." "there is no occasion for so many words," replied the cauzee, "nor to make so great a noise: if what you say is true, go and find him out, i give you free liberty." thereupon the barber and my domestics rushed into the house like furies, and looked for me all about. as i heard all that the barber said to the cauzee, i sought for a place to conceal myself, and could find nothing but a large empty trunk, in which i lay down, and shut it upon me. the barber, after he had searched everywhere, came into the chamber where i was, and opened the trunk. as soon as he saw me, he took it upon his head and carried it away. he descended a high staircase into a court, which he crossed hastily, and at length reached the street door. while he was carrying me, the trunk unfortunately flew open, and not being able to endure the shame of being exposed to the view and shouts of the mob who followed us, i leaped out into the street with so much haste, that i have been lame ever since. i was not sensible of the hurt at first, and therefore got up quickly to avoid the people, who laughed at me; nay, i threw handfuls of gold and silver among them, and whilst they were gathering it up, i made my escape by cross streets and alleys. but the cursed barber followed me close, crying, "stay, sir; why do you run so fast? if you knew how much i am afflicted at the ill treatment you received from the cauzee, you, who are so generous, and to whom i and my friends are so much obliged! did i not tell you truly, that you would expose your life by your obstinate refusal to let me go with you? see what has happened to you, by your own fault; and if i had not resolutely followed, to see whither you went, what would have become of you? whither do you go, sir? stay for me." thus the barber cried aloud in the street it was not enough for him to have occasioned so great a scandal in the quarter where the cauzee lived, but he would have it known through the whole town. i was in such a rage, that i had a great mind to stop and cut his throat; but considering this would have perplexed me farther, i chose another course. perceiving that his calling after me exposed me to vast numbers of people, who crowded to the doors or windows, or stopped in the street to gaze at me, i entered an inn, the chamberlain of which knew me, and finding him at the gate, whither the noise had brought him, i prayed him, for the sake of heaven, to hinder that madman from coming in after me. he promised to do so, and was as good as his word, but not without a great deal of trouble; for the obstinate barber would enter in spite of him, and did not retire without calling him a thousand names. after the chamberlain had shut the gate, the barber continued telling all he met what great service he had done me. thus i rid myself of that troublesome fellow. after this, the chamberlain prayed me to tell him my adventure, which i did, and then desired him to let me have an apartment until i was cured. "but sir," said he, "will it not be more convenient for you to go home?" "i will not return thither," replied i: "for the detestable barber will continue plaguing me there, and i shall die of vexation to be continually teazed by him. besides, after what has befallen me to-day, i cannot think of staying any longer in this town; i must go whither my ill-fortune leads me." accordingly, when i was cured, i took all the money i thought necessary for my travels, and divided the rest of my property among my kindred. thus, gentlemen, i left bagdad, and came hither. i had ground to hope that i should not meet this pernicious barber in a country so far from my own, and yet i find him amongst you. be not surprised then at my haste to be gone: you may easily judge how unpleasant to me is the sight of a man who was the occasion of my lameness, and of my being reduced to the melancholy necessity of living so far from my kindred, friends, and country. when he had spoken these words, the lame young man rose up and went out; the master of the house conducted him to the gate, and told him, he was sorry that he had given him, though innocently, so great a subject of mortification. when the young man was gone, continued the tailor, we were all astonished at the story, and turning to the barber, told him he was very much to-blame, if what we had just heard was true. "gentlemen," answered he, raising up his head, which till then he had held down, "my silence during the young man's discourse is sufficient to testify that he advanced nothing that was not true: but for all that he has said to you, i maintain that i ought to have done what i did; i leave you to be judges. did not he throw himself into danger, and could he have come off so well without my assistance? he may think himself happy to have escaped with the lame leg did not i expose myself to greater danger to get him out of a house where i thought he was ill-treated? has he any reason to complain of and abuse me? this is what one gets by serving unthankful people. he accuses me of being a prattling fellow, which is a mere slander: of seven brothers, i speak least, and have most wit to my share; and to convince you of this, gentlemen, i need only relate my own story and theirs. honour me, i beseech you, with your attention." the story of the barber. in the reign of the caliph mustunsir billah, that is, seeking victory of god, a prince so famous for his liberality towards the poor, ten highwaymen infested the roads about bagdad, and for a long time committed unheard-of robberies and cruelties. the caliph, having notice of this, sent for the judge of the police, some days before the feast of bairam, and ordered him, on pain of death, to bring all the ten to him. the judge of the police used so much diligence, and sent so many people in pursuit of the ten robbers, that they were taken on the very day of bairam. i was walking at the time on the banks of the tigris, and saw ten men richly appareled go into a boat. had i but observed the guards who had them in custody, i might have concluded they were robbers; but my attention was fixed on the men themselves, and thinking they were people who designed to spend the festival in jollity, i entered the boat with them, hoping they would not object to my making one of the company. we descended the tigris, and landed before the caliph's palace: i had by this time had leisure to reflect, and to discover my mistake. when we quitted the boat, we were surrounded by a new troop of the judge of the police's guard, who bound us all, and carried us before the caliph. i suffered myself to be bound as well as the rest, without speaking one word: for what would it have availed to have spoken, or made any resistance? that had been the way to have got myself ill-treated by the guards, who would not have listened to me, for they are brutish fellows, who will hear no reason: i was with the robbers, and that was enough to make them believe me to be one of their number. when we had been brought before the caliph, he ordered the ten highwaymen's heads to be cut off immediately. the executioner drew us up in a file within reach of his arm, and by good fortune i was placed last. he cut off the heads of the ten highwaymen, beginning at the first; and when he came to me, he stopped. the caliph perceiving that he did not strike me, grew angry: "did not i command thee," said he, "to cut off the heads of ten highwaymen, and why hast thou cut off but nine?" "commander of the faithful," he replied, "heaven preserve me from disobeying your majesty's orders: here are ten bodies upon the ground, and as many heads which i have cut off; your majesty may count them." when the caliph saw that what the executioner said was true, he looked at me with amazement, and perceiving that i had not the face of a highwayman, said to me, "good old man, how came you to be among those wretches, who have deserved a thousand deaths?" i answered, "commander of the faithful, i will make a true confession. this morning i saw those ten persons, whose punishment is a proof of your majesty's justice, take boat: i embarked with them, thinking they were men going to celebrate this day, which is the most distinguished in our religion." the caliph could not forbear laughing at my adventure; and instead of treating me as a prattling fellow, as this lame young man did, he admired my discretion and taciturnity. "commander of the faithful," i resumed, "your majesty need not wonder at my silence on such an occasion, as would have made another apt to speak. i make a particular profession of holding my peace, and on that account have acquired the glorious title of silent; by which i am distinguished from my six brothers. this is the effect of my philosophy; and, in a word, in this virtue consists my glory and happiness." "i am glad," said the caliph, smiling, "that they gave you a title which you know so well how to use. but tell me what sort of men were your brothers, were they like you?" "by no means," i replied; "they were all of them loquacious, prating fellows. and as to their persons, there was still a greater difference betwixt them and me. the first was hump-backed; the second had rotten teeth; the third had but one eye; the fourth was blind; the fifth had his ears cut off; and the sixth had hare-lips. they had met with such adventures as would enable you to judge of their characters, had i the honour of relating them to your majesty:" and the caliph seemed desirous to hear their several stories, i went on without waiting his commands. the story of the barber's eldest brother. my eldest brother, whose name was bacbouc the hump-back, was a tailor: when he came out of his apprenticeship, he hired a shop opposite a mill, and having but very little business, could scarcely maintain himself. the miller, on the contrary, was very wealthy, and had a handsome wife. one day as my brother was at work in his shop, he saw the miller's wife looking out of the window, and was charmed with her beauty. the woman took no notice of him, but shut her window, and made her appearance no more that day the poor tailor did nothing all day long but lift up his eyes towards the mill. he pricked his finger oftener than once, and his work was not very regular. at night, when he was to shut his shop, he could scarcely tell how to do it, because he still hoped the miller's wife would once more come to the window; but at last he was forced to shut up, and go home, where he passed but a very uncomfortable night. he arose betimes in the morning, and ran to his shop, in hopes to see his mistress; but he was no happier than the day before, for the miller's wife did not appear at the window above a minute in the course of the day, but that minute made the tailor the most amorous man that ever lived. the third day he had more ground of satisfaction, for the miller's wife cast her eyes upon him by chance, and surprised him as he was gazing at her, which convinced her of what passed in his mind. no sooner did the miller's wife perceive my brother's inclination, than, instead of allowing it to excite her resentment, she resolved to divert herself with it. she looked at him with a smiling countenance, and my brother returned her smile, but in so ludicrous a way, that the miller's wife hastily shut her window, lest her loud laughter should make him sensible that she only ridiculed him. poor bacbouc interpreted her carriage to his own advantage, and flattered himself that she looked upon him with pleasure. the miller's wife resolved to have sport with my brother: she had a piece of very fine stuff, with which she had a long time designed to make a vest; she wrapped it up in a fine embroidered silk handkerchief, and sent it to him by a young slave whom she kept; who being taught her lesson, went to the tailor's shop, and told him, "my mistress gives you her service, and prays you to make her a vest of this stuff according to this pattern; she changes her dress often, so that her custom will be profitable to you." my brother doubted not but the miller's wife loved him, and thought she had sent him work so soon after what had passed betwixt them, only to signify that she knew his mind, and convince him that he had obtained her favour. he charged the slave to tell her mistress, that he would lay aside all work for hers and that the vest should be ready next morning. he worked at it with so much diligence, that he finished it in the course of the same day. next morning the young slave came to see if the vest was ready. bacbouc delivered it to her neatly folded up, telling her, "i am too much concerned to please your mistress to neglect her work; i would engage her by my diligence to employ no other than myself for the time to come." the young slave went some steps as if she had intended to go away, and then coming back, whispered to my brother, "i had forgotten part of my commission; my mistress charged me to make her compliments to you, and to ask how you passed the night; as for her, poor woman, she loves you to that degree that she could not sleep." "tell her," answered my silly brother, "i have so strong a passion for her, that for these four nights i have not slept one wink." after such a compliment from the miller's wife, my brother thought she would not let him languish long in expectation of her favours. about a quarter of an hour after, the slave returned to my brother with a piece of satin: "my mistress," said she, "is very well pleased with her vest, nothing in the world can fit her better, and as it is very handsome, she will not wear it without a new pair of drawers; she prays you to make her one, as soon as you can, of this piece of satin." "enough," said bacbouc, "i will do it before i leave my shop: you shall have it in the evening." the miller's wife shewed herself often at her window, and was very prodigal of her charms, to encourage my brother. you would have laughed to see him work. the pair of drawers was soon made, and the slave came for it, but brought the tailor no money, neither for the trimming he had bought for the vest, nor for the making. in the mean time, this unfortunate lover, whom they only amused, though he could not see it, had eaten nothing all that day, and was forced to borrow money at night to buy his supper. next morning, as soon as he arrived at his shop, the young slave came to tell him that the miller wanted to speak to him. "my mistress," said she, "spoke to him so much in your praise, when she shewed him your work, that he has a mind you should work for him also; she does this on purpose, that the connection she wishes to form betwixt you and him may crown your mutual wishes with success." my brother was easily persuaded, and went to the mill with the slave. the miller received him very kindly, and shewed him a piece of cloth, and told him he wanted shirts, bade him make it into twenty, and return him again what was left. my brother had work enough for five or six days to make twenty shirts for the miller, who afterwards gave him another piece of cloth to make him as many pair of drawers. when they were finished, bacbouc carried them to the miller, who asked him what he must have for his pains. my brother answered, he would be content with twenty dirhems of silver. the miller immediately called the young slave, and bade her bring him his weights to see if his money was right. the slave, who had her lesson, looked at my brother with an angry countenance, to signify to him, that he would spoil all if he took money. he knew her meaning, and refused to take any, though he wanted it so much that he was forced to borrow some to buy the thread to sew the shirts and drawers. when he left the miller, he came to me to borrow money to purchase provisions, and told me they did not pay him. i gave him some copper money i had in my purse, and upon that he subsisted for some days. it is true, indeed, he lived upon nothing but broth, nor had he his fill of that. one day he went to the miller, who was busy at his work, and thinking my brother came for money, offered him some; but the young slave being present, made him another sign not to take it, which he complied with, and told the miller he did not come for his money, but only to know how he did. the miller thanked him, and gave him an upper garment to make. bacbouc carried it to him the next day. when the miller drew out his purse, the young slave gave my brother the usual sign, on which he said to the miller, "neighbour, there is no haste, we will reckon another time;" so that the poor ninny went to his shop again, with three terrible distempers, love, hunger, and an empty purse. the miller's wife was not only avaricious, but ill-natured; for, not content with cheating my brother of his due, she provoked her husband to revenge himself upon him for making love to her, which they accomplished thus. the miller invited bacbouc one night to supper, and after giving him a very sorry treat, said to him, "brother, it is too late for you to return home, you had better stay here all night," and then took him to a place in the mill, where there was a bed; there he left him, and went to bed with his wife. about the middle of the night, the miller came to my brother, and said, "neighbour, are you asleep? my mule is ill, and i have a quantity of corn to grind; you will do me a great kindness if you will turn the mill in her stead." bacbouc, to shew his good nature, told him, he was ready to do him that service, if he would shew him how. the miller tied him by the middle in the mule's place, and whipping him soundly over the back, said to him, "go on, neighbour." "ho!" exclaimed my brother, "why do you beat me?" "it is to make you brisk," replied the miller, "for without a whip my mule will not go." bacbouc was amazed at this treatment, but durst not complain. when he had gone five or six rounds, he would fain have rested; but the miller gave him a dozen sound lashes, saying, "courage, neighbour! do not stop, pray; you must go on without taking breath, otherwise you will spoil my meal." the miller obliged my brother to turn the mill thus all night. about break of day he left him without untying him, and went to his wife's chamber. bacbouc continued there for some time, and at last the young slave came and untied him. "ah!" said the treacherous wretch, "how my mistress and i pitied you! we had no hand in this wicked trick which her husband has played you." the wretched bacbouc answered not a word, he was so much fatigued with work and blows; but crept home to his house, resolving never to think more of the miller's wife. the telling of this story, continued the barber, made the caliph laugh. "go home," said he to me, "i have ordered something to be given you to make up for the loss of the good dinner you expected." "commander of the faithful," i replied, "i pray your majesty to let me stay till i have told the story of my other brothers." the caliph having signified by his silence that he was willing to hear me, i went on thus. the story of the barber's second brother. my second brother, who was called backbarah the toothless, going one day through the city, met in a distant street an old woman, who came up to him, and said, "i want one word with you, pray stop a moment." he did so, and asked what she would have. "if you have time to come with me," said she, "i will bring you into a stately palace, where you shall see a lady as fair as the day. she will receive you with much pleasure, and treat you with excellent wine. i need say no more." "but is what you say true?" demanded my brother. "i am no lying hussy," replied the old woman. "i say nothing to you but what is true. but hark, i have something to ask of you. you must be prudent, say but little, and be extremely polite." backbarah agreed to all this. the old woman went on, and he followed her. they came to the gate of a great palace, where there was a number of officers and domestics. some of them would have stopped my brother, but no sooner did the old woman speak to them than they let him pass. then turning to my brother, she said to him, "you must remember that the young lady i bring you to loves good-nature and modesty, and cannot endure to be contradicted; if you please her in these respects, you may be sure to obtain of her what you please." backbarah thanked her for this advice, and promised to follow it. she brought him into a superb court, answerable to the magnificence of the palace. there was a gallery round it, and a garden in the middle. the old woman made him sit down on a handsome sofa, and bade him stay a moment, till she went to acquaint the young lady with his arrival. my brother, who had never been in such a stately palace before, gazed on the fine things that he saw; and judging of his good fortune by the magnificence of the palace, he was scarcely able to contain himself for joy. in a short time he heard a great noise, occasioned by a troop of merry slaves, who came towards him with loud fits of laughter; and in the middle of them he perceived a young lady of extraordinary beauty, who was easily known to be their mistress by the respect they paid her. backbarah, who expected private conversation with the lady, was extremely surprised when he saw so much company with her. in the mean time, the slaves, as they drew near, put on a grave countenance; and when the young lady came up to the sofa, my brother rose and made her a low obeisance. she took the upper seat, prayed him to sit down, and said to him with a smiling countenance, "i am much pleased to see you, and wish you all the happiness you can desire." "madam," replied backbarah, "i cannot desire a greater happiness than to be in your company." "you seem to be of a pleasant humour," said she, "and to be disposed to pass the time agreeably." she commanded a collation to be brought; and immediately a table was covered with several baskets of fruit and sweetmeats. the lady sat down at the table with the slaves and my brother; and he being placed just opposite to her, when he opened his mouth to eat, she perceived he had no teeth; and taking notice of this to her slaves, she and they laughed heartily. backbarah, from time to time, lifted up his head to look at her, and perceiving her laugh, concluded it was from the pleasure she derived from his company, and flattered himself that she would speedily send away her slaves, and remain with him alone. she guessed his thoughts, and amusing herself to flatter him in this mistake, addressed him in the most pleasant language, and presented him the best of every thing with her own hand. the entertainment being finished, they rose from the table; ten slaves took musical instruments, and began to play and sing, and others to dance. my brother, to please them, danced likewise, and the lady danced with them. after they had danced some time, they sat down to take breath, and the young lady calling for a glass of wine, looked upon my brother with a smiling countenance, to signify that she was going to drink his health. he rose and stood while she drank. when she had done instead of giving back the glass, she ordered it to be filled, and presented it to my brother, that he might pledge her. my brother took the glass from the young lady's hand, which he kissed at the same time and stood and drank to her, in return for the favour she had done him. the lady then made him sit down by her, and began to caress him. she put her hand behind his head, and gave him some tips from time to time with her fingers: ravished with these favours, he thought himself the happiest man in the world, and felt disposed to kiss the charming lady, but durst not take that liberty before so many slaves, who had their eyes upon him, and laughed at their lady's wanton tricks. the young lady continued to tip him with her fingers, but at last gave him such a sound box on the ear, that he grew angry; the colour came into his face, and he rose up to remove to a greater distance from such a rude playfellow. then the old woman, who brought him thither, gave him a look, to let him know that he was in the wrong, and that he had forgotten her advice, to be very complaisant. he owned his fault, and to make amends, went near the young lady again, pretending that he did not remove out of any ill-humour. she drew him by the arm, made him sit down by her, and gave him a thousand malicious squeezes. her slaves took their part in the diversion; one gave poor backbarah several fillips on the nose with all her might; another pulled him by the ears, as if she would have pulled them off; and others boxed him in a manner that might have made it appear they were not in jest. my brother bore all this with admirable patience, affecting a gay air, and looking at the old woman, said to her with a forced smile, "you told me, indeed, that i should find the lady perfectly kind, pleasant, and charming; i am mightily obliged to you!" "all this is nothing," replied the old woman; "let her go on, you will see other things by and by." then the young lady said to him, "brother, you are a brave man; i am glad to find you are so good-humoured and complaisant to bear with my little caprices, and that your humour is so conformable to mine." "madam," replied backbarah, who was charmed with this address, "i am no more at my own disposal, i am wholly yours, you may do with me as you please." "how you oblige me," returned the lady, "by such submission! i am well pleased with you, and would have you be so with me: bring him perfume, and rose-water." upon this, two slaves went out and returned speedily, one with a silver casket, filled with the best of aloes wood, with which she perfumed him; and the other with rose-water, which she sprinkled on his face and hands. my brother was quite enraptured with this handsome treatment. after this ceremony, the young lady commanded the slaves, who had already played on their instruments and sung, to renew their concerts. they obeyed, and while they were thus employed, the lady called another slave, and ordered her to take my brother with her, and do what she knew, and bring him back to her again. backbarah, who heard this order, got up quickly, and going to the old woman, who also rose to accompany him and the slave, prayed her to inform him what they were to do with him. "my mistress is only curious," replied the old woman softly; "she has a mind to see how you look in a woman's dress, and this slave, who is desired to take you with her, has orders to paint your eyebrows, to cut off your whiskers, and to dress you like a woman." "you may paint my eyebrows as much as you please," said my brother, "i consent to that, because i can wash it off again; but to shave me, you know i must not permit. how can i appear abroad again without moustaches?" "beware of refusing what is asked of you," returned the old woman, "you will spoil your fortune, which is now in as favourable a train as heart can wish. the lady loves you, and has a mind to make you happy; and will you, for a nasty whisker, renounce the most delicious favours that man can obtain?" backbarah listened to the old woman, and without saying a word went to a chamber with the slave, where they painted his eyebrows with red, cut off his whiskers, and were going to do the like with his beard. my brother's patience then began to fail: "oh!" said he, "i will never part with my beard." the slave told him, that it was to no purpose to have parted with his whiskers, if he would not also part with his beard, which could never comport with "woman's dress;" and she wondered that a man, who was upon the point of being loved by the finest lady in bagdad, should be concerned about his beard. the old woman threatened him with the loss of the young lady's favour; so that at last he allowed them to do what they would. when he was dressed in female attire, they brought him before the young lady, who laughed so heartily when she saw him, that she fell backward on the sofa. the slaves laughed and clapped their hands, so that my brother was quite out of countenance. the young lady got up, and still laughing, said to him, "after so much complaisance, i should be very much to blame not to love you with all my heart: but there is one thing more you must do for me, and that is, to dance as we do." he obeyed, and the young lady and her slaves danced with him, laughing as if they had been mad. after they had danced some time, they all fell upon the poor wretch, and did so box and kick him, that he fell down like one out of his senses. the old woman helped him up again: and that he might not have time to think of his ill-treatment, bade him take courage, and whispered in his ear, that all his sufferings were at an end, and that he was just about to receive his reward. the old woman continued her discourse to backbarah thus: "you have only one thing more to do, and that is but a small one. you must know that my mistress has a custom, when she has drunk a little, as you see she has done to-day, to let no one that she loves come near her, except they be stripped to their shirt; and when they have done so, she takes a little advantage of them and begins running before them through the gallery, and from chamber to chamber, till they catch her. this is one more of her humours: what advantage soever she takes of you, considering your nimbleness, you will soon overtake her; strip yourself then to your shirt, undress yourself without ceremony." my silly brother had done too much to hesitate at anything now. he undressed himself; and in the mean time the young lady was stripped to her shift and drawers, that she might run the more nimbly. when they were ready, the young lady took the advantage of twenty paces, and then began to run with surprising swiftness: my brother followed as fast as he could, the slaves in the mean time laughing heartily and clapping their hands. the young lady, instead of losing ground, gained upon my brother: she made him run two or three times round the gallery, and then entering a long dark passage, made her escape. backbarah, who still followed, having lost sight of her in the passage, was obliged to slacken his pace, because of the darkness of the place: at last perceiving a light, he ran towards it, and went out at a door, which was immediately shut after him. you may imagine how he was surprised to find himself in a street inhabited by curriers, and they were no less surprised to see him in his shirt, his eyes painted red, and without beard or moustaches: they began to clap their hands and shout at him, and some of them ran after him and lashed his back with leather straps. they then took him and set him upon an ass which they met by chance, and carried him through the town exposed to the laughter of the people. to complete his misfortune, as he went by the judge's house, he would needs know the cause of the tumult. the curriers told him, that they saw him come in that condition from the gate of the apartments of the grand vizier's women, which opened into their street; upon which the judge ordered unfortunate backbarah to have a hundred blows with a cane on the soles of his feet, and sent him out of the town with orders never to return. "thus, commander of the faithful," said i to the caliph, "i have given an account of the adventure of my second brother, who did not know that our greatest ladies divert themselves sometimes by putting such tricks upon young people, who are so foolish as to be caught in the snare." the barber, without breaking off, told the story of his third brother in the following manner. the story of the barber's third brother. commander of the faithful, my third brother, whose name was backbac, was blind, and his evil destiny reduced him to beg from door to door. he had been so long accustomed to walk through the streets alone, that he wanted none to lead him: he had a custom to knock at people's doors, and not to answer till they opened to him. one day he knocked thus, and the master of the house, who was alone, cried, "who is there?" my brother made no answer, and knocked a second time: the master of the house asked again and again, "who is there?" but to no purpose, no one answered; upon which he came down, opened the door, and asked my brother what he wanted? "give me something for heaven's sake," said backbac. "you seem to be blind," replied the master of the house. "yes, to my sorrow," answered my brother. "give me your hand," resumed the master of the house. my brother did so, thinking he was going to give him alms; but he only took him by the hand to lead him up to his chamber. backbac thought he had been carrying him to dine with him, as many other people had done. when they reached the chamber, the man let go his hand, and sitting down, asked him again what he wanted? "i have already told you," said backbac, "that i want something for god's sake." "good blind man," replied the master of the house, "all that i can do for you is to wish that god may restore you your sight." "you might have told me that at the door," replied my brother, "and not have given me the trouble to come up stairs." "and why, fool," said the man of the house, "do not you answer at first, when people ask you who is there? why do you give any body the trouble to come and open the door when they speak to you?" "what will you do with me then?" asked my brother. "i tell you again," said the man of the house, "i have nothing to give you." "help me down the stairs then, as you brought me up." "the stairs are before you," said the man of the house, "and you may go down by yourself if you will." my brother attempted to descend, but missing a step about the middle of the stairs, fell to the bottom and hurt his head and his back: he got up again with much difficulty, and went out cursing the master of the house who laughed at his fall. as my brother went out of the house, two blind men, his companions, were going by, knew him by his voice, and asked him what was the matter? he told them what had happened; and afterwards said, "i have eaten nothing to-day; i conjure you to go along with me to my house, that i may take some of the money that we three have in common to buy me something for supper." the two blind men agreed, and they went home with him. you must know that the master of the house where my brother was so ill used was a robber, and of a cunning and malicious disposition. he overheard from his window what backbac had said to his companions, and came down and followed them to my brother's house. the blind men being seated, backbac said to them, "brothers, we must shut the door, and take care there be no stranger with us." at this the robber was much perplexed, but perceiving a rope hanging down from a beam, he caught hold of it, and hung by it, while the blind men shut the door, and felt about the room with their sticks. when they had done, and had sat down again in their places, the robber left his rope, and seated himself softly by my brother, who thinking himself alone with his blind comrades, said to them, "brothers, since you have trusted me with the money, which we have been a long time gathering, i will show you that i am not unworthy of the confidence you repose in me. the last time we reckoned, you know we had ten thousand dirhems, and that we put them into ten bags; i will shew you that i have not touched one of them:" having so said, he put his hand among some old clothes, and taking out the bags one after another, gave them to his comrades, saying, "there they are; you may judge by their weight that they are whole, or you may tell them if you please." his comrades answered there was no need, they did not mistrust him; so he opened one of the bags, and took out ten dirhems, and each of the other blind men did the like. my brother put the bags into their place again: after which, one of the blind men said to him, "there is no need to lay out anything for supper, for i have collected as much victuals from good people as will serve us all." at the same time he took out of his bag bread and cheese, and some fruit, and putting all upon the table, they began to eat, the robber, who sat at my brother's right hand, picked out the best, and eat with them; but whatever care he took to make no noise, backbac heard his chaps going, and cried out immediately, "we are undone, there is a stranger among us:" having so said, he stretched out his hand, and caught hold of the robber by the arm, cried out "thieves!" fell upon him, and struck him. the other blind men fell upon him in like manner; the robber defended himself as well as he could, and being young and vigorous, besides having the advantage of his eyes, gave furious blows, sometimes to one, sometimes to another, and cried out "thieves!" louder than they did. the neighbours came running at the noise, broke open the door, and had much ado to separate the combatants; but having at last succeeded, they asked the cause of their quarrel. my brother, who still had hold of the robber, cried out, "gentlemen, this man i have hold of is a thief, and stole in with us on purpose to rob us of the little money we have." the thief, who shut his eyes as soon as the neighbours came, feigned himself blind, and exclaimed, "gentlemen, he is a liar. i swear to you by heaven, and by the life of the caliph, that i am their companion, and they refuse to give me my just share. they have all three fallen upon me, and i demand justice." the neighbours would not interfere in their quarrel, but carried them all before the judge. when they came before the magistrate, the robber, without staying to be examined, cried out, still feigning himself blind, "sir, since you are deputed to administer justice by the caliph, whom god prosper, i declare to you that we are equally criminal, my three comrades and i; but we have all engaged, upon oath, to confess nothing except we be bastinadoed; so that if you would know our crime, you need only order us to be bastinadoed, and begin with me." my brother would have spoken, but was not allowed to do so: and the robber was put under the bastinado. the robber being under the bastinado, had the courage to bear twenty or thirty blows; when, pretended to be overcome with pain, he first opened one eve, and then the other, and crying out for mercy, begged the judge would put a stop to the blows. the judge perceiving that he looked upon him with his eyes open, was much surprised, and said to him, "rogue, what is the meaning of this miracle?" "sir," replied the robber, "i will discover to you an important secret, if you will pardon me, and give me, as a pledge that you will keep your word, the seal-ring which you have on your finger." the judge consented, gave him his ring, and promised him pardon. "under this promise," continued the robber, "i must confess to you sir, that i and my three comrades do all of us see very well. we feigned ourselves to be blind, that we might freely enter people's houses, and women's apartments, where we abuse their weakness. i must farther confess to you, that by this trick we have gained together ten thousand dirhems. this day i demanded of my partners two thousand five hundred that belonged to my share, but they refused because i told them i would leave them; and they were afraid i should accuse them. upon my pressing still to have my share, they fell upon me; for which i appeal to those people who brought us before you. i expect from your justice, sir, that you will make them deliver me the two thousand five hundred dirhems which is my due; and if you have a mind that my comrades should confess the truth, you must order them three times as many blows as i have had, and you will find they will open their eyes as well as i have done." my brother and the other two blind men would have cleared themselves of this horrid charge, but the judge would not hear them: "villains," said he, "do you feign yourselves blind then, and, under that pretext of moving their compassion, cheat people, and commit such crimes?" "he is an impostor," cried my brother, "and we take god to witness that none of us can see." all that my brother could say was in vain, his comrades and he received each of them two hundred blows. the judge expected them to open their eyes, and ascribed to their obstinacy what really they could not do. all the while the robber said to the blind men, "poor fools that you are, open your eyes, and do not suffer yourselves to be beaten to death." then addressing himself to the judge, said, "i perceive, sir, that they will be maliciously obstinate to the last, and will never open their eyes. they wish certainly to avoid the shame of reading their own condemnation in the face of every one that looks upon them; it were better, if you think fit, to pardon them, and to send some person along with me for the ten thousand dirhems they have hidden." the judge consented to give the robber two thousand five hundred dirhems, and kept the rest himself; and as for my brother and his two companions, he thought he shewed them pity by sentencing them only to be banished. as soon as i heard what had befallen my brother, i went to him; he told me his misfortune, and i brought him back secretly to the town. i could easily have justified him to the judge, and have had the robber punished as he deserved, but durst not make the attempt, for fear of bringing myself into danger of assassination. thus i finished the sad adventure of my honest blind brother. the caliph laughed at it, as much as at those he had heard before, and ordered again that something should be given me; but without staying for it, i began the story of my fourth brother. the story of the barber's fourth brother. alcouz was the name of the fourth brother who lost one of his eyes, upon an occasion that i shall have the honour to relate to your majesty. he was a butcher by profession, and had a particular way of teaching rams to fight, by which he gained the acquaintance and friendship of the chief lords of the country, who loved that sport, and for that end kept rams at their houses. he had besides a very good trade, and had his shop always full of the best meat, because he spared no cost for the prime of every sort. one day when he was in his shop, an old man with a long white beard came and bought six pounds of meat of him, gave him money for it, and went his way. my brother thought the money so pure and well coined, that he put it apart by itself: the same old man came every day for five months together, bought a like quantity of meat, and paid for it in the same kind of money, which my brother continued to lay apart. at the end of five months, alcouz having a mind to buy a lot of sheep, and to pay for them in this money, opened his chest; but instead of finding his money, was extremely surprised to see nothing in the place where he had laid it, but a parcel of leaves clipped round. he beat his head, and cried out aloud, which presently brought the neighbours about him, who were as much surprised as he, when he told them the story. "o!" cried my brother, weeping, "that this treacherous old fellow would come now with his hypocritical looks!" he had scarcely spoken, when he saw him at a distance; he ran to him, and laid hands on him; "moosulmauns," cried he, as loud as he could, "help! hear what a cheat this wicked fellow has put upon me," and at the same time told a great crowd of people, who came about him, what he had formerly told his neighbours. when he had done, the old man said to him very gravely and calmly, "you had better let me go, and by that means make amends for the affront you have put upon me before so many people, for fear i should put a greater affront upon you, which i should be sorry to do." "how," said my brother, "what have you to say against me? i am an honest man in my business, and fear not you, nor any body." "you would have me speak out then," resumed the old man in the same tone; and turning to the crowd, said to them, "know, good people, that this fellow, instead of selling mutton as he ought to do, sells human flesh." "you are a cheat," said my brother. "no, no," continued the old man; "good people, this very minute while i am speaking to him, there is a man with his throat cut hung up in the shop like a sheep; do any of you go thither, and see if what i say be not true." just before my brother had opened his chest he had killed a sheep, dressed it, and exposed it in the shop, according to custom: he protested that what the old man said was false; but notwithstanding all his protestations, the credulous mob, prejudiced against a man accused of such a heinous crime, would go to see whether the charge were true. they obliged my brother to quit the old man, laid hold of him, and ran like madmen into his shop, where they saw, to all appearance, a man hung up with his throat cut, as the old man had told them; for he was a magician, and deceived the eyes of all people, as he did my brother, when he made him take leaves instead of money. at this sight, one of those who held alcouz gave him a violent blow with his fist, and said to him, "thou wicked villain, dost thou make us eat man's flesh instead of mutton?" and at the same time the old man gave him another blow, which beat out one of his eyes. every body that could get near him struck him; and not content with that, they carried him before a judge, with the pretended carcase of the man, to be evidence against him. "sir," said the old magician to the judge, "we have brought you a man, who is so barbarous as to murder people, and to sell their flesh instead of mutton. the public expects that you will punish him in an exemplary manner." the judge heard my brother with patience, but would believe nothing of the story of the money changed into leaves, called my brother a cheat, told him he would believe his own eyes, and ordered him to receive five hundred blows. he afterwards made him tell him where his money was, took it all from him, and banished him for ever, after having made him ride three days through the city upon a camel, exposed to the insults of the people. i was not at bagdad when this tragical adventure befell my fourth brother. he retired into a remote place, where he lay concealed till he was cured of the blows with which his back was terribly mangled. when he was able to walk, he went by night to a certain town where nobody knew him; and there he took a lodging, from whence he seldom moved; but being weary of this confined life, he went to walk in one of the suburbs, where suddenly he heard a noise of horsemen coming behind him. he was then by chance near the gate of a house, and fearing, after what had befallen him, that these horsemen were pursuing him, he opened the gate in order to hide himself, and after he had shut it, entered a court, where immediately two servants came and collared him, saying, "heaven be praised, that you have come of your own accord to surrender yourself; you have alarmed us so much these three last nights, that we could not sleep; nor would you have spared our lives, if we had not prevented your design." you may well imagine my brother was much surprised. "good people," said he, "i know not what you mean; you certainly take me for somebody else." "no, no," replied they, "we know that you and your comrades are robbers: you were not contented to rob our master of all that he had, and to reduce him to beggary, but you conspired to take his life. let us see if you have not a knife about you, which you had in your hand when you pursued us last night." having said thus, they searched him, and found he had a knife. "ho! ho!" cried they, laying hold of him, "and dare you say that you are not a robber?" "why," said my brother, "cannot a man carry a knife about him without being a robber? if you will hearken to my story, instead of having so bad an opinion of me, you will be touched with compassion at my misfortunes." but far from attending to him, they fell upon him, trod upon him, took away his clothes, and tore his shirt. then seeing the scars on his back, "o dog," said they, redoubling their blows, "would you have us believe you are an honest man, when your back shews us the contrary?" "alas!" said my brother, "my crimes must be very great, since, after having been abused already so unjustly, i am thus treated a second time without being more culpable!" the two servants, no way moved with his complaint, carried him before the judge, who asked him how he durst presume to go into their house, and pursue them with a drawn knife? "sir," replied the unfortunate alcouz, "i am the most innocent man in the world, and am undone if you will not be pleased to hear me patiently: no one deserves more compassion." "sir," exclaimed one of the domestics, "will you listen to a robber, who enters people's houses to plunder and murder them? if you will not believe us, only look upon his back;" and while he said so he uncovered my brother's back, and shewed it to the judge, who, without any other information, commanded his officers immediately to give him a hundred lashes over the shoulders, and made him afterwards be carried through the town on a camel, with one crying before him, "thus are men punished who enter people's houses by force." after having treated him thus, they banished him the town, and forbad him ever to return. some people, who met him after the second misfortune, brought me word where he was; i went, brought him to bagdad privately, and gave him all the assistance i could. the caliph did not laugh so much at this story as at the other. he was pleased to pity the unfortunate alcouz, and ordered something to be given me. but without giving his servants time to obey his orders, i continued my discourse, and said to him: "my sovereign lord and master, you see that i do not talk much; and since your majesty has been pleased to do me the favour to listen to me so far, i beg you would likewise hear the adventures of my two other brothers; i hope they will be as diverting as those of the former. you may make a complete history of them, that will not be unworthy of your library: i shall do myself the honour then to acquaint you, that the fifth brother was called alnaschar." the story of the barber's fifth brother. alnaschar, as long as our father lived, was very lazy; instead of working he used to beg in the evening, and live upon what he got. our father died at a very old age, and left among us seven hundred dirhems: we divided equally, so that each of us had a hundred for his share. alnaschar, who had never before possessed so much money, was much perplexed to know what he should do with it. he consulted a long time with himself, and at last resolved to lay it out in glass-ware which he bought of a wholesale dealer. he put all in an open basket, and sat with it before him, and his back against a wall, in a place where he might sell it. in this posture, with his eyes fixed on his basket, he began to meditate; during which he spoke as follows: "this basket cost me a hundred dirhems, which is all i have in the world. i shall make two hundred of them by retailing my glass, and of these two hundred, which i will again lay out in glass-ware, i shall make four hundred; and going on thus, i shall at last make four thousand dirhems; of four thousand i shall easily make eight thousand, and when i come to ten thousand, i will leave off selling glass and turn jeweller; i will trade in diamonds, pearls, and all sorts of precious stones: then when i am as rich as i can wish, i will buy a fine mansion, a great estate, slaves, eunuchs, and horses. i will keep a good house, and make a great figure in the world; i will send for all the musicians and dancers of both sexes in town. nor will i stop here, for, i will, by the favour of heaven, go on till i get one hundred thousand dirhems, and when i have amassed so much, i will send to demand the grand vizier's daughter in marriage; and represent to that minister, that i have heard much of the wonderful beauty, understanding, wit, and all the other qualities of his daughter; in a word, that i will give him a thousand pieces of gold the first night after we are married; and if the vizier be so uncivil as to refuse his daughter, which cannot be supposed, i will go and carry her off before his face, and take her to my house whether he will or no. as soon as i have married the grand vizier's daughter, i will buy her ten young black eunuchs, the handsomest that can be had; i will clothe my self like a prince, and mounted upon a fine horse, with a saddle of fine gold, with housings of cloth of gold, finely embroidered with diamonds and pearls, i will ride through the city, attended by slaves before and behind. i will go to the vizier's palace in view of all the people great and small, who will show me the most profound respect. when i alight at the foot of the vizier's staircase, i will ascend through my own people, ranged in files on the right and left; and the grand vizier, receiving me as his son-in-law, shall give me the right hand and set me above him, to do me the more honour. if this comes to pass, as i hope it will, two of my people shall each of them have a purse with a thousand pieces of gold, which they shall carry with them. i will take one, and presenting it to the grand vizier, tell him, 'there is the thousand pieces of gold that i promised the first night of marriage:' and i will offer him the other and say to him, 'there is as much more, to shew you that i am a man of my word, and even better than my promise.' after such an action as this, all the world will talk of my generosity. i will return to my own house in the same pomp. my wife will send some officer to compliment me, on account of my visit to the vizier, her father: i will honour the officer with a fine robe, and send him back with a rich present. if she send me a present, i will not accept it, but dismiss the bearer. i will not suffer her to go out of her apartment on any account whatever, without giving me notice: and when i have a mind to come to her apartment, it shall be in such a manner as to make her respect me. in short, no house shall be better ordered than mine. i will be always richly clad. when i retire with my wife in the evening, i will sit on the upper seat, i will affect a grave air, without turning my head to one side or the other. i will speak little; and whilst my wife, beautiful as the full moon, stands before me in all her charms, i will make as if i did not see her. her women about her will say to me, 'our dear lord and master, here is your spouse, your humble servant, before you, ready to receive your caresses, but much mortified that you do not vouchsafe to look upon her; she is wearied with standing so long, bid her, at least, sit down.' i will make no answer, which will increase their surprise and grief. they will prostrate themselves at my feet; and after they have for a considerable time entreated me to relent, i will at last lift up my head, give her a careless look, and resume my former posture: they will suppose that my wife is not handsomely enough dressed, and will carry her to her closet to change her apparel. at the same time i will get up and put on a more magnificent suit; they will return and address me as before, but i will not so much as look upon my wife, till they have prayed and entreated as long as they did at first. thus i will begin on the first day of marriage, to teach her what she is to expect during the rest of her life. "after the ceremonies of the marriage, i will take from one of my servants, who shall be about me, a purse of five hundred pieces of gold, which i will give to the tire-women, that they may leave me alone with my spouse: when they are gone, my wife shall go to bed first; then i will lie down by her with my back towards her, and will not say one wore to her all night. the next morning she will certainly complain of my contempt and of my pride, to her mother the grand vizier's wife, which will rejoice my heart. her mother will come to wait upon me, respectfully kiss my hands, and say to me, 'sir' (for she will not dare to call me son-in-law, for fear of provoking me by such a familiar style), 'i entreat you not to disdain to look on my daughter, and refuse to come near her. i assure you that her chief delight is to please you, and that she loves you with all her soul.' but in spite of all my mother-in-law can say, i will not answer her one word, but keep an obstinate gravity. then she will throw herself at my feet, kiss them repeatedly, and say to me, 'sir, is it possible that you can suspect my daughter's virtue? you are the first man who ever saw her face: do not mortify her so much; do her the favour to look upon her, to speak to her, and confirm her in her good intentions to satisfy you in every thing.' but nothing of this shall prevail with me. upon which my mother-in-law will take a glass of wine, and putting it in the hand of her daughter my wife, will say, 'go, present him this glass of wine yourself; perhaps he will not be so cruel as to refuse it from so fair a hand.' my wife will come with the glass and stand trembling before me; and when she finds that i do not look towards her, but that i continue to disdain her, she will say to me with tears in her eyes, 'my heart, my dear soul, my amiable lord, i conjure you, by the favours which heaven heaps upon you, to receive this glass of wine from the hand of your most humble servant:' but i will not look upon her still, nor answer her. 'my charming spouse,' will she say, redoubling her tears, and putting the glass to my mouth, 'i will never cease till i prevail with you to drink;' then, wearied with her entreaties, i will dart a terrible look at her, shake my hand in her face, and spurn her from me with my foot." my brother was so full of these chimerical visions, that he acted with his foot as if she had been really before him, and unfortunately gave such a push to his basket and glasses, that they were thrown down, and broken into a thousand pieces. on this fatal accident, he came to himself, and perceiving that he had brought misfortune upon himself by his insupportable pride, beat his face, tore his clothes, and cried so loud, that the neighbours came about him; and the people, who were going to their noon prayers, stopped to know what was the matter. being on a friday, more people went to prayers than usual; some of them took pity on alnaschar, and others only laughed at his extravagance. in the mean time, his vanity being dispersed with his property, he bitterly bewailed his loss; and a lady of rank passing by upon a mule richly caparisoned, my brother's situation moved her compassion. she asked who he was, and what he cried for? they told her, that he was a poor man, who had laid out the little money he possessed in the purchase of a basket of glassware, that the basket had fallen, and all his glasses were broken. the lady immediately turned to an eunuch who attended her, and said to him, "give the poor man what you have about you." the eunuch obeyed, and put into my brother's hands a purse with five hundred pieces of gold. alnaschar was ready to die with joy when he received it. he gave a thousand blessings to the lady, and shutting up his shop, where he had no more occasion to sit, went to his house. while he was pondering over his good luck, he heard somebody knock at his door. before he opened, he asked who it was, and knowing by the voice that it was a woman, he let her in. "my son," said she, "i have a favour to beg of you: the hour of prayer is come, let me perform my ablutions in your house, that i may be fit to say my prayers." my brother looking at her, and seeing that she was well advanced in years, though he knew her not, granted her request, and sat down again still full of his new adventure. he put his gold in a long strait purse, proper to carry at his girdle. the old woman in the mean time said her prayers, and when she had done, came to my brother and bowed twice to the ground, so low, that she touched it with her forehead: then rising up, she wished him all happiness. the old woman then bowed again, and thanked him for his civility. being meanly clad, and very humble, he thought she asked alms; upon which he offered her two pieces of gold. the old woman stepped back in a sort of surprise, as if my brother had affronted her. "good god!" said she, "what is the meaning of this? is it possible, sir, that you took me for one of those impudent beggars who push into people's houses to ask alms? take back your money: thank heaven, i need it not. i belong to a young lady of this city, who is a perfect beauty, and very rich; she lets me want for nothing." my brother was not cunning enough to perceive the craft of the old woman, who only refused the two pieces of gold, that she might catch more. he asked her, if she could not procure him the honour of seeing that lady. "with all my heart," she replied; "she will be very glad to marry you, and to put you in possession of her fortune, by making you master of her person. take up your money, and follow me." my brother, transported with his good luck in finding so great a sum of money, and almost at the same time a beautiful and rich wife, shut his eyes to all other considerations; so that he took his five hundred pieces of gold, and followed the old woman. she walked on, and he followed at a distance, to the gate of a great house, where she knocked. he came up just as a young greek slave opened the gate. the old woman made him enter first, crossed a well-paved court, and introduced him into a hall, the furniture of which confirmed him in the good opinion he had conceived of the mistress of the house. while the old woman went to acquaint the lady, he sat down, and the weather being hot, put off his turban, and laid it by him. he speedily saw the young lady enter: her beauty and rich apparel perfectly surprised him; he arose as soon as he saw her. the lady, with a smiling countenance, prayed him to sit down again, and placed herself by him. she told him, she was very glad to see him; and after having spoken some engaging words, said, "we do not sit here at our ease. come, give me your hand." at these words she presented him hers, and conducted him into an inner chamber, where she conversed with him for some time: she then left him, saying that she would be with him in a moment. he waited for her; but instead of the lady came in a great black slave with a cimeter in his hand, and looking upon my brother with a terrible aspect, said to him fiercely, "what have you to do here?" alnaschar was so frightened, that he had no power to answer. the black stripped him, carried off his gold, and gave him several flesh wounds with his cimeter. my unhappy brother fell to the ground, where he lay without motion, though he had still the use of his senses. the black thinking him to be dead, asked for salt: the greek slave brought him a basin full: they rubbed my brother's wounds with it, but he had so much command of himself, notwithstanding the intolerable pain it put him to, that he lay still without giving any sign of life. the black and the greek slave having retired, the old woman, who had enticed my brother into the snare, came and dragged him by the feet to a trapdoor, which she opened, and threw him into a place under ground, among the bodies of several other people who had been murdered. he perceived this as soon as he came to himself, for the violence of the fall had taken away his senses. the salt rubbed into his wounds preserved his life, and he recovered strength by degrees, so as to be able to walk. after two days he opened the trap-door in the night, and finding in the court a place proper to hide himself in, continued there till break of day, when he saw the cursed old woman open the street gate, and go out to seek another victim. he stayed in the place some time after she was gone, that she might not see him, and then came to me for shelter, when he told me of his adventures. in a month's time he was perfectly cured of his wounds by medicines that i gave him, and resolved to avenge himself of the old woman, who had put such a barbarous cheat upon him. to this end he took a bag, large enough to contain five hundred pieces of gold, and filled it with pieces of glass. my brother fastened the bag of glass about him, disguised himself like an old woman, and took a cimeter under his gown. one morning he met the old woman walking through the town to seek her prey; he went up to her, and counterfeiting a woman's voice, said, "cannot you lend me a pair of scales? i am newly come from persia, have brought five hundred pieces of gold with me, and would know if they are weight." "good woman," answered the old hag, "you could not have applied to a fitter person: follow me, i will conduct you to my son, who changes money, and will weigh them himself to save you the trouble. let us make haste, for fear he should go to his shop." my brother followed her to the house where she carried him at first, and the greek slave opened the door. the old woman took my brother to the hall where she desired him to wait till she called her son. the pretended son came, and proved to be the villainous black slave. "come, old woman," said he to my brother, "rise and follow me:" having spoken thus, he went before to conduct him to the place where he designed to murder him. alnaschar got up, followed him, and drawing his cimeter, gave him such a dexterous blow behind on the neck, that he cut off his head, which he took in one hand, and dragging the corpse with the other, threw them both into the place under ground before-mentioned. the greek slave, who was accustomed to the trade, came presently with a basin of salt; but when she saw alnaschar with his cimeter in his hand, and without his veil, she laid down the basin, and fled. but my brother overtaking her, cut off her head also. the wicked old woman came running at the noise, and my brother seizing her, said to her, "treacherous wretch, do not you know me?" "alas, sir!" answered she trembling, "who are you? i do not remember that i ever saw you." "i am," replied he, "the person to whose house you came the other day to wash and say your prayers. hypocritical hag, do not you remember?" then she fell on her knees to beg his pardon, but he cut her in four pieces. there remained only the lady, who knew nothing of what had passed: he sought her out, and found her in a chamber, where she was ready to sink when she saw him: she begged her life, which he generously granted. "madam," said he, "how could you live with such wicked people, as i have so justly revenged myself upon?" "i was," she answered, "wife to an honest merchant; and the old woman, whose wickedness i did not then know, used sometimes to come to see me; 'madam,' said she to me one day, 'we have a wedding at our house, which you will be pleased to see, if you will give us the honour of your company:' i was persuaded by her, put on my best apparel, and took with me a hundred pieces of gold. i followed her; she brought me to this house, where the black has since kept me by force, and i have been three years here to my great sorrow." "by the trade which that cursed black followed," replied my brother, "he must have gathered together a vast deal of riches." "there is so much," said she "that you will be made for ever, if you can carry them off: follow me, and you shall see them." alnaschar followed her to a chamber, where she shewed him several coffers full of gold, which he beheld with admiration. "go," said she, "and fetch people to carry it all off." my brother went out, got ten men together, and brought them with him, but was much surprised to find the gate open, the lady and the coffers gone, for she being more diligent than he, had conveyed them all off and disappeared. however, being resolved not to return empty-handed, he carried off all the furniture of the house, which was a great deal more than enough to make up the five hundred pieces of gold he had been robbed of; but when he went out of the house, he forgot to shut the gate. the neighbours, who saw my brother and the porters come and go, went and acquainted the magistrate, for they looked upon my brother's conduct as suspicious. alnaschar slept well enough all night, but the next morning, when he came out of his house, twenty of the magistrate's men seized him. "come along with us," said they, "our master would speak with you." my brother prayed them to have patience for a moment, and offered them a sum of money to let him escape; but instead of listening to him, they bound him, and forced him to go with them. they met in the street an old acquaintance of my brother's, who stopped them awhile, asked them why they had seized my brother, offered them a considerable sum to let him escape, and tell the magistrate they could not find him, but in vain. when the officers brought him before the magistrate, he asked him where he had the goods which he had carried home the preceding evening? "sir," replied alnaschar, "i am ready to tell you all the truth; but allow me first to have recourse to your clemency, and to beg your promise, that i shall not be punished." "i give it you," said the magistrate. my brother then told him the whole story without disguise, from the period the old woman came into his house to say her prayers, to the time the lady made her escape, after he had killed the black, the greek slave, and the old woman: and as for what he had carried to his house, he prayed the judge to leave him part of it, for the five hundred pieces of gold of which he had been robbed. the judge, without promising any thing, sent his officers to bring off the whole, and having put the goods into his own warehouse, commanded my brother to quit the town immediately, and never to return, for he was afraid, if he had stayed in the city, he would have found some way to represent this injustice to the caliph. in the mean time, alnaschar obeyed without murmuring, and left that town to go to another. by the way, he met with highwaymen, who stripped him naked; and when the ill news was brought to me, i carried him a suit, and brought him secretly into the town, where i took the like care of him as i did of his other brothers. the story of the barber's sixth brother. i have now only to relate the story of my sixth brother, called schacabac, with the hare lips. at first he was industrious enough to improve the hundred dirhems of silver which fell to his share, and went on very well; but a reverse of fortune brought him to beg his bread, which he did with a great deal of dexterity. he studied chiefly to get into great men's houses by means of their servants and officers, that he might have access to their masters, and obtain their charity. one day as he passed by a magnificent house, whose high gate shewed a very spacious court, where there was a multitude of servants, he went to one of them, and asked him to whom that house belonged? "good man," replied the servant, "whence do you come that you ask me such a question? does not all that you behold point out to you that it is the palace of a barmecide?" my brother, who very well knew the liberality and generosity of the barmecides, addressed himself to one of his porters (for he had more than one), and prayed him to give him alms. "go in," said he, "nobody hinders you, and address yourself to the master of the house; he will send you back satisfied." my brother, who expected no such civility, thanked the porters, and with their permission entered the palace, which was so large, that it took him a considerable time to reach the barmecide's apartment; at last he came to an arcade square building of an excellent architecture, and entered by parterres of flowers intersected by walks of several colours, extremely pleasant to the eye: the lower apartments round this square were most of them open, and were shut only with great curtains to keep out the sun, which were opened again when the heat was over to let in the fresh air. such an agreeable place would have struck my brother with admiration, even if his mind had been more at ease than it was. he went on till he came into a hall richly furnished and adorned with painting of gold and azure foliage, where he saw a venerable man with a long white beard, sitting at the upper end on a sofa, whence he concluded him to be the master of the house; and in fact it was the barmecide himself, who said to my brother in a very civil manner, that he was welcome; and asked him what he wanted? "my lord," answered my brother, in a begging tone, "i am a poor man who stands in need of the help of such rich and generous persons as yourself." he could not have addressed himself to a fitter person than this lord, who had a thousand good qualities. the barmecide seemed to be astonished at my brother's answer, and putting both his hands to his stomach, as if he would rend his clothes for grief, "is it possible," cried he, "that i am at bagdad, and that such a man as you is so poor as you say? this is what must never be." my brother, fancying that he was going to give him some singular mark of his bounty, blessed him a thousand times, and wished him all happiness. "it shall not be said," replied the barmecide, "that i will abandon you, nor will i have you leave me." "sir," replied my brother, "i swear to you i have not eaten one bit to-day." "is it true," demanded the barmecide, "that you are fasting till now? alas, poor man! he is ready to die for hunger. ho, boy," cried he, with a loud voice, "bring a basin and water presently, that we may wash our hands." though no boy appeared, and my brother saw neither water nor basin, the barmecide fell to rubbing his hands as if one had poured water upon them, and bade my brother come and wash with him. schacabac judged by this, that the barmecide lord loved to be merry, and he himself understanding raillery, and knowing that the poor must be complaisant to the rich, if they would have any thing from them, came forward and did as he was required. "come on," said the barmecide, "bring us something to eat, and do not let us wait." when he had spoken, though nothing appeared, he began to cut as if something had been brought him upon a plate, and putting his hand to his mouth began to chew, and said to my brother, "come, friend, eat as freely as if you were at home; come, eat; you said you were like to die of hunger, but you eat as if you had no appetite." "pardon me, my lord," said schacabac, who perfectly imitated what he did, "you see i lose no time, and that i play my part well enough." "how like you this bread," said the barmecide; "do not you find it very good?" "o! my lord," replied my brother, who saw neither bread nor meat, "i have never eaten anything so white and so fine." "eat your belly-full," said the barmecide; "i assure you the woman who bakes me this good bread cost me five hundred pieces of gold to purchase her." the barmecide, after having boasted so much of his bread, which my brother ate only in idea, cried, "boy, bring us another dish:" and though no boy appeared, "come, my good friend," continued he, "taste this new dish; and tell me if ever you ate better mutton and barley-broth than this." "it is admirably good," replied my brother, "and therefore you see i eat heartily." "you oblige me highly," resumed the barmecide; "i conjure you then, by the satisfaction i have to see you eat so heartily, that you eat all up, since you like it so well." a little while after he called for a goose and sweet sauce, made up of vinegar, honey, dry raisins, grey peas, and dry figs, which were brought just in the same manner as the others had. "the goose is very fat," said the barmecide, "eat only a leg and a wing; we must save our stomachs, for we have abundance of other dishes to come." he actually called for several others, of which my brother, who was ready to die of hunger, pretended to eat; but what he boasted of more than all the rest was a lamb fed with pistachio nuts, which he ordered to be brought up in the same manner. "here is a dish," said the barmecide "that you will see at nobody's table but my own; i would have you eat your belly-full of it." having spoken thus, he stretched out his hand as if he had had a piece of lamb in it, and putting it to my brother's mouth, "there," said he, "swallow that, and you will judge whether i had not reason to boast of this dish." my brother thrust out his head, opened his mouth, and made as if he took the piece of lamb, and eat it with extreme pleasure. "i knew you would like it," said the barmecide. "there is nothing in the world finer," replied my brother; "your table is most delicious." "come, bring the ragout; i fancy you will like that as well as you did the lamb: well, how do you relish it?" "o! it is wonderful," replied schacabac; "for here we taste all at once, amber, cloves, nutmeg, ginger, pepper, and the most odoriferous herbs, and all these delicacies are so well mixed, that one does not prevent our tasting the other." "how pleasant! honour this ragout," said the barmecide, "by eating heartily of it. ho, boy, bring us another ragout." "no, my lord, if it please you," replied my brother, "for indeed i can eat no more." "come, take away then," said the barmecide, "and bring the fruit." he stayed a moment as it were to give time for his servants to carry away; after which, he addressed my brother, "taste these almonds, they are good and fresh gathered." both of them made as if they had peeled the almonds, and eaten them; after this, the barmecide invited my brother to eat something else. "look," said he, "there are all sorts of fruits, cakes, dry sweetmeats, and conserves, take what you like;" then stretching out his hand, as if he had reached my brother something, "look," he continued, "there is a lozenge, very good for digestion." schacabac made as if he ate it, and said, "my lord, there is no want of musk here." "these lozenges," replied the barmecide, "are made at my own house, where nothing is wanting to make every article good." he still bade my brother eat, and said to him, "methinks you do not eat as if you had been so hungry as you complained you were when you came in." "my lord," replied schacabac, whose jaws ached with moving and having nothing to eat, "i assure you i am so full that i cannot eat one bit more." "well, then, friend," resumed the barmecide, "we must drink now, after we have eaten so well." "you may drink wine, my lord," replied my brother, "but i will drink none if you please, because i am forbidden." "you are too scrupulous," rejoined the barmecide; "do as i do." "i will drink then out of complaisance," said schacabac, "for i see you will have nothing wanting to make your treat complete; but since i am not accustomed to drink wine, i am afraid i shall commit some error in point of good breeding, and contrary to the respect that is due to you; therefore i pray you, once more, to excuse me from drinking any wine; i will be content with water." "no, no," said the barmecide, "you shall drink wine," and at the same time he commanded some to be brought, in the same manner as the meat and fruit had been served before. he made as if he poured out wine, and drank first himself, and then pouring out for my brother, presented him the glass, saying, "drink my health, and let us know if you think this wine good." my brother made as if he took the glass, and looked as if the colour was good, and put it to his nose to try the flavour: he then made a low salute to the barmecide, to signify that he took the liberty to drink his health, and lastly he appeared to drink with all the signs of a man that drinks with pleasure: "my lord," said he, "this is very excellent wine, but i think it is not strong enough." "if you would have stronger," answered the barmecide, "you need only speak, for i have several sorts in my cellar. try how you like this." upon which he made as if he poured out another glass for himself, and one for my brother; and did this so often, that schacabac, feigning to be intoxicated with the wine, and acting a drunken man, lifted up his hand, and gave the barmecide such a box on the ear as made him fall down. he was going to give him another blow, but the barmecide holding up his hand to ward it off, cried, "are you mad?" then my brother, making as if he had come to himself again, said, "my lord, you have been so good as to admit your slave into your house, and give him a treat; you should have been satisfied with making me eat, and not have obliged me to drink wine; for i told you beforehand, that it might occasion me to fail in my respect for you. i am very sorry for it, and beg you a thousand pardons." scarcely had he finished these words, when the barmecide, instead of being in a passion, fell a laughing with all his might. "i have been long," said he, "seeking a man of your character." the barmecide caressed schacabac mightily, and told him, "i not only forgive the blow you have given me, but i desire henceforward we should be friends, and that you take my house for your home: you have had the complaisance to accommodate yourself to my humour, and the patience to keep the jest up to the last; we will now eat in good earnest." when he had finished these words, he clapped his hands, and commanded his servants, who then appeared, to cover the table; which was speedily done, and my brother was treated with all those dishes in reality, which he ate of before in fancy. at last they cleared the table, and brought in the wine, and at the same time a number of handsome slaves, richly appareled, came and sung some agreeable airs to their musical instruments. in a word, schacabac had all the reason in the world to be satisfied with the barmecide's civility and bounty; for he treated him as his familiar friend, and ordered him a suit from his wardrobe. the barmecide found my brother to be a man of so much wit and understanding, that in a few days after he entrusted him with the care of his household and all his affairs. my brother acquitted himself very well in that employment for twenty years; at the end of which the generous barmecide died, and leaving no heirs, all his property was confiscated to the use of the prince; and my brother lost all he had acquired. being reduced to his first condition, he joined a caravan of pilgrims going to mecca, designing to accomplish that pilgrimage by their charity; but unfortunately the caravan was attacked and plundered by a number of bedouins, superior to that of the pilgrims. my brother was then taken as a slave by one of the bedouins, who put him under the bastinado for several days, to oblige him to ransom himself. schacabac protested that it was all in vain. "i am your slave," said he, "you may dispose of me as you please; but i declare to you that i am extremely poor, and not able to redeem myself." in a word, my brother discovered to him all his misfortunes, and endeavoured to soften him with tears; but the bedouin was not to be moved, and being vexed to find himself disappointed of a considerable sum of which he reckoned himself sure, he took his knife and slit my brother's lips, to avenge himself by this inhumanity for the loss that he thought he had sustained. the bedouin had a handsome wife, and frequently when he went on his excursions left my brother alone with her. at such times she used all her endeavours to comfort my brother under the rigour of his slavery. she gave him tokens enough that she loved him, but he durst not return her passion, for fear he should repent; and therefore avoided being alone with her, as much as she sought the opportunity to be alone with him. she was so much in the habit of caressing and playing with the miserable schacabac, whenever she saw him, that one day she happened to act in the same manner, in the presence of her husband. my brother, without taking notice that he observed them (so his sins would have it), played likewise with her. the bedouin, immediately supposing that they lived together in a criminal manner, fell upon my brother in a rage, and after he had mutilated him in a barbarous manner, carried him on a camel to the top of a desert mountain, where he left him. the mountain was on the road to bagdad, so that the passengers who saw him there informed me where he was. i went thither speedily, and found unfortunate schacabac in a deplorable condition: i gave him what help he stood in need of, and brought him back to the city. this is what i told the caliph; that prince applauded me with new fits of laughter. "now," said he, "i cannot doubt but they justly give you the surname of silent. no one can say the contrary for certain reasons, however, i command you to depart this town immediately, and let me hear no more of you." i yielded to necessity, and travelled for several years in distant countries. understanding at last that the caliph was dead, i returned to bagdad, where i found not one of my brothers alive. it was on my return to this city that i did the lame young man the important service which you have heard. you are, however, witnesses of his ingratitude, and of the injurious manner in which he treated me; instead of testifying his obligation, he rather chose to fly from me and leave his own country. when i understood that he was not at bagdad, though no one could tell me whither he was gone, i determined to seek him. i travelled from province to province a long time; and when i least expected, met him this day, but i little thought to find him so incensed against me. when the barber had concluded his story, we found that the young man was not to blame for calling him a great chatterer. however, he wished him to stay with us, and partake of the entertainment which the master of the house had prepared. we sat down to table, and were merry together till afternoon prayers; when all the company parted, and i went to my shop, till it was time to return home. it was during this interval that humpback came half drunk before my shop, where he sung and played on his tabor. i thought that, by carrying him home with me, i should divert my wife, therefore i took him in: my wife gave us a dish of fish, and i presented humpback with some, which he ate, without taking notice of a bone. he fell down dead before us, and after having in vain essayed to help him, in the trouble and fear occasioned by such an unlucky accident, we carried the corpse out, and dexterously lodged him with the jewish doctor. the jewish doctor put him into the chamber of the purveyor, and the purveyor carried him out into the street, where it was believed the merchant had killed him. "this sir," added the tailor, "is what i had to say to satisfy your majesty, who must pronounce whether we be worthy of mercy or wrath, life or death." the sultan of casgar shewed a satisfaction in his countenance, which restored the tailor and his comrades to life. "i cannot but acknowledge," said he, "that i am more struck with the history of the young cripple, with that of the barber, and with the adventures of his brothers, than with the story of my jester: but before i send you all away, and we proceed to bury humpback, i should like to see the barber who is the occasion of my pardoning you; since he is in my capital, it is easy to satisfy my curiosity." at the same time he sent an officer with the tailor to find him. the officer and the tailor went immediately and brought the barber, whom they presented to the sultan: the barber was a venerable man about ninety years of age; his eye-brows and beard were white as snow, his ears hanging down, and his nose very long. the sultan could not forbear laughing when he saw him. "silent man," said he to him, "i understand that you know wonderful stories, will you tell me some of them?" "sir," answered the barber, "let us forbear the stories, if you please, at present. i most humbly beg your majesty to permit me to ask what that christian, that jew, that moosulmaun and that dead humpback, who ties on the ground, do here before your majesty?" the sultan smiled at the barber's freedom, and replied, "why do you ask?" "sir," replied the barber, "it concerns me to ask, that your majesty may know i am not so great a talker as some represent me, but a man justly called silent." the sultan commanded them to tell him the story of the humpback, which he seemed earnestly to wish for. when the barber heard it, he shook his head, as if he would say, there was something under this which he did not understand. "truly," cried he, "this is a surprising story; but i wish to examine humpback a little nearer." he approached him, sat down on the ground, took his head between his knees, and after he had looked upon him steadfastly, fell into so great a fit of laughter, and had so little command of himself, that he fell backwards on the ground, without considering that he was before the sultan of casgar. as soon as he came to himself, "it is said," cried he, "and not without reason, that no man dies without a cause. if ever any history deserved to be written in letters of gold, it is that of this humpback." at this all the people looked on the barber as a buffoon, or an old dotard. "silent man," said the sultan, "why do you laugh?" "sir," answered the barber, "i swear by your majesty's benevolence, that humpback is not dead: he is yet alive, and i shall be content to pass for a madman if i do not convince you this minute." so saying, he took a box wherein he had several medicines that he carried about him to use as occasion might require; and drew out a little phial of balsam, with which he rubbed humpback's neck a long time; then he took out of his case a neat iron instrument, which he put betwixt his teeth, and after he had opened his mouth, he thrust down his throat a pair of small pincers, with which he took out a bit of fish and bone, which he shewed to all the people. immediately humpback sneezed, stretched forth his arms and feet, opened his eyes, and shewed several other signs of life. the sultan of casgar, and all who were witnesses of this operation, were less surprised to see humpback revive, after he had passed a whole night, and great part of a day, without giving any sign of life, than at the merit and capacity of the barber, who performed this; and notwithstanding all his faults, began to look upon him as a great physician. the sultan, transported with joy and admiration, ordered the story of humpback to be written down, with that of the barber, that the memory of them might, as it deserved, be preserved for ever. nor did he stop here; but, that the tailor, jewish doctor, purveyor, and christian merchant might remember the adventure, which the accident of humpback had occasioned to them, with pleasure, he did not send them away till he had given each of them a very rich robe, with which he caused them to be clothed in his presence. as for the barber, he honoured him with a great pension, and kept him near his person. the history of aboulhassen ali ebn becar, and schemselnihar, favourite of caliph maroon al rusheed. in the reign of the caliph haroon al rusheed, there lived at bagdad a druggist, named alboussan ebn thaher, a very rich handsome man. he had more wit and politeness than people of his profession generally possess: his integrity, sincerity, and good humour made him beloved and sought after by all sorts of people. the caliph, who knew his merit, had entire confidence in him. he held him in such high esteem, that he entrusted him to provide his favourite ladies with all the things they stood in need of. he chose for them their clothes, furniture, and jewels, with admirable taste. his good qualities, and the favour of the caliph, occasioned the sons of emirs, and other officers of the first rank, to be always about him: his house was the rendezvous of all the nobility of the court among the young lords that went daily to visit him, was one whom he took more notice of than the rest, and with whom he contrasted a particular friendship, called aboulhassen ali ebn becar, originally of an ancient royal family of persia. this family had continued at bagdad ever since the conquest of that kingdom. nature seemed to have taken pleasure in endowing this young prince with the rarest qualities of body and mind: his face was so very beautiful, his shape so fine, his air so easy, and his physiognomy so engaging, that it was impossible to see him without immediately loving him. when he spoke, he expressed himself in terms proper and well chosen, with a new and agreeable turn, and his voice charmed all that heard him: he had besides so much wit and judgment, that he thought and spoke of all subjects with admirable exactness. he was so reserved and modest, that he advanced nothing till after he had taken all possible care to avoid giving any ground of suspicion that he preferred his own opinion to that of others. being such a person as i have represented him, we need not wonder that ebn thaher distinguished him from all the other young noblemen of the court, most of whom had the vices which composed the opposites to his virtues. one day, when the prince was with ebn thaher, there came a lady mounted on a piebald mule, in the midst of ten female slaves who accompanied her on foot, all very handsome, as far as could be judged by their air, and through their veils which covered their faces. the lady had a girdle of a rose colour, four inches broad, embroidered with pearls and diamonds of an extraordinary bigness; and for beauty it was easy to perceive that she surpassed all her women, as far as the full moon does that of two days old. she came to buy something, and as she wanted to speak to ebn thaher, entered his shop, which was very neat and spacious; and he received her with all the marks of the most profound respect, entreating her to sit down, and directing her to the most honourable place. in the mean time, the prince of persia, unwilling to lose such an opportunity of shewing his good breeding and gallantry, adjusted the cushion of cloth of gold, for the lady to lean on; after which he hastily retired, that she might sit down; and having saluted her, by kissing the carpet under her feet, rose and stood before her at the lower end of the sofa. it being her custom to be free with ebn thaher, she lifted up her veil, and discovered to the prince of persia such an extraordinary beauty as struck him to the heart. on the other hand, the lady could not refrain from looking upon the prince, the sight of whom had made the same impressions upon her. "my lord," said she to him, with an obliging air, "pray sit down." the prince of persia obeyed, and sat on the edge of the sofa. he had his eyes constantly fixed upon her, and swallowed large draughts of the sweet poison of love. she quickly perceived what passed in his heart, and this discovery served to inflame her the more towards him. she arose, went to ebn thaher, and after she had whispered to him the cause of her coming, asked the name and country of the prince. "madam," answered ebn thaher, "this young nobleman's name is aboulhassen ali ebn becar, and he is a prince of the blood royal of persia." the lady was transported at hearing that the person she already loved so passionately was of so high a rank. "do you really mean," said she, "that he is descended from the kings of persia?" "yes, madam," replied ebn thaher, "the last kings of persia were his ancestors, and since the conquest of that kingdom, the princes of his family have always made themselves very acceptable at the court of our caliphs." "you will oblige me much," added she, "by making me acquainted with this young nobleman: when i send this woman," pointing to one of her slaves, "to give you notice to come and see me, pray bring him with you; i shall be glad to afford him the opportunity of seeing the magnificence of my house, that he may have it in his power to say, that avarice does not reign at bagdad among persons of quality. you know what i mean." ebn thaher was a man of too much penetration not to perceive the lady's mind by these words: "my princess, my queen," replied he, "god preserve me from giving you any occasion of anger: i shall always make it a law to obey your commands." at this answer, the lady bowed to ebn thaher, and took her leave; and after she had given a favorable look to the prince of persia, she remounted her mule, and departed. the prince of persia was so deeply in love with the lady, that he looked after her as far as he could; and long after she was out of sight directed his eyes that way. ebn thaher told him, that he remarked several persons observing him, and began to laugh to see him in this posture. "alas!" said the prince, "the world and you would pity me, if you knew that the beautiful lady, who is just gone from you, has carried with her the best part of me, and that the remaining part seeks for an opportunity to go after her. tell me, i conjure you," added he, "what cruel lady is this, who forces people to love her, without giving them time to reflect?" "my lord," answered ebn thaher, "this is the celebrated schemselnihar, the principal favourite of the caliph, our master." "she is justly so called," added the prince, "since she is more beautiful than the sun at noonday." "true," replied ebn thaher; "therefore the commander of the faithful loves, or rather adores her. he gave me express orders to furnish her with all that she asked for, and to anticipate her wishes as far as lies in my power." he spoke thus to hinder him from engaging in a passion which could not but prove unfortunate to him; but this served only to inflame it the more. "i feared, charming schemselnihar," cried he, "i should not be allowed so much as to think of you; i perceive, however, that without hopes of being loved in return, i cannot forbear loving you; i will love you then, and bless my lot that i am the slave of an object fairer than the meridian sun." while the prince of persia thus consecrated his heart to the fair schemselnihar, this lady, as she went home, contrived how she might see, and have free converse with him. she no sooner entered her palace, than she sent to ebn thaher the woman she had pointed out to him, and in whom she placed all her confidence, to tell him to come and see her without delay, and bring the prince of persia with him. the slave came to ebn thaher's shop, while he was speaking to the prince, and endeavouring to dissuade him, by very strong arguments, from loving the caliph's favourite. when she saw them together, "gentlemen," said she, "my honourable mistress schemselnihar the chief favourite of the commander of the faithful, entreats you to come to her palace, where she waits for you." ebn thaher, to testify his obedience, rose up immediately, without answering the slave, and followed her, not without some reluctance. the prince also followed he, without reflecting on the danger there might be in such a visit. the presence of ebn thaher, who had liberty to go to the favourite when he pleased, made the prince very easy: they followed the slave, who went a little before them, and entered after her into the caliph's palace, and joined her at the gate of schemselnihar's pavilion, which was ready open. she introduced them into a great hall, where she prayed them to be seated. the prince of persia thought himself in one of those delicious palaces that are promised to us in the other world: he had never seen any thing that came near the magnificence of the place. the carpets, cushions, and other appendages of the sofa, the furniture, ornaments, and architecture, were surprisingly rich and beautiful. a little time after ebn thaher and he had seated themselves, a very handsome black slave brought in a table covered with several delicacies, the admirable smell of which evinced how deliciously they were seasoned. while they were eating, the slave who brought them in waited upon them; she took particular care to invite them to eat of what she knew to be the greatest dainties. the other slaves brought them excellent wine after they had eaten. when they had done, there was presented to each of them a gold basin full of water to wash their hands; after which, they brought them a golden pot full of the wood of aloes, with which they perfumed their beards and clothes. odoriferous water was not forgotten, but served in a golden vessel enriched with diamonds and rubies, and it was thrown upon their beards and faces according to custom; they then resumed their places, but had scarcely sat down, when the slave entreated them to arise and follow her. she opened a door, and conducted them into a large saloon of wonderful structure. it was a dome of the most agreeable form, supported by a hundred pillars of marble, white as alabaster. the bases and chapiters of the pillars were adorned with four-footed beasts, and birds of various sorts, gilded. the carpet of this noble saloon consisted of one piece of cloth of gold, embroidered with bunches of roses in red and white silk; and the dome painted in the same manner, after the arabian fashion, presented to the mind one of the most charming objects. in every space between the columns was a little sofa adorned in the same manner, and great vessels of china, crystal, jasper, jet, porphyry, agate, and other precious materials, garnished with gold and jewels; in these spaces were also so many large windows, with balconies projecting breast high, fitted up as the sofas, and looking out into the most delicious garden; the walks were of little pebbles of different colours, of the same pattern as the carpet of the saloon; so that, looking upon the carpet within and without it seemed as if the dome and the garden with all its ornaments had been upon the same carpet. the prospect was, at the end of the walks, terminated by two canals of clear water, of the same circular figure as the dome, one of which being higher than the other, emptied its water into the lowermost, in form of a sheet; and curious pots of gilt brass, with flowers and shrubs, were set upon the banks of the canals at equal distances. those walks lay betwixt great plots of ground planted with straight and bushy trees, where a thousand birds formed a melodious concert, and diverted the eye by flying about, and playing together, or fighting in the air. the prince of persia and ebn thaher were a long time engaged in viewing the magnificence of the place, and expressed their surprise at every thing thing saw, especially the prince, who had never beheld any thing like it. ebn thaher, though he had been several times in that delicious place, could not but observe many new beauties, in a word they never grew weary in admiring so many singularities, and were thus agreeably employed, when they perceived a company of ladies richly appareled sitting without, at some distance from the dome, each of them upon a seat of indian plane wood inlaid with silver filigree in compartments, with instruments of music in their hands, waiting for orders to play. they both went forward, and had a full view of the ladies, and on the right they saw a great court with a stair up from the garden, encompassed with beautiful apartments. the slave had left them, and being alone, they conversed together; "for you, who are a wise man," said the prince of persia, "i doubt not but you look with a great deal of satisfaction upon all these marks of grandeur and power; for my part, i do not think there is any thing in the world more surprising. but when i consider that this is the glorious habitation of the lovely schemselnihar, and that the greatest monarch of the earth keeps her here, i confess to you that i look upon myself to be the most unfortunate of all mankind, and that no destiny can be more cruel than mine, to love an object possessed by my rival, and that too in a place where he is so potent, that i cannot think myself sure of my life one moment." ebn thaher, hearing the prince of persia speak, replied, "sir, i wish you could give me as good assurance of the happy success of your passion, as i can give you of the safety of your life. though this stately palace belongs to the caliph, who built it on purpose for schemselnihar, and called it the palace of eternal pleasures, and though it makes part of his own palace, yet you must know that this lady lives here at absolute liberty. she is not beset by eunuchs to be spies upon her; this is her private house, absolutely at her disposal. she goes into the city when she pleases, and returns again, without asking leave of any body: and the caliph never comes to see her, but he sends mesrour, the chief of his eunuchs, to give her notice, that she may be prepared to receive him. therefore you may be easy, and give full attention to the concert of music, which, i perceive, schemselnihar is preparing for you." just as ebn thaher had spoken these words, the prince of persia, and he, saw the favourite's trusty slave giving orders to the ladies to begin to sing, and play with the instruments: they all began immediately to play together as a prelude, and after they had played some time, one of them began to sing alone, and accompanied herself at the same time admirably upon her lute, being informed beforehand upon what subject she was to sing. the words were so agreeable to the prince of persia's sentiments, that he could not forbear applauding her at the end of the couplet. "is it possible," cried he, "that you have the gift of knowing people's hearts, and that the knowledge of what is passing in my mind has occasioned you to give us a taste of your charming voice by those words? i should not express myself otherwise, were i to choose." the lady made no reply, but went on and sung several other stanzas, with which the prince was so affected, that he repeated some of them with tears in his eyes; which discovered plainly enough that he applied them to himself. when she had finished, she and her companions rose up and sung a chorus, signifying by their words, that the full moon was going to rise in all her splendour, and that they should speedily see her approach the sun. intimating, that schemselnihar was coming, and that the prince of persia would soon have the pleasure of beholding her. in fact, as they looked towards the court, they saw schemselnihar's confidant coming towards them, followed by ten black women, who, with much difficulty, carried a throne of massive silver curiously wrought, which they set down before them at a certain distance; the black slaves then retired behind the trees, to the entrance of a walk. after this came twenty handsome ladies richly appareled alike; they advanced in two rows, each singing and playing upon instruments which she held in her hands, and placed themselves on each side of the throne. all these things kept the prince of persia and ebn thaher in so much the greater expectation, as they were curious to know how they would end. at length they saw advancing from the gate through which the ten black women had proceeded ten other ladies equally handsome, and well dressed, who halted a few moments, expecting the favourite, who came out last, and placed herself in the midst of them. schemselnihar was easily distinguished from the rest, by her fine shape and majestic air, as well as by a sort of mantle, of a very fine stuff of gold and sky-blue, fastened to her shoulders, over her other apparel, which was the most handsome, most magnificent, and best contrived that could be imagined. the pearls, rubies, and diamonds, which adorned her, were well disposed; not many in number, but chosen with taste, and of inestimable value. she came forward, with a majesty resembling the sun in its course amidst the clouds, which receive his splendour without hiding his lustre, and sat upon the silver throne that had been brought for her. as soon as the prince of persia saw schemselnihar, his eyes were rivetted on her. "we cease inquiring," said he to ebn thaher, "after what we seek, when once it is in view; and no doubt remains, when once the truth is made apparent. do you see this charming beauty? she is the cause of all my sufferings, which i bless, and will never forbear to bless, however severe and lasting. at the sight of this objets, i am not my own master; my soul is disturbed, and rebels, and seems disposed to leave me. go then, my soul, i allow thee; but let it be for the welfare and preservation of this weak body. it is you, cruel ebn thaher, who are the cause of this disorder, in bringing me hither. you thought to do me a great pleasure; but i perceive i am only come to complete my ruin. pardon me," he continued, interrupting himself; "i am mistaken. i would come, and can blame no one but myself;" and at these words he burst into tears. "i am glad," said ebn thaher, "that you do me justice. when i told you at first, that schemselnihar was the caliph's chief favourite, i did it on purpose to prevent that fatal passion which you please yourself with entertaining. all that you see here ought to disengage you, and you are to think of nothing but of acknowledging the honour which schemselnihar has done you, by ordering me to bring you with me; recall then your wandering reason, and prepare to appear before her, as good breeding requires. see, she advances: were we to begin again, i would take other measures, but since the thing is done, i pray god we may not have cause to repent. all that i have now to say to you is, that love is a traitor, who may involve you in difficulties from which you will never be able to extricate yourself." ebn thaher had no time to say more, because schemselnihar approached, and sitting down upon her throne, saluted them both by bowing her head; but she fixed her eyes on the prince of persia, and they spoke to one another in a silent language intermixed with sighs; by which in a few moments they spoke more than they could have done by words in a much longer time. the more schemselnihar, looked upon the prince, the more she found in his looks to confirm her opinion that he was in love with her; and being thus persuaded of his passion, thought herself the happiest woman in the world. at last she turned her eyes from him, to command the women, who began to sing first, to come near; they rose, and as they advanced, the black women, who came out of the walk into which they had retired, brought their seats, and placed them near the window, in the front of the dome where ebn thaher and the prince of persia stood, and their seats were so disposed, that, with the favourite's throne and the women on each side of her, they formed a semicircle before them. the women, who were sitting before she came resumed their places, with the permission of schemselnihar, who ordered them by a sign; that charming favourite chose one of those women to sing, who, after she had spent some moments in tuning her lute, sung a song, the meaning whereof was, that when two lovers entirely loved one another with affection boundless, their hearts, though in two bodies, were united; and, when any thing opposed their desires, could say with tears in their eyes, "if we love because we find one another amiable, ought we to be blamed? let destiny bear the blame." schemselnihar evinced so plainly by her eyes and gestures that those words were applicable to herself and the prince of persia, that he could not contain himself. he arose, and advancing to a balustrade, which he leaned upon, beckoned to one of the companions of the woman who had just done singing, to approach. when she had got near enough, he said to her, "do me the favour to accompany me with your lute, in a song which you shall hear me sing." he then sung with an air so tender and passionate, as perfectly expressed the violence of his love. as soon as he had done, schemselnihar, following his example, said to one of the women, "attend to me likewise, and accompany my song." at the same time she sung in such a manner, as more deeply to penetrate the heart of the prince of persia, who answered her by a new air, more passionate than the former. the two lovers having declared their mutual affection by their songs, schemselnihar yielded to the force of hers. she arose from her throne in transport, and advanced towards the door of the hall. the prince, who perceived her design, rose up immediately, and went to meet her. they met at the door, where they took one another by the hand, and embraced with so much passion, that they fainted, and would have fallen, if the woman who followed schemselnihar had not hindered them. they supported them to a sofa, where they were brought to themselves, by throwing odoriferous water on their faces, and applying pungent odours to their nostrils. when they had recovered, the first thing schemselnihar did was to look about: and not seeing ebn thaher, she asked, with eagerness, where he was? he had withdrawn out of respect whilst her women were engaged in recovering her, and dreaded, not without reason, that some disagreeable consequence might follow what he had seen; but as soon as he heard schemselnihar inquire for him, he came forward. schemselnihar was much pleased to see ebn thaher, and expressed her joy in the most obliging terms: "ebn thaher, i know not how to make you proper returns for the great obligations you have put upon me; without you, i should never have seen the prince of persia, nor have loved the most amiable person in the world. assure yourself i shall not die ungrateful, and that my gratitude, if possible, shall be equal to the obligation." ebn thaher answered this compliment by a low obeisance, and wished the favourite the accomplishment of all her desires. schemselnihar, turning towards the prince of persia, who sat by her, and looking upon him with some confusion after what had passed, said to him, "i am well assured you love me, and how great soever your love may be to me, you need not doubt but mine is as great towards you: but let us not flatter ourselves; for, notwithstanding this conformity of our sentiments, i see nothing for you and me but trouble, impatience, and tormenting grief. there is no other remedy for our evils but to love one another constantly, to refer ourselves to the disposal of heaven, and to wait its determination of our destiny." "madam," replied the prince of persia, "you will do me the greatest injustice, if you doubt for a moment the continuance of my love. it is so interwoven with my soul, that i can justly say it makes the best part of it, and will continue so after death. pains, torments, obstacles, nothing shall prevent my loving you." speaking these words he shed tears in abundance, and schemselnihar was not able to restrain hers. ebn thaher took this opportunity to speak to the favourite. "madam, allow me to represent to you, that, instead of melting into tears, you ought to rejoice that you are now together. i understand not this grief. what will it be when you are obliged to part? but why do i talk of that? we have been a long while here, and you know, madam, it is time for us to be going." "ah! how cruel are you!" replied schemselnihar, "you, who know the cause of my tears, have you no pity for my unfortunate condition? oh! sad fatality! what have i done to subject myself to the severe law of not being able to join with the only person i love?" persuaded as she was that ebn thaher spoke to her only out of friendship, she did not take amiss what he said, but made a proper use of his intimation she made a sign to the slave her confidant, who immediately went out, and in a little time brought a collation of fruits upon a small silver table, which she set down betwixt her mistress and the prince of persia. schemselnihar took some of the best, and presented it to the prince, praying him to eat it for her sake; he took it, and put to his mouth that part which she had touched; and then he presented some to her, which she took, and ate in the same manner. she did not forget to invite ebn thaher to eat with them; but he thinking himself not safe in that place, and wishing himself at home, ate only out of complaisance. after the collation was taken away, they brought a silver basin, with water in a vessel of gold, and washed together; they afterwards returned to their places, and three of the ten black women brought each a cup of rock crystal full of exquisite wine, upon a golden salver; which they placed before schemselnihar, the prince of persia, and ebn thaher. that they might be the more private, schemselnihar kept with her only ten black women, with ten others who began to sing, and play upon instruments; and after she had sent away all the rest, she took up one of the cups, and holding it in her hand sung some tender words, which one of her women accompanied with her lute. when she had done, she drank, and afterwards took up one of the other cups and presented it to the prince, praying him to drink for love of her, as she had drunk for love of him. he received the cup with a transport of love and joy; but before he drank, he sung also a song, which another woman accompanied with an instrument: and as he sang the tears fell from his eyes in such abundance, that he could not forbear expressing in his song, that he knew not whether he was going to drink the wine she had presented to him, or his own tears. schemselnihar at last presented the third cup to ebn thaher, who thanked her for her kindness, and for the honour she did him. after this she took a lute from one of her women, and sung to it in such a passionate manner, that she seemed to be transported out of herself: and the prince of persia stood with his eyes fixed upon her, as if he had been enchanted. at this instant, her trusty slave came in great alarm, and addressing herself to her mistress, said, "madam mesrour and two other officers, with several eunuchs that attend them, are at the gate, and want to speak with you from the caliph." when the prince of persia and ebn thaher heard these words, they changed colour, and began to tremble as if they had been undone: but schemselnihar who perceived their agitation, revived their courage by a sigh. after schemselnihar had quieted the fears of the prince of persia and ebn thaher, she ordered the slave, her confidant, to go and speak to mesrour, and the two other officers, till she had put herself in a condition to receive them, and could send her to introduce them. immediately she ordered all the windows of' the saloon to be shut, and the painted cloth on the side of the garden to be let down: and after having assured the prince and ebn thaher that they might continue there without any fear, she went out at the gate leading to the garden, and closed it upon them: but whatever assurance she had given them of their safety, they were full of apprehension all the while they remained there. as soon as schemselnihar had reached the garden with the women that had followed her, she ordered all the seats, which served the women who played on the instruments, to be placed near the window, where the prince of persia and ebn thaher heard them; and having got things in order, she sat down upon her silver throne: she then sent notice to the slave her confidant to bring in the chief of the eunuchs, and his two subaltern officers. they appeared, followed by twenty black eunuchs all handsomely clothed, with cimeters by their sides, and gold belts of four inches broad. as soon as they perceived the favourite schemselnihar at a distance, they made her a profound reverence, which she returned them from her throne. when they approached, she arose and went to meet mesrour, who advanced first; she asked what news he brought? he answered, "madam, the commander of the faithful has sent me to signify that he cannot live longer without seeing you; he designs to do himself that pleasure this night, and i am come to give you notice, that you may be ready to receive him. he hopes, madam, that you will receive him with as much pleasure as he feels impatience to see you." at these words the favourite schemselnihar prostrated herself to the ground, as a mark of that submission with which she received the caliph's order. when she rose, she said, "pray tell the commander of the faithful, that i shall always reckon it my glory to execute his majesty's commands, and that his slave will do her utmost to receive him with all the respect that is due to him." at the same time she ordered the slave her confidant to tell the black women appointed for that service to get the palace ready to receive the caliph, and dismissing the chief of the eunuchs, said to him, "you see it requires some time to get all things ready, therefore i entreat you to curb his majesty's impatience, that, when he arrives, he may not find things out of order." the chief of the eunuchs and his retinue being gone, schemselnihar returned to the saloon, extremely concerned at the necessity she was under of sending back the prince of persia sooner than she had intended. she came up to him again with tears in her eyes, which heightened ebn thaher's fear, who thought it no good omen. "madam," said the prince to her, "i perceive you are come to tell me that we must part: if there be nothing more to dread, i hope heaven will give me the patience which is necessary to support your absence." "alas!" replied the too tender schemselnihar, "how happy do i think you, and how unhappy do i think myself, when i compare your lot with my sad destiny! no doubt you will suffer by my absence, but that is all, and you may comfort yourself with hopes of seeing me again; but as for me, just heaven! what a terrible trial am i brought to! i must not only be deprived of the sight of the only person whom i love, but i must be tormented with the presence of one whom you have made hateful to me. will not the arrival of the caliph put me in mind of your departure? and how can i, when i am taken up with your dear image, express to that prince the joy which he always observed in my eyes whenever he came to see me? i shall have my mind perplexed when i speak to him, and the least complaisance which i shew to his love will stab me to the heart. can i relish his kind words and caresses? think, prince, to what torments i shall be exposed when i can see you no more." her tears and sighs hindered her from going on, and the prince of persia would have replied, but his own grief, and that of his mistress, deprived him of the power of speech. ebn thaher, who only wished to get out of the palace, was obliged to comfort them, and to exhort them to have patience: but the trusty slave again interrupted them. "madam," said she to schemselnihar, "you have no time to lose; the eunuchs begin to arrive, and you know the caliph will be here immediately." "o heaven! how cruel is this separation!" cried the favourite. "make haste," said she to the confidant, "take them both to the gallery which looks into the garden on the one side, and to the tigris on the other; and when the night grows dark, let them out by the back gate, that they may retire with safety." having spoken thus, she tenderly embraced the prince of persia, without being able to say one word more, and went to meet the caliph in such disorder as cannot well be imagined. in the mean time, the trusty slave conducted the prince and ebn thaher to the gallery, as schemselnihar had appointed; and left them there, assuring them, as she closed the door upon them, that they had nothing to fear, and that she would come for them when it was time. when schemselnihar's trusty slave had left the prince of persia and ebn thaher, they forgot she had assured them they had nothing to apprehend. they examined the gallery, and were seized with extreme fear, because they knew no means of escape, if the caliph or any of his officers should happen to come there. a great light, which they suddenly beheld through the lattices on the garden side, caused them to approach them to see from whence it came. it was occasioned by a hundred flambeaux of white wax, carried by as many young eunuchs: these were followed by more than a hundred others, who guarded the ladies of the caliph's palace, clothed, and armed with cimeters, in the same manner as those i spoke of before; and the caliph came after them, betwixt mesrour their captain on his right, and vassif their second officer on his left hand. schemselnihar waited for the caliph at the entrance of a walk, accompanied by twenty women all of surprising beauty, adorned with necklaces and ear-rings of large diamonds; they played and sung on their instruments, and formed a charming concert. the favourite no sooner saw the prince appear, but she advanced and prostrated herself at his feet; and while she was doing this, "prince of persia," said she, within herself, "if your sad eyes witness what i do, judge of my hard lot; if i were humbling myself so before you, my heart would feel no reluctance." the caliph was delighted to see schemselnihar: "rise, madam," said he to her, "come near, i am angry with myself that i should have deprived myself so long of the pleasure of seeing you." as he spoke, he took her by the hand, and, with many tender expressions, went and sat down upon the silver throne which schemselnihar caused to be brought for him, and she sat down on a seat before him. the twenty women made a circle round them upon other seats, while the young eunuchs, who carried flambeaux, dispersed themselves at a certain distance from one another, that the caliph might the better enjoy the cool of the evening. when the caliph had seated himself, he looked round him, and beheld with great satisfaction the garden illuminated with many other lights, besides those flambeaux which the young eunuchs held; but taking notice that the saloon was shut, expressed his surprise, and demanded the reason. it was done on purpose to surprise him; for he had no sooner spoken, than all the windows flew open at once, and he saw it illuminated within and without, in a much better manner than ever he had beheld it before. "charming schemselnihar," cried he, at this sight, "i understand you; you would have me know there are as fine nights as days. after what i have seen, i cannot deny this." let us return to the prince of persia and ebn thaher, whom we left in the gallery. ebn thaher could not enough admire all that he saw: "i am not young," said he, "and i have seen great entertainments in my time; but i do not think any thing can be seen so surprising and magnificent! all that is said of enchanted palaces does not come up to the prodigious spectacle we now behold. what riches and magnificence united!" the prince of persia was not at all interested by the objects which so delighted ebn thaher; he could look on nothing but schemselnihar, and the presence of the caliph threw him into inconceivable grief. "dear ebn thaher," he exclaimed, "would to god i had my mind as much at liberty to attend to those objects of admiration as you! but alas! i am in a quite different situation, all these things serve only to increase my torment. can i see the caliph familiar with the objets of my love, and not die of grief? must so ardent a passion as mine be disturbed with so potent a rival? o heavens! how cruel and strange is my destiny! it is but a moment since i esteemed myself the most fortunate lover in the world, and at this instant i feel a death stroke to my heart. i cannot resist it, my dear ebn thaher; my patience is exhausted, my disorder overwhelms me, and my courage fails." while he was speaking, he saw something pass in the garden, which obliged him to be silent and to turn all his attention that way. the caliph had ordered one of the women, who was near him, to play upon her lute, and she began to sing. the words she sung were very passionate, and the caliph, persuaded that she sung thus by order of schemselnihar, who had frequently entertained him with the like testimonies of her affection, interpreted them in his own favour. but this was not now schemselnihar's meaning; she applied them to her dear ali ebn becar, and was so sensibly touched with grief, to have before her an object whose presence she could no longer enjoy, that she fainted and fell backwards upon her seat, which having no arms to support her, she must have fallen, had not some of the women given her timely assistance, taken her up, and carried her into the saloon. ebn thaher, who was in the gallery, being surprised at this accident, turned towards the prince of persia; but instead of finding him standing, and looking through the window as before, he was extremely amazed to discover him lying at his feet motionless. this convinced him of the violence of the prince's passion for schemselnihar, and he admired that strange effect of sympathy, which put him into a mortal fear on account of the place they were in. he did all he could to recover the prince, but in vain. ebn thaher was in this perplexity, when schemselnihar's confidant opened the gallery door, and entered out of breath, as one who knew not where she was. "come speedily," cried she "that i may let you out; all is in confusion here; and i fear this will be the last of our days." "alas! how would you have us go?" replied ebn thaher, with a mournful voice; "approach, and see what a condition the prince of persia is in." when the slave saw him in a swoon, she ran for water, and returned in an instant. at last the prince of persia, after they had thrown water on his face, recovered. "prince," said ebn thaher to him, "we run the risk of perishing if we stay here any longer; exert yourself, therefore, let us endeavour to save our lives." he was so feeble, that he could not rise alone; ebn thaher and the confidant lent him their hands, and supported him on each side. they reached a little iron gate which opened towards the tigris, went out at it, and came to the side of a little canal which communicated with the river. the confidant clapped her hands, and immediately a little boat appeared, and came towards them with one rower. ali ebn becar and his comrade went aboard, and the confidant remained at the side of the canal. as soon as the prince was seated in the boat, he stretched out one hand towards the palace, and laying the other on his heart, exclaimed with a feeble voice, "dear object of my soul, receive my faith with this hand, while i assure you with the other, that my heart shall for ever preserve the fire with which it burns for you." in the mean time the boatman rowed with all his might, and schemselnihar's confidant accompanied the prince of persia and ebn thaher walking along the side of the canal, until they came to the tigris, and when she could go no farther she took leave of them and returned. the prince of persia continued very feeble. ebn thaher comforted him, and exhorted him to take courage. "consider," said he, "that when we are landed, we have a great way to walk before we reach my house, and i would not advise you to go to your palace, which is a great deal farther, at this hour and in this condition." at last they went out of the boat, but the prince had so little strength that he could not walk, which put ebn thaher into great perplexity. he recollected he had a friend in the neighbourhood, and carried the prince thither with great difficulty. his friend received him very cheerfully, and when he had made them sit down, he asked them where they had been so late. ebn thaher answered, "i heard this evening that a man who owed me a considerable sum of money was setting out on a long voyage. i lost no time to find him, and by the way i met with this young nobleman, to whom i am under a thousand obligations; for knowing my debtor, he did me the favour to go along with me. we had a great deal of trouble to bring the man to reason. we have at length succeeded, and that is the cause of our being so late. in our return home, this good lord, to whom i am for ever bound to shew all possible respect, was attacked by a sudden illness, which made me take the liberty to knock at your door, flattering myself that you would be pleased to lodge us this night." ebn thaher's friend took all this for truth, told them they were welcome, and offered the prince of persia, whom he knew not, all the assistance he could desire; but ebn thaher spoke for the prince, and said, that his distemper was of such a nature as to require nothing but rest. his friend understood by this that they desired to go to bed. upon which he conducted them to an apartment, where he left them. though the prince of persia slept, he was interrupted by troublesome dreams, which represented schemselnihar in a swoon at the caliph's feet, and increased his affliction. ebn thaher was very impatient to be at home, and doubted not but his family was under great apprehension, because he never used to sleep out. he arose and departed early in the morning, after he had taken leave of his friend, who rose at break of day to prayers at last he reached his house, and the first thing the prince of persia did, who had walked so far with much trouble, was to lie down upon a sofa, as weary as if he had been a long journey. not being in a state to go to his own palace, ebn thaher ordered a chamber to be prepared for him, and sent to acquaint his friends with his condition, and where he was. in the mean time he begged him to compose himself, to command in his house, and to dispose of all things as he pleased. "i thank you heartily for your obliging offers," said the prince; "but that i may not be any ways troublesome to you, i conjure you to deal with me as if i were not at your house. i would not stay one moment, if i thought my presence would incommode you in the least." as soon as ebn thaher had time to recollect himself, he told his family all that had passed at schemselnihar's palace, and concluded by thanking god, who had delivered him from the danger he had been in. the prince of persia's principal domestics came to receive his orders at ebn thaher's house, and in a little time there arrived several of his friends, who had notice of his indisposition. those friends passed the greatest part of the day with him; and though their conversation could not extinguish those melancholy ideas which were the cause of his trouble, yet it afforded him some relief. he would have taken his leave of ebn thaher towards the evening; but this faithful friend found him still so weak, that he obliged him to stay till next day, and in the mean time, to divert him, gave a concert of vocal and instrumental music in the evening; but this concert served only to remind him of the preceding night, and renewed his trouble, instead of assuaging it; so that next day his distemper seemed to increase. upon this ebn thaher did not oppose his going home, but took care to accompany him; and when he was with him alone in his chamber, he represented to him all those arguments which might influence him to a generous effort to overcome his passion, which in the end would neither prove fortunate to himself nor to the favourite. "ah! dear ebn thaher," exclaimed the prince, "how easy is it for you to give this advice, but how hard for me to follow it! i am sensible of its importance, but am not able to profit by it. i have said already, that i shall carry to the grave the love i bear to schemselnihar." when ebn thaher saw that he could gain nothing upon the prince, he took his leave, and would have retired. the prince of persia interrupted him, and said, "kind ebn thaher, since i have declared to you that it is not in my power to follow your wise counsels, i beg you would not charge it on me as a crime, nor forbear to give me the usual testimonies of your friendship. you cannot do me a greater favour than to inform me of the destiny of my dear schemselnihar, when you hear of her. the uncertainty i am in concerning her fate, and the apprehensions her fainting have occasioned in me, keep me in this languishing condition you reproach me with." "my lord," answered ebn thaher, "you have reason to hope that her fainting was not attended with any bad consequences: her confidant will quickly come and inform me of the issue; and as soon as i know the particulars, i will not fail to impart them." ebn thaher left the prince in this hope, and returned home, where he expected schemselnihar's confidant all the rest of the day, but in vain, nor did she come on the following. his uneasiness to know the state of the prince of persia's health would not suffer him to wait any longer without seeing him. he went to his palace to exhort him to patience, and found him lying on his bed as ill as ever, surrounded by a great many of his friends, and several physicians, who used all their art to discover the cause of his disorder. as soon as he saw ebn thaher, he looked at him with a smile, to signify that he had two things to tell him; the one, that he was glad to see him; the other how much the physicians, who could not discover the cause of his illness, were out in their reasonings. his friends and physicians retired one after another, so that ebn thaher being alone with him, approached his bed to ask him how he had been since he had last seen him. "i must tell you," answered the prince, "that my passion, which continually gathers new strength, and the uncertainty of the lovely schemselnihar's fate, augment my disorder every moment, and cast me into such a state as afflicts my kindred and friends, and breaks the measures of my physicians, who do not understand it. you cannot think," he added, "how much i suffer by seeing so many people about me, who importune me, and whom i cannot in civility put away. your company alone relieves me; but i conjure you not to dissemble with me: what news do you bring of schemselnihar? have you seen her confidant? what says she to you?" ebn thaher answered, that he had not seen her yet. no sooner had he communicated to the prince of persia this sad intelligence, than the tears came into his eyes; he could not answer one word, his heart was so oppressed. "prince," added ebn thaher, "suffer me to tell you, that you are too ingenious in tormenting yourself. in the name of god, wipe away your tears: if any of your people should come in, they would discover you by this, notwithstanding the care you ought to take to conceal your thoughts." whatever his judicious adviser could say, it was not possible for the prince to refrain from weeping. "wise ebn thaher," said he, when he had recovered his speech, "i may indeed hinder my tongue from revealing the secrets of my heart, but i have no power over my tears, upon such an alarming subject as schemselnihar's danger. if that adorable and only objets of my desires be no longer in the world, i shall not survive her a moment." "reject so afflicting a thought," replied ebn thaher; "schemselnihar is yet alive, you need not doubt it: if you have heard no news of her, it is because she could find no opportunity to send to you, and i hope you will hear from her to-day." to this he added several other consoling arguments, and then withdrew. ebn thaher had scarcely reached his own house, when schemselnihar's confidant arrived with a melancholy countenance, which he reckoned a bad omen. he asked news of her mistress. "tell me yours first," said the confidant, "for i was in great trouble to see the prince of persia go away in that condition." ebn thaher told her all that she wished to know, and when he had done, the slave began thus: "if the prince of persia has suffered, and does still suffer for my mistress, she suffers no less for him. after i departed from you, i returned to the saloon, where i found schemselnihar not yet recovered from her swoon, notwithstanding all the assistance they endeavoured to give her. the caliph was sitting near her with all the signs of real grief. he asked all the women, and me in particular, if we knew the cause of her disorder; but we kept all secret, and told him we were altogether ignorant of it. in the mean time we all wept to see her suffer so long, and forgot nothing that might any ways relieve her. in a word, it was almost midnight before she came to herself. the caliph, who had the patience to wait the event, was rejoiced at her recovery, and asked schemselnihar the cause of her illness. as soon as she heard him speak, she endeavoured to recover her seat; and after she had kissed his feet, before he could hinder her, 'sir,' said she, 'i have reason to complain of heaven, that it did not allow me to expire at your majesty's feet to testify thereby how sensible i am of your favours.' "'i am persuaded you love me,' replied the caliph, 'and i command you to preserve yourself for my sake. you have probably exceeded in something to-day, which has occasioned this indisposition; take care, i entreat you; abstain from it for the future. i am glad to see you better, and advise you to stay here to-night, and not return to your chamber, for fear the motion should affect you.' he then commanded a little wine to be brought to strengthen her; and taking leave of her, returned to his apartment. "as soon as the caliph had departed, my mistress gave me a sign to come near her. she asked me earnestly concerning you: i assured her that you had been gone a long time, which made her easy on that head. i took care not to speak of the prince of persia's fainting, lest she should fall into the same state, from which we had so much trouble to recover her: but my precautions were in vain, as you shall hear. 'prince,' exclaimed she, 'i henceforth renounce all pleasure as long as i am deprived of the sight of you. if i have understood your heart right, i only follow your example. you will not cease to weep and mourn until i see you.' at these words, which she uttered in a manner expressive of the violence of her passion, she fainted a second time in my arms. "my companions and i were a long time recovering her; at last she came to herself; and then i said to her, 'madam, are you resolved to kill yourself, and to make us also die with you? i entreat you, in the name of the prince of persia, who is so deeply interested in your life, to preserve it.' 'i am much obliged to you,' replied she, 'for your care, your zeal, and your advice; but alas! they are useless to me: you are not to flatter us with any hopes, for we can expect no end of our torment but in the grave.' "one of my companions would have diverted these sad thoughts by playing on the lute, but she commanded her to be silent, and ordered all of them to retire, except me, whom she kept all night with her. o heavens! what a night it was! she passed it in tears and groans, and incessantly naming the prince of persia. she lamented her lot, that had destined her to the caliph, whom she could not love, and not for him whom she loved so dearly. "next morning, as she was not commodiously lodged in the saloon, i helped her to her chamber, which she had no sooner reached, than all the physicians of the palace came to see her, by order of the caliph, who was not long before he arrived himself. the medicines which the physicians prescribed to schemselnihar were ineffectual, because they were ignorant of the cause of her malady, which was augmented by the presence of the caliph. she got a little rest however this night, and as soon as she awoke, she charged me to come to you, to learn some news of the prince of persia." "i have already informed you of his case," said ebn thaher; "so return to your mistress, and assure her, that the prince of persia waits for some account of her with an impatience equal to her own. above all, exhort her to moderation, and to overcome her feelings, for fear she should drop before the caliph some word, which may prove fatal to us all." "as for me," replied the confidant, "i confess i dread her transports. i have taken the liberty to tell her my mind, and am persuaded that she will not take it ill that i tell her this from you." ebn thaher, who had but just come from the prince of persia's lodgings, thought it not convenient to return so soon, and neglect his own important affairs; he therefore went not till the evening. the prince was alone, and no better than in the morning. "ebn thaher," said he to him, as soon as he saw him, "you have doubtless many friends, but they do not know your worth, which you discover to me by your zeal, your care, and the trouble you give yourself to oblige me. i am confounded with all that you do for me with so much affection, and i know not how i shall be able to express my gratitude." "prince," answered ebn thaher, "do not speak thus, i entreat you. i am ready, not only to give one of my eyes to save one of yours, but to sacrifice my life for you. but this is not the present business. i come to tell you that schemselnihar sent her confidant to ask me about you, and at the same time to inform me of her condition. you may assure yourself that i said nothing but what might confirm the excess of your passion for her mistress, and the constancy with which you love her." then ebn thaher gave him a particular account of all that had passed betwixt the trusty slave and him. the prince listened with all the different emotions of fear, jealousy, affection, and compassion, which this conversation could inspire, making, upon every thing which he heard, all the afflicting or comforting reflections that so passionate a lover was capable of. their conversation continued so long that the night was far advanced, so that the prince of persia obliged ebn thaher to stay with him. the next morning, as this trusty friend returned home, there came a woman to him whom he knew to be schemselnihar's confidant, and immediately she spoke to him thus: "my mistress salutes you, and i am come to entreat you in her name to deliver this letter to the prince of persia." the zealous ebn thaher took the letter, and returned to the prince, accompanied by the confidant slave. when ebn thaher entered the prince of persia's house with schemselnihar's confidant, he prayed her to stay, and wait for him a moment in the ante-room. as soon as the prince saw him, he asked earnestly what news he had to communicate? "the best you can expect," answered ebn thaher: "you are as dearly beloved as you love; schemselnihar's confidant is in your anteroom; she has brought you a letter from her mistress, and waits for your orders to come in." "let her enter," cried the prince, with a transport of joy; and so saying, sat up to receive her. the prince's attendants retired as soon as they saw ebn thaher, and left him alone with their master. ebn thaher opened the door himself, and brought in the confidant. the prince knew her, and received her with great politeness. "my lord," said she to him, "i am sensible of the affliction you have endured since i had the honour to conduct you to the boat which waited to bring you back; but i hope the letter i have brought will contribute to your cure." so saying, she presented him the letter. he took it, and after he had kissed it several times, opened it, and read as follows: letter from schemselnihar to the prince of persia. "the person who will deliver to you this letter will give you more correct information concerning me than i can, for i have not been myself since i saw you. deprived of your presence, i endeavour to deceive myself by conversing with you by these ill-written lines, with the same pleasure as if i had the happiness of speaking to you in person. "it is said that patience is a cure for all evils, but instead of relieving it heightens my sufferings. although your picture is deeply engraver in my heart, my eyes desire to have the original continually before them; and they will lose all their light, if they be any considerable time deprived of this felicity. may i flatter myself that yours have the same impatience to see me? yes, i can; their tender glances have sufficiently assured me of this. how happy, prince, would it be for you, how happy for schemselnihar, if our united desires were not thwarted by invincible obstacles; obstacles which afflict me the more sensibly as they affect you. "these thoughts which my fingers write, and which i express with incredible pleasure, repeating them again and again, proceed from the bottom of my heart, and from the incurable wound which you have made in it; a wound which i bless a thousand times, notwithstanding the cruel torments i endure through your absence. i would reckon all that opposes our love nothing, were i only allowed to see you sometimes with freedom; i should then enjoy your company, and what could i desire more? "do not imagine that i say more than i think. alas! whatever expressions i use, i feel that i think more than i can tell you. my eyes, which are continually watching and weeping for your return; my afflicted heart, which desires you alone; the sighs that escape me as often as i think on you, and that is every moment; my imagination, which represents no other object to me than my dear prince; the complaints that i make to heaven for the rigour of my destiny; in a word, my grief, my distress, my torments, which have allowed me no ease since i was deprived of your presence, will vouch for what i write. "am not i unhappy to be born to dove, without hope of enjoying the object of my passion? this afflicting thought oppresses me so that i should die, were i not persuaded that you love me: but this sweet comfort balances my despair, and preserves my life. tell me that you love me always. i will keep your letter carefully, and read it a thousand times a-day: i shall endure my afflictions with less impatience: i pray heaven may cease to be angry at us, and grant us an opportunity to say that we love one another without fear; and that we shall never cease thus to love. adieu. i salute ebn thaher, to whom we are so much obliged." the prince of persia was not satisfied with reading the letter once; he thought he had perused it with too little attention, and therefore read it again with more leisure; and while so doing, sometimes heaved deep sighs, sometimes shed tears, and sometimes broke out into transports of joy and tenderness as the contents affected him. in short, he could not keep his eyes off those characters drawn by so beloved a hand, and was beginning to read it a third time, when ebn thaher observed to him that the confidant had no time to lose, and that he ought to think of giving an answer. "alas!" cried the prince, "how would you have me reply to so kind a letter! in what terms shall i express myself in my present disturbed state! my mind is tossed with a thousand tormenting thoughts, which are lost the moment they are conceived, to make way for others. so long as my body is influenced by the impressions of my mind, how shall i be able to hold the paper, or guide a reed to write." so saying, he took out of a little desk which was near him, paper, a cane ready cut, and an inkhorn. the prince of persia, before he began to write, gave schemselnihar's letter to ebn thaher, and prayed him to hold it open while he wrote, that by casting his eyes upon it he might the better see what to answer. he began to write; but the tears that fell from his eyes upon the paper obliged him several times to stop, that they might fall the more freely. at last he finished his letter, and giving it to ebn thaher, "read it, i pray," said he, "and do me the favour to see if the disorder of my mind has allowed me to give a favourable answer." ebn thaher took it, and read as follows: the prince of persia's answer to schemselnihar's letter. "i was plunged in the deepest grief when i received your letter, but at the sight of it i was transported with unspeakable joy. when i beheld the characters written by your fair hand, my eyes were enlightened by a stronger light than they lost, when yours were suddenly closed at the feet of my rival. the words contained in your kind epistle are so many rays which have dispelled the darkness wherewith my soul was obscured; they shew me how much you suffer from your love of me, and that you are not ignorant of what i endure on your account. thus they comfort me in my afflictions. on the one hand they cause me to shed tears in abundance; and on the other, inflame my heart with a fire which supports it, and prevents my dying of grief. i have not had one moment's rest since our cruel separation. your letter alone gave me some ease. i kept a mournful silence till the moment i received it, and then recovered my speech. i was buried in profound melancholy, but it inspired me with joy, which immediately appeared in my eyes and countenance. but my surprise at receiving a favour which i had not yet deserved was so great, that i knew not how to begin to testify my thankfulness. in a word, after having kissed it several times, as a precious pledge of your goodness, i read it over and over, and was confounded at the excess of my good fortune. you would have me declare that i always love you. ah! did i not love you so perfectly as i do, i could not forbear adoring you, after all the marks you have given me of an affection so uncommon: yes, i love you, my dear soul, and shall account it my glory to burn all my days with that sweet fire you have kindled in my heart. i will never complain of that ardour with which i feel it consumes me: and how rigorous soever the evils i suffer, i will bear them with fortitude, in hopes some time or other to see you. would to heaven it were to-day, and that, instead of sending you my letter, i might be allowed to come and assure you in person, that i die for you! my tears hinder me from saying more. adieu." ebn thaher could not read these last lines without weeping. he returned the letter to the prince of persia, and assured him it wanted no correction. the prince closed it, and when he had sealed it, he desired the trusty slave to come near, and said to her, "this is my answer to you dear mistress's letter. i conjure you to carry it to her, and to salute her in my name." the slave took the letter, and retired with ebn thaher. after ebn thaher had walked some way with the slave, he left her, and went to his house, and began to think in earnest upon the amorous intrigue in which he found himself unhappily engaged. he considered, that the prince of persia and schemselnihar, notwithstanding their interest to conceal their correspondence, conducted themselves with so little discretion, that it could not be long a secret. he drew all the consequences from it, which a man of good sense might have anticipated. "were schemselnihar," said he to himself, "a lady of common rank, i would contribute all in my power to make her and her lover happy; but she is the caliph's favourite, and no man can without danger attempt to engage the affections of the objets of his choice. his anger would fall in the first instance on schemselnihar; it will next cost the prince of persia his life, and i should be involved in his misfortune. in the mean time i have my honour, my quiet, my family, and my property to preserve. i must, while i can, extricate myself out of such a perilous situation." these thoughts occupied his mind all that day. next morning he went to the prince of persia, with a design of making one more effort to induce him to conquer his passion. he represented to him what he had before urged in vain; that it would be much better for him to summon all his resolution, to overcome his inclination for schemselnihar, than to suffer himself to be hurried away by it; and that his passion was so much the more dangerous, as his rival was powerful. "in short, sir," added he, "if you will hearken to me, you ought to think of nothing but to triumph over your love; otherwise you run the risk of destroying yourself with schemselnihar, whose life ought to be dearer to you than your own. i give you this advice as a friend, for which you will some time or other thank me." the prince heard ebn thaher with great impatience, but suffered him to speak his mind, and then replied to him thus: "ebn thaher, do you think i can cease to love schemselnihar, who loves me so tenderly? she is not afraid to expose her life for me, and would you have me regard mine? no; whatever misfortunes befall me, i will love schemselnihar to my last breath." ebn thaher, shocked at the obstinacy of the prince of persia, left him hastily, and going to his own house, recalled his former reflections, and began to think seriously what he should do. in the mean time a jeweller, one of his intimate friends, came to see him. the jeweller had perceived that schemselnihar's confidant came oftener to ebn thaher than usual, and that he was constantly with the prince of persia, whose sickness was known to every one, though not the cause. this had awakened the jeweller's suspicions, and finding ebn thaher very pensive, he presently judged that he was perplexed with some important affair, and fancying that he knew the cause, he asked what schemselnihar's confidant wanted with him? ebn thaher being struck with this question, would have dissembled, and told him, that it was on some trifling errand she came so frequently to him. "you do not tell me the truth," said the jeweller, "and your dissimulation only serves to prove to me that this trifle is a more important affair than at first i thought it to be." ebn thaher, perceiving that his friend pressed him so much, said to him, "it is true, that it is an affair of the greatest consequence. i had resolved to keep it secret, but since i know how much you are my friend, i choose rather to make you my confidant, than to suffer you to be under a mistake about it. i do not bind you to secrecy, for you will easily judge by what i am going to tell you how impossible it is to keep it unknown." after this preamble, he told him the amour between schemselnihar and the prince of persia. "you know," he continued, "in what esteem i am at court, in the city, and with lords and ladies of the greatest quality; what a disgrace would it be for me, should this rash amour come to be discovered? but what do i say; should not i and my family be completely ruined! that is what perplexes my mind; but i have just formed my resolution: i will go immediately and satisfy my creditors, and recover my debts, and when i have secured my property, will retire to bussorah, and stay till the storm, that i foresee, is blown over. my friendship for schemselnihar and the prince of persia makes me very sensible to what dangers they are exposed. i pray heaven to convince them of their peril, and to preserve them; but if their evil destiny should bring their attachment to the knowledge of the caliph, i shall, at least, be out of the reach of his resentment; for i do not think them so wicked as to design to involve me in their misfortunes. it would be the height of ingratitude, and a bad reward for the service i have done them, and the good advice i have given, particularly to the prince of persia, who may save both himself and his mistress from this precipice. he may as easily leave bagdad as i; and absence will insensibly disenage him from a passion, which will only increase whilst he continues in this place." the jeweller was extremely surprised at what ebn thaher told him. "what you say," said he, "is of so much importance, that i cannot understand how schemselnihar and the prince could have abandoned themselves to such a violent passion. what inclination soever they may have for one another, instead of yielding to it, they ought to resist it, and make a better use of their reason. is it possible they can be insensible of the danger of their correspondence? how deplorable is their blindness! i anticipate all its consequences as well as yourself; but you are wise and prudent, and i approve your resolution; as it is the only way to deliver yourself from the fatal events which you have reason to fear." after this conversation the jeweller rose, and took his leave of ebn thaher. before the jeweller retired, ebn thaher conjured him by the friendship betwixt them, to say nothing of what he had heard. "fear not," replied the jeweller, "i will keep this secret at the peril of my life." two days after, the jeweller went to ebn thaher's shop, and seeing it shut, he doubted not but he had executed his design; but, to be more sure, he asked a neighbour, if he knew why it was not opened? the neighbour answered that he knew not, unless ebn thaher was gone a journey. there was no need of his enquiring farther, and he immediately thought of the prince of persia: "unhappy prince," said he to himself, "what will be your grief when you hear this news? how will you now carry on your correspondence with schemselnihar? i fear you will die of despair. i pity you, and must repair your loss of a too timid confidant." the business that obliged him to come abroad was of no consequence, so that he neglected it, and though he had no knowledge of the prince of persia, only by having sold him some jewels, he went to his house. he addressed himself to one of his servants, and desired him to tell his master, that he wished to speak with him about business of very great importance. the servant returned immediately to the jeweller, and introduced him to the prince's chamber. he was leaning on a sofa, with his head on a cushion. as soon as the prince saw him, he rose up to receive and welcome him, and entreated him to sit down; asked him if he could serve him in any thing, or if he came to tell him any thing interesting concerning himself. "prince," answered the jeweller, "though i have not the honour to be particularly acquainted with you, yet the desire of testifying my zeal has made me take the liberty to come to your house, to impart to you a piece of news that concerns you. i hope you will pardon my boldness for my good intention." after this introduction, the jeweller entered upon the matter, and continued: "prince, i shall have the honour to tell you, that it is a long time since conformity of disposition, and some business we have had together, united ebn thaher and myself in strict friendship. i know you are acquainted with him, and that he has employed himself in obliging you to his utmost. i have learnt this from himself, for he keeps nothing secret from me, nor i from him. i went just now to his shop, and was surprised to find it shut. i addressed myself to one of his neighbours, to ask the reason; he answered me, that two days ago ebn thaher took leave of him, and other neighbours, offering them his service at bussorah, whither he is gone, said he, about an affair of great importance. not being satisfied with this answer, my concern for his welfare determined me to come and ask if you knew any thing particular concerning this his sudden departure." at this discourse, which the jeweller accommodated to the subject, the better to compass his design, the prince of persia changed colour, and looked at the jeweller in a manner which convinced him how much he was disconcerted at the intelligence. "i am surprised at what you inform me," said he; "a greater misfortune could not befall me: ah!" he continued, with tears in his eyes, "if what you tell me be true, i am undone! has ebn thaher, who was all my comfort, in whom i put all my confidence, left me? i cannot think of living after so cruel a blow." the jeweller needed no more to convince him fully of the prince of persia's violent passion, which ebn thaher had told him of: mere friendship would not make him speak so; nothing but love could produce such lively sensations. the prince continued some moments absorbed in melancholy thoughts; at last he lifted up his head, and calling one of his servants, said, "go, to ebn thaher's house, and ask some of his domestics if he be gone to bussorah: run, and come back quickly with the answer." while the servant was gone, the jeweller endeavoured to entertain the prince of persia with indifferent subjects; but the prince gave little heed to him. he was a prey to fatal grief: sometimes he could not persuade himself that ebn thaher was gone, and at others he did not doubt of it, when he reflected upon the conversation he had had with him the last time he had seen him, and the abrupt manner in which he had left him. at last the prince's servant returned, and reported that he had spoken with one of ebn thaher's servants, who assured him that he had been gone two days to bussorah. "as i came from ebn thaher's house," added the servant, "a slave well dressed met me, and after she had asked me if i had the honour to belong to you, told me she wanted to speak with you, and begged at the same time that she might accompany me: she is in the outer room, and i believe has a letter to deliver to you from some person of consequence." the prince commanded her to be immediately introduced, not doubting but it was schemselnihar's confidant slave, as indeed it was. the jeweller knew her, having seen her several times at ebn thaher's house: she could not have come at a better time to save the prince from despair. she saluted him. the prince of persia returned the salute of schemselnihar's confidant. the jeweller arose as soon as he saw her and retired, to leave them at liberty to converse together. the confidant, after she had spoken some time with the prince, took her leave and departed. she left him quite another person from what he was before; his eyes appeared brighter, and his countenance more gay, which satisfied the jeweller that the good slave came to tell him something favourable to his amour. the jeweller having taken his place again near the prince, said to him smiling, "i see, prince, you have business of importance at the caliph's palace." the prince of persia, astonished and alarmed at these words, answered the jeweller, "what leads you to suppose that i have business at the caliph's palace?" "i judge so," replied the jeweller, "by the slave who has just left you." "and to whom, think you, belongs this slave?" demanded the prince. "to schemselnihar the caliph's favourite," answered the jeweller: "i know," continued he, "both the slave and her mistress, who has several times done me the honour to come to my house, and buy jewels. besides, i know that schemselnihar keeps nothing secret from this slave; and i have seen her pass backwards and forwards for several days along the streets, as i thought very much troubled; i imagined that it was for some affair of consequence concerning her mistress." the jeweller's words greatly troubled the prince of persia. "he would not say so," said he to himself, "if he did not suspect, or rather were not acquainted with my secret." he remained silent for some time, not knowing what course to take. at last he began, and said to the jeweller, "you have told me things which make me believe that you know yet more than you have acquainted me with; it concerns my repose that i be perfectly informed; i conjure you therefore not to conceal any thing from me." then the jeweller, who desired nothing more, gave him a particular account of what had passed betwixt ebn thaher and himself. he informed him that he was apprised of his correspondence with schemselnihar and forgot not to tell him that ebn thaher, alarmed at the danger of being his confidant in the matter, had communicated to him his intention of retiring to bussorah, until the storm which he dreaded should be blown over. "this he has executed," added the jeweller, "and i am surprised how he could determine to abandon you, in the condition he informed me you were in. as for me, prince, i confess, i am moved with compassion towards you, and am come to offer you my service. if you do me the favour to accept of it, i engage myself to be as faithful to you as ebn thaher; besides, i promise to be more resolute. i am ready to sacrifice my honour and life for you: and, that you may not doubt of my sincerity, i swear by all that is sacred in our religion, to keep your secret inviolable. be persuaded then, prince, that you will find in me the friend whom you have lost." this declaration encouraged the prince, and comforted him under ebn thaher's absence. "i am glad," said he to the jeweller, "to find in you a reparation of my loss; i want words to express the obligations i am under to you. i pray god to recompense your generosity, and i accept your obliging offer with all my heart. believe me," continued he, "schemselnihar's confidant came to speak to me concerning you. she told me that it was you who advised ebn thaher to go from bagdad; these were the last words she spoke to me, as she went away, and she seemed persuaded of what she said; but they do not do you justice. i doubt not, after what you have told me, she is deceived." "prince" replied the jeweller, "i have had the honour to give you a faithful account of my conversation with ebn thaher. it is true, when he told me he meant to retire to bussorah, i did not oppose his design; but let not this prevent your putting confidence in me. i am ready to serve you with all imaginable zeal. if you do not use my service, this shall not hinder me from keeping your secret religiously, according to my oath." "i have already told you," replied the prince, "that i did not believe what the confidant said: it is her zeal which inspired her with this groundless suspicion, and you ought to excuse it, as i do." they continued their conversation for some time, and consulted together about the most convenient means to keep up the prince's correspondence with schemselnihar. they agreed to begin by undeceiving the confidant, who was so unjustly prepossessed against the jeweller. the prince engaged to remove her mistake the first time he saw her again, and to intreat her to address herself to the jeweller whenever she might bring letters, or any other information from her mistress to him. in short, they determined, that she ought not to come so frequently to the prince's house, because thereby she might lead to the discovery of what it was of so great importance to conceal. at last the jeweller arose, and, after having again intreated the prince of persia to place an unreserved confidence in him, withdrew. the jeweller returning to his house perceived before him a letter, which somebody had dropped in the street. he took it up, and as it was not sealed, he opened it, and read as follows: letter from schemselnihar to the prince of persia. "i have received from my confidant intelligence which gives me no less concern than it must give you. in ebn thaher, we have indeed sustained a great loss; but let this not hinder you, dear prince, from thinking of your own preservation. if our friend has abandoned us through fear, let us consider that it is a misfortune which we could not avoid. i confess ebn thaher has left us at a time when we most needed his assistance; but let us bear this unexpected stroke with patience, and let us not forbear to love one another constantly. fortify your heart under this misfortune. the object of our wishes is not to be obtained without trouble. let us not be discouraged, but hope that heaven will favour us, and that, after so many afflictions, we shall see a happy accomplishment of our desires. adieu." while the jeweller was conversing with the prince of persia, the confidant had time to return to the palace and communicate to her mistress the ill news of ebn thaher's departure. schemselnihar immediately wrote this letter, and sent back her confidant with it to the prince of persia, but she negligently dropped it on her way. the jeweller was glad to find it, for it furnished him with an opportunity of justifying himself to the confidant, and bringing her to the point he desired. when he had read it, he perceived the slave seeking for it with the greatest anxiety. he closed it again quickly, and put it into his bosom; but the slave observed him, and running to him, said, "sir, i have dropped a letter, which you had just now in your hand; i beseech you to restore it." the jeweller, pretending not to hear her, continued his way till he came to his house. he left his door open, that the confidant, who followed him, might enter after him. she followed him in, and when she came to his apartment, said, "sir, you can make no use of that letter you have found, and you would not hesitate to return it to me, if you knew from whom it came, and to whom it is directed. besides, allow me to tell you, you cannot honestly keep it." before the jeweller returned her any answer he made her sit down, and then said to her, "is not this letter from schemselnihar, and is it not directed to the prince of persia?" the slave, who expected no such question, blushed. "the question embarrasses you," continued he; "but i assure you i do not put it rashly: i could have given you the letter in the street, but i wished you to follow me, on purpose that i might come to some explanation with you. is it just, tell me, to impute a misfortune to persons who have no ways contributed towards it? yet this you have done, in telling the prince of persia that it was i who advised ebn thaher to leave bagdad for his own safety. i do not intend to waste time in justifying myself; it is enough that the prince of persia is fully persuaded of my innocence; i will only tell you, that instead of contributing to ebn thaher's departure, i have been extremely afflicted at it, not so much from my friendship to him, as out of compassion for the condition in which he left the prince of persia, whose correspondence with schemselnihar he has discovered to me. as soon as i knew certainly that ebn thaher was gone from bagdad, i went and presented myself to the prince, in whose house you found me, to inform him of this event, and to offer to undertake the service in which he had been employed; and provided you put the same confidence in me, that you did in ebn thaher, it will be your own fault if you do not make my assistance of use to you. inform your mistress of what i have told you, and assure her, that though i should die for engaging in so dangerous an intrigue, i should not repent of having sacrificed myself for two lovers so worthy of one another." the confidant, after having heard the jeweller with great satisfaction, begged him to pardon the ill opinion she had conceived of him, for the zeal she had for her mistress's interest. "i am beyond measure glad," she added, "that schemselnihar and the prince have found in you a person so fit to supply ebn thaher's place i will not fail to convince my mistress of the good-will you bear her." after the confidant had testified to the jeweller her joy to see him so well disposed to serve schemselnihar and the prince of persia, the jeweller took the letter out of his bosom, and restored it to her, saying, "go, carry it quickly to the prince, and return this way that i may see his reply. forget not to give him an account of our conversation." the confidant took the letter and carried it to the prince, who answered it immediately. she returned to the jeweller's house to shew him the answer, which was in these words: the prince of persia's answer to schemselnihar. "your precious letter has had a great effect upon me, but not so great as i could have wished. you endeavour to comfort me for the loss of ebn thaher; alas! however sensible i am of this, it is but the least of my troubles. you know these troubles, and you know also that your presence alone can cure me. when will the time come that i shall enjoy it without fear of a separation? how distant does it seem to me! or shall we flatter ourselves that we may ever see it? you command me to preserve myself; i will obey you, since i have renounced my own will to follow only yours. adieu." after the jeweller had read this letter, he returned it to the confidant, who said, as she was going away, "i will desire my mistress to put the same confidence in you that she did in ebn thaher. you shall hear of me to-morrow." accordingly, next day she returned with a pleasant countenance. "your very looks," said he to her, "inform me that you have brought schemselnihar to the point you wished." "it is true," replied the confidant, "and you shall hear how i succeeded. i found yesterday, on my return, schemselnihar expecting me with impatience, i gave her the prince of persia's letter, and she read it with tears in her eyes. when she had done, i saw that she had abandoned herself to her usual sorrow. 'madam,' said i to her, 'it is doubtless ebn thaher's removal that troubles you; but suffer me to conjure you in the name of god, to alarm yourself no farther on this account. we have found another ebn thaher, who offers to oblige you with equal zeal; and, what is yet more important, with greater courage.' then i spoke to her of you," continued the slave, "and acquainted her with the motive which led you to the prince of persia's house. in short, i assured her that you would keep inviolably the secret betwixt her and the prince of persia, and that you were resolved to favour their amour with all your might. she seemed to be much relieved by my discourse. 'ah! what obligations,' said she, 'are the prince of persia and i under to that honest man you speak of! i must be acquainted with him and see him, that i may hear from his own mouth what you tell me, and thank him for such unheard-of generosity towards persons on whose account he is no way obliged to interest himself. the sight of him will give me pleasure, and i shall omit nothing to confirm him in those good sentiments. fail not to bring him to me to-morrow.' therefore, sir, be so good as to accompany me to the palace." the confidant's proposal perplexed the jeweller. "your mistress," replied he, "must allow me to say that she has not duly considered what she requires of me. ebn thaher's access to the caliph gave him admission every where; and the officers who knew him, allowed him free access to schemselnihar's palace; but as for me, how dare i enter? you see clearly that it is impossible. i entreat you to represent to schemselnihar the reasons which prevent me from affording her that satisfaction; and acquaint her with all the ill consequences that would attend my compliance. if she considered it ever so little, she would find that it would expose me needlessly to very imminent danger." the confidant endeavoured to encourage the jeweller. "can you believe," said she, "that schemselnihar is so unreasonable as to expose you to the least danger by bringing you to her, from whom she expects such important services? consider with yourself that there is not the least appearance of risk. my mistress and i are too much interested in this affair to involve you in any danger. you may depend upon me, and leave yourself to my conduit. after the thing is over you will be the first to confess that your apprehensions were groundless." the jeweller yielded to the confidant's assurances, and rose up to follow her, but notwithstanding his boasted courage, he was seized with such terror that his whole body trembled. "in your present state," said she, "i perceive it will be better for you to remain at home, and that schemselnihar should take other measures to see you. it is not to be doubted but that to satisfy her desire she will come hither herself: the case being so, sir, i would not have you go: i am persuaded it will not be long ere you see her here." the confidant foresaw this; for she no sooner informed schemselnihar of the jeweller's fear, but she prepared to go to his house. he received her with all the expressions of profound respect. when she sat down, being a little fatigued, she unveiled herself, and exhibited to the jeweller such beauty as convinced him that the prince of persia was excusable in giving his heart to the caliph's favourite. then she saluted the jeweller with a graceful air, and said to him, "i could not hear with what zeal you have engaged in the prince of persia's concerns and mine, without immediately determining to express my gratitude in person. i thank heaven for having so soon made up to us the loss of ebn thaher." schemselnihar said many other obliging things to the jeweller, after which she returned to her palace. the jeweller went immediately to give an account of this visit to the prince of persia; who said to him, as soon as he saw him, "i have expected you impatiently. the trusty slave has brought me a letter from her mistress, but it does not relieve me. whatever the lovely schemselnihar says, i dare not hope, and my patience is exhausted; i know not now what measures to pursue; ebn thaher's departure reduces me to despair. he was my only support: in him i have lost every thing. i had flattered myself with some hopes by reason of his access to schemselnihar." after these words, which the prince spoke with so much eagerness, that he gave the jeweller no time to interrupt him, he said to the prince, "no man can take more interest in your affliction than i do; and if you will have patience to hear me you will perceive that i can relieve you." upon this the prince became silent, and listened to him. "i see," said the jeweller, "that the only way to give you satisfaction is to devise a plan that will afford you an opportunity of conversing freely with schemselnihar. this i wish to procure you, and to-morrow will make the attempt. you must by no means expose yourself to enter schemselnihar's palace; you know by experience the danger of that step. i know a fitter place for this interview, where you will be safe." when the jeweller had finished, the prince embraced him with transports of joy. "you revive," said he, "by this promise, a wretched lover, who was condemned to die. you have fully repaired the loss of ebn thaher; whatever you do will be well performed; i leave myself entirely to your conduct." after the prince had thus thanked him for his zeal, the jeweller returned home, and next morning schemselnihar's confidant came to him. he told her that he had given the prince of persia hopes that he should shortly see her mistress. "i am come on purpose," answered she, "to concert measures with you for that end. i think this house will be convenient enough for their interview." "i could receive them very well here," replied he, "but i think they will have more liberty in another house of mine where no one resides at present; i will immediately furnish it for their reception." "there remains nothing then for me to do," replied the confidant, "but to bring schemselnihar to consent to this. i will go and speak to her, and return speedily with an answer." she was as diligent as her promise, and returning to the jeweller, told him that her mistress would not fail to keep the appointment in the evening. in the mean time she gave him a purse, and told him it was to prepare a collation. he carried her immediately to the house where the lovers were to meet, that she might know whither to bring her mistress: and when she was gone, he went to borrow from his friends gold and silver plate, tapestry, rich cushions, and other furniture, with which he furnished the house very magnificently; and when he had put all things in order, went to the prince of persia. you may easily conceive the prince of persia's joy, when the jeweller told him that he came to conduct him to the house he had prepared to receive him and schemselnihar. this news made him forget all his former trouble. he put on a magnificent robe, and went without his retinue along with the jeweller; who led him through several by-streets that nobody might observe them, and at last brought him to the house, where they conversed together until schemselnihar's arrival. they did not wait long for this passionate lover. she came after evening prayer, with her confidant, and two other slaves. it is impossible to express the excess of joy that seized these two lovers when they saw one another. they sat down together upon a sofa, looking upon one another for some time, without being able to speak, they were so much overjoyed: but when their speech returned, they soon made up for their silence. they said to each other so many tender things, as made the jeweller, the confidant, and the two other slaves weep. the jeweller however restrained his tears, to attend the collation, which he brought in himself. the lovers ate and drank little, after which they sat down again upon the sofa: schemselnihar asked the jeweller if he had a lute, or any other instrument, the jeweller, who took care to provide all that could please her, brought her a lute: she spent some time in tuning it, and then sung. while schemselnihar was charming the prince of persia, and expressing her passion by words composed extempore, a great noise was heard; and immediately the slave, whom the jeweller had brought with him, came in great alarm to tell him that some people were breaking in at the gate; that he asked who they were, but instead of any answer the blows were redoubled. the jeweller, being alarmed, left schemselnihar and the prince to inform himself of the truth of this intelligence. no sooner had he got to the court, than he perceived, notwithstanding the darkness of the night, a company of men armed with spears and cimeters, who had broken the gate, and came directly towards him. he stood close to a wall for fear of his life, and saw ten of them pass without being perceived by them. finding he could give no great assistance to the prince of persia and schemselnihar, he contented himself with lamenting their fate, and fled for refuge to a neighbour's house, who was not yet gone to bed. he did not doubt but this unexpected violence was by the caliph's order, who, he thought, had been informed of his favourite's meeting the prince of persia there. he heard a great noise in his house, which continued till midnight: and when all was quiet, as he thought, he desired his neighbour to lend him a cimeter; and being thus armed, went on till he came to the gate of his own house: he entered the court full of fear, and perceived a man, who asked him who he was; he knew by his voice that it was his own slave. "how did you manage," said he, "to avoid being taken by the watch?" "sir," answered the slave, "i hid myself in a corner of the court, and i went out as soon as i heard the noise. but it was not the watch who broke into your house: they were robbers, who within these few days robbed another house in this neighbourhood. they doubtless had notice of the rich furniture you brought hither, and had that in view." the jeweller thought his slave's conjecture probable enough. he entered the house, and saw that the robbers had taken all the furniture out of the apartment where he received schemselnihar and her lover, that they had also carried off the gold and silver plate, and, in a word, had left nothing. perceiving this desolation, he exclaimed, "o heaven! i am irrecoverably ruined! what will my friends say, and what excuse can i make when i shall tell them that the robbers have broken into my house, and robbed me of all they had generously lent me? i shall never be able to make up their loss. besides, what is become of schemselnihar and the prince of persia? this business will be so public, that it will be impossible but it must reach the caliph's ears. he will get notice of this meeting, and i shall fall a sacrifice to his fury." the slave, who was very much attached to him, endeavoured to comfort him. "as to schemselnihar," said he, "the robbers would probably consent themselves with stripping her, and you have reason to think that she is retired to her palace with her slaves. the prince of persia too has probably escaped, so that you have reason to hope the caliph will never know of this adventure. as for the loss your friends have sustained, that is a misfortune that you could not avoid. they know very well the robbers are numerous, that they have not only pillaged the house i have already spoken of, but many other houses of the principal noblemen of the court: and they are not ignorant that, notwithstanding the orders given to apprehend them, nobody has been yet able to seize any of them. you will be acquitted by restoring your friends the value of the things that are stolen, and, blessed be god, you will have enough left." while they were waiting for day-light, the jeweller ordered the slave to mend the street door, which was broken, as well as he could: after which he returned to his usual residence with his slave, making melancholy reflections on what had happened. "ebn thaher," said he to himself, "has been wiser than i; he foresaw the misfortune into which i have blindly thrown myself: would to god i had never meddled in this intrigue, which will, perhaps, cost me my life!" it was scarcely day when the report of the robbery spread through the city, and a great many of his friends and neighbours came to his house to express their concern for his misfortune; but were curious to know the particulars. he thanked them for their affection, and had at least the consolation, that he heard no one mention schemselnihar or the prince of persia: which made him believe they were at their houses, or in some secure place. when the jeweller was alone, his servants brought him something to eat, but he had no appetite. about noon one of his slaves came to tell him there was a man at the gate, whom he knew not, that desired to speak with him. the jeweller, not choosing to receive a stranger into his house, rose up, and went to speak to him. "though you do not know me," said the man; "i know you, and i am come to talk to you about an important affair." the jeweller desired him to come in. "no," answered the stranger "if you please, rather take the trouble to go with me to your other house." "how know you," asked the jeweller, "that i have another house?" "i know very well," answered the stranger; "follow me, and do not fear any thing: i have something to communicate which will please you." the jeweller went immediately with him; and after he had considered by the way how the house they were going to had been robbed, he said to him that it was not fit to receive him. when they were before the house, and the stranger saw the gate half broken down, he said to the jeweller, "i see you have told me the truth. i will conduct you to a place where we shall be better accommodated." when he had thus spoken, he went on, and walked all the rest of the day without stopping. the jeweller being fatigued with his walk, vexed to see night approach, and that the stranger went on without telling him where he was going, began to lose his patience, when they came to a path which led to the tigris. as soon as they reached the river, they embarked in a little boat, and went over. the stranger led the jeweller through a long street, where he had never been before; and after he had brought him through several by-streets, he stopped at a gate, which he opened. he made the jeweller go in before him, he then shut and bolted the gate, with a huge iron bolt, and conducted him to a chamber, where there were ten other men, all of them as great strangers to the jeweller as he who had brought him hither. these ten men received him without much ceremony. they desired him to sit down, of which he had great need; for he was not only out of breath with walking so far, but his terror at finding himself with people whom he thought he had reason to fear would have disabled him from standing. they waited for their leader to go to supper, and as soon as he came it was served up. they washed their hands, obliged the jeweller to do the like, and to sit at table with them. after supper the men asked him, if he knew whom he spoke to? he answered, "no; and that he knew not the place he was in." "tell us your last night's adventure," said they to him, "and conceal nothing from us." the jeweller, being astonished at this request, answered, "gentlemen, it is probable you know it already." "that is true," replied they; "the young man and the young lady, who were at your house yesternight, told it us; but we would know it from your own mouth." the jeweller needed no more to inform him that he spoke to the robbers who had broken into and plundered his house. "gentlemen," said he, "i am much troubled for that young man and lady; can you give me any tidings of them?" upon the jeweller's inquiry of the thieves, if they knew any thing of the young man and the young lady, they answered, "be not concerned for them, they are safe and well," so saying, they shewed him two closets, where they assured him they were separately shut up. they added, "we are informed you alone know what relates to them, which we no sooner came to understand, but we shewed them all imaginable respect, and were so far from doing them any injury, that we treated them with all possible kindness on your account. we answer for the same," proceeded they, "for your own person, you may put unlimited confidence in us." the jeweller being encouraged by this assurance, and overjoyed to hear that the prince of persia and schemselnihar were safe, resolved to engage the robbers yet farther in their interest. he commended them, flattered them, and gave them a thousand benedictions. "gentlemen," said he, "i must confess i have not the honour to know you, yet it is no small happiness to me that i am not wholly unknown to you; and i can never be sufficiently grateful for the favours which that knowledge has procured me at your hands. not to mention your great humanity, i am fully persuaded now, that persons of your character are capable of keeping a secret faithfully, and none are so fit to undertake a great enterprise, which you can best bring to a good issue by your zeal, courage, and intrepidity. confiding in these qualities, which are so much your due, i hesitate not to tell you my whole history, with that of those two persons you found in my house, with all the fidelity you desire me." after the jeweller had thus secured, as he thought, the confidence of the robbers, he made no scruple to relate to them the whole amour of the prince of persia and schemselnihar, from the beginning of it to the time he had received them into his house. the robbers were greatly astonished at all the particulars they heard, and could not forbear exclaiming, "how! is it possible that the young man should be the illustrious ali ebn becar, prince of persia, and the young lady the fair and celebrated beauty schemselnihar?" the jeweller assured them nothing was more certain, and that they need not think it strange, that persons of so distinguished a character should wish not to be known. upon this assurance of their quality, the robbers went immediately, one after another, and threw themselves at their feet, imploring their pardon, and protesting that nothing of the kind would have happened to them, had they been informed of the quality of their persons before they broke into the house; and that they would by their future conduct endeavour to make amends for the crime they had thus ignorantly committed. then turning to the jeweller, they told him, they were heartily sorry they could not restore to him all that had been taken from him, part of it being no longer in their possession, but as for what remained, if he would content himself with his plate, it should be forthwith put into his hand. the jeweller was overjoyed at the favour done him, and after the robbers had delivered to him the plate, they required of the prince, schemselnihar, and him, to promise them upon oath, that they would not betray them, and they would carry them to a place whence they might easily return to their respective homes. the prince, schemselnihar, and the jeweller, replied, that they might rely on their words, but since they desired an oath of them, they solemnly swore not to discover them. the thieves, satisfied with this, immediately went out with them. on the way, the jeweller, uneasy at not seeing the confidant and the two slaves, came up to schemselnihar, and begged her to inform him what was become of them. she answered, she knew nothing of them, and that all she could tell him was, that she was carried away from his house, ferried over the river, and brought to the place from whence they were just come. schemselnihar and the jeweller had no farther conversation; they let the robbers conduit them with the prince to the river's side, when the robbers immediately took boat, and carried them over to the opposite bank. while the prince, schemselnihar, and the jeweller were landing, they heard the noise of the horse patrol coming towards them, just as the boat had conveyed the robbers back. the commander of the brigade demanded of the prince, schemselnihar, and the jeweller, who they were, and whence they had come so late? frightened as they were, and apprehensive of saying any thing that might prejudice them, they could not speak; but at length it was necessary they should. the jeweller's mind being most at ease, he said, "sir, i can assure you, we are respectable people of the city. the persons who have just landed us, and are now returned to the other side of the water, are thieves, who having last night broke open the house where we were, pillaged it, and afterwards carried us to their quarters, whence by fair words, we prevailed on them to let us have our liberty; and they brought us hither. they have restored us part of the booty they had taken from us." at which words he shewed the parcel of plate he had recovered. the commander, not satisfied with what the jeweller had told him, came up to him and the prince of persia, and looking steadfastly at them, said, "tell me truly, who is this lady? how came you to know her?" these questions embarrassed them so much that neither of them could answer; till at length schemselnihar extricated them from their difficulty, and taking the commander aside, told him who she was; which he no sooner heard, than he alighted with expressions of great respect and politeness, and ordered his men to bring two boats. when the boats were come, he put schemselnihar into one, and the prince of persia and the jeweller into the other, with two of his people in each boat; with orders to accompany each of them whithersoever they were bound. the boats took different routes, but we shall at present speak only of that which contained the prince and the jeweller. the prince, to save his guides trouble, bade them land the jeweller at his house, naming the place. the guide, by this direction, stopped just before the caliph's palace, which put both him and the jeweller into great alarm; for although they had heard the commander's orders to his men, they could not help imagining they were to be delivered up to the guard, to be brought before the caliph next morning. this nevertheless was not the intention of the guides. for after they had landed them, they, by their master's command, recommended them to an officer of the caliph's guard who assigned them two soldiers to conduct them by land to the prince's house, which was at some distance from the river. they arrived there, but so tired and weary that they could hardly move. the prince being come home, with the fatigue of his journey, and this misadventure to himself and schemselnihar, which deprived him of all hope of ever seeing her more, fell into a swoon on his sofa. while the greatest part of his servants were endeavoring to recover him, the rest gathered about the jeweller, and begged him to tell them what had happened to the prince their lord, whose absence had occasioned them such inexpressible uneasiness. while the greatest part of the prince's domestics were endeavouring to recover him from his swoon, others of them got about the jeweller, desiring to know what had happened to their lord. the jeweller, who took care to discover nothing that was not proper for them to know, told them that it was an extraordinary case, but that it was not a time to relate it, and that they would do better to go and assist the prince. by good fortune the prince came to himself that moment, and those that but just before required his history with so much earnestness retreated to a respectful distance. although the prince had in some measure recovered his recollection, he continued so weak that he could not open his mouth to speak. he answered only by signs, even to his nearest relations, when they spoke to him. he remained in this condition till next morning, when the jeweller came to take leave of him. he could answer only by a movement of his eyes, and holding out his right hand; but when he saw he was laden with a bundle of plate, which the thieves had returned to him, he made a sign to his servants that they should take it and carry it to his house. the jeweller had been expected with great impatience by his family the day he departed with the stranger; but now he was quite given over, and it was no longer doubted but some disaster had befallen him. his wife, children, and servants, were in the greatest alarm, and lamenting him. when he arrived, their joy was excessive; yet they were troubled to see that he was so much altered in the short interval, that he was hardly to be known. this was occasioned by the great fatigue of the preceding day, and the fears he had undergone all night, which would not permit him to sleep. finding himself much indisposed, he continued at home two days, and would admit only one of his intimate friends to visit him. the third day, finding himself something better, he thought he might recover strength by going abroad to take the air; and therefore went to the shop of a rich merchant of his acquaintance, with whom he continued long in conversation. as he was rising to take leave of his friend to return home, he observed a woman making a sign to him, whom he presently knew to be the confidant of schemselnihar. between fear and joy, he made what haste he could away, without looking at her; but she followed him, as he feared she would, the place they were in being by no means proper to converse in. as he quickened his pace, she, not being able to overtake him, every now and then called out to him to stay. he heard her; but after what had happened, he did not think fit to speak to her in public, for fear of giving cause to suspect that he was connected with schemselnihar. it was known to every body in bagdad, that this woman belonged to her, and executed all her little commissions. he continued the same pace, and at length reached a mosque, where he knew but few people came. he entered, and she followed him, and they had a long conversation together, without any body overhearing them. both the jeweller and confidant expressed much joy at seeing each other, after the strange adventure of the robbers, and their reciprocal apprehension for each other, without regarding their own particular persons. the jeweller wished her to relate to him how she escaped with the two slaves, and what she knew of schemselnihar from the time he lost sight of her; but so great was her eagerness to know what had happened to him from the time of their unexpected separation, that he found himself obliged to satisfy her. "having given you the detail you desired," said he, "oblige me in your turn," which she did in the following manner. "when i first saw the robbers, i hastily imagined that they were soldiers of the caliph's guard, and that the caliph being informed of schemselnihar's going out, had sent them to put her, the prince, and all of us to death. under this impression i immediately got up to the terrace of your house, when the thieves entered the apartment where the prince and schemselnihar were, and i was soon after followed by that lady's two slaves. from terrace to terrace, we came at last to a house of very honest people, who received us with much civility, and with whom we lodged that night. "next morning, after thanking the master of the house for our good usage, we returned to schemselnihar's palace, where we entered in great disorder and distress, because we could not learn the fate of the two unfortunate lovers. the other women of schemselnihar were astonished to see me return without their lady. we told them, we had left her at the house of one of her female friends, and that she would send for us when she wished to come home; with which excuse they seemed well satisfied. "for my part, i spent the day in great uneasiness, and when night arrived, opening a small private gate, i espied a little boat on the canal which seemed driven by the stream. i called to the waterman, and desired him to row up each side of the river, and look if he could not see a lady; and if he found her, to bring her along with him. the two slaves and i waited impatiently for his return, and at length, about midnight, we saw the boat coming down with two men in it, and a woman lying along in the stern. when the boat was come up, the two men helped the woman to rise, and then it was i knew her to be schemselnihar. i cannot express my joy at seeing her. "i gave my hand to schemselnihar to help her out of the boat; she had great need of my assistance, for she could hardly stand. when she was landed, she whispered me in a tone expressive of her affliction, and bade me go and take a purse of one thousand pieces of gold and give it to the two soldiers that had accompanied her. i left her to the care of the two slaves to support her, and having ordered the two soldiers to wait for me a moment, i took the purse, and returned instantly; i gave it to them, and having paid the waterman, shut the door. "i then followed my lady, and overtook her before she had reached her chamber. we immediately undressed her, and put her to bed, where she had not long been, before she became so ill that for the whole of the night we almost despaired of her life. the day following, her other women expressed a great desire to see her; but i told them she had been greatly fatigued, and wanted rest. the other two women and i gave her all the assistance in our power; but we should have given over every hope of her recovery, had i not at last perceived that the wine which we every now and then gave her had a sensible effect in recruiting her strength. by importunity we at length prevailed with her to eat. "when she recovered the use of her speech, for she had hitherto only wept, groaned, and sighed, i begged of her to tell me how she had escaped out of the hands of the robbers. 'why would you require of me,' said she, with a profound sigh, 'to renew my grief? would to god the robbers had taken away my life, rather than have preserved it; my misfortunes would then have had an end, whereas i live but to increase my sufferings.' "madam,' i replied, 'i beg you would not refuse me this favour. you cannot but know that the wretched feel a consolation in relating their greatest misfortunes; what i ask would alleviate yours, if you would have the goodness to gratify me.' "'hear then,' said she, 'the most afflicting adventure that could possibly have happened to one so deeply in love as myself, who considered myself as at the utmost point of my wishes. you must know, when i first saw the robbers enter, sword in hand, i considered it as the last moment of our lives. but death was not an object of regret, since i thought i was to die with the prince of persia. however, instead of murdering us, as i expected, two of the robbers were ordered to take care of us, whilst their companions were busied in packing up the goods they found in the house. when they had done, and got their bundles upon their backs, they went out, and took us with them. "'as we went along, one of those that had charge of us demanded of me who i was? i answered, i was a dancer. he put the same question to the prince, who replied, he was a citizen. "'when we had reached the place of our destination, a new alarm seized us. they gathered about us, and after having considered my dress, and the rich jewels i was adorned with, they seemed to suspect i had disguised my quality." "dancers," said they, "do not use to be dressed as you are. tell us truly who you are?" "'when they saw i made no reply, they asked the prince once more who he was, for they told him they plainly perceived he was not the person he pretended to be. he did not satisfy them much more than i had done; he only told them he came to see the jeweller, naming him, who was the owner of the house where they found us." "i know this jeweller," replied one of the rogues, who seemed to have some authority over the rest: "i owe him some obligations, which he knows nothing of, and i take upon me to bring him hither to-morrow morning; but you must not expect," continued he, "to be released till he arrives and tells us who you are; in the mean time, i promise you there shall be no injury offered to you." "the jeweller was brought next morning, who thinking to oblige us, as he really did, declared to the robbers the whole truth. they immediately came and asked my pardon, and i believe did the like to the prince, who was shut up in another room. they protested to me, they would not have broken open the house where we were, had they known it was the jeweller's. they soon after took us (the prince, the jeweller, and myself), carried us to the river side, put us aboard a boat, and rowed us across the water; but we were no sooner landed, than a party of horse-patrol came up to us. "the robbers fled; i took the commander aside, and told him my name, and that the night before i had been seized by robbers, who forced me along with them; but having been told who i was, released me, and the two persons he saw with me, on my account. he alighted out of respect to me; and expressing great joy at being able to oblige me, caused two boats to be brought: putting me and two of his soldiers, whom you have seen, into one, he escorted me hither: but what is become of the prince and his friend i cannot tell. "'i trust,' added she, melting into tears, 'no harm has befallen them since our separation; and i do not doubt but the prince's concern for me is equal to mine for him. the jeweller, to whom we have been so much obliged, ought to be recompensed for the loss he has sustained on our account. fail not, therefore, to take two purses of a thousand pieces of gold in each, and carry them to him to-morrow morning in my name, and be sure to inquire after the prince's welfare.' "when my good mistress had done speaking, i endeavoured, as to the last article of inquiring into the prince's welfare, to persuade her to endeavour to triumph over her passion, after the danger she had so lately escaped almost by miracle. 'make me no answer,' said she, 'but do what i require.' "i was obliged to be silent, and am come hither to obey her commands. i have been at your house, but not finding you at home, and uncertain as i was of where you might be found, was about going to the prince of persia; but not daring to attempt the journey, i have left the two purses with a particular friend, and if you will wait here, i will go and fetch them immediately." the confidant soon returned to the jeweller in the mosque, where she had left him, and giving him the two purses, bade him out of them satisfy his friends. "they are much more than is necessary," said he, "but i dare not refuse the present from so good and generous a lady to her most humble servant; i beseech you to assure her from me, that i shall preserve an eternal remembrance of her goodness." he then agreed with the confidant, that she should find him at the house where she had first seen him, whenever she had occasion to impart any thing from schemselnihar, or to hear any tidings of the prince of persia: and so they parted. the jeweller returned home well pleased, not only that he had got wherewithal so fully to satisfy his friends, but also to think that no person in bagdad could possibly know that the prince and schemselnihar had been in his other house when it was robbed. it is true, he had acquainted the thieves with it, but on their secrecy he thought he might very well depend. next morning he visited the friends who had obliged him, and found no difficulty in satisfying them. he had money in hand to furnish his other house, in which he placed servants. thus he forgot all his past danger, and the next evening waited on the prince of persia. the prince's domestics told the jeweller, that he came very opportunely, as the prince, since he had parted with him, was reduced to such a state that his life was in danger. they introduced him softly into his chamber, and he found him in a condition that excited his pity. he was lying on his bed, with his eyes closed; but when the jeweller saluted him, and exhorted him to take courage, he recollected him, opened his eyes, and gave him a look that sufficiently declared the greatness of his affliction, infinitely beyond what he felt after he first saw schemselnihar. he grasped him by the hand, to testify his friendship, and told him, in a feeble voice, that he was extremely obliged to him for coming so far to visit one so unhappy and wretched. "prince," replied the jeweller, "mention not, i beseech you, any obligations you owe to me. i wish the good offices i have endeavoured to do you had had a better effect; but at present, let us talk only of your health; which, in the state i see you, i fear you greatly injure by unreasonably abstaining from proper nourishment." the prince's servants took this opportunity to tell him, it was with the greatest difficulty they had prevailed on their master to take the smallest refreshment, and that for some time he had taken nothing. this obliged the jeweller to entreat the prince to let his servants bring him something to eat. after the prince had, through the persuasion of the jeweller, eaten more than he had hitherto done, he commanded the servants to leave him alone with his friend. when the room was clear, he said, "besides the misfortune that distracts me, i have been exceedingly concerned to think what a loss you have sustained on my account; and it is but just i should make you some recompence. but before i do this, after begging your pardon a thousand times, i conjure you to tell me whether you have learnt any tidings of schemselnihar, since i had the misfortune to be parted from her." here the jeweller, instructed by the confidant, related to him all that he knew of schemselnihar's arrival at her palace, her state of health from that time till she recovered, and how she had sent her confidant to him to inquire after his welfare. to all this the prince replied only by sighs and tears. he made an effort to get up, and calling his servants, went himself to his wardrobe, and having caused several bundles of rich furniture and plate to be packed up, he ordered them to be carried to the jeweller's house. the jeweller would fain have declined this kind offer; but although he represented that schemselnihar had already made him more than sufficient amends for what he had lost, the prince would be obeyed. the jeweller was therefore obliged to make all possible acknowledgments, and protested how much he was confounded at his highness's liberality. he would then have taken his leave, but the prince desired him to stay, and they passed good part of the night in conversation. next morning the jeweller waited again on the prince, who made him sit down by him. "you know," said he, "there is an end proposed in all things: that which the lover proposes, is to enjoy the beloved object in spite of all opposition. if once he loses that hope, he must not think to live. such is my hard case; for twice when i have been at the very point of fulfilling my desires, i have suddenly been torn from her i loved in the most cruel manner imaginable. it remains for me only to think of death, and i had sought it, but that our holy religion forbids suicide; but i need not anticipate it; i need not wait long." here he stopped, and vented his passion in groans, sighs, sobs, and tears, which flowed abundantly. the jeweller, who knew no better way of diverting him from his despair than by bringing schemselnihar into his mind, and giving him some shadow of hope, told him, he feared the confidant might be come from her lady, and therefore it would not be proper to stay any longer from home. "i will let you go," said the prince, "but conjure you, that if you see her, you recommend to her to assure schemselnihar, that if i die, as i expect to do shortly, i shall love her to the last moment, even in the grave." the jeweller returned home, and waited in expectation of seeing the confidant, who came some hours after, but all in tears, and in great affliction. the jeweller alarmed, asked her what was the matter? she answered, that schemselnihar, the prince, herself, and he, were all ruined. "hear the sad news," said she, "as it was told me just upon my entering the palace after i had left you. "schemselnihar had for some fault chastised one of the slaves you saw with her when you met in your other house. the slave, enraged at the ill treatment, ran immediately away, and finding the gate open, went out; so that we have just reason to believe she has discovered all to an eunuch of the guard, who gave her protection. "but this is not all; the other slave her companion has fled too, and has taken refuge in the caliph's palace. so that we may well fear she has borne her part in this discovery: for just as i came away, the caliph had sent twenty of his eunuchs for schemselnihar, who have carried her to the palace. i just found means to come and tell you this. i know not what has passed, yet i fear no good; but above all, i recommend to you to keep the secret inviolate." the confidant added to what she had related before to the jeweller, that it was proper he should go immediately and acquaint the prince with the whole affair, that he might be prepared for every event, and keep faithful to the common cause. she went away in haste, without staying for any answer. what answer could the jeweller have made in the condition he was in? he stood motionless as if thunderstruck. he found, however, that there was no time to be lost, and immediately went to give the prince information. he addressed him with an air, that sufficiently shewed the bad news he brought. "prince," said he, "arm yourself with courage and patience, and prepare to receive the most terrible shock that ever you had to encounter." "tell me in a few words," replied the prince, "what is the matter, without keeping me in suspense; i am, if necessary, prepared to die." then the jeweller repeated all that he had learnt from the confidant. "you see," continued he, "your destruction is inevitable. rise, save yourself by flight, for the time is precious. you, of all men, must not expose yourself to the anger of the caliph, and, less than any, confess in the midst of torture." at these words the prince was ready to expire through grief, affliction, and fear. however, he recovered himself, and asked the jeweller what resolution he would advise him to take in this conjuncture, every moment of which ought to be employed. the jeweller told him, he thought nothing remained, but that he should immediately take horse, and hasten away towards anbar, that he might get thither before day. "take what servants and swift horses you think necessary," continued he, "and suffer me to escape with you." the prince, seeing nothing more to be done, immediately gave orders to prepare such an equipage as would be least troublesome; took money and jewels, and having taken leave of his mother, departed with the jeweller and such servants as he had chosen. they travelled all night without stopping, till at length, both their horses and themselves being spent with so long a journey, they halted to rest themselves. they had hardly alighted before they found themselves surrounded and assaulted by a band of robbers. they defended their lives for some time courageously; but at length the prince's servants being all killed, both he and the jeweller were obliged to yield at discretion. the robbers, however, spared their dives, but after they had seized the horses and baggage, they took away their clothes and left them naked. when the thieves were gone, the prince said to the jeweller, "what think you of our adventure and condition? had i not better have tarried in bagdad, and awaited my death?" "prince," replied the jeweller, "it is the decree of heaven that we should thus suffer. it has pleased god to add affliction to affliction and we must not murmur, but receive his chastisements with submission. let us stay no longer here, but seek for some retreat where we may perhaps be relieved." "let me die," said the prince; "for what signifies it whether i die here or elsewhere. perhaps while we are talking, schemselnihar is no more, and why should i endeavour to live after she is dead!" the jeweller, by his entreaty, at length prevailed on him, and they had not gone far before they came to a mosque, which was open; they entered it, and passed there the remainder of the night. at day-break a man came into the mosque. when he had ended his prayer, as he turned about to go away, he perceived the prince and jeweller, who were sitting in a corner. he came up to them, and after having saluted them with a great deal of civility, said, "i perceive you are strangers." the jeweller answered, "you are not deceived. we have been robbed to-night in coming from bagdad, as you may see, and have retired hither for shelter, but we know not to whom to apply." "if you think fit to accompany me to my house," answered the man, "i will give you all the assistance in my power." upon this obliging offer, the jeweller turned to the prince, and whispered, "this man, as you perceive, sir, does not know us, and we have reason to fear that somebody else may come who does. we cannot, i think, refuse his offer." "do as you please," said the prince; "i am willing to be guided by your discretion." the man observing the prince and jeweller consulting together, and thinking they made some difficulty to accept his offer, asked them if they were resolved what to do? the jeweller answered "we are ready to follow you; all we hesitate about is that we are ashamed to appear thus naked." fortunately the man had it in his power to cover them sufficiently till they could get to his house. as soon as they had entered, he brought a very handsome suit for each of them. as he thought they must be hungry, and might wish to be alone, he had several dishes brought to them by a slave; but they ate little, especially the prince who was so dejected and dispirited, that he gave the jeweller cause to fear he would die. their host visited them several times in the course of the day, and in the evening, as he knew they wanted rest, he left them early. but he was no sooner in bed, than the jeweller was forced to call him again to assist at the death of the prince of persia. he found him breathe short, and with difficulty, which gave him reason to fear he had but few minutes to live. coming near him, the prince said, "it is all over, and i am glad you are witness of my last words. i quit life with a great deal of satisfaction; i need not tell you the reason, for you know it already. all my concern is, that i cannot die in the arms of my dear mother, who has always loved me tenderly, and for whom i had a reciprocal affection. let her know how much i was concerned at this, and request her in my name to have my body removed to bagdad, that she may have an opportunity to bedew my tomb with her tears, and assist my departed soul with her prayers." he then took notice of the master of the house, and thanked him for his kindness in taking him in; and after desiring him to let his body rest with him till it should be conveyed to bagdad, he expired. the day after the prince's death, the jeweller took the opportunity of a numerous caravan that was going to bagdad, and arrived there in safety. he first went home to change his clothes, and then hastened to the prince's palace, where every body was alarmed at not seeing the prince with him. he desired them to acquaint the prince's mother that he wished to speak with her, and it was not long before he was introduced to her in a hall, with several of her women about her. "madam," said he to her, with an air that sufficiently denoted the ill news he brought, "god preserve you, and shower down upon you the choicest of his blessings. you cannot be ignorant that he alone disposes of us at his pleasure." the princess would not permit him to proceed, but exclaimed, "alas! you bring me the news of my son's death?" she and her women at the same time wept and sobbed loudly. at length she checked her sighs and groans, and begged of him to continue without concealing from her the least circumstance of such a melancholy separation. he satisfied her, and when he had done, she farther demanded of him, if her son the prince had not given him in charge something more particular in his last moments? he assured her his last words were, that it was to him the most afflicting circumstance that he must die so far distant from his dear mother, and that the only thing he wished was, that she would have his corpse transported to bagdad. accordingly early next morning the princess set out with her women and great part of her slaves, to bring her son's body to her own palace. when the jeweller, whom she had detained, had seen her depart, he returned home very sad and melancholy, at the reflection that so accomplished and amiable a prince was thus cut off in the flower of his age. as he walked towards his house, dejected and musing, he saw a woman standing before him. he recognized her to be schemselnihar's confidant. at the sight of her, his tears began to flow afresh but he said nothing to her; and going into his own house, she followed him. they sat down; when the jeweller beginning the conversation, asked the confidant, with a deep sigh, if she had heard of the death of the prince of persia, and if it was on his account that she grieved. "alas!" answered she, "what! is that charming prince then dead? he has not lived long after his dear schemselnihar. beauteous souls," continued she, "in whatsoever place ye now are, ye must be happy that your loves will no more be interrupted. your bodies were an obstacle to your wishes; but heaven has delivered you from them; ye may now form the closest union." the jeweller, who had heard nothing of schemselnihar's death, and had not reflected that the confidant was in mourning, suffered fresh grief at this intelligence. "is schemselnihar then dead?" cried he. "she is," replied the confidant, weeping afresh, "and it is for her i wear these weeds. the circumstances of her death were extraordinary," continued she, "and deserve to be known to you: but before i give you an account of them, i beg you to acquaint me with those of the prince of persia, whom, with my dearest friend and mistress, i shall lament as long as i live." the jeweller then gave the confidant the information she desired; and after he had told her all, even to the departure of the prince's mother to bring her son's body to bagdad, she began and said, "you have not forgotten that i told you the caliph had sent for schemselnihar to his palace. he had, as we had every reason to believe, been informed of the amour betwixt her and the prince by the two slaves, whom he had examined apart. you may imagine, he would be exceedingly enraged at schemselnihar's conduct, and give striking proofs of his jealousy and of his impending vengeance against the prince. but this was by no means the case. he pitied schemselnihar, and in some measure blamed himself for what had happened, in giving her so much freedom to walk about the city without being attended by his eunuchs. this is the only conclusion that could be drawn from his extraordinary behavior towards her, as you will hear. "he received her with an open countenance; and when he observed that the melancholy which oppressed her did not lessen her beauty (for she appeared thus before him without surprise or fear), with a goodness worthy himself, he said 'schemselnihar, i cannot bear your appearing before me thus with an air which gives me infinite pain. you must needs be sensible how much i have always loved you, and be convinced of the sincerity of my passion by the continued demonstrations i have given of it. i can never change my mind, for i love you more than ever. you have enemies, schemselnihar,' proceeded he, 'and those enemies have insinuated things against your conduct, but all they have said against you has not made the least impression upon me. shake off then this melancholy, and prepare to entertain me this night with some amusing conversation, after your accustomed manner.' he said many other obliging things to her, and then desired her to step into a magnificent apartment near her own, and wait for him. "the afflicted schemselnihar was very sensible of the caliph's kindness; but the more she thought herself obliged to him, the more she was concerned that she was so far removed, perhaps for ever, from her prince, without whom she could not live. "this interview between the caliph and schemselnihar," continued the confidant, "took place whilst i was come to speak to you, and i learned the particulars of it from my companions who were present. but i had no sooner left you," proceeded she, "than i went to my dear mistress again, and was eye-witness to what happened in the evening. i found her in the apartment i told you of; and as she though i came from you, she drew near me, and whispering me, said, 'i am much obliged to you for the service you have done me, but i feel it will be the last.' she said no more; but i was not in a place proper to offer any thing to comfort her. "the caliph was introduced at night with the sound of instruments which her women played upon, and the collation was immediately served up. he took his mistress by the hand, and made her sit down with him on the sofa; she put such a force upon herself to please him, that she expired a few minutes after. in short, she was hardly set down, when she fell backwards. the caliph believed she had only fainted, and so we all thought; but she never recovered, and in this manner we lost her. "the caliph did her the honour to weep over her, not being able to refrain from tears; and before he left the room ordered all the musical instruments to be broken; this was immediately done. i stayed with her corpse all night, and next morning washed and dressed her for her funeral, bathing her with my tears. the caliph had her interred in a magnificent tomb he had erected for her in her lifetime, in a place she had desired to be buried in. now since you tell me," said she, "the prince of persia's body is to be brought to bagdad, i will use my best endeavours that he shall be interred in the same tomb." the jeweller was much surprised at this resolution of the confidant, and said, "certainly you do not consider that the caliph will never suffer this?" "you think the thing impossible," replied she; "it is not. you will alter your opinion when i tell you that the caliph has given liberty to all her slaves, with a pension to each for their support. he has committed to me the care and keeping of my mistress's tomb, and allotted me an annual income for that purpose, and for my maintenance. besides, the caliph, who was not ignorant of the amour between schemselnihar and the prince, as i have already told you, without being offended, will not be sorry if after her death he be buried with her." to all this the jeweller had not a word to say. he earnestly entreated the confidant to conduct him to her mistress's tomb, that he might say his prayers over her. when he came in sight of it, he was not a little surprised to find a vast concourse of people of both sexes, who were come thither from all parts of bagdad. as he could not come near the tomb, he said his prayers at a distance; and then going to the confidant, who was waiting hard by, said to her, "i am now so far from thinking that what you proposed cannot be put in execution, that you and i need only publish abroad what we know of the amour of this unfortunate couple, and how the prince died much about the same time with his mistress. before his corpse arrives, all bagdad will concur to desire that two such faithful lovers, whom nothing could divide in affection whilst they lived, should not be separated when dead." it happened as he said; for as soon as it was known that the corpse was within a day's journey of the city, an infinite number of people went above twenty miles to meet it, and afterwards walked before it till it came to the city gate; where the confidant, waiting for that purpose, presented herself before the prince's mother, and begged of her in the name of the whole city, who earnestly desired it, that she would be pleased to consent that the bodies of the two lovers, who had but one heart whilst they lived, from the time their mutual passion commenced, might be buried in the same tomb. the princess immediately consented; and the corpse of the prince, instead of being deposited in his own burying-place, was laid by schemselnihar's side, after it had been carried along in procession at the head of an infinite number of people of all ranks. from that time all the inhabitants of bagdad, and even strangers from all parts of the world where the mahummedan religion prevails have held that tomb in the highest veneration, and pay their devotions at it. the story of the loves of kummir al zummaun, prince of the isles of the children of khaledan, and of badoura, princess of china. about twenty days' sail from the coast of persia, there are islands in the main ocean called the islands of the children of khaledan. these islands are divided into four great provinces, which have all of them very flourishing and populous cities, forming together a powerful kingdom. it was formerly governed by a king named shaw zummaun, who had four lawful wives, all daughters of kings, and sixty concubines. shaw zummaun thought himself the most happy monarch of the world, on account of his peaceful and prosperous reign. one thing only disturbed his happiness; which was, that he was advanced in years, and had no children, though he had so many wives. he knew not to what to attribute this barrenness; and what increased his affliction was, that he was likely to leave his kingdom without a successor. he dissembled his discontent, and this dissimulation only heightened his uneasiness. at length he broke silence; and one day after he had complained bitterly of his misfortune to his grand vizier, he asked him if he knew any remedy for it? that wise minister replied, "if what your majesty requires of me had depended on the ordinary rules of human wisdom, you had soon had an answer to your satisfaction; but my experience and knowledge fall far short of your question. it is to god only that we can apply in cases of this kind. in the midst of our prosperities, which often tempt us to forget him, he is pleased to mortify us in some instance, that we may address our thoughts to him, acknowledge his omnipotence, and ask of him what we ought to expect from him alone. your majesty has subjects," proceeded he "who make a profession of honouring and serving god, and suffering great hardships for his sake; to them i would advise you to have recourse, and engage them, by alms, to join their prayers with yours. perhaps some one among them may be so pure and pleasing to god as to obtain a hearing for your prayers." shaw zummaun approved this advice, and thanked his vizier. he immediately caused alms to be given to every community of these holy men in his dominions: and having sent for the superiors, declared to them his intention, and desired them to acquaint their devout men with it. the king obtained of heaven what he requested, for in nine months' time he had a son by one of his wives. to express his gratitude to heaven, he sent fresh alms to the communities of devotees, and the prince's birth-day was celebrated not only in his capital, but throughout his dominions, for a whole week. the prince was brought to him as soon as born, and he found him so beautiful that he gave him the name of kummir al zummaun, or moon of the age. he was brought up with all imaginable care; and when he had arrived at a proper age, his father appointed him an experienced governor and able preceptors. these persons, distinguished by their capacity, found in him a ready wit capable of receiving all the instructions that were proper to be given him, as well in relation to morals as other knowledge which a prince ought to possess. as he grew up, he learned all his exercises, and acquitted himself with such grace and wonderful address, as to charm all that saw him, and particularly the sultan his father. when he had attained the age of fifteen, the sultan, who tenderly loved him, and gave him every day new marks of his affection, proposed to afford a still higher demonstration by resigning his throne to him, and he accordingly acquainted his grand vizier with his intentions. "i fear," said he, "lest my son should lose in the inactivity of youth those advantages which nature and my education have give him; therefore, since i am advanced in age, and ought to think of retirement i propose to resign the government to him, and pass the remainder of my days in the satisfaction of seeing him reign. i have borne the fatigue of a crown till i am weary of it, and think it is now proper for me to retire." the grand vizier declined offering all the reasons he could have alleged to dissuade the sultan from such a proceeding; on the contrary, he appeared to acquiesce with him in his opinion. "sir," replied he, "the prince is yet but young, and it would not, in my humble opinion, be advisable to burden him with the weight of a crown so soon. your majesty fears, with great reason, his youth may be corrupted by indolence: but to avoid this danger, do not you think it would be proper to marry him? marriage forms attachment, and prevents dissipation. your majesty might then admit him of your council, where he would learn by degrees the art of reigning; and so be prepared to receive your authority, whenever by your own experience you shall think him qualified." shaw zummaun approved the advice of his prime minister; and summoned the prince to appear before him, at the same time that he dismissed the grand vizier. the prince, who had been accustomed to see his father only at certain times without being sent for, was a little startled at this summons; when, therefore, he came into his presence, he saluted him with great respect, and stood with his eyes fixed on the ground. the sultan perceiving his constraint, addressed him with great mildness, "do you know, son, for what reason i have sent for you?" the prince modestly replied, "god alone knows the heart: i shall hear it from your majesty with pleasure." "i sent for you," resumed the sultan, "to inform you that it is my intention to provide a proper marriage for you: what do you think of my design?" the prince heard this with great uneasiness: he was greatly agitated, and knew not what answer to make. after a few moments silence, he replied, "sir, i beseech you to pardon me if i seem surprised at the declaration you have made. i did not expect such proposals at my present age. i know not whether i could prevail on myself to marry, on account of the trouble incident to a married life, and the many treacheries of women, which i have read of. i may not be always of the same mind, yet i conceive it will require time to determine on what your majesty requires of me." the prince's answer extremely afflicted his father. he was not a little grieved to discover his aversion to marriage; yet would not charge him with disobedience, nor exert his paternal authority. he contented himself with telling him, he would not force his inclinations, but give him time to consider of the proposal; and reflect, that a prince destined to govern a great kingdom ought to take some care to leave a successor; and that in giving himself that satisfaction he communicated it to his father, who would be glad to see himself revive in his son and his issue. shaw zummaun said no more to the prince but admitted him into his council, and gave him every reason to be satisfied. at the end of the year he took him aside, and said to him; "my son, have you thoroughly considered what i proposed to you last year about marrying? will you still refuse me that pleasure i expect from your obedience, and suffer me to die without affording me that satisfaction?" the prince seemed less disconcerted than before; and was not long answering his father to this effect: "sir, i have not neglected to consider of your proposal; but after the maturest reflection find myself more confirmed in my resolution to continue in a state of celibacy. the infinite mischief which women have caused in the world, and which are on record in our histories, and the accounts i daily hear to their disadvantage, are the motives which powerfully influence me against having any thing to do with them; so that i hope your majesty will pardon me if i presume to tell you, it will be in vain to solicit me any further upon this subject." as soon as he had thus spoken, he quitted the sultan abruptly without waiting his answer. any monarch but shaw zummaun would have been angry at such freedom in a son, and would have made him repent; but he loved him, and preferred gentle methods before he proceeded to compulsion. he communicated this new cause of discontent to his prime minister. "i have followed your advice," said he, "but kummir al zummaun is farther than ever from complying with my desires. he delivered his determination in such free terms, that it required all my reason and moderation to keep my temper. fathers who so earnestly desire children as i did this son are fools, who seek to deprive themselves of that rest which it is in their own power to enjoy without control. tell me, i beseech you, how i shall reclaim a disposition so rebellious to my will?" "sir," answered the grand vizier, "patience brings many things about that before seemed impracticable; but it may be this affair is of a nature not likely to succeed that way. your majesty will have no cause to reproach yourself for precipitation, if you would give the prince another year to consider your proposal. if in this interval he return to his duty, you will have the greater satisfaction, as you will have employed only paternal love to induce him; and if he still continue averse when this is expired, your majesty may in full council observe, that it is highly necessary for the good of the state that he should marry; and it is not likely he will refuse to comply before so grave an assembly, which you honour with your presence." the sultan, who so anxiously desired to see his son married, thought this long delay an age; however, though with much difficulty, he yielded to his grand vizier's reasons, which he could not disapprove. after the grand vizier was gone, the sultan went to the apartment of the mother of prince kummir al zummaun, to whom he had often expressed his desire to see the prince married. when he had told her, with much concern, how his son had a second time refused to comply with his wishes, and the indulgence which, by the advice of his grand vizier, he was inclined to shew him; he said, "i know he has more confidence in you than he has in me, and will be more likely to attend to your advice. i therefore desire you would take an opportunity to talk to him seriously, and urge upon him, that if he persists in his obstinacy, he will oblige me to have recourse to measures which would be disagreeable to me, and which would give him cause to repent having disobeyed me." fatima, for so was the lady called, told the prince the first time she saw him, that she had been informed of his second refusal to marry; and how much chagrin his resolution had occasioned his father. "madam," replied the prince, "i beseech you not to renew my grief upon that head. i fear, under my present uneasiness, something may escape me, which may not be consistent with the respect i owe you." fatima judged from this answer that this was not a proper time to speak to him, and therefore deferred what she had to say to another opportunity. some considerable time after, fatima thought she had found a more favourable season, which gave her hopes of being heard upon that subject. "son," said she, "i beg of you, if it be not disagreeable, to tell me what reason you have for your great aversion to marriage? if it be the wickedness of some women, nothing can be more unreasonable and weak. i will not undertake the defence of those that are bad; there are a great number of them undoubtedly; but it would be the height of injustice on their account to condemn all the sex. alas! my son, you have in your books read of many bad women, who have occasioned great mischief, and i will not excuse them: but you do not consider how many monarchs, sultans, and other princes there have been in the world, whose tyrannies, barbarities, and cruelties astonish those that read of them, as well as myself. now, for one wicked woman, you will meet with a thousand tyrants and barbarians; and what torment do you think must a good woman undergo, who is matched with any of these wretches?" "madam," replied the prince, "i doubt not there are a great number of wise, virtuous, good, affable, and well-behaved women in the world; would to god they all resembled you! but what deters me is, the hazardous choice a man is obliged to make, and oftentimes one has not the liberty of following his inclination. "let us suppose then, madam," continued he, "that i had a mind to marry, as the sultan my father so earnestly desires; what wife, think you, would he be likely to provide for me? probably a princess whom he would demand of some neighbouring prince, and who would think it an honour done him to send her. handsome or ugly, she must be taken; nay, suppose no other princess excelled her in beauty, who can be certain that her temper would be good; that she would be affable, complaisant, easy, obliging, and the like? that her conversation would generally turn on solid subjects, and not on dress, fashions, ornaments, and a thousand such fooleries, which would disgust any man of sense? in a word, that she would not be haughty, proud, arrogant, impertinent, scornful, and waste an estate in frivolous expenses, such as gay clothes, jewels, toys, and foolish mistaken magnificence? "you see, madam," continued he, "by one single article, how many reasons a man may have to be disgusted at marriage. let this princess be ever so perfect, accomplished, and irreproachable in her conduct, i have yet a great many more reasons not to alter my opinion and resolution." "what, son," exclaimed fatima; "have you then more reasons after those you have already alleged? i do not doubt of being able to answer them, and stop your mouth with a word." "you may proceed, madam," returned the prince, "and perhaps i may find a reply to your answer." "i mean, son," said fatima, "that it is easy for a prince, who has had the misfortune to marry such a wife as you describe, to get rid of her, and take care that she may not ruin the state." "ah, madam," replied the prince, "but you do not consider what a mortification it would be to a person of my quality to be obliged to come to such an extremity. would it not have been more for his honour and quiet that he had never run such a risk?" "but, son," said fatima once more, "as you take the case, i apprehend you have a mind to be the last king of your race, who have reigned so long and gloriously over the isles of the children of khaledan?" "madam," replied the prince, "for myself i do not desire to survive the king my father; and if i should die before him, it would be no great matter of wonder, since so many children have died before their parents. but it is always glorious to a race of kings, that it should end with a prince worthy to be so, as i should endeavour to make myself like my predecessors, and like the first of our race." from that time fatima had frequent conferences with her son the prince on the same subject; and she omitted no opportunity or argument to endeavour to root out his aversion to the fair sex; but he eluded all her reasonings by such arguments as she could not well answer, and continued unaltered. the year expired, and, to the great regret of the sultan, prince kummir al zummaun gave not the least proof of having changed his sentiments. one day, therefore, when there was a great council held, the prime vizier, the other viziers, the principal officers of the crown, and the generals of the army being present, the sultan thus addressed the prince: "my son, it is now a long while since i expressed to you my earnest desire to see you married, and i imagined you would have had more complaisance for a father, who required nothing unreasonable of you, than to oppose him so long. but after such a resistance on your part, which has almost worn out my patience, i have thought fit to propose the same thing once more to you in the presence of my council. it is not merely to oblige a parent that you ought to have acceded to my wish, the well-being of my dominions requires your compliance, and this assembly join with me in expecting it: declare yourself, then; that your answer may regulate my proceedings." the prince answered with so little reserve, or rather with so much warmth, that the sultan, enraged to see himself thwarted by him in full council, exclaimed, "how, unnatural son! have you the insolence to talk thus to your father and sultan?" he ordered the guards to take him away, and carry him to an old tower that had been long unoccupied; where he was shut up, with only a bed, a little furniture, some books, and one slave to attend him. kummir al zummaun, thus deprived of liberty, was nevertheless pleased that he had the freedom to converse with his books, which made him regard his confinement with indifference. in the evening he bathed and said his prayers; and after having read some chapters in the koraun, with the same tranquillity of mind as if he had been in the sultan's palace, he undressed himself and went to bed, leaving his lamp burning by him while he slept. in this tower was a well, which served in the daytime for a retreat to a certain fairy, named maimoune, daughter of damriat, king or head of a legion of genies. it was about midnight when maimoune sprung lightly to the mouth of the well, to wander about the world after her wonted custom, where her curiosity led her. she was surprised to see a light in the prince's chamber. she entered, and without stopping at the slave who lay at the door, approached the bed. the prince had but half covered his face with the bed-clothes, which maimoune lifted up, and perceived the finest young man she had ever seen in her rambles through the world. "what beauty, or rather what prodigy of beauty," said she within herself, "must this youth appear, when the eyes, concealed by such well-formed eyelids, shall be open? what crime can he have committed, that a man of his high rank can deserve to be treated thus rigorously?" for she had already heard his story, and could hardly believe it. she could not forbear admiring the prince, till at length having kissed him gently on both cheeks, and in the middle of the forehead, without waking him, she laid the bed-clothes in the order they were in before, and took her flight into the air. as she was ascending into the middle region, she heard a great flapping of wings, towards which she directed her course; and when she approached, she knew it was a genie who made the noise, but it was one of those that are rebellious against god. as for maimoune, she belonged to that class whom the great solomon had compelled to acknowledge him. this genie, whose name was danhasch, and son of schamhourasch, knew maimoune, and was seized with fear, being sensible how much power she had over him by her submission to the almighty. he would fain have avoided her, but she was so near him, he must either fight or yield. he therefore broke silence first. "brave maimoune," said he, in the tone of a suppliant, "swear to me in the name of the great god, that you will not hurt me; and i swear also on my part not to do you any harm." "cursed genie," replied maimoune, "what hurt canst thou do me? i fear thee not; but i will grant thee this favour; i will swear not to do thee any harm. tell me then, wandering spirit, whence thou comest, what thou hast seen, and what thou hast done this night?" "fair lady," answered danhasch, "you meet me in a good time to hear something very wonderful." danhasch, the genie rebellious against god, proceeded and said to maimoune, "since you desire, i will inform you that i have come from the utmost limits of china, which comprise the remotest islands of this hemisphere. . . . . but, charming maimoune," said danhasch, who trembled with fear at the sight of this fairy, so that he could hardly speak, "promise me at least you will forgive me, and let me proceed after i have satisfied your request." "go on, cursed spirit," replied maimoune; "go on, and fear nothing. dost thou think i am as perfidious as thyself, and capable of breaking the solemn oath i have made? be sure you relate nothing but what is true, or i shall clip thy wings, and treat thee as thou deserves." danhasch, a little encouraged by the words of maimoune, said, "my dear lady, i will tell you nothing but what is strictly true, if you will but have the goodness to hear me. the country of china, from whence i come, is one of the largest and most powerful kingdoms of the earth, on which depend the remotest islands of this hemisphere, as i have already told you. the king of this country is at present gaiour, who has an only daughter, the finest woman that ever was seen in the world since it has been a world. neither you nor i, neither your class nor mine, nor all our respective genies, have expressions forcible enough, nor eloquence sufficient to convey an adequate description of her charms. her hair is brown, and of such length as to trail on the ground; and so thick, that when she has fastened it in buckles on her head, it may be fitly compared to one of those fine clusters of grapes whose fruit is so very large. her forehead is as smooth as the best polished mirror, and admirably formed. her eyes are black, sparkling, and full of fire. her nose is neither too long nor too short, and her mouth small and of a vermilion colour. her teeth are like two rows of pearls, and surpass the finest in whiteness. when she moves her tongue to speak, she utters a sweet and most agreeable voice; and expresses herself in such terms, as sufficiently indicate the vivacity of her wit. the whitest alabaster is not fairer than her neck. in a word, by this imperfect sketch, you may guess there is no beauty likely to exceed her in the world. "any one that did not know the king, the father of this incomparable princess, would be apt to imagine, from the great respect and kindness he shews her, that he was enamoured with her. never did a lover more for the most beloved mistress than he has been seen to do for her. the most violent jealousy never suggested such measures as his care has led him to adopt, to keep her from every one but the man who is to marry her: and that the retreat in which he has resolved to place her may not seem irksome, he has built for her seven palaces, the most extraordinary and magnificent that ever were known. "the first palace is of rock crystal, the second of brass, the third of fine steel, the fourth of another kind of brass more valuable than the former and also than steel, the fifth of touchstone, the sixth of silver, and the seventh of massive gold. he has furnished these palaces most sumptuously, each in a manner corresponding to the materials of the structure. he has embellished the gardens with parterres of grass and flowers, intermixed with pieces of water, water-works, jets d'eau, canals, cascades, and several great groves of trees, where the eye is lost in the perspective, and where the sun never enters, and all differently arranged. king gaiour, in a word, has shewn that his paternal love has led him to spare no expense. "upon the fame of this incomparable princess's beauty, the most powerful neighbouring kings have sent ambassadors to solicit her in marriage. the king of china received them all in the same obliging manner; but as he resolved not to marry his daughter without her consent, and she did not like any of the parties, the ambassadors were forced to return as they came, as to the subject of their embassy; they were perfectly satisfied with the great honours and civilities they had received. "'sir,' said the princess to the king her father, 'you have an inclination to see me married, and think to oblige me by it; but where shall i find such stately palaces and delicious gardens as are furnished me by your majesty? through your good pleasure i am under no constraint, and have the same honours shewn to me as are paid to yourself. these are advantages i cannot expect to find any where else, whoever may be my husband; men love to be masters, and i have no inclination to be commanded.' "after several other embassies on the same occasion, there arrived one from a king more opulent and powerful than any of the preceding. this prince the king of china recommended to his daughter for her husband, urging many forcible arguments to shew how much it would be to her advantage to accept him, but she entreated her father to excuse her compliance for the reasons she had before urged. he pressed her; but instead of consenting, she lost all the respect due to the king her father: 'sir,' said she, in anger, 'talk to me no more of this or any other match, unless you would have me plunge this dagger in my bosom, to deliver myself from your importunities.' "the king, greatly enraged, said, 'daughter, you are mad, and i must treat you accordingly.' in a word, he had her shut up in a single apartment of one of his palaces, and allowed her only ten old women to wait upon her, and keep her company, the chief of whom had been her nurse that the kings his neighbours, who had sent embassies to him on her account, might not think any more of her, he despatched envoys to them severally, to let them know how averse his daughter was to marriage; and as he did not doubt but she was really mad, he charged them to make known in every court, that if there were any physician that would undertake to cure her, he should, if he succeeded, have her for his pains. "fair maimoune," continued danhasch, "all that i have told you is true; and i have gone every day regularly to contemplate this incomparable beauty, to whom i would be sorry to do the least harm, notwithstanding my natural inclination to mischief. come and see her, i conjure you; it would be well worth your while. when you have seen from your own observation that i am no liar, i am persuaded you will think yourself obliged to me for the sight of a princess unequalled in beauty." instead of answering danhasch, maimoune burst out into violent laughter, which lasted for some time; and danhasch, not knowing what might be the occasion of it, was astonished beyond measure. when she had done laughing, she exclaimed, "good, good, very good! you would have me then believe all you have told me? i thought you designed to tell me something surprising and extraordinary, and you have been talking all this while of a mad woman. fie, fie! what would you say, cursed genie, if you had seen the beautiful prince from whom i am just come, and whom i love as he deserves. i am confident you would soon give up the contest, and not pretend to compare your choice with mine." "agreeable maimoune," replied danhasch, "may i presume to ask who this prince you speak of is?" "know," answered maimoune, "the same thing has happened to him as to your princess. the king his father would have married him against his will; but after much importunity, he frankly told him he would have nothing to do with a wife. for this reason he is at this moment imprisoned in an old tower where i reside." "i will not absolutely contradict you," replied danhasch; "but, my pretty lady, you must give me leave to be of opinion, till i have seen your prince, that no mortal upon earth can equal my princess in beauty." "hold thy tongue, cursed sprite," replied maimoune. "i tell thee once more thou art wrong." "i will not contend with you," said danhasch, "but the way to be convinced, whether what i say be true or false, is to accept of my proposal to go and see my princess, and after that i will go with you to your prince." "there is no need i should be at so much trouble," replied maimoune; "there is another way to satisfy us both; and that is, for you to bring your princess, and place her at my prince's bed-side: by this means it will be easy for us to compare them together, and determine the dispute." danhasch consented, and determined to set out immediately for china. but maimoune drew him aside, and told him, she must first shew him the tower whither he was to bring the princess. they flew together to the tower, and when maimoune had strewn it to danhasch, she cried, "go fetch your princess, and do it quickly, you will find me here." danhasch left maimoune, and flew towards china, whence he soon returned with incredible speed, bringing the fair princess along with him asleep. maimoune received him, and introduced him into the chamber of kummir al zummaun, where they placed the princess by the prince's side. when the prince and princess were thus laid together, there arose a sharp contest between the genie and the fairy about the preference of their beauty. they were some time admiring and comparing them without speaking; at length danhasch said to maimoune, "you see, and i have already told you, my princess was handsomer than your prince; now, i hope, you are convinced." "how! convinced!" replied maimoune; "i am not convinced, and you must be blind, if you cannot see that my prince excels in the comparison. that the princess is fair, i do not deny; but if you compare them together without prejudice, you will soon see the difference." "how much soever i may compare them," returned danhasch, "i shall never change my opinion. i saw at first sight what i now behold, and time will not make me see differently: however, this shall not hinder my yielding to you, charming maimoune, if you desire it." "what! have you yield to me as a favour! i scorn it," said maimoune, "i would not receive a favour at the hand of such a wicked genie. i will refer the matter to an umpire, and if you do not consent, i shall win by your refusal." danhasch, who was ready to have shewn a different kind of complaisance, no sooner gave his consent, than maimoune stamped with her foot. the earth opened, and out came a hideous, hump-backed, squinting, and lame genie, with six horns upon his head, and claws on his hands and feet. as soon as he was come out, and the earth had closed, perceiving maimoune, he threw himself at her feet, and then rising on one knee, inquired her commands. "rise, caschcasch," said maimoune, "i brought you hither to determine a difference between me and this cursed danhasch. look on that bed, and tell me without partiality who is the handsomer of those two that lie there asleep, the young man or the young lady." caschcasch looked on the prince and princess with great attention, admiration, and surprise; and after he had considered them a good while, without being able to determine, he turned to maimoune, and said, "madam, i must confess i should deceive you, and betray myself, if i pretended to say one was handsomer than the other. the more i examine them, the more clearly it appears to me each possesses, in a sovereign degree, the beauty of which both partake. neither of them appears to have the least defect, to yield to the other the palm of superiority; but if there be any difference, the best way to determine it is, to awaken them one after the other, and to agree that the person who shall express most love for the other by ardour, eagerness, and passion, shall be deemed to have in some respect less beauty." this proposal of caschcasch's pleased both maimoune and danhasch. maimoune then changed herself into a flea, and leaping on the prince's neck, stung him so smartly, that he awoke, and put up his hand to the place; but maimoune skipped away, and resumed her pristine form, which, like those of the two genies, was invisible, the better to observe what he would do. in drawing back his hand, the prince chanced to let it fall on that of the princess of china. he opened his eyes, and was exceedingly surprised to find lying by him a lady of the greatest beauty. he raised his head, and leaned on his elbow, the better to observe her. her blooming youth and incomparable beauty fired him in a moment with a flame of which he had never yet been sensible, and from which he had hitherto guarded himself with the greatest attention. love seized on his heart in the most lively manner, and he exclaimed, "what beauty! what charms! my heart! my soul!" as he spoke he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and her mouth with so little caution, that he would have awakened her, had she not slept sounder than ordinary, through the enchantment of danhasch. "how!" said the prince, "do you not awake at these testimonies of love?" he was going to awake her, but suddenly refrained. "is not this she," said he, "that the sultan my father would have had me marry? he was in the wrong not to let me see her sooner. i should not have offended him by my disobedience and passionate language to him in public, and he would have spared himself the confusion which i have occasioned him." the prince began to repent sincerely of the fault he had committed, and was once more on the point of awaking the princess of china. "it may be," said he, "that the sultan my father has a mind to surprise me; and has sent this young lady to try if i had really that aversion to marriage which i pretended. who knows but he has brought her himself, and is hidden behind the hangings, to observe me, and make me ashamed of my dissimulation? the second fault would be greater than the first. at all events, i will content myself with this ring, as a remembrance of her." he then gently drew off a ring which the princess had on her finger, and immediately replaced it with one of his own. after this he fell into a more profound sleep than before, through the enchantment of the genies. danhasch now transformed himself into a flea in his turn, and bit the princess so rudely on the lip, that she awoke, started up, and on opening her eyes, was not a little surprised to see a man lying by her side. from surprise she proceeded to admiration, and from admiration to a transport of joy, at beholding so beautiful and lovely a youth. "what!" cried she, "is it you the king my father has designed me for a husband? would that i had known it, for then i should not have displeased him, nor been deprived of a husband whom i cannot forbear loving. wake then, awake!" so saying, she took the prince by the arm, and shook him so violently, that he would have awaked, had not maimoune increased his sleep by her enchantment. she shook him several times, and finding he did not awake, exclaimed, "what is come to thee? what jealous rival, envying thy happiness and mine, has had recourse to magic to throw thee into this unconquerable drowsiness when thou shouldst be most awake?" tired at length with her fruitless endeavours to awaken the prince; "since," said she, "i find it is not in my power to awake thee, i will no longer disturb thy repose, but wait our next meeting." after having kissed his cheek, she lay down and fell asleep by enchantment. maimoune now cried out to danhasch, "ah, cursed genie, art thou not now convinced how much thy princess is inferior to my prince? another time believe me when i assert any thing." then turning to caschcasch, "as for you," said she, "i thank you for your trouble; take the princess, in conjunction with danhasch, and convey her back again to her bed, from whence he has taken her." danhasch and caschcasch did as they were commanded, and maimoune retired to her well. kummir al zummaun on waking next morning, looked if the lady whom he had seen the night before were by him. when he found she was gone, he cried out, "i thought indeed this was a trick the king my father designed to play me. i am glad i was aware of it." he then awaked the slave, who was still asleep, and after he had washed and said his prayers, took a book and read some time. after these usual exercises, he called the slave, and said to him, "come hither, and be sure you do not tell me a lie. how came the lady hither who lay with me to-night, and who brought her?" "my lord," answered the slave with great astonishment, "i know not what lady your highness speaks of." "i speak," said the prince, "of her who came, or rather was brought hither, and lay with me to-night." "my lord," replied the slave, "i swear i know of no such lady; and how should she come in without my knowledge, since i lay at the door?" "you are a lying knave," replied the prince, "and in the plot to vex and provoke me." he then gave him a box on the ear, which knocked him down; and after having stamped upon him for some time, he tied the well-rope under his arms, and plunged him several times into the water, neck and heels. "i will drown thee," cried he, "if thou dost not tell me directly who this lady was, and who brought her." the slave, perplexed and half dead, said within himself, "the prince must have lost his senses through grief, and i shall not escape if i do not tell him a falsehood. my lord," cried he, in a suppliant tone, "i beseech your highness to spare my life, and i will tell you the truth." the prince drew the slave up, and pressed him to tell him. as soon as he was out of the well, "my lord," said he, trembling, "your highness must perceive it is impossible for me to satisfy you in my present condition; i beg you to give me leave first to go and change my clothes." "i permit you, but do it quickly," said the prince; "and be sure you conceal nothing." the slave went out, and having locked the door upon the prince, ran to the palace just as he was. the king was at that time in discourse with his prime vizier, to whom he had just related the grief in which he had passed the night on account of his son's disobedience and opposition to his will. the minister endeavoured to comfort his master, by telling him, the prince himself had given him cause for his severity. "sir," said he, "your majesty need not repent of having treated your son in this manner. have but patience to let him continue a while in prison, and assure yourself his heat will abate, and he will submit to all you require." the grand vizier had but just done speaking when the slave came in, and cast himself at the feet of the sovereign. "my lord," said he, "i am sorry to be the messenger of ill news to your majesty, which i know must occasion you fresh affliction. the prince is distracted; he raves of a lady having lain with him all night, and his treatment of me, as you may see, too plainly proves the state of his mind." then he proceeded to relate the particulars of what the prince had said, and the violence with which he had been treated. the king, who did not expect to hear any thing of this afflicting kind, said to the prime minister, "this is a melancholy turn, very different from the hopes you gave me: go immediately and examine the condition of my son." the grand vizier obeyed; and coming into the prince's chamber, found him sitting on his bed with a book in his hand, which he was reading. after mutual salutations, the vizier said, "my lord, i wish that a slave of yours were punished for coming to alarm the king your father by news that he has brought him." "what is it," demanded the prince, "that could give my father so much uneasiness?" "prince," answered the vizier, "god forbid that the intelligence he has conveyed to your father concerning you should be true; indeed, i find it to be false, by the calm temper in which i observe you, and which i pray you to continue." "it may be," replied the prince, "he did not make himself well understood; but since you are come, who ought to know something of the matter, permit me to ask you who that lady was that lay with me last night?" the grand vizier was thunderstruck at this question; he recovered himself and said, "my lord, be not surprised at my astonishment at your question. is it possible, that a lady or any other person should penetrate by night into this place without entering at the door, and walking over the body of your slave? i beseech you, recollect yourself, and you will find it is only a dream which has made this impression on you." "i give no ear to what you say," replied the prince, raising his voice. "i must know from you absolutely what is become of the lady; and if you hesitate, i am in a place where i shall soon be able to force you to obey me." at this stern language, the grand vizier began to feel more alarmed than before, and to think how he could extricate himself. he endeavoured to pacify the prince, and begged of him, in the most humble and guarded manner, to tell him if he had seen this lady. "yes, yes," answered the prince, "i have seen her, and am very well satisfied you sent her here to tempt me. she played the part in which you had instructed her admirably well. she pretended to be asleep, and i had no sooner fallen into a slumber, than she arose and left me. you know all this; for i doubt not she has been to make her report to you." "my lord," replied the vizier, "i swear to you nothing of this kind has been acted; neither your father nor i sent this lady you speak of; permit me therefore once more to suggest to your highness, that you have only seen this lady in a dream." "do you come to affront and contradict me," said the prince in a rage, "and to tell me to my face, that what i have told you is a dream?" at the same time he took him by the beard, and loaded him with blows, as long as he could stand. the grand vizier endured with respectful patience all the violence of the prince's indignation, and could not help saying within himself, "now am i in as bad a condition as the slave, and shall think myself happy, if i can, like him, escape from any further danger." in the midst of repeated blows, he cried out but for a moment's audience, which the prince, after he had nearly tired himself with beating him, consented to give him. "i own, my prince," said the grand vizier dissembling, "there is something in what your highness suspects; but you cannot be ignorant of the necessity a minister is under to obey his royal master's commands: yet, if you will but be pleased to set me at liberty, i will go and tell him any thing on your behalf that you shall think fit to require." "go then," said the prince, "and tell him from me, if he pleases, i will marry the lady he sent me, or, rather, that was brought to me last night. do this immediately, and bring me a speedy answer." the grand vizier made a profound reverence and went away, not thinking himself altogether safe till he had got out of the tower, and had closed the door on the prince. he came and presented himself before shaw zummaun, with a countenance that sufficiently shewed he had been ill used, and which the king could not behold without concern. "well," said the king, "in what condition did you find my son?" "sir," answered the vizier, "what the slave reported to your majesty is but too true." he then began to relate his interview with the prince, how he flew into a passion upon his endeavouring to persuade him it was impossible the lady he spoke of should have been introduced; the ill treatment he had received from him; how he had used him, and by what means he had made his escape. the king, the more concerned as he loved the prince with excessive tenderness, resolved to find out the truth, and therefore proposed to go himself and see his son in the tower, accompanied by the grand vizier. the prince received his father in the tower, where he was confined, with great respect. the king put several questions to him, which he answered calmly. the king every now and then looked on the grand vizier, as intimating he did not find his son had lost his wits, but rather thought he had lost his. the king at length spoke of the lady to the prince. "my son," said he, "i desire you to tell me what lady it was who lay with you last night." "sir," answered the prince, "i beg of your majesty not to give me more vexation on that head, but rather to oblige me by letting me have her in marriage; whatever aversion i may hitherto have discovered for women, this young lady has charmed me to that degree, that i cannot help confessing my weakness. i am ready to receive her at your majesty's hands, with the deepest gratitude." shaw zummaun was surprised at this answer of the prince, so remote, as he thought, from the good sense he had strewn before. "my son," said he, "you fill me with the greatest astonishment by what you say: i swear to you i know nothing of the lady you mention; and if any such has come to you, it was without my knowledge or privily. but how could she get into this tower without my consent? for whatever my grand vizier told you, it was only to appease your anger, it must therefore be a mere dream; and i beg of you not to believe otherwise, but recover your senses." "sir," replied the prince, "i should be for ever unworthy of your majesty's favour, if i did not give entire credit to what you are pleased to say but i humbly beseech you at the same time to give a patient hearing to what i shall relate, and then to judge whether what i have the honour to tell you be a dream or not." the prince then related to his father how he had been awaked, exaggerating the beauty and charms of the lady he found by his side, the instantaneous love he conceived for her, and the pains he took to awaken her without effect. shewing the king the ring he had taken from her finger he added, "after this, i hope you will be convinced that i have not lost my senses, as you have been almost made to believe." shaw zummaun was so perfectly convinced of the truth of what his son had been telling him, that he could make no reply, remaining astonished for some time, and not being able to utter a syllable. the prince took advantage of this opportunity, and said, "the passion i have conceived for this charming lady, whose lovely image i bear continually in my mind, is so ardent, that i cannot resist it. i entreat you therefore to have compassion, and procure me the happiness of being united to her." "son," replied the king, "after what i have just heard, and what i see by the ring on your finger, i cannot doubt but that your passion is real, and that you have seen this lady, who is the object of it. would to god i knew who she was. i would instantly comply with your wishes, and should be the happiest father in the world! but where shall i seek her? how came she here, and by what conveyance, without my consent? why did she come to sleep with you only to display her beauty, to kindle a flame of love while she slept, and then leave you while you were in a slumber? these things, i must confess, i do not understand; and if heaven do not favour us in our perplexity, i fear we must both go down to the grave together." as he spoke, he took the prince by the hand, and said, "come then, my son, let us go and grieve together; you with hopeless love, and i with seeing your affliction, without being able to afford you relief." shaw zummaun then led his son out of the tower, and conveyed him to the palace, where he had no sooner arrived, than in despair at loving an unknown object he fell sick, and took to his bed; the king shut himself up with him, without attending to the affairs of his kingdom for many days. the prime minister, who was the only person that had admittance, at length informed him, that the whole court, and even the people, began to murmur at not seeing him, and that he did not administer justice every day as he was wont to do; adding, he knew not what disorder it might occasion. "i humbly beg your majesty, therefore," proceeded he, "to pay some attention. i am sensible your majesty's company is a great comfort to the prince, and that his tends to relieve your grief; but you must not run the risk of letting all be lost. permit me to propose to your majesty, to remove with the prince to the castle near the port, where you may give audience to your subjects twice a week only. during these absences the prince will be so agreeably amused with the beauty, prospect, and good air of the place, that he will bear them with the less uneasiness." the king approved this proposal: he removed thither with the prince; and, excepting when he gave audience, never left him, but passed all his time endeavouring to comfort him by sharing his distress. whilst matters passed thus in the capital of shaw zummaun, the two genies, danhasch and caschcasch, had carried the princess of china back to the palace where the king her father had confined her, and laid her in her bed as before. when she awoke next morning, and found that prince kummir al zummaun was not by her, she cried out in such a manner to her women, that she soon brought them to her bed. her nurse, who arrived first, desired to be informed if any thing disagreeable had happened to her. "tell me," said the princess, "what is become of the young man that has passed the night with me, and whom i love with all my soul?" "madam," replied the nurse, "we cannot understand your highness, unless you will be pleased to explain yourself." "a young man, the handsomest and most amiable," said the princess, "slept with me last night, whom, with all my caresses, i could not awake; i ask you where he is?"' "madam," answered the nurse, "your highness asks us these questions in jest. i beseech you to rise." "i am in earnest," said the princess, "and i must know where this young man is." "madam," insisted the nurse, "you were alone when you went to bed last night; and how any man could come to you without our knowledge we cannot imagine, for we all lay about the door of your chamber, which was locked, and i had the key in my pocket." at this the princess lost all patience, and taking her nurse by the hair of her head, and giving her two or three sound cuffs, cried, "you shall tell me where this young man is, you old sorceress, or i will put you to death." the nurse struggled to get from her, and at last succeeded. she went immediately with tears in her eyes, and her face all bloody, to complain to the queen, who was not a little surprised to see her in this condition, and asked who had misused her. "madam," began the nurse, "you see how the princess has treated me; she had certainly murdered me, if i had not had the good fortune to escape out of her hands." she then related what had been the cause of all that violent passion in the princess. the queen was surprised at her account, and could not guess how she came to be so infatuated as to take that for a reality which could be no other than a dream. "your majesty must conclude from all this," continued the nurse, "that the princess is out of her senses. you will think so yourself if you will go and see her." the queen's affection for the princess deeply interested her in what she heard; she ordered the nurse to follow her; and they immediately went together to the princess's palace. the queen of china sat down by her daughter's bed-side on her arrival in her apartment, and after she had informed herself about her health began to ask her what had made her so angry with her nurse, as to treat her in the manner she had done. "daughter," said she, "this is not right, and a great princess like you should not suffer herself to be so transported by passion." "madam," replied the princess, "i plainly perceive your majesty is come to mock me; but i declare i will never let you rest till you consent to my marrying the young man who lay with me last night. you must know where he is, and therefore i beg of your majesty to let him come to me again." "daughter," answered the queen, "you surprise me; i do not understand your meaning." the princess now forgot all respect for the queen; "madam," replied she, "the king my father and you have persecuted me about marrying, when i had no inclination; i now have an inclination, and i will have this young man i told you of for my husband, or i will destroy myself." the queen endeavoured to calm the princess by conciliatory language: "daughter," said she, "you know well you are guarded in this apartment, how then could any man come to you?" but instead of attending to her, the princess interrupted her, by such extravagancies as obliged the queen to leave her, and retire in great affliction, to inform the king of all that had passed. when the king had heard the account, he wished likewise to be satisfied in person, and coming to his daughter's apartment, asked her, if what he had been told was true? "sir," replied the princess, "let us talk no more of that; i only beseech your majesty to grant me the favour, that i may marry the young man i lay with last night." "what! daughter," said the king, "has any one lain with you last night?" "how, sir," replied the princess, without giving him time to go on, "do you ask me if any one lay with me last night? your majesty knows that but too well. he was the most beautiful youth the sun ever saw: i ask him of you for my husband; i entreat you do not refuse me. but that your majesty may not longer doubt whether i have seen this young man, whether he has lain with me, whether i have caressed him, or whether i did not my utmost to awake him without succeeding, see, if you please, this ring." she then reached forth her hand, and shewed the king a man's ring on her finger. the king was perplexed what to think. he had confined his daughter as mad, he began now to think her more insane than ever. without saying any thing more to her, lest she might do violence to herself or somebody about her, he had her chained, and confined more closely than before, allowing her only the nurse to wait on her, with a good guard at the door. the king, exceedingly concerned at this indisposition of his daughter, sought all possible means to effect her cure. he assembled his council, and after having acquainted them with her condition "if any of you," said he, "is capable of undertaking to restore her to health, and succeed, i will give her to him in marriage, and make him heir to my dominions." the desire of obtaining a handsome young princess, and the hopes of one day governing so great a kingdom as that of china, had a powerful effect on an emir, already advanced in years, who was present at this council. as he was well skilled in magic, he offered the king to recover his daughter, and flattered himself with success. "i consent to the trial," said the king; "but i forgot to tell you one condition, and that is, that if you do not succeed, you shall lose your head. it would not be reasonable you should have so great a reward, and yet run no risk: and what i say to you," continued the king, "i say to all others who shall come after you, that they may consider beforehand what they undertake." the emir accepted the condition, and the king conducted him to the princess's place of confinement. she covered her face as soon as she saw them enter, and exclaimed, "your majesty surprises me, in bringing with you a man whom i do not know, and by whom my religion forbids me to let myself be seen." "daughter," replied the king, "you need not be scandalized, it is only one of my emirs who is come to demand you in marriage." "it is not, i perceive, the person that you have already given me, and whose faith is plighted by the ring i wear," replied the princess; "be not offended that i will never marry any other." the emir expected the princess would have said or done some extravagant thing, and was not a little disappointed when he heard her talk so calmly and rationally; for he then concluded that her disease was nothing but a violent and deep-rooted passion. he therefore threw himself at his majesty's feet, and said, "after what i have heard and observed, sir, it will be to no purpose for me to think of curing the princess, since i have no remedies proper for her malady; for which reason i humbly submit my life to your majesty's pleasure." the king, enraged at his incapacity, and the trouble he had given him, caused him to be immediately beheaded. some days after, unwilling to have it said that he had neglected his daughter's cure, the king put forth a proclamation in his capital, importing, that if there were any physician, astrologer, or magician who would undertake to restore the princess to her senses, he needed only to offer himself, and he should be employed, on condition of losing his head if he failed. he had the same published in the other principal cities and towns of his dominions, and in the courts of the princes his neighbours. the first that presented himself was an astrologer and magician, whom the king caused to be conducted to the princess's prison by an eunuch. the astrologer drew forth, out of a bag he carried under his arm, an astrolabe, a small sphere, a chafing-dish, several sorts of drugs proper for fumigations, a brass pot, with many other articles, and desired he might have a fire. the princess demanded what all these preparations were for. "madam," answered the eunuch, "they are to exorcise the evil spirit that possesses you, to shut him up in this pot, and throw him into the sea." "foolish astrologer," replied the princess, "i have no occasion for any of your preparations, but am in my perfect senses, and you alone are mad. if your art can bring him i love to me, i shall be obliged to you; otherwise you may go about your business, for i have nothing to do with you." "madam," said the astrologer, "if your case be so, i shall desist from all endeavours, believing the king your father only can remove your disorder:" so putting up his trinkets again, he marched away, much concerned that he had so easily undertaken to cure an imaginary malady. the eunuch conducted the astrologer to the king, whom the astrologer thus addressed: "according to what your majesty published in your proclamation, and what you were pleased to confirm to me yourself, i thought the princess was insane, and depended on being able to recover her by the secrets i have long been acquainted with; but i soon found she had no other disease but that of love, over which my art has no power: your majesty alone is the physician who can cure her, by giving her in marriage the person whom she desires." the king was much enraged at the astrologer, and had his head instantly cut off. a hundred and fifty astrologers, physicians, and magicians, came on this account, who all underwent the same fate; and their heads were set upon poles on every gate of the city. the princess of china's nurse had a son whose name was marzavan, who had been foster-brother to the princess, and brought up with her, the friendship was so great during their childhood, and all the time they had been together, that as they grew up, even some time after their separation, they treated each other as brother and sister. marzavan, among other studies, had from his youth been much addicted to judicial astrology, geomancy, and the like secret arts, wherein he became exceedingly skilful. not satisfied with what he had learned from masters, he travelled, and there was hardly any person of note in any science or art, but he sought him in the most remote cities, to obtain information, so great was his thirst after knowledge. after several years' absence in foreign parts, he returned to the capital of his native country, where, seeing so many heads on the gate by which he entered, he was exceedingly surprised, and demanded for what reason they had been placed there; but he more particularly inquired after the princess his foster-sister. as he could not receive an answer to one inquiry without the other, he heard at length a general account of what had happened, and waited for further particulars till he could see his mother, the princess's nurse. although the nurse, the mother of marzavan, was much employed about the princess, yet she no sooner heard her son was returned, than she found time to come out, embrace him, and converse with him a little. having told him, with tears in her eyes, the unhappy condition of the princess, and for what reason the king her father had confined her; her son desired to know if she could not procure him a private view of her royal mistress, without the king's knowledge. after some pause, she told him she could give him no answer for the present; but if he would meet her the next day at the same hour, she would inform him. the nurse knowing none could approach the princess but herself; without leave of the eunuch, who commanded the guard at the gate, addressed: herself to him, and said, "you know i have brought up and suckled the princess, and you may likewise have heard that i had a daughter whom i brought up along with her. this daughter has been since married, yet the princess still does her the honour to love her, and wishes to see her, without any person's observing her enter or depart." the nurse was proceeding, but the eunuch interrupted her and exclaimed, "say no more, i will with pleasure do any thing to oblige the princess; go and fetch your daughter, or send for her about midnight, and the gate shall be open for you." as soon as it was dark, the nurse went to marzavan, and having dressed him so well in women's clothes, that nobody could suspect he was a man, carried him along with her; and the eunuch believing it was her daughter, admitted them. the nurse, before she presented marzavan, went to the princess, and said, "madam, this is not a woman i have brought to you, it is my son marzavan in disguise, newly arrived from his travels; having a great desire to kiss your hand, i hope your highness will vouchsafe him that honour." "what! my brother marzavan," exclaimed the princess, with great joy; "approach, and take off that veil; for it is not unreasonable that a brother and a sister should see each other without covering their faces." marzavan saluted her with profound respect, while, without giving him time to speak, she continued, "i rejoice to see you returned in good health, after so many years' absence, and without sending any account of your welfare, even to your good mother." "madam," replied marzavan, "i am infinitely obliged to your goodness. i hoped to have heard a better account of your health than has been given me, and which i lament to find confirmed by your appearance. it gives me pleasure, however, to have come so seasonably to bring your highness that remedy which your situation requires. should i reap no other benefit from my studies and travels, i should think myself amply recompensed." having thus spoken, marzavan drew out of his pocket a book and some other things, which from the account he had had from his mother of the princess's distemper, he thought he might want. the princess, observing these preparations, exclaimed, "what! brother, are you one of those who believe me mad? undeceive yourself, and hear me." the princess then related to marzavan all the particulars of her story, without omitting the least circumstance, even to the ring which was exchanged for hers, and which she shewed him. "i have not concealed the least incident from you," continued she; "there is something in this business which i cannot comprehend, and which has given occasion for some persons to think me mad. but no one will attend to the rest, which is literally as i have stated." after the princess had concluded, marzavan, filled with wonder and astonishment, remained for some time with his eyes fixed on the ground, without speaking a word; but at length he lifted up his head, and said, "if it be as your highness says, and which i do not in the least doubt, i do not despair of being able to procure you the gratification of your wishes. but i must first entreat your highness to arm yourself with patience, till i have travelled over kingdoms which i have not yet visited, and when you hear of my return, be assured the object of your desire is not far distant." having thus spoken, marzavan took leave of the princess, and set out the next morning on his intended travels. he journeyed from city to city, from province to province, and from island to island; and in every place he visited, he could hear of nothing but the princess badoura (which was the princess of china's name) and her history. about four months after, our traveller arrived at torf, a sea-port town, large and populous, where the theme was changed; he no more heard of the princess badoura, but all the talk was of prince kummir al zummaun, who was sick, and whose history greatly resembled hers. marzavan was extremely delighted on hearing this, and informed himself where the prince was to be found. there were two ways to it; one, by land and sea; the other, by sea only, which was the shortest. marzavan chose the latter; and embarking on board a merchant ship, arrived safely in sight of shaw zummaun's capital; but just before it entered the port, the ship struck upon a rock, by the unskilfulness of the pilot, and foundered: it went down in sight of the castle, where at that time were the king and his grand vizier. marzavan, who could swim well, immediately upon the ship's sinking cast himself into the sea, and got safe on shore under the castle, where he was soon relieved by the grand vizier's order. after he had changed his clothes, and been well treated, he was introduced to the grand vizier, who lead sent for him. marzavan being a young man of good address, the minister received him with great politeness; and was induced, from the just and pertinent answers he returned to the questions put to him, to regard him with great esteem. finding by degrees that he possessed great variety and extent of information, he said to him, "from what i can understand, i perceive you are no common man; you have travelled much: would to god you had discovered some remedy for a malady which has been long a source of great affliction at this court." marzavan replied, if he knew what malady it was, he might perhaps find a remedy applicable to it. the grand vizier then related to him the story of prince kummir al zummaun. he concealed nothing relating to his birth, which had been so earnestly desired, his education, the wish of the king his father to see him early married, his resistance and extraordinary aversion from marriage, his disobeying his father in full council, his imprisonment, his extravagancies in prison, which were afterwards changed into a violent passion for some unknown lady, who, he pretended, had exchanged a ring with him, though, for his part, he verily believed there was no such person in the world. marzavan gave great attention to all the grand vizier said, and was infinitely rejoiced to find that, by means of his shipwreck, he had so fortunately lighted on the person he was seeking. he saw no reason to doubt that the prince was the man whom the princess of china so ardently loved, and that this princess was equally the object of his passion. without explaining himself farther to the vizier, he desired to see the prince, that he might be better able to judge of his disorder and its cure. "follow me," said the grand vizier, "and you will find the king with him, who has already desired i should introduce you." on entering the prince's chamber, the first thing marzavan observed was the prince upon his bed languishing, and with his eyes shut. notwithstanding his condition, and regardless of the presence of the king his father, who was sitting by him, he could not avoid exclaiming, "heavens! was there ever a greater resemblance?" he meant to the princess of china; for it seems the princess and the prince were much alike. this exclamation of marzavan excited the prince's curiosity; he opened his eyes and looked at him. marzavan, who had a ready wit, seized that opportunity, and made his compliment in extempore verse; but in such a disguised manner, that neither the king nor the grand vizier under stood his meaning. he represented so exactly what had happened to him with the princess of china, that the prince had no reason to doubt he knew her, and could give him tidings of her. his countenance immediately brightened up with joy. after marzavan had finished his compliment in verse, which surprised kummir al zummaun so agreeably, the prince took the liberty of making a sign to the king his father, to give his place to marzavan, and allow him to sit by him. the king, overjoyed at this alteration, which inspired him with hopes of his son's speedy recovery, quitted his place, and taking marzavan by the hand, led him to it, obliging him to sit. he then demanded of him who he was, and whence he had come? and upon marzavan's answering he was a subject of china, and came from that kingdom, the king exclaimed, "heaven grant you may be able to recover my son from this profound melancholy; i shall be eternally obliged to you, and all the world shall see how handsomely i will reward you." having said thus, he left the prince to converse at full liberty with the stranger, whilst he went and rejoiced with the grand vizier on this happy incident. marzavan leaning down to the prince, addressed him in a low voice: "prince, it is time you should cease to grieve. the lady, for whom you suffer, is the princess badoura, daughter of gaiour, king of china. this i can assure your highness from what she has told me of her adventure, and what i have learned of yours. she has suffered no less on your account than you have on hers." here he related all that he knew of the princess's story, from the night of their extraordinary interview. he omitted not to acquaint him how the king had treated those who had failed in their endeavours to cure the princess of her indisposition. "but your highness is the only person," added he, "that can cure her effectually, and you may present yourself without fear. however, before you undertake so long a voyage, i would have you perfectly recovered, and then we will take what measures may be necessary. think then immediately of the recovery of your health." this account had a marvellous effect on the prince. the hopes of speedily fulfilling his desires so much relieved him, that he felt he had strength sufficient to rise, and begged permission of his father to dress himself, with such an air as gave him incredible pleasure. shaw zummaun, without inquiring into the means he had used to produce this wonderful effect, could not refrain from embracing marzavan, and soon after went out of the prince's chamber with the grand vizier, to publish the agreeable tidings. he ordered public rejoicings for several days together, gave great largesses to his officers and the people, and alms to the poor, and caused the prisoners to be set at liberty throughout his kingdom the joy was soon general in the capital, and in every part of his dominions. kummir al zummaun, though extremely weakened by almost continual privation of sleep and long abstinence, soon recovered his health. when he found himself in a condition to undertake the voyage, he took marzavan aside, and said, "dear marzavan, it is now time to perform the promise you have made me. my impatience to behold the charming princess, and to relieve her of the torments she is now suffering on my account, is such, that if we do not shortly depart, i shall relapse into my former indisposition. one thing still afflicts me," continued he, "and that is the difficulty i shall find, from his tender affection for me, to obtain my father's permission to travel into a distant country. you observe he scarcely allows me to be a moment out of his sight." at these words the prince wept. marzavan then replied, "i foresaw this difficulty, and i will take care it shall not obstruct us. my principal design in this voyage was to cure the princess of china of her malady, and this on account of the mutual affection which we have borne to each other from our birth, as well as from the zeal and affection i otherwise owe her. i should therefore be wanting in my duty to her, if i did not use my best endeavours to effect her cure and yours. this is then the mode i have devised to obtain the king your father's consent. you have not stirred abroad for some time, therefore request his permission to go upon a hunting party with me. he will no doubt comply. when you have obtained his leave, obtain two fleet coursers for each of us to be got ready, one to mount, the other to change, and leave the rest to me." the following day the prince did as he had been instructed. he acquainted the king he was desirous of taking the air, and, if he pleased, would go and hunt for two or three days with marzavan. the king gave his consent, but wished him not to be absent more than one night, since too much exercise at first might impair his health and a longer absence would make him uneasy. he then ordered him to choose the best horses in the royal stable, and took particular care that nothing should be wanting for his accommodation. when all was ready, he embraced the prince, and having recommended to marzavan to be careful of him, he let him go. kummir al zummaun and marzavan were soon mounted, when, to amuse the two grooms who led the spare horses, they made as if they were going to hunt, and under this pretence got as far from the city and out of the high road as was possible. when night began to approach, they alighted at a caravanserai or inn, where they supped, and slept till about midnight; when marzavan awakened the prince, and desired his highness to let him have his dress, and to take another for himself, which was brought in his baggage. thus equipped, they mounted the fresh horses, and after marzavan had taken one of the grooms' horses by the bridle, they left the caravanserai. at day-break they found themselves in a forest, where four roads met. here marzavan, desiring the prince to wait for him a little, went into the wood. he then cut the throat of the groom's horse, and after having torn the suit which the prince had taken off, and besmeared it with blood, threw it into the highway. the prince inquired his reason for what he had done. he replied, he was sure that when the king his father found he did not return, and should learn that he had departed without the grooms, he would suspect something wrong, and immediately send in quest of them, "they who may come this way, finding this bloody habit, will conclude you are devoured by wild beasts, and that i have escaped to avoid the king's anger. the king, concluding you are dead, will stop further pursuit, and we may have leisure to continue our journey without fear of being followed." "i must confess," continued marzavan, "it is a violent way of proceeding, to alarm a fond father with the death of his son, but his joy will be the greater when he shall hear you are alive and happy." "breve marzavan," replied the prince, "i cannot but approve such an ingenious stratagem, or sufficiently admire your conduct: you place me under fresh obligations to you." the prince and marzavan being well provided for their expenses, continued their journey both by land and sea, and found no other obstacle but the length of the time which it necessarily took up. they arrived at length at the capital of china, where marzavan, instead of going to his house, carried the prince to a public inn. they remained there incognito three days, to rest themselves after the fatigue of the voyage; during which time marzavan caused an astrologer's habit to be made for the prince. the three days being expired, they went together to the bath, where the prince put on his astrologer's dress: from thence marzavan conducted him to the neighbourhood of the king of china's palace, where he left him, to go and inform his mother of his arrival. kummir al zummaun, instructed by marzavan what he was to do, came next morning to the gate of the king's palace, and cried aloud, "i am an astrologer, and am come to cure the illustrious princess badoura, daughter of the most high and mighty monarch gaiour king of china, on the conditions proposed by his majesty, to marry her if i succeed, or else to lose my life for my fruitless and presumptuous attempt." besides the guards and porters at the gate, this incident drew together a great number of people about the prince. there had no physician, astrologer, or magician appeared for a long time on this account, being deterred by the many tragical examples of ill success that appeared before; it was therefore thought there remained no more of these professions in the world, or none so mad as those that had already forfeited their lives. the prince's appearance, his noble air, and blooming youth, made every one who saw him pity him. "what mean you, sir," said some that were nearest to him, "thus to expose a life of such promising expectations to certain death? cannot the heads you see on all the gates of this city deter you from such an undertaking? in the name of god consider what you do! abandon this rash attempt, and depart." the prince continued firm, notwithstanding all these remonstrances; and as he saw no one coming to introduce him, he repeated the same cry with a boldness that made every body tremble. they all then exclaimed, "let him alone, he is resolved to die; god have mercy on his youth and his soul!" he then proceeded to cry a third time in the same manner, when the grand vizier came in person, and introduced him to the king of china. as soon as the prince came into the presence, he bowed and kissed the ground. the king, who, among all that had hitherto presumptuously exposed their lives on this occasion, had not before seen one worthy of his attention, felt real compassion for kummir al zummaun, on account of the danger to which he exposed himself. "young man," said he, "i can hardly believe that at this age you can have acquired experience enough to dare attempt the cure of my daughter. i wish you may succeed, and would give her to you in marriage with all my heart, and with the greatest joy, more willingly than i should have done to others that have offered themselves before you; but i must declare to you at the same time, though with great concern, that if you fail, notwithstanding your noble appearance and your youth, you must lose your head." "sir," replied the prince, "i have infinite obligations to your majesty for the honour you design me, and the great goodness you shew to a stranger; but i desire your majesty to believe i would not have come from so remote a country as i have done, the name of which perhaps may be unknown in your dominions, if i had not been certain of the cure i propose. what would not the world say of my fickleness, if, after such great fatigues and so many dangers as i have undergone in the pursuit, i should abandon this generous enterprise? even your majesty would lose that esteem you have conceived for me. if i perish, i shall die with the satisfaction of not having forfeited your good opinion. i beseech your majesty therefore to keep me no longer from displaying the certainty of my art, by the proof i am ready to afford." the king now commanded the eunuch, who had the custody of the princess, to introduce kummir al zummaun into her apartment: but before he would let him go, reminded him once more that he was at liberty to renounce his design; but the prince paid no regard to this, and with astonishing resolution and eagerness followed the eunuch. when they had entered a long gallery, at the end of which was the princess's apartment, the prince, who saw himself so near the objets of his wishes, who had occasioned him so many tears, pushed on, and got before the eunuch. the eunuch redoubling his pace, with difficulty got up to him, "wither so fast?" cried he, taking him by the arm; "you cannot get in without me; and it should seem you have a great desire for death, thus to run to it headlong. not one of all those many astrologers and magicians i have introduced before made such haste as yourself, to a place whence i fear you will come but too soon." "friend," replied the prince, looking earnestly on the eunuch, and continuing his pace, "this was because none of the astrologers you speak of were so confident in their art as i am: they were certain indeed they should die, if they did not succeed, but they had no certainty of their success. on this account they had reason to tremble on approaching this spot, where i am sure to find my happiness." he had just spoken these words when he reached the door. the eunuch opened it, and introduced him into a great hall, whence was an entrance into the princess's apartment, divided from it only by a piece of tapestry. the prince stopped before he entered, speaking more softly to the eunuch for fear of being heard by the princess. "to convince you," said he; "there is neither presumption, nor whim, nor youthful conceit in my undertaking, i leave it to your choice whether i shall cure the princess in her presence, or where we are, without going any farther, or seeing her?" the eunuch was amazed to hear the prince talk to him with such confidence: he left off jeering, and said seriously to him, "it is no matter where it is done, provided it be effected: cure her how you will, if you succeed you will gain immortal honour, not only in this court, but over all the world." the prince replied, "it will be best then to cure her without seeing her, that you may be witness of my skill; notwithstanding my impatience to see a princess of her rank, who is to be my wife, yet out of respect to you, i will deprive myself of that pleasure for a little while." being furnished with every thing proper for an astrologer to carry about him, he took pen, ink, and paper our of his pocket, and wrote the following billet to the princess. "the impassioned kummir al zummaun cannot recite the inexpressible pain he has endured since that fatal night in which your charms deprived him of the liberty which he had resolved to preserve. he only tells you that he devoted his heart to you in your charming slumbers; those obstinate slumbers which hindered him from beholding the brightness of your piercing eyes, notwithstanding all his endeavours to oblige you to open them. he presumed to present you with his ring as a token of his passion; and to take yours in exchange, which he encloses. if you condescend to return his as a reciprocal pledge of love, he will esteem himself the happiest of mankind. if not, the sentence of death, which your refusal must draw upon him, will be received with resignation, since he will perish on account of his love for you." when the prince had finished his billet, he folded it up, and enclosed in it the princess's ring. "there, friend," said he to the eunuch, "carry this to your mistress; if it does not cure her as soon as she reads it, and sees what it contains, i give you leave to tell every body, that i am the most ignorant and impudent astrologer that ever existed." the eunuch entering the princess of china's apartment, gave her the packet, saying, "the boldest astrologer that ever lived is arrived here, and pretends, that on reading this letter and seeing what it encloses, you will be cured; i wish he may prove neither a liar nor an impostor." the princess badoura took the billet, and opened it with indifference: but when she saw the ring, she had not patience to read it through: she rose hastily, broke the chain that held her, ran to the door and opened it. they immediately recognized each other, tenderly embraced, and without being able to speak for excess of joy, looked at one another, wondering how they met again after their first interview. the princess's nurse, who ran to the door with her, made them come into her apartment, where the princess badoura gave the prince her ring, saying, "take it, i cannot keep it without restoring yours; which i will never part with; neither can it be in better hands." the eunuch went immediately to inform the king of china of what had happened: "sir," said he, "all the astrologers and doctors who have hitherto pretended to cure the princess were fools compared with the present. he made use neither of schemes nor conjurations, of perfumes, nor any thing else, but cured her without seeing her." the monarch was agreeably surprised at this intelligence, and going to the princess's apartment, he embraced her, and afterwards the prince, and taking his hand joined it to the princess's, saying, "happy stranger, whoever you are, i will keep my word, and give you my daughter for your wife; though, by what i see in you, it is impossible for me to believe you are really what you pretend, and would have me take you to be." kummir al zummaun thanked the king in the most humble expressions, that he might the better shew his gratitude. "as for my condition," said he, "i must own i am not an astrologer, as your majesty has guessed; i only put on the habit of one, that i might succeed the more easily in my ambition to be allied to the most potent monarch in the world. i was born a prince, and the son of a king and of a queen; my name is kummir al zummaun; my father is shaw zummaun, who now reigns over the islands that are well known by the name of the islands of the children of khaledan." he then related to him his history, and how wonderful had been the origin of his love; that the princess's was altogether as marvellous; and that both were confirmed by the exchange of the two rings. when the prince had done speaking, the king said to him, "this history is so extraordinary, it deserves to be known to posterity; i will take care it shall; and the original being deposited in my royal archives, i will spread copies of it abroad, that my own kingdoms and the kingdoms around me may know it." the marriage was solemnized the same day, and the rejoicings were universal all over the empire of china. nor was marzavan forgotten: the king gave him an honourable post in his court, and a promise of further advancement. the prince and princess enjoyed the fulness of their wishes in the sweets of marriage; and the king kept continual feastings for several months, to manifest his joy on the occasion. in the midst of these pleasures kummir al zummaun dreamt one night that he saw his father on his bed at the point of death, and heard him thus address his attendants: "my son, to whom i gave birth; my son, whom i so tenderly loved whom i bred with so much fondness, so much care, has abandoned me, and is himself the cause of my death." he awoke with a profound sigh, which alarmed the princess, who asked him the cause. "alas! my love," replied the prince, "perhaps at the very moment while i am speaking, the king my father is no more." he then acquainted her with his melancholy dream, which occasioned him so much uneasiness. the princess, who studied to please him in every thing, went to her father the next day, kissed his hand, and thus addressed him: "i have a favour to beg of your majesty, and i beseech you not to deny me; but that you may not believe i ask it at the solicitation of the prince my husband, i assure you beforehand he knows nothing of my request: it is, that you will grant me your permission to go with him and visit his father." "daughter," replied the king, "though i shall be sorry to part with you for so long a time as a journey to a place so distant will require, yet i cannot disapprove of your resolution; it is worthy of yourself: go, child, i give you leave, but on condition that you stay no longer than a year in shaw zummaun's court. i hope the king will agree to this, that we shall alternately see, he his son and his daughter-in-law, and i my daughter and my son-in-law." the princess communicated the king of china's consent to her husband, who was transported to receive it, and returned her thanks for this new token of her love. the king of china gave orders for preparations to be made for their departure; and when all things were ready, he accompanied the prince and princess several days' journey on their way; they parted at length with much affliction on both sides: the king embraced them; and having desired the prince to be kind to his daughter, and to love her always with the same tenderness he now did, he left them to proceed, and to divert himself, hunted as he returned to his capital. when the prince and princess had recovered from their grief, they comforted themselves with considering how glad shaw zummaun would be to see them, and how they should rejoice to see the king. after travelling about a month, they one day entered a plain of great extent, planted at convenient distances with tall trees, forming an agreeable shade. the day being unusually hot, the prince thought it best to encamp there, and proposed it to badoura, who, having the same wish, the more readily consented. they alighted in one of the finest spots; a tent was presently set up; the princess, rising from the shade under which she had sat down, entered it. the prince then ordered his attendants to pitch their tents, and went himself to give directions. the princess, weary with the fatigues of the journey, bade her women untie her girdle, which they laid down by her; and she falling asleep, they left her alone. kummir al zummaun having seen all things in order, came to the tent where the princess was sleeping: he entered, and sat down without making any noise, intending to repose himself; but observing the princess's girdle lying by her, he took it up, and looked at the diamonds and rubies one by one. in viewing it he observed a little purse hanging to it, sewed neatly on the stuff, and tied fast with a riband; he felt it, and found it contained something solid. desirous to know what it was, he opened the purse, and took out a cornelian, engraven with unknown figures and characters. "this cornelian," said the prince to himself, "must be something very valuable, or my princess would not carry it with so much care." it was badoura's talisman, which the queen of china had given her daughter as a charm, that would keep her, as she said, from any harm as long as she had it about her. the prince, the better to look at the talisman, took it out to the light, the tent being dark; and while he was holding it up in his hand, a bird darted down from the air and snatched it away from him. one will easily conceive the concern and grief of the prince, when he saw the bird fly away with the talisman. he was more troubled than words can express, and cursed his unseasonable curiosity, by which his dear princess had lost a treasure, that was so precious, and so valued by her. the bird having got its prize, settled on the ground not far off, with the talisman in its mouth. the prince drew near it, hoping it would drop it; but as he approached, the bird took wing, and settled again on the ground further off. kummir al zummaun followed, and the bird took a further flight: the prince being very dexterous at a mark, thought to kill it with a stone, and still pursued; the further it flew, the more eager he grew in pursuing, keeping it always in view. thus the bird drew him along from hill to valley, and valley to hill, all the day, every step leading him out of the way from the plain where he had left his camp and the princess badoura: and instead of perching at night on a bush, where he might probably have taken it, roosted on a high tree, safe from his pursuit. the prince, vexed to the heart at having taken so much pains to no purpose, thought of returning; "but," said he to himself, "which way shall i return? shall i go down the hills and valleys which i have passed overt' shall i wander in darkness? and will my strength bear me out? how shall i dare appear before my princess without her talisman?" overwhelmed with such thoughts, and tired with the pursuit, sleep came upon him, and he lay down under a tree, where he passed the night. he awoke the next morning before the bird had left the tree, and as soon as he saw it on the wing, followed it again the whole of that day, with no better success than he had done the last, eating nothing but herbs and fruits as he went. he did the same for ten days together, pursuing the bird, and keeping it in view from morning to night, lying always under the tree where it roosted. on the eleventh day, the bird continued flying, and kummir al zummaun pursuing it, came near a great city. when the bird had reached the walls, it flew over them, and the prince saw no more of it; so that he despaired of ever recovering the princess badoura's talisman. the prince, whose grief was beyond expression, went into the city, which was built on the seaside, and had a fine port; he walked up and down the streets without knowing where he was, or where to stop. at last he came to the port, in as great uncertainty as ever what he should do. walking along the shore, he perceived the gate of a garden open, and an old gardener at work in it; the good man looking up, saw he was a stranger and a moosulmaun, and asked him to come in, and shut the door after him. kummir al zummaun entered, and demanded of the gardener why he was so cautious? "because," replied the old man, "i see you are a stranger newly arrived; and this city is inhabited for the most part by idolaters, who have a mortal aversion to us moosulmauns, and treat a few of us that are here with great barbarity. i suppose you did not know this, and it is a miracle that you have escaped as you have thus far: these idolaters being very apt to fall upon strangers, or draw them into a snare. i bless god, who has brought you into a place of safety." kummir al zummaun thanked the honest gardener for his advice, and the security he offered him in his house; he would have said more, but the good man interrupted him, saying, "let us leave complimenting; you are weary, and must want to refresh yourself. come in, and rest." he conducted him into his little hut; and after the prince had eaten heartily of what he set before him, with a cordiality that charmed him, he requested him to relate how he had come there. the prince complied; and when he had finished his story, without concealing any part of it, asked him which was the nearest route to his father's territories; saying, "it is in vain for me to think of finding my princess where i left her, after wandering eleven days from the spot by so extraordinary an adventure. ah!" continued he, "how do i know she is alive?" and saying this, he burst into tears. the gardener replied, "there was no possibility of his going thither by land, the ways were so difficult, and the journey so long; besides, there was no accommodation for his subsistence; or, if there were, he must necessarily pass through the countries of so many barbarous nations, that he would never reach his father's. it was a year's journey from the city where he then was to any country inhabited only by moosulmauns; that the quickest passage for him would be to go to the isle of ebene, whence he might easily transport himself to the isles of the children of khaledan; that a ship sailed from the port every year to ebene, and he might take that opportunity of returning to those islands." "the ship departed," said he, "but a few days ago; if you had come a little sooner, you might have taken your passage in it. you must wait till it makes the voyage again, and if you will stay with me and accept of my house, such as it is, you shall be as welcome to it as to your own." the prince was glad he had met with such an asylum, in a place where he had no acquaintance. he accepted the offer, and lived with the gardener till the time arrived that the ship was to sail to the isle of ebene. he spent the interval in working by day in the garden, and passing the night in sighs, tears, and complaints, thinking of his dear princess badoura. we must leave him in this place, to return to the princess, whom we left asleep in her tent. the princess slept a long time, and when she awoke, wondered that the prince was not with her; she called her women, and asked if they knew where he was. they told her they saw him enter the tent, but did not see him go out. while they were talking to her, she took up her girdle, found her little purse open, and that the talisman was gone. she did not doubt but that the prince had taken it to see what it was, and that he would bring it back with him. she waited for him impatiently till night, and could not imagine what made him stay away from her so long. when it was quite dark, and she could hear no tidings of him, she fell into violent grief: she cursed the talisman, and him that made it; and, had not she been restrained by duty, would have cursed the queen her mother, who had given her such a fatal present. she was the more troubled, because she could not imagine how her talisman should have caused the prince's separation from her; she did not however lose her judgment, and came to a courageous resolution, not common with persons of her sex. only herself and her women knew of the prince's absence; for his men were reposing or asleep in their tents. the princess, fearing they would betray her, if they had any knowledge of this circumstance, moderated her grief, and forbade her women to say or do any thing that might create the least suspicion. she then laid aside her own habit, and put on one of kummir al zummaun's. she was so much like him, that the next day, when she came abroad, the male attendants took her for the prince. she commanded them to pack up their baggage and begin their march; and when all things were ready, she ordered one of her women to go into her litter, she herself mounting on horseback, and riding by her side. she travelled several months by land and sea; the princess continuing the journey under the name of kummir al zummaun. they touched at ebene in their way to the isles of the children of khaledan, and went to the capital of the island, where a king reigned, whose name was armanos. the persons who first landed, giving out that the ship carried prince kummir al zummaun, who was returning from a long voyage, and was forced in by a storm, the news of his arrival was soon carried to court. king armanos, accompanied by his courtiers' went immediately to wait on the prince, and met the princess just as she was landing, and going to the palace that had been prepared for her. he received her as the son of a king, who was his friend, and with whom he always kept up a good understanding: he conducted her to the palace, where an apartment was prepared for her and all her attendants; though she would fain have excused herself. he shewed her all possible honour, and entertained her three days together with extraordinary magnificence. at the end of this time king armanos understanding that the princess intended proceeding on her voyage, charmed with the air and qualities of such an accomplished prince, as he supposed her, took an opportunity when she was alone, and spoke to her in this manner: "you see, prince, that i am old, and to my great mortification have not a son to whom i may leave my crown. heaven has only blest me with one daughter, whose beauty cannot be better matched than with a prince of your rank and accomplishments. instead of going home, stay and accept my crown, which i will resign in your favour. it is time for me to rest, and nothing could be a greater pleasure to me in my retirement, than to see my people ruled by so worthy a successor to my throne." the king's offer to bestow his only daughter in marriage, and with her his kingdom, on the princess badoura, put her into unexpected perplexity. she thought it would not become a princess of her rank to undeceive the king, and to own that she was not prince kummir al zummaun, whose part she had hitherto acted so well. she was also afraid to decline the honour he offered her, lest, being so much bent upon the conclusion of the marriage, his kindness might turn to aversion, and he might attempt something even against her life. these considerations, added to the prospect of obtaining a kingdom for the prince her husband, in case she found him again, determined her to accept the proposal of king armanos, and marry his daughter. after having stood silent for some minutes, she with blushes, which the king took for a sign of modesty, answered, "i am infinitely obliged to your majesty for your good opinion of me, for the honour you do me, and the great favour you offer, which i cannot pretend to merit, and dare not refuse." "but," continued she, "i cannot accept this great alliance on any other condition, than that your majesty will assist me with your counsels, and that i do nothing without having first obtained your approbation." the marriage treaty being thus concluded, the ceremony was put off till the next day. in the mean time princess badoura gave notice to her officers, who still took her for their prince, of what she was about to do, that they might not be surprised, assuring them the princess badoura consented. she talked also to her women, and charged them to continue to keep the secret she had entrusted to them. the king of the isle of ebene, rejoicing that he had found a son-in-law so much to his satisfaction, next morning summoned his council, and acquainted them with his design of marrying his daughter to prince kummir al zummaun, whom he introduced to them, and told them he resigned the crown to him, and required them to acknowledge him for their king, and swear fealty to him. having said this, he descended from his throne, and the princess badoura, by his order, ascended it. as soon as the council broke up, the new king was proclaimed through the city, rejoicings were appointed for several days, and couriers despatched over all the kingdom, to see the same ceremonies observed with the usual demonstrations of joy. at night there were extraordinary feastings at the palace, and the princess haiatalnefous was conducted to the princess badoura, whom every body took for a man, dressed like a royal bride: the wedding was solemnized with the utmost splendour: they were left together, and retired to bed. in the morning, while the princess badoura went to receive the compliments of the nobility in the hall of audience, where they congratulated her on her marriage and accession to the throne, king armanos and his queen went to the apartment of their daughter to inquire after her health. instead of answering, she held down her head, and by her looks they saw plainly enough that she was disappointed. king armanos, to comfort the princess haiatalnefous, bade her not be troubled. "prince kummir al zummaun," said he, "when he landed here might think only of going to his father's court. though we have engaged him to stay by arguments, with which he ought to be well satisfied, yet it is probable he grieves at being so suddenly deprived of the hopes of seeing either his father or any of his family. you must wait till those first emotions of filial love are over; he will then conduct himself towards you as a good husband ought to do." the princess badoura, under the name and character of kummir al zummaun, the king of ebene, spent the whole day in receiving the compliments of the courtiers and the nobility of the kingdom who were in and about the city, and in reviewing the regular troops of her household; and entered on the administration of affairs with so much dignity and judgment, that she gained the general applause of all who were witnesses of her conduct. it was evening before she returned to queen haiatalnefous's apartment, and she perceived by the reception she gave her, that the bride was not at all pleased with the preceding night. she endeavoured to dissipate her grief by a long conversation, in which she employed all the wit she had (and she possessed a good share), to persuade her she loved her entirely. she then gave her time to go to bed, and while she was undressing she went to her devotions; her prayers were so long, that queen haiatalnefous was asleep before they were ended. she then left off, and lay down softly by the new queen, without waking her, and was as much afflicted at being forced to act a part which did not belong to her, as in the loss of her dear kummir al zummaun, for whom she: ceased not to sigh. she rose as soon as it was day, before haiatalnefous was awake; and, being dressed in her royal robes as king, went to council. king armanos, as he had done the day before, came early to visit the queen his daughter, whom he found in tears; he wanted nothing more to be informed of the cause of her trouble. provoked at the contempt, as he thought, put upon his daughter, of which he could not imagine the reason: "daughter," said he, "have patience for another night. i raised your husband to the throne, and can pull him down again, and drive him thence with shame, unless he shews you proper regard. his treatment of you has provoked me so much, i cannot tell to what my resentment may transport me; the affront is as great to me as to you." it was late again before the princess badoura came to queen haiatalnefous. she talked to her as she had done the night before, and after the same manner went to her devotions, desiring the queen to go to bed. but haiatalnefous would not be so served; she held her back, and obliged her to sit down. "tell me, i beseech you," said she, "what can you dislike in a princess of my youth and beauty, who not only loves but adores you, and thinks herself the happiest of women in having so amiable a prince for her husband. any body but me would be not merely offended but shocked by the slight, or rather the unpardonable affront you have put upon me, and abandon you to your evil destiny. however, though i did not love you so well as i do, yet out of pure good-nature and humanity, which makes me pity the misfortunes of persons for whom i am less concerned, i cannot forbear telling you, that the king my father is enraged against you for your behaviour towards me, and to-morrow will make you feel the weight of his just anger, if you continue to neglect me as you have hitherto done. do not therefore drive to despair a princess, who, notwithstanding all your ill usage, cannot help loving you." this address embarrassed the princess badoura inexpressibly. she did not doubt the truth of what haiatalnefous had said. king armanos's coldness to her the day before had given her but too much reason to see he was highly dissatisfied with her. the only way to justify her conduit was, to communicate her sex to the princess haiatalnefous. but though she had foreseen she should be under a necessity of making such a discovery to her, yet her uncertainty as to the manner in which she would receive it, made her tremble; but, considering that if kummir al zummaun was alive, he must necessarily touch at the isle of ebene in his way to his father's kingdom, she ought to preserve herself for his sake; and that it was impossible to do this, if she did not let the princess haiatalnefous know who and what she was, she resolved to venture the experiment. the princess badoura stood as one who had been struck dumb, and haiatalnefous being impatient to hear what she could say, was about to speak to her again, when she prevented her by these words: "lovely and too charming princess! i own i have been in the wrong, and i condemn myself for it; but i hope you will pardon me, and keep the secret i am going to reveal to you for my justification." she then opened her bosom, and proceeded thus: "see, princess, if a woman like yourself does not deserve to be forgiven. i believe you will be so generous, at least when you know my story, and the afflicting circumstance that forced me to act the part i have done." the princess badoura having discovered her sex to the princess of the isle of ebene, she again prayed her to keep the secret, and to pretend to be satisfied with her as a husband, till the prince's arrival, which she hoped would be in a little time. "princess," replied haiatalnefous, "your fortune is indeed strange, that a marriage, so happy as yours, should be shortened by so unaccountable an accident, after a passion so reciprocal and full of wonders. pray heaven you may soon meet with your husband again, and assure yourself i will keep religiously the secret committed to me. it will be to me the greatest pleasure in the world to be the only person in the great kingdom of the isle of ebene who knows what and who you are, while you go on governing the people as happily as you have begun. i only ask of you at present to be your friend." then the two princesses tenderly embraced each other, and after a thousand expressions of mutual friendship lay down to rest. the two princesses having decided on a way to make belief that the marriage had been consummated: queen haiatalnefous's women were deceived themselves next morning, and it deceived armanos, his queen, and the whole court. from this time the princess badoura rose in the king's esteem and affection, governing the kingdom peaceably and prosperously. while things passed as already mentioned in the court of the isle of ebene, prince kummir al zummaun remained in the city of idolaters with the gardener, who had offered him his house for a retreat till the ship should sail to convey him away. one morning early, when the prince was as usual preparing to work in the garden, the gardener prevented him, saying, "this day is a great festival among the idolaters, and because they abstain from all work themselves, to spend the time in their assemblies and public rejoicings, they will not let the moosulmauns labour; who, to gain their favour, generally attend their shows, which are worth seeing. you will therefore have nothing to do to-day: i leave you here. as the time approaches, at which it is usual for the ship to sail for the isle of ebene, i will call on some of my friends to know when it will depart, and secure you a passage." the gardener put on his best apparel, and went out. when the prince was alone, instead of going out to share in the public joy of the city, his solitude brought to his mind, with more than usual violence, the loss of his dear princess. he walked up and down the garden sighing and lamenting, till the noise which two birds made on a neighbouring tree led him to lift up his head, to see what was the matter. kummir al zummaun was surprised to observe that the birds were fighting furiously: in a very little while, one of them fell down dead at the foot of the tree; the victorious bird took wing again, and flew away. in an instant, two other large birds, that had beheld the battle at a distance, came from the other side of the garden, and pitched on the ground, one at the feet, and the other at the head of the dead bird: they looked at it for some time, shaking their heads in token of grief; after which they dug a grave with their talons, and buried it. when they had filled up the grave with the earth they had turned up, they flew away, but returned in a few minutes, bringing with them the bird that had committed the murder, one holding one of its wings in its beak, and the other one of its legs; the criminal all the while crying out in a doleful manner, and struggling to escape. they carried it to the grave of the bird which it had lately sacrificed to its rage, and there killed it in just revenge for the murder it had committed. they opened its belly, tore out the entrails, left the body on the spot unburied, and flew away. the prince had remained in astonishment all the time that he stood beholding this singular spectacle. he now drew near the tree where this scene had passed, and casting his eyes on the scattered entrails of the bird that had been last killed, spied something red hanging out of the stomach. he took it up, and found it was his beloved princess badoura's talisman, which had cost him so much pain and sorrow, and so many sighs, since the bird had snatched it out of his hand. "ah, cruel!" said he to himself; still looking on the bird, "thou took'st delight in doing mischief, so i have the less reason to complain of that which thou didst to me: but the greater it was, the more do i wish well to those that revenged my quarrel, punishing thee for the murder of one of their own kind." it is impossible to express the prince's joy: "dear princess," continued he to himself, "this happy minute, which restores to me a treasure so precious to thee, is, without doubt, a presage of our meeting again, and perhaps sooner than i think of. thank heaven who sent me this good fortune, and gives me hope of the greatest felicity that my heart can desire." saying this, he kissed the talisman, wrapped it up in a riband, and tied it carefully about his arm. he had been almost every night a stranger to rest, the recollection of his misfortunes keeping him awake, but this night he enjoyed calm repose: he rose somewhat later the next morning than he used to do, and went to the gardener for orders. the good man bade him root up an old tree which bore no fruit. kummir al zummaun took an axe and began his work. in cutting off a branch of the root, he found his axe struck against something that resisted the blow. he removed the earth, and discovered a broad plate of brass, under which was a staircase of ten steps. he went down, and at the bottom saw a cavity about six yards square with fifty brass urns placed in order, each with a cover over it. he opened them all, one after another, and found they were all of them full of gold-dust. he came out of the cave, rejoicing that he had found such a vast treasure, put the brass plate on the staircase, and had the tree rooted up by the gardener's return. the gardener had ascertained that the ship which was bound for the isle of ebene, would sail in a few days, but the exact time was not yet fixed. his friend promised to let him know the day, if he called upon him on the morrow; and while the prince was rooting up the tree, he went to have his answer. he returned with a joyful countenance, by which the prince guessed he brought him good news. "son," said the old man (so he always called him on account of the difference of years between him and the prince) "be joyful, and prepare to embark in three days; the ship will then certainly sail; i have agreed with the captain for your passage." "in my present situation," replied kummir al zummaun, "you could not bring me more agreeable intelligence; and in return, i have also tidings that will be as welcome to you: come along with me, and you shall see what good fortune heaven has in store for you." the prince led the gardener to the place where he had rooted up the tree, made him go down into the cave, shewed him what a treasure he had discovered, thanking providence for rewarding his virtue, and the pains he had been at for so many years. "what do you mean?" replied the gardener: "do you imagine i will take these riches as mine? the property is yours: i have no right to it. for fourscore years, since my father's death, i have done nothing but dig in this garden, and could not discover this treasure, which is a sign it was destined for you, since god has permitted you to find it. it is better suited to a prince like you than to me; i have one foot in the grave, and am in no want of any thing. providence has bestowed it upon you, just when you are returning to that country, which will one day be your own, where you will make good use of it." kummir al zummaun would not be surpassed in generosity by the gardener. they disputed for some time. at last the prince solemnly protested, that he would have none of it, unless the gardener would divide it with him. the good man, to please the prince, consented; so they shared it between them, and each had twenty-five urns. "having thus divided it, son," said the gardener to the prince, "it is not enough that you have got this treasure; we must now contrive to carry it privately aboard, otherwise you will run the risk of losing it. there are no olives in the isle of ebene, those that are exported hence are a good commodity there: you know i have plenty of them, take what you will; fill fifty pots, half with the gold-dust and half with olives, and i will get them carried to the ship when you embark." the prince followed this advice, and spent the rest of the day in packing up the gold and the olives in the fifty pots, and fearing the talisman, which he wore on his arm, might be lost again, he carefully put it into one of the pots, with a particular mark to distinguish it from the rest. when they were all ready to be shipped, night coming on, the prince retired with the gardener, and related to him the battle of the birds, with the circumstance by which he had found the talisman. the gardener was equally surprised and joyful to hear it on his account. whether the old man was quite worn out with age, or had exhausted himself too much that day, the gardener had a very bad night; he grew worse the next day, and on the third day, when the prince was to embark, was so ill, that it was plain he was near his end. as soon as day broke, the captain of the ship came with several seamen to the gardener's; they knocked at the garden-door, which the prince opened to them. they asked him for the passenger who was to go with them. the prince answered, "i am he; the gardener who agreed with you for my passage is sick, and cannot be spoken with; come in, and let your men carry those pots of olives and my baggage aboard for me; i will only take leave of the gardener, and follow you." the seamen took the pots and the baggage, and the captain bade the prince make haste, the wind being fair. when the captain and his men were gone, kummir al zummaun went to the gardener to take his leave of him, and thanked him for all his good offices; but found him in the agonies of death, and had scarcely time to bid him rehearse the articles of his faith, which all good moosulmauns do before they die, before the gardener expired. the prince being under the necessity of embarking immediately, hastened to pay the last duty to the deceased. he washed his body, buried him in his own garden, and having nobody to assist him, it was almost evening before he had put him into the ground. as soon as he had done, he ran to the water-side, carrying with him the key of the garden, designing, if he had time, to give it to the landlord; otherwise to deposit it in some trusty person's hand before a witness, that he might have it after he was gone. when he reached the port, he was told the ship had sailed several hours, and was already out of sight. it had waited three hours for him, and the wind standing fair, the captain durst not stay longer. it is easy to imagine that kummir al zummaun was exceedingly grieved at being forced to remain longer in a country where he neither had, nor wished to have, any acquaintance; to think that he must wait another year for the opportunity he had lost. but the greatest affliction of all was, his having parted with the princess badoura's talisman, which he now considered lost. the only course left him was to return to the garden from whence he had come, to rent it of the landlord and continue to cultivate it by himself, deploring his misery and misfortunes. he hired a boy to assist him to do some part of the drudgery: that he might not lose the other half of the treasure which came to him by the death of the gardener, who died without heirs, he put the gold-dust into fifty other jars, which he filled up with olives, to be ready against the ship's return. while the prince was beginning another year of labour, sorrow, and impatience, the ship having a fair wind, continued her voyage to the isle of ebene, and happily arrived at the capital. the palace being by the sea side, the new king, or rather the princess badoura, espying the ship as she was entering into the port, with all her flags, asked what vessel it was: she was answered, that it came annually from the city of the idolaters, and was generally richly laden. the princess, who always had kummir al zummaun in her mind, imagined that the prince might be aboard; and resolved to visit the ship and meet him, without discovering herself; but to observe him, and take proper measures for their making themselves mutually known. under pretence of inquiring what merchandize was on board, and having the first sight of the goods, she commanded a horse to be brought, which she mounted, accompanied by several officers in waiting, and arrived at the port, just as the captain came ashore. she ordered him to be brought before her, asked whence he had come, how long he had been on his voyage, and what good or bad fortune he had met with: if he had no stranger of quality aboard, and particularly with what his ship was laden. the captain gave a satisfactory answer to all her demands; and as to passengers, assured her there were none but merchants in his ship, who used to come every year, and bring rich stuffs from several parts of the world to trade with, the finest linens painted and plain, diamonds, musk, ambergris, camphire, civet, spices, drugs, olives, and many other articles. the princess badoura loved olives extremely when she heard the captain speak of them, "land them," said she, "i will take them off your hands; as to the other goods, tell the merchants to bring them to me, and let me see them before they dispose of, or shew them to any one." the captain taking her for the king of the isle of ebene, replied, "sire, there are fifty great jars of olives, but they belong to a merchant whom i was forced to leave behind. i gave him notice myself that i stayed for him, and waited a long time, but he not coming, and the wind offering, i was afraid of losing the opportunity, and so set sail." the princess answered, "no matter, bring them ashore; we will nevertheless make a bargain for them." the captain sent the boat, which in a little time returned with the olives. the princess demanded how much the fifty jars might be worth in the isle of ebene? "sir," replied the captain, "the merchant is very poor, and your majesty will do him a singular favour if you give him one thousand pieces of silver." "to satisfy him," said the princess, "and because you tell me he is poor, i will order you one thousand pieces of gold for him, which do you take care to give him." the money was accordingly paid, and the jars carried to the palace. night drawing on the princess withdrew into the inner palace, and went to the princess haiatalnefous's apartment, ordering the olives to be brought thither. she opened one jar to let the princess haiatalnefous taste them, and poured them into a dish. great was her astonishment, when she found the olives were mingled with gold-dust. "what can this mean!" said she, "it is wonderful beyond comprehension." her curiosity increasing from so extraordinary an adventure, she ordered haiatalnefous's women to open and empty all the jars in her presence; and her wonder was still greater, when she saw that the olives in all of them were mixed with gold-dust; but when she saw her talisman drop out, she was so surprised that she fainted away. haiatalnefous and her women brought the princess to herself, by throwing cold water in her face. when she recovered, she took the talisman, and kissed it again and again; but not being willing that the princess haiatalnefous's women, who were ignorant of her disguise, should hear what she said, and it growing late, she dismissed them. "princess," said she to haiatalnefous, as soon as they were gone, "you who have heard my story, doubtless, guessed it was at the sight of the talisman that i fainted. this is that talisman, and the fatal cause of my dosing my husband; but as it was that which caused our separation, so i foresee it will be the means of our meeting." the next day, as soon as it was light, she sent for the captain of the ship; and when he came, spoke to him thus: "i want to know something more of the merchant to whom the olives belong, that i bought of you yesterday. i think you told me you left him behind in the city of the idolaters; can you tell me what is his employment there?" "yes," replied the captain, "i can speak from my own knowledge. i agreed for his passage with a very old gardener, who told me i should find him in his garden, where he worked under him. he shewed me the place, and for that reason i told your majesty he was poor. i went thither to call him. i told him what haste i was in, spoke to him myself in the garden, and cannot be mistaken in the man." "if what you say is true," replied the princess, "you must set sail this very day for the city of idolaters, and bring me that gardener's man, who is my debtor; else i will not only confiscate all your goods and those of your merchants, but your life and theirs shall answer for his. i have ordered my seal to be put on the warehouses where their goods are deposited, which shall not be taken off till your return: this is all i have to say to you; go and do as i command you." the captain could make no reply to this order, the disobeying of which must have proved of such loss to him and his merchants. he acquainted them with it; and they hastened him away as fast as they could, after he had laid in a stock of provisions and fresh water for his voyage. they were so diligent, that he set sail the same day. he had a prosperous voyage to the city of the idolaters, where he arrived in the night. when he was got as near the city as he thought convenient, he would not cast anchor, but lay to off shore; and going into his boat, with six of his stoutest seamen, landed a little way off the port, whence he went directly to the garden of kummir al zummaun. though it was about midnight when he came there, the prince was not asleep. his separation from the fair princess of china his wife afflicted him as usual. he cursed the minute in which his curiosity tempted him to touch the fatal girdle. thus was he passing those hours which are devoted to rest, when he heard somebody knock at the garden-door: he ran hastily to it; but he had no sooner opened it than the captain and his seamen took hold of him, and carried him to the boat, and so on ship-board. as soon as he was safely lodged, they set sail, and made the best of their way to the isle of ebene. hitherto kummir al zummaun, the captain, and his men, had not said a word to one another; at last the prince asked the captain, whom he knew again, why they had taken him away by force? the captain in his turn demanded of the prince, whether he was not a debtor of the king of ebene? "i the king of ebene's debtor!" replied the prince in amazement; "i do not know him, and have never set foot in his kingdom." the captain answered, "you should know that better than i; you will talk to him yourself in a little while; till then stay here and have patience." the captain was not long on his voyage back to the isle of ebene. though it was night when he cast anchor in the port, he landed immediately, and taking his prisoner with him, hastened to the palace, where he demanded to be introduced to the king. the princess badoura had withdrawn into the inner palace, but as soon as she heard of the captain's return, she came out to speak to him. immediately as she cast her eyes on the prince, for whom she had shed so many tears, she recognized him in his gardener's habit. as for the prince, who trembled in the presence of a king, as he thought her, to whom he was to answer for an imaginary debt, it could not enter into his thoughts, that the person whom he so earnestly desired to see stood before him. if the princess had followed the dictates of her inclination, she would have run to him, and, by embracing, discovered herself to him; but she put a constraint on herself, believing that it was for the interest of both that she should act the king a little longer before she made herself known. she contented herself for the present to put him into the hands of an officer, who was then in waiting, charging him to take care of him, and use him well, till the next day. when the princess badoura had provided for kummir al zummaun, she turned to the captain, whom she was now to reward for the important service he had done her. she commanded another officer to go immediately to take the seal off the warehouse which contained his goods, and gave him a rich diamond, worth much more than the expense he had been at in both his voyages. she also bade him keep the thousand pieces of gold she had given for the olives, telling him she would make up the account with the merchant whom he had brought with him. this done, she returned to the princess of the isle of ebene's apartment, to whom she communicated her joy, praying her to keep the secret still. she told how she intended to manage the discovering of herself to kummir al zummaun, and resignation of the kingdom to him; adding, there was so vast a distance between a gardener, as he would appear to the public, and a great prince, that it might be dangerous to raise him at once from the lowest condition of the people to the highest honour, however justice might require it should be done. the princess of the isle of ebene was so far from betraying her, that she rejoiced with her, and entered into the design. the next morning the princess of china ordered kummir al zummaun to be conducted early to the bath, and then to be appareled in the robes of an emir or governor of a province. she commanded him to be introduced into the council, where his fine person and majestic air drew upon him the eyes of all the lords present. the princess badoura herself was charmed to see him look as lovely as ever, and her pleasure inspired her to speak the more warmly in his praise. when she spoke to the council, having ordered the prince to take his seat among the emirs, she addressed them thus: "my lords, kummir al zummaun, whom i have advanced to the same dignity with yourselves, is not unworthy of the place assigned him. i have known enough of him in my travels to answer for him, and i can assure you he will make his merit known to all of you, as well by his velour, as by a thousand other brilliant qualities, and the extent of his genius." the prince was extremely amazed to hear the king of the isle of ebene, whom he was far from taking for a woman, much less for his dear princess, name him, and declare that he knew him, while he thought himself certain he had never seen him before. he was much more surprised when he heard him praise him so highly. those praises however from the mouth of majesty did not disconcert him, though he received them with such modesty, as shewed that he deserved them. he prostrated himself before the throne of the king, and rising again, said, "sire, i want words to express my gratitude to your majesty for the honour you have done me; i shall do all in my power to render myself worthy of your royal favour." from the council-board the prince was conducted to a palace, which the princess badoura had ordered to be fitted up for him; where he found officers and domestics ready to obey his commands, a stable full of fine horses, and every thing suitable to the quality of an emir. when he was in his closet, the steward of his household brought him a strong box full of gold for his expenses. the less he could conceive whence his happiness proceeded, the more he wondered, but he never once imagined that he owed it to the princess of china. two or three days after, the princess badoura, that he might be nearer her person and in a more distinguished post, made him high treasurer, which office had lately become vacant. he conducted himself in his new charge with so much integrity, yet obliging every body, that he not only gained the friendship of the great, but also the affections of the people, by his uprightness and bounty. kummir al zummaun had been the happiest man in the world, to see himself in so high favour with a foreign king as he conceived, and increasing in the esteem of all his subjects, if he had had his princess with him. in the midst of his good fortune he never ceased lamenting her, and grieved that he could hear no tidings of her, especially in a country which she must necessarily have visited in her way to his father's court after their separation. he would have mistrusted something, had the princess still gone by the name of kummir al zummaun, which she took with his habit; but on her accession to the throne, she had changed it, and taken that of armanos, in honour of the old king her father-in-law. the princess desiring that her husband should owe the discovery of her to herself alone, resolved to put an end to her own torments and his; for she had observed, that as often as she discoursed with him about the affairs of office, he heaved such deep sighs, as could be addressed to nobody but her. while she herself lived in such a constraint, that she could endure it no longer. the princess badoura had no sooner formed her resolution in concert with the princess haiatalnefous, than she the same day took kummir al zummaun aside, saying, "i must talk with you about an affair which requires much consideration, and on which i want your advice. as i do not see how it can be done so conveniently as in the night, come hither in the evening, and leave word at home not to be waited for; i will take care to provide you a lodging." kummir al zummaun came punctually to the palace at the hour appointed by the princess; she took him with her into the inner apartment, and having told the chief eunuch, who prepared to follow her, that she had no occasion for his service, conducted him into a different apartment from that of the princess haiatalnefous, where she used to sleep. when the prince and princess entered the chamber, she shut the door, and taking the talisman out of a little box, gave it to kummir al zummaun, saying, "it is not long since an astrologer presented me with this talisman; you being skilful in all things, may perhaps tell me its use." kummir al zummaun took the talisman, and drew near a lamp to view it. as soon as he recollected it, with an astonishment which gave the princess great pleasure, "sire," said he to the prince, "your majesty asked me the use of this talisman. alas! its only purpose is to kill me with grief and despair, if i do not quickly find the most charming and lovely princess in the world to whom it belonged, whose loss it occasioned me by a strange adventure, the recital of which will move your majesty to pity such an unfortunate husband and lover as i am." "you shall tell me the particulars another time," replied the princess; "i know something of them already: remain here a little, and i will soon return to you." at these words she went into her closet, put off her royal turban, and in a few minutes dressed herself in her female attire; and having the girdle round her, which she had on the day of their separation, re-entered the chamber. kummir al zummaun immediately recognized his dear princess, ran to her, and tenderly embraced her, exclaiming, "how much am i obliged to the king who has so agreeably surprised me!" "do not expect to see the king any more," replied the princess, embracing him in her turn, with tears in her eyes: "you see him in me; sit down, and i will explain this enigma to you." they seated themselves, and the princess related the plan she had formed in the plain where they were encamped the last time they were together, as soon as she perceived she waited for him to no purpose; how she went through with it till she arrived at the isle of ebene, where she had been obliged to marry the princess haiatalnefous, and accept of the crown, which king armanos offered her as a condition of the marriage: how the princess, whose merit she highly extolled, had obliged her to make declaration of her sex: and how she found the talisman in the pots of olives mingled with the gold-dust, which she had bought, and how this circumstance had proved the cause of her sending for him from the city of the idolaters. when she had concluded her adventure, she obliged the prince to tell her by what means the talisman had occasioned their separation. he satisfied her inquiries; after which, it growing late, they retired to rest. the princess badoura and kummir al zummaun rose next morning as soon as it was light, but the princess would no more put on her royal robes as king; she dressed herself in her female attire, and then sent the chief eunuch to king armanos, her father-in-law, to desire he would oblige her by coming to her apartment. when the king entered the chamber, he was amazed at seeing a lady who was unknown to him, and the high treasurer with her, who was not by etiquette permitted to come within the inner palace. he sat down, and asked where the king was. the princess answered, "yesterday i was king, but to-day i am only princess of china, wife to the true prince kummir al zummaun. if your majesty will have patience to hear our adventures, i hope you will not condemn me for putting an innocent deceit upon you." the king bade her go on, and heard her narrative from beginning to end with astonishment. the princess on finishing said to him, "sir, though women do not easily comply with the liberty assumed by men to have several wives; yet if your majesty will consent to give your daughter the princess haiatalnefous in marriage to the prince, i will with all my heart yield up to her the rank and quality of queen, which of right belongs to her, and content myself with the second place. if this precedence were not her due, i would resign it to her, after the obligation i have to her for keeping my secret so generously. if your majesty refer it to her consent, i am sure of that, having already consulted her; and i will pass my word that she will be very well satisfied." king armanos listened to the princess with astonishment, and when she had done, turned to kummir al zummaun, saying, "son, since the princess badoura your wife, whom i have all along thought to be my son-in-law, through a deceit of which i cannot complain, assures me, that she will divide your bed with my daughter; i would know if you are willing to marry her, and accept of the crown, which the princess badoura would deservedly wear, if she did not quit it out of love to you." "sir," replied kummir al zummaun, "though i desire nothing so earnestly as to see the king my father, yet the obligations i have to your majesty and the princess haiatalnefous are so weighty, i can refuse her nothing." the prince was then proclaimed king, and married the same day with all possible demonstrations of joy; and had every reason to be well pleased with the princess haiatalnefous's beauty, wit, and love for him. the two queens lived together afterwards on the same friendly terms and in the same cordiality as they had done before, both being contented with kummir al zummaun's equal carriage towards them. the next year each brought him a son at the same time, and the births of the two princes were celebrated with extraordinary rejoicings: the first, whom the princess badoura was delivered of, was named amgiad (most illustrious); and the other, born of queen haiatalnefous, assad (most virtuous). the story of the princes amgiad and assad. the two princes were brought up with great care; and, when they were old enough, had the same governor, the same instructors in the arts and sciences, and the same master for each exercise. the affection which from their infancy they conceived for each other occasioned an uniformity of manners and inclination, which increased it. when they were of an age to have separate households, they loved one another so tenderly, that they begged the king to let them live together. he consented, and they had the same domestics, the same equipages, the same apartment, and the same table. kummir al zummaun had formed so good an opinion of their capacity and integrity, that he made no scruple of admitting them into his council at the age of eighteen, and letting them, by turns, preside there, while he took the diversion of hunting, or amused himself with his queens at his houses of pleasure. the princes being equally handsome, the two queens loved them with incredible tenderness; but the princess badoura had a greater kindness for prince assad, queen haiatalnefous's son, than for her own; and queen haiatalnefous loved amgiad, the princess badoura's son, better than her own son assad. the two queens thought at first this inclination was nothing but a regard which proceeded from an excess of their own friendship for each other, which they still preserved: but as the two princes advanced in years, that friendship grew into a violent love, when they appeared in their eyes to possess graces that blinded their reason. they knew how criminal their passion was, and did all they could to resist it; but the familiar intercourse with them, and the habit of admiring, praising, and caressing them from their infancy, which they could not restrain when they grew up, inflamed their desires to such a height as to overcome their reason and virtue. it was their and the princes' ill-fortune, that the latter being used to be so treated by them, had not the least suspicion of their infamous passion. the two queens had not concealed from each other this passion, but had not the boldness to declare it to the princes they loved; they at last resolved to do it by a letter, and to execute their wicked design, availed themselves of the king's absence, when he was gone on a hunting party for three or four days. prince amgiad presided at the council on the day of his father's departure, and administered justice till two or three o'clock in the afternoon. as he returned to the palace from the council-chamber, an eunuch took him aside, and gave him a letter from queen haiatalnefous. amgiad took it, and read it with horror. "traitor," said he, to the eunuch as soon as he had perused it through, "is this the fidelity thou owest thy master and thy king?" at these words he drew his sabre and cut off his head. having done this in a transport of anger he ran to the princess badoura his mother, shewed her the letter, told her the contents of it, and from whom it came. instead of hearkening to him, she fell into a passion, and said, "son, it is all a calumny and imposture; queen haiatalnefous is a very discreet princess, and you are very bold to talk to me against her." the prince, enraged at his mother, exclaimed, "you are both equally wicked, and were it not for the respect i owe my father, this day should have been the last of haiatalnefous's life." queen badoura might have imagined by the example of her son amgiad, that prince assad, who was not less virtuous, would not receive more favourably a declaration of love, similar to that which had been made to his brother. yet that did not hinder her persisting in her abominable design; she, the next day, wrote him a letter, which she entrusted to an old woman who had access to the palace, to convey to him. the old woman watched her opportunity to put it into his hands as he was coming from the council-chamber, where he presided that day in his turn. the prince took it, and reading it, fell into such a rage, that, without giving himself time to finish it, he drew his sabre and punished the old woman as she deserved. he ran immediately to the apartment of his mother queen haiatalnefous, with the letter in his hand: he would have shewn it to her, but she did not give him time, crying out, "i know what you mean; you are as impertinent as your brother amgiad: be gone, and never come into my presence again." assad stood as one thunder-struck at these words, so little expected. he was so enraged, that he had like to have given fatal demonstrations of his anger; but he contained himself, and withdrew without making any reply, fearing if he stayed he might say something unworthy the greatness of his soul. amgiad had not mentioned to him the letter which he had received the preceding day; and finding by what his mother had said to him that she was altogether as criminal as queen haiatalnefous, he went to his brother, to chide him for not communicating the hated secret to him, and to mingle his own sorrow with his. the two queens, rendered desperate by finding in the two princes such virtue as should have made them look inwardly on themselves, renounced all sentiments of nature and of mothers and conspired together to destroy them. they made their women believe the two princes had attempted their virtue: they counterfeited the matter to the life by their tears, cries, and curses; and lay in the same bed, as if the resistance they pretended to have made had reduced them almost to death's-door. when kummir al zummaun returned to the palace from hunting, he was much surprised to find them in bed together, in tears, acting despondency so well, that he was touched with compassion. he asked them with earnestness what had happened to them. at this question, the dissembling queens wept and sobbed more bitterly than before; and after he had pressed them again and again to tell him, queen badoura at last answered him: "sir, our grief is so well founded, that we ought not to see the light of the sun, or live a day, after the violence that has been offered us by the unparalleled brutality of the princes your sons. they formed a horrid design, encouraged by your absence, and had the boldness and insolence to attempt our honour. your majesty will excuse us from saying any more; you may guess the rest by our affliction." the king sent for the two princes, and would have killed them both with his own hand, had not old king armanos his father-in-law, who was present, held his hand: "son," said he, "what are you going to do? will you stain your hands and your palace with your own blood? there are other ways of punishing them, if they are really guilty." he endeavoured thus to appease him, and desired him to examine whether they did indeed commit the crime of which they were accused. it was no difficult matter for kummir al zummaun to restrain himself so far as not to butcher his own children. he ordered them to be put under arrest, and sent for an emir called jehaun-dar, whom he commanded to conduct them out of the city, and put them to death, at a great distance, and in what place he pleased, but not to see him again, unless he brought their clothes with him, as a token of his having executed his orders. jehaun-dar travelled with them all night, and early next morning made them alight, telling them, with tears in his eyes, the commands he had received. "believe me, princes," said he, "it is a trying duty imposed on me by your father, to execute this cruel order: would to heaven i could avoid it!" the princes replied, "do your duty; we know well you are not the cause of our death, and forgive you with all our hearts." they then embraced, and bade each other a last adieu with so much tenderness, that it was a long time before they could leave one another's arms. prince assad was the first who prepared himself for the fatal stroke. "begin with me," said he "that i may not have the affliction to see my dear brother amgiad die." to this amgiad objected; and jehaun-dar could not, without weeping more than before, be witness of this dispute between them; which shewed how perfect and sincere was their affection. at last they determined the contest, by desiring jehaun-dar to tie them together, and put them in the most convenient posture for him to give them the fatal stroke at one blow. "do not refuse the comfort of dying together to two unfortunate brothers, who from their birth have shared every thing, even their innocence," said the generous princes. jehaun-dar granted their request; he tied them to each other, breast to breast; and when he had placed them so that he thought he might strike the blow with more certainty, asked them if they had any thing to command him before they died. "we have only one thing to desire of you," replied the princes, "which is, to assure the king our father on your return, that we are innocent; but that we do not charge him with our deaths, knowing he is not well informed of the truth of the crime of which we are accused." jehaun-dar promised to do what they desired and drew his sabre, when his horse, being tied to a tree just by, started at the sight of the sabre, which glittered against the sun, broke his bridle, and ran away into the country. he was a very valuable horse, and so richly caparisoned, that the emir could not bear the loss of him. this accident so vexed him, that instead of beheading the two princes, he threw away his sabre, and ran after his horse. the horse galloped on before him, and led him several miles into a wood. jehaun-dar followed him, and the horse's neighing roused a lion that was asleep. the lion started up, and instead of running after the horse, made directly towards jehaun-dar, who thought no more of his horse, but how to save his life. he ran into the thickest of the wood, the lion keeping him in view, pursuing him among the trees. in this extremity he said to himself, "heaven had not punished me in this manner, but to shew the innocence of the princes whom i was commanded to put to death; and now, to my misfortune, i have not my sabre to defend myself." while jehaun-dar was gone, the two princes were seized with a violent thirst, occasioned by the fear of death, notwithstanding their noble resolution to submit to the king their father's cruel order. prince amgiad told the prince his brother there was a spring not far off. "ah! brother," said assad, "we have so little time to live, what need have we to quench our thirst? we can bear it a few minutes longer." amgiad taking no notice of his brother's remonstrance, unbound himself, and the prince his brother. they went to the spring, and having refreshed themselves, heard the roaring of the lion. they also heard jehaun-dar's dreadful cries in the wood, which he and the horse had entered. amgiad took up the sabre which lay on the ground, saying to assad, "come, brother, let us go and save the unfortunate jehaun-dar; perhaps we may arrive soon enough to deliver him from the danger to which he is now exposed." the two princes ran to the wood, and entered it just as the lion was going to fall on jehaun-dar. the beast seeing prince amgiad advancing towards him with a sabre in his hand, left his prey, and rushed towards him with great fury. the prince met him intrepidly, and gave him a blow so forcibly and dexterously, that it felled him to the ground. when jehaun-dar saw that he owed his life to the two princes, he threw himself at their feet, and thanked them for the obligation, in words which sufficiently testified his gratitude. "princes," said he, rising up and kissing their hands, with tears in his eyes, "god forbid that ever i should attempt any thing against your lives, after you have so kindly and bravely saved mine. it shall never be said that the emir jehaun-dar was guilty of such ingratitude." "the service we have done you," answered the princes, "ought not to prevent you from executing the orders you have received: let us first catch your horse, and then return to the place where you left us."--they were at no great trouble to take the horse, whose mettle was abated with running. when they had restored him to jehaun-dar, and were come near the fountain, they begged of him to do as their father had commanded; but all to no purpose. "i only take the liberty to desire," said jehaun-dar, "and i pray you not to deny me, that you will divide my clothes between you, and give me yours; and go to such a distance, that the king your father may never hear of you more." the princes were forced to comply with his request. each of them gave him his clothes, and covered themselves with what he could spare them of his. he also gave them all the money he had about him, and took his leave of them. after the emir jehaun-dar had parted from the princes, he passed through the wood where amgiad had killed the lion, in whose blood he dipped their clothes: which having done, he proceeded on his way to the capital of the isle of ebene. on his arrival there, kummir al zummaun inquired if he had done as commanded? jehaun-dar replied, "behold, sir, the proofs of my obedience;" giving him at the same time the princes' clothes. "how did they bear their punishment?" jehaun-dar answered, "with wonderful constancy and resignation to the decrees of heaven, which shewed how sincerely they made profession of their religion: but particularly with great respect towards your majesty, and an inconceivable submission to the sentence of death. 'we die innocent,' said they; 'but we do not murmur: we take our death from the hand of heaven, and forgive our father; for we know he has not been rightly informed of the truth.'" kummir al zummaun was sensibly touched at jehaun-dar's relation. a thought occurred to him to search the princes' pockets; he began with prince amgiad's where he found a letter open, which he read. he no sooner recognized the hand-writing than he was chilled with horror. he then, trembling, put his hand into that of assad, and finding there queen badoura's letter, his horror was so great, that he fainted. never was grief equal to kummir all zummaun's, when he recovered from his fit: "barbarous father," cried he, "what hast thou done? thou hast murdered thy own children, thy innocent children! did not their wisdom, their modesty, their obedience, their submission to thy will in all things, their virtue, all plead in their behalf? blind and insensible father! dost thou deserve to live after the execrable crime thou hast committed? i have brought this abomination on my own head; and heaven chastises me for not persevering in that aversion to women with which i was born. and, oh ye detestable wives! i will not, no, i will not, as ye deserve, wash off the guilt of your sins with your blood; ye are unworthy of my rage: but i will never see you more!" kummir al zummaun was a man of too much religion to break his vow: he commanded the two queens to be lodged in separate apartments that very day, where they were kept under strong guards, and he never saw them again as long as he lived. while the king of the isle of ebene was afflicting himself for the loss of his sons, of whose death he thought he had been the author by his too rashly condemning them, the royal youths wandered through deserts, endeavouring to avoid all places that were inhabited, and shun every human creature. they lived on herbs and wild fruits, and drank only rain-water, which they found in the crevices of the rocks. they slept and watched by turns at night, for fear of wild beasts. when they had travelled about a month, they came to the foot of a frightful mountain of black stones, and to all appearance inaccessible. they at last espied a kind of path, but so narrow and difficult that they durst not venture to follow it: this obliged them to go along by the foot of the mountain, in hopes of finding a more easy way to reach the summit, but could discover nothing like a path, so they were forced to return to that which they had neglected. they still thought it would be in vain for them to attempt it. they deliberated for a long time what they should do, and at last, encouraging one another, resolved to ascend. the more they advanced the higher and steeper the mountain appeared, which made them think several times of giving over their enterprise. when the one was weary, the other stopped, and they took breath together; sometimes they were both so tired, that they wanted strength to proceed: then despairing of being able to reach the top they thought they must lie down and die of fatigue and weariness. a few minutes after, when they found they recovered strength, they animated each other and went on. notwithstanding all their endeavours, their courage and perseverance, they could not reach the summit that day; night came on, and prince assad was so spent, that he stopped and said to amgiad, "brother, i can go no farther, i am just dying." "let us rest ourselves," replied prince amgiad, "as long as you will, and have a good heart: it is but a little way to the top, and the moon befriends us." they rested about half an hour, and then assad making a new effort, they ascended what remained of the way to the summit, where they both at last arrived, and lay down. amgiad rose first, and advancing, saw a tree at a little distance. he went to it, and found it was a pomegranate, with large fruit upon it, and he perceived there was a spring at its foot: he ran to his brother assad to tell him the good news, and conduct him to the tree by the fountain side. here they refreshed themselves by eating each a pomegranate, after which they fell asleep. when they awoke the next morning, "come, brother," said amgiad to assad, "let us go on; i see the mountain is easier to be travelled over on this side than the other, all our way now is down hill." but assad was so tired with the preceding day's exertions, that he wanted three days' repose to recover himself. they spent these days as they had done many before, in conversing on their mothers' inordinate passion, which had reduced them to such a deplorable state: but, said they, "since heaven has so visibly declared itself in our favour, we ought to bear our misfortunes with patience, and comfort ourselves with hopes that we shall see an end of them." after having rested three days, the two brothers continued their travels. as the mountain on that side was composed of several shelves of extensive flat, they were five days in descending before they came into the plain. they then discovered a large city, at which they rejoiced: "brother," said amgiad to assad, "are not you of my opinion that you should stay in some place out of the city, where i may find you again, while i go and inform myself what country we are in, and when i come back i will bring provisions with me? it may not be safe for us to go there together." "brother," replied assad, "your plan is both safe and prudent, and i approve of what you say but if one of us must part from the other on that account, i will not suffer it shall be you; you must allow me to go; for what shall i suffer, if any accident should befall you?" "but, brother," answered amgiad, "the very accident you fear would befall me, i have as much reason to fear would happen to you: i entreat you to let me go, and do you remain here patiently." "i will never consent to this," said assad; "if any ill happen to me, it will be some comfort to think you are safe." amgiad was forced to submit, and assad going towards the city, he stayed under the trees at the foot of the mountain. prince assad took the purse of money which amgiad had in charge, and went forwards towards the city. he had not proceeded far in the first street, before he met with a reverend old man with a cane in his hand. he was neatly dressed, and the prince took him for a man of note in the place, who would not put a trick upon him, so he accosted him thus: "pray, my lord, which is the way to the market-place?" the old man looked at prince assad smiling; "child," said he, "it is plain you are a stranger, or you would not have asked that question." "yes, my lord, i am a stranger," replied assad. the old man answered, "you are welcome then; our country will be honoured by the presence of so handsome a young man as you are: tell me what business you have at the market-place." "my lord," replied assad, "it is near two months since my brother and i set out from our own country: we have not ceased travelling, and we arrived here but to-day; my brother, tired with such a long journey, stays at the foot of the mountain, and i am come to buy some provisions for him and myself." "son," said the old man, "you could not have come in a better time, and i am glad of it for your and your brother's sake. i made a feast today for some friends of mine: come along with me; you shall eat as much as you please; and when you have done, i will give you enough to last your brother and yourself several days. do not spend your money, when there is no occasion; travellers are always in want of it: while you are eating i will give you an account of our city, which no one can do better than myself, who have borne all the honourable offices in it. it is well for you that you happen to light upon me; for i must tell you, all our citizens cannot so well assist and inform you. i can assure you some of them are very wicked. come, you shall see the difference between a real honest man, as i am, and such as boast of being so, and are not." "i am infinitely obliged to you," replied assad, "for your kindness; i put myself entirely into your hands, and am ready to go with you where you please." the old man, as he walked along by his side, laughed inwardly, to think he had got the prince in his clutches; and all the way, lest he should perceive his dissimulation, talked of various subjects, to preserve the favourable opinion assad had of him. among other things, he said, "it must be confessed you were very fortunate to have spoken to me, rather than to any one else: i thank god i met with you; you will know why, when you come to my house." at length they arrived at the residence of the old man, who introduced assad into a hall, where there were forty such old fellows as himself, who made a circle round a flaming fire, which they were adoring. the prince was not less struck with horror at the sight of so many men mistakenly worshipping the creature for the creator, than he was with fear at finding himself betrayed into so abominable a place. while the prince stood motionless with astonishment, the old cheat saluted the forty gray-headed men. "devout adorers of fire," said he to them, "this is a happy day for us; where is gazban? call him." he spake these words aloud, when a negro who waited at the lower end of the hall immediately came up to him. this black was gazban, who, as soon as he saw the disconsolate assad, imagined for what purpose he was called. he rushed upon him immediately, threw him down, and bound his hands with wonderful activity. when he had done, "carry him down," said the old man, "and fail not to order my daughters, bostama and cavama, to give him every day a severe bastinado, with only a loaf morning and night for his subsistence; this is enough to keep him alive till the next ship departs for the blue sea and the fiery mountain, where he shall be offered up an acceptable sacrifice to our divinity." as soon as the old man had given the cruel order, gazban hurried prince assad under the hall, through several doors, till they came to a dungeon, down to which led twenty steps; there he left him in chains of prodigious weight and bigness, fastened to his feet. when he had done, he went to give the old man's daughters notice: but their father had before sent for them, and given them their instructions himself: "daughters," said he to them, "go down and give the mussulmaun i just now brought in the bastinado: do not spare him; you cannot better shew your zeal for the worship of the fire." bostama and cavama, who were bred up in their hatred to the faithful, received this order with joy. they descended into the dungeon that instant, stripped assad, and bastinadoed him unmercifully, till the blood issued out of his wounds and he was almost dead. after this cruel treatment, they put a loaf of bread and a pot of water by him, and retired. assad did not come to himself again for a long time; when he revived, he burst out into a flood of tears, deploring his misery. his comfort however was, that this misfortune had not happened to his brother. amgiad waited for his brother till evening with impatience; as two, three, or four of the clock in the morning arrived, and assad did not return, he was in despair. he spent the night in extreme uneasiness; and as soon as it was day went to the city, where he was surprised to see but very few mussulmauns. he accosted the first he met, and asked him the name of the place. he was told it was the city of the magicians, so called from the great number of magicians, who adored the fire; and that it contained but few mussulmauns. amgiad then demanded how far it was to the isle of ebene? he was answered, four months' voyage by sea, and a year's journey by land. the man he talked to left him hastily, having satisfied him as to these two questions. amgiad, who had been but six weeks coming from the isle of ebene with his brother assad, could not comprehend how they had reached this city in so short a time, unless it was by enchantment, or that the way across the mountain was a much shorter one, but not frequented because of its difficulty. going farther into the town, he stopped at a tailor's shop, whom he knew to be a mussulmaun by his dress. having saluted him, he sat down, and told him the occasion of the trouble he was in. when prince amgiad had done talking, the tailor replied, "if your brother has fallen into the hands of some magicians, depend upon it you will never see him more. he is lost past all recovery; and i advise you to comfort yourself as well as you can, and to beware of falling into the same misfortune: to which end, if you will take my advice, you shall stay at my house, and i will tell you all the tricks of these magicians, that you may take care of yourself, when you go out." amgiad, afflicted for the loss of his brother, accepted the tailor's offer and thanked him a thousand times for his kindness to him. the story of the prince amgiad and a lady of the city of the magicians. for a whole month prince amgiad never went out of the tailor's house without being accompanied by his host. at last he ventured to go alone to the bath. as he was returning home, he met a lady on the way. seeing a handsome young man, she lifted up her veil, asked him with a smiling air, and bewitching look, whither he was going? amgiad was overpowered by her charms, and replied, "madam, i am going to my own house, or, if you please, i will go to yours." "my lord," resumed the lady, with a smile, "ladies of my quality never take men to their houses, they always accompany them to theirs." amgiad was much perplexed by this unexpected reply. he durst not venture to take her home to his landlord's house, lest he should give him offence, and thereby lose his protection, of which he had so much need, in a city which required him to be always on his guard. he knew so little of the town, that he could not tell where to convey her, and he could not make up his mind to suffer the adventure to go unimproved. in this uncertainty, he determined to throw himself upon chance; and without making any answer, went on, and the lady followed him. amgiad led her from street to street, from square to square, till they were both weary with walking. at last they entered a street, at the end of which was a closed gateway leading to a handsome mansion. on each side of the gateway was a bench. amgiad sat down on one of them, as if to take breath: and the lady, more weary than he, seated herself on the other. when she had taken her seat, she asked him, whether that was his house? "you see it, madam," said amgiad. "why do you not open the gate then," demanded the lady; "what do you wait for?" "fair lady," answered amgiad, "i have not the key; i left it with my slave, when i sent him on an errand, and he cannot be come back yet: besides, i ordered him afterwards to provide something good for dinner; so that i am afraid we shall wait a long time for him." the prince, meeting with so many obstacles to the satisfying of his passion, began to repent of having proceeded so far, and contrived this answer, in hopes that the lady would take the hint, would leave him out of resentment, and seek elsewhere for a lover; but he was mistaken. "this is a most impertinent slave," said the lady, "to make us wait so long. i will chastise him myself as he deserves, if you do not, when he comes back. it is not decent that i should sit here alone with a man." saying this, she arose, and took up a stone to break the lock, which was only of wood, and weak, according to the fashion of the country. amgiad gave himself over for a lost man, when he saw the door forced open. he paused to consider whether he should go into the house or make off as fast as he could, to avoid the danger which he believed was inevitable; and he was going to fly when the lady returned. seeing he did not enter, she asked, "why do not you come into your house?" the prince answered, "i am looking to see if my slave is coming, fearing we have nothing ready." "come in, come in," resumed she, "we had better wait for him within doors than without." amgiad, much against his will, followed her into the house. passing through a spacious court, neatly paved, they ascended by several steps into a grand vestibule, which led to a large open hall very well furnished, where he and the lady found a table ready spread with all sorts of delicacies, another heaped with fruit, and a sideboard covered with bottles of wine. when amgiad beheld these preparations, he gave himself up for lost. "unfortunate amgiad," said he to himself, "thou wilt soon follow thy dear brother assad." the lady, on the contrary, transported at the sight, exclaimed, "how, my lord, did you fear there was nothing ready? you see your slave has done more than you expected. but, if i am not mistaken, these preparations were made for some other lady, and not for me: no matter, let her come, i promise you i will not be jealous; i only beg the favour of you to permit me to wait on her and you." amgiad, greatly as he was troubled at this accident, could not help laughing at the lady's pleasantry. "madam," said he, thinking of something else that tormented his mind, "there is nothing in what you imagine; this is my common dinner, and no extraordinary preparation, i assure you." as he could not bring himself to sit down at a table which was not provided for him, he would have taken his seat on a sofa, but the lady would not permit him. "come, sir," said she, "you must be hungry after bathing, let us eat and enjoy ourselves." amgiad was forced to comply: they both sat down, and began to regale themselves. after having taken a little, the lady took a bottle and glass, poured out some wine, and when she had drunk herself, filled another glass, and gave it to amgiad, who pledged her. the more the prince reflected on this adventure, the more he was amazed that the master of the house did not appear; and that a mansion, so rich and well provided, should be left without a servant. "it will be fortunate," said he to himself, "if the master of the house do not return till i am got clear of this intrigue." while he was occupied with these thoughts, and others more troublesome, she ate and drank heartily, and obliged him to do the same. just as they were proceeding to the dessert, the master of the house arrived. it happened to be bahader, master of the horse to the king of the magicians. this mansion belonged to him, but he commonly resided in another; and seldom came to this, unless to regale himself with two or three chosen friends he always sent provisions from his other house on such occasions, and had done so this day by some of his servants, who were just gone when the lady and amgiad entered. bahader came as he used to do, in disguise, and without attendants, and a little before the time appointed for the assembling of his friends. he was not a little surprised to find the door broken open; he entered, making no noise, and hearing some persons talking and making merry in the hall, he stole along under the wall, and put his head half way within the door to see who they were. perceiving a young man and a young lady eating at his table the victuals that had been provided for his friends and himself, and that there was no great harm done, he resolved to divert himself with the adventure. the lady's back was a little turned towards him, and she did not see the master of the horse, but amgiad perceived him immediately. the glass was at the time in his hand, and he was going to drink; he changed colour at the sight of bahader, who made a sign to him not to say a word, but to come and speak to him. amgiad drank and rose: "where are you going?" inquired the lady. the prince answered, "pray, madam, stay here a little; i shall return directly." bahader waited for him in the vestibule, and led him into the court to talk to him without being overheard by the lady. when bahader and amgiad were in the court, bahader demanded of the prince, how the lady came into his house? and why they broke open his door? "my lord," replied amgiad, "you may very reasonably think me guilty of a very unwarrantable action: but if you will have patience to hear me, i hope i shall convince you of my innocence." he then related, in a few words, what had happened, without disguising any part of the truth; and to shew him that he was not capable of committing such an action as to break into a house, told him he was a prince, and informed him of the reason of his coming to the city of the magicians. bahader, who was a good man, was pleased with an opportunity of obliging one of amgiad's rank: for by his air, his actions, and his well-turned conversation, he did not in the least doubt the truth of what he had asserted. "prince," said bahader, "i am glad i can oblige you in so pleasant an adventure. far from disturbing the feast, it will gratify me to contribute to your satisfaction in any thing. before i say any more on this subject, i must inform you my name is bahader; i am master of the horse to the king of the magicians; i commonly reside in another house, which i have in the city, and come here sometimes to have the more liberty with my friends. you have made this lady believe you have a slave, though you have none; i will personate that slave, and that this may not make you uneasy, and to prevent your excuses, i repeat again, that i will positively have it to be so; you will soon know my reason. go to your place, and continue to divert yourself. when i return again, and come to you in a slave's habit, chide me for staying so long, do not be afraid even to strike me. i will wait upon you while you are at table till night; you shall sleep here, and so shall the lady, and to-morrow morning you may send her home with honour. i shall afterwards endeavour to do you more important services: go, and lose no time." amgiad would have made him an answer, but the master of the horse would not suffer him, forcing him to return to the lady. he had scarcely reentered the hall before bahader's friends, whom he had invited, arrived. bahader excused himself for not entertaining them that day, telling them they would approve of his reason when they should be informed of it, which they should be in due time. when they were gone, he went and dressed himself in a slave's habit. prince amgiad returned to the lady much pleased at finding the house belonged to a man of quality, who had received him so courteously. when he sat down again, he said, "madam, i beg a thousand pardons for my rudeness. i was vexed that my slave should tarry so long; the rascal shall pay for it when he comes: i will teach him to make me wait so for him." "let not that trouble you," said the lady. "the evil is his; if he is guilty of any faults, let him pay for it: but do not let us think of him, we will enjoy ourselves without him." they continued at the table with the more pleasure, as amgiad was under no apprehensions of the consequence of the lady's indiscretion in breaking open the door. the prince was now as merry as the lady: they said a thousand pleasant things, and drank more than they ate, till bahader arrived in his disguise. bahader entered like a slave who feared his master's displeasure for staying out when he had company with him. he fell down at his feet and kissed the ground, to implore his clemency; and when he had done, stood behind him with his hands across, waiting his commands. "sirrah," said amgiad, with a fierce tone, and angry look, "where have you been? what have you been doing, that you came no sooner?" "my lord," replied bahader, "i ask your pardon; i was executing your orders, and did not think you would return home so early." "you are a rascal," said amgiad, "and i will break your bones, to teach you to lie, and disappoint me." he then rose up, took a stick, and gave him two or three slight blows; after which he sat down again. the lady was not satisfied with this chastisement. she also rose, took the stick, and fell upon bahader so unmercifully, that the tears came into his eyes. amgiad, offended to the last degree at the freedom she took, and that she should use one of the king's chief officers so ill, called out to her in vain to forbear. "let me alone," said she "i will give him enough, and teach him to be absent so long another time." she continued beating him with great fury, till amgiad rose from the table, and forced the stick out of her hand which she did not relinquish without much struggling. when she found she could beat bahader no longer, she sat down, railed at and cursed him. bahader wiped his eyes, and stood up to fill out wine when he saw they had done eating and drinking, he took away the cloth, cleared the hall, put every thing in its place; and night coming on, lighted up the lamps. every time he came in, or went out, the lady muttered, threatened him, and gave him abusive language, to amgiad's great regret, who would have hindered her, but could not. when it was time for them to retire to bed, bahader prepared one for them on the sofa, and withdrew into a chamber, where he laid himself down, and soon fell asleep, having been fatigued with his beating. amgiad and the lady entertained one another for some time afterwards. the lady before she went to bed having occasion to go to another part of the house, passing through the vestibule, heard bahader snore, and having seen a sabre hanging up in the hall, turned back, and said to amgiad, "my lord, as you love me, do one thing for me." "in what can i serve you?" asked the prince. "oblige me so far as to take down this sabre and cut off your slave's head." amgiad was astonished at such a proposal from a lady, and made no doubt but it was the wine she had drunk that induced her to make it. "madam," said he, "let us suffer him to rest, he is not worthy of your farther notice: i have beaten him, and you have beaten him: that ought to be sufficient; besides, i am in other respects well satisfied with him." "that shall not satisfy me," replied the lady, in a violent passion; "the rascal shall die, if not by your hands, by mine." as she spoke, she took down the sabre from the place where it hung, drew it out of the scabbard, and prepared to execute her wicked design. amgiad met her in the vestibule, saying, "you shall be satisfied, madam, since you will have it so; but i should be sorry that any one besides myself should kill my slave." when she had given him the sabre, "come, follow me," said he; "make no noise, lest we should awaken him." they went into bahader's chamber, where amgiad, instead of striking him, aimed his blow at the lady, and cut off her head, which fell upon bahader. bahader was awakened by the head of the lady falling upon him. he was amazed to see amgiad standing by him with a bloody sabre, and the body of the lady lying headless on the ground. the prince told him what had passed, and said, "i had no other way to prevent this furious woman from killing you, but to take away her life." "my lord," replied bahader, full of gratitude, "persons of your rank and generosity are incapable of doing such a wicked action: as she desired of you. you are my deliverer, and i cannot sufficiently thank you." after having embraced him, to evince the sense he entertained of his obligations to him, he said, "we must carry this corpse out before it is quite day; leave it to me, i will do it." amgiad would not consent to this, saying, "he would carry it away himself, since he had struck the blow." bahader replied, "you are a stranger in this city, and cannot do it so well as one who is acquainted with the place. i must do it, if for no other reason, yet for the safety of both of us, to prevent our being questioned about her death. remain you here, and if i do not return before day, you may be sure the watch has seized me; and for fear of the worst, i will by writing give this house and furniture for your habitation." when he had written, signed, and delivered the paper to prince amgiad, he put the lady's body in a bag, head and all; laid it on his shoulder, and went out with it from one street to another, taking the way to the sea-side. he had not proceeded far before he met one of the judges of the city, who was going the rounds in person. bahader was stopped by the judge's followers, who, opening the bag, found the body of a murdered lady, bundled up with the head. the judge, who knew the master of the horse notwithstanding his disguise, took him home to his house, and not daring to put him to death without telling the king, on account of his rank, carried him to court as soon as it was day. when the king had been informed by the judge of the crime bahader had, as he believed from the circumstances, committed, he addressed himself to the master of the horse as follows: "it is thus then that thou murderess my subjects, to rob them, and then wouldst throw their dead bodies into the sea, to hide thy villainy? let us get rid of him; execute him immediately." innocent as bahader was, he received sentence of death with resignation, and said not a word in his justification. the judge carried him to his house, and while the pale was preparing, sent a crier to publish throughout the city, that at noon the master of the horse was to be impaled for a murder. prince amgiad, who had in vain expected bahader's return, was struck with consternation when he heard the crier publish the approaching execution of the master of the horse. "if," said he to himself, "any one ought to die for the murder of such a wicked woman, it is i, and not bahader; i will never suffer an innocent man to be punished for the guilty." without deliberating, he then hastened to the place of execution, whither the people were running from all parts. when amgiad saw the judge bringing bahader to the pale, he went up to him, and said, "i am come to assure you, that the master of the horse, whom you are leading to execution, is wholly innocent of the lady's death; i alone am guilty of the crime, if it be one, to have killed a detestable woman, who would have murdered bahader." he then related to him how it had happened. the prince having informed the judge of the manner in which he had met her coming from the bath; how she had occasioned his going into the master of the horse's pleasure-house, and all that had passed to the moment in which he was forced to cut off her head, to save bahader's life; the judge ordered execution to be stopped, and conducted amgiad to the king, taking the master of the horse with them. the king wished to hear the story from amgiad himself; and the prince, the better to prove his own innocence and that of the master of the horse, embraced the opportunity to discover who he was, and what had driven him and his brother assad to that city, with all the accidents that had befallen them, from their departure from the isle of ebene. the prince having finished his account, the king said to him, "i rejoice that i have by this means been made acquainted with you; i not only give you your own life, and that of my master of the horse, whom i commend for his kindness to you, but i restore him to his office; and as for you, prince, i declare you my grand vizier, to make amends for your father's unjust usage, though it is also excusable, and i permit you to employ all the authority with which i now invest you to find out prince assad." amgiad having thanked the king for the honour he had done him, on taking possession of his office of grand vizier used every possible means to find out the prince his brother. he ordered the common criers to promise a great reward to any who should discover him, or give any tidings of him. he sent men up and down the country to the same purpose; but in vain. assad in the meanwhile continued in the dungeon in chains; bostama and cavama, the cunning old conjuror's daughters, treating him daily with the same cruelty and inhumanity as at first. the solemn festival of the adorers of fire approached; and a ship was fitted out for the fiery mountain as usual: the captain's name was behram, a great bigot to his religion. he loaded it with proper merchandize; and when it was ready to sail, put assad in a chest, which was half full of goods, a few crevices being left between the boards to give him air. before the ship sailed, the grand vizier amgiad, who had been told that the adorers of fire used to sacrifice a mussulmaun every year on the fiery mountain, suspecting that assad might have fallen into their hands, and be designed for a victim, resolved to search the ship in person. he ordered all the passengers and seamen to be brought upon deck, and commanded his men to search all over the ship, which they did, but assad could not be found, he was so well concealed. when the grand vizier had done searching the vessel, she sailed. as soon as behram was got out to sea, he ordered prince assad to be taken out of the chest, and fettered, to secure him, lest he should throw himself into the sea in despair since he knew he was going to be sacrificed. the wind was very favourable for a few days, after which there arose a furious storm. the vessel was driven out of her course, so that neither behram nor his pilot knew where they were. they were afraid of being wrecked on the rocks, for in the violence of the storm they discovered land, and a dangerous shoal before them. behram perceived that he was driven into the port and capital of queen margiana, which occasioned him great mortification. this queen margiana was a devout professor of the mahummedan faith, and a mortal enemy to the adorers of fire. she had banished all of them out of her dominions, and would not suffer their ships to touch at her ports. it was no longer in the power of behram to avoid putting into the harbour, for he had no alternative but to be dashed to pieces against the frightful rocks that lay off the shore. in this extremity he held a council with his pilot and seamen. "my lads," said he, "you see to what a necessity we are reduced. we must choose one of two things; either to resolve to be swallowed up by the waves, or put into queen margiana's port, whose hatred to all persons of our religion you well know. she will certainly seize our vessel and put us all to death, without mercy. i see but one way to escape her, which is, to take off the fetters from the mussulmaun we have aboard, and dress him like a slave. when queen margiana commands me to come before her, and asks what trade i follow, i will tell her i deal in slaves; that i have sold all i had, but one, whom i keep to be my clerk, because he can read and write. she will by this means see him, and he being handsome, and of her own religion, will have pity on him. no doubt she will then ask to buy him of me, and on this account will let us stay in the port till the weather is fair. if any of you have any thing else to propose that will be preferable, i am ready to attend to it." the pilot and seamen applauded his judgment, and agreed to follow his advice. behram commanded prince assad's chains to be taken off, and had him neatly habited like a slave, as became one who was to pass for his clerk before the queen of the country. they had scarcely time to do this, before the ship drove into the port, and dropped anchor. queen margiana's palace was so near the sea, that her garden extended down to the shore. she saw the ship anchor, and sent to the captain to come to her, and the sooner to satisfy her curiosity waited for him in her garden. behram landed with prince assad, whom he required to confirm what he had said of his being a slave, and his clerk. when he was introduced to the queen, he threw himself at her feet, and informed her of the necessity he was under to put into her port: that he dealt in slaves, and had sold all he had but one, who was assad, whom he kept for his clerk. the queen was taken with assad from the moment she first saw him, and was extremely glad to hear that he was a slave; resolving to buy him, cost what he would. she asked assad what was his name. "great queen," he replied, with tears in his eyes, "does your majesty ask what my name was formerly, or what it is now?" the queen answered, "have you two names then?" "alas! i have," said assad: "i was once called assad (most happy); and now my name is motar" (devoted to be sacrificed). margiana not being able to comprehend the meaning of his answer, interpreted it to refer to his condition of a slave. "since you are clerk to the captain," said she, "no doubt you can write well; let me see your hand." behram had furnished assad with pen, ink, and paper, as a token of his office, that the queen might take him for what he designed she should. the prince stepped a little aside, and wrote as follows, suitable to his wretched circumstances: "the blind man avoids the ditch into which the clear-sighted falls. fools advance themselves to honours, by discourses which signify nothing, while men of sense and eloquence live in poverty and contempt. the mussulmaun with all his riches is miserable. the infidel triumphs. we cannot hope things will be otherwise. the almighty has decreed it shall be so." assad presented the paper to queen margiana, who admired alike the moral of the sentences, and the goodness of the writing. she needed no more to have her heart inflamed, and to feel a sincere concern for his misfortunes. she had no sooner read the lines, than she addressed herself to behram, saying, "do which you will, either sell me this slave, or make me a present of him; perhaps it will turn most to your account to do the latter." behram answered insolently, that he could neither give nor sell him; that he wanted his slave, and would keep him. queen margiana, provoked at his rudeness, would not talk to him any more on the subject. she took the prince by the arm, and turned him before her to the palace, sending behram word, that if he stayed the night in her port, she would confiscate his goods, and burn his ship. he was therefore forced to return to his vessel, and prepare to put to sea again, notwithstanding the tempest had not yet subsided. queen margiana, on entering her palace, commanded supper to be got ready; and while it was providing, she ordered assad to be brought into her apartment, where she bade him sit down. assad would have excused himself: "it becomes not a slave," said he, "to presume to this honour." "to a slave!" replied the queen: "you were so a moment ago; henceforward you are no more a slave. sit down near me, and tell me the story of your life; for by what you wrote, and the insolence of that slave-merchant, i guess there is something extraordinary in your history." prince assad obeyed her; and sitting down, began thus: "mighty queen, your majesty is not mistaken, in thinking there is something extraordinary in the story of my life: it is indeed more so than you can imagine. the ills, the incredible torments i have suffered, and the death to which i was devoted, and from which i am delivered by your royal generosity, will shew the greatness of my obligation to you, never to be forgotten. but before i enter into particulars of my miseries, which will strike horror into the hearts of all that hear them, i must trace the origin of them to its source." this preamble increased queen margiana's curiosity. the prince then told her of his royal birth; of his brother amgiad, and their mutual friendship; of their mothers' criminal passion, the cause of all their sufferings; of the king his father's rage; how miraculously their lives were saved; how he had lost his brother; how he had been long imprisoned and tortured, and was devoted to be sacrificed on the fiery mountain. when assad had finished his recital' the queen was more than ever enraged at the adorers of fire. "prince," said she, "though i have always had an aversion to the adorers of fire, yet hitherto i have had some humanity for them: but after their barbarous usage of you, and their execrable design to sacrifice you, i will henceforth wage perpetual war against them." she was proceeding, but supper being served in, she made prince assad sit down at table with her, being charmed with his beauty and eloquence, and touched with a passion which she hoped soon to have an opportunity of making known to him "prince," said she, "we must make you amends for so many fasts and wretched meals, to which the pitiless adorers of fire made you submit; you must want nourishment after such sufferings." with conversation of this kind she helped him at supper; and ordered him to drink a good deal of wine to recover his spirits; by which means he drank more than he could well bear. the cloth being taken away, assad having occasion to go out, took an opportunity when the queen did not observe him. he descended into the court, and seeing the garden-door open, went into it. being tempted by the pleasantness of the place, he walked there for some time. at last he came to a fountain, where he washed his face and hands to refresh himself, and lying down on the turf by the fountain, fell asleep. behram, to prevent the queen from executing her threats, had weighed anchor, vexed at the loss of assad, by which he was disappointed of a most acceptable sacrifice. he comforted himself as well as he could, with the thoughts that the storm was over, and that a land breeze favoured his getting off the coast. as soon as he was towed out of the port by the help of his boat, before it was hoisted up into the ship again, "stop, my lads," said he to the seamen, "do not come on board yet; i will give you some casks to fill with water, and wait for you." behram had observed, while he was talking to the queen in the garden, that there was a fountain at the end of it, near the port. "go," said he, "land before the palace-garden; the wall is not above breast high, you may easily get over; there is a basin in the middle of the garden, where you may fill all your barrels, and hand them aboard without difficulty." the sailors went ashore at the place he directed them to, and laying their casks on their shoulders easily got over the wall. as they approached the basin, they perceived a man sleeping on the grass, and knew him to be assad. they immediately divided themselves; and while some of the crew filled their barrels with as little noise as possible, others surrounded assad, and watched to seize him if he should awake. he slept on undisturbed, giving them time to fill all their casks; which they afterwards handed over the wall to others of the crew who waited to carry them aboard. they next seized assad, and conveyed him away, without giving him time to recollect himself. they got him over the wall into their boat with the casks, and rowed to the ship. when they drew near her they cried out for joy, "captain, sound your trumpets, beat your drums, we have brought you your slave." behram, who could not imagine how the seamen could find and take him again, and did not see assad in the boat, it being night, waited their arrival with impatience, to ask what they meant; but when he saw him, he could not contain himself for joy. he commanded him to be chained, without staying to inquire how they came by him; and having hoisted the boat on board, set sail for the fiery mountain. in the meanwhile queen margiana was in alarm. she was not at first apprehensive when she found prince assad was gone out, because she did not doubt but he would soon return when some time had passed without his appearing, she began to be uneasy, and commanded her women to look for him. they sought for him in every direction, and at night renewed their search by torch-light, but all to no purpose. queen margiana was so impatient and alarmed, that she went herself with lights, and finding the garden-door open, entered, and walked all over it with her women to seek for him. passing by the fountain and basin, she espied a slipper, which she took up, and knew it to be prince assad's, her women also recognized it to be his. this circumstance, together with the water being spilt about the edge of the basin, induced her to believe that behram had carried him off. she sent immediately to see if he was still in the port; and hearing he had sailed a little before it was dark, that he lay-to some time off the shore, while he sent his boat for water from the fountain, she sent word to the commander of ten ships of war, which lay always ready in the harbour, to sail on the shortest notice, that she would embark herself next morning as soon as it was day. the commander lost no time, ordered the captains, seamen and soldiers aboard, and was ready to sail at the time appointed. she embarked, and when the squadron was at sea, told the commander her intention. "make all the sail you can," said she, "and chase the merchantman that sailed last night out of this port. if you capture it, i assign it to you as your property; but if you fail, your life shall answer." the ten ships chased behram's vessel two whole days without seeing her. the third day in the morning they discovered her, and at noon had so surrounded her, that she could not escape. as soon as behram espied the ten ships of war, he made sure it was queen margiana's squadron in pursuit of him; and upon that he ordered assad to be bastinadoed, which he had done every day. he was much perplexed what to do, when he found he was surrounded. to keep assad, was to declare himself guilty; to kill him was as dangerous, for he feared some marks of the murder might be seen. he therefore commanded him to be unfettered and brought from the bottom of the hold where he lay. when he came before him, "it is thou," said he, "that art the cause of my being pursued;" and so saying, he flung him into the sea. prince assad being an expert swimmer, made such good use of his feet and hands, that he reached the shore in safety. the first thing he did after he had landed, was to thank god who had delivered him from so great a danger, and once more rescued him out of the hands of the adorers of fire. he then stripped himself, and wringing the water out of his clothes, spread them on a rock, where, by the heat of the sun, and of the rock, they soon dried. after this he lay down to rest himself, deploring his miserable condition, not knowing in what country he was nor which way to direct his course. he dressed himself again and walked on, keeping as near the sea-side as he could. at last he entered a kind of path, which he followed, and travelled on ten days through an uninhabited country, living on herbs, plants, and wild fruits. at last he approached a city, which he recognized to be that of the magicians, where he had been so ill used and where his brother amgiad was grand vizier. he rejoiced to discover where he was, but resolved not to approach any of the adorers of fire, and to converse only with moosulmauns, for he remembered he had seen some the first time he entered the town. it being late, and knowing the shops were already shut, and few people in the streets, he resolved to remain in a burying ground near the city, where there were several tombs built in the form of mausoleums. he found the door of one of them open, which he entered, designing to pass the night there. we must now return to behram's ship, which, after he had thrown prince assad overboard, was soon surrounded on all sides by queen margiana's squadron. the ship in which queen margiana was in person first came up with him, and behram, being in no condition of defence against so many, furled his sails as a mark of his submission. the queen herself boarded his ship, and demanded where the clerk was, whom he had the boldness to take or cause to be taken out of her palace. behram replied, "o queen! i swear by your majesty, he is not in my ship; you will, by searching, be convinced of my innocence." margiana ordered the ship to be searched as narrowly as possible, but she could not find the man, whom she so much wished to recover, as well on account of her love for him, as of the generosity for which she was distinguished. she once resolved to kill behram with her own hand, but refrained, and contented herself with seizing his ship and cargo, and turning him and his men on shore in their boat. behram and his seamen arrived at the city of the magicians the same night as assad, and stopped at the same burying-ground, the city gates being shut, intending to stay in some tomb till the next day, when they should be opened again. to assad's misfortune, behram came to that in which the prince was sleeping with his head wrapped up in his habit, and entered it. assad awoke at the noise of his footsteps, and demanded who was there. behram immediately recognized him. "hah, hah," said he, "thou art the man who has ruined me for ever; thou hast escaped being sacrificed this year, but depend on it thou shalt not be so fortunate the next." saying this, he flew upon him, clapped his handkerchief into his mouth to prevent his making a noise, and with the assistance of his seamen bound him. the next morning as soon as the city gates were open, behram and his men easily carried assad through streets, where no one was yet stirring, to the old man's house, where he had been so inhumanly treated. as soon as he was brought in, he was again thrown into the same dungeon. behram acquainted the old man with the unfortunate circumstances of his return, and the ill success of his voyage. the old savage, upon this, commanded his two daughters bostama and cavama to treat him, if possible, more cruelly than before. assad was overwhelmed with terror at seeing himself again in the hands of persecutors from whom he had suffered so much, and expected the repetition of the torments from which he hoped that he had been delivered. he was lamenting the severity of his fate, when bostama entered with a stick in her hand, a loaf and a pitcher of water. he trembled at the sight of this unmerciful wretch, and at the very thoughts of the sufferings he was to endure for another year, at the conclusion of which he was to die the most horrible death. bostama treated prince assad as inhumanly as she had done during his first confinement. but his cries, lamentations, and earnest entreaties to her to spare him, joined with his tears, were so affecting, that she could not help shedding tears. "my lord," said she, covering his shoulders again, "i ask a thousand pardons for my inhuman treatment of you formerly, and for making you once more feel its effect. till now i was afraid of disobeying a father, who is unjustly enraged against you, and resolved on your destruction, but at last i abhor this barbarity. be comforted, your evil days are over. i will endeavour by better treatment to make amends for all my crimes, of the enormity of which you will find i am duly sensible. you have hitherto regarded me as an infidel; henceforth believe me one of your own religion; having been taught it by a slave, i hope your lessons will complete my conversion. to convince you of my sincerity, i first beg pardon of the true god for all my sins, in dealing so cruelly by you, and i trust he will put it in my power to set you entirely at liberty." this address afforded the prince much comfort. he thanked the almighty for the change wrought in her heart, he also thanked her for her favourable disposition towards him, and omitted no arguments which he thought would have any effect in confirming her conversion to the moosulmaun religion. he afterwards related to her the whole story of his life to that time. when he was fully assured of her good intentions respecting him, he asked her how she could continue to keep her sister cavama in ignorance of them; and prevent her treating him as barbarously as she used to do? "let not that trouble you," replied bostama; "i know how to order matters so that she shall never come near you." she accordingly every day prevented her sister's coming down into the dungeon, where she often visited the prince. instead of carrying him bread and water, she now brought him the best wine and the choicest victuals she could procure, which were prepared by her twelve mahommedan slaves. she ate with him herself from time to time, and did all in her power to alleviate his misfortunes. a few days afterwards, bostama, as she stood at her father's door, observed the public crier making proclamation, but she could not hear what it was about, being too far off. as he was proceeding in the direction of her father's house, she went in, and holding the door half open, perceived that he went before the grand vizier amgiad, brother to assad; who was accompanied by several officers, and other attendants. the crier, a few steps from the house, repeated the proclamation with a loud voice, as follows: "the most excellent and illustrious grand vizier is come in person to seek for his dear brother, from whom he was separated about a year ago. he is a young man of such an appearance; if any one has him in keeping, or knows where he is, his excellency commands that they bring him forth, or give him notice where to find him, promising a great reward to the person that shall give the information. if any one conceal him, and he be hereafter found, his excellency declares' he shall be punished with death, together with his wife, children, and all his family, and his house to be razed to the ground." bostama, as soon as she had heard this, shut the door as fast as she could, and ran to assad in the dungeon. "prince," said she, with joy, "your troubles are at an end; follow me immediately." she had taken off his fetters the day he was brought in, and the prince followed her into the street, where she cried, "there he is, there he is!" the grand vizier, who was not far from the house, returned. assad knew him to be his brother, ran to him, and embraced him. amgiad, who immediately recollected him, returned his embrace with all possible tenderness; made him mount one of his officers' horses, who alighted for that purpose; and conducted him in triumph to the palace, where he presented him to the king, by whom he was advanced to the post of a vizier. bostama not wishing to return to her father's house, which was the next day razed to the ground, was sent to the queen's apartments. the old man her father, behram, and all their families were brought before the king, who condemned them to be beheaded. they threw themselves at his feet, and implored his mercy. "there is no mercy for you to expect," said the king, "unless you renounce the adoration of fire, and profess the mahummedan religion." they accepted the condition, and were pardoned at the intercession of assad, in consideration of bostama's friendship; for whose sake cavama's life, and the lives of the rest of their families were saved. amgiad, in consideration of behram turning mussulmaun, and to compensate for the loss which he had suffered before he deserved his favour, made him one of his principal officers, and lodged him in his house. behram, being informed of amgiad and his brother assad's story, proposed to his benefactor, to fit out a vessel to convey them to their father's court: "for," said he, "the king must certainly have heard of your innocence, and impatiently desire to see you: otherwise we can easily inform him of the truth before we land, and if he is still in the same mind, you can but return." the two brothers accepted the proposal, communicated it to the king of the city of the magicians, who approved of it; and commanded a ship to be equipped. behram undertook the employment cheerfully, and soon got in readiness to sail. the two princes, when they understood the ship was ready, waited upon the king to take leave. while they were making their compliments, and thanking the king for his favours, they were interrupted by a great tumult in the city: and presently an officer came to give them notice that a numerous army was advancing against the city, nobody knowing who they were, or whence they had come. the king being alarmed at the intelligence, amgiad addressed him thus: "sir, though i have just resigned into your majesty's hands the dignity of your first minister, with which you were pleased to honour me, i am ready to do you all the service in my power. i desire therefore that you would be pleased to let me go and see who this enemy is, that comes to attack you in your capital, without having first declared war." the king desired him to do so. amgiad departed immediately, with a very small retinue, to see what enemy approached, and what was the reason of their coming. it was not long before prince amgiad descried the army, which appeared very formidable, and which approached nearer and nearer. the advanced guards received him favourably, and conducted him to a princess, who stopped, and commanded her army to halt, while she talked with the prince; who, bowing profoundly to her, demanded if she came as a friend or an enemy: if as an enemy, what cause of complaint she had against the king his master? "i come as a friend," replied the princess, "and have no cause of complaint against the king of the city of the magicians. his territories and mine are so situated, that it is almost impossible for us to have any dispute. i only come to require a slave named assad, to be delivered up to me. he was carried away by one behram, a captain of a ship belonging to this city, the most insolent man in the world. i hope your king will do me justice, when he knows i am margiana." the prince answered, "mighty queen, the slave whom you take so much pains to seek is my brother: i lost him, and have found him again. come, and i will deliver him up to you myself; and will do myself the honour to tell you the rest of the story: the king my master will rejoice to see you." the queen ordered her army to pitch their tents, and encamp where they were; and accompanied prince amgiad to the city and palace, where he presented her to the king; who received her in a manner becoming her dignity. assad, who was present, and knew her as soon as he saw her, also paid his respects to her. she appeared greatly rejoiced to see him. while they were thus engaged, tidings came, that an army more powerful than the former approached on the other side of the city. the king of the magicians was more terrified than before, understanding the second army was more numerous than the first, for he saw this by the clouds of dust they raised, which hid the face of the heavens. "amgiad," cried he, "what shall we do now? a new army comes to destroy us." amgiad guessed what the king meant; he mounted on horseback again, and galloped towards the second army. he demanded of the advanced guards to speak with their general, and they conducted him to their king. when he drew near him, he alighted, prostrated himself to the ground, and asked what he required of the king his master. the monarch replied, "i am gaiour, king of china; my desire to learn tidings of a daughter, whose name is badoura, whom i married to kummir al zummaun, son of shaw zummaun, king of the isles of the children of khaledan, obliged me to leave my dominions. i suffered that prince to go to see his father, on condition that he came back in a year with my daughter; from that time i have heard nothing of them. your king will lay an infinite obligation on an afflicted father, by telling him if he knows what is become of them." prince amgiad, perceiving by his discourse that the king was his grandfather, kissed his hand with tenderness, and answered him thus: "i hope your majesty will pardon my freedom, when you know that i only pay my duty to my grandfather. i am the son of kummir al zummaun, king of the isle of ebene, and of queen badoura, for whom you are thus troubled; and i doubt not but they are both in good health in their kingdom." the king of china, overjoyed to see his grandson, tenderly embraced him. such a meeting, so happy and unexpected, drew tears from both. the king inquiring on what occasion he had come into a strange country, the prince told him all that had happened to him and his brother assad. when he had finished his relation, "my son," replied the king of china, "it is not just that such innocent princes as you are should be longer ill used. comfort yourself, i will carry you and your brother home, and make your peace. return, and acquaint your brother with my arrival." while the king of china encamped in the place where prince amgiad met him, the prince returned to inform the king of the magicians, who waited for him impatiently, how he had succeeded. the king was astonished that so mighty a king as that of china should undertake such a long and troublesome journey, out of a desire to see his daughter. he gave orders to make preparations for his reception, and went forth to meet him. while these things were transacting, a great dust was seen on another side of the town; and suddenly news was brought of the arrival of a third army, which obliged the king to stop, and to desire prince amgiad once more to see who they were, and on what account they came. amgiad went accordingly, and prince assad accompanied him. they found it was kummir al zummaun their father's army, with whom he was coming to seek for them. he was so grieved for the loss of his sons, that at last emir jehaun-dar declared that he had saved their lives, which made him resolve to seek for them wherever he was likely to find them. the afflicted father embraced the two princes with tears of joy, which put an end to those he had a long time shed for grief. the princes had no sooner told him the king of china, his father-in-law, was arrived, than, accompanied by them and a small party, he rode to wait upon him in his camp. they had not gone far, before they saw a fourth army advancing in good order, which seemed to come from persia. kummir al zummaun desired the two princes to go and see what army it was, and he would in the meanwhile wait for them. they departed immediately, and coming up to it, were presented to the king to whom the army belonged; and, after having saluted him with due reverence, they demanded on what design he approached so near the king of the magicians' capital. the grand vizier, who was present, answered in the name of the king his master, "the monarch to whom you speak is shaw zummaun, king of the isles of the children of khaledan, who has a longtime travelled, thus attended, to seek his son, who left his dominions many years ago: if you know any thing of him, you cannot oblige him more than by communicating to him all the information in your power." the princes only replied, that they would shortly bring him an answer, and galloping back as fast as they could, told kummir al zummaun that the king his father was approaching with his army. wonder, surprise, joy, and grief, had such an effect on kummir al zummaun, that he fainted as soon as he heard he was so near. prince amgiad and prince assad, by their assiduities, at length brought him to himself; and when he had recovered his strength, he went to his father's tent, and threw himself at his feet. never was there a more affecting interview. shaw zummaun gently upbraided his son with unkindness in so cruelly leaving him; and kummir al zummaun discovered a hearty sorrow for the fault which love had urged him to commit. the three kings, and queen margiana, stayed three days at the court of the king of the magicians, who treated them magnificently. these three days were rendered more remarkable by prince assad's marriage with queen margiana, and prince amgiad with bostama, for the service she had done his brother assad. at length the three kings, and queen margiana, with her husband assad, returned to their respective kingdoms. as for amgiad, the king of the magicians had such an affection for him, he could not part with him; and being very old, he resigned his crown to him. amgiad, when he had the supreme authority, did his utmost to exterminate the worship of fire, and establish the mahummedan religion throughout his dominions. the story of noor ad deen and the fair persian. the city of bussorah was for many years the capital of a kingdom tributary to the caliphs of arabia. the king who governed it in the days of the caliph haroon al rusheed was named zinebi, who not thinking it proper to commit the administration of his affairs to a single vizier, made choice of two, khacan and saouy. khacan was of a sweet, generous, and affable temper, and took pleasure in obliging, to the utmost of his power, those with whom he had any business to transact, without violating the justice which it became him to dispense to all. he was therefore universally respected, at court, in the city, and throughout the whole kingdom; and the praises he so highly deserved were the general theme. saouy was of a very different character: he was always sullen and morose, and disgusted every body, without regard to their rank or quality. instead of commanding respect by the liberal distribution of his immense wealth, he was so perfect a miser as to deny himself the necessaries of life. in short, nobody could endure him; and nothing good was said of him. but what rendered him most hateful to the people, was his implacable aversion to khacan. he was always putting the worst construction on the actions of that worthy minister, and endeavouring as much as possible to prejudice him with the king. one day after council, the king of bussorah amused himself with his two viziers and some other members. the conversation turned upon the female slaves that are daily bought and sold, and who hold nearly the same rank as the lawful wives. some were of opinion, that personal beauty in slaves so purchased was of itself sufficient to render them proper substitutes for wives, which, often on account of alliance or interest in families, men are obliged to marry, though they are not always possessed of any perfection, either of mind or body. others maintained, and amongst the rest khacan, that personal charms were by no means the only qualifications to be desired in a slave; but that they ought to be accompanied with a great share of wit, a cultivated understanding, modesty, and, if possible, every agreeable accomplishment. the reason they gave was, that nothing could be more gratifying to persons on whom the management of important affairs devolved, than, after having spent the day in fatiguing employment, to have a companion in their retirement, whose conversation would be not only pleasing, but useful and instructive: for, in short, continued they, there is but little difference between brutes and those men who keep a slave only to look at, and to gratify a passion that we have in common with them. the king entirely concurred in this opinion, and accordingly ordered khacan to buy him a slave, of perfect beauty, mistress of all the qualifications they had enumerated, and possessed, above all things, of an enlightened understanding. saouy, jealous of the honour the king had done khacan, and differing widely with him in opinion, said, "sire, it will be very difficult to find a slave so accomplished as your majesty requires; and should such a one be discovered, which i scarcely believe possible, she will be cheap at ten thousand pieces of gold." "saouy," replied the king, "i perceive plainly you think the sum too great; it may be so for you, though not for me." then turning to his high treasurer, he ordered him to send the ten thousand pieces of gold to the vizier's house. khacan, as soon as he had returned home, sent for all the brokers who used to deal in women-slaves, and strictly charged them, that, if ever they met with one who answered the description he gave them, they should immediately apprise him. the brokers, partly to oblige the vizier, and partly for their own interest, promised to use their utmost endeavours to procure for him one that would accord with his wishes. scarcely a day passed but they brought him a slave for his inspection, but he always discovered in each something defective. one day, early in the morning, as khacan was mounting his horse to go to court, a broker came to him, and, taking hold of the stirrup with great eagerness, told him a persian merchant had arrived very late the day before, who had a slave to sell, so surprisingly beautiful that she excelled all the women his eyes had ever beheld; "and for wit and knowledge," added he, "the merchant engages she shall match the most acute and learned persons of the age." khacan, overjoyed at this intelligence, which promised him a favourable opportunity for making his court, ordered him to bring the slave to his palace against his return, and departed. the broker failed not to be at the vizier's at the appointed hour; and khacan, finding the lovely slave so much beyond his expectation, immediately gave her the name of the fair persian. as he had himself much wit and learning, he soon perceived by her conversation, that it was in vain to search further for a slave that surpassed her in any of the qualifications required by the king; and therefore he asked the broker at what sum the persian merchant valued her. "sir," replied the broker, "he is a man of few words in bargaining, and he tells me, that the very lowest price he will take for her is ten thousand pieces of gold: he has also sworn to me, that, without reckoning his care and pains from the time of his first taking her under his charge, he has laid out nearly that sum on her education in masters to improve her form and cultivate her mind, besides what she has cost him in clothes and maintenance. as he always thought her fit for a king, he has from her infancy, when he first bought her, been sparing of nothing that might contribute towards advancing her to that high distinction. she plays upon all kinds of instruments to perfection; she sings, dances, writes better than the most celebrated authors, makes verses, and there is scarcely any book but she has read; so that there never was a slave so accomplished heard of before." the vizier khacan, who could estimate the merits of the fair persian better than the broker, who only reported what he had heard from the merchant, was unwilling to defer the bargain to a future opportunity, and therefore sent one of his servants to look for the merchant, where the broker told him he was to be found. as soon as the persian merchant arrived, "it is not for myself, but for the king," said the vizier khacan, "that i buy your slave; but, nevertheless, you must let him have her at a more reasonable price than you have set upon her." "sir," replied the merchant, "i should do myself unspeakable honour in offering her as a present to his majesty, if it became a person in my situation to make him one of such inestimable value. i ask no more than her education and accomplishments have cost me; and all i have to say is, that i believe his majesty will be extremely pleased with the purchase." the vizier khacan would stand no longer bargaining with the merchant, but paid him the money immediately. "sir," said he to the vizier, upon taking his leave of him, "since the slave is designed for the king's use, give me leave to tell you, that being extremely fatigued with our long journey, you see her at present under great disadvantage. though she has not her equal in the world for beauty, yet if you please to keep her at your own house for a fortnight, she will appear quite another creature. you may then present her to the king with honour and credit; for which i hope you will think yourself much obliged to me. the sun, you perceive, has a little injured her complexion; but after two or three times bathing, and when you have dressed her as you think proper, she will be so changed, that she will appear infinitely more charming." khacan was pleased with the instructions the merchant gave him, and resolved to abide by them. he assigned the fair persian a particular apartment near his lady's, whom he desired to invite her to an entertainment, and thenceforth to treat her as a person designed for the king: he also provided for her several suits of the richest clothes that could be had, and would become her best. before he took his leave of the fair persian, he said "your happiness, madam, cannot be greater than what i am about to procure for you; you shall judge for yourself; it is for the king i have purchased you; and i hope he will be even more pleased with possessing you than i am in having discharged the commission with which his majesty has honoured me. i think it, however, my duty to warn you that i have a son, who, though he does not want wit, is yet young, insinuating, and forward; and to caution you how you suffer him to come near you." the fair persian thanked him for his advice; and after she had given him assurance of her intention to follow it, he withdrew. noor ad deen, for so the vizier's son was named, had free access to the apartment of his mother, with whom he usually ate his meals. he was young, handsome in person, agreeable in manners, and firm in his temper; and having great readiness of wit, and fluency of language, was perfect master of the art of persuasion. he saw the fair persian; and from their first interview, though he knew his father had bought her purposely for the king, and had so informed him, yet he never used the least endeavour to check the violence of his passion. in short, he resigned himself wholly to the power of her charms, by which his heart was at first captivated; and, from his first conversation with her, resolved to use his utmost endeavours to keep her from the king. the fair persian, on her part, had no dislike to noor ad deen. "the vizier," said she to herself, "has done me honour in purchasing me for the king; but i should have thought myself very happy if he had designed me only for his own son." noor ad deen was not remiss in improving the advantage he enjoyed of seeing and conversing with a beauty of whom he was so passionately enamoured; for he would never leave her till obliged by his mother. "my son," she would say, "it is not proper for a young man like you to be always in the women's apartments; go, mind your studies, and endeavour to qualify yourself to succeed to the honours of your father." the fair persian not having bathed for a considerable time on account of the length of her journey, the vizier's lady, five or six days after she was purchased, ordered the bath in her own house to be got ready purposely for her. she sent her to it accompanied by many other women-slaves, who were charged by the vizier's lady to be as attentive to her as to herself, and, after bathing, to put her on a very rich suit of clothes that she had provided for her. she was the more careful in order to ingratiate herself with her husband, by letting him see how much she interested herself in every thing that contributed to his pleasure. as soon as she came out of the bath, the fair persian, a thousand times more beautiful than she had appeared to khacan when he bought her, went to visit his lady, who at first hardly knew her. the fair persian gracefully kissed her hand, and said, "madam, i know not how you like me in this dress you have been pleased to order for me; but your women, who tell me it becomes me so extremely well they should scarcely know me, certainly flatter me. from you alone i expect to hear the truth; but, if what they say be really so, i am indebted to you, madam, for the advantage it has given me." "oh! my daughter," cried the vizier's lady, transported with joy, "you have no reason to believe my women have flattered you; i am better skilled in beauty than they; and, setting aside your dress, which becomes you admirably well, your beauty is so much improved by the bath, that i hardly knew you myself. if i thought the bath was warm enough, i would take my turn; for i am now of an age to require its frequent use." "madam," replied the fair persian, "i have nothing to say to the undeserved civilities you have been pleased to shew me. as for the bath, it is in fine order; and if you design to go in, you have no time to lose, as your women can inform you." the vizier's lady, considering that she had not bathed for some days, was desirous to avail herself of that opportunity; and accordingly acquainted her women with her intention, who immediately prepared all things necessary for the occasion. the fair persian withdrew to her apartment; and the vizier's lady, before she went to bathe, ordered two little female slaves to stay with her, with a strict charge that if noor ad deen came, they should not give him admittance. while the vizier's lady was bathing, and the fair slave was alone in her apartment, noor ad deen came in, and not finding his mother in her chamber, went directly towards the fair persian's, and found the two little slaves in the antechamber. he asked them where his mother was? they told him in the bath. "where is the fair persian, then?" demanded noor ad deen. "in her chamber," answered the slaves; "but we have positive orders from your mother not to admit you." the entrance into the fair persian's chamber being only covered with a piece of tapestry, noor ad deen went to lift it up, in order to enter, but was opposed by the two slaves, who placed themselves before it, to stop his passage. he presently caught them both by the arms, and, thrusting them out of the antechamber, locked the door upon them. they immediately ran with loud lamentations to the bath, and with tears in their eyes, told their lady, that noor ad deen, having driven them away by force, had gone into the fair persian's chamber. the vizier's lady received the account of her son's presumption with the greatest concern. she immediately left the bath, and dressing herself with all possible speed, came directly to the fair persian's chamber; but before she could get thither, noor ad deen had gone away. the fair persian was extremely surprised to see the vizier's lady enter her chamber in tears, and in the utmost confusion. "madam," said she, "may i presume to ask you the occasion of your concern; and what accident has happened in the bath, to make you leave it so soon?" "what!" cried the vizier's lady, "can you so calmly ask that question, after my son has been with you alone in your chamber? can there happen a greater misfortune to him or me?" "i beseech you, madam," replied the fair slave, "what prejudice can this action of noor ad deen's do to you or him?" "how," returned the vizier's lady, "did not my husband tell you that you were designed for the king, and sufficiently caution you to beware of our son?" "i have not forgotten that, madam," replied the fair persian; "but your son came to tell me the vizier his father had changed his purpose, and instead of reserving me for the king, as he first designed, had made him a present of my person. i easily believed him; for, oh! think how a slave as i am, accustomed from my infant years to the laws of servitude, could or ought to resist him! i must own i did it with the less reluctance, on account of the affection for him, which the freedom of our conversation and daily intercourse has excited in my heart. i could without regret resign the hope of ever being the king's, and think myself perfectly happy in spending my whole life with noor ad deen." at this discourse of the fair persian's, the vizier's lady exclaimed, "would to god that what you say were true! i should hear it with joy; but, believe me, noor ad deen has deceived you; for it is impossible his father should ever make him such a present. ah! wretched youth, how miserable has he made me! and more especially his father, by the dismal consequences we must all expect to share with him! neither my prayers nor tears will be able to prevail, or obtain a pardon for him; for as soon as his father hears of his violence to you, he will inevitably sacrifice him to his resentment." at these words she wept bitterly; and the slaves, who were as much alarmed for noor ad deen as herself, joined in her tears. shortly after the vizier khacan entered; and being surprised to find his lady and her slaves all in tears, and the fair persian very melancholy asked the reason; but instead of answering him his wife and the slaves continued weeping and lamenting. this astonished him still more; at last, addressing himself to his wife, "i command you," said he, "to let me know the reason of your tears, and to tell me the whole truth." the disconsolate lady could no longer refuse to satisfy her husband. "sir," said she, "first promise not to use me unkindly on account of what i shall inform you, since i assure you, that what has happened has not been occasioned by any fault of mine." without waiting for his answer, she then proceeded, "whilst i was bathing with my women, your son seizing that fatal opportunity to ruin us both, came hither, and made the fair persian believe, that instead of reserving her for the king, you had given her to him as a present. i will not say what he did after such a wicked falsehood, but shall leave you to judge. this is the cause of my affliction, on your account, and his, for whom i want confidence to implore your pardon." it is impossible to express the vizier khacan's distraction at this account of the insolence of his son. "ah!" cried he, beating his breast, and tearing his beard, "miserable son! unworthy of life! hast thou at last thrown thy father from the highest pinnacle of happiness into a misfortune that must inevitably involve thee also in his ruin? neither will the king be satisfied with thy blood or mine, to avenge the affront offered to his royal person." his lady endeavoured to comfort him. "afflict yourself no more," said she; "i shall easily raise, with part of my jewels, ten thousand pieces of gold, and you may buy another slave, more beautiful and more worthy of the king." "ah!" replied the vizier, "could you think me capable of being so extremely afflicted at losing ten thousand pieces of gold? it is not that loss, nor the loss of all i am worth, for that i should not feel; but the forfeiting my honour, more precious than all the riches in the world, that distresses me." "however," replied the lady, "a loss that can be repaired by money cannot be so very great." "how!" exclaimed the vizier; "do you not know that saouy is my mortal enemy; and as soon as this affair comes to his knowledge, do you think he will not exult over me before the king? 'your majesty,' will he not say to him, is always talking of khacan's zeal and affection for your service; but see what a proof he has lately given of his claim to the regard you have hitherto shewn him. he has received ten thousand pieces of gold to buy a slave; and, to do him justice, he has most honourably acquitted himself of that commission, by purchasing the most beautiful that ever eyes beheld; but, instead of bringing her to your majesty, he has thought it better to make a present of her to his son. "here, my son," said he, "take this slave, since thou art more worthy of her than the king." then, with his usual malice, will he not go on. his son has her now entirely in his possession, and every day revels in her arms, without the least disturbance. this, sir, is the exact truth, that i have done myself the honour of acquainting you with; and if your majesty questions my veracity, you may easily satisfy yourself. do you not plainly see," continued the vizier, "how, upon such a malicious insinuation as this, i am every moment liable to have my house forced by the king's guards, and the fair persian taken from me, besides a thousand other misfortunes that will unavoidably follow?" "sir," replied the vizier's lady to her husband, "i am sensible the malice of saouy is very great, and that, if he have but the least intimation of this affair, he will certainly give it a turn very disadvantageous to your interest; but how is it possible that he or any one else should know what has been privately transacted in your family? suppose it comes to the king's ears, and he should ask you about it; cannot you say, that upon a strict examination you did not deem the slave so fit for his majesty's use as you had at first thought her; that the merchant has cheated you; that, indeed, she has considerable beauty, but is by no means so accomplished as she had been represented. the king will certainly believe what you say, and saouy be vexed to the soul, to see all his malicious design of ruining you disappointed. take courage then, and, if you will follow my advice, send for all the brokers, tell them you do not like the fair persian, and order them to be as expeditious as possible in procuring for you another slave." as this advice appeared rational to the vizier khacan, and as his passion began to cool, he resolved to abide by it, but his indignation against his son remained as violent as ever. noor ad deen did not make his appearance during the whole of that day, and not daring to hide himself among his young companions, lest his father should search for him in their houses, he went a little way out of town, and took sanctuary in a garden, where he had never been before, and where he was totally unknown. he did not return home till it was very late, when he knew his father was in bed; and then his mother's women, opening the door very softly; admitted him without any noise. he quitted the house again next morning before his father was stirring; and this plan he pursued for a whole month, to his great mortification. indeed, the women never flattered him, but told him plainly, his father's anger was not at all diminished, and that he protested if he came into his sight he would certainly kill him. the vizier's lady learnt from her women that noor ad deen slept every night in the house, but she could not summon resolution to supplicate her husband for his pardon. at last, however, she ventured. one day she said to him, "i have hitherto been silent, sir, not daring to take the liberty of talking to you about your son; but now give me leave to ask what you design to do with him? it is impossible for a son to have acted more criminally towards a father than he has done, in depriving you of the honour and gratification of presenting to the king a slave so accomplished as the fair persian. this i acknowledge; but, after all, are you resolved to destroy him, and, instead of a light evil no more to be thought of, to draw upon yourself a far greater than perhaps you at present apprehend? are you not afraid that the malicious world, which inquires after the reason of your son's absconding, may find out the true cause, which you are so desirous of concealing? should that happen, you would justly fall into a misfortune, which it is so much your interest to avoid." "madam," returned the vizier, "there is much reason in what you have urged; but i cannot think of pardoning our son, till i have mortified him as he deserves." "he will be sufficiently mortified," replied the lady, "if you will only do what has just suggested itself to my mind. your son comes home every night after you have retired; he sleeps here, and steals out every morning before you are stirring. wait for his coming in to-night, make as if you designed to kill him, upon which i will run to his assistance, and when he finds he owes his life entirely to my prayers and entreaties, you may oblige him to take the fair persian on what condition you please. he loves her, and i am well satisfied the fair slave has no aversion for him." khacan readily consented to this stratagem. accordingly, when noor ad deen came at the usual hour, before the door was opened, he placed himself behind it: as soon as he entered, he rushed suddenly upon him, and got him down under his feet. noor ad deen, lifting up his head, saw his father with a dagger in his hand, ready to stab him. at that instant his mother arrived, and catching hold of the vizier's arm, cried, "sir, what are you doing?" "let me alone," replied the vizier, "that i may kill this base, unworthy son." "you shall kill me first," returned the mother; "never will i suffer you to imbue your hands in your own blood." noor ad deen improved this moment. "my father," cried he with tears in his eyes, "i implore your clemency and compassion; nor must you deny me pardon, since i ask it in his name before whom we must all appear at the last day." khacan suffered the dagger to be taken out of his hand; and as soon as noor ad deen was released, he threw himself at his father's feet and kissed them, to shew how sincerely he repented of having offended him. "son," said the vizier, "return thanks to your mother, since it is for her sake i pardon you. i propose also to give you the fair persian, on condition that you will bind yourself by an oath not to regard her any longer as a slave, but as your wife; that you will not sell her, nor ever be divorced from her. as she possesses an excellent understanding, and abundantly more wit and prudence than yourself, i doubt not but that she will be able to moderate those rash sallies of youth, which are otherwise so likely to effect your ruin." noor ad deen, who little expected such indulgent treatment, returned his father a thousand thanks, and the fair persian and he were well pleased with being united to each other. the vizier khacan, without waiting for the king's inquiries about the success of the commission he had given him, took particular care to mention the subject often, representing to his majesty the many difficulties he met, and how fearful he was of not acquitting himself to his majesty's satisfaction. in short, he managed the business with so much address, that the king insensibly forgot it. though saouy had gained some intimation of the transaction, yet khacan was so much in the king's favour, that he was afraid to divulge what he had heard. this delicate affair had now been kept rather more than a year with greater secrecy than the vizier at first expected, when being one day in the bath, and some important business obliging him to leave it, warm as he was, the air, which was then cold, struck to his breast, caused a defluxion to fall upon his lungs, which threw him into a violent fever, and confined him to his bed. his illness increasing every day, and perceiving he had not long to live, he thus addressed himself to his son, who never quitted him during the whole of his illness: "my son," said he, "i know not whether i have well employed the riches heaven has blessed me with, but you see they are not able to save me from the hands of death. the last thing i desire of you with my dying breath is, that you would be mindful of the promise you made me concerning the fair persian, and in this assurance i shall die content." these were the vizier khacan's last words. he expired a few moments after, and left his family, the court, and the whole city, in great affliction, the king lamented him as a wise, zealous, and faithful minister; and the people bewailed him as their protector and benefactor.. never was there a funeral in bussorah solemnized with greater pomp and magnificence. the viziers, emirs, and in general all the grandees of the court, strove for the honour of bearing his coffin, one after another, upon their shoulders, to the place of burial; and both rich and poor accompanied him, dissolved in tears. noor ad deen exhibited all the demonstrations of a sorrow proportioned to the loss he had sustained, and long refrained from seeing any company. at last he admitted of a visit from an intimate acquaintance. his friend endeavoured to comfort him; and finding him inclined to hear reason, told him, that having paid what was due to the memory of his father, and fully satisfied all that decency required of him, it was now high time to appear again in the world, to converse with his friends, and maintain a character suitable to his birth and talents. "for," continued he, "though we should sin against the laws both of nature and society, and be thought insensible, if on the death of our fathers we neglected to pay them the duties which filial love imposes upon us; yet having performed these, and put it out of the power of any to reproach us for our conduct, it behoves us to return to the world, and our customary occupations. dry up your tears then, and reassume that wonted air of gaiety which has always inspired with joy those who have had the honour of your friendship." this advice seemed too reasonable to be rejected, and had noor ad deen strictly abided by it, he would certainly have avoided all the misfortunes that afterwards befell him. he entertained his friend honourably; and when he took his leave, desired him to come again the next day, and bring with him three or four friends of their acquaintance. by this means he insensibly fell into the society of about ten young men nearly of his own age, with whom he spent his time in continual feasting and entertainments; and scarcely a day passed but he made every one of them some considerable present. the fair persian, who never approved of his extravagant way of living, often spoke her mind freely. "i question not," said she, "but the vizier your father has left you an ample fortune: but great as it may be, be not displeased with your slave for telling you, that at this rate of living you will quickly see an end of it. we may sometimes indeed treat our friends, and be merry with them; but to make a daily practice of it, is certainly the high road to ruin and destruction: for your own honour and reputation, you would do better to follow the footsteps of your deceased father, that in time you may rise to that dignity by which he acquired so much glory and renown." noor ad deen hearkened to the fair persian with a smile: and when she had done, "my charmer," said he, with the same air of gaiety, "say no more of that; let us talk of nothing but mirth and pleasure. in my father's lifetime i was always under restraint; and i am now resolved to enjoy the liberty i so much sighed for before his death. it will be time enough for me hereafter to think of leading the sober, regular life you talk of; and a man of my age ought to taste the pleasures of youth." what contributed still more to the ruin of noor ad deen's fortune, was his unwillingness to reckon with his steward; for whenever he brought in his accounts, he still sent him away without examining them: "go, go," said he, "i trust wholly to your honesty; only take care to provide good entertainments for my friends." "you are the master, sir," replied he, "and i but the steward; however, you would do well to think upon the proverb, 'he that spends much, and has but little, must at last insensibly be reduced to poverty.' you are not contented with keeping an extravagant table, but you must lavish away your estate with both hands: and were your coffers as large as mountains, they would not be sufficient to maintain you." "begone," replied noor ad deen, "i want not your grave lessons; only take care to provide good eating and drinking, and trouble your head no farther about the rest." in the meantime, noor ad deen's friends were constant guests at his table, and never failed to take advantage of the easiness of his temper. they praised and flattered him, extolling his most indifferent actions; but, above all, they took particular care to commend whatever belonged to him; and in this they found their account. "sir," said one of them, "i came the other day by your estate that lies in such a place; nothing can be so magnificent or so handsomely furnished as your house; and the garden belonging to it is a paradise upon earth." "i am very glad it pleases you," replied noor ad deen: "bring me pen, ink, and paper; without more words, it is at your service; i make you a present of it." no sooner had others commended one of his houses, baths, or public buildings erected for the use of strangers, the yearly revenue of which was very considerable, than he immediately gave them away. the fair persian could not forbear stating to him how much injury he did himself; but, instead of paying any regard to her remonstrances, he continued his extravagances, and the first opportunity that offered, squandered away the little he had left. in short, noor ad deen did nothing for a whole year but feast and make merry, wasting and consuming, with the utmost prodigality, the great wealth that his predecessors, and the good vizier his father, had with so much pains and care acquired and preserved. the year was but just expired, when a person one day knocked at the door of the hall, where he and his friends were at dinner together by themselves, having sent away the slaves, that they might enjoy the greater liberty. one of his friends offered to rise; but noor ad deen stepping before him, opened the door himself. it was the steward; and noor ad deen, going a little out of the hall to know his business, left the door half open. the friend that offered to rise from his seat, seeing it was the steward, and being curious to know what he had to say, placed himself between the hangings and the door, where he plainly overheard the steward's discourse to his master. "sir," said he, "i ask a thousand pardons for coming to disturb you in the height of your pleasure; but what i have to say is of such importance, that i thought myself bound in duty to acquaint you with it. i am come, sir, to make up my last accounts, and to tell you, that what i all along foresaw, and have often warned you of, is at last come to pass. i have not the smallest piece left of all the sums i have received from you for your expenses; the other funds you assigned me are all exhausted. the farmers, and those that owe you rent, have made it so plainly appear to me, that you have assigned over to others what they held of you, that it is impossible for me to get any more from them on your account. here are my books; if you please, examine them; and if you wish i should continue useful to you, assign me other funds, or else give me leave to quit your service." noor ad deen was so astonished at his statement, that he gave him no answer. the friend who had been listening all this while, and had heard every syllable of what the steward said, immediately came in, and told the company what he had overheard. "it is your business, gentlemen," said he, "to make your use of this caution; for my part, i declare to you, this is the last visit i design ever to make noor ad deen." "nay," replied they, "if matters go thus, we have as little business here as you; and for the future shall take care not to trouble him with our company." noor ad deen returned presently after; notwithstanding all his efforts to appear gay to his guests, he could not so dissemble his concern, but they plainly perceived the truth of what they had heard. he was scarcely sat down in his place, when one of his friends arose: "sir," said he, "i am sorry i cannot have the honour of keeping you company any longer; and therefore i hope you will excuse my rudeness in leaving you so soon." "what urgent affair," demanded noor ad deen, "obliges you to be going so soon?" "my wife, sir," he replied, "is brought to bed to-day; and upon such an occasion, you know a husband's company is always necessary." so making a very low bow, he went away. a minute afterwards a second took his leave, with another excuse. the rest did the same, one after another, till at last not one of the ten friends that had hitherto kept noor ad deen company remained. as soon as they were gone, noor ad deen, little suspecting the resolution they had formed never to see him again, went directly to the fair persian's apartment; to whom he related all the steward had told him, and seemed extremely concerned at the ill state of his affairs. "sir," said the fair persian, "allow me to say, you would never take my advice, but always managed your concerns after your own way, and now you see the fatal consequences. i find i was not mistaken, when i presaged to what a miserable condition you would bring yourself at last: but what afflicts me the more is, that at present you do not see the worst of your misfortunes. whenever i presumed freely to remonstrate with you, 'let us be merry,' you replied, 'and improve the time that fortune offers us; perhaps she will not always be so prodigal of her favours:' but was i to blame in telling you, that we are ourselves the makers of our own fortunes by a prudent management of them? you would not hearken to me; and i was forced, however reluctantly, to let you go on." "i must own," replied noor ad deen, "i was extremely in the wrong in not following the advice which with such admirable prudence you gave me. it is true, i have spent my estate; but do you not consider, it is among a chosen set of friends, whom i have long known, and who, i am persuaded, have more generosity and gratitude than to abandon me in distress?" "sir," replied the fair persian, "if you have nothing but the gratitude of your friends to depend on, your case is desperate; for, believe me, that hope is ill-grounded, and you will tell me so yourself in time." to this noor ad deen replied, "charming persian, i have a better opinion of my friends' generosity: to-morrow i design to visit them all, before the usual time of their coming hither; and you shall see me return with a round sum that they will assist me with. i am resolved to alter my way of living, and, with the money they lend me, to set up in some business." next morning, noor ad deen visited his ten friends, who lived in the same street. he knocked at the first door, where one of the richest of them resided. a slave came to the door: but before he would open it, asked who was there. "tell your master," said he to the slave, "it is noor ad deen, the late vizier khacan's son." the slave opened the door, and shewed him into a hall, where he left him, in order to inform his master, who was in an inner room, that noor ad deen was come to wait on him, "noor ad deen!" cried he, in a disdainful tone, loud enough for him to hear: "go tell him i am not at home; and whenever he may come again, be sure you give him the same answer." the slave returned, and told noor ad deen he thought his master was within, but was mistaken. noor ad deen came away in the greatest confusion. "ah! base, ungrateful wretch!" cried he, "to treat me so to-day after the vows and protestations of friendship that he made me yesterday." he went to another door, but that friend ordered his slave also to say he was gone out. he had the same answer at the third; and, in short, all the rest denied themselves, though every one was at home. noor ad deen now began in earnest to reflect with himself, and see the folly of relying upon the protestations of attachment that his false friends had solemnly made him in the time of his prosperity, when he could treat them sumptuously, and load them with favours. "it is true," said he to himself, "that a fortunate man, as i was, may be compared to a tree laden with fruit, which, as long as there is any on its boughs, people will be crowding round, and gathering; but as soon as it is stripped of all, they immediately leave it, and go to another." he smothered his passion as much as possible while he was abroad; but no sooner was he got home than he gave a loose to his affliction, and discovered it to the fair persian. the fair persian seeing him so extremely concerned, guessed he had not found his friends so ready to assist him as he expected. "well, sir," said she, "are you now convinced of the truth of what i told you?" "ah!" cried he, "thou hast been too true a prophetess; for not one of them would know me, see me, or speak to me. who could ever have believed, that persons so highly obliged to me, and on whom i have spent my estate, could have used me so ungratefully? i am distracted; and i fear shall commit some action unworthy myself, in the deplorable and desperate condition i am reduced to, unless you assist me with your prudent advice." "sir," replied the fair persian, "i see no other way of supporting yourself in your misfortunes, but selling off your slaves and furniture, and living on the money they produce, till heaven points out some other means to deliver you from your present misery." noor ad deen was loth to resort to this expedient; but what could he do in the necessitous circumstances to which he was reduced? he first sold off his slaves, those unprofitable mouths, which would have been a greater expense to him than in his present condition he could bear. he lived on the money for some time; and when it was spent, ordered his goods to be carried into the market-place, where they were sold for half their value, though there were among them several articles that had cost immense sums. upon the produce of these he lived a considerable time; but this supply failing at last, he had nothing left by which he could raise any more money, of which he informed the fair persian in the most sorrowful expressions. noor ad deen little expected the answer this prudent woman made him. "sir," said she, "i am your slave; and the late vizier your father gave ten thousand pieces of gold for me. i know i am a little sunk in value since that time; but i believe i shall sell for pretty near that sum. let me entreat you then instantly to carry me to the market, and expose me to sale; and with the money that you get for me, which will be very considerable, you may turn merchant in some city where you are not known, and by that means find a way of living, if not in splendour, yet with happiness and content." "lovely and adorable persian!" cried noor ad deen, "is it possible you can entertain such a thought? have i given you such slender proofs of my love, that you should think me capable of so base an action? but suppose me so vile a wretch, could i do it without being guilty of perjury, after the oath i have taken to my late father never to sell you? i would sooner die than break it, and part with you, whom i love infinitely beyond myself; though, by the unreasonable proposal you have made me, you shew me that your love is by no means reciprocal." "sir," replied the fair persian, "i am convinced that your passion for me is as sincere as you express; and heaven, who knows with what reluctance i have made this proposal which induces you to think so hardly of me, is my witness, that mine is as great as yours; but to silence your reasons, i need only bid you remember, that necessity has no law. i love you to that degree that it is impossible for you to love me more; and be assured, that to what master soever i shall belong, my love for you will continue undiminished; and if you are ever able to redeem me, as i hope you may, it will be the greatest pleasure in the world to be restored to you again. i confess it is a fatal and cruel necessity to which we are driven; but i see no other way of freeing ourselves from the misery that involves us both." noor ad deen, convinced of the truth of what the fair persian had said, and that there was no other way of avoiding a shameful poverty, was forced to yield to her proposal. accordingly he led her to the market where the women-slaves are exposed to sale, with a regret that cannot easily be expressed. he applied himself to a broker, named hagi hassan. "hagi hassan," said he, "here is a slave whom i mean to sell; what will they give for her?" hagi hassan desired noor ad deen and the fair persian to walk into a room; and when she had pulled off the veil that covered her face, "sir," said hagi hassan, in surprise, "if i am not mistaken, this is the slave your father, the late vizier, gave ten thousand pieces of gold for?" noor ad deen assured him she was the same and hagi hassan gave him some hopes of selling her at a high price, and promised to use all his art to raise her value as high as he could. hagi hassan and noor ad deen went out of the room; and hagi hassan locked the fair persian in. he went immediately to the merchants; but they being busy in buying slaves from different countries, greeks, franks, africans, tartars, and others, he was forced to wait till the market was over. when the sale was ended, and the greatest part of them were got together again, "my masters," said he to them, with an air of gaiety in his looks and actions, "every thing that is round is not a nut, every thing that is long is not a fig, all that is red is not flesh, and all eggs are not fresh; it is true you have seen and bought a great many slaves in your lives, but you never yet saw one comparable to her i am going to tell you of. she is the very pearl of slaves. come, follow me, you shall see her yourselves, and judge at what rate i shall cry her." the merchants followed hagi hassan into the apartment where he had left the fair persian, and as soon as they beheld her were so surprised at her beauty, that they unanimously agreed, four thousand pieces of gold was the very lowest price they could set upon her. the merchants left the room; and hagi hassan, who came out with them, without going any farther, proclaimed with a loud voice, "four thousand pieces of gold for a persian slave." none of the merchants had yet offered anything, and were consulting together about what they might afford to give for her, when the vizier saouy appeared. perceiving noor ad deen in the market, he said to himself, "noor ad deen is certainly still making money of his goods" (for he knew he had exposed them to sale), "and is come hither to buy a slave with the product." he advanced forward just as hagi hassan began to proclaim a second time, "four thousand pieces of gold for a persian slave." the vizier saouy, who concluded by the high price, that the slave must be extraordinarily beautiful, was very desirous to see her; so spurring his horse forward, he rode up to hagi hassan, who was surrounded by the merchants. "open the door," said he, "and let me see the slave." it was not the custom to shew a slave to a particular person after the merchants had seen her, and were treating for her; but none of them durst dispute their right with the vizier; and hagi hassan was obliged to open the door, and he made a sign to the fair persian to come forward, that saouy might see her, without alighting from his horse. the vizier was astonished at the sight of so beautiful a slave; and knowing the broker's name (having formerly dealt with him), "hagi hassan," said he, "is it not at four thousand pieces of gold that you cry her?" "yes, sir," answered he; "the merchants just now agreed that i should put her up at that price: i wait their advance; and i question not but they will give a great deal more." "if no one offers more, i will give that sum," replied saouy, looking at the merchants at the same time with a countenance that forbad them to advance the price. he was so universally dreaded, that no one durst speak a word, even to complain of his encroaching upon their privilege. the vizier having stayed some time, and finding none of the merchants outbid him, "what do you stay for?" said he to hagi hassan. "inquire after the seller, and strike a bargain with him at four thousand pieces of gold, or ask if he demands more." hagi hassan having locked the chamber-door, went to confer with noor ad deen. "sir," said he to him, "i am very sorry to bring you the ill news of your slave's going to be sold for nothing." "how so?" replied noor ad deen. "why sir," continued hagi hassan, "you must know that the business at first went on well; for as soon as the merchants had seen your slave, they ordered me, without hesitation, to cry her at four thousand pieces of gold; accordingly i cried her at that price, but presently the vizier saouy came, and his presence has stopped the mouths of all the merchants, who seemed disposed to raise her, at least to the same price your deceased father gave for her. saouy will give no more than four thousand pieces; and it is much against my inclination that i am come to tell you his despicable offer. the slave indeed is your own; but i will never advise you to part with her upon those terms, since you and every one else are sensible of her being worth infinitely more; besides, he is base enough to contrive a way to trick you out of the money." "hagi hassan," replied noor ad deen, "i am highly obliged to thee for thy advice: do not think i will ever sell my slave to any enemy of our family; my necessities, indeed, are at present very great; but i would sooner die in the utmost poverty than consent to delivering her up to him. i have only one thing to beg of thee, who art skilful in all the turns and shifts of sale, that thou wouldst put me in a way to prevent the completion of the bargain." "sir," said hagi hassan, "nothing is more easy: you must pretend that, being in a violent passion with your slave, you swore to expose her in the market, and for the sake of your oath have now brought her hither, without any intention of selling her. this will satisfy every one; and saouy will have nothing to say against it. come along with me then; and just as i am presenting her to saouy as if it were by your own consent, pull her to you, give her two or three blows, and send her home." "i thank thee for thy counsel," said noor ad deen, "and will make use of it." hagi hassan went back to the chamber; and having privately acquainted the fair persian with their design, that she might not be surprised, took her by the hand, and led her to the vizier saouy, who was still on horseback at the door "sir," said he, "here is the slave, she is yours; take her." the words were scarcely out of hagi hassan's mouth, when noor ad deen, catching hold of the fair persian, pulled her to him, and giving her a box on the ear, "come hither, impertinence," said he, "and get you home again; for though your ill-humour obliged me to swear i should bring you hither, yet i never intended to sell you: i have business for you to do yet; and it will be time enough to part with you when i have nothing else left." this conduct of noor ad deen put the vizier saouy into a violent passion. "miserable debauchee," cried he, "wouldst thou have me believe thou hast any thing else left to make money of but thy slave?" and at the same instant, spurring his horse directly against him, endeavoured to carry off the fair persian. noor ad deen nettled to the quick at the affront the vizier had put upon him, quitted the fair persian, and laying hold of his horse's bridle, made him run two or three paces backwards. "vile dotard," said he to the vizier, "i would tear thy soul out of thy body this moment, were it not out of respect for the crowd of people here present." the vizier saouy being hated by all, there was not one among them but was pleased to see noor ad deen mortify him; and by signs they gave him to understand, that he might revenge himself upon him as much as he pleased, for nobody would interfere in their quarrel. saouy endeavoured to force noor ad deen to quit the bridle; but he being a lusty, vigorous man, and encouraged by those that stood by, pulled him off his horse, gave him several blows, and dashed his head against the stones, till it was all over blood. the slaves who waited upon the vizier would have drawn their cimeters, and fallen upon noor ad deen; but the merchants interposing prevented them. "what do you mean?" said they to them; "do you not see that one is a vizier, the other a vizier's son? let them fight it out; perhaps they will be reconciled one time or another; whereas, if you had killed noor ad deen, your master, with all his greatness, could not have been able to protest you against the law?" noor ad deen having given over beating the vizier saouy, left him in the mire, and taking the fair persian, marched home with her, attended by the people, with shouts and acclamations for the action he had performed. the vizier, cruelly bruised with the blows he had received, made shift to get up, with the assistance of his slaves, and had the mortification to see himself besmeared with blood and dirt. he leaned on the shoulders of two slaves, and in that condition went straight to the palace in the sight of all the people, with the greater confusion, because no one pitied him. as soon as he reached the king's apartment, he began to cry out, and call for justice in a lamentable tone. the king ordered him to be admitted; and asked who it was that had abused and put him into that miserable plight. "sire," cried saouy, "it is the favour of your majesty, and being admitted into your sacred councils, that has occasioned me to be so barbarously treated." "say no more of that," replied the king, "only let me hear the whole story simply, and who the offender is; and if he is in the wrong, you may depend upon it he shall be severely punished." "sire," said saouy, telling the whole matter to his own advantage, "having occasion for a cook, i went to the market of women-slaves to buy one: when i came thither, there was a slave just cried at four thousand pieces of gold; i ordered them to bring her before me, and i think my eyes never did nor will behold a more beautiful creature: i had no sooner examined her beauty with the highest satisfaction, than i immediately asked to whom she belonged; and upon inquiry found that noor ad deen, son to the late vizier khacan, had the disposing of her. "your majesty may remember, that about two or three years ago, you gave that vizier ten thousand pieces of gold, strictly charging him to buy you a slave with that sum. the money, indeed, was laid out upon this very slave; but instead of bringing her to your majesty, thinking his son deserved her better, he made him a present of her. noor ad deen, since his father's death, having wasted his whole fortune in riot and feasting, has nothing left but this slave, whom he at last resolved to part with; and she was to be sold in his name, i sent for him; and, without mentioning any thing of his father's prevarication, or rather treachery to your majesty, i in the civilest manner said to him, 'noor ad deen, the merchants, i perceive, have put your slave up at four thousand pieces of gold; and i question not, but, in emulation of each other, they will raise the price considerably: let me have her for the four thousand pieces; i am going to buy her for the king our lord and master; this will be a handsome opportunity of making your court to him: and his favour will be worth far more than the merchants can propose to give you.' "instead of returning me a civil answer, the insolent wretch, beholding me with a fierce air, "impotent villain," said he, 'i would rather give my slave to a jew for nothing than to thee for money.' 'noor ad deen,' i replied, without passion, though i had some reason to be a little warm, 'you do not consider, that by talking in this manner you affront the king, who raised both your father and me to the honours we have enjoyed.' "this admonition, instead of softening him, only provoked him to a higher degree; so that, falling upon me like a madman, without regard to my age or rank, he pulled me off my horse, and put me into this miserable plight. i beseech your majesty to consider, that it is on your account i have been so publicly affronted." the abused king, highly incensed against noor ad deen by this relation, so full of malice and artifice, discovered by his countenance the violence of his anger; and turning to the captain of his guards, who stood near him, "take forty of your soldiers," said he, "immediately plunder noor ad deen's house, and having ordered it to be razed to the ground, bring him and his slave to the presence." before the captain of the guards was gone out of the king's presence, an officer belonging to the court, who overheard the order given, hastened out. his name was sangiar; and he had been formerly a slave of the vizier khacan who had introduced him at court, where by degrees he had raised himself. sangiar, full of gratitude to his old master and affection for noor ad deen, whom he remembered a child, being no stranger to saouy's hatred of khacan's family, could not hear the order without concern. "this action," said he to himself, "may not be altogether so black as saouy has represented it. he has prejudiced the king against him, who will certainly put him to death, without allowing him time to justify himself." he made so much haste to noor ad deen's house, as to get thither soon enough to acquaint him with what had passed at court, and give him time to provide for his own and the fair persian's safety. he knocked so violently at the door, that noor ad deen, who had been a great while without any servant, ran immediately to open it. "my dear lord," said sangiar, "there is no safety for you in bussorah; you must lose no time, but depart hence this moment." "how so?" demanded noor ad deen. "what is the reason i must be gone so soon?" "make haste away, sir," replied sangiar, "and take your slave with you. in short, saouy has been just now acquainting the king, after his own way of telling it, all that passed between you and him; and the captain of the guards will be here in an instant, with forty soldiers, to seize you and the fair persian. take these forty pieces of gold to assist you in repairing to some place of safety. i would give you more if i had it about me. excuse my not staying any longer; i leave you with reluctance." sangiar gave noor ad deen but just time to thank him, and departed. noor ad deen acquainted the fair persian with the absolute necessity of their going that moment. she only put on her veil; they both stole out of the house, and were fortunate enough not only to get clear of the city, but also safely to arrive at the euphrates, which was not far off, where they embarked in a vessel that lay ready to weigh anchor. as soon as they were on board, the captain came on deck amongst his passengers. "children," said he to them, "are you all here? have any of you any more business to do in the city? or have you left any thing behind you?" they were all there, they answered him, and ready; so that he might sail as soon as he pleased. when noor ad deen came aboard, the first question he asked was, whither the vessel was bound? and being told for bagdad, he rejoiced at it. the captain, having weighed anchor, set sail; and the vessel, with a very favourable wind, lost sight of bussorah. the captain of the guards came to noor ad deen's house, and knocked at the door; but no one answering, he ordered his soldiers to break it open, who immediately obeyed him, and rushed in. they searched the house; but neither he nor the fair persian were to be found. the captain of the guards made them inquire of the neighbours; and he himself asked if they had seen them lately. it was all in vain; for if they had seen him go out of his house, so universally beloved was noor ad deen by the people, that not one of them would have said the least word to his prejudice. while they were rifling the house, and levelling it to the ground, he went to acquaint the king with the news. "look for them," said he, "every where; for i am resolved to have them." the captain of the guards made a second search, and the king dismissed the vizier saouy with honour. "go home," said he, "trouble yourself no farther to punish noor ad deen; i will revenge your injuries." without delay the king ordered to be proclaimed throughout the whole city a reward of a thousand pieces of gold for any person that should apprehend noor ad deen and the fair persian, also a severe punishment upon those who should conceal them. no tidings however could be heard of them; and the vizier saouy had only the comfort of seeing the king espouse his quarrel. in the mean time, noor ad deen and the fair persian, after a prosperous voyage, landed safe at bagdad. as soon as the captain came within sight of that city, pleased that his voyage was at an end, "rejoice, my children," cried he to the passengers; "yonder is that great and wonderful city, where there is a perpetual concourse of people from all parts of the world: there you shall meet with innumerable crowds, and never feel the extremity of cold in winter, nor the excess of heat in summer, but enjoy an eternal spring with all its flowers, and the delicious fruits of autumn." when the vessel came to anchor, a little below the city, the passengers went ashore, each to their respective place of abode. noor ad deen gave the captain five pieces of gold for his passage, and went ashore also with the fair persian; but being a perfect stranger in bagdad, was at a loss for a lodging. they rambled a considerable time along the gardens that bordered on the tigris, and keeping close to one of them that was enclosed with a very long wall, at the end of it they turned into a street well paved, where they perceived a magnificent gateway and a fountain near it. the inner door happened to be shut, but the portal was open, in which there was an estrade on each side. "this is a very convenient place for us," said noor ad deen to the fair persian; "night comes on apace; and though we have eaten nothing since our landing, i am for passing the night here, and to-morrow we shall have time enough to look for a lodging." "sir," replied the fair persian, "you know your wishes are mine; let us go no farther, since you are willing to stay here." each of them having drunk a draught of water at the fountain, they laid themselves down upon one of the estrades; and after a little chat, being soothed by the agreeable murmur of the water, fell asleep. the garden belonged to the caliph: and in the middle of it there was a pavilion, called the pavilion of pictures, because its chief ornaments were pictures after the persian manner, drawn by the most celebrated painters in persia, whom the caliph had sent for on purpose. the stately hall within this pavilion was lighted by fourscore arches and a lustre in each; but these were lighted only when the caliph came thither to spend the evening. on such occasions they made a glorious illumination, and could be seen at a great distance in the country on that side, and by great part of the city. the office of keeper of this pleasure house was at this time held by a very aged officer, named scheich ibrahim, whom the caliph, for some important service, had put into that employment, with strict charge not to let all sorts of people in, but especially to suffer no one either to sit or lie down on the estrades at the outward door, that they might always be clean; and whenever he found any body there, to punish them severely. some business had obliged this officer to go abroad, and he was not yet returned. when he came back, there was just day-light enough for him to discern two persons asleep upon one of the estrades, with their heads under a piece of linen, to defend them from the gnats. "very well," said scheich ibrahim to himself; "these people disobey the caliph's orders: but i will take care to teach them better manners." upon this he opened the door very softly, and a moment after returned with a cane in his hand, and his sleeve tucked up to the elbow: he was just going to lay on them both with all his might, but withholding his arm, began to reason with himself after this manner: "thou wast going, without reflection, to strike these people, who perhaps are strangers, destitute of a lodging, and utterly ignorant of the caliph's order; so that it would be advisable to know first who they are." upon this he gently lifted up the linen that covered their heads, and was astonished to see a young man so well shaped, and a young woman so beautiful; he then waked noor ad deen, by pulling him softly by the feet. noor ad deen, lifting up his head, and seeing an old man with a long white beard standing at his feet, got up, and throwing himself upon his knees, and taking his hand, kissed it. "good father," said he, "heaven preserve you!" "what do you want, my son?" replied scheich ibrahim; "who are you, and whence came you?" "we are strangers newly arrived," answered noor ad deen, "and would fain tarry here till to-morrow." "this is not a proper place for you," said scheich ibrahim; "come in with me, and i will find one fitter for you to sleep in than this; and the sight of the garden, which is very fine, will please you, when you see it to-morrow by day light." "is this garden your own?" asked noor ad deen. "yes," replied scheich ibrahim, smiling; "it is an inheritance left me by my father: pray walk in, for i am sure you will not repent seeing it." noor ad deen rose to thank scheich ibrahim for the civility he had strewn, as did afterwards the fair persian; and they entered the garden. scheich ibrahim locked the door, and going before, led them to a spot from whence, at one view, they might see the disposition, grandeur, and beauty of the whole. noor ad deen had seen very fine gardens, but never any comparable to this. having satisfied his curiosity, as he was walking in one of the walks, he turned about to the officer, and asked his name. as soon as he had told him it was scheich ibrahim; "scheich ibrahim," said he to him, "i must confess this is a charming garden indeed. heaven send you long to enjoy the pleasures of it; we cannot sufficiently thank you for the favour you have done by shewing us a place so well worth seeing; however, it is but just that we should make you some amends for your kindness; here are two pieces of gold; take them and get us something to eat, that we may be merry together." at the sight of the two pieces of gold, scheich ibrahim, who was a great admirer of that metal, laughed in his sleeve: he took them, and leaving noor ad deen and the fair persian by themselves, went to provide what was necessary; for he was alone. said he to himself with great joy, "these are generous people; i should have done very wrong, if, through imprudence, i had ill-treated and driven them away. a tenth part of the money will suffice to treat them; and the rest i will keep for my pains." while scheich ibrahim was gone to fetch something for his own supper, as well as for his guests noor ad deen and the fair persian walked up and down the garden, till at last they came to the pavilion of pictures. they stood awhile to admire its wonderful structure, size, and loftiness; and after taking a full view of it on every side, went up many steps of fine white marble to the hall-door, which they found locked. they were but just returned to the bottom of the steps, when scheich ibrahim arrived, loaded with provisions. "scheich ibrahim," said noor ad deen, in great surprise, "did you not tell us that this was your garden?" "i did," replied scheich ibrahim, "and do so still." "and does this magnificent pavilion also belong to you?" scheich ibrahim was staggered at this unexpected question. "if," said he to himself, 'i should say it is none of mine, they will ask me how i can be master of the garden and not of the pavilion.' as he had made them believe the garden was his, he said the same of the pavilion. "my son," said he, "the pavilion is not distinct from the garden; but they both belong to me." "if so," said noor ad deen, "since you invite us to be your guests to-night, do us the favour to shew us the inside of it; for if we may judge by the outward appearance, it must certainly be extraordinarily magnificent." it would have been a great piece of incivility in scheich ibrahim to refuse this favour, after what he had already done: moreover, he considered that the caliph not having given him notice, according to his usual custom, it was likely he would not be there that night, and therefore resolved to treat his guests, and sup with them in the pavilion. he laid the provisions on the first step, while he went to his apartment for the key: he soon returned with a light, and opened the door. noor ad deen and the fair persian entered the hall, and were never tired with admiring the beauty and richness of the place. indeed, without saying anything of the pictures which were admirably well drawn, the sofas were very noble and costly; and besides lustres suspended from every arch, there was between each a silver branch supporting a wax candle. noor ad deen could not behold these glorious objects without recollecting his former splendour, and sighing. in the mean time scheich ibrahim was getting supper ready; and the cloth being laid upon a sofa, and every thing in order, noor ad deen, the fair persian, and he sat down and ate together. when supper was finished, and they had washed their hands, noor ad deen opened a lattice, and calling the fair persian to him, "come hither," said he, "and with me admire the charming prospect and beauty of the garden by moon-light; nothing can be more agreeable." she came to him; and they both enjoyed the view, while scheich ibrahim was busy in taking away the cloth. when scheich ibrahim came to his guests again, noor ad deen asked him whether he had any liquor to treat them with. "what liquor would you have?" replied scheich ibrahim--"sherbet? i have the best in the world; but sherbet, you know, my son, is never drunk after supper." "i know that very well," said noor ad deen; "it is not sherbet, but another sort of liquor that we ask you for, and i am surprised at your not understanding me." "it is wine then you mean?" said scheich ibrahim. "you guess right," replied noor ad deen, "and if you have any, oblige us with a bottle: you know a bottle after supper is a very proper companion to spend the hours with till bed-time." "heaven defend me from keeping wine in my house," cried scheich ibrahim, "and from ever coming to a place where any is found! a man who, like me, has been a pilgrimage four times to mecca, has renounced wine for ever." "you would do us a singular kindness," said noor ad deen, "in getting a little for our own drinking; and if it be not too much trouble, i will put you in a way how you may do it, without going into a vintner's shop, or so much as laying your hand upon the vessel that contains it." "upon that condition i will do it," replied scheich ibrahim, "only let me know what i am to do." "why then," said noor ad deen, "we just now saw an ass tied at the entrance of your garden, which certainly must be yours, and which you may make use of in this extremity: here are two pieces of gold more; take them, and lead your ass with the panniers to the next vintner's; you may stand at as great a distance as you please, do but give something to the first person that comes by, and desire him to go with your ass, and procure two pitchers of wine; put one in one pannier, in another, another, which he must pay for out of the money you give him, and so let him bring the ass back to you: you will have nothing to do, but to drive the beast hither before you; we will take the wine out of the panniers: by this means you will do nothing that will give you any scruple." the two last pieces of gold that scheich ibrahim was going to receive wrought wonderfully upon his mind. "ah! my son," cried he, "you have an excellent contrivance; and had it not been for your invention, i should never have thought of this way of getting you some wine without any scruple of conscience." away he went to execute the orders, which he did in a little time; and, upon his return, noor ad deen taking the pitchers out of the panniers, carried them into the hall. scheich ibrahim having led the ass to the place from whence he took him, came back again, "scheich ibrahim," said noor ad deen, "we cannot enough thank you for the trouble we have already given you; but we want something yet." "what is that?" replied scheich: "what more service can i do you?" "we have no cups to drink out of," said noor ad deen, "and a little fruit, if you had any, would be very acceptable." "do but say what you have a mind to," replied scheich ibrahim, "and you shall have every thing to your heart's content." down went scheich ibrahim, and in a short time spread a carpet for them with beautiful porcelain dishes, full of all sorts of delicious fruits, besides gold and silver cups to drink out of; and having asked them if they wanted any thing else, he withdrew, though they pressed him earnestly to stay. noor ad deen and the fair persian sat down again, and drank each a cup. they were pleased with the wine, which was excellent. "well, my dear," said noor ad deen to the fair persian, "are we not the most fortunate persons in the world, after so many dangers, to meet with so charming and agreeable a place? let us be merry, and think no more on the hardships of our voyage. can my happiness be greater in this world, than to have you on one side of me, and my glass on the other?" they drank freely, and diverted themselves with agreeable conversation, each singing a song. both having very fine voices, but especially the fair persian, their singing attracted scheich ibrahim, who had stood hearkening a great while on the steps, without discovering himself. he could contain himself no longer; but thrusting his head in at the door, "courage, sir," said he to noor ad deen, whom he took to be quite drunk, "i am glad to see you so pleased." "ah! scheich ibrahim," cried noor ad deen, turning to him, "you are a glorious man, and we are extremely obliged to you. we dare not ask you to drink a cup; but walk in; come, sit down, and let us have the honour at least of your company." "go on, go on," said scheich ibrahim; "the pleasure of hearing your songs is sufficient for me." upon this he immediately retired. the fair persian perceiving scheich ibrahim, through one of the windows, standing upon the steps, told noor ad deen of it. "sir," said she, "you see what an aversion he has for wine; yet i question not in the least to make him drink, if you will do as i would have you." noor ad deen asked her what it was. "do but say the word," replied he, "and i am ready to do what you please." "prevail with him then only to come in, and bear us company; some time after fill up a bumper, and give it him; if he refuses, drink it yourself, pretend to be asleep, and leave the rest to me." noor ad deen understood the fair persian's design, and called to scheich ibrahim, who came again to the door. "scheich ibrahim," said he, "we are your guests; you have entertained us in the most obliging manner, and will you now refuse our solicitations to honour us with your company? we do not ask you to drink, but only the favour of seeing you." scheich ibrahim being at last prevailed upon, came into the hall, and sat down on the edge of a sofa nearest to the door. "you do not sit well there," said noor ad deen, "and we cannot have the honour of seeing you; pray come nearer, and sit you down by the lady; she will like it much." "i will obey you," replied scheich ibrahim, so coming forward, simpering, to think he should be seated near so beautiful a creature, he placed himself at some distance from the fair persian. noor ad deen desired a song of her, in return for the honour scheich ibrahim had done them; and she sung one that charmed him. when the fair persian had ended her song, noor ad deen poured out a cup of wine, and presented it to scheich ibrahim. "scheich ibrahim," said he, "i entreat you, drink this to our healths." "sir," replied he, starting back, as if he abhorred the very sight of the wine, "i beseech you to excuse me; i have already told you that i have forsworn the use of wine these many years." "then since you will not drink our healths," said noor ad deen, "give me leave to drink yours." while noor ad deen was drinking, the fair persian cut half an apple, and presented it to scheich ibrahim. "though you refused drinking," said she, "yet i believe you will not refuse tasting this apple; it is very excellent." scheich ibrahim had no power to refuse it from so fair a hand; but taking it with a very low bow, put it in his mouth. she said a great many pleasant things on the occasion; and noor ad deen, falling back upon a sofa, pretended to fall fast asleep. the fair persian presently advanced towards scheich ibrahim, and speaking in a low voice, "look at him," said she, "thus in all our merry parties he constantly serves me; and no sooner has he drunk a cup or two, but he falls asleep, and leaves me alone; but i hope you will have the goodness to keep me company till he awakes." at this the fair persian took a cup, and filling it with wine, offered it to scheich ibrahim. "here," said she, "drink off this to my health; i am going to pledge you." scheich ibrahim made a great many difficulties, and begged her to excuse him from drinking; but she pressed him so, that overcome by her charms and entreaties he took the cup, and drank off every drop of the wine. the good old man loved a chirruping cup to his heart, but was ashamed to drink among strangers. he often went to the tavern in private, as many other people do; and he did not take the precaution recommended, but went directly where he was well known (night serving him instead of a cloak), and saved the money that noor ad deen had ordered him to give the messenger who was to have gone for the wine. while scheich ibrahim was eating fruit after his draught, the fair persian filled him out another, which he received with less difficulty than the former, but made none at all at the third. in short, a fourth was quaffing, when noor ad deen started up from his pretended sleep; and bursting out into a violent fit of laughter, and looking at him, "ha! ha!" said he, "scheich ibrahim, have i caught you at last? did you not tell me you had forsworn wine? and now you have drunk it all up from me." scheich ibrahim, not expecting to be surprised, blushed a little; however, that did not spoil his draught; but when he had done, "sir," said he laughing, "if there is any crime in what i have done, it lies at this fair lady's door, not mine: for who could possibly resist so many charms?" the fair persian, who perfectly understood noor ad deen, took scheich ibrahim's part. "let him talk," said she, "scheich ibrahim, take no notice of him, but let us drink on and be merry." awhile after noor ad deen filled out a cup for himself and the fair persian; but when scheich ibrahim saw that noor ad deen had forgotten him in his turn, he took his cup, and presenting it to the fair persian, "madam," said he, "do you suppose i cannot drink as well as you?" at these words noor ad deen and the fair persian laughed very heartily. they poured him out some wine; and sat laughing, chatting, and drinking, till near midnight. about that hour the fair persian began to notice that there was but one candle on the carpet. "scheich ibrahim," said she to the good old officer, "you have afforded us but one candle, when there are so many wax-lights yonder; pray do us the favour to light some of them, that we may see a little better what we are doing." scheich ibrahim making use of the liberty that wine inspires when it gets into the head, and not caring to be interrupted in his discourse, bade the fair persian light them herself. "it is fitter for a young person like you to do it," said he, "than for me; but be sure not to light above five or six" up rose the fair persian immediately, and taking a wax candle in her hand, lighted it with that which stood upon the carpet, and without any regard to scheich ibrahim's order, lighted up the whole fourscore. by and by, while scheich ibrahim was entertaining the fair persian with some discourse, noor ad deen took his turn to desire him to light up some of the candles in the lustres, not taking notice that all the wax-lights were already in a blaze. "certainly," replied scheich ibrahim, "you must be very lazy, or less vigorous than i am, that you are not able to light them yourself; get you gone, and light them; but be sure you light no more than three." to work he went; but instead of that number, he lighted them all, and opened the shutters of the fourscore windows, before scheich ibrahim, who was deeply engaged with the fair persian, knew any thing of the matter. the caliph haroon al rusheed being not yet gone to rest, was in a room of his palace on the river tigris, from whence he could command a view both of the garden and pavilion. he accidentally opened the casement, and was extremely surprised at seeing the pavilion illuminated; and at first, by the greatness of the light, thought the city was on fire. the grand vizier jaaffier was still with him, waiting for his going to rest. the caliph, in a great rage, called the vizier to him. "careless vizier," said he, "come hither, come hither; look at the pavilion of pictures, and tell me the reason of its being illuminated at this hour, now i am not there." the grand vizier at this account fell into a violent trembling; but when he came nearer, and with his own eyes saw the truth of what the caliph had told him, he was more alarmed than before. some excuse must be made to appease the caliph's anger. "commander of the true believers," said he, "all that i can say to your majesty about this matter is, that some five or six days ago scheich ibrahim came to acquaint me, that he had a design to assemble the ministers of his mosque, to assist at a ceremony he was ambitious of performing in honour of your majesty's auspicious reign. i asked him if i could be any way serviceable to him in this affair; upon which he entreated me to get leave of your majesty to perform the ceremony in the pavilion. i sent him away with leave to hold the assembly, telling him i would take care to acquaint your majesty with it; and i ask pardon for having quite forgotten it." "scheich ibrahim," continued he, "has certainly made choice of this day for the ceremony; and after treating the ministers of his mosque, was willing to indulge them with the sight of this illumination." "jaaffier," said the caliph, with a tone that plainly shewed his anger was a little mollified, "according to your own account, you have committed three faults; the first, in giving scheich ibrahim leave to perform this ceremony in my pavilion, for a person in such an office is not worthy of so great an honour; the second, in not acquainting me with it; and the third, in not diving into the bottom of the good old man's intention. for my part, i am persuaded he only did it to try if he could get any money towards bearing the charge of it; but that never came into your head." the grand vizier, overjoyed to hear the caliph put the matter upon that footing, very willingly owned the faults he reproached him with, and freely confessed he was to blame in not giving scheich ibrahim a few pieces of gold. "since the case is so," added the caliph, "it is just that thou shouldst be punished for thy mistakes, but thy punishment shall be light: thou shalt spend the remainder of the night as i mean to do, with these honest people, whose company i shall be well pleased with; and while i am putting on a citizen's habit, go thou and disguise thyself with mesrour, and come both of you along with me." the vizier would have persuaded him it was late, and that all the company would be gone before he could get thither: but the caliph said he would positively go. the vizier, who knew that not a syllable of what he had said was true, began to be in great consternation; but there was no reply to be made, and go he must. the caliph then, disguised like a citizen, with the grand vizier jaaffier and mesrour, chief of the eunuchs, stole out of the palace together. they rambled through the streets of bagdad till they came to the garden; the door, through the carelessness of scheich ibrahim, was open, he having forgotten to shut it when he came back with the wine. the caliph was very angry at this. "jaaffier," said he to the grand vizier, "what excuse have you for the door's being open at this unseasonable hour?" "is it possible that scheich ibrahim makes a custom of leaving it thus all night? i rather believe the hurry of the feast has been the occasion of this neglect." the caliph went into the garden; and when he came to the pavilion, resolving not to go into the hall till he knew what was doing, consulted with the grand vizier whether it was not his best way to climb up into one of the trees that was near, to observe what was going forward. the grand vizier casting his eyes upon the door, perceived it stood half open, and told the caliph. it seems scheich ibrahim had left it so, when he was prevailed upon to come in and bear noor ad deen and the fair persian company. the caliph laying aside his first design, stole softly up to the hall-door, which standing half open, he could see all the company within, without being discovered himself. but how was he surprised, when he saw a lady of incomparable beauty and a handsome young man sitting, with scheich ibrahim by them. scheich ibraham held a cup in his hand. "my fair lady," said he to the fair persian, "a true toper never drinks without singing a song first: if you please to hear, i will give you one of my best songs." scheich ibrahim sung, and the caliph was the more surprised, because till that moment he never knew of his drinking wine, but always took him for a grave, solid man, as he seemed to be to outward appearance. the caliph retired from the door with the same caution as he had made his approaches to it; and coming to the grand vizier, who was standing on the steps a little lower, "come up," said he to him, "and see if those within are the ministers of the mosque, as you would have made me believe." by the tone of voice in which the caliph spoke these last words, the vizier understood that things went ill on his side: however, he went up the steps; but when he had peeped in at the door, and saw the three sitting in that condition, he trembled for his life. he returned to the caliph, but in such confusion, that he knew not what to say. "what riotous doings are here?" said the caliph to him: "who are these people that have presumed to take the liberty of diverting themselves in my garden and pavilion? and how durst scheich ibrahim give them admittance, and partake of the diversion with them? i must, however, confess, i never saw two persons more beautiful or better paired in my life; and therefore, before i discover my anger, i will inform myself better, and know who they are, and the reason of their being here." he went to the door again to observe them more narrowly; and the vizier, who followed, stood behind him, while he fixed his eyes upon them. they both plainly heard every word that scheich ibrahim said to the fair persian. "is there any thing, my charming lady, wanting to render the pleasure of the evening more complete?" "nothing but a lute," replied the fair persian, "and methinks, if you could get me one, all would be well." "can you play upon it?" said scheich ibrahim. "fetch me one," replied the fair persian, "and you shall hear whether i can or not." scheich ibrahim, without stirring very far from his place, took a lute out of a press, and presented it to the fair persian, who begun to tune it. the caliph, in the mean time, turning to the grand vizier, "jaaffier," said he, "the young lady is going to play upon the lute; and if she performs well, i will forgive her, and the young man for her sake; but as for thee, i will have thee impaled." "commander of the true believers," replied the grand vizier, "if that is your intention, i wish to god she may play ill." "why so?" said the caliph. "because," replied the grand vizier, "the longer we live in this world, the more reason we shall have to comfort ourselves with the hopes of dying in good sociable company." the caliph, who loved a repartee, began to laugh at this; and putting his ear to the opening of the door, listened to hear the fair persian play. the fair persian began in such a style, that, from the first moment of her touching the lute, the caliph perceived she did it with a masterly hand. afterwards accompanying the lute with her voice, which was admirably fine, she sung and played with so much skill and sweetness, that the caliph was quite ravished to hear her. as soon as the fair persian had finished her song, the caliph went down the steps, and the vizier followed him. when he came to the bottom, "i never," said he to the vizier, "heard a more charming voice, or a lute better touched. isaac, whom i thought the most skilful player in the world, does not come up to her. i am so charmed with her music, that i will go in, and hear her play before me. we must, therefore, consider how i can do it." "commander of the true believers," said the grand vizier, "if you should go in, and scheich ibrahim chance to know you, he would infallibly die with the fright." "it is that which hurts me," replied the caliph, "and i should be loth to be the occasion of his death, after so many years service. a thought is just come into my head, that may succeed; stay here with mesrour, and wait for me in the next walk." the neighbourhood of the tigris had given the caliph an opportunity of turning the stream under a stately bridge into his garden, through a piece of water, whither the choicest fish of the river used to retire. the fishermen knew it well; but the caliph had expressly charged scheich ibrahim not to suffer any of them to come near it. however, that night, a fisherman passing by the garden-door, which the caliph had left open as he found it, made use of the opportunity, and going in, went directly to the canal. the fisherman immediately fell to work with his nets, and was just ready to draw them, when the caliph, fearing what would be the effect of scheich ibrahim's negligence, but willing to make use of it to bring his design about, came to the same place. the fisherman, in spite of his disguise, knew him, and throwing himself at his feet, humbly implored his pardon, and excused himself on account of his poverty. "rise," said the caliph, "and be not afraid; only draw your nets, that i may see what fish you have got." the fisherman, recovered of his fright, quickly obeyed the caliph's orders. he drew out five or six very large fishes; and the caliph choosing the two biggest, tied them together by the head, with the twig of a tree. "after this," said he to the fisherman, "give me thy clothes, and take mine." the exchange was soon made; and the caliph being dressed like a fisherman, even to his boots and turban, "take thy nets," said he to the fisherman, "and get thee about thy business." when the fisherman, well pleased with his good fortune, was gone, the caliph, taking the two fishes in his hand, went to look after the grand vizier and mesrour; he first met jaaffier, who, not knowing him, asked what he wanted, and bade him go about his business. the caliph fell a laughing; by which the vizier recognising him, "commander of the true believers," said he, "is it possible it can be you? i knew you not; and i ask a thousand pardons for my rudeness. you are so disguised that you may venture into the hall without any fear of being discovered by scheich ibrahim." "stay you here with mesrour," said the caliph, "while i go and play my part." the caliph went up to the hall, and knocked at the door. noor ad deen hearing him first, told scheich ibrahim of it, who asked who was there? the caliph opened the door, and stepping a little way into the hall to shew himself, "scheich ibrahim," said he, "i am the fisherman kerim, who being informed of your design to treat some of your friends, have brought you two very fine fishes, fresh caught, to ask if you have any occasion for them." noor ad deen and the fair persian were pleased to hear him name fish. "pray," said the latter to scheich ibrahim, "let him come in, that we may look at them." scheich ibrahim, by this time, was incapable of asking this counterfeit fisherman how or which way he came thither, his whole thought being only to oblige the fair persian. with much ado he turned his head towards the door, being quite drunk, and, in a stammering tone, calling to the caliph, whom he took to be a fisherman, "come hither, thou nightly thief," said he, "and let us see what thou hast got." the caliph went forwards, and counterfeiting all the actions of a fisherman, presented the two fishes. "these are very fine ones indeed," said the fair persian, "and if they were well dressed and seasoned, i should be glad to eat some of them." "the lady is in the right," answered scheich ibrahim; "but what can you do with your fish, unless it were dressed? go, dress it thyself, and bring it to us; thou wilt find every thing necessary in my kitchen." the caliph went back to the grand vizier. "jaaffier," said he, "i have been very well received; but they want the fish to be dressed." "i will take care to dress it myself," said the grand vizier, "and they shall have it in a moment." "nay," replied the caliph, "so eager am i to accomplish my design, that i will take that trouble myself; for since i have personated the fisherman so well, surely i can play the cook for once; in my younger days, i dealt a little in cookery, and always came off with credit." so saying, he went directly towards scheich ibrahim's lodgings, and the grand vizier and mesrour followed him. they all fell to work; and though scheich ibrahim's kitchen was not very large, yet there was every thing in it that they wanted. the fish was quickly cooked; and the caliph served it up, putting to every one's place a lemon to squeeze into the sauce, if they thought proper. they all ate very heartily, but especially noor ad deen and the fair persian; and the caliph stood before them. as soon as the repast was over, noor ad deen looking at the caliph, "fisherman," said he, "there never was better fish eaten; and you have done us the greatest favour." at the same time, putting his hand into his bosom, and pulling out a purse of thirty pieces of gold, the remainder of forty that sangiar, the officer of the king of bussorah, had given him just upon his departure, "take it," said he to him; "if i had any more, thou shouldst have it; had i known thee in my prosperity, i would have taken care to secure thee from want: do not refuse the small present i make thee, but accept of it as kindly as if it were much greater." the caliph took the purse, thanked noor ad deen, and perceiving by the weight that it contained gold, "sir," said he to him, "i cannot enough thank you for your liberality, and i think myself very fortunate in having to do with a person of your generosity; but before i take my leave i have a favour to ask, which i beg you not to deny me. yonder is a lute, which makes me believe that the lady understands playing upon it; and if you can prevail with her to play but one tune, i shall go away perfectly satisfied; for a lute, sir, is an instrument i am particularly fond of." "fair persian," said noor ad deen, immediately addressing himself to her, "i ask that favour of you, and i hope you will not refuse me." she took up the lute without more entreaties, and putting it presently in tune, played and sung with such an air, as charmed the very soul of the caliph. afterwards she played upon the lute without singing, but with so much strength and softness, as to transport him into an ecstasy. when the fair persian had given over playing, the caliph cried out, "what a voice! what a hand! what skill! was there ever finer singing, or better playing upon the lute? never was there any seen or heard like it." noor ad deen, who was accustomed to give all that belonged to him to persons who praised him, said, "fisherman, i find thou hast some taste for music; since thou art so delighted with her performance, she is thine, i make thee a present of her." at the same time he rose up, and taking his robe which he had laid by, was going away, and leaving the caliph, whom he believed to be no other than a fisherman, in possession of the fair persian. the fair persian was extremely surprised at noor ad deen's liberality; she took hold of him, and looking tenderly at him, "whither, sir," said she, "are you going? sit down in your place, i entreat you, and hearken to what i am going to sing and play." he did as she desired him, and then the fair persian, touching the lute, and looking upon him with tears in her eyes, sung some verses that she had made ex tempore, to reproach him with his indifference, and the easiness as well as cruelty with which he resigned her to kerim. she only hinted, without explaining herself any farther to a fisherman; for she, as well as noor ad deen, was ignorant of his being the caliph. when she had done playing, she put the lute down by her, and clapped a handkerchief to her face, to hide the tears she could not repress. noor ad deen made no answer to all these reproaches, but by his silence seemed to declare he did not repent of what he had done the caliph, surprised at what he had heard, said, "sir, as far as i see, this beautiful, rare, and accomplished lady, of whom so generously you have made me a present, is your slave?" "it is very true, kerim," replied noor ad deen, "and thou wouldst be more surprised than thou art now, should i tell thee all the misfortunes that have happened to me upon her account." "ah! i beseech you, sir," replied the caliph, still behaving like a fisherman, "oblige me so far as to let me hear part of your story." noor ad deen, who had already obliged him in several things of more consequence, was so complaisant as to relate the whole story to him. he began with the vizier his father's buying the fair persian for the king of bussorah, and omitted nothing of what he had done, or what had happened to him, from that time to their arrival at bagdad, and to the very moment he was talking to him. when noor ad deen had ended his story, "and whither are you going now?" asked the caliph. "where heaven shall direct me," answered noor ad deen. "if you will believe me," replied the caliph, "you shall go no farther, but, on the contrary, you must return to bussorah: i will write a short letter, which you shall give the king in my name: you shall see upon the reading it, he will give you a very handsome reception, and nobody will dare to speak against you." "kerim," said noor ad deen, "what thou hast told me is very singular; i never heard that a poor fisherman, as thou art, had any correspondence with a king?" "be not astonished at that," replied the caliph: "you must know, that we both studied together under the same masters, and were always the best friends in the world: it is true, fortune has not been equally favourable to us; she has made him a king, and me a fisherman. but this inequality has not lessened our friendship. he has often expressed a readiness and desire to advance my fortune, but i always refused; and am better pleased with the satisfaction of knowing that he will never deny me whatever i ask for the service and advantage of my friends: let me do it, and you shall see the success." noor ad deen consented to what the caliph had proposed; and there being every thing necessary for writing in the hall, the caliph wrote a letter to the king of bussorah; at the top of which he placed this form, "in the name of the most merciful god," to shew he would be absolutely obeyed. "haroon al rusheed, son of mhadi, sends this letter to zinebi, his cousin. as soon as noor ad deen, son to the late vizier khacan, the bearer, has delivered you this letter, and you have read it, pull off the royal vestments, put them on his shoulders, and place him in thy seat without fail. farewell." the caliph folded up the letter, sealed it, and giving it to noor ad deen, without saying any thing of what was in it, "go," said he, "embark immediately in a vessel that is ready to go off (as there did constantly every day at the same hour); you may sleep when you are aboard." noor ad deen took the letter, and departed with the little money he had about him when sangiar gave him his purse; and the fair persian, distracted with grief at his departure, retired to one of the sofas, and wept bitterly. noor ad deen was scarcely gone out of the hall, when scheich ibrahim, who had been silent during the whole transaction, looking steadfastly upon the caliph, whom he still took for the fisherman kerim, "hark'e," said he, "kerim, thou hast brought us two fishes, that are worth twenty pieces of copper at most, and thou hast got a purse and a slave: but dost thou think to have all for thyself? i here declare, that i will go halves with thee in the slave; and as for the purse, shew me what is in the inside: if it is silver, thou shalt have one piece for thyself; but if it is gold, i will have it all, and give thee in exchange some pieces of copper which i have in my purse." the caliph, before his serving up the fish, had dispatched the grand vizier to his palace, with orders to get four slaves with a rich habit, and to wait on the other side of the pavilion till he gave a signal with his finger against the window. the grand vizier performed his commission; and he, mesrour, and the four slaves, waited at the appointed place, expecting the sign. the caliph, still personating the fisherman, answered scheich ibrahim boldly, "i know not what there is in the purse; gold or silver, you shall freely go my halves: but as to the slave, i will have her all to myself; and if you will not accept these conditions, you shall have nothing." scheich ibrahim, enraged to the last degree at this insolence, considering him only as a fisherman, snatched up one of the china dishes which were on the table, and flung it at the caliph's head. the caliph easily avoided the blow, being thrown by a person in liquor; but the dish striking against the wall, was dashed into a thousand pieces. scheich ibrahim grew more enraged at having missed his aim, and catching up the candle that stood upon the table, rose from his seat, and went staggering down a pair of back-stairs to look for a cane. the caliph took this opportunity, and striking his hands against the window, the grand vizier, mesrour, and the four slaves were with him in an instant: the slaves quickly pulled off the fisherman's clothes, and put him on the habit they had brought. they had not quite dressed the caliph, who had seated himself on the throne that was in the hall, but were busy about him when scheich ibrahim, spurred on by interest, came back with a cane in his hand, with which he designed to pay the pretended fisherman soundly; but instead of finding him, he saw his clothes in the middle of the hall, and the caliph on his throne, with the grand vizier and mesrour on each side of him. he stood awhile gazing on this unexpected sight, doubting whether he was awake or asleep. the caliph fell a laughing at his astonishment; and calling to him, "scheich ibrahim," said he, "what dost thou want? whom dost thou look after?" scheich ibrahim, no longer doubting that it was the caliph, immediately threw himself at his feet, with his face and long beard to the ground. "commander of the true believers," cried he, "your vile slave has offended you; but he implores your clemency, and asks a thousand pardons for his offence." as soon as the slaves had finished dressing him, he came down from his throne, and advancing towards him, "rise," said he, "i forgive thee." the caliph then addressed himself to the fair persian, who had suspended her sorrow as soon as she understood that the garden and pavilion belonged to that prince, and not to scheich ibrahim, as he had all along made her believe, and that it was he himself disguised in the fisherman's clothes. "fair persian," said he, "rise, and follow me: by what you have lately seen, you ought to know who i am, and to believe that i am above taking any advantage of the present which noor ad deen, with a generosity not to be paralleled, has made me of your person. i have sent him to bussorah as king; and when i have given him the dispatches necessary for his establishment, you shall go thither and be queen. in the mean time i am going to order an apartment for you in my palace, where you shall be treated according to your desert." this discourse encouraged the fair persian, and comforted her very sensibly. the joy for the advancement of noor ad deen, whom she passionately loved, to so high an honour, made her sufficient amends for her affliction. the caliph kept his promise, and recommended her to the care of his empress zobeide, whom he acquainted with the esteem he had entertained for noor ad deen. noor ad deen's return to bussorah was more fortunate, and speedier by some days than he could have expected. upon his arrival, without visiting any of his friends or relations he went directly to the palace, where the king at that time was giving public audience. with the letter held up in his hand, he pressed through the crowd, who presently made way for him to come forward and deliver it. the king took and opened it, and his colour changed in reading it; he kissed it thrice, and was just about to obey the caliph's orders, when he bethought himself of shewing it to the vizier saony, noor ad deen's irreconcilable enemy. saouy, who had discovered noor ad deen, and began to conjecture, with great uneasiness, what might be the design of his coming, was no less surprised than the king at the order contained in the letter; and being as much concerned in it, he instantly devised a method to evade it. he pretended not to have read the letter quite through, and therefore desiring a second view of it, turned himself a little on one side as if he wanted a better light, and, without being perceived by any body, dexterously tore off from the top of it the form which shewed the caliph would be absolutely obeyed, and putting it into his mouth, swallowed it. after this egregious piece of villainy, saouy turned to the king, and giving him the letter, "sir," said he to him in a low voice, "what does your majesty intend to do?" "what the caliph has commanded me," replied the king. "have a care, sir," said the wicked vizier, "what you do. it is true this is the caliph's hand, but the form is not to it." the king had observed it, but in his confusion thought his eyes had deceived him when he saw it was gone. "sir," continued the vizier, "we have no reason to doubt but that the caliph, on the complaints he has made against your majesty and myself, has granted him this letter to get rid of him, and not with any intention of having the order contained in it executed. besides, we must consider he has sent no express with a patent; and without that the order is of no force. and since a king like your majesty was never deposed without that formality, any other man as well as noor ad deen might come with a forged letter: let who will bring such a letter as this, it ought not to be put in execution. your majesty may depend upon it, that is never done; and i will take upon myself all the consequence of disobeying this order." king zinebi, easily persuaded by this pernicious counsel, left noor ad deen entirely to the discretion of the vizier saouy, who led him to his house in a very insulting manner; and after causing him to be bastinadoed till he was almost dead, he ordered him to a prison, where he commanded him to be put into the darkest and deepest dungeon, with a strict charge to the gaoler to give him nothing but bread and water. when noor ad deen, half dead with the strokes, came to himself, and found what a dismal dungeon he was in, he bewailed his misfortunes in the most pathetic manner. "ah! fisherman," cried he, "how hast thou cheated me; and how easy have i been in believing thee! could i, after the civility i shewed thee, expect such inhuman and barbarous usage? however, may heaven reward thee; for i cannot persuade myself that thy intention was so base; and i will with patience wait the end of my afflictions." the disconsolate noor ad deen remained six whole days in this miserable condition; and saouy did not forget that he had confined him there; but being resolved to put him to a shameful death, and not daring to do it by his own authority, to accomplish his villainous design, loaded some of his slaves with rich presents, which he, at the head of them, went and presented to the king. "behold, sire," said he, with the blackest malice, "what the new king has sent you upon his accession to the crown, and begs your majesty to accept." the king taking the matter just as saouy intended, "what!" replied he, "is that wretch still living? i thought you had put him to death already." "sire, i have no power," answered the vizier, "to take any person's life; that only belongs to your majesty." "go," said the king, "behead him instantly; i give you full authority." "sire," replied the vizier saouy, "i am infinitely obliged to your majesty for the justice you do me; but since noor ad deen has publicly affronted me, i humbly beg the favour, that his execution may be performed before the palace; and that the criers may publish it in every quarter of the city, so that every body may be satisfied he has made a sufficient reparation for the affront." the king granted his request; and the criers in performing their office diffused universal sorrow through the whole city. the memory of his father's virtues being yet fresh among them, no one could hear, without horror and indignation, that the son was going to suffer an ignominious death. saouy went in person to the prison, accompanied by twenty slaves, ministers of his cruelty, who took noor ad deen out of the dungeon, and put him upon a shabby horse without a saddle. when noor ad deen saw himself in the hands of his enemy, "thou triumphest now," said he, "and abusest thy power; but i trust in the truth of what is written in our scripture, 'you judge unjustly, and in a little time you shall be judged yourself.'" the vizier saouy triumphed in his heart. "what! insolent," said he, "darest thou insult me yet? but i care not what may happen to me, so i have the pleasure of seeing thee lose thy head in the public view of all bussorah. thou oughtest also to remember what another of our books says, 'what signifies if one dies the next day after the death of his enemy?'" the vizier, implacable in his hatred and enmity, surrounded by his slaves in arms, conducted noor ad deen towards the palace. the people were ready to fall upon him as he passed; and if any one had set the example, would certainly have stoned him to death. when he had brought him to the place of suffering, which was to be in sight of the king's apartment, he left him in the executioner's hands, and went straight to the king, who was in his closet, ready to glut his eyes with the bloody spectacle he had prepared. the king's guard and the vizier's slaves, who made a circle round noor ad deen, had much trouble to withstand the people, who made all possible efforts to break through, and carry him off by force. the executioner coming up to him, said, "i hope you will forgive me, i am but a slave, and cannot help doing my duty. if you have no occasion for any thing more, i beseech you to prepare yourself; for the king is just going to give me orders to strike the blow." the unfortunate noor ad deen, at that moment, looking round upon the people, "will no charitable body," cried he, "bring me a little water to quench my thirst?" which immediately they did, and handed it up to him upon the scaffold. the vizier saouy perceiving this delay, called out to the executioner from the king's closet window, where he had planted himself, "strike, what dost thou stay for?" at these inhuman words the whole place echoed with loud imprecations against him; and the king, jealous of his authority, made it appear, by enjoining him to stop awhile, that he was angry at his presumption. but there was another reason; for the king that very moment casting his eye towards a street that faced him, saw a troop of horsemen advancing full speed towards the palace. "vizier," said the king immediately, "look yonder; what is the meaning of those horsemen?" saouy, who knew not who they might be, earnestly pressed the king to give the executioner the sign. "no," replied the king; "i will first know who those horsemen are." it was the vizier jaaffier, with his train, who came in person from bagdad by the caliph's order. to understand the occasion of this minister's coming to bussorah, we must observe, that after noor ad deen's departure with the letter, the caliph the next day, nor for several days after, thought not of sending him the patent which he mentioned to the fair persian. he happened one day to be in the inner palace, which was that of the women, and passing by her apartment, heard the sound of a fine voice: he listened to it; and he had no sooner heard the words of one complaining for the absence of somebody, than he asked the officer of the eunuchs who attended him who the woman was that lived in that apartment? the officer told him it was the young stranger's slave whom he had sent to bussorah to be king in the room of mahummud zinebi. "ah! poor noor ad deen," cried the caliph, "i had forgotten thee; but hasten," said he to the officer, "and bid jaaffier come to me." the vizier was with him in an instant. as soon as he came, "jaaffier," said he, "i have hitherto neglected sending the patent which was to confirm noor ad deen king of bussorah; but we have no time now to draw up one; therefore immediately take post-horses, and with some of your servants, make what haste you can to that city. if noor ad deen is no longer alive, but put to death by them, order the vizier saouy to be impaled; but if he is living, bring him to me with the king and the vizier." the grand vizier stayed no longer than just to get on horseback; and being attended by a great train of officers belonging to his household departed for bussorah, where he arrived in the manner and at the time already mentioned. as soon as he came to the palace-yard, the people cleared the way for him, crying out, "a pardon for noor ad deen!" and with his whole train he rode into the palace, even to the very stairs, where he alighted. the king of bussorah, knowing him to be the caliph's chief minister, went to meet him, and received him at the entrance of his apartment. the first question the vizier asked was, if noor ad deen was living? and if he was, he desired that he might be sent for. the king made answer, he was alive, and gave orders to have him brought in. accordingly he soon made his appearance as he was, bound with cords. the grand vizier jaaffier caused him to be unbound, and setting him at liberty, ordered the vizier saouy to be seized, and bound him with the same cords. the grand vizier remained but one night at bussorah; and, according to the order he had received, carried saouy, the king of bussorah, and noor ad deen, along with him. upon his arrival at bagdad, he presented them to the caliph: and after he had given him an account of his journey, and particularly the miserable condition in which he found noor ad deen, and his ill-usage by the advice and malice of saony, the caliph desired noor ad deen to behead the vizier himself. "commander of the true believers," said the generous youth, "notwithstanding the injury this wicked man has done me, and the mischief he endeavoured to do my deceased father, i should think myself the basest of mankind if i stained my hands with his blood." the caliph was pleased with his generosity, and ordered justice to be done by the executioner. the caliph would fain have sent noor ad deen to bussorah as king: but he humbly begged to be excused from accepting the offer. "commander of the true believers," said noor ad deen, "the city of bussorah, after the misfortunes that have happened to me there, will be so much my aversion, that i beseech your majesty to give me leave to keep the oath which i have made, of never returning thither again; and i shall think it my greatest glory to serve near your royal person, if you are pleased to allow me the honour." the caliph consented; and placing him among the number of those courtiers who were his greatest favourites, restored the fair persian to him again. to all these favours he added a plentiful fortune; and he and the fair persian lived together thenceforth, with all the happiness this world could afford. as for the king of bussorah, the caliph contented himself with hinting how careful he ought to be in the choice of his viziers, and sent him back to his kingdom. end of volume . the "aldine" edition of the arabian nights entertainments illustrated by s. l. wood from the text of dr. jonathan scott in four volumes volume london pickering and chatto contents of volume iii. the story of beder, prince of persia, and jehaunara, prince of samandal, or summunder the history of prince zeyn alasnam and the sultan of the genii the history of codadad, and his brothers the history of the princess of deryabar the story of abu hassan, or the sleeper awakened the story of alla ad deen; or, the wonderful lamp adventure of the caliph haroon al rusheed the story of baba abdoollah the story of syed naomaun the story of khaujeh hassan al hubbaul the story of ali aba and the forty robbers destroyed by a slave the story of ali khujeh, a merchant of bagdad the story of beder, prince of persia, and jehaun-ara, princess of samandal, or summunder. persia was an empire of such vast extent, that its ancient monarchs, not without reason, assumed the haughty title of king of kings. for not to mention those subdued by their arms, there were kingdoms and provinces whose kings were not only tributary, but also in as great subjection as governors in other nations are to the monarchs. one of these kings, who in the beginning of his reign had signalized himself by many glorious and successful conquests, enjoyed so profound a peace and tranquillity, as rendered him the happiest of princes. the only point in which he thought himself unfortunate was, that amongst all his wives, not one had brought him a son; and being now far advanced in years, he was desirous of an heir. he had above a hundred ladies, all lodged in separate apartments, with women-slaves to wait upon and eunuchs to guard them; yet, notwithstanding all his endeavours to please their taste, and anticipate their wishes, there was not one that answered his expectation. he had women frequently brought him from the most remote countries; and if they pleased him, he not only gave the merchants their full price, but loaded them with honours and benedictions, in hopes that at last he might be so happy as to meet with one by whom he might have a son. there was scarcely an act of charity but he performed, to prevail with heaven. he gave immense sums to the poor, besides large donations to the religious; building for their use many noble colleges richly endowed, in hopes of obtaining by their prayers what he so earnestly desired. one day, according to the custom of his royal predecessors, during their residence in their capital, he held an assembly of his courtiers, at which all the ambassadors and strangers of quality about the court were present; and where they not only entertained one another with news and politics, but also by conversing on the sciences, history, poetry, literature, and whatever else was capable of diverting the mind. on that day a eunuch came to acquaint him with the arrival of a certain merchant from a distant country, who, having brought a slave with him, desired leave to shew her to his majesty. "give him admittance instantly," said the king, "and after the assembly is over i will talk with him." the merchant was introduced, and seated in a convenient place, from whence he might easily have a full view of the king, and hear him talk familiarly to those that stood near his person. the king observed this rule to all strangers, in order that by degrees they might grow acquainted with him; so that, when they saw with what freedom and civility he addressed himself to all, they might be encouraged to talk to him in the same manner, without being abashed at the pomp and splendour of his appearance, which was enough to deprive those of their power of speech who were not used to it. he treated the ambassadors also after the same manner. he ate with them, and during the repast asked them several questions concerning their health, their journey, and the peculiarities of their country. after they had been thus encouraged, he gave them audience. when the assembly was over, and all the company had retired, the merchant, who was the only person left, fell prostrate before the king's throne, with his face to the earth, wishing his majesty an accomplishment of all his desires as soon as he arose, the king asked him if the report of his having brought a slave for him was true, and whether she were handsome. "sire," replied the merchant, "i doubt not but your majesty has many very beautiful women, since you search every corner of the earth for them; but i may boldly affirm, without overvaluing my merchandise, that you never yet saw a woman that could stand in competition with her for shape and beauty, agreeable qualifications, and all the perfections that she is mistress of." "where is she?" demanded the king; "bring her to me instantly." "sire," replied the merchant, "i have delivered her into the hands of one of your chief eunuchs; and your majesty may send for her at your pleasure." the fair slave was immediately brought in; and no sooner had the king cast his eyes on her, but he was charmed with her beautiful and easy shape. he went directly into a closet, and was followed by the merchant and a few eunuchs. the fair slave wore, over her face, a red satin veil striped with gold; and when the merchant had taken it off, the king of persia beheld a female that surpassed in beauty, not only his present ladies, but all that he had ever had before. he immediately fell passionately in love with her, and desired the merchant to name his price. "sire," said he, "i gave a thousand pieces of gold to the person of whom i bought her; and in my three years' journey to your court, i reckon i have spent as much more: but i shall forbear setting any price to so great a monarch; and therefore, if your majesty likes her, i humbly beg you would accept of her as a present." "i am highly obliged to you," replied the king; "but it is never my custom to treat merchants, who come hither for my pleasure, in so ungenerous a manner; i am going to order thee ten thousand pieces of gold; will that be sufficient?" "sire," answered the merchant, "i should have esteemed myself happy in your majesty's acceptance of her; yet i dare not refuse so generous an offer. i will not fail to publish your liberality in my own country, and in every place through which i may pass." the money was paid; and before he departed, the king made him put on a rich suit of cloth of gold. the king caused the fair slave to be lodged in the apartment next his own, and gave particular orders to the matrons, and the female slaves appointed to attend her, that after bathing they should dress her in the richest habit they could find, and carry her the finest pearl necklaces, the brightest diamonds, and other richest precious stones, that she might choose those she liked best. the officious matrons, whose only care was to please the king, were astonished at her beauty; and being good judges, they told his majesty, that if he would allow them but three days, they would engage to make her so much handsomer than she was at present, that he would scarcely know her again. the king could hardly prevail with himself to delay so long the pleasure of seeing her, but at last he consented. the king of persia's capital was situated in an island; and his palace, which was very magnificent, was built on the shore: his apartment looked on the water; the fair slave's, which was near it, had also the same prospect, and was the more agreeable, on account of the sea's beating almost against the walls. at the three days' end, the fair slave, magnificently dressed, was alone in her chamber, sitting on a sofa, and leaning against one of the windows that faced the sea, when the king, being informed that he might visit her, came in. the slave, hearing somebody walk in the room with an air quite different from that of the female slaves, who had hitherto attended her, immediately turned her head about to see who it was. she knew him to be the king, but without discovering the least surprise, or so much as rising from her seat to salute or receive him, as if he had been the most indifferent person in the world, she put herself in the same posture again. the king of persia was extremely surprised to see a slave of so beauteous a form so ignorant of the world. he attributed this to the narrowness of her education, and the little care that had been taken to instruct her in the first rules of civility. he went to her at the window, where, notwithstanding the coldness and indifference with which she had received him, she suffered herself to be admired, caressed, and embraced, as much as he pleased. in the midst of these amorous embraces and tender endearments, the king paused awhile, to gaze upon, or rather to devour her with his eyes. "my lovely fair one! my charmer!" exclaimed he; "whence came you, and where do those happy parents live who brought into the world so surprising a masterpiece of nature? how do i love thee, and shall always continue to do. never did i feel for a woman what i now feel for you; and though i have seen, and every day behold a vast number of beauties, yet never did my eyes contemplate so many charms in one person--charms which have so transported me, that i shall entirely devote myself to you. my dearest life," continued he, "you neither answer, nor by any visible token give me the least reason to believe that you are sensible of the demonstrations i have given you of the ardour of my passion; neither will you turn your eyes on me, to afford mine the pleasure of meeting them, and to convince you that it is impossible to love in a higher degree than i do you. why will you still preserve this obstinate silence, which chills me, and whence proceeds the seriousness, or rather sorrow, that torments me to the soul? do you mourn for your country, your friends or your relations? alas! is not the king of persia, who loves and adores you, capable of comforting you, and making you amends for every loss?" notwithstanding all the protestations of love the king of persia made the fair slave, and all he could say to induce her to speak to him, she remained unaltered; and keeping her eyes still fixed upon the ground, would neither look at him, nor utter a word. the king of persia, delighted with the purchase he had made of a slave that pleased him so well, pressed her no farther, in hopes that by treating her kindly he might prevail upon her to change her behaviour. he clapped his hands; and the women who waited in an outward room entered: he commanded them to bring in supper. when it was arranged, "my love," said he to the slave, "come hither and sup with me." she rose from her seat; and being seated opposite the king, his majesty helped her, before he began eating himself; and did so of every dish during supper. the slave ate as well as the king, but still with downcast eyes, and without speaking a word; though he often asked her how she liked the entertainment, and whether it was dressed according to her taste. the king, willing to change the conversation, asked her what her name was, how she liked the clothes and the jewels she had on, what she thought of her apartment and the rich furniture, and whether the prospect of the sea was not very agreeable? but to all these questions she made no reply; so that the king was at a loss what to think of her silence. he imagined at first, that she might perhaps be dumb: "but then," said he to himself, "can it be possible that heaven should forge a creature so beautiful, so perfect, and so accomplished, and at the same time with so great an imperfection? were it however so, i could not love her with less passion than i do." when the king of persia rose, he washed his hands on one side, while the fair slave washed hers on the other. he took that opportunity to ask the woman who held the basin and napkin, if ever they had heard her speak. one of them replied, "sire, we have neither seen her open her lips, nor heard her speak any more than your majesty has; we have rendered her our services in the bath; we have dressed her head, put on her clothes, and waited upon her in her chamber; but she has never opened her lips, so much as to say, that is well, or i like this. we have often asked her, "madam, do you want anything? is there anything you wish for? do but ask, and command us," but we have never been able to draw a word from her. we cannot tell whether her sorrow proceeds from pride, sorrow, stupidity, or dumbness." the king was more astonished at hearing this than he had been before: however, believing the slave might have some cause of sorrow, he was willing to endeavour to divert and amuse her. accordingly he appointed a very splendid assembly, which all the ladies of the court attended; and those who were skilful in playing upon musical instruments performed their parts, while others sung or danced, or did both together: they played at all sorts of games, which much diverted the king. the fair slave was the only person who took no pleasure in these attempts to amuse her; she never moved from her place, but remained with her eyes fixed on the ground with so much indifference, that all the ladies were not less surprised than the king. after the assembly was over, every one retired to her apartment; and the king was left alone with the fair slave. the next morning the king of persia rose more pleased than he had been with all the women he had seen before, and more enamoured with the fair slave than ever. indeed, he soon made it appear, by resolving henceforth to attach himself to her alone; and performed his resolution. on the same day he dismissed all his other women, giving every one of them their jewels, and other valuables, besides a considerable fortune, with free leave to marry whom they thought fit; and only kept the matrons and a few other elderly women to wait upon the fair slave. however, for a whole year together, she never afforded him the pleasure of one single word; yet the king continued his assiduities to please her, and to give her the most signal proofs of sincere love. after the expiration of the year, the king sitting one day by his mistress, protested to her that his love, instead of being diminished, grew every day more violent. "my queen," said he, "i cannot divine what your thoughts are; but nothing is more true, and i swear to you, that having the happiness of possessing you, there remains nothing for me to desire. i esteem my kingdom, great as it is, less than an atom, when i have the pleasure of beholding you, and of telling you a thousand times that i adore you. i desire not that my words alone should oblige you to believe me. surely you can no longer doubt of my devotion to you after the sacrifice which i have made to your beauty of so many women, whom i before kept in my palace. you may remember it is about a year since i sent them all away; and i as little repent of it now, as i did the moment of their departure; and i never shall repent. nothing would be wanting to complete my happiness and crown my joy, would you but speak one single word to me, by which i might be assured that you thought yourself at all obliged. but how can you speak to me if you are dumb? and alas! i feel but too apprehensive that this is the case. how can i doubt, since you still torment me with silence, after having for a whole year in vain supplicated you to speak? if it is possible for me to obtain of you that consolation, may heaven at least grant me the blessing of a son by you, to succeed me. i every day find myself growing old, and i begin already to want one to assist me in bearing the weight of my crown. still i cannot conceal the desire i have of hearing you speak; for something within me tells me you are not dumb: and i beseech, i conjure you, dear madam, to break through this long silence, and speak but one word to me; after that i care not how soon i die." at this discourse the fair slave, who, according to her usual custom, had hearkened to the king with downcast eyes, and had given him cause to believe not only that she was dumb, but that she had never laughed, began to smile. the king of persia perceived it with a surprise that made him break forth into an exclamation of joy; and no longer doubting but that she was going to speak, he waited for that happy moment with an eagerness and attention that cannot easily be expressed. at last the fair slave thus addressed herself to the king: "sire, i have so many things to say to your majesty, that, having once broken silence, i know not where to begin. however, in the first place, i think myself bound to thank you for all the favours and honours you have been pleased to confer upon me, and to implore heaven to bless and prosper you, to prevent the wicked designs of your enemies, and not suffer you to die after hearing me speak, but to grant you a long life. after this, sire, i cannot give you greater satisfaction than by acquainting you that i am with child; and i wish, as you do, it may be a son. had it never been my fortune to be pregnant, i was resolved (i beg your majesty to pardon the sincerity of my intention) never to have loved you, and to have kept an eternal silence; but now i love you as i ought to do." the king of persia, ravished to hear the fair slave not only speak, but tell him tidings in which he was so nearly concerned, embraced her tenderly. "staining light of my eyes," said he, "it is impossible for me to receive greater delight than you have now given me: you have spoken to me, and you have declared your being with child, which i did not expect. after these two occasions of joy i am transported out of myself." the king of persia, in the transport of his feelings, said no more to the fair slave. he left her, but in such a manner as made her perceive his intention was speedily to return: and being willing that the occasion of his joys should be made public, he declared it to his officers, and sent for the grand vizier. as soon as he came, he ordered him to distribute a thousand pieces of gold among the holy men of his religion, who made vows of poverty; as also among the hospitals and the poor, by way of returning thanks to heaven: and his will was obeyed by the direction of that minister. after the king of persia had given this order, he returned to the fair slave again. "madam," said he, "pardon me for leaving you so abruptly, since you have been the occasion of it; but i hope you will indulge me with some conversation, since i am desirous to know of you several things of much greater consequence. tell me, my dearest soul, what were the powerful reasons that induced you to persist in that obstinate silence for a whole year together, though every day you saw me, heard me talk to you, ate and drank with me, and every night slept with me? i shall pass by your not speaking; but how you could carry yourself so as that i could never discover whether you were sensible of what i said to you or no, i confess, surpasses my understanding; and i cannot yet comprehend how you could contain yourself so long; therefore i must conclude the occasion of it to be very extraordinary." "to satisfy the king of persia's curiosity," replied the lady, "think whether or no to be a slave, far from my own country, without any hopes of ever seeing it again, to have a heart torn with grief, at being separated forever from my mother, my brother, my friends, and my acquaintance, are not these sufficient reasons for the silence your majesty has thought so strange and unaccountable?" "the love of our native country is as natural to us as that of our parents; and the loss of liberty is insupportable to everyone who is not wholly destitute of common sense, and knows how to set a value on it. the body indeed may be enslaved, and under the subjection of a master, who has the power and authority in his hands; the will can never be conquered, but remains free and unconfined, depending on itself alone, as your majesty has found in my case; and it is a wonder that i have not followed the example of many unfortunate wretches, whom the loss of liberty has reduced to the melancholy resolution of procuring their own deaths in a thousand ways, by a liberty which cannot be taken from them." "madam," replied the king, "i am convinced of the truth of what you say; but till this moment i was of opinion, that a person beautiful, of good understanding, like yourself, whom her evil destiny had condemned to be a slave, ought to think herself very happy in meeting with a king for her master." "sire," replied the lady, "whatever the slave be, as i have already observed to your majesty, there is no king on earth can tyrannize over her will. when indeed you speak of a slave mistress of charms sufficient to captivate a monarch, and induce him to love her; if she be of a rank infinitely below him, i am of your opinion, she ought to think herself happy in her misfortunes: still what happiness can it be, when she considers herself only as a slave, torn from a parent's arms, and perhaps from those of a lover, her passion for whom death only can extinguish; but when this very slave is in nothing inferior to the king who has purchased her, your majesty shall judge yourself of the rigour of her destiny, her misery and her sorrow, and to what desperate attempts the anguish of despair may drive her." the king of persia, astonished at this discourse, "madam," said he, "can it be possible that you are of royal blood, as by your words you seem to intimate? explain the whole secret to me, i beseech you, and no longer augment my impatience. let me instantly know who are the happy parents of so great a prodigy of beauty; who are your brothers, your sisters, and your relations; but, above all, tell me your name?" "sire," said the fair slave, "my name is gulnare of the sea: and my father, who is dead, was one of the most potent monarchs of the ocean. when he died, he left his kingdom to a brother of mine, named saleh, and to the queen, my mother, who is also a princess, the daughter of another puissant monarch of the sea. we enjoyed profound peace and tranquillity through the whole kingdom, till a neighbouring prince, envious of our happiness, invaded our dominions with a mighty army; and penetrating as far as our capital, made himself master of it; and we had but just time to save ourselves in an impenetrable and inaccessible place, with a few trusty officers, who did not forsake us in our distress. "in this retreat my brother was not negligent in contriving means to drive the unjust invaders from our dominions. one day taking me into his closet, 'sister,' said he, 'the events of the smallest undertakings are always dubious. for my own part, i may fail in the attempt i design to make to recover my kingdom; and i shall be less concerned for my own disgrace than what may possibly happen to you. to secure you from all accident, i would fain see you married. but in the present miserable condition of our affairs, i see no probability of matching you to any of the princes of the sea; and therefore i should be glad if you would concur in my opinion, and think of marrying one of the princes of the earth. i am ready to contribute all that lies in my power towards accomplishing this; and am certain there is not one of them, however powerful, but, considering your beauty, would be proud of sharing his crown with you.' "at this discourse of my brother's, i fell into a violent passion. 'brother,' said i, 'you know that i am descended, as well as you, from the kings and queens of the sea, without any mixture of alliance with those of the earth; therefore i do not design to marry below myself, and i have taken an oath to that effect. the condition to which we are reduced shall never oblige me to alter my resolution; and if you perish in the execution of your design, i am prepared to fall with you, rather than follow the advice i so little expected from you.' "my brother, who was still earnest for my marriage, however improper for me, endeavoured to make me believe that there were kings of the earth who were no ways inferior to those of the sea. this put me into a more violent passion, which occasioned him to say several bitter reflecting things, that nettled me to the quick. he left me, as much dissatisfied with myself as he could possibly be with me; and in this peevish mood i gave a spring from the bottom of the sea up to the island of the moon. "notwithstanding the violent discontent that made me cast myself upon that island, i lived content in retirement. but in spite of all my precautions, a person of distinction, attended by his servants, surprised me sleeping, and carried me to his own house. he expressed much love to me, and omitted nothing which he thought might induce me to return his passion. when he saw that fair means would not prevail upon me, he attempted to use force: but i soon made him repent of his insolence. he resolved to sell me, which he did to the merchant who brought me hither, and sold me to your majesty. he was a prudent, courteous, humane man; and during the whole of the long journey, never gave me the least reason to complain. "as for your majesty," continued the princess gulnare, "if you had not shown me all the respect you have hitherto done (for which i am extremely obliged to your goodness), and given me such undeniable marks of your affection, that i can no longer doubt of it; if you had not immediately sent away your women; i hesitate not to tell you, that i should not have remained with you. i would have thrown myself into the sea out of this window, where you accosted me when you first came into this apartment; and have gone in search of my mother, my brother, and the rest of my relations. i should have persisted in that design, and would have put it in execution, if after a certain time i had found myself deceived in the hopes of being with child; but in the condition i am in, all i could say to my mother or my brother would never convince them that i have been a slave to a king like your majesty. they would never believe it, but would for ever upbraid me with the crime i have voluntarily committed against my honour. however, sire, be it a prince or princess that i may bring into the world, it will be a pledge to engage me never to be parted from your majesty; and therefore i hope you will no longer regard me as a slave, but as a princess worthy your alliance." in this manner the princess gulnare discovered herself to the king of persia, and finished her story. "my charming, my adorable princess," cried he, "what wonders have i heard! and what ample matter for my curiosity, to ask a thousand questions concerning those strange and unheard of things which you have related! but first, i ought to thank you for your goodness and patience in making trial of the truth and constancy of my passion. i thought it impossible for me to love you more than i did; but since i know you to be a princess, i love you a thousand times more. princess! did i say, madam? you are no longer so; but you are my queen, the queen of persia; and by that title you shall soon be proclaimed throughout the whole kingdom. to-morrow the ceremony shall be performed in my capital with a pomp and magnificence never yet beheld; which will plainly shew that you are my queen and my lawful wife. this should long ago have been done, had you sooner convinced me of my error: for from the first moment of my seeing you, i have been of the same opinion as now, to love you always, and never to place my affections on any other. "but that i may satisfy myself, and pay you all the respect that is your due, i beseech you, madam, to inform me more particularly of the kingdom and people of the sea, who are altogether unknown to me. i have heard much talk, indeed, of the inhabitants of the sea, but i always looked upon such accounts merely as tales or fables; by what you have told me, i am convinced there is nothing more true; and i have a proof of it in your own person, who are one of them, and are pleased to condescend to be my wife; which is an honour no other inhabitant on the earth can boast. there is one point however which yet perplexes me; therefore i must beg the favour of you to explain it; that is, i cannot comprehend how it is possible for you to live or move in water without being drowned. there are few amongst us who have the art of staying under water; and they would surely perish, if, after a certain time, according to their activity and strength, they did not come up again." "sire," replied the queen gulnare, "i shall with pleasure satisfy the king of persia. we can walk at the bottom of the sea with as much ease as you can upon land; and we can breathe in the water as you do in the air; so that instead of suffocating us, as it does you, it absolutely contributes to the preservation of our lives. what is yet more remarkable is, that it never wets our clothes; so that when we wish to visit the earth, we have no occasion to dry them. our language is the same with that of the writing engraved upon the seal of the great prophet solomon the son of david. "i must not forget to inform you further, that the water does not in the least hinder us from seeing: for we can open our eyes without any inconvenience: and as we have quick, piercing sight, we can discern any objects as clearly in the deepest part of the sea as upon land. we have also there a succession of day and night; the moon affords us her light; and even the planets and the stars appear visible to us. i have already spoken of our kingdoms; but as the sea is much more spacious than the earth, so there are a great number of them, and of great extent. they are divided into provinces; and in each province are several great cities well peopled. in short there is an infinite number of nations differing in manners and customs, as they do on the earth. "the palaces of the kings and princes are sumptuous and magnificent. some of them are constructed of marble of various colours; others of rock-crystal, with which the sea abounds, mother of pearl, coral, and of other materials more valuable; gold, silver, and all sorts of precious stones are more plentiful there than on earth. i say nothing of the pearls, since the largest that ever were seen upon earth would not be valued amongst us; and none but the very lowest rank of citizens would wear them. "as we have a marvellous and incredible agility to transport ourselves whither we please in the twinkling of an eye, we have no occasion for carriages or horses; not but the king has his stables and his stud of sea horses; but they are seldom used, except upon public feasts or rejoicing days. some, after they have trained them, take delight in riding and shewing their skill and dexterity in races; others put them to chariots of mother of pearl, adorned with an infinite number of shells of all sorts, of the liveliest colours. these chariots are open; and in the middle is a throne on which the king sits, and shows himself to the public view of his subjects. the horses are trained to draw by themselves; so that there is no occasion for a charioteer to guide them. i pass over a thousand other curious particulars relating to these submarine countries, which would be very entertaining to your majesty; but you must permit me to defer them to a future opportunity, to speak of something of much greater consequence, which is, that the method of delivering, and the way of managing the women of the sea in their lying-in, is very different from those of the women of the earth; and i am afraid to trust myself in the hands of the midwives of this country: therefore, since my safe delivery equally concerns us both, with your majesty's permission, i think it proper, for greater security, to send for my mother and my cousins, to assist at my labour; at the same time to desire the king my brother's company, to whom i have a great desire to be reconciled. they will be glad to see me again, when they understand i am wife to the mighty king of persia. i beseech your majesty to give me leave to send for them. i am sure they will be happy to pay their respects to you; and i venture to say you will be pleased to see them." "madam," replied the king of persia, "you are mistress; do whatever you please; i will endeavour to receive them with all the honours they deserve. but i would fain know how you will acquaint them with what you desire, and when they will arrive, that i may give orders to make preparation for their reception, and go myself in person to meet them." "sire," replied the queen gulnare, "there is no need of these ceremonies; they will be here in a moment; and if your majesty will but step into the closet, and look through the lattice, you shall see the manner of their arrival." as soon as the king of persia was in the closet, queen gulnare ordered one of her women to bring her a fire-pan with a little fire. after that she bade her retire, and shut the door. when she was alone, she took a piece of aloes-wood out of a box, and put it into the fire-pan. as soon as she saw the smoke rise, she repeated some words unknown to the king of persia, who observed with great attention all that she did. she had no sooner ended, than the sea began to be disturbed. the closet the king was in was so contrived, that looking through the lattice on the same side with the windows that faced the sea, he could plainly perceive it. at length the sea opened at some distance; and presently there arose out of it a tall, handsome young man, with whiskers of a sea-green colour; a little behind him, a lady, advanced in years, but of a majestic air, attended by five young ladies, nothing inferior in beauty to the queen gulnare. queen gulnare immediately came to one of the windows, and saw the king her brother, the queen her mother, and the rest of her relations, who at the same time perceived her also. the company advanced, supported, as it were, upon the waves. when they came to the edge, they nimbly, one after another, sprung in at the window. king saleh, the queen her mother, and the rest of her relations, embraced her tenderly on their first entrance, with tears in their eyes. after queen gulnare had received them with all imaginable honour, and made them sit down upon a sofa, the queen her mother addressed herself to her: "daughter," said she, "i am overjoyed to see you again after so long an absence; and i am confident that your brother and your relations are no less so. your leaving us without acquainting any one with your intention, involved us in inexpressible concern; and it is impossible to tell you how many tears we have shed on your account. we know of no reason that could induce you to take such a resolution, but what your brother related to us respecting the conversation that passed between him and you. the advice he gave you seemed to him at that time advantageous for settling you in the world, and suitable to the then posture of our affairs. if you had not approved of his proposal, you ought not to have been so much alarmed; and give me leave to tell you, you took his advice in a different light from what you ought to have done. but no more of this; it serves only to renew the occasion of our sorrow and complaint, which we and you ought to bury forever in oblivion; give us now an account of all that has happened to you since we saw you last, and of your present situation, but especially let us know if you are married." gulnare immediately threw herself at her mother's feet, and kissing her hand, "madam," said she, "i own i have been guilty of a fault, and i am indebted to your goodness for the pardon which you are pleased to grant me. what i am going to say, in obedience to your commands, will soon convince you, that it is often in vain for us to have an aversion for certain measures; i have myself experienced that the only thing i had an abhorrence to, is that to which my destiny has led me." she then related the whole of what had befallen her since she quitted the sea for the earth. as soon as she had concluded, and acquainted them with her having been sold to the king of persia, in whose palace she was at present; "sister," said the king her brother, "you have been wrong to suffer so many indignities, but you can properly blame nobody but yourself; you have it in your power now to free yourself, and i cannot but admire your patience, that you could endure so long a slavery. rise, and return with us into my kingdom, which i have reconquered from the proud usurper who had made himself master of it." the king of persia, who heard these words from the closet where he stood, was in the utmost alarm; "ah!" said he to himself, "i am ruined, and if my queen, my gulnare, hearken to this advice, and leave me, i shall surely die, for it is impossible for me to live without her." queen gulnare soon put him out of his fears. "brother," said she smiling, "what i have just heard gives me a greater proof than ever of the sincerity of your affection; i could not brook your proposing to me a match with a prince of the earth: now i can scarcely forbear being angry with you for advising me to break the engagement i have made with the most puissant and most renowned monarch in the world. i do not speak here of an engagement between a slave and her master; it would be easy to return the ten thousand pieces of gold he gave for me; but i speak now of a contract between a wife and a husband--and a wife who has not the least reason to complain. he is a religious, wise, and temperate king, and has given me the most essential demonstrations of his love. what can be a greater proof of the sincerity of his passion, than sending away all his women (of which he had a great number) immediately upon my arrival, and confining himself to me alone? i am now his wife, and he has lately declared me queen of persia, to share with him in his councils; besides, i am pregnant, and if heaven permit me to give him a son, that will be another motive to engage my affections to him the more." "so that, brother," continued the queen gulnare, "instead of following your advice, you see i have all the reason in the world, not only to love the king of persia as passionately as he loves me, but also to live and die with him, more out of gratitude than duty. i hope then neither my mother, nor you, nor any of my cousins, will disapprove of the resolution or the alliance i have made, which will do equal honour to the kings of the sea and earth. excuse me for giving you the trouble of coming hither from the bottom of the deep, to communicate it to you; and to enjoy the pleasure of seeing you after so long a separation." "sister," replied king saleh, "the proposal i made you of going back with us into my kingdom, upon the recital of your adventures (which i could not hear without concern), was only to let you see how much we all love you, and how much i in particular honour you, and that nothing is so dear to me as your happiness. upon the same account then, for my own part, i cannot condemn a resolution so reasonable and so worthy of yourself, after what you have told us of the king of persia your husband, and the great obligations you owe him; and i am persuaded that the queen our mother will be of the same opinion." the queen confirmed what her son had spoken, and addressing herself to gulnare, said, "i am glad to hear you are pleased; and i have nothing to add to what your brother has said. i should have been the first to condemn you, had you not expressed all the gratitude you owe to a monarch that loves you so passionately." as the king of persia had been extremely concerned under the apprehension of losing his beloved queen, so now he was transported with joy at her resolution never to forsake him; and having no room to doubt of her love after so open a declaration, he resolved to evince his gratitude in every possible way. while the king was indulging incredible pleasure, queen gulnare clapped her hands, and immediately some of her slaves entered, whom she had ordered to bring in a collation: as soon as it was served up, she invited the queen her mother, the king her brother, and her cousins to partake. they began to reflect that they were in the palace of a mighty king, who had never seen or heard of them, and that it would be rudeness to eat at his table without him. this reflection raised a blush in their faces, and in their emotion, their eyes glowing like fire, they breathed flames at their mouths and nostrils. this unexpected sight put the king of persia, who was totally ignorant of the cause of it, into a dreadful consternation. queen gulnare, suspecting this, and understanding the intention of her relations, rose from her seat, and told them she would be back in a moment. she went directly to the closet, and by her presence recovered the king of persia from his surprise; "sir," said she, "i doubt not but that your majesty is well pleased with the acknowledgment i have made of the many favours for which i am indebted to you. i might have complied with the wishes of my relations, and gone back with them into their dominions; but i am not capable of such ingratitude, for which i should have been the first to condemn myself." "ah! my queen," cried the king of persia, "speak no more of your obligations to me; you have none; i am under so many to you, that i shall never be able to repay them. i never thought it possible you could have loved me so tenderly as you do, and as you have made appear to me in the most endearing manner." "ah! sir," replied gulnare "could i do less? i fear i have not done enough, considering all the honours that your majesty has heaped upon me; and it is impossible for me to remain insensible of your love, after so many convincing proofs as you have given me." "but, sir," continued gulnare, "let us drop this subject, and give me leave to assure you of the sincere friendship the queen my mother and the king my brother are pleased to honour you with; they earnestly desire to see you, and tell you so themselves: i intended to have had some conversation with them by ordering a banquet for them, before i introduced them to your majesty; but they are impatient to pay their respects to you; and therefore i beseech your majesty to be pleased to honour them with your presence." "madam," said the king of persia, "i should be glad to salute persons who have the honour to be so nearly related to you, but i am afraid of the flames they breathe at their mouths and nostrils." "sir," replied the queen laughing, "you need not in the least fear those flames, which are nothing but a sign of their unwillingness to eat in your palace, without your honouring them with your presence, and eating with them." the king of persia, encouraged by these words, rose and went into the apartment with his queen gulnare she presented him to the queen her mother, to the king her brother, and to her other relations; who instantly threw themselves at his feet, with their faces to the ground. the king of persia ran to them, and lifting them up, embraced them one after another. after they were all seated, king saleh began: "sir;" said he to the king of persia, "we are at a loss for words to express our joy, to think that the queen my sister, in her disgrace, should have the happiness of falling under the protection of so powerful a monarch. we can assure you, she is not unworthy of the high rank to which you have been pleased to raise her; and we have always had so much love and tenderness for her, that we could never think or parting with her to any of the puissant princes of the sea, who have often demanded her in marriage before she came of age. heaven has reserved her for you, and we have no better way of testifying our gratitude for the favour it has done her, than beseeching it to grant your majesty a long and happy life with her, and to crown you with prosperity and satisfaction. "certainly," replied the king of persia, "heaven reserved her for me, as you observe. i love her with so tender and ardent a passion, that i am satisfied i never loved any woman till i saw her. i cannot sufficiently thank either the queen her mother or you, prince, or your whole family, for the generosity with which you have consented to receive me into an alliance so glorious to me as yours." so saying he invited them to take part of the collation, and he and his queen sat down with them. after the collation, the king of persia conversed with them till it was very late; and when they thought it convenient to retire, he waited upon them himself to the several apartments he had ordered to be prepared for them. the king of persia treated his illustrious guests with continual feasts; in which he omitted nothing that might shew his grandeur and magnificence, and insensibly prevailed with them to stay with him till the queen was brought to bed. when the time of her lying-in drew near, he gave particular orders that nothing should be wanting proper for such an occasion. at length she was brought to bed of a son, to the great joy of the queen her mother, who assisted at the labour, and presented him to the king. the king of persia received this present with a joy easier to be imagined than expressed. the young prince being of a beautiful countenance, he thought no name so proper for him as that of beder, which in the arabian language signifies the full moon. to return thanks to heaven, he was very liberal in his alms to the poor, caused the prison doors to be set open, and gave all his slaves of both sexes their liberty. he distributed vast sums among the ministers and holy men of his religion. he also gave large donations to his courtiers, besides a considerable sum that was thrown amongst the people; and by proclamation, ordered rejoicings to be kept for several days through the whole city. one day, after the queen was recovered, as the king of persia, gulnare, the queen her mother, king saleh her brother, and the princesses their relations, were discoursing together in her majesty's bed-chamber, the nurse came in with the young prince beder in her arms. king saleh as soon as he saw him, ran to embrace him, and taking him in his arms, kissed and caressed him with the greatest demonstrations of tenderness. he took several turns with him about the room, dancing and tossing him about, when all of a sudden, through a transport of joy, the window being open, he sprung out, and plunged with him into the sea. the king of persia, who expected no such sight, believing he should either see the prince his son no more, or else that he should see him drowned, was overwhelmed in affliction. "sir," said queen gulnare (with a quiet and undisturbed countenance, the better to comfort him), "let your majesty fear nothing; the young prince is my son as well as yours, and i do not love him less than yourself. you see i am not alarmed; neither in truth ought i to be. he runs no risk, and you will soon see the king his uncle appear with him again, and bring him back safe. although he be born of your blood, he is equally of mine, and will have the same advantage his uncle and i possess, of living equally in the sea, and upon the land." the queen his mother and the princesses his relations affirmed the same thing; yet all they said had no effect on the king, who could not recover from his alarm till he again saw prince beder. the sea at length became troubled, when immediately king saleh arose with the young prince in his arms, and holding him up in the air, reentered at the window from which he had leaped. the king of persia being overjoyed to see prince beder again, and astonished that he was as calm as before he lost sight of him; king saleh said, "sir, was not your majesty in alarm, when you first saw me plunge into the sea with the prince my nephew?" "alas prince," answered the king of persia, "i cannot express my concern. i thought him lost from that very moment, and you now restore life to me by bringing him again." "i thought as much," replied king saleh, "though you had not the least reason to apprehend danger; for before i plunged into the sea, i pronounced over him certain mysterious words, which were engraved on the seal of the great solomon the son of david. we practise the like in relation to all those children that are born in the regions at the bottom of the sea, by virtue whereof they receive the same privileges as we have over those people who inhabit the earth. from what your majesty has observed, you may easily see what advantage your son prince beder has acquired by his birth on the part of his mother gulnare my sister: for as long as he lives, and as often as he pleases, he will be at liberty to plunge into the sea, and traverse the vast empires it contains in its bosom." having so spoken, king saleh, who had restored prince beder to his nurse's arms, opened a box he had fetched from his palace in the little time he had disappeared, which was filled with three hundred diamonds, as large as pigeons' eggs; a like number of rubies of extraordinary size; as many emerald wands, each half a foot long, and thirty strings or necklaces of pearl consisting each of ten feet. "sir," said he to the king of persia, presenting him with this box, "when i was first summoned by the queen my sister, i knew not what part of the earth she was in, or that she had the honour to be married to so great a monarch. this made us come without a present. as we cannot express how much we have been obliged to your majesty, i beg you to accept this small token of gratitude in acknowledgment of the many favours you have been pleased to shew her, wherein we take equal interest." it is impossible to express how greatly the king of persia was surprised at the sight of so much riches, enclosed in so little compass. "what! prince," cried he, "do you call so inestimable a present a small token of your gratitude, when you never have been indebted to me? i declare once more you have never been in the least obliged to me, neither the queen your mother nor you. i esteem myself but too happy in the consent you have given to the alliance i have contracted with you. madam," continued he, turning to gulnare, "the king your brother has put me into the greatest confusion; and i would beg of him to permit me to refuse his present, were i not afraid of disobliging him: do you therefore endeavour to obtain his leave that i may be excused accepting it." "sir," replied king saleh, "i am not at all surprised that your majesty thinks this present so extraordinary. i know you are not accustomed upon earth to see precious stones of this quality and number: but if you knew, as i do, the mines whence these jewels were taken, and that it is in my power to form a treasure greater than those of all the kings of the earth, you would wonder we should have the boldness to make you so small a present. i beseech you therefore not to regard its trifling value, but consider the sincere friendship which obliges us to offer it to you, and not give us the mortification of refusing it." these engaging expressions obliged the king of persia to accept the present, for which he returned many thanks both to king saleh and the queen his mother. a few days after, king saleh gave the king of persia to understand, that the queen his mother, the princesses his relations, and himself, could have no greater pleasure than to spend their whole lives at his court; but that having been so long absent from their own kingdom, where their presence was absolutely necessary, they begged of him to excuse them if they took leave of him and queen gulnare. the king of persia assured them, he was sorry it was not in his power to return their visit in their own dominions; but added, "as i am persuaded you will not forget gulnare, i hope i shall have the honour to see you again more than once." many tears were shed on both sides upon their separation. king saleh departed first; but the queen his mother and the princesses his relations were obliged to force themselves from the embraces of gulnare, who could not prevail with herself to let them go. this royal company were no sooner out of sight, than the king of persia said to gulnare, "madam, i should have looked upon the person who had pretended to pass those upon me for true wonders, of which i myself have been eye-witness from the time i have been honoured with your illustrious family at my court, as one who would have abused my credulity. but i cannot refuse to believe my senses; and shall remember them while i live, and never cease to bless heaven for directing you to me, in preference to any other prince." beder was brought up and educated in the palace under the care of the king and queen of persia, who both saw him grow and increase in beauty to their great satisfaction. he gave them yet greater pleasure as he advanced in years, by his continual sprightliness, his agreeable manners, and the justness and vivacity of his wit; and this satisfaction was the more sensible, because king saleh his uncle, the queen his grandmother, and the princesses his relations, came from time to time to partake of it. he was easily taught to read and write, and was instructed with the same facility in all the sciences that became a prince of his rank. when he arrived at the age of fifteen, he acquitted himself in all his exercises with infinitely better address and grace than his masters. he was withal wise and prudent. the king, who had almost from his cradle discovered in him virtues so necessary for a monarch, and who moreover began to perceive the infirmities of old age coming upon himself every day, would not stay till death gave him possession of his throne, but purposed to resign it to him. he had no great difficulty to make his council consent to this arrangement: and the people heard his resolution with so much the more joy, as they conceived prince beder worthy to govern them. in a word, as the king had not for a long time appeared in public, they had the opportunity of observing that he had not that disdainful, proud, and distant air, which most princes have, who look upon all below them with scorn and contempt. they saw, on the contrary, that he treated all mankind with that goodness which invited them to approach him; that he heard favourably all who had anything to say to him; that he answered everybody with a goodness that was peculiar to him; and that he refused nobody any thing that had the least appearance of justice. the day for the ceremony was appointed, when in the midst of the whole assembly, which was then more numerous than ordinary, the king of persia came down from his throne, took the crown from his head, put it on that of prince beder, and having seated him in his place, kissed his hand as a token that he resigned his authority to him. after which he took his place among the crowd of viziers and emirs below the throne. hereupon the viziers, emirs, and other principal officers, came immediately and threw themselves at the new king's feet, taking each the oath of fidelity according to their rank. then the grand vizier made a report of divers important matters, on which the young king gave judgment with that admirable prudence and sagacity that surprised all the council. he next turned out several governors convicted of mal-administration, and put others in their room, with such wonderful and just discernment, as exalted the acclamations of every body, which were so much the more honourable, as flattery had no share in them. he at length left the council, accompanied by his father, and went to wait on his mother queen gulnare at her apartment. the queen no sooner saw him coming with his crown upon his head, than she ran to him and embraced him with tenderness, wishing him a long and prosperous reign. the first year of his reign king beder acquitted himself of all his royal functions with great assiduity. above all, he took care to inform himself of the state of his affairs, and all that might any way contribute towards the happiness of his people. next year, having left the administration to his council, under the direction of his father, he left his capital, under pretence of diverting himself with hunting; but his real intention was to visit all the provinces of his kingdom, that he might reform abuses, establish good order, and deprive all ill-minded princes, his neighbours, of any opportunities of attempting anything against the security and tranquillity of his subjects, by shewing himself on his frontiers. it required no less than a whole year for the young monarch to execute a design so worthy of him. soon after his return, the old king his father fell so dangerously ill, that he knew at once he should never recover. he waited for his last moment with great tranquillity, and his only care was to recommend to the ministers and other lords of his son's court, to persevere in the fidelity they had sworn to him: and there was not one but willingly renewed his oath as freely as at first. he died at length, to the great grief of king beder and queen gulnare, who caused his corpse to be borne to a stately mausoleum, worthy of his rank and dignity. the funeral obsequies ended, king beder found no difficulty to comply with that ancient custom in persia to mourn for the dead a whole month and not to be seen by anybody during that time. he had mourned the death of his father his whole life, had he yielded to his excessive affliction, and had it been right for a great prince thus to abandon himself to sorrow. during this interval the queen gulnare's mother, and king saleh, together with the princesses their relations, arrived at the persian court to condole with their relations. when the month was expired, the king could not refuse admittance to the grand vizier and the other lords of his court, who besought him to lay aside his mourning, to shew himself to his subjects, and take upon him the administration of affairs as before. he shewed so much reluctance to comply with their request, that the grand vizier was forced to take upon himself to say; "sir, it were needless to represent to your majesty, that it belongs only to women to persist in perpetual mourning. we doubt not but you are fully convinced of this, and that it is not your intention to follow their example. neither our tears nor yours are capable of restoring life to the good king your father, though we should lament him all our days. he has submitted to the common law of all men, which subjects them to pay the indispensable tribute of death. yet we cannot say absolutely that he is dead, since we see in him your sacred person. he did not himself doubt, when he was dying, but he should revive in you, and to your majesty it belongs to show that he was not deceived." king beder could no longer oppose such pressing instances; he laid aside his mourning; and after he had resumed the royal habit and ornaments, began to provide for the necessities of his kingdom and subjects with the same assiduity as before his father's death. he acquitted himself with universal approbation: and as he was exact in maintaining the ordinances of his predecessor, the people did not perceive they had changed their sovereign. king saleh, who was returned to his dominions in the sea with the queen his mother and the princesses, no sooner saw that king beder had resumed the government, but he at the end of the year came alone to visit him; and king beder and queen gulnare were overjoyed to see him. one evening, talking of various matters, king saleh fell insensibly on the praises of the king his nephew, and expressed to the queen his sister how glad he was to see him govern so prudently, as to acquire such high reputation, not only among his neighbours, but more remote princes. king beder, who could not bear to hear himself so well spoken of, and not being willing, through good manners, to interrupt the king his uncle, turned on one side, and feigned to be asleep, leaning his head against a cushion that was behind him. from these commendations, which regarded only the conduct and genius of beder, king saleh came to speak of the perfections of his person, which he extolled as prodigies, having nothing equal to them upon earth, or in all the kingdoms under the waters, with which he was acquainted. "sister," said he, "i wonder you have not thought of marrying him: if i mistake not, he is in his twentieth year; and, at that age, no prince ought to be suffered to be without a wife. i will think of a match for him myself, since you will not, and marry him to some princess of our lower world that may be worthy of him." "brother," replied queen gulnare, "you call to my attention what i must own has never occurred to me. as he discovered no inclination for marriage, i never thought of mentioning it to him. i like your proposal of one of our princesses; and i desire you to name one so beautiful and accomplished that the king my son may be obliged to love her." "i know one," replied king saleh, softly; "but before i tell you who she is, let us see if the king my nephew be asleep, and i will tell you afterwards why it is necessary we should take that precaution." queen gulnare turned about and looked at her son, and thought she had no reason to doubt but he was in a profound sleep. king beder, nevertheless, far from sleeping, redoubled his attention, unwilling to lose any thing the king his uncle said with so much secrecy. "there is no necessity for your speaking so low," said the queen to the king her brother; "you may speak out with freedom, without fear of being heard." "it is by no means proper," replied king saleh, "that the king my nephew should as yet have any knowledge of what i am going to say. love, you know, sometimes enters at the ear, and it is not necessary he should thus conceive a passion for the lady i am about to name. indeed i see many difficulties to be surmounted, not on the lady's part, as i hope, but on that of her father. i need only mention to you the princess jehaun-ara, daughter of the king of samandal." "how! brother," replied queen gulnare, "is not the princess yet married? i remember to have seen her before i left your palace; she was then about eighteen months old, surprisingly beautiful, and must needs be the wonder of the world, if her charms have increased with her years. the few years she is older than the king my son ought not to prevent us from doing our utmost to effect the match. let me but know the difficulties in the way, and we will surmount them." "sister," replied king saleh, "the greatest difficulty is, that the king of samandal is insupportably vain, looking upon all others as his inferiors: it is not likely we shall easily get him to enter into this alliance. i will however go to him in person, and demand of him the princess his daughter; and, in case he refuses her, we will address ourselves elsewhere, where we shall be more favourably heard. for this reason, as you may perceive," added he, "it is as well for the king my nephew not to know any thing of our design, till we have the consent of the king of samandal." they discoursed a little longer upon this point and, before they parted, agreed that king saleh should forthwith return to his own dominions, and demand the princess for the king of persia his nephew. this done, queen gulnare and king saleh, who believed king beder asleep, agreed to awake him before they retired; and he dissembled so well that he seemed to awake from a profound sleep. he had heard every word, and the character they gave of the princess had inflamed his heart with a new passion. he had conceived such an idea of her beauty, that the desire of possessing her made him pass the night very uneasy without closing his eyes. next day king saleh proposed taking leave of gulnare and the king his nephew. the young king, who knew his uncle would not have departed so soon but to go and promote without loss of time his happiness, changed colour when he heard him mention his departure. his passion was become so violent, it would not suffer him to wait so long for the sight of his mistress as would be required to accomplish the marriage. he more than once resolved to desire his uncle to bring her away with him: but as he did not wish to let the queen his mother understand he knew anything of what had passed, he desired him only to stay with him one day more, that they might hunt together, intending to take that opportunity to discover his mind to him. the day for hunting was fixed, and king beder had many opportunities of being alone with his uncle; but he had not courage to acquaint him with his design. in the heat of the chase, when king saleh was separated from him, and not one of his officers or attendants was near him, he alighted by a rivulet; and having tied his horse to a tree, which, with several others growing along the banks, afforded a very pleasing shade, he laid himself on the grass, and gave free course to his tears, which flowed in great abundance, accompanied with many sighs. he remained a good while in this condition, absorbed in thought, without speaking a word. king saleh, in the meantime, missing the king his nephew, began to be much concerned to know what was become of him; but could meet no one who could give any tidings of him. he therefore left his company to seek for him, and at length perceived him at a distance. he had observed the day before, and more plainly that day, that he was not so lively as he used to be; and that, if he was asked a question, he either answered not at all, or nothing to the purpose; but never in the least suspected the cause. as soon as he saw him dying in that disconsolate posture, he immediately guessed he had not only heard what had passed between him and queen gulnare, but was become passionately in love. he alighted at some distance from him, and having tied his horse to a tree, came upon him so softly, that he heard him pronounce the following words: "amiable princess of the kingdom of samandal, i have no doubt had but an imperfect sketch of your incomparable beauty; i hold you to be still more beautiful in preference to all the princesses in the world, and to excel them as much as the sun does the moon and stars. i would this moment go and offer you my heart, if i knew where to find you; it belongs to you, and no princess shall be possessor of it but yourself!" king saleh would hear no more; he advanced immediately, and discovered himself to beder. "from what i see, nephew," said he, "you heard what the queen your mother and i said the other day of the princess jehaun-ara. it was not our intention you should have known any thing respecting her, and we thought you were asleep." "my dear uncle," replied king beder, "i heard every word, and have sufficiently experienced the effect you foretold; which it was not in your power to prevent. i detained you on purpose to acquaint you with my love before your departure; but the shame of disclosing my weakness, if it be any to love a princess so worthy of my affection, sealed up my mouth. i beseech you then, by the friendship you profess for a prince who has the honour to be so nearly allied to you, that you would pity me, and not wait to procure me the consent of the divine jehaun-ara, till you have gained that of the king of samandal that i may marry his daughter, unless you had rather see me die with love, before i behold her." these words of the king of persia greatly embarrassed king saleh. he represented to him how difficult it was to give him the satisfaction he desired, and that he could not do it without carrying him along with him; which might be of dangerous consequence, since his presence was so absolutely necessary in his kingdom. he conjured him, therefore, to moderate his passion, till such time as he had put things into a train to satisfy him, assuring him he would use his utmost diligence, and would come to acquaint him in a few days. but these reasons were not sufficient to satisfy the king of persia. "cruel uncle," said he. "i find you do not love me so much as you pretended, and that you had rather see me die than grant the first request i ever made." "i am ready to convince your majesty," replied king saleh, "that i would do any thing to serve you; but as for carrying you along with me, i cannot do that till i have spoken to the queen your mother. what would she say of you and me? if she consents, i am ready to do all you would have me, and will join my entreaties to yours." "you cannot be ignorant," replied the king of persia, "that the queen my mother would never willingly part with me; and therefore this excuse does but farther convince me of your unkindness. if you really love me, as you would have me believe, you must return to your kingdom immediately, and take me with you." king saleh, finding himself obliged to yield to his nephew's importunity, drew from his finger a ring, on which were engraved the same mysterious names of god that were upon solomon's seal, which had wrought so many wonders by their virtue. "here, take this ring," said he, "put it on your finger, and fear neither the waters of the sea, nor their depth." the king of persia took the ring, and when he had put it on his finger, king saleh said to him, "do as i do." at the same time they both mounted lightly up into the air, and made towards the sea, which was not far distant, and they both plunged into it. the sea-king was not long in arriving at his palace, with the king of persia, whom he immediately carried to the queen's apartments, and presented to her. the king of persia kissed the queen his grandmother's hands, and she embraced him with great demonstrations of joy. "i do not ask you how you do," said she, "i see you are very well, and am rejoiced at it; but i desire to know how my daughter your mother queen gulnare does." the king of persia took great care not to let her know that he had come away with out taking leave of her; on the contrary he told her, the queen his mother was in perfect health, and had enjoined him to pay her duty to her. the queen then presented him to the princesses; and while he was in conversation with them, she left him, and went with king saleh into a closet, who told her how the king of persia was fallen in love with the princess jehaun-ara, upon the bare relation of her beauty, and contrary to his intention; that he had, against his own wishes, brought him along with him, and that he was going to concert measures to procure the princess for him in marriage. although king saleh was, to do him justice, perfectly innocent of the king of persia's passion, yet the queen could hardly forgive his indiscretion in mentioning the princess jehaun-ara before him, "your imprudence is not to be forgiven," said she; "can you think that the king of samandal, whose character is so well known, will have greater consideration for you, than the many other kings to whom he has refused his daughter, with such evident contempt? would you have him send you away with the same confusion? "madam," replied king saleh, "i have already told you it was contrary to my intention that the king my nephew heard what i related of the beauty of the princess to the queen my sister. the fault is committed, and we must consider what a violent passion he has for this princess, and that he will die with grief and affliction, if we do not speedily obtain her for him. for my part, i shall omit nothing that can contribute to effect their union: since i was, though innocently, the cause of the malady, i will do all i can to remedy it. i hope, madam, you will approve of my resolution, to go myself and wait on the king of samandal, with a rich present of precious stones, and demand the princess his daughter of him for the king of persia. i have some reason to believe he will not refuse, but will be pleased with an alliance with one of the greatest potentates of the earth." "it were to have been wished," replied the queen, "that we had not been under a necessity of making this demand, since the success of our attempt is not so certain as we could desire; but since my grandson's peace and content depend upon it, i freely give my consent. but, above all, i charge you, since you well know the humour of the king of samandal, that you take care to speak to him with due respect, and in a manner that cannot possibly offend him." the queen prepared the present herself, composing it of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and strings of pearl, all which she put into a rich box. next morning king saleh took leave of her majesty and the king of persia, and departed with a chosen and small troop of officers, and attendants. he soon arrived at the kingdom, and the palace of the king of samandal, who delayed not to give him audience. he rose from his throne as soon as he perceived him; and king saleh, forgetting his character for some moments, knowing whom he had to deal with, prostrated himself at his feet, wishing him the accomplishment of all his desires. the king of samandal stooped to raise him, and after he had placed him on his left hand, told him he was welcome, and asked him if there was any thing he could do to serve him. "sir," answered king saleh, "though i should have no other motive than that of paying my respects to the most potent, most prudent, and most valiant prince in the world, feeble would be my language to express how much i honour your majesty. could you penetrate into my inmost soul, you would be convinced of the great veneration i have for you, and of my ardent desire to testify my attachment." having spoke these words, he took the box of jewels from one of his servants, and having opened it, presented it to the king, imploring him to accept of it for his sake. "prince," replied the king of samandal, "you would not make me such a present unless you had a request proportionable to it to propose. if there be any thing in my power to grant, you may freely command me, and i shall feel the greatest pleasure in complying with your wishes. speak, and tell me frankly, wherein i can serve you?" "i must own ingenuously," replied king saleh, "i have a boon to ask of your majesty; and i shall take care to ask nothing but what is in your power to bestow. the thing depends so absolutely on yourself, that it would be to no purpose to ask it of any one else. i ask it then with all possible earnestness, and i beg of you not to refuse me." "if it be so," replied the king of samandal, "you have nothing to do but acquaint me what it is, and you shall see after what manner i can oblige when it is in my power." "sir," said king saleh, "after the confidence with which your majesty has been pleased to inspire me, i will not dissemble any longer, that i came to beg of you to honour our house with your alliance by the marriage of your daughter, and to strengthen the good understanding that has so long subsisted between our two crowns." at these words the king of samandal burst into a loud laugh, falling back in his throne against a cushion that supported him, and with an imperious and scornful air, said, "king saleh, i have always hitherto thought you a prince of great wisdom, and prudence; but what you say convinces me i was mistaken. tell me, i beseech you, where was your wit or discretion, when you formed to yourself such a chimera as you have proposed to me? could you conceive a thought of aspiring in marriage to a princess, the daughter of so powerful a monarch as myself? you ought to have considered the great distance between us, and not run the risk of losing in a moment the esteem i always had for you." king saleh was hurt at this affronting answer, and could scarcely restrain his resentment; however he replied with all possible moderation, "god reward your majesty as you deserve! i have the honour to inform you, i do not demand the princess your daughter in marriage for myself; had i done even that, your majesty and the princess, so far from being offended, should have thought it an honour done to both. your majesty well knows i am one of the kings of the sea as well as yourself; that my ancestors yield not in antiquity to any royal house; and that the kingdom i inherit is no less potent and flourishing than your own. if your majesty had not interrupted me, you had soon understood that the favour i asked was not for myself, but for the young king of persia my nephew, whose power and grandeur, no less than his personal good qualities, cannot be unknown to you. everybody acknowledges the princess jehaun-ara to be the most beautiful under ocean: but it is no less true, that the king of persia is the handsomest and most accomplished prince on earth. thus the favour that is asked being likely to redound to the honour both of your majesty and the princess your daughter, you ought not to doubt that your consent to an alliance so equal will be unanimously approved in all the kingdoms of the sea. the princess is worthy of the king of persia, and the king of persia is no less worthy of her." the king of samandal had not permitted king saleh to speak so long, but that rage deprived him of all power of speech. at length, however, he broke out into outrageous and insulting expressions, unworthy of a great king. "dog," cried he, "dare you talk to me after this manner, and so much as mention my daughter's name in my presence can you think the son of your sister gulnare worthy to come in competition with my daughter? who are you? who was your father? who is your sister? and who your nephew? was not his father a dog, and the son of a dog, like you? guards, seize the insolent wretch, and strike off his head." the few officers who were about the king of samandal were immediately going to obey his orders, when king saleh, who was in the flower of his age, nimble and vigorous, got from them, before they could draw their sabres; and having reached the palace-gate, found there a thousand men of his relations and friends, well armed and equipped, who were just arrived. the queen his mother having considered the small number of attendants he had taken with him, and foreseeing the reception he would probably meet from the king of samandal, had sent these troops to protect and defend him in case of danger, ordering them to make haste. those of his relations who were at the head of this troop had reason to rejoice at their seasonable arrival, when they beheld him and his attendants running in great disorder, and pursued. "sire," cried his friends, the moment he joined them, "who has insulted you? we are ready to revenge you: you need only command us." king saleh related his case to them in few words, and putting himself at the head of a troop, while some seized the gates, he re-entered the palace. the few officers and guards who had pursued him, being soon dispersed, he forced the king of samandal's apartment, who, being abandoned by his attendants, was soon seized. king saleh left sufficient guards to secure his person, and then went from apartment to apartment, to search after the princess jehaun-ara. but she, on the first alarm, had, together with her women, sprung up to the surface of the sea, and escaped to a desert island. while this passed in the palace of the king of samandal, those of king saleh's attendants who had fled at the first menaces of that king, put the queen mother into terrible consternation, on relating the danger of her son. king beder, who was present at the time, was the more concerned, as he looked upon himself as the principal author of the mischief that might ensue: therefore, not caring to abide the queen's presence any longer, whilst she was giving the orders necessary at that conjuncture, he darted up from the bottom of the sea; and not knowing how to find his way to the kingdom of persia, happened to land on the island where the princess jehaun-ara had saved herself. the prince, not a little disturbed in mind, seated himself under the shade of a large tree, surrounded by others. whilst he was endeavouring to recover himself, he heard somebody talking, but was too far off to understand what was said. he arose, and advanced softly towards the place whence the sound proceeded, where, among the branches, he perceived a beauty that dazzled him. "doubtless," said he, within himself, stopping and considering her with great attention, "this must be the princess jehaun-ara, whom fear has obliged to abandon her father's palace; or if it be not, she no less deserves my love." this said, he came forward, and discovering himself, approached the princess with profound reverence. "madam," said he, "i can never sufficiently thank heaven for the favour it has done me in presenting to my eyes so much beauty. a greater happiness could not have befallen me than this opportunity to offer you my services. i beseech you, therefore, madam, to accept them, it being impossible that a lady in this solitude should not want assistance." "true, my lord," replied jehaun-ara, sorrowfully; "it is not a little extraordinary for a lady of my quality to be in this situation. i am a princess, daughter of the king of samandal, and my name is jehaun-ara. i was at ease in my father's palace, in my apartment, when suddenly i heard a dreadful noise: news was immediately brought me, that king saleh, i know not for what reason, had forced the palace, seized the king my father, and murdered all the guards who made any resistance. i had only time to save myself, and escape hither from his violence." at these words king beder began to be concerned that he had quitted his grandmother so hastily, without staying to hear from her an explanation of the news that had been brought. but he was, on the other hand, overjoyed to find that the king his uncle had rendered himself master of the king of samandal's person, not doubting but he would consent to give up the princess for his liberty. "adorable princess," continued he, "your concern is most just, but it is easy to put an end both to that and your father's captivity. you will agree with me, when i shall tell you that i am beder, king of persia, and king saleh is my uncle: i assure you, madam, he has no design to seize the king your father's dominions; his only intention is to obtain your father's consent, that i may have the honour and happiness of being his son-in-law. i had already given my heart to you, upon the bare relation of your beauty and charms; and now, far from repenting, i beg of you to accept it, and to be assured that i will love you as long as i live. i dare flatter myself you will not refuse this favour, but be ready to acknowledge that a king, who quitted his dominions purely on your account, deserves some acknowledgment. permit me then, beauteous princess! to have the honour to present you to the king my uncle; and the king your father shall no sooner have consented to our marriage, than king saleh will leave him sovereign of his dominions as before." this declaration of king beder did not produce the effect he expected. it is true, the princess no sooner saw him, than his person, air, and the grace wherewith he accosted her, led her to regard him as one who would not have been disagreeable to her; but when she heard that he had been the occasion of all the ill treatment her father had suffered, of the grief and fright she had endured, and especially the necessity she was reduced to of flying her country; she looked upon him as an enemy with whom she ought to have no connection. whatever inclination she might have to agree to the marriage which he desired, she determined never to consent, reflecting that one of the reasons her father might have against this match might be, that king beder was son of a king of the earth. she would not, however, let king beder know her resentment; but sought an occasion to deliver herself dexterously out of his hands; and seeming in the meantime to have a great kindness for him, "are you then," said she, with all possible civility, "son of the queen gulnare, so famous for her wit and beauty? i am glad of it, and rejoice that you are the son of so worthy a mother. the king my father was much in the wrong so strongly to oppose our union: had he but seen you, he must have consented to make us happy." saying so, she reached forth her hand to him as a token of friendship. king beder, believing himself arrived at the very pinnacle of happiness, held forth his hand, and taking that of the princess, stooped down to kiss it, when she, pushing him back, and spitting in his face for want of water to throw at him, said, "wretch, quit the form of a man, and take that of a white bird, with a red bill and feet." upon her pronouncing these words, king beder was immediately changed into a bird of that description, to his great surprise and mortification. "take him," said she to one of her women, "and carry him to the dry island." this island was only one frightful rock, where not a drop of water was to be had. the waiting-woman took the bird, but in executing her princess's orders, had compassion on king beder's misfortune. "it would be great pity," said she to herself, "to let a prince so worthy to live die of hunger and thirst. the princess, who is good and gentle, will, it may be, repent of this cruel order, when she comes to herself; it were better that i carried him to a place where he may die a natural death." she accordingly carried him to a well-frequented island, and left him in a charming plain, planted with all sorts of fruit-trees, and watered by divers rivulets. let us return to king saleh. after he had sought for the princess jehaun-ara to no purpose, he caused the king of samandal to be shut up in his own palace, under a strong guard; and having given the necessary orders for governing the kingdom in his absence, returned to give the queen his mother an account of what he had done. the first question he asked on his arrival was, "where was the king his nephew?" and he learned with great surprise and vexation that he could not be found. "news being brought me," said the queen, "of the danger you were in at the palace of the king of samandal, whilst i was giving orders to send you other troops to avenge you, he disappeared. he must have been alarmed at hearing of your being in such great danger, and did not think himself in sufficient security with us." this news exceedingly afflicted king saleh, who now repented being so easily wrought upon by king beder as to carry him away with him without his mother's consent. he sent everywhere to seek for him, but could hear no tidings of him; and instead of the joy he felt at having carried on so far the marriage, which he looked upon as his own work, his grief for this accident was more mortifying. whilst he was under this suspense about his nephew, he left his kingdom under the administration of his mother, and went to govern that of the king of samandal, whom he continued to keep with great vigilance, though with all due respect to his character. the same day that king saleh returned to the kingdom of samandal, queen gulnare arrived at the court of the queen her mother. the princess was not at all surprised to find her son did not return the same day he set out: it being not uncommon for him to go farther than he proposed in the heat of the chase; but when she saw he neither returned the next day, nor the day after, she began to be alarmed, as may easily be imagined from her affection for him. this alarm was augmented, when the officers, who had accompanied the king, and were obliged to return after they had for a long time sought in vain both for him and his uncle, came and told her majesty they must of necessity have come to some harm, or must be together in some place which they could not guess; since, notwithstanding all the diligence they had used, they could hear no tidings of them. their horses indeed they had found, but as for their persons, they knew not where to look for them. the queen hearing this, had resolved to dissemble and conceal her affliction, bidding the officers to search once more with their utmost diligence; but in the meantime she plunged into the sea, to satisfy herself as to the suspicion she had entertained that king saleh must have carried his nephew with him. this great queen would have been more affectionately received by her mother, had she not, on first seeing her, guessed the occasion of her coming. "daughter," said she, "i plainly perceive you are not come hither to visit me; you come to inquire after the king your son; and the only news i can tell you will augment both your grief and mine. i no sooner saw him arrive in our territories, than i rejoiced; yet when i came to understand he had come away without your knowledge, i began to participate with you the concern you must needs suffer." then she related to her with what zeal king saleh went to demand the princess jehaun-ara in marriage for king beder, and what had happened, till her son disappeared. "i have sought diligently after him," added she, "and the king my son, who is but just gone to govern the kingdom of samandal, has done all that lay in his power. all our endeavours have hitherto proved unsuccessful, but we must hope nevertheless to see him again, perhaps when we least expect it." queen gulnare was not satisfied with this hope: she looked upon the king her son as lost, and lamented him bitterly, laying all the blame on the king his uncle. the queen her mother made her consider the necessity of not yielding too much to grief. "the king your brother," said she, "ought not, it is true, to have talked to you so inconsiderately about that marriage, nor ever have consented to carry away the king my grandson, without acquainting you; yet, since it is not certain that the king of persia is absolutely lost, you ought to neglect nothing to preserve his kingdom for him: lose then no more time, but return to your capital; your presence there will be necessary, and it will not be difficult for you to preserve the public peace, by causing it to be published, that the king of persia was gone to visit his grandmother." this was sufficient to oblige queen gulnare to yield. she took leave of the queen her mother, and returned to the palace of the capital of persia before she had been missed. she immediately despatched persons to recall the officers she had sent after the king, to tell them that she knew where his majesty was, and that they should soon see him again. she also caused the same report to be spread throughout the city, and governed, in concert with the prime minister and council, with the same tranquillity as if the king had been present. to return to king beder, whom the princess jehaun-ara's waiting-woman had left in the island before mentioned; that monarch was not a little surprised when he found himself alone, and under the form of a bird. he esteemed himself yet more unhappy, in that he knew not where he was, or in what part of the world the kingdom of persia lay. but if he had known, and had tried the force of his wings, to hazard the traversing so many extensive watery regions, and had reached it, what could he have gained, but the mortification to continue still in the same form, and not to be accounted even a man, much less acknowledged king of persia? he was forced to remain where he was, live upon such food as birds of his kind were wont to have, and to pass the night on a tree. a few days afterwards, a peasant, skilled in taking birds with nets, chanced to come to the place where he was; when perceiving so fine a bird, the like of which he had never seen, though he had followed that employment for a long while, he began greatly to rejoice. he employed all his art to ensnare him; and at length succeeded and took him. overjoyed at so great a prize, which he looked upon to be of more worth than all the other birds he commonly took, he shut it up in a cage, and carried it to the city. as soon as he was come into the market, a citizen stops him, and asked how much he would have for his bird? instead of answering, the peasant demanded of the citizen what he would do with him in case he should buy him? "what wouldst thou have me to do with him," answered the citizen, "but roast and eat him?" "if that be the case," replied the peasant, "i suppose you would think me very well paid, if you should give me the smallest piece of silver for him. i set a much higher value upon him, and you should not have him for a piece of gold. although i am advanced in years, i never saw such a bird in my life. i intend to make a present of him to the king; he will know its value better than you." without staying any longer in the market, the peasant went directly to the palace, and placed himself exactly before the king's apartment. his majesty, being at a window where he could see all that passed in the court, no sooner cast his eyes on this beautiful bird, than he sent an officer of his eunuchs to buy it for him. the officer going to the peasant, demanded of him how much he would have for the bird? "if it be for his majesty," answered the peasant, "i humbly beg of him to accept it of me as a present, and i desire you to carry it to him." the officer took the bird to the king, who found it so great a rarity, that he ordered the same officer to take ten pieces of gold, and carry them to the peasant, who departed very well satisfied. the king ordered the bird to be put into a magnificent cage, and gave it corn and water in rich vessels. the king being then ready to mount on horseback to go a hunting, had not time to consider the bird, therefore had it brought to him as soon as he returned. the officer brought the cage, and the king, that he might the better view the bird, took it out himself; and perched it upon his hand. looking earnestly upon it, he demanded of the officer, if he had seen it eat. "sir," replied the officer, "your majesty may observe the vessel with his food is still full, and i have not observed that he has touched any of it." then the king ordered him meat of divers sorts, that he might take what he liked best. the table being spread, and dinner served up just as the king had given these orders, as soon as the dishes were placed, the bird, clapping his wings, leaped off the king's hand, flew upon the table, where he began to peck the bread and victuals, sometimes on one plate and sometimes on another. the king was so surprised that he immediately sent the officer of the eunuchs to desire the queen to come and see this wonder. the officer related it to her majesty, and she came forthwith; but she no sooner saw the bird, than she covered her face with her veil, and would have retired. the king, surprised at her proceeding, as there was none present in the chamber but the eunuchs and the women who attended her, asked the reason of her conduct. "sir," answered the queen, "your majesty will no longer be surprised, when you understand, that this is not as you suppose a bird, but a man." "madam," said the king, more astonished than before, "you mean to banter me; but you shall never persuade me that a bird can be a man." "sir," replied the queen, "far be it from me to banter your majesty; nothing is more certain than what i have had the honour to tell you. i can assure your majesty, it is the king of persia, named beder, son of the celebrated gulnare, princess of one of the largest kingdoms of the sea, nephew of saleh, king of that kingdom, and grandson of queen farasche, mother of gulnare and saleh; and it was the princess jehaun-ara, daughter of the king of samandal, who thus metamorphosed him into a bird." that the king might no longer doubt of what she affirmed, she told him the whole story, and stated that the princess jehaun-ara had thus revenged herself for the ill treatment which king saleh had used towards the king of samandal her father. the king had the less difficulty to believe this assertion of the queen, as he knew her to be a skilful magician. and as she knew everything which passed in every part of the world, he was always by her means timely informed of the designs of the kings his neighbours against him, and prevented them. his majesty had compassion on the king of persia, and earnestly besought his queen to break the enchantment, that he might return to his own form. the queen consented with great willingness. "sir," said she to the king, "be pleased to take the bird into your closet, and i will shew you a king worthy of the consideration you have for him." the bird, which had ceased eating, and attended to what the king and queen said, would not give his majesty the trouble to take him, but hopped into the closet before him; and the queen came in soon after, with a vessel full of water in her hand. she pronounced over the vessel some words unknown to the king, till the water began to boil; when she took some of it in her hand, and sprinkling a little upon the bird, said, "by virtue of those holy and mysterious words i have just pronounced, and in the name of the creator of heaven and earth, who raises the dead, and supports the universe, quit the form of a bird, and re-assume that received from thy creator." the words were scarcely out of the queen's mouth, when, instead of a bird, the king saw a young prince of good shape, air, and mien. king beder immediately fell on his knees, and thanked god for the favour that had been bestowed upon him. he then took the king's hand, who helped him up, and kissed it in token of gratitude; but the king embraced him with great joy, and testified to him the satisfaction he had to see him. he would then have made his acknowledgments to the queen, but she was already retired to her apartment. the king made him sit at the table with him, and prayed him to relate how the princess jehaun-ara could have the inhumanity to transform into a bird so amiable a prince; and the king of persia immediately satisfied him. when he had ended, the king, provoked at the proceeding of the princess, could not help blaming her. "it was commendable," said he, "in the princess of samandal not to be insensible of the king her father's ill treatment; but to carry her vengeance so far, and especially against a prince who was not culpable, was what she could never be able to justify herself for. but let us have done with this subject, and tell me, i beseech you, in what i can farther serve you." "sir," answered king beder, "my obligation to your majesty is so great, that i ought to remain with you all my life to testify my gratitude; but since your majesty sets no limits to your generosity, i entreat you to grant me one of your ships to transport me to persia, where i fear my absence, which has been but too long, may have occasioned some disorder, and that the queen my mother, from whom i concealed my departure, may be distracted under the uncertainty whether i am alive or dead." the king readily granted what he desired, and immediately gave orders for equipping one of his largest ships, and the best sailors in his numerous fleet. the ship was soon furnished with all its complement of men, provisions, and ammunition; and as soon as the wind became fair, king beder embarked, after having taken leave of the king, and thanked him for all his favours. the ship sailed before the wind for ten days together, but on the eleventh the wind changed, and there followed a furious tempest. the ship was not only driven out of its course, but so violently tossed, that all its masts were brought by the board; and driving along at the pleasure of the wind, it at length struck against a rock and bulged. the greatest part of the people were instantly drowned. some few were saved by swimming, and others by getting on pieces of the wreck. king beder was among the latter, when, after having been tossed about for some time by the waves and torrents, under great uncertainty of his fate, he at length perceived himself near the shore, and not far from a city that seemed of great extent. he exerted his remaining strength to reach the land, and was at length so fortunate as to be able to touch the ground with his feet. he immediately abandoned his piece of wood, which had been of such great service to him; but when he came pretty near the shore, was greatly surprised to see horses, camels, mules, asses, oxen, cows, bulls, and other animals crowding to the shore, and putting themselves in a posture to oppose his landing. he had the utmost difficulty to conquer their obstinacy and force his way, but at length he succeeded, and sheltered himself among the rocks till he had recovered his breath, and dried his clothes in the sun. when the prince advanced to enter the city, he met with the same opposition from these animals, who seemed to intend to make him forego his design, and give him to understand it was dangerous to proceed. king beder, however, entered the city, and saw many fair and spacious streets, but was surprised to find no human beings. this made him think it was not without cause that so many animals had opposed his passage. going forward, nevertheless, he observed divers shops open, which gave him reason to believe the place was not so destitute of inhabitants as he imagined. he approached one of these shops, where several sorts of fruits were exposed for sale, and saluted very courteously an old man who was sitting within. the old man, who was busy about something, lifted up his head, and seeing a youth who had an appearance of grandeur in his air, started, asked him whence he came, and what business had brought him there? king beder satisfied him in a few words; and the old man farther asked him if he had met anybody on the road? "you are the first person i have seen," answered the king, "and i cannot comprehend how so fine and large a city comes to be without inhabitants." "come in, sir; stay no longer upon the threshold," replied the old man, "or peradventure some misfortune may happen to you. i will satisfy your curiosity at leisure, and give you a reason why it is necessary you should take this precaution." king beder entered the shop, and sat down by the old man. the latter, who had received from him an account of his misfortunes, knew he must want nourishment, therefore immediately presented him what was necessary to recover his strength; and although king beder was very earnest to know why he had taken the precaution to make him enter the shop, he would nevertheless not be prevailed upon to tell him anything till he had done eating, for fear the sad things he had to relate might spoil his appetite. when he found he ate no longer, he said to him, "you have great reason to thank god that you got hither without any accident." "alas! why?" demanded king beder, much surprised and alarmed. "because," answered he, "this city is the city of enchantments, and is governed by a queen, who is not only one of the finest of her sex, but likewise a notorious and dangerous sorceress. you will be convinced of this," added he, "when you know that these horses, mules, and other animals which you have seen, are so many men, like ourselves, whom she has transformed by her diabolical art. and when young men, like you, enter the city, she has persons planted to stop and bring them, either by fair means or force, before her. she receives them in the most obliging manner; caresses them, regales them, lodges them magnificently, and gives them so many reasons to believe that she loves them, that she never fails of success. but she does not suffer them long to enjoy this happiness. there is not one of them but she has transformed into some animal or bird at the end of forty days. you told me all these animals presented themselves to oppose your landing, and hinder you entering the city. this was the only way in which they could make you comprehend the danger you were going to expose yourself to, and they did all in their power to prevent you." this account exceedingly afflicted the young king of persia: "alas!" cried he, "to what extremities has my ill fortune reduced me! i am hardly freed from one enchantment, which i look back upon with horror, but i find myself exposed to another much more terrible." this gave him occasion to relate his story to the old man more at length, and to acquaint him of his birth, quality, his passion for the princess of samandal, and her cruelty in changing him into a bird the very moment he had seen her and declared his love to her. when the prince came to speak of his good fortune in finding a queen who broke the enchantment, the old man to encourage him said, "notwithstanding all i have told you of the magic queen is true, that ought not to give you the least disquiet, since i am generally beloved throughout the city, and am not unknown to the queen herself, who has much respect for me; therefore it was your peculiar good fortune which led you to address yourself to me rather than to anyone else. you are secure in my house, where i advise you to continue, if you think fit; and, provided you do not stray from hence, i dare assure you, you will have no just cause to complain of my insincerity." king beder thanked the old man for his kind reception, and the protection he was pleased so readily to afford him. he sat down at the entrance of the shop, where he no sooner appeared, but his youth and good person attracted the eyes of all who passed that way. many stopped and complimented the old man on his having acquired so fine a slave, as they imagined the king to be; and they were the more surprised as they could not comprehend how so beautiful a youth could escape the queen's knowledge. "believe not," said the old man, "this is a slave: you all know that i am not rich enough nor of rank to have one of this consequence. he is my nephew, son of a brother of mine who is dead; and as i had no children of my own, i sent for him to keep me company." they congratulated his good fortune in having so fine a young man for his relation; but could not help telling him they feared the queen would take him from him. "you know her well," said they to him, "and you cannot be ignorant of the danger to which you are exposed, after all the examples you have seen. how grieved would you be if she should serve him as she has done so many others whom we knew." "i am obliged to you," replied the old man, "for your good will towards me, and i heartily thank you for the care you seem to take of my interest; but i shall never entertain the least thought that the queen will do me any injury, after all the kindness she has professed for me. in case she happens to hear of this young man, and speaks to me about him, i doubt not she will cease to think of him, as soon as she comes to know he is my nephew." the old man was exceedingly glad to hear the commendations they bestowed on the young king of persia. he was as much affected with them as if he had been his own son, and he conceived a kindness for him, which augmented every day during the stay he made with him. they had lived about a month together, when, as king beder was sitting at the shop-door, after his ordinary manner, queen labe (so was this magic queen named) happened to come by with great pomp. the young king no sooner perceived the guards advancing before her, than he arose, and going into the shop, asked the old man what all that show meant. "the queen is coming by," answered he, "but stand still and fear nothing." the queen's guards, clothed in purple uniform, and well armed and mounted, marched to the number of a thousand in four files, with their sabres drawn, and every one of their officers, as they passed by the shop, saluted the old man. then followed a like number of eunuchs, habited in brocaded silk, and better mounted, whose officers did the old man the like honour. next came as many young ladies on foot, equally beautiful, richly dressed, and ornamented with precious stones. they marched gravely, with half pikes in their hands; and in the midst of them appeared queen labe, on a horse glittering with diamonds, with a golden saddle, and a housing of inestimable value. all the young ladies saluted the old man as they passed him; and the queen, struck with the good mien of king beder, stopped as soon as she came before the shop. "abdallah," (so was the old man named) said she to him, "tell me, i beseech thee, does that beautiful and charming slave belong to thee? and hast thou long been in possession of him?" abdallah, before he answered the queen, threw himself on the ground, and rising again, said, "madam, he is my nephew, son of a brother, who has not long been dead. having no children, i look upon him as my son, and sent for him to come and comfort me, intending to leave him what i have when i die." queen labe, who had never yet seen any one to compare with king beder, began to conceive a passion for him, and thought immediately of getting the old man to abandon him to her. "father," said she, "will you not oblige me so far as to make me a present of this young man? do not refuse me, i conjure you; and i swear by the fire and the light, i will make him so great and powerful, that no individual in the world ever arrived at such good fortune. although my purpose be to do evil to all mankind, he shall be an exception. i trust you will grant me what i desire, more on account of the friendship i am assured you have for me, than for the esteem you know i always had, and shall ever have for you." "madam," replied the good abdallah, "i am infinitely obliged to your majesty for all the kindness you have for me, and the honours you propose to do my nephew. he is not worthy to approach so great a queen, and i humbly beseech your majesty to excuse him." "abdallah," replied the queen, "i all along flattered myself you loved me, and i could never have thought you would have shewn me so much disrespect as to slight my request. but i here swear once more by the fire and light, and even by whatsoever is most sacred in my religion, that i will pass on no farther till i have conquered your obstinacy. i understand well what raises your apprehensions; but i promise, you shall never have any occasion to repent having obliged me in so sensible a manner." old abdallah was exceeding grieved, both on his own account and king beder's, at being in a manner forced to obey the queen. "madam," replied he, "i would not willingly have your majesty entertain an ill opinion of the respect i have for you, and my zeal always to contribute whatever i can to oblige you. i put entire confidence in your royal word, and i do not in the least doubt you will keep it. i only beg of your majesty, to delay doing this great honour to my nephew till you shall again pass this way." "that shall be to-morrow," said the queen; who inclined her head, as a token of her being pleased, and so went forward towards her palace. when queen labe and all her attendants were out of sight, the good abdallah said to king beder, "son" (for so he was wont to call him, for fear of some time or other discovering him when he spoke of him in public), "it has not been in my power, as you may have observed, to refuse the queen what she demanded of me with so much earnestness, to the end i might not force her to employ her magic against both you and myself openly or secretly, and treat you as much from resentment to you as to me with more signal cruelty than all those she has had in her power, as i have already told you. but i have some reason to believe she will use you well, as she promised me, on account of that particular esteem she professes for me. this you may have seen by the respect shewn, and the honours paid, me by all her court. she would be a vile creature indeed, if she should deceive me; but she shall not deceive me unpunished, for i know how to revenge myself." these assurances, which appeared very doubtful, were not sufficient to support king beder's spirits. "after all you have told me of this queen's wickedness," replied he, "you cannot wonder if i am somewhat fearful to approach her: i should, it may be, slight all you could tell me of her, and suffer myself to be dazzled by the lustre of grandeur that surrounds her, did i not know by experience what it is to be at the mercy of a sorceress. the condition i was in, through the enchantment of the princess jehaun-ara, and from which i was delivered only to fall almost immediately into the power of another, has made me look upon such a fate with horror." his tears hindered him from going on, and sufficiently shewed with what repugnance he beheld himself under the fatal necessity of being delivered to queen labe. "son," replied old abdallah, "do not afflict yourself; for though i must own, there is no great stress to be laid upon the promises and oaths of so perfidious a queen, yet i must withal acquaint you, her power extends not to me. she knows this full well; and that is the reason, and no other, why she pays me so much respect. i can quickly hinder her from doing you the least harm, if she should be perfidious enough to attempt it. you may depend upon me, and, provided you follow exactly the advice i shall give you, before i abandon you to her, she shall have no more power over you than she has over myself." the magic queen did not fail to pass by the old man's shop the next day, with the same pomp as the preceding, and abdallah waited for her with great respect. "father," cried she, "you may judge of my impatience to have your nephew with me, by my punctually coming to remind you of your promise. i know you are a man of your word, and i cannot think you will break it with me." abdallah, who fell on his face as soon as he saw the queen approaching, rose up when she had done speaking; and as he would have no one hear what he had to say to her, he advanced with great respect as far as her horse's head, and then said softly, "puissant queen! i am persuaded your majesty will not be offended at my seeming unwillingness to trust my nephew with you yesterday, since you cannot be ignorant of the reasons i had for it; but i conjure you to lay aside the secrets of that art which you possess in so wonderful a degree. i regard my nephew as my own son; and your majesty would reduce me to despair, if you should deal with him as you have done with others." "i promise you i will not," replied the queen; "and i once more repeat the oath i made yesterday, that neither you nor your nephew shall have any cause to be offended at me. i see plainly," added she, "you are not yet well enough acquainted with me; you never saw me yet but through my veil; but as i find your nephew deserving of my friendship, i will shew you i am not any ways unworthy of his." with that she threw off her veil, and discovered to king beder, who came near her with abdallah, an incomparable beauty. but king beder was little charmed: "it is not enough," said he within himself, "to be beautiful; one's actions ought to correspond in regularity with one's features." whilst king beder was making these reflections with his eyes fixed on queen labe, the old man turned towards him, and taking him by the arm, presented him to her: "madam," said he, "i beg of your majesty once more to remember he is my nephew, and to let him come and see me sometimes." the queen promised he should; and to give a further mark of her gratitude, she caused a bag of a thousand pieces of gold to be given him. he excused himself at first from receiving them, but she insisted absolutely upon it, and he could not refuse. she had caused a horse to be brought as richly caparisoned as her own, for the king of persia. whilst he was mounting, "i forgot," said the queen to abdallah, "to ask you your nephew's name; pray how is he called?" he answering his name was beder (the full moon), her majesty replied, "surely your ancestors were mistaken, they ought to have given you the name of shems (the sun)." when king beder was mounted, he would have taken his station behind the queen, but she would not suffer him, and made him ride on her left hand. she looked at abdallah, and after having made him an inclination with her head, departed. instead of observing a satisfaction in the people's faces, at the sight of their sovereign, king beder took notice that they looked at her with contempt, and even cursed her. "the sorceress," said some, "has got a new subject to exercise her wickedness upon; will heaven never deliver the world from her tyranny?" "poor stranger!" exclaimed others, "thou art much deceived, if thou thinkest thy happiness will last long. it is only to render thy fall more terrible, that thou art raised so high." these exclamations gave king beder to understand abdallah had told him nothing but the truth of queen labe; but as it now depended no longer on himself to escape the mischief, he committed himself to the will of heaven. the magic queen arrived at her palace, immediately alighted, and giving her hand to king beder, entered with him, accompanied by her women and the officers of her eunuchs. she herself shewed him all her apartments, where there was nothing to be seen but massive gold, precious stones, and furniture of wonderful magnificence. when she had carried him into her closet, she led him out into a balcony, from whence he observed a garden of surprising beauty. king beder commended all he saw, but nevertheless so that he might not be discovered to be any other than old abdallah's nephew. they discoursed of indifferent matters, till the queen was informed that dinner was served. the queen and king beder arose, and went to place themselves at the table, which was of massive gold, and the dishes of the same metal. they began to eat, but drank hardly at all till the dessert came, when the queen caused a cup to be filled for her with excellent wine. she took it and drank to king beder's health; then without putting it out of her hand, caused it to be filled again, and presented it to him. king beder received it with profound respect, and by a very low bow signified to her majesty that he in return drank to her health. at the same time, ten of queen labe's women entered with musical instruments, with which and their voices they made an agreeable concert, while they continued drinking till late at night. at length both began so to be heated with wine; that king beder insensibly forgot he had to do with a magic queen, and looked upon her only as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. as soon as the queen perceived she had wrought him to the pitch she desired, she made a sign to her eunuchs and women to retire. next morning the queen and king beder went to the bath; the women who had served the king there, presented him with fine linen and a magnificent habit. the queen likewise, who was more splendidly dressed than the day before, came to receive him, and they went together to her apartments, where they had a repast brought them, and spent the remainder of the day in walking in the garden and in various other amusements. queen labe treated king beder after this manner for forty days, as she had been accustomed to do all her lovers. the fortieth night, as they were in bed together, she, believing he was really asleep, arose without making any noise; but he was awake, and perceiving she had some design upon him watched all her motions. being up, she opened a chest, from whence she took a little box full of a yellow powder; taking some of the powder, she laid a train of it across the chamber, and it immediately flowed in a rivulet of water, to the great astonishment of king beder. he trembled with fear, but still pretended to sleep. queen labe next took up some of the water in a vessel, poured it into a basin that contained some flour; with which she made a paste, and kneaded it for a long time: then she mixed with it certain drugs which she took from different boxes, and made a cake, which she put into a covered baking-pan. as she had taken care first of all to make a good fire, she took some of the coals, and set the pan upon them; and while the cake was baking, she put up the vessels and boxes in their places again; and on her pronouncing certain words, the rivulet disappeared. when the cake was baked, she took it off the coals, carried it into her closet, and afterwards returned to king beder, who dissembled so well, that she had not the least suspicion of his having seen what she had done. king beder, whom the pleasures and amusements of a court had made to forget his good host abdallah, began now to think of him again, and believed he had more than ordinary occasion for his advice, after all he had seen the queen do that night. as soon as he was up, therefore, he expressed a great desire to go and see his uncle, and begged of her majesty to permit him. "what! my dear beder," cried the queen, "are you then already tired, i will not say with living in so superb a palace as mine is, where you must find so many pleasures, but with the company of a queen, who loves you so passionately as i do, and has given you so many marks of affection?" "great queen!" answered king beder, "how can i be tired of so many favours and graces as your majesty perpetually heaps upon me? so far from it, i desire this permission, madam, purely to go and give my uncle an account of the mighty obligations i have to your majesty. i must own, likewise, that my uncle loving me so tenderly, as i well know he does, having been absent from him now forty days, i would not give him reason to think, that i consent to remain longer without seeing him." "go," said the queen, "you have my consent; but you will not be long before you return, if you consider i cannot possibly live without you." this said, she ordered him a horse richly caparisoned, and he departed. old abdallah was overjoyed to see king beder. without regard to his quality, he embraced him tenderly, and king beder returned his embrace, that nobody might doubt but that he was his nephew. as soon as they were sat down, "well," said abdallah to the king, "and how have you passed your time with that abominable sorceress?" "hitherto," answered king beder, "i must needs own she has been extraordinarily kind to me, and has done all she could to persuade me that she loves me faithfully; but i observed something last night, which gives me just reason to suspect that all her kindness was but dissimulation. whilst she thought me asleep, although i was really awake, she stole from me with a great deal of precaution, which made me suspect her intention, and therefore i resolved to watch her, still feigning myself asleep." he then related to abdallah in what manner he had seen her make the cake; and then added, "hitherto," said he, "i must needs confess, i had almost forgotten, not only you, but all the advice you gave me concerning the wickedness of this queen; but this last action of hers gives me reason to fear she intends to observe none of her promises or solemn oaths to you. i thought of you immediately, and i esteem myself happy that i have obtained permission to come to you." "you are not mistaken," replied old abdallah with a smile, which showed he did not himself believe she would have acted otherwise; "nothing is capable of obliging a perfidious woman to amend. but fear nothing. i know how to make the mischief she intends you fall upon herself. you are alarmed in time; and you could not have done better than to have recourse to me. it is her ordinary practice to keep her lovers only forty days; and after that time, instead of seeding them home, to turn them into animals, to stock her forests and parks; but i thought of measures yesterday to prevent her doing you the same harm. the earth has borne this monster long enough, and it is now high time she should be treated as she deserves." so saying, abdallah put two cakes into king beder's hands, bidding him keep them to be used as he should direct. "you told me," continued he, "the sorceress made a cake last night; it was for you to eat; but do not touch it. nevertheless, do not refuse to receive it, when she offers it you; but instead of tasting it, break off part of one of the two i shall give you, unobserved, and eat that. as soon as she thinks you have swallowed it, she will not fail to attempt transforming you into some animal, but she shall not succeed; when she sees that she has failed, she will immediately turn her proceeding into pleasantry, as if what she had done was only out of joke to frighten you; but she will conceal a mortal grief in her heart, and think she has omitted something in the composition of her cake. as for the other cake, you shall make a present of it to her, and press her to eat it; which she will not refuse to do, were it only to convince you she does not mistrust you, though she has given you so much reason to mistrust her. when she has eaten of it, take a little water in the hollow of your hand, and throwing it in her face, say, "quit that form you now wear, and take that of such or such animal," as you shall think fit; which done, come to me with the animal, and i will tell you what you shall do afterwards." king beder expressed to abdallah, in the warmest terms, his great obligations to him, for his endeavours to defend him from the power of a pestilent sorceress; and after some further conversation took his leave of him, and returned to the palace. upon his arrival, he understood that the queen waited for him with great impatience in the garden. he went to her, and she no sooner perceived him, than she came in great haste to meet him. "my dear beder!" exclaimed she, "it is said, with a great deal of reason, that nothing more forcibly shews the excess of love than absence from the object beloved. i have had no quiet since i saw you, and it seems ages since i have been separated from you. if you had stayed ever so little longer, i was preparing to come and fetch you once more to my arms." "madam," replied king beder, "i can assure your majesty, i was no less impatient to rejoin you; but i could not refuse to stay with an uncle who loves me, and had not seen me for so long a time. he would have kept me still longer, but i tore myself away from him, to come where love calls me. of all the collations he prepared for me, i have only brought away this cake, which i desire your majesty to accept." king beder, having wrapped up one of the two cakes in a handkerchief, took it out, and presented it to the queen, saying, "i beg your majesty to accept of it." "i do accept it with all my heart," replied the queen, receiving it, "and will eat it with pleasure for yours and your good uncle's sake; but before i taste of it, i desire you will, for my sake, eat a piece of this, which i have made for you during your absence." "fair queen," answered king beder, receiving it with great respect, "such hands as your majesty's can never make anything but what is excellent, and i cannot sufficiently acknowledge the favour you do me." king beder then artfully substituted in the place of the queen's cake the other which old abdallah had given him, and having broken off a piece, he put it in his mouth, and cried, while he was eating, "ah! queen, i never tasted anything so excellent in my life." they being near a cascade, the sorceress seeing him swallow one bit of the cake, and ready to eat another, took a little water in the palm of her hand, and throwing it in the king's face, said, "wretch! quit that form of a man, and take that of a vile horse, blind and lame." these words not having the desired effect, the sorceress was strangely surprised to find king beder still in the same form, and that he only started for fear. her cheeks reddened; and as she saw that she had missed her aim, "dear beder," cried she, "this is nothing; recover yourself. i did not intend you any harm; i only did it to see what you would say. i should be the most miserable and most execrable of women, should i attempt so black a deed; not only on account of all the oaths i have sworn, but also of the many testimonies of love i have given you." "puissant queen," replied king beder, "persuaded as i am, that what your majesty did was only to divert yourself, i could not help being surprised. what could hinder me from being a little moved at the pronouncing of so strange a transformation? but, madam," continued he, "let us drop this discourse; and since i have eaten of your cake, would you do me the favour to taste mine?" queen labe, who could not better justify herself than by showing this mark of confidence in the king of persia, broke off a piece of his cake and ate it. she had no sooner swallowed it than she appeared much troubled, and remained as it were motionless. king beder lost no time, but took water out of the same basin, and throwing it in her face, cried, "abominable sorceress! quit the form of woman, and be turned instantly into a mare." the same moment, queen labe was transformed into a very beautiful mare; and her confusion was so great to find herself in that condition, that she shed tears in great abundance. she bowed her head to the feet of king beder, thinking to move him to compassion; but though he could have been so moved, it was absolutely out of his power to repair the mischief he had done. he led her into the stable belonging to the palace, and put her into the hands of a groom, to bridle and saddle; but of all the bridles which the groom tried upon her, not one would fit. this made him cause two horses to be saddled, one for the groom and the other for himself; and the groom led the mare after him to old abdallah's. abdallah seeing at a distance king beder coming with the mare, doubted not but he had done what he had advised him. "cursed sorceress!" said he immediately to himself in a transport of joy, "heaven has at length punished thee as thou deservest." king beder alighted at abdallah's door and entered with him into the shop, embracing and thanking him for all the signal services he had done him. he related to him the whole matter, with all its circumstances, and moreover told him, he could find no bridle fit for the mare. abdallah bridled the mare himself, and as soon as king beder had sent back the groom with the two horses, he said to him, "my lord, you have no reason to stay any longer in this city: mount the mare, and return to your kingdom. i have but one thing more to recommend to you; and that is, if you should ever happen to part with the mare, be sure not to give up the bridle." king beder promised to remember this; and having taken leave of the good old man, he departed. the young king of persia had no sooner got out of the city, than he began to reflect with joy on his deliverance, and that he had the sorceress in his power, who had given him so much cause to tremble. three days after he arrived at a great city, where, entering the suburbs, he met a venerable old man, walking towards a pleasure-house. "sir," said the old man, stopping him, "may i presume to ask from what part of the world you come?" the king halted to satisfy him, and as they were conversing together, an old woman came up; who, stopping likewise, wept and sighed heavily at the sight of the mare. king beder and the old man left off discoursing, to look at the old woman, whom the king asked, what cause she had to be so much afflicted? "alas! sir," replied she, "it is because your mare resembles so perfectly one my son had, and which i still mourn the loss of on his account, and should think yours were the same, did i not know she was dead. sell her to me, i beseech you; i will give you more than she is worth and thank you too.' "good woman," replied king beder, "i am heartily sorry i cannot comply with your request: my mare is not to be sold." "alas! sir," continued the old woman, "do not refuse me this favour for the love of god. my son and i shall certainly die with grief, if you do not grant it." "good mother," replied the king, "i would grant it with all my heart, if i were disposed to part with so good a beast; but if i were so disposed, i believe you would hardly give a thousand pieces of gold for her, and i could not sell her for less." "why should i not give so much?" replied the old woman: "if that be the lowest price, you need only say you will take it, and i will fetch you the money." king beder, seeing the old woman so poorly dressed, could not imagine she could find such a sum; and said, to try her, "go, fetch me the money, and the mare is yours." the old woman immediately unloosed a purse she carried fastened to her girdle, and desiring him to alight, bade him tell over the money, and in case he found it came short of the sum demanded, she said her house was not far off; and she could quickly fetch the rest. the surprise of king beder, at the sight of the purse, was not small. "good woman," said he, "do you not perceive i have bantered you all this while? i assure you my mare is not to be sold." the old man, who had been witness to all that had passed, now began to speak. "son," said he to king beder, "it is necessary you should know one thing, which i find you are ignorant of; and that is, that in this city it is not permitted to any one to tell a lie, on any account whatsoever, on pain of death. you cannot refuse taking this good woman's money, and delivering your mare, when she gives you the sum according to the agreement; and this you had better do without any noise, than expose yourself to what may ensue." king beder, mortified to find himself thus trapped by his rash proffer, alighted with great regret. the old woman stood ready to seize the reins, immediately unbridled the mare, and taking some water in her hand, from a stream that ran in the middle of the street, threw it in the mare's face, uttering these words, "daughter, quit that strange shape, and re-assume thy own." the transformation was effected in a moment, and king beder, who swooned as soon as he saw queen labe appear, would have fallen to the ground, if the old man had not hindered him. the old woman, who was the mother of queen labe, and had instructed her in all her magic secrets, had no sooner embraced her daughter, than to shew her fury, she in an instant by whistling, caused to rise a genie of a gigantic form and stature. this genie immediately took king beder on one shoulder, and the old woman with the magic queen on the other, and transported them in a few minutes to the palace of queen labe in the city of enchantments. the magic queen immediately fell upon king beder, reproaching him violently. "is it thus," said she, "ungrateful wretch! that thy unworthy uncle and thou repay me for all the kindnesses i have done you? i shall soon make you both feel what you deserve." she said no more, but taking water in her hand, threw it in his face with these words, "quit the form of man, and take that of an owl." these words were soon followed by the effect, and immediately she commanded one of her women to shut up the owl in a cage, and give him neither meat nor drink. the woman took the cage, but without regarding what the queen had ordered, gave him both meat and drink; and being old abdallah's friend, sent him word privately how the queen had treated his nephew, and apprised him of her design to destroy both him and king beder, that he might take measures to prevent her intentions, and secure himself. abdallah knew no common means would do with queen labe: he therefore whistled in a peculiar manner, and there immediately arose a giant, with four wings, who presenting himself before him, asked what he would have? "lightning," said abdallah to him (for so was the genie called), "i command you to preserve the life of king beder, son of queen gulnare. go to the palace of the magic queen, and transport immediately to the capital of persia the compassionate woman who has the cage in custody, to the end she may inform queen gulnare of the danger the king her son is in, and the occasion he has for her assistance. take care not to frighten her when you come before her, and acquaint her from me what she ought to do." lightning immediately disappeared, and in an instant reached the palace of the magic queen. he instructed the woman, lifted her up into the air, and transported her to the capital of persia, where he placed her on the terrace of gulnare's palace. she descended into her apartment, and there found queen gulnare and queen farasche her mother lamenting their mutual misfortunes. she made them a profound reverence, and by the relation she gave them, they soon understood the great need king beder had of their assistance. queen gulnare was so overjoyed at the news, that rising from her seat, she went and embraced the good woman, telling her how much she was obliged to her for the service she had done her. then going immediately out, she commanded the trumpets to sound, and the drums to beat, to acquaint the city, that the king of persia would suddenly return safe to his kingdom. she then went, and found king saleh her brother, whom farasche had caused to come speedily thither by a certain fumigation. "brother," said she to him, "the king your nephew, my dear son, is in the city of enchantments, under the power of queen labe. both you and i must go to deliver him, for there is no time to be lost." king saleh forthwith assembled a puissant body of his marine troops, who soon rose out of the sea. he also called to his assistance the genii his allies, who appeared with a much more numerous army than his own. as soon as the two armies were joined, he put himself at the head of them, with queen farasche, queen gulnare, and the princesses, who would all have their share in this enterprize. they then ascended into the air, and soon poured down on the palace and city of enchantments, where the magic queen, her mother, and all the adorers of fire, were destroyed in an instant. queen gulnare had ordered the woman who brought the account of queen labe's transforming and imprisoning her son, to follow her close, and bade her, in the confusion, go and seize the cage, and bring it to her. this order was executed as she wished, and queen gulnare was no sooner in possession of the cage, than she opened it, and took out the owl, saying, as she sprinkled a little water upon him, "my dear son, quit that strange form, and resume thy natural one of a man." in a moment queen gulnare, instead of the hideous owl, beheld king beder her son. she immediately embraced him with an excess of joy, her tears supplying more forcibly the place of words. she could not let him go; and queen farasche was obliged to force him from her in her turn. after her, he was likewise embraced by the king his uncle and his relations. queen gulnare's first care was to look out for old abdallah, to whom she had been obliged for the recovery of the king of persia; and who being brought to her, she said to him, "my obligations to you have been so great, that there is nothing within my power but i would freely do for you, as a token of my acknowledgment. do but inform me in what i can serve you." "great queen," replied abdallah, "if the lady whom i sent to your majesty will but consent to the marriage i offer her, and the king of persia will give me leave to reside at his court, i will spend the remainder of my days in his service." the queen then turned to the lady who was present, and finding by her modest shame that she was not averse to the match proposed, she caused them to join hands, and the king of persia and she took care of their fortune. this marriage occasioned the king of persia to speak thus to the queen: "madam," said he, "i am heartily glad of this match which your majesty has just made. there remains one more, which i desire you to think of." queen gulnare did not at first comprehend what marriage he meant; but after a little considering, she said, "of yours, you mean, son. i consent to it with all my heart." then turning, and looking at her brother's sea attendants, and the genii who were still present, "go," said she, "and traverse both sea and land, to seek the most lovely and amiable princess, worthy of the king my son, and when you have found her, come and tell us." "madam," replied king beder, "it is to no purpose for them to take all that trouble. you have no doubt heard that i have already given my heart to the princess of samandal upon the bare relation of her beauty. i have seen her, and do not repent of the present i then made her. in a word, neither earth nor sea, in my opinion, can furnish a princess like her. it is true upon my declaring my love, she treated me in a way that would have extinguished any flame less strong than mine. but i hold her excused; she could not treat me with less rigour, after your imprisoning the king her father, of which i was the innocent cause. but the king of samandal may, perhaps, have changed his resolution; and his daughter the princess may consent to love me, when she sees her father has agreed to it." "son," replied queen gulnare, "if only the princess jehaun-ara can make you happy, it is not my design to oppose you. the king your uncle need only have the king of samandal brought, and we shall see whether he be still of the same untractable temper." strictly as the king of samandal had been kept during his captivity by king saleh's orders, yet he always had great respect shewn him. king saleh caused a chafing-dish of coals to be brought, into which he threw a certain composition, uttering at the same time some mysterious words. as soon as the smoke began to arise, the palace shook, and immediately the king of samandal, with king saleh's officers, appeared. the king of persia cast himself at the king of samandal's feet, and, kneeling, said, "it is no longer king saleh that demands of your majesty the honour of your alliance for the king of persia; it is the king of persia himself that humbly begs that boon; and i persuade myself your majesty will not persist in being the cause of the death of a king, who can no longer live if he does not share life with the amiable princess jehaun-ara." the king of samandal did not long suffer the king of persia to remain at his feet. he embraced him, and obliging him to rise, said, "i shall be sorry to have contributed in the least to the death of a monarch who is so worthy to live. if it be true that so precious a life cannot be preserved without the possession of my daughter, live, sir, she is yours. she has always been obedient to my will, and i cannot think she will now oppose it." speaking these words, he ordered one of his officers, whom king saleh had permitted to attend him, to go for the princess, and bring her to him immediately. the princess continued where the king of persia had left her. the officer perceived her, and brought her soon with her women. the king of samandal embraced her, and said, "daughter, i have provided a husband for you; it is the king of persia, the most accomplished monarch at present in the universe. the preference he has given you over all other princesses obliges us both to express our gratitude." "sir," replied the princess jehaun-ara, "your majesty well knows i never have presumed to disobey your will: i shall always be ready to obey you; and i hope the king of persia will forget my ill treatment of him, and consider it was duty, not inclination, that forced me to it." the nuptials were celebrated in the palace of the city of enchantments, with the greatest solemnity, as all the lovers of the magic queen, who had resumed their pristine forms as soon as she ceased to live, assisted at them, and came to return their thanks to the king of persia, queen gulnare, and king saleh. they were all sons of kings, princes, or persons of high rank. king saleh conducted the king of samandal to his dominions, and put him again in possession of his throne. the king of persia, at the height of his wishes, returned to his capital with queen gulnare, queen farasche, and the princesses; the queen farasche and the princesses continued there till king saleh came to reconduct them to his kingdom under the waves of the sea. the history of prince zeyn alasnam and the sultan of the genii. a sultan of bussorah, who possessed great wealth, and was well beloved by his subjects, had no children, which occasioned him great affliction; and therefore he made presents to all the holy persons in his dominions, to engage them to beg a son for him of heaven: and their prayers being effectual, the queen proved with child, and was happily delivered of a prince who was named zeyn alasnam, which signifies ornament of the statues. the sultan caused all the astrologers in his kingdom to be assembled, and ordered them to calculate the infant's nativity. they found by their observations that he would live long, and be very brave; but that all his courage would be little enough to carry him through the misfortunes that threatened him. the sultan was not daunted at this prediction: "my son," said he, "is not to be pitied, since he will be brave: it is fit that princes should have a taste of misfortunes; for adversity tries virtue, and they are the better qualified to reign." he rewarded the astrologers, and dismissed them; and caused zeyn to be educated with the greatest care, appointing him able masters as soon as he was of age to receive their instructions. in short, he proposed to make him an accomplished prince, when on a sudden this good sultan fell sick of a disorder, which all the skill of his physicians could not cure. perceiving his disease was mortal, he sent for his son, and among other things advised him rather to endeavour to be loved, than to be feared by his people; not to give ear to flatterers; to be as slow in rewarding as in punishing, because it often happens that monarchs misled by false appearances, load wicked men with favours, and oppress the innocent. as soon as the sultan was dead, prince zeyn went into mourning, which he wore seven days, and on the eighth he ascended the throne, taking his father's seal off the royal treasury, and putting on his own, beginning thus to taste the sweets of ruling, the pleasure of seeing all his courtiers bow down before him, and make it their whole study to shew their zeal and obedience. in a word, the sovereign power was too agreeable to him. he only regarded what his subjects owed to him, without considering what was his duty towards them, and consequently took little care to govern them well. he revelled in all sorts of debauchery among the voluptuous youth, on whom he conferred the prime employments in the kingdom. he lost all command of his power. being naturally prodigal, he set no bounds to his grants, so that his women and his favourites insensibly drained his treasury. the queen his mother was still living, a discreet, wise princess. she had several times unsuccessfully tried to check her son's prodigality and debauchery, giving him to understand, that, if he did not soon take another course, he would not only squander his wealth, but also alienate the minds of his people, and occasion some revolution, which perhaps might cost him his crown and his life. what she had predicted had nearly happened: the people began to murmur against the government, and their murmurs had certainly been followed by a general revolt, had not the queen had the address to prevent it. that princess being acquainted with the ill posture of affairs, informed the sultan, who at last suffered himself to be prevailed upon. he committed the government to discreet aged men, who knew how to keep the people within the bounds of duty. zeyn, seeing all his wealth consumed, repented that he had made no better use of it. he fell into a profound melancholy, and nothing could comfort him. one night he saw in a dream a venerable old man coming towards him, who with a smiling countenance said, "know, zeyn, that there is no sorrow but what is followed by mirth, no misfortune but what in the end brings some happiness. if you desire to see the end of your affliction, set out for egypt, go to grand cairo, where great prosperity awaits you." the young sultan was struck with his dream, and spoke of it very seriously to his mother, who only laughed at it. "my son," said she to him, "would you go into egypt on the faith of an illusive dream?" "why not, madam," answered zeyn, "do you imagine all dreams are chimerical? no, no, some of them are mysterious. my preceptors have told me a thousand incidents, which will not permit me to doubt of it. besides, though i were not otherwise convinced, i could not forbear giving some credit to my dreams. the old man who appeared to me had something supernatural, he was not one of those men whom nothing but age makes venerable; there appeared a divine air about his person. in short, he was such a one as our great prophet is represented; and if you will have me tell you what i think, i believe it was he, who, pitying my affliction, designs to relieve it. i rely on the confidence he has inspired me with. i am full of his promises, and have resolved to follow his advice." the queen endeavoured to dissuade him, but in vain. the sultan committed to her the government of the kingdom, set out one night very privately from his palace, and took the road to cairo, without suffering any person to attend him. after much trouble and fatigue, he arrived at that famous city, like which there are few in the world, either for extent or beauty. he alighted at the gate of a mosque, where, being spent with weariness, he lay down. no sooner was he fallen asleep, than he saw the same old man, who said to him, "i am pleased with you, my son, you have given credit to my words. you are come hither, without being deterred by the length or the difficulties of the way: but know i have not put you upon undertaking such a long journey, with any other design than to try you. i find you have courage and resolution. you deserve i should make you the richest and happiest prince in the world. return to bussorah, and you shall find immense wealth in your palace. no king ever possessed so rich a treasure." the sultan was not pleased with this dream. "alas!" thought he to himself, when he awoke, "how much was i mistaken? that old man, whom i took for our prophet, is no other than the production of my disturbed imagination. my fancy was so full of him, that it is no wonder i have seen him again. i had best return to bussorah; what should i do here any longer? it is fortunate that i told none but my mother the motive of my journey: i should become a jest to my people, if they knew it." accordingly, he set out again for his kingdom, and as soon as he arrived there, the queen asked him, whether he returned well pleased? he told her all that had happened, and was so much concerned for having been so credulous, that the queen, instead of adding to his vexation, by reproving or laughing at him, comforted him. "forbear afflicting yourself, my son," said she; "if god has appointed you riches, you will have them without any trouble. be contented; all that i recommend to you is, to be virtuous; renounce the delights of dancing, music, and wine: shun all these pleasures, they have already almost ruined you; apply yourself to make your subjects happy; by securing their happiness, you will establish your own." sultan zeyn vowed that he would for the future follow his mother's advice, and be directed by the wise viziers she had chosen to assist him in supporting the weight of government. but the very night after he returned to his palace, he saw the old man the third time in a dream, who said to him, "the time of your prosperity is come, brave zeyn: to-morrow morning, as soon as you are up, take a little pick-axe, and dig in the late sultan's closet; you will there find a rich treasure." as soon as the sultan awoke, he got up, ran to the queen's apartment, and with much eagerness told her the new dream of that night. "really, my son," said the queen smiling, "this is a very positive old man; he is not satisfied with having deceived you twice: have you a mind to believe him again?" "no, madam," answered zeyn, "i give no credit to what he has said; but i will, for my own satisfaction, search my father's closet." "i really fancied so," cried the queen, laughing heartily: "go, my son, satisfy yourself; my comfort is, that work is not so fatiguing as the journey to egypt." "well madam," answered the sultan, "i must own, that this third dream has restored my confidence, for it is connected with the two others; let us examine the old man's words. he first directed me to go into egypt; there he told me, he had put me upon taking that journey, only to try me. 'return to bussorah,' said he, 'that is the place where you are to find treasures;' this night he has exactly pointed out to me the place where they are: these three dreams in my opinion, are connected. after all, they may be chimerical: but i would rather search in vain, than blame myself as long as i live, for having perhaps missed great riches, by being unseasonably incredulous." having spoken thus, he left the queen's apartment, caused a pick-axe to be brought him, and went alone into the late sultan's closet. he immediately began to break up the ground, and took up above half the square stones it was paved with, but yet saw not the least appearance of what he sought. he ceased working to take a little rest, thinking within himself, "i am much afraid my mother had cause enough to laugh at me." however, he took heart, and went on with his labour, nor had he cause to repent; for on a sudden he discovered a white slab, which he took up, and under it found a door, made fast with a steel padlock, which he broke with the pick-axe, and opened the door, which covered a staircase of white marble. he immediately lighted a lamp, and went down the stairs into a room, the floor whereof was laid with tiles of chinaware, and the roof and walls were of crystal; but he particularly fixed his eyes on four shelves, a little raised above the rest of the floor, on each of which were ten urns of porphyry. he fancied they were full of wine: "well," said he, "that wine must be very old, i do not question but it is excellent." he went up to one of the urns, took off the cover, and with no less joy than surprise perceived it was full of pieces of gold. he searched all the forty, one after another, and found them full of the same coin, took out a handful, and carried it to the queen. the princess, it may be imagined, was amazed, when the sultan gave her an account of what he had discovered. "o! my son," said she, "take heed you do not lavish away all this wealth foolishly, as you have already done the royal treasure. let not your enemies have so much occasion to rejoice." "no, madam," answered zeyn, "i will from henceforward live in such a manner as shall be pleasing to you." the queen desired her son to conduct her to the wonderful subterraneous place, which the late sultan her husband had made with such secrecy, that she had never heard of it. zeyn led her to the closet, down the marble stairs, and into the chamber where the urns were. she observed every thing with the eye of curiosity, and in a corner spied a little urn of the same sort of stone as the others. the prince had not before taken notice of it, but opening, found in it a golden key. "my son," said the queen, "this key certainly belongs to some other treasure; let us search well, perhaps we may discover the use it is designed for." they examined the chamber with the utmost exactness, and at length found a key-hole in one of the panels of the wall. the sultan immediately tried, and as readily opened the door, which led into a chamber, in the midst of which were nine pedestals of massive gold, on eight of which stood as many statues, each of them made of a single diamond, and from them darted such a brightness, that the whole room was perfectly light. "o heavens!" cried zeyn, in astonishment, "where could my father find such rarities?" the ninth pedestal redoubled this amazement, for it was covered with a piece of white satin, on which were written these words, "dear son, it cost me much toil to procure these eight statues; but though they are extraordinarily beautiful, you must understand that there is a ninth in the world, which surpasses them all: that alone is worth more than a thousand such as these: if you desire to be master of it, go to the city of cairo in egypt; one of my old slaves, whose name is mobarec, lives there, you will easily find him; the first person you meet will shew you his house; visit him, and tell him all that has befallen you: he will know you to be my son, and conduct you to the place where that wonderful statue is, which you will obtain with safety." the young sultan having read these words, said to the queen, "i should be sorry to be without that ninth statue; it must certainly be a very rare piece, since all these together are not of so much value. i will set out for grand cairo; nor do i believe, madam, that you will now oppose my design." "no, my son," answered the queen, "i am not against it: you are certainly under the special protection of our great prophet, he will not suffer you to perish in this journey. set out when you think fit: your viziers and i will take care of the government during your absence." the prince made ready his equipage, but would take only a small number of slaves with him. nothing remarkable befell him by the way, but arriving at cairo, he inquired for mobarec. the people told him he was one of the wealthiest inhabitants of the city; that he lived like a great lord, and that his house was open, especially for strangers. zeyn was conducted thither, knocked at the gate, which a slave opened, and demanded, "what is it you want, and who are you?" "i am a stranger," answered the prince, "and having heard much of the lord mobarec's generosity, am come to take up my lodging with him." the slave desired zeyn to wait while he went to acquaint his master, who ordered him to request the stranger to walk in. the slave returned to the gate, and told the prince he was welcome. zeyn went in, crossed a large court, and entered a hall magnificently furnished, where mobarec expected him, and received him very courteously, returning thanks for the honour he did him in accepting a lodging in his house. the prince, having answered his compliment, said to mobarec, "i am the son of the late sultan of bussorah, and my name is zeyn alasnam." "that sovereign," said mobarec, "was formerly my master; but, my lord, i never knew of any children he had: what is your age?" "i am twenty years old," answered the sultan. "how long is it since you left my father's court?" "almost two-and-twenty years," replied mobarec; "but how can you convince me that you are his son?" "my father," rejoined zeyn, "had a subterraneous place under his closet, in which i have found forty porphyry urns full of gold." "and what more is there?" said mobarec. "there are," answered the prince, "nine pedestals of massive gold: on eight whereof are as many diamond statues; and on the ninth a piece of white satin, on which my father has written what i am to do to procure another statue, more valuable than all those together. you know where that statue is; for it is mentioned on the satin, that you will conduct me to it." as soon as he had spoke these words, mobarec fell down at his feet, and kissing one of his hands several times, said, "i bless god for having brought you hither: i know you to be the sultan of bussorah's son. if you will go to the place where the wonderful statue is, i will conduct you; but you must first rest here a few days. this day i treat the great men of the court; we were at table when word was brought me of your being at the door. will you vouchsafe to come and be merry with us?" "i shall be very glad," replied zeyn, "to be admitted to your feast." mobarec immediately led him under a dome where the company was, seated him at the table, and served him on the knee. the nobles of cairo were surprised, and whispered to one another, "who is this stranger, to whom mobarec pays so much respect?" when they had dined, mobarec directing his discourse to the company, said, "nobles of cairo, do not think much to see me serve this young stranger in this manner: know that he is the son of the sultan of bussorah, my master. his father purchased me, and died without making me free; so that i am still a slave, and consequently all i have of right belongs to this young prince, his sole heir." here zeyn interrupted him: "mobarec," said he, "i declare, before all these lords, that i make you free from this moment, and that i renounce all right to your person, and all you possess. consider what you would have me do more for you." mobarec kissed the ground, and returned the prince most hearty thanks. wine was then brought in, they drank all day, and towards evening presents were distributed among the guests, who departed. the next day zeyn said to mobarec, "i have taken rest enough. i came not to cairo to take my pleasure; my design is to obtain the ninth statue; it is time for us to set out in search of it." "sir," said mobarec, "i am ready to comply with your desires; but you know not what dangers you must encounter to make this precious acquisition." "whatsoever the danger may be," answered the prince, "i have resolved to make the attempt; i will either perish or succeed. all that happens in this world is by god's direction. do you but bear me company, and let your resolution be equal to mine." mobarec, finding him determined to set out, called his servants, and ordered them to make ready his equipage. the prince and he then performed the ablution, and the prayer enjoined, which is called farz; and that done, they set out. on their way they took notice of abundance of strange and wonderful things, and travelled many days, at length, being come to a delightful spot, they alighted from their horses. mobarec then said to all the servants that attended them, "do you remain in this place, and take care of our equipage till we return." then he said to zeyn, "now, sir, let us advance by ourselves. we are near the dreadful place, where the ninth statue is kept. you will stand in need of all your courage." they soon came to a vast lake: mobarec set down on the brink of it, saying to the prince, "we must cross this sea." "how can we," answered zeyn, "when we have no boat?" "you will see one appear in a moment," replied mobarec; "the enchanted boat of the sultan of the genii will come for us. but do not forget what i am going to say to you: you must observe a profound silence: do not speak to the boatman, though his figure seem strange to you: whatever extraordinary circumstance you observe, say nothing; for i tell you beforehand, that if you utter one word when we are embarked, the boat will sink." "i shall take care to hold my peace," said the prince; "you need only tell me what i am to do, and i will strictly comply." whilst they were talking, he spied on a sudden a boat in the lake, made of red sandal wood. it had a mast of fine amber, and a blue satin flag: there was only one boatman in it, whose head was like an elephant's, and his body like that of a tiger. when the boat was come up to the prince and mobarec, the monstrous boatman took them up one after another with his trunk, put them into his boat, and carried them over the lake in a moment. he then again took them up with his trunk, set them ashore, and immediately vanished with his boat. "now we may talk," said mobarec: "the island we are in belongs to the sultan of the genii. look round you, prince; can there be a more delightful spot? it is certainly a lively representation of the charming place god has appointed for the faithful observers of our law. behold the fields adorned with all sorts of flowers and odoriferous plants: admire those beautiful trees whose delicious fruit makes the branches bend down to the ground; enjoy the pleasure of those harmonious songs formed in the air by a thousand birds of as many various sorts, unknown in other countries." zeyn could not sufficiently admire the beauties with which he was surrounded, and still found something new, as he advanced farther into the island. at length they came before a palace built of emeralds, encompassed by a wide moat, on the banks whereof, at certain distances, were planted such tall trees, that they shaded the whole palace. before the gate, which was of massive gold, was a bridge, formed of one single shell of a fish, though it was at least six fathoms long, and three in breadth. at the head of the bridge stood a company of genii, of a prodigious height, who guarded the entrance into the castle with great clubs of china steel. "let us at present proceed no farther," said mobarec, "these genii will destroy us: and in order to prevent their coming to us, we must perform a magical ceremony." he then drew out of a purse which he had under his garment, four long slips of yellow taffety; one he put about his middle, and laid the other on his back, giving the other two to the prince, who did the like. then mobarec laid on the ground two large table-cloths, on the edges whereof he scattered some precious stones, musk, and amber. afterwards he sat down on one of the cloths, and zeyn on the other; and mobarec said to the prince, "i shall now, sir, conjure the sultan of the genii, who lives in the palace that is before us; may he come in a peaceable mood to us! i confess i am not without apprehension about the reception he may give us. if our coming into this island is displeasing to him, he will appear in the shape of a dreadful monster; but if he approves of your design, he will shew himself in the shape of a handsome man. as soon as he appears before us, you must rise and salute him, without going off your cloth; for you would certainly perish, should you stir from it. you must say to him, 'sovereign lord of the genii, my father, who was your servant, has been taken away by the angel of death; i wish your majesty may protect me, as you always protected my father.' if the sultan of the genii," added mobarec, "ask you what favour you desire of him, you must answer, 'i most humbly beg of you to give me the ninth statue.'" mobarec, having thus instructed prince zeyn, began his conjuration. immediately their eyes were dazzled by a long flash of lightning, which was followed by a clap of thunder. the whole island was covered with a thick darkness, a furious storm of wind blew, a dreadful cry was heard, the island felt a shock, and there was such an earthquake, as that which asrayel is to cause on the day of judgment. zeyn was startled, and began to regard these concussions of the elements as a very ill omen, when mobarec, who knew better than he what to judge, began to smile, and said, "take courage, my prince, all goes well." in short, that very moment, the sultan of the genii appeared in the shape of a very handsome man, yet there was something of a sternness in his air. as soon as sultan zeyn had made him the compliment he had been taught by mobarec, the sultan of the genii smiling, answered, "my son, i loved your father, and every time he came to pay me his respects, i presented him with a statue, which he carried away with him. i have no less kindness for you. i obliged your father, some days before he died, to write that which you read on the piece of white satin. i promised him to receive you under my protection, and to give you the ninth statue, which in beauty surpasses those you have already. i had begun to perform my promise to him. it was i whom you saw in a dream in the shape of an old man; i caused you to open the subterraneous place, where the urns and the statues are deposited: i have a great share in all that has befallen you, or rather am the occasion of all. i know the motive that brought you hither; you shall obtain what you desire. though i had not promised your father to give it, i would willingly grant it to you: but you must first swear to me by all that is sacred, that you will return to this island, and that you will bring me a maid who is in her fifteenth year, has never loved, nor desired to. she must also be perfectly beautiful: and you so much a master of yourself, as not even to desire her as you are conducting her hither." sultan zeyn took the rash oath demanded of him. "but, my lord," said he, "suppose i should be so fortunate as to meet with such a maid as you require, how shall i know that i have found her?" "i own," answered the sultan of the genii, smiling, "that you might be mistaken in her appearance: that knowledge is above the sons of adam, and therefore i do not mean to depend upon your judgment in that particular: i will give you a looking-glass which will be more certain than your conjectures. when you shall have seen a maiden fifteen years of age, perfectly beautiful, you need only look into the glass in which you shall see her figure. if she be chaste, the glass will remain clean and unsullied; but if, on the contrary, it sullies, that will be a certain sign that she has not always been prudent, or at least that she has desired to cease to be so. do not forget the oath you have taken: keep it like a man of honour; otherwise i will take away your life, notwithstanding the kindness i have for you." zeyn alasnam protested again that he would faithfully keep his word. the sultan of the genii then delivered to him a looking-glass, saying, "my son, you may return when you please, there is the glass you are to use." zeyn and mobarec took leave of the sultan of the genii, and went towards the lake. the boatman with the elephant's head brought the boat, and ferried them over the lake as he had done before. they joined their servants, and returned with them again to cairo. the young sultan rested a few days at mobarec's house, and then said to him, "let us go to bagdad, to seek a maiden for the sovereign of the genii." "why, are we not at grand cairo?" said mobarec: "shall we not there find beautiful maidens?" "you are in the right," answered the prince; "but how shall we explore where they are?" "do not trouble yourself about that," answered mobarec; "i know a very shrewd old woman, whom i will entrust with the affair, and she will acquit herself well." accordingly the old woman found means to shew the sultan a considerable number of beautiful maidens of fifteen years of age; but when he had viewed them, and came to consult his looking-glass, the fatal touchstone of their virtue, the glass always appeared sullied. all the maidens in the court and city, who were in their fifteenth year, underwent the trial one after another, but the glass never remained bright and clear. when they saw there were no chaste maidens to be found in cairo, they went to bagdad, where they hired a magnificent palace in one of the chief quarters of the city, and began to live splendidly. they kept open house; and after all people had eaten in the palace, the fragments were carried to the dervises, who by that means had comfortable subsistence. there lived in that quarter a pedant, whose name was boubekir muezin, a vain, haughty, and envious person: he hated the rich, only because he was poor, his misery making him angry at his neighbour's prosperity. he heard talk of zeyn alasnam, and of the plenty his house afforded. this was enough for him to take an aversion to that prince; and it proceeded so far, that one day after the evening prayer in the mosque, he said to the people, "brethren, i have been told there is come to live in our ward a stranger, who every day gives away immense sums. how do we know but that this unknown person is some villain, who has committed a robbery in his own country, and comes hither to enjoy himself? let us take care, brethren; if the caliph should be informed that such a man is in our ward, it is to be feared he will punish us for not acquainting him with it. i declare for my part i wash my hands of the affair, and if any thing should happen amiss, it shall not lie at my door." the multitude, who are easily led away, with one voice cried to boubekir, "it is your business, do you acquaint the council with it." the muezin went home well pleased, and drew up a memorial, resolving to present it to the caliph next day. but mobarec, who had been at prayers, and heard all that was said by the muezin, put five hundred pieces of gold into a handkerchief, made up with a parcel of several silks, and went to boubekir's house. the muezin asked him in a harsh tone what he wanted. "holy father," answered mobarec with an obliging air, and at the same time putting into his hand the gold and the silk, "i am your neighbour and your servant: i come from prince zeyn, who lives in this ward: he has heard of your worth, and has ordered me to come and tell you, that he desires to be acquainted with you, and in the mean time desires you to accept of this small present." boubekir was transported with joy, and answered mobarec thus: "be pleased, sir, to beg the prince's pardon for me: i am ashamed i have not yet been to see him, but i will atone for my fault, and wait on him to-morrow." accordingly the next day after morning prayer he said to the people, "you must know from your own experience, brethren, that no man is without some enemies: envy pursues those chiefly who are very rich. the stranger i spoke to you about yesterday in the evening is no bad man, as some ill-designing persons would have persuaded me: he is a young prince, endowed with every virtue. it behoves us to take care how we give any injurious report of him to the caliph." boubekir having thus wiped off the impression he had the day before given the people concerning zeyn, returned home, put on his best apparel and went to visit the young prince, who gave him a courteous reception. after several compliments had passed on both sides, boubekir said to the prince, "sir, do you design to stay long at bagdad?" "i shall stay," answered zeyn, "till i can find a maid fifteen years of age, perfectly beautiful, and so chaste, that she has not only never loved a man, but even never desired to do so." "you seek after a great rarity," replied the muezin; "and i should be apt to fear your search would prove unsuccessful, did i not know where there is a maid of that character. her father was formerly vizier; but has left the court, and lived a long time in a lone house, where he applies himself solely to the education of his daughter. if you please, i will ask her of him for you: i do not question but he will be overjoyed to have a son-in-law of your quality." "not so fast," said the prince, "i shall not marry the maid before i know whether i like her. as for her beauty, i can depend on you; but what assurance can you give me in relation to her virtue?" "what assurance do you require?" said boubekir. "i must see her face," answered zeyn; "that is enough to determine my resolution." "you are skilled then in physiognomy?" replied the muezin, smiling. "well, come along with me to her father's: i will desire him to let you see her one moment in his presence." the muezin conducted the prince to the vizier's; who, as soon as he was acquainted with the prince's birth and design, called his daughter, and made her take off her veil. never had the young sultan of bussorah beheld such a perfect and striking beauty. he stood amazed; and since he could then try whether the maid was as chaste as fair, he pulled out his glass, which remained bright and unsullied. when he perceived he had at length found such a person as he desired, he entreated the vizier to grant her to him. immediately the cauzee was sent for, the contract signed, and the marriage prayer said. after this ceremony, zeyn conducted the vizier to his house, where he treated him magnificently, and gave him considerable presents. next day he sent a prodigious quantity of jewels by mobarec, who conducted the bride home, where the wedding was kept with all the pomp that became zeyn's quality. when all the company was dismissed mobarec said to his master, "let us begone, sir, let us not stay any longer at bagdad, but return to cairo: remember the promise you made the sultan of the genii." "let us go," answered the prince; "i must take care to perform it exactly; yet i must confess, my dear mobarec, that, if i obey the sultan of the genii, it is not without reluctance. the damsel i have married is so charming, that i am tempted to carry her to bussorah, and place her on the throne." "alas! sir," answered mobarec, "take heed how you give way to your inclination: make yourself master of your passions, and whatever it costs you, be as good as your word to the sultan of the genii." "well, then, mobarec," said the prince, "do you take care to conceal the lovely maid from me; let her never appear in my sight; perhaps i have already seen too much of her." mobarec made all ready for their departure; they returned to cairo, and thence set out for the island of the sultan of the genii. when they were arrived, the maid who had performed the journey in a horse-litter, and whom the prince had never seen since his wedding-day, said to mobarec, "where are we? shall we be soon in the dominions of the prince my husband?" "madam," answered mobarec, "it is time to undeceive you. prince zeyn married you only in order to get you from your father: he did not engage his faith to make you sovereign of bussorah, but to deliver you to the sultan of the genii, who has asked of him a virgin of your character." at these words, she began to weep bitterly, which moved the prince and mobarec. "take pity on me," said she; "i am a stranger, you will be accountable to god for your treachery towards me." her tears and complaints were of no effect, for she was presented to the sultan of the genii, who having gazed on her with attention, said to zeyn, "prince, i am satisfied with your behaviour; the virgin you have brought me is beautiful and chaste, and i am pleased with the restraint you have put upon yourself to be as good as your promise to me. return to your dominions, and when you shall enter the subterraneous room, where the eight statues are, you shall find the ninth which i promised you. i will make my genii carry it thither." zeyn thanked the sultan, and returned to cairo with mobarec, but did not stay long in egypt, for his impatience to see the ninth statue made him hasten his departure. however, he could not but often think regretfully of the young virgin he had married; and blaming himself for having deceived her, he looked upon himself as the cause and instrument of her misfortune. "alas!" said he to himself, "i have taken her from a tender father, to sacrifice her to a genie. o incomparable beauty! you deserve a better fate." sultan zeyn, disturbed with these thoughts, at length reached bussorah, where his subjects made extraordinary rejoicings for his return. he went directly to give an account of his journey to his mother, who was in a rapture to hear that he had obtained the ninth statue. "let us go, my son," said she, "let us go and see it, for it is certainly in the subterraneous chamber, since the sultan of the genii told you you should find it there." the young sultan and his mother, being both impatient to see the wonderful statue, went down into the room of the statues; but how great was their surprise, when, instead of a statue of diamonds, they beheld on the ninth pedestal a most beautiful virgin, whom the prince knew to be the same whom he had conducted into the island of the genii! "prince," said the young maid, "you are surprised to see me here; you expected to have found something more precious than me, and i question not but that you now repent having taken so much trouble: you expected a better reward." "madam," answered zeyn, "heaven is my witness, that i more than once had nearly broken my word with the sultan of the genii, to keep you to myself. whatever be the value of a diamond statue, is it worth the satisfaction of having you mine? i love you above all the diamonds and wealth in the world." just as he had done speaking, a clap of thunder was heard, which shook the subterranean place. zeyn's mother was alarmed, but the sultan of the genii immediately appearing, dispelled her fear. "madam," said he to her, "i protect and love your son: i had a mind to try, whether, at his age, he could subdue his passions. i know the charms of this young lady have wrought on him, and that he did not punctually keep the promise he had made me, not to desire her; but i am well acquainted with the frailty of human nature. this is the ninth statue i designed for him; it is more rare and precious than the others." "live," said he (directing his discourse to the young prince), "live happy, zeyn, with this young lady, who is your wife; and if you would have her true and constant to you, love her always, and love her only. give her no rival, and i will answer for her fidelity." having spoken these words, the sultan of the genii vanished, and zeyn, enchanted with the young lady, the same day caused her to be proclaimed queen of bussorah, over which they reigned in mutual happiness to an advanced age. the history of codadad, and his brothers. those who have written the history of diarbekir inform us that there formerly reigned in the city of harran a most magnificent and potent sultan, who loved his subjects, and was equally beloved by them. he was endued with all virtues, and wanted nothing to complete his happiness but an heir. though he had the finest women in the world in his seraglio, yet was he destitute of children. he continually prayed to heaven for them; and one night in his sleep, a comely person, or rather a prophet, appeared to him, and said, "your prayers are heard; you have obtained what you have desired; rise as soon as you awake, go to your prayers, and make two genuflexions, then walk into the garden of your palace, call your gardener, and bid him bring you a pomegranate, eat as many of the seeds as you please, and your wishes shall be accomplished." the sultan calling to mind his dream when he awoke, returned thanks to heaven, got up, prayed, made two genuflexions, and then went into his garden, where he took fifty pomegranate seeds, which he counted, and ate. he had fifty wives who shared his bed; they all proved with child; but there was one called pirouzè, who did not appear to be pregnant. he took an aversion to this lady, and would have her put to death. "her barrenness," said he, "is a certain token that heaven does not judge pirouzè worthy to bear a prince; it is my duty to deliver the world from an object that is odious to the lord." he would have executed his cruel purpose had not his vizier prevented him; representing to him that all women were not of the same constitution, and that it was not impossible but that pirouzè might be with child, though it did not yet appear. "well," answered the sultan, "let her live; but let her depart my court; for i cannot endure her." "your majesty," replied the vizier, "may send her to sultan samer, your cousin." the sultan approved of this advice; he sent pirouzè to samaria, with a letter, in which he ordered his cousin to treat her well, and, in case she proved with child, to give him notice of her being brought to bed. no sooner was pirouzè arrived in that country, than it appeared that she was pregnant, and at length she was delivered of a most beautiful prince. the prince of samaria wrote immediately to the sultan of harran, to acquaint him with the birth of a son, and to congratulate him on the occasion. the sultan was much rejoiced at this intelligence, and answered prince samer as follows: "cousin, all my other wives have each been delivered of a prince. i desire you to educate that of pirouzè, to give him the name of codadad, and to send him to me when i may apply for him." the prince of samaria spared nothing that might improve the education of his nephew. he taught him to ride, draw the bow, and all other accomplishments becoming the son of a sovereign; so that codadad, at eighteen years of age, was looked upon as a prodigy. the young prince, being inspired with a courage worthy of his birth, said one day to his mother, "madam, i begin to grow weary of samaria; i feel a passion for glory; give me leave to seek it amidst the perils of war. my father, the sultan of harran, has many enemies. why does he not call me to his assistance? why does he leave me here so long in obscurity? must i spend my life in sloth, when all my brothers have the happiness to be fighting by his side?" "my son," answered pirouzè, "i am no less impatient to have your name become famous; i could wish you had already signalized yourself against your father's enemies; but we must wait till he requires it." "no, madam," replied codadad, "i have already waited but too long. i burn to see the sultan, and am tempted to offer him my service, as a young stranger: no doubt but he will accept of it, and i will not discover myself, till i have performed some glorious actions: i desire to merit his esteem before he knows who i am." pirouzè approved of his generous resolutions, and codadad departed from samaria, as if he had been going to the chase, without acquainting prince samer, lest he should thwart his design. he was mounted on a white charger, who had a bit and shoes of gold, his housing was of blue satin embroidered with pearls; the hilt of his scimitar was of one single diamond, and the scabbard of sandal-wood, adorned with emeralds and rubies, and on his shoulder he carried his bow and quiver. in this equipage, which greatly set off his handsome person, he arrived at the city of harran, and soon found means to offer his service to the sultan; who being charmed with his beauty and promising appearance, and perhaps indeed by natural sympathy, gave him a favourable reception, and asked his name and quality. "sir," answered codadad, "i am son to an emir of grand cairo; an inclination to travel has made me quit my country, and understanding, in my passage through your dominions, that you were engaged in war, i am come to your court to offer your majesty my service." the sultan shewed him extraordinary kindness, and gave him a command in his army. the young prince soon signalized his bravery. he gained the esteem of the officers, and was admired by the soldiers. having no less wit than courage, he so far advanced himself in the sultan's esteem, as to become his favourite. all the ministers and other courtiers daily resorted to codadad, and were so eager to purchase his friendship, that they neglected the sultan's sons. the princes could not but resent this conduct, and imputing it to the stranger, all conceived an implacable hatred against him; but the sultan's affection daily increasing, he was never weary of giving him fresh testimonies of his regard. he always would have him near his person; admired his conversation, ever full of wit and discretion; and to shew his high opinion of his wisdom and prudence, committed to his care the other princes, though he was of the same age as they; so that codadad was made governor of his brothers. this only served to heighten their hatred. "is it come to this," said they, "that the sultan, not satisfied with loving a stranger more than us, will have him to be our governor, and not allow us to act without his leave? this is not to be endured. we must rid ourselves of this foreigner." "let us go together," said one of them, "and dispatch him." "no, no," answered another; "we had better be cautious how we sacrifice ourselves. his death would render us odious to the sultan, who in return would declare us all unworthy to reign. let us destroy him by some stratagem. we will ask his permission to hunt, and when at a distance from the palace, proceed to some other city, and stay there some time. the sultan will wonder at our absence, and perceiving we do not return, perhaps put the stranger to death, or at least will banish him from court, for suffering us to leave the palace." all the princes applauded this artifice. they went together to codadad, and desired him to allow them to take the diversion of hunting, promising to return the same day. pirouzè's son was taken in the snare, and granted the permission his brothers desired. they set out, but never returned. they had been three days absent, when the sultan asked codadad where the princes were, for it was long since he had seen them. "sir," answered codadad, after making a profound reverence, "they have been hunting these three days, but they promised me they would return sooner." the sultan grew uneasy, and his uneasiness increased when he perceived the princes did not return the next day. he could not check his anger: "indiscreet stranger," said he to codadad, "why did you let my sons go without bearing them company? is it thus you discharge the trust i have reposed in you? go, seek them immediately, and bring them to me, or your life shall be forfeited." these words chilled with alarm pirouzè's unfortunate son. he armed himself, departed from the city, and like a shepherd, who had lost his flock, searched the country for his brothers, inquiring at every village whether they had been seen: but hearing no news of them, abandoned himself to the most lively grief. "alas! my brothers," said he, "what is become of you? are you fallen into the hands of our enemies? am i come to the court of harran to be the occasion of giving the sultan so much anxiety?" he was inconsolable for having given the princes permission to hunt, or for not having borne them company. after some days spent in fruitless search, he came to a plain of prodigious extent, in the midst whereof was a palace built of black marble. he drew near, and at one of the windows beheld a most beautiful lady; but set off with no other ornament than her own charms; for her hair was dishevelled, her garments torn, and on her countenance appeared all the marks of the greatest affliction. as soon as she saw codadad, and judged he might hear her, she directed her discourse to him, saying, "young man, depart from this fatal place, or you will soon fall into the hands of the monster that inhabits it: a black, who feeds only on human blood, resides in this palace; he seizes all persons whom their ill-fate conducts to this plain, and shuts them up in his dark dungeons, whence they are never released, but to be devoured by him." "madam," answered codadad, "tell me who you are, and be not concerned for myself." "i am a young woman of quality of grand cairo," replied the lady; "i was passing by this castle yesterday, in my way to bagdad, and met with the black, who killed all my attendants, and brought me hither; i wish i had nothing but death to fear, but to add to my calamity, this monster would persuade me to love him, and, in case i do not yield to-morrow to his brutality, i must expect the last violence. once more," added she, "make your escape: the black will soon return; he is gone out to pursue some travellers he espied at a distance on the plain. lose no time; i know not whether you can escape him by a speedy flight." she had scarcely done speaking before the black appeared. he was of monstrous bulk, and of a dreadful aspect, mounted on a large tartar horse, and bore such a heavy scimitar, that none but himself could wield. the prince seeing him, was amazed at his gigantic stature, directed his prayers to heaven to assist him, then drew his scimitar, and firmly awaited his approach. the monster, despising so inconsiderable an enemy, called to him to submit without fighting. codadad by his conduct shewed that he was resolved to defend his life; for rushing upon him, he wounded him on the knee. the black, feeling himself wounded, uttered such a dreadful yell as made all the plain resound. he grew furious and foamed with rage, and raising himself on his stirrups, made at codadad with his dreadful scimitar. the blow was so violent, that it would have put an end to the young prince, had not he avoided it by a sudden spring. the scimitar made a horrible hissing in the air: but, before the black could have time to make a second blow, codadad struck him on his right arm, with such force, that he cut it off. the dreadful scimitar fell with the hand that held it, and the black yielding under the violence of the stroke, lost his stirrups, and made the earth shake with the weight of his fall. the prince alighted at the same time, and cut off his enemy's head. just then, the lady, who had been a spectator of the combat, and was still offering up her earnest prayers to heaven for the young hero, whom she admired, uttered a shriek of joy, and said to codadad, "prince (for the dangerous victory you have obtained, as well as your noble air, convinces me that you are of no common rank), finish the work you have begun; the black has the keys of this castle, take them and deliver me out of prison." the prince searched the wretch as he lay stretched on the ground, and found several keys. he opened the first door, and entered a court, where he saw the lady coming to meet him; she would have cast herself at his feet, the better to express her gratitude, but he would not permit her. she commended his valour, and extolled him above all the heroes in the world. he returned her compliments; and she appeared still more lovely to him near, than she had done at a distance. i know not whether she felt more joy at being delivered from the desperate danger she had been in, than he for having done so considerable a service to so beautiful a person. their conversation was interrupted by dismal cries and groans. "what do i hear?" said codadad: "whence come these miserable lamentations, which pierce my ears?" "my lord," said the lady to him, pointing to a little door in the court, "they come from thence. there are i know not how many wretched persons whom fate has thrown into the hands of the black. they are all chained, and the monster drew out one every day to devour." "it is an addition to my joy," answered the young prince, "to understand that my victory will save the lives of those unfortunate beings. come along with me, madam, to partake in the satisfaction of giving them their liberty. you may judge by your own feelings how welcome we shall be to them." having so said, they advanced towards the door of the dungeon, and the nearer they drew, the more distinctly they heard the lamentations of the prisoners. codadad pitying them, and impatient to put an end to their sufferings, presently put one of the keys into the lock. the noise made all the unfortunate captives, who concluded it was the black coming, according to custom, to seize one of them to devour, redouble their cries and groans. lamentable voices were heard, which seemed to come from the centre of the earth. in the mean time, the prince had opened the door; he went down a very steep staircase into a large and deep vault, which received some feeble light from a little window, and in which there were above a hundred persons, bound to stakes, and their hands tied. "unfortunate travellers," said he to them, "wretched victims, who only expected the moment of an approaching cruel death, give thanks to heaven, which has this day delivered you by my means. i have slain the black by whom you were to be devoured, and am come to knock off your chains." the prisoners hearing these words, gave a shout of mingled joy and surprise. codadad and the lady began to unbind them; and as soon as any of them were loose, they helped to take off the fetters from the rest; so that in a short time they were all at liberty. they then kneeled down, and having returned thanks to codadad for what he had done for them, went out of the dungeon; but when they were come into the court, how was the prince surprised to see among the prisoners, those he was in search of, and almost without hopes to find! "princes," cried he, "am i not deceived? is it you whom i behold? may i flatter myself that it may be in my power to restore you to the sultan your father, who is inconsolable for the loss of you? but will he not have some one to lament? are you all here alive? alas! the death of one of you will suffice to damp the joy i feel for having delivered you!" the forty-nine princes all made themselves known to codadad, who embraced them one after another, and told them how uneasy their father was on account of their absence. they gave their deliverer all the commendations he deserved, as did the other prisoners, who could not find words expressive enough to declare their gratitude. codadad, with them, searched the whole castle, where was immense wealth; curious silks, gold brocades, persian carpets, china satins, and an infinite quantity of other goods, which the black had taken from the caravans he had plundered, a considerable part whereof belonged to the prisoners codadad had then liberated. every man knew and claimed his property. the prince restored them their own, and divided the rest of the merchandise among them. then he said to them, "how will you carry away your goods? we are here in a desert place, and there is no likelihood of your getting horses." "my lord," answered one of the prisoners, "the black robbed us of our camels as well as our goods, and perhaps they may be in the stables of this castle." "this is not unlikely," replied codadad; "let us examine." accordingly they went to the stables, where they not only found the camels, but also the horses belonging to the sultan of harran's sons. there were some black slaves in the stables, who seeing all the prisoners released, and guessing thereby that their master had been killed, fled through by-ways well known to them. nobody minded to pursue them. all the merchants, overjoyed that they had recovered their goods and camels, together with their liberty, thought of nothing but prosecuting their journey; but first repeated their thanks to their deliverer. when they were gone, codadad, directing his discourse to the lady, said, "what place, madam, do you desire to go to? whither were you bound when you were seized by the black? i intend to bear you company to the place you shall choose for your retreat, and i question not but that all these princes will do the same." the sultan of harran's sons protested to the lady, that they would not leave her till she was restored to her friends. "princes," said she, "i am of a country too remote from hence; and, besides that, it would be abusing your generosity to oblige you to travel so far. i must confess that i have left my native country for ever. i told you that i was a lady of grand cairo; but since you have shewn me so much favour, and i am so highly obliged to you," added she, looking upon codadad, "i should be much in the wrong in concealing the truth from you; i am a sultan's daughter. an usurper has possessed himself of my father's throne, after having murdered him, and i have been forced to fly to save my life." codadad and his brothers requested the princess to tell them her story, assuring her they felt a particular interest in her misfortunes, and were determined to spare nothing that might contribute to render her more happy. after thanking them for their repeated protestations of readiness to serve her, she could not refuse to satisfy their curiosity, and began the recital of her adventures in the following manner. the history of the princess of deryabar. there was in a certain island a great city called deryabar, governed by a potent, magnificent, and virtuous sultan, who had no children, which was the only blessing wanting to make him happy. he continually addressed his prayers to heaven, but heaven only partially granted his requests, for the queen his wife, after a long expectation, brought forth a daughter. i am the unfortunate princess; my father was rather grieved than pleased at my birth; but he submitted to the will of god, and caused me to be educated with all possible care, being resolved, since he had no son, to teach me the art of ruling, that i might supply his place after his death. one day when he was taking the diversion of hunting, he espied a wild ass, which he chased, lost his company, and was carried away so far by his eagerness as to ride on till night. he then alighted, and sat down at the entrance of a wood, in which the ass had sheltered. no sooner was the day shut in than he discovered among the trees a light, which made him conclude that he was not far from some village; he rejoiced at this, hoping that he might pass the night there, and find some person to send to his followers and acquaint them where he was; accordingly he rose and walked towards the light, which served to guide him. he soon found he had been deceived, the light being no other than a fire blazing in a hut; however, he drew near, and, with amazement, beheld a black man, or rather a giant, sitting on a sofa. before the monster was a great pitcher of wine, and he was roasting an ox he had newly killed. sometimes he drank out of the pitcher, and sometimes cut slices off the ox and greedily devoured them. but what most attracted my father's attention was a beautiful woman whom he saw in the hut. she seemed overwhelmed with grief; her hands were bound, and at her feet was a little child about two or three years old, who, as if he was sensible of his mother's misfortunes, wept without ceasing, and rent the air with his cries. my father, moved with this pitiable object, thought at first to enter the hut and attack the giant; but considering how unequal the combat would be, he stopped, and resolved, since he had not strength enough to prevail by open force, to use art. in the mean time, the giant having emptied the pitcher, and devoured above half the ox, turned to the woman and said, "beautiful princess, why do you oblige me by your obstinacy to treat you with severity? it is in your own power to be happy. you need only resolve to love, and be true to me, and i shall treat you with more mildness." "thou hideous satyr," answered the lady, "never expect that time should wear away my abhorrence of thee. thou wilt ever be a monster in my eyes." to these words she added so many reproaches, that the giant grew enraged. "this is too much," cried he, in a furious tone; "my love despised is turned into rage. your hatred has at last excited mine; i find it triumphs over my desires, and that i now wish your death more ardently than your enjoyment." having spoken these words, he took the wretched lady by the hair, held her up with one hand in the air, and drawing his scimitar with the other, was just going to strike off her head, when the sultan my father let fly an arrow which pierced the giant's breast, so that he staggered, and dropped down dead. my father entered the hut, unbound the lady's hands, inquired who she was, and how she came thither. "my lord," said she, "there are along the sea-coast some families of saracens, who live under a prince who is my husband; this giant you have killed was one of his principal officers. the wretch fell desperately in love with me, but took care to conceal his passion, till he could put in execution the design he had formed of forcing me from home. fortune oftener favours wicked designs than virtuous resolutions. the giant one day surprised me and my child in a by-place. he seized us both, and to disappoint the search he well knew my husband would cause to be made for me, removed from the country inhabited by those saracens, and brought us into this wood, where he has kept me some days. deplorable as my condition is, it is still a great satisfaction to me to think that the giant, though so brutal, never used force to obtain what i always refused to his entreaties. not but that he has a hundred times threatened that he would have recourse to the worst of extremities, in case he could not otherwise prevail upon me; and i must confess to you, that awhile ago, when i provoked his anger by my words, i was less concerned for my life than for my honour. "this, my lord," said the prince of the saracens' wife, "is the faithful account of my misfortunes, and i question not but you will think me worthy of your compassion, and that you will not repent having so generously relieved me." "madam," answered my father, "be assured your troubles have affected me, and i will do all in my power to make you happy. to-morrow, as soon as day appears, we will quit this wood, and endeavour to fall into the road which leads to the great city of deryabar, of which i am sovereign; and if you think fit, you shall be lodged in my palace, till the prince your husband comes to claim you." the saracen lady accepted the offer, and the next day followed the sultan my father, who found all his retinue upon the skirts of the wood, they having spent the night in searching for him, and being very uneasy because they could not find him. they were no less rejoiced to meet with, than amazed to see him with a lady, whose beauty surprised them. he told them how he had found her, and the risk he had run in approaching the hut, where he must certainly have lost his life had the giant discovered him. one of his servants took up the lady behind him, and another carried the child. thus they arrived at the palace of my father, who assigned the beautiful saracen lady an apartment, and caused her child to be carefully educated. the lady was not insensible of the sultan's goodness to her, and expressed as much gratitude as he could desire. she had at first appeared very uneasy and impatient that her husband did not claim her; but by degrees she lost that uneasiness. the respect my father paid her dispelled her impatience; and i am of opinion she would at last have blamed fortune more for restoring her to her kindred, than she did for removing her from them. in the mean time the lady's son grew up; he was very handsome, and not wanting ability, found means to please the sultan my father, who conceived a great friendship for him. all the courtiers perceived it, and guessed that the young man might in the end be my husband. in this idea, and looking on him already as heir to the crown, they made their court to him, and every one endeavoured to gain his favour. he soon saw into their designs, grew conceited of himself, and forgetting the distance there was between our conditions, flattered himself with the hopes that my father was fond enough of him, to prefer him before all the princes in the world. he went farther; for the sultan not offering me to him as soon as he could have wished, he had the boldness to ask me of him. whatever punishment his insolence deserved, my father was satisfied with telling him he had other thoughts in relation to me, and shewed him no further resentment. the youth was incensed at this refusal; he resented the contempt, as if he had asked some maid of ordinary extraction, or as if his birth had been equal to mine. nor did he stop here, but resolved to be revenged on the sultan, and with unparalleled ingratitude conspired against him. in short, he murdered him, and caused himself to be proclaimed sovereign of deryabar. the first thing he did after the murder of my father was to come into my apartment, at the head of a party of the conspirators. his design was either to take my life or oblige me to marry him. the grand vizier, however, who had been always loyal to his master, while the usurper was butchering my father, came to carry me away from the palace, and secured me in a friend's house, till a vessel he had provided was ready to sail. i then left the island, attended only by a governess and that generous minister, who chose rather to follow his master's daughter, and share her misfortunes, than to submit to a tyrant. the grand vizier designed to carry me to the courts of the neighbouring sultans, to implore their assistance, and excite them to revenge my father's death; but heaven did not concur in a resolution we thought so just. when we had been but a few days at sea, there arose such a furious storm, that, in spite of all the mariners' art, our vessel, carried away by the violence of the winds and waves, was dashed in pieces against a rock. i will not spend time in describing our shipwreck. i can but faintly represent to you how my governess, the grand vizier, and all that attended me, were swallowed up by the sea. the dread i was seized with did not permit me to observe all the horror of our condition. i lost my senses; and whether i was thrown upon the coast upon any part of the wreck, or whether heaven, which reserved me for other misfortunes, wrought a miracle for my deliverance, i found myself on shore when my senses returned. misfortunes very often make us forget our duty. instead of returning thanks to god for so singular a favour shewn me, i only lifted up my eyes to heaven, to complain because i had been preserved. i was so far from bewailing the vizier and my governess, that i envied their fate, and dreadful imaginations by degrees prevailing over my reason, i resolved to cast myself into the sea; i was on the point of doing so, when i heard behind me a great noise of men and horses. i looked about to see what it might be, and espied several armed horsemen, among whom was one mounted on an arabian horse. he had on a garment embroidered with silver, a girdle set with precious stones, and a crown of gold on his head. though his habit had not convinced me that he was chief of the company, i should have judged it by the air of grandeur which appeared in his person. he was a young man extraordinarily well shaped, and perfectly beautiful. surprised to see a young lady alone in that place, he sent some of his officers to ask who i was. i answered only by weeping. the shore being covered with the wreck of our ship, they concluded that i was certainly some person who had escaped from the vessel. this conjecture, and my inconsolable condition, excited the curiosity of the officers, who began to ask me a thousand questions, with assurances, that their master was a generous prince, and that i should receive protection at his court. the sultan, impatient to know who i was, grew weary of waiting the return of his officers, and drew near to me. he gazed on me very earnestly, and observing that i did not cease weeping and afflicting myself, without being able to return an answer to their questions, he forbad them troubling me any more; and directing his discourse to me, "madam," said he, "i conjure you to moderate your excessive affliction. though heaven in its dispensations has laid this calamity upon you, it does not behove you to despair. i beseech you shew more resolution. fortune, which has hitherto persecuted you, is inconstant, and may soon change. i dare assure you, that, if your misfortunes are capable of receiving any relief, you shall find it in my dominions. my palace is at your service. you shall live with the queen my mother, who will endeavour by her kindness to ease your affliction. i know not yet who you are; but i find i already take an interest in your welfare." i thanked the young sultan for his goodness to me, accepted his obliging offers; and to convince him that i was not unworthy of them, told him my condition. i described to him the insolence of the young saracen, and found it was enough to recount my misfortunes, to excite compassion in him and all his officers, who heard me. when i had done speaking, the prince began again, assuring me that he was deeply concerned at my misfortunes. he then conducted me to his palace, and presented me to the queen his mother, to whom i was obliged again to repeat my misfortunes and to renew my tears. the queen seemed very sensible of my trouble, and conceived extreme affection for me. on the other hand, the sultan her son fell desperately in love with me, and soon offered me his person and his crown. i was so taken up with the thoughts of my calamities, that the prince, though so lovely a person, did not make so great an impression on me as he might have done at another time. however, gratitude prevailing, i did not refuse to make him happy, and our nuptials were concluded with all imaginable splendour. while the people were taken up with the celebration of their sovereign's nuptials, a neighbouring prince, his enemy, made a descent by night on the island with a great number of troops. that formidable enemy was the king of zanguebar. he surprised and cut to pieces my husband's subjects. he was very near taking us both. we escaped very narrowly, for he had already entered the palace with some of his followers, but we found means to slip away, and to get to the seacoast, where we threw ourselves into a fishing boat which we had the good fortune to meet with. two days we were driven about by the winds, without knowing what would become of us. the third day we espied a vessel making towards us under sail. we rejoiced at first, believing it had been a merchant ship which might take us aboard; but what was our consternation, when, as it drew near, we saw ten or twelve armed pirates appear on the deck. having boarded, five or six of them leaped into our boat, seized us, bound the prince, and conveyed us into their ship, where they immediately took off my veil. my youth and features touched them, and they all declared how much they were charmed at the sight of me. instead of casting lots, each of them claimed the preference, and me as his right. the dispute grew warm, they came to blows, and fought like madmen. the deck was soon covered with dead bodies, and they were all killed but one, who being left sole possessor of me, said, "you are mine. i will carry you to grand cairo, to deliver you to a friend of mine, to whom i have promised a beautiful slave. but who," added he, looking upon the sultan my husband, "is that man? what relation does he bear to you? are you allied by blood or love?" "sir," answered i, "he is my husband." "if so," replied the pirate, "in pity i must rid myself of him: it would be too great an affliction to him to see you in my friend's arms." having spoken these words, he took up the unhappy prince, who was bound, and threw him into the sea, notwithstanding all my endeavours to prevent him. i shrieked in a dreadful manner at the sight of what he had done, and had certainly cast myself headlong into the sea, but that the pirate held me. he saw my design, and therefore bound me with cords to the main-mast, then hoisting sail, made towards the land, and got ashore. he unbound me and led me to a little town, where he bought camels, tents, and slaves, and then set out for grand cairo, designing, as he still said, to present me to his friend, according to his promise. we had been several days upon the road, when, as we were crossing this plain yesterday, we descried the black who inhabited this castle. at a distance we took him for a tower, and when near us, could scarcely believe him to be a man. he drew his huge scimitar, and summoned the pirate to yield himself prisoner, with all his slaves, and the lady he was conducting. the pirate was daring; and being seconded by his slaves, who promised to stand by him, he attacked the black. the combat lasted a considerable time; but at length the pirate fell under his enemy's deadly blows, as did all his slaves, who chose rather to die than forsake him. the black then conducted me to the castle, whither he also brought the pirate's body, which he devoured that night. after his inhuman repast, perceiving that i ceased not weeping, he said to me, "young lady, prepare to love me, rather than continue thus to afflict yourself. make a virtue of necessity, and comply. i will give you till to-morrow to consider. let me then find you comforted for all your misfortunes, and overjoyed at having been reserved for me." having spoken these words, he conducted me to a chamber, and withdrew to his own, after locking up the castle gates. he opened them this morning, and presently locked them after him again, to pursue some travellers he perceived at a distance; but it is likely they made their escape, since he was returning alone, and without any booty, when you attacked him. as soon as the princess had finished the recital of her adventures, codadad declared to her that he was deeply concerned at her misfortunes. "but, madam," added he, "it shall be your own fault if you do not live at ease for the future. the sultan of harran's sons offer you a safe retreat in the court of their father; be pleased to accept of it. you will be there cherished by that sovereign, and respected by all; and if you do not disdain the affection of your deliverer, permit me to assure you of it, and to espouse you before all these princes; let them be witnesses to our contract." the princess consented, and the marriage was concluded that very day in the castle, where they found all sorts of provisions. the kitchens were full of flesh and other eatables the black used to feed on, when he was weary of feeding on human bodies. there was also a variety of fruits, excellent in their kinds; and, to complete their pleasure, abundance of delicious wine and other liquors. they all sat down at table; and after having eaten and drunk plentifully, took with them the rest of the provisions, and set out for the sultan of harran's court: they travelled several days, encamping in the pleasantest places they could find, and were within one day's journey of harran, when having halted and drunk all their wine, being under no longer concern to make it hold out, codadad directing his discourse to all his company, said "princes, i have too long concealed from you who i am. behold your brother codadad! i have received my being, as well as you, from the sultan of harran, the prince of samaria brought me up, and the princess pirouzè is my mother. madam," added he, addressing himself to the princess of deryabar, "do you also forgive me for having concealed my birth from you? perhaps, by discovering it sooner, i might have prevented some disagreeable reflections, which may have been occasioned by a match you may have thought unequal." "no, sir," answered the princess, "the opinion i at first conceived of you heightened every moment, and you did not stand in need of the extraction you now discover to make me happy." the princes congratulated codadad on his birth, and expressed much satisfaction at being made acquainted with it. but in reality, instead of rejoicing, their hatred of so amiable a brother was increased. they met together at night, whilst codadad and the princess his wife lay asleep in their tent. those ungrateful, those envious brothers, forgetting that had it not been for the brave son of pirouzè they must have been devoured by the black, agreed among themselves to murder him. "we have no other course to choose," said one of them, "for the moment our father shall come to understand that this stranger of whom he is already so fond, is our brother, and that he alone has been able to destroy a giant, whom we could not all of us together conquer, he will declare him his heir, to the prejudice of all his brothers, who will be obliged to obey and fall down before him." he added much more, which made such an impression on their envious and unnatural minds, that they immediately repaired to codadad, then asleep, stabbed him repeatedly, and leaving him for dead in the arms of the princess of deryabar, proceeded on their journey for the city of harran, where they arrived the next day. the sultan their father conceived the greater joy at their return, because he had despaired of ever seeing them again: he asked what had been the occasion of their stay? but they took care not to acquaint him with it, making no mention either of the black or of codadad; and only said, that, being curious to see different countries, they had spent some time in the neighbouring cities. in the mean time codadad lay in his tent weltering in his blood, and little differing from a dead man, with the princess his wife, who seemed to be in not much better condition than himself. she rent the air with her dismal shrieks, tore her hair, and bathing her husband's body with her tears, "alas! codadad, my dear codadad," cried she, "is it you whom i behold just departing this life? what cruel hands have put you into this condition? can i believe these are your brothers who have treated you so unmercifully, those brothers whom thy valour had saved? no, they are rather devils, who under characters so dear came to murder you. o barbarous wretches! how could you make so ungrateful a return for the service he has done you? but why should i complain of your brothers, unfortunate codadad! i alone am to blame for your death. you would join your fate with mine, and all the ill fortune that has attended me since i left my father's palace has fallen upon you. o heaven! which has condemned me to lead a life of calamities, if you will not permit me to have a consort, why did you permit me to find one? behold you have now robbed me of two, just as i began to be attached to them." by these and other moving expressions, the afflicted princess of deryabar vented her sorrow, fixing her eyes on the unfortunate codadad, who could not hear her; but he was not dead, and his consort observing that he still breathed, ran to a large town she espied in the plain, to inquire for a surgeon. she was directed to one, who went immediately with her; but when they came to the tent, they could not find codadad, which made them conclude he had been dragged away by some wild beast to be devoured. the princess renewed her complaints and lamentations in a most affecting manner. the surgeon was moved and being unwilling to leave her in so distressed a condition, proposed to her to return to the town offering her his house and service. she suffered herself to be prevailed on. the surgeon conducted her to his house, and without knowing, as yet, who she was, treated her with all imaginable courtesy and respect. he used all his endeavours to comfort her, but it was vain to think of removing her sorrow, which was rather heightened than diminished. "madam," said he to her one day, "be pleased to recount to me your misfortunes; tell me your country and your condition. perhaps i may give you some good advice, when i am acquainted with all the circumstances of your calamity. you do nothing but afflict yourself, without considering that remedies may be found for the most desperate diseases." the surgeon's words were so efficacious, that they wrought on the princess, who recounted to him all her adventures: and when she had done, the surgeon directed his discourse to her; "madam," said he, "you ought not thus to give way to your sorrow; you ought rather to arm yourself with resolution, and perform what the name and the duty of a wife require of you. you are bound to avenge your husband. if you please, i will wait on you as your attendant. let us go to the sultan of harran's court; he is a good and a just prince. you need only represent to him in lively colours, how prince codadad has been treated by his brothers. i am persuaded he will do you justice." "i submit to your reasons," answered the princess; "it is my duty to endeavour to avenge codadad; and since you are so generous as to offer to attend me, i am ready to set out." no sooner had she fixed this resolution, than the surgeon ordered two camels to be made ready, on which the princess and he mounted, and repaired to harran. they alighted at the first caravanserai they found, and inquired of the host the news at court. "it is," said he, "in very great perplexity. the sultan had a son, who lived long with him as a stranger, and none can tell what is become of the young prince. one of the sultan's wives, named pirouzè, is his mother; she has made all possible inquiry, but to no purpose. all are concerned at the loss of this prince, because he had great merit. the sultan has forty-nine other sons, all by different mothers, but not one of them has virtue enough to comfort him for the death of codadad; i say, his death, because it is impossible he should be still alive, since no intelligence has been heard of him, notwithstanding so much search has been made." the surgeon having heard this account from the host, concluded that the best course the princess of deryabar could take was to wait upon pirouzè; but that step was not without some danger, and required much precaution: for it was to be feared, that if the sultan of harran's sons should happen to hear of the arrival of their sister-in-law, and her design, they might cause her to be conveyed away before she could discover herself to codadad's mother. the surgeon weighed all these circumstances, considered what risk he might run himself, and therefore, that he might manage matters with discretion, desired the princess to remain in the caravanserai, whilst he repaired to the palace, to observe which might be the safest way to conduct her to pirouzè. he went accordingly into the city, and was walking towards the palace, like one led only by curiosity to see the court, when he beheld a lady mounted on a mule richly accoutred. she was followed by several ladies mounted also on mules, with a great number of guards and black slaves. all the people formed a lane to see her pass along, and saluted her by prostrating themselves on the ground. the surgeon paid her the same respect, and then asked a calender, who happened to stand by him, "whether that lady was one of the sultan's wives?" "yes, brother," answered the calender, "she is, and the most honoured and beloved by the people, because she is the mother of prince codadad, of whom you must have heard." the surgeon asked no more questions, but followed pirouzè to a mosque, into which she went to distribute alms, and assist at the public prayers which the sultan had ordered to be offered up for the safe return of codadad. the people, who were highly concerned for that young prince, ran in crowds to join their vows to the prayers of the priests, so that the mosque was quite full. the surgeon broke through the throng, and advanced to pirouzè's guards. he waited the conclusion of the prayers, and when the princess went out, stepped up to one of her slaves, and whispered him in the ear, "brother, i have a secret of moment to impart to the princess pirouzè; may not i, by your means, be introduced into her apartment?" "if that secret," answered the slave, "relate to prince codadad, i dare promise you shall have audience of her this very day; but if it concern not him, it is needless for you to endeavour to be introduced; for her thoughts are all engrossed by her son, and she will not hear of any other subject." "it is only about that dear son," replied the surgeon, "that i wish to speak to her." "if so," said the slave, "you need only follow us to the palace, and you shall soon have the opportunity." accordingly, as soon as pirouzè was returned to her apartment, the slave acquainted her that a person unknown had some important information to communicate to her, and that it related to prince codadad. no sooner had he uttered these words, than pirouzè expressed her impatience to see the stranger. the slave immediately conducted him into the princess's closet, who ordered all her women to withdraw, except two, from whom she concealed nothing. as soon as she saw the surgeon, she asked him eagerly, what news he had to tell her of codadad? "madam," answered the surgeon, after having prostrated himself on the ground, "i have a long account to give you, and such as will surprise you." he then related all the particulars of what had passed between codadad and his brothers, which she listened to with eager attention; but when he came to speak of the murder, the tender mother fainted away on her sofa, as if she had herself been stabbed like her son. her two women used proper means, and soon brought her to herself. the surgeon continued his relation; and when he had concluded, pirouzè said to him, "go back to the princess of deryabar, and assure her from me that the sultan shall soon own her for his daughter-in-law; and as for yourself, be satisfied, that your services shall be rewarded as liberally as they deserve." when the surgeon was gone, pirouzè remained on the sofa, in such a state of affliction as may easily be imagined; and yielding to her tenderness at the recollection of codadad, "o my son," said she, "i must never then expect to see you more! alas! when i gave you leave to depart from samaria, and you took leave of me, i did not imagine that so unfortunate a death awaited you at such a distance from me. unfortunate codadad! why did you leave me? you would not, it is true, have acquired so much renown, but you had been still alive, and not have cost your mother so many tears." while she uttered these words, she wept bitterly, and her two attendants moved by her grief, mingled their tears with hers. whilst they were all three in this manner vying in affliction, the sultan came into the closet, and seeing them in this condition, asked pirouzè whether she had received any bad news concerning codadad? "alas! sir," said she, "all is over, my son has lost his life, and to add to my sorrow, i cannot pay him the funeral rites; for, in all probability, wild beasts have devoured him." she then told him all she had heard from the surgeon, and did not fail to enlarge on the inhuman manner in which codadad had been murdered by his brothers. the sultan did not give pirouzè time to finish her relation, but transported with anger, and giving way to his passion, "madam," said he to the princess, "those perfidious wretches who cause you to shed these tears, and are the occasion of mortal grief to their father, shall soon feel the punishment due to their guilt." the sultan having spoken these words, with indignation in his countenance, went directly to the presence-chamber where all his courtiers attended, and such of the people as had petitions to present to him. they were alarmed to see him in passion, and thought his anger had been kindled against his people. their hearts were chilled with fear. he ascended the throne, and causing his grand vizier to approach, "hassan," said he, "go immediately, take a thousand of my guards, and seize all the princes, my sons; shut them up in the tower used as a prison for murderers, and let this be done in a moment." all who were present trembled at this extraordinary command; and the grand vizier, without uttering a word, laid his hand on his head, to express his obedience, and hastened from the hall to execute his orders. in the mean time the sultan dismissed those who attended for audience, and declared he would not hear of any business for a month to come. he was still in the hall when the vizier returned. "are all my sons," demanded he, "in the tower?" "they are, sir," answered the vizier, "i have obeyed your orders." "this is not all," replied the sultan, "i have further commands for you;" and so saying he went out of the hall of audience, and returned to pirouzè's apartment, the vizier following him. he asked the princess where codadad's widow had taken up her lodging? pirouzè's women told him, for the surgeon had not forgotten that in his relation. the sultan then turning to his minister, "go," said he, "to this caravanserai, and conduct a young princess who lodges there, with all the respect due to her quality, to my palace." the vizier was not long in performing what he was ordered. he mounted on horseback with all the emirs and courtiers, and repaired to the caravanserai, where the princess of deryabar was lodged, whom he acquainted with his orders; and presented her, from the sultan, a fine white mule, whose saddle and bridle were adorned with gold, rubies, and diamonds. she mounted, and proceeded to the palace. the surgeon attended her, mounted on a beautiful tartar horse which the vizier had provided for him. all the people were at their windows, or in the streets, to see the cavalcade; and it being given out that the princess, whom they conducted in such state to court, was codadad's wife, the city resounded with acclamations, the air rung with shouts of joy, which would have been turned into lamentations had that prince's fatal adventure been known; so much was he beloved by all. the princess of deryabar found the sultan at the palace-gate, waiting to receive her: he took her by the hand, and led her to pirouzè's apartment, where a very moving scene took place. codadad's wife found her affliction redouble at the sight of her husband's father and mother; as, on the other hand, those parents could not look on their son's wife without being much affected. she cast herself at the sultan's feet, and having bathed them with tears, was so overcome with grief, that she was not able to speak. pirouzè was in no better state. and the sultan, moved by these affecting objects, gave way to his own feelings, and wept. all three, mingling their tears and sighs, for some time observed a silence, equally tender and pitiful. at length the princess of deryabar, being somewhat recovered, recounted the adventure of the castle, and codadad's disaster. then she demanded justice for the treachery of the princes. "yes, madam," said the sultan, "those ungrateful wretches shall perish; but codadad's death must be first made public, that the punishment of his brothers may not cause my subjects to rebel; and though we have not my son's body, we will not omit paying him the last duties." this said, he directed his discourse to the vizier, and ordered him to cause to be erected a dome of white marble, in a delightful plain, in the midst of which the city of harran stands. then he appointed the princess of deryabar a suitable apartment in his palace, acknowledging her for his daughter-in-law. hassan caused the work to be carried on with such diligence, and employed so many workmen, that the dome was soon finished. within it was erected a tomb, which was covered with gold brocade. when all was completed, the sultan ordered prayers to be said, and appointed a day for the obsequies of his son. on that day all the inhabitants of the city went out upon the plain to see the ceremony performed, which was after the following manner. the sultan, attended by his vizier and the principal lords of the court, proceeded towards the dome, and being come to it, he went in and sat down with them on carpets of black satin embroidered with gold flowers. a great body of horse-guards hanging their heads, drew up close about the dome, and marched round it twice, observing a profound silence; but at the third round they halted before the door, and all of them with a loud voice pronounced these words: "o prince! son to the sultan, could we by dint of sword, and human valour, repair your misfortune, we would bring you back to life; but the king of kings has commanded, and the angel of death has obeyed." having uttered these words, they drew off, to make way for a hundred old men, all of them mounted on black mules, and having long grey beards. these were anchorites, who had lived all their days concealed in caves. they never appeared in sight of the world, but when they were to assist at the obsequies of the sultans of harran, and of the princes of their family. each of these venerable persons carried on his head a book, which he held with one hand. they took three turns round the dome without uttering a word; then stopping before the door, one of them said, "o prince! what can we do for thee? if thou couldst be restored to life by prayer or learning, we would rub our grey beards at thy feet, and recite prayers; but the king of the universe has taken thee away for ever." this said, the old men moved to a distance from the dome, and immediately fifty beautiful young maidens drew near to it; each of them mounted on a little white horse; they wore no veils, and carried gold baskets full of all sorts of precious stones. they also rode thrice round the dome, and halting at the same place as the others had done, the youngest of them spoke in the name of all, as follows: "o prince! once so beautiful, what relief can you expect from us? if we could restore you to life by our charms, we would become your slaves. but you are no longer sensible to beauty, and have no more occasion for us." when the young maids were withdrawn, the sultan and his courtiers arose, and having walked thrice around the tomb, the sultan spoke as follows: "o my dear son, light of my eyes, i have then lost thee for ever!" he accompanied these words with sighs, and watered the tomb with his tears; his courtiers weeping with him. the gate of the dome was then closed, and all the people returned to the city. next day there were public prayers in all the mosques, and the same was continued for eight days successively. on the ninth the king resolved to cause the princes his sons to be beheaded. the people incensed at their cruelty towards codadad, impatiently expected to see them executed. the scaffolds were erecting, but the execution was respited, because, on a sudden, intelligence was brought that the neighbouring princes, who had before made war on the sultan of harran, were advancing with more numerous forces than on the first invasion, and were then not far from the city. it had been long known that they were preparing for war, but their preparations caused no alarm. this news occasioned general consternation, and gave new cause to lament the loss of codadad, who had signalized himself in the former war against the same enemies. "alas!" said they, "were the brave codadad alive, we should little regard those princes who are coming to surprise us." the sultan, nothing dismayed, raised men with all possible speed, formed a considerable army, and being too brave to await the enemy's coming to attack him within his walls, marched out to meet them. they, on their side, being informed by their advanced parties that the sultan of harran was marching to engage them, halted in the plain, and formed their army. as soon as the sultan discovered them, he also drew up his forces, and ranged them in order of battle. the signal was given and he attacked them with extraordinary vigour; nor was the opposition inferior. much blood was shed on both sides, and the victory remained long dubious; but at length it seemed to incline to the sultan of harran's enemies, who, being more numerous, were upon the point of surrounding him, when a great body of cavalry appeared on the plain, and approached the two armies. the sight of this fresh party daunted both sides, neither knowing what to think of them: but their doubts were soon cleared; for they fell upon the flank of the sultan of harran's enemies with such a furious charge, that they soon broke and routed them. nor did they stop here; they pursued them, and cut most of them in pieces. the sultan of harran, who had attentively observed all that passed, admired the bravery of this strange body of cavalry, whose unexpected arrival had given the victory to his army. but, above all, he was charmed with their chief, whom he had seen fighting with a more than ordinary valour. he longed to know the name of the generous hero. impatient to see and thank him, he advanced towards him, but perceived he was coming to prevent him. the two princes drew near, and the sultan of harran discovering codadad in the brave warrior who had just assisted him, or rather defeated his enemies, became motionless with joy and surprise. "father," said codadad to him, "you have sufficient cause to be astonished at the sudden appearance before your majesty of a man, whom perhaps you concluded to be dead. i should have been so had not heaven preserved me still to serve you against your enemies." "o my son!" cried the sultan, "is it possible that you are restored to me? alas! i despaired of seeing you more." so saying he stretched out his arms to the young prince, who flew to such a tender embrace. "i know all, my son," said the sultan again, after having long held him in his arms. "i know what return your brothers have made you for delivering them out of the hands of the black; but you shall be revenged to-morrow. let us now go to the palace where your mother, who has shed so many tears on your account, expects me to rejoice with us for the defeat of our enemies. what a joy will it be to her to be informed, that my victory is your work!" "sir," said codadad, "give me leave to ask how you could know the adventure of the castle? have any of my brothers, repenting, owned it to you?" "no," answered the sultan; "the princess of deryabar has given us an account of every thing, for she is in my palace and came thither to demand justice against your brothers." codadad was transported with joy, to learn that the princess his wife was at the court. "let us go, sir," cried he to his father in rapture, "let us go to my mother, who waits for us. i am impatient to dry up her tears, as well as those of the princess of deryabar." the sultan immediately returned to the city with his army, and re-entered his palace victorious, amidst the acclamations of the people, who followed him in crowds, praying to heaven to prolong his life, and extolling codadad to the skies. they found pirouzè and her daughter-in-law waiting to congratulate the sultan; but words cannot express the transports of joy they felt, when they saw the young prince with him: their embraces were mingled with tears of a very different kind from those they had before shed for him. when they had sufficiently yielded to all the emotions that the ties of blood and love inspired, they asked codadad by what miracle he came to be still alive? he answered, that a peasant mounted on a mule happening accidentally to come into the tent, where he lay senseless, and perceiving him alone, and stabbed in several places, had made him fast on his mule, and carried him to his house, where he applied to his wounds certain herbs chewed, which recovered him. "when i found myself well," added he, "i returned thanks to the peasant, and gave him all the diamonds i had. i then made for the city of harran; but being informed by the way, that some neighbouring princes had gathered forces, and were on their march against the sultan's subjects, i made myself known to the villagers, and stirred them up to undertake his defence. i armed a great number of young men, and heading them, happened to arrive at the time when the two armies were engaged." when he had done speaking, the sultan said, "let us return thanks to god for having preserved codadad; but it is requisite that the traitors, who would have destroyed him, should perish." "sir," answered the generous prince, "though they are wicked and ungrateful, consider they are your own flesh and blood: they are my brothers; i forgive their offence, and beg you to pardon them." this generosity drew tears from the sultan, who caused the people to be assembled and declared codadad his heir. he then ordered the princes, who were prisoners, to be brought out loaded with irons. pirouzè's son struck off their chains, and embraced them all successively, with as much sincerity and affection as he had done in the court of the black's castle. the people were charmed with codadad's generosity, and loaded him with applause. the surgeon was next nobly rewarded in requital of the services he had done the princess of deryabar. the story of abou hassan, or the sleeper awakened. in the reign of the caliph haroon al rusheed, there lived at bagdad a very rich merchant, who, having married a woman advanced in years, had but one son, whom he named abou hassan, and educated with great restraint: when his son was thirty years old, the merchant dying, left him his sole heir, and master of great riches, amassed together by much frugality and close application to business. abou hassan, whose views and inclinations were very different from those of his father, determined to make another use of his wealth; for as his father had never allowed him any money but what was just necessary for subsistence, and he had always envied those young persons of his age who wanted for nothing, and who debarred themselves from none of those pleasures to which youth are so much addicted, he resolved in his turn to distinguish himself by extravagancies proportionable to his fortune. to this end he divided his riches into two parts; with one half he bought houses in town, and land in the country, with a resolution never to touch the income of his real estate, which was considerable enough to live upon very handsomely, but lay it all by as he received it. with the other half, which consisted of ready money, he designed to make himself amends for the time he had lost by the severe restraint in which his father had always kept him. with this intent, abou hassan formed a society with youths of his own age and condition, who thought of nothing but how to make their time pass agreeably. every day he gave them splendid entertainments, at which the most delicate viands were served up, and the most exquisite wines flowed in profusion, while concerts of the best vocal and instrumental music by performers of both sexes heightened their pleasures, and this young band of debauchees with the glasses in their hands, joined their songs with the music. these feasts were accompanied by ballets, for which the best dancers of both sexes were engaged. these entertainments, renewed every day, were so expensive to abou hassan, that he could not support the extravagance above a year: and the great sum which he had appropriated to this prodigality and the year ended together. as soon as he discontinued keeping this table, his friends forsook him; whenever they saw him they avoided him, and if by chance he met any of them, and went to stop them, they always excused themselves on some presence or other. abou hassan was more affected by this behaviour of his friends, who had forsaken him so basely and ungratefully, after all the protestations they had made him, of inviolable attachment, than by the loss of all the money he had so foolishly squandered. he went melancholy and thoughtful, his countenance expressive of deep vexation, into his mother's apartment, and sat down on the end of a sofa at a distance from her. "what is the matter with you, son?" said his mother, seeing him thus depressed. "why are you so altered, so dejected, and so different from yourself? you could not certainly be more concerned, if you had lost all you had. i know you have lived very extravagantly, and believe all your money is spent; you have still, however, a good estate; and the reason that i did not so much oppose your irregular way of living was, that i knew the wise precaution you had taken to preserve half your property. i do not, therefore, see why you should plunge yourself into this deep melancholy." at these words abou hassan melted into tears; and in the midst of his sighs exclaimed, "ah! mother, i see at last how insupportable poverty must be; i am sensible that it deprives us of joy, as the setting of the sun does of light. as poverty makes us forget all the commendations passed upon us before our fall, it makes us endeavour to conceal ourselves, and spend our nights in tears and sorrow. in short, a poor man is looked upon, both by friends and relations, as a stranger. you know, mother, how i have treated my friends for this year past; i have entertained them with all imaginable generosity, till i have spent all my money, and now they have left me, when they suppose i can treat them no longer. for my real estate, i thank heaven for having given me grace to keep the oath i made not to encroach upon that. i shall now know how to use what is left. but i will, however, try how far my friends, who deserve not that i should call them so, will carry their ingratitude. i will go to them one after another, and when i have represented to them what i have done on their account, ask them to make up a sum of money, to relieve me, merely to try if i can find any sentiment of gratitude remaining in them." "i do not pretend, son," said abou hassan's mother, "to dissuade you from your design; but i can tell you beforehand, that you have no ground for hope. believe me, you will kind no relief but from the estate you have reserved. i see you do not, but will soon, know those people, who, among persons of your sort, are generally called friends, and i wish to heaven you may know it in the manner i desire, for your own good." "mother," replied abou hassan, "i am persuaded of the truth of what you say, but shall be more certain of a fact which concerns me so nearly, when i shall have informed myself fully of their baseness and insensibility." abou hassan went immediately to his friends, whom he found at home; represented to them the great need he was in, and begged of them to assist him. he promised to give bonds to pay them the money they might lend him; giving them to understand at the same time, that it was, in a great measure, on their account that he was so distressed. that he might the more powerfully excite their generosity, he forgot not to allure them with the hopes of being once again entertained in the same manner as before. not one of his companions was affected with the arguments which the afflicted abou hassan used to persuade them; and he had the mortification to find, that many of them told him plainly they did not know him. he returned home full of indignation; and going into his mother's apartment, said, "ah! madam, you were right; instead of friends, i have found none but perfidious ungrateful wretches, who deserve not my friendship; i renounce them, and promise you i will never see them more." he resolved to be as good as his word, and took every precaution to avoid falling again into the inconvenience which his former prodigality had occasioned; taking an oath never to give an inhabitant of bagdad any entertainment while he lived. he drew the strong box into which he had put the rents received from his estates from the recess where he had placed it in reserve, put it in the room of that he had emptied, and resolved to take out every day no more than was sufficient to defray the expense of a single person to sup with him, who, according to the oath he had taken, was not of bagdad, but a stranger arrived in the city the same day, and who must take his leave of him the following morning. conformably to this plan, abou hassan took care every morning to provide whatever was necessary, and towards the close of the evening, went and sat at the end of bagdad bridge; and as soon as he saw a stranger, accosted him civilly invited him to sup and lodge with him that night, and after having informed him of the law he had imposed upon himself, conducted him to his house. the repast with which abou hassan regaled his guests was not costly, but well dressed, with plenty of good wine, and generally lasted till the night was pretty far advanced; instead of entertaining his guests with the affairs of state, his family, or business, as is too frequent, he conversed on different agreeable subjects. he was naturally of so gay and pleasant a temper, that he could give the most agreeable turns to every subject, and make the most melancholy persons merry. when he sent away his guest the next morning, he always said, "god preserve you from all sorrow wherever you go; when i invited you yesterday to come and sup with me, i informed you of the law i have imposed on myself; therefore do not take it ill if i tell you that we must never see one another again, nor drink together, either at home or any where else, for reasons best known to myself: so god conduct you." abou hassan was very exact in the observance of this oath, and never looked upon or spoke to the strangers he had once entertained; if he met them afterwards in the streets, the squares, or any public assemblies, he affected not to see them, and turned away to avoid them, that they might not speak to him, or he have any communication with them. he had acted for a long time in this manner, when, one afternoon, a little before sunset, as he sat upon the bridge according to custom, the caliph haroon al rusheed came by, but so disguised that it was impossible to know him; for that monarch, though his chief ministers and officers of justice acquitted themselves of their duty very punctually, would nevertheless inform himself of every thing, and for that purpose often disguised himself in different ways, and walked through the city and suburbs of bagdad, sometimes one way and sometimes another. that day, being the first of the month, he was dressed like a merchant of moussul, and was followed by a tall stout slave. as the caliph had in his disguise a grave and respectable appearance, abou hassan, who thought him to be a moussul merchant, rose up, and after having saluted him with a graceful air, said to him, "sir, i congratulate you on your happy arrival in bagdad, i beg you to do me the honour to sup with me, and repose yourself at my house for this night, after the fatigue of your journey." he then told him his custom of entertaining the first stranger he met with. the caliph found something so odd and singular in abou hassan's whim, that he was very desirous to know the cause; and told him that he could not better merit a civility, which he did not expect as a stranger, than by accepting the obliging offer made him; that he had only to lead the way, and he was ready to follow him. abou hassan treated the caliph as his equal, conducted him home, and led him into a room very neatly furnished, where he set him on a sofa, in the most honourable place. supper was ready, and the cloth laid. abou hassan's mother, who took upon herself the care of the kitchen, sent up three dishes; the first contained a capon and four large pullets, which was set in the middle; and the second and third, placed on each side, contained, one a fat roasted goose, and the other broiled pigeons. this was all; but they were good of the kind and well flavoured, with proper sauces. abou hassan sat down opposite his guest, and he and the caliph began to eat heartily of what they liked best, without speaking or drinking, according to the custom of the country. when they had done eating, the caliph's slave brought them water to wash their hands: and in the mean time abou hassan's mother cleared the table, and brought up a dessert of all the various sorts or fruits then in season; as grapes, peaches, apples, pears, and various pastes of dried almonds, &c. as soon as it grew dark, wax candles were lighted, and abou hassan, after requesting his mother to take care of the caliph's slave, set on bottles and glasses. abou hassan sitting down with the pretended moussul merchant again, filled out a glass of wine before he touched the fruit; and holding it in his hand, said to the caliph, "you know, sir, that the cock never drinks before he calls to his hens to come and drink with him; i invite you to follow my example. i do not know what you may think; but, for my part, i cannot reckon him a wise man who does not love wine. let us leave that sort of people to their dull melancholy humours, and seek for mirth, which is only to be found in a bumper." while abou hassan was drinking' the caliph taking the glass that was set for him, said, "you are an honest fellow; i like your pleasant temper, and expect you will fill me as much." abou hassan, as soon as he had drunk, filled the caliph's glass, and giving it to him, "taste this wine, sir," said he, "i will warrant it good." "i am well persuaded of that," replied the caliph, laughing, "you know how to choose the best." "o," replied abou hassan, while the caliph was drinking his glass, "one need only look in your face to be assured that you have seen the world, and know what good living is. if," added he in arabic verse, "my house could think and express its joy, how happy would it be to possess you, and, bowing before you, would exclaim, 'how overjoyed am i to see myself honoured with the company of so accomplished and polite a personage, and for meeting with a man of your merit.'" the caliph, naturally fond of merriment, was highly diverted with these sallies of abou hassan, and artfully promoted drinking, often asking for wine, thinking that when it began to operate, he might from his talkativeness satisfy his curiosity. he asked him his name, his business, and how he spent his life. "my name, sir," replied he, "is abou hassan. i lost my father, who was a merchant of bagdad, and though not the richest, yet lived very comfortably. when he died, he left me money enough to live free from business; but as he always kept a very strict hand over me, i was willing, when he was gone, to make up for the time i thought i had lost. notwithstanding this," continued abou hassan, "i was more prudent than most young people who give themselves up to debauchery, without any thought, pursue it till they reduce themselves to the utmost poverty, and are forced to do penance during the rest of their lives. to avoid this misfortune, i divided what i had left me into two parts, landed estate and ready money. i destined the ready money to supply the expenses of entertaining my acquaintance. i meditated, and took a fixed resolution not to touch my rents. i associated with young people of my own age, and with my ready money, which i spent profusely, treated them splendidly every day; and in short, spared for no sort of pleasure. but this course did not last long; for by the time the year was out, i had got to the bottom of my box, and then all my table-friends vanished. i made a visit to every one of them successively, and represented to them the miserable condition i was in, but none of them offered to relieve me. upon this i renounced their friendship, and retrenched so far, as to live within the compass of my income, bound myself to keep company with none but the first stranger i might meet with coming every day into bagdad, and to entertain him but one day and one night. i have told you the rest before; and i thank my good fortune this day for having met with a stranger of so much worth." the caliph was well satisfied with this information, and said to abou hassan, "i cannot enough commend the measures you have taken, and the prudence with which you have acted, by forsaking your debauchery; a conduct rarely to be met with in young persons; and i esteem you the more for being steady to your resolution. it was a slippery path you trod in, and i cannot but admire your self-command, that, after having seen the end of your ready money, you could so far refrain as not to enter upon your rents, or even your estate. in short, i must own, i envy your situation. you are the happiest man in the world, to enjoy every day the company of some one with whom you can discourse freely and agreeably, and to whom you give an opportunity to declare, wherever he goes, how handsome he was received by you. but we talk too long without drinking; come, drink, and pour out a glass for me." in this manner the caliph and abou hassan conversed together, drinking and talking of indifferent subjects, till the night was pretty far advanced; when the caliph, pretending to be fatigued after his journey, told his host he stood in need of a little rest. "but," added he, "as i would not deprive you of yours on my account, before we part (because to-morrow i may be gone before you are stirring), i should be glad to shew you how sensible i am of your civility, and the good cheer and hospitality you have strewn me. the only thing that troubles me is, that i know not which way to make you any acknowledgment. i beg of you, therefore, to let me understand how i may do it' and you shall see i will not be ungrateful; for it is impossible but a man like you must have some business, some want, or wish for something agreeable to you. speak freely, and open your mind; for though i am but a merchant, it may be in my power to oblige you myself, or by some friend." to these offers of the caliph, abou hassan, taking him still for a moussul merchant, replied, "i am very well persuaded, sir, that it is not out of compliment that you make me these generous tenders; but upon the word of an honest man, i assure you, i have nothing that troubles me, no business, nor desires, and i ask nothing of any body. i have not the least ambition, as i told you before; and am satisfied with my condition: therefore, i can only thank you for your obliging proffers, and the honour you have done me in condescending to partake of my frugal fare. yet i must tell you," pursued abou hassan, "there is one thing gives me uneasiness, without, however, disturbing my rest. you must know the town of bagdad is divided into quarters, in each of which there is a mosque with an imaum to perform service at certain hours, at the head of the quarter which assembles there. the imaum of the division i live in is a surly curmudgeon, of an austere countenance, and the greatest hypocrite in the world. four old men of this neighbourhood, who are people of the same stamp, meet regularly every day at this imaum's house. there they vent their slander, calumny, and malice against me and the whole quarter, to the disturbance of the peace of the neighbourhood, and the promotion of dissension. some they threaten, others they frighten; and, in short, would be lords paramount, and have every one govern himself according to their caprice, though they know not how to govern themselves. indeed, i am sorry to see that they meddle with any thing but their koraun, and will not let the world live quietly." "well, i suppose," said the caliph, "you wish to have a stop put to this disorder?" "you have guessed right," answered abou hassan; "and the only thing i should pray for, would be to be caliph but for one day, in the stead of our sovereign lord and master haroon al rusheed, commander of the faithful." "what would you do if you were?" said the caliph. "i would make examples of them," answered abou hassan, "to the satisfaction of all honest men. i would punish the four old men with each a hundred bastinadoes on the soles of their feet, and the imaum with four hundred, to teach them not to disturb and abuse their neighbours in future." the caliph was extremely pleased with this thought of abou hassan's; and as he loved adventures, resolved to make this a very singular one. "indeed," said he, "i approve much of your wish, which proceeds from an upright heart, that cannot bear the malice of such officious hypocrites; i could like to see it realized, and it is not so impossible as you may imagine. i am persuaded that the caliph would willingly put his authority for twenty-four hours into your hands if he knew your intentions, and the good use you would make of it. though a foreign merchant, i have credit enough to contribute in some degree to the execution of this plan." "i see," said abou hassan, "you laugh at my foolish fancy, and the caliph himself would laugh at my extravagance if he knew it: yet it would be a means of informing him of the behaviour of the imaum and his companions, and induce him to chastise them." "heaven forbid," replied the caliph, "that i, who have been so handsomely entertained by you, should laugh at you; neither do i believe, as much a stranger as i am to you, that the caliph would be displeased: but let us leave off talking; it is almost midnight, and time to go to bed." "with all my heart," said abou hassan; "i would not be any hindrance to your going to rest; but there is still some wine in the bottle, and if you please we will drink it off first, and then retire. the only thing that i have to recommend to you is, that when you go out in the morning, if i am not up, you will not leave the door open, but give yourself the trouble of shutting it after you." this the caliph promised to do: and while abou hassan was talking, took the bottle and two glasses, filled his own first, saying, "here is a cup of thanks to you," and then filling the other, put into it artfully a little opiate powder, which he had about him and giving it to abou hassan, said, "you have taken the pains to fill for me all night, and it is the least i can do to save you the trouble once: i beg you to take this glass; drink it off for my sake." abou hassan took the glass, and to shew his guest with how much pleasure he received the honour, drank it off at once; but had scarcely set the glass upon the table, when the powder began to operate; he fell into so sound a sleep, and his head knocked against his knees so suddenly, that the caliph could not help laughing. the caliph commanded the slave he had brought with him, who entered the room as soon as he had supped, and had waited to receive orders, to take abou hassan upon his back, and follow him; but to be sure to observe the house, that he might know it again. in this manner the caliph, followed by the slave with his sleeping load, went out of the house, but without shutting the door after him as he had been desired, went directly to his palace, and by a private door into his own apartment, where the officers of his chamber were in waiting, whom he ordered to undress abou hassan, and put him into his bed, which they immediately performed. the caliph then sent for all the officers and ladies of the palace, and said to them, "i would have all those whose business it is to attend my levee wait to-morrow morning upon the man who lies in my bed, pay the same respect to him as to myself, and obey him in whatever he may command; let him be refused nothing that he asks, and be addressed and answered as if he were the commander of the faithful. in short, i expect that you attend to him as the true caliph, without regarding me; and disobey him not in the least circumstance." the officers and ladies, who understood that the caliph meant to divert himself, answered by low bows, and then withdrew, every one preparing to contribute to the best of their power to perform their respective parts adroitly. the caliph next sent for the grand vizier: "jaaffier," said he, "i have sent for you to instruct you, and to prevent your being surprised to-morrow when you come to audience, at seeing this man seated on my throne in the royal robes: accost him with the same reverence and respect as you pay to myself: observe and punctually execute whatever he bids you do, the same as if i commanded you. he will exercise great liberality, and commission you with the distribution of it. do all he commands; even if his liberality should extend so far as to empty all the coffers in my treasury; and remember to acquaint all my emirs, and the officers without the palace, to pay him the same honour at audience as to myself, and to carry on the matter so well, that he may not perceive the least thing that may interrupt the diversion which i design myself." after the grand vizier had retired, the caliph went to bed in another apartment, and gave mesrour, the chief of his eunuchs, the orders which he was to execute, that every thing should succeed as he intended, so that he might see how abou hassan would use the power and authority of the caliph for the short time he had desired to have it. above all, he charged him not to fail to awaken him at the usual hour, before he awakened abou hassan, because he wished to be present when he arose. mesrour failed not to do as the caliph had commanded, and as soon as the caliph went into the room where abou hassan lay, he placed himself in a little raised closet, from whence he could see all that passed. all the officers and ladies, who were to attend abou hassan's levee, went in at the same time, and took their posts according to their rank, ready to acquit themselves of their respective duties, as if the caliph himself had been going to rise. as it was just day-break, and time to prepare for the morning prayer before sun rise, the officer who stood nearest to the head of the bed put a sponge steeped in vinegar to abou hassan's nose, who immediately turning his head about, without opening his eyes, discharged a kind of phlegm, which was received in a little golden basin before it fell on the carpet. this was the usual effect of the caliph's powder, the sleep lasting longer or shorter, in proportion to the dose. when abou hassan laid down his head on the bolster, he opened his eyes; and by the dawning light that appeared, found himself in a large room, magnificently furnished, the ceiling of which was finely painted in arabesque, adorned with vases of gold and silver, and the floor covered with a rich silk tapestry. he saw himself surrounded by many young and handsome ladies, many of them having instruments of music in their hands, and black eunuchs richly clothed, all standing with great modesty and respect. after casting his eyes on the covering of the bed, he perceived it was cloth of gold richly embossed with pearl and diamonds; and near the bed lay, on a cushion, a habit of tissue embroidered with jewels, with a caliph's turban. at the sight of these glittering objects, abou hassan was in the most inexpressible amazement, and looked upon all he saw as a dream; yet a dream he wished it not to be. "so," said he to himself, "i am caliph; but," added he, recollecting himself, "it is only a dream, the effect of the wish i entertained my guest with last night;" and then he turned himself about and shut his eyes to sleep. at the same time the eunuch said very respectfully, "commander of the faithful, it is time for your majesty to rise to prayers, the morning begins to advance." these words very much surprised abou hassan. "am i awake, or do i sleep?" said he to himself. "ah, certainly i am asleep!" continued he, keeping his eyes shut; "there is no reason to doubt of it." immediately the eunuch, who saw he had no inclination to get up, said again, "your majesty must permit me to repeat once more that it is time to rise to morning prayer, unless you choose to let it pass; the sun is just rising, and you never neglect this duty." "i am mistaken," said abou hassan immediately, "i am not asleep, but awake; for those who sleep do not hear, and i hear somebody speak to me;" then opening his eyes again, he saw plainly by broad day-light, what he had seen but indistinctly before; and started up, with a smiling countenance, like a man overjoyed at sudden promotion. the caliph, from his recess, penetrated his thoughts with great delight. the young ladies of the palace now prostrated themselves with their faces to the ground before abou hassan, and those who had instruments of music in their hands wished him a good morrow, by a concert of soft flutes, hautboys, theorboes, and other harmonious instruments, with which he was enchanted, and in such an ecstacy, that he knew not whether he was himself; but reverting to his first idea, he still doubted whether what he saw and heard was a dream or reality. he clapped his hands before his eyes, and lowering his head, said to himself, "what means all this? where am i? and to whom does this palace belong? what can these eunuchs, handsome well-dressed officers, beautiful ladies, and musicians mean: how is it possible for me to distinguish whether i am in my right senses or in a dream?" when he took his hands from his eyes, opened them, and lifted up his head, the sun shone full in at the chamber window; and at that instant mesrour, the chief of the eunuchs, came in, prostrated himself before abou hassan, and said, "commander of the faithful, your majesty will excuse me for representing to you, that you used not to rise so late, and that the time of prayer is over. if your majesty has not had a bad night, it is time to ascend your throne and hold a council as usual; all your generals, governors, and other great officers of state, wait your presence in the council-hall." at this discourse, abou hassan was persuaded that he was neither asleep nor in a dream; but at the same time was not less embarrassed and confused under his uncertainty what steps to take: at last, looking earnestly at mesrour, he said to him in a serious tone, "whom is it you speak to, and call the commander of the faithful? i do not know you, and you must mistake me for somebody else." any person but mesrour would have been puzzled at these questions of abou hassan; but he had been so well instructed by the caliph, that he played his part admirably. "my imperial lord and master," said he, "your majesty only speaks thus to try me. is not your majesty the commander of the faithful, monarch of the world from east to west, and vicar on earth to the prophet sent of god? mesrour, your poor slave, has not forgotten you, after so many years that he has had the honour and happiness to serve and pay his respects to your majesty. he would think himself the most unhappy of men, if he has incurred your displeasure, and begs of you most humbly to remove his fears; but had rather suppose that you have been disturbed by some troublesome dream." abou hassan burst out laughing at these words, and fell backwards upon the bolster, which pleased the caliph so much that he would have laughed as loud himself, if he had not been afraid of putting a stop too soon to the pleasant scene he had promised himself. abou hassan, when he had tired himself with laughing, sat up again, and speaking to a little eunuch that stood by him, black as mesrour, said, "hark ye, tell me whom i am?" "sir," answered the little boy, modestly, "your majesty is the commander of the believers, and god's vicar on earth." "you are a little liar, black face," said abou hassan. then he called the lady that stood nearest to him; "come hither, fair one," said he, holding out his hand, "bite the end of my finger, that i may feel whether i am asleep or awake." the lady, who knew the caliph saw all that passed, was overjoyed to have an opportunity of shewing her power of diverting him, went with a grave countenance, and putting his finger between her teeth, bit it so hard that she put him to violent pain. snatching his hand quickly back again, he said, "i find i am awake and not asleep. but by what miracle am i become caliph in a night's time! this is certainly the most strange and surprising event in the world!" then addressing himself to the same lady, he said, "i conjure you, by the protection of god, in whom you trust as well as i, not to hide the truth from me; am i really the commander of the faithful?" "it is so true," answered the lady, "that we who are your slaves are amazed to find that you will not believe yourself to be so." "you are a deceiver," replied abou hassan: "i know very well who i am." as the chief of the eunuchs perceived that abou hassan now wished to rise, he offered him his hand, and helped him to get out of bed. no sooner were his feet set on the floor, than the chamber rang with the repeated acclamations of the officers and ladies, who cried out all together, "commander of the faithful, god give your majesty a good day." "o heaven!" cried abou hassan, "what a strange thing this is! last night i was abou hassan, and this morning i am the commander of the believers! i cannot comprehend this sudden and surprising change." presently some of the officers began to dress him; and when they had done, mesrour led him through all the eunuchs and ladies, who were ranged on both sides, quite to the council chamber door, which was opened by one of the officers. mesrour walked before him to the foot of the throne, where he stopped, and putting one hand under one arm, while another officer who followed did the same by the other, they helped him to ascend the throne. abou hassan sat down amidst the acclamations of the officers, who wished him all happiness and prosperity, and turning to the right and left he saw the officers of the guards ranged in order, and making a fine appearance. the caliph in the mean time came out of the closet, and went into another, which looked into the hall, from whence he could see and hear all that passed in council, where his grand vizier presided in his place. what pleased him highly, was to see abou hassan fill his throne with almost as much gravity as himself. as soon as abou hassan had seated himself, the grand vizier prostrated himself at the foot of the throne, and rising, said, "commander of the faithful, god shower down blessings on your majesty in this life, receive you into his paradise in the other world, and confound your enemies." abou hassan, after all that had happened that morning, at these words of the grand vizier, never doubted but that he was caliph, as he wished to be; and without examining any farther, how or by what adventure, or sudden change of fortune, he had become so, immediately began to exercise his power, and looking very gravely at the vizier, asked him what he had to say? "commander of the faithful," replied the grand vizier, "the emirs, vizier, and other officers of your council, wait without till your majesty gives them leave to pay their accustomed respects." abou hassan ordered the door to be opened, and the grand vizier addressing himself to the officers in waiting, said, "chief of the door-keepers, the commander of the faithful orders you to do your duty." when the door was opened, the viziers, emirs, and principal officers of the court, all dressed magnificently in their habits of ceremony, went in their order to the foot of the throne, paid their respects to abou hassan; and bowing their heads down to the carpet, saluted him with the title of commander of the faithful, according to the instructions of the grand vizier, and afterwards took their seats. when this ceremony was over, and they were all placed, there was a profound silence. the grand vizier always standing before the throne, began according to the order of papers in his hand to make his report of affairs, which at that time were of very little consequence. nevertheless, the caliph could not but admire how abou hassan acquitted himself in his exalted station without the least hesitation or embarrassment, and decided well in all matters, as his own good sense suggested. but before the grand vizier had finished his report, abou hassan perceived the judge of the police, whom he knew by sight, sitting in his place. "stop," said he, to the grand vizier, interrupting him; "i have an order of consequence to give to the judge of the police." the judge of the police perceiving that abou hassan looked at him, and hearing his name mentioned, arose from his seat, and went gravely to the foot of the throne, where he prostrated himself with his face to the ground. "judge of the police," said abou hassan, "go immediately to such a quarter, where you will find a mosque, seize the imaum and four old grey beards, give each of the old men a hundred bastinadoes, and the imaum four hundred. after that, mount them all five, clothed in rags, on camels, with their faces to the tails, and lead them through the whole city, with a crier before them, who shall proclaim with a loud voice, 'this is the punishment of all those who trouble their heads with other people's affairs, make it their business to create disturbances and misunderstandings in families in their neighbourhood, and do them all the mischief in their power.' my intention is also, that you enjoin them to leave that quarter, and never to set foot in it more: and while your lieutenant is conducting them through the town, return, and give me an account of the execution of my orders." the judge of the police laid his hand upon his head, to shew his obedience, and prostrating himself a second time retired to execute the mandate. the caliph was highly pleased at the firmness with which this order was given, and perceived that abou hassan was resolved not to lose the opportunity of punishing the imaum and the other four old hypocrites of his quarter. in the mean time the grand vizier went on with his report, and had just finished, when the judge of the police came back from executing his commission. he approached the throne with the usual ceremony, and said, "commander of the faithful, i found the imaum and his four companions in the mosque, which your majesty pointed out; and as a proof that i have punctually obeyed your commands, i have brought an instrument signed by the principal inhabitants of the ward." at the same time he pulled a paper out of his bosom, and presented it to the pretended caliph. abou hassan took the paper, and reading it over cautiously with the names of the witnesses, who were all people he knew, said to the judge of the police, smiling, "it is well; i am satisfied; return to your seat." "these old hypocrites," said he to himself, with an air of satisfaction "who thought fit to censure my actions, and find fault with my entertaining honest people, deserved this punishment." the caliph all the time penetrated his thoughts, and felt inconceivable delight at his frolic. abou hassan, then addressing himself to the grand vizier, said, "go to the high treasurer for a purse of a thousand pieces of gold, and carry it to the mother of one abou hassan, who is known by the name of the debauchee; she lives in the same quarter to which i sent the judge of the police. go, and return immediately." the grand vizier, after laying his hand upon his head, and prostrating himself before the throne, went to the high treasurer, who gave him the money, which he ordered a slave to take, and to follow him to abou hassan's mother, to whom he gave it, saying only, "the caliph makes you this present." she received it with the greatest surprise imaginable. during the grand vizier's absence, the judge of the police made the usual report of his office, which lasted till the vizier returned. as soon as he came into the council-chamber, and had assured abou hassan that he had executed his orders, mesrour, the chief of the eunuchs, made a sign to the viziers, the emirs, and other officers, that the council was over, and that they might all retire; which they did, by making the same prostration at the foot of the throne as when they entered. abou hassan descended from the caliph's throne, and mesrour went before him, to shew him the way into an inner apartment, where there was a table spread; several eunuchs ran to tell the musicians that the sham caliph was coming, when they immediately began a concert of vocal and instrumental music, with which abou hassan was so charmed and transported, that he could not tell what to think of all he saw and heard. "if this is a dream," said he, "it is a long one. but certainly," continued he, "it is no dream; for i can see and feel, walk and hear, and argue reasonably; whatever it is, i trust in god; i cannot but believe that i am the commander of the faithful, for no other person could live in this splendour. the honour and respect that has been strewn me, and the obedience paid to my commands, are sufficient proofs of my exaltation." in short, abou hassan took it for granted that he was the commander of the faithful; but was still more convinced of it when he entered a magnificent and spacious hall, which was finely painted with the brightest colours intermixed with gold. seven bands of female musicians, more beautiful than the others, were placed round the hall, and as many gold chandeliers hung from the ceiling, which was painted with blue and gold, intermixed with wonderful effect. in the middle of the hall was spread a table covered with massive gold plates and dishes, which scented the apartment with the spices and amber wherewith the meat was seasoned; and seven young and most beautiful ladies, dressed in the richest habits of the most vivid colours, stood round this table, each with a fan in her hand, to fan abou hassan when at dinner. if ever mortal was charmed, abou hassan was when he entered this stately hall. at every step he took, he could not help stopping to contemplate at leisure all the wonders that regaled his eyes, and turned first to one side, and then to the other; which gave the caliph, who viewed him with attention, very great pleasure. at last he sat down at the table, and presently all the ladies began to fan the new caliph. he looked first at one, then at another, and admired the grace with which they acquitted themselves. he told them with a smile, that he believed one of them was enough to give him all the air he wanted, and would have six of the ladies sit at table with him, three on his right hand, and three on his left; and he placed them so, that as the table was round, which way soever he turned, his eyes might be saluted with agreeable objects. the six ladies obeyed; and abou hassan taking notice, that out of respect they did not eat, helped them himself, and invited them to eat in the most pressing and obliging terms. afterwards he asked their names, which they told him were alabaster neck, coral lips, moon face, sunshine, eye's delight, heart's delight, and she who fanned him was sugar cane. the many soft things he said upon their names shewed him to be a man of sprightly wit, and it is not to be conceived how much it increased the esteem which the caliph (who saw every thing) had already conceived for him. when the ladies observed that abou hassan had done eating, one of them said to the eunuchs who waited, "the commander of the faithful will go into the hall where the dessert is laid; bring some water;" upon which they all rose from the table, and taking from the eunuch, one a gold basin, another an ewer of the same metal, and a third a towel, kneeled before abou hassan, and presented them to him to wash his hands. as soon as he had done, he got up, and after an eunuch had opened the door, went, preceded by mesrour, who never left him, into another hall, as large as the former, adorned with paintings by the best masters, and furnished with gold and silver vessels, carpets, and other rich furniture. there seven different bands of music began a concert as soon as abou hassan appeared. in this hall there were seven large lustres, a table in the middle covered with dried sweetmeats, the choicest and most exquisite fruits of the season, raised in pyramids, in seven gold basins; and seven ladies more beautiful than the others standing round it, each with a fan in her hand. these new objects raised still greater admiration in abou hassan; who, after he had made a full stop, and given the most sensible marks of surprise and astonishment, went directly to the table, where sitting down, he gazed a considerable time at the seven ladies, with an embarrassment that plainly shewed he knew not to which to give the preference. at last he ordered them all to lay aside their fans and sit down, and eat with him, telling them that it was not so hot, but he could spare them that trouble. when the ladies were all placed about him, the first thing he did was to ask their names, which were different from the other seven, and expressed some perfection of mind or body, which distinguished them from one another: upon which he took an opportunity, when he presented them with fruit, &c., to say something gallant. "eat this fig for my sake," said he to chain of hearts, who sat on his right hand; "and render the fetters, with which you loaded me the first moment i saw you, more supportable." then, presenting a bunch of grapes to soul's torment, "take this cluster of grapes," said he, "on condition you instantly abate the torments which i suffer for your sake;" and so on to the rest. by these sallies abou hassan more and more amused the caliph, who was delighted with his words and actions, and pleased to think he had found in him a man who diverted him so agreeably. after abou hassan had tasted all the fruits in the basin, he got up and followed mesrour into a third hall, much more magnificently furnished than the other two; where he was received by the same number of musicians and ladies, who stood round a table covered with all manner of wet sweetmeats. after he had looked about him with new wonder, he advanced to the table, the music playing all the time till he sat down. the seven ladies, by his order, sat down with him, helped themselves, as he desired, to what they liked best; and he afterwards informed himself of their names, which pleased him as much as the others had done, and led him to say as many soft things to them, to the great diversion of the caliph, who lost not a word. by this time the day beginning to close, abou hassan was conducted into a fourth hall, much more superb and magnificently furnished, lighted with wax in seven gold lustres, which gave a splendid light. abou hassan found the same number of musicians here as he had done in the three other halls, performing in concert in the most agreeable manner, and seeming to inspire greater joy; and he saw as many ladies standing round a table covered with seven gold basins filled with cakes, dried sweetmeats, and all such relishes as were calculated to promote drinking. there he saw, which he had not observed in any of the other halls, a sideboard set out with seven large silver flagons full of the choicest wines, and by them seven crystal glasses of the finest workmanship. hitherto, in the three first halls, abou hassan had drunk nothing but water, according to the custom observed at bagdad, from the highest to the lowest and at the caliph's court, never to drink wine till the evening; all who transgress this rule being accounted debauchees, who dare not shew themselves in the day-time. this custom is the more laudable, as it requires a clear head to apply to business in the course of the day; and as no wine is drunk till evening, no drunken people are seen in the streets in open day creating disturbance in the city. as soon as abou hassan entered the fourth hall, he went to the table, sat down, and was a long time in a kind of ecstasy at the sight of the seven ladies who surrounded him, and were much more beautiful than any he had beheld in the other halls. he was very desirous to know their names; but as the music played so loud, and particularly the tambour, that he could not hear them speak, he clapped his hands for the musicians to cease, when a profound silence ensued. taking by the hand the lady who stood on the right next to him, he made her sit down by him, and presenting her with a cake, asked her name. "commander of the faithful," said the lady, "i am called cluster of pearls." "no name," replied abou hassan, "could have more properly expressed your worth; and indeed your teeth exceed the finest pearls. cluster of pearls," added he, "since that is your name, oblige me with a glass of wine from your fair hand." the lady went to the sideboard and brought him a glass of wine, which she presented to him with a pleasant air. abou hassan took the glass with a smile, and looking passionately at her, said, "cluster of pearls, i drink your health; i desire you to fill out as much for yourself, and pledge me." she ran to the sideboard, and returned with a glass in her hand; but before she drank, she sung a song, which charmed him as much by the sweetness of her voice as by its novelty. after abou hassan had drunk, he made another lady sit down by him, and presenting her with what she chose in the basins, asked her name, which she told him was morning star. "your bright eyes," said he, "shine with greater lustre than that star whose name you bear. do me the pleasure to bring me some wine," which she did with the best grace in the world. then turning to the third lady, whose name was day-light, he ordered her to do the same, and so on to the seventh, to the extreme satisfaction of the caliph. when they had all filled him a glass round, cluster of pearls, whom he had just addressed, went to the sideboard, poured out a glass of wine, and putting in a pinch of the same powder the caliph had used the night before, presented it to abou hassan; "commander of the faithful," said she, "i beg of your majesty to take this glass of wine, and before you drink it, do me the favour to hear a song i have composed to-day, and which i flatter myself will not displease you. i never sung it before." "with all my heart," said abou hassan, taking the glass, "and, as commander of the faithful, i command you to sing it; for i am persuaded that so beautiful a lady cannot compose a song which does not abound with wit and pleasantry." the lady took a lute, and tuning it to her voice, sung with so much justness, grace, and expression, that abou hassan was in perfect ecstasy all the time, and was so much delighted, that he ordered her to sing it again, and was as much charmed with it as at first. when the lady had concluded, abou hassan drank off his glass, and turned his head towards her to give her those praises which he thought she merited, but was prevented by the opiate, which operated so suddenly, that his mouth was instantly wide open, and his eyes close shut, and dropping his head on the cushions, he slept as profoundly as the day before when the caliph had given him the powder. one of the ladies stood ready to catch the glass, which fell out of his hand; and then the caliph, who enjoyed greater satisfaction in this scene than he had promised himself, and was all along a spectator of what had passed, came into the hall to them, overjoyed at the success of his plan. he ordered abou hassan to be dressed in his own clothes, and carried back to his house by the slave who had brought him, charging him to lay him on a sofa in the same room, without making any noise, and to leave the door open when he came away. the slave took abou hassan upon his shoulders, carried him home by a back door of the palace, placed him in his own house as he was ordered, and returned with speed, to acquaint the caliph. "well," said the caliph, "abou hassan wished only to be caliph for one day, to punish the imaum of the mosque of his quarter, and the four old men who had displeased him: i have procured him the means of doing this, and he ought to be content." in the mean time, abou hassan, who was laid upon his sofa by the slave, slept till very late the next morning. when the powder was worked off, he awoke, opened his eyes, and finding himself at home, was in the utmost surprise. "cluster of pearls! morning star! coral lips! moon face!" cried he, calling the ladies of the palace by their names, as he remembered them; "where are you? come hither." abou hassan called so loud, that his mother, who was in her own apartment, heard him, and running to him upon the noise he made, said "what ails you, son? what has happened to you?" at these words abou hassan lifted up his head, and looking haughtily at his mother, said, "good woman! who is it you call son?" "why you," answered his mother very mildly; "are not you abou hassan my son? it is strange that you have forgotten yourself so soon." "i your son! old bull!" replied abou hassan; "you are a liar, and know not what you say! i am not abou hassan, i tell you, but the commander of the faithful!" "hold your tongue, son," answered the mother "one would think you are a fool, to hear you talk thus." "you are an old fool yourself," replied abou hassan; "i tell you once more i am the commander of the faithful, and god's vicar on earth!" "ah! child," cried the mother, "is it possible that i should hear you utter such words that shew you are distracted! what evil genius possesses you, to make you talk at this rate? god bless you, and preserve you from the power of satan. you are my son abou hassan, and i am your mother." after she had used all the arguments she could think of to bring him to himself, and to shew how great an error he was in, she said, "do not you see that the room you are now in is your own, and is not like a chamber in a palace fit for the commander of the believers? and that you have never left it since you were born, but lived quietly at home with me. think seriously of what i say, and do not fancy things that are not, nor ever can be. once more, my son, think seriously of it." abou hassan heard all these remonstrances of his mother very patiently, holding down his eyes, and clapping his hands under his chin, like a man recollecting himself, to examine the truth of what he saw and heard. at last, he said to his mother, just as if he was awaking out of a deep sleep, and with his hand in the same posture, "i believe you are right, methinks i am abou hassan, you are my mother, and i am in my own room." then looking at her again, and at every object before him, he added, "i am abou hassan, there is no doubt of it, and i cannot comprehend how this fancy came into my head." the mother really believed that her son was cured of the disorder of his mind, which she ascribed to a dream, began to laugh with him, and ask him questions about it; when suddenly he started up, and looking crossly at his mother, said, "old sorceress, you know not what you say. i am not your son, nor you my mother. you deceive yourself and would deceive me. i tell you i am the commander of the faithful, and you shall never persuade me to the contrary!" "for heaven's sake, son," said the mother, "let us leave off this discourse; recommend yourself to god, for fear some misfortune should happen to us; let us talk of something else. i will tell you what happened yesterday in our quarter to the imaum of the mosque, and the four scheiks our neighbours: the judge of the police came and seized them, and gave each of them i know not how many strokes with a bastinado, while a crier proclaimed, 'that such was the punishment of all those who troubled themselves about other people's business, and employed themselves in setting their neighbours at variance:' he afterwards led them through all the streets, and ordered them never to come into our quarter again." abou hassan's mother little thought her son had any share in this adventure, and therefore had turned the discourse on purpose to put him out of the conceit of being the commander of the faithful; but instead of effacing that idea, she recalled it, and impressed the more deeply in his mind, that it was not imaginary but real. abou hassan no sooner heard this relation, but he cried out, "i am neither thy son, nor abou hassan, but certainly the commander of the believers. i cannot doubt after what you have told me. know then that it was by my order the imaum and the four scheiks were punished, and i tell you i am certainly the commander of the faithful: therefore say no more of its being a dream. i was not asleep, but as much awake as i am now. you do me much pleasure to confirm what the judge of the police told me he had executed punctually according to my order; i am overjoyed that the imaum and the four scheiks, those great hypocrites, were so chastised, and i should be glad to know how i came here. god be praised for all things! i am certainly commander of the faithful, and all thy arguments shall not convince me of the contrary." the mother, who could not imagine why her son so strenuously and positively maintained himself to be caliph, no longer doubted but that he had lost his senses, when she found he insisted so much on a thing that was so incredible; and in this thought said, "i pray god, son, to have mercy upon you! pray do not talk so madly. beseech god to forgive you, and give you grace to talk more reasonably. what would the world say to hear you rave in this manner? do you not know that 'walls have ears?'" these remonstrances only enraged abou hassan the more; and he was so provoked at his mother, that he said, "old woman, i have desired you once already to hold your tongue. if you do not, i shall rise and give you cause to repent all your lifetime. i am the caliph and the commander of the believers; and you ought to credit me when i say so." the good woman supposing that he was more distracted than ever, abandoned herself to tears, and beating her face and breast, expressed the utmost grief and astonishment to see her son in such a state. abou hassan, instead of being appeased or moved by his mother's tears, lost all the respect due from a son to his mother. getting up hastily, and laying hold of a switch, he ran to his mother in great fury, and in a threatening manner that would have frightened any one but a mother so partial to him, said, "tell me directly, wicked woman, who i am." "i do not believe, son," replied she, looking at him tenderly, and without fear, "that you are so abandoned by god as not to know your mother, who brought you into the world, and to mistake yourself. you are indeed my son abou hassan, and are much in the wrong to arrogate to yourself the title which belongs only to our sovereign lord the caliph haroon al rusheed, especially after the noble and generous present the monarch made us yesterday. i forgot to tell you, that the grand vizier jaaffier came to me yesterday, and putting a purse of a thousand pieces of gold into my hands, bade me pray for the commander of the faithful, who had sent me that present; and does not this liberality concern you more than me, who have but a short time to live?" at these words abou hassan grew quite mad. the circumstance of the caliph's liberality persuaded him more than ever that he was caliph, remembering that he had sent the vizier. "well, old hag," cried he, "will you be convinced when i tell you that i sent you those thousand pieces of gold by my grand vizier jaaffier, who obeyed my commands, as i was commander of the faithful? but instead of believing me, you endeavour to distract me by your contradictions, and maintain with obstinacy that i am your son; but you shall not go long unpunished." after these words, he was so unnatural, in the height of his frenzy, as to beat her cruelly with his cane. the poor mother, who could not have thought that her son would have come so soon from words to blows, called out for help so loud, that the neighbours ran in to her assistance. abou hassan continued to beat her, at every stroke asking her if he was the commander of the faithful? to which she always answered tenderly, that he was her son. by the time the neighbours came in abou hassan's rage began to abate. the first who entered the room got between him and his mother, and taking the switch out of his hand, said to him, "what are you doing, abou hassan? have you lost all fear of god and your reason? did ever a son so well brought up as you dare to strike his mother? are you not ashamed so to treat yours, who loves you so tenderly?" abou hassan, still full of fury, looked at him who spoke without returning an answer; and then staring on all the rest of his neighbours who had followed, said, "who is that abou hassan you speak of? is it me you call by that name?" this question disconcerted the neighbours. "how!" said he who spoke first, "do not you know your mother who brought you up, and with whom you have always lived?" "be gone, you are impertinent vagabonds," replied abou hassan; "i neither knew her nor you, and will not know her. i am not abou hassan; i am the commander of the faithful, and will make you feel it to your cost." at this speech the neighbours no longer doubted that he was mad: and to prevent his repeating his outrages, seized him, notwithstanding his resistance, and bound him hand and foot, but though apparently disabled from doing any mischief, they did not choose to leave him alone with his mother. two of them ran for the keeper of the hospital for insane persons, who came presently with chains, handcuffs, a bastinado, and many attendants. when they entered the room, abou hassan, who little expected such treatment, struggled to unloose himself; but after his keeper had given him two or three smart strokes upon the shoulders, he lay so quiet, that the keeper and his people did what they pleased with him. as soon as they had bound and manacled him, they took him with them to the hospital. when he was got out of the house into the street, the people crowded round him, one buffeted him, another boxed him, and others called him fool and madman. to all this treatment he replied, "there is no greatness and power but in god most high and almighty. i am treated as a fool, though i am in my right senses. i suffer all these injuries and indignities for the love of god." he was conducted to the hospital, where he was lodged in a grated cell; but before he was shut up, the keeper, who was hardened to such terrible execution, regaled him without pity with fifty strokes of the bastinado on his shoulders, which he repeated every day for three weeks, bidding him remember that he was not the commander of the faithful. "i am not mad," said abou hassan, "but if i wanted your assistance, nothing would so effectually make me mad as your cruel treatment. i want not your advice." abou hassan's mother went every day to visit her son, and could not forbear weeping at beholding him fall away, and sigh and complain at the hardships he endured. in short, his shoulders, back, and sides were so black and bruised, that he could not turn himself. his mother would willingly have talked with him, to comfort him, and to sound him whether he still retained the notion of being caliph; but whenever she opened her mouth, he stopped her with so much fury, that she was forced to leave him, and return home inconsolable at his obstinacy. by degrees, however, those strong and lively ideas, which abou hassan had entertained, of having been clothed in the caliph's habit, having exercised his authority, and been punctually obeyed and treated like the true caliph, the assurance of which had persuaded him that he was so, began to wear away. sometimes he would say to himself, "if i was the caliph and commander of the believers, how came i, when i awoke, to find myself at home dressed in my own apparel? why should i not have been attended by eunuchs, and their chief, and a crowd of beautiful ladies? why should the grand vizier, and all those emirs and governors of provinces, who prostrated themselves at my feet, forsake me? undoubtedly if i had any authority over them, they would have delivered me long ago out of the miserable condition i am in; certainly i ought to look upon all as a dream. it is true, however, that i commanded the judge of the police to punish the imaum, and the four old men his companions; i ordered the grand vizier to carry my mother a thousand pieces of gold; and my commands were executed. all these points are obstacles to my believing it a dream; but there are so many things that i cannot comprehend, nor ever shall, that i will put my trust in god, who knows all things." abou hassan was taken up with these thoughts and reflections when his mother came to see him. she found him so much altered and emaciated that she shed a torrent of tears; in the midst of which she saluted him as she used to do, and he returned her salutation, which he had never done before since he had been in the hospital. this she looked upon to be a good sign. "well, my son," said she, wiping her tears, "how do you do, and how do you find yourself? have you renounced all those whims and fancies which the devil had put into your head?" "indeed, mother," replied abou hassan, very rationally and calmly, and in a tone expressive of his grief for the excesses he had been transported to against her, "i acknowledge my error, and beg of you to forgive the execrable crime which i have been guilty of towards you, and which i detest. i ask pardon also of my neighbours whom i have abused. i have been deceived by a dream; but by so extraordinary a one, and so like to truth, that i venture to affirm any other person, to whom such a thing might have happened, would have been guilty of as great or greater extravagancies; and i am this instant so much perplexed about it, that while i am speaking i can hardly persuade myself but that what befell me was matter of fact, so like was it to what happens to people who are broad awake. but whatever it was, i do, and shall always regard it as a dream and an illusion. i am convinced that i am not that shadow of a caliph and commander of the faithful, but abou hassan your son, the son of a person whom i always honoured till that fatal day, the remembrance of which will cover me with confusion, and whom in future i shall honour and respect all my life as i ought." at this rational declaration, the tears of sorrow and affliction which the mother of abou hassan had so long shed were changed into those of joy. "my son!" cried she, transported with pleasure, "my satisfaction and comfort to hear you talk so reasonably is inexpressible: and it gives me as much joy as if i had brought you into the world a second time; but i must tell you my opinion of this adventure, and observe one thing which you may not have noticed; the stranger whom you brought home the evening before your illness to sup with you went away without shutting your chamber-door after him, as you desired; which i believe gave the devil an opportunity to enter, and throw you into the horrible illusion you have been in: therefore, my son, you ought to return god thanks for your deliverance, and beseech him to keep you from falling again into the snares of the evil spirit." "you have found out the source of our misfortunes," answered abou hassan. "it was that very night i had this dream which turned my brain. i bade the merchant expressly to shut the door after him; and now i find he did not do it. i am persuaded, as well as you, the devil finding it open came in, and filled my head full of these fancies. the people of moussul, from whence this merchant came, may not know how we at bagdad are convinced from experience that the devil is the cause of troublesome dreams when we leave our chamber-doors open. but since, mother, you see i am, by the grace of god, so well recovered, for god's sake get me out of this horrible place, which will infallibly shorten my days if i stay here any longer." the mother, glad to hear her son was so well cured of his foolish imagination of being caliph, went immediately to the keeper, and assuring him that he was very sensible and well, he came, examined, and released him in her presence. when abou hassan came home, he stayed within doors some days to recover his health by better living than he had found at the hospital. but when he had recovered his strength, and felt no longer the effect of the harsh treatment he had suffered in his confinement, he began to be weary of spending his evenings alone. he accordingly entered again upon the same plan as he had before pursued; which was, to provide enough every day to regale a stranger at night. the day on which abou hassan renewed his custom of going about sun-set to the end of bagdad bridge to stop the first stranger thee offered, and invite him to do him the honour of supping with him, happened to be the first day of the month, that which the caliph always set apart to go in disguise out of some one of the gates to observe what was committed contrary to the good government of the city, as established and regulated at the beginning of his reign. abou hassan had not been long arrived at the bridge, when, looking about him, he perceived the moussul merchant, followed by the same slave. persuaded that all his misfortunes were owing to the merchant's having left his door open, he shuddered at the sight of him. "god preserve me," said he to himself; "if i am not deceived, there is again the magician who enchanted me!" he trembled with agitation, and looked over the side railing into the river, that he might not see him till he was past. the caliph, who wished to renew the diversion he had received, had taken care to inform himself of all that had happened to abou hassan, and enjoyed much pleasure at the relation given him, especially at his being sent to a mad-house. but as this monarch was both just and generous, and had taken a great liking to abou hassan, as capable of contributing further to his amusement, and had doubted whether, after renouncing his frenzied character of a caliph, he would return to his usual manner of living; with a view therefore to bring him to his palace, he disguised himself again like a merchant of moussul, the better to execute his plan. he perceived abou hassan at the same time that he saw him, and presently guessed by his action that he was angry, and wished to shun him. this made him walk close to the side railing; and when he came nigh him, he put his head over to look him in the face. "ho, brother abou hassan," said he, "is it you? i greet you! give me leave to embrace you?" "not i," replied abou hassan, pettishly, without looking at the pretended moussul merchant; "i do not greet you; i will have neither your greeting nor your embraces. go along!" "what!" answered the caliph, "do you not know me? do you not remember the evening we spent together at your house this day month, where you did me the honour to treat me very generously?" "no," replied abou hassan in the same tone, "i do not know you, nor what you talk about; go, i say again, about your business." the caliph was not to be diverted from his purpose by this rude behaviour. he well knew the law abou hassan had imposed on himself, never to have commerce again with a stranger he had once entertained; but pretended to be ignorant of it. "i cannot believe," said he, "but you must know me again; it is not possible that you should have forgotten me in so short a time. certainly some misfortune has befallen you, which inspires you with this aversion for me. however, you ought to remember, that i shewed my gratitude by my good wishes, and that i offered you my interest, which is not to be slighted, in an affair which you had much at heart." "i do not know," replied abou hassan, "what your interest may be, and i have no desire to make use of it: but i am sensible the utmost of your good wishes ended in making me mad. in god's name, i say once more, go your way, and trouble me no more." "ah! brother abou hassan," replied the caliph, embracing him, "i do not intend to part with you thus, since i have had the good fortune to meet with you a second time; you must exercise the same hospitality towards me again that you shewed me a month ago, when i had the honour to drink with you." "i have protested against this," said abou hassan, "and have so much power over myself, as to decline receiving a second time as my guest, a man like you who carries misfortunes with him. you know the proverb, 'take up your drum and begone.' make the application to yourself. how often must i repeat my refusal. god be with you! you have been the cause of my sufferings, and i will not trust myself with you again." "my good friend abou hassan," said the caliph, embracing him, "you treat me in a way i little expected. i beg of you not to speak to me thus harshly, but be persuaded of my friendship. do me the favour to tell me what has happened to you; for i assure you i wished you well, and still do so; and would be glad of an opportunity to make you any amends for the trouble i have caused you, if it has been really my fault." abou hassan yielded to the solicitations of the caliph. "your incredulity and importunity," said he, "have tired my patience; and what i am going to relate will shew you that i do not accuse you wrongfully." the caliph seated himself by abou hassan, while he told him all that had happened to him, from his waking in the palace to his waking again in his own house, all which he described as a mere dream, and recounted all the circumstances, which the caliph knew as well as himself, and which renewed his pleasure. he enlarged afterwards on the impression which the dream of being caliph and commander of the faithful had made upon him, which, he said, threw him into such extravagancies, that his neighbours were obliged to carry him to a mad-house, where he was treated in a manner which he deemed most barbarous and inhuman. "but," said he, "what will surprise you, and what you little think of, is, that it was altogether your fault that these things happened to me; for, if you remember, i desired you to shut the door after you, which you neglected, and the devil, finding it open, entered and put this dream into my head, which, though it was very agreeable, was the cause of the misfortune i complain of: you therefore, for your negligence, are answerable for the horrid and detestable crime i have committed in lifting my hand against my mother, whom i might have killed (i blush for shame when i think of it), because she said i was her son, and would not acknowledge me for commander of the faithful, as i thought and positively insisted on to her that i was. you are the cause of the offence i have given my neighbours, when, running in at the cries of my poor mother, they surprised me in the horrid act of felling her at my feet; which would never have happened, if you had taken care to shut my door when you went away, as i desired you. they would not have come into my house without my leave; and, what troubles me most of all, they would not have been witnesses of my folly. i should not have been obliged to strike them in my own defence, and they would not have bound and fettered me, to carry and shut me up in the hospital for madmen, where i assure you every day that i remained confined in that hell, i received a score of strokes with a bastinado." abou hassan recounted his complaints with great warmth and vehemence to the caliph, who knew as well as himself what had passed, and was delighted to find that he had succeeded so well in his plan to throw him into the vagaries from which he still was not entirely free. he could not help laughing at the simplicity wherewith he related them. abou hassan, who thought that his story should rather have moved compassion, and that every one ought to be as much concerned at it as himself, warmly resented the pretended moussul merchant's laughter. "what!" said he, "do you make a jest of me and laugh in my face, or do you believe i laugh at you when i speak seriously? if you want proof of what i advance, look yourself and see whether or no i tell you the truth;" with that, stooping down and baring his shoulders, he shewed the caliph the scars and weals which the bastinado had left. the caliph could not behold these marks of cruelty without horror. he pitied abou hassan, and felt sorry he had carried the jest so far. "come, rise, dear brother," said he to him eagerly, and embracing abou hassan heartily in his arms; "let me go to your house, and enjoy the happiness of being merry with you to-night; and to-morrow, if it please god, all things will go well." abou hassan, notwithstanding his resolution never to admit the same stranger a second time, could not resist the caresses of the caliph, whom he still took for a merchant of moussul. "i will consent," said he, "if you will swear to shut my door after you, that the devil may not come in to distract my brain again." the caliph promised that he would; upon which they both arose, walked towards the city, and, followed by the caliph's slave, reached abou hassan's house by the time it was dark. the caliph, the more to blind abou hassan, said to him, "place confidence in me; i promise you on my honour i will not break my word. you need not hesitate to trust a person who wishes you all happiness and prosperity, of which confidence you will see the effects." "i desire not that," said abou hassan, stopping him short. "i yield to your importunity; but i dispense with your good wishes, and beg you in god's name to form none for me. all the mischief that has hitherto befallen me arose from those you expressed for me, and from your leaving the door open." "well," replied the caliph, still laughing at the misguided imagination of abou hassan, "since you will have it so, i promise you i will form none." "you give me pleasure by speaking so," said abou hassan; "i desire no more; i shall be more than satisfied provided you keep your word, and i shall forgive you all the rest." as soon as abou hassan entered his house, he called for his mother and for candles, desired his guest to sit down upon a sofa, and then placed himself by him. a little time after, supper was brought up, and they both began to eat without ceremony. when they had done, abou hassan's mother cleared the table, set on a small dessert of fruit, wine, and glasses by her son, then withdrew, and appeared no more. abou hassan first filled out his own glass, and then the caliph's: and after they had drunk some time, and talked of indifferent matters, the caliph, perceiving that his host grew warm with liquor, began to talk of love, and asked him if he had ever felt that passion. "brother," replied abou hassan, familiarly thinking his guest was his equal, "i never looked upon love or marriage but as a slavery, to which i was always unwilling to submit; and must own to you, that i never loved any thing but good cheer and good wine; in short, to divert and entertain myself agreeably with my friends. yet i do not tell you that i am indifferent to marriage, or incapable of attachment, if i could meet with a woman of such beauty and sweetness of temper as her i saw in my dream that fatal night in which i first received you into my house, and you, to my misfortune, left my door open, who would pass the whole night with me drinking, singing, and playing on some instrument, and in agreeable conversation, and who would study to please and divert me: i believe, on the contrary, i should change all my indifference into a perfect attachment to such a person, and, i think, should live very happily with her. but where is such a woman to be found except in the caliph's palace, or in those of the grand vizier or some great lords of the court, who want not money to provide them? i choose therefore to stick to my bottle, which is a much cheaper pleasure, and which i can enjoy as well as the greatest." saying these words, he filled out his own and the caliph's glass, and said, "come, take your glass, and let us pursue this charming pleasure." when they had drunk off their wine, "it is great pity," said the caliph, "that so gallant a man as you, who owns himself not insensible of love, should lead so solitary a life." "i prefer the easy quiet life i live," replied abou hassan, "before the company of a wife, whose beauty might not please me, and who, besides, might create me a great deal of trouble by her imperfections and ill-humour." the conversation lasted a long time, and the caliph seeing abou hassan had drunk to the pitch he desired, said, "let me alone, since you have the same good taste as every other honest man, i warrant you i will find you a wife that shall please you." then taking abou hassan's glass, and putting a pinch of the same powder into it, filled him up a bumper, and presenting it to him, said, "come, let us drink beforehand the fair lady's health, who is to make you happy. i am sure you will like her." abou hassan took the glass laughing, and shaking his head, said, "be it so; since you desire it, i cannot be guilty of so great a piece of incivility, nor disoblige a guest of so much merit in such a trifling matter. i will drink the health of the lady you promise me, though i am very well contented as i am, and do not rely on your keeping your word." no sooner had abou hassan drank off his bumper, than he was seized with as deep a sleep as before; and the caliph ordered the same slave to take him and carry him to the palace. the slave obeyed, and the caliph, who did not intend to send back abou hassan as before, shut the door after him, as he had promised, and followed. when they arrived at the palace, the caliph ordered abou hassan to be laid on a sofa, in the fourth hall, from whence he had been carried home fast asleep a month before; but first he bade the attendants to put him on the same habit in which he had acted the caliph, which was done. he then charged all the eunuchs, officers, ladies, and musicians who were in the hall, when he drank the last glass of wine which had put him to sleep, to be there by daybreak, and to take care to act their parts well when he should awake. he then retired to rest, charging mesrour to awake him before they went into the hall, that he might conceal himself in the closet as before. mesrour, at the hour appointed, awakened the caliph, who immediately rose, and went to the hall where abou hassan lay still asleep, and when he had placed himself in his closet, mesrour and the other officers, ladies, and musicians, who waited for him, went in, and placed themselves about the sofa, so as not to hinder the caliph from seeing what passed, and noticing all his actions. things being thus disposed, and the caliph's powder having had its effect, abou hassan began to awake without opening his eyes, and threw off the phlegm, which was received in a gold basin as before. at that instant, the seven bands of singers joined their voices to the sound of hautboys, fifes, flutes, and other instruments, forming a very agreeable concert. abou hassan was in great surprise to hear the delightful harmony; but when he opened his eyes, and saw the ladies and officers about him, whom he thought he recognized, his amazement increased. the hall that he was in seemed to be the same he had seen in his first dream, and he observed the same lustres, and the same furniture and ornaments. the concert ceased, to give the caliph an opportunity of attending to the countenance of his guest, and all that he might say in his surprise. the ladies, mesrour, and all the officers of the chamber, waited in profound and respectful silence. abou hassan bit his finger, and cried loud enough for the caliph to hear him, "alas! i am fallen again into the same dream and illusion that happened to me a month ago, and must expect again the bastinado and grated cell at the mad-house. almighty god," added he, "i commit myself into the hands of thy divine providence. he was a wicked man that i entertained at my house last night, who has been the cause of this illusion, and the hardships i must again undergo. the base wretch swore to shut the door after him, but did not, and the devil came in and has turned my brain with this wicked dream of being commander of the faithful, and other phantoms which bewitch my eyes. god confound thee, satan? and crush thee under some mountain of stones." after these words, abou hassan closed his eyes, and remained some time thoughtful and much perplexed; then opening them again, and looking about him, cried out a second time with less surprise, and smiling at the various objects before him, "great god! i commit myself into the hands of thy providence, preserve me from the temptation of satan." then shutting them again, he said, "i will go to sleep until satan leaves me, and returns as he came, were i to wait till noon." they did not give him time to go to sleep again as he promised himself; for strength of hearts, one of the ladies whom he had seen before, approached, and sitting down on the sofa by him, said to him respectfully, "commander of the faithful, i entreat your majesty to forgive me for taking the liberty to tell you not to go to sleep; day appears, and it is time to rise." "begone, satan!" answered abou hassan, raising his voice; but looking at the lady, he said, "is it me you call the commander of the faithful? certainly you take me for somebody else." "it is to your majesty i give that title," replied the lady, "to whom it belongs, as you are sovereign of the world, and i am your most humble slave. undoubtedly," added she, "your majesty means to divert yourself by pretending to have forgotten yourself, or this is the effect of some troublesome dream; but if you would but open your eyes, the mists which disturb your imagination would soon be dispelled, and you would find yourself in your own palace, surrounded by your officers and slaves, who all wait your commands: and that your majesty may not be surprised to find yourself in this hall, and not in bed, i beg leave to inform you, that you fell so suddenly asleep last night, that we were unwilling to awake you, to conduit you to your chamber, but laid you carefully upon this sofa." in short, she said to him so many things which appeared probable, that at last he sat up, opened his eyes, and recollected her and all the ladies again. they all approached him, and she who spoke first, resuming the discourse, said, "commander of the faithful, and vicar of the prophet on earth, be not displeased if i acquaint your majesty once more that it is time to rise, for day appears." "you are very troublesome and importunate," replied abou hassan, rubbing his eyes; "i am not the commander of the faithful, but abou hassan; i know it well, and you shall not persuade me otherwise." "we do not know that abou hassan you majesty speaks of, nor desire to know him," answered the lady; "but we know you to be the commander of the believers, and you cannot persuade us to the contrary." abou hassan looking about, and finding himself in the same hall, attributed all he saw and heard to such a dream as he had had before, and greatly feared the dreadful consequences. "allah have mercy on me!" said he, lifting up his hands and eyes, like a man who knew not where he was; "i commit myself into his hands. i cannot doubt, after what i have seen, but that the devil, who came into my chamber, possesses me, and fills my imagination full of all these visions." the caliph, who saw him all the time, and heard these exclamations, began to shake so heartily, that he had much difficulty to forbear bursting into loud laughter. abou hassan laying himself down again, and shutting his eyes, the same lady said, "commander of the faithful, since your majesty does not rise, after we have, according to our duty, informed you it is day, and the dispatch of business requires your presence, we shall use the liberty you give us in such cases." then taking him by one arm, and calling to one of the other ladies to do the same by the other, they lifted him up, and carried him into the middle of the hall, where they seated him, and all taking hands, danced and skipped round him while the music played and sounded loudly in his ears. abou hassan was in inexpressible perplexity, and exclaimed, "what! am i indeed caliph, and commander of the faithful!" and in his uncertainty, would have said more, but the music was so loud, that he could not be heard. at last he made a sign to string of pearls and morning star, two of the ladies who were dancing, that he wanted to speak with them; upon which they forbore, and went to him. "do not lie now," said he, "but tell me truly who i am?" "commander of the faithful," replied morning star, "your majesty means either to surprise us, by asking this question, as if you did not know that you are commander of the faithful, and vicar on earth of the prophet of god, master of both worlds, that whereon we now are and that to come after death, or else you must have had some extraordinary dream that has made you forget who you are; which may well be, considering that your majesty has slept longer than ordinary; however, if you will give me leave, i will refresh your memory with what passed yesterday." she then told him how he went to council, punished the imaum, and the four old men, and had sent a present by his grand vizier of a thousand pieces of gold to the mother of one abou hassan; what he did in the inner part of the palace, and what passed at the three meals which he took in the three halls, adding, "in the fourth your majesty did us the honour to make us sit down by you, to hear our songs, and received wine from our hands, until your majesty fell asleep, as strength of hearts has told you. from that time your majesty has continued, contrary to custom, in a sound sleep until now. strength of hearts, all your other slaves, and the officers present, can confirm what i say, and it is now time you should go to prayers." "very well," replied abou hassan, shaking his head, "you would have me believe all this; but i tell you, you are all fools, or mad, and that is great pity, for you are very handsome. since i saw you i have been at home, where i used my mother so ill that they sent me to a mad-house, and kept me there three weeks against my will, beat me unmercifully every day, and yet you would make me believe all this to be a dream." "commander of the faithful," answered morning star, "you are mistaken, we are ready to swear by all your majesty holds most dear, that all you relate can be only a dream. you have never stirred out of this hall since yesterday, but slept here all night." the confidence with which the lady assured abou hassan that all she said was truth, and that he had never been out of the hall since that time, bewildered his senses so that he was at a loss what to believe. "o heaven!" said he to himself, "am i abou hassan, or the commander of the faithful! almighty god, enlighten my understanding, and inform me of the truth, that i may know what to trust." he then uncovered his shoulders, and shewed the ladies the livid weals of the blows he had received. "look," said he, "judge whether these strokes could come to me in a dream, or when i was asleep. for my part, i can affirm, that they were real blows; i feel the smart of them yet, and that is a testimonial there is no room to doubt. now if i received these strokes in my sleep, it is the most extraordinary thing in the world, and surpasses my comprehension." in this uncertainty abou hassan called to one of the officers that stood near him: "come hither," said he, "and bite the tip of my ear, that i may know whether i am asleep or awake." the officer obeyed, and bit so hard, that he made him cry out loudly with the pain; the music struck up at the same time, and the officers and ladies all began to sing, dance, and skip about abou hassan, and made such a noise, that he was in a perfect ecstasy, and played a thousand ridiculous pranks. he threw off his caliph's habit, and his turban, jumped up in his shirt and drawers, and taking hold of two of the ladies' hands, began singing, jumping and cutting capers, so that the caliph could not contain himself, but burst into such violent laughter, that he fell backwards, and was heard above the noise of all the musicians. he was so long before he could check himself, that it had like to have been fatal. at last he got up, opened the lattice, and putting out his head, cried "abou hassan, abou hassan, have you a mind to kill me with laughing?" as soon as the caliph's voice was heard, every body was silent, and abou hassan, among the rest, who, turning his head to see from whence the voice came, knew the caliph, and in him recognised the moussul merchant, but was not in the least daunted; on the contrary he became convinced that he was awake, and that all that had happened to him had been real, and not a dream. he entered into the caliph's pleasantry. "ha! ha!" said he, looking at him with good assurance, "you are a merchant of moussul, and complain that i would kill you; you have been the occasion of my using my mother so ill, and of my being sent to a mad-house. it was you who treated the imaum and the four scheiks in the manner they were used, and not me; i wash my hands of it. it is you who have been the cause of all my disorders and sufferings: in short, you are the aggressor, and i the injured person." "indeed, you are in the right, abou hassan," answered the caliph, laughing all the while; "but to comfort you, and make you amends for all your troubles, i call heaven to witness, i am ready and willing to make you what reparation you please to ask." after these words, he came out of the closet into the hall, ordered one of his most magnificent habits to be brought, commanded the ladies to dress abou hassan in it, and when they had done, he said, embracing him, "thou art my brother; ask what thou wilt, and thou shalt have it." "commander of the faithful," replied abou hassan, "i beg of your majesty to do me the favour to tell me what you did to disturb my brain in this manner, and what was your design; for it is a thing of the greatest importance for me to know, that i may perfectly recover my senses." the caliph was ready to give him this satisfaction, and said, "first, you are to know, that i often disguise myself, and particularly at night, to observe if all goes right in bagdad; and as i wish to know what passes in its environs, i set apart the first day of every month to make an excursion, sometimes on one side, sometimes on another, and always return by the bridge. the evening that you invited me to supper, i was beginning my rounds, and in our conversation you told me, that the only thing you wished for was to be caliph for four-and-twenty hours, to punish the imaum of your mosque and his four counsellors. i fancied that this desire of yours would afford me diversion, and thought immediately how i might procure you the satisfaction you wished. i had about me a certain powder, which immediately throws the person who takes it into a sound sleep for a certain time. i put a dose of it, without being perceived by you, into the last glass i presented to you, upon which you fell fast asleep, and i ordered my slave to carry you to my palace, and came away without shutting the door. i have no occasion to repeat what happened when you awoke, nor during the whole day till evening, but after you had been regaled by my orders, one of the ladies put another dose of the same powder into a glass she gave you; you fell asleep as before, and the same slave carried you home, and left the door open. you have told me all that happened to you afterwards. i never imagined that you could have suffered so much as you have done. but as i have a great regard for you, i will do every thing to comfort you, and make you forget all your sufferings; think of what i can do to serve you, and ask me boldly what you wish." "commander of the faithful," replied abou hassan, "how great soever my tortures may have been, they are all blotted out of my remembrance, since i understand my sovereign lord and master had a share in them. i doubt not in the least of your majesty's bounty; but as interest never governed me, and you give me liberty to ask a favour, i beg that it may be that of having access to your person, to enjoy the happiness of admiring, all my lifetime, your virtues." this proof of disinterestedness in abou hassan confirmed the esteem the caliph had entertained for him. "i am pleased with your request," said he, "and grant you free access to my person at all times and all hours." at the same time he assigned him an apartment in the palace, and, in regard to his pension, told him, that he would not have him apply to his treasurer, but come always to him for an order upon him, and immediately commanded his private treasurer to give him a purse containing a thousand pieces of gold. abou hassan made a low prostration, and the caliph left him to go to council. abou hassan took this opportunity to go and inform his mother of his good fortune, and that what had happened was not a dream; for that he had actually been caliph, had acted as such, and received all the honours; and that she had no reason to doubt of it, since he had this confirmed by the caliph himself. it was not long before this story of abou hassan was spread throughout bagdad, and carried into all the provinces both far and near, without the omission of a single circumstance. the new favourite abou hassan was always with the caliph; for, as he was a man of a pleasant temper, and created mirth wherever he went by his wit and drollery, the caliph formed no party of diversion without him, and sometimes carried him to visit his consort zobeide, to whom he had related his story. zobeide, who observed that every time he came with the caliph, he had his eyes always fixed upon one of her slaves, called nouzhatoul-aouadat, resolved to tell the caliph of it. "commander of the faithful," said she one day, "you do not observe that every time abou hassan attends you in your visits to me, he never keeps his eyes off nouzhatoul-aouadat, and makes her blush, which is almost a certain sign that she entertains no aversion for him. if you approve of it, we will make a match between them." "madam," replied the caliph, "you remind me of what i ought to have done before. i know abou hassan's opinion respecting marriage from himself, and have always promised him a wife that should please him. i am glad you mentioned the circumstance; for i know not how i came to forget it. but it is better that abou hassan should follow his own inclination, and choose for himself. if nouzhatoul-aouadat is not averse to it, we ought not to hesitate upon their marriage; and since they are both present, they have only to say that they consent." abou hassan threw himself at the caliph's and zobeide's feet, to shew the sense he had of their goodness; and rising up, said, "i cannot receive a wife from better hands, but dare not hope that nouzhatoul-aouadat will give me her hand as readily as i give her mine." at these words he looked at the princess's slave, who shewed by her respectful silence, and the sudden blush that arose in her cheeks, that she was disposed to obey the caliph and her mistress zobeide. the marriage was solemnized, and the nuptials celebrated in the palace, with great rejoicings, which lasted several days. zobeide made her slave considerable presents, and the caliph did the same to abou hassan. the bride was conducted to the apartment the caliph had assigned abou hassan, who waited for her with all the impatience of a bridegroom, and received her with the sound of all sorts of instruments, and musicians of both sexes, who made the air echo with their concert. after these feasts and rejoicings, which lasted several days, the newly-married couple were left to pursue their loves in peace. abou hassan and his spouse were charmed with each other, lived together in perfect union, and seldom were asunder, but when either he paid his respects to the caliph, or she hers to zobeide. indeed, nouzhatoul-aouadat was endued with every qualification capable of gaining abou hassan's love and attachment, was just such a wife as he had described to the caliph, and fit to sit at the head of his table. with these dispositions they could not fail to pass their lives agreeably. they kept a good table covered with the nicest and choicest rarities in season, by an excellent cook, who took upon him to provide every thing. their sideboard was always stored with exquisite wines placed within their reach when at table, where they enjoyed themselves in agreeable conversation, and afterwards entertained each other with some pleasantry or other, which made them laugh more or less, as they had in the day met with something to divert them; and in the evenings, which they consecrated to mirth, they had generally some slight repast of dried sweetmeats, choice fruits, and cakes, and at each glass invited each other by new songs to drink, and sometimes accompanied their voices with a lute, or other instruments which they could both touch. abou hassan and nouzhatoul-aouadat led this pleasant life unattentive to expense, until at length the caterer, who had disbursed all his and their money for these expenses, brought them in a long bill in hope of having an advance of cash. they found the amount to be so considerable, that all the presents which the caliph and zobeide had given them at their marriage were but just enough to pay him. this made them reflect seriously on what was passed, which, however, was no remedy for the present evil. but they agreed to pay the caterer; and having sent for him, gave him all they owed him, without considering the difficulty they should be in immediately after. the caterer went away highly pleased at receiving so large a sum, though abou hassan and his wife were not so well satisfied with seeing the bottom of their purse, but remained a long time silent, and very much embarrassed, to find themselves reduced to poverty the very first year of their marriage. abou hassan remembered that the caliph, when he took him into the palace, had promised never to let him want. but when he considered how prodigal he had been of his money, was unwilling to expose himself to the shame of letting the caliph know the ill use he had made of his bounty, and that he wanted a supply. besides, he had made over his patrimony to his mother, when the caliph had received him near his person, and was afraid to apply to her, lest she should discover that he had returned to the same extravagance he had been guilty of after his father's death. his wife, on the other hand, regarded zobeide's generosity, and the liberty she had given her to marry, as more than a sufficient recompense for her service, and thought she had no right to ask more. abou hassan at last broke silence, and looking at his wife, said, "i see you are in the same embarrassment as myself, and thinking what we must do in this unhappy juncture, when our money fails us so unexpectedly. i do not know what your sentiments may be; but mine are, let what will happen, not to retrench our expenses in the least; and i believe you will come into my opinion. the point is, how to support them without stooping to ask the caliph or zobeide: and i think i have fallen on the means; but we must assist each other." this discourse of abou hassan very much pleased his wife, and gave her some hopes. "i was thinking so as well as you," said she; "but durst not explain my thoughts, because i do not know how we can help ourselves; and must confess, that what you tell me gives me a revival of pleasure. since you say you have found out a resource, and my assistance is necessary, you need but tell me in what way, and i will do all that lies in my power." "i was sure," replied abou hassan, "that you would not fail me in a business which concerns us both; and therefore i must tell you, this want of money has made me think of a plan which will supply us, at least for a time. it consists in a little trick we must put, i upon the caliph and you upon zobeide, and at which, as i am sure they will both be diverted, it will answer advantageously for us. you and i will both die." "not i indeed," interrupted nouzhatoul-aouadat; "you may die by yourself, if you please, but i am not so weary of this life; and whether you are pleased or not, will not die so soon. if you have nothing else to propose, you may die by yourself; for i assure you i shall not join you." "you are a woman of such vivacity and wonderful quickness," replied abou hassan, "that you scarcely give me time to explain my design. have but a little patience, and you shall find that you will be ready enough to die such a death as i intend; for surely you could not think i meant a real death?" "well," said his wife, "if it is but a sham death you design, i am at your service, and you may depend on my zeal to second you in this manner of dying; but i must tell you truly, i am very unwilling to die, as i apprehended you at first." "be but silent a little," said abou hassan, "and i will tell you what i promise. i will feign myself dead, and you shall lay me out in the middle of my chamber, with my turban upon my face, my feet towards mecca, as if ready to be carried out to burial. when you have done this, you must lament, and weep bitterly, as is usual in such cases, tear your clothes and hair, or pretend to do it, and go all in tears, with your locks dishevelled, to zobeide. the princess will of course inquire the cause of your grief; and when you have told her, with words intermixed with sobs, she will pity you, give you money to defray the expense of my funeral, and a piece of good brocade to cover my body, that my interment may be the more magnificent, and to make you a new dress in the room of that you will have torn. as soon as you return with the money and the brocade, i will rise, lay you in my place, and go and act the same part with the caliph, who i dare say will be as generous to me as zobeide will have been to you." nouzhatoul-aouadat highly approved the project, and said to abou hassan, "come, lose no time; strip to your shirt and drawers, while i prepare a winding sheet. i know how to bury as well as any body; for while i was in zobeide's service, when any of my fellow-slaves died, i had the conducting of the funeral." abou hassan did as his wife mentioned, and laid himself on the sheet which she had spread on the carpet in the middle of the room. as soon as he had crossed his arms, his wife wrapped him up, turned his feet towards mecca, and put a piece of fine muslin and his turban upon his face, so that nothing seemed wanting but to carry him out to be buried. after this she pulled off her head-dress, and with tears in her eyes, her hair dishevelled, and seeming to tear it off, with a dismal cry and lamentation, beating her face and breast with all the marks of the most lively grief, ran across the court to zobeide's apartments, who, hearing the voice of a person crying very loud, commanded some of her women to see who it was; they returned and told her that it was nouzhatoul-aouadat, who was approaching in a deplorable condition. the princess, impatient to know what had happened to her, rose up immediately, and went to meet her at the door of her ante-chamber. nouzhatoul-aouadat played her part to perfection. as soon as she saw zobeide, who held the door open, she redoubled her cries, tore her hair off by handfuls, beat her face and breast, and threw herself at her feet, bathing them with her tears. zobeide, amazed to see her slave in such extraordinary affliction, asked what had happened; but, instead of answering, she continued her sobs; and at last feigning to strive to check them, said, with words interrupted with sighs, "alas! my most honoured lady and mistress, what greater misfortune could have befallen me than this, which obliges me to throw myself at your highness's feet. god prolong your days, my most respectable princess, in perfect health, and grant you many happy years! abou hassan! poor abou hassan! whom you honoured with your esteem, and gave me for a husband, is no more!" at these words nouzhatoul-aouadat redoubled her tears and sighs, and threw herself again at the princess's feet. zobeide was extremely concerned at this news. "abou hassan dead!" cried she; "that agreeable, pleasant man! i did not expect his death so soon; he seemed to promise a long life, and well deserved to enjoy it!" she then also burst into tears, as did all her women, who had been often witnesses of abou hassan's pleasantries when the caliph brought him to amuse the princess zobeide, and all together continued for some time bewailing his loss. at length the princess zobeide broke silence: "wicked woman!" cried she, addressing herself to the false widow, "perhaps you may have occasioned his death. your ill temper has given him so much vexation, that you have at last brought him to his grave." nouzhatoul-aouadat seemed much hurt at the reproaches of zobeide: "ah, madam," cried she, "i do not think i ever gave your majesty, while i was your slave, reason to entertain so disadvantageous an opinion of my conduct to a husband who was so dear to me. i should think myself the most wretched of women if you were persuaded of this. i behaved to abou hassan as a wife should do to a husband for whom she has a sincere affection; and i may say, without vanity, that i had for him the same regard he had for me. i am persuaded he would, were he alive, justify me fully to your majesty; but, madam," added she, renewing her tears, "his time was come, and that was the only cause of his death." zobeide, as she had really observed in her slave a uniformly equal temper, mildness, great docility and zeal for her service, which shewed she was rather actuated by inclination than duty, hesitated not to believe her on her word, and ordered her treasurer to fetch a hundred pieces of gold and a piece of rich brocade. the slave soon returned with the purse and piece of brocade, which, by zobeide's order, she delivered to nouzhatoul-aouadat, who threw herself again at the princess's feet, and thanked her with great self-satisfaction at finding she had succeeded so well. "go," said zobeide, "use that brocade to cover the corpse of your husband, and with the money bury him handsomely, as he deserves. moderate the transport of your afflictions: i will take care of you." as soon as nouzhatoul-aouadat got out of the princess's presence, she dried up her tears, and returned with joy to abou hassan, to give him an account of her good success. when she came home she burst out a laughing on seeing her husband still stretched out in the middle of the floor; she ran to him, bade him rise and see the fruits of his stratagem. he arose, and rejoiced with his wife at the sight of the purse and brocade. unable to contain herself at the success of her artifice, "come, husband," said she, laughing, "let me act the dead part, and see if you can manage the caliph as well as i have done zobeide." "that is the temper of all women," replied abou hassan, "who, we may well say, have always the vanity to believe they can do things better than men, though at the same time what good they do is by their advice. it would be odd indeed, if i, who laid this plot myself, could not carry it on as well as you. but let us lose no time in idle discourse; lie down in my place, and witness if i do not come off with as much applause." abou hassan wrapped up his wife as she had done him, and with his turban unrolled, like a man in the greatest affliction, ran to the caliph, who was holding a private council with jaaffier and other confidential viziers. he presented himself at the door, and the officer, knowing he had free access, opened it. he entered holding with one hand his handkerchief before his eyes, to hide the feigned tears, which trickled down his cheeks, and striking his breast with the other, with exclamations expressing extraordinary grief. the caliph, always used to see abou hassan with a merry countenance, was very much surprised to behold him in so much distress. he interrupted the business of the council to inquire the cause of his grief. "commander of the faithful," answered abou hassan, with repeated sighs and sobs, "god preserve your majesty on the throne, which you fill so gloriously! a greater calamity could not have befallen me than what i now lament. alas! nouzhatoul-aouadat whom you in your bounty gave me for a wife to gladden my existence, alas!" at this exclamation abou hassan pretended to have his heart so full, that he could not utter more, but poured forth a flood of tears. the caliph, who now understood that abou hassan came to tell him of the death of his wife, seemed much concerned, and said to him with an air which shewed how much he regretted her loss, "god be merciful to her: she was a good slave, and we gave her to you with an intention to make you happy: she deserved a longer life." the tears then ran down his face, so that he was obliged to pull out his handkerchief to wipe them off. the grief of abou hassan, and the tears of the caliph, excited those of jaaffier and the other viziers. they bewailed the death of nouzhatoul-aouadat, who, on her part, was only impatient to hear how abou hassan succeeded. the caliph had the same suspicion of the husband that zobeide had of the wife, and imagined that he had occasioned her death. "wretch!" said he, in a tone of indignation, "have not you been the cause of your wife's death by your ill treatment of her? you ought at least to have had some regard for the princess my consort, who loved her more than the rest of her slaves, yet consented to give her to you. what a return for her kindness!" "commander of the faithful," replied abou hassan, affecting to weep more bitterly than before, "can your majesty for a moment suppose that abou hassan, whom you have loaded with your favours and kindness, and on whom you have conferred honours he could never have aspired to, can have been capable of such ingratitude? i loved nouzhatoul-aouadat my wife as much on these accounts, as for the many good qualities she possessed, and which drew from me all the attachment, tenderness, and love she deserved. but, my lord," added he, "she was to die, and god would no longer suffer me to enjoy a happiness for which i was indebted to your majesty and your beloved consort." abou hassan dissembled so well, that the caliph, who had never heard how extravagantly he and his wife had lived, no longer doubting his sincerity, ordered his treasurer, who was present, to give abou hassan a purse of a hundred pieces of gold and a piece of brocade. abou hassan immediately cast himself at the caliph's feet, and thanked him for his present. "follow the treasurer," said the monarch; "throw the brocade over the corpse, and with the money shew the last testimony of thy love for thy wife." abou hassan made no reply to these obliging words of the caliph, but retiring with a low prostration, followed the treasurer; and as soon as he had got the purse and piece of brocade, went home, well pleased with having found out so quick and easy a way of supplying the necessity which had given him so much uneasiness. nouzhatoul-aouadat, weary with lying so long in one posture, waited not till abou hassan bade her rise; but as soon as she heard the door open, sprang up, ran to her husband, and asked him if he had imposed on the caliph as cleverly as she had done on zobeide. "you see," said he, shewing her the stuff, and shaking the purse, "that i can act a sorrowful husband for a living wife, as well as you can a weeping widow for a husband not dead." abou hassan, however, was not without his fears that this double plot might be attended with some ill consequences. he thought it would not be amiss to put his wife on her guard as to what might happen, that they might aft in concert. "for," added he, "the better we succeed in embarrassing the caliph and zobeide, the more they will be pleased at last, and perhaps may shew their satisfaction by greater liberality." this last consideration induced them to carry on their stratagem farther. the caliph, though he had important affairs to decide, was so impatient to condole with the princess on the death of her slave, that he rose up as soon as abou hassan was gone, and put off the council to another day. "follow me," said he to mesrour, who always attended him wherever he went, and was in all his councils, "let us go and share with the princess the grief which the death of her slave nouzhatoul-aouadat must have occasioned." accordingly they went to zobeide's apartment, whom the caliph found sitting on a sofa, much afflicted, and still in tears. "madam," said the caliph, going up to her, "it is unnecessary to tell you how much i partake with you in your affliction; since you must be sensible that what gives you pleasure or trouble, has the same effect on me. but we are all mortal, and must surrender up to god that life he has given us, when he requires it. nouzhatoul-aouadat, your faithful slave, was endued with qualifications that deserved your esteem, and i cannot but approve your expressing it after her death; but consider all your grief will not restore her to life. therefore, madam, if you love me, and will take my advice, be comforted for this loss, take care of a life which you know is precious to me, and constitutes all the happiness of mine." if the princess was charmed with these tender sentiments which the caliph expressed in his compliments, she was amazed to hear of nouzhatoulaouadat's death. this news threw her into such astonishment, that she was not able to return an answer for some time. at last recovering, she replied with an air expressive of surprise, "commander of the faithful, i am very sensible of all your tender sentiments; but give me leave to say, i cannot comprehend the news you tell me of the death of my slave, who is in perfect health. my affliction is for the death of abou hassan, her husband, your favourite, whom i esteemed, as much for the regard you had for him, as his having so often diverted me agreeably, and for whom i had as great a value as yourself. but the little concern you shew for his death, and your so soon forgetting a man in whose company you have so often told me you took so much pleasure, surprises me; and this insensibility seems the greater, from the deception you would put upon me in changing his death for that of my slave." the caliph, who thought that he was perfectly well informed of the death of the slave, and had just reason to believe so, because he had both seen and heard abou hassan, laughed, and shrugged up his shoulders, to hear zobeide talk in this manner. "mesrour," said he, to the eunuch, "what do you think of the princess's discourse? do not women sometimes lose their senses; for you have heard and seen all as well as myself?" then turning to zobeide, "madam," said he, "shed no more tears for abou hassan, for i can assure you he is well; but rather bewail the death of your dear slave. it is not many moments since her husband came in the most inexpressible affliction, to tell me of the death of his wife. i gave him a purse of a hundred pieces of gold and a piece of brocade, to comfort him, and bury her; and mesrour, who was present, can tell you the same." the princess took this discourse of the caliph's to be all a jest, and thought he had a mind to impose upon her. "commander of the faithful," replied she, "though you are used to banter, i must tell you, this is not a proper time for pleasantry. what i tell you is very serious; i do not talk of my slave's death, but of abou hassan's, her husband, whose fate i bewail, and so ought you too." "madam," said the caliph, putting on a grave countenance, "i tell you without raillery that you are deceived; nouzhatoul-aouadat is dead, and abou hassan is alive, and in perfect health." zobeide was much piqued at this dry answer of the caliph. "commander of the faithful," replied she smartly, "god preserve you from continuing longer in this mistake, surely you would make me think your mind is not as usual. give me leave to repeat to you once more, that it is abou hassan who is dead, and that my slave nouzhatoul-aouadat, his widow, is living. it is not an hour since she went from hence. she came here in so disconsolate a state, that the sight of her was enough to have drawn tears from my eyes, if she had not told me her affliction. all my women, who wept with me, can bear me witness, and tell you also that i made her a present of a hundred pieces of gold and a piece of brocade; the grief which you found me in, was on account of the death of her husband; and just at the instant you entered, i was going to send you a compliment of condolence." at these words of zobeide, the caliph cried out in a fit of laughter, "this, madam, is a strange piece of obstinacy; but," continued he seriously, "you may depend upon nouzhatoul-aouadat's being dead." "i tell you no, sir," replied zobeide sharply; "it is abou hassan that is dead, and you shall never make me believe otherwise." upon this the caliph's anger rose in his countenance. he seated himself on the sofa at some distance from the princess, and speaking to mesrour, said, "go immediately, see which it is, and bring me word; for though i am certain that it is nouzhatoul-aouadat, i would rather take this method than be any longer obstinately positive about the matter, though of its certainty i am perfectly satisfied." no sooner had the caliph commanded than mesrour was gone. "you will see," continued he, addressing himself to zobeide, "in a moment, which of us is right." "for my part," replied zobeide, "i know very well that i am in the right, and you will find it to be abou hassan." "and for myself," returned the caliph, "i am so sure that it is nouzhatoul-aouadat, that i will lay you what wager you please that abou hassan is well." "do not think to come off so," said zobeide; "i accept your wager, and i am so well persuaded of his death, that i would willingly lay the thing dearest to me in the world against what you will, though it were of less value. you know what i have in my disposal, and what i value most; propose the bet, and i will stand to it." "since it is so," said the caliph, "i will lay my garden of pleasures against your palace of paintings, though the one is worth much more than the other." "is the question at present," replied zobeide, "if your garden is more valuable than my palace? that is not the point. you have made choice of what you thought fit belonging to me, as an equivalent against what you lay; i accept the wager, and that i will abide by it, i take god to witness." the caliph took the same oath, and both waited mesrour's return. while the caliph and zobeide were disputing so earnestly, and with so much warmth, abou hassan, who foresaw their difference, was very attentive to whatever might happen. as soon as he perceived mesrour through a window, at which he sat talking with his wife, and observed that he was coming directly to their apartment, he guessed his commission, and bade his wife make haste to act the dead part once more, as they had agreed, without loss of time; but they were so pressed, that abou hassan had much ado to wrap up his wife, and lay the piece of brocade which the caliph had given him upon her, before mesrour reached the house. this done, he opened the door of his apartment, and with a melancholy, dejected countenance, and his handkerchief before his eyes, went and sat down at the head of the pretended deceased. by the time he was seated, mesrour came into the room. the dismal sight which met his eyes, gave him a secret joy on account of the errand the caliph had sent him on. abou hassan rose up to meet him, and kissing his hand out of respect, said, sighing and sobbing, "you see me under the greatest calamity that ever could have befallen me the death of my dear wife, nouzhatoul-aouadat, whom you honoured with your favours." mesrour, affected by this discourse, could not refuse some tears to the memory of the deceased. he lifted up the cloth a little at the head, and peeping under it, let it down again, and said, with a deep sigh, "there is no other god but allah, we must all submit to his will, and every creature must return to him. nouzhatoul-aouadat, my good sister," added he, sighing, "thy days have been few: god have mercy on thee." then turning to abou hassan, who was all the time in tears, "we may well say," added he, "that women sometimes have whims, and lose their senses in a most unpardonable manner; for zobeide, good mistress as she is, is in that situation at present; she will maintain to the caliph that you are dead, and not your wife; and whatever the caliph can say to the contrary, he cannot persuade her otherwise. he called me to witness and confirm this truth; for you know i was present when you came and told him the sorrowful news: but all signifies nothing. they are both positive; and the caliph, to convince zobeide, has sent me to know the truth, but i fear i shall not be believed; for when women once take up a thing, they are not to be beaten out of it." "god keep the commander of the faithful in the possession and right use of his senses," replied abou hassan, still sighing and weeping; "you see how it is, and that i have not imposed upon his majesty. and i wish to heaven," continued he, to dissemble the better, "that i had no occasion to have told him the melancholy and afflicting news. alas! i cannot enough express my irreparable loss!" "that is true," replied mesrour, "and i can assure you i take a great share in your affliction; but you must be comforted, and not abandon yourself to your grief. i leave you with reluctance, to return to the caliph; but i beg the favour of you not to bury the corpse till i come again; for i will assist at the interment, and accompany it with my prayers." mesrour went to give an account of his visit. abou hassan attended him to the door, told him he did not deserve the honour he intended him: and for fear mesrour should return to say something else, followed him with his eyes for some time, and when he saw him at a distance, returned to his wife and released her. "this is already," said he, "a new scene of mirth, but i fancy it will not be the last; for certainly the princess zobeide will not believe mesrour, but will laugh at him, since she has too substantial a reason to the contrary; therefore we must expect some new event." while abou hassan was talking thus, nouzhatoul-aouadat had time to put on her clothes again, and both went and sat down on a sofa opposite to the window, where they could see all that passed. in the mean time, mesrour reached zobeide's apartment, and going into her closet laughing, clapped his hands like one who had something very agreeable to tell. the caliph, naturally impatient, and piqued a little at the princess's contradiction, as soon as he saw mesrour, "vile slave," said he, "is this a time to laugh? why do not you tell me which is dead, the husband or the wife?" "commander of the faithful," answered mesrour, putting on a serious countenance, "it is nouzhatoul-aouadat who is dead, for the loss of whom about hassan is as much afflicted as when he appeared before your majesty." the caliph not giving him time to pursue his story, interrupted him, and cried out, laughing heartily, "good news! zobeide, your mistress, was a moment ago possessed of the palace of paintings, and now it is mine. she staked it against my garden of pleasures, since you went; therefore you could not have done me greater pleasure. i will take care to reward you: but give me a true account of what you saw." "commander of the faithful," said mesrour, "when i came to abou hassan's apartment, i found the door open, and he was bewailing the death of his wife. he sat at the head of the deceased, who was laid out in the middle of the room, with her feet towards mecca, and was covered with the piece of brocade which your majesty presented to abou hassan. after i had expressed the share i took in his grief, i went and lifted up the pall at the head, and knew nouzhatoul-aouadat, though her face was much swelled and changed. i exhorted abou hassan in the best manner i could to be comforted; and when i came away, told him i would attend at his wife's funeral, and desired him not to remove the corpse till i came. this is all i can tell your majesty." "i ask no more," said the caliph, laughing heartily, "and i am well satisfied with your exactness." then addressing himself to zobeide, "well, madam," said he, "have you yet any thing to say against so certain a truth? will you still believe that nouzhatoul-aouadat is alive, and that abou hassan is dead? and will you not own that you have lost your wager?" "how, sir," replied zobeide, who would not believe one word mesrour said, "do you think that i regard that impertinent fellow of a slave, who knows not what he says? i am not blind or mad. with these eyes i saw nouzhatoul-aouadat in the greatest affliction; i spoke to her myself, and she told me that her husband was dead." "madam," replied mesrour, "i swear to you by your own life, and that of the commander of the faithful, which are both dear to me, that nouzhatoul-aouadat is dead, and abou hassan is living." "thou liest, base despicable slave," said zobeide in a rage, "and i will confound thee immediately." clapping her hands together, she called her women, who all approached. "come hither," said the princess to them, "and speak the truth. who was that who came and spoke with me a little before the caliph entered?" the women all answered that it was poor afflicted nouzhatoul-aouadat. "and what," added she, addressing herself to her treasurer, "did i order you to give her?" "madam," answered the treasurer, "i gave nouzhatoul-aouadat, by your orders, a purse of a hundred pieces of gold and a piece of brocade, which she carried away with her." "well, then, sorry slave," said zobeide to mesrour, in passion, "what have you to say to all this? whom do you think now i ought to believe, you or my treasurer, my women, and myself?" mesrour did not want for arguments to contradict the princess; but, as he was afraid of provoking her too much, chose rather to be silent, though he was satisfied that the wife was dead, and not the husband. during the whole of this dispute between zobeide and mesrour, the caliph, who heard the evidence on both sides, and was persuaded of the contrary of what the princess asserted, because he had himself seen and spoken to abou hassan, and from what mesrour had told him, laughed heartily to see zobeide so exasperated. "madam," said he to her, "once more i repeat that i know not who was the author of that saying, that 'women sometimes lose their wits,' but i am sure you make it good. mesrour has just come from abou hassan's, and tells you that he saw nouzhatoul-aouadat lying dead in the middle of the room, abou hassan alive, and sitting by her; and yet you will not believe this evidence, which nobody can reasonably refuse; i cannot comprehend this conduit." zobeide would not hear the caliph. "pardon me, commander of the faithful," replied she, "if i suspect you: i see that you have contrived with mesrour to vex me, and to try my patience. and as i perceive that this report was concerted between you, i beg leave to send a person to abou hassan's, to know whether or not i am in the wrong." the caliph consented, and the princess charged with this important commission an old nurse, who had lived with her from her infancy. "hark you nurse," said she, "you see my dispute with the commander of the faithful, and mesrour; i need tell you no more. go to abou hassan's or rather to nouzhatoul-aouadat's, for abou hassan is dead, and clear up this matter for me. if you bring me good news, a handsome present is your reward: make haste, and return immediately." the nurse set out, to the great joy of the caliph, who was delighted to see zobeide in this embarrassment; but mesrour, extremely mortified to find the princess so angry with him, did all he could to appease her, and to make her and the caliph both satisfied with him. he was overjoyed when zobeide sent the nurse; because he was persuaded that the report she must make would agree with his, justify him, and restore him to her favour. in the mean time abou hassan, who watched at the window, perceived the nurse at a distance, and guessing that she was sent by zobeide, called his wife, and told her that the princess's nurse was coming to know the truth. "therefore," said he, "make haste and lay me out." accordingly nouzhatoul-aouadat covered him with the brocade zobeide had given her, and put his turban upon his face. the nurse, eager to acquit herself of her commission, hobbled as fast as age would allow her, and entering the room, perceived nouzhatoul-aouadat in tears, her hair dishevelled, and seated at the head of her husband, beating her breast, with all the expressions of violent grief. the good old nurse went directly to the false widow. "my dear nouzhatoul-aouadat," said she, with a sorrowful countenance, "i come not to interrupt your grief and tears for a husband whom you loved so tenderly." "ah! good mother," replied the counterfeit widow, "you see my misfortune, and how unhappy i am from the loss of my beloved abou hassan. abou hassan, my dear husband!" cried she, "what have i done that you should leave me so soon? have i not always preferred your will to my own? alas! what will become of poor nouzhatoul-aouadat?" "this black-faced mesrour," cried the nurse, lifting up her hands, "deserves to be punished for having caused so great a difference between my good mistress and the commander of the faithful, by the falsehood he has told them. daughter," continued she, "that villain mesrour has asserted, with inconceivable impudence, before our good mistress, that you were dead, and abou hassan was alive." "alas! my good mother," cried nouzhatoul-aouadat, "i wish to heaven that it was true! i should not be in this sorrowful state, nor bewail a husband so dear to me!" at these words she wept afresh, and with redoubled tears and cries feigned the deepest sorrow. the nurse was so much moved by her tears, that she sat down by her, and cried too. then gently lifting up the turban and cloth, looked at the face of the corpse. "ah! poor abou hassan," she cried, covering his face again, "god have mercy upon thee. adieu, child," said she to nouzhatoul-aouadat: "if i could stay longer with you, i would with all my heart; but i am obliged to return immediately, to deliver my mistress from the uneasiness that black villain has occasioned her, by his impudent lie, assuring her with an oath that you were dead." as soon as the nurse was gone, nouzhatoul-aouadat wiped her eyes and released abou hassan; they both went and sat down on a sofa against the window, expecting what would be the end of this stratagem, and to be ready to act according as circumstances might require. the nurse, in the mean time, made all the haste she could to zobeide. the pleasure of carrying the princess news favourable to her wager, but still more the hopes of a good reward, added wings to her feet, and running into the princess's closet quite out of breath, she gave her a true account of all she had seen. zobeide hearkened to the old woman's relation with a most sensible pleasure; and when she had done, said, with a tone which shewed triumph at having, as she supposed, won her wager: "repeat it once more before the caliph, who looks upon us all to be fools, would make us believe we have no sense of religion, nor fear of god; and tell your story to that wicked black slave, who had the insolence to assert a wilful falsehood." mesrour, who expected the nurse's report would prove favourable on his side, was much mortified to find it so much the contrary, and so vexed at the anger zobeide expressed against him, for a thing which he thought himself surer of than any body, that he was glad of an opportunity of speaking his mind freely to the old women, which he durst not do to the princess. "old toothless," said he to the nurse, "you are a liar, and there is no truth in what you say; for i saw with my own eyes nouzhatoul-aouadat laid out in the middle of the room." "you are a notorious liar yourself," replied the nurse, with an insulting air, "to dare maintain so great a falsity before my face, who am just come from seeing abou hassan dead, laid out, and have left his wife alive." "i am not an impostor," replied mesrour; "it is you who endeavour to lead us all into error." "what impudence," said the nurse, "to dare tell me i lie in the presence of their majesties, when i saw just now with my own eyes what i have had the honour to tell them." "indeed, nurse," answered mesrour again, "you had better hold your tongue, for you certainly doat." zobeide, who could no longer endure this want of respect in mesrour, who, without any regard to her, treated her nurse so injuriously in her presence, without giving the old lady time to reply to so gross an affront, said to the caliph, "commander of the faithful, i demand justice for this insolence to us both." she was so enraged she could say no more, but burst into tears. the caliph, who had heard all the dispute, thought it very intricate. he mused some time, and could not tell what to think of so many contradictions. the princess on her part, as well as mesrour, the nurse, and all the women slaves, who were present, were as much puzzled, and remained silent. at last the caliph, addressing himself to zobeide, said, "i see we are all liars; myself first, then you, mesrour, and you, nurse; or at least it seems not one can be believed more than the other; therefore let us go ourselves to examine the truth, for i can see no other way to clear up these doubts." so saying, the caliph arose, the princess followed him, and mesrour went before to open the doors. "commander of the faithful," said he, "i am overjoyed that your majesty has taken this course; and shall be much more, when i shall make it plainly appear to the nurse, not that she doats, since the expression is unfortunately displeasing to my good mistress, but that her report is not true." the nurse wanted not a reply; "hold your tongue, black face," said she; "you doat yourself." zobeide, who was much provoked at mesrour, could not bear to hear him attack her nurse again without taking her part: "vile slave," said she, "say what you will, i maintain my nurse speaks the truth, and look upon you as a mere liar." "madam," replied mesrour, "if nurse is so very certain that nouzhatoul-aouadat is alive, and abou hassan dead, i will lay her what she dares of it." the nurse was as ready as he; "i dare," said she, "take you at your word: let us see if you dare unsay it." mesrour stood to his word; and they laid a piece of gold brocade with silver flowers before the caliph and the princess. the apartment from which the caliph and zobeide set out, though distant from abou hassan's, was nevertheless just opposite, so that he perceived them coming, and told his wife that he was much mistaken if the caliph and zobeide, preceded by mesrour, and followed by a great number of women, were not about to do them the honour of a visit. she looked through a lattice and saw them, seemed frightened, and cried out, "what shall we do? we are ruined." "fear nothing," replied abou hassan. "have you forgotten already what we agreed on? we will both feign ourselves dead, and you shall see all will go well. at the slow rate they are coming, we shall be ready before they reach the door." accordingly, abou hassan and his wife wrapped up and covered themselves with the pieces of brocade, and waited patiently for their visitors. mesrour, who came first, opened the door, and the caliph and zobeide, followed by their attendants, entered the room; but were struck with horror, and stood motionless, at the spectacle which presented itself to their view, not knowing what to think. at length zobeide breaking silence, said to the caliph, "alas! they are both dead! you have done much," continued she, looking at the caliph and mesrour, "to endeavour to make me believe that my dear slave was dead, and i find it is true: grief at the loss of her husband has certainly killed her." "say rather, madam," answered the caliph, prepossessed to the contrary, that nouzhatoul-aouadat died first, "the afflicted abou hassan sunk under his grief, and could not survive his dear wife; you ought, therefore, to confess that you have lost your wager, and that your palace of paintings is mine." "hold there," answered zobeide, warmed at being contradicted by the caliph; "i will maintain you have lost your garden of pleasures. abou hassan died first; since my nurse told you, as well as me, that she saw her alive, and weeping for the death of her husband." the dispute of the caliph and zobeide brought on another between mesrour and the nurse, who had wagered as well as they; each affirmed to have won, and at length they proceeded to abuse each other very grossly. at last the caliph, reflecting on what had passed, began to think that zobeide had as much reason as himself to maintain that she had won. in this embarrassment of not being able to find out the truth, he advanced towards the corpses, and sat down at the head, searching for some expedient that might gain him the victory over zobeide. "i swear," cried he presently after, "by the holy name of god, that i will give a thousand pieces of gold to him who can tell me which of these two died first." no sooner were these words out of the caliph's mouth, than he heard a voice under abou hassan's piece of brocade say, "commander of the faithful, i died first, give me the thousand pieces of gold." at the same instant abou hassan threw off the piece of brocade, and springing up, prostrated himself at his feet, while his wife did the same to zobeide, keeping on her piece of brocade out of decency. the princess at first shrieked out, but recovering herself, expressed great joy to see her dear slave rise again, just when she was almost inconsolable at having seen her dead. "ah! wicked nouzhatoul-aouadat," cried she, "what have i suffered for your sake? however, i forgive you from my heart, since you are not dead." the caliph was not so much surprised, when he heard abou hassan's voice: but thought he should have died with laughing at this unravelling of the mystery, and to hear abou hassan ask so seriously for the thousand pieces of gold. "what, abou hassan," said he, continuing to laugh aloud, "hast thou conspired against my life, to kill me a second time with laughing? how came this thought into your head, to surprise zobeide and me thus, when we least thought of such a trick?" "commander of the faithful," replied abou hassan, "i will declare to your majesty the whole truth, without the least reserve. your majesty knows that i always loved to eat and drink well' and the wife you gave me rather increased than restrained this propensity. with these dispositions your majesty may easily suppose we might spend a good estate; and to make short of my story, we were not sparing of what your majesty so generously gave us. this morning, accounting with our caterer, who took care to provide every thing for us, and paying what we owed him, we found we had nothing left. then, reflections on what was past, and resolutions to manage better for the future, crowded into our thoughts; we formed a thousand projects, all of which we rejected. at last, the shame of seeing ourselves reduced to so low a condition, and not daring to tell your majesty, made us contrive this stratagem to relieve our necessities, and to divert you, which we hope your majesty will be pleased to pardon." the caliph was satisfied with abou hassan's sincerity, and zobeide, who had till now been very serious, began to laugh at the thought of abou hassan's scheme. the caliph, who had not ceased laughing at the singularity of the adventure, rising, said to abou hassan and his wife, "follow me; i will give you the thousand pieces of gold i promised, for joy to find you are not dead." zobeide desired him to let her make her slave a present of the same sum, for the same reason. by this means abou hassan and his wife nouzhatoul-aouadat preserved the favour of the caliph haroon al rusheed and the princess zobeide, and by their liberalities were enabled to pursue their pleasures. the story of alla ad deen; or, the wonderful lamp. in the capital of one of the large and rich provinces of the kingdom of china, the name of which i do not recollect, there lived a tailor, named mustapha, who was so poor, that he could hardly, by his daily labour, maintain himself and his family, which consisted of a wife and son. his son, who was called alla ad deen, had been brought up in a very careless and idle manner, and by that means had contracted many vicious habits. he was wicked, obstinate, and disobedient to his father and mother, who, when he grew up, could not keep him within doors. he was in the habit of going out early in the morning, and would stay out all day, playing in the streets and public places with idle children of his own age. when he was old enough to learn a trade, his father not being able to put him out to any other, took him into his own shop, and taught him how to use his needle: but neither fair words nor the fear of chastisement were capable of fixing his lively genius. all his father's endeavours to keep him to his work were in vain; for no sooner was his back turned, than he was gone for that day. mustapha chastised him, but alla ad deen was incorrigible, and his father, to his great grief, was forced to abandon him to his idleness: and was so much troubled at not being able to reclaim him, that it threw him into a fit of sickness, of which he died in a few months. the mother, finding that her son would not follow his father's business, shut up the shop, sold off the implements of trade, and with the money she received for them, and what she could get by spinning cotton, thought to maintain herself and her son. alla ad deen, who was now no longer restrained by the fear of a father, and who cared so little for his mother, that whenever she chid him, he would abuse her, gave himself entirely over to his idle habits, and was never out of the streets from his companions. this course he followed till he was fifteen years old, without giving his mind to any useful pursuit, or the least reflection on what would become of him. in this situation, as he was one day playing according to custom in the street, with his vagabond associates, a stranger passing by stood to observe him. this stranger was a sorcerer, called by the writer of this story, the african magician; he was a native of africa, and had been but two days arrived from thence. the african magician, who was a good physiognomist, observing in alla ad deen's countenance something absolutely necessary for the execution of the design he was engaged in, inquired artfully about his family, who he was, and what were his inclinations; and when he had learned all he desired to know, went up to him, and taking him aside from his comrades, said, "child, was not your father called mustapha the tailor?" "yes, sir," answered the boy; "but he has been dead a long time." at these words, the african magician threw his arms about alla ad deen's neck, and kissed him several times with tears in his eyes. alla ad deen, who observed his tears, asked him what made him weep. "alas! my son," cried the african magician with a sigh, "how can i forbear? "i am your uncle; your worthy father was my own brother. i have been many years abroad, and now i am come home with the hopes of seeing him, you tell me he is dead. i assure you it is a sensible grief to me to be deprived of the comfort i expected. but it is some relief to my affliction, that as far as i can remember him, i knew you at first sight, you are so like him; and i see i am not deceived." then he asked alla ad deen, putting his hand into his purse, where his mother lived; and as soon as he had informed him, gave him a handful of small money, saying, "go, my son, to your mother, give my love to her, and tell her that i will visit her to-morrow, if i have time, that i may have the satisfaction of seeing where my good brother lived so long, and ended his days." as soon as the african magician left his newly-adopted nephew, alla ad deen ran to his mother, overjoyed at the money his uncle had given him. "mother," said he, "have i an uncle?" "no, child," replied his mother, "you have no uncle by your father's side, or mine." "i am just now come," said alla ad deen, "from a man who says he is my uncle by my father's side, assuring me that he is his brother. he cried and kissed me when i told him my father was dead; and to shew you that what i tell you is truth," added he, pulling out the money, "see what he has given me. he charged me to give his love to you, and to tell you, if he has any time to-morrow, he will come and pay you a visit, that he may see the house my father lived and died in." "indeed, child," replied the mother, "your father had a brother, but he has been dead a long time, and i never heard of another." the mother and son talked no more then of the african magician; but the next day alla ad deen's uncle found him playing in another part of the town with other children, and embracing him as before, put two pieces of gold into his hand, and said to him, "carry this, child, to your mother, tell her that i will come and see her tonight, and bid her get us something for supper; but first shew me the house where you live." after alla ad deen had shewed the african magician the house, he carried the two pieces of gold to his mother, and when he had told her of his uncle's intention, she went out and bought provisions; and considering she wanted various utensils, borrowed them of her neighbours. she spent the whole day in preparing the supper; and at night when it was ready, said to her son, "perhaps your uncle knows not how to find our house; go and bring him if you meet with him." though alla ad deen had shewed the magician the house, he was ready to go, when somebody knocked at the door, which he immediately opened: and the magician came in loaded with wine, and all sorts of fruits, which he brought for a dessert. after the african magician had given what he brought into alla ad deen's hands, he saluted his mother, and desired her to shew him the place where his brother mustapha used to sit on the sofa; and when she had so done, he fell down and kissed it several times, crying out with tears in his eyes, "my poor brother! how unhappy am i, not to have come soon enough to give you one last embrace." alla ad deen's mother desired him to sit down in the same place, but he declined. "no," said he, "i shall take care how i do that; but give me leave to sit opposite to it, that although i am deprived of the satisfaction of seeing the master of a family so dear to me, i may at least have the pleasure of beholding the place where he used to sit." the widow pressed him no farther, but left him at liberty to sit where he pleased. when the magician had made choice of a place, and sat down, he began to enter into discourse with alla ad deen's mother. "my good sister," said he, "do not be surprised at your never having seen me all the time you have been married to my brother mustapha of happy memory. i have been forty years absent from this country, which is my native place, as well as my late brother's; and during that time have travelled into the indies, persia, arabia, syria, and egypt, have resided in the finest towns of those countries; and afterwards crossed over into africa, where i made a longer stay. at last, as it is natural for a man, how distant soever it may be, to remember his native country, relations, and acquaintance, i was desirous to see mine again, and to embrace my dear brother; and finding i had strength enough to undertake so long a journey, i immediately made the necessary preparations, and set out. i will not tell you the length of time it took me, all the obstacles i met with, and what fatigues i have endured, to come hither; but nothing ever mortified and afflicted me so much, as hearing of my brother's death, for whom i always had a brotherly love and friendship. i observed his features in the face of my nephew, your son, and distinguished him among a number of children with whom he was at play; he can tell you how i received the most melancholy news that ever reached my ears. but god be praised for all things! it is a comfort for me to find, as it were, my brother in a son, who has his most remarkable features." the african magician perceiving that the widow began to weep at the remembrance of her husband, changed the conversation, and turning towards her son, asked him his name. "i am called alla ad deen," said he. "well, alla ad deen," replied the magician, "what business do you follow? are you of any trade?" at this question the youth hung down his head, and was not a little abashed when his mother answered, "alla ad deen is an idle fellow; his father, when alive, strove all he could to teach him his trade, but could not succeed; and since his death, notwithstanding all i can say to him, he does nothing but idle away his time in the streets, as you saw him, without considering he is no longer a child; and if you do not make him ashamed of it, i despair of his ever coming to any good. he knows that his father left him no fortune, and sees me endeavour to get bread by spinning cotton; for my part, i am resolved one of these days to turn him out of doors, and let him provide for himself." after these words, alla ad deen's mother burst into tears; and the magician said, "this is not well, nephew; you must think of helping yourself, and getting your livelihood. there are many sorts of trades, consider if you have not an inclination to some of them; perhaps you did not like your father's, and would prefer another: come, do not disguise your sentiments from me; i will endeavour to help you." but finding that alla ad deen returned no answer, "if you have no mind," continued he, "to learn any handicraft, i will take a shop for you, furnish it with all sorts of fine stuffs and linens; and with the money you make of them lay in fresh goods, and then you will live in an honourable way. consult your inclination, and tell me freely what you think of my proposal: you shall always find me ready to keep my word." this plan greatly flattered alla ad deen, who hated work, but had sense enough to know that such shops were much frequented, and the owners respected. he told the magician he had a greater inclination to that business than to any other, and that he should be much obliged to him for his kindness. "since this profession is agreeable to you," said the african magician, "i will carry you with me to-morrow, clothe you as handsomely as the best merchants in the city, and afterwards we will think of opening a shop as i mentioned." the widow, who never till then could believe that the magician was her husband's brother, no longer doubted after his promises of kindness to her son. she thanked him for his good intentions; and after having exhorted alla ad deen to render himself worthy of his uncle's favour by good behaviour, served up supper, at which they talked of several indifferent matters; and then the magician, who saw that the night was pretty far advanced, took his leave, and retired. he came again the next day, as he had promised, and took alla ad deen with him to a merchant, who sold all sorts of clothes for different ages and ranks ready made, and a variety of fine stuffs. he asked to see some that suited alla ad deen in size; and after choosing a suit for himself which he liked best, and rejecting others which he did not think handsome enough, he bade alla ad deen choose those he preferred. alla ad deen, charmed with the liberality of his new uncle, made choice of one, and the magician immediately paid for it. when alla ad deen found himself so handsomely equipped, he returned his uncle thanks; who promised never to forsake him, but always to take him along with him; which he did to the most frequented places in the city, and particularly where the principal merchants kept their shops. when he brought him into the street where they sold the richest stuffs, and finest linens, he said to alla ad deen, "as you are soon to be a merchant, it is proper you should frequent these shops, and be acquainted with them." he then shewed him the largest and finest mosques, carried him to the khans or inns where the merchants and travellers lodged, and afterwards to the sultan's palace, where he had free access; and at last brought him to his own khan, where meeting with some merchants he had become acquainted with since his arrival, he gave them a treat, to bring them and his pretended nephew acquainted. this entertainment lasted till night, when alla ad deen would have taken leave of his uncle to go home; the magician would not let him go by himself, but conducted him to his mother, who, as soon as she saw him so well dressed, was transported with joy, and bestowed a thousand blessings upon the magician, for being at so great an expense upon her child. "generous relation!" said she, "i know not how to thank you for your liberality! i know that my son is not deserving of your favours; and were he ever so grateful, and answered your good intentions, he would be unworthy of them. i thank you with all my soul, and wish you may live long enough to witness my son's gratitude, which he cannot better shew than by regulating his conduct by your good advice." "alla ad deen," replied the magician, "is a good boy, and i believe we shall do very well; but i am sorry for one thing, which is, that i cannot perform to-morrow what i promised, because, as it is friday, the shops will be shut up, and therefore we cannot hire or furnish one, but must wait till saturday. i will, however, call on him to-morrow and take him to walk in the gardens, where people of the best fashion generally resort. perhaps he has never seen these amusements, he has only hitherto been among children; but now he must see men." the african magician took his leave of the mother and the son, and retired. alla ad deen, who was overjoyed to be so well clothed, anticipated the pleasure of walking in the gardens. he had never been out of the town, nor seen the environs, which were very beautiful and pleasant. alla ad deen rose early the next morning, dressed himself, to be ready when his uncle called on him; and after he had waited some time, began to be impatient, and stood watching at the door; but as soon as he perceived him coming, he told his mother, took his leave of her, and ran to meet him. the magician caressed alla ad deen, and said, "come, my dear child, and i will shew you fine things." he then led him out at one of the gates of the city, to some magnificent houses, or rather palaces, to each of which belonged beautiful gardens, into which anybody might enter. at every building he came to, he asked alla ad deen if he did not think it fine; and the youth was ready to answer when any one presented itself, crying out, "here is a finer house, uncle, than any we have seen yet." by this artifice, the cunning magician led alla ad deen some way into the country; and as he meant to carry him farther, to execute his design, he took an opportunity to sit down in one of the gardens on the brink of a fountain of clear water, which discharged itself by a lion's mouth of bronze into a basin, pretending to be tired. "come, nephew," said he, "you must be weary as well as i; let us rest ourselves, and we shall be better able to pursue our walk." after they had sat down, the magician pulled from his girdle a handkerchief with cakes and fruit, which he had provided, and laid them on the edge of the basin. he broke a cake in two, gave one half to alla ad deen, and ate the other himself; and in regard to the fruit, left him at liberty to take which sort he liked best. during this short repast, he exhorted his nephew to leave off keeping company with vagabonds, and seek that of wise and prudent men, to improve by their conversation. "for," said he, "you will soon be at man's estate, and you cannot too early begin to imitate their example." when they had eaten as much as they liked, they got up, and pursued their walk through gardens separated from one another only by small ditches, which marked out the limits without interrupting the communication; so great was the confidence the inhabitants reposed in each other. by this means, the african magician drew alla ad deen insensibly beyond the gardens, and crossed the country, till they nearly reached the mountains. alla ad deen, who had never been so far before, began to find himself much tired with so long a walk, and said to the magician, "where are we going, uncle? we have left the gardens a great way behind us, and i see nothing but mountains; if we go much further, i do not know whether i shall be able to reach the town again?" "never fear, nephew," said the false uncle; "i will shew you another garden which surpasses all we have yet seen; it is not far off; and when we come there, you will say that you would have been sorry to have been so nigh, and not seen it." alla ad deen was soon persuaded; and the magician, to make the way seem shorter and less fatiguing, told him a great many stories. at last they arrived between two mountains of moderate height, and equal size, divided by a narrow valley, which was the place where the magician intended to execute the design that had brought him from africa to china. "we will go no farther now," said he to alla ad deen: "i will shew you here some extraordinary things, which, when you have seen, you will thank me for: but while i strike a light, gather up all the loose dry sticks you can see, to kindle a fire with." alla ad deen found so many dried sticks, that before the magician had made a light, he had collected a great heap. the magician presently set them on fire, and when they were in a blaze, threw in some incense which raised a cloud of smoke. this he dispersed on each side, by pronouncing several magical words which alla ad deen did not understand. at the same time the earth trembling, opened just before the magician, and uncovered a stone, laid horizontally, with a brass ring fixed into the middle. alla ad deen was so frightened at what he saw, that he would have run away; but the magician caught hold of him, abused him, and gave him such a box on the ear, that he knocked him down. alla ad deen got up trembling, and with tears in his eyes, said to the magician, "what have i done, uncle, to be treated in this severe manner?" "i have my reasons," answered the magician: "i am your uncle, i supply the place of your father, and you ought to make no reply. but, child," added he, softening, "do not be afraid; for i shall not ask any thing of you, but that you obey me punctually, if you would reap the advantages which i intend you." these fair promises calmed alla ad deen's fears and resentment; and when the magician saw that he was appeased, he said to him, "you see what i have done by virtue of my incense, and the words i pronounced. know then, that under this stone there is hidden a treasure, destined to be yours, and which will make you richer than the greatest monarch in the world: no person but yourself is permitted to lift this stone, or enter the cave; so you must punctually execute what i may command, for it is a matter of great consequence both to you and me." alla ad deen, amazed at all he saw and heard the magician say of the treasure which was to make him happy, forgot what was past, and rising, said, "well, uncle, what is to be done? command me, i am ready to obey." "i am overjoyed, child," said the african magician, embracing him; "take hold of the ring, and lift up that stone." "indeed, uncle," replied alla ad deen, "i am not strong enough, you must help me." "you have no occasion for my assistance," answered the magician; "if i help you, we shall be able to do nothing; take hold of the ring, pronounce the names of your father and grandfather, then lift it up, and you will find it will come easily." alla ad deen did as the magician bade him, raised the stone with ease, and laid it on one side. when the stone was pulled up, there appeared a cavity of about three or four feet deep, with a little door, and steps to go down lower. "observe, my son," said the african magician, "what i direct. descend into the cave, and when you are at the bottom of those steps you will find a door open, which will lead you into a spacious vault, divided into three great halls, in each of which you will see four large brass cisterns placed on each side, full of gold and silver; but take care you do not meddle with them. before you enter the first hall, be sure to tuck up your vest, wrap it about you, and then pass through the second into the third without stopping. above all things, have a care that you do not touch the walls, so much as with your clothes; for if you do, you will die instantly. at the end of the third hall, you will find a door which opens into a garden planted with fine trees loaded with fruit; walk directly across the garden by a path which will lead you to five steps that will bring you upon a terrace, where you will see a niche before you, and in that niche a lighted lamp. take the lamp down, and extinguish it: when you have thrown away the wick, and poured out the liquor, put it in your vestband and bring it to me. do not be afraid that the liquor will spoil your clothes, for it is not oil; and the lamp will be dry as soon as it is thrown out. if you should wish for any of the fruit of the garden, you may gather as much as you please." after these words, the magician drew a ring off his finger, and put it on one of alla ad deen's, telling him that it was a preservative against all evil, while he should observe what he had prescribed to him. after this instruction he said, "go down boldly, child, and we shall both be rich all our lives." alla ad deen jumped into the cave, descended the steps, and found the three halls just as the african magician had described. he went through them with all the precaution the fear of death could inspire; crossed the garden without stopping, took down the lamp from the niche, threw out the wick and the liquor, and, as the magician had desired, put it in his vestband. but as he came down from the terrace, seeing it was perfectly dry, he stopped in the garden to observe the fruit, which he only had a glimpse of in crossing it. all the trees were loaded with extraordinary fruit, of different colours on each tree. some bore fruit entirely white, and some clear and transparent as crystal; some pale red, and others deeper; some green, blue, and purple, and others yellow: in short, there was fruit of all colours. the white were pearls; the clear and transparent, diamonds; the deep red, rubies; the paler, rubies; the green, emeralds; the blue, turquoises; the purple, amethysts; and those that were of yellow cast, sapphires. alla ad deen was altogether ignorant of their worth, and would have preferred figs and grapes, or any other fruits. but though he took them only for coloured glass of little value, yet he was so pleased with the variety of the colours, and the beauty and extraordinary size of the seeming fruit, that he resolved to gather some of every sort; and accordingly filled the two new purses his uncle had bought for him with his clothes. some he wrapped up in the skirts of his vest, which was of silk, large and wrapping, and crammed his bosom as full as it could hold. alla ad deen, having thus loaded himself with riches he knew not the value of, returned through the three halls with the same precaution, made all the haste he could, that he might not make his uncle wait, and soon arrived at the mouth of the cave, where the african magician expected him with the utmost impatience. as soon as alla ad deen saw him, he cried out, "pray, uncle, lend me your hand, to help me out." "give me the lamp first," replied the magician; "it will be troublesome to you." "indeed, uncle," answered alla ad deen, "i cannot now; it is not troublesome to me: but i will as soon as i am up." the african magician was so obstinate, that he would have the lamp before he would help him up; and alla ad deen, who had encumbered himself so much with his fruit that he could not well get at it, refused to give it to him till he was out of the cave. the african magician, provoked at this obstinate refusal, flew into a passion, threw a little of his incense into the fire, which he had taken care to keep in, and no sooner pronounced two magical words, than the stone which had closed the mouth of the cave moved into its place, with the earth over it in the same manner as it lay at the arrival of the magician and alla ad deen. this action of the african magician's plainly shewed him to be neither alla ad deen's uncle, nor mustapha the tailor's brother; but a true african. africa is a country whose inhabitants delight most in magic of any in the whole world, and he had applied himself to it from his youth. after forty years' experience in enchantments, geomancy, fumigations, and reading of magic books, he had found out that there was in the world a wonderful lamp, the possession of which would render him more powerful than any monarch; and by a late operation of geomancy, he had discovered that this lamp lay concealed in a subterraneous place in the midst of china, in the situation already described. fully persuaded of the truth of this discovery, he set out from the farthest part of africa; and after a long and fatiguing journey, came to the town nearest to this treasure. but though he had a certain knowledge of the place where the lamp was, he was not permitted to take it himself, nor to enter the subterraneous place, but must receive it from the hands of another person. for this reason he had addressed himself to alla ad deen, whom he looked upon as a young lad whose life was of no consequence, and fit to serve his purpose, resolving, as soon as he should get the lamp into his hands, to sacrifice him to his avarice and wickedness, by making the fumigation mentioned before, and repeating two magical words, the effect of which would remove the stone into its place, so that no witness would remain of the transaction. the blow he had given alla ad deen was intended to make him obey the more readily, and give him the lamp as soon as he should ask for it. but his too great precipitation, and his fear lest somebody should come that way during their dispute, and discover what he wished to keep secret, produced an effect quite contrary to what he had proposed to himself. when the african magician saw that all his hopes were frustrated forever, he returned the same day for africa; but went quite round the town, and at some distance from it, lest some persons who had observed him walk out with the boy, on seeing him come back without him, should entertain any suspicions, and stop him. according to all appearances, there was no prospects of alla ad deen being any more heard of. but the magician, when he had contrived his death, forgot the ring he had put upon his finger, which preserved him, though he knew not its virtue. it may seem astonishing that the loss of that, together with the lamp, did not drive the magician to despair; but magicians are so much used to misfortunes, and events contrary to their wishes, that they do not lay them to heart, but still feed themselves, to the end of life, with unsubstantial notions and chimeras. the surprise of alla ad deen, who had never suspected this treachery from his pretended uncle, after all his caresses and what he had done for him, is more easily to be imagined than expressed. when he found himself buried alive, he cried, and called out to his uncle, to tell him he was ready to give him the lamp; but in vain, since his cries could not be heard. he descended to the bottom of the steps, with a design to get into the garden, but the door, which was opened before by enchantment, was now shut by the same means. he then redoubled his cries and tears, sat down on the steps, without any hopes of ever seeing light again, and in a melancholy certainty of passing from the present darkness into that of a speedy death. alla ad deen remained in this state two days, without eating or drinking, and on the third looked upon death as inevitable. clasping his hands with an entire resignation to the will of god, he said, "there is no strength or power but in the great and high god." in this action of joining his hands he rubbed the ring which the magician had put on his finger, and of which he knew not yet the virtue. immediately a genie of enormous size and frightful aspect rose out of the earth, his head reaching the roof of the vault, and said to him, "what wouldst thou have? i am ready to obey thee as thy slave, and the slave of all who may possess the ring on thy finger; i, and the other slaves of that ring." at another time, alla ad deen, who had not been used to such appearances, would have been so frightened at the sight of so extraordinary a figure that he would not have been able to speak; but the danger he was in made him answer without hesitation, "whoever thou art, deliver me from this place, if thou art able." he had no sooner spoken these words, than he found himself on the very spot where the magician had caused the earth to open. it was some time before his eyes could bear the light, after being so long in total darkness: but after he had endeavoured by degrees to support it, and began to look about him, he was much surprised not to find the earth open, and could not comprehend how he had got so soon out of its bowels. there was nothing to be seen but the place where the fire had been, by which he could nearly judge the situation of the cave. then turning himself towards the town, he perceived it at a distance in the midst of the gardens that surrounded it, and saw the way by which the magician had brought him. returning god thanks to find himself once more in the world, he made the best of his way home. when he got within his mother's door, the joy to see her and his weakness for want of sustenance for three days made him faint, and he remained for a long time as dead. his mother, who had given him over for lost, seeing him in this condition, omitted nothing to bring him to himself. as soon as he recovered, the first words he spoke, were, "pray, mother, give me something to eat, for i have not put a morsel of anything into my mouth these three days." his mother brought what she had, and set it before him. "my son," said she, "be not too eager, for it is dangerous; eat but little at a time, and take care of yourself. besides, i would not have you talk; you will have time enough to tell me what has happened to you when you are recovered. it is a great comfort to me to see you again, after the affliction i have been in since friday, and the pains i have taken to learn what was become of you." alla ad deen took his mother's advice, and ate and drank moderately. when he had done, "mother," said he to her, "i cannot help complaining of you, for abandoning me so easily to the discretion of a man who had a design to kill me and who at this very moment thinks my death certain. you believed he was my uncle, as well as i; and what other thoughts could we entertain of a man who was so kind to me, and made such advantageous proffers? but i must tell you, mother, he is a rogue and a cheat, and only made me those promises to accomplish my death; but for what reason neither you nor i can guess. for my part, i can assure you, i never gave him any cause to justify the least ill treatment from him. you shall judge yourself, when you have heard all that passed from the time i left you, till he came to the execution of his wicked design." alla ad deen then related to his mother all that had happened to him from the friday, when the magician took him to see the palaces and gardens about the town, and what fell out in the way, till they came to the place between the two mountains where the great prodigy was to be performed; how, with incense which the magician threw into the fire, and some magical words which he pronounced, the earth opened, and discovered a cave, which led to an inestimable treasure. he forgot not the blow the magician had given him, in what manner he softened again, and engaged him by great promises, and putting a ring to his finger, to go down into the cave. he did not omit the least circumstance of what he saw in crossing the three halls and the garden, and his taking the lamp, which he pulled out of his bosom and shewed to his mother, as well as the transparent fruit of different colours, which he had gathered in the garden as he returned. but, though these fruits were precious stones, brilliant as the sun, and the reflection of a lamp which then lighted the room might have led them to think they were of great value, she was as ignorant of their worth as her son, and cared nothing for them. she had been bred in a low rank of life, and her husband's poverty prevented his being possessed of jewels, nor had she, her relations, or neighbours, ever seen any; so that we must not wonder that she regarded them as things of no value, and only pleasing to the eye by the variety of their colours. alla ad deen put them behind one of the cushions of the sofa, and continued his story, telling his mother, that when he returned to the mouth of the cave, upon his refusal to give the magician the lamp till he should get out, the stone, by his throwing some incense into the fire, and using two or three magical words, shut him in, and the earth closed. he could not help bursting into tears at the representation of the miserable condition he was in, at finding himself buried alive in a dismal cave, till by the touching of his ring, the virtue of which he was till then an entire stranger to, he, properly speaking, came to life again. when he had finished his story, he said to his mother, "i need say no more, you know the rest. this is my adventure, and the danger i have been exposed to since you saw me." alla ad deen's mother heard with so much patience as not to interrupt him this surprising and wonderful relation, notwithstanding it could be no small affliction to a mother, who loved her son tenderly: but yet in the most moving part which discovered the perfidy of the african magician, she could not help shewing, by marks of the greatest indignation, how much she detested him; and when her son had finished his story, she broke out into a thousand reproaches against that vile impostor. she called him perfidious traitor, barbarian, assassin, deceiver, magician, and an enemy and destroyer of mankind. "without doubt, child," added she, "he is a magician, and they are plagues to the world, and by their enchantments and sorceries have commerce with the devil. bless god for preserving you from his wicked designs; for your death would have been inevitable, if you had not called upon him, and implored his assistance." she said a great deal more against the magician's treachery; but finding that whilst she talked, alla ad deen, who had not slept for three days and nights, began to doze, she left him to his repose and retired. alla ad deen, who had not closed his eyes while he was in the subterraneous abode, slept very soundly till late the next morning; when the first thing he said to his mother was that he wanted something to eat, and that she could not do him a greater kindness than to give him his breakfast. "alas! child," said she, "i have not a bit of bread to give you, you ate up all the provisions i had in the house yesterday; but have a little patience, and it shall not be long before i will bring you some: i have a little cotton, which i have spun; i will go and sell it, buy bread, and something for our dinner." "mother," replied alla ad deen, "keep your cotton for another time, and give me the lamp i brought home with me yesterday; i will go and sell it, and the money i shall get for it will serve both for breakfast and dinner, and perhaps supper too." alla ad deen's mother took the lamp, and said to her son, "here it is, but it is very dirty; if it was a little cleaner i believe it would bring something more." she took some fine sand and water to clean it; but had no sooner begun to rub it, than in an instant a hideous genie of gigantic size appeared before her, and said to her in a voice like thunder, "what wouldst thou have? i am ready to obey thee as thy slave, and the slave of all those who have that lamp in their hands; i and the other slaves of the lamp." alla ad deen's mother, terrified at the sight of the genie, fainted; when alla ad deen, who had seen such a phantom in the cavern, snatched the lamp out of his mother's hand, and said to the genie boldly, "i am hungry, bring me something to eat." the genie disappeared immediately, and in an instant returned with a large silver tray, holding twelve covered dishes of the same metal, which contained the most delicious viands; six large white bread cakes on two plates, two flagons of wine, and two silver cups. all these he placed upon a carpet, and disappeared; this was done before alla ad deen's mother recovered from her swoon. alla ad deen had fetched some water, and sprinkled it in her face, to recover her: whether that or the smell of the meat brought her to life again, it was not long before she came to herself. "mother," said alla ad deen, "do not mind this; get up, and come and eat; here is what will put you in heart, and at the same time satisfy my extreme hunger: do not let such delicious meat get cold." his mother was much surprised to see the great tray, twelve dishes, six loaves, the two flagons and cups, and to smell the savoury odour which exhaled from the dishes. "child," said she, "to whom are we obliged for this great plenty and liberality? has the sultan been made acquainted with our poverty, and had compassion on us?" "it is no matter, mother," said alla ad deen, "let us sit down and eat; for you have almost as much need of a good breakfast as myself; when we have done, i will tell you." accordingly both mother and son sat down, and ate with the better relish as the table was so well furnished. but all the time alla ad deen's mother could not forbear looking at and admiring the tray and dishes, though she could not judge whether they were silver or any other metal, and the novelty more than the value attracted her attention. the mother and son sat at breakfast till it was dinner-time, and then they thought it would be best to put the two meals together; yet after this they found they should have enough left for supper, and two meals for the next day. when alla ad deen's mother had taken away and set by what was left, she went and sat down by her son on the sofa, saying, "i expect now that you should satisfy my impatience, and tell me exactly what passed between the genie and you while i was in a swoon;" which he readily complied with. she was in as great amazement at what her son told her, as at the appearance of the genie; and said to him, "but, son, what have we to do with genii? i never heard that any of my acquaintance had ever seen one. how came that vile genie to address himself to me, and not to you, to whom he had appeared before in the cave?" "mother," answered alla ad deen, "the genie you saw is not the one who appeared to me, though he resembles him in size; no, they had quite different persons and habits; they belong to different masters. if you remember, he that i first saw, called himself the slave of the ring on my finger; and this you saw, called himself the slave of the lamp you had in your hand: but i believe you did not hear him, for i think you fainted as soon as he began to speak." "what!" cried the mother, "was your lamp then the occasion of that cursed genie addressing himself rather to me than to you? ah my son, take it out of my sight, and put it where you please. i will never touch it. i had rather you would sell it, than run the hazard of being frightened to death again by touching it: and if you would take my advice, you would part also with the ring, and not have any thing to do with genii, who, as our prophet has told us, are only devils." "with your leave, mother," replied alla ad deen, "i shall now take care how i sell a lamp, which may be so serviceable both to you and me. have not you been an eye-witness of what it has procured us? and it shall still continue to furnish us with subsistence and maintenance. you may suppose as i do, that my false and wicked uncle would not have taken so much pains, and undertaken so long and tedious a journey, if it had not been to get into his possession this wonderful lamp, which he preferred before all the gold and silver which he knew was in the halls, and which i have seen with my own eyes. he knew too well the worth of this lamp, not to prefer it to so great a treasure; and since chance hath discovered the virtue of it to us, let us make a profitable use of it, without making any great shew, and exciting the envy and jealousy of our neighbours. however, since the genii frighten you so much, i will take it out of your sight, and put it where i may find it when i want it. the ring i cannot resolve to part with; for without that you had never seen me again; and though i am alive now, perhaps, if it was gone, i might not be so some moments hence; therefore i hope you will give me leave to keep it, and to wear it always on my finger. who knows what dangers you and i may be exposed to, which neither of us can foresee, and from which it may deliver us." as alla ad deen's arguments were just, his mother had nothing to say against them; she only replied, that he might do what he pleased, for her part, she would have nothing to do with genii, but would wash her hands of them, and never say anything more about them. by the next night they had eaten all the provisions the genie had brought; and the next day alla ad deen, who could not bear the thoughts of hunger, putting one of the silver dishes under his vest, went out early to sell it, and addressing himself to a jew whom he met in the streets, took him aside, and pulling out the plate, asked him if he would buy it. the cunning jew took the dish, examined it, and as soon as he found that it was good silver, asked alla ad deen at how much he valued it. alla ad deen, who knew not its value, and never had been used to such traffic, told him he would trust to his judgment and honour. the jew was somewhat confounded at this plain dealing; and doubting whether alla ad deen understood the material or the full value of what he offered to sell, took a piece of gold out of his purse and gave it him, though it was but the sixtieth part of the worth of the plate. alla ad deen, taking the money very eagerly, retired with so much haste, that the jew, not content with the exorbitancy of his profit, was vexed he had not penetrated into his ignorance, and was going to run after him, to endeavour to get some change out of the piece of gold; but he ran so fast, and had got so far, that it would have been impossible for him to overtake him. before alla ad deen went home, he called at a baker's, bought some cakes of bread, changed his money, and on his return gave the rest to his mother, who went and purchased provisions enough to last them some time. after this manner they lived, till alla ad deen had sold the twelve dishes singly, as necessity pressed, to the jew, for the same money; who, after the first time, durst not offer him less, for fear of losing so good a bargain. when he had sold the last dish, he had recourse to the tray, which weighed ten times as much as the dishes, and would have carried it to his old purchaser, but that it was too large and cumbersome; therefore he was obliged to bring him home with him to his mother's, where, after the jew had examined the weight of the tray, he laid down ten pieces of gold, with which alla ad deen was very well satisfied. they lived on these ten pieces in a frugal manner, and alla ad deen, though used to an idle life, had left off playing with young lads of his own age ever since his adventure with the african magician. he spent his time in walking about, and conversing with decent people, with whom he gradually got acquainted. sometimes he would stop at the principal merchants' shops, where people of distinction met, and listen to their discourse, by which he gained some little knowledge of the world. when all the money was spent, alla ad deen had recourse again to the lamp. he took it in his hand, looked for the part where his mother had rubbed it with the sand, rubbed it also, when the genie immediately appeared, and said, "what wouldst thou have? i am ready to obey thee as thy slave, and the slave of all those who have that lamp in their hands; i, and the other slaves of the lamp." "i am hungry," said alla ad deen, "bring me something to eat." the genie disappeared, and presently returned with a tray, the same number of covered dishes as before, set them down, and vanished. alla ad deen's mother, knowing what her son was going to do, went out about some business, on purpose to avoid being in the way when the genie came; and when she returned, was almost as much surprised as before at the prodigious effect of the lamp. however, she sat down with her son, and when they had eaten as much as they liked, she set enough by to last them two or three days. as soon as alla ad deen found that their provisions were expended, he took one of the dishes, and went to look for his jew chapman; but passing by a goldsmith's shop, who had the character of a very fair and honest man, the goldsmith perceiving him, called to him, and said, "my lad, i have often observed you go by, loaded as you are at present, and talk with such a jew, and then come back again empty handed. i imagine that you carry something which you sell to him; but perhaps you do not know that he is the greatest rogue even among the jews, and is so well known, that nobody of prudence will have anything to do with him. what i tell you is for your own good. if you will shew me what you now carry, and it is to be sold, i will give you the full worth of it; or i will direct you to other merchants who will not cheat you." the hopes of getting more money for his plate induced alla ad deen to pull it from under his vest, and shew it to the goldsmith, who at first sight saw that it was made of the finest silver, asked him if he had sold such as that to the jew, when alla ad deen told him that he had sold him twelve such, for a piece of gold each. "what a villain!" cried the goldsmith; "but," added he, "my son, what is passed cannot be recalled. by shewing you the value of this plate, which is of the finest silver we use in our shops, i will let you see how much the jew has cheated you." the goldsmith took a pair of scales, weighed the dish, and after he had mentioned how much an ounce of fine silver cost, assured him that his plate would fetch by weight sixty pieces of gold, which he offered to pay down immediately. "if you dispute my honesty," said he, "you may go to any other of our trade, and if he gives you more, i will be bound to forfeit twice as much; for we gain only the fashion of the plate we buy, and that the fairest dealing jews are not contented with." alla ad deen thanked him for his fair dealing, so greatly to his advantage, took the gold, and never after went to any other person, but sold him all his dishes and the tray, and had as much for them as the weight came to. though alla ad deen and his mother had an inexhaustible treasure in their lamp, and might have had whatever they wished for, yet they lived with the same frugality as before, except that alla ad deen dressed better; as for his mother, she wore no clothes but what she earned by spinning cotton. after their manner of living, it may easily be supposed, that the money for which alla ad deen had sold the dishes and tray was sufficient to maintain them some time. during this interval, alla ad deen frequented the shops of the principal merchants, where they sold cloth of gold and silver, linens, silk stuffs, and jewellery, and oftentimes joining in their conversation, acquired a knowledge of the world, and respectable demeanour. by his acquaintance among the jewellers, he came to know that the fruits which he had gathered when he took the lamp were, instead of coloured glass, stones of inestimable value; but he had the prudence not to mention this to any one, not even to his mother. one day as alla ad deen was walking about the town, he heard an order proclaimed, commanding the people to shut up their shops and houses, and keep within doors, while the princess buddir al buddoor, the sultan's daughter, went to the baths and returned. this proclamation inspired alla ad deen with eager curiosity to see the princess's face, which he could not do without admission into the house of some acquaintance, and then only through a window; which did not satisfy him, when he considered that the princess, when she went to the baths, would be closely veiled; but to gratify his curiosity, he presently thought of a scheme, which succeeded; it was to place himself behind the door of the bath, which was so situated that he could not fail of seeing her face. alla ad deen had not waited long before the princess came, and he could see her plainly through a chink of the door without being discovered. she was attended by a great crowd of ladies, slaves and eunuchs, who walked on each side, and behind her. when she came within three or four paces of the door of the baths, she took off her veil, and gave alla ad deen an opportunity of a full view. as soon as alla ad deen had seen the princess, his heart could not withstand those inclinations so charming an object always inspires. the princess was the most beautiful brunette in the world; her eyes were large, lively, and sparkling; her looks sweet and modest; her nose was of a just proportion and without a fault, her mouth small, her lips of a vermilion red and charmingly agreeable symmetry; in a word, all the features of her face were perfectly regular. it is not therefore surprising that alla ad deen, who had never before seen such a blaze of charms, was dazzled, and his senses ravished by such an assemblage. with all these perfections the princess had so fine a form, and so majestic an air, that the sight of her was sufficient to inspire love and admiration. after the princess had passed by, and entered the baths, alla ad deen remained some time astonished, and in a kind of ecstacy, retracing and imprinting the idea of so charming an object deeply in his mind. but at last, considering that the princess was gone past him, and that when she returned from the bath her back would be towards him, and then veiled, he resolved to quit his hiding place and go home. he could not so far conceal his uneasiness but that his mother perceived it, was surprised to see him so much more thoughtful and melancholy than usual; and asked what had happened to make him so, or if he was ill? he returned her no answer, but sat carelessly down on the sofa, and remained silent, musing on the image of the charming buddir al buddoor. his mother, who was dressing supper, pressed him no more. when it was ready, she served it up, and perceiving that he gave no attention to it, urged him to eat, but had much ado to persuade him to change his place; which when he did, he ate much less than usual, all the time cast down his eyes, and observed so profound a silence, that she could not obtain a word in answer to all the questions she put, in order to find the reason of so extraordinary an alteration. after supper, she asked him again why he was so melancholy, but could get no information, and he determined to go to bed rather than give her the least satisfaction. without examining how he passed the night, his mind full as it was with the charms of the princess, i shall only observe that as he sat next day on the sofa, opposite his mother, as she was spinning cotton, he spoke to her in these words: "i perceive, mother, that my silence yesterday has much troubled you; i was not, nor am i sick, as i fancy you believed; but i assure you, that what i felt then, and now endure, is worse than any disease. i cannot explain what ails me; but doubt not what i am going to relate will inform you. "it was not proclaimed in this quarter of the town, and therefore you could know nothing of it, that the sultan's daughter was yesterday to go to the baths. i heard this as i walked about the town, and an order was issued that all the shops should be shut up in her way thither, and everybody keep within doors, to leave the streets free for her and her attendants. as i was not then far from the bath, i had a great curiosity to see the princess's face; and as it occurred to me that the princess, when she came nigh the door of the bath, would pull her veil off, i resolved to conceal myself behind the door. you know the situation of the door, and may imagine that i must have had a full view of her. the princess threw off her veil, and i had the happiness of seeing her lovely face with the greatest security. this, mother, was the cause of my melancholy and silence yesterday; i love the princess with more violence than i can express; and as my passion increases every moment, i cannot live without the possession of the amiable buddir al buddoor, and am resolved to ask her in marriage of the sultan her father." alla ad deen's mother listened with surprise to what her son told her; but when he talked of asking the princess in marriage, she could not help bursting out into a loud laugh. alla ad deen would have gone on with his rhapsody, but she interrupted him. "alas! child," said she, "what are you thinking of? you must be mad to talk thus." "i assure you, mother," replied alla ad deen, "that i am not mad, but in my right senses; i foresaw that you would reproach me with folly and extravagance; but i must tell you once more that i am resolved to demand the princess of the sultan in marriage, and your remonstrances shall not prevent me." "indeed, son," replied the mother seriously, "i cannot help telling you that you have forgotten yourself; and if you would put this resolution of yours in execution, i do not see whom you can prevail upon to venture to make the proposal for you." "you yourself," replied he immediately. "i go to the sultan!" answered the mother, amazed and surprised. "i shall be cautious how i engage in such an errand. why, who are you, son," continued she, "that you can have the assurance to think of your sultan's daughter? have you forgotten that your father was one of the poorest tailors in the capital, and that i am of no better extraction; and do not you know that sultans never marry their daughters but to princes, sons of sovereigns like themselves?" "mother," answered alla ad deen, "i have already told you that i foresaw all that you have said, or can say: and tell you again, that neither your discourse nor your remonstrances shall make me change my mind. i have told you that you must ask the princess in marriage for me: it is a favour i desire of you, and i beg of you not to refuse, unless you would rather see me in my grave, than by your compliance give me new life." the good old woman was much embarrassed, when she found alla ad deen obstinately persisting in so wild a design. "my son," said she again, "i am your mother, who brought you into the world, and there is nothing that is reasonable but i would readily do for you. if i were to go and treat about your marriage with some neighbour's daughter, whose circumstances were equal with yours, i would do it with all my heart; and even then they would expect you should have some little estate or fortune, or be of some trade. when such poor folks as we are wish to marry, the first thing they ought to think of, is how to live. but without reflecting on the meanness of your birth, and the little merit and fortune you have to recommend you, you aim at the highest pitch of exaltation; and your pretensions are no less than to demand in marriage the daughter of your sovereign, who with one single word can crush you to pieces. i say nothing of what respects yourself. i leave you to reflect on what you have to do, if you have ever so little thought. i come now to consider what concerns myself. how could so extraordinary a thought come into your head, as that i should go to the sultan and make a proposal to him to give his daughter in marriage to you? suppose i had, not to say the boldness, but the impudence to present myself before the sultan, and make so extravagant a request, to whom should i address myself to be introduced to his majesty? do you not think the first person i should speak to would take me for a mad woman, and chastise me as i should deserve? suppose, however, that there is no difficulty in presenting myself for an audience of the sultan, and i know there is none to those who go to petition for justice, which he distributes equally among his subjects; i know too that to those who ask a favour he grants it with pleasure when he sees it is deserved, and the persons are worthy of it. but is that your case? do you think you have merited the honour you would have me ask for you? are you worthy of it? what have you done to claim such a favour, either for your prince or country? how have you distinguished yourself? if you have done nothing to merit so high a distinction, nor are worthy of it, with what face shall i ask it? how can i open my mouth to make the proposal to the sultan? his majestic presence and the lustre of his court would absolutely confound me, who used even to tremble before my dear husband your father, when i asked him for any thing. there is another reason, my son, which you do not think of, which is that nobody ever goes to ask a favour of the sultan without a present. but what presents have you to make? and if you had any that were worthy of the least attention of so great a monarch, what proportion could they bear to the favour you would ask? therefore, reflect well on what you are about, and consider, that you aspire to an object which it is impossible for you to obtain." alla ad deen heard very calmly all that his mother could say to dissuade him from his design, and after he had weighed her representations in all points, replied: "i own, mother, it is great rashness in me to presume to carry my pretensions so far; and a great want of consideration to ask you with so much heat and precipitancy to go and make the proposal to the sultan, without first taking proper measures to procure a favourable reception, and therefore beg your pardon. but be not surprised that through the violence of my passion i did not at first see every measure necessary to procure me the happiness i seek. i love the princess, or rather i adore her, and shall always persevere in my design of marrying her. i am obliged to you for the hint you have given me, and look upon it as the first step i ought to take to procure the happy issue i promise myself. "you say it is not customary to go to the sultan without a present, and that i have nothing worthy of his acceptance. as to the necessity of a present, i agree with you, and own that i never thought of it; but as to what you say that i have nothing fit to offer, do not you think, mother, that what i brought home with me the day on which i was delivered from an inevitable death, may be an acceptable present? i mean what you and i both took for coloured glass: but now i am undeceived, and can tell you that they are jewels of inestimable value, and fit for the greatest monarchs. i know the worth of them by frequenting the shops; and you may take my word that all the precious stones which i saw in the most capital jewellers' possessions were not to be compared to those we have, either for size or beauty, and yet they value theirs at an excessive price. in short, neither you nor i know the value of ours; but be it as it may, by the little experience i have, i am persuaded that they will be received very favourably by the sultan: you have a large porcelain dish fit to hold them; fetch it, and let us see how they will look, when we have arranged them according to their different colours." alla ad deen's mother brought the china dish, when he took the jewels out of the two purses in which he had kept them, and placed them in order according to his fancy. but the brightness and lustre they emitted in the day-time, and the variety of the colours, so dazzled the eyes both of mother and son, that they were astonished beyond measure; for they had only seen them by the light of a lamp; and though the latter had beheld them pendant on the trees like fruit beautiful to the eye, yet as he was then but a boy, he looked on them only as glittering playthings. after they had admired the beauty of the jewels some time, alla ad deen said to his mother, "now you cannot excuse yourself from going to the sultan, under pretext of not having a present to make him, since here is one which will gain you a favourable reception." though the good widow, notwithstanding the beauty and lustre of the precious stones, did not believe them so valuable as her son estimated them, she thought such a present might nevertheless be agreeable to the sultan, but still she hesitated at the request. "my son," said she, "i cannot conceive that your present will have its desired effect, or that the sultan will look upon me with a favourable eye; i am sure, that if i attempt to deliver your strange message, i shall have no power to open my mouth; therefore i shall not only lose my labour, but the present, which you say is so invaluable, and shall return home again in confusion, to tell you that your hopes are frustrated. i have represented the consequence, and you ought to believe me; but," added she, "i will exert my best endeavour to please you, and wish i may have power to ask the sultan as you would have me; but certainly he will either laugh at me, send me back like a fool, or be in so great a rage, as to make us both the victims of his fury." she used many other arguments to endeavour to make him change his mind; but the charms of the princess had made too great an impression on his heart for him to be dissuaded from his design. he persisted in importuning his mother to execute his resolution, and she, as much out of tenderness as for fear he should be guilty of greater extravagance, complied with his request. as it was now late, and the time for admission to the palace was passed, it was put off till the next day. the mother and son talked of different matters the remaining part of the day; and alla ad deen strove to encourage her in the task she had undertaken; while she, notwithstanding all his arguments, could not persuade herself she should succeed; and it must be confessed she had reason enough to doubt. "child," said she to alla ad deen, "if the sultan should receive me as favourably as i wish for your sake, should even hear my proposal with calmness, and after this scarcely-to-be-expected reception should think of asking me where lie your riches and your estate (for he will sooner inquire after these than your person), if, i say, he should ask me these questions, what answer would you have me return him?" "let us not be uneasy, mother," replied alla ad deen, "about what may never happen. first, let us see how the sultan receives, and what answer he gives you. if it should so fall out, that he desires to be informed of what you mention, i have thought of an answer, and am confident that the lamp which hath supported us so long will not fail me in time of need." the tailor's widow could not say any thing against what her son then proposed; but reflected that the lamp might be capable of doing greater wonders than just providing victuals for them. this consideration satisfied her, and at the same time removed all the difficulties which might have prevented her from undertaking the service she had promised her son with the sultan. alla ad deen, who penetrated into his mother's thoughts, said to her, "above all things, mother, be sure to keep secret our possession of the lamp, for thereon depends the success we have to expect;" and after this caution, alla ad deen and his mother parted to go to rest. but violent love, and the great prospect of so immense a fortune, had so much possessed the son's thoughts, that he could not repose himself so well as he could have wished. he rose before day-break, awakened his mother, pressing her to get herself dressed to go to the sultan's palace, and to get admittance, if possible, before the grand vizier, the other viziers, and the great officers of state went in to take their seats in the divan, where the sultan always assisted in person. alla ad deen's mother took the china dish, in which they had put the jewels the day before, wrapped in two napkins, one finer than the other, which was tied at the four corners for more easy carriage, and set forward for the sultan's palace. when she came to the gates, the grand vizier, the other viziers and most distinguished lords of the court, were just gone in; but, notwithstanding the crowd of people who had business was great, she got into the divan, a spacious hall, the entrance into which was very magnificent. she placed herself just before the sultan, grand vizier, and the great lords, who sat in council, on his right and left hand. several causes were called, according to their order, pleaded and adjudged, until the time the divan generally broke up, when the sultan rising, returned to his apartment, attended by the grand vizier; the other viziers and ministers of state then retired, as also did those whose business had called them thither; some pleased with gaining their causes, others dissatisfied at the sentences pronounced against them, and some in expectation of theirs being heard the next sitting. alla ad deen's mother, seeing the sultan retire, and all the people depart, judged rightly that he would not sit again that day, and resolved to go home. when alla ad deen saw her return with the present designed for the sultan, he knew not what to think of her success, and in his fear lest she should bring him some ill news, had not courage to ask her any questions; but she, who had never set foot in the sultan's palace before, and knew not what was every day practised there, freed him from his embarrassment, and said to him, with a great deal of simplicity, "son, i have seen the sultan, and am very well persuaded he has seen me too; for i placed myself just before him; but he was so much taken up with those who attended on all sides of him, that i pitied him, and wondered at his patience. at last i believe he was heartily tired, for he rose up suddenly, and would not hear a great many who were ready prepared to speak to him, but went away, at which i was well pleased, for indeed i began to lose all patience, and was extremely fatigued with staying so long. but there is no harm done; i will go again to-morrow; perhaps the sultan may not be so busy." though his passion was very violent, alla ad deen was forced to be satisfied with this delay, and to fortify himself with patience. he had at least the satisfaction to find that his mother had got over the greatest difficulty, which was to procure access to the sultan, and hoped that the example of those she saw speak to him would embolden her to acquit herself better of her commission when a favourable opportunity might offer to speak to him. the next morning she repaired to the sultan's palace with the present, as early as the day before, but when she came there, she found the gates of the divan shut, and understood that the council sat but every other day, therefore she must come again the next. this news she carried to her son, whose only relief was to guard himself with patience. she went six times afterwards on the days appointed, placed herself always directly before the sultan, but with as little success as the first morning, and might have perhaps come a thousand times to as little purpose, if luckily the sultan himself had not taken particular notice of her: for only those who came with petitions approached the sultan, when each pleaded their cause in its turn, and alla ad deen's mother was not one of them. on the sixth day, however, after the divan was broken up, when the sultan returned to his own apartment, he said to his grand vizier, "i have for some time observed a certain woman, who attends constantly every day that i give audience, with something wrapped up in a napkin: she always stands up from the beginning to the breaking up of the audience, and affects to place herself just before me. do you know what she wants?" "sir," replied the grand vizier, who knew no more than the sultan what she wanted, but did not wish to seem uninformed, "your majesty knows that women often make complaints on trifles; perhaps she may come to complain to your majesty that somebody has sold her some bad flour, or some such trifling matter." the sultan was not satisfied with this answer, but replied, "if this woman comes to our next audience, do not fail to call her, that i may hear what she has to say." the grand vizier made answer by lowering his hand, and then lifting it up above his head, signifying his willingness to lose it if he failed. by this time, the tailor's widow was so much used to go to audience, and stand before the sultan, that she did not think it any trouble, if she could but satisfy her son that she neglected nothing that lay in her power to please him: the next audience day she went to the divan, placed herself in front of the sultan as usual; and before the grand vizier had made his report of business, the sultan perceived her, and compassionating her for having waited so long, said to the vizier, "before you enter upon any business, remember the woman i spoke to you about; bid her come near, and let us hear and dispatch her business first." the grand vizier immediately called the chief of the mace-bearers who stood ready to obey his commands; and pointing to her, bade him go to that woman, and tell her to come before the sultan. the chief of the officers went to alla ad deen's mother, and at a sign he gave her, she followed him to the foot of the sultan's throne, where he left her, and retired to his place by the grand vizier. the old woman, after the example of others whom she saw salute the sultan, bowed her head down to the carpet, which covered the platform of the throne, and remained in that posture till the sultan bade her rise, which she had no sooner done, than he said to her, "good woman, i have observed you to stand a long time, from the beginning to the rising of the divan; what business brings you here?" after these words, alla ad deen's mother prostrated herself a second time; and when she arose, said, "monarch of monarchs, before i tell your majesty the extraordinary and almost incredible business which brings me before your high throne, i beg of you to pardon the boldness or rather impudence of the demand i am going to make, which is so uncommon, that i tremble, and am ashamed to propose it to my sovereign." in order to give her the more freedom to explain herself, the sultan ordered all to quit the divan but the grand vizier, and then told her she might speak without restraint. alla ad deen's mother, not content with this favour of the sultan's to save her the trouble and confusion of speaking before so many people, was notwithstanding for securing herself against his anger, which, from the proposal she was going to make, she was not a little apprehensive of; therefore resuming her discourse, she said, "i beg of your majesty, if you should think my demand the least injurious or offensive, to assure me first of your pardon and forgiveness." "well," replied the sultan, "i will forgive you, be it what it may, and no hurt shall come to you: speak boldly." when alla ad deen's mother had taken all these precautions, for fear of the sultan's anger, she told him faithfully how alla ad deen had seen the princess buddir al buddoor, the violent love that fatal sight had inspired him with, the declaration he had made to her of it when he came home, and what representations she had made "to dissuade him from a passion no less disrespectful," said she, "to your majesty, as sultan, than to the princess your daughter. but," continued she, "my son, instead of taking my advice and reflecting on his presumption, was so obstinate as to persevere, and to threaten me with some desperate act, if i refused to come and ask the princess in marriage of your majesty; and it was not without the greatest reluctance that i was led to accede to his request, for which i beg your majesty once more to pardon not only me, but also alla ad deen my son, for entertaining so rash a project as to aspire to so high an alliance." the sultan hearkened to this discourse with mildness, and without shewing the least anger; but before he gave her any answer, asked her what she had brought tied up in the napkin. she took the china dish, which she had set down at the foot of the throne, before she prostrated herself before him; untied it, and presented it to the sultan. the sultan's amazement and surprise were inexpressible, when he saw so many large, beautiful, and valuable jewels collected in the dish. he remained for some time motionless with admiration. at last, when he had recovered himself, he received the present from alla ad deen's mother's hand, crying out in a transport of joy, "how rich, how beautiful!" after he had admired and handled all the jewels, one after another, he turned to his grand vizier, and shewing him the dish, said, "behold, admire, wonder, and confess that your eyes never beheld jewels so rich and beautiful before." the vizier was charmed. "well," continued the sultan, "what sayst thou to such a present? is it not worthy of the princess my daughter? and ought i not to bestow her on one who values her at so great price?" these words put the grand vizier into extreme agitation. the sultan had some time before signified to him his intention of bestowing the princess on a son of his; therefore he was afraid, and not without grounds, that the sultan, dazzled by so rich and extraordinary a present, might change his mind. therefore going to him, and whispering him in the ear, he said, "i cannot but own that the present is worthy of the princess; but i beg of your majesty to grant me three months before you come to a final resolution. i hope, before that time, my son, on whom you have had the goodness to look with a favourable eye, will be able to make a nobler present than alla ad deen, who is an entire stranger to your majesty." the sultan, though he was fully persuaded that it was not possible for the vizier to provide so considerable a present for his son to make the princess, yet as he had given him hopes, hearkened to him, and granted his request. turning therefore to the old widow, he said to her, "good woman, go home, and tell your son that i agree to the proposal you have made me; but i cannot marry the princess my daughter, till the paraphernalia i design for her be got ready, which cannot be finished these three months; but at the expiration of that time come again." alla ad deen's mother returned home much more gratified than she had expected, since she had met with a favourable answer, instead of the refusal and confusion she had dreaded. from two circumstances alla ad deen, when he saw his mother returning, judged that she brought him good news; the one was, that she returned sooner than ordinary; and the other, the gaiety of her countenance. "well, mother," said he, "may i entertain any hopes, or must i die with despair?" when she had pulled off her veil, and had seated herself on the sofa by him, she said to him, "not to keep you long in suspense, son, i will begin by telling you, that instead of thinking of dying, you have every reason to be well satisfied." then pursuing her discourse, she told him, that she had an audience before everybody else which made her come home so soon; the precautions she had taken lest she should have displeased the sultan, by making the proposal of marriage between him and the princess buddir al buddoor, and the condescending answer she had received from the sultan's own mouth; and that as far as she could judge, the present had wrought a powerful effect. "but when i least expected it," said she, "and he was going to give me an answer, and i fancied a favourable one, the grand vizier whispered him in the ear, and i was afraid might be some obstacle to his good intentions towards us, and so it happened, for the sultan desired me to come to audience again this day three months." alla ad deen thought himself the most happy of all men at hearing this news, and thanked his mother for the pains she had taken in the affair, the good success of which was of so great importance to his peace. though from his impatience to obtain the object of his passion, three months seemed an age, yet he disposed himself to wait with patience, relying on the sultan's word, which he looked upon to be irrevocable. but all that time he not only counted the hours, days, and weeks, but every moment. when two of the three months were past, his mother one evening going to light the lamp, and finding no oil in the house, went out to buy some, and when she came into the city, found a general rejoicing. the shops, instead of being shut up, were open, dressed with foliage, silks, and carpeting, every one striving to show their zeal in the most distinguished manner according to his ability. the streets were crowded with officers in habits of ceremony, mounted on horses richly caparisoned, each attended by a great many footmen. alla ad deen's mother asked the oil-merchant what was the meaning of all this preparation of public festivity. "whence came you, good woman," said he, "that you don't know that the grand vizier's son is to marry the princess buddir al buddoor, the sultan's daughter, to-night? she will presently return from the baths; and these officers whom you see are to assist at the cavalcade to the palace, where the ceremony is to be solemnized." this was news enough for alla ad deen's mother. she ran till she was quite out of breath home to her son, who little suspected any such event. "child," cried she, "you are undone! you depend upon the sultan's fine promises, but they will come to nothing." alla ad deen was alarmed at these words. "mother," replied he, "how do you know the sultan has been guilty of a breach of promise?" "this night," answered the mother, "the grand vizier's son is to marry the princess buddir al buddoor." she then related how she had heard it; so that from all circumstances, he had no reason to doubt the truth of what she said. at this account, alla ad deen was thunder-struck. any other man would have sunk under the shock; but a sudden hope of disappointing his rival soon roused his spirits, and he bethought himself of the lamp, which had on every emergence been so useful to him; and without venting his rage in empty words against the sultan, the vizier, or his son, he only said, "perhaps, mother, the vizier's son may not be so happy to-night as he promises himself: while i go into my chamber a moment, do you get supper ready." she accordingly went about it, but guessed that her son was going to make use of the lamp, to prevent, if possible, the consummation of the marriage. when alla ad deen had got into his chamber, he took the lamp, rubbed it in the same place as before, when immediately the genie appeared, and said to him, "what wouldst thou have? i am ready to obey thee as thy slave, and the slave of all those who have that lamp in their possession; i and the other slaves of the lamp." "hear me," said alla ad deen; "thou hast hitherto brought me whatever i wanted as to provisions; but now i have business of the greatest importance for thee to execute. i have demanded the princess buddir al buddoor in marriage of the sultan her father; he promised her to me, only requiring three months delay; but instead of keeping that promise, has this night married her to the grand vizier's son. what i ask of you is, that as soon as the bride and bridegroom are retired, you bring them both hither in their bed." "master," replied the genie, "i will obey you. have you any other commands?" "none at present," answered alla ad deen; the genie then disappeared. alla ad deen having left his chamber, supped with his mother, with the same tranquillity of mind as usual; and after supper talked of the princess's marriage as of an affair wherein he had not the least concern'; he then retired to his own chamber again, and left his mother to go to bed; but sat up waiting the execution of his orders to the genie. in the meantime, everything was prepared with the greatest magnificence in the sultan's palace to celebrate the princess's nuptials; and the evening was spent with all the usual ceremonies and great rejoicings till midnight, when the grand vizier's son, on a signal given him by the chief of the princess's eunuchs, slipped away from the company, and was introduced by that officer into the princess's apartment, where the nuptial bed was prepared. he went to bed first, and in a little time after, the sultaness, accompanied by her own women, and those of the princess, brought the bride, who, according to the custom of new-married ladies, made great resistance. the sultaness herself helped to undress her, put her into bed by a kind of violence: and after having kissed her, and wished her good night, retired with the women to her own apartments. no sooner was the door shut, than the genie, as the faithful slave of the lamp, and punctual in executing the command of those who possessed it, without giving the bridegroom the least time to caress his bride, to the great amazement of them both, took up the bed, and transported it in an instant into alla ad deen's chamber, where he set it down. alla ad deen, who had waited impatiently for this moment, did not suffer the vizier's son to remain long in bed with the princess. "take this new-married man," said he to the genie, "shut him up in the out-house, and come again tomorrow morning before day-break." the genie instantly forced the vizier's son out of bed, carried him whither alla ad deen had commanded him; and after he had breathed upon him, which prevented him stirring, left him there. passionate as was alla ad deen's love for the princess, he did not talk much to her when they were alone; but only said with a respectful air, "fear nothing, adorable princess, you are here in safety; for, notwithstanding the violence of my passion, which your charms have kindled, it shall never exceed the bounds of the profound adoration i owe you. if i have been forced to come to this extremity, it is not with any intention of affronting you, but to prevent an unjust rival's possessing you, contrary to the sultan your father's promise in favour of myself." the princess, who knew nothing of these particulars, gave very little attention to what alla ad deen could say. the fright and amazement of so surprising and unexpected an adventure had alarmed her so much that he could not get one word from her. however, he undressed himself, took the bridegroom's place, but lay with his back to the princess, putting a sabre between himself and her, to shew that he deserved to be put to death, if he attempted anything against her honour. alla ad deen, satisfied with having thus deprived his rival of the happiness he had flattered himself with, slept very soundly, though the princess buddir al buddoor never passed a night so ill in her life; and if we consider the condition in which the genie left the grand vizier's son, we may imagine that the new bridegroom spent it much worse. alla ad deen had no occasion the next morning to rub the lamp to call the genie; who appeared at the hour appointed, just when he had done dressing himself, and said to him, "i am here, master, what are your commands?" "go," said alla ad deen, "fetch the vizier's son out of the place where you left him, put him into his bed again, and carry it to the sultan's palace, from whence you brought it." the genie presently returned with the vizier's son. alla ad deen took up his sabre, the bridegroom was laid by the princess, and in an instant the nuptial-bed was transported into the same chamber of the palace from whence it had been brought. but we must observe, that all this time the genie never was visible either to the princess or the grand vizier's son. his hideous form would have made them die with fear. neither did they hear any thing of the discourse between alla ad deen and him; they only perceived the motion of the bed, and their transportation from one place to another; which we may well imagine was enough to alarm them. as soon as the genie had set down the nuptial bed in its proper place, the sultan tapped at the door to wish her good morning. the grand vizier's son, who was almost perished with cold, by standing in his thin under garment all night, and had not had time to warm himself in bed, no sooner heard the knocking at the door than he got out of bed, and ran into the robing-chamber, where he had undressed himself the night before. the sultan having opened the door, went to the bed-side, kissed the princess between the eyes, according to custom, wishing her a good morrow, but was extremely surprised to see her so melancholy. she only cast at him a sorrowful look, expressive of great affliction or great dissatisfaction. he said a few words to her; but finding that he could not get a word from her, attributed it to her modesty, and retired. nevertheless, he suspected that there was something extraordinary in this silence, and thereupon went immediately to the sultaness's apartment, told her in what a state he had found the princess, and how she had received him. "sir," said the sultaness, "your majesty ought not to be surprised at this behaviour; new-married people have naturally a reserve about them; two or three days hence she will receive the sultan her father as she ought: but i will go and see her," added she; "i am much deceived if she receives me in the same manner." as soon as the sultaness was dressed, she went to the princess's apartment, who was still in bed. she undrew the curtain, wished her good morrow, and kissed her. but how great was her surprise when she returned no answer; and looking more attentively at her, she perceived her to be much dejected, which made her judge that something had happened, which she did not understand "how comes it, child," said the sultaness, "that you do not return my caresses? ought you to treat your mother after this manner? i am induced to believe something extraordinary has happened; come, tell me freely, and leave me no longer in a painful suspense." at last the princess broke silence with a deep sigh, and said, "alas! most honoured mother, forgive me if i have failed in the respect i owe you. my mind is so full of the extraordinary circumstances which have befallen me this night, that i have not yet recovered my amazement and alarm." she then told her, how the instant after she and her husband were together, the bed was transported into a dark dirty room, where he was taken from her and carried away, but where she knew not; and that she was left alone with a young man, who, after he had said something to her, which her fright did not suffer her to hear, laid himself in her husband's place, but first put his sabre between them; and in the morning her husband was brought to her again, when the bed was transported back to her own chamber in an instant. "all this," said she, "was but just done, when the sultan my father came into my chamber. i was so overwhelmed with grief, that i had not power to speak, and am afraid that he is offended at the manner in which i received the honour he did me; but i hope he will forgive me, when he knows my melancholy adventure, and the miserable state i am in at present." the sultaness heard all the princess told her very patiently, but would not believe it. "you did well, child," said she, "not to speak of this to your father: take care not to mention it to anybody; for you will certainly be thought mad if you talk in this manner." "madam," replied the princess, "i can assure you i am in my right senses; ask my husband, and he will tell you the same circumstances." "i will," said the sultaness, "but if he should talk in the same manner, i shall not be better persuaded of the truth. come, rise, and throw off this idle fancy; it will be a strange event, if all the feasts and rejoicings in the kingdom should be interrupted by such a vision. do not you hear the trumpets of congratulation, and concerts of the finest music? cannot these inspire you with joy and pleasure, and make you forget the fancies of an imagination disturbed by what can have been only a dream?" at the same time the sultaness called the princess's women, and after she had seen her get up, and begin dressing, went to the sultan's apartment, told him that her daughter had got some odd notions in her head, but that there was nothing in them but idle phantasy. she then sent for the vizier's son, to know of him something of what the princess had told her; but he, thinking himself highly honoured to be allied to the sultan, and not willing to lose the princess, denied what had happened. "that is enough," answered the sultaness, "i ask no more, i see you are wiser than my daughter." the rejoicings lasted all that day in the palace, and the sultaness, who never left the princess, forgot nothing to divert her, and induce her to take part in the various diversions and shows; but she was so struck with the idea of what had happened to her in the night, that it was easy to see her thoughts were entirely taken up with it. neither was the grand vizier's son in less tribulation, though his ambition made him disguise his feelings so well, that nobody doubted of his being a happy bridegroom. alla ad deen, who was well acquainted with what passed in the palace, was sure the new-married couple were to sleep together again, notwithstanding the troublesome adventure of the night before; and therefore, having as great an inclination to disturb them, had recourse to his lamp, and when the genie appeared, and offered his service, he said to him, "the grand vizier's son and the princess buddir al buddoor are to sleep together again to-night: go, and as soon as they are in bed, bring the bed hither, as thou didst yesterday." the genie obeyed as faithfully and exactly as the day before; the grand vizier's son passed the night as coldly and disagreeably, and the princess had the mortification again to have alla ad deen for her bed-fellow, with the sabre between them. the genie, according to orders, came the next morning, brought the bridegroom, laid him by his bride, and then carried the bed and new-married couple back again to the palace. the sultan, after the reception the princess had given him, was very anxious to know how she had passed the second night, and therefore went into her chamber as early as the morning before. the grand vizier's son, more ashamed and mortified with the ill success of this last night, no sooner heard him coming, than he jumped out of bed, and ran hastily into the robing-chamber. the sultan went to the princess's bed-side, and after the same caresses he had given her the former morning, bade her good morrow. "well daughter," said he, "are you in a better humour than yesterday?" still the princess was silent, and the sultan perceiving her to be more troubled, and in greater confusion than before, doubted not that something very extraordinary was the cause; but provoked that his daughter should conceal it, he said to her in a rage, with his sabre in his hand, "daughter, tell me what is the matter, or i will cut off your head immediately." the princess, more frightened at the menaces and tone of the enraged sultan than at the sight of the drawn sabre, at last broke silence, and said with tears in her eyes, "my dear father and sultan, i ask your majesty's pardon if i have offended you, and hope, that out of your goodness and clemency you will have compassion on me, when i shall have told you in what a miserable condition i have spent this last night, as well as the preceding." after this preamble, which appeased and affected the sultan, she told him what had happened to her in so moving a manner, that he, who loved her tenderly, was most sensibly grieved. she added, "if your majesty doubts the truth of this account, you may inform yourself from my husband, who, i am persuaded, will tell you the same thing." the sultan immediately felt all the extreme uneasiness so surprising an adventure must have given the princess. "daughter," said he, "you are much to blame for not telling me this yesterday, since it concerns me as much as yourself. i did not marry you with an intention to make you miserable, but that you might enjoy all the happiness you deserve and might hope for from a husband who to me seemed agreeable to you. efface all these troublesome ideas from your memory; i will take care that you shall have no more disagreeable and insupportable nights." as soon as the sultan had returned to his own apartment, he sent for the grand vizier: "vizier," said he, "have you seen your son, and has he told you anything?" the vizier replied, "no." the sultan related all the circumstances of which the princess had informed him, and afterwards said, "i do not doubt but that my daughter has told me the truth; but nevertheless i should be glad to have it confirmed by your son, therefore go and ask him how it was." the grand vizier went immediately to his son, communicated what the sultan had told him, and enjoined him to conceal nothing, but to relate the whole truth. "i will disguise nothing from you, father," replied the son, "for indeed all that the princess has stated is true; but what relates particularly to myself she knows nothing of. since my marriage, i have passed two nights beyond imagination or expression disagreeable, not to mention the fright i was in at finding my bed lifted four times, transported from one place to another, without being able to guess how it was done. you may judge of the miserable condition i was in, passing two whole nights in nothing but my under vestments, standing in a kind of closet, unable to stir out of the place or to make the least movement, though i could not perceive any obstacle to prevent me. yet i must tell you, that all this ill usage does not in the least lessen those sentiments of love, respect, and gratitude i entertain for the princess, and of which she is so deserving; but i must confess, that notwithstanding all the honour and splendour that attends marrying my sovereign's daughter, i would much rather die, than continue in so exalted an alliance if i must undergo nightly much longer what i have already endured. i do not doubt but that the princess entertains the same sentiments, and that she will readily agree to a separation, which is so necessary both for her repose and mine. therefore, father, i beg, by the same tenderness which led you to procure me so great an honour, to obtain the sultan's consent that our marriage may be declared null and void." notwithstanding the grand vizier's ambition to have his son allied to the sultan, the firm resolution he saw he had formed to be separated from the princess made him not think it proper to propose to him to have patience for a few days, to see if this disappointment would not have an end; but he left him to give an account of what he had related to him, and without waiting till the sultan himself, whom he found disposed to it, spoke of setting aside the marriage, he begged of him to give his son leave to retire from the palace, alleging it was not just that the princess should be a moment longer exposed to so terrible a persecution upon his son's account. the grand vizier found no great difficulty to obtain what he asked, as the sultan had determined already; orders were given to put a stop to all rejoicings in the palace and town, and expresses dispatched to all parts of his dominions to countermand them; and, in a short time, all rejoicings ceased. this sudden and unexpected change gave rise both in the city and kingdom to various speculations and inquiries; but no other account could be given of it, except that both the vizier and his son went out of the palace very much dejected. nobody but alla ad deen knew the secret. he rejoiced within himself at the happy success procured by his lamp, which now he had no more occasion to rub, to produce the genie to prevent the consummation of the marriage, as he had certain information it was broken off, and that his rival had left the palace. neither the sultan nor the grand vizier, who had forgotten alla ad deen and his request, had the least thought that he had any concern in the enchantment which caused the dissolution of the marriage. alla ad deen waited till the three months were completed, which the sultan had appointed for the consummation of the marriage between the princess buddir al buddoor and himself; and the next day sent his mother to the palace, to remind the sultan of his promise. alla ad deen's mother went to the palace, and stood in the same place as before in the hall of audience. the sultan no sooner cast his eyes upon her than he knew her again, remembered her business, and how long he had put her off: therefore when the grand vizier was beginning to make his report, the sultan interrupted him, and said, "vizier, i see the good woman who made me the present of jewels some months ago; forbear your report, till i have heard what she has to say." the vizier looking about the divan, perceived the tailor's widow, and sent the chief of the mace-bearers to conduct her to the sultan. alla ad deen's mother came to the foot of the throne, prostrated herself as usual, and when she rose, the sultan asked her what she would have. "sir," said she, "i come to represent to your majesty, in the name of my son alla ad deen, that the three months, at the end of which you ordered me to come again, are expired; and to beg you to remember your promise." the sultan, when he had fixed a time to answer the request of this good woman, little thought of hearing any more of a marriage, which he imagined must be very disagreeable to the princess, when he considered the meanness and poverty of her dress and appearance; but this summons for him to fulfill his promise was somewhat embarrassing; he declined giving an answer till he had consulted his vizier, and signified to trim the little inclination he had to conclude a match for his daughter with a stranger, whose rank he supposed to be very mean. the grand vizier freely told the sultan his thoughts, and said to him, "in my opinion, sir, there is an infallible way for your majesty to avoid a match so disproportionable, without giving alla ad deen, were he known to your majesty, any cause of complaint; which is, to set so high a price upon the princess, that, however rich he may be, he cannot comply with. this is the only evasion to make him desist from so bold, not to say rash, an undertaking, which he never weighed before he engaged in it." the sultan, approving of the grand vizier's advice, turned to the tailor's widow, and said to her, "good woman, it is true sultans ought to abide by their word, and i am ready to keep mine, by making your son happy in marriage with the princess my daughter. but as i cannot marry her without some further valuable consideration from your son, you may tell him, i will fulfill my promise as soon as he shall send me forty trays of massive gold, full of the same sort of jewels you have already made me a present of, and carried by the like number of black slaves, who shall be led by as many young and handsome white slaves, all dressed magnificently. on these conditions i am ready to bestow the princess my daughter upon him; therefore, good woman, go and tell him so, and i will wait till you bring me his answer." alla ad deen's mother prostrated herself a second time before the sultan's throne, and retired. in her way home, she laughed within herself at her son's foolish imagination. "where," says she, "can he get so many large gold trays, and such precious stones to fill them? must he go again to that subterraneous abode, the entrance into which is stopped up, and gather them off the trees? but where will he get so many such slaves as the sultan requires? it is altogether out of his power, and i believe he will not be much pleased with my embassy this time." when she came home, full of these thoughts, she said to her son, "indeed, child, i would not have you think any farther of your marriage with the princess. the sultan received me very kindly, and i believe he was well inclined to you; but if i am not much deceived the grand vizier has made him change his mind, as you will guess from what i have to tell you. after i had represented to his majesty that the three months were expired, and begged of him to remember his promise, i observed that he whispered with his grand vizier before he gave me his answer." she then gave her son an exact account of what the sultan had said to her, and the conditions on which he consented to the match. afterwards she said to him, "the sultan expects your answer immediately; but," continued she, laughing, "i believe he may wait long enough." "not so long, mother, as you imagine," replied alla ad deen: "the sultan is mistaken, if he thinks by this exorbitant demand to prevent my entertaining thoughts of the princess. i expected greater difficulties, and that he would have set a higher price upon her incomparable charms. i am very well pleased; his demand is but a trifle to what i could have done for her. but while i think of satisfying his request, go and get something for our dinner, and leave the rest to me." as soon as his mother was gone out to market, alla ad deen took the lamp, and rubbing it, the genie appeared, and offered his service as usual. "the sultan," said alla ad deen to him, "gives me the princess his daughter in marriage; but demands first forty large trays of massive gold, full of the fruits of the garden from whence i took this lamp; and these he expects to have carried by as many black slaves, each preceded by a young handsome white slave, richly clothed. go, and fetch me this present as soon as possible, that i may send it to him before the divan breaks up." the genie told him his command should be immediately obeyed, and disappeared. in a little time afterwards the genie returned with forty black slaves, each bearing on his head a heavy tray of pure gold, full of pearls, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and every sort of precious stones, all larger and more beautiful than those presented to the sultan. each tray was covered with silver tissue, embroidered with flowers of gold; these, together with the white slaves, quite filled the house, which was but a small one, the little court before it, and a small garden behind. the genie asked if he had any other commands, and alla ad deen telling him that he wanted nothing farther, he disappeared. when alla ad deen's mother came from market, she was much surprised to see so many people and such vast riches. as soon as she had laid down her provisions, she was going to pull off her veil; but he prevented her, and said, "mother, let us lose no time; before the sultan and the divan rise, i would have you return to the palace with this present as the dowry demanded for the princess, that he may judge by my diligence and exactness of the ardent and sincere desire i have to procure myself the honour of this alliance." without waiting for his mother's reply, alla ad deen opened the street-door, and made the slaves walk out; each white slave followed by a black with a tray upon his head. when they were all out, the mother followed the last black slave; he shut the door, and then retired to his chamber, full of hopes that the sultan, after this present, which was such as he required, would receive him as his son-in-law. the first white slave who went out made all the people who were going by stop; and before they were all clear of the house, the streets were crowded with spectators, who ran to see so extraordinary and magnificent a procession. the dress of each slave was so rich, both for the stuff and the jewels, that those who were dealers in them valued each at no less than a million of money; besides the neatness and propriety of the dress, the noble air, fine shape and proportion of each slave were unparalleled; their grave walk at an equal distance from each other, the lustre of the jewels curiously set in their girdles of gold, in beautiful symmetry, and the egrets of precious stones in their turbans, which were of an unusual but elegant taste, put the spectators into such great admiration, that they could not avoid gazing at them, and following them with their eyes as far as possible; but the streets were so crowded with people, that none could move out of the spot they stood on. as they had to pass through several streets to the palace, a great part of the city had an opportunity of seeing them. as soon as the first of these slaves arrived at the palace gate, the porters formed themselves into order, taking him for a prince from the richness and magnificence of his habit, and were going to kiss the hem of his garment; but the slave, who was instructed by the genie, prevented them, and said, "we are only slaves, our master will appear at a proper time." the first slave, followed by the rest, advanced into the second court, which was very spacious, and in which the sultan's household was ranged during the sitting of the divan. the magnificence of the officers, who stood at the head of their troops, was considerably eclipsed by the slaves who bore alla ad deen's present, of which they themselves made a part. nothing was ever seen so beautiful and brilliant in the sultan's palace; and all the lustre of the lords of his court was not to be compared to them. as the sultan, who had been informed of their march, and approach to the palace, had given orders for them to be admitted, they met with no obstacle, but went into the divan in regular order, one part filing to the right, and the other to the left. after they were all entered, and had formed a semicircle before the sultan's throne, the black slaves laid the golden trays on the carpet, prostrated themselves, touching the carpet with their foreheads, and at the same time the white slaves did the same. when they rose, the black slaves uncovered the trays, and then all stood with their arms crossed over their breasts. in the meantime alla ad deen's mother advanced to the foot of the throne, and having paid her respects, said to the sultan, "sir, my son is sensible this present, which he has sent your majesty, is much below the princess buddir al buddoor's worth; but hopes, nevertheless, that your majesty will accept of it, and make it agreeable to the princess, and with the greater confidence since he has endeavoured to conform to the conditions you were pleased to impose." the sultan was not able to give the least attention to this compliment. the moment he cast his eyes on the forty trays, full of the most precious, brilliant, and beautiful jewels he had ever seen, and the fourscore slaves, who appeared by the elegance of their persons, and the richness and magnificence of their dress, like so many princes, he was so struck, that he could not recover from his admiration. instead of answering the compliment of alla ad deen's mother, he addressed himself to the grand vizier, who could not any more than the sultan comprehend from whence such a profusion of richness could come. "well, vizier," said he aloud, "who do you think it can be that has sent me so extraordinary a present, and neither of us know? do you think him worthy of the princess buddir al buddoor, my daughter?" the vizier, notwithstanding his envy and grief to see a stranger preferred to be the sultan's son-in-law before his son, durst not disguise his sentiments. it was too visible that alla ad deen's present was more than sufficient to merit his being received into royal alliance; therefore, consulting his master's feelings, he returned this answer: "i am so far from having any thoughts that the person who has made your majesty so noble a present is unworthy of the honour you would do him, that i should say he deserved much more, if i was not persuaded that the greatest treasure in the world ought not to be put in competition with the princess your majesty's daughter." this speech was applauded by all the lords who were then in council. the sultan made no longer hesitation, nor thought of informing himself whether alla ad deen was endowed with all the qualifications requisite in one who aspired to be his son-in-law. the sight alone of such immense riches, and alla ad deen's quickness in satisfying his demand, without starting the least difficulty at the exorbitant conditions he had imposed, easily persuaded him, that he could want nothing to render him accomplished, and such as he desired. therefore, to send alla ad deen's mother back with all the satisfaction she could desire, he said to her, "my good lady, go and tell your son that i wait with open arms to embrace him, and the more haste he makes to come and receive the princess my daughter from my hands, the greater pleasure he will do me." as soon as the tailor's widow had retired, overjoyed as a woman in her condition must have been, to see her son raised beyond all expectations to such exalted fortune, the sultan put an end to the audience; and rising from his throne, ordered that the princess's eunuchs should come and carry the trays into their mistress's apartment, whither he went himself to examine them with her at his leisure. the fourscore slaves were conducted in to the palace; and the sultan, telling the princess of their magnificent appearance, ordered them to be brought before her apartment, that she might see through the lattices he had not exaggerated in his account of them. in the meantime alla ad deen's mother got home, and shewed in her air and countenance the good news she brought her son "my son," said she to him, "you have now all the reason in the world to be pleased: you are, contrary to my expectations, arrived at the height of your desires. not to keep you too long in suspense, the sultan, with the approbation of the whole court, has declared that you are worthy to possess the princess buddir al buddoor, waits to embrace you and conclude your marriage; therefore, you must think of making some preparations for your interview, which may answer the high opinion he has formed of your person; and after the wonders i have seen you do, i am persuaded nothing can be wanting. but i must not forget to tell you the sultan waits for you with great impatience, therefore lose no time in paying your respects." alla ad deen, enraptured with this news, and full of the object which possessed his soul, made his mother very little reply, but retired to his chamber. there, after he had rubbed his lamp, which had never failed him in whatever he wished for, the obedient genie appeared. "genie," said alla ad deen, "i want to bathe immediately, and you must afterwards provide me the richest and most magnificent habit ever worn by a monarch." no sooner were the words out of his mouth than the genie rendered him, as well as himself, invisible, and transported him into a hummum of the finest marble of all sorts of colours; where he was undressed, without seeing by whom, in a magnificent and spacious hall. from the hall he was led to the bath, which was of a moderate heat, and he was there rubbed and washed with various scented waters. after he had passed through several degrees of heat, he came out, quite a different man from what he was before. his skin was clear white and red, his body lightsome and free; and when he returned into the hall, he found, instead of his own, a suit, the magnificence of which astonished him. the genie helped him to dress, and when he had done, transported him back to his own chamber, where he asked him if he had any other commands. "yes," answered alla ad deen, "i expect you to bring me as soon as possible a charger, that surpasses in beauty and goodness the best in the sultan's stables, with a saddle, bridle, and other caparisons worth a million of money. i want also twenty slaves, as richly clothed as those who carried the present to the sultan, to walk by my side and follow me, and twenty more to go before me in two ranks. besides these, bring my mother six women slaves to attend her, as richly dressed at least as any of the princess buddir al buddoor's, each carrying a complete dress fit for any sultaness. i want also ten thousand pieces of gold in ten purses; go, and make haste." as soon as alla ad deen had given these orders, the genie disappeared, but presently returned with the horse, the forty slaves, ten of whom carried each a purse containing ten thousand pieces of gold, and six women slaves, each carrying on her head a different dress for alla ad deen's mother, wrapped up in a piece of silver tissue, and presented them all to alla ad deen. of the ten purses alla ad deen took four, which he gave to his mother, telling her, those were to supply her with necessaries; the other six he left in the hands of the slaves who brought them, with an order to throw them by handfuls among the people as they went to the sultan's palace. the six slaves who carried the purses he ordered likewise to march before him, three on the right hand and three on the left. afterwards he presented the six women slaves to his mother, telling her they were her slaves, and that the dresses they had brought were for her use. when alla ad deen had thus settled matters, he told the genie he would call for him when he wanted him, and thereupon the genie disappeared. alla ad deen's thoughts now were only upon answering, as soon as possible, the desire the sultan had shown to see him. he dispatched one of the forty slaves to the palace, with an order to address himself to the chief of the porters, to know when he might have the honour to come and throw himself at the sultan's feet. the slave soon acquitted himself of his commission, and brought for answer, that the sultan waited for him with impatience. alla ad deen immediately mounted his charger, and began his march, in the order we have already described; and though he never was on horseback before, appeared with such extraordinary grace, that the most experienced horseman would not have taken him for a novice. the streets through which he was to pass were almost instantly filled with an innumerable concourse of people, who made the air echo with acclamations, especially every time the six slaves who carried the purses threw handfuls of gold among the populace. neither did these acclamations and shouts of joy come from those alone who scrambled for the money, but from a superior rank of people, who could not forbear applauding alla ad deen's generosity. not only those who knew him when he played in the streets like a vagabond did not recollect him, but those who saw him but a little while before hardly recognised him, so much were his features altered: such were the effects of the lamp, as to procure by degrees to those who possessed it perfections suitable to the rank to which the right use of it advanced them. much more attention was paid to alla ad deen's person than to the pomp and magnificence of his attendants, as a similar show had been seen the day before when the slaves walked in procession with the present to the sultan. nevertheless the horse was much admired by good judges, who knew how to discern his beauties, without being dazzled by the jewels and richness of the furniture. when the report was everywhere spread, that the sultan was going to give the princess in marriage to alla ad deen, nobody regarded his birth, nor envied his good fortune, so worthy he seemed of it in the public opinion. when he arrived at the palace, everything was prepared for his reception; and when he came to the gate of the second court, he would have alighted from his horse, agreeably to the custom observed by the grand vizier, the commander in chief of the empire, and governors of provinces of the first rank; but the chief of the mace-bearers who waited on him by the sultan's order prevented him, and attended him to the grand hall of audience, where he helped him to dismount; though alla ad deen endeavoured to prevent him, but could not prevail. the officers formed themselves into two ranks at the entrance of the hall. the chief put alla ad deen on his right hand, and through the midst of them led him to the sultan's throne. as soon as the sultan perceived alla ad deen, he was no less surprised to see him more richly and magnificently habited than ever he had been himself, than struck at his good mien, fine shape, and a certain air of unexpected dignity, very different from the meanness of his mother's late appearance. but, notwithstanding, his amazement and surprise did not hinder him from rising off his throne, and descending two or three steps, quick enough to prevent alla ad deen's throwing himself at his feet. he embraced him with all the demonstrations of joy at his arrival. after this civility alla ad deen would have thrown himself at his feet again; but he held him fast by the hand, and obliged him to sit close to the throne. alla ad deen then addressed the sultan, saying, "i receive the honour which your majesty out of your great condescension is pleased to confer; but permit me to assure you, that i have not forgotten that i am your slave; that i know the greatness of your power, and that i am not in sensible how much my birth is below the splendour and lustre of the high rank to which i am raised. if any way," continued he, "i could have merited so favourable a reception, i confess i owe it merely to the boldness which chance inspired in me to raise my eyes, thoughts, and desires to the divine princess, who is the object of my wishes. i ask your majesty's pardon for my rashness, but i cannot dissemble, that i should die with grief were i to lose my hopes of seeing them accomplished." "my son," answered the sultan, embracing him a second time, "you would wrong me to doubt for a moment of my sincerity: your life from this moment is too dear to me not to preserve it, by presenting you with the remedy which is at my disposal. i prefer the pleasure of seeing and hearing you before all your treasure added to my own." after these words, the sultan gave a signal, and immediately the air echoed with the sound of trumpets, hautboys, and other musical instruments: and at the same time the sultan led alla ad deen into a magnificent hall, where was laid out a most splendid collation. the sultan and alla ad deen ate by themselves, while the grand vizier and the great lords of the court, according to their dignity and rank, sat at different tables. the conversation turned on different subjects; but all the while the sultan took so much pleasure in looking at his intended son-in-law, that he hardly ever took his eyes off him; and throughout the whole of their conversation alla ad deen showed so much good sense, as confirmed the sultan in the high opinion he had formed of him. after the feast, the sultan sent for the chief judge of his capital, and ordered him to draw up immediately a contract of marriage between the princess buddir al buddoor his daughter and alla ad deen. in the mean time the sultan and he entered into another conversation on various subjects, in the presence of the grand vizier and the lords of the court, who all admired the solidity of his wit, the great ease and freedom wherewith he delivered himself, the justness of his remarks, and his energy in expressing them. when the judge had drawn up the contract in all the requisite forms, the sultan asked alla ad deen if he would stay in the palace, and solemnize the ceremonies of marriage that day. to which he answered, "sir, though great is my impatience to enjoy your majesty's goodness, yet i beg of you to give me leave to defer it till i have built a palace fit to receive the princess; therefore i petition you to grant me a convenient spot of ground near your palace, that i may the more frequently pay my respects, and i will take care to have it finished with all diligence." "son," said the sultan, "take what ground you think proper, there is space enough on every quarter round my palace; but consider, i cannot see you too soon united with my daughter, which alone is wanting to complete my happiness." after these words he embraced alla ad deen again, who took his leave with as much politeness as if he had been bred up and had always lived at court. alla ad deen returned home in the order he had come, amidst the acclamations of the people, who wished him all happiness and prosperity. as soon as he dismounted, he retired to his own chamber, took the lamp, and called the genie as before, who in the usual manner made him a tender of his service. "genie," said alla ad deen, "i have every reason to commend your exactness in executing hitherto punctually whatever i have demanded; but now if you have any regard for the lamp your protector, you must show, if possible, more zeal and diligence than ever. i would have you build me, as soon as you can, a palace opposite, but at a proper distance from the sultan's, fit to receive my spouse the princess buddir al buddoor. i leave the choice of the materials to you, that is to say, porphyry, jasper, agate, lapis lazuli, or the finest marble of various colours, and also the architecture of the building. but i expect that on the terraced roof of this palace you will build me a large hall crowned with a dome, and having four equal fronts; and that instead of layers of bricks, the walls be formed of massive gold and silver, laid alternately; that each front shall contain six windows, the lattices of all which, except one, which must be left unfinished, shall be so enriched in the most tasteful workmanship, with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, that they shall exceed every thing of the kind ever seen in the world. i would have an inner and outer court in front of the palace, and a spacious garden; but above all things, take care that there be laid in a place which you shall point out to me a treasure of gold and silver coin. besides, the edifice must be well provided with kitchens and offices, storehouses, and rooms to keep choice furniture in, for every season of the year. i must have stables full of the finest horses, with their equerries and grooms, and hunting equipage. there must be officers to attend the kitchens and offices, and women slaves to wait on the princess. you understand what i mean; therefore go about it, and come and tell me when all is finished." by the time alla ad deen had instructed the genie resetting the building of his palace, the sun was set. the next morning, before break of day, our bridegroom, whose love for the princess would not let him sleep, was up, when the genie presented himself, and said, "sir, your palace is finished, come and see how you like it." alla ad deen had no sooner signified his consent, than the genie transported him thither in an instant, and he found it so much beyond his expectation, that he could not enough admire it. the genie led him through all the apartments, where he met with nothing but what was rich and magnificent, with officers and slaves, all habited according to their rank and the services to which they were appointed. the genie then showed him the treasury, which was opened by a treasurer, where alla ad deen saw heaps of purses, of different sizes, piled up to the top of the ceiling, and disposed in most excellent order. the genie assured him of the treasurer's fidelity, and thence led him to the stables, where he showed him some of the finest horses in the world, and the grooms busy in dressing them; from thence they went to the store-houses, which were filled with all things necessary, both for food and ornament. when alla ad deen had examined the palace from top to bottom, and particularly the hall with the four-and-twenty windows, and found it much beyond whatever he could have imagined, he said, "genie, no one can be better satisfied than i am; and indeed i should be much to blame if i found any fault. there is only one thing wanting which i forgot to mention; that is, to lay from the sultan's palace to the door of the apartment designed for the princess, a carpet of fine velvet for her to walk upon." the genie immediately disappeared, and alla ad deen saw what he desired executed in an instant. the genie then returned, and carried him home before the gates of the sultan's palace were opened. when the porters, who had always been used to an open prospect, came to open the gates, they were amazed to find it obstructed, and to see a carpet of velvet spread from the grand entrance. they did not immediately look how far it extended; but when they could discern alla ad deen's palace distinctly, their surprise was increased. the news of so extraordinary a wonder was presently spread through the palace. the grand vizier, who arrived soon after the gates were open, being no less amazed than others at this novelty, ran and acquainted the sultan, but endeavoured to make him believe it to be all enchantment. "vizier," replied the sultan, "why will you have it to be enchantment? you know as well as i that it must be alla ad deen's palace, which i gave him leave to build, for the reception of my daughter. after the proof we have had of his riches, can we think it strange, that he should raise a palace in so short a time? he wished to surprise us, and let us see what wonders are to be done with money in only one night. confess sincerely that the enchantment you talk of proceeds from a little envy on account of your son's disappointment." the hour of going to council put an end to the conversation. when alla ad deen had been conveyed home, and had dismissed the genie, he found his mother up, and dressing herself in one of those suits which had been brought her. by the time the sultan rose from the council, alla ad deen had prepared his mother to go to the palace with her slaves, and desired her, if she saw the sultan, to tell him she should do herself the honour to attend the princess towards evening to her palace. accordingly she went; but though she and the women slaves who followed her were all dressed like sultanesses, yet the crowd was not near so great as the preceding day, because they were all veiled, and had each an upper garment on agreeable to the richness and magnificence of their habits. alla ad deen mounted his horse, and took leave of his paternal house forever, taking care not to forget his wonderful lamp, by the assistance of which he had reaped such advantages, and arrived at the utmost height of his wishes, and went to the palace in the same pomp as the day before. as soon as the porters of the sultan's palace saw alla ad deen's mother, they went and informed the sultan, who immediately ordered the bands of trumpets, cymbals, drums, fifes and hautboys, placed in different parts of the palace, to play, so that the air resounded with concerts which inspired the whole city with joy: the merchants began to adorn their shops and houses with fine carpets and silks, and to prepare illuminations against night. the artisans of every description left their work, and the populace repaired to the great space between the royal palace and that of alla ad deen; which last drew all their attention, not only because it was new to them, but because there was no comparison between the two buildings. but their amazement was to comprehend by what unheard-of miracle so magnificent a palace could have been so soon erected, it being apparent to all that there were no prepared materials, or any foundations laid the day before. alla ad deen's mother was received in the palace with honour, and introduced into the princess buddir al buddoor's apartment by the chief of the eunuchs. as soon as the princess saw her, she rose, saluted, and desired her to sit down on a sofa; and while her women finished dressing and adorning her with the jewels which alla ad deen had presented to her, a collation was served up. at the same time the sultan, who wished to be as much with his daughter as possible before he parted with her, came in and paid the old lady great respect. alla ad deen's mother had talked to the sultan in public, but he had never seen her with her veil off, as she was then; and though she was somewhat advanced in years, she had the remains of a good face, which showed what she had been in her youth. the sultan, who had always seen her dressed very meanly, not to say poorly, was surprised to find her as richly and magnificently attired as the princess his daughter. this made him think alla ad deen equally prudent and wise in whatever he undertook. when it was night, the princess took her leave of the sultan her father: their adieus were tender, and accompanied with tears. they embraced each other several times, and at last the princess left her own apartment for alla ad deen's palace, with his mother on her left hand carried in a superb litter, followed by a hundred women slaves, dressed with surprising magnificence. all the bands of music, which had played from the time alla ad deen's mother arrived, being joined together, led the procession, followed by a hundred state ushers, and the like number of black eunuchs, in two files, with their officers at their head. four hundred of the sultan's young pages carried flambeaux on each side, which, together with the illuminations of the sultan's and alla ad deen's palaces, made it as light as day. in this order the princess proceeded in her litter on the carpet, which was spread from the sultan's palace, preceded by bands of musicians, who, as they advanced, joining with those on the terraces of alla ad deen's palace, formed a concert, which increased the joyful sensations not only of the crowd assembled in the great square, but of the metropolis and its environs. at length the princess arrived at the new palace. alla ad deen ran with all imaginable joy to receive her at the grand entrance. his mother had taken care to point him out to the princess, in the midst of the officers who surrounded him, and she was charmed with his person. "adorable princess," said alla ad deen, accosting her, and saluting her respectfully, as soon as she had entered her apartment, "if i have the misfortune to have displeased you by my boldness in aspiring to the possession of so lovely a princess, and my sultan's daughter, i must tell you, that you ought to blame your bright eyes and charms, not me." "prince (as i may now call you)," answered the princess, "i am obedient to the will of my father; and it is enough for me to have seen you to tell you that i obey without reluctance." alla ad deen, charmed with so agreeable and satisfactory an answer, would not keep the princess standing; but took her by the hand, which he kissed with the greatest demonstration of joy, and led her into a large hall, illuminated with an infinite number of wax candles, where, by the care of the genie, a noble feast was served up. the dishes were of massive gold, and contained the most delicate viands. the vases, basins, and goblets, were gold also, and of exquisite workmanship, and all the other ornaments and embellishments of the hall were answerable to this display. the princess, dazzled to see so much riches collected in one place, said to alla ad deen, "i thought, prince, that nothing in the world was so beautiful as the sultan my father's palace, but the sight of this hall alone is sufficient to show i was deceived." alla ad deen led the princess to the place appointed for her, and as soon as she and his mother were seated, a band of the most harmonious instruments, accompanied with the voices of beautiful ladies, began a concert, which lasted without intermission to the end of the repast. the princess was so charmed, that she declared she had never heard anything like it in the sultan her father's court; but she knew not that these musicians were fairies chosen by the genie, the slave of the lamp. when the supper was ended, there entered a company of female dancers, who performed, according to the custom of the country, several figure dances, singing at the same time verses in praise of the bride and bridegroom. about midnight alla ad deen's mother conducted the bride to the nuptial apartment, and he soon after retired. the next morning when alla ad deen left the bridal chamber, his attendants presented themselves to dress him, and brought him another habit as rich and magnificent as that worn the day before. he then ordered one of the horses appointed for his use to be got ready, mounted him, and went in the midst of a large troop of slaves to the sultan's palace. the sultan received him with the same honours as before, embraced him, placed him on the throne near him, and ordered a collation. alla ad deen said, "i beg your majesty will dispense with my eating with you to-day; i came to entreat you to take a repast in the princess's palace, attended by your grand vizier, and all the lords of your court." the sultan consented with pleasure, rose up immediately, and, preceded by the principal officers of his palace, and followed by all the great lords of his court, accompanied alla ad deen. the nearer the sultan approached alla ad deen's palace, the more he was struck with its beauty, but was much more amazed when he entered it; and could not forbear breaking out into exclamations of approbation. but when he came into the hall, and cast his eyes on the windows, enriched with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, all large perfect stones, he was so much surprised, that he remained some time motionless. after he recovered himself, he said to his vizier, "is it possible that there should be such a stately palace so near my own, and i be an utter stranger to it till now?" "sir," replied the grand vizier, "your majesty may remember that the day before yesterday you gave alla ad deen, whom you accepted for your son-in-law, leave to build a palace opposite your own, and that very day at sunset there was no palace on this spot, but yesterday i had the honour first to tell you that the palace was built and finished." "i remember," replied the sultan, "but never imagined that the palace was one of the wonders of the world; for where in all the world besides shall we find walls built of massive gold and silver, instead of brick, stone, or marble; and diamonds, rubies, and emeralds composing the windows!" the sultan would examine and admire the beauty of all the windows, and counting them, found that there were but three-and-twenty so richly adorned, and he was greatly astonished that the twenty-fourth was left imperfect. "vizier," said he, for that minister made a point of never leaving him, "i am surprised that a hall of this magnificence should be left thus imperfect." "sir," replied the grand vizier, "without doubt alla ad deen only wanted time to finish this window like the rest; for it is not to be supposed but that he has sufficient jewels for the purpose, or that he will not complete it the first opportunity." alla ad deen, who had left the sultan to go and give some orders, returned just as the vizier had finished his remark. "son," said the sultan to him, "this hall is the most worthy of admiration of any in the world; there is only one thing that surprises me, which is to find one of the windows unfinished. is it from the forgetfulness or negligence of the workmen, or want of time, that they have not put the finishing stroke to so beautiful a piece of architecture?" "sir," answered alla ad deen, "it was for none of these reasons that your majesty sees it in this state. the omission was by design, it was by my orders that the workmen left it thus, since i wished that your majesty should have the glory of finishing this hall, and of course the palace." "if you did it with this intention," replied the sultan, "i take it kindly, and will give orders about it immediately." he accordingly sent for the most considerable jewellers and goldsmiths in his capital. alla ad deen then conducted the sultan into the saloon where he had regaled his bride the preceding night. the princess entered immediately afterwards, and received the sultan her father with an air that showed how happy she was with her marriage. two tables were immediately spread with the most delicious meats, all served up in gold dishes. the sultan, princess, alla ad deen, his mother, and the grand vizier, sat down at the first, and all the lords of the court at the second, which was very long. the sultan was much pleased with the cookery, and owned he had never eaten anything more excellent. he said the same of the wines, which were delicious; but what he most of all admired, were four large sideboards, profusely furnished with large flagons, basins, and cups, all of massive gold, set with jewels. he was besides charmed with several bands of music, which were ranged along the hall, and formed most agreeable concerts. when the sultan rose from table, he was informed that the jewellers and goldsmiths attended; upon which he returned to the hall, and showed them the window which was unfinished. "i sent for you," said he, "to fit up this window in as great perfection as the rest; examine them well and make all the dispatch you can." the jewellers and goldsmiths examined the three-and-twenty windows with great attention, and after they had consulted together, to know what each could furnish, they returned, and presented themselves before the sultan, whose principal jeweller, undertaking to speak for the rest, said, "sir, we are all willing to exert our utmost care and industry to obey your majesty; but among us all we cannot furnish jewels enough for so great a work." "i have more than are necessary," said the sultan; "come to my palace, and you shall choose what may answer your purpose." when the sultan returned to his palace, he ordered his jewels to be brought out, and the jewellers took a great quantity, particularly those alla ad deen had made him a present of, which they soon used, without making any greet advance in their work. they came again several times for more, and in a month's time had not finished half their work. in short, they used all the jewels the sultan had, and borrowed of the vizier, but yet the work was not half done. alla ad deen, who knew that all the sultan's endeavours to make this window like the rest were in vain, sent for the jewellers and goldsmiths, and not only commanded them to desist from their work, but ordered them to undo what they had begun, and to carry all their jewels back to the sultan and to the vizier. they undid in a few hours what they had been six weeks about, and retired, leaving alla ad deen alone in the hall. he took the lamp which he carried about him, rubbed it, and presently the genie appeared. "genie," said alla ad deen, "i ordered thee to leave one of the four-and-twenty windows of this hall imperfect, and thus hast executed my commands punctually; now i would have thee make it like the rest." the genie immediately disappeared. alla ad deen went out of the hall, and returning soon after, found the window, as he wished it to be, like the others. in the meantime, the jewellers and goldsmiths repaired to the palace, and were introduced into the sultan's presence; where the chief jeweller, presenting the precious stones which he had brought back, said, in the name of all the rest, "your majesty knows how long we have been upon the work you were pleased to set us about, in which we used all imaginable industry. it was far advanced, when prince alla ad deen commanded us not only to leave off, but to undo what we had already begun, and bring your majesty your jewels back." the sultan asked them if alla ad deen had given them any reason for so doing, and they answering that he had given them none, he ordered a horse to be brought, which he mounted, and rode to his son-in law's palace, with some few attendants on foot. when he came there, he alighted at the stair-case, which led up to the hall with the twenty-four windows, and went directly up to it, without giving previous notice to alla ad deen; but it happened that at that very juncture alla ad deen was opportunely there, and had just time to receive him at the door. the sultan, without giving alla ad deen time to complain obligingly of his not having given notice, that he might have acquitted himself with the more becoming respect, said to him, "son, i come myself to know the reason why you commanded the jewellers to desist from work, and take to pieces what they had done." alla ad deen disguised the true reason, which was, that the sultan was not rich enough in jewels to be at so great an expense, but said, "i beg of you now to see if any thing is wanting." the sultan went directly to the window which was left imperfect, and when he found it like the rest, fancied that he was mistaken, examined the two windows on each side, and afterwards all the four-and-twenty; but when he was convinced that the window which several workmen had been so long about was finished in so short a time, he embraced alla ad deen, and kissed him between his eyes. "my son," said he, "what a man you are to do such surprising things always in the twinkling of an eye; there is not your fellow in the world; the more i know, the more i admire you." alla ad deen received these praises from the sultan with modesty, and replied in these words: "sir, it is a great honour to me to deserve your majesty's good-will and approbation, and i assure you, i shall study to deserve them more." the sultan returned to his palace, but would not let alla ad deen attend him. when he came there, he found his grand vizier waiting, to whom he related the wonder he had witnessed, with the utmost admiration, and in such terms as left the minister no room to doubt but that the facet was as the sultan related it; though he was the more confirmed in his belief, that alla ad deen's palace was the effect of enchantment, as he had told the sultan the first moment he saw it. he was going to repeat the observation, but the sultan interrupted him, and said, "you told me so once before; i see, vizier, you have not forgotten your son's espousals to my daughter." the frank vizier plainly saw how much the sultan was prepossessed, therefore avoided disputes and let him remain in his own opinion. the sultan as soon as he rose every morning went into the closet, to look at alla ad deen's palace, and would go many times in a day to contemplate and admire it. alla ad deen did not confine himself in his palace; but took care to shew himself once or twice a week in the town, by going sometimes to one mosque, and sometimes to another, to prayers, or to visit the grand vizier, who affected to pay his court to him on certain days, or to do the principal lords of the court the honour to return their visits after he had regaled them at his palace. every time he went out, he caused two slaves, who walked by the side of his horse, to throw handfuls of money among the people as he passed through the streets and squares, which were generally on those occasions crowded. besides, no one came to his palace gates to ask alms, but returned satisfied with his liberality. in short, he so divided his time, that not a week passed but he went either once or twice a hunting, sometimes in the environs of the city, sometimes farther off; at which time the villages through which he passed felt the effects of his generosity, which gained him the love and blessings of the people: and it was common for them to swear by his head. thus, without giving the least umbrage to the sultan, to whom he paid all imaginable respect, alla ad deen, by his affable behaviour and liberality, had won the affections of the people, and was more beloved than the sultan himself. with all these good qualities he shewed a courage and a zeal for the public good which could not be sufficiently applauded. he gave sufficient proofs of both in a revolt on the borders of the kingdom; for he no sooner understood that the sultan was levying an army to disperse the rebels than he begged the command of it, which he found not difficult to obtain. as soon as he was empowered, he marched with so much expedition, that the sultan heard of the defeat of the rebels before he had received an account of his arrival in the army. and though this action rendered his name famous throughout the kingdom, it made no alteration in his disposition; but he was as affable after his victory as before. alla ad deen had conducted himself in this manner several years, when the african magician, who undesignedly had been the instrument of raising him to so high a pitch of prosperity, recalled him to his recollection in africa, whither, after his expedition, he had returned. and though he was almost persuaded that alla ad deen must have died miserably in the subterraneous abode where he had left him, yet he had the curiosity to inform himself about his end with certainty; and as he was a great geomancer, he took out of a cupboard a square covered box, which he used in his geomantic observations: then sat himself down on the sofa, set it before him, and uncovered it. after he had prepared and levelled the sand which was in it, with an intention to discover whether or no alla ad deen had died in the subterraneous abode, he cast the points, drew the figures, and formed a horoscope, by which, when he came to examine it, he found that alla ad deen, instead of dying in the cave, had made his escape, lived splendidly, was in possession of the wonderful lamp, had married a princess, and was much honoured and respected. the magician no sooner understood by the rules of his diabolical art, that alla ad deen had arrived to this height of good fortune, than his face became inflamed with anger, and he cried out in a rage, "this sorry tailor's son has discovered the secret and virtue of the lamp! i believed his death to be certain; but find that he enjoys the fruit of my labour and study! i will, however, prevent his enjoying it long, or perish in the attempt." he was not a great while deliberating on what he should do, but the next morning mounted a barb, set forwards, and never stopped but to refresh himself and horse, till he arrived at the capital of china. he alighted, took up his lodging in a khan, and stayed there the remainder of the day and the night, to refresh himself after so long a journey. the next day, his first object was to inquire what people said of alla ad deen; and, taking a walk through the town, he went to the most public and frequented places, where persons of the best distinction met to drink a certain warm liquor, which he had drunk often during his former visit. as soon as he had seated himself, he was presented with a cup of it, which he took; but listening at the same time to the discourse of the company on each side of him, he heard them talking of alla ad deen's palace. when he had drunk off his liquor, he joined them, and taking this opportunity, inquired particularly of what palace they spoke with so much commendation. "from whence come you?" said the person to whom he addressed himself; "you must certainly be a stranger not to have seen or heard talk of prince alla ad deen's palace" (for he was called so after his marriage with the princess). "i do not say," continued the man, "that it is one of the wonders of the world, but that it is the only wonder of the world; since nothing so grand, rich, and magnificent was ever beheld. certainly you must have come from a great distance, or some obscure corner, not to have heard of it, for it must have been talked of all over the world. go and see it, and then judge whether i have told you more than the truth." "forgive my ignorance," replied the african magician; "i arrived here but yesterday, and came from the farthest part of africa, where the fame of this palace had not reached when i came away. the business which brought me hither was so urgent, that my sole objets was to arrive as soon as i could, without stopping anywhere, or making any acquaintance. but i will not fail to go and see it; my impatience is so great, i will go immediately and satisfy my curiosity, if you will do me the favour to shew me the way thither." the person to whom the african magician addressed himself took a pleasure in shewing him the way to alla ad deen's palace, and he got up and went thither instantly. when he came to the palace, and had examined it on all sides, he doubted not but that alla ad deen had made use of the lamp to build it. without attending to the inability of a poor tailor's son, he knew that none but the genii, the slaves of the lamp, the attaining of which he had missed, could have performed such wonders; and piqued to the quick at alla ad deen's happiness and splendour, he returned to the khan where he lodged. the next point was to ascertain where the lamp was; whether alla ad deen carried it about with him, or where he kept it; and this he was to discover by an operation of geomancy. as soon as he entered his lodging, he took his square box of sand, which he always carried with him when he travelled, and after he had performed some operations, he found that the lamp was in alla ad deen's palace, and so great was his joy at the discovery that he could hardly contain himself. "well," said he, "i shall have the lamp, and defy alla ad deen's preventing my carrying it off, and making him sink to his original meanness, from which he has taken so high a flight." it was alla ad deen's misfortune at that time to be absent in the chase for eight days, and only three were expired, which the magician came to know by this means. after he had performed the magical operation, which gave him so much joy, he went to the superintendent of the khan, entered into conversation with him on indifferent subjects, and among the rest, told him he had been to see alla ad deen's palace; and after exaggerating on all that he had seen most worthy of observation, added, "but my curiosity leads me farther, and i shall not be satisfied till i have seen the person to whom this wonderful edifice belongs." "that will be no difficult matter," replied the master of the khan, "there is not a day passes but he gives an opportunity when he is in town, but at present he is not at the palace, and has been gone these three days on a hunting-match, which will last eight." the magician wanted to know no more; he took his leave of the superintendent of the khan, and returning to his own chamber, said to himself, "this is an opportunity i ought by no means to neglect, but must make the best use of it." to that end, he went to a coppersmith, and asked for a dozen copper lamps: the master of the shop told him he had not so many by him, but if he would have patience till the next day, he would have them ready. the magician appointed his time, and desired him to take care that they should be handsome and well polished. after promising to pay him well, he returned to his inn. the next day the magician called for the twelve lamps, paid the man his full price, put them into a basket which he bought on purpose, and with the basket hanging on his arm, went directly to alla ad deen's palace: as he approached he began crying, "who will change old lamps for new ones?" as he went along, a crowd of children collected, who hooted, and thought him, as did all who chanced to be passing by, a madman or a fool, to offer to change new lamps for old ones. the african magician regarded not their scoffs, hootings, or all they could say to him, but still continued crying, "who will change old lamps for new?" he repeated this so often, walking backwards and forwards in front of the palace, that the princess, who was then in the hall with the four-and-twenty windows, hearing a man cry something, and not being able to distinguish his words, owing to the hooting of the children and increasing mob about him, sent one of her women slaves to know what he cried. the slave was not long before she returned, and ran into the hall, laughing so heartily, that the princess could not forbear herself. "well, giggler," said the princess, "will you tell me what you laugh at?" "madam," answered the slave, laughing still, "who can forbear laughing, to see a fool with a basket on his arm, full of fine new lamps, ask to change them for old ones; the children and mob, crowding about him so that he can hardly stir, make all the noise they can in derision of him." another female slave hearing this, said, "now you speak of lamps, i know not whether the princess may have observed it, but there is an old one upon a shelf of the prince's robing-room, and whoever owns it will not be sorry to find a new one in its stead. if the princess chooses, she may have the pleasure of trying if this fool is so silly as to give a new lamp for an old one, without taking any thing for the exchange." the lamp this slave spoke of was the wonderful lamp, which alla ad deen had laid upon the shelf before he departed for the chase; this he had done several times before; but neither the princess, the slaves, nor the eunuchs, had ever taken notice of it. at all other times except when hunting he carried it about his person. the princess, who knew not the value of this lamp, and the interest that alla ad deen, not to mention herself, had to keep it safe, entered into the pleasantry, and commanded a eunuch to take it, and make the exchange. the eunuch obeyed, went out of the hall, and no sooner got to the palace gates than he saw the african magician, called to him, and shewing him the old lamp, said, "give me a new lamp for this." the magician never doubted but this was the lamp he wanted. there could be no other such in this palace, where every utensil was gold or silver. he snatched it eagerly out of the eunuch's hand, and thrusting it as far as he could into his breast, offered him his basket, and bade him choose which he liked best. the eunuch picked out one, and carried it to the princess; but the exchange was no sooner made than the place rung with the shouts of the children, deriding the magician's folly. the african magician gave everybody leave to laugh as much as they pleased; he stayed not long near the palace, but made the best of his way, without crying any longer, "new lamps for old ones." his end was answered, and by his silence he got rid of the children and the mob. as soon as he was out of the square between the two palaces, he hastened down the streets which were the least frequented; and having no more occasion for his lamps or basket, set all down in an alley where nobody saw him: then going down another street or two, he walked till he came to one of the city gates, and pursuing his way through the suburbs, which were very extensive, at length reached a lonely spot, where he stopped for a time to execute the design he had in contemplation, never caring for his horse which he had left at the khan, but thinking himself perfectly compensated by the treasure he had acquired. in this place the african magician passed the remainder of the day, till the darkest time of night, when he pulled the lamp out of his breast and rubbed it. at that summons the genie appeared, and said, "what wouldst thou have? i am ready to obey thee as thy slave, and the slave of all those who have that lamp in their hands; both i and the other slaves of the lamp." "i command thee," replied the magician, "to transport me immediately and the palace which thou and the other slaves of the lamp have built in this city, with all the people in it, to africa." the genie made no reply, but with the assistance of the other genii, the slaves of the lamp immediately transported him and the palace entire, to the spot whither he was desired to convey it. as soon as the sultan rose the next morning, according to custom, he went into his closet, to have the pleasure of contemplating and admiring alla ad deen's palace; but when he first looked that way, and instead of a palace saw an empty space such as it was before the palace was built, he thought he was mistaken, and rubbed his eyes; but when he looked again, he still saw nothing more the second time than the first, though the weather was fine, the sky clear, and the dawn advancing had made all objects very distinct. he looked again in front, to the right and left, but beheld nothing more than he had formerly been used to see from his window. his amazement was so great, that he stood for some time turning his eyes to the spot where the palace had stood, but where it was no longer to be seen. he could not comprehend how so large a palace as alla ad deen's, which he had seen plainly every day for some years, and but the day before, should vanish so soon, and not leave the least remains behind. "certainly," said he to himself, "i am not mistaken; it stood there: if it had fallen, the materials would have lain in heaps; and if it had been swallowed up by an earthquake, there would be some mark left." at last, though he was convinced that no palace stood now opposite his own, he could not help staying some time at his window, to see whether he might not be mistaken. at last he retired to his apartment, not without looking behind him before he quitted the spot ordered the grand vizier to be sent for with expedition, and in the meantime sat down, his mind agitated by so many different conjectures that he knew not what to resolve. the grand vizier did not make the sultan wait long for him, but came with so much precipitation, that neither he nor his attendants, as they passed, missed alla ad deen's palace; neither did the porters, when they opened the palace gates observe any alteration. when he came into the sultan's presence, he said to him, "the haste in which your majesty sent for me makes me believe something extraordinary has happened, since you know that this is a day of public audience, and i should not have failed of attending at the usual time." "indeed," said the sultan, "it is something very extraordinary, as you say, and you will allow it to be so: tell me what is become of alla ad deen's palace?" "his palace!" replied the grand vizier, in amazement, "i thought as i passed it stood in its usual place; such substantial buildings are not so easily removed." "go into my closet," said the sultan, "and tell me if you can see it." the grand vizier went into the closet, where he was struck with no less amazement than the sultan had been. when he was well assured that there was not the least appearance of this palace, he returned to the sultan. "well," said the sultan, "have you seen alla ad deen's palace?" "no," answered the vizier; "but your majesty may remember that i had the honour to tell you, that palace, which was the subject of your admiration, with all its immense riches, was only the work of magic and a magician; but your majesty would not pay the least attention to what i said." the sultan, who could not deny what the grand vizier had represented to him, flew into the greater passion: "where is that impostor, that wicked wretch," said he, "that i may have his head taken off immediately?" "sir," replied the grand vizier, "it is some days since he came to take his leave of your majesty, on pretence of hunting; he ought to be sent for, to know what is become of his palace, since he cannot be ignorant of what has been transacted." "that is too great an indulgence," replied the sultan: "command a detachment of horse to bring him to me loaded with chains." the grand vizier gave orders for a detachment, and instructed the officer who commanded them how they were to act, that alla ad deen might not escape. the detachment pursued their orders; and about five or six leagues from the town met him returning from the chase. the officer advanced respectfully, and informed him the sultan was so impatient to see him, that he had sent his party to accompany him home. alla ad deen had not the least suspicion of the true reason of their meeting him; but when he came within half a league of the city, the detachment surrounded him, when the officer addressed himself to him, and said, "prince, it is with great regret that i declare to you the sultan's order to arrest you, and to carry you before him as a criminal: i beg of you not to take it ill that we acquit ourselves of our duty, and to forgive us." alla ad deen, who felt himself innocent, was much surprised at this declaration, and asked the officer if he knew what crime he was accused of; who replied, he did not. then alla ad deen, finding that his retinue was much interior to this detachment, alighted off his horse, and said to the officers, "execute your orders; i am not conscious that i have committed any offence against the sultan's person or government." a heavy chain was immediately put about his neck, and fastened round his body, so that both his arms were pinioned down; the officer then put himself at the head of the detachment, and one of the troopers taking hold of the end of the chain and proceeding after the officer, led alla ad deen, who was obliged to follow him on foot, into the city. when this detachment entered the suburbs, the people, who saw alla ad deen thus led as a state criminal, never doubted but that his head was to be cut off; and as he was generally beloved, some took sabres and other arms; and those who had none gathered stones, and followed the escort. the last division faced about to disperse them; but their numbers presently increased so much, that the soldiery began to think it would be well if they could get into the sultan's palace before alla ad deen was rescued; to prevent which, according to the different extent of the streets, they took care to cover the ground by extending or closing. in this manner they with much difficulty arrived at the palace square, and there drew up in a line, till their officer and troopers with alla ad deen had got within the gates, which were immediately shut. alla ad deen was carried before the sultan, who waited for him, attended by the grand vizier, in a balcony; and as soon as he saw him, he ordered the executioner, who waited there for the purpose, to strike off his head without hearing him or giving him leave to clear himself. as soon as the executioner had taken off the chain that was fastened about alla ad deen's neck and body, and laid down a skin stained with the blood of the many he had executed, he made the supposed criminal kneel down, and tied a bandage over his eyes. then drawing his sabre, took his aim by flourishing it three times in the air, waiting for the sultan's giving the signal to strike. at that instant the grand vizier perceiving that the populace had forced the guard of horse, crowded the great square before the palace, and were scaling the walls in several places, and beginning to pull them down to force their way in; he said to the sultan, before he gave the signal, "i beg of your majesty to consider what you are going to do, since you will hazard your palace being destroyed; and who knows what fatal consequence may follow?" "my palace forced!" replied the sultan; "who can have that audacity?" "sir," answered the grand vizier, "if your majesty will but cast your eyes towards the great square, and on the palace walls, you will perceive the truth of what i say." the sultan was so much alarmed when he saw so great a crowd, and how enraged they were, that he ordered the executioner to put his sabre immediately into the scabbard, to unbind alla ad deen, and at the same time commanded the porters to declare to the people that the sultan had pardoned him, and that they might retire. those who had already got upon the walls, and were witnesses of what had passed, abandoned their design and got quickly down, overjoyed that they had saved the life of a man they dearly loved, and published the news amongst the rest, which was presently confirmed by the mace-bearers from the top of the terraces. the justice which the sultan had done to alla ad deen soon disarmed the populace of their rage; the tumult abated, and the mob dispersed. when alla ad deen found himself at liberty, he turned towards the balcony, and perceiving the sultan, raised his voice, and said to him in a moving manner, "i beg of your majesty to add one favour more to that which i have already received, which is, to let me know my crime?" "your crime," answered the sultan; "perfidious wretch! do you not know it? come hither, and i will shew it you." alla ad deen went up, when the sultan, going before him without looking at him, said, "follow me;" and then led him into his closet. when he came to the door, he said, "go in; you ought to know whereabouts your palace stood: look round and tell me what is become of it?" alla ad deen looked, but saw nothing. he perceived the spot upon which his palace had stood; but not being able to divine how it had disappeared, was thrown into such great confusion and amazement, that he could not return one word of answer. the sultan growing impatient, demanded of him again, "where is your palace, and what is become of my daughter?" alla ad deen, breaking silence, replied, "sir, i perceive and own that the palace which i have built is not in its place, but is vanished; neither can i tell your majesty where it may be, but can assure you i had no concern in its removal." "i am not so much concerned about your palace," replied the sultan, "i value my daughter ten thousand times more, and would have you find her out, otherwise i will cause your head to be struck off, and no consideration shall divert me from my purpose." "i beg of your majesty," answered alla ad deen, "to grant me forty days to make my inquiries; and if in that time i have not the success i wish, i will offer my head at the foot of your throne, to be disposed of at your pleasure." "i give you the forty days you ask," said the sultan; "but think not to abuse the favour i shew you, by imagining you shall escape my resentment; for i will find you out in whatsoever part of the world you may conceal yourself." alla ad deen went out of the sultan's presence with great humiliation, and in a condition worthy of pity. he crossed the courts of the palace, hanging down his head, and in such great confusion, that he durst not lift up his eyes. the principal officers of the court, who had all professed themselves his friends, and whom he had never disobliged, instead of going up to him to comfort him, and offer him a retreat in their houses, turned their backs to avoid seeing him. but had they accosted him with a word of comfort or offer of service, they would have no more known alla ad deen. he did not know himself, and was no longer in his senses, as plainly appeared by his asking everybody he met, and at every house, if they had seen his palace, or could tell him any news of it. these questions made the generality believe that alla ad deen was mad. some laughed at him, but people of sense and humanity, particularly those who had had any connection of business or friendship with him, really pitied him. for three days he rambled about the city in this manner, without coming to any resolution, or eating anything but what some compassionate people forced him to take out of charity. at last, as he could no longer in his unhappy condition stay in a city where he had lately been next to the sultan, he took the road to the country; and after he had traversed several fields in wild uncertainty, at the approach of night came to the bank of a river. there, possessed by his despair, he said to himself, "where shall i seek my palace? in what province, country, or part of the world, shall i find that and my dear princess, whom the sultan expects from me? i shall never succeed; i had better free myself at once from fruitless endeavours, and such bitter grief as preys upon me." he was just going to throw himself into the river, but, as a good moosulmaun, true to his religion, he thought he should not do it without first saying his prayers. going to prepare himself, he went to the river's brink, in order to perform the usual ablutions. the place being steep and slippery, from the water beating against it, he slid down, and had certainly fallen into the river, but for a little rock which projected about two feet out of the earth. happily also for him he still had on the ring which the african magician had put on his finger before he went down into the subterraneous abode to fetch the precious lamp. in slipping down the bank he rubbed the ring so hard by holding on the rock, that immediately the same genie appeared whom he had seen in the cave where the magician had left him. "what wouldst thou have?" said the genie. "i am ready to obey thee as thy slave, and the slave of all those that have that ring on their finger; both i and the other slaves of the ring." alla ad deen, agreeably surprised at an apparition he so little expected in his present calamity, replied, "save my life, genie, a second time, either by shewing me to the place where the palace i caused to be built now stands, or immediately transporting it back where it first stood." "what you command me," answered the genie, "is not wholly in my power; i am only the slave of the ring; you must address yourself to the slave of the lamp." "if that be the case," replied alla ad deen, "i command thee, by the power of the ring, to transport me to the spot where my palace stands, in what part of the world soever it may be, and set me down under the window of the princess buddir al buddoor." these words were no sooner out of his mouth, than the genie transported him into africa, to the midst of a large plain, where his palace stood, at no great distance from a city, and placing him exactly under the window of the princess's apartment, left him. all this was done almost in an instant. alla ad deen, notwithstanding the darkness of the night, knew his palace and the princess buddir al buddoor's apartment again; but as the night was far advanced, and all was quiet in the palace, he retired to some distance, and sat down at the foot of a large tree. there, full of hopes, and reflecting on his happiness, for which he was indebted to chance, he found himself in a much more comfortable situation than when he was arrested and carried before the sultan; being now delivered from the immediate danger of losing his life. he amused himself for some time with these agreeable thoughts; but not having slept for two days, was not able to resist the drowsiness which came upon him, but fell fast asleep. the next morning, as soon as day appeared, alla ad deen was agreeably awakened by the singing not only of the birds which had roosted in the tree under which he had passed the night, but also of those which frequented the thick groves of the palace garden. when he cast his eyes on that wonderful edifice, he felt inexpressible joy at thinking he might possibly soon be master of it again, and once more possess his dear princess buddir al buddoor. pleased with these hopes, he immediately arose, went towards the princess's apartment, and walked some time under her window in expectation of her rising, that he might see her. during this expectation, he began to consider with himself whence the cause of his misfortune had proceeded; and after mature reflection, no longer doubted that it was owing to having trusted the lamp out of his sight. he accused himself of negligence in letting it be a moment away from him. but what puzzled him most was, that he could not imagine who had been so envious of his happiness. he would soon have guessed this, if he had known that both he and his palace were in africa, the very name of which would soon have made him remember the magician his declared enemy; but the genie, the slave of the ring, had not made the least mention of the name of the country, nor had alla ad deen inquired. the princess rose earlier that morning than she had done since her transportation into africa by the magician, whose presence she was forced to support once a day, because he was master of the palace; but she had always treated him so harshly that he dared not reside in it. as she was dressing, one of the women looking through the window, perceived alla ad deen, and instantly told her mistress. the princess, who could not believe the joyful tidings, hastened herself to the window, and seeing alla ad deen, immediately opened it. the noise of opening the window made alla ad deen turn his head that way, and perceiving the princess he saluted her with an air that expressed his joy. "to lose no time," said she to him, "i have sent to have the private door opened for you; enter, and come up." the private door, which was just under the princess's apartment, was soon opened, and alla ad deen conducted up into the chamber. it is impossible to express the joy of both at seeing each other, after so cruel a separation. after embracing and shedding tears of joy, they sat down, and alla ad deen said, "i beg of you, princess, in god's name, before we talk of anything else, to tell me, both for your own sake, the sultan your father's, and mine, what is become of an old lamp which i left upon a shelf in my robing-chamber, when i departed for the chase." "alas! dear husband," answered the princess, "i was afraid our misfortune might be owing to that lamp: and what grieves me most is, that i have been the cause of it." "princess," replied alla ad deen, "do not blame yourself, since it was entirely my fault, for i ought to have taken more care of it. but let us now think only of repairing the loss; tell me what has happened, and into whose hands it has fallen." the princess then related how she had changed the old lamp for a new one, which she ordered to be fetched, that he might see it, and how the next morning she found herself in the unknown country they were then in, which she was told was africa, by the traitor, who had transported her thither by his magic art. "princess," said alla ad deen, interrupting her, "you have informed me who the traitor is, by telling me we are in africa. he is the most perfidious of men; but this is neither a time nor place to give you a full account of his villainies. i desire you only to tell me what he has done with the lamp, and where he has put it?" "he carries it carefully wrapped up in his bosom," said the princess; "and this i can assure you, because he pulled it out before me, and shewed it to me in triumph." "princess," said alla ad deen, "do not be displeased that i trouble you with so many questions, since they are equally important to us both. but to come to what most particularly concerns me; tell me, i conjure you, how so wicked and perfidious a man treats you?" "since i have been here," replied the princess, "he repairs once every day to see me; and i am persuaded the little satisfaction he receives from his visits makes him come no oftener. all his addresses tend to persuade me to break that faith i have pledged to you, and to take him for my husband; giving me to understand, i need not entertain hopes of ever seeing you again, for that you were dead, having had your head struck off by the sultan my father's order. he added, to justify himself, that you were an ungrateful wretch; that your good fortune was owing to him, and a great many other things of that nature which i forbear to repeat: but as he received no other answer from me but grievous complaints and tears, he was always forced to retire with as little satisfaction as he came. i doubt not his intention is to allow me time to overcome my grief, in hopes that afterwards i may change my sentiments; and if i persevere in an obstinate refusal, to use violence. but my dear husband's presence removes all my apprehensions." "i am confident my attempts to punish the magician will not be in vain," replied alla ad deen, "since my princess's fears are removed, and i think i have found the means to deliver you from both your enemy and mine; to execute this design, it is necessary for me to go to the town. i shall return by noon, will then communicate my design, and what must be done by you to ensure success. but that you may not be surprised, i think it proper to acquaint you, that i shall change my apparel, and beg of you to give orders that i may not wait long at the private door, but that it may be opened at the first knock;" all which the princess promised to observe. when alla ad deen was out of the palace, he looked round him on all sides, and perceiving a peasant going into the country, hastened after him; and when he had overtaken him, made a proposal to him to change habits, which the man agreed to. when they had made the exchange, the countryman went about his business, and alla ad deen to the city. after traversing several streets, he came to that part of the town where all descriptions of merchants and artisans had their particular streets, according to their trades. he went into that of the druggists; and going into one of the largest and best furnished shops, asked the druggist if he had a certain powder which he named. the druggist, judging alla ad deen by his habit to be very poor, and that he had not money enough to pay for it, told him he had it, but that it was very dear; upon which alla ad deen penetrated his thoughts, pulled out his purse, and shewing him some gold, asked for half a dram of the powder; which the druggist weighed, wrapped up in paper, and gave him, telling him the price was a piece of gold. alla ad deen put the money into his hand, and staying no longer in the town than just to get a little refreshment, returned to the palace, where he waited not long at the private door. when he came into the princess's apartment, he said to her, "princess, perhaps the aversion you tell me you have for your ravisher may be an objection to your executing what i am going to propose; but permit me to say it is proper that you should at this juncture dissemble a little, and do violence to your inclinations, if you would deliver yourself from him, and give my lord the sultan your father the satisfaction of seeing you again." "if you will take my advice," continued he, "dress yourself this moment in one of your richest habits, and when the african magician comes, make no difficulty to give him the best reception; receive him with a cheerful countenance, so that he may imagine time has removed your affliction and disgust at his addresses. in your conversation, let him understand that you strive to forget me; and that he may be the more fully convinced of your sincerity, invite him to sup with you, and tell him you should be glad to taste of some of the best wines of his country. he will presently go to fetch you some. during his absence, put into one of the cups you are accustomed to drink out of this powder, and setting it by, charge the slave you may order that night to attend you, on a signal you shall agree upon, to bring that cup to you. when the magician and you have eaten and drunk as much as you choose, let her bring you the cup, and then change cups with him. he will esteem it so great a favour that he will not refuse, but eagerly quaff it off; but no sooner will he have drunk, than you will see him fall backwards. if you have any reluctance to drink out of his cup, you may pretend only to do it, without fear of being discovered; for the effect of the powder is so quick, that he will not have time to know whether you drink or not." when alla ad deen had finished, "i own," answered the princess, "i shall do myself great violence in consenting to make the magician such advances as i see are absolutely necessary; but what cannot one resolve to do against a cruel enemy? i will therefore follow your advice, since both my repose and yours depend upon it." after the princess had agreed to the measures proposed by alla ad deen, he took his leave, and went and spent the rest of the day in the neighbourhood of the palace till it was night, and he might safely return to the private door. the princess, who had remained inconsolable at being separated not only from her husband, whom she had loved from the first moment, and still continued to love more out of inclination than duty, but also from the sultan her father, who had always showed the most tender and paternal affection for her, had, ever since their cruel separation, lived in great neglect of her person. she had almost forgotten the neatness so becoming persons of her sex and quality, particularly after the first time the magician paid her a visit; and she had understood by some of the women, who knew him again, that it was he who had taken the old lamp in exchange for a new one, which rendered the sight of him more abhorred. however, the opportunity of taking the revenge he deserved made her resolve to gratify alla ad deen. as soon, therefore, as he was gone, she sat down to dress, and was attired by her women to the best advantage in the richest habit of her wardrobe. her girdle was of the finest and largest diamonds set in gold, her necklace of pearls, six on a side, so well proportioned to that in the middle, which was the largest ever seen, and invaluable, that the greatest sultanesses would have been proud to have been adorned with only two of the smallest. her bracelets, which were of diamonds and rubies intermixed, corresponded admirably to the richness of the girdle and necklace. when the princess buddir al buddoor was completely dressed, she consulted her glass and women upon her adjustment; and when she found she wanted no charms to flatter the foolish passion of the african magician, she sat down on a sofa expecting his arrival. the magician came at the usual hour, and as soon as he entered the great hall where the princess waited to receive him, she rose with an enchanting grace and smile, and pointed with her hand to the most honourable place, waiting till he sat down, that she might sit at the same time which was a civility she had never shown him before. the african magician, dazzled more with the lustre of the princess's eyes than the glittering of the jewels with which she was adorned, was much surprised. the smiling and graceful air with which she received him, so opposite to her former behaviour, quite fascinated his heart. when he was seated, the princess, to free him from his embarrassment, broke silence first, locking at him all the time in such a manner as to make him believe that he was not so odious to her as she had given him to understand hitherto and said, "you are doubtless amazed to find me so much altered to-day; but your surprise will not be so great when i acquaint you, that i am naturally of a disposition so opposite to melancholy and grief, sorrow and uneasiness, that i always strive to put them as far away as possible when i find the subject of them is past. i have reflected on what you told me of alla ad deen's fate, and know my father's temper so well, that i am persuaded with you he could not escape the terrible effects of the sultan's rage; therefore, should i continue to lament him all my life, my tears cannot recall him. for this reason, since i have paid all the duties decency requires of me to his memory, now he is in the grave i think i ought to endeavour to comfort myself. these are the motives of the change you see in me; i am resolved to banish melancholy entirely; and, persuaded that you will bear me company tonight, i have ordered a supper to be prepared; but as i have no wines but those of china, i have a great desire to taste of the produce of africa, and doubt not your procuring some of the best." the african magician, who had looked upon the happiness of getting so soon and so easily into the princess buddir al buddoor's good graces as impossible, could not think of words expressive enough to testify how sensible he was of her favours: but to put an end the sooner to a conversation which would have embarrassed him, if he had engaged farther in it, he turned it upon the wines of africa, and said, "of all the advantages africa can boast, that of producing the most excellent wines is one of the principal. i have a vessel of seven years old, which has never been broached; and it is indeed not praising it too much to say it is the finest wine in the world. if my princess," added he, "will give me leave, i will go and fetch two bottles, and return again immediately." "i should be sorry to give you that trouble," replied the princess; "you had better send for them." "it is necessary i should go myself," answered the african magician; "for nobody but myself knows where the key of the cellar is laid, or has the secret to unlock the door." "if it be so," said the princess, "make haste back; for the longer you stay, the greater will be my impatience, and we shall sit down to supper as soon as you return." the african magician, full of hopes of his expected happiness, rather flew than ran, and returned quickly with the wine. the princess, not doubting but he would make haste, put with her own hand the powder alla ad deen had given her into the cup set apart for that purpose. they sat down at the table opposite to each other, the magician's back towards the sideboard. the princess presented him with the best at the table, and said to him, "if you please, i will entertain you with a concert of vocal and instrumental music; but, as we are only two, i think conversation maybe more agreeable." this the magician took as a new favour. after they had eaten some time, the princess called for some wine, drank the magician's health, and afterwards said to him, "indeed you had a full right to commend your wine, since i never tasted any so delicious." "charming princess," said he, holding in his hand the cup which had been presented to him, "my wine becomes more exquisite by your approbation." "then drink my health," replied the princess; "you will find i understand wines." he drank the princess's health, and returning the cup, said, "i think myself fortunate, princess, that i reserved this wine for so happy an occasion; and own i never before drank any in every respect so excellent." when they had each drunk two or three cups more, the princess, who had completely charmed the african magician by her civility and obliging behaviour, gave the signal to the slave who served them with wine, bidding her bring the cup which had been filled for her, and at the same time bring the magician a full goblet. when they both had their cups in their hands, she said to him, "i know not how you express your loves in these parts when drinking together? with us in china the lover and his mistress reciprocally exchange cups, and drink each other's health." at the same time she presented to him the cup which was in her hand, and held out her hand to receive his. he hastened to make the exchange with the more pleasure, because he looked upon this favour as the most certain token of an entire conquest over the princess, which raised his rapture to the highest pitch. before he drank, he said to her, with the cup in his hand, "indeed, princess, we africans are not so refined in the art of love as you chinese: and your instructing me in a lesson i was ignorant of, informs me how sensible i ought to be of the favour done me. i shall never, lovely princess, forget my recovering, by drinking out of your cup, that life, which your cruelty, had it continued, must have made me despair of." the princess, who began to be tired with this impertinent declaration of the african magician, interrupted him, and said, "let us drink first, and then say what you will afterwards;" at the same time she set the cup to her lips, while the african magician, who was eager to get his wine off first, drank up the very last drop. in finishing it, he had reclined his head back to shew his eagerness, and remained some time in that state. the princess kept the cup at her lips, till she saw his eyes turn in his head, when he fell backwards lifeless on the sofa. the princess had no occasion to order the private door to be opened to alla ad deen; for her women were so disposed from the great hall to the foot of the staircase, that the word was no sooner given that the african magician was fallen backwards, than the door was immediately opened. as soon as alla ad deen entered the hall, he saw the magician stretched backwards on the sofa. the princess rose from her seat, and ran overjoyed to embrace him; but he stopped her, and said, "princess, it is not yet time; oblige me by retiring to your apartment; and let me be left alone a moment, while i endeavour to transport you back to china as speedily as you were brought from thence." when the princess, her women and eunuchs, were gone out of the hall, alla ad deen shut the door, and going directly to the dead body of the magician, opened his vest, took out the lamp, which was carefully wrapped up, as the princess had told him, and unfolding and rubbing it, the genie immediately appeared. "genie," said alla ad deen, "i have called to command thee, on the part of thy good mistress this lamp, to transport this palace instantly into china, to the place from whence it was brought hither." the genie bowed his head in token of obedience, and disappeared. immediately the palace was transported into china, and its removal was only felt by two little shocks, the one when it was lifted up, the other when it was set down, and both in a very short interval of time. alla ad deen went to the princess's apartment, and embracing her, said, "i can assure you, princess, that your joy and mine will be complete tomorrow morning." the princess, guessing that alla ad deen must be hungry, ordered the dishes, served up in the great hall, to be brought down. the princess and alla ad deen ate as much as they thought fit, and drank of the african magician's old wine; during which time their conversation could not be otherwise than satisfactory, and then they retired to their own chamber. from the time of the transportation of alla ad deen's palace, the princess's father had been inconsolable for the loss of her. he could take no rest, and instead of avoiding what might continue his affliction, he indulged it without restraint. before the disaster he used to go every morning into his closet to please himself with viewing the palace, he went now many times in the day to renew his tears, and plunge himself into the deepest melancholy, by the idea of no more seeing that which once gave him so much pleasure, and reflecting how he had lost what was most dear to him in this world. the very morning of the return of alla ad deen's palace, the sultan went, by break of day, into his closet to indulge his sorrows. absorbed in himself, and in a pensive mood, he cast his eyes towards the spot, expecting only to see an open space; but perceiving the vacancy filled up, he at first imagined the appearance to be the effect of a fog; looking more attentively, he was convinced beyond the power of doubt it was his son-in-law's palace. joy and gladness succeeded to sorrow and grief. he returned immediately into his apartment, and ordered a horse to be saddled and brought to him without delay, which he mounted that instant, thinking he could not make haste enough to the palace. alla ad deen, who foresaw what would happen, rose that morning by day-break, put on one of the most magnificent habits his wardrobe afforded, and went up into the hall of twenty-four windows, from whence he perceived the sultan approaching, and got down soon enough to receive him at the foot of the great staircase, and to help him to dismount. "alla ad deen," said the sultan, "i cannot speak to you till i have seen and embraced my daughter." he led the sultan into the princess's apartment. the happy father embraced her with his face bathed in tears of joy; and the princess, on her side, shewed him all the testimonies of the extreme pleasure the sight of him afforded her. the sultan was some time before he could open his lips, so great was his surprise and joy to find his daughter again, after he had given her up for lost; and the princess, upon seeing her father, let fall tears of rapture and affection. at last the sultan broke silence, and said, "i would believe, daughter, your joy to see me makes you seem as little changed as if no misfortune had befallen you; yet i cannot be persuaded but that you have suffered much alarm; for a large palace cannot be so suddenly transported as yours has been, without causing great fright and apprehension i would have you tell me all that has happened, and conceal nothing from me." the princess, who took great pleasure in giving the sultan the satisfaction he demanded, said, "if i appear so little altered, i beg of your majesty to consider that i received new life yesterday morning by the presence of my dear husband and deliverer alla ad deen, whom i looked upon and bewailed as lost to me; and the happiness of seeing and embracing of whom has almost recovered me to my former state of health. my greatest suffering was only to find myself forced from your majesty and my dear husband; not only from the love i bore my husband, but from the uneasiness i laboured under through fear that he, though innocent, might feel the effects of your anger, to which i knew he was left exposed. i suffered but little from the insolence of the wretch who had carried me off; for having secured the ascendant over him, i always put a stop to his disagreeable overtures, and was as little constrained as i am at present. "as to what relates to my transportation, alla ad deen had no concern in it; i was myself the innocent cause of it." to persuade the sultan of the truth of what she said, she gave him a full account of how the african magician had disguised himself, and offered to change new lamps for old ones; how she had amused herself in making that exchange, being entirely ignorant of the secret and importance of the wonderful lamp; how the palace and herself were carried away and transported into africa, with the african magician, who was recognised by two of her women and the eunuch who made the exchange of the lamp, when he had the audacity, after the success of his daring enterprise, to propose himself for her husband; how he persecuted her till alla ad deen's arrival; how they had concerted measures to get the lamp from him again, and the success they had fortunately met with by her dissimulation in inviting him to supper, and giving him the cup with the powder prepared for him. "for the rest," added she, "i leave it to alla ad deen to recount." alla ad deen had not much to tell the sultan, but only said, "when the private door was opened i went up into the great hall, where i found the magician lying dead on the sofa, and as i thought it not proper for the princess to stay there any longer, i desired her to go down into her own apartment, with her women and eunuchs. as soon as i was alone, and had taken the lamp out of the magician's breast, i made use of the same secret he had done, to remove the palace, and carry off the princess; and by that means the palace was re-conveyed to the place where it stood before; and i have the happiness to restore the princess to your majesty, as you commanded me. but that your majesty may not think that i impose upon you, if you will give yourself the trouble to go up into the hall, you may see the magician punished as he deserved." the sultan, to be assured of the truth, rose instantly, and went into the hall, where, when he saw the african magician dead, and his face already livid by the strength of the poison, he embraced alla ad deen with great tenderness, and said, "my son, be not displeased at my proceedings against you; they arose from my paternal love; and therefore you ought to forgive the excesses to which it hurried me." "sir," replied alla ad deen, "i have not the least reason to complain of your majesty's conduct, since you did nothing but what your duty required. this infamous magician, the basest of men, was the sole cause of my misfortune. when your majesty has leisure, i will give you an account of another villanous action he was guilty of towards me, which was no less black and base than this, from which i was preserved by the providence of god in a very miraculous way." "i will take an opportunity, and that very shortly," replied the sultan, "to hear it; but in the mean time let us think only of rejoicing, and the removal of this odious object." alla ad deen ordered the magician's corpse to be removed and thrown upon a dunghill, for birds and beasts to prey upon. in the mean time, the sultan commanded the drums, trumpets, cymbals, and other instruments of music to announce his joy to the public, and a festival of ten days to be proclaimed for the return of the princess and alla ad deen. thus alla ad deen escaped once more the almost inevitable danger of losing his life; but this was not the last, since he ran as great a hazard a third time. the african magician had a younger brother, who was equally skilful as a necromancer, and even surpassed him in villany and pernicious designs. as they did not live together, or in the same city, but oftentimes when one was in the east, the other was in the west, they failed not every year to inform themselves, by their art, each where the other resided, and whether they stood in need of one another's assistance. some time after the african magician had failed in his enterprise against alla ad deen, his younger brother, who had heard no tidings of him, and was not in africa, but in a distant country, had the wish to know in what part of the world he sojourned, the state of his health, and what he was doing; and as he, as well as his brother, always carried a geomantic square instrument about him, he prepared the sand, cast the points, and drew the figures. on examining the planetary mansions, he found that his brother was no longer living, but had been poisoned; and by another observation, that he was in the capital of the kingdom of china; also that the person who had poisoned him was of mean birth, though married to a princess, a sultan's daughter. when the magician had informed himself of his brother's fate, he lost no time in useless regret, which could not restore him to life; but resolving immediately to revenge his death, departed for china; where, after crossing plains, rivers, mountains, deserts, and a long tract of country without delay, he arrived after incredible fatigues. when he came to the capital of china, he took a lodging. the next day he walked through the town, not so much to observe the beauties, which were indifferent to him, as to take proper measures to execute his pernicious designs. he introduced himself into the most frequented places, where he listened to everybody's discourse. in a place where people resort to divert themselves with games of various kinds, and where some were conversing, while others played, he heard some persons talk of the virtue and piety of a woman called fatima, who was retired from the world, and of the miracles she wrought. as he fancied that this woman might be serviceable to him in the project he had conceived, he took one of the company aside, and requested to be informed more particularly who that holy woman was, and what sort of miracles she performed. "what!" said the person whom he addressed, "have you never seen or heard of her? she is the admiration of the whole town, for her fasting, her austerities, and her exemplary life. except mondays and fridays, she never stirs out of her little cell; and on those days on which she comes into the town she does an infinite deal of good; for there is not a person that has the headache but is cured by her laying her hand upon them." the magician wanted no further information. he only asked the person in what part of the town this holy woman's cell was situated. after he had informed himself on this head, he determined on the detestable design of murdering her and assuming her character. with this view he watched all her steps the first day she went out after he had made this inquiry, without losing sight of her till evening, when he saw her re-enter her cell. when he had fully observed the place, he went to one of those houses where they sell a certain hot liquor, and where any person may pass the night, particularly in the great heats, when the people of that country prefer lying on a mat to a bed. about midnight, after the magician had satisfied the master of the house for what little he had called for, he went out, and proceeded directly to the cell of fatima. he had no difficulty to open the door, which was only fastened with a latch, and he shut it again after he had entered, without any noise. when he entered the cell, he perceived fatima by moonlight lying in the air on a sofa covered only by an old mat, with her head leaning against the wall. he awakened her, and clapped a dagger to her breast. the pious fatima opening her eyes, was much surprised to see a man with a dagger at her breast ready to stab her, and who said to her, "if you cry out, or make the least noise, i will kill you; but get up, and do as i shall direct you." fatima, who had lain down in her habit, got up, trembling with fear. "do not be so much frightened," said the magician; "i only want your habit, give it me and take mine." accordingly fatima and he changed clothes. he then said to her, "colour my face, that i may be like you;" but perceiving that the poor creature could not help trembling, to encourage her he said, "i tell you again you need not fear anything: i swear by the name of god i will not take away your life." fatima lighted her lamp, led him into the cell, and dipping a soft brush in a certain liquor, rubbed it over his face, assured him the colour would not change, and that his face was of the same hue as her own: after which, she put her own head-dress on his head, also a veil, with which she shewed him how to hide his face as he passed through the town. after this, she put a long string of beads about his neck, which hung down to the middle of his body, and giving him the stick she used to walk with in his hand, brought him a looking-glass, and bade him look if he was not as like her as possible. the magician found himself disguised as he wished to be; but he did not keep the oath he so solemnly swore to the good fatima; but instead of stabbing her, for fear the blood might discover him, he strangled her; and when he found she was dead, threw her body into a cistern just by the cell. the magician, thus disguised like the holy woman fatima, spent the remainder of the night in the cell. the next morning, two hours after sunrise, though it was not a day the holy woman used to go out on, he crept out of the cell, being well persuaded that nobody would ask him any questions; or, if they should, he had an answer ready for them. as one of the first things he did after his arrival was to find out alla ad deen's palace, where he was to complete his designs, he went directly thither. as soon as the people saw the holy woman, as they imagined him to be, they presently gathered about him in a great crowd. some begged his blessing, others kissed his hand, and others, more reserved, only the hem of his garment; while others, whether their heads ached, or they wished to be preserved against that disorder, stooped for him to lay his hands upon them; which he did, muttering some words in form of prayer; and, in short, counterfeited so well, that everybody took him for the holy woman. after frequently stopping to satisfy people of this description, who received neither good nor harm from this imposition of hands, he came at last to the square before alla ad deen's palace. the crowd was so great that the eagerness to get at him increased in proportion. those who were the most zealous and strong forced their way through the crowd. there were such quarrels, and so great a noise, that the princess, who was in the hall of four-and-twenty windows, heard it, and asked what was the matter; but nobody being able to give her an answer, she ordered them to inquire and inform her. one of her women looked out of a window, and then told her it was a great crowd of people collected about the holy woman to be cured of the headache by the imposition of her hands. the princess, who had long heard of this holy woman, but had never seen her, was very desirous to have some conversation with her, which the chief of the eunuchs perceiving, told her it was an easy matter to bring her to her, if she desired and commanded it; and the princess expressing her wishes, he immediately sent four eunuchs for the pretended holy woman. as soon as the crowd saw the eunuchs, they made way, and the magician perceiving also that they were coming for him, advanced to meet them, overjoyed to find his plot proceeded so well. "holy woman," said one of the eunuchs, "the princess wants to see you, and has sent us for you." "the princess does me too great an honour," replied the false fatima; "i am ready to obey her command," and at the same time followed the eunuchs to the palace. when the magician, who under a holy garment disguised a wicked heart, was introduced into the great hall, and perceived the princess, he began a prayer, which contained a long enumeration of vows and good wishes for the princess's health and prosperity, and that she might have every thing she desired. he then displayed all his hypocritical rhetoric, to insinuate himself into the princess's favour under the cloak of piety, which it was no hard matter for him to do; for as the princess herself was naturally good, she was easily persuaded that all the world were like her, especially those who made profession of serving god in solitude. when the pretended fatima had finished his long harangue, the princess said to him, "i thank you, good mother, for your prayers: i have great confidence in them, and hope god will hear them. come, and sit by me." the false fatima sat down with affected modesty: the princess then resuming her discourse, said, "my good mother, i have one thing to request, which you must not refuse me; it is to stay with me, that you may edify me with your way of living; and that i may learn from your good example how to serve god." "princess," said the counterfeit fatima, "i beg of you not to ask what i cannot consent to, without neglecting my prayers and devotion." "that shall be no hinderance to you," answered the princess; "i have a great many apartments unoccupied; you shall choose which you like best, and have as much liberty to perform your devotions as if you were in your own cell." the magician, who desired nothing more than to introduce himself into the palace, where it would be a much easier matter for him to execute his designs, under the favour and protection of the princess, than if he had been forced to come and go from the cell to the palace, did not urge much to excuse himself from accepting the obliging offer which the princess made him. "princess," said he, "whatever resolution a poor wretched woman as i am may have made me renounce the pomp and grandeur of this world, i dare not presume to oppose the will and commands of so pious and charitable a princess." upon this the princess, rising up, said, "come with me, i will shew you what vacant apartments i have, that you may make choice of that you like best." the magician followed the princess, and of all the apartments she shewed him, made choice of that which was the worst furnished, saying it was too good for him, and that he only accepted of it to please her. afterwards the princess would have brought him back again into the great hall to make him dine with her; but he considering that he should then be obliged to shew his face, which he had always taken care to conceal; and fearing that the princess should find out that he was not fatima, he begged of her earnestly to excuse him, telling her that he never ate anything but bread and dried fruits, and desiring to eat that slight repast in his own apartment. the princess granted his request, saying, "you may be as free here, good mother, as if you were in your own cell: i will order you a dinner, but remember i expect you as soon as you have finished your repast." after the princess had dined, and the false fatima had been informed by one of the eunuchs that she was risen from table, he failed not to wait upon her. "my good mother," said the princess, "i am overjoyed to have the company of so holy a woman as yourself, who will confer a blessing upon this palace. but now i am speaking of the palace, pray how do you like it? and before i shew it all to you, tell me first what you think of this hall." upon this question, the counterfeit fatima, who, to act his part the better, affected to hang down his head, without so much as ever once lifting it, at last looked up, and surveyed the hall from one end to the other. when he had examined it well, he said to the princess, "as far as such a solitary being as i am, who am unacquainted with what the world calls beautiful, can judge, this hall is truly admirable and most beautiful; there wants but one thing." "what is that, good mother?" demanded the princess; "tell me, i conjure you. for my part, i always believed, and have heard say, it wanted nothing; but if it does, it shall be supplied." "princess," said the false fatima, with great dissimulation, "forgive me the liberty i have taken; but my opinion is, if it can be of any importance, that if a roe's egg were hung up in the middle of the dome, this hall would have no parallel in the four quarters of the world, and your palace would be the wonder of the unit verse." "my good mother," said the princess, "what bird is a roe, and where may one get an egg?" "princess," replied the pretended fatima, "it is a bird of prodigious size, which inhabits the summit of mount caucasus; the architect who built your palace can get you one." after the princess had thanked the false fatima for what she believed her good advice, she conversed with her upon other matters; but could not forget the roe's egg, which she resolved to request of alla ad deen when he returned from hunting. he had been gone six days, which the magician knew, and therefore took advantage of his absence; but he returned that evening after the false fatima had taken leave of the princess, and retired to his apartment. as soon as he arrived, he went directly to the princess's apartment, saluted and embraced her, but she seemed to receive him coldly. "my princess," said he, "i think you are not so cheerful as you used to be; has any thing happened during my absence, which has displeased you, or given you any trouble or dissatisfaction in the name of god, do not conceal it from me; i will leave nothing undone that is in my power to please you." "it is a trifling matter," replied the princess, "which gives me so little concern that i could not have thought you could have perceived it in my countenance; but since you have unexpectedly discovered some alteration, i will no longer disguise a matter of so little consequence from you." "i always believed," continued the princess, "that our palace was the most superb, magnificent, and complete in the world: but i will tell you now what i find fault with, upon examining the hall of four-and-twenty windows. do not you think with me, that it would be complete if a roe's egg were hung up in the midst of the dome?" "princess," replied alla ad deen, "it is enough that you think there wants such an ornament; you shall see by the diligence used to supply that deficiency, that there is nothing which i would not do for your sake." alla ad deen left the princess buddir al buddoor that moment, and went up into the hall of four-and-twenty windows, where pulling out of his bosom the lamp, which, after the danger he had been exposed to, he always carried about him, he rubbed it; upon which the genie immediately appeared. "genie," said alla ad deen, "there wants a roe's egg to be hung up in the midst of the dome; i command thee, in the name of this lamp, to repair the deficiency." alla ad deen had no sooner pronounced these words, than the genie gave so loud and terrible a cry, that the hall shook, and alla ad deen could scarcely stand upright. "what! wretch," said the genie, in a voice that would have made the most undaunted man tremble, "is it not enough that i and my companions have done every thing for you, but you, by an unheard-of ingratitude, must command me to bring my master, and hang him up in the midst of this dome? this attempt deserves that you, your wife, and your palace, should be immediately reduced to ashes: but you are happy that this request does not come from yourself. know then, that the true author is the brother of the african magician, your enemy, whom you have destroyed as he deserved. he is now in your palace, disguised in the habit of the holy woman fatima, whom he has murdered; and it is he who has suggested to your wife to make this pernicious demand. his design is to kill you, therefore take care of yourself." after these words, the genie disappeared. alla ad deen lost not a word of what the genie had said. he had heard talk of the holy woman fatima, and how she pretended to cure the headache. he returned to the princess's apartment, and without mentioning a word of what had happened, sat down, and complained of a great pain which had suddenly seized his head; upon which the princess ordered the holy woman to be called, and then told him how she had invited her to the palace, and that she had appointed her an apartment. when the pretended fatima came, alla ad deen said, "come hither, good mother; i am glad to see you here at so fortunate a time; i am tormented with a violent pain in my head, and request your assistance, by the confidence i have in your good prayers, and hope you will not refuse me that favour which you do to so many persons afflicted with this complaint." so saying, he arose, but held down his head. the counterfeit fatima advanced towards him, with his hand all the time on a dagger concealed in his girdle under his gown; which alla ad deen observing, he seized his hand before he had drawn it, pierced him to the heart with his own dagger, and then pushed him down on the floor. "my dear husband, what have you done?" cried the princess in surprise. "you have killed the holy woman." "no, my princess," answered alla ad deen, with emotion, "i have not killed fatima, but a villain, who would have assassinated me, if i had not prevented him. this wicked wretch," added he, uncovering his face, "has strangled fatima, whom you accuse me of killing, and disguised himself in her clothes with intent to murder me: but that you may know him better, he is brother to the african magician." alla ad deen then informed her how he came to know these particulars, and afterwards ordered the dead body to be taken away. thus was alla ad deen delivered from the persecution of two brothers, who were magicians. within a few years afterwards, the sultan died in a good old age, and as he left no male children, the princess buddir al buddoor, as lawful heir of the throne, succeeded him, and communicating the power to alla ad deen, they reigned together many years, and left a numerous and illustrious posterity. adventure of the caliph haroon al rusheed. the caliph haroon al rusheed was one day suffering from depression of spirits, when his faithful and favourite grand vizier jaaffier came to him. this minister finding him alone, which was seldom the case, and perceiving as he approached that he was in a very melancholy humour, and never lifted up his eyes, stopped till he should vouchsafe to look at him. at last the caliph turned his eyes towards him, but presently withdrew them again, and remained in the same posture motionless as before. the grand vizier, observing nothing in the caliph's eyes which regarded him personally, took the liberty to speak to him, and said, "commander of the faithful, will your majesty give me leave to ask whence proceeds this melancholy, of which you always seemed to me so little susceptible?" "indeed, vizier," answered the caliph, brightening up his countenance, "i am very little subject to it, and had not perceived it but for you, but i will remain no longer in this hippish mood. if no new affair brought you hither, you will gratify me by inventing something to dispel it." "commander of the faithful," replied the grand vizier, "my duty obliged me to wait on you, and i take the liberty to remind your majesty, that this is the day which you have appointed to inform yourself of the good government of your capital and its environs; and this occasion very opportunely presents itself to dispel those clouds which obscure your natural gaiety." "you do well to remind me," replied the caliph, "for i had entirely forgotten it; go and change your dress, while i do the same." they each put on the habit of a foreign merchant, and under that disguise went out by a private door of the palace-garden, which led into the country. after they had gone round part of the city to the banks of the euphrates, at some distance from the walls, without having observed anything disorderly, they crossed the river in the first boat they met, and making a tour on the other side, crossed the bridge, which formed the communication betwixt the two parts of the town. at the foot of this bridge they met an old blind man, who asked alms of them; the caliph turned about, and put a piece of gold into his hand. the blind man instantly caught hold of his hand, and stopped him; "charitable person," said he, "whoever you are, whom god hath inspired to bestow alms on me, do not refuse the favour i ask of you, to give me a box on the ear, for i deserve that, and a greater punishment." having thus spoken, he let the caliph's hand go, that he might strike, but for fear he should pass on without doing it, held him fast by his clothes. the caliph, surprised both at the words and action of the blind man, said, "i cannot comply with your request. i will not lessen the merit of my charity, by treating you as you would have me." after these words, he endeavoured to get away from the blind man. the blind man, who expected this reluctance of his benefactor, exerted himself to detain him. "sir," said he, "forgive my boldness and importunity; i desire you would either give me a box on the ear, or take your alms back again, for i cannot receive it but on that condition, without breaking a solemn oath, which i have sworn to god; and if you knew the reason, you would agree with me that the punishment is very slight." the caliph, unwilling to be detained any longer, yielded to the importunity of the blind man, and gave him a very slight blow: whereupon he immediately let him go, thanked and blessed him. when the caliph and vizier had got so me small distance from the blind man, the caliph said to jaaffier, "this blind man must certainly have some very uncommon reasons, which make him behave himself in this manner to all who give him alms. i should be glad to know them; therefore return, tell him who i am, and bid him not fail to come to my palace about prayer-time in the afternoon of to-morrow, that i may have some conversation with him." the grand vizier returned, bestowed his alms on the blind man, and after he had given him a box on the ear, told him the caliph's order, and then returned to the caliph. when they came into the town, they found in a square a great crowd of spectators, looking at a handsome well-shaped young man, who was mounted on a mare, which he drove and urged full speed round the place, spurring and whipping the poor creature so barbarously, that she was all over sweat and blood. the caliph, amazed at the inhumanity of the rider, stopped to ask the people if they knew why he used the mare so ill; but could learn nothing, except that for some time past he had every day, at the same hour, treated her in the same manner. at they went along, the caliph bade the grand vizier take particular notice of the place, and not fail to order the young man to attend the next day at the hour appointed to the blind man. but before the caliph got to his palace, he observed in a street, which he had not passed through a long time before, an edifice newly built, which seemed to him to be the palace of some one of the great lords of the court. he asked the grand vizier if he knew to whom it belonged; who answered he did not, but would inquire; and thereupon asked a neighbour, who told him that the house was that of one khaujeh hassan, surnamed al hubbaul, on account of his original trade of rope-making, which he had seen him work at himself, when poor; that without knowing how fortune had favoured him, he supposed he must have acquired great wealth, as he defrayed honourably and splendidly the expenses he had been at in building. the grand vizier rejoined the caliph, and gave him a full account of what he had heard. "i must see this fortunate rope-maker," said the caliph, "therefore go and tell him to come to my palace at the same hour you have ordered the other two." accordingly the vizier obeyed. the next day, after afternoon prayers, the caliph retired to his own apartment, when the grand vizier introduced the three persons we have been speaking of, and presented them to the caliph. they all three prostrated themselves before the throne, and when they rose up, the caliph asked the blind man his name, who answered, it was baba abdoollah. "baba abdoollah," replied the caliph, "your manner of asking alms seemed so strange to me yesterday, that if it had not been for some private considerations i should not have complied with your request, but should have prevented you from giving any more offence to the public. i ordered you to come hither, to know from yourself what could have induced you to make the indiscreet oath you told me of, that i may judge whether you have done well, and if i ought to suffer you to continue a practice that appears to me to set so ill an example. tell me freely how so extravagant a thought came into your head, and do not disguise any thing from me, for i will absolutely know the truth." baba abdoollah, intimidated by this reprimand, cast himself a second time at the foot of the caliph's throne, with his face to the ground, and when he rose up, said, "commander of the faithful, i most humbly ask your majesty's pardon for my presumption, in daring to have required, and almost forced you to do a thing which indeed appears so contrary to reason. i acknowledge my offence, but as i did not then know your majesty, i implore your clemency, and hope you will consider my ignorance. "as to the extravagance of my action, i own it, and own also that it must seem strange to mankind; but in the eye of god it is a slight penance i have enjoined myself for an enormous crime of which i have been guilty, and for which, if all the people in the world were each to give me a box on the ear, it would not be a sufficient atonement. your majesty will judge of this yourself, when, in telling my story, in obedience to your commands i shall inform you what that heinous crime was." the story of baba abdoollah. commander of the faithful, i was born at bagdad, had a moderate fortune left me by my father and mother, who died within a few days of each other. though i was then but young, i did not squander away my fortune as most young men do, in idle expenses and debauchery; on the contrary, i neglected no opportunity to increase it by my industry. at last i became rich enough to purchase fourscore camels, which i let out to merchants for caravans, who paid me well for every journey i went with them throughout the extent of your majesty's dominions. in the midst of this prosperity, and with an ardent desire of growing much richer, as i was returning one day with my camels unloaded from bussorah, whither i had carried some bales that were to be embarked for the indies, i met with good pasturage, at some distance from any habitation; made a halt, and let my beasts graze for some time. while i was seated, a dervish, who was walking to bussorah, came and sat down by me to rest himself: i asked him whence he came, and where he was going; he put the same questions to me: and when we had satisfied each other's curiosity, we produced our provisions and ate together. during our repast, after we had talked on many indifferent subjects, the dervish told me that he knew of a spot a small distance from thence, where there were such immense riches, that if all my fourscore camels were loaded with the gold and jewels that might be taken from it, they would not be missed. this intelligence surprised and charmed me; and i was so overjoyed, that i could scarcely contain myself. i could not believe that the dervish was capable of telling me a falsehood; therefore i fell upon his neck, and said, "good dervish, i know you value not the riches of this world, therefore of what service can the knowledge of this treasure be to you? you are alone, and cannot carry much of it away; shew me where it is, i will load all my camels, and as an acknowledgment of the favour done me, will present you with one of them." indeed i offered very little, but after he had communicated the secret to me, my desire of riches was become so violent, that i thought it a great deal, and looked upon the seventy-nine camel loads which i reserved for myself as nothing in comparison of what i allowed him. the dervish, though he saw my avarice, was not however angry at the unreasonable return i proposed to make him, but replied without the least concern, "you are sensible, brother, that what you offer me is not proportionable to the valuable favour you ask of me. i might have chosen whether i would communicate my secret to you or not, and have kept the treasure to myself: but what i have told you is sufficient to shew my good intentions; it is in my power to oblige you, and make both our fortunes. i have, however, another proposition more just and equitable to make to you; it lies in your own breast whether or no you will agree to it. "you say," continued the dervish, "that you have fourscore camels: i am ready to conduct you to the place where the treasure lies, and we will load them with as much jewels and gold as they can carry, on condition that when they are so loaded you will let me have one half, and you be contented with the other; after which we will separate, and take our camels where we may think fit. you see there is nothing but what is strictly equitable in this division; for if you give me forty camels, you will procure by my means wherewithal to purchase thousands." i could not but agree there was a great deal of justice in what the dervish said: but without considering what riches i should gain in accepting of the condition he proposed, i could not without reluctance think of parting with my forty camels, especially when i reflected that the dervish would then be as rich as myself. avarice made me unmindful that i was beforehand making an ungrateful return for a favour, purely gratuitous. but there was no time to hesitate; i must either accept of the proposal, or resolve to repent all my lifetime of losing, by my own fault, an opportunity of obtaining an immense fortune. that instant i collected all my camels, and after we had travelled some time, we came into a valley, the pass into which was so narrow, that two camels could not go a-breast. the two mountains which bounded this valley formed nearly a circle, but were so high, craggy, and steep, that there was no fear of our being seen by any body. when we came between these two mountains, the dervish said to me, "stop your camels, make them kneel that we may load them the easier, and i will proceed to discover the treasure." i did as the dervish directed; and going to him soon after, found him with a match in one hand, gathering sticks to light a fire; which he had no sooner done, than he cast some incense into it, and pronouncing certain words which i did not understand, there presently arose a thick cloud. he divided this cloud, when the rock, though of a prodigious perpendicular height, opened like two folding doors, and exposed to view a magnificent palace in the hollow of the mountain, which i supposed to be rather the workmanship of genii than of men; for man could hardly have attempted such a bold and surprising work. but this, i must tell your majesty, was an afterthought which did not occur to me at the moment; so eager was i for the treasures which displayed themselves to my view, that i did not even stop to admire the magnificent columns and arcades which i saw on all sides; and, without attention to the regularity with which the treasures were ranged, like an eagle seizing her prey, i fell upon the first heap of golden coin that was near me. my sacks were all large, and with my good will i would have filled them all; but i was obliged to proportion my burden to the strength of my camels. the dervish did the same; but i perceived he paid more attention to the jewels, and when he told me the reason, i followed his example, so that we took away much more jewels than gold. when we had filled our sacks, and loaded our camels, we had nothing left to do but to shut up the treasure and go our way. but before we parted, the dervish went again into the treasury, where there were a great many wrought vessels of gold of different forms. i observed that he took out of one of these vessels a little box of a certain wood, which i knew not, and put it into his breast; but first shewed me that it contained only a kind of glutinous ointment. the dervish used the same incantations to shut the treasury as he had done to open it; and after he pronounced certain words, the doors closed, and the rock seemed as solid and entire as before. we now divided our camels. i put myself at the head of the forty which i had reserved for myself, and the dervish placed himself at the head of the rest which i had given him. we came out of the valley by the way we had entered, and travelled together till we came to the great road, where we were to part; the dervish to go to bussorah, and i to bagdad. to thank him for so great a kindness, i made use of the most expressive terms, testifying my gratitude for the preference he had given me before all other men in letting me have a share of such riches. we embraced each other with great joy, and taking our leave, pursued our different routes. i had not gone far, following my camels, which paced quietly on in the track i had put them into, before the demon of ingratitude and envy took possession of my heart, and i deplored the loss of my other forty, but much more the riches wherewith they were loaded. "the dervish," said i to myself, "has no occasion for all this wealth, since he is master of the treasure, and may have as much as he pleases;" so i gave myself up to the blackest ingratitude, and determined immediately to take the camels with their loading from him. to execute this design, i first stopped my own camels, then ran after the dervish, and called to him as loud as i could, giving him to understand that i had something material to say to him, and made a sign to him to stop, which he accordingly did. when i came up to him, i said, "brother, i had no sooner parted from you, but a thought came into my head, which neither of us had reflected on before. you are a recluse dervish, used to live in tranquillity, disengaged from all the cares of the world, and intent only upon serving god. you know not, perhaps, what trouble you have taken upon yourself, to take care of so many camels. if you would take my advice, you would keep but thirty; you will find them sufficiently troublesome to manage. take my word; i have had experience." "i believe you are right," replied the dervish, who found he was not able to contend with me; "i own i never thought of this. i begin already to be uneasy at what you have stated. choose which ten you please, and take them, and go on in god's keeping." i set ten apart, and after i had driven them off, i put them in the road to follow my others. i could not have imagined that the dervish would be so easily persuaded to part with his camels, which increased my covetousness, and made me flatter myself, that it would be no hard matter to get ten more: wherefore, instead of thanking him for his present, i said to him again; "brother, the interest i take in your repose is so great, that i cannot resolve to part from you without desiring you to consider once more how difficult a thing it is to govern thirty loaded camels, especially for you who are not used to such work: you will find it much better to return me as many more back as you have done already. what i tell you is not for my own sake and interest, but to do you the greater kindness. ease yourself then of the camels, and leave them to me, who can manage a hundred as well as one." my discourse had the desired effect upon the dervish, who gave me, without any hesitation, the other ten camels; so that he had but twenty left and i was master of sixty, and might boast of greater riches than any sovereign princes. any one would have thought i should now have been content; but as a person afflicted with a dropsy, the more he drinks the more thirsty he is, so i became more greedy and desirous of the other twenty camels. i redoubled my solicitations and importunities, to make the dervish condescend to grant me ten of the twenty, which he did with a good grace: and as to the other ten he had left, i embraced him, kissed his feet, and caressed him, conjuring him not to refuse me, but to complete the obligation i should ever have to him, so that at length he crowned my joy, by giving me them also. "make a good use of them, brother," said the dervish, "and remember that god can take away riches as well as give them, if we do not assist the poor, whom he suffers to be in want, on purpose that the rich may merit by their charity a recompense in the other world." my infatuation was so great that i could not profit by such wholesome advice. i was not content, though i had my forty camels again, and knew they were loaded with an inestimable treasure. but a thought came into my head, that the little box of ointment which the dervish shewed me had something in it more precious than all the riches which i was obliged to him for: the place from whence the dervish took it, said i to myself, and his care to secure it, makes me believe there is something mysterious in it. this determined me to obtain it. i had just embraced him and bade him adieu; but as i turned about from him, i said, "what will you do with that little box of ointment? it seems such a trifle, it is not worth your carrying away. i entreat you to make me a present of it; for what occasion has a dervish, as you are, who has renounced the vanities of the world, for perfumes, or scented ointments?" would to heaven he had refused me that box; but if he had, i was stronger than he, and resolved to have taken it from him by force; that for my complete satisfaction it might not be said he had carried away the smallest part of the treasure. the dervish, far from denying me, readily pulled it out of his bosom, and presenting it to me with the best grace in the world, said, "here, take it, brother, and be content; if i could do more for you, you needed but to have asked me; i should have been ready to satisfy you." when i had the box in my hand, i opened it, and looking at the ointment, said to him, "since you are so good, i am sure you will not refuse me the favour to tell me the particular use of this ointment." "the use is very surprising and wonderful," replied the dervish: "if you apply a little of it round the left eye, and upon the lid, you will see at once all the treasures contained in the bosom of the earth; but if you apply it to the right eye, it will make you blind." "i would make the experiment myself. take the box," said i to the dervish, "and apply some to my left eye. you understand how to do it better than i, and i long to experience what seems so incredible." accordingly i shut my left eye, and the dervish took the trouble to apply the unguent; i opened my eye, and was convinced he had told me truth. i saw immense treasures, and such prodigious riches, so diversified, that it is impossible for me to give an account of them; but as i was obliged to keep my right eye shut with my hand, and that tired me, i desired the dervish to apply some of the pomatum to that eye. "i am ready to do it," said the dervish; "but you must remember what i told you, that if you put any of it upon your right eye, you would immediately be blind; such is the virtue of the ointment." far from being persuaded of the truth of what the dervish said, i imagined, on the contrary, that there was some new mystery, which he meant to hide from me. "brother," replied i, smiling, "i see plainly you wish to mislead me; it is not natural that this ointment should have two such contrary effects." "the matter is as i tell you," replied the dervish, taking the name of god to bear witness; "you ought to believe me, for i cannot disguise the truth." i would not believe the dervish, who spoke like an honest man. my insurmountable desire of seeing at my will all the treasures in the world and perhaps of enjoying those treasures to the extent i coveted, had such an effect upon me, that i could not hearken to his remonstrances, nor be persuaded of what was however but too true, as to my lasting misfortune i soon experienced. i persuaded myself that if the ointment, by being applied to the left eye, had the virtue of shewing me all the treasures of the earth, by being applied to the right, it might have the power of putting them in my disposal. possessed with this thought, i obstinately pressed the dervish to apply the ointment to my right eye; but he as positively refused. "brother," said he, "after i have done you so much service, i cannot resolve to do you so great an injury; consider with yourself what a misfortune it is to be deprived of one's eye-sight: do not reduce me to the hard necessity of obliging you in a thing which you will repent of all your life." i persisted in my obstinacy, and said to him in strong terms, "brother, i earnestly desire you to lay aside all your difficulties. you have granted me most generously all that i have asked of you hitherto, and would you have me go away dissatisfied with you at last about a thing of so little consequence? for god's sake grant me this last favour; whatever happens i will not lay the blame on you, but take it upon myself alone." the dervish made all the resistance possible, but seeing that i was able to force him to do it, he said, "since you will absolutely have it so, i will satisfy you;" and thereupon he took a little of the fatal ointment, and applied it to my right eye, which i kept shut; but alas! when i came to open it, i could distinguish nothing with either eye but thick darkness, and became blind as you see me now. "ah! dervish," i exclaimed in agony, "what you forewarned me of has proved but too true. fatal curiosity," added i, "insatiable desire of riches, into what an abyss of miseries have they cast me! i am now sensible what a misfortune i have brought upon myself; but you, dear brother," cried i, addressing myself to the dervish, "who are so charitable and good, among the many wonderful secrets you are acquainted with, have you not one to restore to me my sight again?" "miserable wretch!" answered the dervish, "if you would have been advised by me, you would have avoided this misfortune, but you have your deserts; the blindness of your mind was the cause of the loss of your eyes. it is true i have secrets, some of which, during the short time we have been together, you have by my liberality witnessed; but i have none to restore to you your sight. pray to god, therefore, if you believe there is one; it is he alone that can restore it to you. he gave you riches, of which you were unworthy, on that account takes them from you again, and will by my hands give them to men not so ungrateful as yourself." the dervish said no more, and i had nothing to reply. he left me to myself overwhelmed with confusion, and plunged in inexpressible grief. after he had collected my camels, he drove them away, and pursued the road to bussorah. i cried out loudly as he was departing, and entreated him not to leave me in that miserable condition, but to conduct me at least to the first caravanserai; but he was deaf to my prayers and entreaties. thus deprived of sight and all i had in the world, i should have died with affliction and hunger, if the next day a caravan returning from bussorah had not received me charitably, and brought me back to bagdad. after this manner was i reduced without remedy from a condition worthy the envy of princes for riches and magnificence, though not for power, to beggary without resource. i had no other way to subsist but by asking charity, which i have done till now. but to expiate my offence against god, i enjoined myself, by way of penance, a box on the ear from every charitable person who should commiserate my condition. "this, commander of the faithful, is the motive which seemed so strange to your majesty yesterday, and for which i ought to incur your indignation. i ask your pardon once more as your slave, and submit to receive the chastisement i deserve. and if you vouchsafe to pronounce any thing beyond the penance i have imposed upon myself, i am ready to undergo it, since i am persuaded you must think it too slight and much too little for my crime." the blind man having concluded his story, the caliph said, "baba abdoollah, your sin has been great; but god be praised, you feel the enormity of your guilt, and your penance proves your repentance. you must continue it, not ceasing to ask of god pardon in every prayer your religion obliges you to say daily: but that you may not be prevented from your devotions by the care of getting your living, i will settle a charity on you during your life, of four silver dirhems a day, which my grand vizier shall give you daily with the penance, therefore do not go away, but wait till he has executed my orders." at these words, baba abdoollah prostrated himself before the caliph's throne, returned him thanks, and wished him all happiness and prosperity. the caliph, very well satisfied with the story of baba abdoollah and the dervish, addressed himself to the young man who used his mare so ill, and asked him his name; to which he replied, it was syed naomaun. "syed naomaun," resumed the caliph, "i have seen horses exercised all my life, and have often exercised them myself, but never in so barbarous a manner as you yesterday treated your mare in the full square, to the great offence of all the spectators, who murmured loudly at your conduct. i myself was not less displeased, and had nearly, contrary to my intention, discovered who i was, to have punished your cruelty. by your air and behaviour you do not seem to be a barbarous or cruel man; and therefore i would fain believe that you had reason for what you did, since i am informed that this was not the first time, but that you practise the same treatment every day. i would know what is the cause, and sent for you for that purpose, that you should tell me the truth, and disguise nothing from me." syed naomaun understood what the caliph demanded of him. the relation was painful to him. he changed colour several times, and could not help shewing how greatly he was embarrassed. however, he must resolve to tell his story; but before he spoke, he prostrated himself before the caliph's throne, and after he rose up, endeavoured to speak to satisfy the caliph, but was so confounded, not so much at the presence of the caliph, as by the nature of his relation, that he was speechless. the caliph, notwithstanding his natural impatience to be obeyed, shewed not the least anger at syed naomaun's silence: he saw plainly, that he either had not assurance to speak before him, or was intimidated by the tone of his voice; or, in short, that there was something to be concealed in his story. "syed naomaun," said the caliph, to encourage him, "recollect yourself, but tell your story as if you were speaking not to me, but to your most familiar friend. if there is any thing in your relation which troubles you, and you think i may be offended at it, i pardon you beforehand: therefore be not uneasy, but speak boldly and freely, and disguise nothing." syed naomaun, encouraged by these words, said, "commander of the faithful, whatever apprehensions a man may be under at your majesty's presence, i am sensible those respectful sensations would not deprive me of the use of my speech, so as to fail in my obedience, in giving you satisfaction in any other matter but this you now ask of me. i dare not say i am the most perfect of men; yet i am not wicked enough to have committed, or to have had an intention of committing any thing against the laws to fear their severity; and yet i cannot say i am exempt from sin through ignorance. in this case i do not say that i depend upon your majesty's pardon, but will submit myself to your justice, and receive the punishment i deserve. i own, that the manner in which i have for some time treated my mare, and which your majesty has witnessed, is strange, and sets an ill example: but i hope you will think the motive well grounded, and that i am more worthy of compassion than chastisement: but not to keep your majesty any longer in suspense by a long preamble, i will tell you my story." the story of syed naomaun. i shall not trouble your majesty with my birth, which is not illustrious enough to merit your attention. for my situation, my parents, by their good economy, left me enough to live on like an honest man, free from ambition, or being burdensome to any one. with these advantages, the only blessing i wanted to render my happiness complete was an amiable wife, who might share them with me; but that was a blessing it did not please god to grant me: on the contrary, it was my misfortune to have one, who, the very next day after our wedding, began to exercise my patience in a manner not to be conceived by any one who has not had the same trial. as it is the custom for us to marry without seeing or knowing whom we are to espouse, your majesty is sensible that a husband has no reason to complain, when he finds that the wife who has been chosen for him is not horribly ugly and deformed, and that her carriage, wit, and behaviour make amends for any slight bodily imperfections. the first time i saw my wife with her face uncovered, after she was brought home with the usual ceremonies to my house, i rejoiced to find that i had not been imposed upon in the description of her person, which pleased me, and she was perfectly agreeable to my inclination. the next day after our wedding, when our dinner was served up, which consisted of several dishes, i went into the room where the cloth was laid, and not finding my wife there, ordered her to be called. after making me wait a long time, she came. i dissembled my impatience, we sat down, and i began with the rice, which i took up as usual. on the other hand, my wife, instead of using her hand as everybody does, pulled a little case out of her pocket, and took out of it a kind of bodkin, with which she picked up the rice, and put it into her mouth, grain by grain. surprised at this manner of eating, i said to her, "ameeneh," (which was her name,) "are you used to eat rice so in your family, or do you do it because you are a little eater, or would you count the grains, that you may not eat more at one time than another? if you do it out of frugality, or to teach me not to be extravagant, you have no reason to fear, as i can assure you we shall not ruin ourselves that way. we have, god be thanked! enough to live at our ease, without depriving ourselves of necessaries. do not restrain yourself, my dear ameeneh, but eat as you see me eat." the kind manner in which i made these remonstrances might have produced some obliging answer; but she, without saying a word, continued to eat as she had begun. at last, to make me the more uneasy, she ate a grain of rice at intervals only; and instead of eating any of the other meats with me, she only now and then put some crumbs of bread into her mouth, but not so much as a sparrow would have pecked. i was much provoked at her obstinacy; but yet, to indulge and excuse her, i imagined that she had not been used to eat with men, before whom she might perhaps have been taught to restrain herself; but at the same time thought she carried it too far out of pure simplicity. i fancied again that she might have breakfasted late, or that she might have a wish to eat alone, and more at liberty. these considerations prevented me from saying more to her then, to ruffle her temper, by shewing any sign of dissatisfaction. after dinner i left her, but not with an air that shewed any displeasure. at supper, and the next day, and every time we ate together, she behaved herself in the same manner. i knew it was impossible for a woman to live on so little food as she took, and that there must be some mystery in her conduct, which i did not understand. this made me resolve to dissemble; i appeared to take no notice of her actions, in hopes that time would bring her to live with me as i desired she should. but my hopes were in vain, and it was not long before i was convinced they were so. one night, when ameeneh thought me fast asleep, she got out of bed softly, dressed herself with great precaution, not to make a noise for fear of awaking me. i could not comprehend her design, but curiosity made me feign a sound sleep. as soon as she had dressed herself, she went softly out of the room. when she was gone, i arose, threw my cloak over my shoulders, and had time enough to see from a window that looked into my court-yard, that she opened the street-door and went out. i immediately ran down to the door, which she had left half open, and followed her by moonlight, till i saw her enter a burying-ground just by our house. i got to the end of the wall, taking care not to be seen, and looking over, saw ameeneh with a ghoul. your majesty knows that the ghouls of both sexes are wandering demons, which generally infest old buildings; from whence they rush out, by surprise, on people that pass by, kill them, and eat their flesh; and for want of such prey, will sometimes go in the night into burying-grounds, and feed on dead bodies which they dig up. i was struck with astonishment and horror to see my wife with this ghoul. they dug up a dead body which had been buried but that day, and the ghoul cut off pieces of the flesh, which they ate together by the grave-side, conversing during their shocking and inhuman repast. but i was too far off to hear their discourse, which must have been as strange as their meal, the remembrance of which still makes me shudder. when they had finished this horrible feast, they threw the remains of the dead body into the grave again, and filled it up with the earth which they had dug out. i left them at their work, made haste home, and leaving the door half open as i had found it, went into my chamber, and to bed again, where i pretended to be fast asleep. soon afterwards ameeneh returned without the least noise, undressed herself, and came to bed, rejoicing, as i imagined, that she had succeeded so well without being discovered. my mind was so full of the idea of such an abominable action as i had witnessed, that i felt great reluctance to lie by a person who could have had any share in the guilt of it, and was a long time before i could fall asleep. however, i got a short nap; but waked at the first call to public prayers at day-break, got up, dressed myself, and went to the mosque. after prayers i went out of the town, spent the morning in walking in the gardens, and thinking what i should do to oblige my wife to change her mode of living. i rejected all the violent measures that suggested themselves to my thoughts, and resolved to use gentle means to cure her unhappy and depraved inclination. in this state of reverie i insensibly reached home by dinner-time. as soon as ameeneh saw me enter the house, she ordered dinner to be served up; and as i observed she continued to eat her rice in the same manner, by single grains, i said to her, with all the mildness possible, "you know, ameeneh, what reason i had to be surprised, when the day after our marriage i saw you eat rice in so small a quantity, and in a manner which would have offended any other husband but myself: you know also, i contented myself with telling you that i was uneasy at it, and desired you to eat of the other meats, which i had ordered to be dressed several ways to endeavour to suit your taste, and i am sure my table did not want for variety: but all my remonstrances have had no effect, and you persist in your sullen abstemiousness. i have said nothing, because i would not constrain you, and should be sorry that any thing i now say should make you uneasy; but tell me, ameeneh, i conjure you, are not the meats served up at my table better than the flesh of a human corpse?" i had no sooner pronounced these words than ameeneh, who perceived that i had discovered her last night's horrid voraciousness with the ghoul, flew into a rage beyond imagination. her face became as red as scarlet, her eyes ready to start out of her head, and she foamed with passion. the terrible state in which she appeared alarmed me so much, that i stood motionless, and was not able to defend myself against the horrible wickedness she meditated against me, and which will surprise your majesty. in the violence of her passion, she dipped her hand into a basin of water, which stood by her, and muttering between her teeth some words, which i could not hear, she threw some water in my face, and exclaimed, in a furious tone, "wretch, receive the punishment of thy prying curiosity, and become a dog!" ameeneh, whom i did not before know to be a sorceress, had no sooner pronounced these diabolical words, than i was immediately transformed into a dog. my amazement and surprise at so sudden and unexpected a metamorphosis prevented my thinking at first of providing for my safety. availing herself of this suspense, she took up a great stick, with which she laid on me such heavy blows, that i wonder they did not kill me. i thought to have escaped her rage, by running into the yard; but she pursued me with the same fury, and notwithstanding all my activity i could not avoid her blows. at last, when she was tired of running after and beating me, and enraged that she had not killed me, as she desired, she thought of another method to effect her purpose: she half opened the street-door, that she might endeavour to squeeze me to death, as i ran out to preserve my life. dog as i was, i instantly perceived her pernicious design; and as present danger inspires a presence of mind, to elude her vigilance i watched her face and motions so well, that i took my opportunity, and passed through quick enough to save myself and escape her malice, though she pinched the end of my tail. the pain i felt made me cry out and howl as i ran along the streets, which collected all the dogs about me, and i got bit by several of them; but to avoid their pursuit, i ran into the shop of a man who sold boiled sheep's heads, tongues, and feet, where i saved myself. the man at first took my part with much compassion, by driving away the dogs that followed me, and would have run into his house. my first care was to creep into a corner to hide myself; but i found not the sanctuary and protection i hoped for. my host was one of those extravagantly superstitious persons who think dogs unclean creatures, and if by chance one happens to touch them in the streets, cannot use soap and water enough to wash their garments clean. after the dogs who chased me were all dispersed and gone, he did all he could to drive me out of his house, but i was concealed out of his reach, and spent that night in his shop in spite of him; and indeed i had need of rest to recover from ameeneh's ill-treatment. not to weary your majesty with trifling circumstances, i shall not particularize the melancholy reflections i made on my metamorphosis; but only tell you, that my host having gone out the next morning to lay in a stock of sheep's heads, tongues, and trotters, when he returned, he opened his shop, and while he was laying out his goods, i crept from my corner, and got among some other dogs of the neighbourhood, who had followed my host by the scent of his meat, and surrounded the shop, in expectation of having some offal thrown to them. i joined them, and put myself among them in a begging posture. my host observing me, and considering that i had eaten nothing while i lay in the shop, distinguished me from the rest, by throwing me larger pieces of meat, and oftener than the other dogs. after he had given me as much as he thought fit, i looked at him earnestly, and wagged my tail, to shew him i begged he would repeat his favours. but he was inflexible, and opposed my entrance with a stick in his hand, and with so stern a look, that i felt myself obliged to seek a new habitation. i stopped at the shop of a baker in the neighbourhood, who was of a lively gay temper, quite the reverse of the offal butcher. he was then at breakfast, and though i made no sign that i wanted any thing, threw me a piece of bread. instead of catching it up greedily, as dogs usually do, i looked at him, moving my head and wagging my tail, to shew my gratitude; at which he was pleased, and smiled. though i was not hungry, i ate the piece of bread to please him, and i ate slowly to shew him that it was out of respect to him. he observed this, and permitted me to continue near the shop. i sat down and turned myself to the street, to shew him i then only wanted his protection; which he not only granted, but by his caresses encouraged me to come into the house. this i did in a way that shewed it was with his leave. he was pleased, and pointed me out a place where to lie, of which i took possession, and kept while i lived with him. i was always well treated; and whenever he breakfasted, dined, or supped, i had my share of provisions; and, in return, i loved him, and was faithful, as gratitude required of me. i always had my eyes upon him, and he scarcely stirred out of doors, or went into the city on business, but i was at his heels. i was the more exact, because i perceived my attention pleased him; for whenever he went out, without giving me time to see him, he would call chance, which was the name he gave me. at this name i used to spring from my place, jump, caper, run before the door, and never cease fawning on him, till he went out; and then i always either followed him, or ran before him, continually looking at him to shew my joy. i had lived some time with this baker, when a woman came one day into the shop to buy some bread, who gave my master a piece of bad money among some good, which he returned, and requested her to exchange. the woman refused to take it again, and affirmed it to be good. the baker maintained the contrary, and in the dispute told the woman, he was sure that the piece of money was so visibly bad, that his dog could distinguish it; upon which he called me by name. i immediately jumped on the counter, and the baker throwing the money down before me, said, "see, and tell me which of these pieces is bad?" i looked over all the pieces of money, and then set my paw upon that which was bad, separated it from the rest, looking in my master's face, to shew it him. the baker, who had only called me to banter the woman, was much surprised to see me so immediately pitch upon the bad money. the woman thus convicted had nothing to say for herself, but was obliged to give another piece instead of the bad one. as soon as she was gone, my master called in some neighbours, and enlarged very much on my capacity, telling them what had happened. the neighbours desired to make the experiment, and of all the bad money they shewed me, mixed with good, there was not one which i did not set my paw upon, and separate from the rest. the woman also failed not to tell everybody she met what had happened; so that the fame of my skill in distinguishing good money from bad was not only spread throughout the neighbourhood, but over all that part of the town, and insensibly through the whole city. i had business enough every day; for i was obliged to shew my skill to all customers who came to buy bread of my master. in short, my reputation procured my master more business than he could manage, and brought him customers from the most distant parts of the town; this run of business lasted so long, that he owned to his friends and neighbours, that i was a treasure to him. my little knowledge made many people envy my master's good fortune, and lay snares to steal me away, which obliged him always to keep me in his sight. one day a woman came like the rest out of curiosity to buy some bread, and seeing me sit upon the counter, threw down before me six pieces of money, among which was one that was bad. i separated it presently from the others, and setting my paw upon it, looked in the woman's face, as much as to say, "is it not so?" the woman looking at me replied, "yes, you are in the right, it is bad:" and staying some time in the shop, to look at and admire me, at last paid my master for his bread, but when she went out of the shop, made a sign, unknown to him, for me to follow her. i was always attentive to any means likely to deliver me out of so strange a metamorphosis, and had observed that the woman examined me with an extraordinary attention. i imagined that she might know something of my misfortune, and the melancholy condition i was reduced to: however, i let her go, and contented myself with looking at her. after walking two or three steps, she turned about, and seeing that i only looked at her, without stirring from my place, made me another sign to follow her. without deliberating any longer, and observing that my master was busy cleaning his oven, and did not mind me, i jumped off the counter, and followed the woman, who seemed overjoyed. after we had gone some way, she stopped at a house, opened the door, and called to me to come in, saying, "you will not repent following me." when i had entered, she shut the door, and conducted me to her chamber, where i saw a beautiful young lady working embroidery. this lady, who was daughter to the charitable woman who had brought me from the baker's, was a very skilful enchantress, as i found afterwards. "daughter," said the mother, "i have brought you the much-talked-of baker's dog, that can tell good money from bad. you know i gave you my opinion respecting him when i first heard of him, and told you, i fancied he was a man changed into a dog by some wicked magician. to-day i determined to go to that baker for some bread, and was myself a witness of the wonders performed by this dog, who has made such a noise in bagdad. what say you, daughter, am i deceived in my conjecture?" "mother, you are not," answered the daughter, "and i will disenchant him immediately." the young lady arose from her sofa, put her hand into a basin of water, and throwing some upon me, said, "if thou wert born a dog, remain so, but if thou wert born a man, resume thy former shape, by the virtue of this water." at that instant the enchantment was broken, and i became restored to my natural form. penetrated with the greatness of this kindness, i threw myself at my deliverer's feet; and after i had kissed the hem of her garment, said, "my dear deliverer, i am so sensible of your unparalleled humanity towards a stranger, as i am, that i beg of you to tell me yourself what i can do to shew my gratitude; or rather dispose of me as a slave, to whom you have a just right, since i am no more my own, but entirely yours: and that you may know who i am, i will tell you my story in as few words as possible." after i had informed her who i was, i gave her an account of my marriage with ameeneh, of the complaisance i had shewn her, my patience in bearing with her humour, her extraordinary behaviour, and the savage inhumanity with which she had treated me out of her inconceivable wickedness, and finished my story with my transformation, and thanking her mother for the inexpressible happiness she had procured me. "syed naomaun," said the daughter to me, "let us not talk of the obligation you say you owe me; it is enough for me that i have done any service to so honest a man. but let us talk of ameeneh your wife. i was acquainted with her before your marriage; and as i know her to be a sorceress, she also is sensible that i have some of the same kind of knowledge as herself, since we both learnt it of the same mistress. we often meet at the baths, but as our tempers are different, i avoid all opportunities of contracting an intimacy with her, which is no difficult matter, as she does the same by me. i am not at all surprised at her wickedness: but what i have already done for you is not sufficient; i must complete what i have begun. it is not enough to have broken the enchantment by which she has so long excluded you from the society of men. you must punish her as she deserves, by going home again, and assuming the authority which belongs to you. i will give you the proper means. converse a little with my mother till i return to you." my deliveress went into a closet, and while she was absent, i repeated my obligations to the mother as well as the daughter. she said to me, "you see my daughter has as much skill in the magic art as the wicked ameeneh; but makes such use of it, that you would be surprised to know the good she has done, and daily does, by exercising her science. this induces me to let her practise it; for i should not permit her, if i perceived she made an improper application of it in the smallest instance." the mother then related some of the wonders she had seen her perform: by this time the daughter returned with a little bottle in her hand. "syed naomaun," said she, "my books which i have been consulting tell me that ameeneh is now abroad, but will be at home presently. they also inform me that she pretended before your servants to be very uneasy at your absence, and made them believe, that at dinner you recollected some business which obliged you to go out immediately; that as you went, you left the door open, and a dog running into the hall where she was at dinner, she had beaten him out with a great stick. "take this little bottle, go home immediately, and wait in your own chamber till ameeneh comes in, which she will do shortly. as soon as she returns, run down into the court, and meet her face to face. in her surprise at seeing you so unexpectedly, she will turn her back to run away; have the bottle ready, and throw some of the liquor it contains upon her, pronouncing at the same time these words: 'receive the chastisement of thy wickedness.' i will tell you no more; you will see the effect." after these instructions i took leave of my benefactress, and her mother, with all the testimonies of the most perfect gratitude, and a sincere protestation never to forget my obligation to them; and then went home. all things happened as the beautiful and humane enchantress had foretold. ameeneh was not long before she came home. as she entered the court, i met her with the bottle in my hand. upon seeing me, she shrieked; and as she turned to run towards the door, i threw the liquor upon her, pronouncing the words which the young lady had taught me, when she was instantly transformed into the mare which your majesty saw me upon yesterday. at that instant, owing to the surprise she was in, i easily seized her by the mane, and notwithstanding her resistance, led her into the stable, where i put a halter upon her head, and when i had tied her to the rack, reproaching her with her baseness, i chastised her with a whip till i was tired, and have punished her every day since in the manner which your majesty has witnessed. "i hope, commander of the faithful," concluded syed naomaun, "your majesty will not disapprove of my conduct, but will rather think i have shewn so wicked and pernicious a woman more indulgence than she deserved." when the caliph found that syed naomaun had ended his story, he said to him, "your adventure is very singular, and the wickedness of your wife inexcusable; therefore i do not condemn the chastisement you have hitherto given her; but i would have you consider how great a punishment it is to be reduced to the condition of beasts, and wish you would be content with the chastisement you have already inflicted. i would order you to go and address yourself to the young enchantress, to end the metamorphosis she has inflicted, but that i know the obstinacy and incorrigible cruelty of magicians of both sexes, who abuse their art; which makes me apprehensive that a second effect of your wife's revenge might be more fatal than the first." the caliph, who was naturally mild and compassionate to all criminals, after he had declared his mind to syed naomaun, addressed himself to the third person the grand vizier had summoned to attend him. "khaujeh hassan," said he, "passing yesterday by your house, it seemed so magnificent that i felt a curiosity to know to whom it belonged, and was told that you, whose trade is so mean that a man can scarcely get his bread by it, have built this house after you had followed this trade some years. i was likewise informed that you make a good use of the riches god has blessed you with, and your neighbours speak well of you. "all this pleases me well," added the caliph, "but i am persuaded that the means by which providence has been pleased to bestow these gifts on you must have been very extraordinary. i am curious to know the particulars from your own mouth, and sent for you on purpose to have that satisfaction. speak truly, that when i know your story, i may rejoice in your good fortune. "but that you may not suspect my curiosity, and believe i have any other interest than what i tell you, i declare, that far from having any pretensions, i give you my word you shall enjoy freely all you possess." on these assurances of the caliph, khaujeh hassan prostrated himself before the throne, with his forehead down to the carpet, and when he rose up, said, "commander of the faithful, some persons might have been alarmed at having been summoned to appear before your majesty; but knowing that my conscience was clear, and that i had committed nothing against the laws or your majesty, but, on the contrary, had always the most respectful sentiments and the profoundest veneration for your person, my only fear was, that i should not be able to support the splendour of your presence. but nevertheless on the public report of your majesty's receiving favourably, and hearing the meanest of your subjects, i took courage, and never doubted but i should have confidence enough to give you all the satisfaction you might require of me. besides, your majesty has given me a proof of your goodness, by granting me your protection before you know whether i deserve it. i hope, however, you will retain the favourable sentiments you have conceived of me, when, in obedience to your command, i shall have related my adventures." after this compliment to conciliate the caliph's good-will and attention, and after some moments' recollection, khaujeh hassan related his story in the following manner: the story of khaujeh hassan al hubbaul. commander of the faithful, that your majesty may the better understand by what means i arrived at the happiness i now enjoy, i must acquaint you, there are two intimate friends, citizens of bagdad, who can testify the truth of what i shall relate, and to whom, after god, the author of all good, i owe my prosperity. these two friends are called, the one saadi, the other saad. saadi, who is very rich, was always of opinion that no man could be happy in this world without wealth, to live independent of every one. saad was of a different opinion; he agreed that riches were necessary to comfort, but maintained that the happiness of a man's life consisted in virtue, without any farther eagerness after worldly goods than what was requisite for decent subsistence, and benevolent purposes. saad himself is one of this number, and lives very happily and contentedly in his station: but though saadi is infinitely more opulent, their friendship is very sincere, and the richest sets no more value on himself than the other. they never had any dispute but on this point; in all other things their union of opinion has been very strict. one day as they were talking upon this subject, as i have since been informed by them both, saadi affirmed, that poverty proceeded from men's being born poor, or spending their fortunes in luxury and debauchery, or by some of those unforeseen fatalities which do not often occur. "my opinion," said he, "is, that most people's poverty is owing to their wanting at first a sufficient sum of money to raise them above want, by employing their industry to improve it; for," continued he, "if they once had such a sum, and made a right use of it, they would not only live well, but would in time infallibly grow rich." saad could not agree in this sentiment: "the way," said he, "which you propose to make a poor man rich, is not so certain as you imagine. your plan is very hazardous, and i can bring many good arguments against your opinion, but that they would carry us too far into dispute, i believe, with as much probability, that a poor man may become rich by other means as well as by money: and there are people who have raised as large and surprising fortunes by mere chance, as others have done by money, with all their good economy and management to increase it by the best conducted trade." "saad," replied saadi, "i see we shall not come to any determination by my persisting to oppose my opinion against yours. i will make an experiment to convince you, by giving, for example, a sum of money to some artisan, whose ancestors from father to son have always been poor, lived only from day to day, and died as indigent as they were born. if i have not the success i expect, you shall try if you will have better by the means you shall employ." some days after this dispute, the two friends happened to walk out together, and passing through the street where i was at work at my trade of rope-making, which i learnt of my father, who learnt of his, and he of his ancestors; and by my dress and appearance, it was no hard matter for them to guess my poverty. saad, remembering saadi's engagement, said, "if you have not forgotten what you said to me, there is a man," pointing to me, "whom i can remember a long time working at his trade of rope-making, and in the same poverty: he is a worthy subject for your liberality, and a proper person to make your experiment upon." "i so well remember the conversation," replied saadi, "that i have ever since carried a sufficient sum about me for the purpose, but only waited for an opportunity of our being together, that you might be witness of the fact. let us go to him, and know if he is really necessitous." the two friends came to me, and i, seeing that they wished to speak to me, left off work: they both accosted me with the common salutation, and saadi, wishing me peace, asked me my name. i returned their salutation, and answered saadi's question, saying to him, "sir, my name is hassan; but by reason of my trade, i am commonly known by the name of hassan al hubbaul." "hassan," replied saadi, "as there is no occupation but what a man may live by, i doubt not but yours produces enough for you to live well upon; and i am amazed, that during the long time you have worked at your trade, you have not saved enough to lay in a good stock of hemp to extend your manufacture and employ more hands, by the profit of whose work you would soon increase your income." "sir," replied i, "you will be no longer amazed that i have not saved money and taken the way you mention to become rich, when you come to know that, let me work as hard as i may from morning till night, i can hardly get enough to keep my family in bread and pulse. i have a wife and five children, not one of whom is old enough to be of the least assistance to me. i must feed and clothe them, and in our poor way of living, they still want many necessaries, which they can ill do without and though hemp is not very dear, i must have money to buy it. this is the first thing i do with any money i receive for my work; otherwise i and my family must starve. "now judge, sir," added i, "if it be possible that i should save any thing for myself and family: it is enough that we are content with the little god sends us, and that we have not the knowledge or desire of more than we want, but can live as we have been always bred up, and are not reduced to beg." when i had given saadi this account, he said to me, "hassan, i am not so much surprised as i was, for i comprehend what obliges you to be content in your station. but if i should make you a present of a purse of two hundred pieces of gold, would not you make a good use of it? and do not you believe, that with such a sum you could become soon as rich as the principal of your occupation?" "sir," replied i, "you seem to be so good a gentleman, that i am persuaded you would not banter me, but that the offer you make me is serious; and i dare say, without presuming too much upon myself, that a considerably less sum would be sufficient to make me not only as rich as the first of our trade, but that in time i should be richer than all of them in this city together, though bagdad is so large and populous." the generous saadi showed me immediately that in what he said he was serious. he pulled a purse out of his bosom, and putting it into my hands, said, "here, take this purse; you will find it contains two hundred pieces of gold: i pray god bless you with them, and give you grace to make the good use of them i desire; and believe me, my friend saad, whom you see here, and i shall both take great pleasure in finding they may contribute towards making you more happy than you now are." when i had got the purse, the first thing i did was to put it into my bosom; but the transport of my joy was so great, and i was so much penetrated with gratitude, that my speech failed me and i could give my benefactor no other tokens of my feelings than by laying hold of the hem of his garment and kissing it; but he drew it from me hastily, and he and his friend pursued their walk. as soon as they were gone, i returned to my work, and my first thought was, what i should do with my purse to keep it safe. i had in my poor house neither box nor cupboard to lock it up in, nor any other place where i could be sure it would not be discovered if i concealed it. in this perplexity, as i had been used, like many poor people of my condition, to put the little money i had in the folds of my turban, i left my work, and went into the house, under pretence of wrapping my turban up anew. i took such precautions that neither my wife nor children saw what i was doing. but first i laid aside ten pieces of gold for present necessaries, and wrapped the rest up in the folds of the linen which went about my cap. the principal expense i was at that day was to lay in a good stock of hemp, and afterwards, as my family had eaten no flesh meat a long time, i went to the shambles, and bought something for supper. as i was carrying home the meat i had bought, a famished vulture flew upon me, and would have taken it away, if i had not held it very fast; but, alas! i had better have parted with it than lost my money; the faster i held my meat, the more the bird struggled to get it, drawing me sometimes on one side, and sometimes on another, but would not quit the prize; till unfortunately in my efforts my turban fell on the ground. the vulture immediately let go his hold, but seizing my turban, flew away with it. i cried out so loud, that i alarmed all the men, women, and children in the neighbourhood, who joined their shouts and cries to make the vulture quit his hold; for by such means these voracious birds are often frightened so as to quit their prey. but our cries did not avail; he carried off my turban, and we soon lost sight of him, and it would have been in vain for me to fatigue myself with running after him. i went home very melancholy at the loss of my money. i was obliged to buy a new turban, which diminished the small remainder of the ten pieces; for i had laid out several in hemp. the little that was left was not sufficient to give me reason to indulge the great hopes i had conceived. but what troubled me most, was the little satisfaction i should be able to give my benefactor for his ineffectual generosity, when he should come to hear what a misfortune i had met with, which he would perhaps regard as incredible, and consequently an idle excuse. while the remainder of the ten pieces lasted, my little family and i lived better than usual; but i soon relapsed into the same poverty, and the same inability to extricate myself from wretchedness. however, i never murmured nor repined; "god," said i, "was pleased to give me riches when i least expelled them; he has thought fit to take them from me again almost at the same time, because it so pleased him, and they were at his disposal; yet i will praise his name for all the benefits i have received, as it was his good pleasure, and submit myself, as i have ever done hitherto, to his will." these were my sentiments, while my wife, from whom i could not keep secret the loss i had sustained, was inconsolable. in my trouble i had told my neighbours, that when i lost my turban i lost a hundred and ninety pieces of gold; but as they knew my poverty, and could not comprehend how i should have got so great a sum by my work, they only laughed at me. about six months after this misfortune, which i have related to your majesty, the two friends walking through that part of the town where i lived, the neighbourhood brought me to saad's recollection. "we are now," said he to saadi, "not far from the street where hassan the ropemaker lives; let us call and see what use he has made of the two hundred pieces of gold you gave him, and whether they have enabled him to take any steps towards bettering his fortune." "with all my heart," replied saadi; "i have been thinking of him some days, and it will be a great pleasure and satisfaction to me to have you with me, as a witness of the proof of my argument. you will see undoubtedly a great alteration. i expect we shall hardly know him again." just as saadi said this, the two friends turned the corner of the street, and saad, who perceived me first at a distance, said to his friend, "i believe you reckon without your host. i see hassan, but can discern no change in his person, for he is as shabbily dressed as when we saw him before; the only difference that i can perceive is, that his turban looks something better. observe him yourself, and see whether i am in the wrong." as they drew nearer to me, saadi saw me too, and found saad was in the right, but could not tell to what he should attribute the little alteration he saw in my person; and was so much amazed, that he could not speak when he came up to me. "well, hassan," said saad, "we do not ask you how affairs go since we saw you last; without doubt they are in a better train." "gentlemen," replied i, addressing myself to them both, "i have the great mortification to tell you, that your desires, wishes, and hopes, as well as mine, have not had the success you had reason to expect, and i had promised myself; you will scarcely believe the extraordinary adventure that has befallen me. i assure you nevertheless, on the word of an honest man, and you ought to believe me, for nothing is more true than what i am going to tell you." i then related to them my adventure, with the same circumstances i had the honour to tell your majesty. saadi rejected my assertion, and said, "hassan, you joke, and would deceive me; for what you say is a thing incredible. what have vultures to do with turbans? they only search for something to satisfy their hunger. you have done as all such people as yourself generally do. if they have made any extraordinary gain, or any good fortune happens to them, which they never expected, they throw aside their work, take their pleasure, make merry, while the money lasts; and when they have eaten and drunk it all out, are reduced to the same necessity and want as before. you would not be so miserable, but because you deserve it, and render yourself unworthy of any service done to you." "sir," i replied, "i bear all these reproaches, and am ready to bear as many more, if they were more severe, and all with the greater patience because i do not think i deserve them. the thing is so publicly known in this part of the town, that there is nobody but can satisfy you of the truth of my assertions. if you inquire, you will find that i do not impose upon you. i own, i never heard of vultures flying away with turbans; but this has actually happened to me, like many other things, which do not fall out every day, and yet have actually happened." saad took my part, and told saadi a great many as surprising stories of vultures, some of which he affirmed he knew to be true, insomuch that at last he pulled his purse out of his vestband, and counted out two hundred pieces of gold into my hand, which i put into my bosom for want of a purse. when saadi had presented me with this sum, he said, "hassan, i make you a present of these two hundred pieces; but take care to put them in a safer place, that you may not lose them so unfortunately as you have done the others, and employ them in such a manner that they may procure you the advantages which the others would have done." i told him that the obligation of this his second kindness was much greater than i deserved, after what had happened, and that i should be sure to make good use of his advice. i would have said a great deal more, but he did not give me time, for he went away, and continued his walk with his friend. as soon as they were gone, i left off work, and went home, but finding neither my wife nor children within, i pulled out my money, put ten pieces by, and wrapped up the rest in a clean linen cloth, tying it fast with a knot; but then i was to consider where i should hide this linen cloth that it might be safe. after i had considered some time, i resolved to put it in the bottom of an earthen vessel full of bran, which stood in a corner, which i imagined neither my wife nor children would look into. my wife came home soon after, and as i had but little hemp in the house, i told her i should go out to buy some, without saying any thing to her about the two friends. while i was absent, a sandman, who sells scouring earth for the hair and body, which women use in the baths, passed through our street, and called, "cleansing, ho!" my wife, who wanted some, beckoned to him: but as she had no money, asked him if he would make an exchange of some earth for some bran. the sandman asked to see the bran. my wife shewed him the pot; the bargain was made; she had the cleansing earth, with which she filled a dust hole i had made to the house, and the sandman took the pot and bran along with him. not long after i came home with as much hemp as i could carry, and followed by five porters loaded also with hemp. after i had satisfied them for their trouble, i sat down to rest myself; and looking about me, could not see the pot of bran. it is impossible for me to express to your majesty my surprise and the effect it had on me at the moment. i asked my wife hastily what was become of it; when she told me the bargain she had made with the sandman, which she thought to be a very good one. "ah! unfortunate woman!" cried i, "you know not the injury you have done me, yourself, and our children, by making that bargain, which has ruined us for ever. you thought you only sold the bran, but with the bran you have enriched the sandman with a hundred and ninety pieces of gold, which saadi with his friend came and made me a second present of." my wife was like one distracted, when she knew what a fault she had committed through ignorance. she cried, beat her breast, and tore her hair and clothes. "unhappy wretch that i am," cried she, "am i fit to live after so dreadful a mistake! where shall i find this sandman? i know him not, i never saw him in our street before. oh! husband," added she, "you were much to blame to be so reserved in a matter of such importance this had never happened, if you had communicated the secret to me." in short, i should never finish my story were i to tell your majesty what her grief made her say. you are not ignorant how eloquent women often are in their afflictions. "wife," said i, "moderate your grief: by your weeping and howling you will alarm the neighbourhood, and there is no reason they should be informed of our misfortunes. they will only laugh at, instead of pitying us. we had best bear our loss patiently, and submit ourselves to the will of god, and bless him, for that out of two hundred pieces of gold which he had given us, he has taken back but a hundred and ninety, and left us ten, which, by the use i shall make of them will be a great relief to us." my wife at first did not relish my arguments; but as time softens the greatest misfortunes, and makes them more supportable, she at last grew easy, and had almost forgotten them. "it is true," said i to her, "we live but poorly; but what have the rich which we have not? do not we breathe the same air, enjoy the same light and the same warmth of the sun? therefore what conveniences have they more than we, that we should envy their happiness? they die as well as we. in short, while we live in the fear of god, as we should always do, the advantage they have over us is so very inconsiderable, that we ought not to covet it." i will not tire your majesty any longer with my moral reflections. my wife and i comforted ourselves, and i pursued my trade with as much alacrity as before these two mortifying losses, which followed one another so quickly. the only thing that troubled me sometimes was, how i should look saadi in the face when he should come and ask me how i had improved his two hundred pieces of gold, and advanced my fortune by means of his liberality. i saw no remedy but to resolve to submit to the confusion i should feel, though it was by no fault of mine this time, any more than before, that our misfortune had happened. the two friends stayed away longer this time than the former, though saad had often spoken to saadi, who always put it off; for, said he, "the longer we stay away, the richer hassan will be, and i shall have the greater satisfaction." saad, who had not the same opinion of the effect of his friend's generosity, replied, "you fancy then that your last present will have been turned to a better account than the former. i would advise you not to flatter yourself too much, for fear you may be more sensibly mortified if it should prove otherwise." "why," replied saadi, "vultures do not fly away with turbans every day; and hassan will have been more cautious this time." "i do not doubt it," replied saad; "but," added he, "there are other accidents that neither you nor i can think of; therefore, i say again, moderate your expectations, and do not depend too much on hassan's success; for to tell you what i think, and what i always thought (whether you like to hear it or not), i have a secret presentiment that you will not have accomplished your purpose, and that i shall succeed better in proving that a poor man may sooner become rich by other means than money." one day, when saad and saadi were disputing upon this subject, saad observed that enough had been said; "i am resolved," continued he, "to inform myself this very day what has passed; it is a pleasing time for walking, let us not lose it, but go and see which of us has lost the wager." i saw them at a distance, was overcome with confusion, and was just going to leave my work, to run and hide myself. however i refrained, appeared very earnest at work, made as if i had not seen them, and never lifted up my eyes till they were close to me and had saluted me, and then i could not help myself. i hung down my head, told them my last misfortune, with all the circumstances, and that i was as poor as when they first saw me. "after that," i added, "you may say that i ought to have hidden my money in another place than in a pot of bran, which was carried out of my house the same day: but that pot had stood there many years, and had never been removed, whenever my wife parted with the bran. could i guess that a sandman should come by that very day, my wife have no money, and would make such an exchange? you may indeed allege, that i ought to have told my wife of it; but i will never believe that such prudent persons, as i am persuaded you are, would have given me that advice; and if i had put my money anywhere else, what certainty could i have had that it would be more secure?" "i see, sir," said i, addressing myself to saadi, "that it has pleased god, whose ways are secret and impenetrable, that i should not be enriched by your liberality, but that i must remain poor: however, the obligation is the same as if it had wrought the desired effect." after these words i was silent; and saadi replied, "though i would persuade myself, hassan, that all you tell us is true, and not owing to your debauchery or ill management, yet i must not be extravagant, and ruin myself for the sake of an experiment. i do not regret in the least the four hundred pieces of gold i gave you to raise you in the world. i did it in duty to god, without expecting any recompense but the pleasure of doing good. if any thing makes me repent, it is, that i did not address myself to another, who might have made a better use of my charity." then turning about to his friend, "saad," continued he, "you may know by what i have said that i do not entirely give up the cause. you may now make your experiment, and let me see that there are ways, besides giving money, to make a poor man's fortune. let hassan be the man. i dare say, whatever you may give him he will not be richer than he was with four hundred pieces of gold." saad had a piece of lead in his hand, which he shewed saadi. "you saw me," said he, "take up this piece of lead, which i found on the ground; i will give it hassan, and you shall see what it is worth." saadi, burst out laughing at saad. "what is that bit of lead worth," said he, "a farthing? what can hassan do with that?" saad presented it to me, and said, "take it, hassan; let saadi laugh, you will tell us some news of the good luck it has brought you one time or another." i thought saad was in jest, and had a mind to divert himself: however i took the lead, and thanked him. the two friends pursued their walk, and i fell to work again. at night when i pulled off my clothes to go to bed, the piece of lead, which i had never thought of from the time he gave it me, tumbled out of my pocket. i took it up, and laid it on the place that was nearest me. the same night it happened that a fisherman, a neighbour, mending his nets, found a piece of lead wanting; and it being too late to buy any, as the shops were shut, and he must either fish that night, or his family go without bread the next day, he called to his wife and bade her inquire among the neighbours for a piece. she went from door to door on both sides of the street, but could not get any, and returned to tell her husband her ill success. he asked her if she had been to several of their neighbours, naming them, and among the rest my house. "no indeed," said the wife, "i have not been there; that was too far off, and if i had gone, do you think i should have found any? i know by experience they never have any thing when one wants it." "no matter," said the fisherman, "you are an idle hussy; you must go there; for though you have been there a hundred times before without getting any thing, you may chance to obtain what we want now. you must go." the fisherman's wife went out grumbling, came and knocked at my door, and waked me out of a sound sleep. i asked her what she wanted. "hassan," said she, as loud as she could bawl, "my husband wants a bit of lead to load his nets with; and if you have a piece, desires you to give it him." the piece of lead which saad had given me was so fresh in my memory, and had so lately dropped out of my clothes, that i could not forget it. i told my neighbour i had some; and if she would stay a moment my wife should give it to her. accordingly, my wife, who was wakened by the noise as well as myself, got up, and groping about where i directed her, found the lead, opened the door, and gave it to the fisherman's wife, who was so overjoyed that she promised my wife, that in return for the kindness she did her and her husband, she would answer for him we should have the first cast of the nets. the fisherman was so much rejoiced to see the lead, which he so little expected, that he much approved his wife's promise. he finished mending his nets, and went a-fishing two hours before day, according to custom. at the first throw he caught but one fish, about a yard long, and proportionable in thickness; but afterwards had a great many successful casts; though of all the fish he took none equalled the first in size. when the fisherman had done fishing, he went home, where his first care was to think of me. i was extremely surprised, when at my work, to see him come to me with a large fish in his hand. "neighbour," said he, "my wife promised you last night, in return for your kindness, whatever fish i should catch at my first throw; and i approved her promise. it pleased god to send me no more than this one for you, which, such as it is, i desire you to accept. i wish it had been better. had he sent me my net full, they should all have been yours." "neighbour," said i, "the bit of lead which i sent you was such a trifle, that it ought not to be valued at so high a rate: neighbours should assist each other in their little wants. i have done no more for you than i should have expected from you had i been in your situation; therefore i would refuse your present, if i were not persuaded you gave it me freely, and that i should offend you; and since you will have it so, i take it, and return you my hearty thanks." after these civilities, i took the fish, and carried it home to my wife. "here," said i, "take this fish, which the fisherman our neighbour has made me a present of, in return for the bit of lead he sent to us for last night: i believe it is all we can expect from the present saad made me yesterday, promising me that it would bring me good luck;" and then i told her what had passed between the two friends. my wife was much startled to see so large a fish. "what would you have me do with it?" said she. "our gridiron is only fit to broil small fish; and we have not a pot big enough to boil it." "that is your business," answered i; "dress it as you will, i shall like it either way." i then went to my work again. in gutting the fish, my wife found a large diamond, which, when she washed it, she took for a piece of glass: indeed she had heard talk of diamonds, but if she had ever seen or handled any she would not have known how to distinguish them. she gave it to the youngest of our children for a plaything, and his brothers and sisters handed it about from one to another, to admire its brightness and beauty. at night when the lamp was lighted, and the children were still playing with the diamond, they perceived that it gave a light, when my wife, who was getting them their supper, stood between them and the lamp; upon which they snatched it from one another to try it; and the younger children fell a-crying, that the elder would not let them have it long enough. but as a little matter amuses children, and makes them squabble and fall out, my wife and i took no notice of their noise, which presently ceased, when the bigger ones supped with us, and my wife had given the younger each their share. after supper the children got together again, and began to make the same noise. i then called to the eldest to know what was the matter, who told me it was about a piece of glass, which gave a light when his back was to the lamp. i bade him bring it to me, made the experiment myself, and it appeared so extraordinary, that i asked my wife what it was. she told me it was a piece of glass, which she had found in gutting the fish. i thought no more than herself but that it was a bit of glass, but i was resolved to make a farther experiment of it; and therefore bade my wife put the lamp in the chimney, which she did, and still found that the supposed piece of glass gave so great a light, that we might see to go to bed without the lamp. so i put it out, and placed the bit of glass upon the chimney to light us. "look," said i, "this is another advantage that saad's piece of lead procures us: it will spare us the expense of oil." when the children saw the lamp was put out, and the bit of glass supplied the place, they cried out so loud, and made so great a noise from astonishment, that it was enough to alarm the neighbourhood; and before my wife and i could quiet them we were forced to make a greater noise, nor could we silence them till we had put them to bed; where after talking a long while in their way about the wonderful light of a bit of glass, they fell asleep. after they were asleep, my wife and i went to bed by them; and next morning, without thinking any more of the glass, i went to my work as usual; which ought not to seem strange for such a man as i, who had never seen any diamonds, or if i had, never attended to their value. but before i proceed, i must tell your majesty that there was but a very slight partition-wall between my house and my next neighbour's, who was a very rich jew, and a jeweller; and the chamber that he and his wife lay in joined to ours. they were both in bed, and the noise my children made awakened them. the next morning the jeweller's wife came to mine to complain of being disturbed out of their first sleep. "good neighbour rachel," (which was the jew's wife's name,) said my wife, "i am very sorry for what happened, and hope you will excuse it: you know it was caused by the children, and they will laugh and cry for a trifle. come in, and i will shew you what was the occasion of the noise." the jewess went in with her, and my wife taking the diamond (for such it really was, and a very extraordinary one) out of the chimney, put it into her hands. "see here," said she, "it was this piece of glass that caused all the noise;" and while the jewess, who understood all sorts of precious stones, was examining the diamond with admiration, my wife told her how she found it in the fish's belly, and what happened. "indeed, ayesha," (which was my wife's name,) said the jeweller's wife, giving her the diamond again, "i believe as you do it is a piece of glass; but as it is more beautiful than common glass, and i have just such another piece at home, i will buy it, if you will sell it." the children, who heard them talking of selling their plaything, presently interrupted their conversation, crying and begging their mother not to part with it, who, to quiet them, promised she would not. the jewess being thus prevented in her intended swindling bargain by my children, went away, but first whispered my wife, who followed her to the door, if she had a mind to sell it, not to shew it to anybody without acquainting her. the jew went out early in the morning to his shop in that part of the town where the jewellers sell their goods. thither his wife followed, and told him the discovery she had made. she gave him an account of the size and weight of the diamond as nearly as she could guess, also of its beauty, water, and lustre, and particularly of the light which it gave in the night according to my wife's account, which was the more credible as she was uninformed. the jew sent his wife immediately to treat, to offer her a trifle at first, as she should think fit, and then to raise her price by degrees; but be sure to bring it, cost what it would. accordingly his wife came again to mine privately, and asked her if she would take twenty pieces of gold for the piece of glass she had shown her. my wife, thinking the sum too considerable for a mere piece of glass as she had thought it, would not make any bargain; but told her, she could not part with it till she had spoken to me. in the mean time i came from my work to dinner. as they were talking at the door, my wife stopped me, and asked if i would sell the piece of glass she had found in the fish's belly for twenty pieces of gold, which our neighbour offered her. i returned no answer; but reflected immediately on the assurance with which saad, in giving me the piece of lead, told me it would make my fortune. the jewess, fancying that the low price she had offered was the reason i made no reply, said, "i will give you fifty, neighbour, if that will do." as soon as i found that she rose so suddenly from twenty to fifty, i told her that i expected a great deal more. "well, neighbour," said she, "i will give you a hundred, and that is so much, i know not whether my husband will approve my offering it." at this new advance, i told her i would have a hundred thousand pieces of gold for it; that i saw plainly that the diamond, for such i now guessed it must be, was worth a great deal more, but to oblige her and her husband, as they were neighbours, i would limit myself to that price, which i was determined to have; and if they refused to give it, other jewellers should have it, who would give a great deal more. the jewess confirmed me in this resolution, by her eagerness to conclude a bargain; and by coming up at several biddings to fifty thousand pieces, which i refused. "i can offer you no more," said she, "without my husband's consent. he will be at home at night; and i would beg the favour of you to let him see it, which i promised." at night when the jew came home, his wife told him what she had done; that she had got no forwarder with my wife or me; that she offered, and i had refused, fifty thousand pieces of gold; but that i had promised to stay till night at her request. he observed the time when i left off work, and came to me. "neighbour hassan", said he, "i desire you would shew me the diamond your wife shewed to mine." i brought him in, and shewed it to him. as it was very dark, and my lamp was not lighted, he knew instantly, by the light the diamond gave, and by the lustre it cast in my hand, that his wife had given him a true account of it. he looked at and admired it a long time. "well, neighbour," said he, "my wife tells me she offered you fifty thousand pieces of gold: i will give you twenty thousand more." "neighbour," said i, "your wife can tell you that i valued my diamond at a hundred thousand pieces, and i will take nothing less." he haggled a long time with me, in hopes that i would make some abatement: but finding at last that i was positive, and for fear that i should shew it to other jewellers, as i certainly should have done, he would not leave me till the bargain was concluded on my own terms. he told me that he had not so much money at home, but would pay it all to me on the morrow, that very instant fetched two bags of a thousand pieces each, as an earnest; and the next day, though i do not know how he raised the money, whether he borrowed it of his friends, or let some other jewellers into partnership with him, he brought me the sum we had agreed for at the time appointed, and i delivered to him the diamond. having thus sold my diamond, and being rich, infinitely beyond my hopes, i thanked god for his bounty; and would have gone and thrown myself at saad's feet to express my gratitude, if i had known where he lived; as also at saadi's, to whom i was first obliged, though his good intention had not the same success. afterwards i thought of the use i ought to make of so considerable a sum. my wife, with the vanity natural to her sex, proposed immediately to buy rich clothes for herself and children; to purchase a house, and furnish it handsomely. i told her we ought not to begin with such expenses; "for," said i, "money should only be spent, so that it may produce a fund from which we may draw without its failing. this i intend, and shall begin to-morrow." i spent all that day and the next in going to the people of my own trade, who worked as hard every day for their bread as i had done; and giving them money beforehand, engaged them to work for me in different sorts of rope-making, according to their skill and ability, with a promise not to make them wait for their money, but to pay them as soon as their work was done. by this means i engrossed almost all the business of bagdad, and everybody was pleased with my exactness and punctual payment. as so great a number of workmen produced, as your majesty may judge, a large quantity of work, i hired warehouses in several parts of the town to hold my goods, and appointed over each a clerk, to sell both wholesale and retail; and by this economy received considerable profit and income. afterwards, to unite my concerns in one spot, i bought a large house, which stood on a great deal of ground, but was ruinous, pulled it down, and built that your majesty saw yesterday, which, though it makes so great an appearance, consists, for the most part, of warehouses for my business, with apartments absolutely necessary for myself and family. some time after i had left my old mean habitation, and removed to this, saad and saadi, who had scarcely thought of me from the last time they had been with me, as they were one day walking together, and passing by our street, resolved to call upon me: but great was their surprise when they did not see me at work. they asked what was become of me, and if i was alive or dead. their amazement was redoubled, when they were told i was become a great manufacturer, and was no longer called plain hassan, but khaujeh hassan al hubbaul, and that i had built in a street, which was named to them, a house like a palace. the two friends went directly to the street, and in the way, as saadi could not imagine that the bit of lead which saad had given me could have been the raising of my fortune, he said to him, "i am overjoyed to have made hassan's fortune: but i cannot forgive the two lies he told me, to get four hundred pieces instead of two; for i cannot attribute it to the piece of lead you gave him." "so you think," replied saad: "but so do not i. i do not see why you should do khaujeh hassan so much injustice as to take him for a liar. you must give me leave to believe that he told us the truth, disguised nothing from us, that the piece of lead which i gave him is the cause of his prosperity: and you will find he will presently tell us so." during their discourse the two friends came into the street where i lived, asked whereabouts my house stood; and being shewn it, could hardly believe it to be mine. they knocked at the door, and my porter opened it; when saadi, fearing to be guilty of rudeness in taking the house of a nobleman for that he was inquiring after, said to the porter, "we are informed that this is the house of khaujeh hassan al hubbaul: tell us if we are mistaken." "you are very right, sir," said the porter, opening the door wider; "it is the same; come in; he is in the hall, and any of the slaves will point him out to you." i had no sooner set my eyes upon the two friends, than i knew them. i rose from my seat, ran to them, and would have kissed the hem of their garments; but they would not suffer it, and embraced me. i invited them to a sofa made to hold four persons, which was placed full in view of my garden. i desired them to sit down, and they would have me take the place of honour. i assured them i had not forgotten that i was poor hassan the ropemaker, nor the obligations i had to them; but were this not the case, i knew the respect due to them, and begged them not to expose me. they sat down in the proper place, and i seated myself opposite to them. then saadi, addressing himself to me, said, "khaujeh hassan, i cannot express my joy to see you in the condition i wished you, when i twice made you a present of two hundred pieces of gold, for i mean not to upbraid you; though i am persuaded that those four hundred pieces have made this wonderful change in your fortune, which i behold with pleasure. one thing only vexes me, which is, that you should twice disguise the truth from me, pretending that your losses were the effect of misfortunes which now seem to me more than ever incredible. was it not because, when we were together the last time, you had so little advanced your small income with the four hundred pieces of gold, that you were ashamed to own it? i am willing to believe this, and wait to be confirmed in my opinion." saad heard this speech of saadi's with impatience, not to say indignation, which he shewed by casting down his eyes and shaking his head: he did not, however, interrupt him. when he had done, he said to him, "forgive me, saadi, if i anticipate khaujeh hassan, before he answers you, to tell you, that i am vexed at your prepossession against his sincerity, and that you still persist in not believing the assurances he has already given you. i have told you before, and i repeat it once more, that i believe those two accidents which befell him, upon his bare assertion; and whatever you may say, i am persuaded they are true; but let him speak himself, and say which of us does him justice." after this discourse of the two friends, i said, addressing myself to them both, "gentlemen, i should condemn myself to perpetual silence, on the explanation you ask of me, if i were not certain the dispute you have had on my account cannot break that friendship which subsists between you; therefore i will declare to you the truth, since you require it; and with the same sincerity as before." i then told them every circumstance your majesty has heard, without forgetting the least. all my protestations had no effect on saadi, to cure him of his prejudice. "khaujeh hassan," replied he, "the adventure of the fish, and diamond found in his belly, appears to me as incredible as the vulture's flying away with your turban, and the exchange of the scouring earth. be it as it may, i am equally convinced that you are no longer poor, but rich as i intended you should be, by my means; and i rejoice sincerely." as it grew late, they arose up to depart; when i stopped them, and said, "gentlemen, there is one favour i have to ask; i beg of you not to refuse to do me the honour to stay and take a slight supper with me, also a bed to-night, and to-morrow i will carry you by water to a small country-house, which i bought for the sake of the air, and we will return the same day on my horses." "if saad has no business that calls him elsewhere," said saadi, "i consent." saad told him that nothing should prevent his enjoying his company. we have only to send a slave to my house, that we may not be waited for. i provided a slave; and while they were giving him their orders, i went and ordered supper. while it was getting ready, i shewed my benefactors my house, and all my offices, which they thought very extensive considering my fortune: i call them both benefactors without distinction, because without saadi, saad would never have given me the piece of lead; and without saad, saadi would not have given me the four hundred pieces of gold. then i brought them back again into the hall, where they asked me several questions about my concerns; and i gave them such answers as satisfied them. during this conversation, my servants came to tell me that supper was served up. i led them into another hall, where they admired the manner in which it was lighted, the furniture, and the entertainment i had provided. i regaled them also with a concert of vocal and instrumental music during the repast, and afterwards with a company of dancers, and other entertainments, endeavouring as much as possible to shew them my gratitude. the next morning, as we had agreed to set out early to enjoy the fresh air, we repaired to the river-side by sun-rise, and went on board a pleasure-boat well carpeted that waited for us; and in less than an hour and a half, with six good rowers, and the stream, we arrived at my country house. when we went ashore, the two friends stopped to observe the beauty of the architecture of my house, and to admire its advantageous situation for prospects, which were neither too much limited nor too extensive, but such as made it very agreeable. i then conducted them into all the apartments, and shewed them the out-houses and conveniences; with all which they were very well pleased. afterwards we walked in the gardens, where what they were most struck with was a grove of orange and lemon trees, loaded with fruit and flowers, which were planted at equal distances, and watered by channels cut from a neighbouring stream. the close shade, the fragrant smell which perfumed the air, the soft murmurings of the water, the harmonious notes of an infinite number of birds, and many other agreeable circumstances, struck them in such a manner, that they frequently stopped to express how much they were obliged to me for bringing them to so delightful a place, and to congratulate me on my great acquisitions, with other compliments. i led them to the end of the grove, which was very long and broad, where i shewed them a wood of large trees, which terminated my garden, and afterwards a summer-house, open on all sides, shaded by a clump of palm-trees, but not so as to injure the prospect; i then invited them to walk in, and repose themselves on a sofa covered with carpets and cushions. two of my boys, whom i had sent into the country, with a tutor, for the air, had gone just then into the wood, and seeing a nest which was built in the branches of a lofty tree, they attempted to get at it; but as they had neither strength nor skill to accomplish their object, they shewed it to the slave who waited on them, and bade him climb the tree for it. the slave, when he came to it, was much surprised to find it composed of a turban: however he took it, brought it down, and shewed it to my children; and as he thought that i might like to see a nest that was so uncommon, he gave it to the eldest boy to bring to me. i saw the children at a distance, coming back to us, overjoyed to have procured a nest. "father," said the eldest, "we have found a nest in a turban." the two friends and i were very much surprised at the novelty; but i much more, when i recognized the turban to be that which the vulture had flown away with. after i had examined it well, and turned it about, i said to my guests, "gentlemen, have you memories good enough to remember the turban i had on the day you did me the honour first to speak to me?" "i do not think," said saad, "that either my friend or i gave any attention to it; but if the hundred and ninety pieces of gold are in it, we cannot doubt of it." "sir," replied i, "there is no doubt but it is the same turban; for besides that i know it perfectly well, i feel by the weight it is too heavy to be any other, and you will perceive this if you give yourself the trouble to take it in your hand." then after taking out the birds, and giving them to the children, i put it into his hands, and he gave it to saadi. "indeed," said saadi, "i believe it to be your turban; which i shall, however, be better convinced of when i see the hundred and ninety pieces of gold." "now, sir," added i, taking the turban again, "observe well before i unwrap it, that it is of no very fresh date in the tree; and the state in which you see it, and the nest so neatly made in it, without having been touched by the hand of man, are sufficient proofs that the vulture drops or laid it in the tree upon the day it was seized; and that the branches hindered it from falling to the ground. excuse my making this remark, since it concerns me so much to remove all suspicions of fraud." saad backed me in what i urged; and said, "saadi, this regards you and not me, for i am verily persuaded that khaujeh hassan does not impose upon us." while saad was talking, i pulled off the linen cloth which was wrapped about the cap of the turban, and took out the purse, which saadi knew to be the same he had given me. i emptied it on the carpet before them, and said, "there, gentlemen, there is the money, count it, and see if it be right;" which saad did, and found it to be one hundred and ninety pieces of gold. then saadi, who could not deny so manifest a truth, addressing himself to me said, "i agree, khaujeh hassan, that this money could not serve to enrich you; but the other hundred and ninety pieces, which you would make me believe you hid in a pot of bran, might." "sir," answered i, "i have told you the truth in regard to both sums: you would not have me retract, to make myself a liar." "khaujeh hassan," said saad, "leave saadi to his own opinion; i consent with all my heart that he believes you are obliged to him for one part of your good fortune, by means of the last sum he gave you, provided he will agree that i contributed to the other half by the bit of lead, and will not pretend to dispute the valuable diamond found in the fish's belly." "i agree to it," answered saadi, "but still you must give me liberty to believe that money is not to be amassed without money." "what," replied saad, "if chance should throw a diamond in my way worth fifty thousand pieces of gold, and i should have that sum given me for it, can it be said i got that sum by money?" they disputed no farther at this time; we rose, and went into the house, just as dinner was serving up. after dinner, i left my guests together, to pass away the heat of the day more at their liberty, and with great composure, while i went to give orders to my housekeeper and gardener. afterwards i returned to them again, and we talked of indifferent matters till it grew a little cooler; when we returned into the garden for fresh air, and stayed till sun-set. we then mounted on horseback, and got to bagdad by moonlight, two hours after, followed by one of my slaves. it happened, i know not by what negligence of my servants, that we were then out of grain for the horses, and the storehouses were all shut up; when one of my slaves seeking about the neighbourhood for some, met with a pot of bran in a shop; bought the bran, and brought the pot along with him, promising to carry it back again the next day. the slave emptied the bran, and dividing it with his hands among the horses, felt a linen cloth tied up, and very heavy; he brought the cloth to me in the condition that he found it, and presented it to me, telling me, that it might perhaps be the cloth he had often heard me talk of among my friends. overjoyed, i said to my two benefactors, "gentlemen, it has pleased god that you should not part from me without being fully convinced of the truth of what i have assured you. there are the other hundred and ninety pieces of gold which you gave me," continued i, addressing myself to saadi; "i know it well by the cloth, which i tied up with my own hands;" and then i told out the money before them. i ordered the pot to be brought to me, knew it to be the same; and sent to my wife to ask if she recognized it, ordering them to say nothing to her of what had happened. she knew it immediately, and sent me word that it was the same pot she had exchanged full of bran for the scouring-earth. saadi readily submitted, renounced his incredulity; and said to saad, "i yield to you, and acknowledge that money is not always the means of becoming rich." when saadi had spoken, i said to him, "i dare not propose to return you the three hundred and eighty pieces of gold which it hath pleased god should be found, to undeceive you as to the opinion of my honesty. i am persuaded that you did not give them to me with an intention that i should return them; but as i ought to be content with what providence has sent me from other quarters, and i do not design to make use of them; if you approve of my proposal, to-morrow i will give them to the poor, that god may bless us both." the two friends lay at my house that night also; and next day, after embracing me, returned home, well pleased with the reception i had given them, and to find i did not make an improper use of the riches heaven had blessed me with. i thanked them both, and regarded the permission they gave me to cultivate their friendship, and to visit them, as a great honour. the caliph was so attentive to khaujeh hassan's story, that he had not perceived the end of it, but by his silence. "khaujeh hassan," said he, "i have not for a long time heard any thing that has given me so much pleasure, as having been informed of the wonderful ways by which god gave thee thy riches to make thee happy in this world. thou oughtest to continue to return him thanks by the good use thou makest of his blessings. i am glad i can tell thee, that the same diamond which made thy fortune is now in my treasury; and i am happy to learn how it came there: but because there may remain in saadi some doubts on the singularity of this diamond, which i esteem the most precious and valuable jewel i possess, i would have you carry him with saad to my treasurer, who shall shew it them, to remove saadi's unbelief, and to let him see that money is not the only means of making a poor man rich in a short time, without labour. i would also have you tell the keeper of my treasury this story, that he may have it put into writing, and that it may be kept with the diamond." after these words the caliph signified to khaujeh hassan, syed naomaun, and baba abdoollah, by bowing of his head, that he was satisfied with them; they all took their leaves, by prostrating themselves at the throne, and then retired. the story of ali baba and the forty robbers destroyed by a slave. in a town in persia, there lived two brothers, one named cassim, the other ali baba. their father left them scarcely any thing; but as he had divided his little property equally between them, it should seem their fortune ought to have been equal; but chance determined otherwise. cassim married a wife who soon after became heiress to a large sum, and a warehouse full of rich goods; so that he all at once became one of the richest and most considerable merchants, and lived at his ease. ali baba on the other hand, who had married a woman as poor as himself, lived in a very wretched habitation, and had no other means to maintain his wife and children but his daily labour of cutting wood, and bringing it upon three asses, which were his whole substance, to town to sell. one day, when ali baba was in the forest, and had just cut wood enough to load his asses, he saw at a distance a great cloud of dust, which seemed to be driven towards him: he observed it very attentively, and distinguished soon after a body of horse. though there had been no rumour of robbers in that country, ali baba began to think that they might prove such, and without considering what might become of his asses, was resolved to save himself. he climbed up a large, thick tree, whose branches, at a little distance from the ground, were so close to one another that there was but little space between them. he placed himself in the middle, from whence he could see all that passed without being discovered; and the tree stood at the base of a single rock, so steep and craggy that nobody could climb up it. the troop, who were all well mounted and armed, came to the foot of this rock, and there dismounted. ali baba counted forty of them, and, from their looks and equipage, was assured that they were robbers. nor was he mistaken in his opinion: for they were a troop of banditti, who, without doing any harm to the neighbourhood, robbed at a distance, and made that place their rendezvous; but what confirmed him in his opinion was, that every man unbridled his horse, tied him to some shrub, and hung about his neck a bag of corn which they brought behind them. then each of them took his saddle wallet, which seemed to ali baba to be full of gold and silver from its weight. one, who was the most personable amongst them, and whom he took to be their captain, came with his wallet on his back under the tree in which ali baba was concealed, and making his way through some shrubs, pronounced these words so distinctly, "open, sesame," that ali baba heard him. as soon as the captain of the robbers had uttered these words, a door opened in the rock; and after he had made all his troop enter before him, he followed them, when the door shut again of itself. the robbers stayed some time within the rock, and ali baba, who feared that some one, or all of them together, might come out and catch him, if he should endeavour to make his escape, was obliged to sit patiently in the tree. he was nevertheless tempted to get down, mount one of their horses, and lead another, driving his asses before him with all the haste he could to town; but the uncertainty of the event made him choose the safest course. at last the door opened again, and the forty robbers came out. as the captain went in last, he came out first, and stood to see them all pass by him; when ali baba heard him make the door close by pronouncing these words, "shut, sesame." every man went and bridled his horse, fastened his wallet, and mounted again; and when the captain saw them all ready, he put himself at their head, and they returned the way they had come. ali baba did not immediately quit his tree; for, said he to himself, they may have forgotten something and may come back again, and then i shall be taken. he followed them with his eyes as far as he could see them; and afterwards stayed a considerable time before he descended. remembering the words the captain of the robbers used to cause the door to open and shut, he had the curiosity to try if his pronouncing them would have the same effect. accordingly, he went among the shrubs, and perceiving the door concealed behind them, stood before it, and said, "open, sesame." the door instantly flew wide open. ali baba, who expected a dark dismal cavern, was surprised to see it well lighted and spacious, in form of a vault, which received the light from an opening at the top of the rock. he saw all sorts of provisions, rich bales of silk, stuff, brocade, and valuable carpeting, piled upon one another; gold and silver ingots in great heaps, and money in bags. the sight of all these riches made him suppose that this cave must have been occupied for ages by robbers, who had succeeded one another. ali baba did not stand long to consider what he should do, but went immediately into the cave, and as soon as he had entered, the door shut of itself. but this did not disturb him, because he knew the secret to open it again. he never regarded the silver, but made the best use of his time in carrying out as much of the gold coin, which was in bags, at several times, as he thought his three asses could carry. he collected his asses, which were dispersed, and when he had loaded them with the bags, laid wood over in such a manner that they could not be seen. when he had done he stood before the door, and pronouncing the words, "shut, sesame," the door closed after him, for it had shut of itself while he was within, but remained open while he was out. he then made the best of his way to town. when ali baba got home, he drove his asses into a little yard, shut the gates very carefully, threw off the wood that covered the bags, carried them into his house, and ranged them in order before his wife, who sat on a sofa. his wife handled the bags, and finding them full of money, suspected that her husband had been robbing, insomuch that she could not help saying, "ali baba, have you been so unhappy as to______." "be quiet, wife," interrupted ali baba, "do not frighten yourself, i am no robber, unless he may be one who steals from robbers. you will no longer entertain an ill opinion of me, when i shall tell you my good fortune." he then emptied the bags, which raised such a great heap of gold, as dazzled his wife's eyes; and when he had done, told her the whole adventure from beginning to end; and, above all, recommended her to keep it secret. the wife, cured of her fears, rejoiced with her husband at their good fortune, and would count all the gold, piece by piece. "wife," replied ali baba, "you do not know what you undertake, when you pretend to count the money; you will never have done. i will dig a hole, and bury it; there is no time to be lost". "you are in the right, husband," replied she; "but let us know, as nigh as possible, how much we have. i will borrow a small measure in the neighbourhood, and measure it, while you dig the hole." "what you are going to do is to no purpose, wife," said ali baba; "if you would take my advice, you had better let it alone, but keep the secret, and do what you please." away the wife ran to her brother-in-law cassim, who lived just by, but was not then at home; and addressing herself to his wife, desired her to lend her a measure for a little while. her sister-in-law asked her, whether she would have a great or a small one? the other asked for a small one. she bade her stay a little, and she would readily fetch one. the sister-in-law did so, but as she knew ali baba's poverty, she was curious to know what sort of grain his wife wanted to measure, and artfully putting some suet at the bottom of the measure, brought it to her with an excuse, that she was sorry that she had made her stay so long, but that she could not find it sooner. ali baba's wife went home, set the measure upon the heap of gold, filled it and emptied it often upon the sofa, till she had done: when she was very well satisfied to find the number of measures amounted to so many as they did, and went to tell her husband, who had almost finished digging the hole. while ali baba was burying the gold, his wife, to shew her exactness and diligence to her sister-in-law, carried the measure back again, but without taking notice that a piece of gold had stuck to the bottom. "sister," said she, giving it to her again, "you see that i have not kept your measure long; i am obliged to you for it, and return it with thanks." as soon as ali baba's wife was gone, cassim's looked at the bottom of the measure, and was in inexpressible surprise to find a piece of gold stuck to it. envy immediately possessed her breast. "what!" said she, "has ali baba gold so plentiful as to measure it? where has that poor wretch got all this wealth?" cassim, her husband, was not at home, but at his counting-house, which he left always in the evening. his wife waited for him, and thought the time an age; so great was her impatience to tell him the circumstance, at which she guessed he would be as much surprised as herself. when cassim came home, his wife said to him, "cassim, i know you think yourself rich, but you are much mistaken; ali baba is infinitely richer than you; he does not count his money but measures it." cassim desired her to explain the riddle, which she did, by telling him the stratagem she had used to make the discovery, and shewed him the piece of money, which was so old that they could not tell in what prince's reign it was coined. cassim, instead of being pleased, conceived a base envy at his brother's prosperity; he could not sleep all that night, and went to him in the morning before sun-rise. cassim, after he had married the rich widow, had never treated ali baba as a brother, but neglected him. "all baba," said he, accosting him, "you are very reserved in your affairs; you pretend to be miserably poor, and yet you measure gold." "how, brother?" replied ali baba; "i do not know what you mean: explain yourself." "do not pretend ignorance," replied cassim, shewing him the piece of gold his wife had given him. "how many of these pieces," added he, "have you? my wife found this at the bottom of the measure you borrowed yesterday." by this discourse, ali baba perceived that cassim and his wife, through his own wife's folly, knew what they had so much reason to conceal; but what was done could not be recalled; therefore, without shewing the least surprise or trouble, he confessed all, told his brother by what chance he had discovered this retreat of the thieves, in what place it was; and offered him part of his treasure to keep the secret. "i expect as much," replied cassim haughtily; "but i must know exactly where this treasure is, and how i may visit it myself when i choose; otherwise i will go and inform against you, and then you will not only get no more, but will lose all you have, and i shall have a share for my information." ali baba, more out of his natural good temper, than frightened by the insulting menaces of his unnatural brother, told him all he desired, and even the very words he was to use to gain admission into the cave. cassim, who wanted no more of ali baba, left him, resolving to be beforehand with him, and hoping to get all the treasure to himself. he rose the next morning, long before the sun, and set out for the forest with ten mules bearing great chests, which he designed to fill; and followed the road which ali baba had pointed out to him. he was not long before he reached the rock, and found out the place by the tree, and other marks which his brother had given him. when he reached the entrance of the cavern, he pronounced the words, "open, sesame," the door immediately opened, and when he was in, closed upon him. in examining the cave, he was in great admiration to find much more riches than he had apprehended from ali baba's relation. he was so covetous, and greedy of wealth, that he could have spent the whole day in feasting his eyes with so much treasure, if the thought that he came to carry some away had not hindered him. he laid as many bags of gold as he could carry at the door of the cavern, but his thoughts were so full of the great riches he should possess, that he could not think of the necessary word to make it open, but instead of sesame, said "open, barley," and was much amazed to find that the door remained fast shut. he named several sorts of grain, but still the door would not open. cassim had never expected such an incident, and was so alarmed at the danger he was in, that the more he endeavoured to remember the word sesame, the more his memory was confounded, and he had as much forgotten it as if he had never heard it mentioned. he threw down the bags he had loaded himself with, and walked distractedly up and down the cave, without having the least regard to the riches that were round him. about noon the robbers chanced to visit their cave, and at some distance from it saw cassim's mules straggling about the rock, with great chests on their backs. alarmed at this novelty, they galloped full speed to the cave. they drove away the mules, which cassim had neglected to fasten, and they strayed through the forest so far, that they were soon out of sight. the robbers never gave themselves the trouble to pursue them, being more concerned to know who they belonged to. and while some of them searched about the rock, the captain and the rest went directly to the door, with their naked sabres in their hands, and pronouncing the proper words, it opened. cassim, who heard the noise of the horses' feet from the middle of the cave, never doubted of the arrival of the robbers, and his approaching death; but was resolved to make one effort to escape from them. to this end he rushed to the door, and no sooner heard the word sesame, which he had forgotten, and saw the door open, than he ran out and threw the leader down, but could not escape the other robbers, who with their sabres soon deprived him of life. the first care of the robbers after this was to examine the cave. they found all the bags which cassim had brought to the door, to be ready to load his mules, and carried them again to their places, without missing what ali baba had taken away before. then holding a council, and deliberating upon this occurrence, they guessed that cassim, when he was in, could not get out again; but could not imagine how he had entered. it came into their heads that he might have got down by the top of the cave; but the aperture by which it received light was so high, and the rock so inaccessible without, besides that nothing shewed that he had done so, that they gave up this conjecture. that he came in at the door they could not believe however, unless he had the secret of making it open. in short, none of them could imagine which way he had entered; for they were all persuaded nobody knew their secret, little imagining that ali baba had watched them. it was a matter of the greatest importance to them to secure their riches. they agreed therefore to cut cassim's body into four quarters, to hang two on one side and two on the other, within the door of the cave, to terrify any person who should attempt the same thing, determining not to return to the cave till the stench of the body was completely exhaled. they had no sooner taken this resolution than they put it in execution, and when they had nothing more to detain them, left the place of their hoards well closed. they mounted their horses, went to beat the roads again, and to attack the caravans they might meet. in the mean time, cassim's wife was very uneasy when night came, and her husband was not returned. she ran to ali baba in alarm, and said, "i believe, brother-in-law, that you know cassim, your brother, is gone to the forest, and upon what account; it is now night, and he is not returned; i am afraid some misfortune has happened to him." ali baba, who had expected that his brother, after what he had said, would go to the forest, had declined going himself that day, for fear of giving him any umbrage; therefore told her, without any reflection upon her husband's unhandsome behaviour, that she need not frighten herself, for that certainly cassim would not think it proper to come into the town till the night should be pretty far advanced. cassim's wife, considering how much it concerned her husband to keep the business secret, was the more easily persuaded to believe her brother-in-law. she went home again, and waited patiently till midnight. then her fear redoubled, and her grief was the more sensible because she was forced to keep it to herself. she repented of her foolish curiosity, and cursed her desire of penetrating into the affairs of her brother and sister-in-law. she spent all the night in weeping; and as soon as it was day, went to them, telling them, by her tears, the cause of her coming. ali baba did not wait for his sister-in-law to desire him to go to see what was become of cassim, but departed immediately with his three asses, begging of her first to moderate her affliction. he went to the forest, and when he came near the rock, having seen neither his brother nor the mules in his way, was seriously alarmed at finding some blood spilt near the door, which he took for an ill omen; but when he had pronounced the word, and the door had opened, he was struck with horror at the dismal sight of his brother's quarters. he was not long in determining how he should pay the last dues to his brother, but without adverting to the little fraternal affection he had shown for him, went into the cave, to find something to enshroud his remains, and having loaded one of his asses with them, covered them over with wood. the other two asses he loaded with bags of gold, covering them with wood also as before; and then bidding the door shut, came away; but was so cautious as to stop some time at the end of the forest, that he might not go into the town before night. when he came home, he drove the two asses loaded with gold into his little yard, and left the care of unloading them to his wife, while he led the other to his sister-in-law's house. ali baba knocked at the door, which was opened by morgiana, an intelligent slave, fruitful in inventions to insure success in the most difficult undertakings: and ali baba knew her to be such. when he came into the court, he unloaded the ass, and taking morgiana aside, said to her, "the first thing i ask of you is an inviolable secrecy, which you will find is necessary both for your mistress's sake and mine. your master's body is contained in these two bundles, and our business is, to bury him as if he had died a natural death. go, tell your mistress i want to speak with her; and mind what i have said to you." morgiana went to her mistress, and ali baba followed her. "well, brother," said she, with great impatience, "what news do you bring me of my husband? i perceive no comfort in your countenance." "sister," answered ali baba, "i cannot satisfy your inquiries unless you hear my story from the beginning to the end, without speaking a word; for it is of as great importance to you as to me to keep what has happened secret." "alas!" said she, "this preamble lets me know that my husband is not to be found; but at the same time i know the necessity of the secrecy you require, and i must constrain myself: say on, i will hear you." ali baba then detailed the incidents of his journey, till he came to the finding of cassim's body. "now," said he, "sister, i have something to relate which will afflict you the more, because it is perhaps what you so little expect; but it cannot now be remedied; if my endeavours can comfort you, i offer to put that which god hath sent me to what you have, and marry you: assuring you that my wife will not be jealous, and that we shall live happily together. if this proposal is agreeable to you, we mast think of acting so as that my brother should appear to have died a natural death. i think you may leave the management of the business to morgiana, and i will contribute all that lies in my power to your consolation." what could cassim's widow do better than accept of this proposal? for though her first husband had left behind him a plentiful substance, his brother was now much richer, and by the discovery of this treasure might be still more so. instead, therefore, of rejecting the offer, she regarded it as the sure means of comfort; and drying up her tears, which had begun to flow abundantly, and suppressing the outcries usual with women who have lost their husbands, shewed ali baba that she approved of his proposal. ali baba left the widow, recommended to morgiana to act her part well, and then returned home with his ass. morgiana went out at the same time to an apothecary, and asked for a sort of lozenges, which he prepared, and were very efficacious in the most dangerous disorders. the apothecary inquired who was ill at her master's? she replied with a sigh, "her good master cassim himself: that they knew not what his disorder was, but that he could neither eat nor speak." after these words, morgiana carried the lozenges home with her, and the next morning went to the same apothecary's again, and with tears in her eyes, asked for an essence which they used to give to sick people only when at the last extremity. "alas!" said she, taking it from the apothecary, "i am afraid that this remedy will have no better effect than the lozenges; and that i shall lose my good master." on the other hand, as ali baba and his wife were often seen to go between cassim's and their own house all that day, and to seem melancholy, nobody was surprised in the evening to hear the lamentable shrieks and cries of cassim's wife and morgiana, who gave out every where that her master was dead. the next morning, soon after day appeared, morgiana, who knew a certain old cobbler that opened his stall early, before other people, went to him, and bidding him good morrow, put a piece of gold into his hand. "well," said baba mustapha, which was his name, and who was a merry old fellow, looking at the gold, though it was hardly day-light, and seeing what it was, "this is good hansel: what must i do for it? i am ready." "baba mustapha," said morgiana, "you must take with you your sewing tackle, and go with me; but i must tell you, i shall blindfold you when you come to such a place." baba mustapha seemed to hesitate a little at these words. "oh! oh!" replied he, "you would have me do something against my conscience, or against my honour?" "god forbid!" said morgiana, putting another piece of gold into his hand, "that i should ask any thing that is contrary to your honour; only come along with me, and fear nothing." baba mustapha went with morgiana, who, after she had bound his eyes with a handkerchief at the place she had mentioned, conveyed him to her deceased master's house, and never unloosed his eyes till he had entered the room where she had put the corpse together. "baba mustapha," said she, "you must make haste and sew these quarters together; and when you have done, i will give you another piece of gold." after baba mustapha had finished his task, she blindfolded him again, gave him the third piece of gold as she had promised, and recommending secrecy to him, carried him back to the place where she first bound his eyes, pulled off the bandage, and let him go home, but watched him that he returned towards his stall, till he was quite out of sight, for fear he should have the curiosity to return and dodge her; she then went home. by the time morgiana had warmed some water to wash the body, ali baba came with incense to embalm it, after which it was sewn up in a winding sheet. not long after, the joiner, according to ali baba's orders, brought the bier, which morgiana received at the door, and helped ali baba to put the body into it; when she went to the mosque to inform the imaum that they were ready. the people of the mosque, whose business it was to wash the dead, offered to perform their duty, but she told them that it was done already. morgiana had scarcely got home before the imaum and the other ministers of the mosque arrived. four neighbours carried the corpse on their shoulders to the burying-ground, following the imaum, who recited some prayers. morgiana, as a slave to the deceased, followed the corpse, weeping, beating her breast, and tearing her hair: and ali baba came after with some neighbours, who often relieved the others in carrying the corpse to the burying-ground. cassim's wife stayed at home mourning, uttering lamentable cries with the women of the neighbourhood, who came according to custom during the funeral, and joining their lamentations with hers, filled the quarter far and near with sorrow. in this manner cassim's melancholy death was concealed, and hushed up between ali baba, his wife, cassim's widow, and morgiana, with so much contrivance, that nobody in the city had the least knowledge or suspicion of the cause of it. three or four days after the funeral, ali baba removed his few goods openly to the widow's house; but the money he had taken from the robbers he conveyed thither by night; soon after the marriage with his sister-in-law was published, and as these marriages are common, nobody was surprised. as for cassim's warehouse, ali baba gave it to his own eldest son, promising that if he managed it well, he would soon give him a fortune to marry very advantageously according to his situation. let us now leave ali baba to enjoy the beginning of his good fortune, and return to the forty robbers. they came again at the appointed time to visit their retreat in the forest; but great was their surprise to find cassim's body taken away, with some of their bags of gold. "we are certainly discovered," said the captain, "and if we do not speedily apply some remedy, shall gradually lose all the riches which our ancestors and ourselves have, with so much pains and danger, been so many years amassing together. all that we can think of the loss which we have sustained is, that the thief whom we surprised had the secret of opening the door, and we came luckily as he was coming out: but his body being removed, and with it some of our money, plainly shews that he had an accomplice; and as it is likely that there were but two who had discovered our secret, and one has been caught, we must look narrowly after the other. what say you, my lads?" all the robbers thought the captain's proposal so advisable, that they unanimously approved of it, and agreed that they must lay all other enterprises aside, to follow this closely, and not give it up till they had succeeded. "i expected no less," said the captain, "from your fidelity to our cause: but, first of all, one of you who is bold, artful, and enterprising, must go into the town, disguised as a traveller and a stranger, to try if he can hear any talk of the strange death of the man whom we have killed, as he deserved; and endeavour to find out who he was, and where he lived. this is a matter of the first importance for us to ascertain, that we may do nothing which we may have reason to repent of, by discovering ourselves in a country where we have lived so long unknown, and where we have so much reason to continue: but to warn him who shall take upon himself this commission, and to prevent our being deceived by his giving us a false report, which may be the cause of our ruin; i ask you all, if you do not think that in case of treachery, or even error of judgment, he should suffer death?" without waiting for the suffrages of his companions, one of the robbers started up, and said, "i submit to this condition, and think it an honour to expose my life, by taking the commission upon me; but remember, at least, if i do not succeed, that i neither wanted courage nor good will to serve the troop." after this robber had received great commendations from the captain and his comrades, he disguised himself so that nobody would take him for what he was; and taking his leave of the troop that night, went into the town just at day-break; and walked up and down, till accidentally he came to baba mustapha's stall, which was always open before any of the shops. baba mustapha was seated with an awl in his hand, just going to work. the robber saluted him, bidding him good morrow; and perceiving that he was old, said, "honest man, you begin to work very early: is it possible that one of your age can see so well? i question, even if it were somewhat lighter, whether you could see to stitch." "certainly," replied baba mustapha, "you must be a stranger, and do not know me; for old as i am, i have extraordinary good eyes; and you will not doubt it when i tell you that i sewed a dead body together in a place where i had not so much light as i have now." the robber was overjoyed to think that he had addressed himself, at his first coming into the town, to a man who in all probability could give him the intelligence he wanted. "a dead body!" replied he with affected amazement, to make him explain himself. "what could you sew up a dead body for? you mean, you sewed up his winding sheet." "no, no," answered baba mustapha, "i perceive your meaning; you want to have me speak out, but you shall know no more." the robber wanted no farther assurance to be persuaded that he had discovered what he sought. he pulled out a piece of gold, and putting it into baba mustapha's hand, said to him, "i do not want to learn your secret, though i can assure you i would not divulge it, if you trusted me with it. the only thing which i desire of you is, to do me the favour to shew me the house where you stitched up the dead body." "if i were disposed to do you that favour," replied baba mustapha, holding the money in his hand, ready to return it, "i assure you i cannot; and you may believe me, on my word. i was taken to a certain place, where i was blinded, i was then led to the house, and afterwards brought back again in the same manner; you see, therefore, the impossibility of my doing what you desire." "well," replied the robber, "you may, however, remember a little of the way that you were led blindfolded. come, let me blind your eyes at the same place. we will walk together; perhaps you may recognize some part; and as every body ought to be paid for their trouble, there is another piece of gold for you; gratify me in what i ask you." so saying, he put another piece of gold into his hand. the two pieces of gold were great temptations to baba mustapha. he looked at them a long time in his hand, without saying a word, thinking with himself what he should do; but at last he pulled out his purse, and put them in. "i cannot assure you," said he to the robber, "that i can remember the way exactly; but since you desire, i will try what i can do." at these words baba mustapha rose up, to the great joy of the robber, and without shutting his shop, where he had nothing valuable to lose, he led the robber to the place where morgiana had bound his eyes. "it was here," said baba mustapha, "i was blindfolded; and i turned as you see me." the robber, who had his handkerchief ready, tied it over his eyes, walked by him till he stopped, partly leading, and partly guided by him. "i think," said baba mustapha, "i went no farther," and he had now stopped directly at cassim's house, where ali baba then lived. the thief, before he pulled off the band, marked the door with a piece of chalk, which he had ready in his hand; and then asked him if he knew whose house that was? to which baba mustapha replied, that as he did not live in that neighbourhood he could not tell. the robber, finding he could discover no more from baba mustapha, thanked him for the trouble he had taken, and left him to go back to his stall, while he returned to the forest, persuaded that he should be very well received. a little after the robber and baba mustapha had parted, morgiana went out of ali baba's house upon some errand, and upon her return, seeing the mark the robber had made, stopped to observe it. "what can be the meaning of this mark?" said she to herself; "somebody intends my master no good: however, with whatever intention it was done, it is advisable to guard against the worst." accordingly, she fetched a piece of chalk, and marked two or three doors on each side, in the same manner, without saying a word to her master or mistress. in the mean time the thief rejoined his troop in the forest, and recounted to them his success; expatiating upon his good fortune, in meeting so soon with the only person who could inform him of what he wanted to know. all the robbers listened to him with the utmost satisfaction; when the captain, after commending his diligence, addressing himself to them all, said, "comrades, we have no time to lose: let us set off well armed, without its appearing who we are; but that we may not excite any suspicion, let only one or two go into the town together, and join at our rendezvous, which shall be the great square. in the mean time our comrade, who brought us the good news, and i, will go and find out the house, that we may consult what had best be done." this speech and plan were approved of by all, and they were soon ready. they filed off in parties of two each, after some interval of time, and got into the town without being in the least suspected. the captain and he who had visited the town in the morning as spy, came in the last. he led the captain into the street where he had marked ali baba's residence; and when they came to the first of the houses which morgiana had marked, he pointed it out. but the captain observed that the next door was chalked in the same manner, and in the same place; and shewing it to his guide, asked him which house it was, that, or the first? the guide was so confounded, that he knew not what answer to make; but still more puzzled, when he and the captain saw five or six houses similarly marked. he assured the captain, with an oath, that he had marked but one, and could not tell who had chalked the rest, so that he could not distinguish the house which the cobbler had stopped at. the captain, finding that their design had proved abortive, went directly to the place of rendezvous, and told the first of his troops whom he met that they had lost their labour, and must return to their cave. he himself set them the example, and they all returned as they had come. when the troop was all got together, the captain told them the reason of their returning; and presently the conductor was declared by all worthy of death. he condemned himself, acknowledging that he ought to have taken better precaution, and prepared to receive the stroke from him who was appointed to cut off his head. but as the safety of the troop required that an injury should not go unpunished, another of the gang, who promised himself that he should succeed better, presented himself, and his offer being accepted, he went and corrupted baba mustapha, as the other had done; and being shewn the house, marked it in a place more remote from sight, with red chalk. not long after morgiana, whose eyes nothing could escape, went out, and seeing the red chalk, and arguing with herself as she had done before, marked the other neighbours' houses in the same place and manner. the robber, at his return to his company, valued himself much on the precaution he had taken, which he looked upon as an infallible way of distinguishing ali baba's house from the others; and the captain and all of them thought it must succeed. they conveyed themselves into the town with the same precaution as before; but when the robber and his captain came to the street, they found the same difficulty; at which the captain was enraged, and the robber in as great confusion as his predecessor. thus the captain and his troop were forced to retire a second time, and much more dissatisfied; while the robber, who had been the author of the mistake, underwent the same punishment; which he willingly submitted to. the captain, having lost two brave fellows of his troop, was afraid of diminishing it too much by pursuing this plan to get information of the residence of their plunderer. he found by their example that their heads were not so good as their hands on such occasions; and therefore resolved to take upon himself the important commission. accordingly he went and addressed himself to baba mustapha, who did him the same service he had done to the other robbers. he did not set any particular mark on the house, but examined and observed it so carefully, by passing often by it, that it was impossible for him to mistake it. the captain, well satisfied with his attempt, and informed of what he wanted to know, returned to the forest; and when he came into the cave, where the troop waited for him, said, "now, comrades, nothing can prevent our full revenge, as i am certain of the house, and in my way hither i have thought how to put it into execution, but if any one can form a better expedient, let him communicate it." he then told them his contrivance; and as they approved of it, ordered them to go into the villages about, and buy nineteen mules, with thirty-eight large leather jars, one full of oil, and the others empty. in two or three days' time the robbers had purchased the mules and jars, and as the mouths of the jars were rather too narrow for his purpose, the captain caused them to be widened; and after having put one of his men into each, with the weapons which he thought fit, leaving open the seam which had been undone to leave them room to breathe, he rubbed the jars on the outside with oil from the full vessel. things being thus prepared, when the nineteen mules were loaded with thirty-seven robbers in jars, and the jar of oil, the captain, as their driver, set out with them, and reached the town by the dusk of the evening, as he had intended. he led them through the streets till he came to ali baba's, at whose door he designed to have knocked; but was prevented by his sitting there after supper to take a little fresh air. he stopped his mules, addressed himself to him, and said, "i have brought some oil a great way, to sell at to-morrow's market; and it is now so late that i do not know where to lodge. if i should not be troublesome to you, do me the favour to let me pass the night with you, and i shall be very much obliged by your hospitality." though ali baba had seen the captain of the robbers in the forest, and had heard him speak, it was impossible to know him in the disguise of an oil-merchant. he told him he should be welcome, and immediately opened his gates for the mules to go into the yard. at the same time he called to a slave, and ordered him, when the mules were unloaded, not only to put them into the stable, but to give them fodder; and then went to morgiana, to bid her get a good supper for his guest. he did more. to make his guest as welcome as possible, when he saw the captain had unloaded his mules, and that they were put into the stables as he had ordered, and he was looking for a place to pass the night in the air, he brought him into the hall where he received his company, telling him he would not suffer him to be in the court. the captain excused himself on pretence of not being troublesome; but really to have room to execute his design, and it was not till after the most pressing importunity that he yielded. ali baba, not content to keep company with the man who had a design on his life till supper was ready, continued talking with him till it was ended, and repeating his offer of service. the captain rose up at the same time with his host; and while ali baba went to speak to morgiana he withdrew into the yard, under pretence of looking at his mules. ali baba, after charging morgiana afresh to take care of his guest, said to her, "to-morrow morning i design to go to the bath before day; take care my bathing-linen be ready, give them to abdoollah," which was the slave's name, "and make me some good broth against i return." after this he went to bed. in the mean time the captain of the robbers went from the stable to give his people orders what to do; and beginning at the first jar, and so on to the last, said to each man: "as soon as i throw some stones out of the chamber window where i lie, do not fail to cut the jar open with the knife you have about you for the purpose, and come out, and i will immediately join you." after this he returned into the house, when morgiana taking up a light, conducted him to his chamber, where she left him; and he, to avoid any suspicion, put the light out soon after, and laid himself down in his clothes, that he might be the more ready to rise. morgiana, remembering ali baba's orders, got his bathing-linen ready, and ordered abdoollah to set on the pot for the broth; but while she was preparing it, the lamp went out, and there was no more oil in the house, nor any candles. what to do she did not know, for the broth must be made. abdoollah seeing her very uneasy, said, "do not fret and teaze yourself, but go into the yard, and take some oil out of one of the jars." morgiana thanked abdoollah for his advice, took the oil-pot, and went into the yard; when as she came nigh the first jar, the robber within said softly, "is it time?" though the robber spoke low, morgiana was struck with the voice the more, because the captain, when he unloaded the mules, had taken the lids off this and all the other jars to give air to his men, who were ill enough at their ease, almost wanting room to breathe. as much surprised as morgiana naturally was at finding a man in a jar instead of the oil she wanted, many would have made such a noise as to have given an alarm, which would have been attended with fatal consequences; whereas morgiana comprehending immediately the importance of keeping silence, from the danger ali baba, his family, and herself were in, and the necessity of applying a speedy remedy without noise, conceived at once the means, and collecting herself without shewing the least emotions, answered, "not yet, but presently." she went in this manner to all the jars, giving the same answer, till she came to the jar of oil. by this means, morgiana found that her master ali baba, who thought that he had entertained an oil merchant, had admitted thirty-eight robbers into his house, regarding this pretended merchant as their captain. she made what haste she could to fill her oil-pot, and returned into her kitchen; where, as soon as she had lighted her lamp, she took a great kettle, went again to the oil-jar, filled the kettle, set it on a large wood-fire, and as soon as it boiled went and poured enough into every jar to stifle and destroy the robber within. when this action, worthy of the courage of morgiana, was executed without any noise, as she had projected, she returned into the kitchen with the empty kettle; and having put out the great fire she had made to boil the oil, and leaving just enough to make the broth, put out the lamp also, and remained silent; resolving not to go to rest till she had observed what might follow through a window of the kitchen, which opened into the yard. she had not waited long before the captain of the robbers got up, opened the window, and finding no light, and hearing no noise, or any one stirring in the house, gave the appointed signal, by throwing little stones, several of which hit the jars, as he doubted not by the sound they gave. he then listened, but not hearing or perceiving any thing, whereby he could judge that his companions stirred, he began to grow very uneasy, threw stones again a second and also a third time, and could not comprehend the reason that none of them should answer his signal. much alarmed, he went softly down into the yard, and going to the first jar, whilst asking the robber whom he thought alive if he was in readiness, smelt the hot boiled oil, which sent forth a steam out of the jar. hence he suspected that his plot to murder ali baba and plunder his house was discovered. examining all the jars one after another, he found that all his gang were dead; and by the oil he missed out of the last jar guessed the means and manner of their death. enraged to despair at having failed in his design, he forced the lock of a door that led from the yard to the garden, and climbing over the walls, made his escape. when morgiana heard no noise, and found, after waiting some time, that the captain did not return, she concluded that he had chosen rather to make his escape by the garden than the street-door, which was double locked. satisfied and pleased to have succeeded so well, in saving her master and family, she went to bed. ali baba rose before day, and, followed by his slave, went to the baths, entirely ignorant of the important event which had happened at home; for morgiana had not thought it safe to wake him before, for fear of losing her opportunity; and after her successful exploit she thought it needless to disturb him. when he returned from the baths, the sun was risen; he was very much surprised to see the oil-jars, and that the merchant was not gone with the mules. he asked morgiana, who opened the door, and had let all things stand as they were, that he might see them, the reason of it? "my good master," answered she, "god preserve you and all your family; you will be better informed of what you wish to know when you have seen what i have to shew you, if you will but give yourself the trouble to follow me." as soon as morgiana had shut the door, ali baba followed her; when she requested him to look into the first jar and see if there was any oil. ali baba did so, and seeing a man, started back in alarm, and cried out. "do not be afraid," said morgiana, "the man you see there can neither do you nor any body else any harm. he is dead." "ah, morgiana!" said ali baba, "what is it you shew me? explain yourself." "i will," replied morgiana; "moderate your astonishment, and do not excite the curiosity of your neighbours; for it is of great importance to keep this affair secret. look into all the other jars." ali baba examined all the other jars, one after another: and when he came to that which had the oil in, found it prodigiously sunk, and stood for some time motionless, sometimes looking at the jars, and sometimes at morgiana, without saying a word, so great was his surprise: at last, when he had recovered himself, he said, "and what is become of the merchant?" "merchant!" answered she, "he is as much one as i am; i will tell you who he is, and what is become of him; but you had better hear the story in your own chamber; for it is time for your health that you had your broth after your bathing." while ali baba retired to his chamber, morgiana went into the kitchen to fetch the broth, but before he would drink it, he first entreated her to satisfy his impatience, and tell him what had happened, with all the circumstances; and she obeyed him. "last night, sir," said she, "when you were gone to bed, i got your bathing-linens ready, and gave them to abdoollah; afterwards i set on the pot for the broth, but as i was preparing the materials, the lamp, for want of oil, went out; and as there was not a drop more in the house, i looked for a candle, but could not find one: abdoollah seeing me vexed, put me in mind of the jars of oil which stood in the yard. i took the oil-pot, went directly to the jar which stood nearest to me; and when i came to it, heard a voice within, saying, 'is it time?' without being dismayed, and comprehending immediately the malicious intention of the pretended oil-merchant, i answered, 'not yet, but presently.' i then went to the next, when another voice asked me the same question, and i returned the same answer; and so on, till i came to the last, which i found full of oil; with which i filled my pot. "when i considered that there were thirty seven robbers in the yard, who only waited for a signal to be given by the captain, whom you took to be an oil-merchant, and entertained so handsomely, i thought there was no time to be lost; i carried my pot of oil into the kitchen, lighted the lamp, afterwards took the biggest kettle i had, went and filled it full of oil, set it on the fire to boil, and then poured as much into each jar as was sufficient to prevent them from executing the pernicious design they had meditated: after this i retired into the kitchen, and put out the lamp; but before i went to bed, waited at the window to know what measures the pretended merchant would take. "after i had watched some time for the signal, he threw some stones out of the window against the jars, but neither hearing nor perceiving any body stirring, after throwing three times, he came down, when i saw him go to every jar, after which, through the darkness of the night, i lost sight of him. i waited some time longer, and finding that he did not return, doubted not but that, seeing he had missed his aim, he had made his escape over the walls of the garden. persuaded that the house was now safe, i went to bed. "this," said morgiana, "is the account you asked of me; and i am convinced it is the consequence of what i observed some days ago, but did not think fit to acquaint you with: for when i came in one morning early, i found our street door marked with white chalk, and the next morning with red; upon which, both times, without knowing what was the intention of those chalks, i marked two or three neighbours' doors on each side in the same manner. if you reflect on this, and what has since happened, you will find it to be a plot of the robbers of the forest, of whose gang there are two wanting, and now they are reduced to three: all this shews that they had sworn your destruction, and it is proper you should be upon your guard, while there is one of them alive: for my part i shall neglect nothing necessary to your preservation, as i am in duty bound." when morgiana had left off speaking, ali baba was so sensible of the great service she had done him, that he said to her, "i will not die without rewarding you as you deserve: i owe my life to you, and for the first token of my acknowledgment, give you your liberty from this moment, till i can complete your recompense as i intend. i am persuaded with you, that the forty robbers have laid snares for my destruction. god, by your means, has delivered me from them as yet, and i hope will continue to preserve me from their wicked designs, and by averting the danger which threatened me, will deliver the world from their persecution and their cursed race. all that we have to do is to bury the bodies of these pests of mankind immediately, and with all the secrecy imaginable, that nobody may suspect what is become of them. but that labour abdoollah and i will undertake." ali baba's garden was very long, and shaded at the farther end by a great number of large trees. under these he and the slave dug a trench, long and wide enough to hold all the robbers, and as the earth was light, they were not long in doing it. afterwards they lifted the bodies out of the jars, took away their weapons, carried them to the end of the garden, laid them in the trench, and levelled the ground again. when this was done, ali baba hid the jars and weapons; and as he had no occasion for the mules, he sent them at different times to be sold in the market by his slave. while ali baba took these measures to prevent the public from knowing how he came by his riches in so short a time, the captain of the forty robbers returned to the forest with inconceivable mortification; and in his agitation, or rather confusion, at his ill success, so contrary to what he had promised himself, entered the cave, not being able, all the way from the town, to come to any resolution how to revenge himself of ali baba. the loneliness of the gloomy cavern became frightful to him. "where are you, my brave lads," cried he, "old companions of my watchings, inroads, and labour? what can i do without you? did i collect you only to lose you by so base a fate, and so unworthy of your courage! had you died with your sabres in your hands, like brave men, my regret had been less! when shall i enlist so gallant a troop again? and if i could, can i undertake it without exposing so much gold and treasure to him who hath already enriched himself out of it? i cannot, i ought not to think of it, before i have taken away his life. i will undertake that alone which i could not accomplish with your powerful assistance; and when i have taken measures to secure this treasure from being pillaged, i will provide for it new masters and successors after me, who shall preserve and augment it to all posterity." this resolution being taken, he was not at a loss how to execute his purpose; but easy in his mind, and full of hopes, slept all that night very quietly. when he awoke early next morning, he dressed himself, agreeably to the project he had formed, went to the town, and took a lodging in a khan. as he expected what had happened at ali baba's might make a great noise, he asked his host what news there was in the city? upon which the inn-keeper told him a great many circumstances, which did not concern him in the least. he judged by this, that the reason why ali baba kept his affairs so secret, was for fear people should know where the treasure lay; and because he knew his life would be sought on account of it. this urged him the more to neglect nothing to rid himself of so cautious an enemy. the captain now assumed the character of a merchant, and conveyed gradually a great many sorts of rich stuffs and fine linen to his lodging from the cavern, but with all the necessary precautions imaginable to conceal the place whence he brought them. in order to dispose of the merchandizes, when he had amassed them together, he took a warehouse, which happened to be opposite to cassim's, which ali baba's son had occupied since the death of his uncle. he took the name of khaujeh houssain, and as a new-comer, was, according to custom, extremely civil and complaisant to all the merchants his neighbours. ali baba's son was from his vicinity one of the first to converse with khaujeh houssain, who strove to cultivate his friendship more particularly, when, two or three days after he was settled, he recognized ali baba, who came to see his son, and stopped to talk with him as he was accustomed to do. when he was gone, the impostor learnt from his son who he was. he increased his assiduities, caressed him in the most engaging manner, made him some small presents, and often asked him to dine and sup with him; when he treated him very handsomely. ali baba's son did not choose to lie under such obligation to khaujeh houssain, without making the like return; but was so much straitened for want of room in his house, that he could not entertain him so well as he wished; he therefore acquainted his father ali baba with his intention, and told him that it did not look well for him to receive such favours from khaujeh houssain, without inviting him in return. ali baba, with great pleasure, took the treat upon himself. "son," said he, "to-morrow being friday, which is a day that the shops of such great merchants as khaujeh houssain and yourself are shut, get him to take a walk with you, and as you come back, pass by my door, and call in. it will look better to have it happen accidentally, than if you gave him a formal invitation. i will go and order morgiana to provide a supper." the next day ali baba's son and khaujeh houssain met by appointment, took their walk, and as they returned, ali baba's son led khaujeh houssain through the street where his father lived; and when they came to the house, stopped and knocked at the door. "this, sir," said he, "is my father's house; who, from the account i have given him of your friendship, charged me to procure him the honour of your acquaintance; and i desire you to add this pleasure to those for which i am already indebted to you." though it was the sole aim of khaujeh houssain to introduce himself into ali baba's house, that he might kill him without hazarding his own life or making any noise; yet he excused himself, and offered to take his leave. but a slave having opened the door, ali baba's son took him obligingly by the hand, and in a manner forced him in. ali baba received khaujeh houssain with a smiling countenance, and in the most obliging manner he could wish. he thanked him for all the favours he had done his son; adding withal, the obligation was the greater, as he was a young man not much acquainted with the world, and that he might contribute to his information. khaujeh houssain returned the compliment, by assuring ali baba, that though his son might not have acquired the experience of older men, he had good sense equal to the experience of many others. after a little more conversation on different subjects, he offered again to take his leave; when ali baba, stopping him, said, "where are you going, sir, in so much haste? i beg you would do me the honour to sup with me, though what i have to give you is not worth your acceptance; but such as it is, i hope you will accept it as heartily as i give it." "sir," replied khaujeh houssain, "i am thoroughly persuaded of your good-will; and if i ask the favour of you not to take it ill that i do not accept your obliging invitation, i beg of you to believe that it does not proceed from any slight or intention to affront, but from a reason which you would approve if you knew it." "and what may that reason be, sir," replied ali baba, "if i may be so bold as to ask you?" "it is," answered khaujeh houssain, "that i can eat no victuals that have any salt in them; therefore judge how i should feel at your table." "if that is the only reason," said ali baba, "it ought not to deprive me of the honour of your company at supper; for, in the first place, there is no salt ever put into my bread, and as to the meat we shall have to-night, i promise you there shall be none in that. therefore you must do me the favour to stay. i will return immediately." ali baba went into the kitchen, and ordered morgiana to put no salt to the meat that was to be dressed that night; and to make quickly two or three ragouts besides what he had ordered, but be sure to put no salt in them. morgiana, who was always ready to obey her master, could not help, this time, seeming somewhat dissatisfied at his strange order. "who is this difficult man," said she, "who eats no salt with his meat? your supper will be spoiled, if i keep it back so long." "do not be angry, morgiana," replied ali baba: "he is an honest man; therefore do as i bid you." morgiana obeyed, though with no little reluctance, and had a curiosity to see this man who ate no salt. to this end, when she had finished what she had to do in the kitchen, she helped abdoollah to carry up the dishes; and looking at khaujeh houssain, knew him at first sight, notwithstanding his disguise, to be the captain of the robbers, and examining him very carefully, perceived that he had a dagger under his garment. "i am not in the least amazed," said she to herself, "that this wicked wretch, who is my master's greatest enemy, would eat no salt with him, since he intends to assassinate him; but i will prevent him". morgiana, while they were eating, made the necessary preparations for executing one of the boldest acts ever meditated, and had just determined, when abdoollah came for the dessert of fruit, which she carried up, and as soon as abdoollah had taken the meat away, set it upon the table; after that, she placed three glasses by ali baba, and going out, took abdoollah with her to sup, and to give ali baba the more liberty of conversation with his guest. khaujeh houssain, or rather the captain of the robbers, thought he had now a favourable opportunity of being revenged on ali baba. "i will," said he to himself, "make the father and son both drunk: the son, whose life i intend to spare, will not be able to prevent my stabbing his father to the heart; and while the slaves are at supper, or asleep in the kitchen, i can make my escape over the gardens as before." instead of going to supper, morgiana, who had penetrated the intentions of the counterfeit khaujeh houssain, would not give him time to put his villanous design into execution, but dressed herself neatly with a suitable head-dress like a dancer, girded her waist with a silver-gilt girdle, to which there hung a poniard with a hilt and guard of the same metal, and put a handsome mask on her face. when she had thus disguised herself, she said to abdoollah, "take your tabor, and let us go and divert our master and his son's guest, as we do sometimes when he is alone." abdoollah took his tabor and played all the way into the hall before morgiana, who, when she came to the door, made a low obeisance, with a deliberate air, in order to draw attention, and by way of asking leave to exhibit her skill. abdoollah, seeing that his master had a mind to say something, left off playing. "come in, morgiana," said ali baba, "and let khaujeh houssain see what you can do, that he may tell us what he thinks of you." "but, sir," said he, turning towards his guest, "do not think that i put myself to any expense to give you this diversion, since these are my slave and my cook and housekeeper; and i hope you will not find the entertainment they give us disagreeable." khaujeh houssain, who did not expect this diversion after supper, began to fear he should not be able to improve the opportunity he thought he had found; but hoped, if he now missed his aim, to secure it another time, by keeping up a friendly correspondence with the father and son; therefore, though he could have wished ali baba would have declined the dance, he pretended to be obliged to him for it, and had the complaisance to express his satisfaction at what he saw pleased his host. as soon as abdoollah saw that ali baba and khaujeh houssain had done talking, he began to play on the tabor, and accompanied it with an air; to which morgiana, who was an excellent performer, danced in such a manner as would have created admiration in any other company besides that before which she now exhibited, among whom, perhaps, none but the false khaujeh houssain was in the least attentive to her, the rest having seen her so frequently. after she had danced several dances with equal propriety and grace, she drew the poniard, and holding it in her hand, began a dance, in which she outdid herself, by the many different figures, light movements, and the surprising leaps and wonderful exertions with which she accompanied it. sometimes she presented the poniard to one's breast, sometimes to another's, and oftentimes seeming to strike her own. at last, as if she was out of breath, she snatched the tabor from abdoollah with her left hand, and holding the dagger in her right, presented the other side of the tabor, after the manner of those who get a livelihood by dancing, and solicit the liberality of the spectators. ali baba put a piece of gold into the tabor, as did also his son; and khaujeh houssain seeing that she was coming to him, had pulled his purse out of his bosom to make her a present; but while he was putting his hand into it, morgiana, with a courage and resolution worthy of herself, plunged the poniard into his heart. ali baba and his son, shocked at this action, cried out aloud. "unhappy wretch!" exclaimed ali baba, "what have you done to ruin me and my family?" "it was to preserve, not to ruin you," answered morgiana; "for see here," continued she (opening the pretended khaujeh houssain's garment, and shewing the dagger), "what an enemy you had entertained! look well at him, and you will find him to be both the fictitious oil-merchant, and the captain of the gang of forty robbers. remember, too, that he would eat no salt with you; and what would you have more to persuade you of his wicked design? before i saw him i suspected him as soon as you told me you had such a guest. i knew him, and you now find that my suspicion was not groundless." ali baba, who immediately felt the new obligation he had to morgiana for saving his life a second time, embraced her: "morgiana," said he, "i gave you your liberty, and then promised you that my gratitude should not stop there, but that i would soon give you higher proofs of its sincerity, which i now do by making you my daughter-in-law." then addressing himself to his son, he said, "i believe you, son, to be so dutiful a child, that you will not refuse morgiana for your wife. you see that khaujeh houssain sought your friendship with a treacherous design to take away my life; and, if he had succeeded, there is no doubt but he would have sacrificed you also to his revenge. consider, that by marrying morgiana you marry the preserver of my family and your own." the son, far from shewing any dislike, readily consented to the marriage; not only because he would not disobey his father, but also because it was agreeable to his inclination. after this, they thought of burying the captain of the robbers with his comrades, and did it so privately that nobody discovered their bones till many years after, when no one had any concern in the publication of this remarkable history. a few days afterwards, ali baba celebrated the nuptials of his son and morgiana with great solemnity, a sumptuous feast, and the usual dancing and spectacles; and had the satisfaction to see that his friends and neighbours, whom he invited, had no knowledge of the true motives of the marriage; but that those who were not unacquainted with morgiana's good qualities commended his generosity and goodness of heart. ali baba forbore, after this marriage, from going again to the robbers' cave, as he had done from the time he had brought away his brother cassim's mangled remains, for fear of being surprised. he kept away after the death of the thirty-seven robbers and their captain, supposing the other two, whom he could get no account of, might be alive. at the year's end, when he found they had not made any attempt to disturb him, he had the curiosity to make another journey, taking the necessary precautions for his safety. he mounted his horse, and when he came to the cave, and saw no footsteps of men or horses, looked upon it as a good sign. he alighted, tied his horse to a tree, then approaching the entrance, and pronouncing the words, open, sesame, the door opened. he entered the cavern, and by the condition he found things in, judged that nobody had been there since the false khaujeh houssain, when he had fetched the goods for his shop, that the gang of forty robbers was completely destroyed, and no longer doubted that he was the only person in the world who had the secret of opening the cave, so that all the treasure was at his sole disposal. having brought with him a wallet, he put into it as much gold as his horse would carry, and returned to town. afterwards ali baba carried his son to the cave, taught him the secret, which they handed down to their posterity, who, using their good fortune with moderation, lived in great honour and splendour. the story of ali khaujeh, a merchant of bagdad. in the reign of the caliph haroon al rusheed, there lived at bagdad a merchant whose name was ali khaujeh, who was neither one of the richest nor poorest of his line. he was a bachelor, and lived in the house which had been his father's, independent and content with the profit he made by his trade. but happening to dream for three successive nights that a venerable old man came to him, and, with a severe look, reprimanded him for not having made a pilgrimage to mecca, he was much troubled. as a good mussulmaun, he knew he was obliged to undertake a pilgrimage; but as he had a house, shop, and goods, he had always believed that they might stand for a sufficient reason to excuse him, endeavouring by his charity, and other good works, to atone for that neglect. after this dream, however, his conscience was so much pricked, that the fear lest any misfortune should befall him made him resolve not to defer it any longer; and to be able to go that year, he sold off his household goods, his shop, and with it the greatest part of his merchandize, reserving only some articles, which he thought might turn to a better account at mecca; and meeting with a tenant for his house, let that also. his affairs being thus disposed, he was ready to depart when the bagdad caravan set out for mecca: the only thing he had to do was to lodge in some place of security a sum of a thousand pieces of gold, which would have been troublesome to carry with him, with the money he had set apart to defray his expenses on the road, and for other purposes. to this end, he made choice of a jar of a suitable size, put the thousand pieces of gold into it, and covered them over with olives. when he had closed the mouth of the jar, he carried it to a merchant, a particular friend of his, and said to him, "you know, brother, that in a few days i mean to depart with the caravan, on my pilgrimage to mecca. i beg the favour of you to take charge of a jar of olives, and keep it for me till i return." the merchant promised him he would, and in an obliging manner said, "here, take the key of my warehouse, and set your jar where you please. i promise you shall find it there when you return." on the day the caravan was to set out ali khaujeh joined it, with a camel loaded with what goods he had thought fit to carry, which also served him to ride on. he arrived safe at mecca, where he visited, with other pilgrims, the temple so much celebrated and frequented by the faithful of all nations every year, who came from all parts of the world, and observed religiously the ceremonies prescribed them. when he had acquitted himself of the duties of his pilgrimage, he exposed the merchandize he had brought with him for sale or barter, as might be most profitable. two merchants passing by, and seeing ali khaujeh's goods, thought them so choice, that they stopped some time to look at, though they had no occasion for them; and when they had satisfied their curiosity, one of them said to the other, as they were going away, "if this merchant knew to what profit these goods would turn at cairo he would carry them thither, and not sell them here, though this is a good mart." ali khaujeh heard these words; and as he had often heard talk of the beauties of egypt, he was resolved to take the opportunity of seeing them, by performing a journey thither. therefore, after having packed up his goods again, instead of returning to bagdad, he set out for egypt, with the caravan of cairo. when he came thither, he found his account in his journey, and in a few days sold all his goods to a greater advantage than he had hoped for. with the money he bought others, with an intent to go to damascus: and while he waited for the opportunity of a caravan, which was to depart in six weeks, visited all the curiosities of cairo, as also the pyramids, and sailing up the nile, viewed the famous towns on each side of that river. as the damascus caravan took jerusalem in their way, our bagdad merchant had the opportunity of visiting the temple, regarded by the mussulmauns to be the most holy, after that of mecca, whence this city takes its name of biel al mukkuddus, or most sacred mansion. ali khaujeh found damascus so delicious a place, being environed by verdant meadows, pleasantly watered, and delightful gardens, that it exceeded the descriptions given of it in the journals of travellers. here he made a long abode, but, nevertheless, did not forget his native bagdad: for which place he at length set out, and arrived at aleppo, where he made some stay; and from thence, after having passed the euphrates, he bent his course to moussoul, with an intention, in his return, to come by a shorter way down the tigris. when ali khaujeh came to moussoul, some persian merchants, with whom he had travelled from aleppo, and with whom he had contracted a great friendship, had obtained so great an influence over him by their civilities and agreeable conversation, that they easily persuaded him not to leave them till he should have visited sheerauz, from whence he might easily return to bagdad with a considerable profit. they led him through the towns of sultania, rei, coam, caschan, ispahan, and from thence to sheerauz; from whence he had the complaisance to bear them company to hindoostan, and then returned with them again to sheerauz; insomuch, that including the stay made in every town, he was seven years absent from bagdad, whither he then resolved to return. all this time his friend, with whom he had left his jar of olives, neither thought of him nor them; but at the time when he was on the road with a caravan from sheerauz, one evening as this merchant was supping with his family, the discourse happened to fall upon olives, and his wife was desirous to eat some, saying, she had not tasted any for a long while. "now you speak of olives," said the merchant, "you put me in mind of a jar which ali khaujeh left with me seven years ago, when he went to mecca; and put it himself in my warehouse to be kept for him against he returned. what is become of him i know not; though, when the caravan came back, they told me he was gone for egypt. certainly he must be dead, since he has not returned in all this time; and we may eat the olives, if they prove good. give me a plate and a candle, i will go and fetch some of them, and we will taste them." "for god's sake, husband," said the wife, "do not commit so base an action; you know that nothing is more sacred than what is committed to one's care and trust. you say ali khaujeh has left mecca, and is not returned; but you have been told that he is gone into egypt; and how do you know but that he may be gone farther? as you have no intelligence of his death, he may return to-morrow for any thing you can tell: and what a disgrace would it be to you and your family if he should come, and you not restore him his jar in the same condition he left it? i declare i have no desire for the olives, and will not taste them, for when i mentioned them it was only by way of conversation; besides, do you think that they can be good, after they have been kept so long? they most be all mouldy, and spoiled; and if ali khaujeh should return, as i have a strong persuasion he will, and should find they had been opened, what will he think of your honour? i beg of you to let them alone." the wife had not argued so long with her husband, but that she read his obstinacy in his face. in short, he never regarded what she said, but got up, took a candle and a plate, and went into the warehouse. "well, husband," said the wife again, "remember i have no hand in this business; and that you cannot lay any thing to my charge, if you should have cause to repent of your conduit." the merchant's ears were deaf to these remonstrances of his wife, and he persisted in his design. when he came into the warehouse, he opened the jar, and found the olives mouldy; but to see if they were all so to the bottom, he turned some of them upon the plate; and by shaking the jar, some of the gold tumbled out. at the sight of the gold, the merchant, who was naturally covetous, looked into the jar, perceived that he had shaken out almost all the olives, and what remained was gold coin. he immediately put the olives into the jar again, covered it up, and returned to his wife. "indeed, wife," said he, "you were in the right to say that the olives were all mouldy; for i found them so, and have made up the jar just as ali khaujeh left it; so that he will not perceive that they have been touched, if he should return." "you had better have taken my advice," said the wife, "and not have meddled with them. god grant no mischief happens in consequence!" the merchant was not more affected with his wife's last words than he had been by her former, but spent almost the whole night in thinking how he might appropriate ali khaujeh's gold to his own use, and keep possession of it in case he should return and ask him for the jar. the next morning he went and bought some olives of that year, took out the old with the gold, and filled the jar with the new, covered it up, and put it in the place where ali khaujeh had left it. about a month after the merchant had committed this unworthy action, ali khaujeh arrived at bagdad; and as he had let his house, alighted at a khan, choosing to stay there till he had announced his arrival to his tenant, and given him time to provide himself with another residence. the next morning ali khaujeh went to pay a visit to the merchant his friend, who received him in the most obliging manner; and expressed great joy at his return, after so many years absence; telling him, that he had begun to lose all hopes of ever seeing him again. after the usual compliments on both sides on such a meeting, ali khaujeh desired the merchant to return him the jar of olives which he had left with him, and to excuse the liberty he had taken in giving him so much trouble. "my dear friend," replied the merchant, "you are to blame to make these apologies, your vessel has been no inconvenience to me; on such an occasion i should have made as free with you: there is the key of my warehouse, go and fetch your jar; you will find it in the place where you left it." ali khaujeh went into the merchant's warehouse, took his jar; and after having returned him the key with thanks for the favour he had done: him, returned with it to the khan where he lodged; but on opening the jar, and putting his hand down as low as the pieces of gold had lain, was greatly surprised to find none. at first he thought he might perhaps be mistaken; and, to discover the truth, poured out all the olives into his travelling kitchen-utensils, but without so much as finding one single piece of money. his astonishment was so great, that he stood for some time motionless; then lifting up his hands and eyes to heaven, he exclaimed, "is it possible that a man, whom i took for my friend, should be guilty of such baseness?" ali khaujeh, alarmed at the apprehension of so considerable a loss, returned immediately to the merchant. "my good friend," said he, "be not surprised to see me come back so soon. i own the jar of olives to be the same i placed in your warehouse; but with the olives i put into it a thousand pieces of gold, which i do not find. perhaps you might have occasion for them, and have employed them in trade: if so they are at your service till it may be convenient for you to return them; only put me out of my pain, and give me an acknowledgment, after which you may pay me at your own convenience." the merchant, who had expected that ali khaujeh would come with such a complaint, had meditated an answer. "friend ali khaujeh," said he, "when you brought your jar to me did i touch it? did not i give you the key of my warehouse, did not you carry it there yourself, and did not you find it in the same place, covered in the same manner as when you left it? and if you had put gold in it, you must have found it. you told me it contained olives, and i believed you. this is all i know of the matter: you may disbelieve me if you please; but i never touched them." ali khaujeh used all the mild methods he could think of to oblige the merchant to restore his property. "i love peace and quietness," said he to him, "and shall be sorry to come to those extremities which will bring the greatest disgrace upon you; consider, that merchants, as we are, ought to abandon all interest to preserve a good reputation. once again i tell you, i shall be greatly concerned if your obstinacy oblige me to force you to do me justice; for i would rather almost lose what is my right than have recourse to law." "ali khaujeh," replied the merchant, "you agree that you left a jar of olives with me; and now you have taken it away, you come and ask me for a thousand pieces of gold. did you ever tell me that such a sum was in the jar? i did not even know that they were olives, for you never showed them to me. i wonder you do not ask me for diamonds and pearls instead of gold; be gone about your business, and do not raise a mob about my warehouse;" for some persons had already collected. these words were pronounced in such great heat and passion, as not only made those who stood about the warehouse already stay longer, and create a greater mob, but the neighbouring merchants came out of their shops to learn what the dispute was between ali khaujeh and the merchant, and endeavoured to reconcile them; but when ali khaujeh had informed them of his grievance, they asked the merchant what he had to say. the merchant owned that he had kept the jar for ali khaujeh in his warehouse, but denied that ever he had meddled with it; swore that he knew it contained olives, only because ali khaujeh told him so, and requested them all to bear witness of the insult and affront offered him. "you bring it upon yourself," said ali khaujeh taking him by the arm; "but since you use me so basely, i cite you to the law of god: let us see whether you will have the assurance to say the same thing before the cauzee." the merchant could not refuse the summons, which every mussulmaun is bound to observe, or be declared a rebel against religion; but said, "with all my heart; we shall soon see who is in the wrong." ali khaujeh carried the merchant before the magistrate, where he accused him of having, by breach of trust, defrauded him of a thousand pieces of gold, which he had left with him. the cauzee demanded if he had any witnesses; to which he replied, that he had not taken that precaution, because he had believed the person he trusted his money with to be his friend, and always took him for an honest man. the merchant made the same defence he had done before the merchants his neighbours, offering to make oath that he never had the money he was accused of, and that he did not so much as know there was such a sum; upon which the cauzee took his oath, and dismissed him acquitted for want of evidence. ali khaujeh, extremely mortified to find that he must sit down with so considerable a loss, protested against the sentence, declaring to the cauzee that he would appeal to the caliph, who would do him justice; which protestation the magistrate regarded as the effect of the common resentment of those who lose their cause; and thought he had done his duty in acquitting a person who had been accused without witnesses. while the merchant returned home triumphing over ali khaujeh and overjoyed at his good fortune, the latter went and drew up a petition; and the next day observing the time when the caliph came from noon tide prayers, placed himself in the street he was to pass through; and holding out his hand with the petition, an officer appointed for that purpose, who always goes before the caliph, came and took it to present it. as ali khaujeh knew that it was the caliph's custom to read the petitions at his return to the palace, he went into the court, and waited till the officer who had taken the petition came out of the caliph's apartment, who told him that the caliph had appointed an hour to hear him next day; and then asking him where the merchant lived, he sent to notify to him to attend at the same time. that same evening, the caliph, accompanied by the grand vizier jaaffier, and mesrour the chief of the eunuchs, went disguised through the town, as it was his custom occasionally to do; when, on passing through a street, the caliph heard a noise, and mending his pace, came to a gateway, which led into a little court, in which he perceived ten or twelve children playing by moonlight. the caliph, who was curious to know at what play the children were engaged, sat down on a stone bench just by; and heard one of the liveliest of the children say, "let us play at the cauzee i will be the magistrate; bring ali khaujeh and the merchant who cheated him of the thousand pieces of gold before me." these words of the child put the caliph in mind of the petition ali khaujeh had given him that day, and made him redouble his attention to see the issue of the trial. as the affair of ali khaujeh and the merchant had made a great noise in bagdad, it had not escaped the children, who all accepted the proposition with joy, and agreed on the part each was to act: not one of them refused him who made the proposal to be cauzee: and when he had taken his seat, which he did with all the seeming gravity of a judge, another, as an officer of the court, presented two boys before him; one as ali khaujeh, and the other as the merchant against whom he complained. the pretended cauzee then directing his discourse to the feigned ali khaujeh, asked him what he had to lay to that merchant's charge? ali khaujeh after a low obeisance, informed the young cauzee of the fact, related every particular, and afterwards begged that he would use his authority, that he might not lose so considerable a sum of money. the feigned cauzee, turning about to the merchant, then asked him why he did not return the money which ali khaujeh demanded of him? the feigned merchant alleged the same reasons as the real merchant had done before the cauzee himself, and offered to confirm by oath that what he had said was truth. "not so fast," replied the pretended cauzee; "before you come to your oath, i should be glad to see the jar of olives. ali khaujeh," said he, addressing himself to the boy who acted that part, "have you brought the jar?" "no," replied he. "then go and fetch it immediately," said the other. the pretended ali khaujeh went immediately, and returning, feigned to set a jar before the cauzee, telling him that it was the same he had left with the accused person, and received from him again. but to omit no part of the formality, the supposed cauzee asked the merchant if it was the same; and as by his silence he seemed not to deny it, he ordered it to be opened. he that represented ali khaujeh seemed to take off the cover, and the pretended cauzee made as if he looked into it. "they are fine olives," said he, "let me taste them;" and then pretending to eat some, added, "they are excellent: but," continued he, "i cannot think that olives will keep seven years, and be so good, therefore send for some olive-merchants, and let me hear what is their opinion." two boys, as olive-merchants, then presented themselves. "are you olive-merchants?" said the sham cauzee. "tell me how long olives will keep fit to eat." "sir," replied the two merchants, "let us take what care we can, they will hardly be worth any thing the third year; for then they have neither taste nor colour." "if it be so," answered the cauzee, "look into that jar, and tell me how long it is since those olives were put into it?" the two merchants pretended to examine and to taste the olives, and told the cauzee they were new and good. "you are mistaken," said the young cauzee; "ali khaujeh says he put them into the jar seven years ago." "sir," replied the merchants, "we can assure you they are of this year's growth: and we will maintain there is not a merchant in bagdad but will say the same." the feigned merchant who was accused would have objected against the evidence of the olive-merchants; but the pretended cauzee would not suffer him. "hold your tongue," said he, "you are a rogue; let him be impaled." the children then concluded their play, clapping their hands with great joy, and seizing the feigned criminal to carry him to execution. words cannot express how much the caliph haroon al rusheed admired the sagacity and sense of the boy who had passed so just a sentence, in an affair which was to be pleaded before himself the next day. he withdrew, and rising off the bench, asked the grand vizier, who heard all that had passed, what he thought of it. "indeed, commander of the true believers," answered the grand vizier jaaffier, "i am surprised to find so much sagacity in one so young." "but," answered the caliph, "do you know one thing? i am to pronounce sentence in this very cause to-morrow; the true ali khaujeh presented his petition to me to-day; and do you think," continued he, "that i can give a better sentence?" "i think not," answered the vizier, "if the case is as the children represented it." "take notice then of this house," said the caliph, "and bring the boy to me to-morrow, that he may try this cause in my presence; and also order the cauzee, who acquitted the merchant, to attend to learn his duty from a child. take care likewise to bid ali khaujeh bring his jar of olives with him, and let two olive-merchants attend." after this charge he pursued his rounds, without meeting with any thing worth his attention. the next day the vizier went to the house where the caliph had been a witness of the children's play, and asked for the master; but he being abroad, his wife appeared thickly veiled. he asked her if she had any children. to which she answered, she had three; and called them. "my brave boys," said the vizier, "which of you was the cauzee when you played together last night?" the eldest made answer, it was he: but, not knowing why he asked the question, coloured. "come along with me, my lad," said the grand vizier; "the commander of the faithful wants to see you." the mother was alarmed when she saw the grand vizier would take her son with him, and asked, upon what account the caliph wanted him? the grand vizier encouraged her, and promised that he should return again in less than an hour's time, when she would know it from himself. "if it be so, sir," said the mother, "give me leave to dress him first, that he may be fit to appear before the commander of the faithful:" which the vizier readily complied with. as soon as the child was dressed, the vizier carried him away and presented him to the caliph, at the time he had appointed to hear ali khaujeh and the merchant. the caliph, who saw that the boy was much abashed, in order to encourage him, said, "come to me, child, and tell me if it was you that determined the affair between ali khaujeh and the merchant who had cheated him of his money? i saw and heard the decision, and am very well pleased with you." the boy answered modestly, that it was he. "well, my son," replied the caliph, "come and sit down by me, and you shall see the true ali khaujeh, and the true merchant." the caliph then took him by the hand, seated him on the throne by him, and asked for the two parties. when they were introduced, they prostrated themselves before the throne, bowing their heads quite down to the carpet that covered it. afterwards the caliph said to them, "plead each of you your causes before this child, who will hear and do you justice: and if he should be at a loss i will assist him." ali khaujeh and the merchant pleaded one after the other; but when the merchant proposed his oath as before, the child said, "it is too soon; it is proper that we should see the jar of olives." at these words ali khaujeh presented the jar, placed it at the caliph's feet, and opened it. the caliph looked at the olives, took one and tasted it, giving another to the boy. afterwards the merchants were called, who examined the olives, and reported that they were good, and of that year. the boy told them, that ali khaujeh affirmed that it was seven years since he had put them up; when they returned the same answer as the children, who had represented them the night before. though the wretch who was accused saw plainly that these merchants' opinion must convict him, yet he would say something in his own justification. but the child, instead of ordering him to be impaled, looked at the caliph, and said "commander of the faithful, this is no jesting matter; it is your majesty that must condemn him to death, and not i, though i did it yesterday in play." the caliph, fully satisfied of the merchant's villany, delivered him into the hands of the ministers of justice to be impaled. the sentence was executed upon him, after he had confessed where he had concealed the thousand pieces of gold, which were restored to ali khaujeh. the monarch, most just and equitable, then turning to the cauzee, bade him learn of that child to acquit himself more exactly of his duty; and embracing the boy, sent him home with a purse of a hundred pieces of gold as a token of his liberality and admiration of his acuteness. end of volume . the "aldine" edition of the arabian nights entertainments illustrated by s. l. wood from the text of dr. jonathan scott in four volumes volume london pickering and chatto contents of volume iv. the story of the enchanted horse the story of prince ahmed, and the fairy perie banou the story of the sisters who envied their younger sister story of the three sharpers and the sultan the adventures of the abdicated sultan history of mahummud, sultan of cairo story of the first lunatic story of the second lunatic story of the retired sage and his pupil, related to the sultan by the second lunatic story of the broken-backed schoolmaster story of the wry-mouthed schoolmaster story of the sisters and the sultana their mother story of the bang-eater and the cauzee story of the bang-eater and his wife the sultan and the traveller mhamood al hyjemmee the koord robber story of the husbandman story of the three princes and enchanting bird story of a sultan of yemen and his three sons story of the first sharper in the cave history of the sultan of hind story of the fisherman's son story of abou neeut and abou neeuteen; or, the well-intentioned and the double-minded adventure of a courtier, related by himself to his parton, an ameer of egypt story of the prince of sind, and fatima, daughter of amir bin naomaun story of the lovers of syria; or, the heroine story of hyjauje, the tyrannical governor of coufeh, and the young syed story of ins alwujjood and wird al ikmaum, daughter of ibrahim, vizier to sultan shamikh the adventures of mazin of khorassaun story of the sultan the dervish, and the barber's son adventures of aleefa daughter of mherejaun sultan of hind, and eusuff, son of sohul, sultan of sind adventures of the three princes, sons of the sultan of china story of the good vizier unjustly imprisoned story of the lady of cairo and her four gallants the cauzee's story story of the merchant, his daughter, and the prince of eerauk adventures of the cauzee, his wife, &c the sultan's story of himself conclusion the story of the enchanted horse. the nooroze, or the new day, which is the first of the year and spring, is observed as a solemn festival throughout all persia, which has been continued from the time of idolatry; and our prophet's religion, pure as it is, and true as we hold it, has not been able to abolish that heathenish custom, and the superstitious ceremonies which are observed, not only in the great cities, but celebrated with extraordinary rejoicings in every little town, village, and hamlet. but the rejoicings are the most splendid at the court, for the variety of new and surprising spectacles, insomuch that strangers are invited from the neighbouring states, and the most remote parts, by the rewards and liberality of the sovereign, towards those who are the most excellent in their invention and contrivance. in short, nothing in the rest of the world can compare with the magnificence of this festival. one of these festival days, after the most ingenious artists of the country had repaired to sheerauz, where the court then resided, had entertained the king and all the court with their productions, and had been bountifully and liberally rewarded according to their merit and to their satisfaction by the monarch; when the assembly was just breaking up, a hindoo appeared at the foot of the throne, with an artificial horse richly caparisoned, and so naturally imitated, that at first sight he was taken for a living animal. the hindoo prostrated himself before the throne; and pointing to the horse, said to the emperor, "though i present myself the last before your majesty, yet i can assure you that nothing shewn to-day is so wonderful as this horse, on which i beg your majesty would be pleased to cast your eyes." "i see nothing more in the horse," said the emperor, "than the natural resemblance the workman has given him; which the skill of another workman may possibly execute as well or better." "sir," replied the hindoo, "it is not for his outward form and appearance that i recommend my horse to your majesty's examination as wonderful, but the use to which i can apply him, and which, when i have communicated the secret to them, any other persons may make of him. whenever i mount him, be it where it may, if i wish to transport myself through the air to the most distant part of the world, i can do it in a very short time. this, sir, is the wonder of my horse; a wonder which nobody ever heard speak of, and which i offer to shew your majesty, if you command me." the emperor of persia, who was fond of every thing that was curious, and notwithstanding the many prodigies of art he had seen had never beheld or heard of anything that came up to this, told the hindoo, that nothing but the experience of what he asserted could convince him: and that he was ready to see him perform what he had promised. the hindoo instantly put his foot into the stirrup, mounted his horse with admirable agility, and when he had fixed himself in the saddle, asked the emperor whither he pleased to command him. about three leagues from sheerauz there was a lofty mountain discernible from the large square before the palace, where the emperor, his court, and a great concourse of people, then were. "do you see that mountain?" said the emperor, pointing to it; "it is not a great distance from hence, but it is far enough to judge of the speed you can make in going and returning. but because it is not possible for the eye to follow you so far, as a proof that you have been there, i expect that you will bring me a branch of a palm-tree that grows at the bottom of the hill." the emperor of persia had no sooner declared his will than the hindoo turned a peg, which was in the hollow of the horse's neck, just by the pummel of the saddle; and in an instant the horse rose off the ground and carried his rider into the air with the rapidity of lightning to such a height, that those who had the strongest sight could not discern him, to the admiration of the emperor and all the spectators. within less than a quarter of an hour they saw him returning with the palm branch in his hand; but before he descended, he took two or three turns in the air over the spot, amid the acclamations of all the people; then alighted on the spot whence he had set off, without receiving the least shock from the horse to disorder him. he dismounted, and going up to the throne, prostrated himself, and laid the branch of the palm-tree at the feet of the emperor. the emperor, who had viewed with no less admiration than astonishment this unheard-of sight which the hindoo had exhibited, conceived a great desire to have the horse; and as he persuaded himself that he should not find it a difficult matter to treat with the hindoo, for whatever sum of money he should value it at, began to regard it as the most valuable thing in his treasury. "judging of thy horse by his outward appearance," said he to the hindoo, "i did not think him so much worth my consideration. as you have shewn me his merits, i am obliged to you for undeceiving me; and to prove to you how much i esteem it, i will purchase him of you, if he is to be sold." "sir," replied the hindoo, "i never doubted that your majesty, who has the character of the most liberal prince on earth, would set a just value on my work as soon as i had shewn you on what account he was worthy your attention. i also foresaw that you would not only admire and commend it, but would desire to have it. though i know his intrinsic value, and that my continuing master of him would render my name immortal in the world; yet i am not so fond of fame but i can resign him, to gratify your majesty; however, in making this declaration, i have another to add, without which i cannot resolve to part with him, and perhaps you may not approve of it. "your majesty will not be displeased," continued the hindoo, "if i tell you that i did not buy this horse, but obtained him of the inventor, by giving him my only daughter in marriage, and promising at the same time never to sell him; but if i parted with him to exchange him for something that i should value beyond all else." the hindoo was proceeding, when at the word exchange, the emperor of persia interrupted him. "i am willing," said he, "to give you whatever you may ask in exchange. you know my kingdom is large, and contains many great, rich, and populous cities; i will give you the choice of which you like best, in full sovereignty for life." this exchange seemed royal and noble to the whole court; but was much below what the hindoo had proposed to himself, who had raised his thoughts much higher. "i am infinitely obliged to your majesty for the offer you make me," answered he, "and cannot thank you enough for your generosity; yet i must beg of you not to be displeased if i have the presumption to tell you, that i cannot resign my horse, but by receiving the hand of the princess your daughter as my wife: this is the only price at which i can part with my property." the courtiers about the emperor of persia could not forbear laughing aloud at this extravagant demand of the hindoo; but the prince firoze shaw, the eldest son of the emperor, and presumptive heir to the crown, could not hear it without indignation. the emperor was of a very different opinion, and thought he might sacrifice the princess of persia to the hindoo, to satisfy his curiosity. he remained however undetermined, considering what he should do. prince firoze shaw, who saw his father hesitated what answer to make, began to fear lest he should comply with the hindoo's demand, and regarded it as not only injurious to the royal dignity, and to his sister, but also to himself; therefore to anticipate his father, he said, "sir, i hope your majesty will forgive me for daring to ask, if it is possible your majesty should hesitate about a denial to so insolent a demand from such an insignificant fellow, and so scandalous a juggler? or give him reason to flatter himself a moment with being allied to one of the most powerful monarchs in the world? i beg of you to consider what you owe to yourself, to your own blood, and the high rank of your ancestors." "son," replied the emperor of persia, "i much approve of your remonstrance, and am sensible of your zeal for preserving the lustre of your birth; but you do not consider sufficiently the excellence of this horse; nor that the hindoo, if i should refuse him, may make the offer somewhere else, where this nice point of honour may be waived. i shall be in the utmost despair if another prince should boast of having exceeded me in generosity, and deprived me of the glory of possessing what i esteem as the most singular and wonderful thing in the world. i will not say i consent to grant him what he asked. perhaps he has not well considered his exorbitant demand: and putting my daughter the princess out of the question, i may make another agreement with him that will answer his purpose as well. but before i conclude the bargain with him, i should be glad that you would examine the horse, try him yourself, and give me your opinion." as it is natural for us to flatter ourselves in what we desire, the hindoo fancied, from what he had heard, that the emperor was not entirely averse to his alliance, and that the prince might become more favourable to him; therefore, he expressed much joy, ran before the prince to help him to mount, and shewed him how to guide and manage the horse. the prince mounted without the hindoo's assisting him; and no sooner had he got his feet in both stirrups, but without staying for the artist's advice, he turned the peg he had seen him use, when instantly the horse darted into the air, quick as an arrow shot out of a bow by the most adroit archer; and in a few moments the emperor his father and the numerous assembly lost sight of him. neither horse nor prince were to be seen. the hindoo, alarmed at what had happened, prostrated himself before the throne, and said, "your majesty must have remarked the prince was so hasty, that he would not permit me to give him the necessary instructions to govern my horse. from what he saw me do, he was ambitious of shewing that he wanted not my advice. he was too eager to shew his address, but knows not the way, which i was going to shew him, to turn the horse, and make him descend at the wish of his rider. therefore, the favour i ask of your majesty is, not to make me accountable for what accidents may befall him; you are too just to impute to me any misfortune that may attend him." this address of the hindoo much surprised and afflicted the emperor, who saw the danger his son was in to be inevitable, if, as the hindoo said, there was a secret to bring him back, different from that which carried him away; and asked, in a passion, why he did not call him the moment he ascended? "sir," answered the hindoo, "your majesty saw as well as i with what rapidity the horse flew away. the surprise i was then, and still am in, deprived me of the use of my speech; but if i could have spoken, he was got too far to hear me. if he had heard me, he knew not the secret to bring him back, which, through his impatience, he would not stay to learn. but, sir," added he, "there is room to hope that the prince, when he finds himself at a loss, will perceive another peg, and as soon as he turns that, the horse will cease to rise, and descend to the ground, when he may turn him to what place he pleases by guiding him with the bridle." notwithstanding all these arguments of the hindoo, which carried great appearance of probability, the emperor of persia was much alarmed at the evident danger of his son. "i suppose," replied he, "it is very uncertain whether my son may perceive the other peg, and make a right use of it; may not the horse, instead of lighting on the ground, fall upon some rock, or tumble into the sea with him?" "sir," replied the hindoo, "i can deliver your majesty from this apprehension, by assuring you, that the horse crosses seas without ever falling into them, and always carries his rider wherever he may wish to go. and your majesty may assure yourself, that if the prince does but find out the other peg i mentioned, the horse will carry him where he pleases. it is not to be supposed that he will stop any where but where he can find assistance, and make himself known." "be it as it may," replied the emperor of persia, "as i cannot depend upon the assurance you give me, your head shall answer for my son's life, if he does not return safe in three days' time, or i should hear that he is alive." he then ordered his officers to secure the hindoo, and keep him close prisoner; after which he retired to his palace in affliction that the festival of nooroze should have proved so inauspicious. in the mean time the prince was carried through the air with prodigious velocity; and in less than an hour's time had ascended so high, that he could not distinguish any thing on the earth, but mountains and plains seemed confounded together. it was then he began to think of returning, and conceived he might do this by turning the same peg the contrary way, and pulling the bridle at the same time. but when he found that the horse still rose with the same swiftness, his alarm was great. he turned the peg several times, one way and the other, but all in vain. it was then he grew sensible of his fault, in not having learnt the necessary precautions to guide the horse before he mounted. he immediately apprehended the great danger he was in, but that apprehension did not deprive him of his reason. he examined the horse's head and neck with attention, and perceived behind the right ear another peg, smaller than the other. he turned that peg, and presently perceived that he descended in the same oblique manner as he had mounted, but not so swiftly. night had overshadowed that part of the earth over which the prince was when he found out and turned the small peg; and as the horse descended, he by degrees lost sight of the sun, till it grew quite dark; insomuch that, instead of choosing what place he would go to, he was forced to let the bridle lie upon the horse's neck, and wait patiently till he alighted, though not without the dread lest it should be in the desert, a river, or the sea. at last the horse stopped upon some solid substance about midnight, and the prince dismounted very faint and hungry, having eaten nothing since the morning, when he came out of the palace with his father to assist at the festival. he found himself to be on the terrace of a magnificent palace, surrounded with a balustrade of white marble, breast high; and groping about, reached a staircase, which led down into an apartment, the door of which was half open. few but prince firoze shaw would have ventured to descend those stairs dark as it was, and in the danger he exposed himself to from friends or foes. but no consideration could stop him. "i do not come," said he to himself, "to do anybody harm; and certainly, whoever meets or sees me first, and finds that i have no arms in my hands, will not attempt any thing against my life, before they hear what i have to say for myself." after this reflection, he opened the door wider, without making any noise, went softly down the stairs, that he might not awaken anybody; and when he came to a landing-place on the staircase, found the door of a great hall, that had a light in it, open. the prince stopped at the door, and listening, heard no other noise than the snoring of some people who were fast asleep. he advanced a little into the room, and by the light of a lamp saw that those persons were black eunuchs, with naked sabres laid by them; which was enough to inform him that this was the guard-chamber of some sultan or princess; which latter it proved to be. in the next room to this the princess lay, as appeared by the light, the door being open, through a silk curtain, which drew before the door-way, whither prince firoze shaw advanced on tip-toe, without waking the eunuchs. he drew aside the curtain, went in, and without staying to observe the magnificence of the chamber, gave his attention to something of greater importance. he saw many beds; only one of them on a sofa, the rest on the floor. the princess slept in the first, and her women in the others. this distinction was enough to direct the prince. he crept softly towards the bed, without waking either the princess or her women, and beheld a beauty so extraordinary, that he was charmed, and inflamed with love at the first sight. "o heavens!" said he to himself, "has my fate brought me hither to deprive me of my liberty, which hitherto i have always preserved? how can i avoid certain slavery, when those eyes shall open, since, without doubt, they complete the lustre of this assemblage of charms! i must quickly resolve, since i cannot stir without being my own murderer; for so has necessity ordained." after these reflections on his situation, and on the princess's beauty, he fell on his knees, and twitching gently the princess's sleeve, pulled it towards him. the princess opened her eyes, and seeing a handsome man on his knees, was in great surprise; yet seemed to shew no sign of fear. the prince availed himself of this favourable moment, bowed his head to the ground, and rising said, "beautiful princess, by the most extraordinary and wonderful adventure, you see at your feet a suppliant prince, son of the emperor of persia, who was yesterday morning in his court, at the celebration of a solemn festival, but is now in a strange country, in danger of his life, if you have not the goodness and generosity to afford him your assistance and protection. these i implore, adorable princess, with confidence that you will not refuse me. i have the more ground to persuade myself, as so much beauty and majesty cannot entertain inhumanity." the personage to whom prince firoze shaw so happily addressed himself was the princess of bengal, eldest daughter of the rajah of that kingdom, who had built this palace at a small distance from his capital, whither she went to take the benefit of the country air. after she had heard the prince with all the candour he could desire, she replied with equal goodness, "prince, you are not in a barbarous country; take courage; hospitality, humanity, and politeness are to be met with in the kingdom of bengal, as well as in that of persia. it is not merely i who grant you the protection you ask; you not only have found it in my palace, but will meet it throughout the whole kingdom; you may believe me, and depend on what i say." the prince of persia would have thanked the princess for her civility, and had already bowed down his head to return the compliment; but she would not give him leave to speak. "notwithstanding i desire," said she, "to know by what miracle you have come hither from the capital of persia in so short a time; and by what enchantment you have been able to penetrate so far as to come to my apartment, and to have evaded the vigilance of my guards; yet, as it is impossible but you must want some refreshment, and regarding you as a welcome guest, i will waive my curiosity, and give orders to my women to regale you, and shew you an apartment, that you may rest yourself after your fatigue, and be better able to satisfy my curiosity." the princess's women, who awoke at the first words which the prince addressed to the princess, were in the utmost surprise to see a man at the princess's feet, as they could not conceive how he had got thither, without waking them or the eunuchs. they no sooner comprehended the princess's intentions, than they were ready to obey her commands. they each took a wax candle, of which there were great numbers lighted up in the room; and after the prince had respectfully taken leave, went before and conducted him into a handsome chamber; where, while some were preparing the bed, others went into the kitchen; and notwithstanding it was so unseasonable an hour, they did not make prince firoze shaw wait long, but brought him presently a collation; and when he had eaten as much as he chose, removed the trays, and left him to taste the sweets of repose. in the mean time, the princess of bengal was so struck with the charms, wit, politeness, and other good qualities which she had discovered in her short interview with the prince, that she could not sleep: but when her women came into her room again asked them if they had taken care of him, if he wanted any thing; and particularly, what they thought of him? the women, after they had satisfied her as to the first queries, answered to the last: "we do not know what you may think of him, but, for our parts, we are of opinion you would be very happy if your father would marry you to so amiable a youth; for there is not a prince in all the kingdom of bengal to be compared to him; nor can we hear that any of the neighbouring princes are worthy of you." this flattering compliment was not displeasing to the princess of bengal; but as she had no mind to declare her sentiments, she imposed silence, telling them that they talked without reflection, bidding them return to rest, and let her sleep. the next day the princess took more pains in dressing and adjusting herself at the glass than she had ever done before. she never tired her women's patience so much, by making them do and undo the same thing several times. she adorned her head, neck, arms, and waist, with the finest and largest diamonds she possessed. the habit she put on was one of the richest stuffs of the indies, of a most beautiful colour, and made only for kings, princes, and princesses. after she had consulted her glass, and asked her women, one after another, if any thing was wanting to her attire, she sent to know, if the prince of persia was awake; and as she never doubted but that, if he was up and dressed, he would ask leave to come and pay his respects to her, she charged the messenger to tell him she would make him the visit, and she had her reasons for this. the prince of persia, who by the night's rest had recovered the fatigue he had undergone the day before, had just dressed himself, when he received the princess of bengal's compliments by one of her women. without giving the lady who brought the message leave to communicate it, he asked her, if it was proper for him then to go and pay his respects to the princess; and when the lady had acquitted herself of her errand, he replied, "it shall be as the princess thinks fit; i came here to be solely at her pleasure." as soon as the princess understood that the prince of persia waited for her, she immediately went to pay him a visit. after mutual compliments, the prince asking pardon for having waked the princess out of a profound sleep, and the princess inquiring after his health, and how he had rested, the princess sat down on a sofa, as did also the prince, though at some distance, out of respect. the princess then resuming the conversation, said, "i would have received you, prince, in the chamber in which you found me last night; but as the chief of my eunuchs has the liberty of entering it, and never comes further without my leave, from my impatience to hear the surprising adventure which procured me the happiness of seeing you, i chose to come hither, that we may not be interrupted; therefore i beg of you to give me that satisfaction, which will highly oblige me." prince firoze shaw, to gratify the princess of bengal, began with describing the festival of the nooroze, and mentioned the shows which had amazed the court of persia, and the people of sheerauz. afterwards he came to the enchanted horse; the description of which, with the account of the wonders which the hindoo had performed before so august an assembly, convinced the princess that nothing of that kind could be imagined more surprising in the world. "you may well think, charming princess," continued the prince of persia, "that the emperor my father, who cares not what he gives for any thing that is rare and curious, would be very desirous to purchase such a curiosity. he asked the hindoo what he would have for him; who made him an extravagant reply, telling him, that he had not bought him, but taken him in exchange for his only daughter, and could not part with him but on the like condition, which was to have his consent to marry the princess my sister. "the crowd of courtiers, who stood about the emperor my father, hearing the extravagance of this proposal, laughed loudly; i for my part conceived such great indignation, that i could not disguise it; and the more, because i saw that my father was doubtful what answer he should give. in short, i believe he would have granted him what he asked, if i had not represented to him how injurious it would be to his honour; yet my remonstrance could not bring him entirely to quit his design of sacrificing the princess my sister to so despicable a person. he fancied he should bring me over to his opinion, if once i could comprehend, as he imagined he did, the singular worth of this horse. with this view he would have me mount, and make a trial of him myself. "to please my father, i mounted the horse, and as soon as i was upon his back, put my hand on a peg, as i had seen the hindoo do before, to make the horse mount into the air, without stopping to take instructions of the owner for his guidance or descent. the instant i touched the peg, the horse ascended, as swift as an arrow shot out of a bow, and i was presently at such a distance from the earth that i could not distinguish any object. from the swiftness of the motion i was for some time unapprehensive of the danger to which i was exposed; when i grew sensible of it, i endeavoured to turn the peg the contrary way. but the experiment would not answer my expectation, for still the horse rose, and carried me a greater distance from the earth. at last i perceived another peg, which i turned, and then i grew sensible that the horse descended towards the earth, and presently found myself so surrounded with darkness, that it was impossible for me to guide the machine. in this condition i laid the bridle on his neck, and trusted myself to the will of god to dispose of my fate. "at length the horse stopped, i got off his back, and examining whereabouts i might be, perceived myself on the terrace of this palace, and found the door of the staircase half open. i came softly down the stairs, and seeing a door open, put my head into the room, perceived some eunuchs asleep, and a great light in an adjoining chamber. the necessity i was under, notwithstanding the inevitable danger to which i should be exposed, if the eunuchs had waked, inspired me with the boldness, or rather rashness, to cross that room to get to the other. "it is needless," added the prince, "to tell you the rest, since you are not unacquainted with all that passed afterwards. but i am obliged in duty to thank you for your goodness and generosity, and to beg of you to let me know how i may shew my gratitude. according to the law of nations i am already your slave, and cannot make you an offer of my person; there only remains my heart: but, alas! princess, what do i say? my heart is no longer my own, your charms have forced it from me, but in such a manner, that i will never ask for it again, but yield it up; give me leave, therefore, to declare you mistress both of my heart and inclination." these last words of the prince were pronounced with such an air and tone, that the princess of bengal never doubted of the effect she had expected from her charms; neither did she seem to resent the precipitate declaration of the prince of persia. her blushes served but to heighten her beauty, and render her more amiable in his eyes. as soon as she had recovered herself, she replied, "prince, you have given me sensible pleasure, by telling me your wonderful adventure. but, on the other hand, i can hardly forbear shuddering, when i think on the height you were in the air; and though i have the good fortune to see you here safe and well, i was in pain till you came to that part where the horse fortunately descended upon the terrace of my palace. the same thing might have happened in a thousand other places. i am glad that chance has given me the preference to the whole world, and of the opportunity of letting you know, that it could not have conducted you to any place where you could have been received with greater pleasure. "but, prince," continued she, "i should think myself offended, if i believed that the thought you mentioned of being my slave was serious, and that it did not proceed from your politeness rather than from a sincerity of sentiment; for, by the reception i gave you yesterday, you might assure yourself you are here as much at liberty as in the midst of the court of persia. "as to your heart," added the princess, in a tone which shewed nothing less than a refusal, "as i am persuaded that you have not lived so long without disposing of it, and that you could not fail of making choice of a princess who deserves it, i should be sorry to give you an occasion to be guilty of infidelity to her." prince firoze shaw would have protested that when he left persia he was master of his own heart: but, at that instant, one of the princess's ladies in waiting came to tell that a collation was served up. this interruption delivered the prince and princess from an explanation, which would have been equally embarrassing to both, and of which they stood in need. the princess of bengal was fully convinced of the prince of persia's sincerity; and the prince, though the princess had not explained herself, judged nevertheless from some words she had let fall, that he had no reason to complain. as the lady held the door open, the princess of bengal said to the prince, rising off her seat, as he did also from his, "i am not used to eat so early; but as i fancied you might have had but an indifferent supper last night, i ordered breakfast to be got ready sooner than ordinary." after this compliment she led him into a magnificent hall, where a cloth was laid covered with great plenty of choice and excellent viands; and as soon as they were seated, many beautiful slaves of the princess, richly dressed, began a most agreeable concert of vocal and instrumental music, which lasted the whole time of eating. this concert was so sweet and well managed, that it did not in the least interrupt the prince and princess's conversation. the prince served the princess with the choicest of every thing, and strove to outdo her in civility, both by words and actions, which she returned with many new compliments: and in this reciprocal commerce of civilities and attentions, love made a greater progress in both than a concerted interview would have promoted. when they rose, the princess conducted the prince into a large and magnificent saloon, embellished with paintings in blue and gold, and richly furnished; there they both sat down in a balcony, which afforded a most agreeable prospect into the palace garden, which prince firoze shaw admired for the vast variety of flowers, shrubs, and trees, which were full as beautiful as those of persia, but quite different. here taking the opportunity of entering into conversation with the princess, he said, "i always believed, madam, that no part of the world but persia afforded such stately palaces and beautiful gardens; but now i see, that other great monarchs know as well how to build mansions suitable to their power and greatness; and if there is a difference in the manner of building, there is none in the degree of grandeur and magnificence." "prince," replied the princess of bengal, "as i have no idea of the palaces of persia, i cannot judge of the comparison you have made of mine. but, however sincere you seem to be, i can hardly think it just, but rather incline to believe it a compliment: i will not despise my palace before you; you have too good an eye, too good a taste not to form a sound judgment. but i assure you, i think it very indifferent when i compare it with the king my father's, which far exceeds it for grandeur, beauty, and richness; you shall tell me yourself what you think of it, when you have seen it: for since a chance has brought you so nigh to the capital of this kingdom, i do not doubt but you will see it, and make my father a visit, that he may pay you all the honour due to a prince of your rank and merit." the princess flattered herself, that by exciting in the prince of persia a curiosity to see the capital of bengal, and to visit her father, the king, seeing him so handsome, wise, and accomplished a prince, might perhaps resolve to propose an alliance with him, by offering her to him as a wife. and as she was well persuaded she was not indifferent to the prince, and that he would be pleased with the proposal, she hoped to attain to the utmost of her wishes, and preserve all the decorum becoming a princess, who would appear resigned to the will of her king and father; but the prince of persia did not return her an answer according to her expectation. "princess," he replied, "the preference which you give the king of bengal's palace to your own is enough to induce me to believe it much exceeds it: and as to the proposal of my going and paying my respects to the king your father, i should not only do myself a pleasure, but an honour. but judge, princess, yourself, would you advise me to present myself before so great a monarch, like an adventurer, without attendants, and a train suitable to my rank?" "prince," replied the princess, "let not that give you any pain; if you will but go, you shall want no money to have what train and attendants you please: i will furnish you; and we have traders here of all nations in great numbers, and you may make choice of as many as you please to form your household." prince firoze shaw penetrated the princess of bengal's intention, and this sensible mark of her love still augmented his passion, which, notwithstanding its violence, made him not forget his duty. without any hesitation he replied, "princess, i should most willingly accept of the obliging offer you make me, for which i cannot sufficiently shew my gratitude, if the uneasiness my father must feel on account of my absence did not prevent me. i should be unworthy of the tenderness he has always had for me, if i should not return as soon as possible to calm his fears. i know him so well, that while i have the happiness of enjoying the conversation of so lovely a princess, i am persuaded he is plunged into the deepest grief, and has lost all hopes of seeing me again. i trust you will do me the justice to believe, that i cannot, without ingratitude, and being guilty of a crime, dispense with going to restore to him that life, which a too long deferred return may have endangered already. "after this, princess," continued the prince of persia, "if you will permit me, and think me worthy to aspire to the happiness of becoming your husband, as my father has always declared that he never would constrain me in my choice, i should find it no difficult matter to get leave to return, not as a stranger, but as a prince, to contract an alliance with your father by our marriage; and i am persuaded that the emperor will be overjoyed when i tell him with what generosity you received me, though a stranger in distress." the princess of bengal was too reasonable, after what the prince of persia had said, to persist any longer in persuading him to pay a visit to the raja of bengal, or to ask any thing of him contrary to his duty and honour. but she was much alarmed to find he thought of so sudden a departure; fearing, that if he took his leave of her so soon, instead of remembering his promise, he would forget when he ceased to see her. to divert him from his purpose, she said to him, "prince, my intention of proposing a visit to my father was not to oppose so just a duty as that you mention, and which i did not foresee. but i cannot approve of your going so soon as you propose; at least grant me the favour i ask of a little longer acquaintance; and since i have had the happiness to have you alight in the kingdom of bengal, rather than in the midst of a desert, or on the top of some steep craggy rock, from which it would have been impossible for you to descend, i desire you will stay long enough to enable you to give a better account at the court of persia of what you may see here." the sole end the princess had in this request was, that the prince of persia, by a longer stay, might become insensibly more passionately enamoured of her charms; hoping thereby that his ardent desire of returning would diminish, and then he might be brought to appear in public, and pay a visit to the rajah of bengal. the prince of persia could not well refuse her the favour she asked, after the kind reception she had given him; and therefore politely complied with her request; and the princess's thoughts were directed to render his stay agreeable by all the amusements she could devise. nothing went forward for several days but concerts of music, accompanied with magnificent feasts and collations in the gardens, or hunting-parties in the vicinity of the palace, which abounded with all sorts of game, stags, hinds, and fallow deer, and other beasts peculiar to the kingdom of bengal, which the princess could pursue without danger. after the chase, the prince and princess met in some beautiful spot, where a carpet was spread, and cushions laid for their accommodation. there resting themselves, after their violent exercise, they conversed on various subjects. the princess took pains to turn the conversation on the grandeur, power, riches, and government of persia; that from the prince's replies she might have an opportunity to talk of the kingdom of bengal, and its advantages, and engage him to resolve to make a longer stay there; but she was disappointed in her expectations. the prince of persia, without the least exaggeration, gave so advantageous an account of the extent of the kingdom of persia, its magnificence and riches, its military force, its commerce by sea and land with the most remote parts of the world, some of which were unknown even to him; the vast number of large cities it contained, almost as populous as that which the emperor had chosen for his residence, where he had palaces furnished ready to receive him at all seasons of the year; so that he had his choice always to enjoy a perpetual spring; that before he had concluded, the princess found the kingdom of bengal to be very much inferior to that of persia in a great many respects. when he had finished his relation, he begged of her to entertain him with a description of bengal. the princess after much entreaty gave prince firoze shaw that satisfaction; but by lessening a great many advantages the kingdom of bengal was well known to have over that of persia, she betrayed the disposition she felt to accompany him, so that he believed she would consent at the first proposition he should make; but he thought it would not be proper to make it till he had shewed her so much deference as to stay with her long enough to make the blame fall on herself, in case she wished to detain him from returning to his father. two whole months the prince of persia abandoned himself entirely to the will of the princess of bengal, yielding to all the amusements she contrived for him, for she neglected nothing to divert him, as if she thought he had nothing else to do but to pass his whole life with her in this manner. but he now declared seriously he could not stay longer, and begged of her to give him leave to return to his father; repeating again the promise he had made her to come back soon in a style worthy of her and himself, and to demand her in marriage of the rajah of bengal. "and, princess," observed the prince of persia, "that you may not suspect the truth of what i say; and that by my asking this permission you may not rank me among those false lovers who forget the object of their affection as soon as absent from them; to shew that my passion is real, and not feigned, and that life cannot be pleasant to me when absent from so lovely a princess, whose love to me i cannot doubt is mutual; i would presume, were i not afraid you would be offended at my request, to ask the favour of taking you along with me." as the prince saw that the princess blushed at these words, without any mark of anger, he proceeded, and said, "princess, as for my father's consent, and the reception he will give you, i venture to assure you he will receive you with pleasure into his alliance; and as for the rajah of bengal, after all the love and tender regard he has always expressed for you, he must be the reverse of what you have described him, an enemy to your repose and happiness, if he should not receive in a friendly manner the embassy which my father will send to him for his approbation of our marriage." the princess returned no answer to this address of the prince of persia; but her silence, and eyes cast down, were sufficient to inform him that she had no reluctance to accompany him into persia. the only difficulty she felt was, that the prince knew not well enough how to govern the horse, and she was apprehensive of being involved with him in the same difficulty as when he first made the experiment. but the prince soon removed her fear, by assuring her she might trust herself with him, for that after the experience he had acquired, he defied the hindoo himself to manage him better. she thought therefore only of concerting measures to get off with him so secretly, that nobody belonging to the palace should have the least suspicion of their design. the next morning, a little before day-break, when all the attendants were asleep, they went upon the terrace of the palace. the prince turned the horse towards persia, and placed him where the princess could easily get up behind him; which she had no sooner done, and was well settled with her arms about his waist, for her better security, than he turned the peg, when the horse mounted into the air, and making his usual haste, under the guidance of the prince, in two hours time the prince discovered the capital of persia. he would not alight at the great square from whence he had set out, nor in the palace, but directed his course towards a pleasure-house at a little distance from the capital. he led the princess into a handsome apartment, where he told her, that to do her all the honour that was due to her, he would go and inform his father of their arrival, and return to her immediately. he ordered the housekeeper of the palace, who was then present, to provide the princess with whatever she had occasion for. after the prince had taken his leave of the princess, he ordered a horse to be saddled, which he mounted, after sending back the housekeeper to the princess, with orders to provide her refreshments immediately, and then set forwards for the palace. as he passed through the streets he was received with acclamations by the people, who were overjoyed to see him again. the emperor his father was giving audience, when he appeared before him in the midst of his council. he received him with ecstacy, and embracing him with tears of joy and tenderness, asked him, what was become of the hindoo's horse. this question gave the prince an opportunity of describing the embarrassment and danger he was in when the horse ascended into the air, and how he had arrived at last at the princess of bengal's palace, the kind reception he had met with there, and that the motive which had induced him to stay so long with her was the affection she had shewn him; also, that after promising to marry her, he had persuaded her to accompany him into persia. "but, sir," added the prince, "i felt assured that you would not refuse your consent, and have brought her with me on the enchanted horse, to a palace where your majesty often goes for your pleasure; and have left her there, till i could return and assure her that my promise was not in vain." after these words, the prince prostrated himself before the emperor to obtain his consent, when his father raised him up, embraced him a second time, and said to him, "son, i not only consent to your marriage with the princess of bengal, but will go and meet her myself, and thank her for the obligation i in particular have to her, and will bring her to my palace, and celebrate your nuptials this day." the emperor now gave orders for his court to make preparations for the princess's entry; that the rejoicings should be announced by the royal band of military music, and that the hindoo should be fetched out of prison and brought before him. when the hindoo was conducted before the emperor, he said to him, "i secured thy person, that thy life, though not a sufficient victim to my rage and grief, might answer for that of the prince my son, whom, however, thanks to god! i have found again: go, take your horse, and never let me see your face more." as the hindoo had learned of those who brought him out of prison that prince firoze shaw was returned with a princess, and was also informed of the place where he had alighted and left her, and that the emperor was making preparations to go and bring her to his palace; as soon as he got out of the presence, he bethought himself of being revenged upon the emperor and the prince. without losing any time, he went directly to the palace, and addressing himself to the keeper, told him, he came from the prince of persia for the princess of bengal, and to conduct her behind him through the air to the emperor, who waited in the great square of his palace to gratify the whole court and city of sheerauz with that wonderful sight. the palace-keeper, who knew the hindoo, and that the emperor had imprisoned him, gave the more credit to what he said, because he saw that he was at liberty. he presented him to the princess of bengal; who no sooner understood that he came from the prince of persia than she consented to what the prince, as she thought, had desired of her. the hindoo, overjoyed at his success, and the ease with which he had accomplished his villany, mounted his horse, took the princess behind him, with the assistance of the keeper, turned the peg, and instantly the horse mounted into the air. at the same time the emperor of persia, attended by his court, was on the road to the palace where the princess of bengal had been left, and the prince of persia was advanced before, to prepare the princess to receive his father; when the hindoo, to brave them both, and revenge himself for the ill-treatment he had received, appeared over their heads with his prize. when the emperor of persia saw the ravisher, he stopped. his surprise and affliction were the more sensible, because it was not in his power to punish so high an affront. he loaded him with a thousand imprecations, as did also all the courtiers, who were witnesses of so signal a piece of insolence and unparalleled artifice and treachery. the hindoo, little moved with their curses, which just reached his ears, continued his way, while the emperor, extremely mortified at so great an insult, but more so that he could not punish the author, returned to his palace in rage and vexation. but what was prince firoze shaw's grief at beholding the hindoo hurrying away the princess of bengal, whom he loved so passionately that he could not live without her! at a spectacle so little expected he was confounded, and before he could deliberate with himself what measures to pursue, the horse was out of sight. he could not resolve how to act, whether he should return to his father's palace, and shut himself in his apartment, to give himself entirely up to his affliction, without attempting to pursue the ravisher. but as his generosity, love, and courage, would not suffer this, he continued on his way to the palace where he had left his princess. when he arrived, the palace-keeper, who was by this time convinced of his fatal credulity, in believing the artful hindoo, threw himself at his feet with tears in his eyes, accused himself of the crime, which unintentionally he had committed, and condemned himself to die by his hand. "rise," said the prince to him, "i do not impute the loss of my princess to thee, but to my own want of precaution. but not to lose time, fetch me a dervish's habit, and take care you do not give the least hint that it is for me." not far from this palace there stood a convent of dervishes, the superior of which was the palace-keeper's particular friend. he went to his chief, and telling him that a considerable officer at court and a man of worth, to whom he had been very much obliged and wished to favour, by giving him an opportunity to withdraw from some sudden displeasure of the emperor, readily obtained a complete dervish's habit, and carried it to prince firoze shaw. the prince immediately pulled off his own dress, put it on, and being so disguised, and provided with a box of jewels, which he had brought as a present to the princess, left the palace, uncertain which way to go, but resolved not to return till he had found out his princess, and brought her back again, or perish in the attempt. but to return to the hindoo; he governed his enchanted horse so well, that he arrived early next morning in a wood, near the capital of the kingdom of cashmeer. being hungry, and concluding the princess was so also, he alighted in that wood, in an open part of it, and left the princess on a grassy spot, close to a rivulet of clear fresh water. during the hindoo's absence, the princess of bengal, who knew that she was in the power of a base ravisher, whose violence she dreaded, thought of escaping from him, and seeking out for some sanctuary. but as she had eaten scarcely any thing on her arrival at the palace, was so faint, that she could not execute her design, but was forced to abandon it and stay where she was, without any other resource than her courage, and a firm resolution rather to suffer death than be unfaithful to the prince of persia. when the hindoo returned, she did not wait to be entreated, but ate with him, and recovered herself enough to answer with courage to the insolent language he now began to hold to her. after many threats, as she saw that the hindoo was preparing to use violence, she rose up to make resistance, and by her cries and shrieks drew towards them a company of horsemen, which happened to be the sultan of cashmeer and his attendants, who, as they were returning from hunting, happily for the princess of bengal, passed through that part of the wood, and ran to her assistance, at the noise she made. the sultan addressed himself to the hindoo, demanded who he was, and wherefore he ill treated the lady? the hindoo, with great impudence, replied, "that she was his wife, and what had any one to do with his quarrel with her?" the princess, who neither knew the rank nor quality of the person who came so seasonably to her relief, told the hindoo he was a liar; and said to the sultan, "my lord, whoever you are whom heaven has sent to my assistance, have compassion on a princess, and give no credit to that impostor. heaven forbid that i should be the wife of so vile and despicable a hindoo! a wicked magician, who has forced me away from the prince of persia, to whom i was going to be united, and has brought me hither on the enchanted horse you behold there." the princess of bengal had no occasion to say more to persuade the sultan of cashmeer that what she told him was truth. her beauty, majestic air, and tears, spoke sufficiently for her. justly enraged at the insolence of the hindoo, he ordered his guards to surround him, and strike off his head: which sentence was immediately executed. the princess, thus delivered from the persecution of the hindoo, fell into another no less afflicting. the sultan conducted her to his palace, where he lodged her in the most magnificent apartment, next his own, commanded a great number of women slaves to attend her, and ordered a guard of eunuchs. he led her himself into the apartment he had assigned her; where, without giving her time to thank him for the great obligation she had received, he said to her, "as i am certain, princess, that you must want rest, i will take my leave of you till to-morrow, when you will be better able to relate to me the circumstances of this strange adventure;" and then left her. the princess of bengal's joy was inexpressible at finding herself delivered from the violence of the hindoo, of whom she could not think without horror. she flattered herself that the sultan of cashmeer would complete his generosity by sending her back to the prince of persia when she should have told him her story, and asked that favour of him; but she was much deceived in these hopes; for her deliverer had resolved to marry her himself the next day; and for that end had ordered rejoicings to be made by day-break, by beating of drums, sounding of trumpets, and other instruments expressive of joy; which not only echoed through the palace, but throughout the whole city. the princess of bengal was awakened by these tumultuous concerts; but attributed them to a very different cause from the true one. when the sultan of cashmeer, who had given orders that he should be informed when the princess was ready to receive a visit, came to wait upon her; after he had inquired after her health, he acquainted her that all those rejoicings were to render their nuptials the more solemn; and at the same time desired her assent to the union. this declaration put her into such agitation that she fainted away. the women-slaves, who were present, ran to her assistance; and the sultan did all he could to bring her to herself, though it was a long time before they succeeded. but when she recovered, rather than break the promise she had made to prince firoze shaw, by consenting to marry the sultan of cashmeer, who had proclaimed their nuptials before he had asked her consent, she resolved to feign madness. she began to utter the most extravagant expressions before the sultan, and even rose off her seat as if to attack him; insomuch that he was greatly alarmed and afflicted, that he had made such a proposal so unseasonably. when he found that her frenzy rather increased than abated, he left her with her women, charging them never to leave her alone, but to take great care of her. he sent often that day to inquire how she did; but received no other answer than that she was rather worse than better. at night she seemed more indisposed than she had been all day, insomuch that the sultan deferred the happiness he had promised himself. the princess of bengal continued to talk wildly, and shew other marks of a disordered mind, next day and the following; so that the sultan was induced to send for all the physicians belonging to his court, to consult them upon her disease, and to ask if they could cure her. the physicians all agreed that there were several sorts and degrees of this disorder, some curable and others not; and told the sultan, that they could not judge of the princess of bengal's unless they might see her; upon which the sultan ordered the eunuchs to introduce them into the princess's chamber, one after another, according to their rank. the princess, who foresaw what would happen, and feared, that if she let the physicians feel her pulse, the least experienced of them would soon know that she was in good health, and that her madness was only feigned, flew into such a well-dissembled rage and passion, that she appeared ready to injure those who came near her; so none of them durst approach her. some who pretended to be more skilful than the rest, and boasted of judging of diseases only by sight, ordered her some potions, which she made the less difficulty to take, well knowing she could be sick or well at pleasure, and that they could do her no harm. when the sultan of cashmeer saw that his court physicians could not cure her, he called in the most celebrated and experienced of the city, who had no better success. afterwards he sent for the most famous in the kingdom, who met with no better reception than the others from the princess, and what they prescribed had no effect. afterwards he dispatched expresses to the courts of neighbouring sultans, with the princess's case, to be distributed among the most famous physicians, with a promise of a munificent reward to any of them who should come and effect her cure. various physicians arrived from all parts, and tried their skill; but none could boast of better success than their predecessors, or of restoring the princess's faculties, since it was a case that did not depend on medicine, but on the will of the princess herself. during this interval firoze shaw, disguised in the habit of a dervish, travelled through many provinces and towns, involved in grief; and endured excessive fatigue, not knowing which way to direct his course, or whether he might not be pursuing the very opposite road from what he ought, in order to hear the tidings he was in search of. he made diligent inquiry after her at every place he came to; till at last passing through a city of hindoostan, he heard the people talk much of a princess of bengal, who ran mad on the day of the intended celebration of her nuptials with the sultan of cashmeer. at the name of the princess of bengal, and supposing that there could exist no other princess of bengal than her upon whose account he had undertaken his travels, he hastened towards the kingdom of cashmeer, and upon his arrival at the capital took up his lodging at a khan, where the same day he was informed of the story of the princess, and the fate of the hindoo magician, which he had so richly deserved. from the circumstances, the prince was convinced that she was the beloved object he had sought so long. being informed of all these particulars, he provided himself against the next day with a physician's habit, and having let his beard grow during his travels, he passed the more easily for the character he assumed, went to the palace, impatient to behold his beloved, where he presented himself to the chief of the officers, and observed modestly, that perhaps it might be looked upon as a rash undertaking to attempt the cure of the princess, after so many had failed; but that he hoped some specifics, from which he had experienced success, might effect the desired relief. the chief of the officers told him he was welcome, that the sultan would receive him with pleasure, and that if he should have the good fortune to restore the princess to her former health, he might expect a considerable reward from his master's liberality: "stay a moment," added he, "i will come to you again immediately." some time had elapsed since any physician had offered himself; and the sultan of cashmeer with great grief had begun to lose all hope of ever seeing the princess restored to health, that he might marry, and shew how much he loved her. he ordered the officer to introduce the physician he had announced. the prince of persia was presented, when the sultan, without wasting time in superfluous discourse, after having told him the princess of bengal could not bear the sight of a physician without falling into most violent transports, which increased her malady, conducted him into a closet, from whence, through a lattice, he might see her without being observed. there firoze shaw beheld his lovely princess sitting melancholy, with tears in her eyes, and singing an air in which she deplored her unhappy fate, which had deprived her, perhaps, for ever, of the object she loved so tenderly. the prince was sensibly affected at the melancholy condition in which he found his dear princess, but he wanted no other signs to comprehend that her disorder was feigned, or that it was for love of him that she was under so grievous an affliction. when he came out of the closet, he told the sultan that he had discovered the nature of the princess's complaint, and that she was not incurable; but added withal, that he must speak with her in private, and alone, as, notwithstanding her violent agitation at the sight of physicians, he hoped she would hear and receive him favourably. the sultan ordered the princess's chamber door to be opened, and firoze shaw went in. as soon as the princess saw him (taking him by his habit to be a physician), she rose up in a rage, threatening him, and giving him the most abusive language. he made directly towards her, and when he was nigh enough for her to hear him, for he did not wish to be heard by any one else, said to her, in a low voice, "princess, i am not a physician, but the prince of persia, and am come to procure you your liberty." the princess, who knew the sound of the voice, and the upper features of his face, notwithstanding he had let his beard grow so long, grew calm at once, and a secret joy and pleasure overspread her face, the effect of seeing the person so much desired so unexpectedly. her agreeable surprise deprived her for some time of the use of speech, and gave firoze shaw time to tell her as briefly as possible, how despair had seized him when he saw the hindoo carry her away; the resolution he afterwards had taken to leave every thing to find her out, and never to return home till he had regained her out of the hands of the perfidious wretch; and by what good fortune, at last, after a long and fatiguing journey, he had the satisfaction to find her in the palace of the sultan of cashmeer. he then desired the princess to inform him of all that happened to her, from the time she was taken away, till that moment when he had the happiness to converse with her, telling her, that it was of the greatest importance to know this, that he might take the most proper measures to deliver her from the tyranny of the sultan of cashmeer. the princess informed him how she was delivered from the hindoo's violence by the sultan, as he was returning from hunting; how she was alarmed the next day, by a declaration he had made of his precipitate design to marry her, without even the ceremony of asking her consent; that this violent and tyrannical conduct put her into a swoon; after which she thought she had no other way than what she had taken, to preserve herself for a prince to whom she had given her heart and faith; or die, rather than marry the sultan, whom she neither loved, nor could ever love. the prince of persia then asked her, if she knew what became of the horse, after the death of the hindoo magician. to which she answered, that she knew not what orders the sultan had given; but supposed, after the account she had given him of it, he would take care of it as a curiosity. as firoze shaw never doubted but that the sultan had the horse, he communicated to the princess his design of making use of it to convey them both into persia; and after they had consulted together on the measures they should take, they agreed that the princess should dress herself the next day, and receive the sultan civilly, but without speaking to him. the sultan of cashmeer was overjoyed when the prince of persia stated to him what effect his first visit had had towards the cure of the princess. on the following day, when the princess received him in such a manner as persuaded him her cure was far advanced, he regarded him as the greatest physician in the world; and seeing her in this state, contented himself with telling her how rejoiced he was at her being likely soon to recover her health. he exhorted her to follow the directions of so skilful a physician, in order to complete what he had so well begun; and then retired without waiting for her answer. the prince of persia, who attended the sultan of cashmeer out of the princess's chamber, as he accompanied him, asked if, without failing in due respect, he might inquire, how the princess of bengal came into the dominions of cashmeer thus alone, since her own country was far distant? this he said on purpose to introduce some conversation about the enchanted horse, and to know what was become of it. the sultan, who could not penetrate into the prince's motive, concealed nothing from him; but informed him of what the princess had related, when he had delivered her from the hindoo magician: adding, that he had ordered the enchanted horse to be kept safe in his treasury as a great curiosity, though he knew not the use of it. "sir," replied the pretended physician, "the information which your majesty has given your devoted slave affords me a means of curing the princess. as she was brought hither on this horse, and the horse is enchanted, she hath contracted something of the enchantment, which can be dissipated only by a certain incense which i am acquainted with. if your majesty would entertain yourself, your court, and the people of your capital, with the most surprising sight that ever was beheld, let the horse be brought into the great square before the palace, and leave the rest to me. i promise to show you, and all that assembly, in a few moments time, the princess of bengal completely restored in body and mind. but the better to effect what i propose, it will be requisite that the princess, should be dressed as magnificently as possible, and adorned with the most valuable jewels your majesty may possess." the sultan would have undertaken much more difficult things to have arrived at the enjoyment of his desires, which he expected soon to accomplish. the next day, the enchanted horse was, by his order, taken out of the treasury, and placed early in the great square before the palace. a report was spread through the town that there was something extraordinary to be seen, and crowds of people flocked thither from all parts, insomuch that the sultan's guards were placed to prevent disorder, and to keep space enough round the horse. the sultan of cashmeer, surrounded by all his nobles and ministers of state, was placed on a scaffold erected on purpose. the princess of bengal, attended by a number of ladies whom the sultan had assigned her, went up to the enchanted horse, and the women helped her to mount. when she was fixed in the saddle, and had the bridle in her hand, the pretended physician placed round the horse at a proper distance many vessels full of lighted charcoal, which he had ordered to be brought, and going round them with a solemn pace, cast in a strong and grateful perfume; then collected in himself, with downcast eyes, and his hands upon his breast, he ran three times about the horse, making as if he pronounced some mystical words. the moment the pots sent forth a dark cloud of pleasant smell, which so surrounded the princess, that neither she nor the horse could be discerned, watching his opportunity, the prince jumped nimbly up behind her, and reaching his hand to the peg, turned it; and just as the horse rose with them into the air, he pronounced these words, which the sultan heard distinctly, "sultan of cashmeer, when you would marry princesses who implore your protection, learn first to obtain their consent." thus the prince delivered the princess of bengal, and carried her the same day to the capital of persia, where he alighted in the square of the palace, before the emperor his father's apartment, who deferred the solemnization of the marriage no longer than till he could make the preparations necessary to render the ceremony pompous and magnificent, and evince the interest he took in it. after the days appointed for the rejoicings were over, the emperor of persia's first care was to name and appoint an ambassador to go to the rajah of bengal with an account of what had passed, and to demand his approbation and ratification of the alliance contracted by this marriage; which the rajah of bengal took as an honour, and granted with great pleasure and satisfaction. the story of prince ahmed, and the fairy perie banou. there was a sultan who had peaceably filled the throne of india many years, and had the satisfaction in his old age to have three sons the worthy imitators of his virtues, who, with the princess his niece, were the ornaments of his court. the eldest of the princes was called houssain, the second ali, the youngest ahmed, and the princess his niece nouronnihar. the princess nouronnihar was the daughter of the younger brother of the sultan, to whom in his lifetime he had allowed a considerable revenue. but that prince had not been married long before he died, and left the princess very young. the sultan, in consideration of the brotherly love and friendship that had always subsisted between them, besides a great attachment to his person, took upon himself the care of his daughter's education, and brought her up in his palace with the three princes; where her singular beauty and personal accomplishments, joined to a lively wit and irreproachable virtue, distinguished her among all the princesses of her time. the sultan, her uncle, proposed to marry her when she arrived at a proper age, and by that means to contract an alliance with some neighbouring prince; and was thinking seriously on the subject, when he perceived that the three princes his sons loved her passionately. this gave him much concern, though his grief did not proceed from a consideration that their passion prevented his forming the alliance he designed, but the difficulty he foresaw to make them agree, and that the two youngest should consent to yield her up to their eldest brother. he spoke to each of them apart; and remonstrated on the impossibility of one princess being the wife of three persons, and the troubles they would create if they persisted in their attachment. he did all he could to persuade them to abide by a declaration of the princess in favour of one of them; or to desist from their pretensions, to think of other matches which he left them free liberty to choose, and suffer her to be married to a foreign attachment. but as he found them obstinate, he sent for them all together, and said, "my children, since i have not been able to dissuade you from aspiring to marry the princess your cousin; and as i have no inclination to use my authority, to give her to one in preference to his brothers, i trust i have thought of an expedient which will please you all, and preserve harmony among you, if you will but hear me, and follow my advice. i think it would not be amiss if you were to travel separately into different countries, so that you might not meet each other: and as you know i am very curious, and delight in every thing that is rare and singular, i promise my niece in marriage to him who shall bring me the most extraordinary rarity; chance may lead you to form your own judgment of the singularity of the things which you bring, by the comparison you make of them, so that you will have no difficulty to do yourselves justice by yielding the preference to him who has deserved it; and for the expense of travelling, i will give each of you a sum suited to your rank, and for the purchase of the rarity you shall search after; which shall not be laid out in equipage and attendants, as much display, by discovering who you are, would not only deprive you of the liberty to acquit yourselves of your charge, but prevent your observing those things which may merit your attention, and may be most useful to you." as the three princes were always submissive and obedient to the sultan's will, and each flattered himself fortune might prove favourable to him, and give him possession of the princess nouronnihar, they all consented to the proposal. the sultan gave them the money he promised; and that very day they issued orders for the preparations for their travels, and took leave of their father, that they might be ready to set out early next morning. they all went out at the same gate of the city, each dressed like a merchant, attended by a trusty officer, habited as a slave, and all well mounted and equipped. they proceeded the first day's journey together; and slept at a caravanserai, where the road divided into three different tracks. at night when they were at supper together, they all agreed to travel for a year, to make their present lodging their rendezvous; and that the first who came should wait for the rest; that as they had all three taken leave together of the sultan, they might return in company. the next morning by break of day, after they had embraced and wished each other reciprocally good success, they mounted their horses, and took each a different road. prince houssain, the eldest brother, who had heard wonders of the extent, power, riches, and splendour of the kingdom of bisnagar, bent his course towards the indian coast; and after three months' travelling, joining himself to different caravans, sometimes over deserts and barren mountains, and sometimes through populous and fertile countries, arrived at bisnagar, the capital of the kingdom of that name, and the residence of its maharajah. he lodged at a khan appointed for foreign merchants; and having learnt that there were four principal divisions where merchants of all sorts kept their shops, in the midst of which stood the castle, or rather the maharajah's palace, on a large extent of ground, as the centre of the city, surrounded by three courts, and each gate distant two leagues from the other, he went to one of these quarters the next day. prince houssain could not view this quarter without admiration. it was large, divided into several streets, all vaulted and shaded from the sun, but yet very light. the shops were all of the same size and proportion; and all who dealt in the same sort of goods, as well as all the artists of the same profession, lived in one street. the number of shops stocked with all kinds of merchandizes, such as the finest linens from several parts of india, some painted in the most lively colours, and representing men, landscapes, trees, and flowers; silks and brocades from persia, china, and other places; porcelain from japan and china; foot carpets of all sizes; surprised him so much, that he knew not how to believe his eyes: but when he came to the shops of the goldsmiths and jewellers (for those two trades were exercised by the same merchants), he was in a kind of ecstasy, at beholding such prodigious quantities of wrought gold and silver, and was dazzled by the lustre of the pearls, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and other precious stones exposed to sale. but if he was amazed at seeing so many treasures in one place, he was much more surprised when he came to judge of the wealth of the whole kingdom, by considering, that except the brahmins, and ministers of the idols, who profess a life retired from worldly vanity, there was not an indian, man or woman, through the extent of the kingdom, but wore necklaces, bracelets, and ornaments about their legs and feet, made of pearls, and precious stones, which appeared with the greater lustre, as they were blacks, which colour admirably set off their brilliancy. another object which prince houssain particularly admired was the great number of flower-sellers who crowded the streets; for the indians are such great lovers of flowers that not one will stir without a nosegay of them in his hand, or a garland of them on his head; and the merchants keep them in pots in their shops, so that the air of the whole quarter, however extensive, is perfectly perfumed. after prince houssain had passed through that quarter, street by street, his thoughts fully employed on the riches he had seen, he was much fatigued; which a merchant perceiving, civilly invited him to sit down in his shop. he accepted his offer; but had not been seated long, before he saw a crier pass with a piece of carpeting on his arm, about six feet square, and crying it at thirty purses. the prince called to the crier, and asked to see the carpeting, which seemed to him to be valued at an exorbitant price, not only for the size of it, but the meanness of the materials. when he had examined it well, he told the crier that he could not comprehend how so small a piece of carpeting, and of so indifferent an appearance, could be set at so high a price. the crier, who took him for a merchant, replied, "sir, if this price seems so extravagant to you, your amazement will be greater when i tell you, i have orders to raise it to forty purses, and not to part with it under." "certainly," answered prince houssain, "it must have something very extraordinary in it, which i know nothing of." "you have guessed right, sir," replied the crier, "and will own it when you come to know, that whoever sits on this piece of carpeting may be transported in an instant wherever he desires to be, without being stopped by any obstacle." at this account, the prince of the indies, considering that the principal motive of his tour was to carry the sultan his father home some singular rarity, thought that he could not meet with any which would afford him more satisfaction. "if the carpeting," said he to the crier, "has the virtue you attribute to it, i shall not think forty purses too much; but shall make you a present besides." "sir," replied the crier, "i have told you the truth; and it will be an easy matter to convince you of it, as soon as you have made the bargain for forty purses, on condition i shew you the experiment. but as i suppose you have not so much with you, and to receive them, i must go with you to the khan where you lodge; with the leave of the master of this shop we will go into the back warehouse, where i will spread the carpeting; and when we have both sat down, and you have formed the wish to be transported into your apartment at the khan, if we are not conveyed thither, it shall be no bargain, and you shall be at your liberty. as to your present, as i am paid for my trouble by the seller, i shall receive it as a favour, and feel much obliged by your liberality." on this assurance of the crier, the prince accepted the conditions, and concluded the bargain; then having obtained the master's leave, they went into his back-shop, where they both sat down on the carpeting; and as soon as the prince had formed his wish to be transported into his apartment at the khan, he in an instant found himself and the crier there: as he wanted not a more convincing proof of the virtue of the carpeting, he counted to the crier forty purses of gold, and gave him twenty pieces for himself. in this manner prince houssain became the possessor of the carpeting, and was overjoyed that at his arrival at bisnagar he had found so rare a curiosity, which he never doubted must of course gain him the possession of nouronnihar. in short, he thought it impossible for the princes, his younger brothers, to meet with any thing to be compared with it. it was in his power, by sitting on this carpeting, to be at the place of rendezvous that very day; but as he would be obliged to wait there for his brothers, as they had agreed, and as he was desirous of seeing the maharajah of bisnagar and his court, and to inform himself of the strength, laws, customs, and religion of the kingdom, he chose to make a longer abode in this capital, and to spend some months in satisfying his curiosity. it was the custom of the maharajah of bisnagar to give all foreign merchants access to his person once a week; so that in his assumed character prince houssain saw him often: and as this prince was of an engaging presence, sensible and accomplished, he distinguished himself among the merchants, and was preferred before them all by the maharajah, who addressed himself to him to be informed of the person of the sultan of the indies, and of the government, strength, and riches of his dominions. the rest of his time the prince employed in viewing what was most remarkable in and about the city; and among the objects which were most worthy of admiration, he visited a temple remarkable for being built all of brass. it was ten cubits square, and fifteen high; but its greatest ornament was an idol of the height of a man, of massive gold; its eyes were two rubies, set so artificially, that it seemed to look at those who viewed it, on which side soever they turned: besides this, there was another not less curious, in the environs of the city, in the midst of a lawn of about ten acres, which was like a delicious garden full of roses and the choicest flowers, surrounded by a low wall, breast high, to keep out the cattle. in the midst of this lawn was raised a terrace, a man's height, and covered with such beautiful cement, that the whole pavement seemed to be but one single stone, most highly polished. a temple was erected in the middle of this terrace, having a spire rising about fifty cubits high from the building, which might be seen for several leagues round. the temple was thirty cubits long, and twenty broad; built of red marble, highly polished. the inside of the spire was adorned with three compartments of fine paintings: and there was not a part in the whole edifice but what was embellished with paintings, or relievos, and gaudy idols from top to bottom. every night and morning there were superstitious ceremonies performed in this temple, which were always succeeded by sports, concerts of music, dancing, singing, and feasts. the brahmins of the temple, and the inhabitants of this suburb, had nothing to subsist on but the offerings of pilgrims, who came in crowds from the most distant parts of the kingdom to perform their vows. prince houssain was also spectator of a solemn festival, which was celebrated every year at the court of bisnagar, at which all the governors of provinces, commanders of fortified places, all heads and magistrates of towns, and the brahmins most celebrated for their learning, were usually present; and some lived so far off, that they were four months in coming. this assembly, composed of such innumerable multitudes of hindoos encamped in variously coloured tents, on a plain of vast extent, was a splendid sight, as far as the eye could reach. in the centre of this plain was a square of great length and breadth, closed on one side by a large scaffolding of nine stories, supported by forty pillars, raised for the maharajah and his court, and those strangers whom he admitted to audience once a week: within, it was adorned and furnished magnificently with rich carpets and cushions; and on the outside were painted landscapes, wherein all sorts of beasts, birds, and insects, even flies and gnats, were drawn very naturally. other scaffolds of at least four or five stories, and painted almost all with the same fanciful brilliancy, formed the other three sides. but what was more particular in these scaffolds, they could turn, and make them change their fronts so as to present different decorations to the eye every hour. on each side of the square, at some little distance from each other, were ranged a thousand elephants, sumptuously caparisoned, each having upon his back a square wooden stage, finely gilt, upon which were musicians and buffoons. the trunks, ears, and bodies of these elephants were painted with cinnabar and other colours, representing grotesque figures. but what prince houssain most of all admired, as a proof of the industry, address, and inventive genius of the hindoos, was to see the largest of these elephants stand with his four feet on a post fixed into the earth, and standing out of it above two feet, playing and beating time with his trunk to the music. besides this, he admired another elephant as large as the former, placed upon a plank, laid across a strong beam about ten feet high, with a sufficiently heavyweight at the other end, which balanced him, while he kept time, by the motions of his body and trunk, with the music, as well as the other elephant. the hindoos, after having fastened on the counterpoise, had drawn the other end of the board down to the ground, and made the elephant get upon it. prince houssain might have made a longer stay in the kingdom and court of bisnagar, where he would have been agreeably diverted by a great variety of other wonders, till the last day of the year, whereon he and his brothers had appointed to meet. but he was so well satisfied with what he had seen, and his thoughts ran so much upon the object of his love, that after such success in meeting with his carpet, reflecting on the beauty and charms of the princess nouronnihar increased every day the violence of his passion, and he fancied he should be the more easy and happy the nearer he was to her. after he had satisfied the master of the khan for his apartment, and told him the hour when he might come for the key, without mentioning how he should travel, he shut the door, put the key on the outside, and spreading the carpet, he and the officer he had brought with him sat down upon it, and as soon as he had formed his wish, were transported to the caravanserai at which he and his brothers were to meet, and where he passed for a merchant till their arrival. prince ali, the second brother, who had designed to travel into persia, in conformity with the intention of the sultan of the indies, took that road, having three days after he parted with his brothers joined a caravan; and in four months arrived at sheerauz, which was then the capital of the empire of persia; and having in the way contracted a friendship with some merchants, passed for a jeweller, and lodged in the same khan with them. the next morning, while the merchants opened their bales of merchandises, prince ali, who travelled only for his pleasure, and had brought nothing but necessaries with him, after he had dressed himself, took a walk into that quarter of the town where they sold precious stones, gold and silver works, brocades, silks, fine linens, and other choice and valuable articles, and which was at sheerauz called the bezestein. it was a spacious and well-built street, arched over, within the arcades of which were shops. prince ali soon rambled through the bezestein, and with admiration judged of the riches of the place by the prodigious quantities of the most precious merchandises exposed to view. but among the criers who passed backwards and forwards with several sorts of goods, offering to sell them, he was not a little surprised to see one who held in his hand an ivory tube, of about a foot in length, and about an inch thick, which he cried at forty purses. at first he thought the crier mad, and to inform himself, went to a shop, and said to the merchant who stood at the door, "pray, sir, is not that man" (pointing to the crier, who cried the ivory tube at forty purses) "mad? if he is not, i am much deceived." "indeed, sir," answered the merchant, "he was in his right senses yesterday; and i can assure you he is one of the ablest criers we have, and the most employed of any, as being to be confided in when any thing valuable is to be sold; and if he cries the ivory tube at forty purses, it must be worth as much or more, on some account or other which does not appear. he will come by presently, when we will call him, and you shall satisfy yourself: in the mean time sit down on my sofa, and rest yourself." prince ali accepted the merchant's obliging offer, and presently afterwards the crier arrived. the merchant called him by his name, and pointing to the prince, said to him, "tell that gentleman, who asked me if you were in your right senses, what you mean by crying that ivory tube, which seems not to be worth much, at forty purses? i should indeed be much amazed myself, if i did not know you were a sensible man." the crier, addressing himself to prince ali, said, "sir, you are not the only person that takes me for a madman, on account of this tube; you shall judge yourself whether i am or no, when i have told you its property; and i hope you will value it at as high a price as those i have shewed it to already, who had as bad an opinion of me as you have. "first, sir," pursued the crier, presenting the ivory tube to the prince, "observe, that this tube is furnished with a glass at both ends; by looking through one of them, you will see whatever object you wish to behold." "i am," said the prince, "ready to make you all proper reparation for the reflection i have cast upon you, if you can make the truth of what you advance appear; and" (as he had the ivory tube in his hand, after he had looked at the two glasses), he said, "shew me at which of these ends i must look, that i may be satisfied." the crier presently shewed him, and he looked through; wishing, at the same time, to see the sultan his father, whom he immediately beheld in perfect health, sitting on his throne, in the midst of his council. next, as there was nothing in the world so dear to him, after the sultan, as the princess nouronnihar, he wished to see her; and instantly beheld her laughing, and in a gay humour, with her women about her. prince all wanted no other proof to persuade him that this tube was the most valuable article, not only in the city of sheerauz, but in all the world; and believed, that if he should neglect to purchase it, he should never meet with an equally wonderful curiosity. he said to the crier, "i am very sorry that i have entertained so erroneous an opinion of you, but hope to make amends by buying the tube, for i should be sorry if any body else had it; so tell me the lowest price the owner has fixed; and do not give yourself any farther trouble to hawk it about, but go with me and i will pay you the money." the crier assured him, with an oath, that his last orders were to take no less than forty purses; and if he disputed the truth of what he said, he would carry him to his employer. the prince believed him, took him to the khan where he lodged, told him out the money, and received the tube. prince ali was overjoyed at his purchase; and persuaded himself, that as his brothers would not be able to meet with any thing so rare and admirable, the princess nouronnihar must be the recompense of his fatigue and travels. he thought now of only visiting the court of persia incognito, and seeing whatever was curious in and about sheerauz, till the caravan with which he came might be ready to return to the indies. he satisfied his curiosity, and when the caravan took its departure, the prince joined the former party of merchants his friends, and arrived happily without any accident or trouble, further than the length of the journey and fatigue of travelling, at the place of rendezvous, where he found prince houssain, and both waited for prince ahmed. prince ahmed took the road of samarcand, and the day after his arrival, went, as his brothers had done, into the bezestein; where he had not walked long before he heard a crier, who had an artificial apple in his hand, cry it at five-and-thirty purses. he stopped the crier, and said to him, "let me see that apple, and tell me what virtue or extraordinary property it possesses, to be valued at so high a rate?" "sir," replied the crier, giving it into his hand, "if you look at the mere outside of this apple it is not very remarkable; but if you consider its properties, and the great use and benefit it is of to mankind, you will say it is invaluable, and that he who possesses it is master of a great treasure. it cures all sick persons of the most mortal diseases, whether fever, pleurisy, plague, or other malignant distempers; for even if the patient is dying, it will recover him immediately, and restore him to perfect health: and this merely by the patient's smelling to it." "if one may believe you," replied prince ahmed, "the virtues of this apple are wonderful, and it is indeed invaluable: but what ground has the purchaser to be persuaded that there is no exaggeration in the high praises you bestow on it?" "sir," replied the crier, "the truth is known by the whole city of samarcand; but without going any farther, ask all these merchants you see here, and hear what they say; you will find several of them will tell you they had not been alive this day had they not made use of this excellent remedy; and that you may the better comprehend what it is, i must tell you it is the fruit of the study and experience of a celebrated philosopher of this city, who applied himself all his lifetime to the knowledge of the virtues of plants and minerals, and at last attained to this composition, by which he performed such surprising cures, as will never be forgotten; but died suddenly himself, before he could apply his own sovereign remedy; and left his wife and a great many young children behind in very indifferent circumstances, who, to support her family, and to provide for her children, has resolved to sell it." while the crier was detailing to prince ahmed the virtues of the artificial apple, many persons came about them, and confirmed what he declared; and one amongst the rest said he had a friend dangerously ill, whose life was despaired of; which was a favourable opportunity to shew the experiment. upon which prince ahmed told the crier he would give him forty purses for the apple if it cured the sick person by smelling to it. the crier, who had orders to sell it at that price, said to prince ahmed, "come, sir, let us go and make the experiment, and the apple shall be yours; and i say this with the greater confidence, as it is an undoubted fact that it will always have the same effect, as it already has had whenever it has been applied to save from death so many persons whose lives were despaired of." in short, the experiment succeeded; and the prince, after he had counted out to the crier forty purses, and had received the apple from him, waited with the greatest impatience for the departure of a caravan for the indies. in the mean time he saw all that was curious at and about samarcand, and principally the valley of sogd, which is reckoned by the arabians one of the four paradises of this world, for the beauty of its fields, gardens, and palaces, and for its fertility in fruit of all sorts, and all the other pleasures enjoyed there in the fine season. ahmed joined himself to the first caravan that set out for the indies, and notwithstanding the inevitable inconveniences of so long a journey, arrived in perfect health at the caravanserai, where the princes houssain and ali waited for him. ali, who had arrived some time before ahmed, asked houssain how long he had been there? who told him, "three months;" to which he replied, "then certainly you have not been very far." "i will tell you nothing now," said prince houssain, "of where i have been, but only assure you, i was above three months travelling to the place i went to." "but then," replied prince ali, "you made a short stay there." "indeed, brother," said prince houssain, "you are mistaken; i resided at one place above four months, and might have stayed longer." "unless you flew back," returned ali again, "i cannot comprehend how you can have been three months here, as you would make me believe." "i tell you the truth," added houssain, "and it is a riddle which i shall not explain to you, till our brother ahmed joins us; when i will let you know what rarity i have purchased in my travels. i know not what you have got, but believe it to be some trifle, because i do not perceive that your baggage is increased." "and pray what have you brought?" demanded prince ali, "for i can see nothing but an ordinary piece of carpeting, with which you cover your sofa; and therefore i think i may return your raillery; and as you seem to make what you have brought a secret, you cannot take it amiss that i do the same with respect to what i have procured." "i consider the rarity i have purchased," replied houssain, "to excel all others whatever, and should not make any difficulty to shew it you, and make you allow that it is so, and at the same time tell you how i came by it, without being in the least apprehensive that what you have got is to be preferred to it: but it is proper that we should wait till our brother ahmed arrives, when we may communicate our good fortune to each other." prince all would not enter into a dispute with prince houssain on the preference he gave his rarity, but was persuaded, that if his perspective glass was not preferable, it was impossible it should be inferior to it; and therefore agreed to stay till prince ahmed arrived, to produce his purchase. when prince ahmed joined his brothers, they embraced with tenderness, and complimented each other on the happiness of meeting together at the same place they had set out from. houssain, as the eldest brother, then assumed the discourse, and said to them, "brothers, we shall have time enough hereafter to entertain ourselves with the particulars of our travels. let us come to that which is of the greatest importance for us to know; and as i do not doubt you remember the principal motive which engaged us to travel, let us not conceal from each other the curiosities we have brought, but shew them, that we may do ourselves justice beforehand, and judge to which of us the sultan our father may give the preference. "to set the example," continued houssain, "i will tell you, that the rarity which i have brought from the kingdom of bisnagar is the carpeting on which i sit, which looks but ordinary, and makes no shew; but when i have declared its virtues, you will be struck with admiration, and confess you never heard of any thing like it. whoever sits on it, as we do, and desires to be transported to any place, be it ever so far distant, he is immediately carried thither. i made the experiment myself, before i paid the forty purses, which i most readily gave for it; and when i had fully satisfied my curiosity at the court of bisnagar, and wished to return here, i made use of no other conveyance than this wonderful carpet for myself and servant, who can tell you how long we were on our journey. i will shew you both the experiment whenever you please. i expect now that you should tell me whether what you have brought is to be compared with this carpet." here prince houssain finished his commendations of the excellency of his carpet; and prince ali, addressing himself to him, said, "i must own, brother, that your carpet is one of the most surprising curiosities, if it has, as i do not doubt, the property you speak of. but you must allow that there may be other rarities, i will not say more, but at least as wonderful, in another way; and to convince you there are, here is an ivory tube, which appears to the eye no more a prodigy than your carpet; it cost me as much, and i am as well satisfied with my purchase as you can be with yours; and you will be so just as to own that i have not been imposed upon, when you shall know by experience, that by looking at one end you see whatever object you wish to behold. i would not have you take my word," added prince ali, presenting the tube to him; "take it, make trial of it yourself." houssain took the ivory tube from prince ali, and put that end to his eye which ali directed, with an intention to see the princess nouronnihar; when ali and prince ahmed, who kept their eyes fixed upon him, were extremely surprised to see his countenance change in such a manner, as expressed extraordinary alarm and affliction. prince houssain did not give them time to ask what was the matter, but cried out, "alas! princes, to what purpose have we undertaken such long and fatiguing journeys, but with the hopes of being recompensed by the possession of the charming nouronnihar, when in a few moments that lovely princess will breathe her last. i saw her in her bed, surrounded by her women and eunuchs, all in tears, who seem to expect her death. take the tube, behold yourselves the miserable state she is in, and mingle your tears with mine." prince ali took the tube out of houssain's hand, and after he had seen the same object with sensible grief, presented it to ahmed, who took it, to behold the melancholy sight which so much concerned them all. when prince ahmed had taken the tube out of ali's hands, and saw that the princess nouronnihar's end was so near, he addressed himself to his two brothers, and said, "princes, the princess nouronnihar, equally the object of our vows, is indeed just at death's door; but provided we make haste and lose no time, we may preserve her life." he then took the artificial apple out of his bosom, and shewing it to his brothers, resumed, "this apple cost me as much and more than either the carpet or tube. the opportunity which now presents itself to shew you its wonderful property makes me not regret the forty purses i gave for it. but not to keep you longer in suspense, it has this virtue; if a sick person smells to it, though in the last agonies, it will restore him to perfect health immediately. i have made the experiment, and can show you its wonderful effect on the person of the princess nouronnihar, if we hasten to assist her." "if that be all," replied prince houssain, "we cannot make more dispatch than by transporting ourselves instantly into her chamber by means of my carpet. come, lose no time, sit down, it is large enough to hold us all: but first let us give orders to our servants to set out immediately, and join us at the palace." as soon as the order was given, the princes ali and ahmed sat down by houssain, and as their interest was the same, they all framed the same wish, and were transported instantaneously into the princess nouronnihar's chamber. the presence of the three princes, who were so little expected, alarmed the princess's women and eunuchs, who could not comprehend by what enchantment three men should be among them; for they did not know them at first; and the eunuchs were ready to fall upon them, as people who had got into a part of the palace where they were not allowed to come; but they presently found their mistake. prince ahmed no sooner saw himself in nouronnihar's chamber, and perceived the princess dying, but he rose off the carpet, as did also the other two princes, went to the bed-side, and put the apple to her nostrils. the princess instantly opened her eyes, and turned her head from one side to another, looking at the persons who stood about her; she then rose up in the bed, and asked to be dressed, with the same freedom and recollection as if she had awaked out of a sound sleep. her women presently informed her, in a manner that shewed their joy, that she was obliged to the three princes her cousins, and particularly to prince ahmed, for the sudden recovery of her health. she immediately expressed her joy at seeing them, and thanked them all together, but afterwards prince ahmed in particular. as she desired to dress, the princes contented themselves with telling her how great a pleasure it was to them to have come soon enough to contribute each in any degree towards relieving her from the imminent danger she was in, and what ardent prayers they had offered for the continuance of her life; after which they retired. while the princess was dressing, the princes went to throw themselves at the sultan their father's feet; but when they came to him, they found he had been previously informed of their unexpected arrival by the chief of the princess's eunuchs, and by what means the princess had been so suddenly cured. the sultan received and embraced them with the greatest joy, both for their return, and the wonderful recovery of the princess his niece, whom he loved as if she had been his own daughter, and who had been given over by the physicians. after the usual compliments, the princes presented each the rarity which he had brought: prince houssain his carpet, prince ali his ivory tube, and prince ahmed the artificial apple; and after each had commended his present, as he put it into the sultan's hands, they begged of him to pronounce their fate, and declare to which of them he would give the princess nouronnihar, according to his promise. the sultan of the indies having kindly heard all that the princes had to say in favour of their rarities, without interrupting them, and being well informed of what had happened in relation to the princess nouronnihar's cure, remained some time silent, considering what answer he should make. at last he broke silence, and said to them in terms full of wisdom, "i would declare for one of you, my children, if i could do it with justice; but consider whether i can? it is true, ahmed, the princess my niece is obliged to your artificial apple for her cure: but let me ask you, whether you could have been so serviceable to her if you had not known by ali's tube the danger she was in, and if houssain's carpet had not brought you to her so soon? your tube, ali, informed you and your brothers that you were likely to lose the princess your cousin, and so far she is greatly obliged to you. you must also grant, that the knowledge of her illness would have been of no service without the artificial apple and the carpet. and as for you, houssain, the princess would be very ungrateful if she did not show her sense of the value of your carpet, which was so necessary a means towards effecting her cure. but consider, it would have been of little use, if you had not been acquainted with her illness by ali's tube, or if ahmed had not applied his artificial apple. therefore, as neither the carpet, the ivory tube, nor the artificial apple has the least preference to the other articles, but as, on the contrary, their value has been perfectly equal, i cannot grant the princess to any one of you; and the only fruit you have reaped from your travels is the glory of having equally contributed to restore her to health. "as this is the case," added the sultan, "you see that i must have recourse to other means to determine me with certainty in the choice i ought to make; and as there is time enough between this and night, i will do it to-day. go and procure each of you a bow and arrow, repair to the plain where the horses are exercised; i will soon join you, and will give the princess nouronnihar to him who shoots the farthest. "i do not, however, forget to thank you all in general, and each in particular, for the present you have brought me. i have many rarities in my collection already, but nothing that comes up to the miraculous properties of the carpet, the ivory tube, and the artificial apple, which shall have the first places among them, and shall be preserved carefully, not only for curiosity, but for service upon all proper occasions." the three princes had nothing to object to the decision of the sultan. when they were dismissed his presence, they each provided themselves with a bow and arrow, which they delivered to one of their officers, and went to the plain appointed, followed by a great concourse of people. the sultan did not make them wait long for him: as soon as he arrived, prince houssain, as the eldest, took his bow and arrow, and shot first. prince ali shot next, and much beyond him; and prince ahmed last of all; but it so happened, that nobody could see where his arrow fell; and notwithstanding all the search made by himself and all the spectators, it was not to be found. though it was believed that he had shot the farthest, and had therefore deserved the princess nouronnihar, it was however necessary that his arrow should be found, to make the matter more evident and certain; but notwithstanding his remonstrances, the sultan determined in favour of prince ali, and gave orders for preparations to be made for the solemnization of the nuptials, which were celebrated a few days after with great magnificence. prince houssain would not honour the feast with his presence; his passion for the princess nouronnihar was so sincere and ardent, that he could scarcely support with patience the mortification of seeing her in the arms of prince ali: who, he said, did not deserve her better nor love her more than himself. in short, his grief was so violent and insupportable, that he left the court, and renounced all right of succession to the crown, to turn dervish, and put himself under the discipline of a famous chief, who had gained great reputation for his exemplary life; and had taken up his abode, and that of his disciples, whose number was great, in an agreeable solitude. prince ahmed, urged by the same motive, did not assist at prince ali and the princess nouronnihar's nuptials, any more than his brother houssain, yet did not renounce the world as he had done. but as he could not imagine what could have become of his arrow, he resolved to search for it, that he might not have any thing to reproach himself with. with this intent he went to the place where the princes houssain's and ali's were gathered up, and proceeding straight forwards from thence looked carefully on both sides as he advanced. he went so far, that at last he began to think his labour was in vain; yet he could not help proceeding till he came to some steep craggy rocks, which would have obliged him to return, had he been ever so desirous to continue his course. as he approached these rocks, he perceived an arrow, which he took up, looked earnestly at it, and was in the greatest astonishment to find it was the same he had shot. "certainly," said he to himself, "neither i, nor any man living, could shoot an arrow so far; and finding it laid flat, not sticking into the ground, he judged that it had rebounded from the rock. there must be some mystery in this, said he to himself again, and it may be to my advantage. perhaps fortune, to make amends for depriving me of what i thought the greatest happiness of my life, may have reserved a greater blessing for my comfort." as these rocks were full of sharp points and indentures between them, the prince meditating, entered into one of the cavities, and looking about, beheld an iron door, which seemed to have no lock. he feared it was fastened; but pushing against it, it opened, and discovered an easy descent, which he walked down with his arrow in his hand. at first he thought he was going into a dark place, but presently a light quite different from that which he had quitted succeeded; and entering into a spacious square, he, to his surprise, beheld a magnificent palace, the admirable structure of which he had not time to look at: for at the same instant, a lady of majestic air, and of a beauty to which the richness of her habit and the jewels which adorned her person added no advantage, advanced, attended by a troop of ladies, or whom it was difficult to distinguish which was the mistress, as all were so magnificently dressed. as soon as ahmed perceived the lady, he hastened to pay his respects; and the lady seeing him coming, prevented him. addressing him first, she said, "come near, prince ahmed, you are welcome." it was with no small surprise that the prince heard himself named in a palace he had never heard of, though so nigh to his father's capital, and he could not comprehend how he should be known to a lady who was a stranger to him. at last he returned the lady's compliment, by throwing himself at her feet, and rising up, said to her, "lady, i return you a thousand thanks for the assurance you give me of welcome to a place where i had reason to believe my imprudent curiosity had made me penetrate too far. but may i, without being guilty of rudeness, presume to inquire by what adventure you know me? and how you who live in the same neighbourhood should be so little known by me?" "prince," said the lady, "let us go into the hall; there i will gratify you in your request more commodiously for us both." after these words, the lady led prince ahmed into the hall, the noble structure of which, displaying the gold and azure which embellished the dome, and the inestimable richness of the furniture, appeared so great a novelty to him, that he could not forbear his admiration, but exclaimed, that he had never beheld its equal. "i can assure you," replied the lady, "that this is but a small part of my palace, as you will judge when you have seen all the apartments." she then sat down on a sofa; and when the prince at her entreaty had seated himself by her, she continued, "you are surprised, you say, that i know you, and am not known by you; but you will be no longer surprised when i inform you who i am. you cannot be ignorant, as the koran informs you, that the world is inhabited by genii as well as men: i am the daughter of one of the most powerful and distinguished of these genii, and my name is perie banou; therefore you ought not to wonder that i know you, the sultan your father, the princes your brothers, and the princess nouronnihar. i am no stranger to your loves or your travels, of which i could tell you all the circumstances, since it was i myself who exposed to sale the artificial apple which you bought at samarcand, the carpet which prince houssain purchased at bisnagar, and the tube which prince ali brought from sheerauz. this is sufficient to let you know that i am not unacquainted with every thing that relates to you. i have to add, that you seemed to me worthy of a more happy fate than that of possessing the princess nouronnihar; and that you might attain to it, i was present when you drew your arrow, and foresaw it would not go beyond prince houssain's. i seized it in the air, and gave it the necessary motion to strike against the rocks near which you found it. it is in your power to avail yourself of the favourable opportunity which presents itself to make you happy." as the fairy perie banou pronounced the last words with a different tone, and looked at the same time tenderly at the prince, with downcast eyes and a modest blush upon her cheeks, it was not difficult for him to comprehend what happiness she meant. he reflected that the princess nouronnihar could never be his, saw that perie banou excelled her infinitely in beauty and accomplishments, and, as far as he could conjecture by the magnificence of the palace, in immense riches. he blessed the moment that he thought of seeking after his arrow a second time, and yielding to his inclination, which drew him towards the new object which had fired his heart: he then replied, "should i, all my life, have the happiness of being your slave, and the admirer of the many charms which ravish my soul, i should think myself the happiest of men. pardon the presumption which inspires me to ask this favour, and do not refuse to admit into your court a prince who is entirely devoted to you." "prince," answered the fairy, "as i have been, long my own mistress, and have no dependence on a parent's consent, it is not as a slave that i would admit you into my court, but as master of my person, and all that belongs to me, by pledging your faith to me, and taking me as your wife. i hope you will not think it indecorous, that i anticipate you in this proposal. i am, as i said, mistress of my will; and must add, that the same customs are not observed among fairies as with human-kind, in whom it would not have been decent to have made such advances: but it is what we do, and we suppose we confer obligation by the practice." ahmed made no answer to this declaration, but was so penetrated with gratitude, that he thought he could not express it better than by prostration to kiss the hem of her garment; which she would not give him time to do, but presented her hand, which he kissed a thousand times, and kept fast locked in his. "well, prince ahmed," said she, "will you pledge your faith to me, as i do mine to you?" "yes, madam," replied the prince, in an ecstacy of joy. "what can i do more fortunate for myself, or with greater pleasure? yes, my sultaness, i give it you with my heart without the least reserve." "then," answered the fairy, "you are my husband, and i am your wife. our fairy marriages are contracted with no other ceremonies, and yet are more firm and indissoluble than those among men, with all their formalities. but as i suppose," pursued she, "that you have eaten nothing to-day, a slight repast shall be served up for you while preparations are making for our nuptial feast this evening, and then i will shew you the apartments of my palace." some of the fairy's women who came into the hall with them, and guessed her intentions, went immediately out, and returned with some excellent viands and wines. when ahmed had refreshed himself, the fairy led him through all the apartments, where he saw diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and all sorts of fine jewels, intermixed with pearls, agate, jasper, porphyry, and all kinds of the most precious marbles; not to mention the richness of the furniture, which was inestimable; the whole disposed in such elegant profusion, that the prince acknowledged there could not be any thing in the world equal to it. "prince," said the fairy, "if you admire my humble abode so much, what would you say to the palaces of the chiefs of our genii, which are much more beautiful, spacious, and magnificent? i could also shew you my garden; but we will leave that till another time. night draws near, and it will be time to go to supper." the next hall which the fairy led the prince into, where the cloth was laid for the feast, was the only apartment he had not seen, and it was not in the least inferior to the others. at his entrance, he admired the infinite number of wax candles perfumed with amber, the multitude of which, instead of being confused, were placed with so just a symmetry, as to form an agreeable and pleasant light. a large beaufet was set out with all sorts of gold plate, so finely wrought, that the workmanship was much more valuable than the weight of the gold. several bands of beautiful women richly dressed, and whose voices were ravishing, began a concert, accompanied by the most harmonious instruments he had ever heard. when they were seated, the fairy took care to help prince ahmed to the most delicious meats, which she named as she invited him to eat of them, and which the prince had never heard of, but found so exquisite, that he commended them in the highest terms, saying, that the entertainment which she gave him far surpassed those among men. he found also the same excellence in the wines, which neither he nor the fairy tasted till the dessert was served up, which consisted of the choicest sweetmeats and fruits. after the dessert, the fairy perie banou and prince ahmed rose and repaired to a sofa, with cushions of fine silk, curiously embroidered with all sorts of large flowers, laid at their backs. presently after a great number of genii and fairies danced before them to the chamber where the nuptial bed was prepared; and when they came to the entrance, divided themselves into two rows, to let them pass, after which they made obeisance and retired. the nuptial festivity was renewed the next day; or rather, every day following the celebration was a continued feast, which the fairy perie banou knew how to diversify, by new delicacies, new concerts, new dances, new shows, and new diversions; which were all so gratifying to his senses, that ahmed, if he had lived a thousand years among men, could not have experienced equal enjoyment. the fairy's intention was not only to give the prince convincing proofs of the sincerity of her love, by so many attentions; but to let him see, that as he had no pretensions at his father's court, he could meet with nothing comparable to the happiness he enjoyed with her, independently of her beauty and attractions, and to attach him entirely to herself. in this attempt she succeeded so well, that ahmed's passion was not in the least diminished by possession; but increased so much, that if he had been so inclined, it was not in his power to forbear loving her. at the end of six months, prince ahmed, who always loved and honoured the sultan his father, felt a great desire to know how he was; and as that desire could not be satisfied without his absenting himself, he mentioned his wish to the fairy, and requested she would give him leave to visit the sultan. this request alarmed the fairy, and made her fear it was only an excuse to leave her. she said to him, "what disgust can i have given to you to ask me this permission? is it possible you should have forgotten that you have pledged your faith to me, or have you ceased to love one who is so passionately fond of you? are not the proofs i have repeatedly given you of my affection sufficient?" "my queen," replied the prince, "i am perfectly convinced of your love, and should be unworthy of it, if i did not testify my gratitude by a reciprocal affection. if you are offended at the permission i solicit, i entreat you to forgive me, and i will make all the reparation in my power. i did not make the request with any intention of displeasing you, but from a motive of respect towards my father, whom i wish to free from the affliction in which my so long absence must have overwhelmed him, and which must be the greater, as, i have reason to presume, he believes that i am dead. but since you do not consent that i should go and afford him that comfort, i will deny myself the pleasure, as there is nothing to which i would not submit to please you." ahmed did not dissemble, for he loved her at heart as much as he had assured her by this declaration; and the fairy expressed her satisfaction. but as he could not absolutely abandon his design, he frequently took an opportunity to speak to her of the great qualifications of the sultan his father: and above all, of his particular tenderness towards himself, in hopes he might at length be able to move her. as the prince had supposed, the sultan of the indies, in the midst of the rejoicings on account of the nuptials of prince ali and the princess nouronnihar, was sensibly afflicted at the absence of the other two princes his sons, though it was not long before he was informed of the resolution houssain had taken to forsake the world, and the place he had chosen for his retreat. as a good father, whose happiness consists in seeing his children about him, especially when they are deserving of his tenderness, he would have been better pleased had he stayed at his court, near his person; but as he could not disapprove of his choice of the state of perfection which he had entered, he supported his absence more patiently. he made the most diligent search after ahmed, and dispatched couriers to all the provinces of his dominions, with orders to the governors to stop him, and oblige him to return to court: but all the pains he took had not the desired success, and his affliction, instead of diminishing, increased. he would make it the subject of his conversation with his grand vizier; and would say to him, "vizier, thou knowest i always loved ahmed the most of all my sons; and thou art not insensible of the means i have in vain used to find him out. my grief is so heavy, i shall sink under it, if thou hast not compassion on me; if thou hast any regard for the preservation of my life, i conjure thee to assist and advise me." the grand vizier, no less attached to the person of the sultan than zealous to acquit himself well of the administration of the affairs of state, considering how to give his sovereign some ease, recollected a sorceress, of whom he had heard wonders, and proposed to send for and consult her. the sultan consented, and the grand vizier, upon her arrival, introduced her into the presence. the sultan said to the sorceress, "the affliction i have been in since the marriage of my son prince ali to the princess nouronnihar, my niece, on account of the absence of prince ahmed, is so well known, and so public, that thou canst be no stranger to it. by thy art and skill canst thou tell me what is become of him? if he be alive, where he is? what he is doing? and if i may hope ever to see him again?" to this the sorceress replied, "it is impossible, sir, for me, however skilful in my profession, to answer immediately the questions your majesty asks; but if you allow me till to-morrow, i will endeavour to satisfy you." the sultan granted her the time, and permitted her to retire, with a promise to recompense her munificently, if her answer proved agreeable to his hopes. the sorceress returned the next day, and the grand vizier presented her a second time to the sultan. "sir," said she, "notwithstanding all the diligence i have used in applying the rules of my art to obey your majesty in what you desire to know, i have not been able to discover any thing more than that prince ahmed is alive. this is certain, and you may depend upon it; but as to where he is i cannot discover." the sultan of the indies was obliged to remain satisfied with this answer; which left him in the same uneasiness as before as to the prince's situation. to return to prince ahmed. he so often entertained the fairy perie banou with talking about his father, though without speaking any more of his desire to visit him, that she fully comprehended what he meant; and perceiving the restraint he put upon himself, and his fear of displeasing her after her first refusal, she inferred, from the repeated proofs he had given her, that his love for her was sincere; and judging by herself of the injustice she committed in opposing a son's tenderness for his father, and endeavouring to make him renounce that natural affection, she resolved to grant him the permission which she knew he so ardently desired. one day she said to him, "prince, the request you made to be allowed to go and see the sultan your father gave me apprehension that it was only a pretext to conceal inconstancy, and that was the sole motive of my refusal; but now, as i am fully convinced by your actions and words that i can depend on your honour and the fidelity of your love, i change my resolution, and grant you the permission you seek, on condition that you will first swear to me that your absence shall not be long. you ought not to be uneasy at this condition, as if i asked it out of distrust. i impose it only because i know that it will give you no concern, convinced, as i have already told you i am, of the sincerity of your love." prince ahmed would have thrown himself at the fairy's feet to shew his gratitude, but she prevented him. "my sultaness," said he, "i am sensible of the great favour you grant me; but want words to express my thanks. supply this defect, i conjure you, by your own feelings, and be persuaded i think much more. you may believe that the oath will give me no uneasiness, and i take it more willingly, since it is not possible for me to live without you. i go, but the haste i will make to return shall shew you, that it is not the fear of being foresworn, but my inclination, which is to live with you for ever, that urges me; and if with your consent i now and then deprive myself of your society, i shall always avoid the pain a too long absence would occasion me." "prince," replied perie banou, delighted with his sentiments, "go when you please; but do not take it amiss that i give you some advice how you shall conduct yourself. first, i do not think it proper for you to inform your father of our marriage, neither of my quality, nor the place of our residence. beg of him to be satisfied with knowing that you are happy, that you want nothing from him, and let him know that the sole end of your visit is to make him easy respecting your fate." perie banou then appointed twenty horsemen, well mounted and equipped, to attend him. when all was ready, prince ahmed took his leave of the fairy, embraced her, and renewed his promise to return soon. a charger, which was most richly caparisoned, and as beautiful a creature as any in the sultan of the indies' stables, was brought to him, which he mounted with extraordinary grace, which gave great pleasure to the fairy; and after he had bidden her adieu, he set forward on his journey. as it was no great distance to his father's capital, prince ahmed soon arrived there. the people, rejoiced to see him again, received him with acclamations, and followed him in crowds to the palace. the sultan received and embraced him with great joy; complaining at the same time, with a fatherly tenderness, of the affliction his long absence had occasioned; which, he said, was the more distressing, as fortune having decided in favour of prince ali his brother, he was afraid he might have committed some act of despair. "sir," replied prince ahmed, "i leave it to your majesty to consider, if after having lost the princess nouronnihar, who was the only object of my desires, i could bear to be a witness of ali's happiness. if i had been capable of such unworthy apathy, what would the court and city have thought of my love, or what your majesty? love is a passion we cannot suppress at our will; while it lasts, it rules and governs us in spite of our boasted reason. your majesty knows, that when i shot my arrow, the most extraordinary accident that ever befell mortal happened to me, for surely it was such, that in so large and level a plain as that where the horses are exercised, it should not be possible to find my arrow. i lost your decision in my favour, which was as much due to my love, as to that of the princes my brothers. though thus vanquished by the caprice of fate, i lost no time in vain complaints; but to satisfy my perplexed mind, upon what i could not comprehend, i left my attendants, and returned alone to look for my arrow. i sought all about the place where houssain's and ali's arrows were found, and where i imagined mine must have fallen, but all my labour was in vain. i was not discouraged, but continued my search in a direct line, and after this manner had gone above a league, without being able to meet with any thing like an arrow, when i reflected that it was not possible that mine should have flown so far. i stopped, and asked myself whether i was in my right senses, to flatter myself with having had strength to shoot an arrow so much farther than any of the strongest archers in the world were able to do. after i had argued thus with myself, i was ready to abandon my enterprise; but when on the point of putting my resolution in execution, i found myself drawn forward against my will; and after having gone four leagues, to that part of the plain where it is bounded by rocks, i perceived an arrow. i ran, took it up, and knew it to be the same which i had shot. far from thinking your majesty had done me any injustice in declaring for my brother ali, i interpreted what had happened to me quite otherwise, and never doubted there was a mystery in it to my advantage; the discovery of which i ought not to neglect, and which i found out without going from the spot. but as to this mystery i beg your majesty will not be offended if i remain silent, and that you will be satisfied to know from my own mouth that i am happy, and content with my fate. "in the midst of my happiness, the only thing that troubled me, or was capable of disturbing me, was the uneasiness i feared your majesty would experience on account of my leaving the court, and your not knowing what was become of me. i thought it my duty to satisfy you in this point. this was the only motive which brought me hither; the only favour i ask of your majesty is to give me leave to come occasionally to pay you my duty, and inquire after your health." "son," answered the sultan of the indies, "i cannot refuse you the permission you ask, but i should much rather you would resolve to stay with me. at least tell me where i may hear of you, if you should fail to come, or when i may think your presence necessary." "sir," replied the prince, "what your majesty requires is part of the mystery i spoke of. i beg of you to allow me to remain silent on this head; for i shall come so frequently where my duty calls, that i am afraid i shall sooner be thought troublesome than be accused of negligence, when my presence may be necessary." the sultan of the indies pressed ahmed no more, but said to him, "son, i wish to penetrate no farther into your secrets, but leave you at your liberty. i can only tell you, that you could not have done me greater pleasure than by your presence, having restored to me the joy i have not felt for a long time; and that you shall always be welcome when you can come, without interrupting your business or your pleasure." prince ahmed stayed but three days at his father's court, and on the fourth returned to the fairy perie banou, who received him with the greater joy, as she did not expect him so soon. his expedition made her condemn herself for suspecting his want of fidelity. she never dissembled, but frankly owned her weakness to the prince, and asked his pardon. so perfect was the union of the two lovers, that they had but one will. a month after prince ahmed's return from visiting his father, as the fairy had observed that since the time when he gave her an account of his journey, and his conversation with his father, in which he asked his permission to come and see him from time to time, he had never spoken of the sultan, whereas before he was frequently mentioning him, she thought he forebore on her account, and therefore took an opportunity to say to him one day, "tell me, prince, have you forgotten the sultan your father? do not you remember the promise you made to pay your duty to him occasionally? i have not forgotten what you told me at your return, and put you in mind of it, that you may acquit yourself of your promise when you may feel inclined." "madam," replied ahmed, with equal animation, "as i know i am not guilty of the forgetfulness you lay to my charge, i rather choose to be thus reproached, however undeservedly, than expose myself to a refusal, by manifesting a desire for what it might have given you pain to grant." "prince," said the fairy, "i would not have you in this affair have so much consideration for me, since it is a month since you have seen the sultan your father. i think you should not be longer in renewing your visits. pay him one to-morrow, and after that, go and visit once a month, without speaking to me, or waiting for my permission. i readily consent to such an arrangement." prince ahmed went the next morning with the same attendants as before, but much more magnificently mounted, equipped, and dressed, and was received by the sultan with the same joy and satisfaction. for several months he constantly paid him visits, and always in a richer and more brilliant equipage. at last the sultan's favourites, who judged of prince ahmed's power by the splendour of his appearance, abused the privilege the sultan accorded them of speaking to him with freedom, to make him jealous of his son. they represented that it was but common prudence to discover where the prince had retired, and how he could afford to live so magnificently, since he had no revenue assigned for his expenses; that he seemed to come to court only to insult him, by affecting to shew that he wanted nothing from his father to enable him to live like a prince; and that it was to be feared he might court the people's favour and dethrone him. the sultan of the indies was so far from thinking that prince ahmed could be capable of so wicked a design, that he said to them in displeasure, "you are mistaken, my son loves me, and i am the more assured of his tenderness and fidelity, as i have given him no reason to be disgusted." at these words, one of the favourites took an opportunity to say, "your majesty, in the opinion of the most sensible people, could not have taken a better method than you did with the three princes, respecting their marriage with the princess nouronnihar; but who knows whether prince ahmed has submitted to his fate with the same resignation as prince houssain? may not he imagine that he alone deserved her; and that your majesty, by leaving the match to be decided by chance, has done him injustice? "your majesty may say," added the malicious favourite, "that prince ahmed has manifested no appearance of dissatisfaction; that our fears are vain; that we are too easily alarmed, and are to blame in suggesting to you suspicions of this kind, which may, perhaps, be unfounded, against a prince of your blood. but, sir," pursued the favourite, "it may be also, that these suspicions are well grounded. your majesty must be sensible, that in so nice and important an affair you cannot be too much on your guard, and should take the safest course. consider, it is the prince's interest to dissemble, amuse, and deceive you; and the danger is the greater, as he resides not far from your capital; and if your majesty give but the same attention that we do, you may observe that every time he comes his attendants are different, their habits new, and their arms clean and bright, as if just come from the maker's hands; and their horses look as if they had only been walked out. these are sufficient proofs that prince ahmed does not travel far, so that we should think ourselves wanting in our duty did we not make our humble remonstrances, in order that, for your own preservation and the good of your people, your majesty may take such measures as you shall think advisable." when the favourite had concluded these insinuations, the sultan said, "i do not believe my son ahmed is so wicked as you would persuade me he is; however, i am obliged to you for your advice, and do not doubt that it proceeds from good intention and loyalty to my person." the sultan of the indies said this, that his favourites might not know the impressions their observations had made on his mind. he was, however, so much alarmed by them, that he resolved to have prince ahmed watched, unknown to his grand vizier. for this end he sent for the sorceress, who was introduced by a private door into his closet. "you told me the truth," said he, "when you assured me my son ahmed was alive, for which i am obliged to you. you must do me another kindness. i have seen him since, and he comes to my court every month; but i cannot learn from him where he resides, and do not wish to force his secret from him; but believe you are capable of satisfying my curiosity, without letting him, or any of my court, know any thing of the discovery. you know that he is at this time with me, and usually departs without taking leave of me, or any of my court. place yourself immediately upon the road, and watch him so as to find out where he retires, and bring me information." the sorceress left the sultan, and knowing the place where prince ahmed had found his arrow, went immediately thither, and concealed herself near the rocks, so as not to be seen. the next morning prince ahmed set out by daybreak, without taking leave either of the sultan or any of his court, according to custom. the sorceress seeing him coming, followed him with her eyes, till suddenly she lost sight of him and his attendants. the steepness of the rocks formed an insurmountable barrier to men, whether on horseback or on foot, so that the sorceress judged that the prince retired either into some cavern, or some subterraneous place, the abode of genies or fairies. when she thought the prince and his attendants must have far advanced into whatever concealment they inhabited, she came out of the place where she had hidden herself, and explored the hollow way where she had lost sight of them. she entered it, and proceeding to the spot where it terminated after many windings, looked carefully on all sides. but notwithstanding all her acuteness she could perceive no opening, nor the iron gate which prince ahmed had discovered. for this door was to be seen by or opened to none but men, and only to those whose presence was agreeable to the fairy perie banou, but not at all to women. the sorceress, who saw it was in vain for her to search any farther, was obliged to be satisfied with the insufficient discovery she had made, and returned to communicate it to the sultan. when she had told him what she had explored, she added, "your majesty may easily understand, after what i have had the honour to tell you, that it will be no difficult matter to obtain you the satisfaction you desire concerning prince ahmed's conduct. to do this, i only ask time, that you will have patience, and give me leave to act, without inquiring what measures i design to take." the sultan was pleased with the conduct of the sorceress, and said to her, "do you as you think fit; i will wait patiently the event of your promises:" and to encourage her, he presented her with a diamond of great value, telling her, it was only an earnest of the ample recompense she should receive when she should have performed the important service which he left to her management. as prince ahmed, after he had obtained the fairy perie banou's leave, never failed once a month to visit his father, the sorceress knowing the time, went a day or two before to the foot of the rock where she had lost sight of him and his attendants, and waited there to execute the project she had formed. the next morning prince ahmed went out as usual at the iron gate, with the same attendants as before, passed the sorceress, and seeing her lie with her head on the rock, complaining as if she was in great pain, he pitied her, turned his horse, and asked what he could do to relieve her? the artful sorceress, without lifting up her head, looked at the prince in such a manner as to increase his compassion, and answered in broken accents and sighs, as if she could hardly breathe, that she was going to the city; but in the way was taken with so violent a fever, that her strength failed her, and she was forced to stop and lie down where he saw her, far from any habitation, and without any hopes of assistance. "good woman," replied the prince, "you are not so far from help as you imagine. i will assist you, and convey you where you shall not only have all possible care taken of you, but where you will find a speedy cure: rise, and let one of my people take you behind him." at these words, the sorceress, who pretended sickness only to explore where the prince resided, and his situation, did not refuse the charitable offer, and to shew her acceptance rather by her actions than her words, made many affected efforts to rise, pretending that the violence of her illness prevented her. at the same time, two of the prince's attendants alighting, helped her up, and placed her behind another. they mounted their horses again, and followed the prince, who turned back to the iron gate, which was opened by one of his retinue. when he came into the outward court of the fairy's palace, without dismounting himself, he sent to tell her he wanted to speak with her. the fairy came with all imaginable haste, not knowing what had made prince ahmed return so soon; who, not giving her time to ask, said, "my princess, i desire you would have compassion on this good woman," pointing to the sorceress, who was taken off the horse by two of his retinue; "i found her in the condition you see her, and promised her the assistance she requires. i recommend her to your care, and am persuaded that you, from inclination, as well as my request, will not abandon her." the fairy, who had her eyes fixed on the pretended sick woman all the time the prince was speaking, ordered two of her women to take her from the men who supported her, conduct her into an apartment of the palace, and take as much care of her as they would of herself. whilst the two women were executing the fairy's commands, she went up to prince ahmed, and whispering him in the ear, said, "prince, i commend your compassion, which is worthy of you and your birth. i take great pleasure in gratifying your good intention; but permit me to tell you i am afraid it will be but ill rewarded. this woman is not so sick as she pretends to be; and i am much mistaken if she is not sent hither on purpose to occasion you great trouble. but do not be concerned, let what will be devised against you; be persuaded that i will deliver you out of all the snares that shall be laid for you. go and pursue your journey." this address of the fairy's did not in the least alarm prince ahmed. "my princess," said he, "as i do not remember i ever did, or designed to do, any body injury, i cannot believe any one can have a thought of injuring me; but if they have, i shall not forbear doing good whenever i have an opportunity." so saying, he took leave of the fairy, and set forward again for his father's capital, where he soon arrived, and was received as usual by the sultan, who constrained himself as much as possible, to disguise the anxiety arising from the suspicions suggested by his favourites. in the mean time, the two women to whom perie banou had given her orders conveyed the sorceress into an elegant apartment, richly furnished. they first set her down upon a sofa, with her back supported by a cushion of gold brocade, while they made a bed on the same sofa, the quilt of which was finely embroidered with silk, the sheets of the finest linen, and the coverlid cloth of gold. when they had put her into bed (for the old sorceress pretended that her fever was so violent she could not help herself in the least), one of the women went out, and returned soon with a china cup in her hand, full of a certain liquor, which she presented to the sorceress, while the other helped her to sit up. "drink this," said the attendant, "it is the water of the fountain of lions, and a sovereign remedy against fevers. you will find the effect of it in less than an hour's time." the sorceress, the better to dissemble, took it, after a great deal of entreaty, as if she did it with reluctance. when she was laid down again, the two women covered her up: "lie quiet," said she, who brought her the china cup, "and get a little sleep, if you can: we will leave you, and hope to find you perfectly recovered when we return an hour hence." the sorceress, who came not to act a sick part long, but to discover prince ahmed's retreat, being fully satisfied in what she wanted to know, would willingly have declared that the potion had then had its effect, so great was her desire to return to the sultan, to inform him of the success of her commission: but as she had been told that the potion did not operate immediately, she was forced to wait the women's return. the two women came again at the time they had mentioned, and found the sorceress seated on the sofa; who, when she saw them open the door of the apartment, cried out, "o the admirable potion! it has wrought its cure much sooner than you told me it would, and i have waited with impatience to desire you to conduct me to your charitable mistress, to thank her for her kindness, for which i shall always feel obliged; but being thus cured as by a miracle, i would not lose time, but prosecute my journey." the two women, who were fairies as well as their mistress, after they had told the sorceress how glad they were that she was cured so soon, walked before her, and conducted her through several apartments, all more superb than that wherein she had lain, into a large hall, the most richly and magnificently furnished of all the palace. perie banou was seated in this hall, upon a throne of massive gold, enriched with diamonds, rubies, and pearls of an extraordinary size, and attended on each hand by a great number of beautiful fairies, all richly dressed. at the sight of so much splendour, the sorceress was not only dazzled, but so struck, that after she had prostrated herself before the throne, she could not open her lips to thank the fairy, as she had proposed. however, perie banou saved her the trouble, and said, "good woman, i am glad i had an opportunity to oblige you, and that you are able to pursue your journey. i will not detain you; but perhaps you may not be displeased to see my palace: follow my women, and they will shew it you." the old sorceress, who had not power nor courage to say a word, prostrated herself a second time, with her head on the carpet that covered the foot of the throne, took her leave, and was conducted by the two fairies through the same apartments which were shewn to prince ahmed at his first arrival, and at sight of their uncommon magnificence she made frequent exclamations. but what surprised her most of all was, that the two fairies told her, that all she saw and so much admired was a mere sketch of their mistress's grandeur and riches; for that in the extent of her dominions she had so many palaces that they could not tell the number of them, all of different plans and architecture, but equally magnificent. in speaking of many other particulars, they led her at last to the iron gate at which prince ahmed had brought her in; and after she had taken her leave of them, and thanked them for their trouble, they opened it, and wished her a good journey. after the sorceress had gone a little way, she turned to observe the door, that she might know it again, but all in vain; for, as was before observed, it was invisible to her and all other women. except in this circumstance, she was very well satisfied with her success, and posted away to the sultan. when she came to the capital, she went by many by-ways to the private door of the palace. the sultan being informed of her arrival, sent for her into his apartment, and perceiving a melancholy hang upon her countenance, thought she had not succeeded, and said to her, "by your looks, i guess that your journey has been to no purpose, and that you have not made the discovery i expected from your diligence." "sir," replied the sorceress, "your majesty must give me leave to represent that you ought not to judge by my looks whether or no i have acquitted myself well in the execution of the commands you were pleased to honour me with; but by the faithful report i shall make you of all that has happened to me, and by which you will find that i have not neglected any thing that could render me worthy of your approbation. the melancholy you observe proceeds from another cause than the want of success, which i hope your majesty will have ample reason to be satisfied with. i do not tell you the cause; the relation i shall give will inform you." the sorceress now related to the sultan of the indies how, pretending to be sick, prince ahmed compassionating her, had her carried into a subterraneous abode, and presented and recommended her to a fairy of incomparable beauty, desiring her by her care to restore her health. she then told him with how much condescension the fairy had immediately ordered two women to take care of her, and not to leave her till she was recovered; which great condescension, said she, could proceed from no other female, but from a wife to a husband. afterwards the old sorceress failed not to dwell on her surprise at the front of the palace, which she said had not its equal for magnificence in the world. she gave a particular account of the care they took of her, after they had led her into an apartment; of the potion they made her drink, and of the quickness of her cure; which she had pretended as well as her sickness, though she doubted not the virtue of the draught; the majesty of the fairy seated on a throne, brilliant with jewels, the value of which exceeded all the riches of the kingdom of the indies, and all the other treasures beyond computation contained in that vast palace. here the sorceress finishing the relation of the success of her commission, and continuing her discourse, said, "what does your majesty think of these unheard-of riches of the fairy? perhaps you will say, you are struck with admiration, and rejoice at the good fortune of prince ahmed your son, who enjoys them in common with the fairy. for my part, sir, i beg of your majesty to forgive me if i take the liberty to say that i think otherwise, and that i shudder when i consider the misfortunes which may happen to you from his present situation. and this is the cause of the melancholy which i could not so well dissemble, but that you soon perceived it. i would believe that prince ahmed, by his own good disposition, is incapable of undertaking anything against your majesty; but who can answer that the fairy, by her attractions and caresses, and the influence she has over him, may not inspire him with the unnatural design of dethroning your majesty, and seizing the crown of the indies? this is what your majesty ought to consider as of the utmost importance." though the sultan of the indies was persuaded that prince ahmed's natural disposition was good, yet he could not help being moved at the representations of the old sorceress, and said, "i thank you for the pains you have taken, and your wholesome caution. i am so sensible of its great importance that i shall take advice upon it." he was consulting with his favourites, when he was told of the sorceress's arrival. he ordered her to follow him to them. he acquainted them with what he had learnt, communicated to them the reason he had to fear the fairy's influence over the prince, and asked them what measures they thought most proper to be taken to prevent so great a misfortune as might possibly happen. one of the favourites, taking upon himself to speak for the rest, said, "your majesty knows who must be the author of this mischief. in order to prevent it, now he is in your court, and in your power, you ought not to hesitate to put him under arrest; i will not say take away his life, for that would make too much noise; but make him a close prisoner." this advice all the other favourites unanimously applauded. the sorceress, who thought it too violent, asked the sultan leave to speak, which being granted, she said, "i am persuaded it is the zeal of your counsellors for your majesty's interest that makes them propose arresting prince ahmed. but they will not take it amiss if i offer to your and their consideration, that if you arrest the prince you must also detain his retinue. but they are all genies. do they think it will be so easy to surprise, seize, and secure their persons? will they not disappear, by the property they possess of rendering themselves invisible, and transport themselves instantly to the fairy, and give her an account of the insult offered her husband? and can it be supposed she will let it go unrevenged? would it not be better, if by any other means which might not make so great a noise, the sultan could secure himself against any ill designs prince ahmed may have, and not involve his majesty's honour? if his majesty has any confidence in my advice, as genies and fairies can do things impracticable to men, he will rather trust prince ahmed's honour, and engage him by means of the fairy to procure certain advantages, by flattering his ambition, and at the same time narrowly watching him. for example; every time your majesty takes the field, you are obliged to be at a great expense, not only in pavilions and tents for yourself and army, but likewise in mules and camels, and other beasts of burden, to carry their baggage. request the prince to procure you a tent, which can be carried in a man's hand, but so large as to shelter your whole army. "i need say no more to your majesty. if the prince brings such a tent, you may make other demands of the same nature, so that at last he may sink under the difficulties and the impossibility of executing them, however fertile in means and inventions the fairy, who has enticed him from you by her enchantments, may be; so that in time he will be ashamed to appear, and will be forced to pass the rest of his life with the fairy, excluded from any commerce with this world; when your majesty will have nothing to fear from him, and cannot be reproached with so detestable an action as the shedding of a son's blood, or confining him for life in a prison." when the sorceress had finished her speech, the sultan asked his favourites if they had any thing better to propose; and finding them all silent, determined to follow her advice, as the most reasonable and most agreeable to his mild manner of government. the next day when the prince came into his father's presence, who was talking with his favourites, and had sat down by him, after a conversation on different subjects, the sultan, addressing himself to prince ahmed, said, "son, when you came and dispelled those clouds of melancholy which your long absence had brought upon me, you made the place you had chosen for your retreat a mastery. i was satisfied with seeing you again, and knowing that you were content with your condition, sought not to penetrate into your secret, which i found you did not wish i should. i know not what reason you had thus to treat a father, who ever was and still continues anxious for your happiness. i now know your good fortune. i rejoice with you, and much approve of your conduct in marrying a fairy so worthy of your love, and so rich and powerful as i am informed she is. powerful as i am, it was not possible for me to have procured for you so great a match. now you are raised to so high a rank, as to be envied by all but a father, i not only desire to preserve the good understanding which has hitherto subsisted between us, but request that you will use your influence with your wife, to obtain her assistance when i may want it. i will therefore make a trial of your interest this day. "you are not insensible at what a great expense, not to say trouble to my generals, officers, and myself, every time i take the field, they provide tents, mules, camels, and other beasts of burden, to carry them. if you consider the pleasure you would do me, i am persuaded you could easily procure from the fairy a pavilion that might be carried in a man's hand, and which would extend over my whole army; especially when you let her know it is for me. though it may be a difficult thing to procure, she will not refuse you. all the world knows fairies are capable of executing most extraordinary undertakings." prince ahmed never expected that the sultan his father would have made a demand like this, which appeared to him so difficult, not to say impossible. though he knew not absolutely how great the power of genii and fairies was, he doubted whether it extended so far as to furnish such a tent as his father desired. moreover, he had never asked any thing of the fairy perie banou, but was satisfied with the continual proofs she had given him of her passion, and had neglected nothing to persuade her that his heart perfectly corresponded without any views beyond maintaining himself in her good graces: he was therefore in the greatest embarrassment what answer to make. at last he replied, "if, sir, i have concealed from your majesty what has happened to me, and what course i took after finding my arrow, the reason was, that i thought it of no great importance to you to be informed of such circumstances; and though i know not how this mystery has been revealed to you, i cannot deny but your information is correct. i have married the fairy you speak of. i love her, and am persuaded she loves me in return. but i can say nothing as to the influence your majesty believes i have over her. it is what i have not yet proved, nor thought of trying, but could wish you would dispense with my making the experiment, and let me enjoy the happiness of loving and being beloved, with all that disinterestedness i had proposed to myself. however, the demand of a father is a command upon every child, who, like me, thinks it his duty to obey him in every thing. and though it is with the greatest reluctance, i will not fail to ask my wife the favour your majesty desires, but cannot promise you to obtain it; and if i should not have the honour to come again to pay you my respects, it will be the sign that i have not been able to succeed in my request: but beforehand, i desire you to forgive me, and consider that you yourself have reduced me to this extremity." "son," replied the sultan of the indies, "i should be sorry that what i ask should oblige you to deprive me of the gratification of seeing you as usual. i find you do not know the power a husband has over a wife; and yours would shew that her love to you was very slight, if, with the power she possesses as a fairy, she should refuse so trifling a request as that i have begged you to make. lay aside your fears, which proceed from your believing yourself not to be loved so well as you love her. go; only ask her. you will find the fairy loves you better than you imagine; and remember that people, for want of requesting, often lose great advantages. think with yourself, that as you love her, you could refuse her nothing; therefore, if she loves you, she will not deny your requests." all these representations of the sultan of the indies could not satisfy prince ahmed, who would rather he had asked anything else than, as he supposed, what must expose him to the hazard of displeasing his beloved perie banou; and so great was his vexation that he left the court two days sooner than he used to do. when he returned, the fairy, to whom he always before had appeared with a gay countenance, asked him the cause of the alteration she perceived in his looks; and finding that instead of answering he inquired after her health, to avoid satisfying her, she said to him, "i will answer your question when you have answered mine." the prince declined a long time, protesting that nothing was the matter with him; but the more he denied the more she pressed him, and said, "i cannot bear to see you thus: tell me what makes you uneasy, that i may remove the cause, whatever it may be; for it must be very extraordinary if it is out of my power, unless it be the death of the sultan your father; in that case, time, with all that i will contribute on my part, can alone comfort you." prince ahmed could not long withstand the pressing instances of the fairy. "madam," said he, "god prolong the sultan my father's life, and bless him to the end of his days. i left him alive and in perfect health; therefore that is not the cause of the melancholy you perceive in me. the sultan, however, is the occasion of it, and i am the more concerned because he has imposed upon me the disagreeable necessity of importuning you. you know the care i have at your desire taken to conceal from him the happiness i have enjoyed in living with you, and of having received the pledge of your faith after having pledged my love to you. how he has been informed of it i cannot tell." here the fairy interrupted prince ahmed, and said, "but i know. remember what i told you of the woman who made you believe she was sick, on whom you took so much compassion. it is she who has acquainted your father with what you have taken so much care to hide from him. i told you that she was no more sick than you or i, and she has made it appear so; for, in short, after the two women, whom i charged to take care of her, had given her the water sovereign against all fevers, but which however she had no occasion for, she pretended that it had cured her, and was brought to take her leave of me that she might go the sooner to give an account of the success of her undertaking. she was in so much haste, that she would have gone away without seeing my palace if i had not, by bidding my two women shew it her, given her to understand that it was worth her seeing. but proceed and tell me what is the necessity your father has imposed on you to be so importunate, which, be persuaded, however, you can never be to your affectionate wife." "madam," pursued prince ahmed, "you may have observed that hitherto i have been content with your love, and have never asked you any other favour: for what, after the possession of so amiable a wife, can i desire more? i know how great your power is, but i have taken care not to make proof of it to please myself. consider then, i conjure you, that it is not myself, but the sultan my father, who, indiscreetly as i think, asks of you a pavilion large enough to shelter him, his court, and army, from the violence of the weather, when he takes the field, and which a man may carry in his hand. once more remember it is not i, but the sultan my father who asks this favour." "prince," replied the fairy smiling, "i am sorry that so trifling a matter should disturb and make you so uneasy as you appear. i see plainly two things have contributed towards it: one is, the law you have imposed on yourself, to be content with loving me, being beloved by me, and deny yourself the liberty of soliciting the least favour that might try my power. the other, i do not doubt, whatever you may say, was, that you thought that what your father asked was out of my power. as to the first, i commend you, and shall love you the better, if possible, for it; and for the second, i must tell you that what the sultan your father requests is a trifle; as upon occasion i can do him more important service. therefore be easy in your mind, and persuaded that far from thinking myself importuned i shall always take real pleasure in performing whatever you can desire." perie banou then sent for her treasurer, to whom, when she came, she said, "noor-jehaun" (which was her name), "bring me the largest pavilion in my treasury." noor-jehaun returned presently with a pavilion, which could not only be held, but concealed in the palm of the hand, when it was closed, and presented it to her mistress, who gave it prince ahmed to look at. when prince ahmed saw the pavilion, which the fairy called the largest in her treasury, he fancied she had a mind to banter him, and his surprise soon appeared in his countenance; which perie banou perceiving, she burst out a laughing. "what! prince," cried she, "do you think i jest with you? you will see that i am in earnest. noor-jehaun," said she to her treasurer, taking the tent out of prince ahmed's hands, "go and set it up, that he may judge whether the sultan his father will think it large enough." the treasurer went out immediately with it from the palace, and carried it to such a distance, that when she had set it up, one end reached to the palace. the prince, so far from thinking it small, found it large enough to shelter two armies as numerous as that of the sultan his father; and then said to perie banou, "i ask my princess a thousand pardons for my incredulity: after what i have seen, i believe there is nothing impossible to you." "you see," said the fairy, "that the pavilion is larger than your father may have occasion for; but you are to observe that it has one property, that it becomes larger or smaller, according to the extent of the army it is to cover, without applying any hands to it." the treasurer took down the tent again, reduced it to its first size, brought it and put it into the prince's hands. he took it, and without staying longer than till the next day, mounted his horse, and went with the usual attendants to the sultan his father. the sultan, who was persuaded that such a tent as he had asked for was beyond all possibility, was in great surprise at the prince's speedy return. he took the tent, but after he had admired its smallness, his amazement was so great that he could not recover himself when he had set it up in the great plain before-mentioned, and found it large enough to shelter an army twice as large as he could bring into the field. regarding this excess in its dimension as what might be troublesome in the use, prince ahmed told him that its size would always be proportionable to his army. to outward appearance the sultan expressed great obligation to the prince for so noble a present, desiring him to return his thanks to the fairy; and to shew what a value he set upon it, ordered it to be carefully laid up in his treasury. but within himself he felt greater jealousy than his flatterers and the sorceress had suggested to him; considering, that by the fairy's assistance the prince his son might perform things infinitely above his own power, notwithstanding his greatness and riches; therefore, more intent upon his ruin, he went to consult the sorceress again, who advised him to engage the prince to bring him some of the water of the fountain of lions. in the evening, when the sultan was surrounded as usual by all his court, and the prince came to pay his respects among the rest, he addressed himself to him in these words: "son, i have already expressed to you how much i am obliged for the present of the tent you have procured me, which i esteem the most valuable curiosity in my treasury: but you must do one thing more, which will be no less agreeable to me. i am informed that the fairy your spouse makes use of a certain water, called the water of the fountain of lions, which cures all sorts of fevers, even the most dangerous; and as i am perfectly well persuaded my health is dear to you, i do not doubt but you will ask her for a bottle of that water, and bring it me as a sovereign remedy, which i may use as i have occasion. do me this important service, and complete the duty of a good son towards a tender father." prince ahmed, who believed that the sultan his father would have been satisfied with so singular and useful a tent as that which he had brought, and that he would not have imposed any new task upon him which might hazard the fairy's displeasure, was thunderstruck at this new request, notwithstanding the assurance she had given him of granting him whatever lay in her power. after a long silence, he said, "i beg of your majesty to be assured, that there is nothing i would not undertake to procure which may contribute to the prolonging of your life, but i could wish it might not be by the means of my wife. for this reason i dare not promise to bring the water. all i can do is, to assure you i will request it of her; but it will be with as great reluctance as i asked for the tent." the next morning prince ahmed returned to the fairy perie banou, and related to her sincerely and faithfully all that had passed at his father's court from the giving of the tent, which he told her he received with the utmost gratitude, to the new request he had charged him to make. he added: "but, my princess, i only tell you this as a plain account of what passed between me and my father. i leave you to your own pleasure, whether you will gratify or reject this his new desire. it shall be as you please." "no, no," replied the fairy, "i am glad that the sultan of the indies knows that you are not indifferent to me. i will satisfy him, and whatever advice the sorceress may give him (for i see that he hearkens to her counsel), he shall find no fault with you or me. there is much wickedness in this demand, as you will understand by what i am going to tell you. the fountain of lions is situated in the middle of a court of a great castle, the entrance into which is guarded by four fierce lions, two of which sleep alternately, while the other two are awake. but let not that frighten you. i will supply you with means to pass by them without danger." the fairy perie banou was at that time at work with her needle; and as she had by her several clues of thread, she took up one, and presenting it to prince ahmed, said, "first take this clue of thread, i will tell you presently the use of it. in the second place, you must have two horses; one you must ride yourself, and the other you must lead, which must be loaded with a sheep cut into four quarters, that must be killed to-day. in the third place, you must be provided with a bottle, which i will give you, to bring the water in. set out early to-morrow morning, and when you have passed the iron gate throw before you the clue of thread, which will roll till it reaches the gates of the castle. follow it, and when it stops, as the gates will be open, you will see the four lions. the two that are awake will, by their roaring, wake the other two. be not alarmed, but throw each of them a quarter of the sheep, and then clap spurs to your horse, and ride to the fountain. fill your bottle without alighting, and return with the same expedition. the lions will be so busy eating they will let you pass unmolested." prince ahmed set out the next morning at the time appointed him by the fairy, and followed her directions punctually. when he arrived at the gates of the castle, he distributed the quarters of the sheep among the four lions, and passing through the midst of them with intrepidity, got to the fountain, filled his bottle, and returned safe. when he had got a little distance from the castle gates, he turned about; and perceiving two of the lions coming after him, drew his sabre, and prepared himself for defence. but as he went forwards, he saw one of them turn out of the road at some distance, and shewed by his head and tail that he did not come to do him any harm, but only to go before him, and that the other stayed behind to follow. he therefore put his sword again into its scabbard. guarded in this manner he arrived at the capital of the indies; but the lions never left him till they had conducted him to the gates of the sultan's palace; after which they returned the way they had come, though not without alarming the populace, who fled or hid themselves to avoid them, notwithstanding they walked gently and shewed no signs of fierceness. a number of officers came to attend the prince while he dismounted, and conduct him to the sultan's apartment, who was at that time conversing with his favourites. he approached the throne, laid the bottle at the sultan's feet, kissed the rich carpet which covered the footstool, and rising, said, "i have brought you, sir, the salutary water which your majesty so much desired to store up among other rarities in your treasury; but at the same time wish you such health as never to have occasion to make use of it." after the prince had concluded his compliment, the sultan placed him on his right hand, and said, "son, i am much obliged to you for this valuable present; as also for the great danger you have exposed yourself to on my account (which i have been informed of by the sorceress, who knows the fountain of lions); but do me the pleasure, continued he, to inform me by what address, or rather by what incredible power, you have been preserved." "sir," replied prince ahmed, "i have no share in the compliment your majesty is pleased to make me; all the honour is due to the fairy my spouse, and i take no other merit than that of having followed her advice." then he informed the sultan what that advice was, by the relation of his expedition, and how he had conducted himself. when he had done, the sultan, who shewed outwardly all the demonstrations of joy, but secretly became more and more jealous, retired into an inward apartment, whence he sent for the sorceress. the sorceress, on her arrival, saved the sultan the trouble of telling her of the success of prince ahmed's journey, which she had heard before she came, and therefore was prepared with a new request. this she communicated to the sultan, who declared it the next day to the prince, in the midst of all his courtiers, in these words: "son, i have one thing yet to ask of you; after which, i shall expect nothing more from your obedience, nor your interest with your wife. this request is, to bring me a man not above a foot and a half high, whose beard is thirty feet long, who carries upon his shoulders a bar of iron of five hundred weight, which he uses as a quarter-staff, and who can speak." prince ahmed, who did not believe that there was such a man in the world as his father had described, would gladly have excused himself; but the sultan persisted in his demand, and told him the fairy could do more incredible things. next day the prince returned to the subterraneous kingdom of perie banou, to whom he related his father's new demand, which, he said, he looked upon to be a thing more impossible than the two first. "for," added he, "i cannot imagine there is or can be such a man in the world; without doubt he has a mind to try whether i am silly enough to search, or if there is such a man he seeks my ruin. in short, how can we suppose that i should lay hold of a man so small, armed as he describes? what arms can i use to reduce him to submission? if there are any means, i beg you will tell me how i may come off with honour this time also." "do not alarm yourself, prince," replied the fairy: "you ran a risk in fetching the water of the fountain of the lions for your father; but there is no danger in finding this man. it is my brother schaibar, who is so far from being like me, though we both had the same father, that he is of so violent a nature, that nothing can prevent his giving bloody marks of his resentment for a slight offence; yet, on the other hand, is so liberal as to oblige any one in whatever they desire. he is made exactly as the sultan your father has described him; and has no other arms than a bar of iron of five hundred pounds weight, without which he never stirs, and which makes him respected. i will send for him, and you shall judge of the truth of what i tell you; but prepare yourself not to be alarmed at his extraordinary figure." "what! my queen," replied prince ahmed, "do you say schaibar is your brother? let him be ever so ugly or deformed i shall be so far from being frightened at his appearance, that i shall love and honour him, and consider him as my nearest relation." the fairy ordered a gold chafing-dish to be set with a fire in it under the porch of her palace, with a box of the same metal: out of the latter she took some incense, and threw it into the fire, when there arose a thick cloud of smoke. some moments after, the fairy said to prince ahmed, "prince, there comes my brother; do you see him?" the prince immediately perceived schaibar, who was but a foot and a half high, coming gravely with his heavy bar on his shoulder; his beard thirty feet long, which supported itself before him, and a pair of thick moustaches in proportion, tucked up to his ears, and almost covering his face: his eyes were very small, like a pig's, and deep sunk in his head, which was of an enormous size, and on which he wore a pointed cap: besides all this, he had a hump behind and and before. if prince ahmed had not known that schaibar was perie banou's brother, he would not have been able to behold him without fear; but knowing who he was, he waited for him with the fairy, and received him without the least concern. schaibar, as he came forwards, looked at the prince with an eye that would have chilled his soul in his body, and asked perie banou, when he first accosted her, who that man was? to which she replied, "he is my husband, brother; his name is ahmed; he is a son of the sultan of the indies. the reason why i did not invite you to my wedding was, i was unwilling to divert you from the expedition you were engaged in, and from which i heard with pleasure you returned victorious; on his account i have taken the liberty now to call for you." at these words, schaibar, looking at prince ahmed with a favourable eye, which however diminished neither his fierceness nor savage look, said, "is there any thing, sister, wherein i can serve him? he has only to speak. it is enough for me that he is your husband, to engage me to do for him whatever he desires." "the sultan his father," replied perie banou, "has a curiosity to see you, and i desire he may be your guide to the sultan's court." "he needs but lead the way; i will follow him," replied schaibar. "brother," resumed perie banou, "it is too late to go to-day, therefore stay till to-morrow morning; and in the mean time, as it is fit you should know all that has passed between the sultan of the indies and prince ahmed since our marriage, i will inform you this evening." the next morning, after schaibar had been informed of all that was proper for him to know, he set out with prince ahmed, who was to present him to the sultan. when they arrived at the gates of the capital, the people, as soon as they saw schaibar, ran and hid themselves in their shops and houses, shutting their doors, while others taking to their heels, communicated their fear to all they met, who stayed not to look behind them; insomuch, that schaibar and prince ahmed, as they went along, found all the streets and squares desolate, till they came to the palace, where the porters, instead of preventing schaibar from entering, ran away too; so that the prince and he advanced without any obstacle to the council-hall, where the sultan was seated on his throne and giving audience. here likewise the officers, at the approach of schaibar, abandoned their posts, and gave them free admittance. schaibar, carrying his head erect, went fiercely up to the throne, without waiting to be presented by prince ahmed, and accosted the sultan of the indies in these words: "you have asked for me," said he; "see, here i am, what would you have with me?" the sultan, instead of answering, clapped his hands before his eyes, and turned away his head, to avoid the sight of so terrible an object. schaibar was so much provoked at this uncivil and rude reception, after he had given him the trouble to come so far, that he instantly lifted up his iron bar, saying, "speak, then;" let it fall on his head, and killed him, before prince ahmed could intercede in his behalf. all that he could do was to prevent his killing the grand vizier, who sat not far from him on his right hand, representing to him that he had always given the sultan his father good advice. "these are they then," said schaibar, "who gave him bad;" and as he pronounced these words, he killed all the other viziers on the right and left, flatterers and favourites of the sultan, who were prince ahmed's enemies. every time he struck he crushed some one or other, and none escaped but those who, not rendered motionless by fear, saved themselves by flight. when this terrible execution was over, schaibar came out of the council-hall into the court-yard with the iron bar upon his shoulder, and looking at the grand vizier, who owed his life to prince ahmed, said, "i know there is here a certain sorceress, who is a greater enemy of the prince my brother-in-law than all those base favourites i have chastised; let her be brought to me immediately." the grand vizier instantly sent for her, and as soon as she was brought, schaibar, knocking her down with his iron bar, said, "take the reward of thy pernicious counsel, and learn to feign sickness again;" he left her dead on the spot. after this he said, "this is not yet enough; i will treat the whole city in the same manner, if they do not immediately acknowledge prince ahmed my brother-in-law as sultan of the indies." then all who were present made the air ring with the repeated acclamations of "long life to sultan ahmed;" and immediately after, he was proclaimed through the whole metropolis. schaibar caused him to be clothed in the royal vestments, installed him on the throne, and after he had made all swear homage and fidelity, returned to his sister perie banou, whom he brought with great pomp, and made her to be owned sultaness of the indies. as for prince ali and princess nouronnihar, as they had no concern in the conspiracy, prince ahmed assigned them a considerable province, with its capital, where they spent the rest of their lives. afterwards he sent an officer to houssain, to acquaint him with the change, and make him an offer of any province he might choose; but that prince thought himself so happy in his solitude, that he desired the officer to return his brother thanks for the kindness he designed him, assuring him of his submission; but that the only favour he desired was, to be indulged with leave to live retired in the place he had chosen for his retreat. the story of the sisters who envied their younger sister. there was an emperor of persia named khoosroo shaw, who, when he first came to his crown, in order to obtain a knowledge of affairs, took great pleasure in night adventures, attended by a trusty minister. he often walked in disguise through the city, and met with many adventures. after the ceremonies of his father's funeral-rites and his own inauguration were over, the new sultan, as well from inclination as duty, went out one evening attended by his grand vizier, disguised like himself, to observe what was transacting in the city. as he was passing through a street in that part of the town inhabited only by the meaner sort, he heard some people talking very loud; and going close to the house whence the noise proceeded, and looking through a crack in the door, perceived a light, and three sisters sitting on a sofa, conversing together after supper. by what the eldest said, he presently understood the subject of their conversation was wishes: "for," said she, "since we have got upon wishes, mine shall be to have the sultan's baker for my husband, for then i shall eat my fill of that bread, which by way of excellence is called the sultan's: let us see if your tastes are as good as mine." "for my part," replied the second sister, "i wish i was wife to the sultan's chief cook, for then i should eat of the most excellent dishes; and as i am persuaded that the sultan's bread is common in the palace, i should not want any of that; therefore you see," addressing herself to her eldest sister, "that i have a better taste than you." the youngest sister, who was very beautiful, and had more charms and wit than the two elder, spoke in her turn: "for my part, sisters," said she, "i shall not limit my desires to such trifles, but take a higher flight; and since we are upon wishing, i wish to be the emperor's queen consort. i would make him father of a prince, whose hair should be gold on one side of his head, and silver on the other; when he cried, the tears from his eyes should be pearl; and when he smiled, his vermilion lips should look like a rose-bud fresh blown." the three sisters' wishes, particularly that of the youngest, seemed so singular to the sultan, that he resolved to gratify them in their desires; but without communicating his design to his grand vizier, he charged him only to take notice of the house, and bring the three sisters before him the following day. the grand vizier, in executing the emperor's orders, would but just give the sisters time to dress themselves to appear before him, without telling them the reason. he brought them to the palace, and presented them to the emperor, who said to them, "do you remember the wishes you expressed last night, when you were all in so pleasant a mood? speak the truth; i must know what they were." at these unexpected words of the emperor, the three sisters were much confounded. they cast down their eyes and blushed, and the colour which rose in the cheeks of the youngest quite captivated the emperor's heart. modesty, and fear lest they might have offended the emperor by their conversation, kept them silent. the emperor perceiving their confusion, said, to encourage them, "fear nothing, i did not send for you to distress you; and since i see that is the effect of the question i asked, without my intending it, as i know the wish of each, i will relieve you from your fears. you," added he, "who wished to be my wife shall have your desire this day; and you," continued he, addressing himself to the two elder sisters, "shall also be married to my chief baker and cook." as soon as the sultan had declared his pleasure, the youngest sister, setting her eldest an example, threw herself at the emperor's feet, to express her gratitude. "sir," said she, "my wish, since it is come to your majesty's knowledge, was expressed only in the way of conversation and amusement. i am unworthy of the honour you do me, and supplicate your pardon for my presumption." the two other sisters would have excused themselves also; but the emperor interrupting them, said, "no, no; it shall be as i have declared; every one's wish shall be fulfilled." the nuptials were all celebrated that day, as the emperor had resolved, but in a different manner. the youngest sister's were solemnized with all the rejoicings usual at the marriages of the emperors of persia; and those of the other two sisters according to the quality and distinction of their husbands; the one as the sultan's chief baker, and the other as head cook. the two elder felt strongly the disproportion of their marriages to that of their younger sister. this consideration made them far from being content, though they were arrived at the utmost height of their late wishes, and much beyond their hopes. they gave themselves up to an excess of jealousy, which not only disturbed their joy, but was the cause of great troubles and afflictions to the queen consort their younger sister. they had not an opportunity to communicate their thoughts to each other on the preference the emperor had given her, but were altogether employed in preparing themselves for the celebration of their marriages. some days afterwards, when they had an opportunity of seeing each other at the public baths, the eldest said to the other, "well, what say you to our sister's great fortune? is not she a fine person to be a queen!" "i must own," said the other sister, "i cannot conceive what charms the emperor could discover to be so bewitched by the young gipsy. was it a reason sufficient for him not to cast his eyes on you, because she was somewhat younger? you were as worthy of his bed; and in justice he ought to have preferred you." "sister," said the elder, "i should not have regretted if his majesty had but pitched upon you; but that he should choose that hussy really grieves me. but i will revenge myself; and you, i think, are as much concerned as me; therefore i propose that we should contrive measures, and act in concert in a common cause: communicate to me what you think the likeliest way to mortify her, while i, on my side, will inform you what my desire of revenge shall suggest to me." after this wicked agreement, the two sisters saw each other frequently, and consulted how they might disturb and interrupt the happiness of the queen. they proposed a great many ways, but in deliberating about the manner of executing them, found so many difficulties, that they durst not attempt them. in the mean time, they often went together to make her visits with a detestable dissimulation, and every time shewed her all the marks of affection they could devise, to persuade her how overjoyed they were to have a sister raised to so high a fortune. the queen, on her part, constantly received them with all the demonstrations of esteem they could expect: from a sister who was not puffed up with her high dignity, and loved them as cordially as before. some months after her marriage, the queen found herself to be with child. the emperor expressed great joy, which was communicated to all the court, and spread throughout the empire of persia. upon this news the two sisters came to pay their compliments, and proffered their service to deliver her, desiring her, if not provided with a midwife, to accept of them. the queen said to them most obligingly, "sisters, i should desire nothing more, if it was absolutely in my power to make the choice. i am however obliged to you for your good-will, but must submit to what the emperor shall order on this occasion. let your husbands employ their friends to make interest, and get some courtier to ask this favour of his majesty; and if he speaks to me about it, be assured that i shall not only express the pleasure he does me, but thank him for making choice of you." the two husbands applied themselves to some courtiers their patrons, and begged of them to use their interest to procure their wives the honour they aspired to. those patrons exerted themselves so much in their behalf, that the emperor promised them to consider of the matter, and was as good as his word; for in conversation with the queen, he told her, that he thought her sisters were the most proper persons to assist her in her labour; but would not name them before he had asked her consent. the queen, sensible of the deference the emperor so obligingly paid her, said to him, "sir, i was prepared to do as your majesty might please to command. but since you have been so kind as to think of my sisters, i thank you for the regard you have shewn them for my sake; and therefore i shall not dissemble, that i had rather have them than strangers." the emperor named the queen's two sisters to be her midwives; and from that time they went frequently to the palace, overjoyed at the opportunity they should have of executing the detestable wickedness they had meditated against the queen. when the queen's time was up she was safely delivered of a young prince, as bright as the day; but neither his innocence nor beauty could move the cruel hearts of the merciless sisters. they wrapped him up carelessly in his cloths, and put him into a basket, which they abandoned to the stream of a small canal, that ran under the queen's apartment, and declared that she was delivered of a little dead dog, which they produced. this disagreeable intelligence was announced to the emperor, who became so angry at the circumstance, that he was likely to have occasioned the queen's death, if his grand vizier had not represented to him, that he could not, without injustice, make her answerable for the caprices of nature. in the mean time, the basket in which the little prince was exposed was carried by the stream beyond a wall, which bounded the prospect of the queen's apartment, and from thence floated with the current down the gardens. by chance the intendant of the emperor's gardens, one of the principal and most considerable officers of the kingdom, was walking in the garden by the side of this canal, and perceiving a basket floating, called to a gardener, who was not far off, to bring it to shore, that he might see what it contained. the gardener, with a rake which he had in his hand, drew the basket to the side of the canal, took it up, and gave it to him. the intendant of the gardens was extremely surprised to see in the basket a child, which, though he knew it could be but just born, had very fine features. this officer had been married several years, but though he had always been desirous of having children, heaven had never blessed him with any. this accident interrupted his walk: he made the gardener follow him with the child; and when he came to his own house, which was situated at the entrance into the gardens of the palace, went into his wife's apartment. "wife," said he, "as we have no children of our own, god has sent us one. i recommend him to you; provide him a nurse, and take as much care of him as if he were our own son; for, from this moment, i acknowledge him as such." the intendant's wife received the child with great joy, and took particular pleasure in the care of him. the intendant himself would not inquire too narrowly whence the child came. he saw plainly it came not far off the queen's apartment; but it was not his business to examine too closely into what had passed, nor to create disturbances in a place where peace was so necessary. the following year the queen consort was brought to bed of another prince, on whom the unnatural sisters had no more compassion than on his brother; but exposed him likewise in a basket, and set him adrift in the canal, pretending this time that the sultaness was delivered of a cat. it was happy also for this child that the intendant of the gardens was walking by the canal side, who had it carried to his wife, and charged her to take as much care of it as of the former; which was as agreeable to her inclination as it was to that of the intendant. the emperor of persia was more enraged this time against the queen than before, and she had felt the effects of his anger if the grand vizier's remonstrances had not prevailed. the third time the queen lay in she was delivered of a princess, which innocent babe underwent the same fate as the princes her brothers; for the two sisters being determined not to desist from their detestable schemes, till they had seen the queen their younger sister at least cast off, turned out, and humbled, exposed this infant also on the canal. but the princess, as well as the two princes her brothers, was preserved from death by the compassion and charity of the intendant of the gardens. to this inhumanity the two sisters added a lie and deceit as before. they produced a piece of wood, and affirmed it to be a false birth of which the queen had been delivered. khoosroo shaw could no longer contain himself, when he was informed of the new extraordinary birth. "what!" said he; "this woman, unworthy of my bed, will fill my palace with monsters, if i let her live any longer! no, it shall not be; she is a monster herself, and i must rid the world of her." he pronounced sentence of death, and ordered the grand vizier to see it executed. the grand vizier and the courtiers who were present cast themselves at the emperor's feet, to beg of him to revoke the sentence. "your majesty, i hope, will give me leave," said the grand vizier, "to represent to you, that the laws which condemn persons to death were made to punish crimes; the three extraordinary labours of the queen are not crimes; for in what can she be said to have contributed towards them? many other women have had, and have the same every day, and are to be pitied, but not punished. your majesty may abstain from seeing her, but let her live. the affliction in which she will spend the rest of her life, after the loss of your favour, will be a punishment sufficiently distressing." the emperor of persia considered with himself, and reflecting that it was unjust to condemn the queen to death for what had happened, said, "let her live then; i will spare her life; but it shall be on this condition, that she shall desire to die more than once every day. let a wooden shed be built for her at the gate of the principal mosque, with iron bars to the windows, and let her be put into it, in the coarsest habit; and every mussulmaun that shall go into the mosque to prayers shall spit in her face. if any one fail, i will have him exposed to the same punishment; and that i maybe punctually obeyed, i charge you, vizier, to appoint persons to see this done." the emperor pronounced his sentence in such a tone that the grand vizier durst not further remonstrate; and it was executed, to the great satisfaction of the two envious sisters. a shed was built, and the queen, truly worthy of compassion, was put into it, and exposed ignominiously to the contempt of the people; which usage, as she did not deserve it, she bore with a patient resignation that excited the admiration as well as compassion of those who judged of things better than the vulgar. the two princes and the princess were, in the mean time, nursed and brought up by the intendant of the gardens and his wife with all the tenderness of a father and mother; and as they advanced in age, they all shewed marks of superior dignity, but the princess in particular, which discovered itself every day by their docility and inclinations above trifles, different from those of common children, and by a certain air which could only belong to exalted birth. all this increased the affections of the intendant and his wife, who called the eldest prince bahman, and the second perviz, both of them names of the most ancient emperors of persia, and the princess, perie-zadeh, which name also had been borne by several queens and princesses of the kingdom. as soon as the two princes were old enough, the intendant provided proper masters to teach them to read and write; and the princess their sister, who was often with them, shewing a great desire to learn, the intendant, pleased with her quickness, employed the same master to teach her also. her emulation, vivacity, and piercing wit, made her in a little time as great a proficient as her brothers. from that time the brothers and sister had the same masters in geography, poetry, history, and even the secret sciences; and made so wonderful a progress, that their tutors were amazed, and frankly owned that they could teach them no farther. at the hours of recreation, the princess learned to sing and play upon all sorts of instruments; and when the princes were learning to ride she would not permit them to have that advantage over her, but went through all the exercises with them, learning to ride also, to bend the bow, and dart the reed or javelin, and often-times outdid them in the race, and other contests of agility. the intendant of the gardens was so overjoyed to find his adopted children so accomplished in all the perfections of body and mind, and that they so well requited the expense he had been at in their education, that he resolved to be at a still greater: for as he had till then been content only with his lodge at the entrance of the garden, and kept no country house, he purchased a country seat at a short distance from the city, surrounded by a large tract of arable land, meadows, and woods. as the house was not sufficiently handsome nor convenient, he pulled it down, and spared no expense in building a mansion more magnificent. he went every day to hasten, by his presence, the great number of workmen he employed; and as soon as there was an apartment ready to receive him, passed several days together there when his presence was not necessary at court; and by the same exertions, the interior was furnished in the richest manner, answerably to the magnificence of the edifice. afterwards he made gardens, according to a plan drawn by himself. he took in a large extent of ground, which he walled round, and stocked with fallow deer, that the princes and princess might divert themselves with hunting when they chose. when this country seat was finished and fit for habitation, the intendant of the gardens went and cast himself at the emperor's feet, and after representing how long he had served, and the infirmities of age which he found growing upon him, begged he would permit him to resign his charge into his majesty's disposal, and retire. the emperor gave him leave, with the more pleasure because he was satisfied with his long services, both in his father's reign and his own; and when he granted it, asked what he should do to recompense him? "sir," replied the intendant of the gardens, "i have received so many obligations from your majesty and the late emperor your father of happy memory, that i desire no more than the honour of dying in your favour." he took his leave of the emperor, and retired with the two princes and the princess to the country retreat he had built. his wife had been dead some years, and he himself had not lived above six months with them before he was surprised by so sudden a death, that he had not time to give them the least account of the manner in which he had discovered them. the princes bahman and perviz, and the princess perie-zadeh, who knew no other father than the intendant of the emperor's gardens, regretted and bewailed him as such, and paid all the honours in his funeral obsequies which love and filial gratitude required of them. satisfied with the plentiful fortune he had left them, they lived together in perfect union, free from the ambition of distinguishing themselves at court, or aspiring to places of honour and dignity, which they might easily have obtained. one day when the two princes were hunting, and the princess had remained at home, a religious old woman came to the gate, and desired leave to go in to say her prayers, it being then the hour. the servants asked the princess's permission, who ordered them to shew her into the oratory, which the intendant of the emperor's gardens had taken care to fit up in his house, for want of a mosque in the neighbourhood. she bade them also, after the good woman had finished her prayers, shew her the house and gardens, and then bring her to her. the old woman went into the oratory, said her prayers, and when she came out two of the princess's women invited her to see the house and gardens; which civility she accepted, followed them from one apartment to another, and observed, like a person who understood what belonged to furniture, the nice arrangement of every thing. they conducted her also into the garden, the disposition of which she found so well planned, that she admired it, observing that the person who had formed it must have been an excellent master of his art. afterwards she was brought before the princess, who waited for her in the great hall, which in beauty and richness exceeded all that she had admired in the other apartments. as soon as the princess saw the devout woman, she said to her, "my good mother, come near and sit down by me. i am overjoyed at the happiness of having the opportunity of profiting for some moments by the good example and conversation of such a person as you, who have taken the right way by dedicating yourself to the service of god. i wish every one were as wise." the devout woman, instead of sitting on a sofa, would only sit upon the edge of one. the princess would not permit her to do so, but rising from her seat,'and taking her by the hand, obliged her to come and sit by her. the good woman, sensible of the civility, said, "madam, i ought not to have so much respect shewn me; but since you command, and are mistress of your own house, i will obey you." when she had seated herself, before they entered into any conversation, one of the princess's women brought a little low stand of mother of pearl and ebony, with a china dish full of cakes upon it, and many others set round it full of fruits in season, and wet and dry sweetmeats. the princess took up one of the cakes, and presenting her with it, said, "eat, good mother, and make choice of what you like best; you had need to eat after coming so far." "madam," replied the good woman, "i am not used to eat such delicacies; but will not refuse what god has sent me by so liberal a hand as yours." while the devout woman was eating, the princess ate a little too, to bear her company, and asked her many questions upon the exercise of devotion which she practised, and how she lived: all which she answered with great modesty. talking of several things, at last she asked her what she thought of the house, and how she liked it. "madam," answered the devout woman, "i must certainly have very bad taste to disapprove any thing in it, since it is beautiful, regular, and magnificently furnished with exactness and judgment, and all its ornaments adjusted in the best manner. its situation is an agreeable spot, and no garden can be more delightful; but yet if you will give me leave to speak my mind freely, i will take the liberty to tell you, that this house would be incomparable if it had three things which are wanting to complete it." "my good mother," replied the princess perie-zadeh, "what are those? i conjure you, in god's name, to tell me what they are: i will spare nothing to get them, if it be possible." "madam," replied the devout woman, "the first of these three things is the speaking bird, so singular a creature, that it draws round it all the singing birds of the neighbourhood, which come to accompany his song. the second is the singing tree, the leaves of which are so many mouths, which form an harmonious concert of different voices, and never cease. the third is the yellow water of a gold colour, a single drop of which being poured into a vessel properly prepared, it increases so as to fill it immediately, and rises up in the middle like a fountain, which continually plays, and yet the basin never overflows." "ah! my good mother," cried the princess, "how much am i obliged to you for the knowledge of these curiosities! they are surprising, and i never before heard there were such wonderful rarities in the world; but as i am persuaded that you know, i expect that you should do me the favour to inform me where they are to be found." "madam," replied the good woman, "i should be unworthy the hospitality you have with so much goodness shewn me, if i should refuse to satisfy your curiosity in that point; and am glad to have the honour to tell you, that these curiosities are all to be met with in the same spot on the confines of this kingdom, towards india. the road to it lies before your house, and whoever you send needs but follow it for twenty days, and on the twentieth let him only ask the first person he meets where the speaking bird, singing tree, and yellow water are, and he will be informed." after saying this, she rose from her seat, took her leave, and went her way. the princess perie-zadeh's thoughts were so taken up with what the devout woman had told her of the speaking bird, singing tree, and yellow water, that she never perceived her departure, till she wanted to ask her some question for her better information; for she thought that what she had told her was not a sufficient reason for exposing herself by undertaking a long journey, possibly to no purpose. however, she would not send after her, but endeavoured to remember all she had told her; and when she thought she had recollected every word, took real pleasure in thinking of the satisfaction she should have if she could get these wonderful curiosities into her possession; but the difficulties she apprehended, and the fear of not succeeding, made her very uneasy. she was absorbed in these thoughts when her brothers returned from hunting; who, when they entered the great hall, instead of finding her lively and gay, as she used to be be, were amazed to see her so pensive, and hanging down her head as if something troubled her. "sister," said prince bahman, "what is become of all your mirth and gaiety? are you not well? or has some misfortune befallen you? has any body given you reason to be so melancholy? tell us, that we may know how to act, and give you some relief. if any one has affronted you, we will resent his insolence." the princess remained in the same posture some time without answering; but at last lifted up her eyes to look at her brothers, and then held them down again, telling them nothing disturbed her. "sister," said prince bahman, "you conceal the truth from us; there must be something of consequence. it is impossible we could observe so sudden a change if nothing was the matter with you. you would not have us satisfied with the evasive answer you have given: do not conceal any thing, unless you would have us suspect that you renounce the strict union which has hitherto subsisted between us from our infancy." the princess, who had not the smallest intention to offend her brothers, would not suffer them to entertain such a thought, but said, "when i told you nothing disturbed me, i meant nothing that was of importance to you; but to me it is of some consequence; and since you press me to tell you by our strict union and friendship, which are so dear to me, i will. you think, and i always believed so too, that this house was so complete that nothing was wanting. but this day i have learned that it wants three rarities, which would render it so perfect that no country seat in the world could be compared with it. these three things are, the speaking bird, the singing tree, and the yellow water. after she had informed them wherein consisted the excellency of these rarities," "a devout woman," added she, "has made this discovery to me, told me the place where they are to be found, and the way thither. perhaps you may imagine these things to be trifles, and of little consequence to render our house complete, that without these additions it will always be thought sufficiently elegant with what it already contains, and that we can do without them. you may think as you please; but i cannot help telling you that i am persuaded they are absolutely necessary, and i shall not be easy without them. therefore, whether you value them or not, i desire you to consider what person you may think proper for me to send in search of the curiosities i have mentioned." "sister," replied prince bahman, "nothing can concern you in which we have not an equal interest. it is enough that you have an earnest desire for the things you mention to oblige us to take the same interest; but if you had not, we feel ourselves inclined of our own accord and for our own individual satisfaction. i am persuaded my brother is of the same opinion, and therefore we ought to undertake this conquest; for the importance and singularity of the undertaking deserve that name. i will take that charge upon myself; only tell me the place, and the way to it, and i will defer my journey no longer than till to-morrow." "brother," said prince perviz, "it is not proper that you, who are the head and director of our family, should be absent. i desire my sister would join with me to oblige you to abandon your design, and allow me to undertake it. i hope to acquit myself as well as you, and it will be a more regular proceeding." "i am persuaded of your good-will, brother," replied prince bahman, "and that you would succeed as well as myself in this journey; but i have resolved, and will undertake it. you shall stay at home with our sister, and i need not recommend her to you." he spent the remainder of the day in making preparations for his journey, and informing himself from the princess of the directions which the devout woman had left her. the next morning bahman mounted his horse, and perviz and the princess embraced, and wished him a good journey. but in the midst of their adieus, the princess recollected what she had not thought of before. "brother," said she, "i had quite forgotten the accidents which attend travellers. who knows whether i shall ever see you again? alight, i beseech you, and give up this journey. i would rather be deprived of the sight and possession of the speaking bird, singing tree, and yellow water, than run the risk of never seeing you more." "sister," replied bahman, smiling at the sudden fears of the princess, "my resolution is fixed, but were it not, i should determine upon it now, and you must allow me to execute it. the accidents you speak of befall only those who are unfortunate; but there are more who are not so. however, as events are uncertain, and i may fail in this undertaking, all i can do is to leave you this knife." bahman, pulling a knife from his vestband, and presenting it in the sheath to the princess, said, "take this knife, sister, and give yourself the trouble sometimes to pull it out of the sheath: while you see it clean as it is now, it will be a sign that i am alive; but if you find it stained with blood, then you may believe me dead, and indulge me with your prayers." the princess could obtain nothing more of bahman. he bade adieu to her and prince perviz for the last time, and rode away. when he got into the road he never turned to the right hand nor to the left, but went directly forward towards india. the twentieth day he perceived on the road side a hideous old man, who sat under a tree some small distance from a thatched house, which was his retreat from the weather. his eye-brows were as white as snow, as was also the hair of his head; his whiskers covered his mouth, and his beard and hair reached down to his feet. the nails of his hands and feet were grown to an extensive length; a flat broad umbrella covered his head. he had no clothes, but only a mat thrown round his body. this old man was a dervish, for many years retired from the world, to give himself up entirely to the service of god; so that at last he became what we have described. prince bahman, who had been all that morning very attentive to see if he could meet with any body who could give him information of the place he was in search of, stopped when he came near the dervish, alighted, in conformity to the directions which the devout woman had given the princess perie-zadeh, and leading his horse by the bridle, advanced towards him, and saluting him, said, "god prolong your days, good father, and grant you the accomplishment of your desires." the dervish returned the prince's salutation, but so unintelligibly that he could not understand one word he said: prince bahman perceiving that this difficulty proceeded from the dervish's whiskers hanging over his mouth, and unwilling to go any farther without the instructions he wanted, pulled out a pair of scissors he had about him, and having tied his horse to a branch of the tree, said, "good dervish, i want to have some talk with you: but your whiskers prevent my understanding what you say: and if you will consent, i will cut off some part of them and of your eye-brows, which disfigure you so much that you look more like a bear than a man." the dervish did not oppose the offer; and when the prince had cut off as much hair as he thought fit, he perceived that the dervish had a good complexion, and that he did not seem so old as he really was. "good dervish," said he, "if i had a glass i would shew you how young you look: you are now a man, but before nobody could tell what you were." the kind behaviour of prince bahman made the dervish smile, and return his compliment. "sir," said he, "whoever you are, i am obliged by the good office you have performed, and am ready to shew my gratitude by doing any thing in my power for you. you must have alighted here upon some account or other. tell me what it is, and i will endeavour to serve you." "good dervish," replied prince bahman, "i am in search of the speaking bird, the singing tree, and the yellow water; i know these three rarities are not far from hence, but cannot tell exactly the place where they are to be found; if you know, i conjure you to shew me the way, that i may not lose my labour after so long a journey." the prince, while he spoke, observed that the dervish changed countenance, held down his eyes, looked very serious, and instead of making any reply, remained silent; which obliged him to say to him again, "good father, i fancy you heard me; tell me whether you know what i ask you, that i may not lose my time, but inform myself somewhere else." at last the dervish broke silence. "sir," said he to prince bahman, "i know the way you ask of me; but the regard which i conceived for you the first moment i saw you, and which is grown stronger by the service you have done me, kept me in suspense, whether i should give you the satisfaction you desire." "what motive can hinder you?" replied the prince; "and what difficulties do you find in so doing?" "i will tell you," replied the dervish; "the danger you are going to expose yourself to is greater than you may suppose. a number of gentlemen of as much bravery and courage as you can possibly possess have passed this way, and asked me the same question. when i had used all my endeavours to persuade them to desist, they would not believe me; at last, i yielded, to their importunities; i was compelled to shew them the way, and i can assure you they have all perished, for i have not seen one come back. therefore, if you have any regard for your life, take my advice, go no farther, but return home." prince bahman persisted in his resolution. "i will not suppose," said he to the dervish, "but that your advice is sincere. i am obliged to you for the friendship you express for me; but whatever may be the danger, nothing shall make me change my intention: whoever attacks me, i am well armed, and can say i am as brave as any one." "but they who will attack you are not to be seen," replied the dervish; "how will you defend yourself against invisible persons?" "it is no matter," answered the prince; "all you say shall not persuade me to do any thing contrary to my duty. since you know the way, i conjure you once more to inform me." when the dervish found he could not prevail upon prince bahman, and that he was obstinately bent to pursue his journey notwithstanding his friendly remonstrance, he put his hand into a bag that lay by him and pulled out a bowl, which he presented to him. "since i cannot prevail on you to attend to my advice," said he, "take this bowl; when you are on horseback throw it before you, and follow it to the foot of a mountain, where it will stop. as soon as the bowl stops, alight, leave your horse with the bridle over his neck, and he will stand in the same place till you return. as you ascend you will see on your right and left a great number of large black stones, and will hear on all sides a confusion of voices, which will utter a thousand injurious abuses to discourage you, and prevent your reaching the summit of the mountain. be not afraid; but above all things, do not turn your head to look behind you; for in that instant you will be changed into such a black stone as those you see, which are all youths who have failed in this enterprise. if you escape the danger of which i give you but a faint idea, and get to the top of the mountain, you will see a cage, and in that cage is the bird you seek; ask him which are the singing tree and the yellow water, and he will tell you. i have nothing more to say; this is what you have to do, and the danger you have to avoid; but if you are prudent, you will take my advice, and not expose your life. consider once more while you have time that the difficulty is almost insuperable." "i am obliged to you for your repeated advice," replied prince bahman, after he had received the bowl, "but cannot follow it. however, i will endeavour to conform myself to that part of it which bids me not look behind me as i shall ascend the mountain, and i hope to come and see you again soon, and thank you when i have obtained what i am seeking." after these words, to which the dervish made no other answer than that he should be overjoyed to see him again, the prince mounted his horse, took his leave of the dervish with a respectful salute, and threw the bowl before him. the bowl rolled away unceasingly with as much swiftness as when prince bahman first hurled it from his hand, which obliged him to put his horse to the same pace to avoid losing sight of it, and when it had reached the foot of the mountain it stopped. the prince alighted from his horse, laid the bridle on his neck; and having first surveyed the mountain, and seen the black stones, began to ascend; but had not gone four steps, before he heard the voices mentioned by the dervish, though he could see nobody. some said, "where is that fool going? where is he going? what would he have? do not let him pass." others, "stop him, catch him, kill him;" and others with a voice like thunder, "thief! assassin! murderer!" while some in a gibing tone cried, "no, no, do not hurt him; let the pretty fellow pass, the cage and bird are kept for him." notwithstanding all these troublesome voices, prince bahman ascended with courage and resolution for some time, but the voices redoubled with so loud a din near him, both behind and before, that at last he was seized with dread, his legs trembled under him, he staggered, and finding that his strength failed him, he forgot the dervish's advice, turned about to run down the hill, and was that instant changed into a black stone; a metamorphosis which had happened to many before him, who had attempted the ascent. his horse likewise underwent the same change. from the time of prince bahman's departure, the princess perie-zadeh always wore the knife and sheath in her girdle, and pulled it out several times in a day, to know whether her brother was alive. she had the consolation to understand he was in perfect health, and to talk of him frequently with prince perviz, who sometimes prevented her by asking her what news. on the fatal day that prince bahman was transformed into a stone, as prince perviz and the princess were talking together in the evening, as usual, the prince desired his sister to pull out the knife to know how their brother did. the princess readily complied, and seeing the blood run down the point was seized with so much horror that she threw it down. "ah! my dear brother," cried she, "i have been the cause of your death, and shall never see you more! why did i tell you of the speaking bird, singing tree, and yellow water; or rather, of what importance was it to me to know whether the devout woman thought this house ugly or handsome, or complete or not? i wish to heaven she had never addressed herself to me? deceitful hypocrite!" added she, "is this the return you have made for the kind reception i gave you? why did you tell me of a bird, a tree, and a water, which, imaginary as i am persuaded they are, by my dear brother's death, yet disturb me by your enchantment?" prince perviz was as much afflicted at the death of prince bahman as the princess; but not to waste time in needless regret, as he knew that she still passionately desired possession of the speaking bird, the singing tree, and the golden water, he interrupted her, saying, "sister, our regret for our brother is vain and useless; our grief and lamentations cannot restore him to life; it is the will of god, we must submit to it, and adore the decrees of the almighty without searching into them. why should you now doubt of the truth of what the holy woman told you? do you think she spoke to you of three things that were not in being? and that she invented them on purpose to deceive you, who had given her no cause to do so, but received her with so much goodness and civility? let us rather believe that our brother's death is owing to some error on his part, or some accident which we cannot conceive. it ought not therefore to prevent us from pursuing our object. i offered to go this journey, and am now more resolved than ever; his example has no effect upon my resolution; to-morrow i will depart." the princess did all she could to dissuade prince perviz, conjuring him not to expose her to the danger of losing two brothers; but he was obstinate, and all the remonstrances she could urge had no effect upon him. before he went, that she might know what success he had, he left her a string of a hundred pearls, telling her, that if they would not run when she should count them upon the string, but remain fixed, that would be a certain sign he had undergone the same fate as his brother; but at the same time told her he hoped it would never happen, but that he should have the happiness to see her again to their mutual satisfaction. prince perviz, on the twentieth day after his departure, met the same dervish in the same place as his brother bahman had done before him. he went directly up to him, and after he had saluted, asked him, if he could tell him where to find the speaking bird, the singing tree, and the golden water? the dervish urged the same difficulties and remonstrances as he had done to prince bahman, telling him, that a young gentleman, who very much resembled him, was with him a short time before; that, overcome by his importunity and pressing instances, he had shewn him the way, given him a guide, and told him how he should act to succeed; but that he had not seen him since, and doubted not but he had shared the same fate as all other adventurers. "good dervish," answered prince perviz, "i know whom you speak of; he was my elder brother, and i am informed of the certainty of his death, but know not the cause." "i can tell you," replied the dervise; "he was changed into a black stone, as all i speak of have been; and you must expect the same transformation, unless you observe more exactly than he has done the advice i gave him, in case you persist in your resolution, which i once more entreat you to renounce." "dervish," said prince perviz, "i cannot sufficiently express how much i am obliged for the concern you take in my life, who am a stranger to you, and have done nothing to deserve your kindness: but i thoroughly considered this enterprise before i undertook it, and i cannot now relinquish it: therefore i beg of you to do me the same favour you have done my brother. perhaps i may have better success in following your directions." "since i cannot prevail with you," said the dervish, "to give up your obstinate resolution, if my age did not prevent me, and i could stand, i would get up to reach you a bowl i have here, which will shew you the way." without giving the dervish time to say more, the prince alighted from his horse and went to the dervish, who had taken a bowl out of his bag, in which he had a great many, and gave it him, with the same directions he had given prince bahman; and after warning him not to be discouraged by the voices he should hear without seeing any body, however threatening they might be, but to continue his way up the hill till he saw the cage and bird, he let him depart. prince perviz thanked the dervish, and when he had remounted, and taken leave, threw the bowl before his horse, and spurring him at the same time, followed it. when the bowl came to the bottom of the hill it stopped, the prince alighted, and stood some time to recollect the dervish's directions. he encouraged himself, and began to walk up with a resolution to reach the summit; but before he had gone above six steps, he heard a voice, which seemed to be near, as of a man behind him, say in an insulting tone, "stay, rash youth, that i may punish you for your presumption." upon this affront the prince, forgetting the dervish's advice, clapped his hand upon his sword, drew it, and turned about to revenge himself; but had scarcely time to see that nobody followed him before he and his horse were changed into black stones. in the mean time the princess perie-zadeh, several times a day after her brother's departure, counted her chaplet. she did not omit it at night, but when she went to bed put it about her neck; and in the morning when she awoke counted over the pearls again to see if they would slide. the day that prince perviz was transformed into a stone, she was counting over the pearls as she used to do, when all at once they became immoveably fixed, a certain token that the prince her brother was dead. as she had determined what to do in case it should so happen, she lost no time in outward demonstrations of grief, which she concealed as much as possible; but having disguised herself in man's apparel, armed and equipped, she mounted her horse the next morning, having told her servants she should return in two or three days, and took the same road her brothers had done. the princess, who had been used to ride on horseback in hunting, supported the fatigue of so long a journey better than most ladies could have done; and as she made the same stages as her brothers, she also met with the dervish on the twentieth day. when she came near him, she alighted off her horse, leading him by the bridle, went and sat down by the dervish, and after she had saluted him, said, "good dervish, give me leave to rest myself; and do me the favour to tell me if you have not heard that there are somewhere in this neighbourhood a speaking bird, a singing tree, and golden water." "princess," answered the dervish, "for so i must call you, since by your voice i know you to be a woman disguised in man's apparel, i thank you for your compliment, and receive the honour you do me with great pleasure. i know the place well where these things are to be found: but what makes you ask me this question?" "good dervish," replied the princess, "i have had such a flattering relation of them given me, that i have a great desire to possess them." "madam," replied the dervish, "you have been told the truth. these curiosities are more singular and surprising than they have been represented to you: but you have not been made acquainted with the difficulties which must be surmounted in order to obtain them. if you had been fully informed of these, you would not have undertaken so troublesome and dangerous an enterprise. take my advice, go no farther, return, and do not urge me to contribute towards your ruin." "good father," said the princess, "i have travelled a great way, and should be sorry to return without executing my design. you talk of difficulties, and danger of life; but you do not tell me what those difficulties are, and wherein the danger consists. this is what i desire to know, that i may consider and judge whether i can trust my courage and strength to brave them." the dervish repeated to the princess what he had said to the princes bahman and perviz, exaggerating the difficulties of climbing up to the top of the mountain, where she was to make herself mistress of the bird, which would inform her of the singing tree and golden water. he magnified the noise and din of the terrible threatening voices which she would hear on all sides of her, without seeing any body, and the great number of black stones, alone sufficient to strike terror. he entreated her to reflect that those stones were so many brave gentlemen, so metamorphosed for having omitted to observe the principal condition of success in the perilous undertaking, which was not to look behind them before they had got possession of the cage. when the dervish had done, the princess replied, "by what i comprehend from your discourse, the difficulties of succeeding in this affair are, first, the getting up to the cage without being frightened at the terrible din of voices i shall hear; and secondly, not to look behind me: for this last, i hope i shall be mistress enough of myself to observe it. as to the first, i own that those voices, such as you represent them to be, are capable of striking terror into the most undaunted; but as in all enterprises and dangers every one may use stratagem, i desire to know of you if i may use any in one of so great importance." "and what stratagem is it you would employ?" said the dervish. "to stop my ears with cotton," answered the princess, "that the voices, however loud and terrible, may make the less impression upon my imagination, and my mind remain free from that disturbance which might cause me to lose the use of my reason." "princess," replied the dervish, "of all the persons who have addressed themselves to me for information, i do not know that ever one made use of the contrivance you propose. all i know is, that they all perished. if you persist in your design, you may make the experiment. you will be fortunate if it succeeds; but i would advise you not to expose yourself to the danger." "my good father," replied the princess, "nothing can hinder my persisting in my design. i am sure my precaution will succeed, and am resolved to try the experiment. nothing remains for me but to know which way i must go; i conjure you not to deny me the favour of that information." the dervish exhorted her again, for the last time, to consider well what she was going to do; but finding her resolute, he took out a bowl, and presenting it to her, said, "take this bowl; mount your horse again, and when you have thrown it before you, follow it through all its windings, till it stops at the bottom of the mountain, there alight, and ascend the hill. go; you know the rest." after the princess had thanked the dervish, and taken her leave of him, she mounted her horse, threw the bowl before her, and followed it till it stopped at the foot of the mountain. the princess alighted, stopped her ears with cotton; and after she had well examined the path leading to the summit, began with a moderate pace, and walked up with intrepidity. she heard the voices, and perceived the great service the cotton was to her. the higher she went, the louder and more numerous the voices seemed; but they were not capable of making any impression upon her. she heard a great many affronting speeches and raillery very disagreeable to a woman, which she only laughed at. "i mind not," said she to herself, "all that can be said, were it worse; i only laugh at them, and shall pursue my way." at last she got so high, that she could perceive the cage and the bird, which endeavoured, with the voices, to frighten her, crying in a thundering tone, notwithstanding the smallness of its size, "retire, fool, and approach no nearer." the princess, encouraged by this object, redoubled her speed, and by effort gained the summit of the mountain, where the ground was level; then running directly to the cage, and clapping her hand upon it, cried, "bird, i have you, and you shall not escape me." while perie-zadeh was pulling the cotton out of her ears, the bird said to her, "heroic princess, be not angry with me for joining with those who exerted themselves to preserve my liberty. though in a cage, i was content with my condition; but since i am destined to be a slave, i would rather be yours than any other person's, since you have obtained me so courageously. from this instant, i swear inviolable fidelity, and an entire submission to all your commands. i know who you are; you do not: but the time will come when i shall do you essential service, which i hope you will think yourself obliged to me for. as a proof of my sincerity, tell me what you desire, and i am ready to obey you." the princess's joy was the more inexpressible, because the conquest she had made had cost her the lives of two beloved brothers, and given her more trouble and danger than she could have imagined, notwithstanding what the dervish had represented to her. "bird," said she, "it was my intention to have told you that i wish for many things which are of importance; but i am overjoyed that you have shewn your good-will and prevented me. i have been told that there is not far off a golden water, the property of which is very wonderful; before all things, i ask you to tell me where it is." the bird shewed her the place, which was just by, and she went and filled a little silver flagon which she had brought with her. she returned to the bird and said, "bird, this is not enough; i want also the singing tree; tell me where it is." "turn about," said the bird, "and you will see behind you a wood, where you will find this tree." the princess went into the wood, and by the harmonious concert she heard soon knew the tree among many others, but it was very large and high. she came back to the bird, and said to it, "bird, i have found the singing tree, but i can neither pull it up by the roots, nor carry it." the bird replied, "it is not necessary that you should take it up by the roots; it will be sufficient to break off a branch, and carry it to plant in your garden; it will take root as soon as it is put into the earth, and in a little time will grow to as fine a tree as that you have seen." when the princess had obtained possession of the three things which the devout woman had told her of, and for which she had conceived so great a desire, she said again to the bird, "bird, what you have yet done for me is not sufficient. you have been the cause of the death of my two brothers, who must be among the black stones which i saw as i ascended the mountain. i wish to take them home with me." the bird seemed reluctant to satisfy the princess in this point, and indeed made some difficulty to comply. "bird," said the princess, "remember you told me that you were my slave. you are so; and your life is in my disposal." "that i cannot deny," answered the bird; "but although what you now ask is more difficult than all the rest, yet i will do it for you. cast your eyes around," added he, "and look if you can see a little pitcher." "i see it already," said the princess. "take it then," said he, "and as you descend the mountain, sprinkle a little of the water that is in it upon every black stone." the princess took up the pitcher accordingly, carried with her the cage and bird, the flagon of golden water, and the branch of the singing tree, and as she descended the mountain, threw a little of the water on every black stone, which was changed immediately into a man; and as she did not miss one stone, all the horses, both of the princes her brothers, and of the other gentlemen, resumed their natural forms. she instantly recognized bahman and perviz, as they did her, and ran to embrace her. she returned their embraces, and expressed her amazement. "what do you here, my dear brothers?" said she; they told her they had been asleep. "yes," replied she, "and if it had not been for me, perhaps you might have slept till the day of judgment. do not you remember that you came to fetch the speaking bird, the singing tree, and the yellow water? and did not you see, as you came along, the place covered with black stones? look and see if there be any now. the gentlemen and their horses who surround us, and you yourselves, were these black stones. if you desire to know how this wonder was performed," continued she, shewing the pitcher, which she set down at the foot of the mountain, having no further use for it, "it was done by virtue of the water which was in this pitcher, with which i sprinkled every stone. after i had made the speaking bird (which you see in this cage) my slave, by his directions i found out the singing tree, a branch of which i have now in my hand; and the yellow water, which this flagon is filled with; but being still unwilling to return without taking you with me, i constrained the bird, by the power i had over him, to afford me the means. he told me where to find this pitcher, and the use i was to make of it." the princes bahman and perviz learnt by this relation the obligation they had to the princess their sister; as did all the other gentlemen, who were collected round, and expressed to the princess, that, far from envying her happiness in the conquest she had made, and which they all had aspired to, they thought they could not any otherwise acknowledge the favour she had done them, or better express their gratitude to her for restoring them to life again, than by declaring themselves all her slaves, and that they were ready to obey her in whatever she should command. "gentlemen," replied the princess, "if you had given any attention to my words you might have observed that i had no other intention in what i have done than to recover my brothers; therefore, if you have received any benefit, you owe me no obligation, and i have no further share in your compliment than your politeness towards me, for which i return you my thanks. in other respects, i regard each of you individually as free as you were before your misfortunes, and i rejoice with you at the happiness which has accrued to you by my means. let us however stay no longer in a place where we have nothing to detain us; but mount our horses, and return to our respective homes." the princess took her horse, which stood in the place where she had left him.--before she mounted, prince bahman desired her to give him the cage to carry. "brother," replied the princess, "the bird is my slave, and i will carry him myself; if you will take the pains to carry the branch of the singing tree, there it is; only hold the cage while i get on horseback." when she had mounted her horse; and prince bahman had given her the cage, she turned about and said to prince perviz, "i leave the flagon of golden water to your care, if it will not be too much trouble for you to carry it." prince perviz took charge of it with pleasure. when bahman, perviz, and all the gentlemen had mounted their horses, the princess waited for some of them to lead the way. the two princes paid that compliment to the gentlemen, and they again to the princess, who, finding that none of them would accept of the honour, but that it was reserved for her, addressed herself to them and said, "gentlemen, i expect that some of you should lead the way;" to which one who was nearest to her, in the name of the rest, replied, "madam, were we ignorant of the respect due to your sex, yet after what you have done for us there is no deference we would not willingly pay you, notwithstanding your modesty; we entreat you no longer to deprive us of the happiness of following you." "gentlemen," said the princess, "i do not deserve the honour you do me, and accept it only because you desire it." at the same time she led the way, and the two princes and the gentlemen followed. this illustrious company called upon the dervish as they passed, to thank him for his reception and wholesome advice, which they had all found to be sincere. but he was dead: whether of old age, or because he was no longer necessary to shew the way to the obtaining the three rarities which the princess perie-zadeh had secured, did not appear. they pursued their route, but lessened in their numbers every day. the gentlemen who, as we said before, had come from different countries, after severally repeating their obligations to the princess and her brothers, took leave of them one after another as they approached the road they had come. as soon as the princess reached home, she placed the cage in the garden; and the bird no sooner began to warble than he was surrounded by nightingales, chaffinches, larks, linnets, goldfinches, and every species of birds of the country. and the branch of the singing tree was no sooner set in the midst of the parterre, a little distance from the house, than it took root, and in a short time became a large tree, the leaves of which gave as harmonious a concert as those of the tree from which it was gathered. a large basin of beautiful marble was placed in the garden; and when it was finished, the princess poured into it all the yellow water from the flagon, which instantly increased and swelled so much that it soon reached up to the edges of the basin, and afterwards formed in the middle a fountain twenty feet high, which fell again into the basin perpetually without running over. the report of these wonders was presently spread abroad, and as the gates of the house and those of the gardens were shut to nobody, a great number of people came to admire them. some days after, when the princes bahman and perviz had recovered from the fatigue of their journey, they resumed their former way of living; and as their usual diversion was hunting, they mounted their horses and went for the first time since their return, not to their own demesne, but two or three leagues from their house. as they pursued their sport, the emperor of persia came in pursuit of game upon the same ground. when they perceived by the number of horsemen in different places that he would soon be up, they resolved to discontinue their chase, and retire to avoid encountering him; but in the very road they took they chanced to meet him in so narrow a way that they could not retreat without being seen. in their surprise they had only time to alight, and prostrate themselves before the emperor, without lifting up their heads to look at him. the emperor, who saw they were as well mounted and dressed as if they had belonged to his court, had the curiosity to see their faces. he stopped, and commanded them to rise. the princes rose up, and stood before him with an easy and graceful air, accompanied with respectful modest countenances. the emperor took some time to view them before he spoke: and after he had admired their good air and mien, asked them who they were, and where they lived. "sir," said prince bahman, "we are the sons of the late intendant of your majesty's gardens: and live in a house which he built a little before he died, till we should be fit to serve your majesty, and ask of you some employ when opportunity offered." "by what i perceive," replied the emperor, "you love hunting." "sir," replied prince bahman, "it is our common exercise, and what none of your majesty's subjects who intend to bear arms in your armies ought, according to the ancient custom of the kingdom, to neglect." the emperor, charmed with so prudent an answer, said, "since it is so, i should be glad to see your expertness in the chase; choose your own game." the princes mounted their horses again, and followed the emperor; but had not gone far before they saw many wild beasts together. prince bahman chose a lion, and prince perviz a bear; and pursued them with so much intrepidity, that the emperor was surprised. they came up with their game nearly at the same time, and darted their javelins with so much skill and address, that they pierced, the one the lion, and the other the bear, so effectually, that the emperor saw them fall one after the other. immediately afterwards prince bahman pursued another bear, and prince perviz another lion, and killed them in a short time, and would have beaten out for fresh game, but the emperor would not let them, and sent to them to come to him. when they approached he said, "if i would have given you leave, you would soon have destroyed all my game: but it is not that which i would preserve, but your persons; for i am so well assured your bravery may one time or other be serviceable to me, that from this moment your lives will be always dear to me." the emperor, in short, conceived so great a kindness for the two princes, that he invited them immediately to make him a visit: to which prince bahman replied, "your majesty does us an honour we do not deserve; and we beg you will excuse us." the emperor, who could not comprehend what reason the princes could have to refuse this token of his favour, pressed them to tell him why they excused themselves. "sir," said prince bahman, "we have a sister younger than ourselves, with whom we live in such perfect union, that we undertake nothing before we consult her, nor she any thing without asking our advice." "i commend your brotherly affection," answered the emperor. "consult your sister, meet me here tomorrow, and give me an answer." the princes went home, but neglected to speak of their adventure in meeting the emperor, and hunting with him, and also of the honour he had done them, by asking them to go home with him; yet did not the next morning fail to meet him at the place appointed. "well," said the emperor, "have you spoken to your sister? and has she consented to the pleasure i expect of seeing you?" the two princes looked at each other and blushed. "sir," said prince bahman, "we beg your majesty to excuse us: for both my brother and i forgot." "then remember to-day," replied the emperor, "and be sure to bring me an answer to-morrow." the princes were guilty of the same fault a second time, and the emperor was so good-natured as to forgive their negligence; but to prevent their forgetfulness the third time, he pulled three little golden balls out of a purse, and put them into prince bahman's bosom. "these balls," said he, smiling, "will prevent your forgetting a third time what i wish you to do for my sake; since the noise they will make by falling on the floor, when you undress, will remind you, if you do not recollect it before." the event happened just as the emperor foresaw; and without these balls the princes had not thought of speaking to their sister of this affair. for as prince bahman unloosed his girdle to go to bed the balls dropped on the floor, upon which he ran into prince perviz's chamber, when both went into the princess perie-zadeh's apartment, and after they had asked her pardon for coming at so unseasonable a time, they told her all the circumstances of their meeting the emperor. the princess was somewhat surprised at this intelligence. "your meeting with the emperor," said she, "is happy and honourable, and may in the end be highly advantageous to you, but it is very disagreeable and distrustful to me. it was on my account, i know, you refused the emperor, and i am infinitely obliged to you for doing so. i know by this your affection is equal to my own, since you would rather be guilty of incivility towards the emperor than violate the brotherly union we have sworn to each other. you judge right, for if you had once gone you would insensibly have been engaged to leave me, to devote yourselves to him. but do you think it an easy matter absolutely to refuse the emperor what he seems so earnestly to desire? monarchs will be obeyed in their desires, and it may be dangerous to oppose them; therefore, if to follow my inclination i should dissuade you from shewing the complaisance he expects from you, it may expose you to his resentment, and may render myself and you miserable. these are my sentiments: but before we conclude upon any thing let us consult the speaking bird, and hear what he says; he is penetrating, and has promised his assistance in all difficulties." the princess sent for the cage, and after she had related the circumstances to the bird in the presence of her brothers, asked him what they should do in this perplexity? the bird answered, "the princes your brothers must conform to the emperor's pleasure, and in their turn invite him to come and see your house." "but, bird," replied the princess, "my brothers and i love one another, and our friendship is yet undisturbed. will not this step be injurious to that friendship?" "not at all," replied the bird; "it will tend rather to cement it." "then," answered the princess, "the emperor will see me." the bird told her it was necessary he should, and that everything would go better afterwards. next morning the princes met the emperor hunting, who, at as great a distance as he could make himself be heard, asked them if they had remembered to speak to their sister? prince bahman approached, and answered, "sir, your majesty may dispose of us as you please; we are ready to obey you; for we have not only obtained our sister's consent with great ease, but she took it amiss that we should pay her that deference in a matter wherein our duty to your majesty was concerned. but if we have offended, we hope you will pardon us." "do not be uneasy on that account," replied the emperor; "so far from taking amiss what you have done, i highly approve of your conduct, and hope you will have the same deference and attachment to my person, if i have ever so little share in your friendship." the princes, confounded at the emperor's goodness, returned no other answer but a low obeisance, to shew the great respect with which they received it. the emperor, contrary to his usual custom, did not hunt long that day. presuming that the princes possessed wit equal to their courage and bravery, he longed with impatience to converse with them more at liberty. he made them ride on each side of him, an honour which, without speaking of the principal courtiers who accompanied him, was envied by the grand vizier, who was much mortified to see them preferred before him. when the emperor entered his capital, the eyes of the people, who stood in crowds in the streets, were fixed upon the two princes bahman and perviz; and they were earnest to know who they might be, whether foreigners or natives. all, however, agreed in wishing that the emperor had been blessed with two such handsome princes, and said, "he might have had children as old, if the queen, who had suffered the punishment of her misfortune, had been more fortunate in her lyings-in." the first thing that the emperor did when he arrived at his palace was to conduct the princes into the principal apartments; who praised without affectation, like persons conversant in such matters, the beauty and symmetry of the rooms, and the richness of the furniture and ornaments. afterwards a magnificent repast was served up, and the emperor made them sit with him, which they at first refused; but finding it was his pleasure, they obeyed. the emperor, who had himself much learning, particularly in history, foresaw that the princes, out of modesty and respect, would not take the liberty of beginning any conversation. therefore, to give them an opportunity, he furnished them with subjects all dinner-time. but whatever subject he introduced, they shewed so much wit, judgment, and discernment, that he was struck with admiration. "were these my own children," said he to himself, "and i had improved their talents by suitable education, they could not have been more accomplished or better informed." in short, he took such great pleasure in their conversation, that after having sat longer than usual he led them into his closet, where he pursued his conversation with them, and at last said, "i never supposed that there were among my subjects in the country youths so well brought up, so lively, so capable; and i never was better pleased with any conversation than yours: but it is time now we should relax our minds with some diversion; and as nothing is more capable of enlivening the mind than music, you shall hear a vocal and instrumental concert which may not be disagreeable to you." the emperor had no sooner spoken for them than the musicians, who had orders to attend, entered, and answered fully the expectations the princes had been led to entertain of their abilities. after the concerts, an excellent farce was acted, and the entertainment was concluded by dancers of both sexes. the two princes seeing night approach, prostrated themselves at the emperor's feet; and having first thanked him for the favours and honours he had heaped upon them, asked his permission to retire; which was granted by the emperor, who, in dismissing them, said, "i give you leave to go; but remember i brought you to the palace myself only to shew you the way; you will be always welcome, and the oftener you come the greater pleasure you will do me." before they went out of the emperor's presence, prince bahman said, "sir, may we presume to request that your majesty will do us and our sister the honour to pass by our house, and rest and refresh yourself after your fatigue, the first time you take the diversion of hunting in that neighbourhood? it is not worthy your presence; but monarchs sometimes have vouchsafed to take shelter in a cottage." "my children," replied the emperor; "your house cannot be otherwise than beautiful, and worthy of its owners. i will call and see it with pleasure, which will be the greater for having for my hosts you and your sister, who is already dear to me from the account you give me of the rare qualities with which she is endowed; and this satisfaction i will defer no longer than to-morrow. early in the morning i will be at the place where i shall never forget that i first saw you. meet me, and you shall be my guides." when the princes bahman and perviz had returned home, they gave the princess an account of the distinguished reception the emperor had given them; and told her that they had invited him to do them the honour, as he passed by, to call at their house; and that he had appointed the next day. "if it be so," replied the princess, "we must think of preparing a repast fit for his majesty; and for that purpose i think it would be proper we should consult the speaking bird, he will tell us perhaps what meats the emperor likes best." the princes approved of her plan, and after they had retired she consulted the bird alone. "bird," said she, "the emperor will do us the honour to-morrow to come and see our house, and we are to entertain him; tell us what we shall do to acquit ourselves to his satisfaction." "good mistress," replied the bird, "you have excellent cooks, let them do the best they can; but above all things, let them prepare a dish of cucumbers stuffed full of pearls, which must be set before the emperor in the first course before all the other dishes." "cucumbers stuffed full of pearls!" cried princess perie-zadeh, with amazement; "surely, bird, you do not know what you say; it is an unheard-of dish. the emperor may admire it as a piece of magnificence, but he will sit down to eat, and not to admire pearls; besides, all the pearls i possess are not enough for such a dish." "mistress," said the bird, "do what i say, and be not uneasy about what may happen. nothing but good will follow. as for the pearls, go early to-morrow morning to the foot of the first tree on your right hand in the park, dig under it, and you will find more than you want." that night the princess ordered a gardener to be ready to attend her, and the next morning early led him to the tree which the bird had told her of, and bade him dig at its foot. when the gardener came to a certain depth, he found some resistance to the spade, and presently discovered a gold box about a foot square, which he shewed the princess. "this," said she, "is what i brought you for; take care not to injure it with the spade." when the gardener took up the box, he gave it into the princess's hands, who, as it was only fastened with neat little hasps, soon opened it, and found it full of pearls of a moderate size, but equal, and fit for the use that was to be made of them. very well satisfied with having found this treasure, after she had shut the box again she put it under her arm, and went back to the house, while the gardener threw the earth into the hole at the foot of the tree as it had been before. the princes bahman and perviz, who, as they were dressing themselves in their own apartments, saw the princess their sister in the garden earlier than usual, as soon as they could get out went to her, and met her as she was returning, with a gold box under her arm, which much surprised them. "sister," said bahman, "you carried nothing with you when we saw you before with the gardener, and now we see you have a golden box: is this some treasure found by the gardener, and did he come and tell you of it?" "no, brother," answered the princess; "i took the gardener to the place where this casket was concealed, and shewed him where to dig: but you will be more amazed when you see what it contains." the princess opened the box, and when the princes saw that it was full of pearls, which, though small, were of great value; they asked her how she came to the knowledge of this treasure? "brothers," said she, "if nothing more pressing calls you elsewhere, come with me, and i will tell you." "what more pressing business," said prince perviz, "can we have than to be informed of what concerns us so much? we have nothing to do to prevent our attending you." the princess, as they returned to the house, gave them an account of her having consulted the bird, as they had agreed she should, and the answer he had given her; the objection she had raised to preparing a dish of cucumbers stuffed full of pearls, and how he had told her where to find this box. the princes and princess formed many conjectures to penetrate into what the bird could mean by ordering them to prepare such a dish; and after much conversation, though they could not by any means guess at his reason, they nevertheless agreed to follow his advice exactly. as soon as the princess entered the house, she called for the head cook; and after she had given him directions about the entertainment for the emperor, said to him, "besides all this, you must dress an extraordinary dish for the emperor's own eating, which nobody else must have any thing to do with besides yourself. this dish must be of cucumbers stuffed with these pearls;" and at the same time she opened him the box, and shewed him the pearls. the chief cook, who had never heard of such a dish, started back, and shewed his thoughts by his looks; which the princess penetrating, said, "i see you take me to be mad to order such a dish, which you never heard of, and which one may say with certainty was never made. i know this as well as you; but i am not mad, and give you these orders with the most perfect recollection. you must invent and do the best you can, and bring me back what pearls are left." the cook could make no reply, but took the box and retired: and afterwards the princess gave directions to all the domestics to have every thing in order, both in the house and gardens, to receive the emperor. next day the two princes went to the place appointed; and as soon as the emperor of persia arrived the chase began, which lasted till the heat of the sun obliged him to leave off. while prince bahman stayed to conduit the emperor to their house, prince perviz rode before to shew the way, and when he came in sight of the house, spurred his horse, to inform the princess perie-zadeh that the emperor was approaching; but she had been told by some servants whom she had placed to give notice, and the prince found her waiting ready to receive him. when the emperor had entered the court-yard, and alighted at the portico, the princess came and threw herself at his feet, and the two princes informed him she was their sister, and besought him to accept her respects. the emperor stooped to raise her, and after he had gazed some time on her beauty, struck with her fine person and dignified air, he said, "the brothers are worthy of the sister, and she worthy of them; since, if i may judge of her understanding by her person, i am not amazed that the brothers would do nothing without their sister's consent; but," added he, "i hope to be better acquainted with you, my daughter, after i have seen the house." "sir," said the princess, "it is only a plain country residence, fit for such people as we are, who live retired from the great world. it is not to be compared with houses in great cities, much less with the magnificent palaces of emperors." "i cannot perfectly agree with you in opinion," said the emperor very obligingly, "for its first appearance makes me suspect you; however, i will not pass my judgment upon it till i have seen it all; therefore be pleased to conduct me through the apartments." the princess led the emperor through all the rooms except the hall; and, after he had considered them very attentively and admired their variety, "my daughter," said he to the princess, "do you call this a country house? the finest and largest cities would soon be deserted, if all country houses were like yours. i am no longer surprised that you take so much delight in it, and despise the town. now let me see the garden, which i doubt not is answerable to the house." the princess opened a door which led into the garden; and the first object which presented itself to the emperor's view was the golden fountain. surprised at so rare an object, he asked from whence that wonderful water, which gave so much pleasure to behold, had been procured; where was its source; and by what art it was made to play so high, that he thought nothing in the world was to be compared to it? he said he would presently take a nearer view of it. the princess then led him to the spot where the harmonious tree was planted; and there the emperor heard a concert, different from all he had ever heard before; and stopping to see where the musicians were, he could discern nobody far or near; but still distinctly heard the music, which ravished his senses. "my daughter," said he to the princess, "where are the musicians whom i hear? are they under ground, or invisible in the air? such excellent performers will hazard nothing by being seen; on the contrary, they would please the more." "sir," answered the princess smiling, "they are not musicians, but the leaves of the trees your majesty sees before you, which form this concert; and if you will give yourself the trouble to go a little nearer, you will be convinced, and the voices will be the more distinct." the emperor went nearer, and was so charmed with the sweet harmony, that he would never have been tired with hearing it, but that his desire to have a nearer view of the fountain of yellow water forced him away. "daughter," said he, "tell me, i pray you, whether this wonderful tree was found in your garden by chance, or was a present made to you, or have you procured it from some foreign country? it must certainly have come from a great distance, otherwise, curious as i am after natural rarities, i should have heard of it. what name do you call it by?" "sir," replied the princess, "this tree has no other name than that of the singing tree, and is not a native of this country. it would at present take up too much time to tell your majesty by what adventures it came here; its history is connected with the yellow water, and the speaking bird, which came to me at the same time, and which your majesty may see after you have taken a nearer view of the golden water. but if it be agreeable to your majesty, after you have rested yourself, and recovered the fatigue of hunting, which must be the greater because of the sun's intense heat, i will do myself the honour of relating it to you." "my daughter," replied the emperor, "my fatigue is so well recompensed by the wonderful things you have shewn me, that i do not feel it the least. i think only of the trouble i give you. let us finish by seeing the yellow water. i am impatient to see and admire the speaking bird." when the emperor came to the yellow water, his eyes were fixed so steadfastly upon the fountain, that he could not take them off. at last, addressing himself to the princess, he said, "as you tell me, daughter, that this water has no spring or communication, i conclude that it is foreign, as well as the singing tree." "sir," replied the princess, "it is as your majesty conjectures; and to let you know that this water has no communication with any spring, i must inform you that the basin is one entire stone, so that the water cannot come in at the sides or underneath. but what your majesty will think most wonderful is, that all this water proceeded but from one small flagon, emptied into this basin, which increased to the quantity you see, by a property peculiar to itself, and formed this fountain." "well," said the emperor, going from the fountain, "this is enough for one time. i promise myself the pleasure to come and visit it often; but now let us go and see the speaking bird." as he went towards the hall, the emperor perceived a prodigious number of singing birds in the trees around, filling the air with their songs and warblings, and asked, why there were so many there, and none on the other trees in the garden? "the reason, sir," answered the princess, "is, because they come from all parts to accompany the song of the speaking bird, which your majesty may see in a cage in one of the windows of the hall we are approaching; and if you attend, you will perceive that his notes are sweeter than those of any of the other birds, even the nightingale." the emperor went into the hall; and as the bird continued singing, the princess raised her voice, and said, "my slave, here is the emperor, pay your compliments to him." the bird left off singing that instant, when all the other birds ceased also, and it said, "the emperor is welcome; god prosper him, and prolong his life." as the entertainment was served on the sofa near the window where the bird was placed, the sultan replied, as he was taking his seat, "bird, i thank you, and am overjoyed to find in you the sultan and king of birds." as soon as the emperor saw the dish of cucumbers set before him, thinking it was stuffed in the best manner, he reached out his hand and took one; but when he cut it, was in extreme surprise to find it stuffed with pearls. "what novelty is this?" said he "and with what design were these cucumbers stuffed thus with pearls, since pearls are not to be eaten?" he looked at the two princes and princess to ask them the meaning: when the bird interrupting him, said, "can your majesty be in such great astonishment at cucumbers stuffed with pearls, which you see with your own eyes, and yet so easily believe that the queen your wife was delivered of a dog, a cat, and a piece of wood?" "i believed these things," replied the emperor, "because the midwives assured me of the facts." "those midwives, sir," replied the bird, "were the queen's two sisters, who, envious of her happiness in being preferred by your majesty before them, to satisfy their envy and revenge, have abused your majesty's credulity. if you interrogate them, they will confess their crime. the two brothers and the sister whom you see before you are your own children, whom they exposed, and who were taken in by the intendant of your gardens, who provided nurses for them, and took care of their education." this speech of the bird's presently cleared up the emperor's understanding. "bird," cried he, "i believe the truth which you discover to me. the inclination which drew me to them told me plainly they must be my own blood. come then, my sons, come, my daughter, let me embrace you, and give you the first marks of a father's love and tenderness." the emperor then rose, and after having embraced the two princes and the princess, and mingled his tears with theirs, said, "it is not enough, my children; you must embrace each other, not as the children of the intendant of my gardens, to whom i have been so much obliged for preserving your lives, but as my own children, of the royal blood of the monarchs of persia, whose glory, i am persuaded, you will maintain." after the two princes and princess had embraced mutually with new satisfaction, the emperor sat down again with them, and finished his meal in haste; and when he had done, said, "my children, you see in me your father; to-morrow i will bring the queen your mother, therefore prepare to receive her." the emperor afterwards mounted his horse, and returned with expedition to his capital. the first thing he did, as soon as he had alighted and entered his palace, was to command the grand vizier to seize the queen's two sisters. they were taken from their houses separately, convicted, and condemned to be quartered; which sentence was put in execution within an hour. in the mean time the emperor khoosroo shaw, followed by all the lords of his court who were then present, went on foot to the door of the great mosque; and after he had taken the queen out of the strict confinement she had languished under for so many years, embracing her in the miserable condition to which she was then reduced, said to her with tears in his eyes, "i come to entreat your pardon for the injustice i have done you, and to make you the reparation i ought; which i have begun, by punishing the unnatural wretches who put the abominable cheat upon me; and i hope you will look upon it as complete, when i present to you two accomplished princes, and a lovely princess, our children. come and resume your former rank, with all the honours which are your due." all this was done and said before great crowds of people, who flocked from all parts at the first news of what was passing, and immediately spread the joyful intelligence through the city. next morning early the emperor and queen, whose mournful humiliating dress was changed for magnificent robes, went with all their court to the house built by the intendant of the gardens, where the emperor presented the princes bahman and perviz, and the princess perie-zadeh, to their enraptured mother. "these, much injured wife," said he, "are the two princes your sons, and this princess your daughter; embrace them with the same tenderness i have done, since they are worthy both of me and you." the tears flowed plentifully down their cheeks at these tender embraces, especially the queen's, from the comfort and joy of having two such princes for her sons, and such a princess for her daughter, on whose account she had so long endured the severest afflictions. the two princes and the princess had prepared a magnificent repast for the emperor and queen, and their court. as soon as that was over, the emperor led the queen into the garden, and shewed her the harmonious tree and the beautiful effect of the yellow fountain. she had seen the bird in his cage, and the emperor had spared no panegyric in his praise during the repast. when there was nothing to detain the emperor any longer, he took horse, and with the princes bahman and perviz on his right hand, and the queen consort and the princess at his left, preceded and followed by all the officers of his court, according to their rank, returned to his capital. crowds of people came out to meet them, and with acclamations of joy ushered them into the city, where all eyes were fixed not only upon the queen, the two princes, and the princess, but also upon the bird, which the princess carried before her in his cage, admiring his sweet notes, which had drawn all the other birds about him, which followed him, flying from tree to tree in the country, and from one house-top to another in the city. the princes bahman and perviz, and the princess perie-zadeh, where at length brought to the palace with this pomp, and nothing was to be seen or heard all that night but illuminations and rejoicings both in the palace and in the utmost parts of the city, which lasted many days, and were continued throughout the empire of persia, as intelligence of the joyful event reached the several provinces. story of the sultan of yemen and his three sons. there was in the land of yemen (arabia felix) a sultan, under whom were three tributary princes. he had four children, three sons and a daughter. he possessed greater treasures than could be estimated, as well as innumerable camels, horses, and flocks of sheep; and was held in awe by all contemporary sovereigns. after a long and prosperous reign, age brought with it infirmity, and he at length became incapable of appearing in his hall of audience; upon which he commanded his sons to his presence, and said to them, "my wish is to divide among you, before my death, all my possessions, that you may be satisfied, and live in unanimity and brotherly affection with each other, and in obedience to my dying commands." they exclaimed, "to hear is to obey." the sultan then said, "my will is, that the eldest be sovereign in my room; that the second possess my treasures; and the third every description of animals. let no, one encroach upon another, but all assist each other." he then caused them to sign an agreement to abide by his bequests, and shortly afterwards was received into the mercy of the almighty; upon which his sons prepared what was suitable to his dignity for his funeral. they washed the corpse, enshrouded it, prayed over it, and having committed it to the earth, returned to their palaces; where the viziers, officers of state, and inhabitants of the metropolis, high and low, rich and poor, attended to console with them on the loss of their father. the news of the death of the sultan was soon spread abroad into all the provinces, and deputations from every city came to condole with the princes. after these ceremonies, the eldest prince demanded that he should be inaugurated sultan in the room of the deceased monarch, agreeably to his will; but this was not possible, as each of the other brothers was ambitious of being sovereign. contention and disputes now arose between them for the government, till at length the elder brother, wishing to avoid civil war, said, "let us go and submit to the arbitration of one of the tributary sultans, and to let him whom he adjudges the kingdom peaceably enjoy it." to this they assented, as did also the viziers; and they departed, unattended, towards the capital of one of the tributary sultans. when the princes had proceeded about half way on their journey, they reached a verdant spot, abounding in herbage and flowers, with a clear rivulet running through it, the convenience of which made them halt to refresh themselves. they sat down and were eating, when one of the brothers casting his eyes on the grass, said, "a camel has lately passed this way loaded, half with sweetmeats and half with grain." "true," cried another, "and he was blind of one eye." "yes," exclaimed the third, "and he had lost his tail." they had scarcely concluded their remarks, when the owner of the camel came up to them (for he had heard what they had said, and was convinced, as they had described the beast and his load, that they must have stopped him), crying out, that they had stolen his camel. "we have not seen him," answered the princes, "nor touched him." "by allah!" replied he, "none but you can have taken him; and if you will not deliver him up, i will complain of you to the sultan." they rejoined, "it is well; let us go to the sultan." when all four had reached the palace, information was given of the arrival of the princes, and they were admitted to an audience, the owner of the camel following, who bawled out, "these men, my lord, by their own confession, have stolen my property, for they described him and the load he carried." the man then related what each of the princes, had said; upon which the sultan demanded if it was true. they answered, "my lord, we have not seen the camel; but we chanced, as we were sitting on the grass taking some refreshment, to observe that part of the pasture had been grazed; upon which we supposed that the camel must have been blind of an eye, as the grass was only eaten on one side. we then observed the dung of a camel in one heap on the ground, which made us agree that its tail must have been cut off, as it is the custom for camels to shake their tails, and scatter it abroad. on the grass where the camel had lain down, we saw on one side flies collected in great numbers, but none on the other: this made us conclude that one of the panniers must have contained sweets, and the other only grain." upon hearing the above, the sultan said to the complainant, "friend, go and look for thy camel, for these observations do not prove the theft on the accused, but only the strength of their understandings and penetration." the sultan now ordered apartments for the princes, and directed that they should be entertained in a manner befitting their rank; after which he left them to their repose. in the evening, when the usual meal was brought in, the elder prince having taken up a cake of bread, said, "this bread, i am sure, was made by a sick woman." the second, on tasting some kid, exclaimed, "this kid was suckled by a bitch:" and the third cried out, "certainly this sultan must be illegitimate." at this instant the sultan, who had been listening, entered hastily, and exclaimed, "wherefore utter ye these affronting speeches?" "inquire," replied the princes, "into what you have heard, and you will find all true." the sultan now retired to his haram, and on inquiry, found that the woman who had kneaded the bread was sick. he then sent for the shepherd, who owned that the dam of the kid having died, he had suckled it upon a bitch. next, in a violent passion, he proceeded to the apartments of the sultana mother, and brandishing his cimeter--threatened her with death, unless she confessed whether he was son to the late sultan or not. the sultana was alarmed, and said, "to preserve my life, i must speak truth. know then that thou art the son of a cook. thy father had no male offspring, at which he was uneasy: on the same day myself and the wife of the cook lay in, i of a daughter and she of a son. i was fearful of the coolness of the sultan, and imposed upon him the son of the cook for his own: that son art thou, who now enjoyest an empire." the spurious sultan left the sultana in astonishment at the penetration of the brothers, whom he summoned to his presence, and inquired of them on what grounds they had founded their just suspicions respecting the bread, the kid, and himself. "my lord," replied the elder prince, "when i broke the cake, the flour fell out in lumps; and hence i guessed that she who made it had not strength to knead it sufficiently, and must have been unwell." "it is as thou hast said," replied the sultan. "the fat of the kid," continued the second brother, "was all next the bone, and the flesh of every other animal but the dog has it next the skin. hence my surmise that it must have been suckled by a bitch." "thou wert right," answered the sultan; "but now for myself." "my reason for supposing thee illegitimate," said the youngest prince, "was, because thou didst not associate with us, who are of the same rank with thyself. every man has properties which he inherits from his father, his grandfather, or his mother. from his father, generosity, or avarice; from his grandfather, valour or cowardice; from his mother, bashfulness or impudence." "thou hast spoken justly," replied the sultan; "but why came ye to ask judgment of me, since ye are so much better able to decide difficult questions than myself? return home, and agree among yourselves." the princes did so; and obeyed the will of their father. story of the three sharpers and the sultan. three very ingenious sharpers who associated together, being much distressed, agreed, in hopes of obtaining immediate relief, that they would go to the sultan, and pretend each to superior ability in some occupation. accordingly they proceeded to the metropolis, but found admission to the presence difficult; the sultan being at a garden palace surrounded by guards, who would not let them approach. upon this they consulted, and agreed to feign a quarrel, in hopes that their clamour would draw the notice of the sultan. it did so: he commanded them to be brought before him, inquired who they were, and the cause of their dispute. "we were disputing," said they, "concerning the superiority of our professions; for each of us possesses complete skill in his own." "what are your professions?" replied the sultan. "i am," said one, "o sovereign, a lapidary of wonderful skill." "i fear thou art an astonishing rascal," exclaimed the sultan. "i am," said the second sharper, "a genealogist of horses." "and i," continued the third, "a genealogist of mankind, knowing every one's true descent; an art much more wonderful than that of either of my companions, for no one possesses it but myself, nor ever did before me." the sultan was astonished, but gave little credit to their pretensions: yet he said to himself, "if these men speak truth, they are worthy of encouragement. i will keep them near me till i have occasion to try them; when, if they prove their abilities, i will promote them; but if not, i will put them to death." he then allotted them an apartment, with an allowance of three cakes of bread and a mess of pottage daily; but placed spies over them, fearing lest they might escape. not long after this, a present of rarities was brought to the sultan, among which were two precious stones; one of them remarkably clear in its water, and the other with a flaw. the sultan now bethought himself of the lapidary, and sent for him to his presence, when he gave him the clear jewel to examine, and demanded what he thought it was worth. the sharper took the stone, and with much gravity turned it backwards and forwards in his hands, examining it with minute attention on every part; after which he said, "my lord, this jewel has a flaw in the very centre of it." when the sultan heard this, he was enraged against the sharper, and gave orders to strike off his head; saying, "this stone is free from blemish, and yet thou pretendest it hath a flaw." the executioner now advanced, laid hold of the sharper, bound him, and was going to strike, when the vizier entered, and seeing the sultan enraged, and the sharper under the cimeter, inquired the cause. being informed, he advanced towards the sultan, and said, "my lord, act not thus, but first break the stone: should a flaw appear in it, the words of this man are true; but if it be found free from blemish, put him to death." the sultan replied, "thy advice is just:" and broke it in two with his mace. in the middle he found a flaw, at which he was astonished, and exclaimed to the sharper, "by what means couldst thou discover the blemish?" he replied, "by the acuteness of my sight." the sultan then released him, and said, "take him back to his companions, allow him a mess of pottage to himself, and two cakes of bread." some time after this a tribute came from one of the provinces, part of which consisted of a beautiful black colt, in colour resembling the hue of the darkest night. the sultan was delighted with the animal, and spent whole days in admiring him. at length he bethought himself of the sharper who had pretended to be a genealogist of horses, and commanded him to his presence. when he appeared, the sultan said, "art thou a judge of horses?" he replied, "yes, my lord," upon which the sultan exclaimed, "it is well! but i swear by him who appointed me guardian of his subjects, and said to the universe, be! and it was, that should i find untruth in thy declaration, i will strike off thy head." the man replied, "to hear is to submit." after this they brought out the colt, that he might examine him. the sharper desired the groom to mount the colt and pace him before him, which he did backwards and forwards, the fiery animal all the while plunging and rearing. at length the genealogist said, "it is enough:" and turning to the sultan exclaimed, "my lord, this colt is singularly beautiful, of true blood by his sire, his paces exquisite and proportions just; but in him there is one blemish; could that be done away, he would be all perfection; nor would there be upon the face of the earth his equal among all the various breeds of horses." "what can that blemish be?" said the sultan. "his sire," rejoined the genealogist, "was of true blood, but his dam of another species of animal; and, if commanded, i will inform you." "speak," said the sultan. "the dam of this beautiful colt," continued the genealogist, "was a buffalo." when the sultan heard this he flew into a rage, and commanded an executioner to strike off the head of the sharper; exclaiming, "thou accursed dog! how could a buffalo bring forth a colt?" "my lord," replied the sharper, "the executioner is in attendance; but send for the person who presented the colt, and inquire of him the truth. if my words prove just, my skill will be ascertained; but if what i have said be false, then let my head pay the forfeit for my tongue." upon this the sultan sent for the master of the colt to attend his presence. when the master of the colt appeared before him, the sultan inquired whether it was purchased of another person, or had been bred by himself? to which the man replied, "my lord, i will relate nothing but the truth. the production of this colt is surprising. his sire belonged to me, and was of the true breed of sea-horses: he was always kept in an enclosure by himself, as i was fearful of his being injured; but it happened one day in the spring, that the groom took him for air into the country, and picqueted him in the plain. by chance a cow-buffalo coming near the spot, the stallion became outrageous, broke his heel-ropes, joined the buffalo, which after the usual period of gestation, produced this colt, to our great astonishment." the sultan was surprised at this relation. he commanded the genealogist to be sent for, and upon his arrival said, "thy words have proved true, and thy wonderful skill in the breed of horses is ascertained; but by what mark couldst thou know that the dam of this colt was a buffalo?" the man replied, "my lord, the mark is visible in the colt itself. it is not unknown to any person of observation, that the hoof of a horse is nearly round, but the hoof of a buffalo thick and longish, like this colt's: hence i judged that the dam must certainly have been a buffalo." the sultan now dismissed him graciously, and commanded that he should be allowed daily a mess of pottage, and two cakes of bread. not long after this the sultan bethought himself of the third sharper, who pretended that he was the genealogist of man, and sent for him to the presence. on his appearance he said, "thou canst trace the descent of man?" "yes, my lord," replied the genealogist. upon this the sultan commanded an eunuch to take him into his haram, that he might examine the descent of his favourite mistress. upon his introduction, he looked at the lady on this side and on that, through her veil, till he was satisfied, when he came out; and the sultan exclaimed, "well, what hast thou discovered in my mistress?" he replied, "my lord, she is all perfect in elegance, beauty, grace, stature, bloom, modesty, accomplishments, and knowledge, so that every thing desirable centres in herself; but still there is one point that disgraces her, from which if she was free, it is not possible she could be excelled in anything among the whole of the fair sex." when the sultan had heard this, he rose up angrily, and drawing his cimeter, ran towards the genealogist, intending to strike off his head. just as he was going to strike, some of the attendants said, "my lord, put not the man to death before thou art convinced of his falsehood." upon which the sultan exclaimed, "what fault appeared to thee in my mistress?" "o sultan," replied the man, "she is, as to herself, all perfect; but her mother was a rope-dancer." upon this the sultan immediately sent for the father of the lady, and said, "inform me truly who was the mother of thy daughter, or i will put thee to death." "mighty prince," replied the father, "there is no safety for man but in the truth. her mother was a rope-dancer, whom i took when very young from a company of strolling mummers, and educated. she grew up most beautiful and accomplished: i married her, and she produced me the girl whom thou hast chosen." when the sultan heard this, his rage cooled, but he was filled with astonishment; and said to the genealogist, "inform me what could shew thee that my mistress was the daughter of a rope-dancer?" "my lord," replied the man, "this cast of people have always their eyes very black, and their eyebrows bushy; such are hers: and from them i guessed her descent." the sultan was now convinced of his skill, dismissed him graciously, and commanded that he should be allowed a mess of pottage and three cakes of bread daily, which was done accordingly. some time after this the sultan reflected on the three sharpers, and said to himself, "these men have proved their skill in whatever i have tried them. the lapidary was singularly excellent in his art, the horse genealogist in his, and the last has proved his upon my mistress. i have an inclination to know my own descent beyond a doubt." he then ordered the genealogist into his presence, and said, "dost thou think thou canst prove my descent?" "yes, my lord," replied the man, "but on condition that you spare my life after i shall have informed you; for the proverb says, 'when the sultan is present, beware of his anger, as there is no delay when he commands to strike.'" "there shall be safety for thee," exclaimed the sultan, "in my promise, an obligation that can never be forfeited." "o sultan," continued the genealogist, "when i shall inform thee of thy parentage and descent, let not there be any present who may hear me." "wherefore?" replied the sultan. "my lord," answered the sharper, "you know the attributes of the deity should be veiled in mystery." the sultan now commanded all his attendants to retire, and when they were alone, the genealogist advanced and said, "mighty prince, thou art illegitimate, and the son of an adulteress." as soon as the sultan heard this, his colour changed, he turned pale, and fainted away. when he was recovered, he remained some time in deep contemplation, after which he exclaimed, "by him who constituted me the guardian of his people, i swear that if thy assertion be found true i will abdicate my kingdom, and resign it to thee, for royalty cannot longer become me; but should thy words prove void of foundation, i will put thee to instant death." "to hear is to assent," replied the sharper. the sultan now arose, entered the haram, and bursting into his mother's apartment with his cimeter drawn, exclaimed, "by him who divided the heavens from the earth, shouldst thou not answer faithfully to what i shall inquire, i will cut thee to pieces with this cimeter." the queen, trembling with alarm, said, "what dost thou ask of me?" "inform me," replied the sultan, "of whom am i the son?" "since truth only can save me," cried the princess, "know that thou art the offspring of a cook. my husband had no children either male or female, on which account he became sad, and lost his health and appetite. in a court of the haram we had several sorts of birds, and one day the sultan fancying he should relish one of them, ordered the cook to kill and dress it. i happened then to be in the bath alone. "as i was in the bath," continued the sultana, "i saw the cook endeavouring to catch the birds. at that instant it occurred to my mind from the instigation of satan, that if i bore not a son, after the death of the sultan my influence would be lost. i tempted the man, and thou art the produce of my crime. the signs of my pregnancy soon appeared; and when the sultan was informed of them, he recovered his health, and rejoiced exceedingly, and conferred favours and presents on his ministers and courtiers daily, till the time of my delivery. on that day he chanced to be upon a hunting excursion at a country palace; but when intelligence was brought him of the birth of a son, he instantly returned to me, and issued orders for the city to be decorated, which was done for forty days together, out of respect to the sultan. such was my crime, and such was thy birth." the sultan now returned to the adventurer, and commanded him to pull off his clothes, which he did; when the sultan, disrobing himself, habited him in the royal vestments, after which he said, "inform me whence thou judgest that i was a bastard?" "my lord," replied the adventurer, "when each of us shewed our skill in what was demanded, you ordered him only an allowance of a mess of pottage and three cakes of bread. hence i judged you to be the offspring of a cook, for it is the custom of princes to reward the deserving with wealth and honours, but you only gratified us with victuals from your kitchen." the sultan replied, "thou hast spoken truly." he then made him put on the rest of the royal robes and ornaments, and seated him upon the throne; after which he disguised himself in the habit of a dervish, and wandered from his abdicated dominions. when the lucky adventurer found himself in possession of the throne, he sent for his companions; and finding they did not recognize him in his royal habiliments, dismissed them with liberal presents, but commanded them to quit his territories with the utmost expedition, lest they should discover him. after this, with a satisfied mind, he fulfilled the duties of his new station with a liberality and dignity that made the inhabitants of the metropolis and all the provinces bless him, and pray for the prolongation of his reign. the adventures of the abdicated sultan. the abdicated prince, disguised as a dervish, did not cease travelling in a solitary mood till he came to the city of cairo, which he perceived to be in repose and security, and well regulated. here he amused himself with walking through several streets, till he had reached the royal palace, and was admiring its magnificent architecture and extent, and the crowds passing in and out, when the sultan with his train appeared in sight returning from a hunting excursion, upon which he retired to one side of the road. the sultan observing his dignified demeanour, commanded one of his attendants to invite him to the palace, and entertain him till he should inquire after him. when the sultan had reposed himself from the fatigue of his exercise, he sent for the supposed dervish to his presence, and said, "from what kingdom art thou arrived?" he answered, "i am, my lord, a wandering dervish." "well," replied the sultan, "but inform me on what account thou art come here." on which he said, "my lord, this cannot be done but in privacy." "let it be so," rejoined the sultan; and rising up, led him into a retired apartment of the palace. the supposed dervish then related what had befallen him, the cause of his having abdicated his kingdom, and taken upon himself the character of a religious. the sultan was astonished at his self-denial, and exclaimed, "blessed be his holy name, who exalteth and humbleth whom he will by his almighty power; but my history is more surprising than thine. i will relate it to thee, and conceal nothing." history of mahummud, sultan of cairo. at my first outset in the world i was an indigent man, and possessed none of the conveniences of life, till at length i became possessed of ten pieces of silver, which i resolved to expend in amusing myself. with this intention, i one day walked into the principal market, intending first to purchase somewhat delicate to feast upon. while i was looking about me, a man passed by, with a great crowd following and laughing at him, for he led in an iron chain a monstrous baboon, which he cried for sale at the price of ten pieces of silver. something instinctively impelled me to purchase the creature, so i paid him the money, and took my bargain to my lodging; but on my arrival, was at a loss how to procure a meal for myself or the baboon. while i was considering what i should do, the baboon having made several springs, became suddenly transformed into a handsome young man, beautiful as the moon at the fourteenth night of its appearance, and addressed me, saying, "shekh mahummud, thou hast purchased me for ten pieces of silver, being all thou hadst, and art now thinking how thou canst procure food for me and thyself." "that is true," replied i; "but in the name of allah, from whence dost thou come?" "ask no questions," replied my companion, "but take this piece of gold, and purchase us somewhat to eat and drink." i took the gold, did as he had desired, and we spent the evening merrily together in feasting and conversation, till it was time to repose. in the morning the young man said, "my friend, this lodging is not fitting for us; go, and hire a better." "to hear is to obey," replied i, and departed to the principal serai, where i hired an upper apartment, to which we removed. he then gave me ten deenars, with orders to purchase carpets and cushions, which i did, and on my return found before him a package, containing princely vestments. these he gave to me, desiring that i would go to the bath, and, after bathing, put them on. i obeyed his commands, dressed myself, and found in each pocket a hundred deenars. i was not a little proud of my improved appearance in the rich robes. on my return, he praised my figure, and seated me by him, when we refreshed ourselves, and chatted on various subjects. at length he gave me a bundle, desiring that i would present it to the sultan, and at the same time demand his daughter in marriage for myself, assuring me that my request would meet a ready compliance. the young man commanded a slave he had bought to attend me, who carried the bundle, and i set out for the palace; near which i found a great crowd of grandees, officers, and guards, who seeing me so richly habited, inquired respectfully what i wanted. upon my replying that my business was with the sultan, they informed the ushers, who introduced me to the presence. i made the customary obeisance, and the sultan returned my salute; after which i presented the bundle before him, saying, "will my lord accept this trifle, becoming my humble situation to offer, but certainly not worthy the royal dignity to receive?" the sultan commanded the package to be opened; when, lo! it contained a complete dress of royal apparel, richer than had ever been before seen, at which the sultan was astonished, and exclaimed, "heavens! i have nothing like this, nor ever possessed so magnificent a suit; it shall be accepted: but inform me, shekh, what thou requirest in return for so valuable an offering." "mighty sovereign," replied i, "my wish is to become thy relation by espousing that precious gem of the casket of beauty, thy incomparable daughter." when the sultan had heard this request, he turned towards his vizier and said, "advise me how i should act in this affair." upon which the minister replied, "shew him, my lord, your most valuable diamond, and inquire if he has any one equally precious to match it as a marriage present for your daughter." the sultan did so; when i said, "if i present two, will you give me your daughter?" to which he assented, and i took my leave, carrying with me the diamond, to shew the young man as a model. upon my arrival at our serai, i informed him of what passed, when he examined the diamond, and said, "the day is now far spent, but tomorrow i will procure ten like it, which thou shalt present to the sultan." accordingly in the morning he walked out, and in the space of an hour returned with ten diamonds, which he gave me, and i hastened with them to the sultan. when he beheld the precious stones he was enraptured at their brilliancy, and again consulted his vizier how he should act in this business. "my lord," replied the minister, "you only required one diamond of the shekh, and he has presented you with ten: it is therefore incumbent upon you to give him your daughter." the sultan now sent for the cauzees and effendis, who drew up the deed of espousals, which they gave me, when i returned to our serai, and shewed it to the young man, who said, "it is well; go and complete thy marriage; but i entreat that thou wilt not consummate thy nuptials till i shall give thee permission." "to hear is to obey," replied i. when it was night i entered the princess's apartment, but sat down at a distance from her, and did not speak till morning, when i bade her farewell, and took my leave for the day. i observed the same conduct the second night and the third, upon which, offended at my coldness, she complained to her mother, who informed the sultan of my affronting behaviour. the sultan sent for me to his presence, and with much anger threatened, if i should continue my coldness to the princess another evening, that he would put me to death. upon this i hastened to inform my friend at the serai, who commanded, that when i should next be alone with my wife i should demand of her a bracelet which she wore upon her right arm, and bring it to him, after which i might consummate my nuptials. i replied, "to hear is to obey;" and the next evening, when i entered the apartment, said to my wife, "if thou desirest that we should live happily together, give me the bracelet on thy right arm." she did so immediately, when i carried it to the young man, and, returning to the palace, slept, as i supposed, with the princess till morning. guess, however, what was my surprise, when on awaking i found myself lying in my first humble lodging, stripped of my rich vestments, and saw on the ground my former mean attire; namely, an old vest, a pair of tattered drawers, and a ragged turban, as full of holes as a sieve. when i had somewhat recovered my senses, i put them on and walked out in a melancholy mood, regretting my lost happiness, and not knowing what i should do to recover it. as i strolled towards the palace, i beheld sitting in the street a fortune-teller, who had some written papers before him, and was casting omens for the bystanders. i advanced, and made him a salute, which he returned kindly; and after looking attentively in my face, exclaimed, "what! has that accursed wretch betrayed thee, and torn thee from thy wife?" i replied, "yes." upon this he desired me to wait a little, and seated me by him. when his employers were departed, he said, "my friend, the ape which you purchased for ten pieces of silver, and who soon after was transformed into a young man, is not of human race, but a genie deeply in love with the princess whom you married. however, he could not approach her while she wore the bracelet, containing a powerful charm, upon her right arm, and therefore made use of thee to obtain it. he is now with her, but i will soon effect his destruction, that genii and men may be secure from his wickedness, for he is one of the rebellious and accursed spirits who disobeyed our lord solomon, son of david." after this, the fortune-teller wrote a note, which having sealed and directed, he gave it to me, saying, "go to a certain spot, wait there, and observe those who may approach. fortify thy mind, and when thou shall see a great personage attended by a numerous train, present to him this letter, when he will accomplish thy desires." i took the note, immediately departed for the place to which the fortune-teller had directed me, and after travelling all night and half the next day reached it, and sat down to wait for what might happen. the evening shut in, and about a fourth part of the night had passed, when a great glare of lights appeared advancing towards me from a distance; and as it shone nearer, i perceived persons carrying flambeaux and lanterns, also a numerous train of attendants, as if belonging to some mighty sultan. my mind was alarmed, but i recovered myself, and resolved to stay where i was. a great concourse passed by me, marching two and two, and at length there appeared a sultan of the genii, surrounded by a splendid attendance; upon which i advanced as boldly as i could, and having prostrated myself, presented the letter, which he opened, and read aloud, as follows: "be it known unto thee, o sultan of the genii, that the bearer of this is in distress, from which thou must relieve him by destroying his enemy. shouldst thou not assist him, beware of thy own safety. farewell." when the sultan of the genii had read the note, he called out to one of his messengers, who immediately attended before him, and commanded him to bring into his presence without delay the genie who had enchanted the daughter of the sultan of cairo. "to hear is to obey," replied the messenger, and instantly disappearing, was absent for about an hour, when he returned with the criminal, and placed him before the sultan of the genii, who exclaimed, "accursed wretch, hast thou ill-treated this man?" "mighty sovereign," replied the genie, "my crime proceeded from love of the princess, who wore a charm in her bracelet which prevented my approaching her, and therefore i made use of this man. he procured me the charm, and i now have her in my power; but i love her tenderly, and have not injured her." "return the bracelet instantly," replied the sultan of the genii, "that the man may recover his wife, or i will command an executioner to strike off thy head." the offending genie, who was of an accursed and obstinate race, upon hearing these words was inflamed with passion, and insolently cried out, "i will not return the bracelet, for no one shall possess the princess but myself." having said thus, he attempted to fly away, but in vain. the sultan of the genii now commanded his attendants to bind the criminal in chains, which they did, and having forced the bracelet from him, struck off his head. the sultan then presented me the charm, which was no sooner in my hand than all the genii vanished from my sight, and i found myself dressed as before, in the rich habit given me by the pretended young man. i proceeded to the city, which i entered, and when i came near the palace was recognized by the guards and courtiers, who cried out in raptures of joy, "our lost prince is at length returned." they paid their respects, and i entered the apartment of the princess, whom i found in a deep sleep, in which state she had been ever since my departure. on my replacing the bracelet on her arm, she awoke. after this we lived together in all happiness till the death of her father, who appointed me his successor, having no son, so that i am what i am. when the sultan of cairo had finished his narrative, the abdicated prince expressed his surprise at his adventures: upon which the sultan said, "wonder not, my brother, at the dispensations of the almighty, for he worketh in secret, and when he pleaseth revealeth his mysteries. since thou hast quitted thy kingdom, if thou choosest, thou shalt be my vizier, and we will live together as friends and brothers." "to hear is to obey," replied the prince. the sultan then constituted him vizier, enrobed him in a rich uniform, and committed to him his seal, the inkstand, and other insignia of office, at the same time conferring upon him a magnificent palace, superbly furnished with gorgeous carpets, musnuds, and cushions: belonging to it were also extensive gardens. the vizier entered immediately upon his new office; held his divans regularly twice every day, and judged so equitably on all appeals brought before him, that his fame for justice and impartiality was soon spread abroad; insomuch, that whoever had a cause or dispute willingly referred it to his decision, and was satisfied with it, praying for his life and prosperity. in this state he remained for many years, the sovereign pleased with him, and he happy under the protection of the sultan of cairo, so that he did not regret his abdicated kingdom. it happened one evening that the mind of the sultan was depressed, upon which he sent for the vizier, who attended; when he said, "vizier, my mind is so uneasy that nothing will amuse me." "enter then," replied the minister, "into thy cabinet, and look at thy jewels, the examination of which may perhaps entertain thee." the sultan did so, but it had no effect on his lassitude; when he said, "vizier, this dispiritedness will not quit me, and nothing gives me pleasure within my palace; let us, therefore, walk out in disguise." "to hear is to obey," replied the vizier. they then retired into a private chamber, and putting on the habits of dervishes of arabia, strolled through the city till they reached a hospital for lunatics, which they entered. here they beheld two men, one reading and the other listening to him; when the sultan said to himself, "this is surprising;" and addressed the men, saying, "are you really mad?" they replied, "we are not mad, but our stories are so wonderful, that were they recorded on a tablet of adamant, they would remain for examples to them who would be advised." "let us hear them," said the sultan; upon which, the man who had been reading exclaimed, "hear mine first!" and thus began. story of the first lunatic. i was a merchant, and had a warehouse in which were indian goods of all sorts, and of the highest value, and i bought and sold to great advantage. one day as i was sitting in my warehouse, according to custom, busy in buying and selling, an old woman came in, telling her beads, and greeted me. i returned her salute, when she sat down, and said, "sir, have you any choice indian cloths?" "yes, my mistress," replied i, "of all sorts that you can possibly wish for." "bring them," said she. i showed her a piece of great value, with which she was highly pleased, and inquired the price. "five hundred deenars," replied i: she took out her purse, paid me the money, and went away with the cloth; upon which i had a profit of one hundred and fifty deenars. she returned the next day, bought another piece, paid for it, and, in short, did the same for fifteen days successively, paying me regularly for each purchase. on the sixteenth day she came to my shop as usual, chose the cloth and was going to pay me, but missed her purse; upon which she said, "sir, i have unfortunately left my purse at home." "mistress," replied i, "it is of no consequence; take the cloth, and if you return, well, if not, you are welcome to this trifle:" she would not take it: i pressed her, but in vain. much friendly argument passed between us, till at length she said, "sir, you contradict, and i contradict, but we shall never agree unless you will favour me by accompanying me to my house to receive the value of your goods; so lock up your warehouse, lest any thing should be lost in your absence." accordingly i fastened my doors, and accompanied her; we walked on conversing, till we came near her house, when she pulled out a handkerchief from her girdle, and said, "my desire is to tie this over thy eyes." "on what account?" replied i. "because," said she, "in our way are several houses, the gates of which are open, and the women sitting in their balconies, so that possibly thy eyes may glance upon some one of them, and thy heart be distracted with love; for in this part are many beautiful damsels, who would fascinate even a religious, and therefore i am alarmed for thy peace." upon this i said to myself, "this old woman advises me properly," and i consented to her demand; when she bound the handkerchief over my eyes, and we proceeded till we arrived at her house. she knocked at the door, which was opened by a damsel, and we entered. the old lady then took the handkerchief from my eyes, when i looked around me, and perceived that i was in a mansion having several quadrangles, highly ornamented, and resembling the palaces of the sultan. the old lady now desired me to retire into a room, which i did, and there beheld heaped together all the pieces of cloth which she had purchased of me, at which i was surprised, but still more so when two damsels beautiful as resplendent moons approached, and having divided a piece of cloth into halves, each took one, and wrapped it round her hand. they then sprinkled the floor with rose water and other scents, wiping it with the cloth, and rubbing it till it became bright as silver; after which they withdrew into an adjoining room, and brought out at least fifty stools, which they set down, and placed over each a rich covering, with cushions of tissue. they then fetched a large stool of gold, and having put upon it a carpet and cushions of gold brocade, retired. not long after this, there descended from the staircase by two and two, as many damsels in number as the stools; upon each of which one sat down. at last descended a lady attended by ten damsels, who placed herself upon the larger stool. when i beheld her, my lord, my senses forsook me, and i was in raptures at her beauty, her stature, and elegance, as she chatted and laughed with her companions. at length she exclaimed, "my dear mother!" when the old woman entered; to whom she said, "hast thou brought the young man?" she replied, "yes, my daughter, he is ready to attend thee." upon which the lady said, "introduce him to me." when i heard this i was alarmed, and said to myself, "there is no refuge but in the most high god; doubtless she has discovered my being here, and will command me to be put to death." the old woman came to me, and leading me by the hand, took me before the lady seated on the golden stool, who, on seeing me, smiled, made a graceful salute, and waved her hand for a seat to be brought, which was done, and placed close to her own. she then commanded me to sit down, which i did with much confusion. when i was seated, the lady began to chat and joke with me, saying, "what think you of my appearance and my beauty, do you judge me worthy of your affection? shall i be your partner and you mine?" when i had heard these words, i replied, "how, dear lady, dare i presume, who am not worthy to be your servant, to arrive at such an honour?" upon this, she said, "young man, my words have no evasion in them; be not discouraged, or fearful of returning me an answer, for my heart is devoted to thy love." i now perceived, my lord, that the lady was anxious to marry me; but could not conceive on what account, or who could have given her intelligence concerning me. she continued to shew me so many pleasing attentions, that at length i was emboldened to say, "lady, if your words to me are sincere, according to the proverb, no time is so favourable as the present." "there cannot," said she, "be a more fortunate day than this for our union." upon this i replied, "my dear lady, how can i allot for you a proper dowry?" "the value of the cloth you intrusted to the old lady, who is my mother," answered she, "is sufficient." "that cannot be enough," rejoined i. "nothing more shall be added," exclaimed the lady; "and my intention is this instant to send for the cauzee and witnesses, and i will choose a trustee, that they may unite us without delay. we will celebrate our nuptials this very evening, but upon one condition." "what is that?" replied i. she answered, "that you bind yourself not to address or hold conversation with any woman but myself." my lord, i was eager to be in possession of so beautiful a woman, and therefore said to her, "i agree, and will never contradict thee either by my words or actions." she then sent for the cauzee and witnesses, and appointed a trustee, after which we were married. after the ceremony, she ordered coffee and sherbet, gave money to the cauzee, a dress of honour to her trustee, and they departed. i was lost in astonishment, and said to myself, "do i dream, or am i awake?" she now commanded her damsels to empty the warm bath, fill it afresh, and prepare cloths and necessaries for bathing. when they had done as she desired, she ordered the eunuchs in waiting to conduct me to the hummaum, and gave them a rich dress. they led me into an elegant apartment, difficult for speech to describe. they spread many-coloured carpets, upon which i sat down and undressed; after which i entered the hummaum, and perceived delightful odours from sandal wood, of comorin, and other sweets diffusing from every part. here they seated me, covered me with perfumed soaps, and rubbed me till my body became bright as silver; when they brought the basins, and i washed with warm water, after which they gave me rose-water, and i poured it over me. they next brought in sweet-smelling salves, which i rubbed over me, and then repaired to the hummaum, where i found a royal dress, in which the eunuchs arrayed me; and after perfuming me with incense of sandal wood, brought in confections, coffee, and sherberts of various sorts, with which i refreshed myself. i then left the bath with my attendants, who shewed me into the grand hall of the palace, which was spread with most magnificent carpets, stools, and cushions. here the lady met me, attired in a new habit, more sumptuous than i had seen her in before. when i beheld my bride, she appeared to me, from the richness of her ornaments, like a concealed treasure from which the talisman had just been removed. she sat down by me, and smiled so fascinatingly upon me, i could no longer contain my rapture. in a short time she retired, but soon returned again in a dress richer than her last. i again embraced her, and in short, my lord, we remained together for ten days in the height of happiness and enjoyment. at the end of this period i recollected my mother, and said to my wife, "it is so long since i have been absent from home, and since my mother has not seen me, that i am certain she must be anxious concerning me. will you permit me to visit her and look after my warehouse?" "there can be no impediment," replied she; "you may visit your mother daily, and employ yourself in your warehouse, but the old woman must conduct you and bring you back;" to which i assented. the old lady then came in, tied a handkerchief over my eyes, conducted me to the spot where she had first blindfolded me, and said, "you will return here about the time of evening prayer, and will find me waiting." i left her, and repaired to my mother, whom i found in great affliction at my absence, and weeping bitterly. upon seeing me, she ran and embraced me with tears of joy. i said, "weep not, my dear mother, for my absence has been owing to the highest good fortune." i then informed her of my lucky adventure, when she exclaimed, "may allah protect thee, my son, but visit me at least every two days, that my affection for thee may be gratified." i then went to my warehouse, and employed myself as usual till evening, when i returned to the place appointed, where i found the old lady, who blindfolded me as before, and conducted me to the palace of my wife, who received me with fondness. for three months i continued to go and come in this manner, but i could not help wishing to know whom i had married, and wondering at the affluence, splendour, and attendance that appeared around her. at length i found an opportunity of being in private with one of her black slaves, and questioned her concerning her mistress. "my lord," replied she, "the history of my mistress is wonderful; but i dare not relate it, lest she should put me to death." upon this, i assured her, that if she would inform me, no one should know it but myself, and i took an oath of secrecy, when she began as follows: "my mistress one day went to a public bath, intending to amuse herself, for which purpose she made such preparations of delicacies and rarities, as were worth a camel's load of treasure, and when she left the hummaum, made an excursion to a garden, where a splendid collation was laid out. here she continued enjoying herself till evening, when she ordered her retinue to make ready for departure, and the fragments of the entertainment to be distributed among the poor. on her return, she passed through the street in which is your warehouse. it was upon a friday, when you were sitting in conversation with a friend, arrayed in your best attire. she beheld you, her heart was stricken with love, but no one perceived her emotion. however, she had no sooner reached her palace than she became low and melancholy, and her appetite failed her. at length she took to her bed, her colour left her, sleep forsook her, and she became very weak. upon this her mother went to call in a physician, that he might consider what might be the cause of her daughter's indisposition; but on the way she met a skilful old lady, with whom she returned home. "the old lady on feeling the pulse of her patient, and after asking several questions, could perceive in her no bodily ailment or pain; upon which she judged she was in love, but did not venture to speak to her before her mother of her suspicions. she took leave, and said, 'by god's blessing thou wilt soon recover; i will return tomorrow, and bring with me an infallible medicine.' she then took her mother aside, and said, 'my good lady, be not angry at what i shall remark, but thy daughter has no bodily disorder; she is in love, and there can be no cure for her but by a union with her beloved.' the mother, on the departure of the old lady, repaired to her daughter, and with much difficulty, after twenty days of denial (for my mistress's modesty was hurt), obtained from her a description of your person, and the street in which you lived; upon which she behaved to you in the manner you are well acquainted with, brought you here, and you know what followed. such is her history," concluded the black slave, "which you must not reveal." "i will not," replied i; and after this i continued to live very happily with my wife, going daily to see my mother, to attend in my warehouse, and return in the evening, conducted as usual by the old lady my mother-in-law. one day, after the expiration of some months, as i was sitting in my warehouse, a damsel came into the street with the image of a cock, composed of jewelry. it was set with pearls, diamonds, and other precious stones, and she offered it to the merchants for sale; when they began bidding for it at five hundred deenars, and went to nine hundred and fifty; all which i observed in silence and did not interfere by speaking or bidding. at length the damsel came up to me, and said, "my lord, all the merchants have increased in bidding for my precious toy, but you have neither bidden, nor taken any notice of me." "i have no occasion for it," replied i. "nay," exclaimed she, "but you must bid something more." "since i must," i answered, "i will give fifty deenars more, which will be just a thousand." she accepted the price, and i went into my warehouse to fetch the money to pay her, saying to myself, "i will present this curiosity to my wife, as it may please her." when i was going to pay the money, the damsel would not take it, but said, "my lord, i have a request to make, which is, that i may snatch one kiss from your cheek as the price of my jewelry, for i want nothing else." upon this, i thought to myself, a single kiss of my cheek is an easy price for the value of a thousand deenars, and consented; when she came up to me and gave me a kiss, but at the same time a most severe bite; left the piece of jewelry, and went away with the greatest haste. in the evening i repaired to the house of my wife, and found the old lady waiting as usual at the accustomed spot. she tied the handkerchief over my eyes, and when she had conducted me home, took it off. i found my wife sitting upon her golden stool, but dressed in scarlet, and with an angry countenance; upon which i said to myself, "god grant all may be well." i approached her, took out the toy set with diamonds and rubies (thinking that on sight of it her ill-humour would vanish), and said, "my mistress, accept this, for it is curious, and i purchased it for thee." she took it into her hand, and examined it on all sides; after which she exclaimed, "didst thou really purchase this on my account?" "by heavens," replied i, "i bought it for thy sake, for a thousand deenars." upon this she frowned angrily upon me, and exclaimed, "what means that wound upon thy cheek?" i was overwhelmed with confusion. while i was in this state, she called out to her attendants, who immediately descended the staircase, carrying the headless corpse of a young girl, the head placed upon the middle of the body. i looked, and knew it to be the head of the damsel who had sold me the piece of jewelry for a kiss, and had bitten my cheek. my wife now exclaimed, "i had no occasion for such baubles, for i have many of them; but i wished to know if thou wert so faithful to thy agreement with me, as not to address another woman than myself, and sent the girl to try thee. since thy promise has been broken, begone, and return no more." when my wife had finished her speech, the old woman took me by the hand, tied the handkerchief over my eyes, and conducted me to the usual spot, when she said, "begone!" and disappeared. i was so overcome by the sad adventure, and the loss of my wife, that i ran through the streets like one frantic, crying, "ah, what beauty, what grace, what elegance did she possess!" upon which, the people, supposing me distracted, conducted me to this hospital, and bound me in fetters, as you see. when the sultan had heard the young man's story, he was much affected, inclined his head for some instants in deep thought, then said to his vizier, "by allah, who has intrusted me with sovereignty, if thou dost not discover the lady who married this young man, thy head shall be forfeited." the vizier was alarmed, but recovering himself, replied, "allow me three days to search," to which the sultan consented. the vizier then took with him the young man, and for two days was at a loss how to find out the house. at length he inquired if he should know the spot where the handkerchief was tied over his eyes, and the gateway at which it was taken off, of both which the youth professed to be certain. he conducted the minister to the street where he was blindfolded, and they reached a gateway, at which the vizier knocked. it was opened by the domestics, who knowing the vizier, and seeing the young man with him, were alarmed, and ran to communicate the quality of the visitants to their mistress. she desired to know the commands of the vizier, who informed her, that it was the sultan's pleasure she should be reconciled to her husband; to which she replied, "since the sultan hath commanded, my duty is obedience." the young man was reunited to his wife, who was the daughter of a former sultan of cairo. such were the adventures of the young man who was reading in the hospital. we now recite those of the youth who was listening to him. upon the sultan's inquiring his story, he began as follows. story of the second lunatic. my lord, i was by profession a merchant, and on my commencing business the youngest of my trade, having but just entered my sixteenth year. as i was one day busy in my warehouse, a damsel entering, put into my hands a packet, which, on opening, i found to contain several copies of verses in praise of myself, with a letter expressive of ardent affection for my person. supposing them meant only as banter, i foolishly flew into a passion, seized the bearer, and beat her severely. on her departure, i reflected on my improper behaviour, dreaded lest she should complain to her relations, and that they might revenge themselves upon me by some sudden assault. i repented of what i had done, but alas! it was when repentance would not avail. ten days had passed, when, as i was sitting in my warehouse as usual, a young lady entered most superbly dressed, and odoriferously perfumed. she resembled in brightness the moon on its fourteenth night, so that when i gazed upon her my senses forsook me, and i was incapable of attention to any thing but herself. she addressed me, saying, "young man, have you in your warehouse any female ornaments?" to which i replied, "of all sorts, my lady, that you can possibly require." upon this she desired to see some bracelets for the ankles, which i shewed her, when holding out her foot, she desired me to try them on. i did so. after this, she asked for a necklace, and opening her veil, made me tie it on. she then chose a pair of bracelets, and extending her hands, desired me to put them on her wrists, which i did; after which, she inquired the amount of the whole, when i exclaimed, "fair lady, accept them as a present, and inform me whose daughter thou art." she replied, "i am the daughter of the chief magistrate;" when i said, "my wish is to demand thee in marriage of thy father." she consented that i should, but observed, "when you ask me of my father, he will say, i have only one daughter, who is a cripple, and wretchedly deformed. do thou, however, reply, that thou art willing to accept her, and if he remonstrates, still insist upon wedding her." i then asked when i should make my proposals. she replied, "the best time to visit my father is on the eed al koorbaun, which is three days hence, as thou wilt then find with him all his relations and friends, and our espousals will add to his festivity." agreeably to the lady's instructions, on the third day following i repaired with several of my friends to the house of the chief magistrate, and found him sitting in state, receiving the compliments of the day from the chief inhabitants of the city. we made our obeisance, which he graciously noticed, received us with kindness, and entered familiarly into conversation. a collation was brought in, the cloth spread, and we partook with him of the viands, after which we drank coffee. i then stood up, saying, "my lord, i am desirous of espousing the chaste lady your daughter, more precious than the richest gem." when the chief magistrate heard my speech, he inclined his head for some time towards the earth in deep thought, after which he said, "son, my daughter is an unfortunate cripple, miserably deformed." to this i replied, "to have her for my wife is all i wish." the magistrate then said, "if thou wilt have a wife of this description, it must be on condition that she shall not be taken from my house, that thou shalt consummate the marriage here, and abide with me." i replied, "to hear is to obey;" believing that she was the beautiful damsel who had visited my warehouse, and whose charms i had so rapturously beheld. in short, the nuptial ceremony was performed, when i said to myself, "heavens! is it possible that i am become master of this beautiful damsel, and shall possess her charms!" when night set in, the domestics of the chief magistrate introduced me into the chamber of my bride. i ran eagerly to gaze upon her beauty, but guess my mortification when i beheld her a wretched dwarf, a cripple, and deformed, as her father had represented. i was overcome with horror at the sight of her, distracted with disappointment, and ashamed of my own foolish credulity, but i dared not complain, as i had voluntarily accepted her as my wife from the magistrate: i sat down silently in one corner of the chamber, and she in another, for i could not bring myself to approach her, as she was disgusting to the sight of man, and my soul could not endure her company. at day-break i left the house of my father-in-law, repaired to my warehouse, which i opened, and sat down much distressed in mind, with my head dizzy, like one suffering from intoxication, when lo! who should appear before me but the lady who had put upon me so mortifying a trick. she entered, and paid me the customary salute. i was enraged, and began to abuse her, saying, "wherefore hast thou put upon me such a stratagem?" when she replied, "wretch, recollect the day that i brought thee a packet, in return for which you seized, beat, reviled, and drove me scornfully away. in retaliation for such treatment, i have taken revenge by giving thee such a delectable bride." i now fell at her feet, entreated her forgiveness, and expressed my repentance; upon which, smiling upon me, she said, "be not uneasy, for as i have plunged thee into a dilemma, i will also relieve thee from it. go to the aga of the leather-dressers, give him a sum of money, and desire him to call thee his son; then repair with him, attended by his followers and musicians, to the house of the chief magistrate. when he inquires the cause of their coming, let the aga say, 'my lord, we are come to congratulate thy son-in-law, who is my beloved child, on his marriage with thy daughter, and to rejoice with him.' the magistrate will be furiously enraged, and exclaim, 'dog, is it possible that, being a leather-dresser, thou durst marry the daughter of the chief magistrate?' do thou then reply, 'my lord, my ambition was to be ennobled by your alliance, and as i have married your lordship's daughter, the mean appellation of leather-dresser will soon be forgotten and lost in the glorious title of the son-in-law of your lordship; i shall be promoted under your protection, and purified from the odour of the tan-pit, so that my offspring will smell as sweet as that of a syed." i did as the lady had directed me, and having bribed the chief of the leather-dressers, he accompanied me with the body of his trade, and a numerous party of musicians, vocal and instrumental, to my father-in-law's house, before which they began to sing and dance with great clamour every now and then crying out, "long live our noble kinsman! long live the son-in-law of the chief magistrate!" the magistrate inquired into the cause of our intrusive rejoicing, when i told him my kinsfolk were congratulating me upon my alliance with his illustrious house, and come to thank him for the honour he had done the whole body of leather-dressers in my person. the chief magistrate on hearing this was passionately enraged, and abused me; but reflecting that without my consent the supposed disgrace of his noble house could not be done away, he became calm, and offered me money to divorce his daughter. at first i pretended unwillingness, but at length affecting to be moved by his earnest entreaties, accepted forty purses of gold, which he gave me to repudiate my deformed wife, and i returned home with a lightened heart. the day following, the lady came to my warehouse, when i thanked her for having freed me from my ridiculous marriage, and begged her to accept of me as a husband. to this she consented, but said she was, she feared, too meanly born for me to marry, as her father was but a cook, though of eminence in his way, and very rich. i replied, "even though he were a leather-dresser, thy charms would grace a throne." in short, my lord, we were married, and have lived together very happily from the day of our union to the present time. such is my story, but it is not so surprising as that of the learned man and his pupil, whose adventures were among the miracles of the age, which i will relate. story of the retired sage and his pupil, related to the sultan by the second lunatic, there was a learned and devout sage, who in order to enjoy his studies and contemplations uninterrupted, had secluded himself from the world in one of the cells of the principal mosque of the city, which he never left but upon the most pressing occasions. he had led this retired life some years, when a boy one day entered his cell, and earnestly begged to be received as his pupil and domestic. the sage liked his appearance, consented to his request, inquired who were his parents, and whence he came; but the lad could not inform him, and said, "ask not who i am, for i am an orphan, and know not whether i belong to heaven or earth." the shekh did not press him, and the boy served him with the most undeviating punctuality and attention for twelve years, during which he received his instructions in every branch of learning, and became a most accomplished youth. at the end of the twelve years, the youth one day heard some young men praising the beauty of the sultan's daughter, and saying that her charms were unequalled by those of all the princesses of the age. this discourse excited his curiosity to behold so lovely a creature. he repaired to his master, saying, "my lord, i understand that the sultan hath a most beautiful daughter, and my soul longs ardently for an opportunity of beholding her, if only for an instant." the sage exclaimed, "what have such as we to do, my son, with the daughters of sovereigns or of others? we are a secluded order, and should refrain ourselves from associating with the great ones of this world." the old man continued to warn his pupil against the vanities of the age, and to divert him from his purpose; but the more he advised and remonstrated, the more intent the youth became on his object, which affected his mind so much, that he grew very uneasy, and was continually weeping. the sage observing his distress was afflicted at it, and at length said to the youth, "will one look at the princess satisfy thy wishes?" "it shall," replied the pupil. the sage then anointed one of his eyes with a sort of ointment; when lo! he became to appearance as a man divided into half, and the sage ordered him to go and hop about the city. the youth obeyed his commands, but he had no sooner got into the street than he was surrounded by a crowd of passengers, who gazed with astonishment at his appearance. the report of so strange a phenomenon as a half man soon spread throughout the city, and reached the palace of the sultan, who sent for the supposed monster to the presence. the youth was conveyed to the palace, where the whole court gazed upon him with wonder; after which he was taken into the haram, to gratify the curiosity of the women. he beheld the princess, and was fascinated by the brilliancy of her charms, insomuch, that he said to himself, "if i cannot wed her, i will put myself to death." the youth being at length dismissed from the palace, returned home; his heart tortured with love for the daughter of the sultan. on his arrival, the sage inquired if he had seen the princess. "i have," replied the youth, "but one look is not enough, and i cannot rest until i shall sit beside her, and feast my eyes till they are wearied with gazing upon her." "alas! my son," exclaimed the old man, "i fear for thy safety: we are religious men, and should avoid temptations; nor does it become us to have any thing to do with the sultan." to this the youth replied, "my lord, unless i shall sit beside her, and touch her neck with my hands, i shall, through despair, put myself to death." at these words, the sage was alarmed for the safety of his pupil, and said to himself, "i will, if possible, preserve this amiable youth, and perchance allah may gratify his wishes." he then anointed both his eyes with an ointment, which had the effect of rendering him invisible to human sight. after this, he said, "go, my son, and gratify thy wishes, but return again, and be not too long absent from thy duty." the youth hastened towards the royal palace, which he entered unperceived, and proceeded into the haram, where he seated himself near the daughter of the sultan. for some time he contented himself with gazing on her beauty, but at length extending his hands, touched her softly on the neck. as soon as she felt his touch, the princess, alarmed, shrieked out violently, and exclaimed, "i seek refuge with allah, from satan the accursed." her mother and the ladies present, affrighted at her outcries, eagerly inquired the cause; when she said, "eblees, or some other evil spirit, hath this instant touched me on the neck." upon this, the mother was alarmed and sent for her nurse, who, when informed of what had happened, declared, "that nothing was so specific to drive away evil spirits as the smoke of camel's hair;" a quantity of which was instantly brought, and being set fire to, the smoke of it filled the whole apartment, and so affected the eyes of the young man, that they watered exceedingly, when he unthinkingly wiped them with his handkerchief, so that with his tears the ointment was soon washed off. the ointment was no sooner wiped away from his eyes than the young man became visible, and the princess, her mother, and the ladies, all at once uttered a general cry of astonishment and alarm; upon which the eunuchs rushed into the apartment. seeing the youth, they surrounded him, beat him unmercifully, then bound him with cords, and dragged him before the sultan, whom they informed of his having been found in the royal haram. the sultan, enraged, sent for an executioner, and commanded him to seize the culprit, to clothe him in a black habit patched over with flame colour, to mount him upon a camel, and after parading with him through the streets of the city, to put him to death. the executioner took the young man, dressed him as he had been directed, placed him upon the camel, and led him through the city, preceded by guards and a crier, who bawled out, "behold the merited punishment of him who has dared to violate the sanctuary of the royal haram." the procession was followed by an incalculable crowd of people, who were astonished at the beauty of the young man, and the little concern he seemed to feel at his own situation. at length the procession arrived in the square before the great mosque, when the sage, disturbed by the noise and concourse of the people, looked from the window of his cell, and beheld the disgraceful situation of his pupil. he was moved to pity, and instantly calling upon the genii (for by his knowledge of magic and every abstruse science he had them all under his control), commanded them to bring him the youth from the camel, and place in his room, without being perceived, some superannuated man. they did so, and when the multitude saw the youth, as it were, transformed into a well-known venerable shekh, they were stricken with awe, and said, "heavens! the young man turns out to be our reverend chief of the herb-sellers;" for the old man had long been accustomed to dispose of greens and sugarcane at the college gate near the great mosque, and was the oldest in his trade. the executioner, on beholding the change of appearance in his prisoner, was confounded. he returned to the palace with the old man upon the camel, and followed by the crowd. he hastened or contrive my death to the sultan, and said, "my lord, the young man is vanished, and in his room became seated upon the camel this venerable shekh, well known to the whole city." on hearing this, the sultan was alarmed, and said to himself, "whoever has been able to perform this, can do things much more surprising he may depose me from my kingdom." the sultan's fears increased so much, that he was at a loss how to act. he summoned his vizier, and said, "advise me what to do in the affair of this strange youth, for i am utterly confounded." the vizier for some time inclined his head towards the ground in profound thought, then addressing the sultan, said, "my lord, no one could have done this but by the help of genii, or by a power which we cannot comprehend, and he may possibly, if irritated, do you in future a greater injury respecting your daughter. i advise, therefore, that you cause it to be proclaimed throughout the city, that whoever has done this, if he will appear before you shall have pardon on the word of a sultan, which can never be broken. should he then surrender himself, espouse him to your daughter, when perhaps his mind may be reconciled by her love. he has already beheld her, and seen the ladies of the haram, so that nothing can save your honour but his union with the princess." the sultan approved the advice of his vizier, the proclamation was issued, and the crier proceeded through several streets, till at length he reached the square of the great mosque. the pupil hearing the proclamation, was enraptured, and running to his patron, declared his intention of surrendering himself to the sultan. "my son," said the sage, "why shouldst thou do so? hast thou not already suffered sufficiently?" the youth replied, "nothing shall prevent me." upon which the sage exclaimed, "go then, my son, and my midnight prayers shall attend thee." the youth now repaired to the hummaum, and having bathed, dressed himself in his richest habit; after which he discovered himself to the crier, who conducted him to the palace. he made a profound obeisance to the sultan, at the same time uttering an eloquent prayer for his long life and prosperity. the sultan was struck with his manly beauty, the gracefulness of his demeanour, and the propriety of his delivery, and said, "young stranger, who art thou, and from whence dost thou come?" "i am," replied the youth, "the half man whom you saw, and have done what you are already acquainted with." the sultan now requested him to sit in the most honourable place, and entered into conversation on various subjects. he put to him several difficult questions in science, to which the youth replied with such judgment, that his abilities astonished him, and he said to himself, "this young man is truly worthy of my daughter." he then addressed him, saying, "young man, my wish is to unite thee to my daughter, for thou hast already seen her, also her mother, and after what has passed no one will marry her." the youth replied, "i am ready in obedience, but must advise with my friends." "go then," said the sultan, "consult with thy friends, and return quickly." the young man repaired to the sage, and having informed him of what had passed between himself and the sultan, signified his wish to marry the princess, when the shekh replied, "do so, my son; there can be in the measure no crime, as it is a lawful alliance." "but i wish," said the youth, "to invite the sultan to visit you." "by all means," answered the sage. "my lord," rejoined the pupil, "since i first came, and you honoured me in your service, i have beheld you in no other residence but this confined cell, from which you have never stirred night or day. how can i invite the sultan here?" "my son," exclaimed the shekh, "go to the sultan, rely upon allah, who can work miracles in favour of whom he chooseth, and say unto him, 'my patron greets thee, and requests thy company to an entertainment five days hence.'" the youth did as he was directed, and having returned to his master, waited upon him as before, but anxiously wishing for the fifth day to arrive. on the fifth day, the sage said to his impatient pupil, "let us remove to our own house, that we may prepare for the reception of the sultan, whom you must conduct to me." they arose, and walked, till on coming to a ruinous building about the middle of the city, the walls of which were fallen in heaps, the shekh said, "my son, this is my mansion, hasten and bring the sultan." the pupil, in astonishment, exclaimed, "my lord, this abode is a heap of ruins, how can i invite the sultan here, it would only disgrace us?" "go," repeated the sage, "and dread not the consequences." upon this the youth departed, but as he went on could not help saying to himself, "surely my master must be insane, or means to make a jest of us." when he had reached the palace he found the sultan expecting him; upon which he made his obeisance, and said, "will my lord honour me by his company?" the sultan arose, mounted his horse, and attended by his whole court, followed the youth to the place chosen by the venerable shekh. it now appeared a royal mansion, at the gates of which were ranged numerous attendants in costly habits, respectfully waiting. the young man, at sight of this transformed appearance, was confounded in such a manner that he could hardly retain his senses. he said to himself, "it was but this instant that i beheld this place a heap of ruins, yet now it is a palace far more magnificent than any belonging to this sultan. i am astonished, but must keep the secret to myself." the sultan alighted, as did also his courtiers, and entered the palace. they were surprised and delighted at the splendour of the first court, but much more so at the superior magnificence of a second; into which they were ushered, and introduced into a spacious hall, where they found the venerable shekh sitting to receive them. the sultan made a low obeisance; upon which the sage just moved his head, but did not rise. the sultan then sat down, when the shekh greeted him, and they entered into conversation on various subjects; but the senses of the sultan were confounded at the dignified demeanour of his host, and the splendid objects around him. at length the shekh desired his pupil to knock at a door and order breakfast to be brought in, which he did: when lo! the door opened, and there entered a hundred slaves, bearing upon their heads golden trays, on which were placed dishes of agate, cornelian, and other stones, filled with various eatables, which they arranged in order before the sultan. he was astonished, for he had nothing so magnificent in his own possession. he then partook of the sumptuous collation, as did also the venerable shekh, and all the courtiers, till they were satisfied; after which they drank coffee and sherbets of various sorts, when the sultan and the sage conversed on religious and literary subjects, and the former was edified by the remarks of the latter. when it was noon the shekh again desired his pupil to knock at another door, and order dinner to be brought in. he had no sooner done so, than immediately a hundred slaves, different from the former, entered, bearing trays of the richest viands. they spread the cloth before the sultan, and arranged the dishes, which were each thickly set with precious stones, at which he was more astonished than before. when all had eaten till they were satisfied, basins and ewers, some of gold and others of agate, were carried round, and they washed their hands; after which the shekh said to the sultan, "have you fixed what my son must give as the dower of your daughter?" to this, the sultan replied, "i have already received it." this he said out of compliment; but the shekh replied, "my lord, the marriage cannot be valid without a dower." he then presented a vast sum of money, with many jewels, for the purpose to his pupil; after which he retired with the sultan into a chamber, and arrayed him in a splendid habit; rich dresses were also given to each of his attendants according to their rank. the sultan then took leave of the shekh, and returned with his intended son-in-law to the palace. when evening arrived the young man was introduced into the apartment of the princess, which he found spread with the richest carpets, and perfumed with costly essences, but his bride was absent: at which he was somewhat surprised, but supposed her coming was put off till midnight, for which he waited with impatience. midnight came, but no bride appeared; when a thousand uneasy sensations afflicted his mind, and he continued in restless anxiety till morning: nor were the father and mother of the princess less impatient; for supposing she was with her husband, they waited anxiously, and were mortified at the delay. at daylight, the mother, unable to bear longer suspense, entered the chamber; when the young man, rather angrily, inquired what had delayed the coming of his bride. "she entered before thee," replied the mother. "i have not seen her," answered the bridegroom. upon this the sultana shrieked with affright, calling aloud on her daughter, for she had no other child but her. her cries alarmed the sultan, who rushing into the apartment, was informed that the princess was missing, and had not been seen since her entrance in the evening. search was now made in every quarter of the palace, but in vain; and the sultan, sultana, and the bridegroom, were involved in the deepest distress. to account for the sudden disappearance of the princess, be it known, that a genie used often to divert himself with visiting the haram of the sultan; and happening to be there on the marriage night, was so captivated by the charms of the bride, that he resolved to steal her away. accordingly, having rendered himself invisible, he waited in the nuptial chamber, and upon her entering bore her off, and soared into the air. at length he alighted with his prey in a delightful garden, far distant from the city; placed the princess in a shady arbour, and set before her delicious fruits; but contented himself with gazing upon her beauty. the young bridegroom, when recovered from his first alarm, bethought himself of his tutor, and, together with the sultan, repaired to the palace where the splendid entertainment had been given. here they found every thing in the same order as on the day of festivity, and were kindly received by the venerable shekh; who on hearing of the loss of the princess, desired them to be comforted. he then commanded a chafing-dish of lighted charcoal to be set before him, and after some moments of contemplation, cast into it some perfumes, over which he pronounced incantations. he had scarcely ended them, when lo! the earth shook, whirlwinds arose, lightnings flashed, and clouds of dust darkened the air, from which speedily descended winged troops, bearing superb standards and massive spears. in the centre of them appeared three sultans of the genii, who bowing low before the shekh, exclaimed all at once, "master, hail! we are come to obey thy commands." the shekh now addressed them, saying, "my orders are, that you instantly bring me the accursed spirit who hath carried off the bride of my son;" when the genii replied, "to hear is to obey:" and immediately detached fifty of their followers to reconduct the princess to her chamber, and drag the culprit to the presence of the sage. these commands were no sooner issued than they were performed. ten of the genii carefully conveyed the bride to her apartment, while the rest having seized the offending genie, dragged him before the sage, who commanded the three sultans to burn him to ashes, which was executed in an instant. all this was done in the presence of the sultan, who was wrapt in astonishment, and viewed with awe the tremendously gigantic figures of the genii, wondering at the submissive readiness with which they obeyed the commands of the venerable shekh. when the offending genie was consumed to ashes, the shekh renewed his incantations; during which the sultans of the genii, with their followers, bowed themselves before him, and when he had ended, vanished from sight. the sultan and the bridegroom having taken leave of the shekh, returned to the palace, where all was now gladness for the safe return of the princess. the marriage was consummated, and the young man was so happy with his bride, that he did not quit the haram for seven days. on the eighth, the sultan ordered public rejoicings to be made, and invited all the inhabitants of the city to feast at the royal cost; causing it to be proclaimed, that no one, either rich or poor, should for three days presume to eat at home, light a fire, or burn a lamp in his own house, but all repair to the nuptial festival of the daughter of the sultan. ample provision was made for all comers in the courts of the palace, and the officers of the household attended day and night to serve the guests according to their quality. during one of the nights of this grand festival, the sultan being anxious to know if his proclamation was generally obeyed, resolved to walk through the city in disguise. accordingly he and his vizier, in the habit of dervishes of persia, having quitted the palace privately, began their excursion, and narrowly examined several streets. at length they came to a close alley, in one of the houses of which they perceived a light, and heard the sound of voices. when they had reached the door, they heard a person say to another, "our sultan understands not how to treat properly, nor is he liberal, since the poor have it not in their option to partake of the costly feast he has prepared for his daughter's nuptials. he should have distributed his bounty among the wretched, who dare not presume to enter the palace in their ragged garments, by sending it to their home." the sultan, upon hearing this, said to the vizier, "we must enter this house;" and knocked at the door, when a person cried out, "who is there?" "guests," replied the sultan. "you shall be welcome to what we have," answered the person, and opened the door. on entering, the sultan beheld three mean-looking old men, one of whom was lame, the second broken-backed, and the third wry-mouthed. he then inquired the cause of their misfortunes; to which they answered, "our infirmities proceeded from the weakness of our understandings." the sultan upon this replied in a whisper to his vizier, that at the conclusion of the festival he should bring the three men to his presence, in order that he might learn their adventures. when they had tasted of their homely fare, the sultan and vizier rose up, and having presented the three maimed companions with a few deenars, took leave and departed. they strolled onwards. it was now near midnight when they reached a house in which, through a lattice, they could perceive three girls with their mother eating a slender meal; during which, at intervals, one of them sung, and the other two laughed and talked. the sultan resolved to enter the house, and commanded the vizier to knock at the door, which he did; when one of the sisters cried out, "who knocks at our door at this advanced time of night?" "we are two foreign dervishes," replied the vizier; to which the ladies answered, "we are women of virtue, and have no men in our house to whom you can be introduced: repair to the festival of the sultan, who will entertain you!" "alas!" continued the vizier, "we are strangers unacquainted with the way to the palace, and dread lest the magistrate of the police should meet and apprehend us. we beg that you will afford us lodging till daylight: we will then depart, and you need not apprehend from us any improper behaviour." when the mother of the ladies heard this she pitied the strangers, and commanded them to open the door: upon which the sultan and vizier having entered, paid their respects and sat down; but the former, on observing the beauty of the sisters and their elegant demeanour, could not contain himself, and said, "how comes it that you dwell by yourselves, have no husbands or any male to protect you?" the younger sister replied, "impertinent dervish, withhold thy inquiries! our story is surprising; but unless thou wert sultan, and thy companion vizier, you could not appreciate our adventures." the sultan upon this remark became silent on the subject, and they discoursed upon indifferent matters till near daylight, when the pretended dervishes took a respectful leave, and departed. at the door the sultan commanded the vizier to mark it, so that he might know it again, being resolved, when the nuptial festivities should be concluded, to send for the ladies and hear their story. on the last evening of the festival the sultan bestowed dresses of honour on all his courtiers; and on the following day, affairs returning to their usual course, he commanded his vizier to bring before him the three maimed men, and ordered them to relate the cause of their misfortunes, which they did as follows. story of the broken-backed schoolmaster. formerly, o mighty sultan, was a schoolmaster, and had under my tuition nearly seventy scholars, of whose manners i was as careful as of their learning: so much did i make them respect me, that whenever i sneezed they laid down their writing boards, stood up with arms crossed, and with one voice exclaimed, "god have mercy upon our tutor!" to which i replied, "may he have mercy upon me and you, and all who have children." if any one of the boys did not join in this prayer, i used to beat him severely. one fine afternoon my scholars requested leave to visit a certain garden some distance from the town, which i granted; and they clubbed their pittances to purchase sweetmeats and fruits. i attended them on this excursion, and was as much delighted as themselves with the pleasure they enjoyed, and their childish gambols. when evening approached we returned homewards, and on the way, my boys having fatigued themselves with play, as well as eaten much sweets and fruit, were seized with extreme thirst, of which they heavily complained. at length we reached a draw-well, but, alas! it had no bucket or cord. i pitied their situation, and resolved, if possible, to relieve them. i requested them to give me their turbans, which i tied to each other; but as they were altogether not long enough to reach the water, i fixed one of the turbans round my body, and made them let one down into the well, where i filled a small cup i had with me, which they drew up repeatedly till their thirst was satisfied. i then desired them to draw me up again, which they attempted; and i had reached nearly the mouth of the well, when i was unfortunately seized with a fit of sneezing; upon which the boys mechanically, as they had been accustomed to do in school, one and all let go their hold, crossed their arms, and exclaimed, "god have mercy upon our venerable tutor!" while i tumbled at once to the bottom of the well, and broke my back. i cried out from the agony of pain, and the children ran on all sides for help. at length some charitable passengers drew me out, and placing me upon an ass, carried me home; where i languished for a considerable time, and never could recover my health sufficiently again to attend to my school. thus did i suffer for my foolish pride: for had i not been so tenacious of respect from my scholars, they would not upon my sneezing have let go their hold and broken my back. when the broken-backed schoolmaster had finished his story, the old man with the wry-mouth thus began: story of the wry-mouthed schoolmaster. i also, o sultan, was a schoolmaster; and so strict with my pupils, that i allowed them no indulgence, but even kept them to their studies frequently after the usual hours. at length, one more cunning than the rest resolved, in revenge, to play me a trick. he instructed the lads as they came into school to say to me, "dear master, how pale you look!" not feeling myself ill, i, though surprised at their remarks, did not much regard them on the first day; but a second, and so on to a fifth passing, on each of which all the pupils on entrance uttered the same exclamation, i began to think some fatal disorder had seized me, and resolved, by way of prevention, to take physic. i did so the following morning, and remained in my wife's apartments; upon which the unlucky lads, clubbing their pittances together to the amount of about a hundred faloose, requested my acceptance of the money as an offering for my recovery; and i was so pleased with the present that i gave them a holiday. the receipt of cash in so easy a manner was so agreeable to me, that i feigned illness for some days; my pupils made an offering as usual, and were allowed to play. on the tenth day the cunning urchin who had planned the scheme came into my chamber, as customary, with an offering of faloose. i happened then to have before me a boiled egg, which, upon seeing him enter, i clapped into my mouth, supposing, that if he perceived me well enough to eat he might not give me the money. he, however, observed the trick, and coming up to me with affected condolence, exclaimed, "dear master, how your cheeks are swelled!" at the same time pressing his hands upon my face. the egg was boiling hot, and gave me intolerable pain, while the young wit pretended compassionately to stroke my visage. at length, he pressed my jaws together so hard that the egg broke, when the scalding yolk ran down my throat, and over my beard: upon which the artful lad cried out in seeming joy, "god be praised, my dear master, that the dreadful imposthume has discharged itself; we, your pupils, will all return thanks for your happy recovery." my mouth was contracted by the scald in the manner you behold, and i became so ridiculed for my folly, that i was obliged to shut up my school. the sultan having heard the other man's story, which was of but little interest, dismissed the three foolish schoolmasters with a present, commanded the vizier to go and recognize the house of the three ladies and their mother, it being his intention to visit them again in disguise and hear their adventures. the vizier hastened to the street, but to his surprise and mortification found all the houses marked in the same manner, for the youngest sister having overheard the sultan's instructions, had done this to prevent a discovery of their residence. the vizier returned to the sultan, and informed him of the trick which had been played. he was much vexed, but the circumstance excited his curiosity in a greater degree. at length the vizier bethought himself of a stratagem, and said, "my lord, let a proclamation be issued for four days successively throughout the city, that whoever presumes after the first watch of the night to have a lamp lighted in his house, shall have his head struck off, his goods confiscated, his house razed to the ground, and his women dishonoured. it is possible, as these ladies did not regard your proclamation at the nuptials of the princess, they may disobey this, and by that means we may discover their residence." the sultan approved the contrivance of the vizier, caused the proclamation to be made, and waited impatiently for the fourth night, when he and his minister having disguised themselves as before, proceeded to the street in which the ladies lived. a light appeared only in one house, which it being now tolerably certain was that they were in quest of, they knocked at the door. immediately on their knocking the youngest sister called out, "who is at the door?" and they replied, "we are dervishes, and entreat to be your guests." she exclaimed, "what can you want at such a late hour, and where did you lodge last night?" they answered, "our quarters are at a certain serai, but we have lost our way, and are fearful of being apprehended by the officers of police. let your kindness then induce you to open the door, and afford us shelter for the remainder of the night: it will be a meritorious act in the eye of heaven." the mother overhearing what was said, ordered the door to be opened. when they were admitted, the old lady and her daughters rose up, received them respectfully, and having seated them, placed refreshments before them, of which they partook, and were delighted with their treatment. at length the sultan said, "daughters, you cannot but know of the royal proclamation; how comes it that you alone of all the inhabitants of the city have disobeyed it by having lights in your house after the first watch of the night?" upon this the youngest sister replied, "good dervish, even the sultan should not be obeyed but in his reasonable commands, and as this proclamation against lighting our lamps is tyrannical, it ought not to be complied with, consistently with the law of scripture; for the koraun says, 'obedience to a creature in a criminal matter, is a sin against the creator.' the sultan (may god pardon him!) acts against scripture, and obeys the dictates of satan. we three sisters, with our good mother, make it a rule to spin every night a certain quantity of cotton, which in the morning we dispose of, and of the price of our labour we lay out a part in provisions, and the remainder in a new supply of materials for working to procure us a subsistence." the sultan now whispered to his vizier, saying, "this damsel astonishes me by her answers; endeavour to think of some question that may perplex her." "my lord," replied the vizier, "we are here in the characters of strangers and dervishes as their guests: how then can we presume to disturb them by improper questions?" the sultan still insisted upon his addressing them: upon which, the vizier said to the ladies, "obedience to the sultan's orders is incumbent upon all subjects." "it is true he is our sovereign," exclaimed the youngest sister, "but how can he know whether we are starving or in affluence?" "suppose," replied the vizier, "he should send for you to the presence, and question you concerning your disobedience to his commands, what could you advance in excuse for yourselves?" "i would say to the sultan," rejoined she, "'your majesty has acted in contradiction to the divine law.'" the vizier upon this turned towards the sultan, and said in a whisper, "let us leave off disputing further with this lady on points of law or conscience, and inquire if she understands the fine arts." the sultan put the question; upon which she replied, "i am perfect in all:" and he then requested her to play and sing. she retired immediately, but soon returning with a lute, sat down, tuned it, and played in a plaintive strain, which she accompanied with the following verses: "it is praiseworthy in subjects to obey their sovereigns, but his reign will continue long who gains their affections by kindness. be liberal in thy manners, and he who is dependent upon thee will pray for thy life, for the free man alone can feel gratitude. to him who confers gifts man will ever resort, for bounty is fascinating. sadden not with denial the countenance of the man of genius, for the liberal mind is disgusted at stinginess and haughty demeanour. not a tenth part of mankind understand what is right, for human nature is ignorant, rebellious, and ungrateful." when the sultan had heard these verses, he remained for some time immersed in thought; then whispering his vizier, said, "this quotation was certainly meant in allusion to ourselves, and i am convinced they must know that i am their sultan, and thou vizier, for the whole tenor of their conversation shews their knowledge of us." he then addressed the lady, saying, "your music, your performance, your voice, and the subject of your stanzas have delighted me beyond expression." upon this she sang the following verse: "men endeavour to attain station and riches during an age of toil and oppression, while, alas! their accounts to heaven and their graves are decreed from their very birth." the sultan, from the purport of these last verses, was more assured than ever that she knew his quality. she did not leave off singing and playing till day-light, when she retired, and brought in a breakfast, of which the sultan and the vizier partook; after which she said, "i hope you will return to us this night at the conclusion of the first watch, and be our guests." the sultan promised, and departed in admiration at the beauty of the sisters, their accomplishments, and graceful manners; saying to the vizier, "my soul is delighted with the charms of these elegant women." the following evening the sultan and vizier, disguised as usual, repaired to the house of the sisters, taking with them some purses of deenars, and were received with the same respectful welcome. being seated, supper was set before them, and after it basins and ewers to wash their hands. coffee was then served up, and conversation on various subjects amused them till the prayer time of the first watch; they then arose, performed their ablutions, and prayed. when, their devotions were ended, the sultan presented a purse of a thousand deenars to the youngest sister, and said, "expend this upon your necessary occasions." she took the purse with a profound obeisance, kissed his hands, and was convinced, as she had before suspected, that he must be the sultan; at the same time hinting privately to her mother and sisters the quality of their guests, and prostrating herself before him. the other ladies upon this arose, and followed the example of their sister; when the sultan said aside to his vizier, "they certainly know us:" and then turning to the ladies, addressed them saying, "we are merely dervishes, and you pay us a respect only due to sovereigns; i beseech you refrain." the youngest sister again fell at his feet, and repeated the following verse: "may prosperous fortune daily accompany thee in spite of the malice of the envious! may thy days be bright and those of thy enemies gloomy!" "i am convinced thou art the sultan, and thy companion thy vizier." the sultan replied, "what reason have you for such a supposition?" she answered, "from your dignified demeanour and liberal conduct, for the signs of royalty cannot be concealed even in the habit of a recluse." the sultan replied, "you have indeed judged truly, but inform me how happens it, that you have with you no male protectors?" she answered, "my lord the sultan, our history is so wonderful, that were it written on a tablet of adamant it might serve as an example in future ages to such as would be advised." the sultan requested her to relate it, which she did in the following manner. story of the sisters and the sultana their mother. we are not, my lord the sultan, natives of this city, but of eerauk, of which country our father was sovereign, and our mother his sultana the most beautiful woman of her time, insomuch that her fame was celebrated throughout distant regions. it chanced that in our infancy our father the sultan marched upon a hunting excursion throughout his dominions, for some months, leaving his vizier to conduct affairs at the capital. not long after the departure of the sultan, our mother, taking the air on the roof of the palace, which adjoined that of the vizier, who was then sitting upon his terrace, her image was reflected in a mirror which he held in his hand. he was fascinated with her beauty, and resolved, if possible, to seduce her to infidelity and compliance with his wishes. the day following he sent the female superintendant of his haram with a package, containing a most superb dress, and many inestimable jewels, to the sultana, requesting her acceptance of them, and that she would allow him to see her either at the palace or at his own house. my mother, when the old woman was admitted into her apartments, received her with kindness, supposing that she must be intrusted with some confidential message from the vizier respecting the affairs of her husband, or with letters from him. the old woman having paid her obeisance, opened the bundle, and displayed the rich dress and dazzling jewels; when my mother, admiring them much, inquired the value, and what merchant had brought them to dispose of. the wretched old woman, supposing that the virtue of the sultana would not be proof against such a valuable present, impudently disclosed the passion of the vizier: upon which my mother, indignant with rage at this insult offered to her virtue and dignity, drew a sabre, which was near, and exerting all her strength, struck off the head of the procuress, which, with the body, she commanded her attendants to cast into the common sewer of the palace. the vizier finding his messenger did not return, the next day despatched another, to signify that he had sent a present to the sultana, but had not heard whether it had been delivered. my mother commanded the infamous wretch to be strangled, and the corpse to be thrown into the same place as that of the old woman, but she did not make public the vizier's baseness, hoping that he would reform. he, however, continued every day to send a female domestic, and my mother to treat her in the same way as the others till the sultan's return; but my mother, not wishing to destroy the vizier, and still trusting that he would repent of his conduct, for in other respects he was a faithful and prudent minister, kept his treachery a secret from my father. some years after this, the sultan my father resolved on a pilgrimage to mecca, and having, as before, left the vizier in charge of his kingdom, departed. when he had been gone ten days, the vizier, still rapturously in love, and yet presumtuously hoping to attain his wishes, sent a female domestic, who, being admitted into the apartment of the sultana, said, "for heaven's sake have compassion on my master, for his heart is devoted to love, his senses are disturbed, and his body is wasted away. pity his condition, revive his heart, and restore his health by the smiles of condescension." when my mother heard this insolent message, she in a rage commanded her attendants to seize the unfortunate bearer, and having strangled her, to leave the carcase for public view in the outer court of the palace, but without divulging the cause of her displeasure. her orders were obeyed. when the officers of state and others saw the body they informed the vizier, who, resolving to be revenged, desired them for the present to be silent, and on the sultan's return he would make known on what account the sultana had put to death his domestic, of which they could bear testimony. when the time of the sultan's return from mecca approached, and the treacherous vizier judged he was on his march, he wrote and despatched to him the following letter: "after prayers for thy health, be it known, that since thy absence the sultana has sent to me five times, requesting improper compliances, to which i would not consent, and returned for answer, that however she might wish to abuse my sovereign, i could not do it, for i was left by him guardian of his honour and his kingdom: to say more would be superfluous." the messenger reached the sultan's camp when distant eight days' journey from the city, and delivered the letter. on reading it the countenance of my father became pale, his eyes rolled with horror, he instantly ordered his tents to be struck, and moved by forced marches till he arrived within two days' journey of his capital. he then commanded a halting day, and despatched two confidential attendants with orders to conduct our innocent and unfortunate mother, with us three sisters, a day's distance from the city, and then to put us to death. they accordingly dragged us from the haram, and carried us into the country; but on arriving at the spot intended for our execution, their hearts were moved with compassion, for our mother had conferred many obligations on these men and their families. they said one to another, "by heavens, we cannot murder them!" and informed us of what the vizier had written to our father: upon which the sultana exclaimed, "god knows that he hath most falsely accused me;" and she then related to them all that she had done, with the strictest fidelity. the men were moved even to tears at her misfortunes, and said, "we are convinced that thou hast spoken truly." they then caught some fawns of the antelope, killed them, and having required an under garment from each of us, dipped it in the blood, after which they broiled the flesh, with which we satisfied our hunger. our preservers now bade us farewell, saying, "we intrust you to the protection of the almighty, who never forsaketh those who are committed to his care;" and then departed from us. we wandered for ten days in the desert, living on such fruits as we could find, without beholding any signs of population, when, at length, fortunately we reached a verdant spot, abounding in various sorts of excellent vegetables and fruits. here also was a cave, in which we resolved to shelter ourselves till a caravan might pass by. on the fourth day of our arrival one encamped near our asylum. we did not discover ourselves, but when the caravan marched, speedily followed its track at some distance, and after many days of painful exertion reached this city, where, having taken up our lodging in a serai, we returned thanks to the almighty assister of the distressed innocent for our miraculous escape from death and the perils of the desert. we must now quit for awhile the unfortunate sultana and her daughters, to learn the adventures of the sultan her husband. as he drew near his capital, the treacherous vizier, attended by the officers of government and the principal inhabitants of the city, came out to meet him; and both high and low congratulated his safe return from the sacred pilgrimage. the sultan, as soon as he had alighted at his palace, retired with the vizier alone, and commanded him to relate the particulars of the atrocious conduct of his wife; upon which he said, "my lord, the sultana in your absence despatched to me a slave, desiring me to visit her, but i would not, and i put the slave to death that the secret might be hidden; hoping she might repent of her weakness, but she did not, and repeated her wicked invitation five times. on the fifth i was alarmed for your honour, and acquainted you of her atrocious behaviour." the sultan, on hearing the relation of the vizier, held down his head for some time in profound thought, then lifting it up, commanded the two attendants whom he had despatched with orders to put his wife and children to death to be brought before him. on their appearance, he said, "what have you done in execution of the charge i gave you?" they replied, "we have performed that which you commanded to be done, and as a testimony of our fidelity, behold these garments dyed with the blood of the offenders!" the sultan took the garments; but the recollection of his beauteous consort, her former affectionate endearments, of the happiness he had enjoyed with her, and of the innocence of his guiltless children, so affected his mind, that he wept bitterly and fainted away. on his recovery he turned to the vizier, and said, "is it possible thou canst have spoken the truth?" he replied, "i have." the sultan, after a long pause, again said to the two attendants, "have you really put to death my innocent children with their guilty mother?" they remained silent. the sultan exclaimed, "why answer ye not, and wherefore are ye silent?" they replied, "my lord, the honest man cannot support a lie, for lying is the distinction of traitors." when the vizier heard these words his colour changed, his whole frame was disordered, and a trembling seized him, which the sultan perceiving, he said to the attendants, "what mean you by remarking that lying is the distinction of traitors? is it possible that ye have not put them to death? declare the truth instantly, or by the god who hath appointed me guardian of his people, i will have you executed with the most excruciating torments." the two men now fell at the feet of the sultan, and said, "dread sovereign, we conveyed, as thou commandest us, the unfortunate sultana and thy daughters to the middle of the desert, when we informed them of the accusation of the vizier and thy orders concerning them. the sultana, after listening to us with fortitude, exclaimed, 'there is no refuge or asylum but with the almighty; from god we came, and to god we must return; but if you put us to death, you will do it wrongfully, for the treacherous vizier hath accused me falsely, and he alone is guilty.' she then informed us of his having endeavoured to corrupt her by rich presents, and that she had put his messengers to death." the sultan at these words exclaimed in agony, "have ye slain them, or do they yet live?" "my lord," replied the attendants, "we were so convinced of the innocence of the sultana, that we could not put her to death. we caught some fawn antelopes, killed them, and having dipped these garments belonging to the abused mother and your children in their blood, dressed the flesh, and gave it to our unfortunate mistress and thy daughters, after which we said to them, 'we leave you in charge of a gracious god who never deserts his trust; your innocence will protect you.' we then left them in the midst of the desert, and returned to the city." the sultan turned in fury towards the vizier, and exclaimed, "wretched traitor! and is it thus thou hast estranged from me my beloved wife and innocent children?" the self-convicted minister uttered not a word, but trembled like one afflicted with the palsy. the sultan commanded instantly an enormous pile of wood to be kindled, and the vizier, being bound hand and foot, was forced into an engine, and cast from it into the fire, which rapidly consumed him to ashes. his house was then razed to the ground, his effects left to the plunder of the populace, and the women of his haram and his children sold for slaves. we now return to the three princesses and their mother. when the sultan had heard their adventures, he sympathized with their misfortunes, and was astonished at the fortitude with which they had borne their afflictions, saying to his vizier, "how sad has been their lot! but blessed be allah, who, as he separateth friends, can, when he pleaseth, give them a joyful meeting." he then caused the sultana and the princesses to be conveyed to his palace, appointed them proper attendants and apartments suitable to their rank, and despatched couriers to inform the sultan their father of their safety. the messengers travelled with the greatest expedition, and on their arrival at the capital, being introduced, presented their despatches. the sultan opened them, and began to read; but when he perceived the contents, was so overcome with joy, that, uttering a loud exclamation of rapture, he fell to the ground and fainted away. his attendants were alarmed, lifted him up, and took means for his recovery. when he was revived, he informed them of his sultana and daughters being still alive, and ordered a vessel to be prepared to convey them home. the ship was soon ready, and being laden with every necessary for the accommodation of his family, also rich presents for the friendly sultan who had afforded them protection, sailed with a favourable wind, and speedily arrived at the desired haven. the commander of the vessel was welcomely received by the sultan, who issued orders for his entertainment and that of his whole crew at the royal cost, and at the expiration of three days the sultana and her daughters, being anxious to return home after so long an absence, and that so unfortunate, took leave and embarked. the sultan made them valuable presents, and the wind being fair they set sail. for three days the weather was propitious, but on the evening of the last a contrary gale arose, when they cast anchor, and lowered their topmasts. at length the storm increased to such violence that the anchor parted, the masts fell overboard, and the crew gave themselves over for lost. the vessel was driven about at the mercy of the tempest till midnight, all on board weeping and wailing, when at length she struck upon the rocks, and went to pieces. such of the crew whose deaths were decreed perished, and those whose longer life was predestined escaped to shore, some on planks, some on chests, and some on the broken timbers of the ship, but all separated from each other. the sultana mother was tossed about till daylight on a plank, when she was perceived by the commander of the vessel, who with three of his crew had taken to the ship's boat. he took her in, and after three days' rowing they reached a mountainous coast, on which they landed, and advanced into the country. they had not proceeded far when they perceived a great dust, which clearing up, displayed an approaching army. to their joyful surprise it proved to be that of the sultan, who, after the departure of the vessel, dreading lest an accident might happen, had marched in hopes of reaching the city where they were before his wife and daughters should sail, in order to conduct them home by land. it is impossible to describe the meeting of the sultan and his consort, but their joy was clouded by the absence of their daughters, and the dreadful uncertainty of their fate. when the first raptures of meeting were over, they wept together, and exclaimed, "we are from god, and to god we must return." after forty days' march they arrived at their capital, but continually regretting the princesses, saying, "alas, alas! most probably they have been drowned, but even should they have escaped to shore, perhaps they may have been separated; and ah! what calamities may have befallen them!" constantly did they bemoan together in this manner, immersed in grief, and taking no pleasure in the enjoyments of life. the youngest princess, after struggling with the waves till almost exhausted, was fortunately cast ashore on a pleasant coast, where she found some excellent fruits and clear fresh water. being revived, she reposed herself awhile, and then walked from the beach into the country; but she had not proceeded far, when a young man on horseback with some dogs following him met her, and upon hearing that she had just escaped shipwreck, mounted her before him, and having conveyed her to his house, committed her to the care of his mother. she received her with compassionate kindness, and during a whole month assiduously attended her, till by degrees she recovered her health and beauty. the young man was legal heir to the kingdom, but his succession had been wrested from him by a usurper, who, however, dying soon after the arrival of the princess, he was reinstated in his rights and placed on the throne, when he offered her his hand; but she said, "how can i think of marriage while i know not the condition of my unfortunate family, or enjoy repose while my mother and sisters are perhaps suffering misery? when i have intelligence of their welfare i will be grateful to my deliverer." the young sultan was so much in love with the princess, that the most distant hope gave him comfort, and he endeavoured to wait patiently her pleasure; but the nobles of the country were anxious to see him wedded, he being the last of his race, and importuned him to marry. he promised to conform to their wishes, but much time elapsing, they became importunate and discontented, when his mother, dreading a rebellion, earnestly entreated the princess to consent to a union as the only measure that could prevent disturbances. the princess, who really loved her preserver, was unwilling to endanger the safety of one to whom she owed such important obligations, and at length consented, when the marriage was celebrated with the greatest pomp and rejoicings. at the expiration of three years the sultana was delivered of two sons, whose birth added to the felicity of the union. the second princess, after being long driven about by the waves upon a plank, was at length cast on shore near a large city, which she entered, and was fortunately compassionated by a venerable matron, who invited her to her house, and adopted her as a daughter in the room of her own, who had lately died. here she soon recovered her health and beauty. it chanced that the sultan of this city, who was much beloved for his gentle government and liberality, was taken ill, and not withstanding the skill of the most celebrated physicians, daily became worse, insomuch that his life was despaired of, to the general grief of the people. the princess having heard her venerable protectress lament the danger of the sultan, said, "my dear mother, i will prepare a dish of pottage, which, if you will carry to the sultan, and he can be prevailed upon to eat it, will, by the blessing of allah, recover him from his disorder." "i fear," replied the matron, "i shall hardly be allowed admittance to the palace, much less to present him the pottage." "you can but try," answered the princess; "and even the attempt at a good action is acceptable to god." "well," rejoined the old woman, "prepare your pottage, my dear daughter, and i will endeavour to get admission." the princess prepared the dish of pottage, composed of various minerals, herbs, and perfumes, and when it was ready the old woman took it to the sultan's palace. the guards and eunuchs inquired what she had brought, when she said, "a dish of pottage, which i request you will present to the sultan, and beg him to eat as much of it as he can, for by god's help it will restore him to health." the eunuchs introduced her into the chamber of their sick sovereign, when the old woman taking off the cover of the dish, such a grateful perfume exhaled from the contents as revived his spirits. being informed what the venerable matron had brought, he thanked her and tasted the pottage, which was so agreeably flavoured that he ate part of it with an appetite to which he had been long a stranger. he then presented the bearer with a purse of deenars, when she returned home, informed the princess of her welcome reception, and of the present she had received. the sultan had no sooner eaten part of the pottage than he felt an inclination to repose, and sunk into a refreshing sleep, which lasted for some hours. on his awakening he found himself wonderfully revived, and having a desire afresh to eat, finished the whole. he now wished for more, and inquired after the old woman, but none of his attendants could inform him where she lived. however, in the evening she brought another mess, which the princess had prepared, and the sultan ate it with renewed appetite; after which, though before quite helpless, he was now able to sit up and even to walk. he inquired of the old woman if it was her own preparation; to which she replied, "no, my lord, but my daughter dressed it, and entreated me to bring it." the sultan exclaimed, "she cannot be thy own daughter, as her skill shews her of much higher quality." he then made her a present, and requested that she would bring him every morning a fresh supply, to which she said, "to hear is to obey;" and retired. the princess sent regularly for seven mornings successively a dish of pottage, and the sultan as regularly presented her adopted mother with a purse of deenars; for such was the rapidity of his recovery, that at the expiration of the sixth day he was perfectly well, and on the seventh he mounted his horse and repaired to his country palace to make the absolution of health and enjoy the fresh air. during her visits he had questioned the old lady concerning her adopted daughter, and she so described her beauty, virtues, and accomplishments, that his heart was smitten, and he became anxious to see her. the sultan, in order to gratify his curiosity, disguised himself one day in the habit of a dervish, and repairing to the house of the old woman, knocked at the door. on being questioned what he wanted, he replied, "i am a wandering dervish, a stranger in this city, and distressed with hunger." the old woman being fearful of admitting an unknown person, would have sent him away, but the princess exclaimed, "hospitality to strangers is incumbent upon us, especially to the religious poor." upon this he was admitted, and the princess having seated him respectfully, set victuals before him, of which he ate till he was satisfied, and having washed, rose up, thanked the old woman and her supposed daughter for their bounty, and retired, but his sight was fascinated with her beauty, and his heart devoted to her love. the sultan on his return to the palace sent for the old woman, and on her arrival presented her with a rich dress and valuable jewels, desiring that she would give them to her daughter, and prevail upon her to put them on. the old lady promised obedience, and as she walked homewards, said to herself, "if this adopted daughter of mine is wise, she will comply with the sultan's desires, and put on the dress, but if she does not, i will expel her from my house." when she reached home, she displayed the superb habit and the dazzling ornaments; but the princess at first refused to accept them, till at length, moved by the entreaties of her protectress, whom she could not disoblige, she put them on, and the old lady was delighted with her appearance. the sultan, who had slipped on a female dress, having covered himself with a close veil, followed the old woman to her house, and listened at the door to know if the daughter would accept his present. when he found that she had put on the dress, he was overcome with rapture, and hastening back to his palace, sent again for the old lady, to whom he signified his wish to marry her daughter. when the princess was informed of the offer she consented, and the sultan, attended by a splendid cavalcade, conducted her that evening to his palace, where the cauzee united them in marriage. a general feast was made for all the inhabitants of the city for seven days successively, and the sultan and the princess enjoyed the height of felicity. in the course of five years the almighty blessed them with a son and two daughters. the eldest princess on the wreck of the ship having clung to a piece of timber, was after much distress floated on shore, where she found a man's habit, and thinking it a safe disguise for the protection of her honour, she dressed herself in it, and proceeded to a city which appeared near the coast. on her entrance she was accosted by a maker of cotton wallets for travelling, who observing that she was a stranger, and supposing her a man, asked if she would live with him, as he wanted an assistant. being glad to secure any asylum, she accepted his offer of maintenance, and daily wages of half a dirhem. he conducted her to his house, and treated her with kindness. the next day she entered upon her business, and so neat was the work she executed, that in a short time her master's shop was more frequented than any other. it happened that the shop was situated near the palace of the sultan. one morning the princess his daughter looking through the lattice of a balcony beheld the seeming young man at work, with the sleeves of his vest drawn up to his shoulder: his arms were white and polished as silver, and his countenance brilliant as the sun unobscured by clouds. the daughter of the sultan was captivated in the snare of love. the sultan's daughter continued gazing at the supposed young man till he withdrew from work, when she retired to her apartment; but so much was she fascinated by his charms, that she became restless, and at length indisposed. her nurse who attended her felt her pulse, and asked her several questions, but could find no symptoms of bodily illness upon her. she said, "my dear daughter, i am convinced that nothing has afflicted thee but desire of some youth with whom thou art in love." the princess exclaimed, "my dear mother, as thou hast discovered my secret, thou wilt, i trust, not only keep it sacred, but bring to me the man i love." the nurse replied, "no one can keep a secret closer than myself, so that you may safely confide it to my care." the princess then said, "mother, my heart is captivated by the young man who works in the shop opposite my windows, and if i cannot meet him i shall die of grief." the nurse replied, "my dear mistress, he is the most beautiful youth of the age, and the women of the whole city are distracted with his charms; yet he is so bashful as to answer no advances, and shrinks from notice like a school-boy, but i will endeavour to overcome his shyness, and procure you a meeting." having said thus, she went immediately to the wallet-maker's, and giving him a piece of gold, desired he would let his assistant accompany her home with two of his best wallets. the man was pleased with her generosity, and selecting his choicest manufacture, commanded his journeyman to accompany the nurse. the old woman led the disguised princess through by-paths to a private passage of the palace, and introduced her into the apartments of the daughter of the sultan, who received her supposed beloved with emotions of joy too violent to be concealed. pretending to admire the goods, she asked some questions, and giving him twenty pieces of gold, desired him to return with more goods on the following evening, to which the seeming journeyman replied, "to hear is to obey." the disguised princess on her return home delivered the twenty pieces of gold to her employer, who was alarmed, and inquired from whence they came: upon which she informed him of her adventure, when the wallet-maker was in greater terror than before, and said to himself, "if this intrigue goes on, the sultan will discover it, i shall be put to death, and my family ruined on account of this young man and his follies." he then besought him not to repeat his visit, but he answered, "i cannot forbear, though i dread my death may be the consequence." in short, the disguised princess went every evening with the old nurse to the apartments of the sultan's daughter, till at length the sultan one night suddenly entered, and perceiving, he supposed, a man with the princess, commanded him to be seized and bound hand and foot. the sultan then sent for an executioner, resolved to put the culprit to death. the executioner on his arrival seized the disguised princess; but what was the surprise of all present, when, on taking off the turban and vest, they discovered her sex. the sultan commanded her to be conducted to his haram, and inquired her story, when having no resource but the truth, she related her adventures. when the princess had informed the sultan of the treachery of the vizier, the consequent conduct of her father, the distress of her mother, her sisters and herself, their being relieved, and her escape from shipwreck, with what had happened since, he was filled with wonder and compassion, and ordered his daughter to accommodate her in the haram. the love of the latter was now changed to sincere friendship, and under her care and attentions the unfortunate princess in a few months recovered her former beauty. it chanced that the sultan visiting his daughter was fascinated with the charms of the princess, but unwilling to infringe the rules of hospitality concealed his love, till at length he became dangerously ill, when the daughter suspecting the matter, prevailed upon him to reveal the cause of his complaint. she then informed her friend, and entreated her to accept her father in marriage; but the princess said, at the same time weeping bitterly, "misfortune hath separated me from my family; i know not whether my sisters, my father and my mother, are living, or, if so, what is their condition. how can i be happy or merry, while they are perhaps involved in misery?" the daughter of the sultan did not refrain from comforting the unfortunate princess, at the same time representing the hopeless condition of her father, till at length she consented to the marriage. this joyful intelligence speedily revived the love-lorn sultan, and the nuptials were celebrated with the utmost joy and magnificence. the aged sultan and sultana continued to lament the loss of their daughters for some years, when at length the former resolved to travel in search of them, and having left the government in charge of his wife, departed, attended only by his vizier. they both assumed the habit of dervishes, and after a month's uninterrupted travelling reached a large city extending along the sea coast, close upon which the sultan of it had erected a magnificent pleasure house, where the pretended dervishes beheld him sitting in one of the pavilions with his two sons, one six and the other seven years old. they approached, made their obeisance, and uttered a long invocation, agreeably to the usage of the religious, for his prosperity. the sultan returned their compliment, desired them to be seated, and having conversed with them till evening, dismissed them with a present, when they repaired to a caravanserai, and hired an apartment. on the following day, after amusing themselves with viewing the city, they again repaired to the beach, and saw the sultan sitting with his children, as before. while they were admiring the beauty of the structure, the younger prince, impelled by an unaccountable impulse, came up to them, gazed eagerly at them, and when they retired followed them to their lodging, which they did not perceive till he had entered with them and sat down. the old sultan was astonished at the child's behaviour, took him in his arms, kissed and fondled him, after which he desired him to return to his parents, but the boy insisted upon staying, and remained four days, during which the pretended dervishes did not stir from their caravanserai. the sultan missing his son, supposed that he had gone to his mother, and she imagined that he was still with his father; but on the latter entering the haram the loss was discovered. messengers were despatched every way, but no tidings of the boy could be obtained. the miserable parents now supposed that he had fallen into the sea and was drowned. nets were dragged, and divers employed for three days, but in vain. on the fifth day orders were issued to search every house in the city, when the infant prince was at length discovered at the caravanserai in the apartment of the pretended dervishes, who were ignominiously dragged before the sultan. the sultan was transported with joy at the recovery of his son, but supposing the dervishes had meant to steal him away, he ordered them instantly to be put to death. the executioners seized them, bound their hands behind them, and were going to strike, when the child with loud outcries ran up, and clinging to the knees of the elder victim could not be forced away. the sultan was astonished, and ordering the execution for the present to be delayed, went and informed the mother of the child of his wonderful behaviour. the sultana, on hearing it, was no less surprised than the sultan, and felt a curiosity to hear from the dervish himself on what account he had enticed away her son. she said, "it is truly extraordinary that the boy should express such affection for a strange dervish. send for him to your closet, and order him to relate his adventures, to which i will listen from behind a curtain." the sultan sent for the supposed dervish, and commanding all his attendants to retire, withdrew with him into his closet, and desired him to be seated; after which he said, "wicked dervish, what could have induced thee to entice away my son, or to visit my kingdom?" he replied, "heaven knows, o sultan, i did not entice him. the boy followed me to my lodging, when i said, 'my son, return to thy father,' but he would not; and i remained in continual dread till what was decreed occurred." the sultan was softened, spoke kindly to him, and begged him to relate his adventures, when the pretended dervish wept, and said, "my history is a wonderful one. i had a friend whom i left as my agent and guardian to my family, while i was performing a pilgrimage to mecca; but had scarcely left my house ten days, when accidently seeing my wife he endeavoured to debauch her, and sent an old woman with a rich present to declare his adulterous love. my wife was enraged, and put the infamous messenger to death. he sent a second, and a third, whom she also killed." these last words were scarcely spoken, when the sultana bursting from her concealment ran up to the dervish, fell upon his neck, and embraced him: upon which, the sultan her husband was enraged, put his hand to his cimeter, and exclaimed, "what means this shameless behaviour?" the sultana, at once laughing and crying with rapture, informed him that the supposed dervish was her father: upon which the sultan also fell at his feet and welcomed him. he then ordered the other dervish his vizier to be released, commanded royal robes to be brought for his father-in-law, and a suite of apartments in the palace to be prepared for his reception, with an attendance befitting his dignity. when the old sultan had spent some time with his youngest daughter thus happily recovered, he became anxious to search after the others, and signified his intention of departing; but his son-in-law declared that he would accompany him on the expedition with a number of his nobles, and an army, lest some fatal accident might occur from his being unattended. preparations were accordingly made for march, the two sultans encamped without the city, and in a few days began their expedition, which proved successful to their wishes. the aged monarch having recovered his children retired to his own kingdom, where he reigned prosperously till the angel of death summoned him to paradise. story of the bang-eater and the cauzee. in a certain city there was a vagabond fellow much addicted to the use of bang, who got his livelihood by fishing. when he had sold the product of his day's labour, he laid part of it out in provisions and part in bang, with which (his day's, work over) he solaced himself till he became intoxicated, and such was his constant practice. one night, having indulged more than ordinary, his senses were unusually stupefied; and in this, condition he had occasion to come down into the square in which was his lodging. it happened to be the fourteenth night of the moon, when she shone uncommonly bright, and shed such a lustre upon the ground, that the bang-eater from the dizziness of his head mistook the bright undulations of her reflection on the pavement for water, and fancied he was upon the brink of the river. he returned to his chamber, and brought down his line, supposing that he should catch his usual prey. the bang-eater threw out his line, made of strong cord, and baited on several hooks with bits of flesh, into the square, when a dog, allured by the scent, swallowed one of the pieces, and feeling pain from the hook which stuck in his throat, pulled strongly at the cord. the bang-eater, supposing he had caught a monstrous fish, lugged stoutly, but in vain. the dog, agonized by the hook, resisted; at the same time yelping hideously, when the bang-eater, unwilling to quit his prey, yet fearing he should be dragged into the imaginary river, bellowed aloud for help. the watch came up, seized him, and perceiving him intoxicated, carried him bound to the cauzee. it happened that the cauzee often privately indulged himself with bang. seeing the intoxicated situation of the fisherman, he pitied his condition, and ordered him to be put into a chamber to sleep off his disorder; at the same time saying to himself, "this is a man after my own heart, and to-morrow evening i will enjoy myself with him." the fisherman was well taken care of during the day, and at night the cauzee sent for him to his apartment; where, after eating, they took each a powerful dose of bang, which soon operating upon their brains, they began to sing, dance, and commit a thousand extravagancies. the noise which they made attracted the notice of the sultan, who with his vizier was traversing the city, disguised as merchants. finding the doors open, they entered, and beheld the cauzee and his companion in the height of their mirth, who welcomed them, and they sat down. at length, after many ridiculous tricks, the fisherman starting up, exclaimed, "i am the sultan!" "and i," rejoined the cauzee, "am my lord the bashaw!" "bashaw!" continued the fisherman, "if i choose i can strike off thy head." "i know it," returned the cauzee, "but at present i am not worth beheading; give me first a rich government, that i may be worth punishing." "thou sayest true," answered the fisherman; "i must make thee fat before thou wilt be fit for killing." the sultan laughed at their extravagancies, and said to his vizier, "i will amuse myself with these vagabonds to-morrow evening:" then rising up, he and his minister departed. the next evening the cauzee and the fisherman indulged themselves as before, and while they were making merry, the sultan and his vizier entered, but in different disguises from those they had worn on the former night. they brought with them a strong confection of opium, which they presented to their hosts, who, highly delighted, greedily devoured it, and such were the effects that they became madder than ever. at length, the fisherman starting up, exclaimed, "the sultan is deposed, and i am sovereign in his stead." "suppose the sultan should hear thee," replied the prince. "if he opposes me," cried the fisherman, "i will order my bashaw to strike off his head; but i will now punish thee for thy insolent question." he then ran up and seized the sultan by the nose, the cauzee at the same time attacking the vizier: it was with difficulty that they made their escape from the house. the sultan, notwithstanding his tweak by the nose, resolved to divert himself further with the bang-eaters, and the next evening putting on a fresh disguise, repaired to the cauzee's house with his vizier; where he found the happy companions in high glee. they had taken it into their heads to dance, which they did with such vehemence, and for so long a time, that at length they fell down with fatigue. when they had rested a little, the fisherman perceiving the sultan, said, "whence comest thou?" "we are strangers," replied the sultan, "and only reached this city to-night; but on our way through the streets, hearing your mirth, we made bold to enter, that we might participate it with you. are ye not, however, fearful lest the sultan should hear you on his rounds, and punish you for an infringement of the laws?" "how should the sultan hear us?" answered the fisherman; "he is in his palace, and we in our own house, though, perhaps, much merrier than he, poor fellow, with the cares of state upon his mind, notwithstanding his splendour." "how comes it," rejoined the sovereign, "that you have not visited the sultan? for you are merry fellows, and i think he would encourage you." "we fear," replied the fisherman, "his guards would beat us away." "never mind them," said the sultan; "if you choose i will give you a letter of recommendation, which i am sure he will pay attention to, for we were intimate when youths." "let us have it," cried the fisherman. the sultan wrote a note, directed to himself, and departed. in the morning the cauzee and the fisherman repaired to the palace, and delivered the note to one of the guards, who, on sight of it, placed it on his head, prostrated himself to the ground, and then introduced them to the sultan. having read the letter, the sultan commanded them to be led into separate apartments, and to be treated respectfully. at noon a handsome collation was served up to each, and at sunset a full service, after which they were presented with coffee. when about two hours of the night had passed, the sultan ordered them into his presence, and on their making their obeisance returned their salutes, and desired them to be seated, saying, "where is the person who gave you this letter?" "mighty sultan," replied the fisherman, "two men who last night visited our house inquired why we did not repair to your majesty, and partake of your bounty. we replied, that we feared the guards would drive us away; when one of them gave us this note, saying, 'fear not; take this recommendation to the sultan, with whom in my youth i was intimate.' we followed his direction, and have found his words to be true. we inquired whence they came; but they would not tell us more than that they were strangers in this city." "it is," continued the sultan, "absolutely necessary that you should bring them to my presence, for it is long since i have beheld my old friends." "permit us then to return home, where they may possibly visit us again," said the fisherman, "and we will oblige them to come with us." "how can you do that," replied the sultan, "when the other evening you could not prevent your guest escaping, though you had him by the nose?" the poor fisherman, and his companion the cauzee, were now confounded at the discovery that it was the sultan himself who had witnessed their intoxication and ridiculous transports. they trembled, turned pale, and fell prostrate to the ground, crying, "pardon, pardon, gracious sovereign, for the offences we have committed, and the insult which in our madness we offered to the sacred person of your majesty." the sultan, after laughing heartily at their distress, replied, "your pardon is granted, for the insult was involuntary, though deserved, as i was an impertinent intruder on your privacy; make yourselves easy, and sit down; but you must each of you relate to me your adventures, or some story that you have heard." the cauzee and the fisherman, having recovered from their confusion, obeyed the commands of the sultan, and being seated, the latter related the following tale. story of the bang-eater and his wife. there lived formerly, near bagdad, a half-witted fellow, who was much addicted to the use of bang. being reduced to poverty, he was obliged to sell his stock. one day he went to the market to dispose of a cow; but the animal being in bad order, no one would bid for it, and after waiting till he was weary he returned homewards. on the way he stopped to repose himself under a tree, and tied the cow to one of the branches while he ate some bread, and drank of an infusion of his beloved bang, which he always carried with him. in a short time it began to operate, so as to bereave him of the little sense he possessed, and his head was filled with ridiculous reveries. while he was musing, a magpie beginning to chatter from her nest in the tree, he fancied it was a human voice, and that some woman had asked to purchase his cow: upon which he said, "reverend mother of solomon, dost thou wish to buy my cow?" the bird croaked again. "well," replied he, "what wilt thou give if i will sell her a bargain." the bird repeated her croak. "never mind," said the foolish fellow, "for though thou hast forgotten to bring thy purse, yet, as i dare say thou art an honest woman, and hast bidden me ten deenars, i will trust thee with the cow, and call on friday for the money." the bird renewed her croaking, which he fancied to be thanks for his confidence; so leaving the cow tied to the branch of the tree, he returned home exulting in the good bargain he had made for the animal. when he entered the house, his wife inquired what he had gotten for the cow; to which he replied, that he had sold her to an honest woman named am solomon, who had promised to pay him on the next friday ten pieces of gold. the wife was contented, and when friday arrived, her idiot of a husband having, as usual, taken a dose of bang, repaired to the tree, and hearing the bird chattering, as before, said, "well, my good mother, hast thou brought the gold?" the bird croaked. supposing the imaginary woman refused to pay him, he became angry, and threw up his spade, which frightening the bird, it flew from the nest, and alighted on a heap of soil at some distance. he fancied that am solomon had desired him to take his money from the heap, into which he dug with his spade, and found a brazen vessel full of gold coin. this discovery convinced him he was right, and being, notwithstanding his weakness, naturally honest, he only took ten pieces; then replacing the soil, said, "may allah requite thee for thy punctuality, good mother!" and returned to his wife, to whom he gave the money, informing her at the same time of the great treasure his friend am solomon possessed, and where it was concealed. the wife waited till night, when she went and brought away the pot of gold; which her husband observing, said, "it is dishonest to rob one who has paid us so punctually, and if thou dost not return it to its place, i will inform the (walee) officer of police." the wife laughed at his folly; but fearing the ill consequences of his executing his threat, she planned a stratagem to prevent them. going to the market, she purchased some broiled meat and fish ready dressed, which she brought privately home, and concealed in the house. at night, the husband having regaled himself with his beloved bang, retired to sleep off his intoxication; but about midnight she strewed the provisions she had brought at the door, and awakening her partner, cried out, in pretended astonishment, "dear husband, a most wonderful phenomenon has occurred; there has been a violent storm while you slept, and, strange to tell, it has rained pieces of broiled meat and fish, which now lie at the door!" the husband, still in a state of stupefaction from the bang, got up, went to the door, and seeing the provisions, was persuaded of the truth of his wife's story. the fish and flesh were gathered up, and he partook with much glee of the miraculous treat; but he still threatened to inform the walee of her having stolen the treasure of the good old woman am solomon. in the morning the foolish bang-eater actually repaired to the walee, and informed him that his wife had stolen a pot of gold, which she had still in her possession. the walee upon this apprehended the woman, who denied the accusation, when she was threatened with death. she then said, "my lord, the power is in your hands; but i am an injured woman, as you will find by questioning my unfortunate husband; who, alas! is deranged in his intellects. ask him when i committed the theft." the walee did so; to which he replied, "it was on the evening of that night on which it rained broiled flesh and fish ready dressed." "wretch!" exclaimed the walee, "dost thou dare to utter falsehoods before me? who ever saw it rain any thing but water?" "as i hope for life, my lord," replied the bang-eater, "i speak the truth; for my wife and myself ate of the fish and flesh which fell from the clouds." the woman being appealed to, denied the assertion of her husband. the walee being now convinced that the man was crazy, released his wife, and sent the husband to the madhouse; where he remained some days, till the wife, pitying his condition, contrived to get him released by the following stratagem. she visited her husband, and desired him when any one inquired of him if he had seen it rain flesh and fish, to answer, "no: who ever saw it rain any thing but water?" she then informed the keeper that he was come to his senses, and desired him to put the question. on his answering properly he was released. the fisherman had not long been in the service of the sultan, when walking one day near the house of a principal merchant, his daughter chanced to look through a window, and the buffoon was so struck with her beauty that he became devoted to love. daily did he repair to the same spot for weeks together in hopes of once seeing her, but in vain; for she did not again appear at the window. at length, his passion had such an effect upon him that he fell sick, kept his bed, and began to rave, exclaiming, "ah! what charming eyes, what a beautiful complexion, what a graceful stature has my beloved!" in this situation he was attended by an old woman, who, compassionating his case, desired him to reveal the cause of his uneasiness. "my dear mother," replied he, "i thank thee for thy kindness; but unless thou canst assist me i must soon die." he then related what he had seen, and described to her the house of the merchant. when she said, "son, be of good cheer; for no one could so readily have assisted thee in this dilemma as myself. have patience, and i will speedily return with intelligence of thy beloved." having spoken thus, she departed, and upon reaching her own house disguised herself as a devotee. throwing over her shoulders a coarse woollen gown, holding in one hand a long string of beads, in the other a walking staff, she proceeded to the merchant's house, at the gate of which she cried, "god is god, there is no god but god; may his holy name be praised, and may god be with you," in a most devout tone. the merchant's daughter, on hearing this devout ejaculation, came to the door, saluted the old woman with great respect, and said, "dear mother, pray for me:" when she exclaimed, "may allah protect thee, my beloved child, from all injury!" the young lady then introduced her into the house, seated her in the most honourable place, and with her mother sat down by her. they conversed on religious subjects till noon, when the old woman called for water, performed her ablutions, and recited prayers of an unusual length: upon which the mother and daughter remarked to one another that the aged matron must certainly be a most religious character. when prayers were ended, they set a collation before her; but she declined partaking, saying, "i am to day observing a fast." this increased their respect and admiration of her sanctity, so that they requested her to remain with them till sunset, and break her fast with them, to which she consented. at sunset she prayed again, after which she ate a little, and then uttered many pious exhortations. in short, the mother and daughter were so pleased with her, that they invited her to stay all night. in the morning, she rose early, made her ablutions, prayed for a considerable time, and concluded with a blessing upon her entertainers in learned words, which they could not understand. when she rose up, they supported her by the arms respectfully, and entreated her longer stay; but she declined it, and having taken leave, departed; promising, however, with the permission of allah, to make them soon another visit. on the second day following, the old woman repaired again to the merchant's house, and was joyfully received by the mother and daughter; who, kissing her hands and feet, welcomed her return. she behaved the same as before, and inspired them with stronger veneration for her sandity. her visits now grew frequent, and she was always a welcome guest in the merchant's family. at length, one evening she entered, and said, "i have an only daughter, whose espousals are now celebrating, and this night the bride goes in state to her husband's house. my desire is that my good young lady should attend the ceremony, and receive the benefit of my prayers." the mother replied, "i am unwilling to let her go, lest some accident should befall her:" upon which the pretended religious exclaimed, "what canst thou fear, while i and other devout women shall be with her?" the daughter expressing great eagerness to attend the nuptials, her mother at length consented. when the merchant's daughter had adorned herself in her richest habit, she accompanied the old woman; who, after leading her through several streets, conducted her to the lodging of the late fisherman, but now favourite to the sultan, who was eagerly expecting her arrival. the young lady was astonished on her entrance at beholding a comely looking man; who, she saw, could hardly restrain his raptures at the sight of her. her first alarm was great at finding herself betrayed into such a snare by the hypocritical beldam; but having naturally much presence of mind, she concealed her fears, and considered how she might escape. she sat down, and after looking round the apartment affected to laugh, saying to the gallant, "it is commonly usual when a lover invites his mistress to his house to have an entertainment prepared; for what is love without the accompaniment of a feast? if you wish, therefore, that i should spend the evening here, go and bring in some good cheer, that our joy may be complete. i will with my good mother wait your return." the gallant, rejoiced at her commands, exclaimed, "thou hast spoken truly, and to hear is to obey;" after which, he went towards the market to order a splendid entertainment. when he was gone, the young lady locked the door after him, and thanking the old woman for introducing her to so handsome a lover, threw her off her guard, while she walked about the apartment meditating her escape. at length she found in one corner of it a sharp sabre, and drawing up her sleeve to her elbow, she grasped the weapon, which she struck with such force at her false friend, who was reclining on a sofa, as to cleave the head of the abandoned procuress in two, and she fell down weltering in her blood, to rise no more. the merchant's daughter now searched the room, and finding a rich dress which the favourite usually wore when he visited the sultan, rolled it up in a bundle, and carrying it under her veil, unlocked the door, and hastened homewards. luckily she reached her father's house without interruption. her mother welcomed her with joy; but on perceiving the bundle, said, "my dear daughter, what can have been given thee at the nuptials of a poor religious?" the daughter, whose mind had been over agitated with her late adventure, was not able to answer; her spirits sunk at the recollection of her narrow escape, and she fainted away. the mother shrieked aloud with affright, which brought in her husband and attendants, who used various means for the young lady's recovery; and at length, having regained her senses, she related what had passed. the merchant having cursed the memory of the old woman for her hypocritical deception, comforted his virtuous daughter, and taking up the dress which he knew, and to whom it belonged, hastened to make his complaint to the sultan. when the sultan had heard the complaint of the merchant, he was enraged against his unworthy favourite, and commanded him to be apprehended; but he could no where be found, for having on his return home seen the old woman weltering in her blood, he guessed what had happened; and apprehensive of being called to an account, putting on a mean disguise, made his escape from the city. fortunately for him a caravan was just taking its departure, and with it he travelled for five days successively, with a mind tortured by disappointed love, and the fear of discovery. at length the caravan passed the confines of his late master, and encamped before a large city, which he entered, and having hired a room at a caravanserai, he resolved to repose, and seek out for some employment less dangerous than making love, or serving princes. when he had rested himself for some days, he repaired to a market, where labourers stood to be hired; and had not waited long, when a woman coming up asked if he wanted work, to which he replied in the affirmative. she then said, "part of the wall round the court of my house is so much decayed, that i must have it taken down and rebuilt, and if thou art willing to undertake the job i will employ thee." on his consenting, she led him to her house, and shewing him the wall, gave him a pick-axe, directing him as he went on to place the stones in one heap and the rubbish in another. he replied, "to hear is to obey." she then brought him some provision and water, when he refreshed himself, and having thanked god that he had escaped, and was able to get his living, began his task, which he continued till sunset. his employer paid him ten pieces of silver for his day's work, and he returned contented to his lodging. the following morning he again went to labour, and was treated with the same kindness as before. about noon, as he was stocking up the foundation of the wall he found a copper vessel, which upon examination proved to be full of golden coin. he carried the vessel to his lodging, where he counted the money, upwards of a hundred deenars, and returned to his work. as he was coming home in the evening, he saw a crowd following a man who carried upon his head a large chest, which he offered for sale at a hundred deenars, but refused to mention the contents. the fisherman was seized with an irresistible impulse to purchase the chest, and having a small silver coin of not more value than a silver penny, said to himself, "i will try my fate, possibly it may contain something valuable; but if not, i will disregard the disappointment;" ordered it to be conveyed to his lodging, and paid the price demanded. he then locked his door and opened the chest, when, to his astonishment, he beheld in it a beautiful girl very richly dressed, but apparently lifeless. however, on putting his hand to her mouth, he perceived that she breathed, and was only in a deep sleep, from which he endeavoured to awake her, but in vain. he then took her out of the chest, laid her gently on his carpet, and continued to gaze at her charms; till at length about midnight she awoke, and in an exclamation of alarm and surprise exclaimed, "gracious allah, where am i?" when the lady's first alarm had subsided, she asked the fisherman how he had brought her to his lodging, and on being informed of the circumstances her mind became easy; for he behaved towards her with respectful attention. concealing for the present her condition and adventures, she said, "this lodging is too mean, on the morrow you must hire a better. serve me with fidelity, do as i desire, and you shall be amply rewarded." the fisherman, who, cautioned by his last love adventure, was fearful of taking liberties, and awed by her dignified demeanour, made a profound obeisance, and professed himself her slave. he set before her the best refreshments he could procure, and when she had supped left her, and retired to sleep in a separate chamber. early the next morning he went and hired a decent house, to which he conveyed her in a covered litter, and did not cease to attend upon her in all her commands for twenty days, she supplying him with money to purchase necessaries. it is proper now to mention, that the lady bought by the fisherman in the chest was the favourite mistress of the sultan: having deserted for her all his other women, they had become envious; but the sultana, who, before the arrival of koout al koolloob (for such was her name) had presided over the haram, was more mortified than the rest, and had resolved to effect her removal. for this a favourable opportunity soon occurred, owing to the sultan's departure for twenty days upon a hunting excursion. in a day or two after his absence, the sultana invited koout al koolloob to an entertainment, and having mixed a strong soporific in some sherbet, presented it her to drink. the effect of the potion was instantaneous, and she sunk into a trance; when the sultana putting her into the chest, commanded it to be given to a broker, and sold without examination of the contents, for a hundred deenars; hoping, that whoever might be the purchaser, he would be so fascinated with the charms of the beautiful koout al koolloob, as to enjoy his good fortune in secrecy; and that she should thus get rid of a rival without the crime of assassination. when the sultan returned from his excursion, immediately on entering the palace he inquired for his favourite; when the sultana entering with affected sadness, said, "alas! my lord, the beautiful and affectionate koout al koolloob, unable to bear the pangs of absence, three days after your departure fell sick, and having lingered for seven days, was gathered to the mercy of the almighty." the sultan, on hearing this, burst into an agony of grief, and exclaimed, "there is no asylum or refuge but with god; from god we came, and to god we must return." he was overcome with affliction, and remained the whole night involved in melancholy. in the morning he sent for his vizier, and commanded him to look out for a spot on the bank of the river for the erection of a building in which he might sit retired, and meditate on his beloved koout al koolloob. the vizier replied, "to hear is to obey;" and taking with him an architect, fixed upon a pleasant spot, on which he ordered him to mark out a space of ninety yards in length and seventy in breadth for the intended building. the necessary materials, of stone and marbles, were soon collected, and the work was begun upon; which the minister for two days superintended in person. on the third the sultan came to view the progress. he approved of the plan, and said, "it is truly beautiful; but, alas! only worthy of the residence of koout al koolloob;" after which he wept bitterly. seeing the distress of the sultan, his vizier said, "my lord, be resigned under distress; for the wise have written, be moderate when prosperity occurs, and when calamity afflicts thee exercise patience.'" the sultan replied, "it is true, o vizier, that resignation is praiseworthy, and impatience blamable; for a poet has justly said, 'be calm under adversity; for calmness can alone extricate from danger.' to affliction joy often succeeds, and after trouble we generally enjoy repose; but, alas! human nature cannot divest itself of feeling; and koout al koolloob was so dear to me, and so delighted my soul, that i dread i shall never find another mistress her equal in beauty and accomplishments." the vizier consoled his master, and at length prevailed upon him to submit to his misfortune with some degree of resignation. the sultan and vizier daily repaired to view the progress of the new edifice, the report of which had spread through the city, and at length reached koout al koolloob, who said to the fisherman, "we are every day expending our money, and getting nothing: suppose, therefore, you seek employment in the building which the sultan is erecting. report says that he is liberal, so that possibly advantage may accrue." the fisherman replied, "my dear mistress, how shall i bear the least absence from you?" for he loved her, and she perceiving it, often dreaded that he would have made advances; but the remembrance of what he had endured from the conduct of the merchant's daughter had made him cautious. she replied, "dost thou really love me?" "canst thou doubt it?" answered he; "thou art my life, and the light of my eyes!" "if so," exclaimed she, "take this necklace, and when you think of me as you are working, look at it, and it will console you till your return home." the fisherman obeyed the commands of koout al koolloob, repaired to the spot where the edifice was erecting, and beheld the sultan and vizier observing the workmen. the former inquired if he wanted employment, to which he replied in the affirmative, and was hired. he began his labour; but so much was his mind engaged with his mistress, that every now and then, dropping his implements, he drew out the necklace, and looking upon it heaved a deep sigh, which the sultan observing, said to his vizier, "this man, perchance, is more unhappy than myself; let us call him to us, and inquire into his circumstances." the vizier brought him to the presence, and desired him to tell honestly why he had sighed so deeply. "alas!" replied he, "i am absent from my beloved, who gave me this necklace to look at whenever i might think upon her; and my mind is so taken up with her, that i cannot help laying down my tools, and admiring it constantly." when the sultan saw the necklace, he recollected that it was one which he had purchased for koout al koolloob for a thousand deenars. he concealed his agitation, and said, "to whom does this necklace belong?" "to my slave," replied the labourer, "whom i purchased for a hundred deenars." "canst thou admit us to thy lodging," rejoined the sultan, "that we may see her?" "i dread," answered the labourer, "that her modesty may be offended; but i will consult her, and if she assents, i will invite you to my lodging." "that is but just," said the sultan, "and no more than what is proper." the labourer at sunset returned home, and informed koout al koolloob of his adventure, when she desired him on the morrow to purchase what was requisite for a decent entertainment, at the same time giving him five deenars. in the morning he bought what she had desired, and going to his work, informed the sultan and vizier that they were welcome to his homely fare, and to see his slave; or rather, said he, "my divinity, for as such i have at humble distance adored her." the sultan and vizier accompanied the labourer to his house where they were astonished to find prepared an elegant collation, of which they partook; after which they drank sherbet and coffee. the sultan then desired to see his slave, who just made her appearance, but retired immediately. however, the sultan knew her; and said to the labourer, "wilt thou dispose of this damsel?" "i cannot, my lord," replied the labourer, "for my soul is wholly occupied with her love, though as yet unreturned." "may thy love be rewarded!" exclaimed the sultan; "but bring her with thee at sunset to the palace." "to hear is to obey," replied the labourer. at sunset the labourer conducted his slave to the palace, when the eunuchs attended, and would have led her into the haram; but he clung round her, and exclaimed, "she is my beloved, and i cannot part with her." upon this the sultan related the circumstances of his having lost her; and requested him to give her up. knowing that he durst not oppose the sovereign, he submitted to his commands with resignation, when the sultan presented him with fifteen hundred deenars, and a beautiful slave, also a rich dress, at the same time receiving him among the most distinguished of his officers. so well did he conduct himself in his new station, that in a short time he was promoted to the rank of prime minister, and fulfilled the duties of it with such ability and integrity, that he became celebrated by the title of the just vizier. such was the celebrity of the vizier's decisions, that in a short time appeals were made from the most distant provinces to his judgment. one of the most remarkable cases was the following. two women belonging to one man conceived on the same day, and were delivered, one of a boy, the other of a girl, at the same time, and in one apartment. the female infant died, when each laid claim to the male child. the magistrates, unable to decide between the mothers, referred the decision to the just vizier; who, on hearing the circumstances, commanded two eggs to be brought, and the contents to be drawn out without breaking the shells; after which he ordered them to be filled with milk from the breast of each woman. this being done, he placed the shells in separate scales, and finding one outweigh the other, declared that she whose milk was heaviest must be the mother of the male child; but the other woman was not satisfied with this decision, and still affirmed she was the mother of the boy. the vizier, vexed at her obstinacy, now commanded the infant to be cut in two; when she, whom he had said was the mother, fell into agonies, and besought its life; but the other was unmoved, and assented to the death of the child. he then ordered her to be severely punished, and committed the boy to its afflicted mother. on being asked on what proofs he had grounded his decision, he replied, "on two: the first, because the milk of a woman having produced a male child is always heavier than that of the mother of a female infant: the second, because the pretended mother consented to the boy's death; and i supposed it impossible for a woman to agree to the destruction of her offspring, which is a part of herself." the sultan and the traveller mhamood al hyjemmee. there was a sultan, who one evening being somewhat low-spirited, sent for his vizier, and said, "i know not the cause, but my mind is uneasy, and i want something to divert it." "if so," replied the vizier, "i have a friend, named mhamood al hyjemmee, a celebrated traveller, who has witnessed many wonderful occurrences, and can relate a variety of astonishing narratives. shall i send for him to the presence?" "by all means," answered the sultan, "that i may hear his relations." the minister departed, and informed his friend that the sultan desired to see him. "to hear is to obey," replied mhamood, and hastened with the vizier to the palace. when they had entered the palace, mhamood made the obeisance usual to the caliphs, and uttered a poetical invocation for the prosperity of the sultan, who returned his salute; and after desiring him to be seated, said, "mhamood, my mind is uneasy, and as i hear you are acquainted with many curious events, i wish you to relate some of them to amuse me." mhamood replied, "to hear is to obey;" and thus began an adventure of his own. the koord robber. some years ago i took a journey from my own country to the land of yemen, accompanied by a slave, who was a lad of much ready wit, and who carried a wallet containing a few necessaries. as we were entering a town, a rascally koord snatched the wallet from his hands, and asserted that it was his own, which we had stolen from him: upon which, i called out to some passengers to assist me in the recovery of my property, and they helped me to carry the sharper before the cauzee, to whom i complained of his assault. the magistrate asked the koord what he had to allege in his defence; to which he replied, "my lord, i lost this wallet some days since, and found it in possession of the complainant, who pretends that it is his own, and will not resign it." "if it be thine," rejoined the cauzee, "describe to me what it contains, when i shall be satisfied that thou speakest the truth." the koord assented, and with a loud voice cried out, "in this wallet, my lord, are two chests, in which are collyrium for the eyes, a number of rich napkins, drinking vessels of gold, lamps, cooking utensils, dishes, basins, and ewers; also bales of merchandize, jewels, gold, silks, and other precious articles, with a variety of wearing apparel, carpets, cushions, eating cloths, and other things too tedious to enumerate; besides, i can bring a number of my brother koords to testify to the truth of what i have said, and that the wallet is mine." when the koord had finished, the cauzee smiled, and asked me and my slave what we could describe to be in the wallet: upon which, my slave said, "my lord, there is nothing in it of what the koord has mentioned, for it contains only both worlds, with all their lands, seas, cities, habitations, men, animals, and productions of every kind." the cauzee laughed, and turning to the koord, said, "friend, thou hast heard what has past; what further canst thou say?" "the bag is mine," continued the koord: upon which, the cauzee ordered it to be emptied; when, lo! there were found in it some cakes of bread, a few limes, a little pepper, and a cruet of oil. seeing this, the koord exclaimed, "pardon me, my lord the cauzee, i have been mistaken, the wallet is not mine; but i must away and search for the thief who has stolen my valuable property." having said this, he ran off, leaving the cauzee, myself, and the spectators bursting with laughter at his impudent knavery. the sultan was much diverted with the relation of mhamood, and requested him to relate another story, which he did as follows. story of the husbandman. a certain husbandman having reared some choice vegetables and fruits earlier than usual, resolved to present them to the sultan, in hopes of receiving a handsome present. he accordingly loaded his ass and set off for the capital, on the road to which he met the sultan, whom he had never before seen; and who being on a hunting excursion had separated from his attendants. the sultan inquired where he was going, and what he carried. "i am repairing," said the husbandman, "to our lord the sultan, in hopes that he will reward me with a handsome price for my fruits and vegetables, which i have reared earlier than usual." "what dost thou mean to ask him?" replied the sultan. "a thousand deenars," answered the husbandman; "which if he refuses to give, i will demand five hundred; should he think that sum too much, i will come down to two hundred; and if he declines to give so much, i will ask thirty deenars, from which price i will not depart." the sultan now left the husbandman, and hastening to the city, entered the palace, where the latter soon after arrived with his fruits, and was introduced to the presence. having made his obeisance, the sultan returning his salute, said, "father, what hast thou brought with thee?" "fruits, reared earlier than usual," answered the husbandman: to which the sultan replied, "they are acceptable," and uncovering them, sent a part by the eunuchs into his haram, and distributed the rest to his courtiers, excepting a few which he ate himself, talking all the while to the countryman, whose sensible remarks gave him much pleasure. he presented him with two hundred deenars, and the ladies of the haram sent him a present of half that sum. the sultan then desired him to return home, give the money to his family, and come back with speed, as he wished to enjoy his conversation. the husbandman having replied, "to hear is to obey," blessed the sultan for his bounty, and hastening home gave the deenars to his wife, informing her that he was invited to spend the evening at court, and took his leave. it was sunset when he arrived at the palace, and the sultan being at his evening meal invited him to partake. when they were satisfied, they performed their ablutions, and having said the evening prayer, and read a portion of the koraun, the sultan, desiring him to be seated, commanded the husbandman to relate him some narrative. the husbandman being seated, thus began. story of the three princes and enchanting bird. it has been lately related that there was formerly a sovereign of the east who had three sons, the eldest of whom had heard some traveller describe a particular country where there was a bird called bulbul al syach, who transformed any passenger who came near him into stone. the prince resolved to see this wonderful bird; and requested leave to travel from his father, who endeavoured in vain to divert him from his purpose. he took leave, and on his departure, pulling off a ring set with a magical gem, gave it to his second brother, saying, "whenever you perceive this ring press hard upon your finger, be assured that i am lost beyond recovery." having begun his journey, he did not cease travelling till he reached the spot where was the bird's cage, in which it used to pass the night, but in the daytime it flew about for exercise and food. it was the custom of the bird to return about sunset to the cage; when, if it perceived any person near, it would cry out in a plaintive tone, "who will say to a poor wanderer, lodge? who will say to an unhappy bulbul, lodge?" and if the person replied, "lodge, poor bird!" it immediately hovered over his head, and scattering upon him some earth from its bill, the person became transformed into a stone. such proved the fate of the unfortunate prince. the transformation of the eldest prince had no sooner taken place than the ring pressed hard upon the finger of the second, who exclaimed, "alas! alas! my brother is lost; but i will travel, and endeavour to find out his condition." it was in vain that the sultan his father, and the sultana his mother, remonstrated. he departed after he had delivered the magical ring to his younger brother, and journeyed till he reached the cage of the bird; who having ensnared him to pronounce the word lodge, scattered some earth upon his head, when he, also, immediately became transformed into stone. at this instant the youngest prince was sitting at a banquet with his father; when the ring pressed so hard to his finger, as to put him to much pain. he rose up, and exclaimed, "there is no refuge or asylum but with god; for his we are, and to him we must return." the sultan, upon this, inquired the cause of his grief; when he said, "my brother has perished." the old sultan was loudly lamenting the loss of his two children, when the youngest continued, "i will travel and learn the fate of my brothers." "alas!" said the father, "is it not enough that i have lost them, but thou also wilt rush into destruction? i entreat thee not to leave me." "father," replied the prince, "fate impels me to search for my brothers, whom, perhaps, i may recover; but if i fail, i shall only have done my duty." having said this, he departed, in spite of the tears and lamentations of his parents, and travelled till he had reached the residence of the bird; where he found his brothers transformed into images of stone. at sunset the bird began its usual tone; but the prince suspecting some deceit, forbore to speak, till at length the bulbul retired to his cage, and fell asleep; when watching the opportunity, the prince darted upon it, and fastened the door. the bird awoke at the noise, and seeing himself caught, said, "thou hast won the prize, o glorious son of a mighty sultan!" "if so," exclaimed the prince, "inform me by what means thou hast enchanted so many persons as i see around me changed into images of marble, and how i may release them from their unhappy state." "behold," replied the bird, "yonder two heaps of earth, one white and the other blue. the blue enchants, and the other will recover from transformation." the prince immediately took up handfuls of the white earth, and scattering it over the numerous images, they instantly became animated and restored to all their functions. he embraced his two brothers, and received their thanks; also those of the sons of many sultans, bashaws, and great personages, for giving them new life. they informed him that near the spot was a city, all the inhabitants of which had been, like them, transformed into stone. to this he repaired, and having relieved them from their enchantment, the people out of gratitude made him rich presents, and would have chosen him for their sovereign, but he declined their offer, and resolved to conduct his brothers in safety to their father. the two elder princes, notwithstanding they owed the restoration of their lives to their brother, became envious of the valuable presents he had received, and of the fame he would acquire at home for his achievement. they said to one another, "when we reach the capital the people will applaud him, and say, 'lo! the two elder brothers have been rescued from destruction by the youngest.'" the youngest prince being supplied with horses, camels, and carriages, for himself and companions, began his march homewards, and proceeded by easy stages towards the capital of his father; within one day's journey of which was a reservoir of water lined with marble. on the brink of this he ordered his tents to be pitched, resolving to pass the night and enjoy himself in feasting with his brothers. an elegant entertainment was prepared, and he sat with them till it was time to repose; when they retired to their tents, and he lay down to sleep, having on his finger a ring, which he had found in the cage of the bulbul. the envious brothers thinking this a fit opportunity to destroy their generous preserver, arose in the dead of night, and taking up the prince, cast him into the reservoir, and escaped to their tents undiscovered. in the morning they issued orders of march, the tents were struck, and the camels loaded; but the attendants missing the youngest prince, inquired after him; to which the brothers replied, that being asleep in his tent, they were unwilling to disturb him. this satisfied them, and having pursued their march they reached the capital of their father, who was overjoyed at their return, and admired the beauty of the bulbul, which they had carried with them; but he inquired with eagerness what was become of their brother. the brothers replied, "we know nothing of him, and did not till now hear of his departure in search of the bird, which we have brought with us." the sultan dearly loved his youngest son; and on hearing that his brothers had not seen him, beat his hands together, exclaiming, "alas! alas! there is no refuge or asylum but with the almighty, from whom we came, and to whom we must return." we must now return to the youngest brother. when he was cast into the reservoir he awoke, and finding himself in danger, exclaimed, "i seek deliverance from that god who relieveth his servants from the snares of the wicked." his prayer was heard, and he reached the bottom of the reservoir unhurt; where he seated himself on a ledge, when he heard persons talking. one said to another, "some son of man is near." "yes," replied the other, "he is the youngest son of our virtuous sultan; who, after having delivered his two brothers from enchantment, hath been treacherously cast into this reservoir." "well," answered the first voice, "he may easily escape, for he has a ring upon his finger, which if he will rub a genie will appear to him and perform whatever he may command." the prince no sooner heard these words than he rubbed his hand over the ring, when a good genie appearing, said, "prince, what are thy commands?" "i command," replied the prince, "that thou instantly prepare me tents, camels, domestics, guards, and every thing suitable to my condition." "all is ready," answered the genie; who, at the same instant taking him from the ledge, conducted him into a splendid encampment, where the troops received him with acclamations. he ordered signals of march to be sounded, and proceeded towards the capital of his father. when he had arrived near the city, he commanded his tents to be pitched on the plain. immediately his orders were obeyed, the tents were raised (a most magnificent one for himself), before which the servants raised a gorgeous awning, and sprinkled water to lay the dust. the cooks lighted their fires, and a great smoke ascended, which filled the plain. the inhabitants of the city were astonished at the approach of the army, and when they saw the encampment pitched, supposed it to be that of a powerful enemy preparing for assaulting them. intelligence of this unexpected host was conveyed to the sultan; who, on hearing it, instead of alarm, felt a pleasure which he could not account for, and said, "gracious allah! my heart is filled with delight; but why i know not." immediately he commanded his suite to attend, and repaired to the encampment of his son, to whom he was introduced; but the prince being habited very richly, and differently from what he had seen him in, was not known by the sultan. the prince received his father with the honours due to his rank, and when they were seated, and had entered into conversation, said, "what is become of thy youngest son?" the words were scarcely uttered, when the old sultan fell fainting to the earth. on his recovery, he exclaimed, "alas! my son's imprudence led him to travel, and he has fallen a prey to the beasts of the forest." "be comforted," replied the prince; "the disasters of fortune have not reached thy son, for he is alive and in health." "is it possible?" cried the sultan; "ah! tell me where i shall find him!" "he is before thee," replied the prince: upon which, the sultan looking more closely, knew him, fell upon his neck, wept, and sunk to the earth overpowered with ecstacy. when the sultan had recovered, he desired his son to relate his adventures, which he did from first to last. just as he had finished the elder brothers arrived, and seeing him in such splendour, hung down their heads, abashed and unable to speak; but yet more envious than ever. the old sultan would have put them to death for their treachery, but the youngest prince said, "let us leave them to the almighty, for whoever commits sin will meet its punishment in himself." when the husbandman had concluded the above story, the sultan was so highly pleased that he presented him with a large sum of money, and a beautiful slave, inquiring at the same time if he could divert him with another story, to which he replied in the affirmative. on another night, when the sultan and the countryman had sat down to converse, the former desired him to relate some ancient story, when the latter began as follows. story of a sultan of yemen and his three sons. it has been related, that in the kingdom of yemen there was a sultan who had three sons, two of whom were born of the same mother, and the third of another wife, with whom becoming disgusted from some caprice, and having degraded her to the station of a domestic, he suffered her and her son to live unnoticed among the servants of the haram. the two former, one day, addressed their father, requesting his permission to hunt: upon which he presented them each with a horse of true blood, richly caparisoned, and ordered proper domestics to attend them to the chase. when they had departed, the unfortunate youngest brother repaired to his unhappy mother, and expressed his wishes to enjoy, like the elder princes, the pleasures of the field. "my son," replied she, "it is not in my power to procure thee a horse or other necessaries." upon this he wept bitterly; when she gave him some of her silver ornaments, which he took, and having sold them, with the price purchased a foundered steed. having mounted it, and provided himself with some bread, he followed the track of his brothers for two days, but on the third lost his way. after wandering two days more he beheld upon the plain a string of emeralds and pearls, which shone with great lustre. having taken it up, he wreathed it round his turban, and returned homewards exulting in his prize; but when he had arrived near the city his brothers met him, pulled him from his horse, beat him, and forced it from him. he excelled them both in prowess and vigour, but he was fearful of the sultan's displeasure, and his mother's safety, should he punish his insulters. he therefore submitted to the indignity and loss, and retired. the two cowardly princes entered the palace, and presented the string of jewels to the sultan; who, after admiring it, said, "i shall not rest satisfied till the bird arrives to whom this certainly must have belonged:" upon which the brothers replied, "we will travel in search of it, and bring it to our august father and sultan." preparations being made, the brothers departed, and the youngest prince having mounted his lame steed followed them. after three days' journey he reached an arid desert, which having passed over by great exertion, he arrived almost exhausted at a city; which on entering he found resounding with the shrieks of lamentation and woe. at length he met with a venerable old man, to whom having made a respectful salute, he inquired of him the cause of such universal mourning. "my son," replied the old man, "on a certain day during the last forty-three years, a terrible monster has appeared before our city, demanding a beautiful virgin to be delivered up to him, threatening to destroy it in case of refusal. unable to defend ourselves, we have complied with his demand, and the damsels of the city have drawn lots for the dreadful sacrifice; but this year the chance has fallen upon the beautiful daughter of our sultan. this is the day of the monster's usual arrival, and we are involved in universal lamentation for her unhappy fate." when the young prince heard the above, he, under the direction of the old man, repaired to the place of the monster's resort, resolved to conquer him or die. scarcely had he reached it, when the princess approached it, splendidly habited, but with a dejected head, and drowned in tears. he made a respectful salute, which she returned, saying, "hasten, young man, from this spot, for a monster will soon appear, to whom, by my unhappy fate, i am destined. should he discover thee, he will tear thee in pieces." "princess," replied he, "i know the circumstance, and am resolved to become a ransom for thy beauty." the prince had hardly uttered these words, when a column of dust arose; from which with dreadful howlings and fury the monster issued, lashing his gigantic sides with his thick tail. the princess shrieked, and wept in the agonies of fear; but the prince drawing his sabre, put himself in the way of the savage monster; who, enraged, snorted fire from his wide nostrils, and made a spring at the prince. the gallant youth with wonderful agility evaded his talons, and darting from side to side of the monster, watched his opportunity, till rushing upon him, he cleft his head asunder just between his eyes, when the huge creature fell down and growled his last in a tremendous roar. the princess, on seeing the monster expire, ran to her deliverer, wiped the dust and sweat from his face with her veil, uttering grateful thanks, to which he replied, "return to thy lamenting parents;" but she would not, and said, "my lord, and light of my eyes, thou must be mine and i thine." "that is perhaps impossible," rejoined the prince; and hastening from her, he returned to the city, where he took up his lodging in an obscure corner. she now repaired to the palace. on her entrance, the sultan and her mother were astonished, and inquired in alarm the cause of her return; fearing that she had escaped from the monster, who would in revenge destroy the city. the princess related the story of her deliverance by a handsome youth: upon which, the sultan, with his attendants, and most of the inhabitants of the place, repaired to view the monster, whom they found extended dead on the earth. the whole city was now filled with grateful thanksgivings and universal rejoicing. the sultan, eager to shew his gratitude to the gallant youth, said to the princess, "shouldst thou know thy deliverer wert thou to see him again?" "certainly!" replied she; for love had impressed his image on her mind too strongly to be ever erased. the sultan, upon this, issued a proclamation, commanding every male in the city to pass under the windows of his daughter's apartment; which was done successively for three days; but she did not recognize her beloved champion. the sultan then inquired if all the men of the city had obeyed his commands, and was informed that all had done so, except a young man at a certain serai, who was a foreigner, and therefore had not attended. the sultan ordered him to appear; and he had no sooner approached the window than the princess threw down upon his head an embroidered handkerchief, exclaiming, "this is our deliverer from the fangs of the monster." the sultan now ordered the young prince to be introduced to his presence, to which he advanced, making the obeisances customary to royal personages in a graceful manner. "art thou the destroyer of the monster?" exclaimed the sultan. "i am," answered the prince. "tell me how i can reward thee?" replied the sultan. "my request to god and your majesty," answered the prince, "is, that the princess thy daughter may be given me in marriage." "rather ask me a portion of my treasures," rejoined the sultan. upon this, the officers of the court observed, that as he had saved the princess from death, he was worthy of her; and the sultan at length consenting, the marriage knot was tied. the young prince received his bride, and the nuptials were consummated. towards the close of night he arose, and having taken off her ring, put his own in its room on her finger, and wrote upon the palm of her hand, "i am called alla ad deen, the son of a potent sultan, who rules in yemen; if thou canst come to me there, well; otherwise remain with thy father." when the prince had done as above related, he left his bride asleep, and quitting the palace and city, pursued his travels; during which he married another wife, whom he had saved from an elephant in a similar way: he left her in the same manner as the first. when the prince had left his second wife, he proceeded in search of the bird to whom the string of emeralds and pearls had belonged, and at length reached the city of its mistress, who was daughter to the sultan, a very powerful monarch. having entered the capital, he walked through several streets, till at last he perceived a venerable old man, whose age seemed to be, at least, that of a hundred years, sitting alone. he approached him, and having paid his respects, sat down, and entering into conversation, at length said, "canst thou, my uncle, afford me any information respecting a bird, whose chain is composed of pearls and emeralds, or of its mistress?" the old man remained silent, involved in thought, for some instants; after which, he said, "my son, many sultans and princes have wished to attain this bird and the princess, but failed in the attempt; however, do thou procure seven lambs, kill them, flay and cut them up into halves. in the palace are eight courts, at the gates of seven of which are placed two hungry lions; and in the latter, where the princess resides, are stationed forty slaves. go, and try thy fortune." the prince having thanked the old man, took his leave, procured the lambs, cut them up as directed, and towards midnight, when the step of man had ceased from passing, repaired to the first gate of the palace, before which he beheld two monstrous lions, their eyes flaming like the mouth of a lighted oven. he cast before each half a lamb, and while they were devouring it passed on. by the same stratagem he arrived safely into the eighth court: at the gate of which lay the forty slaves sunk in profound sleep. he entered cautiously, and beheld the princess in a magnificent hall, reposing on a splendid bed; near which hung her bird in a cage of gold wire strung with valuable jewels. he approached gently, and wrote upon the palm of her hand, "i am alla ad deen, son of a sultan of yemen. i have seen thee sleeping, and taken away thy bird. shouldst thou love me, or wish to recover thy favourite, come to my father's capital." he then departed from the palace, and having reached the plain, stopped to repose till morning. the prince being refreshed, at day-light having invoked allah to protect him from discovery, travelled till sunset, when he discovered an arab encampment, to which he repaired and requested shelter. his petition was readily attended to by the chief; who seeing him in possession of the bird, which he knew, said to himself, "this young man must be a favourite of heaven, or he could not have obtained a prize for which so many potent sultans, princes, and viziers, have vainly fallen sacrifices." he entertained him with hospitality, but asked no questions, and in the morning dismissed him with prayers for his welfare, and a present of a beautiful horse. alla ad deen having thanked his generous host took leave, and proceeded unceasingly till he arrived within sight of his father's capital. on the plain he was again overtaken by his two brothers, returning from their unsuccessful expedition, who seeing the bird and splendid cage in his possession, dragged him suddenly from his horse, beat him cruelly, and left him. they entered the city, and presenting the cage to their father, framed an artful tale of danger and escapes that they had undergone in procuring it; on hearing which, the sultan loaded them with caresses and praises, while the unfortunate alla ad deen retired bruised and melancholy to his unhappy mother. the young prince informed his mother of his adventures, complained heavily of his loss, and expressed his resolves to be revenged upon his envious brothers. she comforted him, entreated him to be patient, and wait for the dispensations of allah; who, in proper season, would shew his power in the revealment of justice. we now return to the princess who had lost her bird. when she awoke in the morning, and missed her bird, she was alarmed; but on perceiving what was written upon her palm still more so. she shrieked aloud; her attendants ran in, and finding her in a frantic state, informed the sultan; who, anxious for her safety, hastened to the apartment. the princess being somewhat recovered, related the loss of her bird, shewed the writing on her hand, and declared that she would marry no one but him who had seen her asleep. the sultan finding remonstrances vain, agreed to accompany his daughter in search of the prince, and issued orders for his army to prepare for a march to yemen. when the troops were assembled, the sultan conducted his daughter to the camp, and on the day following marched; the princess with her ladies being conveyed in magnificent equipages. no halt was made till the army arrived near the city, where alia ad deen had delivered the daughter of its sultan by killing the elephant. a friendly ambassador being dispatched to request permission to encamp and purchase a supply of provisions, he was honourably received, and the sultan of the city proceeded in great pomp to visit his brother monarch, who then informed him of the object of his expedition. this convinced the other sultan that the stealer of the bird must also have been the deliverer of his daughter, and he resolved to join in the search. accordingly, after three days of splendid entertainments and rejoicings, the two sultans, with the two princesses, and their united forces, moved towards yemen. their route lay through the capital, the daughter of whose sultan alla ad deen had saved from the fangs of the savage monster. on the arrival of the allies at this city an explanation similar to the last took place, and the third sultan resolved to accompany them in search of the husband of his daughter, who readily agreed to join the other princesses. they marched; and on the route the princess who had lost her bird was fully informed by the others of the beauty, prowess, and manly vigour of alla ad deen; which involved her more than ever in anxious impatience to meet him. at length, by continued and uninterrupted movements, the three sultans reached yemen, and pitched their encampments about sunset on a verdant plain well watered, near the capital. it was with much dread and apprehension that the sultan of yemen beheld such a numerous host encamped so near his residence; but he concealed his fears, and gave proper orders for securing it from surprise during the night. with the morning his alarms were removed, as the allied sultans dispatched an ambassador with rich presents, assurances that they had no hostile intentions, and a request that he would honour them by a visit to their camp, and furnish it with supplies. the sultan complied with the invitation, and the suite being prepared, he proceeded, attended by all his courtiers in the highest magnificence, to the encampment; where he was received with due honours. at the outposts the three sultans met him, and after the usual greetings of ceremony conducted him to a splendid tent made of crimson velvet, the fringes and ropes of which were composed of gold threads, the pins of solid silver, and the lining of the richest silver tissue, embroidered with flowers of raised work in silks of all colours, intermixed with foils and gold. it was covered with superb carpets, and at the upper end on a platform spread with gold brocade were placed four stools, the coverings of which, and the cushions, were magnificent beyond description, being made of persian velvet, fringed and flowered with costly pearls. when the four sultans were seated, and some conversation had taken place, in which the latter was informed of the occasion of the others having marched into his country, the cloth was spread, and a magnificent entertainment served up in dishes of agate, crystal, and gold. the basins and ewers for washing were of pure gold set with jewels. such was the richness of every thing, that the sultan with difficulty refrained from shewing his surprise, and inwardly exclaimed, "by allah, till now i never have beheld such a profusion of splendour, elegance, and valuable furniture!" when the meal was ended, coffee, various sorts of confections, and sherbets were brought in; after which the company conversed. the three sultans inquired of their royal guest if he had any children, to which he replied that he had two sons. the sultans then requested that he would send for them: upon which, their father dispatched a messenger to summon them to his presence. they repaired to the camp, mounted on chargers richly caparisoned, and most splendidly dressed. on their entering the tent, the princesses, who were seated in a recess concealed from view by blinds of gold wire, gazed eagerly at them; and she who had lost her bird inquired of the other two if either of them was their husband. they replied in the negative, remarking that he was of personal beauty, and dignified appearance, far superior to these princes. the three sultans, also, questioned their daughters on the subject, and received similar answers. the sultans, upon this, inquired of the father of the princes if he had any other sons; to which he replied that he had one; but that he had long rejected him, and also his mother, from notice; and that they lived among the domestics of the palace. the sultans entreated to see him, and he was introduced, but in a mean habit. the two princesses whom he had delivered from the monsters and married immediately recognized him, and exclaimed together, "this is truly our beloved husband!" he was then embraced by the sultans, and admitted to his wives; who fell upon his neck in transports of joy and rapture, kissing him between his eyes, while the princess who had lost the bird prostrated herself before him, covered with a veil, and kissed his hand. after this scene the young prince returned to his father, and the other sultans, who received him respectfully, and seated him by them, at which the father was astonished; but more so, when, turning to his brothers, he addressed them, saying, "which of you first found the string of emeralds and pearls?" to this they made no reply: when he continued, "who of you killed the monster, destroyed the elephant, or, fortifying his mind, dared to enter the palace of this sultan, and bring away the cage with the bird? when you both, coward-like, rushed upon me, robbed me of my prizes, and wounded me, i could easily have overcome you; but i felt that there was a season appointed by providence for justice upon you and my wretched father, who rejected my mother and myself, depriving us of our just claims." having thus spoken, he drew his sabre, and rushing upon the two guilty princes struck them dead, each at one blow. he would, in his rage, have attacked his father; but the sultans prevented him, and having reconciled them, the old sultan promised to leave him his heir, and to restore his mother to her former rank and consequence. his nuptials with the third princess were then celebrated; and their fathers, after participating for forty days in the magnificent entertainments given on the occasion, took leave, and returned to their several kingdoms. the old sultan finding himself, from age, incapable of the cares of government, resigned the throne to his son, whose authority was gladly submitted to by the people, who admired his prowess and gallantry. some time after his accession to the kingdom, attended only by some select courtiers, and without the cumbrous appendages of royalty, he left his capital upon a hunting excursion. in the course of the sport, passing over a desert plain, he came to a spot where was the opening of a cave, into which he entered, and observed domestic utensils and other marks of its being inhabited; but no one was then within it. the curiosity of the sultan being excited, he resolved to wait until the owners of the cave should appear, and cautioned his attendants not to mention his rank. he had not sat long, when a man was seen advancing with a load of provisions and two skins of water. on his coming to the mouth of the cave, the sultan addressed him, saying, "whence comest thou, where art thou going, and what dost thou carry?" "i am," replied the man, "one of three companions, who inhabit this cave, having fled from our city to avoid imprisonment, and every ten days one of us goes to purchase provisions: to-day was my turn, and my friends will be here presently." "what was the cause of your flight?" rejoined the sultan. "as to that," answered the man, "it can only be communicated by the relation of our adventures, which are curious, and if you wish to hear them, stay with us to-night, and we will each, in our turn, relate his own story." the sultan upon this, said to himself, "i will not move from this spot until i have heard their adventures;" and immediately dispatched his attendants, excepting a few, with orders to bring from the city some necessaries for the night. "for," thought he, "hearing these stories will be pleasanter than hunting, as they may, perhaps, inform my mind." he remained in the cave with his few followers; and soon after arrived the two other inmates, who were succeeded by the sultan's messengers with the requisites for a substantial repast, of which all partook without ceremony. when it was finished, the sultan desired the owners of the cave to relate their adventures; and they replied, "to hear is to obey:" the first beginning as follows. story of the first sharper in the cave. my father died when i was a youth, leaving my mother and myself with little property, but an old she-goat, which we sold, and with the price bought a calf, and nourished her as well as we could for a whole year; when my mother desired me to go and dispose of her in the market. accordingly i went, and soon perceived that there was not a fatter or finer beast in the market. the company of butchers, composed of forty persons, fixed their eyes upon the calf, and supposing me an ignorant lad, resolved to have her for little or nothing, and feast themselves upon her flesh. after concerting among themselves, one of them coming up, said, "my lad, dost thou mean to sell this she-goat?" "goat!" replied i, "it is a calf." "nay," answered he, "surely thou must be blind or under enchantment; but, old as the goat is, if thou wilt sell it, i will give thee a koorsh for her." i angrily refused, and he went away; when presently up came another; and, in short, in regular succession the whole forty, the last of whom was the chief of the butchers. i perceived the connivance to cheat me, and resolving to be revenged, said, "i am convinced i am deceived, so you shall have the goat, if such she is, for the koorsh, provided you let me have her tail." this was agreed to, and it being cut off, i delivered my calf to the chief of the butchers, received the money, and returned home. on my arrival at home, my mother asked if i had sold the calf; to which i replied, "yes, for a koorsh, and her tail into the bargain." she thought me stupid or mad, and inquired what i would do with the latter. i answered, "i will be amply revenged on the sharpers, who pretended that my calf was a she-goat, and force from them, at least, a thousand times the price they gave me." after this, i skinned the tail, cut the leather into thongs, and twisted them into a whip with hard thick knots. i then disguised myself in female attire, taking pains to make myself look as handsome as possible with the assistance of my mother, who put soorma into my eyelids, and arranged my eyebrows, stained my hands with hinna, and directed me how to ogle and smile. in short, as i was then a beardless lad, and reckoned comely, i appeared as a very desirable maiden in my disguise. on my arrival at the house of the chief of the butchers, i found him sitting with his companions in the court. the whole of my calf had been cooked in various ways, and they were just going to spread the cloth and feast upon it. on my entrance i made a profound salutation: upon which they all rose up to return it, and having treated me welcomely, whispered one to another, saying, "by allah, this will be a night of glorious festivity, illumined by so much beauty! however, our chief must have the preference, this night shall be his; after which we will all cast lots for his turn of enjoyment." when we had feasted on my calf, and the night was far advanced, the butchers took leave, departed to their homes, and i remained alone with the chief, who began to entertain me with amusing conversation. observing a rope hanging from the ceiling of an apartment, i, as if ignorant of its purpose, inquired the use of it; when the venerable chief of the butchers informed me it was for suspending animals to cut up; also, occasionally his dependants, whose crimes required the punishment of flogging. upon this i expressed a great desire to be tied with the rope, drawn up, and swung for amusement. "my dear lady," replied he, "the cord will hurt thy delicate skin; but thou shall put it round me, draw me up, and see the use without injuring thyself." i consented to the wish of the chief butcher, placed the cord under his arms, and drew him up till the ends of his toes scarcely touched the ground. i then secured the rope, and for some moments kept running playfully round him, and tickling his sides, which made him laugh with delight. at length, tired of his posture, he desired me to release him; but i refused, saying, "my dear chief, i have not yet finished my amusement;" after which i tore the clothes from his back, as if in merriment. when i had done this, i pulled out my whip, which was well knotted, saying, "this is the tail of a she-goat, and not of a calf." the butcher now began to be somewhat alarmed, asking me who i was, and whence i came? to which i replied, "i am the owner of the fat calf, of which thou and thy villanous companions so rascally cheated me." i then bared my arm to my elbow, and so belaboured his back and sides with my whip that he roared in agony; nor did i leave off till his skin was completely flayed, and he fainted from the pain. after this i searched the apartment, found a bag containing three hundred deenars, some handsome dresses, and other valuable articles, all of which i bundled up, and carried off; leaving the chief of the butchers, suspended, to his fate. when i had reached home, i gave my prize to my mother, saying, "this is only part of the value of my calf, which i have just received of the purchaser." early in the morning the butchers repaired, as usual, to the residence of their chief, and finding the door of the court-yard locked, joked one with another, saying, "our old gentleman has been so fatigued with his happiness that he sleeps longer than ordinary." they waited till near noon, when they called out for admittance; but receiving no answer, became apprehensive of some disaster, and forcing the door, found their chief suspended, almost lifeless, and his scars dropping blood. to their inquiries into the cause of his doleful situation, he replied, "that pretended vixen was no woman, but a brawny youth, the owner of the calf; who, in return for our roguery, has flogged me thus, and carried off all he could find in my chamber worth having." the butchers vowed revenge, saying, "we will seize and put him to death;" but their chief requested them for the present to be patient, and carry him to a warm bath, that he might wash and get his wounds dressed. i observed the chief butcher enter the bathing house alone, while his followers waited at the gate: upon which i went to a slaughter-house, poured over my back the blood of a sheep, dabbed it with plaisters of cotton, and leaning on a crutch, as if in agony of pain, repaired to the bath. at first the butchers refused me admittance, saying their chief was within; but on my entreating their compassion for my miserable condition, they at length permitted me to enter. passing through the different rooms, i came to the bath, in which i found the unfortunate chief washing his scars. i pulled out my whip, and having said to him, "shekh, this is the tail of my calf!" flogged him again so severely that he fainted; after which i made my escape by another entrance to the hummaum, which opened into a different street. the butchers growing impatient at the long stay of their chief in the bath, at length entered, and found him in extreme agony. he informed them of this second revenge of the owner of the calf, and requested that he would take him into the country, pitch a tent for his reception, and remain to guard him till he should be cured of his wounds. they did so; but i watched their motions, and disguising myself, repaired in the evening towards the tent. here i found a bedouin arab, whom i bribed with a piece of gold to cry out, "i am the owner of the calf, and will have the life of your chief!" cautioning him at the same time, after he had so exclaimed, to make his escape as quickly as possible from the butchers, who would pursue him. "i shall not heed them," replied he, "though they may be mounted on the fleetest coursers." having said this, the bedouin went up close to the tents, bawling out vociferously, as i had directed him: upon which all the butchers started up and pursued him, but in vain, to a great distance. i then entered the tent in which the chief was reposing alone, and pulling out my whip, once more flogged him till he roared with agony. when i was tired i bundled up such articles as i could lay my hands on; and returning home, presented them to my mother, saying, "here is the balance of the price of our calf." the butchers having attempted to overtake the bedouin, till they were wearied with running, but in vain, returned to their chief, whom they found in a fainting fit from the pain of his wounds. having sprinkled water on his face, they recovered him so far that he was able to inform them of what had happened; and to request them to convey him once more to his own house, to give out that he was dead of his wounds, and make a mock funeral; when, possibly, the owner of the calf, believing him departed this life, might cease to torment him. the butchers obeyed the commands of their chief, and reporting that he was dead, laid him in a litter, and marched in mournful procession towards the burying ground, followed by a great concourse of people. mixing with the crowd, in disguise, i at length stooped under the litter, and giving the chief, who lay extended in a winding sheet, a smart poke with a pointed stick, up he jumped, to the astonishment of the beholders; who cried out, "a miracle! a miracle! the dead is raised to life!" while i made my escape in the throng; but being fearful that the many tricks i had played, especially this last, might excite inquiry, and lead to a discovery, i fled from the city, and resolved to remain in this cave till curiosity should subside. the sultan exclaimed, "these adventures are surprising;" when the second inhabitant of the cave said, "my lord, my story is much more wonderful than the last; for i contrived not only to be dead and buried, but to escape from the tomb." "possibly," said the sultan, "thy adventures may have been stranger than those of this man; but if any of you are acquainted with the memoirs of ancient monarchs, i could wish you to relate them; however, at present, i must take you with me to the palace, that i may make you welcome." when the men heard this proposition, they were alarmed, and cried out, "what, my lord, would you carry us to the city from which we have escaped to save our lives?" "fear not," replied he, "i am the sultan, and was amusing myself with hunting when i chanced to discover your cave." they bowed themselves before him, and exclaimed, "to hear is to obey;" after which they attended him to the city. on their arrival, the sultan ordered them proper apartments and suitable entertainment, and invested each of them with a rich habit. for some days they remained enjoying themselves; when, at length, one evening the sultan commanded them to his presence, and requested a narrative, when one of them related the following story. history of the sultan of hind. in ancient days there lived a sultan of hind, than whom no prince of the age was greater in extent of territory, riches, or force; but heaven had not allotted to him offspring, either male or female: on which account he was involved in sorrow. one morning, being even more melancholy than usual, he put on a red habit, and repaired to his divan; when his vizier, alarmed at the robes of mourning, said, "what can have occasioned my lord to put on this gloomy habit?" "alas!" replied the sultan, "my soul is this morning overclouded with melancholy." "repair then to the treasury," said the vizier, "and view thy wealth; as, perhaps, the lustre of gold, and the brilliant sparkling of jewels, may amuse thy senses and disperse thy sorrow." "vizier," answered the sultan, "this world to me is all vanity; i regard nothing but the contemplation of the deity: yet how can i be relieved from melancholy, since i have lived to this age and he has not blessed me with children, either sons or daughters, who are the ornaments of manhood in this world?" the sultan had scarcely ceased speaking, when a human figure of a dusky hue appeared before him, and said, "my sovereign, here is a confection left me by my ancestors, with an assurance, that whoever might eat of it would have offspring." the sultan eagerly took the confection, and by the blessing of allah, one of the ladies of his haram conceived that very night. when her pregnancy was made known to him, the sultan was overjoyed, distributed large sums in charity to the poor, and every day comforted the distressed by his bounty. when the sultana had gone her full time, she was delivered of a son beautiful in aspect, and of graceful person; at which the sultan became overjoyed, and on that day set apart one half of his treasures for the use of the infant prince, who was intrusted to the charge of experienced nurses. after he had thrived sufficiently at the breast he was weaned, and at six years of age put under the care of learned tutors, who taught him to write, to read the koran, and instructed him in the other several branches of literature. when he had completed his twelfth year, he was accomplished in horsemanship, archery, and throwing the lance, till at length he became a distinguished cavalier, and excelled the most celebrated equestrians. the young prince being on a certain day hunting in the vicinity of the capital, there suddenly appeared soaring and wheeling in the air a bird, whose plumage was of the most beautiful and glossy green. the prince let fly an arrow, but without effect, and the bird suddenly disappeared. it was in vain that he turned his eye to all quarters, in hopes of again discovering his wished-for prey, for the bird had flown out of sight, and the prince after searching in all directions till the close of day, returned vexed and much disappointed to his father's palace. on his entrance, the sultan and sultana perceiving his countenance gloomy, inquired the cause of his melancholy, when he informed them of the bird: upon which, they said, "dear son, the creatures of the almighty are innumerably diversified; and, doubtless, there are many birds as beautiful, and wonderfully more so than this, whose escape you so much regret." "it may be so," replied the prince; "but unless i shall be able to take this, which has so captivated my fancy, i will abstain from food." on the following morning the prince repaired again to the chase, and having reached the same spot on the plain, to his great joy beheld the green bird. having taken a cautious aim, he let fly an arrow; but she evaded it, and soared before him in the air. the prince spurred his courser and followed, keeping his desired prey in sight unceasingly till sunset; when both himself and his horse being exhausted he gave up the pursuit, and returned towards the city. as he was riding slowly, and almost fainting with hunger and fatigue, there met him a venerable looking personage, who said, "prince, both thyself and thy charger seem exhausted; what can have been the cause of such over exercise?" "father," answered the prince, "i have been pursuing, but in vain, a beautiful green bird, on which i had set my mind." "son," replied the sage, "if thou wert to follow it for a whole year's journey, thy pursuit would be useless; for thou couldst never take it. this bird comes from a city in the country of kafoor, in which are most delightful gardens abounding in such birds as this, and many other species still more beautiful, some of which sing enchantingly, and others talk like human beings; but, alas thou canst never reach that happy spot. give up then all thoughts of the bird, and seek some other object for a favourite that thou mayst enjoy repose, and no longer vex thyself for impossibilities." when the prince heard this from the old man, he exclaimed, "by allah! nothing shall prevent me from visiting the charming country thou hast mentioned;" and leaving the sage, he rode homewards, his mind wholly taken up in meditating on the land of kafoor. when the prince had reached the palace, the sultan perceiving his disordered state, inquired the adventures of the day; and being informed of his fruitless pursuit, and the remarks of the old man, said, "my son, discharge this idle chimera from thy mind, nor perplex thyself longer, since he who wishes for an impossibility may pine himself to death, but can never gain his desires: calm then thy soul, nor vex thyself longer in vain." "by allah!" answered the prince, "my soul, o my father, is captivated with the desire of possessing this bird more strongly than ever, from the words of the venerable old man; nor is it possible i can enjoy repose till i have travelled to the island of kafoor, and beheld the gardens containing such a wonderful feathered species." "alas! my dear son," exclaimed the sultan, "think how afflicting must be to myself and thy mother thy absence from our sight, and for our sakes give up such a fruitless expedition." the prince, notwithstanding the remonstrances of his father, continued obstinate, and said, "my travelling is inevitable: grant me then permission, or i will put myself to death." "if so," exclaimed the affrighted sultan, "there is no refuge or help but from the omnipotent allah: well has the proverb remarked, that the nestling would not be restrained from the air, when suddenly the raven pounced upon it and bore it away. heaven guard my son from the consequences of his imprudence." having said thus, the sultan commanded preparations for the requisites of travel, and ordered a force to accompany the headstrong prince; who, having taken leave of his afflicted parents, began his expedition towards the country of kafoor. the prince pursued his journey without any extraordinary adventure for a whole month, and at the expiration of it arrived at a spot from which branched out three roads. at the junction of them was erected a lofty pyramid, each face fronting one of the roads. on one face was inscribed, "this is named the path of safety:" on the second, "this is called the way of repentance:" and on the third, "whoever follows this road will not probably return." "i will pursue this last," said the prince to himself, and accordingly striking into it, proceeded onwards for twenty days, at the end of which he encamped near a desolated city, crumbling into ruin, wholly destitute of inhabitants. he commanded his attendants, as no provisions could be found in the city, to kill five sheep of the flocks he had brought with him, and dress them for their refreshment in various ways. when all were ready, and the simmaut was spread out, having performed his ablutions, he sat down with his principal followers. the prince and his company had scarcely seated themselves, when, lo! there advanced from the desolated city a genie, whom the prince seeing, stood up, and thus accosted, "hail! and welcome to the sovereign of the aoon, friendly to his brethren, and ruler of this extensive desert." he then addressed him, flatteringly, in fluent language and eloquent expression. the hair of this oone genie hung shaggily over his eyes, and flowed in matted tresses upon his shoulders. the prince took out a pair of scissors, and having condescendingly cut his hair, pared his nails, and washed him, seated him at the cloth, and placed before him the dish dressed peculiarly for himself. the oone ate, and was delighted with the affability of the prince, whom he addressed, saying, "by allah, o mahummud, son of a sultan! i am doomed to death by thy arrival here; but what, my lord, was thy object in coming?" upon this the prince informed him of his having seen the bird, his vain attempts to take her, the account he had received from the old man, and his resolution, in consequence of his information, to penetrate to the kingdom of kafoor, to visit the gardens, and bring away some of the wonderful birds. when the oone heard this, he said, "o son of a sultan, that country to thee is impenetrable, thou canst not reach it; for the distance from hence is a journey of three hundred years to the most laborious traveller; how then canst thou hope to arrive at it, much more return? but, my son, the good old proverb remarks, that kindness should be returned with kindness, and evil with evil, and that none are so cruel or so benevolent as the inhabitants of the desert. as thou hast treated me kindly, so, god willing, shalt thou have a return for thy goodness; but thou must leave here thy attendants and thy effects. thou and i only will go together, and i will accomplish thy wish in gratitude for what thou hast done for me." the prince immediately retired from his encampment with the oone, who said, "mount upon my shoulders." the prince obeyed the commands of the oone, who having first stopped his rider's ears with cotton, mounted into the air, and after soaring for some hours descended; when the prince found himself in the island of kafoor, and near the desired garden. having alighted from the shoulders of the generous oone, he examined the spot, beheld groves, blooming shrubs, flowers bordering clear streams, and beautiful birds chanting various melodies. the oone said, "behold the object, of thy search, enter the garden!" upon this the prince left him, passed the gate, which was open, and entered. he walked on every quarter, and depending from the branches of flowering shrubs saw cages holding a variety of beautiful birds, two birds in each cage. the prince took down a large cage, and having examined the birds, placed in it such as pleased him to the number of six, with which he was preparing to leave the garden; when at the gate a watchman met him, who cried out loudly, "a robber! a robber!" instantly numerous guards rushing out, seized the prince, bound, and carried him before the sultan, to whom they complained, saying, "we found in the garden this young man, carrying off a cage with six birds. he must certainly be a robber." the sultan addressed the prince, saying, "what induced thee, youthful stranger, to violate my property, trespass on the garden, and attempt stealing these birds?" the prince returned no answer: upon which the sultan exclaimed, "young man, thou art verging upon death; yet still, if thy soul is bent upon having these birds, bring me from the black island some bunches of grapes, which are composed of emeralds and diamonds, and i will give thee six birds in addition to those thou hast stolen." having said this, the sultan released the prince, who repaired to his generous friend the oone, whom he informed of the unlucky conclusion of his adventure. "our task is an easy one," answered the oone; "mount upon my shoulders." the prince did as he was desired, and after two hours flight the oone descended and alighted, when the prince found himself in the black island. he immediately advanced towards the garden in which was the fruit composed of emeralds and diamonds. on the way a monster met him of terrible appearance. the monster sprung at the prince, who, with surprising agility, drawing his sword, wounded the furious beast on the forehead with such effect, that, uttering a dreadful groan, he fell dead at his feet. it happened, by divine decree, that the sultan's daughter looking from a window of the haram, beheld the combat, and, stricken with the manly beauty and prowess of the prince, exclaimed, "who can withstand thy courage, or who resist thy all conquering charms?" but he did not see the princess, or hear her applause. the prince, after having slain the monster, proceeded to the garden, the gate of which he found open, and on entering, perceived variety of artificial trees composed of precious stones. among them was one resembling the vine, the fruits of which were of emeralds and diamonds. he plucked off six bunches, and was quitting the garden when a sentinel met him; who, being alarmed, cried out, "a robber! a robber!" the guards rushed out, and having bound him, carried him before the sultan, saying, "my lord, we found this youth stealing the fruit from the garden of jewels." the sultan was enraged, and on the point of ordering him to be put to death, when a number of persons entered, crying out, "good tidings to our sovereign." "on what account?" exclaimed the sultan. "the horrible monster," replied they, "who used annually to appear and devour our sons and daughters, we have just now found dead and cloven in two." the sultan was so rejoiced at this happy event, that he refrained from the blood of the prince, and exclaimed, "whoever has destroyed this monster let him come to me, and i swear by allah, who has invested me with royalty, that i will give him my daughter in marriage; and whatever else he may desire, even to the half of my empire." upon the sultan's declaration being proclaimed, several young men appeared, pretending that they had killed the monster, and gave various accounts of the combat, which made the prince smile. "by allah! it is strange," said the sultan, "that a youth in such a perilous situation should be so unconcerned as to smile." while the sultan was ruminating on this occurrence, a eunuch entered from the haram, requesting that he would come and speak to the princess his daughter, who had business of importance to communicate; upon which the sultan arose, and retired from the hall of audience. when the sultan had entered the princess's apartment, he said, "what can have happened which has occasioned you to send for me so suddenly?" she replied, "is it thy wish to know who slew the monster, and to reward the courageous hero?" "by allah," answered the sultan, "who created subjects and their sovereigns, if i can discover him, my first offer to him shall be to espouse thee, whatever be his condition, or though he dwell in the most distant region." the princess rejoined, "no one slew the monster but the youth who entered the garden of gems, and was bearing off the fruit, whom thou wast just now on the point of putting to death." when the sultan heard the above from his daughter, he returned to the divan, and calling the prince before him, said, "young man, i grant thee thy pardon; art thou he who destroyed the monster?" "i am," replied the prince. the sultan would instantly have summoned the cauzee to perform the espousals; but the prince said, "i have a friend to consult; permit me to retire, and i will soon return." the sultan consented, saying, "thy request is but reasonable; but come back quickly." the prince having repaired to his friend the oone, informed him of what had happened to him, and of the offer of the sultan's daughter in marriage: upon which the oone said, "accept the princess; but on condition that, if you marry her, you shall be allowed to carry her to your own kingdom." the prince having returned to the sultan, proposed his terms, which were readily agreed to, and the nuptials were celebrated with the most splendid magnificence. after abiding in the palace of the sultan for a month and three days, he requested permission to depart with his bride towards his own country, which was granted. on the departure of the prince, his father-in-law presented him with a hundred bunches of the grapes composed of emeralds and diamonds, and he repaired to his friend the oone; who, having first stopped their ears with cotton, mounted them upon his shoulders, and soaring into the air, after two hours descended near the capital of the island of kafoor. the prince, taking four bunches of the jewelled fruit, hastened to the palace, and laid them before the sultan; who, in astonishment, exclaimed, "surely, this young stranger must be a powerful magician, or how could he have travelled the distance of three hundred years' journey, and have accomplished his purpose in less time than three months! such an action is truly miraculous. hast thou, indeed, young man," said the sultan, "been at the black island?" "i have," answered the prince. "describe it to me," replied the sultan, "its appearance, its buildings, its gardens, and rivers." the prince having answered all his queries, the sultan said, "noble youth, you may assuredly ask of me whatever you wish!" "i want nothing but the birds," rejoined the prince. "they are thine," returned the sultan; "but annually on a certain day, and this is it, there descends from yonder mountain a monstrous vulture, which tears in pieces our men, women, and children; and having flown away with them in his gigantic talons devours their flesh. i have a beautiful daughter, whom, if thou canst overcome this calamitous monster, i will give to thee in marriage." the prince replied, "i will consult my friend;" and then returned to the oone, whom he informed of the offer; but he had scarcely done speaking, when, lo! the vulture appeared: upon which the oone, ascending into the air, attacked the monster, and after a fierce combat, tore him into halves; after which he descended to the prince, and said, "go to the sultan, and acquaint him that his destructive enemy is slain." the prince did as he was directed: upon which the sultan with his train, and an immense crowd of the inhabitants of the city, came out on horseback, and beheld the monstrous vulture, stretched dead on the ground, torn in halves. the sultan then conducted the prince of hind to the palace; where his marriage with the princess was instantly celebrated, amid the highest festivity and rejoicings; and after remaining a full month at the sultan's court, he requested leave to depart; when his father-in-law presented him with ten cages, in each of which were four of the beautiful birds of variously coloured plumage, and dismissed him, after an affectionate farewell, with his daughter. the prince having departed from the sultan repaired to his faithful friend the oone, who welcomed his return; and having mounted him upon his back with his two brides, his jewel fruit, and the cages, immediately ascended into the air, from whence, after soaring for some hours, he gradually descended, and alighted near the ruined city, where the prince had left his tents, cattle, and followers, whom he found anxiously expecting his arrival. the friendly oone had scarcely set him down, when he said to the prince, "my young friend mahummud, the obligation already conferred upon me by thy coming here was great; but i have one more favour to request." "what can that be?" replied the prince. "that thou leave not this spot," continued the oone, "until thou hast washed my corpse, enshrouded, and laid it in the grave." having said thus, the oone suddenly uttered one loud groan, and instantly his soul took its flight from the body. the astonished prince stood for some time overpowered with sorrow; but at length recovering himself, he, with the assistance of his domestics, washed the corpse, wrapped it in a winding sheet, and having prayed over it, deposited it in the earth. the funeral ceremonies of his friend being over, he commenced his march homewards, and after three days arrived in sight of the inscribed pyramid, near which he perceived an extensive encampment, which, on reconnoitring, he found to be that of his father. the aged sultan, unable to bear the absence of his son, had marched from his capital in hopes of overtaking him; but on his arrival at the junction of the three ways, being confounded at the sight of the inscriptions, he had halted, not knowing where to proceed. great was his joy on discovering the prince advancing towards that face of the pyramid on which was engraved, "whoever travels this road will probably never return." when the raptures of meeting and mutual congratulations were over, the prince informed the sultan of his wonderful and successful adventures, which overpowered him with astonishment and joy. after reposing a few days, they proceeded towards the capital of the sultan; where tidings having arrived of their approach, the inhabitants ornamented the city with silks, carpets, and transparent paintings; and the nobles and respectable persons issued forth with splendid trains to meet and congratulate their sovereign and the prince, who entered in triumphal procession, amid the greatest rejoicings and prayers for their welfare and prosperity. story of the fisherman's son. a fisherman's son having in company with his father caught a large fish, the latter proposed to present it to the sultan, in hopes of receiving a great reward. while he was gone home to fetch a basket, the son, moved by compassion, returned the fish into the water; but fearful of his father's anger, fled from his country, and repaired to a distant city, where he was entertained by a person as a servant. strolling one day in the market, he saw a jew purchase of a lad a cock at a very high price, and send it by his slave to his wife, with orders to keep it safely till his return home. the fisherman's son supposing that as the jew gave so great a price for the cock it must possess some extraordinary property, resolved to obtain it; and, accordingly, having bought two large fowls, carried them to the jew's wife, whom he informed that her husband had sent him for the cock, which he had exchanged for the fowls. she gave it him; and he having retired, killed the bird, in whose entrails he found a magical ring; which being rubbed by his touch, a voice proceeded from it demanding what were the commands of its possessor, which should be immediately executed by the genii who were servants of the ring. the fisherman's son was rejoiced at his good fortune, and while meditating what use he should make of his ring, passed by the sultan's palace, at the gates of which were suspended many human heads. he inquired the reason, and was informed that they were those of unfortunate princes, who having failed in performing the conditions on which the sultan's daughter was offered them in marriage, had been put to death. hoping to be more fortunate than them by the aid of his ring, he resolved to demand the princess's hand. he rubbed the ring, when the voice asked his commands: upon which he required a rich dress, and it was instantly laid before him. he put it on, repaired to the palace, and being introduced to the sultan, demanded his daughter to wife. the sultan consented, on condition that his life should be forfeited unless he should remove a lofty and extensive mound of sand that lay on one side of the palace, which must be done before he could wed the princess. he accepted the condition; but demanded an interval of forty days to perform the task. this being agreed to, he took his leave, and having repaired to his lodging, rubbed his ring, commanded the genii to remove the mound, and erect on the space it covered a magnificent palace, and to furnish it suitably for a royal residence. in fifteen days the task was completed; he was wedded to the princess, and declared heir to the sultan. in the mean while, the jew whom he had tricked of the cock and the magical ring resolved to travel in search of his lost prize, and at last arrived at the city, where he was informed of the wonderful removal of the mound, and the erection of the palace. he guessed that it must have been done by means of his ring, to recover which he planned the following stratagem. having disguised himself as a merchant, he repaired to the palace, and cried for sale valuable jewels. the princess hearing him, sent an attendant to examine them and inquire their price, when the jew asked in exchange only old rings. this being told to the princess, she recollected that her husband kept an old shabby looking ring in his writing stand, and he being asleep, she took it out, and sent it to the jew; who, knowing it to be the one he had so long sought for, eagerly gave for it all the jewels in his basket. he retired with his prize, and having rubbed the ring, commanded the genii to convey the palace and all its inhabitants, excepting the fisherman's son, into a distant desert island, which was done instantly. the fisherman's son, on awaking in the morning, found himself lying on the mound of sand, which had reoccupied its old spot. he arose, and in alarm lest the sultan should put him to death in revenge for the loss of his daughter, fled to another kingdom as quickly as possible. here he endured a disconsolate life, subsisting on the sale of some jewels, which he happened to have upon his dress at his flight. wandering one day through a town, a man offered him for sale a dog, a cat, and a rat, which he purchased, and kept, diverting his melancholy with their tricks, and uncommon playfulness together. these seeming animals proved to be magicians; who, in return for his kindness, agreed to recover for their master his lost prize, and informed him of their intention. he eagerly thanked them, and they all set out in search of the palace, the ring, and the princess. at length they reached the shore of the ocean, after much travel, and descried the island on which it stood, when the dog swam over, carrying on his back the cat and the rat. being landed, they proceeded to the palace; when the rat entered, and perceived the jew asleep upon a sofa, with the ring laid before him, which he seized in his mouth, and then returned to his companions. they began to cross the sea, as before, but when about half over the dog expressed a wish to carry the ring in his mouth. the rat refused, lest he should drop it; but the dog threatened, unless he would give it him, to dive and drown them both in the sea. the rat, alarmed for his life, complied with his demand: but the dog missed his aim in snatching at the ring, which fell into the ocean. they landed, and informed the fisherman's son of his loss: upon which he, in despair, resolved to drown himself; when suddenly, as he was going to execute his purpose, a great fish appearing with the ring in his mouth, swam close to shore, and having dropped it within reach of the despairing youth, miraculously exclaimed, "i am the fish which you released from captivity, and thus reward you for your generosity." the fisherman's son, overjoyed, returned to his father-in-law's capital, and at night rubbing the ring, commanded the genii to convey the palace to its old site. this being done in an instant, he entered the palace, and seized the jew, whom he commanded to be cast alive into a burning pile, in which he was consumed. from this period he lived happily with his princess, and on the death of the sultan succeeded to his dominions. story of abou neeut and abou neeuteen; or, the well-intentioned and the double-minded. a person named abou neeut, or the well-intentioned, being much distressed in his own country, resolved to seek a better livelihood in another. accordingly he took with him all he possessed, being only one single sherif, and began his journey. he had not travelled far when there overtook him a man, who entertained him with his conversation; in the course of which it appeared that his name was abou neeuteen, or double-minded. being upon the same scheme, they agreed to seek their fortunes together, and it was settled that abou neeut should be the purse-bearer of the common stock. the other possessed ten sherifs. after some days of toilsome journey they reached a city; on entering which, a beggar accosted them, crying out, "worthy believers, disburse your alms and ye shall be rewarded ten-fold." upon this, abou neeut gave him a sherif; when his companion, enraged at what he thought prodigality, demanded back his money, which was given him, and he marched off leaving his new friend without any thing. abou neeut, resigned to his fate, and relying on providence, proceeded to a mosque to pay his devotions, hoping to meet some charitable person who would relieve his necessities; but he was mistaken. for a night and day he remained in the mosque, but no one offered him charity. pressed by hunger, he in the dusk of evening stole out, and wandered with fainting steps through the streets. at length perceiving a servant throwing the fragments from an eating cloth, he advanced, and gathering them up, sat down in a corner, and gnawed the bones and half-eaten morsels with eagerness; after which, lifting up his eyes towards heaven, he thanked god for his scanty meal. the servant, who had observed his motions, was surprised and affected at his wretched condition and devotion, of which he informed his master; who, being a charitable man, took from his purse ten sherifs, which he ordered the servant to give to abou neeut. the servant, through avarice, having retained one sherif as a perquisite, delivered the rest to abou neeut; who, having counted the money, thanked god for his bounty; but said, agreeably to the scriptural declaration he ought to have had ten-fold for the sherif he had given to the beggar. the master of the servant overhearing this, called abou neeut up stairs; and having seated him, inquired his story, which he faithfully related to his host, who was a capital merchant, and was so much pleased at his pious simplicity, that he resolved to befriend him, and desired him to abide for the present in his house. abou neeut had resided some days with his friendly host, when the season arrived at which the merchant, who was punctual in discharging the duties of religion, having examined his stock, set apart the tenth of it in kind, and bestowed it upon his guest, whom he advised to open a shop and try his fortune in trade. abou neeut did so, and was so successful, that in a few years he became one of the most reputable merchants in the place. at the end of this period, sitting one day in his warehouse, he saw in the streets wretchedly habited, lean, and with eyes sunken and dim, his old companion abou neeuteen, begging alms of passengers with the importunate cry of distress. abou neeut compassionating his miserable situation, ordered a servant to call him to him; and on his arrival, having seated him, sent for refreshments to relieve his immediate want. he then invited him to spend the night at his house; and in the evening, having shut up his warehouse, conducted him home, where a bath was made warm for him, and when he had bathed, he was presented with a change of handsome apparel. supper was served, and when they had eaten till they were satisfied they conversed on several subjects. at length abou neeut exclaimed, "dost thou not recollect me, my brother?" "no, by allah, most liberal host," replied the other; "but who art thou?" "i was," answered abou neeut, "the companion of thy travel at such a period; but my disposition is still unchanged, nor have i forgotten our old connection. half of what i possess is thine." having said this, abou neeut balanced his accounts, and gave half of his property to his distressed fellow traveller; who with it stocked a warehouse, and traded for himself with good success. for some time the two friends lived near each other in great repute, when abou neeuteen growing restless, requested abou neeut to quit their present abode, and travel for recreation and profit. "my dear friend," replied abou neeut, "why should we travel? have we not here affluence and ease, and what more can we enjoy in any part of the world?" this remonstrance had no effect on abou neeuteen, who became so importunate, that at length his kind friend yielded to his whim; they loaded an ample stock of merchandize on mules and camels, and departed for the city of moussul. after travelling ten days, they one evening encamped near a deep well, round which they took up their lodging. in the morning abou neeut, by his own desire, was let down into the well, more readily to fill the water bags for the use of the caravan, men and cattle, little apprehending what was by providence decreed to befall him; for his ungrateful friend, who envied his prosperity, and coveted his wealth, having loaded the beasts, cut the rope at the top of the well, and leaving him to his fate, departed. abou neeut remained all day without food, but humbly putting his trust in allah for deliverance. about the middle of the following night he overheard two afreets in conversation with each other, when one said, "i am now perfectly happy: for at length i have possessed the beautiful princess of moussul, and no one can drive me away, unless by sprinkling the infusion of wormwood under her feet on a friday during divine service in the great mosque, a recipe which will hardly be found out." "i," continued the other afreet, "have been as fortunate as yourself: for i am in possession of such a hidden treasure of gold and jewels, under the mound near moussul, as cannot be computed, the talisman of which cannot be opened to any one unless by killing on the mound a white cock, and pouring over it the blood; which secret i judge, will not be found out by man." having said this, the afreets took their flight from the well. abou neeut treasured up in his mind the conversation of the afreets, and at day-light was happily delivered from the well by the arrival of a caravan, some of the followers of which were let down to fill water, and having discovered him, charitably drew him up, and gave him some refreshments. when he was somewhat revived by them, they inquired by what accident he had remained in the well; and he, concealing the treachery of his ungrateful companion, informed them that having reposed to sleep on the edge he had fallen in, and not being missed at the time by his fellow travellers, the caravan had proceeded on its journey. he then begged leave to accompany his generous deliverers to moussul, to which they agreed, and liberally furnished him with a conveyance. on entering the city abou neeut perceived all the people in motion, and on inquiring the reason, was informed that they were hastening to the great square before the palace, to see the beheading of a physician, who had failed in attempting to expel an evil spirit that had long possessed the daughter of the sultan, and that such had been the fate of many unhappy men who had tried their skill upon the unfortunate princess. upon this intelligence he hastened with all speed to the palace, and having obtained admission to the sultan, made the usual prostrations; after which he offered to expel the evil spirit, and begged as part of his reward the sparing of the life of the unsuccessful physician. to this the sultan for the present agreed; but declared, that should abou neeut fail in his undertaking, he would execute them together, as ignorant pretenders in their art. abou neeut then begged that the trial of his skill might be deferred till the friday, which he requested of the sultan might be solemnly observed, as the devout prayers of all true believers would draw down a blessing on his operations. the sultan consented; the unfortunate physician was released from the executioner, and commanded to be kept in the palace, in which abou neeut had also an apartment allotted him. proclamation was then made through the city for the strict celebration of the approaching sabbath, under pain of the royal displeasure on those who should neglect it. friday being arrived, and the whole city assembled at prayers, abou neeut prepared his infusion of wormwood, as the afreet had mentioned. being introduced into the apartment of the princess, who lay in a melancholy stupor, he poured the infusion upon her feet, when a loud yell was heard near her, and she starting up, as if from sleep, called upon her attendants to assist her in rising. news was immediately conveyed to the sultan of the princess's recovery, and he came overjoyed to witness her returned senses. he commanded public rejoicings to be made, large sums to be distributed in alms, and desired abou neeut to demand what he chose in reward for his important service, at the same time ordering the unsuccessful physician to be set at liberty, with a handsome present. abou neeut, who had been captivated by the beauty of the princess, asked, as his reward, her hand in marriage: upon which the sultan consulted with his viziers, who advised him to dismiss the petitioner for the present, with orders to return in the morning, when he should receive the sultan's decision on a request which demanded much consideration. when abou neeut had retired, the viziers represented to the sultan, that it was fitting the husband of his daughter should at least possess great wealth: for though abou neeut had expelled the evil spirit, yet if he could not support her in a manner becoming her rank, he was not worthy to marry her. they, therefore, advised him to select a number of his most valuable jewels, to shew them to abou neeut, and demand as a dowry for the princess some of equal estimation; which if he could produce he was ready to receive him as his son-in-law; but if not, he must accept a compensation for his services more suited to his condition than the royal alliance. on abou neeut's appearance at court the next morning the sultan displayed the jewels, and made the proposal advised by his viziers; when looking with the utmost indifference upon the brilliant stones before him, he assured the sultan that he would the next day present him with ten times the number, of superior value and lustre; which declaration astonished the whole court, as it was known that no prince possessed richer gems than those in possession of the sultan of moussul. abou neeut having taken leave of the sultan proceeded to the poultry market, and having purchased a cock entirely white and free from blemish, brought it to his lodgings, where he continued till the rising of the moon, when he walked out of the city alone, and speeded to the mound of blueish earth mentioned by the afreet of the well to contain the invaluable hidden treasure. being arrived at the mound, he ascended it, cut the throat of the cock, whose blood began to flow, when, lo! the earth shook, and soon made an opening, through which, to his great satisfaction, he perceived such heaps of inestimable precious stones, of all sorts, as are not to be adequately described, abou neeut now went back to the city, where, having procured ten camels, with two panniers on each, he returned and loaded them with his treasure, which he conveyed to his lodging, having first filled up the cavity of the mound. in the morning abou neeut repaired with his loaded camels to the palace, and entering the court of the divan, in which the sultan sat expecting him, after a profound obeisance, cried out, "descend for a moment, my lord, and examine the dowry of the princess." the sultan, arising from his throne, came down the steps of the hall, and the camels being made to kneel, he examined the panniers, and was so astonished at the richness of their contents, being jewels far surpassing his own in size and lustre, that he exclaimed, "by allah! if the treasuries of all the sultans of the world were brought together they could not afford gems equal to these." when somewhat recovered from his surprise, he inquired of his viziers how he should now act towards abou neeut; when they all unanimously cried out, "by all means give him your daughter." the marriage was then immediately celebrated with great splendour, and abou neeut conducted himself so well in his high station, that the sultan his father-in-law committed to him the giving public audience in his stead, and the decision of all appeals, three days in each week. some time had elapsed after his elevation, when abou neeut one day giving audience in the magnificent hall of one of his country palaces, beheld a man among the crowd of a sorrowful aspect, dressed in a wretched habit, who cried, "o true believers, o charitable gentlemen, relieve the distressed!" abou neeut commanded one of his mace-bearers to bring him to his presence, and on his appearance recognized his treacherous companion who had left him in the well. without making himself known, or betraying any emotion but that of compassion, he ordered attendants to conduct him to the warm bath; in which being refreshed, he was arrayed in a magnificent habit, and again brought to the divan. abou neeut having retired with him into a closet, said, "knowest them me not, my old friend?" "no, by allah," replied the other. "know then," returned he, "that i am abou neeut, thy benefactor and companion, whom you treacherously left in the well." he then related all his adventures, concluding them with an assurance, that so far from resenting his treachery, he regarded his conduit as the impulse of fate, and as the means by which he, himself, had attained his present dignity and affluence, which he would share with him. the envious heart of abou neeuteen was unconquerable; and instead of thanking the noble-minded abou neeut for his forgiveness and liberality, he exclaimed, "since the well has been to thee so fortunate, why should it not prove so also to me?" having said this, he hastily rose up and quitted abou neeut, who would not punish such rudeness, even without taking leave. abou neeuteen hastened with all speed to the well, and having descended by a rope, sat down, impatiently expecting the arrival of the afreets, who about midnight alighted, and resting themselves on the terrace above, began to inquire each other's adventures. "since we met last," said one, "i have been rendered miserable; for a cunning mussulmaun found out the secret of overpowering me, and has married my princess, nor can i revenge myself, for he is under the protection of a converted genie, whom the prophet has appointed to watch over him." "i," continued the other afreet, "have been equally unfortunate with thyself; for the same man who has wedded thy mistress discovered my hidden treasure, and keeps it in spite of my attempts to recover it: but let us fill up this abominable well, which must have been the cause of all our disasters." having said thus, the two afreets immediately hurled the terrace and large stones into the well, which crushed the ungrateful and envious abou neeuteen to atoms. some days after this, the good abou neeut, finding he did not return, repaired to the well, and seeing it fallen in, ordered it to be cleared; when the discovery of the body proved to him that the malicious spirit of the wretch had been the cause of his own destruction. he with reverence exclaimed, "there is no refuge but with the almighty; may he preserve us from envy, which is destructive to the envious alone!" abou neeut returned to the capital, where, not long after, his father-in-law the sultan dying, left him heir to his kingdom. his succession was disputed by the husbands of the two elder sisters of his wife; but the ministers and people being in favour of the sultan's will, they resigned their pretensions and submitted to his authority. his wife being brought to bed of a son, her sisters bribed the midwife to pretend that the sultana had produced a dog. they did the same by another son. at the third lying-in of the sultana abou neeut resolved to be present, and a beautiful princess appeared. the two infant princes having been thrown at the gate of one of the royal palaces, were taken up by the gardener and his wife, who brought them up as their own. abou neeut in visiting the garden with his daughter, who shewed an instinctive affection for them, from this, and their martial play with each other (having made horses of clay, bows and arrows, &c.), was induced to inquire of the gardener whether they were really his own children. the gardener upon this related the circumstance of his having found them exposed at the gate of the palace, and mentioned the times, which agreed exactly with those of the sultana's delivery. abou neeut then questioned the midwife, who confessed the imposition and wickedness of the sisters, whom he left to be punished by the pangs of their own consciences, convinced that envy is its own severest tormentor. the young princes were acknowledged; and the good abou neeut had the satisfaction of seeing them grow up to follow his example. adventure of a courtier, related by himself to his patron, an ameer of egypt. it is related by an historian that there was an ameer of the land of egypt, whose mind being one night unusually disturbed, he sent for one of his courtiers, a convivial companion, and said to him, "to-night my bosom, from what cause i know not, is uncommonly restless, and i wish thee to divert me by some amusing narrative." the courtier replied, "to hear is to obey: i will describe an adventure which i encountered in the youthful part of my life." when a very young man i was deeply in love with a beautiful arab maiden, adorned by every elegance and grace, who resided with her parents; and i used frequently to visit their camp, for her family was one of the desert tribes. one day my mind felt uncommonly anxious concerning her, and i resolved to seek relief by a visit; but when i reached the spot found neither my beloved nor any of her kindred. i questioned some passengers, who informed me that the family had removed their encampment from scarcity of forage for their herds and camels. i remained for some time on the ground; but observing no signs of their return, my impatience of absence became intolerable, and my love compelled me to travel in search of my charmer. though the shades of evening were falling, i replaced the saddle upon my camel, put on my vestments, and girding on my sabre proceeded. i had advanced some distance, when the night became dismally black, and from the darkness i now sunk into sands and hollows, and now ascended declivities, while the yells of wild beasts resounded on every quarter. my heart beat with apprehension, and my tongue did not cease to repeat the attributes of the almighty, our only defender in time of need. at length stupor overcame my senses, and i slept; while my camel quitted the track, and wandered from the route i had meant to pursue all night. suddenly my head was violently intercepted by the branch of a tree, and i was awakened by the blow, which gave me infinite pain. as i recovered myself i beheld trees, verdure sprinkled with flowers, and a clear rivulet; also a variety of birds, whose notes were melodiously sweet. i alighted from my camel, and laid the bridle on my arm, as the underwood of the thicket was closely entwined. i did not cease leading my camel till i was out of the thicket, when i remounted; but at a loss which way to go, and unknowing where providence might direct me, i reached the desert, and cast my eyes over the expanse; when, lo! at length a smoke appeared in the midst of it. i whipped my camel, and at length reached a fire, and near it observed a handsome tent, before which was a standard planted, surrounded by spears, horses picketted, and camels grazing. i said to myself, "what can mean this tent, which has a grand appearance, in so solitary a plain?" i then went to the rear of the tent, and exclaimed, "health to you, o inhabitants of this tent, and may the almighty to you be merciful!" upon this there advanced from it a youth, seemingly about nineteen, who appeared graceful as the rising moon, and valour and benevolence gleamed upon his aspect. he returned my salutation, and said, "brother arab, perchance thou hast missed thy way." i answered, "yes, shew it, and may god requite thee!" upon which he replied, "my dwelling, brother arab, is at present in this wild spot; but the night is dreary, and shouldst thou proceed there is no surety against wild beasts tearing thee in pieces. lodge, then, at present with me in safety, and repose, and when day shall appear i will direct thee on thy way." i alighted, when he took my camel, picketted her, and gave her water and fodder. he then retired for a while; but returned with a sheep, which he killed, flayed, and cut up; then lighted a fire, and when it was of a proper glow broiled part of the sheep, which he had previously seasoned with sundry dried herbs, seeds, and spices, and when ready presented his cookery to me. during his hospitalities i observed that my kind host sometimes beat his breast and wept, from which i guessed that he was in love, and a wanderer, like myself. my curiosity was raised; but i said within myself, "i am his guest, why should i intrude upon him by painful questions?" and refrained from inquiry. when i had eaten as much as sufficed me, the youth arose, went into his tent, and brought out a basin and ewer, with a napkin embroidered with silk and fringed with gold; also a cruet of rose water, in which musk had been infused. i was astonished at his proceedings, and the politeness of his demeanour, and exclaimed inwardly, "how wonderful is the abode of so accomplished a personage in this wild desert." we made our ablutions, and conversed awhile upon various subjects; after which my gentle host went to his tent, from whence he brought out a piece of red silk damask, which he divided between us, saying, "brother arab, go into my tent and choose thy place of repose, for last night and to-day great must have been thy hardship and fatigue." i entered the tent, and in one partition of it found a mattress of green damask: upon which, having pulled off my upper garments, i lay down, and slept so soundly that i never enjoyed, before or since, so refreshing a repose. at length i awoke, when night was far advanced, and became involved in thought respecting my hospitable host; but knew not what to conjecture, and was sinking again into slumber, when, lo! gentle murmurs struck my ears, than which i never heard sound more soft or tenderly affecting. i lifted up the curtain of my partition, and looked around, when i beheld a damsel more beautiful than any i had ever seen, seated by the generous owner of the tent. they wept and complained of the agonies of love, of separation and interruptions to their desire of frequent meetings. then i said within myself, "there is a wonderfully dignified appearance in this amiable youth, yet he lives alone, and i have seen no other tent on the plain. what can i conjecture, but that this damsel must be a daughter of one of the good genii, who has fallen in love with him, and upon her account he has retired to this solitary spot?" respect for their love made me drop the curtain; i drew the coverlid over me, and again fell asleep. when the morning dawned i awoke, dressed, and having performed my ablutions and prayers, said to the young man, who had already risen, "brother arab, if in addition to thy hospitalities already shewn thou wilt put me in my way, my obligations will be complete." he looked kindly, and said, "if convenient, my brother, let me entertain thee as my guest for three days." i could not refuse his hospitable request, and abode with him. on the third day i ventured to inquire his name and family, when he replied, "i am of the noble tribe of azzra," and i discovered that he was the son of my father's brother. "son of my uncle," exclaimed i, "what can have induced thee to court the seclusion of this desert spot, and to quit thy kinsmen, neighbours, and dependents?" upon hearing these words, the eyes of the youth became suffused with tears, he sighed, and said, "ah! my cousin, i passionately admired the daughter of my uncle, and was so devoted to her love that i asked her in marriage; but he refused me, and wedded her to another of our tribe richer than myself, who carried her to his abode. when she was thus torn from me, despair agitated my soul, i quitted my relations, friends, and companions, became enamoured of solitude, and retired to this lonely spot." when he had finished his communication, i said, "but where is the abode of thy beloved and thy successful rival?" he replied, "near the summit of yonder mountain, from whence, as frequently as opportunity will allow, in the stillness of night, when sleep hath overpowered the eyes of the village, she ventures to my tent, and we enjoy the company of each other; but believe me, my brother, our passion is innocent as devotional love. hence i dwell here in the manner you have witnessed, and while she visits me delightful will pass the hours, until allah shall execute his appointed decrees, and reward our constancy in this world, or consign us to the grave together." when the unfortunate youth had concluded his narration, at which i was affected with sincere compassion for his circumstances, an eager desire to relieve the lovers from their oppressors occupied my mind, and after much consideration i addressed him thus: "if thou choosest, i think i can point out a plan which, under the blessing of allah, may end the sufferings of thyself and thy beloved." he replied, "o son of my uncle, reveal it to me!" and i continued, saying, "when night shall arrive, and the damsel cometh, let us seat her upon my camel; for she is sure-footed and swift of pace; do thou then mount thy steed, and i will accompany you upon one of your camels. we will travel all night, and ere morning shall have passed the forest, when you will be safe, and thy heart will be rendered happy with thy beloved. the land of god is wide enough to afford us an asylum; and by heaven i swear, that while life remains i will be thy friend." the youth replied, "son of my uncle, i will consult upon thy plan with my beloved, for she is prudent and well-informed." when night had shut in, and the usual hour of the damsel's coming approached, my kind host impatiently expected her arrival; but in vain, for she did not appear. he rose, stood in the doorway of the tent, opened his mouth, and drew in the exhalations of the gale, then returned, sat down pensively for a few minutes, and at last bursting into tears, exclaimed, "ah! my cousin, there are no tidings of the daughter of my uncle, some, mishap must have befallen her. remain here while i go in search of intelligence." having said thus, he took up his sabre, his lance, and departed. when somewhat more than an hour had elapsed, i heard his footstep, and soon perceived him advancing, bearing something bulky in his arms, while he called loudly upon me in a distressful tone. i hastened towards him, and upon my arrival he exclaimed, "alas, alas! the beloved daughter of my uncle is no more, and i bear her remains. she was hastening, as usual, to my tent, when suddenly a lion sprung upon her in the path, and tore her in pieces. these relics are all that remain of my beloved." he then laid them down, and, lo! the thigh bones of the damsel and part of her ribs. he wept piteously, and said, "remain here till i return;" after which he departed with the swiftness of an arrow. in about an hour he returned, and in his hand was the head of the lion, which he threw down, and asked eagerly for water, which i brought him. he then washed his hands, cleansed the mouth of the lion, which he rapturously kissed, and wept bitterly for some moments. he then exclaimed, "by allah, i conjure thee, o son of my uncle, and by the ties of relationship between us, that thou observe my will; for within this hour i shall follow my beloved; be thou our mourner, and bury her remains with mine in the same grave." having said this, he retired into the sleeping partition of the tent; where he remained at his devotions for an hour, then came out, beat his breast, sighed deeply, and at length heaved his expiring groan, saying, "i come, i come, my beloved, i come!" and his pure soul took flight for the mansions of paradise. when i beheld his corpse, sad indeed was my condition, and from excess of sorrow i found it difficult to perform my promise; but at length i arose, washed, enshrouded, and laid the remains of these constant lovers in the same grave, near which i remained for three days in prayer and lamentation; after which i departed homewards: but have not failed annually to visit the spot, to bedew their grave with my tears, and pray for the mercy of allah to their souls and my own errors. story of the prince of sind, and fatima, daughter of amir bin naomaun. some ages back a certain sultan of sind had a son by a concubine, who behaved so rudely to his sultana, that she became dispirited and lost her health, which her favourite woman observing, resolved by stratagem to get rid of the prince. she advised her mistress, when he might next insult her, to say to him, "that he would never appear becoming his rank till he was beloved by fatima, daughter of a sultan named amir bin naomaun." the queen having followed the woman's directions, the prince resolved to travel to the country of the princess, and demand her in marriage. accordingly, having obtained the consent of the sultan his father, he departed with an attendance suitable to his rank. after marching for some time he entered a desert, which was covered with a numberless flight of locusts, that had fallen exhausted for want of food. pitying their distress, he ordered meal to be spread on the ground, when the locusts having refreshed themselves flew away. some days after this incident he reached a thick forest crowded with elephants, and herds of wild animals of every description; but as they did not attempt to attack him, and were in a starving condition, he ordered some of his cattle to be killed, and distributed to them for food. having satisfied themselves they retired, shewing every sign that dumbness would allow of being pleased with his kind treatment. on his march onwards the prince met a venerable old man, of whom he inquired the route to the territories of amir bin naomaun, and was informed that they were at no great distance; but only to be entered by a range of rugged and steep mountains composed of iron-stone, and next to impassable; also, that should he succeed in overcoming this difficulty, it was in vain to hope to attain the princess. the prince inquiring the reason, the old man continued, "sultan amir bin naomaun has resolved that no one shall wed his daughter unless he can perform three tasks which he will impose, and these are of so difficult a nature as not to be executed by the labour or ingenuity of man, and many unhappy princes have lost their heads in the attempt; for he puts them to death instantly on failure: be advised, therefore, and give up so fruitless an expedition." the prince, instead of listening to the admonition of the old man, resolved to proceed; and having requested his prayers and benedictions, continued his march. in a short time, having entered the passes of the mountains, he discovered vast caverns inhabited by a species of genii, who were employed in working upon masses of iron-stone, which they dug from the rock. the prince having entertained them with a hospitable feast, they, in return, shewed him the easiest route through the stupendous mountains, and he at length arrived in safety before the capital of sultan amir bin naomaun, to whom he sent an envoy, requesting leave to encamp on the plain, and to offer himself as a candidate for the beautiful princess his daughter. the sultan, in reply, acceded to his petition, and invited him to the palace; where, in the evening, he was led into a court, in which was placed an immense vessel filled with three kinds of grain mixed together, which (as his first task towards obtaining the princess) he was to separate entirely from each other, and put into three heaps; which if not accomplished before sunrise, he was then to forfeit his head in punishment for his temerity. it being now too late to recede, the prince resigned himself to providence; and the gates of the court being locked upon him, he prayed to allah, and began to separate the grains; but finding his progress vain, his spirits deserted him about midnight, and he left off his fruitless labour in despair, endeavouring to reconcile himself to death. while he was praying for fortitude to bear him up in his last moments, a voice was heard, saying, "be comforted, and receive the reward of thy charity to famished insects." immediately after this the heavens were obscured, as if by thick clouds, which descended on the court, when, lo! this phenomenon proved to be myriads of locusts; who, alighting on the vessel, in a few hours emptied it of all the grain, which they disposed of, each in its kind, in three several heaps, and having given a general buzzing of salutation, took flight, and vanished into the air. the prince was overjoyed at the miraculous accomplishment of his task by the grateful locusts, and having offered up thanks to allah and the prophet for his deliverance from impending destruction, composed himself to rest, doubting not but that they would assist him to overcome the two remaining labours. great was the surprise of the sultan amir bin naomaun, when, on coming at daylight to the court, he beheld his intended victim in a profound sleep, and the grain in three separate heaps, neatly piled up in the form of domes. the prince awaking, saluted him, and demanded to be informed of his next task; but the sultan put him off to the evening, until when he entertained him at the palace with a most magnificent feast; and his obdurate heart was so softened by the noble address and demeanour of his guest, that he wished he might be able to overcome the remaining impositions and become his son-in-law. the princess, also, who had the curiosity to look at him through the blinds of her apartments, was so fascinated with his appearance that she prayed for his success. when night had set in, the prince was conducted to an open plain in front of the palace, in the centre of which was a large reservoir full of clear water, which the sultan commanded him to drain off before sunrise, or forfeit his life. the prince remained alone on the brink of the reservoir with rather somewhat more hope of success than he had felt of overcoming his task of the preceding night; nor was he disappointed, for about midnight a voice was heard exclaiming, "prince, benevolence is never unrequited:" and, lo! the plain was filled with elephants, rhinoceroses, camels, dromedaries, lions, tigers, and every species of wild beasts, in such immense droves as could not be numbered, who, advancing in turn to the reservoir, drank in such quantity that it, at length, was completely emptied, and became as dry as if just finished. the beasts then expressing pleasure by their varying natural noises at having served their benefactor departed, and left him to enjoy the deliverance from the labour imposed upon him. the prince, now more assured than ever that he was the favourite of allah and the prophet, after offering up prayers with a relieved heart, slept comfortably in a building creeled on the margin of the reservoir, and was only awakened by the call of the sultan at sun-rise, who was more astonished at the accomplishment of this labour than the former, though certainly each was equally difficult. he conducted the prince to his palace, and the day was spent in the highest festivity. at the approach of night the prince was conducted to his third task, which was to complete and fit up before daylight from a vast mass of planks of the choicest timber ready stored the doors, windows, and balconies of an unfinished palace, much larger than that which the sultan inhabited. the prince at the apprehension of the consequences of failure was somewhat alarmed; but the recollection of his former aids supported him, and after offering up his devotions he sat down, composedly waiting for the decision of providence on his fate. his resignation was accepted, for at midnight he was roused from his contemplations by the sounds of sawing, planing, hammering, nailing, and the songs of happy work-men. looking up he perceived his friends of the iron mountains; who, all saluting him, cried out, "prince, set your heart at rest, for we are come to repay you for your hospitable feast." before daylight the palace was fitted up in a manner more elegant than can be described, and every door, window, and balcony painted with the most brilliant colours, flowered with silver and gold. the grateful labourers of the iron mountains having finished their work, respectfully saluted the prince and departed. the prince having taken a grateful leave of his useful friends, walked through the palace, and was eagerly employed in admiring its elegance and the magnificence of their finishing hand, when the sultan amir bin naomaun, who from his apartments at sun-rise had observed the miraculous completion, appeared, having hastened to examine the superb workmanship, and to congratulate his son-in-law, for as such he now acknowledged him, and as the favoured of allah, and of the last of prophets. he conducted the prince to the palace, and the most magnificent preparations being made, the nuptials with his daughter were celebrated in the new edifice, where the bride and bridegroom enjoyed themselves for three months, at the expiration of which the prince begged permission to return to his father's dominions, which he reached just in time to release him from the attack of an inimical sultan, who had invaded the country, and laid close siege to his capital. his father received him with rapture, and the prince having made an apology to the sultana for his former rude behaviour, she received his excuses, and having no child of her own readily adopted him as her son; so that the royal family lived henceforth in the utmost harmony, till the death of the sultan and sultana, when the prince succeeded to the empire. story of the lovers of syria; or, the heroine. there formerly dwelt in the city of damascus two brothers, one poor and the other rich, the former of whom had a son, and the latter a daughter. the poor man dying left his son, just emerging from infancy, to the protection of his wealthy uncle, who behaved to his unfortunate charge with paternal tenderness, till the youth, who had exchanged vows of love with his cousin, requested her in marriage; when the father refused, and expelled him from his house. the young lady, however, who ardently loved him, agreed to elope, and having one night escaped from her father's dwelling, repaired to the object of her affection; who, having had notice of her intentions, had prepared two horses and a mule to carry their baggage. they travelled all night, and by morning reached a sea-port, where they found a ship ready to sail, in which, having secured a passage, the lady immediately embarked; but the lover remained on shore to dispose of the horses and mule. while he was seeking for a purchaser in the market, a fair wind sprung up, and the master of the ship having weighed anchor, hoisted sail and departed: the lady in vain entreating him to wait the return of her beloved, or send her on shore, for he was captivated with her beauty. finding herself thus ensnared, as she was a woman of strong mind, instead of indulging in unavailing complaint, she assumed a satisfied air; and as the only way to preserve her honour, received the addresses of the treacherous master with pretended complacency, and consented to receive him as a husband at the first port at which the ship might touch. with these assurances he was contented, and behaved to her with honourable deference, and affectionate respect. at length the vessel anchored near a city, to which the captain went to make preparations for his marriage; but the lady, while he was on shore, addressed the ship's crew, setting forth with such force his treacherous conduct to herself, and offering such rewards if they would convey her to her lover at the port they had left, that the honest sailors were moved in her favour, agreed to obey her as their mistress, and hoisting sail, left the master to shift for himself. after some days of favourable weather, a contrary gale blowing hard, the vessel was driven far out of her course, and for shelter obliged to anchor in the first haven that offered, which proved to be that of a large city, the capital of a potent sultan, whose officers came on board to examine the vessel, and inquire into her cargo and destination. these men, to their great surprise, finding it commanded by a lady of exquisite beauty, reported her charms to the sultan, who resolved to possess them, and sent her an offer of marriage; to which she seemingly consented, and the sultan commanded the most splendid preparations to be made for the nuptials. when all was ready, he sent onboard the vessel the daughter of his vizier, with other ladies, thirty-nine in number, magnificently attired, to wait upon his bride, and attend her on shore. they were graciously received by the politic lady, and invited to refresh themselves in the grand cabin, which she had elegantly adorned with costly hangings, and prepared in it a superb collation, to which they sat down. she then dismissed the boats in which they came, sending a message to the sultan that she should entertain the ladies on board till the next morning, when she would repair on shore and conclude their marriage. she behaved towards her new guests with such winning affability, that they one and all admired their expected sultana, and partook of the entertainment with the highest satisfaction; but what was their surprise when, in the middle of the night, she commanded the crew to weigh anchor, having first warned them, on pain of her displeasure and immediate death, to keep silence, and raise no alarm in the harbour. the vessel sailed, and put to sea without being molested, when the intrepid commandress consoled the affrighted ladies, related to them her own adventures, and assured them that when she should have rejoined her lover, they should, if they chose it, be honourably restored to their homes; but in the mean time she hoped they would contentedly share her fortunes. this behaviour, by degrees, so won upon their minds, that the ladies forgot their sorrows, became pleased with their situation, and in a short time were so attached to their new mistress, that they would not have left her had it been in their power. after some weeks sail, it became necessary to steer towards the first coast that should present itself, to lay in a supply of fresh water and provisions, and land appearing, the vessel anchored, when the lady with her companions went on shore. here they were surrounded by forty robbers, who threatened to take them prisoners; when the heroic lady, desiring her friends to conceal their fears, assumed a smiling countenance, and addressing the chief of the banditti, assured him there would be no occasion for force, as she and her companions were ready to share their love, being women who were above the prejudices of their sex, and had devoted themselves to pleasure, in search of which they roved on board their vessel from one coast to another, and would now stay with them as long as they might wish for their company. this declaration suiting the depraved minds of the robbers, they laid aside their fierce looks and warlike weapons, bringing abundance of all sorts of provisions to regale their expected mistresses, with whom they sat down to a plentiful repast, which was heightened by a store of wines which the lady had brought in her boats from the ship. mirth and jollity prevailed; but the fumes of the liquors, in which the politic lady had infused strong opiates, suddenly operated upon their senses, and they fell down one and all in a state of stupefaction. she then with her companions drew the sabres of their brutal admirers and put them all to death excepting the chief, whom they bound hand and foot with strong cords, and after cutting off his beard and mustachios, tied his own cimeter round his neck, leaving him to feel mortification worse than death on the recovery of his senses, namely, the sight of his slaughtered fellows, and regret at the loss of his imagined happiness. the ladies then stripped the caves of the robbers of the vast wealth which they had hoarded up from their plunders, and having carried it on board their boats, with a stock of water and provisions, returned to the ship, weighed anchor, and sailed triumphant and rejoicing from such a dangerous coast. after some weeks' sail they again descried land, to which they approached, and discovered a spacious harbour, round which rose a vast city, the buildings of which were sublimely lofty, adorned with flights of marble steps to the water's edge, and crowned with domes and minarets topped with pinnacles of gold. the enterprising lady having anchored, clothed herself and her companions in magnificent male habits; after which she ordered the boats to be hoisted out, and they were rowed ashore by part of their crew richly dressed. on landing, they found all the inhabitants of the city in mourning, and making doleful lamentation for their late sultan, who had died only a few days before. the gallant appearance of a stranger so nobly attended created much surprise, and intelligence of the arrival was instantly conveyed to the vizier, who acted as regent till the election of a new monarch, which ceremony was just on the point of taking place. the minister, who thought he perceived in such a critical arrival the work of fate, immediately waited on the now supposed prince, whom he invited to be present at the election; at the same time informing him that when in this kingdom a sultan died without issue, the laws appointed that his successor should be chosen by the alighting of a bird on his shoulder, which bird would be let fly among the crowd assembled in the square before the palace. the seeming prince accepted the invitation, and with the disguised ladies was conducted to a gorgeous pavilion, open on all sides, to view the ceremony. the ominous bird being loosened from his chain, soared into the air to a great height, then gradually descending, flew round and round the square repeatedly, even with the faces of the spectators. at length it darted into the pavilion, where the lady and her companions were seated, fluttered around her head, and at length rested upon her shoulder, giving at the same time a cry of exultation, stretching its neck, and flapping its wings. immediately upon this, the viziers and courtiers bowed themselves to the ground, and the assembled crowd prostrated themselves on the earth, crying out, "long live our glorious sultan, the chosen of providence, the elected by the decrees of fate!" the disguised lady was instantly conducted to the palace, seated on a splendid throne, and proclaimed amidst the acclamations of the people, sovereign of an extensive empire; nor were the abilities of her mind unequal to the task of government. in a few days the vizier offered to the supposed sultan his daughter in marriage; and his offer being accepted, the nuptials were celebrated with the utmost magnificence; but what was the astonishment of the bride, when, instead of being caressed, the sultan on retiring with her became cold and reserved, rose from her, and spent the night in prayer. in the morning the sultana was questioned by her mother; who, on her relating the behaviour of the husband, observed, that possibly from his youth he might be over reserved; but that love would naturally in time operate its effect. several evenings past in the same manner, when the bride, mortified at such coldness, could no longer restrain herself, and said, "why, my lord, if you disliked me, did you take me to wife? but if you love not as other men, tell me so, and i will suffer my misfortune in silence." the lady, moved by this remonstrance, replied, "most virtuous princess, would that for your sake i were of the sex you suppose me; but, alas! i am like you a woman, disappointed in love." she then related to her the wonderful adventures she had undergone since leaving her father's house, at which the vizier's daughter was so affected that she vowed for her a lasting friendship, agreed to keep her secret, and live with her till such times as chance should restore her lover. in return for this kindness the lady promised that should the object of her affections ever arrive, he should marry them both, and that she should have the precedence in the ceremony of union. the two friends having thus agreed, the vizier's daughter regained her cheerfulness, and means were taken to convince her father, mother, and friends of the consummation of the nuptials. from this time they lived in perfect happiness together, one exercising the authority of sultan to the satisfaction of the subject, and the other acting the part of a satisfied and obedient wife; but still both were anxious to meet their mutual husband. as the capital of the kingdom was a mart for most nations of the world, the pretended sultan formed the following stratagem for discovering her beloved, not doubting but that he would travel over all parts of the world in search of the object of his affection. she erected a most magnificent caravanserai, furnished with baths hot and cold, and every convenience for the weary traveller. when it was finished, she issued a proclamation, that sojourners from all parts should be welcome to lodge in it, and be provided with every necessary till they could accommodate themselves in the city, or pursued, if only travellers, their journey to another part. over the gate of this edifice she placed an exact statue of herself, and gave orders to the guards that whatever stranger, on looking at it, should shew signs of agitation, or utter words signifying that he knew the original, should be immediately seized and confined in the palace. many weeks had not passed when the father of this enterprising lady, who had travelled many thousands of miles in search of his daughter, arrived at the gate, and on seeing the statue, exclaimed, "alas! alas! how like my poor, lost child!" he was immediately carried to the palace, lodged in a magnificent apartment, treated with the highest respect; but kept in complete ignorance as to the cause of his confinement and his future fate. not long after this, his disconsolate nephew, who, on the departure of the treacherous captain, had wandered from city to city in hopes of finding his mistress, arrived, and repaired to the caravanserai. on sight of the statue his feelings overcame him; he sighed and fainted: when he was taken up by the guards and lodged in the palace, where being come to himself, he was astonished at the respect and attention paid him by the domestics, and the splendid manner in which he was entertained; but it was in vain that he inquired the cause of his detention, the only answer he could get being, "have patience, my lord, and repose yourself till providence shall free you from our confinement." soon after this the master of the ship, who had visited port after port in hopes of recovering his vessel, reached the city, and hearing of the hospitality with which all strangers were received at the caravanserai of the sultan, repaired to the gateway; but no sooner had he cast his eyes on the statue, than he exclaimed, "ah! how like to the artful yet virtuous woman who cheated me of my property by stealing my ship." immediately he was seized by the guards, and conveyed to the palace, but treated with kindness. many days had not succeeded to this event, when the sultan and the vizier, whose daughter with the thirty-nine ladies had been so artfully carried away from them by the enterprising heroine of this history, made their appearance at the gateway of the caravanserai, and on beholding the statue, cried out, "surely this is the likeness of her who deprived us of our children; ah! that we could find her and be revenged on her hypocrisy!" on saying this they were apprehended and taken to the palace, where they were conducted to apartments suitable to their rank. in a few days afterwards the chief of the banditti, who, burning with the ireful resolution of revenging the deaths of his associates, had travelled from place to place in hopes of finding the object of his fury, arrived at the gateway, and observing the statue, roared out in a rage, "surely this is the resemblance of my tormenter; oh! that i could meet thy original, so that i might have the satisfaction of making her blood atone for the murder of my friends!" instantly, as he had spoken, the guards at the gate rushing upon him, bound him hand and foot, conveyed him to the palace, where he was confined in a loathsome dungeon, and fed on the coarsest viands. the pretended sultan having now all the parties in her power, one morning ascended her throne in full audience, and commanded them to be brought before her. when they had made their obeisance, she commanded them to relate the cause of their having journeyed to her capital; but the royal presence rendered them incapable of uttering a word: upon which she exclaimed, "since you cannot speak, i will;" and then discovered to their astonished minds the adventures of each, which had occasioned their travelling. she then discovered herself, and fell upon the necks of her father and lover, with whom she retired into the private apartments. the sultan and his vizier were made happy in the company of the daughter of the latter and the other ladies. the master of the ship, as his troubles had atoned for his irregular behaviour, was received into favour, and had his vessel restored; but the savage chief of the banditti was put to death, by being cast into a burning pile, that no further injury might be offered to mankind. in a few days, the most magnificent preparations being made, the double nuptials of the heroic lady and her friend the vizier's daughter were celebrated with her constant lover, to whom she resigned her throne, and the happy wives lived together in felicity, undisturbed by jealousy of the husband's attention to either, so equally did they share his love. the sultan and vizier, after being long entertained at the court, took leave, and returned, under an escort, to their own country; but the daughter and the thirty-nine ladies could not be prevailed upon to accompany them, only to visit and bid farewell to their parents, for such was their attachment to their gallant mistress, that they came back immediately, and were espoused to the principle nobles of her court. years of unusual happiness passed over the heads of the fortunate adventurers of this history, until death, the destroyer of all things, conducted them to a grave which must one day be the resting-place for ages of us all, till the receiving angel shall sound his trumpet. story of hyjauje, the tyrannical governor of coufeh, and the young syed. as hyjauje (the ommiad caliph) was was one day seated in his hall of audience, surrounded by his nobles and dependents, tremblingly awaiting his commands, for his countenance resembled that of an enraged lion, there suddenly entered, unceremoniously, into the assembly a beardless youth of noble but sickly aspect, arrayed in tattered garments, for misfortune had changed his original situation, and poverty had withered the freshness of his opening youth. he made the customary obeisance to the governor, who returned his salute, and said, "who art thou, boy? what hast thou to say, and wherefore hast thou intruded thyself into the company of princes, as if thou wert invited? who art thou, and of whom art thou the son?" "of my father and mother," replied the youth. "but how earnest thou here?" "in my clothes." "from whence?" "from behind me." "where art thou going?" "before me." "upon what dost thou travel?" "upon the earth" hyjauje, vexed at the pertness of the youth, exclaimed, "quit this trifling, and inform me whence thou comest." "from egypt." "art thou from cairo?" "why askest thou?" said the boy? "because," replied hyjauje, "her sands are of gold, and her river nile miraculously fruitful; but her women are wanton, free to every conqueror, and her men unstable." "i am not from thence, but from damascus," cried the youth. "then," said hyjauje, "thou art from a most rebellious place, filled with wretched inhabitants, a wavering race, neither jews nor christians." "but i am not from thence," replied the youth, "but from khorassan." "that is a most impure country," said hyjauje, "whose religion is worthless, for the inhabitants are of all barbarians the most savage. plunderers of flocks, they know not mercy, their poor are greedy, and their rich men misers." "i am not of them," cried the youth, "but of moussul." "then," exclaimed hyjauje, "thou art of an unnatural and adulterous race, whose youths are catamites, and whose old men are obstinate as asses." "but i am from yemen," said the boy. "if so," answered the tyrant, "thou belongest to a comfortless region, where the most honourable profession is robbery, where the middling ranks tan hides, and where a wretched poor spin wool and weave coarse mantles." "but i am from mecca," said the boy. "then," replied hyjauje, "thou comest from a mine of perverseness, stupidity, ignorance, and slothfulness; for from among its people god raised up his prophet, whom they disbelieved, rejected, and forced away to a strange nation, who loved, venerated, and assisted him in spite of the men of mecca. but whence comest thou, youth? for thy pertness is become troublesome, and my inclination leads me to punish thee for thy impertinence." "had i been assured that thou durst kill me," cried the youth, "i should not have appeared before thee; but thou canst not." "woe to thee, rash boy," exclaimed hyjauje; "who is he that can prevent my executing thee instantly?" "to thee be thy woe," replied the youth: "he can prevent thee who directs man and his inmost thoughts, and who never falsifieth his gracious promises." "he it is," cried the tyrant, "who instigates me to put thee to death." "withhold thy blaspheming," replied the youth; "it is not god, but satan that prompts thy mind to my murder, and with god i hope for refuge from the accursed: but know, that i am from the glorious medina, the seat of religion, virtue, respectability, and honour, descended of the race of bin ghalib, and family of ali, son of abou talib, whom god has glorified and approved, and will protect all his posterity, which you would extirpate; but you cannot root it out, for it will flourish even to the last day of the existence of this world." the tyrant was now overcome with rage, and commanded the youthful syed to be slain; but his nobles and officers interceded for him, saying, while they bowed their necks before him, "pardon, pardon; behold our heads and our lives a ransom for his! for god's sake accept our intercession, o ameer, for this youth is not deserving of death." "forbear your entreaties," exclaimed the tyrant, "for were an angel to cry from heaven, 'do not slay him!' i would not attend." upon this the young syed said, "thou ravest, o hyjauje; who art thou that an angel should be commissioned for thy sake?" the tyrant, struck with his magnanimity, became calm, and commanding the executioner to release the youth, said, "for the present i forbear, and will not kill thee unless thy answers to my further questions shall deserve it." they then entered on the following dialogue; hyjauje hoping to entrap him in discourse. hyjauje. how can the creature approach the perfection of the almighty? syed. by prayer, by fasting, by the commanded alms, by pilgrimage, and fighting for the cause of god. h. i serve him by shedding the blood of infidel man. you pretend that hassan and houssain, your ancestors, were descendants of the prophet; but how can that be, when god has declared in the koran mahummud was not of your obstinate race; but the prophet of god, and last of divine messengers? s. hear the answer to that in the verse following it. "hath not a prophet come unto you of your own nation? receive him, and from what he hath forbidden be forbidden." surely, then, god hath forbidden the shedding of the blood of him whom he sanctified. h. thou hast spoken justly, young man; but inform me what god hath daily and nightly commanded us as obligatory to do? s. to pray five times. h. what to observe in each year? s. to keep the month of ramzaun as a fast. h. what to perform in the course of life? s. to make a pilgrimage to mecca, the temple of god. h. truly said; but what hath mostly dignified and enlightened arabia? s. the tribe of koreish. h. wherefore? s. because of our holy prophet's being a member of it. h. who were the most skilful in horsemanship in all arabia, the most valiant, and of best conduct in war? s. the tribe of hashim. h. why think you so? s. because my grandfather imaum ali, son of abou talib, was one of it. h. what tribe of arabs is most famous for benevolence, and celebrated for liberality? s. the family of tai. h. wherefore? s. because hatim belonged to it. h. which of the tribes have been most disgraceful to arabia, and most oppressive to its inhabitants? s. the tribe of sukkeef. h. why so? s. because thou belongest to it. the tyrant could scarcely now contain his anger; but said, hoping to cut the youth off from reply, "tell me, is the capricorn of the heavens male or female?" to which he answered, "shew me its tail, that i may inform thee." the tyrant laughed, and continued his questions as follows: h. wert thou ever in love? s. yes, completely immersed in it. h. with whom? s. with my god, who will, i trust, pardon me for my errors, and deliver me from thee this day. h. knowest thou thy god? s. yes. h. by what means? s. by the scriptures, which he caused to descend to his prophet. h. dost thou guard the koran? s. does it fly from me, that i should guard it? h. what dost thou learn from it? s. that god commanded its rules to be obeyed. h. hast thou read and understood it? s. yes. h. if so, tell me, first, what passage in it is most sublime. secondly, which most commanding. thirdly, which most just. fourthly, which most alarming. fifthly, which most encouraging. sixthly, that which jews and christians both believe in. seventhly, that in which god has spoken purely of himself; that where he speaks of the angels; that in which he mentions the prophets; that where he alludes to those destined to paradise; and that in which he speaks of those devoted to hell; that which includes ten points; and that which eblis the accursed delivered. s. by god's help i will answer thee. the most sublime passage is the koorsee: the most commanding, "god insisteth on justice:" the most just, "whoever diminishes the least of a measure, god will requite him doubly, and the same to whoever addeth the least:" the most alarming, "all expect to enter paradise:" the most encouraging, "o my servants, who have mortified yourselves, despair not of the mercy of god!" that in which are ten points, "god created the heavens and the earth, the revolutions of night and day; also, the firmament over the waters that it might profit man:" that which is believed alike by jews and christians, "the jew saith that the christian is in error, and the christian saith that the jew is mistaken, they both believe so; and both are in error:" that in which god hath spoken purely of himself, "i have not created genii and men but to worship me:" that in which he speaks of the angels, "they said, we have no knowledge, but what thou hast taught us; for thou only art wise and all-knowing:" that which speaks of the prophets, "how could we deliver you a verse without the order of god, on whom the faithful will rely:" that which mentions the devoted to hell, "god hath cast us down from heaven, for we were transgressors:" that which describes the blessed, "praised be god, who hath divested us of all sorrow, for our lord is merciful and gracious:" that which satan spoke, "none will profit by thy mercy but thy servants the blessed." hyjauje involuntarily exclaimed, "praised be god, who giveth wisdom to whom it pleaseth him; but i have found none so learned of such tender age." having thus spoken, he put many other questions to the youth in every science, and he answered them so readily that the tyrant was overcome with admiration, and offered him a residence at his court; but the young man declined it, and requested his dismission, which he granted, conferring upon him a beautiful female slave richly habited, a thousand pieces of gold, and a steed elegantly caparisoned. the courtiers were astonished at the bounty of the tyrant, which he perceiving, said, "be not surprised, for the advice he hath given me was worthy of reward, and 'cursed is he who doth not requite a sincere adviser,' declareth our sacred koran." story of ins al wujjood and wird al ikmaum, daughter of ibrahim, vizier to sultan shamikh. many ages past there was a very powerful sultan who had a vizier named ibrahim, and this minister had a daughter the most beautiful of her sex and accomplished of her age, so that she became distinguished by the appellation of wird al ikmaum, or the rose among flowers. it was the custom of sultan shamikh to hold annually a general assembly of all the nobles of his kingdom, and persons eminent for science or the arts, during which they were magnificently entertained at the royal expense. the former displayed their prowess in martial exercises before the sovereign, and the latter the productions of their genius and skill; when valuable prizes were bestowed by the arbitration of appointed judges on those who deserved them. on one of the days of this festival, the vizier's daughter from a latticed balcony of the palace, in which she sat to view the sports, was so struck with the manly figure and agility of a young nobleman named ins al wujjood (or the perfection of human nature), that love took possession of her mind. she pointed him out to a female confidant, and gave her a letter to convey to the object of her affections. the young nobleman, who had heard her praises, was enraptured by his good fortune, and the next day, having obtained as full a sight of her beauties as could be had through the golden wires of the balcony, retired overcome by love. letters now passed daily, and almost hourly, between them; but they were impatient for a meeting, which was at length planned; but the note fixing the place and time was unfortunately dropped by the confidant and carried to the vizier; who, alarmed for the honour of his family, sent his daughter the same night to a far distant castle belonging to himself, and situated on an island in a vast lake, surrounded by mountainous deserts thinly inhabited. the unfortunate lady was obliged to submit to her fate, but before her departure contrived to write on the outside of her balcony the following words, "they are carrying me off, but i know not where." in the morning her lover repairing, as usual, in hopes of seeing his mistress in the balcony, read the unwelcome intelligence, which for a time deprived him of his senses. when somewhat recovered he resolved to leave the court, though then the chief favourite of the sultan, and go in search of his beloved. having put on the habit of a wandering devotee, he, on the following evening, quitted the city, and recommending himself to providence, set out, but knew not whither. many weeks did he travel, but could find no traces of his beloved object; when suddenly, passing through a thick forest, there met him a monstrous lion, from whom he thought it impossible to escape, and having uttered a prayer for the happiness of his beloved, and repeated the testimony of martyrdom, he resigned himself to his fate, and waited the spring of his expected devourer. what was his surprise when the majestic animal, instead of making him his prey, on approaching close to him, having looked compassionately in his face, licked his hands, and turning round, walked gently onwards, moving his head, as if to signify the youth should follow him. ins al wujjood did so, and was conducted through the forest by the lion; who, ascending a high mountain, suddenly stopped at the entrance of a cave, to which was a door of iron, then moving his head, and once more licking the hands of his companion, the generous animal left him, and retired back to the woods. the youth now went to the cave, and having knocked at the door, it was opened by a venerable hermit, who bade him welcome, brought him warm water to wash his feet, and set before him refreshments of various kinds. when he had eaten, he inquired the cause of his coming to such a desolate country; and ins al wujjood having related his adventures, the old man exclaimed, "thou art a favourite of heaven, or the lion would have devoured thee; despair not, therefore, of success, for my mind presages that thou wilt be happy, nor shalt thou want my assistance." ins al wujjood having thanked him for his hospitality and generous offers, the hermit informed him, that for nearly twenty years past he had not beheld a human face till a few days prior to his coming, when, wandering over the mountains, he had seen an encampment on the margin of the great lake below, in which appeared a crowd of men and women, some very richly habited, part of whom had embarked on board a stately yacht, and the remainder having taken leave of them, struck their tents, and returned by the road they had come. "most probably," said the hermit, "the yacht may have conveyed thy mistress to the castle which stands on an island in the middle of the lake, and if so thou shalt soon be safely landed: for the rest providence must be thy guide. i will this night remember thee in my prayers, and meditate on what can be done for thy benefit." having said this, the hermit conducted the wanderer to a chamber, and left him to his repose. the beautiful wird al ikmaum during this time remained overwhelmed with uneasiness in her confinement, and it was in vain that her attendants tried to amuse her. she wandered melancholy through the magnificent gardens of the castle, the groves of which were filled with every variety of birds, whose harmony was delightful; but the soft cooing of the turtle dove and the plaintive note of the lovelorn nightingale alone caught her attention. to these she would listen for hours together, reclined on a mossy bank, and fancy their pensive strains the language of her beloved. such was her daily employment, nor would she quit the garden till forced by her attendants to take shelter from the falling dews of night. we now return to her lover. fatigue and the consoling assurances of the friendly hermit had greatly composed the mind of ins al wujjood, who enjoyed a refreshing sleep, nor did he awake till the sun was mounted high in the heavens, when he joined his venerable host in his devotions; after which they partook of a repast of bread, milk, and fresh fruits. this ended, the old man requested him to fetch from the forest a bundle of the filaments of palm bark, which, when brought to him, he plaited into a shape resembling a little boat, and giving it to ins al wujjood, said, "repair to the lake, and put this into the water, when it will become instantly large enough to hold thee, then embark in it, and trust to heaven for the rest. farewell!" ins al wujjood having taken leave of his venerable friend the hermit, with many thanks, did as he had been commanded, and soon arrived on the margin of the lake, into which he launched his little vessel, when, to his great surprise, it instantaneously became a handsome boat with the sails set. he got into it, and a fair wind springing up was soon out of sight of land. for some days he was wafted over the deep; but at length the shore of an island appeared, on which he landed, and made his boat fast to the trunk of a large tree. he then walked into the country, and found it beautifully interspersed with green meadows, clear streams, and shady groves of bending fruit trees, on the branches of which all sorts of birds were warbling in their different strains. having refreshed himself with several fruits, he proceeded onwards, and at length came in sight of a superb edifice, to the gateway of which he advanced; but found it locked. for three days he waited in hopes of seeing some of its inhabitants, but in vain. however on the fourth morning the gate was opened by a man, who seeing ins al wujjood, advanced towards him, and inquired who he was, whence he came, and what was his reason for waiting at the gate. "i am of ispahaun," replied ins al wujjood, "and was shipwrecked in a trading voyage upon this coast, to the shore of which i alone of all my companions had the good fortune to escape." upon hearing this the man burst into tears, embraced him, and said, "may god preserve thee from future calamities! i am also a native of ispahaun, where also dwelt my cousin, whom i dearly loved, and by whom i was beloved. at this happy period of my youth a nation stronger than ours made war against us, overcame us, and among other captives forced me from my country; after which they sold me as a slave to my present master: but come, my dear countryman, enter the palace, and repose thyself in my apartment, where we will endeavour to console each other under our misfortunes till providence shall restore us to our homes." ins al wujjood gladly accepted such a friendly invitation, and on entering the court beheld a lofty and wide-spreading tree, from the branches of which were suspended several golden cages, each inhabited by a beautiful bird, and each striving to rival the other in melody, as if in welcome of his approach. he inquired of his host to whom the splendid edifice belonged, and was informed to the vizier of sultan shamikh; who, to secure his daughter from the vicissitudes of fortune, had lodged her here, and only visited her annually to inquire after her health, and bring the necessary supplies for her convenience and the support of her attendants in the castle. upon hearing the above circumstances, ins al wujjood was nearly overcome with ecstacy; but restraining his feelings, exclaimed to himself, "at length i have reached the abode of my beloved, and may hope for success;" which was yet, however, afar off. his charming mistress, little thinking that her lover was so near, and weary of absence and the solitude of her abode, had that very evening resolved to escape from confinement. in the darkness of night she accordingly let herself down from the battlements by a silken rope, which she had twisted from slips of various robes, and reached the ground unhurt. with haste she fled towards the sea shore, where she perceived a fishing boat, the owner of which, though at first alarmed, supposing her, from her dazzling appearance (for she was covered with jewels), to be an ensnaring genie, at length, on her assurances that she was really a woman, admitted her into his vessel. she thanked him for his kindness, which she rewarded by the gift of many rich jewels, and requested to be conveyed across the lake. the fisherman hoisted sail, and for some hours the wind was prosperous; but now a heavy tempest arose, which tossed them constantly in imminent danger for three days, and drove them far from their intended course. at length the gale subsided, the sea became assuaged, and land appeared. as they approached the shore a stately city rose to their view, the buildings of which seemed unusually magnificent. under the terrace of the sultan's palace they safely, at last, cast anchor; and it chanced that the prince, who was named dara, was then sitting with his daughter in a balcony to enjoy the fresh sea breeze, and the view of the extensive harbour, crowded with the vessels of every country. perceiving the boat, the sultan commanded his officers to bring the master and his crew to the presence. great was his surprise at the introduction of the beautiful wird al ikmaum. from her rich dress, dignified air, and demeanour, he concluded her to be of superior rank, and having seated her near his daughter, he graciously requested to be informed of the name of her country, and the cause of her having travelled to his capital; to which she replied in eloquent language, giving a summary detail of all her adventures. the sultan consoled her by encouraging assurances of his protection, promised to exert his authority to effect a union with her beloved, and immediately dispatched his vizier with costly presents to sultan shamikh, requesting him to send ins al wujjood to his court. the vizier, after a prosperous voyage, having reached the capital of sultan shamikh, presented his offerings, and made known the request of his master; to which the sultan replied, that nearly a year had elapsed since ins al wujjood had, to his great regret, absented himself from his court, nor had any tidings been obtained of the place of his retirement; but that he would order his vizier to accompany the ambassador in search of his retreat, being willing to oblige his master the sultan to the utmost of his power. accordingly, after a repose of some days, the two viziers departed in search of ins al wujjood, but without knowing where to bend their journey. at length they reached the shore of the ocean of kunnooz, on which they embarked in a hired vessel, and sailed to the mountainous island of tukkalla, of which the vizier of sultan shamikh gave to his companion the following account. "this island was some ages back inhabited by genii; a princess of whom became violently enamoured of a handsome young man, a son of an ameer of the city of misr, or cairo, whom she beheld in her flight sleeping in his father's garden in the heat of the day. she sat down by him, and having gently awoke him, the youth, on looking up, to his astonishment and rapture saw a most beautiful damsel who courted his addresses: he was not backward in offering them; and mutual protestations of love and constancy took place. after some hours of happiness the genie princess took an affectionate leave, promising soon to visit him again, and vanished from sight. the youth remained musing on his fortunate adventure till the dews of night began to fall, when his parents, fearful of some injury, sent attendants to conduct him to their palace, but he refused to go; and talked, as it appeared to them, so incoherently concerning his beloved, that they thought him distracted; seized him roughly, and forced him homewards. his father and mother were alarmed: it was in vain that they courted him to partake of refreshment; he was sullen and gloomy, and at length abruptly retired to his chamber, where he remained in restless anxiety all night, waiting impatiently for morning, that he might revisit the happy spot where his charmer had promised again to meet him. "at early dawn the ameer's son repaired to the garden, and was soon gratified with the sight of his beloved; but while they were exchanging mutual protestations of regard, the mother of the genie princess, who had suspected from her daughter's conduct that she was carrying on some intrigue, and had followed her in the air unperceived, suddenly appeared. rushing upon the lovers, she seized her daughter by the hair, beat, and abused her in the harshest language for having disgraced the honour of the genii by an amour with a wretched son of mortality: to all which the genie princess replied, that her remonstrances were vain; she had fixed her affections, and would rather be torn into a thousand pieces than desert the object of her heart. the mother upon this finding the case desperate, and being herself softened by the uncommon beauty of the youth, who had fallen at her feet, entreating mercy for his beloved, at length relented, and agreed to sanctify their loves by her consent to their marriage. it was accordingly celebrated; and this island, which after the name of the genie princess was called tukkalla, was fixed upon for the place of their residence. its magnificent palace still remains, after the lapse of many ages, and is at present in my possession. here i hope to meet my only daughter, whom i brought to reside in it nearly a year ago, to secure her from the attempts of a young courtier, on whom she had, against my consent, fixed her affections." the two viziers now disembarked, and proceeded up the island; but what was the astonishment and mortification of ibrahim on learning, when he arrived at the palace, that his daughter had escaped, nor had the attendants heard of her since her departure, though they had repeatedly searched every quarter of the island. perceiving among his attendants whom he had left at the palace a strange young man of pallid countenance, wasted frame, and melancholy air, the vizier inquired how he had come among them; and received for reply, that he was a shipwrecked merchant of ispahaun, whom they had taken in for the sake of charity. ibrahim now requested of the vizier of sultan dara that he would return to his master, and inform him of their vain search after ins al wujjood; at the same time desiring him to receive into his suite the supposed merchant as far as the city of ispahaun, which lay in his route. to this the vizier of sultan dara consented: and the two ministers having taken a friendly leave of each other separated, and departed for their several capitals. the vizier of sultan dara, in the course of the journey, became so pleased with the agreeable manners of the supposed merchant, that he often conversed with him familiarly; and at length the young man, emboldened by his condescending attention, ventured to inquire the cause of his travels to regions so distant from his own country: upon which he was informed of the arrival of the beautiful wird al ikmaum at the court of sultan dara; of the compassion of that sultan for her misfortunes; his generous protection; and his own fruitless mission in search of her lover ins al wujjood. a this happy intelligence, the latter, overcome with ecstacy, could no longer contain himself, but discovered who he was; and the vizier was also overjoyed at knowing, when least expected, that he had found the despaired of object of his long journey. he embraced the young man, congratulated him upon the speedy termination of absence from his beloved, and the happy union which awaited him. he then made him an inmate of his own tents, supplied him with rich attire, and every necessary becoming the condition of a person for whose fortunes he knew his sovereign to be so highly concerned. ins al wujjood, now easy in mind, and renovated by the happy prospects before him, daily recovered health and strength, so that by the time of their arrival at the capital of sultan dara he had regained his pristine manliness and vigour. when the vizier waited upon his master the sultan dara to communicate his successful commission, the sultan commanded the youth to his presence. ins al wujjood performed the usual obeisance of kissing the ground before the throne, with the graceful demeanour of one who had been used to a court. the sultan graciously returned his salutation, and commanded him to be seated; after which he requested him to relate his adventures, which he did in eloquent language, interspersing in his narrative poetical quotations, and extempore verses applicable to the various incidents and situations. the sultan was charmed with his story; and when he had finished its relation, sent for a cauzee and witnesses to tie the marriage knot between the happy ins al wujjood and the beautiful wird al ikmaum; at the same time dispatching a messenger to announce the celebration of the nuptials to sultan shamikh and ibrahim his vizier, who were bewailing their supposed irrecoverable losses; one that of his favourite, and the latter that of his daughter. sultan dara detained the happy couple at his court for some time, after which he dismissed them with valuable presents to their own country, which they reached in safety, and were received with the most heart-felt rejoicings by the sultan and the repentant vizier, who now recompensed them by his kindness for the former cruelty of his behaviour towards them; so that in favour with the sultan, and happy in their own family, the lovers henceforth enjoyed every earthly felicity, sweetened by the reflection on past distresses, till the angel of death summoned them to submit to the final destination of mortality. the adventures of mazin of khorassaun. in ancient days there resided in the city of khorassaun a youth named mazin, who, though brought up by his mother, a poor widow, to the humble occupation of a dyer, was so celebrated for his personal accomplishments and capacity as to become the admiration of crowds, who daily flocked to his shop to enjoy the pleasure of his conversation. this young man was as good as he was able, nor did flattery take away his humility, or make him dissatisfied with his laborious occupation, which he followed with industry unceasing, and maintained his mother and himself decently from the fruits of his labour. so delicate was his taste in the choice of colours, that veils, turbans, and vests of mazin's dyeing were sought after by all the young and gay of khorassaun; and many of the females would often cast a wishful glance at him from under their veils as they gave him their orders. mazin, however, was destined by fate not always to remain a dyer, but for higher fortunes and surprising adventures. as he was one day busy in his occupation, a man of hijjem came to his shop, and after looking at him earnestly for some moments, exclaimed, "alas, that such a noble youth should be confined to drudge at so mean an employment!" "i thank you, father, for your compassion," replied mazin, "but honest industry can never be disgraceful." "true," said the old man of hijjem, "yet if providence puts affluence and distinction in our way, should we refuse it?" "by no means," said mazin; "canst thou point me out the way to it without making me forfeit my integrity? if so, i assure thee i am not so fond of my trade but i would be glad to live at ease in an honest manner without it; for i should like to enjoy leisure to follow my studies, which have already gained me some little celebrity." "son," said the hijjemmee, "thy wishes shall be satisfied: thou hast no father, but i will be one to thee; from this instant i adopt thee as my son. i possess the art of transmuting common metals into gold: be ready at thy shop early in the morning, when i will meet thee. farewell!" having thus said, the old man took leave. mazin's curiosity and ambition were raised: he shut up his shop sooner than usual, and returned with a full heart to his mother, to whom he communicated the offered kindness of the hijjemmee. the good woman, after some moments of reflection, said, "son, i fear some evil lurks under this apparent kindness, for we live in wicked days, when men profess more than they mean to do for the sake of attaining an object; be cautious then, and do not till thou hast proof of his sincerity regard his office. we have at present all we want, and what can riches give more?" mazin agreed to the propriety of his mother's advice, and promised to be wary. they ate their usual cheerful meal, and retired to rest; but the young man could sleep but little, and he longed with impatience for the morning that was to put him into possession of the art of transmuting metals into gold. the morning arrived, and mazin repaired impatiently to his shop, where he had soon after the satisfaction of seeing his adopted father, who came bearing in his hands a crucible. "welcome, son!" "welcome, father!" was the mutual salutation; after which the hijjemmee desired mazin to kindle a fire: he did so, when the old man inquired of mazin if he had any old metal, iron, brass, copper, &c. mazin produced some pieces of an old pot of the latter metal, which were put into the crucible. when melted, the hijiemmee took from his turban a paper containing powder of a yellowish hue, which he threw into the crucible, over which he repeated some cabalistic words while he stirred the melting metal. at length he took it from the fire, and to his astonishment mazin beheld a large lump of pure gold, which the hijiemmee desired him to carry to a goldsmith's and get it exchanged for coin he did did so, and received a handsome sum, with which he returned to his adopted father. "well, my son," said the hijjemmee, "art thou now convinced of my skill, and my sincerity in offering to promote thy fortunes?" "i am," said mazin, "and am ready to follow wherever thou choosest, in hopes of learning this invaluable secret" "that shall soon be thine," replied the transmuter of metals; "i will sup with thee this evening, and in the privacy of retirement give thee the necessary instruction." mazin, overjoyed, immediately shut up his shop, and with his adopted father repaired to his own house, where he seated him in his best apartment. he then went to his mother, desiring that she would go and spend the night at a neighbour's, shewing her the gold which his broken copper had procured, as a proof of the sincerity of his new friend. the old lady no longer doubted upon such evidence, and cheerfully took leave and departed to a friend's house. mazin next went to a cook's shop, from which he returned laden with every sort of refreshment, nor was wine forgotten, though forbidden to the faithful. the adopted father and son ate heartily, at the same time pushing about the spirit-stirring liquor, till at last mazin, who had not been used to drink wine, became intoxicated. the wily magician, for such in fact was his pretended friend, watching his opportunity, infused into the goblet of his unsuspecting host a certain potent drug, which mazin had scarcely drunk oft, when he fell back upon his cushion totally insensible, the treacherous wizard tumbled him into a large chest, and shutting the lid, locked it. he then ransacked the apartments of the house of every thing portable worth having, which, with the gold, he put into another chest, then fetching in porters, he made them take up the chests and follow him to the seaside, where a vessel waited his orders to sail, and embarked with the unfortunate mazin and his plunder. the anchor was weighed, and the wind being fair, the ship was soon out of sight of the land. mazin's mother early in the morning returning to her house found the door open, her son missing, and the rooms ransacked of all her valuables. she gave a loud shriek, tore her hair, beat her bosom, and threw herself on the ground, crying out for her son, who she thought must have been murdered by the treacherous magician, against whose professions she had warned him to be cautious, till the sight of the transmuted gold had deceived her, as well as the unfortunate victim of his accursed arts. some neighbours hearing her lamentations rushed in, lifted her from the ground, and inquired the cause of her distress; which, when informed of, they endeavoured to alleviate by every consolation in their power, but in vain: the afflicted old lady was not to be comforted. she commanded a tombstone to be raised in the court-yard, over which she sat night and day bewailing her son, taking scarcely food sufficient to preserve her miserable existence. the infidel hijjemmee, who was a wicked magician and a worshipper of fire, by name bharam, hated the true believers, one of whom annually for several years past he had inveigled by his offers of instructing in the science of transmuting metals into his power; and after making him subservient to his purposes in procuring the ingredients necessary for his art, had treacherously put him to death, lest the secret should be divulged: such was now his intention towards the unfortunate mazin. on the evening of the second day after the sailing of the vessel, bharam thought proper to awaken his victim to a sense of his misery. he opened the chest, which had been placed in his cabin, and poured a certain liquid down the throat of mazin, who instantly sneezed several times; then opening his eyes, gazed for some minutes wildly around him. at length, seeing the magician, observing the sea, and feeling the motion of the ship, his mind surmised to him the misfortune which had happened; and he guessed his having fallen into the snares of the treacherous bharam, against which his mother had warned him, but in vain. still, being a virtuous mussulmaun, he would not complain against the decrees of heaven; and instead of lamentation uttered the following verse of the sacred koran: "there is no support or refuge but from the almighty, whose we are, and to whom we must return. deal gently with me, o my god, in the dictates of thy omnipotence; and make me resigned under thy chastening, o lord of all being." having finished the above prayer, mazin turning humbly towards his accursed betrayer, said in a supplicating tone, "what hast thou done, my father? didst thou not promise me enjoyment and pleasure?" the magician, after striking him, with a scowling and malignant sneer, exclaimed, "thou dog! son of a dog! my pleasure is in thy destruction. nine and thirty such ill-devoted wretches as thyself have i already sacrificed, and thou shalt make the fortieth victim to my enjoyment, unless thou wilt abjure thy faith, and become, like me, a worshipper of the sacred fire, in which case thou shalt be my son, and i will teach thee the art of making gold." "cursed be thou, thy religion, and thy art," exclaimed the enraged mazin: "god forbid that for the pleasures of this world i should apostatize from our holy prophet, and give up the glorious rewards reserved in certain store for his faithful disciples. thou mayest indeed destroy my body, but my soul despises thy torments" "vile dog!" roared out the now furious sorcerer, "i will try thy constancy." he then called in his slaves, who held mazin on the floor of the cabin while their abominable master beat him with a knotted whip till he was covered with a gore of blood, but the resolute youth, instead of complaining, uttered only prayers to heaven for divine support under his pangs, and strength of fortitude to acquire the glory of martyrdom. at length the magician, exhausted by his cruel exercise, desisted, and making his slaves load his unfortunate victim with heavy fetters, chained him down with only a coarse mat to lie upon in a dark closet, in which was placed some stinking water and coarse bread, just sufficient to keep up his miserable existence. mazin's courage was not to be overcome he washed his wounds, and comforted himself with the hope that if he died he should enjoy the blisses of paradise, or if providence had decreed his continuance in life, that the same providence would present a mode of relief from his present and future afflictions. in this assurance he took a little of his wretched fare, and in spite of the agony of his wounds fell asleep, but only to awake to fresh misery in the morning he was again persecuted by his cruel tormentor, who for three months daily harassed him with blows, with revilings, and every sort of insult that malice could invent or cruelty devise. hitherto the wind had been fair, and the vessel had nearly reached the desired haven, when suddenly it changed, and a most tremendous storm arose the waves threatened to swallow up or dash the vessel in pieces, so that all gave themselves over for lost. at this crisis the sailors, who believed that the tempest was sent by heaven as a judgment for their suffering the unfortunate mazin to be so cruelly tormented, went in a body to the accursed bharam, and accused him of having brought down the wrath of god upon the crew by his persecution of the young mussulmaun; at the same time threatening to cast him overboard if he did not instantly release the youth from his confinement. to show the seriousness of their resolves, the sailors seized the slaves who had been the instruments of the magician's cruelty, and threw them into the sea, which so alarmed the treacherous bharam that he immediately released mazin from his chains, fell at his feet, begging pardon for his hard usage, and promising if they escaped the storm to conduct him safely to his own country, and fulfil his promise of instructing him in the secret of making gold. wonderful to relate! but no sooner was mazin freed from his fetters than the violence of the tempest lessened, by degrees the winds subsided, the waves abated their swell, and the sea no longer threatened to overwhelm them: in a few hours all was calm and security, and a prosperous gale enabled the shattered vessel to resume her course. the sailors now regarding mazin as one immediately befriended by heaven, treated him with the greatest respect and attention; and the hypocritical magician pretending sorrow for his late cruelties, strove to procure his forgiveness and good opinion by every art of flattery and affected contrition; which had such an effect on the ingenuous youth that he forgot his treachery, again believed his fair promises and assurances that the torments he had undergone had only been inflicted as trials of his constancy and belief in the true religion, virtues necessary to be proved before the grand secret of transmuting metals could be trusted to his keeping. the remainder of the voyage was prosperous and happy, and at the expiration of three months more the vessel anchored on the wished for coast, which was rocky, and the beach strewed with pebbles of every colour. the magician having given orders to the master of the vessel to wait a month for their return, disembarked with mazin, and they proceeded together into the country. when they had got out of sight of the ship the magician sat down, and taking from his vestband a small drum, began to beat upon it with two sticks, when instantly a whirlwind arose, and a thick column of dust rolled towards them from the desert. mazin was alarmed, and began to repent having left the vessel; when the magician, seeing his colour change, desired him to calm his apprehensions, for which there was no cause, that he had only to obey his orders and be happy. he had scarcely spoken when the wind ceased, the dust dispersed, and three camels stood before them, one of which was laden with water and provisions; the others were bridled and very richly caparisoned. bharam having mounted one, and, at his desire, mazin the other, they travelled without ceasing, except to take the necessary refreshment and repose, for seven days and nights successively over a wild and sandy desert. on the eighth morning they reached a beautifully fertile tract, delightfully watered by clear streams; the ground verdant, shaded by spreading trees laden with fruit, on whose branches various birds warbled melodiously, and beneath them antelopes and other forest animals sported unmolested. at the end of a thick avenue rose to view a capacious dome of blue and green enamel, resting upon four columns of solid gold, each pillar exceeding in value the treasures of the sovereigns of persia and greece. they approached the dome, stopped their camels and dismounted, and turned the animals to graze. this splendid building was surrounded by a delightful garden, in which the now happy mazin and the magician reposed themselves all that day and night. at some distance from this enchanting spot appeared a stupendous fabric, whose numerous turrets and lofty pinnacles glittered to the eye, and denoted a palace of uncommon magnificence, so that the curiosity of mazin was raised, and he could not help inquiring of his companion to whom such a superb edifice might belong. the magician, rather roughly, desired him for the present to ask no questions concerning a place which belonged to his most bitter enemies, who were evil genii, and of whom at a proper time he would give him the history. mazin was silent, but from the magician's manner he began to forbode some new treachery. in the morning bharam beat his magical drum, and the three camels appealed, when mazin and his companion mounted, pursuing their journey in the same manner as before for seven days, with a speed more resembling flight than the pace of travel, for their camels were supernatural. on the eighth morning the magician inquired of mazin what he saw on the horizon. "i behold," said he, "to appearance, a range of thick black clouds extending from east to west." "they are not clouds," replied bharam, "but lofty mountains, called the jubbal al sohaub, or mountains of clouds, from their cloud-like appearance, on their summit lies the object of our journey, which with thy assistance we shall soon obtain, and return to our vessel more enriched than all the sovereigns of the world, but thou must be sure to obey me in whatever i may command." mazin promised to do so, but his heart trembled within him as he beheld the gloomy prospect before him, and recollected the boast which the accursed magician had made of his having sacrificed thirty-nine youthful victims on these mountains, and also his threat on board the ship to make the fortieth offering of himself. he repented of having trusted himself from the vessel, but it was now too late to recede. he resigned himself to the same providence who had relieved his sufferings in his voyage, and concealed, as well as he could, his uneasiness from the magician, who now endeavoured to sooth and flatter him with artful promises and caresses. for four days longer they pursued their route, when it was stopped by the black mountains, which formed, as it were, a wall inaccessible, for the precipices were perpendicular, as if scarped by art, and their tremendous height cast a dark and gloomy shade to a vast distance. they now dismounted, and turned their camels to graze, when the magician took out of his package three loaves and a sum of water, after which he lighted a fire; then having beat his talismanic drum, the camels again appeared, the smallest of which he killed, embowelled, and carefully flayed off the skin, the inside of which he washed with water. having done thus, he addressed mazin, saying, "my son, the task must now be thine to crown our labours with success. enter this skin, with these loaves and this water bag for thy sustenance while thou remainest on the summit of the mountain. be not afraid, for no harm can happen i will sew up the skin, leaving room enough for the admission of air. by and by a roc will descend, and seizing it in her talons carry thee easily through the air. when she shall have alighted on the table-land of the mountain, rip open the stitches of the skin with thy dagger, and the roc on seeing thee will be instantly scared, and fly far away. then arise, gather as much as possible of a black dust which thou wilt find thickly strewed on the ground; put it into this bag, and throw it down to me, after which i will contrive an easy means for thy descent, and when thou hast rejoined me we will return to our vessel, and i will convey thee safely back to thy own country. the dust, which has the quality of transmuting metals into gold, we will share between us, and shall each have enough to rival all the treasuries on earth." mazin finding it in vain to oppose, allowed himself to be sewn up in the camel's skin with the loaves and water, recommending himself by mental prayer to the protection of allah and his prophet. the magician having finished his work retired to some distance, when, as he had said, a monstrous roc, darting from a craggy precipice, descended with the rapidity of lightning, grasped the skin in her widely extended talons, and soaring swifter than the eagle soon alighted on the table-land of the mountain; when mazin, feeling himself on the ground, ripped the stitches of his dangerous enclosure, and the roc being alarmed, uttered a loud scream and flew away. mazin now arose, and walked upon the surface of the mountain, which he found covered with black dust; but he beheld also the skeletons of the young men whom the accursed bharam, after they had served his purpose, had left to perish. his blood became chilled with horror at the view, as he apprehended the same unhappy fate: he however filled his bag with the black powder, and advanced to the edge of a precipice, from which he beheld the magician eagerly looking upwards to discover him. mazin called out; and when the hypocrite saw him, he began dancing and capering for joy, at the same time exclaiming, "welcome, welcome, my son! my best friend, beloved child! all our dangers are now over, throw me down the bag." "i will not," said mazin, "but will give it thee when thou hast conveyed me safely from this perilous summit." "that is not in my power," answered bharam, "till i shall have the bag: cast it down, and i swear by the fire which i worship immediately to procure thee a safe descent." mazin, relying on his oath, and seeing no other chance of escape, cast down the bag; which having taken up, the accursed sorcerer mounted his camel and was departing. the unhappy mazin in agony called after him, saying, "surely thou wilt not forfeit thy oath, nor leave me to perish!" "perish thou must, mussulmaun dog!" exclaimed the treacherous magician, "that my secret may be kept, nor can thy boasted prophet save thee from destruction; for around thee are mountains impassable, and below a fathomless sea. i have obtained what i wished, and leave thee to thy fate." having said thus he speeded onwards, and was soon out of sight. mazin was now in an agony of despair, not a ray of hope comforted his mind; he beat his bosom, threw himself on the ground amid the mouldering skeletons of the former victims to the treachery of the magician, and lay for some time in a state of insensibility. at length the calls of hunger and thirst forced him back to a sense of wretched existence; and the love of life, however miserable, made him have recourse to his water and his loaves. being somewhat revived, religion came to his aid, and he began to pray for resignation to submit to the decrees of heaven, however painful. he then walked to the edge of the mountain overhanging the sea, which he observed to wash the base of the rock without any beach, at sight of which a desperate chance of escape struck his mind: this was, to throw himself from the precipice into the ocean, in hopes, should he survive the fall and rise to the surface, he might reach land. he commended himself to god, shut his eyes, held in his breath, and giving a desperate spring, plunged headlong into the dreadful abyss, which providentially received him unhurt, and a friendly wave drove him on shore; where, however, he remained some minutes in a lifeless stupor, owing to the rapidity of his descent from the brain-sickening precipice. when his senses returned mazin looked wildly around him, at first scarcely able to bear the light from the recollection of the dizzy eminence from which he had plunged; and an uneasy interval elapsed before he could persuade himself that the certainty of death was past. convinced at length of this, he prostrated himself to the earth, and exclaimed, "in god alone is our refuge and support! i thought i should have perished, but his providence has sustained me." he then wept exceedingly, entreated forgiveness of his offences, read several passages from the koran, which he had preserved in his vestband, repeated the whole of his rosary, and besought the intercession of the prophet for his deliverance from future dangers. after this he walked onwards till evening, the fruits of the forest his food, his drink the water of the streams, and his resting place the green turf. such was his progress, that after three days he reached the spot under the mountain where he had been taken up by the roc in the camel's skin. he now recognized the road he had come; and after measuring back his steps for nine days, beheld on the last the superb palace, concerning which he had inquired of the magician, who had informed him it was inhabited by evil genii, his most bitter enemies. for some time mazin hesitated whether he should advance to the gates of the palace; but considering that no greater calamity could happen to him than he had already endured, he contemned danger, and boldly advanced to a grand lodge built of white marble exquisitely polished. he entered, and beheld on one of the raised platforms which skirted the passage into the court two beautiful damsels playing at the game of chess; one of whom on beholding him exclaimed, "surely, sister, this is the young man who passed this way about a month ago with bharam the magician?" "i am he!" exclaimed mazin, at the same time throwing himself at her feet, "and entreat your hospitable protection." the lady, raising him from the ground, said, "stranger, you resemble so much a once beloved brother, that i feel inclined to adopt thee as such, if my sister will also agree to do so." the other lady readily assented. they then embraced mazin, seated him between them, and requested to be informed of his adventures, of which he gave them a true narration. when mazin had concluded his story, the ladies expressed compassion for his misfortunes, and the strongest resentment against the accursed magician, whom they vowed to punish by a tormenting death for having had the insolence to accuse them of being evil genii. they then proceeded to acquaint him with the cause of their residence in this secluded palace, saying, "brother, for as such we shall henceforward regard you, our father is a most potent sultan of a race of good genii, who were converted by solomon, the son of david, to the true faith; we are seven daughters by the same mother; but for some cause which we do not know the sultan our father, being fearful of our becoming connected with mankind, has placed us in this solitary spot. this palace was erected by genii for our accommodation; the meadows and forests around it are delightful, and we often amuse ourselves with field sports, there being plenty of every sort of game, as you must have observed. when we want horses or camels we have only to beat a small magical drum, and they instantly attend our call, ready caparisoned. our five sisters are at present at the chase, but will soon return. set thy heart at rest, forget thy misfortunes, which are now at an end, and thou shall live with us in ease and pleasure." the five sisters soon returned, and mazin's adventures being recounted to them they also adopted him as their brother; and he continued with these ladies, who strove to divert him all in their power by repeated rounds of amusements: one day they hunted, another hawked, another fished, and their indoor pleasures were varied and delightful; so that mazin soon recovered his health, and was happy to the extent of his wishes. a year had elapsed, when mazin one day riding out for his amusement to the enamelled dome supported on four golden columns, perceived under it the accursed magician, and with him a youth, whom, like himself, he had inveigled into his snares, and devoted also to destruction. the rage of mazin was kindled at the sight; he drew his sabre, and rushing unperceived behind the sorcerer, who was in the act of flaying a camel for the purposes already described, seized him by his hair, and exclaimed, "wretch! the judgment of heaven at length hath overtaken thee, and soon shall thy impure soul be plunged into that fire thou hast blasphemously adored." the magician struggled, but in vain. he then implored for mercy and forgiveness; but mazin, convinced by experience that he deserved none, struck off his head at one blow. then informing the intended victim, who stood near gazing with astonishment, of the wicked arts of the accursed bharam, and of his own narrow escape from almost certain destruction, he advised the young man to remount his camel, and return to the spot where he had disembarked from the vessel, which would safely convey him back to his own country. the youth, having thanked him for his deliverance, took his leave; and mazin returned to the palace, carrying with him the head of the magician as a trophy of his victory. he was highly applauded for his prowess by the sisters, who rejoiced in the destruction of so cruel an enemy to mankind. many days had not elapsed after this event, when one morning mazin and the sisters sitting together in a gallery of the palace, observed a thick cloud of dust rising from the desert and approaching towards them. as it came nearer they perceived through it a troop of horsemen; upon which the sisters, desiring mazin to retire into an inner chamber, went to the gateway to inquire who the strangers might be. they were servants of the genie sultan, father to the ladies, and sent by him to conduct them to his presence, in order to attend the nuptials of a near relation. upon this summons the sisters prepared for the journey, and at the end of three days departed, assuring mazin that they would return in a month. at taking leave they gave him the keys of every apartment in the palace, telling him that he might open every door except one, which to enter might be attended with unpleasant consequences, and therefore had better be avoided. mazin promised to observe their caution; and for many days was so well amused in examining the magnificent rooms and curiosities of the palace, that he did not feel a wish to transgress till the forbidden door alone remained unopened. having then nothing to divert him, he could not resist the impulse of curiosity, but unlocked the door, which opened on a marble staircase by which he ascended to the terraced roof of the palace, from whence a most delightful prospect feasted his sight. on one side his eye was arrested by an extensive garden, in the centre of which, under shady trees, was a basin of clear water, lined with gems of every colour and description. he resolved to visit this enchanting object; and descending the staircase, explored his way through a long arcade, which led him at length into the garden, in which he diverted himself with the scenery it afforded for some time. he then retired to an alcove on the margin of the basin, and sat down; but had not rested many moments, when to his astonishment he beheld descending from the sky a company of beautiful damsels, whose robes of light green silk floating in the air seemed their only support. alarmed at such a preternatural appearance, he retired to the end of the alcove, from whence he watched their motions. they alighted on the brink of the water, and having thrown off their robes, stood to the enraptured view of mazin in native loveliness. never had he beheld such enchanting beauty; but one even more exquisitely charming than the rest attracted his gaze, and from the instant fixed the affections of his heart. they now plunged into the basin, where for some time they amused themselves by swimming, every now and then playfully dashing the water over themselves and at each other. when satiated with frolic they came out of the water, sat for some time on the verdant margin, then dressed themselves, and adjusting their robes to the air, soared aloft, and were soon far from the sight of the enamoured mazin, who followed them till his eyes could stretch no farther; then despairing of ever again beholding the object of his affections, he fainted on the grass, and it was some time before he recovered his senses. he returned melancholy to the palace, and spent the night in reposeless agitation. the following morning the seven sisters returned; and she who had first welcomed him to their abode, and had ever since retained for mazin the purest affection, ran with eagerness to inquire after his health. great was her affliction on beholding him upon his bed, pale, and apparently in a state of rapid decay. after many kind questions, to which he returned no answers, she entreated earnestly, by the vow of brotherly and sisterly adoption which had past between them, that he would inform her of the cause of his unhappy dejection; assuring him that she would use every exertion to remove it, and gratify his wishes, be they what they might, however difficult to be obtained. mazin upon this, in a feeble tone, related his adventure in the garden; and declared that unless the beautiful (he supposed celestial) damsel could be obtained for him he must die of grief. the sister bade him be comforted, for in a short time his desires should be satisfied, which revived his spirits, and he accompanied his kind hostess to welcome home her sisters, who received him with their usual hospitality, but were grieved and alarmed at the sad alteration in his appearance, of which they inquired the reason, and were informed that it was the effect of absence from his generous patronesses. the next morning the sisters went upon a hunting excursion for ten days, only one (his kindest friend) remained in the palace, under pretence of attending mazin, whose health, she said, was too delicate to bear the exercise of the chase. when the others were departed, she informed mazin that the beautiful beings he had seen in the garden were of a race of genie much more powerful than her own, that they inhabited a country surrounded by seas and deserts not to be approached by human exertion, that the ladies he beheld were sisters to the queen of these genii, whose subjects were entirely female, occasionally visited by male genii, with whom they were in alliance for the sake of population, and to whom all the males were sent away as soon as born. she further told him, that these females had the power, from their silken robes, of soaring through the air with a flight an hundred times swifter than that of any bird, that they were fond of recreating in verdant spots, and bathing in the clearest waters, and that the garden he had seen them in was a favourite place of their resort, so that they would probably soon visit it again. "possibly," continued she, "they may recreate themselves there to-day; we will be on the watch, and if they appear, you must fix your eye on your favourite, mark where she places her robes, and while they are in the water seize and conceal them, for deprived of these she cannot fly away, and you may make her your prisoner. bring her to the palace, and endeavour by tenderness and endearing attention to gain her affection and consent to marriage; but remember when she is in your power to keep her robes from her, for should she regain possession of them she would certainly return to the flying islands, and you would see her no more." mazin and his adopted sister now repaired to the garden, and seated themselves in the alcove, nor had they been there long when the fair genii appeared as before, descended on the margin of the basin, and all having undressed, each laying her robes by themselves, rushed playfully into the water, in which they began to swim, dive, and besprinkle playfully each other. mazin, whose eager eye had ardently watched his beloved, swiftly, but cautiously, snatching up the robes of his mistress, conveyed them to the alcove unobserved by the fair bathers; who, when they had sufficiently amused themselves, quitted the water, and ascending the bank, began to dress; but how can we describe the distressful confusion of the unhappy genie whose robes had been stolen? big tears rolled down her beautiful cheeks, she beat her bosom, tore her hair, and uttered loud shrieks, while her sisters, instead of consoling her, were concerned only for their own safety, and dressing themselves with confused haste, bade her farewell, mounted into the air, and disappeared. on their departure, mazin and his adopted sister approached, and saluting the disconsolate genie endeavoured to console her, but for the present in vain, her mind being intent only on the sad captivity she thought awaited her, and the loss of her native country and relations. they led her gently to the palace, and mazin, retiring respectfully, left her to the care of his adopted sister, who by a thousand endearments and attentions so gained upon her, that in two days the genie began to recover her spirits, and consented to receive mazin as her husband, when the ladies should return from the chase. on their arrival at the palace they were informed by their sisters of what had happened, and introduced to the fair stranger; who, diverted by their company and attentions, now scarcely regretted her captivity. preparations were made for the nuptials, and in a short time mazin was made happy in the possession of his beloved genie. a round of festivities succeeded their marriage, and the seven sisters strove with each other who should by invention of new amusements make their residence among them most delightful to the happy pair mazin, however, now began to think of his mother and his native city with fond regret, and at length begged leave of his kind patronesses to return home, to which request they, from admiration of his filial love, though unwilling to part, consented, and a day was fixed for his departure. the time being arrived, the sisters beat their magical drum, when several camels appeared at the gates of the palace heavily laden with the richest goods, a large sum of money, valuable jewels, and refreshments for the journey, led by proper attendants. one camel carried a splendid litter for the conveyance of his wife, and another was richly caparisoned for the use of mazin, who, having taken an affectionate leave of his generous benefactresses, whom he promised to revisit at some future time, departed, and pursued the route back towards the sea shore, where he had disembarked with the magician. on the journey nothing remarkable occurred, and on their arrival at the coast they found a vessel ready to receive them, when the wind proving fair, a short time carried them safely to bussorah, where mazin had the satisfaction of finding his mother alive, though greatly wasted with constant grief and lamentation for his loss. to describe the joy of their meeting is impossible, for never was there more tender affection between parent and child than subsisted between mazin and his mother. she seemed to gain new life from his recovery, and again to grow young. the fair genie, who was now in the way of being a mother, appeared perfectly contented in her situation, and mazin, so unexpectedly restored to his country, was happy in the possession of all he wished; for the generous sisters had bestowed such wealth upon him, that, in addition to the domestic felicity he enjoyed, he was now one of the richest persons in all bussorah. three years had rolled away in undisturbed happiness, during which the fair genie had borne him two sons, when mazin thought it grateful to perform his promise to the seven sisters, the benevolent foundresses of his good fortune. having accordingly made preparations for his journey, he committed his wife's native robes to the care of his mother, giving her the key of a secret recess in which he had lodged them, but with a strict charge not to let the genie put them on, lest an irresistible impulse might inspire her to fly away to her own country; for though in general she had seemed contented, he had heard her now and then express a wish to be again with her own friends and species. the mother promised obedience, and mazin having taken an affectionate leave of her, his wife and children, with assurances of speedy return, embarked on board a vessel and pursued his voyage, which was uncommonly prosperous. on his landing he found camels waiting his arrival on the beach, for the genie ladies, by magic arts, knew of his coming, and had stationed them for his conveyance to their palace, which he reached in safety, and was received with the most affectionate welcomes and hospitality. some time after the departure of mazin, his wife requested her mother-in-law's permission to amuse herself at a public bath, and the old lady willingly accompanied her and the children to the most celebrated hummaum in the city, which was frequented by the ladies and those of the chief personages of the court, the caliph haroon al rusheed then happening to be at bussorah. when they reached the bath there were then in it some of the principal female slaves, attendants of zobeide, who, on the entrance of mazin's wife, were struck with her uncommon beauty, and instantly collecting round her, rapturously gazed upon her as she was undressing. the slaves of zobeide did not cease to admire mazin's wife till she left the hummaum, and even followed her till she entered her own house, when dusk had begun to gloom, and they became apprehensive of their mistress's being displeased at their long absence, and so it happened. upon entering into her presence, zobeide exclaimed, "where have ye loitered, and what has been the cause of your unusually long stay at the hummaum?" upon which they looked confusedly at each other, and remained silent. the sultana then said in anger, "instantly inform me of the cause of your delay!" when they related the wonderful beauty of mazin's wife, and dwelt so much upon her charms, that zobeide was overcome by curiosity to behold them. on the following day she sent for the mother of mazin, who obeyed the summons with fear and trembling, wondering what could have made the caliph's consort desirous of seeing a person of her inferior rank. mazin's mother prostrated herself, and kissed the feet of the sultana, who graciously raising her, said, "am mazin, our wish is that you introduce to me your son's wife, of whose beauty i have heard such a description, that i long to behold her." when the mother of mazin heard these words, her heart sunk within her, she trembled, but dared not refuse the command of zobeide, and she said, "to hear is to obey!" after which she took leave, with the usual ceremony of prostration before the throne of the sultana. when the mother of mazin left the princess zobeide she returned towards her own house; and when she had reached it, entered to her son's wife, and said, "our sultana zobeide hath invited thee to an entertainment." the wife of mazin was delighted, instantly rose up, arrayed herself in the richest apparel she was mistress of, and dressed her two children in their choicest garments and ornaments then with them, the mother of her husband, and a black slave, she proceeded, till they reached the palace of the princess zobeide, which they entered, and found her sitting in impatient expectation. they kissed the ground be fore her, and prayed for her prosperity. when the sultana zobeide beheld the wife of mazin her senses were confounded, her heart fluttered, she was astonished at her beauty, elegance, graceful stature, and blooming complexion, and exclaimed, "gracious heaven! where could such a form as this have been created?" then she seated her guests, and ordered a collation to be brought in, which was done immediately, when they ate and were satisfied, but zobeide could not keep her eyes from the wife of mazin of bussorah. she kissed her, and questioned her concerning what had befallen herself and her husband. her astonishment was redoubled on the relation of their adventures. the wife of mazin then said, "my princess, if you are thus surprised, though you have not seen me in my native robes, how would you be delighted at my appearance in them! if, therefore, you wish to gratify your curiosity by beholding a miracle, you must command the mother of my husband to bring my country dress." upon this zobeide commanded the mother of mazin to fetch the flying robes, and as she dared not disobey the sultana of the caliph, she went home, and speedily returned with them. zobeide took them into her hands, examined them, and was surprised at their fashion and texture. at length she gave them to the wife of mazin. when the wife of mazin had received the robes, she unfolded them, and going into the open court of the palace, arrayed herself in them, then taking her children in her arms, mounted with them suddenly into the air. when she had ascended to about the height of sixty feet, she called out to the mother of her husband, saying, "give my adieu, dear mother, to my lord, and tell him, should ardent love for me affect him he may come to me in the islands of waak al waak." after this speech she soared towards the clouds, till she was hidden from their eyes, and speeded to her own country. when the mother of mazin beheld her in the air, she beat her cheeks, scattered dust upon her head, and cried aloud to the princess zobeide, "this is thy mischief." zobeide was not able to answer or reprove her boldness from the excess of her sorrow and regret, which made her repent, when repentance could not avail. the old lady returned in despair to her own habitation. thus it happened to the persons above mentioned, but how was it with the affairs of mazin? he did not cease travelling for some time, till he arrived at the palace of the seven sisters, and paid his respects. they were rejoiced at his arrival, and inquired after his wife, when he informed them she was well, and that god had blessed him with two children, both sons, which added to their satisfaction. he remained with them for some time, after which he entreated their permission to depart. they took a tender leave of him, when he bade them farewell, and returned towards his own country; nor did he halt till he arrived in safety at bussorah. when he entered his house he found his mother alone, mournfully weeping and lamenting what had happened in his absence. seeing her in this state, he inquired the cause, upon which she informed him of all that had occurred, from the beginning to the conclusion. when mazin had heard the unwelcome intelligence, he cried out in an agony of distress for the loss of his wife and children, fell fainting to the ground, and forgot his own existence. his mother, on beholding his condition, beat her cheeks, and sprinkled water upon his face till he came to himself, when he wept and said to his mother, "inform me what my wife may have spoken on her departure." she repeated her farewell words: upon hearing which his distress and ardent longing for his wife and children was redoubled. he remained mournfully at home for the space of ten days, after which he resolved upon the journey to the islands of waak al waak, distant from bussorah one hundred and fifty years of travel. mazin departed from his mother after he had taken leave and entreated her prayers for his success, but the aged matron was so affected that she ordered her tomb to be prepared, and did nothing but weep and lament night and day for her son, who did not halt till he had reached the palace of the seven sisters. when they saw him they were surprised, and said to one another, "there must be some urgent cause for his returning so speedily." they saluted him, and inquired after his affairs: upon which he informed them of the desertion of his wife, what she had said at going away, and of his resolves to travel to the islands of waak al waak. the seven ladies replied, "this expedition is impossible to be accomplished either by thee or any of thy race; for these islands are distant a hundred and fifty years' journey, so that thou canst not live to reach them." mazin exclaimed, "my attempting it, however, is incumbent upon me, though i may perish on the road: if god has decreed my reunion with my wife i shall meet her again; but if not, i shall die and be received into the mercy of the almighty." the sisters did not cease to importune him to lay aside the journey, but it was impossible for him to obey them or remain at ease; upon which their grief for his situation increased. they knew that the distance was such as he could never overcome by human aid, or rejoin his wife, but they respected his ardent love for her and his children. on this account they consulted with one another how to assist him on the journey. he remained with them a month, but unable to repose or enjoy their entertainments. the sisters had two uncles, one named abd al kuddoos, and the other abd al sulleeb, who lived at three months distance from them, to whom they wrote in recommendation of mazin as follows. "the bearer is our friend mazin of bussorah. if you can direct him how to reach the islands of waak al waak, assist him; but if not, prevent him from proceeding, lest he plunge himself into destruction. at present he will not attend to our advice or reproofs, from excess of love to his wife and children, but through you there may finally occur to him safety and success." when they had sealed this letter they gave it to mazin, and bestowed also upon him, of water and provisions, what would suffice for three months' consumption, laden upon camels, and a steed for his conveyance, upon which he took leave of them with many thanks, fully resolved to pursue his journey to the islands of waak al waak. with much pain and difficulty he pursued his journey, nor had he any pleasure either in eating or drinking during the three months of his pilgrimage. at length he reached a verdant pasturage, in which was a variety of flowers, flocks of sheep, and cattle feeding. it was indeed a paradise upon earth. in one part of it he perceived a pleasant eminence on which were buildings: he advanced to them, and entered a court. within it he beheld a venerable looking personage, his beard flowing to his middle, whom he saluted; when the sage returned his compliments, welcomed him with respectful demeanour, and congratulated him on his arrival. he seated him, and laid before him a collation, of which they both ate till they were satisfied. mazin lodged with him that night, and in the morning the sage inquired of him his situation, and the reason of his coming to such a sequestered spot. mazin informed him; and, behold! this personage was abd al kuddoos; who, when he heard his guest mention particulars of his brother's children, redoubled his attentions to him, and said, "did they give you any letter?" mazin replied, "yes." he eagerly exclaimed, "give it to me." he gave it him, when he opened it, read it to himself, and considered the contents word byword. abd al kuddoos gazed earnestly at mazin; reflected on his adventures, at which he was astonished; and how he had plunged himself into danger and difficulty in such a wild pursuit. he then said to him, "my son, my advice is, that thou return by the way which thou hast come, and no longer vex thy soul on account of impossibilities, for this business thou canst not accomplish. i will write to the daughters of my brother what shall make thee happy with them, and restore thy peace. return then to them, and perplex not thyself farther, for between this spot and the islands of waak al waak is the distance of a hundred and fifty years' journey. on the way also are numerous perils, for in it are the abodes of genii, the haunts of wild beasts, and monstrous serpents, and some parts also where food cannot be had or thirst be gratified. have compassion then, my son, upon thyself, and rush not on destruction." abd al kuddoos continued to dissuade him from his resolution during three days, but he would not hear advice or reproof. on the third he prepared to depart, being sufficiently refreshed; upon which the old man, seeing his steadiness, arose, kindled a fire, cast into it some perfumes, and uttered incantations, to mazin unintelligible; when suddenly appeared a genie, in stature forty cubits; he was one of the subdued spirits of our lord solomon. he muttered and growled, saying, "for what, my lord, hast thou summoned me here? shall i tear up this eminence by the roots, and hurl it beyond the mountains of kaaf?" abd al kuddoos replied, "god be merciful to thee; i have occasion for thee, and request that thou wilt accomplish my wish in one day:" upon which the genie answered, "to hear is to obey." abd al kuddoos then said to the genie, "take up this young man, and convey him to my brother abd al sullecb." he consented, though the distance was a common journey of seventy years. the genie advanced, seized mazin, and placing him upon his shoulders, soared with him through the air from morning till sunset, when he descended before abd al sulleeb, paid his respects, and informed him of the commands of his brother abd al kuddoos. upon this he greeted mazin, who presented him the letter from the daughters of his brother, which he opened and read. when he had examined the contents, he was astonished at the circumstances which had befallen mazin, his arrival with him, and his resolve to penetrate to the islands of waak al waak. he then said to him, "my son, i advise that thou vex not thyself with these difficulties and dangers, for thou canst never attain thy object, or reach these islands." mazin now began to despair, and at the remembrance of his wife and children to weep bitterly, insomuch that he fainted, which, when abd al sulleeb beheld, his heart sympathized with his unhappy condition. he perceived that he would not return from his pursuit, or be controlled, and therefore thought it best to assist his progress towards the islands. going into another apartment, he kindled a fire, over which he sprinkled some perfumes, and uttered incantations; when, lo! ten genii presented themselves before him, and said, "inform us, my lord, what thou desirest, and we will bring it thee in an instant." he replied, "may god be gracious unto you!" and related to them the story of maxin, his wife, and children. when the ten genii had heard the narration, they exclaimed, "this affair is wonderful and miraculous; however, we will take and convey him safely over the mountains and deserts, to the extent of our country and dominion, and leave him there, but cannot promise further assistance, as we dare not pass a step beyond our own territories, for the land belongs to others. in it are innumerable horrors, and we dread the inhabitants." mazin having heard what they said, exclaimed, "i accept your offer with gratitude." the ten genii now took up mazin, soared with him through the air for a night and day, till they came to the limits of their territories, and then set him down in a country called the land of kafoor, took, their leaves, and vanished from his sight. he walked onwards, and did not neglect to employ his tongue in prayer, beseeching from god deliverance and the attainment of his wishes. often would he exclaim, "o god, deliverer from bondage, who canst guide in safety over mountains, who feedest the wild beasts of the forest, who decreest life and death, thou canst grant me if thou choosest relief from all my distress, and free me from all my sorrows." in this manner did he travel onwards during ten days; on the last of which he beheld three persons contending with each other, each man trying to kill his fellow. he was astonished at their conduit, but advanced towards them. upon his approach they desisted from combat, and one and all exclaimed, "we will be judged before his young man, and whoever contradicts his opinion shall be deemed in the wrong." to this they agreed, and coming up to mazin, demanded from him a just arbitration in their dispute. they then displayed before him a cap, a small copper drum, and a wooden ball, saying, "we are three brothers, by the same father and mother, who are both received into the mercy of god, leaving behind them these articles. they are three, and we are three; but a dispute hath fallen out among us respecting their allotment, as each of us says, 'i will have the cap.' our contention made us proceed to blows, but now we are desirous that thou shouldst arbitrate between us, and allot an article to each of us as thou shall judge best, when we will rest satisfied with thy decision, but should either contradict it he shall be adjuged an offender." when mazin heard the above he was surprised, and said to himself, "these articles are so paltry and of such trifling value as not to be worth an arbitration; for surely this shabby cap, the drum, and the wooden ball, cannot be worth altogether more than half a deenar; but i will inquire farther about them." he then said, "my brethren, wherein lies the value of these three things about which you were contending, for to me they appear of very little worth." they replied, "dear uncle, each of them has a property worth treasuries of wealth, and to each of them belongs a tale so wonderful, that wert thou to write it on a tablet of adamant it would remain an example for those who will be admonished." mazin then requested that they would relate to him the stories of the three articles, when they said, "the eldest brother shall first deliver the account of one, its properties, what can be gained from them, and we will not conceal any thing from thee." "this cap," said the elder brother, "is called the cap of invisibility, by which, whoever possesseth it may become sovereign of the world. when he puts it on, he may enter where he pleases, for none can perceive him, either genii or men, so that he may convey away whatever he chooses, unseen, in security. he may enter the cabinets of kings and statesmen, and hear all they converse upon respecting political intrigues. does he covet wealth, he may visit the royal treasuries, and plunder them at his pleasure; or does he wish for revenge, he can kill his enemy without being detected. in short, he may act as he pleases without fear of discovery." mazin now said to himself, "this cap can become nobody but me, to whom it will be most advantageous in the object of my expedition. perhaps it may conduct me to my wife and children, and i may obtain from its possession all i wish. it is certainly one of the wonders of the world and rarities of the age, not to be found among the riches of kings of the present day." when he had ruminated thus, he said, "i am acquainted with the properties of the cap, what are those of the drum?" the second brother began, saying, "whoever has this drum in his possession, should he be involved in a difficult situation, let him take it out of its case, and with the sticks gently beat upon the characters engraven on the copper; when, if his mind be collected and his courage firm, there will appear to him wonderful matters. the virtue of it consists in the words inscribed upon it, which were written by our lord solomon bin david in talismanic characters, each of which has control over certain spirits and princes of the genii, and a power that cannot be described in speech. hence, whoever is master of this drum may become superior to all the monarchs of the present day, for, on his beating it in the manner already described, when he is pressed for help, all the princes of the genii, with their sons, will appear also their troops and followers, ready to obey his commands. whatever he may order them to execute they will perform by virtue of the talisman of our lord solomon bin david." when mazin of bussorah had heard the above, he said to himself, "this drum is fitting only for me, as i have much more need of it than the brothers. it will protect me from all evil in the islands of waak al waak, should i reach them, and meet with my wife and children. it is true, if i take only the cap i may be able to enter all places, but this drum will keep injury from me, and with it i shall be secure from all enemies." after this, he said, "i have been informed of the virtues of the cap, and the properties of the drum, there now only remains the account of the wooden ball, that i may give judgment between you, therefore let the third brother speak." he answered, "to hear is to obey." the third brother said, "my dear uncle, whoever possesses this ball will find in it wonderful properties, for it brings distant parts near, and makes near distant, it shortens long journeys, and lengthens short ones if any person wish to perform one of two hundred years in two days, let him take it from its case, then lay it upon the ground and mention what place he desires to go, it will instantly be in motion, and rush over the earth like the blast of the stormy gale. he must then follow it till he arrives at the place desired, which he will have the power to do with ease." when the youth had concluded his description of the virtue of the wooden ball, mazin resolved within himself to take this also from the brothers, and said, "if your wish be that i should arbitrate between you, i must first prove the virtues of these three articles, and afterwards let each take that which may fall to him by decision." the three brothers exclaimed, "we have heard, and we consent; act as thou thinkest best, and may god protect thee in thy undertakings!" mazin then put on the cap, placed the drum under his vestband, took up the ball and placed it on the ground, when it speeded before him swiftly as the gale. he followed it till it came to the gate of a building which it entered, and mazin also went in with it. the brothers ran till they were fatigued, and cried out, "thou hast sufficiently tried them;" but in vain, for by this time there was between him and them the distance of ten years' journey. mazin now rested, took the drum in his hands, rubbed his fingers over the talismanic characters, hesitated whether he should strike them with the sticks, then labored lightly upon them, when, lo! a voice exclaimed, "mazin, thou hast gained thy desires. "thou wilt not, however," continued the voice, "arrive at thy object till after much trouble, but take care of the ball in this spot, for thou art at present in the land of the evil genii." upon this, mazin took up the ball and concealed it in his clothes; but he was overcome with astonishment at hearing words without seeing the speaker, and exclaimed, "who art thou, my lord?" "i am," replied the voice, "one of the slaves of the characters which thou seest engraved upon the drum, and unremittingly in attendance; but the other servants will not appear except the drum be beaten loudly, when three hundred and sixty chiefs will attend thy commands, each of whom has under his authority ten thousand genii, and every individual of them numerous followers." mazin now inquired the distance of the islands of waak al waak; to which the voice replied, "three years' journey:" upon which he struck the ball before him, and followed it. he next arrived in a region infested by serpents, dragons, and ravenous beasts, in the mountains of which were mines of copper. he now again tabored gently upon the drum, when the voice exclaimed, "i am ready to obey thy commands." "inform me," said mazin, "what is the name of this country?" "it is called," answered the voice, "the land of dragons and ravenous animals. be careful then of thyself, and make no delay, nor regard fatigue, for these mountains are not to be passed without a chance of trouble from the inhabitants, who are genii, and in their caves are furious wild beasts." upon this he struck the ball afresh, and followed it unceasingly, till at length he reached the sea shore, and perceived the islands of waak al waak at a distance, whose mountains appeared of a fiery red, like the sky gilded by the beams of the setting sun. when he beheld them he was struck with awe and dread; but recovering, he said to himself, "why should i be afraid? since god has conducted me hither, he will protect me; or, if i die, i shall be relieved from my troubles, and be received into the mercy of god." he then gathered some fruits, which he ate, drank some water, and having performed his devotions, laid himself down to sleep, nor did he awake till the morning. in the morning mazin had recourse to his drum, which he rubbed gently, when the voice inquired his commands. "how am i," said he, "to pass this sea, and enter the islands?" "that is not to be done," replied the voice, "without the assistance of a sage who resides in a cell on yonder mountains, distant from hence a day's journey, but the ball will conduct thee there in half an hour. when you reach his abode, knock softly at the door, when he will appear, and inquire whence you come, and what you want. on entering he will receive thee kindly, and desire thee to relate thy adventures from beginning to end. conceal nothing from him, for he alone can assist thee in passing the sea." mazin then struck the ball, and followed it till he arrived at the abode of the hermit, the gate of which he found locked he knocked, when a voice from within said, "who is at the gate?" "a guest," replied mazin upon which the sage arose and opened the door, admitted him, and entertained him kindly for a whole night and day, after which mazin ventured to inquire how he might pass the sea the sage replied, "what occasions thy searching after such an object?" mazin answered, "my lord, i intend to enter the islands, and with that view have i travelled far distant from my own country." when the sage heard this, he stood up before him, took a book, opened it, and read in it to himself for some time, every now and then casting a look of astonishment upon mazin. at length he raised his head and said, "heavens! what troubles, disasters, and afflictions in exile have been decreed to this youth in the search of his object!" upon this mazin exclaimed, "wherefore, my lord, did you look at the book and then at me so earnestly?" the sage replied, "my son, i would instruct thee how to reach the islands, since such is thy desire, but thou canst not succeed in thy desires till after much labour and inconvenience. however, at present relate to me thy adventures from first to last" mazin rejoined, "my story, my lord, is such a surprising one, that were it engraven on tablets of adamant, it would be an example for such as would take warning." when he had related his story from beginning to end, the sage exclaimed, "god willing thou wilt attain thy wishes:" upon which mazin inquired concerning the sea surrounding the islands, and how he could overcome such an impediment to his progress; when the sage answered, "by god's permission, in the morning we will repair to the mountains, and i will shew thee the wonders of the seas." when god permitted morning to dawn the hermit arose, took mazin with him, and they ascended the mountains, till they reached a structure resembling a fortress, which they entered, and proceeded into the inmost court, in which was an immense colossal statue of brass, hollowed into pipes, having in the midst of it a reservoir lined with marble, the work of magicians. when mazin beheld this he was astonished, and began to tremble with fear at the vastness of the statue, and what miraculous power it might contain. the hermit now kindled a fire, threw into it some perfumes, and muttered some unintelligible words, when suddenly dark clouds arose, from which burst out eddies of tempestuous wind, lightnings, claps of thunder, groans, and frightful noises, and in the midst of the reservoir appeared boiling waves, for it was near the ocean surrounding the islands. the hermit did not cease to utter his incantations, until the hurricane and noises had subsided by his authority, for he was more powerful than any of the magicians, and had command over the rebellious genii. he now said to mazin, "go out, and look towards the ocean surrounding the islands." mazin repaired to the summit of the mountain, and looked towards the sea, but could not discover the smallest trace of its existence: upon which he was astonished at the miraculous power of the hermit. he returned to him, exclaiming, "i can behold no remains of the ocean, and the islands appear joined to the main land;" when the sage said, "my son, place thy reliance on god and pursue thy object," after which he vanished from sight. mazin now proceeded into the islands, and did not stop till he had reached a verdant spot watered by clear rivulets, and shaded by lofty trees. it was now sunrise, and among the wonders which he beheld was a tree like the weeping willow, on which hung, by way of fruit, beautiful damsels, who exclaimed, "praised be god our creator, and former of the islands of waak al waak." they then dropped from the tree and expired. at sight of this prodigy his senses were confounded, and he exclaimed, "by heavens, this is miraculously surprising!" when he had recovered himself, he roamed through the groves, and admired the contrivances of the almighty till sunset, when he sat down to rest. he had not sat long when there approached towards him a masculinely looking old woman of disagreeable countenance, at sight of whom mazin was alarmed. the matron guessing that he was in fear of her, said to him, "what is thy name, what are thy wants? art thou of this country? inform me; be not afraid or apprehensive, for i will request of god that i may be the means of forwarding thy wishes." on hearing these words the heart of mazin was encouraged, and he rerelated to her his adventures from first to last. when she had heard them, she knew that he must be husband to the sister of her mistress, who was queen of the islands of waak al waak, and said, "thy object is a difficult one, but i will assist thee all in my power." the old woman now conducted mazin through by-paths to the capital of the island, and led him unperceived in the darkness of night, when the inhabitants had ceased to pass through the streets, to her own house. she then set before him refreshments, and having eaten and drunk till he was satisfied, he praised god for his arrival; when the matron informed him concerning his wife, that she had endured great troubles and afflictions since her separation, and repented sincerely of her flight. upon hearing this, mazin wept bitterly, and fainted with anguish. when revived by the exertions of the old woman, she comforted him by promises of speedy assistance to complete his wishes, and left him to his repose. next morning the old woman desiring mazin to wait patiently for her return, repaired to the palace, where she found the queen and her sisters in consultation concerning the wife of mazin, and saying, "this wretch hath espoused a man, by whom she has children, but now she is returned, we will put her to death after divers tortures." upon the entrance of the old lady they arose, saluted her with great respect, and seated her, for she had been their nurse. when she had rested a little, she said, "were you not conversing about your unfortunate sister? but can ye reverse the decrees of god?" "dear nurse," replied they, "no one can avoid the will of heaven, and had she wedded one of our own nature there would have been no disgrace, but she has married a human being of bussorah, and has children by him, so that our species will despise us, and tauntingly say, 'your sister is a harlot.' her death is therefore not to be avoided." the nurse rejoined, "if you put her to death your scandal will be greater than hers, for she was wedded lawfully, and her offspring is legitimate; but i wish to see her." the eldest sister answered, "she is now confined in a subterraneous dungeon;" upon which the nurse requested permission to visit her, which was granted, and one of the sisters attended to conduct her to the prison. the nurse, on her arrival at the prison, found the wife of mazin in great distress from the cruelty of her sisters. her children were playing about her, but very pallid, from the closeness of their confinement. on the entrance of the nurse she stood up, made her obeisance, and began to weep, saying, "my dear nurse, i have been long in this dungeon, and know not what in the end may be my fate." the old woman kissed her cheeks, and said, "my dear daughter, god will bring thee relief, perchance on this very day." when the wife of mazin heard this, she said, "good heavens! your words, my dear nurse, recall a gleam of comfort that last night struck across my mind from a voice, which said, 'be comforted, o wife of mazin, for thy deliverance is near.'" upon this the old woman replied, "thou shalt indeed be comforted, for thy husband is at my abode, and will speedily release thee." the unfortunate prisoner, overcome with joy, fainted away, but was soon restored by the nurse's sprinkling water upon her face, when she opened her eyes and said, "i conjure thee by heaven, my dear nurse, inform me if thou speakest truth, or dissemblest." "i not only speak truth," answered the nurse, "but by god's help thou shalt meet thy husband this day." after this she left her. the nurse, upon her return home, inquired of mazin if he had skill to take his wife away, provided he was admitted into the dungeon at night. he replied, "yes." when night was set in, she conducted him to the spot where she was confined, left him near the gate, and went her way. he then put on his cap of invisibility, and remained unperceived all night by any one. early in the morning the queen, his wife's eldest sister, advanced, opened the gate of the prison, and entered, when he followed unseen behind her, and seated himself in a corner of the apartment. the queen went up to her sister, and beat her cruelly with a whip, while her children wept around her, till the blood appeared upon her body, when she left her hanging by her hair from a pillar, went out, and locked the door of the dungeon. mazin now arose, unloosed his wife's hair, and pulling off the cap, appeared before her, when she exclaimed, "from whence didst thou come?" they then embraced each other, and he said. "ah, why didst thou act thus, leave me in such affliction, and plunge thyself into such distress, which, indeed, thy conduct hath almost deserved?" "it is true," replied she; "but what is past is past, and reproach will not avail, unless thus canst effect our escape:" upon which he exclaimed, "does thy inclination really lead thee to accompany me to my own country?" she answered, "yes; do with me what thou choosest." they remained in endearment with their children until evening, when the keeper of the dungeon approaching, mazin put on his cap of invisibility. the keeper having set down the provisions for the night, retired into a recess of the dungeon and fell asleep; when mazin and his family sat down and refreshed themselves. perceiving the keeper asleep, mazin tried the door and found it unlocked; upon which, he, with his wife and children, left the prison, and travelled as quickly as possible all night. when the queen, in the morning, was informed of her sister's escape she was enraged, and made incantations, on which seven thousand genii attended, with whom she marched out in pursuit, resolved to cut the fugitives in pieces. mazin, looking behind him, perceived a cloud of dust, and soon appeared the forces of his wife's sister, who cried out on seeing him, with dreadful howls, "where will ye go, ye wretches, ye accursed? where can ye hide yourselves?" upon this mazin took out his drum, and beat it violently, when, lo! there appeared before him legions of genii, in number more than could be reckoned, and they fought with the armies of the queen, who was taken prisoner, with her principal attendants. when the wife of mazin beheld her sister in this distress her compassion was moved towards her, and she said to her husband, "hurt not my sister, nor use her ill, for she is my elder:" upon which he treated her respectfully, and commanded tents to be pitched for her and her court. peace being established, the sisters took an affectionate leave, and mazin, with his family, departed for the residence of abd al sulleeb, which they speedily reached with the assistance of the genii, and the directing ball. the old man received him kindly, and inquired his adventures, when he related them to him; at which he was surprised, especially at the account of the cap, the drum, and the ball; of which last mazin begged his acceptance, being now near home, and having no farther occasion for its use. abd al sulleeb was much pleased, and entertained him magnificently for three days, when mazin wishing to depart, the old man presented him with rich gifts, and dismissed him. mazin was continuing his route, when suddenly a band of a hundred banditti appeared, resolved to plunder and put him and his companions to death, with which design they kept advancing. mazin called out to them, "brother arabs, let the covenant of god be between you and me, keep at a distance from me." when they heard this they increased their insolence, surrounded him, and supposed they should easily seize all that he had; but especially when they beheld his wife, and the beauty she was endowed with, they said one to another, "let us put him to death, and not suffer him to live." each man resolved within himself, saying, "i will seize this damsel, and not take the plunder." when mazin saw that they were bent upon attacking him, to seize his wife and plunder his effects, he took out his drum and beat upon it in a slight manner, when, behold! ten genii appeared before him, requiring his commands. he replied, "i wish the dispersion of yonder horsemen;" upon which one of the ten advanced among the hundred banditti, and uttered such a tremendous yell as made the mountains reverberate the sound. immediately as he sent forth the yell, the banditti, in alarm, dispersed themselves among the rocks, when such as fell from their horses' backs fled on foot; so that they lost their reputation, and were ridiculed among the chiefs of the abbasside tribes. mazin now pursued his journey, and did not halt till he had reached the abode of abd al kuddoos, who advanced to meet him and saluted him, but was astonished when he beheld his company, and the wealth he had obtained. mazin related what had befallen him, of dangers, and hunger, and thirst; his safe arrival in the islands of waak al waak; the deliverance of his wife from prison, and the defeat of the army sent to oppose his return. he mentioned also the reconciliation between the sisters of his wife, and whatever had happened to him from first to last. abd al kuddoos was greatly astonished at these adventures, and said to mazin of bussorah, "truly, my son, these events are most surprising, and can have never occurred to any but thyself." mazin remained three days to repose himself, and was treated with hospitality and respect until the fourth, when he resolved to continue his journey, and took leave. he proceeded towards his own country, and did not halt on the way till he arrived with the seven sisters, the owners of the palace, who had so much befriended him. when mazin of bussorah arrived near the palace of the seven sisters, they came out to meet him, saluted him and his wife, and conducted them within; but they were astonished at his return, and at first could scarcely believe his success, wondering that he had not perished on the road, or been torn in pieces by the wild beasts of the desert; for they had regarded it as impossible that he should ever reach the islands of waak al waak. when they were seated, they requested him to relate to them all that had befallen him, which he did from first to last, and they were more than ever astonished at his uncommon adventures. after this they introduced a collation, and spread the cloth, when they ate till they were satisfied, and then wrote a letter and dispatched it to the mother of mazin, congratulating her on the health of her son, and his safe return with his wife and children. mazin remained with the ladies a month, enjoying himself in feasting and amusements, after which he begged permission to depart to his own country, for his heart was anxious for his mother. they dismissed him, and he travelled unceasingly till he arrived at bussorah. he entered the city at sunset, and proceeded to his own house, when his mother came out, saluted him, and embraced him. she had erected her tomb in the court of her house, and had wept night and day till she became blind, but when the letter arrived from the sisters, from the rapture of joy her sight returned unto her again. she beheld the children of her son, embraced them, and that night was to her as an eed or festival. when god had caused the morning to dawn, the chief personages of bussorah visited mazin to congratulate him on his return, and the principal ladies came to his mother, and rejoiced with her on the safety of her son. at length intelligence of it reached the caliph haroon al rusheed, who sent for mazin to his presence. having entered the audience chamber, he made the usual obeisance, when the caliph returned his salute, and commanded him to sit. when he was seated, the caliph demanded that he should relate the whole of what had befallen him, to which he answered, "to hear is to obey." mazin then recited his adventures from the time the fire-worshipper who had stolen him from his mother by his stratagems, the mode of his coming to the palace of the seven ladies, the manner in which he obtained his wife, her flight from the palace of the empress zobeide, his journey to the islands of waak al waak, also the dangers and difficulties he had encountered from first to last. the caliph was astonished, and said, "the substance of these adventures must not be lost or concealed, but shall be recorded in writing." he then commanded an amanuensis to attend, and seated mazin of bussorah by him, until he had taken down his adventures from beginning to end. story of the sultan, the dervish, and the barber's son. in the capital of a sultan named rammaud lived a barber, who had a son growing up to manhood, possessing great accomplishments of mind and person, and whose wit and humour drew numerous customers to his shop. one day a venerable dervish entering it, sat down, and calling for a looking glass, adjusted his beard and whiskers, at the same time asking many questions of the young man; after which he laid down a sherif, rose up, and departed. the next day he came again, and for several days following, always finishing his visit by leaving a piece of gold upon the looking-glass, to the great satisfaction of the barber, who from his other customers never usually received more than sonic coppers of little value; but though he liked the gold, his suspicions were raised against the generous donor, supposing him to be a necromancer, who had some evil design against his son, whom, therefore, he cautioned to be upon his guard. the visits of the dervish were continued as usual for some time; when one day he found the barber's son alone in the shop, and was informed that his father had gone to divert himself with viewing some experiments which the sultan was making of the mixture of various metals, being an adept in chemistry, and eager in search of the philosopher's stone. the dervish now invited the young man to accompany him to the spot where the experiments were making, and on their arrival they saw a vast furnace, into which the sultan and his attendants cast pieces of metal of various sorts. the dervish having taken a lump of ore from his wallet threw it into the furnace; then addressing the young barber, said, "i must for the present bid you farewell, as i have a journey to take; but if the sultan should inquire after me, let him know i am to be found in a certain city, and will attend his summons." having said this, the dervish presented the barber's son with a purse of gold, took his leave, and the youth returned home. great was the surprise of the sultan, when the metals in the furnace were all melted, to find them converted into a mass of solid gold, which proved, on assay, to be of the purest quality. every one was questioned as to what he had cast into the furnace, when there appeared no reason to suppose the transmutation could have been effected by such an accidental mixture of metals. at length it was remarked, that a dervish, accompanying the barber's son, had cast in a lump of ore, and immediately disappeared. upon this the sultan summoned the youth to his presence, and inquiring after his companion, was informed of the place of his residence, and of what, on his departure, he had said to him. the sultan was overjoyed at the welcome intelligence, and dispatched the young man, with an honourable attendance, to conduct the venerable dervish to his presence, where being arrived, he was received with the most distinguishing attention, and the barber's son was promoted to high office. after some days, the sultan requested the dervish to instruct him in the transmutation of metals, which he readily did, as well as in many other occult mysteries; which so gratified his royal patron, that he trusted the administration of government to his care. this disgusted the ministers and courtiers, who could not bear to be controlled by a stranger, and therefore resolved to effect his ruin. by degrees they persuaded their credulous master that the dervish was a magician, who would in time possess himself of his throne, and the sultan, alarmed, resolved to put him to death. with this intention, calling him to the presence, he accused him of sorcery, and commanded an executioner to strike off his head. "forbear awhile," exclaimed the dervish, "and let me live till i have shown you the most wonderful specimen of my art." to this the sultan consented, when the dervish, with chalk, drew a circle of considerable extent round the sultan and his attendants, then stepping into the middle of it, he drew a small circle round himself, and said, "now seize me if you can;" and immediately disappeared from sight. at the same instant, the sultan and his courtiers found themselves assaulted by invisible agents, who, tearing off their robes, whipped them with scourges till the blood flowed in streams from their lacerated backs. at length the punishment ceased, but the mortification of the sultan did not end here, for all the gold which the dervish had transmuted returned to its original metals. thus, by his unjust credulity, was a weak prince punished for his ungrateful folly. the barber and his son also were not to be found, so that the sultan could gain no intelligence of the dervish, and he and his courtiers became the laughingstock of the populace for years after their merited chastisement. adventures of aleefa, daughter of mherejaun, sultan of hind, and eusuff, son of sohul, sultan of sind. mherejaun, sultan of hind, was many years without any progeny, and immersed in melancholy at the thought of his kingdom's passing to another family. one evening, while indulging his gloomy thoughts, he dropped into a doze, from which he was roused by a voice exclaiming, "sultan, thy wife this night shall conceive. if she bears a son, he will increase the glory of thy house; but if a daughter, she will occasion thee disgrace and misfortune." in due time the favourite sultana was delivered of a daughter, to the great mortification of the parents, who would have destroyed her had not her infant smiles diverted their anger. she was brought up in the strictest privacy, and at the end of twelve years the sultan had her conveyed to a strong citadel erected in the middle of a deep lake, hoping in such a confinement to prevent her from fulfilling the prediction which had been made concerning her. nothing could excel the magnificence of her abode, where she was left only with female attendants of the highest accomplishments, but no male was allowed to approach even the borders of the lake, except when supplies were conveyed for the use of its fair inhabitants, who were then restricted to their apartments. the gate of the citadel was entrusted to the care of an old lady, the princess's nurse. for three years the fair aleefa lived happy in her splendid prison, but the decree of fate was not to be overcome, and an event predestined by heaven overturned the cautious project of sultan mherejaun. eusuff, a dissipated young prince, son to the sultan of sind, having offended his father, fled from his court, and with a few attendants reached the borders of the lake, in his way to seek an asylum in the territories of mherejaun. curious to know who inhabited the citadel in the midst of it, he swam over the lake, and landed at the gate, which he found shut, but no one answered his loudest call for admission. upon this he wrote a note, requesting compassion to a helpless stranger, and having fixed it to an arrow, shot it over the battlements. it luckily for him fell at the feet of the princess, then walking in one of the courts of her palace. she prevailed upon her nurse to open the gate, and at sight of eusuff fell in love with him, as he did with her. he was admitted, and the tenderest interviews took place between them. joy and pleasure prevailed in the citadel, while the prince's attendants remained, expecting his return, on the banks of the lake. after some time, sultan sohul wishing to be reconciled to his son, and having learnt the route he had taken, dispatched his nephew named yiah to assure him of forgiveness, and invite him to return to sind. yiah arriving at the lake, was informed by eusuff's attendants that the prince had entered the citadel, since which they had not seen or heard anything of him. yiah, upon this, penned a note expressive of the sultan's forgiveness, and his wish to see the prince, which he fixed to an arrow and shot it into the palace, in the garden of which it fell, as eusuff and aleefa were walking for their amusement. the prince, on reading the note, overcome with joy at the intelligence of his father's forgiveness of his errors, resolved to return home and pay his duty to his parents. he communicated his design to the princess, who was plunged into the deepest sorrow at the thought of his departure, but he comforted her by assurances of his speedy return, declaring that nothing but filial duty could have torn him from her, even for a moment. she now implored him to to take her with him, but eusuff prudently represented that such a step could only disgrace her fame and enrage her father, who, on discovery of her flight, would invade the kingdom of sind with his powerful armies, and a scene of unnecessary bloodshed would ensue. on the contrary, it they waited patiently, sultan mherejaun might be prevailed upon to consent to their union; but, in the mean time, he would visit her often, while their meetings might, through the fidelity of their mutual attendants, be kept secret. aleefa, though unwilling, was obliged to acknowledge the justice of his reasoning, and consented to his departure; but on his taking leave, with tears and embraces entreated him not to be long absent, which he promised, and with truth, for his love was sincere, and it was with difficulty he submitted to the call of duty to a forgiving parent. eusuff having swam the lake with his bow and quiver upon his head, as before, rejoined his companions, who rejoiced to see him. he was received by his cousin yiah with transports of affection, and informed of what had happened since his departure from court; after which the prince related his love adventure with the fair aleefa, at the same time requesting his secrecy, and that he would charge the same on his attendants, as to his having been in the citadel, which he should earnestly beg also of his companions to observe. after a night's repose the two princes marched towards sind, and when within a day's distance from the capital, dispatched a courier to give notice of their approach. sultan sohul, overcome with joy at the recovery of his son, having commanded the city to be ornamented and splendid entertainments to be made for his triumphal entry, with his whole court in their most magnificent array advanced to meet him. the prince, on seeing his father's train, dismounted, fell on his face, then running up, eagerly embraced the stirrup of the old sultan, who threw himself upon his neck in a transport of joy, and wept over him with tears of affectionate rapture. a horse sumptuously caparisoned was now brought for the prince's mounting, and the father and son rode side by side into the city, amid the acclamations of all ranks of people; while, as they proceeded, basins full of silver and gold, coined for the occasion, were showered amongst the assembled crowds in the streets. it is impossible to describe the tender interview between the prince and the queen his mother, whose heart had been nearly broken on the flight of her son, or the glad transports of eusuff's own ladies, who were in number three wives and forty concubines. suffice it to say, that all was joy and pleasure in the palace, except in the breast of eusuff; who mingled with the satisfaction of return to his family an ardent desire to meet again the beautiful aleefa, so that the caresses of his women gave him no pleasure; and when he retired to his apartment, he did not, as was usual, call any of them to his presence, but passed the night alone, thinking of his beloved. morning invited him to new scenes of festivity, prepared by his happy parents, who little suspected how soon they were again to lose their son. eusuff having sacrificed a few days (to him long as the eve of dissolution) to his sense of duty, could no longer restrain his impatience, but with a faithful slave named hullaul, mounted on a favourite courser behind him, left the palace undiscovered in the darkness of night, and speeded with the swiftness of the gale towards the citadel of aleefa. being arrived on the banks of the lake, he secured his saddle and bridle among some bushes, and was carried with his attendant safely through the water by his noble steed. unbounded was the joy of the princess at again meeting her faithful lover, nor was his rapture less than hers. having committed hullaul to the care of the ladies of aleefa, they retired to their apartment. thirty days rolled on almost unperceived by eusuff, who forgot his parents, his family, and country, in the delights of love. on the thirtieth evening, as eusuff and aleefa were viewing the beautiful prospect from the terrace of the palace, they perceived a boat sailing towards it, which, as it drew nearer, the princess knew to belong to her father the sultan mherejaun; upon which she requested her lover to keep himself concealed from view, while she received the persons in the vessel. eusuff accordingly withdrew into a chamber, the lattice of which looked upon the lake; but how can we express his indignant surprise, and furious jealousy, when he beheld landing from the boat two handsome young men, into the arms of one of whom aleefa threw herself with eager transport, and after mutual embraces they withdrew together into the palace. without considering that his supposed rival might be a near relation to the princess, as he in fact was, being her first cousin, who had been brought up with her till her confinement to the lake; eusuff suffered himself to be overcome by unworthy suspicion, and resolved to quit for ever a faithless mistress. having written an angry letter upraiding her with falsehood, and bidding her farewell, he with his attendant hullaul mounted his courser; then delivering his note to one of the females, to be given to the princess, he swam over the lake and speeded rapidly to his own country, where he was once more joyfully received by his parents and family; and in order to forget the charms of aleefa, he indulged himself in mirth and pleasure with his lately forsaken ladies, who, delighted with the long-wished-for return of his affection, strove with each ether who should please him best. the unsuspecting aleefa was engaged with her cousin sohaul and ali bin ibrahim, a faithful eunuch who was his attendant, asking a thousand questions and listening to the news of her father's court, when eusuff's letter was put into her hands. rising up, she withdrew into a closet, opened it, and was much vexed at its ungrateful contents; but knowing herself innocent, and trusting that her lover would return when convinced of his mistake, she composed her mind as firmly as she, could till the departure of her cousin, who after some days took leave and returned to the capital of mherejaun, leaving behind him the eunuch, to the great satisfaction of the princess, who hoped to make him the mediator between her and her beloved. nor was she mistaken. when unfolding to him the whole of her adventures with eusuff, he agreed to be the bearer of a letter, and explain to him the cause of his needless suspicion. having swam the lake with the fair aleefa's packet wrapped in his clothes upon his head, the faithful ah in twenty days reached the city of sind, and demanding an audience in private, which was readily granted, delivered his commission to the prince. eusuff, whose anger was now calmed, and who had already begun to feel uneasy at absence from the still reigning favourite of his heart, on perusing her letter was overcome with joy. he listened eagerly to the account of his fancied rival by the eloquent ali bin ibrohim, to whom he expressed his conviction of her constancy, his own sorrow for his unreasonable desertion of her, and his intention of departing to visit her the next night, till when he desired the eunuch to repose himself after his fatigue. ali bin ibrahim was then lodged, by the prince's orders, in one of the most splendid apartments of the palace, and respectfully waited upon by the domestics of his court. the night following, eusuff having ordered his favourite hullaul to make preparations, departed from sind as before, with the eunuch mounted on a second courser. they in a few days reached the borders of the lake, swam over, and to the great joy of the once more happy aleefa arrived at the citadel. the recollection of the pains of absence added a zest to the transports of reunion, and the lovers were, if possible, more delighted with each other than before their separation. the faithful ali bin ibrahim was now dismissed with invaluable presents of precious stones, and returned to the court of mherejaun, the time for his stay at the citadel of the lake being expired. on his arrival, the sultan, anxious for intelligence of his daughter's health, took him into his closet, and while he was questioning him, by some accident the eunuch's turban unfortunately falling off, the precious stones, which, with a summary of the adventures of eusuff and aleefa, and his own embassy to sind, were wrapped in the folds, tumbled upon the floor. the sultan knew the jewels, and examining the turban, to make farther discoveries, found the paper, which he eagerly read; and furious was his wrath, when from the contents it appeared that all his caution to guard against the decrees of heaven had been vain, that the princess had been seduced, and his house dishonoured. he sternly inquired of the trembling ali if eusuff was yet with his daughter, and was answered in the affirmative, when he immediately gave orders for vessels to be prepared for his departure, hoping to take him prisoner, and at the same time commanded his army to march along the banks of the lake and encamp opposite the citadel. the unfortunate eunuch was thrown into a dungeon and loaded with heavy chains, after he had been bastinadoed almost to death; but still faithful to the lovers, he prevailed upon his gaoler by a large bribe during the night to permit him to dispatch a note by a trusty messenger to the princess, apprising her of the misfortune which had happened, in hopes that she would have time to escape with eusuff towards his own country before her father's arrival. fortunately for the lovers, this information reached them the next morning, when they consulted what measures to pursue, and it was agreed, that instead of both quitting the citadel, only eusuff and hullaul should return to sind, as the princess was unequal to such a rapid journey, but that in order to ensure her safety, the slaves should, on the sultan's arrival, assure him that she had gone off with her lover, when he would either return home or pursue the prince with his army; who, however, mounted as he was on so swift a courser, could not be overtaken. it was also settled that eusuff, on his arrival in his own country, should send an embassy to mherejaun, declaring his marriage with aleefa, and requesting pardon, and leave to pay his duty as his son-in-law. this stratagem had in part its effect, but no precaution could ward off the fulfilment of the prediction at the princess's birth, which was that she should occasion the disgrace and death of her father. mherejaun armed at the citadel a few hours after eusuff's escape, and was informed by her attendants that she had also accompanied him in his flight; upon which the enraged sultan, hurried on by fate, without stopping to search the palace in which his daughter was concealed, hastened to join his troops on the banks of the lake, and with a vast army pursued the sindian prince, who, however, reached his capital in safety. on his arrival, having informed his father of his adventures, the old sultan, eager to gratify his son, approved of his additional marriage with the fair aleefa, and dispatched an embassy to mherejaun, who by this time was in the territory of sind, laying it waste with fire and sword, no troops scarcely being opposed to his sudden invasion. he received the ambassador with mortifying haughtiness, bidding him return to his master, and inform him that he never would forgive the seduction of his daughter, in revenge for which he had taken a solemn oath to overturn the kingdom of sind, raze the capital, and feast his eyes with the blood of the old sultan and his son. on receipt of this ungracious reply to his proposals, the sultan and eusuff had no alternative but to oppose so inveterate a foe. they collected their troops, by whom they were much beloved, and marched to meet the enemy, whom, after an obstinate battle, they defeated, and mherejaun was slain in the action. it is impossible to resist the decrees of heaven. from god we came, and to god we must return. eusuff, after the action, behaved with the greatest humility to the conquered, and had the body of the unfortunate mherejaun embalmed and laid in a splendid litter, in which it was conducted by a numerous escort, in respectful solemnity, to the capital of hind, and deposited with funeral pomp, becoming the rank of the deceased, in a magnificent mausoleum, which had been erected by himself, as is customary among the sovereigns of asia. the prince, at the same time, dispatched letters of condolence to the mother of aleefa, lamenting the fate of mherejaun, whom he had been, much against his will, necessitated to oppose in battle, and expressing his ardent love for her daughter, a marriage with whom was his highest hope, as it was his first wish to console the mother of his beloved in her misfortunes. the sultana, who had received intelligence of the decisive victory and the death of her husband, and who expected, instead of such conduct, to see the victor besieging her capital, felt some alleviation of her sorrow in the prospect of saving her people from destruction, by consenting to an union between eusuff and aleefa. her answer accordingly was favourable, upon which the prince of sind repaired to the lake, and conducting his willing bride to the capital of hind, at the expiration of the stated time of mourning for mherejaun, their nuptials were celebrated with all possible magnificence, amid the united acclamations of the subjects, who readily acknowledged his authority, and had no cause to repent of their submission to his yoke. his next care was to inform the caliph mamoon, who was then commander of the faithful at bagdad, of the events which had happened, accompanying his petition with a great sum of money, and offerings of all the rarities the countries of hind and sind afforded; among which were ten beautiful slaves, highly accomplished in singing, dancing, and a talent for poetry. they recited extempore verses before the caliph, but the subject of each was so expressive of their wish to return to their beloved sovereign, and delivered in so affecting a manner, that mamoon, though delighted with their wit and beauty, sacrificed his own pleasure to their feelings, and sent them back to eusuff by the officer who carried the edict, confirming him in his dominions, where the prince of sind and the fair aleefa continued long, amid a numerous progeny, to live the protectors of their happy subjects. adventures of the three princes, sons of the sultan of china. a sultaness of china being seized with an alarming illness was given over by the physicians, who declared her case incurable by any other means than the water of life, which they feared it was next to impossible to obtain before nature would be exhausted; the country in which, if anywhere, it was to be found, being so very distant. such, however, was the affection of the sultaness's three sons, that in hopes of saving their mother they resolved to go in search of the precious medicine, and departed immediately in the route pointed out by the physicians. after travelling without success to their inquiries through divers countries, they agreed to separate, in hopes that one of them at least might be fortunate enough to procure the wished-for miraculous liquid, and return home in time to save their mother. having taken an affectionate farewell, each pursued his journey alone. the eldest prince, after a fatiguing walk (for the brothers had thought it prudent to lay aside their dignity, and as safest to disguise themselves in mean habits) over a wild country, arrived at last within sight of a large city, inhabited by blasphemous jews, near which, in a superb synagogue, he laid himself down on a carpet to repose, being quite exhausted with toil and hunger. he had not rested long, when a jew rabbi entering the building, the prince begged for the love of god a little refreshment; but the wicked infidel, who hated true believers, instead of relieving, cruelly put him to death with his sabre, and wrapping the corpse in a mat, threw it into a corner of the synagogue. by ill fortune, on the day following the second prince arrived, and was treated in the same manner by the barbarous jew, and on the next came also the youngest brother to the same place, where he was met by the base assassin, who would have killed him also, had not the extraordinary beauty of the young prince struck his covetous mind with the idea of making him a slave, and selling him for a large sum of money. speaking therefore to him in a kind manner he brought him refreshments, and inquired if he was willing to be his servant, and employ himself in cleaning the synagogue and lighting the lamps; to which the prince, being in an exhausted condition, seemingly assented, seeing no other means of present support, but secretly resolved to escape when recovered from his fatigue. the jew now took him to his house in the city, and showed him, apparently, the same tenderness as he used towards his own children. the next day the prince repaired to his allotted task of cleaning the synagogue, where, to his grief and horror, he presently discovered the bodies of his unfortunate brothers. while he lamented their unhappy fate with showers of tears, the recollection of his own perilous situation, in the power of their murderer, filled his mind with terror; but after the agonies of thought were over, the natural courage of a princely heart rose in his bosom, and he meditated how to revenge the death of his brothers on the savage infidel. an opportunity happened that same night. the prince having composed his mind, finished his work, and when the jew arrived to examine it, dissembled so well, that no appearance of his inward melancholy was displayed. the jew applauded his diligence, and taking him home, made him sit down to supper with himself and family, consisting of a wife and two young lads. it being the middle of summer, and the weather sultry, they retired to sleep on the open terrace of the house, which was very lofty. in the dead of night, when the jew and his family were fast locked in the arms of slumber, the prince, who had purposely kept himself awake, seized the sabre of the treacherous infidel, and with a dexterous blow struck off his head; then snatching up the two children, hurled them headlong from the terrace, so that their brains were dashed out on the stone pavement of the court below. he then uplifted the sabre to destroy the jew's wife, but the thought that she might be of use to him withheld his hand. he awoke her gently, commanded her to make no noise, and follow him down stairs, where, by degrees, he informed her of his adventures, the discovery he had made of the murder of his brothers, and his revenge on her treacherous husband and ill-fated children, whom, however, he would not have destroyed had he not been apprehensive of their cries alarming the neighbourhood. the moosulmaun woman, for such she secretly was, did not regard the death of the wicked jew, who had married her against her will, and often used her with great harshness, and her sorrows for the children were softened by the salvation of her own life. she also felt sentiments of tenderness towards the prince, whose injuries in the murder of his unfortunate brothers had compelled him to revenge, and felt herself obliged to his mercy in letting her live. she now informed him that in the jew's laboratory were many valuable medicines, and among them the very water of life he was in search of; which intelligence was most gratifying to the prince, who offered to take the woman under his protection, and she willingly consented to accompany him to a country inhabited by true believers. having packed up the medicines, with some valuable jewels, and put them, with various refreshments and necessaries, on two camels, they mounted and left the city undiscovered, nor did any accident occur on their journey; but on reaching the capital of china, the prince found that his father was dead, while his mother, contrary to expectation, lingered in painful existence. the ministers, who had with difficulty, in hopes of the three brothers' arrival, kept the next relations of the throne from disputing their right to ascend it, were rejoiced at his return; and on being informed of the untimely end of the two elder princes, immediately proclaimed him sultan. his first care was to administer comfort and relief to his afflicted mother, on whom the water of life had an instantaneous effect; his next, to regulate the affairs of his government, which he did with such ability, justice, and moderation, that he became endeared to his subjects, and an example to other sovereigns. as the sultan, some time after his accession, was one day amusing himself in the chase, he saw a venerable arab, accompanied by his daughter, travelling on horseback. by accident the young female's veil being blown aside, displayed such beauty to the eyes of the sultan, as instantly fascinated his heart, and made him wish to have her for his sultana. he immediately made offers to her father of his alliance; but great was his mortification and surprise when the arab rejected them, saying, "that he had sworn not to give his daughter to any one who was not master of some useful trade, by which a livelihood might be earned." "father," replied the sultan, "what occasion is there that i should learn a mean occupation, when i have the wealth of a kingdom at my command?" "because," rejoined the arab, "such are the vicissitudes of the world, that you may lose your kingdom and starve, if not able to work in some way for your living." the sultan, unlike some princes, who would have seized the lady and punished the arab for his freedom, felt the force of his remark, applauded his wisdom, and requested that he would not betroth her to another, as he was resolved to make himself worthy of becoming his son-in-law by learning some handicraft, till when he hoped they would accept of an abode near the palace. to this the old man readily consented; and in a short time the sultan, eager to possess his bride, became such an adept in the handicraft of making ornamental mats for sofas and cushions of cane and reeds, that the arab agreed to the nuptials, which were celebrated with all possible splendour and rejoicing, while the subjects admired more than ever the justice and moderation of their sovereign; so true is it, that, unless in depraved states, a good prince makes a good people. some years rolled on in uninterrupted felicity to the sultan and his beloved partner. it was the custom of the former frequently to visit in the disguise of a dervish the various quarters of the city, by which means he learnt the opinions of the people, and inspected the conduct of the police. one day in an excursion of this sort he passed by a cook's shop, and being hungry, stepped in to take some refreshment. he was, with seeming respect, conducted to a back room spread with flowered carpeting, over which was a covering of muslin transparently fine. pulling off his slippers, he entered the room and sat down upon a neat musnud, but to his surprise and terror it instantly sunk under him, and he found himself at the bottom of a dark vault, where by a glimmering light he could discern several naked bodies of unfortunate persons who had been murdered, and presently appeared, descending from a narrow staircase, a black slave of savage countenance, who, brandishing a huge cimeter, cried out, "wretch, prepare thyself to die!" the sultan was alarmed, but his presence of mind did not forsake him. "what good," said he, "will my death do you or your employers? i have nothing about me but the humble habit i wear; but if you spare my life, i possess an art that will produce your employers considerable wealth." upon this, the slave going to the master of the house informed him of what the supposed dervish had said, when the treacherous cook came to inquire after the promised riches. "give me only some reeds and canes, varnished of different colours," said the sultan, "and i will make a mat, which if you carry to the palace and present to the vizier, he will purchase it for a thousand pieces of gold." the desired articles were furnished, and the sultan setting to work, in a few days finished a mat, in which he ingeniously contrived to plait in flowery characters, known only to himself and his vizier, the account of his situation. when finished, he gave it to his treacherous host, who admired the beauty of the workmanship, and not doubting of the reward, carried it to the palace, where he demanded admission, saying he had a curiosity to offer for sale. the vizier, who was then giving audience to petitioners, commanded him to be brought in; but what was his astonishment when the mat was unfolded, to see pourtrayed upon it the imminent danger of the sultan, whom he supposed to be in his haram, and whose absence the sultana had, in order to prevent confusion, commanded to be kept secret, hoping for his speedy return. the vizier instantly summoning his guards seized the villanous cook, and proceeding to his house, released the sultan from his confinement. the house was razed to the ground, and the abominable owner, with his guilty family, put to death. the sultan exultingly felt the use of having learnt a useful art, which had been the means of saving his life. story of the good vizier unjustly imprisoned. a certain vizier, though perfectly loyal and of the strictest integrity, having been falsely accused by his enemies, was, without due examination of the charges brought against him, thrown into prison, where, by orders from the sultan, he was confined to a gloomy dungeon, and allowed only bread and water for his daily food. in this wretched abode he lay for seven years, at the expiration of which, the sultan his master, who was in the habit of walking about the city in disguise to amuse himself, chanced to pass by the house of his injured minister, dressed as a dervish. to his surprise he saw it open, and a crowd of domestics busy in cleaning the apartments, and preparing for the reception of the owner, who, they said, had commanded them by a messenger from the prison to put things in order, as he should that day be restored to the sultan's favour, and return home. the sultan, who, so far from intending to release the unfortunate vizier, had almost erased the remembrance of him from his mind, was astonished at the report of the domestics, but thought his long confinement might possibly have disturbed the brain of his prisoner, who in his madness might have fancied his deliverance to be at hand. he resolved however to go and visit the prison disguised as he was, and see the vizier. having purchased a quantity of bread and cakes, he proceeded to the gaol, and requested, under pretence of fulfilling a vow he had made to feed the prisoners, to be admitted, and allowed to distribute his charity among them. the gaoler granted his request, and permitted him to visit the different cells. at length he came to that of the vizier, who was employed earnestly at his devotions, which on the entrance of the supposed dervish he suspended, and inquired his business. "i come," said he, "for though unknown to you i have always prayed for your welfare, to congratulate you on your approaching deliverance, which i understand you have announced to your domestics, but fear without foundation, not having heard of any orders for the purpose from the sultan." "that may be true, charitable dervish," said the vizier, "but depend upon it before night i shall be released and restored to office." "i wish it may be so," replied the sultan; "but upon what ground do you build an expectation, the gratification of which appears to me so improbable?" "be seated, good dervish, and i will tell you," rejoined the vizier, and began as follows: "know then, my friend, experience has convinced me that the height of prosperity is always quickly succeeded by adverse fortune, and the depth of affliction by sudden relief. when i was in office, beloved by the people for my lenient administration, and distinguished by the sultan, whose honour and advantage were the constant objects of my care, and for whose welfare i have never ceased to pray even in this gloomy dungeon, i was one evening taking the air upon the river in a splendid barge with some favourite companions. as we were drinking coffee, the cup i held in my hand, which was made of a single emerald of immense value, and which i highly prized, slipped from it and fell into the water; upon which i ordered the barge to be stopped, and sent for a diver, to whom i promised an ample reward should he recover the cup. he undressed, and desired me to point out the place at which it fell; when i, having in my hand a rich diamond ring, heedlessly, in a fit of absence, threw it into that part of the river. while i was exclaiming against my own stupidity, the diver made a plunge towards where i had cast the ring, and in less than two minutes reappeared with the coffee-cup in his hand, when to my great surprise within it i found also my ring. i rewarded him liberally, and was exulting in the recovery of my jewels, when it suddenly struck my mind, that such unusual good fortune must speedily be followed by some disaster. this reflection made me melancholy, and i returned home with a foreboding sadness, nor without cause, for that very night my enemies accused me falsely of treason to the sultan, who believed the charge, and next morning i was hurried to this gloomy cell, where i have now remained seven years with only bread and water for my support. god, however, has given me resignation to his decrees, and this day an accident occurred which makes me confident of release before night, and restoration to the sultan's favour, which, as i have always done, i will endeavour to deserve. you must know, venerable dervish, that this morning i felt an unconquerable longing to taste a bit of flesh, and earnestly entreated my keeper, giving him at the same time a piece of gold, to indulge my wish. the man, softened by the present, brought me a stew, on which i prepared to make a delicious meal; but while, according to custom before eating, i was performing my ablutions, guess my mortification, when a huge rat running from his hole leaped into the dish which was placed upon the floor. i was near fainting with agony at the sight, and could not refrain from tears; but at length recovering from the poignancy of disappointment, the rays of comfort darted upon my mind, and i reflected that as disgrace and imprisonment had instantaneously followed the fortunate recovery of my cup and ring, so this mortification, a greater than which could not have happened, would be immediately succeeded by returning prosperity. in this conviction i prevailed on the gaoler to order my domestics to make ready my house and expect my return." the disguised sultan, who, while the vizier was speaking, felt every word impress him more and more with the conviction of his innocence, had much difficulty to support his assumed character; but not choosing his visit to the prison should be known at present, he restrained his feelings, and when the minister had finished took his leave, saying, he hoped his presage would be fulfilled. he then returned undiscovered to the palace, and entering his cabinet, resumed his usual habit; after which he issued orders for the release of the vizier, sending him a robe of honour and splendid attendants to escort him to court, at the same time condemning to confiscation and imprisonment his malicious accusers. on his arrival, the sultan received the vizier with the most gracious distinction; and having presented him with the canopy of state, the seal and the inkstand set with rich jewels, the insignia of office, conducted him to a private chamber, where falling upon his neck he embraced him, and requesting him to forget past oppression, informed him of his disguised visit to the prison; after which he dismissed him to his own palace. story of the lady of cairo and her four gallants. a virtuous lady of cairo, who seldom left her house but upon urgent business, one day returning from the bath, passed by the tribunal of the cauzee just as it was breaking up, when the magistrate perceived her, and struck with her dignity and elegance of gait, from which he judged of her beauty, called her to him, and in a soft whisper expressed his desire of a private interview. the lady being resolved to punish him for his unworthy conduct, seemingly consented, and desired him to repair to her house that evening, which he gladly promised. she then pursued her route homewards, but was on the way accosted by three other men, who made her similar proposals, all which she accepted, and fixed that evening for receiving their visits. the first of these gallants was the customs tax-collector of cairo, the second the chief of the butchers, and the third a rich merchant. when the lady returned to her house she informed her husband of what had happened, and begged him to permit her to execute a stratagem that she had formed to punish their insolence, which would not only afford himself and her much laughable amusement, but solid advantage, as doubtless the lovers would each bring with him a handsome present. the husband, who knew he could trust the virtue of his wife, readily consented, and the lady having prepared a handsome entertainment, adorned herself in her richest apparel, and seated herself to receive her guests. evening had just shut in, when the venerable cauzee having finished his sunset devotions, impatiently repaired first to his mistress and knocked at the door, which the lady opened and led him upstairs, where he presented her with a rosary of valuable pearl; after which she made him undress, and in place of his robes put on a loose vest of yellow muslin, and a parti-coloured cap, her husband all the while looking at them through the door of a closet, and ready to burst his sides with laughter as he beheld the tender grimaces of the enamoured magistrate. the happiness of the venerable gallant was however soon changed to frightful alarm, for he had scarcely sat down and begun to partake of some refreshment, when a loud rap was heard at the door; upon which the lady starting up in well-affected terror, cried out, "mahummud protect us! for this is my husband's knock, and if he finds you here, he will put us both to death." the cauzee's heart sank within him, and he became more dead than alive; but the lady somewhat revived him by thrusting him into her bed-chamber, desiring him to remain still, as possibly a way might be found for his escape. he gladly retired, secretly vowing that if spared from his present threatening distress, satan should no more tempt him to make love or break the sacred law. the lady having disposed of the cauzee, hastened to the door, where she found the expecting tax-collector, who brought with him, as a present, a set of jewels. she shewed him upstairs, took off his rich clothes, and made him put on a crimson vest, and a green cap with black spots. he had scarcely sat down when the door again resounded, and she played over the same game as she had done with the cauzee, who on his also entering the bed-chamber was somewhat pleased at seeing a brother magistrate in the same ridiculous plight with himself. the venerable lovers condoled by signs with each other, but dared not speak for fear of discovery. the chief of the butchers, on his arrival, was next ushered up stairs, and his present received, then made to undress and put on a blue vest with a scarlet cap, ornamented with sea shells and bits of tinsel; but he had scarce time to finish, when a fourth loud rap was heard at the door, the scene of alarm was renewed, and the frightened gallant hurried into the room to keep company with his rivals. now appeared the respectable merchant, who presented the cunning lady with several rich veils, pieces of silk, and embroidered muslins, after which he was asked to undress and enrobe himself in a sky coloured vest and a cap striped with red and white; which he had hardly put on when a thundering knock at the gate put an end to his transports, and the wife pretending great alarm, as it was her husband's rap, forced him into the bed-chamber, where, to his surprise he discovered three of his intimate acquaintance. the husband, who had left his hiding place and knocked at the door, now entered, and after saluting his wife, sat down, when having partaken of the refreshments provided for the gallants, the happy couple entered into conversation loud enough to be overheard by the wretched inamorati, who were quaking for fear of discovery. "light of my eyes," said the husband, "didst thou meet with any thing amusing to-day in thy visit to the bath? and if so, divert me with an account of it." "i did, indeed," said the lady, "for i met with four antic creatures, whom" (at hearing this the unfortunate lovers gave themselves over for lost) "i had a great inclination to bring home with me" (here they recovered a little from their alarm) "to divert us, but fearful of your displeasure i did not; however, if agreeable, we can send for them to-morrow." the frighted gallants now indulged some hope of escape through the kindness of their cunning mistress, and began to breathe a little freer, but very short was the suspension of their fears. "i am sorry thou didst not bring them," said the husband, "because business will to-morrow call me from home, and i shall be absent for some days." upon this, the lady laughing, said, "well, then, you must know that in fact i have brought them, and was diverting myself with them when you came in, but fearful you might suspect something wrong i hurried them into our bed-chamber, in order to conceal them till i had tried your temper, hoping, should you not be in good humour, to find some means of letting them out undiscovered." it is impossible to describe the alarm into which the wretched gallants were now plunged, especially when the husband commanded his wife to bring them out one by one, saying, "let each entertain us with a dance and then recite a story, but if they do not please me, i will strike off their heads." "heaven protect us," said the cauzee, "how can men of our gravity dance? but there is no resisting the decrees of fate, nor do i see any chance of escape from this artful baggage and her savage husband but by performing as well as we can." his companions were of the same opinion, and mustered what courage they could to act as they should be ordered. the wife now entered the chamber, and putting a tambourine into the cauzee's hands, led him out and began to play a merry tune upon her lute, to which the affrighted magistrate danced with a thousand antics and grimaces like an old baboon, beating time with the tambourine, to the great delight of the husband, who every now and then jeeringly cried out, "really wife, if i did not know this fellow was a buffoon, i should take him for our cauzee; but god forgive me, i know our worthy magistrate is either at his devotions, or employed in investigating cases for to-morrow's decision." upon this the cauzee danced with redoubled vigour, and more ridiculous gestures, in hopes of evading discovery. at length he was overpowered by such unusual exercise; but the husband had no mercy upon his sufferings, and made him continue capering by threatening the bastinado, till the tired judge was exhausted, and fainted upon the floor in a bath of perspiration, when they held him up, and pouring a goblet of wine down his throat it somewhat revived him. he was now suffered to breathe a little, and something given him to eat, which, with a second cup of liquor, recovered his strength. the husband now demanded his story; and the cauzee, assuming the gesture of a coffee-house droll, began as follows. the cauzee's story. a young tailor, whose shop was opposite the house of an officer, was so attracted from his work by the appearance of a beautiful young lady, his wife, in her balcony, that he became desperately in love, and would sit whole days waiting her coming, and when she showed herself make signs of his passion. for some time his ridiculous action diverted her, but at length she grew tired of the farce she had kept up by answering his signals, and of the interruption it gave to her taking the fresh air, so that she resolved to punish him for his presumption, and oblige him to quit his stall. having laid her plan, one day when her husband was gone out for a few hours she dispatched a female slave to invite the tailor to drink coffee. to express the rapture of the happy snip is impossible. he fell at the feet of the slave, which he kissed as the welcome messengers of good tidings, gave her a piece of gold, and uttered some nonsensical verses that he had composed in praise of his beloved; then dressing himself in his best habit, he folded his turban in the most tasty manner, and curled his mustachios to the greatest advantage, after which he hastened exultingly to the lady's house, and was admitted to her presence. she sat upon a rich musnud, and gracefully lifting up her veil welcomed the tailor, who was so overcome that he had nearly fainted away with excess of rapture. she desired him to be seated, but such was his bashfulness that he would not approach farther than the corner of the carpet. coffee was brought in, and a cup presented him; but not being used to such magnificence and form, and his eyes, also, being staringly fixed on the beauties of the lady, instead of carrying the cup to his mouth, he hit his nose and overthrew the liquid upon his vest. the lady smiled, and ordered him another cup; but while he was endeavouring to drink it with a little more composure, a loud knock was heard at the door, and she starting up, cried out with great agitation, "good heavens! this is my husband's knock; if he finds us together he will sacrifice us to his fury!" the poor tailor, in terror, fell flat upon the carpet, when the lady and her slave threw some cold water upon his face, and when a little recovered hurried him away to a chamber, into which they forced him, and desired him to remain quiet, as the only means of saving his life. here he remained quivering and trembling, more alive than dead, but perfectly cured of his love, and vowing never again to look up at a balcony. when the tailor was disposed of, the lady again sat down upon her stool, and ordered her slave to open the gate. upon her husband's entering the room he was surprised at beholding things set out for an entertainment, and inquired who had been with her; when she replied tartly, "a lover." "and where is he now?" angrily replied the officer. "in yonder chamber, and if you please you may sacrifice him to your fury, and myself afterwards." the officer demanded the key, which she gave him; but while this was passing, the agony of the unfortunate tailor was worse than death; he fully expecting every moment to have his head struck off: in short, he was in a most pitiable condition. the officer went to the door, and had put the key into the lock, when his wife burst suddenly into a fit of laughter: upon which he exclaimed angrily, "who do you laugh at?" "why, at yourself, to be sure, my wise lord," replied the lady; "for who but yourself could suppose a woman serious when she told him where to find out a concealed lover? i wanted to discover how far jealousy would carry you, and invented this trick for the purpose," the officer, upon this, was struck with admiration of his wife's pleasantry and his own credulity, which so tickled his fancy that he laughed immoderately, begged pardon for his foolish conduct, and they spent the evening cheerfully together; after which, the husband going to the bath, his wife charitably released the almost dead tailor, and reproving him for his impertinence, declared if he ever again looked up at her balcony she would contrive his death. the tailor, perfectly cured of love for his superior in life, made the most abject submission, thanked her for his deliverance, hurried home, prayed heartily for his escape, and the very next day took care to move from so dangerous a neighbourhood. the husband and wife were highly diverted with the cauzee's story, and after another dance permitted him to depart, and get home as well as he could in his ridiculous habit. how he got there, and what excuse he was able to make for so unmagisterial an appearance, we are not informed; but strange whispers went about the city, and the cauzee's dance became the favourite one or the strolling drolls, whom he had often the mortification of seeing taking him off as he passed to and from the tribunal, and not unfrequently in causes of adultery the evidences and culprits would laugh in his face. he, however, never again suffered satan to tempt him, and was scarcely able to look at a strange woman, so great was his fear of being led astray. when the cauzee was gone, the lady, repairing to the apartment, brought out the grave tax-collector, whom her husband addressed by name, saying, "venerable sir, how long have you turned droll? can you favour me with a dance?" the tax-collector made no reply, but began capering, nor was he permitted to stop till quite tired. he was then allowed to sit, some refreshment was given him, and when revived he was desired to tell a story: knowing resistance vain, he complied. after having finished he was dismissed, and the other gallants were brought in and treated in a like manner. story of the merchant, his daughter, and the prince of eerauk. a certain rich merchant was constantly repining, because providence had not added to his numerous blessings that of a child to inherit his vast wealth. this want destroyed the power of affluence to make him happy, and he importuned heaven with unceasing prayers. at length one evening, just as he had concluded his devotions, he heard a voice, saying, "thy request has been heard, and thou wilt have a daughter, but she will give thee much uneasiness in her fourteenth year by an amour with the prince of eerauk, and remember there is no avoiding the decrees of fate." the merchant's wife that same night conceived, and at the usual time brought forth a daughter, who grew up an exquisite beauty. no pains were spared in her education, so that at thirteen she became most accomplished, and the fame of her charms and perfections was spread throughout the city. the merchant enjoyed the graces of his child, but at the same time his heart was heavy with anxiety for her fate, whenever he called to mind the prediction concerning her; so that at length he determined to consult a celebrated dervish, his friend, on the possible means of averting the fulfilment of the prophecy. the dervish gave him but little hopes of being able to counteract the will of heaven, but advised him to carry the beautiful maiden to a sequestered mansion, situated among unfrequented mountains surrounding it on all sides, and the only entrance to which was by a dark cavern hewn out of the solid rock, which might be safely guarded by a few faithful domestics. "here," said the dervish, "your daughter may pass the predicted year, and if any human care can avail she may be thus saved from the threatened dishonour; but it is in vain for man to fight against the arms of heaven, therefore prepare thy mind for resignation to its decrees." the merchant followed the advice of his friend, and having made the necessary preparations, accompanied by him, and attended by some white and black slaves of both sexes, arrived, after a month's journey, with his daughter, at the desired mansion; in which having placed her, he, after a day's repose, took his departure homewards with the dervish. ample stores of all necessaries for her accommodation had been laid in, and slaves male and female were left for her attendance and protection. not many days, had elapsed when an incident occurred, clearly proving the emptiness of human caution against the predestination of fate. the prince of eerauk being upon a hunting excursion outrode his attendants, and missing his way, reached the gate of the cavern leading to the mansion, which was guarded by two black slaves, who seeing a stranger, cried out to him to withdraw. he stopped his horse, and in a supplicating tone requested protection and refreshment for the night, as he had wandered from the road, and was almost exhausted from weariness and want of food. the slaves were moved by the representation of his distress, as well as awed by his noble appearance, and apprehending no danger from a single person, conducted him through the cavern, into the beautiful valley, in which stood the mansion. they then informed their mistress of his arrival, who commanded him to be introduced into an apartment, in which an elegant entertainment was provided, where she gave him the most hospitable reception. to become known to each other was to love; nor was it long ere the prediction respecting the merchant's daughter proved fully verified. some months passed in mutual happiness; when the prince, becoming anxious to return to his friends, took leave of his mistress, promising when he had seen his family to visit her again, and make her his wife. on his way he met the merchant, who was coming to see his daughter. halting at the same spot they fell into conversation, in which each inquired after the other's situation, and the prince, little aware to whom he was speaking, related his late adventure. the merchant, convinced that all his caution had been vain, concealed his uneasiness, resolved to take his daughter home, make the best of what had happened, and never again to struggle against fate. on his arrival at the cavern he found his daughter unwell; and before they reached their own abode she was delivered of a male infant, who, to save her credit, was left exposed in a small tent with a sum of money laid under its pillow, in hopes that the first passenger would take the child under his care. it so happened, that a caravan passing by, the leader of it, on examining the tent and seeing the infant, took it up, and having no children adopted it as his own. the prince of eerauk having seen his parents, again repaired to visit his beautiful mistress, and on his journey to the cavern once more met the merchant, who, at his daughter's request, was travelling towards eerauk to acquaint him with her situation. the prince, overjoyed, accompanied the merchant home, married the young lady, and with her parents returned to his dominions. their exposed son, after long inquiry, was discovered, and liberal rewards bestowed on the leader of the caravan, who at his own request was permitted to reside in the palace of eerauk, and superintend the education of his adopted son. adventures of the cauzee, his wife, &c. in the capital of bagdad there was formerly a cauzee, who filled the seat of justice with the purest integrity, and who by his example in private life gave force to the strictness of his public decrees. after some years spent in this honourable post, he became anxious to make the pilgrimage to mecca; and having obtained permission of the caliph, departed on his pious journey, leaving his wife, a beautiful woman, under the protection of his brother, who promised to respect her as his daughter. the cauzee, however, had not long left home, when the brother, instigated by passion, made love to his sister-in-law, which she rejected with scorn; being, however, unwilling to expose so near a relative to her husband, she endeavoured to divert him from his purpose by argument on the heinousness of his intended crime, but in vain. the abominable wretch, instead of repenting, a gain and again offered his love, and at last threatened, if she would not accept his love, to accuse her of adultery, and bring upon her the punishment of the law. this threat having no effect, the atrocious villain suborned evidences to swear that they had seen her in the act of infidelity, and she was sentenced to receive one hundred strokes with a knotted whip, and be banished from the city. having endured this disgraceful punishment, the unhappy lady was led through bagdad by the public executioner, amid the taunts and scorns of the populace; after which she was thrust oat of the gates and left to shift for herself. relying on providence, and without complaining of its decrees, she resolved to travel to mecca, in hopes of meeting her husband, and clearing her defamed character to him, whose opinion alone she valued. when advanced some days on her journey she entered a city, and perceived a great crowd of people following the executioner, who led a young man by a rope tied about his neck. inquiring the crime of the culprit, she was informed that he owed a hundred deenars, which being unable to pay, he was sentenced to be hung, such being the punishment of insolvent debtors in that city. the cauzee's wife, moved with compassion, immediately tendered the sum, being nearly all she had, when the young man was released, and falling upon his knees before her, vowed to dedicate his life to her service. she related to him her intention of making the pilgrimage to mecca, upon which the young man requested to accompany and protect her, to which she consented. they set out on their journey; but had not proceeded many days, when the youth forgot his obligations, and giving way to impulse, insulted his benefactress by offering her his love. the unfortunate lady reasoned with him on the ingratitude of his conduct, and the youth seemed to be convinced and repentant, but revenge rankled in his heart. some days after this they reached the sea-shore, where the young man perceiving a ship, made a signal to speak with it, and the master letting down his boat sent it to land; upon which the young man going on board the vessel, informed the master that he had for sale a handsome female slave, for whom he asked a thousand deenars. the master, who had been used to purchase slaves upon that coast, went on shore, and looking at the cauzee's wife, paid the money to the wicked young man, who went his way, and the lady was carried on board the ship, supposing that her companion had taken the opportunity of easing her fatigue, by procuring her a passage to some sea-port near mecca: but her persecution was not to end here. in the evening she was insulted by attentions of the master of the vessel, who being surprised at her coolness, informed her that he had purchased her as his slave for a thousand deenars. the unfortunate lady told him that she was a free woman, but this had no effect on the brutish sailor, who finding tenderness ineffectual proceeded to force and blows in order to reduce her to submit to his authority. her strength was almost exhausted, when suddenly the ship struck upon a rock, the master was hurried upon deck, and in a few moments the vessel went to pieces. providentially the virtuous wife laying hold of a plank was wafted to the shore, after being for several hours buffeted by the waves. having recovered her senses she walked inland, and found a pleasant country abounding in fruits and clear streams, which satisfied her hunger and thirst. on the second day she arrived at a magnificent city, and on entering it was conducted to the sultan, who inquiring her story, she informed him that she was a woman devoted to a religious life, and was proceeding on the pilgrimage to mecca, when her vessel was shipwrecked on his coast, and whether any of the crew had escaped she knew not, as she had seen none of them since her being cast ashore on a plank; but as now the hopes of her reaching the sacred house were cut off, if the sultan would allot her a small hut, and a trifling pittance for her support, she would spend the remainder of her days in prayers for the prosperity of himself and his subjects. the sultan, who was truly devout, and pitied the misfortune of the lady, gladly acceded to her request, and allotted a pleasant garden-house near his palace for her residence, at which he often visited her, and conversed with her on religious topics, to his great edification and comfort, for she was sensibly pious. not long after her arrival, several refractory vassals who had for years withheld their usual tribute, and against whom the good sultan, unwilling to shed blood, though his treasury much felt the defalcation, had not sent a force to compel payment, unexpectedly sent in their arrears; submissively begged pardon for their late disobedience, and promised in future to be loyal in their duty. the sultan, who attributed this fortunate event to the successful prayers of his virtuous guest, mentioned his opinion to his courtiers in full divan, and they to their dependents. as, according to the proverb, the sheep always follow their leader, so it was in the present instance. all ranks of people on every emergency flocked to beg the prayers and counsel of the sultan's favourite devotee; and such was their efficacy, that her clients every day became more numerous, nor were they ungrateful; so that in a short time the offerings made to her amounted in value to an incalculable sum. her reputation was not confined to the kingdom of her protector, but spread gradually abroad through all the countries in the possession of true believers, who came from all parts of asia to solicit her prayers. her residence was enlarged to a vast extent, in which she supported great numbers of destitute persons, as well as entertained the crowds of poor people who came in pilgrimage to so holy a personage as she was now esteemed. but we must now return to her pious husband. the good cauzee having finished the ceremonies of his pilgrimage at mecca, where he resided one year, and visited all the holy spots around, returned to bagdad: but dreadful was his agony and grief when informed that his wife had played the harlot, and that his brother, unable to bear the disgrace of his family, had left the city, and had not been heard of since. this sad intelligence had such an effect upon his mind, that he resolved to give up worldly concerns, and adopt the life of a wandering religious, to move from place to place, from country to country, and visit the devotees celebrated for sanctity in each. for two years he travelled through various kingdoms, and at length hearing of his wife's fame, though he little supposed the much-talked-of female saint stood in that relation to himself, he resolved to pay his respects to so holy a personage. with this view he journeyed towards the capital of the sultan her protector, hoping to receive benefit from her pious conversation and prayers. the cauzee on his way overtook his treacherous brother, who, repenting of his wicked life, had turned mendicant, and was going to confess his sins, and ask the prayers for absolution of the far-famed religious woman. time and alteration of dress, for they were both habited as dervishes, caused the brothers not to know each other. as fellow travellers they entered into conversation; and finding they were both bound the same way, agreed to continue their journey together. they had not proceeded many days when they came up with a driver of camels, who informed them that he was upon the same errand as themselves, having been guilty of a horrid crime, the reflection upon which tormented his conscience, and made life miserable; that he was going to confess his sins to the pious devotee, and consult her on whatever penance could atone for his villany, of which he had heartily repented, and hoped to obtain the mercy of heaven by a sincere reformation of life. the crime of this wretch was no less than murder; the circumstances of which we forgot to detail in its proper place. the cauzee's wife immediately after her expulsion from bagdad, and before she had met the young man who sold her for a slave, had taken shelter in the hut of a camel breeder, whose wife owed her great obligations, and who received her with true hospitality and kindness; consoling her in her misfortunes, dressing her wounds, and insisting on her stay till she should be fully recovered of the painful effects of her unjust and disgraceful punishment; and in this she was seconded by the honest husband. with this humble couple, who had an infant son, she remained some time, and was recovering her spirits and beauty when the wicked camel breeder, first mentioned, arrived on a visit to her host; and being struck with her beauty made love to her, which she mildly but firmly rejected, informing him that she was a married woman. blinded by passion, the wretch pressed his addresses repeatedly, but in vain; till at length, irritated by refusal, he changed his love into furious anger, and resolved to revenge his disappointed lust by her death. with this view he armed himself with a poniard; and about midnight, when the family were asleep, stole into the chamber where she reposed, and close by her the infant son of her generous host. the villain being in the dark made a random stroke, not knowing of the infant, and instead of stabbing the object of his revenge, plunged his weapon into the bosom of the child, who uttered loud screams; upon which the assassin, fearful of detection, ran away, and escaped from the house. the cauzee's wife awaking in a fright, alarmed her unhappy hosts, who, striking a light, came to her assistance; but how can we describe their agonizing affliction when they beheld their beloved child expiring, and their unfortunate guest, who had swooned away, bathed in the infant's blood. from such a scene we turn away, as the pen is incapable of description. the unhappy lady at length revived, but their darling boy was gone for ever. some days after this tragical event she began her pilgrimage, and, as above stated, reached the city where she released the young man from his cruel creditors, and was shortly afterwards ungratefully sold by him as a slave. but to return to the good cauzee and his wicked companions. they had not travelled far when they overtook a young man, who saluted them, and inquired their course; of which being informed, he begged to join in company, saying, that he also was going to pay his respects to the celebrated religious, in hopes that by her prayers he might obtain pardon of god for a most flagitious ingratitude; the remorse for which had rendered him a burthen to himself ever since the commission of the crime. the four pilgrims pursued their journey, and a few days afterwards overtook the master of a vessel, who told them he had some time back suffered shipwreck; since which he had undergone the severest distress, and was now going to request the aid of the far-famed woman, whose charities and miraculous prayers had been noised abroad through all countries. the companions then invited him to join them, and they proceeded on the pilgrimage together, till at length they reached the capital of the good sultan who protected the cauzee's wife. the five pilgrims having entered the city, repaired immediately to the abode of the respected devotee; the courts of which were crowded with petitioners from all parts, so that they could with difficulty gain admission. some of her domestics seeing they were strangers newly arrived, and seemingly fatigued, kindly invited them, into an apartment, and to repose themselves while they informed their mistress of their arrival; which having done, they brought word that she would see them when the crowd was dispersed, and hear their petitions at her leisure. refreshments were then brought in, of which they were desired to partake, and the pilgrims having make their ablutions, sat down to eat, all the while admiring and praising the hospitality of their pious hostess; who, unperceived by them, was examining their persons and features through the lattice of a balcony, at one end of the hall. her heart beat with joyful rapture when she beheld her long lost husband, whose absence she had never ceased to deplore, but scarcely expected ever to meet him again; and great was her surprise to find him in company with his treacherous brother, her infamous intending assassin, her ungrateful betrayer the young man, and the master of the vessel to whom he had sold her as a slave. it was with difficulty she restrained her feelings; but not choosing to discover herself till she should hear their adventures, she withdrew into her chamber, and being relieved by tears prostrated herself on the earth, and offered up thanksgivings to the protector of the just, who had rewarded her patience under affliction by succeeding blessings, and at length restored to her the partner of her heart. having finished her devotions, she sent to the sultan requesting him to send her a confidential officer, who might witness the relations of five visitors whom she was going to examine. on his arrival she placed him where he could listen unseen; and covering herself with a veil, sat down on her stool to receive the pilgrims, who being admitted, bowed their foreheads to the ground; when requesting them to arise, she addressed them as follows: "you are welcome, brethren, to my humble abode, to my counsel and my prayers, which, by god's mercy, have sometimes relieved the repentant sinner; but as it is impossible i can give advice without hearing a case, or pray without knowing the wants of him who entreats me, you must relate your histories with the strictest truth, for equivocation, evasion, or concealment, will prevent my being of any service; and this you may depend upon, that the prayers of a liar tend only to his own destruction." having said this, she ordered the cauzee to remain, but the other four to withdraw; as she should, to spare their shame before each other, hear their cases separately. the good cauzee having no sins to confess related his pilgrimage to mecca; the supposed infidelity of his wife; and his consequent resolve to spend his days in visiting sacred places and holy personages, among whom she stood so famous, that to hear her edifying conversation, and entreat the benefit of her prayers for his unhappy wife, was the object of his having travelled to her sacred abode. when he had finished his narrative the lady dismissed him to another chamber, and heard one by one the confessions of his companions; who not daring to conceal any thing, related their cruel conduct towards herself, as above-mentioned; but little suspecting that they were acknowledging their guilt to the intended victim of their evil passions. after this the cauzee's wife commanded the officer to conduct all five to the sultan, and inform him of what he had heard them confess. the sultan, enraged at the wicked behaviour of the cauzee's brother, the camel-driver, the young man, and the master of the vessel, condemned them to death; and the executioner was preparing to put the sentence in force, when the lady arriving at the presence demanded their pardon; and to his unspeakable joy discovered herself to her delighted husband. the sultan complying with her request, dismissed the criminals; but prevailed on the cauzee to remain at his court, where for the remainder of his life this upright judge filled the high office of chief magistrate with honour to himself, and satisfaction to all who had causes tried before him; while he and his faithful partner continued striking examples of virtue and conjugal felicity. the sultan was unbounded in his favour towards them, and would often pass whole evenings in their company in friendly conversation, which generally turned upon the vicissitudes of life, and the goodness of providence in relieving the sufferings of the faithful, by divine interposition, at the very instant when ready to sink under them and overwhelmed with calamity. "i myself," said the sultan, "am an example of the protection of heaven, as you, my friends, will learn from my adventures." he then began as follows. the sultan's story of himself. though now seated on a throne, i was not born to such exalted rank, but am the son of a rich merchant in a country far distant from this which i now govern. my father brought me up to his own profession; and by instruction and example encouraged me to be virtuous, diligent, and honest. soon after i had attained to the age of manhood death snatched away this valuable parent, who in his last moments gave me instructions for my future conduct; but particularly requested that nothing might ever prevail upon me to take an oath, though ever so just or necessary to my concerns. i assured him it would not: soon after which he breathed his last, leaving me, my mother, and sister in sincere grief for his loss. after the funeral i examined his property, and found myself in possession of a vast sum of money, besides an ample stock in trade, two-thirds of which i immediately paid to my mother and sister, who retired to a house which they purchased for themselves. many weeks had not elapsed when a merchant set up a claim on my father's estate for a sum of money equal to nearly the whole that i possessed: i asked him for his bond, but he had none, yet swore solemnly to the justice of his demand. i had no doubt of the falsity of his oath, but as i had promised never to swear, i could not disprove it by mine, and therefore was obliged to pay the money, which i did entirely from my own share, not choosing to distress my mother and sister by lessening theirs. after this, other unjust demands were preferred, and i paid them, rather than falsify my promise to my father, though by so doing i became reduced to the most abject poverty, as still i would not trouble my mother. at length i resolved to quit my native city, and seek for subsistence in a distant country as clerk to a merchant, or in any other way that might offer. i accordingly set out alone, and had travelled some days, when in passing over a sandy desert i met a venerable looking personage dressed in white, who kindly accosting me, inquired the object of my journey: upon which i related my story. the old man blessed me, highly praised the steadfastness of my adherence to the promise i had made to a dying father; and said, "my son, be not dismayed, thy virtuous conduct has been approved by our holy prophet, who has interceded for thee at the throne of bounty: follow me, and reap the reward of thy sufferings." i did as he desired; and we, after some time, reached this city, which was then wholly depopulated, and even this palace in a state of decay. on our entrance my venerable guide bade me welcome, saying, "here heaven has decreed thee to reign, and thou wilt soon become a powerful sultan." he then conducted me to the palace, and we descended from one of the apartments into a vault, where to my astonishment i beheld vast heaps of gold and silver ingots, large bags of coins of the same metals, and several rich chests filled with jewels of inestimable value, of all which he saluted me master. i was overcome with astonishment; but said, "of what use is all this wealth in a depopulated city? and how can i be a sultan without subjects?" the old man smiled, and said, "have patience, my son; this evening a numerous caravan will arrive here composed of emigrants, who are in search of a settlement, and they will elect thee their sovereign." his words proved true; the caravan arrived, when the old man invited them to inhabit the city; his offer was gladly accepted, and by his direction they declared me their sultan. my protector remained with me a whole year, during which he gave me instructions how to govern, and i became what i am. heaven has prospered my endeavours to do good: the fame of my liberality, justice, and clemency soon spread abroad; the city was soon filled by industrious inhabitants, who repaired the decayed buildings, and erected new ones. the country round became well cultivated, and our port was filled with vessels from every quarter. i shortly after sent for my family, for i had left behind me a wife and two sons; and you may guess from your own joy at meeting after long separation what must have been mine on such an occasion. my venerable patron, at the expiration of the year, one day thus addressed me: "my son, as my mission is completed i must now leave you; but be not alarmed, for provided thou continuest to act as thou hast begun, we shall meet again. know that i am the prophet khizzer, and was sent by heaven to protect thee. mayest thou deserve its blessings!" having said this he embraced me in his arms, and then vanished, how i know not, from my sight. for some time i continued rapt in astonishment and wonder, which at length gave place to reverential awe and gratitude to heaven; by degrees i recovered myself, and bowed down with fervent devotion. i have endeavoured to follow the admonitions of my holy adviser. it is unnecessary to say more; you see my state and the happiness i enjoy. conclusion. the sultan of the indies could not but admire the prodigious and inexhaustible memory of the sultaness his wife, who had entertained him so many nights with such a variety of interesting stories. a thousand and one nights had passed away in these innocent amusements, which contributed so much towards removing the sultan's unhappy prejudice against the fidelity of women. his temper was softened. he was convinced of the merit and great wisdom of the sultaness scheherazade. he remembered with what courage she had offered to be his wife, without fearing the death to which she knew she exposed herself, as so many sultanesses had suffered within her knowledge. these considerations, and the many other good qualities he knew her to possess, induced him at last to forgive her. "i see, lovely scheherazade," said he, "that you can never be at a loss for these little stories, which have so long diverted me. you have appeased my anger. i freely renounce the law i had imposed on myself. i restore your sex to my favourable opinion, and will have you to be regarded as the deliverer of the many damsels i had resolved to sacrifice to my unjust resentment." the sultaness cast herself at his feet, and embraced them tenderly with all the marks of the most lively and perfect gratitude. the grand vizier was the first who learned this agreeable intelligence from the sultan's own mouth. it was instantly carried to the city, towns, and provinces; and gained the sultan, and the lovely scheherazade his consort, universal applause, and the blessings of all the people of the extensive empire of the indies. end of volume . the book of the dead. by e. a. wallis budge. chapter i the title. "book of the dead" is the title now commonly given to the great collection of funerary texts which the ancient egyptian scribes composed for the benefit of the dead. these consist of spells and incantations, hymns and litanies, magical formulae and names, words of power and prayers, and they are found cut or painted on walls of pyramids and tombs, and painted on coffins and sarcophagi and rolls of papyri. the title "book of the dead" is somewhat unsatisfactory and misleading, for the texts neither form a connected work nor belong to one period; they are miscellaneous in character, and tell us nothing about the lives and works of the dead with whom they were buried. moreover, the egyptians possessed many funerary works that might rightly be called "books of the dead," but none of them bore a name that could be translated by the title "book of the dead." this title was given to the great collection of funerary texts in the first quarter of the nineteenth century by the pioneer egyptologists, who possessed no exact knowledge of their contents. they were familiar with the rolls of papyrus inscribed in the hieroglyphic and the hieratic character, for copies of several had been published, [ ] but the texts in them were short and fragmentary. the publication of the facsimile [ ] of the papyrus of peta-amen-neb-nest-taui [ ] by m. cadet in made a long hieroglyphic text and numerous coloured vignettes available for study, and the french egyptologists described it as a copy of the "rituel funéraire" of the ancient egyptians. among these was champollion le jeune, but later, on his return from egypt, he and others called it "le livre des morts," "the book of the dead," "das todtenbuch," etc. these titles are merely translations of the name given by the egyptian tomb-robbers to every roll of inscribed papyrus which they found with mummies, namely, "kitâb-al-mayyit," "book of the dead man," or "kitâb al-mayyitun," "book of the dead" (plur.). these men knew nothing of the contents of such a roll, and all they meant to say was that it was "a dead man's book," and that it was found in his coffin with him. chapter ii the preservation of the mummified body in the tomb by thoth. the objects found in the graves of the predynastic egyptians, i.e., vessels of food, flint knives and other weapons, etc., prove that these early dwellers in the nile valley believed in some kind of a future existence. but as the art of writing was, unknown to them their graves contain no inscriptions, and we can only infer from texts of the dynastic period what their ideas about the other world were. it is clear that they did not consider it of great importance to preserve the dead body in as complete and perfect state as possible, for in many of their graves the heads, hands and feet have been found severed from the trunks and lying at some distance from them. on the other hand, the dynastic egyptians, either as the result of a difference in religious belief, or under the influence of invaders who had settled in their country, attached supreme importance to the preservation and integrity of the dead body, and they adopted every means known to them to prevent its dismemberment and decay. they cleansed it and embalmed it with drugs, spices and balsams; they anointed it with aromatic oils and preservative fluids; they swathed it in hundreds of yards of linen bandages; and then they sealed it up in a coffin or sarcophagus, which they laid in a chamber hewn in the bowels of the mountain. all these things were done to protect the physical body against damp, dry rot and decay, and against the attacks of moth, beetles, worms and wild animals. but these were not the only enemies of the dead against which precautions had to be taken, for both the mummified body and the spiritual elements which had inhabited it upon earth had to be protected from a multitude of devils and fiends, and from the powers of darkness generally. these powers of evil had hideous and terrifying shapes and forms, and their haunts were well known, for they infested the region through which the road of the dead lay when passing from this world to the kingdom of osiris. the "great gods" were afraid of them, and were obliged to protect themselves by the use of spells and magical names, and words of power, which were composed and written down by thoth. in fact it was believed in very early times in egypt that ra the sun-god owed his continued existence to the possession of a secret name with which thoth had provided him. and each morning the rising sun was menaced by a fearful monster called aapep, which lay hidden under the place of sunrise waiting to swallow up the solar disk. it was impossible, even for the sun-god, to destroy this "great devil," but by reciting each morning the powerful spell with which thoth had provided him he was able to paralyse all aapep's limbs and to rise upon this world. since then the "great gods," even though benevolently disposed towards them, were not able to deliver the dead from the devils that lived upon the "bodies, souls, spirits, shadows and hearts of the dead," the egyptians decided to invoke the aid of thoth on behalf of their dead and to place them under the protection of his almighty spells. inspired by thoth the theologians of ancient egypt composed a large number of funerary texts which were certainly in general use under the ivth dynasty (about b.c.), and were probably well known under the ist dynasty, and throughout the whole period of dynastic history thoth was regarded as the author of the "book of the dead." chapter iii the book per-t em hru, or [the chapters of] coming forth by (or, into) the day, commonly called the "book of the dead." the spells and other texts which were written by thoth for the benefit of the dead, and are directly connected with him, were called, according to documents written under the xith and xviiith dynasties, "chapters of the coming forth by (or, into) the day." one rubric in the papyrus of nu (brit. mus. no. ) states that the text of the work called "per-t em hru," i.e., "coming forth (or, into) the day," was discovered by a high official in the foundations of a shrine of the god hennu during the reign of semti, or hesepti, a king of the ist dynasty. another rubric in the same papyrus says that the text was cut upon the alabaster plinth of a statue of menkaura (mycerinus), a king of the ivth dynasty, and that the letters were inlaid with lapis lazuli. the plinth was found by prince herutataf, a son of king khufu (cheops), who carried it off to his king and exhibited it as a "most wonderful" thing. this composition was greatly reverenced, for it "would make a man victorious upon earth and in the other world; it would ensure him a safe and free passage through the tuat (under world); it would allow him to go in and to go out, and to take at any time any form he pleased; it would make his soul to flourish, and would prevent him from dying the [second] death." for the deceased to receive the full benefit of this text it had to be recited by a man "who was ceremonially pure, and who had not eaten fish or meat, and had not consorted with women." on coffins of the xith dynasty and on papyri of the xviiith dynasty we find two versions of the per-t em hru, one long and one short. as the title of the shorter version states that it is the "chapters of the per-t em hru in a single chapter," it is clear that this work, even under the ivth dynasty, contained many "chapters," and that a much abbreviated form of the work was also current at the same period. the rubric that attributes the "finding" of the chapter to herutataf associates it with khemenu, i.e., hermopolis, and indicates that thoth, the god of this city, was its author. the work per-t em hru received many additions in the course of centuries, and at length, under the xviiith dynasty, it contained about distinct compositions, or "chapters." the original forms of many of these are to be found in the "pyramid texts" (i.e., the funerary compositions cut on the walls of the chambers and corridors of the pyramids of kings unas, teta, pepi i meri-ra, merenra and pepi ii at sakkârah), which were written under the vth and vith dynasties. the forms which many other chapters had under the xith and xiith dynasties are well represented by the texts painted on the coffins of amamu, sen, and guatep in the british museum (nos. , , ), but it is possible that both these and the so-called "pyramid texts" all belonged to the work per-t em hru, and are extracts from it. the "pyramid texts" have no illustrations, but a few of the texts on the coffins of the xith and xiith dynasties have coloured vignettes, e.g., those which refer to the region to be traversed by the deceased on his way to the other world, and the islands of the blessed or the elysian fields. on the upper margins of the insides of such coffins there are frequently given two or more rows of coloured drawings of the offerings which under the vth dynasty were presented to the deceased or his statue during the celebration of the service of "opening the mouth" and the performance of the ceremonies of "the liturgy of funerary offerings." under the xviiith dynasty, when the use of large rectangular coffins and sarcophagi fell somewhat into disuse, the scribes began to write collections of chapters from the per-t em hru on rolls of papyri instead of on coffins. at first the texts were written in hieroglyphs, the greater number of them being in black ink, and an attempt was made to illustrate each text by a vignette drawn in black outline. the finest known example of such a codex is the papyrus of nebseni (brit. mus. no. ), which is feet / inches in length and i foot i / inches in breadth. early in the xviiith dynasty scribes began to write the titles of the chapters, the rubrics, and the catchwords in red ink and the text in black, and it became customary to decorate the vignettes with colours, and to increase their size and number. the oldest codex of this class is the papyrus of nu (brit. mus. no. ) which is feet / inches in length, and foot / inches in breadth. this and many other rolls were written by their owners for their own tombs, and in each roll both text and vignettes were usually, the work of the same hand. later, however, the scribe wrote the text only, and a skilled artist was employed to add the coloured vignettes, for which spaces were marked out and left blank by the scribe. the finest example of this class of roll is the papyrus of ani (brit. mus., no. ). which is feet in length and foot inches in breadth. in all papyri of this class the text is written in hieroglyphs, but under the xixth and following dynasties many papyri are written throughout in the hieratic character; these usually lack vignettes, but have coloured frontispieces. under the rule of the high priests of amen many changes were introduced into the contents of the papyri, and the arrangement cf the texts and vignettes of the per-t em hru was altered. the great confraternity of amen-ra, the "king of the gods," felt it to be necessary to emphasize the supremacy of their god, even in the kingdom of osiris, and they added many prayers, litanies and hymns to the sun-god to every selection of the texts from the per-t em hru that was copied on a roll of papyrus for funerary purposes. the greater number of the rolls of this period are short and contain only a few chapters, e.g., the papyrus of the royal mother netchemet (brit. mus. no. ) and the papyrus of queen netchemet (brit. mus. no. ). in some the text is very defective and carelessly written, but the coloured vignettes are remarkable for their size and beauty; of this class of roll the finest example is the papyrus of anhai (brit. mus. no. ). the most interesting of all the rolls that were written during the rule of the priest-kings over upper egypt is the papyrus of princess nesitanebtashru (brit. mus. no. ), now commonly known as the "greenfield papyrus." it is the longest and widest funerary papyrus [ ] known, for it measures feet by foot / inches, and it contains more chapters, hymns, litanies, adorations and homages to the gods than any other roll. the chapters from the per-t em hru which it contains prove the princess's devotion to the cult of osiris, and the hymns to amen-ra show that she was able to regard this god and osiris not as rivals but as two aspects of the same god. she believed that the "hidden" creative power which was materialized in amen was only another form of the power of procreation, renewed birth and resurrection which was typified by osiris. the oldest copies of the per-t em hru which we have on papyrus contain a few extracts from other ancient funerary works, such as the "book of opening the mouth," the "liturgy of funerary offerings," and the "book of the two ways." but under the rule of the priest-kings the scribes incorporated with the chapters of the per-t em hru extracts from the "book of ami-tuat" and the "book of gates," and several of the vignettes and texts that are found on the walls of the royal tombs of thebes. one of the most remarkable texts written at this period is found in the papyrus of nesi-khensu, which is now in the egyptian museum in cairo. this is really the copy of a contract which is declared to have been made between nesi-khensu and amen-ra, "the holy god, the lord of all the gods." as a reward for the great piety of the queen, and her devotion to the interests of amen-ra upon earth, the god undertakes to make her a goddess in his kingdom, to provide her with an estate there in perpetuity and a never-failing supply of offerings, and happiness of heart, soul and body, and the [daily] recital upon earth of the "seventy songs of ra" for the benefit of her soul in the khert-neter, or under world. the contract was drawn up in a series of paragraphs in legal phraseology by the priests of amen, who believed they had the power of making their god do as they pleased when they pleased. little is known of the history of the per-t em hru after the downfall of the priests of amen, and during the period of the rule of the nubians, but under the kings of the xxvith dynasty the book enjoyed a great vogue. many funerary rolls were written both in hieroglyphs and hieratic, and were decorated with vignettes drawn in black outline; and about this time the scribes began to write funerary texts in the demotic character. but men no longer copied long selections from the per-t em hru as they had done under the xviiith, xixth and xxth dynasties, partly because the religious views of the egyptians had undergone a great change, and partly because a number of books of the dead of a more popular character had appeared. the cult of osiris was triumphant everywhere, and men preferred the hymns and litanies which dealt with his sufferings, death and resurrection to the compositions in which the absolute supremacy of ra and his solar cycle of gods and goddesses was assumed or proclaimed. thus, in the "lamentations of isis" and the "festival songs of isis and nephthys," and the "litanies of seker," and the "book of honouring osiris," etc., the central figure is osiris, and he alone is regarded as the giver of everlasting life. the dead were no longer buried with large rolls of papyrus filled with chapters of the per-t em hru laid in their coffins, but with small sheets or strips of papyrus, on which were inscribed the above compositions, or the shorter texts of the "book of breathings," or the "book of traversing eternity," or the "book of may my name flourish," or a part of the "chapter of the last judgment." ancient egyptian tradition asserts that the book per-t em hru was used early in the ist dynasty, and the papyri and coffins of the roman period afford evidence that the native egyptians still accepted all the essential beliefs and doctrines contained in it. during the four thousand years of its existence many additions were made to it, but nothing of importance seems to have been taken away from it. in the space here available it is impossible to describe in detail the various recensions of this work, viz., ( ) the heliopolitan, ( ) the theban and its various forms, and ( ) the saïte; but it is proposed to sketch briefly the main facts of the egyptian religion which may be deduced from them generally, and especially from the theban recension, and to indicate the contents of the principal chapters. no one papyrus can be cited as a final authority, for no payprus contains all the chapters, in number, of the theban recension, and in no two papyri are the selection and sequence of the chapters identical, or is the treatment of the vignettes the same. chapter iv thoth, the author of the book of the dead. thoth, in egyptian tchehuti or tehuti, who has already been mentioned as the author of the texts that form the per-t em hru, or book of the dead, was believed by the egyptians to have been the heart and mind of the creator, who was in very early times in egypt called by the natives "pautti," and by foreigners "ra." thoth was also the "tongue" of the creator, and he at all times voiced the will of the great god, and spoke the words which commanded every being and thing in heaven and in earth to come into existence. his words were almighty and once uttered never remained without effect. he framed the laws by which heaven, earth and all the heavenly bodies are maintained; he ordered the courses of the sun, moon, and stars; he invented drawing and design and the arts, the letters of the alphabet and the art of writing, and the science of mathematics. at a very early period he was called the "scribe (or secretary) of the great company of the gods," and as he kept the celestial register of the words and deeds of men, he was regarded by many generations of egyptians as the "recording angel." he was the inventor of physical and moral law and became the personification of justice; and as the companies of the gods of heaven, and earth, and the other world appointed him to "weigh the words and deeds" of men, and his verdicts were unalterable, he became more powerful in the other world than osiris himself. osiris owed his triumph over set in the great judgment hall of the gods entirely to the skill of thoth of the "wise mouth" as an advocate, and to his influence with the gods in heaven. and every follower of osiris relied upon the advocacy of thoth to secure his acquittal on the day of judgment, and to procure for him an everlasting habitation in the kingdom of osiris. chapter v thoth and osiris. the egyptians were not satisfied with the mere possession of the texts of thoth, when their souls were being weighed in the great scales in the judgment hall of osiris, but they also wished thoth to act as their advocate on this dread occasion and to prove their innocence as he had proved that of osiris before the great gods in prehistoric times. according to a very ancient egyptian tradition, the god osiris, who was originally the god of the principle of the fertility of the nile, became incarnate on earth as the son of geb, the earth-god, and nut, the sky-goddess. he had two sisters, isis and nephthys, and one brother, set; he married isis and set married nephthys. geb set osiris on the throne of egypt, and his rule was beneficent and the nation was happy and prosperous. set marked this and became very jealous of his brother, and wished to slay him so that he might seize his throne and take possession of isis, whose reputation as a devoted and loving wife and able manager filled the country. by some means or other set did contrive to kill osiris: according to one story he killed him by the side of a canal at netat, near abydos, and according to another he caused him to be drowned. isis, accompanied by her sister nephthys, went to netat and rescued the body of her lord, and the two sisters, with the help of anpu, a son of ra the sun-god, embalmed it. they then laid the body in a tomb, and a sycamore tree grew round it and flourished over the grave. a tradition which is found in the pyramid texts states that before osiris was laid in his tomb, his wife isis, by means of her magical powers, succeeded in restoring him to life temporarily, and made him beget of her an heir, who was called horus. after the burial of osiris, isis retreated to the marshes in the delta, and there she brought forth horus. in order to avoid the persecution of set, who on one occasion succeeded in killing horus by the sting of a scorpion, she fled from place to place in the delta, and lived a very unhappy life for some years. but thoth helped her in all her difficulties and provided her with the words of power which restored horus to life, and enabled her to pass unharmed among the crocodiles and other evil beasts that infested the waters of the delta at that time. when horus arrived at years of maturity, he set out to find set and to wage war against his father's murderer. at length they met and a fierce fight ensued, and though set was defeated before he was finally hurled to the ground, he succeeded in tearing out the right eye of horus and keeping it. even after this fight set was able to persecute isis, and horus was powerless to prevent it until thoth made set give him the right eye of horus which he had carried off. thoth then brought the eye to horus, and replaced it in his face, and restored sight to it by spitting upon it. horus then sought out the body of osiris in order to raise it up to life, and when he found it he untied the bandages so that osiris might move his limbs, and rise up. under the direction of thoth horus recited a series of formulas as he presented offerings to osiris, and he and his sons and anubis performed the ceremonies which opened the mouth, and nostrils, and the eyes and the ears of osiris. he embraced osiris and so transferred to him his ka, i.e., his own living personality and virility, and gave him his eye which thoth had rescued from set and had replaced in his face. as soon as osiris had eaten the eye of horus he became endowed with a soul and vital power, and recovered thereby the complete use of all his mental faculties, which death had suspended. straightway he rose up from his bier and became the lord of the dead and king of the under world. osiris became the type and symbol of resurrection among the egyptians of all periods, because he was a god who had been originally a mortal and had risen from the dead. but before osiris became king of the under world he suffered further persecution from set. piecing together a number of disconnected hints and brief statements in the texts, it seems pretty clear either that osiris appealed to the "great gods" to take notice that set had murdered him, or that set brought a series of charges against osiris. at all events the "great gods" determined to investigate the matter. the greater and the lesser companies of the gods assembled in the celestial anu, or heliopolis, and ordered osiris to stand up and defend himself against the charges brought against him by set. isis and nephthys brought him before the gods, and horus, "the avenger of his father," came to watch the case on behalf of his father, osiris. thoth appeared in the hall of judgment in his official capacity as "scribe," i.e., secretary to the gods, and the hearing of the evidence began. set seems to have pleaded his own cause, and to have repeated the charges which he had made against osiris. the defence of osiris was undertaken by thoth, who proved to the gods that the charges brought against osiris by set were unfounded, that the statements of set were lies, and that therefore set was a liar. the gods accepted thoth's proof of the innocence of osiris and the guilt of set, and ordered that osiris was to be considered a great god and to have rule over the kingdom of the under world, and that set was to be punished. thoth convinced them that osiris was "maa kheru," "true of word," i.e., that he had spoken the truth when he gave his evidence, and in texts of all periods thoth is frequently described as s-maa kheru asar, i.e., he who proved osiris to be "true of word." as for set the liar, he was seized by the ministers of the great gods, who threw him down on his hands and face and made osiris mount upon his back as a mark of his victory and superiority. after this set was bound with cords like a beast for sacrifice, and in the presence of thoth was hacked in pieces. chapter vi osiris as judge of the dead and king of the under world. when set was destroyed osiris departed from this world to the kingdom which the gods had given him and began to reign over the dead. he was absolute king of this realm, just as ra the sun-god was absolute king of the sky. this region of the dead, or dead-land, is called "tat," or "tuat," but where the egyptians thought it was situated is not quite clear. the original home of the cult of osiris was in the delta, in a city which in historic times was called tetu by the egyptians and busiris by the greeks, and it is reasonable to assume that the tuat, over which osiris ruled, was situated near this place. wherever it was it was not underground, and it was not originally in the sky or even on its confines; but it was located on the borders of the visible world, in the outer darkness. the tuat was not a place of happiness, judging from the description of it in the per-t em hru, or book of the dead. when ani the scribe arrived there he said, "what is this to which i have come? there is neither water nor air here, its depth is unfathomable, it is as dark as the darkest night, and men wander about here helplessly. a man cannot live here and be satisfied, and he cannot gratify the cravings of affection" (chapter clxxv). in the tuat there was neither tree nor plant, for it was the "land where nothing grew"; and in primitive times it was a region of destruction and death, a place where the dead rotted and decayed, a place of abomination, and horror and terror, and annihilation. but in very early times, certainly in the neolithic period, the egyptians believed in some kind of a future life, and they dimly conceived that the attainment of that life might possibly depend upon the manner of life which those who hoped to enjoy it led here. the egyptians "hated death and loved life," and when the belief gained ground among them that osiris, the god of the dead, had himself risen from the dead, and had been acquitted by the gods of heaven after a searching trial, and had the power to "make men and women to be born again," and "to renew life" because of his truth and righteousness, they came to regard him as the judge as well as the god of the dead. as time went on, and moral and religious ideas developed among the egyptians, it became certain to them that only those who had satisfied osiris as to their truth-speaking and honest dealing upon earth could hope for admission into his kingdom. when the power of osiris became predominant in the under world, and his fame as a just and righteous judge became well established among the natives of lower and upper egypt, it was universally believed that after death all men would appear before him in his dread hall of judgment to receive their reward or their sentence of doom. the writers of the pyramid texts, more than fifty-five centuries ago, dreamed of a time when heaven and earth and men did not exist, when the gods had not yet been born, when death had not been created, and when anger, speech (?), cursing and rebellion were unknown. [ ] but that time was very remote, and long before the great fight took place between horus and set, when the former lost his eye and the latter was wounded in a vital part of his body. meanwhile death had come into the world, and since the religion of osiris gave man a hope of escape from death, and the promise of everlasting life of the peculiar kind that appealed to the great mass of the egyptian people, the spread of the cult of osiris and its ultimate triumph over all forms of religion in egypt were assured. under the early dynasties the priesthood of anu (the on of the bible) strove to make their sun-god ra pre-eminent in egypt, but the cult of this god never appealed to the people as a whole. it was embraced by the pharaohs, and their high officials, and some of the nobles, and the official priesthood, but the reward which its doctrine offered was not popular with the materialistic egyptians. a life passed in the boat of ra with the gods, being arrayed in light and fed upon light, made no appeal to the ordinary folk since osiris offered them as a reward a life in the field of reeds, and the field of offerings of food, and the field of the grasshoppers, and everlasting existence in a transmuted and beautified body among the resurrected bodies of father and mother, wife and children, kinsfolk and friends. but, as according to the cult of ra, the wicked, the rebels, and the blasphemers of the sun-god suffered swift and final punishment, so also all those who had sinned against the stern moral law of osiris, and who had failed to satisfy its demands, paid the penalty without delay. the judgment of ra was held at sunrise, and the wicked were thrown into deep pits filled with fire, and their bodies, souls, shadows and hearts were consumed forthwith. the judgment of osiris took place near abydos, probably at midnight, and a decree of swift annihilation was passed by him on the damned. their heads were cut off by the headsman of osiris, who was called shesmu, and their bodies dismembered and destroyed in pits of fire. there was no eternal punishment for men, for the wicked were annihilated quickly and completely; but inasmuch as osiris sat in judgment and doomed the wicked to destruction daily, the infliction of punishment never ceased. chapter vii the judgment of osiris. the oldest religious texts suggest that the egyptians always associated the last judgment with the weighing of the heart in a pair of scales, and in the illustrated papyri of the book of the dead great prominence is always given to the vignettes in which this weighing is being carried out. the heart, ab, was taken as the symbol of all the emotions, desires, and passions, both good and evil, and out of it proceeded the issues of life. it was intimately connected with the ka, i.e., the double or personality of a man, and several short spells in the book per-t em hru were composed to ensure its preservation (chapters xxvi-xxxb*). the great chapter of the judgment of osiris, the cxxvth, is divided into three parts, which are sometimes (as in the papyrus of ani) prefaced by a hymn to osiris. the first part contains the following, which was said by the deceased when he entered the hall of maati, in which osiris sat in judgment: "homage to thee, o great god, lord of maati, [ ] i have come to thee, o my lord, that i may behold thy beneficence. i know thee, and i know thy name, and the names of the forty-two who live with thee in the hall of maati, who keep ward over sinners, and feed upon their blood on the day of estimating characters before un-nefer [ ] ... behold, i have come to thee, and i have brought maat (i.e., truth, integrity) to thee. i have destroyed sin for thee. i have not sinned against men. i have not oppressed [my] kinsfolk. i have done no wrong in the place of truth. i have not known worthless folk. i have not wrought evil. i have not defrauded the oppressed one of his goods. i have not done the things that the gods abominate. i have not vilified a servant to his master. i have not caused pain. i have not let any man hunger. i have made no one to weep. i have not committed murder. i have not commanded any to commit murder for me. i have inflicted pain on no man. i have not defrauded the temples of their oblations. i have not purloined the cakes of the gods. i have not stolen the offerings to the spirits (i.e., the dead). i have not committed fornication. i have not polluted myself in the holy places of the god of my city. i have not diminished from the bushel. i did not take from or add to the acre-measure. i did not encroach on the fields [of others]. i have not added to the weights of the scales. i have not misread the pointer of the scales. i have not taken milk from the mouths of children. i have not driven cattle from their pastures. i have not snared the birds of the gods. i have not caught fish with fish of their kind. i have not stopped water [when it should flow]. i have not cut the dam of a canal. i have not extinguished a fire when it should burn. i have not altered the times of the chosen meat offerings. i have not turned away the cattle [intended for] offerings. i have not repulsed the god at his appearances. i am pure. i am pure. i am pure. i am pure...." in the second part of chapter cxxv osiris is seen seated at one end of the hall of maati accompanied by the two goddesses of law and truth, and the forty-two gods who are there to assist him. each of the forty-two gods represents one of the nomes of egypt and has a symbolic name. when the deceased had repeated the magical names of the doors of the hall, he entered it and saw these gods arranged in two rows, twenty-one on each side of the hall. at the end, near osiris, were the great scales, under the charge of anpu (anubis), and the monster amemit, the eater of the dead, i.e., of the hearts of the wicked who were condemned in the judgment of osiris. the deceased advanced along the hall and, addressing each of the forty-two gods by his name, declared that he had not committed a certain sin, thus: "o usekh-nemmit, comer forth from anu, i have not committed sin. "o fenti, comer forth from khemenu, i have not robbed. "o neha-hau, comer forth from re-stau, i have not killed men. "o neba, comer forth in retreating, i have not plundered the property of god. "o set-qesu, comer forth from hensu, i have not lied. "o uammti, comer forth from khebt, i have not defiled any man's wife. "o maa-anuf, comer forth from per-menu, i have not defiled myself. "o tem-sep, comer forth from tetu, i have not cursed the king. "o nefer-tem, comer forth from het-ka-ptah, i have not acted deceitfully; i have not committed wickedness. "o nekhen, comer forth from heqat, i have not turned a deaf ear to the words of the law (or truth)." the names of most of the forty-two gods are not ancient, but were invented by the priests probably about the same time as the names in the book of him that is in the tuat and the book of gates, i.e., between the xiith and the xviiith dynasties. their artificial character is shown by their meanings. thus usekh-nemmit means "he of the long strides"; fenti means "he of the nose"; neha-hau means "stinking-members"; set-qesu means "breaker of bones," etc. the early egyptologists called the second part of the cxxvth chapter the "negative confession," and it is generally known by this somewhat inexact title to this day. in the third part of the cxxvth chapter comes the address which the deceased made to the gods after he had declared his innocence of the sins enumerated before the forty-two gods. he says: "homage to you, o ye gods who dwell in your hall of maati. i know you and i know your names. let me not fall under your slaughtering knives. bring not my wickedness to the notice of the god whose followers ye are. let not the affair [of my judgment] come under your jurisdiction. speak ye the law (or truth) concerning me before neb-er-tcher, [ ] for i performed the law (or, truth) in ta-mera (i.e., egypt). i have not blasphemed the god. no affair of mine came under the notice of the king in his day. homage to you, o ye who are in your hall of maati, who have no lies in your bodies, who live on truth, who eat truth before horus, the dweller in his disk, deliver ye me from babai [ ] who liveth upon the entrails of the mighty ones on the day of the great reckoning (apt aat). behold me! i have come to you without sin, without deceit (?), without evil, without false testimony (?) i have not done an [evil] thing. i live upon truth and i feed upon truth. i have performed the behests of men, and the things that satisfy the gods. [ ] i have propitiated the god [by doing] his will. i have given bread to the hungry, water to the thirsty, raiment to the naked, and a boat to him that needed one. i have made holy offerings to the gods, and sepulchral offerings to the beautified dead. be ye then my saviours, be ye my protectors, and make no accusation against me before the great god. i am pure of mouth, and clean of hands; therefore it hath been said by those who saw me, 'come in peace, come in peace.'" the deceased then addresses osiris, and says, "hail, thou who art exalted upon thy standard, thou lord of the atefu crown, whose name is 'lord of winds,' save me from thy messengers (or assessors) with uncovered faces, who bring charges of evil and make shortcomings plain, because i have performed the law (or truth) for the lord of the law (or truth). i have purified myself with washings in water, my back hath been cleansed with salt, and my inner parts are in the pool of truth. there is not a member of mine that lacketh truth." from the lines that follow the above in the papyrus of nu it seems as though the judgment of the deceased by the forty-two gods was preliminary to the final judgment of osiris. at all events, after questioning him about the performance of certain ceremonies, they invited him to enter the hall of maati, but when he was about to do so the porter, and the door-bolts, and the various parts of the door and its frame, and the floor, refused to permit him to enter until he had repeated their magical names. when he had pronounced these correctly the porter took him in and presented him to maau (?)-taui, who was thoth himself. when asked by him why he had come the deceased answered, "i have come that report may be made of me." then thoth said, "what is thy condition?" and the deceased replied, "i am purified from evil things, i am free from the wickedness of those who lived in my days; i am not one of them." on this thoth said, "thou shalt be reported. [tell me:] who is he whose roof is fire, whose walls are living serpents, and whose floor is a stream of water? who is he?" the deceased having replied "osiris," thoth then led him forward to the god osiris, who received him, and promised that subsistence should be provided for him from the eye of ra. in great papyri of the book of the dead such as those of nebseni, nu, ani, hunefer, etc., the last judgment, or the "great reckoning," is made the most prominent scene in the whole work, and the vignette in which it is depicted is several feet long. the most complete form of it is given in the papyrus of ani, and may be thus described: at one end of the hall of maati osiris is seated on a throne within a shrine made in the form of a funerary coffer; behind him stand isis and nephthys. along one side of the hall are seated the gods harmachis, tem, shu, tefnut, geb, nut, isis and nephthys, horus, hathor, hu and saa, who are to serve as the divine jury; these formed the "great company of the gods" of anu (heliopolis). by these stands the great balance, and on its pillar sits the dog-headed ape astes, or astenu, the associate of thoth. the pointer of the balance is in the charge of anpu. behind anpu are thoth the scribe of the gods, and the monster amemit, with the head of a crocodile, the forepaws and shoulders of a lion, and the hindquarters of a hippopotamus; the duty of the last-named was to eat up the hearts that were light in the balance. on the other side of the balance ani, accompanied by his wife, is seen standing with head bent low in adoration, and between him and the balance stand the two goddesses who nurse and rear children, meskhenet and rennet, ani's soul, in the form of a man-headed hawk, a portion of his body, and his luck shai. since the heart was considered to be the seat of all will, emotion, feeling, reason and intelligence, ani's heart, is seen in one pan of the balance, and in the other is the feather, symbolic of truth and righteousness. whilst his heart was in the balance ani, repeating the words of chapter xxxb* of the book of the dead, addressed it, saying, "my heart of my mother! my heart of my mother! my heart of my being! make no stand against me when testifying, thrust me not back before the tchatchaut (i.e., the overseers of osiris), and make no failure in respect of me before the master of the balance. thou art my ka, the dweller in my body, uniting (?) and strengthening my members. thou shalt come forth to the happiness to which we advance. make not my name to stink with the officers [of osiris] who made men, utter no lie against me before the great god, the lord of amentt." then thoth, the judge of truth, of the great company of the gods who are in the presence of osiris, saith to the gods, "hearken ye to this word: in very truth the heart of osiris hath been weighed, and his soul hath borne testimony concerning him; according to the great balance his case is truth (i.e., just). no wickedness hath been found in him. he did not filch offerings from the temples. he did not act crookedly, and he did not vilify folk when he was on earth." and the great company of the gods say to thoth, who dwelleth in khemenu (hermopolis): "this that cometh forth from thy mouth of truth is confirmed (?) the osiris, the scribe ani, true of voice, hath testified. he hath not sinned and [his name] doth not stink before us; amemit (i.e., the eater of the dead) shall not have the mastery over him. let there be given unto him offerings of food and an appearance before osiris, and an abiding homestead in the field of offerings as unto the followers of horus." thus the gods have declared that ani is "true of voice," as was osiris, and they have called ani "osiris," because in his purity of word and deed he resembled that god. in all the copies of the book of the dead the deceased is always called "osiris," and as it was always assumed that those for whom they were written would be found innocent when weighed in the great balance, the words "true of voice," which were equivalent in meaning to "innocent and acquitted," were always written after their names. it may be noted in passing that when ani's heart was weighed against truth, the beam of the great balance remained perfectly horizontal. this suggests that the gods did not expect the heart of the deceased to "kick the beam," but were quite satisfied if it exactly counterbalanced truth. they demanded the fulfilment of the law and nothing more, and were content to bestow immortality upon the man on whom thoth's verdict was "he hath done no evil." in accordance with the command of the gods ani passes from the great balance to the end of the hall of maati where osiris is seated, and as he approaches the god horus, the son of isis, takes him by the hand and leads him forward, and standing before his father osiris says, "i have come to thee, un-nefer, [ ] i have brought to thee the osiris ani. his heart is righteous [and] hath come forth from the balance. it hath no sin before any god or any goddess. thoth hath set down his judgment in writing, and the company of the gods have declared on his behalf that [his] evidence is very true. let there be given unto him of the bread and beer which appear before osiris. let him be like the followers of horus for ever!" next we see ani kneeling in adoration before osiris, and he says, "behold, i am in thy presence, o lord of amentt. there is no sin in my body. i have not uttered a lie knowingly. [i have] no duplicity (?) grant that i may be like the favoured (or rewarded) ones who are in thy train." under favour of osiris ani then became a sahu, or "spirit-body," and in this form passed into the kingdom of osiris. chapter viii the kingdom of osiris. according to the book of gates and the other "guides" to the egyptian under world, the kingdom of osiris formed the sixth division of the tuat; in very early times it was situated in the western delta, but after the xiith dynasty theologians placed it near abydos in upper egypt, and before the close of the dynastic period the tuat of osiris had absorbed the under world of every nome of egypt. when the soul in its beautified or spirit body arrived there, the ministers of osiris took it to the homestead or place of abode which had been allotted to it by the command of osiris, and there it began its new existence. the large vignette to the cxth chapter shows us exactly what manner of place the abode of the blessed was. the country was flat and the fields were intersected by canals of running water in which there were "no fish and no worms" (i.e., water snakes). in one part of it were several small islands, and on one of them osiris was supposed to dwell with his saints. it was called the "island of truth," and the ferry-man of osiris would not convey to it any soul that had not been declared "true of word" by thoth, osiris and the great gods at the "great reckoning." the portion of the kingdom of osiris depicted in the large books of the dead represents in many respects a typical egyptian farm, and we see the deceased engaged in ploughing and reaping and driving the oxen that are treading out the corn. he was introduced into the sekhet heteput (a section of the sekhet aaru, i.e., "field of reeds," or the "elysian fields") by thoth, and there he found the souls of his ancestors, who were joined to the company of the gods. one corner of this region was specially set apart for the dwelling place of the aakhu, i.e., beautified souls, or spirit-souls, who were said to be seven cubits in height, and to reap wheat or barley which grew to a height of three cubits. near this spot were moored two boats that were always ready for the use of the denizens of that region; they appear to have been "spirit boats," i.e., boats which moved of themselves and carried the beautified wheresoever they wanted to go without any trouble or fatigue on their part. how the beautified passed their time in the kingdom of osiris may be seen from the pictures cut on the alabaster sarcophagus of seti i, now preserved in sir john soane's museum in lincoln's inn fields. here we see them occupied in producing the celestial food on which they and the god lived. some are tending the wheat plants as they grow, and others are reaping the ripe grain. in the texts that accompany these scenes the ears of wheat are said to be the "members of osiris," and the wheat plant is called the maat plant. osiris was the wheat-god and also the personification of maat (i.e., truth), and the beautified lived upon the body of their god and ate him daily, and the substance of him was the "bread of everlastingness," which is mentioned in the pyramid texts. the beautified are described as "those who have offered up incense to the gods, and whose kau (i.e., doubles, or persons) have been washed clean. they have been reckoned up and they are maat (i.e., truth) in the presence of the great god who destroyeth sin." osiris says to them, "ye are truth of truth; rest in peace." and of them he says, "they were doers of truth whilst they were upon earth, they did battle for their god, and they shall be called to the enjoyment of the land of the house of life with truth. their truth shall be reckoned to them in the presence of the great god who destroyeth sin." then addressing them again osiris says, "ye are beings of truth, o ye truths. take ye your rest because of what ye have done, becoming even as those who are in my following, and who direct the house of him whose soul is holy. ye shall live there even as they live, and ye shall have dominion over the cool waters of your land. i command that ye have your being to the limit [of that land] with truth and without sin." in these passages we have the two conceptions of osiris well illustrated. as the wheat-god he would satisfy those who wished for a purely material, agricultural heaven, where hunger would be unknown and where the blessed would be able to satisfy every physical desire and want daily; and as the god of truth, of whom the spiritually minded hoped to become the counterpart, he would be their hope, and consolation, and the image of the eternal god. chapter ix a short description of the "doors" or chapters of the book of the dead. all the great papyri of the book of the dead begin with a hymn to ra, who from the period of the ivth dynasty was the "king of the gods" of egypt. his cult was finally "established" under the vth dynasty when the king of egypt began to call himself in official documents and monuments "son of the sun," sa ra. this hymn is supposed to be sung by the deceased, who says:-- "homage to thee, o ra, at thy beauteous rising. thou risest, thou risest; thou shinest, thou shinest at the dawn. thou art king of the gods, and the maati goddesses embrace thee. the company of the gods praise thee at sunrise and at sunset. thou sailest over the heights of heaven and thy heart is glad. thy morning boat meeteth thy evening boat with fair winds. thy father is the sky-god and thy mother is the sky-goddess, and thou art horus of the eastern and western skies. ... o thou only one, o thou perfect one, o thou who art eternal, who art never weak, whom no mighty one can abase; none hath dominion over the things which appertain to thee. homage to thee in thy characters of horus, tem, and khepera, thou great hawk, who makest man to rejoice by thy beautiful face. when thou risest men and women live. thou renewest thy youth, and dost set thyself in the place where thou wast yesterday. o divine youth, who art self-created, i cannot comprehend thee. thou art the lord of heaven and earth, and didst create beings celestial and beings terrestrial. thou art the god one, who camest into being in the beginning of time. thou didst create the earth, and man, thou didst make the sky and the celestial river hep; thou didst make the waters and didst give life unto all that therein is. thou hast knit together the mountains, thou hast made mankind and the beasts of the field to come into being, and hast made the heavens and the earth. the fiend nak is overthrown, his arms are cut off. o thou divine youth, thou heir of everlastingness, self-begotten and self-born, one, might, of myriad forms and aspects, prince of an (i.e., on), lord of eternity, everlasting ruler, the company of the gods rejoice in thee. as thou risest thou growest greater: thy rays are upon all faces. thou art unknowable, and no tongue can describe thy similitude; thou existest alone. millions of years have passed over the world, i cannot tell the number of those through which thou hast passed. thou journeyest through spaces [requiring] millions of years [to pass over] in one little moment of time, and then thou settest and dost make an end of the hours." the subject matter of the above extract is treated at greater length in chapter xv, which contains a long hymn to ra at his rising, or amen-ra, or ra united to other solar gods, e.g., horus and khepera, and a short hymn to ra at his setting. in the latter the welcome which ra receives from the dwellers in amentt (i.e., the hidden place, like the greek "hades") is emphasized thus:-- "all the beautified dead (aakhu) in the tuat receive him in the horizon of amentt. they shout praises of him in his form of tem (i.e., the setting sun). thou didst rise and put on strength, and thou settest, a living being, and thy glories are in amentt. the gods of amentt rejoice in thy beauties (or beneficence). the hidden ones worship thee, the aged ones bring thee offerings and protect thee. the souls of amentt cry out, and when they meet thy majesty (life, strength, health be to thee!) they shout 'hail! hail!' the lords of the mansions of the tuat stretch out their hands to thee from their abodes, and they cry to thee, and they follow in thy bright train, and the hearts of the lords of the tuat rejoice when thou sendest thy light into amentt. their eyes follow thee, they press forward to see thee, and their hearts rejoice at the sight of thy face. thou hearkenest to the petitions of those who are in their tombs, thou dispellest their helplessness and drivest away evil from them. thou givest breath to their nostrils. thou art greatly feared, thy form is majestic, and very greatly art thou beloved by those who dwell in the other world." the introductory hymn to ra is followed by a hymn to osiris, in which the deceased says:-- "glory be to thee, o osiris un-nefer, thou great god in abtu (abydos), king of eternity, lord of everlastingness, god whose existence is millions of years, eldest son of nut, begotten by geb, the ancestor-chief, lord of the crowns of the south and the north, lord of the high white crown. thou art the governor of gods and of men and hast received the sceptre, the whip, and the rank of thy divine fathers. let thy heart in amentt be content, for thy son horus is seated upon thy throne. thou art lord of tetu (busiris) and governor of abtu (abydos). thou makest fertile the two lands (i.e., all egypt) by [thy] true word before the lord to the uttermost limit.... thy power is widespread, and great is the terror of thy name 'osiris.' thou endurest for all eternity in thy name of 'un-nefer' (i.e., beneficent being). homage to thee, king of kings, lord of lords, governor of governors, who from the womb of the sky-goddess hast ruled the world and the under world. thy limbs are as silver-gold, thy hand is blue like lapis-lazuli, and the space on either side of thee is of the colour of turquoise (or emerald). thou god an of millions of years, thy body is all-pervading, o dweller in the land of holiness, thy face is beautiful ... the gods come before thee bowing low. they hold thee in fear. they withdraw and retreat when they see the awfulness of ra upon thee; the [thought] of the conquests of thy majesty is in their hearts. life is with thee. "let me follow thy majesty as when i was on earth, let my soul be summoned, and let it be found near the lords of truth. i have come to the city of god, the region that is eternally old, with my soul (ba), double (ka) and spirit-soul (aakhu), to be a dweller in this land. its god is the lord of truth ... he giveth old age to him that worketh truth, and honour to his followers, and at the last abundant equipment for the tomb, and burial in the land of holiness. i have come unto thee, my hands hold truth, and there is no falsehood in my heart ... thou hast set truth before thee: i know on what thou livest. i have committed no sin in this land, and i have defrauded no man of his possessions." (chapter clxxxiii.) chapter i was recited by the priest who accompanied the mummy to the tomb and performed the burial ceremonies there. in it the priest (kher heb) assumed the character of thoth and promised the deceased to do for him all that he had done for osiris in days of old. chapter ib gave the sahu, or "spirit-body," power to enter the tuat immediately after the burial of the material body, and delivered it from the nine worms that lived on the dead. chapters ii-iv are short spells written to give the deceased power to revisit the earth, to join the gods, and to travel about the sky. chapters v and vi provided for the performance of agricultural labours in the other world. the text of chapter vi was cut on figures made of stone, wood, etc. (ushabtiu), which were placed in the tomb, and when the deceased recited it these figures became alive and did everything he wished. the shabti figure, took the place of the human funerary sacrifice which was common all over egypt before the general adoption of the cult of osiris under the xiith dynasty. about ushabtiu figures were found in the tomb of seti i, and many of them are in the british museum. chapter vii is a spell to destroy the great serpent aapep, the arch-enemy of horus the elder, ra, osiris, horus son of isis, and of every follower of osiris. chapters viii and ix secured a passage for the deceased through the tuat, and chapters x and xi gave him power over the enemies he met there. chapters xii and xiii gave him great freedom of movement in the kingdom of osiris. chapter xiv is a prayer in which osiris is entreated to put away any feeling of dissatisfaction that he may have for the deceased, who says, "wash away my sins, lord of truth; destroy my transgressions, wickedness and iniquity, o god of truth. may this god be at peace with me. destroy the things that are obstacles between us. give me peace, and remove all dissatisfaction from thy heart in respect of me." chapter xv has several forms, and each of them contains hymns to ra, which were sung daily in the morning and evening; specimen paragraphs are given above (pp. , ). chapter xvi is only a vignette that illustrates chapter xv, chapter xvii is a very important chapter, for it contains statements of divine doctrine as understood by the priests of heliopolis. the opening words are, "i am tem in rising. i am the only one. i came into being in nu (the sky). i am ra, who rose in primeval time, ruler of what he had made." following this comes the question, "who is this?" and the answer is, "it is ra who rose in the city of hensu, in primeval time, crowned as king. he existed on the height of the dweller in khemenu (i.e., thoth of hermopolis) before the pillars that support the sky were made." chapter xviii contains the addresses to thoth, who is entreated to make the deceased to be declared innocent before the gods of heliopolis, busiris, latopolis, mendes, abydos, etc. these addresses formed a very powerful spell which was used by horus, and when he recited it four times all his enemies were overthrown and cut to pieces. chapters xix and xx are variant forms of chapter xviii. chapters xxi-xxiii secured the help of thoth in "opening the mouth" of the deceased, whereby he obtained the power to breathe and think and drink and eat. thoth recited spells over the gods whilst ptah untied the bandages and shu forced open their mouths with an iron (?) knife. chapter xxiv gave to the deceased a knowledge of the "words of power" (hekau) which were used by the great god tem-khepera, and chapter xxv restored to him his memory. five chapters, xxvi-xxx, contain prayers and spells whereby the deceased obtained power over his heart and gained absolute possession of it. the most popular prayer is that of chapter xxxb (see above, p. ) which, according to its rubric, was "found," i.e., edited, by herutataf, the son of the great cheops, about b.c. this prayer was still in use in the early years of the christian era. in the papyrus of nu it is associated with chapter lxiv, and the earliest form of it was probably in existence under the ist dynasty. chapters xxxi-xlii were written to deliver the deceased from the great crocodile sui, and the serpents rerek and seksek, and the lynx with its deadly claws, and the beetle apshait, and the terrible merti snake-goddesses, and a group of three particularly venomous serpents, and aapep a personification of set the god of evil, and the eater of the ass, and a series of beings who lived by slaughtering the souls of the dead. in chapter xlii every member of the deceased is put under the protection of, or identified with, a god or goddess, e.g., the hair with nu, the face with aten (i.e., the solar disk), the eyes with hathor, and the deceased exclaims triumphantly, "there is no member of my body which is not the member of a god." chapter xliii. a spell to prevent the decapitation of the deceased, who assumes in it the character of osiris the lord of eternity. chapter xliv. an ancient and mighty spell, the recital of which prevented the deceased from dying a second time. chapters xlv and xlvi preserved the mummy of the deceased from decay, and chapter xlvii prevented the removal of his seat or throne. chapter l enabled the deceased to avoid the block of execution of the god shesmu. chapters li-liii provided the deceased with pure food and clean water from the table of the gods; he lived upon what they lived upon, and so became one with them. chapters liv-lxii gave the deceased power to obtain cool water from the celestial nile and the springs of waters of heaven, and being identified with shu, the god of light and air, he was enabled to pass over all the earth at will. his life was that of the egg of the "great cackler," and the goddess sesheta built a house for him in the celestial anu, or heliopolis. the recital of chapter lxiii enabled the deceased to avoid drinking boiling water in the tuat. the water in some of its pools was cool and refreshing to those who were speakers of the truth, but it turned into boiling water and scalded the wicked when they tried to drink of it. chapter lxiv is an epitome of the whole book of the dead, and it formed a "great and divine protection" for the deceased. the text is of a mystical character and suggests that the deceased could, through its recital, either absorb the gods into his being, or become himself absorbed by them. its rubric orders abstention from meats, fish and women on the part of those who were to recite it. chapter lxv gave the deceased victory over all his enemies, and chapters lxvi and lxvii gave him access to the boat of ra. chapters lxviii-lxx procured him complete freedom of motion in heaven and on earth. chapter lxxi is a series of addresses to the seven spirits who punished the wicked in the kingdom of osiris, and chapter lxxii aided the deceased to be reborn in the mesqet chamber. the mesqet was originally a bull's skin in which the deceased was wrapped. chapter lxxiii is the same as chapter ix. chapters lxxiv and lxxv secured a passage for the deceased in the henu boat of seker the death-god, and chapter lxxvi brought to his help the praying mantis which guided him through the "bush" to the house of osiris. by the recital of chapters lxxvii-lxxxviii, i.e., the "chapters of transformations," the deceased was enabled to assume at will the forms of ( ) the golden hawk, ( ) the divine hawk, ( ) the great self-created god, ( ) the light-god or the robe of nu, ( ) the pure lily, ( ) the son of ptah, ( ) the benu bird, ( ) the heron, ( ) the soul of ra, ( ) the swallow, ( ) the sata or earth-serpent, ( ) the crocodile. chapter lxxxix brought the soul (ba) of the deceased to his body in the tuat, and chapter xc preserved him from mutilation and attacks of the god who "cut off heads and slit foreheads." chapters xci and xcii prevented the soul of the deceased from being shut in the tomb. chapter xciii is a spell very difficult to understand. chapters xciv and xcv provided the deceased with the books of thoth and the power of this god, and enabled him to take his place as the scribe of osiris. chapters xcvi and xcvii also placed him under the protection of thoth. the recital of chapter xcviii provided the deceased with a boat in which to sail over the northern heavens, and a ladder by which to ascend to heaven. chapters xcix-ciii gave him the use of the magical boat, the mystic name of each part of which he was obliged to know, and helped him to enter the boat of ra and to be with hathor. the bebait, or mantis, led him to the great gods (chapter civ), and the uatch amulet from the neck of ra provided his double (ka) and his heart-soul (ba) with offerings (chapters cv, cvi). chapters cvii-cix made him favourably known to the spirits of the east and west, and the gods of the mountain of sunrise. in this region lived the terrible serpent-god ami-hem-f; he was cubits ( feet) long. in the east the deceased saw the morning star, and the two sycamores, from between which the sun-god appeared daily, and found the entrance to the sekhet aaru or elysian fields. chapter cx and its vignette of the elysian fields have already been described (see p. ). chapters cxi and cxii describe how horus lost the sight of his eye temporarily through looking at set under the form of a black pig, and chapter cxiii refers to the legend of the drowning of horus and the recovery of his body by sebek the crocodile-god. chapter cxiv enabled the deceased to absorb the wisdom of thoth and his eight gods. chapters cxv-cxxii made him lord of the tuats of memphis and heliopolis, and supplied him with food, and chapter cxxiii enabled him to identify himself with thoth. chapters cxxiv and cxxv, which treat of the judgment, have already been described. chapter cxxvi contains a prayer to the four holy apes, chapter cxxvii a hymn to the gods of the "circles" in the tuat, and chapter cxxviii a hymn to osiris. chapters cxxx and cxxxi secured for the deceased the use of the boats of sunrise and sunset, and chapter cxxxii enabled him to return to earth and visit the house he had lived in. chapters cxxxiii (or cxxxix)-cxxxvi resemble in contents chapter cxxxi. chapter cxxxvii describes a series of magical ceremonies that were to be performed for the deceased daily in order to make him to become a "living soul for ever." the formulae are said to have been composed under the ivth dynasty. chapter cxxxviii refers to the ceremony of reconstituting osiris, and chapters cxl-cxlii deal with the setting up of twelve altars, and the making of offerings to all the gods and to the various forms of osiris. chapter cxliii consists of a series of vignettes, in three of which solar boats are represented. chapters cxliv and cxlvii deal with the seven great halls (arit) of the kingdom of osiris. the gate of each hall was guarded by a porter, a watchman, and a messenger; the first kept the door, the second looked out for the arrival of visitors, and the third took their names to osiris. no one could enter a hall without repeating the name of it, of the porter, of the watchman, and of the messenger. according to a late tradition the gates of the kingdom of osiris were twenty-one in number (chapters cxlv and cxlvi), and each had a magical name, and each was guarded by one or two gods, whose names had to be repeated by the deceased before he could pass. chapter cxlviii supplied the deceased with the names of the seven cows and their bull on which the "gods" were supposed to feed. chapters cxlix and cl give the names of the fourteen aats, or districts, of the kingdom of osiris. chapter *cli-a and *cli-b give a picture of the mummy chamber and the magical texts that were necessary for the protection of both the chamber and the mummy in it. chapter clii provided a house for the deceased in the celestial anu, and chapter *cliii-a and *cliii-b enabled his soul to avoid capture in the net of the snarer of souls. chapter cliv is an address to osiris in which the deceased says, "i shall not decay, nor rot, nor putrefy, nor become worms, nor see corruption. i shall have my being, i shall live, i shall flourish, i shall rise up in peace." chapters clv-clxvii are spells which were engraved on the amulets, giving the deceased the protection of ra, osiris, isis, horus, and other gods. the remaining chapters (clxviii-cxc) are of a miscellaneous character, and few of them are found in more than one or two papyri of the book of the dead. a few contain hymns that are not older than the xviiith dynasty, and one is an extract from the text on the pyramid of unas (lines - ). the most interesting is, perhaps, chapter clxxv, which describes the tuat as airless, waterless, and lightless. in this chapter the deceased is assured of immortality in the words, "thou shalt live for millions of millions of years, a life of millions of years." e. a. wallis budge. department of egyptian and assyrian antiquities, british museum. april , . note. the trustees of the british museum have published:-- . coloured facsimile of the papyrus of hunefer, xixth dynasty, with hieroglyphic transcript and translation. plates, large folio. . coloured facsimile of the papyrus of anhai, xxist dynasty, with hieroglyphic transcript and translation. plates, large folio. . collotype reproduction of the papyrus of queen netchemet, xxist dynasty, with hieroglyphic transcript and translation. plates, large folio. . coloured reproduction of the hieratic text of the book of breathings, with hieroglyphic transcript and translation. with collotypes of the vignettes, large folio. . hieroglyphic transcript of the papyrus of nu, with one collotype plate. nos. - are bound in one volume, price £ s. . collotype reproduction of the papyrus of queen nesi-ta-nebt-ashru, with full descriptions of the vignettes, translations, and introduction, containing several illustrations, and plates of hieratic text. large to. price £ s. footnotes [ ] see journal de trévoux, june, ; caylus, antiq. egypt., tom. i, plate ; denon, travels, plates and ; and description de l'Égypte, tom. ii, plate ff. [ ] copie figurée d'un rouleau de papyrus trouvé à thèbes dans un tombeau des rois. paris, xiii- . this papyrus is nearly feet in length and was brought to strassburg by a paymaster in napoleon's army in egypt called poussielgue, who sold it to m. cadet. [ ] [hieroglyphs]. [ ] the longest papyrus in the world is papyrus harris no. (brit. mus. no. ); it measures feet by foot / inches. [ ] pyramid of pepi i, ll. and . [ ] i.e., truth, or law, in a double aspect. [ ] a name of osiris. [ ] i.e., the "lord to the uttermost limit of everything," or god. [ ] he was according to one legend the firstborn son of osiris. [ ] i.e., i have kept the moral and divine law. [ ] i.e., the "beneficent being," a title of osiris. egyptian tales, translated from the papyri first series, ivth to xiith dynasty by w. m. flinders petrie, d.c.l., ll.d.., ph.d., hon. f.s.a. (scot.) illustrated by tristram ellis second edition london list of contents introduction tales of the magicians khafra's tale baufra's tale hordedef's tale remarks the peasant and the workman remarks the shipwrecked sailor remarks the adventures of sanehat remarks introduction it is strange that while literature occupies so much attention as at present, and while fiction is the largest division of our book-work, the oldest literature and fiction of the world should yet have remained unpresented to english readers. the tales of ancient egypt have appeared collectively only in french, in the charming volume of maspero's "contes populaires"; while some have been translated into english at scattered times in volumes of the "records of the past." but research moves forward; and translations that were excellent twenty years ago may now be largely improved, as we attain more insight into the language. for another reason also there is a wide ground for the present volume. in no case have any illustrations been attempted, to give that basis for imagination which is all the more needed when reading of an age and a land unfamiliar to our ideas. when following a narrative, whether of real events or of fiction, many persons--perhaps most--find themselves unconsciously framing in their minds the scenery and the beings of which they are reading. to give a correct picture of the character of each of the various ages to which these tales belong, has been the aim of the present illustrations. a definite period has been assigned to each tale, in accordance with the indications, or the history, involved in it; and, so far as our present knowledge goes, all the details of life in the scenes here illustrated are rendered in accord with the period of the story. to some purely scholastic minds it may seem presumptuous to intermingle translations of notable documents with fanciful illustrations. but, considering the greater precision with which in recent years we have been able to learn the changes and the fashions of ancient life in egypt, and the essentially unhistorical nature of most of these tales, there seems ample reason to provide such material for the reader's imagination in following the stories; it may-give them more life and reality, and may emphasise the differences which existed between the different periods to which these tales refer. it will be noticed how the growth of the novel is shadowed out in the varied grounds and treatment of the tales. the earliest is purely a collection of marvels or fabulous incidents of the simplest kind. then we advance to contrasts between town and country, between egypt and foreign lands. then personal adventure, and the interest in schemes and successes, becomes the staple material; while only in the later periods does character come in as the groundwork. the same may be seen in english literature--first the tales of wonders and strange lands, then the novel of adventure, and lastly the novel of character. in translating these documents into english i have freely used the various translations already published in other languages; but in all cases more or less revision and retranslation from the original has been made. in this matter i am indebted to mr. f. ll. griffith, who has in some cases--as in anpu and bata--almost entirely retranslated the original papyrus. the material followed in each instance will be found stated in the notes accompanying the tales. as to the actual phraseology, i am alone responsible for that. how far original idiom should be retained in any translation is always a debated question, and must entirely depend on the object in view. here the purpose of rendering the work intelligible to ordinary readers required the modifying of some idioms and the paraphrasing of others. but so far as possible the style and tone of the original has been preserved, and whatever could be easily followed has been left to speak for itself. in many plainnesses of speech the old egyptian resembled the modern oriental, or our own forefathers, more than ourselves in this age of squeamishness as yet unparalleled in the world. to avoid offence a few little modifications of words have been made; but rather than give a false impression by tampering with any of the narrative, i have omitted the sequel of the last tale and given only an outline of it. the diction adopted has been the oldest that could be used without affectation when dealing with the early times. it has been purposely modified in the later tales; and in the last--which is of ptolemaic authorship--a modern style has been followed as more compatible with the later tone of the narrative. for the illustrations mr. tristram ellis's familiarity with egypt has been of good account in his life-like scenes here used. for each drawing i have searched for the material among the monuments and remains of the age in question. the details of the dresses, the architecture, and the utensils, are all in accord with the period of each tale. in the tale of setnau two different styles are introduced. ahura is probably of the time of amenhotep iii., whereas setnau is a son of ramessu ii.; and the change of fashion between the two different dynasties has been followed as distinctive of the two persons, one a _ka_ or double of the deceased, the other a living man. to the reader who starts with the current idea that all egyptians were alike, this continual change from one period to another may seem almost fanciful. but it rests on such certain authority that we may hope that this little volume may have its use as an object-lesson in practical archaeology. the use and abuse of notes is a matter of dispute. to be constantly interrupted in reading by some needless and elementary explanation is an impertinence both to the author and the reader: the one cannot resent it, the other therefore resents it for both. but what is to be deemed needless entirely depends on the reader: i have been asked in what country pompei is, as it is not in the english gazetteer. rather than intrude, then, on the reader when he is in high discourse with the ancients, i humbly set up my interpreter's booth next door; and if he cares to call in, and ask about any difficulties, i shall be glad to help him if i can. not even numbers are intruded to refer to notes; for how often an eager reader has been led off his trail, and turned blithely to refer to or only to find, "see j. z. xxxviii. ," at which he gnashed his teeth and cursed such interruptions. so those to whom the original tales are obscure are humbly requested to try for some profit from the remarks after them, that have been gleaned by the translator. much might be said by a "folk-lorist"--in proportion to his ardour. but as there are folk-lorists and folk-lorists, and the schools of rabbi andrew and rabbi joseph write different targums, i have left each to make his own commentary without prejudice. tales of the magicians one day, when king khufu reigned over all the land, he said to his chancellor, who stood before him, "go call me my sons and my councillors, that i may ask of them a thing." and his sons and his councillors came and stood before him, and he said to them, "know ye a man who can tell me tales of the deeds of the magicians?" then the royal son khafra stood forth and said, "i will tell thy majesty a tale of the days of thy forefather nebka, the blessed; of what came to pass when he went into the temple of ptah of ankhtaui." khafra's tale "his majesty was walking unto the temple of ptah, and went unto the house of the chief reciter uba-aner, with his train. now when the wife of uba-aner saw a page, among those who stood behind the king, her heart longed after him; and she sent her servant unto him, with a present of a box full of garments. "and he came then with the servant. now there was a lodge in the garden of uba-aner; and one day the page said to the wife of uba-aner, 'in the garden of uba-aner there is now a lodge; behold, let us therein take our pleasure.' so the wife of uba-aner sent to the steward who had charge over the garden, saying, 'let the lodge which is in the garden be made ready.' and she remained there, and rested and drank with the page until the sun went down. "and when the even was now come the page went forth to bathe. and the steward said, 'i must go and tell uba-aner of this matter.' now when this day was past, and another day came, then went the steward to uba-aner, and told him of all these things. "then said uba-aner, 'bring me my casket of ebony and electrum.' and they brought it; and he fashioned a crocodile of wax, seven fingers long: and he enchanted it, and said, 'when the page comes and bathes in my lake, seize on him.' and he gave it to the steward, and said to him, 'when the page shall go down into the lake to bathe, as he is daily wont to do, then throw in this crocodile behind him.' and the steward went forth bearing the crocodile. "and the wife of uba-aner sent to the steward who had charge over the garden, saying, 'let the lodge which is in the garden be made ready, for i come to tarry there.' "and the lodge was prepared with all good things; and she came and made merry therein with the page. and when the even was now come, the page went forth to bathe as he was wont to do. and the steward cast in the wax crocodile after him into the water; and, behold! it became a great crocodile seven cubits in length, and it seized on the page. "and uba-aner abode yet seven days with the king of upper and lower egypt, nebka, the blessed, while the page was stifled in the crocodile. and after the seven days were passed, the king of upper and lower egypt, nebka, the blessed, went forth, and uba-aner went before him. "and uba-aner said unto his majesty, 'will your majesty come and see this wonder that has come to pass in your days unto a page?' and the king went with uba-aner. and uba-aner called unto the crocodile and said, 'bring forth the page.' and the crocodile came forth from the lake with the page. uba-aner said unto the king, 'behold, whatever i command this crocodile he will do it.' and his majesty said, 'i pray you send back this crocodile." and uba-aner stooped and took up the crocodile, and it became in his hand a crocodile of wax. and then uba-aner told the king that which had passed in his house with the page and his wife. and his majesty said unto the crocodile, 'take to thee thy prey.' and the crocodile plunged into the lake with his prey, and no man knew whither he went. "and his majesty the king of upper and lower egypt, nebka, the blessed, commanded, and they brought forth the wife of uba-aner to the north side of the harem, and burnt her with fire, and cast her ashes in the river. "this is a wonder that came to pass in the days of thy forefather the king of upper and lower egypt, nebka, of the acts of the chief reciter uba-aner." his majesty the king of upper and lower egypt, khufu, then said, "let there be presented to the king nebka, the blessed, a thousand loaves, a hundred draughts of beer, an ox, two jars of incense; and let there be presented a loaf, a jar of beer, a jar of incense, and a piece of meat to the chief reciter uba-aner; for i have seen the token of his learning." and they did all things as his majesty commanded. baufra's tale the royal sou bau-f-ra then stood forth and spake. he said, "i will tell thy majesty of a wonder which came to pass in the days of thy father seneferu, the blessed, of the deeds of the chief reciter zazamankh. one day king seneferu, being weary, went throughout his palace seeking for a pleasure to lighten his heart, but he found none. and he said, 'haste, and bring before me the chief reciter and scribe of the rolls zazamankh'; and they straightway brought him. and the king said, 'i have sought in my palace for some delight, but i have found none.' then said zazamankh to him, 'let thy majesty go upon the lake of the palace, and let there be made ready a boat, with all the fair maidens of the harem of thy palace; and the heart of thy majesty shall be refreshed with the sight, in seeing their rowing up and down the water, and seeing the goodly pools of the birds upon the lake, and beholding its sweet fields and grassy shores; thus will thy heart be lightened. and i also will go with thee. bring me twenty oars of ebony, inlayed with gold, with blades of light wood, inlayed with electrum; and bring me twenty maidens, fair in their limbs, their bosoms and their hair, all virgins; and bring me twenty nets, and give these nets unto the maidens for their garments.' and they did according to all the commands of his majesty. "and they rowed down the stream and up the stream, and the heart of his majesty was glad with the sight of their rowing. but one of them at the steering struck her hair, and her jewel of new malachite fell into the water. and she ceased her song, and rowed not; and her companions ceased, and rowed not. and his majesty said, 'row you not further?' and they replied, 'our little steerer here stays and rows not.' his majesty then said to her, 'wherefore rowest thou not?' she replied, 'it is for my jewel of new malachite which is fallen in the water.' and he said to her, 'row on, for behold i will replace it.' and she answered, 'but i want my own piece back in its setting.' and his majesty said, 'haste, bring me the chief reciter zazamankh,' and they brought him. and his majesty said, 'zazamankh, my brother, i have done as thou sayedst, and the heart of his majesty is refreshed with the sight of their rowing. but now a jewel of new malachite of one of the little ones is fallen in the water, and she ceases and rows not, and she has spoilt the rowing of her side. and i said to her, "wherefore rowest thou not?" and she answered to me, "it is for my jewel of new malachite which is fallen in the water." i replied to her, "row on, for behold i will replace it"; and she answered to me, "but i want my own piece again back in its setting."' then the chief reciter zazamankh spake his magic speech. and he placed one part of the waters of the lake upon the other, and discovered the jewel lying upon a shard; and he took it up and gave it unto its mistress. and the water, which was twelve cubits deep in the middle, reached now to twenty-four cubits after he turned it. and he spake, and used his magic speech; and he brought again the water of the lake to its place. and his majesty spent a joyful day with the whole of the royal house. then rewarded he the chief reciter zazamankh with all good things. behold, this is a wonder that came to pass in the days of thy father, the king of upper and lower egypt, seneferu, of the deeds of the chief reciter, the scribe of the rolls, zazamankh." then said the majesty of the king of upper and lower egypt, khufu, the blessed, "let there be presented an offering of a thousand cakes, one hundred draughts of beer, an ox, and two jars of incense to the king of upper and lower egypt, sene-feru, the blessed; and let there be given a loaf, a jar of beer, and a jar of incense to the chief reciter, the scribe of the rolls, zazamankh; for i have seen the token of his learning." and they did all things as his majesty commanded. hordedef's tale the royal son hordedef then stood forth and spake. he said, "hitherto hast thou only heard tokens of those who have gone before, and of which no man knoweth their truth but i will show thy majesty a man of thine own days." and his majesty said, "who is he, hordedef?" and the royal son hordedef answered, "it is a certain man named dedi, who dwells at dedsneferu. he is a man of one hundred and ten years old; and he eats five hundred loaves of bread, and a side of beef, and drinks one hundred draughts of beer, unto this day. he knows how to restore the head that is smitten off; he knows how to cause the lion to follow him trailing his halter on the ground; he knows the designs of the dwelling of tahuti. the majesty of the king of upper and lower egypt, khufu, the blessed, has long sought for the designs of the dwelling of tahuti, that he may make the like of them in his pyramid." and his majesty said, "thou, thyself, hordedef, my son, bring him to me." then were the ships made ready for the king's son hordedef, and he went up the stream to dedsneferu. and when the ships had moored at the haven, he landed, and sat him in a litter of ebony, the poles of which were of cedar wood overlayed with gold. now when he drew near to dedi, they set down the litter. and he arose to greet dedi, and found him lying on a palmstick couch at the door of his house; one servant held his head and rubbed him, and another rubbed his feet. and the king's son hordedef said, "thy state is that of one who lives to good old age; for old age is the end of our voyage, the time of embalming, the time of burial. lie, then, in the sun, free of infirmities, without the babble of dotage: this is the salutation to worthy age. i come from far to call thee, with a message from my father khufu, the blessed, for thou shalt eat of the best which the king gives, and of the food which those have who follow after him; that he may bring thee in good estate to thy fathers who are in the tomb." and dedi replied to him, "peace to thee! peace to thee! hordedef, son of the king, beloved of his father. may thy father khufu, the blessed, praise thee, may he advance thee amongst the elders, may thy _ka_ prevail against the enemy, may thy soul know the right road to the gate of him who clothes the afflicted; this is the salutation to the king's son." then the king's son, hordedef, stretched forth his hands to him, and raised him up, and went with him to the haven, giving unto him his arm. then said dedi, "let there he given me a boat, to bring me my youths and my books." and they made ready for him two boats with their rowers. and dedi went down the river in the barge in which was the king's son hordedef. and when he had reached the palace, the king's son, hordedef, entered in to give account unto his majesty the king of upper and lower egypt, khufu, the blessed. then said the king's son hordedef, "o king, life, wealth, and health! my lord, i have brought dedi." his majesty replied, "bring him to me speedily." and his majesty went into the hall of columns of pharaoh (life, wealth, and health), and dedi was led before him. and his majesty said, "wherefore is it, dedi, that i have not yet seen thee?" and dedi answered, "he who is called it is that comes; the king (life, wealth, and health) calls me, and behold i come," and his majesty said, "is it true, that which men say, that thou canst restore the head which is smitten off?" and dedi replied, "truly, i know that, o king (life, wealth, and health), my lord." and his majesty said, "let one bring me a prisoner who is in prison, that his punishment may be fulfilled." and dedi said, "let it not be a man, o king, my lord; behold we do not even thus to our cattle." and a duck was brought unto him, and its head was cut off. and the duck was laid on the west side of the hall, and its head on the east side of the hall. and dedi spake his magic speech. and the duck fluttered along the ground, and its head came likewise; and when it had come part to part the duck stood and quacked. and they brought likewise a goose before him, and he did even so unto it. his majesty caused an ox to be brought, and its head cast on the ground. and dedi spake his magic speech. and the ox stood upright behind him, and followed him with his halter trailing on the ground. and king khufu said, "and is it true what is said, that thou knowest the number of the designs of the dwelling of tahuti?" and dedi replied, "pardon me, i know not their number, o king (life, wealth, and health), but i know where they are." and his majesty said, "where is that?" and dedi replied, "there is a chest of whetstone in a chamber named the plan-room, in heli-opolis; they are in this chest." and dedi said further unto him, "o king (life, wealth, and health), my lord, it is not i that is to bring them to thee." and his m'jesty said, "who, then, is it that shall bring them to me?" and dedi answered to him, "it is the eldest of the three children who are in the body of rud-didet who shall bring them to thee." and his majesty said, "would that it may be as thou sayest! and who is this rud-didet?" and dedi replied, "she is the wife of a priest of ra, lord of sakhebu. and she has conceived these three sons by ra, lord of sakhebu, and the god has promised her that they shall fulfil this noble office (of reigning) over all this land, and that the eldest of them shall be high priest in heliopolis." and his majesty's heart became troubled for this; but dedi spake unto him, "what is this that thou thinkest, o king (life, wealth, health), my lord? is it because of these three children? i tell thee thy son shall reign, and thy son's son, and then one of them." his majesty said, "and when shall rud-didet bear these?" and he replied, "she shall bear them on the th of the month tybi." and his majesty said, "when the banks of the canal of letopolis are cut, i will walk there that i may see the temple of ra, lord of sakhebu." and dedi replied, "then i will cause that there be four cubits of water by the banks of the canal of letopolis." when his majesty returned to his palace, his majesty said, "let them place dedi in the house of the royal son hordedef, that he may dwell with him, and let them give him a daily portion of a thousand loaves, a hundred draughts of beer, an ox, and a hundred bunches of onions." and they did everything as his majesty commanded. and one day it came to pass that rud-didet felt the pains of birth. and the majesty of ra, lord of sakhebu, said unto isis, to nebhat, to meskhent, to hakt, and to khnumu, "go ye, and deliver rud-didet of these three children that she shall bear, who are to fulfil this noble office over all this land; that they may build up your temples, furnish your altars with offerings, supply your tables of libation, and increase your endowments." then went these deities; their fashion they made as that of dancing-girls, and khnumu was with them as a porter. they drew near unto the house of ra-user, and found him standing, with his girdle fallen. and they played before him with their instruments of music. but he said unto them, "my ladies, behold, here is a woman who feels the pains of birth." they said to him, "let us see her, for we know how to help her." and he replied, "come, then." and they entered in straightway to rud-didet, and they closed the door on her and on themselves. then isis stood before her, and nebhat stood behind her, and hakt helped her. and isis said, "o child, by thy name of user-ref, do not do violence." and the child came upon her hands, as a child of a cubit; its bones were strong, the beauty of its limbs was like gold, and its hair was like true lapis lazuli. they washed him, and prepared him, and placed him on a carpet on the brickwork. then meskhent approached him and said, "this is a king who shall reign over all the land." and khnumu gave strength to his limbs. then isis stood before her, and nebhat stood behind her, and hakt helped her. and isis said, "o child, by thy name of sah-ra, stay not in her." then the child came upon her hands, a child of a cubit; its bones were strong, the beauty of its limbs was like gold, and its hair was like true lapis lazuli. they washed him, and prepared him, and layed him on a carpet on the brickwork. then meskhent approached him and said, "this is a king who shall reign over all the land." and khnumu gave strength to his limbs. then isis stood before her, and nebhat stood behind her, and hakt helped her. and isis said, "o child, by thy name of kaku, remain not in darkness in her." and the child came upon her hands, a child of a cubit; its bones were strong, the beauty of its limbs was like gold, and its hair was like true lapis lazuli. and meskhent approached him and said, "this is a king who shall reign over all the land." and khnumu gave strength to his limbs. and they washed him, and prepared him, and layed him on a carpet on the brickwork. and the deities went out, having delivered rud-didet of the three children. and they said, "rejoice! o ra-user, for behold three children are born unto thee." and he said unto them, "my ladies, and what shall i give unto ye? behold, give this bushel of barley here unto your porter, that ye may take it as your reward to the brew-house." and khnumu loaded himself with the bushel of barley. and they went away toward the place from which they came. and isis spake unto these goddesses, and said, "wherefore have we come without doing a marvel for these children, that we may tell it to their father who has sent us?" then made they the divine diadems of the king (life, wealth, and health), and laid them in the bushel of barley. and they caused the clouds to come with wind and rain; and they turned back again unto the house. and they said, "let us put this barley in a closed chamber, sealed up, until we return northward, dancing." and they placed the barley in a close chamber. and rud-didet purified herself, with a purification of fourteen days. and she said to her handmaid, "is the house made ready?" and she replied, "all things are made ready, but the brewing barley is not yet brought." and rud-didet said, "wherefore is the brewing barley not yet brought?" and the servant answered, "it would all of it long since be ready if the barley had not been given to the dancing-girls, and lay in the chamber under their seal." rud didet said, "go down, and bring of it, and ra-user shall give them in its stead when he shall come," and the handmaid went, and opened the chamber. and she heard talking and singing, music and dancing, quavering, and all things which are performed for a king in his chamber. and she returned and told to rud-didet all that she had heard. and she went through the chamber, but she found not the place where the sound was. and she layed her temple to the sack, and found that the sounds were in it. she placed it in a chest, and put that in another locker, and tied it fast with leather, and layed it in the store-room, where the things were, and sealed it. and ra-user came returning from the field; and rud-didet repeated unto him these things; and his heart was glad above all things; and they sat down and made a joyful day. and after these days it came to pass that rud-didet was wroth with her servant, and beat her with stripes. and the servant said unto those that were in the house, "shall it be done thus unto me? she has borne three kings, and i will go and tell this to his majesty king khufu the blessed." and she went, and found the eldest brother of her mother, who was binding his flax on the floor. and he said to her, "whither goest thou, my little maid?" and she told him of all these things. and her brother said to her, "wherefore comest thou thus to me? shall i agree to treachery?" and he took a bunch of the flax to her, and laid on her a violent blow. and the servant went to fetch a handful of water, and a crocodile carried her away. her uncle went therefore to tell of this to rud-didet; and he found rud-didet sitting, her head on her knees, and her heart beyond measure sad. and he said to her, "my lady, why makest thou thy heart thus?" and she answered, "it is because of this little wretch that was in the house; behold she went out saying, 'i will go and tell it.'" and he bowed his head unto the ground, and said, "my lady, she came and told me of these things, and made her complaint unto me; and i laid on her a violent blow. and she went forth to draw water, and a crocodile carried her away." _(the rest of the tale is lost.)_ remarks the tales or the magicians are only preserved in a single copy, and of that the beginning is entirely lost. the papyrus was brought from egypt by an english traveller, and was purchased by the berlin museum from the property of lepsius, who had received it from the owner, miss westcar: hence it is known as the westcar papyrus. it was written probably in the xiith dynasty, but doubtless embodied tales, which had been floating for generations before, about the names of the early kings. it shows us probably the kind of material that existed for the great recension of the pre-monu-mental history, made in the time of seti i. those ages of the first three dynasties were as long before that recension as we are after it; and this must always be remembered in considering the authority of the egyptian records. this papyrus has been more thoroughly studied than most, perhaps more than any other. erman has devoted two volumes to it; publishing the whole in photographic facsimile, transcribed in hieroglyphs, transcribed in the modern alphabet, translated literally, translated freely, commented on and discussed word by word, and with a complete glossary of all words used in it. this exhaustive publication is named "der marchen des papyrus westcar." moreover, maspero has given a current translation in the "contes populaires," nd edit. pp. - . the scheme of these tales is that they are all told to king khufu by his sons; and as the beginning is lost, eight lines are here added to explain this and introduce the subject. the actual papyrus begins with the last few words of a previous tale concerning some other magician under an earlier king. then comes the tale of khafra, next that of bau-f-ra, and lastly that of hor-dedef. it need hardly be said that these tales are quite fictitious. the king and his successor khafra are real, but the other sons cannot be identified; and the confusion of supposing three kings of the vth dynasty to be triplets born early in the ivth dynasty, shows what very vague ideas of their own history the egyptians had when these tales were formed. this does not prevent our seeing that they embodied some very important traditions, and gives us an unequalled picture of the early civilisation. in the earliest tale or the three there seems at first sight merely a sketch of faithlessness and revenge. but there is probably much more in it. to read it aright we must bear in mind the position of woman in ancient egypt. if, in later ages, islam has gone to the extreme of the man determining his own divorce at a word, in early times almost the opposite system prevailed. all property belonged to the woman; all that a man could earn, or inherit, was made over to his wife; and families always reckoned back further on the mother's side than the father's. as the changes in historical times have been in the direction of men's rights, it is very unlikely that this system of female predominance was invented or introduced, but rather that it descends from primitive times. in this tale we see, then, at the beginning of our knowledge of the country, the clashing of two different social systems. the reciter is strong for men's rights, he brings destruction on the wife, and never even gives her name, but always calls her merely "the wife of uba-aner." but behind all this there is probably the remains of a very different system. the servant employed by the mistress seems to see nothing outrageous in her proceedings; and even the steward, who is on the master's side, waits a day or two before reporting matters. when we remember the supremacy in properly and descent which women held in egypt, and then read this tale, it seems that it belongs to the close of a social system like that of the nairs, in which the lady makes her selection--with variations from time to time. the incident of sending a present of clothing is curiously like the tale about a certain english envoy, whose proprieties were sadly ruffled in the nair country, when a lady sent him a grand shawl with an intimation of her choice. the priestesses of amen retained to the last this privilege of choice, as being under divine, and not human protection; but it seems to have become unseemly in late times. the hinging of this tale, and of those that follow it, upon the use of magic, shows how thoroughly the belief in magic powers was ingrained in the egyptians. now such a belief implies the presence of magicians, and shows how familiar must have been the claim to such powers, and the practising of the tricks of witchcraft, so prevalent in africa in modern times. the efficacy of a model, such as this crocodile of wax, is an idea continually met with in egypt. the system of tomb furniture and decoration, of _ka_ statues, of _ushabtis_ or figures to work for the deceased, and the models placed in foundation deposits, all show how a model was supposed to have the efficacy of an actual reality. even in the latest tale of all (written in ptolemaic times), setnau makes a model of a boat and men, to be sunk in the river to work for him. the reconversion of the crocodile to wax, on being taken up by the magician, reminds us of the serpent becoming again a rod when taken up by aaron. the punishment of burning alive is very rarely, if ever, mentioned in egyptian history, though it occurs in modern egyptian tales: and it looks as if it were brought in here rather as a dire horror for the climax than as a probable incident. the place of the penalty, in front of the harem, or the private portion of the palace, was evidently for the intimidation of other ladies. at the close of each tale, king khufu, to whom it is told, orders funerary offerings by the usual formula, to be presented in honour of the king under whom the wonder took place. on the tablets of the tombs in the early times, there is usually recorded the offering--or, rather, the pious desire that there should be offered--thousands of loaves, of oxen, of gazelles, of cranes, &c., for a deceased person. such expression cost no more by the thousand than by the dozen, so thousands came to be the usual expression in all ordaining of offerings. we are so accustomed to think of tedium as something modern, that it seems strange to find in the oldest tales [page ] in the world how the first king of whom we know anything was bored by his pleasures. a reward for discovering a new pleasure is the very basis of the tale of sneferu; and the wise man's remedy of a day in the country is still the best resource, though all that we know as human history has tried its experiments in enjoyment since then. the flavour of the ballet thrown in, by the introduction of the damsels of the household clad in fishing nets, is not yet obsolete in modern amusements; and even in this century muhammed ali had resource to the same way of killing time, as he was rowed about by his _harem,_ but on an artificial lake. the use of two large oars for steering explains the detail of the story. the oars were one on each side of the stern, and were each managed by a steerer. from the tale we see that the steerer led the song of the rowers, and if the leader ceased, all that side of the boat ceased also.. the position of the lost jewel upon the hair shows that it was in a fillet set with inlaying, like that seen on early figures, such as nefert at medum, who wears a fillet of rosettes to retain the hair; and the position of the steering oar attached to a post, with the handle rising high in the air, explains how it could strike the fillet and displace the jewel. the last tale is really double, a tale within a tale. it begins with the wonders done by dedi, and then goes on with the [page ] history or the children about whom he prophesied to khufu. the village of dedi was probably near medum, as in the temple of sneferu at medum an offering was found presented by a worshipper to the gods of ded-sneferu: hence the background which is here given for the scene of hordedef leading old dedi. the translation of "the designs of the dwelling of tahuti" is not certain; but the passage seems to refer to some architectural plan which was desired for the pyramid. the story of rud-didet is remarkable historically. she is said to be wife of the priest of ra, her children are sons of ra, and they are the first three kings of the vth dynasty, and supplanted the line of khufu. this points to the vth dynasty having been a priestly usurpation; and on looking at its history we see two confirmations of this. the title "son of ra" is so common in most ages in egypt that it is taken for granted, and is applied in lists to any second cartouche; but it is not found until well into the vth dynasty; the earlier kings were not descendants of ra, and it is only on arriving at this dynasty, which claimed descent from ra, through the wife of the priest of ra, that we find the claim of each king to be a "son of ra." another confirmation of this priestly descent is the abundance of priesthoods established for the kings of the vth dynasty; a care which agrees with their having a priestly origin; while in the tale it is particularly said that they would build up the temples, furnish the altars with offerings, supply the tables of libations, and increase the religious endowments. the names of the three children are a play upon the names of the first three kings of the vth dynasty. user-kaf is made into user-ref; sahu-ra is written sah-ra; and kaka is kaku; thus making allusions to their births. the comparison of the hair to true lapis lazuli seems very strange; but there is often a confusion between black aind blue in uneducated races, and _azrak_ means either dark blue or green, or black, at present in arabic. lapis lazuli is brought in to the name of the queen of ramessu vi., who was called "gold and lazuli," _nub-khesdeb;_ recalling the comparison here of personal beauty to these precious materials. it is noticeable here that in a tale of the vth dynasty, certainly written as early as the xiith dynasty, we find professional dancers commonly recognised, and going on travels through the country, with a porter. from this tale we also learn that egyptian women underwent a purification of fourteen days, during which they kept apart and did not attend to any household matters. the mistress of the house here inquires if the preparations are made for the feast on her return to household affairs; and hears then how the beer cannot be made for lack of the barley. the securing of the sack is just in accord with the remains of this early period; the use of boxes, of thongs of leather for tying and of clay sealings for securing property, were all familiar matters in the xiith dynasty, as we learn from kahun. the present close of the tale is evidently only a stage in it, when the treacherous maid meets with the common doom of the wicked in egyptian romance. how it was continued is a matter of speculation, but khufu ought certainly to reappear and to order great rewards for dedi, who up to this has only had maintenance on his requisite scale provided for him. yet it is imperative that the children shall be saved from his wrath, as they are the kings of the vth dynasty. there may be a long episode lost of their flight and adventures. one reference to a date needs notice. the th of the month tybi is said to be the predicted birthday of the children; and khufu refers to going to sakhebu about that time apparently, when the banks of the canal are cut and the land was drying after the inundation, whereon dedi threatens that the water shall still be deep there. this points to th tybi being about the close of the inundation. this would be about the case both in the beginning of the ivth dynasty, and also in the xiith dynasty, when the papyrus was perhaps written: hence there is nothing conclusive to be drawn from this allusion so far. but when we compare this tale with those following, we see good ground for its belonging to a time before the xiith dynasty the following tale of the peasant and the workman evidently belongs to the ixth or xth dynasties, when herakleopolis was the capital, and sanehat is certainly of the xiith dynasty. yet in those we see character and incident made the basis of interest, in place of the childish profusion of marvels of the tales of the magicians. it seems impossible not to suppose that they belong to very different ages and canons of taste; and hence we cannot refer the crudities of the khufu tales to the time of the far more elaborate and polished recital of the adventures of sanehat in the xiith dynasty. being thus obliged to suppose an earlier date for these tales, the allusion to the month tybi throws us back to a very early period--the ivth dynasty--for their original outlines. doubtless they were modified by reciters, and probably took shape in the vth or vith dynasties; but yet we must regard them as belonging practically to the age to which they refer. in the sekhet hemat ixth dynasty the peasant and the workman there dwelt in the sekhet hemat--or salt country--a peasant called the sekhti, with his wife and children, his asses and his dogs; and he trafficked in all good things of the sekhet hemat to henenseten. behold now he went with rushes, natron, and salt, with wood and pods, with stones and seeds, and all good products of the sekhet hemat. and this sekhti journeyed to the south unto henenseten; and when he came to the lands of the house of fefa, north of denat, he found a man there standing on the bank, a man called hemti--the workman--son of a man called asri, who was a serf of the high steward meruitensa. now said this hemti, when he saw the asses of sekhti, that were pleasing in his eyes, "oh that some good god would grant me to steal away the goods of sekhti from him!" now the hemti's house was by the dyke of the tow-path, which was straitened, and not wide, as much as the width of a waist cloth: on the one side of it was the water, and on the other side of it grew his corn. hemti said then to his servant, "hasten i bring me a shawl from the house," and it was brought instantly. then spread he out this shawl on the face of the dyke, and it lay with its fastening on the water and its fringe on the corn. now sekhti approached along the path used by all men. said hemti, "have a care, sekhti! you are not going to trample on my clothes!" said sekhti, "i will do as you like, i will pass carefully." then went he up on the higher side. but hemti said, "go you over my corn, instead of the path?" said sekhti, "i am going carefully; this high field of corn is not my choice, but you have stopped your path with your clothes, and will you then not let us pass by the side of the path?" and one of the asses filled its mouth with a cluster of corn. said hemti, "look you, i shall take away your ass, sekhti, for eating my corn; behold it will have to pay according to the amount of the injury." said sekhti, "i am going carefully; the one way is stopped, therefore took i my ass by the enclosed ground, and do you seize it for filling its mouth with a cluster of corn? moreover, i know unto whom this domain belongs, even unto the lord steward meruitensa. he it is who smites every robber in this whole land; and shall i then be robbed in his domain?" said hemti, "this is the proverb which men speak: 'a poor man's name is only his own matter.' i am he of whom you spake, even the lord steward of whom you think." thereon he took to him branches of green tamarisk and scourged all his limbs, took his asses, and drave them into the pasture. and sekhti wept very greatly, by reason of the pain of what he had suffered. said hemti, "lift not up your voice, sekhti, or you shall go to the demon of silence." sekhti answered, "you beat me, you steal my goods, and now would take away even my voice, o demon of silence! if you will restore my goods, then will i cease to cry out at your violence." sekhti stayed the whole day petitioning hemti, but he would not give ear unto him. and sekhti went his way to khenensuten to complain to the lord steward meruitensa. he found him coming out from the door of his house to embark on his boat, that he might go to the judgment hall. sekhti said, "ho! turn, that i may please thy heart with this discourse. now at this time let one of thy followers whom thou wilt, come to me that i may send him to thee concerning it." the lord steward meruitensa made his follower, whom he chose, go straight unto him, and sekhti sent him back with an account of all these matters. then the lord steward meruitensa accused hemti unto the nobles who sat with him; and they said unto him, "by your leave: as to this sekhti of yours, let him bring a witness. behold thou it is our custom with our sekhtis; witnesses come with them; behold, that is our custom. then it will be fitting to beat this hemti for a trifle of natron and a trifle of salt; if he is commanded to pay for it, he will pay for it." but the high steward meruitensa held his peace; for he would not reply unto these nobles, but would reply unto the sekhti. now sekhti came to appeal to the lord steward meruitensa, and said, "o my lord steward, greatest of the great, guide of the needy: when thou embarkest on the lake of truth,-- mayest thou sail upon it with a fair wind; may thy mainsail not fly loose. may there not be lamentation in thy cabin; may not misfortune come after thee. may not thy mainstays be snapped; mayest thou not run aground. may not the wave seize thee; mayest thou not taste the impurities of the river; mayest thou not see the face of fear. may the fish come to thee without escape; mayest thou reach unto plump waterfowl. for thou art the orphan's father, the widow's husband, the desolate woman's brother, the garment of the motherless. let me celebrate thy name in this land for every virtue. a guide without greediness of heart; a great one without any meanness. destroying deceit, encouraging justice; coming to the cry, and allowing utterance. let me speak, do thou hear and do justice; o praised! whom the praised ones praise. abolish oppression, behold me, i am overladen, reckon with me, behold me defrauded." now the sekhti made this speech in the time of the majesty of the king neb-ka-n-ra, blessed. the lord steward meruitensa went away straight to the king and said, "my lord, i have found one of these sekhti, excellent of speech, in very truth; stolen are his goods, and he has come to complain to me of the matter." his majesty said, "as thou wishest that i may see health! lengthen out his complaint, without replying to any of his speeches. he who desireth him to continue speaking should be silent; behold, bring us his words in writing, that we may listen to them. but provide for his wife and his children, and let the sekhti himself also have a living. thou must cause one to give him his portion without letting him know that thou art he who is giving it to him." there were given to him four loaves and two draughts of beer each day; which the lord steward meruitensa provided for him, giving it to a friend of his, who furnished it unto him. then the lord steward meruitensa sent the governor of the sekhet hemat to make provision for the wife of the sekhti, three rations of corn each day. then came the sekhti a second time, and even a third time, unto the lord steward meruitensa; but he told two of his followers to go unto the sekhti, and seize on him, and beat him with staves. but he came again unto him, even unto six times, and said-- "my lord steward-destroying deceit, and encouraging justice; raising up every good thing, and crushing every evil; as plenty comes removing famine, as clothing covers nakedness, as clear sky after storm warms the shivering; as fire cooks that which is raw, as water quenches the thirst; look with thy face upon my lot; do not covet, but content me without fail; do the right and do not evil." but yet meruitensa would not hearken unto his complaint; and the sekhti came yet, and yet again, even unto the ninth time. then the lord steward told two of his followers to go unto the sekhti; and the sekhti feared that he should be beaten as at the third request. but the lord steward meruitensa then said unto him, "fear not, sekhti, for what thou has done. the sekhti has made many speeches, delightful to the heart of his majesty and i take an oath--as i eat bread, and as i drink water--that thou shalt be remembered to eternity." said the lord steward, "moreover, thou shalt be satisfied when thou shalt hear of thy complaints." he caused to be written on a clean roll of papyrus each petition to the end, and the lord steward meruitensa sent it to the majesty of the king neb-ka-n-ra, blessed, and it was good to him more than anything that is in the whole land: but his majesty said to meruitensa, "judge it thyself; i do not desire it." the lord steward meruitensa made two of his followers to go to the sekhet hemat, and bring a list of the household of the sekhti; and its amount was six persons, beside his oxen and his goats, his wheat and his barley, his asses and his dogs; and moreover he gave all that which belonged unto the hemti to the sekhti, even all his property and his offices, and the sekhti was beloved of the king more than all his overseers, and ate of all the good things of the king, with all his household. remarks of the tale of the peasant and the workman three copies, more or less imperfect, remain to us. at berlin are two papyri, nos. and , containing parts of the tale, published in facsimile in the "denkmaler" of lepsius vi. - and ; while portions of another copy exist in the butler papyrus; and lately fragments of the same have been collated in the collection of lord amherst of hackney. these last have been published in the proceedings of the society of biblical archaeology, xiv. . the number of copies seem to show that this was a popular tale in early times; it certainly is of a more advanced type than the earlier tales of magic, though it belongs to a simpler style than the tales which follow. it has been translated partially by chabas and goodwin, and also by maspero, but most completely by griffith in the proceedings of the society of biblical archaeology, referred to above. the beginning of the tale is lost in all the copies, and an introductory sentence is here added in brackets, to explain the position of affairs at the opening of the fragment. the essence of the tale is the difference in social position between the sekhti, or peasant, and the hemti, or workman--the _fellah_ and the client of the noble; and the impossibility of getting justice against a client, unless by some extraordinary means of attracting his patron's attention, is the basis of the action. there is not a single point of incident here which might not be true in modern times; every turn of it seems to live, as one reads it in view of country life in egypt. the region of the tale is henenseten, or herakleopolis, now ahnas, a little south of the fayum. this was the seat of the ixth and xth dynasties, apparently ejected from memphis by a foreign invasion of the delta; and here it is that the high steward lives and goes to speak to the king. the district of the sekhti is indicated by his travelling south to henenseten, and going with asses and not by boat. hence we are led to look for the sekhet hemat, or salt country, in the borders of the fayum lake, whence the journey would be southward, and across the desert. this lake was not regulated artificially until the xiith dynasty; and hence at the period of this tale it was a large sheet of water, fluctuating with each rise and fall of the nile, and bordered by lagoons where rushes would flourish, and where salt and natron would accumulate daring the dry season of each year. at the present time the lake of the fayum is brackish, and the cliffs which border it contain so much salt that rain pools which collect on them are not drinkable. the paths and roads of egypt are not protected by law as in western countries. each person encroaches on a path or diverts it as may suit his purpose, only checked by the liberties taken by passers-by in trespassing if a path be insufficient. hence, it is very usual to see a house built over half of a path, and driving the traffic into the field or almost over the river bank. in this case the hemti had taken in as much of the path as he could, and left it but a narrow strip along the top of the canal bank. the frequent use of the public way for drying clothes, or spreading out property, gave the idea of choking the way altogether, and leaving no choice but trespassing on the crops. no sooner does a donkey pause, or even pass, by a field of corn than he snatches a mouthful, and in a delay or altercation such as this the beast is sure to take the advantage. donkeys carrying loads by cornfields are usually muzzled with rope nets, to prevent their feeding; and even sheep and goats are also fended in the same way. the proverb, "a poor man's name is only his own matter," refers to the independent _fellah_ having no patron or protector who will take up and defend his name from accusations, as the interests of clients and serfs would be protected. this being the case, hemti therefore seizes on the property, and drives the asses into his own pasture field. the scene of meruitensa laying the case before the nobles who sat with him is interesting as showing that even simple cases were not decided by one judge, but referred to a council. similarly, una lays stress on the private trial of the queen being confided to him and only one other judge. apparently, referring cases to a bench of judges was the means of preventing corruption. the speeches of the sekhti were given at full length in the papyrus, but owing to injuries we cannot now entirely recover them; they are all in much the same strain, only the first and last are translated here, and the others are passed over. the style of these speeches was evidently looked on as eloquent in those days, and this papyrus really seems to show the time when long-drawn comparisons and flowery wishes were in fashion. it is far different from later compositions, as it is also from the earlier simple narration of crude marvels in the tales of the magicians. the close of the tale is defective, but from the remains it appears to have ended by the gift of the hemti's property to the oppressed sekhti and the triumph of the injured peasant. going to wawat, xiith dynasty the shipwrecked sailor the wise servant said, "let thy heart be satisfied, o my lord, for that we have come back to the country; after we have long been on board, and rowed much, the prow has at last touched land. all the people rejoice, and embrace us one after another. moreover, we have come back in good health, and not a man is lacking; although we have been to the ends of wawat, and gone through the land of senmut, we have returned in peace, and our land--behold, we have come back to it. hear me, my lord; i have no other refuge. wash thee, and turn the water over thy ringers; then go and tell the tale to the majesty." his lord replied, "thy heart continues still its wandering words! but although the mouth of a man may save him, his words may also cover his face with confusion. wilt thou do then as thy heart moves thee? this that thou wilt say, tell quietly." the sailor then answered, "now i shall tell that which has happened to me, to my very self i was going to the mines of pharaoh, and i went down on the sea on a ship of cubits long and cubits wide, with sailors of the best of egypt, who had seen heaven and earth, and whose hearts were stronger than lions. they had said that the wind would not be contrary, or that there would be none. but as we approached the land the wind arose, and threw up waves eight cubits high. as for me, i seized a piece of wood; but those who were in the vessel perished, without one remaining. a wave threw me on an island, after that i had been three days alone, without a companion beside my own heart. i laid me in a thicket, and the shadow covered me. then stretched i my limbs to try to find something for my mouth. i found there figs and grapes, all manner of good herbs, berries and grain, melons of all kinds, fishes and birds. nothing was lacking. and i satisfied myself; and left on the ground that which was over, of what my arms had been filled withal. i dug a pit, i lighted a fire, and i made a burnt-offering unto the gods. "suddenly i heard a noise as of thunder, which i thought to be that of a wave of the sea. the trees shook, and the earth was moved. i uncovered my face, and i saw that a serpent drew near. he was thirty cubits long, and his beard greater than two cubits; his body was as overlayed with gold, and his colour as that of true lazuli. he coiled himself before me. "then he opened his mouth, while that i lay on my face before him, and he said to me, 'what has brought thee, what has brought thee, little one, what has brought thee? if thou sayest not speedily what has brought thee to this isle, i will make thee know thyself; as a flame thou shalt vanish, if thou tellest me not something i have not heard, or which i knew not, before thee.' "then he took me in his mouth and carried me to his resting-place, and layed me down without any hurt. i was whole and sound, and nothing was gone from me. then he opened his mouth against me, while that i lay on my face before him, and he said, 'what has brought thee, what has brought thee, little one, what has brought thee to this isle which is in the sea, and of which the shores are in the midst of the waves?' "then i replied to him, and holding my arms low before him, i said to him,' i was embarked for the mines by the order of the majesty, in a ship, cubits was its length, and the width of it cubits. it had sailors of the best of egypt, who had seen heaven and earth, and the hearts of whom were stronger than lions. they said that the wind would not be contrary, or that there would be none. each of them exceeded his companion in the prudence of his heart and the strength of his arm, and i was not beneath any of them. a storm came upon us while we were on the sea. hardly could we reach to the shore when the wind waxed yet greater, and the waves rose even eight cubits. as for me, i seized a piece of wood, while those who were in the boat perished without one being left with me for three days. behold me now before thee, for i was brought to this isle by a wave of the sea.' "then said he to me, 'fear not, fear not, little one, and make not thy face sad. if thou hast come to me, it is god who has let thee live. for it is he who has brought thee to this isle of the blest, where nothing is lacking, and which is filled with all good after another, until thou shalt be four months in this isle. then a ship shall come from thy land with sailors, and thou shalt leave with them and go to thy country, and thou shalt die in thy town. '"converse is pleasing, and he who tastes of it passes over his misery. i will therefore tell thee of that which is in this isle. i am here with my brethren and my children around me; we are seventy-five serpents, children, and kindred; without naming a young girl who was brought unto me by chance, and on whom the fire of heaven fell, and burnt her to ashes. "'as for thee if thou art strong, and if thy heart waits patiently, thou shalt press thy infants to thy bosom and embrace thy wife. thou shalt return to thy house which is full of all good things, thou shalt see thy land, where thou shalt dwell in the midst of thy kindred.' "then i bowed, in my obeisance, and i touched the ground before him. 'behold now that which i have told thee before. i shall tell of thy presence unto pharaoh, i shall make him to know of thy greatness, and i will bring to thee of the sacred oils and perfumes, and of incense of the temples with which all gods are honoured. i shall tell, moreover, of that which i do now see (thanks to him), and there shall be rendered to thee praises before the fulness of all the land. i shall slay asses for thee in sacrifice, i shall pluck for thee the birds, and i shall bring for thee ships full of all kinds of the treasures of egypt, as is comely to do unto a god, a friend of men in a far country, of which men know not.' "then he smiled at my speech, because of that which was in his heart, for he said to me, 'thou art not rich in perfumes, for all that thou hast is but common incense. as for me i am prince of the land of punt, and i have perfumes. only the oil which thou sayedst thou wouldest bring is not common in this isle. but, when thou shalt depart from this place, thou shalt never more see this isle; it shall be changed into waves.' "and, behold, when the ship drew near, according to all that he had told me before, i got me up into an high tree, to strive to see those who were within it. then i came and told to him this matter; but it was already known unto him before. then he said to me. 'farewell, farewell, go to thy house, little one, see again thy children, and let thy name be good in thy town; these are my wishes for thee.'" the farewell "then i bowed myself before him, and held my arms low before him, and he, he gave me gifts of precious perfumes, of cassia, of sweet woods, of kohl, of cypress, an abundance of incense, of ivory tusks, of baboons, of apes, and all kind of precious things. i embarked all in the ship which was come, and bowing myself, i prayed god for him. "then he said to me, 'behold thou shalt come to thy country in two months, thou shalt press to thy bosom thy children, and thou shalt rest in thy tomb.' after this i went down to the shore unto the ship, and i called to the sailors who were there. then on the shore i rendered adoration to the master of this isle and to those who dwelt therein. "when we shall come, in our return, to the house of pharaoh, in the second month, according to all that the serpent has said, we shall approach unto the palace. and i shall go in before pharaoh, i shall bring the gifts which i have brought from this isle into the country. then he shall thank me before the fulness of all the land. grant then unto me a follower, and lead me to the courtiers of the king. cast thy eye upon me, after that i am come to land again, after that i have both seen and proved this. hear my prayer, for it is good to listen to people. it was said unto me, 'become a wise man, and thou shalt come to honour,' and behold i have become such." this is finished from its beginning unto its end, even as it was found in a writing. it is written by the scribe of cunning fingers ameni-amen-aa; may he live in life, wealth, and health! remarks this tale is only known in one copy, preserved in the hermitage collection at st. petersburg. the papyrus has not yet been published, either in facsimile or transcription. but two translations of it have appeared by m. golenischeff: from the earlier a modified translation is given by maspero in the "contes populaires," nd edit., pp. - , and the later translation is in m. golenischeff's excellent "inventaire de la collection egyptienne (ermitage imperial)," p. - . the tale is that of a returned sailor, speaking to his superior and telling his adventures, to induce him to send him on with an introduction to the king. at first his master professes to disbelieve him, and then the sailor protests that this happened to himself, and gives his narrative. the idea of an enchanted island, which has risen from the waves and will sink again, is here found to be one of the oldest plots for a tale of marvels. but the construction is far more advanced than that of the tales of the magicians. the family of serpents and the manner of the great serpent is well conceived, and there are many fine touches of literary quality: such as noise as of thunder, the trees shaking and the earth being moved at the appearance of the great serpent--the speeches of the serpent and his threat--the sailors who had seen heaven and earth--the contempt of the serpent for his offerings. "as for me, i am prince of the land of punt, and i have perfumes"--and the scene of departure. all of these points show a firm hand and practised taste, although there is still a style of simplicity clinging to it which agrees well to its date in the xiith dynasty. the great serpent is not of a type usual in egyptian designs. the human-headed uraeus is seldom bearded; and the best example of such a monster is on an ethiopian temple, where a great uraeus has human arms and a lion's head. the colours again repeat the favourite combination expressive of splendour--gold and lazuli. though lazuli is very rare in early times, yet it certainly was known in the xiith dynasty, as shown by the forms of some beads of lazuli. the slaughter of asses in sacrifice is a very peculiar offering, and no sign of this is found in any representations or groups of offerings. the colophon of the copyist at the end shows by the style of the name that it belongs to the earlier part of the xiith dynasty, and if so, the composition might be referred to the opening of foreign trade under sankhkara or amenemhat i. xiith dynasty the adventures of sanehat the hereditary prince, royal seal-bearer, confidential friend, judge, keeper of the gate of the foreigners, true and beloved royal acquaintance, the royal follower sanehat says:-- i attended my lord as a follower of the king, of the house of the hereditary princess, the greatly favoured, the royal wife, ankhet-usertesen, who shares the dwelling of the royal son amenemhat in kanefer. in the thirtieth year, the month paophi, the seventh day the god entered his horizon, the king sehotepabra flew up to heaven and joined the sun's disc, the follower of the god met his maker. the palace was silenced, and in mourning, the great gates were closed, the courtiers crouching on the ground, the people in hushed mourning. his majesty had sent a great army with the nobles to the land of the temehu (lybia), his son and heir, the good god king usertesen as their leader. now he was returning, and had brought away living captives and all kinds of cattle without end. the councillors of the palace had sent to the west to let the king know the matter that had come to pass in the inner hall. the messenger was to meet him on the road, and reach him at the time of evening: the matter was urgent. "a hawk had soared with his followers." thus said he, not to let the army know of it even if the royal sons who commanded in that army send a message, he was not to speak to a single one of them. but i was standing near, and heard his voice while he was speaking. i fled far away, my heart beating, my arms failing, trembling had fallen on all my limbs. i turned about in running to seek a place to hide me, and i threw myself between two bushes, to wait while they should pass by. the flight then i turned me toward the south, not from wishing to come into this palace--for i knew not if war was declared--nor even thinking a wish to live after this sovereign. i turned my back to the sycamore, i reached shi-seneferu, and rested on the open field. in the morning i went on and overtook a man, who passed by the edge of the road. he asked of me mercy, for he feared me. by the evening i drew near to kher-ahau (? old cairo), and i crossed the river on a raft without a rudder. carried over by the west wind, i passed over to the east to the quarries of aku and the land of the goddess herit, mistress of the red mountain (gebel ahmar). then i fled on foot, northward, and reached the walls of the prince, built to repel the sati. i crouched in a bush for fear of being seen by the guards, changed each day, who watch on the top of the fortress. i took my way by night, and at the lighting or the day i reached peten, and turned me toward the valley of kemur. then thirst hasted me on; i dried up, and my throat narrowed, and i said, "this is the taste of death." when i lifted up my heart and gathered strength, i heard a voice and the lowing of cattle. i saw men of the sati, and one of them--a friend unto egypt--knew me. behold he gave me water and boiled me milk, and i went with him to his camp; they did me good, and one tribe passed me on to another. i passed on to sun, and reached the land of adim (edom). when i had dwelt there half a year amu-an-shi--who is the prince of the upper tenu--sent for me and said: "dwell thou with me that thou mayest hear the speech of egypt." he said thus for that he knew of my excellence, and had heard tell of my worth, for men of egypt who were there with him bore witness of me. behold he said to me, "for what cause hast thou come hither? has a matter come to pass in the palace? has the king of the two lands, sehetep-abra gone to heaven? that which has happened about this is not known." but i answered with concealment, and said, "when i came from the land of the tamahu, and my desires were there changed in me, if i fled away it was not by reason of remorse that i took the way of a fugitive; i have not failed in my duty, my mouth has not said any bitter words, i have not heard any evil counsel, my name has not come into the mouth of a magistrate. i know not by what i have been led into this land." and amu-an-shi said, "this is by the will of the god (king of egypt), for what is a land like if it know not that excellent god, of whom the dread is upon the lands of strangers, as they dread sekhet in a year of pestilence." i spake to him, and replied, "forgive me, his son now enters the palace, and has received the heritage of his father. he is a god who has none like him, and there is none before him. he is a master of wisdom, prudent in his designs, excellent in his decrees, with good-will to him who goes or who comes; he subdued the land of strangers while his father yet lived in his palace, and he rendered account of that which his father destined him to perform. he is a brave man, who verily strikes with his sword; a valiant one, who has not his equal; he springs upon the barbarians, and throws himself on the spoilers; he breaks the horns and weakens the hands, and those whom he smites cannot raise the buckler. he is fearless, and dashes the heads, and none can stand before him. he is swift of foot, to destroy him who flies; and none who flees from him reaches his home. his heart is strong in his time; he is a lion who strikes with the claw, and never has he turned his back. his heart is closed to pity; and when he sees multitudes, he leaves none to live behind him. he is a valiant one who springs in front when he sees resistance; he is a warrior who rejoices when he flies on the barbarians. he seizes the buckler, he rushes forward, he never needs to strike again, he slays and none can turn his lance; and when he takes the bow the barbarians flee from his arms like dogs; for the great goddess has given to him to strike those who know her not; and if he reaches forth he spares none, and leaves nought behind. he is a friend of great sweetness, who knows how to gain love; his land loves him more than itself, and rejoices in him more than in its own god; men and women run to his call. a king, he has ruled from his birth; he, from his birth, has increased births, a sole being, a divine essence, by whom this land rejoices to be governed. he enlarges the borders of the south, but he covets not the lands of the north; he does not smite the sati, nor crush the nemau-shau if he descends here, let him know thy name, by the homage which thou wilt pay to his majesty. for he refuses not to bless the land which obeys him." and he replied to me, "egypt is indeed happy and well settled; behold thou art far from it, but whilst thou art with me i will do good unto thee." and he placed me before his children, he married his eldest daughter to me, and gave me the choice of all his land, even among the best of that which he had on the border of the next land. it is a goodly land, laa is its name. there are figs and grapes; there is wine commoner than water; abundant is the honey, many are its olives; and all fruits are upon its trees; there is barley and wheat, and cattle of kinds without end. this was truly a great thing that he granted me, when the prince came to invest me, and establish me as prince of a tribe in the best of his land. i had my continual portion of bread and of wine each day, of cooked meat, of roasted fowl, as well as the wild game which i took, or which was brought to me, besides what my dogs captured. they made me much butter, and prepared milk of all kinds. i passed many years, the children that i had became great, each ruling his tribe. when a messenger went or came to the palace, he turned aside from the way to come to me; for i helped every man. i gave water to the thirsty, i set on his way him who went astray, and i rescued the robbed. the sati who went far, to strike and turn back the princes of other lands, i ordained their goings; for the prince of the tenu for many years appointed me to be general of his soldiers. in every land which i attacked i played the champion, i took the cattle, i led away the vassals, i carried off the slaves, i slew the people, by my sword, my bow, my marches and my good devices. i was excellent to the heart of my prince; he loved me when he knew my power, and set me over his children when he saw the strength of my arms. a champion of the tenu came to defy me in my tent: a bold man without equal, for he had vanquished the whole country. he said, "let sanehat fight with me;" for he desired to overthrow me, he thought to take my cattle for his tribe. the prince counselled with me. i said, "i know him not. i certainly am not of his degree, i hold me far from his place. have i ever opened his door, or leaped over his fence? it is some envious jealousy from seeing me; does he think that i am like some steer among the cows, whom the bull overthrows? if this is a wretch who thinks to enrich himself at my cost, not a bedawi and a bedawi fit for fight, then let us put the matter to judgment. verily a true bull loves battle, but a vain-glorious bull turns his back for fear of contest; if he has a heart for combat, let him speak what he pleases. will god forget what he has ordained, and how shall that be known?" i lay down; and when i had rested i strung my bow, i made ready my arrows, i loosened my poignard, i furbished my arms. at dawn the land of the tenu came together; it had gathered its tribes and called all the neighbouring people, it spake of nothing but the fight. each heart burnt for me, men and women crying out; for each heart was troubled for me, and they said, "is there another strong one who would fight with him? behold the adversary has a buckler, a battle axe, and an armful of javelins." then i drew him to the attack; i turned aside his arrows, and they struck the ground in vain. one drew near to the other, and he fell on me, and then i shot him. my arrow fastened in his neck, he cried out, and fell on his face: i drove his lance into him, and raised my shout of victory on his back. whilst all the men of the land rejoiced, i, and his vassals whom he had oppressed, gave thanks unto mentu. this prince, amu-an-shi, embraced me. then i carried off his goods and took his cattle, that which he had wished to do to me, i did even so unto him; i seized that which was in his tent, i spoiled his dwelling. as time went on i increased the richness of my treasures and the number of my cattle. _petition to the king of egypt._ "now behold what the god has done for me who trusted in him. having once fled away, yet now there is a witness of me in the palace. once having fled away, as a fugitive,------now all in the palace give unto me a good name. after that i had been dying of hunger, now i give bread to those around. i had left my land naked, and now i am clothed in fine linen. after having been a wanderer without followers, now i possess many serfs. my house is fine, my land wide, my memory is established in the temple of all the gods. and let this flight obtain thy forgiveness; that i may be appointed in the palace; that i may see the place where my heart dwells. how great a thing is it that my body should be embalmed in the land where i was born! to return there is happiness. i have made offering to god, to grant me this thing. his heart suffers who has run away unto a strange land. let him hear the prayer of him who is afar off, that he may revisit the place of his birth, and the place from which he removed. "may the king of egypt be gracious to me that i may live of his favour. and i render my homage to the mistress of the land, who is in his palace; may i hear the news of her children. thus will my limbs grow young again. now old age comes, feebleness seizes me, my eyes are heavy, my arms are feeble, my legs will not move, my heart is slow. death draws nigh to me, soon shall they lead me to the city of eternity. let me follow the mistress of all (the queen, his former mistress); lo! let her tell me the excellencies of her children; may she bring eternity to me." then the majesty of king kheper-ka-ra, the blessed, spake upon this my desire that i had made to him. his majesty sent unto me with presents from the king, that he might enlarge the heart of his servant, like unto the province of any strange land; and the royal sons who are in the palace addressed themselves unto me. _copy of the decree which was brought--to me who speak to you--to lead me back into egypt._ "the horus, life of births, lord of the crowns, life of births, king of upper and lower egypt, kheper-ka-ra, son of the sun, amen-em-hat, ever living unto eternity. order for the follower sanehat. behold this order of the king is sent to thee to instruct thee of his will. "now, although thou hast gone through strange lands from adim to tenu, and passed from one country to another at the wish of thy heart--behold, what hast thou done, or what has been done against thee, that is amiss? moreover, thou reviledst not; but if thy word was denied, thou didst not speak again in the assembly of the nobles, even if thou wast desired. now, therefore, that thou hast thought on this matter which has come to thy mind, let thy heart not change again; for this thy heaven (queen), who is in the palace is fixed, she is flourishing, she is enjoying the best in the kingdom of the land, and her children are in the chambers of the palace. "leave all the riches that thou hast, and that are with thee, altogether. when thou shalt come into egypt behold the palace, and when thou shalt enter the palace, bow thy face to the ground before the great house; thou shalt be chief among the companions. and day by day behold thou growest old; thy vigour is lost, and thou thinkest on the day of burial. thou shalt see thyself come to the blessed state, they shall give thee the bandages from the hand of tait, the night of applying the oil of embalming. they shall follow thy funeral, and visit the tomb on the day of burial, which shall be in a gilded case, the head painted with blue, a canopy of cypress wood above thee, and oxen shall draw thee, the singers going before thee, and they shall dance the funeral dance. the weepers crouching at the door of thy tomb shall cry aloud the prayers for offerings: they shall slay victims for thee at the door of thy pit; and thy pyramid shall be carved in white stone, in the company of the royal children. thus thou shalt not die in a strange land, nor be buried by the amu; thou shalt not be laid in a sheep-skin when thou art buried; all people shall beat the earth, and lament on thy body when thou goest to the tomb." when this order came to me, i was in the midst of my tribe. when it was read unto me, i threw me on the dust, i threw dust in my hair; i went around my tent rejoicing and saying, "how may it be that such a thing is done to the servant, who with a rebellious heart has fled to strange lands? now with an excellent deliverance, and mercy delivering me from death, thou shall cause me to end my days in the palace." _copy of the answer to this order._ "the follower sanehat says: in excellent peace above everything consider of this flight that he made here in his ignorance; thou, the good god, lord of both lands, loved of ra, favourite of mentu, the lord of thebes, and of amen, lord of thrones of the lands, of sebek, ra, horus, hathor, atmu, and of his fellow-gods, of sopdu, neferbiu, samsetu, horus, lord of the east, and of the royal uraeus which rules on thy head, of the chief gods of the waters, of min, horus of the desert, urrit, mistress of punt, nut, harnekht, ra, all the gods of the land of egypt, and of the isles of the sea. may they give life and peace to thy nostril, may they load thee with their gifts, may they give to thee eternity without end, everlastingness without bound. may the fear of thee be doubled in the lands of the deserts. mayest thou subdue the circuit of the sun's disc. this is the prayer to his master of the humble servant who is saved from a foreign land. "o wise king, the wise words which are pronounced in the wisdom of the majesty of the sovereign, thy humble servant fears to tell. it is a great thing to repeat. o great god, like unto ra in fulfilling that to which he has set his hand, what am i that he should take thought for me? am i among those whom he regards, and for whom he arranges? thy majesty is as horus, and the strength of thy arms extends to all lands. "then let his majesty bring maki of adma, kenti-au-ush of khenti-keshu, and tenus from the two lands ol the fenkhu; these are the princes who bear witness of me as to all that has passed, out of love for thyself. does not tenu believe that it belongs to thee like thy dogs. behold this flight that i have made: i did not have it in my heart; it was like the leading of a dream, as a man of adehi (delta) sees himself in abu (elephantine), as a man of the plain of egypt who sees himself in the deserts. there was no fear, there was no hastening after me, i did not listen to an evil plot, my name was not heard in the mouth of the magistrate; but my limbs went, my feet wandered, my heart drew me; my god commanded this flight, and drew me on; but i am not stiff-necked. does a man fear when he sees his own land? ra spread thy fear over the land, thy terrors in every strange land. behold me now in the palace, behold me in this place; and lo! thou art he who is over all the horizon; the sun rises at thy pleasure, the water in the rivers is drunk at thy will, the wind in heaven is breathed at thy saying. "i who speak to thee shall leave my goods to the generations to follow in this land. and as to this messenger who is come even let thy majesty do as pleaseth him, for one lives by the breath that thou givest. o thou who art beloved of ra, of horus, and of hathor; mentu, lord of thebes, desires that thy august nostril should live for ever." i made a feast in iaa, to pass over my goods to my children. my eldest son was leading my tribe, all my goods passed to him, and i gave him my corn and all my cattle, my fruit, and all my pleasant trees. when i had taken my road to the south, and arrived at the roads of horus, the officer who was over the garrison sent a messenger to the palace to give notice. his majesty sent the good overseer of the peasants of the king's domains, and boats laden with presents from the king for the sati who had come to conduct me to the roads of horus. i spoke to each one by his name, and i gave the presents to each as was intended. i received and i returned the salutation, and i continued thus until i reached the city of thetu. when the land was brightened, and the new day began, four men came with a summons for me; and the four men went to lead me to the palace. i saluted with both my hands on the ground; the royal children stood at the courtyard to conduct me: the courtiers who were to lead me to the hall brought me on the way to the royal chamber. i found his majesty on the great throne in the hall of pale gold. then i threw myself on my belly; this god, in whose presence i was, knew me not. he questioned me graciously, but i was as one seized with blindness, my spirit fainted, my limbs failed, my heart was no longer in my bosom, and i knew the difference between life and death. his majesty said to one of the companions, "lift him up, let him speak to me." and his majesty said, "behold thou hast come, thou hast trodden the deserts, thou hast played the wanderer. decay falls on thee, old age has reached thee; it is no small thing that thy body should be embalmed, that the pedtiu shall not bury thee. do not, do not, be silent and speechless; tell thy name; is it fear that prevents thee?" i answered in reply, "i fear, what is it that my lord has said that i should answer it? i have not called on me the hand of god, but it is terror in my body, like that which brings sudden death. now behold i am before thee; thou art life; let thy majesty do what pleaseth him." the royal children were brought in, and his majesty said to the queen, "behold thou sanehat has come as an amu, whom the sati have produced." she cried aloud, and the royal children spake with one voice, saying, before his majesty, "verily it is not so, o king, my lord." said his majesty, "it is verily he." then they brought their collars, and their wands, and their sistra in their hands, and displayed them before his majesty; and they sang-- "may thy hands prosper, o king; may the ornaments of the lady of heaven continue. may the goddess nub give life to thy nostril; may the mistress of the stars favour thee, when thou sailest south and north. all wisdom is in the mouth of thy majesty; thy uraeus is on thy forehead, thou drivest away the miserable. "thou art pacified, o ra, lord of the lands; they call on thee as on the mistress of all. strong is thy horn, thou lettest fly thine arrow. grant the breath to him who is without it; grant good things to this traveller, samehit the pedti, born in the land of egypt, who fled away from fear of thee, and fled this land from thy terrors. does not the face grow pale, of him who beholds thy countenance; does not the eye fear, which looks upon thee." said his majesty, "let him not fear, let him be freed from terror. he shall be a royal friend amongst the nobles; he shall be put within the circle of the courtiers. go ye to the chamber of praise to seek wealth for him." when i went out from the palace, the royal children offered their hands to me; we walked afterwards to the great gates. i was placed in a house of a king's son, in which were delicate things, a place of coolness, fruits of the granary, treasures of the white house, clothes of the king's guardrobe, frankincense, the finest perfumes of the king and the nobles whom he loves, in every chamber. all the servitors were in their several offices. years were removed from my limbs: i was shaved, and polled my locks of hair; the foulness was cast to the desert with the garments of the nemau-sha. i clothed me in fine linen, and anointed myself with the fine oil of egypt; i laid me on a bed. i gave up the sand to those who lie on it; the oil of wood to him who would anoint himself therewith. there was given to me the mansion of a lord of serfs, which had belonged to a royal friend. there many excellent things were in its buildings; all its wood was renewed. there were brought to me portions from the palace, thrice and four times each day; besides the gifts of the royal children, always, without ceasing. there was built for me a pyramid of stone amongst the pyramids. the overseer of the architects measured its ground; the chief treasurer wrote it; the sacred masons cut the well; the chief of the labourers on the tombs brought the bricks; all things used to make strong a building were there used. there were given to me peasants; there were made for me a garden, and fields in it before my mansion, as is done for the chief royal friend. my statue was inlayed with gold, its girdle of pale gold; his majesty caused it to be made. such is not done to a man of low degree. may i be in the favour of the king until the day shall come of my death. _(this is finished from beginning to end, as was found in the writing.)_ remarks the adventures of sanehat appears to have been a popular tale, as portions of three copies remain. the first papyrus known (berlin no. ) was imperfect at the beginning; but since then a flake of limestone found in a tomb bore the beginning of the tale, and the same part is found on a papyrus in the amherst collection. the main text has been translated by chabas ("le papyrus de berlin," - ), goodwin, and maspero ("mel. d'arch.," iii. , , and "contes populaire," - ); while the beginning is treated in "memoires de l'institut egyptien," ii. - , and in proc. s.b.a., . the present translation is mainly based on mr. griffith's readings in all cases of difficulty. this is perhaps the most interesting of all the tales, because it bears such signs of being written in the times of which it treats, it throws so much light on the life of the time in egypt and syria, and if not a real narrative, it is at least so probable that it may be accepted without much difficulty. for my own part, i incline to look on it as strictly historical; and in the absence of a single point of doubt, i shall here treat it as seriously as the biographical inscriptions of the early tombs. possibly some day the tomb of sanehat may be found, and the whole inscription be read complete upon the walls. the name sa-nehat means "son of the sycamore," probably from his having been born, or living, at some place where was a celebrated sacred sycamore. this was a common tree in ancient, as in modern, egypt; but an allusion in the tale, to sanehat turning his back on the sycamore, when he was fleeing apparently up the west side of the delta, makes it probable that the sycamore was that of aa-tenen, now batnun, at the middle of the west side of the delta. the titles given to sanehat at the opening are of a very high rank, and imply that he was the son either of the king or of a great noble. and his position in the queen's household shows him to have been of importance; the manner in which he is received by the royal family at the end implying that he was quite familiar with them in early days. but the great difficulty in the account has been the sudden panic of sanehat on hearing of the death of amenemhat, and no explanation of this has yet been brought forward. it seems not unlikely that he was a son of amenemhat by some concubine. this would at once account for his high titles--for his belonging to the royal household--for his fear of his elder brother usertesen, who might see in him a rival, and try to slay him after his father's death--for the command to him to leave all his possessions and family behind him in syria, as the condition of his being allowed to return to end his days in egypt--for his familiar reception by the royal family, and for the property given to him on his return. the date recorded for the death of sehote-pabra--amenemhat i., the founder of the xiith dynasty--agrees with the limit of his reign on the monuments. and the expressions for his death are valuable as showing the manner in which a king's decease was regarded; under the emblem of a hawk--the bird of ra--he flew up and joined the sun. sometime before his death amenemhat had been in retirement; after twenty years of reign (which was probably rather late in his life, as he seems to have forced his way to the front as a successful man and founder of a family) he had associated his son, the first usertesen, on the throne, and apparently resigned active life; for in the third year of usertesen we find the coregent summoning his court and decreeing the founding of the temple of heliopolis without any mention of his father. the old king, however, lived yet ten years after his retirement, and died (as this narrative shows us) during an expedition of his son usertesen. the time of year mentioned here would fall in about the middle of the inundation in those days. hence it seems that the military expeditions were made after the harvest was secured, and while the country was under water and the population disengaged from other labour. the course of sanehat's flight southward, reaching the nile at cairo after two days' haste, indicates that the army was somewhere west of the delta. this would point to its being on the road to the oasis of the natron lakes, which would be the natural course for a body of men needing water supply. his throwing himself between two bushes to hide from the army shows that the message came early in the day, otherwise he would have fled in the dark. he then fled a day's journey to the south, turning his back on the sycamore, and slept in the open field at shi-seneferu somewhere below the barrage. the second day he reached the nile opposite old cairo in the afternoon, and ferried himself over, passed the quarries at gebel mokattam, and the red hill of gebel ahmar, and came to a frontier wall before dark. this cannot have been far from old cairo, by the time; and as heliopolis was in course of building by usertesen, it would be probably on the desert near there, for the protection of the town. passing the desert guards by night he pushed on and reached peten, near belbeis, by dawn, and turned east toward the valley of kemur, or wady tumilat. here in his extremity he was found by the sati or asiatics, and rescued. this shows that the eastern desert was left to the wandering tribes, and was without any regular government at this period; though all the eastern delta was already well in egyptian hands, as we know by the monuments at bubastis, dedamun, and tanis. the land of adim to which sanehat fled appears to be the same as edom or the southeast corner of syria. it was evidently near the upper tenu, or rutennu, who seem to have dwelt on the hill country of palestine. the hill and the plain of palestine are so markedly different, that in all ages they have tended to be held by opposing people. in the time of sanehat the upper tenu who held the hills were opposed to the tenu in general who held the plains; later on the semites of the hills opposed the philistines of the plain, and now the _fellah_ of the hills opposes the bedawi of the plain. the district of amuanshi in which sanehat settled was a goodly land, bearing figs and grapes and olives, flowing with wine and honey and oil, yielding barley and wheat without end, and much cattle. this abundance points rather to the hill country near hebron or between there and belt jibrin, as this south part of the hills is notably fertile. the tenu who came to defy sanehat, being in opposition to the upper tenu, were probably those of the plain; and the opposition to sanehat may have arisen from his encroaching on the fertile plain at the foot of his hills, as he was in the best of the land "on the border of the next land." the egyptian was evidently looked on as being of a superior race by the tenu, and his civilisation won for him the confidence which many wandering englishmen now find in africa or polynesia, like john dunn. the set combat of two champions seems--by the large gathering--to have been a well-recognised custom among the tenu, while it exactly accords with goliath's offer in later times. and raising the shout of victory on the back of the fallen champion reminds us of david's standing on goliath. the transition from the recital of the syrian adventures to the petition to pharaoh is not marked in the manuscript; but from the construction the beginning of the petition is evidently at the place here marked. the manner in which sanehat appeals to the queen shows how well he must have been known to her in his former days. the decree in reply to sanehat is in the regular style of royal decrees of the period. apparently by a clerical error the scribe has substituted the name amenemhat for userte-sen, but the horus name and the throne name leave no doubt that usertesen i. is intended here. the tone of the reply is as gracious as possible, according with the king's character as stated by sanehat, "he is a friend of great sweetness, and knows how to gain love." he quite recognises the inquiries after the queen, and replies concerning her. and then he assures sanehat of welcome on his return, and promises him all that he asks, including a tomb "in the company of the royal children," a full recognition of his real rank. incidentally we learn that the amu buried their dead wrapped in a sheep's skin; as we also learn, further on, that they anointed themselves with oil (olive?), wore the hair long, and slept on the ground. the funeral that is promised accords with the burials of the xiith dynasty: the gilded case, the head painted blue, and the canopy of cypress wood, are all known of this period, but would be out of place in describing a ramesside burial. sanehat's reply is a full course of the usual religious adulation, and differs in this remarkably from his petition. in fact it is hard to be certain where his petition begins; possibly the opening of it has been lost out of the text in copying from a mutilated papyrus; or possibly it was sent merely as a memorandum of sanehat's position and desires, without venturing to address it personally to the king; or even it may have not been allowable then to make such petitions formally, so as to leave the initiative to the king's free will, just as it is not allowable nowadays to question royalty, but only to answer when spoken to. the proposal to bring forward his fellow-sheikhs as witnesses of his unabated loyalty is very curious, and seems superfluous after usertesen's assurances. beyond abisha of the amu at beni hasan, these are the only early personal names of syrians that we know. the fenkhu in this connection can hardly be other than the phoenicians; and, if so, this points to their being already established in southern syria at this date. but these chiefs were not allowed to come forward; and it seems to have been the policy of egypt to keep the syrians off as much as possible, not a single man who came with sanehat being allowed to cross the frontier. the allusion to the tenu belonging to pharaoh, like his dogs, is peculiarly fitting to this period, as the dog seems to have been more familiarly domesticated in the xith and xiith dynasties than at any other age, and dogs are often then represented on the funereal steles, even with their names. the expression for strangeness--"as a man of the delta sees himself at the cataract, as a man of the plain who sees himself in the deserts"--is true to this day. nothing upsets an egyptian's self-reliance like going back a few miles into the desert; and almost any man of the cultivated plain will flee with terror if he finds himself left alone far in the desert, or even taken to the top of the desert hills.. we learn incidentally that the egyptian frontier, even in the later years of usertesen i., had not been pushed beyond the wady tumilat; for sanehat travels south to the roads of horus, where he finds the frontier garrison, and leaves his syrian friends; and there laden boats meet him, showing that it must have been somewhere along a waterway from the nile. the abasement of sanehat might well be due to natural causes, beside the reverence for the divine person of the king. the egyptian court must have seemed oppressively splendid, with the brilliant and costly workmanship of usertesen, to one who had lived a half-wild life for so many years; and, more than that, the recalling of all his early days and habits and friendships would overwhelm his mind and make it difficult to collect his thoughts. sanehat's appearance was so much changed by his long hair, his age, and his strange dress, that his former mistress and companions could not recognise him. the use of collars and sceptres in the song and dance is not clear to us. the sistra were, of course, to beat or rattle in time with the song; the sceptres or wands were perhaps the same as the engraved wands of ivory common in the xiith dynasty, or of blue glazed ware in xviiith, and would be used to wave or beat time with; but the use of the collar and counterpoise, or _menat,_ is unexplained, though figures of dancers are shown holding a collar and _menat,_ and such objects were found buried in the ceremonial foundation deposit of tahutmes iii. at koptos. this song of the princesses is clearly in parallel phrases. first are four wishes for the king and queen, in four lines. second, an ascription of wisdom and power, in two lines. third, a comparison of the king to ra, and of the queen to the great goddess, in two lines. fourth, an ascription of righting power. fifth, a petition for sanehat, winding up with the statement of fear inspired by the king, as explaining sanehat's abasement. to this the king responds by reassuring sanehat, and promising him position and wealth. the account of sanehat's renewal of his old national ways can best be appreciated by any one who has lived a rough life for a time and then comes back to civilisation. doubtless these comforts were all the more grateful to him in his old age, when he was weary of his unsettled life. in the preparation of his tomb it is stated to have been a pyramid, with rock-cut well chamber, and built of bricks above. this just accords with the construction of the pyramids of the xiith dynasty. the last phrase implies that this was composed during sanehat's life; and such a life would be so remarkable that this biography might be prepared with good reason. also it is very unlikely that a mere story-teller would have dropped the relation without describing his grand funeral which was promised to him. from suddenly stopping at the preparation of the tomb, without going further, we have a strong presumption that this was a true narrative, written at sanehat's dictation, and probably intended to be inscribed on his tomb wall. in any case, we have here an invaluable picture of life in palestine and in egypt, and the relations of the two countries, at an epoch before the time of abraham, and not paralleled by any other document until more than a thousand years later. persian literature comprising the shÁh nÁmeh, the rubÁiyÁt the divan, and the gulistan revised edition, volume with a special introduction by richard j. h. gottheil, ph.d. special introduction a certain amount of romantic interest has always attached to persia. with a continuous history stretching back into those dawn-days of history in which fancy loves to play, the mention of its name brings to our minds the vision of things beautiful and artistic, the memory of great deeds and days of chivalry. we seem almost to smell the fragrance of the rose-gardens of tus and of shiraz, and to hear the knight-errants tell of war and of love. there are other oriental civilizations, whose coming and going have not been in vain for the world; they have done their little bit of apportioned work in the universe, and have done it well. india and arabia have had their great poets and their great heroes, yet they have remained well-nigh unknown to the men and women of our latter day, even to those whose world is that of letters. but the names of firdusi, sa'di, omar khayyám, jami, and háfiz, have a place in our own temples of fame. they have won their way into the book-stalls and stand upon our shelves, side by side with the other books which mould our life and shape our character. some reason there must be for the special favor which we show to these products of persian genius, and for the hold which they have upon us. we need not go far to find it. the under-current forces, which determine our own civilization of to-day, are in a general way the same forces which were at play during the heyday of persian literary production. we owe to the hellenic spirit, which at various times has found its way into our midst, our love for the beautiful in art and in literature. we owe to the semitic, which has been inbreathed into us by religious forms and beliefs, the tone of our better life, the moral level to which we aspire. the same two forces were at work in persia. even while that country was purely iránian, it was always open to semitic influences. the welding together of the two civilizations is the true signature of persian history. the likeness which is so evident between the religion of the avesta, the sacred book of the pre-mohammedan persians, and the religion of the old and new testaments, makes it in a sense easy for us to understand these followers of zoroaster. persian poetry, with its love of life and this-worldliness, with its wealth of imagery and its appeal to that which is human in all men, is much more readily comprehended by us than is the poetry of all the rest of the orient. and, therefore, goethe, platen, rückert, von schack, fitzgerald, and arnold have been able to re-sing their masterpieces so as to delight and instruct our own days--of which thing neither india nor arabia can boast. tales of chivalry have always delighted the persian ear. a certain inherent gayety of heart, a philosophy which was not so sternly vigorous as was that of the semite, lent color to his imagination. it guided the hands of the skilful workmen in the palaces of susa and persepolis, and fixed the brightly colored tiles upon their walls. it led the deftly working fingers of their scribes and painters to illuminate their manuscripts so gorgeously as to strike us with wonder at the assemblage of hues and the boldness of designs. their zoroaster was never deified. they could think of his own doings and of the deeds of the mighty men of valor who lived before and after him with very little to hinder the free play of their fancy. and so this fancy roamed up and down the whole course of persian history: taking a long look into the vista of the past, trying even to lift the veil which hides from mortal sight the beginnings of all things; intertwining fact with fiction, building its mansions on earth, and its castles in the air. the greatest of all eastern national epics is the work of a persian. the "sháh námeh," or book of kings, may take its place most worthily by the side of the indian nala, the homeric iliad, the german niebelungen. its plan is laid out on a scale worthy of its contents, and its execution is equally worthy of its planning. one might almost say that with it neo-persian literature begins its history. there were poets in persia before the writer of the "sháh námeh"--rudagi, the blind (died ), zandshi ( ), chusravani (tenth century). there were great poets during his own day. but firdusi ranks far above them all; and at the very beginning sets up so high a standard that all who come after him must try to live up to it, or else they will sink into oblivion. the times in which firdusi lived were marked by strange revolutions. the arabs, filled with the daring which mohammed had breathed into them, had indeed conquered persia. in a.d. , when merv fell, and the last sassanian king, yezdegird iii, met his end, these arabs became nominally supreme. persia had been conquered--but not the persian spirit. even though turkish speech reigned supreme at court and the arabic script became universal, the temper of the old arsacides and sassanians still lived on. it is true that ormuzd was replaced by allah, and ahriman by satan. but the persian had a glorious past of his own; and in this the conquered was far above the conqueror. this past was kept alive in the myth-loving mind of this aryan people; in the songs of its poets and in the lays of its minstrels. in this way there was, in a measure, a continuous opposition of persian to arab, despite the mingling of the two in islam; and the opposition of persian shiites to the sunnites of the rest of the mohammedan world at this very day is a curious survival of racial antipathy. the fall of the only real arab mohammedan dynasty--that of the umayyid caliphs at damascus--the rise of the separate and often opposing dynasties in spain, sicily, egypt, and tunis, served to strengthen the persians in their desire to keep alive their historical individuality and their ancient traditions. firdusi was not the first, as he was not the only one, to collect the old epic materials of persia. in the avesta itself, with its ancient traditions, much can be found. more than this was handed down and bandied about from mouth to mouth. some of it had even found its way into the kalam of the scribe; to-wit, the "zarer, or memorials of the warriors" (a.d. ), the "history of king ardeshir" (a.d. ), the chronicles of the persian kings. if we are to trust baisonghur's preface to the "sháh námeh," there were various efforts made from time to time to put together a complete story of the nation's history, by farruchani, ramin, and especially by the dihkan danishwar (a.d. ). the work of this danishwar, the "chodainameh" (book of kings), deserves to be specially singled out. it was written, not in neo-persian and arabic script, but in what scholars call middle-persian and in what is known as the pahlavi writing. it was from this "chodainameh" that abu mansur, lord of tus, had a "sháh námeh" of his own prepared in the neo-persian. and then, to complete the tale, in a certain zoroastrian whose name was dakiki versified a thousand lines of this neo-persian book of kings. in this very city of tus, abul kasim mansur (or ahmed) firdusi was born, a.d. . one loves to think that perhaps he got his name from the persian-arabic word for garden; for, verily, it was he that gathered into one garden all the beautiful flowers which had blossomed in the fancy of his people. as he has draped the figures in his great epic, so has an admiring posterity draped his own person. his fortune has been interwoven with the fame of that mahmud of ghazna ( - ), the first to bear the proud title of "sultan," the first to carry mohammed and the prophets into india. the round table of mahmud cannot be altogether a figment of the imagination. with such poets as farruchi, unsuri, minutsheri, with such scientists as biruni and avicenna as intimates, what wonder that firdusi was lured by the splendors of a court life! but before he left his native place he must have finished his epic, at least in its rough form; for we know that in he dedicated it to ahmad ibn muhammad of chalandsha. he had been working at it steadily since , but had not yet rounded it out according to the standard which he had set for himself. occupying the position almost of a court poet, he continued to work for mahmud, and this son of a turkish slave became a patron of letters. on february , , his work was finished. as poet laureate, he had inserted many a verse in praise of his master. yet the story goes, that though this master had covenanted for a gold dirhem a line, he sent firdusi sixty thousand silver ones, which the poet spurned and distributed as largesses and hied him from so ungenerous a master. it is a pretty tale. yet some great disappointment must have been his lot, for a lampoon which he wrote a short time afterwards is filled with the bitterest satire upon the prince whose praises he had sung so beautifully. happily, the satire does not seem to have gotten under the eyes of mahmud; it was bought off by a friend, for one thousand dirhems a verse. but firdusi was a wanderer; we find him in herat, in taberistán, and then at the buyide court of bagdad, where he composed his "yusuf and salikha," a poem as mohammedan in spirit as the "sháh námeh" was persian. in , or , he returned to tus to die, and to be buried in his own garden--because his mind had not been orthodox enough that his body should rest in sacred ground. at the last moment--the story takes up again--mahmud repented and sent the poet the coveted gold. the gold arrived at one gate while firdusi's body was being carried by at another; and it was spent by his daughter in the building of a hospice near the city. for the sake of mahmud let us try to believe the tale. we know much about the genesis of this great epic, the "sháh námeh"; far more than we know about the make-up of the other great epics in the world's literature. firdusi worked from written materials; but he produced no mere labored mosaic. into it all he has breathed a spirit of freshness and vividness: whether it be the romance of alexander the great and the exploits of rustem, or the love scenes of zál and rodhale, of bezhan and manezhe, of gushtásp and kitayim. that he was also an excellent lyric poet, firdusi shows in the beautiful elegy upon the death of his only son; a curious intermingling of his personal woes with the history of his heroes. a cheerful vigor runs through it all. he praises the delights of wine-drinking, and does not despise the comforts which money can procure. in his descriptive parts, in his scenes of battle and encounters, he is not often led into the delirium of extravagance. sober-minded and free from all fanaticism, he leans not too much to zoroaster or to mohammed, though his desire to idealize his iránian heroes leads him to excuse their faith to his readers. and so these fifty or more thousand verses, written in the arabic heroic mutakarib metre, have remained the delight of the persians down to this very day--when the glories of the land have almost altogether departed and mahmud himself is all forgotten of his descendants. firdusi introduces us to the greatness of mahmud of ghazna's court. omar khayyám takes us into its ruins; for one of the friends of his boyhood days was nizam al-mulk, the grandson of that toghrul the turk, who with his seljuks had supplanted the persian power. omar's other friend was ibn sabbah, the "old man of the mountain," the founder of the assassins. the doings of both worked misery upon christian europe, and entailed a tremendous loss of life during the crusades. as a sweet revenge, that same europe has taken the first of the trio to its bosom, and has made of omar khayyám a household friend. "my tomb shall be in a spot where the north wind may scatter roses" is said to have been one of omar's last wishes. he little thought that those very roses from the tomb in which he was laid to rest in would, in the nineteenth century, grace the spot where his greatest modern interpreter--fitzgerald--lies buried in the little english town of woodbridge! the author of the famous quatrains--omar ibn ibrahim al-khayyám--not himself a tent-maker, but so-called, as are the smiths of our own day--was of the city of níshapúr. the invention of the rubáiyát, or epigram, is not to his credit. that honor belongs to abu said of khorasan ( - ), who used it as a means of expressing his mystic pantheism. but there is an omar khayyám club in london--not one bearing the name of abu said. what is the bond which binds the rubáiyát-maker in far-off persia to the literati of modern anglo-saxondom? by his own people omar was persecuted for his want of orthodoxy; and yet his grave to this day is held in much honor. by others he was looked upon as a mystic. reading the five hundred or so authentic quatrains one asks, which is the real omar? is it he who sings of wine and of pleasure, who seems to preach a life of sensual enjoyment? or is it the stern preacher, who criticises all, high and low; priest, dervish, and mystic--yea, even god himself? i venture to say that the real omar is both; or, rather, he is something higher than is adequately expressed in these two words. the ecclesiastes of persia, he was weighed down by the great questions of life and death and morality, as was he whom people so wrongly call "the great sceptic of the bible." the "_weltschmerz_" was his, and he fought hard within himself to find that mean way which philosophers delight in pointing out. if at times omar does preach _carpe diem_, if he paint in his exuberant fancy the delights of carousing, fitzgerald is right--he bragged more than he drank. the under-current of a serious view of life runs through all he has written; the love of the beautiful in nature--a sense of the real worth of certain things and the worthlessness of the ego. resignation to what is man's evident fate; doing well what every day brings to be done--this is his own answer. it was job's--it was that of ecclesiastes. this same "_weltschmerz_" is ours to-day; therefore omar khayyám is of us beloved. he speaks what often we do not dare to speak; one of his quatrains can be more easily quoted than some of those thoughts can be formulated. and then he is picturesque--picturesque because he is at times ambiguous. omar seems to us to have been so many things--a believing moslem, a pantheistic mystic, an exact scientist (for he reformed the persian calendar). such many-sidedness was possible in islam; but it gives him the advantage of appealing to many and different classes of men; each class will find that he speaks their mind and their mind only. that omar was also tainted by sufism there can be no doubt; and many of his most daring flights must be regarded as the results of the greater license which mystic interpretation gave to its votaries. by the side of firdusi the epic poet, and omar the philosopher, sa'di the wise man, well deserves a place. his countrymen are accustomed to speak of him simply as "the sheikh," much more to his real liking than the titles "the nightingale of the groves of shiraz," or "the nightingale of a thousand songs," in which oriental hyperbole expresses its appreciation. few leaders and teachers have had the good fortune to live out their teachings in their own lives as had sa'di. and that life was long indeed. muharrif al-din abdallah sa'di was born at shiraz in , and far exceeded the natural span of life allotted to man--for he lived to be one hundred and ten years of age--and much of the time was lived in days of stress and trouble. the mongols were devastating in the east; the crusaders were fighting in the west. in sa'di himself felt the effects of the one--he was forced to leave shiraz and grasp the wanderer's staff, and by the crusaders he was taken captive and led away to tripoli. but just this look into the wide world, this thorough experience of men and things, produced that serenity of being that gave him the firm hold upon life which the true teacher must always have. of his own spiritual condition and contentment he says: "never did i complain of my forlorn condition but on one occasion, when my feet were bare, and i had not wherewithal to shoe them. soon after, meeting a man without feet, i was thankful for the bounty of providence to myself, and with perfect resignation submitted to my want of shoes." thus attuned to the world, sa'di escapes the depths of misanthropy as well as the transports of unbridled license and somewhat blustering swagger into which omar at times fell. in his simplicity of heart he says very tenderly of his own work;-- "we give advice in its proper place, spending a lifetime in the task. if it should not touch any one's ear of desire, the messenger told his tale; it is enough." that tale is a long one. his apprenticeship was spent in arabic bagdad, sitting at the feet of noted scholars, and taking in knowledge not only of his own persian sufism, but also of the science and learning which had been gathered in the home of the abbaside caliphs. his journeyman-years took him all through the dominions which were under arab influence--in europe, the barbary states, egypt, abyssinia, arabia, syria, palestine, asia minor, india. all these places were visited before he returned to shiraz, the "seat of learning," to put to writing the thoughts which his sympathetic and observing mind had been evolving during all these years. this time of his mastership was spent in the seclusion almost of a recluse and in producing the twenty-two works which have come down to us. an oriental writer says of these periods of his life: "the first thirty years of sa'di's long life were devoted to study and laying up a stock of knowledge; the next thirty, or perhaps forty, in treasuring up experience and disseminating that knowledge during his wide extending travels; and that some portion should intervene between the business of life and the hour of death (and that with him chanced to be the largest share of it), he spent the remainder of his life, or seventy years, in the retirement of a recluse, when he was exemplary in his temperance and edifying in his piety." of sa'di's versatility, these twenty-two works give sufficient evidence. he could write homilies (risalahs) in a mystic-religious fashion. he could compose lyrics in arabic and turkish as well as in persian. he was even led to give forth erotic verses. fondly we hope that he did this last at the command of some patron or ruler! but sa'di is known to us chiefly by his didactic works, and for these we cherish him. the "bustan," or "tree-garden," is the more sober and theoretical, treating of the various problems and questions of ethics, and filled with mystic and sufic descriptions of love. his other didactic work, the "gulistan," is indeed a "garden of roses," as its name implies; a mirror for every one alike, no matter what his station in life may be. in prose and in poetry, alternating; in the form of rare adventures and quaint devices; in accounts of the lives of kings who have passed away; in maxims and apothegms, sa'di inculcates his worldly wisdom--worldly in the better sense of the word. like goethe in our own day, he stood above the world and yet in it; so that while we feel bound to him by the bonds of a common human frailty, he reaches out with us to a higher and purer atmosphere. though his style is often wonderfully ornate, it is still more sober than that of háfiz. sa'di is known to all readers of persian in the east; his "gulistan" is often a favorite reading-book. the heroic and the didactic are, however, not the only forms in which the genius of persian poetry loved to clothe itself. from the earliest times there were poets who sung of love and of wine, of youth and of nature, with no thought of drawing a moral, or illustrating a tale. from the times of rudagi and the samanide princes (tenth century), these poets of sentiment sang their songs and charmed the ears of their hearers. even firdusi showed, in some of his minor poems, that joyous look into and upon the world which is the soul of all lyric poetry. but of all the persian lyric poets, shams al-din mohammed háfiz has been declared by all to be the greatest. though the storms of war and the noise of strife beat all about his country and even disturbed the peace of his native place--no trace of all this can be found in the poems of háfiz--as though he were entirely removed from all that went on about him, though seeing just the actual things of life. he was, to all appearance, unconcerned: glad only to live and to sing. at shiraz he was born; at shiraz he died. only once, it is recorded, did he leave his native place, to visit the brother of his patron in yezd. he was soon back again: travel had no inducement for him. the great world outside could offer him nothing more than his wonted haunts in shiraz. it is further said that he put on the garb of a dervish; but he was altogether free of the dervish's conceit. "the ascetic is the serpent of his age" is a saying put into his mouth. he had in him much that resembled omar khayyám; but he was not a philosopher. therefore, in the east at least, his "divan" is more popular than the quatrains of omar; his songs are sung where omar's name is not heard. he is substantially a man of melody--with much mannerism, it is true, in his melody--but filling whatever he says with a wealth of charming imagery and clothing his verse in delicate rhythms. withal a man, despite his boisterous gladsomeness and his overflowing joy in what the present has to offer, in whom there is nothing common, nothing low. "the garden of paradise may be pleasant," he tells us, "but forget not the shade of the willow-tree and the fair margin of the fruitful field." he is very human; but his humanity is deeply ethical in character. much more than omar and sa'di, háfiz was a thorough sufi. "in one and the same song you write of wine, of sufism, and of the object of your affection," is what sháh shuja said to him once. in fact, we are often at an entire loss to tell where reality ends and sufic vacuity commences. for this mystic philosophy that we call sufism patched up a sort of peace between the old persian and the conquering mohammedan. by using veiled language, by taking all the every-day things of life as mere symbols of the highest transcendentalism, it was possible to be an observing mohammedan in the flesh, whilst the mind wandered in the realms of pure fantasy and speculation. while enjoying háfiz, then, and bathing in his wealth of picture, one is at a loss to tell whether the bodies he describes are of flesh and blood, or incorporeal ones with a mystic background; whether the wine of which he sings really runs red, and the love he describes is really centred upon a mortal being. yet, when he says of himself, "open my grave when i am dead, and thou shalt see a cloud of smoke rising out from it; then shalt thou know that the fire still burns in my dead heart--yea, it has set my very winding-sheet alight," there is a ring of reality in the substance which pierces through the extravagant imagery. this the persians themselves have always felt; and they will not be far from the truth in regarding háfiz with a very peculiar affection as the writer who, better than anyone else, is the poet of their gay moments and the boon companion of their feasts. firdusi, omar, sa'di, háfiz, are names of which any literature may be proud. none like unto them rose again in persia, if we except the great jami. at the courts of sháh abbas the great ( - ) and of akbar of india ( - ), an attempt to revive persian letters was indeed made. but nothing came that could in any measure equal the heyday of the great poets. the political downfall of persia has effectually prevented the coming of another spring and summer. the pride of the land of the sháh must now rest in its past. [illustration: (signature of richard gottheil)] columbia university, june , . contents the shÁh nÁmeh introduction kaiúmers húsheng tahúmers jemshíd mirtás-tází, and his son zohák kavah, the blacksmith feridún feridún and his three sons minúchihr zál, the son of sám the dream of sám rúdábeh death of minúchihr nauder afrásiyáb marches against nauder afrásiyáb zau garshásp kai-kobád kai-káús the seven labors of rustem invasion of irán by afrásiyáb the return of kai-káús story of sohráb the story of saiáwush kai-khosráu akwán díw the story of byzun and maníjeh barzú, and his conflict with rustem súsen and afrásiyáb the expedition of gúdarz the death of afrásiyáb the death of kai-khosráu lohurásp gushtásp, and the faith of zerdusht the heft-khan of isfendiyár capture of the brazen fortress the death of isfendiyár the death of rustem bahman húmaí and the birth of dáráb dáráb and dárá sikander firdusi's invocation firdusi's satire on mahmud the rubÁiyÁt introduction omar khayyám the rubáiyát the divan introduction fragment by háfiz the divan the shÁh nÁmeh by firdusi (_abul kasim mansur_) [_translated into english by james atkinson_] the system of sir william jones in the printing of oriental words has been kept in view in the following work, viz.: the letter _a_ represents the short vowel as in _bat, á_ with an accent the broad sound of _a_ in _hall, i_ as in _lily, í_ with an accent as in _police, u_ as in _bull, ú_ with an accent as in _rude, ó_ with an accent as _o_ in _pole_, the diphthong _ai_ as in _aisle, au_ as in the german word _kraut_ or _ou_ in _house_. introduction when sir john lubbock, in the list of a hundred books which he published, in the year , as containing the best hundred worth reading, mentioned the "sháh námeh" or "book of kings," written by the persian poet firdusi, it is doubtful whether many of his readers had even heard of such a poem or of its author. yet firdusi, "the poet of paradise" (for such is the meaning of this pen-name), is as much the national poet of persia as dante is of italy or shakespeare of england. abul kasim mansur is indeed a genuine epic poet, and for this reason his work is of genuine interest to the lovers of homer, vergil, and dante. the qualities that go to make up an epic poem are all to be found in this work of the persian bard. in the first place, the "sháh námeh" is written by an enthusiastic patriot, who glorifies his country, and by that means has become recognized as the national poet of persia. in the second place, the poem presents us with a complete view of a certain definite phase, and complete era of civilization; in other words, it is a transcript from the life; a portrait-gallery of distinct and unique individuals; a description of what was once an actual society. we find in it delineated the persia of the heroic age, an age of chivalry, eclipsing, in romantic emotion, deeds of daring, scenes of love and violence, even the mediaeval chivalry of france and spain. again, this poem deals principally with the adventures of one man. for all other parts of the work are but accessories to the single figure of rustem, the heroic personage whose superhuman strength, dignity, and beauty make him to be a veritable persian achilles. but when we regard the details of this work we see how deeply the literary posterity of homer are indebted to the father of european poetry. the fantastic crowd of demons, peris, and necromancers that appear as the supernatural machinery of the sháh námeh, such grotesque fancies as the serpents that grew from the shoulders of king zohák, or the ladder of zerdusht, on which he mounted from earth to heaven--all these and a hundred other fancies compare unfavorably with the reserve of homer, in his use of such a personage as circe, and the human grace and dignity which he lends to that genial circle on olympus, whose inextinguishable laughter is called forth by the halting wine-bearer a god like themselves. while we read the "sháh námeh" with keen interest, because from its study the mind is enlarged and stimulated by new scenes, new ideas and unprecedented situations, we feel grateful that the battle of salamis stopped the persian invasion of europe, which would doubtless have resulted in changing the current of literature from that orderly and stately course which it had taken from its fountain in a greek parnassus, and diverted it into the thousand brawling rills of persian fancy and exaggeration. it is a hundred years ago that a certain physician in the employment of the east india company, who then represented british supremacy in bengal and calcutta, published the "story of sohrab," a poem in heroic couplets, being a translation of the most pathetic episode in the "sháh námeh." if we compare this english poem with jules mohl's literal translation of the persian epic into french, we find that james atkinson stands very much in the same relation to firdusi as pope does to homer. it would be indeed absurd for an english writer to attempt to conform, in an english version, to the vagaries of persian idiom, or even to attempt a literal rendering of the persian trope. the manner of a poet can never be faithfully reproduced in a translation, but all that is really valuable, really affecting, in an epic poem will survive transfusion into the frank and natural idiom of another tongue. we say epic poem, because one of the distinguishing features in this form of literary expression is that its action hinges on those fundamental passions of humanity, that "touch which makes the whole world kin," whose alphabet is the same in every latitude. the publication of "sohrab" was nevertheless the revelation of a new world to london coteries, and the influence of mr. atkinson's work can be traced as well in the persian pastorals of collins as in the oriental poems of southey and moore. this metrical version of "sohrab" is the only complete episode of the sháh námeh contained in the present collection. when we consider that the persian original consists of some one hundred and twenty thousand lines, it will easily be understood that a literal rendering of the whole would make a volume whose bulk would put it far out of reach to the general reader. atkinson has very wisely furnished us with a masterly _résumé_ of the chief episodes, each of which he outlines in prose, occasionally flashing out into passages of sparkling verse, which run through the narrative like golden threads woven into the tissue of some storied tapestry. the literary style of the translator is admirable. sometimes, as when he describes the tent of maníjeh, he becomes as simple and direct as homer in depicting the palace of alcinous. the language of his sohrab recalls the pathos of vergil's nisus and euryalus, and the paternal love and despair of dante's ugolino. but in rustem the tears of anguish and sorrow seem to vanish like morning dew, in the excitement of fresh adventure, and human feeling, as depicted by firdusi, lacks not only the refined gradations, but also the intensity, which we see in the florentine poet. atkinson's versification is rather that of queen anne's time than what we of the victorian age profess to admire in browning and tennyson. but it is one of the chief praises of tennyson that he has treated sir thomas malory very much in the same way as mr. atkinson has treated abul kasim mansur, by bringing the essential features of an extinct society within the range of modern vision, and into touch with modern sympathies. all that is of value in firdusi, to the reader of to-day, will be found in this version of atkinson, while the philologist or the antiquarian can satisfy their curiosity either in the original, or in the french versions whose fidelity is above suspicion. for it is bare justice to say that james atkinson's firdusi is one of those translations, even though it be at the same time an abridgment, which have taken their place in the rank of british classics. it is the highest praise that can be given to a work of this character to say that it may be placed on the bookshelf side by side with jeremy collier's "marcus aurelius," leland's "demosthenes," and the "montaigne" of charles cotton. it embalms the genuine spirit and life of an oriental poem in the simple yet tasteful form of english narrative. the blending of verse and prose is a happy expedient. if we may use the metaphor of horace, we should say, that mr. atkinson alternately trudges along on foot, and rises on the wings of verse into the upper air. the reader follows with pleasure both his march and his flight, and reaches the end of the volume with the distinct impression that he has been reading a persian poem, and all the while forgotten that it was written in the english language. e.w. the shÁh nÁmeh kaiÚmers according to the traditions of former ages, recorded in the bastan-námeh, the first person who established a code of laws and exercised the functions of a monarch in persia, was kaiúmers. it is said that he dwelt among the mountains, and that his garments were made of the skins of beasts. his reign was thirty years, and o'er the earth he spread the blessings of paternal sway; wild animals, obsequious to his will, assembled round his throne, and did him homage. he had a son named saiámuk, a youth of lovely form and countenance, in war brave and accomplished, and the dear delight of his fond father, who adored the boy, and only dreaded to be parted from him. so is it ever with the world--the parent still doating on his offspring. kaiúmers had not a foe, save one, a hideous demon, who viewed his power with envy, and aspired to work his ruin. he, too, had a son, fierce as a wolf, whose days were dark and bitter, because the favoring heavens in kinder mood smiled on the monarch and his gallant heir. --when saiámuk first heard the demon's aim was to o'erthrow his father and himself, surprise and indignation filled his heart, and speedily a martial force he raised, to punish the invader. proudly garbed in leopard's skin, he hastened to the war; but when the combatants, with eager mien, impatient met upon the battle-field. and both together tried their utmost strength, down from his enemy's dragon-grasp soon fell the luckless son of royal kaiúmers, vanquished and lifeless. sad, unhappy fate! disheartened by this disastrous event, the army immediately retreated, and returned to kaiúmers, who wept bitterly for the loss of his son, and continued a long time inconsolable. but after a year had elapsed a mysterious voice addressed him, saying:--"be patient, and despair not--thou hast only to send another army against the demons, and the triumph and the victory will be thine. "drive from the earth that demon horrible, and sorrow will be rooted from thy heart." saiámuk left a son whose name was húsheng, whom the king loved much more even than his father. húsheng his name. there seemed in him combined, knowledge and goodness eminent. to him was given his father's dignity and station. and the old man, his grandsire, scarcely deigned to look upon another, his affection for him was so unbounded. kaiúmers having appointed húsheng the leader of the army, the young hero set out with an immense body of troops to engage the demon and his son. it is said that at that time every species of animal, wild and tame, was obedient to his command. the savage beasts, and those of gentler kind, alike reposed before him, and appeared to do him homage. the wolf, the tiger, the lion, the panther, and even the fowls of the air, assembled in aid of him, and he, by the blessing of god, slew the demon and his offspring with his own hand. after which the army of kaiúmers, and the devouring animals that accompanied him in his march, defeated and tore to pieces the scattered legions of the enemy. upon the death of kaiúmers húsheng ascended the throne of persia. hÚsheng it is recorded that húsheng was the first who brought out fire from stone, and from that circumstance he founded the religion of the fire-worshippers, calling the flame which was produced, the light of the divinity. the accidental discovery of this element is thus described:-- passing, one day, towards the mountain's side, attended by his train, surprised he saw something in aspect terrible--its eyes fountains of blood; its dreadful mouth sent forth volumes of smoke that darkened all the air. fixing his gaze upon that hideous form, he seized a stone, and with prodigious force hurling it, chanced to strike a jutting rock, whence sparks arose, and presently a fire o'erspread the plain, in which the monster perished. --thus húsheng found the element which shed light through the world. the monarch prostrate bowed, praising the great creator, for the good bestowed on man, and, pious, then he said, "this is the light from heaven, sent down from god; if ye be wise, adore and worship it!" it is also related that, in the evening of the day on which the luminous flash appeared to him from the stone, he lighted an immense fire, and, having made a royal entertainment, he called it the festival of siddeh. by him the art of the blacksmith was discovered, and he taught river and streamlet to supply the towns, and irrigate the fields for the purposes of cultivation. and he also brought into use the fur of the sable, and the squirrel, and the ermine. before his time mankind had nothing for food but fruit, and the leaves of trees and the skins of animals for clothing. he introduced, and taught his people, the method of making bread, and the art of cookery. then ate they their own bread, for it was good, and they were grateful to their benefactor; mild laws were framed--the very land rejoiced, smiling with cultivation; all the world remembering húsheng's virtues. the period of his government is said to have lasted forty years, and he was succeeded by his son, tahúmers. tahÚmers this sovereign was also called díw-bund, or the binder of demons. he assembled together all the wise men in his dominions, to consider and deliberate upon whatever might be of utility and advantage to the people of god. in his days wool was spun and woven, and garments and carpets manufactured, and various animals, such as panthers, falcons, hawks, and syagoshes, were tamed, and taught to assist in the sports of the field. tahúmers had also a vizir, renowned for his wisdom and understanding. having one day charmed a demon into his power by philters and magic, he conveyed him to tahúmers; upon which, the brethren and allies of the prisoner, feeling ashamed and degraded by the insult, collected an army, and went to war against the king. tahúmers was equally in wrath when he heard of these hostile proceedings, and having also gathered together an army on his part, presented himself before the enemy. the name of the leader of the demons was ghú. on one side the force consisted of fire, and smoke, and demons; on the other, brave and magnanimous warriors. tahúmers lifted his mace, as soon as he was opposed to the enemy, and giving ghú a blow on the head, killed him on the spot. the other demons being taken prisoners, he ordered them to be destroyed; but they petitioned for mercy, promising, if their lives were spared, that they would teach him a wonderful art. tahúmers assented, and they immediately brought their books, and pens and ink, and instructed him how to read and write. they taught him letters, and his eager mind with learning was illumined. the world was blest with quiet and repose, peris and demons submitting to his will. the reign of tahúmers lasted thirty years, and after him the monarchy descended to jemshíd, his son. jemshÍd jemshíd was eminently distinguished for learning and wisdom. it is said that coats of mail, cuirasses, and swords and various kinds of armor were invented and manufactured in his time, and also that garments of silk were made and worn by his people. helmets and swords, with curious art they made, guided by jemshíd's skill; and silks and linen and robes of fur and ermine. desert lands were cultivated; and wherever stream or rivulet wandered, and the soil was good, he fixed the habitations of his people; and there they ploughed and reaped: for in that age all labored; none in sloth and idleness were suffered to remain, since indolence too often vanquishes the best, and turns to nought the noblest, firmest resolution. jemshíd afterwards commanded his demons to construct a splendid palace, and he directed his people how to make the foundations strong. he taught the unholy demon-train to mingle water and clay, with which, formed into bricks, the walls were built, and then high turrets, towers, and balconies, and roofs to keep out rain and cold, and sunshine. every art was known to jemshíd, without equal in the world. he also made vessels for the sea and the river, and erected a magnificent throne, embellished with pearls and precious stones; and having seated himself upon it, commanded his demons to raise him up in the air, that he might be able to transport himself in a moment wherever he chose. he named the first day of the year _nú-rúz_ and on every _nú-rúz_ he made a royal feast, so that under his hospitable roof, mortals, and genii, and demons, and peris, were delighted and happy, every one being equally regaled with wine and music. his government is said to have continued in existence seven hundred years, and during that period, it is added, none of his subjects suffered death, or was afflicted with disease. man seemed immortal, sickness was unknown, and life rolled on in happiness and joy. after the lapse of seven hundred years, however, inordinate ambition inflamed the heart of jemshíd, and, having assembled all the illustrious personages and learned men in his dominions before him, he said to them:--"tell me if there exists, or ever existed, in all the world, a king of such magnificence and power as i am?" they unanimously replied:--"thou art alone, the mightiest, the most victorious: there is no equal to thee!" the just god beheld this foolish pride and vanity with displeasure, and, as a punishment, cast him from the government of an empire into a state of utter degradation and misery. all looked upon the throne, and heard and saw nothing but jemshíd, he alone was king, absorbing every thought; and in their praise, and adoration of that mortal man, forgot the worship of the great creator. then proudly thus he to his nobles spoke, intoxicated with their loud applause, "i am unequalled, for to me the earth owes all its science, never did exist a sovereignty like mine, beneficent and glorious, driving from the populous land disease and want. domestic joy and rest proceed from me, all that is good and great waits my behest; the universal voice declares the splendor of my government, beyond whatever human heart conceived, and me the only monarch of the world." --soon as these words had parted from his lips, words impious, and insulting to high heaven, his earthly grandeur faded--then all tongues grew clamorous and bold. the day of jemshíd passed into gloom, his brightness all obscured. what said the moralist? "when thou wert a king thy subjects were obedient, but whoever proudly neglects the worship of his god, brings desolation on his house and home." --and when he marked the insolence of his people, he knew the wrath of heaven had been provoked, and terror overcame him. mirtÁs-tÁzÍ, and his son zohÁk the old historians relate that mirtás was the name of a king of the arabs; and that he had a thousand animals which gave milk, and the milk of these animals he always distributed in charity among the poor. god was pleased with his goodness, and accordingly increased his favor upon him. goats, sheep, and camels, yielded up their store of balmy milk, with which the generous king nourished the indigent and helpless poor. mirtás had a son called zohák, who possessed ten thousand arab horses, or tazís, upon which account he was surnamed bíwurasp; biwur meaning ten thousand, and asp a horse. one day iblís, the evil spirit, appeared to zohák in the disguise of a good and virtuous man, and conversed with him in the most agreeable manner. pleased with his eloquence, the youth suspected not the speaker's truth; but praised the sweet impassioned strain, and asked him to discourse again. iblís replied, that he was master of still sweeter converse, but he could not address it to him, unless he first entered into a solemn compact, and engaged never on any pretence to divulge his secret. zohák in perfect innocence of heart assented to the oath, and bound himself never to tell the secret; all he wished was still to hear the good man's honey words. but as soon as the oath was taken, iblís said to him: "thy father has become old and worthless, and thou art young, and wise, and valiant. let him no longer stand in thy way, but kill him; the robes of sovereignty are ready, and better adapted for thee." the youth in agony of mind, heard what the stranger now designed; could crime like this be understood! the shedding of a parent's blood! iblís would no excuses hear-- the oath was sworn--his death was near. "for if thou think'st to pass it by, the peril's thine, and thou must die!" zohák was terrified and subdued by this warning, and asked iblís in what manner he proposed to sacrifice his father. iblís replied, that he would dig a pit on the path-way which led to mirtás-tázi's house of prayer. accordingly he secretly made a deep well upon the spot most convenient for the purpose, and covered it over with grass. at night, as the king was going, as usual, to the house of prayer, he fell into the pit, and his legs and arms being broken by the fall, he shortly expired. o righteous heaven! that father too, whose tenderness would not suffer even the winds to blow upon his son too roughly--and that son, by the temptation of iblís, to bring such a father to a miserable end! thus urged to crime, through cruel treachery, zohák usurped his pious father's throne. when iblís found that he had got zohák completely in his power, he told him that, if he followed his counsel and advice implicitly, he would become the greatest monarch of the age, the sovereign of the seven climes, signifying the whole world. zohák agreed to every thing, and iblís continued to bestow upon him the most devoted attention and flattery for the purpose of moulding him entirely to his will. to such an extreme degree had his authority attained, that he became the sole director even in the royal kitchen, and prepared for zohák the most delicious and savory food imaginable; for in those days bread and fruit only were the usual articles of food. iblís himself was the original inventor of the cooking art. zohák was delighted with the dishes, made from every variety of bird and four-footed animal. every day something new and rare was brought to his table, and every day iblís increased in favor. but an egg was to him the most delicate of all! "what can there be superior to this?" said he. "to-morrow," replied iblís, "thou shalt have something better, and of a far superior kind." next day he brought delicious fare, and dressed in manner exquisite to please the eye, as well as taste; partridge and pheasant rich, a banquet for a prince. zohák beheld delighted the repast, and eagerly relished its flavor; then in gratitude, and admiration of the matchless art which thus had ministered to his appetite, he cried:--"for this, whatever thou desirest, and i can give, is thine." iblís was glad, and, little anxious, had but one request-- one unimportant wish--it was to kiss the monarch's naked shoulder--a mere whim. and promptly did zohák comply, for he was unsuspicious still, and stripped himself, ready to gratify that simple wish. iblís then kissed the part with fiendish glee, and vanished in an instant. from the touch sprang two black serpents! then a tumult rose among the people, searching for iblís through all the palace, but they sought in vain. to young and old it was a marvellous thing; the serpents writhed about as seeking food, and learned men to see the wonder came, and sage magicians tried to charm away that dreadful evil, but no cure was found. some time afterwards iblís returned to zohák, but in the shape of a physician, and told him that it was according to his own horoscope that he suffered in this manner--it was, in short, his destiny--and that the serpents would continue connected with him throughout his life, involving him in perpetual misery. zohák sunk into despair, upon the assurance of there being no remedy for him, but iblís again roused him by saying, that if the serpents were fed daily with human brains, which would probably kill them, his life might be prolonged, and made easy. if life has any charm for thee, the brain of man their food must be! with the adoption of this deceitful stratagem, iblís was highly pleased, and congratulated himself upon the success of his wicked exertions, thinking that in this manner a great portion of the human race would be destroyed. he was not aware that his craft and cunning had no influence in the house of god; and that the descendants of adam are continually increasing. when the people of irán and túrán heard that zohák kept near him two devouring serpents, alarm and terror spread everywhere, and so universal was the dread produced by this intelligence, that the nobles of persia were induced to abandon their allegiance to jemshíd, and, turning through fear to zohák, confederated with the arab troops against their own country. jemshíd continued for some time to resist their efforts, but was at last defeated, and became a wanderer on the face of the earth. to him existence was a burden now, the world a desert--for zohák had gained the imperial crown, and from all acts and deeds of royal import, razed out the very name of jemshíd hateful in the tyrant's eyes. the persian government having fallen into the hands of the usurper, he sent his spies in every direction for the purpose of getting possession of jemshíd wherever he might be found, but their labor was not crowned with success. the unfortunate wanderer, after experiencing numberless misfortunes, at length took refuge in zábulistán. flying from place to place, through wilderness, wide plain, and mountain, veiled from human eye, hungry and worn out with fatigue and sorrow, he came to zábul. the king of zábulistán, whose name was gúreng, had a daughter of extreme beauty. she was also remarkable for her mental endowments, and was familiar with warlike exercises. so graceful in her movements, and so sweet, her very look plucked from the breast of age the root of sorrow--her wine-sipping lips, and mouth like sugar, cheeks all dimpled o'er with smiles, and glowing as the summer rose-- won every heart. this damsel, possessed of these beauties and charms, was accustomed to dress herself in the warlike habiliments of a man, and to combat with heroes. she was then only fifteen years of age, but so accomplished in valor, judgment, and discretion, that minúchihr, who had in that year commenced hostile operations against her father, was compelled to relinquish his pretensions, and submit to the gallantry which she displayed on that occasion. her father's realm was saved by her magnanimity. many kings were her suitors, but gúreng would not give his consent to her marriage with any of them. he only agreed that she should marry the sovereign whom she might spontaneously love. it must be love, and love alone,[ ] that binds thee to another's throne; in this my father has no voice, thine the election, thine the choice. the daughter of gúreng had a kábul woman for her nurse, who was deeply skilled in all sorts of magic and sorcery. the old enchantress well could say, what would befall on distant day; and by her art omnipotent, could from the watery element draw fire, and with her magic breath, seal up a dragon's eyes in death. could from the flint-stone conjure dew; the moon and seven stars she knew; and of all things invisible to human sight, this crone could tell. this kábul sorceress had long before intimated to the damsel that, conformably with her destiny, which had been distinctly ascertained from the motions of the heavenly bodies, she would, after a certain time, be married to king jemshíd, and bear him a beautiful son. the damsel was overjoyed at these tidings, and her father received them with equal pleasure, refusing in consequence the solicitations of every other suitor. now according to the prophecy, jemshíd arrived at the city of zábul in the spring season, when the roses were in bloom; and it so happened that the garden of king gúreng was in the way, and also that his daughter was amusing herself at the time in the garden. jemshíd proceeded in that direction, but the keepers of the garden would not allow him to pass, and therefore, fatigued and dispirited, he sat down by the garden-door under the shade of a tree. whilst he was sitting there a slave-girl chanced to come out of the garden, and, observing him, was surprised at his melancholy and forlorn condition. she said to him involuntarily: "who art thou?" and jemshíd raising up his eyes, replied:--"i was once possessed of wealth and lived in great affluence, but i am now abandoned by fortune, and have come from a distant country. would to heaven i could be blessed with a few cups of wine, my fatigue and affliction might then be relieved." the girl smiled, and returned hastily to the princess, and told her that a young man, wearied with travelling, was sitting at the garden gate, whose countenance was more lovely even than that of her mistress, and who requested to have a few cups of wine. when the damsel heard such high praise of the stranger's features she was exceedingly pleased, and said: "he asks only for wine, but i will give him both wine and music, and a beautiful mistress beside." this saying, she repaired towards the gate, in motion graceful as the waving cypress, attended by her hand-maid; seeing him, she thought he was a warrior of irán with spreading shoulders, and his loins well bound. his visage pale as the pomegranate flower, he looked like light in darkness. warm emotions rose in her heart, and softly thus she spoke: "grief-broken stranger, rest thee underneath these shady bowers; if wine can make thee glad, enter this pleasant place, and drink thy fill." whilst the damsel was still speaking and inviting jemshíd into the garden, he looked at her thoughtfully, and hesitated; and she said to him: "why do you hesitate? i am permitted by my father to do what i please, and my heart is my own. "stranger, my father is the monarch mild of zábulistán, and i his only child; on me is all his fond affection shown; my wish is his, on me he dotes alone." jemshíd had before heard of the character and renown of this extraordinary damsel, yet he was not disposed to comply with her entreaty; but contemplating again her lovely face, his heart became enamoured, when she took him by the hand and led him along the beautiful walks. with dignity and elegance she passed-- as moves the mountain partridge through the meads; her tresses richly falling to her feet, and filling with perfume the softened breeze. in their promenade they arrived at the basin of a fountain, near which they seated themselves upon royal carpets, and the damsel having placed jemshíd in such a manner that they might face each other, she called for music and wine. but first the rose-cheeked handmaids gathered round, and washed obsequiously the stranger's feet; then on the margin of the silvery lake attentive sate. the youth, after this, readily took the wine and refreshments which were ordered by the princess. three cups he drank with eager zest, three cups of ruby wine; which banished sorrow from his breast, for memory left no sign of past affliction; not a trace remained upon his heart, or smiling face. whilst he was drinking, the princess observed his peculiar action and elegance of manner, and instantly said in her heart: "this must be a king!" she then offered him some more food, as he had come a long journey, and from a distant land, but he only asked for more wine. "is your fondness for wine so great?" said she. and he replied: "with wine i have no enemy; yet, without it i can be resigned and contented. "whilst drinking wine i never see the frowning face of my enemy; drink freely of the grape, and nought can give the soul one mournful thought; wine is a bride of witching power, and wisdom is her marriage dower; wine can the purest joy impart, wine inspires the saddest heart; wine gives cowards valour's rage, wine gives youth to tottering age; wine gives vigour to the weak, and crimson to the pallid cheek; and dries up sorrow, as the sun absorbs the dew it shines upon." from the voice and eloquence of the speaker she now conjectured that this certainly must be king jemshíd, and she felt satisfied that her notions would soon be realized. at this moment she recollected that there was a picture of jemshíd in her father's gallery, and thought of sending for it to compare the features; but again she considered that the person before her was certainly and truly jemshíd, and that the picture would be unnecessary on the occasion. it is said that two ring-doves, a male and female, happened to alight on the garden wall near the fountain where they were sitting, and began billing and cooing in amorous play, so that seeing them together in such soft intercourse, blushes overspread the cheeks of the princess, who immediately called for her bow and arrows. when they were brought she said to jemshíd, "point out which of them i shall hit, and i will bring it to the ground." jemshíd replied: "where a man is, a woman's aid is not required--give me the bow, and mark my skill; "however brave a woman may appear, whatever strength of arm she may possess, she is but half a man!" upon this observation being made, the damsel turned her head aside ashamed, and gave him the bow. her heart was full of love. jemshíd took the bow, and selecting a feathered arrow out of her hand, said:--"now for a wager. if i hit the female, shall the lady whom i most admire in this company be mine?" the damsel assented. jemshíd drew the string, and the arrow struck the female dove so skilfully as to transfix both the wings, and pin them together. the male ring-dove flew away, but moved by natural affection it soon returned, and settled on the same spot as before. the bow was said to be so strong that there was not a warrior in the whole kingdom who could even draw the string; and when the damsel witnessed the dexterity of the stranger, and the ease with which he used the weapon, she thought within her heart, "there can be no necessity for the picture; i am certain that this can be no other than the king jemshíd, the son of tahúmers, called the binder of demons." then she took the bow from the hand of jemshíd, and observed: "the male bird has returned to its former place, if my aim be successful shall the man whom i choose in this company be my husband?" jemshíd instantly understood her meaning. at that moment the kábul nurse appeared, and the young princess communicated to her all that had occurred. the nurse leisurely examined jemshíd from head to foot with a slave-purchaser's eye, and knew him, and said to her mistress--"all that i saw in thy horoscope and foretold, is now in the course of fulfilment. god has brought jemshíd hither to be thy spouse. be not regardless of thy good fortune, and the almighty will bless thee with a son, who will be the conqueror of the world. the signs and tokens of thy destiny i have already explained." the damsel had become greatly enamoured of the person of the stranger before she knew who he was, and now being told by her nurse that he was jemshíd himself, her affection was augmented twofold. the happy tidings, blissful to her heart, increased the ardour of her love for him. and now the picture was brought to the princess, who, finding the resemblance exact, put it into jemshíd's hand. jemshíd, in secretly recognizing his own likeness, was forcibly reminded of his past glory and happiness, and he burst into tears. the memory of the diadem and throne no longer his, came o'er him, and his soul was rent with anguish. the princess said to him: "why at the commencement of our friendship dost thou weep? art thou discontented--dissatisfied, unhappy? and am i the cause?" jemshíd replied: "no, it is simply this; those who have feeling, and pity the sufferings of others, weep involuntarily. i pity the misfortunes of jemshíd, driven as he is by adversity from the splendor of a throne, and reduced to a state of destitution and ruin. but he must now be dead; devoured, perhaps, by the wolves and lions of the forest." the nurse and princess, however, were convinced, from the sweetness of his voice and discourse, that he could be no other than jemshíd himself, and taking him aside, they said: "speak truly, art thou not jemshíd?" but he denied himself. again, they observed: "what says this picture?" to this he replied; "it is not impossible that i may be like jemshíd in feature; for surely there may be in the world two men like each other?" and notwithstanding all the efforts made by the damsel and her nurse to induce jemshíd to confess, he still resolutely denied himself. several times she assured him she would keep his secret, if he had one, but that she was certain of his being jemshíd. still he denied himself. "this nurse of mine, whom thou seest," said she, "has often repeated to me the good tidings that i should be united to jemshíd, and bear him a son. my heart instinctively acknowledged thee at first sight: then wherefore this denial of the truth? many kings have solicited my hand in marriage, but all have been rejected, as i am destined to be thine, and united to no other." dismissing now all her attendants, she remained with the nurse and jemshíd, and then resumed:-- "how long hath sleep forsaken me? how long hath my fond heart been kept awake by love? hope still upheld me--give me one kind look, and i will sacrifice my life for thee; come, take my life, for it is thine for ever." saying this, the damsel began to weep, and shedding a flood of tears, tenderly reproached him for not acknowledging the truth. jemshíd was at length moved by her affection and sorrow, and thus addressed her:--"there are two considerations which at present prevent the truth being told. one of them is my having a powerful enemy, and heaven forbid that he should obtain information of my place of refuge. the other is, i never intrust my secrets to a woman! "fortune i dread, since fortune is my foe, and womankind are seldom known to keep another's secret. to be poor and safe, is better far than wealth exposed to peril." to this the princess: "is it so decreed, that every woman has two tongues, two hearts? all false alike, their tempers all the same? no, no! could i disloyally betray thee? i who still love thee better than my life?" jemshíd found it impossible to resist the damsel's incessant entreaties and persuasive tenderness, mingled as they were with tears of sorrow. vanquished thus by the warmth of her affections, he told her his name, and the history of his misfortunes. she then ardently seized his hand, overjoyed at the disclosure, and taking him privately to her own chamber, they were married according to the customs of her country. him to the secret bower with blushing cheek exultingly she led, and mutual bliss, springing from mutual tenderness and love, entranced their souls. when gúreng the king found that his daughter's visits to him became less frequent than usual, he set his spies to work, and was not long in ascertaining the cause of her continued absence. she had married without his permission, and he was in great wrath. it happened, too, at this time that the bride was pale and in delicate health. the mystery soon was manifest, and thus the king his child addrest, whilst anger darkened o'er his brow:-- "what hast thou done, ungrateful, now? why hast thou flung, in evil day, the veil of modesty away? that cheek the bloom of spring displayed, now all is withered, all decayed; but daughters, as the wise declare, are ever false, if they be fair." incensed at words so sharp and strong, the damsel thus repelled the wrong:-- "me, father, canst thou justly blame? i never, never, brought thee shame; with me can sin and crime accord, when jemshíd is my wedded lord?" after this precipitate avowal, the kábul nurse, of many spells, instantly took up her defence, and informed the king that the prophecy she had formerly communicated to him was on the point of fulfilment, and that the almighty having, in the course of destiny, brought jemshíd into his kingdom, the princess, according to the same planetary influence, would shortly become a mother. and now the damsel grovels on the ground before king gúreng. "well thou know'st," she cries, "from me no evil comes. whether in arms, or at the banquet, honour guides me still: and well thou know'st thy royal will pronounced that i should be unfettered in my choice, and free to take the husband i preferred. this i have done; and to the greatest king the world can boast, my fortunes are united, to jemshíd, the most perfect of mankind." with this explanation the king expressed abundant and unusual satisfaction. his satisfaction, however, did not arise from the circumstance of the marriage, and the new connection it established, but from the opportunity it afforded him of betraying jemshíd, and treacherously sending him bound to zohák, which he intended to do, in the hopes of being magnificently rewarded. exulting with this anticipation, he said to her smiling:-- "glad tidings thou hast given to me, my glory owes its birth to thee; i bless the day, and bless the hour, which placed this jemshíd in my power. now to zohák, a captive bound, i send the wanderer thou hast found; for he who charms the monarch's eyes, with this long-sought, this noble prize, on solemn word and oath, obtains a wealthy kingdom for his pains." on hearing these cruel words the damsel groaned, and wept exceedingly before her father, and said to him: "oh, be not accessory to the murder of such a king! wealth and kingdoms pass away, but a bad name remains till the day of doom. "turn thee, my father, from this dreadful thought, and save his sacred blood: let not thy name be syllabled with horror through the world, for such an act as this. when foes are slain, it is enough, but keep the sword away from friends and kindred; shun domestic crime. fear him who giveth life, and strength, and power, for goodness is most blessed. on the day of judgment thou wilt then be unappalled. but if determined to divide us, first smite off this head, and let thy daughter die." so deep and violent was the grief of the princess, and her lamentations so unceasing, that the father became softened into compassion, and, on her account, departed from the resolution he had made. he even promised to furnish jemshíd with possessions, with treasure, and an army, and requested her to give him the consolation he required, adding that he would see him in the morning in his garden. the heart-alluring damsel instant flew to tell the welcome tidings to her lord. next day king gúreng proceeded to the garden, and had an interview with jemshíd, to whom he expressed the warmest favor and affection; but notwithstanding all he said, jemshíd could place no confidence in his professions, and was anxious to effect his escape. he was, indeed, soon convinced of his danger, for he had a private intimation that the king's vizirs were consulting together on the expedience of securing his person, under the apprehension that zohák would be invading the country, and consigning it to devastation and ruin, if his retreat was discovered. he therefore took to flight. jemshíd first turned his steps towards chín, and afterwards into ind. he had travelled a great distance in that beautiful country, and one day came to a tower, under whose shadow he sought a little repose, for the thoughts of his melancholy and disastrous condition kept him almost constantly awake. and am i thus to perish? thus forlorn, to mingle with the dust? almighty god! was ever mortal born to such a fate, a fate so sad as mine! o that i never had drawn the breath of life, to perish thus! exhausted by the keenness of his affliction jemshíd at length fell asleep. zohák, in the meanwhile, had despatched an envoy, with an escort of troops, to the khakán of chín, and at that moment the cavalcade happened to be passing by the tower where jemshíd was reposing. the envoy, attracted to the spot, immediately recognized him, and awakening him to a sense of this new misfortune, secured the despairing and agonized wanderer, and sent him to zohák. he saw a person sleeping on the ground, and knew that it was jemshíd. overjoyed, he bound his feet with chains, and mounted him upon a horse, a prisoner. what a world! no place of rest for man! fix not thy heart, vain mortal! on this tenement of life, on earthly pleasures; think of jemshíd's fate; his glory reached the heavens, and now this world has bound the valiant monarch's limbs in fetters, and placed its justice in the hands of slaves. when zohák received intelligence of the apprehension of his enemy, he ordered him to be brought before the throne that he might enjoy the triumph. all fixed their gaze upon the captive king, loaded with chains; his hands behind his back; the ponderous fetters passing from his neck down to his feet; oppressed with shame he stood, like the narcissus bent with heavy dew. zohák received him with a scornful smile, saying, "where is thy diadem, thy throne, where is thy kingdom, where thy sovereign rule; thy laws and royal ordinances--where, where are they now? what change is this that fate has wrought upon thee?" jemshíd thus rejoined: "unjustly am i brought in chains before thee, betrayed, insulted--thou the cause of all, and yet thou wouldst appear to feel my wrongs!" incensed at this defiance, mixed with scorn, fiercely zohák replied, "then choose thy death; shall i behead thee, stab thee, or impale thee, or with an arrow's point transfix thy heart! what is thy choice?"-- "since i am in thy power, do with me what thou wilt--why should i dread thy utmost vengeance, why express a wish to save my body from a moment's pain!" as soon as zohák heard these words he resolved upon a horrible deed of vengeance. he ordered two planks to be brought, and jemshíd being fastened down between them, his body was divided the whole length with a saw, making two figures of jemshíd out of one! why do mankind upon this fleeting world place their affections, wickedness alone is nourished into freshness; sounds of death, too, are ever on the gale to wear out life. my heart is satisfied--o heaven! no more, free me at once from this continual sorrow. it was not long before tidings of the foul proceedings, which put an end to the existence of the unfortunate jemshíd, reached zábulistán. the princess, his wife, on hearing of his fate, wasted away with inconsolable grief, and at last took poison to unburden herself of insupportable affliction. it is related that jemshíd had two sisters, named shahrnáz and arnawáz. they had been both seized, and conveyed to zohák by his people, and continued in confinement for some time in the king's harem, but they were afterwards released by feridún. the tyrant's cruelty and oppression had become intolerable. he was constantly shedding blood, and committing every species of crime. the serpents still on human brains were fed, and every day two youthful victims bled; the sword, still ready--thirsting still to strike, warrior and slave were sacrificed alike. the career of zohák himself, however, was not unvisited by terrors. one night he dreamt that he was attacked by three warriors; two of them of large stature, and one of them small. the youngest struck him a blow on the head with his mace, bound his hands, and casting a rope round his neck, dragged him along in the presence of crowds of people. zohák screamed, and sprung up from his sleep in the greatest horror. the females of his harem were filled with amazement when they beheld the terrified countenance of the king who, in reply to their inquiries, said, trembling: "this is a dream too dreadful to be concealed." he afterwards called together the múbids, or wise men of his court; and having communicated to them the particulars of what had appeared to him in his sleep, commanded them to give him a faithful interpretation of the dream. the múbids foresaw in this vision the approaching declension of his power and dominion, but were afraid to explain their opinions, because they were sure that their lives would be sacrificed if the true interpretation was given to him. three days were consumed under the pretence of studying more scrupulously all the signs and appearances, and still not one of them had courage to speak out. on the fourth day the king grew angry, and insisted upon the dream being interpreted. in this dilemma, the múbids said, "then, if the truth must be told, without evasion, thy life approaches to an end, and feridún, though yet unborn, will be thy successor,"--"but who was it," inquired zohák impatiently, "that struck the blow on my head?" the múbids declared, with fear and trembling, "it was the apparition of feridún himself, who is destined to smite thee on the head."--"but why," rejoined zohák, "does he wish to injure me?"--"because, his father's blood being spilt by thee, vengeance falls into his hands." hearing this interpretation of his dream, the king sunk senseless on the ground; and when he recovered, he could neither sleep nor take food, but continued overwhelmed with sorrow and misery. the light of his day was forever darkened. abtín was the name of feridún's father, and that of his mother faránuk, of the race of tahúmers. zohák, therefore, stimulated to further cruelty by the prophecy, issued an order that every person belonging to the family of the kais, wherever found, should be seized and fettered, and brought to him. abtín had long avoided discovery, continuing to reside in the most retired and solitary places; but one day his usual circumspection forsook him, and he ventured beyond his limits. this imprudent step was dreadfully punished, for the spies of zohák fell in with him, recognized him, and carrying him to the king, he was immediately put to death. when the mother of feridún heard of this sanguinary catastrophe, she took up her infant and fled. it is said that feridún was at that time only two months old. in her flight, the mother happened to arrive at some pasturage ground. the keeper of the pasture had a cow named pur'máieh, which yielded abundance of milk, and he gave it away in charity. in consequence of the grief and distress of mind occasioned by the murder of her husband, faránuk's milk dried up in her breasts, and she was therefore under the necessity of feeding the child with the milk from the cow. she remained there one night, and would have departed in the morning; but considering the deficiency of milk, and the misery in which she was involved, continually afraid of being discovered and known, she did not know what to do. at length she thought it best to leave feridún with the keeper of the pasture, and resigning him to the protection of god, went herself to the mountain alberz. the keeper readily complied with the tenderest wishes of the mother, and nourished the child with the fondness and affection of a parent during the space of three years. after that period had elapsed, deep sorrow continuing to afflict the mind of faránuk, she returned secretly to the old man of the pasture, for the purpose of reclaiming and conveying feridún to a safer place of refuge upon the mountain alberz. the keeper said to her: "why dost thou take the child to the mountain? he will perish there;" but she replied that god almighty had inspired a feeling in her heart that it was necessary to remove him. it was a divine inspiration, and verified by the event. intelligence having at length reached zohák that the son of abtín was nourished and protected by the keeper of the pasture, he himself proceeded with a large force to the spot, where he put to death the keeper and all his tribe, and also the cow which had supplied milk to feridún, whom he sought for in vain. he found the dwelling of his infant-foe, and laid it in the dust; the very ground was punished for the sustenance it gave him. the ancient records relate that a dervish happened to have taken up his abode in the mountain alberz, and that faránuk committed her infant to his fostering care. the dervish generously divided with the mother and son all the food and comforts which god gave him, and at the same time he took great pains in storing the mind of feridún with various kinds of knowledge. one day he said to the mother: "the person foretold by wise men and astrologers as the destroyer of zohák and his tyranny, is thy son! "this child to whom thou gavest birth, will be the monarch of the earth;" and the mother, from several concurring indications and signs, held a similar conviction. when feridún had attained his sixteenth year, he descended from the mountain, and remained for a time on the plain beneath. he inquired of his mother why zohák had put his father to death, and faránuk then told him the melancholy story; upon hearing which, he resolved to be revenged on the tyrant. his mother endeavored to divert him from his determination, observing that he was young, friendless, and alone, whilst his enemy was the master of the world, and surrounded by armies. "be not therefore precipitate," said she. "if it is thy destiny to become a king, wait till the almighty shall bless thee with means sufficient for the purpose." displeased, the youth his mother's caution heard, and meditating vengeance on the head of him who robbed him of a father, thus impatiently replied:--"'tis heaven inspires me; led on by heaven, this arm will quickly bring the tyrant from his palace, to the dust." "imprudent boy!" the anxious mother said; "canst thou contend against imperial power? must i behold thy ruin? pause awhile, and perish not in this wild enterprise." it is recorded that zohák's dread of feridún was so great, that day by day he became more irritable, wasting away in bitterness of spirit, for people of all ranks kept continually talking of the young invader, and were daily expecting his approach. at last he came, and zohák was subdued, and his power extinguished. kavah, the blacksmith zohák having one day summoned together all the nobles and philosophers of the kingdom, he said to them: "i find that a young enemy has risen up against me; but notwithstanding his tender years, there is no safety even with an apparently insignificant foe. i hear, too, that though young, he is distinguished for his prowess and wisdom; yet i fear not him, but the change of fortune. i wish therefore to assemble a large army, consisting of men, demons, and peris, that this enemy may be surrounded, and conquered. and, further, since a great enterprise is on the eve of being undertaken, it will be proper in future to keep a register or muster-roll of all the people of every age in my dominions, and have it revised annually." the register, including both old and young, was accordingly prepared. at that period there lived a man named kavah, a blacksmith, remarkably strong and brave, and who had a large family. upon the day on which it fell to the lot of two of his children to be killed to feed the serpents, he rose up with indignation in presence of the king, and said: "thou art the king, but wherefore on my head cast fire and ashes? if thou hast the form of hissing dragon, why to me be cruel? why give the brains of my beloved children as serpent-food, and talk of doing justice?" at this bold speech the monarch was dismayed, and scarcely knowing what he did, released the blacksmith's sons. how leapt the father's heart, how warmly he embraced his darling boys! but now zohák directs that kavah's name shall be inscribed upon the register. soon as the blacksmith sees it written there, wrathful he turns towards the chiefs assembled, exclaiming loud: "are ye then men, or what, leagued with a demon!" all astonished heard, and saw him tear the hated register, and cast it under foot with rage and scorn. kavah having thus reviled the king bitterly, and destroyed the register of blood, departed from the court, and took his children along with him. after he had gone away, the nobles said to the king: "why should reproaches, sovereign of the world, be thus permitted? why the royal scroll torn in thy presence, with a look and voice of proud defiance, by the rebel blacksmith? so fierce his bearing, that he seems to be a bold confederate of this feridún." zohák replied: "i know not what o'ercame me, but when i saw him with such vehemence of grief and wild distraction, strike his forehead, lamenting o'er his children, doomed to death, amazement seized my heart, and chained my will. what may become of this, heaven only knows, for none can pierce the veil of destiny." kavah, meanwhile, with warning voice set forth what wrongs the nation suffered, and there came multitudes round him, who called out aloud for justice! justice! on his javelin's point he fixed his leathern apron for a banner, and lifting it on high, he went abroad to call the people to a task of vengeance. wherever it was seen crowds followed fast, tired of the cruel tyranny they suffered. "let us unite with feridún," he cried, "and from zohák's oppression we are free!" and still he called aloud, and all obeyed who heard him, high and low. anxious he sought for feridún, not knowing his retreat: but still he hoped success would crown his search. the hour arrived, and when he saw the youth, instinctively he knew him, and thanked heaven for that good fortune. then the leathern banner was splendidly adorned with gold and jewels, and called the flag of kavah. from that time it was a sacred symbol; every king in future, on succeeding to the throne, did honor to that banner, the true sign of royalty, in veneration held. feridún, aided by the directions and advice of the blacksmith, now proceeded against zohák. his mother wept to see him depart, and continually implored the blessing of god upon him. he had two elder brothers, whom he took along with him. desirous of having a mace formed like the head of a cow, he requested kavah to make one of iron, and it was accordingly made in the shape he described. in his progress, he visited a shrine or place of pilgrimage frequented by the worshippers of god, where he besought inspiration and aid, and where he was taught by a radiant personage the mysteries of the magic art, receiving from him a key to every secret. bright beamed his eye, with firmer step he strode, his smiling cheek with warmer crimson glowed. when his two brothers saw his altered mien, the pomp and splendor of his appearance, they grew envious of his good fortune, and privately meditated his fall. one day they found him asleep at the foot of a mountain, and they immediately went to the top and rolled down a heavy fragment of rock upon him with the intention of crushing him to death; but the clattering noise of the stone awoke him, and, instantly employing the knowledge of sorcery which had been communicated to him, the stone was suddenly arrested by him in its course. the brothers beheld this with astonishment, and hastening down the mountain, cried aloud: "we know not how the stone was loosened from its place: god forbid that it should have done any injury to feridún." feridún, however, was well aware of this being the evil work of his brothers, but he took no notice of the conspiracy, and instead of punishing them, raised them to higher dignity and consequence. they saw that kavah directed the route of feridún over the mountainous tracts and plains which lie contiguous to the banks of the dijleh, or tigris, close to the city of bagdad. upon reaching that river, they called for boats, but got no answer from the ferryman; at which feridún was enraged, and immediately plunged, on horseback, into the foaming stream. all his army followed without delay, and with the blessing of god arrived on the other side in safety. he then turned toward the bait-el-mukaddus, built by zohák. in the pahlavi language it was called kunuk-duz-mokt. the tower of this edifice was so lofty that it might be seen at the distance of many leagues, and within that tower zohák had formed a talisman of miraculous virtues. feridún soon overthrew this talisman, and destroyed or vanquished successively with his mace all the enchanted monsters and hideous shapes which appeared before him. he captured the whole of the building, and released all the black-eyed damsels who were secluded there, and among them shahrnáz and arnawáz, the two sisters of jemshíd before alluded to. he then ascended the empty throne of zohák, which had been guarded by the talisman, and the demons under his command; and when he heard that the tyrant had gone with an immense army toward ind, in quest of his new enemy, and had left his treasury with only a small force at the seat of his government, he rejoiced, and appropriated the throne and the treasure to himself. from their dark solitudes the youth brought forth the black-haired damsels, lovely as the sun, and jemshíd's sisters, long imprisoned there; and gladly did the inmates of that harem pour out their gratitude on being freed from that terrific monster; thanks to heaven devoutly they expressed, and ardent joy. feridún inquired of arnawáz why zohák had chosen the route towards ind; and she replied, "for two reasons: the first is, he expects to encounter thee in that quarter; and if he fails, he will subdue the whole country, which is the seat of sorcery, and thus obtain possession of a renowned magician who can charm thee into his power. "he wishes to secure within his grasp that region of enchantment, hindústán, and then obtain relief from what he feels; for night and day the terror of thy name oppresses him, his heart is all on fire, and life is torture to him." feridÚn kandrú, the keeper of the talisman, having effected his escape, fled to zohák, to whom he gave intelligence of the release of his women, the destruction of the talisman, and the conquest of his empire. "the sign of retribution has appeared, for sorrow is the fruit of evil deeds." thus kandrú spoke: "three warriors have advanced upon thy kingdom from a distant land, one of them young, and from his air and mien he seems to me of the kaiánian race. he came, and boldly seized the splendid throne, and all thy spells, and sorceries, and magic, were instantly dissolved by higher power, and all who dwelt within thy palace walls, demon or man, all utterly destroyed, their severed heads cast weltering on the ground." then was zohák confounded, and he shrunk within himself with terror, thinking now his doom was sealed; but anxious to appear in presence of his army, gay and cheerful, lest they too should despair, he dressed himself in rich attire, and with a pleasant look, said carelessly: "perhaps some gamesome guest hath in his sport committed this strange act." "a guest, indeed!" kandrú replied, "a guest, in playful mood to batter down thy palace! if he had been thy guest, why with his mace, cow-headed, has he done such violence? why did he penetrate thy secret chambers, and bring to light the beautiful shahrnáz, and red-lipped arnawáz?" at this, zohák trembled with wrath--the words were death to him; and sternly thus he spoke: "what hast thou fled through fear, betraying thy important trust? no longer shalt thou share my confidence, no longer share my bounty and regard." to this the keeper tauntingly replied: "thy kingdom is overthrown, and nothing now remains for thee to give me; thou art lost." the tyrant immediately turned towards his army, with the intention of making a strong effort to regain his throne, but he found that as soon as the soldiers and the people were made acquainted with the proceedings and success of feridún, rebellion arose among them, and shuddering with horror at the cruelty exercised by him in providing food for the accursed serpents, they preferred embracing the cause of the new king. zohák, seeing that he had lost the affections of the army, and that universal revolt was the consequence, adopted another course, and endeavored alone to be revenged upon his enemy. he proceeded on his journey, and arriving by night at the camp of feridún, hoped to find him off his guard and put him to death. he ascended a high place, himself unobserved, from which he saw feridún sitting engaged in soft dalliance with the lovely shahrnáz. the fire of jealousy and revenge now consumed him more fiercely, and he was attempting to effect his purpose, when feridún was roused by the noise, and starting up struck a furious blow with his cow-headed mace upon the temples of zohák, which crushed the bone, and he was on the point of giving him another; but a supernatural voice whispered in his ear, "slay him not now--his time is not yet come, his punishment must be prolonged awhile; and as he cannot now survive the wound, bind him with heavy chains--convey him straight upon the mountain, there within a cave, deep, dark, and horrible--with none to soothe his sufferings, let the murderer lingering die." the work of heaven performing, feridún first purified the world from sin and crime. yet feridún was not an angel, nor composed of musk or ambergris. by justice and generosity he gained his fame. do thou but exercise these princely virtues, and thou wilt be renowned as feridún. feridÚn and his three sons feridún had three sons. one of them was named sílim, the other túr, and the third irij. when they had grown up, he called before him a learned person named chundel, and said to him: "go thou in quest of three daughters, born of the same father and mother, and adorned with every grace and accomplishment, that i may have my three sons married into one family." chundel departed accordingly, and travelled through many countries in fruitless search, till he came to the king of yemen, whose name was sarú, and found that he had three daughters of the character and qualifications required. he therefore delivered feridún's proposition to him, to which the king of yemen agreed. then feridún sent his three sons to yemen, and they married the three daughters of the king, who gave them splendid dowries in treasure and jewels. it is related that feridún afterwards divided his empire among his sons. to sílim he gave rúm and kháwer; to túr, túrán;[ ] and to irij, irán or persia. the sons then repaired to their respective kingdoms. persia was a beautiful country, and the garden of spring, full of freshness and perfume; túrán, on the contrary, was less cultivated, and the scene of perpetual broils and insurrections. the elder brother, sílim, was therefore discontented with the unfair partition of the empire, and displeased with his father. he sent to túr, saying: "our father has given to irij the most delightful and productive kingdom, and to us, two wild uncultivated regions. i am the eldest son, and i am not satisfied with this distribution--what sayest thou?" when this message was communicated to túr, he fully concurred in the sentiments expressed by his brother, and determined to unite with him in any undertaking that might promise the accomplishment of their purpose, which was to deprive irij of his dominions. but he thought it would be most expedient, in the first instance, to make their father acquainted with the dissatisfaction he had produced; "for," he thought to himself, "in a new distribution, he may assign persia to me." then he wrote to sílim, advising that a messenger should be sent at once to feridún to inform him of their dissatisfaction, and bring back a reply. the same messenger was dispatched by sílim accordingly on that mission, charged with unfilial language. "give," he said, "this stripling irij a more humble portion, or we will, from the mountains of túrán, from rúm, and chín, bring overwhelming troops, inured to war, and shower disgrace and ruin on him and persia." when the messenger arrived at the court of feridún, and had obtained permission to appear in the presence of the king, he kissed the ground respectfully, and by command related the purpose of his journey. feridún was surprised and displeased, and said, in reply: "have i done wrong, done evil? none, but good. i gave ye kingdoms, that was not a crime; but if ye fear not me, at least fear god. my ebbing life approaches to an end, and the possessions of this fleeting world will soon pass from me. i am grown too old to have my passions roused by this rebellion; all i can do is, with paternal love, to counsel peace. be with your lot contented; seek not unnatural strife, but cherish peace." after the departure of the messenger feridún called irij before him, and said: "thy two brothers, who are older than thou art, have confederated together and threaten to bring a large army against thee for the purpose of seizing thy kingdom, and putting thee to death. i have received this information from a messenger, who further says, that if i take thy part they will also wage war upon me." and after irij had declared that in this extremity he was anxious to do whatever his father might advise, feridún continued: "my son, thou art unable to resist the invasion of even one brother; it will, therefore, be impossible for thee to oppose both. i am now aged and infirm, and my only wish is to pass the remainder of my days in retirement and repose. better, then, will it be for thee to pursue the path of peace and friendship, and like me throw away all desire for dominion. "for if the sword of anger is unsheathed, and war comes on, thy head will soon be freed from all the cares of government and life. there is no cause for thee to quit the world, the path of peace and amity is thine." irij agreed with his father, and declared that he would willingly sacrifice his throne and diadem rather than go to war with his brothers. "look at the heavens, how they roll on; and look at man, how soon he's gone. a breath of wind, and then no more; a world like this, should man deplore?" with these sentiments irij determined to repair immediately to his brothers, and place his kingdom at their disposal, hoping by this means to merit their favor and affection, and he said: "i feel no resentment, i seek not for strife, i wish not for thrones and the glories of life; what is glory to man?--an illusion, a cheat; what did it for jemshíd, the world at his feet? when i go to my brothers their anger may cease, though vengeance were fitter than offers of peace." feridún observed to him: "it is well that thy desire is for reconciliation, as thy brothers are preparing for war." he then wrote a letter to his sons, in which he said: "your younger brother considers your friendship and esteem of more consequence to him than his crown and throne. he has banished from his heart every feeling of resentment against you; do you, in the like manner, cast away hostility from your hearts against him. be kind to him, for it is incumbent upon the eldest born to be indulgent and affectionate to their younger brothers. although your consideration for my happiness has passed away, i still wish to please you." as soon as the letter was finished, irij mounted his horse, and set off on his journey, accompanied by several of his friends, but not in such a manner, and with such an equipment, as might betray his rank or character. when he arrived with his attendants in turkistán, he found that the armies of his two brothers were ready to march against him. sílim and túr, being apprised of the approach of irij, went out of the city, according to ancient usage, to meet the deputation which was conveying to them their father's letter. irij was kindly received by them, and accommodated in the royal residence. it is said that irij was in person extremely prepossessing, and that when the troops first beheld him, they exclaimed: "he is indeed fit to be a king!" in every place all eyes were fixed upon him, and wherever he moved he was followed and surrounded by the admiring army and crowds of people. in numerous groups the soldiers met, and blessed the name of irij, saying in their hearts, this is the man to lead an armed host, and worthy of the diadem and throne. the courtiers of the two brothers, alarmed by these demonstrations of attachment to irij continually before their eyes, represented to sílim and túr that the army was disaffected towards them, and that irij alone was considered deserving of the supreme authority. this intimation exasperated the malignant spirit of the two brothers: for although at first determined to put irij to death, his youth and prepossessing appearance had in some degree subdued their animosity. they were therefore pleased with the intelligence, because it afforded a new and powerful reason for getting rid of him. "look at our troops," said sílim to túr, "how they assemble in circles together, and betray their admiration of him. i fear they will never march against persia. indeed it is not improbable that even the kingdom of túrán may fall into his hands, since the hearts of our soldiers have become so attached to him. "no time is this to deviate from our course, we must rush on; our armies plainly show their love for irij, and if we should fail to root up from its place this flourishing tree, our cause is lost for ever." again, sílim said to túr: "thou must put irij to death, and then his kingdom will be thine." túr readily undertook to commit that crime, and, on the following day, at an interview with irij, he said to him: "why didst thou consent to be the ruler of persia, and fail in showing a proper regard for the interests of thy elder brothers? whilst our barren kingdoms are constantly in a state of warfare with the turks, thou art enjoying peace and tranquillity upon the throne of a fruitful country? must we, thy elder brothers, remain thus under thy commands, and in subordinate stations? "must thou have gold and treasure, and thy heart be wrapt in pleasure, whilst we, thy elder born, of our heritage are shorn? must the youngest still be nursed, and the elder branches cursed? and condemned, by stern command, to a wild and sterile land?" when irij heard these words from túr, he immediately replied, saying: "i only seek tranquillity and peace; i look not on the crown of sovereignty. nor seek a name among the persian host; and though the throne and diadem are mine, i here renounce them, satisfied to lead a private life. for what hath ever been the end of earthly power and pomp, but darkness? i seek not to contend against my brothers; why should i grieve their hearts, or give distress to any human being? i am young, and heaven forbid that i should prove unkind!" notwithstanding, however, these declarations of submission, and repeated assurances of his resolution to resign the monarchy of persia, túr would not believe one word. in a moment he sprung up, and furiously seizing the golden chair from which he had just risen, struck a violent blow with it on the head of irij, calling aloud, "bind him, bind him!" the youth, struggling on the ground, exclaimed: "o, think of thy father, and pity me! have compassion on thy own soul! i came for thy protection, therefore do not take my life: if thou dost, my blood will call out for vengeance to the almighty. i ask only for peace and retirement. think of my father, and pity me! "wouldst thou, with life endowed, take life away? torture not the poor ant, which drags the grain along the dust; it has a life, and life is sweet and precious. did the innocent ant offend thee ever? cruel must he be who would destroy a living thing so harmless! and wilt thou, reckless, shed thy brother's blood, and agonize the feelings of a father? pause, and avoid the wrath of righteous heaven!" but túr was not to be softened by the supplications of his brother. without giving any reply, he drew his dagger, and instantly dissevered the head of the youth from his body. with musk and ambergris he first embalmed the head of irij, then to his old father dispatched the present with these cruel words: "here is the head of thy beloved son, thy darling favourite, dress it with a crown as thou wert wont; and mark the goodly fruit thou hast produced. adorn thy ivory throne, in all its splendour, for this worthy head, and place it in full majesty before thee!" in the meantime, feridún had prepared a magnificent reception for his son. the period of his return had arrived, and he was in anxious expectation of seeing him, when suddenly he received intelligence that irij had been put to death by his brothers. the mournful spectacle soon reached his father's house. a scream of agony burst from his heart, as wildly in his arms he clasped the face of his poor slaughtered son; then down he sank senseless upon the earth. the soldiers round bemoaned the sad catastrophe, and rent their garments in their grief. the souls of all were filled with gloom, their eyes with flowing tears, for hope had promised a far different scene; a day of heart-felt mirth and joyfulness, when irij to his father's house returned. after the extreme agitation of feridún had subsided, he directed all his people to wear black apparel, in honor of the murdered youth, and all his drums and banners to be torn to pieces. they say that subsequent to this dreadful calamity he always wore black clothes. the head of irij was buried in a favorite garden, where he had been accustomed to hold weekly a rural entertainment. feridún, in performing the last ceremony, pressed it to his bosom, and with streaming eyes exclaimed: "o heaven, look down upon my murdered boy; his severed head before me, but his body torn by those hungry wolves! o grant my prayer, that i may see, before i die, the seed of irij hurl just vengeance on the heads of his assassins; hear, o hear my prayer." --thus he in sorrow for his favourite son obscured the light which might have sparkled still, withering the jasmine flower of happy days; so that his pale existence looked like death. minÚchihr feridún continued to cherish with the fondest affection the memory of his murdered son, and still looked forward with anxiety to the anticipated hour of retribution. he fervently hoped that a son might be born to take vengeance for his father's death. but it so happened that mahafríd, the wife of irij, gave birth to a daughter. when this daughter grew up, feridún gave her in marriage to pishung, and from that union an heir was born who in form and feature resembled irij and feridún. he was called minúchihr, and great rejoicings took place on the occasion of his birth. the old man's lips, with smiles apart, bespoke the gladness of his heart. and in his arms he took the boy the harbinger of future joy; delighted that indulgent heaven to his fond hopes this pledge had given, it seemed as if, to bless his reign, irij had come to life again. the child was nourished with great tenderness during his infancy, and when he grew up he was sedulously instructed in every art necessary to form the character, and acquire the accomplishments of a warrior. feridún was accustomed to place him on the throne, and decorate his brows with the crown of sovereignty; and the soldiers enthusiastically acknowledged him as their king, urging him to rouse himself and take vengeance of his enemies for the murder of his grandfather. having opened his treasury, feridún distributed abundance of gold among the people, so that minúchihr was in a short time enabled to embody an immense army, by whom he was looked upon with attachment and admiration. when sílim and túr were informed of the preparations that were making against them, that minúchihr, having grown to manhood, was distinguished for his valor and intrepidity, and that multitudes flocked to his standard with the intention of forwarding his purpose of revenge, they were seized with inexpressible terror, and anticipated an immediate invasion of their kingdoms. thus alarmed, they counselled together upon the course it would be wisest to adopt. "should he advance, his cause is just, and blood will mingle with the dust, but heaven forbid our power should be o'erwhelmed to give him victory; though strong his arm, and wild his ire, and vengeance keen his heart inspire." they determined, at length, to pursue pacific measures, and endeavor by splendid presents and conciliatory language to regain the good-will of feridún. the elephants were immediately loaded with treasure, a crown of gold, and other articles of value, and a messenger was dispatched, charged with an acknowledgment of guilt and abundant expressions of repentance. "it was iblís," they said, "who led us astray, and our destiny has been such that we are in every way criminal. but thou art the ocean of mercy; pardon our offences. though manifold, they were involuntary, and forgiveness will cleanse our hearts and restore us to ourselves. let our tears wash away the faults we have committed. to minúchihr and to thyself we offer obedience and fealty, and we wait your commands, being but the dust of your feet." when the messenger arrived at the court of feridún he first delivered the magnificent presents, and the king, having placed minúchihr on a golden chair by his side, observed to him, "these presents are to thee a prosperous and blessed omen--they show that thy enemy is afraid of thee." then the messenger was permitted to communicate the object of his mission. he spoke with studied phrase, intent to hide, or mitigate the horror of their crime; and with excuses plausible and bland his speech was dressed. the brothers, he observed, desired to see their kinsman minúchihr, and with the costliest gems they sought to pay the price of kindred blood unjustly shed-- and they would willingly to him resign their kingdoms for the sake of peace and friendship. the monarch marked him scornfully, and said: "canst thou conceal the sun? it is in vain truth to disguise with words of shallow meaning. now hear my answer. ask thy cruel masters, who talk of their affection for the prince, where lies the body of the gentle irij? him they have slain, the fierce, unnatural brothers, and now they thirst to gain another victim. they long to see the face of minúchihr! yes, and they shall, surrounded by his soldiers, and clad in steel, and they shall feel the edge of life-destroying swords. yes, they shall see him!" after uttering this indignant speech, feridún showed to the messenger his great warriors, one by one. he showed him kavah and his two sons, shahpúr, and shírúeh, and kárun, and sám,[ ] and narímán, and other chiefs--all of admirable courage and valor in war--and thus resumed: "hence with your presents, hence, away, can gold or gems turn night to day? must kingly heads be bought and sold, and shall i barter blood for gold? shall gold a father's heart entice, blood to redeem beyond all price? hence, hence with treachery; i have heard their glozing falsehoods, every word; but human feelings guide my will, and keep my honour sacred still. true is the oracle we read: 'those who have sown oppression's seed reap bitter fruit; their souls, perplext, joy not in this world or the next.' the brothers of my murdered boy, who could a father's hopes destroy, an equal punishment will reap, and lasting vengeance o'er them sweep. they rooted up my favourite tree, but yet a branch remains to me. now the young lion comes apace, the glory of his glorious race; he comes apace, to punish guilt, where brother's blood was basely spilt; and blood alone for blood must pay; hence with your gold, depart, away!" when the messenger heard these reproaches, mingled with poison, he immediately took leave, and trembling with fear, returned to sílim and túr with the utmost speed. he described to them in strong and alarming terms the appearance and character of minúchihr, and his warriors; of that noble youth who with frowning eyebrows was only anxious for battle. he then communicated to them in what manner he had been received, and repeated the denunciations of feridún, at which the brothers were exceedingly grieved and disappointed. but sílim said to túr: "let us be first upon the field, before he marshals his array. it follows not, that he should be a hero bold and valiant, because he is descended from the brave; but it becomes us well to try our power,-- for speed, in war, is better than delay." in this spirit the two brothers rapidly collected from both their kingdoms a large army, and proceeded towards irán. on hearing of their progress, feridún said: "this is well--they come of themselves. the forest game surrenders itself voluntarily at the foot of the sportsman." then he commanded his army to wait quietly till they arrived; for skill and patience, he observed, will draw the lion's head into your toils. as soon as the enemy had approached within a short distance, minúchihr solicited feridún to commence the engagement--and the king having summoned his chief warriors before him, appointed them all, one by one, to their proper places. the warriors of renown assembled straight with ponderous clubs; each like a lion fierce, girded his loins impatient. in their front the sacred banner of the blacksmith waved; bright scimitars were brandished in the air; beneath them pranced their steeds, all armed for fight, and so incased in iron were the chiefs from top to toe, their eyes were only seen. when kárun drew his hundred thousand troops upon the field, the battle-word was given, and minúchihr was, like the cypress tall, engaged along the centre of the hosts; and like the moon he shone, amid the groups of congregated clouds, or as the sun glittering upon the mountain of alberz. the squadrons in advance kabád commanded, garshásp the left, and sám upon the right. the shedders of a brother's blood had now brought their innumerous legions to the strife, and formed them in magnificent array: the picket guards were almost thrown together, when túr sprung forward, and with sharp reproach, and haughty gesture, thus addressed kabád: "ask this new king, this minúchihr, since heaven to irij gave a daughter, who on him bestowed the mail, the battle-axe, and sword?" to this insulting speech, kabád replied: "the message shall be given, and i will bring the answer, too. ye know what ye have done; have ye not murdered him who, trusting, sought protection from ye? all mankind for this must curse your memory till the day of doom; if savage monsters were to fly your presence, it would not be surprising. those who die in this most righteous cause will go to heaven, with all their sins forgotten!" then kabád went to the king, and told the speech of túr: a smile played o'er the cheek of minúchihr as thus he spoke: "a boaster he must be, or a vain fool, for when engaged in battle, vigour of arm and the enduring soul, will best be proved. i ask but for revenge-- vengeance for irij slain. meanwhile, return; we shall not fight to-day." he too retired, and in his tent upon the sandy plain, ordered the festive board to be prepared, and wine and music whiled the hours away. when morning dawned the battle commenced, and multitudes were slain on both sides. the spacious plain became a sea of blood; it seemed as if the earth was covered o'er with crimson tulips; slippery was the ground, and all in dire confusion. the army of minúchihr was victorious, owing to the bravery and skill of the commander. but heaven was in his favor. in the evening sílim and túr consulted together, and came to the resolution of effecting a formidable night attack on the enemy. the spies of minúchihr, however, obtained information of this intention, and communicated the secret to the king. minúchihr immediately placed the army in charge of kárun, and took himself thirty thousand men to wait in ambuscade for the enemy, and frustrate his views. túr advanced with a hundred thousand men; but as he advanced, he found every one on the alert, and aware of his approach. he had gone too far to retreat in the dark without fighting, and therefore began a vigorous conflict. minúchihr sprung up from his ambuscade, and with his thirty thousand men rushed upon the centre of the enemy's troops, and in the end encountered túr. the struggle was not long. minúchihr dexterously using his javelin, hurled him from his saddle precipitately to the ground, and then with his dagger severed the head from his body. the body he left to be devoured by the beasts of the field, and the head he sent as a trophy to feridún; after which, he proceeded in search of sílim. the army of the confederates, however, having suffered such a signal defeat, sílim thought it prudent to fall back and take refuge in a fort. but minúchihr went in pursuit, and besieged the castle. one day a warrior named kakú made a sally out of the fort, and approaching the centre of the besieging army, threw a javelin at minúchihr, which, however, fell harmless before it reached its aim. then minúchihr seized the enemy by the girdle, raised him up in air, and flung him from his saddle to the ground. he grasped the foe-man by the girth, and thundering drove him to the earth; by wound of spear, and gory brand, he died upon the burning sand. the siege was continued for some time with the view of weakening the power of sílim; at last minúchihr sent a message to him, saying: "let the battle be decided between us. quit the fort, and boldly meet me here, that it may be seen to whom god gives the victory." sílim could not, without disgrace, refuse this challenge: he descended from the fort, and met minúchihr. a desperate conflict ensued, and he was slain on the spot. minúchihr's keen sword severed the royal head from the body, and thus quickly ended the career of sílim. after that, the whole of the enemy's troops were defeated and put to flight in every direction. the leading warriors of the routed army now sought protection from minúchihr, who immediately complied with their solicitation, and by their influence all the forces of sílim and túr united under him. to each he gave rank according to his merits. after the victory, minúchihr hastened to pay his respects to feridún, who received him with praises and thanksgivings, and the customary honors. returning from the battle, feridún met him on foot; and the moment minúchihr beheld the venerable monarch, he alighted and kissed the ground. they then, seated in the palace together, congratulated themselves on the success of their arms. in a short time after, the end of feridún approached; when recommending minúchihr to the care of sám and narímán, he said: "my hour of departure has arrived, and i place the prince under your protection." he then directed minúchihr to be seated on the throne; and put himself the crown upon his head, and stored his mind with counsel good and wise. upon the death of feridún, minúchihr accordingly succeeded to the government of the empire, and continued to observe strictly all the laws and regulations of his great grandfather. he commanded his subjects to be constant in the worship of god. the army and the people gave him praise, prayed for his happiness and length of days; our hearts, they said, are ever bound to thee; our hearts, inspired by love and loyalty. zÁl, the son of sÁm according to the traditionary histories from which firdusi has derived his legends, the warrior sám had a son born to him whose hair was perfectly white. on his birth the nurse went to sám and told him that god had blessed him with a wonderful child, without a single blemish, excepting that his hair was white; but when sám saw him he was grieved: his hair was white as goose's wing, his cheek was like the rose of spring his form was straight as cypress tree-- but when the sire was brought to see that child with hair so silvery white, his heart revolted at the sight. his mother gave him the name of zál and the people said to sám, "this is an ominous event, and will be to thee productive of nothing but calamity; it would be better if thou couldst remove him out of sight. "no human being of this earth could give to such a monster birth; he must be of the demon race, though human still in form and face. if not a demon, he, at least, appears a party-coloured beast." when sám was made acquainted with these reproaches and sneers of the people, he determined, though with a sorrowful heart, to take him up to the mountain alberz, and abandon him there to be destroyed by beasts of prey. alberz was the abode of the símúrgh or griffin,[ ] and, whilst flying about in quest of food for his hungry young ones, that surprising animal discovered the child lying alone upon the hard rock, crying and sucking its fingers. the símúrgh, however, felt no inclination to devour him, but compassionately took him up in the air, and conveyed him to his own habitation. he who is blest with heaven's grace will never want a dwelling-place and he who bears the curse of fate can never change his wretched state. a voice, not earthly, thus addressed the símúrgh in his mountain nest-- "to thee this mortal i resign, protected by the power divine; let him thy fostering kindness share, nourish him with paternal care; for from his loins, in time, will spring the champion of the world, and bring honour on earth, and to thy name; the heir of everlasting fame." the young ones were also kind and affectionate to the infant, which was thus nourished and protected by the símúrgh for several years. the dream of sÁm it is said that one night, after melancholy musings and reflecting on the miseries of this life, sám was visited by a dream, and when the particulars of it were communicated to the interpreters of mysterious warnings and omens, they declared that zál was certainly still alive, although he had been long exposed on alberz, and left there to be torn to pieces by wild animals. upon this interpretation being given, the natural feelings of the father returned, and he sent his people to the mountain in search of zál, but without success. on another night sám dreamt a second time, when he beheld a young man of a beautiful countenance at the head of an immense army, with a banner flying before him, and a múbid on his left hand. one of them addressed sám, and reproached him thus:-- unfeeling mortal, hast thou from thy eyes washed out all sense of shame? dost thou believe that to have silvery tresses is a crime? if so, thy head is covered with white hair; and were not both spontaneous gifts from heaven? although the boy was hateful to thy sight, the grace of god has been bestowed upon him; and what is human tenderness and love to heaven's protection? thou to him wert cruel, but heaven has blest him, shielding him from harm. sám screamed aloud in his sleep, and awoke greatly terrified. without delay he went himself to alberz, and ascended the mountain, and wept and prayed before the throne of the almighty, saying:-- "if that forsaken child be truly mine, and not the progeny of demon fell, o pity me! forgive the wicked deed, and to my eyes, my injured son restore." his prayer was accepted. the símúrgh, hearing the lamentations of sám among his people, knew that he had come in quest of his son, and thus said to zál:--"i have fed and protected thee like a kind nurse, and i have given thee the name of dustán, like a father. sám, the warrior, has just come upon the mountain in search of his child, and i must restore thee to him, and we must part." zál wept when he heard of this unexpected separation, and in strong terms expressed his gratitude to his benefactor; for the wonderful bird had not omitted to teach him the language of the country, and to cultivate his understanding, removed as they were to such a distance from the haunts of mankind. the símúrgh soothed him by assuring him that he was not going to abandon him to misfortune, but to increase his prosperity; and, as a striking proof of affection, gave him a feather from his own wing, with these instructions:--"whenever thou art involved in difficulty or danger, put this feather on the fire, and i will instantly appear to thee to ensure thy safety. never cease to remember me. "i have watched thee with fondness by day and by night, and supplied all thy wants with a father's delight; o forget not thy nurse--still be faithful to me-- and my heart will be ever devoted to thee." zál immediately replied in a strain of gratitude and admiration; and then the símúrgh conveyed him to sám, and said to him: "receive thy son--he is of wonderful promise, and will be worthy of the throne and the diadem." the soul of sám rejoiced to hear applause so sweet to a parent's ear; and blessed them both in thought and word, the lovely boy, and the wondrous bird. he also declared to zál that he was ashamed of the crime of which he had been guilty, and that he would endeavor to obliterate the recollection of the past by treating him in future with the utmost respect and honor. when minúchihr heard from zábul of these things, and of sám's return, he was exceedingly pleased, and ordered his son, nauder, with a splendid istakbál,[ ] to meet the father and son on their approach to the city. they were surrounded by warriors and great men, and sám embraced the first moment to introduce zál to the king. zál humbly kissed the earth before the king, and from the hands of minúchihr received a golden mace and helm. then those who knew the stars and planetary signs, were told to calculate the stripling's destiny; and all proclaimed him of exalted fortune, that he would be prodigious in his might, outshining every warrior of the age. delighted with this information, minúchihr, seated upon his throne, with kárun on one side and sám on the other, presented zál with arabian horses, and armor, and gold, and splendid garments, and appointed sám to the government of kábul, zábul, and ind. zál accompanied his father on his return; and when they arrived at zábulistán, the most renowned instructors in every art and science were collected together to cultivate and enrich his young mind. in the meantime sám was commanded by the king to invade and subdue the demon provinces of karugsár and mázinderán;[ ] and zál was in consequence left by his father in charge of zábulistán. the young nursling of the símúrgh is said to have performed the duties of sovereignty with admirable wisdom and discretion, during the absence of his father. he did not pass his time in idle exercises, but with zealous delight in the society of accomplished and learned men, for the purpose of becoming familiar with every species of knowledge and acquirement. the city of zábul, however, as a constant residence, did not entirely satisfy him, and he wished to see more of the world; he therefore visited several other places, and proceeded as far as kábul, where he pitched his tents, and remained for some time. rÚdÁbeh the chief of kábul was descended from the family of zohák. he was named mihráb, and to secure the safety of his state, paid annual tribute to sám. mihráb, on the arrival of zál, went out of the city to see him, and was hospitably entertained by the young hero, who soon discovered that he had a daughter of wonderful attractions. her name rúdábeh; screened from public view, her countenance is brilliant as the sun; from head to foot her lovely form is fair as polished ivory. like the spring, her cheek presents a radiant bloom,--in stature tall, and o'er her silvery brightness, richly flow dark musky ringlets clustering to her feet. she blushes like the rich pomegranate flower; her eyes are soft and sweet as the narcissus, her lashes from the raven's jetty plume have stolen their blackness, and her brows are bent like archer's bow. ask ye to see the moon? look at her face. seek ye for musky fragrance? she is all sweetness. her long fingers seem pencils of silver, and so beautiful her presence, that she breathes of heaven and love. such was the description of rúdábeh, which inspired the heart of zál with the most violent affection, and imagination added to her charms. mihráb again waited on zál, who received him graciously, and asked him in what manner he could promote his wishes. mihráb said that he only desired him to become his guest at a banquet he intended to invite him to; but zál thought proper to refuse, because he well knew, if he accepted an invitation of the kind from a relation of zohák, that his father sám and the king of persia would be offended. mihráb returned to kábul disappointed, and having gone into his harem, his wife, síndokht, inquired after the stranger from zábul, the white-headed son of sám. she wished to know what he was like, in form and feature, and what account he gave of his sojourn with the símúrgh. mihráb described him in the warmest terms of admiration--he was valiant, he said, accomplished and handsome, with no other defect than that of white hair. and so boundless was his praise, that rúdábeh, who was present, drank every word with avidity, and felt her own heart warmed into admiration and love. full of emotion, she afterwards said privately to her attendants: "to you alone the secret of my heart i now unfold; to you alone confess the deep sensations of my captive soul. i love, i love; all day and night of him i think alone--i see him in my dreams-- you only know my secret--aid me now, and soothe the sorrows of my bursting heart." the attendants were startled with this confession and entreaty, and ventured to remonstrate against so preposterous an attachment. "what! hast thou lost all sense of shame, all value for thy honored name! that thou, in loveliness supreme, of every tongue the constant theme, should choose, and on another's word. the nursling of a mountain bird! a being never seen before, which human mother never bore! and can the hoary locks of age, a youthful heart like thine engage? must thy enchanting form be prest to such a dubious monster's breast? and all thy beauty's rich array, thy peerless charms be thrown away?" this violent remonstrance was more calculated to rouse the indignation of rúdábeh than to induce her to change her mind. it did so. but she subdued her resentment, and again dwelt upon the ardor of her passion. "my attachment is fixed, my election is made, and when hearts are enchained 'tis in vain to upbraid. neither kízar nor faghfúr i wish to behold, nor the monarch of persia with jewels and gold; all, all i despise, save the choice of my heart, and from his beloved image i never can part. call him aged, or young, 'tis a fruitless endeavour to uproot a desire i must cherish for ever; call him old, call him young, who can passion control? ever present, and loved, he entrances my soul. 'tis for him i exist--him i worship alone, and my heart it must bleed till i call him my own." as soon as the attendants found that rúdábeh's attachment was deeply fixed, and not to be removed, they changed their purpose, and became obedient to her wishes, anxious to pursue any measure that might bring zál and their mistress together. rúdábeh was delighted with this proof of their regard. it was spring-time, and the attendants repaired towards the halting-place of zál, in the neighborhood of the city. their occupation seemed to be gathering roses along the romantic banks of a pellucid streamlet, and when they purposely strayed opposite the tent of zál, he observed them, and asked his friends--why they presumed to gather roses in his garden. he was told that they were damsels sent by the moon of kábulistán from the palace of mihráb to gather roses, and upon hearing this his heart was touched with emotion. he rose up and rambled about for amusement, keeping the direction of the river, followed by a servant with a bow. he was not far from the damsels, when a bird sprung up from the water, which he shot, upon the wing, with an arrow. the bird happened to fall near the rose-gatherers, and zál ordered his servant to bring it to him. the attendants of rúdábeh lost not the opportunity, as he approached them, to inquire who the archer was. "know ye not," answered the servant, "that this is ním-rúz, the son of sám, and also called dustán, the greatest warrior ever known." at this the damsels smiled, and said that they too belonged to a person of distinction--and not of inferior worth--to a star in the palace of mihráb. "we have come from kábul to the king of zábulistán, and should zál and rúdábeh be of equal rank, her ruby lips may become acquainted with his, and their wished-for union be effected." when the servant returned, zál was immediately informed of the conversation that had taken place, and in consequence presents were prepared. they who to gather roses came--went back with precious gems--and honorary robes; and two bright finger-rings were secretly sent to the princess. then did the attendants of rúdábeh exult in the success of their artifice, and say that the lion had come into their toils. rúdábeh herself, however, had some fears on the subject. she anxiously sought to know exactly the personal appearance of zál, and happily her warmest hopes were realized by the description she received. but one difficulty remained--how were they to meet? how was she to see with her own eyes the man whom her fancy had depicted in such glowing colors? her attendants, sufficiently expert at intrigue, soon contrived the means of gratifying her wishes. there was a beautiful rural retreat in a sequestered situation, the apartments of which were adorned with pictures of great men, and ornamented in the most splendid manner. to this favorite place rúdábeh retired, and most magnificently dressed, awaiting the coming of zál, whom her attendants had previously invited to repair thither as soon as the sun had gone down. the shadows of evening were falling as he approached, and the enamoured princess thus addressed him from her balcony:-- "may happiness attend thee ever, thou, whose lucid features make this gloomy night clear as the day; whose perfume scents the breeze; thou who, regardless of fatigue, hast come on foot too, thus to see me--" hearing a sweet voice, he looked up, and beheld a bright face in the balcony, and he said to the beautiful vision:-- "how often have i hoped that heaven would, in some secret place display thy charms to me, and thou hast given my heart the wish of many a day; for now thy gentle voice i hear, and now i see thee--speak again! speak freely in a willing ear, and every wish thou hast obtain." not a word was lost upon rúdábeh, and she soon accomplished her object. her hair was so luxuriant, and of such a length, that casting it loose it flowed down from the balcony; and, after fastening the upper part to a ring, she requested zál to take hold of the other end and mount up. he ardently kissed the musky tresses, and by them quickly ascended. then hand in hand within the chambers they gracefully passed.--attractive was the scene, the walls embellished by the painter's skill, and every object exquisitely formed, sculpture, and architectural ornament, fit for a king. zál with amazement gazed upon what art had done, but more he gazed upon the witching radiance of his love, upon her tulip cheeks, her musky locks, breathing the sweetness of a summer garden; upon the sparkling brightness of her rings, necklace, and bracelets, glittering on her arms. his mien too was majestic--on his head he wore a ruby crown, and near his breast was seen a belted dagger. fondly she with side-long glances marked his noble aspect, the fine proportions of his graceful limbs, his strength and beauty. her enamoured heart suffused her cheek with blushes, every glance increased the ardent transports of her soul. so mild was his demeanour, he appeared a gentle lion toying with his prey. long they remained rapt in admiration of each other. at length the warrior rose, and thus addressed her: "it becomes not us to be forgetful of the path of prudence, though love would dictate a more ardent course, how oft has sám, my father, counselled me, against unseeming thoughts,--unseemly deeds,-- always to choose the right, and shun the wrong. how will he burn with anger when he hears this new adventure; how will minúchihr indignantly reproach me for this dream! this waking dream of rapture! but i call high heaven to witness what i now declare-- whoever may oppose my sacred vows, i still am thine, affianced thine, for ever." and thus rúdábeh: "thou hast won my heart, and kings may sue in vain; to thee devoted, thou art alone my warrior and my love." thus they exclaimed,--then zál with fond adieus softly descended from the balcony, and hastened to his tent. as speedily as possible he assembled together his counsellors and múbids to obtain their advice on the present extraordinary occasion, and he represented to them the sacred importance of encouraging matrimonial alliances. for marriage is a contract sealed by heaven-- how happy is the warrior's lot, amidst his smiling children; when he dies, his son succeeds him, and enjoys his rank and name. and is it not a glorious thing to say-- this is the son of zál, or this of sám, the heir of his renowned progenitor? he then related to them the story of his love and affection for the daughter of mihráb; but the múbids, well knowing that the chief of kábul was of the family of zohák, the serpent-king, did not approve the union desired, which excited the indignation of zál. they, however, recommended his writing a letter to sám, who might, if he thought proper, refer the matter to minúchihr. the letter was accordingly written and despatched, and when sám received it, he immediately referred the question to his astrologers, to know whether the nuptials, if solemnized between zál and rúdábeh, would be prosperous or not. they foretold that the nuptials would be prosperous, and that the issue would be a son of wonderful strength and power, the conqueror of the world. this announcement delighted the heart of the old warrior, and he sent the messenger back with the assurance of his approbation of the proposed union, but requested that the subject might be kept concealed till he returned with his army from the expedition to karugsár, and was able to consult with minúchihr. zál, exulting at his success, communicated the glad tidings to rúdábeh by their female emissary, who had hitherto carried on successfully the correspondence between them. but as she was conveying an answer to this welcome news, and some presents to zál, síndokht, the mother of rúdábeh, detected her, and, examining the contents of the packet, she found sufficient evidence, she thought, of something wrong. "what treachery is this? what have we here! sirbund and male attire? thou, wretch, confess! disclose thy secret doings." the emissary, however, betrayed nothing; but declared that she was a dealer in jewels and dresses, and had been only showing her merchandise to rúdábeh. síndokht, in extreme agitation of mind, hastened to her daughter's apartment to ascertain the particulars of this affair, when rúdábeh at once fearlessly acknowledged her unalterable affection for zál, "i love him so devotedly, all day, all night my tears have flowed unceasingly; and one hair of his head i prize more dearly than all the world beside; for him i live; and we have met, and we have sat together, and pledged our mutual love with mutual joy and innocence of heart." rúdábeh further informed her of sám's consent to their nuptials, which in some degree satisfied the mother. but when mihráb was made acquainted with the arrangement, his rage was unbounded, for he dreaded the resentment of sám and minúchihr when the circumstances became fully known to them. trembling with indignation he drew his dagger, and would have instantly rushed to rúdábeh's chamber to destroy her, had not síndokht fallen at his feet and restrained him. he insisted, however, on her being brought before him; and upon his promise not to do her any harm, síndokht complied. rúdábeh disdained to take off her ornaments to appear as an offender and a supplicant, but, proud of her choice, went into her father's presence, gayly adorned with jewels, and in splendid apparel. mihráb received her with surprise. "why all this glittering finery? is the devil united to an angel? when a snake is met with in arabia, it is killed!" but rúdábeh answered not a word, and was permitted to retire with her mother. when minúchihr was apprised of the proceedings between zál and rúdábeh, he was deeply concerned, anticipating nothing but confusion and ruin to persia from the united influence of zál and mihráb. feridún had purified the world from the abominations of zohák, and as mihráb was a descendant of that merciless tyrant, he feared that some attempt would be made to resume the enormities of former times; sám was therefore required to give his advice on the occasion. the conqueror of karugsár and mázinderán was received on his return with cordial rejoicings, and he charmed the king with the story of his triumphant success. the monarch against whom he had fought was descended, on the mother's side, from zohák, and his demon army was more numerous than ants, or clouds of locusts, covering mountain and plain. sám thus proceeded in his description of the conflict. "and when he heard my voice, and saw what deeds i had performed, approaching me, he threw his noose; but downward bending i escaped, and with my bow i showered upon his head steel-pointed arrows, piercing through the brain; then did i grasp his loins, and from his horse cast him upon the ground, deprived of life. at this, the demons terrified and pale, shrunk back, some flying to the mountain wilds, and others, taken on the battle-field, became obedient to the persian king." minúchihr, gratified by this result of the expedition, appointed sám to a new enterprise, which was to destroy kábul by fire and sword, especially the house of mihráb; and that ruler, of the serpent-race, and all his adherents were to be put to death. sám, before he took leave to return to his own government at zábul, tried to dissuade him from this violent exercise of revenge, but without making any sensible impression upon him. meanwhile the vindictive intentions of minúchihr, which were soon known at kábul, produced the greatest alarm and consternation in the family of mihráb. zál now returned to his father, and sám sent a letter to minúchihr, again to deprecate his wrath, and appointed zál the messenger. in this letter sám enumerates his services at karugsár and mázinderán, and especially dwells upon the destruction of a prodigious dragon. "i am thy servant, and twice sixty years have seen my prowess. mounted on my steed, wielding my battle-axe, overthrowing heroes, who equals sám, the warrior? i destroyed the mighty monster, whose devouring jaws unpeopled half the land, and spread dismay from town to town. the world was full of horror, no bird was seen in air, no beast of prey in plain or forest; from the stream he drew the crocodile; the eagle from the sky. the country had no habitant alive, and when i found no human being left, i cast away all fear, and girt my loins, and in the name of god went boldly forth, armed for the strife. i saw him towering rise, huge as a mountain, with his hideous hair dragging upon the ground; his long black tongue shut up the path; his eyes two lakes of blood; and, seeing me, so horrible his roar, the earth shook with affright, and from his mouth a flood of poison issued. like a lion forward i sprang, and in a moment drove a diamond-pointed arrow through his tongue, fixing him to the ground. another went down his deep throat, and dreadfully he writhed. a third passed through his middle. then i raised my battle-axe, cow-headed, and with one tremendous blow, dislodged his venomous brain, and deluged all around with blood and poison. there lay the monster dead, and soon the world regained its peace and comfort. now i'm old, the vigour of my youth is past and gone, and it becomes me to resign my station, to zál, my gallant son." mihráb continued in such extreme agitation, that in his own mind he saw no means of avoiding the threatened desolation of his country but by putting his wife and daughter to death. síndokht however had a better resource, and suggested the expediency of waiting upon sám herself, to induce him to forward her own views and the nuptials between zál and rúdábeh. to this mihráb assented, and she proceeded, mounted on a richly caparisoned horse, to zábul with most magnificent presents, consisting of three hundred thousand dínars; ten horses with golden, and thirty with silver, housings; sixty richly attired damsels, carrying golden trays of jewels and musk, and camphor, and wine, and sugar; forty pieces of figured cloth; a hundred milch camels, and a hundred others for burden; two hundred indian swords, a golden crown and throne, and four elephants. sám was amazed and embarrassed by the arrival of this splendid array. if he accepted the presents, he would incur the anger of minúchihr; and if he rejected them, zál would be disappointed and driven to despair. he at length accepted them, and concurred in the wishes of síndokht respecting the union of the two lovers. when zál arrived at the court of minúchihr, he was received with honor, and the letter of sám being read, the king was prevailed upon to consent to the pacific proposals that were made in favor of mihráb, and the nuptials. he too consulted his astrologers, and was informed that the offspring of zál and rúdábeh would be a hero of matchless strength and valor. zál, on his return through kábul, had an interview with rúdábeh, who welcomed him in the most rapturous terms:-- be thou for ever blest, for i adore thee, and make the dust of thy fair feet my pillow. in short, with the approbation of all parties the marriage at length took place, and was celebrated at the beautiful summer-house where first the lovers met. sám was present at kábul on the happy occasion, and soon afterwards returned to sístán, preparatory to resuming his martial labors in karugsár and mázinderán. as the time drew near that rúdábeh should become a mother, she suffered extremely from constant indisposition, and both zál and síndokht were in the deepest distress on account of her precarious state. the cypress leaf was withering; pale she lay, unsoothed by rest or sleep, death seemed approaching. at last zál recollected the feather of the símúrgh, and followed the instructions which he had received, by placing it on the fire. in a moment darkness surrounded them, which was, however, immediately dispersed by the sudden appearance of the símúrgh. "why," said the símúrgh, "do i see all this grief and sorrow? why are the tear-drops in the warrior's eyes? a child will be born of mighty power, who will become the wonder of the world." the símúrgh then gave some advice which was implicitly attended to, and the result was that rúdábeh was soon out of danger. never was beheld so prodigious a child. the father and mother were equally amazed. they called the boy rustem. on the first day he looked a year old, and he required the milk of ten nurses. a likeness of him was immediately worked in silk, representing him upon a horse, and armed like a warrior, which was sent to sám, who was then fighting in mázinderán, and it made the old champion almost delirious with joy. at kábul and zábul there was nothing but feasting and rejoicing, as soon as the tidings were known, and thousands of dínars were given away in charity to the poor. when rustem was five years of age, he ate as much as a man, and some say that even in his third year he rode on horseback. in his eighth year he was as powerful as any hero of the time. in beauty of form and in vigour of limb, no mortal was ever seen equal to him. both sám and mihráb, though far distant from the scene of felicity, were equally anxious to proceed to zábulistán to behold their wonderful grandson. both set off, but mihráb arrived first with great pomp, and a whole army for his suite, and went forth with zál to meet sám, and give him an honorable welcome. the boy rustem was mounted on an elephant, wearing a splendid crown, and wanted to join them, but his father kindly prevented him undergoing the inconvenience of alighting. zál and mihráb dismounted as soon as sám was seen at a distance, and performed the ceremonies of an affectionate reception. sám was indeed amazed when he did see the boy, and showered blessings on his head. afterwards sám placed mihráb on his right hand, and zál on his left, and rustem before him, and began to converse with his grandson, who thus manifested to him his martial disposition. "thou art the champion of the world, and i the branch of that fair tree of which thou art the glorious root: to thee i am devoted, but ease and leisure have no charms for me; nor music, nor the songs of festive joy. mounted and armed, a helmet on my brow, a javelin in my grasp, i long to meet the foe, and cast his severed head before thee." then sám made a royal feast, and every apartment in his palace was richly decorated, and resounded with mirth and rejoicing. mihráb was the merriest, and drank the most, and in his cups saw nothing but himself, so vain had he become from the countenance he had received. he kept saying:-- "now i feel no alarm about sám or zál-zer, nor the splendour and power of the great minúchihr; whilst aided by rustem, his sword, and his mace, not a cloud of misfortune can shadow my face. all the laws of zohák i will quickly restore, and the world shall be fragrant and blest as before." this exultation plainly betrayed the disposition of his race; and though sám smiled at the extravagance of mihráb, he looked up towards heaven, and prayed that rustem might not prove a tyrant, but be continually active in doing good, and humble before god. upon sám departing, on his return to karugsár and mázinderán, zál went with rustem to sístán, a province dependent on his government, and settled him there. the white elephant, belonging to minúchihr, was kept at sístán. one night rustem was awakened out of his sleep by a great noise, and cries of distress when starting up and inquiring the cause, he was told that the white elephant had got loose, and was trampling and crushing the people to death. in a moment he issued from his apartment, brandishing his mace; but was soon stopped by the servants, who were anxious to expostulate with him against venturing out in the darkness of night to encounter a ferocious elephant. impatient at being thus interrupted he knocked down one of the watchmen, who fell dead at his feet, and the others running away, he broke the lock of the gate, and escaped. he immediately opposed himself to the enormous animal, which looked like a mountain, and kept roaring like the river nil. regarding him with a cautious and steady eye, he gave a loud shout, and fearlessly struck him a blow, with such strength and vigor, that the iron mace was bent almost double. the elephant trembled, and soon fell exhausted and lifeless in the dust. when it was communicated to zál that rustem had killed the animal with one blow, he was amazed, and fervently returned thanks to heaven. he called him to him, and kissed him, and said: "my darling boy, thou art indeed unequalled in valor and magnanimity." then it occurred to zál that rustem, after such an achievement, would be a proper person to take vengeance on the enemies of his grandfather narímán, who was sent by feridún with a large army against an enchanted fort situated upon the mountain sipund, and who whilst endeavoring to effect his object, was killed by a piece of rock thrown down from above by the besieged. the fort[ ], which was many miles high, inclosed beautiful lawns of the freshest verdure, and delightful gardens abounding with fruit and flowers; it was also full of treasure. sám, on hearing of the fate of his father, was deeply afflicted, and in a short time proceeded against the fort himself; but he was surrounded by a trackless desert. he knew not what course to pursue; not a being was ever seen to enter or come out of the gates, and, after spending months and years in fruitless endeavors, he was compelled to retire from the appalling enterprise in despair. "now," said zál to rustem, "the time is come, and the remedy is at hand; thou art yet unknown, and may easily accomplish our purpose." rustem agreed to the proposed adventure, and according to his father's advice, assumed the dress and character of a salt-merchant, prepared a caravan of camels, and secreted arms for himself and companions among the loads of salt. everything being ready they set off, and it was not long before they reached the fort on the mountain sipund. salt being a precious article, and much wanted, as soon as the garrison knew that it was for sale, the gates were opened; and then was rustem seen, together with his warriors, surrounded by men, women, and children, anxiously making their purchases, some giving clothes in exchange, some gold, and some silver, without fear or suspicion. but when the night came on, and it was dark, rustem impatient drew his warriors forth, and moved towards the mansion of the chief-- but not unheard. the unaccustomed noise, announcing warlike menace and attack, awoke the kotwál, who sprung up to meet the peril threatened by the invading foe. rustem meanwhile uplifts his ponderous mace, and cleaves his head, and scatters on the ground the reeking brains. and now the garrison are on the alert, all hastening to the spot where battle rages; midst the deepened gloom flash sparkling swords, which show the crimson earth bright as the ruby. rustem continued fighting with the people of the fort all night, and just as morning dawned, he discovered the chief and slew him. those who survived, then escaped, and not one of the inhabitants remained within the walls alive. rustem's next object was to enter the governor's mansion. it was built of stone, and the gate, which was made of iron, he burst open with his battle-axe, and advancing onward, he discovered a temple, constructed with infinite skill and science, beyond the power of mortal man, and which contained amazing wealth, in jewels and gold. all the warriors gathered for themselves as much treasure as they could carry away, and more than imagination can conceive; and rustem wrote to zál to know his further commands on the subject of the capture. zál, overjoyed at the result of the enterprise, replied: thou hast illumed the soul of narímán, now in the blissful bowers of paradise, by punishing his foes with fire and sword. he then recommended him to load all the camels with as much of the invaluable property as could be removed, and bring it away, and then burn and destroy the whole place, leaving not a single vestige; and the command having been strictly complied with, rustem retraced his steps to zábulistán. on his return zál pressed him to his heart, and paid him public honors. the fond mother kissed and embraced her darling son, and all uniting, showered their blessings on his head. death of minÚchihr to minúchihr we now must turn again, and mark the close of his illustrious reign. the king had flourished one hundred and twenty years, when now the astrologers ascertained that the period of his departure from this life was at hand. they told him of that day of bitterness, which would obscure the splendour of his throne; and said--"the time approaches, thou must go, doubtless to heaven. think what thou hast to do; and be it done before the damp cold earth inshrine thy body. let not sudden death o'ertake thee, ere thou art prepared to die!" warned by the wise, he called his courtiers round him, and thus he counselled nauder:--"o, my son! fix not thy heart upon a regal crown, for this vain world is fleeting as the wind; the pain and sorrows of twice sixty years have i endured, though happiness and joy have also been my portion. i have fought in many a battle, vanquished many a foe; by feridún's commands i girt my loins, and his advice has ever been my guide. i hurled just vengeance on the tyrant-brothers sílim and túr, who slew the gentle irij; and cities have i built, and made the tree which yielded poison, teem with wholesome fruit. and now to thee the kingdom i resign, that kingdom which belonged to feridún, and thou wilt be the sovereign of the world! but turn not from the worship of thy god, that sacred worship moses taught, the best of all the prophets; turn not from the path of purest holiness, thy father's choice. "my son, events of peril are before thee; thy enemy will come in fierce array, from the wild mountains of túrán, the son of poshang, the invader. in that hour of danger, seek the aid of sám and zál, and that young branch just blossoming; túrán will then have no safe buckler of defence, none to protect it from their conquering arms." thus spoke the sire prophetic to his son, and both were moved to tears. again the king resumed his warning voice: "nauder, i charge thee place not thy trust upon a world like this, where nothing fixed remains. the caravan goes to another city, one to-day, the next, to-morrow, each observes its turn and time appointed--mine has come at last, and i must travel on the destined road." at the period minúchihr uttered this exhortation, he was entirely free from indisposition, but he shortly afterwards closed his eyes in death. nauder upon the demise of minúchihr, nauder ascended the throne, and commenced his reign in the most promising manner; but before two months had passed, he neglected the counsels of his father, and betrayed the despotic character of his heart. to such an extreme did he carry his oppression, that to escape from his violence, the people were induced to solicit other princes to come and take possession of the empire. the courtiers labored under the greatest embarrassment, their monarch being solely occupied in extorting money from his subjects, and amassing wealth for his own coffers. nauder was not long in perceiving the dissatisfaction that universally prevailed, and, anticipating, not only an immediate revolt, but an invading army, solicited, according to his father's advice, the assistance of sám, then at mázinderán. the complaints of the people, however, reached sám before the arrival of the messenger, and when he received the letter, he was greatly distressed on account of the extreme severity exercised by the new king. the champion, in consequence, proceeded forthwith from mázinderán to persia, and when he entered the capital, he was joyously welcomed, and at once entreated by the people to take the sovereignty upon himself. it was said of nauder: the gloom of tyranny has hid the light his father's counsel gave; the hope of life is lost amid the desolation of the grave. the world is withering in his thrall, exhausted by his iron sway; do thou ascend the throne, and all will cheerfully thy will obey. but sám said, "no; i should then be ungrateful to minúchihr, a traitor, and deservedly offensive in the eyes of god. nauder is the king, and i am bound to do him service, although he has deplorably departed from the advice of his father." he then soothed the alarm and irritation of the chiefs, and engaging to be a mediator upon the unhappy occasion, brought them to a more pacific tone of thinking. after this he immediately repaired to nauder, who received him with great favor and kindness. "o king," said he, "only keep feridún in remembrance, and govern the empire in such a manner that thy name may be honored by thy subjects; for, be well assured, that he who has a just estimate of the world, will never look upon it as his place of rest. it is but an inn, where all travellers meet on their way to eternity, but must not remain. the wise consider those who fix their affections on this life, as utterly devoid of reason and reflection: "pleasure, and pomp, and wealth may be obtained-- and every want luxuriously supplied: but suddenly, without a moment's warning, death comes, and hurls the monarch from his throne, his crown and sceptre scattering in the dust. he who is satisfied with earthly joys, can never know the blessedness of heaven; his soul must still be dark. why do the good suffer in this world, but to be prepared for future rest and happiness? the name of feridún is honoured among men, whilst curses load the memory of zohák." this intercession of sám produced an entire change in the government of nauder, who promised, in future, to rule his people according to the principles of húsheng, and feridún, and minúchihr. the chiefs and captains of the army were, in consequence, contented, and the kingdom reunited itself under his sway. in the meantime, however, the news of the death of minúchihr, together with nauder's injustice and seventy, and the disaffection of his people, had reached túrán, of which country poshang, a descendant from túr, was then the sovereign. poshang, who had been unable to make a single successful hostile movement during the life of minúchihr, at once conceived this to be a fit opportunity of taking revenge for the blood of sílim and túr, and every appearance seeming to be in his favor, he called before him his heroic son afrásiyáb, and explained to him his purpose and views. it was not difficult to inspire the youthful mind of afrásiyáb with the sentiments he himself cherished, and a large army was immediately collected to take the field against nauder. poshang was proud of the chivalrous spirit and promptitude displayed by his son, who is said to have been as strong as a lion, or an elephant, and whose shadow extended miles. his tongue was like a bright sword, and his heart as bounteous as the ocean, and his hands like the clouds when rain falls to gladden the thirsty earth. aghríras, the brother of afrásiyáb, however, was not so precipitate. he cautioned his father to be prudent, for though persia could no longer boast of the presence of minúchihr, still the great warrior sám, and kárun, and garshásp, were living, and poshang had only to look at the result of the wars in which sílim and túr were involved, to be convinced that the existing conjuncture required mature deliberation. "it would be better," said he, "not to begin the contest at all, than to bring ruin and desolation on our own country." poshang, on the contrary, thought the time peculiarly fit and inviting, and contended that, as minúchihr took vengeance for the blood of his grandfather, so ought afrásiyáb to take vengeance for his. "the grandson," he said, "who refuses to do this act of justice, is unworthy of his family. there is nothing to apprehend from the efforts of nauder, who is an inexperienced youth, nor from the valor of his warriors. afrásiyáb is brave and powerful in war, and thou must accompany him and share the glory." after this no further observation was offered, and the martial preparations were completed. afrÁsiyÁb marches against nauder the brazen drums on the elephants were sounded as the signal of departure, and the army proceeded rapidly to its destination, overshadowing the earth in its progress. afrásiyáb had penetrated as far as the jihún before nauder was aware of his approach. upon receiving this intelligence of the activity of the enemy, the warriors of the persian army immediately moved in that direction, and on their arrival at dehstán, prepared for battle. afrásiyáb despatched thirty thousand of his troops under the command of shimasás and khazerván to zábulistán, to act against zál, having heard on his march of the death of the illustrious sám, and advanced himself upon dehstán with four hundred thousand soldiers, covering the ground like swarms of ants and locusts. he soon discovered that nauder's forces did not exceed one hundred and forty thousand men, and wrote to poshang, his father, in high spirits, especially on account of not having to contend against sám, the warrior, and informed him that he had detached shimasás against zábulistán. when the armies had approached to within two leagues of each other, bármán, one of the túránian chiefs, offered to challenge any one of the enemy to single combat: but aghríras objected to it, not wishing that so valuable a hero should run the hazard of discomfiture. at this afrásiyáb was very indignant and directed bármán to follow the bent of his own inclinations. "'tis not for us to shrink from persian foe, put on thy armour, and prepare thy bow." accordingly the challenge was given. kárun looked round, and the only person who answered the call was the aged kobád, his brother. kárun and kobád were both sons of kavah, the blacksmith, and both leaders in the persian army. no persuasion could restrain kobád from the unequal conflict. he resisted all the entreaties of kárun, who said to him-- "o, should thy hoary locks be stained with blood, thy legions will be overwhelmed with grief, and, in despair, decline the coming battle." but what was the reply of brave kobád? "brother, this body, this frail tenement, belongs to death. no living man has ever gone up to heaven--for all are doomed to die.-- some by the sword, the dagger, or the spear, and some, devoured by roaring beasts of prey; some peacefully upon their beds, and others snatched suddenly from life, endure the lot ordained by the creator. if i perish, does not my brother live, my noble brother, to bury me beneath a warrior's tomb, and bless my memory?" saying this, he rushed forward, and the two warriors met in desperate conflict. the struggle lasted all day; at last bármán threw a stone at his antagonist with such force, that kobád in receiving the blow fell lifeless from his horse. when kárun saw that his brother was slain, he brought forward his whole army to be revenged for the death of kobád. afrásiyáb himself advanced to the charge, and the encounter was dreadful. the soldiers who fell among the túránians could not be numbered, but the persians lost fifty thousand men. loud neighed the steeds, and their resounding hoofs. shook the deep caverns of the earth; the dust rose up in clouds and hid the azure heavens-- bright beamed the swords, and in that carnage wide, blood flowed like water. night alone divided the hostile armies. when the battle ceased kárun fell back upon dehstán, and communicated his misfortune to nauder, who lamented the loss of kobád, even more than that of sám. in the morning kárun again took the field against afrásiyáb, and the conflict was again terrible. nauder boldly opposed himself to the enemy, and singling out afrásiyáb, the two heroes fought with great bravery till night again put an end to the engagement. the persian army had suffered most, and nauder retired to his tent disappointed, fatigued, and sorrowful. he then called to mind the words of minúchihr, and called for his two sons, tús and gustahem. with melancholy forebodings he directed them to return to irán, with his shubistán, or domestic establishment, and take refuge on the mountain alberz, in the hope that some one of the race of feridún might survive the general ruin which seemed to be approaching. the armies rested two days. on the third the reverberating noise of drums and trumpets announced the recommencement of the battle. on the persian side shahpúr had been appointed in the room of kobád, and bármán and shíwáz led the right and left of the túránians under afrásiyáb. from dawn to sunset, mountain, plain, and stream, were hid from view; the earth, beneath the tread of myriads, groaned; and when the javelins cast long shadows on the plain at even-tide, the tartar host had won the victory; and many a persian chief fell on that day:-- shahpúr himself was slain. when nauder and kárun saw the unfortunate result of the battle, they again fell back upon dehstán, and secured themselves in the fort. afrásiyáb in the meantime despatched karúkhán to irán, through the desert, with a body of horsemen, for the purpose of intercepting and capturing the shubistán of nauder. as soon as kárun heard of this expedition he was all on fire, and proposed to pursue the squadron under karúkhán, and frustrate at once the object which the enemy had in view; and though nauder was unfavorable to this movement, kárun, supported by several of the chiefs and a strong volunteer force, set off at midnight, without permission, on this important enterprise. it was not long before they reached the duz-i-supêd, or white fort, of which gustahem was the governor, and falling in with bármán, who was also pushing forward to persia, kárun, in revenge for his brother kobád, sought him out, and dared him to single combat. he threw his javelin with such might, that his antagonist was driven furiously from his horse; and then, dismounting, he cut off his head, and hung it at his saddle-bow. after this he attacked and defeated the tartar troops, and continued his march towards irán. nauder having found that kárun had departed, immediately followed, and afrásiyáb was not long in pursuing him. the túránians at length came up with nauder, and attacked him with great vigor. the unfortunate king, unable to parry the onset, fell into the hands of his enemies, together with upwards of one thousand of his famous warriors. long fought they, nauder and the tartar-chief, and the thick dust which rose from either host, darkened the rolling heavens. afrásiyáb seized by the girdle-belt the persian king, and furious, dragged him from his foaming horse. with him a thousand warriors, high in name, were taken on the field; and every legion, captured whilst flying from the victor's brand. such are the freaks of fortune: friend and foe alternate wear the crown. the world itself is an ingenious juggler--every moment playing some novel trick; exalting one in pomp and splendour, crushing down another, as if in sport,--and death the end of all! after the achievement of this victory afrásiyáb directed that kárun should be pursued and attacked wherever he might be found; but when he heard that he had hurried on for the protection of the shubistán, and had conquered and slain bármán, he gnawed his hands with rage. the reign of nauder lasted only seven years. after him afrásiyáb was the master of persia. afrÁsiyÁb it has already been said that shimasás and khazerván were sent by afrásiyáb with thirty thousand men against kábul and zábul, and when zál heard of this movement he forthwith united with mihráb the chief of kábul, and having first collected a large army in sístán, had a conflict with the two tartar generals. zál promptly donned himself in war attire, and, mounted like a hero, to the field hastened, his soldiers frowning on their steeds. now khazerván grasps his huge battle-axe, and, his broad shield extending, at one blow shivers the mail of zál, who calls aloud as, like a lion, to the fight he springs, armed with his father's mace. sternly he looks and with the fury of a dragon, drives the weapon through his adversary's head, staining the ground with streaks of blood, resembling the waving stripes upon a tiger's back. at this time rustem was confined at home with the smallpox. upon the death of khazerván, shimasás thirsted to be revenged; but when zál meeting him raised his mace, and began to close, the chief became alarmed and turned back, and all his squadrons followed his example. fled shimasás, and all his fighting train, like herds by tempests scattered o'er the plain. zál set off in pursuit, and slew a great number of the enemy; but when afrásiyáb was made acquainted with this defeat, he immediately released nauder from his fetters, and in his rage instantly deprived him of life. he struck him and so deadly was the blow, breath left the body in a moment's space. after this afrásiyáb turned his views towards tús and gustahem in the hope of getting them into his hands; but as soon as they received intimation of his object, the two brothers retired from irán, and went to sístán to live under the protection of zál. the champion received them with due respect and honor. kárun also went, with all the warriors and people who had been supported by nauder, and co-operated with zál, who encouraged them with the hopes of future success. zál, however, considered that both tús and gustahem were still of a tender age--that a monarch of extraordinary wisdom and energy was required to oppose afrásiyáb--that he himself was not of the blood of the kais, nor fit for the duties of sovereignty, and, therefore, he turned his thoughts towards aghríras, the younger brother of afrásiyáb, distinguished as he was for his valor, prudence, and humanity, and to whom poshang, his father, had given the government of raí. to him zál sent an envoy, saying, that if he would proceed to sístán, he should be supplied with ample resources to place him on the throne of persia; that by the co-operation of zál and all his warriors the conquest would be easy, and that there would be no difficulty in destroying the power of afrásiyáb. aghríras accepted the offer, and immediately proceeded from his kingdom of raí towards sístán. on his arrival at bábel, afrásiyáb heard of his ambitious plans, and lost no time in assembling his army and marching to arrest the progress of his brother. aghríras, unable to sustain a battle, had recourse to negotiation and a conference, in which afrásiyáb said to him, "what rebellious conduct is this, of which thou art guilty? is not the country of raí sufficient for thee, that thou art thus aspiring to be a great king?" aghríras replied: "why reproach and insult me thus? art thou not ashamed to accuse another of rebellious conduct? "shame might have held thy tongue; reprove not me in bitterness; god did not give thee power to injure man, and surely not thy kin." afrásiyáb, enraged at this reproof, replied by a foul deed--he grasped his sword, and with remorseless fury slew his brother! when intelligence of this cruel catastrophe came to zál's ears, he exclaimed: "now indeed has the empire of afrásiyáb arrived at its crisis: "yes, yes, the tyrant's throne is tottering now, and past is all his glory." then zál bound his loins in hostility against afrásiyáb, and gathering together all his warriors, resolved upon taking revenge for the death of nauder, and expelling the tyrant from persia. neither tús nor gustahem being yet capable of sustaining the cares and duties of the throne, his anxiety was to obtain the assistance of some one of the race of feridún. these youths were for imperial rule unfit: a king of royal lineage and worth the state required, and none could he remember save tahmasp's son, descended from the blood of feridún. zau at the time when sílim and túr were killed, tahmasp, the son of sílim, fled from the country and took refuge in an island, where he died, and left a son named zau. zál sent kárun, the son of kavah, attended by a proper escort, with overtures to zau, who readily complied, and was under favorable circumstances seated upon the throne: speedily, in arms, he led his troops to persia, fought, and won a kingdom, by his power and bravery-- and happy was the day when princely zau was placed upon that throne of sovereignty; all breathed their prayers upon his future reign, and o'er his head (the customary rite) shower'd gold and jewels. when he had subdued the country, he turned his arms against afrásiyáb, who in consequence of losing the co-operation of the persians, and not being in a state to encounter a superior force, thought it prudent to retreat, and return to his father. the reign of zau lasted five years, after which he died, and was succeeded by his son garshásp. garshÁsp garshásp, whilst in his minority, being unacquainted with the affairs of government, abided in all things by the judgment and counsels of zál. when afrásiyáb arrived at túrán, his father was in great distress and anger on account of the inhuman murder of aghríras; and so exceedingly did he grieve, that he would not endure his presence. and when afrásiyáb returned, his sire, poshang, in grief, refused to see his face. to him the day of happiness and joy had been obscured by the dark clouds of night; and thus he said: "why didst thou, why didst _thou_ in power supreme, without pretence of guilt, with thy own hand his precious life destroy? why hast thou shed thy innocent brother's blood? in this life thou art nothing now to me; away, i must not see thy face again." afrásiyáb continued offensive and despicable in the mind of his father till he heard that garshásp was unequal to rule over persia, and then thinking he could turn the warlike spirit of afrásiyáb to advantage, he forgave the crime of his son. he forthwith collected an immense army, and sent him again to effect the conquest of irán, under the pretext of avenging the death of sílim and túr. afrásiyáb a mighty army raised, and passing plain and river, mountain high, and desert wild, filled all the persian realm with consternation, universal dread. the chief authorities of the country applied to zál as their only remedy against the invasion of afrásiyáb. they said to zál, "how easy is the task for thee to grasp the world--then, since thou canst afford us succour, yield the blessing now; for, lo! the king afrásiyáb has come, in all his power and overwhelming might." zál replied that he had on this occasion appointed rustem to command the army, and to oppose the invasion of afrásiyáb. and thus the warrior zál to rustem spoke-- "strong as an elephant thou art, my son, surpassing thy companions, and i now forewarn thee that a difficult emprize, hostile to ease or sleep, demands thy care. 'tis true, of battles thou canst nothing know, but what am i to do? this is no time for banquetting, and yet thy lips still breathe the scent of milk, a proof of infancy; thy heart pants after gladness and the sweet endearments of domestic life; can i then send thee to the war to cope with heroes burning with wrath and vengeance?" rustem said-- "mistake me not, i have no wish, not i, for soft endearments, nor domestic life, nor home-felt joys. this chest, these nervous limbs, denote far other objects of pursuit, than a luxurious life of ease and pleasure." zál having taken great pains in the instruction of rustem in warlike exercises, and the rules of battle, found infinite aptitude in the boy, and his activity and skill seemed to be superior to his own. he thanked god for the comfort it gave him, and was glad. then rustem asked his father for a suitable mace; and seeing the huge weapon which was borne by the great sám, he took it up, and it answered his purpose exactly. when the young hero saw the mace of sám he smiled with pleasure, and his heart rejoiced; and paying homage to his father zál, the champion of the age, asked for a steed of corresponding power, that he might use that famous club with added force and vigor. zál showed him all the horses in his possession, and rustem tried many, but found not one of sufficient strength to suit him. at last his eyes fell upon a mare followed by a foal of great promise, beauty, and strength. seeing that foal, whose bright and glossy skin was dappled o'er, like blossoms of the rose upon a saffron lawn, rustem prepared his noose, and held it ready in his hand. the groom recommended him to secure the foal, as it was the offspring of abresh, born of a díw, or demon, and called rakush. the dam had killed several persons who attempted to seize her young one. now rustem flings the noose, and suddenly rakush secures. meanwhile the furious mare attacks him, eager with her pointed teeth to crush his brain--but, stunned by his loud cry, she stops in wonder. then with clenched hand he smites her on the head and neck, and down she tumbles, struggling in the pangs of death. rakush, however, though with the noose round his neck, was not so easily subdued; but kept dragging and pulling rustem, as if by a tether, and it was a considerable time before the animal could be reduced to subjection. at last, rustem thanked heaven that he had obtained the very horse he wanted. "now am i with my horse prepared to join the field of warriors!" thus the hero said, and placed the saddle on his charger. zál beheld him with delight,--his withered heart glowing with summer freshness. open then he threw his treasury--thoughtless of the past or future--present joy absorbing all his faculties, and thrilling every nerve. in a short time zál sent rustem with a prodigious army against afrásiyáb, and two days afterwards set off himself and joined his son. afrásiyáb said, "the son is but a boy, and the father is old; i shall have no difficulty in recovering the empire of persia." these observations having reached zál, he pondered deeply, considering that garshásp would not be able to contend against afrásiyáb, and that no other prince of the race of feridún was known to be in existence. however, he despatched people in every quarter to gather information on the subject, and at length kai-kobád was understood to be residing in obscurity on the mountain alberz, distinguished for his wisdom and valor, and his qualifications for the exercise of sovereign power. zál therefore recommended rustem to proceed to alberz, and bring him from his concealment. thus zál to rustem spoke, "go forth, my son, and speedily perform this pressing duty, to linger would be dangerous. say to him, 'the army is prepared--the throne is ready, and thou alone, of the kaiánian race, deemed fit for sovereign rule.'" rustem accordingly mounted rakush, and accompanied by a powerful force, pursued his way towards the mountain alberz; and though the road was infested by the troops of afrásiyáb, he valiantly overcame every difficulty that was opposed to his progress. on reaching the vicinity of alberz, he observed a beautiful spot of ground studded with luxuriant trees, and watered by glittering rills. there too, sitting upon a throne, placed in the shade on the flowery margin of a stream, he saw a young man, surrounded by a company of friends and attendants, and engaged at a gorgeous entertainment. rustem, when he came near, was hospitably invited to partake of the feast: but this he declined, saying, that he was on an important mission to alberz, which forbade the enjoyment of any pleasure till his task was accomplished; in short, that he was in search of kai-kobád: but upon being told that he would there receive intelligence of him, he alighted and approached the bank of the stream where the company was assembled. the young man who was seated upon the golden throne took hold of the hand of rustem, and filling up a goblet with wine, gave another to his guest, and asked him at whose command or suggestion he was in search of kai-kobád. rustem replied, that he was sent by his father zál, and frankly communicated to him the special object they had in view. the young man, delighted with the information, immediately discovered himself, acknowledged that he was kai-kobád, and then rustem respectfully hailed him as the sovereign of persia. the banquet was resumed again-- and, hark, the softly warbled strain, as harp and flute, in union sweet, the voices of the singers meet. the black-eyed damsels now display their art in many an amorous lay; and now the song is loud and clear, and speaks of rustem's welcome here. "this is a day, a glorious day, that drives ungenial thoughts away; this is a day to make us glad, since rustem comes for kai-kobád; o, let us pass our time in glee, and talk of jemshíd's majesty, the pomp and glory of his reign, and still the sparkling goblet drain.-- come, sakí, fill the wine-cup high, and let not even its brim be dry; for wine alone has power to part the rust of sorrow from the heart. drink to the king, in merry mood, since fortune smiles, and wine is good; quaffing red wine is better far than shedding blood in strife, or war; man is but dust, and why should he become a fire of enmity? drink deep, all other cares resign. for what can vie with ruby wine?" in this manner ran the song of the revellers. after which, and being rather merry with wine, kai-kobád told rustem of the dream that had induced him to descend from his place of refuge on alberz, and to prepare a banquet on the occasion. he dreamt the night before that two white falcons from persia placed a splendid crown upon his head, and this vision was interpreted by rustem as symbolical of his father and himself, who at that moment were engaged in investing him with kingly power. the hero then solicited the young sovereign to hasten his departure for persia, and preparations were made without delay. they travelled night and day, and fell in with several detachments of the enemy, which were easily repulsed by the valor of rustem. the fiercest attack proceeded from kelún, one of afrásiyáb's warriors, near the confines of persia, who in the encounter used his spear with great dexterity and address. but rustem with his javelin soon transfixed the tartar knight--who in the eyes of all looked like a spitted chicken--down he sunk, and all his soldiers fled in wild dismay. then rustem turned aside, and found a spot where verdant meadows smiled, and streamlets flowed, inviting weary travellers to rest. there they awhile remained--and when the sun went down, and night had darkened all the sky, the champion joyfully pursued his way, and brought the monarch to his father's house. --seven days they sat in council--on the eighth young kai-kobád was crowned--and placed upon the ivory throne in presence of his warriors, who all besought him to commence the war against the tartar prince, afrásiyáb. kai-kobÁd kai-kobád having been raised to the throne at a council of the warriors, and advised to oppose the progress of afrásiyáb, immediately assembled his army. mihráb, the ruler of kábul, was appointed to one wing, and gustahem to the other--the centre was given to kárun and kishwád, and rustem was placed in front, zál with kai-kobád remaining in the rear. the glorious standard of kavah streamed upon the breeze. on the other side, afrásiyáb prepared for battle, assisted by his heroes akbás, wísah, shimasás, and gersíwaz; and so great was the clamor and confusion which proceeded from both armies, that earth and sky seemed blended together.[ ] the clattering of hoofs, the shrill roar of trumpets, the rattle of brazen drums, and the vivid glittering of spear and shield, produced indescribable tumult and splendor. kárun was the first in action, and he brought many a hero to the ground. he singled out shimasás; and after a desperate struggle, laid him breathless on the field. rustem, stimulated by these exploits, requested his father, zál, to point out afrásiyáb, that he might encounter him; but zál endeavored to dissuade him from so hopeless an effort, saying, "my son, be wise, and peril not thyself; black is his banner, and his cuirass black-- his limbs are cased in iron--on his head he wears an iron helm--and high before him floats the black ensign; equal in his might to ten strong men, he never in one place remains, but everywhere displays his power. the crocodile has in the rolling stream no safety; and a mountain, formed of steel, even at the mention of afrásiyáb, melts into water. then, beware of him." rustem replied:--"be not alarmed for me-- my heart, my arm, my dagger, are my castle, and heaven befriends me--let him but appear, dragon or demon, and the field is mine." then rustem valiantly urged rakush towards the túránian army, and called out aloud. as soon as afrásiyáb beheld him, he inquired who he could be, and he was told, "this is rustem, the son of zál. seest thou not in his hand the battle-axe of sám? the youth has come in search of renown." when the combatants closed, they struggled for some time together, and at length rustem seized the girdle-belt of his antagonist, and threw him from his saddle. he wished to drag the captive as a trophy to kai-kobád, that his first great victory might be remembered, but unfortunately the belt gave way, and afrásiyáb fell on the ground. immediately the fallen chief was surrounded and rescued by his own warriors, but not before rustem had snatched off his crown, and carried it away with the broken girdle which was left in his hand. and now a general engagement took place. rustem being reinforced by the advance of the king, with zál and mihráb at his side-- both armies seemed so closely waging war, thou wouldst have said, that they were mixed together. the earth shook with the tramping of the steeds, rattled the drums; loud clamours from the troops echoed around, and from the iron grasp of warriors, many a life was spent in air. with his huge mace, cow-headed, rustem dyed the ground with crimson--and wherever seen, urging impatiently his fiery horse, heads severed fell like withered leaves in autumn. if, brandishing his sword, he struck the head, horseman and steed were downward cleft in twain-- and if his side-long blow was on the loins, the sword passed through, as easily as the blade slices a cucumber. the blood of heroes deluged the plain. on that tremendous day, with sword and dagger, battle-axe and noose,[ ] he cut, and tore, and broke, and bound the brave, slaying and making captive. at one swoop more than a thousand fell by his own hand. zál beheld his son with amazement and delight. the túránians left the fire-worshippers in possession of the field, and retreated towards the jihún with precipitation, not a sound of drum or trumpet denoting their track. after halting three days in a state of deep dejection and misery, they continued their retreat along the banks of the jihún. the persian army, upon the flight of the enemy, fell back with their prisoners of war, and rustem was received by the king with distinguished honor. when afrásiyáb returned to his father, he communicated to him, with a heavy heart, the misfortunes of the battle, and the power that had been arrayed against him, dwelling with wonder and admiration on the stupendous valor of rustem. seeing my sable banner, he to the fight came like a crocodile, thou wouldst have said his breath scorched up the plain; he seized my girdle with such mighty force as if he would have torn my joints asunder; and raised me from my saddle--that i seemed an insect in his grasp--but presently the golden girdle broke, and down i fell ingloriously upon the dusty ground; but i was rescued by my warrior train! thou knowest my valour, how my nerves are strung, and may conceive the wondrous strength, which thus sunk me to nothing. iron is his frame, and marvellous his power; peace, peace, alone can save us and our country from destruction. poshang, considering the luckless state of affairs, and the loss of so many valiant warriors, thought it prudent to acquiesce in the wishes of afrásiyáb, and sue for peace. to this end wísah was intrusted with magnificent presents, and the overtures which in substance ran thus: "minúchihr was revenged upon túr and sílim for the death of irij. afrásiyáb again has revenged their death upon nauder, the son of minúchihr, and now rustem has conquered afrásiyáb. but why should we any longer keep the world in confusion--why should we not be satisfied with what feridún, in his wisdom, decreed? continue in the empire which he appropriated to irij, and let the jihún be the boundary between us, for are we not connected by blood, and of one family? let our kingdoms be gladdened with the blessings of peace." when these proposals of peace reached kai-kobád, the following answer was returned: "well dost thou know that i was not the first to wage this war. from túr, thy ancestor, the strife began. bethink thee how he slew the gentle irij--his own brother;--how, in these our days, thy son, afrásiyáb, crossing the jihún, with a numerous force invaded persia--think how nauder died! not in the field of battle, like a hero, but murdered by thy son--who, ever cruel, afterwards stabbed his brother, young aghríras, so deeply mourned by thee. yet do i thirst not for vengeance, or for strife. i yield the realm beyond the jihún--let that river be the boundary between us; but thy son, afrásiyáb, must take his solemn oath never to cross that limit, or disturb the persian throne again; thus pledged, i grant the peace solicited." the messenger without delay conveyed this welcome intelligence to poshang, and the túránian army was in consequence immediately withdrawn within the prescribed line of division, rustem, however, expostulated with the king against making peace at a time the most advantageous for war, and especially when he had just commenced his victorious career; but kai-kobád thought differently, and considered nothing equal to justice and tranquillity. peace was accordingly concluded, and upon rustem and zál he conferred the highest honors, and his other warriors engaged in the late conflict also experienced the effects of his bounty and gratitude in an eminent degree. kai-kobád then moved towards persia, and establishing his throne at istakhar,[ ] he administered the affairs of his government with admirable benevolence and clemency, and with unceasing solicitude for the welfare of his subjects. in his eyes every one had an equal claim to consideration and justice. the strong had no power to oppress the weak. after he had continued ten years at istakhar, building towns and cities, and diffusing improvement and happiness over the land, he removed his throne into irán. his reign lasted one hundred years, which were passed in the continued exercise of the most princely virtues, and the most munificent liberality. he had four sons: kai-káús, arish, poshín and aramín; and when the period of his dissolution drew nigh, he solemnly enjoined the eldest, whom he appointed his successor, to pursue steadily the path of integrity and justice, and to be kind and merciful in the administration of the empire left to his charge. kai-kÁÚs when kai-káús[ ] ascended the throne of his father, the whole world was obedient to his will; but he soon began to deviate from the wise customs and rules which had been recommended as essential to his prosperity and happiness. he feasted and drank wine continually with his warriors and chiefs, so that in the midst of his luxurious enjoyments he looked upon himself as superior to every being upon the face of the earth, and thus astonished the people, high and low, by his extravagance and pride. one day a demon, disguised as a musician, waited upon the monarch, and playing sweetly on his harp, sung a song in praise of mázinderán. and thus he warbled to the king-- "mázinderán is the bower of spring, my native home; the balmy air diffuses health and fragrance there; so tempered is the genial glow, nor heat nor cold we ever know; tulips and hyacinths abound on every lawn; and all around blooms like a garden in its prime, fostered by that delicious clime. the bulbul sits on every spray, and pours his soft melodious lay; each rural spot its sweets discloses, each streamlet is the dew of roses; and damsels, idols of the heart, sustain a more bewitching part. and mark me, that untravelled man who never saw mázinderán, and all the charms its bowers possess, has never tasted happiness!" no sooner had kai-káús heard this description of the country of mázinderán than he determined to lead an army thither, declaring to his warriors that the splendor and glory of his reign should exceed that of either jemshíd, zohák, or kai-kobád. the warriors, however, were alarmed at this precipitate resolution, thinking it certain destruction to make war against the demons; but they had not courage or confidence enough to disclose their real sentiments. they only ventured to suggest, that if his majesty reflected a little on the subject, he might not ultimately consider the enterprise so advisable as he had at first imagined. but this produced no impression, and they then deemed it expedient to despatch a messenger to zál, to inform him of the wild notions which the evil one had put into the head of kai-káús to effect his ruin, imploring zál to allow of no delay, otherwise the eminent services so lately performed by him and rustem for the state would be rendered utterly useless and vain. upon this summons, zál immediately set off from sístán to irán; and having arrived at the royal court, and been received with customary respect and consideration, he endeavored to dissuade the king from the contemplated expedition into mázinderán. "o, could i wash the darkness from thy mind, and show thee all the perils that surround this undertaking! jemshíd, high in power, whose diadem was brilliant as the sun, who ruled the demons--never in his pride dreamt of the conquest of mázinderán! remember feridún, he overthrew zohák--destroyed the tyrant, but he never thought of the conquest of mázinderán! this strange ambition never fired the souls of by-gone monarchs--mighty minúchihr, always victorious, boundless in his wealth, nor zau, nor nauder, nor even kai-kobád, with all their pomp, and all their grandeur, ever dreamt of the conquest of mázinderán! it is the place of demon-sorcerers, and all enchanted. swords are useless there, nor bribery nor wisdom can obtain possession of that charm-defended land, then throw not men and treasure to the winds; waste not the precious blood of warriors brave, in trying to subdue mázinderán!" kai-káús, however, was not to be diverted from his purpose; and with respect to what his predecessors had not done, he considered himself superior in might and influence to either feridún, jemshíd, minúchihr, or kai-kobád, who had never aspired to the conquest of mázinderán. he further observed, that he had a bolder heart, a larger army, and a fuller treasury than any of them, and the whole world was under his sway-- and what are all these demon-charms, that they excite such dread alarms? what is a demon-host to me, their magic spells and sorcery? one effort, and the field is won; then why should i the battle shun? be thou and rustem (whilst afar i wage the soul-appalling war), the guardians of the kingdom; heaven to me hath its protection given; and, when i reach the demon's fort, their severed heads shall be my sport! when zál became convinced of the unalterable resolution of kai-káús, he ceased to oppose his views, and expressed his readiness to comply with whatever commands he might receive for the safety of the state. may all thy actions prosper--may'st thou never have cause to recollect my warning voice, with sorrow or repentance. heaven protect thee! zál then took leave of the king and his warrior friends, and returned to sístán, not without melancholy forebodings respecting the issue of the war against mázinderán. as soon as morning dawned, the army was put in motion. the charge of the empire, and the keys of the treasury and jewel-chamber were left in the hands of mílad, with injunctions, however, not to draw a sword against any enemy that might spring up, without the consent and assistance of zál and rustem. when the army had arrived within the limits of mázinderán, kai-káús ordered gíw to select two thousand of the bravest men, the boldest wielders of the battle-axe, and proceed rapidly towards the city. in his progress, according to the king's instructions, he burnt and destroyed everything of value, mercilessly slaying man, woman, and child. for the king said: kill all before thee, whether young or old, and turn their day to night; thus free the world from the magician's art. proceeding in his career of desolation and ruin, gíw came near to the city, and found it arrayed in all the splendor of heaven; every street was crowded with beautiful women, richly adorned, and young damsels with faces as bright as the moon. the treasure-chamber was full of gold and jewels, and the country abounded with cattle. information of this discovery was immediately sent to kai-káús, who was delighted to find that mázinderán was truly a blessed region, the very garden of beauty, where the cheeks of the women seemed to be tinted with the hue of the pomegranate flower, by the gate-keeper of paradise. this invasion filled the heart of the king of mázinderán with grief and alarm, and his first care was to call the gigantic white demon to his aid. meanwhile kai-káús, full of the wildest anticipations of victory, was encamped on the plain near the city in splendid state, and preparing to commence the final overthrow of the enemy on the following day. in the night, however, a cloud came, and deep darkness like pitch overspread the earth, and tremendous hail-stones poured down upon the persian host, throwing them into the greatest confusion. thousands were destroyed, others fled, and were scattered abroad in the gloom. the morning dawned, but it brought no light to the eyes of kai-káús; and amidst the horrors he experienced, his treasury was captured, and the soldiers of his army either killed or made prisoners of war. then did he bitterly lament that he had not followed the wise counsel of zál. seven days he was involved in this dreadful affliction, and on the eighth day he heard the roar of the white demon, saying: "o king, thou art the willow-tree, all barren, with neither fruit, nor flower. what could induce the dream of conquering mázinderán? hadst thou no friend to warn thee of thy folly? hadst thou not heard of the white demon's power-- of him, who from the gorgeous vault of heaven can charm the stars? from this mad enterprise others have wisely shrunk--and what hast thou accomplished by a more ambitious course? thy soldiers have slain many, dire destruction and spoil have been their purpose--thy wild will has promptly been obeyed; but thou art now without an army, not one man remains to lift a sword, or stand in thy defence; not one to hear thy groans and thy despair." there were selected from the army twelve thousand of the demon-warriors, to take charge of and hold in custody the iránian captives, all the chiefs, as well as the soldiers, being secured with bonds, and only allowed food enough to keep them alive. arzang, one of the demon-leaders, having got possession of the wealth, the crown and jewels, belonging to kai-káús, was appointed to escort the captive king and his troops, all of whom were deprived of sight, to the city of mázinderán, where they were delivered into the hands of the monarch of that country. the white demon, after thus putting an end to hostilities, returned to his own abode. kai-káús, strictly guarded as he was, found an opportunity of sending an account of his blind and helpless condition to zál, in which he lamented that he had not followed his advice, and urgently requested him, if he was not himself in confinement, to come to his assistance, and release him from captivity. when zál heard the melancholy story, he gnawed the very skin of his body with vexation, and turning to rustem, conferred with him in private. "the sword must be unsheathed, since kai-káús is bound a captive in the dragon's den, and rakush must be saddled for the field, and thou must bear the weight of this emprize; for i have lived two centuries, and old age unfits me for the heavy toils of war. should'st thou release the king, thy name will be exalted o'er the earth.--then don thy mail, and gain immortal honor." rustem replied that it was a long journey to mázinderán, and that the king had been six months on the road. upon this zál observed that there were two roads--the most tedious one was that which kai-káús had taken; but by the other, which was full of dangers and difficulty, and lions, and demons, and sorcery, he might reach mázinderán in seven days, if he reached it at all. on hearing these words rustem assented, and chose the short road, observing: "although it is not wise, they say, with willing feet to track the way to hell; though only men who've lost, all love of life, by misery crossed, would rush into the tiger's lair, and die, poor reckless victims, there; i gird my loins, whate'er may be, and trust in god for victory." on the following day, resigning himself to the protection of heaven, he put on his war attire, and with his favorite horse, rakush, properly caparisoned, stood prepared for the journey. his mother, rúdábeh, took leave of him with great sorrow; and the young hero departed from sístán, consoling himself and his friends, thus: "o'er him who seeks the battle-field, nobly his prisoned king to free, heaven will extend its saving shield, and crown his arms with victory." the seven labors of rustem first stage.--he rapidly pursued his way, performing two days' journey in one, and soon came to a forest full of wild asses. oppressed with hunger, he succeeded in securing one of them, which he roasted over a fire, lighted by sparks produced by striking the point of his spear, and kept in a blaze with dried grass and branches of trees. after regaling himself, and satisfying his hunger, he loosened the bridle of rakush, and allowed him to graze; and choosing a safe place for repose during the night, and taking care to have his sword under his head, he went to sleep among the reeds of that wilderness. in a short space a fierce lion appeared, and attacked rakush with great violence; but rakush very speedily with his teeth and heels put an end to his furious assailant. rustem, awakened by the confusion, and seeing the dead lion before him, said to his favorite companion:-- "ah! rakush, why so thoughtless grown, to fight a lion thus alone; for had it been thy fate to bleed, and not thy foe, my gallant steed! how could thy master have conveyed his helm, and battle-axe, and blade, kamund, and bow, and buberyán, unaided, to mázinderán? why didst thou fail to give the alarm, and save thyself from chance of harm, by neighing loudly in my ear; but though thy bold heart knows no fear, from such unwise exploits refrain, nor try a lion's strength again." saying this, rustem laid down to sleep, and did not awake till the morning dawned. as the sun rose, he remounted rakush, and proceeded on his journey towards mázinderán. second stage.--after travelling rapidly for some time, he entered a desert, in which no water was to be found, and the sand was so burning hot, that it seemed to be instinct with fire. both horse and rider were oppressed with the most maddening thirst. rustem alighted, and vainly wandered about in search of relief, till almost exhausted, he put up a prayer to heaven for protection against the evils which surrounded him, engaged as he was in an enterprise for the release of kai-káús and the persian army, then in the power of the demons. with pious earnestness he besought the almighty to bless him in the great work; and whilst in a despairing mood he was lamenting his deplorable condition, his tongue and throat being parched with thirst, his body prostrate on the sand, under the influence of a raging sun, he saw a sheep pass by, which he hailed as the harbinger of good. rising up and grasping his sword in his hand, he followed the animal, and came to a fountain of water, where he devoutly returned thanks to god for the blessing which had preserved his existence, and prevented the wolves from feeding on his lifeless limbs. refreshed by the cool water, he then looked out for something to allay his hunger, and killing a gor, he lighted a fire and roasted it, and regaled upon its savory flesh, which he eagerly tore from the bones. when the period of rest arrived, rustem addressed rakush, and said to him angrily:-- "beware, my steed, of future strife. again thou must not risk thy life; encounter not with lion fell, nor demon still more terrible; but should an enemy appear, ring loud the warning in my ear." after delivering these injunctions, rustem laid down to sleep, leaving rakush unbridled, and at liberty to crop the herbage close by. third stage.--at midnight a monstrous dragon-serpent issued from the forest; it was eighty yards in length, and so fierce, that neither elephant, nor demon, nor lion, ever ventured to pass by its lair. it came forth, and seeing the champion asleep, and a horse near him, the latter was the first object of attack. but rakush retired towards his master, and neighed and beat the ground so furiously, that rustem soon awoke; looking around on every side, however, he saw nothing--the dragon had vanished, and he went to sleep again. again the dragon burst out of the thick darkness, and again rakush was at the pillow of his master, who rose up at the alarm: but anxiously trying to penetrate the dreary gloom, he saw nothing--all was a blank; and annoyed at this apparently vexatious conduct of his horse, he spoke sharply:-- "why thus again disturb my rest, when sleep had softly soothed my breast? i told thee, if thou chanced to see another dangerous enemy, to sound the alarm; but not to keep depriving me of needful sleep; when nothing meets the eye nor ear, nothing to cause a moment's fear! but if again my rest is broke, on thee shall fall the fatal stroke, and i myself will drag this load of ponderous arms along the road; yes, i will go, a lonely man, without thee, to mázinderán." rustem again went to sleep, and rakush was resolved this time not to move a step from his side, for his heart was grieved and afflicted by the harsh words that had been addressed to him. the dragon again appeared, and the faithful horse almost tore up the earth with his heels, to rouse his sleeping master. rustem again awoke, and sprang to his feet, and was again angry; but fortunately at that moment sufficient light was providentially given for him to see the prodigious cause of alarm. then swift he drew his sword, and closed in strife with that huge monster.--dreadful was the shock and perilous to rustem; but when rakush perceived the contest doubtful, furiously, with his keen teeth, he bit and tore away the dragon's scaly hide; whilst quick as thought the champion severed off the ghastly head, and deluged all the plain with horrid blood. amazed to see a form so hideous breathless stretched out before him, he returned thanks to the omnipotent for his success, saying--"upheld by thy protecting arm, what is a lion's strength, a demon's rage, or all the horrors of the burning desert, with not one drop to quench devouring thirst? nothing, since power and might proceed from thee." fourth stage.--rustem having resumed the saddle, continued his journey through an enchanted territory, and in the evening came to a beautifully green spot, refreshed by flowing rivulets, where he found, to his surprise, a ready-roasted deer, and some bread and salt. he alighted, and sat down near the enchanted provisions, which vanished at the sound of his voice, and presently a tambourine met his eyes, and a flask of wine. taking up the instrument he played upon it, and chanted a ditty about his own wanderings, and the exploits which he most loved. he said that he had no pleasure in banquets, but only in the field fighting with heroes and crocodiles in war. the song happened to reach the ears of a sorceress, who, arrayed in all the charms of beauty, suddenly approached him, and sat down by his side. the champion put up a prayer of gratitude for having been supplied with food and wine, and music, in the desert of mázinderán, and not knowing that the enchantress was a demon in disguise, he placed in her hands a cup of wine in the name of god; but at the mention of the creator, the enchanted form was converted into a black fiend. seeing this, rustem threw his kamund, and secured the demon; and, drawing his sword, at once cut the body in two! fifth stage.-- from thence proceeding onward, he approached a region destitute of light, a void of utter darkness. neither moon nor star peep'd through the gloom; no choice of path remained, and therefore, throwing loose the rein, he gave rakush the power to travel on, unguided. at length the darkness was dispersed, the earth became a scene, joyous and light, and gay, covered with waving corn--there rustem paused and quitting his good steed among the grass, laid himself gently down, and, wearied, slept; his shield beneath his head, his sword before him. when the keeper of the forest saw the stranger and his horse, he went to rustem, then asleep, and struck his staff violently on the ground, and having thus awakened the hero, he asked him, devil that he was, why he had allowed his horse to feed upon the green corn-field. angry at these words, rustem, without uttering a syllable, seized hold of the keeper by the ears, and wrung them off. the mutilated wretch, gathering up his severed ears, hurried away, covered with blood, to his master, aúlád, and told him of the injury he had sustained from a man like a black demon, with a tiger-skin cuirass and an iron helmet; showing at the same time the bleeding witnesses of his sufferings. upon being informed of this outrageous proceeding, aúlád, burning with wrath, summoned together his fighting men, and hastened by the directions of the keeper to the place where rustem had been found asleep. the champion received the angry lord of the land, fully prepared, on horseback, and heard him demand his name, that he might not slay a worthless antagonist, and why he had torn off the ears of his forest-keeper! rustem replied that the very sound of his name would make him shudder with horror. aúlád then ordered his troops to attack rustem, and they rushed upon him with great fury; but their leader was presently killed by the master-hand, and great numbers were also scattered lifeless over the plain. the survivors running away, rustem's next object was to follow and secure, by his kamund, the person of aúlád, and with admirable address and ingenuity, he succeeded in dismounting him and taking him alive. he then bound his hands, and said to him:-- "if thou wilt speak the truth unmixed with lies, unmixed with false prevaricating words, and faithfully point out to me the caves of the white demon and his warrior chiefs-- and where káús is prisoned--thy reward shall be the kingdom of mázinderán; for i, myself, will place thee on that throne. but if thou play'st me false--thy worthless blood shall answer for the foul deception." "stay, be not in wrath," aúlád at once replied-- "thy wish shall be fulfilled--and thou shalt know where king káús is prisoned--and, beside, where the white demon reigns. between two dark and lofty mountains, in two hundred caves immeasurably deep, his people dwell. twelve hundred demons keep the watch by night and baid, and sinja. like a reed, the hills tremble whenever the white demon moves. but dangerous is the way. a stony desert lies full before thee, which the nimble deer has never passed. then a prodigious stream two farsangs wide obstructs thy path, whose banks are covered with a host of warrior-demons, guarding the passage to mázinderán; and thou art but a single man--canst thou o'ercome such fearful obstacles as these?" at this the champion smiled. "show but the way, and thou shalt see what one man can perform, with power derived from god! lead on, with speed, to royal káús." with obedient haste aúlád proceeded, rustem following fast, mounted on rakush. neither dismal night nor joyous day they rested--on they went until at length they reached the fatal field, where káús was o'ercome. at midnight hour, whilst watching with attentive eye and ear, a piercing clamor echoed all around, and blazing fires were seen, and numerous lamps burnt bright on every side. rustem inquired what this might be. "it is mázinderán," aúlád rejoined, "and the white demon's chiefs are gathered there." then rustem to a tree bound his obedient guide--to keep him safe, and to recruit his strength, laid down awhile and soundly slept. when morning dawned, he rose, and mounting rakush, put his helmet on, the tiger-skin defended his broad chest, and sallying forth, he sought the demon chief, arzang, and summoned him with such a roar that stream and mountain shook. arzang sprang up, hearing a human voice, and from his tent indignant issued--him the champion met, and clutched his arms and ears, and from his body tore off the gory head, and cast it far amidst the shuddering demons, who with fear shrunk back and fled, precipitate, lest they should likewise feel that dreadful punishment. sixth stage.--after this achievement rustem returned to the place where he had left aúlád, and having released him, sat down under the tree and related what he had done. he then commanded his guide to show the way to the place where kai-káús was confined; and when the champion entered the city of mázinderán, the neighing of rakush was so loud that the sound distinctly reached the ears of the captive monarch. káús rejoiced, and said to his people: "i have heard the voice of rakush, and my misfortunes are at an end;" but they thought he was either insane or telling them a dream. the actual appearance of rustem, however, soon satisfied them. gúdarz, and tús, and báhrám, and gíw, and gustahem, were delighted to meet him, and the king embraced him with great warmth and affection, and heard from him with admiration the story of his wonderful progress and exploits. but káús and his warriors, under the influence and spells of the demons, were still blind, and he cautioned rustem particularly to conceal rakush from the sight of the sorcerers, for if the white demon should hear of the slaughter of arzang, and the conqueror being at mázinderán, he would immediately assemble an overpowering army of demons, and the consequences might be terrible. "but thou must storm the cavern of the demons and their gigantic chief--great need there is for sword and battle-axe--and with the aid of heaven, these miscreant sorcerers may fall victims to thy avenging might. the road is straight before thee--reach the seven mountains, and there thou wilt discern the various groups, which guard the awful passage. further on, within a deep and horrible recess, frowns the white demon--conquer him--destroy that fell magician, and restore to sight thy suffering king, and all his warrior train. the wise in cures declare, that the warm blood from the white demon's heart, dropped in the eye, removes all blindness--it is, then, my hope, favored by god, that thou wilt slay the fiend, and save us from the misery we endure, the misery of darkness without end." rustem accordingly, after having warned his friends and companions in arms to keep on the alert, prepared for the enterprise, and guided by aúlád, hurried on till he came to the haft-koh, or seven mountains. there he found numerous companies of demons; and coming to one of the caverns, saw it crowded with the same awful beings. and now consulting with aúlád, he was informed that the most advantageous time for attack would be when the sun became hot, for then all the demons were accustomed to go to sleep, with the exception of a very small number who were appointed to keep watch. he therefore waited till the sun rose high in the firmament; and as soon as he had bound aúlád to a tree hand and foot, with the thongs of his kamund, drew his sword, and rushed among the prostrate demons, dismembering and slaying all that fell in his way. dreadful was the carnage, and those who survived fled in the wildest terror from the champion's fury. seventh stage.--rustem now hastened forward to encounter the white demon. advancing to the cavern, he looked down and saw a gloomy place, dismal as hell; but not one cursed, impious sorcerer was visible in that infernal depth. awhile he stood--his falchion in his grasp, and rubbed his eyes to sharpen his dim sight, and then a mountain-form, covered with hair, filling up all the space, rose into view. the monster was asleep, but presently the daring shouts of rustem broke his rest, and brought him suddenly upon his feet, when seizing a huge mill-stone, forth he came, and thus accosted the intruding chief: "art thou so tired of life, that reckless thus thou dost invade the precincts of the demons? tell me thy name, that i may not destroy a nameless thing!" the champion stern replied, "my name is rustem--sent by zál, my father, descended from the champion sám súwár, to be revenged on thee--the king of persia being now a prisoner in mázinderán." when the accursed demon heard the name of sám súwár, he, like a serpent, writhed in agony of spirit; terrified at that announcement--then, recovering strength, he forward sprang, and hurled the mill-stone huge against his adversary, who fell back and disappointed the prodigious blow. black frowned the demon, and through rustem's heart a wild sensation ran of dire alarm; but, rousing up, his courage was revived, and wielding furiously his beaming sword, he pierced the demon's thigh, and lopped the limb; then both together grappled, and the cavern shook with the contest--each, at times, prevailed; the flesh of both was torn, and streaming blood crimsoned the earth. "if i survive this day," said rustem in his heart, in that dread strife, "my life must be immortal." the white demon, with equal terror, muttered to himself: "i now despair of life--sweet life; no more shall i be welcomed at mázinderán." and still they struggled hard--still sweat and blood poured down at every strain. rustem, at last, gathering fresh power, vouchsafed by favouring heaven and bringing all his mighty strength to bear, raised up the gasping demon in his arms, and with such fury dashed him to the ground, that life no longer moved his monstrous frame. promptly he then tore out the reeking heart, and crowds of demons simultaneous fell as part of him, and stained the earth with gore; others who saw this signal overthrow, trembled, and hurried from the scene of blood. then the great victor, issuing from that cave with pious haste--took off his helm, and mail, and royal girdle--and with water washed his face and body--choosing a pure place for prayer--to praise his maker--him who gave the victory, the eternal source of good; without whose grace and blessing, what is man! with it his armor is impregnable. the champion having finished his prayer, resumed his war habiliments, and going to aúlád, released him from the tree, and gave into his charge the heart of the white demon. he then pursued his journey back to káús at mázinderán. on the way aúlád solicited some reward for the services he had performed, and rustem again promised that he should be appointed governor of the country. "but first the monarch of mázinderán, the demon-king, must be subdued, and cast into the yawning cavern--and his legions of foul enchanters, utterly destroyed." upon his arrival at mázinderán, rustem related to his sovereign all that he had accomplished, and especially that he had torn out and brought away the white demon's heart, the blood of which was destined to restore kai-káús and his warriors to sight. rustem was not long in applying the miraculous remedy, and the moment the blood touched their eyes, the fearful blindness was perfectly cured. the champion brought the demon's heart, and squeezed the blood from every part, which, dropped upon the injured sight, made all things visible and bright; one moment broke that magic gloom, which seemed more dreadful than the tomb. the monarch immediately ascended his throne surrounded by all his warriors, and seven days were spent in mutual congratulations and rejoicing. on the eighth day they all resumed the saddle, and proceeded to complete the destruction of the enemy. they set fire to the city, and burnt it to the ground, and committed such horrid carnage among the remaining magicians that streams of loathsome blood crimsoned all the place. káús afterwards sent ferhád as an ambassador to the king of mázinderán, suggesting to him the expediency of submission, and representing to him the terrible fall of arzang, and of the white demon with all his host, as a warning against resistance to the valor of rustem. but when the king of mázinderán heard from ferhád the purpose of his embassy, he expressed great astonishment, and replied that he himself was superior in all respects to káús; that his empire was more extensive, and his warriors more numerous and brave. "have i not," said he, "a hundred war-elephants, and káús not one? wherever i move, conquest marks my way; why then should i fear the sovereign of persia? why should i submit to him?" this haughty tone made a deep impression upon ferhád, who returning quickly, told káús of the proud bearing and fancied power of the ruler of mázinderán. rustem was immediately sent for; and so indignant was he on hearing the tidings, that "every hair on his body started up like a spear," and he proposed to go himself with a second dispatch. the king was too much pleased to refuse, and another letter was written more urgent than the first, threatening the enemy to hang up his severed head on the walls of his own fort, if he persisted in his contumacy and scorn of the offer made. as soon as rustem had come within a short distance of the court of the king of mázinderán, accounts reached his majesty of the approach of another ambassador, when a deputation of warriors was sent to receive him. rustem observing them, and being in sight of the hostile army, with a view to show his strength, tore up a large tree on the road by the roots, and dexterously wielded it in his hand like a spear. tilting onwards, he flung it down before the wondering enemy, and one of the chiefs then thought it incumbent upon him to display his own prowess. he advanced, and offered to grasp hands with rustem: they met; but the gripe of the champion was so excruciating that the sinews of his adversary cracked, and in agony he fell from his horse. intelligence of this discomfiture was instantly conveyed to the king, who then summoned his most valiant and renowned chieftain, kálahúr, and directed him to go and punish, signally, the warrior who had thus presumed to triumph over one of his heroes. accordingly kálahúr appeared, and boastingly stretched out his hand, which rustem wrung with such grinding force, that the very nails dropped off, and blood started from his body. this was enough, and kálahúr hastily returned to the king, and anxiously recommended him to submit to terms, as it would be in vain to oppose such invincible strength. the king was both grieved and angry at this situation of affairs, and invited the ambassador to his presence. after inquiring respecting káús and the persian army, he said: "and thou art rustem, clothed with mighty power, who slaughtered the white demon, and now comest to crush the monarch of mázinderán!" "no!" said the champion, "i am but his servant, and even unworthy of that noble station; my master being a warrior, the most valiant that ever graced the world since time began. nothing am i; but what doth he resemble! what is a lion, elephant, or demon! engaged in fight, he is himself a host!" the ambassador then tried to convince the king of the folly of resistance, and of his certain defeat if he continued to defy the power of káús and the bravery of rustem; but the effort was fruitless, and both states prepared for battle. the engagement which ensued was obstinate and sanguinary, and after seven days of hard fighting, neither army was victorious, neither defeated. afflicted at this want of success, káús grovelled in the dust, and prayed fervently to the almighty to give him the triumph. he addressed all his warriors, one by one, and urged them to increased exertions; and on the eighth day, when the battle was renewed, prodigies of valor were performed. rustem singled out, and encountered the king of mázinderán, and fiercely they fought together with sword and javelin; but suddenly, just as he was rushing on with overwhelming force, his adversary, by his magic art, transformed himself into a stony rock. rustem and the persian warriors were all amazement. the fight had been suspended for some time, when káús came forward to inquire the cause; and hearing with astonishment of the transformation, ordered his soldiers to drag the enchanted mass towards his own tent; but all the strength that could be applied was unequal to move so great a weight, till rustem set himself to the task, and amidst the wondering army, lifted up the rock and conveyed it to the appointed place. he then addressed the work of sorcery, and said: "if thou dost not resume thy original shape, i will instantly break thee, flinty-rock as thou now art, into atoms, and scatter thee in the dust." the magician-king was alarmed by this threat, and reappeared in his own form, and then rustem, seizing his hand, brought him to káús, who, as a punishment for his wickedness and atrocity, ordered him to be slain, and his body to be cut into a thousand pieces! the wealth of the country was immediately afterwards secured; and at the recommendation of rustem, aúlád was appointed governor of mázinderán. after the usual thanksgivings and rejoicings on account of the victory, káús and his warriors returned to persia, where splendid honors and rewards were bestowed on every soldier for his heroic services. rustem having received the highest acknowledgments of his merit, took leave, and returned to his father zál at zábulistán. suddenly an ardent desire arose in the heart of káús to survey all the provinces and states of his empire. he wished to visit túrán, and chín, and mikrán, and berber, and zirra. having commenced his royal tour of inspection, he found the king of berberistán in a state of rebellion, with his army prepared to dispute his authority. a severe battle was the consequence; but the refractory sovereign was soon compelled to retire, and the elders of the city came forward to sue for mercy and protection. after this triumph, káús turned towards the mountain káf, and visited various other countries, and in his progress became the guest of the son of zál in zábulistán where he stayed a month, enjoying the pleasures of the festive board and the sports of the field. the disaffection of the king of hámáverán, in league with the king of misser and shám, and the still hostile king of berberistán, soon, however, drew him from ním-rúz, and quitting the principality of rustem, his arms were promptly directed against his new enemy, who in the contest which ensued, made an obstinate resistance, but was at length overpowered, and obliged to ask for quarter. after the battle, káús was informed that the sháh had a daughter of great beauty, named súdáveh, possessing a form as graceful as the tall cypress, musky ringlets, and all the charms of heaven. from the description of this damsel he became enamoured, and through the medium of a messenger, immediately offered himself to be her husband. the father did not seem to be glad at this proposal, observing to the messenger, that he had but two things in life valuable to him, and those were his daughter and his property; one was his solace and delight, and the other his support; to be deprived of both would be death to him; still he could not gainsay the wishes of a king of such power, and his conqueror. he then sorrowfully communicated the overture to his child, who, however, readily consented; and in the course of a week, the bride was sent escorted by soldiers, and accompanied by a magnificent cavalcade, consisting of a thousand horses and mules, a thousand camels, and numerous female attendants. when súdáveh descended from her litter, glowing with beauty, with her rich dark tresses flowing to her feet, and cheeks like the rose, káús regarded her with admiration and rapture; and so impatient was he to possess that lovely treasure, that the marriage rites were performed according to the laws of the country without delay. the sháh of hámáverán, however, was not satisfied, and he continually plotted within himself how he might contrive to regain possession of súdáveh, as well as be revenged upon the king. with this view he invited káús to be his guest for a while; but súdáveh cautioned the king not to trust to the treachery which dictated the invitation, as she apprehended from it nothing but mischief and disaster. the warning, however, was of no avail, for káús accepted the proffered hospitality of his new father-in-law. he accordingly proceeded with his bride and his most famous warriors to the city, where he was received and entertained in the most sumptuous manner, seated on a gorgeous throne, and felt infinitely exhilarated with the magnificence and the hilarity by which he was surrounded. seven days were passed in this glorious banqueting and delight; but on the succeeding night, the sound of trumpets and the war-cry was heard. the intrusion of soldiers changed the face of the scene; and the king, who had just been waited on, and pampered with such respect and devotion, was suddenly seized, together with his principal warriors, and carried off to a remote fortress, situated on a high mountain, where they were imprisoned, and guarded by a thousand valiant men. his tents were plundered, and all his treasure taken away. at this event his wife was inconsolable and deaf to all entreaties from her father, declaring that she preferred death to separation from her husband; upon which she was conveyed to the same dungeon, to mingle groans with the captive king. alas! how false and fickle is the world, friendship nor pleasure, nor the ties of blood, can check the headlong course of human passions; treachery still laughs at kindred;--who is safe in this tumultuous sphere of strife and sorrow? invasion of irÁn by afrÁsiyÁb the intelligence of káús's imprisonment was very soon spread through the world, and operated as a signal to all the inferior states to get possession of irán. afrásiyáb was the most powerful aspirant to the throne; and gathering an immense army, he hurried from túrán, and made a rapid incursion into the country, which after three months he succeeded in conquering, scattering ruin and desolation wherever he came. some of those who escaped from the field bent their steps towards zábulistán, by whom rustem was informed of the misfortunes in which káús was involved; it therefore became necessary that he should again endeavor to effect the liberation of his sovereign; and accordingly, after assembling his troops from different quarters, the first thing he did was to despatch a messenger to hámáverán, with a letter, demanding the release of the prisoners; and in the event of a refusal, declaring the king should suffer the same fate as the white demon and the magician-monarch of mázinderán. although this threat produced considerable alarm in the breast of the king of hámáverán, he arrogantly replied, that if rustem wished to be placed in the same situation as káús, he was welcome to come as soon as he liked. upon hearing this defiance, rustem left zábulistán, and after an arduous journey by land and water, arrived at the confines of hámáverán. the king of that country, roused by the noise and uproar, and bold aspect of the invading army, drew up his own forces, and a battle ensued, but he was unequal to stand his ground before the overwhelming courage of rustem. his troops fled in confusion, and then almost in despair he anxiously solicited assistance from the chiefs of berber and misser, which was immediately given. thus three kings and their armies were opposed to the power and resources of one man. their formidable array covered an immense space. each proud his strongest force to bring, the eagle of valour flapped his wing. but when the king of hámáverán beheld the person of rustem in all its pride and strength, and commanding power, he paused with apprehension and fear, and intrenched himself well behind his own troops. rustem, on the contrary, was full of confidence. "what, though there be a hundred thousand men pitched against one, what use is there in numbers when heaven is on my side: with heaven my friend, the foe will soon be mingled with the dust." having ordered the trumpets to sound, he rushed on the enemy, mounted on rakush, and committed dreadful havoc among them. it would be difficult to tell how many heads, dissevered, fell, fighting his dreadful way; on every side his falchion gleamed, hot blood in every quarter streamed on that tremendous day. the chief of hámáverán and his legions were the first to shrink from the conflict; and then the king of misser, ashamed of their cowardice, rapidly advanced towards the champion with the intention of punishing him for his temerity, but he had no sooner received one of rustem's hard blows on his head, than he turned to flight, and thus hoped to escape the fury of his antagonist. that fortune, however, was denied him, for being instantly pursued, he was caught with the kamund, or noose, thrown round his loins, dragged from his horse, and safely delivered into the hands of báhrám, who bound him, and kept him by his side. ring within ring the lengthening kamund flew, and from his steed the astonished monarch drew. having accomplished this signal capture, rustem proceeded against the troops under the sháh of berberistán, which, valorously aided as he was, by zúára, he soon vanquished and dispatched; and impelling rakush impetuously forward upon the sháh himself, made him and forty of his principal chiefs prisoners of war. the king of hámáverán, seeing the horrible carnage, and the defeat of all his expectations, speedily sent a messenger to rustem, to solicit a suspension of the fight, offering to deliver up káús and all his warriors, and all the regal property and treasure which had been plundered from him. the troops of the three kingdoms also urgently prayed for quarter and protection, and rustem readily agreed to the proffered conditions. "káús to liberty restore, with all his chiefs, i ask no more; for him alone i conquering came; than him no other prize i claim." the return of kai-kÁÚs it was a joyous day when káús and his illustrious heroes were released from their fetters, and removed from the mountain-fortress in which they were confined. rustem forthwith reseated him on his throne, and did not fail to collect for the public treasury all the valuables of the three states which had submitted to his power. the troops of misser, berberistán, and hámáverán, having declared their allegiance to the persian king, the accumulated numbers increased káús's army to upwards of three hundred thousand men, horse and foot, and with this immense force he moved towards irán. before marching, however, he sent a message to afrásiyáb, commanding him to quit the country he had so unjustly invaded, and recommending him to be contented with the territory of túrán. "hast thou forgotten rustem's power, when thou wert in that perilous hour by him overthrown? thy girdle broke, or thou hadst felt the conqueror's yoke. thy crowding warriors proved thy shield, they saved and dragged thee from the field; by them unrescued then, wouldst thou have lived to vaunt thy prowess now?" this message was received with bitter feelings of resentment by afrásiyáb, who prepared his army for battle without delay, and promised to bestow his daughter in marriage and a kingdom upon the man who should succeed in taking rustem alive. this proclamation was a powerful excitement: and when the engagement took place, mighty efforts were made for the reward; but those who aspired to deserve it were only the first to fall. afrásiyáb beholding the fall of so many of his chiefs, dashed forward to cope with the champion: but his bravery was unavailing; for, suffering sharply under the overwhelming attacks of rustem, he was glad to effect his escape, and retire from the field. in short, he rapidly retraced his steps to túrán, leaving káús in full possession of the kingdom. with anguish stricken, he regained his home, after a wild and ignominious flight; the world presenting nothing to his lips but poison-beverage; all was death to him. káús being again seated on the throne of persia, he resumed the administration of affairs with admirable justice and liberality, and despatched some of his most distinguished warriors to secure the welfare and prosperity of the states of mervi, and balkh, and níshapúr, and hírát. at the same time he conferred on rustem the title of jaháni pahlván, or, champion of the world. in safety now from foreign and domestic enemies, káús turned his attention to pursuits very different from war and conquest. he directed the demons to construct two splendid palaces on the mountain alberz, and separate mansions for the accommodation of his household, which he decorated in the most magnificent manner. all the buildings were beautifully arranged both for convenience and pleasure; and gold and silver and precious stones were used so lavishly, and the brilliancy produced by their combined effect was so great, that night and day appeared to be the same. iblís, ever active, observing the vanity and ambition of the king, was not long in taking advantage of the circumstance, and he soon persuaded the demons to enter into his schemes. accordingly one of them, disguised as a domestic servant, was instructed to present a nosegay to káús; and after respectfully kissing the ground, say to him:-- "thou art great as king can be, boundless in thy majesty; what is all this earth to thee, all beneath the sky? peris, mortals, demons, hear thy commanding voice with fear; thou art lord of all things here, but, thou canst not fly! "that remains for thee; to know things above, as things below, how the planets roll; how the sun his light displays, how the moon darts forth her rays; how the nights succeed the days; what the secret cause betrays, and who directs the whole!" this artful address of the demon satisfied káús of the imperfection of his nature, and the enviable power which he had yet to obtain. to him, therefore, it became matter of deep concern, how he might be enabled to ascend the heavens without wings, and for that purpose he consulted his astrologers, who presently suggested a way in which his desires might be successfully accomplished. they contrived to rob an eagle's nest of its young, which they reared with great care, supplying them well with invigorating food, till they grew large and strong. a framework of aloes-wood was then prepared; and at each of the four corners was fixed perpendicularly, a javelin, surmounted on the point with flesh of a goat. at each corner again one of the eagles was bound, and in the middle káús was seated in great pomp with a goblet of wine before him. as soon as the eagles became hungry, they endeavored to get at the goat's flesh upon the javelins, and by flapping their wings and flying upwards, they quickly raised up the throne from the ground. hunger still pressing them, and still being distant from their prey, they ascended higher and higher in the clouds, conveying the astonished king far beyond his own country; but after long and fruitless exertion their strength failed them, and unable to keep their way, the whole fabric came tumbling down from the sky, and fell upon a dreary solitude in the kingdom of chín. there káús was left, a prey to hunger, alone, and in utter despair, until he was discovered by a band of demons, whom his anxious ministers had sent in search of him. rustem, and gúdarz, and tús, at length heard of what had befallen the king, and with feelings of sorrow not unmixed with indignation, set off to his assistance. "since i was born," said gúdarz, "never did i see such a man as káús. he seems to be entirely destitute of reason and understanding; always in distress and affliction. this is the third calamity in which he has wantonly involved himself. first at mázinderán, then at hámáverán, and now he is being punished for attempting to discover the secrets of the heavens!" when they reached the wilderness into which káús had fallen, gúdarz repeated to him the same observations, candidly telling him that he was fitter for a mad-house than a throne, and exhorting him to be satisfied with his lot and be obedient to god, the creator of all things. the miserable king was softened to tears, acknowledged his folly; and as soon as he was escorted back to his palace, he shut himself up, remaining forty days, unseen, prostrating himself in shame and repentance. after that he recovered his spirits, and resumed the administration of affairs with his former liberality, clemency, and justice, almost rivalling the glory of feridún and jemshíd. one day rustem made a splendid feast; and whilst he and his brother warriors, gíw and gúdarz, and tús, were quaffing their wine, it was determined upon to form a pretended hunting party, and repair to the sporting grounds of afrásiyáb. the feast lasted seven days; and on the eighth, preparations were made for the march, an advance party being pushed on to reconnoitre the motions of the enemy. afrásiyáb was soon informed of what was going on, and flattered himself with the hopes of getting rustem and his seven champions into his thrall, for which purpose he called together his wise men and warriors, and said to them: "you have only to secure these invaders, and káús will soon cease to be the sovereign of persia." to accomplish this object, a túránian army of thirty thousand veterans was assembled, and ordered to occupy all the positions and avenues in the vicinity of the sporting grounds. an immense clamor, and thick clouds of dust, which darkened the skies, announced their approach; and when intelligence of their numbers was brought to rustem, the undaunted champion smiled, and said to garáz: "fortune favors me; what cause is there to fear the king of túrán? his army does not exceed a hundred thousand men. were i alone, with rakush, with my armor, and battle-axe, i would not shrink from his legions. have i not seven companions in arms, and is not one of them equal to five hundred túránian heroes? let afrásiyáb dare to cross the boundary-river, and the contest will presently convince him that he has only sought his own defeat." promptly at a signal the cup-bearer produced goblets of the red wine of zábul; and in one of them rustem pledged his royal master with loyalty, and tús and zúára joined in the convivial and social demonstration of attachment to the king. the champion arrayed in his buburiyán, mounted rakush, and advanced towards the túránian army. afrásiyáb, when he beheld him in all his terrible strength and vigor, was amazed and disheartened, accompanied, as he was, by tús, and gúdarz, and gurgín, and gíw, and báhrám, and berzín, and ferhád. the drums and trumpets of rustem were now heard, and immediately the hostile forces engaged with dagger, sword, and javelin. dreadful was the onset, and the fury with which the conflict was continued. in truth, so sanguinary and destructive was the battle that afrásiyáb exclaimed in grief and terror: "if this carnage lasts till the close of day, not a man of my army will remain alive. have i not one warrior endued with sufficient bravery to oppose and subdue this mighty rustem? what! not one fit to be rewarded with a diadem, with my own throne and kingdom, which i will freely give to the victor!" pílsum heard the promise, and was ambitious of earning the reward; but fate decreed it otherwise. his prodigious efforts were of no avail. alkús was equally unsuccessful, though the bravest of the brave among the túránian warriors. encountering rustem, his brain was pierced by a javelin wielded by the persian hero, and he fell dead from his saddle. this signal achievement astonished and terrified the túránians, who, however, made a further despairing effort against the champion and his seven conquering companions, but with no better result than before, and nothing remained to them excepting destruction or flight. choosing the latter they wheeled round, and endeavored to escape from the sanguinary fate that awaited them. seeing this precipitate movement of the enemy, rustem impelled rakush forward in pursuit, addressing his favorite horse with fondness and enthusiasm:-- "my valued friend--put forth thy speed, this is a time of pressing need; bear me away amidst the strife, that i may take that despot's life; and with my mace and javelin, flood this dusty plain with foe-man's blood." excited by his master's cry, the war-horse bounded o'er the plain, so swiftly that he seemed to fly, snorting with pride, and tossing high his streaming mane. and soon he reached that despot's side, "now is the time!" the champion cried, "this is the hour to victory given," and flung his noose--which bound the king fast for a moment in its ring; but soon, alas! the bond was riven. haply the tartar-monarch slipt away, not doomed to suffer on that bloody day; and freed from thrall, he hurrying led his legions cross the boundary-stream, leaving his countless heaps of dead to rot beneath the solar beam. onward he rushed with heart opprest, and broken fortunes; he had quaffed bright pleasure's cup--but now, unblest, poison was mingled with the draught! the booty in horses, treasure, armor, pavilions, and tents, was immense; and when the whole was secured, rustem and his companions fell back to the sporting-grounds already mentioned, from whence he informed kai-káús by letter of the victory that had been gained. after remaining two weeks there, resting from the toils of war and enjoying the pleasures of hunting, the party returned home to pay their respects to the persian king: and this is life! thus conquest and defeat, vary the lights and shades of human scenes, and human thought. whilst some, immersed in pleasure, enjoy the sweets, others again endure the miseries of the world. hope is deceived in this frail dwelling; certainty and safety are only dreams which mock the credulous mind; time sweeps o'er all things; why then should the wise mourn o'er events which roll resistless on, and set at nought all mortal opposition? story of sohrÁb o ye, who dwell in youth's inviting bowers, waste not, in useless joy, your fleeting hours, but rather let the tears of sorrow roll, and sad reflection fill the conscious soul. for many a jocund spring has passed away, and many a flower has blossomed, to decay; and human life, still hastening to a close, finds in the worthless dust its last repose. still the vain world abounds in strife and hate, and sire and son provoke each other's fate; and kindred blood by kindred hands is shed, and vengeance sleeps not--dies not, with the dead. all nature fades--the garden's treasures fall, young bud, and citron ripe--all perish, all. and now a tale of sorrow must be told, a tale of tears, derived from múbid old, and thus remembered.-- with the dawn of day, rustem arose, and wandering took his way, armed for the chase, where sloping to the sky, túrán's lone wilds in sullen grandeur lie; there, to dispel his melancholy mood, he urged his matchless steed through glen and wood. flushed with the noble game which met his view, he starts the wild-ass o'er the glistening dew; and, oft exulting, sees his quivering dart, plunge through the glossy skin, and pierce the heart. tired of the sport, at length, he sought the shade, which near a stream embowering trees displayed, and with his arrow's point, a fire he raised, and thorns and grass before him quickly blazed. the severed parts upon a bough he cast, to catch the flames; and when the rich repast was drest; with flesh and marrow, savory food, he quelled his hunger; and the sparkling flood that murmured at his feet, his thirst represt; then gentle sleep composed his limbs to rest. meanwhile his horse, for speed and form renown'd, ranged o'er the plain with flowery herbage crown'd, encumbering arms no more his sides opprest, no folding mail confined his ample chest,[ ] gallant and free, he left the champion's side, and cropp'd the mead, or sought the cooling tide; when lo! it chanced amid that woodland chase, a band of horsemen, rambling near the place, saw, with surprise, superior game astray, and rushed at once to seize the noble prey; but, in the imminent struggle, two beneath his steel-clad hoofs received the stroke of death; one proved a sterner fate--for downward borne, the mangled head was from the shoulders torn. still undismayed, again they nimbly sprung, and round his neck the noose entangling flung: now, all in vain, he spurns the smoking ground, in vain the tumult echoes all around; they bear him off, and view, with ardent eyes, his matchless beauty and majestic size; then soothe his fury, anxious to obtain, a bounding steed of his immortal strain. when rustem woke, and miss'd his favourite horse, the loved companion of his glorious course; sorrowing he rose, and, hastening thence, began to shape his dubious way to samengán; "reduced to journey thus, alone!" he said, "how pierce the gloom which thickens round my head; burthen'd, on foot, a dreary waste in view, where shall i bend my steps, what path pursue? the scoffing turks will cry, 'behold our might! we won the trophy from the champion-knight! from him who, reckless of his fame and pride, thus idly slept, and thus ignobly died,'" girding his loins he gathered from the field, his quivered stores, his beamy sword and shield, harness and saddle-gear were o'er him slung. bridle and mail across his shoulders hung.[ ] then looking round, with anxious eye, to meet, the broad impression of his charger's feet, the track he hail'd, and following, onward prest. while grief and hope alternate filled his breast. o'er vale and wild-wood led, he soon descries. the regal city's shining turrets rise. and when the champion's near approach is known, the usual homage waits him to the throne. the king, on foot, received his welcome guest with preferred friendship, and his coming blest: but rustem frowned, and with resentment fired, spoke of his wrongs, the plundered steed required. "i've traced his footsteps to your royal town, here must he be, protected by your crown; but if retained, if not from fetters freed, my vengeance shall o'ertake the felon-deed." "my honored guest!" the wondering king replied-- "shall rustem's wants or wishes be denied? but let not anger, headlong, fierce, and blind, o'ercloud the virtues of a generous mind. if still within the limits of my reign, the well known courser shall be thine again: for rakush never can remain concealed, no more than rustem in the battle-field! then cease to nourish useless rage, and share with joyous heart my hospitable fare." the son of zál now felt his wrath subdued, and glad sensations in his soul renewed. the ready herald by the king's command, convened the chiefs and warriors of the land; and soon the banquet social glee restored, and china wine-cups glittered on the board; and cheerful song, and music's magic power, and sparkling wine, beguiled the festive hour. the dulcet draughts o'er rustem's senses stole, and melting strains absorbed his softened soul. but when approached the period of repose, all, prompt and mindful, from the banquet rose; a couch was spread well worthy such a guest, perfumed with rose and musk; and whilst at rest, in deep sound sleep, the wearied champion lay, forgot were all the sorrows of the way. one watch had passed, and still sweet slumber shed its magic power around the hero's head-- when forth tahmíneh came--a damsel held an amber taper, which the gloom dispelled, and near his pillow stood; in beauty bright, the monarch's daughter struck his wondering sight. clear as the moon, in glowing charms arrayed, her winning eyes the light of heaven displayed; her cypress form entranced the gazer's view, her waving curls, the heart, resistless, drew, her eye-brows like the archer's bended bow; her ringlets, snares; her cheek, the rose's glow, mixed with the lily--from her ear-tips hung rings rich and glittering, star-like; and her tongue, and lips, all sugared sweetness--pearls the while sparkled within a mouth formed to beguile. her presence dimmed the stars, and breathing round fragrance and joy, she scarcely touched the ground, so light her step, so graceful--every part perfect, and suited to her spotless heart. rustem, surprised, the gentle maid addressed, and asked what lovely stranger broke his rest. "what is thy name," he said--"what dost thou seek amidst the gloom of night? fair vision, speak!" "o thou," she softly sigh'd, "of matchless fame! with pity hear, tahmíneh is my name! the pangs of love my anxious heart employ, and flattering promise long-expected joy; no curious eye has yet these features seen, my voice unheard, beyond the sacred screen.[ ] how often have i listened with amaze, to thy great deeds, enamoured of thy praise; how oft from every tongue i've heard the strain, and thought of thee--and sighed, and sighed again. the ravenous eagle, hovering o'er his prey, starts at thy gleaming sword and flies away: thou art the slayer of the demon brood, and the fierce monsters of the echoing wood. where'er thy mace is seen, shrink back the bold, thy javelin's flash all tremble to behold. enchanted with the stories of thy fame, my fluttering heart responded to thy name; and whilst their magic influence i felt, in prayer for thee devotedly i knelt; and fervent vowed, thus powerful glory charms, no other spouse should bless my longing arms. indulgent heaven propitious to my prayer, now brings thee hither to reward my care. túrán's dominions thou hast sought, alone, by night, in darkness--thou, the mighty one! o claim my hand, and grant my soul's desire; ask me in marriage of my royal sire; perhaps a boy our wedded love may crown, whose strength like thine may gain the world's renown. nay more--for samengán will keep my word-- rakush to thee again shall be restored." the damsel thus her ardent thought expressed, and rustem's heart beat joyous in his breast, hearing her passion--not a word was lost, and rakush safe, by him still valued most; he called her near; with graceful step she came, and marked with throbbing pulse his kindled flame. and now a múbid, from the champion-knight, requests the royal sanction to the rite; o'erjoyed, the king the honoured suit approves, o'erjoyed to bless the doting child he loves, and happier still, in showering smiles around, to be allied to warrior so renowned. when the delighted father, doubly blest, resigned his daughter to his glorious guest, the people shared the gladness which it gave, the union of the beauteous and the brave. to grace their nuptial day--both old and young, the hymeneal gratulations sung: "may this young moon bring happiness and joy, and every source of enmity destroy." the marriage-bower received the happy pair, and love and transport shower'd their blessings there. ere from his lofty sphere the morn had thrown his glittering radiance, and in splendour shone, the mindful champion, from his sinewy arm, his bracelet drew, the soul-ennobling charm; and, as he held the wondrous gift with pride, he thus address'd his love-devoted bride! "take this," he said, "and if, by gracious heaven, a daughter for thy solace should be given, let it among her ringlets be displayed, and joy and honour will await the maid; but should kind fate increase the nuptial-joy, and make thee mother of a blooming boy, around his arm this magic bracelet bind, to fire with virtuous deeds his ripening mind; the strength of sám will nerve his manly form, in temper mild, in valour like the storm; his not the dastard fate to shrink, or turn from where the lions of the battle burn; to him the soaring eagle from the sky will stoop, the bravest yield to him, or fly; thus shall his bright career imperious claim the well-won honours of immortal fame!" ardent he said, and kissed her eyes and face, and lingering held her in a fond embrace. when the bright sun his radiant brow displayed, and earth in all its loveliest hues arrayed, the champion rose to leave his spouse's side, the warm affections of his weeping bride. for her, too soon the winged moments flew, too soon, alas! the parting hour she knew; clasped in his arms, with many a streaming tear, she tried, in vain, to win his deafen'd ear; still tried, ah fruitless struggle! to impart, the swelling anguish of her bursting heart. the father now with gratulations due rustem approaches, and displays to view the fiery war-horse--welcome as the light of heaven, to one immersed in deepest night; the champion, wild with joy, fits on the rein, and girds the saddle on his back again; then mounts, and leaving sire and wife behind, onward to sístán rushes like the wind. but when returned to zábul's friendly shade, none knew what joys the warrior had delayed; still, fond remembrance, with endearing thought, oft to his mind the scene of rapture brought. when nine slow-circling months had roll'd away, sweet-smiling pleasure hailed the brightening day-- a wondrous boy tahmíneh's tears supprest, and lull'd the sorrows of her heart to rest; to him, predestined to be great and brave, the name sohráb his tender mother gave; and as he grew, amazed, the gathering throng, view'd his large limbs, his sinews firm and strong; his infant years no soft endearment claimed: athletic sports his eager soul inflamed; broad at the chest and taper round the loins, where to the rising hip the body joins; hunter and wrestler; and so great his speed, he could overtake, and hold the swiftest steed. his noble aspect, and majestic grace, betrayed the offspring of a glorious race. how, with a mother's ever anxious love, still to retain him near her heart she strove! for when the father's fond inquiry came, cautious, she still concealed his birth and name, and feign'd a daughter born, the evil fraught with misery to avert--but vain the thought; not many years had passed, with downy flight, ere he, tahmíneh's wonder and delight, with glistening eye, and youthful ardour warm, filled her foreboding bosom with alarm. "o now relieve my heart!" he said, "declare, from whom i sprang and breathe the vital air. since, from my childhood i have ever been, amidst my play-mates of superior mien; should friend or foe demand my father's name, let not my silence testify my shame! if still concealed, you falter, still delay, a mother's blood shall wash the crime away." "this wrath forego," the mother answering cried, "and joyful hear to whom thou art allied. a glorious line precedes thy destined birth, the mightiest heroes of the sons of earth. the deeds of sám remotest realms admire, and zál, and rustem thy illustrious sire!" in private, then, she rustem's letter placed before his view, and brought with eager haste three sparkling rubies, wedges three of gold, from persia sent--"behold," she said, "behold thy father's gifts, will these thy doubts remove the costly pledges of paternal love! behold this bracelet charm, of sovereign power to baffle fate in danger's awful hour; but thou must still the perilous secret keep, nor ask the harvest of renown to reap; for when, by this peculiar signet known, thy glorious father shall demand his son, doomed from her only joy in life to part, o think what pangs will rend thy mother's heart!-- seek not the fame which only teems with woe; afrásiyáb is rustem's deadliest foe! and if by him discovered, him i dread, revenge will fail upon thy guiltless head." the youth replied: "in vain thy sighs and tears, the secret breathes and mocks thy idle fears. no human power can fate's decrees control, or check the kindled ardour of my soul. then why from me the bursting truth conceal? my father's foes even now my vengeance feel; even now in wrath my native legions rise, and sounds of desolation strike the skies; káús himself, hurled from his ivory throne, shall yield to rustem the imperial crown, and thou, my mother, still in triumph seen, of lovely persia hailed the honoured queen! then shall túrán unite beneath my hand, and drive this proud oppressor from the land! father and son, in virtuous league combined, no savage despot shall enslave mankind; when sun and moon o'er heaven refulgent blaze, shall little stars obtrude their feeble rays?"[ ] he paused, and then: "o mother, i must now my father seek, and see his lofty brow; be mine a horse, such as a prince demands, fit for the dusty field, a warrior's hands; strong as an elephant his form should be, and chested like the stag, in motion free, and swift as bird, or fish; it would disgrace a warrior bold on foot to show his face." the mother, seeing how his heart was bent, his day-star rising in the firmament, commands the stables to be searched to find among the steeds one suited to his mind; pressing their backs he tries their strength and nerve, bent double to the ground their bellies curve; not one, from neighbouring plain and mountain brought, equals the wish with which his soul is fraught; fruitless on every side he anxious turns, fruitless, his brain with wild impatience burns, but when at length they bring the destined steed, from rakush bred, of lightning's winged speed, fleet, as the arrow from the bow-string flies, fleet, as the eagle darting through the skies, rejoiced he springs, and, with a nimble bound, vaults in his seat, and wheels the courser round; "with such a horse--thus mounted, what remains? káús, the persian king, no longer reigns!" high flushed he speaks--with youthful pride elate, eager to crush the monarch's glittering state; he grasps his javelin with a hero's might, and pants with ardour for the field of fight. soon o'er the realm his fame expanding spread, and gathering thousands hasten'd to his aid. his grand-sire, pleased, beheld the warrior-train successive throng and darken all the plain; and bounteously his treasures he supplied, camels, and steeds, and gold.--in martial pride, sohráb was seen--a grecian helmet graced his brow--and costliest mail his limbs embraced. afrásiyáb now hears with ardent joy, the bold ambition of the warrior-boy, of him who, perfumed with the milky breath of infancy, was threatening war and death, and bursting sudden from his mother's side, had launched his bark upon the perilous tide. the insidious king sees well the tempting hour, favouring his arms against the persian power, and thence, in haste, the enterprise to share, twelve thousand veterans selects with care; to húmán and bármán the charge consigns, and thus his force with samengán combines; but treacherous first his martial chiefs he prest, to keep the secret fast within their breast:-- "for this bold youth must not his father know, each must confront the other as his foe-- such is my vengeance! with unhallowed rage, father and son shall dreadful battle wage! unknown the youth shall rustem's force withstand, and soon o'erwhelm the bulwark of the land. rustem removed, the persian throne is ours, an easy conquest to confederate powers; and then, secured by some propitious snare, sohráb himself our galling bonds shall wear. or should the son by rustem's falchion bleed, the father's horror at that fatal deed, will rend his soul, and 'midst his sacred grief, káús in vain will supplicate relief." the tutored chiefs advance with speed, and bring imperial presents to the future king; in stately pomp the embassy proceeds; ten loaded camels, ten unrivalled steeds, a golden crown, and throne, whose jewels bright gleam in the sun, and shed a sparkling light, a letter too the crafty tyrant sends, and fraudful thus the glorious aim commends.-- "if persia's spoils invite thee to the field, accept the aid my conquering legions yield; led by two chiefs of valour and renown, upon thy head to place the kingly crown." elate with promised fame, the youth surveys the regal vest, the throne's irradiant blaze, the golden crown, the steeds, the sumptuous load of ten strong camels, craftily bestowed; salutes the chiefs, and views on every side, the lengthening ranks with various arms supplied. the march begins--the brazen drums resound,[ ] his moving thousands hide the trembling ground; for persia's verdant land he wields the spear, and blood and havoc mark his groaning rear.[ ] to check the invader's horror-spreading course, the barrier-fort opposed unequal force; that fort whose walls, extending wide, contained the stay of persia, men to battle trained. soon as hujír the dusky crowd descried, he on his own presumptuous arm relied, and left the fort; in mail with shield and spear, vaunting he spoke--"what hostile force is here? what chieftain dares our war-like realms invade?" "and who art thou?" sohráb indignant said, rushing towards him with undaunted look-- "hast thou, audacious! nerve and soul to brook the crocodile in fight, that to the strife singly thou comest, reckless of thy life?" to this the foe replied--"a turk and i have never yet been bound in friendly tie; and soon thy head shall, severed by my sword, gladden the sight of persia's mighty lord, while thy torn limbs to vultures shall be given, or bleach beneath the parching blast of heaven." the youthful hero laughing hears the boast, and now by each continual spears are tost, mingling together; like a flood of fire the boaster meets his adversary's ire; the horse on which he rides, with thundering pace, seems like a mountain moving from its base; sternly he seeks the stripling's loins to wound, but the lance hurtless drops upon the ground; sohráb, advancing, hurls his steady spear full on the middle of the vain hujír, who staggers in his seat. with proud disdain the youth now flings him headlong on the plain, and quick dismounting, on his heaving breast triumphant stands, his khunjer firmly prest, to strike the head off--but the blow was stayed--trembling, for life, the craven boaster prayed. that mercy granted eased his coward mind, though, dire disgrace, in captive bonds confined, and sent to húmán, who amazed beheld how soon sohráb his daring soul had quelled. when gúrd-afríd, a peerless warrior-dame, heard of the conflict, and the hero's shame, groans heaved her breast, and tears of anger flowed, her tulip cheek with deeper crimson glowed; speedful, in arms magnificent arrayed, a foaming palfrey bore the martial maid; the burnished mail her tender limbs embraced, beneath her helm her clustering locks she placed; poised in her hand an iron javelin gleamed, and o'er the ground its sparkling lustre streamed; accoutred thus in manly guise, no eye however piercing could her sex descry; now, like a lion, from the fort she bends, and 'midst the foe impetuously descends; fearless of soul, demands with haughty tone, the bravest chief, for war-like valour known, to try the chance of fight. in shining arms, again sohráb the glow of battle warms; with scornful smiles, "another deer!" he cries, "come to my victor-toils, another prize!" the damsel saw his noose insidious spread, and soon her arrows whizzed around his head; with steady skill the twanging bow she drew, and still her pointed darts unerring flew; for when in forest sports she touched the string, never escaped even bird upon the wing; furious he burned, and high his buckler held, to ward the storm, by growing force impell'd; and tilted forward with augmented wrath, but gúrd-áfríd aspires to cross his path; now o'er her back the slacken'd bow resounds; she grasps her lance, her goaded courser bounds, driven on the youth with persevering might-- unconquer'd courage still prolongs the fight; the stripling chief shields off the threaten'd blow, reins in his steed, then rushes on the foe; with outstretch'd arm, he bending backwards hung, and, gathering strength, his pointed javelin flung; firm through her girdle belt the weapon went, and glancing down the polish'd armour rent. staggering, and stunned by his superior force, she almost tumbled from her foaming horse, yet unsubdued, she cut the spear in two, and from her side the quivering fragment drew, then gain'd her seat, and onward urged her steed, but strong and fleet sohráb arrests her speed: strikes off her helm, and sees--a woman's face, radiant with blushes and commanding grace! thus undeceived, in admiration lost, he cries, "a woman, from the persian host! if persian damsels thus in arms engage, who shall repel their warrior's fiercer rage?" then from his saddle thong--his noose he drew, and round her waist the twisted loop he threw-- "now seek not to escape," he sharply said, "such is the fate of war, unthinking maid! and, as such beauty seldom swells our pride, vain thy attempt to cast my toils aside." in this extreme, but one resource remained, only one remedy her hope sustained-- expert in wiles each siren-art she knew, and thence exposed her blooming face to view; raising her full black orbs, serenely bright, in all her charms she blazed before his sight; and thus addressed sohráb--"o warrior brave, hear me, and thy imperilled honour save, these curling tresses seen by either host, a woman conquered, whence the glorious boast? thy startled troops will know, with inward grief, a woman's arm resists their towering chief, better preserve a warrior's fair renown, and let our struggle still remain unknown, for who with wanton folly would expose a helpless maid, to aggravate her woes; the fort, the treasure, shall thy toils repay, the chief, and garrison, thy will obey, and thine the honours of this dreadful day." raptured he gazed, her smiles resistless move the wildest transports of ungoverned love. her face disclosed a paradise to view, eyes like the fawn, and cheeks of rosy hue-- thus vanquished, lost, unconscious of her aim, and only struggling with his amorous flame, he rode behind, as if compelled by fate, and heedless saw her gain the castle-gate. safe with her friends, escaped from brand and spear, smiling she stands, as if unknown to fear. --the father now, with tearful pleasure wild, clasps to his heart his fondly-foster'd child; the crowding warriors round her eager bend, and grateful prayers to favouring heaven ascend. now from the walls, she, with majestic air, exclaims: "thou warrior of túrán! forbear, why vex thy soul, and useless strife demand! go, and in peace enjoy thy native land." stern he rejoins: "thou beauteous tyrant! say, though crown'd with charms, devoted to betray, when these proud walls, in dust and ruins laid, yield no defence, and thou a captive maid, will not repentance through thy bosom dart, and sorrow soften that disdainful heart?" quick she replied: "o'er persia's fertile fields the savage turk in vain his falchion wields; when king káús this bold invasion hears, and mighty rustem clad in arms appears! destruction wide will glut the slippery plain, and not one man of all thy host remain. alas! that bravery, high as thine, should meet amidst such promise, with a sure defeat, but not a gleam of hope remains for thee, thy wondrous valour cannot keep thee free. avert the fate which o'er thy head impends, return, return, and save thy martial friends!" thus to be scorned, defrauded of his prey, with victory in his grasp--to lose the day! shame and revenge alternate filled his mind; the suburb-town to pillage he consigned, and devastation--not a dwelling spared; the very owl was from her covert scared; then thus: "though luckless in my aim to-day, to-morrow shall behold a sterner fray; this fort, in ashes, scattered o'er the plain." he ceased--and turned towards his troops again; there, at a distance from the hostile power, he brooding waits the slaughter-breathing hour. meanwhile the sire of gúrd-afríd, who now governed the fort, and feared the warrior's vow; mournful and pale, with gathering woes opprest, his distant monarch trembling thus addrest. but first invoked the heavenly power to shed its choicest blessings o'er his royal head. "against our realm with numerous foot and horse, a stripling warrior holds his ruthless course. his lion-breast unequalled strength betrays, and o'er his mien the sun's effulgence plays: sohráb his name; like sám suwár he shows, or rustem terrible amidst his foes. the bold hujír lies vanquished on the plain, and drags a captive's ignominious chain; myriads of troops besiege our tottering wall, and vain the effort to suspend its fall. haste, arm for fight, this tartar-power withstand, let sweeping vengeance lift her flickering brand; rustem alone may stem the roaring wave, and, prompt as bold, his groaning country save. meanwhile in flight we place our only trust, ere the proud ramparts crumble in the dust." swift flies the messenger through secret ways, and to the king the dreadful tale conveys, then passed, unseen, in night's concealing shade, the mournful heroes and the warrior maid. soon as the sun with vivifying ray, gleams o'er the landscape, and renews the day; the flaming troops the lofty walls surround, with thundering crash the bursting gates resound. already are the captives bound, in thought, and like a herd before the conqueror brought; sohráb, terrific o'er the ruin, views his hopes deceived, but restless still pursues. an empty fortress mocks his searching eye, no steel-clad chiefs his burning wrath defy; no warrior-maid reviving passion warms, and soothes his soul with fondly-valued charms. deep in his breast he feels the amorous smart, and hugs her image closer to his heart. "alas! that fate should thus invidious shroud the moon's soft radiance in a gloomy cloud; should to my eyes such winning grace display, then snatch the enchanter of my soul away! a beauteous roe my toils enclosed in vain, now i, her victim, drag the captive's chain; strange the effects that from her charms proceed, i gave the wound, and i afflicted bleed! vanquished by her, i mourn the luckless strife; dark, dark, and bitter, frowns my morn of life. a fair unknown my tortured bosom rends, withers each joy, and every hope suspends." impassioned thus sohráb in secret sighed, and sought, in vain, o'er-mastering grief to hide. can the heart bleed and throb from day to day, and yet no trace its inmost pangs betray? love scorns control, and prompts the labouring sigh, pales the red lip, and dims the lucid eye; his look alarmed the stern túránian chief, closely he mark'd his heart-corroding grief;-- and though he knew not that the martial dame, had in his bosom lit the tender flame[ ]; full well he knew such deep repinings prove, the hapless thraldom of disastrous love. full well he knew some idol's musky hair, had to his youthful heart become a snare, but still unnoted was the gushing tear, till haply he had gained his private ear:-- "in ancient times, no hero known to fame, not dead to glory e'er indulged the flame; though beauty's smiles might charm a fleeting hour, the heart, unsway'd, repelled their lasting power. a warrior chief to trembling love a prey? what! weep for woman one inglorious day? canst thou for love's effeminate control, barter the glory of a warrior's soul? although a hundred damsels might be gained, the hero's heart shall still be free, unchained. thou art our leader, and thy place the field where soldiers love to fight with spear and shield; and what hast thou to do with tears and smiles, the silly victim to a woman's wiles? our progress, mark! from far túrán we came, through seas of blood to gain immortal fame; and wilt thou now the tempting conquest shun, when our brave arms this barrier-fort have won? why linger here, and trickling sorrows shed, till mighty káús thunders o'er thy head! till tús, and gíw, and gúdarz, and báhrám, and rustem brave, ferámurz, and rehám, shall aid the war! a great emprise is thine, at once, then, every other thought resign; for know the task which first inspired thy zeal, transcends in glory all that love can feel. rise, lead the war, prodigious toils require unyielding strength, and unextinguished fire; pursue the triumph with tempestuous rage, against the world in glorious strife engage, and when an empire sinks beneath thy sway (o quickly may we hail the prosperous day), the fickle sex will then with blooming charms, adoring throng to bless thy circling arms!" húmán's warm speech, the spirit-stirring theme, awoke sohráb from his inglorious dream. no more the tear his faded cheek bedewed, again ambition all his hopes renewed: swell'd his bold heart with unforgotten zeal, the noble wrath which heroes only feel; fiercely he vowed at one tremendous stroke, to bow the world beneath the tyrant's yoke! "afrásiyáb," he cried, "shall reign alone, the mighty lord of persia's gorgeous throne!" burning, himself, to rule this nether sphere, these welcome tidings charmed the despot's ear. meantime káús, this dire invasion known, had called his chiefs around his ivory throne: there stood gurgín, and báhrám, and gushwád, and tús, and gíw, and gúdárz, and ferhád; to them he read the melancholy tale, gust'hem had written of the rising bale; besought their aid and prudent choice, to form some sure defence against the threatening storm. with one consent they urge the strong request, to summon rustem from his rural rest.-- instant a warrior-delegate they send, and thus the king invites his patriot-friend, "to thee all praise, whose mighty arm alone, preserves the glory of the persian throne! lo! tartar hordes our happy realms invade; the tottering state requires thy powerful aid; a youthful champion leads the ruthless host, his savage country's widely-rumoured boast. the barrier-fortress sinks beneath his sway, hujír is vanquished, ruin tracks his way; strong as a raging elephant in fight, no arm but thine can match his furious might. mázinderán thy conquering prowess knew; the demon-king thy trenchant falchion slew, the rolling heavens, abash'd with fear, behold thy biting sword, thy mace adorned with gold! fly to the succour of a king distress'd, proud of thy love, with thy protection blest. when o'er the nation dread misfortunes lower, thou art the refuge, thou the saving power. the chiefs assembled claim thy patriot vows, give to thy glory all that life allows; and while no whisper breathes the direful tale, o, let thy monarch's anxious prayers prevail." closing the fragrant page[ ] o'ercome with dread, the afflicted king to gíw, the warrior, said:-- "go, bind the saddle on thy fleetest horse, outstrip the tempest in thy rapid course, to rustem swift his country's woes convey, too true art thou to linger on the way; speed, day and night--and not one instant wait, whatever hour may bring thee to his gate." followed no pause--to gíw enough was said, nor rest, nor taste of food, his speed delayed. and when arrived, where zábul's bowers exhale ambrosial sweets and scent the balmy gale, the sentinel's loud voice in rustem's ear, announced a messenger from persia, near; the chief himself amidst his warriors stood, dispensing honours to the brave and good, and soon as gíw had joined the martial ring, (the sacred envoy of the persian king), he, with becoming loyalty inspired, asked what the monarch, what the state required; but gíw, apart, his secret mission told-- the written page was speedily unrolled. struck with amazement, rustem--"now on earth a warrior-knight of sám's excelling worth? whence comes this hero of the prosperous star? i know no turk renowned, like him, in war; he bears the port of rustem too, 'tis said, like sám, like narímán, a warrior bred! he cannot be my son, unknown to me; reason forbids the thought--it cannot be! at samengán, where once affection smiled, to me tahmíneh bore her only child, that was a daughter?" pondering thus he spoke, and then aloud--"why fear the invader's yoke? why trembling shrink, by coward thoughts dismayed, must we not all in dust, at length, be laid? but come, to nírum's palace, haste with me, and there partake the feast--from sorrow free; breathe, but awhile--ere we our toils renew, and moisten the parched lip with needful dew. let plans of war another day decide, we soon shall quell this youthful hero's pride. the force of fire soon flutters and decays when ocean, swelled by storms, its wrath displays. what danger threatens! whence the dastard fear! rest, and at leisure share a warrior's cheer." in vain the envoy prest the monarch's grief; the matchless prowess of the stripling chief; how brave hujír had felt his furious hand; what thickening woes beset the shuddering land. but rustem, still, delayed the parting day, and mirth and feasting rolled the hours away; morn following morn beheld the banquet bright, music and wine prolonged the genial rite; rapt by the witchery of the melting strain, no thought of káús touch'd his swimming brain.[ ] the trumpet's clang, on fragrant breezes borne, now loud salutes the fifth revolving morn; the softer tones which charm'd the jocund feast, and all the noise of revelry, had ceased, the generous horse, with rich embroidery deckt, whose gilded trappings sparkling light reflect, bears with majestic port the champion brave, and high in air the victor-banners wave. prompt at the martial call, zúára leads his veteran troops from zábul's verdant meads.[ ] ere rustem had approached his journey's end, tús, gúdarz, gushwád, met their champion-friend with customary honours; pleased to bring the shield of persia to the anxious king. but foaming wrath the senseless monarch swayed; his friendship scorned, his mandate disobeyed, beneath dark brows o'er-shadowing deep, his eye red gleaming shone, like lightning through the sky and when the warriors met his sullen view, frowning revenge, still more enraged he grew:-- loud to the envoy thus he fiercely cried:-- "since rustem has my royal power defied, had i a sword, this instant should his head roll on the ground; but let him now be led hence, and impaled alive."[ ] astounded gíw shrunk from such treatment of a knight so true; but this resistance added to the flame, and both were branded with revolt and shame; both were condemned, and tús, the stern decree received, to break them on the felon-tree. could daring insult, thus deliberate given, escape the rage of one to frenzy driven? no, from his side the nerveless chief was flung, bent to the ground. away the champion sprung; mounted his foaming horse, and looking round-- his boiling wrath thus rapid utterance found:-- "ungrateful king, thy tyrant acts disgrace the sacred throne, and more, the human race; midst clashing swords thy recreant life i saved, and am i now by tús contemptuous braved?[ ] on me shall tús, shall káús dare to frown? on me, the bulwark of the regal crown? wherefore should fear in rustem's breast have birth, káús, to me, a worthless clod of earth! go, and thyself sohráb's invasion stay, go, seize the plunderers growling o'er their prey! wherefore to others give the base command? go, break him on the tree with thine own hand. know, thou hast roused a warrior, great and free, who never bends to tyrant kings like thee! was not this untired arm triumphant seen, in misser, rúm, mázinderán, and chín! and must i shrink at thy imperious nod! slave to no prince, i only bow to god. whatever wrath from thee, proud king! may fall, for thee i fought, and i deserve it all. the regal sceptre might have graced my hand, i kept the laws, and scorned supreme command. when kai-kobád and alberz mountain strayed, i drew him thence, and gave a warrior's aid; placed on his brows the long-contested crown, worn by his sires, by sacred right his own; strong in the cause, my conquering arms prevailed, wouldst thou have reign'd had rustem's valour failed when the white demon raged in battle-fray, wouldst thou have lived had rustem lost the day?" then to his friends: "be wise, and shun your fate, fly the wide ruin which o'erwhelms the state; the conqueror comes--the scourge of great and small, and vultures, following fast, will gorge on all. persia no more its injured chief shall view"-- he said, and sternly from the court withdrew. the warriors now, with sad forebodings wrung, torn from that hope to which they proudly clung, on gúdarz rest, to soothe with gentle sway, the frantic king, and rustem's wrath allay. with bitter grief they wail misfortune's shock, no shepherd now to guard the timorous flock. gúdarz at length, with boding cares imprest, thus soothed the anger in the royal breast. "say, what has rustem done, that he should be impaled upon the ignominious tree? degrading thought, unworthy to be bred within a royal heart, a royal head. hast thou forgot when near the caspian-wave, defeat and ruin had appalled the brave, when mighty rustem struck the dreadful blow, and nobly freed thee from the savage foe? did demons huge escape his flaming brand? their reeking limbs bestrew'd the slippery strand. shall he for this resign his vital breath? what! shall the hero's recompense be death? but who will dare a threatening step advance, what earthly power can bear his withering glance? should he to zábul fired with wrongs return, the plunder'd land will long in sorrow mourn! this direful presage all our warriors feel, for who can now oppose the invader's steel; thus is it wise thy champion to offend, to urge to this extreme thy warrior-friend? remember, passion ever scorns control, and wisdom's mild decrees should rule a monarch's soul."[ ] káús, relenting, heard with anxious ear, and groundless wrath gave place to shame and fear; "go then," he cried, "his generous aid implore, and to your king the mighty chief restore!" when gúdarz rose, and seized his courser's rein, a crowd of heroes followed in his train. to rustem, now (respectful homage paid), the royal prayer he anxious thus conveyed. "the king, repentant, seeks thy aid again, grieved to the heart that he has given thee pain; but though his anger was unjust and strong, thy country still is guiltless of the wrong, and, therefore, why abandoned thus by thee? thy help the king himself implores through me." rustem rejoined: "unworthy the pretence, and scorn and insult all my recompense? must i be galled by his capricious mood? i, who have still his firmest champion stood? but all is past, to heaven alone resigned, no human cares shall more disturb my mind!" then gúdarz thus (consummate art inspired his prudent tongue, with all that zeal required); "when rustem dreads sohráb's resistless power, well may inferiors fly the trying hour! the dire suspicion now pervades us all, thus, unavenged, shall beauteous persia fall! yet, generous still, avert the lasting shame, o, still preserve thy country's glorious fame! or wilt thou, deaf to all our fears excite, forsake thy friends, and shun the pending fight? and worse, o grief! in thy declining days, forfeit the honours of thy country's praise?" this artful censure set his soul on fire, but patriot firmness calm'd his burning ire; and thus he said--"inured to war's alarms, did ever rustem shun the din of arms? though frowns from káús i disdain to bear, my threatened country claims a warrior's care." he ceased, and prudent joined the circling throng, and in the public good forgot the private wrong. from far the king the generous champion viewed, and rising, mildly thus his speech pursued:-- "since various tempers govern all mankind, me, nature fashioned of a froward mind;[ ] and what the heavens spontaneously bestow, sown by their bounty must for ever grow. the fit of wrath which burst within me, soon shrunk up my heart as thin as the new moon;[ ] else had i deemed thee still my army's boast, source of my regal power, beloved the most, unequalled. every day, remembering thee, i drain the wine cup, thou art all to me; i wished thee to perform that lofty part, claimed by thy valour, sanctioned by my heart; hence thy delay my better thoughts supprest, and boisterous passions revelled in my breast; but when i saw thee from my court retire in wrath, repentance quenched my burning ire. o, let me now my keen contrition prove, again enjoy thy fellowship and love: and while to thee my gratitude is known, still be the pride and glory of my throne." rustem, thus answering said:--"thou art the king, source of command, pure honour's sacred spring; and here i stand to follow thy behest, obedient ever--be thy will expressed, and services required--old age shall see my loins still bound in fealty to thee." to this the king:--"rejoice we then to-day, and on the morrow marshal our array." the monarch quick commands the feast of joy, and social cares his buoyant mind employ, within a bower, beside a crystal spring,[ ] where opening flowers, refreshing odours fling, cheerful he sits, and forms the banquet scene, in regal splendour on the crowded green; and as around he greets his valiant bands, showers golden presents from his bounteous hands;[ ] voluptuous damsels trill the sportive lay, whose sparkling glances beam celestial day; fill'd with delight the heroes closer join, and quaff till midnight cups of generous wine. soon as the sun had pierced the veil of night, and o'er the prospect shed his earliest light, káús, impatient, bids the clarions sound, the sprightly notes from hills and rocks rebound; his treasure gates are opened:--and to all a largess given; obedient to the call, his subjects gathering crowd the mountain's brow, and following thousands shade the vales below; with shields, in armor, numerous legions bend; and troops of horse the threatening lines extend. beneath the tread of heroes fierce and strong, by war's tumultuous fury borne along, the firm earth shook: the dust, in eddies driven, whirled high in air, obscured the face of heaven; nor earth, nor sky appeared--all, seeming lost, and swallowed up by that wide-spreading host. the steely armour glitter'd o'er the fields,[ ] and lightnings flash'd from gold emblazoned shields; thou wouldst have said, the clouds had burst in showers, of sparkling amber o'er the martial powers.[ ] thus, close embodied, they pursued their way, and reached the barrier-fort in terrible array. the legions of túrán, with dread surprise, saw o'er the plain successive myriads rise; and showed them to sohráb; he, mounting high the fort, surveyed them with a fearless eye; to húmán, who, with withering terror pale, had marked their progress through the distant vale, he pointed out the sight, and ardent said:-- "dispel these woe-fraught broodings from thy head, i wage the war, afrásiyáb! for thee, and make this desert seem a rolling sea." thus, while amazement every bosom quell'd, sohráb, unmoved, the coming storm beheld, and boldly gazing on the camp around, raised high the cup with wine nectareous crowned: o'er him no dreams of woe insidious stole, no thought but joy engaged his ardent soul. the persian legions had restrained their course, tents and pavilions, countless foot and horse, clothed all the spacious plain, and gleaming threw terrific splendours on the gazer's view. but when the sun had faded in the west, and night assumed her ebon-coloured vest, the mighty chief approached the sacred throne, and generous thus made danger all his own: "the rules of war demand a previous task, to watch this dreadful foe i boldly ask; with wary step the wondrous youth to view, and mark the heroes who his path pursue." the king assents: "the task is justly thine, favourite of heaven, inspired by power divine." in turkish habit, secretly arrayed, the lurking champion wandered through the shade and, cautious, standing near the palace gate, saw how the chiefs were ranged in princely state. what time sohráb his thoughts to battle turned, and for the first proud fruits of conquest burned, his mother called a warrior to his aid, and zinda-ruzm his sister's call obeyed. to him tahmineh gave her only joy, and bade him shield the bold adventurous boy: "but, in the dreadful strife, should danger rise, present my child before his father's eyes! by him protected, war may rage in vain, though he may never bless these arms again!" this guardian prince sat on the stripling's right, viewing the imperial banquet with delight. húmán and bármán, near the hero placed, in joyous pomp the full assembly graced; a hundred valiant chiefs begirt the throne, and, all elate, were chaunting his renown. closely concealed, the gay and splendid scene, rustem contemplates with astonished mien; when zind, retiring, marks the listener nigh, watching the festal train with curious eye; and well he knew, amongst his tartar host, such towering stature not a chief could boast-- "what spy is here, close shrouded by the night? art thou afraid to face the beams of light?" but scarcely from his lips these words had past, ere, fell'd to earth, he groaning breathed his last; unseen he perish'd, fate decreed the blow, to add fresh keenness to a parent's woe. meantime sohráb, perceiving the delay in zind's return, looked round him with dismay; the seat still vacant--but the bitter truth, full soon was known to the distracted youth; full soon he found that zinda-ruzm was gone, his day of feasting and of glory done; speedful towards the fatal spot he ran, where slept in bloody vest the slaughtered man. the lighted torches now displayed the dead, stiff on the ground his graceful limbs were spread; sad sight to him who knew his guardian care, now doom'd a kinsman's early loss to bear; anguish and rage devour his breast by turns, he vows revenge, then o'er the warrior mourns: and thus exclaims to each afflicted chief:-- "no time, to-night, my friends, for useless grief; the ravenous wolf has watched his helpless prey, sprung o'er the fold, and borne its flower away; but if the heavens my lifted arm befriend, upon the guilty shall my wrath descend-- unsheathed, this sword shall dire revenge pursue, and persian blood the thirsty land bedew." frowning he paused, and check'd the spreading woe, resumed the feast, and bid the wine-cup flow! the valiant gíw was sentinel that night, and marking dimly by the dubious light, a warrior form approach, he claps his hands, with naked sword and lifted shield he stands, to front the foe; but rustem now appears, and gíw the secret tale astonished hears; from thence the champion on the monarch waits. the power and splendour of sohráb relates: "circled by chiefs this glorious youth was seen, of lofty stature and majestic mien; no tartar region gave the hero birth: some happier portion of the spacious earth; tall, as the graceful cypress he appears; like sám, the brave, his warrior-front he rears!" then having told how, while the banquet shone, unhappy zind had sunk, without a groan; he forms his conquering bands in close array, and, cheer'd by wine, awaits the coming day. when now the sun his golden buckler raised, and genial light through heaven diffusive blazed, sohráb in mail his nervous limbs attired, for dreadful wrath his soul to vengeance fired; with anxious haste he bent the yielding cord, ring within ring, more fateful than the sword; around his brows a regal helm he bound; his dappled steed impatient stampt the ground. thus armed, ascending where the eye could trace the hostile force, and mark each leader's place, he called hujír, the captive chief addressed, and anxious thus, his soul's desire expressed: "a prisoner thou, if freedom's voice can charm, and dungeon darkness fill thee with alarm, that freedom merit, shun severest woe, and truly answer what i ask to know! if rigid truth thy ready speech attend, honours and wealth shall dignify my friend." "obedient to thy wish," hujír replied, "truth thou shalt hear, whatever chance betide; for what on earth to praise has better claim? falsehood but leads to sorrow and to shame!" "then say, what heroes lead the adverse host, where they command, what dignities they boast; say, where does káús hold his kingly state, where tús, and gúdarz, on his bidding wait; gíw, gust'hem, and báhrám--all known to thee, and where is mighty rustem, where is he? look round with care, their names and power display or instant death shall end thy vital day." "where yonder splendid tapestries extend, and o'er pavilions bright infolding bend, a throne triumphal shines with sapphire rays, and golden suns upon the banners blaze; full in the centre of the hosts--and round the tent a hundred elephants are bound, as if, in pomp, he mocked the power of fate; there royal káús holds his kingly state. "in yonder tent which numerous guards protect, where front and rear illustrious chiefs collect; where horsemen wheeling seem prepared for fight, their golden armour glittering in the light; tús lifts his banners, deck'd with royal pride, feared by the brave, the soldier's friend and guide.[ ] "that crimson tent where spear-men frowning stand, and steel-clad veterans form a threatening band, holds mighty gúdarz, famed for martial fire, of eighty valiant sons the valiant sire; yet strong in arms, he shuns inglorious ease, his lion-banners floating in the breeze. "but mark, that green pavilion; girt around by persian nobles, speaks the chief renowned; fierce on the standard, worked with curious art, a hideous dragon writhing seems to start; throned in his tent the warrior's form is seen, towering above the assembled host between! a generous horse before him snorts and neighs, the trembling earth the echoing sound conveys. like him no champion ever met my eyes, no horse like that for majesty and size; what chief illustrious bears a port so high? mark, how his standard flickers through the sky!" thus ardent spoke sohráb. hujír dismayed, paused ere reply the dangerous truth betrayed. trembling for rustem's life the captive groaned; basely his country's glorious boast disowned, and said the chief from distant china came-- sohráb abrupt demands the hero's name; the name unknown, grief wrings his aching heart, and yearning anguish speeds her venom'd dart; to him his mother gave the tokens true, he sees them all, and all but mock his view. when gloomy fate descends in evil hour, can human wisdom bribe her favouring power? yet, gathering hope, again with restless mien he marks the chiefs who crowd the warlike scene. "where numerous heroes, horse and foot, appear, and brazen trumpets thrill the listening ear, behold the proud pavilion of the brave! with wolves emboss'd the silken banners wave. the throne's bright gems with radiant lustre glow, slaves rank'd around with duteous homage bow. what mighty chieftain rules his cohorts there? his name and lineage, free from guile, declare!" "gíw, son of gúdarz, long a glorious name, whose prowess even transcends his father's fame."[ ] "mark yonder tent of pure and dazzling white, whose rich brocade reflects a quivering light; an ebon seat surmounts the ivory throne; there frowns in state a warrior of renown. the crowding slaves his awful nod obey, and silver moons around his banners play; what chief, or prince, has grasped the hostile sword? fríburz, the son of persia's mighty lord." again: "these standards show one champion more, upon their centre flames the savage boar;[ ] the saffron-hued pavilion bright ascends, whence many a fold of tasselled fringe depends; who there presides?" "guráz, from heroes sprung, whose praise exceeds the power of mortal tongue." thus, anxious, he explored the crowded field, nor once the secret of his birth revealed;[ ] heaven will'd it so. pressed down by silent grief, surrounding objects promised no relief. this world to mortals still denies repose, and life is still the scene of many woes. again his eye, instinctive turned, descried the green pavilion, and the warrior's pride. again he cries: "o tell his glorious name; yon gallant horse declares the hero's fame!" but false hujír the aspiring hope repelled, crushed the fond wish, the soothing balm withheld, "and why should i conceal his name from thee? his name and title are unknown to me." then thus sohráb--"in all that thou hast said, no sign of rustem have thy words conveyed; thou sayest he leads the persian host to arms, with him has battle lost its boisterous charms? of him no trace thy guiding hand has shown; can power supreme remain unmark'd, unknown?" "perhaps returned to zábul's verdant bowers, he undisturbed enjoys his peaceful hours, the vernal banquets may constrain his stay, and rural sports invite prolonged delay." "ah! say not thus; the champion of the world, shrink from the kindling war with banners furled! it cannot be! say where his lightnings dart, show me the warrior, all thou know'st impart; treasures uncounted shall be thy reward, death changed to life, my friendship more than shared. dost thou not know what, in the royal ear, the múbid said--befitting kings to hear? 'untold, a secret is a jewel bright, yet profitless whilst hidden from the light; but when revealed, in words distinctly given, it shines refulgent as the sun through heaven.'"[ ] to him, hujír evasive thus replies: "through all the extended earth his glory flies! whenever dangers round the nation close, rustem approaches, and repels its foes; and shouldst thou see him mix in mortal strife, thou'dst think 'twere easier to escape with life from tiger fell, or demon--or the fold of the chafed dragon, than his dreadful hold-- when fiercest battle clothes the fields with fire, before his rage embodied hosts retire!" "and where didst thou encountering armies see? why rustem's praise so proudly urge to me? let us but meet and thou shalt trembling know, how fierce that wrath which bids my bosom glow: if living flames express his boundless ire, o'erwhelming waters quench consuming fire! and deepest darkness, glooms of ten-fold night, fly from the piercing beams of radiant light." hujír shrunk back with undissembled dread, and thus communing with himself, he said-- "shall i, regardless of my country, guide to rustem's tent this furious homicide? and witness there destruction to our host? the bulwark of the land for ever lost! what chief can then the tartar power restrain! káús dethroned, the mighty rustem slain! better a thousand deaths should lay me low, than, living, yield such triumph to the foe. for in this struggle should my blood be shed, no foul dishonour can pursue me, dead; no lasting shame my father's age oppress, whom eighty sons of martial courage bless![ ] they for their brother slain, incensed will rise, and pour their vengeance on my enemies." then thus aloud--"can idle words avail? why still of rustem urge the frequent tale? why for the elephant-bodied hero ask? thee, he will find--no uncongenial task. why seek pretences to destroy my life? strike, for no rustem views th' unequal strife!" sohráb confused, with hopeless anguish mourned, back from the lofty walls he quick returned, and stood amazed. now war and vengeance claim, collected thought and deeds of mighty name; the jointed mail his vigorous body clasps, his sinewy hand the shining javelin grasps; like a mad elephant he meets the foe, his steed a moving mountain--deeply glow his cheeks with passionate ardour, as he flies resistless onwards, and with sparkling eyes, full on the centre drives his daring horse--[ ] the yielding persians fly his furious course; as the wild ass impetuous springs away, when the fierce lion thunders on his prey. by every sign of strength and martial power, they think him rustem in his direst hour; on káús now his proud defiance falls, scornful to him the stripling warrior calls: "and why art thou misnamed of royal strain? what work of thine befits the tented plain? this thirsty javelin seeks thy coward breast; thou and thy thousands doomed to endless rest. true to my oath, which time can never change, on thee, proud king! i hurl my just revenge. the blood of zind inspires my burning hate, and dire resentment hurries on thy fate; whom canst thou send to try the desperate strife? what valiant chief, regardless of his life? where now can fríburz, tús, gíw, gúdarz, be, and the world-conquering rustem, where is he?" no prompt reply from persian lip ensued-- then rushing on, with demon-strength endued, sohráb elate his javelin waved around, and hurled the bright pavilion to the ground; with horror káús feels destruction nigh, and cries: "for rustem's needful succour fly! this frantic turk, triumphant on the plain, withers the souls of all my warrior train." that instant tús the mighty champion sought, and told the deeds the tartar chief had wrought; "'tis ever thus, the brainless monarch's due! shame and disaster still his steps pursue!" this saying, from his tent he soon descried, the wild confusion spreading far and wide; and saddled rakush--whilst, in deep dismay, girgín incessant cried--"speed, speed, away." rehám bound on the mace, tús promptly ran, and buckled on the broad burgustuwán. rustem, meanwhile, the thickening tumult hears and in his heart, untouched by human fears, says: "what is this, that feeling seems to stun! this battle must be led by ahirmun,[ ] the awful day of doom must have begun." in haste he arms, and mounts his bounding steed, the growing rage demands redoubled speed; the leopard's skin he o'er his shoulders throws, the regal girdle round his middle glows.[ ] high wave his glorious banners; broad revealed, the pictured dragons glare along the field borne by zúára. when, surprised, he views sohráb, endued with ample breast and thews, like sám suwár, he beckons him apart; the youth advances with a gallant heart, willing to prove his adversary's might, by single combat to decide the fight; and eagerly, "together brought," he cries, "remote from us be foemen, and allies, and though at once by either host surveyed, ours be the strife which asks no mortal aid." rustem, considerate, view'd him o'er and o'er, so wondrous graceful was the form he bore, and frankly said: "experience flows with age, and many a foe has felt my conquering rage; much have i seen, superior strength and art have borne my spear thro' many a demon's heart; only behold me on the battle plain, wait till thou see'st this hand the war sustain, and if on thee should changeful fortune smile, thou needst not fear the monster of the nile![ ] but soft compassion melts my soul to save, a youth so blooming with a mind so brave!" the generous speech sohráb attentive heard, his heart expanding glowed at every word: "one question answer, and in answering show, that truth should ever from a warrior flow; art thou not rustem, whose exploits sublime, endear his name thro' every distant clime?" "i boast no station of exalted birth, no proud pretensions to distinguished worth; to him inferior, no such powers are mine, no offspring i of nírum's glorious line!"[ ] the prompt denial dampt his filial joy, all hope at once forsook the warrior-boy, his opening day of pleasure, and the bloom of cherished life, immersed in shadowy gloom. perplexed with what his mother's words implied;-- a narrow space is now prepared, aside, for single combat. with disdainful glance each boldly shakes his death-devoting lance, and rushes forward to the dubious fight; thoughts high and brave their burning souls excite; now sword to sword; continuous strokes resound, till glittering fragments strew the dusty ground. each grasps his massive club with added force,[ ] the folding mail is rent from either horse; it seemed as if the fearful day of doom had, clothed in all its withering terrors, come. their shattered corslets yield defence no more-- at length they breathe, defiled with dust and gore; their gasping throats with parching thirst are dry, gloomy and fierce they roll the lowering eye, and frown defiance. son and father driven to mortal strife! are these the ways of heaven? the various swarms which boundless ocean breeds, the countless tribes which crop the flowery meads, all know their kind, but hapless man alone has no instinctive feeling for his own! compell'd to pause, by every eye surveyed, rustem, with shame, his wearied strength betrayed; foil'd by a youth in battle's mid career, his groaning spirit almost sunk with fear; recovering strength, again they fiercely meet; again they struggle with redoubled heat; with bended bows they furious now contend; and feather'd shafts in rattling showers descend; thick as autumnal leaves they strew the plain, harmless their points, and all their fury vain. and now they seize each other's girdle-band; rustem, who, if he moved his iron hand, could shake a mountain, and to whom a rock seemed soft as wax, tried, with one mighty stroke, to hurl him thundering from his fiery steed, but fate forbids the gallant youth should bleed; finding his wonted nerves relaxed, amazed that hand he drops which never had been raised uncrowned with victory, even when demons fought, and pauses, wildered with despairing thought. sohráb again springs with terrific grace, and lifts, from saddle-bow, his ponderous mace; with gather'd strength the quick-descending blow wounds in its fall, and stuns the unwary foe; then thus contemptuous: "all thy power is gone; thy charger's strength exhausted as thy own; thy bleeding wounds with pity i behold; o seek no more the combat of the bold!" rustem to this reproach made no reply, but stood confused--meanwhile, tumultuously the legions closed; with soul-appalling force, troop rushed on troop, o'erwhelming man and horse; sohráb, incensed, the persian host engaged, furious along the scattered lines he raged; fierce as a wolf he rode on every side, the thirsty earth with streaming gore was dyed. midst the túránians, then, the champion sped, and like a tiger heaped the fields with dead. but when the monarch's danger struck his thought, returning swift, the stripling youth he sought; grieved to the soul, the mighty champion view'd his hands and mail with persian blood imbrued; and thus exclaimed with lion-voice--"o say, why with the persians dost thou war to-day? why not with me alone decide the fight, thou'rt like a wolf that seek'st the fold by night." to this sohráb his proud assent expressed-- and rustem, answering, thus the youth addressed. "night-shadows now are thickening o'er the plain, the morrow's sun must see our strife again; in wrestling let us then exert our might!" he said, and eve's last glimmer sunk in night thus as the skies a deeper gloom displayed, the stripling's life was hastening into shade! the gallant heroes to their tents retired, the sweets of rest their wearied limbs required: sohráb, delighted with his brave career, describes the fight in húmán's anxious ear: tells how he forced unnumbered chiefs to yield, and stood himself the victor of the field! "but let the morrow's dawn," he cried, "arrive, and not one persian shall the day survive; meanwhile let wine its strengthening balm impart, and add new zeal to every drooping heart." the valiant gíw with rustem pondering stood, and, sad, recalled the scene of death and blood; grief and amazement heaved the frequent sigh, and almost froze the crimson current dry. rustem, oppressed by gíw's desponding thought, amidst his chiefs the mournful monarch sought; to him he told sohráb's tremendous sway, the dire misfortunes of this luckless day; told with what grasping force he tried, in vain, to hurl the wondrous stripling to the plain: "the whispering zephyr might as well aspire to shake a mountain--such his strength and fire. but night came on--and, by agreement, we must meet again to-morrow--who shall be victorious, heaven knows only:--for by heaven, victory or death to man is ever given." this said, the king, o'erwhelmed in deep despair, passed the dread night in agony and prayer. the champion, silent, joined his bands at rest, and spurned at length despondence from his breast; removed from all, he cheered zúára's heart, and nerved his soul to bear a trying part:-- "ere early morning gilds the ethereal plain, in martial order range my warrior-train; and when i meet in all his glorious pride, this valiant turk whom late my rage defied, should fortune's smiles my arduous task requite, bring them to share the triumph of my might; but should success the stripling's arm attend, and dire defeat and death my glories end, to their loved homes my brave associates guide; let bowery zábul all their sorrows hide-- comfort my venerable father's heart; in gentlest words my heavy fate impart. the dreadful tidings to my mother bear, and soothe her anguish with the tenderest care; say, that the will of righteous heaven decreed, that thus in arms her mighty son should bleed. enough of fame my various toils acquired, when warring demons, bathed in blood, expired. were life prolonged a thousand lingering years, death comes at last and ends our mortal fears; kirshásp, and sám, and narímán, the best and bravest heroes, who have ever blest this fleeting world, were not endued with power, to stay the march of fate one single hour; the world for them possessed no fixed abode, the path to death's cold regions must be trod; then, why lament the doom ordained for all? thus jemshíd fell, and thus must rustem fall." when the bright dawn proclaimed the rising day, the warriors armed, impatient of delay; but first sohráb, his proud confederate nigh, thus wistful spoke, as swelled the boding sigh-- "now, mark my great antagonist in arms! his noble form my filial bosom warms; my mother's tokens shine conspicuous here, and all the proofs my heart demands, appear; sure this is rustem, whom my eyes engage! shall i, o grief! provoke my father's rage? offended nature then would curse my name, and shuddering nations echo with my shame." he ceased, then húmán: "vain, fantastic thought, oft have i been where persia's champion fought; and thou hast heard, what wonders he performed, when, in his prime, mázinderán was stormed; that horse resembles rustem's, it is true, but not so strong, nor beautiful to view." sohráb now buckles on his war attire, his heart all softness, and his brain all fire; around his lips such smiles benignant played, he seemed to greet a friend, as thus he said:-- "here let us sit together on the plain, here, social sit, and from the fight refrain; ask we from heaven forgiveness of the past, and bind our souls in friendship that may last; ours be the feast--let us be warm and free, for powerful instinct draws me still to thee; fain would my heart in bland affection join, then let thy generous ardour equal mine; and kindly say, with whom i now contend-- what name distinguished boasts my warrior-friend! thy name unfit for champion brave to hide, thy name so long, long sought, and still denied; say, art thou rustem, whom i burn to know? ingenuous say, and cease to be my foe!" sternly the mighty champion cried, "away-- hence with thy wiles--now practised to delay; the promised struggle, resolute, i claim, then cease to move me to an act of shame." sohráb rejoined--"old man! thou wilt not hear the words of prudence uttered in thine ear; then, heaven! look on." preparing for the shock, each binds his charger to a neighbouring rock; and girds his loins, and rubs his wrists, and tries their suppleness and force, with angry eyes; and now they meet--now rise, and now descend, and strong and fierce their sinewy arms extend; wrestling with all their strength they grasp and strain, and blood and sweat flow copious on the plain; like raging elephants they furious close; commutual wounds are given, and wrenching blows. sohráb now clasps his hands, and forward springs impatiently, and round the champion clings; seizes his girdle belt, with power to tear the very earth asunder; in despair rustem, defeated, feels his nerves give way, and thundering falls. sohráb bestrides his prey: grim as the lion, prowling through the wood, upon a wild ass springs, and pants for blood. his lifted sword had lopt the gory head, but rustem, quick, with crafty ardour said:-- "one moment, hold! what, are our laws unknown? a chief may fight till he is twice o'erthrown; the second fall, his recreant blood is spilt, these are our laws, avoid the menaced guilt." proud of his strength, and easily deceived, the wondering youth the artful tale believed; released his prey, and, wild as wind or wave, neglecting all the prudence of the brave, turned from the place, nor once the strife renewed, but bounded o'er the plain and other cares pursued, as if all memory of the war had died, all thoughts of him with whom his strength was tried. húmán, confounded at the stripling's stay, went forth, and heard the fortune of the day; amazed to find the mighty rustem freed, with deepest grief he wailed the luckless deed. "what! loose a raging lion from the snare, and let him growling hasten to his lair? bethink thee well; in war, from this unwise, this thoughtless act what countless woes may rise; never again suspend the final blow, nor trust the seeming weakness of a foe!"[ ] "hence with complaint," the dauntless youth replied, "to-morrow's contest shall his fate decide." when rustem was released, in altered mood he sought the coolness of the murmuring flood; there quenched his thirst; and bathed his limbs, and prayed, beseeching heaven to yield its strengthening aid. his pious prayer indulgent heaven approved, and growing strength through all his sinews moved;[ ] such as erewhile his towering structure knew, when his bold arm unconquered demons slew. yet in his mien no confidence appeared, no ardent hope his wounded spirits cheered. again they met. a glow of youthful grace, diffused its radiance o'er the stripling's face, and when he saw in renovated guise, the foe so lately mastered; with surprise, he cried--"what! rescued from my power, again dost thou confront me on the battle plain? or, dost thou, wearied, draw thy vital breath, and seek, from warrior bold, the shaft of death? truth has no charms for thee, old man; even now, some further cheat may lurk upon thy brow; twice have i shown thee mercy, twice thy age hath been thy safety--twice it soothed my rage." then mild the champion: "youth is proud and vain! the idle boast a warrior would disdain; this aged arm perhaps may yet control, the wanton fury that inflames thy soul!" again, dismounting, each the other viewed with sullen glance, and swift the fight renewed; clenched front to front, again they tug and bend, twist their broad limbs as every nerve would rend; with rage convulsive rustem grasps him round; bends his strong back, and hurls him to the ground; him, who had deemed the triumph all his own; but dubious of his power to keep him down, like lightning quick he gives the deadly thrust, and spurns the stripling weltering in the dust. --thus as his blood that shining steel imbrues, thine too shall flow, when destiny pursues;[ ] for when she marks the victim of her power, a thousand daggers speed the dying hour. writhing with pain sohráb in murmurs sighed-- and thus to rustem--"vaunt not, in thy pride; upon myself this sorrow have i brought, thou but the instrument of fate--which wrought my downfall; thou are guiltless--guiltless quite; o! had i seen my father in the fight, my glorious father! life will soon be o'er, and his great deeds enchant my soul no more! of him my mother gave the mark and sign, for him i sought, and what an end is mine! my only wish on earth, my constant sigh, him to behold, and with that wish i die. but hope not to elude his piercing sight, in vain for thee the deepest glooms of night; couldst thou through ocean's depths for refuge fly, or midst the star-beams track the upper sky! rustem, with vengeance armed, will reach thee there, his soul the prey of anguish and despair." an icy horror chills the champion's heart, his brain whirls round with agonizing smart; o'er his wan cheek no gushing sorrows flow, senseless he sinks beneath the weight of woe; relieved at length, with frenzied look, he cries: "prove thou art mine, confirm my doubting eyes! for i am rustem!" piercing was the groan, which burst from his torn heart--as wild and lone, he gazed upon him. dire amazement shook the dying youth, and mournful thus he spoke: "if thou art rustem, cruel is thy part, no warmth paternal seems to fill thy heart; else hadst thou known me when, with strong desire, i fondly claimed thee for my valiant sire; now from my body strip the shining mail, untie these bands, ere life and feeling fail; and on my arm the direful proof behold! thy sacred bracelet of refulgent gold! when the loud brazen drums were heard afar, and, echoing round, proclaimed the pending war, whilst parting tears my mother's eyes o'erflowed, this mystic gift her bursting heart bestowed: 'take this,' she said, 'thy father's token wear, and promised glory will reward thy care.' the hour is come, but fraught with bitterest woe, we meet in blood to wail the fatal blow." the loosened mail unfolds the bracelet bright, unhappy gift! to rustem's wildered sight, prostrate he falls--"by my unnatural hand, my son, my son is slain--and from the land uprooted."--frantic, in the dust his hair he rends in agony and deep despair; the western sun had disappeared in gloom, and still, the champion wept his cruel doom; his wondering legions marked the long delay, and, seeing rakush riderless astray, the rumour quick to persia's monarch spread, and there described the mighty rustem dead. káús, alarmed, the fatal tidings hears; his bosom quivers with increasing fears. "speed, speed, and see what has befallen to-day to cause these groans and tears--what fatal fray! if he be lost, if breathless on the ground, and this young warrior, with the conquest crowned-- then must i, humbled, from my kingdom torn, wander like jemshíd, through the world forlorn."[ ] the army roused, rushed o'er the dusty plain, urged by the monarch to revenge the slain; wild consternation saddened every face, tús winged with horror sought the fatal place, and there beheld the agonizing sight-- the murderous end of that unnatural fight. sohráb, still breathing, hears the shrill alarms, his gentle speech suspends the clang of arms: "my light of life now fluttering sinks in shade, let vengeance sleep, and peaceful vows be made. beseech the king to spare this tartar host, for they are guiltless, all to them is lost; i led them on, their souls with glory fired, while mad ambition all my thoughts inspired. in search of thee, the world before my eyes, war was my choice, and thou the sacred prize; with thee, my sire! in virtuous league combined, no tyrant king should persecute mankind. that hope is past--the storm has ceased to rave-- my ripening honours wither in the grave; then let no vengeance on my comrades fall, mine was the guilt, and mine the sorrow, all; how often have i sought thee--oft my mind figured thee to my sight--o'erjoyed to find my mother's token; disappointment came, when thou denied thy lineage and thy name; oh! still o'er thee my soul impassioned hung, still to my father fond affection clung! but fate, remorseless, all my hopes withstood, and stained thy reeking hands in kindred blood." his faltering breath protracted speech denied: still from his eye-lids flowed a gushing tide; through rustem's soul redoubled horror ran, heart-rending thoughts subdued the mighty man, and now, at last, with joy-illumined eye, the zábul bands their glorious chief descry; but when they saw his pale and haggard look, knew from what mournful cause he gazed and shook, with downcast mien they moaned and wept aloud; while rustem thus addressed the weeping crowd "here ends the war! let gentle peace succeed, enough of death, i--i have done the deed!" then to his brother, groaning deep, he said-- "o what a curse upon a parent's head! but go--and to the tartar say--no more, let war between us steep the earth with gore." zúára flew and wildly spoke his grief, to crafty húmán, the túránian chief, who, with dissembled sorrow, heard him tell the dismal tidings which he knew too well; "and who," he said, "has caused these tears to flow? who, but hujír? he might have stayed the blow, but when sohráb his father's banners sought; he still denied that here the champion fought; he spread the ruin, he the secret knew, hence should his crime receive the vengeance due!" zúára, frantic, breathed in rustem's ear, the treachery of the captive chief, hujír; whose headless trunk had weltered on the strand, but prayers and force withheld the lifted hand. then to his dying son the champion turned, remorse more deep within his bosom burned; a burst of frenzy fired his throbbing brain; he clenched his sword, but found his fury vain; the persian chiefs the desperate act represt, and tried to calm the tumult in his breast: thus gúdarz spoke--"alas! wert thou to give thyself a thousand wounds, and cease to live; what would it be to him thou sorrowest o'er? it would not save one pang--then weep no more; for if removed by death, o say, to whom has ever been vouchsafed a different doom? all are the prey of death--the crowned, the low, and man, through life, the victim still of woe." then rustem: "fly! and to the king relate, the pressing horrors which involve my fate; and if the memory of my deeds e'er swayed his mind, o supplicate his generous aid; a sovereign balm he has whose wondrous power, all wounds can heal, and fleeting life restore;[ ] swift from his tent the potent medicine bring." --but mark the malice of the brainless king! hard as the flinty rock, he stern denies the healthful draught, and gloomy thus replies: "can i forgive his foul and slanderous tongue? the sharp disdain on me contemptuous flung? scorned 'midst my army by a shameless boy, who sought my throne, my sceptre to destroy! nothing but mischief from his heart can flow, is it, then, wise to cherish such a foe? the fool who warms his enemy to life, only prepares for scenes of future strife." gúdarz, returning, told the hopeless tale-- and thinking rustem's presence might prevail; the champion rose, but ere he reached the throne, sohráb had breathed the last expiring groan. now keener anguish rack'd the father's mind, reft of his son, a murderer of his kind; his guilty sword distained with filial gore, he beat his burning breast, his hair he tore; the breathless corse before his shuddering view, a shower of ashes o'er his head he threw; "in my old age," he cried, "what have i done? why have i slain my son, my innocent son! why o'er his splendid dawning did i roll the clouds of death--and plunge my burthened soul in agony? my son! from heroes sprung; better these hands were from my body wrung; and solitude and darkness, deep and drear, fold me from sight than hated linger here. but when his mother hears, with horror wild, that i have shed the life-blood of her child, so nobly brave, so dearly loved, in vain, how can her heart that rending shock sustain?" now on a bier the persian warriors place the breathless youth, and shade his pallid face; and turning from that fatal field away, move towards the champion's home in long array. then rustem, sick of martial pomp and show, himself the spring of all this scene of woe, doomed to the flames the pageantry he loved, shield, spear, and mace, so oft in battle proved; now lost to all, encompassed by despair; his bright pavilion crackling blazed in air; the sparkling throne the ascending column fed; in smoking fragments fell the golden bed; the raging fire red glimmering died away, and all the warrior's pride in dust and ashes lay. káús, the king, now joins the mournful chief, and tries to soothe his deep and settled grief; for soon or late we yield our vital breath, and all our worldly troubles end in death! "when first i saw him, graceful in his might, he looked far other than a tartar knight; wondering i gazed--now destiny has thrown him on thy sword--he fought, and he is gone; and should even heaven against the earth be hurled, or fire inwrap in crackling flames the world, that which is past--we never can restore, his soul has travelled to some happier shore. alas! no good from sorrow canst thou reap, then wherefore thus in gloom and misery weep?" but rustem's mighty woes disdained his aid, his heart was drowned in grief, and thus he said: "yes, he is gone! to me for ever lost! o then protect his brave unguided host; from war removed and this detested place, let them, unharmed, their mountain-wilds retrace; bid them secure my brother's will obey, the careful guardian of their weary way,[ ] to where the jihún's distant waters stray." to this the king: "my soul is sad to see thy hopeless grief--but, since approved by thee, the war shall cease--though the túránian brand has spread dismay and terror through the land." the king, appeased, no more with vengeance burned, the tartar legions to their homes returned; the persian warriors, gathering round the dead, grovelled in dust, and tears of sorrow shed; then back to loved irán their steps the monarch led. but rustem, midst his native bands, remained, and further rites of sacrifice maintained; a thousand horses bled at his command, and the torn drums were scattered o'er the sand; and now through zábul's deep and bowery groves, in mournful pomp the sad procession moves. the mighty chief on foot precedes the bier; his warrior-friends, in grief assembled near: the dismal cadence rose upon the gale, and zál astonished heard the piercing wail; he and his kindred joined the solemn train; hung round the bier and wondering viewed the slain. "there gaze, and weep!" the sorrowing father said, "for there, behold my glorious offspring dead!" the hoary sire shrunk backward with surprise, and tears of blood o'erflowed his aged eyes; and now the champion's rural palace gate receives the funeral group in gloomy state; rúdábeh loud bemoaned the stripling's doom; sweet flower, all drooping in the hour of bloom, his tender youth in distant bowers had past, sheltered at home he felt no withering blast; in the soft prison of his mother's arms, secure from danger and the world's alarms. o ruthless fortune! flushed with generous pride, he sought his sire, and thus unhappy, died. rustem again the sacred bier unclosed; again sohráb to public view exposed; husbands, and wives, and warriors, old and young, struck with amaze, around the body hung, with garments rent and loosely flowing hair; their shrieks and clamours filled the echoing air; frequent they cried: "thus sám the champion slept! thus sleeps sohráb!" again they groaned, and wept. now o'er the corpse a yellow robe is spread, the aloes bier is closed upon the dead; and, to preserve the hapless hero's name, fragrant and fresh, that his unblemished fame might live and bloom through all succeeding days, a mound sepulchral on the spot they raise, formed like a charger's hoof. in every ear the story has been told--and many a tear, shed at the sad recital. through túrán, afrásiyáb's wide realm, and samengán, deep sunk the tidings--nuptial bower, and bed, and all that promised happiness, had fled! but when tahmíneh heard this tale of woe, think how a mother bore the mortal blow! distracted, wild, she sprang from place to place; with frenzied hands deformed her beauteous face; the musky locks her polished temples crowned. furious she tore, and flung upon the ground; starting, in agony of grief, she gazed-- her swimming eyes to heaven imploring raised; and groaning cried: "sole comfort of my life! doomed the sad victim of unnatural strife, where art thou now with dust and blood defiled? thou darling boy, my lost, my murdered child! when thou wert gone--how, night and lingering day, did thy fond mother watch the time away; for hope still pictured all i wished to see, thy father found, and thou returned to me, yes--thou, exulting in thy father's fame! and yet, nor sire nor son, nor tidings, came: how could i dream of this? ye met--but how? that noble aspect--that ingenuous brow, moved not a nerve in him--ye met--to part, alas! the life-blood issuing from the heart short was the day which gave to me delight, soon, soon, succeeds a long and dismal night; on whom shall now devolve my tender care? who, loved like thee, my bosom-sorrows share? whom shall i take to fill thy vacant place, to whom extend a mother's soft embrace? sad fate! for one so young, so fair, so brave, seeking thy father thus to find a grave. these arms no more shall fold thee to my breast, no more with thee my soul be doubly blest; no, drowned in blood thy lifeless body lies, for ever torn from these desiring eyes; friendless, alone, beneath a foreign sky, thy mail thy death-clothes--and thy father, by; why did not i conduct thee on the way, and point where rustem's bright pavilion lay? thou hadst the tokens--why didst thou withhold those dear remembrances--that pledge of gold? hadst thou the bracelet to his view restored, thy precious blood had never stained his sword." the strong emotion choked her panting breath, her veins seemed withered by the cold of death: the trembling matrons hastening round her mourned, with piercing cries, till fluttering life returned; then gazing up, distraught, she wept again, and frantic, seeing 'midst her pitying train, the favourite steed--now more than ever dear, the hoofs she kissed, and bathed with many a tear; clasping the mail sohráb in battle wore, with burning lips she kissed it o'er and o'er; his martial robes she in her arms comprest, and like an infant strained them to her breast; the reins, and trappings, club, and spear, were brought, the sword, and shield, with which the stripling fought, these she embraced with melancholy joy, in sad remembrance of her darling boy. and still she beat her face, and o'er them hung, as in a trance--or to them wildly clung-- day after day she thus indulged her grief, night after night, disdaining all relief; at length worn out--from earthly anguish riven, the mother's spirit joined her child in heaven. the story of saiÁwush early one morning as the cock crew, tús arose, and accompanied by gíw and gúdarz and a company of horsemen, proceeded on a hunting excursion, not far from the banks of the jihún, where, after ranging about the forest for some time, they happened to fall in with a damsel of extreme beauty, with smiling lips, blooming cheeks, and fascinating mien. they said to her: "never was seen so sweet a flower, in garden, vale, or fairy bower; the moon is on thy lovely face, thy cypress-form is full of grace; but why, with charms so soft and meek, dost thou the lonely forest seek?" she replied that her father was a violent man, and that she had left her home to escape his anger. she had crossed the river jihún, and had travelled several leagues on foot, in consequence of her horse being too much fatigued to bear her farther. she had at that time been three days in the forest. on being questioned respecting her parentage, she said her father's name was shíwer, of the race of feridún. many sovereigns had been suitors for her hand, but she did not approve of one of them. at last he wanted to marry her to poshang, the ruler of túrán, but she refused him on account of his ugliness and bad temper! this she said was the cause of her father's violence, and of her flight from home. "but when his angry mood is o'er, he'll love his daughter as before; and send his horsemen far and near, to take me to my mother dear; therefore, i would not further stray, but here, without a murmur, stay." the hearts of both tús and gíw were equally inflamed with love for the damsel, and each was equally determined to support his own pretensions, in consequence of which a quarrel arose between them. at length it was agreed to refer the matter to the king, and to abide by his decision. when, however, the king beheld the lovely object of contention, he was not disposed to give her to either claimant, but without hesitation took her to himself, after having first ascertained that she was of distinguished family and connection. in due time a son was born to him, who was, according to the calculations of the astrologers, of wonderful promise, and named saiáwush. the prophecies about his surprising virtues, and his future renown, made káús anxious that justice should be done to his opening talents, and he was highly gratified when rustem agreed to take him to zábulistán, and there instruct him in all the accomplishments which were suitable to his illustrious rank. he was accordingly taught horsemanship and archery, how to conduct himself at banquets, how to hunt with the falcon and the leopard, and made familiar with the manners and duty of kings, and the hardy chivalry of the age. his progress in the attainment of every species of knowledge and science was surprising, and in hunting he never stooped to the pursuit of animals inferior to the lion or the tiger. it was not long before the youth felt anxious to pay a visit to his father, and rustem willingly complying with his wishes, accompanied his accomplished pupil to the royal court, where they were both received with becoming distinction, saiáwush having fulfilled káús's expectations in the highest degree, and the king's gratitude to the champion being in proportion to the eminent merit of his services on the interesting occasion. after this, however, preceptors were continued to enlighten his mind seven years longer, and then he was emancipated from further application and study. one day súdáveh, the daughter of the sháh of hámáverán, happening to see saiáwush sitting with his father, the beauty of his person made an instantaneous impression on her heart, the fire of love consumed her breast, the thoughts of him denied her rest. for him alone she pined in grief, from him alone she sought relief, and called him to her secret bower, to while away the passing hour: but saiáwush refused the call, he would not shame his father's hall. the enamoured súdáveh, however, was not to be disappointed without further effort, and on a subsequent day she boldly went to the king, and praising the character and attainments of his son, proposed that he should be united in marriage to one of the damsels of royal lineage under her care. for the pretended purpose therefore of making his choice, she requested he might be sent to the harem, to see all the ladies and fix on one the most suited to his taste. the king approved of the proposal, and intimated it to saiáwush; but saiáwush was modest, timid, and bashful, and mentally suspected in this overture some artifice of súdáveh. he accordingly hesitated, but the king overcame his scruples, and the youth at length repaired to the shubistán, as the retired apartments of the women are called, with fear and trembling. when he entered within the precincts of the sacred place, he was surprised by the richness and magnificence of everything that struck his sight. he was delighted with the company of beautiful women, and he observed súdáveh sitting on a splendid throne in an interior chamber, like heaven in beauty and loveliness, with a coronet on her head, and her hair floating round her in musky ringlets. seeing him she descended gracefully, and clasping him in her arms, kissed his eyes and face with such ardor and enthusiasm that he thought proper to retire from her endearments and mix among the other damsels, who placed him on a golden chair and kept him in agreeable conversation for some time. after this pleasing interview he returned to the king, and gave him a very favorable account of his reception, and the heavenly splendor of the retirement, worthy of jemshíd, feridún, or húsheng, which gladdened his father's heart. káús repeated to him his wish that he would at once choose one of the lights of the harem for his wife, as the astrologers had prophesied on his marriage the birth of a prince. but saiáwush endeavored to excuse himself from going again to súdáveh's apartments. the king smiled at his weakness, and assured him that súdáveh was alone anxious for his happiness, upon which the youth found himself again in her power. she was surrounded by the damsels as before, but, whilst his eyes were cast down, they shortly disappeared, leaving him and the enamoured súdáveh together. she soon approached him, and lovingly said:-- "o why the secret keep from one, whose heart is fixed on thee alone! say who thou art, from whom descended, some peri with a mortal blended. for every maid who sees that face, that cypress-form replete with grace, becomes a victim to the wiles which nestle in those dimpled smiles; becomes thy own adoring slave, whom nothing but thy love can save." to this saiáwush made no reply. the history of the adventure of káús at hámáverán, and what the king and his warriors endured in consequence of the treachery of the father of súdáveh, flashed upon his mind. he therefore was full of apprehension, and breathed not a word in answer to her fondness. súdáveh observing his silence and reluctance, threw away from herself the veil of modesty, and said: "o be my own, for i am thine, and clasp me in thy arms!" and then she sprang to the astonished boy, and eagerly kissed his deep crimsoned cheek, which filled his soul with strange confusion. "when the king is dead, o take me to thyself; see how i stand, body and soul devoted unto thee." in his heart he said: "this never can be: this is a demon's work--shall i be treacherous? what! to my own dear father? never, never; i will not thus be tempted by the devil; yet must i not be cold to this wild woman, for fear of further folly." saiáwush then expressed his readiness to be united in marriage to her daughter, and to no other; and when this intelligence was conveyed to káús by súdáveh herself, his majesty was extremely pleased, and munificently opened his treasury on the happy occasion. but súdáveh still kept in view her own design, and still laboring for its success, sedulously read her own incantations to prevent disappointment, at any rate to punish the uncomplying youth if she failed. on another day she sent for him, and exclaimed:-- "i cannot now dissemble; since i saw thee i seem to be as dead--my heart all withered. seven years have passed in unrequited love-- seven long, long years. o! be not still obdurate, but with the generous impulse of affection, oh, bless my anxious spirit, or, refusing, thy life will be in peril; thou shalt die!" "never," replied the youth; "o, never, never; oh, ask me not, for this can never be." saiáwush then rose to depart precipitately, but súdáveh observing him, endeavored to cling round him and arrest his flight. the endeavor, however, was fruitless; and finding at length her situation desperate, she determined to turn the adventure into her own favor, by accusing saiáwush of an atrocious outrage on her own person and virtue. she accordingly tore her dress, screamed aloud, and rushed out of her apartment to inform káús of the indignity she had suffered. among her women the most clamorous lamentations arose, and echoed on every side. the king, on hearing that saiáwush had preferred súdáveh to her daughter, and that he had meditated so abominable an offence, thought that death alone could expiate his crime. he therefore summoned him to his presence; but satisfied that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to ascertain the truth of the case from either party concerned, he had recourse to a test which he thought would be infallible and conclusive. he first smelt the hands of saiáwush, and then his garments, which had the scent of rose-water; and then he took the garments of súdáveh, which, on the contrary, had a strong flavor of wine and musk. upon this discovery, the king resolved on the death of súdáveh, being convinced of the falsehood of the accusation she had made against his son. but when his indignation subsided, he was induced on various accounts to forego that resolution. yet he said to her, "i am sure that saiáwush is innocent, but let that remain concealed."--súdáveh, however, persisted in asserting his guilt, and continually urged him to punish the reputed offender, but without being attended to. at length he resolved to ascertain the innocence of saiáwush by the ordeal of fire; and the fearless youth prepared to undergo the terrible trial to which he was sentenced, telling his father to be under no alarm. "the truth (and its reward i claim), will bear me safe through fiercest flame." a tremendous fire was accordingly lighted on the adjacent plain, which blazed to an immense distance. the youth was attired in his golden helmet and a white robe, and mounted on a black horse. he put up a prayer to the almighty for protection, and then rushed amidst the conflagration, as collectedly as if the act had been entirely free from peril. when súdáveh heard the confused exclamations that were uttered at that moment, she hurried upon the terrace of the palace and witnessed the appalling sight, and in the fondness of her heart, wished even that she could share his fate, the fate of him of whom she was so deeply enamoured. the king himself fell from his throne in horror on seeing him surrounded and enveloped in the flames, from which there seemed no chance of extrication; but the gallant youth soon rose up, like the moon from the bursting element, and went through the ordeal unharmed and untouched by the fire. káús, on coming to his senses, rejoiced exceedingly on the happy occasion, and his severest anger was directed against súdáveh, whom he now determined to put to death, not only for her own guilt, but for exposing his son to such imminent danger. the noble youth, however, interceded for her. súdáveh, notwithstanding, still continued to practise her charms and incantations in secret, to the end that saiáwush might be put out of the way; and in this pursuit she was indeed indefatigable. suddenly intelligence was received that afrásiyáb had assembled another army, for the purpose of making an irruption into irán; and káús, seeing that a tartar could neither be bound by promise nor oath, resolved that he would on this occasion take the field himself, penetrate as far as balkh, and seizing the country, make an example of the inhabitants. but saiáwush perceiving in this prospect of affairs an opportunity of becoming free from the machinations and witchery of súdáveh, earnestly requested to be employed, adding that, with the advice and bravery of rustem, he would be sure of success. the king referred the matter to rustem, who candidly declared that there was no necessity whatever for his majesty proceeding personally to the war; and upon this assurance he threw open his treasury, and supplied all the resources of the empire to equip the troops appointed to accompany them. after one month the army marched toward balkh, the point of attack. on the other side gersíwaz, the ruler of balghar, joined the tartar legions at balkh, commanded by bármán, who both sallied forth to oppose the persian host, and after a conflict of three days were defeated, and obliged to abandon the fort. when the accounts of this calamity reached afrásiyáb, he was seized with the utmost terror, which was increased by a dreadful dream. he thought he was in a forest abounding with serpents, and that the air was darkened by the appearance of countless eagles. the ground was parched up with heat, and a whirlwind hurled down his tent and overthrew his banners. on every side flowed a river of blood, and the whole of his army had been defeated and butchered in his sight. he was afterwards taken prisoner, and ignominiously conducted to káús, in whose company he beheld a gallant youth, not more than fourteen years of age, who, the moment he saw him, plunged a dagger in his loins, and with the scream of agony produced by the wound, he awoke. gersíwaz had in the meantime returned with the remnant of his force; and being informed of these particulars, endeavored to console afrásiyáb, by assuring him that the true interpretation of dreams was the reverse of appearances. but afrásiyáb was not to be consoled in this manner. he referred to his astrologers, who, however, hesitated, and were unwilling to afford an explanation of the mysterious vision. at length one of them, upon the solicited promise that the king would not punish him for divulging the truth, described the nature of the warning implied in what had been witnessed. "and now i throw aside the veil, which hides the darkly shadowed tale. led by a prince of prosperous star, the persian legions speed to war, and in his horoscope we scan the lordly victor of túrán. if thou shouldst to the conflict rush, opposed to conquering saiáwush, thy turkish cohorts will be slain, and all thy saving efforts vain. for if he, in the threatened strife, should haply chance to lose his life; thy country's fate will be the same, stripped of its throne and diadem." afrásiyáb was satisfied with this interpretation, and felt the prudence of avoiding a war so pregnant with evil consequences to himself and his kingdom. he therefore deputed gersíwaz to the headquarters of saiáwush, with splendid presents, consisting of horses richly caparisoned, armor, swords, and other costly articles, and a written dispatch, proposing a termination to hostilities. in the meantime saiáwush was anxious to pursue the enemy across the jihún, but was dissuaded by his friends. when gersíwaz arrived on his embassy he was received with distinction, and the object of his mission being understood, a secret council was held upon what answer should be given. it was then deemed proper to demand: first, one hundred distinguished heroes as hostages; and secondly, the restoration of all the provinces which the túránians had taken from irán. gersíwaz sent immediately to afrásiyáb to inform him of the conditions required, and without the least delay they were approved. a hundred warriors were soon on their way; and bokhára, and samerkánd, and haj, and the punjáb, were faithfully delivered over to saiáwush. afrásiyáb himself retired towards gungduz, saying, "i have had a terrible dream, and i will surrender whatever may be required from me, rather than go to war." the negotiations being concluded, saiáwush sent a letter to his father by the hands of rustem. rumor, however, had already told káús of afrásiyáb's dream, and the terror he had been thrown into in consequence. the astrologers in his service having prognosticated from it the certain ruin of the túránian king, the object of rustem's mission was directly contrary to the wishes of káús; but rustem contended that the policy was good, and the terms were good, and he thereby incurred his majesty's displeasure. on this account káús appointed tús the leader of the persian army, and commanded him to march against afrásiyáb, ordering saiáwush at the same time to return, and bring with him his hundred hostages. at this command saiáwush was grievously offended, and consulted with his chieftains, báhrám, and zinga, and sháwerán, on the fittest course to be pursued, saying, "i have pledged my word to the fulfilment of the terms, and what will the world say if i do not keep my faith?" the chiefs tried to quiet his mind, and recommended him to write again to káús, expressing his readiness to renew the war, and return the hundred hostages. but saiáwush was in a different humor, and thought as tús had been actually appointed to the command of the persian army, it would be most advisable for him to abandon his country and join afrásiyáb. the chiefs, upon hearing this singular resolution, unanimously attempted to dissuade him from pursuing so wild a course as throwing himself into the power of his enemy; but he was deaf to their entreaties, and in the stubbornness of his spirit, wrote to afrásiyáb, informing him that káús had refused to ratify the treaty of peace, that he was compelled to return the hostages, and even himself to seek protection in túrán from the resentment of his father, the warrior tús having been already entrusted with the charge of the army. this unexpected intelligence excited considerable surprise in the mind of afrásiyáb, but he had no hesitation in selecting the course to be followed. the ambassadors, zinga and sháwerán, were soon furnished with a reply, which was to this effect:--"i settled the terms of peace with thee, not with thy father. with him i have nothing to do. if thy choice be retirement and tranquillity, thou shalt have a peaceful and independent province allotted to thee; but if war be thy object, i will furnish thee with a large army: thy father is old and infirm, and with the aid of rustem, persia will be an easy conquest." having thus obtained the promised favor and support of afrásiyáb, saiáwush gave in charge to báhrám the city of balkh, the army and treasure, in order that they might be delivered over to tús on his arrival; and taking with him three hundred chosen horsemen, passed the jihún, in progress to the court of afrásiyáb. on taking this decisive step, he again wrote to káús, saying:-- "from my youth upward i have suffered wrong. at first súdáveh, false and treacherous, sought to destroy my happiness and fame; and thou hadst nearly sacrificed my life to glut her vengeance. the astrologers were all unheeded, who pronounced me innocent, and i was doomed to brave devouring fire, to testify that i was free from guilt; but god was my deliverer! victory now has marked my progress. balkh, and all its spoils, are mine, and so reduced the enemy, that i have gained a hundred hostages, to guarantee the peace which i have made; and what my recompense! a father's anger, which takes me from my glory. thus deprived of thy affection, whither can i fly? be it to friend or foe, the will of fate must be my only guide--condemned by thee." the reception of saiáwush by afrásiyáb was warm and flattering. from the gates of the city to the palace, gold and incense were scattered over his head in the customary manner, and exclamations of welcome uttered on every side. "thy presence gives joy to the land, which awaits thy command; it is thine! it is thine! all the chiefs of the state have assembled to meet thee, all the flowers of the land are in blossom to greet thee!" the youth was placed on a golden throne next to afrásiyáb, and a magnificent banquet prepared in honor of the stranger, and music and the songs of beautiful women enlivened the festive scene. they chanted the praises of saiáwush, distinguished, as they said, among men for three things: first, for being of the line of kai-kobád; secondly, for his faith and honor; and, thirdly, for the wonderful beauty of his person, which had gained universal love and admiration. the favorable sentiments which characterized the first introduction of saiáwush to afrásiyáb continued to prevail, and indeed the king of túrán seemed to regard him with increased attachment and friendship, as the time passed away, and showed him all the respect and honor to which his royal birth would have entitled him in his own country. after the lapse of a year, pírán-wísah, one of afrásiyáb's generals, said to him: "young prince, thou art now high in the favor of the king, and at a great distance from persia, and thy father is old; would it not therefore be better for thee to marry and take up thy residence among us for life?" the suggestion was a rational one, and saiáwush readily expressed his acquiescence; accordingly, the lovely gúlshaher, who was also named jaríra, having been introduced to him, he was delighted with her person, and both consenting to a union, the marriage ceremony was immediately performed. and many a warm delicious kiss, told how he loved the wedded bliss. some time after this union, pírán suggested another alliance, for the purpose of strengthening his political interest and power, and this was with ferangís, the daughter of afrásiyáb. but saiáwush was so devoted to gúlshaher that he first consulted with her on the subject, although the hospitality and affection of the king constituted such strong claims on his gratitude that refusal was impossible. gúlshaher, however, was a heroine, and willingly sacrificed her own feelings for the good of saiáwush, saying she would rather condescend to be the very handmaid of ferangís than that the happiness and prosperity of her lord should be compromised. the second marriage accordingly took place, and afrásiyáb was so pleased with the match that he bestowed on the bride and her husband the sovereignty of khoten, together with countless treasure in gold, and a great number of horses, camels, and elephants. in a short time they proceeded to the seat of the new government. meanwhile káús suffered the keenest distress and sorrow when he heard of the flight of saiáwush into túrán, and rustem felt such strong indignation at the conduct of the king that he abruptly quitted the court, without permission, and retired to sístán. káús thus found himself in an embarrassed condition, and deemed it prudent to recall both tús and the army from balkh, and relinquish further hostile measures against afrásiyáb. the first thing that saiáwush undertook after his arrival at khoten, was to order the selection of a beautiful site for his residence, and pírán devoted his services to fulfil that object, exploring all the provinces, hills, and dales, on every side. at last he discovered a beautiful spot, at the distance of about a month's journey, which combined all the qualities and advantages required by the anxious prince. it was situated on a mountain, and surrounded by scenery of exquisite richness and variety. the trees were fresh and green, birds warbled on every spray, transparent rivulets murmured through the meadows, the air was neither oppressively hot in summer, nor cold in winter, so that the temperature, and the attractive objects which presented themselves at every glance, seemed to realize the imagined charms and fascinations of paradise. the inhabitants enjoyed perpetual health, and every breeze was laden with music and perfume. so lovely a place could not fail to yield pleasure to saiáwush, who immediately set about building a palace there, and garden-temples, in which he had pictures painted of the most remarkable persons of his time, and also the portraits of ancient kings. the walls were decorated with the likenesses of kai-kobád, of kai-káús, poshang, afrásiyáb, and sám, and zál, and rustem, and other champions of persia and túrán. when completed, it was a gorgeous retreat, and the sight of it sufficient to give youthful vigor to the withered faculties of age. and yet saiáwush was not happy! tears started into his eyes and sorrow weighed upon his heart, whenever he thought upon his own estrangement from home! it happened that the lovely gúlshaher, who had been left in the house of her father, was delivered of a son in due time, and he was named ferúd. afrásiyáb, on being informed of the proceedings of saiáwush, and of the heart-expanding residence he had chosen, was highly gratified; and to show his affectionate regard, despatched to him with the intelligence of the birth of a son, presents of great value and variety. gersíwaz, the brother of afrásiyáb, and who had from the first looked upon saiáwush with a jealous and malignant eye, being afraid of his interfering with his own prospects in túrán, was the person sent on this occasion. but he hid his secret thoughts under the veil of outward praise and approbation. saiáwush was pleased with the intelligence and the presents, but failed to pay the customary respect to gersíwaz on his arrival, and, in consequence, the lurking indignation and hatred formerly felt by the latter were considerably augmented. the attention of saiáwush respecting his army and the concerns of the state, was unremitting, and noted by the visitor with a jealous and scrutinizing eye, so that gersíwaz, on his return to the court of afrásiyáb, artfully talked much of the pomp and splendor of the prince, and added: "saiáwush is far from being the amiable character thou hast supposed; he is artful and ambitious, and he has collected an immense army; he is in fact dissatisfied. as a proof of his haughtiness, he paid me but little attention, and doubtless very heavy calamity will soon befall túrán, should he break out, as i apprehend he will, into open rebellion:-- "for he is proud, and thou has yet to learn the temper of thy daughter ferangís, now bound to him in duty and affection; their purpose is the same, to overthrow the kingdom of túrán, and thy dominion; to merge the glory of this happy realm into the persian empire!" but plausible and persuasive as were the observations and positive declarations of gersíwaz, afrásiyáb would not believe the imputed ingratitude and hostility of saiáwush. "he has sought my protection," said he; "he has thrown himself upon my generosity, and i cannot think him treacherous. but if he has meditated anything unmerited by me, and unworthy of himself, it will be better to send him back to kai-káús, his father." the artful gersíwaz, however, was not to be diverted from his object: he said that saiáwush had become personally acquainted with túrán, its position, its weakness, its strength, and resources, and aided by rustem, would soon be able to overrun the country if he was suffered to return, and therefore he recommended afrásiyáb to bring him from khoten by some artifice, and secure him. in conformity with this suggestion, gersíwaz was again deputed to the young prince, and a letter of a friendly nature written for the purpose of blinding him to the real intentions of his father-in-law. the letter was no sooner read than saiáwush expressed his desire to comply with the request contained in it, saying that afrásiyáb had been a father to him, and that he would lose no time in fulfilling in all respects the wishes he had received. this compliance and promptitude, however, was not in harmony with the sinister views of gersíwaz, for he foresaw that the very fact of answering the call immediately would show that some misrepresentation had been practised, and consequently it was his business now to promote procrastination, and an appearance of evasive delay. he therefore said to him privately that it would be advisable for him to wait a little, and not manifest such implicit obedience to the will of afrásiyáb; but saiáwush replied, that both his duty and affection urged him to a ready compliance. then gersíwaz pressed him more warmly, and represented how inconsistent, how unworthy of his illustrious lineage it would be to betray so meek a spirit, especially as he had a considerable army at his command, and could vindicate his dignity and his rights. and he addressed to him these specious arguments so incessantly and with such earnestness, that the deluded prince was at last induced to put off his departure, on account of his wife ferangís pretending that she was ill, and saying that the moment she was better he would return to túrán. this was quite enough for treachery to work upon; and as soon as the dispatch was sealed, gersíwaz conveyed it with the utmost expedition to afrásiyáb. appearances, at least, were thus made strong against saiáwush, and the tyrant of túrán, now easily convinced of his falsehood, and feeling in consequence his former enmity renewed, forthwith assembled an army to punish his refractory son-in-law. gersíwaz was appointed the leader of that army, which was put in motion without delay against the unoffending youth. the news of afrásiyáb's warlike preparations satisfied the mind of saiáwush that gersíwaz had given him good advice, and that he had been a faithful monitor, for immediate compliance, he now concluded, would have been his utter ruin. when he communicated this unwelcome intelligence to ferangís, she was thrown into the greatest alarm and agitation; but ever fruitful in expedients, suggested the course that it seemed necessary he should instantly adopt, which was to fly by a circuitous route back to irán. to this he expressed no dissent, provided she would accompany him; but she said it was impossible to do so on account of the condition she was in. "leave me," she added, "and save thy own life!" he therefore called together his three hundred iránians, and requesting ferangís, if she happened to be delivered of a son, to call him kai-khosráu, set off on his journey. "i go, surrounded by my enemies; the hand of merciless afrásiyáb lifted against me." it was not the fortune of saiáwush, however, to escape so easily as had been anticipated by ferangís. gersíwaz was soon at his heels, and in the battle that ensued, all the iránians were killed, and also the horse upon which the unfortunate prince rode, so that on foot he could make but little progress. in the meantime afrásiyáb came up, and surrounding him, wanted to shoot him with an arrow, but he was restrained from the violent act by the intercession of his people, who recommended his being taken alive, and only kept in prison. accordingly he was again attacked and secured, and still afrásiyáb wished to put him to death; but pílsam, one of his warriors, and the brother of pírán, induced him to relinquish that diabolical intention, and to convey him back to his own palace. saiáwush was then ignominiously fettered and conducted to the royal residence, which he had himself erected and ornamented with such richness and magnificence. the sight of the city and its splendid buildings filled every one with wonder and admiration. upon the arrival of afrásiyáb, ferangís hastened to him in a state of the deepest distress, and implored his clemency and compassion in favor of saiáwush. "o father, he is not to blame, still pure and spotless is his name; faithful and generous still to me, and never--never false to thee. this hate to gersíwaz he owes, the worst, the bitterest of his foes; did he not thy protection seek, and wilt thou overpower the weak? spill royal blood thou shouldest bless, in cruel sport and wantonness? and earn the curses of mankind, living, in this precarious state, and dead, the torments of the mind, which hell inflicts upon the great who revel in a murderous course, and rule by cruelty and force. "it scarce becomes me now to tell, what the accursed zohák befel, or what the punishment which hurled sílim and túr from out the world. and is not káús living now, with rightful vengeance on his brow? and rustem, who alone can make thy kingdom to its centre quake? gúdarz, zúára, and fríburz, and tús, and girgín, and frámurz; and others too of fearless might, to challenge thee to mortal fight? o, from this peril turn away, close not in gloom so bright a day; some heed to thy poor daughter give, and let thy guiltless captive live." the effect of this appeal, solemnly and urgently delivered, was only transitory. afrasiyáb felt a little compunction at the moment, but soon resumed his ferocious spirit, and to ensure, without interruption, the accomplishment of his purpose, confined ferangís in one of the remotest parts of the palace:-- and thus to gersíwaz unfeeling spoke: "off with his head, down with the enemy; but take especial notice that his blood stains not the earth, lest it should cry aloud for vengeance on us. take good care of that!" gersíwaz, who was but too ready an instrument, immediately directed karú-zíra, a kinsman of afrásiyáb, who had been also one of the most zealous in promoting the ruin of the persian prince, to inflict the deadly blow; and saiáwush, whilst under the grasp of the executioner, had but time to put up a prayer to heaven, in which he hoped that a son might be born to him to vindicate his good name, and be revenged on his murderer. the executioner then seized him by the hair, and throwing him on the ground, severed the head from the body. a golden vessel was ready to receive the blood, as commanded by afrásiyáb; but a few drops happened to be spilt on the soil, and upon that spot a tree grew up, which was afterwards called saiáwush, and believed to possess many wonderful virtues! the blood was carefully conveyed to afrásiyáb, the head fixed on the point of a javelin, and the body was buried with respect and affection by his friend pílsam, who had witnessed the melancholy catastrophe. it is also related that a tremendous tempest occurred at the time this amiable prince was murdered, and that a total darkness covered the face of the earth, so that the people could not distinguish each other's faces. then was the name of afrásiyáb truly execrated and abhorred for the cruel act he had committed, and all the inhabitants of khoten long cherished the memory of saiáwush. ferangís was frantic with grief when she was told of the sad fate of her husband, and all her household uttered the loudest lamentations. pílsam gave the intelligence to pírán and the proverb was then remembered: "it is better to be in hell, than under the rule of afrásiyáb!" when the deep sorrow of ferangís reached the ears of her father, he determined on a summary procedure, and ordered gersíwaz to have her privately made away with, so that there might be no issue of her marriage with saiáwush. pírán with horror heard this stern command, and hasten'd to the king, and thus addressed him: "what! wouldst thou hurl thy vengeance on a woman, that woman, too, thy daughter? is it wise, or natural, thus to sport with human life? already hast thou taken from her arms her unoffending husband--that was cruel; but thus to shed an innocent woman's blood, and kill her unborn infant--that would be too dreadful to imagine! is she not thy own fair daughter, given in happier time to him who won thy favour and affection? think but of that, and from thy heart root out this demon wish, which leads thee to a crime, mocking concealment; vain were the endeavour to keep the murder secret, and when known, the world's opprobrium would pursue thy name. and after death, what would thy portion be! no more of this--honour me with the charge, and i will keep her with a father's care, in my own mansion." then afrásiyáb readily answered: "take her to thy home, but when the child is born, let it be brought promptly to me--my will must be obeyed." pírán rejoiced at his success; and assenting to the command of afrásiyáb, took ferangís with him to khoten, where in due time a child was born, and being a son, was called kai-khosráu. as soon as he was born, pírán took measures to prevent his being carried off to afrásiyáb, and committed him to the care of some peasants on the mountain kalún. on the same night afrásiyáb had a dream, in which he received intimation of the birth of kai-khosráu; and upon this intimation he sent for pírán to know why his commands had not been complied with. pírán replied, that he had cast away the child in the wilderness. "and why was he not sent to me?" inquired the despot. "because," said pírán, "i considered thy own future happiness; thou hast unjustly killed the father, and god forbid that thou shouldst also kill the son!" afrásiyáb was abashed, and it is said that ever after the atrocious murder of saiáwush, he had been tormented with the most terrible and harrowing dreams. gersíwaz now became hateful to his sight, and he began at last deeply to repent of his violence and inhumanity. kai-khosráu grew up under the fostering protection of the peasants, and showed early marks of surprising talent and activity. he excelled in manly exercises; and hunting ferocious animals was his peculiar delight. instructors had been provided to initiate him in all the arts and pursuits cultivated by the warriors of those days, and even in his twelfth year accounts were forwarded to pírán of several wonderful feats which he had performed. then smiled the good old man, and joyful said: "'tis ever thus--the youth of royal blood will not disgrace his lineage, but betray by his superior mien and gallant deeds from whence he sprung. 'tis by the luscious fruit we know the tree, and glory in its ripeness!" pírán could not resist paying a visit to the youth in his mountainous retreat, and, happy to find him, beyond all expectation, distinguished for the elegance of his external appearance, and the superior qualities of his mind, related to him the circumstances under which he had been exposed, and the rank and misfortunes of his father. an artifice then occurred to him which promised to be of ultimate advantage. he afterwards told afrásiyáb that the offspring of ferangís, thrown by him into the wilderness to perish, had been found by a peasant and brought up, but that he understood the boy was little better than an idiot. afrásiyáb, upon this information, desired that he might be sent for, and in the meantime pírán took especial care to instruct kai-khosráu how he should act; which was to seem in all respects insane, and he accordingly appeared before the king in the dress of a prince with a golden crown on his head, and the royal girdle round his loins. kai-khosráu proceeded on horseback to the court of afrásiyáb, and having performed the usual salutations, was suitably received, though with strong feelings of shame and remorse on the part of the tyrant. afrásiyáb put several questions to him, which were answered in a wild and incoherent manner, entirely at variance with the subject proposed. the king could not help smiling, and supposing him to be totally deranged, allowed him to be sent with presents to his mother, for no harm, he thought, could possibly be apprehended from one so forlorn in mind. pírán triumphed in the success of his scheme, and lost no time in taking kai-khosráu to his mother. all the people of khoten poured blessings on the head of the youth, and imprecations on the merciless spirit of afrásiyáb. the city built by saiáwush had been razed to the ground by the exterminating fury of his enemies, and wild animals and reptiles occupied the place on which it stood. the mother and son visited the spot where saiáwush was barbarously killed, and the tree, which grew up from the soil enriched by his blood, was found verdant and flourishing, and continued to possess in perfection its marvellous virtues. the tale of saiáwush is told; and now the pages bright unfold, rustem's revenge--súdáveh's fate-- afrásiyáb's degraded state, and that terrific curse and ban which fell at last upon túrán! when kai-káús heard of the fate of his son, and all its horrible details were pictured to his mind, he was thrown into the deepest affliction. his warriors, tús, and gúdarz, and báhrám, and fríburz, and ferhád, felt with equal keenness the loss of the amiable prince, and rustem, as soon as the dreadful intelligence reached sístán, set off with his troops to the court of the king, still full of indignation at the conduct of káús, and oppressed with sorrow respecting the calamity which had occurred. on his arrival he thus addressed the weeping and disconsolate father of saiáwush, himself at the same time drowned in tears:-- "how has thy temper turned to nought, the seed which might have grown, and cast a glorious shadow; how is it scattered to the barren winds! thy love for false súdáveh was the cause of all this misery; she, the sorceress, o'er whom thou hast so oft in rapture hung, enchanted by her charms; she was the cause of this destruction. thou art woman's slave! woman, the bane of man's felicity! who ever trusted woman? death were better than being under woman's influence; she places man upon the foamy ridge of the tempestuous wave, which rolls to ruin, who ever trusted woman?--woman! woman!" káús looked down with melancholy mien, and, half consenting, thus to rustem said:-- "súdáveh's blandishments absorbed my soul, and she has brought this wretchedness upon me." rustem rejoined--"the world must be revenged upon this false súdáveh;--she must die." káús was silent; but his tears flowed fast, and shame withheld resistance. rustem rushed without a pause towards the shubistán; impatient, nothing could obstruct his speed to slay súdáveh;--her he quickly found, and rapidly his sanguinary sword performed its office. thus the sorceress died. such was the punishment her crimes received. having thus accomplished the first part of his vengeance, he proceeded with the persian army against afrásiyáb, and all the iránian warriors followed his example. when he had penetrated as far as túrán, the enemy sent forward thirty thousand men to oppose his progress; and in the conflict which ensued, ferámurz took sarkhá, the son of afrásiyáb, prisoner. rustem delivered him over to tús to be put to death precisely in the same manner as saiáwush; but the captive represented himself as the particular friend of saiáwush, and begged to be pardoned on that account. rustem, however, had sworn that he would take his revenge, without pity or remorse, and accordingly death was inflicted upon the unhappy prisoner, whose blood was received in a dish, and sent to káús, and the severed head suspended over the gates of the king's palace. afrásiyáb hearing of this catastrophe, which sealed the fate of his favorite son, immediately collected together the whole of the túránian army, and hastened himself to resist the conquering career of the enemy. as on they moved; with loud and dissonant clang; his numerous troops shut out the prospect round; no sun was visible by day; no moon, nor stars by night. the tramp of men and steeds, and rattling drums, and shouts, were only heard, and the bright gleams of armour only seen. ere long the two armies met, when pílsam, the brother of pírán, was ambitious of opposing his single arm against rustem, upon which afrásiyáb said:--"subdue rustem, and thy reward shall be my daughter, and half my kingdom." pírán, however, observed that he was too young to be a fit match for the experience and valor of the persian champion, and would have dissuaded him from the unequal contest, but the choice was his own, and he was consequently permitted by afrásiyáb to put his bravery to the test. pílsam accordingly went forth and summoned rustem to the fight; but gíw, hearing the call, accepted the challenge himself, and had nearly been thrown from his horse by the superior activity of his opponent. ferámurz luckily saw him at the perilous moment, and darting forward, with one stroke of his sword shattered pílsam's javelin to pieces, and then a new strife began. pílsam and ferámurz fought together with desperation, till both were almost exhausted, and rustem himself was surprised to see the display of so much valor. perceiving the wearied state of the two warriors he pushed forward rakush, and called aloud to pílsam:--"am i not the person challenged?" and immediately the túránian chief proceeded to encounter him, striking with all his might at the head of the champion; but though the sword was broken by the blow, not a hair of his head was disordered. then rustem urging on his gallant steed, fixed his long javelin in the girdle band of his ambitious foe, and quick unhorsed him; then dragged him on towards afrásiyáb, and, scoffing, cast him at the despot's feet. "here comes the glorious conqueror," he said; "now give to him thy daughter and thy treasure, thy kingdom and thy soldiers; has he not done honour to thy country?--is he not a jewel in thy crown of sovereignty? what arrogance inspired the fruitless hope! think of thy treachery to saiáwush; thy savage cruelty, and never look for aught but deadly hatred from mankind; and in the field of fight defeat and ruin." thus scornfully he spoke, and not a man, though in the presence of afrásiyáb, had soul to meet him; fear o'ercame them all monarch and warriors, for a time. at length shame was awakened, and the king appeared in arms against the champion. fiercely they hurled their sharp javelins--rustem's struck the head of his opponent's horse, which floundering fell, and overturned his rider. anxious then the champion sprang to seize the royal prize; but húmán rushed between, and saved his master, who vaulted on another horse and fled. having thus rescued afrásiyáb, the wary chief exercised all his cunning and adroitness to escape himself, and at last succeeded. rustem pursued him, and the túránian troops, who had followed the example of the king; but though thousands were slain in the chase which continued for many farsangs, no further advantage was obtained on that day. next morning, however, rustem resumed his pursuit; and the enemy hearing of his approach, retreated into chinese tartary, to secure, among other advantages, the person of kai-khosráu; leaving the kingdom of túrán at the mercy of the invader, who mounted the throne, and ruled there, it is said, about seven years, with memorable severity, proscribing and putting to death every person who mentioned the name of afrásiyáb. in the meantime he made splendid presents to tús and gúdarz, suitable to their rank and services; and zúára, in revenge for the monstrous outrage committed upon saiáwush, burnt and destroyed everything that came in his way; his wrath being exasperated by the sight of the places in which the young prince had resided, and recreated himself with hunting and other sports of the field. the whole realm, in fact, was delivered over to plunder and devastation; and every individual of the army was enriched by the appropriation of public and private wealth. the companions of rustem, however, grew weary of residing in túrán, and they strongly represented to him the neglect which kai-káús had suffered for so many years, recommending his return to persia, as being more honorable than the exile they endured in an ungenial climate. rustem's abandonment of the kingdom was at length carried into effect; and he and his warriors did not fail to take away with them all the immense property that remained in jewels and gold; part of which was conveyed by the champion to zábul and sístán, and a goodly proportion to the king of kings in persia. when to afrásiyáb was known the plunder of his realm and throne, that the destroyer's reckless hand with fire and sword had scathed the land, sorrow and anguish filled his soul, and passion raged beyond control; and thus he to his warriors said:-- "at such a time, is valour dead? the man who hears the mournful tale, and is not by his country's bale urged on to vengeance, cannot be of woman born; accursed is he! the time will come when i shall reap the harvest of resentment deep; and till arrives that fated hour, farewell to joy in hall or bower." rustem, in taking revenge for the murder of saiáwush, had not been unmindful of kai-khosráu, and had actually sent to the remote parts of tartary in quest of him. it is said that gúdarz beheld in a dream the young prince, who pointed out to him his actual residence, and intimated that of all the warriors of káús, gíw was the only one destined to restore him to the world and his birth-right. the old man immediately requested his son gíw to go to the place where the stranger would be found. gíw readily complied, and in his progress provided himself at every stage successively with a guide, whom he afterwards slew to prevent discovery, and in this manner he proceeded till he reached the boundary of chín, enjoying no comfort by day, or sleep by night. his only food was the flesh of the wild ass, and his only covering the skin of the same animal. he went on traversing mountain and forest, enduring every privation, and often did he hesitate, often did he think of returning, but honor urged him forward in spite of the trouble and impediments with which he was continually assailed. arriving in a desert one day, he happened to meet with several persons, who upon being interrogated, said that they were sent by pírán-wísah in search of kai-káús. gíw kept his own secret, saying that he was amusing himself with hunting the wild ass, but took care to ascertain from them the direction in which they were going. during the night the parties separated, and in the morning gíw proceeded rapidly on his route, and after some time discovered a youth sitting by the side of a fountain, with a cup in his hand, whom he supposed to be kai-khosráu. the youth also spontaneously thought "this must be gíw"; and when the traveller approached him, and said, "i am sure thou art the son of saiáwush"; the youth observed, "i am equally sure that thou art gíw the son of gúdarz." at this gíw was amazed, and falling to his feet, asked how, and from what circumstance, he recognized him. the youth replied that he knew all the warriors of káús; rustem, and kishwád, and tús, and gúdarz, and the rest, from their portraits in his father's gallery, they being deeply impressed on his mind. he then asked in what way gíw had discovered him to be kai-khosráu, and gíw answered, "because i perceived something kingly in thy countenance. but let me again examine thee!" the youth, at this request, removed his garments, and gíw beheld that mark on his body which was the heritage of the race of kai-kobád. upon this discovery he rejoiced, and congratulating himself and the young prince on the success of his mission, related to him the purpose for which he had come. kai-khosráu was soon mounted on horseback, and gíw accompanied him respectfully on foot. they, in the first instance, pursued their way towards the abode of ferangís, his mother. the persons sent by pírán-wísah did not arrive at the place where kai-khosráu had been kept till long after gíw and the prince departed; and then they were told that a persian horseman had come and carried off the youth, upon which they immediately returned, and communicated to pírán what had occurred. ferangís, in recovering her son, mentioned to gíw, with the fondness of a mother, the absolute necessity of going on without delay, and pointed out to him the meadow in which some of afrásiyáb's horses were to be met with, particularly one called behzád, which once belonged to saiáwush, and which her father had kept in good condition for his own riding. gíw, therefore, went to the meadow, and throwing his kamund, secured behzád and another horse; and all three being thus accommodated, hastily proceeded on their journey towards irán. tidings of the escape of kai-khosráu having reached afrásiyáb, he despatched kulbád with three hundred horsemen after him; and so rapid were his movements that he overtook the fugitives in the vicinity of bulgharia. khosráu and his mother were asleep, but gíw being awake, and seeing an armed force evidently in pursuit of his party, boldly put on his armor, mounted behzád, and before the enemy came up, advanced to the charge. he attacked the horsemen furiously with sword, and mace, for he had heard the prophecy, which declared that kai-khosráu was destined to be the king of kings, and therefore he braved the direst peril with confidence, and the certainty of success. it was this feeling which enabled him to perform such a prodigy of valor, in putting kulbád and his three hundred horsemen to the rout. they all fled defeated, and dispersed precipitately before him. after this surprising victory, he returned to the halting place, and told kai-khosráu what he had done. the prince was disappointed at not having been awakened to participate in the exploit, but gíw said, "i did not wish to disturb thy sweet slumbers unnecessarily. it was thy good fortune and prosperous star, however, which made me triumph over the enemy." the three travellers then resuming their journey: through dreary track, and pathless waste, and wood and wild, their way they traced. the return of the defeated kulbád excited the greatest indignation in the breast of pírán. "what! three hundred soldiers to fly from the valor of one man! had gíw possessed even the activity and might of rustem and sám, such a shameful discomfiture could scarcely have happened." saying this, he ordered the whole force under his command to be got ready, and set off himself to overtake and intercept the fugitives, who, fatigued with the toilsome march, were only able to proceed one stage in the day. pírán, therefore, who travelled at the rate of one hundred leagues a day, overtook them before they had passed through bulgharia. ferangís, who saw the enemy's banner floating in the air, knew that it belonged to pírán, and instantly awoke the two young men from sleep. upon this occasion, khosráu insisted on acting his part, instead of being left ignominiously idle; but gíw was still resolute and determined to preserve him from all risk, at the peril of his own life. "thou art destined to be the king of the world; thou art yet young, and a novice, and hast never known the toils of war; heaven forbid that any misfortune should befall thee: indeed, whilst i live, i will never suffer thee to go into battle!" khosráu then proposed to give him assistance; but gíw said he wanted no assistance, not even from rustem; "for," he added, "in art and strength we are equal, having frequently tried our skill together." rustem had given his daughter in marriage to gíw, he himself being married to gíw's sister. "be of good cheer," resumed he, "get upon some high place, and witness the battle between us. "fortune will still from heaven descend, the god of victory is my friend." as soon as he took the field, pírán thus addressed him: "thou hast once, singly, defeated three hundred of my soldiers; thou shalt now see what punishment awaits thee at my hands. "for should a warrior be a rock of steel, a thousand ants, gathered on every side, in time will make him but a heap of dust." in reply, gíw said to pírán, "i am the man who bound thy two women, and sent them from china to persia--rustem and i are the same in battle. thou knowest, when he encountered a thousand horsemen, what was the result, and what he accomplished! thou wilt find me the same: is not a lion enough to overthrow a thousand kids? "if but a man survive of thy proud host, brand me with coward--say i'm not a warrior. already have i triumphed o'er kulbád, and now i'll take thee prisoner, yea, alive! and send thee to káús--there thou wilt be slain to avenge the death of saiáwush; túrán shall perish, and afrásiyáb, and every earthly hope extinguished quite." hearing this awful threat, pírán turned pale and shook with terror--trembling like a reed; and saying: "go, i will not fight with thee!" but gíw asked fiercely: "why?" and on he rushed against the foe, who fled--but 'twas in vain. the kamund round the old man's neck was thrown, and he was taken captive. then his troops showered their sharp arrows on triumphant gíw, to free their master, who was quickly brought before kai-khosráu, and the kamund placed within his royal hands. this service done, gíw sped against the tartars, and full soon defeated and dispersed them. on his return, gíw expressed his astonishment that pírán was still alive; when ferangís interposed, and weeping, said how much she had been indebted to his interposition and the most active humanity on various occasions, and particularly in saving herself and kai-khosráu from the wrath of afrásiyáb after the death of saiáwush. "if," said she, "after so much generosity he has committed one fault, let it be forgiven. "let not the man of many virtues die, for being guilty of one trifling error. let not the friend who nobly saved my life, and more, the dearer life of kai-khosráu, suffer from us. o, he must never, never, feel the sharp pang of foul ingratitude, from a true prince of the kaiánian race." but gíw paused, and said, "i have sworn to crimson the earth with his blood, and i must not pass from my oath." khosráu then suggested to him to pierce the lobes of pírán's ears, and drop the blood on the ground to stain it, in order that he might not depart from his word; and this humane fraud was accordingly committed. khosráu further interceded; and instead of being sent a captive to káús, the good old man was set at liberty. when the particulars of this event were described to afrásiyáb by pírán-wísah, he was exceedingly sorrowful, and lamented deeply that kai-khosráu had so successfully effected his escape. but he had recourse to a further expedient, and sent instructions to all the ferrymen of the jihún, with a minute description of the three travellers, to prevent their passing that river, announcing at the same time that he himself was in pursuit of them. not a moment was lost in preparing his army for the march, and he moved forward with the utmost expedition, night and day. at the period when gíw arrived on the banks of the jihún, the stream was very rapid and formidable, and he requested the ferrymen to produce their certificates to show themselves equal to their duty. they pretended that their certificates were lost, but demanded for their fare the black horse upon which gíw rode. gíw replied, that he could not part with his favorite horse; and they rejoined, "then give us the damsel who accompanies you." gíw answered, and said, "this is not a damsel, but the mother of that youth!"--"then," observed they, "give us the youth's crown." but gíw told them that he could not comply with their demand; yet he was ready to reward them with money to any extent. the pertinacious ferrymen, who were not anxious for money, then demanded his armor, and this was also refused; and such was their independence or their effrontery, that they replied, "if not one of these four things you are disposed to grant, cross the river as best you may." gíw whispered to kai-khosráu, and told him that there was no time for delay. "when kavah, the blacksmith," said he, "rescued thy great ancestor, feridún, he passed the stream in his armor without impediment; and why should we, in a cause of equal glory, hesitate for a moment?" under the inspiring influence of an auspicious omen, and confiding in the protection of the almighty, kai-khosráu at once impelled his foaming horse into the river; his mother, ferangís, followed with equal intrepidity, and then gíw; and notwithstanding the perilous passage, they all successfully overcame the boiling surge, and landed in safety, to the utter amazement of the ferrymen, who of course had expected they would be drowned, it so happened that at the moment they touched the shore, afrásiyáb with his army arrived, and had the mortification to see the fugitives on the other bank, beyond his reach. his wonder was equal to his disappointment. "what spirits must they have to brave the terrors of that boiling wave-- with steed and harness, riding o'er the billows to the further shore." it was a cheering sight, they say, to see how well they kept their way, how ferangís impelled her horse across that awful torrent's course, guiding him with heroic hand, to reach unhurt the friendly strand. afrásiyáb continued for some time mute with astonishment and vexation, and when he recovered, ordered the ferrymen to get ready their boats to pass him over the river; but húmán dissuaded him from that measure, saying that they could only convey a few troops, and they would doubtless be received by a large force of the enemy on the other side. at these words, afrásiyáb seemed to devour his own blood with grief and indignation, and immediately retracing his steps, returned to túrán. as soon as gíw entered within the boundary of the persian empire, he poured out thanksgivings to god for his protection, and sent intelligence to káús of the safe arrival of the party in his dominions. the king rejoiced exceedingly, and appointed an honorary deputation under the direction of gúdarz, to meet the young prince on the road. on first seeing him, the king moved forward to receive him; and weeping affectionately, kissed his eyes and face, and had a throne prepared for him exactly like his own, upon which he seated him; and calling the nobles and warriors of the land together, commanded them to obey him. all readily promised their allegiance, excepting tús, who left the court in disgust, and repairing forthwith to the house of fríburz, one of the sons of káús, told him that he would only pay homage and obedience to him, and not to the infant whom gíw had just brought out of a desert. next day the great men and leaders were again assembled to declare publicly by an official act their fealty to kai-khosráu, and tús was also invited to the banquet, which was held on the occasion, but he refused to go. gíw was deputed to repeat the invitation; and he then said, "i shall pay homage to fríburz, as the heir to the throne, and to no other. "for is he not the son of kai-káús, and worthy of the regal crown and throne? i want not any of the race of poshang-- none of the proud túránian dynasty-- fruitless has been thy peril, gíw, to bring a silly child among us, to defraud the rightful prince of his inheritance!" gíw, in reply, vindicated the character and attainments of khosráu, but tús was not to be appeased. he therefore returned to his father and communicated to him what had occurred. gúdarz was roused to great wrath by this resistance to the will of the king, and at once took twelve thousand men and his seventy-eight kinsmen, together with gíw, and proceeded to support his cause by force of arms. tús, apprised of his intentions, prepared to meet him, but was reluctant to commit himself by engaging in a civil war, and said, internally:-- "if i unsheath the sword of strife, numbers on either side will fall, i would not sacrifice the life of one who owns my sovereign's thrall. "my country would abhor the deed, and may i never see the hour when persia's sons are doomed to bleed, but when opposed to foreign power. "the cause must be both good and true, and if their blood in war must flow, will it not seem of brighter hue, when shed to crush the tartar foe?" possessing these sentiments, tús sent an envoy to gúdarz, suggesting the suspension of any hostile proceedings until information on the subject had been first communicated to the king. káús was extremely displeased with gúdarz for his precipitancy and folly, and directed both him and tús to repair immediately to court. tús there said frankly, "i now owe honor and allegiance to king káús; but should he happen to lay aside the throne and the diadem, my obedience and loyalty will be due to fríburz his heir, and not to a stranger." to this, gúdarz replied, "saiáwush was the eldest son of the king, and unjustly murdered, and therefore it becomes his majesty to appease and rejoice the soul of the deceased, by putting kai-khosráu in his place. kai-khosráu, like feridún, is worthy of empire; all the nobles of the land are of this opinion, excepting thyself, which must arise from ignorance and vanity. "from nauder certainly thou are descended, not from a stranger, not from foreign loins; but though thy ancestor was wise and mighty art thou of equal merit? no, not thou! regarding khosráu, thou hast neither shown reason nor sense--but most surprising folly!" to this contemptuous speech, tús thus replied: "ungenerous warrior! wherefore thus employ such scornful words to me? who art thou, pray! who, but the low descendant of a blacksmith? no khosráu claims thee for his son, no chief of noble blood; whilst i can truly boast kindred to princes of the highest worth, and merit not to be obscured by thee!" to him then gúdarz: "hear me for this once, then shut thy ears for ever. need i blush to be the kinsman of the glorious kavah? it is my humour to be proud of him. although he was a blacksmith--that same man, who, when the world could still boast of valour, tore up the name-roll of the fiend zohák, and gave the persians freedom from the fangs of the devouring serpents. he it was, who raised the banner, and proclaimed aloud, freedom for persia! need i blush for him? to him the empire owes its greatest blessing, the prosperous rule of virtuous feridún." tús wrathfully rejoined: "old man! thy arrow may pierce an anvil--mine can pierce the heart of the káf mountain! if thy mace can break a rock asunder--mine can strike the sun!" the anger of the two heroes beginning to exceed all proper bounds, káús commanded silence; when gúdarz came forward, and asked permission to say one word more: "call khosráu and fríburz before thee, and decide impartially between them which is the most worthy of sovereignty--let the wisest and the bravest only be thy successor to the throne of persia." káús replied: "the father has no choice among his children, he loves them all alike--his only care is to prevent disunion; to preserve brotherly kindness and respect among them." after a pause, he requested the attendance of fríburz and khosráu, and told them that there was a demon-fortress in the vicinity of his dominions called bahmen, from which fire was continually issuing. "go, each of you," said he, "against this fortress, supported by an army with which you shall each be equally provided, and the conqueror shall be the sovereign of persia." fríburz was not sorry to hear of this probationary scheme, and only solicited to be sent first on the expedition. he and tús looked upon the task as perfectly easy, and promised to be back triumphant in a short time. but when the army reached that awful fort, the ground seemed all in flames on every side; one universal fire raged round and round, and the hot wind was like the scorching breath which issues from red furnaces, where spirits infernal dwell. full many a warrior brave, and many a soldier perished in that heat, consumed to ashes. nearer to the fort advancing, they beheld it in mid-air, but not a living thing--nor gate, nor door; yet they remained one week, hoping to find some hidden inlet, suffering cruel loss hour after hour--but none could they descry. at length, despairing, they returned, worn out, scorched, and half-dead with watching, care, and toil. and thus fríburz and tús, discomfited and sad, appeared before the persian king. then was it khosráu's turn, and him káús despatched with gíw, and gúdarz, and the troops appointed for that enterprise, and blessed them. when the young prince approached the destined scene of his exploit, he saw the blazing fort reddening the sky and earth, and well he knew this was the work of sorcery, the spell of demon-spirits. in a heavenly dream, he had been taught how to destroy the charms of fell magicians, and defy their power, though by the devil, the devil himself, sustained, he wrote the name of god, and piously bound it upon his javelin's point, and pressed fearlessly forward, showing it on high; and gíw displayed it on the magic walls of that proud fortress--breathing forth a prayer craving the aid of the almighty arm; when suddenly the red fires died away, and all the world was darkness, khosráu's troops following the orders of their prince, then shot thick clouds of arrows from ten thousand bows, in the direction of the enchanted tower. the arrows fell like rain, and quickly slew a host of demons--presently bright light dispelled the gloom, and as the mist rolled off in sulphury circles, the surviving fiends were seen in rapid flight; the fortress, too, distinctly shone, and its prodigious gate, through which the conquerors passed. great wealth they found, and having sacked the place, khosráu erected a lofty temple, to commemorate his name and victory there, then back returned triumphantly to gladden king káús, whose heart expanded at the joyous news. the result of kai-khosráu's expedition against the enchanted castle, compared with that of fríburz, was sufficient of itself to establish the former in the king's estimation, and accordingly it was announced to the princes and nobles and warriors of the land, that he should succeed to the throne, and be crowned on a fortunate day. a short time afterwards the coronation took place with great pomp and splendor; and khosráu conducted himself towards men of every rank and station with such perfect kindness and benevolence, that he gained the affections of all and never failed daily to pay a visit to his grandfather káús, and to familiarize himself with the affairs of the kingdom which he was destined to govern. justice he spread with equal hand, rooting oppression from the land; and every desert, wood, and wild, with early cultivation smiled; and every plain, with verdure clad, and every persian heart was glad. kai-khosrÁu the tidings of khosráu's accession to the throne were received at sístán by zál and rustem with heartfelt pleasure, and they forthwith hastened to court with rich presents, to pay him their homage, and congratulate him on the occasion of his elevation. the heroes were met on the road with suitable honors, and khosráu embracing rustem affectionately, lost no time in asking for his assistance in taking vengeance for the death of saiáwush. the request was no sooner made than granted, and the champion having delivered his presents, then proceeded with his father zál to wait upon káús, who prepared a royal banquet, and entertained khosráu and them in the most sumptuous manner. it was there agreed to march a large army against afrásiyáb; and all the warriors zealously came forward with their best services, except zál, who on account of his age requested to remain tranquilly in his own province. khosráu said to káús: "the throne can yield no happiness for me, nor can i sleep the sleep of health and joy till i have been revenged on that destroyer. the tyrant of túrán; to please the spirit of my poor butchered father." káús, on delivering over to him the imperial army, made him acquainted with the character and merits of every individual of importance. he appointed fríburz, and a hundred warriors, who were the prince's friends and relatives, to situations of trust and command, and tús was among them. gúdarz and his seventy-eight sons and grandsons were placed on the right, and gustahem, the brother of tús, with an immense levy on the left. there were also close to khosráu's person, in the centre of the hosts, thirty-three warriors of the race of poshang, and a separate guard under byzun. in their progress khosráu said to fríburz and tús, "ferúd, who is my brother, has built a strong fort in bokhára, called kulláb, which stands on the way to the enemy, and there he resides with his mother, gúlshaher. let him not be molested, for he is also the son of saiáwush, but pass on one side of his possessions." fríburz did pass on one side as requested; but tús, not liking to proceed by the way of the desert, and preferring a cultivated and pleasant country, went directly on through the places which led to the very fort in question. when ferúd was informed of the approach of tús with an armed force, he naturally concluded that he was coming to fight him, and consequently determined to oppose his progress. tús, however, sent ríú, his son-in-law, to explain to ferúd that he had no quarrel or business with him, and only wished to pass peaceably through his province; but ferúd thought this was merely an idle pretext, and proceeding to hostilities, ríú was killed by him in the conflict that ensued. tús, upon being informed of this result, drew up his army, and besieged the fort into which ferúd had precipitately retired. when ferúd, however, found that tús himself was in the field, he sallied forth from his fastness, and assailed him with his bow and arrows. one of the darts struck and killed the horse of tús, and tumbled his rider to the ground. upon this occurrence gíw rushed forward in the hopes of capturing the prince; but it so happened that he was unhorsed in the same way. byzun, the son of gíw, seeing with great indignation this signal overthrow, wished to be revenged on the victor; and though his father endeavored to restrain him, nothing could control his wrath. he sprung speedily forward to fulfil his menace, but by the bravery and expertness of ferúd, his horse was killed, and he too was thrown headlong from his saddle. unsubdued, however, he rose upon his feet, and invited his antagonist to single combat. in consequence of this challenge, they fought a short time with spears till ferúd deemed it advisable to retire into his fort, from the lofty walls of which he cast down so many stones, that byzun was desperately wounded, and compelled to leave the place. when he informed tús of the misfortune which had befallen him, that warrior vowed that on the following day not a man should remain alive in the fort. the mother of ferúd, who was the daughter of wísah, had at this period a dream which informed her that the fortress had taken fire, and that the whole of the inhabitants had been consumed to death. this dream she communicated to ferúd, who said in reply:-- "mother! i have no dread of death; what is there in this vital breath? my sire was wounded, and he died; and fate may lay me by his side! was ever man immortal?--never! we cannot, mother, live for ever. mine be the task in life to claim in war a bright and spotless name. what boots it to be pale with fear, and dread each grief that waits us here? protected by the power divine, our lot is written--why repine?" tús, according to his threat, attacked the fort, and burst open the gates. ferúd defended himself with great valor against byzun; and whilst they were engaged in deadly battle, báhrám, the hero, sprang up from his ambuscade, and striking furiously upon the head of ferúd, killed that unfortunate youth on the spot. the mother, the beautiful gúlshaher, seeing what had befallen her son, rushed out of the fort in a state of frenzy, and flying to him, clasped him in her arms in an agony of grief. unable to survive his loss, she plunged a dagger in her own breast, and died at his feet. the persians then burst open the gates, and plundered the city. báhrám, when he saw what had been done, reproached tús with being the cause of this melancholy tragedy, and asked him what account he would give of his conduct to kai-khosráu. tús was extremely concerned, and remaining three days at that place, erected a lofty monument to the memory of the unfortunate youth, and scented it with musk and camphor. he then pushed forward his army to attack another fort. that fort gave way, the commandant being killed in the attack; and he then hastened on toward afrásiyáb, who had ordered nizád with thirty thousand horsemen to meet him. byzun distinguished himself in the contest which followed, but would have fallen into the hands of the enemy if he had not been rescued by his men, and conveyed from the field of battle. afrásiyáb pushed forward another force of forty thousand horsemen under pírán-wísah, who suffered considerable loss in an engagement with gíw; and in consequence fell back for the purpose of retrieving himself by a shubkhún, or night attack. the resolution proved to be a good one; for when night came on, the persians were found off their guard, many of them being intoxicated, and the havoc and destruction committed among them by the tartars was dreadful. the survivors were in a miserable state of despondency, but it was not till morning dawned that tús beheld the full extent of his defeat and the ruin that surrounded him. when kai-khosráu heard of this heavy reverse, he wrote to fríburz, saying, "i warned tús not to proceed by the way of kulláb, because my brother and his mother dwelt in that place, and their residence ought to have been kept sacred. he has not only despised my orders, but he has cruelly occasioned the untimely death of both. let him be bound, and sent to me a prisoner, and do thou assume the command of the army." fríburz accordingly placed tús in confinement, and sent him to khosráu, who received and treated him with reproaches and wrath, and consigned him to a dungeon. he then wrote to pírán, reproaching him for resorting to a night attack so unworthy of a brave man, and challenging him to resume the battle with him. pírán said that he would meet him after the lapse of a month, and at the expiration of that period both armies were opposed to each other. the contest commenced with arrows, then swords, and then with javelins; and gíw and byzun were the foremost in bearing down the warriors of the enemy, who suffered so severely that they turned aside to attack fríburz, against whom they hoped to be more successful. the assault which they made was overwhelming, and vast numbers were slain, so that fríburz, finding himself driven to extremity, was obliged to shelter himself and his remaining troops on the skirts of a mountain. in the meantime gúdarz and gíw determined to keep their ground or perish, and sent byzun to fríburz to desire him to join them, or if that was impracticable, to save the imperial banner by despatching it to their care. to this message, fríburz replied: "the traitors are triumphant over me on every side, and i cannot go, nor will i give up the imperial banner, but tell gúdarz to come to my aid." upon receiving this answer, byzun struck the standard-bearer dead, and snatching up the derafsh gávahní, conveyed it to gúdarz, who, raising it on high, directed his troops against the enemy; and so impetuous was the charge, that the carnage on both sides was prodigious. only eight of the sons of gúdarz remained alive, seventy of his kindred having been slain on that day, and many of the family of káús were also killed. nor did the relations of afrásiyáb and pírán suffer in a less degree, nine hundred of them, warriors and cavaliers, were sent out of the world; yet victory remained with the túránians. when afrásiyáb was informed of the result of this battle, he sent presents and honorary dresses to his officers, saying, "we must not be contented with this triumph; you have yet to obscure the martial glory of rustem and khosráu." pírán replied, "no doubt that object will be accomplished with equal facility." after the defeat of the persian army, fríburz retired under the cover of night, and at length arrived at the court of khosráu, who was afflicted with the deepest sorrow, both on account of his loss in battle and the death of his brother ferúd. rustem was now as usual applied to for the purpose of consoling the king, and extricating the empire from its present misfortunes. khosráu was induced to liberate tús from his confinement, and requested rustem to head the army against pírán, but tús offered his services, and the champion observed, "he is fully competent to oppose the arms of pírán; but if afrásiyáb takes the field, i will myself instantly follow to the war." khosráu accordingly deputed tús and gúdarz with a large army, and the two hostile powers were soon placed in opposition to each other. it is said that they were engaged seven days and nights, and that on the eighth húmán came forward, and challenged several warriors to fight singly, all of whom he successively slew. he then called upon tús, but gúdarz not permitting him to accept the challenge, sent gíw in his stead. the combatants met; and after being wounded and exhausted by their struggles for mastery, each returned to his own post. the armies again engaged with arrows, and again the carnage was great, but the battle remained undecided. pírán had now recourse to supernatural agency, and sent barú, a renowned magician, perfect in his art, upon the neighboring mountains, to involve them in darkness, and produce by his conjuration tempestuous showers of snow and hail. he ordered him to direct all their intense severity against the enemy, and to avoid giving any annoyance to the túránian army. accordingly when húmán and pírán-wísah made their attack, they had the co-operation of the elements, and the consequence was a desperate overthrow of the persian army. so dreadful was the carnage, that the plain was crimsoned with the blood of warriors slain. in this extremity, tús and gúdarz piously put up a prayer to god, earnestly soliciting protection from the horrors with which they were surrounded. o thou! the clement, the compassionate, we are thy servants, succor our distress, and save us from the sorcery that now yields triumph to the foe. in thee alone we place our trust; graciously hear our prayer! scarcely had this petition been uttered, when a mysterious person appeared to rehám from the invisible world, and pointed to the mountain from whence the tempest descended. rehám immediately attended to the sign, and galloped forward to the mountain, where he discovered the magician upon its summit, deeply engaged in incantations and witchcraft. forthwith he drew his sword and cut off this wizard's arms. suddenly a whirlwind arose, which dissipated the utter darkness that prevailed; and then nothing remained of the preternatural gloom, not a particle of the hail or snow was to be seen: rehám, however, brought him down from the mountain and after presenting him before tús, put an end to his wicked existence. the armies were now on a more equal footing: they beheld more clearly the ravages that had been committed by each, and each had great need of rest. they accordingly retired till the following day, and then again opposed each other with renewed vigor and animosity. but fortune would not smile on the exertions of the persian hosts, they being obliged to fall back upon the mountain hamáwun, and in the fortress situated there tús deposited all his sick and wounded, continuing himself in advance to ensure their protection. pírán seeing this, ordered his troops to besiege the place where tús had posted himself. this was objected to by húmán, but pírán was resolved upon the measure, and had several conflicts with the enemy without obtaining any advantage over them. in the mountain-fortress there happened to be wells of water and abundance of grain and provisions, so that the persians were in no danger of being reduced by starvation. khosráu, however, being informed of their situation, sent rustem, accompanied by fríburz, to their assistance, and they were both welcomed, and received with rejoicing, and cordial satisfaction. the fortress gates were thrown open, and rustem was presently seen seated upon a throne in the public hall, deliberating on the state of affairs, surrounded by the most distinguished leaders of the army. in the meanwhile pírán-wísah had written to afrásiyáb, informing him that he had reduced the persian army to great distress, had forced them to take refuge in a mountain fort, and requested a further reinforcement to complete the victory, and make them all prisoners. afrásiyáb in consequence despatched three illustrious confederates from different regions. there was shinkul of sugsar, the khakán of chín, whose crown was the starry heavens, and kámús of kushán, a hero of high renown and wondrous in every deed. for when he frowned, the air grew freezing cold; and when he smiled, the genial spring showered down roses and hyacinths, and all was brightness! pírán went first to pay a visit to kámús, to whom he, almost trembling, described the amazing strength and courage of rustem: but kámús was too powerful to express alarm; on the contrary, he said: "is praise like this to rustem due? and what, if all thou say'st be true? are his large limbs of iron made? will they resist my trenchant blade? his head may now his shoulders grace, but will it long retain its place? let me but meet him in the fight, and thou shalt see kamus's might!" pírán's spirits rose at this bold speech, and encouraged by its effects, he repaired to the khakán of chín, with whom he settled the necessary arrangements for commencing battle on the following day. early in the morning the different armies under kámús, the khakán, and pírán-wísah, were drawn out, and rustem was also prepared with the troops under his command for the impending conflict. he saw that the force arrayed against him was prodigious, and most tremendous in aspect; and offering a prayer to the creator, he plunged into the battle. 'twas at mid-day the strife began, with steed to steed and man to man; the clouds of dust which rolled on high, threw darkness o'er the earth and sky. each soldier on the other rushed, and every blade with crimson blushed; and valiant hearts were trod upon, like sand beneath the horse's feet, and when the warrior's life was gone, his mail became his winding sheet. the first leader who advanced conspicuously from among the tartar army was ushkabús, against whom rehám boldly opposed himself; but after a short conflict, in which he had some difficulty in defending his life from the assaults of his antagonist, he thought it prudent to retire. when ushkabús saw this he turned round with the intention of rejoining his own troops; but rustem having witnessed the triumph over his friend, sallied forth on foot, taking up his bow, and placing a few arrows in his girdle, and asked him whither he was going. astonished, ushkabús cried, "who art thou? what kindred hast thou to lament thy fall?" rustem replied:--"why madly seek to know that which can never yield thee benefit? my name is death to thee, thy hour is come!" "indeed! and thou on foot, mid mounted warriors, to talk so bravely!"--"yes," the champion said; "and hast thou never heard of men on foot, who conquered horsemen? i am sent by tús, to take for him the horse of ushkabús." "what! and unarmed?" inquired the tartar chief; "no!" cried the champion, "mark, my bow and arrow! mark, too, with what effect they may be used!" so saying, rustem drew the string, and straight the arrow flew, and faithful to its aim, struck dead the foeman's horse. this done, he laughed, but ushkabús was wroth, and showered upon his bold antagonist his quivered store-- then rustem raised his bow, with eager eye choosing a dart, and placed it on the string, a thong of elk-skin; to his ear he drew the feathered notch, and when the point had touched the other hand, the bended horn recoiled, and twang the arrow sped, piercing the breast of ushkabús, who fell a lifeless corse, as if he never had been born! erect, and firm, the champion stood upon the plain, towering like mount alberz, immovable, the gaze and wonder of the adverse host! when rustem, still unknown to the túránian forces, returned to his own army, the tartars carried away the body of ushkabús, and took it to the khakán of chin, who ordered the arrow to be drawn out before him; and when he and kámús saw how deeply it had penetrated, and that the feathered end was wet with blood, they were amazed at the immense power which had driven it from the bow; they had never witnessed or heard of anything so astonishing. the fight was, in consequence, suspended till the following day. the khakán of chin then inquired who was disposed or ready to be revenged on the enemy for the death of ushkabús, when kámús advanced, and, soliciting permission, urged forward his horse to the middle of the plain. he then called aloud for rustem, but a kábul hero, named alwund, a pupil of rustem's, asked his master's permission to oppose the challenger, which being granted, he rushed headlong to the combat. luckless however were his efforts, for he was soon overthrown and slain, and then rustem appeared in arms before the conqueror, who hearing his voice, cried: "why this arrogance and clamor! i am not like ushkabús, a trembler in thy presence." rustem replied: "when the lion sees his prey, sees the elk-deer cross his way, roars he not? the very ground trembles at the dreadful sound. and art thou from terror free, when opposed in fight to me?" kámús now examined him with a stern eye, and was satisfied that he had to contend against a powerful warrior: he therefore with the utmost alacrity threw his kamund, which rustem avoided, but it fell over the head of his horse rakush. anxious to extricate himself from this dilemma, rustem dexterously caught hold of one end of the kamund, whilst kámús dragged and strained at the other; and so much strength was applied that the line broke in the middle, and kámús in consequence tumbled backwards to the ground. the boaster had almost succeeded in remounting his horse, when he was secured round the neck by rustem's own kamund, and conveyed a prisoner to the persian army, where he was put to death! the fate of kámús produced a deep sensation among the túránians, and pírán-wísah, partaking of the general alarm, and thinking it impossible to resist the power of rustem, proposed to retire from the contest, but the khakán of chín was of a different opinion, and offered himself to remedy the evil which threatened them all. moreover the warrior, chingush, volunteered to fight with rustem; and having obtained the khakán's permission, he took the field, and boldly challenged the champion. rustem received the foe with a smiling countenance, and the struggle began with arrows. after a smart attack on both sides, chingush thought it prudent to fly from the overwhelming force of rustem, who, however, steadily pursued him, and adroitly seizing the horse by the tail, hurled him from his saddle. he grasped the charger's flowing tail, and all were struck with terror pale, to see a sight so strange; the foe, dismounted by one desperate blow; the captive asked for life in vain, his recreant blood bedewed the plain. his head was from his shoulders wrung, his body to the vultures flung. rustem, after this exploit, invited some other hero to single combat; but at the moment not one replied to his challenge. at last húmán came forward, not however to fight, but to remonstrate, and make an effort to put an end to the war which threatened total destruction to his country. "why such bitter enmity? why such a whirlwind of resentment?" said he; "to this i ascribe the calamities under which we suffer; but is there no way by which this sanguinary career of vengeance can be checked or moderated?" rustem, in answer, enumerated the aggressions and the crimes of afrásiyáb, and especially dwelt on the atrocious murder of saiáwush, which he declared could never be pardoned. húmán wished to know his name; but rustem refused to tell him, and requested pírán-wísah might be sent to him, to whom he would communicate his thoughts, and the secrets of his heart freely. húmán accordingly returned, and informed pírán of the champion's wishes. "this must be rustem, stronger than the pard, the lion, or the egyptian crocodile, or fell iblís; dreams never painted hero half so tremendous on the battle plain." the old man said to him: "if this be rustem, then the time has come, dreaded so long--for what but fire and sword, can now await us? every town laid waste, soldier and peasant, husband, wife, and child, sharing the miseries of a ravaged land!" with tears in his eyes and a heavy heart, pírán repaired to the khakán, who, after some discussion, permitted him in these terms to go and confer with rustem. "depart then speedful on thy embassy, and if he seeks for peace, adjust the terms, and presents to be sent us. if he talks of war and vengeance, and is clothed in mail, no sign of peace, why we must trust in heaven for strength to crush his hopes of victory. he is not formed of iron, nor of brass, but flesh and blood, with human nerves and hair, he does not in the battle tread the clouds, nor can he vanish, like the demon race-- then why this sorrow, why these marks of grief? he is not stronger than an elephant; not he, but i will show him what it is to fight or gambol with an elephant! besides, for every man his army boasts, we have three hundred--wherefore then be sad?" notwithstanding these expressions of confidence, pírán's heart was full of alarm and terror; but he hastened to the persian camp, and made himself known to the champion of the host, who frankly said, after he had heard pírán's name, "i am rustem of zábul, armed as thou seest for battle!" upon which pírán respectfully dismounted, and paid the usual homage to his illustrious rank and distinction. rustem said to him, "i bring thee the blessings of kai-khosráu and ferangís, his mother, who nightly see thy face in their dreams." "blessings from me, upon that royal youth!" exclaimed the good old man. "blessings on her, the daughter of afrásiyáb, his mother, who saved my life--and blessings upon thee, thou matchless hero! thou hast come for vengeance, in the dear name of gallant saiáwush, of saiáwush, the husband of my child, (the beautiful gúlshaher), of him who loved me as i had been his father. his brave son, ferúd, was slaughtered, and his mother too, and khosráu was his brother, now the king, by whom he fell, or if not by his sword, whose was the guilty hand? has punishment been meted to the offender? i protected, in mine own house, the princess ferangís; and when her son was born, kai-khosráu, still i, at the risk of my existence, kept them safe from the fury of afrásiyáb, who would have sacrificed the child, or both! and night and day i watched them, till the hour when they escaped and crossed the boundary-stream. enough of this! now let us speak of peace, since the confederates in this mighty war are guiltless of the blood of saiáwush!" rustem, in answer to pírán, observed, that in negotiating the terms of pacification, several important points were to be considered, and several indispensable matters to be attended to. no peace could be made unless the principal actors in the bloody tragedy of saiáwush's death were first given up, particularly gersíwaz; vast sums of money were also required to be presented to the king of kings; and, moreover, rustem said he would disdain making peace at all, but that it enabled pírán to do service to kai-khosráu. pírán saw the difficulty of acceding to these demands, but he speedily laid them before the khakán, who consulted his confederates on the subject, and after due consideration, their pride and shame resisted the overtures, which they thought ignominious. shinkul, a king of ind, was a violent opposer of the terms, and declared against peace on any such conditions. several other warriors expressed their readiness to contend against rustem, and they flattered themselves that by a rapid succession of attacks, one after the other, they would easily overpower him. the khakán was pleased with this conceit and permitted shinkul to begin the struggle. accordingly he entered the plain, and summoned rustem to renew the fight. the champion came and struck him with a spear, which, penetrating his breast, threw him off his horse to the ground. the dagger was already raised to finish his career, but he sprang on his feet, and quickly ran away to tell his misfortune to the khakán of chín. and thus he cried, in look forlorn, "this foe is not of mortal born; a furious elephant in fight, a very mountain to the sight; no warrior of the human race, that ever wielded spear or mace, alone this dragon could withstand, or live beneath his conquering brand!" the khakán reminded him how different were his feelings and sentiments in the morning, and having asked him what he now proposed to do, he said that without a considerable force it would be useless to return to the field; five thousand men were therefore assigned to him, and with them he proceeded to engage the champion. rustem had also been joined by his valiant companions, and a general battle ensued. the heavens were obscured by the dust which ascended from the tramp of the horses, and the plain was crimsoned with the blood of the slain. in the midst of the contest, sáwa, a relation of kámús, burst forward and sought to be revenged on rustem for the fate of his friend. the champion raised his battle-axe, and giving rakush the rein, with one blow of his mace removed him to the other world. no sooner had he killed this assailant than he was attacked by another of the kindred of kámús, named kahár, whom he also slew, and thus humbled the pride of the kushanians. elated with his success, and having further displayed his valor among the enemy's troops, he vowed that he would now encounter the khakán himself, and despoil him of all his pomp and treasure. for this purpose he selected a thousand horsemen, and thus supported, approached the kulub-gah, or headquarters of the monarch of chín. the clamor of the cavalry, and the clash of spears and swords, resounded afar. the air became as dark as the visage of an ethiopian, and the field was covered with several heads, broken armor, and the bodies of the slain. amidst the conflict rustem called aloud to the khakán:-- "surrender to my arms those elephants, that ivory throne, that crown, and chain of gold; fit trophies for kai-khosráu, persia's king; for what hast thou to do with diadem and sovereign power! my noose shall soon secure thee, and i will send thee living to his presence; since, looking on my valour and my strength, life is enough to grant thee. if thou wilt not resign thy crown and throne--thy doom is sealed." the khakán, filled with indignation at these haughty words, cautioned rustem to parry off his own danger, and then commanded his troops to assail the enemy with a shower of arrows. the attack was so tremendous and terrifying, even beyond the picturings of a dream, that gúdarz was alarmed for the safety of rustem, and sent rehám and gíw to his aid. rustem said to rehám:--"i fear that my horse rakush is becoming weary of exertion, in which case what shall i do in this conflict with the enemy? i must attack on foot the khakán of chín, though he has an army here as countless as legions of ants or locusts; but if heaven continues my friend, i shall stretch many of them in the dust, and take many prisoners. the captives i will send to khosráu, and all the spoils of chín." saying this he pushed forward, roaring like a tiger, towards the khakán, and exclaiming with a stern voice:--"the turks are allied to the devil, and the wicked are always unprosperous. thou hast not yet fallen in with rustem, or thy brain would have been bewildered. he is a never-dying dragon, always seeking the strongest in battle. but thou hast not yet had enough of even me!" he then drew his kamund from the saddle-strap, and praying to god to grant him victory over his foes, urged on rakush, and wherever he threw the noose, his aim was successful. great was the slaughter, and the khakán, seeing from the back of his white elephant the extent of his loss, and beginning to be apprehensive about his own safety, ordered one of his warriors, well acquainted with the language of irán, to solicit from the enemy a cessation of hostilities. "say whence this wrath on us, this keen revenge? we never injured saiáwush; the kings of ind and chín are guiltless of his blood; then why this wrath on strangers? spells and charms, used by afrásiyáb--the cause of all-- have brought us hither to contend against the champion rustem; and since peace is better than war and bloodshed, let us part in peace." the messenger having delivered his message, rustem replied:-- "my words are few. let him give up his crown, his golden collar, throne, and elephants; these are the terms i grant. he came for plunder, and now he asks for peace. tell him again, till all his treasure and his crown are mine, his throne and elephants, he seeks in vain for peace with rustem, or the persian king!" when the khakán was informed of these reiterated conditions, he burst out into bitter reproaches and abuse; and with so loud a voice, that the wind conveyed them distinctly to rustem's ear. the champion immediately prepared for the attack; and approaching the enemy, flung his kamund, by which he at once dragged the khakán from his white elephant. the hands of the captured monarch were straightway bound behind his back. degraded and helpless he stood, and a single stroke deprived him of his crown, and throne, and life. such are, since time began, the ways of heaven; such the decrees of fate! sometimes raised up, and sometimes hunted down by enemies, men, struggling, pass through this precarious life, exalted now to sovereign power; and now steeped in the gulf of poverty and sorrow. to one is given the affluence of kárun; another dies in want. how little know we what form our future fortune may assume! the world is all deceit, deception all! pírán-wísah beheld the disasters of the day, he saw the khakán of chín delivered over to tús, his death, and the banners of the confederates overthrown; and sorrowing said:--"this day is the day of flight, not of victory to us! this is no time for son to protect father, nor father son--we must fly!" in the meanwhile rustem, animated by feelings of a very different kind, gave a banquet to his warrior friends, in celebration of the triumph. when the intelligence of the overthrow and death of kámús and the khakán of chín, and the dispersion of their armies, reached afrásiyáb, he was overwhelmed with distress and consternation, and expressed his determination to be revenged on the conquerors. not an iránian, he said, should remain alive; and the doors of his treasury were thrown open to equip and reward the new army, which was to consist of a hundred thousand men. rustem having communicated to kai-khosráu, through fríburz, the account of his success, received the most satisfactory marks of his sovereign's applause; but still anxious to promote the glory of his country, he engaged in new exploits. he went against kafúr, the king of the city of bidád, a cannibal, who feasted on human flesh, especially on the young women of his country, and those of the greatest beauty, being the richest morsels, were first destroyed. he soon overpowered and slew the monster, and having given his body to be devoured by dogs, plundered and razed his castle to the ground. after this he invaded and ravaged the province of khoten, one of the dependencies of túrán, and recently the possession of saiáwush, which was a new affliction to afrásiyáb, who, alarmed about his own empire, dispatched a trusty person secretly to rustem's camp, to obtain private intelligence of his hostile movements. the answer of the spy added considerably to his distress, and in the dilemma he consulted with pírán-wísah, that he might have the benefit of the old man's experience and wisdom. pírán told him that he had failed to make an impression upon the persians, even assisted by kámús the kashánian, and the khakán of chin; both had been slain in battle, and therefore it would be in vain to attempt further offensive measures without the most powerful aid. there was, he added, a neighboring king, named púladwund, who alone seemed equal to contend with rustem. he was of immense stature, and of prodigious strength, and might by the favor of heaven, be able to subdue him. afrásiyáb was pleased with this information, and immediately invited púladwund, by letter, to assist him in exterminating the champion of persia. púladwund was proud of the honor conferred upon him, and readily complied; hastening the preparation of his own army to cooperate with that of afrásiyáb. he presently joined him, and the whole of the combined forces rapidly marched against the enemy. the first warrior he encountered was gíw, whom he caught with his kamund. rehám and byzun seeing this, instantly rushed forward to extricate their brother and champion in arms; but they too were also secured in the same manner! in the struggle, however, the kamunds gave way, and then púladwund drew his sword, and by several strokes wounded them all. the father, gúdarz, apprised of this disaster, which had unfortunately happened to three of his sons, applied to rustem for succor. the champion, the refuge, the protector of all, was, as usual, ready to repel the enemy. he forthwith advanced, liberated his friends, and dreadful was the conflict which followed. the club was used with great dexterity on both sides; but at length púladwund struck his antagonist such a blow that the sound of it was heard by the troops at a distance, and rustem, stunned by its severity, thought himself opposed with so much vigor, that he prayed to the almighty for a prosperous issue to the engagement. "should i be in this struggle slain, what stay for persia will be left? none to defend kai-khosráu's reign, of me, his warrior-chief, bereft. then village, town, and city gay, will feel the cruel tartar's sway!" púladwund wishing to follow up the blow by a final stroke of his sword, found to his amazement that it recoiled from the armor of rustem, and thence he proposed another mode of fighting, which he hoped would be more successful. he wished to try his power in wrestling. the challenge was accepted. by agreement both armies retired, and left the space of a farsang between them, and no one was allowed to afford assistance to either combatant. afrásiyáb was present, and sent word to púladwund, the moment he got rustem under him, to plunge a sword in his heart. the contest began, but púladwund had no opportunity of fulfilling the wishes of afrásiyáb. rustem grasped him with such vigor, lifted him up in his arms, and dashed him so furiously on the plain, that the boaster seemed to be killed on the spot. rustem indeed thought he had put a period to his life; and with that impression left him, and remounted rakush: but the crafty púladwund only pretended to be dead: and as soon as he found himself released, sprang up and escaped, flying like an arrow to his own side. he then told afrásiyáb how he had saved his life by counterfeiting death, and assured him that it was useless to contend against rustem. the champion having witnessed this subterfuge, turned round in pursuit, and the tartars received him with a shower of arrows; but the attack was well answered, púladwund being so alarmed that, without saying a word to afrásiyáb, he fled from the field. pírán now counselled afrásiyáb to escape also to the remotest part of tartary. as the flight of púladwund had disheartened the túránian troops, and there was no chance of profiting by further resistance, afrásiyáb took his advice, and so precipitate was his retreat, that he entirely abandoned his standards, tents, horses, arms, and treasure to an immense amount. the most valuable booty was sent by rustem to the king of irán, and a considerable portion of it was divided among the chiefs and the soldiers of the army. he then mounted rakush, and proceeded to the court of kai-khosráu, where he was received with the highest honors and with unbounded rejoicings. the king opened his jewel chamber, and gave him the richest rubies, and vessels of gold filled with musk and aloes, and also splendid garments; a hundred beautiful damsels wearing crowns and ear-rings, a hundred horses, and a hundred camels. having thus terminated triumphantly the campaign, rustem carried with him to zábul the blessings and admiration of his country. akwÁn dÍw and now we come to akwán díw, whom rustem next in combat slew. one day as kai-khosráu was sitting in his beautiful garden, abounding in roses and the balmy luxuriance of spring, surrounded by his warriors, and enjoying the pleasures of the banquet with music and singing, a peasant approached, and informed him of a most mysterious apparition. a wild ass, he said, had come in from the neighboring forest; it had at least the external appearance of a wild ass, but possessed such supernatural strength, that it had rushed among the horses in the royal stables with the ferocity of a lion or a demon, doing extensive injury, and in fact appeared to be an evil spirit! kai-khosráu felt assured that it was something more than it seemed to be, and looked round among his warriors to know what should be done. it was soon found that rustem was the only person capable of giving effectual assistance in this emergency, and accordingly a message was forwarded to request his services. the champion instantly complied, and it was not long before he occupied himself upon the important enterprise. guided by the peasant, he proceeded in the first place towards the spot where the mysterious animal had been seen; but it was not till the fourth day of his search that he fell in with him, and then, being anxious to secure him alive, and send him as a trophy to kai-khosráu, he threw his kamund; but it was in vain: the wild ass in a moment vanished out of sight! from this circumstance rustem observed, "this can be no other than akwán díw, and my weapon must now be either dagger or sword." the next time the wild ass appeared he pursued him with his drawn sword: but on lifting it up to strike, nothing was to be seen. he tried again, when he came near him, both spear and arrow: still the animal vanished, disappointing his blow; and thus three days and nights he continued fighting, as it were against a shadow. wearied at length with his exertions, he dismounted, and leading rakush to a green spot near a limpid fountain or rivulet of spring water, allowed him to graze, and then went to sleep. akwán díw seeing from a distance that rustem had fallen asleep, rushed towards him like a whirlwind, and rapidly digging up the ground on every side of him, took up the plot of ground and the champion together, placed them upon his head, and walked away with them. rustem being awakened with the motion, he was thus addressed by the giant-demon:-- "warrior! now no longer free! tell me what thy wish may be; shall i plunge thee in the sea, or leave thee on the mountain drear, none to give thee succour, near? tell thy wish to me!" rustem, thus deplorably in the power of the demon, began to consider what was best to be done, and recollecting that it was customary with that supernatural race to act by the rule of contraries, in opposition to an expressed desire, said in reply, for he knew that if he was thrown into the sea there would be a good chance of escape:-- "o, plunge me not in the roaring sea, the maw of a fish is no home for me; but cast me forth on the mountain; there is the lion's haunt and the tiger's lair; and for them i shall be a morsel of food, they will eat my flesh and drink my blood; but my bones will be left, to show the place where this form was devoured by the feline race; yes, something will then remain of me, whilst nothing escapes from the roaring sea!" akwán díw having heard this particular desire of rustem, determined at once to thwart him, and for this purpose he raised him up with his hands, and flung him from his lofty position headlong into the deep and roaring ocean. down he fell, and a crocodile speedily darted upon him with the eager intention of devouring him alive; but rustem drew his sword with alacrity, and severed the monster's head from his body. another came, and was put to death in the same manner, and the water was crimsoned with blood. at last he succeeded in swimming safely on shore, and instantly returned thanks to heaven for the signal protection he had experienced. breasting the wave, with fearless skill he used his glittering brand; and glorious and triumphant still, he quickly reached the strand. he then moved towards the fountain where he had left rakush; but, to his great alarm and vexation his matchless horse was not there. he wandered about for some time, and in the end found him among a herd of horses belonging to afrásiyáb. having first caught him, and resumed his seat in the saddle, he resolved upon capturing and driving away the whole herd, and conveying them to kai-khosráu. he was carrying into effect this resolution when the noise awoke the keepers specially employed by afrásiyáb, and they, indignant at this outrageous proceeding, called together a strong party to pursue the aggressor. when they had nearly reached him, he turned boldly round, and said aloud:--"i am rustem, the descendant of sám. i have conquered afrásiyáb in battle, and after that dost thou presume to oppose me?" hearing this, the keepers of the tartar stud instantly turned their backs, and ran away. it so happened that at this period afrásiyáb paid his annual visit to his nursery of horses, and on his coming to the meadows in which they were kept, neither horses nor keepers were to be seen. in a short time, however, he was informed by those who had returned from the pursuit, that rustem was the person who had carried off the herd, and upon hearing of this outrage, he proceeded with his troops at once to attack him. impatient at the indignity, he approached rustem with great fury, but was presently compelled to fly to save his life, and thus allow his herd of favorite steeds, together with four elephants, to be placed in the possession of kai-khosráu. rustem then returned to the meadows and the fountain near the habitation of akwán díw; and there he again met the demon, who thus accosted him:-- "what! art thou then aroused from death's dark sleep? hast thou escaped the monsters of the deep? and dost thou seek upon the dusty plain to struggle with a demon's power again? of flint, or brass, or iron is thy form? or canst thou, like the demons, raise the dreadful battle storm?" rustem, hearing this taunt from the tongue of akwán díw, prepared for fight, and threw his kamund with such precision and force, that the demon was entangled in it, and then he struck him such a mighty blow with his sword, that it severed the head from the body. the severed head of the unclean monster he transmitted as a trophy to kai-khosráu, by whom it was regarded with amazement, on account of its hideous expression and its vast size. after this extraordinary feat, rustem paid his respects to the king, and was received as usual with distinguished honor and affection; and having enjoyed the magnificent hospitality of the court for some time, he returned to zábulistán, accompanied part of the way by kai-khosráu himself and a crowd of valiant warriors, ever anxious to acknowledge his superior worth and prodigious strength. the story of byzun and manÍjeh[ ] one day the people of armán petitioned kai-khosráu to remove from them a grievous calamity. the country they inhabited was overrun with herds of wild boars, which not only destroyed the produce of their fields, but the fruit and flowers in their orchards and gardens, and so extreme was the ferocity of the animals that it was dangerous to go abroad; they therefore solicited protection from this disastrous visitation, and hoped for relief. the king was at the time enjoying himself amidst his warriors at a banquet, drinking wine, and listening to music and the songs of bewitching damsels. the glance of beauty, and the charm of heavenly sounds, so soft and thrilling, and ruby wine, must ever warm the heart, with love and rapture filling. can aught more sweet, more genial prove, than melting music, wine, and love? the moment he was made acquainted with the grievances endured by the armánians, he referred the matter to the consideration of his counsellors and nobles, in order that a remedy might be immediately applied. byzun, when he heard what was required, and had learned the disposition of the king, rose up at once with all the enthusiasm of youth, and offered to undertake the extermination of the wild boars himself. but gíw objected to so great a hazard, for he was too young, he said; a hero of greater experience being necessary for such an arduous enterprise. byzun, however, was not to be rejected on this account, and observed, that though young, he was mature in judgment and discretion, and he relied on the liberal decision of the king, who at length permitted him to go, but he was to be accompanied by the veteran warrior girgín. accordingly byzun and girgín set off on the perilous expedition; and after a journey of several days arrived at the place situated between irán and túrán, where the wild boars were the most destructive. in a short time a great number were hunted down and killed, and byzun, utterly to destroy the sustenance of the depredators, set fire to the forest, and reduced the whole of the cultivation to ashes. his exertions were, in short, entirely successful, and the country was thus freed from the visitation which had occasioned so much distress and ruin. to give incontestable proof of this exploit, he cut off the heads of all the wild boars, and took out the tusks, to send to kai-khosráu. when girgín had witnessed the intrepidity and boldness of byzun, and found him determined to send the evidence of his bravery to kai-khosráu, he became envious of the youth's success, and anticipated by comparison the ruin of his own name and the gratification of his foes. he therefore attempted to dissuade him from sending the trophies to the king, and having failed, he resolved upon getting him out of the way. to effect this purpose he worked upon the feelings and the passions of byzun with consummate art, and whilst his victim was warm with wine, praised him beyond all the warriors of the age. he then told him he had heard that at no great distance from them there was a beautiful place, a garden of perpetual spring, which was visited every vernal season by maníjeh, the lovely daughter of afrásiyáb. "it is a spot beyond imagination delightful to the heart, where roses bloom, and sparkling fountains murmur--where the earth is rich with many-colored flowers; and musk floats on the gentle breezes, hyacinths and lilies add their perfume--golden fruits weigh down the branches of the lofty trees, the glittering pheasant moves in stately pomp, the bulbul warbles from the cypress bough, and love-inspiring damsels may be seen o'er hill and dale, their lips all winning smiles, their cheeks like roses--in their sleepy eyes delicious languor dwelling. over them presides the daughter of afrásiyáb, the beautiful maníjeh; should we go, ('tis but a little distance), and encamp among the lovely groups--in that retreat which blooms like paradise--we may secure a bevy of fair virgins for the king!" byzun was excited by this description; and impatient to realize what it promised, repaired without delay, accompanied by girgín, to the romantic retirement of the princess. they approached so close to the summer-tent in which she dwelt that she had a full view of byzun, and immediately becoming deeply enamoured of his person despatched a confidential domestic, her nurse, to inquire who he was, and from whence he came. "go, and beneath that cypress tree, where now he sits so gracefully, ask him his name, that radiant moon, and he may grant another boon! perchance he may to me impart the secret wishes of his heart! tell him he must, and further say, that i have lived here many a day; that every year, whilst spring discloses the fragrant breath of budding roses, i pass my time in rural pleasure; but never--never such a treasure, a mortal of such perfect mould, did these admiring eyes behold! never, since it has been my lot to dwell in this sequestered spot, a youth by nature so designed to soothe a love-lorn damsel's mind! his wondrous looks my bosom thrill can saiáwush be living still?" the nurse communicated faithfully the message of maníjeh, and byzun's countenance glowed with delight when he heard it. "tell thy fair mistress," he said in reply, "that i am not saiáwush, but the son of gíw. i came from irán, with the express permission of the king, to exterminate a terrible and destructive herd of wild boars in this neighborhood; and i have cut off their heads, and torn out their tusks to be sent to kai-khosráu, that the king and his warriors may fully appreciate the exploit i have performed. but having heard afterwards of thy mistress's beauty and attractions, home and my father were forgotten, and i have preferred following my own desires by coming hither. if thou wilt therefore forward my views; if thou wilt become my friend by introducing me to thy mistress, who is possessed of such matchless charms, these precious gems are thine and this coronet of gold. perhaps the daughter of afrásiyáb may be induced to listen to my suit." the nurse was not long in making known the sentiments of the stranger, and maníjeh was equally prompt in expressing her consent. the message was full of ardor and affection. "o gallant youth, no farther roam, this summer-tent shall be thy home; then will the clouds of grief depart from this enamoured, anxious heart. for thee i live--thou art the light which makes my future fortune bright. should arrows pour like showers of rain upon my head--'twould be in vain; nothing can ever injure me, blessed with thy love--possessed of thee!" byzun therefore proceeded unobserved to the tent of the princess, who on meeting and receiving him, pressed him to her bosom; and taking off his kaiáni girdle, that he might be more at his ease, asked him to sit down and relate the particulars of his enterprise among the wild boars of the forest. having done so, he added that he had left girgín behind him. "enraptured, and impatient to survey thy charms, i brook'd no pause upon the way." he was immediately perfumed with musk and rose-water, and refreshments of every kind were set before him; musicians played their sweetest airs, and dark-eyed damsels waited upon him. the walls of the tent were gorgeously adorned with amber, and gold, and rubies; and the sparkling old wine was drunk out of crystal goblets. the feast of joy lasted three nights and three days, byzun and maníjeh enjoying the precious moments with unspeakable rapture. overcome with wine and the felicity of the scene, he at length sunk into repose, and on the fourth day came the time of departure; but the princess, unable to relinquish the society of her lover, ordered a narcotic draught to be administered to him, and whilst he continued in a state of slumber and insensibility, he was conveyed secretly and in disguise into túrán. he was taken even to the palace of afrásiyáb, unknown to all but to the emissaries and domestics of the princess, and there he awoke from the trance into which he had been thrown, and found himself clasped in the arms of his idol. considering, on coming to his senses, that he had been betrayed by some witchery, he made an attempt to get out of the seclusion: above all, he was apprehensive of a fatal termination to the adventure; but maníjeh's blandishments induced him to remain, and for some time he was contented to be immersed in continual enjoyment--such pleasure as arises from the social banquet and the attractions of a fascinating woman. "grieve not my love--be not so sad, 'tis now the season to be glad; there is a time for war and strife, a time to soothe the ills of life. drink of the cup which yields delight, the ruby glitters in thy sight; steep not thy heart in fruitless care, but in the wine-flask sparkling there." at length, however, the love of the princess for a persian youth was discovered, and the keepers and guards of the palace were in the greatest terror, expecting the most signal punishment for their neglect or treachery. dreadful indeed was the rage of the king when he was first told the tidings; he trembled like a reed in the wind, and the color fled from his cheeks. groaning, he exclaimed:-- "a daughter, even from a royal stock, is ever a misfortune--hast thou one? the grave will be thy fittest son-in-law! rejoice not in the wisdom of a daughter; who ever finds a daughter good and virtuous? who ever looks on woman-kind for aught save wickedness and folly? hence how few ever enjoy the bliss of paradise: such the sad destiny of erring woman!" afrásiyáb consulted the nobles of his household upon the measures to be pursued on this occasion, and gersíwaz was in consequence deputed to secure byzun, and put him to death. the guilty retreat was first surrounded by troops, and then gersíwaz entered the private apartments, and with surprise and indignation saw byzun in all his glory, maníjeh at his side, his lips stained with wine, his face full of mirth and gladness, and encircled by the damsels of the shubistán. he accosted him in severe terms, and was promptly answered by byzun, who, drawing his sword, gave his name and family, and declared that if any violence or insult was offered, he would slay every man that came before him with hostile intentions. gersíwaz, on hearing this, thought it prudent to change his plan, and conduct him to afrásiyáb, and he was permitted to do so on the promise of pardon for the alleged offence. when brought before afrásiyáb, he was assailed with further opprobrium, and called a dog and a wicked remorseless demon. "thou caitiff wretch, of monstrous birth, allied to hell, and not of earth!" but he thus answered the king:-- "listen awhile, if justice be thy aim, and thou wilt find me guiltless. i was sent from persia to destroy herds of wild boars, which laid the country waste. that labour done, i lost my way, and weary with the toil, weary with wandering in a wildering maze, haply reposed beneath a shady cypress; thither a peri came, and whilst i slept, lifted me from the ground, and quick as thought conveyed me to a summer-tent, where dwelt a princess of incomparable beauty. from thence, by hands unknown, i was removed, still slumbering in a litter--still unconscious; and when i woke, i found myself reclining in a retired pavilion of thy palace, attended by that soul-entrancing beauty! my heart was filled with sorrow, and i shed showers of vain tears, and desolate i sate, thinking of persia, with no power to fly from my imprisonment, though soft and kind, being the victim of a sorcerer's art. yes, i am guiltless, and maníjeh too, both by some magic influence pursued, and led away against our will or choice!" afrásiyáb listened to this speech with distrust, and hesitated not to charge him with falsehood and cowardice. byzun's indignation was roused by this insulting accusation; and he said to him aloud, "cowardice, what! cowardice! i have encountered the tusks of the formidable wild boar and the claws of the raging lion. i have met the bravest in battle with sword and arrow; and if it be thy desire to witness the strength of my arm, give me but a horse and a battle-axe, and marshal twice five hundred túránians against me, and not a man of them shall survive the contest. if this be not thy pleasure, do thy worst, but remember my blood will be avenged. thou knowest the power of rustem!" the mention of rustem's name renewed all the deep feelings of resentment and animosity in the mind of afrásiyáb, who, resolved upon the immediate execution of his purpose, commanded gersíwaz to bind the youth, and put an end to his life on the gallows tree. the good old man pírán-wísah happened to be passing by the place to which byzun had just been conveyed to suffer death; and seeing a great concourse of people, and a lofty dar erected, from which hung a noose, he inquired for whom it was intended. gersíwaz heard the question, and replied that it was for a persian, an enemy of túrán, a son of gíw, and related to rustem. pírán straightway rode up to the youth, who was standing in deep affliction, almost naked, and with his hands bound behind his back, and he said to him:-- "why didst thou quit thy country, why come hither, why choose the road to an untimely grave?" upon this byzun told him his whole story, and the treachery of girgín. pírán wept at the recital, and remembering the circumstances under which he had encountered gíw, and how he had been himself delivered from death by the interposition of ferangís, he requested the execution to be stayed until he had seen the king, which was accordingly done. the king received him with honor, praised his wisdom and prudence, and conjecturing from his manner that something was heavy at his heart, expressed his readiness to grant any favor which he might have come to solicit. pírán said: "then, my only desire is this: do not put byzun to death; do not repeat the tragedy of saiáwush, and again consign túrán and irán to all the horrors of war and desolation. remember how i warned thee against taking the life of that young prince; but malignant and evil advisers exerted their influence, were triumphant, and brought upon thee and thy kingdom the vengeance of káús, of rustem, and all the warriors of the persian empire. the swords now sleeping in their scabbards are ready to flash forth again, for assuredly if the blood of byzun be spilt the land will be depopulated by fire and sword. the honor of a king is sacred; when that is lost, all is lost." but afrásiyáb replied: "i fear not the thousands that can be brought against me. byzun has committed an offence which can never be pardoned; it covers me with shame, and i shall be universally despised if i suffer him to live. death were better for me than life in disgrace. he must die."--"that is not necessary," rejoined pírán, "let him be imprisoned in a deep cavern; he will never be heard of more, and then thou canst not be accused of having shed his blood." after some deliberation, afrásiyáb altered his determination, and commanded gersíwaz to bind the youth with chains from head to foot, and hang him within a deep pit with his head downwards, that he might never see sun or moon again; and he sentenced maníjeh to share the same fate: and to make their death more sure, he ordered the enormous fragment of rock which akwán díw had dragged out of the ocean and flung upon the plain of tartary, to be placed over the mouth of the pit. in respect to byzun, gersíwaz did as he was commanded; but the lamentations in the shubistán were so loud and distressing upon maníjeh being sentenced to the same punishment, that the tyrant was induced to change her doom, allowing her to dwell near the pit, but forbidding, by proclamation, anyone going to her or supplying her with food. gersíwaz conducted her to the place; and stripping her of her rich garments and jewels, left her bareheaded and barefooted, weeping torrents of tears. he left her--the unhappy maid; her head upon the earth was laid, in bitterness of grief, and lone, beside that dreadful demon-stone. there happened, however, to be a fissure in the huge rock that covered the mouth of the pit, which allowed of byzun's voice being heard, and bread and water was let down to him, so that they had the melancholy satisfaction of hearing each other's woes. the story now relates to girgín, who finding after several days that byzun had not returned, began to repent of his treachery; but what is the advantage of such repentance? it is like the smoke that rises from a conflagration. when flames have done their worst, thick clouds arise of lurid smoke, which useless mount the skies. he sought everywhere for him; went to the romantic retreat where the daughter of afrásiyáb resided; but the place was deserted, nothing was to be seen, and nothing to be heard. at length he saw byzun's horse astray, and securing him with his kamund, thought it useless to remain in túrán, and therefore proceeded in sorrow back to irán. gíw, finding that his son had not returned with him from armán, was frantic with grief; he tore his garments and his hair, and threw ashes over his head; and seeing the horse his son had ridden, caressed it in the fondest manner, demanding from girgín a full account of what he knew of his fate. "o heaven forbid," said he, "that my son should have fallen into the power of the merciless demons!" girgín could not safely confess the truth, and therefore told a falsehood, in the hope of escaping from the consequences of his own guilt. "when we arrived at armán," said he, "we entered a large forest, and cutting down the trees, set them on fire. we then attacked the wild boars, which were found in vast numbers; and as soon as they were all destroyed, left the place on our return. sporting all the way, we fell in with an elk, of a most beautiful and wonderful form. it was like the símúrgh; it had hoofs of steel, and the head and ears and tail of a horse. it was strong as a lion and fleet as the wind, and came fiercely before us, yet seemed to be a thing of air. byzun threw his kamund over him; and when entangled in the noose, the animal became furious and sprung away, dragging byzun after him. presently the prospect was enveloped in smoke, the earth looked like the ocean, and byzun and the phantom-elk disappeared. i wandered about in search of my companion, but found him not: his horse only remained. my heart was rent with anguish, for it seemed to me that the furious elk must have been the white demon." but gíw was not to be deceived by this fabricated tale; on the contrary, he felt convinced that treachery had been at work, and in his rage seized girgín by the beard, dragged him to and fro, and inflicted on him two hundred strokes with a scourge. the unhappy wretch, from the wounds he had received, fell senseless on the ground. gíw then hastened to kai-khosráu to inform him of his misfortune; and though the first resolve was to put the traitor to death, the king was contented to load him with chains and cast him into prison. the astrologers being now consulted, pronounced that byzun was still living, and gíw was consoled and cheered by the promptitude with which the king despatched troops in every quarter in search of his son. "weep no longer, warrior bold, thou shalt soon thy son behold. in this cup, this mirror bright, all that's dark is brought to light; all above and under ground, all that's lost is quickly found." thus spake the monarch, and held up before his view that wondrous cup which first to jemshíd's eye revealed all that was in the world concealed. and first before him lay exposed all that the seven climes enclosed, whether in ocean or amid the stars the secret things were hid, whether in rock or cavern placed, in that bright cup were clearly traced. and now his eye karugsár surveys, the cup the province wide displays. he sees within that dismal cave byzun the good, the bold, the brave; and sitting on that demon-stone lovely maníjeh sad and lone. and now he smiles and looks on gíw, and cries: "my prophecy was true. thy byzun lives; no longer grieve, i see him there, my words believe; and though bound fast in fetters, he shall soon regain his liberty." kai-khosráu, thinking the services of rustem requisite on this occasion, dispatched gíw with an invitation to him, explaining the circumstance of byzun's capture. rustem had made up his mind to continue in peace and tranquillity at his zábul principality, and not to be withdrawn again from its comforts by any emergency; but the reported situation of his near relative altered his purpose, and he hesitated not to give his best aid to restore him to freedom. gíw rejoiced at this, and both repaired without delay to the royal residence, where khosráu gratified the champion with the most cordial welcome, placing him on a throne before him. the king asked him what force he would require, and he replied that he did not require any army; he preferred going in disguise as a merchant. accordingly the necessary materials were prepared; a thousand camels were laden with jewels and brocades, and other merchandise, and a thousand warriors were habited like camel-drivers. girgín had prayed to be released from his bonds, and by the intercession of rustem was allowed to be of the party; but his children were kept in prison as hostages and security for his honorable conduct. when the champion, with his kafila, arrived within the territory of the enemy, and approached the spot where byzun was imprisoned, a loud clamor arose that a caravan of merchandise had come from irán, such as was never seen before. the tidings having reached the ear of maníjeh, she went immediately to rustem, and inquired whether the imprisonment of byzun was yet known at the persian court? rustem replied in anger: "i am a merchant employed in traffic, what can i know of such things? go away, i have no acquaintance with either the king or his warriors." this answer overwhelmed maníjeh with disappointment and grief, and she wept bitterly. her tears began to soften the heart of rustem, and he said to her in a soothing voice:--"i am not an inhabitant of the city in which the court is held, and on that account i know nothing of these matters; but tell me the cause of thy grief." maníjeh sighed deeply, and endeavored to avoid giving him any reply, which increased the curiosity of the champion; but she at length complied. she told him who she was, the daughter of afrásiyáb, the story of her love, and the misfortunes of byzun, and pointed out to him the pit in which he was imprisoned and bound down with heavy chains. "for the sake of him has been my fall from royal state, and bower, and hall, and hence this pale and haggard face, this saffron hue thy eye may trace, where bud of rose was wont to bloom, but withered now and gone; and i must sit in sorrow's gloom unsuccoured and alone." rustem asked with deep interest if any food could be conveyed to him, and she said that she had been accustomed to supply him with bread and water through a fissure in the huge stone which covered the mouth of the pit. upon receiving this welcome information, rustem brought a roasted fowl, and inclosing in it his own seal-ring, gave it to maníjeh to take to byzun. the poor captive, on receiving it, inquired by whom such a blessing could have been sent, and when she informed him that it had been given to her by the chief of a caravan from irán, who had manifested great anxiety about him, his smiles spoke the joyous feelings of his heart, for the name of rustem was engraved on the ring. maníjeh was surprised to see him smile, considering his melancholy situation, and could not imagine the cause. "if thou wilt keep my secret," said he, "i will tell thee the cause." "what!" she replied, "have i not devoted my heart and soul to thee?--have i not sacrificed everything for thy love, and is my fidelity now to be suspected? "can i be faithless, then, to thee, the choice of this fond heart of mine; why sought i bonds, when i was free, but to be thine--forever thine?" "true, true! then hear me:--the chief of the caravan is rustem, who has undoubtedly come to release me from this dreadful pit. go to him, and concert with him the manner in which my deliverance may be soonest effected." maníjeh accordingly went and communicated with the champion; and it was agreed between them that she should light a large fire to guide him on his way. he was prompt as well as valiant, and repaired in the middle of the following night, accompanied by seven of his warriors, directed by the blaze, to the place where byzun was confined. the neighborhood was infested by demons with long nails, and long hair on their bodies like the hair of a goat, and horny feet, and with heads like dogs, and the chief of them was the son of akwán díw. the father having been slain by rustem, the son nourished the hope of revenge, and perpetually longed for an opportunity of meeting him in battle. well knowing that the champion was engaged in the enterprise to liberate byzun, he commanded his demons to give him intelligence of his approach. his height was tremendous, his face was black, his mouth yawned like a cavern, his eyes were fountains of blood, his teeth like those of a wild boar, and the hair on his body like needles. the monster advanced, and reproaching rustem disdainfully for having slain akwán díw, and many other warriors in the túránian interest, pulled up a tree by the roots and challenged him to combat. the struggle began, but the demon frequently escaped the fury of the champion by vanishing into air. at length rustem struck a fortunate blow, which cut the body of his towering adversary in two. his path being now free from interruption, he sped onward, and presently beheld the prodigious demon-stone which covered the mouth of the pit, in which byzun was imprisoned. and praying to the almighty to infuse strength through his limbs, he raised it up, and flung the ponderous mass of rock upon the plain, which shuddered to receive that magic load! the mouth of the cavern being thus exposed, rustem applied himself to the extrication of byzun from his miserable condition, and letting down his kamund, he had soon the pleasure of drawing up the unfortunate captive, whom he embraced with great affection; and instantly stripped off the chains with which he was bound. after mutual congratulations had been exchanged, rustem proposed that byzun and maníjeh should go immediately to irán, whilst he and his companions in arms attacked the palace of afrásiyáb; but though wasted as he was by long suffering, byzun could not on any consideration consent to avoid the perils of the intended assault, and determined, at all hazards, to accompany his deliverer. "full well i know thy superhuman power needs no assistance from an arm like mine; but grateful as i am for this great service, i cannot leave thee now, and shrink from peril, that would be baseness which i could not bear." it was on the same night that rustem and byzun, and seven of his warriors, proceeded against that part of the palace in which the tyrant slept. he first put to death the watchman, and also killed a great number of the guard, and a loud voice presently resounded in the chamber of the king:--"awake from thy slumbers, afrásiyáb, byzun has been freed from his chains." rustem now entered the royal palace, and openly declaring his name, exclaimed:--"i am come, afrásiyáb, to destroy thee, and byzun is also here to do thee service for thy cruelty to him." the death-note awoke the trembling afrásiyáb, and he rose up, and fled in dismay. rustem and his companions rushed into the inner apartments, and captured all the blooming damsels of the shubistán, and all the jewels and golden ornaments which fell in their way. the moon-faced beauties were sent to zábul; but the jewels and other valuable property were reserved for the king. in the morning afrásiyáb hastily collected together his troops and marched against rustem, who, with byzun and his thousand warriors, met him on the plain prepared for battle. the champion challenged any one who would come forward to single combat; but though frequently repeated, no attention was paid to the call. at length rustem said to afrásiyáb:--"art thou not ashamed to avoid a contest with so inferior a force, a hundred thousand against one thousand? we two, and our armies, have often met, and dost thou now shrink from the fight?" the reproach had its effect, for the tyrant at once, and his heroes, began their attack like the demons of mázinderán. but the valor and the bravery of rustem were so eminently shown, that he overthrew thousands of the enemy. in the tempest of battle, disdaining all fear, with his kamund, and khanjer, his garz, and shamshír, how he bound, stabbed, and crushed, and dissevered the foe, so mighty his arm, and so fatal his blow. and so dreadful was the carnage, that afrásiyáb, unable to resist his victorious career, was compelled to seek safety in flight. the field was red with blood, the tartar banners cast on the ground, and when, with grief, he saw the face of fortune turned, his cohorts slain, he hurried back, and sought túrán again. rustem having obtained another triumph, returned to irán with the spoils of his conquest, and was again honored with the smiles and rewards of his sovereign. maníjeh was not forgotten; she, too, received a present worthy of the virtue and fidelity she had displayed, and of the magnanimity of her spirit; and the happy conclusion of the enterprise was celebrated with festivity and rejoicing. barzÚ, and his conflict with rustem afrásiyáb after his defeat pursued his way in despair towards chín and má-chín, and on the road happened to fall in with a man of huge and terrific stature. amazed at the sight of so extraordinary a being, he asked him who and what he was. "i am a villager," replied the stranger. "and thy father?"--"i do not know my father. my mother has never mentioned his name, and my birth is wrapped in mystery." afrásiyáb then addressed him as follows:--"it is my misfortune to have a bitter and invincible enemy, who has plunged me into the greatest distress. if he could be subdued, there would be no impediment to my conquest of irán; and i feel assured that thou, apparently endued with such prodigious strength, hast the power to master him. his name is rustem." "what!" rejoined barzú, "is all this concern and affliction about one man--about one man only?" "yes," answered afrásiyáb; "but that one man is equal to a hundred strong men. upon him neither sword, nor mace, nor javelin has any effect. in battle he is like a mountain of steel." at this barzú exclaimed in gamesome mood:--"a mountain of steel!--i can reduce to dust a hundred mountains of steel!--what is a mountain of steel to me!" afrásiyáb rejoiced to find such confidence in the stranger, and instantly promised him his own daughter in marriage, and the monarchy of chín and má-chín, if he succeeded in destroying rustem. barzú replied:-- "thou art but a coward slave, thus a stranger's aid to crave. and thy soldiers, what are they? heartless on the battle-day. thou, the prince of such a host! what, alas! hast thou to boast? art thou not ashamed to wear the regal crown that glitters there? and dost thou not disgrace the throne thus to be awed, and crushed by one; by one, whate'er his name or might, thus to be put to shameful flight!" afrásiyáb felt keenly the reproaches which he heard; but, nevertheless, solicited the assistance of barzú, who declared that he would soon overpower rustem, and place the empire of irán under the dominion of the tartar king. he would, he said, overflow the land of persia with blood, and take possession of the throne! the despot was intoxicated with delight, and expecting his most sanguine wishes would be realized, made him the costliest presents, consisting of gold and jewels, and horses, and elephants, so that the besotted stranger thought himself the greatest personage in all the world. but his mother, when she heard these things, implored him to be cautious:-- "my son, these presents, though so rich and rare, will be thy winding-sheet; beware, beware! they'll drive to madness thy poor giddy brain, and thou wilt never be restored again. never; for wert thou bravest of the brave, they only lead to an untimely grave. then give them back, nor such a doom provoke, beware of rustem's host-destroying stroke. has he not conquered demons!--and, alone, afrásiyáb's best warriors overthrown! and canst thou equal them?--alas! the day that thy sweet life should thus be thrown away." barzú, however, was too much dazzled by the presents he had received, and too vain of his own personal strength to attend to his mother's advice. "certainly," said he, "the disposal of our lives is in the hands of the almighty, and as certain it is that my strength is superior to that of rustem. would it not then be cowardly to decline the contest with him?" the mother still continued to dissuade him from the enterprise, and assured him that rustem was above all mankind distinguished for the art, and skill, and dexterity, with which he attacked his enemy, and defended himself; and that there was no chance of his being overcome by a man entirely ignorant of the science of fighting; but barzú remained unmoved: yet he told the king what his mother had said; and afrásiyáb, in consequence, deemed it proper to appoint two celebrated masters to instruct him in the use of the bow, the sword, and the javelin, and also in wrestling and throwing the noose. every day, clothed in armor, he tried his skill and strength with the warriors, and after ten days he was sufficiently accomplished to overthrow eighteen of them at one time. proud of the progress he had made, he told the king that he would seize and bind eighteen of his stoutest and most experienced teachers, and bring them before him, if he wished, when all the assembly exclaimed:--"no doubt he is fully equal to the task; "he does not seem of human birth, but wears the aspect of the evil one; and looks like alberz mountain, clad in folds of mail; unwearied in the fight he conquers all." afrásiyáb's satisfaction was increased by this testimony to the merit of barzú, and he heaped upon him further tokens of his good-will and munificence. the vain, newly-made warrior was all exultation and delight, and said impatiently:-- "delays are ever dangerous--let us meet the foe betimes, this rustem and the king, kai-khosráu. if we linger in a cause demanding instant action, prompt appliance, and rapid execution, we are lost. advance, and i will soon lop off the heads of this belauded champion and his king, and cast them, with the persian crown and throne trophies of glory, at thy royal feet; so that túrán alone shall rule the world." speedily ten thousand experienced horsemen were selected and placed under the command of barzú; and húmán and bármán were appointed to accompany him; afrásiyáb himself intending to follow with the reserve. when the intelligence of this new expedition reached the court of kai-khosráu, he was astonished, and could not conceive how, after so signal a defeat and overthrow, afrásiyáb had the means of collecting another army, and boldly invading his kingdom. to oppose this invasion, however, he ordered tús and fríburz, with twelve thousand horsemen, and marched after them himself with a large army. as soon as tús fell in with the enemy the battle commenced, and lasted, with great carnage, a whole day and night, and in the end barzú was victorious. the warriors of the persian force fled, and left tús and fríburz alone on the field, where they were encountered by the conqueror, taken prisoners, and bound, and placed in the charge of húmán. the tidings of the result of this conflict were received with as much rejoicing by afrásiyáb, as with sorrow and consternation by kai-khosráu. and now the emergency, on the persian side, demanded the assistance of rustem, whose indignation was roused, and who determined on revenge for the insult that had been given. he took with him gustahem, the brother of tús, and at midnight thought he had come to the tent of barzú, but it proved to be the pavilion of afrásiyáb, who was seen seated on his throne, with barzú on his right hand, and pírán-wísah on his left, and tús and fríburz standing in chains before them. the king said to the captive warriors: "to-morrow you shall both be put to death in the manner i slew saiáwush." he then retired. meanwhile rustem returned thanks to heaven that his friends were still alive, and requesting gustahem to follow cautiously, he waited awhile for a fit opportunity, till the watchman was off his guard, and then killing him, he and gustahem took up and conveyed the two prisoners to a short distance, where they knocked off their chains, and then conducted them back to kai-khosráu. when afrásiyáb arose from sleep, he found his warriors in close and earnest conversation, and was told that a champion from persia had come and killed the watchman, and carried off the prisoners. pírán exclaimed: "then assuredly that champion is rustem, and no other." afrásiyáb writhed with anger and mortification at this intelligence, and sending for barzú, despatched his army to attack the enemy, and challenge rustem to single combat. rustem was with the persian troops, and, answering the summons, said: "young man, if thou art calling for rustem, behold i come in his place to lay thee prostrate on the earth." "ah!" rejoined barzú, "and why this threat? it is true i am but of tender years, whilst thou art aged and experienced. but if thou art fire, i am water, and able to quench thy flames." saying this he wielded his bow, and fixed the arrow in its notch, and commenced the strife. rustem also engaged with bow and arrows; and then they each had recourse to their maces, which from repeated strokes were soon bent as crooked as their bows, and they were themselves nearly exhausted. their next encounter was by wrestling, and dreadful were the wrenches and grasps they received from each other. barzú finding no advantage from this struggle, raised his mace, and struck rustem such a prodigious blow on the head, that the champion thought a whole mountain had fallen upon him. one arm was disabled, but though the wound was desperate, rustem had the address to conceal its effects, and barzú wondered that he had made apparently so little impression on his antagonist. "thou art," said he, "a surprising warrior, and seemingly invulnerable. had i struck such a blow on a mountain, it would have been broken into a thousand fragments, and yet it makes no impression upon thee. heaven forbid!" he continued to himself, "that i should ever receive so bewildering a stroke upon my own head!" rustem having successfully concealed the anguish of his wound, artfully observed that it would be better to finish the combat on the following day, to which barzú readily agreed, and then they both parted. barzú declared to afrásiyáb that his extraordinary vigor and strength had been of no account, for both his antagonist and his horse appeared to be composed of materials as hard as flint. every blow was without effect; and "heaven only knows," added he, "what may be the result of to-morrow's conflict." on the other hand rustem showed his lacerated arm to khosráu, and said: "i have escaped from him; but who else is there now to meet him, and finish the struggle? ferámurz, my son, cannot fulfil my promise with barzú, as he, alas! is fighting in hindústán. let me, however, call him hither, and in the meanwhile, on some pretext or other, delay the engagement." the king, in great sorrow and affliction, sanctioned his departure, and then said to his warriors: "i will fight this barzú myself to-morrow;" but gúdarz would not consent to it, saying: "as long as we live, the king must not be exposed to such hazard. gíw and byzun, and the other chiefs, must first successively encounter the enemy." when rustem reached his tent, he told his brother zúára to get ready a litter, that he might proceed to sístán for the purpose of obtaining a remedy for his wound from the símúrgh. pain and grief kept him awake all night, and he prayed incessantly to the supreme being. in the morning early, zúára brought him intelligence of the welcome arrival of ferámurz, which gladdened his heart; and as the youth had undergone great fatigue on his long journey, rustem requested him to repose awhile, and he himself, freed from anxiety, also sought relief in a sound sleep. a few hours afterwards both armies were again drawn up, and barzú, like a mad elephant, full of confidence and pride, rode forward to resume the combat; whilst rustem gave instructions to ferámurz how he was to act. he attired him in his own armor, supplied him with his own weapons, and mounted him on rakush, and told him to represent himself to barzú as the warrior who had engaged him the day before. accordingly ferámurz entered the middle space, clothed in his father's mail, raised his bow, ready bent, and shot an arrow at barzú, crying: "behold thy adversary! i am the man come to try thy strength again. advance!" to this barzú replied: "why this hilarity, and great flow of spirits? art thou reckless of thy life?" "in the eyes of warriors," said ferámurz, "the field of fight is the mansion of pleasure. after i yesterday parted from thee i drank wine with my companions, and the impression of delight still remains on my heart. "wine exhilarates the soul, makes the eye with pleasure roll; lightens up the darkest mien, fills with joy the dullest scene; hence it is i meet thee now with a smile upon my brow," barzú, however, thought that the voice and action of his adversary were not the same as he had heard and seen the preceding day, although there was no difference in the armor or the horse, and therefore he said: "perhaps the cavalier whom i encountered yesterday is wounded or dead, that thou hast mounted his charger, and attired thyself in his mail." "indeed," rejoined ferámurz, "perhaps thou hast lost thy wits; i am certainly the person who engaged thee yesterday, and almost extinguished thee; and with god's favor thou shalt be a dead man to-day." "what is thy name?" "my name is rustem, descended from a race of warriors, and my pleasure consists in contending with the lions of battle, and shedding the blood of heroes." thus saying, ferámurz rushed on his adversary, struck him several blows with his battle-axe, and drawing his noose from the saddle-strap with the quickness of lightning, secured his prize. he might have put an end to his existence in a moment, but preferred taking him alive, and showing him as a captive. afrásiyáb seeing the perilous condition of barzú, came up with his whole army to his rescue; but kai-khosráu was equally on the alert, accompanied by rustem, who, advancing to the support of ferámurz, threw another noose round the neck of the already-captured barzú, to prevent the possibility of his escape. both armies now engaged, and the túránians made many desperate efforts to recover their gigantic leader, but all their manoeuvres were fruitless. the struggle continued fiercely, and with great slaughter, till it was dark, and then ceased; the two kings returned back to the respective positions they had taken up before the conflict took place. the túránians were in the deepest grief for the loss of barzú; and pírán-wísah having recommended an immediate retreat across the jihún, afrásiyáb followed his counsel, and precipitately quitted persia with all his troops. kai-khosráu ordered a grand banquet on the occasion of the victory; and when barzú was brought before him, he commanded his immediate execution; but rustem, seeing that he was very young, and thinking that he had not yet been corrupted and debased by the savage example of the túránians, requested that he might be spared, and given to him to send into sístán; and his request was promptly complied with. when the mother of barzú, whose name was sháh-rú, heard that her son was a prisoner, she wept bitterly, and hastened to irán, and from thence to sístán. there happened to be in rustem's employ a singing-girl,[ ] an old acquaintance of hers, to whom she was much attached, and to whom she made large presents, calling her by the most endearing epithets, in order that she might be brought to serve her in the important matter she had in contemplation. her object was soon explained, and the preliminaries at once adjusted, and by the hands of this singing-girl she secretly sent some food to barzú, in which she concealed a ring, to apprise him of her being near him. on finding the ring, he asked who had supplied him with the food, and her answer was: "a woman recently arrived from má-chín." this was to him delightful intelligence, and he could not help exclaiming, "that woman is my mother, i am grateful for thy services, but another time bring me, if thou canst, a large file, that i may be able to free myself from these chains." the singing-girl promised her assistance; and having told sháh-rú what her son required, conveyed to him a file, and resolved to accompany him in his flight. barzú then requested that three fleet horses might be provided and kept ready under the walls, at a short distance; and this being also done, in the night, he and his mother, and the singing-girl, effected their escape, and pursued their course towards túrán. it so happened that rustem was at this time in progress between irán and sístán, hunting for his own pleasure the elk or wild ass, and he accidentally fell in with the refugees, who made an attempt to avoid him, but, unable to effect their purpose, thought proper to oppose him with all their might, and a sharp contest ensued. both parties becoming fatigued, they rested awhile, when rustem asked barzú how he had obtained his liberty. "the almighty freed me from the bondage i endured." "and who are these two women?" "one of them," replied barzú, "is my mother, and that is a singing-girl of thy own house." rustem went aside, and called for breakfast, and thinking in his own mind that it would be expedient to poison barzú, mixed up a deleterious substance in some food, and sent it to him to eat. he was just going to take it, when his mother cried, "my son, beware!" and he drew his hand from the dish. but the singing-girl did eat part of it, and died on the spot. upon witnessing this appalling scene, barzú sprang forward with indignation, and reproached rustem for his treachery in the severest terms. "old man! hast thou mid warrior-chiefs a place, and dost thou practice that which brings disgrace? hast thou no fear of a degraded name, no fear of lasting obloquy and shame? o, thou canst have no hope in god, when thou stand'st thus defiled--dishonoured, false, as now; unfair, perfidious, art thou too, in strife, by any pretext thou wouldst take my life!" he then in a menacing attitude exclaimed: "if thou art a man, rise and fight!" rustem felt ashamed on being thus detected, and rose up frowning in scorn. they met, brandishing their battle-axes, and looking as black as the clouds of night. they then dismounted to wrestle, and fastening the bridles, each to his own girdle, furiously grasped each other's loins and limbs, straining and struggling for the mastery. whilst they were thus engaged, their horses betrayed equal animosity, and attacked each other with great violence. rakush bit and kicked barzú's steed so severely that he strove to gallop away, dragging his master, who was at the same time under the excruciating grip of rustem. "o, release me for a moment till i am disentangled from my horse," exclaimed barzú; but rustem heeding him not, now pressed him down beneath him, and was preparing to give him the finishing blow by cutting off his head, when the mother seeing the fatal moment approach, shrieked, and cried out, "forbear, rustem! this youth is the son of sohráb, and thy own grandchild! forbear, and bring not on thyself the devouring anguish which followed the death of his unhappy father. "think of sohráb! take not the precious life of sire and son--unnatural is the strife; restrain, for mercy's sake, that furious mood, and pause before thou shedd'st a kinsman's blood." "ah!" rejoined rustem, "can that be true?" upon which sháh-rú showed him sohráb's brilliant finger-ring and he was satisfied. he then pressed barzú warmly and affectionately to his breast, and kissed his head and eyes, and took him along with him to sístán, where he placed him in a station of honor, and introduced him to his great-grandfather zál, who received and caressed him with becoming tenderness and regard. sÚsen and afrÁsiyÁb soon after afrásiyáb had returned defeated into túrán, grievously lamenting the misfortune which had deprived him of the assistance of barzú, a woman named súsen, deeply versed in magic and sorcery, came to him, and promised by her potent art to put him in the way of destroying rustem and his whole family. "fighting disappointment brings, sword and mace are useless things; if thou wouldst a conqueror be, monarch! put thy trust in me; soon the mighty chief shall bleed-- spells and charms will do the deed!" afrásiyáb at first refused to avail himself of her power, but was presently induced, by a manifestation of her skill, to consent to what she proposed. she required that a distinguished warrior should be sent along with her, furnished with abundance of treasure, honorary tokens and presents, so that none might be aware that she was employed on the occasion. afrásiyáb appointed pílsam, duly supplied with the requisites, and the warrior and the sorceress set off on their journey, people being stationed conveniently on the road to hasten the first tidings of their success to the king. their course was towards sístán, and arriving at a fort, they took possession of a commodious residence, in which they placed the wealth and property they had brought, and, establishing a house of entertainment, all travellers who passed that way were hospitably and sumptuously regaled by them. for sparkling wine, and viands rare, and mellow fruit, abounded there. it is recorded that rustem had invited to a magnificent feast at his palace in sístán a large company of the most celebrated heroes of the kingdom, and amongst them happened to be tús, whom the king had deputed to the champion on some important state affairs. gúdarz was also present; and between him and tús ever hostile to each other, a dispute as usual took place. the latter, always boasting of his ancestry, reviled the old warrior and said, "i am the son of nauder, and the grandson of feridún, whilst thou art but the son of kavah, the blacksmith;--why then dost thou put thyself on a footing with me?" gúdarz, in reply, poured upon him reproaches equally irritating, accused him of ignorance and folly, and roused the anger of the prince to such a degree that he drew his dagger to punish the offender, when rehám started up and prevented the intended bloodshed. this interposition increased his rage, and in serious dudgeon he retired from the banquet, and set off on his return to irán. rustem was not present at the time, but when he heard of the altercation and the result of it, he was very angry, saying that gúdarz was a relation of the family, and tús his guest, and therefore wrong had been done, since a guest ought always to be protected. "a guest," he said, "ought to be held as sacred as the king, and it is the custom of heroes to treat a guest with the most scrupulous respect and consideration-- "for a guest is the king of the feast." he then requested gúdarz to go after tús, and by fair words and proper excuses bring him back to his festive board. accordingly gúdarz departed. no sooner had he gone than gíw rose up, and said, "tús is little better than a madman, and my father of a hasty temper; i should therefore wish to follow, to prevent the possibility of further disagreement." to this rustem consented. byzun was now also anxious to go, and he too got permission. when all the three had departed, rustem began to be apprehensive that something unpleasant would occur, and thought it prudent to send ferámurz to preserve the peace. zál then came forward, and thinking that tús, the descendant of the kais and his revered guest, might not be easily prevailed upon to return either by gúdarz, gíw, byzun, or ferámurz, resolved to go himself and soothe the temper which had been so injudiciously and rudely ruffled at the banquet. when tús, on his journey from rustem's palace, approached the residence of súsen the sorceress, he beheld numerous cooks and confectioners on every side, preparing all kinds of rich and rare dishes of food, and every species of sweetmeat; and enquiring to whom they belonged, he was told that the place was occupied by the wife of a merchant from túrán, who was extremely wealthy, and who entertained in the most sumptuous manner every traveller who passed that way. hungry, and curious to see what was going on, tús dismounted, and leaving his horse with the attendants, entered the principal apartment, where he saw a fascinating female, and was transported with joy.--she was tall as the graceful cypress, and as bright, as ever struck a lover's ravished sight; why of her musky locks or ringlets tell? each silky hair itself contained a spell. why of her face so beautifully fair? wondering he saw the moon's refulgence there. as soon as his transports had subsided he sat down before her, and asked her who she was, and upon what adventure she was engaged; and she answered that she was a singing-girl, that a wealthy merchant some time ago had fallen in love with and married her, and soon afterwards died; that afrásiyáb, the king, had since wished to take her into his harem, which alarmed her, and she had in consequence fled from his country; she was willing, however, she said, to become the handmaid of kai-khosráu, he being a true king, and of a sweet and gentle temper. "a persecuted damsel i, thus the detested tyrant fly, and hastening from impending woes, in happy persia seek repose; for long as cherished life remains, pleasure must smile where khosráu reigns. thence did i from my home depart, to please and bless a persian heart." the deception worked effectually on the mind of tús, and he at once entered into the notion of escorting her to kai-khosráu. but he was immediately supplied with charmed viands and goblets of rich wine, which he had not the power to resist, till his senses forsook him, and then pílsam appeared, and, binding him with cords, conveyed him safely and secretly into the interior of the fort. in a short time gúdarz arrived, and he too was received and treated in the same manner. then gíw and byzun were seized and secured; and after them came zál: but notwithstanding the enticements that were used, and the attractions that presented themselves, he would neither enter the enchanted apartment, nor taste the enchanted food or wine. the bewitching cup was filled to the brim, but the magic draught had no charms for him. a person whispered in his ear that the woman had already wickedly got into her power several warriors, and he felt assured that they were his own friends. to be revenged for this treachery he rushed forward, and would have seized hold of the sorceress, but she fled into the fort and fastened the gate. he instantly sent a messenger to rustem, explaining the perplexity in which he was involved, and exerting all his strength, broke down the gate that had just been closed against him as soon as the passage was opened, out rushed pílsam, who with his mace commenced a furious battle with zál, in which he nearly overpowered him, when ferámurz reached the spot, and telling the venerable old warrior to stand aside, took his place, and fought with pílsam without intermission all day, and till they were parted by the darkness of night. early in the morning rustem, accompanied by barzú, arrived from sístán, and entering the fort, called aloud for pílsam. he also sent ferámurz to kai-khosráu to inform him of what had occurred. pílsam at length issued forth, and attacked the champion. they first fought with bows and arrows, with javelins next, and then successively with maces, and swords, and daggers. the contest lasted the whole day; and when at night they parted, neither had gained the victory. the next morning immense clouds of dust were seen, and they were found to be occasioned by afrásiyáb and his army marching to the spot. rustem appointed barzú to proceed with his zábul troops against him, whilst he himself encountered pílsam. the strife between the two was dreadful. rustem struck him several times furiously upon the head, and at length stretched him lifeless on the sand. he then impelled rakush towards the túránian army, and aided by zál and barzú, committed tremendous havoc among them. so thick the arrows fell, helmet, and mail, and shield, pierced through, looked like a field of reeds. in the meantime súsen, the sorceress, escaped from the fort, and fled to afrásiyáb. another cloud of dust spreading from earth to heaven, was observed in the direction of persia, and the waving banners becoming more distinct, presently showed the approach of the king, kai-khosráu. the steely javelins sparkled in the sun, helmet and shield, and joyous seemed the sight. banners, all gorgeous, floating on the breeze, and horns shrill echoing, and the tramp of steeds, proclaimed to dazzled eye and half-stunned ear, the mighty preparation. the hostile armies soon met, and there was a sanguinary conflict, but the túránians were obliged to give way. upon this common result, pírán-wísah declared to afrásiyáb that perseverance was as ridiculous as unprofitable. "our army has no heart, nor confidence, when opposed to rustem; how often have we been defeated by him--how often have we been scattered like sheep before that lion in battle! we have just lost the aid of barzú, and now is it not deplorable to put any trust in the dreams of a singing-girl, to accelerate on her account the ruin of the country, and to hazard thy own personal safety. "what! risk an empire on a woman's word!" afrásiyáb replied, "so it is;" and instantly urged his horse into the middle of the plain, where he loudly challenged kai-khosráu to single combat, saying, "why should we uselessly shed the blood of our warriors and people. let us ourselves decide the day. god will give the triumph to him who merits it." kai-khosráu was ashamed to refuse this challenge, and descending from his elephant, mounted his horse and prepared for the onset. but his warriors seized the bridle, and would not allow him to fight. he declared, however, that he would himself take revenge for the blood of saiáwush, and struggled to overcome the friends who were opposing his progress. "forbear awhile," said rustem, "afrásiyáb is expert in all the arts of the warrior, fighting with the sword, the dagger, in archery, and wrestling. when i wrestled with him, and held him down, he could not have escaped, excepting by the exercise of the most consummate dexterity. allow thy warriors to fight for thee." but the king was angry, and said, "the monarch who does not fight for himself, is unworthy of the crown." upon hearing this, rustem wept tears of blood. barzú now took hold of the king's stirrup, and knocked his forehead against it, and drawing his dagger, threatened to put an end to himself, saying, "my blood will be upon thy neck, if thou goest;" and he continued in a strain so eloquent and persuasive that khosráu relaxed in his determination, and observed to rustem: "there can be no doubt that barzú is descended from thee." barzú now respectfully kissed the ground before the king, and vaulting on his saddle with admirable agility, rushed onwards to the middle space where afrásiyáb was waiting, and roared aloud. afrásiyáb burned with indignation at the sight, and said in his heart: "it seems that i have nurtured and instructed this ingrate, to shed my own blood. thou wretch of demon-birth, thou knowest not thy father's name! and yet thou comest to wage war against me! art thou not ashamed to look upon the king of túrán after what he has done for thee?" barzú replied: "although thou didst protect me, thou spilt the blood of saiáwush and aghríras unjustly. when i ate thy salt, i served thee faithfully, and fought for thee. i now eat the salt of kai-khosráu, and my allegiance is due to him." he spoke, and raised his battle-axe, and rushed, swift as a demon of mázinderán, against afrásiyáb, who, frowning, cried:-- "approach not like a furious elephant, heedless what may befall thee--nor provoke the wrath of him whose certain aim is death." then placed he on the string a pointed dart, and shot it from the bow; whizzing it flew, and pierced the armor of the wondering youth, inflicting on his side a painful wound, which made his heart with trepidation throb; high exultation marked the despot's brow, seeing the gush of blood his loins distain. barzú was now anxious to assail afrásiyáb with his mace, instead of arrows; but whenever he tried to get near enough, he was disappointed by the adroitness of his adversary, whom he could not reach. he was at last compelled to lay aside the battle-axe, and have recourse to his bow, but every arrow was dexterously received by afrásiyáb on his shield; and barzú, on his part, became equally active and successful. afrásiyáb soon emptied his quiver, and then he grasped his mace with the intention of extinguishing his antagonist at once, but at the moment húmán came up, and said: "o, king! do not bring thyself into jeopardy by contending against a person of no account; thy proper adversary is kai-khosráu, and not him, for if thou gainest the victory, it can only be a victory over a fatherless soldier, and if thou art killed, the whole of túrán will be at the feet of persia." both pírán and húmán dissuaded the king from continuing the engagement singly, and directed the túránians to commence a general attack. afrásiyáb told them that if barzú was not slain, it would be a great misfortune to their country; in consequence, they surrounded him, and inflicted on him many severe wounds. but rustem and ferámurz, beholding the dilemma into which barzú was thrown, hastened to his support, and many of the enemy were killed by them, and great carnage followed the advance of the persian army. the noise of clashing swords, and ponderous maces ringing upon the iron mail, seemed like the busy work-shop of an armorer; tumultuous as the sea the field appeared, all crimsoned with the blood of heroes slain. kai-khosráu himself hurried to the assistance of barzú, and the powerful force which he brought along with him soon put the túránians to flight. afrásiyáb too made his escape in the confusion that prevailed. the king wished to pursue the enemy, but rustem observed that their defeat and dispersion was enough. the battle having ceased, and the army being in the neighborhood of sístán, the champion solicited permission to return to his home; "for i am now," said he, "four hundred years old, and require a little rest. in the meantime ferámurz and barzú may take my place." the king consented, and distributing his favors to each of his distinguished warriors for their prodigious exertions, left zál and rustem to proceed to sístán, and returned to the capital of his kingdom. the expedition of gÚdarz the overthrow of the sovereign of túrán had only a temporary effect, as it was not long before he was enabled to collect further supplies, and another army for the defence of his kingdom; and kai-khosráu's ambition to reduce the power of his rival being animated by new hopes of success, another expedition was entrusted to the command of gúdarz. rustem, he said, had done his duty in repeated campaigns against afrásiyáb, and the extraordinary gallantry and wisdom with which they were conducted, entitled him to the highest applause. "it is now, gúdarz, thy turn to vanquish the enemy." accordingly gúdarz, accompanied by gíw, and tús, and byzun, and an immense army, proceeded towards túrán. ferámurz was directed previously to invade and conquer hindústán, and from thence to march to the borders of chín and má-chín, for the purpose of uniting and co-operating with the army under gúdarz, and, finally, to capture afrásiyáb. as soon as it was known in túrán that gúdarz was in motion to resume hostilities against the king, húmán was appointed with a large force to resist his progress, and a second army of reserve was gathered together under the command of pírán. the first conflict which occurred was between the troops of gúdarz and húmán. gúdarz directed byzun to attack húmán. the two chiefs joined in battle, when húmán fell under the sword of his adversary, and his army, being defeated, retired, and united in the rear with the legions of pírán. the enemy thus became of formidable strength, and in consequence it was thought proper to communicate the inequality to kai-khosráu, that reinforcements might be sent without loss of time. the king immediately complied, and also wrote to sístán to request the aid of rustem. the war lasted two years, the army on each side being continually recruited as necessity required, so that the numbers were regularly kept up, till a great battle took place, in which the venerable pírán was killed, and nearly the whole of his army destroyed. this victory was obtained without the assistance of rustem, who, notwithstanding the message of the king, had still remained in sístán. the loss of pírán, the counsellor and warrior, proved to be a great affliction to afrásiyáb: he felt as if his whole support was taken away, and deemed it the signal of approaching ruin to his cause. "thou wert my refuge, thou my friend and brother; wise in thy counsel, gallant in the field, my monitor and guide--and thou art gone! the glory of my kingdom is eclipsed, since thou hast vanished from this world, and left me all wretched to myself. but food, nor sleep nor rest will i indulge in, till just vengeance has been inflicted on the cruel foe." when the news of pírán's death reached kai-khosráu, he rapidly marched forward, crossed the jihún without delay, and passed through samerkánd and bokhára, to encounter the túránians. afrásiyáb, in the meantime, had not been neglectful. he had all his hidden treasure dug up, with which he assembled a prodigious army, and appointed his son shydah-poshang to the command of a hundred thousand horsemen. to oppose this force, khosráu appointed his young relative, lohurásp, with eight thousand horsemen, and passing through sístán, desired rustem, on account of lohurásp's tender age and inexperience, to afford him such good counsel as he required. when afrásiyáb heard this, he added to the force of shydah another hundred thousand men, but first sent his son to kai-khosráu in the character of an ambassador to offer terms of peace. "tell him," said he, "that to secure this object, i will deliver to him one of my sons as a hostage, and a number of troops for his service, with the sacred promise never to depart from my engagements again.--but, a word in thy ear, shydah; if khosráu is not disposed to accept these terms, say, to prevent unnecessary bloodshed, he and i must personally decide the day by single combat. if he refuses to fight with me, say that thou wilt meet him; and shouldst thou be slain in the strife, i will surrender to him the kingdom of túrán, and retire myself from the world." he further commanded him to propound these terms with a gallant and fearless bearing, and not to betray the least apprehension. shydah entered fully into the spirit of his father's instructions, and declared that he would devote his life to the cause, that he would boldly before the whole assembly dare kai-khosráu to battle; so that afrásiyáb was delighted with the valorous disposition he displayed. kai-khosráu smiled when he heard of what afrásiyáb intended, and viewed the proposal as a proof of his weakness. "but never," said he, "will i consent to a peace till i have inflicted on him the death which saiáwush was made to suffer." when shydah arrived, and with proper ceremony and respect had delivered his message, kai-khosráu invited him to retire to his chamber and go to rest, and he would send an answer by one of his people. shydah accordingly retired, and the king proceeded to consult his warrior-friends on the offers that had been made. "afrásiyáb tells me," said he, "that if i do not wish for peace, i must fight either him or his son. i have seen shydah--his eyes are red and blood-shot, and he has a fierce expression of feature; if i do not accept his terms, i shall probably soon have a dagger lodged in my breast." saying this, he ordered his mail to be got ready; but rustem and all the great men about him exclaimed, unanimously: "this must not be allowed; afrásiyáb is full of fraud, artifice, and sorcery, and notoriously faithless to his engagements. the sending of shydah is all a trick, and his letter of proposal all deceit: his object is simply to induce thee to fight him alone. "if them shouldst kill this shydah--what of that! there would be one túránian warrior less, to vex the world withal; would that be triumph? and to a persian king? but if it chanced, that thou shouldst meet with an untimely death, by dart or javelin, at the stripling's hands, what scathe and ruin would this realm befall!" by the advice of rustem, kai-khosráu gave shydah permission to depart, and said that he would send his answer to afrásiyáb by kárun. "but," observed the youth, "i have come to fight thee!" which touched the honor of the king, and he replied: "be it so, let us then meet to-morrow." in the meantime khosráu prepared his letter to afrásiyáb, in which he said:-- "our quarrel now is dark to view, it bears the fiercest, gloomiest hue; and vain have speech and promise been to change for peace the battle scene; for thou art still to treachery prone, though gentle now in word and tone; but that imperial crown thou wearest, that mace which thou in battle bearest, thy kingdom, all, thou must resign; thy army too--for all are mine! thou talk'st of strength, and might, and power, when revelling in a prosperous hour; but know, that strength of nerve and limb we owe to god--it comes from him! and victory's palm, and regal sway, alike the will of heaven obey. hence thy lost throne, no longer thine, will soon, perfidious king! be mine!" in giving this letter to kárun, kai-khosráu directed him, in the first place, to deliver a message from him to shydah, to the following effect:-- "driven art thou out from home and life, doomed to engage in mortal strife, for deeply lours misfortune's cloud; that gay attire will be thy shroud; blood from thy father's eyes will gush, as káús wept for saiáwush." in the morning khosráu went to the appointed place, and when he approached shydah, the latter said, "thou hast come on foot, let our trial be in wrestling;" and the proposal being agreed to, both applied themselves fiercely to the encounter, at a distance from the troops. the youth appeared with joyous mien, and bounding heart, for life was new; by either host the strife was seen, and strong and fierce the combat grew. shydah exerted his utmost might, but was unable to move his antagonist from the ground; whilst khosráu lifted him up without difficulty, and, dashing him on the plain, he sprang upon him as the lion fierce springs on the nimble gor, then quickly drew his deadly dagger, and with cruel aim, thrust the keen weapon through the stripling's heart. khosráu, immediately after slaying him, ordered the body to be washed with musk and rose-water, and, after burial, a tomb to be raised to his memory. when kárun reached the court of afrásiyáb with the answer to the offer of peace, intelligence had previously arrived that shydah had fallen in the combat, which produced in the mind of the father the greatest anguish. he gave no reply to kárun, but ordered the drums and trumpets to be sounded, and instantly marched with a large army against the enemy. the two hosts were soon engaged, the anger of the túránians being so much roused and sharpened by the death of the prince, that they were utterly regardless of their lives. the battle, therefore, was fought with unusual fury. two sovereigns in the field, in desperate strife, each by a grievous cause of wrath, urged on to glut revenge; this, for a father's life wantonly sacrificed; that for a son slain in his prime.--the carnage has begun, and blood is seen to flow on every side; thousands are slaughtered ere the day is done, and weltering swell the sanguinary tide; and why? to soothe man's hate, his cruelty, and pride. the battle terminated in the discomfiture and defeat of the túránians, who fled from the conquerors in the utmost confusion. the people seized hold of the bridle of afrásiyáb's horse, and obliged him to follow his scattered army. kai-khosráu having despatched an account of his victory to káús, went in pursuit of afrásiyáb, traversing various countries and provinces, till he arrived on the borders of chín. the khakán, or sovereign of that state, became in consequence greatly alarmed, and presented to him large presents to gain his favor, but the only object of khosráu was to secure afrásiyáb, and he told the ambassador that if his master dared to afford him protection, he would lay waste the whole kingdom. the khakán therefore withdrew his hospitable services, and the abandoned king was compelled to seek another place of refuge. the death of afrÁsiyÁb melancholy and afflicted, afrásiyáb penetrated through wood and desert, and entered the province of mikrán, whither he was followed by kai-khosráu and his army. he then quitted mikrán, but his followers had fallen off to a small number and to whatever country or region he repaired for rest and protection, none was given, lest the vengeance of kai-khosráu should be hurled upon the offender. still pursued and hunted like a wild beast, and still flying from his enemies, the small retinue which remained with him at last left him, and he was left alone, dejected, destitute, and truly forlorn. in this state of desertion he retired into a cave, where he hoped to continue undiscovered and unseen. it chanced, however, that a man named húm, of the race of feridún, dwelt hard by. he was remarkable for his strength and bravery, but had peacefully taken up his abode upon the neighboring mountain, and was passing a religious life without any communication with the busy world. his dwelling was a little way above the cave of afrásiyáb. one night he heard a voice of lamentation below, and anxious to ascertain from whom and whence it proceeded, he stole down to the spot and listened. the mourner spoke in the turkish language, and said:--"o king of túrán and chín, where is now thy pomp and power! how has fortune cast away thy throne and thy treasure to the winds?" hearing these words húm conjectured that this must be afrásiyáb; and as he had suffered severely from the tyranny of that monarch, his feelings of vengeance were awakened, and he approached nearer to be certain that it was he. the same lamentations were repeated, and he felt assured that it was afrásiyáb himself. he waited patiently, however, till morning dawned, and then he called out at the mouth of the cave:--"o, king of the world! come out of thy cave, and obtain thy desires! i have left the invisible sphere to accomplish thy wishes. appear!" afrásiyáb thinking this a spiritual call, went out of the cave and was instantly recognized by húm, who at the same moment struck him a severe blow on the forehead, which felled him to the earth, and then secured his hands behind his back. when the monarch found himself in fetters and powerless, he complained of the cruelty inflicted upon him, and asked húm why he had treated a stranger in that manner. húm replied: "how many a prince of the race of feridún hast thou sacrificed to thy ambition? how many a heart hast thou broken? i, too, am one who was compelled to fly from thy persecutions, and take refuge here on this desert mountain, and constantly have i prayed for thy ruin that i might be released from this miserable mode of existence, and be permitted to return to my paternal home. my prayer has been heard at last, and god has delivered thee into my hands. but how earnest thou hither, and by what strange vicissitudes art thou thus placed before me?" afrásiyáb communicated to him the story of his misfortunes, and begged of him rather to put him to death on the spot than convey him to kai-khosráu. but húm was too much delighted with having the tyrant under his feet to consider either his safety or his feelings, and was not long in bringing him to the persian king. kai-khosráu received the prisoner with exultation, and made húm a magnificent present. he well recollected the basin and the dagger used in the murder of saiáwush, and commanded the presence of the treacherous gersíwaz, that he and afrásiyáb might suffer, in every respect, the same fate together. the basin was brought, and the two victims were put to death, like two goats, their heads being chopped off from their bodies. after this sanguinary catastrophe, kai-khosráu returned to irán, leaving rustem to proceed to his own principality. kai-káús quitted his palace, according to his established custom, to welcome back the conqueror. he kissed his head and face, and showered upon him praises and blessings for the valor he had displayed, and the deeds he had done, and especially for having so signally revenged the cruel murder of his father saiáwush. the death of kai-khosrÁu kai-khosráu at last became inspired by an insurmountable attachment to a religious life, and thought only of devotion to god. thus influenced by a disposition peculiar to ascetics, he abandoned the duties of sovereignty, and committed all state affairs to the care of his ministers. the chiefs and warriors remonstrated respectfully against this mode of government, and trusted that he would devote only a few hours in the day to the transactions of the kingdom, and the remainder to prayer and religious exercises; but this he refused, saying:--"one heart is not equal to both duties; my affections indeed are not for this transitory world, and i trust to be an inhabitant of the world to come." the nobles were in great sorrow at this declaration, and anxiously applied to zál and rustem, in the hopes of working some change in the king's disposition. on their arrival the people cried to them:-- "some evil eye has smote the king;--iblís by wicked wiles has led his soul astray, and withered all life's pleasures. o release our country from the sorrow, the dismay which darkens every heart:--his ruin stay. is it not mournful thus to see him cold and gloomy, casting pomp and joy away? restore him to himself; let us behold again the victor-king, the generous, just and bold." zál and rustem went to the palace of the king in a melancholy mood, and khosráu having heard of their approach, enquired of them why they had left sístán. they replied that the news of his having relinquished all concern in the affairs of the kingdom had induced them to wait upon him. "i am weary of the troubles of this life," said he composedly, "and anxious to prepare for a future state." "but death," observed zál, "is a great evil. it is dreadful to die!" upon this the king said:--"i cannot endure any longer the deceptions and the perfidy of mankind. my love of heaven is so great that i cannot exist one moment without devotion and prayer. last night a mysterious voice whispered in my ear:--the time of thy departure is nigh, prepare the load for thy journey, and neglect not thy warning angel, or the opportunity will be lost." when zál and rustem saw that khosráu was resolved, and solemnly occupied in his devotions, they were for some time silent. but zál was at length moved, and said:--"i will go into retirement and solitude with the king, and by continual prayer, and through his blessing, i too may be forgiven." "this, indeed," said the king, "is not the place for me. i must seek out a solitary cell, and there resign my soul to heaven." zál and rustem wept, and quitted the palace, and all the warriors were in the deepest affliction. the next day kai-khosráu left his apartment, and called together his great men and warriors, and said to them:-- "that which i sought for, i have now obtained. nothing remains of worldly wish, or hope, to disappoint or vex me. i resign the pageantry of kings, and turn away from all the pomp of the kaiánian throne, sated with human grandeur.--now, farewell! such is my destiny. to those brave friends, who, ever faithful, have my power upheld, i will discharge the duty of a king, paying the pleasing debt of gratitude." he then ordered his tents to be pitched in the desert, and opened his treasury, and for seven days made a sumptuous feast, and distributed food and money among the indigent, the widows, and orphans, and every destitute person was abundantly supplied with the necessaries of life, so that there was no one left in a state of want throughout the empire. he also attended to the claims of his warriors. to rustem he gave zábul, and kábul, and ním-rúz. he appointed lohurásp, the son-in-law of kai-káús, successor to his throne, and directed all his people to pay the same allegiance to him as they had done to himself; and they unanimously consented, declaring their firm attachment to his person and government. he appointed gúdarz the chief minister, and gíw to the chief command of the armies. to tús he gave khorassán; and he said to fríburz, the son of káús:--"be thou obedient, i beseech thee, to the commands of lohurásp, whom i have instructed, and brought up with paternal care; for i know of no one so well qualified in the art of governing a kingdom." the warriors of irán were surprised, and murmured together, that the son of kai-káús should be thus placed under the authority of lohurásp. but zál observed to them:--"if it be the king's will, it is enough!" the murmurs of the warriors having reached kai-khosráu, he sent for them, and addressed them thus:--"fríburz is well known to be unequal to the functions of sovereignty; but lohurásp is enlightened, and fully comprehends all the duties of regal sway. he is a descendant of húsheng, wise and merciful, and god is my witness, i think him perfectly calculated to make a nation happy." hearing this eulogium on the character of the new king from kai-khosráu, all the warriors expressed their satisfaction, and anticipated a glorious reign. khosráu further said:--"i must now address you on another subject. in my dreams a fountain has been pointed out to me; and when i visit that fountain, my life will be resigned to its creator." he then bid farewell to all the people around him, and commenced his journey; and when he had accomplished one stage he pitched his tent. next day he resumed his task, and took leave of zál and rustem; who wept bitterly as they parted from him. "alas!" they said, "that one on whom heaven has bestowed a mind so great, a heart so brave, should seek the tomb, and not his hour in patience wait. the wise in wonder gaze, and say, no mortal being ever trod before, the dim supernal way, and living, saw the face of god!" after zál and rustem, then khosráu took leave of gúdarz and gíw and tús, and gustahem, but unwilling to go back, they continued with him. he soon arrived at the promised fountain, in which he bathed. he then said to his followers:--"now is the time for our separation;--you must go;" but they still remained. again he said:--"you must go quickly; for presently heavy showers of snow will fall, and a tempestuous wind will arise, and you will perish in the storm." saying this, he went into the fountain, and vanished! and not a trace was left behind, and not a dimple on the wave; all sought, but sought in vain, to find the spot which proved kai-khosráu's grave! the king having disappeared in this extraordinary manner, a loud lamentation ascended from his followers; and when the paroxysm of amazement and sorrow had ceased, fríburz said:--"let us now refresh ourselves with food, and rest awhile." accordingly those that remained ate a little, and were soon afterwards overcome with sleep. suddenly a great wind arose, and the snow fell and clothed the earth in white, and all the warriors and soldiers who accompanied kai-khosráu to the mysterious fountain, and amongst them tús and fríburz, and gíw, were while asleep overwhelmed in the drifts of snow. not a man survived. gúdarz had returned when about half-way on the road; and not hearing for a long time any tidings of his companions, sent a person to ascertain the cause of their delay. upon proceeding to the fatal place, the messenger, to his amazement and horror, found them all stiff and lifeless under the snow! lohurÁsp the reputation of lohurásp was of the highest order, and it is said that his administration of the affairs of his kingdom was more just and paternal than even that of kai-khosráu. "the counsel which khosráu gave me," said he, "was wise and admirable; but i find that i must go beyond him in moderation and clemency to the poor." lohurásp had four sons, two by the daughter of kai-káús, one named ardshír, and the other shydasp; and two by another woman, and they were named gushtásp and zarír. but gushtásp was intrepid, acute, and apparently marked out for sovereignty, and on account of his independent conduct, no favorite with his father; in defiance of whom, with a rebellious spirit, he collected together a hundred thousand horsemen, and proceeded with them towards hindústán of his own accord. lohurásp sent after him his brother zarír, with a thousand horsemen, in the hopes of influencing him to return; but when zarír overtook him and endeavored to persuade him not to proceed any further, he said to him, with an animated look:-- "proceed no farther!--well thou know'st we've no kaiánian blood to boast, and, therefore, but a minor part in lohurásp's paternal heart. nor thou, nor i, can ever own from him the diadem or throne. the brothers of káús's race by birth command the brightest place, then what remains for us? we must to other means our fortunes trust. we cannot linger here, and bear a life of discontent--despair." zarír, however, reasoned with him so winningly and effectually, that at last he consented to return; but only upon the condition that he should be nominated heir to the throne, and treated with becoming respect and ceremony. zarír agreed to interpose his efforts to this end, and brought him back to his father; but it was soon apparent that lohurásp had no inclination to promote the elevation of gushtásp in preference to the claims of his other sons; and indeed shortly afterwards manifested to what quarter his determination on this subject was directed. it was indeed enough that his determination was unfavorable to the views of gushtásp, who now, in disgust, fled from his father's house, but without any attendants, and shaped his course towards rúm. lohurásp again sent zarír in quest of him; but the youth, after a tedious search, returned without success. upon his arrival in rúm, gushtásp chose a solitary retirement, where he remained some time, and was at length compelled by poverty and want, to ask for employment in the establishment of the sovereign of that country, stating that he was an accomplished scribe, and wrote a beautiful hand. he was told to wait a few days, as at that time there was no vacancy. but hunger was pressing, and he could not suffer delay; he therefore went to the master of the camel-drivers and asked for service, but he too had no vacancy. however, commiserating the distressed condition of the applicant, he generously supplied him with a hearty meal. after that, gushtásp went into a blacksmith's shop, and asked for work, and his services were accepted. the blacksmith put the hammer into his hands, and the first blow he struck was given with such force, that he broke the anvil to pieces. the blacksmith was amazed and angry, and indignantly turned him out of his shop, uttering upon him a thousand violent reproaches. wounded in spirit, broken-hearted, misfortune darkening o'er his head, to other lands he then departed, to seek another home for bread. disconsolate and wretched, he proceeded on his journey, and observing a husbandman standing in a field of corn, he approached the spot and sat down. the husbandman seeing a strong muscular youth, apparently a túránian, sitting in sorrow and tears, went up to him and asked him the cause of his grief, and he soon became acquainted with all the circumstances of the stranger's life. pitying his distress, he took him home and gave him some food. after having partaken sufficiently of the refreshments placed before him, gushtásp inquired of his host to what tribe he belonged, and from whom he was descended. "i am descended from feridún," rejoined he, "and i belong to the kaiánian tribe. my occupation in this retired spot is, as thou seest, the cultivation of the ground, and the customs and duties of husbandry." gushtásp said, "i am myself descended from húsheng, who was the ancestor of feridún; we are, therefore, of the same origin." in consequence of this connection, gushtásp and the husbandman lived together on the most friendly footing for a considerable time. at length the star of his fortune began to illumine his path, and the favor of heaven became manifest. it was the custom of the king of rúm, when his daughters came of age, to give a splendid banquet, and to invite to it all the youths of illustrious birth in the kingdom, in order that each might select one of them most suited to her taste, for her future husband. his daughter kitabún was now of age, and in conformity with the established practice, the feast was prepared, and the youths of royal descent invited; but it so happened that not one of them was sufficiently attractive for her choice, and the day passed over unprofitably. she had been told in a dream that a youth of a certain figure and aspect had arrived in the kingdom from irán, and that to him she was destined to be married. but there was not one at her father's banquet who answered to the description of the man she had seen in her dream, and in consequence she was disappointed. on the following day the feast was resumed. she had again dreamt of the youth to whom she was to be united. she had presented to him a bunch of roses, and he had given her a rose-branch, and each regarded the other with smiles of mutual satisfaction. in the morning kitabún issued a proclamation, inviting all the young men of royal extraction, whether natives of the kingdom or strangers, to her father's feast. on that day gushtásp and the husbandman had come into the city from the country, and hearing the proclamation the latter said: "let us go, for in this lottery the prize may be drawn in thy name." they accordingly went. kitabún's handmaid was in waiting at the door, and kept every young man standing awhile, that her mistress might mark him well before she allowed him to pass into the banquet. the keen eyes of kitabún soon saw gushtásp, and her heart instantly acknowledged him as her promised lord, for he was the same person she had seen in her dream. as near the graceful stripling drew, she cried:--"my dream, my dream is true! fortune from visions of the night has brought him to my longing sight. truth has portrayed his form divine; he lives--he lives--and he is mine!" she presently descended from her balcony, and gave him a bunch of roses, the token by which her choice was made known, and then retired. the king, when he heard of what she had done, was exceedingly irritated, thinking that her affections were placed on a beggar, or some nameless stranger of no birth or fortune, and his first impulse was to have her put to death. but his people assembled around him, and said:--"what can be the use of killing her?--it is in vain to resist the flood of destiny, for what will be, will be. "the world itself is governed still by fate, fate rules the warrior's and the monarch's state; and woman's heart, the passions of her soul, own the same power, obey the same control; for what can love's impetuous force restrain? blood may be shed, but what will be thy gain?" after this remonstrance he desired enquiries to be made into the character and parentage of his proposed son-in-law, and was told his name, the name of his father, and of his ancestors, and the causes which led to his present condition. but he would not believe a word of the narration. he was then informed of his daughter's dream, and other particulars: and he so far relented as to sanction the marriage; but indignantly drove her from his house, with her husband, without a dowry, or any money to supply themselves with food. gushtásp and his wife took refuge in a miserable cell, which they inhabited, and when necessity pressed, he used to cross the river, and bring in an elk or wild ass from the forest, give half of it to the ferryman for his trouble, and keep the remainder for his own board, so that he and the ferryman became great friends by these mutual obligations. it is related that a person of distinction, named mabrín, solicited the king's second daughter in marriage; and ahrun, another man of rank, was anxious to be espoused to the third, or youngest; but the king was unwilling to part with either of them, and openly declared his sentiments to that effect. mabrín, however, was most assiduous and persevering in his attentions, and at last made some impression on the father, who consented to permit the marriage of the second daughter, but only on the following conditions: "there is," said he, "a monstrous wolf in the neighboring forest, extremely ferocious, and destructive to my property. i have frequently endeavored to hunt him down, but without success. if mabrín can destroy the animal, i will give him my daughter." when these conditions were communicated to mabrín, he considered it impossible that they could be fulfilled, and looked upon the proposal as an evasion of the question. one day, however, the ferryman having heard of mabrín's disappointment, told him that there was no reason to despair, for he knew a young man, married to one of the king's daughters, who crossed the river every day, and though only a pedestrian, brought home regularly an elk-deer on his back. "he is truly," added he, "a wonderful youth, and if you can by any means secure his assistance, i have no doubt but that his activity and strength will soon put an end to the wolfs depredations, by depriving him of life." this intelligence was received with great pleasure by mabrín, who hastened to gushtásp, and described to him his situation, and the conditions required. gushtásp in reply said, that he would be glad to accomplish for him the object of his desires, and at an appointed time proceeded towards the forest, accompanied by mabrín and the ferryman. when the party arrived at the borders of the wilderness which the wolf frequented, gushtásp left his companions behind, and advanced alone into the interior, where he soon found the dreadful monster, in size larger than an elephant, and howling terribly, ready to spring upon him. but the hand and eye of gushtásp were too active to allow of his being surprised, and in an instant he shot two arrows at once into the foaming beast, which, irritated by the deep wound, now rushed furiously upon him, without, however, doing him any serious injury; then with the rapidity of lightning, gushtásp drew his sharp sword, and with one tremendous stroke cut the wolf in two, deluging the ground with bubbling blood. having performed this prodigious exploit, he called mabrín and the ferryman to see what he had done, and they were amazed at his extraordinary intrepidity and muscular power, but requested, in order that the special object of the lover might be obtained, that he would conceal his name, for a time at least. mabrín, satisfied on this point, then repaired to the emperor, and claimed his promised bride, as the reward for his labor. the king of rúm little expected this result, and to assure himself of the truth of what he had heard, bent his way to the forest, where he was convinced, seeing with astonishment and delight that the wolf was really killed. he had now no further pretext, and therefore fulfilled his engagement, by giving his daughter to mabrín. it was now ahrun's turn to repeat his solicitations for the youngest daughter. the king of rúm had another evil to root out, so that he was prepared to propose another condition. this was to destroy a hideous dragon that had taken possession of a neighboring mountain. ahrun, on hearing the condition was in as deep distress as mabrín had been, until he accidentally became acquainted with the ferryman, who described to him the generosity and fearless bravery of gushtásp. he immediately applied to him, and the youth readily undertook the enterprise, saying:--"no doubt the monster's teeth are long and sharp, bring me therefore a dagger, and fasten round it a number of knives." ahrun did so accordingly, and gushtásp proceeded to the mountain. as soon as the dragon smelt the approach of a human being, flames issued from his nostrils, and he darted forward to devour the intruder, but was driven back by a number of arrows, rapidly discharged into his head and mouth. again he advanced, but gushtásp dodged round him, and continued driving arrows into him to the extent of forty, which subdued his strength, and made him writhe in agony. he then fixed the dagger, which was armed at right angles with knives, upon his spear, and going nearer, thrust it down his gasping throat. dreadful the weapon each two-edged blade cut deep into the jaws on either side, and the fierce monster, thinking to dislodge it, crushed it between his teeth with all his strength, which pressed it deeper in the flesh, when blood and poison issued from the gaping wounds; then, as he floundered on the earth exhausted, seizing the fragment of a flinty rock, gushtásp beat out the brains, and soon the beast in terrible struggles died. two deadly fangs then wrenched he from the jaws, to testify the wonderful exploit he had performed. when he descended from the mountain, these two teeth were delivered to ahrun, and they were afterwards conveyed to the king, who could not believe his own eyes, but ascended the mountain himself to ascertain the fact, and there he beheld with amazement the dragon lifeless, and covered with blood. "and didst thou thyself kill this terrific dragon?" said he. "yes," replied ahrun. "and wilt thou swear to god that this is thy own achievement? it must be either the exploit of a demon, or of a certain kaiánian, who resides in this neighborhood." but there was no one to disprove his assertion, and therefore the king could no longer refuse to surrender to him his youngest daughter. and now between gushtásp, and mabrín, and ahrun, the warmest friendship subsisted. indeed they were seldom parted; and the three sisters remained together with equal affection. one day kitabún, the wife of gushtásp, in conversation with some of her female acquaintance, let out the secret that her husband was the person who killed the wolf and the dragon. no sooner was this story told, than it spread, and in the end reached the ears of the queen, who immediately communicated it to the king, saying:--"this is the work of gushtásp, thy son-in-law, of him thou hast banished from thy presence--of him who nobly would not disclose his name, before mabrín and ahrun had attained the object of their wishes." the king said in reply that it was just as he had suspected; and sending for gushtásp, conferred upon him great honor, and appointed him to the chief command of his army. having thus possessed himself of a leader of such skill and intrepidity, he thought it necessary to turn his attention to external conquest, and accordingly addressed a letter to alíás, the ruler of khuz, in which he said:--"thou hast hitherto enjoyed thy kingdom in peace and tranquillity; but thou must now resign it to me, or prepare for war." alíás on receiving this imperious and haughty menace collected his forces together, and advanced to the contest, and the king of rúm assembled his own troops with equal expedition, under the direction of gushtásp. the battle was fought with great valor on both sides, and blood flowed in torrents. gushtásp challenged alíás to single combat, and the warriors met; but in a short time the enemy was thrown from his horse, and dragged by the young conqueror, in fetters, before the king. the troops witnessing the prowess of gushtásp, quickly fled; and the king commencing a hot pursuit, soon entered their city victoriously, subdued the whole kingdom, and plundered it of all its property and wealth. he also gained over the army, and with this powerful addition to his own forces, and with the booty he had secured, returned triumphantly to rúm. in consequence of this brilliant success, the king conferred additional honors on gushtásp, who now began to display the ambition which he had long cherished. aspiring to the sovereignty of irán, he spoke to the rúmí warriors on the subject of an invasion of that country, but they refused to enter into his schemes, conceiving that there was no chance of success. at this gushtásp took fire, and declared that he knew the power and resources of his father perfectly, and that the conquest would be attended with no difficulty. he then went to the king, and said: "thy chiefs are afraid to fight against lohurásp; i will myself undertake the task with even an inconsiderable army." the king was overjoyed, and kissed his head and face, and loaded him with presents, and ordered his secretary to write to lohurásp in the following terms: "i am anxious to meet thee in battle, but if thou art not disposed to fight, i will permit thee to remain at peace, on condition of surrendering to me half thy kingdom. should this be refused, i will myself deprive thee of thy whole sovereignty." when this letter was conveyed by the hands of kabús to irán, lohurásp, upon reading it, was moved to laughter, and exclaimed, "what is all this? the king of rúm has happened to obtain possession of the little kingdom of khuz, and he has become insane with pride!" he then asked kabús by what means he accomplished the capture of khuz, and how he managed to kill alíás. the messenger replied, that his success was owing to a youth of noble aspect and invincible courage, who had first destroyed a ferocious wolf, then a dragon, and had afterwards dragged alíás from his horse, with as much ease as if he had been a chicken, and laid him prostrate at the feet of the king of rúm. lohurásp enquired his name, and he answered, gushtásp. "does he resemble in feature any person in this assembly?" kabús looked round about him, and pointed to zarír, from which lohurásp concluded that it must be his own son, and sat silent. but he soon determined on what answer to send, and it was contained in the following words: "do not take me for an alíás, nor think that one hero of thine is competent to oppose me. i have a hundred equal to him. continue, therefore, to pay me tribute, or i will lay waste thy whole country." with this letter he dismissed kabús; and as soon as the messenger had departed, addressed himself to zarír, saying: "thou must go in the character of an ambassador from me to the king of rúm, and represent to him the justice and propriety of preserving peace. after thy conference with him repair to the house of gushtásp, and in my name ask his forgiveness for what i have done. i was not before aware of his merit, and day and night i think of him with repentance and sorrow. tell him to pardon his old father's infirmities, and come back to irán, to his own country and home, that i may resign to him my crown and throne, and like kai-khosráu, take leave of the world. it is my desire to deliver myself up to prayer and devotion, and to appoint gushtásp my successor, for he appears to be eminently worthy of that honor." zarír acted scrupulously, in conformity with his instructions; and having first had an interview with the king, hastened to the house of his brother, by whom he was received with affection and gladness. after the usual interchange of congratulations and enquiry, he stated to him the views and the resolutions of his father, who on the faith of his royal word promised to appoint him his successor, and thought of him with the most cordial attachment. gushtásp was as much astonished as delighted with this information, and his anxiety being great to return to his own country, he that very night, accompanied by his wife kitabún, and zarír, set out for irán. approaching the city, he was met by an istakbál, or honorary deputation of warriors, sent by the king; and when he arrived at court, lohurásp descended from his throne and embraced him with paternal affection, shedding tears of contrition for having previously treated him not only with neglect but severity. however he now made him ample atonement, and ordering a golden chair of royalty to be constructed and placed close to his own, they both sat together, and the people by command tendered to him unanimously their respect and allegiance. lohurásp repeatedly said to him:-- "what has been done was fate's decree, man cannot strive with destiny. to be unfeeling once was mine, at length to be a sovereign thine." thus spoke the king, and kissed the crown, and gave it to his valiant son. soon afterwards he relinquished all authority in the empire, assumed the coarse habit of a recluse, retired to a celebrated place of pilgrimage, near balkh. there, in a solitary cell, he devoted the remainder of his life to prayer and the worship of god. the period of lohurásp's government lasted one hundred and twenty years. gushtÁsp, and the faith of zerdusht i've said preceding sovereigns worshipped god, by whom their crowns were given to protect the people from oppressors; him they served, acknowledging his goodness--for to him, the pure, unchangeable, the holy one! they owed their greatness and their earthly power. but after times produced idolatry, and pagan faith, and then his name was lost in adoration of created things. gushtásp had by his wife kitabún, the daughter of the king of rúm, two sons named isfendiyár and bashútan, who were remarkable for their piety and devotion to the almighty. being the great king, all the minor sovereigns paid him tribute, excepting arjásp, the ruler of chín and má-chín, whose army consisted of díws, and peris, and men; for considering him of superior importance, he sent him yearly the usual tributary present. in those days lived zerdusht, the guber, who was highly accomplished in the knowledge of divine things; and having waited upon gushtásp, the king became greatly pleased with his learning and piety, and took him into his confidence. the philosopher explained to him the doctrines of the fire-worshippers, and by his art he reared a tree before the house of gushtásp, beautiful in its foliage and branches, and whoever ate of the leaves of that tree became learned and accomplished in the mysteries of the future world, and those who ate of the fruit thereof became perfect in wisdom and holiness. in consequence of the illness of lohurásp, who was nearly at the point of death, zerdusht went to balkh for the purpose of administering relief to him, and he happily succeeded in restoring him to health. on his return he was received with additional favor by gushtásp, who immediately afterwards became his disciple. zerdusht then told him that he was the prophet of god, and promised to show him miracles. he said he had been to heaven and to hell. he could send anyone, by prayer, to heaven; and whomsoever he was angry with he could send to hell. he had seen the seven mansions of the celestial regions, and the thrones of sapphires, and all the secrets of heaven were made known to him by his attendant angel. he said that the sacred book, called zendavesta, descended from above expressly for him, and that if gushtásp followed the precepts in that blessed volume, he would attain celestial felicity. gushtásp readily became a convert to his principles, forsaking the pure adoration of god for the religion of the fire-worshippers. the philosopher further said that he had prepared a ladder, by which he had ascended into heaven and had seen the almighty. this made the disciple still more obedient to zerdusht. one day he asked gushtásp why he condescended to pay tribute to arjásp; "god is on thy side," said he, "and if thou desirest an extension of territory, the whole country of chin may be easily conquered." gushtásp felt ashamed at this reproof, and to restore his character, sent a dispatch to arjásp, in which he said, "former kings who paid thee tribute did so from terror only, but now the empire is mine; and it is my will, and i have the power, to resist the payment of it in future." this letter gave great offence to arjásp; who at once suspected that the fire-worshipper, zerdusht, had poisoned his mind, and seduced him from his pure and ancient religion, and was attempting to circumvent and lead him to his ruin. he answered him thus: "it is well known that thou hast now forsaken the right path, and involved thyself in darkness. thou hast chosen a guide possessed of the attributes of iblís, who with the art of a magician has seduced thee from the worship of the true god, from that god who gave thee thy kingdom and thy grandeur. thy father feared god, and became a holy dírvesh, whilst thou hast lost thy way in wickedness and impiety. it will therefore be a meritorious action in me to vindicate the true worship and oppose thy blasphemous career with all my demons. in a month or two i will enter thy kingdom with fire and sword, and destroy thy authority and thee. i would give thee good advice; do not be influenced by a wicked counsellor, but return to thy former religious practices. weigh well, therefore, what i say." arjásp sent this letter by two of his demons, familiar with sorcery; and when it was delivered into the hands of gushtásp, a council was held to consider its contents, to which zerdusht was immediately summoned. jamásp, the minister, said that the subject required deep thought, and great prudence was necessary in framing a reply; but zerdusht observed, that the only reply was obvious--nothing but war could be thought of. at this moment isfendiyár gallantly offered to lead the army, but zarír, his uncle, objected to him on account of his extreme youth, and proposed to take the command himself, which gushtásp agreed to, and the two demon-envoys were dismissed. the answer was briefly as follows:-- "thy boast is that thou wilt in two short months ravage my country, scathe with fire and sword the empire of irán; but on thyself heap not destruction; pause before thy pride hurries thee to thy ruin. i will open the countless treasures of the realm; my warriors, a thousand thousand, armed with shining steel, shall overrun thy kingdom; i myself will crush that head of thine beneath my feet." the result of these menaces was the immediate prosecution of the war, and no time was lost by arjásp in hastening into irán. plunder and devastation marked his course, the villages were all involved in flames, palace of pride, low cot, and lofty tower; the trees dug up, and root and branch destroyed. gushtásp then hastened to repel his foes; but to his legions they seemed wild and strange, and terrible in aspect, and no light could struggle through the gloom they had diffused, to hide their progress. zerdusht said to gushtásp, "ask thy vizir, jamásp, what is written in thy horoscope, that he may relate to thee the dispensations of heaven." jamásp, in reply to the inquiry, took the king aside and whispered softly to him: "a great number of thy brethren, thy relations, and warriors will be slain in the conflict, but in the end thou wilt be victorious." gushtásp deeply lamented the coming event, which involved the destruction of his kinsmen, but did not shrink from the battle, for he exulted in the anticipation of obtaining the victory. the contest was begun with indescribable eagerness and impetuosity. approaching, each a prayer addrest to heaven, and thundering forward prest; thick showers of arrows gloomed the sky, the battle-storm raged long and high; above, black clouds their darkness spread, below, the earth with blood was red. ardshír, the son of lohurásp, and descended from kai-káús, was one of the first to engage; he killed many, and was at last killed himself. after him, his brother shydasp was killed. then bishú, the son of jamásp, urged on his steed, and with consummate bravery destroyed a great number of warriors. zarír, equally bold and intrepid, also rushed amidst the host, and whether demons or men opposed him, they were all laid lifeless on the field. he then rode up towards arjásp, scattered the ranks, and penetrated the headquarters, which put the king into great alarm: for he exclaimed:--"what, have ye no courage, no shame! whoever kills zarír shall have a magnificent reward." bai-derafsh, one of the demons, animated by this offer, came forward, and with remorseless fury attacked zarír. the onset was irresistible, and the young prince was soon overthrown and bathed in his own blood. the news of the unfortunate catastrophe deeply affected gushtásp, who cried, in great grief: "is there no one to take vengeance for this?" when isfendiyár presented himself, kissed the ground before his father, and anxiously asked permission to engage the demon. gushtásp assented, and told him that if he killed the demon and defeated the enemy, he would surrender to him his crown and throne. "when we from this destructive field return, isfendiyár, my son, shall wear the crown, and be the glorious leader of my armies." saying this, he dismounted from his famous black horse, called behzád, the gift of kai-khosráu, and presented it to isfendiyár. the greatest clamor and lamentation had arisen among the persian army, for they thought that bai-derafsh had committed such dreadful slaughter, the moment of utter defeat was at hand, when isfendiyár galloped forward, mounted on behzád, and turned the fortunes of the day. he saw the demon with the mail of zarír on his breast, foaming at the mouth with rage, and called aloud to him, "stand, thou murderer!" the stern voice, the valor, and majesty of isfendiyár, made the demon tremble, but he immediately discharged a blow with his dagger at his new opponent, who however seized the weapon with his left hand, and with his right plunged a spear into the monster's breast, and drove it through his body. isfendiyár then cut off his head, remounted his horse, and that instant was by the side of bishú, the son of the vizir, into whose charge he gave the severed head of bai-derafsh, and the armor of zarír. bishú now attired himself in his father's mail, and fastening the head on his horse, declared that he would take his post close by isfendiyár, whatever might betide. firshaid, another iránian warrior, came to the spot at the same moment, and expressed the same resolution, so that all three, thus accidentally met, determined to encounter arjásp and capture him. isfendiyár led the way, and the other two followed. arjásp, seeing that he was singled out by three warriors, and that the enemy's force was also advancing to the attack in great numbers, gave up the struggle, and was the first to retreat. his troops soon threw away their arms and begged for quarter, and many of them were taken prisoners by the iránians. gushtásp now approached the dead body of zarír, and lamenting deeply over his unhappy fate, placed him in a coffin, and built over him a lofty monument, around which lights were ever afterwards kept burning, night and day; and he also taught the people the worship of fire, and was anxious to establish everywhere the religion of zerdusht. jamásp appointed officers to ascertain the number of killed in the battle. of iránians there were thirty thousand, among whom were eight hundred chiefs; and the enemy's loss amounted to nine hundred thousand, and also eleven hundred and sixty-three chiefs. gushtásp rejoiced at the glorious result, and ordered the drums to be sounded to celebrate the victory, and he increased his favor upon zerdusht, who originated the war, and told him to call his triumphant son, isfendiyár, near him. the gallant youth the summons hears, and midst the royal court appears, close by his father's side, the mace, cow-headed, in his hand; his air and glance express command, and military pride. gushtásp beholds with heart elate. the conqueror so young, so great, and places round his brows the crown, the promised crown, the high reward, proud token of a mighty king's regard, conferred upon his own. after gushtásp had crowned his son as his successor, he told him that he must not now waste his time in peace and private gratification, but proceed to the conquest of other countries. zerdusht was also deeply interested in his further operations, and recommended him to subdue kingdoms for the purpose of diffusing everywhere the new religion, that the whole world might be enlightened and edified. isfendiyár instantly complied, and the first kingdom he invaded was rúm. the sovereign of that country having no power nor means to resist the incursions of the enemy, readily adopted the faith of zerdusht, and accepted the sacred book named zendavesta, as his spiritual instructor. isfendiyár afterwards invaded hindústán and arabia, and several other countries, and successfully established the religion of the fire-worshippers in them all. where'er he went he was received with welcome, all the world believed, and all with grateful feelings took the holy zendavesta-book, proud their new worship to declare, the worship of isfendiyár. the young conqueror communicated by letters to his father the success with which he had disseminated the religion of zerdusht, and requested to know what other enterprises required his aid. gushtásp rejoiced exceedingly, and commanded a grand banquet to be prepared. it happened that gurzam a warrior, was particularly befriended by the king, but retaining secretly in his heart a bitter enmity to isfendiyár, now took an opportunity to gratify his malice, and privately told gushtásp that he had heard something highly atrocious in the disposition of the prince. gushtásp was anxious to know what it was; and he said, "isfendiyár has subdued almost every country in the world: he is a dangerous person at the head of an immense army, and at this very moment meditates taking balkh, and making even thee his prisoner! "thou know'st not that thy son isfendiyár is hated by the army. it is said ambition fires his brain, and to secure the empire to himself, his wicked aim is to rebel against his generous father. this is the sum of my intelligence; but thou'rt the king, i speak but what i hear." these malicious accusations by gurzam insidiously made, produced great vexation in the mind of gushtásp. the banquet went on, and for three days he drank wine incessantly, without sleep or rest because his sorrow was extreme. on the fourth day he said to his minister: "go with this letter to isfendiyár, and accompany him hither to me." jamásp, the minister, went accordingly on the mission, and when he arrived, the prince said to him, "i have dreamt that my father is angry with me."--"then thy dream is true," replied jamásp, "thy father is indeed angry with thee."--"what crime, what fault have i committed? "is it because i have with ceaseless toil spread wide the zendavesta, and converted whole kingdoms to that faith? is it because for him i conquered those far-distant kingdoms, with this good sword of mine? why clouds his brow upon his son--some demon must have changed his temper, once affectionate and kind, calling me to him thus in anger! thou hast ever been my friend, my valued friend say, must i go? thy counsel i require." "the son does wrong who disobeys his father, despising his command," jamásp replied. "yet," said isfendiyár, "why should i go? he is in wrath, it cannot be for good." "know'st thou not that a father's wrath is kindness? the anger of a father to his child is far more precious than the love and fondness felt by that child for him. 'tis good to go, whatever the result, he is the king, and more--he is thy father!" isfendiyár immediately consented, and appointed bahman, his eldest son, to fill his place in the army during his absence. he had four sons: the name of the second was mihrbús; of the third, avir; and of the fourth, núsháhder; and these three he took along with him on his journey. before he had arrived at balkh, gushtásp had concerted measures to secure him as a prisoner, with an appearance of justice and impartiality. on his arrival, he waited on the king respectfully, and was thus received: "thou hast become the great king! thou hast conquered many countries, but why am i unworthy in thy sight? thy ambition is indeed excessive." isfendiyár replied: "however great i may be, i am still thy servant, and wholly at thy command." upon hearing this, gushtásp turned towards his courtiers, and said, "what ought to be done with that son, who in the lifetime of his father usurps his authority, and even attempts to eclipse him in grandeur? what! i ask, should be done with such a son!" "such a son should either be broken on the felon tree, or in prison bound with chains, whilst his wicked life remains, else thyself, this kingdom, all will be ruined by his thrall!" to this heavy denunciation isfendiyár replied: "i have received all my honors from the king, by whom i am appointed to succeed to the throne; but at his pleasure i willingly resign them." however, concession and remonstrance were equally fruitless, and he was straightway ordered to be confined in the tower-prison of the fort situated on the adjacent mountain, and secured with chains. dreadful the sentence: all who saw him wept; and sternly they conveyed him to the tower, where to four columns, deeply fixed in earth, and reaching to the skies, of iron formed, they bound him; merciless they were to him who had given splendour to a mighty throne. mournful vicissitude! thus pain and pleasure successive charm and tear the heart of man; and many a day in that drear solitude, he lingered, shedding tears of blood, till times of happier omen dawned upon his fortunes. having thus made isfendiyár secure in the mountain-prison, and being entirely at ease about the internal safety of the empire, gushtásp was anxious to pay a visit to zál and rustem at sístán, and to convert them to the religion of zerdusht. on his approach to sístán he was met and respectfully welcomed by rustem. who afterwards in open assembly received the zendavesta and adopted the new faith, which he propagated throughout his own territory; but, according to common report it was fear of gushtásp alone which induced him to pursue this course. gushtásp remained two years his guest, enjoying all kinds of recreation, and particularly the sports of the field and the forests. when bahman, the son of isfendiyár, heard of the imprisonment of his father, he, in grief and alarm, abandoned his trust, dismissed the army, and proceeded to balkh, where he joined his two brothers, and wept over the fate of their unhappy father. in the meantime the news of the confinement of isfendiyár, and the absence of gushtásp at sístán, and the unprotected state of balkh, stimulated arjásp to a further effort, and he despatched his son kahram with a large army towards the capital of the enemy, to carry into effect his purpose of revenge. lohurásp was still in religious retirement at balkh. the people were under great apprehension, and being without a leader, anxiously solicited the old king to command them, but he said that he had abandoned all earthly concerns, and had devoted himself to god, and therefore could not comply with their entreaties. but they would hear no denial, and, as it were, tore him from his place of refuge and prayer. there were assembled only about one thousand horsemen, and with these he advanced to battle; but what were they compared to the hundred thousand whom they met, and by whom they were soon surrounded. their bravery was useless. they were at once overpowered and defeated, and lohurásp himself was unfortunately among the slain. upon the achievement of his victory, kahram entered balkh in triumph, made the people prisoners, and destroyed all the places of worship belonging to the gubers. he also killed the keeper of the altar, and burnt the zendavesta, which contained the formulary of their doctrines and belief. one of the women of gushtásp's household happened to elude the grasp of the invader, and hastened to sístán to inform the king of the disaster that had occurred. "thy father is killed, the city is taken, and thy women and daughters in the power of the conqueror." gushtásp received the news with consternation, and prepared with the utmost expedition for his departure. he invited rustem to accompany him, but the champion excused himself at the time, and afterwards declined altogether on the plea of sickness. before he had yet arrived at balkh, kahram hearing of his approach, went out to meet him with his whole army, and was joined on the same day by arjásp and his demon-legions. great was the uproar, loud the brazen drums and trumpets rung, the earth shook, and seemed rent by that tremendous conflict, javelins flew like hail on every side, and the warm blood streamed from the wounded and the dying men. the claim of kindred did not check the arm lifted in battle--mercy there was none, for all resigned themselves to chance or fate, or what the ruling heavens might decree. at last the battle terminated in the defeat of gushtásp, who was pursued till he was obliged to take refuge in a mountain-fort. he again consulted jamásp to know what the stars foretold, and jamásp replied that he would recover from the defeat through the exertions of isfendiyár alone. pleased with this interpretation, he on that very day sent jamásp to the prison with a letter to isfendiyár, in which he hoped to be pardoned for the cruelty he had been guilty of towards him, in consequence, he said, of being deceived by the arts and treachery of those who were only anxious to effect his ruin. he declared too that he would put those enemies to death in his presence, and replace the royal crown upon his head. at the same time he confined in chains gurzam, the wretch who first practised upon his feelings. jamásp rode immediately to the prison, and delivering the letter, urged the prince to comply with his father's entreaties, but isfendiyár was incredulous and not so easily to be moved. "has he not at heart disdained me? has he not in prison chained me? am i not his son, that he treats me ignominiously? "why should gurzam's scorn and hate rouse a loving father's wrath? why should he, the foul ingrate, cast destruction in my path?" jamásp, however, persevered in his anxious solicitations, describing to him how many of his brethren and kindred had fallen, and also the perilous situation of his own father if he refused his assistance. by a thousand various efforts he at length effected his purpose, and the blacksmith was called to take off his chains; but in removing them, the anguish of the wounds they had inflicted was so great that isfendiyár fainted away. upon his recovery he was escorted to the presence of his father, who received him with open arms, and the strongest expressions of delight. he begged to be forgiven for his unnatural conduct to him, again resigned to him the throne of the empire, and appointed him to the command of the imperial armies. he then directed gurzam, upon whose malicious counsel he had acted, to be brought before him, and the wicked minister was punished with death on the spot, and in the presence of the injured prince. wretch! more relentless even than wolf or pard, thou hast at length received thy just reward! when arjásp heard that isfendiyár had been reconciled to his father, and was approaching at the head of an immense army, he was affected with the deepest concern, and forthwith sent his son kahram to endeavor to resist the progress of the enemy. at the same time kurugsar, a gladiator of the demon race, requested that he might be allowed to oppose isfendiyár; and permission being granted, he was the very first on the field, where instantly wielding his bow, he shot an arrow at isfendiyár, which pierced through the mail, but fortunately for him did no serious harm. the prince drew his sword with the intention of attacking him, but seeing him furious with rage, and being doubtful of the issue, thought it more prudent and safe to try his success with the noose. accordingly he took the kamund from his saddle-strap, and dexterously flung it round the neck of his arrogant foe, who was pulled headlong from his horse: and, as soon as his arms were bound behind his back, dragged a prisoner in front of the persian ranks. isfendiyár then returned to the battle, attacked a body of the enemy's auxiliaries, killed a hundred and sixty of their warriors, and made the division of which kahram was the leader fly in all directions. his next feat was to attack another force, which had confederated against him. with slackened rein he galloped o'er the field; blood gushed from every stroke of his sharp sword, and reddened all the plain; a hundred warriors eighty and five, in treasure rich and mail, sunk underneath him, such his mighty power. his remaining object was to assail the centre, where arjásp himself was stationed; and thither he rapidly hastened. arjásp, angry and alarmed at this success, cried out, "what! is one man allowed to scathe all my ranks, cannot my whole army put an end to his dreadful career?" the soldiers replied, "no! he has a body of brass, and the vigor of an elephant: our swords make no impression upon him, whilst with his sword he can cut the body of a warrior, cased in mail, in two, with the greatest ease. against such a foe, what can we do?" isfendiyár rushed on; and after an overwhelming attack, arjásp was compelled to quit his ground and effect his escape. the iránian troops were then ordered to pursue the fugitives, and in revenge for the death of lohurásp, not to leave a man alive. the carnage was in consequence terrible, and the remaining túránians were in such despair that they flung themselves from their exhausted horses, and placing straw in their mouths to show the extremity of their misfortune, called aloud for quarter. isfendiyár was moved at last to compassion, and put an end to the fight; and when he came before gushtásp, the mail on his body, from the number of arrows sticking in it, looked like a field of reeds; about a thousand arrows were taken out of its folds. gushtásp kissed his head and face, and blessed him, and prepared a grand banquet, and the city of balkh resounded with rejoicings on account of the great victory. many days had not elapsed before a further enterprise was to be undertaken. the sisters of isfendiyár were still in confinement, and required to be released. the prince readily complied with the wishes of gushtásp, who now repeated to him his desire to relinquish the cares of sovereignty, and place the reins of government in his hands, that he might devote himself entirely to the service of god. "to thee i yield the crown and throne, fit to be held by thee alone; from worldly care and trouble free, a hermit's cell is enough for me," but isfendiyár replied, that he had no desire to be possessed of the power; he rather wished for the prosperity of the king, and no change. "o, may thy life be long and blessed, and ever by the good caressed; for 'tis my duty still to be devoted faithfully to thee! i want no throne, nor diadem; my soul has no delight in them. i only seek to give thee joy, and gloriously my sword employ. i thirst for vengeance on arjásp: to crush him in my iron grasp, that from his thrall i may restore my sisters to their home again, who now their heavy fate deplore, and toiling drag a slavish chain." "then go!" the smiling monarch said, invoking blessings on his head, "and may kind heaven thy refuge be, and lead thee on to victory." isfendiyár now told his father that his prisoner kurugsar was continually requesting him to represent his condition in the royal ear, saying, "of what use will it be to put me to death? no benefit can arise from such a punishment. spare my life, and you will see how largely i am able to contribute to your assistance." gushtásp expressed his willingness to be merciful, but demanded a guarantee on oath from the petitioner that he would heart and soul be true and faithful to his benefactor. the oath was sworn, after which his bonds were taken from his hands and feet, and he was set at liberty. the king then called him, and pressed him with goblets of wine, which made him merry. "i have pardoned thee," said gushtásp, "at the special entreaty of isfendiyár--be grateful to him, and be attentive to his commands." after that, isfendiyár took and conveyed him to his own house, that he might have an opportunity of experiencing and proving the promised fidelity of his new ally. the heft-khan of isfendiyÁr rustem had seven great labours, wondrous power nerved his strong arm in danger's needful hour; and now firdusi's legend-strains declare the seven great labours of isfendiyár. the prince, who had determined to undertake the new expedition, and appeared confident of success, now addressed himself to kurugsar, and said, "if i conquer the kingdom of arjásp, and restore my sisters to liberty, thou shalt have for thyself any principality thou may'st choose within the boundaries of irán and túrán, and thy name shall be exalted; but beware of treachery or fraud, for falsehood shall certainly be punished with death." to this kurugsar replied, "i have already sworn a solemn oath to the king, and at thy intercession he has spared my life--why then should i depart from the truth, and betray my benefactor?" "then tell me the road to the brazen fortress, and how far it is distant from this place?" said isfendiyár. "there are three different routes," replied kurugsar. "one will occupy three months; it leads through a beautiful country, adorned with cities, and gardens, and pastures, and is pleasant to the traveller. the second is less attractive, the prospects less agreeable, and will only employ two months; the third, however, may be accomplished in seven days, and is thence called the heft-khan, or seven stages; but at every stage some monster, or terrible difficulty, must be overcome. no monarch, even supported by a large army, has ever yet ventured to proceed by this route; and if it is ever attempted, the whole party will be assuredly lost. "nor strength, nor juggling, nor the sorcerer's art can help him safely through that awful path, beset with wolves and dragons, wild and fierce, from whom the fleetest have no power to fly. there an enchantress, doubly armed with spells, the most accomplished of that magic brood. spreads wide her snares to charm and to destroy, and ills of every shape, and horrid aspect, cross the tired traveller at every step." at this description of the terrors of the heft-khan, isfendiyár became thoughtful for awhile, and then, resigning himself to the providence of god, resolved to take the shortest route. "no man can die before his time," said he; "heaven is my protector, and i will fearlessly encounter every difficulty on the road." "it is full of perils," replied kurugsar, and endeavored to dissuade him from the enterprise. "but with the blessing of god," rejoined isfendiyár, "it will be easy." the prince then ordered a sumptuous banquet to be served, at which he gave kurugsar abundant draughts of wine, and even in a state of intoxication the demon-guide still warned him against his proposed journey. "go by the route which takes two months," said he, "for that will be convenient and safe;" but isfendiyár replied:--"i neither fear the difficulties of the route, nor the perils thou hast described." and though destruction spoke in every word, enough to terrify the stoutest heart, still he adhered to what he first resolved. "thou wilt attend me," said the dauntless prince; and thus kurugsar, without a pause, replied: "undoubtedly, if by the two months' way, and do thee ample service; but if this heft-khan be thy election; if thy choice be fixed on that which leads to certain death, my presence must be useless. can i go where bird has never dared to wing its flight?" isfendiyár, upon hearing these words, began to suspect the fidelity of kurugsar, and thought it safe to bind him in chains. the next day as he was going to take leave of his father, kurugsar called out to him, and said: "after my promises of allegiance, and my solemn oath, why am i thus kept in chains?" "not out of anger assuredly; but out of compassion and kindness, in order that i may take thee along with me on the enterprise of the heft-khan; for wert thou not bound, thy faint heart might induce thee to run away. "safe thou art when bound in chains, fettered foot can never fly. whilst thy body here remains, we may on thy faith rely. terror will in vain assail thee; for these bonds shall never fail thee. guarded by a potent charm, they will keep thee free from harm." isfendiyár having received the parting benediction of gushtásp, was supplied with a force consisting of twelve thousand chosen horsemen, and abundance of treasure, to enable him to proceed on his enterprise, and conquer the kingdom of arjásp. first stage.--isfendiyár placed kurugsar in bonds among his retinue, and took with him his brother bashútan. but the demon-guide complained that he was unable to walk, and in consequence he was mounted on a horse, still bound, and the bridle given into the hands of one of the warriors. in this manner they proceeded, directed from time to time by kurugsar, till they arrived at the uttermost limits of the kingdom, and entered a desert wilderness. isfendiyár now asked what they would meet with, and the guide answered, "two monstrous wolves are in this quarter, as large as elephants, and whose teeth are of immense length." the prince told his people, that as soon as they saw the wolves, they must at once attack them with arrows. the day passed away, and in the evening they came to a forest and a murmuring stream, when suddenly the two enormous wolves appeared, and rushed towards the legions of isfendiyár. the people seeing them advance, poured upon them a shower of arrows. several, however, were wounded, but the wolves were much exhausted by the arrows which had penetrated their bodies. at this moment bashútan attacked one of them, and isfendiyár the other; and so vigorous was their charge, that both the monsters were soon laid lifeless in the dust. after this signal overthrow, isfendiyár turned to kurugsar, and exclaimed: "thus, through the favor of heaven, the first obstacle has been easily extinguished!" the guide regarded him with amazement, and said:--"i am indeed astonished at the intrepidity and valor that has been displayed." seeing the bravery of isfendiyár, amazement filled the soul of kurugsar. the warriors and the party now dismounted, and regaled themselves with feasting and wine. they then reposed till the following morning. second stage.--proceeding on the second journey, isfendiyár inquired what might now be expected to oppose their progress, and kurugsar replied: "this stage is infested by lions." "then," rejoined isfendiyár, "thou shalt see with what facility i can destroy them." at about the close of the day they met with a lion and a lioness. bashútan said: "take one and i will engage the other." but isfendiyár observed, that the animals seemed very wild and ferocious, and he preferred attacking them both himself, that his brother might not be exposed to any harm. he first sallied forth against the lion, and with one mighty stroke put an end to his life. he then approached the lioness, which pounced upon him with great fury, but was soon compelled to desist, and the prince, rapidly wielding his sword, in a moment cut off her head. having thus successfully accomplished the second day's task, he alighted from his horse, and refreshments being spread out, the warriors and the troops enjoyed themselves with great satisfaction, exhilarated by plenteous draughts of ruby wine. again isfendiyár addressed kurugsar, and said: "thou seest with what facility all opposition is removed, when i am assisted by the favor of heaven!" "but there are other and more terrible difficulties to surmount, and amazing as thy achievements certainly have been, thou wilt have still greater exertions to make before thy enterprise is complete." "what is the next evil i have to subdue?" "an enormous dragon, "with power to fascinate, and from the deep to lure the finny tribe, his daily food. fire sparkles round him; his stupendous bulk looks like a mountain. when incensed, his roar makes the surrounding country shake with fear. white poison-foam drops from his hideous jaws, which yawning wide, display a dismal gulf, the grave of many a hapless being, lost wandering amidst that trackless wilderness." kurugsar described or magnified the ferocity of the animal in such a way, that isfendiyár thought it necessary to be cautious, and with that view he ordered a curious apparatus to be constructed on wheels, something like a carriage, to which he fastened a large quantity of pointed instruments, and harnessed horses to it to drag it on the road. he then tried its motion, and found it admirably calculated for his purpose. the people were astonished at the ingenuity of the invention, and lauded him to the skies. third stage--away went the prince, and having travelled a considerable distance, kurugsar suddenly exclaimed: "i now begin to smell the stench of the dragon." hearing this, isfendiyár dismounted, ascended the machine, and shutting the door fast, took his seat and drove off. bashútan and all the warriors upon witnessing this extraordinary act, began to weep and lament, thinking that he was hurrying himself to certain destruction, and begged that for his own sake, as well as theirs, he would come out of the machine. but he replied: "peace, peace! what know ye of the matter;" and as the warlike apparatus was so excellently contrived, that he could direct the movements of the horses himself, he drove on with increased velocity, till he arrived in the vicinity of the monster. the dragon from a distance heard the rumbling of the wain, and snuffing every breeze that stirred across the neighbouring plain, smelt something human in his power, a welcome scent to him; for he was eager to devour hot reeking blood, or limb. and darkness now is spread around, no pathway can be traced; the fiery horses plunge and bound amid the dismal waste. and now the dragon stretches far his cavern throat, and soon licks in the horses and the car, and tries to gulp them down. but sword and javelin, sharp and keen, wound deep each sinewy jaw; midway, remains the huge machine, and chokes the monster's maw. in agony he breathes, a dire convulsion fires his blood, and struggling, ready to expire, ejects a poison-flood! and then disgorges wain and steeds, and swords and javelins bright; then, as the dreadful dragon bleeds, up starts the warrior-knight, and from his place of ambush leaps, and, brandishing his blade, the weapon in the brain he steeps, and splits the monster's head. but the foul venom issuing thence, is so o'erpowering found, isfendiyár, deprived of sense, falls staggering to the ground! upon seeing this result, and his brother in so deplorable a situation, bashútan and the troops also were in great alarm, apprehending the most fatal consequences. they sprinkled rose-water over his face, and administered other remedies, so that after some time he recovered; then he bathed, purifying himself from the filth of the monster, and poured out prayers of thankfulness to the merciful creator for the protection and victory he had given him. but it was matter of great grief to kurugsar that isfendiyár had succeeded in his exploit, because under present circumstances, he would have to follow him in the remaining arduous enterprises; whereas, if the prince had been slain, his obligations would have ceased forever. "what may be expected to-morrow?" inquired isfendiyár. "to-morrow," replied the demon-guide, "thou wilt meet with an enchantress, who can convert the stormy sea into dry land, and the dry land again into the ocean. she is attended by a gigantic ghoul, or apparition." "then thou shalt see how easily this enchantress and her mysterious attendant can be vanquished." fourth stage.--on the fourth day isfendiyár and his companions proceeded on the destined journey, and coming to a pleasant meadow, watered by a transparent rivulet, the party alighted, and they all refreshed themselves heartily with various kinds of food and wine. in a short space of time the enchantress appeared, most beautiful in feature and elegant in attire, and approaching our hero with a sad but fascinating expression of countenance, said to him (the ghoul, her pretended paramour, being at a little distance):-- "i am a poor unhappy thing, the daughter of a distant king. this monster with deceit and fraud, by a fond parent's power unawed, seduced me from my royal home, through wood and desert wild to roam; and surely heaven has brought thee now to cheer my heart, and smooth my brow, and free me from his loathed embrace, and bear me to a fitter place, where, in thy circling arms more softly prest, i may at last be truly loved, and blest." isfendiyár immediately called her to him, and requested her to sit down. the enchantress readily complied, anticipating a successful issue to her artful stratagems; but the intended victim of her sorcery was too cunning to be imposed upon. he soon perceived what she was, and forthwith cast his kamund over her, and in spite of all her entreaties, bound her too fast to escape. in this extremity, she successively assumed the shape of a cat, a wolf, and a decrepit old man: and so perfect were her transformations, that any other person would have been deceived, but isfendiyár detected her in every variety of appearance; and, vexed by her continual attempts to cheat him, at last took out his sword and cut her in pieces. as soon as this was done, a thick dark cloud of dust and vapor arose, and when it subsided, a black apparition of a demon burst upon his sight, with flames issuing from its mouth. determined to destroy this fresh antagonist, he rushed forward, sword in hand, and though the flames, in the attack, burnt his cloth-armor and dress, he succeeded in cutting off the threatening monster's head. "now," said he to kurugsar, "thou hast seen that with the favor of heaven, both enchantress and ghoul are exterminated, as well as the wolves, the lions, and the dragon." "very well," replied kurugsar, "thou hast achieved this prodigious labor, but to-morrow will be a heavy day, and thou canst hardly escape with life. to-morrow thou wilt be opposed by the símúrgh, whose nest is situated upon a lofty mountain. she has two young ones, each the size of an elephant, which she conveys in her beak and claws from place to place." "be under no alarm," said isfendiyár, "god will make the labor easy." fifth stage.--on the fifth day, isfendiyár resumed his journey, travelling with his little army over desert, plain, mountain, and wilderness, until he reached the neighborhood of the símúrgh. he then adopted the same stratagem which he had employed before, and the machine supplied with swords and spears, and drawn by horses, was soon in readiness for the new adventure. the símúrgh, seeing with surprise an immense vehicle, drawn by two horses, approach at a furious rate, and followed by a large company of horsemen, descended from the mountain, and endeavored to take up the whole apparatus in her claws to carry it away to her own nest; but her claws were lacerated by the sharp weapons, and she was then obliged to try her beak. both beak and claws were injured in the effort, and the animal became extremely weakened by the loss of blood. isfendiyár seizing the happy moment, sprang out of the carriage, and with his trenchant sword divided the símúrgh in two parts; and the young ones, after witnessing the death of their parent, precipitately fled from the fatal scene. when bashútan, with the army, came to the spot, they were amazed at the prodigious size of the símúrgh, and the valor by which it had been subdued. kurugsar turned pale with astonishment and sorrow. "what will be our next adventure?" said isfendiyár to him. "to-morrow more pressing ills will surround thee. heavy snow will fall, and there will be a violent tempest of wind, and it will be wonderful if even one man of thy legions remains alive. that will not be like fighting against lions, a dragon, or the símúrgh, but against the elements, against the almighty, which never can be successful. thou hadst better therefore, return unhurt." the people on hearing this warning were alarmed, and proposed to go back; "for if the advice of kurugsar is not taken, we shall all perish like the companions of kai-khosráu, and lie buried under drifts of snow. "let us return then, whilst we may; why should we throw our lives away?" but isfendiyár replied that he had already overcome five of the perils of the road, and had no fear about the remaining two. the people, however, were still discontented, and still murmured aloud; upon which the prince said, "return then, and i will go alone. "i never can require the aid of men so easily dismayed." finding their leader immovable, the people now changed their tone, and expressed their devotion to his cause; declaring that whilst life remained, they would never forsake him, no never. sixth stage.--on the following morning, the sixth, isfendiyár continued his labors, and hurried on with great speed. towards evening he arrived on the skirts of a mountain, where there was a running stream, and upon that spot, he pitched his tents. presently from the mountain there rushed down a furious storm of wind, then heavy showers of snow fell, covering all the earth with whiteness, and making desolate the prospect round. keen blew the blast, and pinching was the cold; and to escape the elemental wrath, leader and soldier, in the caverned rock scooped out by mouldering time, took shelter, there continuing three long days. three lingering days still fell the snow, and still the tempest raged, and man and beast grew faint for want of food. isfendiyár and his warriors, with heads exposed, now prostrated themselves in solemn prayer to the almighty, and implored his favor and protection from the calamity which had befallen them. happily their prayers were heard, heaven was compassionate, and in a short space the snow and the mighty wind entirely ceased. by this fortunate interference of providence, the army was enabled to quit the caves of the mountain; and then isfendiyár again addressed kurugsar triumphantly: "thus the sixth labor is accomplished. what have we now to fear?" the demon-guide answered him and said: "from hence to the brazen fortress it is forty farsangs. that fortress is the residence of arjásp; but the road is full of peril. for three farsangs the sand on the ground is as hot as fire, and there is no water to be found during the whole journey." this information made a serious impression upon the mind of isfendiyár; who said to him sternly: "if i find thee guilty of falsehood, i will assuredly put thee to death." kurugsar replied: "what! after six trials? thou hast no reason to question my veracity. i shall never depart from the truth, and my advice is, that thou hadst better return; for the seventh stage is not to be ventured upon by human strength. "along those plains of burning sand no bird can move, nor ant, nor fly; no water slakes the fiery land, intensely glows the flaming sky. no tiger fierce, nor lion ever could breathe that pestilential air; even the unsparing vulture never ventures on blood-stained pinions there. "at the distance of three farsangs beyond this inaccessible belt of scorching country lies the brazen fortress, to which there is no visible path; and if an army of a hundred thousand strong were to attempt its reduction, there would not be the least chance of success." seventh stage.--when isfendiyár heard these things, enough to alarm the bravest heart, he turned towards his people to ascertain their determination; when they unanimously repeated their readiness to sacrifice their lives in his service, and to follow wherever he might be disposed to lead the way. he then put kurugsar in chains again, and prosecuted his journey, until he reached the place said to be covered with burning sand. arrived on the spot, he observed to the demon-guide: "thou hast described the sand as hot, but it is not so." "true; and it is on account of the heavy showers of snow that have fallen and cooled the ground, a proof that thou art under the protection of the almighty." isfendiyár smiled, and said: "thou art all insincerity and deception, thus to play upon my feelings with false or imaginary terrors." saying this he urged his soldiers to pass rapidly on, so as to leave the sand behind them, and they presently came to a great river. isfendiyár was now angry with kurugsar, and said: "thou hast declared that for the space of forty farsangs there was no water, every drop being everywhere dried up by the burning heat of the sun, and here we find water! why didst thou also idly fill the minds of my soldiers with groundless fears?" kurugsar replied: "i will confess the truth. did i not swear a solemn oath to be faithful, and yet i was still doubted, and still confined in irons, though the experience of six days of trial had proved the correctness of my information and advice. for this reason i was disappointed and displeased; and i must confess that i did, therefore, exaggerate the dangers of the last day, in the hope too of inducing thee to return and release me from my bonds. "for what have i received from thee, but scorn, and chains, and slavery." isfendiyár now struck off the irons from the hands and feet of his demon-guide and treated him with favor and kindness, repeating to him his promise to reward him at the close of his victorious career with the government of a kingdom. kurugsar was grateful for this change of conduct to him, and again acknowledging the deception he had been guilty of, hoped for pardon, engaging at the same time to take the party in safety across the great river which had impeded their progress. this was accordingly done, and the brazen fortress was now at no great distance. at the close of the day they were only one farsang from the towers, but isfendiyár preferred resting till the next morning. "what is thy counsel now?" said he to his guide. "what sort of a fortress is this which fame describes in such dreadful colors?" "it is stronger than imagination can conceive, and impregnable."--"then how shall i get to arjásp? "how shall i cleave the oppressor's form asunder, the murderer of my grandsire, lohurásp? the bravest heroes of túrán shall fall under my conquering sword; their wives and children led captive to irán; and desolation scathe the whole realm beneath the tyrant's sway." but these words only roused and exasperated the feelings of kurugsar, who bitterly replied:-- "then may calamity be thy reward, thy stars malignant, and thy life all sorrow; and may'st thou perish, weltering in thy blood, and the bare desert be thy lonely grave for that inhuman thought, that cruel menace." isfendiyár, upon hearing this unexpected language, became furious with indignation, and instantly punished the offender on the spot; with one stroke of his sword he cleft kurugsar in twain. when the clouds of night had darkened the sky, isfendiyár, with a number of his warriors, proceeded towards the brazen fortress, and secretly explored it on every side. he found it constructed entirely of iron and brass; and, notwithstanding a strict examination at every point, discovered no accessible part for attack. it was three farsangs high, and forty wide; and such a place as was never before beheld by man. capture of the brazen fortress isfendiyár returned from reconnoitring the fortress with acute feelings of sorrow and despair. he was at last convinced that kurugsar had spoken the truth; for there seemed to be no chance whatever of taking the place by any stratagem he could invent. revolving the enterprise seriously in his mind, he now began to repent of his folly, and the overweening confidence which had led him to undertake the journey. returning thus to his tent in a melancholy mood, he saw a fakír sitting down on the road, and him he anxiously accosted. "what may be the number of the garrison in this fort?" "there are a hundred thousand veteran warriors in the service of arjásp in the fort, with abundance of supplies of every kind, and streams of pure water, so that nothing is wanted to foil an enemy." this was very unwelcome intelligence to isfendiyár, who now assembled his officers to consider what was best to be done. they all agreed that the reduction of the fortress was utterly impracticable, and that the safest course for him would be to return. but he could not bring himself to acquiesce in this measure, saying: "god is almighty, and beneficent, and with him is the victory." he then reflected deeply and long, and finally determined upon entering the fort disguised as a merchant. having first settled the mode of proceeding, he put bashútan in temporary charge of the army, saying:-- "this brazen fortress scorns all feats of arms, nor sword nor spear, nor battle-axe, can here be wielded to advantage; stratagem must be employed, or we shall never gain possession of its wide-extended walls, placing my confidence in god alone i go with rich and curious wares for sale, to take the credulous people by surprise, under the semblance of a peaceful merchant." isfendiyár then directed a hundred dromedaries to be collected, and when they were brought to him he disposed of them in the following manner. he loaded ten with embroidered cloths, five with rubies and sapphires, and five more with pearls and other precious jewels. upon each of the remaining eighty he placed two chests, and in each chest a warrior was secreted, making in all one hundred and sixty; and one hundred more were disposed as camel-drivers and servants. thus the whole force, consisting of a hundred dromedaries and two hundred and sixty warriors, set off towards the brazen fortress, isfendiyár having first intimated to his brother bashútan to march with his army direct to the gates of the fort, as soon as he saw a column of flame and smoke ascend from the interior. on the way they gave out that they were merchants come with valuable goods from persia, and hoped for custom. the tidings of travellers having arrived with rubies and gold-embroidered garments for sale, soon reached the ears of arjásp, the king, who immediately gave them permission to enter the fort. when isfendiyár, the reputed master of the caravan, had got within the walls, he said that he had brought rich presents for the king, and requested to be introduced to him in person. he was accordingly allowed to take the presents himself, was received with distinguished attention, and having stated his name to be kherád, was invited to go to the royal palace, whenever, and as often as, he might please. at one of the interviews the king asked him, as he had come from persia, if he knew whether the report was true or not that kurugsar had been put to death, and what gushtásp and isfendiyár were engaged upon. the hero in disguise replied that it was five months since he left persia; but he had heard on the road from many persons that isfendiyár intended proceeding by the way of the heft-khan with a vast army, towards the brazen fortress. at these words arjásp smiled in derision, and said: "ah! ah! by that way even the winged tribe are afraid to venture; and if isfendiyár had a thousand lives, he would lose them all in any attempt to accomplish that journey." after this interview isfendiyár daily continued to attend to the sale of his merchandise, and soon found that his sisters were employed in the degrading office of drawing and carrying water for the kitchen of arjásp. when they heard that a caravan had arrived from irán, they went to isfendiyár (who recognized them at a distance, but hid his face that they might not know him), to inquire what tidings he had brought about their father and brother. alarmed at the hazard of discovery, he replied that he knew nothing, and desired them to depart; but they remained, and said: "on thy return to irán, at least, let it be known that here we are, two daughters of gushtásp, reduced to the basest servitude, and neither father nor brother takes compassion upon our distresses. "whilst with bare head, and naked feet, we toil, they pass their time in peace and happiness, regardless of the misery we endure." isfendiyár again, in assumed anger, told them to depart, saying: "talk not to me of gushtásp and isfendiyár--what have i to do with them?" at that moment the sound of his voice was recognized by the elder sister, who, in a transport of joy, instantly communicated her discovery to the younger; but they kept the secret till night, and then they returned to commune with their brother. isfendiyár finding that he was known, acknowledged himself, and informed them that he had undertaken to restore them to liberty, and that he was now engaged in the enterprise, opposing every obstacle in his way; but it was necessary that they should continue their usual labor at the wells, till a fitting opportunity occurred. for the purpose of accelerating the moment of release, isfendiyár represented to the king that at a period of great adversity, he had made a vow that he would give a splendid banquet if ever heaven again smiled upon him, and as he then was in the way to prosperity, and wished to fulfil his vow, he hoped that his majesty would honor him with his presence on the occasion. the king accepted the invitation with satisfaction, and said: "to-morrow i will be thy guest, at thy own house, and with all my warriors and soldiers." but this did not suit the scheme of the pretended merchant, who apologized on account of his house being too small, and proposed that the feast should be held upon the loftiest part of the fortress, where spacious tents and pavilions might be erected for the purpose, and a large fire lighted to give splendor to the scene. the king assented, and every requisite preparation being made, all the royal and warrior guests assembled in the morning, and eagerly partook of the rich viands set before them. they all drank wine with such relish and delight, that they soon became intoxicated, and kherád seizing the opportunity, ordered the logs of wood which had been collected, to be set on fire, and rapidly the smoke and flame sprung up, and ascended to the sky. bashútan saw the looked-for sign, and hastened with two thousand horsemen to the gates of the fortress, where he slew every one that he met, calling himself isfendiyár. arjásp had enjoyed the banquet exceedingly; the music gave him infinite pleasure, and the wine had intoxicated him; but in the midst of his hilarity and merriment, he was told that isfendiyár had reached the gates, and entered the fort, killing immense numbers of his people. this terrible intelligence roused him and quitting the festive board of kherád, he ordered his son kahram, with fifty thousand horsemen, to repel the invader. he also ordered forty thousand horsemen to protect different parts of the walls, and ten thousand to remain as his own personal guard. kahram accordingly issued forth without delay, and soon engaged in battle with the force under bashútan. when night came, isfendiyár opened the lids of the chests, and let out the hundred and sixty warriors, whom he supplied with swords and spears, and armor, and also the hundred who were disguised as camel-drivers and servants. with this bold band he sped, whither arjásp had fled; and all who fought around, to keep untouched that sacred ground; (resistance weak and vain,) by him were quickly slain. the sisters of isfendiyár now arrived, and pointed out to him the chamber of arjásp, to which place he immediately repaired, and roused up the king, who was almost insensible with the fumes of wine. arjásp, however, sprang upon his feet, and grappled stoutly with isfendiyár, and desperate was the conflict: head and loins alternately received deep gaping wounds from sword and dagger. wearied out at length, arjásp shrunk back, when with one mighty blow, isfendiyár, exulting in his power, cleft him asunder. two of the wives, two daughters, and one sister of arjásp fell immediately into the hands of the conqueror, who delivered them into the custody of his son, to be conveyed home. he then quitted the palace, and turning his steps towards the gates of the fortress, slew a great number of the enemy. kahram, in the meantime, had been fiercely engaged with bashútan, and was extremely reduced. at the very moment too of his discomfiture, he heard the watchmen call out aloud that arjásp had been slain by kherád. confounded and alarmed by these tidings, he approached the fort, where he heard the confirmation of his misfortune from every mouth, and also that the garrison had been put to the sword. leading on the remainder of his troops he now came in contact with isfendiyár and his two hundred and sixty warriors, and a sharp engagement ensued; but the coming up of bashútan's force on his rear, placed him in such a predicament on every side, that defeat and destruction were almost inevitable. in short, kahram was left with only a few of his soldiers near him, when isfendiyár, observing his situation, challenged him to personal combat, and the challenge was accepted. so closely did the eager warriors close, they seemed together joined, and but one man. at last isfendiyár seized kahram's girth, and flung him to the ground, and bound his hands; and as a leaf is severed from its stalk, so he the head cleft from its quivering trunk; thus one blow wins, and takes away a throne, in battle heads are trodden under hoofs, crowns under heads. after the death of kahram, isfendiyár issued a proclamation, offering full pardon to all who would unite under his banners. they had no king. the country had no throne, no crown. alas! what is the world without a governor, what, but a headless trunk? a thing more worthless than the vile dust upon the common road. what could the people do in their despair? they were obedient, and isfendiyár encouraged them with kind and gentle words, fitting a generous and a prudent master. having first written to his father an account of the great victory which he had gained, he occupied himself in reducing all the surrounding provinces and their inhabitants to subjection. those people who continued hostile to him he deemed it necessary to put to death. he took all the women of arjásp into his own service, and their daughters he presented to his own sons. not a warrior of chín remained; the king of túrán was swept away; and the realm where in pomp he had reigned, where he basked in prosperity's ray, was spoiled by the conqueror's brand, desolation marked every scene, and a stranger now governed the mountainous land, where the splendour of poshang had been. not a dirhem of treasure was left; for nothing eluded the conqueror's grasp; of all was the royal pavilion bereft; all followed the fate of arjásp! when gushtásp received information of this mighty conquest, he sent orders to isfendiyár to continue in the government of the new empire; but the prince replied that he had settled the country, and was anxious to see his father. this request being permitted, he was desired to bring away all the immense booty, and return by the road of the heft-khan. arriving at the place where he was overtaken by the dreadful winter-storm, he again found all the property he had lost under the drifts of snow; and when he had accomplished his journey, he was received with the warmest welcome and congratulations, on account of his extraordinary successes. a royal feast was prepared, and the king filled his son's goblet with wine so repeatedly, and drank himself so frequently, and with such zest, that both of them at length became intoxicated. gushtásp then asked isfendiyár to describe to him the particulars of his expedition by the road of the heft-khan; for though he had heard the story from others, he wished to have it from his own mouth. but isfendiyár replied: "we have both drank too much wine, and nothing good can proceed from a drunken man; i will recite my adventures to-morrow, when my head is clear." the next day gushtásp, seated upon his throne, and isfendiyár placed before him on a golden chair, again asked for the prince's description of his triumphant progress by the heft-khan, and according to his wish every incident that merited notice was faithfully detailed to him. the king expressed great pleasure at the conclusion; but envy and suspicion lurked in his breast, and writhing internally like a serpent, he still delayed fulfilling his promise to invest isfendiyár, upon the overthrow of arjásp, with the sovereignty of irán. the prince could not fail to observe the changed disposition of his father, and privately went to kitabún, his mother, to whom he related the solemn promise and engagement of gushtásp, and requested her to go to him, and say: "thou hast given thy royal word to isfendiyár, that when he had conquered and slain arjásp, and restored his own sisters to liberty, thou wouldst place upon his head the crown of irán; faith and honor are indispensable in princes, they are inculcated by religion, and yet thou hast failed to make good thy word." but the mother had more prudence, and said: "let me give thee timely counsel, and breathe not a syllable to any one on the subject. god forbid that thou shouldst again be thrown into prison, and confined in chains. recollect thine is the succession; the army is in thy favor; thy father is old and infirm. have a little patience and in the end thou wilt undoubtedly be the king of persia. "the gold and jewels, the imperial sway, the crown, the throne, the army, all he owns, will presently be thine; then wait in patience, and reign, in time, the monarch of the world." isfendiyár, however, was not contented with his mother's counsel, and suspecting that she would communicate to the king what he had said, he one day, as if under the influence of wine, thus addressed his father: "in what way have i failed to accomplish thy wishes? have i not performed such actions as never were heard of, and never will be performed again, in furtherance of thy glory? i have overthrown thy greatest enemy, and supported thy honor with ceaseless toil and exertion. is it not then incumbent on thee to fulfil thy promise?" gushtásp replied: "do not be impatient--the throne is thine;" but he was deeply irritated at heart on being thus reproached by his own son. when he retired he consulted with jamásp, and was anxious to know what the stars foretold. the answer was: "he is of exalted fortune, of high destiny; he will overcome all his enemies, and finally obtain the sovereignty of the heft-aklím, or seven climes." this favorable prophecy aggravated the spleen of the father against the son, and he inquired with bitter and unnatural curiosity: "what will be his death? look to that." "a deadly dart from rustem's bow, will lay the glorious warrior low." these tidings gladdened the heart of gushtásp, and he said: "if this miscreant had been slain in his expedition to the brazen fortress i should not now have been insulted with his claim to my throne." the king then having resolved upon a scheme of deep dissimulation, ordered a gorgeous banquet, and invited to it all his relations and warriors; and when the guests were assembled he said to isfendiyár: "the crown and the throne are thine; indeed, who is there so well qualified for imperial sway?" and turning to his warriors, he spoke of him with praise and admiration, and added: "when i was entering upon the war against arjásp, before i quitted sístán, i said to rustem: 'lohurásp, my father, is dead, my wife and children made prisoners, wilt thou assist me in punishing the murderer and oppressor?' but he excused himself, and remained at home, and although i have since been involved in numberless perils, he has not once by inquiry shown himself interested in my behalf; in short, he boasts that kai-khosráu gave him the principalities of zábul and kábul, and ním-rúz, and that he owes no allegiance to me! it behooves me, therefore, to depute isfendiyár to go and put him to death, or bring him before me in bonds alive. after that i shall have no enemy to be revenged upon, and i shall retire from the world, and leave to isfendiyár the crown and the throne of persia, with confidence and satisfaction." all the nobles and heroes present approved of the measure, and the king, gratified by their approbation, then turned to isfendiyár, and said: "i have sworn on the zendavesta, to relinquish my power, and place it in thy hands, as soon as rustem is subdued. take whatever force the important occasion may require, for the whole resources of the empire shall be at thy command," but isfendiyár thus replied: "remember the first time i defeated arjásp--what was my reward? through the machinations of gurzam i was thrown into prison and chained. and what is my reward now that i have slain both arjásp and his son in battle? thy solemn promise to me is forgotten, or disregarded. the prince who forgets one promise will forget another, if it be convenient for his purpose. "whenever the heft-khan is brought to mind, i feel a sense of horror. but why should i repeat the story of those great exploits! god is my witness, how i slew the wolf, the lion, and the dragon; how i punished that fell enchantress with her thousand wiles; and how i suffered, midst the storm of snow, which almost froze the blood within my veins; and how that vast unfathomable deep we crossed securely. these are deeds which awaken wonder and praise in others, not in thee! the treasure which i captured now is thine; and what is my reward?--the interest, sorrow. thus am i cheated of my recompense. it is the custom for great kings to keep religiously their pledged, affianced word; but thou hast broken thine, despite of honour. "i do remember in my early youth, it was in rúm, thou didst perform a feat of gallant daring; for thou didst destroy a dragon and a wolf, but thou didst bear thyself most proudly, thinking human arm never before had done a deed so mighty; yes, thou wert proud and vain, and seemed exalted up to the heavens; and for that noble act what did thy father do? the king for that gave thee with joyous heart his crown and throne. now mark the difference; think what i have done, what perils i sustained, and for thy sake! thy foes i vanquished, clearing from thy mind the gnawing rust of trouble and affliction. monsters i slew, reduced the brazen fortress, and laid arjásp's whole empire at thy feet, and what was my reward? neglect and scorn. did i deserve this at a father's hands?" gushtásp remained unmoved by this sharp rebuke, though he readily acknowledged its justice. "the crown shall be thine," said he, "but consider my position. think, too, what services zál and rustem performed for kai-khosráu, and shall i expect less from my own son, gifted as he is with a form of brass, and the most prodigious valor? forbid it, heaven! that any rumor of our difference should get abroad in the world, which would redound to the dishonor of both! nearly half of irán is in the possession of rustem." "give me the crown," said isfendiyár, "and i will immediately proceed against the zabúl champion." "i have given thee both the crown and the throne, take with thee my whole army, and all my treasure.--what wouldst thou have more? he who has conquered the terrific obstacles of the heft-khan, and has slain arjásp and subdued his entire kingdom, can have no cause to fear the prowess of rustem, or any other chief." isfendiyár replied that he had no fear of rustem's prowess; he was now old, and therefore not equal to himself in strength; still he had no wish to oppose him:-- "for he has been the monitor and friend of our kaiánian ancestors; his care enriched their minds, and taught them to be brave; and he was ever faithful to their cause. besides," said he, "thou wert the honoured guest of rustem two long years; and at sístán enjoyed his hospitality and friendship, his festive, social board; and canst thou now, forgetting that delightful intercourse, become his bitterest foe?" gushtásp replied:-- "tis true he may have served my ancestors; but what is that to me? his spirit is proud, and he refused to yield me needful aid when danger pressed; that is enough, and thou canst not divert me from my settled purpose. therefore, if thy aim be still to rule, thy father's wish fulfil; quickly trace the distant road; quick invade the chiefs abode; bind his feet, and bind his hands in a captive's galling bands; bring him here, that all may know thou hast quelled the mighty foe." but isfendiyár was still reluctant, and implored him to relinquish his design. "for if resolved, a gloomy cloud will quickly all thy glories shroud, and dim thy brilliant throne; i would not thus aspire to reign, but rather, free from crime, remain sequestered and alone." again gushtásp spoke, and said: "there is no necessity for any further delay. thou art appointed my successor, and the crown and the throne are thine; thou hast therefore only to march to the scene of action, and accomplish the object of the war." hearing this, isfendiyár sullenly retired to his own house, and gushtásp, perceiving that he was in an angry mood, requested jamásp (his minister) to ascertain the state of his mind, and whether he intended to proceed to sístán or not. jamásp immediately went, and isfendiyár asked him, as his friend, what he would advise. "the commands of a father," he replied, "must be obeyed." there was now no remedy, and the king being informed that the prince consented to undertake the expedition, no further discussion took place. but kitabún was deeply affected when she heard of these proceedings, and repaired instantly to her son, to represent to him the hopelessness of the enterprise he had engaged to conduct. "a mother's counsel is a golden treasure, consider well, and listen not to folly. rustem, the champion of the world, will never suffer himself to be confined in bonds. did he not conquer the white demon, fill the world with blood, in terrible revenge, when saiáwush was by afrásiyáb cruelly slain? o, curses on the throne, and ruin seize the country, which returns evil for good, and spurns its benefactor. restrain thy steps, engage not in this war; it cannot do thee honour. hear my voice! for rustem still can conquer all the world." hear the safe counsel of thy anxious mother! thus spoke kitabún, shedding ceaseless tears; and thus isfendiyár: "i fear not rustem; i fear not his prodigious power and skill; but never can i on so great a hero place ignominious bonds; it must not be. yet, mother dear, my faithful word is pledged; my word jamásp has taken to the king, and i must follow where my fortune leads." the next morning isfendiyár took leave of the king, and with a vast army, and immense treasure, commenced his march towards sístán. it happened that one of the camels in advance laid down, and though beaten severely, could not be made to get up on its legs. isfendiyár, seeing the obstinacy of the animal, ordered it to be killed, and passed on. the people, however, interpreted the accident as a bad omen, and wished him not to proceed; but he could not attend to their suggestions, as he thought the king would look upon it as a mere pretence, and therefore continued his journey. when he approached sístán, he sent bahman, his eldest son, to rustem, with a flattering message, to induce the champion to honor him with an istakbál, or deputation to receive him. upon bahman's arrival, however, he hesitated and delayed, being reluctant to give a direct answer; but zál interposed, saying: "why not immediately wait upon the prince?--have we not always been devoted to the kaiánian dynasty?--go and bring him hither, that we may tender him our allegiance, and entertain him at our mansion as becomes his illustrious birth," accordingly rustem went out to welcome isfendiyár, and alighting from rakush, proceeded respectfully on foot to embrace him. he then invited him to his house, but isfendiyár said: "so strict are my father's commands, that after having seen thee, i am not permitted to delay my departure." rustem, however, pressed him to remain with him, but all in vain. on the contrary the prince artfully conducted him to his own quarters, where he addressed him thus: "if thou wilt allow me to bind thee, hand and foot, in chains, i will convey thee to the king my father, whose humor it is to see thee once in fetters, and then to release thee!" rustem was silent. again isfendiyár said: "if thou art not disposed to comply with this demand, go thy ways," rustem replied: "first be my guest, as thy father once was, and after that i will conform to thy will." again the prince said: "my father visited thee under other circumstances; i have come for a different purpose. if i eat thy bread and salt, and after that thou shouldst refuse thy acquiescence, i must have recourse to force. but if i become thy guest, how can i in honor fight with thee? and if i do not take thee bound into my father's presence, according to his command, what answer shall i give to him?" "for the same reason," said rustem; "how can i eat thy bread and salt?" isfendiyár then replied: "thou needest not eat my bread and salt, but only drink wine.--bring thy own pure ruby." to this rustem agreed, and they drank, each his own wine, together. in a short space rustem observed that he wished to consult his father zál; and being allowed to depart, he, on his return home, described in strong terms of admiration the personal appearance and mental qualities of isfendiyár. "in wisdom ripe, and with a form of brass to meet the battle-storm, thou wouldst confess his every boon, had been derived from feridún." bashútan in the meanwhile observed to his brother, with some degree of dissatisfaction, that his enemy had come into his power, on his own feet too, but had been strangely permitted to go away again. to this gentle reproof isfendiyár confidently replied, "if he does fail to return, i will go and secure him in bonds, even in his own house,"--"ah!" said bashútan, "that might be done by gentleness, but not by force, for the descendant of sám, the champion of the world, is not to be subdued so easily." these words had a powerful effect upon the mind of isfendiyár, and he became apprehensive that rustem would not return; but whilst he was still murmuring at his own want of vigilance, the champion appeared, and at this second interview repeated his desire that the prince would become his guest. "i am sent here by my father, who relies upon thy accepting his proffered hospitality."--"that may be," said isfendiyár, "but i am at my utmost limit, i cannot go farther. from this place, therefore, thou hadst better prepare to accompany me to irán." here rustem paused, and at length artfully began to enumerate his various achievements, and to blazon his own name. "i fettered fast the emperor of chin, and broke the enchantment of the seven khans; i stood the guardian of the persian kings, their shield in danger. i have cleared the world of all their foes, enduring pain and toil incalculable. such exploits for thee will i achieve, such sufferings will i bear, and hence we offer thee a social welcome. but let not dark suspicion cloud thy mind, nor think thyself exalted as the heavens, because i thus invite thee to our home." isfendiyár felt so indignant and irritated by this apparent boasting and self-sufficiency of rustem, that his first impulse was to cast a dagger at him; but he kept down his wrath, and satisfied himself with giving him a scornful glance, and telling him to take a seat on his left hand. but rustem resented this affront, saying that he never yet had sat down on the left of any king, and placed himself, without permission, on the right hand of isfendiyár. the unfavorable impression on the prince's mind was increased by this independent conduct, and he was provoked to say to him, "rustem! i have heard that zál, thy father, was of demon extraction, and that sám cast him into the desert because of his disgusting and abominable appearance; that even the hungry símúrgh, on the same account, forebore to feed upon him, but conveyed him to her nest among her own young ones, who, pitying his wretched condition, supplied him with part of the carrion they were accustomed to devour. naked and filthy, he is thus said to have subsisted on garbage, till sám was induced to commiserate his wretchedness, and take him to sástán, where, by the indulgence of his family and royal bounty, he was instructed in human manners and human science." this was a reproach and an insult too biting for rustem to bear with any degree of patience, and frowning with strong indignation, he said, "thy father knows, and thy grandfather well knew that zál was the son of sám, and sám of narímán, and that narímán was descended from húsheng. thou and i, therefore, have the same origin. besides, on my mother's side, i am descended from zohák, so that by both parents i am of a race of princes. knowest thou not that the iránian empire was for some time in my hands, and that i refused to retain it, though urged by the nobles and the army to exercise the functions of royalty? it was my sense of justice, and attachment to the kais and to thy family, which have enabled thee to possess thy present dignity and command. it is through my fidelity and zeal that thou art now in a situation to reproach me. thou hast slain one king, arjásp, how many kings have i slain? did i not conquer afrásiyáb, the greatest and bravest king that ever ruled over túrán? and did i not also subdue the king of hámáverán, and the khakán of chín? káús, thy own ancestor, i released from the demons of mázinderán. i slew the white demon, and the tremendous giant, akwán díw. can thy insignificant exploits be compared with mine? never!" rustem's vehemence, and the disdainful tone of his voice, exasperated still more the feelings of isfendiyár, who however recollected that he was under his roof, otherwise he would have avenged himself instantly on the spot. restraining his anger, he then said softly to him, "wherefore dost thou raise thy voice so high? for though thy head be exalted to the skies, thou wert, and still art, but a dependent on the kais. and was thy heft-khan equal in terrible danger to mine? was the capture of mázinderán equal in valorous exertion to the capture of the brazen fortress? and did i not, by the power of my sword, diffuse throughout the world the blessings of my own religion, the faith of the fire-worshipper, which was derived from heaven itself? thou hast performed the duties of a warrior and a servant, whilst i have performed the holy functions of a sovereign and a prophet!" rustem, in reply, said:-- "in thy heft-khan thou hadst twelve thousand men completely armed, with ample stores and treasure, whilst rakush and my sword, my conquering sword, were all the aid i had, and all i sought, in that prodigious enterprise of mine. two sisters thou released--no arduous task, whilst i recovered from the demon's grasp the mighty káús, and the monsters slew, roaring like thunder in their dismal caves. "this great exploit my single arm achieved; and when kai-khosráu gave the regal crown to lohurásp, the warriors were incensed, and deemed fríburz, káús's valiant son, fittest by birth to rule. my sire and i espoused the cause of lohurásp; else he had never sat upon the throne, nor thou been here to treat with scorn thy benefactor. and now gushtásp, with foul ingratitude, would bind me hand and foot! but who on earth can do that office? i am not accustomed to hear harsh terms, and cannot brook their sting, therefore desist. once in káús's court, when i was moved to anger, i poured out upon him words of bitterest scorn and rage, and though surrounded by a thousand chiefs, not one attempted to repress my fury, not one, but all stood silent and amazed." "smooth that indignant brow," the prince replied "and measure not my courage nor my strength with that of káús; had he nerve like mine? thou might'st have kept the timorous king in awe, but i am come myself to fetter thee!" so saying, he the hand of rustem grasped, and wrung it so intensely, that the champion felt inwardly surprised, but careless said, "the time is not yet come for us to try our power in battle." then isfendiyár dropped rustem's hand, and spoke, "to-day let wine inspire our hearts, and on the field to-morrow be ours the strife, with battle-axe and sword, and my first aim shall be to bind thee fast, and show thee to my troops, rustem in fetters!" at this the champion smiled, and thus exclaimed, "where hast thou seen the deeds of warriors brave? where hast thou heard the clash of mace and sword wielded by men of valour? i to-morrow will take thee in my arms, and straight convey thee to zál, and place thee on the ivory throne, and on thy head a crown of gold shall glitter. the treasury i will open, and our troops shall fight for thee, and i will gird my loins as they were girt for thy bold ancestors; and when thou art the chosen king, and i thy warrior-chief, the world will be thy own; no other sovereign need attempt to reign." "so much time has been spent in vain boasting, and extravagant self-praise," rejoined isfendiyár, "that the day is nearly done, and i am hungry; let us therefore take some refreshment together." rustem's appetite being equally keen, the board was spread, and every dish that was brought to him he emptied at once, as if at one swallow; then he threw aside the goblets, and called for the large flagon that he might drink his fill without stint. when he had finished several dishes and as many flagons of wine, he paused, and isfendiyár and the assembled chiefs were astonished at the quantity he had devoured. he now prepared to depart, and the prince said to him, "go and consult with thy father: if thou art contented to be bound, well; if not, thou wilt have cause to repent, for i will assuredly attend to the commands of gushtásp."--"do thou also consult with thy brethren and friends," replied rustem, "whether thou wilt be our guest to-morrow, or not; if not, come to this place before sunrise, that we may decide our differences in battle." isfendiyár said, "my most anxious desire, my wish to heaven, is to meet thee, for i shall have no difficulty in binding thee hand and foot. i would indeed willingly convey thee without fetters to my father, but if i did so, he would say that i was unable to put thee in bonds, and that would disgrace my name." rustem observed that the immense number of men and demons he had contended against was as nothing in the balance of his mind compared with the painful subject of his present thoughts and fears. he was ready to engage, but afraid of meriting a bad name. "if in the battle thou art slain by me, will not my cheek turn pale among the princes of the kaiánian race, having cut off a lovely branch of that illustrious tree? will not reproaches hang upon my name when i am dead, and shall i not be cursed for perpetrating such a horrid deed? thy father, too, is old, and near his end, and thou upon the eve of being crowned; and in thy heart thou knowest that i proffered, and proffer my allegiance and devotion, and would avoid the conflict. sure, thy father is practising some trick, some foul deception, to urge thee on to an untimely death, to rid himself of some unnatural fear, he stoops to an unnatural, treacherous act, for i have ever been the firm support of crown and throne, and perfectly he knows no mortal ever conquered me in battle, none ever from my sword escaped his life." then spoke isfendiyár: "thou wouldst be generous and bear a spotless name, and tarnish mine; but i am not to be deceived by thee: in fetters thou must go!" rustem replied: "banish that idle fancy from thy brain; dream not of things impossible, for death is busy with thee; pause, or thou wilt die." "no more!" exclaimed the prince, "no more of this. nor seek to frighten me with threatening words; go, and to-morrow bring with thee thy friends, thy father and thy brother, to behold with their own eyes thy downfall, and lament in sorrow over thy impending fate." "so let it be," said rustem, and at once mounted his noble horse, and hastened home. the champion immediately requested his father's permission to go and fight isfendiyár the following day, but the old man recommended reconciliation and peace. "that cannot be," said rustem, "for he has reviled thee so severely, and heaped upon me so many indignities, that my patience is exhausted, and the contest unavoidable." in the morning zál, weeping bitterly, tied on rustem's armor himself, and in an agony of grief, said: "if thou shouldst kill isfendiyár, thy name will be rendered infamous throughout the world; and if thou shouldst be killed, sístán will be prostrate in the dust, and extinguished forever! my heart shudders at the thoughts of this battle, but there is no remedy." rustem said to him:--"put thy trust in god, and be not sorrowful, for when i grasp my sword the head of the enemy is lost; but my desire is to take isfendiyár alive, and not to kill him. i would serve him, and not sever his head from his body." zál was pleased with this determination, and rejoiced that there was a promise of a happy issue to the engagement. in the morning rustem arrayed himself in his war-attire, helmet and breast-plate, and mounted rakush, also armed in his bargustuwan. his troops, too, were all assembled, and zál appointed zúára to take charge of them, and be careful of his brother on all occasions where assistance might be necessary. the old man then prostrated himself in prayer, and said, "o god, turn from us all affliction, and vouchsafe to us a prosperous day." rustem being prepared for the struggle, directed zúára to wait with the troops at a distance, whilst he went alone to meet isfendiyár. when bashútan first saw him, he thought he was coming to offer terms of peace, and said to isfendiyár, "he is coming alone, and it is better that he should go to thy father of his own accord, than in bonds."--"but," replied isfendiyár, "he is coming completely equipped in mail--quick, bring me my arms."--"alas!" rejoined bashútan, "thy brain is wild, and thou art resolved upon fighting. this impetuous spirit will break my heart." but isfendiyár took no notice of the gentle rebuke. presently he saw rustem ascend a high place, and heard his summons to single combat. he then told his brother to keep at a distance with the army, and not to interfere till aid was positively required. insisting rigidly on these instructions, he mounted his night-black charger, and hastened towards rustem, who now proposed to him that they should wait awhile, and that in the meantime the two armies might be put in motion against each other. "though," said he, "my men of zábul are few, and thou hast a numerous host." "this is a strange request," replied the prince, "but thou art all deceit and artifice; mark thy position, lofty and commanding, and mine, beneath thee--in a spreading vale. now, heaven forbid that i, in reckless mood, should give my valiant legions to destruction, and look unpitying on! no, i advance, whoever may oppose me; and if thou requirest aid, select thy friend, and come, for i need none, save god, in battle--none." and rustem said the same, for he required no human refuge, no support but heaven. the battle rose, and numerous javelins whizzed along the air, and helm and mail were bruised; spear fractured spear, and then with shining swords the strife went on, till, trenched with many a wound, they, too, snapped short. the battle-axe was next wielded, in furious wrath; each bending forward struck brain-bewildering blows; each tried in vain to hurl the other from his fiery horse. wearied, at length, they stood apart to breathe their charges panting from excessive toil, covered with foam and blood, and the strong armor, of steed and rider rent. the combatants thus paused, in mutual consternation lost. in the meantime zúára, impatient at this delay, advanced towards the iránians, and reproached them for their cowardice so severely, that núsháwer, the younger son of isfendiyár, felt ashamed, and immediately challenged the bravest of the enemy to fight. alwaí, one of rustem's followers, came boldly forward, but his efforts only terminated in his discomfiture and death. after him came zúára himself:-- who galloped to the charge incensed, and, high lifting his iron mace, upon the head of bold núsháwer struck a furious blow, which drove him from his steed a lifeless corse. seeing their gallant leader thus overthrown, the troops in terror fled, and in their flight thousands were slain, among them brave mehrnús, another kinsman of isfendiyár. bahman, observing the defeat and confusion of the iránians, went immediately to his father, and told him that two of his own family were killed by the warriors of zábul, who had also attacked him and put his troops to the rout with great slaughter. isfendiyár was extremely irritated at this intelligence, and called aloud to rustem: "is treachery like this becoming in a warrior?" the champion being deeply concerned, shook like a branch, and swore by the head and life of the king, by the sun, and his own conquering sword, that he was ignorant of the event, and innocent of what had been done. to prove what he said, he offered to bind in fetters his brother zúára, who must have authorized the movement; and also to secure ferámurz, who slew mehrnús, and deliver them over to gushtásp, the fire-worshipper. "nay," said he, "i will deliver over to thee my whole family, as well as my brother and son, and thou mayest sacrifice them all as a punishment for having commenced the fight without permission." isfendiyár replied: "of what use would it be to sacrifice thy brother and thy son? would that restore my own to me? no. instead of them, i will put thee to death, therefore come on!" accordingly both simultaneously bent their bows, and shot their arrows with the utmost rapidity; but whilst rustem's made no impression, those of isfendiyár's produced great effect on the champion and his horse. so severely was rakush wounded, that rustem, when he perceived how much his favorite horse was exhausted, dismounted, and continued to impel his arrows against the enemy from behind his shield. but rakush brooked not the dreadful storm, and galloped off unconscious that his master himself was in as bad a plight. when zúára saw the noble animal, riderless, crossing the plain, he gasped for breath, and in an agony of grief hurried to the fatal spot, where he found rustem desperately hurt, and the blood flowing copiously from every wound. the champion observed, that though he was himself bleeding so much, not one drop of blood appeared to have issued from the veins of his antagonist. he was very weak, but succeeded in dragging himself up to his former position, when isfendiyár, smiling to see them thus, exclaimed:-- "is this the valiant rustem, the renowned, quitting the field of battle? where is now the raging tiger, the victorious chief? was it from thee the demons shrunk in terror, and did thy burning sword sear out their hearts? what has become of all thy valour now? where is thy matchless mace, and why art thou, the roaring lion, turned into a fox, an animal of slyness, not of courage, losing thy noble character and name?" zúára, when he came to rustem, alighted and resigned his horse to his brother; and placing an arrow on his bow-string, wished himself to engage isfendiyár, who was ready to fight him, but rustem cried, "no, i have not yet done with thee." isfendiyár replied: "i know thee well, and all thy dissimulation, but nothing yet is accomplished. come and consent to be fettered, or i must compel thee." rustem, however, was not to be overcome, and he said: "if i were really subdued by thee, i might agree to be bound like a vanquished slave; but the day is now closing, to-morrow we will resume the fight!" isfendiyár acquiesced, and they separated, rustem going to his own tent, and the prince remaining on the field. there he affectionately embraced the severed heads of his kinsmen, placed them himself on a bier, and sent them to his father, the king, with a letter in which he said, "thy commands must be obeyed, and such is the result of to-day; heaven only knows what may befall to-morrow." then he spoke privately to bashútan: "this rustem is not human, he is formed of rock and iron, neither sword nor javelin has done him mortal harm; but the arrows went deep into his body, and it will indeed be wonderful if he lives throughout the night. i know not what to think of to-morrow, or how i shall be able to overcome him." when rustem arrived at his quarters, zál soon discovered that he had received many wounds, which occasioned great affliction in his family, and he said: "alas! that in my old age such a misfortune should have befallen us, and that with my own eyes i should see these gaping wounds!" he then rubbed rustem's feet, and applied healing balm to the wounds, and bound them up with the skill and care of a physician. rustem said to his father: "i never met with a foe, warrior or demon, of such amazing strength and bravery as this! he seems to have a brazen body, for my arrows, which i can drive through an anvil, cannot penetrate his chest. if i had applied the power which i have exerted to a mountain, the mountain would have moved from its base, but he sat firmly upon his saddle and scorned my efforts. i thank god that it is night, and that i have escaped from his grasp. to-morrow i cannot fight, and my secret wish is to retire unseen from the struggle, that no trace of me may be discovered."--"in that case," replied zál, "the victor will come and take me and all my family into bondage. but let us not despair. did not the símúrgh promise that whenever i might be overcome by adversity, if i burned one of her feathers, she would instantly appear? shall we not then solicit assistance in this awful extremity?" so saying, zál went up to a high place, and burnt the feather in a censer, and in a short time the símúrgh stood before him. after due praise and acknowledgment, he explained his wants. "but," said he, "may the misfortune we endure be far from him who has brought it upon us. my son rustem is wounded almost unto death, and i am so helpless that i can do him no good." he then brought forward rakush, pierced by numerous arrows; upon which the wonderful bird said to him, "be under no alarm on that account, for i will soon cure him;" and she immediately plucked out the rankling weapons with her beak, and the wounds, on passing a feather over them, were quickly healed. to rustem now she turns, and soothes his grief, and drawing forth the arrows, sucks the blood from out the wounds, which at her bidding close, and the illustrious champion is restored to life and power. being thus reinvigorated by the magic influence of the símúrgh, he solicits further aid in the coming strife with isfendiyár; but the mysterious animal laments that she cannot assist him. "there never appeared in the world," said she, "so brave and so perfect a hero as isfendiyár. the favor of heaven is with him, for in his heft-khan he, by some artifice, succeeded in killing a símúrgh, and the further thou art removed from his invincible arm, the greater will be thy safety." here zál interposed and said: "if rustem retires from the contest, his family will all be enslaved, and i shall equally share their bondage and affliction." the símúrgh, hearing these words, fell into deep thought, and remained some time silent. at length she told rustem to mount rakush and follow her. away she went to a far distance; and crossing a great river, arrived at a place covered with reeds, where the kazú-tree abounded. the símúrgh then rubbed one of her feathers upon the eyes of rustem, and directed him to take a branch of the kazú-tree, and make it straight upon the fire, and form that wand into a forked arrow; after which he was to advance against isfendiyár, and, placing the arrow on his bow-string, shoot it into the eyes of his enemy. "the arrow will only make him blind," said the símúrgh, "but he who spills the blood of isfendiyár will never be free from calamity during his whole life. the kazú-tree has also this peculiar quality: an arrow made of it is sure to accomplish its intended errand--it never misses the aim of the archer." rustem expressed his boundless gratitude for this information and assistance; and the símúrgh having transported him back to his tent, and affectionately kissed his face, returned to her own habitation. the champion now prepared the arrow according to the instructions he had received; and when morning dawned, mounted his horse, and hastened to the field. he found isfendiyár still sleeping, and exclaimed aloud: "warrior, art thou still slumbering? rise, and see rustem before thee!" when the prince heard his stern voice, he started up, and in great anxiety hurried on his armor. he said to bashútan, "i had uncharitably thought he would have died of his wounds in the night, but this clear and bold voice seems to indicate perfect health--go and see whether his wounds are bound up or not, and whether he is mounted on rakush or on some other horse." rustem perceived bashútan approach with an inquisitive look, and conjectured that his object was to ascertain the condition of himself and rakush. he therefore vociferated to him: "i am now wholly free from wounds, and so is my horse, for i possess an elixir which heals the most cruel lacerations of the flesh the moment it is applied; but no such wounds were inflicted upon me, the arrows of isfendiyár being only like needles sticking in my body." bashútan now reported to his brother that rustem appeared to be more fresh and vigorous than the day before, and, thinking from the spirit and gallantry of his demeanor that he would be victorious in another contest, he strongly recommended a reconciliation. the death of isfendiyÁr isfendiyár, blind to the march of fate, treated the suggestion of his brother with scorn, and mounting his horse, was soon in the presence of rustem, whom he thus hastily addressed: "yesterday thou wert wounded almost to death by my arrows, and to-day there is no trace of them. how is this? "but thy father zál is a sorcerer, and he by charm and spell has cured all the wounds of the warrior, and now he is safe and well. for the wounds i gave could never be closed up, excepting by sorcery. yes, the wounds i gave thee in every part, could never be cured but by magic art." rustem replied, "if a thousand arrows were shot at me, they would all drop harmless to the ground, and in the end thou wilt fall by my hands. therefore, if thou seekest thy own welfare, come at once and be my guest, and i swear by the almighty, by zerdusht, and the zendavesta, by the sun and moon, that i will go with thee, but unfetterd, to thy father, who may do with me what he lists."--"that is not enough," replied isfendiyár, "thou must be fettered."--"then do not bind my arms, and take whatever thou wilt from me."--"and what hast thou to give?" "a thousand jewels of brilliant hue, and of unknown price, shall be thine; a thousand imperial diadems too, and a thousand damsels divine, who with angel-voices will sing and play, and delight thy senses both night and day; and my family wealth shall be brought thee, all that was gathered by narímán, sám, and zál." "this is all in vain," said isfendiyár. "i may have wandered from the way of heaven, but i will not disobey the commands of the king. and of what use would thy treasure and property be to me? i must please my father, that he may surrender to me his crown and throne, and i have solemnly sworn to him that i will place thee before him in fetters." rustem replied, "and in the hopes of a crown and throne thou wouldst sacrifice thyself!"--"thou shalt see!" said isfendiyár, and seized his bow to commence the combat. rustem did the same, and when he had placed the forked arrow in the bow-string, he imploringly turned up his face towards heaven, and fervently exclaimed, "o god, thou knowest how anxiously i have wished for a reconciliation, how i have suffered, and that i would now give all my treasures and wealth and go with him to irán, to avoid this conflict; but my offers are disdained, for he is bent upon consigning me to bondage and disgrace. thou art the redresser of grievances--direct the flight of this arrow into his eyes, but do not let me be punished for the involuntary deed." at this moment isfendiyár shot an arrow with great force at rustem, who dexterously eluded its point, and then, in return, instantly lodged the charmed weapon in the eyes of his antagonist. and darkness overspread his sight, the world to him was hid in night; the bow dropped from his slackened hand, and down he sunk upon the sand. "yesterday," said rustem, "thou discharged at me a hundred and sixty arrows in vain, and now thou art overthrown by one arrow of mine." bahman, the son of isfendiyár, seeing his father bleeding on the ground, uttered loud lamentations, and bashútan, followed by the iránian troops, also drew nigh with the deepest sorrow marked on their countenances. the fatal arrow was immediately drawn from the wounded eyes of the prince, and some medicine being first applied to them, they conveyed him mournfully to his own tent. the conflict having thus terminated, rustem at the same time returned with his army to where zál remained in anxious suspense about the result. the old man rejoiced at the issue, but said, "o, my son, thou hast killed thy enemy, but i have learnt from the wise men and astrologers that the slayer of isfendiyár must soon come to a fatal end. may god protect thee!" rustem replied, "i am guiltless, his blood is upon his own head." the next day they both proceeded to visit isfendiyár, and offer to him their sympathy and condolence, when the wounded prince thus spoke to rustem: "i do not ascribe my misfortune to thee, but to an all-ruling power. fate would have it so, and thus it is! i now consign to thy care and guardianship my son bahman: instruct him in the science of government, the customs of kings, and the rules and stratagems of the warrior, for thou art exceedingly wise and experienced, and perfect in all things," rustem readily complied, and said:-- "that duty shall be mine alone, to seat him firmly on the throne." then isfendiyár murmured to bashútan, that the anguish of his wound was wearing him away, and that he had but a short time to live. "the pace of death is fast and fleet, and nothing my life can save, i shall want no robe, but my winding sheet, no mansion but the grave. "and tell my father the wish of his heart has not been breathed in vain, the doom he desired when he made me depart, has been sealed, and his son is slain! "and, o! to my mother, in kindliest tone, the mournful tidings bear, and soothe her woes for her warrior gone, for her lost isfendiyár." he now groaned heavily, and his last words were:-- "i die, pursued by unrelenting fate, the hapless victim of a father's hate." life having departed, his body was placed upon a bier, and conveyed to irán, amidst the tears and lamentations of the people. rustem now took charge of bahman, according to the dying request of isfendiyár, and brought him to sístán. this was, however, repugnant to the wishes of zúára, who observed to his brother: "thou hast slain the father of this youth; do not therefore nurture and instruct the son of thy enemy, for, mark me, in the end he will be avenged."--"but did not isfendiyár, with his last breath, consign him to my guardianship? how can i refuse it now? it must be so written and determined in the dispensations of heaven." the arrival of the bier in persia, at the palace of gushtásp, produced a melancholy scene of public and domestic affliction. the king took off the covering and wept bitterly, and the mother and sisters exclaimed, "alas! thy death is not the work of human hands; it is not the work of rustem, nor of zál, but of the símúrgh. thou hast not lived long enough to be ashamed of a gray beard, nor to witness the maturity and attainments of thy children. alas! thou art snatched away at a moment of the highest promise, even at the commencement of thy glory." in the meanwhile the curses and imprecations of the people were poured upon the devoted head of gushtásp on account of his cruel and unnatural conduct, so that he was obliged to confine himself to his palace till after the interment of isfendiyár. rustem scrupulously fulfilled his engagement, and instructed bahman in all manly exercises; in the use of bow and javelin, in the management of sword and buckler, and in all the arts and accomplishments of the warrior. he then wrote to gushtásp, repeating that he was unblamable in the conflict which terminated in the death of his son isfendiyár, that he had offered him presents and wealth to a vast extent, and moreover was ready to return with him to irán, to his father; but every overture was rejected. relentless fate must have hurried him on to a premature death. "i have now," continued rustem, "completed the education of bahman, according to the directions of his father, and await thy further commands." gushtásp, after reading this letter, referred to bashútan, who confirmed the declarations of rustem, and the treacherous king, willing to ascribe the event to an overruling destiny, readily acquitted rustem of all guilt in killing isfendiyár. at the same time he sent for bahman, and on his arrival from sístán, was so pleased with him that he without hesitation appointed him to succeed to the throne. "methinks i see isfendiyár again, thou hast the form, the very look he bore, and since thy glorious father is no more, long as i live thou must with me remain." the death of rustem firdusi seems to have derived the account of shughad, and the melancholy fate of rustem, from a descendant of sám and narímán, who was particularly acquainted with the chronicles of the heroes and the kings of persia. shughad, it appears, was the son of zál, by one of the old warrior's maid-servants, and at his very birth the astrologers predicted that he would be the ruin of the glorious house of sám and narímán, and the destruction of their race. throughout sístán the prophecy was heard with horror and amazement; every town and city in irán was full of woe, and zál, in deepest agony and grief, sent up his prayers to the almighty power that he would purify the infant's heart, and free it from that quality, foretold as the destroyer of his ancient house. but what are prayers, opposed by destiny? the child, notwithstanding, was brought up with great care and attention, and when arrived at maturity, he was sent to the king of kábul, whose daughter he espoused. rustem was accustomed to go to kábul every year to receive the tribute due to him; but on the last occasion, it is said that he exacted and took a higher rate than usual, and thus put many of the people to distress. the king was angry, and expressed his dissatisfaction to shughad, who was not slow in uttering his own discontent, saying, "though i am his brother, he has no respect for me, but treats me always like an enemy. for this personal hostility i long to punish him with death."--"but how," inquired the king, "couldst thou compass that end?" shughad replied, "i have well considered the subject, and propose to accomplish my purpose in this manner. i shall feign that i have been insulted and injured by thee, and carry my complaint to zál and rustem, who will no doubt come to kábul to redress my wrongs. thou must in the meantime prepare for a sporting excursion, and order a number of pits to be dug on the road sufficiently large to hold rustem and his horse, and in each several swords must be placed with their points and edges upwards. the mouths of the pits must then be slightly covered over, but so carefully that there may be no appearance of the earth underneath having been removed. everything being thus ready, rustem, on the pretence of going to the sporting ground, must be conducted by that road, and he will certainly fall into one of the pits, which will become his grave." this stratagem was highly approved by the king, and it was agreed that at a royal banquet, shughad should revile and irritate the king, whose indignant answer should be before all the assembly: "thou hast no pretensions to be thought of the stock of sám and narímán. zál pays thee no attention, at least, not such attention as he would pay to a son, and rustem declares thou art not his brother; indeed, all the family treat thee as a slave." at these words, shughad affected to be greatly enraged, and, starting up from the banquet, hastened to rustem to complain of the insult offered him by the king of kábul. rustem received him with demonstrations of affection, and hearing his complaint, declared that he would immediately proceed to kábul, depose the king for his insolence, and place shughad himself on the throne of that country. in a short time they arrived at the city, and were met by the king, who, with naked feet and in humble guise, solicited forgiveness. rustem was induced to pardon the offence, and was honored in return with great apparent respect, and with boundless hospitality. in the meantime, however, the pits were dug, and the work of destruction in progress, and rustem was now invited to share the sports of the forest. the champion was highly gratified by the courtesy which the king displayed, and mounted rakush, anticipating a day of excellent diversion. shughad accompanied him, keeping on one side, whilst rustem, suspecting nothing, rode boldly forward. suddenly rakush stopped, and though urged to advance, refused to move a step. at last the champion became angry, and struck the noble animal severely; the blows made him dart forward, and in a moment he unfortunately fell into one of the pits. it was a place, deep, dark, and perilous, all bristled o'er with swords, leaving no chance of extrication without cruel wounds; and horse and rider sinking in the midst, bore many a grievous stab and many a cut in limb and body, ghastly to the sight. yet from that depth, at one prodigious spring, rakush escaped with rustem on his back; but what availed that effort? down again into another pit both fell together, and yet again they rose, again, again; seven times down prostrate, seven times bruised and maimed, they struggled on, till mounting up the edge of the seventh pit, all covered with deep wounds, both lay exhausted. when the champion's brain grew cool, and he had power to think, he knew full well to whom he owed this treachery, and calling to shughad, said: "thou, my brother! why hast thou done this wrong? was it for thee, my father's son, by wicked plot and fraud to work this ruin, to destroy my life?" shughad thus sternly answered: "'tis for all the blood that thou hast shed, god has decreed this awful vengeance--now thy time is come!" then spoke the king of kábul, as if pity had softened his false heart: "alas! the day that thou shouldst perish, so ignobly too, and in my kingdom; what a wretched fate! but bring some medicine to relieve his wounds-- quick, bring the matchless balm for rustem's cure; he must not die, the champion must not die!" but rustem scorned the offer, and in wrath, thus spoke: "how many a mighty king has died, and left me still triumphant--still in power, unconquerable; treacherous thou hast been, inhuman, too, but ferámurz, the brave, will be revenged upon thee for this crime." rustem now turned towards shughad, and in an altered and mournful tone, told him that he was at the point of death, and asked him to string his bow and give it to him, that he might seem as a scare-crow, to prevent the wolves and other wild animals from devouring him when dead. shughad performed the task, and lingered not, for he rejoiced at this catastrophe, and with a smile of fiendish satisfaction, placed the strong bow before him--rustem grasped the bended horn with such an eager hand, that wondering at the sight, the caitiff wretch shuddered with terror, and behind a tree shielded himself, but nothing could avail; the arrow pierced both tree and him, and they were thus transfixed together--thus the hour of death afforded one bright gleam of joy to rustem, who, with lifted eyes to heaven, exclaimed: "thanksgivings to the great creator, for granting me the power, with my own hand, to be revenged upon my murderer!" so saying, the great champion breathed his last, and not a knightly follower remained, zúára, and the rest, in other pits, dug by the traitor-king, and traitor-brother, had sunk and perished, all, save one, who fled, and to the afflicted veteran at sístán told the sad tidings. zál, in agony, tore his white hair, and wildly rent his garments, and cried: "why did not i die for him, why was i not present, fighting by his side? but he, alas! is gone! oh! gone forever." then the old man despatched ferámurz with a numerous force to kábul, to bring away the dead body of rustem. upon his approach, the king of kábul and his army retired to the mountains, and ferámurz laid waste the country. he found only the skeletons of rustem and zúára, the beasts of prey having stripped them of their flesh: he however gathered the bones together and conveyed them home and buried them, amidst the lamentations of the people. after that, he returned to kábul with his army, and encountered the king, captured the cruel wretch, and carried him to sístán, where he was put to death. gushtásp having become old and infirm, bequeathed his empire to bahman, and then died. he reigned one hundred and eight years. bahman bahman, the grandson of gushtásp, having at the commencement of his sovereignty obtained the approbation of his people, by the clemency of his conduct and the apparent generosity of his disposition, was not long in meditating vindictive measures against the family of rustem. "did not kai-khosráu," said he to his warriors, "revenge himself on afrásiyáb for the murder of saiáwush; and have not all my glorious ancestors pursued a similar course? why, then, should not i be revenged on the father of rustem for the death of isfendiyár?" the warriors, as usual, approved of the king's resolution, and in consequence one hundred thousand veteran troops were assembled for the immediate invasion of sístán. when bahman had arrived on the borders of the river behermund, he sent a message to zál, frankly declaring his purpose, and that he must sacrifice the lives of himself and all his family as an atonement for rustem's guilt in shedding the blood of isfendiyár. zál heard his menace with astonishment, mingled with anguish, and he thus replied: "rustem was not in fault; and thou canst tell, for thou wert present, how he wept, and prayed that he might not be bound. how frequently he offered all his wealth, his gold, and gems, to be excused that ignominious thrall; and would have followed thy impatient father to wait upon gushtásp; but this was scorned; nothing but bonds would satisfy his pride; all this thou know'st. then did not i and rustem strictly fulfil isfendiyár's commands, and most assiduously endow thy mind with all the skill and virtues of a hero, that might deserve some kindness in return? now take my house, my treasure, my possessions, take all; but spare my family and me." the messenger went back, and told the tale of zál's deep grief with such persuasive grace, and piteous accent, that the heart of bahman softened at every word, and the old man was not to suffer. after that was known, with gorgeous presents zál went forth to meet the monarch in his progress to the city; and having prostrated himself in low humility, retired among the train attendant on the king. "thou must not walk," bahman exclaimed, well skilled in all the arts of smooth hypocrisy--"thou art too weak; remount thy horse, for thou requirest help." but zál declined the honour, and preferred doing that homage as illustrious sám, his conquering ancestor, had always done, barefoot, in presence of the royal race. fast moving onwards, bahman soon approached sístán, and entered zál's superb abode; not as a friend, or a forgiving foe, but with a spirit unappeased, unsoothed; true, he had spared the old man's life, but there his mercy stopped; all else was confiscate, for every room was plundered, all the treasure seized and devoted to the tyrant's use. after remorselessly obtaining this booty, bahman inquired what had become of ferámurz, and zál pretended that, unaware of the king's approach, he had gone a-hunting. but this excuse was easily seen through, and the king was so indignant on the occasion, that he put zál himself in fetters. ferámurz had, in fact, secretly retired with the zábul army to a convenient distance, for the purpose of acting as necessity might require, and when he heard that zál was placed in confinement, he immediately marched against the invader and oppressor of his country. both armies met, and closed, and were in desperate conflict three long days and nights. on the fourth day, a tremendous hurricane arose, which blew thick clouds of dust in the face of the zábul army, and blinding them, impeded their progress, whilst the enemy were driven furiously forward by the strong wind at their backs. the consequence was the defeat of the zábul troops. ferámurz, with a few companions, however, kept his ground, though assailed by showers of arrows. he tried repeatedly to get face to face with bahman, but every effort was fruitless, and he felt convinced that his career was now nearly at an end. he bravely defended himself, and aimed his arrows with great precision; but what is the use of art when fortune is unfavorable? when fate's dark clouds portentous lower, and quench the light of day, no effort, none, of human power, can chase the gloom away. arrows may fly a countless shower, amidst the desperate fray; but not to sword or arrow death is given, unless decreed by favouring heaven and it was so decreed that the exertions of ferámurz should be unsuccessful. his horse fell, he was wounded severely, and whilst insensible, the enemy secured and conveyed him in fetters to bahman, who immediately ordered him to be hanged. the king then directed all the people of sístán to be put to the sword; upon which bashútan said: "alas! why should the innocent and unoffending people be thus made to perish? hast thou no fear of god? thou hast taken vengeance for thy father, by slaying ferámurz, the son of rustem. is not that enough? be merciful and beneficent now to the people, and thank heaven for the great victory thou hast gained." bahman was thus withdrawn from his wicked purpose, and was also induced to liberate zál, whose age and infirmities had rendered him perfectly harmless. he not only did this, but restored to him the possession of sístán; and divesting himself of all further revenge, returned to persia. there he continued to exercise the functions of royalty, till one day he happened to be bitten by a snake, whose venom was so excruciating, that remedies were of no avail, and he died of the wound, in the eighth year of his reign. although he had a son named sassán, he did not appoint him his successor; but gave the crown and the throne to his wife, húmaí, whom he had married a short time before his death, saying: "if húmaí should have a son, that son shall be my successor; but if a daughter, húmaí continue to reign." hÚmai and the birth of dÁrÁb wisdom and generosity were said to have marked the government of húmaí. in justice and beneficence she was unequalled. no misfortune happened in her days: even the poor and the needy became rich. she gave birth to a son, whom she entrusted to a nurse to be brought up secretly, and declared publicly that it had died the same day it was born. at this event the people rejoiced, for they were happy under the administration of húmaí. upon the boy attaining his seventh month, however, the queen sent for him, and wrapping him up in rich garments, put him in a box, and when she had fastened down the cover, gave it to two confidential servants, in the middle of the night, to be flung into the euphrates. "for," thought she, "if he be found in the city, there will be an end to my authority, and the crown will be placed upon his head; wiser, therefore, will it be for me to cast him into the river; and if it please god to preserve him, he may be nurtured, and brought up in another country." accordingly in the darkness of night, the box was thrown into the euphrates, and it floated rapidly down the stream for some time without being observed. amidst the waters, in that little ark was launched the future monarch. but, vain mortal! how bootless are thy most ingenious schemes, thy wisest projects! such were thine, húmaí! presumptuous as thou wert to think success would crown that deed unnatural and unjust. but human passions, human expectations are happily controlled by righteous heaven. in the morning the ark was noticed by a washerman; who, curious to know what it contained, drew it to the shore, and opened the lid. within the box he then saw splendid silk-embroidered scarfs and costly raiment, and upon them a lovely infant asleep. he immediately took up the child, and carried it to his wife, saying: "it was but yesterday that our own infant died, and now the almighty has sent thee another in its place." the woman looked at the child with affection, and taking it in her arms fed it with her own milk. in the box they also found jewels and rubies, and they congratulated themselves upon being at length blessed by providence with wealth, and a boy at the same time. they called him dáráb, and the child soon began to speak in the language of his foster-parents. the washerman and his wife, for fear that the boy and the wealth might be discovered, thought it safest to quit their home, and sojourn in another country. when dáráb grew up, he was more skilful and accomplished, and more expert at wrestling than other boys of a greater age. but whenever the washerman told him to assist in washing clothes, he always ran away, and would not stoop to the drudgery. this untoward behavior grieved the washerman exceedingly, and he lamented that god had given him so useless a son, not knowing that he was destined to be the sovereign of all the world. how little thought he, whilst the task he prest, a purer spirit warmed the stripling's breast, whose opening soul, by kingly pride inspired, disdained the toil a menial slave required; the royal branch on high its foliage flung, and showed the lofty stem from which it sprung. dáráb was now sent to school, and he soon excelled his master, who continually said to the washerman: "thy son is of wonderful capacity, acute and intelligent beyond his years, of an enlarged understanding, and will be at least the minister of a king." dáráb requested to have another master, and also a fine horse of irák, that he might acquire the science and accomplishments of a warrior; but the washerman replied that he was too poor to comply with his wishes, which threw the youth into despair, so that he did not touch a morsel of food for two days together. his foster-mother, deeply affected by his disappointment, and naturally anxious to gratify his desires, gave an article of value to the washerman, that he might sell it, and with the money purchase the horse required. the horse obtained, he was daily instructed in the art of using the bow, the javelin, and the sword, and in every exercise becoming a young gentleman and a warrior. so devouringly did he persevere in his studies, and in his exertions to excel, that he never remained a moment unoccupied at home or abroad. the development of his talents and genius suggested to him an inquiry who he was, and how he came into the house of a washerman; and his foster-mother, in compliance with his entreaties, described to him the manner in which he was found. he had long been miserable at the thoughts of being the son of a washerman, but now he rejoiced, and looked upon himself as the son of some person of consideration. he asked her if she had anything that was taken out of the box, and she replied: "two valuable rubies remain." the youth requested them to be brought to him; one he bound round his arm, and the other he sold to pay the expenses of travelling and change of place. at that time, it is said, the king of rúm had sent an army into the country of irán. upon receiving this information, húmaí told her general, named rishnawád, to collect a force corresponding with the emergency; and he issued a proclamation, inviting all young men desirous of military glory to flock to his standard. dáráb heard this proclamation with delight, and among others hastened to rishnawád, who presented the young warriors as they arrived successively to húmaí. the queen steadfastly marked the majestic form and features of dáráb, and said in her heart: "the youth who bears this dignified and royal aspect, appears to be a kaiánian by birth;" and as she spoke, the instinctive feeling of a mother seemed to agitate her bosom. the queen beheld his form and face, the scion of a princely race; and natural instinct seemed to move her heart, which spoke a mother's love; she gazed, but like the lightning's ray, that sudden thrill soon passed away. the army was now in motion. after the first march, a tremendous wind and heavy rain came on, and all the soldiers were under tents, excepting dáráb, who had none, and was obliged to take shelter from the inclemency of the weather beneath an archway, where he laid himself down, and fell asleep. suddenly a supernatural voice was heard, saying:-- "arch! stand firm, and from thy wall let no ruined fragment fall! he who sleeps beneath is one destined to a royal throne. arch! a monarch claims thy care, the king of persia slumbers there!" the voice was heard by every one near, and rishnawád having also heard it, inquired of his people from whence it came. as he spoke, the voice repeated its caution:-- "arch! stand firm, and from thy wall let no ruined fragment fall! bahman's son is in thy keeping; he beneath thy roof is sleeping. though the winds are loudly roaring, and the rain in torrents pouring, arch! stand firm, and from thy wall let no loosened fragment fall." again rishnawád sent other persons to ascertain from whence the voice proceeded; and they returned, saying, that it was not of the earth, but from heaven. again the caution sounded in his ears:-- "arch! stand firm, and from thy wall let no loosened fragment fall." and his amazement increased. he now sent a person under the archway to see if any one was there, when the youth was discovered in deep sleep upon the ground, and the arch above him rent and broken in many parts. rishnawád being apprised of this circumstance, desired that he might be awakened and brought to him. the moment he was removed, the whole of the arch fell down with a dreadful crash, and this wonderful escape was also communicated to the leader of the army, who by a strict and particular enquiry soon became acquainted with all the occurrences of the stranger's life. rishnawád also summoned before him the washerman and his wife, and they corroborated the story he had been told. indeed he himself recognized the ruby on dáráb's arm, which convinced him that he was the son of bahman, whom húmaí caused to be thrown into the euphrates. thus satisfied of his identity, he treated him with great honor, placed him on his right hand, and appointed him to a high command in the army. soon afterwards an engagement took place with the rúmís, and dáráb in the advanced guard performed prodigies of valor. the battle lasted all day, and in the evening rishnawád bestowed upon him the praise which he merited. next day the army was again prepared for battle, when dáráb proposed that the leader should remain quiet, whilst he with a chosen band of soldiers attacked the whole force of the enemy. the proposal being agreed to, he advanced with fearless impetuosity to the contest. with loosened rein he rushed along the field, and through opposing numbers hewed his path, then pierced the kulub-gah, the centre-host, where many a warrior brave, renowned in arms, fell by his sword. like sheep before a wolf the harassed rúmís fled; for none had power to cope with his strong arm. his wondrous might alone, subdued the legions right and left; and when, unwearied, he had fought his way to where great kaísar stood, night came, and darkness, shielding the trembling emperor of rúm, snatched the expected triumph from his hands. rishnawád was so filled with admiration at his splendid prowess, that he now offered him the most magnificent presents; but when they were exposed to his view, a suit of armor was the only thing he would accept. the rúmís were entirely disheartened by his valor, and they said: "we understood that the sovereign of persia was only a woman, and that the conquest of the empire would be no difficult task; but this woman seems to be more fortunate than a warrior-king. even her general remains inactive with the great body of his army; and a youth, with a small force, is sufficient to subdue the legions of rúm; we had, therefore, better return to our own country." the principal warriors entertained the same sentiments, and suggested to kaísar the necessity of retiring from the field; but the king opposed this measure, thinking it cowardly and disgraceful, and said:-- "to-morrow we renew the fight, to-morrow we shall try our might; to-morrow, with the smiles of heaven, to us the victory will be given." accordingly on the following day the armies met again, and after a sanguinary struggle, the persians were again triumphant. kaísar now despaired of success, sent a messenger to rishnawád, in which he acknowledged the aggressions he had committed, and offered to pay him whatever tribute he might require. rishnawád readily settled the terms of the peace; and the emperor was permitted to return to his own dominions. after this event rishnawád sent to húmaí intelligence of the victories he had gained, and of the surprising valor of dáráb, transmitting to her the ruby as an evidence of his birth. húmaí was at once convinced that he was her son, for she well remembered the day on which he was enrolled as one of her soldiers, when her heart throbbed with instinctive affection at the sight of him; and though she had unfortunately failed to question him then, she now rejoiced that he was so near being restored to her. she immediately proceeded to the atish-gadeh, or the fire-altar, and made an offering on the occasion; and ordering a great fire to be lighted, gave immense sums away in charity to the poor. having called dáráb to her presence, she went with a splendid retinue to meet him at the distance of one journey from the city; and as soon as he approached, she pressed him to her bosom, and kissed his head and eyes with the fondest affection of a mother. upon the first day of happy omen, she relinquished in his favor the crown and the throne, after having herself reigned thirty-two years. dÁrÁb and dÁrÁ when dáráb had ascended the throne, he conducted the affairs of the kingdom with humanity, justice, and benevolence; and by these means secured the happiness of his people. he had no sooner commenced his reign, than he sent for the washerman and his wife, and enriched them by his gifts. "but," said he, "i present to you this property on these conditions--you must not give up your occupation--you must go every day, as usual, to the river-side, and wash clothes; for perhaps in process of time you may discover another box floating down the stream, containing another infant!" with these conditions the washerman complied. some time afterwards the kingdom was invaded by an arabian army, consisting of one hundred thousand men, and commanded by sháíb, a distinguished warrior. dáráb was engaged with this army three days and three nights, and on the fourth morning the battle terminated, in consequence of sháíb being slain. the booty was immense, and a vast number of arabian horses fell into the hands of the victor; which, together with the quantity of treasure captured, strengthened greatly the resources of the state. the success of this campaign enabled dáráb to extend his military operations; and having put his army in order, he proceeded against failakús (philip of macedon), then king of rúm, whom he defeated with great loss. many were put to the sword, and the women and children carried into captivity. failakús himself took refuge in the fortress of amúr, from whence he sent an ambassador to dáráb, saying, that if peace was only granted to him, he would willingly consent to any terms that might be demanded. when the ambassador arrived, dáráb said to him: "if failakús will bestow upon me his daughter, nahíd, peace shall be instantly re-established between us--i require no other terms." failakús readily agreed, and sent nahíd with numerous splendid presents to the king of persia, who espoused her, and took her with him to his own country. it so happened that nahíd had an offensive breath, which was extremely disagreeable to her husband, and in consequence he directed enquiries to be made everywhere for a remedy. no place was left unexplored; at length an herb of peculiar efficacy and fragrance was discovered, which never failed to remove the imperfection complained of; and it was accordingly administered with confident hopes of success. nahíd was desired to wash her mouth with the infused herb, and in a few days her breath became balmy and pure. when she found she was likely to become a mother she did not communicate the circumstance, but requested permission to pay a visit to her father. the request was granted; and on her arrival in rúm she was delivered of a son. failakús had no male offspring, and was overjoyed at this event, which he at once determined to keep unknown to dáráb, publishing abroad that a son had been born in his house, and causing it to be understood that the child was his own. when the boy grew up, he was called sikander; and, like rustem, became highly accomplished in all the arts of diplomacy and war. failakús placed him under aristátalís, a sage of great renown, and he soon equalled his master in learning and science. dáráb married another wife, by whom he had another son, named dárá; and when the youth was twenty years of age, the father died. the period of dáráb's reign was thirty-four years. dárá continued the government of the empire in the same spirit as his father; claiming custom and tribute from the inferior rulers, with similar strictness and decision. after the death of failakús, sikander became the king of rúm; and refusing to pay the demanded tribute to persia, went to war with dárá, whom he killed in battle; the particulars of these events will be presently shown. failakús reigned twenty-four years. sikander failakús, before his death, placed the crown of sovereignty upon the head of sikander, and appointed aristú, who was one of the disciples of the great aflátún, his vizir. he cautioned him to pursue the path of virtue and rectitude, and to cast from his heart every feeling of vanity and pride; above all he implored him to be just and merciful, and said:-- "think not that thou art wise, but ignorant, and ever listen to advice and counsel; we are but dust, and from the dust created; and what our lives but helplessness and sorrow!" sikander for a time attended faithfully to the instructions of his father, and to the counsel of aristú, both in public and private affairs. upon sikander's elevation to the throne, dárá sent an envoy to him to claim the customary tribute, but he received for answer: "the time is past when rúm acknowledged the superiority of persia. it is now thy turn to pay tribute to rúm. if my demand be refused, i will immediately invade thy dominions; and think not that i shall be satisfied with the conquest of persia alone, the whole world shall be mine; therefore prepare for war." dárá had no alternative, not even submission, and accordingly assembled his army, for sikander was already in full march against him. upon the confines of persia the armies came in sight of each other, when sikander, in the assumed character of an envoy, was resolved to ascertain the exact condition of the enemy. with this view he entered the persian camp, and dárá allowing the person whom he supposed an ambassador, to approach, enquired what message the king of rúm had sent to him. "hear me!" said the pretended envoy: "sikander has not invaded thy empire for the exclusive purpose of fighting, but to know its history, its laws, and customs, from personal inspection. his object is to travel through the whole world. why then should he make war upon thee? give him but a free passage through thy kingdom, and nothing more is required. however if it be thy wish to proceed to hostilities, he apprehends nothing from the greatness of thy power." dárá was astonished at the majestic air and dignity of the envoy, never having witnessed his equal, and he anxiously said:-- "what is thy name, from whom art thou descended? for that commanding front, that fearless eye, bespeaks illustrious birth. art thou indeed sikander, whom my fancy would believe thee, so eloquent in speech, in mien so noble?" "no!" said the envoy, "no such rank is mine, sikander holds among his numerous host thousands superior to the humble slave who stands before thee. it is not for me to put upon myself the air of kings, to ape their manners and their lofty state." dárá could not help smiling, and ordered refreshments and wine to be brought. he filled a cup and gave it to the envoy, who drank it off, but did not, according to custom, return the empty goblet to the cup-bearer. the cup-bearer demanded the cup, and dárá asked the envoy why he did not give it back. "it is the custom in my country," said the envoy, "when a cup is once given into an ambassador's hands, never to receive it back again." dárá was still more amused by this explanation, and presented to him another cup, and successively four, which the envoy did not fail to appropriate severally in the same way. in the evening a feast was held, and sikander partook of the delicious refreshments that had been prepared for him; but in the midst of the entertainment one of the persons present recognized him, and immediately whispered to dárá that his enemy was in his power. sikander's sharp and cautious eye now marked the changing scene, and up he sprang, but first snatched the four cups, and rushing from the tent, vaulted upon his horse, and rode away. so instantaneous was the act, amazed the assembly rose, and presently a troop was ordered in pursuit--but night, dark night, baffled their search, and checked their eager speed. as soon as he reached his own army, he sent for aristátalís and his courtiers, and exultingly displayed to them the four golden cups. "these," said he, "have i taken from my enemy, i have taken them from his own table, and before his own eyes. his strength and numbers too i have ascertained, and my success is certain." no time was now lost in arrangements for the battle. the armies engaged, and they fought seven days without a decisive blow being struck. on the eighth, dárá was compelled to fly, and his legions, defeated and harassed, were pursued by the rúmís with great slaughter to the banks of the euphrates. sikander now returned to take possession of the capital. in the meantime dárá collected his scattered forces together, and again tried his fortune, but he was again defeated. after his second success, the conqueror devoted himself so zealously to conciliate and win the affections of the people, that they soon ceased to remember their former king with any degree of attachment to his interests. sikander said to them: "persia indeed is my inheritance: i am no stranger to you, for i am myself descended from dáráb; you may therefore safely trust to my justice and paternal care, in everything that concerns your welfare." the result was, that legion after legion united in his cause, and consolidated his power. when dárá was informed of the universal disaffection of his army, he said to the remaining friends who were personally devoted to him: "alas! my subjects have been deluded by the artful dissimulation and skill of sikander; your next misfortune will be the captivity of your wives and children. yes, your wives and children will be made the slaves of the conquerors." a few troops, still faithful to their unfortunate king, offered to make another effort against the enemy, and dárá was too grateful and too brave to discountenance their enthusiastic fidelity, though with such little chance of success. a fragment of an army was consequently brought into action, and the result was what had been anticipated. dárá was again a fugitive; and after the defeat, escaped with three hundred men into the neighboring desert. sikander captured his wife and family, but magnanimously restored them to the unfortunate monarch, who, destitute of all further hope, now asked for a place of refuge in his own dominions, and for that he offered him all the buried treasure of his ancestors. sikander, in reply, invited him to his presence; and promised to restore him to his throne, that he might himself be enabled to pursue other conquests; but dárá refused to go, although advised by his nobles to accept the invitation. "i am willing to put myself to death," said he with emotion, "but i cannot submit to this degradation. i cannot go before him, and thus personally acknowledge his authority over me." resolved upon this point, he wrote to faúr, one of the sovereigns of ind, to request his assistance, and faúr recommended that he should pay him a visit for the purpose of concerting what measures should be adopted. this correspondence having come to the knowledge of sikander, he took care that his enemy should be intercepted in whatever direction he might proceed. dárá had two ministers, named mahiyár and jamúsipár, who, finding that according to the predictions of the astrologers their master would in a few days fall into the hands of sikander, consulted together, and thought they had better put him to death themselves, in order that they might get into favor with sikander. it was night, and the soldiers of the escort were dispersed at various distances, and the vizirs were stationed on each side of the king. as they travelled on, jamúsipár took an opportunity of plunging his dagger into dárá's side, and mahiyár gave another blow, which felled the monarch to the ground. they immediately sent the tidings of this event to sikander, who hastened to the spot, and the opening daylight presented to his view the wounded king. dismounting quickly, he in sorrow placed the head of dárá on his lap, and wept in bitterness of soul, to see that form mangled with ghastly wounds. dárá still breathed; and when he lifted up his eyes and beheld sikander, he groaned deeply. sikander said, "rise up, that we may convey thee to a place of safety, and apply the proper remedies to thy wounds."--"alas!" replied dárá, "the time for remedies is past. i leave thee to heaven, and may thy reign give peace and happiness to the empire."--"never," said sikander, "never did i desire to see thee thus mangled and fallen--never to witness this sight! if the almighty should spare thy life, thou shalt again be the monarch of persia, and i will go from hence. on my mother's word, thou and i are sons of the same father. it is this brotherly affection which now wrings my heart!" saying this, the tears chased each other down his cheeks in such abundance that they fell upon the face of dárá. again, he said, "thy murderers shall meet with merited vengeance, they shall be punished to the uttermost." dárá blessed him, and said, "my end is approaching, but thy sweet discourse and consoling kindness have banished all my grief. i shall now die with a mind at rest. weep no more-- "my course is finished, thine is scarce begun; but hear my dying wish, my last request: preserve the honour of my family, preserve it from disgrace. i have a daughter dearer to me than life, her name is roshung; espouse her, i beseech thee--and if heaven should bless thee with a boy, o! let his name be isfendiyár, that he may propagate with zeal the sacred doctrines of zerdusht, the zendavesta, then my soul will be happy in heaven; and he, at náu-rúz tide, will also hold the festival i love, and at the altar light the holy fire; nor will he cease his labour, till the faith of lohurásp be everywhere accepted, and everywhere believed the true religion." sikander promised that he would assuredly fulfil the wishes he had expressed, and then dárá placed the palm of his brother's hand on his mouth, and shortly afterwards expired. sikander again wept bitterly, and then the body was placed on a golden couch, and he attended it in sorrow to the grave. after the burial of dárá, the two ministers, jamúsipár and mahiyár, were brought near the tomb, and executed upon the dar. just vengeance upon the guilty head, for they their generous monarch's blood had shed. sikander had now no rival to the throne of persia, and he commenced his government under the most favorable auspices. he continued the same customs and ordinances which were handed down to him, and retained every one in his established rank and occupation. he gladdened the heart by his justice and liberality. keeping in mind his promise to dárá, he now wrote to the mother of roshung, and communicating to her the dying solicitations of the king, requested her to send roshung to him, that he might fulfil the last wish of his brother. the wife of dárá immediately complied with the command, and sent her daughter with various presents to sikander, and she was on her arrival married to the conqueror, acceding to the customs and laws of the empire. sikander loved her exceedingly, and on her account remained some time in persia, but he at length determined to proceed into ind to conquer that country of enchanters and enchantment. on approaching ind he wrote to kaid, summoning him to surrender his kingdom, and received from him the following answer: "i will certainly submit to thy authority, but i have four things which no other person in the world possesses, and which i cannot relinquish. i have a daughter, beautiful as an angel of paradise, a wise minister, a skilful physician, and a goblet of inestimable value!" upon receiving this extraordinary reply, sikander again addressed a letter to him, in which he peremptorily required all these things immediately. kaid not daring to refuse, or make any attempt at evasion, reluctantly complied with the requisition. sikander received the minister and the physician with great politeness and attention, and in the evening held a splendid feast, at which he espoused the beautiful daughter of kaid, and taking the goblet from her hands, drank off the wine with which it was filled. after that, kaid himself waited upon sikander, and personally acknowledged his authority and dominion. sikander then proceeded to claim the allegiance and homage of faúr, the king of kanúj, and wrote to him to submit to his power; but faúr returned a haughty answer, saying:-- "kaid indí is a coward to obey thee, but i am faúr, descended from a race of matchless warriors; and shall i submit, and to a greek!" sikander was highly incensed at this bold reply. the force he had now with him amounted to eighty thousand men; that is, thirty thousand iránians, forty thousand rúmís, and ten thousand indís. faúr had sixty thousand horsemen, and two thousand elephants. the troops of sikander were greatly terrified at the sight of so many elephants, which gave the enemy such a tremendous superiority. aristátalís, and some other ingenious counsellors, were requested to consult together to contrive some means of counteracting the power of the war-elephants, and they suggested the construction of an iron horse, and the figure of a rider also of iron, to be placed upon wheels like a carriage, and drawn by a number of horses. a soldier, clothed in iron armor, was to follow the vehicle--his hands and face besmeared with combustible matter, and this soldier, armed with a long staff, was at an appointed signal, to pierce the belly of the horse and also of the rider, previously filled with combustibles, so that when the ignited point came in contact with them, the whole engine would make a tremendous explosion and blaze in the air. sikander approved of this invention, and collected all the blacksmiths and artisans in the country to construct a thousand machines of this description with the utmost expedition, and as soon as they were completed, he prepared for action. faúr too pushed forward with his two thousand elephants in advance; but when the kanújians beheld such a formidable array they were surprised, and faúr anxiously inquired from his spies what it could be. upon being told that it was sikander's artillery, his troops pushed the elephants against the enemy with vigor, at which moment the combustibles were fired by the rúmís, and the machinery exploding, many elephants were burnt and destroyed, and the remainder, with the troops, fled in confusion. sikander then encountered faúr, and after a severe contest, slew him, and became ruler of the kingdom of kanúj. after the conquest of kanúj, sikander went to mekka, carrying thither rich presents and offerings. from thence he proceeded to another city, where he was received with great homage by the most illustrious of the nation. he enquired of them if there was anything wonderful or extraordinary in their country, that he might go to see it, and they replied that there were two trees in the kingdom, one a male, the other a female, from which a voice proceeded. the male-tree spoke in the day, and the female-tree in the night, and whoever had a wish, went thither to have his desires accomplished. sikander immediately repaired to the spot, and approaching it, he hoped in his heart that a considerable part of his life still remained to be enjoyed. when he came under the tree, a terrible sound arose and rung in his ears, and he asked the people present what it meant. the attendant priest said it implied that fourteen years of his life still remained. sikander, at this interpretation of the prophetic sound, wept and the burning tears ran down his cheeks. again he asked, "shall i return to rúm, and see my mother and children before i die?" and the answer was, "thou wilt die at kashán.[ ] "nor mother, nor thy family at home wilt thou behold again, for thou wilt die, closing thy course of glory at kashán." sikander left the place in sorrow, and pursued his way towards rúm. in his progress he arrived at another city, and the inhabitants gave him the most honorable welcome, representing to him, however, that they were dreadfully afflicted by the presence of two demons or giants, who constantly assailed them in the night, devouring men and goats and whatever came in their way. sikander asked their names; and they replied, yájuj and májuj (gog and magog). he immediately ordered a barrier to be erected five hundred yards high, and three hundred yards wide, and when it was finished he went away. the giants, notwithstanding all their efforts, were unable to scale this barrier, and in consequence the inhabitants pursued their occupations without the fear of molestation. to scenes of noble daring still he turned his ardent spirit--for he knew not fear. still he led on his legions--and now came to a strange place, where countless numbers met his wondering view--countless inhabitants crowding the city streets, and neighbouring plains; and in the distance presently he saw a lofty mountain reaching to the stars. onward proceeding, at its foot he found a guardian-dragon, terrible in form, ready with open jaws to crush his victim; but unappalled, sikander him beholding with steady eye, which scorned to turn aside, sprang forward, and at once the monster slew. ascending then the mountain, many a ridge, oft resting on the way, he reached the summit, where the dead corse of an old saint appeared wrapt in his grave-clothes, and in gems imbedded. in gold and precious jewels glittering round, seeming to show what man is, mortal man! wealth, worldly pomp, the baubles of ambition, all left behind, himself a heap of dust! none ever went upon that mountain top, but sought for knowledge; and sikander hoped when he had reached its cloudy eminence, to see the visions of futurity arise from that departed, holy man! and soon he heard a voice: "thy time is nigh! yet may i thy career on earth unfold. it will be thine to conquer many a realm, win many a crown; thou wilt have many friends and numerous foes, and thy devoted head will be uplifted to the very heavens. renowned and glorious shalt thou be; thy name immortal; but, alas! thy time is nigh!" at these prophetic words sikander wept, and from that ominous mountain hastened down. after that sikander journeyed on to the city of kashán, where he fell sick, and in a few days, according to the oracle and the prophecy, expired. he had scarcely breathed his last, when aristú, and bilniyás the physician, and his family, entered kashán, and found him dead. they beat their faces, and tore their hair, and mourned for him forty days. firdusi's invocation thee i invoke, the lord of life and light! beyond imagination pure and bright! to thee, sufficing praise no tongue can give, we are thy creatures, and in thee we live! thou art the summit, depth, the all in all, creator, guardian of this earthly ball; whatever is, thou art--protector, king, from thee all goodness, truth, and mercy spring. o pardon the misdeeds of him who now bends in thy presence with a suppliant brow. teach them to tread the path thy prophet trod; to wash his heart from sin, to know his god; and gently lead him to that home of rest, where filled with holiest rapture dwell the blest. saith not that book divine, from heaven supplied, "mustafa is the true, the unerring guide, the purest, greatest prophet!" next him came wise abu buker, of unblemished name; then omer taught the faith, unknown to guile, and made the world with vernal freshness smile; then othmán brave th' imperial priesthood graced; all, led by him, the prophet's faith embraced. the fourth was alí; he, the spouse adored of fatima, then spread the saving word. alí, of whom mahommed spoke elate, "i am the city of knowledge--he my gate." alí the blest. whoever shall recline a supplicant at his all-powerful shrine, enjoys both this life and the next; in this, all earthly good, in that, eternal bliss! from records true my legends i rehearse, and string the pearls of wisdom in my verse, that in the glimmering days of life's decline, its fruits, in wealth and honor, may be mine. my verse, a structure pointing to the skies; whose solid strength destroying time defies. all praise the noble work, save only those of impious life, or base malignant foes; all blest with learning read, and read again, the sovereign smiles, and thus approves my strain: "richer by far, firdusi, than a mine of precious gems, is this bright lay of thine." centuries may pass away, but still my page will be the boast of each succeeding age. praise, praise to mahmud, who of like renown, in battle or the banquet, fills the throne; lord of the realms of chín and hindústán, sovereign and lord of persia and túrán, with his loud voice he rends the flintiest ear; on land a tiger fierce, untouched by fear, and on the wave, he seems the crocodile that prowls amidst the waters of the nile. generous and brave, his equal is unknown; in deeds of princely worth he stands alone. the infant in the cradle lisps his name; the world exults in mahmud's spotless fame. in festive hours heaven smiles upon his truth; in combat deadly as the dragon's tooth; bounteous in all things, his exhaustless hand diffuses blessings through the grateful land; and, of the noblest thoughts and actions, lord; the soul of gabriel breathes in every word, may heaven with added glory crown his days; praise, praise to mighty mahmud--everlasting praise! firdusi's satire on mahmud know, tyrant as thou art, this earthly state is not eternal, but of transient date; fear god, then, and afflict not human-kind; to merit heaven, be thou to heaven resigned. afflict not even the ant; though weak and small, it breathes and lives, and life is sweet to all. knowing my temper, firm, and stern, and bold, didst thou not, tyrant, tremble to behold my sword blood-dropping? hadst thou not the sense to shrink from giving man like me offence? what could impel thee to an act so base? what, but to earn and prove thy own disgrace? why was i sentenced to be trod upon, and crushed to death by elephants? by one whose power i scorn! couldst thou presume that i would be appalled by thee, whom i defy? i am the lion, i, inured to blood, and make the impious and the base my food; and i could grind thy limbs, and spread them far as nile's dark waters their rich treasures bear. fear thee! i fear not man, but god alone, i only bow to his almighty throne. inspired by him my ready numbers flow; guarded by him i dread no earthly foe. thus in the pride of song i pass my days, offering to heaven my gratitude and praise. from every trace of sense and feeling free, when thou art dead, what will become of thee? if thou shouldst tear me limb from limb, and cast my dust and ashes to the angry blast, firdusi still would live, since on thy name, mahmud, i did not rest my hopes of fame in the bright page of my heroic song, but on the god of heaven, to whom belong boundless thanksgivings, and on him whose love supports the faithful in the realms above, the mighty prophet! none who e'er reposed on him, existence without hope has closed. and thou wouldst hurl me underneath the tread of the wild elephant, till i were dead! dead! by that insult roused, i should become an elephant in power, and seal thy doom-- mahmud! if fear of man hath never awed thy heart, at least fear thy creator, god. full many a warrior of illustrious worth, full many of humble, of imperial birth: túr, sílim, jemshíd, minúchihr the brave, have died; for nothing had the power to save these mighty monarchs from the common doom; they died, but blest in memory still they bloom. thus kings too perish--none on earth remain, since all things human seek the dust again. o, had thy father graced a kingly throne, thy mother been for royal virtues known, a different fate the poet then had shared, honors and wealth had been his just reward; but how remote from thee a glorious line! no high, ennobling ancestry is thine; from a vile stock thy bold career began, a blacksmith was thy sire of isfahán. alas! from vice can goodness ever spring? is mercy hoped for in a tyrant king? can water wash the ethiopian white? can we remove the darkness from the night? the tree to which a bitter fruit is given, would still be bitter in the bowers of heaven; and a bad heart keeps on its vicious course; or if it changes, changes for the worse; whilst streams of milk, where eden's flowrets blow, acquire more honied sweetness as they flow. the reckless king who grinds the poor like thee, must ever be consigned to infamy! now mark firdusi's strain, his book of kings will ever soar upon triumphant wings. all who have listened to its various lore rejoice, the wise grow wiser than before; heroes of other times, of ancient days, forever flourish in my sounding lays; have i not sung of káús, tús, and gíw; of matchless rustem, faithful, still, and true. of the great demon-binder, who could throw his kamund to the heavens, and seize his foe! of húsheng, feridún, and sám suwár, lohurásp, kai-khosráu, and isfendiyár; gushtásp, arjásp, and him of mighty name, gúdarz, with eighty sons of martial fame! the toil of thirty years is now complete, record sublime of many a warlike feat, written midst toil and trouble, but the strain awakens every heart, and will remain a lasting stimulus to glorious deeds; for even the bashful maid, who kindling reads, becomes a warrior. thirty years of care, urged on by royal promise, did i bear, and now, deceived and scorned, the aged bard is basely cheated of his pledged reward! [footnotes to the shÁh nÁmeh] [footnote : love at first sight, and of the most enthusiastic kind, is the passion described in all persian poems, as if a whole life of love were condensed into one moment. it is all wild and rapturous. it has nothing of a rational cast. a casual glance from an unknown beauty often affords the subject of a poem. the poets whom dr. johnson has denominated metaphysical, such as donne, jonson, and cowley, bear a strong resemblance to the persians on the subject of love. now, sure, within this twelvemonth past, i've loved at least some twenty years or more; th' account of love runs much more fast, than that with which our life does score: so, though my life be short, yet i may prove, the great methusalem of love!!! "love and life."--cowley. the odes of háfiz also, with all their spirit and richness of expression, abound in conceit and extravagant metaphor. there is, however, something very beautiful in the passage which may be paraphrased thus: zephyr thro' thy locks is straying, stealing fragrance, charms displaying; should it pass where háfiz lies, from his conscious dust would rise, flowrets of a thousand dyes!] [footnote : ancient scythia embraced the whole of túrán and the northern part of persia. the túránians are the scythians of the greek historians, who are said, about the year b.c. , to have invaded the kingdom of the medes. túrán, which is the ancient name of the country of turkistán, appears from des guignes, to be the source and fountain of all the celebrated scythian nations, which, under the name of goths and vandals, subsequently overran the roman empire. irán and túrán, according to the oriental historians, comprehended all that is comprised in upper asia, with the exception of india and china. every country beyond the pale of the persian empire was considered barbarous. the great river called by the arabs and persians, jihún or amú, and by the greeks and romans, oxus, divided these two great countries from each other.] [footnote : sám, sám suwár, was the son of narímán. he is said to have vanquished or tamed a great number of animals and terrible monsters, amongst which was one remarkable for its ferocity. this furious animal was called sohám, on account of its being of the color and nature of fire. according to fabulous history, he made it his war-horse, in all his engagements against the demons.] [footnote : the sex of this fabulous animal is not clearly made out! it tells zál that it had nursed him like a _father_, and therefore i have, in this place, adopted the masculine gender, though the preserver of young ones might authorize its being considered a female. the símúrgh is probably neither one nor the other, or both! some have likened the símúrgh to the ippogrif or griffin; but the símúrgh is plainly a biped; others again have supposed that the fable simply meant a holy recluse of the mountains, who nourished and educated the poor child which had been abandoned by its father.] [footnote : this custom is derived from the earliest ages of persia, and has been continued down to the present times with no abatement of its pomp or splendor mr. morier thus speaks of the progress of the embassy to persia:-- "an istakbál composed of fifty horsemen of our mehmandar's tribe, met us about three miles from our encampment; they were succeeded as we advanced by an assemblage on foot, who threw a glass vessel filled with sweetmeats beneath the envoy's horse, a ceremony which we had before witnessed at kauzeroon, and which we again understood to be an honor shared with the king and his sons alone. then came two of the principal merchants of shiraz, accompanied by a boy, the son of mahomed nebee khan, the new governor of bushere. they, however, incurred the envoy's displeasure by not dismounting from their horses, a form always observed in persia by those of lower rank, when they met a superior. we were thus met by three istakbáls during the course of the day."] [footnote : the province of mázinderán, of which the principal city is amol, comprehends the whole of the southern coast of the caspian sea. it was known to the ancients by the name of hyrcania. at the period to which the text refers, the country was in the possession of demons.] [footnote : the fort called killah suffeed, lies about seventy-six miles northwest of the city of shiraz. it is of an oblong form, and encloses a level space at the top of the mountain, which is covered with delightful verdure, and watered by numerous springs. the ascent is near three miles, and for the last five or six hundred yards, the summit is so difficult of approach, that the slightest opposition, if well directed, must render it impregnable.] [footnote : the numerical strength of the persian and túránian forces appears prodigious on all occasions, but nothing when compared with the army under xerxes at thermopylae, which, with the numerous retinue of servants, eunuchs, and women that attended it, is said to have amounted to no less than , , souls.] [footnote : herodotus speaks of a people confederated with the army of xerxes, who employed the noose. "their principal dependence in action is upon cords made of twisted leather, which they use in this manner: when they engage an enemy, they throw out these cords, having a noose at the extremity; if they entangle in them either horse or man, they without difficulty put them to death."--beloe's transl. polymnia, sec. .] [footnote : istakhar, also called persepolis, and chehel-minar, or the forty pillars. this city was said to have been laid in ruins by alexander after the conquest of darius.] [footnote : kai-káús, the second king of persia of the dynasty called kaiánides. he succeeded kai-kobád, about six hundred years b.c. according to firdusi he was a foolish tyrannical prince. he appointed rustem captain-general of the armies, to which the lieutenant-generalship and the administration of the state was annexed, under the title of "the champion of the world." he also gave him a taj, or crown of gold, which kings only were accustomed to wear, and granted him the privilege of giving audience seated on a throne of gold. it is said that kai-káús applied himself much to the study of astronomy, and that he founded two great observatories, the one at babel, and the other on the tigris.] [footnote : the armor called burgustuwán almost covered the horse, and as usually made of leather and felt-cloth.] [footnote : in this hunting excursion he is completely armed, being supplied with spear, sword, shield, mace, bow and arrows. like the knight-errants of after times, he seldom even slept unarmed. single combat and the romantic enterprises of european chivalry may indeed be traced to the east. rustem was a most illustrious example of all that is pious, disinterested, and heroic. the adventure now describing is highly characteristic of a chivalrous age. in the dissertation prefixed to richardson's dictionary, mention is made of a famous arabian knight-errant called abu mahommud albatal, "who wandered everywhere in quest of adventures, and redressing grievances. he was killed in the year ."] [footnote : as a proof of her innocence tahmíneh declares to rustem, "no person has ever seen me out of my private chamber, or even heard the sound of my voice." it is but just to remark, that the seclusion in which women of rank continue in persia, and other parts of the east, is not, by them, considered intolerable, or even a hardship. custom has not only rendered it familiar, but happy. it has nothing of the unprofitable severity of the cloister. the zenanas are supplied with everything that can please and gratify a reasonable wish, and it is well known that the women of the east have influence and power, more flattering and solid, than the free unsecluded beauties of the western world.] [footnote : in percy's collection, there is an old song which contains a similar idea. you meaner beauties of the night, that poorly satisfie our eies, more by your number, than your light; you common people of the skies, what are you when the moon shall rise? sir henry wotton.] [footnote : kus is a tymbal, or large brass drum, which is beat in the palaces or camps of eastern princes.] [footnote : it appears throughout the sháh námeh that whenever any army was put in motion, the inhabitants and the country, whether hostile or friendly, were equally given up to plunder and devastation, and "everything in their progress was burnt and destroyed."] [footnote : literally, húmán was not at first aware that sohráb was wounded in the liver. in this organ, oriental as well as the greek and roman poets, place the residence of love.] [footnote : the paper upon which the letters of royal and distinguished personages in the east are written is usually perfumed, and covered with curious devices in gold. this was scented with amber. the degree of embellishment is generally regulated according to the rank of the party.] [footnote : four days were consumed in uninterrupted feasting. this seems to have been an ancient practice previous to the commencement of any important undertaking, or at setting out on a journey.] [footnote : zúára, it will be remembered, was the brother of rustem, and had the immediate superintendence of the zábul troops.] [footnote : the original is, "seize and inflict upon him the punishment of the dar." according to burháni-katia, dar is a tree upon which felons are hanged. but the general acceptation of the term is breaking or tearing the body upon a stake.] [footnote : in this speech rustem recounts the services which he had performed for káús. he speaks of his conquests in egypt, china, hámáverán, rúm, súk-sar, and mázinderán. thus achilles boasts of his unrequited achievements in the cause of greece. the warriors now, with sad forebodings wrung, i sacked twelve ample cities on the main, and twelve lay smoking on the trojan plain. pope.--iliad ix. .] [footnote : literally, "kings ought to be endowed with judgment and discretion; no advantage can arise from impetuosity and rage." gúdarz was one of the greatest generals of persia, he conquered judea, and took jerusalem under the reign of lohurásp, of the first dynasty of persia, and sustained many wars against afrásiyáb under the kings of the second dynasty. he was the father of gíw, who is also celebrated for his valor in the following reigns. the opinion of this venerable and distinguished warrior appears to have had considerable weight and influence with káús.] [footnote : káús, in acknowledging the violence of his disposition, uses a singular phrase: "when you departed in anger, champion! i repented; ashes fell into my mouth." a similar metaphor is used in hindústaní: if a person falls under the displeasure of his friend, he says, "ashes have fallen into my meat": meaning, that his happiness is gone.] [footnote : this is one of firdusi's favorite similes. "my heart became as slender as the new moon."] [footnote : the beautiful arbors referred to in the text are often included within the walls of eastern palaces. they are fancifully fitted up, and supplied with reservoirs, fountains, and flower-trees. these romantic garden-pavilions are called kiosks in turkey, and are generally situated upon an eminence near a running stream.] [footnote : milton alludes to this custom in paradise lost: where the gorgeous east with richest hand showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold. in the note on this passage by warburton, it is said to have been an eastern ceremony, at the coronation of their kings, to powder them with gold-dust and seed-pearl. the expression in firdusi is, "he showered or scattered gems." it was usual at festivals, and the custom still exists, to throw money amongst the people. in háfiz, the term used is nisar, which is of the same import. clarke, in the second volume of his travels, speaks of the four principal sultanas of the seraglio at constantinople being powdered with diamonds: "long spangled robes, open in front, with pantaloons embroidered in gold and silver, and covered by a profusion of pearls and precious stones, displayed their persons to great advantage. their hair hung in loose and very thick tresses on each side of their cheeks, falling quite down to the waist, and covering their shoulders behind. those tresses were quite powdered with diamonds, not displayed according to any studied arrangement, but as if carelessly scattered, by handfuls, among their flowing locks." --vol. ii. p. .] [footnote : in his descriptions of battle-array, firdusi seldom omits "golden slippers," which, however, i have not preserved in this place.] [footnote : the original is sandur[=u]s, sandaraca; for which i have substituted amber, sandur[=u]s is the arabic name for gum juniper.] [footnote : the banners were adorned with the figure of an elephant, to denote his royal descent.] [footnote : the text says that he was also the son-in-law of rustem.] [footnote : the word guráz signifies a wild boar, but this acceptation is not very accordant to mussulman notions, and consequently it is not supposed, by the orthodox, to have that meaning in the text. it is curious that the name of the warrior, guráz, should correspond with the bearings on the standard. this frequently obtains in the heraldry of europe. family bearings seem to be used in every country of any degree of civilization. krusenstern, the russian circumnavigator, speaking of the japanese, says, "everyone has his family arms worked into his clothes, in different places, about the size of a half dollar, a practice usual to both sexes; and in this manner any person may be recognized, and the family to which he belongs easily ascertained. a young lady wears her father's arms until after her marriage, when she assumes those of her husband. the greatest mark of honor which a prince or a governor can confer upon any one, is to give him a cloak with his arms upon it, the person having such a one wearing his own arms upon his under dress."] [footnote : firdusi considers this to be destiny! it would have been natural in sohráb to have gloried in the fame of his father, but from an inevitable dispensation, his lips are here sealed on that subject; and he inquires of rustem as if he only wanted to single him out for the purpose of destroying him. the people of persia are all fatalists.] [footnote : this passage will remind the classical reader of the speech of themistocles, in plutarch, addressed to xerxes. the persian king had assured him of his protection, and ordered him to declare freely whatever he had to propose concerning greece. themistocles replied, that a man's discourse was like a piece of tapestry which, when spread open, displays its figures; but when it is folded up, they are hidden and lost; therefore he begged time. the king, delighted with the comparison, bade him take what time he pleased; and he desired a year; in which space he learned the persian language, so as to be able to converse with the king without an interpreter.] [footnote : hujír was the son of gúdarz. a family of the extent mentioned in the text is not of rare occurrence amongst the princes of the east. the king of persia had, in , according to mr. morier, "sixty-five sons!" as the persians make no account of females, it is not known how many daughters he had.] [footnote : the kulub-gah is the centre or heart of the army, where the sovereign or chief of the troops usually remains.] [footnote : ahirmun, a demon, the principle of evil.] [footnote : this girdle was the gift of the king, as a token of affection and gratitude. jonathan gives to david, among other things, his girdle: "because he loved him as his own soul."--i samuel, xviii. . .] [footnote : a crocodile in war, with firdusi, is a figure of great power and strength.] [footnote : it is difficult to account for this denial of his name, as there appears to be no equivalent cause. but all the famous heroes, described in the sháh námeh, are as much distinguished for their address and cunning, as their bravery.] [footnote : the original is um[=u]d, which appears to have been a weapon made of iron. um[=u]d also signifies a column, a beam.] [footnote : thus also sa'di "knowest thou what zál said to rustem the champion? never calculate upon the weakness or insignificance of an enemy."] [footnote : rustem is as much distinguished for piety as bravery. every success is attributed by him to the favor of heaven. in the achievement of his labors in the heft-khan, his devotion is constant and he everywhere justly acknowledges that power and victory are derived from god alone.] [footnote : the expression in the original is remarkable. "assuredly, as thou hast thirsted for blood, destiny will also thirst for thine, and the very hairs upon thy body will become daggers to destroy thee." this passage is quoted in the preface to the sháh námeh, collated by order of bayisunghur khan, as the production of the poet unsarí. unsarí was one of the seven poets whom mahmud appointed to give specimens of their powers in versifying the history of the kings of persia. the story of rustem and sohráb fell to unsarí, and his arrangement of it contained the above verses, which so delighted the sultan that he directed the poet to undertake the whole work. this occurred before firdusi was introduced at court and eclipsed every competitor. in compliment to mahmud, perhaps he ingrafted them on his own poem, or more probably they have been interpolated since.] [footnote : jemshíd's glory and misfortunes, as said before, are the constant theme of admiration and reflection amongst the poets of persia.] [footnote : these medicated draughts are often mentioned in romances. the reader will recollect the banter upon them in don quixote, where the knight of la enumerates to sancho the cures which had been performed upon many valorous champions, covered with wounds. the hindús, in their books on medicine, talk of drugs for the recovery of the dead!] [footnote : zúára conducted the troops of afrásiyáb across the jihún. rustem remained on the field of battle till his return.] [footnote : maníjeh was the daughter of afrásiyáb.] [footnote : theocritus introduces a greek singing-girl in idyllium xv, at the festival of adonis. in the arabian nights, the caliph is represented at his feasts surrounded by troops of the most beautiful females playing on various instruments.] [footnote : kashán is here made to be the deathplace of alexander, whilst, according to the greek historians, he died suddenly at babylon, as foretold by the magicians, on the st of april, b.c. , in the thirty-second year of his age.] the rubÁiyÁt of omar khayyÁm [_translation by edward fitzgerald_] introduction it is seldom that we come across a poem which it is impossible to classify in accordance with european standards. yet such a poem is omar's "rubáiyát." if elegiac poetry is the expression of subjective emotion, sentiment, and thought, we might class this persian masterpiece as elegy; but an elegy is a sustained train of connected imagery and reflection. the "rubáiyát" is, on the other hand, a string of quatrains, each of which has all the complete and independent significance of an epigram. yet there is so little of that lightness which should characterize an epigram that we can scarcely put omar in the same category with martial, and it is easy to understand why the author should have been contented to name his book the "rubáiyát," or quatrains, leaving it to each individual to make, if he chooses, a more definite description of the work. to english readers, mr. edward fitzgerald's version of the poem has provided one of the most masterly translations that was ever made from an oriental classic. for omar, like háfiz, is one of the most persian of persian writers. there is in this volume all the gorgeousness of the east: all the luxury of the most refined civilization. omar's bowers are always full of roses; the notes of the nightingale tremble through his stanzas. the intoxication of wine and the bright eyes of lovely women are ever present to his mind. the feast, the revel, the joys of love, and the calm satisfaction of appetite make up the grosser elements in his song. but the prevailing note of his music is that of deep and settled melancholy, breaking out occasionally into words of misanthropy and despair. the keenness and intensity of this poet's style seem to be inspired by an ever-present fear of death. this sense of approaching fate is never absent from him, even in his most genial moments; and the strange fascination which he exercises over his readers is largely due to the thrilling sweetness of some passage which ends in a note of dejection and anguish. strange to say, omar was the greatest mathematician of his day. the exactness of his fine and analytic mind is reflected in the exquisite finish, the subtile wit, the delicate descriptive touches, that abound in his quatrains. his verses hang together like gems of the purest water exquisitely cut and clasped by "jacinth work of subtlest jewelry." but apart from their masterly technique, these quatrains exhibit in their general tone the revolt of a clear intellect from the prevailing bigotry and fanaticism of an established religion. there is in the poet's mind the lofty indignation of one who sees, in its true light, the narrowness of an ignorant and hypocritical clergy, yet can find no solid ground on which to build up for himself a theory of supernaturalism, illumined by hope. yet there are traces of mysticism in his writings, which only serve to emphasize his profound longing for some knowledge of the invisible, and his foreboding that the grave is the "be-all" and "end-all" of life. the poet speaks in tones of bitterest lamentation when he sees succumb to fate all that is bright and fresh and beautiful. at his brightest moments he gives expression to a vague pantheism, but all his views of the power that lies behind life are obscured and perturbed by sceptical despondency. he is the great man of science, who, like other men of genius too deeply immersed in the study of natural law or abstract reasoning, has lost all touch with that great world of spiritual things which we speak of as religion, and which we can only come in contact with through those instinctive emotions which scientific analysis very often does so much to stifle. there are many men of science who, like darwin, have come, through the study of material phenomena in nature, to a condition of mind which is indifferent in matters of religion. but the remarkable feature in the case of omar is that he, who could see so clearly and feel so acutely, has been enabled also to embody in a poem of imperishable beauty the opinions which he shared with many of his contemporaries. the range of his mind can only be measured by supposing that sir isaac newton had written manfred or childe harold. but even more remarkable is what we may call the modernity of this twelfth century persian poet. we sometimes hear it said that great periods of civilization end in a manifestation of infidelity and despair. there can be no doubt that a great deal of restlessness and misgiving characterizes the minds of to-day in regard to all questions of religion. europe, in the nineteenth century, as reflected in the works of byron, spencer, darwin, and schopenhauer, is very much in the same condition as intellectual persia in the twelfth century, so far as the pessimism of omar is representative of his day. this accounts for the wide popularity of fitzgerald's "rubáiyát." the book has been read eagerly and fondly studied, as if it were a new book of _fin du siècle_ production: the last efflorescence of intellectual satiety, cynicism, and despair. yet the book is eight centuries old, and it has been the task of this seer of the east to reveal to the west the heart-sickness under which the nations were suffering. omar khayyám--that is, omar the tent-maker--was born in the year at níshapúr, the little damascus (as it is called) of persia: famous as a seat of learning, as a place of religion, and a centre of commerce. in the days of omar it was by far the most important city of khorasan. the poet, like his father before him, held a court office under the vizir of his day. it was from the stipend which he thus enjoyed that he secured leisure for mathematical and literary work. his father had been a khayyám, or tent-maker, and his gifted son doubtless inherited the handicraft as well as the name; but his position at court released him from the drudgery of manual labor. he was thus also brought in contact with the luxurious side of life, and became acquainted with those scenes of pleasure which he recalls only to add poignancy to the sorrow with which he contemplates the yesterday of life. omar's astronomical researches were continued for many years, and his algebra has been translated into french: but his greatest claim to renown is based upon his immortal quatrains, which will always live as the best expression of a phase of mind constantly recurring in the history of civilization, from the days of anaxagoras to those of darwin and spencer. e.w. omar khayyÁm by john hay _address delivered december , , at the dinner of the omar khayyám club, london_. i can never forget my emotions when i first saw fitzgerald's translations of the quatrains. keats, in his sublime ode on chapman's homer, has described the sensation once for all: "then felt i like some watcher of the skies when a new planet swims into his ken." the exquisite beauty, the faultless form, the singular grace of those amazing stanzas were not more wonderful than the depth and breadth of their profound philosophy, their knowledge of life, their dauntless courage, their serene facing of the ultimate problems of life and death. of course the doubt did not spare me, which has assailed many as ignorant as i was of the literature of the east, whether it was the poet or the translator to whom was due this splendid result. was it, in fact, a reproduction of an antique song, or a mystification of a great modern, careless of fame and scornful of his time? could it be possible that in the eleventh century, so far away as khorasan, so accomplished a man of letters lived, with such distinction, such breadth, such insight, such calm disillusions, such cheerful and jocund despair? was this "weltschmerz," which we thought a malady of our day, endemic in persia in ? my doubt only lasted until i came upon a literal translation of the rubáiyát, and i saw that not the least remarkable quality of fitzgerald's poem was its fidelity to the original. in short, omar was a fitzgerald, or fitzgerald was a reincarnation of omar. it was not to the disadvantage of the latter poet that he followed so closely in the footsteps of the earlier. a man of extraordinary genius had appeared in the world, had sung a song of incomparable beauty and power in an environment no longer worthy of him, in a language of narrow range; for many generations the song was virtually lost; then by a miracle of creation, a poet, a twin-brother in the spirit to the first, was born, who took up the forgotten poem and sang it anew with all its original melody and force, and all the accumulated refinement of ages of art. it seems to me idle to ask which was the greater master; each seems greater than his work. the song is like an instrument of precious workmanship and marvellous tone, which is worthless in common hands, but when it falls, at long intervals, into the hands of the supreme master, it yields a melody of transcendent enchantment to all that have ears to hear. if we look at the sphere of influence of the poets, there is no longer any comparison. omar sang to a half-barbarous province: fitzgerald to the world. wherever the english speech is spoken or read, the "rubáiyát" have taken their place as a classic. there is not a hill post in india, nor a village in england, where there is not a coterie to whom omar khayyám is a familiar friend and a bond of union. in america he has an equal following, in many regions and conditions. in the eastern states his adepts form an esoteric sect; the beautiful volume of drawings by mr. vedder is a centre of delight and suggestion wherever it exists. in the cities of the west you will find the quatrains one of the most thoroughly read books in any club library. i heard them quoted once in one of the most lonely and desolate spots in the high rockies. we had been camping on the great divide, our "roof of the world," where in the space of a few feet you may see two springs, one sending its waters to the polar solitudes, the other to the eternal carib summer. one morning at sunrise, as we were breaking camp, i was startled to hear one of our party, a frontiersman born, intoning these words of sombre majesty:-- "tis but a tent where takes his one day's rest a sultan to the realm of death addrest; the sultan rises, and the dark ferrash strikes, and prepares it for another guest." i thought that sublime setting of primeval forest and pouring canyon was worthy of the lines; i am sure the dewless, crystalline air never vibrated to strains of more solemn music. certainly, our poet can never be numbered among the great writers of all time. he has told no story; he has never unpacked his heart in public; he has never thrown the reins on the neck of the winged horse, and let his imagination carry him where it listed. "ah! the crowd must have emphatic warrant," as browning sang. its suffrages are not for the cool, collected observer, whose eyes no glitter can dazzle, no mist suffuse. the many cannot but resent that air of lofty intelligence, that pale and subtle smile. but he will hold a place forever among that limited number, who, like lucretius and epicurus--without range or defiance, even without unbecoming mirth, look deep into the tangled mysteries of things; refuse credence to the absurd, and allegiance to arrogant authority; sufficiently conscious of fallibility to be tolerant of all opinions; with a faith too wide for doctrine and a benevolence untrammelled by creed; too wise to be wholly poets, and yet too surely poets to be implacably wise. the rubÁiyÁt wake! for the sun, who scatter'd into flight the stars before him from the field of night, drives night along with them from heav'n, and strikes the sultan's turret with a shaft of light. before the phantom of false morning died, methought a voice within the tavern cried, "when all the temple is prepared within, why nods the drowsy worshipper outside?" and, as the cock crew, those who stood before the tavern shouted--"open then the door! you know how little while we have to stay, and, once departed, may return no more." now the new year reviving old desires, the thoughtful soul to solitude retires, where the white hand of moses on the bough puts out, and jesus from the ground suspires. iram indeed is gone with all his rose, and jemshíd's sev'n-ring'd cup where no one knows; but still a ruby kindles in the vine, and many a garden by the water blows. and david's lips are lockt; but in divine high-piping pehleví, with "wine! wine! wine! red wine!"--the nightingale cries to the rose that sallow cheek of hers to incarnadine. come, fill the cup, and in the fire of spring your winter-garment of repentance fling: the bird of time has but a little way to flutter--and the bird is on the wing. whether at níshapúr or babylon, whether the cup with sweet or bitter run, the wine of life keeps oozing drop by drop, the leaves of life keep falling one by one. each morn a thousand roses brings, you say; yes, but where leaves the rose of yesterday? and this first summer month that brings the rose shall take jemshíd and kai-kobád away. well, let it take them! what have we to do with kai-kobád the great, or kai-khosráu? let zál and rustem bluster as they will, or hátím call to supper--heed not you. with me along the strip of herbage strewn that just divides the desert from the sown, where name of slave and sultan is forgot-- and peace to mahmud on his golden throne! a book of verses underneath the bough, a jug of wine, a loaf of bread--and thou beside me singing in the wilderness-- oh, wilderness were paradise enow! some for the glories of this world; and some sigh for the prophet's paradise to come; ah, take the cash, and let the credit go, nor heed the rumble of a distant drum! look to the blowing rose about us--"lo, laughing," she says, "into the world i blow, at once the silken tassel of my purse tear, and its treasure on the garden throw." and those who husbanded the golden grain, and those who flung it to the winds like rain, alike to no such aureate earth are turn'd as, buried once, men want dug up again. the worldly hope men set their hearts upon turns ashes--or it prospers; and anon, like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two--is gone. think, in this batter'd caravanserai whose portals are alternate night and day, how sultan after sultan with his pomp abode his destined hour, and went his way. they say the lion and the lizard keep the courts where jemshíd gloried and drank deep: and báhrám, that great hunter--the wild ass stamps o'er his head, but cannot break his sleep. i sometimes think that never blows so red the rose as where some buried caesar bled; that every hyacinth the garden wears dropt in her lap from some once lovely head. and this reviving herb whose tender green fledges the river-lip on which we lean-- ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows from what once lovely lip it springs unseen! ah, my belovéd, fill the cup that clears to-day of past regrets and future fears: _to-morrow!_--why, to-morrow i may be myself with yesterday's sev'n thousand years. for some we loved, the loveliest and the best that from his vintage rolling time hath prest, have drunk their cup a round or two before, and one by one crept silently to rest. and we, that now make merry in the room they left, and summer dresses in new bloom, ourselves must we beneath the couch of earth descend--ourselves to make a couch--for whom? ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, before we too into the dust descend; dust into dust, and under dust to lie, sans wine, sans song, sans singer, and--sans end! alike for those who for to-day prepare, and those that after some to-morrow stare, a muezzín from the tower of darkness cries, "fools! your reward is neither here nor there." why, all the saints and sages who discuss'd of the two worlds so wisely--they are thrust like foolish prophets forth; their words to scorn are scattered, and their mouths are stopt with dust. myself when young did eagerly frequent doctor and saint, and heard great argument about it and about: but evermore came out by the same door where in i went. with them the seed of wisdom did i sow, and with mine own hand wrought to make it grow; and this was all the harvest that i reap'd-- "i came like water, and like wind i go." into this universe, and _why_ not knowing nor _whence_, like water willy-nilly flowing; and out of it, as wind along the waste, i know not _whither_, willy-nilly blowing. what, without asking, hither hurried _whence_? and, without asking, _whither_ hurried hence! oh, many a cup of this forbidden wine must drown the memory of that insolence! up from earth's centre through the seventh gate i rose, and on the throne of saturn sate, and many a knot unravel'd by the road; but not the master-knot of human fate. there was the door to which i found no key; there was the veil through which i might not see: some little talk awhile of me and thee there was--and then no more of thee and me. earth could not answer; nor the seas that mourn in flowing purple, of their lord forlorn; nor rolling heaven, with all his signs reveal'd and hidden by the sleeve of night and morn. then of the thee in me who works behind the veil, i lifted up my hands to find a lamp amid the darkness; and i heard, as from without--"the me within thee blind!" then to the lip of this poor earthen urn i lean'd, the secret of my life to learn: and lip to lip it murmur'd--"while you live, drink!--for, once dead, you never shall return." i think the vessel, that with fugitive articulation answer'd, once did live, and drink; and ah! the passive lip i kiss'd, how many kisses might it take--and give! for i remember stopping by the way to watch a potter thumping his wet clay: and with its all-obliterated tongue it murmur'd--"gently, brother, gently, pray!" and has not such a story from of old down man's successive generations roll'd of such a clod of saturated earth cast by the maker into human mould? and not a drop that from our cups we throw for earth to drink of, but may steal below to quench the fire of anguish in some eye there hidden--far beneath, and long ago. as then the tulip for her morning sup of heav'nly vintage from the soil looks up, do you devoutly do the like, till heav'n to earth invert you--like an empty cup. perplext no more with human or divine, to-morrow's tangle to the winds resign, and lose your fingers in the tresses of the cypress-slender minister of wine. and if the wine you drink, the lip you press, end in what all begins and ends in--yes; think then you are to-day what yesterday you were--to-morrow you shall not be less. so when that angel of the darker drink at last shall find you by the river-brink, and, offering his cup, invite your soul forth to your lips to quaff--you shall not shrink. why, if the soul can fling the dust aside, and naked on the air of heaven ride, were't not a shame--were't not a shame for him in this clay carcase crippled to abide? 'tis but a tent where takes his one day's rest a sultan to the realm of death addrest; the sultan rises, and the dark ferrash strikes, and prepares it for another guest and fear not lest existence closing your account, and mine, should know the like no more; the eternal sákí from the bowl has pour'd millions of bubbles like us, and will pour. when you and i behind the veil are past, oh, but the long, long while the world shall last, which of our coming and departure heeds as the sea's self should heed a pebble-cast. a moment's halt--a momentary taste of being from the well amid the waste-- and lo!--the phantom caravan has reach'd the nothing it set out from--oh, make haste! would you that spangle of existence spend about the secret--quick about it, friend! a hair perhaps divides the false and true-- and upon what, prithee, may life depend? a hair perhaps divides the false and true; yes; and a single alif were the clue-- could you but find it--to the treasure-house, and peradventure to the master too; whose secret presence, through creation's veins running quicksilver-like eludes your pains; taking all shapes from máh to máhí; and they change and perish all--but he remains; a moment guess'd--then back behind the fold immerst of darkness round the drama roll'd which, for the pastime of eternity, he doth himself contrive, enact, behold. but if in vain, down on the stubborn floor of earth, and up to heav'n's unopening door, you gaze to-day, while you are you--how then to-morrow, when you shall be you no more? waste not your hour, nor in the vain pursuit of this and that endeavor and dispute; better be jocund with the fruitful grape than sadden after none, or bitter, fruit. you know, my friends, with what a brave carouse i made a second marriage in my house; divorced old barren reason from my bed, and took the daughter of the vine to spouse. for "is" and "is-not" though with rule and line and "up-and-down" by logic i define, of all that one should care to fathom, i was never deep in anything but--wine. ah, but my computations, people say, reduced the year to better reckoning?--nay, 'twas only striking from the calendar unborn to-morrow, and dead yesterday. and lately, by the tavern door agape, came shining through the dusk an angel shape bearing a vessel on his shoulder; and he bid me taste of it; and 'twas--the grape! the grape that can with logic absolute the two-and-seventy jarring sects confute: the sovereign alchemist that in a trice life's leaden metal into gold transmute: the mighty mahmud, allah-breathing lord, that all the misbelieving and black horde of fears and sorrows that infest the soul scatters before him with his whirlwind sword. why, be this juice the growth of god, who dare blaspheme the twisted tendril as a snare? a blessing, we should use it, should we not? and if a curse--why, then, who set it there? i must abjure the balm of life, i must, scared by some after-reckoning ta'en on trust, or lured with hope of some diviner drink, to fill the cup--when crumbled into dust! oh threats of hell and hopes of paradise! one thing at least is certain--this life flies; one thing is certain and the rest is lies; the flower that once has blown forever dies. strange, is it not? that of the myriads who before us pass'd the door of darkness through, not one returns to tell us of the road, which to discover we must travel too. the revelations of devout and learn'd who rose before us, and as prophets burn'd, are all but stories, which, awoke from sleep they told their comrades, and to sleep return'd. i sent my soul through the invisible, some letter of that after-life to spell: and by and by my soul return'd to me, and answered, "i myself am heav'n and hell:" heav'n but the vision of fulfill'd desire, and hell the shadow from a soul on fire, cast on the darkness into which ourselves, so late emerged from, shall so soon expire. we are no other than a moving row of magic shadow-shapes that come and go round with the sun-illumined lantern held in midnight by the master of the show; but helpless pieces of the game he plays upon this checker-board of nights and days; hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, and one by one back in the closet lays. the ball no question makes of ayes and noes, but here or there as strikes the player goes; and he that toss'd you down into the field, _he_ knows about it all--he knows--he knows! the moving finger writes; and, having writ, moves on: nor all your piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all your tears wash out a word of it. and that inverted bowl they call the sky, whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die, lift not your hands to _it_ for help--for it as impotently moves as you or i. with earth's first clay they did the last man knead, and there of the last harvest sow'd the seed: and the first morning of creation wrote what the last dawn of reckoning shall read. yesterday this day's madness did prepare; to-morrow's silence, triumph, or despair: drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why: drink! for you know not why you go, nor where. i tell you this--when, started from the goal, over the flaming shoulders of the foal of heav'n parwín and mushtarí they flung, in my predestined plot of dust and soul the vine had struck a fibre: which about if clings my being--let the dervish flout; of my base metal may be filed a key, that shall unlock the door he howls without. and this i know: whether the one true light kindle to love, or wrath-consume me quite, one flash of it within the tavern caught better than in the temple lost outright. what! out of senseless nothing to provoke a conscious something to resent the yoke of unpermitted pleasure, under pain of everlasting penalties, if broke! what! from his helpless creature be repaid pure gold for what he lent him dross-allay'd-- sue for a debt he never did contract, and cannot answer--oh the sorry trade! oh thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin beset the road i was to wander in, thou wilt not with predestined evil round enmesh, and then impute my fall to sin! o thou, who man of baser earth didst make, and ev'n with paradise devise the snake: for all the sin wherewith the face of man is blacken'd--man's forgiveness give--and take! as under cover of departing day slunk hunger-stricken ramazán away, once more within the potter's house alone i stood, surrounded by the shapes of clay. shapes of all sorts and sizes, great and small, that stood along the floor and by the wall; and some loquacious vessels were; and some listen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all. said one among them--"surely not in vain my substance of the common earth was ta'en and to this figure moulded, to be broke, or trampled back to shapeless earth again." then said a second--"ne'er a peevish boy would break the bowl from which he drank in joy; and he that with his hand the vessel made will surely not in after wrath destroy." after a momentary silence spake some vessel of a more ungainly make; "they sneer at me for leaning all awry: what! did the hand then of the potter shake?" whereat some one of the loquacious lot-- i think a súfi pipkin--waxing hot-- "all this of pot and potter--tell me, then, who is the potter, pray, and who the pot?" "why," said another, "some there are who tell of one who threatens he will toss to hell the luckless pots he marr'd in making--pish! he's a good fellow, and 't will all be well." "well," murmur'd one, "let whoso make or buy, my clay with long oblivion is gone dry: but fill me with the old familiar juice, methinks i might recover by and by." so while the vessels one by one were speaking, the little moon look'd in that all were seeking: and then they jogg'd each other, "brother! brother! now for the potter's shoulder-knot a-creaking!" ah, with the grape my fading life provide, and wash the body whence the life has died, and lay me, shrouded in the living leaf, by some not unfrequented garden-side. that ev'n my buried ashes such a snare of vintage shall fling up into the air as not a true-believer passing by but shall be overtaken unaware. indeed the idols i have loved so long have done my credit in this world much wrong: have drown'd my glory in a shallow cup, and sold my reputation for a song. indeed, indeed, repentance oft before i swore--but was i sober when i swore? and then and then came spring, and rose-in-hand my threadbare penitence apieces tore. and much as wine has play'd the infidel, and robb'd me of my robe of honor--well, i wonder often what the vintners buy one half so precious as the stuff they sell. yet ah, that spring should vanish with the rose! that youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close! the nightingale that in the branches sang, ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows! would but the desert of the fountain yield one glimpse--if dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd, to which the fainting traveller might spring, as springs the trampled herbage of the field! would but some wingèd angel ere too late arrest the yet unfolded roll of fate, and make the stern recorder otherwise enregister, or quite obliterate! ah, love! could you and i with him conspire to grasp this sorry scheme of things entire, would not we shatter it to bits--and then re-mould it nearer to the heart's desire! yon rising moon that looks for us again-- how oft hereafter will she wax and wane; how oft hereafter rising look for us through this same garden--and for _one_ in vain! and when like her, oh sákí, you shall pass among the guests star-scatter'd on the grass, and in your joyous errand reach the spot where i made one--turn down an empty glass! the divan by hÁfiz [_translation by h. bicknell_] note the reader will be struck with the apparent want of unity in many of the odes. the orientals compare each couplet to a single pearl and the entire "ghazal," or ode, to a string of pearls. it is the rhyme, not necessarily the sense, which links them together. hence the single pearls or couplets may often be arranged in various orders without injury to the general effect; and it would probably be impossible to find two manuscripts either containing the same number of odes, or having the same couplets following each other in the same order. introduction we are told in the persian histories that when tamerlane, on his victorious progress through the east, had reached shiraz, he halted before the gates of the city and sent two of his followers to search in the bazar for a certain dervish muhammad shams-ad-din, better known to the world by the name of háfiz. and when this man of religion, wearing the simple woollen garment of a sufi, was brought into the presence of the great conqueror, he was nothing abashed at the blaze of silks and jewelry which decorated the pavilion where tamerlane sat in state. and tamerlane, meeting the poet with a frown of anger, said, "art not thou the insolent verse-monger who didst offer my two great cities samarkand and bokhara for the black mole upon thy lady's cheek?" "it is true," replied háfiz calmly, smiling, "and indeed my munificence has been so great throughout my life, that it has left me destitute, so that i shall be hereafter dependent upon thy generosity for a livelihood." the reply of the poet, as well as his imperturbable self-possession, pleased the asiatic alexander, and he dismissed háfiz with a liberal present. this story, we are told, cannot be true, for tamerlane did not reach shiraz until after the death of the greatest of persian lyric poets; but if it is not true in fact, it is true in spirit, and gives the real key to the character of háfiz. for we must look upon háfiz as one of the few poets in the world who utters an unbroken strain of joy and contentment. his poverty was to him a constant fountain of satisfaction, and he frankly took the natural joys of life as they came, supported under every vicissitude by his religious sense of the goodness and kindliness of the one god, manifested in everything in the world that was sweet and genial, and beautiful to behold. it is strange that we have to go to the literature of persia to find a poet whose deep religious convictions were fully reconciled with the theory of human existence which was nothing more or less than an optimistic hedonism. there is nothing parallel to this in classic literature. the greatest of roman epicureans, the materialist, whose maxim was: enjoy the present for there is no god, and no to-morrow, speaks despairingly of that drop of bitterness, which rises in the fountain of delight and brings torture, even amid the roses of the feast. it is with mocking irony that dante places epicurus in the furnace-tombs of his inferno amid those heresiarchs who denied the immortality of the soul. háfiz was an epicurean without the atheism or the despair of epicurus. the roses in his feast are ever fresh and sweet and there is nothing of bitterness in the perennial fountain of his delight. this unruffled serenity, this joyful acceptance of material existence and its pleasures are not in the persian poet the result of the carelessness and shallowness of horace, or the cold-blooded worldliness and sensuality of martial. the theory of life which háfiz entertained was founded upon the relation of the human soul to god. the one god of sufism was a being of exuberant benignity, from whose creative essence proceeded the human soul, whose experiences on earth were intended to fit it for re-entrance into the circle of light and re-absorption into the primeval fountain of being. in accordance with the beautiful and pathetic imagery of the mystic, life was merely a journey of many stages, and every manifestation of life which the traveller met on the high road was a manifestation and a gift of god himself. every stage on the journey towards god which the soul made in its religious experience was like a wayside inn in which to rest awhile before resuming the onward course. the pleasures of life, all that charmed the eye, all that gratified the senses, every draught that intoxicated, and every fruit that pleased the palate, were, in the pantheistic doctrine of the sufi considered as equally good, because god was in each of them, and to partake of them was therefore to be united more closely with god. never was a theology so well calculated to put to rest the stings of doubt or the misgivings of the pleasure-seeker. this theology is of the very essence of háfiz's poetry. it is in full reliance on this interpretation of the significance of human existence that háfiz faces the fierce tamerlane with a placid smile, plunges without a qualm into the deepest abysses of pleasure, finds in the love-song of the nightingale the voice of god, and in the bright eyes of women and the beaker brimming with crimson wine the choicest sacraments of life, the holiest and the most sublime intermediaries between divine and human life. it is this that makes háfiz almost the only poet of unadulterated gladsomeness that the world has ever known. there is no shadow in his sky, no discord in his music, no bitterness in his cup. he passes through life like a happy pilgrim, singing all the way, mounting in his own way from strength to strength, sure of a welcome when he reaches the goal, contented with himself, because every manifestation of life of which he is conscious must be the stirrings within him of that divinity of which he is a portion. when we have thus spoken of háfiz we have said almost all that is known of the persian lyric poet, for to know háfiz we must read his verses, whose magic charm is as great for europeans as for asiatics. the endless variety of his expressions, the deep earnestness of his convictions, the persistent gayety of his tone, are qualities of irresistible attractiveness. even to this day his tomb is visited as the mecca of literary pilgrims, and his numbers are cherished in the memory and uttered on the tongue of all educated persians. the particulars of his life may be briefly epitomized as follows: he was born at shiraz in the early part of the fourteenth century, dying in the year . the name háfiz means, literally, the man who remembers, and was applied to himself by háfiz from the fact that he became a professor of the mohammedan scriptures, and for this purpose had committed to memory the text of the koran. his manner of life was not approved of by the dervishes of the monastic college in which he taught, and he satirizes his colleagues in revenge for their animadversions. the whole mohammedan world hailed with delight the lyrics which háfiz published to the world, and kings and rulers vied with each other in making offers to him of honors and hospitality. at one time he started for india on the invitation of a great southern prince, who sent a vessel to meet him on the way, but the hardships of the sea were too severe for him, and he made his way back to shiraz without finishing his journey. his out-and-out pantheism, as well as his manner of life, caused him at his death to be denied burial in consecrated ground. the ecclesiastical authorities were, however, induced to relent in their plan of excommunication at the dictates of a passage from the poet's writings, which was come upon by opening the book at random. the passage ran as follows: "turn not thy feet from the bier of háfiz, for though immersed in sin, he will be admitted into paradise." and so he rests in the cemetery at shiraz, where the nightingales are singing and the roses bloom the year through, and the doves gather with low murmurs amid the white stones of the sacred enclosure. the poets of nature, the mystical pantheist, the joyous troubadour of life, háfiz, in the naturalness and spontaneity of his poetry, and in the winning sweetness of his imagery, occupies a unique place in the literature of the world, and has no rival in his special domain. fragment by hÁfiz _in praise of his verses_. the beauty of these verses baffles praise: what guide is needed to the solar blaze? extol that artist by whose pencil's aid the virgin, thought, so richly is arrayed. for her no substitute can reason show, nor any like her human judgment know. this verse, a miracle, or magic white-- brought down some voice from heaven, or gabriel bright? by me as by none else are secrets sung, no pearls of poesy like mine are strung. the divan i "alá yá ayyuha's-sákí!"--pass round and offer thou the bowl, for love, which seemed at first so easy, has now brought trouble to my soul. with yearning for the pod's aroma, which by the east that lock shall spread from that crisp curl of musky odor, how plenteously our hearts have bled! stain with the tinge of wine thy prayer-mat, if thus the aged magian bid, for from the traveller from the pathway[ ] no stage nor usage can be hid. shall my beloved one's house delight me, when issues ever and anon from the relentless bell the mandate: "'tis time to bind thy litters on"? the waves are wild, the whirlpool dreadful, the shadow of the night steals o'er, how can my fate excite compassion in the light-burdened of the shore? each action of my froward spirit has won me an opprobrious name; can any one conceal the secret which the assembled crowds proclaim? if joy be thy desire, o háfiz, from him far distant never dwell. "as soon as thou hast found thy loved one, bid to the world a last farewell." ii thou whose features clearly-beaming make the moon of beauty bright, thou whose chin contains a well-pit[ ] which to loveliness gives light. when, o lord! shall kindly fortune, sating my ambition, pair this my heart of tranquil nature and thy wild and ruffled hair? pining for thy sight my spirit trembling on my lip doth wait: forth to speed it, back to lead it, speak the sentence of its fate. pass me with thy skirt uplifted from the dusty bloody ground: many who have been thy victims dead upon this path are found. how this heart is anguish-wasted let my heart's possessor know: friends, your souls and mine contemplate, equal by their common woe. aught of good accrues to no one witched by thy narcissus eye: ne'er let braggarts vaunt their virtue, if thy drunken orbs are nigh. soon my fortune sunk in slumber shall her limbs with vigor brace: dashed upon her eye is water, sprinkled by thy shining face. gather from thy cheek a posy, speed it by the flying east; sent be perfume to refresh me from thy garden's dust at least. háfiz offers a petition, listen, and "amen" reply: "on thy sugar-dropping rubies let me for life's food rely." many a year live on and prosper, sákís of the court of jem,[ ] e'en though i, to fill my wine-cup, never to your circle come. east wind, when to yazd thou wingest, say thou to its sons from me: "may the head of every ingrate ball-like 'neath your mall-bat be!" "what though from your dais distant, near it by my wish i seem; homage to your ring i render, and i make your praise my theme." sháh of shahs, of lofty planet, grant for god what i implore; let me, as the sky above thee, kiss the dust which strews thy floor. v up, sákí!--let the goblet flow; strew with dust the head of our earthly woe! give me thy cup; that, joy-possessed, i may tear this azure cowl from my breast,[ ] the wise may deem me lost to shame, but no care have i for renown or name. bring wine!--how many a witless head by the wind of pride has with dust been spread! my bosom's fumes, my sighs so warm, have inflamed yon crude and unfeeling swarm.[ ] this mad heart's secret, well i know, is beyond the thoughts of both high and low. e'en by that sweetheart charmed am i, who once from my heart made sweetness fly. who that my silvern tree hath seen, would regard the cypress that decks the green?[ ] in grief be patient, night and day, till thy fortune, háfiz, thy wish obey. vi my heart no longer brooks my hand: sages, aid for god my woe! else, alas! my secret-deep soon the curious world must know. the bark we steer has stranded: o breeze auspicious swell: we yet may see once more the friend we love so well. the ten days' favor of the sphere--magic is; a tale which lies! thou who wouldst befriend thy friends, seize each moment ere it flies. at night, 'mid wine and flowers, the bulbul tuned his song: "bring thou the morning bowl: prepare, ye drunken throng!" sikander's mirror, once so famed, is the wine-filled cup: behold all that haps in dárá's realm glassed within its wondrous mould.[ ] o bounteous man, since heaven sheds o'er thee blessings mild, inquire, one day at least, how fares misfortune's child. what holds in peace this twofold world, let this twofold sentence show: "amity to every friend, courtesy to every foe." upon the way of honor, impeded was my range; if this affect thee, strive my destiny to change. that bitter, which the súfi styled "mother of all woes that be,"[ ] seems, with maiden's kisses weighed, better and more sweet to me. seek drunkenness and pleasure till times of strait be o'er: this alchemy of life can make the beggar kore.[ ] submit; or burn thou taper-like e'en from jealousy o'er-much: adamant no less than wax, melts beneath that charmer's touch. when fair ones talk in persian, the streams of life out-well: this news to pious pirs, my sákí, haste to tell. since háfiz, not by his own choice, this his wine-stained cowl did win, shaikh, who hast unsullied robes, hold me innocent of sin.[ ] arrayed in youthful splendor, the orchard smiles again; news of the rose enraptures the bulbul of sweet strain. breeze, o'er the meadow's children, when thy fresh fragrance blows, salute for me the cypress, the basil, and the rose. if the young magian[ ] dally with grace so coy and fine, my eye shall bend their fringes to sweep the house of wine. o thou whose bat of amber hangs o'er a moon below,[ ] deal not to me so giddy, the anguish of a blow. i fear that tribe of mockers who topers' ways impeach, will part with their religion the tavern's goal to reach. to men of god be friendly: in noah's ark was earth[ ] which deemed not all the deluge one drop of water worth. as earth, two handfuls yielding, shall thy last couch supply, what need to build thy palace, aspiring to the sky? flee from the house of heaven, and ask not for her bread: her goblet black shall shortly her every guest strike dead.[ ] to thee, my moon of kanaan, the egyptian throne pertains; at length has come the moment that thou shouldst quit thy chains. i know not what dark projects those pointed locks design, that once again in tangles their musky curls combine. be gay, drink wine, and revel; but not, like others, care, o háfiz, from the koran to weave a wily snare! xii oh! where are deeds of virtue and this frail spirit where? how wide the space that sunders the bounds of here and there! can toping aught in common with works and worship own? where is regard for sermons, where is the rebeck's tone?[ ] my heart abhors the cloister, and the false cowl its sign: where is the magian's cloister, and where is his pure wine? 'tis fled: may memory sweetly mind me of union's days! where is that voice of anger, where those coquettish ways? can a foe's heart be kindled by the friend's face so bright? where is a lamp unlighted, and the clear day-star's light? as dust upon thy threshold supplies my eyes with balm, if i forsake thy presence, where can i hope for calm? turn from that chin's fair apple; a pit is on the way. to what, o heart, aspir'st thou? whither thus quickly? say! seek not, o friend, in háfiz patience, nor rest from care: patience and rest--what are they? where is calm slumber, where? xiv at eve a son of song--his heart be cheerful long!-- piped on his vocal reed a soul-inflaming lay. so deeply was i stirred, that melody once heard, that to my tearful eyes the things of earth grew gray. with me my sákí was, and momently did he at night the sun of daï[ ] by lock and cheek display. when he perceived my wish, he filled with wine the bowl; then said i to that youth whose track was fortune's way: "sákí, from being's prison deliverance did i gain, when now and now the cup thou lit'st with cheerful ray. "god guard thee here below from all the haps of woe; god in the seat of bliss reward thee on his day!" when háfiz rapt has grown, how, at one barleycorn, should he appraise the realm, e'en of káús the kay?[ ] xvi i said: "o monarch of the lovely, a stranger seeks thy grace this day." i heard: "the heart's deceitful guidance inclines the stranger from his way." exclaimed i then: "one moment tarry!" "nay," was the answer, "let me go; how can the home-bred child be troubled by stories of a stranger's woe?" shall one who, gently nurtured, slumbers with royal ermine for a bed, "care if on rocks or thorns reposing the stranger rests his weary head?" o thou whose locks hold fast on fetters so many a soul known long ago, how strange that musky mole and charming upon thy cheek of vermil glow! strange is that ant-like down's appearance circling the oval of thy face; yet musky shade is not a stranger within the hall which paintings grace.[ ] a crimson tint, from wine reflected gleams in that face of moonlight sheen; e'en as the bloom of syrtis, strangely, o'er clusters of the pale nasrín.[ ] i said: "o thou, whose lock so night-black is evening in the stranger's sight, be heedful if, at break of morning, the stranger sorrow for his plight." "háfiz," the answer was, "familiars stand in amaze at my renown; it is no marvel if a stranger in weariness and grief sit down." xvii 'tis morn; the clouds a ceiling make: the morn-cup, mates, the morn-cup take! drops of dew streak the tulip's cheek; the wine-bowl, friends, the wine-bowl seek the greensward breathes a gale divine; drink, therefore, always limpid wine. the flower her emerald throne displays: bring wine that has the ruby's blaze again is closed the vintner's store, "open, thou opener of the door!"[ ] while smiles on us the season's boon, i marvel that they close so soon. thy lips have salt-rights, 'tis confessed, o'er wounds upon the fire-burnt breast. háfiz, let not thy courage fail! fortune, thy charmer shall unveil. xix lo! from thy love's enchanting bowers rizván's bright gardens fresher grow;[ ] from the fierce heat thine absence kindles, gehenna's flames intenser glow. to thy tall form and cheek resplendent, as to a place of refuge, fleet heaven and the túbâ-tree, and find there--"happiness--and a fair retreat."[ ] when nightly the celestial river glides through the garden of the skies, as my own eye, it sees in slumber, nought but thy drunk narcissus eyes. each section of the spring-tide's volume makes a fresh comment on thy name, each portal of the empyrean murmurs the title of thy fame. my heart has burned, but to ambition, the aim, still wished for, is denied: these tears that tinged with blood are flowing, if i could reach it, would be dried. what ample power thy salt-rights give thee (which both thy mouth and lips can claim), over a breast by sorrow wounded, and a heart burnt within its flame! oh! think not that the amorous only are drunk with rapture at thy sway: hast thou not heard of zealots, also, as reckless and as wrecked as they? by thy lips' reign i hold it proven that the bright ruby's sheen is won by the resplendent light that flashes out of a world-illuming sun.[ ] fling back thy veil! how long, oh tell me! shall drapery thy beauty pale? this drapery, no profit bringing, can only for thy shame avail. a fire within the rose's bosom was kindled when she saw thy face; and soon as she inhaled thy fragrance, she grew all rose-dew from disgrace. the love thy countenance awakens whelms háfiz in misfortune's sea; death threatens him! ho there! give help, ere yet that he has ceased to be! while life is thine, consent not, háfiz, that it should speed ignobly by; but strive thou to attain the object of thy existence ere thou die. xx i swear--my master's soul bear witness, faith of old times, and promise leal!-- at early morning, my companion, is prayer for thy unceasing weal. my tears, a more o'erwhelming deluge than was the flood which noah braved, have washed not from my bosom's tablet the image which thy love has graved. come deal with me, and strike thy bargain: i have a broken heart to sell, which in its ailing state out-values a hundred thousand which are well. be lenient, if thou deem me drunken: on the primeval day divine love, who possessed my soul as master, bent my whole nature unto wine. strive after truth that for thy solace the sun may in thy spirit rise; for the false dawn of earlier morning grows dark of face because it lies.[ ] o heart, thy friend's exceeding bounty should free thee from unfounded dread; this instant, as of love thou vauntest, be ready to devote thy head! i gained from thee my frantic yearning for mountains and the barren plain, yet loath art thou to yield to pity, and loosen at mid-height my chain. if the ant casts reproach on Ásaf, with justice does her tongue upbraid, for when his highness lost jem's signet, no effort for the quest he made.[ ] no constancy--yet grieve not, háfiz-- expect thou from the faithless fair; what right have we to blame the garden, because the plant has withered there? xxii veiled in my heart my fervent love for him dwells, and my true eye holds forth a glass to his spells. though the two worlds ne'er bowed my head when elate, favors as his have bent my neck with their weight. thine be the lote, but i love's stature would reach. high like his zeal ascends the fancy of each. yet who am i that sacred temple to tread? still let the east that portal guard in my stead! spots on my robe--shall they arouse my complaint? nay! the world knows that he at least has no taint. my turn has come; behold! majnún is no more;[ ] five days shall fly, and each one's turn shall be o'er. love's ample realm, sweet joy, and all that is glad, save for his bounty i should never have had.[ ] i and my heart--though both should sacrificed be, grant my friend's weal, their loss were nothing to me. ne'er shall his form within my pupil be dim, for my eye's cell is but a chamber for him. all the fresh blooms that on the greensward we view, gain but from him their scent and beauty of hue. háfiz seems poor; but look within, for his breast, shrining his love, with richest treasure is blest. xxiii prone at my friend's high gates, my will its head lays still: whate'er my head awaits is ordered by that will. my friend resembles none; in vain i sought to trace, in glance of moon or sun, the radiance of that face. can morning's breeze make known what grief this heart doth hold, which as a bud hath grown, compressed by fold on fold? not i first drained the jar where rev'lers pass away:[ ] heads in this work-yard are nought else than wine-jars' clay. meseems thy comb has wreathed those locks which amber yield: the gale has civet breathed, and amber scents the field. flowers of verdant nooks be strewn before thy face: let cypresses of brooks bear witness to thy grace! when dumb grow tongues of men that on such love would dwell, why should a tongue-cleft pen by babbling strive to tell? thy cheek is in my heart; no more will bliss delay; glad omens e'er impart news of a gladder day. love's fire has dropped its spark in háfiz' heart before: the wild-grown tulip's mark branded of old its core.[ ] xxv breeze of the morn, if hence to the land thou fliest--of my friend, return with a musky breath from the lock so sweet of my friend. yea, by that life, i swear i would lay down mine in content, if once i received through thee but a message sent of my friend. but--at that sacred court, if approach be wholly denied, convey, for my eyes, the dust that the door supplied of my friend. i--but a beggar mean--can i hope for union at last? ah! would that in sleep i saw but the shadow cast of my friend. ever my pine-cone heart, as the aspen trembling and shy, has yearned for the pine-like shape and the stature high of my friend. not at the lowest price would my friend to purchase me care; yet i, a whole world to win, would not sell one hair of my friend. how should this heart gain aught, were its gyves of grief flung aside? i, háfiz, a bondsman, still would the slave abide of my friend. xxix who of a heaven on earth can tell, pure as the cell--of dervishes? if in the highest state you'd dwell, be ever slaves of dervishes. the talisman of magic might hid in some ruin's lonely site, emerges from its ancient night at the wild glance of dervishes. when the proud sun has run his race, and he puts off his crown apace, he bows before the pomp and place which are the boast of dervishes. the palace portal of the sky, watched by rizván's unsleeping eye, all gazers can at once descry from the glad haunts of dervishes. when mortal hearts are black and cold, that which transmutes them into gold is the alchemic stone we hold from intercourse of dervishes. when tyranny, from pole to pole, sways o'er the earth with dire control, we see from first to last unroll the victor-flag of dervishes. there is a wealth which lasts elate, unfearful of decline from fate; hear it with joy--this wealth so great, is in the hands of dervishes. khosráus, the kiblahs of our prayer have weight to solace our despair,[ ] but they are potent by their care for the high rank of dervishes. o, vaunter of thy riches' pride! lay all thy vanity aside, and know that health and wealth abide but by the will of dervishes. korah lost all his treasured store, which, cursed of heaven, sinks daily more, (hast thou not heard this tale of yore?) from disregard of dervishes,[ ] the smiling face of joy unknown, yet sought by tenants of a throne, is only in the mirror shown of the clear face of dervishes. let but our Ásaf's eye request, i am the slave of his behest, for though his looks his rank attest, he has the mind of dervishes. háfiz, if of the tide thou think, which makes immortal those who drink, seek in the dust that fountain's brink, at the cell door of dervishes. háfiz, while here on earth, be wise: he who to empire's rule would rise, knows that his upward pathway lies through his regard of dervishes. xxxi in blossom is the crimson rose, and the rapt bulbul trills his song; a summons that to revel calls you, o súfis, wine-adoring throng! the fabric of my contrite fervor appeared upon a rock to bide; yet see how by a crystal goblet it hath been shattered in its pride. bring wine; for to a lofty spirit, should they at its tribunal be, what were the sentry, what the sultan, the toper, or the foe of glee? forth from this hostel of two portals as finally thou needs must go, what of the porch and arch of being be of high span or meanly low? to bliss' goal we gain not access, if sorrow has been tasted not; yea, with alastu's pact was coupled the sentence of our baleful lot. at being and non-being fret not; but either with calm temper see: non-being is the term appointed for the most lovely things that be. Ásaf's display, the airy courser, the language which the birds employed, the wind has swept; and their possessor no profit from his wealth enjoyed.[ ] oh! fly not from thy pathway upward, for the winged shaft that quits the bow a moment to the air has taken, to settle in the dust below. what words of gratitude, o háfiz shall thy reed's tongue express anon, as its choice gems of composition from hands to other hands pass on? xxxv now on the rose's palm the cup with limpid wine is brimming, and with a hundred thousand tongues the bird her praise is hymning. ask for a song-book, seek the wild, no time is this for knowledge; the comment of the comments spurn, and learning of the college,[ ] be it thy rule to shun mankind, and let the phoenix monish, for the reports of hermit fame, from káf to káf astonish.[ ] when yesterday our rector reeled, this sentence he propounded: "wine is a scandal; but far worse what men's bequests have founded." turbid or clear, though not thy choice, drink thankfully; well knowing that all which from our sákí flows to his free grace is owing. each dullard who would share my fame, each rival self-deceiver, reminds me that at times the mat seems golden to its weaver. cease, háfiz! store as ruddy gold the wit that's in thy ditty: the stampers of false coin, behold! are bankers for the city.[ ] xlii 'tis a deep charm which wakes the lover's flame, not ruby lip, nor verdant down its name. beauty is not the eye, lock, cheek, and mole; a thousand subtle points the heart control. xliii zealot, censure not the toper, guileless though thou keep thy soul: certain 'tis that sins of others none shall write upon thy scroll. be my deeds or good or evil, look thou to thyself alone; all men, when their work is ended, reap the harvest they have sown. never of eternal mercy preach that i must yet despair; canst thou pierce the veil, and tell me who is ugly, who is fair? every one the friend solicits, be he sober, quaff he wine; every place has love its tenant, be it or the mosque, or shrine. from the still retreat of virtue not the first am i to roam, for my father also quitted his eternal eden home. see this head, devout submission: bricks at many a vintner's door: if my foe these words misconstrue--"bricks and head!"--say nothing more. fair though paradise's garden, deign to my advice to yield: here enjoy the shading willow, and the border of the field. lean not on thy store of merits; know'st thou 'gainst thy name for aye what the plastic pen indited, on the unbeginning day? háfiz, if thou grasp thy beaker when the hour of death is nigh, from the street where stands the tavern straight they'll bear thee to the sky. xlv o breeze of morn! where is the place which guards my friend from strife? where is the abode of that sly moon who lovers robs of life? the night is dark, the happy vale in front of me i trace.[ ] where is the fire of sinäi, where is the meeting place? here jointly are the wine-filled cup, the rose, the minstrel; yet while we lack love, no bliss is here: where can my loved be met? of the shaikh's cell my heart has tired, and of the convent bare: where is my friend, the christian's child, the vintner's mansion, where? háfiz, if o'er the glade of earth the autumn-blast is borne, grieve not, but musing ask thyself: "where has the rose no thorn?" lix my prince, so gracefully thou steppest, that where thy footsteps fall--i'd die. my turk, so gracefully thou glidest, before thy stature tall i'd die. "when wilt thou die before me?"--saidst thou. why thus so eagerly inquire? these words of thy desire delight me; forestalling thy desire i'd die. i am a lover, drunk, forsaken: sákí, that idol, where is he? come hither with thy stately bearing! let me thy fair form see, i'd die. should he, apart from whom i've suffered a life-long illness, day by day, bestow on me a glance, one only, beneath that orb dark-gray i'd die. "the ruby of my lips," thou saidst, "now bale, now balsam may exhale": at one time from their healing balsam, at one time from their bale i'd die. how trim thy gait! may eye of evil upon thy face be never bent! there dwells within my head this fancy; that at thy feet content i'd die. though no place has been found for háfiz in love's retreat, where hid thou art, for me thine every part has beauty, before thine every part-- i'd die. lxiii my heart has of the world grown weary and all that it can lend: the shrine of my affection holds no being but my friend. if e'er for me thy love's sweet garden a fragrant breath exhale, my heart, expansive in its joy, shall bud-like burst its veil. should i upon love's path advise thee, when now a fool i've grown, 'twould be the story of the fool, the pitcher, and the stone. go! say to the secluded zealot: "withhold thy blame; for know, i find the arch of the mihráb[ ] but in an eyebrow's bow." between the ka'bah and the wine-house, no difference i see: whate'er the spot my glance surveys, there equally is he. 'tis not for beard, hair, eyebrow only, kalandarism should care: the kalandar computes the path by adding hair to hair.[ ] the kalandar who gives a hair's head, an easy path doth tread: the kalandar of genuine stamp, as háfiz gives his head. lxix my heart desires the face so fair--of farrukh;[ ] it is perturbed as is the hair of farrukh. no creature but that lock, that hindú swart, enjoyment from the cheek has sought of farrukh. a blackamoor by fortune blest is he, placed at the side, and near the knee of farrukh. shy as the aspen is the cypress seen, awed by the captivating mien of farrukh. sákí, bring syrtis-tinted wine to tell of those narcissi, potent spell of farrukh. bent as the archer's bow my frame is now, from woes continuous as the brow of farrukh. e'en tartar gales which musky odors whirl, faint at the amber-breathing curl of farrukh. if leans the human heart to any place, mine has a yearning to the grace of farrukh. that lofty soul shall have my service true, that serves, as háfiz, the hindú--[ ] of farrukh. lxxi when now the rose upon the meadow from nothing into being springs, when at her feet the humble violet with her head low in worship clings, take from thy morn-filled cup refreshment while tabors and the harp inspire, nor fail to kiss the chin of sákí while the flute warbles and the lyre. sit thou with wine, with harp, with charmer, until the rose's bloom be past; for as the days of life which passes, is the brief week that she shall last. the face of earth, from herbal mansions, is lustrous as the sky; and shines with asterisms of happy promise, with stars that are propitious signs. in gardens let zoroaster's worship again with all its rites revive, while now within the tulip's blossoms the fires of nimrod[ ] are alive. drink wine, presented by some beauty of christ-like breath, of cheek fair-hued; and banish from thy mind traditions to Ád relating, and thamúd.[ ] earth rivals the immortal garden during the rose and lily's reign; but what avails when the immortal is sought for on this earth in vain? when riding on the windy courser, as solomon, the rose is found, and when the bird, at hour of morning, makes david's melodies resound, ask thou, in solomon's dominion, a goblet to the brim renewed; pledge the vizir, the cycle's Ásaf, the column of the faith, mahmud. o háfiz, while his days continue, let joy eternal be thine aim; and may the shadow of his kindness eternally abide the same! bring wine; for háfiz, if in trouble, will ceaselessly the help implore of him who bounty shall aid ever, as it have aid vouchsafed before. lxxvii upon the path of love, o heart, deceit and risk are great! and fall upon the way shall he who at swift rate shall go. inflated by the wind of pride, the bubble's head may shine; but soon its cap of rule shall fall, and merged in wine shall go. o heart, when thou hast aged grown, show airs of grace no more: remember that such ways as these when youth is o'er shall go. has the black book of black locks closed, the album yet shall stay, though many a score the extracts be which day by day shall go. lxxxv to me love's echo is the sweetest sound of all that 'neath this circling round hath stayed. lxxxvi a beggar am i; yet enamoured of one of cypress mould: one in whose belt the hand bides only with silver and with gold. bring wine! let first the hand of háfiz the cheery cup embrace! yet only on one condition-- no word beyond this place! lxxxvii when beamed thy beauty on creation's morn, the world was set on fire by love new-born. thy cheek shone bright, yet angels' hearts were cold: then flashed it fire, and turned to adam's mould. the lamp of reason from this flame had burned, but lightning jealousy the world o'erturned. the enemy thy secret sought to gain; a hand unseen repelled the beast profane. the die of fate may render others glad: my own heart saddens, for its lot is sad. thy chin's deep pit allures the lofty mind: the hand would grasp thy locks in twines entwined, háfiz his love-scroll to thyself addressed, when he had cancelled what his heart loved best. lxxxviii the preacher of the town will find my language hard, maybe: while bent upon deceit and fraud, no mussulman is he. learn drinking and do gracious deeds; the merit is not great if a mere brute shall taste not wine, and reach not man's estate. efficient is the name divine; be of good cheer, o heart! the dív becomes not solomon by guile and cunning's art. the benisons of heaven are won by purity alone: else would not pearl and coral spring from every clod and stone? ci angels i saw at night knock at the wine-house gate: they shaped the clay of adam, flung into moulds its weight. spirits of the unseen world of purities divine, with me an earth-bound mortal, poured forth their 'wildering wine. heaven, from its heavy trust aspiring to be free, the duty was allotted, mad as i am, to me. thank god my friend and i once more sweet peace have gained! for this the houris dancing thanksgiving cups have drained. with fancy's hundred wisps what wonder that i've strayed, when adam in his prudence was by a grain bewrayed?[ ] excuse the wrangling sects, which number seventy-two: they knock at fable's portal, for truth eludes their view. no fire is that whose flame the taper laughs to scorn: true fire consumes to ashes the moth's upgarnered corn. blood fills recluses' hearts where love its dot doth place, fine as the mole that glistens upon a charmer's face. as háfiz, none thought's face hath yet unveiled; not e'en since for the brides of language combed have their tresses been. cxv lost joseph shall return to kanaan's land--despair not: affliction's cell of gloom with flowers shall bloom: despair not sad heart, thy state shall mend; repel despondency; thy head confused with pain shall sense regain: despair not. when life's fresh spring returns upon the daïs mead, o night-bird! o'er thy head the rose shall spread: despair not, hope on, though things unseen may baffle thy research; mysterious sports we hail beyond the veil: despair not. has the revolving sphere two days opposed thy wish, know that the circling round is changeful found: despair not. if on the ka'bah bent, thou brave the desert sand, though from the acacias thorn thy foot be torn, despair not, heart, should the flood of death life's fabric sweep away, noah shall steer the ark o'er billows dark: despair not, though perilous the stage, though out of sight the goal, whither soe'er we wend, there is an end: despair not, if love evades our grasp, and rivals press our suit, god, lord of every change, surveys the range: despair not. háfiz, in thy poor nook-- alone, the dark night through-- prayer and the koran's page shall grief assuage-- despair not. cxxix endurance, intellect, and peace have from my bosom flown, lured by an idol's silver ear-lobes, and its heart of stone. an image brisk, of piercing looks, with peris' beauty blest, of slender shape, of lunar face, in turk-like tunic drest! with a fierce glow within me lit--in amorous frenzy lost-- a culinary pot am i, in ebullition tost. my nature as a shirt's would be, at all times free from smart, if like yon tunic garb i pressed the wearer to my heart. at harshness i have ceased to grieve, for none to light can bring a rose that is apart from thorns, or honey void of sting. the framework of this mortal form may rot within the mould, but in my soul a love exists which never shall grow cold. my heart and faith, my heart and faith--of old they were unharmed, till by yon shoulders and yon breast, yon breast and shoulders charmed. háfiz, a medicine for thy woe, a medicine must thou sip, no other than that lip so sweet, that lip so sweet, that lip. cxxxiv although upon his moon-like cheek delight and beauty glow, nor constancy nor love is there: o lord! these gifts bestow. a child makes war against my heart; and he in sport one day will put me to a cruel death, and law shall not gainsay. what seems for my own good is this: my heart from him to guard; for one who knows not good from ill its guardianship were hard. agile and sweet of fourteen years that idol whom i praise: his ear-rings in her soul retains the moon of fourteen days. a breath as the sweet smell of milk comes from those sugary lips; but from those black and roguish eyes behold what blood there drips! my heart to find that new-born rose has gone upon its way; but where can it be found, o lord? i've lost it many a day. if the young friend who owns my heart my centre thus can break, the pasha will command him soon the lifeguard's rank to take. i'd sacrifice my life in thanks, if once that pearl of sheen would make the shell of háfiz' eye its place of rest serene. cxxxv i tried my fortune in this city lorn: from out its whirlpool must my pack be borne. i gnaw my hand, and, heaving sighs of ire, i light in my rent frame the rose's fire. sweet sang the bulbul at the close of day, the rose attentive on her leafy spray: "o heart! be joyful, for thy ruthless love sits down ill-temper'd at the sphere above. "to make the false, harsh world thyself pass o'er, ne'er promise falsely and be harsh no more. "if beat misfortune's waves upon heaven's roof, devout men's fate and gear bide ocean-proof. "háfiz, if lasting were enjoyment's day, jem's throne would never have been swept away." cxlv breeze of the north, thy news allays my fears: the hour of meeting with my loved one nears. prospered by heaven, o carrier pigeon, fly: hail to thee, hail to thee, come nigh, come nigh! how fares our salmâ? what zú salam's state? our neighbors there--are they unscathed by fate? the once gay banquet-hall is now devoid of circling goblets, and of friends who joyed. perished the mansion with its lot serene: interrogate the mounds where once 'twas seen. the night of absence has now cast its shade: what freaks by fancy's night-gang will be played? he who has loved relates an endless tale: here the most eloquent of tongues must fail. my turk's kind glances no one can obtain: alas, this pride, this coldness, this disdain! in perfect beauty did thy wish draw nigh: god guard thee from kamál's malefic eye![ ] háfiz, long will last patience, love, and pain? lovers wail is sweet: do thou still complain. cxlvi o thou who hast ravished my heart by thine exquisite grace and thy shape, thou carest for no one, and yet not a soul from thyself can escape. at times i draw sighs from my heart, and at times, o my life, thy sharp dart: can aught i may say represent all the ills i endure from my heart? how durst i to rivals commend thy sweet lips by the ruby's tent gemmed, when words that are vivid in hue by a soul unrefined are contemned? as strength to thy beauty accrues ev'ry day from the day sped before, to features consummate as thine, will we liken the night-star no more. my heart hast thou reft: take my soul! for thine envoy of grief what pretence? one perfect in grief as myself with collector as he may dispense. o háfiz, in love's holy bane, as thy foot has at last made its way, lay hold of his skirt with thy hand, and with all sever ties from to-day. cxlix both worlds, the transient and eterne, for sákí and the loved i'd yield: to me appears love's satellite the universe's ample field. should a new favorite win my place, my ruler shall be still supreme: it were a sin should i my life more precious than my friend esteem. clv last night my tears, a torrent stream, stopped sleep by force: i painted, musing on thy down, upon the water-course. then, viewing my beloved one's brow--my cowl burnt up-- in honor of the sacred arch i drained my flowing cup. from my dear friend's resplendent brow pure light was shed; and on that moon there fell from far the kisses that i sped. the face of sákí charmed my eye, the harp my ear: at once for both mine ear and eye what omens glad were here! i painted thine ideal face till morning's light, upon the studio of my eye, deprived of sleep at night. my sákí took at this sweet strain the wine-bowl up: i sang to him these verses first; then drank to sparkling cup. if any of my bird-like thoughts from joy's branch flew, back from the springes of thy lock their fleeting wings i drew. the time of háfiz passed in joy: to friends i brought for fortune and the days of life the omens that they sought. clvii come, súfi, let us from our limbs the dress that's worn for cheat draw: let us a blotting line right through this emblem of deceit draw. the convent's revenues and alms we'd sacrifice for wine awhile, and through the vintry's fragrant flood this dervish-robe of guile draw. intoxicated, forth we'll dash, and from our feasting foe's rich stores bear off his wine, and then by force his charmer out of doors draw. fate may conceal her mystery, shut up within her hiding pale, but we who act as drunken men will from its face the veil draw. here let us shine by noble deeds, lest we at last ashamed appear, when starting for the other world, we hence our spirit's gear draw. to-morrow at rizván's green glade, should they refuse to make it ours, we from their halls will the ghilmán, the houris from their bowers draw. where can we see her winking brow, that we, as the new moon of old, at once may the celestial ball, as with a bat of gold, draw? o háfiz! it becomes us not our boastful claims thus forth to put: beyond the limits of our rug why would we fain our foot draw? clix aloud i say it, and with heart of glee: "love's slave am i, and from both worlds am free." can i, the bird of sacred gardens, tell into this net of chance how first i fell? my place the highest heaven, an angel born, i came by adam to this cloister lorn. sweet houris, túbâ's shade, and fountain's brink fade from my mind when of thy street i think. knows no astrologer my star of birth: lord, 'neath what plant bore me mother earth? since with ringed ear i've served love's house of wine, grief's gratulations have each hour been mine. my eyeball's man drains my heart's blood; 'tis just: in man's own darling did i place my trust. my loved one's alif-form[ ] stamps all my thought: save that, what letter has my master taught? let háfiz' tear-drops by thy lock be dried, for fear i perish in their rushing tide. clxvi knowest thou what fortune is? 'tis beauty's sight obtaining; 'tis asking in her lane for alms, and royal pomp disdaining. sev'erance from the wish for life an easy task is ever; but lose we friends who sweeten life, the tie is hard to sever. bud-like with a serried heart i'll to the orchard wander; the garment of my good repute i'll tear to pieces yonder; now, as doth the west-wind, tell deep secrets to the flower, hear now of love's mysterious sport from bulbuls of the bower. kiss thy beloved one's lips at first while the occasion lingers: await thou else disgust at last from biting lip and fingers. profit by companionship: this two-doored house forsaken, no pathway that can thither lead in future time is taken. háfiz from the thought, it seems, of sháh mansur has fleeted; o lord! remind him that the poor with favor should be treated. clxxiii with my heart's blood i wrote to one most dear: "the earth seems doom-struck if thou are not near. "my eyes a hundred signs of absence show: these tears are not their only signs of woe." i gained no boon from her for labor spent: "who tries the tried will in the end repent." i asked how fared she; the physician spake: "afar from her is health; but near her ache." the east-wind from my moon removed her veil: at morn shone forth the sun from vapors pale. i said: "they'll mock, if i go round thy lane." by god! no love escapes the mocker's bane. grant háfiz' prayer: "one cup, by life so sweet!" he seeks a goblet with thy grace replete! clxxx o thou who art unlearned still, the quest of love essay: canst thou who hast not trod the path guide others on the way? while in the school of truth thou stay'st, from master love to learn, endeavor, though a son to-day, the father's grade to earn. slumber and food have held thee far from love's exalted good: wouldst thou attain the goal of love, abstain from sleep and food. if with the rays of love of truth thy heart and soul be clear, by god! thy beauty shall outshine the sun which lights the sphere. wash from the dross of life thy hands, as the path's men of old, and winning love's alchemic power, transmute thyself to gold. on all thy frame, from head to foot, the light of god shall shine, if on the lord of glory's path nor head nor foot be thine. an instant plunge into god's sea, nor e'er the truth forget that the seven seas' o'erwhelming tide, no hair of thine shall wet. if once thy glancing eye repose on the creator's face. thenceforth among the men who glance shall doubtless be thy place.[ ] when that which thy existence frames all upside-down shall be, imagine not that up and down shall be the lot of thee. háfiz, if ever in thy head dwell union's wish serene, thou must become the threshold's dust of men whose sight is keen. [footnotes to the divan] [footnote : "the traveller of the pathway"--the magian, or shaikh. in former times wine was chiefly sold by magians, and as the keepers of taverns and caravansaries grew popular, the term magian was used to designate not only "mine host," but also a wise old man, or spiritual teacher.] [footnote : an allusion to the dimple and moisture of the chin, considered great beauties by orientals.] [footnote : jem or jemshíd, an ancient king of persia. by jem and his sákí are to be understood, in this couplet, the king of yazd and his courtiers.] [footnote : by the azure cowl is implied the cloak of deceit and false humility. háfiz uses this expression to cast ridicule upon shaikh hazan's order of dervishes, who were inimical to the brotherhood of which the poet was a member. the dervishes mentioned wore blue to express their celestial aspirations.] [footnote : the disciples of shaikh hasan. háfiz had incurred their displeasure by the levity of his conduct.] [footnote : in the "gulistan" of sa'di a philosopher declares that, of all the trees, the cypress is alone to be called free, because, unlike the others, it is not subject to the vicissitudes of appointed place and season, "but is at all times fresh and green, and this is the condition of the free."] [footnote : in some mss. we read: "the mirror of sikander is the goblet of jem." king jem, or jemshíd, had a talismanic cup: sikander, or alexander, had inherited from pre-adamite times a magic mirror by means of which he was enabled to see into the camp of his enemy dárá (darius). háfiz here informs us that the knowledge imputed to either king was obtained by wine.] [footnote : referring to wine, which in the koran is declared to be the mother of vices.] [footnote : korah, kore, or kárun, the dives of his age, was an alchemist. he lived in an excess of luxury and show. at the height of his pride and gluttony he rebelled against moses, refusing to pay a tithe of his possessions for the public use. the earth then opened and swallowed him up together with the palace in which he dwelt. (see koran, chap, xxviii, and, for the bible narrative, the book of numbers, chap, xvi.)] [footnote : it was decreed from all eternity that háfiz should drink wine. he had therefore no free agency and could not be justly blamed.] [footnote : the boy serving at the wine-house.] [footnote : the curl of hair over a moon-like face is here compared to a curved mall-bat sweeping over a ball.] [footnote : by "earth" is to be understood noah himself.] [footnote : fate, fortune, and the sky, are in oriental poetry intervertible expressions; and the dome of heaven is compared to a cup which is full of poison for the unfortunate.] [footnote : the rebeck is a sort of violin having only three chords.] [footnote : his locks being black as night and his cheek cheerful as the sun of daï or december.] [footnote : kai-káús, one of the most celebrated monarchs of persia.] [footnote : the pictured halls of china, or, in particular, the palace of arzhang, the dwelling of manes. manes lived in the third century of our era, and his palace was famed as the chinese picture-gallery. háfiz compares the bloom upon the cheek of his friend to the works of art executed by manes, in which dark shadows, like velvety down upon the human face, excite no surprise.] [footnote : the nasrín is the dog-rose.] [footnote : in mohammedan countries it is customary to write upon the doors: "o opener of the gates! open unto us the gates of blessing."] [footnote : rizván is the gardener and gatekeeper of paradise.] [footnote : the lote-tree, known to arabs as the túbâ, is a prickly shrub. the koran says: "to those who believe, and perform good works, appertain welfare and a fair retreat. the men of the right hand--how happy shall be the men of the right hand!--shall dwell among the lote-trees without thorns. under their feet rivers shall flow in the garden of delight."] [footnote : according to oriental belief, the ruby and all other gems, derive their brilliancy from the action of the sun. by a similar process of nature, ruby lips obtain their vivid color from the sun above them.] [footnote : the zodiacal light or faint illumination of the sky which disappears before the light of daybreak.] [footnote : Ásaf, solomon's "vizir," was entrusted with the guardianship of the imperial signet ring, which was possessed of magical properties. while in his care it was stolen. when solomon granted an audience to animals, and even insects, the ant, it is related, brought as an offering a blade of grass and rebuked Ásaf for having guarded the royal treasure so carelessly. by Ásaf, háfiz symbolizes in the present instance his friend or favorite; by the ant is implied a small hair on the face, and by the lost signet of jem, a beautiful mouth, so small and delicate as to be invisible.] [footnote : majnún, a celebrated lover, maddened by the charms of lailà.] [footnote : this ode may have been written in gratitude for the patronage of a man of rank.] [footnote : literally in this toper-consuming shrine (of the world). the second line of the couplet probably means: other revellers have preceded me, but their heads are now potter's clay in the potter's field of the earth.] [footnote : the wild tulip of shiraz has white petals streaked with pink, the inner end of each bearing a deep puce mark. the dark spot formed thus in the centre of the flower is compared to the brand of love, pre-ordained on the past day of eternity to be imprinted on the heart of háfiz.] [footnote : khosráu (cyrus) is the title of several ancient kings of persia, and is here used in the plural to denote monarchs in general. the term "kiblah," fronting-point, signifies the object towards which the worshipper turns when he prays.] [footnote : korah or kárun--the miser who disobeyed moses and was swallowed up with his treasures by the earth. they are said to be still sinking deeper and deeper. (see numbers, xvi.)] [footnote : how vain were the glories of solomon! Ásaf was his minister, the east wind his courser, and the language of birds one of his accomplishments; but the blast of time had swept them away.] [footnote : the "comment of the comments" is a celebrated explanatory treatise on the koran.] [footnote : káf is a fabulous mountain encircling the world. in this couplet and the following the poet ridicules the ascetics of his time.] [footnote : the false coiners are inferior poets who endeavor to pass off their own productions as the work of háfiz.] [footnote : aiman (happiness) is the valley in which god appeared to moses--metaphorically, the abode of the beloved.] [footnote : "mihráb"--the niche in a mosque, towards which mohammedans pray.] [footnote : kalandars are an order of mohammedan dervishes who wander about and beg. the worthless sectaries of kalandarism, háfiz says, shave off beard and tonsure, but the true or spiritual kalandar shapes his path by a scrupulous estimate of duty.] [footnote : "farrukh" (auspicious) is doubtless the name of some favorite of the poet.] [footnote : "hindú" is here equivalent to "slave."] [footnote : zerdusht (in latin, zoroaster)--the celebrated prophet of the gulbres, or fire-worshippers. nimrod is said to have practised a religion, similar to theirs.] [footnote : Ád and thamúd were arab tribes exterminated by god in consequence of their having disobeyed the prophet sálih.] [footnote : by a "grain" is meant a grain of wheat; according to mohammedans, the forbidden fruit of paradise.] [footnote : kamál was an arab whose glance inflicted death.] [footnote : "alif-form," meaning a straight and erect form: the letter alif being, as it were, of upright stature.] [footnote : "the men who glance" are lovers. the spiritual or true lover is he who loves god.] end of volume one text scanned by jc byers and proof read by the volunteers of the distributed proofreaders site: http://charlz.dns go.com/gutenberg/ tales from the arabic of the breslau and calcutta ( - ) editions of the book of the thousand nights and one night not occurring in the other printed texts of the work, now first done into english by john payne in three volumes: volume the second. delhi edition contents of the second volume. breslau text. . king shah bekht and his vizier er rehwan (continued) a. story of the pious woman accused of lewdness b. story of the journeyman and the girl c. story of the weaver who became a physician by his wife's commandment d. story of the two sharpers who cheated each his fellow e. story of the sharpers with the money-changer and the ass f. story of the sharper and the merchants i. story of the hawk and the locust g. story op the king and his chamberlain wife h. story of the old woman and the draper's wife i. story of the foul-favoured man and his fair wife j. story of the king who lost kingdom and wife and wealth and god restored them to him k. story of selim and selma l. story of the king of hind and his vizier . el melik ez zahir rukneddin bibers el bunducdari and the sixteen officers of police a. the first officer's story b. the second officer's story c. the third officer's story d. the fourth officer's story e. the fifth officer's story f. the sixth officer's story g. the seventh officer's story h. the eighth officer's story i. the thief's story i. the ninth officer's story j. the tenth officer's story k. the eleventh officer's story l. the twelfth officer's story m. the thirteenth officer's story n. the fourteenth officer's story i. a merry jest of a thief ii. story of the old sharper o. the fifteenth officer's story p. the sixteenth officer's story . abdallah ben nafi and the king's son of cashghar a. story of the damsel tuhfet el culoub and the khalif haroun er reshid calcutta ( - ) text . women's craft breslau text. king shah bekht and his vizier er rehwan (continued). the eighteenth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king summoned the vizier and required of him the [promised] story; so he said, "it is well. know, o king, that story of the pious woman accused of lewdness. there was once a man of nishapour,[fn# ] who had a wife of the utmost loveliness and piety, and he was minded to set out on the pilgrimage. so he commended his wife to the care of his brother and besought him to aid her in her affairs and further her to her desires till he should return, so they both abode alive and well. then he took ship and departed and his absence was prolonged. meanwhile, the brother went in to his brother's wife, at all times and seasons, and questioned her of her circumstances and went about her occasions; and when his visits to her were prolonged and he heard her speech and looked upon her face, the love of her gat hold upon his heart and he became distraught with passion for her and his soul prompted him [to evil]. so he besought her to lie with him, but she refused and chid him for his foul deed, and he found him no way unto presumption;[fn# ] wherefore he importuned her with soft speech and gentleness. now she was righteous in all her dealings and swerved not from one word;[fn# ] so, when he saw that she consented not unto him, he misdoubted that she would tell his brother, when he returned from his journey, and said to her, 'an thou consent not to this whereof i require thee, i will cause thee fall into suspicion and thou wilt perish.' quoth she, 'be god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) [judge] betwixt me and thee, and know that, shouldst thou tear me limb from limb, i would not consent to that whereto thou biddest me.' his folly[fn# ] persuaded him that she would tell her husband; so, of his exceeding despite, he betook himself to a company of people in the mosque and told them that he had witnessed a man commit adultery with his brother's wife. they believed his saying and took act of his accusation and assembled to stone her. then they dug her a pit without the city and seating her therein, stoned her, till they deemed her dead, when they left her. presently a villager passed by [the pit and finding] her [alive,] carried her to his house and tended her, [till she recovered]. now, he had a son, and when the young man saw her, he loved her and besought her of herself; but she refused and consented not to him, whereupon he redoubled in love and longing and despite prompted him to suborn a youth of the people of his village and agree with him that he should come by night and take somewhat from his father's house and that, when he was discovered, he should say that she was of accord with him in this and avouch that she was his mistress and had been stoned on his account in the city. so he did this and coming by night to the villager's house, stole therefrom goods and clothes; whereupon the old man awoke and seizing the thief, bound him fast and beat him, to make him confess. so he confessed against the woman that she had prompted him to this and that he was her lover from the city. the news was bruited abroad and the people of the city assembled to put her to death; but the old man, with whom she was, forbade them and said, 'i brought this woman hither, coveting the recompense [of god,] and i know not [the truth of] that which is said of her and will not suffer any to hurt her.' then he gave her a thousand dirhems, by way of alms, and put her forth of the village. as for the thief, he was imprisoned for some days; after which the folk interceded for him with the old man, saying, 'this is a youth and indeed he erred;' and he released him. meanwhile, the woman went out at hazard and donning devotee's apparel, fared on without ceasing, till she came to a city and found the king's deputies dunning the towns-folk for the tribute, out of season. presently, she saw a man, whom they were pressing for the tribute; so she enquired of his case and being acquainted therewith, paid down the thousand dirhems for him and delivered him from beating; whereupon he thanked her and those who were present. when he was set free, he accosted her and besought her to go with him to his dwelling. so she accompanied him thither and supped with him and passed the night. when the night darkened on him, his soul prompted him to evil, for that which he saw of her beauty and loveliness, and he lusted after her and required her [of love]; but she repelled him and bade him fear god the most high and reminded him of that which she had done with him of kindness and how she had delivered him from beating and humiliation. however, he would not be denied, and when he saw her [constant] refusal of herself to him, he feared lest she should tell the folk of him. so, when he arose in the morning, he took a scroll and wrote in it what he would of forgery and falsehood and going up to the sultan's palace, said, '[i have] an advisement [for the king].' so he bade admit him and he delivered him the writ that he had forged, saying, 'i found this letter with the woman, the devotee, the ascetic, and indeed she is a spy, a secret informer against the king to his enemy; and i deem the king's due more incumbent on me than any other and his advisement the first [duty], for that he uniteth in himself all the people, and but for the king's presence, the subjects would perish; wherefore i have brought [thee] warning.' the king put faith in his words and sent with him those who should lay hands upon the woman and put her to death; but they found her not. as for the woman, whenas the man went out from her, she resolved to depart; so she went forth, saying in herself, 'there is no journeying for me in woman's attire.' then she donned men's apparel, such as is worn of the pious, and set out and wandered over the earth; nor did she leave going till she entered a certain city. now the king of that city had an only daughter in whom he gloried and whom he loved, and she saw the devotee and deeming her a pilgrim youth, said to her father, 'i would fain have this youth take up his abode with me, so i may learn of him wisdom and renunciation and religion.' her father rejoiced in this and commanded the [supposed] pilgrim to take up his sojourn with his daughter in his palace. now they were in one place and the king's daughter was strenuous to the utterest in continence and chastity and nobility of mind and magnanimity and devotion to the worship of god; but the ignorant slandered her[fn# ] and the folk of the realm said, 'the king's daughter loveth the pilgrim youth and he loveth her.' now the king was a very old man and destiny decreed the ending of his term of life; so he died and when he was buried, the folk assembled and many were the sayings of the people and of the king's kinsfolk and officers, and they took counsel together to slay the princess and the young pilgrim, saying, 'this fellow dishonoureth us with yonder strumpet and none accepteth dishonour but the base.' so they fell upon them and slew the princess, without questioning her of aught; whereupon the pious woman (whom they deemed a boy) said to them, 'out on ye, o misbelievers i ye have slain the pious lady.' quoth they, 'lewd fellow that thou art, dost thou bespeak us thus? thou lovedst her and she loved thee, and we will slay thee without mercy.' 'god forbid!' answered she, 'indeed, the affair is the contrary of this.' 'what proof hast thou of that?' asked they, and she said, 'bring me women.' so they brought her women, and when they looked on her, they found her a woman. when the townsfolk saw this, they repented of that which they had done and the affair was grievous to them; so they sought pardon [of god] and said to her, ' by the virtue of him whom thou servest, do thou seek pardon for us [of god!]' quoth she, 'as for me, i may no longer abide with you and i am about to depart from you.' then they humbled themselves in supplication to her and wept and said to her, 'we conjure thee, by the virtue of god the most high, that thou take upon thyself the governance of the kingdom and of the subjects.' but she refused; whereupon they came up to her and wept and gave not over supplicating her, till she consented and abode in the kingship. her first commandment was that they should bury the princess and build over her a dome[fn# ] and she abode in that palace, worshipping god the most high and ruling the people with justice, and god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) vouchsafed her, by reason of the excellence of her piety and her patience and continence, the acceptance of her prayers, so that she sought not aught of him to whom belong might and majesty, but he granted her prayer; and her report was noised abroad in all countries. so the folk resorted to her from all parts and she used to pray god (to whom belong might and majesty) for the oppressed and god granted him relief, and against his oppressor, and he broke him in sunder. moreover, she prayed for the sick and they were made whole; and on this wise she abode a great space of time. as for her husband, when he returned from the pilgrimage, his brother and the neighbours acquainted him with his wife's affair, whereat he was sore concerned and misdoubted of their story, for that which he knew of her chastity and prayerfulness; and he wept for her loss. meanwhile, she prayed to god the most high that he would establish her innocence in the eyes of her husband and the folk. so he sent down upon her husband's brother a sore disease and none knew a remedy for him; wherefore he said to his brother, ' in such a city is a pious woman, a recluse, and her prayers are answered; so do thou carry me to her, that she may pray for me and god (to whom belong might and majesty) may make me whole of this sickness.' accordingly, he took him up and fared on with him, till they came to the village where dwelt the old man, who had rescued the woman from the pit and carried her to his dwelling and tended her there, [till she recovered]. here they halted and took up their lodging with the old man, who questioned the husband of his case and that of his brother and the reason of their journey, and he said, 'i purpose to go with my brother, this sick man, to the holy woman, her whose prayers are answered, so she may pray for him and god may make him whole by the blessing of her prayers.' quoth the villager, 'by allah, my son is in a parlous plight for sickness and we have heard that the holy woman prayeth for the sick and they are made whole. indeed, the folk counsel me to carry him to her, and behold, i will go in company with you. and they said, 'it is well.' so they passed the night in that intent and on the morrow they set out for the dwelling of the holy woman, this one carrying his son and that his brother. now the man who had stolen the clothes and forged a lie against the pious woman, pretending that he was her lover, sickened of a sore sickness, and his people took him up and set out with him to visit the holy woman, and destiny brought them all together by the way. so they fared on, till they came to the city wherein the man dwelt for whom she had paid a thousand dirhems, to deliver him from torment, and found him about to travel to her, by reason of a sickness that had betided him. so they all fared on together, unknowing that the holy woman was she whom they had so foully wronged, and ceased not going till they came to her city and foregathered at the gates of her palace, to wit, that wherein was the tomb of the king's daughter. now the folk used to go in to her and salute her and crave her prayers; and it was her wont to pray for none till he had confessed to her his sins, when she would seek pardon for him and pray for him that he might be healed, and he was straightway made whole of sickness, by permission of god the most high. [so, when the four sick men were brought in to her,] she knew them forthright, though they knew her not, and said to them, ' let each of you confess his sins, so i may crave pardon for him and pray for him.' and the brother said, 'as for me, i required my brother's wife of herself and she refused; whereupon despite and folly[fn# ] prompted me and i lied against her and accused her to the townsfolk of adultery; so they stoned her and slew her unjustly and unrighteously; and this is the issue of unright and falsehood and of the slaying of the [innocent] soul, whose slaughter god hath forbidden.' then said the young man, the villager's son, 'and i, o holy woman, my father brought us a woman who had been stoned, and my people tended her till she recovered. now she was surpassing of beauty; so i required her of herself; but she refused and clave fast to god (to whom belong might and majesty), wherefore folly[fn# ] prompted me, so that i agreed with one of the youths that he should steal clothes and coin from my father's house. then i laid hands on him [and carried him] to my father and made him confess. so he avouched that the woman was his mistress from the city and had been stoned on his account and that she was of accord with him concerning the theft and had opened the doors to him, and this was a lie against her, for that she had not yielded to me in that which i sought of her. so there befell me what ye see of punishment." and the young man, the thief, said, 'i am he with whom thou agreedst concerning the theft and to whom thou openedst the door, and i am he who avouched against her falsely and calumniously and god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) knoweth that i never did evil with her, no, nor knew her in any wise before then.' then said he whom she had delivered from torture and for whom she had paid a thousand dirhems and who had required her of herself in his house, for that her beauty pleased him, and [when she refused to yield to him] had forged a letter against her and treacherously denounced her to the sultan and requited her bounty with ingratitude, 'i am he who wronged her and lied against her, and this is the issue of the oppressor's affair.' when she heard their words, in the presence of the folk, she said, 'praise be to god, the king who availeth unto all things, and blessing upon his prophets and apostles!' then quoth she [to the assembly], ' bear witness, o ye who are present, to these men's speech, and know that i am that woman whom they confess that they wronged.' and she turned to her husband's brother and said to him, 'i am thy brother's wife and god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he i) delivered me from that whereinto thou castedst me of false accusation and suspect and from the frowardness whereof thou hast spoken, and [now] hath he shown forth my innocence, of his bounty and generosity. go, for thou art absolved of the wrong thou didst me.' then she prayed for him and he was made whole of his sickness. then said she to the villager's son, 'know that i am the woman whom thy father delivered from harm and stress and whom there betided from thee of false accusation and frowardness that which thou hast named.' and she craved pardon for him and he was made whole of his sickness. [then said she to the thief, 'i am she against whom thou liedst, avouching that i was thy mistress, who had been stoned on thine account, and that i was of accord with thee concerning the robbing of the villager's house and had opened the doors to thee.' and she prayed for him and he was made whole of his sickness.] then said she to [the townsman], him of the tribute, 'i am she who gave thee the [thousand] dirhems and thou didst with me what thou didst.' and she craved pardon for him and prayed for him and he was made whole; whereupon the folk marvelled at her oppressors, who had been afflicted alike, so god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) might show forth her innocence before witnesses. then she turned to the old man who had delivered her from the pit and prayed for him and gave him presents galore and among them a myriad of money;[fn# ] and they all departed from her, except her husband. when she was alone with him, she made him draw near unto her and rejoiced in his coming and gave him the choice of abiding with her. moreover, she assembled the people of the city and set out to them his virtue and worth and counselled them to invest him with the charge of their governance and besought them to make him king over them. they fell in with her of this and he became king and took up his abode amongst them, whilst she gave herself up to her religious exercises and abode with her husband on such wise as she was with him aforetime.[fn# ] nor," added the vizier, "is this story, o king of the time, more extraordinary or more delightful than that of the journeyman and the girl whose belly he slit and fled." when king shah bekht heard this, he said, "most like all they say of the vizier is leasing and his innocence will appear, even as that of the pious woman appeared." then he comforted the vizier's heart and bade him go to his house. the nineteenth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king bade fetch the vizier and required of him the story of the journeyman and the girl. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. know, o august king, that story of the journeyman and the girl. there was once, of old time, in one of the tribes of the arabs, a woman great with child by her husband, and they had a hired servant, a man of excellent understanding. when the woman came to [the time of her] delivery, she gave birth to a maid-child in the night and they sought fire of the neighbours. so the journeyman went in quest of fire. now there was in the camp a wise woman,[fn# ] and she questioned him of the new-born child, if it was male or female. quoth he, 'it is a girl;' and she said, 'she shall do whoredom with a hundred men and a journeyman shall marry her and a spider shall slay her.' when the journeyman heard this, he returned upon his steps and going in to the woman, took the child from her by wile and slit its paunch. then he fled forth into the desert at a venture and abode in strangerhood what [while] god willed. he gained him wealth and returning to his native land, after twenty years' absence, alighted in the neighbourhood of an old woman, whom he bespoke fair and entreated with liberality, requiring of her a wench whom he might lie withal. quoth she, 'i know none but a certain fair woman, who is renowned for this fashion.'[fn# ] then she described her charms to him and made him lust after her, and he said, 'hasten to her forthright and lavish unto her that which she asketh, [in exchange for her favours].' so the old woman betook herself to the damsel and discovered to her the man's wishes and bade her to him; but she answered, saying, 'it is true that i was on this [fashion of] whoredom [aforetime]; but now i have repented to god the most high and hanker no more after this; nay, i desire lawful marriage; so, if he be content with that which is lawful, i am at his service.' the old woman returned to the man and told him what the damsel said; and he lusted after her, by reason of her beauty and her repentance; so he took her to wife, and when he went in to her, he loved her and she also loved him. on this wise they abode a great while, till one day he questioned her of the cause of a mark[fn# ] he espied on her body, and she said, 'i know nought thereof save that my mother told me a marvellous thing concerning it.' 'what was that?' asked he, and she answered, 'she avouched that she gave birth to me one night of the nights of the winter and despatched a hired man, who was with us, in quest of fire for her. he was absent a little while and presently returning, took me and slit my belly and fled. when my mother saw this, affliction overcame her and compassion possessed her; so she sewed up my belly and tended me till, by the ordinance of god (to whom belong might and majesty), the wound healed up." when her husband heard this, he said to her, 'what is thy name and what are the names of thy father and mother?' she told him their names and her own, whereby he knew that it was she whose belly he had slit and said to her, 'and where are thy father and mother?' 'they are both dead,' answered she, and he said, 'i am that journeyman who slit thy belly.' quoth she, 'why didst thou that?' and he replied, 'because of a saying i heard from the wise woman.' 'what was it?' asked his wife, and he said, 'she avouched that thou wouldst play the harlot with a hundied men and that i should after take thee to wife.' quoth she, 'ay, i have whored it with a hundred men, no more and no less, and behold, thou hast married me.' 'moreover,' continued her husband, 'the wise woman foresaid, also, that thou shouldst die, at the last of thy life, of the bite of a spider. indeed, her saying hath been verified of the harlotry and the marriage, and i fear lest her word come true no less in the matter of thy death.' then they betook themselves to a place without the city, where he builded him a mansion of solid stone and white plaster and stopped its inner [walls] and stuccoed them; yea, he left not therein cranny nor crevice and set in it two serving-women to sweep and wipe, for fear of spiders. here he abode with his wife a great while, till one day he espied a spider on the ceiling and beat it down. when his wife saw it, she said, 'this is that which the wise woman avouched would kill me; so, by thy life [i conjure thee], suffer me to slay it with mine own hand.' her husband forbade her from this, but she conjured him to let her kill the spider; then, of her fear and her eagerness, she took a piece of wood and smote it. the wood broke in sunder, of the force of the blow, and a splinter from it entered her hand and wrought upon it, so that it swelled. then her arm swelled also and the swelling spread to her side and thence grew till it reached her heart and she died. nor," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary or more wonderful than the story of the weaver who became a physician by his wife's commandment." when the king heard this, his admiration redoubled and he said, "of a truth, destiny is forewritten to all creatures, and i will not accept[fn# ] aught that is said against my vizier the loyal counsellor." and he bade him go to his house. the twentieth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king let call his vizier and he presented himself before him, whereupon he required of him the hearing of the [promised] story. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. know, o king. that story of the weaver who became a physician by his wife's commandment. there was once, in the land of fars,[fn# ] a man who took to wife a woman higher than himself in rank and nobler of lineage, but she had no guardian to preserve her from want. it misliked her to marry one who was beneath her; nevertheless, she married him, because of need, and took of him a bond in writing to the effect that he would still be under her commandment and forbiddance and would nowise gainsay her in word or deed. now the man was a weaver and he bound himself in writing to pay his wife ten thousand dirhems, [in case he should make default in the condition aforesaid]. on this wise they abode a long while till one day the wife went out in quest of water, whereof she had need, and espied a physician who had spread a carpet in the thereon he had set out great store of drugs and implements of medicine and he was speaking and muttering [charms], whilst the folk flocked to him and compassed him about on every side. the weaver's wife marvelled at the largeness of the physician's fortune[fn# ] and said in herself, 'were my husband thus, he would have an easy life of it and that wherein we are of straitness and misery would be enlarged unto him.' then she returned home, troubled and careful; and when her husband saw her on this wise, he questioned her of her case and she said to him, 'verily, my breast is straitened by reason of thee and of the simpleness of thine intent. straitness liketh me not and thou in thy [present] craft gaiuest nought; so either do thou seek out a craft other than this or pay me my due[fn# ] and let me go my way.' her husband chid her for this and admonished her;[fn# ] but she would not be turned from her intent and said to him, 'go forth and watch yonder physician how he doth and leam from him what he saith.' quoth he, 'let not thy heart be troubled: i will go every day to the physician's assembly.' so he fell to resorting daily to the physician and committing to memory his sayings and that which he spoke of jargon, till he had gotten a great matter by heart, and all this he studied throughly and digested it. then he returned to his wife and said to her, 'i have committed the physician's sayings to memory and have learned his fashion of muttering and prescribing and applying remedies[fn# ] and have gotten by heart the names of the remedies and of all the diseases, and there abideth nought [unaccomplished] of thy commandment. what wilt thou have me do now?' quoth she, 'leave weaving and open thyself a physician's shop.' but he answered, 'the people of my city know me and this affair will not profit me, save in a land of strangerhood; so come, let us go out from this city and get us to a strange land and [there] live.' and she said, 'do as thou wilt.' so he arose and taking his weaving gear, sold it and bought with the price drugs and simples and wrought himself a carpet, with which they set out and journeyed to a certain village, where they took up their abode. then the man donned a physician's habit and fell to going round about the hamlets and villages and country parts; and he began to earn his living and make gain. their affairs prospered and their case was bettered; wherefore they praised god for their present ease and the village became to them a home. [on this wise he abode a pretty while] and the days ceased not and the nights to transport him from country to country, till he came to the land of the greeks and lighted down in a city of the cities thereof, wherein was galen the sage; but the weaver knew him not, nor was he ware who he was. so he went forth, according to his wont, in quest of a place where the folk might assemble together, and hired galen's courtyard.[fn# ] there he spread his carpet and setting out thereon his drugs and instruments of medicine, praised himself and his skill and vaunted himself of understanding such as none but he might claim. galen heard that which he avouched of his understanding and it was certified unto him and established in his mind that the man was a skilled physician of the physicians of the persians and [he said in himself], 'except he had confidence in his knowledge and were minded to confront me and contend with me, he had not sought the door of my house neither spoken that which he hath spoken.' and concern gat hold upon galen and doubt. then he looked out upon[fn# ] the weaver and addressed himself to see what he should do, whilst the folk began to flock to him and set out to him their ailments, and he would answer them thereof [and prescribe for them], hitting the mark one while and missing it another, so that there appeared unto galen of his fashion nothing whereby his mind might be assured that he had formed a just opinion of his skill. presently, up came a woman with a phial of urine, and when the [mock] physician saw the phial afar off, he said to her, 'this is the urine of a man, a stranger.' 'yes,' answered she; and he continued, 'is he not a jew and is not his ailment indigestion?' 'yes,' replied the woman, and the folk marvelled at this; wherefore the man was magnified in galen's eyes, for that he heard speech such as was not of the usage of physicians, seeing that they know not urine but by shaking it and looking into it anear neither know they a man's water from a woman's water, nor a stranger's [from a countryman's], nor a jew's from a sherifs.[fn# ] then said the woman, 'what is the remedy?' quoth the weaver, 'pay down the fee.' so she paid him a dirhem and he gave her medicines contrary to that ailment and such as would aggravate the patient's malady. when galen saw what appeared to him of the [mock] physician's incapacity, he turned to his disciples and pupils and bade them fetch the other, with all his gear and drugs. so they brought him into his presence on the speediest wise, and when galen saw him before him, he said to him, 'knowest thou me?' ' no,' answered the other, 'nor did i ever set eyes on thee before this day.' quoth the sage, 'dost thou know galen?' and the weaver said, 'no.' then said galen, 'what prompted thee to that which thou dost?' so he related to him his story and gave him to know of the dowry and the obligation by which he was bound with regard to his wife, whereat galen marvelled and certified himself of the matter of the dower. then he bade lodge him near himself and was bountiful to him and took him apart and said to him, 'expound to me the story of the phial and whence then knewest that the water therein was that of a man, and he a stranger and a jew, and that his ailment was indigestion?' ' it is well,' answered the weaver. ' thou must know that we people of persia are skilled in physiognomy[fn# ] and i saw the woman to be rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed and tall. now these attributes belong to women who are enamoured of a man and are distraught for love of him;[fn# ] moreover, i saw her consumed [with anxiety]; wherefore i knew that the patient was her husband. as for his strangerhood, i observed that the woman's attire differed from that of the people of the city, wherefore i knew that she was a stranger; and in the mouth of the phial i espied a yellow rag,[fn# ] whereby i knew that the patient was a jew and she a jewess. moreover, she came to me on the first day [of the week];[fn# ] and it is the jews' custom to take pottages[fn# ] and meats that have been dressed overnight[fn# ] and eat them on the sabbath day,[fn# ] hot and cold, and they exceed in eating; wherefore indigestion betideth them. on this wise i was directed and guessed that which thou hast heard.' when galen heard this, he ordered the weaver the amount of his wife's dowry and bade him pay it to her and divorce her. moreover, he forbade him from returning to the practice of physic and warned him never again to take to wife a woman of better condition than himself; and he gave him his spending-money and bade him return to his [former] craft. nor," added the vizier, "is this more extraordinary or rarer than the story of the two sharpers who cozened each his fellow." when king shah bekht heard this, he said in himself, "how like is this story to my present case with this vizier, who hath not his like!" then he bade him depart to his own house and come again at eventide. the twenty-first night of the month. when came the night, the vizier presented himself before the king, who bade him relate the [promised] story. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. know, out story of the two sharpers who cheated each his fellow. there was once, in the city of baghdad, a man, [by name el merouzi,][fn# ] who was a sharper and plagued[fn# ] the folk with his knavish tricks, and he was renowned in all quarters [for roguery]. [he went out one day], carrying a load of sheep's dung, and took an oath that he would not return to his lodging till he had sold it at the price of raisins. now there was in another city a second sharper, [by name er razi,][fn# ] one of its people, who [went out the same day], bearing a load of goat's dung, which he had sworn that he would not sell but at the price of dried figs. so each of them fared on with that which was with him and gave not over going till they met in one of the inns[fn# ] and each complained to the other of that which he had abidden of travel [in quest of custom] and of the lack of demand for his wares. now each of them had it in mind to cheat his fellow; so el merouzi said to er razi, 'wilt thou sell me that?' 'yes,' answered he, and the other continued, 'and wilt thou buy that which is with me?' er razi assented; so they agreed upon this and each of them sold his fellow that which was with him [in exchange for the other's ware]; after which they bade each other farewell and parted. as soon as they were out of each other's sight, they examined their loads, to see what was therein, and one of them found that he had a load of sheep's dung and the other that he had a load of goat's dung; whereupon each of them turned back in quest of his fellow. they met in the inn aforesaid and laughed at each other and cancelling their bargain, agreed to enter into partnership and that all that they had of money and other good should be in common between them, share and share alike. then said er razi to el merouzi, 'come with me to my city, for that it is nearer [than thine].' so he went with him, and when he came to his lodging, he said to his wife and household and neighbours, 'this is my brother, who hath been absent in the land of khorassan and is come back.' and he abode with him in all honour and worship three days' space. on the fourth day, er razi said to him, 'know, o my brother, that i purpose to do somewhat' 'what is it?' asked el merouzi. quoth the other, 'i mean to feign myself dead and do thou go to the market and hire two porters and a bier. [then come back and take me up and go round about the streets and markets with me and collect alms on my account.][fn# ] accordingly el merouzi repaired to the market and fetching that which he sought, returned to er razi's house, where he found the latter cast down in the vestibule, with his beard tied and his eyes shut; and indeed, his colour was paled and his belly blown out and his limbs relaxed. so he deemed him in truth dead and shook him; but he spoke not; and he took a knife and pricked him in the legs, but he stirred not. then said er razi, 'what is this, o fool?' and el merouzi answered, 'methought thou wast dead in very sooth.' quoth er razi, 'get thee to seriousness and leave jesting.' so he took him up and went with him to the market and collected [alms] for him that day till eventide, when he carried him back to his lodging and waited till the morrow. next morning, he again took up the bier and went round with it as before, in quest of alms. presently, the master of police, who was of those who had given alms on account of the supposed dead man on the previous day, met him; so he was angered and fell on the porters and beat them and took the [supposed] dead body, saying, 'i will bury him and earn the reward [of god].'[fn# ] so his men took him up and carrying him to the prefecture, fetched grave-diggers, who dug him a grave. then they bought him a shroud and perfumes[fn# ] and fetched an old man of the quarter, to wash him. so he recited over him [the appointed prayers and portions of the koran] and laying him on the bench, washed him and shrouded him. after he had shrouded him, he voided;[fn# ] so he renewed the washing and went away to make his ablutions,[fn# ] whilst all the folk departed, likewise, to make the [obligatory] ablution, previously to the funeral. when the dead man found himself alone, he sprang up, as he were a satan, and donning the washer's clothes,[fn# ] took the bowls and water-can and wrapped them up in the napkins. then be took his shroud under his arm and went out. the doorkeepers thought that he was the washer and said to him, 'hast thou made an end of the washing, so we may tell the amir?' 'yes,' answered the sharper and made off to his lodging, where he found el merouzi soliciting his wife and saying to her, 'nay, by thy life, thou wilt never again look upon his face; for that by this time he is buried. i myself escaped not from them but after travail and trouble, and if he speak, they will put him to death.' quoth she, 'and what wilt thou have of me?' 'accomplish my desire of thee,' answered he, 'and heal my disorder, for i am better than thy husband.' and he fell a-toying with her. when er razi heard this, he said, 'yonder wittol lusteth after my wife; but i will do him a mischief.' then he rushed in upon them, and when el merouzi saw him, he marvelled at him and said to him, 'how didst thou make thine escape?' so he told him the trick he had played and they abode talking of that which they had collected from the folk [by way of alms], and indeed they had gotten great store of money. then said el merouzi, 'verily, mine absence hath been prolonged and fain would i return to my own country.' quoth er rasi,' as thou wilt;' and the other said, 'let us divide the money we have gotten and do thou go with me to my country, so i may show thee my tricks and my fashions.' 'come to-morrow,' replied er razi, 'and we will divide the money.' so el merouzi went away and the other turned to his wife and said to her, 'we have gotten us great plenty of money, and yonder dog would fain take the half of it; but this shall never be, for that my mind hath been changed against him, since i heard him solicit thee; wherefore i purpose to play him a trick and enjoy all the money; and do not thou cross me.' ' it is well,' answered she, and he said to her, '[to-morrow] at day-peep i will feign myself dead and do thou cry out and tear thy hair, whereupon the folk will flock to me. then lay me out and bury me, and when the folk are gone away [from the burial-place], do thou dig down to me and take me; and have no fear for me, for i can abide two days in the tomb [without hurt].' and she answered, 'do what thou wilt.' so, when it was the foredawn hour, she tied his beard and spreading a veil over him, cried out, whereupon the people of the quarter flocked to her, men and women. presently, up came el merouzi, for the division of the money, and hearing the crying [of the mourners], said, 'what is to do?" quoth they, 'thy brother is dead;' and he said in himself, 'the accursed fellow putteth a cheat on me, so he may get all the money for himself, but i will do with him what shall soon bring him to life again.' then he rent the bosom of his gown and uncovered his head, weeping and saying, 'alas, my brother! alas, my chief! alas, my lord!' and he went in to the men, who rose and condoled with him. then he accosted er razi's wife and said to her, 'how came his death about?' 'i know not,' answered she, 'except that, when i arose in the morning, i found him dead.' moreover, he questioned her of the money and good that was with her, but she said, 'i have no knowledge of this and no tidings.' so he sat down at the sharper's head, and said to him, 'know, o razi, that i will not leave thee till after ten days and their nights, wherein i will wake and sleep by thy grave. so arise and be not a fool.' but he answered him not and el merouzi [drew his knife and] fell to sticking it into the other's hands and feet, thinking to make him move; but [he stirred not and] he presently grew weary of this and concluded that the sharper was dead in good earnest. [however, he still misdoubted of the case] and said in himself, 'this fellow is dissembling, so he may enjoy all the money.' therewith he addressed himself to prepare him [for burial] and bought him perfumes and what [not else] was needed. then they brought him to the washing-place and el merouzi came to him and heating water till it boiled and bubbled and a third of it was wasted,[fn# ] fell to pouring it on his skin, so that it turned red and blue and blistered; but he abode still on one case [and stirred not]. so they wrapped him in the shroud and set him on the bier. then they took up his bier and bearing him to the burial-place, laid him in the grave[fn# ] and threw the earth over him; after which the folk dispersed, but el merouzi and the widow abode by the tomb, weeping, and gave not over sitting till sundown, when the woman said to him, 'come, let us go to the house, for this weeping will not profit us, nor will it restore the dead.' 'by allah,' answered the sharper, 'i will not budge hence till i have slept and waked by this tomb ten days, with their nights!' when she heard this his speech, she feared lest he should keep his word and his oath, and so her husband perish; but she said in herself, 'this fellow dissembleth: if i go away and return to my house, he will abide by him a little while and go away.' and el merouzi said to her, 'arise, thou, and go away.' so she arose and returned to her house, whilst el merouzi abode in his place till the night was half spent, when he said to himself, 'how long [is this to last]? yet how can i let this knavish dog die and lose the money? methinks i were better open the tomb on him and bring him forth and take my due of him by dint of grievous beating and torment.' accordingly, he dug him up and pulled him forth of the tomb; after which he betook himself to an orchard hard by the burial-ground and cut thence staves and palm sticks. then he tied the dead man's legs and came down on him with the staff and beat him grievously; but he stirred not. when the time grew long on him, his shoulders became weary and he feared lest some one of the watch should pass on his round and surprise him. so he took up er razi and carrying him forth of the cemetery, stayed not till he came to the magians' burying-place and casting him down in a sepulchre[fn# ] there, rained heavy blows upon him till his shoulders failed him, but the other stirred not then he sat down by his side and rested; after which he rose and renewed the beating upon him, [but to no better effect; and thus he did] till the end of the night now, as destiny would have it, a band of thieves, whose use it was, whenas they had stolen aught, to resort to that place and divide [their booty], came thither [that night], as of their wont; and they were ten in number and had with them wealth galore, which they were carrying. when they drew near the sepulchre, they heard a noise of blows within it and the captain said, 'this is a magian whom the angels[fn# ] are tormenting.' so they entered [the burial-ground] and when they came over against el merouzi, he feared lest they should be the officers of the watch come upon him, wherefore he [arose and] fled and stood among the tombs.[fn# ] the thieves came up to the place and finding er razi bound by the feet and by him near seventy sticks, marvelled at this with an exceeding wonderment and said, 'god confound thee! this was sure an infidel, a man of many crimes; for, behold, the earth hath rejected him from her womb, and by my life, he is yet fresh! this is his first night [in the tomb] and the angels were tormenting him but now; so whosoever of you hath a sin upon his conscience, let him beat him, as a propitiatory offering to god the most high.' and the thieves said, 'we all have sins upon our consciences.' so each of them went up to the [supposed] dead man and dealt him nigh upon a hundred blows, exclaiming the while, one, 'this is for[fn# ] my father!' and another, 'this is for my grandfather!' whilst a third said, 'this is for my brother!' and a fourth, 'this is for my mother!' and they gave not over taking turns at him and beating him, till they were weary, what while el merouzi stood laughing and saying in himself, 'it is not i alone who have entered into sin against him. there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the supreme!' then the thieves addressed themselves to sharing their booty and presently fell out concerning a sword that was among the spoil, who should take it. quoth the captain, 'methinks we were better prove it; so, if it be good, we shall know its worth, and if it be ill, we shall know that.' and they said, 'try it on this dead man, for he is fresh.' so the captain took the sword and drawing it, poised it and brandished it; but, when er razi saw this, he made sure of death and said in himself, 'i have borne the washing and the boiling water and the pricking with the knife and the grave and its straitness and all this [beating], trusting in god that i might be delivered from death, and [hitherto] i have been delivered; but, as for the sword, i may not brook that, for but one stroke of it, and i am a dead man.' so saying, he sprang to his feet and catching up the thigh-bone of one of the dead, cried out at the top of his voice, saying, 'o ye dead, take them!' and he smote one of them, whilst his comrade [el merouzi] smote another and they cried out at them and buffeted them on the napes of their necks; whereupon the thieves left that which was with them of plunder and fled; and indeed their wits forsook them [for terror] and they stayed not in their flight till they came forth of the magians' burial-ground and left it a parasang's length behind them, when they halted, trembling and affrighted for the soreness of that which had betided them of fear and amazement at the dead. as for er razi and el merouzi, they made peace with each other and sat down to share the booty. quoth el merouzi, 'i will not give thee a dirhem of this money, till thou pay me my due of the money that is in thy house.' and er razi said 'i will not do it, nor will i subtract this from aught of my due.' so they fell out upon this and disputed with one another and each went saying to his fellow, 'i will not give thee a dirhem!' and words ran high between them and contention was prolonged. meanwhile, when the thieves halted, one of them said to the others, 'let us return and see;' and the captain said, 'this thing is impossible of the dead: never heard we that they came to life on this wise. so let us return and take our good, for that the dead have no occasion for good.' and they were divided in opinion as to returning: but [presently they came to a decision and] said, 'indeed, our arms are gone and we cannot avail against them and will not draw near the place where they are: only let one of us [go thither and] look at it, and if he hear no sound of them, let him advertise us what we shall do.' so they agreed that they should send a man of them and assigned him [for this service] two parts [of the booty]. accordingly, he returned to the burial-ground and gave not over going till he stood at the door of the sepulchre, when he heard el merouzi say to his fellow, 'i will not give thee a single dirhem of the money!' the other said the like and they were occupied with contention and mutual revilement and talk. so the thief returned in haste to his fellows, who said, 'what is behind thee?' quoth he, 'get you gone and flee for your lives and save yourselves, o fools; for that much people of the dead are come to life and between them are words and contention.' so the thieves fled, whilst the two sharpers retained to er razi's house and made peace with one another and laid the thieves' purchase to the money they had gotten aforetime and lived a while of time. nor, o king of the age," added the vizier, "is this rarer or more marvellous than the story of the four sharpers with the money-changer and the ass." when the king heard this story, he smiled and it pleased him and he bade the vizier go away to his own house. the twenty-second night of the month. when the evening evened, the king summoned the vizier and required of him the hearing of the [promised] story. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. know, o king, that story of the sharpers with the money-changer and the ass. four sharpers once plotted against a money-changer, a man of abounding wealth, and agreed upon a device for the taking of somewhat of his money. so one of them took an ass and laying on it a bag, wherein was money, lighted down at the money-changer's shop and sought of him change for the money. the money- changer brought out to him the change and bartered it with him, whilst the sharper was easy with him in the matter of the exchange, so he might give him confidence in himself. [as they were thus engaged,] up came the [other three] sharpers and surrounded the ass; and one of them said, '[it is] he,' and another said, 'wait till i look at him.' then he fell to looking on the ass and stroking him from his mane to his crupper; whilst the third went up to him and handled him and felt him from head to tail, saying, ' yes, [it is] in him.' quoth another, ['nay,] it is not in him.' and they gave not over doing the like of this. then they accosted the owner of the ass and chaffered with him and he said, 'i will not sell him but for ten thousand dirhems.' they offered him a thousand dirhems; but he refused and swore that he would not sell the ass but for that which he had said. they ceased not to add to their bidding, till the price reached five thousand dirhems, whilst their fellow still said, 'i will not sell him but for ten thousand dirhems.' the money-changer counselled him to sell, but he would not do this and said to him, 'harkye, gaffer! thou hast no knowledge of this ass's case. concern thyself with silver and gold and what pertaineth thereto of change and exchange; for indeed the virtue of this ass passeth thy comprehension. to every craft its craftsman and to every means of livelihood its folk.' when the affair was prolonged upon the three sharpers, they went away and sat down a little apart; then they came up to the money-changer privily and said to him, 'if thou canst buy him for us, do so, and we will give thee a score of dirhems.' quoth he, 'go away and sit down afar from him.' so they did his bidding and the money-changer went up to the owner of the ass and gave not over tempting him with money and cajoling him and saying, 'leave yonder fellows and sell me the ass, and i will reckon him a gift from thee,' till he consented to sell him the ass for five thousand and five hundred dirhems. accordingly the money-changer counted down to him five thousand and five hundred dirhems of his own money, and the owner of the ass took the price and delivered the ass to him, saying, 'whatsoever betideth, though he abide a deposit about thy neck,[fn# ] sell him not to yonder rogues for less than ten thousand dirhems, for that they would fain buy him because of a hidden treasure whereof they know, and nought can guide them thereto but this ass. so close thy hand on him and gainsay me not, or thou wilt repent.' so saying, he left him and went away, whereupon up came the three other sharpers, the comrades of him of the ass, and said to the money-changer, 'god requite thee for us with good, for that thou hast bought him! how can we requite thee!' quoth he, 'i will not sell him but for ten thousand dirhems.' when they heard this, they returned to the ass and fell again to examining him and handling him. then said they to the money-changer, 'we were mistaken in him. this is not the ass we sought and he is not worth more than half a score paras to us.' then they left him and offered to go away, whereat the money-changer was sore chagrined and cried out at their speech, saying, 'o folk, ye besought me to buy him for you and now i have bought him, ye say, "we were deceived [in him], and he is not worth more than ten paras to us."' quoth they, 'we supposed that in him was that which we desired; but, behold, in him is the contrary of that which we want; and indeed he hath a default, for that he is short of back.' and they scoffed at him and went away from him and dispersed. the money-changer thought they did but finesse with him, that they might get the ass at their own price; but, when they went away from him and he had long in vain awaited their return, he cried out, saying, 'woe!' and 'ruin!' and 'alack, my sorry chance!' and shrieked aloud and tore his clothes. so the people of the market assembled to him and questioned him of his case; whereupon he acquainted them with his plight and told them what the sharpers had said and how they had beguiled him and how it was they who had cajoled him into buying an ass worth half a hundred dirhems[fn# ] for five thousand and five hundred.[fn# ] his friends blamed him and a company of the folk laughed at him and marvelled at his folly and his credulity in accepting the sharpers' talk, without suspicion, and meddling with that which he understood not and thrusting himself into that whereof he was not assured. on this wise, o king shah bekht," continued the vizier, "is the issue of eagerness for [the goods of] the world and covetise of that which our knowledge embraceth not; indeed, [whoso doth thus] shall perish and repent nor, o king of the age, (added he) is this story more extraordinary than that of the sharper and the merchants." when the king heard this story, he said in himself, "verily, had i given ear to the sayings of my courtiers and inclined to the idle prate [of those who counselled me] in the matter of [the slaying of] my vizier, i had repented to the utterest of repentance, but praised be god, who hath disposed me to mansuetude and long-suffering and hath endowed me with patience!" then he turned to the vizier and bade him return to his dwelling and [dismissed] those who were present, as of wont. the twenty-third night of the month. when the evening evened, the king sent after the vizier and when he presented himself before him, he required of him the hearing of the [promised] story. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. know, o illustrious lord, that story of the sharper and the merchants. there was once aforetime a certain sharper, who [was so eloquent that he] would turn the ear inside out, and he was a man of understanding and quick wit and skill and perfection. it was his wont to enter a town and [give himself out as a merchant and] make a show of trafficking and insinuate himself into the intimacy of people of worth and consort with the merchants, for he was [apparently] distinguished for virtue and piety. then he would put a cheat on them and take [of them] what he might spend and go away to another city; and he ceased not to do thus a great while. it befell one day that he entered a certain city and sold somewhat that was with him of merchandise and got him friends of the merchants of the place and fell to sitting with them and entertaining them and inviting them to his lodging and his assembly, whilst they also invited him to their houses. on this wise he abode a long while, till he was minded to leave the city; and this was bruited abroad among his friends, who were concerned for parting from him. then he betook himself to him of them, who was the richest of them in substance and the most apparent of them in generosity, and sat with him and borrowed his goods; and when he was about to take leave, he desired him to give him the deposit that he had left with him. 'and what is the deposit?' asked the merchant. quoth the sharper, 'it is such a purse, with the thousand dinars therein.' and the merchant said, 'when didst thou give it me?' 'extolled be the perfection of god!' replied the sharper. 'was it not on such a day, by such a token, and thus and thus?' 'i know not of this,' rejoined the merchant, and words were bandied about between them, whilst the folk [who were present also] disputed together concerning their affair and their speech, till their voices rose high and the neighbours had knowledge of that which passed between them. then said the sharper, 'o folk, this is my friend and i deposited with him a deposit, but he denieth it; so in whom shall the folk put trust after this?' and they said, 'this [fn# ] is a man of worth and we have found in him nought but trustiness and loyality and good breeding, and he is endowed with understanding and generosity. indeed, he avoucheth no falsehood, for that we have consorted with him and mixed with him and he with us and we know the sincerity of his religion.' then quoth one of them to the merchant, 'harkye, such an one! bethink thee and consult thy memory. it may not be but that thou hast forgotten.' but he said, 'o folk, i know nothing of that which he saith, for indeed he deposited nought with me.' and the affair was prolonged between them. then said the sharper to the merchant, 'i am about to make a journey and have, praised be god the most high, wealth galore, and this money shall not escape me; but do thou swear to me.' and the folk said, 'indeed, this man doth justice upon himself.'[fn# ] whereupon the merchant fell into that which he misliked[fn# ] and came near upon [suffering] loss and ill repute. now he had a friend, who pretended to quickwittedness and understanding; so he came up to him privily and said to him, 'let me do, so i may put the change on this trickster, for i know him to be a liar and thou art near upon having to pay the money; but i will turn suspicion from thee and say to him, "the deposit is with me and thou erredst in imagining that it was with other than myself," and so divert him from thee.' 'do so,' replied the merchant, 'and rid the folk of their [false] debts.' so the friend turned to the sharper and said to him, 'o my lord, o such an one, thou goest under a delusion. the purse is with me, for it was with me that thou depositedst it, and this elder is innocent of it.' but the sharper answered him with impatience and impetuosity, saying, 'extolled be the perfection of god! as for the purse that is with thee, o noble and trusty man, i know that it is in the warrant of god and my heart is at ease concerning it, for that it is with thee as it were with me; but i began by demanding that which i deposited with this man, of my knowledge that he coveteth the folk's good.' at this the friend was confounded and put to silence and returned not an answer; [and the] only [result of his interference was that] each of them [fn# ] paid a thousand dinars. so the sharper took the two thousand dinars and made off; and when he was gone, the merchant said to his friend, the [self-styled] man of wit and intelligence, 'harkye, such an one! thou and i are like unto the hawk and the locust.' 'what was their case?' asked the other; and the merchant said, story of the hawk and the locust. 'there was once, of old time, a hawk who made himself a nest hard by that of a locust, and the latter gloried in his neighbourhood and betaking herself to him, saluted him and said, "o my lord and chief of the birds, indeed the nearness unto thee delighteth me and thou honourest me with thy neighbourhood and my soul is fortified with thee." the hawk thanked her for this and there ensued friendship between them. one day, the locust said to the hawk, "o chief of the birds, how cometh it that i see thee alone, solitary, having with thee no friend of thy kind of the birds, to whom thou mayst incline in time of easance and of whom thou mayst seek succour in time of stress? indeed, it is said, 'man goeth about seeking the ease of his body and the preservation of his strength, and in this there is nought more necessary to him than a friend who shall be the completion of his gladness and the mainstay of his life and on whom shall be his dependence in his stress and in his ease.' now i, albeit i ardently desire thy weal in that which beseemeth thy condition, yet am i weak [and unable] unto that which the soul craveth; but, if thou wilt give me leave, i will seek out for thee one of the birds who shall be conformable unto thee in thy body and thy strength." and the hawk said, "i commit this to thee and rely upon thee therein." therewithal, o my brother, the locust fell to going round about among the company of the birds, but saw nought resembling the hawk in bulk and body save the kite and deemed well of her. so she brought the hawk and the kite together and counselled the former to make friends with the latter. now it chanced that the hawk fell sick and the kite abode with him a long while [and tended him] till he recovered and became whole and strong; wherefore he thanked her [and she departed from him]. but after awhile the hawk's sickness returned to him and he needed the kite's succour. so the locust went out from him and was absent from him a day, after which she returned to him with a[nother] locust, [fn# ] saying, "i have brought thee this one." when the hawk saw her, he said, "god requite thee with good! indeed, thou hast done well in the quest and hast been subtle in the choice." all this, o my brother,' continued the merchant, 'befell because the locust had no knowledge of the secret essence that lieth hid in apparent bodies. as for thee, o my brother, (may god requite thee with good!) thou wast subtle in device and usedst precaution; but precaution sufficeth not against fate, and fortune fore-ordained baffleth contrivance. how excellent is the saying of the poet! and he recited the following verses: it chances whiles that the blind man escapes a pit, whilst he who is clear of sight falls into it. the ignorant man may speak with impunity a word that is death to the wise and the ripe of wit. the true believer is pinched for his daily bread, whilst infidel rogues enjoy all benefit. where is a man's resource and what can he do? it is the almighty's will; we most submit. nor," added the vizier, "is this, o king of the age, more extraordinary or stranger than the story of the king and his chamberlain's wife; nay, the latter is rarer than this and more delightsome." when the king heard this story, he was fortified in his resolve to spare the vizier and to leave haste in an affair whereof he was not assured; so he comforted him and bade him withdraw to his lodging. the twenty-fourth night of the month. when it was night, the king summoned the vizier and sought of him the hearing of the [promised] story. "hearkening and obedience," replied er rehwan, "know, o august king, that story of the king and his chamberlain's wife. there was once, of old days and in bygone ages and times, a king of the kings of the persians, who was passionately addicted to the love of women. his courtiers bespoke him of the wife of a chamberlain of his chamberlains, for that she was endowed with beauty and loveliness and perfection, and this prompted him to go in to her. when she saw him, she knew him and said to him, 'what prompteth the king unto this that he doth?' and he answered, saying, 'verily, i yearn after thee with an exceeding yearning and needs must i enjoy thy favours.' and he gave her of wealth that after the like whereof women hanker; but she said, 'i cannot do that whereof the king speaketh, for fear of my husband.' and she refused herself to him with the most rigorous of refusals and would not do his desire. so the king went out, full of wrath, and forgot his girdle in the place. presently, her husband entered and saw the girdle and knew it. now he was ware of the king's love for women; so he said to his wife, ' what is this that i see with thee?' quoth she, 'i will tell thee the truth,' and recounted to him the story; but he believed her not and doubt entered into his heart. as for the king, he passed that night in chagrin and concern, and when it morrowed, he summoned the chamberlain and investing him with the governance of one of his provinces, bade him betake himself thither, purposing, after he should have departed and come to his destination, to foregather with his wife. the chamberlain perceived [his intent] and knew his design; so he answered, saying, 'hearkening and obedience. i will go and set my affairs in order and give such charges as may be necessary for the welfare of my estate; then will i go about the king's occasion.' and the king said, 'do this and hasten.' so the chamberlain went about that which he needed and assembling his wife's kinsfolk, said to them, 'i am resolved to put away my wife.' they took this ill of him and complained of him and summoning him before the king, sat pleading with him. now the king had no knowledge of that which had passed; so he said to the chamberlain, 'why wilt thou put her away and how can thy soul consent unto this and why takest thou unto thyself a goodly piece of land and after forsakest it? 'may god amend the king!' answered the husband. 'by allah, o king, i saw therein the track of the lion and fear to enter the land, lest the lion devour me; and indeed the like of my affair with her is that which befell between the old woman and the draper's wife.' 'what is their story?' asked the king; and the chamberlain said, 'know, o king, that story of the old woman and the draper's wife. there was once a man of the drapers, who had a fair wife, and she was curtained [fn# ] and chaste. a certain young man saw her coming forth of the bath and loved her and his heart was occupied with her. so he cast about [to get access to her] with all manner of devices, but availed not to win to her; and when he was weary of endeavour and his patience was exhausted for weariness and his fortitude failed him and he was at an end of his resources against her, he complained of this to an old woman of ill-omen, [fn# ] who promised him to bring about union between him and her. he thanked her for this and promised her all manner of good; and she said to him, "get thee to her husband and buy of him a turban-cloth of fine linen, and let it be of the goodliest of stuffs." so he repaired to the draper and buying of him a turban-cloth of lawn, returned with it to the old woman, who took it and burned it in two places. then she donned devotees' apparel and taking the turban-cloth with her, went to the draper's house and knocked at the door. when the draper's wife saw her, she opened to her and received her kindly and made much of her and welcomed her. so the old woman went in to her and conversed with her awhile. then said she to her, "[i desire to make] the ablution [preparatory] to prayer." so the wife brought her water and she made the ablution and standing up to pray, prayed and did her occasion. when she had made an end of her prayers, she left the turban-cloth in the place of prayer and went away. presently, in came the draper, at the hour of evening prayer, and sitting down in the place where the old woman had prayed, looked about him and espied the turban. he knew it [for that which he had that day sold to the young man] and misdoubted of the case, wherefore anger appeared in his face and he was wroth with his wife and reviled her and abode his day and his night, without speaking to her, what while she knew not the cause of his anger. then she looked and seeing the turban-cloth before him and noting the traces of burning thereon, understood that his anger was on account of this and concluded that he was wroth because it was burnt. when the morning morrowed, the draper went out, still angered against his wife, and the old woman returned to her and found her changed of colour, pale of face, dejected and heart-broken. [so she questioned her of the cause of her dejection and she told her how her husband was angered against her (as she supposed) on account of the burns in the turban-cloth.] "o my daughter," rejoined the old woman, "be not concerned; for i have a son, a fine-drawer, and he, by thy life, shall fine-draw [the holes] and restore the turban-cloth as it was. "the wife rejoiced in her saying and said to her, "and when shall this be?" "to-morrow, if it please god the most high," answered the old woman, "i will bring him to thee, at the time of thy husband's going forth from thee, and he shall mend it and depart forth-right." then she comforted her heart and going forth from her, returned to the young man and told him what had passed. now, when the draper saw the turban-cloth, he resolved to put away his wife and waited but till he should get together that which was obligatory on him of the dowry and what not else,[fn# ] for fear of her people. when the old woman arose in the morning, she took the young man and carried him to the draper's house. the wife opened the door to her and the ill-omened old woman entered with him and said to the lady, "go, fetch that which thou wouldst have fine-drawn and give it to my son." so saying, she locked the door on her, whereupon the young man forced her and did his occasion of her and went forth. then said the old woman to her, "know that this is my son and that he loved thee with an exceeding love and was like to lose his life for longing after thee. so i practised on thee with this device and came to thee with this turban-cloth, which is not thy husband's, but my son's. now have i accomplished my desire; so do thou trust in me and i will put a trick on thy husband for the setting thee right with him, and thou wilt be obedient to me and to him and to my son."[fn# ] and the wife answered, saying, "it is well. do so." so the old woman returned to the lover and said to him, "i have skilfully contrived the affair for thee with her; [and now it behoveth us to amend that we have marred]. so go now and sit with the draper and bespeak him of the turban-cloth, [saying, 'the turban-cloth i bought of thee i chanced to burn in two places; so i gave it to a certain old woman, to get mended, and she took it and went away, and i know not her dwelling-place.'] when thou seest me pass by, rise and lay hold of me [and demand of me the turban-cloth], to the intent that i may amend her case with her husband and that thou mayst be even with her." so he repaired to the draper's shop and sat down by him and said to him, "thou knowest the turban-cloth i bought of thee?" "yes," answered the draper, and the other said, "knowest thou what is come of it?" "no," replied the husband, and the youth said, "after i bought it of thee, i fumigated myself[fn# ] and it befell that the turban-cloth was burnt in two places. so i gave it to a woman, whose son, they said, was a fine-drawer, and she took it and went away with it; and i know not her abiding-place." when the draper heard this, he misdoubted him [of having wrongly suspected his wife] and marvelled at the story of the turban-cloth, and his mind was set at ease concerning her. presently, up came the old woman, whereupon the young man sprang to his feet and laying hold of her, demanded of her the turban-cloth. quoth she, "know that i entered one of the houses and made the ablution and prayed in the place of prayer; and i forgot the turban-cloth there and went out. now i know not the house in which i prayed, nor have i been directed[fn# ] thereto, and i go round about every day till the night, so haply i may light on it, for i know not its owner." when the draper heard this, he said to the old woman, "verily, allah restoreth unto thee vhat which thou hast lost. rejoice, for the turban-cloth is with me and in my house." and he arose forthright and gave her the turban-cloth, as it was. she gave it to the young man, and the draper made his peace with his wife and gave her raiment and jewellery, [by way of peace-offering], till she was content and her heart was appeased. [fn# ] when the king heard his chamberlain's story, he was confounded and abashed and said to him, 'abide on thy wonted service and till thy land, for that the lion entered it, but marred it not, and he will never more return thither.'[fn# ] then he bestowed on him a dress of honour and made him a sumptuous present; and the man returned to his wife and people, rejoicing and glad, for that his heart was set at rest concerning his wife. nor," added the vizier, "o king of the age, is this rarer or more extraordinary than the story of the fair and lovely woman, endowed with amorous grace, with the foul-favoured man." when the king heard the vizier's speech, he deemed it goodly and it pleased him; so he bade him go away to his house, and there he abode his day long. the twenty-fifth night of the month. when the evening evened, the king summoned his vizier and bade him tell the [promised] story. so he said, "it is well. know, o king, that story of the foul-favoured man and his fair wife. there was once a man of the arabs who had a number of sons, and amongst them a boy, never was seen a fairer than he of favour nor a more accomplished in loveliness, no, nor a more perfect of wit. when he came to man's estate, his father married him to the daughter of one of his uncles, and she excelled not in beauty, neither was she praiseworthy of attributes; wherefore she pleased not the youth, but he bore with her, for kinship's sake. one day, he went forth in quest of certain stray camels of his and fared on all his day and night till eventide, when he [came to an arab encampment and] was fain to seek hospitality of one of the inhabitants. so he alighted at one of the tents of the camp and there came forth to him a man of short stature and loathly aspect, who saluted him and lodging him in a corner of the tent, sat entertaining him with talk, the goodliest that might be. when his food was dressed, the arab's wife brought it to the guest, and he looked at the mistress of the tent and saw a favour than which no goodlier might be. indeed, her beauty and grace and symmetry amazed him and he abode confounded, looking now at her and now at her husband. when his looking grew long, the man said to him, 'harkye, o son of the worthy! occupy thyself with thine own concerns, for by me and this woman hangeth a rare story, that is yet goodlier than that which thou seest of her beauty; and when we have made an end of our food, i will tell it thee.' so, when they had made an end of eating and drinking, the young man asked his host for the story, and he said, 'know that in my youth i was even as thou seest me in the matter of loathliness and foul favour; and i had brethren of the comeliest of the folk; wherefore my father preferred them over me and used to show them kindness, to my exclusion, and employ me, in their room [in menial service], like as one employeth slaves. one day, a she-camel of his went astray and he said to me, "go thou forth in quest of her and return not but with her." quoth i, "send other than i of thy sons." but he would not consent to this and reviled me and insisted upon me, till the matter came to such a pass with him that he took a whip and fell to beating me. so i arose and taking a riding-camel, mounted her and sallied forth at a venture, purposing to go out into the deserts and return to him no more. i fared on all my night [and the next day] and coming at eventide to [the encampment of] this my wife's people, alighted down with her father, who was a very old man, and became his guest. when the night was half spent, i arose [and went forth the tent] to do an occasion of mine, and none knew of my case save this woman. the dogs misdoubted of me and followed me and gave not over besetting me, till i fell on my back into a deep pit, wherein was water, and one of the dogs fell in with me. the woman, who was then a girl in the first bloom of youth, full of strength and spirit, was moved to pity on me, for that wherein i was fallen, and coming to me with a rope, said to me, "lay hold of this rope." so i laid hold of the rope and clung to it and she pulled me up; but, when i was halfway up, i pulled her [down] and she fell with me into the pit; and there we abode three days, she and i and the dog. when her people arose in the morning and saw her not, they sought her in the camp, but, finding her not and missing me also, doubted not but she had fled with me. now she had four brothers, as they were falcons, and they mounted and dispersed in quest of us. when the day dawned [on the fourth morning], the dog began to bark and the other dogs answered him and coming to the mouth of the pit, stood howling to him. my wife's father, hearing the howling of the dogs, came up and standing at the brink of the pit, [looked in and] beheld a marvel. now he was a man of valour and understanding, an elder versed[fn# ] in affairs so he fetched a rope and bringing us both forth, questioned us of our case. i told him all that had betided and he abode pondering the affair. presently, her brothers returned, whereupon the old man acquainted them with the whole case and said to them, "o my sons, know that your sister purposed not aught but good, and if ye slay this man, ye will earn abiding reproach and ye will wrong him, ay, and wrong yourselves and your sister, to boot; for indeed there appeareth no cause [of offence] such as calleth for slaughter, and it may not be denied that this incident is a thing the like whereof may well betide and that he may well have been baffled by the like of this chance." then he turned to me and questioned me of my lineage; so i set forth to him my genealogy and he said, "a man of equal rank, honourable [and] understanding." and he offered me [his daughter in] marriage. i consented to him of this and marrying her, took up my abode with him and god the most high hath opened on me the gates of weal and fortune, so that i am become the most abounding in substance of the folk of the tribe; and he hath stablished me in that which he hath given me of his bounties.' the young man marvelled at his story and lay the night with him; and when he arose in the morning, he found his strays. so he took them and returning [to his family.], acquainted them with what he had seen and that which had betided him. nor," added the vizier, "is this more marvellous or rarer than the story of the king who lost kingdom and wealth and wife and children and god restored them unto him and requited him with a kingdom more magnificent than that which he had lost and goodlier and rarer and greater of wealth and elevation." the vizier's story pleased the king and he bade depart to his dwelling. the twenty-sixth night of the month. when came the night, the king summoned his vizier and bade him tell the story of the king who lost kingdom and wife and wealth. "hearkening and obedience," replied er rehwan. "know, o king, that story of the king who lost kingdom and wife and wealth and god restored them to him. there was once a king of the kings of hind, who was goodly of polity, praiseworthy in administration, just to his subjects, beneficent to men of learning and piety and asceticism and devoutness and worship and shunning traitors and froward folk and those of lewd life. on this wise of polity he abode in his kingship what god the most high willed of days and hours and years, and he married the daughter of his father's brother, a beautiful and lovesome woman, endowed with brightness and perfection, who had been reared in the king's house in splendour and delight. she bore him two sons, the comeliest that might be of boys. then came fore-ordained fate, which there is no warding off, and god the most high raised up against the king another king, who came forth upon his realm, and all the folk of the city, who had a mind unto evil and lewdness, joined themselves unto him. so he fortified himself against the king and made himself master of his kingdom, putting his troops to the rout and slaying his guards. the king took his wife, the mother of his sons, and what he might [of good] and saved himself and fled in the darkness of the night, unknowing whither he should go. when travel grew sore upon them, there met them robbers by the way, who took all that was with them, [even to their clothes], so that there was left unto each of them but a shirt and trousers; yea, they left them without victual or camels or [other] riding-cattle, and they ceased not to fare on afoot, till they came to a coppice, to wit, a garden of trees, on the shore of the sea. now the road which they would have followed was crossed by an arm of the sea, but it was scant of water. so, when they came to that place, the king took up one of his children and fording the water with him, set him down on the other bank and returned for his other son. him also he set by his brother and returning for their mother, took her up and passing the water with her, came to the place [where he had left his children], but found them not. then he looked at the midst of the island and saw there an old man and an old woman, engaged in making themselves a hut of reeds. so he put down his wife over against them and set off in quest of his children, but none gave him news of them and he went round about right and left, but found not the place where they were. now the children had entered the coppice, to make water, and there was there a forest of trees, wherein, if a horseman entered, he might wander by the week, [before finding his way out], for none knew the first thereof from the last. so the boys entered therein and knew not how they should return and went astray in that wood, to an end that was willed of god the most high, whilst their father sought them, but found them not. so he returned to their mother and they abode weeping for their children. as for these latter, when they entered the wood, it swallowed them up and they went wandering in it many days, knowing not where they had entered, till they came forth, at another side, upon the open country. meanwhile, the king and queen abode in the island, over against the old man and woman, and ate of the fruits that were in the island and drank of its waters, till, one day, as they sat, there came a ship and moored to the side of the island, to fill up with water, whereupon they[fn# ] looked at each other and spoke. the master of the ship was a magian and all that was therein, both men and goods, belonged to him, for that he was a merchant and went round about the world. now covetise deluded the old man, the owner of the island, and he went up [into the ship] and gave the magian news of the king's wife, setting out to him her charms, till he made him yearn unto her and his soul prompted him to use treachery and practise upon her and take her from her hnsband. so he sent to her, saying, 'with us in the ship is a woman with child, and we fear lest she be delivered this night. hast thou skill in the delivering of women?' and she answered, 'yes.' now it was the last of the day; so he sent to her to come up into the ship and deliver the woman, for that the pangs of labour were come upon her; and he promised her clothes and spending-money. accordingly, she embarked in all assurance, with a heart at ease for herself, and transported her gear to the ship; but no sooner was she come thither than the anchors were weighed and the canvas spread and the ship set sail. when the king saw this, he cried out and his wife wept in the ship and offered to cast herself into the sea; but the magian bade the sailors lay hands on her. so they seized her and it was but a little while ere the night darkened and the ship disappeared from the king's eyes; whereupon he swooned away for excess of weeping and lamentation and passed his night bewailing his wife and children. when the morning morrowed, he recited the following verses: how long, o fate, wilt thou oppress and baffle me? tell me, was ever yet a mortal spared of thee? behold, my loved ones all are ta'en from me away. they left me and content forthright forsook my heart, upon that day my loves my presence did depart; my pleasant life for loss of friends is troubled aye. by allah, i knew not their worth nor yet how dear a good it is to have one's loved ones ever near, until they left my heart on fire without allay. ne'er shall i them forget, nay, nor the day they went and left me all forlorn, to pine for languishment, my severance to bewail in torment and dismay. i make a vow to god, if ever day or night the herald of good news my hearing shall delight, announcing the return o' th' absent ones, i'll lay upon their threshold's dust my cheeks and to my soul, "take comfort, for the loved are come again," i'll say. if for my loved ones' loss i rent my heart for dole, before i rent my clothes, reproach me not, i pray. he abode weeping for the loss of his wife and children till the morning, when he went forth wandering at a venture, knowing not what he should do, and gave not over faring along the sea-shore days and nights, unknowing whither he went and taking no food therein other than the herbs of the earth and seeing neither man nor beast nor other living thing, till his travel brought him to the top of a mountain. he took up his sojourn in the mountain and abode there [awhile] alone, eating of its fruits and drinking of its waters. then he came down thence and fared on along the high road three days, at the end of which time he came upon tilled fields and villages and gave not over going till he sighted a great city on the shore of the sea and came to the gate thereof at the last of the day. the gatekeepers suffered him not to enter; so he abode his night anhungred, and when he arose in the morning, be sat down hard by the gate. now the king of the city was dead and had left no son, and the townsfolk fell out concerning who should be king over them: and their sayings differed and their counsels, so that turmoil was like to betide between them by reason of this. at last, after long dissension, they came to an accord and agreed to leave the choice to the late king's elephant and that he unto whom he consented should be king and that they would not contest the commandment with him. so they made oath of this and on the morrow, they brought out the elephant and came forth to the utterward of the city; nor was there man or woman left in the place but was present at that time. then they adorned the elephant and setting up the throne on his back, gave him the crown in his trunk; and he went round about examining the faces of the folk, but stopped not with any of them till he came to the banished king, the forlorn, the exile, him who had lost his children and his wife, when he prostrated himself to him and placing the crown on his head, took him up and set him on his back. thereupon the folk all prostrated themselves and gave one another joy of this and the drums of good tidings beat before him, and he entered the city [and went on] till he came to the house of justice and the audience-hall of the palace and sat down on the throne of the kingdom, with the crown on his head; whereupon the folk came in to him to give him joy and offer up prayers for him. then he addressed himself, after his wont in the kingship, to ordering the affairs of the folk and ranging the troops according to their ranks and looking into their affairs and those of all the people. moreover, he released those who were in the prisons and abolished the customs dues and gave dresses of honour and bestowed gifts and largesse and conferred favours on the amirs and viziers and dignitaries, and the chamberlains and deputies presented themselves before him and did him homage. so the people of the city rejoiced in him and said, 'indeed this is none other than a king of the greatest of the kings.' moreover, he assembled the sages and the theologians and the sons of the kings and devised with them and asked them questions and problems and examined with them into many things of all fashions that might direct him to well-doing in the kingly office; and he questioned them also of subtleties and religious obligations and of the laws of the kingdom and the fashions of administration and of that which it behoveth the king to do of looking into the affairs of the people and repelling the enemy [from the realm] and fending off his malice with war; wherefore the people's contentment redoubled and their joy in that which god the most high had vouchsafed them of his elevation to the kingship over them. so he upheld the ordinance of the realm and the affairs thereof abode established upon the accepted customs. now the late king had left a wife and a daughter, and the people would fain have married the latter to the new king, to the intent that the kingship might not pass out of the old royal family. so they proposed to him that he should take her to wife, and he promised them this, but put them off from him,[fn# ] of his respect for the covenant he had made with his former wife, to wit, that he would take none other to wife than herself. then he betook himself to fasting by day and standing up by night [to pray], giving alms galore and beseeching god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) to reunite him with his children and his wife, the daughter of his father's brother. when a year had elapsed, there came to the city a ship, wherein were merchants and goods galore. now it was of their usance, from time immemorial, that, when there came a ship to the city, the king sent unto it such of his servants as he trusted in, who took charge of the goods, so they might be [first of all] shown to the king, who bought such of them as befitted him and gave the merchants leave to sell the rest. so he sent, as of wont, one who should go up to the ship and seal up the goods and set over them who should keep watch over them. to return to the queen his wife. when the magian fled with her, he proffered himself to her and lavished unto her wealth galore, but she rejected his suit and was like to slay herself for chagrin at that which had befallen and for grief for her separation from her husband. moreover, she refused meat and drink and offered to cast herself into the sea; but the magian shackled her and straitened her and clad her in a gown of wool and said to her, 'i will continue thee in misery and abjection till thou obey me and consent to my wishes.' so she took patience and looked for god to deliver her from the hand of that accursed one; and she ceased not to travel with him from place to place till he came with her to the city wherein her husband was king and his goods were put under seal. now the woman was in a chest and two youths of the pages of the late king, who were now in the new king's service, were those who had been charged with the guardianship of the vessel and the goods. when the evening evened on them, the two youths fell a-talking and recounted that which had befallen them in their days of childhood and the manner of the going forth of their father and mother from their country and royal estate, whenas the wicked overcame their land, and [called to mind] how they had gone astray in the forest and how fate had made severance between them and their parents; brief, they recounted their story, from beginning to end. when the woman heard their talk, she knew that they were her very sons and cried out to them from the chest, saying, 'i am your mother such an one, and the token between you and me is thus and thus.' the young men knew the token and falling upon the chest, broke the lock and brought out their mother, who strained them to her breast, and they fell upon her and swooned away, all three. when they came to themselves, they wept awhile and the folk assembled about them, marvelling at that which they saw, and questioned them of their case. so the young men vied with each other who should be the first to discover the story to the folk; and when the magian saw this, he came up, crying out, 'alas!' and 'woe worth the day!' and said to them, 'why have ye broken open my chest? i had in it jewels and ye have stolen them, and this damsel is my slave-girl and she hath agreed with you upon a device to take the good.' then he rent his clothes and called aloud for succour, saying, 'i appeal to god and to the just king, so he may quit me of these wrong-doing youths!' quoth they, 'this is our mother and thou stolest her.' then words waxed many between them and the folk plunged into talk and prate and discussion concerning their affair and that of the [pretended] slave-girl, and the strife waxed amain between them, so that [at last] they carried them up to the king. when the two young men presented themselves before him and set forth their case to him and to the folk and the king heard their speech, he knew them and his heart was like to fly for joyance in them: the tears poured from his eyes at their sight and that of his wife, and he thanked god the most high and praised him for that he had reunited [him with] them. then he dismissed the folk who were present about him and bade commit the magian and the woman and the two youths to his armoury[fn# ] [for the night], commanding that they should keep guard over them till god caused the morning morrow, so he might assemble the cadis and the judges and assessors and judge between them, according to the holy law, in the presence of the four cadis. so they did his bidding and the king passed the night praying and praising god the most high for that which he had vouchsafed him of kingship and puissance and victory over[fn# ] him who had wronged him and thanking him who had reunited him with his family. when the morning morrowed, he assembled the cadis and judges and assessors and sending for the magian and the two youths and their mother, questioned them of their case, whereupon the two young men began and said, 'we are the sons of the king such-an-one and enemies and wicked men got the mastery of out realm; so our father fled forth with us and wandered at a venture, for fear of the enemies.' [and they recounted to him all that had betided them, from beginning to end.] quoth he, 'ye tell a marvellous story; but what hath [fate] done with your father?' 'we know not how fortune dealt with him after our loss,' answered they; and he was silent. then he turned to the woman and said to her, 'and thou, what sayst thou?' so she expounded to him her case and recounted to him all that had betided her and her husband, first and last, up to the time when they took up their abode with the old man and woman who dwelt on the sea-shore. then she set out that which the magian had practised on her of knavery and how he had carried her off in the ship and all that had betided her of humiliation and torment, what while the cadis and judges and deputies hearkened to her speech. when the king heard the last of his wife's story, he said, 'verily, there hath betided thee a grievous matter; but hast thou knowledge of what thy husband did and what came of his affair?' 'nay, by allah,' answered she; 'i have no knowledge of him, save that i leave him no hour unremembered in fervent prayer, and never, whilst i live, will he cease to be to me the father of my children and my father's brother's son and my flesh and my blood.' then she wept and the king bowed his head, whilst his eyes brimmed over with tears at her story. then he raised his head to the magian and said to him, 'say thy say, thou also.' so the magian said, 'this is my slave-girl, whom i bought with my money from such a land and for so many dinars, and i made her my favourite[fn# ] and loved her with an exceeding love and gave her charge over my good; but she betrayed me in my substance and plotted with one of my servants to slay me, tempting him by promising him that she would be his wife. when i knew this of her and was certified that she purposed treason against me, i awoke [from my heedlessness] and did with her that which i did, of fear for myself from her craft and perfidy; for indeed she is a beguiler with her tongue and she hath taught these two youths this pretence, by way of trickery and of her perfidy and malice: so be thou not deluded by her and by her talk.' 'thou liest, o accursed one,' cried the king and bade lay hands on him and clap him in irons. then he turned to the two youths, his sons, and strained them to his breast, weeping sore and saying, 'o all ye who are present of cadis and assessors and officers of state, know that these twain are my sons and that this is my wife and the daughter of my father's brother; for that i was king aforetime in such a region.' and he recounted to them his history from beginning to end, nor is there aught of profit in repetition; whereupon the folk cried out with weeping and lamentation for the stress of that which they heard of marvellous chances and that rare story. as for the king's wife, he caused carry her into his palace and lavished upon her and upon her sons all that behoved and beseemed them of bounties, whilst the folk flocked to offer up prayers for him and give him joy of [his reunion with] his wife and children. when they had made an end of pious wishes and congratulations, they besought the king to hasten the punishment of the magian and heal their hearts of him with torment and humiliation. so he appointed them for a day on which they should assemble to witness his punishment and that which should betide him of torment, and shut himself up with his wife and sons and abode thus private with them three days, during which time they were sequestered from the folk. on the fourth day the king entered the bath, and coming forth, sat down on the throne of his kingship, with the crown on his head, whereupon the folk came in to him, according to their wont and after the measure of their several ranks and degrees, and the amirs and viziers entered, ay, and the chamberlains and deputies and captains and men of war and the falconers and armbearers. then he seated his two sons, one on his right and the other on his left hand, whilst all the folk stood before him and lifted up their voices in thanksgiving to god the most high and glorification of him and were strenuous in prayer for the king and in setting forth his virtues and excellences. he returned them the most gracious of answers and bade carry the magian forth of the town and set him on a high scaffold that had been builded for him there; and he said to the folk, 'behold, i will torture him with all kinds of fashions of torment.' then he fell to telling them that which he had wrought of knavery with the daughter of his father's brother and what he had caused betide her of severance between her and her husband and how he had required her of herself, but she had sought refuge against him with god (to whom belong might and majesty) and chose rather humiliation than yield to his wishes, notwithstanding stress of torment; neither recked she aught of that which he lavished to her of wealth and raiment and jewels. when the king had made an end of his story, he bade the bystanders spit in the magian's face and curse him; and they did this. then he bade cut out his tongue and on the morrow he bade cut off his ears and nose and pluck out his eyes. on the third day he bade cut off his hands and on the fourth his feet; and they ceased not to lop him limb from limb, and each member they cast into the fire, after its cutting-off, before his face, till his soul departed, after he had endured torments of all kinds and fashions. the king bade crucify his trunk on the city-wall three days' space; after which he let burn it and reduce its ashes to powder and scatter them abroad in the air. then the king summoned the cadi and the witnesses and bade them many the old king's daughter and sister to his own sons; so they married them, after the king had made a bride-feast three days and displayed their brides to them from eventide to peep of day. then the two princes went in to their brides and did away their maidenhead and loved them and were vouchsafed children by them. as for the king their father, he abode with his wife, their mother, what while god (to whom belong might and majesty) willed, and they rejoiced in reunion with each other. the kingship endured unto them and glory and victory, and the king continued to rule with justice and equity, so that the people loved him and still invoked on him and on his sons length of days and durance; and they lived the most delightsome of lives till there came to them the destroyer of delights and sunderer of companies, he who layeth waste the palaces and peopleth the tombs; and this is all that hath come down to us of the story of the king and his wife and children. nor," added the vizier, "if this story be a solace and a diversion, is it pleasanter or more diverting than that of the young man of khorassan and his mother and sister." when king shah bekht heard this story, it pleased him and he bade the vizier go away to his own house. the twenty-seventh night of the month when the evening came, the king bade fetch the vizier; so he presented himself before him and the king bade him tell the [promised] story. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. know, o king (but god alone knoweth his secret purpose and is versed in all that is past and was foredone among bygone peoples), that story of selim and selma. there was once, in the parts of khorassan, a man of the affluent of the country, who was a merchant of the chiefest of the merchants and was blessed with two children, a son and a daughter. he was assiduous in rearing them and making fair their education, and they grew up and throve after the goodliest fashion. he used to teach the boy, who taught his sister all that he learnt, so that the girl became perfect in the knowledge of the traditions of the prophet and in polite letters, by means of her brother. now the boy's name was selim and that of the girl selma. when they grew up and waxed, their father built them a mansion beside his own and lodged them apart therein and appointed them slave-girls and servants to tend them and assigned unto each of them pensions and allowances and all that they needed of high and low, meat and bread and wine and raiment and vessels and what not else. so selim and selma abode in that mansion, as they were one soul in two bodies, and they used to sleep on one couch; and rooted in each one's heart was love and affection and familiar friendship [for the other of them]. one night, when the night was half spent, as selim and selma sat talking and devising with each other, they heard a noise below the house; so they looked out from a lattice that gave upon the gate of their father's mansion and saw a man of goodly presence, whose clothes were hidden by a wide cloak, which covered him. he came up to the gate and laying hold of the door-ring, gave a light knock; whereupon the door opened and out came their sister, with a lighted flambeau, and after her their mother, who saluted the stranger and embraced him, saying, 'o beloved of my heart and light of mine eyes and fruit of mine entrails, enter.' so he entered and shut the door, whilst selim and selma abode amazed. then selim turned to selma and said to her, 'o sister mine, how deemest thou of this calamity and what counsellest thou thereanent?' 'o my brother,' answered she, 'indeed i know not what i shall say concerning the like of this; but he is not disappointed who seeketh direction [of god], nor doth he repent who taketh counsel. one getteth not the better of the traces of burning by[fn# ] haste, and know that this is an affliction that hath descended on us; and we have need of management to do it away, yea, and contrivance to wash withal our shame from our faces.' and they gave not over watching the gate till break of day, when the young man opened the door and their mother took leave of him; after which he went his way and she entered, she and her handmaid. then said selim to his sister, 'know that i am resolved to slay yonder man, if he return this next night, and i will say to the folk, "he was a thief," and none shall know that which hath befallen. moreover, i will address myself to the slaughter of whosoever knoweth that which is between yonder fellow and my mother.' but selma said, ' i fear lest, if thou slay him in our dwelling-place and he savour not of robberhood,[fn# ] suspicion will revert upon ourselves, and we cannot be assured but that he belongeth unto folk whose mischief is to be feared and their hostility dreaded,[fn# ] and thus wilt thou have fled from privy shame to open shame and abiding public dishonour.' 'how then deemest thou we should do?' asked selim and she said, 'is there nothing for it but to slay him? let us not hasten unto slaughter, for that the slaughter of a soul without just cause is a grave [matter].' (when shehriyar heard this, he said in himself, 'by allah, i have indeed been reckless in the slaying of women and girls, and praised be god who hath occupied me with this damsel from the slaughter of souls, for that the slaughter of souls is a grave [matter!] by allah, if shah bekht spare the vizier, i will assuredly spare shehrzad!' then he gave ear to the story and heard her say to her sister:) quoth selma to selim, 'hasten not to slay him, but ponder the matter and consider the issue to which it may lead; for whoso considereth not the issues [of his actions], fortune is no friend to him.' then they arose on the morrow and occupied themselves with devising how they should turn away their mother from that man, and she forebode mischief from them, by reason of that which she saw in their eyes of alteration, for that she was keen of wit and crafty. so she took precaution for herself against her children and selma said to selim, 'thou seest that whereinto we have fallen through this woman, and indeed she hath gotten wind of our purpose and knoweth that we have discovered her secret. so, doubtless, she will plot against us the like of that which we plot for her; for indeed up to now she had concealed her affair, and now she will forge lies against us; wherefore, methinks, there is a thing [fore-]written to us, whereof god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) knew in his foreknowledge and wherein he executeth his ordinances.' 'what is that?' asked he, and she said, 'it is that we arise, i and thou, and go forth this night from this land and seek us a land wherein we may live and witness nought of the doings of yonder traitress; for whoso is absent from the eye is absent from the heart, and quoth one of the poets in the following verse: twere better and meeter thy presence to leave, for, if the eye see not, the heart doth not grieve.' quoth selim to her, 'it is for thee to decide and excellent is that which thou counsellest; so let us do this, in the name of god the most high, trusting in him for grace and guidance.' so they arose and took the richest of their clothes and the lightest of that which was in their treasuries of jewels and things of price and gathered together a great matter. then they equipped them ten mules and hired them servants of other than the people of the country; and selim bade his sister selma don man's apparel. now she was the likest of all creatures to him, so that, [when she was clad in man's attire,] the folk knew no difference between them, extolled be the perfection of him who hath no like, there is no god but he! then he bade her mount a horse, whilst he himself bestrode another, and they set out, under cover of the night. none of their family nor of the people of their house knew of them; so they fared on into the wide world of god and gave not over going night and day two months' space, at the end of which time they came to a city on the sea-shore of the land of mekran, by name es sherr, and it is the first city in sind. they lighted down without the place and when they arose in the morning, they saw a populous and goodly city, fair of seeming and great, abounding in trees and streams and fruits and wide of suburbs. so the young man said to his sister selma, 'abide thou here in thy place, till i enter the city and examine it and make assay of its people and seek out a place which we may buy and whither we may remove. if it befit us, we will take up our abode therein, else will we take counsel of departing elsewhither.' quoth she, 'do this, trusting in the bounty of god (to whom belong might and majesty) and in his blessing.' so he took a belt, wherein were a thousand dinars, and binding it about his middle, entered the city and gave not over going round about its streets and markets and gazing upon its houses and sitting with those of its folk whose aspect bespoke them men of worth, till the day was half spent, when he resolved to return to his sister and said in himself, 'needs must i buy what we may eat of ready-[dressed] food] i and my sister.' accordingly, he accosted a man who sold roast meat and who was clean [of person], though odious in his [means of getting a] living, and said to him, 'take the price of this dish [of meat] and add thereto of fowls and chickens and what not else is in your market of meats and sweetmeats and bread and arrange it in dishes.' so the cook set apart for him what he desired and calling a porter, laid it in his basket, and selim paid the cook the price of his wares, after the fullest fashion. as he was about to go away, the cook said to him, 'o youth, doubtless thou art a stranger?' and he answered, 'yes.' quoth the cook, 'it is reported in one of the traditions [of the prophet that he said,] "loyal admonition is [a part] of religion;" and the understanding say, "admonition is of the characteristics of the true believers." and indeed that which i have seen of thy fashions pleaseth me and i would fain give thee a warning.' 'speak out thy warning,' rejoined selim, 'and may god strengthen thine affair!' then said the cook, 'know, o my son, that in this our country, whenas a stranger entereth therein and eateth of flesh-meat and drinketh not old wine thereon, this is harmful unto him and engendereth in him dangerous disorders. wherefore, if thou have provided thee somewhat thereof,[fn# ] [it is well;] but, if not, look thou procure it, ere thou take the meat and carry it away.' 'may god requite thee with good!' rejoined selim. 'canst thou direct me where it is sold?' and the cook said, 'with me is all that thou seekest thereof.' 'is there a way for me to see it?' asked the young man; and the cook sprang up and said, 'pass on.' so he entered and the cook showed him somewhat of wine; but he said, 'i desire better than this.' whereupon he opened a door and entering, said to selim, 'enter and follow me.' selim followed him till he brought him to an underground chamber and showed him somewhat of wine that was to his mind. so he occupied him with looking upon it and taking him at unawares, sprang upon him from behind and cast him to the earth and sat upon his breast. then he drew a knife and set it to his jugular; whereupon there betided selim [that wherewithal] god made him forget all that he had decreed [unto him],[fn# ] and he said to the cook, 'why dost thou this thing, o man? be mindful of god the most high and fear him. seest thou not that i am a stranger? and indeed [i have left] behind me a defenceless woman. why wilt thou slay me?' quoth the cook, 'needs must i slay thee, so i may take thy good.' and selim said, 'take my good, but slay me not, neither enter into sin against me; and do with me kindness, for that the taking of my money is lighter[fn# ] than the taking of my life.' 'this is idle talk,' answered the cook. 'thou canst not deliver thyself with this, o youth, for that in thy deliverance is my destruction.' quoth selim, 'i swear to thee and give thee the covenant of god (to whom belong might and majesty) and his bond, that he took of his prophets, that i will not discover thy secret ever.' but the cook answered, saying, 'away! away! this may no wise be.' however, selim ceased not to conjure him and make supplication to him and weep, while the cook persisted in his intent to slaughter him. then he wept and recited the following verses: haste not to that thou dost desire, for haste is still unblest; be merciful to men, as thou on mercy reckonest; for no hand is there but the hand of god is over it and no oppressor but shall be with worse than he opprest. quoth the cook, 'nothing will serve but i must slay thee, o fellow; for, if i spare thee, i shall myself be slain.' but selim said, 'o my brother, i will counsel thee somewhat[fn# ] other than this.' 'what is it?' asked the cook. 'say and be brief, ere i cut thy throat' and selim said, '[do thou suffer me to live and] keep me, that i may be a servant unto thee, and i will work at a craft, of the crafts of the skilled workmen, wherefrom there shall return to thee every day two dinars.' quoth the cook, 'what is the craft?' and selim said, 'the cutting [and polishing] of jewels.' when the cook heard this, he said in himself, 'it will do me no hurt if i imprison him and shackle him and bring him what he may work at. if he tell truth, i will let him live, and if he prove a liar, i will slay him.' so he took a pair of stout shackles and clapping them on selim's legs, imprisoned him within his house and set over him one who should guard him. then he questioned him of what tools he needed to work withal. selim set forth to him that which he required, and the cook went out from him and presently returning, brought him all he needed. so selim sat and wrought at his craft; and he used every day to earn two dinars; and this was his wont and usance with the cook, whilst the latter fed him not but half his fill. to return to his sister selma. she awaited him till the last of the day, but he came not; and she awaited him a second day and a third and a fourth, yet there came no news of him, wherefore she wept and beat with her hands on her breast and bethought her of her affair and her strangerhood and her brother's absence; and she recited the following verses: peace on thee! would our gaze might light on thee once more! so should our hearts be eased and eyes no longer sore. thou only art the whole of our desire; indeed thy love is hid within our hearts' most secret core. she abode awaiting him thus till the end of the month, but discovered no tidings of him neither happened upon aught of his trace; wherefore she was troubled with an exceeding perturbation and despatching her servants hither and thither in quest of him, abode in the sorest that might be of grief and concern. when it was the beginning of the new month, she arose in the morning and bidding cry him throughout the city, sat to receive visits of condolence, nor was there any in the city but betook himself to her, to condole with her; and they were all concerned for her, nothing doubting but she was a man. when three nights had passed over her with their days of the second month, she despaired of him and her tears dried not up. then she resolved to take up her abode in the city and making choice of a dwelling, removed thither. the folk resorted to her from all parts, to sit with her and hearken to her speech and witness her good breeding; nor was it but a little while ere the king of the city died and the folk fell out concerning whom they should invest with the kingship after him, so that strife was like to betide between them. however, the men of judgment and understanding and the folk of experience counselled them to make the youth king who had lost his brother, for that they doubted not but selma was a man. they all consented unto this and betaking themselves to selma, proffered her the kingship. she refused, but they were instant with her, till she consented, saying in herself, 'my sole desire in [accepting] the kingship is [to find] my brother.' then they seated her on the throne of the kingdom and set the crown on her head, whereupon she addressed herself to the business of administration and to the ordinance of the affairs of the people; and they rejoiced in her with the utmost joy. meanwhile, selim abode with the cook a whole year's space, earning him two dinars every day; and when his affair was prolonged, the cook inclined unto him and took compassion on him, on condition that, if he let him go, he should not discover his fashion to the sultan, for that it was his wont every little while to entrap a man and carry him to his house and slay him and take his money and cook his flesh and give it to the folk to eat. so he said to him, 'o youth, wilt thou that i release thee from this thy plight, on condition that thou be reasonable and discover not aught of thine affair ever?' and selim answered, 'i will swear to thee by whatsoever oath thou choosest that i will keep thy secret and will not speak one syllable against thy due, what while i abide on life.' quoth the cook, 'i purpose to send thee forth with my brother and cause thee travel with him on the sea, on condition that thou be unto him a boughten slave; and when he cometh to the land of hind, he shall sell thee and thus wilt thou be delivered from prison and slaughter.' and selim said, 'it is well: be it as thou sayst, may god the most high requite thee with good!' therewithal the cook equipped his brother and freighting him a ship, embarked therein merchandise. then he committed selim unto him and they set out and departed with the ship. god decreed them safety, so that they arrived [in due course] at the first city [of the land of hind], the which is known as el mensoureh, and cast anchor there. now the king of that city had died, leaving a daughter and a widow, who was the quickest-witted of women and gave out that the girl was a boy, so that the kingship might be stablished unto them. the troops and the amirs doubted not but that the case was as she avouched and that the princess was a male child; so they obeyed her and the queen mother took order for the matter and used to dress the girl in man's apparel and seat her on the throne of the kingship, so that the folk might see her. accordingly, the grandees of the kingdom and the chief officers of the realm used to go in to her and salute her and do her service and go away, nothing doubting but she was a boy. on this wise they abode months and years and the queen-mother ceased not to do thus till the cook's brother came to the town in his ship, and with him selim. so he landed with the youth and showed him to the queen, [that she might buy him]. when she saw him, she augured well of him; so she bought him from the cook's brother and was kind to him and entreated him with honour. then she fell to proving him in his parts and making assay of him in his affairs and found in him all that is in kings' sons of understanding and breeding and goodly manners and qualities. so she sent for him in private and said to him, 'i purpose to do thee a service, so thou canst but keep a secret.' he promised her all that she desired and she discovered to him her secret in the matter of her daughter, saying, 'i will marry thee to her and commit to thee the governance of her affair and make thee king and ruler over this city.' he thanked her and promised to uphold all that she should order him, and she said to him, 'go forth to such an one of the neighbouring provinces privily.' so he went forth and on the morrow she made ready bales and gear and presents and bestowed on him a great matter, all of which they loaded on the backs of camels. then she gave out among the folk that the king's father's brother's son was come and bade the grandees and troops go forth to meet him. moreover, she decorated the city in his honour and the drums of good tidings beat for him, whilst all the king's household [went out to meet him and] dismounting before him, [escorted him to the city and] lodged him with the queen-mother in her palace. then she bade the chiefs of the state attend his assembly; so they presented themselves before him and saw of his breeding and accomplishments that which amazed them and made them forget the breeding of those who had foregone him of the kings. when they were grown familiar with him, the queen-mother fell to sending [privily] for the amirs, one by one, and swearing them to secrecy; and when she was assured of their trustworthiness, she discovered to them that the king had left but a daughter and that she had done this but that she might continue the kingship in his family and that the governance should not go forth from them; after which she told them that she was minded to marry her daughter with the new-comer, her father's brother's son, and that he should be the holder of the kingship. they approved of her proposal and when she had discovered the secret to the last of them [and assured herself of their support], she published the news abroad and sent for the cadis and assessors, who drew up the contract of marriage between selim and the princess, and they lavished gifts upon the troops and overwhelmed them with bounties. then was the bride carried in procession to the young man and the kingship was stablished unto him and the governance of the realm. on this wise they abode a whole year, at the end of which time selim said to the queen-mother, 'know that my life is not pleasing to me nor can i abide with you in contentment till i get me tidings of my sister and learn in what issue her affair hath resulted and how she hath fared after me. wherefore i will go and be absent from you a year's space; then will i return to you, so it please god the most high and i accomplish of this that which i hope.' quoth she, 'i will not trust to thy word, but will go with thee and help thee to that which thou desirest of this and further thee myself therein.' so she took a ship and loaded it with all manner things of price, goods and treasures and what not else. moreover, she appointed one of the viziers, a man in whom she trusted and in his fashion and ordinance, to rule the realm in their absence, saying to him, 'abide [in the kingship] a full-told year and ordain all that whereof thou hast need. then the old queen and her daughter and son-in-law embarked in the ship and setting sail, fared on till they came to the land of mekran. their arrival there befell at the last of the day; so they passed the night in the ship, and when the day was near to break, the young king went down from the ship, that he might go to the bath, and made for the market. as he drew near the bath, the cook met him by the way and knew him; so he laid hands on him and binding his arms fast behind him, carried him to his house, where he clapped the old shackles on his feet and straightway cast him back into his whilom place of duresse. when selim found himself in that sorry plight and considered that wherewith he was afflicted of tribulation and the contrariness of his fortune, in that he had been a king and was now returned to shackles and prison and hunger, he wept and groaned and lamented and recited the following verses: my fortitude fails, my endeavour is vain; my bosom is straitened. to thee, i complain, o my god! who is stronger than thou in resource? the subtle, thou knowest my plight and my pain. to return to his wife and her mother. when the former arose in the morning and her husband returned not to her with break of day, she forebode all manner of calamity and straightway despatched her servants and all who were with her in quest of him; but they happened not on any trace of him neither fell in with aught of his news. so she bethought herself concerning her affair and complained and wept and groaned and sighed and blamed perfidious fortune, bewailing that sorry chance and reciting these verses: god keep the days of love-delight! how passing sweet they were! how joyous and how solaceful was life in them whilere! would he were not, who sundered us upon the parting-day! how many a body hath he slain, how many a bone laid bare! sans fault of mine, my blood and tears he shed and beggared me of him i love, yet for himself gained nought thereby whate'er. when she had made an end of her verses, she considered her affair and said in herself, 'by allah, all these things have betided by the ordinance of god the most high and his providence and this was written and charactered upon the forehead.' then she landed and fared on till she came to a spacious place, where she enquired of the folk and hired a house. thither she straightway transported all that was in the ship of goods and sending for brokers, sold all that was with her. then she took part of the price and fell to enquiring of the folk, so haply she might scent out tidings [of her lost husband]. moreover, she addressed herself to lavishing alms and tending the sick, clothing the naked and pouring water upon the dry ground of the forlorn. on this wise she abode a whole year, and every little while she sold of her goods and gave alms to the sick and the needy; wherefore her report was bruited abroad in the city and the folk were lavish in her praise. all this while, selim lay in shackles and strait prison, and melancholy possessed him by reason of that whereinto he had fallen of that tribulation. then, when troubles waxed on him and affliction was prolonged, he fell sick of a sore sickness. when the cook saw his plight (and indeed he was like to perish for much suffering), he loosed him from the shackles and bringing him forth of the prison, committed him to an old woman, who had a nose the bigness of a jug, and bade her tend him and medicine him and serve him and entreat him kindly, so haply he might be made whole of that his sickness. so the old woman took him and carrying him to her lodging, fell to tending him and giving him to eat and drink; and when he was quit of that torment, he recovered from his malady. now the old woman had heard from the folk of the lady who gave alms to the sick, and indeed [the news of] her bounties reached both poor and rich; so she arose and bringing out selim to the door of her house, laid him on a mat and wrapped him in a mantle and sat over against him. presently, it befell that the charitable lady passed by them, which when the old woman saw, she rose to her and offered up prayers for her, saying, 'o my daughter, o thou to whom pertain goodness and beneficence and charity and almsdoing, know that this young man is a stranger, and indeed want and vermin and hunger and nakedness and cold slay him.' when the lady heard this, she gave her alms of that which was with her; and indeed her heart inclined unto selim, [but she knew him not for her husband]. the old woman received the alms from her and carrying it to selim, took part thereof herself and with the rest bought him an old shirt, in which she clad him, after she had stripped him of that he had on. then she threw away the gown she had taken from off him and arising forthright, washed his body of that which was thereon of filth and scented him with somewhat of perfume. moreover, she bought him chickens and made him broth; so he ate and his life returned to him and he abode with her on the most solaceful of life till the morrow. next morning, the old woman said to him, 'when the lady cometh to thee, do thou arise and kiss her hand and say to her, "i am a strange man and indeed cold and hunger slay me;" so haply she may give thee somewhat that thou mayst expend upon thy case.' and he answered, 'hearkening and obedience.' then she took him by the hand and carrying him without her house, seated him at the door. as he sat, behold, the lady came up to him, whereupon the old woman rose to her and selim kissed her hand and offered up prayers for her. then he looked on her and when he saw her, he knew her for his wife; so he cried out and wept and groaned and lamented; whereupon she came up to him and cast herself upon him; for indeed she knew him with all knowledge, even as he knew her. so she laid hold of him and embraced him and called to her serving-men and attendants and those who were about her; and they took him up and carried him forth of that place. when the old woman saw this, she cried out to the cook from within the house, and he said to her, 'go before me.' so she forewent him and he ran after her till he [overtook the party and] catching hold of selim, said [to the latter's wife,] 'what aileth thee to take my servant?' whereupon she cried out at him, saying, 'know that this is my husband, whom i had lost.' and selim also cried out, saying, 'mercy! mercy! i appeal to god and to the sultan against this satan!' therewith the folk gathered together to them forthright and loud rose the clamours and the cries between them; but the most part of them said, 'refer their affair to the sultan.' so they referred the case to the sultan, who was none other than selim's sister selma. [then they went up to the palace and] the interpreter went in to selma and said to her, 'o king of the age, here is an indian woman, who cometh from the land of hind, and she hath laid hands on a young man, a servant, avouching that he is her husband, who hath been missing these two years, and she came not hither but on his account, and indeed these many days she hath done almsdeeds [in the city]. and here is a man, a cook, who avoucheth that the young man is his slave.' when the queen heard these words, her entrails quivered and she groaned from an aching heart and called to mind her brother and that which had betided him. then she bade those who were about her bring them before her, and when she saw them, she knew her brother and was like to cry aloud; but her reason restrained her; yet could she not contain herself, but she must needs rise up and sit down. however, she enforced herself unto patience and said to them, 'let each of you acquaint me with his case.' so selim came forward and kissing the earth before the [supposed] king, praised him and related to him his story from beginning to end, till the time of their coming to that city, he and his sister, telling him how he had entered the place and fallen into the hands of the cook and that which had betided him [with him] and what he had suffered from him of beating and bonds and shackles and pinioning. moreover, he told him how the cook had made him his brother's slave and how the latter had sold him in hind and he had married the princess and become king and how life was not pleasant to him till he should foregather with his sister and how the cook had fallen in with him a second time and acquainted her with that which had betided him of sickness and disease for the space of a full-told year. when he had made an end of his speech, his wife came forward forthright and told her story, from first to last, how her mother bought him from the cook's partner and the people of the kingdom came under his rule; nor did she leave telling till she came, in her story, to that city [and acquainted the queen with the manner of her falling in with her lost husband]. when she had made an end of her story, the cook exclaimed, 'alack, what impudent liars there be! by allah, o king, this woman lieth against me, for this youth is my rearling[fn# ] and he was born of one of my slave-girls. he fled from me and i found him again. when the queen heard the last of the talk, she said to the cook, 'the judgment between you shall not be but in accordance with justice.' then she dismissed all those who were present and turning to her brother, said to him, 'indeed thy soothfastness is established with me and the truth of thy speech, and praised be god who hath brought about union between thee and thy wife! so now begone with her to thy country and leave [seeking] thy sister selma and depart in peace.' but selim answered, saying, 'by allah, by the virtue of the all-knowing king, i will not turn back from seeking my sister till i die or find her, if it please god the most high!' then he called his sister to mind and broke out with the following verses from a heart endolored, afflicted, disappointed, saying: o thou that blamest me for my heart and railest at my ill, hadst them but tasted my spirit's grief, thou wouldst excuse me still. by allah, o thou that chid'st my heart concerning my sister's love, leave chiding and rather bemoan my case and help me to my will. for indeed i am mated with longing love in public and privily, nor ever my heart, alas i will cease from mourning, will i or nill. a fire in mine entrails burns, than which the fire of the hells denounced for sinners' torment less scathing is: it seeketh me to slay. when his sister selma heard what he said, she could no longer contain herself, but cast herself upon him and discovered to him her case. when he knew her, he threw himself upon her [and lay without life] awhile; after which he came to himself and said, 'praised be god, the bountiful, the beneficent!' then they complained to each other of that which they had suffered for the anguish of separation, whilst selim's wife abode wondered at this and selma's patience and constancy pleased her. so she saluted her and thanked her for her fashion, saying, 'by allah, o my lady, all that we are in of gladness is of thy blessing alone; so praised be god who hath vouchsafed us thy sight!' then they abode all three in joy and happiness and delight three days, sequestered from the folk; and it was bruited abroad in the city that the king had found his brother, who was lost years agone. on the fourth day, all the troops and the people of the realm assembled together to the [supposed] king and standing at his gate, craved leave to enter. selma bade admit them; so they entered and paid her the service of the kingship and gave her joy of her brother's safe return. she bade them do suit and service to selim, and they consented and paid him homage; after which they kept silence awhile, so they might hear what the king should command. then said selma, 'harkye, all ye soldiers and subjects, ye know that ye enforced me to [accept] the kingship and besought me thereof and i consented unto your wishes concerning my investment [with the royal dignity]; and i did this [against my will]; for know that i am a woman and that i disguised myself and donned man's apparel, so haply my case might be hidden, whenas i lost my brother. but now, behold, god hath reunited me with my brother, and it is no longer lawful to me that i be king and bear rule over the people, and i a woman; for that there is no governance for women, whenas men are present. wherefore, if it like you, do ye set my brother on the throne of the kingdom, for this is he; and i will busy myself with the worship of god the most high and thanksgiving [to him] for my reunion with my brother. or, if it like you, take your kingship and invest therewith whom ye will.' thereupon the folk all cried out, saying, 'we accept him to king over us!' and they did him suit and service and gave him joy of the kingship. so the preachers preached in his name[fn# ] and the poets praised him; and he lavished gifts upon the troops and the officers of his household and overwhelmed them with favours and bounties and was prodigal to the people of justice and equitable dealings and goodly usance and polity. when he had accomplished this much of his desire, he caused bring forth the cook and his household to the divan, but spared the old woman who had tended him, for that she had been the cause of his deliverance. then they assembled them all without the town and he tormented the cook and those who were with him with all manner of torments, after which he put him to death on the sorriest wise and burning him with fire, scattered his ashes abroad in the air. selim abode in the governance, invested with the sultanate, and ruled the people a whole year, after which he returned to el mensoureh and sojourned there another year. and he [and his wife] ceased not to go from city to city and abide in this a year and that a year, till he was vouchsafed children and they grew up, whereupon he appointed him of his sons, who was found fitting, to be his deputy in [one] kingdom [and abode himself in the other]; and he lived, he and his wife and children, what while god the most high willed. nor," added the vizier, "o king of the age, is this story rarer or more extraordinary than that of the king of hind and his wronged and envied vizier." when the king heard this, his mind was occupied [with the story he had heard and that which the vizier promised him], and he bade the latter depart to his own house. the twenty-eighth and last night of the month when the evening evened, the king summoned the vizier and bade him tell the story of the king of hind and his vizier. so he said, "hearkening and obedience. know, o king of august lineage, that story of the king of hind and his vizier. there was once in the land of hind a king of illustrious station, endowed with understanding and good sense, and his name was shah bekht. he had a vizier, a man of worth and intelligence, prudent in counsel, conformable to him in his governance and just in his judgment; wherefore his enviers were many and many were the hypocrites, who sought in him faults and set snares for him, so that they insinuated into king shah bekht's eye hatred and rancour against him and sowed despite against him in his heart; and plot followed after plot, till [at last] the king was brought to arrest him and lay him in prison and confiscate his good and avoid his estate.[fn# ] when they knew that there was left him no estate that the king might covet, they feared lest he be brought to release him, by the incidence of the vizier's [good] counsel upon the king's heart, and he return to his former case, so should their plots be marred and their ranks degraded, for that they knew that the king would have need of that which he had known from that man nor would forget that wherewith he was familiar in him. now it befell that a certain man of corrupt purpose[fn# ] found a way to the perversion of the truth and a means of glozing over falsehood and adorning it with a semblance of fair-seeming and there proceeded from him that wherewith the hearts of the folk were occupied, and their minds were corrupted by his lying tales; for that he made use of indian subtleties and forged them into a proof for the denial of the maker, the creator, extolled be his might and exalted be he! indeed, god is exalted and magnified above the speech of the deniers. he avouched that it is the planets[fn# ] that order the affairs of all creatures and he set down twelve mansions to twelve signs [of the zodiac] and made each sign thirty degrees, after the number of the days of the month, so that in twelve mansions there are three hundred and threescore [degrees], after the number of the days of the year; and he wrought a scheme, wherein he lied and was an infidel and denied [god]. then he got possession of the king's mind and the enviers and haters aided him against the vizier and insinuated themselves into his favour and corrupted his counsel against the vizier, so that he suffered of him that which he suffered and he banished him and put him away. so the wicked man attained that which he sought of the vizier and the case was prolonged till the affairs of the kingdom became disordered, by dint of ill governance, and the most part of the king's empery fell away from him and he came nigh unto ruin. therewithal he was certified of the loyalty of his [late] skilful vizier and the excellence of his governance and the justness of his judgment. so he sent after him and brought him and the wicked man before him and summoning the grandees of his realm and the chiefs of his state to his presence, gave them leave to talk and dispute and forbade the wicked man from that his lewd opinion.[fn# ] then arose that wise and skilful vizier and praised god the most high and lauded him and glorified him and hallowed him and attested his unity and disputed with the wicked man and overcame him and put him to silence; nor did he cease from him till he enforced him to make confession of repentance [and turning away] from that which he had believed. therewith king shah bekht rejoiced with an exceeding great joy and said, 'praise be to god who hath delivered me from yonder man and hath preserved me from the loss of the kingship and the cessation of prosperity from me!' so the affair of the vizier returned to order and well-being and the king restored him to his place and advanced him in rank. moreover, he assembled the folk who had missaid of him and destroyed them all, to the last man. and how like," continued the vizier, "is this story unto that of myself and king shah bekht, with regard to that whereinto i am fallen of the changing of the king's heart and his giving credence to others against me; but now is the righteousness of my dealing established in thine eyes, for that god the most high hath inspired me with wisdom and endowed thee with longanimity and patience [to hearken] from me unto that which he allotted unto those who had foregone us, till he hath shown forth my innocence and made manifest unto thee the truth. for now the days are past, wherein it was avouched to the king that i should endeavour for the destruction of my soul,[fn# ] [to wit,] the month; and behold, the probation time is over and gone, and past is the season of evil and ceased, by the king's good fortune." then he bowed his head and was silent.[fn# ] when king shah bekht heard his vizier's speech, he was confounded before him and abashed and marvelled at the gravity of his understanding and his patience. so he sprang up to him and embraced him and the vizier kissed his feet. then the king called for a sumptuous dress of honour and cast it over er rehwan and entreated him with the utmost honour and showed him special favour and restored him to his rank and vizierate. moreover he imprisoned those who had sought his destruction with leasing and committed unto himself to pass judgment upon the interpreter who had expounded to him the dream. so the vizier abode in the governance of the realm till there came to them the destroyer of delights; and this (added shehrzad) is all, o king of the age, that hath come down to us of king shah bekht and his vizier. shehrzad and shehriyar. as for king shehriyar, he marvelled at shehrzad with the utmost wonder and drew her near to his heart, of his much love for her; and she was magnified in his eyes and he said in himself, "by allah, the like of this woman is not deserving of slaughter, for indeed the time affordeth not her like. by allah, i have been heedless of mine affair, and had not god overcome me with his mercy and put this woman at my service, so she might adduce to me manifest instances and truthful cases and goodly admonitions and edifying traits, such as should restore me to the [right] road, [i had come to perdition!]. wherefore to god be the praise for this and i beseech him to make my end with her like unto that of the vizier and shah bekht." then sleep overcame the king and glory be unto him who sleepeth not! when it was the nine hundred and thirtieth night, shehrzad said, "o king, there is present in my thought a story which treateth of women's craft and wherein is a warning to whoso will be warned and an admonishment to whoso will be admonished and whoso hath discernment; but i fear lest the hearing of this lessen me with the king and lower my rank in his esteem; yet i hope that this will not be, for that it is a rare story. women are indeed corruptresses; their craft and their cunning may not be set out nor their wiles known. men enjoy their company and are not careful to uphold them [in the right way], neither do they watch over them with all vigilance, but enjoy their company and take that which is agreeable and pay no heed to that which is other than this. indeed, they are like unto the crooked rib, which if thou go about to straighten, thou distortest it, and which if thou persist in seeking to redress, thou breakest it; wherefore it behoveth the man of understanding to be silent concerning them." "o sister mine," answered dinarzad, "bring forth that which is with thee and that which is present to thy mind of the story concerning the craft of women and their wiles, and have no fear lest this endamage thee with the king; for that women are like unto jewels, which are of all kinds and colours. when a [true] jewel falleth into the hand of him who is knowing therein, he keepeth it for himself and leaveth that which is other than it. moreover, he preferreth some of them over others, and in this he is like unto the potter, who filleth his oven with all the vessels [he hath moulded] and kindleth fire thereunder. when the baking is at an end and he goeth about to take forth that which is in the oven, he findeth no help for it but that he must break some thereof, whilst other some are what the folk need and whereof they make use, and yet other some there be that return to their whilom case. wherefore fear thou not to adduce that which thou knowest of the craft of women, for that in this is profit for all folk." then said shehrzad, "they avouch, o king, (but god [alone] knowest the secret things,) that el melik ez zahir rukneddin bibers el bunducdari and the sixteen officers of police.[fn# ] there was once in the land [of egypt and] the city of cairo, [under the dynasty] of the turks,[fn# ] a king of the valiant kings and the exceeding mighty sultans, by name el melik ez zahir rukneddin bibers el bunducdari.[fn# ] he was used to storm the islamite strongholds and the fortresses of the coast[fn# ] and the nazarene citadels, and the governor of his [capital] city was just to the folk, all of them. now el melik ez zahir was passionately fond of stories of the common folk and of that which men purposed and loved to see this with his eyes and hear their sayings with his ears, and it befell that he heard one night from one of his story-tellers[fn# ] that among women are those who are doughtier than men of valour and greater of excellence and that among them are those who will do battle with the sword and others who cozen the quickest-witted of magistrates and baffle them and bring down on them all manner of calamity; whereupon quoth the sultan, 'i would fain hear this of their craft from one of those who have had to do theiewith, so i may hearken unto him and cause him tell.' and one of the story-tellers said, 'o king, send for the chief of the police of the town.' now ilmeddin senjer was at that time master of police and he was a man of experience, well versed in affairs: so the king sent for him and when he came before him, he discovered to him that which was in his mind. quoth ilmeddin senjer, 'i will do my endeavour for that which our lord the sultan seeketh.' then he arose and returning to his house, summoned the captains of the watch and the lieutenants of police and said to them, 'know that i purpose to marry my son and make him a bride-feast, and it is my wish that ye assemble, all of you, in one place. i also will be present, i and my company, and do ye relate that which ye have heard of extraordinary occurrences and that which hath betided you of experiences.' and the captains and sergeants and agents of police made answer to him, saying, 'it is well: in the name of god! we will cause thee see all this with thine eyes and hear it with thine ears.' then the master of police arose and going up to el melik ez zahir, informed him that the assembly would take place on such a day at his house; and the sultan said, 'it is well,' and gave him somewhat of money for his expenses. when the appointed day arrived, the chief of the police set apart for his officers a saloon, that had windows ranged in order and giving upon the garden, and el melik ez zahir came to him, and he seated himself, he and the sultan, in the alcove. then the tables were spread unto them for eating and they ate; and when the cup went round amongst them and their hearts were gladdened with meat and drink, they related that which was with them and discovered their secrets from concealment. the first to relate was a man, a captain of the watch, by name muineddin, whose heart was engrossed with the love of women; and he said, 'harkye, all ye people of [various] degree, i will acquaint you with an extraordinary affair which befell me aforetime. know that the first officer's story. when i entered the service of this amir,[fn# ] i had a great repute and every lewd fellow feared me of all mankind, and whenas i rode through the city, all the folk would point at me with their fingers and eyes. it befell one day, as i sat in the house of the prefecture, with my back against a wall, considering in myself, there fell somewhat in my lap, and behold, it was a purse sealed and tied. so i took it in my hand and behold, it had in it a hundred dirhems,[fn# ] but i found not who threw it and i said, "extolled be the perfection of god, the king of the kingdoms!"[fn# ] another day, [as i sat on like wise,] somewhat fell on me and startled me, and behold, it was a purse like the first. so i took it and concealing its affair, made as if i slept, albeit sleep was not with me. one day, as i was thus feigning sleep, i felt a hand in my lap, and in it a magnificent purse. so i seized the hand and behold, it was that of a fair woman. quoth i to her, "o my lady, who art thou?" and she said, "rise [and come away] from here, that i may make myself known to thee." so i arose and following her, fared on, without tarrying, till she stopped at the door of a lofty house, whereupon quoth i to her,"o my lady, who art thou? indeed, thou hast done me kindness, and what is the reason of this?" "by allah," answered she, "o captain mum, i am a woman on whom desire and longing are sore for the love of the daughter of the cadi amin el hukm. now there was between us what was and the love of her fell upon my heart and i agreed with her upon meeting, according to possibility and convenience. but her father amin el hukm took her and went away, and my heart cleaveth to her and love-longing and distraction are sore upon me on her account." i marvelled at her words and said to her, "what wouldst thou have me do?" and she answered, "o captain muin, i would have thee give me a helping hand." quoth i, "what have i to do with the daughter of the cadi amin el hukm?" and she said, "know that i would not have thee intrude upon the cadi's daughter, but i would fain contrive for the attainment of my wishes.' this is my intent and my desire, and my design will not be accomplished but by thine aid." then said she, "i mean this night to go with a stout heart and hire me trinkets of price; then will i go and sit in the street wherein is the house of amin el hukm; and when it is the season of the round and the folk are asleep, do thou pass, thou and those who are with thee of the police, and thou wilt see me sitting and on me fine raiment and ornaments and wilt smell on me the odour of perfumes; whereupon do thou question me of my case and i will say, 'i come from the citadel and am of the daughters of the deputies[fn# ] and i came down [into the town,] to do an occasion; but the night overtook me at unawares and the zuweyleh gate was shut against me and all the gates and i knew not whither i should go this night presently i saw this street and noting the goodliness of its ordinance and its cleanness, took shelter therein against break of day.' when i say this to thee with all assurance[fn# ] the chief of the watch will have no suspicion of me, but will say, 'needs must we leave her with one who will take care of her till morning.' and do thou rejoin, 'it were most fitting that she pass the night with amin el hukm and lie with his family and children till the morning.' then do thou straightway knock at the cadi's door, and thus shall i have gained admission into his house, without inconvenience, and gotten my desire; and peace be on thee!" and i said to her, "by allah, this is an easy matter." so, when the night darkened, we sallied forth to make our round, attended by men with sharp swords, and went round about the streets and compassed the city, till we came to the by-street where was the woman, and it was the middle of the night here we smelt rich scents and heard the clink of earrings; so i said to my comrades, "methinks i spy an apparition," and the captain of the watch said, "see what it is." so i came forward and entering the lane, came presently out again and said, "i have found a fair woman and she tells me that she is from the citadel and that the night surprised her and she espied this street and seeing its cleanness and the goodliness of its ordinance, knew that it appertained to a man of rank and that needs must there be in it a guardian to keep watch over it, wherefore she took shelter therein." quoth the captain of the watch to me, "take her and carry her to thy house." but i answered, "i seek refuge with allah![fn# ] my house is no place of deposit[fn# ] and on this woman are trinkets and apparel [of price]. by allah, we will not deposit her save with amin el hukrn, in whose street she hath been since the first of the darkness; wherefore do thou leave her with him till the break of day." and he said, "as thou wilt." accordingly, i knocked at the cadi's door and out came a black slave of his slaves, to whom said i, "o my lord, take this woman and let her be with you till break of day, for that the lieutenant of the amir ilmeddin hath found her standing at the door of your house, with trinkets and apparel [of price] on her, and we feared lest her responsibility be upon you;[fn# ] wherefore it is most fit that she pass the night with you." so the slave opened and took her in with him. when the morning morrowed, the first who presented himself before the amir was the cadi amin el hukm, leaning on two of his black slaves; and he was crying out and calling [on god] for aid and saying, "o crafty and perfidious amir, thou depositedst with me a woman [yesternight] and broughtest her into my house and my dwelling-place, and she arose [in the night] and took from me the good of the little orphans,[fn# ] six great bags, [containing each a thousand dinars,[fn# ] and made off;] but as for me, i will say no more to thee except in the sultan's presence."[fn# ] when the master of the police heard these words, he was troubled and rose and sat down; then he took the cadi and seating him by his side, soothed him and exhorted him to patience, till he had made an end of talk, when he turned to the officers and questioned them. they fixed the affair on me and said, "we know nothing of this affair but from captain muineddin." so the cadi turned to me and said, "thou wast of accord with this woman, for she said she came from the citadel." as for me, i stood, with my head bowed to the earth, forgetting both institutes and canons,[fn# ] and abode sunk in thought, saying, "how came i to be the dupe of yonder worthless baggage?" then said the amir to me, "what aileth thee that thou answerest not?" and i answered, saying, "o my lord, it is a custom among the folk that he who hath a payment to make at a certain date is allowed three days' grace; [so do thou have patience with me so long,] and if, [by the end of that time,] the culprit be not found, i will be answerable for that which is lost." when the folk heard my speech, they all deemed it reasonable and the master of police turned to the cadi and swore to him that he would do his utmost endeavour to recover the stolen money and that it should be restored to him. so he went away, whilst i mounted forthright and fell to going round about the world without purpose, and indeed i was become under the dominion of a woman without worth or honour; and i went round about on this wise all that my day and night, but happened not upon tidings of her; and thus i did on the morrow. on the third day i said to myself, "thou art mad or witless!" for i was going about in quest of a woman who knew me and i knew her not, seeing that indeed she was veiled, [whenas i saw her]. then i went round about the third day till the hour of afternoon prayer, and sore was my concern and my chagrin, for i knew that there abode to me of my life but [till] the morrow, when the chief of the police would seek me. when it was the time of sundown, i passed through one of the streets, and beheld a woman at a window. her door was ajar and she was clapping her hands and casting furtive glances at me, as who should say, "come up by the door." so i went up, without suspicion, and when i entered, she rose and clasped me to her breast marvelled at her affair and she said to me, "i am she whom thou depositedst with amin el hukm." quoth i to her, "o my sister, i have been going round and round in quest of thee, for indeed thou hast done a deed that will be chronicled in history and hast cast me into slaughter[fn# ] on thine account." "sayst thou this to me," asked she, "and thou captain of men?" and i answered, "how should i not be troubled, seeing that i am in concern [for an affair] that i turn over and over [in my mind], more by token that i abide my day long going about [searching for thee] and in the night i watch its stars [for wakefulness]?" quoth she, "nought shall betide but good, and thou shalt get the better of him." so saying, she rose [and going] to a chest, took out therefrom six bags full of gold and said to me, "this is what i took from amin el hukm's house. so, if thou wilt, restore it; else the whole is lawfully thine; and if thou desire other than this, [thou shalt have it;] for i have wealth in plenty and i had no design in this but to marry thee." then she arose and opening [other] chests, brought out therefrom wealth galore and i said to her, "o my sister, i have no desire for all this, nor do i covet aught but to be quit of that wherein i am." quoth she, "i came not forth of the [cadi's] house without [making provision for] thine acquittance." then said she to me, "to-morrow morning, when amin el hukm cometh, have patience with him till he have made an end of his speech, and when he is silent, return him no answer; and if the prefect say to thee, 'what ailest thee that thou answereth him not?' do thou reply, 'o lord, know that the two words are not alike, but there is no [helper] for him who is undermost[fn# ], save god the most high.'[fn# ] the cadi will say, 'what is the meaning of thy saying," the two words are not alike"?' and do thou make answer, saying, 'i deposited with thee a damsel from the palace of the sultan, and most like some losel of thy household hath transgressed against her or she hath been privily murdered. indeed, there were on her jewels and raiment worth a thousand dinars, and hadst thou put those who are with thee of slaves and slave-girls to the question, thou hadst assuredly lit on some traces [of the crime].' when he heareth this from thee, his agitation will redouble and he will be confounded and will swear that needs must thou go with him to his house; but do thou say, 'that will i not do, for that i am the party aggrieved, more by token that i am under suspicion with thee.' if he redouble in calling [on god for aid] and conjure thee by the oath of divorce, saying, 'needs must thou come,' do thou say, 'by allah, i will not go, except the prefect come also.' when thou comest to the house, begin by searching the roofs; then search the closets and cabinets; and if thou find nought, humble thyself unto the cadi and make a show of abjection and feign thyself defeated, and after stand at the door and look as if thou soughtest a place wherein to make water, for that there is a dark corner there. then come forward, with a heart stouter than granite, and lay hold upon a jar of the jars and raise it from its place. thou wilt find under it the skirt of a veil; bring it out publicly and call the prefect in a loud voice, before those who are present. then open it and thou wilt find it full of blood, exceeding of redness,[fn# ] and in it [thou wilt find also] a woman's shoes and a pair of trousers and somewhat of linen." when i heard this from her, i rose to go out and she said to me, "take these hundred dinars, so they may advantage thee; and this is my guest-gift to thee." so i took them and bidding her farewell, returned to my lodging. next morning, up came the cadi, with his face like the ox-eye,[fn# ] and said, "in the name of god, where is my debtor and where is my money?" then he wept and cried out and said to the prefect, "where is that ill-omened fellow, who aboundeth in thievery and villainy?" therewith the prefect turned to me and said, "why dost thou not answer the cadi?" and i replied, "o amir, the two heads[fn# ] are not equal, and i, i have no helper but god; but, if the right be on my side, it will appear." at this the cadi cried out and said, "out on thee, o ill-omened fellow! how wilt thou make out that the right is on thy side?" "o our lord the cadi," answered i, "i deposited with thee a trust, to wit, a woman whom we found at thy door, and on her raiment and trinkets of price. now she is gone, even as yesterday is gone; and after this thou turnest upon us and makest claim upon me for six thousand dinars. by allah, this is none other than gross unright, and assuredly some losel of thy household hath transgressed against her!" with this the cadi's wrath redoubled and he swore by the most solemn of oaths that i should go with him and search his house. "by allah," replied i, "i will not go, except the prefect be with us; for, if he be present, he and the officers, thou wilt not dare to presume upon me." and the cadi rose and swore an oath, saying, "by him who created mankind, we will not go but with the amir!" so we repaired to the cadi's house, accompanied by the prefect, and going up, searched high and low, but found nothing; whereupon fear gat hold upon me and the prefect turned to me and said, "out on thee, o ill-omened fellow! thou puttest us to shame before the men." and i wept and went round about right and left, with the tears running down my face, till we were about to go forth and drew near the door of the house. i looked at the place [behind the door] and said, "what is yonder dark place that i see?" and i said to the sergeants, "lift up this jar with me." they did as i bade them and i saw somewhat appearing under the jar and said, "rummage and see what is under it." so they searched and found a woman's veil and trousers full of blood, which when i beheld, i fell down in a swoon. when the prefect saw this, he said, "by allah, the captain is excused!" then my comrades came round about me and sprinkled water on my face, [till i came to myself,] when i arose and accosting the cadi, who was covered with confusion, said to him, "thou seest that suspicion is fallen on thee, and indeed this affair is no light matter, for that this woman's family will assuredly not sit down under her loss." therewith the cadi's heart quaked and he knew that the suspicion had reverted upon him, wherefore his colour paled and his limbs smote together; and he paid of his own money, after the measure of that which he had lost, so we would hush up the matter for him.[fn# ] then we departed from him in peace, whilst i said in myself, "indeed, the woman deceived me not." after that i tarried till three days had elapsed, when went to the bath and changing my clothes, betook myself to her house, but found the door locked and covered with dust. so i questioned the neighbours of her and they said, "this house hath been empty these many days; but three days agone there came a woman with an ass, and yesternight, at eventide, she took her gear and went away." so i turned back, confounded in my wit, and every day [after this, for many a day,] i inquired of the inhabitants [of the street] concerning her, but could light on no tidings of her. and indeed i marvelled at the eloquence of her tongue and [the readiness of] her speech; and this is the most extraordinary of that which hath betided me.' when el melik ez zahir heard muineddin's story, he marvelled thereat then rose another officer and said, 'o lord, bear what befell me in bygone days. the second officer's story. i was once an officer in the household of the amir jemaleddin el atwesh el mujhidi, who was invested with the governance of the eastern and western districts,[fn# ] and i was dear to his heart and he concealed from me nought of that which he purposed to do; and withal he was master of his reason.[fn# ] it chanced one day that it was reported to him that the daughter of such an one had wealth galore and raiment and jewels and she loved a jew, whom every day she invited to be private with her, and they passed the day eating and drinking in company and he lay the night with her. the prefect feigned to give no credence to this story, but one night he summoned the watchmen of the quarter and questioned them of this. quoth one of them, "o my lord, i saw a jew enter the street in question one night; but know not for certain to whom he went in." and the prefect said, "keep thine eye on him henceforth and note what place he entereth." so the watchman went out and kept his eye on the jew. one day, as the prefect sat [in his house], the watchman came in to him and said, "o my lord, the jew goeth to the house of such an one." whereupon el atwesh arose and went forth alone, taking with him none but myself. as he went along, he said to me, "indeed, this [woman] is a fat piece of meat."[fn# ] and we gave not over going till we came to the door of the house and stood there till a slave-girl came out, as if to buy them somewhat. we waited till she opened the door, whereupon, without further parley, we forced our way into the house and rushed in upon the girl, whom we found seated with the jew in a saloon with four estrades, and cooking-pots and candles therein. when her eyes fell on the prefect, she knew him and rising to her feet, said, "welcome and fair welcome! great honour hath betided me by my lord's visit and indeed thou honourest my dwelling." then she carried him up [to the estrade] and seating him on the couch, brought him meat and wine and gave him to drink; after which she put off all that was upon her of raiment and jewels and tying them up in a handkerchief, said to him, "o my lord, this is thy portion, all of it." moreover she turned to the jew and said to him, "arise, thou also, and do even as i." so he arose in haste and went out, scarce crediting his deliverance. when the girl was assured of his escape, she put out her hand to her clothes [and jewels] and taking them, said to the prefect, "is the requital of kindness other than kindness? thou hast deigned [to visit me and eat of my victual]; so now arise and depart from us without ill-[doing]; or i will give one cry and all who are in the street will come forth." so the amir went out from her, without having gotten a single dirhem; and on this wise she delivered the jew by the excellence of her contrivance.' the folk marvelled at this story and as for the prefect and el melik ez zahir, they said, 'wrought ever any the like of this device?' and they marvelled with the utterest of wonderment then arose a third officer and said, 'hear what betided me, for it is yet stranger and more extraordinary. the third officer's story i was one day abroad on an occasion with certain of my comrades, and as we went along, we fell in with a company of women, as they were moons, and among them one, the tallest and handsomest of them. when i saw her and she saw me, she tarried behind her companions and waited for me, till i came up to her and bespoke her. quoth she, "o my lord, (god favour thee!) i saw thee prolong thy looking on me and imagined that thou knewest me. if it be thus, vouchsafe me more knowledge of thee." "by allah," answered i, "i know thee not, save that god the most high hath cast the love of thee into my heart and the goodliness of thine attributes hath confounded me and that wherewith god hath gifted thee of those eyes that shoot with arrows; for thou hast captivated me." and she rejoined, "by allah, i feel the like of that which thou feelest; so that meseemeth i have known thee from childhood." then said i, "a man cannot well accomplish all whereof he hath need in the market-places." "hast thou a house?" asked she. "no, by allah," answered i; "nor is this town my dwelling-place." "by allah," rejoined she, "nor have i a place; but i will contrive for thee." then she went on before me and i followed her till she came to a lodging-house and said to the housekeeper, "hast thou an empty chamber?" "yes," answered she; and my mistress said, "give us the key." so we took the key and going up to see the room, entered it; after which she went out to the housekeeper and [giving her a dirhem], said to her, "take the key-money,[fn# ] for the room pleaseth us, and here is another dirhem for thy trouble. go, fetch us a pitcher of water, so we may [refresh ourselves] and rest till the time of the noonday siesta pass and the heat decline, when the man will go and fetch the [household] stuff." therewith the housekeeper rejoiced and brought us a mat and two pitchers of water on a tray and a leather rug. we abode thus till the setting-in of the time of mid-afternoon, when she said, "needs must i wash before i go." quoth i, "get water wherewithal we may wash," and pulled out from my pocket about a score of dirhems, thinking to give them to her; but she said, "i seek refuge with god!" and brought out of her pocket a handful of silver, saying, "but for destiny and that god hath caused the love of thee fall into my heart, there had not happened that which hath happened." quoth i, "take this in requital of that which thou hast spent;" and she said, "o my lord, by and by, whenas companionship is prolonged between us, thou wilt see if the like of me looketh unto money and gain or no." then she took a pitcher of water and going into the lavatory, washed[fn# ] and presently coming forth, prayed and craved pardon of god the most high for that which she had done. now i had questioned her of her name and she answered, "my name is rihaneh," and described to me her dwelling-place. when i saw her make the ablution, i said in myself, "this woman doth on this wise, and shall i not do the like of her?" then said i to her, "belike thou wilt seek us another pitcher of water?" so she went out to the housekeeper and said to her, "take this para and fetch us water therewith, so we may wash the flags withal." accordingly, the housekeeper brought two pitchers of water and i took one of them and giving her my clothes, entered the lavatory and washed. when i had made an end of washing, i cried out, saying, "harkye, my lady rihaneh!" but none answered me. so i went out and found her not; and indeed she had taken my clothes and that which was therein of money, to wit, four hundred dirhems. moreover, she had taken my turban and my handkerchief and i found not wherewithal to cover my nakedness; wherefore i suffered somewhat than which death is less grievous and abode looking about the place, so haply i might espy wherewithal to hide my shame. then i sat a little and presently going up to the door, smote upon it; whereupon up came the housekeeper and i said to her, "o my sister, what hath god done with the woman who was here?" quoth she, "she came down but now and said, 'i am going to cover the boys with the clothes and i have left him sleeping. if he awake, tell him not to stir till the clothes come to him.'" then said i, "o my sister, secrets are [safe] with the worthy and the freeborn. by allah, this woman is not my wife, nor ever in my life have i seen her before this day!" and i recounted to her the whole affair and begged her to cover me, informing her that i was discovered of the privities. she laughed and cried out to the women of the house, saying, "ho, fatimeh! ho, khedijeh! ho, herifeh! ho, senineh!" whereupon all those who were in the place of women and neighbours flocked to me and fell a-laughing at me and saying, "o blockhead, what ailed thee to meddle with gallantry?" then one of them came and looked in my face and laughed, and another said, "by allah, thou mightest have known that she lied, from the time she said she loved thee and was enamoured of thee? what is there in thee to love?" and a third said, "this is an old man without understanding." and they vied with each other in making mock of me, what while i suffered sore chagrin. however, after awhile, one of the women took pity on me and brought me a rag of thin stuff and cast it on me. with this i covered my privities, and no more, and abode awhile thus. then said i in myself, "the husbands of these women will presently gather together on me and i shall be disgraced." so i went out by another door of the house, and young and old crowded about me, running after me and saying, "a madman! a madman!" till i came to my house and knocked at the door; whereupon out came my wife and seeing me naked, tall, bareheaded, cried out and ran in again, saying,"this is a madman, a satan!" but, when she and my family knew me, they rejoiced and said to me, "what aileth thee?" i told them that thieves had taken my clothes and stripped me and had been like to kill me; and when i told them that they would have killed me, they praised god the most high and gave me joy of my safety. so consider the craft of this woman and this device that she practised upon me, for all my pretensions to sleight and quickwittedness.' the company marvelled at this story and at the doings of women. then came forward a fourth officer and said, 'verily, that which hath betided me of strange adventures is yet more extraordinary than this; and it was on this wise. the fourth officer's story. we were sleeping one night on the roof, when a woman made her way into the house and gathering into a bundle all that was therein, took it up, that she might go away with it. now she was great with child and near upon her term and the hour of her deliverance; so, when she made up the bundle and offered to shoulder it and make off with it, she hastened the coming of the pangs of labour and gave birth to a child in the dark. then she sought for the flint and steel and striking a light, kindled the lamp and went round about the house with the little one, and it was weeping. [the noise awoke us,] as we lay on the roof, and we marvelled. so we arose, to see what was to do, and looking down through the opening of the saloon,[fn# ] saw a woman, who had kindled the lamp, and heard the little one weeping. she heard our voices and raising her eyes to us, said, "are ye not ashamed to deal with us thus and discover our nakedness? know ye not that the day belongeth to you and the night to us? begone from us! by allah, were it not that ye have been my neighbours these [many] years, i would bring down the house upon you!" we doubted not but that she was of the jinn and drew back our heads; but, when we arose on the morrow, we found that she had taken all that was with us and made off with it; wherefore we knew that she was a thief and had practised [on us] a device, such as was never before practised; and we repented, whenas repentance advantaged us not.' when the company heard this story, they marvelled thereat with the utmost wonderment. then the fifth officer, who was the lieutenant of the bench,[fn# ] came forward and said, '[this is] no wonder and there befell me that which is rarer and more extraordinary than this. the fifth officer's story. as i sat one day at the door of the prefecture, a woman entered and said to me privily, "o my lord, i am the wife of such an one the physician, and with him is a company of the notables[fn# ] of the city, drinking wine in such a place." when i heard this, i misliked to make a scandal; so i rebuffed her and sent her away. then i arose and went alone to the place in question and sat without till the door opened, when i rushed in and entering, found the company engaged as the woman had set out, and she herself with them. i saluted them and they returned my greeting and rising, entreated me with honour and seated me and brought me to eat. then i informed them how one had denounced them to me, but i had driven him[fn# ] away and come to them by myself; wherefore they thanked me and praised me for my goodness. then they brought out to me from among them two thousand dirhems[fn# ] and i took them and went away. two months after this occurrence, there came to me one of the cadi's officers, with a scroll, wherein was the magistrate's writ, summoning me to him. so i accompanied the officer and went in to the cadi, whereupon the plaintiff, to wit, he who had taken out the summons, sued me for two thousand dirhems, avouching that i had borrowed them of him as the woman's agent.[fn# ] i denied the debt, but he produced against me a bond for the amount, attested by four of those who were in company [on the occasion]; and they were present and bore witness to the loan. so i reminded them of my kindness and paid the amount, swearing that i would never again follow a woman's counsel. is not this marvellous?' the company marvelled at the goodliness of his story and it pleased el melik ez zahir; and the prefect said, 'by allah, this story is extraordinary!' then came forward the sixth officer and said to the company, 'hear my story and that which befell me, to wit, that which befell such an one the assessor, for it is rarer than this and stranger. the sixth officer's story. a certain assessor was one day taken with a woman and much people assembled before his house and the lieutenant of police and his men came to him and knocked at the door. the assessor looked out of window and seeing the folk, said, "what aileth you?" quoth they, "[come,] speak with the lieutenant of police such an one." so he came down and they said to him, "bring forth the woman that is with thee." quoth he, "are ye not ashamed? how shall i bring forth my wife?" and they said, "is she thy wife by contract[fn# ] or without contract?" ["by contract,"] answered he, "according to the book of god and the institutes of his apostle." "where is the contract?" asked they; and he replied, "her contract is in her mother's house." quoth they, "arise and come down and show us the contract." and he said to them, "go from her way, so she may come forth." now, as soon as he got wind of the matter, he had written the contract and fashioned it after her fashion, to suit with the case, and written therein the names of certain of his friends as witnesses and forged the signatures of the drawer and the wife's next friend and made it a contract of marriage with his wife and appointed it for an excuse.[fn# ] so, when the woman was about to go out from him, he gave her the contract that be had forged, and the amir sent with her a servant of his, to bring her to her father. so the servant went with her and when she came to her door, she said to him, "i will not return to the citation of the amir; but let the witnesses[fn# ] present themselves and take my contract." accordingly, the servant carried this message to the lieutenant of police, who was standing at the assessor's door, and he said, "this is reasonable." then said [the assessor] to the servant, "harkye, o eunuch! go and fetch us such an one the notary;" for that he was his friend [and it was he whose name he had forged as the drawer-up of the contract]. so the lieutenant of police sent after him and fetched him to the assessor, who, when he saw him, said to him, "get thee to such an one, her with whom thou marriedst me, and cry out upon her, and when she cometh to thee, demand of her the contract and take it from her and bring it to us." and he signed to him, as who should say, "bear me out in the lie and screen me, for that she is a strange woman and i am in fear of the lieutenant of police who standeth at the door; and we beseech god the most high to screen us and you from the trouble of this world. amen." so the notary went up to the lieutenant, who was among the witnesses, and said "it is well. is she not such an one whose marriage contract we drew up in such a place?" then he betook himself to the woman's house and cried out upon her; whereupon she brought him the [forged] contract and he took it and returned with it to the lieutenant of police. when the latter had taken cognizance [of the document and professed himself satisfied, the assessor] said [to the notary,] "go to our lord and master, the cadi of the cadis, and acquaint him with that which befalleth his assessors." the notary rose to go, but the lieutenant of police feared [for himself] and was profuse in beseeching the assessor and kissing his hands, till he forgave him; whereupon the lieutenant went away in the utterest of concern and affright. on this wise the assessor ordered the case and carried out the forgery and feigned marriage with the woman; [and thus was calamity warded off from him] by the excellence of his contrivance."[fn# ] the folk marvelled at this story with the utmost wonderment and the seventh officer said, 'there befell me in alexandria the [god-]guarded a marvellous thing, [and it was that one told me the following story]. the seventh officer's story. there came one day an old woman [to the stuff-market], with a casket of precious workmanship, containing trinkets, and she was accompanied by a damsel great with child. the old woman sat down at the shop of a draper and giving him to know that the damsel was with child by the prefect of police of the city, took of him, on credit, stuffs to the value of a thousand dinars and deposited with him the casket as security. [she opened the casket and] showed him that which was therein; and he found it full of trinkets [apparently] of price; [so he trusted her with the goods] and she took leave of him and carrying the stuffs to the damsel, who was with her, [went her way]. then the old woman was absent from him a great while, and when her absence was prolonged, the draper despaired of her; so he went up to the prefect's house and enquired of the woman of his household, [who had taken his stuffs on credit;] but could get no tidings of her nor lit on aught of her trace. then he brought out the casket of jewellery [and showed it to an expert,] who told him that the trinkets were gilt and that their worth was but an hundred dirhems. when he heard this, he was sore concerned thereat and presenting himself before the sultan's deputy, made his complaint to him; whereupon the latter knew that a trick had been put off upon him and that the folk had cozened him and gotten the better of him and taken his stuffs. now the magistrate in question was a man of good counsel and judgment, well versed in affairs; so he said to the draper, "remove somewhat from thy shop, [and amongst the rest the casket,] and on the morrow break the lock and cry out and come to me and complain that they have plundered all thy shop. moreover, do thou call [upon god for succour] and cry aloud and acquaint the folk, so that all the people may resort to thee and see the breach of the lock and that which is missing from thy shop; and do thou show it to every one who presenteth himself, so the news may be noised abroad, and tell them that thy chief concern is for a casket of great value, deposited with thee by a great man of the town and that thou standest in fear of him. but be thou not afraid and still say in thy converse, 'my casket belonged to such an one, and i fear him and dare not bespeak him; but you, o company and all ye who are present, i call you to witness of this for me.' and if there be with thee more than this talk, [say it;] and the old woman will come to thee." the draper answered with "hearkening and obedience" and going forth from the deputy's presence, betook himself to his shop and brought out thence [the casket and] somewhat considerable, which he removed to his house. at break of day he arose and going to his shop, broke the lock and cried out and shrieked and called [on god for help,] till the folk assembled about him and all who were in the city were present, whereupon he cried out to them, saying even as the prefect had bidden him; and this was bruited abroad. then he made for the prefecture and presenting himself before the chief of the police, cried out and complained and made a show of distraction. after three days, the old woman came to him and bringing him the [thousand dinars, the] price of the stuffs, demanded the casket.[fn# ] when he saw her, he laid hold of her and carried her to the prefect of the city; and when she came before the cadi, he said to her, "o sataness, did not thy first deed suffice thee, but thou must come a second time?" quoth she, "i am of those who seek their salvation[fn# ] in the cities, and we foregather every month; and yesterday we foregathered." "canst thou [bring me to] lay hold of them?" asked the prefect; and she answered, "yes; but, if thou wait till to-morrow, they will have dispersed. so i will deliver them to thee to-night." quoth he to her, "go;" and she said, "send with me one who shall go with me to them and obey me in that which i shall say to him, and all that i bid him he shall give ear unto and obey me therein." so he gave her a company of men and she took them and bringing them to a certain door, said to them, "stand at this door, and whoso cometh out to you, lay hands on him; and i will come out to you last of all." "hearkening and obedience," answered they and stood at the door, whilst the old woman went in. they waited a long while, even as the sultan's deputy had bidden them, but none came out to them and their standing was prolonged. when they were weary of waiting, they went up to the door and smote upon it heavily and violently, so that they came nigh to break the lock. then one of them entered and was absent a long while, but found nought; so he returned to his comrades and said to them,"this is the door of a passage, leading to such a street; and indeed she laughed at you and left you and went away."when they heard his words, they returned to the amir and acquainted him with the case, whereby he knew that the old woman was a crafty trickstress and that she had laughed at them and cozened them and put a cheat on them, to save herself. consider, then, the cunning of this woman and that which she contrived of wiles, for all her lack of foresight in presenting herself [a second time] to the draper and not apprehending that his conduct was but a trick; yet, when she found herself in danger, she straightway devised a shift for her deliverance.' when the company heard the seventh officer's story, they were moved to exceeding mirth, and el melik ez zahir bibers rejoiced in that which he heard and said, 'by allah, there betide things in this world, from which kings are shut out, by reason of their exalted station!" then came forward another man from amongst the company and said, 'there hath reached me from one of my friends another story bearing on the malice of women and their craft, and it is rarer and more extraordinary and more diverting than all that hath been told to you." quoth the company, 'tell us thy story and expound it unto us, so we may see that which it hath of extraordinary.' and he said 'know, then, that the eighth officer's story. a friend of mine once invited me to an entertainment; so i went with him, and when we came into his house and sat down on his couch, he said to me, "this is a blessed day and a day of gladness, and [blessed is] he who liveth to [see] the like of this day. i desire that thou practise with us and deny[fn# ] us not, for that thou hast been used to hearken unto those who occupy themselves with this."[fn# ] i fell in with this and their talk happened upon the like of this subject.[fn# ] presently, my friend, who had invited me, arose from among them and said to them, "hearken to me and i will tell you of an adventure that happened to me. there was a certain man who used to visit me in my shop, and i knew him not nor he me, nor ever in his life had he seen me; but he was wont, whenever he had need of a dirhem or two, by way of loan, to come to me and ask me, without acquaintance or intermediary between me and him, [and i would give him what he sought]. i told none of him, and matters abode thus between us a long while, till he fell to borrowing ten at twenty dirhems [at a time], more or less. one day, as i stood in my shop, there came up to me a woman and stopped before me; and she as she were the full moon rising from among the stars, and the place was illumined by her light. when i saw her, i fixed my eyes on her and stared in her face; and she bespoke me with soft speech. when i heard her words and the sweetness of her speech, i lusted after her; and when she saw that i lusted after her, she did her occasion and promising me [to come again], went away, leaving my mind occupied with her and fire kindled in my heart. then i abode, perplexed and pondering my affair, whilst fire flamed in my heart, till the third day, when she came again and i scarce credited her coming. when i saw her, i talked with her and cajoled her and courted her and strove to win her favour with speech and invited her [to my house]; but she answered, saying, 'i will not go up into any one's house.' quoth i, 'i will go with thee;' and she said, 'arise and come with me.' so i arose and putting in my sleeve a handkerchief, wherein was a good sum of money, followed the woman, who went on before me and gave not over walking till she brought me to a by-street and to a door, which she bade me open. i refused and she opened it and brought me into the vestibule. as soon as i had entered, she locked the door of entrance from within and said to me, 'sit [here] till i go in to the slave-girls and cause them enter a place where they shall not see me.' 'it is well,' answered i and sat down; whereupon she entered and was absent from me a moment, after which she returned to me, without a veil, and said, 'arise, [enter,] in the name of god.'[fn# ] so i arose and went in after her and we gave not over going till we entered a saloon. when i examined the place, i found it neither handsome nor agreeable, but unseemly and desolate, without symmetry or cleanliness; nay, it was loathly to look upon and there was a foul smell in it. i seated myself amiddleward the saloon, misdoubting, and as i sat, there came down on me from the estrade seven naked men, without other clothing than leather girdles about their waists. one of them came up to me and took my turban, whilst another took my handkerchief, that was in my sleeve, with my money, and a third stripped me of my clothes; after which a fourth came and bound my hands behind me with his girdle. then they all took me up, pinioned as i was, and casting me down, fell a-dragging me towards a sink-hole that was there and were about to cut my throat, when, behold, there came a violent knocking at the door. when they heard this, they were afraid and their minds were diverted from me by fear; so the woman went out and presently returning, said to them, 'fear not; no harm shall betide you this day. it is only your comrade who hath brought you your noon-meal.' with this the new-comer entered, bringing with him a roasted lamb; and when he came in to them, he said to them, 'what is to do with you, that ye have tucked up [your sleeves and trousers]?' quoth they, '[this is] a piece of game we have caught.' when he heard this, he came up to me and looking in my face, cried out and said, 'by allah, this is my brother, the son of my mother and father! allah! allah!' then he loosed me from my bonds and kissed my head, and behold it was my friend who used to borrow money of me. when i kissed his head, he kissed mine and said, 'o my brother, be not affrighted.' then he called for my clothes [and money and restored to me all that had been taken from me] nor was aught missing to me. moreover, he brought me a bowl full of [sherbet of] sugar, with lemons therein, and gave me to drink thereof; and the company came and seated me at a table. so i ate with them and he said to me, 'o my lord and my brother, now have bread and salt passed between us and thou hast discovered our secret and [become acquainted with] our case; but secrets [are safe] with the noble.' quoth i, 'as i am a lawfully-begotten child, i will not name aught [of this] neither denounce [you!*]' and they assured themselves of me by an oath. then they brought me out and i went my way, scarce crediting but that i was of the dead. i abode in my house, ill, a whole month; after which i went to the bath and coming out, opened my shop [and sat selling and buying as usual], but saw no more of the man or the woman, till, one day, there stopped before my shop a young man, [a turcoman], as he were the full moon; and he was a sheep-merchant and had with him a bag, wherein was money, the price of sheep that he had sold. he was followed by the woman, and when he stopped at my shop, she stood by his side and cajoled him, and indeed he inclined to her with a great inclination. as for me, i was consumed with solicitude for him and fell to casting furtive glances at him and winked at him, till he chanced to look round and saw me winking at him; whereupon the woman looked at me and made a sign with her hand and went away. the turcoman followed her and i counted him dead, without recourse; wherefore i feared with an exceeding fear and shut my shop. then i journeyed for a year's space and returning, opened my shop; whereupon, behold, the woman came up to me and said, 'this is none other than a great absence.' quoth i, 'i have been on a journey;' and she said, 'why didst thou wink at the turcoman?' 'god forbid!' answered i. 'i did not wink at him.' quoth she, 'beware lest thou cross me;' and went away. awhile after this a friend of mine invited me to his house and when i came to him, we ate and drank and talked. then said he to me, 'o my friend, hath there befallen thee in thy life aught of calamity?' 'nay,' answered i; 'but tell me [first], hath there befallen thee aught?' ['yes,'] answered he. 'know that one day i espied a fair woman; so i followed her and invited her [to come home with me]. quoth she, "i will not enter any one's house; but come thou to my house, if thou wilt, and be it on such a day." accordingly, on the appointed day, her messenger came to me, purposing to carry me to her; so i arose and went with him, till we came to a handsome house and a great door. he opened the door and i entered, whereupon he locked the door [behind me] and would have gone in, but i feared with an exceeding fear and foregoing him to the second door, whereby he would have had me enter, locked it and cried out at him, saying, "by allah, an thou open not to me, i will kill thee; for i am none of those whom thou canst cozen!" quoth he, "what deemest thou of cozenage?" and i said, "verily, i am affrighted at the loneliness of the house and the lack of any at the door thereof; for i see none appear." "o my lord," answered he, "this is a privy door." "privy or public," answered i, "open to me." so he opened to me and i went out and had not gone far from the house when i met a woman, who said to me, "methinks a long life was fore-ordained to thee; else hadst thou not come forth of yonder house." "how so?" asked i, and she answered, "ask thy friend [such an one," naming thee,] "and he will acquaint thee with strange things." so, god on thee, o my friend, tell me what befell thee of wonders and rarities, for i have told thee what befell me.' 'o my brother,' answered i, 'i am bound by a solemn oath.' and he said, 'o my friend, break thine oath and tell me.' quoth i, 'indeed, i fear the issue of this.' [but he importuned me] till i told him all, whereat he marvelled. then i went away from him and abode a long while, [without farther news]. one day, another of my friends came to me and said 'a neighbour of mine hath invited me to hear [music]. [and he would have me go with him;] but i said, 'i will not foregather with any one.' however, he prevailed upon me [to accompany him]; so we repaired to the place and found there a man, who came to meet us and said, '[enter,] in the name of god!' then he pulled out a key and opened the door, whereupon we entered and he locked the door after us. quoth i, 'we are the first of the folk; but where are their voices?'[fn# ] '[they are] within the house,' answered he. 'this is but a privy door; so be not amazed at the absence of the folk.' and my friend said to me, 'behold, we are two, and what can they avail to do with us?' [then he brought us into the house,] and when we entered the saloon, we found it exceeding desolate and repulsive of aspect quoth my friend, 'we are fallen [into a trap]; but there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the supreme!' and i said, 'may god not requite thee for me with good!' then we sat down on the edge of the estrade and presently i espied a closet beside me; so i looked into it and my friend said to me, 'what seest thou?' quoth i, 'i see therein good galore and bodies of murdered folk. look.' so he looked and said, 'by allah, we are lost men!' and we fell a-weeping, i and he. as we were thus, behold, there came in upon us, by the door at which we had entered, four naked men, with girdles of leather about their middles, and made for my friend. he ran at them and dealing one of them a buffet, overthrew him, whereupon the other three fell all upon him. i seized the opportunity to escape, what while they were occupied with him, and espying a door by my side, slipped into it and found myself in an underground chamber, without window or other issue. so i gave myself up for lost and said, 'there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the supreme!' then i looked to the top of the vault and saw in it a range of glazed lunettes; so i clambered up for dear life, till i reached the lunettes, and i distracted [for fear]. i made shift to break the glass and scrambling out through the frames, found a wall behind them. so i bestrode the wall and saw folk walking in the road; whereupon i cast myself down to the ground and god the most high preserved me, so that i reached the earth, unhurt. the folk flocked round me and i acquainted them with my story. as fate would have it, the chief of the police was passing through the market; so the people told him [what was to do] and he made for the door and burst it open. we entered with a rush and found the thieves, as they had overthrown my friend and cut his throat; for they occupied not themselves with me, but said, 'whither shall yonder fellow go? indeed, he is in our grasp.' so the prefect took them with the hand[fn# ] and questioned them, and they confessed against the woman and against their associates in cairo. then he took them and went forth, after he had locked up the house and sealed it; and i accompanied him till he came without the [first] house. he found the door locked from within; so he bade break it open and we entered and found another door. this also he caused burst in, enjoining his men to silence till the doors should be opened, and we entered and found the band occupied with a new victim, whom the woman had just brought in and whose throat they were about to cut. the prefect released the man and gave him back all that the thieves had taken from him; and he laid hands on the woman and the rest and took forth of the house treasures galore. amongst the rest, they found the money-bag of the turcoman sheep-merchant. the thieves they nailed up incontinent against the wall of the house, whilst, as for the woman, they wrapped her in one of her veils and nailing her [to a board, set her] upon a camel and went round about the town with her. thus god razed their dwelling-places and did away from me that which i feared. all this befell, whilst i looked on, and i saw not my friend who had saved me from them the first time, whereat i marvelled to the utterest of marvel. however, some days afterward, he came up to me, and indeed he had renounced[fn# ] [the world] and donned a fakir's habit; and he saluted me and went away. then he again began to pay me frequent visits and i entered into converse with him and questioned him of the band and how he came to escape, he alone of them all. quoth he, 'i left them from the day on which god the most high delivered thee from them, for that they would not obey my speech; wherefore i swore that i would no longer consort with them.' and i said, 'by allah, i marvel at thee, for that thou wast the cause of my preservation!' quoth he, 'the world is full of this sort [of folk]; and we beseech god the most high for safety, for that these [wretches] practise upon men with every kind of device.' then said i to him, 'tell me the most extraordinary adventure of all that befell thee in this villainy thou wast wont to practise.' and he answered, saying, 'o my brother, i was not present when they did on this wise, for that my part with them was to concern myself with selling and buying and [providing them with] food; but i have heard that the most extraordinary thing that befell them was on this wise. the thief's story. the woman who used to act as decoy for them once caught them a woman from a bride-feast, under pretence that she had a wedding toward in her own house, and appointed her for a day, whereon she should come to her. when the appointed day arrived, the woman presented herself and the other carried her into the house by a door, avouching that it was a privy door. when she entered [the saloon], she saw men and champions[fn# ] [and knew that she had fallen into a trap]; so she looked at them and said, "harkye, lads![fn# ] i am a woman and there is no glory in my slaughter, nor have ye any feud of blood-revenge against me, wherefore ye should pursue me; and that which is upon me of [trinkets and apparel] ye are free to take." quoth they, "we fear thy denunciation." but she answered, saying, "i will abide with you, neither coming in nor going out." and they said, "we grant thee thy life." then the captain looked on her [and she pleased him]; so he took her for himself and she abode with him a whole year, doing her endeavour in their service. till they became accustomed to her [and felt assured of her]. one night she plied them with drink and they drank [till they became intoxicated]; whereupon she arose and took her clothes and five hundred dinars from the captain; after which she fetched a razor and shaved all their chins. then she took soot from the cooking-pots and blackening their faces withal, opened the doors and went out; and when the thieves awoke, they abode confounded and knew that the woman had practised upon them.'"' the company marvelled at this story and the ninth officer came forward and said, 'i will tell you a right goodly story i heard at a wedding. the ninth officer's story. a certain singing-woman was fair of favour and high in repute, and it befell one day that she went out apleasuring. as she sat,[fn# ] behold, a man lopped of the hand stopped to beg of her, and he entered in at the door. then he touched her with his stump, saying, "charity, for the love of god!" but she answered, "god open [on thee the gate of subsistence]!" and reviled him. some days after this, there came to her a messenger and gave her the hire of her going forth.[fn# ] so she took with her a handmaid and an accompanyist;[fn# ] and when she came to the appointed place, the messenger brought her into a long passage, at the end whereof was a saloon. so (quoth she) we entered and found none therein, but saw the [place made ready for an] entertainment with candles and wine and dessert, and in another place we saw food and in a third beds. we sat down and i looked at him who had opened the door to us, and behold he was lopped of the hand. i misliked this of him, and when i had sat a little longer, there entered a man, who filled the lamps in the saloon and lit the candles; and behold, he also was handlopped. then came the folk and there entered none except he were lopped of the hand, and indeed the house was full of these. when the assembly was complete, the host entered and the company rose to him and seated him in the place of honour. now he was none other than the man who had fetched me, and he was clad in sumptuous apparel, but his hands were in his sleeves, so that i knew not how it was with them. they brought him food and he ate, he and the company; after which they washed their hands and the host fell to casting furtive glances at me. then they drank till they were drunken, and when they had taken leave [of their wits], the host turned to me and said, "thou dealtest not friendly with him who sought an alms of thee and thou saidst to him, 'how loathly thou art!'" i considered him and behold, he was the lophand who had accosted me in my pleasaunce. so i said, "o my lord, what is this thou sayest?" and he answered, saying, "wait; thou shall remember it." so saying, he shook his head and stroked his beard, whilst i sat down for fear. then he put out his hand to my veil and shoes and laying them by his side, said to me, "sing, o accursed one!" so i sang till i was weary, whilst they occupied themselves with their case and intoxicated themselves and their heat redoubled.[fn# ] presently, the doorkeeper came to me and said, "fear not, o my lady; but, when thou hast a mind to go, let me know." quoth i, "thinkest thou to delude me?" and he said, "nay, by allah! but i have compassion on thee for that our captain and our chief purposeth thee no good and methinketh he will slay thee this night." quoth i to him, "an thou be minded to do good, now is the time." and he answered, saying, "when our chief riseth to do his occasion and goeth to the draught-house, i will enter before him with the light and leave the door open; and do thou go whithersoever thou wilt." then i sang and the captain said, "it is good," quoth i, "nay, but thou art loathly." he looked at me and said, "by allah, thou shalt never more scent the odour of the world!" but his comrades said to him, "do it not," and appeased him, till he said, "if it must be so, she shall abide here a whole year, not going forth." and i said, "i am content to submit to whatsoever pleaseth thee. if i have erred, thou art of those to whom pertaineth clemency." he shook his head and drank, then arose and went out to do his occasion, what while his comrades were occupied with what they were about of merry-making and drunkenness and sport. so i winked to my fellows and we slipped out into the corridor. we found the door open and fled forth, unveiled and knowing not whither we went; nor did we halt till we had left the house far behind and happened on a cook cooking, to whom said i, "hast thou a mind to quicken dead folk?" and he said, "come up." so we went up into the shop, and he said, 'lie down." accordingly, we lay down and he covered us with the grass,[fn# ] wherewith he was used to kindle [the fire] under the food. hardly had we settled ourselves in the place when we heard a noise of kicking [at the door] and people running right and left and questioning the cook and saying, "hath any one passed by thee?" "nay," answered he; "none hath passed by me." but they ceased not to go round about the shop till the day broke, when they turned back, disappointed. then the cook removed the grass and said to us, "arise, for ye are delivered from death." so we arose, and we were uncovered, without mantle or veil; but the cook carried us up into his house and we sent to our lodgings and fetched us veils; and we repented unto god the most high and renounced singing,[fn# ] for indeed this was a great deliverance after stress.' the company marvelled at this story and the tenth officer came forward and said, 'as for me, there befell me that which was yet more extraordinary than all this.' quoth el melik ez zahir, 'what was that?' and he said, the tenth officer's story. 'a great theft had been committed in the city and i was cited,[fn# ] i and my fellows. now it was a matter of considerable value and they[fn# ] pressed hard upon us; but we obtained of them some days' grace and dispersed in quest of the stolen goods. as for me, i sallied forth with five men and went round about the city that day; and on the morrow we fared forth [into the suburbs]. when we came a parasang or two parasangs' distance from the city, we were athirst; and presently we came to a garden. so i went in and going up to the water-wheel,[fn# ] entered it and drank and made the ablution and prayed. presently up came the keeper of the garden and said to me, "out on thee! who brought thee into this water-wheel?" and he cuffed me and squeezed my ribs till i was like to die. then he bound me with one of his bulls and made me turn in the water-wheel, flogging me the while with a cattle whip he had with him, till my heart was on fire; after which he loosed me and i went out, knowing not the way. when i came forth, i swooned away: so i sat down till my trouble subsided; then i made for my comrades and said to them, "i have found the booty and the thief, and i affrighted him not neither troubled him, lest he should flee; but now, come, let us go to him, so we may make shift to lay hold upon him." then i took them and repaired to the keeper of the garden, who had tortured me with beating, meaning to make him taste the like of that which he had done with me and lie against him and cause him eat stick. so we rushed into the water-wheel and seizing the keeper, pinioned him. now there was with him a youth and he said, "by allah, i was not with him and indeed it is six months since i entered the city, nor did i set eyes on the stuffs until they were brought hither." quoth we, "show us the stuffs." so he carried us to a place wherein was a pit, beside the water-wheel, and digging there, brought out the stolen goods, with not a stitch of them missing. so we took them and carried the keeper to the prefecture, where we stripped him and beat him with palm-rods till he confessed to thefts galore. now i did this by way of mockery against my comrades, and it succeeded.'[fn# ] the company marvelled at this story with the utmost wonderment, and the eleventh officer rose and said, 'i know a story yet rarer than this: but it happened not to myself. the eleventh officer's story. there was once aforetime a chief officer [of police] and there passed by him one day a jew, with a basket in his hand, wherein were five thousand dinars; whereupon quoth the officer to one of his slaves, "canst thou make shift to take that money from yonder jew's basket?" "yes," answered he, nor did he tarry beyond the next day before he came to his master, with the basket in his hand. so (quoth the officer) i said to him, "go, bury it in such a place." so he went and buried it and returned and told me. hardly had he done this when there arose a clamour and up came the jew, with one of the king's officers, avouching that the money belonged to the sultan and that he looked to none but us for it. we demanded of him three days' delay, as of wont, and i said to him who had taken the money, "go and lay somewhat in the jew's house, that shall occupy him with himself." so he went and played a fine trick, to wit, he laid in a basket a dead woman's hand, painted [with henna] and having a gold seal- ring on one of the fingers, and buried the basket under a flagstone in the jew's house. then came we and searched and found the basket, whereupon we straightway clapped the jew in irons for the murder of a woman. when it was the appointed time, there came to us the man of the sultan's guards, [who had accompanied the jew, when he came to complain of the loss of the money,] and said, "the sultan biddeth you nail up[fn# ] the jew and bring the money, for that there is no way by which five thousand dinars can be lost." wherefore we knew that our device sufficed not. so i went forth and finding a young man, a haurani,[fn# ] passing the road, laid hands on him and stripped him and beat him with palm-rods. then i clapped him in irons and carrying him to the prefecture, beat him again, saying to them, "this is the thief who stole the money." and we strove to make him confess; but he would not confess. so we beat him a third and a fourth time, till we were weary and exhausted and he became unable to return an answer. but, when we had made an end of beating and tormenting him, he said, "i will fetch the money forthright." so we went with him till he came to the place where my slave had buried the money and dug there and brought it out; whereat i marvelled with the utmost wonder and we carried it to the prefect's house. when the latter saw the money, he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and bestowed on me a dress of honour. then he restored the money straightway to the sultan and we left the youth in prison; whilst i said to my slave who had taken the money, "did yonder young man see thee, what time thou buriedst the money?" "no, by the great god!" answered he. so i went in to the young man, the prisoner, and plied him with wine till he recovered, when i said to him, "tell me how thou stolest the money." "by allah," answered he, "i stole it not, nor did i ever set eyes on it till i brought it forth of the earth!" quoth i, "how so?" and he said, "know that the cause of my falling into your hands was my mother's imprecation against me; for that i evil entreated her yesternight and beat her and she said to me, 'by allah, o my son, god shall assuredly deliver thee into the hand of the oppressor!' now she is a pious woman. so i went out forthright and thou sawest me in the way and didst that which thou didst; and when beating was prolonged on me, my senses failed me and i heard one saying to me, 'fetch it.' so i said to you what i said and he[fn# ] guided me till i came to the place and there befell what befell of the bringing out of the money." i marvelled at this with the utmost wonderment and knew that he was of the sons of the pious. so i bestirred myself for his release and tended him [till he recovered] and besought him of quittance and absolution of responsibility.' all those who were present marvelled at this story with the utmost marvel, and the twelfth officer came forward and said, 'i will tell you a pleasant trait that i had from a certain man, concerning an adventure that befell him with one of the thieves. (quoth he) the twelfth officer's story. as i was passing one day in the market, i found that a thief had broken into the shop of a money-changer and taken thence a casket, with which he had made off to the burial-grounds. so i followed him thither [and came up to him, as] he opened the casket and fell a-looking into it; whereupon i accosted him, saying, "peace be on thee!" and he was startled at me. then i left him and went away from him. some months after this, i met him again under arrest, in the midst of the guards and officers of the police, and he said to them, "seize yonder man." so they laid hands on me and carried me to the chief of the police, who said, "what hast thou to do with this fellow?" the thief turned to me and looking a long while in my face, said, "who took this man?" quoth the officers, "thou badest us take him; so we took him." and he said, "i seek refuge with god! i know not this man, nor knoweth he me; and i said not that to you but of a man other than this." so they released me, and awhile afterward the thief met me in the street and saluted me, saying, "o my lord, fright for fright! hadst thou taken aught from me, thou hadst had a part in the calamity."[fn# ] and i said to him, "god [judge] between thee and me!" and this is what i have to tell' then came forward the thirteenth officer and said, 'i will tell you a story that a man of my friends told me. (quoth he) the thirteenth officer's story. i went out one night to the house of one of my friends and when it was the middle of the night, i sallied forth alone [to go home]. when i came into the road, i espied a sort of thieves and they saw me, whereupon my spittle dried up; but i feigned myself drunken and staggered from side to side, crying out and saying, "i am drunken." and i went up to the walls right and left and made as if i saw not the thieves, who followed me till i reached my house and knocked at the door, when they went away. some days after this, as i stood at the door of my house, there came up to me a young man, with a chain about his neck and with him a trooper, and he said to me, "o my lord, charity for the love of god!" quoth i, "god open!"[fn# ] and he looked at me a long while and said, "that which thou shouldst give me would not come to the value of thy turban or thy waistcloth or what not else of thy raiment, to say nothing of the gold and the silver that was about thee." "how so?" asked i, and he said, "on such a night, when thou fellest into peril and the thieves would have stripped thee, i was with them and said to them, 'yonder man is my lord and my master who reared me.' so was i the cause of thy deliverance and thus i saved thee from them." when i heard this, i said to him, "stop;" and entering my house, brought him that which god the most high made easy [to me].[fn# ] so he went his way. and this is my story.' then came forward the fourteenth officer and said, 'know that the story i have to tell is pleasanter and more extraordinary than this; and it is as follows. the fourteenth officer's story. before i entered this corporation,[fn# ] i had a draper's shop and there used to come to me a man whom i knew not, save by his face, and i would give him what he sought and have patience with him, till he could pay me. one day, i foregathered with certain of my friends and we sat down to drink. so we drank and made merry and played at tab;[fn# ] and we made one of us vizier and another sultan and a third headsman. presently, there came in upon us a spunger, without leave, and we went on playing, whilst he played with us. then quoth the sultan to the vizier, "bring the spunger who cometh in to the folk, without leave or bidding, that we may enquire into his case. then will i cut off his head." so the headsman arose and dragged the spunger before the sultan, who bade cut off his head. now there was with them a sword, that would not cut curd;[fn# ] so the headsman smote him therewith and his head flew from his body. when we saw this, the wine fled from our heads and we became in the sorriest of plights. then my friends took up the body and went out with it, that they might hide it, whilst i took the head and made for the river. now i was drunken and my clothes were drenched with the blood; and as i passed along the road, i met a thief. when he saw me, he knew me and said to me, "harkye, such an one!" "well?" answered i, and he said, "what is that thou hast with thee?" so i acquainted him with the case and he took the head from me. then we went on till we came to the river, where he washed the head and considering it straitly, said, "by allah, this is my brother, my father's son. and he used to spunge upon the folk." then he threw the head into the river. as for me, i was like a dead man [for fear]; but he said to me, "fear not neither grieve, for thou art quit of my brother's blood." then he took my clothes and washed them and dried them, and put them on me; after which he said to me, "get thee gone to thy house." so i returned to my house and he accompanied me, till i came thither, when he said to me, "may god not forsake thee! i am thy friend [such an one, who used to take of thee goods on credit,] and i am beholden to thee for kindness; but henceforward thou wilt never see me more."' the company marvelled at the generosity of this man and his clemency[fn# ] and courtesy, and the sultan said, 'tell us another of thy stories.'[fn# ] 'it is well,' answered the officer, 'they avouch that a merry jest of a thief. a thief of the thieves of the arabs went [one night] to a certain man's house, to steal from a heap of wheat there, and the people of the house surprised him. now on the heap was a great copper measure, and the thief buried himself in the corn and covered his head with the measure, so that the folk found him not and went away; but, as they were going, behold, there came a great crack of wind forth of the corn. so they went up to the measure and [raising it], discovered the thief and laid hands on him. quoth he, "i have eased you of the trouble of seeking me: for i purposed, [in letting wind], to direct you to my [hiding-]place; wherefore do ye ease me and have compassion on me, so may god have compassion on you!" so they let him go and harmed him not. and for another story of the same kind,' continued the officer, story of the old sharper. 'there was once an old man renowned for roguery, and he went, he and his mates, to one of the markets and stole thence a parcel of stuffs. then they separated and returned each to his quarter. awhile after this, the old man assembled a company of his fellows and one of them pulled out a costly piece of stuff and said, "will any one of you sell this piece of stuff in its own market whence it was stolen, that we may confess his [pre-eminence in] sharping?" quoth the old man, "i will;" and they said, "go, and god the most high prosper thee!" so on the morrow, early, he took the stuff and carrying it to the market whence it had been stolen, sat down at the shop whence it had been stolen and gave it to the broker, who took it and cried it for sale. its owner knew it and bidding for it, [bought it] and sent after the chief of the police, who seized the sharper and seeing him an old man of venerable appearance, handsomely clad, said to him, "whence hadst thou this piece of stuff?" "i had it from this market," answered he, "and from yonder shop where i was sitting." quoth the prefect, "did its owner sell it to thee?" "nay," replied the thief; "i stole it and other than it." then said the magistrate, "how camest thou to bring it [for sale] to the place whence thou stolest it?" and he answered, "i will not tell my story save to the sultan, for that i have an advertisement[fn# ] wherewith i would fain bespeak him." quoth the prefect, "name it." and the thief said, "art thou the sultan?" "no," replied the other; and the old man said, "i will not tell it but to himself." so the prefect carried him up to the sultan and he said, "i have an advertisement for thee, o my lord." "what is thine advertisement?" asked the sultan; and the thief said, "i repent and will deliver into thy hand all who are evildoers; and whomsoever i bring not, i will stand in his stead." quoth the sultan, "give him a dress of honour and accept his profession of repentance." so he went down from the presence and returning to his comrades, related to them that which had passed and they confessed his subtlety and gave him that which they had promised him. then he took the rest of the stolen goods and went up with them to the sultan. when the latter saw him, he was magnified in his eyes and he commanded that nought should be taken from him. then, when he went down, [the sultan's] attention was diverted from him, little by little, till the case was forgotten, and so he saved the booty [for himself].' the folk marvelled at this and the fifteenth officer came forward and said, 'know that among those who make a trade of knavery are those whom god the most high taketh on their own evidence against themselves.' 'how so?' asked they; and he said. the fifteenth officer's story. 'it is told of a certain doughty thief, that he used to rob and stop the way by himself upon caravans, and whenever the prefect of police and the magistrates sought him, he would flee from them and fortify himself in the mountains. now it befell that a certain man journeyed along the road wherein was the robber in question, and this man was alone and knew not the perils that beset his way. so the highwayman came out upon him and said to him, "bring out that which is with thee, for i mean to slay thee without fail." quoth the traveller, "slay me not, but take these saddle-bags and divide [that which is in] them and take the fourth part [thereof]." and the thief answered, "i will not take aught but the whole." "take half," rejoined the traveller, "and let me go." but the robber replied, "i will take nought but the whole, and i will slay thee [to boot]." and the traveller said, "take it." so the highwayman took the saddle-bags and offered to kill the traveller, who said, "what is this? thou hast no blood-feud against me, that should make my slaughter incumbent [on thee]. quoth the other, "needs must i slay thee;" whereupon the traveller dismounted from his horse and grovelled on the earth, beseeching the robber and speaking him fair. the latter hearkened not to his prayers, but cast him to the ground; whereupon the traveller [raised his eyes and seeing a francolin flying over him,] said, in his agony," o francolin, bear witness that this man slayeth me unjustly and wickedly; for indeed i have given him all that was with me and besought him to let me go, for my children's sake; yet would he not consent unto this. but be thou witness against him, for god is not unmindful of that which is done of the oppressors." the highwayman paid no heed to this speech, but smote him and cut off his head. after this, the authorities compounded with the highwayman for his submission, and when he came before them, they enriched him and he became in such favour with the sultan's deputy that he used to eat and drink with him and there befell familiar converse between them. on this wise they abode a great while, till, one day, the sultan's deputy made a banquet, and therein, for a wonder, was a roasted francolin, which when the robber saw, he laughed aloud. the deputy was angered against him and said to him, "what is the meaning of thy laughter? seest thou default [in the entertainment] or dost thou mock at us, of thy lack of breeding?" "not so, by allah, o my lord," answered the highwayman. "but i saw yonder francolin and bethought myself thereanent of an extraordinary thing; and it was on this wise. in the days of my youth, i used to stop the way, and one day i fell in with a man, who had with him a pair of saddle-bags and money therein. so i said to him, 'leave these bags, for i mean to kill thee.' quoth he, 'take the fourth part of [that which is in] them and leave [me] the rest.' and i said, 'needs must i take the whole and slay thee, to boot.' then said he, 'take the saddle-bags and let me go my way.' but i answered, 'needs must i slay thee.' as we were in this contention, he and i, behold, he saw a francolin and turning to it, said, 'bear witness against him, o francolin, that he slayeth me unjustly and letteth me not go to my children, for all he hath gotten my money.' however, i took no pity on him neither hearkened to that which he said, but slew him and concerned not myself with the francolin's testimony." his story troubled the sultan's deputy and he was sore enraged against him; so he drew his sword and smiting him, cut off his head; whereupon one recited the following verses: an you'd of evil be quit, look that no evil yon do; nay, but do good, for the like god will still render to you. all things, indeed, that betide to you are fore-ordered of god; yet still in your deeds is the source to which their fulfilment is due. now this[fn# ] was the francolin that bore witness against him.' the company marvelled at this story and said all, 'woe to the oppressor!' then came forward the sixteenth officer and said, 'and i also will tell you a marvellous story, and it is on this wise. the sixteenth officer's story. i went forth one day, purposing to make a journey, and fell in with a man whose wont it was to stop the way. when he came up with me, he offered to slay me and i said to him, "i have nothing with me whereby thou mayst profit." quoth he, "my profit shall be the taking of thy life." "what is the cause of this?" asked i. "hath there been feud between us aforetime?" and he answered, "no; but needs must i slay thee." therewithal i fled from him to the river-side; but he overtook me and casting me to the ground, sat down on my breast. so i sought help of the sheikh el hejjaj[fn# ] and said to him, "protect me from this oppressor!" and indeed he had drawn a knife, wherewith to cut my throat, when, behold, there came a great crocodile forth of the river and snatching him up from off my breast, plunged with him into the water, with the knife still in his hand; whilst i abode extolling the perfection of god the most high and rendering thanks for my preservation to him who had delivered me from the hand of that oppressor.' abdallah ben nafi and the king's son of cashghar.[fn# ] there abode once, of old days and in bygone ages and times, in the city of baghdad, the abode of peace, the khalif haroun er reshid, and he had boon-companions and story-tellers, to entertain him by night among his boon-companions was a man called abdallah ben nan, who was high in favour with him and dear unto him, so that he was not forgetful of him a single hour. now it befell, by the ordinance of destiny, that it became manifest to abdallah that he was grown of little account with the khalif and that he paid no heed unto him; nor, if he absented himself, did he enquire concerning him, as had been his wont. this was grievous to abdallah and he said in himself, "verily, the heart of the commander of the faithful and his fashions are changed towards me and nevermore shall i get of him that cordiality wherewith he was wont to entreat me." and this was distressful to him and concern waxed upon him, so that he recited the following verses: if, in his own land, midst his folk, abjection and despite afflict a man, then exile sure were better for the wight. so get thee gone, then, from a house wherein thou art abased and let not severance from friends lie heavy on thy spright. crude amber[fn# ] in its native land unheeded goes, but, when it comes abroad, upon the necks to raise it men delight. kohl[fn# ] in its native country, too, is but a kind of stone; cast out and thrown upon the ways, it lies unvalued quite; but, when from home it fares, forthright all glory it attains and 'twixt the eyelid and the eye incontinent 'tis dight. then he could brook this no longer; so he went forth from the dominions of the commander of the faithful, under pretence of visiting certain of his kinsmen, and took with him servant nor companion, neither acquainted any with his intent, but betook himself to the road and fared on into the desert and the sandwastes, knowing not whither he went. after awhile, he fell in with travellers intending for the land of hind [and journeyed with them]. when he came thither, he lighted down [in a city of the cities of the land and took up his abode] in one of the lodging-places; and there he abode a while of days, tasting not food neither solacing himself with the delight of sleep; nor was this for lack of dirhems or dinars, but for that his mind was occupied with musing upon [the reverses of] destiny and bemoaning himself for that the revolving sphere had turned against him and the days had decreed unto him the disfavour of our lord the imam.[fn# ] on this wise he abode a space of days, after which he made himself at home in the land and took to himself comrades and got him friends galore, with whom he addressed himself to diversion and good cheer. moreover, he went a-pleasuring with his friends and their hearts were solaced [by his company] and he entertained them with stories and civilities[fn# ] and diverted them with pleasant verses and told them abundance of histories and anecdotes. presently, the report of him reached king jemhour, lord of cashghar of hind, and great was his desire [for his company]. so he went in quest of him and abdallah repaired to his court and going in to him, kissed the earth before him. jemhour welcomed him and entreated him with kindness and bade commit him to the guest-house, where he abode three days, at the end of which time the king sent [to him] a chamberlain of his chamberlains and let bring him to his presence. when he came before him, he greeted him [with the usual compliment], and the interpreter accosted him, saying, "king jemhour hath heard of thy report, that thou art a goodly boon-companion and an eloquent story-teller, and he would have thee company with him by night and entertain him with that which thou knowest of anecdotes and pleasant stories and verses." and he made answer with "hearkening and obedience." (quoth abdallah ben nan) so i became his boon-companion and entertained him by night [with stories and the like]; and this pleased him to the utmost and he took me into especial favour and bestowed on me dresses of honour and assigned me a separate lodging; brief, he was everywise bountiful to me and could not brook to be parted from me a single hour. so i abode with him a while of time and every night i caroused with him [and entertained him], till the most part of the night was past; and when drowsiness overcame him, he would rise [and betake himself] to his sleeping-place, saying to me, "forsake not my service for that of another than i and hold not aloof from my presence." and i made answer with "hearkening and obedience." now the king had a son, a pleasant child, called the amir mohammed, who was comely of youth and sweet of speech; he had read in books and studied histories and above all things in the world he loved the telling and hearing of verses and stories and anecdotes. he was dear to his father king jemhour, for that he had none other son than he on life, and indeed he had reared him in the lap of fondness and he was gifted with the utterest of beauty and grace and brightness and perfection. moreover, he had learnt to play upon the lute and upon all manner instruments of music and he was used to [carouse and] company with friends and brethren. now it was of his wont that, when the king rose to go to his sleeping-chamber, he would sit in his place and seek of me that i should entertain him with stories and verses and pleasant anecdotes; and on this wise i abode with them a great while in all cheer and delight, and the prince still loved me with an exceeding great love and entreated me with the utmost kindness. it befell one day that the king's son came to me, after his father had withdrawn, and said to me, "harkye, ibn nafil" "at thy service, o my lord," answered i; and he said, "i would have thee tell me an extraordinary story and a rare matter, that thou hast never related either to me or to my father jemhour." "o my lord," rejoined i, "what story is this that thou desirest of me and of what kind shall it be of the kinds?" quoth he, "it matters little what it is, so it be a goodly story, whether it befell of old days or in these times." "o my lord," said i, "i know many stories of various kinds; so whether of the kinds preferrest thou, and wilt thou have a story of mankind or of the jinn?" "it is well," answered he; "if thou have seen aught with thine eyes and heard it with thine ears, [tell it me."then he bethought himself] and said to me, "i conjure thee by my life, tell me a story of the stories of the jinn and that which thou hast heard and seen of them!" "o my son," replied i, "indeed thou conjurest [me] by a mighty conjuration; so [hearken and thou shalt] hear the goodliest of stories, ay, and the most extraordinary of them and the pleasantest and rarest." quoth the prince, "say on, for i am attentive to thy speech." and i said, "know, then, o my son, that story of the damsel tuhfet el culoub and the khalif haroun er reshid. the vicar of the lord of the worlds[fn# ] haroun er reshid had a boon-companion of the number of his boon-companions, by name ishac ben ibrahim en nedim el mausili,[fn# ] who was the most accomplished of the folk of his time in the art of smiting upon the lute; and of the commander of the faithful's love for him, he assigned him a palace of the choicest of his palaces, wherein he was wont to instruct slave-girls in the arts of lute-playing and singing. if any slave-girl became, by his instruction, accomplished in the craft, he carried her before the khalif, who bade her play upon the lute; and if she pleased him, he would order her to the harem; else would he restore her to ishac's palace. one day, the commander of the faithful's breast was straitened; so he sent after his vizier jaafer the barmecide and ishac the boon-companion and mesrour the eunuch, the swordsman of his vengeance; and when they came, he changed his raiment and disguised himself, whilst jaafer [and ishac] and mesrour and el fezll[fn# ] and younus[fn# ] (who were also present) did the like. then he went out, he and they, by the privy gate, to the tigris and taking boat, fared on till they came to near et taf,[fn# ] when they landed and walked till they came to the gate of the thoroughfare street.[fn# ] here there met them an old man, comely of hoariness and of a venerable and dignified bearing, pleasing[fn# ] of aspect and apparel. he kissed the earth before ishac el mausili (for that be knew but him of the company, the khalif being disguised, and deemed the others certain of his friends) and said to him, 'o my lord, there is presently with me a slave-girl, a lutanist, never saw eyes the like of her nor the like of her grace, and indeed i was on my way to pay my respects to thee and give thee to know of her; but allah, of his favour, hath spared me the trouble. so now i desire to show her to thee, and if she be to thy liking, well and good: else i will sell her.' quoth ishac, 'go before me to thy barrack, till i come to thee and see her.' the old man kissed his hand and went away; whereupon quoth er reshid to him, 'o ishac, who is yonder man and what is his occasion?' 'o my lord,' answered the other, 'this is a man called said the slave-dealer, and he it is who buyeth us slave-girls and mamelukes.[fn# ] he avoucheth that with him is a fair [slave-girl, a] lutanist, whom he hath withheld from sale, for that he could not fairly sell her till he had shown her to me.' 'let us go to him,' said the khalif,'so we may look on her, by way of diversion, and see what is in the slave-dealer's barrack of slave-girls.' and ishac answered, 'commandment belongeth to god and to the commander of the faithful.' then he went on before them and they followed in his track till they came to the slave-dealer's barrack and found it high of building and spacious of continence, with sleeping-cells and chambers therein, after the number of the slave-girls, and folk sitting upon the benches. ishac entered, he and his company, and seating themselves in the place of honour, amused themselves by looking on the slave-girls and mamelukes and watching how they were sold, till the sale came to an end, when some of the folk went away and other some sat. then said the slave-dealer, 'let none sit with us except him who buyeth by the thousand [dinars] and upwards.' so those who were present withdrew and there remained none but er reshid and his company; whereupon the slave-dealer called the damsel, after he had caused set her a chair of fawwak,[fn# ] furnished with greek brocade, and it was as she were the sun shining in the clear sky. when she entered, she saluted and sitting down, took the lute and smote upon it, after she had touched its strings and tuned it, so that all present were amazed. then she sang thereto the following verses: wind of the east, if thou pass by the land where my loved ones dwell, i pray, the fullest of greetings bear to them from me, their lover, and say that i am the pledge of passion still and that my longing love and eke my yearning do overpass all longing that was aye. o ye who have withered my heart and marred my hearing and my sight, desire and transport for your sake wax on me night and day. my heart with yearning is ever torn and tortured without cease, nor can my lids lay hold on sleep, that sees from them away. 'well done, o damsel!' cried ishac. 'by allah, this is a fair hour!' whereupon she rose and kissed his hand, saying, 'o my lord, the hands stand still in thy presence and the tongues at thy sight, and the eloquent before thee are dumb; but thou art the looser of the veil.'[fn# ] then she clung to him and said, 'stand.' so he stood and said to her, 'who art thou and what is thy need?' she raised a corner of the veil, and he beheld a damsel as she were the rising full moon or the glancing lightning, with two side locks of hair that fell down to her anklets. she kissed his hand and said to him, 'o my lord, know that i have been in this barrack these five months, during which time i have been withheld[fn# ] from sale till thou shouldst be present [and see me]; and yonder slave-dealer still made thy coming a pretext to me[fn# ] and forbade me, for all i sought of him night and day that he should cause thee come hither and vouchsafe me thy presence and bring me and thee together.' quoth ishac, 'say what thou wouldst have.' and she answered, 'i beseech thee, by god the most high, that thou buy me, so i may be with thee, by way of service.' 'is that thy desire?' asked he, and she replied, ' yes.' so ishac returned to the slave-dealer and said to him, 'harkye, gaffer said!*' 'at thy service, o my lord,' answered the old man; and ishac said, 'in the corridor is a cell and therein a damsel pale of colour. what is her price in money and how much dost thou ask for her?, quoth the slave-dealer, 'she whom thou mentionest is called tuhfet el hemca.'[fn# ] 'what is the meaning of el hemca?' asked ishac, and the old man replied, 'her price hath been paid down an hundred times and she still saith, "show me him who desireth to buy me;" and when i show her to him, she saith, "this fellow is not to my liking; he hath in him such and such a default." and in every one who would fain buy her she allegeth some default or other, so that none careth now to buy her and none seeketh her, for fear lest she discover some default in him.' quoth ishac, 'she seeketh presently to sell herself; so go thou to her and enquire of her and see her price and send her to the palace.' 'o my lord,' answered said, 'her price is an hundred dinars, though, were she whole of this paleness that is upon her face, she would be worth a thousand; but folly and pallor have diminished her value; and behold, i will go to her and consult her of this.' so he betook himself to her, and said to her, 'wilt thou be sold to ishac ben ibrahim el mausili?' 'yes,' answered she, and he said, 'leave frowardness,[fn# ] for to whom doth it happen to be in the house of ishac the boon-companion?'[fn# ] then ishac went forth of the barrack and overtook er reshid [who had foregone him]; and they walked till they came to their [landing-]place, where they embarked in the boat and fared on to theghr el khanekah.[fn# ] as for the slave-dealer, he sent the damsel to the house of ishac en nedim, whose slave-girls took her and carried her to the bath. then each damsel gave her somewhat of her apparel and they decked her with earrings and bracelets, so that she redoubled in beauty and became as she were the moon on the night of its full. when ishac returned home from the khalifs palace, tuhfeh rose to him and kissed his hand; and he saw that which the slave-girls had done with her and thanked them therefor and said to them, 'let her be in the house of instruction and bring her instruments of music, and if she be apt unto singing, teach her; and may god the most high vouchsafe her health and weal!' so there passed over her three months, what while she abode with him in the house of instruction, and they brought her the instruments of music. moreover, as time went on, she was vouchsafed health and soundness and her beauty waxed many times greater than before and her pallor was changed to white and red, so that she became a ravishment to all who looked on her. one day, ishac let bring all who were with him of slave-girls from the house of instruction and carried them up to er reshid's palace, leaving none in his house save tuhfeh and a cookmaid; for that he bethought him not of tuhfeh, nor did she occur to his mind, and none of the damsels remembered him of her. when she saw that the house was empty of the slave-girls, she took the lute (now she was unique in her time in smiting upon the lute, nor had she her like in the world, no, not ishac himself, nor any other) and sang thereto the following verses: whenas the soul desireth one other than its peer, it winneth not of fortune the wish it holdeth dear. him with my life i'd ransom whose rigours waste away my frame and cause me languish; yet, if he would but hear, it rests with him to heal me; and i (a soul he hath must suffer that which irks it), go saying, in my fear of spies, "how long, o scoffer, wilt mock at my despair, as 'twere god had created nought else whereat to jeer?" now ishac had returned to his house upon an occasion that presented itself to him; and when he entered the vestibule, he heard a sound of singing, the like whereof he had never heard in the world, for that it was [soft] as the breeze and richer[fn# ] than almond oil.[fn# ] so the delight of it gat hold of him and joyance overcame him, and he fell down aswoon in the vestibule, tuhfeh heard the noise of steps and laying the lute from her hand, went out to see what was to do. she found her lord ishac lying aswoon in the vestibule; so she took him up and strained him to her bosom, saying, 'i conjure thee in god's name, o my lord, tell me, hath aught befallen thee?' when he heard her voice, he recovered from his swoon and said to her, 'who art thou? ' quoth she, 'i am thy slave-girl tuhfeh.' and he said to her, 'art thou indeed tuhfeh?' 'yes,' answered she; and he, 'by allah, i had forgotten thee and remembered thee not till now!' then he looked at her and said, 'indeed, thy case is altered and thy pallor is grown changed to rosiness and thou hast redoubled in beauty and lovesomeness. but was it thou who was singing but now?' and she was troubled and affrighted and answered, 'even i, o my lord.' then ishac seized upon her hand and carrying her into the house, said to her, 'take the lute and sing; for never saw i nor heard thy like in smiting upon the lute; no, not even myself!' 'o my lord,' answered she, 'thou makest mock of me. who am i that thou shouldst say all this to me? indeed, this is but of thy kindness.' 'nay, by allah,' exclaimed he, 'i said but the truth to thee and i am none of those on whom pretence imposeth. these three months hath nature not moved thee to take the lute and sing thereto, and this is nought but an extraordinary thing. but all this cometh of strength in the craft and self-restraint.' then he bade her sing; and she said, 'hearkening and obedience.' so she took the lute and tightening its strings, smote thereon a number of airs, so that she confounded ishac's wit and he was like to fly for delight. then she returned to the first mode and sang thereto the following verses: still by your ruined camp a dweller i abide; ne'er will i change nor e'er shall distance us divide. far though you dwell, i'll ne'er your neighbourhood forget, o friends, whose lovers still for you are stupefied. your image midst mine eye sits nor forsakes me aye; ye are my moons in gloom of night and shadowtide. still, as my transports wax, grows restlessness on me and woes have ta'en the place of love-delight denied. when she had made an end of her song and laid down the lute, ishac looked fixedly on her, then took her hand and offered to kiss it; but she snatched it from him and said to him, 'allah, o my lord, do not that!' quoth he, 'be silent. by allah, i had said that there was not in the world the like of me; but now i have found my dinar[fn# ] in the craft but a danic,[fn# ] "for thou art, beyond comparison or approximation or reckoning, more excellent of skill than i! this very day will i carry thee up to the commander of the faithful haroun er reshid, and whenas his glance lighteth on thee, thou wilt become a princess of womankind. so, allah, allah upon thee, o my lady, whenas thou becomest of the household of the commander of the faithful, do not thou forget me!' and she replied, saying, 'allah, o my lord, thou art the source of my fortunes and in thee is my heart fortified.' so he took her hand and made a covenant with her of this and she swore to him that she would not forget him. then said he to her, 'by allah, thou art the desire of the commander of the faithful![fn# ] so take the lute and sing a song that thou shalt sing to the khalif, whenas thou goest in to him.' so she took the lute and tuning it, sang the following verses: his love on him took pity and wept for his dismay: of those that him did visit she was, as sick he lay. she let him taste her honey and wine[fn# ] before his death: this was his last of victual until the judgment day. ishac stared at her and seizing her hand, said to her, 'know that i am bound by an oath that, when the singing of a damsel pleaseth me, she shall not make an end of her song but before the commander of the faithful. but now tell me, how came it that thou abodest with the slave-dealer five months and wast not sold to any, and thou of this skill, more by token that the price set on thee was no great matter?' she laughed and answered, 'o my lord, my story is a strange one and my case extraordinary. know that i belonged aforetime to a mughrebi merchant, who bought me, when i was three years old, and there were in his house many slave-girls and eunuchs; but i was the dearest to him of them all. so he kept me with him and used not to call me but "daughterling," and indeed i am presently a clean maid. now there was with him a damsel, a lutanist, and she reared me and taught me the craft, even as thou seest. then was my master admitted to the mercy of god the most high[fn# ] and his sons divided his good. i fell to the lot of one of them; but it was only a little while ere he had squandered all his substance and there was left him no tittle of money. so i left the lute, fearing lest i should fall into the hand of a man who knew not my worth, for that i was assured that needs must my master sell me; and indeed it was but a few days ere he carried me forth to the barrack of the slave-merchant who buyeth slave-girls and showeth them to the commander of the faithful. now i desired to learn the craft; so i refused to be sold to other than thou, till god (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) vouchsafed me my desire of thy presence; whereupon i came out to thee, whenas i heard of thy coming, and besought thee to buy me. thou healedst my heart and boughtedst me; and since i entered thy house, o my lord, i have not taken up the lute till now; but to-day, whenas i was quit of the slave-girls, [i took it]; and my purpose in this was that i might see if my hand were changed[fn# ] or no. as i was singing, i heard a step in the vestibule; so i laid the lute from my hand and going forth to see what was to do, found thee, o my lord, on this wise.' quoth ishac, 'indeed, this was of thy fair fortune. by allah, i know not that which thou knowest in this craft!' then he arose and going to a chest, brought out therefrom striped clothes of great price, netted with jewels and great pearls, and said to her, 'in the name of god, don these, o my lady tuhfeh.' so she arose and donned those clothes and veiled herself and went up [with ishac] to the palace of the khalifate, where he made her stand without, whilst he himself went in to the commander of the faithful (with whom was jaafer the barmecide) and kissing the earth before him, said to him, 'o commander of the faithful, i have brought thee a damsel, never saw eyes her like for excellence in singing and touching the lute; and her name is tuhfeh."[fn# ] 'and where,' asked er reshed, 'is this tuhfeh, who hath not her like in the world?' quoth ishac, 'yonder she stands, o commander of the faithful;' and he acquainted the khalif with her case from first to last. then said er reshid, 'it is a marvel to hear thee praise a slave-girl after this fashion. admit her, so we may see her, for that the morning may not be hidden.' accordingly, ishac bade admit her; so she entered, and when her eyes fell upon the commander of the faithful, she kissed the earth before him and said, 'peace be upon thee, o commander of the faithful and asylum of the people of the faith and reviver of justice among all creatures! may god make plain the treading of thy feet and vouchsafe thee enjoyment of that which he hath bestowed on thee and make paradise thy harbourage and the fire that of thine enemies!' quoth er reshid, 'and on thee be peace, o damsel! sit.' so she sat down and he bade her sing; whereupon she took the lute and tightening its strings, played thereon in many modes, so that the commander of the faithful and jaafer were confounded and like to fly for delight. then she returned to the first mode and sang the following verses: by him whom i worship, indeed, i swear, o thou that mine eye dost fill, by him in whose honour the pilgrims throng and fare to arafat's hill, though over me be the tombstone laid, if ever thou call on me, though rotten my bone should be, thy voice i'll answer, come what will. i crave none other than thou for friend, beloved of my heart; so trust in my speech, for the generous are true and trusty still. er reshid considered her beauty and the goodliness of her singing and her eloquence and what not else she comprised of qualities and rejoiced with an exceeding joyance; and for the stress of that which overcame him of delight, he descended from the couch and sitting down with her upon the ground, said to her, 'thou hast done well, o tuhfeh. by allah, thou art indeed a gift'[fn# ] then he turned to ishac and said to him, 'thou dealtest not equitably, o ishac, in the description of this damsel,[fn# ] neither settest out all that she compriseth of goodliness and skill; for that, by allah, she is incomparably more skilful than thou; and i know of this craft that which none knoweth other than i!' 'by allah,' exclaimed jaafer, 'thou sayst sooth, o my lord, o commander of the faithful. indeed, this damsel hath done away my wit' quoth ishac, 'by allah, o commander of the faithful, i had said that there was not on the face of the earth one who knew the craft of the lute like myself; but, when i heard her, my skill became nothing worth in mine eyes.' then said the khalif to her, 'repeat thy playing, o tuhfeh.' so she repeated it and he said to her, 'well done!' moreover, he said to ishac, 'thou hast indeed brought me that which is extraordinary and worth in mine eyes the empire of the earth.' then he turned to mesrour the eunuch and said to him, 'carry tuhfeh to the lodging of honour.'[fn# ] accordingly, she went away with mesrour and the khalif looked at her clothes and seeing her clad in raiment of choice, said to ishac, 'o ishac, whence hath she these clothes?' 'o my lord, answered he, 'these are somewhat of thy bounties and thy largesse, and they are a gift to her from me. by allah, o commander of the faithful, the world, all of it, were little in comparison with her!' then the khalif turned to the vizier jaafer and said to him, 'give ishac fifty thousand dirhems and a dress of honour of the apparel of choice.' 'hearkening and obedience,' replied jaafer and gave him that which the khalif ordered him. as for er reshid, he shut himself up with tuhfeh that night and found her a clean maid and rejoiced in her; and she took high rank in his heart, so that he could not endure from her a single hour and committed to her the keys of the affairs of the realm, for that which he saw in her of good breeding and wit and modesty. moreover, he gave her fifty slave-girls and two hundred thousand dinars and clothes and trinkets and jewels and precious stones, worth the kingdom of egypt; and of the excess of his love for her, he would not entrust her to any of the slave-girls or eunuchs; but, whenas he went out from her, he locked the door upon her and took the key with him, against he should return to her, forbidding the damsels to go in to her, of his fear lest they should slay her or practise on her with knife or poison; and on this wise he abode awhile. one day as she sang before the commander of the faithful, he was moved to exceeding delight, so that he took her and offered to kiss her hand; but she drew it away from him and smote upon her lute and broke it and wept er reshid wiped away her tears and said, 'o desire of the heart, what is it maketh thee weep? may god not cause an eye of thine to weep!' 'o my lord,' answered she, 'what am i that thou shouldst kiss my hand? wilt thou have god punish me for this and that my term should come to an end and my felicity pass away? for this is what none ever attained unto.' quoth he, 'well said, o tuhfeh. know that thy rank in my esteem is mighty and for that which wondered me of what i saw of thee, i offered to do this, but i will not return unto the like thereof; so be of good heart and cheerful eye, for i have no desire for other than thyself and will not die but in the love of thee, and thou to me art queen and mistress, to the exclusion of all humankind.' therewith she fell to kissing his feet; and this her fashion pleased him, so that his love for her redoubled and he became unable to brook an hour's severance from her. one day he went forth to the chase and left tuhfeh in her pavilion. as she sat looking upon a book, with a candlestick of gold before her, wherein was a perfumed candle, behold, a musk-apple fell down before her from the top of the saloon.[fn# ] so she looked up and beheld the lady zubeideh bint el casim,[fn# ] who saluted her and acquainted her with herself, whereupon tuhfeh rose to her feet and said, 'o my lady, were i not of the number of the upstarts, i had daily sought thy service; so do not thou bereave me of thine august visits.'[fn# ] the lady zubeideh called down blessings upon her and answered, 'by the life of the commander of the faithful, i knew this of thee, and but that it is not of my wont to go forth of my place, i had come out to do my service to thee.' then said she to her, 'know, o tuhfeh, that the commander of the faithful hath forsaken all his concubines and favourites on thine account, even to myself. yea, me also hath he deserted on this wise, and i am not content to be as one of the concubines; yet hath he made me of them and forsaken me, and i am come to thee, so thou mayst beseech him to come to me, though it be but once a month, that i may not be the like of the handmaids and concubines nor be evened with the slave-girls; and this is my occasion with thee.' 'hearkening and obedience,' answered tuhfeh. 'by allah, o my lady, i would well that he might be with thee a whole month and with me but one night, so thy heart might be comforted, for that i am one of thy handmaids and thou art my lady in every event.' the lady zubeideh thanked her for this and taking leave of her, returned to her palace. when the khalif returned from the chase, he betook himself to tuhfeh's pavilion and bringing out the key, opened the door and went in to her. she rose to receive him and kissed his hand, and he took her to his breast and seated her on his knee. then food was brought to them and they ate and washed their hands; after which she took the lute and sang, till er reshid was moved to sleep. when she was ware of this, she left singing and told him her adventure with the lady zubeideh, saying, 'o commander of the faithful, i would have thee do me a favour and heal my heart and accept my intercession and reject not my word, but go forthright to the lady zubeideh's lodging.' now this talk befell after he had stripped himself naked and she also had put off her clothes; and he said, 'thou shouldst have named this before we stripped ourselves naked.' but she answered, saying, ' o commander of the faithful, i did this not but in accordance with the saying of the poet in the following verses: all intercessions come and all alike do ill succeed, save tuhfeh's, daughter of merjan, for that, in very deed, the intercessor who to thee herself presenteth veiled is not her like who naked comes with thee to intercede.' when the khalif heard this, her speech pleased him and he strained her to his bosom. then he went forth from her and locked the door upon her, as before; whereupon she took the book and sat looking in it awhile. presently, she laid it down and taking the lute, tightened its strings. then she smote thereon, after a wondrous fashion, such as would have moved inanimate things [to delight], and fell to singing marvellous melodies and chanting the following verses: rail not at the vicissitudes of fate, for fortune still spites those who her berate. be patient under its calamities, for all things have an issue soon or late. how many a mirth-exciting joy amid the raiment of ill chances lies in wait! how often, too, hath gladness come to light whence nought but dole thou didst anticipate! then she turned and saw within the chamber an old man, comely of hoariness, venerable of aspect, who was dancing on apt and goodly wise, a dance the like whereof none might avail unto. so she sought refuge with god the most high from satan the stoned[fn# ] and said, 'i will not give over what i am about, for that which god decreeth, he carrieth into execution.' accordingly, she went on singing till the old man came up to her and kissed the earth before her, saying, 'well done, o queen of the east and the west! may the world be not bereaved of thee! by allah, indeed thou art perfect of qualities and ingredients, o tuhfet es sudour![fn# ] dost thou know me?' 'nay, by allah,' answered she; 'but methinks thou art of the jinn.' quoth he, 'thou sayst sooth; i am the sheikh aboultawaif[fn# ] iblis, and i come to thee every night, and with me thy sister kemeriyeh, for that she loveth thee and sweareth not but by thy life; and her life is not pleasant to her, except she come to thee and see thee, what while thou seest her not. as for me, i come to thee upon an affair, wherein thou shall find thine advantage and whereby thou shalt rise to high rank with the kings of the jinn and rule them, even as thou rulest mankind; [and to that end i would have thee come with me and be present at the festival of my son's circumcision;[fn# ]] for that the jinn are agreed upon the manifestation of thine affair.' and she answered, 'in the name of god.' so she gave him the lute and he forewent her, till he came to the house of easance, and behold, therein was a door and a stairway. when tuhfeh saw this, her reason fled; but iblis cheered her with discourse. then he descended the stair and she followed him to the bottom thereof, where she found a passage and they fared on therein, till they came to a horse standing, teady saddled and bridled and accoutred. quoth iblis, '[mount], in the name of god, o my lady tuhfeh;' and he held the stirrup for her. so she mounted and the horse shook under her and putting forth wings, flew up with her, whilst the old man flew by her side; whereat she was affrighted and clung to the pummel of the saddle; nor was it but an hour ere they came to a fair green meadow, fresh-flowered as if the soil thereof were a goodly robe, embroidered with all manner colours. midmost that meadow was a palace soaring high into the air, with battlements of red gold, set with pearls and jewels, and a two-leaved gate; and in the gateway thereof were much people of the chiefs of the jinn, clad in sumptuous apparel. when they saw the old man, they all cried out, saying, 'the lady tuhfeh is come!' and as soon as she reached the palace-gate, they came all and dismounting her from the horse's back, carried her into the palace and fell to kissing her hands. when she entered, she beheld a palace whereof never saw eyes the like; for therein were four estrades, one facing other, and its walls were of gold and its ceilings of silver. it was lofty of building, wide of continence, and those who beheld it would be puzzled to describe it. at the upper end of the hall stood a throne of red gold, set with pearls and jewels, unto which led up five steps of silver, and on the right thereof and on its left were many chairs of gold and silver; and over the dais was a curtain let down, gold and silver wrought and broidered with pearls and jewels. the old man carried tuhfeh up [to the dais and seated her] on a chair of gold beside the throne, whilst she was amazed at that which she saw in that place and magnified her lord (extolled be his perfection and exalted be he!) and hallowed him. then the kings of the jinn came up to the throne and seated themselves thereon; and they were in the semblance of mortals, excepting two of them, who were in the semblance of the jinn, with eyes slit endlong and jutting horns and projecting tusks. after this there came up a young lady, fair of favour and pleasant of parts; the light of her face outshone that of the flambeaux, and about her were other three women, than whom there were no fairer on the face of the earth. they saluted tuhfeh and she rose to them and kissed the earth before them; whereupon they embraced her and sat down on the chairs aforesaid. now the four women who thus accosted tuhfeh were the princess kemeriyeh, daughter of king es shisban, and her sisters; and kemeriyeh loved tuhfeh with an exceeding love. so, when she came up to her, she fell to kissing and embracing her, and iblis said, 'fair befall you! take me between you.' at this tuhfeh laughed and kemeriyeh said, 'o my sister, i love thee and doubtless hearts have their evidences,[fn# ] for, since i saw thee, i have loved thee.' 'by allah,' replied tuhfeh, 'hearts have deeps,[fn# ] and thou, by allah, art dear to me and i am thy handmaid.' kemeriyeh thanked her for this and said to her, 'these are the wives of the kings of the jinn: salute them. this is queen jemreh,[fn# ] that is queen wekhimeh and this other is queen sherareh, and they come not but for thee.' so tuhfeh rose to her feet and kissed their hands, and the three queens kissed her and welcomed her and entreated her with the utmost honour. then they brought trays and tables and amongst the rest a platter of red gold, inlaid with pearls and jewels; its margents were of gold and emerald, and thereon were graven the following verses: for the uses of food i was fashioned and made; the hands of the noble me wrought and inlaid. my maker reserved me for generous men and the niggard and sland'rer to use me forebade. so eat what i offer in surety and be the lord of all things with thanks- giving repaid! so they ate and tuhfeh looked at the two kings, who had not changed their favour and said to kemeriyeh, 'o my lady, what is yonder wild beast and that other like unto him? by allah, mine eye brooketh not the sight of them.' kemeriyeh laughed and answered, 'o my sister, that is my father es shisban and the other is meimoun the sworder; and of the pride of their souls and their arrogance, they consented not to change their [natural] fashion. indeed, all whom thou seest here are, by nature, like unto them in fashion; but, on thine account, they have changed their favour, for fear lest thou be disquieted and for the comforting of thy mind, so thou mightest make friends with them and be at thine ease.' 'o my lady,' quoth tuhfeh, 'indeed i cannot look at them. how frightful is yonder meimoun, with his [one] eye! mine eye cannot brook the sight of him, and indeed i am fearful of him.' kemeriyeh laughed at her speech, and tuhfeh said, 'by allah, o my lady, i cannot fill my eye with them!'[fn# ] then said her father es shisban to her, 'what is this laughing?' so she bespoke him in a tongue none understood but they [two] and acquainted him with that which tuhfeh had said; whereat he laughed a prodigious laugh, as it were the pealing thunder. then they ate and the tables were removed and they washed their hands; after which iblis the accursed came up to tuhfeh and said to her, 'o my lady tuhfeh, thou gladdenest the place and with thy presence enlightenest and embellishest it; but now fain would these kings hear somewhat of thy singing, for the night hath spread its wings for departure and there abideth thereof but a little.' quoth she, 'hearkening and obedience.' so she took the lute and touching its strings on rare wise, played thereon after a wondrous fashion, so that it seemed to those who were present as if the palace stirred with them for the music. then she fell a-singing and chanted the following verses: peace on you, people of my troth! with peace i do you greet. said ye not truly, aforetime, that we should live and meet? ah, then will i begin on you with chiding than the breeze more soft, ay pleasanter than clear cold water and more sweet. indeed, mine eyelids still with tears are ulcered and to you my bowels yearn to be made whole of all their pain and heat. parting hath sundered us, belov'd; indeed, i stood in dread of this, whilst yet our happiness in union was complete. to god of all the woes i've borne i plain me, for i pine for longing and lament, and him for solace i entreat the kings of the jinn were moved to delight by that fair singing and fluent speech and praised tuhfeh; and queen kemeriyeh rose to her and embraced her and kissed her between the eyes, saying, 'by allah, it is good, o my sister and solace of mine eyes and darling of my heart!' then said she, 'i conjure thee by allah, give us more of this lovely singing.' and tuhfeh answered with 'hearkening and obedience.' so she took the lute and playing thereon after a different fashion from the former one, sang the following verses: oft as my yearning waxeth, my heart consoleth me with hopes of thine enjoyment in all security. sure god shall yet, in pity, reknit our severed lives, even as he did afflict me with loneness after thee. thou whose desire possesseth my soul, the love of whom hold on my reins hath gotten and will not let me free, compared with thine enjoyment, the hardest things are light to win and all things distant draw near and easy be. god to a tristful lover be light! a man of wit, yet perishing for yearning and body-worn is he. were i cut off, beloved, from hope of thy return, slumber, indeed, for ever my wakeful lids would flee. for nought of worldly fortune i weep! my only joy in seeing thee consisteth and in thy seeing me. at this the accursed iblis was moved to delight and put his finger to his arse, whilst meimoun danced and said, 'o tuhfet es sudour, soften the mode;[fn# ] for, as delight, entereth into my heart, it bewildereth my vital spirits.' so she took the lute and changing the mode, played a third air; then she returned to the first and sang the following verses: the billows of thy love o'erwhelm me passing sore; i sink and all in vain for succour i implore. ye've drowned me in the sea of love for you; my heart denies to be consoled for those whom i adore. think not that i forget our trothplight after you. nay; god to me decreed remembrance heretofore.[fn# ] love to its victim clings without relent, and he of torments and unease complaineth evermore. the kings and all those who were present rejoiced in this with an exceeding delight and the accursed iblis came up to tuhfeh and kissing her hand, said to her, 'there abideth but little of the night; so do thou tarry with us till the morrow, when we will apply ourselves to the wedding[fn# ] and the circumcision.' then all the jinn went away, whereupon tuhfeh rose to her feet and iblis said, 'go ye up with tuhfeh to the garden for the rest of the night.' so kemeriyeh took her and carried her into the garden. now this garden contained all manner birds, nightingale and mocking-bird and ringdove and curlew[fn# ] and other than these of all the kinds, and therein were all kinds of fruits. its channels[fn# ] were of gold and silver and the water thereof, as it broke forth of its conduits, was like unto fleeing serpents' bellies, and indeed it was as it were the garden of eden.[fn# ] when tuhfeh beheld this, she called to mind her lord and wept sore and said, 'i beseech god the most high to vouchsafe me speedy deliverance, so i may return to my palace and that my high estate and queendom and glory and be reunited with my lord and master er reshid.' then she walked in that garden and saw in its midst a dome of white marble, raised on columns of black teak and hung with curtains embroidered with pearls and jewels. amiddleward this pavilion was a fountain, inlaid with all manner jacinths, and thereon a statue of gold, and [beside it] a little door. she opened the door and found herself in a long passage; so she followed it and behold, a bath lined with all kinds of precious marbles and floored with a mosaic of pearls and jewels. therein were four cisterns of alabaster, one facing other, and the ceiling of the bath was of glass coloured with all manner colours, such as confounded the understanding of the folk of understanding and amazed the wit. tuhfeh entered the bath, after she had put off her clothes, and behold, the basin thereof was overlaid with gold set with pearls and red rubies and green emeralds and other jewels; so she extolled the perfection of god the most high and hallowed him for the magnificence of that which she saw of the attributes of that bath. then she made her ablutions in that basin and pronouncing the magnification of prohibition,[fn# ] prayed the morning prayer and what else had escaped her of prayers;[fn# ] after which she went out and walked in that garden among jessamine and lavender and roses and camomile and gillyflowers and thyme and violets and sweet basil, till she came to the door of the pavilion aforesaid and sat down therein, pondering that which should betide er reshid after her, whenas he should come to her pavilion and find her not. she abode sunken in the sea of her solicitude, till presently sleep took her and she slept presently she felt a breath upon her face; whereupon she awoke and found queen kemeriyeh kissing her, and with her her three sisters, queen jemreh, queen wekhimeh and queen sherareh. so she arose and kissed their hands and rejoiced in them with the utmost joy and they abode, she and they, in talk and converse, what while she related to them her history, from the time of her purchase by the mughrebi to that of her coming to the slave-dealers' barrack, where she besought ishac en nedim to buy her, and how she won to er reshid, till the moment when iblis came to her and brought her to them. they gave not over talking till the sun declined and turned pale and the season of sundown drew near and the day departed, whereupon tuhfeh was instant in supplication to god the most high, on the occasion of the prayer of sundown, that he would reunite her with her lord er reshid. after this, she abode with the four queens, till they arose and entered the palace, where she found the candles lit and ranged in candlesticks of gold and silver and censing-vessels of gold and silver, filled with aloes-wood and ambergris, and there were the kings of the jinn sitting. so she saluted them, kissing the earth before them and doing them worship; and they rejoiced in her and in her sight. then she ascended [the estrade] and sat down upon her chair, whilst king es shisban and king el muzfir and queen louloueh and [other] the kings of the jinn sat on chairs, and they brought tables of choice, spread with all manner meats befitting kings. they ate their fill; after which the tables were removed and they washed their hands and wiped them with napkins. then they brought the wine-service and set on bowls and cups and flagons and hanaps of gold and silver and beakers of crystal and gold; and they poured out the wines and filled the flagons. then iblis took the cup and signed to tuhfeh to sing; and she said, 'hearkening and obedience.' so she took the lute and tuning it, sang the following verses: drink ever, o lovers, i rede you, of wine and praise his desert who for yearning doth pine, where lavender, myrtle, narcissus entwine, with all sweet-scented herbs, round the juice of the vine. so iblis the accursed drank and said, 'well done, o desire of hearts! but thou owest me yet another song.' then he filled the cup and signed to her to sing. quoth she, 'hearkening and obedience,' and sang the following verses: ye know i'm passion-maddened, racked with love and languishment, yet ye torment me, for to you 'tis pleasing to torment. between mine eyes and wake ye have your dwelling-place, and thus my tears flow on unceasingly, my sighs know no relent. how long shall i for justice sue to you, whilst, with desire for aid, ye war on me and still on slaying me are bent! to me your rigour love-delight, your distance nearness is; ay, your injustice equity, and eke your wrath consent. accuse me falsely, cruelly entreat me; still ye are my heart's beloved, at whose hands no rigour i resent. all who were present were delighted and the sitting-chamber shook with mirth, and iblis said, 'well done, o tuhfet es sudour!' then they gave not over wine-bibbing and rejoicing and making merry and tambourining and piping till the night waned and the dawn drew near; and indeed exceeding delight entered into them. the most of them in mirth was the sheikh iblis, and for the excess of that which betided him of delight, he put off all that was upon him of coloured clothes and cast them over tuhfeh, and among the rest a robe broidered with jewels and jacinths, worth ten thousand dinars. then he kissed the earth and danced and put his finger to his arse and taking his beard in his hand, said to her, 'sing about this beard and endeavour after mirth and pleasance, and no blame shall betide thee for this.' so she improvised and sang the following verses: beard of the old he-goat, the one-eyed, what shall be my saying of a knave, his fashion and degree? i rede thee vaunt thee not of praise from us, for lo! even as a docktailed cur thou art esteemed of me. by allah, without fail, to-morrow thou shalt see me with ox-leather dress and drub the nape of thee! all those who were present laughed at her mockery of iblis and marvelled at the goodliness of her observation[fn# ] and her readiness in improvising verses; whilst the sheikh himself rejoiced and said to her, 'o tuhfet es sudour, the night is gone; so arise and rest thyself ere the day; and to-morrow all shall be well.' then all the kings of the jinn departed, together with those who were present of guards, and tuhfeh abode alone, pondering the affair of er reshid and bethinking her of how it was with him, after her, and of that which had betided him for her loss, till the dawn gleamed, when she arose and walked in the palace. presently she saw a handsome door; so she opened it and found herself in a garden goodlier than the first, never saw eyes a fairer than it. when she beheld this garden, delight moved her and she called to mind her lord er reshid and wept sore, saying, 'i crave of the bounty of god the most high that my return to him and to my palace and my home may be near at hand!' then she walked in the garden till she came to a pavilion, lofty of building and wide of continence, never saw mortal nor heard of a goodlier than it [so she entered] and found herself in a long corridor, which led to a bath goodlier than that whereof it hath been spoken, and the cisterns thereof were full of rose-water mingled with musk. quoth tuhfeh, 'extolled be the perfection of god! indeed, this[fn# ] is none other than a mighty king.' then she put off her clothes and washed her body and made her ablution, after the fullest fashion,[fn# ] and prayed that which was due from her of prayer from the evening [of the previous day].[fn# ] when the sun rose upon the gate of the garden and she saw the wonders thereof, with that which was therein of all manner flowers and streams, and heard the voices of its birds, she marvelled at what she saw of the surpassing goodliness of its ordinance and the beauty of its disposition and sat meditating the affair of er reshid and pondering what was come of him after her. her tears ran down upon her cheek and the zephyr blew on her; so she slept and knew no more till she felt a breath on her cheek, whereupon she awoke in affright and found queen kemeriyeh kissing her face, and with her her sisters, who said to her, 'arise, for the sun hath set.' so she arose and making the ablution, prayed that which behoved her of prayers[fn# ] and accompanied the four queens to the palace, where she saw the candles lighted and the kings sitting. she saluted them and seated herself upon her couch; and behold, king es shisban had changed his favour, for all the pride of his soul. then came up iblis (whom god curse!) and tuhfeh rose to him and kissed his hands. he in turn kissed her hand and called down blessings on her and said, 'how deemest thou? is [not] this place pleasant, for all its loneliness and desolation?' quoth she, 'none may be desolate in this place;' and he said, 'know that no mortal dare tread [the soil of] this place.' but she answered, 'i have dared and trodden it, and this is of the number of thy favours.' then they brought tables and meats and viands and fruits and sweetmeats and what not else, to the description whereof mortal man availeth not, and they ate till they had enough; after which the tables were removed and the trays and platters[fn# ] set on, and they ranged the bottles and flagons and vessels and phials, together with all manner fruits and sweet-scented flowers. the first to take the cup was iblis the accursed, who said, 'o tuhfet es sudour, sing over my cup.' so she took the lute and touching it, sang the following verses: awaken, o ye sleepers all, and profit, whilst it's here by what's vouchsafed of fortune fair and life untroubled, clear. drink of the first-run wine, that shows as very flame it were, when from the pitcher 'tis outpoured, or ere the day appear. o skinker of the vine-juice, let the cup 'twixt us go round, for in its drinking is my hope and all i hold most dear. what is the pleasance of the world, except it be to see my lady's face, to drink of wine and ditties still to hear? so iblis drank off his cup, and when he had made an end of his draught, he waved his hand to tuhfeh, and putting off that which was upon him of clothes, delivered them to her. amongst them was a suit worth ten thousand dinars and a tray full of jewels worth a great sum of money. then he filled again and gave the cup to his son es shisban, who took it from his hand and kissing it, stood up and sat down again. now there was before him a tray of roses; so he said to her 'o tuhfeh sing upon these roses.' hearkening and obedience,' answered she and sang the following verses: o'er all the fragrant flowers that be i have the prefrence aye, for that i come but once a year, and but a little stay. and high is my repute, for that i wounded aforetime my lord,[fn# ] whom god made best of all the treaders of the clay. so es shisban drank off the cup in his turn and said, 'well done, o desire of hearts!' and he bestowed on her that which was upon him, to wit, a dress of cloth-of-pearl, fringed with great pearls and rubies and broidered with precious stones, and a tray wherein were fifty thousand dinars. then meimoun the sworder took the cup and fell to gazing intently upon tuhfeh. now there was in his hand a pomegranate-flower and he said to her, 'sing upon this pomegranate-flower, o queen of men and jinn; for indeed thou hast dominion over all hearts.' quoth she, 'hearkening and obedience;' and she improvised and sang the following verses: the zephyr's sweetness on the coppice blew, and as with falling fire 'twas clad anew; and to the birds' descant in the foredawns, from out the boughs it flowered forth and grew, till in a robe of sandal green 'twas clad and veil that blended rose and flame[fn# ] in hue. meinsoun drank off his cup and said to her, 'well done, o perfect of attributes!' then he signed to her and was absent awhile, after which he returned and with him a tray of jewels worth an hundred thousand dinars, [which he gave to tuhfeh]. so kemeriyeh arose and bade her slave-girl open the closet behind her, wherein she laid all that wealth. then she delivered the key to tuhfeh, saying, 'all that cometh to thee of riches, lay thou in this closet that is by thy side, and after the festival, it shall be carried to thy palace on the heads of the jinn.' tuhfeh kissed her hand, and another king, by name munir, took the cup and filling it, said to her, 'o fair one, sing to me over my cup upon the jasmine.' 'hearkening and obedience,' answered she and improvised the following verses: it is as the jasmine, when it i espy, as it glitters and gleams midst its boughs, were a sky of beryl, all glowing with beauty, wherein thick stars of pure silver shine forth to the eye. munir drank off his cup and ordered her eight hundred thousand dinars, whereat kemeriyeh rejoiced and rising to her feet, kissed tuhfeh on her face and said to her, 'may the world not be bereaved of thee, o thou who lordest it over the hearts of jinn and mortals!' then she returned to her place and the sheikh iblis arose and danced, till all present were confounded; after which he said to tuhfeh, 'indeed, thou embellishest my festival, o thou who hast commandment over men and jinn and rejoicest their hearts with thy loveliness and the excellence of thy faithfulness to thy lord. all that thy hands possess shall be borne to thee [in thy palace and placed] at thy service; but now the dawn is near at hand; so do thou rise and rest thee, as of thy wont' tuhfeh turned and found with her none of the jinn; so she laid her head on the ground and slept till she had gotten her rest; after which she arose and betaking herself to the pool, made the ablution and prayed. then she sat beside the pool awhile and pondered the affair of her lord er reshid and that which had betided him after her and wept sore. presently, she heard a blowing behind her; so she turned and behold, a head without a body and with eyes slit endlong; it was of the bigness of an elephant's head and bigger and had a mouth as it were an oven and projecting tusks, as they were grapnels, and hair that trailed upon the earth. so tuhfeh said, 'i take refuge with god from satan the stoned!' and recited the two amulets;[fn# ] what while the head drew near her and said to her, 'peace be upon thee, o princess of jinn and men and unique pearl of her age and her time! may god still continue thee on life, for all the lapsing of the days, and reunite thee with thy lord the imam!'[fn# ] 'and upon thee be peace,' answered she, 'o thou whose like i have not seen among the jinn!' quoth the head, 'we are a people who avail not to change their favours and we are called ghouls. the folk summon us to their presence, but we may not present ourselves before them [without leave]. as for me, i have gotten leave of the sheikh aboultawaif to present myself before thee and i desire of thy favour that thou sing me a song, so i may go to thy palace and question its haunters[fn# ] concerning the plight of thy lord after thee and return to thee; and know, o tuhfet es sudour, that between thee and thy lord is a distance of fifty years' journey to the diligent traveller.' 'indeed,' rejoined tuhfeh, 'thou grievest me [for him] between whom and me is fifty years' journey. and the head said to her, 'be of good heart and cheerful eye, for the kings of the jinn will restore thee to him in less than the twinkling of an eye.' quoth she,' i will sing thee an hundred songs, so thou wilt bring me news of my lord and that which hath befallen him after me.' and the head answered, saying, 'do thou favour me and sing me a song, so i may go to thy lord and bring thee news of him, for that i desire, before i go, to hear thy voice, so haply my thirst[fn# ] may be quenched.' so she took the lute and tuning it, sang the following verses: they have departed; but the steads yet full of them remain: yea, they have left me, but my heart of them doth not complain. my heart bereavement of my friends forebode; may god of them the dwellings not bereave, but send them timely home again! though they their journey's goal, alas i have hidden, in their track still will i follow on until the very planets wane. ye sleep; by allah, sleep comes not to ease my weary lids; but from mine eyes, since ye have passed away, the blood doth rain. the railers for your loss pretend that i should patient be: 'away!' i answer them: ' 'tis i, not you, that feel the pain.' what had it irked them, had they'd ta'en farewell of him they've left lone, whilst estrangement's fires within his entrails rage amain? great in delight, beloved mine, your presence is with me; yet greater still the miseries of parting and its bane. ye are the pleasaunce of my soul; or present though you be or absent from me, still my heart and thought with you remain. the head wept exceeding sore and said, 'o my lady, indeed thou hast solaced my heart, and i have nought but my life; so take it.' quoth she, 'an i but knew that thou wouldst bring me news of my lord er reshid, it were liefer to me than the empery of the world.' and the head answered her, saying, 'it shall be done as thou desirest.' then it disappeared and returning to her at the last of the night, said, 'know, o my lady, that i have been to thy palace and have questioned one of the haunters thereof of the case of the commander of the faithful and that which befell him after thee; and he said, "when the commander of the faithful came to tuhfeh's lodging and found her not and saw no sign of her, he buffeted his face and head and rent his clothes. now there was in thy lodging the eunuch, the chief of thy household, and he cried out at him, saying, 'bring me jaafer the barmecide and his father and brother forthright.' the eunuch went out, confounded in his wit for fear of the commander of the faithful, and whenas he came to jaafer, he said to him, 'come to the commander of the faithful, thou and thy father and brother.' so they arose in haste and betaking themselves to the khalif's presence, said to him, 'o commander of the faithful, what is to do?' quoth he, 'there is that to do which overpasseth description. know that i locked the door and taking the key with me, betook myself to the daughter of mine uncle, with whom i lay the night; but, when i arose in the morning and came and opened the door, i found no sign of tuhfeh.' 'o commander of the faithful,' rejoined jaafer, 'have patience, for that the damsel hath been snatched away, and needs must she return, seeing she took the lute with her, and it is her [own] lute. the jinn have assuredly carried her off and we trust in god the most high that she will return.' quoth the khalif, ' this[fn# ] is a thing that may nowise be' and he abode in her lodging, eating not neither drinking, what while the barmecides besought him to go forth to the folk; and he weepeth and abideth on this wise till she shall return." this, then, is that which hath betided him after thee.' when tuhfeh heard this, it was grievous to her and she wept sore; whereupon quoth the head to her, 'the relief of god the most high is near at hand; but now let me hear somewhat of thy speech.' so she took the lute and sang three songs, weeping the while. 'by allah,' said the head, 'thou hast been bountiful to me, may god be with thee!' then it disappeared and the season of sundown came. so she arose [and betook herself] to her place [in the hall]; whereupon the candles rose up from under the earth and kindled themselves. then the kings of the jinn appeared and saluted her and kissed her hands and she saluted them. presently, up came kemeriyeh and her three sisters and saluted tuhfeh and sat down; whereupon the tables were brought and they ate. then the tables were removed and there came the wine-tray and the drinking-service. so tuhfeh took the lute and one of the three queens filled the cup and signed to tuhfeh [to sing]. now she had in her hand a violet; so tuhfeh sang the following verses: behold, i am clad in a robe of leaves green and a garment of honour of ultramarine. though little, with beauty myself i've adorned; so the flowers are my subjects and i am their queen. if the rose be entitled the pride of the morn, before me nor after she wins it, i ween. the queen drank off her cup and bestowed on tuhfeh a dress of cloth-of-pearl, fringed with red rubies, worth twenty thousand dinars, and a tray wherein were ten thousand dinars. all this while meimoun's eye was upon her and presently he said to her, 'harkye, tuhfeh! sing to me.' but queen zelzeleh cried out at him and said, 'desist, o meimoun. thou sufferest not tuhfeh to pay heed unto us.' quoth he, 'i will have her sing to me.' and words waxed between them and queen zelzeleh cried out at him. then she shook and became like unto the jinn and taking in her hand a mace of stone, said to him, 'out on thee! what art thou that thou shouldst bespeak us thus? by allah, but for the king's worship and my fear of troubling the session and the festival and the mind of the sheikh iblis, i would assuredly beat the folly out of thy head!' when meimoun heard these her words, he rose, with the fire issuing from his eyes, and said, 'o daughter of imlac, what art thou that thou shouldst outrage me with the like of this talk?' 'out on thee, o dog of the jinn,' replied she, 'knowest thou not thy place?' so saying, she ran at him and offered to strike him with the mace, but the sheikh iblis arose and casting his turban on the ground, said, 'out on thee, o meimoun! thou still dost with us on this wise. wheresoever thou art present, thou troubleth our life! canst thou not hold thy peace till thou goest forth of the festival and this bride-feast[fn# ] be accomplished? when the circumcision is at an end and ye all return to your dwelling-places, then do as thou wilt. out on thee, o meimoun! knowest thou not that imlac is of the chiefs of the jinn? but for my worship, thou shouldst have seen what would have betided thee of humiliation and punishment; but by reason of the festival none may speak. indeed thou exceedest: knowest thou not that her sister wekhimeh is doughtier than any of the jinn? learn to know thyself: hast thou no regard for thy life?' meimoun was silent and iblis turned to tuhfeh and said to her, 'sing to the kings of the jinn this day and to-night until the morrow, when the boy will be circumcised and each shall return to his own place.' so she took the lute and kemeriyeh said to her, (now she had in her hand a cedrat), 'o my sister, sing to me on this cedrat.' 'hearkening and obedience,' replied tuhfeh, and improvising, sang the following verses: my fruit is a jewel all wroughten of gold, whose beauty amazeth all those that behold. my juice among kings is still drunken for wine and a present am i betwixt friends, young and old. at this queen kemeriyeh was moved to exceeding delight and drank off her cup, saying, 'well done, o queen of hearts!' moreover, she took off a surcoat of blue brocade, fringed with red rubies, and a necklace of white jewels, worth an hundred thousand dinars, and gave them to tuhfeh. then she passed the cup to her sister zelzeleh, who had in her hand sweet basil, and she said to tuhfeh, 'sing to me on this sweet basil.' 'hearkening and obedience,' answered she and improvised and sang the following verses: the crown of the flow'rets am i, in the chamber of wine, and allah makes mention of me 'mongst the pleasures divine; yea, ease and sweet basil and peace, the righteous are told, in eternity's garden of sweets shall to bless them combine.[fn# ] where, then, is the worth that in aught with my worth can compare and where is the rank in men's eyes can be likened to mine? thereat queen zelzeleh was moved to exceeding delight and bidding her treasuress bring a basket, wherein were fifty pairs of bracelets and the like number of earrings, all of gold, set with jewels of price, the like whereof nor men nor jinn possessed, and an hundred robes of coloured brocade and an hundred thousand dinars, gave the whole to tuhfeh. then she passed the cup to her sister sherareh, who had in her hand a stalk of narcissus; so she took it from her and turning to tuhfeh, said to her, 'o tuhfeh, sing to me on this.' 'hearkening and obedience,' answered she and improvised and sang the following verses: most like a wand of emerald my shape it is, trow i; amongst the fragrant flow'rets there's none with me can vie. the eyes of lovely women are likened unto me; indeed, amongst the gardens i open many an eye. when she had made an end of her song, sherareh was moved to exceeding delight and drinking off her cup, said to her, 'well done, o gift of hearts!' then she ordered her an hundred dresses of brocade and an hundred thousand dinars and passed the cup to queen wekhimeh. now she had in her hand somewhat of blood-red anemone; so she took the cup from her sister and turning to tuhfeh, said to her, 'o tuhfeh, sing to me on this.' quoth she, 'i hear and obey,' and improvised the following verses: the merciful dyed me with that which i wear of hues with whose goodliness none may compare. the earth is my birth-place, indeed; but my place of abidance is still in the cheeks of the fair. therewith wekhimeh was moved to exceeding delight and drinking off the cup, ordered her twenty dresses of greek brocade and a tray, wherein were thirty thousand dinars. then she gave the cup to queen shuaaeh, queen of the fourth sea, who took it and said, 'o my lady tuhfeh, sing to me on the gillyflower.' quoth she 'hearkening and obedience,' and improvised the following verses: the season of my presence is never at an end 'mongst all their time in gladness and solacement who spend, whenas the folk assemble for birling at the wine, whether in morning's splendour or when night's shades descend. the pitcher then of goblets filled full and brimming o'er with limpid wine we plunder, that pass from friend to friend. queen shuaaeh was moved to exceeding delight and emptying her cup, gave tuhfeh an hundred thousand dinars. then arose iblis (may god curse him!) and said, 'verily, the dawn gleameth.' whereupon the folk arose and disappeared, all of them, and there abode not one of them save tuhfeh, who went forth to the garden and entering the bath, made her ablutions and prayed that which had escaped her of prayers. then she sat down and when the sun rose, behold, there came up to her near an hundred thousand green birds; the branches of the trees were filled with their multitudes and they warbled in various voices, whilst tuhfeh marvelled at their fashion. presently, up came eunuchs, bearing a throne of gold, set with pearls and jewels and jacinths white and red and having four steps of gold, together with many carpets of silk and brocade and egyptian cloth of silk welted with gold. these latter they spread amiddleward the garden and setting up the throne thereon, perfumed the place with virgin musk and aloes and ambergris. after that, there appeared a queen, never saw eyes a goodlier than she nor than her attributes; she was clad in rich raiment, embroidered with pearls and jewels, and on her head was a crown set with various kinds of pearls and jewels. about her were five hundred slave-girls, high-bosomed maids, as they were moons, screening her, right and left, and she among them as she were the moon on the night of its full, for that she was the most of them in majesty and dignity. she gave not over walking, till she came to tuhfeh, whom she found gazing on her in amazement; and when the latter saw her turn to her, she rose to her, standing on her feet, and saluted her and kissed the earth before her. the queen rejoiced in her and putting out her hand to her, drew her to herself and seated her by her side on the couch; whereupon tuhfeh kissed her hands and the queen said to her, 'know, o tuhfeh, that all that thou treadest of these belong not to any of the jinn,[fn# ] for that i am the queen of them all and the sheikh aboultawaif iblis sought my permission[fn# ] and prayed me to be present at the circumcision of his son. so i sent to him, in my stead, a slave-girl of my slave-girls, to wit, shuaaeh, queen of the fourth sea, who is vice-queen of my kingdom. when she was present at the wedding and saw thee and heard thy singing, she sent to me, giving me to know of thee and setting forth to me thine elegance and pleasantness and the goodliness of thy breeding and thy singing. so i am come to thee, for that which i have heard of thy charms, and this shall bring thee great worship in the eyes of all the jinn.'[fn# ] tuhfeh arose and kissed the earth and the queen thanked her for this and bade her sit. so she sat down and the queen called for food; whereupon they brought a table of gold, inlaid with pearls and jacinths and jewels and spread with various kinds of birds and meats of divers hues, and the queen said, 'o tuhfeh, in the name of god, let us eat bread and salt together, thou and i.' so tuhfeh came forward and ate of those meats and tasted somewhat the like whereof she had never eaten, no, nor aught more delicious than it, what while the slave-girls stood compassing about the table and she sat conversing and laughing with the queen. then said the latter, 'o my sister, a slave-girl told me of thee that thou saidst, "how loathly is yonder genie meimoun! there is no eating [in his presence]."'[fn# ] 'by allah, o my lady,' answered tuhfeh, 'i cannot brook the sight of him,[fn# ] and indeed i am fearful of him.' when the queen heard this, she laughed, till she fell backward, and said, 'o my sister, by the virtue of the inscription upon the seal-ring of solomon, prophet of god, i am queen over all the jinn, and none dare so much as look on thee a glance of the eye.' and tuhfeh kissed her hand. then the tables were removed and they sat talking. presently up came the kings of the jinn from every side and kissed the earth before the queen and stood in her service; and she thanked them for this, but stirred not for one of them. then came the sheikh aboultawaif iblis (god curse him!) and kissed the earth before her, saying, 'o my lady, may i not be bereft of these steps!'[fn# ] o sheikh aboultawalf,' answered she, 'it behoveth thee to thank the bounty of the lady tuhfeh, who was the cause of my coming.' 'true,' answered he and kissed the earth. then the queen fared on [towards the palace] and there [arose and] alighted upon the trees an hundred thousand birds of various colours. quoth tuhfeh, 'how many are these birds!' and queen wekhimeh said to her, 'know, o my sister, that this queen is called queen es shuhba and that she is queen over all the jinn from east to west. these birds that thou seest are of her troops, and except they came in this shape, the earth would not contain them. indeed, they came forth with her and are present with her presence at this circumcision. she will give thee after the measure of that which hath betided thee[fn# ] from the first of the festival to the last thereof; and indeed she honoureth us all with her presence.' then the queen entered the palace and sat down on the throne of the circumcision[fn# ] at the upper end of the hall, whereupon tuhfeh took the lute and pressing it to her bosom, touched its strings on such wise that the wits of all present were bewildered and the sheikh iblis said to her, 'o my lady tuhfeh, i conjure thee, by the life of this worshipful queen, sing for me and praise thyself, and gainsay me not.' quoth she, 'hearkening and obedience; yet, but for the adjuration by which thou conjurest me, i had not done this. doth any praise himself? what manner of thing is this?' then she improvised and sang the following verses: in every rejoicing a boon[fn# ] midst the singers and minstrels am i; the folk witness bear of my worth and none can my virtues deny. my virtues 'mongst men are extolled and my glory and station rank high. her verses pleased the kings of the jinn and they said, 'by allah, thou sayst sooth!' then she rose to her feet, with the lute in her hand, and played and sang, whilst the jinn and the sheikh aboultawaif danced. then the latter came up to her and gave her a carbuncle he had taken from the hidden treasure of japhet, son of noah (on whom be peace), and which was worth the kingdom of the world; its light was as the light of the sun and he said to her, 'take this and glorify thyself withal over[fn# ] the people of the world.' she kissed his hand and rejoiced in the jewel and said, 'by allah, this beseemeth none but the commander of the faithful.' now the dancing of iblis pleased queen es shuhba and she said to him, 'by allah, this is a goodly dancing!' he thanked her for this and said to tuhfeh, 'o tuhfeh, there is not on the face of the earth a skilfuller than ishac en nedim; but thou art more skilful than he. indeed, i have been present with him many a time and have shown him passages[fn# ] on the lute, and there have betided me such and such things with him.[fn# ] indeed, the story of my dealings with him is a long one and this is no time to repeat it; but now i would fain show thee a passage on the lute, whereby thou shall be exalted over all the folk.' quoth she to him, 'do what seemeth good to thee.' so he took the lute and played thereon on wondrous wise, with rare divisions and extraordinary modulations, and showed her a passage she knew not; and this was liefer to her than all that she had gotten. then she took the lute from him and playing thereon, [sang and] presently returned to the passage that he had shown her; and he said, 'by allah, thou singest better than i!' as for tuhfeh, it was made manifest to her that her former usance[fn# ] was all of it wrong and that what she had learnt from the sheikh aboultawaif iblis was the origin and foundation [of all perfection] in the art. so she rejoiced in that which she had gotten of [new skill in] touching the lute far more than in all that had fallen to her lot of wealth and raiment and kissed the sheikh's hand. then said queen es shuhba, 'by allah, o sheikh, my sister tuhfeh is indeed unique among the folk of her time, and i hear that she singeth upon all sweet- scented flowers.' 'yes, o my lady,' answered iblis, 'and i am in the utterest of wonderment thereat. but there remaineth somewhat of sweet-scented flowers, that she hath not besung, such as the myrtle and the tuberose and the jessamine and the moss-rose and the like.' then he signed to her to sing upon the rest of the flowers, that queen es shuhba might hear, and she said, 'hearkening and obedience.' so she took the lute and played thereon in many modes, then returned to the first mode and sang the following verses: one of the host am i of lovers sad and sere for waiting long drawn out and expectation drear. my patience underneath the loss of friends and folk with pallor's sorry garb hath clad me, comrades dear. abasement, misery and heart-break after those i suffer who endured before me many a year. all through the day its light and when the night grows dark, my grief forsakes me not, no, nor my heavy cheer. my tears flow still, nor aye of bitterness i'm quit, bewildered as i am betwixten hope and fear. therewithal queen es shuhba was moved to exceeding delight and said, 'well done, o queen of delight! none can avail to describe thee. sing to us on the apple,' quoth tuhfeh, 'hearkening and obedience.' then she improvised and sang the following verses: endowed with amorous grace past any else am i; graceful of shape and lithe and pleasing to the eye. the hands of noble folk do tend me publicly; with waters clear and sweet my thirsting tongue they ply. my clothes of sendal are, my veil of the sun's light, the very handiwork of god the lord most high. whenas my sisters dear forsake me, grieved that they must leave their native place and far away must hie, the nobles' hands, for that my place i must forsake, do solace me with beds, whereon at ease i lie. lo! in the garden-ways, the place of ease and cheer, still, like the moon at full, my light thou mayst espy. queen es shubha rejoiced in this with an exceeding delight and said, 'well done! by allah, there is none surpasseth thee.' tuhfeh kissed the earth, then returned to her place and improvised on the tuberose, saying: my flower a marvel on your heads doth show, yet homeless[fn# ] am i in your land, i trow. make drink your usance in my company and flout the time that languishing doth go. camphor itself to me doth testify and in my presence owns me white as snow. so make me in your morning a delight and set me in your houses, high and low; so shall we quaff the cups in ease and cheer, in endless joyance, quit of care and woe. at this queen es shuhba was stirred to exceeding delight and said, 'well done, o queen of delight! by allah, i know not how i shall do to render thee thy due! may god the most high grant us to enjoy thy long continuance [on life]!' then she strained her to her breast and kissed her on the cheek; whereupon quoth iblis (on whom be malison!), 'indeed, this is an exceeding honour!' quoth the queen, 'know that this lady tuhfeh is my sister and that her commandment is my commandment and her forbiddance my forbiddance. so hearken all to her word and obey her commandment.' therewithal the kings rose all and kissed the earth before tuhfeh, who rejoiced in this. moreover, queen es shuhba put off on her a suit adorned with pearls and jewels and jacinths, worth an hundred thousand dinars, and wrote her on a sheet of paper a patent in her own hand, appointing her her deputy. so tuhfeh rose and kissed the earth before the queen, who said to her, 'sing to us, of thy favour, concerning the rest of the sweet-scented flowers and herbs, so i may hear thy singing and divert myself with witnessing thy skill.' 'hearkening and obedience, o lady mine,' answered tuhfeh and taking the lute, improvised the following verses: midst colours, my colour excelleth in light and i would every eye of my charms might have sight. my place is the place of the fillet and pearls and the fair are most featly with jasmine bedight, how bright and how goodly my lustre appears! yea, my wreaths are like girdles of silver so white. then she changed the measure and improvised the following: i'm the crown of every sweet and fragrant weed; when the loved one calls, i keep the tryst agreed. my favours i deny not all the year; though cessation be desired, i nothing heed. i'm the keeper of the promise and the troth, and my gathering is eath, without impede. then she changed the measure and the mode [and played] so that she amazed the wits of those who were present, and queen es shuhba was moved to mirth and said, 'well done, o queen of delight!' then she returned to the first mode and improvised the following verses on the water-lily: i fear to be seen in the air, without my consent, unaware; so i stretch out my root neath the flood and my branches turn back to it there. therewithal queen es shuhba was moved to delight and said, 'well done, o tuhfeh! let me have more of thy singing.' so she smote the lute and changing the mode, improvised the following verses on the moss-rose: look at the moss-rose, on its branches seen, midmost its leafage, covered all with green. tis gazed at for its slender swaying shape and cherished for its symmetry and sheen. lovely with longing for its love's embrace, the fear of his estrangement makes it lean. then she changed the measure and the mode and sang the following verses: o thou that questionest the lily of its scent, give ear unto my words and verses thereanent. th' amir (quoth it) am i whose charms are still desired; absent or present, all in loving me consent. when she had made an end of her song, queen es shuhba arose and said, 'never heard i from any the like of this.' and she drew tuhfeh to her and fell to kissing her. then she took leave of her and flew away; and all the birds took flight with her, so that they walled the world; whilst the rest of the kings tarried behind. when it was the fourth night, there came the boy whom they were minded to circumcise, adorned with jewels such as never saw eye nor heard ear of, and amongst the rest a crown of gold, set with pearls and jewels, the worth whereof was an hundred thousand dinars. he sat down upon the throne and tuhfeh sang to him, till the surgeon came and they circumcised him, in the presence of all the kings, who showered on him great store of jewels and jacinths and gold. queen kemeriyeh bade the servants gather up all this and lay it in tuhfeh's closet, and it was [as much in value as] all that had fallen to her, from the first of the festival to the last thereof. moreover, the sheikh iblis (whom god curse!) bestowed upon tuhfeh the crown worn by the boy and gave the latter another, whereat her reason fled. then the jinn departed, in order of rank, whilst iblis took leave of them, band by band. whilst the sheikh was thus occupied with taking leave of the kings, meimoun sought his opportunity, whenas he saw the place empty, and taking up tuhfeh on his shoulders, soared up with her to the confines of the sky and flew away with her. presently, iblis came to look for tuhfeh and see what she purposed, but found her not and saw the slave-girls buffeting their faces; so he said to them, 'out on ye! what is to do?' 'o our lord,' answered they, 'meimoun hath snatched up tuhfeh and flown away with her.' when iblis heard this, he gave a cry, to which the earth trembled, and said, 'what is to be done? out on ye! shall he carry off tuhfeh from my very palace and outrage mine honour? doubtless, this meimoun hath lost his wits.' then he cried out a second time, that the earth quaked therefor, and rose up into the air. the news came to the rest of the kings; so they [flew after him and] overtaking him, found him full of trouble and fear, with fire issuing from his nostrils, and said to him, 'o sheikh aboultawaif, what is to do?' quoth he, 'know that meimoun hath carried off tuhfeh from my palace and outraged mine honour.' when they heard this, they said, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme! by allah, he hath ventured upon a grave matter and indeed he destroyeth himself and his people!' then the sheikh iblis gave not over flying till he fell in with the tribes of the jinn, and there gathered themselves together unto him much people, none may tell the tale of them save god the most high. so they came to the fortress of copper and the citadel of lead,[fn# ] and the people of the strongholds saw the tribes of the jinn issuing from every steep mountain-pass and said, 'what is to do?' then iblis went in to king es shisban and acquainted him with that which had befallen, whereupon quoth he, 'may god destroy meimoun and his folk! he thinketh to possess tuhfeh, and she is become queen of the jinn! but have patience till we contrive that which befitteth in the matter of tuhfeh.' quoth iblis, 'and what befitteth it to do?' and es shisban said, *we will fall upon him and slay him and his people with the sword.' then said the sheikh iblis, 'we were best acquaint queen kemeriyeh and queen zelzeleh and queen sherareh and queen wekhimeh; and when they are assembled, god shall ordain [that which he deemeth] good in the matter of her release.' 'it is well seen of thee,' answered es shisban and despatched to queen kemeriyeh an afrit called selheb, who came to her palace and found her asleep; so he aroused her and she said, 'what is to do, o selheb?' 'o my lady,' answered he, 'come to the succour of thy sister tuhfeh, for that meimoun hath carried her off and outraged thine honour and that of the sheikh iblis.' quoth she, 'what sayest thou?' and she sat up and cried out with a great cry. and indeed she feared for tuhfeh and said, 'by allah, indeed she used to say that he looked upon her and prolonged the looking on her; but ill is that to which his soul hath prompted him.' then she arose in haste and mounting a she-devil of her devils, said to her, 'fly.' so she flew off and alighted with her in the palace of her sister sherareh, whereupon she sent for her sisters zelzeleh and wekhimeh and acquainted them with the news, saying, 'know that meimoun hath snatched up tuhfeh and flown off with her swiftlier than the blinding lightning.' [then they all flew off in haste and] lighting down in the place where were their father es shisban and their grandfather the sheikh aboultawaif, found the folk on the sorriest of plights. when their grandfather iblis saw them, he rose to them and wept, and they all wept for tuhfeh. then said iblis to them, 'yonder dog hath outraged mine honour and taken tuhfeh, and i doubt not but that she is like to perish [of concern] for herself and her lord er reshid and saying "all that they said and did[fn# ] was false."' quoth kemeriyeh, 'o grandfather mine, there is nothing left for it but [to use] stratagem and contrivance for her deliverance, for that she is dearer to me than everything; and know that yonder accursed one, whenas he is ware of your coming upon him, will know that he hath no power to cope with you, he who is the least and meanest [of the jinn]; but we fear that, when he is assured of defeat, he will kill tuhfeh; wherefore nothing will serve but that we contrive for her deliverance; else will she perish.' 'and what hast thou in mind of device?' asked he; and she answered, 'let us take him with fair means, and if he obey, [all will be well]; else will we practise stratagem against him; and look thou not to other than myself for her deliverance.' quoth iblis, 'the affair is thine; contrive what thou wilt, for that tuhfeh is thy sister and thy solicitude for her is more effectual than [that of] any.' so kemeriyeh cried out to an afrit of the afrits and a calamity of the calamities,[fn# ] by name el ased et teyyar,[fn# ] and said to him, 'go with my message to the crescent mountain, the abiding-place of meimoun the sworder, and enter in to him and salute him in my name and say to him, "how canst thou be assured for thyself, o meimoun?[fn# ] couldst thou find none on whom to vent thy drunken humour and whom to maltreat save tuhfeh, more by token that she is a queen? but thou art excused, for that thou didst this not but of thine intoxication, and the shekh aboultawaif pardoneth thee, for that thou wast drunken. indeed, thou hast outraged his honour; but now restore her to her palace, for that she hath done well and favoured us and done us service, and thou knowest that she is presently our queen. belike she may bespeak queen es shuhba, whereupon the matter will be aggravated and that wherein there is no good will betide. indeed, thou wilt get no tittle of profit [from this thine enterprise]; verily, i give thee good counsel, and so peace be on thee!"' 'hearkening and obedience,' answered el ased and flew till he came to the crescent mountain, when he sought audience of meimoun, who bade admit him. so he entered and kissing the earth before him, gave him queen kemeriyeh's message, which when he heard he said to the afrit, 'return whence thou comest and say to thy mistress, "be silent and thou wilt do wisely." else will i come and seize upon her and make her serve tuhfeh; and if the kings of the jinn assemble together against me and i be overcome of them, i will not leave her to scent the wind of this world and she shall be neither mine nor theirs, for that she is presently my soul[fn# ] from between my ribs; and how shall any part with his soul?' when the afrit heard meimoun's words, he said to him, 'by allah, o meimoun, thou hast lost thy wits, that thou speakest these words of my mistress, and thou one of her servants!' whereupon meimoun cried out and said to him, 'out on thee, o dog of the jinn! wilt thou bespeak the like of me with these words?' then, he bade those who were about him smite el ased, but he took flight and soaring into the air, betook himself to his mistress and told her that which had passed; and she said, 'thou hast done well, o cavalier.' then she turned to her father and said to him, 'give ear unto that which i shall say to thee.' quoth he, 'say on;' and she said, 'take thy troops and go to him, for that, when he heareth this, he in his turn will levy his troops and come forth to thee; wherepon do thou give him battle and prolong the fighting with him and make a show to him of weakness and giving way. meantime, i will practise a device for winning to tuhfeh and delivering her, what while he is occupied with you in battle; and when my messenger cometh to thee and giveth thee to know that i have gotten possession of tuhfeh and that she is with me, do thou return upon meimoun forthright and destroy him, him and his hosts, and take him prisoner. but, if my device succeed not with him and we avail not to deliver tuhfeh, he will assuredly go about to slay her, without recourse, and regret for her will abide in our hearts.' quoth iblis, 'this is the right counsel,' and let call among the troops to departure, whereupon an hundred thousand cavaliers, doughty men of war, joined themselves to him and set out for meimoun's country. as for queen kemeriyeh, she flew off to the palace of her sister wekhimeh and told her what meimoun had done and how [he avouched that], whenas he saw defeat [near at hand], he would slay tuhfeh; 'and indeed,' added she, 'he is resolved upon this; else had he not dared to commit this outrage. so do thou contrive the affair as thou deemest well, for thou hast no superior in judgment.' then they sent for queen zelzeleh and queen sherareh and sat down to take counsel, one with another, of that which they should do in the matter. then said wekhimeh, 'we were best fit out a ship in this island [wherein is my palace] and embark therein, in the guise of mortals, and fare on till we come to a little island, that lieth over against meimoun's palace. there will we [take up our abode and] sit drinking and smiting the lute and singing. now tuhfeh will of a surety be sitting looking upon the sea, and needs must she see us and come down to us, whereupon we will take her by force and she will be under our hands, so that none shall avail more to molest her on any wise. or, if meimoun be gone forth to do battle with the jinn, we will storm his stronghold and take tuhfeh and raze his palace and put to death all who are therein. when he hears of this, his heart will be rent in sunder and we will send to let our father know, whereupon he will return upon him with his troops and he will be destroyed and we shall be quit of him.' and they answered her, saying, 'this is a good counsel.' then they bade fit out a ship from behind the mountain,[fn# ] and it was fitted out in less than the twinkling of an eye. so they launched it on the sea and embarking therein, together with four thousand afrits, set out, intending for meimoun's palace. moreover, they bade other five thousand afrits betake themselves to the island under the crescent mountain and lie in wait for them there. meanwhile, the sheikh aboultawaif iblis and his son es shisban set out, as we have said, with their troops, who were of the doughtiest of the jinn and the most accomplished of them in valour and horsemanship, [and fared on till they drew near the crescent mountain], when the news of their approach reached meimoun, he cried out with a great cry to the troops, who were twenty thousand horse, [and bade them make ready for departure]. then he went in to tuhfeh and kissing her, said to her, 'know that thou art presently my life of the world, and indeed the jinn are gathered together to wage war on me on thine account. if i am vouchsafed the victory over them and am preserved alive, i will set all the kings of the jinn under thy feet and thou shall become queen of the world.' but she shook her head and wept; and he said, 'weep not, for, by the virtue of the mighty inscription engraven on the seal-ring of solomon, thou shall never again see the land of men! can any one part with his life? so give ear unto that which i say; else will i kill thee.' and she was silent. then he sent for his daughter, whose name was jemreh, and when she came, he said to her, 'harkye, jemreh! know that i am going to [meet] the clans of es shisban and queen kemeriyeh and the kings of the jinn. if i am vouchsafed the victory over them, to allah be the praise and thou shall have of me largesse; but, if thou see or hear that i am worsted and any come to thee with news of me [to this effect], hasten to slay tuhfeh, so she may fall neither to me nor to them.' then he took leave of her and mounted, saying, 'when this cometh about, pass over to the crescent mountain and take up thine abode there, and await what shall befall me and what i shall say to thee.' and jemreh answered with 'hearkening and obedience.' when tuhfeh heard this, she fell to weeping and wailing and said, 'by allah, nought irketh me save separation from my lord er reshid; but, when i am dead, let the world be ruined after me.' and she doubted not in herself but that she was lost without recourse. then meimoun set forth with his army and departed in quest of the hosts [of the jinn], leaving none in the palace save his daughter jemreh and tuhfeh and an afrit who was dear unto him. they fared on till they met with the army of es shisban; and when the two hosts came face to face, they fell upon each other and fought a passing sore battle. after awhile, es shisban's troops began to give back, and when meimoun saw them do thus, he despised them and made sure of victory over them. meanwhile, queen kemeriyeh and her company sailed on, without ceasing, till they came under the palace wherein was tuhfeh, to wit, that of meimoun the sworder; and by the ordinance of destiny, tuhfeh herself was then sitting on the belvedere of the palace, pondering the affair of haroun er reshid and her own and that which had befallen her and weeping for that she was doomed to slaughter. she saw the ship and what was therein of those whom we have named, and they in mortal guise, and said, 'alas, my sorrow for yonder ship and the mortals that be therein!' as for kemeriyeh and her company, when they drew near the palace, they strained their eyes and seeing tuhfeh sitting, said, 'yonder sits tuhfeh. may god not bereave [us] of her!' then they moored their ship and making for the island, that lay over against the palace, spread carpets and sat eating and drinking; whereupon quoth tuhfeh, 'welcome and fair welcome to yonder faces! these are my kinswomen and i conjure thee by allah, o jemreh, that thou let me down to them, so i may sit with them awhile and make friends with them and return.' quoth jemreh, 'i may on no wise do that.' and tuhfeh wept. then the folk brought out wine and drank, what while kemeriyeh took the lute and sang the following verses: by allah, but that i trusted that i should meet you again, your camel-leader to parting had summoned you in vain! parting afar hath borne you, but longing still is fain to bring you near; meseemeth mine eye doth you contain. when tuhfeh heard this, she gave a great cry, that the folk heard her and kemeriyeh said, 'relief is at hand.' then she looked out to them and called to them, saying, 'o daughters of mine uncle, i am a lonely maid, an exile from folk and country. so, for the love of god the most high, repeat that song!' so kemeriyeh repeated it and tuhfeh swooned away. when she came to herself, she said to jemreh, 'by the virtue of the apostle of god (whom may he bless and preserve!) except thou suffer me go down to them and look on them and sit with them awhile, [i swear] i will cast myself down from this palace, for that i am weary of my life and know that i am slain without recourse; wherefore i will slay myself, ere thou pass sentence upon me.' and she was instant with her in asking. when jemreh heard her words, she knew that, if she let her not down, she would assuredly destroy herself. so she said to her, 'o tuhfeh, between thee and them are a thousand fathoms; but i will bring them up to thee.' 'nay,' answered tuhfeh, 'needs must i go down to them and take my pleasance in the island and look upon the sea anear; then will we return, thou and i; for that, if thou bring them up to us, they will be affrighted and there will betide them neither easance nor gladness. as for me, i do but wish to be with them, that they may cheer me with their company neither give over their merrymaking, so haply i may make merry with them, and indeed i swear that needs must i go down to them; else will i cast myself upon them.' and she cajoled jemreh and kissed her hands, till she said, 'arise and i will set thee down beside them.' then she took tuhfeh under her armpit and flying up, swiftlier than the blinding lightning, set her down with kemeriyeh and her company; whereupon she went up to them and accosted them, saying, 'fear not, no harm shall betide you; for i am a mortal, like unto you, and i would fain look on you and talk with you and hear your singing.' so they welcomed her and abode in their place, whilst jemreh sat down beside them and fell a-snuffing their odours and saying, 'i smell the scent of the jinn! i wonder whence [it cometh!'] then said wekhimeh to her sister kemeriyeh, 'yonder filthy one [smelleth us] and presently she will take to flight; so what is this remissness concerning her?'[fn# ] thereupon kemeriyeh put out a hand,[fn# ] as it were a camel's neck,[fn# ] and dealt jemreh a buffet on the head, that made it fly from her body and cast it into the sea. then said she, 'god is most great!' and they uncovered their faces, whereupon tuhfeh knew them and said to them, 'protection!' queen kemeriyeh embraced her, as also did queen zelzeleh and queen wekhimeh and queen sherareh, and the former said to her, 'rejoice in assured deliverance, for there abideth no harm for thee; but this is no time for talk.' then they cried out, whereupon up came the afrits ambushed in the island, with swords and maces in their hands, and taking up tuhfeh, flew with her to the palace and made themselves masters thereof, whilst the afrit aforesaid, who was dear to meimoun and whose name was dukhan, fled like an arrow and stayed not in his flight till he carne to meimoun and found him engaged in sore battle with the jinn. when his lord saw him, he cried out at him, saying, 'out on thee! whom hast thou left in the palace?' and dukhan answered, saying, 'and who abideth in the palace? thy beloved tuhfeh they have taken and jemreh is slain and they have gotten possession of the palace, all of it.' with this meimoun buffeted his face and head and said, 'out on it for a calamity!' and he cried aloud. now kemeriyeh had sent to her father and acquainted him with the news, whereat the raven of parting croaked for them. so, when meimoun saw that which had betided him, (and indeed the jinn smote upon him and the wings of death overspread his host,) he planted the butt of his spear in the earth and turning the point thereof to his heart, urged his charger upon it and pressed upon it with his breast, till the point came forth, gleaming, from his back. meanwhile the messenger had reached the opposite camp with the news of tuhfeh's deliverance, whereat the sheikh aboultawaif rejoiced and bestowed on the bringer of good tidings a sumptuous dress of honour and made him commander over a company of the jinn. then they fell upon meimoun's troops and destroyed them to the last man; and when they came to meimoun, they found that he had slain himself and was even as we have said. presently kemeriyeh and her sister [wekhimeh] came up to their grandfather and told him what they had done; whereupon he came to tuhfeh and saluted her and gave her joy of her deliverance. then he delivered meimoun's palace to selheb and took all the former's riches and gave them to tuhfeh, whilst the troops encamped upon the crescent mountain. moreover, the sheikh aboultawaif said to tuhfeh, 'blame me not,' and she kissed his hands. as they were thus engaged, there appeared to them the tribes of the jinn, as they were clouds, and queen es shuhba flying in their van, with a drawn sword in her hand. when she came in sight of the folk, they kissed the earth before her and she said to them, 'tell me what hath betided queen tuhfeh from yonder dog meimoun and why did ye not send to me and tell me?' quoth they, 'and who was this dog that we should send to thee, on his account? indeed, he was the least and meanest [of the jinn].' then they told her what kemeriyeh and her sisters had done and how they had practised upon meimoun and delivered tuhfeh from his hand, fearing lest he should slay her, whenas he found himself discomfited; and she said, 'by allah, the accursed one was wont to prolong his looking upon her!' and tuhfeh fell to kissing queen es shuhba's hand, whilst the latter strained her to her bosom and kissed her, saying, 'trouble is past; so rejoice in assurance of relief.' then they arose and went up to the palace, whereupon the trays of food were brought and they ate and drank; after which quoth queen es shuhba, 'o tuhfeh, sing to us, by way of thankoffering for thy deliverance, and favour us with that which shall solace our minds, for that indeed my mind hath been occupied with thee.' quoth tuhfeh 'hearkening and obedience, o my lady.' so she improvised and sang the following verses: wind of the east, if thou pass by the land where my loved ones dwell, i pray, the fullest of greetings bear to them from me, their lover, and say that i am the pledge of passion still and that my longing love and eke my yearning do overpass all longing that was aye. therewithal queen es shuhba rejoiced and all who were present rejoiced also and admired her speech and fell to kissing her; and when she had made an end of her song, queen kemeriyeh said to her, 'o my sister, ere thou go to thy palace, i would fain bring thee to look upon el anca, daughter of behram gour, whom el anca, daughter of the wind, carried off, and her beauty; for that there is not her match on the face of the earth.' and queen es shuhba said, 'o kemeriyeh, i [also] have a mind to see her.' quoth kemeriyeh, 'i saw her three years agone; but my sister wekhimeh seeth her at all times, for that she is near unto her, and she saith that there is not in the world a fairer than she. indeed, this queen el anca is become a byword for loveliness and proverbs are made upon her beauty and grace' and wekhimeh said, 'by the mighty inscription [on the seal-ring of solomon], there is not her like in the world!' then said queen es shuhba, 'if it needs must be and the affair is as ye say, i will take tuhfeh and go with her [to el anca], so she may see her.' so they all arose and repaired to el anca, who abode in the mountain caf.[fn# ] when she saw them, she rose to them and saluted them, saying, 'o my ladies, may i not be bereaved of you!' quoth wekhimeh to her, 'who is like unto thee, o anca? behold, queen es shuhba is come to thee.' so el anca kissed the queen's feet and lodged them in her palace; whereupon tuhfeh came up to her and fell to kissing her and saying, 'never saw i a goodlier than this favour.' then she set before them somewhat of food and they ate and washed their hands; after which tuhfeh took the lute and played excellent well; and el anca also played, and they fell to improvising verses in turns, whilst tuhfeh embraced el anca every moment. quoth es shuhba, 'o my sister, each kiss is worth a thousand dinars;' and tuhfeh answered, 'indeed, a thousand dinars were little for it.' whereat el anca laughed and on the morrow they took leave of her and went away to meimoun's palace.[fn# ] here queen es shuhba bade them farewell and taking her troops, returned to her palace, whilst the kings also went away to their abodes and the sheikh aboultawaif addressed himself to divert tuhfeh till nightfall, when he mounted her on the back of one of the afrits and bade other thirty gather together all that she had gotten of treasure and raiment and jewels and dresses of honour. [then they flew off,] whilst iblis went with her, and in less than the twinkling of an eye he set her down in her sleeping-chamber. then he and those who were with him took leave of her and went away. when tuhfeh found herself in her own chamber and on her couch, her reason fled for joy and it seemed to her as if she had never stirred thence. then she took the lute and tuned it and touched it on wondrous wise and improvised verses and sang. the eunuch heard the smiting of the lute within the chamber and said, 'by allah, that is my lady tuhfeh's touch!' so he arose and went, as he were a madman, falling down and rising up, till he came to the eunuch on guard at the door at the commander of the faithful and found him sitting. when the latter saw him, and he like a madman, falling down and rising up, he said to him, 'what aileth thee and what bringeth thee hither at this hour?' quoth the other, 'wilt thou not make haste and awaken the commander of the faithful?' and he fell to crying out at him; whereupon the khalif awoke and heard them bandying words together and tuhfeh's servant saying to the other, 'out on thee! awaken the commander of the faithful in haste.' so he said, 'o sewab, what aileth thee?' and the chief eunuch answered, saying, 'o our lord, the eunuch of tuhfeh's lodging hath taken leave of his wits and saith, "awaken the commander of the faithful in haste!"' then said er reshid to one of the slave-girls, 'see what is to do.' so she hastened to admit the eunuch, who entered; and when he saw the commander of the faithful, he saluted not neither kissed the earth, but said, 'quick, quick! arise in haste! my lady tuhfeh sitteth in her chamber, singing a goodly ditty. come to her in haste and see all that i say to thee! hasten! she sitteth [in her chamber].' the khalif was amazed at his speech and said to him, 'what sayst thou?' 'didst thou not hear the first of the speech?' replied the eunuch. 'tuhfeh sitteth in the sleeping-chamber, singing and playing the lute. come thy quickliest! hasten!' so er reshid arose and donned his clothes; but he credited not the eunuch's words and said to him, 'out on thee! what is this thou sayst? hast thou not seen this in a dream?' 'by allah,' answered the eunuch, 'i know not what thou sayest, and i was not asleep.' quoth er reshid, 'if thy speech be true, it shall be for thy good luck, for i will enfranchise thee and give thee a thousand dinars; but, if it be untrue and thou have seen this in sleep, i will crucify thee.' and the eunuch said in himself, 'o protector,[fn# ] let me not have seen this in sleep!' then he left the khalif and going to the chamber-door, heard the sound of singing and lute-playing; whereupon he returned to er reshid and said to him, 'go and hearken and see who is asleep.' when er reshid drew near the door of the chamber, he heard the sound of the lute and tuhfeh's voice singing; whereat he could not restrain his reason and was like to swoon away for excess of joy. then he pulled out the key, but could not bring his hand to open the door. however, after awhile, he took heart and applying himself, opened the door and entered, saying, 'methinks this is none other than a dream or an illusion of sleep.' when tuhfeh saw him, she rose and coming to meet him, strained him to her bosom; and he cried out with a cry, wherein his soul was like to depart, and fell down in a swoon. she strained him to her bosom and sprinkled on him rose-water, mingled with musk, and washed his face, till he came to himself, as he were a drunken man, for the excess of his joy in tuhfeh's return to him, after he had despaired of her. then she took the lute and smote thereon, after the fashion she had learnt from the sheikh iblis, so that er reshid's wit was dazed for excess of delight and his understanding was confounded for joy; after which she improvised and sang the following verses: my heart will never credit that i am far from thee; in it thou art, nor ever the soul can absent be. or if to me "i'm absent" thou sayest, "'tis a lie," my heart replies, bewildered 'twixt doubt and certainty. when she had made an end of her verses, er reshid said to her, 'o tuhfeh, thine absence was extraordinary, but thy presence[fn# ] is yet more extraordinary.' 'by allah, o my lord,' answered she, 'thou sayst sooth.' and she took his hand and said to him, 'see what i have brought with me.' so he looked and saw riches such as neither words could describe nor registers avail to set out, pearls and jewels and jacinths and precious stones and great pearls and magnificent dresses of honour, adorned with pearls and jewels and embroidered with red gold. moreover, she showed him that which queen es shuhba had bestowed on her of those carpets, which she had brought with her, and that her throne, the like whereof neither chosroes nor cassar possessed, and those tables inlaid with pearls and jewels and those vessels, that amazed all who looked on them, and the crown, that was on the head of the circumcised boy, and those dresses of honour, which queen es shuhba and the sheikh aboultawaif had put off upon her, and the trays wherein were those riches; brief, she showed him treasures the like whereof he had never in his life set eyes on and which the tongue availeth not to describe and whereat all who looked thereon were amazed. er reshid was like to lose his wits for amazement at this sight and was confounded at this that he beheld and witnessed. then said he to tuhfeh, 'come, tell me thy story from first to last, [and let me know all that hath betided thee,] as if i had been present' she answered with 'hearkening and obedience,' and fell to telling him [all that had betided her] first and last, from the time when she first saw the sheikh aboultawaif, how he took her and descended with her through the side of the draught-house; and she told him of the horse she had ridden, till she came to the meadow aforesaid and described it to him, together with the palace and that which was therein of furniture, and related to him how the jinn rejoiced in her and that which she had seen of the kings of them, men and women, and of queen kemeriyeh and her sisters and queen shuaaeh, queen of the fourth sea, and queen es shuhba, queen of queens, and king es shisban, and that which each one of them had bestowed upon her. moreover, she told him the story of meimoun the sworder and described to him his loathly favour, which he had not consented to change, and related to him that which befell her from the kings of the jinn, men and women, and the coming of the queen of queens, es shuhba, and how she had loved her and appointed her her vice-queen and how she was thus become ruler over all the kings of the jinn; and she showed him the patent of investiture that queen es shuhba had written her and told him that which had betided her with the ghoul-head, whenas it appeared to her in the garden, and how she had despatched it to her palace, beseeching it to bring her news of the commander of the faithful and that which had betided him after her. then she described to him the gardens, wherein she had taken her pleasure, and the baths inlaid with pearls and jewels and told him that which had befallen meimoun the sworder, whenas he carried her off, and how he had slain himself; brief, she told him all that she had seen of wonders and rarities and that which she had beheld of all kinds and colours among the jinn. then she told him the story of anca, daughter of behram gour, with anca, daughter of the wind, and described to him her dwelling-place and her island, whereupon quoth er reshid, 'o tuhfet es sedr,[fn# ] tell me of el anca, daughter of behram gour; is she of the jinn or of mankind or of the birds? for this long time have i desired to find one who should tell me of her.' 'it is well, o commander of the faithful,' answered tuhfeh. 'i asked the queen of this and she acquainted me with her case and told me who built her the palace.' quoth er reshid, 'i conjure thee by allah, tell it me.' and tuhfeh answered, 'it is well,' and proceeded to tell him. and indeed he was amazed at that which he heard from her and what she told him and at that which she had brought back of jewels and jacinths of various colours and preciots stones of many kinds, such as amazed the beholder and confounded thought and mind. as for this, it was the means of the enrichment of the barmecides and the abbasicles, and they abode in their delight. then the khalif went forth and bade decorate the city: [so they decorated it] and the drums of glad tidings were beaten. moreover they made banquets to the people and the tables were spread seven days. and tuhfeh and the commander of the faithful ceased not to be in the most delightsome of life and the most prosperous thereof till there came to them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of companies; and thu is all that hath come down to as of their story." calcutta ( - ) text. note. the following story occupies the last five nights (cxcv-cc) of the unfinished calcutta edition of - . the only other text of it known to me is that published by monsieur langles (paris, ), as an appendix to his edition of the voyages of sindbad, and of this i have freely availed myself in making the present translation, comparing and collating with it the calcutta ( - ) text and filling up and correcting omissions and errors that occur in the latter. in the calcutta ( - ) text this story (vol. ii. pp. - ) is immediately succeeded by the seven voyages of sindbad (vol. ii. pp. - ), which conclude the work. women's craft. it is told that there was once, in the city of baghdad, a comely and well-bred youth, fair of face, tall of stature and slender of shape. his name was alaeddin and he was of the chiefs of the sons of the merchants and had a shop wherein he sold and bought one day, as he sat in his shop, there passed by him a girl of the women of pleasure,[fn# ] who raised her eyes and casting a glance at the young merchant, saw written in a flowing hand on the forepart[fn# ] of the door of his shop, these words, "verily, there is no craft but men's craft, forasmuch as it overcometh women's craft." when she beheld this, she was wroth and took counsel with herself, saying, "as my head liveth, i will assuredly show him a trick of the tricks of women and prove the untruth of[fn# ] this his inscription!" so, on the morrow, she made her ready and donning the costliest of apparel, adorned herself with the most magnificent of ornaments and the highest of price and stained her hands with henna. then she let down her tresses upon her shoulders and went forth, walking along with coquettish swimming gait and amorous grace, followed by her slave-girls, till she came to the young merchant's shop and sitting down thereat, under colour of seeking stuffs, saluted him and demanded of him somewhat of merchandise. so he brought out to her various kinds of stuffs and she took them and turned them over, talking with him the while. then said she to him, "look at the goodliness of my shape and my symmetry. seest thou in me any default?" and he answered, "no, o my lady." "is it lawful," continued she, "in any one that he should slander me and say that i am humpbacked?" then she discovered to him a part of her bosom, and when he saw her breasts, his reason took flight from his head and he said to her, "cover it up, so may god have thee in his safeguard!" quoth she, "is it fair of any one to missay of my charms?" and he answered, "how shall any missay of thy charms, and thou the sun of loveliness?" then said she, "hath any the right to say of me that i am lophanded? "and tucking up her sleeves, showed him forearms, as they were crystal; after which she unveiled to him a face, as it were a full moon breaking forth on its fourteenth night, and said to him, "is it lawful for any to missay of me [and avouch] that my face is pitted with smallpox or that i am one-eyed or crop-eared?" and he answered her, saying, "o my lady, what is it moveth thee to discover unto me that lovely face and those fair members, [of wont so jealously] veiled and guarded? tell me the truth of the matter, may i be thy ransom!" and he recited the following verses: a white one, from her sheath of tresses now laid bare and now again concealed in black, luxuriant hair;[fn# ] as if the maid the day resplendent and her locks the night that o'er it spreads its shrouding darkness were. "know, o my lord," answered she, "that i am a maiden oppressed of my father, for that he misspeaketh of me and saith to me, 'thou art foul of favour and it befitteth not that thou wear rich clothes; for thou and the slave-girls, ye are equal in rank, there is no distinguishing thee from them.' now he is a rich man, having wealth galore, [and saith not on this wise but] because he is a niggard and grudgeth the spending of a farthing; [wherefore he is loath to marry me,] lest he be put to somewhat of charge in my marriage, albeit god the most high hath been bountiful to him and he is a man puissant in his time and lacking nothing of the goods of the world." "who is thy father," asked the young merchant, "and what is his condition?" and she replied, "he is the chief cadi of the supreme court, under whose hand are all the cadis who administer justice in this city." the merchant believed her and she took leave of him and went away, leaving in his heart a thousand regrets, for that the love of her had gotten possession of him and he knew not how he should win to her; wherefore he abode enamoured, love-distraught, unknowing if he were alive or dead. as soon as she was gone, he shut his shop and going up to the court, went in to the chief cadi and saluted him. the magistrate returned his salutation and entreated him with honour and seated him by his side. then said alaeddin to him, "i come to thee, a suitor, seeking thine alliance and desiring the hand of thy noble daughter." "o my lord merchant," answered the cadi, "indeed my daughter beseemeth not the like of thee, neither sorteth she with the goodliness of thy youth and the pleasantness of thy composition and the sweetness of thy discourse;" but alaeddin rejoined, saying, "this talk behoveth thee not, neither is it seemly in thee; if i be content with her, how should this irk thee?" so they came to an accord and concluded the treaty of marriage at a dower precedent of five purses[fn# ] paid down then and there and a dower contingent of fifteen purses,[fn# ] so it might be uneath unto him to put her away, forasmuch as her father had given him fair warning, but he would not be warned. then they drew up the contract of marriage and the merchant said, "i desire to go in to her this night." so they carried her to him in procession that very night, and he prayed the prayer of eventide and entered the privy chamber prepared for him; but, when he lifted the veil from the face of the bride and looked, he saw a foul face and a blameworthy aspect; yea, he beheld somewhat the like whereof may god not show thee! loathly, dispensing from description, inasmuch as there were reckoned in her all legal defects.[fn# ] so he repented, whenas repentance availed him not, and knew that the girl had cheated him. however, he lay with the bride, against his will, and abode that night sore troubled in mind, as he were in the prison of ed dilem.[fn# ] hardly had the day dawned when he arose from her and betaking himself to one of the baths, dozed there awhile, after which he made the ablution of defilement[fn# ] and washed his clothes. then he went out to the coffee-house and drank a cup of coffee; after which he returned to his shop and opening the door, sat down, with discomfiture and chagrin written on his face. presently, his friends and acquaintances among the merchants and people of the market began to come up to him, by ones and twos, to give him joy, and said to him, laughing, "god's blessing on thee! where an the sweetmeats? where is the coffee?[fn# ] it would seem thou hast forgotten us; surely, the charms of the bride have disordered thy reason and taken thy wit, god help thee! well, well; we give thee joy, we give thee joy." and they made mock of him, whilst he gave them no answer and was like to tear his clothes and weep for vexation. then they went away from him, and when it was the hour of noon, up came his mistress, trailing her skirts and swaying in her gait, as she were a cassia-branch in a garden. she was yet more richly dressed and adorned and more bewitching[fn# ] in her symmetry and grace than on the previous day, so that she made the passers stop and stand in ranks to look on her. when she came to alaeddin's shop, she sat down thereat and said to him, "may the day be blessed to thee, o my lord alaeddin! god prosper thee and be good to thee and accomplish thy gladness and make it a wedding of weal and content!" he knitted his brows and frowned in answer to her; then said he to her, "tell me, how have i failed of thy due, or what have i done to injure thee, that thou shouldst play me this trick?" quoth she, "thou hast no wise offended against me; but this inscription that is written on the door of thy shop irketh me and vexeth my heart. if thou wilt change it and write up the contrary thereof, i will deliver thee from thy predicament." and he answered, "this that thou seekest is easy. on my head and eyes be it." so saying, he brought out a ducat[fn# ] and calling one of his mamelukes, said to him, "get thee to such an one the scribe and bid him write us an inscription, adorned with gold and ultramarine, in these words, to wit, 'there is no craft but women's craft, for that indeed their craft is a mighty craft and overcometh and humbleth the fables[fn# ] of men.'" and she said to the servant, "go forthright." so he repaired to the scribe, who wrote him the scroll, and he brought it to his master, who set it on the door and said to the damsel, "art thou satisfied?" "yes," answered she. "arise forthright and get thee to the place before the citadel, where do thou foregather with all the mountebanks and ape-dancers and bear-leaders and drummers and pipers and bid them come to thee to-morrow early, with their drums and pipes, what time thou drinkest coffee with thy father-in-law the cadi, and congratulate thee and wish thee joy, saying, 'a blessed day, o son of our uncle! indeed, thou art the vein[fn# ] of our eye! we rejoice for thee, and if thou be ashamed of us, verily, we pride ourselves upon thee; so, though thou banish us from thee, know that we will not forsake thee, albeit thou forsakest us.' and do thou fall to strewing dinars and dirhems amongst them; whereupon the cadi will question thee, and do thou answer him, saying, 'my father was an ape-dancer and this is our original condition; but out lord opened on us [the gate of fortune] and we have gotten us a name among the merchants and with their provost.' then will he say to thee, 'then thou art an ape-leader of the tribe of the mountebanks?' and do thou reply, 'i may in nowise deny my origin, for the sake of thy daughter and in her honour.' the cadi will say, 'it may not be that thou shalt be given the daughter of a sheikh who sitteth upon the carpet of the law and whose descent is traceable by genealogy to the loins of the apostle of god,[fn# ] nor is it seemly that his daughter be in the power of a man who is an ape-dancer, a minstrel.' and do thou rejoin, 'nay, o effendi, she is my lawful wife and every hair of her is worth a thousand lives, and i will not let her go, though i be given the kingship of the world.' then be thou persuaded to speak the word of divorce and so shall the marriage be dissolved and ye be delivered from each other." quoth alaeddin, "thou counsellest well," and locking up his shop, betook himself to the place before the citadel, where he foregathered with the drummers and pipers and instructed them how they should do, [even as his mistress had counselled him,] promising them a handsome reward. so they answered him with "hearkening and obedience" and on the morrow, after the morning-prayer, he betook himself to the presence of the cadi, who received him with obsequious courtesy and seated him beside himself. then he turned to him and fell to conversing with him and questioning him of matters of selling and buying and of the price current of the various commodities that were exported to baghdad from all parts, whilst alaeddin replied to him of all whereof he asked him. as they were thus engaged, behold, up came the dancers and mountebanks, with their pipes and drums, whilst one of their number forewent them, with a great banner in his hand, and played all manner antics with his voice and limbs. when they came to the courthouse, the cadi exclaimed, "i seek refuge with god from yonder satans!" and the merchant laughed, but said nothing. then they entered and saluting his highness the cadi, kissed alaeddin's hands and said, "god's blessing on thee, o son of our uncle! indeed, thou solacest our eyes in that which thou dost, and we beseech god to cause the glory of our lord the cadi to endure, who hath honoured us by admitting thee to his alliance and allotted us a part in his high rank and dignity." when the cadi heard this talk, it bewildered his wit and he was confounded and his face flushed with anger and he said to his son-in-law, "what words are these?" quoth the merchant, "knowest thou not, o my lord, that i am of this tribe? indeed this man is the son of my mother's brother and that other the son of my father's brother, and i am only reckoned of the merchants [by courtesy]!" when the cadi heard this, his colour changed and he was troubled and waxed exceeding wroth and was rike to burst for excess of rage. then said he to the merchant, "god forbid that this should be! how shall it be permitted that the daughter of the cadi of the muslims abide with a man of the dancers and vile of origin? by allah, except thou divorce her forthright, i will bid beat thee and cast thee into prison till thou die! had i foreknown that thou wast of them, i had not suffered thee to approach me, but had spat in thy face, for that thou art filthier[fn# ] than a dog or a hog." then he gave him a push and casting him down from his stead, commanded him to divorce; but he said, "be clement to me, o effendi, for that god is clement, and hasten not. i will not divorce my wife, though thou give me the kingdom of irak." the cadi was perplexed and knew that constraint was not permitted of the law;[fn# ] so he spoke the young merchant fair and said to him, "protect me,[fn# ] so may god protect thee. if thou divorce her not, this disgrace will cleave to me till the end of time." then his rage got the better of him and he said to him, "an thou divorce her not with a good grace, i will bid strike off thy head forthright and slay myself; rather flame[fn# ] than shame." the merchant bethought himself awhile, then divorced her with a manifest divorcement[fn# ] and on this wise he delivered himself from that vexation. then he returned to his shop and sought in marriage of her father her who had played him the trick aforesaid and who was the daughter of the chief of the guild of the blacksmiths. so he took her to wife and they abode with each other and lived the most solaceful of lives, in all prosperity and contentment and joyance, till the day of death; and god [alone] is all-knowing. end of vol. ii. tales from the arabic, volume endnotes [fn# ] a town of khoiassan. [fn# ] i.e., he dared not attempt to force her? [fn# ] i.e. her "yes" meant "yes" and her "no" "no." [fn# ] lit. ignorance. [fn# ] lit. spoke against her due. [fn# ] i.e. a domed monument. [fn# ] lit "ignorance," often used in the sense of "forwardness." [fn# ] i.e. my present plight. [fn# ] i.e. ten thousand dinars. [fn# ] a similar story to this, though differing considerably in detail, will be found in my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. p. , the jewish cadi and his pions wife. [fn# ] or divineress (kahinek). [fn# ] i.e. whoredom. [fn# ] or "scar" (ather). [fn# ] ie. hearken to. [fn# ] i.e. persia. [fn# ] i.e. the case with which he earned his living. [fn# ] i.e. the ten thousand dirhems of the bond. [fn# ] i.e. exhorted her to patience. [fn# ] or performing surgical operations (ilaj). [fn# ] i.e. the open space before his house. [fn# ] or "drew near unto." [fn# ] i.e. a descendant of mohammed. [fn# ] or the art of judging from external appearances (firaseh). [fn# ] sic in the text; but the passage is apparently corrupt. it is not plain why a rosy complexion, blue eyes and tallness should be peculiar to women in love. arab women being commonly short, swarthy and black eyed, the attributes mentioned appear rather to denote the foreign origin of the woman; and it is probable, therefore, that this passage has by a copyist's error, been mixed up with that which related to the signs by which the mock physician recognized her strangehood, the clause specifying the symptoms of her love lorn condition having been crowded out in the process, an accident of no infrequent occurrence in the transcription of oriental works. [fn# ] yellow was the colour prescribed for the wearing of jews by the muslim lawm in accordance with the decree issued by khalif omar ben el khettab after the taking of jerusalem in a.d. . [fn# ] i.e. sunday. [fn# ] herais, a species of "risotto," made of pounded wheat or rice and meat in shreds. [fn# ] lit. "that have passed the night," i.e. are stale and therefore indigestable. [fn# ] i.e. saturday. [fn# ] i.e. native of merv. [fn# ] or "ruined," lit. "destroyed." [fn# ] i.e. native of rei, a city of khorassia. [fn# ] the text has khenadic, ditches or valleys; but this is, in all probability, a clerical or typographical error for fenadic, inns or caravanserais. [fn# ] it is a paramount duty of the muslim to provide his dead brother in the faith with decent interment; it is, therefore, a common practice for the family of a poor arab to solicit contributions toward the expenses of his burial, nor is the well-to-do true believer safe from imposition of the kind described in the text. [fn# ] i.e. the recompense in the world to come promised to the performer of a charitable action. [fn# ] i.e. camphor and lote-tree leaves dried and powdered (sometimes mixed with rose-water) which are strewn over the dead body, before it is wrapped in the shroud. in the case of a man of wealth, more costly perfumes (such as musk, aloes and ambergris) are used. [fn# ] all the ablutions prescribed by the mohammedan ritual are avoided by the occurrence, during the process, of any cause of ceremonial impurity (such as the mentioned in the text) and must be recommenced. [fn# ] having handled a corpse, he had become in a state of legal impurity and it beloved him therefore to make the prescribed ablution. [fn# ] which he had taken off for the purpose of making abulution. this was reversing the ordinary course of affairs, the dead man's clothes being the washer's prequisite. [fn# ] i.e. till it was diminished by evaporation to two-thirds of its original volume. [fn# ] the mohammedan grave is a cell, hollowed out in the sides of a trench and so constructed as to keep out the earth, that the deceased may be able to sit up and answer the examining angels when they visit him in the tomb. there was, therefore, nothing improbable in er razi's boast that he could abide two days in the tomb. [fn# ] nawous, a sort of overground well or turricle of masonry, surmounted by an iron grating, on which the gueber's body is placed for devoration by the birds. [fn# ] munkir [munker] and nakir [nekir] are the two angels that preside at 'the examination of the tomb.' they visit a man in his grave directly after he has been buried and examine him concerning his faith; if he acknowledge that there is but one god and that mohammed is his prophet [apostle], they suffer him to rest in peace; otherwise they beat him with [red-hot] iron maces, till he roars so loud[ly] that he is heard by all from east to west, except by man and ginns [jinn]."--palmer's koran, introduction. [fn# ] lit. the oven (tennour); but this is obviously a mistake for "tombs" (cubour). [fn# ] i.e. as a propitiatory offering on behalf of. [fn# ] i.e. though he remain at thy charge or (as we should say) on thy hands. [fn# ] about twenty-five shillings. [fn# ] about £ s. [fn# ] meaning the sharper. [fn# ] i.e. he asketh nought but that which is reasonable. [fn# ] the strict muslim is averse from taking an oath, even in support at the truth, and will sometimes submit to a heavy loss rather than do so. for an instance of this, see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. p. , the king of the island. [fn# ] to wit, the merchant and his officious friend. [fn# ] there appears to be some mistake here, but i have no means of rectifying it. the passage is probably hopelessly corrupt and a portion of the conclusion of the story seems to have dropped out. [fn# ] i.e. well-guarded, confined in the harem. [fn# ] i.e. an old woman to crafty that she was a calamity to those against whom she plotted. [fn# ] i.e. the amount of the contingent dowry and of the allowance which he was bound to make her for her support during the four months and some days which must elapse before she could lawfully marry again. [fn# ] i.e. thou wilt have satisfied us all. [fn# ] with the smoke of burning aloes-wood or other perfume, a common practice among the arabs. the aloes-wood is placed upon burning charcoal in a censer perforated with holes, which is swung towards the person to be fumigated, whose clothes and hair are thus impregnated with the grateful fragrance of the burning wood. an accident such as that mentioned in the text might easily happen during the process of fumigation. [fn# ] i.e. by god. the old woman is keeping up her assumption of the character of a devotee by canting about divine direction. [fn# ] this is the same story as "the house with the belvedere." see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. p. . [fn# ] see note, vol. i. p. . also my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. v. p. , the king and his vizier's wife. [fn# ] or experienced. [fn# ] i.e. the inhabitants of the island and the sailors? [fn# ] i.e. postponed the fulfilment of his promise. [fn# ] sic; but apparently a state-prison or place of confinement for notable offenders is meant. [fn# ] or "getting hold of." [fn# ] lit. "betrothed." [fn# ] or "in." [fn# ] i.e. if his appearance be such as to belie the possibility of his being a thief. [fn# ] i.e. people of power and worship. [fn# ] i.e. of wine. [fn# ] i.e. all his former afflictions or (perhaps) all his commandments. [fn# ] i.e. a more venial sin. [fn# ] i.e. i have a proposal to make thee. [fn# ] i.e. he was brought up in my house. [fn# ] i.e. prayed for him by name, as the reigning sovereign, in the khutbeh, a sort of homily made up of acts of prayer and praise and of exhortations to the congregation, which forms part of the friday prayers. the mention of a newly-appointed sovereign's name in the khutbeh is equivalent with the muslims to a solemn proclamation of his accession. [fn# ] i.e. deprive him of his rank. [fn# ] or perverted belief, i.e. an infidel. [fn# ] i.e. not god. [fn# ] or corrupt belief, i.e. that the destinies of mankind were governed by the planets and not by god alone. [fn# ] i.e. "him who is to me even as mine own soul," to wit, the king. [fn# ] the whole of this story (which is apparently intended as an example of the flowery style (el bediya) of arab prose) is terribly corrupt and obscure, and in the absence of a parallel version, with which to collate it, it is impossible to be sure that the exact sense has been rendered. [fn# ] breslau text, vol xi. pp. - , nights dccccxxx-xl. [fn# ] i.e. the first or beherite dynasty of the mameluke sultans, the founder of which was originally a turkish (i.e. turcoman) slave. [fn# ] fourth sultan of the above dynasty. [fn# ] i.e. palestine (es sahil) so styled by the arabs. [fn# ] lit. his nightly entertainers, i.e. those whose place it was to entertain him by night with the relation of stories and anecdotes and the recitation of verses, etc. [fn# ] i.e. the perfect of police. [fn# ] about fifty shillings. [fn# ] i.e. those of the visible and invisible worlds. [fn# ] i.e. of the sultan's officers of the household. the sultan's palace and the lodgings of his chief officers were situate, according to eastern custom, in the citadel or central fortress of the city. [fn# ] lit. [self-]possession (temkin). [fn# ] god forbid! [fn# ] or strong place. [fn# ] i.e. lest ill-hap betide her and you be held responsible for her. [fn# ] which was in his custody in his ex-officio capacity of guardian, orphans in muslim countries being, by operation of law, wards of the cadi of their district. [fn# ] altogether six thousand dinars or about £ . [fn# ] i.e. except thou give me immediate satisfaction, i will complain of thee to the sultan. [fn# ] i.e. forgetting all that is enjoined upon the true-believer by the institutes of the prophet (sunneh) and the canons (fers) of the divine law, as deduced from the koran. [fn# ] lit. red i.e. violent or bloody) death. [fn# ] lit. the conquered one. [fn# ] i.e. my view of the matter differs from that of the cadi, but i cannot expect a hearing against a personage of his rank. [fn# ] and therefore freshly shed. [fn# ] for redness. [fn# ] or parties. [fn# ] lit. quench that fire from him. [fn# ] of cairo or (quære) the two egyptian provinces known as es sherkiyeh (the eastward) and el gherbiyeh (the westward). [fn# ] i.e, he was a man of ready wit and presence of mind. [fn# ] or (in modern slang) "there are good pickings to be had out of this job." [fn# ] lit "the douceur of the key," i.e. the gratuity which it is customary to give to the porter or portress on hiring a house or lodging. cf. the french denier à dieu, old english "god's penny." [fn# ] i.e. made the complete ablution prescribed by the muslim law after copulation. [fn# ] i.e. the round opening made in the ceiling for ventilation. [fn# ] i.e. he who sits on the bench outside the police-office, to attend to emergencies. [fn# ] lit. witnesses, i.e. those who are qualified by their general respectability and the blamelessness of their lives, to give evidence in the mohamedan courts of law. [fn# ] sic. [fn# ] about pounds. [fn# ] or guardian. [fn# ] syn. book (kitab). [fn# ] or made it a legal deed. [fn# ] lit. assessors. [fn# ] this sentence is almost unintelligible, owing to the corruptness and obscurity of the text; but the sense appears to be as above. [fn# ] apparently supposing the draper to have lost it and purposing to require a heavy indemnity for its loss. [fn# ] apparently, a cant phrase for "thieve." [fn# ] or disapprove of. [fn# ] this passage is unintelligible; the text is here again, to all appearance, corrupt. [fn# ] i.e. women's tricks? [fn# ] muslim formula of invitation. [fn# ] i.e. the singers? [fn# ] i.e. easily. [fn# ] or made a show of renouncing. [fn# ] i.e. strong men (or athletes) armed. [fn# ] fityan, arab cant name for thieves. [fn# ] apparently in a pavillion in some garden or orchard, the usual pleasure of the arabs. [fn# ] i.e. engaged her to attend an entertainment and paid her her hire in advance. [fn# ] lit. a [she-]partner, i.e. one who should relieve her, when she was weary of singing, and accompany her voice on the lute. [fn# ] i.e. they grew ever more heated with drink. [fn# ] helfeh or helfaa (vulg. alfa), a kind of coarse, rushy grass (pos. multiflora), used in the east as fuel. [fn# ] lit. "we repented to god, etc, of singing." the practice of music, vocal and instrumental, is deprecated by the strict muslim, in accordance with a tradition by which the prophet is said to have expressed his disapproval of these arts. [fn# ] i.e. required to find the thief or make good the loss. [fn# ] i.e. the parties aggrieved. [fn# ] or irrigation-work, usually a bucket-wheel, worked by oxen. [fn# ] or "came true." [fn# ] i.e. crucify. [fn# ] i.e. a native of the hauran, a district east of damascus. [fn# ] i.e. the mysterious speaker. [fn# ] i.e. in the punishment that overtook me. [fn# ] the well-known arab formula of refusal to a beggar, equivalent to the spanish "perdoneme por amor de dios, hermano!" [fn# ] i.e. what i could afford. [fn# ] i.e. that of the officers of police. [fn# ] a common oriental game, something like a rude out-door form of back-gammon, in which the players who throw certain numbers are dubbed sultan and vizier. [fn# ] lit. milk (leben), possibly a copyist's error for jubn (cheese). [fn# ] i.e. his forbearance in relinquishing his blood-revenge for his brother. [fn# ] in the text, by an evident error, shehriyar is here made to ask shehrzad for another story and she to tell it him. [fn# ] nesiheh. [fn# ] i.e. the mysterious speaker? [fn# ] apparently some famous saint. the el hajjaj whose name is familiar to readers of the thomsand and one night (see supra, vol. i. p. , note ) was anything but a saint, if we may believe the popular report of him. [fn# ] breslan text, vol. xi. pp. - and vol. xii. pp. - , nights dccccvli-dcccclvii. [fn# ] the usual meaning of the arab word anber (pronounced amber) a ambergris, i.e. the morbid secretion of the sperm-whale; but the context appears to point to amber, i.e. the fossil resin used for necklaces, etc.; unless, indeed, the allusion of the second hemistich is to ambergris, as worn, for the sake of the perfume, in amulets or pomanders (fr. pomme d'ambre) slung about the neck. [fn# ] i.e. galena or sulphuret of lead, of which, reduced to powder, alone or in combination with other ingredients, the well-known cosmetic or eye-powder called kohl consists. [fn# ] see supra, vol. . p. , note . [fn# ] or "accomplishments" (adab). [fn# ] title of the khalif. [fn# ] i.e. isaac of mosul, the greatest of arab musicians. [fn# ] elder brother of jaafer; see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. ix. p. et seq. [fn# ] yonnus ibn hebib, a renowned grammarian and philologer of the day, who taught at bassora and whose company was much sought after by distinguished men of letters and others. he was a friend of isaac of mosul. [fn# ] apparently a suburb of baghdad. [fn# ] i.e. the principal street of et taf. [fn# ] or "elegant." [fn# ] see supra, vol. i. p. , note . [fn# ] ? [fn# ] a passage has apparently dropped out here. the khalif seems to have gone away without buying, leaving ishac behind, whereupon the latter was accosted by another slave-girl, who came out of a cell in the corridor. [fn# ] or "have withheld myself." [fn# ] for not selling me? [fn# ] i.e. tuhfeh the fool. hemca is the feminine form of ahmec, fool. if by a change in the (unwritten) vowels, we read humeca, which is the plural form of ahmec, the title will signify, "gift (tuhfeh) of fools" and would thus represent a jesting alteration of the girl's real name (tuhfet el culoub, gift of hearts), in allusion to her (from the slave-merchant's point of view) foolish and vexatious behaviour in refusing to be sold to the first comer, as set out below. [fn# ] or "folly" (hemakeh). [fn# ] i.e. not every one is lucky enough to be in ishac's house. [fn# ] apparently some part of baghdad adjoining the tigris. khanekah means "a convent of dervishes." [fn# ] lit. stronger (acwa). [fn# ] the gist of this curious comparison is not very apparent. perhaps "blander" is meant. [fn# ] about s. [fn# ] about a penny; i.e. i have found all my skill in the craft but a trifle in comparison with thine. [fn# ] i.e. thou art what he wants. [fn# ] i.e. the dews of her mouth, commonly compared by oriental writers to wine and honey. [fn# ] i.e. he died. [fn# ] i.e. if my hand were out for want of practice. [fn# ] i.e. a gift or rarity. [fn# ] or "rarity" (tuhfeh) [fn# ] i.e. thou didst her not justice. [fn# ] i.e. that set apart for the chief of the concubines. [fn# ] i.e. from the opening made in the ceiling for ventilation. or the saloon in which she sat may have been open to the sky, as is not uncommon in the east. [fn# ] zubeideh was the daughter of jaafer, son of el mensour, second khalif of the house of abbas, and was therefore er reshid's first cousin. it does not appear why she is called daughter (bint) of el casim. [fn# ] lit. "of those noble steps." [fn# ] so styled by the muslums, because abraham is fabled by them to have driven him away with stones, when he strove to prevent him from sacrificing ishmael, whom they substitute for isaac as the intended victim. [fn# ] i.e. gift of breasts. the word "breasts" here is, of course, used (metonymically) for "hearts." [fn# ] i.e. "he (lit. father) of the hosts of tribes." [fn# ] see post, passim. [fn# ] lit. witnesses (shawahid). [fn# ] lit. seas (behar). [fn# ] afterwards called zelzeleh; see post, p. et seq. [fn# ] i.e. i cannot look long on them. [fn# ] i.e. change the sir to one less poignant? or (perhaps) "lower thy voice." [fn# ] i.e. from time immemorial, before the creation of the world. the most minute details of every man's life in the world are believed by the mohammedans to have been fore-ordained by god from all eternity. this belief is summed up in the koranic saying, "verily, the commandment of god is a prevenient decree." [fn# ] no mention is afterward made of any wedding, and the word is, therefore, probably used here in its implied sense of "festival," "merry-making." i am not, however acquainted with any instance of this use of the word urs. [fn# ] or "peewit." [fn# ] i.e. those that led the water to the roots of the trees, after the manner of eastern gardeners. [fn# ] one of the seven "gardens" or stages for the mohammedan heaven. [fn# ] "god is most great!" so called because its pronunciation, after that of the niyeh or intent (i.e. "i purpose to pray such and such prayers"), prohibits the speaking of any words previous to prayer. [fn# ] i.e. those of the five daily prayers (due at daybreak, noon, mid-afternoon, sundown, and nightfall respectively) which she had been prevented from praying on the previous evening, through having passed it in carousing with the jinn. it is incumbent on the strict muslim to make up his arrears of prayer in this manner. [fn# ] lit. skill in physiognomy (firaseh). [fn# ] i.e. the owner of this palace. [fn# ] the mohammedan rite of ablution, previous to prayer, is a very elaborate and complicated process, somewhat "scamped" by the ordinary "true-believer." see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. iv. pp. - . [fn# ] i.e. the prayers of nightfall, in addition to those of daybreak. [fn# ] i.e. those of noon, mid-afternoon and sundown. [fn# ] containing the dessert. [fn# ] i.e. mohammed, who was passionately fond of flowers and especially of the rose, which is fabled to have blossomed from his sweat. [fn# ] the arab name (julnar) of the promegranate is made up of the persian word for rose (gul) and the arabic fire (nar). [fn# ] i.e. chapters cxiii. and cxiv. of the koran, respectively known as the chapter of the [lord of the] daybreak and the chapter of [the lord of] men. these chapters, which it is the habit of the muslim to recite as a talisman or preventive against evil, are the last and shortest in the book and run as follows. chapter cxiii.--"in the name of the compassionate, the merciful! say [quoth gabriel] 'i take refuge with the lord of the daybreak from the evil of that which he hath created and from the evil of the beginning of the night, whenas it invadeth [the world], and from the mischief of the women who blow on knots (i.e. witches) and from the mischief of the envier, whenas he envieth.'" chapter cxiv.--"in the name of god the compassionate, the merciful! say [quoth gabriel] 'i take refuge with the lord of men, the king of men, the god of men, from the mischief of the stealthy tempter (i.e. the devil) who whispereth (i.e. insinuateth evil) into the breasts (hearts) of mankind, from jinn and men!'" these two chapters are often written on parchment etc. and worn as an amulet about the person--hence their name. [fn# ] hieratic title of the khalif, as foreman (imam) of the people at prayer. [fn# ] i.e. the jinn that dwell therein. each house, according to muslim belief, has its haunter or domestic spirit. [fn# ] i.e. yearning. [fn# ] i.e. her return. [fn# ] see ante, p. , note . [fn# ] "as for him who is of those brought near unto god, [for him shall be] easance and sweet basil (syn. victual, rihan), and a garden of pleasance."--koran lvi. - . it will be observed that this verse is somewhat garbled in the quotation. [fn# ] meaning apparently, "none of the jinn may tread these carpets, etc., that thou treadest." [fn# ] i.e. to hold festival. [fn# ] this passage may also be rendered, "and in this i do thee a great favour [and honour thee] over all the jinn." [fn# ] lit. "how loathly is that which yonder genie meimoun eateth!" but this is evidently a mistake. see ante, p. . [fn# ] lit. "i have not an eye that availeth to look upon him." [fn# ] i.e. "may i not lack of thy visits!" [fn# ] i.e. "as much again as all thou hast given." [fn# ] the attainment by a boy of the proper age for circumcision, or (so to speak) his religious majority, in a subject for great rejoicing with the mohammedans, and the occasion is celebrated by the giving of as splendid an entertainment as the means of his family will afford, during which he is displayed to view upon a throne or raised seat, arrayed in the richest and ornaments that can be found, hired or borrowed for the purpose. [fn# ] tuhfeh. [fn# ] lit. "be equitable therewith unto;" but the meaning appears to be as above. [fn# ] lit. "places" (mawazi). quaere "shifts" or "positions." [fn# ] see my "book of the thousand nights and one night," vol. vi. p. , isaac of mosul and his mistress and the devil. [fn# ] i.e. method of playing the lute. [fn# ] i.e. not indigenous? [fn# ] apparently the residence of king es shisban. [fn# ] i.e. all the jinn's professions of affection to me and promises of protection, etc. [fn# ] i.e. one so crafty that he was a calamity to his enemies, a common arab phrase used in a complimentary sense. [fn# ] i.e. the flying lion. [fn# ] i.e. how canst thou feel assured of safety, after that which thou hast done? [fn# ] or "life" (ruh). [fn# ] quaere the mountain cat. [fn# ] i.e. why tarriest thou to make an end of her? [fn# ] i.e. arm. [fn# ] i.e. for length. [fn# ] a fabulous mountain-range, believed by the arabs to encompass the world and by which they are supposed to mean the caucasus. [fn# ] the anca, phoenix or griffin, is a fabulous bird that figures largely in persian romance. it is fabled to have dwelt in the mountain caf and to have once carried off a king's daughter on her wedding-day. it is to this legend that the story-teller appears to refer in the text; but i am not aware that the princess in question is represented to have been the daughter of behram gour, the well-known king of persia, who reigned in the first half of the fifth century and was a contemporary of the emperors theodosius the younger and honorius. [fn# ] one of the names of god. [fn# ] i.e. thy return. [fn# ] gift of the breast (heart). [fn# ] binat el hawa, lit. daughters of love. this is the ordinary meaning of the phrase; but the girl in question appears to have been of good repute and the expression, as applied to her, is probably, therefore, only intended to signify a sprightly, frolicsome damsel. [fn# ] lit. the forehead, quare the lintel. [fn# ] or "put to nought" [fn# ] comparing her body, now hidden in her flowing stresses and now showing through them, to a sword, as it flashes in and out of its sheath. [fn# ] about £ . [fn# ] about £ . [fn# ] i.e. all defects for which a man is by law entitled to return a slave-girl to her seller. [fn# ] ed dilem is the ancient media. the allusion to its prison or prisons i do not understand. [fn# ] i.e. the complete ablution prescribed by the mohammedan law after sexual intercourse. [fn# ] it is customary for a newly-married man to entertain his male acquaintances with a collation on the morning after the wedding. [fn# ] lit. more striking and cutting. [fn# ] sherifi, a small gold coin, worth about s. d. [fn# ] or "false pretences." [fn# ] or, as we should say, "the apple." [fn# ] apparently the cadi was our claimed to be a seyyid i.e. descendant of mohammed, through his daughter fatmeh. [fn# ] lit. more ill-omened. [fn# ] i.e. that the law would not allow him to compel the young merchant to divorce his wife. [fn# ] i.e. veil in honour. [fn# ] lit the fire, i.e. hell. [fn# ] i.e. by an irrevocable divorcement (telacan bainan), to wit, such a divorcement as estops the husband from taking back his divorced wife, except with her consent and after the execution of a fresh contract of marriage. the book of delight and other papers by israel abrahams, m.a. author of "jewish life in the middle ages," "chapters on jewish literature," etc. preface the chapters of this volume were almost all spoken addresses. the author has not now changed their character as such, for it seemed to him that to convert them into formal essays would be to rob them of any little attraction they may possess. one of the addresses--that on "medieval wayfaring"--was originally spoken in hebrew, in jerusalem. it was published, in part, in english in the london _jewish chronicle_, and the author is indebted to the conductors of that periodical for permission to include this, and other material, in the present collection. some others of the chapters have been printed before, but a considerable proportion of the volume is quite new, and even those addresses that are reprinted are now given in a fuller and much revised text. as several of the papers were intended for popular audiences, the author is persuaded that it would ill accord with his original design to overload the book with notes and references. these have been supplied only where absolutely necessary, and a few additional notes are appended at the end of the volume. the author realizes that the book can have little permanent value. but as these addresses seemed to give pleasure to those who heard them, he thought it possible that they might provide passing entertainment also to those who are good enough to read them. israel abrahams cambridge, eng., september, contents i. "the book of delight" ii. a visit to hebron iii. the solace of books iv. medieval wayfaring v. the fox's heart vi. "marriages are made in heaven" vii. hebrew love songs viii. a handful of curiosities i. george eliot and solomon maimon ii. how milton pronounced hebrew iii. the cambridge platonists iv. the anglo-jewish yiddish literary society v. the mystics and saints of india vi. lost purim joys vii. jews and letters viii. the shape of matzoth notes index [transcriber's note: index not included in this e-text edition.] "the book of delight" joseph zabara has only in recent times received the consideration justly due to him. yet his "book of delight," finished about the year , is more than a poetical romance. it is a golden link between folk-literature and imaginative poetry. the style is original, and the framework of the story is an altogether fresh adaptation of a famous legend. the anecdotes and epigrams introduced incidentally also partake of this twofold quality. the author has made them his own, yet they are mostly adapted rather than invented. hence, the poem is as valuable to the folklorist as to the literary critic. for, though zabara's compilation is similar to such well-known models as the "book of sindbad," the _kalilah ve-dimnah_, and others of the same class, yet its appearance in europe is half a century earlier than the translations by which these other products of the east became part of the popular literature of the western world. at the least, then, the "book of delight" is an important addition to the scanty store of the folk-lore records of the early part of the thirteenth century. the folk-lore interest of the book is, indeed, greater than was known formerly, for it is now recognized as a variant of the solomon-marcolf legend. on this more will be said below, as a poet and as a writer of hebrew, joseph zabara's place is equally significant. he was one of the first to write extended narratives in hebrew rhymed prose with interspersed snatches of verse, the form invented by arabian poets, and much esteemed as the medium for story-telling and for writing social satire. the best and best-known specimens of this form of poetry in hebrew are charizi's _tachkemoni_, and his translation of hariri. zabara has less art than charizi, and far less technical skill, yet in him all the qualities are in the bud that charizi's poems present in the fullblown flower. the reader of zabara feels that other poets will develop his style and surpass him; the reader of charizi knows of a surety that in him the style has reached its climax. of joseph zabara little is known beyond what may be gleaned from a discriminating study of the "book of delight." that this romance is largely autobiographical in fact, as it is in form, there can be no reasonable doubt. the poet writes with so much indignant warmth of the dwellers in certain cities, of their manner of life, their morals, and their culture, that one can only infer that he is relating his personal experiences. zabara, like the hero of his romance, travelled much during the latter portion of the twelfth century, as is known from the researches of geiger. he was born in barcelona, and returned there to die. in the interval, we find him an apt pupil of joseph kimchi, in narbonne. joseph kimchi, the founder of the famous kimchi family, carried the culture of spain to provence; and joseph zabara may have acquired from kimchi his mastery over hebrew, which he writes with purity and simplicity. the difficulties presented in some passages of the "book of delight" are entirely due to the corrupt state of the text. joseph kimchi, who flourished in provence from to , quotes joseph zabara twice, with approval, in explaining verses in proverbs. it would thus seem that zabara, even in his student days, was devoted to the proverb-lore on which he draws so lavishly in his maturer work. dr. steinschneider, to whom belongs the credit of rediscovering zabara in modern times, infers that the poet was a physician. there is more than probability in the case; there is certainty. the romance is built by a doctor; there is more talk of medicine in it than of any other topic of discussion. moreover, the author, who denies that he is much of a talmudist, accepts the compliment paid to him by his visitor, enan, that he is "skilled and well-informed in the science of medicine." there is, too, a professional tone about many of the quips and gibes in which zabara indulges concerning doctors. here, for instance, is an early form of a witticism that has been attributed to many recent humorists. "a philosopher," says zabara, "was sick unto death, and his doctor gave him up; yet the patient recovered. the convalescent was walking in the street when the doctor met him. 'you come,' said he, 'from the other world.' 'yes,' rejoined the patient, 'i come from there, and i saw there the awful retribution that falls on doctors; for they kill their patients. yet, do not feel alarmed. you will not suffer. i told them on my oath that you are no doctor.'" again, in one of the poetical interludes (found only in the constantinople edition) occurs this very professional sneer, "a doctor and the angel of death both kill, but the former charges a fee." who but a doctor would enter into a scathing denunciation of the current system of diagnosis, as zabara does in a sarcastic passage, which erter may have imitated unconsciously? and if further proof be needed that zabara was a man of science, the evidence is forthcoming; for zabara appeals several times to experiment in proof of his assertions. and to make assurance doubly sure, the author informs his readers in so many words of his extensive medical practice in his native place. if zabara be the author of the other, shorter poems that accompany the "book of delight" in the constantinople edition, though they are not incorporated into the main work, we have a further indication that zabara was a medical man. there is a satirical introduction against the doctors that slay a man before his time. the author, with mock timidity, explains that he withholds his name, lest the medical profession turn its attention to him with fatal results. "never send for a doctor," says the satirist, "for one cannot expect a miracle to happen." it is important, for our understanding of another feature in zabara's work, to observe that his invective, directed against the practitioners rather than the science of medicine, is not more curious as coming from a medical man, than are the attacks on women perpetrated by some jewish poets (zabara among them), who themselves amply experienced, in their own and their community's life, the tender and beautiful relations that subsist between jewish mother and son, jewish wife and husband. the life of joseph ben meïr zabara was not happy. he left barcelona in search of learning and comfort. he found the former, but the latter eluded him. it is hard to say from the "book of delight" whether he was a woman-hater, or not. on the one hand, he says many pretty things about women. the moral of the first section of the romance is: put your trust in women; and the moral of the second section of the poem is: a good woman is the best part of man. but, though this is so, zabara does undoubtedly quote a large number of stories full of point and sting, stories that tell of women's wickedness and infidelity, of their weakness of intellect and fickleness of will. his philogynist tags hardly compensate for his misogynist satires. he runs with the hare, but hunts energetically with the hounds. it is this characteristic of zabara's method that makes it open to doubt, whether the additional stories referred to as printed with the constantinople edition did really emanate from our author's pen. these additions are sharply misogynist; the poet does not even attempt to blunt their point. they include "the widow's vow" (the widow, protesting undying constancy to her first love, eagerly weds another) and "woman's contentions." in the latter, a wicked woman is denounced with the wildest invective. she has demoniac traits; her touch is fatal. a condemned criminal is offered his life if he will wed a wicked woman. "o king," he cried, "slay me; for rather would i die once, than suffer many deaths every day." again, once a wicked woman pursued a heroic man. he met some devils. "what are you running from?" asked they. "from a wicked woman," he answered. the devils turned and ran away with him. one rather longer story may be summarized thus: satan, disguised in human shape, met a fugitive husband, who had left his wicked wife. satan told him that he was in similar case, and proposed a compact. satan would enter into the bodies of men, and the other, pretending to be a skilful physician, would exorcise satan. they would share the profits. satan begins on the king, and the queen engages the confederate to cure the king within three days, for a large fee, but in case of failure the doctor is to die. satan refuses to come out: his real plan is to get the doctor killed in this way. the doctor obtains a respite, and collects a large body of musicians, who make a tremendous din. satan trembles. "what is that noise?" he asks. "your wife is coming," says the doctor. out sprang satan and fled to the end of the earth. these tales and quips, it is true, are directed against "wicked" women, but if zabara really wrote them, it would be difficult to acquit him of woman-hatred, unless the stories have been misplaced, and should appear, as part of the "book of delight," within the leopard section, which rounds off a series of unfriendly tales with a moral friendly to woman. in general, oriental satire directed against women must not be taken too seriously. as güdemann has shown, the very jews that wrote most bitterly of women were loud in praise of their own wives--the women whom alone they knew intimately. woman was the standing butt for men to hurl their darts at, and one cannot help feeling that a good deal of the fun got its point from the knowledge that the charges were exaggerated or untrue. you find the jewish satirists exhausting all their stores of drollery on the subject of rollicking drunkenness. they roar till their sides creak over the humor of the wine-bibber. they laugh at him and with him. they turn again and again to the subject, which shares the empire with women in the jewish poets. yet we know well enough that the writers of these hebrew anacreontic lyrics were sober men, who rarely indulged in overmuch strong drink. in short, the medieval jewish satirists were gifted with much of what a little time ago was foolishly styled "the new humor." joseph zabara was a "new" humorist. he has the quaint subtlety of the author of the "ingoldsby legends," and revelled in the exaggeration of trifles that is the stock-in-trade of the modern funny man. woman plays the part with the former that the mother-in-law played a generation ago with the latter. in zabara, again, there is a good deal of mere rudeness, which the author seems to mistake for cutting repartee. this, i take it, is another characteristic of the so-called new humor. the probable explanation of the marked divergence between zabara's stories and the moral he draws from them lies, however, a little deeper. the stories themselves are probably indian in origin; hence they are marked by the tone hostile to woman so characteristic of indian folk-lore. on the other hand, if zabara himself was a friendly critic of woman, his own moralizings in her favor are explained. this theory is not entirely upset by the presence even of the additional stories, for these, too, are translations, and zabara cannot be held responsible for their contents. the selection of good anecdotes was restricted in his day within very narrow limits. yet zabara's reading must have been extensive. he knew something of astronomy, philosophy, the science of physiognomy, music, mathematics, and physics, and a good deal of medicine. he was familiar with arabian collections of proverbs and tales, for he informs his readers several times that he is drawing on arabic sources. he knew the "choice of pearls," the midrashic "stories of king solomon," the "maxims of the philosophers," the "proverbs of the wise"; but not "sendabar" in its hebrew form. his acquaintance with the language of the bible was thorough; but he makes one or two blunders in quoting the substance of scriptural passages. though he disclaimed the title of a talmudic scholar, he was not ignorant of the rabbinic literature. everyone quotes it: the fox, the woman, enan, and the author. he was sufficiently at home in this literature to pun therein. he also knew the story of tobit, but, as he introduces it as "a most marvellous tale," it is clear that this book of the apocrypha was not widely current in his day. the story, as zabara tells it, differs considerably from the apocryphal version of it. the incidents are misplaced, the story of the betrothal is disconnected from that of the recovery of the money by tobit, and the detail of the gallows occurs in no other known text of the story. in one point, zabara's version strikingly agrees with the hebrew and chaldee texts of tobit as against the greek; tobit's son is not accompanied by a dog on his journey to recover his father's long-lost treasure. one of the tales told by zabara seems to imply a phenomenon of the existence of which there is no other evidence. there seems to have been in spain a small class of jews that were secret converts to christianity. they passed openly for jews, but were in truth christians. the motive for the concealment is unexplained, and the whole passage may be merely satirical. it remains for me to describe the texts now extant of the "book of delight." in the "book of delight" appeared, from a fifteenth century manuscript in paris, in the second volume of a hebrew periodical called the _lebanon_. in the following year the late senior sachs wrote an introduction to it and to two other publications, which were afterwards issued together under the title _yen lebanon_ (paris, ). the editor was aware of the existence of another text, but, strange to tell, he did not perceive the need of examining it. had he done this, his edition would have been greatly improved. for the bodleian library possesses a copy of another edition of the "book of delight," undated, and without place of issue, but printed in constantinople, in . one or two other copies of this edition are extant elsewhere. the editor was isaac akrish, as we gather from a marginal note to the version of tobit given by joseph zabara. this isaac akrish was a travelling bookseller, who printed interesting little books, and hawked them about. dr. steinschneider points out that the date of isaac akrish's edition can be approximately fixed by the type. the type is that of the jaabez press, established in constantinople and salonica in . this constantinople edition is not only longer than the paris edition, it is, on the whole, more accurate. the verbal variations between the two editions are extremely numerous, but the greater accuracy of the constantinople edition shows itself in many ways. the rhymes are much better preserved, though the paris edition is occasionally superior in this respect. but many passages that are quite unintelligible in the paris edition are clear enough in the constantinople edition. the gigantic visitor of joseph, the narrator, the latter undoubtedly the author himself, is a strange being. like the guide of gil bias on his adventures, he is called a demon, and he glares and emits smoke and fire. but he proves amenable to argument, and quotes the story of the washerwoman, to show how it was that he became a reformed character. this devil quotes the rabbis, and is easily convinced that it is unwise for him to wed an ignorant bride. it would seem as though zabara were, on the one hand, hurling a covert attack against some one who had advised him to leave barcelona to his own hurt, while, on the other hand, he is satirizing the current beliefs of jews and christians in evil spirits. more than one passage is decidedly anti-christian, and it would not be surprising to find that the framework of the romance had been adopted with polemic intention. the character of the framework becomes more interesting when it is realized that zabara derived it from some version of the legends of which king solomon is the hero. the king had various adventures with a being more or less demoniac in character, who bears several names: asmodeus, saturn, marcolf, or morolf. that the model for zabara's visitor was solomon's interlocutor, is not open to doubt. the solomon legend occurs in many forms, but in all marcolf (or whatever other name he bears) is a keen contester with the king in a battle of wits. no doubt, at first marcolf filled a serious, respectable rôle; in course of time, his character degenerated into that of a clown or buffoon. it is difficult to summarize the legend, it varies so considerably in the versions. marcolf in the best-known forms, which are certainly older than zabara, is "right rude and great of body, of visage greatly misshapen and foul." sometimes he is a dwarf, sometimes a giant; he is never normal. he appears with his counterpart, a sluttish wife, before solomon, who, recognizing him as famous for his wit and wisdom, challenges him to a trial of wisdom, promising great rewards as the prize of victory. the two exchange a series of questions and answers, which may be compared in spirit, though not in actual content, with the questions and answers to be found in zabara. marcolf succeeds in thoroughly tiring out the king, and though the courtiers are for driving marcolf off with scant courtesy, the king interposes, fulfils his promise, and dismisses his adversary with gifts. marcolf leaves the court, according to one version, with the noble remark, _ubi non est lex, ibi non est rex_. this does not exhaust the story, however. in another part of the legend, to which, again, zabara offers parallels, solomon, being out hunting, comes suddenly on marcolf's hut, and, calling upon him, receives a number of riddling answers, which completely foil him, and tor the solution of which he is compelled to have recourse to the proposer. he departs, however, in good humor, desiring marcolf to come to court the next day and bring a pail of fresh milk and curds from the cow. marcolf fails, and the king condemns him to sit up all night in his company, threatening him with death in the morning, should he fall asleep. this, of course, marcolf does immediately, and he snores aloud. solomon asks, "sleepest thou?"--and marcolf replies, "no, i think."--"what thinkest thou?"--"that there are as many vertebrae in the hare's tail as in his backbone."--the king, assured that he has now entrapped his adversary, replies: "if thou provest not this, thou diest in the morning!" over and over again marcolf snores, and is awakened by solomon, but he is always _thinking_. he gives various answers during the night: there are as many white feathers as black in the magpie.--there is nothing whiter than daylight, daylight is whiter than milk.--nothing can be safely entrusted to a woman.--nature is stronger than education. next day marcolf proves all his statements. thus, he places a pan of milk in a dark closet, and suddenly calls the king. solomon steps into the milk, splashes himself, and nearly falls. "son of perdition! what does this mean?" roars the monarch. "may it please your majesty," says marcolf, "merely to show you that milk is not whiter than daylight." that nature is stronger than education, marcolf proves by throwing three mice, one after the other, before a cat trained to hold a lighted candle in its paws during the king's supper; the cat drops the taper, and chases the mice. marcolf further enters into a bitter abuse of womankind, and ends by inducing solomon himself to join in the diatribe. when the king perceives the trick, he turns marcolf out of court, and eventually orders him to be hanged. one favor is granted to him: he may select his own tree. marcolf and his guards traverse the valley of jehoshaphat, pass to jericho over jordan, through arabia and the red sea, but "never more could marcolf find a tree that he would choose to hang on." by this device, marcolf escapes from solomon's hands, returns home, and passes the rest of his days in peace. the legend, no doubt oriental in origin, enjoyed popularity in the middle ages largely because it became the frame into which could be placed collections of proverbial lore. hence, as happened also with the legend of the queen of sheba and her riddles, the versions vary considerably as to the actual content of the questions and answers bandied between solomon and marcolf. in the german and english versions, the proverbs and wisdom are largely teutonic; in zabara they are oriental, and, in particular, arabic. again, marcolf in the french version of mauclerc is much more completely the reviler of woman. mauclerc wrote almost contemporaneously with zabara (about - , according to kemble). but, on the other hand, mauclerc has no story, and his marcolf is a punning clown rather than a cunning sage. marcolf, who is solomon's brother in a german version, has no trust in a woman even when dead. so, in another version, marcolf is at once supernaturally cunning, and extremely skeptical as to the morality and constancy of woman. but it is unnecessary to enter into the problem more closely. suffice it to have established that in zabara's "book of delight" we have a hitherto unsuspected adaptation of the solomon-marcolf legend. zabara handles the legend with rare originality, and even ventures to cast himself for the title rôle in place of the wisest of kings. in the summary of the book which follows, the rhymed prose of the original hebrew is reproduced only in one case. this form of poetry is unsuited to the english language. what may have a strikingly pleasing effect in oriental speech, becomes, in english, indistinguishable from doggerel. i have not translated at full length, but i have endeavored to render zabara accurately, without introducing thoughts foreign to him. i have not thought it necessary to give elaborate parallels to zabara's stories, nor to compare minutely the various details of the marcolf legend with zabara's poem. on the whole, it may be said that the parallel is general rather than specific. i am greatly mistaken, however, if the collection of stories that follows does not prove of considerable interest to those engaged in the tracking of fables to their native lairs. here, in zabara, we have an earlier instance than was previously known in europe, of an intertwined series of fables and witticisms, partly indian, partly greek, partly semitic, in origin, welded together by the hebrew poet by means of a framework. the use of the framework by a writer in europe in the year is itself noteworthy. and when it is remembered what the framework is, it becomes obvious that the "book of delight" occupies a unique position in medieval literature. the giant guest once on a night, i, joseph, lay upon my bed; sleep was sweet upon me, my one return for all my toil. things there are which weary the soul and rest the body, others that weary the body and rest the soul, but sleep brings calm to the body and the soul at once.... while i slept, i dreamt; and a gigantic but manlike figure appeared before me, rousing me from my slumber. "arise, thou sleeper, rouse thyself and see the wine while it is red; come, sit thee down and eat of what i provide." it was dawn when i hastily rose, and i saw before me wine, bread, and viands; and in the man's hand was a lighted lamp, which cast a glare into every corner. i said, "what are these, my master?" "my wine, my bread, my viands; come, eat and drink with me, for i love thee as one of my mother's sons." and i thanked him, but protested: "i cannot eat or drink till i have prayed to the orderer of all my ways; for moses, the choice of the prophets, and the head of those called, hath ordained, 'eat not with the blood'; therefore no son of israel will eat until he prays for his soul, for the blood is the soul...." then said he, "pray, if such be thy wish"; and i bathed my hands and face, and prayed. then i ate of all that was before me, for my soul loved him.... wine i would not drink, though he pressed me sore. "wine," i said, "blindeth the eyes, robbeth the old of wisdom and the body of strength, it revealeth the secrets of friends, and raiseth dissension between brothers." the man's anger was roused. "why blasphemest thou against wine, and bearest false witness against it? wine bringeth joy; sorrow and sighing fly before it. it strengtheneth the body, maketh the heart generous, prolongeth pleasure, and deferreth age; faces it maketh shine, and the senses it maketh bright." "agreed, but let thy servant take the water first, as the ancient physicians advise; later i will take the wine, a little, without water." when i had eaten and drunk with him, i asked for his name and his purpose. "i come," said he, "from a distant land, from pleasant and fruitful hills, my wisdom is as thine, my laws as thine, my name enan hanatash, the son of arnan ha-desh." i was amazed at the name, unlike any i had ever heard. "come with me from this land, and i will tell thee all my secret lore; leave this spot, for they know not here thy worth and thy wisdom. i will take thee to another place, pleasant as a garden, peopled by loving men, wise above all others." but i answered: "my lord, i cannot go. here are many wise and friendly; while i live, they bear me on the wing of their love; when i die, they will make my death sweet.... i fear thee for thy long limbs, and in thy face i see, clear-cut, the marks of unworthiness; i fear thee, and i will not be thy companion, lest there befall me what befell the leopard with the fox." and i told him the story. in this manner, illustrative tales are introduced throughout the poem. zabara displays rare ingenuity in fitting the illustrations into his framework. he proceeds: the fox and the leopard a leopard once lived in content and plenty; ever he found easy sustenance for his wife and children. hard by there dwelt his neighbor and friend, the fox. the fox felt in his heart that his life was safe only so long as the leopard could catch other prey, and he planned out a method for ridding himself of this dangerous friendship. before the evil cometh, say the wise, counsel is good. "let me move him hence," thought the fox; "i will lead him to the paths of death; for the sages say, 'if one come to slay thee, be beforehand with him, and slay him instead.'" next day the fox went to the leopard, and told him of a spot he had seen, a spot of gardens and lilies, where fawns and does disported themselves, and everything was fair. the leopard went with him to behold this paradise, and rejoiced with exceeding joy. "ah," thought the fox, "many a smile ends in a tear." but the leopard was charmed, and wished to move to this delightful abode; "but, first," said he, "i will go to consult my wife, my lifelong comrade, the bride of my youth." the fox was sadly disconcerted. full well he knew the wisdom and the craft of the leopard's wife. "nay," said he, "trust not thy wife. a woman's counsel is evil and foolish, her heart hard like marble; she is a plague in a house. yes, ask her advice, and do the opposite.".... the leopard told his wife that he was resolved to go. "beware of the fox," she exclaimed; "two small animals there are, the craftiest they, by far--the serpent and the fox. hast thou not heard how the fox bound the lion and slew him with cunning?" "how did the fox dare," asked the leopard, "to come near enough to the lion to do it?" the wife than takes up the parable, and cites the incident of the fox and the lion then said the leopard's wife: the lion loved the fox, but the fox had no faith in him, and plotted his death. one day the fox went to the lion whining that a pain had seized him in the head. "i have heard," said the fox, "that physicians prescribe for a headache, that the patient shall be tied up hand and foot." the lion assented, and bound up the fox with a cord. "ah," blithely said the fox, "my pain is gone." then the lion loosed him. time passed, and the lion's turn came to suffer in his head. in sore distress he went to the fox, fast as a bird to the snare, and exclaimed, "bind me up, brother, that i, too, may be healed, as happened with thee." the fox took fresh withes, and bound the lion up. then he went to fetch great stones, which he cast on the lion's head, and thus crushed him. "therefore, my dear leopard," concluded his wife, "trust not the fox, for i fear him and his wiles. if the place he tells of be so fair, why does not the fox take it for himself?" "nay," said the leopard, "thou art a silly prattler. i have often proved my friend, and there is no dross in the silver of his love." the leopard would not hearken to his wife's advice, yet he was somewhat moved by her warning, and he told the fox of his misgiving, adding, that his wife refused to accompany him. "ah," replied the fox, "i fear your fate will be like the silversmith's; let me tell you his story, and you will know how silly it is to listen to a wife's counsel." the silversmith who followed his wife's counsel a silversmith of babylon, skilful in his craft, was one day at work. "listen to me," said his wife, "and i will make thee rich and honored. our lord, the king, has an only daughter, and he loves her as his life. fashion for her a silver image of herself, and i will bear it to her as a gift." the statue was soon made, and the princess rejoiced at seeing it. she gave a cloak and earrings to the artist's wife, and she showed them to her husband in triumph. "but where is the wealth and the honor?" he asked. "the statue was worth much more than thou hast brought." next day the king saw the statue in his daughter's hand, and his anger was kindled. "is it not ordered," he cried, "that none should make an image? cut off his right hand." the king's command was carried out, and daily the smith wept, and exclaimed, "take warning from me, ye husbands, and obey not the voice of your wives." the leopard shuddered when he heard this tale; but the fox went on: the woodcutter and the woman a hewer of wood in damascus was cutting logs, and his wife sat spinning by his side. "my departed father," she said, "was a better workman than thou. he could chop with both hands: when the right hand was tired, he used the left." "nay," said he, "no woodcutter does that, he uses his right hand, unless he be a left-handed man." "ah, my dear," she entreated, "try and do it as my father did." the witless wight raised his left hand to hew the wood, but struck his right-hand thumb instead. without a word he took the axe and smote her on the head, and she died. his deed was noised about; the woodcutter was seized and stoned for his crime. therefore, continued the fox, i say unto thee, all women are deceivers and trappers of souls. and let me tell you more of these wily stratagems. the fox reinforces his argument by relating an episode in which a contrast is drawn between man's love and woman's a king of the arabs, wise and well-advised, was one day seated with his counsellors, who were loud in the praise of women, lauding their virtues and their wisdom. "cut short these words," said the king. "never since the world began has there been a good woman. they love for their own ends." "but," pleaded his sages, "o king, thou art hasty. women there are, wise and faithful and spotless, who love their husbands and tend their children." "then," said the king, "here is my city before you: search it through, and find one of the good women of whom you speak." they sought, and they found a woman, chaste and wise, fair as the moon and bright as the sun, the wife of a wealthy trader; and the counsellors reported about her to the king. he sent for her husband, and received him with favor. "i have something for thy ear," said the king. "i have a good and desirable daughter: she is my only child; i will not give her to a king or a prince: let me find a simple, faithful man, who will love her and hold her in esteem. thou art such a one; thou shalt have her. but thou art married: slay thy wife to-night, and to-morrow thou shalt wed my daughter." "i am unworthy," pleaded the man, "to be the shepherd of thy flock, much less the husband of thy daughter." but the king would take no denial. "but how shall i kill my wife? for fifteen years she has eaten of my bread and drunk of my cup. she is the joy of my heart; her love and esteem grow day by day." "slay her," said the king, "and be king hereafter." he went forth from the presence, downcast and sad, thinking over, and a little shaken by, the king's temptation. at home he saw his wife and his two babes. "better," he cried, "is my wife than a kingdom. cursed be all kings who tempt men to sip sorrow, calling it joy." the king waited his coming in vain; and then he sent messengers to the man's shop. when he found that the man's love had conquered his lust, he said, with a sneer, "thou art no man: thy heart is a woman's." in the evening the king summoned the woman secretly. she came, and the king praised her beauty and her wisdom. his heart, he said, was burning with love for her, but he could not wed another man's wife. "slay thy husband to-night, and tomorrow be my queen." with a smile, the woman consented; and the king gave her a sword made of tin, for he knew the weak mind of woman. "strike once," he said to her; "the sword is sharp; you need not essay a second blow." she gave her husband a choice repast, and wine to make him drunken. as he lay asleep, she grasped the sword and struck him on the head; and the tin bent, and he awoke. with some ado she quieted him, and he fell asleep again. next morning the king summoned her, and asked whether she had obeyed his orders. "yes," said she, "but thou didst frustrate thine own counsel." then the king assembled his sages, and bade her tell all that she had attempted; and the husband, too, was fetched, to tell his story. "did i not tell you to cease your praises of women?" asked the king, triumphantly. in dispraise of woman the fox follows up these effective narratives with a lengthy string of well-worn quotations against women, of which the following are a few: socrates, the wise and saintly, hated and despised them. his wife was thin and short. they asked him, "how could a man like you choose such a woman for your wrife?" "i chose," said socrates, "of the evil the least possible amount." "why, then, do you look on beautiful women?" "neither," said socrates, "from love nor from desire, but to admire the handiwork of god in their outward form. it is within that they are foul." once he was walking by the way, and he saw a woman hanging from a fig-tree. "would," said socrates, "that all the fruit were like this."--a nobleman built a new house, and wrote over the door, "let nothing evil pass this way." "then how does his wife go in?" asked diogenes.--"your enemy is dead," said one to another. "i would rather hear that he had got married," was the reply. "so much," said the fox to the leopard, "i have told thee that thou mayest know how little women are to be trusted. they deceive men in life, and betray them in death." "but," queried the leopard, "what could my wife do to harm me after i am dead?" "listen," rejoined the fox, "and i will tell thee of a deed viler than any i have narrated hitherto." the widow and her husband's corpse the kings of rome, when they hanged a man, denied him burial until the tenth day. that the friends and relatives of the victim might not steal the body, an officer of high rank was set to watch the tree by night. if the body was stolen, the officer was hung up in its place. a knight of high degree once rebelled against the king, and he was hanged on a tree. the officer on guard was startled at midnight to hear a piercing shriek of anguish from a little distance; he mounted his horse, and rode towards the voice, to discover the meaning. he came to an open grave, where the common people were buried, and saw a weeping woman loud in laments for her departed spouse. he sent her home with words of comfort, accompanying her to the city gate. he then returned to his post. next night the same scene was repeated, and as the officer spoke his gentle soothings to her, a love for him was born in her heart, and her dead husband was forgotten. and as they spoke words of love, they neared the tree, and lo! the body that the officer was set to watch was gone. "begone," he said, "and i will fly, or my life must pay the penalty of my dalliance." "fear not, my lord," she said, "we can raise my husband from his grave and hang him instead of the stolen corpse." "but i fear the prince of death. i cannot drag a man from his grave." "i alone will do it then," said the woman; "i will dig him out; it is lawful to cast a dead man from the grave, to keep a live man from being thrown in." "alas!" cried the officer, when she had done the fearsome deed, "the corpse i watched was bald, your husband has thick hair; the change will be detected." "nay," said the woman, "i will make him bald," and she tore his hair out, with execrations, and they hung him on the tree. but a few days passed and the pair were married. and now the leopard interlude nears it close. zabara narrates the _dénouement_ in these terms: the leopard's fate the leopard's bones rattled while he listened to this tale. angrily he addressed his wife, "come, get up and follow me, or i will slay thee." together they went with their young ones, and the fox was their guide, and they reached the promised place, and encamped by the waters. the fox bade them farewell, his head laughing at his tail. seven days were gone, when the rains descended, and in the deep of the night the river rose and engulfed the leopard family in their beds. "woe is me," sighed the leopard, "that i did not listen to my wife." and he died before his time. the journey begun by joseph and enan the author has now finished his protest against his visitor's design, to make him join him on a roving expedition. enan glares, and asks, "am i a fox, and thou a leopard, that i should fear thee?" then his note changes, and his tone becomes coaxing and bland. joseph cannot resist his fascination. together they start, riding on their asses. then says enan unto joseph, "carry thou me, or i will carry thee." "but," continues the narrator, joseph, "we were both riding on our asses. 'what dost thou mean? our asses carry us both. explain thy words.'--'it is the story of the peasant with the king's officer.'" the clever girl and the king's dream a king with many wives dreamt that he saw a monkey among them; his face fell, and his spirit was troubled. "this is none other," said he, "than a foreign king, who will invade my realm, and take my harem for his spoil." one of his officers told the king of a clever interpreter of dreams, and the king despatched him to find out the meaning of his ominous vision. he set forth on his mule, and met a countryman riding. "carry me," said the officer, "or i will carry thee." the peasant was amazed. "but our asses carry us both," he said. "thou tiller of the earth," said the officer, "thou art earth, and eatest earth. there is snow on the hill," continued the officer, and as the month was tammuz, the peasant laughed. they passed a road with wheat growing on each side. "a horse blind in one eye has passed here," said the officer, "loaded with oil on one side, and with vinegar on the other." they saw a field richly covered with abounding corn, and the peasant praised it. "yes," said the officer, "if the corn is not already eaten." they went on a little further and saw a lofty tower. "well fortified," remarked the peasant. "fortified without, if not ruined within," replied the officer. a funeral passed them. "as to this old man whom they are burying," said the officer, "i cannot tell whether he is alive or dead." and the peasant thought his companion mad to make such unintelligible remarks. they neared a village where the peasant lived, and he invited the officer to stay with him overnight. the peasant, in the dead of the night, told his wife and daughters of the foolish things the officer had said, though he looked quite wise. "nay," said the peasant's youngest daughter, a maiden of fifteen years, "the man is no fool; thou didst not comprehend the depth of his meaning. the tiller of the earth eats food grown from the earth. by the 'snow on the hill' is meant thy white beard (on thy head); thou shouldst have answered, 'time caused it.' the horse blind in one eye he knew had passed, because he saw that the wheat was eaten on one side of the way, and not on the other; and as for its burden, he saw that the vinegar had parched the dust, while the oil had not. his saying, 'carry me, or i will carry thee,' signifies that he who beguiles the way with stories and proverbs and riddles, carries his companion, relieving him from the tedium of the journey. the corn of the field you passed," continued the girl, "was already eaten if the owner was poor, and had sold it before it was reaped. the lofty and stately tower was in ruins within, if it was without necessary stores. about the funeral, too, his remark was true. if the old man left a son, he was still alive; if he was childless, he was, indeed, dead." in the morning, the girl asked her father to give the officer the food she would prepare. she gave him thirty eggs, a dish full of milk, and a whole loaf. "tell me," said she, "how many days old the month is; is the moon new, and the sun at its zenith?" her father ate two eggs, a little of the loaf, and sipped some of the milk, and gave the rest to the officer. "tell thy daughter," he said, "the sun is not full, neither is the moon, for the month is two days old." "ah," laughed the peasant, as he told his daughter the answers of the officer, "ah, my girl, i told you he was a fool, for we are now in the middle of the month." "did you eat anything of what i gave you?" asked the girl of her father. and he told her of the two eggs, the morsel of bread, and the sip of milk that he had taken. "now i know," said the girl, "of a surety that the man is very wise." and the officer, too, felt that she was wise, and so he told her the king's dream. she went back with him to the king, for she told the officer that she could interpret the vision, but would do so only to the king in person, not through a deputy. "search thy harem," said the girl, "and thou wilt find among thy women a man disguised in female garb." he searched, and found that her words were true. the man was slain, and the women, too, and the peasant's daughter became the king's sole queen, for he never took another wife besides her. the night's rest thus joseph and the giant enan journey on, and they stay overnight in a village inn. then commences a series of semi-medical wrangles, which fill up a large portion of the book. joseph demands food and wine, and enan gives him a little of the former and none of the latter. "be still," says enan, "too much food is injurious to a traveller weary from the way. but you cannot be so very hungry, or you would fall to on the dry bread. but wine with its exciting qualities is bad for one heated by a long day's ride." even their asses are starved, and joseph remarks sarcastically, "tomorrow it will be, indeed, a case of carry-thou-me-or-i-thee, for our asses will not be able to bear us." they sleep on the ground, without couch or cover. at dawn enan rouses him, and when he sees that his ass is still alive, he exclaims, "man and beast thou savest, o lord!" the ass, by the way, is a lineal descendant of balaam's animal. they proceed, and the asses nod and bow as though they knew how to pray. enan weeps as they near a town. "here," says he, "my dear friend died, a man of wisdom and judgment. i will tell thee a little of his cleverness." the dishonest singer and the wedding robes a man once came to him crying in distress. his only daughter was betrothed to a youth, and the bridegroom and his father came to the bride's house on the eve of the wedding, to view her ornaments and beautiful clothes. when the bride's parents rose next day, everything had vanished, jewels and trousseau together. they were in despair, for they had lavished all their possessions on their daughter. my friend [continued enan] went back with the man to examine the scene of the robbery. the walls of the house were too high to scale. he found but one place where entry was possible, a crevice in a wall in which an orange tree grew, and its edge was covered with thorns and prickles. next door lived a musician, paltiel ben agan [or adan] by name, and my late friend, the judge, interviewed him, and made him strip. his body was covered with cuts and scratches; his guilt was discovered, and the dowry returned to the last shoe-latchet. "my son," said he, "beware of singers, for they are mostly thieves; trust no word of theirs, for they are liars; they dally with women, and long after other people's money. they fancy they are clever, but they know not their left hand from their right; they raise their hands all day and call, but know not to whom. a singer stands at his post, raised above all other men, and he thinks he is as lofty as his place. he constantly emits sounds, which mount to his brain, and dry it up; hence he is so witless." then enan tells joseph another story of his friend the judge's sagacity: the nobleman and the necklace a man lived in cordova, jacob by name, the broker; he was a man of tried honesty. once a jewelled necklet was entrusted to him for sale by the judge, the owner demanding five hundred pieces of gold as its price. jacob had the chain in his hand when he met a nobleman, one of the king's intimate friends. the nobleman offered four hundred pieces for the necklet, which jacob refused. "come with me to my house, and i will consider the price," said the would-be purchaser. the jew accompanied him home, and the nobleman went within. jacob waited outside the gate till the evening, but no one came out. he passed a sleepless night with his wife and children, and next morning returned to the nobleman. "buy the necklace," said he, "or return it." the nobleman denied all knowledge of the jewels, so jacob went to the judge. he sent for the nobles, to address them as was his wont, and as soon as they had arrived, he said to the thief's servant, "take your master's shoe and go to his wife. show the shoe and say, your lord bids me ask you for the necklace he bought yesterday, as he wishes to exhibit its beauty to his friends." the wife gave the servant the ornament, the theft was made manifest, and it was restored to its rightful owner. and enan goes on: the son and the slave a merchant of measureless wealth had an only son, who, when he grew up, said, "father, send me on a voyage, that i may trade and see foreign lands, and talk with men of wisdom, to learn from their words." the father purchased a ship, and sent him on a voyage, with much wealth and many friends. the father was left at home with his slave, in whom he put his trust, and who filled his son's place in position and affection. suddenly a pain seized him in the heart, and he died without directing how his property was to be divided. the slave took possession of everything; no one in the town knew whether he was the man's slave or his son. ten years passed, and the real son returned, with his ship laden with wealth. as they approached the harbor, the ship was wrecked. they had cast everything overboard, in a vain effort to save it; finally, the crew and the passengers were all thrown into the sea. the son reached the shore destitute, and returned to his father's house; but the slave drove him away, denying his identity. they went before the judge. "find the loathly merchant's grave," he said to the slave, "and bring me the dead man's bones. i shall burn them for his neglect to leave a will, thus rousing strife as to his property." the slave started to obey, but the son stayed him. "keep all," said he, "but disturb not my father's bones." "thou art the son," said the judge; "take this other as thy lifelong slave." joseph and enan pass to the city of tobiah. at the gate they are accosted by an old and venerable man, to whom they explain that they have been on the way for seven days. he invites them to his home, treats them hospitably, and after supper tells them sweet and pleasant tales, "among his words an incident wonderful to the highest degree." this wonderful story is none other than a distorted version of the book of tobit. i have translated this in full, and in rhymed prose, as a specimen of the original. the story of tobit here, in the days of the saints of old, in the concourse of elders of age untold, there lived a man upright and true, in all his doings good fortune he knew. rich was he and great, his eyes looked ever straight: tobiah, the son of ahiah, a man of dan, helped the poor, to each gave of his store; whene'er one friendless died, the shroud he supplied, bore the corpse to the grave, nor thought his money to save. the men of the place, a sin-ruled race, slandering, cried, "o king, these jewish knaves open our graves! our bones they burn, into charms to turn, health to earn." the king angrily spoke: "i will weighten their yoke, and their villainy repay; all the jews who, from to-day, die in this town, to the pit take down, to the pit hurry all, without burial. who buries a jew, the hour shall rue; bitter his pang, on the gallows shall he hang." soon a sojourner did die, and no friends were by; but good tobiah the corpse did lave, and dress it for the grave. some sinners saw the deed, to the judge the word they gave, who tobiah's death decreed. forth the saint they draw, to hang him as by law. but now they near the tree, lo! no man can see, a blindness falls on all, and tobiah flies their thrall. many friends his loss do weep, but homewards he doth creep, god's mercies to narrate, and his own surprising fate, "praise ye the lord, dear friends, for his mercy never ends, and to his servants good intends." fear the king distressed, his heart beat at his breast, new decrees his fear expressed. "whoe'er a jew shall harm," the king cried in alarm, "touching his person or personalty, touches the apple of my eye; let no man do this wrong, or i'll hang him 'mid the throng, high though his rank, and his lineage long." and well he kept his word, he punished those who erred; but on the jews his mercies shone, the while he rilled the throne. once lay the saint at rest, and glanced upon the nest of a bird within his room. ah! cruel was his doom! into his eye there went the sparrow's excrement. tobiah's sight was gone! he had an only son, whom thus he now addressed: "when business ventures pressed, i passed from clime to clime. well i recall the time, when long i dwelt in ind, of wealth full stores to find. but perilous was the road, and entrusted i my load with one of honest fame, peër hazeman his name. and now list, beloved son, go out and hire thee one, thy steps forthwith to guide unto my old friend's side. i know his love's full stream, his trust he will redeem; when heareth he my plight, when seeth he thy sight, then will he do the right." the youth found whom he sought, a man by travel taught, the ways of ind he knew; he knew them through and through, he knew them up and down, as a townsman knows his town. he brought him to his sire, who straightway did inquire, "knowest thou an indian spot, a city named tobot?"--"full well i know the place, i spent a two years' space in various enterprise; its people all are wise, and honest men and true."--"what must i give to you," asked tobiah of his guest," to take my son in quest?"--"of pieces pure of gold, full fifty must be told."--"i'll pay you that with joy; start forth now with my boy." a script the son did write, which tobiah did indite, and on his son bestow a sign his friend would know. the father kissed his son, "in peace," said he, "get gone; may god my life maintain till thou art come again." the youth and guide to tobot hied, and reached anon peër hazeman. "why askest thou my name?" straight the answer came, "tobiah is my sire, and he doth inquire of thy health and thy household's." then the letter he unfolds. the contents peër espies, every doubt flies, he regards the token with no word spoken. "'tis the son of my friend, who greeting thus doth send. is it well with him? say."--"well, well with him alway."--"then dwell thou here a while, and hours sweet beguile with the tales which thou wilt tell of him i loved so well."--"nay, i must forthwith part to soothe my father's heart. i am his only trust, return at once i must." peër hazeman agrees the lad to release; gives him all his father's loan, and gifts adds of his own, raiment and two slaves. to music's pleasant staves, the son doth homeward wend. by the shore of the sea went the lad full of glee, and the wind blew a blast, and a fish was upward cast. then hastened the guide to ope the fish's side, took the liver and the gall, for cure of evil's thrall: liver to give demons flight, gall to restore men's sight. the youth begged his friend these specifics to lend, then went he on his way to where his sick sire lay. then spake the youth to his father all the truth. "send not away the guide without pay." the son sought the man, through the city he ran, but the man had disappeared. said tobiah, "be not afeared, 'twas elijah the seer, whom god sent here to stand by our side, our needs to provide." he bathed both his eyes with the gall of the prize, and his sight was restored by the grace of the lord. then said he to his son, "now god his grace has shown, dost thou not yearn to do a deed in turn? my niece forthwith wed."--"but her husbands three are dead, each gave up his life as each made her his wife; to her shame and to her sorrow, they survived not to the morrow."--"nay, a demon is the doer of this harm to every wooer. my son, obey my wish, take the liver of the fish, and burn it in full fume, at the door of her room,'twill give the demon his doom." at his father's command, with his life in his hand, the youth sought the maid, and wedded her unafraid. for long timid hours his prayer tobiah pours; but the incense was alight, the demon took to flight, and safe was all the night. long and happily wed, their lives sweetly sped. their entertainer tells joseph and enan another story of piety connected with the burial of the dead: the paralytics touchstone of virtue once upon a time there lived a saintly man, whose abode was on the way to the graveyard. every funeral passed his door, and he would ever rise and join in the procession, and assist those engaged in the burial. in his old age his feet were paralyzed, and he could not leave his bed; the dead passed his doors, and he sighed that he could not rise to display his wonted respect. then prayed he to the lord: "o lord, who givest eyes to the blind and feet to the lame, hear me from the corner of my sorrowful bed. grant that when a pious man is borne to his grave, i may be able to rise to my feet." an angel's voice in a vision answered him, "lo, thy prayer is heard." and so, whenever a pious man was buried, he rose and prayed for his soul. on a day, there died one who had grown old in the world's repute, a man of excellent piety, yet the lame man could not rise as his funeral passed. next day died a quarrelsome fellow of ill fame for his notorious sins, and when his body was carried past the lame man's door, the paralytic was able to stand. every one was amazed, for hitherto the lame man's rising or resting had been a gauge of the departed's virtue. two sage men resolved to get to the bottom of the mystery. they interviewed the wife of the fellow who had died second. the wife confirmed the worst account of him, but added: "he had an old father, aged one hundred years, and he honored and served him. every day he kissed his hand, gave him drink, stripped and dressed him when, from old age, he could not turn himself on his couch; daily he brought ox and lamb bones, from which he drew the marrow, and made dainty foods of it." and the people knew that honoring his father had atoned for his transgressions. then the two inquisitors went to the house of the pious man, before whom the paralytic had been unable to rise. his widow gave him an excellent character; he was gentle and pious; prayed three times a day, and at midnight rose and went to a special chamber to say his prayers. no one had ever seen the room but himself, as he ever kept the key in his bosom. the two inquisitors opened the door of this chamber, and found a small box hidden in the window-sill; they opened the box, and found in it a golden figure bearing a crucifix. thus the man had been one of those who do the deeds of zimri, and expect the reward of phineas. table talk joseph and enan then retire to rest, and their sleep is sweet and long. by strange and devious ways they continue their journey on the morrow, starting at dawn. again they pass the night at the house of one of enan's friends, rabbi judah, a ripe old sage and hospitable, who welcomes them cordially, feeds them bountifully, gives them spiced dishes, wine of the grape and the pomegranate, and then tells stories and proverbs "from the books of the arabs." a man said to a sage, "thou braggest of thy wisdom, but it came from me." "yes," replied the sage, "and it forgot its way back."--who is the worst of men? he who is good in his own esteem.--said a king to a sage, "sweet would be a king's reign if it lasted forever." "had such been your predecessor's lot," replied the wise man, "how would you have reached the throne?"--a man laid a complaint before the king; the latter drove the suppliant out with violence. "i entered with one complaint," sighed the man, "i leave with two."--what is style? be brief and do not repeat yourself.--the king once visited a nobleman's house, and asked the latter's son, "whose house is better, your father's or mine?" "my father's," said the boy, "while the king is in it."--a king put on a new robe, which did not become him. "it is not good to wear," said a courtier, "but it is good to put on." the king put the robe on him.--a bore visited a sick man. "what ails thee?" he asked. "thy presence," said the sufferer.--a man of high lineage abused a wise man of lowly birth. "my lineage is a blot on me," retorted a sage, "thou art a blot on thy lineage."--to another who reviled him for his lack of noble ancestry, he retorted, "thy noble line ends with thee, with me mine begins."--diogenes and dives were attacked by robbers. "woe is me," said dives, "if they recognize me." "woe is me," said diogenes, "if they do not recognize me."--a philosopher sat by the target at which the archers were shooting. "'tis the safest spot," said he.--an arab's brother died. "why did he die?" one asked. "because he lived," was the answer.--"what hast thou laid up for the cold weather?" they asked a poor fellow. "shivering," he answered.--death is the dread of the rich and the hope of the poor.--which is the best of the beasts? woman.--hide thy virtues as thou hidest thy faults.--a dwarf brought a complaint to his king. "no one," said the king, "would hurt such a pigmy." "but," retorted the dwarf, "my injurer is smaller than i am."--a dolt sat on a stone. "lo, a blockhead on a block," said the passers-by.--"what prayer make you by night?" they asked a sage. "fear god by day, and by night you will sleep, not pray."--rather a wise enemy than a foolish friend.--not everyone who flees escapes, not everyone who begs has need.--a sage had weak eyes. "heal them," said they. "to see what?" he rejoined.--a fool quarrelled with a sage. said the former, "for every word of abuse i hear from thee, i will retort ten." "nay," replied the other, "for every ten words of abuse i hear from thee, i will not retort one."--an honest man cannot catch a thief.--all things grow with time except grief.--the character of the sent tells the character of the sender.--what is man's best means of concealment? speech.--"why walkest thou so slowly?" asked the lad of the greybeard. "my years are a chain to my feet: and thy years are preparing thy chain."--do not swallow poison because you know an antidote.--the king heard a woman at prayer. "o god," she said, "remove this king from us." "and put a better in his stead," added the eavesdropping monarch.--take measure for this life as though thou wilt live forever; prepare for the next world as though thou diest to-morrow.--"he will die," said the doctor, but the patient recovered. "you have returned from the other world," said the doctor when he met the man. "yes," said the latter, "and the doctors have a bad time there. but fear not. thou art no doctor."--three things weary: a lamp that will not burn, a messenger that dawdles, a table spread and waiting. then follows a string of sayings about _threes_: reason rules the body, wisdom is the pilot, law is its light. might is the lion's, burdens are the ox's, wisdom is man's; spinning the spider's, building the bee's, making stores the ant's. in three cases lying is permissible: in war, in reconciling man to man, in appeasing one's wife. their host concludes his lengthy list of sententious remarks thus: a king had a signet ring, on which were engraved the words, "thou hast bored me: rise!" and when a guest stayed too long, he showed the visitor the ring.-the heir of a wealthy man squandered his money, and a sage saw him eating bread and salted olives. "hadst thou thought that this would be thy food, this would not be thy food."-marry no widow. she will lament her first husband's death. the city of enan this was the signal for the party to retire to rest. next day the wayfarers reach enan's own city, the place he had all along desired joseph to see. he shows joseph his house; but the latter replies, "i crave food, not sight-seeing." "surely," says enan, "the more hurry the less speed." at last the table is spread; the cloth is ragged, the dishes contain unleavened bread, such as there is no pleasure in eating, and there is a dish of herbs and vinegar. then ensues a long wrangle, displaying much medical knowledge, on the physiology of herbs and vegetables, on the eating of flesh, much and fast. enan makes sarcastic remarks on joseph's rapacious appetite. he tells joseph, he must not eat this or that. a joint of lamb is brought on the table, enan says the head is bad, and the feet, and the flesh, and the fat; so that joseph has no alternative but to eat it all. "i fear that what happened to the king, will befall thee," said enan. "let me feed first," said joseph; "then you can tell me what happened to the king." the princess and the rose a gardener came to his garden in the winter. it was the month of tebet, and he found some roses in flower. he rejoiced at seeing them; and he plucked them, and put them on a precious dish, carried them to the king, and placed them before him. the king was surprised, and the flowers were goodly in his sight; and he gave the gardener one hundred pieces of gold. then said the king in his heart, "to-day we will make merry, and have a feast." all his servants and faithful ministers were invited to rejoice over the joy of the roses. and he sent for his only daughter, then with child; and she stretched forth her hand to take a rose, and a serpent that lay in the dish leapt at her and startled her, and she died before night. question and answer but joseph's appetite was not to be stayed by such tales as this. so enan tells him of the "lean fox and the hole"; but in vain. "open not thy mouth to satan," says joseph. "i fear for my appetite, that it become smaller"; and goes on eating. now enan tries another tack: he will question him, and put him through his paces. but joseph yawns and protests that he has eaten too much to keep his eyes open. "how canst thou sleep," said enan, "when thou hast eaten everything, fresh and stale? as i live, thou shalt not seek thy bed until i test thy wisdom-until i prove whether all this provender has entered the stomach of a wise man or a fool." then follows an extraordinary string of anatomical, medical, scientific, and talmudic questions about the optic nerves; the teeth; why a man lowers his head when thinking over things he has never known, but raises his head when thinking over what he once knew but has forgotten; the physiology of the digestive organs, the physiology of laughter; why a boy eats more than a man; why it is harder to ascend a hill than to go down; why snow is white; why babies have no teeth; why children's first set of teeth fall out; why saddest tears are saltest; why sea water is heavier than fresh; why hail descends in summer; why the sages said that bastards are mostly clever. to these questions, which enan pours out in a stream, joseph readily gives answers. but now enan is hoist with his own petard. "i looked at him," continues the poet, "and sleep entrapped his eyes, and his eyelids kissed the irides. ah! i laughed in my heart. now i will talk to him, and puzzle him as he has been puzzling me. he shall not sleep, as he would not let me sleep. 'my lord,' said i, 'let me now question thee.' 'i am sleepy,' said he, 'but ask on.' 'what subject shall i choose?' i said. 'any subject,' he replied; 'of all knowledge i know the half.'" joseph asks him astronomical, musical, logical, arithmetical questions; to all of which enan replies, "i do not know." "but," protests joseph, "how couldst thou assert that thou knewest half of every subject, when it is clear thou knowest nothing?" "exactly," says enan, "for aristotle says, 'he who says, i do not know, has already attained the half of knowledge.'" but he says he knows medicine; so joseph proceeds to question him. soon he discovers that enan is again deceiving him; and he abuses enan roundly for his duplicity. enan at length is moved to retort. "i wonder at thy learning," says enan, "but more at thy appetite." then the lamp goes out, the servant falls asleep, and they are left in darkness till the morning. then joseph demands his breakfast, and goes out to see his ass. the ass attempts to bite joseph, who strikes it, and the ass speaks. "i am one of the family of balaam's ass," says the animal. "but i am not balaam," says joseph, "to divine that thou hast eaten nothing all night." the servant asserts that he fed the ass, but the animal had gobbled up everything, his appetite being equal to his owner's. but joseph will not believe this, and enan is deeply hurt. "peace!" he shouts, and his eyes shoot flames, and his nostrils distil smoke. "peace, cease thy folly, or, as i live, and my ancestor asmodeus, i will seize thee with my little finger, and will show thee the city of david." in timid tones joseph asks him, "who is this asmodeus, thy kinsman?" enan reveals himself "asmodeus," said enan, "the great prince who, on his wing, bore solomon from his kingdom to a distant strand." "woe is me," i moaned, "i thought thee a friend; now thou art a fiend. why didst thou hide thy nature? why didst thou conceal thy descent? why hast thou taken me from my home in guile?" "nay," said enan, "where was thy understanding? i gave thee my name, thou shouldst have inverted it" [i.e., transpose _desh_ to _shed_. enan at the beginning of the tale had announced himself as _ha-desh_, he now explains that meant _ha-shed_ = the demon]. then enan gives his pedigree: "i am enan, the satan, son of arnan the demon, son of the place of death, son of rage, son of death's shadow, son of terror, son of trembling, son of destruction, son of extinction, son of evil-name, son of mocking, son of plague, son of deceit, son of injury, son of asmodeus." nevertheless enan quiets joseph's fears, and promises that no harm shall befall him. he goes through enan's city, sees wizards and sorcerers, and sinners and fools, all giants. enan's friend and his daughter then enan introduces his own especial friend. "he is good and wise," said enan, "despite his tall stature. he shows his goodness in hating the wise and loving fools; he is generous, for he will give a beggar a crust of dry bread, and make him pay for it; he knows medicine, for he can tell that if a man is buried, he either has been sick, or has had an accident; he knows astronomy, for he can tell that it is day when the sun shines, and night when the stars appear; he knows arithmetic, for he can tell that one and one make two; he knows mensuration, for he can tell how many handbreadths his belly measures; he knows music, for he can tell the difference between the barking of a dog and the braying of an ass." "but, said i," continues joseph, "how canst thou be the friend of such a one? accursed is he, accursed his master." "nay," answered enan, "i love him not; i know his vile nature: 'tis his daughter that binds me to him, for she, with her raven locks and dove's eyes and lily cheeks, is fair beyond my power to praise." yet i warned him against marrying the daughter of an uneducated man, an am ha-arez. then follows a compilation of passages directed against ignorance. "ah!" cries enan, "your warning moves me. my love for her is fled. thou fearest god and lovest me, my friend. what is a friend? one heart in two bodies. then find me another wife, one who is beautiful and good. worse than a plague is a bad woman. listen to what once befell me with such a one." thereupon enan introduces the last of the stories incorporated into the book: the washerwoman who did the devil's work once upon a time, in my wanderings to and fro upon the earth, i came to a city whose inhabitants dwelt together, happy, prosperous, and secure. i made myself well acquainted with the place and the people, but, despite all my efforts, i was unable to entrap a single one. "this is no place for me," i said, "i had better return to my own country." i left the city, and, journeying on, came across a river, at the brink of which i seated myself. scarcely had i done so, when a woman appeared bearing her garments to be washed in the river. she looked at me, and asked, "art thou of the children of men or of demons?" "well," said i, "i have grown up among men, but i was born among demons." "but what art thou after here?" "ah," i replied, "i have spent a whole month in yonder city. and what have i found? a city full of friends, enjoying every happiness in common. in vain have i tried to put a little of wickedness among them." then the woman, with a supercilious air: "if i am to take thee for a specimen, i must have a very poor opinion of the whole tribe of demons. you seem mighty enough, but you haven't the strength of women. stop here and keep an eye on the wash; but mind, play me no tricks. i will go back to the city and kindle therein fire and fury, and pour over it a spirit of mischief, and thou shalt see how i can manage things." "agreed!" said i, "i will stay here and await thy coming, and watch how affairs turn out in thy hands." the washerwoman departed, went into the city, called upon one of the great families there residing, and requested to see the lady of the house. she asked for a washing order, which she promised to execute to the most perfect satisfaction. while the housemaid was collecting the linen, the washerwoman lifted her eyes to the beautiful face of the mistress, and exclaimed: "yes, they are a dreadful lot, the men; they are all alike, a malediction on them! the best of them is not to be trusted. they love all women but their own wives." "what dost thou mean?" asked the lady. "merely this," she answered. "coming hither from my house, whom should i meet but thy husband making love to another woman, and such a hideous creature, too! how he could forsake beauty so rare and exquisite as thine for such disgusting ugliness, passes my understanding. but do not weep, dear lady, don't distress thyself and give way. i know a means by which i shall bring that husband of thine to his senses, so that thou shalt suffer no reproach, and he shall never love any other woman than thee. this is what thou must do. when thy husband comes home, speak softly and sweetly to him; let him suspect nothing; and when he has fallen asleep, take a sharp razor and cut off three hairs from his beard; black or white hairs, it matters not. these thou must afterwards give to me, and with them i will compound such a remedy that his eyes shall be darkened in their sockets, so that he will look no more upon other lovely women, but cling to thee alone in mighty and manifest and enduring love." all this the lady promised, and gifts besides for the washerwoman, should her plan prosper. carrying the garments with her, the woman now sought out the lady's husband. with every sign of distress in her voice and manner, she told him that she had a frightful secret to divulge to him. she knew not if she would have the strength to do so. she would rather die first the husband was all the more eager to know, and would not be refused. "well, then," she said, "i have just been to thy house, where my lady, thy wife, gave me these garments to wash; and, while i was yet standing there, a youth, of handsome mien and nobly attired, arrived, and the two withdrew into an adjoining room: so i inclined mine ear to listen to their speech, and this is what i overheard: the young man said to thy wife, 'kill thy husband, and i will marry thee,' she, however, declared that she was afraid to do such a dreadful deed. 'o,' answered he, 'with a little courage it is quite easy. when thy husband is asleep, take a sharp razor and cut his throat.'" in fierce rage, but suppressing all outward indication of it, the husband returned home. pretending to fall asleep, he watched his wife closely, saw her take a razor to sever the three hairs for the washerwoman's spell, darted up suddenly, wrested the razor from her hands, and with it slew his wife on the spot. the news spread; the relations of the wife united to avenge her death, and kill the husband. in their turn his relatives resolved to avenge him; both houses were embroiled, and before the feud was at an end, two hundred and thirty lives were sacrificed. the city resounded with a great cry, the like of which had never been heard. "from that day," concluded enan, "i decided to injure no man more. yet for this very reason i fear to wed an evil woman." "fear not," returned joseph, "the girl i recommend is beautiful and good." and enan married her, and loved her. thus enan is metamorphosed from a public demon into something of a domestic saint. zabara gives us an inverted faust. joseph returns home to barcelona "after a while," concludes joseph, "i said to him, 'i have sojourned long enough in this city, the ways of which please me not. ignorance prevails, and poetry is unknown; the law is despised; the young are set over the old; they slander and are impudent. let me go home after my many years of wandering in a strange land. fain would i seek the place where dwells the great prince, rabbi sheshet benveniste, of whom wisdom says, thou art my teacher, and faith, thou art my friend.' 'what qualitie,' asked enan, 'brought him to this lofty place of righteousness and power?' 'his simplicity and humility, his uprightness and saintliness.'" and with this eulogy of the aged rabbi of barcelona, the poem somewhat inconsequently ends. it may be that the author left the work without putting in the finishing touches. this would account for the extra stories, which, as was seen above, may belong to the book, though not incorporated into it. it will be thought, from the summary mode in which i have rendered these stories, that i take zabara to be rather a literary curiosity than a poet. but zabara's poetical merits are considerable. if i have refrained from attempting a literal rendering, it is mainly because the rhymed-prose _genre_ is so characteristically oriental that its charm is incommunicable in a western language. hence, to those who do not read zabara in the original, he is more easily appreciated as a _conteur_ than as an imaginative writer. to the hebraist, too, something of the same remark applies. rhymed prose is not much more consistent with the genius of hebrew than it is with the genius of english. arabic and persian seem the only languages in which rhymed prose assumes a natural and melodious shape. in the new-hebrew, rhymed prose has always been an exotic, never quite a native flower. the most skilful gardeners failed to acclimatize it thoroughly in european soil. yet zabara's humor, his fluent simplicity, his easy mastery over hebrew, his invention, his occasional gleams of fancy, his gift of satire, his unfailing charm, combine to give his poem some right to the title by which he called it--"the book of delight." a visit to hebron of a land where every stone has its story, it can hardly be asserted that any one place has a fuller tale to tell than another. but hebron has a peculiar old-world charm as the home of the founder of the hebrew race. moreover, one's youthful imagination associates hebron with the giants, the sons of anak, sons, that is, of the long neck; men of arba, with broad, square shoulders. a sight of the place itself revives this memory. ancient hebron stood higher than the present city, but as things now are, though the hills of judea reach their greatest elevation in the neighborhood, hebron itself rests in a valley. most towns in palestine are built on hills, but hebron lies low. yet the surrounding hills are thirty-two hundred feet above the level of the mediterranean, and five hundred feet higher than mount olivet. for this reason hebron is ideally placed for conveying an impression of the mountainous character of judea. in jerusalem you are twenty-six hundred feet above the sea, but, being high up, you scarcely realize that you are in a mountain city. the hills about hebron tower loftily above you, and seem a fitting abode for the giants whom joshua and caleb overthrew. hebron, from yet another point of view, recalls its old-world associations. not only is hebron one of the oldest cities in the world still inhabited, but it has been far less changed by western influences than other famous places. hebron is almost entirely unaffected by christian influence. in the east, christian influence more or less means european influence, but hebron is still completely oriental. it is a pity that modern travellers no longer follow the ancient route which passed from egypt along the coast to gaza, and then struck eastwards to hebron. by this route, the traveller would come upon judea in its least modernized aspect. he would find in hebron a city without a hotel, and unblessed by an office of the monarch of the east, mr. cook. there are no modern schools in hebron; the only institution of the kind, the mildmay mission school, had scarcely any pupils at the time of my visit. this is but another indication of the slight effect that european forces are producing; the most useful, so far, has been the medical mission of the united free church of scotland. but hebron has been little receptive of the educational and sanitary boons that are the chief good--and it is a great good--derived from the european missions in the east. i am almost reluctant to tell the truth, as i must, of hebron, and point out the pitiful plight of our brethren there, lest, perchance, some philanthropists set about mending the evil, to the loss of the primitiveness in which hebron at present revels. this is the pity of it. when you employ a modern broom to sweep away the dirt of an ancient city, your are apt to remove something else as well as the dirt. besides its low situation and its primitiveness, hebron has a third peculiarity. go where one may in judea, the ancient places, even when still inhabited, wear a ruined look. zion itself is scarcely an exception. despite its fifty thousand inhabitants, jerusalem has a decayed appearance, for the newest buildings often look like ruins. the cause of this is that many structures are planned on a bigger scale than can be executed, and thus are left permanently unfinished, or like the windmill of sir moses are disused from their very birth. hebron, in this respect again, is unlike the other cities of judea. it had few big buildings, hence it has few big ruins. there are some houses of two stories in which the upper part has never been completed, but the houses are mostly of one story, with partially flat and partially domed roofs. the domes are the result both of necessity and design; of necessity, because of the scarcity of large beams for rafters; of design, because the dome enables the rain to collect in a groove, or channel, whence it sinks into a reservoir. hebron, then, produces a favorable impression on the whole. it is green and living, its hills are clad with vines, with plantations of olives, pomegranates, figs, quinces, and apricots. nowhere in judea, except in the jordan valley, is there such an abundance of water. in the neighborhood of hebron, there are twenty-five springs, ten large perennial wells, and several splendid pools. still, as when the huge cluster was borne on two men's shoulders from eshkol, the best vines of palestine grow in and around hebron. the only large structure in the city, the mosque which surmounts the cave of machpelah, is in excellent repair, especially since - , when the jewish lads from the _alliance_ school of jerusalem renewed the iron gates within, and supplied fresh rails to the so-called sarcophagi of the patriarchs. the ancient masonry built round the cave by king herod, the stones of which exactly resemble the masonry of the wailing place in jerusalem, still stands in its massive strength. i have said that hebron ought to be approached from the south or west. the modern traveller, however, reaches it from the north. you leave jerusalem by the jaffa gate, called by the mohammedans bab el-khalil, _i.e._ hebron gate. the mohammedans call hebron el-khalil, city of the friend of god, a title applied to abraham both in jewish and mohammedan tradition. some, indeed, derive the name hebron from chaber, comrade or friend; but hebron may mean "confederation of cities," just as its other name, kiriath-arba, may possibly mean tetrapolis. the distance from jerusalem to hebron depends upon the views of the traveller. you can easily get to hebron in four hours and a half by the new carriage road, but the distance, though less than twenty miles, took me fourteen hours, from five in the morning till seven at night. most travellers turn aside to the left to see the pools of solomon, and the grave of rachel lies on the right of the highroad itself. it is a modern building with a dome, and the most affecting thing is the rough-hewn block of stone worn smooth by the lips of weeping women. on the opposite side of the road is tekoah, the birthplace of amos; before you reach it, five miles more to the north, you get a fine glimpse also of bethlehem, the white city, cleanest of judean settlements. travellers tell you that the rest of the road is uninteresting. i did not find it so. for the motive of my journey was just to see those "uninteresting" sites, beth-zur, where judas maccabeus won such a victory that he was able to rededicate the temple, and beth-zacharias, through whose broad valley-roads the syrian elephants wound their heavy way, to drive judas back on his precarious base at the capital. it is somewhat curious that this indifference to the maccabean sites is not restricted to christian tourists. for, though several jewish travellers passed from jerusalem to hebron in the middle ages, none of them mentions the maccabean sites, none of them spares a tear or a cheer for judas maccabeus. they were probably absorbed in the memory of the patriarchs and of king david, the other and older names identified with this district. medieval fancy, besides, was too busy with peopling hebron with myths to waste itself on sober facts. hebron, according to a very old notion, was the place where adam and eve lived after their expulsion from eden; it was from hebron's red earth that the first man was made. the _pirke di rabbi eliezer_ relate, that when the three angels visited abraham, and he went to get a lamb for their meal, the animal fled into a cave. abraham followed it, and saw adam and eve lying asleep, with lamps burning by their tombs, and a sweet savor, as of incense, emanating from the dead father and mother of human-kind. abraham conceived a love for the cave, and hence desired it for sarah's resting-place. i suppose that some will hold, that we are not on surer historical ground when we come to the biblical statement that connects abraham with hebron. before arguing whether abraham lived in hebron, and was buried in machpelah, one ought to prove that abraham ever lived at all, to be buried anywhere. but i shall venture to take abraham's real existence for granted, as i am not one of those who think that a statement must be false because it is made in the book of genesis. that there was a very ancient shrine in hebron, that the great tree of mamre was the abode of a local deity, may be conceded, but to my mind there is no more real figure in history than abraham. especially when one compares the modern legends with the biblical story does the substantial truth of the narrative in genesis manifest itself. the narrative may contain elements of folk poetry, but the hero abraham is a genuine personality. as i have mentioned the tree, it may be as well to add at once that abraham's oak is still shown at hebron, and one can well imagine how it was thought that this magnificent terebinth dated from bible times. a few years ago it was a fresh, vigorous giant, but now it is quite decayed. the ruin began in , when a large branch was broken off by the weight of the snow. twelve years ago the russian archimandrite of jerusalem purchased the land on which the tree stands, and naturally he took much care of the relic. in fact, he took too much care, for some people think that the low wall which the russians erected as a safeguard round the oak, has been the cause of the rapid decay that has since set in. year by year the branches have dropped off, the snow and the lightning have had their victims. it is said that only two or three years ago one branch towards the east was still living, but when i saw it, the trunk was bare and bark-less, full of little worm-holes, and quite without a spark of vitality. the last remaining fragment has since fallen, and now the site of the tree is only marked by the row of young cypresses which have been planted in a circle round the base of the oak of mamre. but who shall prophesy that, a century hence, a tree will not have acquired sufficient size and antiquity to be foisted upon uncritical pilgrims as the veritable tree under which father abraham dwelt! the jewish tradition does not quite agree with the view that identified this old tree with mamre. according to jewish tradition, the tree is at the ruins of ramet el-khalil, the high place of the friend, _i.e._ of abraham, about two miles nearer jerusalem. mr. shaw caldecott has propounded the theory that this site is samuel's ramah, and that the vast ruins of a stone-walled enclosure here represent the enclosure within which samuel's altar stood. the talmud has it that abraham erected a guest-house for the entertainment of strangers near the grove of mamre. there were doors on every side, so that the traveller found a welcome from whichever direction he came. there our father made the name of god proclaimed at the mouth of all wayfarers. how? after they had eaten and refreshed themselves, they rose to thank him. abraham answered, "was the food mine? it is the bounty of the creator of the universe." then they praised, glorified, and blessed him who spake and the world was. we are on the road now near hebron, but, before entering, let us recall a few incidents in its history. after the patriarchal age, hebron was noted as the possession of caleb. it also figures as a priestly city and as one of the cities of refuge. david passed much of his life here, and, after saul's death, hebron was the seat of david's rule over judea. abner was slain here by joab, and was buried here--they still show abner's tomb in the garden of a large house within the city. by the pool at hebron were slain the murderers of ishbosheth, and here absalom assumed the throne. after his time we hear less of hebron. jerusalem overshadowed it in importance, yet we have one or two mentions. rehoboam strengthened the town, and from a stray reference in nehemiah, we gather that the place long continued to be called by its older name of kiriath arba. for a long period after the return from the exile hebron belonged to the idumeans. it was the scene of warfare in the maccabean period, and also during the rebellion against rome. in the market-place at hebron, hadrian sold numbers of jewish slaves after the fall of bar-cochba, in c.e. in the twelfth century hebron was in the hands of the christian crusaders. the fief of hebron, or, as it was called, of saint abraham, extended southwards to beer-sheba. a bishopric was founded there in , but was abandoned twenty years later. we hear of many pilgrims in the middle ages. the christians used to eat some of the red earth of hebron, the earth from which adam was made. on sunday the seventeenth of october, , maimonides was in hebron, passing the city on his way from jerusalem to cairo. obadiah of bertinoro, in , took hebron on the reverse route. he went from egypt across the desert to gaza, and, though he travelled all day, did not reach hebron from gaza till the second morning. if the text is correct, david reubeni was four days in traversing the same road, a distance of about thirty-three miles. to revert to an earlier time, nachmanides very probably visited hebron. indeed, his grave is shown to the visitor. but this report is inaccurate. he wrote to his son, in , from jerusalem, "now i intend to go to hebron, to the sepulchre of our ancestors, to prostrate myself, and there to dig my grave." but he must have altered his mind in the last-named particular, for his tomb is most probably in acre. i need not go through the list of distinguished visitors to hebron. suffice it to say that in the fourteenth century there was a large and flourishing community of jews in the town; they were weavers and dyers of cotton stuffs and glass-makers, and the rabbi was often himself a shepherd in the literal sense, teaching the torah while at work in the fields. he must have felt embarrassed sometimes between his devotion to his metaphorical and to his literal flock. when i was at moza, i was talking over some biblical texts with mr. david yellin, who was with me. the colonists endured this for a while, but at last they broke into open complaint. one of the colonists said to me: "it is true that the mishnah forbids you to turn aside from the torah to admire a tree, but you have come all the way from europe to admire my trees. leave the torah alone for the present." i felt that he was right, and wondered how the shepherd rabbis of hebron managed in similar circumstances. in the century of which i am speaking, the hebron community consisted entirely of sefardim, and it was not till the sixteenth century that ashkenazim settled there in large numbers. i have already mentioned the visit of david reubeni. he was in hebron in , when he entered the cave of machpelah on march tenth, at noon. it is of interest to note that his account of the cave agrees fully with that of conder. it is now quite certain that he was really there in person, and his narrative was not made up at second hand. the visit of reubeni, as well as sabbatai zebi's, gave new vogue to the place. when sabbatai was there, a little before the year , the jews were awake and up all night, so as not to lose an instant of the sacred intercourse with the messiah. but the journey to hebron was not popular till our own days. it was too dangerous, the hebron natives enjoying a fine reputation for ferocity and brigandage. an anonymous hebrew writer writes from jerusalem in , that a few days before a jew from hebron had been waylaid and robbed. but he adds: "i hear that on passover some jews are coming here from egypt and damascus, with the intention of also visiting hebron. i shall go with them, if i am still alive." in baedeker, hebron is still given a bad character, the muslims of the place being called fanatical and violent. i cannot confirm this verdict. the children throw stones at you, but they take good care not to hit. as i have already pointed out, hebron is completely non-christian, just as bethlehem is completely non-mohammedan. the crescent is very disinclined to admit the cross into hebron, the abode of abraham, a name far more honored by jews and mohammedans than by christians. it is not quite just to call the hebronites fanatical and sullen; they really only desire to hold hebron as their own. "hebron for the hebronites" is their cry. the road, at all events, is quite safe. one of the surprises of palestine is the huge traffic along the main roads. orientals not only make a great bustle about what they do, but they really are very busy people. along the roads you meet masses of passengers, people on foot, on mules and horses, on camels, in wheeled vehicles. you come across groups of pilgrims, with one mule to the party, carrying the party's goods, the children always barefooted and bareheaded--the latter fact making you realize how the little boy in the bible story falling sick in the field exclaimed "my head, my head!" besides the pilgrims, there are the bearers of goods and produce. you see donkeys carrying large stones for building, one stone over each saddle. if you are as lucky as i was, you may see a runaway camel along the hebron road, scouring alone at break-neck speed, with laughter-producing gait. of hebron itself i saw little as i entered, because i arrived towards sunset, and only had time to notice that everyone in the streets carried a lantern. in jerusalem only the women carry lights, but in hebron men had them as well. i wondered where i was to pass the night. three friends had accompanied me from jerusalem, and they told me not to worry, as we could stay at the jewish doctor's. it seemed to me a cool piece of impudence to billet a party on a man whose name had been previously unknown to me, but the result proved that they were right. the doctor welcomed us right heartily; he said that it was a joy to entertain us. now it was that one saw the advantages of the oriental architecture. the chief room in an eastern house is surrounded on three sides by a wide stone or wooden divan, which, in wealthy houses, is richly upholstered. the hebron doctor was not rich, but there was the same divan covered with a bit of chintz. on it one made one's bed, hard, it is true, but yet a bed. you always take your rugs with you for covering at night, you put your portmanteau under your head as a pillow, and there you are! you may rely upon one thing. people who, on their return from palestine, tell you that they had a comfortable trip, have seen nothing of the real life of the country. to do that you must rough it, as i did both at modin and at hebron. to return to the latter. the rooms have stone floors and vaulted roofs, the children walk about with wooden shoes, and the pitter-patter makes a pleasant music. they throw off the shoes as they enter the room. my host had been in hebron for six years, and he told me overnight what i observed for myself next day, that, considering the fearful conditions under which the children live, there is comparatively little sickness. as for providing meals, a genuine communism prevails. you produce your food, your host adds his store, and you partake in common of the feast to which both sides contribute. after a good long talk, i got to sleep easily, thinking, as i dozed off, that i should pass a pleasant night. i had become impervious to the mosquitoes, but there was something else which i had forgotten. was it a dream, an awful nightmare, or had a sudden descent of bedouins occurred? gradually i was awakened by a noise as of wild beasts let loose, howls of rage and calls to battle. it was only the dogs. in jerusalem i had never heard them, as the jewish hotel was then well out of the town; it has since been moved nearer in. it is impossible to convey a sense of the terrifying effect produced by one's first experience of the night orgies of oriental dogs, it curdles your blood to recall it. seen by daytime, the dogs are harmless enough, as they go about their scavenger work among the heaps of refuse and filth. but by night they are howling demons, stampeding about the streets in mad groups, barking to and at each other, whining piteously one moment, roaring hoarsely and snapping fiercely another. the dogs did me one service, they made me get up early. i walked through a bluish-gray atmosphere. colors in judea are bright, yet there is always an effect as of a thin gauze veil over them. i went, then, into the streets, and at five o'clock the sun was high, and the bustle of the place had begun. the air was keen and fresh, and many were already abroad. i saw some camels start for jerusalem, laden with straw mats made in hebron. next went some asses carrying poultry for the holy city, then a family caravan with its inevitable harem of closely veiled women. then i saw a man with tools for hewing stone, camels coming into hebron, a boy with a large petroleum can going to fetch water,--they are abandoning the use of the olden picturesque stone pitchers,--then i saw asses loaded with vine twigs, one with lime, women with black dresses and long white veils, boys with bent backs carrying iron stones. i saw, too, some bethlehemite christians hurrying home to the traditional site of the nativity. you can always distinguish these, for they are the only christians in palestine that wear turbans habitually. and all over the landscape dominated the beautiful green hills, fresh with the morning dew, a dew so thick that i had what i had not expected, a real morning bath. i was soaked quite wet by the time i returned from my solitary stroll. i had a capital breakfast, for which we supplied the solids, and our host the coffee. butter is a luxury which we neither expected nor got. hebron, none the less, seemed to me a paradise, and i applauded the legend that locates adam and eve in this spot. alas! i had not yet seen hebron. the doctor lived on the outskirts near the highroad, where there are many fine and beautiful residences. i was soon to enter the streets and receive a rude awakening, when i saw the manner in which the fifteen hundred jews of hebron live. hebron is a ghetto in a garden; it is worse than even jerusalem, jerusalem being clean in comparison. dirty, dark, narrow, vaulted, unevenly paved, running with liquid slime--such are the streets of hebron. you are constantly in danger of slipping, unless you wear the flat, heel-less eastern shoes, and, if you once fell, not all the perfumes of araby could make you sweet again. i should say that, before starting on my round, i had to secure the attendance of soldiers. not that it was necessary, but they utilize baedeker's assertion, that the people are savage, to get fees out of visitors--a cunning manner of turning the enemy's libels to profitable account. i hired two soldiers, but one by one others joined my train, so that by the time my tour was over, i had a whole regiment of guardians, all demanding baksheesh. i would only deal with the leader, a ragged warrior with two daggers, a sword, and a rifle. "how much?" i asked. "we usually ask a napoleon (_i.e._ francs) for an escort, but we will charge you only ten francs." i turned to the doctor and asked him, "how much?" "give them a beslik between them," he said. a beslik is only five pence. i offered it in trepidation, but the sum satisfied the whole gang, who thanked me profusely. first i visited the prison, a sort of open air cage, in which about a dozen men were smoking cigarettes. the prison was much nicer than the mohammedan school close by. this was a small overcrowded room, with no window in it, the little boys sitting on the ground, swaying with a sleepy chant. the teacher's only function was represented by his huge cane, which he plied often and skilfully. outside the door was a barber shaving a pilgrim's head. the pilgrim was a muslim, going on the haj to mecca. these pilgrims are looked on with mingled feelings; their piety is admired, but also distrusted. a local saying is, "if thy neighbor has been on the haj, beware of him; if he has been twice, have no dealings with him; if he has been thrice, move into another street." after the pilgrim, i passed a number of blind weavers, working before large wooden frames. but now for the jewish quarter. this is entered by a low wooden door, at which we had to knock and then stoop to get in. the jews are no longer forced to have this door, but they retain it voluntarily. having got in, we were in a street so dark that we could not see a foot before us, but we kept moving, and soon came to a slightly better place, where the sun crept through in fitful gleams. the oldest synagogue was entered first. its flooring was of marble squares, its roof vaulted, and its ark looked north towards jerusalem. there were, as so often in the east, two arks; when one is too small, they do not enlarge it, but build another. the sefardic talmud torah is a small room without window or ventilation, the only light and air enter by the door. the children were huddled together on an elevated wooden platform. they could read hebrew fluently, and most of them spoke arabic. the german children speak yiddish; the custom of using hebrew as a living language has not spread here so much as in jaffa and the colonies. the beth ha-midrash for older children was a little better equipped; it had a stone floor, but the pupils reclined on couches round the walls. they learn very little of what we should call secular subjects. i examined the store of manuscripts, but professor schechter had been before me, and there was nothing left but modern cabbalistic literature. the other synagogue is small, and very bare of ornament. the rabbi was seated there, "learning," with great tefillin and tallith on--a fine, simple, benevolent soul. to my surprise he spoke english, and turned out to be none other than rachmim joseph franco, who, as long ago as , when the earthquake devastated the jewish quarter, had been sent from rhodes to collect relief funds. he was very ailing, and i could not have a long conversation with him, but he told me that he had known my father, who was then a boy, in london. then i entered a typical jewish dwelling of the poor. it consisted of a single room, opening on to the dark street, and had a tiny barred window at the other side. on the left was a broad bed, on the right a rude cooking stove and a big water pitcher. there was nothing else in the room, except a deep stagnant mud pool, which filled the centre of the floor. next door they were baking matzoth in an oven fed by a wood fire. it was a few days before passover. the matzoth were coarse, and had none of the little holes with which we are familiar. so through streets within streets, dirt within dirt, room over room, in hopeless intricacy. then we were brought to a standstill, a man was coming down the street with a bundle of wood, and we had to wait till he had gone by, the streets being too narrow for two persons to pass each other. another street was impassable for a different reason, there was quite a river of flowing mud, knee deep. i asked for a boat, but a man standing by hoisted me on his shoulders, and carried me across, himself wading through it with the same unconcern as the boys and girls were wallowing in it, playing and amusing themselves. how alike children are all the world over! and yet, with it all, hebron is a healthy place. there is little of the intermittent fever prevalent in other parts of palestine; illness is common, but not in a bad form. jerusalem is far more unhealthy, because of the lack of water. but the jews of hebron are miserably poor. how they live is a mystery. they are not allowed to own land, even if they could acquire it. there was once a little business to be done in lending money to the arabs, but as the government refuses to help in the collection of debts, this trade is not flourishing, and a good thing, too. there are, of course, some industries. first there is the wine. i saw nothing of the vintage, as my visit was in the spring, but i tasted the product and found it good. the arab vine-owners sell the grapes to jews, who extract the juice. still there is room for enterprise here, and it is regrettable that few seem to think of hebron when planning the regeneration of judea. true, i should regret the loss of primitiveness here, as i said at the outset, but when the lives of men are concerned, esthetics must go to the wall. the jewish quarter was enlarged in , but it is still inadequate. the society lemaan zion has done a little to introduce modern education, but neither the alliance nor the anglo-jewish association has a school here. lack of means prevents the necessary efforts from being made. most deplorable is the fact connected with the hospital. in a beautiful sunlit road above the mosque, amid olive groves, is the jewish hospital, ready for use, well-built, but though the very beds were there when t saw it, no patients could be received, as there were no funds. the jewish doctor was doing a wonderful work. he had exiled himself from civilized life, as we westerns understand it; his children had no school to which to go; he felt himself stagnating, without intellectual intercourse with his equals, yet active, kindly, uncomplaining--one of those everyday martyrs whom one meets so often among the jews of judea, men who day by day see their ambitions vanishing under the weight of a crushing duty. it was sad to see how he lingered over the farewell when i left him. i said that his house had seemed an oasis in the desert to me, that i could never forget the time spent with him. "and what of me?" he answered. "your visit has been an oasis in the desert to me, but you go and the desert remains." surely, the saddest thing in life is this feeling that one's own uninteresting, commonplace self should mean so much to others. i call it sad, because so few of us realize what we may mean to others, being so absorbed in our selfish thought of what others mean to us. there are two industries in hebron besides the vintage. it supplies most of the skin-bottles used in judea, and a good deal of glassware, including lamps, is manufactured there. the hebron tannery is a picturesque place, but no jews are employed in it. each bottle is made from an entire goat-skin, from which only the head and feet are removed. the lower extremities are sewn up, and the neck is drawn together to form the neck of the water bottle. some trade is also done here in wool, which the arabs bring in and sell at the market held every friday. in ancient times the sheep used in the temple sacrifices were obtained from hebron. besides the tannery, the glass factories are worth a visit. the one which i saw was in a cavern, lit only by the glow of the central furnace. seated round the hearth (i am following gautier's faithful description of the scene) and served by two or three boys, were about ten workmen, making many-colored bracelets and glass rings, which varied in size from small finger rings to circlets through which you could easily put your arm. the workmen are provided with two metal rods and a pair of small tongs, and they ply these primitive instruments with wonderful dexterity. they work very hard, at least fifteen hours a day, for five days a week. this is one of the curiosities of the east. either the men there are loafers, or they work with extraordinary vigor. there is nothing between doing too much and doing nothing. the same thing strikes one at jaffa. the porters who carry your baggage from the landing stage to the steamer do more work than three english dock laborers. they carry terrific weights. when a family moves, a porter carries all the furniture on his back. yet side by side with these overworked men, jaffa is crowded with idlers, who do absolutely nothing. such are the contrasts of the surprising orient. many of the beads and rosaries taken to europe by pious pilgrims are made in hebron, just as the mother of pearl relics come chiefly from bethlehem, where are made also the tobacco-jars of dead sea stone. hebron does a fair trade with the bedouins, but on the whole it is quite unprogressive. at first sight this may seem rather an unpleasant fact for lovers of peace. hebron has for many centuries been absolutely free from the ravages of war, yet it stagnates. peace is clearly not enough for progress. as the rabbinical phrase well puts it, "peace is the vessel which holds all other good"--without peace this other good is spilt, but peace is after all the containing vessel, not the content of happiness. i have left out, in the preceding narrative, the visit paid to the haram erected over the cave of machpelah. the mosque is an imposing structure, and rises above the houses on the hill to the left as you enter from jerusalem. the walls of the enclosure and of the mosque are from time to time whitewashed, so that the general appearance is somewhat dazzling. it has already been mentioned that certain repairs were effected in - . the work was done by the lads of the technical school in jerusalem; they made an iron gate for joseph's tomb,--the moslems believe that joseph is buried in hebron,--and they made one gate for abraham's tomb, one gate and three window gratings for isaac's tomb, and one gate and two window gratings for rebekah's tomb. this iron work, it is satisfactory to remember, was rendered possible by the splendid machinery sent out to the school from london by the anglo-jewish association. the ordinary jewish visitor is not allowed to enter the enclosure at all. i was stopped at the steps, where the custodian audaciously demanded a tip for not letting me in. the tombs within are not the real tombs of the patriarchs; they are merely late erections over the spots where the patriarchs lie buried. no one has ever doubted that machpelah is actually at this site, but the building is, of course, not patriarchal in age. the enclosure is as old as the wailing wall at jerusalem. it belongs to the age of herod; we see the same cyclopean stones, with the same surface draftings as at jerusalem. why herod built this edifice seems clear. hebron was the centre of idumean influence, and herod was an idumean. he had a family interest in the place, and hence sought to beautify it. no jew or christian can enter the enclosure except by special iradé; even sir moses montefiore was refused the privilege. rather, one should say, the moslem authorities wished to let sir moses in, but they were prevented by the mob from carrying out their amiable intentions. the late english king edward vii and the present king george v were privileged to enter the structure. mr. elkan adler got in at the time when the _alliance_ workmen were repairing the gates, but there is nothing to see of any interest. no one within historical times has penetrated below the mosque, to the cavern itself. we still do not know whether it is called machpelah because the cave is double vertically or double horizontally. the outside is much more interesting than the inside. half way up the steps leading into the mosque, there is a small hole or window at which many jews pray, and into which, it is said, all sorts of things, including letters to the patriarchs, are thrown, especially by women. in the middle ages, they spread at this hole a tender calf, some venison pasties, and some red pottage, every day, in honor of abraham, isaac, and jacob, and the food was eaten by the poor. it is commonly reported, though i failed to obtain any local confirmation of the assertion, that the jews still write their names and their requests on strips of paper and thrust them into this hole. the moslems let down a lamp through the hole, and also cast money into it, which is afterwards picked up by little boys as it is required for the purposes of the mosque and for repairing the numerous tombs of prophets and saints with which hebron abounds. if you were to believe the local traditions, no corpses were left for other cemeteries. the truth is that much obscurity exists as to the identity even of modern tombs, for hebron preserves its old custom, and none of the jewish tombs to this day bear epitaphs. what a mass of posthumous hypocrisy would the world be spared if the hebron custom were prevalent everywhere! but it is obvious that the method lends itself to inventiveness, and as the tombs are unnamed, local guides tell you anything they choose about them, and you do not believe them even when they are speaking the truth. there is only one other fact to tell about the cave. the moslems have a curious dread of isaac and rebekah, they regard the other patriarchs as kindly disposed, but isaac is irritable, and rebekah malicious. it is told of ibrahim pasha of egypt, he who "feared neither man nor devil," that when he was let down into the cave by a rope, he surprised rebekah in the act of combing her hair. she resented the intrusion, and gave him so severe a box on the ears that he fell down in a fit, and could be rescued alive only with much difficulty. it is with equal difficulty that one can depart, with any reverence left, from the mass of legend and childishness with which one is crushed in such places. one escapes with the thought of the real abraham, his glorious service to humanity, his lifelong devotion to the making of souls, to the spread of the knowledge of god. one recalls the abraham who, in the jewish tradition, is the type of unselfishness, of watchfulness on behalf of his descendants, the marks of whose genuine relationship to the patriarch are a generous eye and a humble spirit. as one turns from hebron, full of such happy memories, one forms the resolve not to rely solely on an appeal to the patriarch's merits, but to strive to do something oneself for the jewish cause, and thus fulfil the poet's lines, thus shalt thou plant a garden round the tomb, where golden hopes may flower, and fruits immortal bloom. the solace of books in the year , judah ibn tibbon, a famous provençal jew, who had migrated to southern france from granada, wrote in hebrew as follows to his son: "avoid bad society: make thy books thy companions. let thy bookcases and shelves be thy gardens and pleasure grounds. pluck the fruit that grows therein; gather the roses, the spices, and the myrrh. if thy soul be satiate and weary, change from garden to garden, from furrow to furrow, from scene to scene. then shall thy desire renew itself, and thy soul be rich with manifold delight." in this beautiful comparison of a library to a garden, there is one point missing. the perfection of enjoyment is reached when the library, or at least a portable part of it, is actually carried into the garden. when lightfoot was residing at ashley (staffordshire), he followed this course, as we know from a letter of his biographer. "there he built himself a small house in the midst of a garden, containing two rooms below, viz. a study and a withdrawing room, and a lodging chamber above; and there he studied hard, and laid the foundations of his rabbinic learning, and took great delight, lodging there often, though [quaintly adds john stype] he was then a married man." montaigne, whose great-grandfather, be it recalled, was a spanish jew, did not possess a library built in the open air, but he had the next best thing. he used the top story of a tower, whence, says he, "i behold under me my garden." in ancient athens, philosophers thought out their grandest ideas walking up and down their groves. nature sobers us. "when i behold thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars which thou hast ordained; what is man that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that thou visitest him?" but if nature sobers, she also consoles. as the psalmist continues: "thou hast made him but little lower than the angels, and crownest him with glory and honor. thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under his feet." face to face with nature, man realizes that he is greater than she. "on earth there is nothing great but man, in man there is nothing great but mind." so, no doubt, the athenian sages gained courage as well as modesty from the contact of mind with nature. and not they only, for our own jewish treasure, the mishnah, grew up, if not literally, at least metaphorically, in the open air, in the vineyard of jamnia. standing in the sordid little village which to-day occupies the site of ancient jamnia, with the sea close at hand and the plain of sharon and the judean lowlands at my feet, i could see rabbi jochanan ben zakkai and his comrades pacing to and fro, pondering those great thoughts which live among us now, though the authors of them have been in their graves for eighteen centuries. it is curious how often this habit of movement goes with thinking. montaigne says: "every place of retirement requires a walk. my thoughts sleep if i sit still; my fancy does not go by itself, as it goes when my legs move it." what montaigne seems to mean is that we love rhythm. body and mind must move together in harmony. so it is with the mohammedan over the koran, and the rabbi over the talmud. jews sway at prayer for the same reason. movement of the body is not a mere mannerism; it is part of the emotion, like the instrumental accompaniment to a song. the child cons his lesson moving; we foolishly call it "fidgeting." the child is never receptive unless also active. but there is another of montaigne's feelings, with which i have no sympathy. he loved to think when on the move, but his walk must be solitary. "'tis here," he says of his library, "i am in my kingdom, and i endeavor to make myself an absolute monarch. so i sequester this one corner from all society--conjugal, filial, civil." this is a detestable habit. it is the acme of selfishness, to shut yourself up with your books. to write over your study door "let no one enter here!" is to proclaim your work divorced from life. montaigne gloried in the inaccessibility of his asylum. his house was perched upon an "overpeering hillock," so that in any part of it--still more in the round room of the tower--he could "the better seclude myself from company, and keep encroachers from me." yet some may work best when there are others beside them. from the book the reader turns to the child that prattles near, and realizes how much more the child can ask than the book can answer. the presence of the young living soul corrects the vanity of the dead old pedant. books are most solacing when the limitations of bookish wisdom are perceived. "literature," said matthew arnold, "is a criticism of life." this is true, despite the objections of saintsbury, but i venture to add that "life is a criticism of literature." now, i am not going to convert a paper on the solace of books into a paper in dispraise of books. i shall not be so untrue to my theme. but i give fair warning that i shall make no attempt to scale the height or sound the depth of the intellectual phases of this great subject. i invite my reader only to dally desultorily on the gentler slopes of sentiment. one of the most comforting qualities of books has been well expressed by richard of bury in his famous philobiblon, written in . this is an exquisite little volume on the love of books, which mr. israel gollancz has now edited in an exquisite edition, attainable for the sum of one shilling. "how safely," says richard, "we lay bare the poverty of human ignorance to books, without feeling any shame." then he goes on to describe books as those silent teachers who "instruct us without rods or stripes; without taunts or anger; without gifts or money; who are not asleep when we approach them, and do not deny us when we question them; who do not chide us when we err, or laugh at us if we are ignorant." it is richard of bury's last phrase that i find so solacing. no one is ever ashamed of turning to a book, but many hesitate to admit their ignorance to an interlocutor. your dictionary, your encyclopedia, and your other books, are the recipients of many a silent confession of nescience which you would never dream of making auricular. you go to these "golden pots in which manna is stored," and extract food exactly to your passing taste, without needing to admit, as esau did to jacob, that you are hungry unto death. this comparison of books to food is of itself solacing, for there is always something attractive in metaphors drawn from the delights of the table. the metaphor is very old. "open thy mouth," said the lord to ezekiel, "and eat that which i give thee. and when i looked, a hand was put forth unto me, and, lo, a scroll of a book was therein.... then i did eat it, and it was in my mouth as honey for sweetness." what a quaint use does richard of bury make of this very passage! addressing the clergy, he says "eat the book with ezekiel, that the belly of your memory may be sweetened within, and thus, as with the panther refreshed, to whose breath all beasts and cattle long to approach, the sweet savor of the spices it has eaten may shed a perfume without." willing enough would i be to devote the whole of my paper to richard of bury. i must, however, content myself with one other noble extract, which, i hope, will whet my reader's appetite for more: "moses, the gentlest of men, teaches us to make bookcases most neatly, wherein they [books] may be protected from any injury. take, he says, this book of the law and put it in the side of the ark of the covenant of the lord your god. o fitting place and appropriate for a library, which was made of imperishable shittim [i.e. acacia] wood, and was covered within and without with gold." still we must not push this idea of costly bookcases too far. judah the pious wrote in the twelfth century, "books were made for use, not to be hidden away." this reminds me that richard of bury is not the only medieval book-lover with whom we might spend a pleasant evening. judah ben samuel sir leon, surnamed the pious, whom i have just quoted, wrote the "book of the pious" in hebrew, in , and it has many excellent paragraphs about books. judah's subject is, however, the care of books rather than the solace derivable from them. still, he comes into my theme, for few people can have enjoyed books more than he. he had no selfish love for them: he not only possessed books, he lent them. he was a very prince of book-lenders, for he did not object if the borrowers of his books re-lent them in their turn. so, on dying, he advised his sons to lend his books even to an enemy (par. ). "if a father dies," he says elsewhere (par. ), "and leaves a dog and a book to his sons, one shall not say to the other, you take the dog, and i'll take the book," as though the two were comparable in value. poor, primitive judah the pious! we wiser moderns should never dream of making the comparison between a dog and a book, but for the opposite reason. judah shrank from equalling a book to a dog, but we know better than to undervalue a dog so far as to compare it with a book. the kennel costs more than the bookcase, and love of dogs is a higher solace than love of books. to those who think thus, what more convincing condemnation of books could be formulated than the phrase coined by gilbert de porre in praise of his library, "it is a garden of immortal fruits, without dog or dragon." i meant to part with richard of bury, but i must ask permission to revert to him. some of the delight he felt in books arose from his preference of reading to oral intercourse. "the truth in speech perishes with the sound: it is patent to the ear only and eludes the sight: begins and perishes as it were in a breath." personally i share this view, and i believe firmly that the written word brings more pleasure than the spoken word. plato held the opposite view. he would have agreed with the advice given by chesterfield to his son, "lay aside the best book when you can go into the best company--depend upon it you change for the better." plato did, indeed, characterize books as "immortal sons deifying their sires." but, on the opposite side, he has that memorable passage, part of which i now quote, from the same source that has supplied several others of my quotations, mr. alexander ireland's "book-lover's enchiridion." "writing," says plato, "has this terrible disadvantage, which puts it on the same footing with painting. the artist's productions stand before you, as if they were alive: but if you ask them anything, they keep a solemn silence. just so with written discourse: you would fancy it full of the thoughts it speaks: but if you ask it something that you want to know about what is said, it looks at you always with the same one sign. and, once committed to writing, discourse is tossed about everywhere indiscriminately, among those who understand and those to whom it is naught, and who cannot select the fit from the unfit." plato further complains, adds mr. martineau, that "theuth, the inventor of letters, had ruined men's memories and living command of their knowledge, by inducing a lazy trust in records ready to their hand: and he limits the benefit of the _litera scripta_ to the compensation it provides for the failing memory of old age, when reading naturally becomes the great solace of life.... plato's tone is invariably depreciatory of everything committed to writing, with the exception of laws." this was also the early rabbinical view, for while the law might, nay, must, be written, the rest of the tradition was to be orally confided. the oral book was the specialty of the rabbinical schools. we moderns, who are to the ancients, in rabbinic phrase, as asses to angels in intellect, cannot rely upon oral teaching--our memory is too weak to bear the strain. even when a student attends an oral lecture, he proves my point, because he takes notes. the ideal lies, as usual, in a compromise. reading profits most when, beside the book, you have some one with whom to talk about the book. if that some one be the author of the book, good; if it be your teacher, better; if it be a fellow-student, better still; if it be members of your family circle, best of all. the teacher has only succeeded when he feels that his students can do without him, can use their books by themselves and for themselves. but personal intercourse in studies between equals is never obsolete. "provide thyself with a fellow-student," said the rabbi. friendship made over a book is fast, enduring; this friendship is the great solace. how much we jews have lost in modern times in having given up the old habit of reading good books together in the family circle! religious literature thus had a halo of home about it, and the halo never faded throughout life. from the pages of the book in after years the father's loving voice still spoke to his child. but when it comes to the author, i have doubts whether it be at all good to have him near you when you read his book. you may take an unfair advantage of him, and reject his book, because you find the writer personally antipathetic. or he may take an unfair advantage of you, and control you by his personal fascination. you remember the critic of demosthenes, who remarked to him of a certain oration, "when i first read your speech, i was convinced, just as the athenians were; but when i read it again, i saw through its fallacies." "yes," rejoined demosthenes, "but the athenians heard it only once." a book you read more than once: for you possess only what you understand. i do not doubt that the best readers are those who move least in literary circles, who are unprejudiced one way or the other by their personal likes or dislikes of literary men. how detestable are personal paragraphs about authors--often, alas! autobiographical titbits. we expect a little more reticence: we expect the author to say what he has to say in his book, and not in his talks about his book and himself. we expect him to express himself and suppress himself. "respect the books," says judah the pious, "or you show disrespect to the writer." no, not to the writer, but to the soul whose progeny the book is, to the living intellect that bred it, in milton's noble phrase, to "an immortality rather than a life." "many a man," he says, "lives a burden to the earth; but a good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life." it is a sober truth that, of the books we chiefly love, we know least about the authors. perpetrating probably the only joke in his great bodleian catalogue, dr. steinschneider enters the bible under the heading _anonyma_. we are nowadays so concerned to know whether moses or another wrote the pentateuch, that we neglect the pentateuch as though _no one_ had ever written it. what do we know about the personality of shakespeare? perhaps we are happy in our ignorance. "sometimes," said jonathan swift, "i read a book with pleasure and detest the author." most of us would say the same of jonathan swift himself, and all of us, i think, share r.l. stevenson's resentment against a book with the portrait of a living author, and in a heightened degree against an english translation of an ancient hebrew classic with the translator's portrait. sometimes such a translator _is_ the author; his rendering, at all events, is not the classic. a certain fidentinus once stole the work of the roman poet martial, and read it out to the assembly as his own; whereupon martial wrote this epigram, the book you read is, fidentinus, mine, tho' read so badly, it well may pass for thine. but even apart from such bad taste as the aforementioned translator's, i do not like to see portraits of living authors in their books. the author of a good book becomes your intimate, but it is the author as you know him from his book, not as you see him in the flesh or on a silver print. i quote stevenson again: "when you have read, you carry away with you a memory of the man himself; it is as though you had touched a loyal hand, looked into brave eyes, and made a noble friend; there is another bond on you thenceforward, binding you to life and to the love of virtue." this line of thought leads me to the further remark, that some part of the solace derived from books has changed its character since the art of printing was invented. in former times the personality, if not of the author, at all events of the scribe, pressed itself perforce upon the reader. the reader had before him, not necessarily an autograph, but at all events a manuscript. printing has suppressed this individuality, and the change is not all for the better. the evil consists in this, that whereas of old a book, being handwritten, was clearly recognized as the work of some one's hand, it now assumes, being printed, an impersonal importance, which may be beyond its deserts. especially is this the case with what we may term religious authorities; we are now apt to forget that behind the authority there stands simply--the author. it is instructive to contrast the customary method of citing two great codifiers of jewish law--maimonides and joseph caro. caro lived in the age of printing, and the _shulchan aruch_ was the first great jewish book composed after the printing-press was in operation. the result has been, that the _shulchan aruch_ has become an impersonal authority, rarely cited by the author's name, while the _mishneh torah_ is mostly referred to as the rambam, _i.e._ maimonides. for all that, printing has been a gain, even from the point of view at which i have just arrived. not only has it demolished the barrier which the scribe's personality interposed between author and reader, but, by increasing the number of readers, it has added to the solace of each. for the solace of books is never selfish--the book-miser is never the book-lover, nor does the mere collector of rarities and preciosities deserve that name, for the one hoards, but does not own; the other serves mammon, not god. the modern cheapening of books--the immediate result of printing--not only extends culture, it intensifies culture. your joy in a book is truest when the book is cheapest, when you know that it is, or might be, in the hands of thousands of others, who go with you in the throng towards the same divine joy. these sentiments are clearly those of a philistine. the fate of that last word, by the way, is curious. the philistines, mr. macalistcr discovered when excavating gezer, were the only artistic people in palestine! using the term, however, in the sense to which matthew arnold gave vogue, i am a philistine in taste, i suppose, for i never can bring myself nowadays to buy a second-hand book. for dusty old tomes, i go to the public library; but my own private books must be sweet and clean. there are many who prefer old copies, who revel in the inscribed names of former owners, and prize their marginal annotations. if there be some special sentimental associations connected with these factors, if the books be heirlooms, and the annotations come from a vanished, but beloved, hand, then the old book becomes an old love. but in most cases these things seem to me the defects of youth, not the virtues of age; for they are usually too recent to be venerable, though they are just old enough to disfigure. let my books be young, fresh, and fragrant in their virgin purity, unspotted from the world. if my copy is to be soiled, i want to do all the soiling myself. it is very different with a manuscript, which cannot be too old or too dowdy. these are its graces. dr. neubauer once said to me, "i take no interest in a girl who has seen more than seventeen years, nor in a manuscript that has seen less than seven hundred." alonzo of aragon was wont to say in commendation of age, that "age appeared to be best in four things: old wood to burn; old wine to drink; old friends to trust; and old authors to read." this, however, is not my present point, for i have too much consideration for my readers to attempt to embroil them in the old "battle of the books" that raged round the silly question whether the ancients or the moderns wrote better. i am discussing the age, not of the author, but of the copy. as a critic, as an admirer of old printing, as an archeologist, i feel regard for the _editio princeps_, but as a lover i prefer the cheap reprint. old manuscripts certainly have their charm, but they must have been written at least before the invention of printing. otherwise a manuscript is an anachronism--it recalls too readily the editorial "declined with thanks." at best, the autograph original of a modern work is a literary curiosity, it reveals the author's mechanism, not his mind. but old manuscripts are in a different case; their age has increased their charm, mellowed and confirmed their graces, whether they be canonical books, which "defile the hand" in the rabbinical sense, or genizah-grimed fragments, which soil the fingers more literally. and when the dust of ages is removed, these old-world relics renew their youth, and stand forth as witnesses to israel's unshakable devotion to his heritage. i have confessed to one philistine habit; let me plead guilty to another. i prefer to read a book rather than hear a lecture, because in the case of the book i can turn to the last page first. i do like to know before i start whether _he_ marries _her_ in the end or not. you cannot do this with a spoken discourse, for you have to wait the lecturer's pleasure, and may discover to your chagrin, not only that the end is very long in coming, but that when it does come, it is of such a nature that, had you foreseen it, you would certainly not have been present at the beginning. the real interest of a love story is its process: though you may read the consummation first, you are still anxious as to the course of the courtship. but, in sober earnest, those people err who censure readers for trying to peep at the last page first. for this much-abused habit has a deep significance when applied to life. you will remember the ritual rule, "it is the custom of all israel for the reader of the scroll of esther to read and spread out the scroll like a letter, to make the miracle visible." i remember hearing a sermon just before purim, in vienna, and the jewish preacher gave an admirable homiletic explanation of this rule. he pointed out that in the story of esther the fate of the jews has very dark moments, destruction faces them, and hope is remote. but in the end? in the end all goes well. now, by spreading out the megillah in folds, displaying the end with the beginning, "the miracle is made visible." once lord salisbury, when some timid englishmen regarded the approach of the russians to india as a menace, told his countrymen to use large-scale maps, for these would convince them that the russians were not so near india after all. we jews suffer from the same nervousness. we need to use large-scale charts of human history. we need to read history in centuries, not in years. then we should see things in their true perspective, with god changeless, as men move down the ringing grooves of change. we should then be fuller of content and confidence. we might gain a glimpse of the divine plan, and might perhaps get out of our habit of crying "all is lost" at every passing persecution. as if never before had there been weeping for a night! as if there had not always been abounding joy the morning after! then let us, like god himself, try to see the end in the beginning, let us spread out the scroll, so that the glory of the finish may transfigure and illumine the gloom and sadness of the intermediate course, and thus "the miracle" of god's providential love will be "made visible" to all who have eyes to see it. what strikes a real lover of books when he casts his eye over the fine things that have been said about reading, is this: there is too much said about profit, about advantage. "reading," said bacon, "maketh a full man," and reading has been justified a thousand times on this famous plea. but, some one else, i forget who, says, "you may as well expect to become strong by always eating, as wise by always reading." herbert spencer was once blamed by a friend for reading so little. spencer replied, "if i read as much as you do, i should know as little as you do." too many of the eulogies of books are utilitarian. a book has been termed "the home traveller's ship or horse," and libraries, "the wardrobes of literature." another favorite phrase is montaigne's, "'tis the best viaticum for this human journey," a phrase paralleled by the rabbinic use of the biblical "provender for the way." "the aliment of youth, the comfort of old age," so cicero terms books. "the sick man is not to be pitied when he has his cure in his sleeve"--that is where they used to carry their books. but i cannot go through the long list of the beautiful, yet inadequate, similes that abound in the works of great men, many of which can be read in the "book-lover's enchiridion," to which i have already alluded. one constant comparison is of books to friends. this is perhaps best worked out in one of the epistles of erasmus, which the "enchiridion" omits: "you want to know what i am doing. i devote myself to my friends, with whom i enjoy the most delightful intercourse. with them i shut myself in some corner, where i avoid the gaping crowd, and either speak to them in sweet whispers, or listen to their gentle voices, talking with them as with myself. can anything be more convenient than this? they never hide their own secrets, while they keep sacred whatever is entrusted to them. they speak when bidden, and when not bidden they hold their tongue. they talk of what you wish, and as long as you wish; do not flatter, feign nothing, keep back nothing, freely tell you of your faults, and take no man's character away. what they say is either amusing or wholesome. in prosperity they moderate, in affliction they console; they do not vary with fortune, they follow you in all dangers, and last out to the very grave. nothing can be more candid than their relations with one another. i visit them from time to time, now choosing one companion and now another, with perfect impartiality. with these humble friends, i bury myself in seclusion. what wealth or what sceptres would i take in exchange for this tranquil life?" tranquillity is a not unworthy characteristic of the scholar, but, taking erasmus at his word, would he not have been even a greater man than he was, had he been less tranquil and more strenuous? his great rôle in the history of european culture would have been greater still, had he been readier to bear the rubs which come from rough contact with the world. i will not, however, allow myself to be led off into this alluring digression, whether books or experience make a man wiser. books may simply turn a man into a "learned fool," and, on the other hand, experience may equally fail to teach any of the lessons of wisdom. as moore says: my only books were woman's looks, and folly's all they taught me. the so-called men of the world often know little enough of the world of men. it is a delusion to think that the business man is necessarily business-like. your business man is often the most un-business-like creature imaginable. for practical ability, give me the man of letters. life among books often leads to insight into the book of life. at cambridge we speak of the reading men and the sporting men. sir richard jebb, when he went to cambridge, was asked, "do you mean to be a sporting man or a reading man?" he replied, "neither! i want to be a man who reads." marcus aurelius, the scholar and philosopher, was not the least efficient of the emperors of rome. james martineau was right when he said that the student not only becomes a better man, but he also becomes a better student, when he concerns himself with the practical affairs of life as well as with his books. and the idea cuts both ways. we should be better men of business if we were also men of books. it is not necessary to recall that the ancient rabbis were not professional bookmen. they were smiths and ploughmen, traders and merchants, and their businesses and their trades were idealized and ennobled--and, may we not add, their handiwork improved?--by the expenditure of their leisure in the schools and libraries of jerusalem. and so all the foregoing comparisons between books and other objects of utility or delight, charming though some of these comparisons are, fail to satisfy one. one feels that the old jewish conception is the only completely true one: that conception which came to its climax in the appointment of a benediction to be uttered before beginning to read a book of the law. the real solace of books comes from the sense of service, to be rendered or received; and one must enter that holy of holies, the library, with a grateful benediction on one's lip, and humility and reverence and joy in one's soul. of all the writers about books, charles lamb, in his playful way, comes nearest to this old-world, yet imperishable, ideal of the jewish sages. he says: "i own that i am disposed to say grace upon twenty other occasions in the course of the day besides my dinner. i want a form for setting out on a pleasant walk, for a midnight ramble, for a friendly meeting, for a solved problem. why have we none for books, those spiritual repasts--a grace before milton,--a grace before shakespeare,--a devotional exercise proper to be said before reading the fairy queen?" the jewish ritual could have supplied lamb with several of these graces. it will, i hope, now be seen why in speaking on the solace of books i have said so little about consolation. it pains me to hear books praised as a relief from worldly cares, to hear the library likened to an asylum for broken spirits. i have never been an admirer of boëthius. his "consolations of philosophy" have always been influential and popular, but i like better the first famous english translator than the original latin author. boëthius wrote in the sixth century as a fallen man, as one to whom philosophy came in lieu of the mundane glory which he had once possessed, and had now lost. but alfred the great turned the "consolations" into english at the moment of his greatest power. he translated it in the year , when king on a secure throne; in his brightest days, when the danish clouds had cleared. sorrow has often produced great books, great psalms, to which the sorrowful heart turns for solace. but in the truest sense the shechinah rests on man only in his joy, when he has so attuned his life that misfortune is but another name for good fortune. he must have learned to endure before he seeks the solace of communion with the souls of the great, with the soul of god. very saddening it is to note how often men have turned to books because life has no other good. the real book-lover goes to his books when life is fullest of other joys, when his life is richest in its manifold happiness. then he adds the crown of joy to his other joys, and finds the highest happiness. i do not like to think of the circumstances under which sir thomas bodley went to oxford to found his famous library. not till his diplomatic career was a failure, not till elizabeth's smiles had darkened into frowns, did he set up his staff at the library door. but bodley rather mistook himself. as a lad the library had been his joy, and when he was abroad, at the summit of his public fame, he turned his diplomatic missions to account by collecting books and laying the foundation of his future munificence. i even think that no lover of books ever loved them so well in his adversity as in his prosperity. another view was held by don isaac abarbanel, the famous jewish statesman and litterateur. under alfonso v, of portugal, and other rulers, he attained high place, but was brought low by the inquisition, and shared in the expulsion of his brethren. he writes in one of his letters: "the whole time i lived in the courts and palaces of kings, occupied in their service, i had no leisure to read or write books. my days were spent in vain ambitions, seeking after wealth and honor. now that my wealth is gone, and honor has become exiled from israel; now that i am a vagabond and a wanderer on the earth, and i have no money: now, i have returned to seek the book of god, as it is said, [hebrew: cheth-samech-vav-resh-yod mem-cheth-samech-resh-aleph vav-hey-chaf-yod qof-tav-nun-yod], 'he is in sore need, therefore he studies.'" this is witty, but it is not wise. fortunately, it is not quite true; abarbanel does little justice to himself in this passage, for elsewhere (in the preface to his commentary on kings) he draws a very different picture of his life in his brilliant court days. "my house," he says, "was an assembly place for the wise ... in my abode and within my walls were wealth and fame for the torah and for those made great in its lore." naturally, the active statesman had less leisure for his books than the exiled, fallen minister. so, too, with an earlier jewish writer, saadia. no sadder title was ever chosen for a work than his _sefer ha-galui_--"book of the exiled." it is beyond our province to enter into his career, full of stress and storm. between and , driven from power, he retired to his library at bagdad, just as cincinnatus withdrew to his farm when rome no longer needed him. during his retirement saadia's best books were written. why? graetz tells us that "saadia was still under the ban of excommunication. he had, therefore, no other sphere of action than that of an author." this is pitiful; but, again, it is not altogether true. saadia's whole career was that of active authorship, when in power and out of power, as a boy, in middle life, in age: his constant thought was the service of truth, in so far as literature can serve it, and one may well think that he felt that the crown of the law was better worth wearing in prosperity, when he chose it out of other crowns, than in adversity, when it was the only crown within his reach. it was thus that king solomon chose. so, in speaking of the solace of books, i have ventured to employ "solace" in an old, unusual sense. "solace" has many meanings. it means "comfort in sorrow," and in scotch law it denotes a compensation for wounded feelings, _solatium_, moral and intellectual damages in short. but in chaucer and spenser, "solace" is sometimes used as a synonym for joy and sweet exhilaration. this is an obsolete use, but let me hope that the thing is not obsolete. for one must go to his books for solace, not in mourning garb, but in gayest attire--to a wedding, not to a funeral. when john clare wrote, i read in books for happiness, but books mistake the way to joy, he read for what he ought to have brought, and thus he failed to find his goal. the library has been beautifully termed the "bridal chamber of the mind." so, too, the apocrypha puts it in the wisdom of solomon: wisdom is radiant.... her i loved and sought out from my youth, and i sought to take her for my bride, and i became enamored of her beauty. * * * * * when i am come into my house, i shall find rest with her, for converse with her hath no bitterness, and to live with her hath no pain. * * * * * o god of the fathers, ... give me wisdom, that sitteth by thee on thy throne. medieval wayfaring men leave their homes because they must, or because they will. the hebrew has experienced both motives for travelling. irresistibly driven on by his own destiny and by the pressure of his fellow-men, the jew was also gifted with a double share of that curiosity and restlessness which often send men forth of their own free will on long and arduous journeys. he has thus played the part of the wandering jew from choice and from necessity. he loved to live in the whole world, and the whole world met him by refusing him a single spot that he might call his very own. tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast, how shall ye flee away and be at rest! the wild-dove hath her nest, the fox her cave, mankind their country,--israel but the grave! a sad chapter of medieval history is filled with the enforced wanderings of the sons of israel. the lawgiver prophesied well, "there shall be no rest for the sole of thy foot." but we are not concerned here with the victim of expulsion and persecution. the wayfarer with whom we shall deal is the traveller, and not the exile. he was moved by no caprice but his own. he will excite our admiration, perhaps our sympathy, only rarely our tears. my subject, be it remembered, is not wayfarers, but wayfaring. hence i am to tell you not the story of particular travellers, but the manner of their travelling, the conditions under which they moved. before leaving home, a jewish wayfarer of the middle ages was bound to procure two kinds of passport. in no country in those days was freedom of motion allowed to anyone. the jew was simply a little more hampered than others. in england, the jew paid a feudal fine before he might cross the seas. in spain, the system of exactions was very complete. no jew could change his residence without a license even within his own town. but in addition to the inflictions of the government, the jews enacted voluntary laws of their own, forcing their brethren to obtain a congregational permit before starting. the reasons for this restriction were simple. in the first place, no jew could be allowed to depart at will, and leave the whole burden of the royal taxes on the shoulders of those who were left behind. hence, in many parts of europe and asia, no jew could leave without the express consent of the congregation. even when he received the consent, it was usually on the understanding that he would continue, in his absence, to pay his share of the communal dues. sometimes even women were included in this law, as, for instance, if the daughter of a resident jew married and settled elsewhere, she was forced to contribute to the taxes of her native town a sum proportionate to her dowry, unless she emigrated to palestine, in which case she was free. a further cause why jews placed restrictions on free movement was moral and commercial. announcements had to be made in the synagogue informing the congregation that so-and-so was on the point of departure, and anyone with claims against him could obtain satisfaction. no clandestine or unauthorized departure was permissible. it must not be thought that these communal licenses were of no service to the traveller. on the contrary, they often assured him a welcome in the next town, and in persia were as good as a safe-conduct. no mohammedan would have dared defy the travelling order sealed by the jewish patriarch. having obtained his two licenses, one from the government and the other from the synagogue, the traveller would have to consider his costume. "dress shabbily" was the general jewish maxim for the tourist. how necessary this rule was, may be seen from what happened to rabbi petachiah, who travelled from prague to nineveh, in , or thereabouts. at nineveh he fell sick, and the king's physicians attended him and pronounced his death certain. now petachiah had travelled in most costly attire, and in persia the rule was that if a jewish traveller died, the physicians took half his property. petachiah saw through the real danger that threatened him, so he escaped from the perilous ministrations of the royal doctors, had himself carried across the tigris on a raft, and soon recovered. clearly, it was imprudent of a jewish traveller to excite the rapacity of kings or bandits by wearing rich dresses. but it was also desirable for the jew, if he could, to evade recognition as such altogether. jewish opinion was very sensible on this head. it did not forbid a jew's disguising himself even as a priest of the church, joining a caravan, and mumbling latin hymns. in times of danger, he might, to save his life, don the turban and pass as a mohammedan even in his home. most remarkable concession of all, the jewess on a journey might wear the dress of a man. the law of the land was equally open to reason. in spain, the jew was allowed to discard his yellow badge while travelling; in germany, he had the same privilege, but he had to pay a premium for it. in some parts, the jewish community as a whole bought the right to travel and to discard the badge on journeys, paying a lump sum for the general privilege, and itself exacting a communal tax to defray the general cost. in rome, the traveller was allowed to lodge for ten days before resuming his hated badge. but, curiously enough, the legal relaxation concerning the badge was not extended to the markets. the jew made the medieval markets, yet he was treated as an unwelcome guest, a commodity to be taxed. this was especially so in germany. in , bishop lorenz, of breslau, ordered jews who passed through his domain to pay the same toll as slaves brought to market. the visiting jew paid toll for everything; but he got part of his money back. he received a yellow badge, which he was forced to wear during his whole stay at the market, the finances of which he enriched, indirectly by his trade, and directly by his huge contributions to the local taxes. the jewish traveller mostly left his wife at home. in certain circumstances he could force her to go with him, as, for instance, if he had resolved to settle in palestine. on the other hand, the wife could prevent her husband from leaving her during the first year after marriage. it also happened that families emigrated together. mostly, however, the jewess remained at home, and only rarely did she join even the pilgrimage to jerusalem. this is a striking contrast to the christian custom, for it was the christian woman that was the most ardent pilgrim; in fact, pilgrimages to the holy land only became popular in church circles because of the enthusiasm of helena, mother of constantine the great, especially when, in , she found the true cross. we, however, read of an aged jewess who made a pilgrimage to all the cities of europe, for the purpose of praying in the synagogues on her route. we now know, from the chronicle of achimaaz, that jews visited jerusalem in the tenth century. aronius records a curious incident. charles the great, between the years and , ordered a jewish merchant, who often used to visit palestine and bring precious and unknown commodities thence to the west, to hoax the archbishop of mainz, so as to lower the self-conceit of this vain dilettante. the jew thereupon sold him a mouse at a high price, persuading him that it was a rare animal, which he had brought with him from judea. early in the eleventh century there was a fully organized jewish community with a beth-din at ramleh, some four hours' drive from jaffa. but jews did not visit palestine in large numbers, until saladin finally regained the holy city for mohammedan rule, towards the end of the twelfth century. from that time pilgrimages of jews became more frequent; but the real influx of jews into palestine dates from , when many of the spanish exiles settled there, and formed the nucleus of the present sefardic population. on the whole, it may be said that in the middle ages the journey to palestine was fraught with so much danger that it was gallantry that induced men to go mostly without their wives. and, generally speaking, the jew going abroad to earn a living for his family, could not dream of allowing his wife to share the dangers and fatigues of the way. in ellul, , rabbi simeon the pious returned from england, where he had lived many years, and betook himself to cologne, thence to take ship home to trier. on the way, near cologne, he was slain by crusaders, because he refused baptism. the jewish community of cologne bought the body from the citizens, and buried it in the jewish cemetery. no doubt it was often a cruel necessity that separated husband and wife. the jewish law, even in lands where monogamy was not legally enforced, did not allow the jew, however, to console himself with one wife at home and another abroad. josephus, we know, had one wife in tiberias and another in alexandria, and the same thing is told us of royal officers in the roman period; but the talmudic legislation absolutely forbids such license, even though it did not formally prohibit a man from having more than one wife at home. we hear occasionally of the wife's growing restive in her husband's absence and taking another husband. in , isaac of erfurt went on a trading journey, and though he was only gone from march , , to july, , he found, on his return, that his wife had wearied of waiting for him. such incidents on the side of the wife were very rare; the number of cases in which wife-desertion occurred was larger. in her husband's absence, the wife's lot, at best, was not happy. "come back," wrote one wife, "or send me a divorce." "nay," replied the husband, "i can do neither. i have not yet made enough provision for us, so i cannot return. and, before heaven, i love you, so i cannot divorce you." the rabbi advised that he should give her a conditional divorce, a kindly device, which provided that, in case the husband remained away beyond a fixed date, the wife was free to make other matrimonial arrangements. the rabbis held that travelling diminishes family life, property, and reputation. move from house to house, and you lose a shirt; go from place to place, and you lose a life--so ran the rabbinic proverb. this subject might be enlarged upon, but enough has been said to show that this breaking up of the family life was one of the worst effects of the jewish travels of the middle ages, and even more recent times. whether his journey was devotional or commercial, the rites of religion formed part of the traveller's preparations for the start. the prayer for wayfarers is talmudic in origin. it may be found in many prayer books, and i need not quote it. but one part of it puts so well, in a few pregnant words, the whole story of danger, that i must reproduce them. on approaching a town, the jew prayed, "may it be thy will, o lord, to bring me safely to this town." when he had entered, he prayed, "may it be thy will, o lord, to take me safely from this town." and when he actually left, he uttered similar words, pathetic and painfully significant. in the first century of the christian era, much travelling was entailed by the conveyance of the didrachmon, sent by each jew to the temple from almost every part of the known world. philo says of the jews beyond the euphrates: "every year the sacred messengers are sent to convey large sums of gold and silver to the temple, which have been collected from all the subordinate governments. they travel over rugged and difficult and almost impassable roads, which, however, they look upon as level and easy, inasmuch as they serve to conduct them to piety." and the road was made easy in other ways. it must often have been shortened to the imagination by the prevalent belief that by supernatural aid the miles could be actually lessened. rabbi natronai was reported to be able to convey himself a several days' journey in a single instant. so benjamin of tudela tells how alroy, who claimed to be the messiah in the twelfth century, not only could make himself visible or invisible at will, but could cross rivers on his turban, and, by the aid of the divine name, could travel a ten days' journey in ten hours. another jewish traveller calmed the sea by naming god, another by writing the sacred name on a shard, and casting it into the sea. "have no care," said he, on another occasion, to his arab comrade, as the shadows fell on a friday afternoon, and they were still far from home, "have no care, we shall arrive before nightfall," and, exercising his wonderworking powers, he was as good as his word. we read in achimaaz of the exploits of a tenth-century jew who traversed italy, working wonders, being received everywhere with popular acclamations. this was aaron of bagdad, son of a miller, who, finding that a lion had eaten the mill-mule, caught the lion and made him do the grinding. his father sent him on his travels as a penalty for his dealings with magic: after three years he might return. fie went on board a ship, and assured the sailors that they need fear neither foe nor storm, for he could use the name. he landed at gaeta in italy, where he restored to human form the son of his host, whom a witch had turned into an ass. this was the beginning of many miracles. but he did not allow one place to monopolize him. next we find him in benvenuto. he goes to the synagogue, recognizes that a lad omits the name of god from his prayer, thus showing that he is dead! he goes to oria, then to bari, and so forth. similar marvels were told in the midrash, of travellers like father jacob, and in the lives of christian saints. but the jew had a real means of shortening the way--by profitable and edifying conversation. "do not travel with an am ha-arez," the olden rabbis advised. such a one, they held, was careless of his own safety, and would hardly be more careful of his companion's life. but, besides, an am ha-arez, using the word in its later sense of ignoramus, would be too dull for edifying conversation, and one might as well or as ill journey alone as with a boor. but "thou shalt speak of them by the way," says deuteronomy of the commandments, and this (to say nothing of the danger) was one of the reasons why solitary travelling was disapproved. a man walking alone was more likely to turn his mind to idle thoughts, than if he had a congenial partner to converse with, and the mishnah is severe against him who turns aside from his peripatetic study to admire a tree or a fallow. this does not imply that the jews were indifferent to the beauties of nature. jewish travellers often describe the scenery of the parts they visit, and petachiah literally revels in the beautiful gardens of persia, which he paints in vivid colors. then, again, few better descriptions of a storm at sea have been written than those composed by jehudah halevi on his fatal voyage to palestine. similarly, charizi, another jewish wayfarer, who laughed himself over half the world, wrote verses as he walked, to relieve the tedium. he is perhaps the most entertaining of all jewish travellers. nothing is more amusing than his conscious habit of judging the characters of the men he saw by their hospitality, or the reverse, to himself. a more serious traveller, maimonides, must have done a good deal of thinking on horseback, to get through his ordinary day's work and write his great books. in fact, he himself informs us that he composed part of his commentary to the mishnah while journeying by land and sea. in europe, the rabbis often had several neighboring congregations under their care, and on their journeys to and fro took their books with them, and read in them at intervals. maharil, on such journeys, always took note of the jewish customs observed in different localities. he was also a most skilful and successful shadchan, or marriage-broker, and his extensive travels placed this famous rabbi in an excellent position for match-making. certainly, the marriages he effected were notoriously prosperous, and in his hands the shadchan system did the most good and the least harm of which it is capable. another type of short-distance traveller was the bachur, or student. not that his journeys were always short, but he rarely crossed the sea. in the second century we find jewish students in galilee behaving as many scotch youths did before the days of carnegie funds. these students would study in sepphoris in the winter, and work in the fields in summer. after the impoverishment caused by the bar-cochba war, the students were glad to dine at the table of the wealthy patriarch judah i. in the medieval period there were also such. these bachurim, who, young as they were, were often married, accomplished enormous journeys on foot. they walked from the rhine to vienna, and from north germany to italy. their privations on the road were indescribable. bad weather was naturally a severe trial. "hearken not to the prayers of wayfarers," was the petition of those who stayed at home. this quaint talmudic saying refers to the selfishness of travellers, who always clamor for fine weather, though the farmer needs rain. apart from the weather, the bachurim suffered much on the road. their ordinary food was raw vegetables culled from the fields; they drank nothing but water. they were often accompanied by their teachers, who underwent the same privations. unlike their talmudical precursors, they travelled much by night, because it was safer, and also because they reserved the daylight for study. the dietary laws make jewish travelling particularly irksome. we do, indeed, find jews lodging at the ordinary inns, but they could not join the general company at the _table d'hôte_. the sabbath, too, was the cause of some discomfort, though the traveller always exerted his utmost efforts to reach a jewish congregation by friday evening, sometimes, as we have seen, with supernatural aid. we must interrupt this account of the bachur to record a much earlier instance of the awkward situation in which a pious jewish traveller might find himself because of the sabbath regulations. in the very last year of the fourth century, synesius, of cyrene, writing to his brother of his voyage from alexandria to constantinople, supplies us with a quaint instance of the manner in which the sabbath affected jewish travellers. synesius uses a sarcastic tone, which must not be taken as seriously unfriendly. "his voyage homeward," says mr. glover, "was adventurous." it is a pity that space cannot be found for a full citation of synesius's enthralling narrative. his jewish steersman is an entertaining character. there were twelve members in the crew, the steersman making the thirteenth. more than half, including the steersman, were jews. "it was," says synesius, "the day which the jews call the preparation [friday], and they reckon the night to the next day, on which they are not allowed to do any work, but they pay it especial honor, and rest on it. so the steersman let go the helm from his hands, when he thought the sun would have set on the land, and threw himself down, and 'what mariner should choose might trample him!' we did not at first understand the real reason, but took it for despair, and went to him and besought him not to give up all hope yet. for in plain fact the big rollers still kept on, and the sea was at issue with itself. it does this when the wind falls, and the waves it has set going do not fall with it, but, still retaining in full force the impulse that started them, meet the onset of the gale, and to its front oppose their own. well, when people are sailing in such circumstances, life hangs, as they say, by a slender thread. but if the steersman is a rabbi into the bargain, what are one's feelings? when, then, we understood what he meant in leaving the helm,--for when we begged him to save the ship from danger, he went on reading his book,--we despaired of persuasion, and tried force. and a gallant soldier (for we have with us a good few arabians, who belong to the cavalry) drew his sword, and threatened to cut his head off, if he would not steer the ship. but in a moment he was a genuine maccabee, and would stick to his dogma. yet when it was now midnight, he took his place of his own accord, 'for now,' says he, 'the law allows me, as we are clearly in danger of our lives.' at that the tumult begins again, moaning of men and screaming of women. everybody began calling on heaven, and wailing and remembering their dear ones. amarantus alone was cheerful, thinking he was on the point of ruling out his creditors." amarantus was the captain, who wished to die, because he was deep in debt. what with the devil-may-care captain, the maccabean steersman, and the critical onlooker, who was a devoted admirer of hypatia, rarely has wayfaring been conducted under more delightful conditions. as is often the case in life, the humors of the scene almost obscure the fact that the lives of the actors were in real danger. but all ended well. "as for us," says synesius further on, "as soon as we reached the land we longed for, we embraced it as if it had been a living mother. offering, as usual, a hymn of gratitude to god, i added to it the recent misadventure from which we had unexpectedly been saved." to return to our travelling bachur of later centuries than synesius's rabbi-steersman. on the road, the student was often attacked, but, as happened with the son of the great asheri, who was waylaid by bandits near toledo, the robbers did not always get the best of the fight. the bachur could take his own part. one jew gained much notoriety in by conducting an elephant all the way from haroun al-rashid's court as a present to charlemagne, the king of the franks. but the rabbi suffered considerably from his religion on his journeys. dr. schechter tells us how the gaon elijah got out of his carriage to say his prayer, and, as the driver knew that the rabbi would not interrupt his devotions, he promptly made off, carrying away the gaon's property. but the account was not all on one side. if the bachur suffered for his religion, he received ample compensation. when he arrived at his destination, he was welcomed right heartily. we read how cordially the sheliach kolel was received in algiers in the fifteenth to eighteenth centuries. it was a great popular event, as is nowadays the visit of the _alliance_ inspector. this was not the case with all jewish travellers, some of whom received a very cold shoulder from their brethren. why was this? chiefly because the jews, as little as the rest of medieval peoples, realized that progress and enlightenment are indissolubly bound up with the right of free movement. they regarded the right to move here and there at will as a selfish privilege of the few, not the just right of all. but more than that. the jews were forced to live in special and limited ghettos. it was not easy to find room for newcomers. when a crisis arrived, such as the expulsion of the jews from spain, then, except here and there, the jews were generous to a fault in providing for the exiles. societies all over the continent and round the coast of the mediterranean spent their time and money in ransoming the poor victims, who, driven from spain, were enslaved by the captains of the vessels that carried them, and were then bought back to freedom by their jewish brethren. this is a noble fact in jewish history. but it is nevertheless true that jewish communities were reluctant in ordinary times to permit new settlements. this was not so in ancient times. among the essenes, a newcomer had a perfectly equal right to share everything with the old inhabitants. these essenes were great travellers, going from city to city, probably with propagandist aims. in the talmudic law there are very clear rules on the subject of passers through a town or immigrants into it. by that law persons staying in a place for less than thirty days were free from all local dues except special collections for the poor. he who stayed less than a year contributed to the ordinary poor relief, but was not taxed for permanent objects, such as walling the town, defences, etc., nor did he contribute to the salaries of teachers and officials, nor the building and support of synagogues. but as his duties were small, so were his rights. after a twelve months' stay he became a "son of the city," a full member of the community. but in the middle ages, newcomers, as already said, were not generally welcome. the question of space was one important reason, for all newcomers had to stay in the ghetto. secondly, the newcomer was not amenable to discipline. local custom varied much in the details both of jewish and general law. the new settler might claim to retain his old customs, and the regard for local custom was so strong that the claim was often allowed, to the destruction of uniformity and the undermining of authority. to give an instance or two: a newcomer would insist that, as he might play cards in his native town, he ought not to be expected to obey puritanical restrictions in the place to which he came. the result was that the resident jews would clamor against foreigners enjoying special privileges, as in this way all attempts to control gambling might be defeated. or the newcomer would claim to shave his beard in accordance with his home custom, but to the scandal of the town which he was visiting. the native young men would imitate the foreigner, and then there would be trouble. or the settler would assert his right to wear colors and fashions and jewelry forbidden to native jews. again, the marriage problem was complicated by the arrival of insinuating strangers, who turned out to be married men masquerading as bachelors. then as to public worship--the congregation was often split into fragments by the independent services organized by foreign groups, and it would become necessary to prohibit its own members from attending the synagogues of foreign settlers. then as to communal taxes: these were fixed annually on the basis of the population, and the arrival of newcomers seriously disturbed the equilibrium, led to fresh exactions by the government, which it was by no means certain the new settlers could or would pay, and which, therefore, fell on the shoulders of the old residents. when we consider all these facts, we can see that the eagerness of the medieval jews to control the influx of foreign settlers was only in part the result of base motives. and, of course, the exclusion was not permanent or rigid. in rome, the sefardic and the italian jews fraternally placed their synagogues on different floors of the same building. in some german towns, the foreign synagogue was fixed in the same courtyard as the native. everywhere foreign jews abounded, and everywhere a generous welcome awaited the genuine traveller. as to the travelling beggar, he was a perpetual nuisance. yet he was treated with much consideration. the policy with regard to him was, "send the beggar further," and this suited the tramp, too. he did not wish to settle, he wished to move on. he would be lodged for two days in the communal inn, or if, as usually happened, he arrived on friday evening, he would be billeted on some hospitable member, or the shamash would look after him at the public expense. it is not till the thirteenth century that we meet regular envoys sent from palestine to collect money. the genuine traveller, however, was an ever-welcome guest. if he came at fair time, his way was smoothed for him. the jew who visited the fair was only rarely charged local taxes by the synagogue. he deserved a welcome, for he not only brought wares to sell, but he came laden with new books. the fair was the only book-market at other times the jews were dependent on the casual visits of travelling venders of volumes. book-selling does not seem to have been a settled occupation in the middle ages. the merchant who came to the fair also fulfilled another function--that of shadchan. the day of the fair was, in fact, the crisis of the year. naturally, the letter-carrier was eagerly received. in the early part of the eighteenth century the function of conveying the post was sometimes filled by jewesses. even the ordinary traveller, who had no business to transact, would often choose fair time for visiting new places, for he would be sure to meet interesting people then. he, too, would mostly arrive on a friday evening, and would beguile the sabbath with reports of the wonders he had seen. in the great synagogue of sepphoris, jochanan was discoursing of the great pearl, so gigantic in size that the eastern gates of the temple were to be built of the single gem. "ay, ay," assented an auditor, who had been a notorious skeptic until he had become a shipwrecked sailor, "had not mine own eyes beheld such a pearl in the ocean-bed, i should not have believed it." and so the medieval traveller would tell his enthralling tales. he would speak of a mighty jewish kingdom in the east, existing in idyllic peace and prosperity; he would excite his auditors with news of the latest messiah; he would describe the river sambatyon, which keeps the sabbath, and, mingling truth with fiction, with one breath would truly relate how he crossed a river on an inflated skin, and with the next breath romance about hillel's tomb, how he had been there, and how he had seen a large hollow stone, which remains empty if a bad fellow enters, but at the approach of a pious visitor fills up with sweet, pure water, with which he washes, uttering a wish at the same time, sure that it will come true. it is impossible even to hint at all the wonders of the tombs. jews were ardent believers in the supernatural power of sepulchres; they made pilgrimages to them to pray and to beg favors. jewish travellers' tales of the middle ages are heavily laden with these legends. of course, the traveller would also bring genuine news about his brethren in distant parts, and sober information about foreign countries, their ways, their physical conformation, and their strange birds and beasts. these stories were in the main true. for instance, petachiah tells of a flying camel, which runs fifteen times as fast as the fleetest horse. he must have seen an ostrich, which is still called the flying camel by arabs. but we cannot linger over this matter. suffice it to say that, as soon as sabbath was over, the traveller's narrative would be written out by the local scribe, and treasured as one of the communal prizes. the traveller, on his part, often kept a diary, and himself compiled a description of his adventures. in some congregations there was kept a communal note-book, in which were entered decisions brought by visiting rabbis from other communities. the most welcome of guests, even more welcome than long-distance travellers, or globe-trotters, were the bachurim and travelling rabbis. the talmudic rabbis were most of them travellers. akiba's extensive journeys were, some think, designed to rouse the jews of asia minor generally to participate in the insurrection against hadrian. but my narrative must be at this point confined to the medieval students. for the bachurim, or students, there was a special house in many communities, and they lived together with their teachers. in the twelfth century, the great academy of narbonne, under abraham ibn daud, attracted crowds of foreign students. these, as benjamin of tudela tells us, were fed and clothed at the communal cost. at beaucaire, the students were housed and supported at the teacher's expense. in the seventeenth century, the students not only were paid small bursaries, but every household entertained one or more of them at table. in these circumstances their life was by no means dull or monotonous. a jewish student endures much, but he knows how to get the best out of life. this optimism, this quickness of humor, saved the rabbi and his pupil from many a melancholy hour. take abraham ibn ezra, for instance. if ever a man was marked out to be a bitter reviler of fate, it was he. but he laughed at fate. he gaily wandered from his native spain over many lands penniless, travelled with no baggage but his thoughts, visited italy and france, and even reached london, where, perhaps, he died. fortune ill-treated him, but he found many joys. wherever he went, patrons held out their hand. travelling students found many such generous lovers of learning, who, with their wealth, encouraged their guests to write original works or copy out older books, which the patrons then passed on to poor scholars in want of a library. the legend is told, how the prophet elijah visited hebron, and was not "called up" in the synagogue. receiving no aliyah on earth, he returned to his elevation in heaven. it was thus imprudent to deny honor to angels unawares. usually the scholar was treated as such a possible angel. when he arrived, the whole congregation would turn out to meet him. he would be taken in procession to the synagogue, where he would say the benediction ha-gomel, in thanks for his safety on the road. perhaps he would address the congregation, though he would do that rather in the school than in the synagogue. then a banquet would be spread for him. this banquet was called one of the seudoth mitzvah, _i.e._ "commandment meals," to which it was a duty of all pious men to contribute their money and their own attendance. it would be held in the communal hall, used mostly for marriage feasts. when a wedding party came from afar, similar steps for general enjoyment were taken. men mounted on horseback went forth to welcome the bride, mimic tournaments were fought _en route_, torch-light processions were made if it were night time, processions by boats if it were in italy or by the rhine, a band of communal musicians, retained at general cost, played merry marches, and everyone danced and joined in the choruses. these musicians often went from town to town, and the jewish players were hired for gentile parties, just as jews employed christian or arab musicians to help make merry on the jewish sabbaths and festivals. we need not wonder, then, that a traveller like ibn ezra was no croaker, but a genial critic of life. he suffered, but he was light-hearted enough to compose witty epigrams and improvise rollicking wine songs. he was an accomplished chess player, and no doubt did something to spread the eastern game in europe. another service rendered by such travellers was the spread of learning by their translations. their wanderings made them great linguists, and they were thus able to translate medical, astronomical, and scientific works wherever they went. they were also sent by kings on missions to collect new nautical instruments. thus, the baculus, which helped columbus to discover america, was taken to portugal by jews, and a french jew was its inventor. they were much in demand as travelling doctors, being summoned from afar to effect specific cures. but they also carried other delights with them. not only were they among the troubadours, but they were also the most famous of the travelling _conteurs_. it was the jews, like berechiah, charizi, zabara, abraham ibn chasdai, and other incessant travellers, who helped to bring to europe Æsop, bidpai, the buddhist legends, who "translated them from the indian," and were partly responsible for this rich poetical gift to the western world. looking back on such a life, ibn ezra might well detect a divine providence in his own pains and sorrows. so, jew-like, he retained his hope to the last, and after his buffetings on the troubled seas of life, remembering the beneficent results of his travels to others, if not to himself, he could write in this faithful strain: my hope god knoweth well, my life he made full sweet; whene'er his servant fell, god raised him to his feet. within the garment of his grace, my faults he did enfold, hiding my sin, his kindly face my god did ne'er withhold. requiting with fresh good, my black ingratitude. there remain the great merchant travellers to be told about. they sailed over all the world, and brought to europe the wares, the products, the luxuries of the east. they had their own peculiar dangers. shipwreck was the fate of others besides themselves, but they were peculiarly liable to capture and sale as slaves. foremost among their more normal hardships i should place the bridge laws of the middle ages. the bridges were sometimes practically maintained by the jewish tolls. in england, before , a jew paid a toll of a halfpenny on foot and a full penny on horseback--large sums in those days. a "dead jew" paid eightpence. burial was for a long time lawful only in london, and the total toll paid for bringing a dead jew to london over the various bridges must have been considerable. in the kurpfalz, for instance, the jewish traveller had to pay the usual "white penny" for every mile, but also a heavy general fee for the whole journey. if he was found without his ticket of leave, he was at once arrested. but it was when he came to a bridge that the exactions grew insufferable. the regulations were somewhat tricky, for the jew was specially taxed only on sundays and the festivals of the church. but every other day was some saint's festival, and while, in mannheim, even on those days the christian traveller paid one kreuzer if he crossed the bridge on foot, and two if on horseback, the jew was charged four kreuzer if on foot, twelve if on a horse, and for every beast of burden he, unlike the christian wayfarer, paid a further toll of eight kreuzer. the jewish quarter often lay near the river, and jews had great occasion for crossing the bridges, even for local needs. in venice, the jewish quarter was naturally intersected by bridges; in rome there was the _pons judeorum,_ which, no doubt, the jews had to maintain in repair. it must be remembered that many local jewish communities paid a regular bridge tax which was not exacted from christians, and when all this is considered, it will be seen that the jewish merchant needed to work hard and go far afield, if he was to get any profit from his enterprises. nevertheless, these jews owned horses and caravans, and sailed their own ships long before the time when great merchants, like the english jew antonio fernandes carvajal, traded in their own vessels between london and the canaries. we hear of palestinian jews in the third century and of italian jews in the fifth century with ships of their own. jewish sailors abounded on the mediterranean, which tended to become a jewish lake. the trade routes of the jews were chiefly two. "by one route," says beazley, "they sailed from the ports of france and italy to the isthmus of suez, and thence down the red sea to india and farther asia. by another course, they transported the goods of the west to the syrian coast; up the orontes to antioch; down the euphrates to bassora; and so along the persian gulf to oman and the southern ocean." further, there were two chief overland routes. on the one side merchants left spain, traversed the straits of gibraltar, went by caravan from tangier along the northern fringe of the desert, to egypt, syria, and persia. this was the southern route. then there was the northern route, through germany, across the country of the slavs to the lower volga; thence, descending the river, they sailed across the caspian. then the traveller proceeded along the oxus valley to balkh, and, turning north-east, traversed the country of the tagazgaz turks, and found himself at last on the frontier of china. when one realizes the extent of such a journey, it is not surprising to hear that the greatest authorities are agreed that in the middle ages, before the rise of the italian trading republics, the jews were the chief middlemen between europe and asia. their vast commercial undertakings were productive of much good. not only did the jews bring to europe new articles of food and luxury, but they served the various states as envoys and as intelligencers. the great anglo-jewish merchant carvajal provided cromwell with valuable information, as other jewish merchants had done to other rulers of whom they were loyal servants. in the fifteenth century henry of portugal applied to jews for intelligence respecting the interior of africa, and a little later john, king of the same land, derived accurate information respecting india from two jewish travellers that had spent many years at ormuz and calcutta. but it is unnecessary to add more facts of this type. the jewish merchant traveller was no mere tradesman. he observed the country, especially did he note the numbers and occupations of the jews, their synagogues, their schools, their vices, and their virtues. in truth, the jewish traveller, as he got farther from home, was more at home than many of his contemporaries of other faiths when they were at home. he kept alive that sense of the oneness of judaism which could be most strongly and completely achieved because there was no political bias to separate it into hostile camps. but the interest between the traveller and his home was maintained by another bond. a striking feature of jewish wayfaring life was the writing of letters home. the "book of the pious," composed about , says: "he that departs from the city where his father and mother live, and travels to a place of danger, and his father and mother are anxious on account of him; it is the bounden duty of the son to hire a messenger as soon as he can and despatch a letter to his father and mother, telling them when he departs from the place of danger, that their anxiety may be allayed." twice a year all jews wrote family letters, at the new year and the passover, and they sent special greetings on birthdays. but the traveller was the chief letter-writer. "o my father," wrote the famous obadiah of bertinoro, in , "my departure from thee has caused thee sorrow and suffering, and i am inconsolable that i was forced to leave at the time when age was creeping on thee. when i think of thy grey hairs, which i no longer see, my eyes flow over with tears. but if the happiness of serving thee in person is denied to me, yet i can at least serve thee as thou desirest, by writing to thee of my journey, by pouring my soul out to thee, by a full narrative of what i have seen and of the state and manners of the jews in all the places where i have dwelt." after a long and valuable narrative, he concludes in this loving strain: "i have taken me a house in jerusalem near the synagogue, and my window overlooks it. in the court where my house is, there live five women, and only one other man besides myself. he is blind, and his wife attends to my needs. god be thanked, i have escaped the sickness which affects nearly all travellers here. and i entreat you, weep not at my absence, but rejoice in my joy, that i am in the holy city. i take god to witness that here the thought of all my sufferings vanishes, and but one image is before my eyes, thy dear face, o my father. let me feel that i can picture that face to me, not clouded with tears, but lit with joy. you have other children around you; make them your joy, and let my letters, which i will ever and anon renew, bring solace to your age, as your letters bring solace to me." much more numerous than the epistles of sons to fathers are the letters of fathers to their families. when these come from palestine, there is the same mingling of pious joy and human sorrow--joy to be in the holy land, sorrow to be separated from home. another source of grief was the desolation of palestine. one such letter-writer tells sadly how he walked through the market at zion, thought of the past, and only kept back his tears lest the arab onlookers should see and ridicule his sorrow. yet another medieval letter-writer, nachmanides, reaches the summit of sentiment in these lines, which i take from dr. schechter's translation: "i was exiled by force from home, i left my sons and daughters; and with the dear and sweet ones whom i brought up on my knees, i left my soul behind me. my heart and my eyes will dwell with them forever. but o! the joy of a day in thy courts, o jerusalem! visiting the ruins of the temple and crying over the desolate sanctuary; where i am permitted to caress thy stones, to fondle thy dust, and to weep over thy ruins. i wept bitterly, but found joy in my tears." and with this thought in our mind we will take leave of our subject. it is the traveller who can best discern, amid the ruins wrought by man, the hope of a divine rebuilding. over the heavy hills of strife, he sees the coming dawn of peace. the world must still pass through much tribulation before the new jerusalem shall arise, to enfold in its loving embrace all countries and all men. but the traveller, more than any other, hastens the good time. he overbridges seas, he draws nations nearer; he shows men that there are many ways of living and of loving. he teaches them to be tolerant; he humanizes them by presenting their brothers to them. the traveller it is who prepares a way in the wilderness, who makes straight in the desert a highway for the lord. the fox's heart pliny says that by eating the palpitating heart of a mole one acquires the faculty of divining future events. in "westward ho!" the spanish prisoners beseech their english foe, mr. oxenham, not to leave them in the hands of the cimaroons, for the latter invariably ate the hearts of all that fell into their hands, after roasting them alive. "do you know," asks mr. alston in the "witch's head," "what those basutu devils would have done if they had caught us? they would have skinned us, and made our hearts into _mouti_ [medicine] and eaten them, to give them the courage of the white man." ibn verga, the author of a sixteenth century account of jewish martyrs, records the following strange story: "i have heard that some people in spain once brought the accusation that they had found, in the house of a jew, a lad slain, and his breast rent near the heart. they asserted that the jews had extracted his heart to employ it at their festival. don solomon, the levite, who was a learned man and a cabbalist, placed the holy name under the lad's tongue. the lad then awoke and told who had slain him, and who had removed his heart, with the object of accusing the poor jews. i have not," adds the author of the _shebet jehudah_, "seen this story in writing, but i have heard it related." we have the authority of dr. ploss for the statement that among the slavs witches produce considerable disquiet in families, into which, folk say, they penetrate in the disguise of hens or butterflies. they steal the hearts of children in order to eat them. they strike the child on the left side with a little rod; the breast opens, and the witches tear out the heart, and devour every atom of it. thereupon the wound closes up of itself, without leaving a trace of what has been done. the child dies either immediately or soon afterwards, as the witch chooses. many children's illnesses are attributed to this cause. if one of these witches is caught asleep, the people seize her, and move her so as to place her head where her feet were before. on awaking, she has lost all her power for evil, and is transformed into a medicine-woman, who is acquainted with the healing effects of every herb, and aids in curing children of their diseases. in heine's poem, "the pilgrimage to kevlaar," the love-lorn youth seeks the cure of his heart's ill by placing a waxen heart on the shrine. this is unquestionably the most exquisite use in literature of the heart as a charm. two or three of the stories that i have noted down on the gruesome subject of heart-eating have been given above. such ideas were abhorrent to the jewish conscience, and the use of the heart torn from a living animal was regarded as characteristic of idolatry (jerusalem talmud, _aboda zara_, ii, b). in the book of tobit a fish's heart plays a part, but it is detached from the dead animal, and is not eaten. it forms an ingredient of the smoke which exorcises the demon that is troubling the heroine sarah. i have not come across any passage in the jewish midrashim that ascribes to "heart-eating," even in folk-lore, the virtue of bestowing wisdom. aristotle seems to lend his authority to some such notion as that i have quoted from pliny, when he says, "man alone presents the phenomenon of heart-beating, because he alone is moved by hope and by expectation of what is coming." as george h. lewes remarked, it is quite evident that aristotle could never have held a bird in his hand. the idea, however, that eating the heart of an animal has wisdom-conferring virtue seems to underlie a very interesting hebrew fable published by dr. steinschneider, in his _alphabetum siracidis_. the angel of death had demanded of god the power to slay all living things. "the holy one replied, 'cast a pair of each species into the sea, and then thou shalt have dominion over all that remain of the species.' the angel did so forthwith, and he cast a pair of each kind into the sea. when the fox saw what he was about, what did he do? at once he stood and wept. then said the angel of death unto him, 'why weepest thou?' 'for my companions, whom thou hast cast into the sea,' answered the fox. 'where, then, are thy companions?' said the angel. the fox ran to the sea-shore [with his wife], and the angel of death beheld the reflection of the fox in the water, and he thought that he had already cast in a pair of foxes, so, addressing the fox by his side, he cried, 'be off with you!' the fox at once fled and escaped. the weasel met him, and the fox related what had happened, and what he had done; and so the weasel went and did likewise. "at the end of the year, the leviathan assembled all the creatures in the sea, and lo! the fox and the weasel were missing, for they had not come into the sea. he sent to ask, and he was told how the fox and the weasel had escaped through their wisdom. they taunted the leviathan, saying, 'the fox is exceedingly cunning.' the leviathan felt uneasy and envious, and he sent a deputation of great fishes, with the order that they were to deceive the fox, and bring him before him. they went, and found him by the sea-shore. when the fox saw the fishes disporting themselves near the bank, he was surprised, and he went among them. they beheld him, and asked, 'who art thou?' 'i am the fox,' said he. 'knowest thou not,' continued the fishes, 'that a great honor is in store for thee, and that we have come here on thy behalf?' 'what is it?' asked the fox. 'the leviathan,' they said, 'is sick, and like to die. he has appointed thee to reign in his stead, for he has heard that thou art wiser and more prudent than all other animals. come with us, for we are his messengers, and are here to thy honor.' 'but,' objected the fox, 'how can i come into the sea without being drowned?' 'nay,' said the fishes; 'ride upon one of us, and he will carry thee above the sea, so that not even a drop of water shall touch so much as the soles of thy feet, until thou reachest the kingdom. we will take thee down without thy knowing it. come with us, and reign over us, and be king, and be joyful all thy days. no more wilt thou need to seek for food, nor will wild beasts, stronger than thou, meet thee and devour thee.' "the fox heard and believed their words. he rode upon one of them, and they went with him into the sea. soon, however, the waves dashed over him, and he began to perceive that he had been tricked. 'woe is me!' wailed the fox, 'what have i done? i have played many a trick on others, but these fishes have played one on me worth all mine put together. now i have fallen into their hands, how shall i free myself? indeed,' he said, turning to the fishes, 'now that i am fully in your power, i shall speak the truth. what are you going to do with me?' 'to tell thee the truth,' replied the fishes, 'the leviathan has heard thy fame, that thou art very wise, and he said, i will rend the fox, and will eat his heart, and thus i shall become wise.' 'oh!' said the fox, 'why did you not tell me the truth at first? i should then have brought my heart with me, and i should have given it to king leviathan, and he would have honored me; but now ye are in an evil plight.' 'what! thou hast not thy heart with thee?' 'certainly not. it is our custom to leave our heart at home while we go about from place to place. when we need our heart, we take it; otherwise it remains at home.' 'what must we do?' asked the bewildered fishes. 'my house and dwelling-place,' replied the fox, 'are by the sea-shore. if you like, carry me back to the place whence you brought me, i will fetch my heart, and will come again with you. i will present my heart to leviathan, and he will reward me and you with honors. but if you take me thus, without my heart, he will be wroth with you, and will devour you. i have no fear for myself, for i shall say unto him: my lord, they did not tell me at first, and when they did tell me, i begged them to return for my heart, but they refused.' the fishes at once declared that he was speaking well. they conveyed him back to the spot on the sea-shore whence they had taken him. off jumped the fox, and he danced with joy. he threw himself on the sand, and laughed. 'be quick,' cried the fishes, 'get thy heart, and come.' but the fox answered, 'you fools! begone! how could i have come with you without my heart? have you any animals that go about without their hearts?' 'thou hast tricked us,' they moaned. 'fools! i tricked the angel of death, how much more easily a parcel of silly fishes.' "they returned in shame, and related to their master what had happened. 'in truth,' he said, 'he is cunning, and ye are simple. concerning you was it said, the turning away of the simple shall slay them [prov. i: ]. then the leviathan ate the fishes." metaphorically, the bible characterizes the fool as a man "without a heart," and it is probably in the same sense that modern arabs describe the brute creation as devoid of hearts. the fox in the narrative just given knew better. not so, however, the lady who brought a curious question for her rabbi to solve. the case to which i refer may be found in the _responsa_ zebi hirsch. hirsch's credulous questioner asserted that she had purchased a live cock, but on killing and drawing it, she had found that it possessed no heart. the rabbi refused very properly to believe her. on investigating the matter, he found that, while she was dressing the cock, two cats had been standing near the table. the rabbi assured his questioner that there was no need to inquire further into the whereabouts of the cock's heart. out of the crowd of parallels to the story of the fox's heart supplied by the labors of benfey, i select one given in the second volume of the learned investigator's _pantschatantra_. a crocodile had formed a close friendship with a monkey, who inhabited a tree close to the water side. the monkey gave the crocodile nuts, which the latter relished heartily. one day the crocodile took some of the nuts home to his wife. she found them excellent, and inquired who was the donor. "if," she said, when her husband had told her, "he feeds on such ambrosial nuts, this monkey's heart must be ambrosia itself. bring me his heart, that i may eat it, and so be free from age and death." does not this version supply a more probable motive than that attributed in the hebrew story to the leviathan? i strongly suspect that the hebrew fable has been pieced together from various sources, and that the account given by the fishes, viz. that the leviathan was ill, was actually the truth in the original story. the leviathan would need the fox's heart, not to become wise, but in order to save his life. to return to the crocodile. he refuses to betray his friend, and his wife accuses him of infidelity. his friend, she maintains, is not a monkey at all, but a lady-love of her husband's. else why should he hesitate to obey her wishes? "if he is not your beloved, why will you not kill him? unless you bring me his heart, i will not taste food, but will die." then the crocodile gives in, and in the most friendly manner invites the monkey to pay him and his wife a visit. the monkey consents unsuspectingly, but discovers the truth, and escapes by adopting the same ruse as that employed by the fox. he asserts that he has left his heart behind on his tree. that eating the heart of animals was not thought a means of obtaining wisdom among the jews, may be directly inferred from a passage in the talmud (_horayoth_, b). among five things there enumerated as "causing a man to forget what he has learned," the talmud includes "eating the hearts of animals." besides, in certain well-known stories in the midrash, where a fox eats some other animal's heart, his object is merely to enjoy a titbit. one such story in particular deserves attention. there are at least three versions of it. the one is contained in the _mishle shualim_, or "fox-stories," by berechiah ha-nakdan (no. ), the second in the _hadar zekenim_ (fol. b), and the third in the _midrash yalkut_, on exodus (ed. venice, a). let us take the three versions in the order named. a wild boar roams in a lion's garden. the lion orders him to quit the place and not defile his residence. the boar promises to obey, but next morning he is found near the forbidden precincts. the lion orders one of his ears to be cut off. he then summons the fox, and directs that if the boar still persists in his obnoxious visits, no mercy shall be shown to him. the boar remains obstinate, and loses his ears (one had already gone!) and eyes, and finally he is killed. the lion bids the fox prepare the carcass for his majesty's repast, but the fox himself devours the boar's heart. when the lion discovers the loss, the fox quiets his master by asking, "if the boar had possessed a heart, would he have been so foolish as to disobey you so persistently?" the king of the beasts, runs the story in the second of the three versions, appointed the ass as keeper of the tolls. one day king lion, together with the wolf and the fox, approached the city. the ass came and demanded the toll of them. said the fox, "you are the most audacious of animals. don't you see that the king is with us?" but the ass answered, "the king himself shall pay," and he went and demanded the toll of the king. the lion rent him to pieces, and the fox ate the heart, and excused himself as in the former version. the _yalkut_, or third version, is clearly identical with the preceding, for, like it, the story is quoted to illustrate the scriptural text referring to pharaoh's heart becoming hard. in this version, however, other animals accompany the lion and the fox, and the scene of the story is on board ship. the ass demands the fare, with the same _dénouement_ as before. what induced the fox to eat the victim's heart? the ass is not remarkable for wisdom, nor is the boar. hence the wily reynard can scarcely have thought to add to his store of cunning by his surreptitious meal. hearts, in folk-lore, have been eaten for revenge, as in the grim story of the lover's heart told by boccaccio. the jealous husband forces his wife, whose fidelity he doubts, to make a meal of her supposed lover's heart. in the story of the great bird's egg, again, the brother who eats the heart becomes rich, but not wise. various motives, no doubt, are assigned in other _märchen_ for choosing the heart; but in these particular hebrew fables, it is merely regarded as a _bonne bouche_. possibly the talmudic caution, that eating the heart of a beast brings forgetfulness, may have a moral significance; it may mean that one who admits bestial passions into his soul will be destitute of a mind for nobler thoughts. this suggestion i have heard, and i give it for what it may be worth. as a rule, there is no morality in folk-lore; stories with morals belong to the later and more artificial stage of poet-lore. homiletical folk-lore, of course, stands on a different basis. now, in the _yalkut_ version of the fox and the lion fable, all that we are told is, "the fox saw the ass's heart; he took it, and ate it." but berechiah leaves us in no doubt as to the fox's motive. "the fox saw that his heart was fat, and so he took it." in the remaining version, "the fox saw that the heart was good, so he ate it." this needs no further comment. of course, it has been far from my intention to dispute that the heart was regarded by jews as the seat both of the intellect and the feelings, of all mental and spiritual functions, indeed. the heart was the best part of man, the fount of life; hence jehudah halevi's well-known saying, "israel is to the world as the heart to the body." an intimate connection was also established, by jews and greeks alike, between the physical condition of the heart and man's moral character. it was a not unnatural thought that former ages were more pious than later times. "the heart of rabbi akiba was like the door of the porch [which was twenty cubits high], the heart of rabbi eleazar ben shammua was like the door of the temple [this was only ten cubits high], while our hearts are only as large as the eye of a needle." but i am going beyond my subject. to collect all the things, pretty and the reverse, that have been said in jewish literature about the heart, would need more leisure, and a great deal more learning, than i possess. so i will conclude with a story, pathetic as well as poetical, from a jewish medieval chronicle. a mohammedan king once asked a learned rabbi why the jews, who had in times long past been so renowned for their bravery, had in later generations become subdued, and even timorous. the rabbi, to prove that captivity and persecution were the cause of the change, proposed an experiment. he bade the king take two lion's whelps, equally strong and big. one was tied up, the other was allowed to roam free in the palace grounds. they were fed alike, and after an interval both were killed. the king's officers found that the heart of the captive lion was but one-tenth as large as that of his free companion, thus evidencing the degenerating influence of slavery. this is meant, no doubt, as a fable, but, at least, it is not without a moral. the days of captivity are gone, and it may be hoped that jewish large-heartedness has come back with the breath of freedom. "marriages are made in heaven" "the omnipresent," said a rabbi, "is occupied in making marriages." the levity of the saying lies in the ear of him who hears it; for by marriages the speaker meant all the wondrous combinations of the universe, whose issue makes our good and evil. _george eliot_ the proverb that i have set at the head of these lines is popular in every language of europe. need i add that a variant may be found in chinese? the old man of the moon unites male and female with a silken, invisible thread, and they cannot afterwards be separated, but are destined to become man and wife. the remark of the rabbi quoted in "daniel deronda" carries the proverb back apparently to a jewish origin; and it is, indeed, more than probable that the rabbinical literature is the earliest source to which this piece of folk-philosophy can be traced. george eliot's rabbi was jose bar chalafta, and his remark was made to a lady, possibly a roman matron of high quality, in sepphoris. rabbi jose was evidently an adept in meeting the puzzling questions of women, for as many as sixteen interviews between him and "matrons" are recorded in agadic literature. whether because prophetic of its subsequent popularity, or for some other reason, this particular dialogue in which rabbi jose bore so conspicuous a part is repeated in the _midrash rabba_ alone not less than four times, besides appearing in other midrashim. it will be as well, then, to reproduce the passage in a summarized form, for it may be fairly described as the _locus classicus_ on the subject. "how long," she asked, "did it take god to create the world?" and rabbi jose informed her that the time occupied was six days. "what has god been doing since that time?" continued the matron. "the holy one," answered the rabbi, "has been sitting in heaven arranging marriages."--"indeed!" she replied, "i could do as much myself. i have thousands of slaves, and could marry them off in couples in a single hour. it is easy enough."--"i hope that you will find it so," said rabbi jose. "in heaven it is thought as difficult as the dividing of the red sea." he then took his departure, while she assembled one thousand men-servants and as many maid-servants, and, marking them off in pairs, ordered them all to marry. on the day following this wholesale wedding, the poor victims came to their mistress in a woeful plight. one had a broken leg, another a black eye, a third a swollen nose; all were suffering from some ailment, but with one voice they joined in the cry, "lady, unmarry us again!" then the matron sent for rabbi jose, admitted that she had underrated the delicacy and difficulty of match-making, and wisely resolved to leave heaven for the future to do its work in its own way. the moral conveyed by this story may seem, however, to have been idealized by george eliot almost out of recognition. this is hardly the case. genius penetrates into the heart, even from a casual glance at the face of things. though it is unlikely that she had ever seen the full passages in the midrash to which she was alluding, yet her insight was not at fault. for the saying that god is occupied in making marriages is, in fact, associated in some passages of the midrash with the far wider problems of man's destiny, with the universal effort to explain the inequalities of fortune, and the changes with which the future is heavy. rabbi jose's proverbial explanation of connubial happiness was not merely a _bon mot_ invented on the spur of the moment, to silence an awkward questioner. it was a firm conviction, which finds expression in more than one quaint utterance, but also in more than one matter-of-fact assertion. to take the latter first: "rabbi phineas in the name of rabbi abbahu said, we find in the torah, in the prophets, and in the holy writings, evidence that a man's wife is chosen for him by the holy one, blessed be he. whence do we deduce it in the torah? from genesis xxiv. : _then laban and bethuel answered and said_ [in reference to rebekah's betrothal to isaac], _the thing proceedeth from the lord._ in the prophets it is found in judges xiv. [where it is related how samson wished to mate himself with a woman in timnath, of the daughters of the philistines], _but his father and mother knew not that it was of the lord._ in the holy writings the same may be seen, for it is written (proverbs xix. ), _house and riches are the inheritance of fathers, but a prudent wife is from the lord._" many years ago, a discussion was carried on in the columns of _notes and queries_ concerning the origin of the saying round which my present desultory jottings are centred. one correspondent, with unconscious plagiarism, suggested that the maxim was derived from proverbs xix. . another text that might be appealed to is tobit vi. . the angel encourages tobit to marry sarah, though her seven husbands, one after the other, had died on their wedding eves. "fear not," said raphael, "for _she is appointed unto thee from the beginning_." here we may, for a moment, pause to consider whether any parallels to the belief in heaven-made marriages exist in other ancient literatures. it appears in english as early as shakespeare: god, the best maker of all marriages, combine your hearts in one. _henry v., v. ._ this, however, is too late to throw any light on its origin. with a little ingenuity, one might, perhaps, torture some such notion out of certain fantastic sentences of plato. in the _symposium_ (par. ), however, god is represented as putting obstacles in the way of the union of fitting lovers, in consequence of the wickedness of mankind. when men become, by their conduct, reconciled with god, they may find their true loves. astrological divinations on the subject are certainly common enough in eastern stories; a remarkable instance will be given later on. at the present day, lane tells us, the numerical value of the letters in the names of the two parties to the contract are added for each name separately, and one of the totals is subtracted from the other. if the remainder is uneven, the inference drawn is favorable; but if even, the reverse. the pursuit of gematria is apparently not limited to jews. such methods, however, hardly illustrate my present point, for the identity of the couple is not discovered by the process. whether the diviner's object is to make this discovery, or the future lot of the married pair is all that he seeks to reveal, in both cases, though he charm never so wisely, it does not fall within the scope of this inquiry. without stretching one's imagination too much, some passages in the _pantschatantra_ seem to imply a belief that marriage-making is under the direct control of providence. take, for instance, the story of the beautiful princess who was betrothed to a serpent, deva serma's son. despite the various attempts made to induce her to break off so hideous a match, she declines steadfastly to go back from her word, and bases her refusal on the ground that the marriage was inevitable and destined by the gods. as quaint illustrations may be instanced the following: "raba heard a certain man praying that he might marry a certain damsel; raba rebuked him with the words: 'if she be destined for thee, nothing will part thee from her; if thou art not destined for her, thou art denying providence in praying for her.' afterwards raba heard him say, 'if i am not destined to marry her, i hope that either i or she may die,'" meaning that he could not bear to witness her union with another. despite raba's protest, other instances are on record of prayers similar to the one of which he disapproved. or, again, the midrash offers a curious illustration of psalm lxii. , "surely men of low degree are a breath, and men of high degree a lie." the first clause of the verse alludes to those who say in the usual way of the world, that a certain man is about to wed a certain maiden, and the second clause to those who say that a certain maiden is about to wed a certain man. in both cases people are in error in thinking that the various parties are acting entirely of their own free will; as a matter of fact, the whole affair is predestined. i am not quite certain whether the same idea is intended by the _yalkut reubeni_, in which the following occurs: "know that all religious and pious men in this our generation are henpecked by their wives, the reason being connected with the mystery of the golden calf. the men on that occasion did not protest against the action of the mixed multitude [at whose door the charge of making the calf is laid], while the women were unwilling to surrender their golden ornaments for idolatrous purposes. therefore they rule over their husbands." one might also quote the bearing of the mystical theory of transmigration on the predestination of bridal pairs. in the talmud, on the other hand, the virtues of a man's wife are sometimes said to be in proportion to the husband's own; or in other words, his own righteousness is the cause of his acquiring a good wife. the obvious objection, raised by the talmud itself, is that a man's merits can hardly be displayed before his birth--and yet his bride is destined for him at that early period. yet more quaint (i should perhaps rather term it consistent, were not consistency rare enough to be indistinguishable from quaintness) was the confident belief of a maiden of whom mention is made in the _sefer ha-chasidim_ (par. ). she refused persistently to deck her person with ornaments. people said to her, "if you go about thus unadorned, no one will notice you nor court you." she replied with firm simplicity, "it is the holy one, blessed be he, that settles marriages; i need have no concern on the point myself." virtue was duly rewarded, for she married a learned and pious husband. this passage in the "book of the pious" reminds me of the circumstance under which the originator of the latter-day chasidism, israel baalshem, is said to have married. when he was offered the daughter of a rich and learned man of brody, named abraham, he readily accepted the alliance, because he knew that abraham's daughter was his bride destined by heaven. for, like moses mendelssohn, in some other respects the antagonist of the chasidim, baalshem accepted the declaration of rabbi judah in the name of rab: "forty days before the creation of a girl, a proclamation [bath-kol] is made in heaven, saying, 'the daughter of such a one shall marry such and such a one.'" the belief in the divine ordaining of marriages affected the medieval synagogue liturgy. to repeat what i have written elsewhere: when the bridegroom, with a joyous retinue, visited the synagogue on the sabbath following his marriage, the congregation chanted the chapter of genesis (xxiv) that narrates the story of isaac's marriage, which, as abraham's servant claimed, was providentially arranged. this chapter was sung, not only in hebrew, but in arabic, in countries where the latter language was the vernacular. these special readings, which were additional to the regular scripture lesson, seem to have fallen out of use in europe in the seventeenth century, but they are still retained in the east. but all over jewry the beautiful old belief is contained in the wording of the fourth of the "seven benedictions" sung at the celebration of a wedding, "blessed art thou, o lord our god, king of the universe, who hast made man in thine image, after thy likeness, and hast prepared unto him out of his very self a perpetual fabric." here is recalled the creation of eve, of whom god himself said, "i will make for man a help meet unto him." not only the marriage, but also the bride was heaven-made, and the wonderful wedding benediction enshrines this idea. in an agadic story, the force of this predestination is shown to be too strong even for royal opposition. it does not follow that the pre-arrangement of marriages implies that the pair cannot fall in love of their own accord. on the contrary, just the right two eventually come together; for once freewill and destiny need present no incompatibility. the combination, here shadowed, of a predestined and yet true-love marriage, is effectively illustrated in what follows: "solomon the king was blessed with a very beautiful daughter; she was the fairest maiden in the whole land of israel. her father observed the stars, to discover by astrology who was destined to be her mate in life and wed her, when lo! he saw that his future son-in-law would be the poorest man in the nation. now, what did solomon do? he built a high tower by the sea, and surrounded it on all sides with inaccessible walls; he then took his daughter and placed her in the tower under the charge of seventy aged guardians. he supplied the castle with provisions, but he had no door made in it, so that none could enter the fortress without the knowledge of the guard. then the king said, 'i will watch in what way god will work the matter.' "in course of time, a poor and weary traveller was walking on his way by night, his garments were ragged and torn, he was barefooted and ready to faint with hunger, cold, and fatigue. he knew not where to sleep, but, casting his eyes around him, he beheld the skeleton of an ox lying on a field hard by. the youth crept inside the skeleton to shelter himself from the wind, and, while he slept there, down swooped a great bird, which lifted up the carcass and the unconscious youth in it. the bird flew with its burden to the top of solomon's tower, and set it down on the roof before the very door of the imprisoned princess. she went forth on the morrow to walk on the roof according to her daily wont, and she descried the youth. she said to him, 'who art thou? and who brought thee hither?' he answered, 'i am a jew of acco, and a bird bore me to thee.' the kind-hearted maiden clothed him in new garments; they bathed and anointed him, and she saw that he was the handsomest youth in israel. they loved one another, and his soul was bound up in hers. one day she said, 'wilt thou marry me?' he replied, 'would it might be so!' they resolved to marry. but there was no ink with which to write the kethubah, or marriage certificate. love laughs at obstacles. so, using some drops of his own blood as ink, the marriage was secretly solemnized, and he said, 'god is my witness to-day, and michael and gabriel likewise.' when the matter leaked out, the dismayed custodians of the princess hastily summoned solomon. the king at once obeyed their call, and asked for the presumptuous youth. he looked at his son-in-law, inquired of him as to his father and mother, family and dwelling-place, and from his replies the king recognized him for the selfsame man whom he had seen in the stars as the destined husband of his daughter. then solomon rejoiced with exceeding joy and exclaimed, blessed is the omnipresent who giveth a wife to man and establisheth him in his house." the moral of which seems to be that, though marriages are made in heaven, love must be made on earth. hebrew love songs palestine is still the land of song. there the peasant sings arabic ditties in the field when he sows and reaps, in the desert when he tends his flock, at the oasis when the caravan rests for the night, and when camels are remounted next morning. the maiden's fresh voice keeps droning rhythm with her hands and feet as she carries water from the well or wood from the scanty forest, when she milks the goats, and when she bakes the bread. the burden of a large portion of these songs is love. the love motive is most prominent musically during the long week of wedding festivities, but it is by no means limited to these occasions. the songs often contain an element of quaint, even arch, repartee, in which the girl usually has the better of the argument. certainly the songs are sometimes gross, but only in the sense that they are vividly natural. with no delicacy of expression, they are seldom intrinsically coarse. the troubadours of europe trilled more daintily of love, but there was at times an illicit note in their lays. eastern love songs never attain the ideal purity of dante, but they hardly ever sink to the level of ovid. but why begin an account of hebrew love songs by citing extant palestinian examples in arabic? because there is an undeniable, if remote, relationship between some of the latter and the biblical song of songs. in that marvellous poem, outspoken praise of earthly beauty, frank enumeration of the physical charms of the lovers, thorough unreserve of imagery, are conspicuous enough. just these features, as wetzstein showed, are reproduced, in a debased, yet recognizable, likeness, by the modern syrian _wasf_--a lyric description of the bodily perfections and adornments of a newly-wed pair. the song of songs, or canticles, it is true, is hardly a marriage ode or drama; its theme is betrothed faith rather than marital affection. still, if we choose to regard the song of songs as poetry merely of the _wasf_ type, the hebrew is not only far older than any extant arabic instance, but it transcends the _wasf_ type as a work of inspired genius transcends conventional exercises in verse-making. there are superficial similarities between the _wasf_ and canticles, but there is no spiritual kinship. the _wasf_ is to the song as lovelace is to shakespeare, nay, the distance is even greater. the difference is not only of degree, it is essential. the one touches the surface of love, the other sounds its depths. the song of songs immeasurably surpasses the _wasf_ even as poetry. it has been well said by dr. harper (author of the best english edition of canticles), that, viewed simply as poetry, the song of songs belongs to the loveliest masterpieces of art. "if, as milton said, 'poetry should be simple, sensuous, passionate,' then here we have poetry of singular beauty and power. such unaffected delight in all things fair as we find here is rare in any literature, and is especially remarkable in ancient hebrew literature. the beauty of the world and of the creatures in it has been so deeply and warmly felt, that even to-day the ancient poet's emotion of joy in them thrills through the reader." it is superfluous to justify this eulogy by quotation. it is impossible also, unless the quotation extend to the whole book. yet one scene shall be cited, the exquisite, lyrical dialogue of spring, beginning with the tenth verse of the second chapter. it is a dialogue, though the whole is reported by one speaker, the shulammite maid. her shepherd lover calls to her as she stands hidden behind a lattice, in the palace in lebanon, whither she has been decoyed, or persuaded to go, by the "ladies of jerusalem." _the shepherd lover calls_ rise up, my love, my fair one, come away! for, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone, the flowers appear on the earth: the birds' singing time is here, and the voice of the turtle-dove is heard in our land. the fig-tree ripens red her winter fruit, and blossoming vines give forth fragrance. rise up, my love, my fair one, come away! shulammith makes no answer, though she feels that the shepherd is conscious of her presence. she is, as it were, in an unapproachable steep, such as the wild dove selects for her shy nest. so he goes on: o my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the covert of the steep! let me see thy face, let me hear thy voice, for sweet is thy voice, and thy face comely! she remains tantalizingly invisible, but becomes audible. she sings a snatch from a vineyard-watcher's song, hinting, perhaps, at the need in which her person (her "vineyard" as she elsewhere calls it) stands of protection against royal foxes, small and large. _shulammith sings_ take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vineyards: for our vines are in blossom! then, in loving rapture, _shulammith speaks in an aside_ my beloved is mine, and i am his: he feedeth his flock among the lilies! but she cannot refuse her lover one glance at herself, even though she appear only to warn him of his danger, to urge him to leave her and return when the day is over. _shulammith entreatingly to her lover_ until the evening breeze blows, and the shadows disappear (at sunset), turn, my beloved! be thou as a young hart upon the cleft-riven hills! this is but one of the many dainty love idylls of this divine poem. or, again, "could the curious helplessness of the dreamer in a dream and the yearning of a maiden's affection be more exquisitely expressed than in the lines beginning, i was asleep, but my heart waked"? but, indeed, as the critic i am quoting continues, "the felicities of expression and the happy imaginings of the poem are endless. the spring of nature and of love has been caught and fixed in its many exquisite lines, as only shakespeare elsewhere has done it; and, understood as we think it must be understood, it has that ethical background of sacrifice and self-forgetting which all love must have to be thoroughly worthy." it is this ethical, or, as i prefer to term it, spiritual, background that discriminates the song of songs on the one hand from the idylls of theocritus, and, on the other, from the syrian popular ditties. some moderns, notably budde, hold that the book of canticles is merely a collection of popular songs used at syrian weddings, in which the bride figures as queen and her mate as king, just as budde (wrongly) conceives them to figure in the biblical song. budde suggests that there were "guilds of professional singers at weddings, and that we have in the song of songs simply the repertoire of some ancient guild-brother, who, in order to assist his memory, wrote down at random all the songs he could remember, or those he thought the best." but this theory has been generally rejected as unsatisfying. the book, despite its obscurities, is clearly a unity. it is no haphazard collection of love songs. there is a sustained dramatic action leading up to a noble climax. some passages almost defy the attempt to fit them into a coherent plot, but most moderns detect the following story in canticles: a beautiful maid of shulem (perhaps another form of shunem), beloved by a shepherd swain, is the only daughter of well-off but rustic parents. she is treated harshly by her brothers, who set her to watch the vineyards, and this exposure to the sun somewhat mars her beauty. straying in the gardens, she is on a day in spring surprised by solomon and his train, who are on a royal progress to the north. she is taken to the palace in the capital, and later to a royal abode in lebanon. there the "ladies of jerusalem" seek to win her affections for the king, who himself pays her his court. but she resists all blandishments, and remains faithful to her country lover. surrendering graciously to her strenuous resistance, solomon permits her to return unharmed to her mountain home. her lover meets her, and as she draws near her native village, the maid, leaning on the shepherd's arm, breaks forth into the glorious panegyric of love, which, even if it stood alone, would make the poem deathless. but it does not stand alone. it is in every sense a climax to what has gone before. and what a climax! it is a vindication of true love, which weighs no allurements of wealth and position against itself; a love of free inclination, yet altogether removed from license. nor is it an expression of that lower love which may prevail in a polygamous state of society, when love is dissipated among many. we have here the love of one for one, an exclusive and absorbing devotion. for though the bible never prohibited polygamy, the jews had become monogamous from the babylonian exile at latest. the splendid praise of the virtuous woman at the end of the book of proverbs gives a picture, not only of monogamous home-life, but of woman's influence at its highest. the virtuous woman of proverbs is wife and mother, deft guide of the home, open-handed dispenser of charity, with the law of kindness on her tongue; but her activity also extends to the world outside the home, to the mart, to the business of life. where, in olden literature, are woman's activities wider or more manifold, her powers more fully developed? now, the song of songs is the lyric companion to this prose picture. the whole song works up towards the description of love in the last chapter--towards the culmination of the thought and feeling of the whole series of episodes. the shulammite speaks: set me as a seal upon thy heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death, jealousy is cruel as the grave: the flashes thereof are flashes of fire, a very flame of god! many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give the substance of his house for love, he would be utterly contemned. the vindication of the hebrew song from degradation to the level of the syrian _wasf_ is easy enough. but some may feel that there is more plausibility in the case that has been set up for the connection between canticles and another type of love song, the idylls of theocritus, the sicilian poet whose greek compositions gave lyric distinction to the ptolemaic court at alexandria, about the middle of the third century b.c.e. it is remarkable how reluctant some writers are to admit originality in ideas. such writers seem to recognize no possibility other than supposing theocritus to have copied canticles, or canticles theocritus. it does not occur to them that both may be original, independent expressions of similar emotions. least original among ideas is this denial of originality in ideas. criticism has often stultified itself under the obsession that everything is borrowed. on this theory there can never have been an original note. the poet, we are told, is born, not made; but poetry, apparently, is always made, never born. the truth rather is that as human nature is everywhere similar, there must necessarily be some similarity in its literary expression. this is emphatically the case with the expression given to the emotional side of human nature. the love of man for maid, rising everywhere from the same spring, must find lyric outlets that look a good deal alike. the family resemblance between the love poems of various peoples is due to the elemental kinship of the love. every true lover is original, yet most true lovers, including those who have no familiarity with poetical literature, fall instinctively on the same terms of endearment. differences only make themselves felt in the spiritual attitudes of various ages and races towards love. theocritus has been compared to canticles, by some on the ground of certain orientalisms of his thought and phrases, as in his praise of ptolemy. but his love poems bear no trace of orientalism in feeling, as canticles shows no trace of hellenism in its conception of love. the similarities are human, the differences racial. direct literary imitation of love lyrics certainly does occur. virgil imitated theocritus, and the freshness of the greek idyll became the convention of the roman eclogue. when such conscious imitation takes place, it is perfectly obvious. there is no mistaking the affectation of an urban lyrist, whose lovers masquerade as shepherds in the court of louis xiv. theocritus seems to have had earlier greek models, but few readers of his idylls can question his originality, and fewer still will agree with mahaffy in denying the naturalness of his goatherds and fishermen, in a word, his genuineness. mahaffy wavers between two statements, that the idylls are an affectation for alexandria, and sincere for sicily. the two statements are by no means contradictory. much the same thing is true of canticles, the biblical song of songs. it is unreasonable for anyone who has seen or read about a palestinian spring, with its unique beauty of flower and bird and blossom, to imagine that the author of canticles needed or used second-hand sources of inspiration, however little his drama may have accorded with the life of jerusalem in the hellenistic period. and as the natural scenic background in each case is native, so is the treatment of the love theme; in both it is passionate, but in the one it is nothing else, in the other it is also spiritual. in both, the whole is artistic, but not artificial. as regards the originality of the love-interest in canticles, it must suffice to say that there was always a strong romantic strain in the jewish character. canticles is perhaps (by no means certainly) post-exilic and not far removed in date from the age of theocritus. still, a post-exilic hebrew poet had no more reason to go abroad for a romantic plot than hosea, or the author of ruth, or the writer of the royal epithalamium (psalm xlv), an almost certainly pre-exilic composition. this psalm has been well termed a "prelude to the song of songs," for in a real sense canticles is anticipated and even necessitated by it. in ruth we have a romance of the golden corn-field, and the author chooses the unsophisticated days of the judges as the setting of his tale. in canticles we have a contrasted picture between the simplicity of shepherd-life and the urban voluptuousness which was soon to attain its climax in the court of the ptolemies. so the poet chose the luxurious reign of solomon as the background for his exquisite "melodrama." both ruth and canticles are home-products, and ancient greek literature has no real parallel to either. yet, despite the fact that the hebrew bible is permeated through and through, in its history, its psalmody, and its prophetic oratory, with images drawn from love, especially in rustic guise, so competent a critic as graetz conceived that the pastoral background of the love-story of canticles must have been artificial. while most of those who have accepted the theory of imitation-they cannot have reread the idylls and the song as wholes to persist in such a theory-have contended that theocritus borrowed from canticles, graetz is convinced that the hebrew poet must have known and imitated the greek idyllist. the hero and heroine of the song, he thinks, are not real shepherds; they are bucolic dilettanti, their shepherd-rôle is not serious. whence, then, this superficial pastoral _mise-en-scène?_ this critic, be it observed, places canticles in the ptolemaic age. "in the then judean world," writes graetz, "in the post-exilic period, pastoral life was in no way so distinguished as to serve as a poetic foil. on the contrary, the shepherd was held in contempt. agriculture was so predominant that large herds were considered a detriment; they spoiled the grain. shepherds, too, were esteemed robbers, in that they allowed their cattle to graze on the lands of others. in judea itself, in the post-exilic period, there were few pasture-grounds for such nomads. hence the song transfers the goats to gilead, where there still existed grazing-places. in the judean world the poet could find nothing to suggest the idealization of the shepherd. as he, nevertheless, represents the simple life, as opposed to courtly extravagance, through the figures of shepherds, he must have worked from a foreign model. but theocritus was the first perfect pastoral poet. through his influence shepherd songs became a favorite _genre_. he had no lack of imitators. theocritus had full reason to contrast court and rustic life and idealize the latter, for in his native sicily there were still shepherds in primitive simplicity. under his influence and that of his followers, it became the fashion to represent the simple life in pastoral guise. the poet of canticles--who wrote for cultured circles--was forced to make use of the convention. but, as though to excuse himself for taking a judean shepherd as a representative of the higher virtues, he made his shepherd one who feeds among the lilies. it is not the rude neat-herds of gilead or the judean desert that hold such noble dialogues, but shepherds of delicate refinement. in a word, the whole eclogic character of canticles appears to be copied from the theocritan model," this contention would be conclusive, if it were based on demonstrable facts. but what is the evidence for it? graetz offers none in his brilliant commentary on canticles. in proof of his startling view that, throughout post-exilic times, the shepherd vocation was held in low repute among israelites, he merely refers to an article in his _monatsschrift_ ( , p. ). when one turns to that, one finds that it concerns a far later period, the second christian century, when the shepherd vocation had fallen to the grade of a small and disreputable trade. the vocation was then no longer a necessary corollary of the sacrificial needs of the temple. while the altar of jerusalem required its holocausts, the breeders of the animals would hardly have been treated as pariahs. in the century immediately following the destruction of the temple, the shepherd began to fall in moral esteem, and in the next century he was included among the criminal categories. no doubt, too, as the tender of flocks was often an arab raider, the shepherd had become a dishonest poacher on other men's preserves. the attitude towards him was, further, an outcome of the deepening antagonism between the schoolmen and the peasantry. but even then it was by no means invariable. one of the most famous of rabbis, akiba, who died a martyr in c.e., was not only a shepherd, but he was also the hero of the most romantic of rabbinic love episodes. at the very time when graetz thinks that agriculture had superseded pastoral pursuits in general esteem, the book of ecclesiasticus was written. on the one side, sirach, the author of this apocryphal work, does not hesitate (ch. xxiv) to compare his beloved wisdom to a garden, in the same rustic images that we find in canticles; and, on the other side, he reveals none of that elevated appreciation of agriculture which graetz would have us expect. sirach (xxxvii. ) asks sarcastically: how shall he become wise that holdeth the plough, that glorieth in the shaft of the goad: that driveth oxen, and is occupied with their labors, and whose talk is of bullocks? here it is the farmer that is despised, not a word is hinted against the shepherd. sirach also has little fondness for commerce, and he denies the possibility of wisdom to the artisan and craftsman, "in whose ear is ever the noise of the hammer" (_ib_. v. ). sirach, indeed, is not attacking these occupations; he regards them all as a necessary evil, "without these cannot a city be inhabited" (v. ). our jerusalem _savant_, as dr. schechter well terms him, of the third or fourth century b.c.e.; is merely illustrating his thesis, that the wisdom of the scribe cometh by opportunity of leisure; and he that hath little business shall become wise, or, as he puts it otherwise, sought for in the council of the people, and chosen to sit in the seat of the judge. this view finds its analogue in a famous saying of the later jewish sage hillel, "not everyone who increaseth business attains wisdom" (_aboth_, ii. ). undeniably, the shepherd lost in dignity in the periods of jewish prosperity and settled city life. but, as george adam smith points out accurately, the prevailing character of judea is naturally pastoral, with husbandry only incidental. "judea, indeed, offers as good ground as there is in all the east for observing the grandeur of the shepherd's character,"--his devotion, his tenderness, his opportunity of leisurely communion with nature. the same characterization must have held in ancient times. and, after all, as graetz himself admits, the poet of canticles locates his shepherd in gilead, the wild jasmine and other flowers of whose pastures (the "lilies" of the song) still excite the admiration of travellers. laurence oliphant is lost in delight over the "anemones, cyclamens, asphodels, iris," which burst on his view as he rode "knee-deep through the long, rich, sweet grass, abundantly studded with noble oak and terebinth trees," and all this in gilead. when, then, the hebrew poet placed his shepherd and his flocks among the lilies, he was not trying to conciliate the courtly aristocrats of jerusalem, or reconcile them to his theocritan conventions; he was simply drawing his picture from life. and as to the poetical idealization of the shepherd, how could a hebrew poet fail to idealize him, under the ever-present charm of his traditional lore, of jacob the shepherd-patriarch, moses the shepherd-lawgiver, david the shepherd-king, and amos the shepherd-prophet? so god becomes the shepherd of israel, not only explicitly in the early twenty-third psalm, but implicitly also, in the late th. the same idealization is found everywhere in the rabbinic literature as well as in the new testament. moses is the hero of the beautiful midrashic parable of the straying lamb, which he seeks in the desert, and bears in his bosom (_exodus rabba_, ii). there is, on the other hand, something topsy-turvy in graetz's suggestion, that a hebrew poet would go abroad for a conventional idealization of the shepherd character, just when, on his theory, pastoral conditions were scorned and lightly esteemed at home. it was unnecessary, then, and inappropriate for the author of canticles to go to theocritus for the pastoral characters of his poem. but did he borrow its form and structure from the greek? nothing seems less akin than the slight dramatic interest of the idylls and the strong, if obscure, dramatic plot of canticles. budde has failed altogether to convince readers of the song that no consistent story runs through it. it is, as has been said above, incredible that we should have before us nothing more than the disconnected ditties of a syrian wedding-minstrel. graetz knew nothing of the repertoire theory that has been based on wetzstein's discoveries of modern syrian marriage songs and dances. graetz believed, as most still do, that canticles is a whole, not an aggregation of parts; yet he held that, not only the _dramatis personae_, but the very structure of the hebrew poem must be traced to theocritus. he appeals, in particular, to the second idyll of the greek poet, wherein the lady casts her magic spells in the vain hope of recovering the allegiance of her butterfly admirer. obviously, there is no kinship between the facile sirnaitha of the idyll and the difficult shulammith of canticles: one the seeker, the other the sought; between the sensuous, unrestrained passion of the former and the self-sacrificing, continent affection of the latter. the nobler conceptions of love derive from the judean maiden, not from the greek paramour. but, argues graetz with extraordinary ingenuity, simaitha, recounting her unfortunate love-affair, introduces, as shulammith does, dialogues between herself and her absent lover; she repeats what he said to her, and she to him; her monologue is no more a soliloquy than are the monologues of shulammith, for both have an audience: here thestylis, there the chorus of women. simaitha's second refrain, as she bewails her love, after casting the ingredients into the bowl, turning the magic wheel to draw home to her the man she loves, runs thus: bethink thee, mistress moon, whence came my love! graetz compares this to shulammith's refrain in canticles: i adjure you, o daughters of jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up nor awaken love, until it please! but in meaning the refrains have an absolutely opposite sense, and, more than that, they have an absolutely opposite function. in the idyll the refrain is an accompaniment, in the song it is an intermezzo. it occurs three times (ii. ; iii. ; and viii. ), and like other repeated refrains in the song concludes a scene, marks a transition in the situation. in theocritus refrains are links, in the song they are breaks in the chain. refrains are of the essence of lyric poetry as soon as anything like narrative enters into it. they are found throughout the lyrics of the old testament, the psalms providing several examples. they belong to the essence of the hebrew strophic system. and so it is with the other structural devices to which graetz refers: reminiscent narrative, reported dialogues, scenes within the scene--all are common features (with certain differences) of the native hebraic style, and they supply no justification for the suggestion of borrowing from non-hebraic models. there have, on the other side, been many, especially among older critics, who have contended that theocritus owed his inspiration to canticles. these have not been disturbed by the consideration, that, if he borrowed at all, he must assuredly have borrowed more than the most generous of them assert that he did. recently an ingenious advocate of this view has appeared in professor d.s. margoliouth, all of whose critical work is rich in originality and surprises. in the first chapter of his "lines of defence of the biblical revelation," he turns the tables on graetz with quite entertaining thoroughness. graetz was certain that no hebrew poet could have drawn his shepherds from life; margoliouth is equally sure that no greek could have done so. "that this style [bucolic poetry], in which highly artificial performances are ascribed to shepherds and cowherds, should have originated in greece, would be surprising; for the persons who followed these callings were ordinarily slaves, or humble hirelings, whom the classical writers treat with little respect. but from the time of theocritus their profession becomes associated with poetic art. the shepherd's clothes are donned by virgil, spenser, and milton. the existence of the greek translation of the song of solomon gives us the explanation of this fact. the song of solomon is a pastoral poem, but its pictures are true to nature. the father of the writer [margoliouth believes in the solomonic authorship of canticles], himself both a king and a poet, had kept sheep. the combination of court life with country life, which in theocritus seems so unnatural, was perfectly natural in pre-exilic palestine. hence the rich descriptions of the country (ii. ) beside the glowing descriptions of the king's wealth (iii. ). theocritus can match both (idylls vii and xv), but it may be doubted whether he could have found any greek model for either." it is disturbing to one's confidence in the value of biblical criticism--both of the liberal school (graetz) and the conservative (margoliouth)--to come across so complete an antithesis. but things are not quite so bad as they look. each critic is half right--margoliouth in believing the pastoral pictures of canticles true to judean life, graetz in esteeming the pastoral pictures of the idylls true to sicilian life. the english critic supports his theme with some philological arguments. he suggests that the vagaries of the theocritan dialect are due to the fact that the idyllist was a foreigner, whose native language was "probably hebrew or syriac." or perhaps theocritus used the greek translation of the song, "unless theocritus himself was the translator." all of this is a capital _jeu d'esprit,_ but it is scarcely possible that canticles was translated into greek so early as theocritus, and, curiously enough, the septuagint greek version of the song has less linguistic likeness to the phraseology of theocritus than has the greek version of the song by a contemporary of akiba, the proselyte aquila. margoliouth points out a transference by theocritus of the word for daughter-in-law to the meaning bride (idyll, xviii. ). this is a hebraism, he thinks. but expansions of meaning in words signifying relationship are common to all poets. far more curious is a transference of this kind that theocritus does _not_ make. had he known canticles, he would surely have seized upon the hebrew use of sister to mean beloved, a usage which, innocent and tender enough in the hebrew, would have been highly acceptable to the incestuous patron of theocritus, who actually married his full sister. strange to say, the ancient egyptian love poetry employs the terms brother and sister as regular denotations of a pair of lovers. this last allusion to an ancient egyptian similarity to a characteristic usage of canticles leads to the remark, that maspero and spiegelberg have both published hieroglyphic poems of the xixth-xxth dynasties, in which may be found other parallels to the metaphors and symbolism of the hebrew song. as earlier writers exaggerated the likeness of canticles to theocritus, so maspero was at first inclined to exaggerate the affinity of canticles to the old egyptian amatory verse. it is not surprising, but it is saddening, to find that maspero, summarizing his interesting discovery in , used almost the same language as lessing had used in with reference to theocritus. maspero, it is true, was too sane a critic to assert borrowing on the part of canticles. but he speaks of the "same manner of speech, the same images, the same comparisons," as lessing does. now if a = b, and b = c, then it follows that a = c. but in this case a does _not_ equal c. there is no similarity at all between the egyptian songs and theocritus. it follows that there is no essential likeness between canticles and either of the other two. in his later books, maspero has tacitly withdrawn his assertion of close egyptian similarity, and it would be well if an equally frank withdrawal were made by the advocates of a close theocritan parallel. some of the suggested resemblances between the hebrew and greek songs are perhaps interesting enough to be worth examining in detail. in idyll i. , the goatherd offers this reward to thyrsis, if he will but sing the song of daphnis: i'll give thee first to milk, ay, thrice, a goat; she suckles twins, yet ne'ertheless can fill two milkpails full. it can hardly be put forward as a remarkable fact that the poet should refer to so common an incident in sheep-breeding as the birth of twins. yet the twins have been forced into the dispute, though it is hard to conceive anything more unlike than the previous quotation and the one that follows from canticles (iv. ): thy teeth are like a flock of ewes, that are newly shorn, which are come up from the washing, whereof every one hath twins, and none is bereaved among them. it is doubtful whether the hebrew knows anything at all of the twin-bearing ewes; the penultimate line ought rather to be rendered (as in the margin of the revised version) "thy teeth ... which are all of them in pairs." but, however rendered, the hebrew means this. theocritus speaks of the richness of the goat's milk, for, after having fed her twins, she has still enough milk to fill two pails. in canticles, the maiden's teeth, spotlessly white, are smooth and even, "they run accurately in pairs, the upper corresponding to the lower, and none of them is wanting" (harper). even more amusing is the supposed indebtedness on one side or the other in the reference made by theocritus and canticles to the ravages of foxes in vineyards. theocritus has these beautiful lines in his first idyll (lines _et seq._): hard by that wave-beat sire a vineyard bends beneath its graceful load of burnished grapes; a boy sits on the rude fence watching them. near him two foxes: down the rows of grapes one ranging steals the ripest; one assails with wiles the poor lad's scrip, to leave him soon stranded and supperless. he plaits meanwhile with ears of corn a right fine cricket-trap, and fits it in a rush: for vines, for scrip, little he cares, enamored of his toy. how different the scene in canticles (ii. _et seq_.) that has been quoted above! take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vineyards, for our vineyards are in blossom! canticles alludes to the destruction of the young shoots, theocritus pictures the foxes devouring the ripe grapes. (comp. also idyll v. .) foxes commit both forms of depredation, but the poets have seized on different aspects of the fact. even were the aspects identical, it would be ridiculous to suppose that the sicilian or judean had been guilty of plagiarism. to-day, as of old, in the vineyards of palestine you may see the little stone huts of the watchers on the lookout for the foxes, or jackals, whose visitations begin in the late spring and continue to the autumn. in canticles we have a genuine fragment of native judean folk-song; in theocritus an equally native item of every season's observation. so with most of the other parallels. it is only necessary to set out the passages in full, to see that the similarity is insignificant in relation to the real differences. one would have thought that any poet dealing with rustic beauty might light on the fact that a sunburnt skin may be attractive. yet margoliouth dignifies this simple piece of observation into a _theory_! "the theory that swarthiness produced by sun-burning need not be disfiguring to a woman" is, margoliouth holds, taken by theocritus from canticles. graetz, as usual, reverses the relation: canticles took it from theocritus. but beyond the not very recondite idea that a sunburnt maid may still be charming, there is no parallel. battus sings (idyll x. _et seq_.): fair bombyca! thee do men report lean, dusk, a gipsy: i alone nut-brown. violets and pencilled hyacinths are swart, yet first of flowers they're chosen for a crown. as goats pursue the clover, wolves the goat, and cranes the ploughman, upon thee i dote! in canticles the shulammite protests (i. _et seq_.): i am black but comely, o ye daughters of jerusalem! [black] as the tents of kedar, [comely] as the curtains of solomon. despise me not because i am swarthy, because the sun hath scorched me. my mother's sons were incensed against me, they made me the keeper of the vineyards, but mine own vineyard i have not kept! two exquisite lyrics these, of which it is hard to say which has been more influential as a key-note of later poetry. but neither of them is derived; each is too spontaneous, too fresh from the poet's soul. before turning to one rather arrestive parallel, a word may be said on graetz's idea, that canticles uses the expression "love's arrows." were this so, the symbolism could scarcely be attributed to other than a greek original. the line occurs in the noble panegyric of love cited before, with which canticles ends, and in which the whole drama culminates. there is no room in this eulogy for graetz's rendering, "her arrows are fiery arrows," nor can the hebrew easily mean it. "the flashes thereof are flashes of fire," is the best translation possible of the hebrew line. there is nothing greek in the comparison of love to fire, for fire is used in common hebrew idiom to denote any powerful emotion (comp. the association of fire with jealousy in ezekiel xxxix. ). ewald, while refusing to connect the idylls with canticles, admitted that one particular parallel is at first sight forcible. it is the comparison of both helen and shulammith to a horse. margoliouth thinks the greek inexplicable without the hebrew; graetz thinks the hebrew inexplicable without the greek. in point of fact, the hebrew and the greek do not explain each other in the least. in the epithalamium (idyll xviii. ) theocritus writes, or as in a chariot a mare of thessalian breed, so is rose-red helen, the glory of lacedemon. the exact point of comparison is far from clear, but it must be some feature of beauty or grace. such a comparison, says margoliouth, is extraordinary in a greek poet; he must have derived it from a non-greek source. but it has escaped this critic and all the commentaries on theocritus, that just this comparison is perfectly natural for a sicilian poet, familiar with several series of syracusan coins of all periods, on which appear chariots with nike driving horses of the most delicate beauty, fit figures to compare to a maiden's grace of form. theocritus, however, does not actually compare helen to the horse; she beautifies or sets off lacedemon as the horse sets off the chariot. graetz, convinced that the figure is greek, pronounces the hebrew unintelligible without it. but it is quite appropriate to the hebrew poet. having identified his royal lover with solomon, the poet was almost driven to make some allusion to solomon's famed exploit in importing costly horses and chariots from egypt (i kings x. - ). and so canticles says (i. ): i have compared thee, o my love, to a team of horses, in pharaoh's chariots. thy cheeks are comely with rows of pearls, thy neck with chains of gold. the last couplet refers to the ornaments of the horse's bridle and neck. now, to the hebrew the horse was almost invariably associated with war. the shulammite is elsewhere (vi. ) termed "terrible as an army with banners." in theocritus the comparison is primarily to helen's beauty; in canticles to the shulammite's awesomeness, turn away thine eyes from me, for they have made me afraid. these foregoing points of resemblance are the most significant that have been adduced. and they are not only seen to be each unimportant and inconclusive, but they have no cumulative effect. taken as wholes, as was said above, the idylls and canticles are the poles asunder in their moral attitude towards love and in their general literary treatment of the theme. of course, poets describing the spring will always speak of the birds; greek and hebrew loved flowers, jew and egyptian heard the turtle-dove as a harbinger of nature's rebirth; sun and moon are everywhere types of warm and tender feelings; love is the converter of a winter of discontent into a glorious summer. in all love poems the wooer would fain embrace the wooed. and if she prove coy, he will tell of the menial parts he would be ready to perform, to continue unrebuked in her vicinity. anacreon's lover (xx) would be water in which the maid should bathe, and the egyptian sighs, "were i but the washer of her clothes, i should breathe the scent of her." or the egyptian will cry, "o were i the ring on her finger, that i might be ever with her," just as the shulammite bids her beloved (though in another sense) "place me as a seal on thine hand" (cant. viii. ). love intoxicates like wine; the maiden has a honeyed tongue; her forehead and neck are like ivory. nothing in all this goes beyond the identity of feeling that lies behind all poetical expression. but even in this realm of metaphor and image and symbolism, the north-semitic _wasf_ and even more the hebraic parallels given in other parts of the bible are closer far. hosea xiv. - (with its lilies, its figure of israel growing in beauty as the olive tree, "and his smell as lebanon"), proverbs (with its eulogy of faithful wedded love, its lips dropping honeycomb, its picture of a bed perfumed with myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon, the wife to love whom is to drink water from one's own well, and she the pleasant roe and loving hind)--these and the royal epithalamium (ps. xlv), and other biblical passages too numerous to quote, constitute the real parallels to the imagery and idealism of canticles. the only genuine resemblance arises from identity of environment. if theocritus and the poet of canticles were contemporaries, they wrote when there had been a somewhat sudden growth of town life both in egypt and palestine. alexander the great and his immediate successors were the most assiduous builders of new cities that the world has ever seen. the charms of town life made an easy conquest of the orient. but pastoral life would not surrender without a struggle. it would, during this violent revolution in habits, reassert itself from time to time. we can suppose that after a century of experience of the delusions of urban comfort, the denizens of towns would welcome a reminder of the delights of life under the open sky. there would be a longing for something fresher, simpler, freer. at such a moment theocritus, like the poet of canticles, had an irresistible opportunity, and to this extent the idylls and the song are parallel. but, on the other hand, when we pass from external conditions to intrinsic purport, nothing shows better the difference between theocritus and canticles than the fact that the hebrew poem has been so susceptible of allegorization. though the religious, symbolical interpretation of the song be far from its primary meaning, yet in the hebrew muse the sensuous and the mystical glide imperceptibly into one another. and this is true of semitic poetry in general. it is possible to give a mystical turn to the quatrains of omar khayyam. but this can hardly be done with anacreon. there is even less trace of semitic mysticism in theocritus than in anacreon. idylls and canticles have some similarities. but these are only skin deep. in their heart of hearts the greek and judean poets are strangers, and so are their heroes and heroines. no apology is needed for the foregoing lengthy discussion of the song of songs, seeing that it is incomparably the finest love poem in the hebrew, or any other language. and this is true whatever be one's opinion of its primary significance. it was no doubt its sacred interpretation that imparted to it so lasting a power over religious symbolism. but its human import also entered into its eternal influence. the greek peasants of macedonia still sing echoes from the hebrew song. still may be heard, in modern greek love chants, the sweet old phrase, "black but comely," a favorite phrase with all swarthy races; "my sister, my bride" remains as the most tender term of endearment. to a certain extent the service has been repaid. some of the finest melodies to which the synagogue hymns, or piyyutim, are set, are the melodies to _achoth ketannah_, based on canticles viii. , and _berach dodi_, a frequent phrase of the hebrew book. the latter melody is similar to the finer melodies of the levant; the former strikingly recalls the contemporary melodies of the greek archipelago. to turn a final glance at the other side of the indebtedness, we need only recall that edmund spenser's famous marriage ode--the epithalamium--the noblest marriage ode in the english language, and milton's equally famous description of paradise in the fourth book of his epic, owe a good deal to direct imitation of the song of songs. it is scarcely an exaggeration to assert that the stock-in-trade of many an erotic poet is simply the phraseology of the divine song which we have been considering so inadequately. it did not start as a repertoire; it has ended as one. we must now make a great stride through the ages. between the author of the song of songs and the next writer of inspired hebrew love songs there stretches an interval of at least fourteen centuries. it is an oft-told story, how, with the destruction of the temple, the jewish desire for song temporarily ceased. the sorrow-laden heart could not sing of love. the disuse of a faculty leads to its loss; and so, with the cessation of the desire for song, the gift of singing became atrophied. but the decay was not quite complete. it is commonly assumed that post-biblical hebrew poetry revived for sacred ends; first hymns were written, then secular songs. but dr. brody has proved that this assumption is erroneous. in point of fact, the first hebrew poetry after the bible was secular not religious. we find in the pages of talmud and midrash relics and fragments of secular poetry, snatches of bridal songs, riddles, elegies, but less evidence of a religious poetry. true, when once the medieval burst of hebrew melody established itself, the hebrew hymns surpassed the secular hebrew poems in originality and inspiration. but the secular verses, whether on ordinary subjects, or as addresses to famous men, and invocations on documents, at times far exceed the religious poems in range and number. and in many ways the secular poetry deserves very close attention. a language is not living when it is merely ecclesiastical. no one calls sanskrit a living language because some indian sects still pray in sanskrit. but when jewish poets took to using hebrew again--if, indeed, they ever ceased to use it--as the language of daily life, as the medium for expressing their human emotions, then one can see that the sacred tongue was on the way to becoming once more what it is to-day in many parts of palestine--the living tongue of men. it must not be thought that in the middle ages there were two classes of hebrew poets: those who wrote hymns and those who wrote love songs. with the exception of solomon ibn gabirol--a big exception, i admit--the best love songs were written by the best hymn writers. even ibn gabirol, who, so far as we know, wrote no love songs, composed other kinds of secular poetry. one of the favorite poetical forms of the middle ages consisted of metrical letters to friends--one may almost assert that the best hebrew love poetry is of this type--epistles of affection between man and man, expressing a love passing the love of woman. ibn gabirol wrote such epistles, but the fact remains that we know of no love verses from his hand; perhaps this confirms the tradition that he was the victim of an unrequited affection. thus the new form opens not with ibn gabirol, but with samuel ibn nagrela. he was vizier of the khalif, and nagid, or prince, of the jews, in the eleventh century in spain, and, besides synagogue hymns and talmudic treatises, he wrote love lyrics. the earlier hymns of kalir have, indeed, a strong emotional undertone, but the spanish school may justly claim to have created a new form. and this new form opens with samuel the nagid's pretty verses on his "stammering love," who means to deny, but stammers out assent. i cite the metrical german version of dr. egers, because i have found it impossible to reproduce (dr. egers is not very precise or happy in his attempt to reproduce) the puns of the original. the sense, however, is clear. the stammering maid's words, being mumbled, convey an invitation, when they were intended to repulse her loving admirer. wo ist mein stammelnd lieb? wo sie, die würz'ge, blieb? verdunkelt der mond der sterne licht, ueberstrahlt den mond ihr angesicht! wie schwalbe, wie kranich, die bei ihrer ankunft girren, vertraut auf ihren gott auch sie in ihrer zunge irren. mir schmollend rief sie "erzdieb," hervor doch haucht sie "herzdieb"-- hin springe ich zum herzlieb. "ehrloser!" statt zu wehren, "her, loser!" lässt sie hören; nur rascher dem begehren folgt' ich mit ihr zu kosen, die lieblich ist wie rosen. this poem deserves attention, as it is one of the first, if not actually the very first, of its kind. the hebrew poet is forsaking the manner of the bible for the manner of the arabs. one point of resemblance between the new hebrew and the arabic love poetry is obscured in the translation. in the hebrew of samuel the nagid the terms of endearment, applied though they are to a girl, are all in the masculine gender. this, as dr. egers observes, is a common feature of the arabic and persian love poetry of ancient and modern times. an arab poet will praise his fair one's face as "bearded" with garlands of lilies. hafiz describes a girl's cheeks as roses within a net of violets, the net referring to the beard. jehudah halevi uses this selfsame image, and moses ibn ezra and the rest also employ manly figures of speech in portraying beautiful women. all this goes to show how much, besides rhyme and versification, medieval hebrew love poetry owed to arabic models. here, for instance, is an arabic poem, whose author, radhi billah, died in , that is, before the spanish jewish poets began to write of love. to an arabic poet laila replaces the lesbia of catullus and the chloe of the elizabethans. this tenth century arabic poem runs thus: laila, whene'er i gaze on thee, my altered cheeks turn pale; while upon thine, sweet maid, i see a deep'ning blush prevail. laila, shall i the cause impart why such a change takes place?-- the crimson stream deserts my heart to mantle on thy face. here we have fully in bloom, in the tenth century, those conceits which meet us, not only in the hebrew poets of the next two centuries, but also in the english poets of the later elizabethan age. it is very artificial and scarcely sincere, but also undeniably attractive. or, again, in the lines of zoheir, addressed by the lover to a messenger that has just brought tidings from the beloved, oh! let me look upon thine eyes again, for they have looked upon the maid i love, we have, in the thirteenth century, the very airs and tricks of the cavalier poets. in fact, it cannot be too often said that love poetry, like love itself, is human and eternal, not of a people and an age, but of all men and all times. though fashions change in poetry as in other ornament, still the language of love has a long life, and age after age the same conceits and terms of endearment meet us. thus hafiz has these lines, i praise god who made day and night: day thy countenance, and thy hair the night. long before him the hebrew poet abraham ibn ezra had written, on thy cheeks and the hair of thy head i will bless: he formeth light and maketh darkness. in the thirteenth century the very same witticism meets us again, in the hebrew _machberoth_ of immanuel. but obviously it would be an endless task to trace the similarities of poetic diction between hebrew and other poets: suffice it to realize that such similarities exist. such similarities did not, however, arise only from natural causes. they were, in part at all events, due to artificial compulsion. it is well to bear this in mind, for the recurrence of identical images in hebrew love poem after love poem impresses a western reader as a defect. to the oriental reader, on the contrary, the repetition of metaphors seemed a merit. it was one of the rules of the game. in his "literary history of persia" professor browne makes this so clear that a citation from him will save me many pages. professor browne (ii, ) analyzes sharafu'd-din rami's rhetorical handbook entitled the "lover's companion." the "companion" legislates as to the similes and figures that may be used in describing the features of a girl. "it contains nineteen chapters, treating respectively of the hair, the forehead, the eyebrows, the eyes, the eyelashes, the face, the down on lips and cheeks, the mole or beauty-spot, the lips, the teeth, the mouth, the chin, the neck, the bosom, the arm, the fingers, the figure, the waist, and the legs. in each chapter the author first gives the various terms applied by the arabs and persians to the part which he is discussing, differentiating them when any difference in meaning exists; then the metaphors used by writers in speaking of them, and the epithets applied to them, the whole copiously illustrated by examples from the poets." no other figures of speech would be admissible. now this "companion" belongs to the fourteenth century, and the earlier arabic and persian poetry was less fettered. but principles of this kind clearly affected the hebrew poets, and hence there arises a certain monotony in the songs, especially when they are read in translation. the monotony is not so painfully prominent in the originals. for the translator can only render the substance, and the substance is often more conventional than the nuances of form, the happy turns and subtleties, which evaporate in the process of translation, leaving only the conventional sediment behind. this is true even of jehudah halevi, though in him we hear a genuinely original note. in his synagogue hymns he joins hands with the past, with the psalmists; in his love poems he joins hands with the future, with heine. his love poetry is at once dainty and sincere. he draws indiscriminately on hebrew and arabic models, but he is no mere imitator. i will not quote much from him, for his best verses are too familiar. those examples which i must present are given in a new and hitherto unpublished translation by mrs. lucas. marriage song fair is my dove, my loved one, none can with her compare: yea, comely as jerusalem, like unto tirzah fair. shall she in tents unstable a wanderer abide, while in my heart awaits her a dwelling deep and wide? the magic of her beauty has stolen my heart away: not egypt's wise enchanters held half such wondrous sway. e'en as the changing opal in varying lustre glows, her face at every moment new charms and sweetness shows. white lilies and red roses there blossom on one stem: her lips of crimson berries tempt mine to gather them. by dusky tresses shaded her brow gleams fair and pale, like to the sun at twilight, behind a cloudy veil. her beauty shames the day-star, and makes the darkness light: day in her radiant presence grows seven times more bright this is a lonely lover! come, fair one, to his side, that happy be together the bridegroom and the bride! the hour of love approaches that shall make one of twain: soon may be thus united all israel's hosts again! ophrah _to her sleeping love_ awake, my fair, my love, awake, that i may gaze on thee! and if one fain to kiss thy lips thou in thy dreams dost see, lo, i myself then of thy dream the interpreter will be! to ophrah ophrah shall wash her garments white in rivers of my tears, and dry them in the radiance bright that shines when she appears. thus will she seek no sun nor water nigh, her beauty and mine eyes will all her needs supply. these lovers' tears often meet us in the hebrew poems. ibn gabirol speaks of his tears as fertilizing his heart and preserving it from crumbling into dust. mostly, however, the hebrew lover's tears, when they are not tokens of grief at the absence of the beloved, are the involuntary confession of the man's love. it is the men who must weep in these poems. charizi sings of the lover whose heart succeeds in concealing its love, whose lips contrive to maintain silence on the subject, but his tears play traitor and betray his affection to all the world. dr. sulzbach aptly quotes parallels to this fancy from goethe and brentano. this suggestion of parallelism between a medieval hebrew poet and goethe must be my excuse for an excursion into what seems to me one of the most interesting examples of the kind. in one of his poems jehudah halevi has these lines: separation so we must be divided! sweetest, stay! once more mine eyes would seek thy glance's light! at night i shall recall thee; thou, i pray, be mindful of the days of our delight! come to me in my dreams, i ask of thee, and even in thy dreams be gentle unto me! if thou shouldst send me greeting in the grave, the cold breath of the grave itself were sweet; oh, take my life! my life, 'tis all i have, if i should make thee live i do entreat! i think that i shall hear, when i am dead, the rustle of thy gown, thy footsteps overhead. it is this last image that has so interesting a literary history as to tempt me into a digression. but first a word must be said of the translation and the translator. the late amy levy made this rendering, not from the hebrew, but from geiger's german with obvious indebtedness to emma lazarus. so excellent, however, was geiger's german that miss levy got quite close to the meaning of the original, though thirty-eight hebrew lines are compressed into twelve english. literally rendered, the hebrew of the last lines runs: would that, when i am dead, to mine ears may rise the music of the golden bell upon thy skirts. this image of the bell is purely hebraic; it is, of course, derived from the high priest's vestments. jehudah halevi often employs it to express melodious proclamation of virtue, or the widely-borne voice of fame. here he uses it in another context, and though the image of the bell is not repeated, yet some famous lines from tennyson's "maud" at once come into one's mind: she is coming, my own, my sweet; were it ever so light a tread, my heart would hear her and beat, were it earth in an earthy bed; my dust would hear her and beat, had i lain for a century dead; would start and tremble under her feet, and blossom in purple and red. it is thus that the lyric poetry of one age affects, or finds its echo in, that of another, but in this particular case it is, of course, a natural thought that true love must survive the grave. there is a mystical union between the two souls, which death cannot end. here, again, we meet the close connection between love and mysticism, which lies at the root of all deep love poetry. but we must attend to the literary history of the thought for a moment longer. moses ibn ezra, though more famous for his synagogue hymns, had some lyric gifts of a lighter touch, and he wrote love songs on occasion. in one of these the poet represents a dying wife as turning to her husband with the pathetic prayer, "remember the covenant of our youth, and knock at the door of my grave with a hand of love." i will allude only to one other parallel, which carries us to a much earlier period. here is an arab song of taubah, son of al-humaiyir, who lived in the seventh century. it must be remembered that it was an ancient arabic folk-idea that the spirits of the dead became owls. ah, if but laila would send me a greeting down of grace, though between us lay the dust and flags of stone, my greeting of joy should spring in answer, or there should cry toward her an owl, ill bird that shrieks in the gloom of graves. c.j.l. lyall, writing of the author of these lines, taubah, informs us that he was the cousin of laila, a woman of great beauty. taubah had loved her when they were children in the desert together, but her father refused to give her to him in marriage. he led a stormy life, and met his death in a fight during the reign of mu'awiyah. laila long survived him, but never forgot him or his love for her. she attained great fame as a poetess, and died during the reign of 'abd-al-malik, son of marwan, at an advanced age. "a tale is told of her death in which these verses figure. she was making a journey with her husband when they passed by the grave of taubah. laila, who was travelling in a litter, cried, by god! i will not depart hence till i greet taubah. her husband endeavored to dissuade her, but she would not hearken; so at last he allowed her. and she had her camel driven up the mound on which the tomb was, and said, peace to thee, o taubah! then she turned her face to the people and said, i never knew him to speak falsely until this day. what meanest thou? said they. was it not he, she answered, who said ah, if but laila would send a greeting down of grace, though between us lay the dust and flags of stone, my greeting of joy should spring in answer, or there should cry toward her an owl, ill bird that shrieks in the gloom of graves. nay, but i have greeted him, and he has not answered as he said. now, there was a she-owl crouching in the gloom by the side of the grave; and when it saw the litter and the crowd of people, it was frightened and flew in the face of the camel. and the camel was startled and cast laila headlong on the ground; and she died that hour, and was buried by the side of taubah." the fascination of such parallels is fatal to proportion in an essay such as this. but i cannot honestly assert that i needed the space for other aspects of my subject. i have elsewhere fully described the wedding odes which jehudah halevi provided so abundantly, and which were long a regular feature of every jewish marriage. but, after the brilliant spanish period, hebrew love songs lose their right to high literary rank. satires on woman's wiles replace praises of her charms. on the other hand, what of inspiration the hebrew poet felt in the erotic field beckoned towards mysticism. in the paper which opens this volume, i have written sufficiently and to spare of the woman-haters. at barcelona, in the age of zabara, abraham ibn chasdai did the best he could with his misogynist material, but he could get no nearer to a compliment than this, "her face has the shimmer of a lamp, but it burns when held too close" ("prince and dervish," ch. xviii). the hebrew attacks on women are clever, but superficial; they show no depth of insight into woman's character, and are far less effective than pope's satires. the boldest and ablest hebrew love poet of the satirical school is immanuel of rome, a younger contemporary of dante. he had wit, but not enough of it to excuse his ribaldry. he tells many a light tale of his amours; a pretty face is always apt to attract him and set his pen scribbling. as with the english dramatists of the restoration, virtue and beauty are to immanuel almost contradictory terms. for the most part, wrinkled old crones are the only decent women in his pages. his pretty women have morals as easy as the author professes. in the second of his _machberoth_ he contrasts two girls, tamar and beriah; on the one he showers every epithet of honor, at the other he hurls every epithet of abuse, only because tamar is pretty, and beriah the reverse. tamar excites the love of the angels, beriah's face makes even the devil fly. this disagreeable pose of immanuel was not confined to his age; it has spoilt some of the best work of w.s. gilbert. the following is dr. chotzner's rendering of one of immanuel's lyrics. he entitles it paradise and hell at times in my spirit i fitfully ponder, where shall i pass after death from this light; do heaven's bright glories await me, i wonder, or lucifer's kingdom of darkness and night? in the one, though 'tis perhaps of ill reputation, a crowd of gay damsels will sit by my side; but in heaven there's boredom and mental starvation, to hoary old men and old crones i'll be tied. and so i will shun the abodes of the holy, and fly from the sky, which is dull, so i deem: let hell be my dwelling; there is no melancholy, where love reigns for ever and ever supreme. immanuel, it is only just to point out, occasionally draws a worthier character. in his third machbereth he tells of a lovely girl, who is intelligent, modest, chaste, coy, and difficult, although a queen in beauty; she is simple in taste, yet exquisite in poetical feeling and musical gifts. the character is the nearest one gets in hebrew to the best heroines of the troubadours. immanuel and she exchange verses, but the path of flirtation runs rough. they are parted, she, woman-like, dies, and he, man-like, sings an elegy. even more to immanuel's credit is his praise of his own wife. she has every womanly grace of body and soul. on her he showers compliments from the song of songs and the book of proverbs. if this be the true man revealed, then his light verses of love addressed to other women must be, as i have hinted, a mere pose. it may be that his wife read his verses, and that his picture of her was calculated to soothe her feelings when reading some other parts of his work. if she did read them, she found only one perfect figure of womanliness in her husband's poems, and that figure herself. but on the whole one is inclined to think that immanuel's braggartism as to his many love affairs is only another aspect of the renaissance habit, which is exemplified so completely in the similar boasts of benvenuto cellini. be this as it may, it is not surprising to find that in the _shulchan aruch_ (_orach chayyim_, ch. , section ), the poems of immanuel are put upon the sabbath index. it is declared unlawful to read them on saturdays, and also on week-days, continues the code with gathering anger. those who copy them, still more those who print them, are declared sinners that make others to sin. i must confess that i am here on the side of the code. immanuel's _machberoth_ are scarcely worthy of the hebrew genius. there has been, it may be added, a long struggle against hebrew love songs. maimonides says ("guide," iii. ): "the gift of speech which god gave us to help us learn and teach and perfect ourselves--this gift of speech must not be employed in doing what is degrading and disgraceful. we must not imitate the songs and tales of ignorant and lascivious people. it may be suitable to them, but it is not fit for those who are bidden, ye shall be a holy nation." in solomon alami uses words on this subject that will lead me to my last point. alami says, "avoid listening to love songs which excite the passions. if god has graciously bestowed on you the gift of a sweet voice, use it in praising him. do not set prayers to arabic tunes, a practice which has been promoted to suit the taste of effeminate men." but if this be a crime, then the worst offender was none other than the famous israel najara. in the middle of the sixteenth century he added some of its choicest lyrics to the hebrew song-book. the most popular of the table hymns (zemiroth) are his. he was a mystic, filled with a sense of the nearness of god. but he did not see why the devil should have all the pretty tunes. so he deliberately wrote religious poems in metres to suit arabic, turkish, greek, spanish, and italian melodies, his avowed purpose being to divert the young jews of his day from profane to sacred song. but these young jews must have been exigent, indeed, if they failed to find in najara's sacred verses enough of love and passion. not only was he, like jehudah halevi, a prolific writer of wedding odes, but in his most spiritual hymns he uses the language of love as no hebrew poet before or after him has done. starting with the assumption that the song of songs was an allegory of god's espousal with the bride israel, najara did not hesitate to put the most passionate words of love for israel into god's mouth. he was strongly attacked, but the saintly mystic isaac luria retorted that najara's hymns were listened to with delight in heaven--and if ever a man had the right to speak of heaven it was luria. and hebrew poetry has no need to be ashamed of the passionate affection poured out by these mystic poets on another beloved, the queen sabbath. this is not the place to speak of the hebrew drama and of the form which the love interest takes in it. woman, at all events, is treated far more handsomely in the dramas than in the satires. the love scenes of the hebrew dramatists are pure to coldness. these dramas began to flourish in the eighteenth century; luzzatto was by no means an unworthy imitator of guarini. sometimes the syncretism of ideas in hebrew plays is sufficiently grotesque. samuel romanelli, who wrote in italy at the era of the french revolution, boldly introduces greek mythology. it may be that in the spanish period hebrew poets introduced the muses under the epithet "daughters of song." but with romanelli, the classical machinery is more clearly audible. the scene of his drama is laid in cyprus; venus and cupid figure in the action. romanelli gives a moral turn to his mythology, by interposing peace to stay the conflict between love and fame. ephraim luzzatto, at the same period, tried his hand, not unsuccessfully, at hebrew love sonnets. love songs continued to be written in hebrew in the nineteenth century, and often see the light in the twentieth. but i do not propose to deal with these. recent new-hebrew poetry has shown itself strongest in satire and elegy. its note is one of anger or of pain. shall we, however, say of the hebrew race that it has lost the power to sing of love? has it grown too old, too decrepid? and said i that my limbs were old, and said i that my blood was cold, and that my kindly fire was fled, and my poor withered heart was dead, and that i might not sing of love? heine is the answer. but heine did not write in hebrew, and those who have so far written in hebrew are not heines. it is, i think, vain to look to europe for a new outburst of hebrew love lyrics. in the east, and most of all in palestine, where hebrew is coming to its own again, and where the spring once more smiles on the eyes of jewish peasants and shepherds, there may arise another inspired singer to give us a new song of songs in the language of the bible. but we have no right to expect it. such a rare thing of beauty cannot be repeated. it is a joy forever, and a joy once for all. a handful of curiosities i george eliot and solomon maimon that george eliot was well acquainted with certain aspects of jewish history, is fairly clear from her writings. but there is collateral evidence of an interesting kind that proves the same fact quite conclusively, i think. it will be remembered that daniel deronda went into a second-hand book-shop and bought a small volume for half a crown, thereby making the acquaintance of ezra cohen. some time back i had in my hands the identical book that george eliot purchased which formed the basis of the incident. the book may now be seen in dr. williams's library, gordon square, london. the few words in which george eliot dismisses the book in her novel would hardly lead one to gather how carefully and conscientiously she had read the volume, which has since been translated into english by dr. j. clark murray. she, of course, bought and read the original german. the book is solomon maimon's autobiography, a fascinating piece of self-revelation and of history. (an admirable account of it may be found in chapter x of the fifth volume of the english translation of graetz's "history of the jews.") maimon, cynic and skeptic, was a man all head and no heart, but he was not without "character," in one sense of the word. he forms a necessary link in the progress of modern jews towards their newer culture. schiller and goethe admired him considerably, and, as we shall soon see, george eliot was a careful student of his celebrated pages. any reader who takes the book up, will hardly lay it down until he has finished the first part, at least. several marginal and other notes in the copy of the autobiography that belonged to george eliot are, i am convinced, in her own handwriting, and i propose to print here some of her jottings, all of which are in pencil, but carefully written. above the introduction, she writes: "this book might mislead many readers not acquainted with other parts of jewish history. but for a worthy account (in brief) of judaism and rabbinism, see p. ." this reference takes one to the fifteenth chapter of the autobiography. indeed, george eliot was right as to the misleading tendency of a good deal in maimon's "wonderful piece of autobiography," as she terms the work in "daniel deronda." she returns to the attack on p. of her copy, where she has jotted, "see infra, p. _et seq._ for a better-informed view of talmudic study." how carefully george eliot read! the pagination of is printed wrongly as ; she corrects it! she corrects _kimesi_ into "kimchi" on p. , _rabasse_ into "r. ashe" on p. . on p. she writes, "according to the talmud no one is eternally damned." perhaps her statement needs some slight qualification. again (p. ), "rashi, i.e. rabbi shelomoh ben isaak, whom buxtorf mistakenly called jarchi." it was really to raymund martini that this error goes back. but george eliot could not know it. on p. , maimon begins, "accordingly, i sought to explain all this in the following way," to which george eliot appends the note, "but this is simply what the cabbala teaches--not his own ingenious explanation." it is interesting to find george eliot occasionally defending judaism against maimon. on p. he talks of the "abuse of rabbinism," in that the rabbis tacked on new laws to old texts. "its origin," says george eliot's pencilled jotting, "was the need for freedom to modify laws"--a fine remark. on p. , where maimon again talks of the rabbinical method of evolving all sorts of moral truths by the oddest exegesis, she writes, "the method has been constantly pursued in various forms by christian teachers." on p. maimon makes merry at the annulment of vows previous to the day of atonement. george eliot writes, "these are religious vows--not engagements between man and man." furthermore, she makes some translations of the titles of hebrew books cited, and enters a correction of an apparently erroneous statement of fact on p. . there maimon writes as though the zohar had been promulgated after sabbatai zebi. george eliot notes: "sabbatai zebi lived long after the production of the zohar. he was a contemporary of spinoza. moses de leon belonged to the fourteenth century." this remark shows that george eliot knew graetz's history, for it is he who brought the names of spinoza and sabbatai zebi together in two chapter headings in his work. besides, graetz's history was certainly in george eliot's library; it was among the lewes books now at dr. williams's. again, on p. , maimon speaks of the jewish fast that falls in august. george eliot jots on the margin, "july? fast of ninth ab." throughout passages are pencilled, and at the end she gives an index to the parts that seem to have interested her particularly. this is her list: talmudic quotations, . polish doctor, . the talmudist, . prince r. and the barber, . talmudic method, . polish jews chiefly gelehrte, . zohar, . rabbinical morality, . new chasidim, . elias aus wilna, . angels (?), . tamuz, ii., . it is a pleasure, indeed, to find a fresh confirmation, that george eliot's favorable impression of judaism was based on a very adequate acquaintance with its history. sir walter scott's knowledge of it was, one cannot but feel, far less intimate than george eliot's, but his poetic insight kept him marvellously straight in his appreciation of jewish life and character. ii how milton pronounced hebrew english politics in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries maintained a closer association with literature than is conceivable in the present age. england has just witnessed a contest on fundamental issues between the two houses of parliament. this recalls, by contrast rather than by similarity, another conflict that divided the lords from the commons in and about the year . the question at issue then was the respective literary merits of two metrical translations of the psalms. francis rous was a provost of eton, a member of the westminster assembly of divines, and representative of truro in the long parliament. this "old illiterate jew," as wood abusively termed him, had made a verse translation of the psalms, which the house of commons cordially recommended. the house of lords, on the other hand, preferred barton's translation, and many other contemporaneous attempts were made to meet the growing demand for a good metrical rendering--a demand which, by the way, has remained but imperfectly filled to the present time. would that some jewish poet might arise to give us the long-desired version for use, at all events, in our private devotions! in april, , milton tried his hand at a rendering of nine psalms (lxxx.-lxxxviii.), and it is from this work that we can see how milton pronounced hebrew. strange to say, milton's attempt, except in the case of the eighty-fourth psalm, has scanty poetical merit, and, as a literal translation, it is not altogether successful. he prides himself on the fact that his verses are such that "all, but what is in a different character, are the very words of the text, translated from the original." the inserted words in italics are, nevertheless, almost as numerous as the roman type that represents the original hebrew. such conventional mistakes as rous's _cherubims_ are, however, conspicuously absent from milton's more scholarly work. milton writes _cherubs_. now, in the margin of psalms lxxx., lxxxi., lxxxii., and lxxxiii., milton inserts a transliteration of some of the words of the original hebrew text. the first point that strikes one is the extraordinary accuracy of the transliteration. one word appears as _jimmotu_, thus showing that milton appreciated the force of the dagesh. again, _shiphtu-dal_, _bag-nadath-el_ show that milton observed the presence of the makkef. actual mistakes are very rare, and, as dr. davidson has suggested, they may be due to misprints. this certainly accounts for _tishphetu_ instead of _tishpetu_ (lxxxii. ), but when we find _be sether_ appearing as two words instead of one, the capital _s_ is rather against this explanation, while _shifta_ (in the last verse of psalm lxxxii.) looks like a misreading. it is curious to see that milton adopted the nasal intonation of the _ayin_. and he adopted it in the least defensible form. he invariably writes _gn_ for the hebrew _ayin_. now _ng_ is bad enough, but _gn_ seems a worse barbarism. milton read the vowels, as might have been expected from one living after reuchlin, who introduced the italian pronunciation to christian students in europe, in the "portuguese" manner, even to the point of making little, if any, distinction between the _zere_ and the _sheva_. as to the consonants, he read _tav_ as _th_, _teth_ as _t_, _qof_ as _k_, and _vav_ and _beth_ equally as _v_. in this latter point he followed the "german" usage. the letter _cheth_ milton read as _ch_, but _kaf_ he read as _c_, sounded hard probably, as so many english readers of hebrew do at the present day. i have even noted among jewish boys an amusing affectation of inability to pronounce the _kaf_ in any other way. the somewhat inaccurate but unavoidable _ts_ for _zadde_ was already established in milton's time, while the letter _yod_ appears regularly as _j_, which milton must have sounded as _y_. on the whole, it is quite clear that milton read his hebrew with minute precision. to see how just this verdict is, let anyone compare milton's exactness with the erratic and slovenly transliterations in edmund chidmead's english edition of leon modena's _riti ebraici_, which was published only two years later than milton's paraphrase of the psalms. the result, then, of an examination of the twenty-six words thus transliterated, is to deepen the conviction that the great puritan poet, who derived so much inspiration from the old testament, drew at least some of it from the pure well of hebrew undefiled. iii the cambridge platonists as a "concluding part" to "the myths of plato," professor j.a. stewart wrote a chapter on the cambridge platonists of the seventeenth century, his object being to show that the thought of plato "has been, and still is, an important influence in modern philosophy." it was a not unnatural reaction that diverted the scholars of the renaissance from aristotle to plato. the medieval church had been aristotelian, and "antagonism to the roman church had, doubtless, much to do with the platonic revival, which spread from italy to cambridge." but, curiously enough, the plato whom cambridge served was not plato the athenian dialectician, but plato the poet and allegorist. it was, in fact, philo, the jew, rather than plato, the greek, that inspired them. "philo never thought of doubting that platonism and the jewish scriptures had real affinity to each other, and hardly perhaps asked himself how the affinity was to be accounted for." philo, however, would have had no difficulty in accounting for it; already in his day the quaint theory was prevalent that athens had borrowed its wisdom from jerusalem. the cambridge platonists went with philo in declaring plato to be "the attic moses." henry more ( ) maintained strongly plato's indebtedness to moses; even pythagoras was so indebted, or, rather, "it was a common fame [report] that pythagoras was a disciple of the prophet ezekiel." the cambridge platonists were anxious, not only to show this dependence of greek upon hebraic thought, but they went on to argue that moses taught, in allegory, the natural philosophy of descartes. more calls platonism the soul, and cartesianism the body, of his own philosophy, which he applies to the explanation of the law of moses. "this philosophy is the old jewish-pythagorean cabbala, which teaches the motion of the earth and pre-existence of the soul." but it is awkward that moses does not teach the motion of the earth. more is at no loss; he boldly argues that, though "the motion of the earth has been lost and appears not in the remains of the jewish cabbala, this can be no argument against its once having been a part thereof." he holds it as "exceedingly probable" that the roman emperor "numa was both descended from the jews and imbued with the jewish religion and learning." thus the cambridge platonists of the seventeenth century are a very remarkable example of the recurrent influence exercised on non-jews by certain forms of judaism that had but slight direct effect on the jews themselves. indirectly, the hellenic side of jewish culture left its mark, especially in the cabbala. it would be well worth the while of a jewish theologian to make a close study of the seventeenth century alumni of cambridge, who were among the most fascinating devotees of ancient jewish wisdom. henry more was particularly attractive, "the most interesting and the most unreadable of the whole band." when he was a young boy, his uncle had to threaten a flogging to cure him of precocious "forwardness in philosophizing concerning the mysteries of necessity and freewill." in he entered christ's college, cambridge, "about the time when john milton was leaving it," and he may almost be said to have spent the rest of his life within the walls of the college, "except when he went to stay with his 'heroine pupil,' anne, viscountess conway, at her country seat of ragley in warwickshire, where his pleasure was to wander among the woods and glades." he absolutely refused all preferment, and when "he was once persuaded to make a journey to whitehall, to kiss his majesty's hands, but heard by the way that this would be the prelude to a bishopric, he at once turned back." yet more was no recluse. "he had many pupils at christ's; he loved music, and used to play on the theorbo; he enjoyed a game at bowls, and still more a conversation with intimate friends, who listened to him as to an oracle; and he was so kind to the poor that it was said his very chamber-door was a hospital for the needy." but enough has been quoted from overton's biography to whet curiosity about this cambridge sage and saint. more well illustrates what was said above (pp. - )--the man of letters is truest to his calling when he has at the same time an open ear to the call of humanity. iv the anglo-jewish yiddish literary society the founder and moving spirit of this unique little society is miss helena frank, whose sympathy with yiddish literature has been shown in several ways. her article in the _nineteenth century_ ("the land of jargon," october, ) was as forcible as it was dainty. her rendering of the stories of perez, too, is more than a literary feat. her knowledge of yiddish is not merely intellectual; though not herself a jewess, she evidently enters into the heart of the people who express their lives and aspirations in yiddish terms. young as she is, miss frank is, indeed, a remarkable linguist; hebrew and russian are among her accomplishments. but it is a wonderful fact that she has set herself to acquire these other languages only to help her to understand yiddish, which latter she knows through and through. miss frank not long ago founded a society called by the title that heads this note. the society did not interest itself directly in the preservation of yiddish as a spoken language. it was rather the somewhat grotesque fear that the rôle of yiddish as a living language may cease that appealed to miss frank. the idea was to collect a yiddish library, encourage the translation of yiddish books into english, and provide a sufficient supply of yiddish books and papers for the patients in the london and other hospitals who are unable to read any other language. the weekly _yiddishe gazetten_ (new york) was sent regularly to the london hospital, where it has been very welcome. in the society's first report, which i was permitted to see, miss frank explained why an american yiddish paper was the first choice. in the first place, it was a good paper, with an established reputation, and at once conservative and free from prejudice. america is, moreover, "intensely interesting to the polish _yid_. for him it is the free country _par excellence_. besides, he is sure to have a son, uncle, or brother there--or to be going there himself. 'vin shterben in vin amerika kän sich keener nisht araus drehn!' ('from dying and from going to america, there is no escape!')" miss frank has a keen sense of humor. how could she love yiddish were it not so? she cites some of the _yiddishe gazetten's_ answers to correspondents. this is funny: "the woman has the right to take her clothes and ornaments away with her when she leaves her husband. but it is a question if she ought to leave him." then we have the following from an article by dr. goidorof. he compares the yiddish language to persons whose passports are not in order--the one has no grammar, the others have no land. and both the jewish language and the jewish nation hide their faulty passports in their wallets, and disappear from the register of nations and languages--no land, no grammar! "a pretty conclusion the savants have come to!" (began the jewish nation). "you are nothing but a collection of words, and i am nothing but a collection of people, and there's an end to both of us!" "and jargon, besides, they said--to which of us did they refer? to me or to you?" (asks the jewish language, the word _jargon_ being unknown to it). "to you!" (answers the jewish nation). "no, to you!" (protests the jewish language). "well, then, to both of us!" (allows the jewish nation). "it seems we are both a kind of jargon. mercy on us, what shall we do without a grammar and without a land?" "unless the zionists purchase a grammar of the sultan!" (romances the jewish language). "or at all events a land!" (sighs the jewish nation). "you think that the easier of the two?" (asks the jewish language, wittily). and at the same moment they look at one another and laugh loudly and merrily. this is genuine heinesque humor. v the mystics and saints of india a book by professor j.c. oman, published not long ago, contains a clear and judicially sympathetic account of hinduism. the sordid side of indian asceticism receives due attention; the excesses of self-mortification, painful posturings, and equally painful impostures are by no means slurred over by the writer. and yet the essential origin of these ascetic practices is perceived by professor oman to be a pure philosophy and a not ignoble idealism. and if professor oman's analysis be true, one understands how it is that, though there have always been jewish ascetics, at times of considerable numbers and devotion, yet asceticism, as such, has no recognized place in judaism. jewish moralists, especially, though not exclusively, those of the mystical or cabbalistic schools, pronounce powerfully enough against over-indulgence in all sensuous pleasures; they inculcate moderation and abstinence, and, in some cases, where the pressure of desire is very strong, prescribe painful austerities, which may be paralleled by what professor oman tells us of the sadhus and yogis of india. but let us first listen to professor oman's analysis (p. ): "without any pretence of an exhaustive analysis of the various and complex motives which underlie religious asceticism, i may, before concluding this chapter, draw attention to what seem to me the more general reasons which prompt men to ascetic practices: ( ) a desire, which is intensified by all personal or national troubles, to propitiate the unseen powers. ( ) a longing on the part of the intensely religious to follow in the footsteps of their master, almost invariably an ascetic. ( ) a wish to work out one's own future salvation, or emancipation, by conquering the evil inherent in human nature, i.e. the flesh. ( ) a yearning to prepare oneself by purification of mind and body for entering into present communion with the divine being. ( ) despair arising from disillusionment and from defeat in the battle of life. and lastly, mere vanity, stimulated by the admiration which the multitude bestow on the ascetic." with regard to his second reason, we find nothing of the kind in judaism subsequent to the essenes, until we reach the cabbalistic heroes of the middle ages. the third and the fourth have, on the other hand, had power generally in jewish conduct. the fifth has had its influence, but only temporarily and temperately. ascetic practices, based on national and religious calamity, have, for the most part, been prescribed only for certain dates in the calendar, but it must be confessed that an excessive addiction to fasting prevails among many jews. but it is when we consider the first of professor oman's reasons for ascetic practices that we perceive how entirely the genius of judaism is foreign to hindu and most other forms of asceticism. to reach communion with god, the jew goes along the road of happiness, not of austerity. he serves with joy, not with sadness. on this subject the reader may refer with great profit to the remarks made by the reverend morris joseph, in "judaism as creed and life," p. , onwards, and again the whole of chapter iv. of book iii. (p. ). self-development, not self-mortification, is the true principle; man's lower nature is not to be crushed by torture, but to be elevated by moderation, so as to bear its part with man's higher nature in the service of god. what leads some jewish moralists to eulogize asceticism is that there is always a danger of the happiness theory leading to a materialistic view of life. this is what mr. joseph says, and says well, on the subject (p. ): "and, therefore, though judaism does not approve of the ascetic temper, it is far from encouraging the materialist's view of life. it has no place for monks or hermits, who think they can serve god best by renouncing the world; but, on the other hand, it sternly rebukes the worldliness that knows no ideal but sordid pleasures, no god but self. it commends to us the golden mean--the safe line of conduct that lies midway between the rejection of earthly joys and the worship of them. if asceticism too often spurns the commonplace duties of life, excessive self-indulgence unfits us for them. in each case we lose some of our moral efficiency. but in the latter case there is added an inevitable degradation. the man who mortifies his body for his soul's sake has at least his motive to plead for him. but the sensualist has no such justification. he deliberately chooses the evil and rejects the good. forfeiting his character as a son of god, he yields himself a slave to unworthy passions. "it is the same with the worldly man, who lives only for sordid ends, such as wealth and the pleasures it buys. he, too, utterly misses his vocation. his pursuit of riches may be moral in itself; he may be a perfectly honest man. but his life is unmoral all the same, for it aims at nothing higher than itself." thus professor oman's fascinating book gives occasion for thought to many whose religion is far removed from hinduism. but there is in particular one feature of hindu asceticism that calls for attention. this is the hindu doctrine of karma, or good works, which will be familiar to readers of rudyard kipling's "kim." upon a man's actions (karma is the sanskrit for action) in this life depends the condition in which his soul will be reincarnated. "in a word, the present state is the result of past actions, and the future depends upon the present. now, the ultimate hope of the hindu should be so to live that his soul may be eventually freed from the necessity of being reincarnated, and may, in the end, be reunited to the infinite spirit from which it sprang. as, however, that goal is very remote, the hindu not uncommonly limits his desire and his efforts to the attainment of a 'good time' now, and in his next appearance upon this earthly stage" (p. ). we need not go fully into this doctrine, which, as the writer says elsewhere (p. ), "certainly makes for morality," but we may rather attend to that aspect of it which is shown in the hindu desire to accumulate "merits." the performance of penances gives the self-torturer certain spiritual powers. professor oman quotes this passage from sir monier williams's "indian epic poetry" (note to p. ): "according to hindu theory, the performance of penances was like making deposits in the bank of heaven. by degrees an enormous credit was accumulated, which enabled the depositor to draw on the amount of his savings, without fear of his drafts being refused payment. the power gained in this way by weak mortals was so enormous that gods, as well as men, were equally at the mercy of these all but omnipotent ascetics, and it is remarkable that even the gods are described as engaging in penances and austerities, in order, it may be presumed, not to be undone by human beings." now, if for penance we substitute mitzvoth, we find in this passage almost the caricature of the jewish theory that meets us in the writings of german theologians. these ill-equipped critics of judaism put it forward seriously that the jew performs mitzvoth in order to accumulate merit (zechuth), and some of them even go so far as to assert that the jew thinks of his zechuth as irresistible. but when the matter is put frankly and squarely, as professor monier williams puts it, not even the germans could have the effrontery to assert that judaism teaches or tolerates any such doctrine. whatever man does, he has no merit towards god: that is jewish teaching. yet conduct counts, and somehow the good man and the bad man are not in the same case. judaism may be inconsistent, but it is certainly not base in its teaching as to conduct and retribution. "be not as servants who minister in the hope of receiving reward"-this is not the highest level of jewish doctrine, it is the average level. lately i have been reading a good deal of mystical jewish literature, and i have been struck by the repeated use made of the famous rabbinical saying of antigonos of socho just cited. one wonders whether, after all, justice is done to the hindus. one sees how easily jewish teaching can be distorted into a doctrine of calculated zechuth. are the hindus being misjudged equally? certainly, in some cases this must be so, for professor oman, with his remarkably sympathetic insight, records experiences such as this more than once (p. ). he is describing one of the jain ascetics, and remarks: "his personal appearance gave the impression of great suffering, and his attendants all had the same appearance, contrasting very much indeed with the ordinary sadhus of other sects. and wherefore this austere rejection of the world's goods, wherefore all this self-inflicted misery? is it to attain a glorious heaven hereafter, a blessed existence after death? no! it is, as the old monk explained to me, only to escape rebirth--for the jain believes in the transmigration of souls--and to attain rest." other ascetics gave similar explanations. thus (p. ): "the christian missionary entered into conversation with the hermit (a bairagi from the upper provinces), and learned from him that he had adopted a life of abstraction and isolation from the world, neither to expiate any sin, nor to secure any reward. he averred that he had no desires and no hopes, but that, being removed from the agitations of the worldly life, he was full of tranquil joy." vi lost purim joys it is scarcely accurate to assert, as is sometimes done, that the most characteristic of the purim pranks of the past were children of the ghetto, and came to a natural end when the ghetto walls fell. in point of fact, most of these joys originated before the era of the ghetto, and others were introduced for the first time when ghetto life was about to fade away into history. probably the oldest of purim pranks was the bonfire and the burning of an effigy. now, so far from being a ghetto custom, it did not even emanate from europe, the continent of ghettos; it belongs to babylonia and persia. this is what was done, according to an old geonic account recovered by professor l. ginzberg: "it is customary in babylonia and elam for boys to make an effigy resembling haman; this they suspend on their roofs, four or five days before purim. on purim day they erect a bonfire, and cast the effigy into its midst, while the boys stand round about it, jesting and singing. and they have a ring suspended in the midst of the fire, which (ring) they hold and wave from one side of the fire to the other." bonfires, it may be thought, need no recondite explanation; light goes with a light heart, and boys always love a blaze. dr. j.g. frazer, in his "golden bough," has endeavored, nevertheless, to bring the purim bonfire into relation with primitive spring-tide and midsummer conflagrations, which survived into modern carnivals, but did not originate with them. such bonfires belonged to what has been called sympathetic or homeopathic magic; by raising an artificial heat, you ensured a plentiful dose of the natural heat of the sun. so, too, the burning of an effigy was not, in the first instance, a malicious or unfriendly act. a tree-spirit, or a figure representing the spirit of vegetation, was consumed in fire, but the spirit was regarded as beneficent, not hostile, and by burning a friendly deity the succor of the sun was gained. dr. frazer cites some evidence for the early prevalence of the purim bonfire; he argues strongly and persuasively in favor of the identification of purim with the babylonian feast of the sacaea, a wild, extravagant bacchanalian revel, which, in the old asiatic world, much resembled the saturnalia of a later italy. the theory is plausible, though it is not quite proven by dr. frazer, but it seems to me that whatever be the case with purim generally, there is one hitherto overlooked feature of the purim bonfire that does clearly connect it with the other primitive conflagrations of which mention was made above. this overlooked feature is the "ring." no explanation is given by the gaon as to its purpose in the tenth century, and it can hardly have been used to hold the effigy. now, in many of the primitive bonfires, the fire was produced by aid of a revolving wheel. this wheel typifies the sun. waving the "ring" in the purim bonfires has obviously the same significance, and this apparently inexplicable feature does, i think, serve to link the ancient purim prank with a long series of old-world customs, which, it need hardly be said, have nothing whatever to do with the ghetto. then, again, the most famous of purim parodies preceded the ghetto period. the official ghetto begins with the opening of the sixteenth century, whereas the best parodies belong to a much earlier date, the fourteenth century. such parodies, in which sacred things are the subject of harmless jest, are purely medieval in spirit, as well as in date. exaggerated praises of wine were a foil to the sobriety of the jew, the fun consisting in this conscious exaggeration. the medieval jew, be it remembered, drew no severe line between sacred and profane. all life was to him equally holy, equally secular. so it is not strange that we find included in sacred hebrew hymnologies wine-songs for purim and chanukah and other synagogue feasts, and these songs are at least as old as the early part of the twelfth century. for purim, many synagogue liturgies contain serious additions for each of the eighteen benedictions of the amidah prayer, and equally serious paraphrases of esther, some of them in aramaic, abound among the genizah fragments in cambridge. besides these, however, are many harmlessly humorous jingles and rhymes which were sung in the synagogue, admittedly for the amusement of the children, and for the child-hearts of adult growth. for them, too, the midrash had played round haman, reviling him, poking fun at him, covering him with ridicule rather than execration. it is true that the earliest ritual reference to the wearing of masks on purim dates from the year , just within the ghetto period. but this omission of earlier reference is surely an accident, in the babylonian sacaea, cited above, a feature of the revel was that men and women disguised themselves, a slave dressed up as king, while servants personated masters, and vice versa. all these elements of carnival exhilaration are much earlier than the middle ages. ghetto days, however, originated, perhaps, the stamping of feet, clapping of hands, clashing of mallets, and smashing of earthenware pots, to punctuate certain passages of the esther story and of the subsequent benediction. my strongest point concerns what, beyond all other delights, has been regarded as the characteristic amusement of the festival, viz. the purim play. we not only possess absolutely no evidence that purim plays were performed in the ghettos till the beginning of the eighteenth century, when the end of the ghettos was almost within sight, but the extant references imply that they were then a novelty. plays on the subject of esther were very common in medieval europe during earlier centuries, but these plays were written by christians, not by jews, and were performed by monks, not by rabbis. strange as it may seem, it is none the less the fact that the purim play belongs to the most recent of the purim amusements, and that its life has been short and, on the whole, inglorious. thus, without pressing the contention too closely, purim festivities do not deserve to be tarred with the ghetto brush. is it, then, denied that purim was more mirthfully observed in ghetto days than it is at the present day? by no means. it is unquestionable that purim used to be a merrier anniversary than it is now. the explanation is simple. in part, the change has arisen through a laudable disinclination from pranks that may be misconstrued as tokens of vindictiveness against an ancient foe or his modern reincarnations. as a second cause may be assigned the growing and regrettable propensity of jews to draw a rigid line of separation between life and religion, and wherever this occurs, religious feasts tend towards a solemnity that cannot, and dare not, relax into amusement. this tendency is eating at the very heart of jewish life, and ought to be resisted by all who truly understand the genius of judaism. but the psychology of the change goes even deeper. the jew is emotional, but he detests making a display of his feelings to mere onlookers. the wailing wall scenes at jerusalem are not a real exception--the facts are "cooked," to meet the demands of clamant tourists. the jew's sensitiveness is the correlative of his emotionalism. while all present are joining in the game, each jew will play with full abandonment to the humor of the moment. but as soon as some play the part of spectators, the jew feels his limbs growing too stiff for dancing, his voice too hushed for song. all must participate, or all must leave off. thus, a crowd of italians or southern french may play at carnival to-day to amuse sight-seers in the riviera, but jews have never consented, have never been able, to sport that others might stand by and laugh at, and not with, the sportsmen. in short, purim has lost its character, because jews have lost their character, their disposition for innocent, unanimous joyousness. we are no longer so closely united in interests or in local abodes that we could, on the one hand, enjoy ourselves as one man, and, on the other, play merry pranks, without incurring the criticism of indifferent, cold-eyed observers. criticism has attacked the authenticity of the esther story, and proposed marduk for mordecai, and istar for esther. but criticism of another kind has worked far more havoc, for its "superior" airs have killed the purim joy. perhaps it is not quite dead after all. vii jews and letters the jubilee of the introduction of the penny post into england was not reached till . it is difficult to realize the state of affairs before this reform became part of our everyday life. that less than three-quarters of a century ago the scattered members of english families were, in a multitude of cases, practically dead to one another, may incline one to exaggerate the insignificance of the means of communication in times yet more remote. certainly, in ancient judea there were fewer needs than in the modern world. necessity produces invention, and as the jew of remote times rarely felt a strong necessity to correspond with his brethren in his own or other countries, it naturally followed that the means of communication were equally _extempore_ in character. it may be of interest to put together some desultory jottings on this important topic. the way to judea lies through rome. if we wish information whether the jews knew anything of a regular post, we must first inquire whether the romans possessed that institution. according to gibbon, this was the case. excellent roads made their appearance wherever the romans settled; and "the advantage of receiving the earliest intelligence and of conveying their orders with celerity, induced the emperors to establish throughout their extensive dominions the regular institution of posts. houses were everywhere erected at the distance only of five or six miles; each of them was constantly provided with forty horses, and by the help of these relays it was easy to travel a hundred miles a day along the roman roads. the use of the posts was allowed to those who claimed it by an imperial mandate; but, though originally intended for the public service, it was sometimes indulged to the business or con-veniency of private citizens." this statement of gibbon (towards the end of chapter ii) applies chiefly, then, to official despatches; for we know from other sources that the romans had no public post as we understand the term, but used special messengers (_tabellarius_) to convey private letters. exactly the same facts meet us with reference to the jews in the earlier talmudic times. there were special jewish letter-carriers, who carried the documents in a pocket made for the purpose, and in several towns in palestine there was a kind of regular postal arrangement, though many places were devoid of the institution. it is impossible to suppose that these postal conveniences refer only to official documents; for the mishnah (_sabbath_, x, ) is evidently speaking of jewish postmen, who, at that time, would hardly have been employed to carry the despatches of the government. the jewish name for this post was _bê-davvar_, and apparently was a permanent and regular institution. from a remark of rabbi jehudah (_rosh ha-shanah_, b), "like a postman who goes about everywhere and carries merchandise to the whole province," it would seem that the jews had established a parcels-post; but unfortunately we have no precise information as to how these posts were managed. gibbon's account of the roman post recalls another jewish institution, which may have been somehow connected with the _bê-davvar_. the official custodian of the goat that was sent into the wilderness on the day of atonement was allowed, if he should feel the necessity--a necessity which, according to tradition, never arose--to partake of food even on the fast-day. for this purpose huts were erected along the route, and men provided with food were stationed at each of these huts to meet the messenger and conduct him some distance on his way. that the postal system cannot have been very much developed, is clear from the means adopted to announce the new moon in various localities. this official announcement certainly necessitated a complete system of communication. at first, we are told (_rosh ha-shanah_, ii, ), fires were lighted on the tops of the mountains; but the samaritans seem to have ignited the beacons at the wrong time, so as to deceive the jews. it was, therefore, decided to communicate the news by messenger. the mountain-fires were prepared as follows: long staves of cedar-wood, canes, and branches of the olive-tree were tied up with coarse threads or flax; these were lighted as torches, and men on the hills waved the brands to and fro, upward and downward, until the signal was repeated on the next hill, and so forth. when messengers were substituted for these fire signals, it does not appear that they carried letters; they brought verbal messages, which they seem to have shouted out without necessarily dismounting from the animals they rode. messages were not sent every month, but only six times a year; and a curious light is thrown on the means of communication of the time, by the legal decision that anyone was to be believed on the subject, and that the word of a passing merchant who said that "he had heard the new moon proclaimed," was to be accepted unhesitatingly. nowadays, busy men are sometimes put out by postal vagaries, but they hardly suffer to the extent of having to fast two days. this calamity is recorded, however, in the jerusalem talmud, as having, on a certain occasion, resulted from the delay in the arrival of the messengers announcing the new moon. besides the proclamation of the new moon, other official documents must have been despatched regularly. "bills of divorce," for instance, needed special messengers; the whole question of the legal position of messengers is very intimately bound up with that of conveying divorces. this, however, seems to have been the function of private messengers, who were not in the strict sense letter-carriers at all. it may be well, in passing, to recall one or two other means of communication mentioned in the midrash. thus we read how joshua, with twelve thousand of his warriors, was imprisoned, by means of witchcraft, within a sevenfold barrier of iron. he resolves to write for aid to the chief of the tribe of reuben, bidding him to summon phineas, who is to bring the "trumpets" with him. joshua ties the message to the wings of a dove, or pigeon, and the bird carries the letter to the israelites, who speedily arrive with phineas and the trumpets, and, after routing the enemy, effect joshua's rescue. a similar idea may be found in the commentary of kimchi on genesis. noah, wishing for information, says kimchi, sent forth a raven, but it brought back no message; then he sent a dove, which has a natural capacity for bringing back replies, when it has been on the same way once or twice. thus kings train these birds for the purpose of sending them great distances, with letters tied to their wings. so we read (_sabbath_, ) in the talmud that "a dove's wings protect it," i.e. people preserve it, and do not slay it, because they train it to act as their messenger. or, again, we find arrows used as a means of carrying letters, and we are not alluding to such signals as jonathan gave to david. during the siege of jerusalem by the romans, the emperor had men placed near the walls of jerusalem, and they wrote the information they obtained on arrows, and fired them from the wall, with the connivance, probably, of the philo-roman party that existed within the doomed city. in earlier bible times, there was, as the tell-el-amarna bricks show, an extensive official correspondence between canaan and egypt, but private letter-writing seems not to have been resorted to; messages were transmitted orally to the parties concerned. this fact is well illustrated by the story of joseph. he may, of course, have deliberately resolved not to communicate with his family, but if letter-writing had been usual, his brothers would naturally have asked him--a question that did not suggest itself to them--why he had never written to tell his father of his fortunes. when saul desired to summon israel, he sent, not a letter, but a mutilated yoke of oxen; the earliest letter mentioned in the bible being that in which king david ordered uriah to be placed in the forefront of the army. jezebel sends letters in ahab's name to naboth, jehu to samaria. in all these cases letters were used for treacherous purposes, and they are all short. probably the authors of these plots feared to betray their real intention orally, and so they committed their orders to writing, expecting their correspondents to read between the lines. it is not till the time of isaiah that the references to writing become frequent. intercourse between palestine on the one hand and babylon and egypt on the other had then increased greatly, and the severance of the nation itself tended to make correspondence through writing more necessary. when we reach the age of jeremiah, this fact makes itself even more strongly apparent. letters are often mentioned by that prophet (xxix. , ), and a professional class of soferim, or scribes, make their appearance. afterwards, of course, the sofer became of much higher importance; he was not merely a professional writer, but a man learned in the law, who spread the knowledge of it among the people. later, again, these functions were separated, and the sofer added to his other offices that of teacher of the young. nowadays, he has regained his earlier and less important position, for the modern sofer is simply a professional writer. in the time of ezekiel (ix. ) the sofer went abroad with the implements of his trade, including the inkhorn, at his side. in the talmud, the scribe is sometimes described by his latin title _libellarius_ (_sabbath_, a). the jews of egypt, as may be seen from the assouan papyri, wrote home in cases of need in the time of nehemiah; and in the same age we hear also of "open letters," for sanballat sends a missive of that description by his servant; and apparently it was by means of a similar letter that the festival of purim was announced to the jews (esther ix., where, unlike the other passages quoted, the exact words of the letter of mordecai are not given). the order to celebrate chanukah was published in the same way, and, indeed, the books of the apocrypha contain many interesting letters, and in the pages of josephus the jews hold frequent intercourse in this way with many foreign countries. in the latter cases, when the respective kings corresponded, the letters were conveyed by special embassies. one might expect this epistolary activity to display itself at an even more developed stage in the records of rabbinical times. but this is by no means the case, for the rabbinical references to letters in the beginning of the common era are few and far between. polemic epistles make their appearance; but they are the letters of non-jewish missionaries like paul. this form of polemical writing possessed many advantages; the letters were passed on from one reader to another; they would be read aloud, too, before gatherings of the people to whom they were addressed. maimonides, in later times, frequently adopted this method of communicating with whole communities, and many of the geonim and other jewish authorities followed the same plan. but somehow the device seems not to have commended itself to the earliest rabbis. though we read of many personal visits paid by the respective authorities of babylon and palestine to one another, yet they appear to have corresponded very rarely in writing. the reason lay probably in the objection felt against committing the halachic, or legal, decisions of the schools to writing, and there was little else of consequence to communicate after the failure of bar-cochba's revolt against the roman rule. it must not be thought, however, that this prohibition had the effect we have described for very long. rabbi gamaliel, rabbi chananiah, and many others had frequent correspondence with far distant places, and as soon as the mishnah acquired a fixed form, even though it was not immediately committed to writing, the recourse to letters became much more common. pupils of the compilers of the mishnah proceeded to babylon to spread its influence, and they naturally maintained a correspondence with their chiefs in palestine. rab and samuel in particular, among the amoraim, were regular letter-writers, and rabbi jochanan replied to them. towards the end of the third century this correspondence between judea and babylon became even more active. abitur and abin often wrote concerning legal decisions and the doings of the schools, and thereby the intellectual activity of judaism maintained its solidarity despite the fact that the jewish people was no longer united in one land. in the talmud we frequently read, "they sent from there," viz. palestine. obviously these messages were sent in writing, though possibly the bearer of the message was often himself a scholar, who conveyed his report by word of mouth. perhaps the growth of the rabbi's practice of writing responses to questions--a practice that became so markedly popular in subsequent centuries--may be connected with the similar habit of the roman jurists and the christian church fathers, and the form of response adopted by the eighth century geonim is reminiscent of that of the roman lawyers. the substance of the letters, however, is by no means the same; the church father wrote on dogmatic, the rabbi on legal, questions. between the middle of the fourth century and the time of the geonim, we find no information as to the use of letters among the jews. from that period onwards, however, jews became very diligent letter-writers, and sometimes, for instance in the case of the "guide of the perplexed" of maimonides, whole works were transmitted in the form of letters. the scattering of israel, too, rendered it important to jews to obtain information of the fortunes of their brethren in different parts of the world. rumors of messianic appearances from the twelfth century onwards, the contest with regard to the study of philosophy, the fame of individual rabbis, the rise of a class of travellers who made very long and dangerous journeys, all tended to increase the facilities and necessities of intercourse by letter. it was long, however, before correspondence became easy or safe. not everyone is possessed of the postmen assigned in midrashim to king solomon, who pressed demons into his service, and forced them to carry his letters wheresoever he willed. chasdai experienced considerable difficulty in transmitting his famous letter to the king of the chazars, and that despite his position of authority in the spanish state. in a letter on some question of kasher was sent from the rhine to palestine--proof of the way in which the most remote jewish communities corresponded. the question of the materials used in writing has an important bearing on our subject. of course, the ritual regulations for writing the holy books, the special preparation of the parchment, the ink, the strict rules for the formation of the letters, hardly fall within the province of this article. in ancient times the most diverse substances were used for writing on. palm-leaves (for which palestine of old was famous) were a common object for the purpose, being so used all over asia. some authorities believe that in the time of moses the palm leaf was the ordinary writing-material. olive-leaves, again, were thick and hard, while carob-leaves (st. john's bread), besides being smooth, long, and broad, were evergreen, and thus eminently fitted for writing. walnut shells, pomegranate skins, leaves of gourds, onion-leaves, lettuce-heads, even the horns of cattle, and the human body, letters being tattooed on the hands of slaves, were all turned to account. it is maintained by some that leather was the original writing-material of the hebrews; others, again, give their vote in favor of linen, though the talmud does not mention the latter material in connection with writing. some time after alexander the great, the egyptian papyrus became common in palestine, where it probably was known earlier, as jewish letters on papyrus were sent to jerusalem from the fayyum in the fifth century b.c.e. even as late as maimonides, the scrolls of the law were written on leather, and not on parchment, which is now the ordinary material for the purpose. that the torah was not to be written on a vegetable product was an assumed first principle. the samaritans went so far as to insist that the animal whose hide was needed for so holy a purpose, must be slain kasher. similarly with divorce documents. a get on paper would be held legal _post factum_, though it is not allowed to use that material, as it is easily destroyed or mutilated, and the use of paper for the purpose was confined to the east. some allowed the book of esther to be read from a paper copy; other authorities not only strongly objected to this, but even forbade the reading of the haftarah from paper. hence one finds in libraries so many parchment scrolls containing only the haftarahs. the hebrew word for letter, iggereth, is of unknown origin, though it is now commonly taken to be an assyrian loan-word. it used to be derived from a root signifying to "hire," in reference to the "hired courier," by whom it was despatched. other terms for letter, such as "book," "roll," explain themselves. black ink was early used, though it is certain that it was either kept in a solid state, like india ink, or that it was of the consistency of glue, and needed the application of water before it could be used. for pens, the iron stylus, the reed, needle, and quill (though the last was not admitted without a struggle) were the common substitutes at various dates. we must now return to the subject with which we set out, and make a few supplementary remarks with regard to the actual conveyance of letters. in the talmud (_baba mezia,_ b) a proverb is quoted to this effect, "he who can read and understand the contents of a letter, may be the deliverer thereof." as a rule, one would prefer that the postman did not read the correspondence he carries, and this difficulty seems to have stood in the way of trusting letters to unknown bearers. to remove this obstacle to free intercourse, rabbenu gershom issued his well-known decree, under penalty of excommunication, against anyone who, entrusted with a letter to another, made himself master of its contents. to the present day, in some places, the jewish writer writes on the outside of his letter, the abbreviation [hebrew: beth-cheth-daleth-resh-''-gimel], which alludes to this injunction of rabbenu gershom. again, the sabbath was and still is a difficulty with observant jews. rabbi jose ha-cohen is mentioned in the talmud (_sabbath_, a) as deserving of the following compliment. he never allowed a letter of his to get into the hands of a non-jew, for fear he might carry it on the sabbath, and strict laws are laid down on the subject. that christians in modern times entrusted their letters to jews goes without saying, and even in places where this is not commonly allowed, the non-jew is employed when the letter contains bad news. perhaps for this reason rabbenu jacob tarn permitted divorces to be sent by post, though the controversy on the legality of such delivery is, i believe, still undecided. besides packmen, who would often be the medium by which letters were transmitted, there was in some jewish communities a special class that devoted themselves to a particular branch of the profession. they made it their business to seek out lost sons and deliver messages to them from their anxious parents. some later jewish authorities, in view of the distress that the silence of absent loved ones causes to those at home, lay down the rule that the duty of honoring parents, the fifth commandment, includes the task of corresponding when absent from them. these peripatetic letter-carriers also conveyed the documents of divorce to women that would otherwise be in the unpleasant condition of being neither married nor single. among the most regular and punctual of jewish postmen may be mentioned the bearers of begging letters and begging books. there is no fear that _these_ will not be duly delivered. our reference to letters of recommendation reminds us of an act, on the part of a modern rabbi, of supererogation in the path of honesty. the post is in the hands of the government, and, accordingly, the late rabbi bamberger of wurzburg, whenever he gave a haskamah, or recommendation, which would be delivered by hand, was wont to destroy a postage stamp, so as not to defraud the government, even in appearance. with this remarkable instance of conscientious uprightness, we may fitly conclude this notice, suggested as it has been by the modern improvements in the postal system, which depend for their success so largely on the honesty of the public. viii the shape of matzoth dr. johnson said, "it is easier to know that a cake is bad than to make a good one." i had a tiny quantity of material which, by dint of much rolling, i might have expanded into a broad, flat, unsubstantial whole; i preferred, however, to make of my little piece of dough a little cake, small and therefore less pretentious. i am afraid that even in this concentrated form it will prove flavorless and indigestible, but the cook must be blamed, not the material. i have no intention to consider the various operations connected with the preparation of unleavened passover cakes: the kneading, the ingredients, the curious regulations regarding the water used, such precautions as carefully watching the ovens. those who are inclined to connect some of these customs with the practices of non-jewish peoples will find some interesting facts on all theses topics; but what i wish to speak of now is the shape and form of passover cakes. the christian emblems that figure in the celebration of the eucharist, or lord's supper, were probably derived from the ceremonies of the passover eve. the bread employed in the eucharist is with some christian sects unleavened, and, indeed, leavened cakes seem to have been introduced solely as a protest against certain so-called judaizing tendencies. the latin church still contends for the propriety of employing unleavened bread, and from the seventh century unleavened bread was used at rome and leavened bread at constantinople. from the earliest times, however, the eucharistic loaves were invariably round in shape, there being, indeed, a supposed edict by pope zephyrinus ( - ) to that effect. it is passing strange that bona, an ecclesiastical writer, derived this roundness from the shape of the coins judas received for betraying his master. but though there is no distinct enactment either in the talmud or in any of the later codes as to what the form of the matzoth must be, these have been from time immemorial round also. some minhagim are more firmly rooted than actual laws, and this custom is one of them. in one of his cartoons, picard has an illustration which is apparently that of a squarish matzah; this may, however, be only a case of defective drawing. it is true that in roumania square matzoth are used, but in the controversy raised by the introduction of matzah-making machines, the opponents of the change argued as though no other than a round shape were conceivable. kluger, for instance, never seems to have realized that his weightiest objection to the use of the machine would be obviated by making the matzoth square or rectangular. when it was first proposed to introduce matzah machines in london, the resistance came chiefly from the manufacturers, and not from the ecclesiastical authorities. the bakers refused categorically to make square matzoth, declaring that if they did so, their stock would be unsalable. even to the present day no square matzoth are baked in london; those occasionally seen there are imported from the continent. the ancient egyptians made their cakes round, and the matzoth are regarded midrashically as a memorial of the food which the egyptian masters forced on their israelite slaves. a round shape is apparently the simplest symmetrical form, but beyond this i fancy that the round form of the passover bread is partly due to the double meaning of uggoth matzoth. the word uggoth signifies cakes baked in the sand or hot embers; but uggah also means a "circle." to return, however, to the eucharistic wafers. a further point of identity, though only a minute detail, can be traced in the regulation that the eucharistic oblate from which the priest communicated was, in the ninth century, larger than the loaves used by the people. so the passover cakes (shimmurim) used by the master of the house, and particularly the middle cake, pieces of which were distributed, were made larger than the ordinary matzoth. picard ( ) curiously enough reverses this relation, and draws the ordinary matzoth much larger and thicker than the shimmurim. the ordinary matzoth he represents as thick oval cakes, with a single coil of large holes, which start outwards from the centre. picard speaks of matzoth made in different shapes, but he gives no details. in the middle ages, and, indeed, as early as chrysostom (fourth century), the church cakes were marked with a cross, and bore various inscriptions. in the coptic church, for example, the legend was "holy! holy! holy is the lord of hosts." now, in a latin work, _roma subterranea_, about , a statement is made which seems to imply that the passover cakes of the jews were also marked with crosses. what can have led to this notion? the origin is simple enough. the ancient romans, as aringhus himself writes, and as virgil, horace, and martial frequently mention, made their loaves with cross indentations, in order to facilitate dividing them into four parts: much as nowadays scotch scones are baked four together, and the central dividing lines give the fourfold scone the appearance of bearing a cross mark. it may be that the jews made their passover cakes, which were thicker than ours and harder to break, in the same way. but, besides, the small holes and indentations that cover the surface of the modern matzah might, if the matzah be held in certain positions, possibly be mistaken for a cross. these indentations are, i should add, very ancient, being referred to in the talmud, and, if i may venture a suggestion, also in the bible, i kings xiv. , and elsewhere, nekudim being cakes punctuated with small interstices. we can carry the explanation a little further. the three matzoth shimmurim used in the haggadah service were made with especial care, and in medieval times were denominated priest, levite, israelite, in order to discriminate among them. picard, by an amusing blunder, speaks of a _gateau des lévites;_ he, of course, means the middle cake. from several authorities it is clear that the three matzoth were inscribed in some cases with these three words, in others with the letters _alef, beth, gimmel_, in order to distinguish them. a rough _alef_ would not look unlike a cross. later on, the three matzoth were distinguished by one, two, three indentations respectively, as in the roman numerals; and even at the present day care is sometimes taken, though in other ways, to prevent the priest, levite, and israelite from falling into confusion. i do not know whether the stringent prohibition, by the _shulchan aruch_, of "shaped or marked cakes" for use on passover, may not be due to the fact that the eucharistic cakes used by christians were marked with letters and symbols. certain it is that the prohibition of these "shaped" cakes is rather less emphatic in the talmud than in the later authorities, who up to a certain date are never weary of condemning or at least discouraging the practice. the custom of using these cakes is proved to be widespread by the very frequency of the prohibitions, and they were certainly common in the beginning of the sixteenth century, from which period seems to date the custom of making the matzoth very thin, though the thicker species has not been entirely superseded even up to the present day. in the east the matzoth are still made very thick and unpalatable. they cannot be eaten as they are; they are either softened, by being dipped in some liquid, or they are ground down to meal, and then remade into smaller and more edible cakes. the talmud mentions a "stamp" in connection with "shaped cakes," which buxtorf takes for _lebkuchen_, and levy for scalloped and fancifully-edged cakes. the geonim, however, explain that they were made in the forms of birds, beasts, and fishes. i have seen matzoth made in this way in london, and have myself eaten many a matzah sheep and monkey, but, unfortunately, i cannot recollect whether it was during passover. in holland, these shaped cakes are still used, but in "strict" families only before the passover. limits of space will not allow me to quote some interesting notes with reference to hebrew inscriptions on cakes generally, which would furnish parallels to the holy! holy! of the coptic wafers. children received such cakes as a "specific for becoming wise." some directions may be found in _sefer raziel_ for making charm-cakes, which must have been the reverse of charming from the unutterable names of angels written on them. one such charm, however, published by horwitz, i cannot refrain from mentioning, as it is very curious and practical. it constitutes a never-failing antidote to forgetfulness, and, for aught i know, may be quite as efficacious as some of the quack mnemonic systems extensively advertised nowadays. "the following hath been tried and found reliable, and rabbi saadia ben joseph made use of it. he discovered it in the cave of rabbi eleazar kalir, and all the wise men of israel together with their pupils applied the remedy with excellent effect:--at the beginning of the month of sivan take some wheatmeal and knead it, and be sure to remain _standing._ make cakes and bake them, write thereon the verse, 'memory hath he made among his wondrous acts: gracious and merciful is the lord.' take an egg and boil it hard, peel it, and write on it the names of five angels; eat such a cake every day, for thirty days, with an egg, and thou wilt learn all thou seest, and wilt never forget." the manuscript illuminated haggadahs are replete with interest and information. but i must avoid further observations on these manuscripts except in so far as they illustrate my present subject. in the haggadah the question is asked, "why do we eat this matzah?" and at the words "this matzah" the illuminated manuscripts contain, in the great majority of cases, representations of matzoth. these in some instances present rather interesting features, which may throw historical light on the archeology of the subject. some of these figured matzoth are oval, one i have seen star-shaped, but almost all are circular in form. many, however, unlike the modern matzah and owing to the shape of the mould, have a broad border distinct from the rest of the cake. the crawford haggadah, now in the ryland library, manchester, pictures a round matzah through which a pretty flowered design runs. others, again, and this i think a very ancient, as it certainly is a very common, design, are covered with transverse lines, which result in producing diamond-shaped spaces with a very pleasing effect, resembling somewhat the appearance of the lattice work cakes used in italy and persia, i think. the lines, unless they be mere pictorial embellishments, are, possibly, as in the leeds cakes, rows of indentations resulting from the punctuation of the matzah. in one british museum manuscript (roman rite, ), the star and diamond shapes are combined, the border being surrounded with small triangles, and the centre of the cake being divided into diamond-like sections. in yet another manuscript the matzah has a border, divided by small lines into almost rectangular sections, while the body of the cake is ornamented with a design in which variously shaped figures, quadrilaterals and triangles, are irregularly interspersed. one fanciful picture deserves special mention, as it is the only one of the kind in all the illustrated manuscripts and printed haggadahs in the oxford and british museum libraries. this matzah occurs in an italian manuscript of the fourteenth century. it is adorned with a flowered border, and in the centre appears a human-faced quadruped of apparently egyptian character. poetry and imagination are displayed in some of these devices, but in only one or two cases did the artists attain high levels of picturesque illustration. how suggestive, for instance, is the chain pattern, adopted in a manuscript of the michaelis collection at oxford. it must not be thought that _this_ idea at least was never literally realized, for only last year i was shown a matzah made after a very similar design, possibly not for use on the first two nights of passover. the bread of affliction recalls the egyptian bonds, and it is an ingenious idea to bid us ourselves turn the ancient chains to profitable use--by eating them. this expressive design is surpassed by another, found in a beautifully-illuminated manuscript of the fourteenth century. this matzah bears a curious device in the centre: it is a prison door modelled with considerable skill, but i do not suppose that matzoth were ever made in this fashion. notes "the book of delight" the connection between zabara's work and the solomon and marcolf legend was first pointed out in my "short history of jewish literature" ( ), p. . i had long before detected the resemblance, though i was not aware of it when i wrote an essay on zabara in the _jewish quarterly review._ to the latter (vi, pp. _et seq._) the reader is referred for bibliographical notes, and also for details on the textual relations of the two editions of zabara's poem. a number of parallels with other folk-literatures are there indicated; others have been added by dr. israel davidson, in his edition of the "three satires" (new york, ), which accompany the "book of delight" in the constantinople edition, and are also possibly by zabara. the late professor david kaufmann informed me some years ago that he had a manuscript of the poem in his possession. but, after his death, the manuscript could not be found in his library. should it eventually be rediscovered, it would be desirable to have a new, carefully printed edition of the hebrew text of the "book of delight." i would gladly place at the disposal of the editor my copy of the constantinople edition, made from the oxford specimen. the bodleian copy does not seem to be unique, as had been supposed. the literature on the solomon and marcolf legend is extensive. the following references may suffice. j.m. kemble published (london, ) "the dialogue of solomon and saturnus," for the aelfric society. "of all the forms of the story yet preserved," says mr. kemble, "the anglo-saxon are undoubtedly the oldest." he talks vaguely of the intermixture of oriental elements, but assigns a northern origin to one portion of the story. crimm had argued for a hebrew souice, thinking marcolf a name of scorn in hebrew. but the hebrew marcolis (or however one may spell it) is simply mercury. in the latin version, however, marcolf is distinctly represented as coming from the east. william of tyre ( th cent.) suggests the identity of marcolf with abdemon, whom josephus ("antiquities," viii, v, ) names as hiram's riddle-guesser. a useful english edition is e. gordon duff's "dialogue or communing between the wise king salomon and marcolphus" (london, ). here, too, as in the latin version, marcolf is a man from the orient. besides these books, two german works deserve special mention. f. vogt, in his essay entitled _die deutschen dichtungen won salomon und markolf,_ which appeared in halle, in , also thinks marcolf an eastern. finally, as the second part of his "_untersuchungen zur mittelhochdeutschen spielmannspoesie_" (schwerin, ), h. tardel published _zum salman-morolf._ tardel is skeptical as to the eastern provenance of the legend. it has been thought that a form of this legend is referred to in the fifth century. the _contradictio solomonis_, which pope gelasius excluded from the sacred canon, has been identified with some version of the marcolf story. a visit to hebron the account of hebron, given in this volume, must be read for what it was designed to be, an impressionist sketch. the history of the site, in so far as it has been written, must be sought in more technical books. as will be seen from several details, my visit was paid in the month of april, just before passover. things have altered in some particulars since i was there, but there has been no essential change in the past decade. the hebron haram, or shrine over the cave of machpelah, is fully described in the "cruise of h.m.s. bacchante, - ," ii, pp. - . (compare "survey of western palestine," iii, pp. - ; and the _quarterly statement_ of the palestine exploration fund, , pp. - .) colonel conder's account narrates the experiences of the present king of england at the haram in april, . dean stanley had previously entered the haram with king edward vii, in january, (see stanley's "sermons in the east," , pp. - ). a good note on the relation between these modern narratives and david reubeni's (dating from the early part of the sixteenth century) was contributed by canon dalton to the _quarterly statement_, , p. . a capital plan of the haram is there printed. mr. adler's account of his visit to hebron will be found in his "jews in many lands," pp. - ; he tells of his entry into the haram on pp. - . m. lucien gautier's work referred to is his _souvenirs du terre-sainte_ (lausanne, ). the description of glass-making appears on p. of that work. the somewhat startling identification of the ramet el-khalil, near hebron, with the site of the altar built by samuel in ramah (i sam. vii. ) is justified at length in mr. shaw caldecott's book "the tabernacle, its history and structure" (london, ). the solace of books (pp. - ) the opening quotation is from the ethical will of judah ibn tibbon, the "father" of jewish translators. the original is fully analyzed in an essay by the present writer, in the _jewish quarterly review_, iii, . see also _ibidem_, p. . the hebrew text was printed by edelmann, and also by steinschneider; by the latter at berlin, . a writer much cited in this same essay, richard of bury, derived his name from his birthplace, bury st. edmunds. "he tells us himself in his 'philobiblon' that he used his high offices of state as a means of collecting books. he let it be known that books were the most acceptable presents that could be made to him" ("dictionary of national biography," viii, ). he was also a student of hebrew, and collected grammars of that language. altogether his "philobiblon" is an "admirable exhibition of the temper of a book-lover." written in the early part of the fourteenth century, the "philobiblon" was first published, at cologne, in . the english edition cited in this essay is that published in the king's classics (de la more library, ed. i. gollancz). the citation from montaigne is from his essay on the "three commerces" (bk. in, ch. iii). the same passages, in florio's rendering, will be found in mr. a.r. waller's edition (dent's everyman's library), in, pp. - . of the three "commerces" (_i.e._ societies)--men, women, and books--montaigne proclaims that the commerce of books "is much more solid-sure and much more ours." i have claimed montaigne as the great-grandson of a spanish jew on the authority of mr. waller (introduction, p. vii). the paragraphs on books from the "book of the pious," §§ - , have been collected (and translated into english) by the rev. michael adler, in an essay called "a medieval bookworm" (see _the bookworm_, ii, ). the full title of mr. alexander ireland's book--so much drawn upon in this essay--is "the book-lover's enchiridion, a treasury of thoughts on the solace and companionship of books, gathered from the writings of the greatest thinkers, from cicero, petrarch, and montaigne, to carlyle, emerson, and ruskin" (london and new york, ). mr. f.m. nichols' edition of the "letters of erasmus" ( ) is the source of the quotation of one of that worthy's letters. the final quotation comes from the wisdom of solomon, ch. vi. v. ; ch. viii. vv. , ; and ch. ix. v. . the "radiance" of wisdom is, in ch. vii, , explained in the famous words, "for she is an effulgence from everlasting light, an unspotted mirror of the working of god, and an image of his goodness." medieval wayfaring the evidence for many of the statements in this paper will be found in various contexts in "jewish life in the middle ages," in the hebrew travel literature, and in such easily accessible works as graetz's "history of the jews." achimaaz has been much used by me. his "book of genealogies" (_sefer yochasin_) was written in . the hebrew text was included by dr. a. neubauer in his "mediaeval jewish chronicles," ii, pp. _et seq_. i might have cited achimaaz's account of an amusing incident in the synagogue at venosa. there had been an uproar in the jewish quarter, and a wag added some lines on the subject to the manuscript of the midrash which the travelling preacher was to read on the following sabbath. the effect of the reading may be imagined. another source for many of my statements is a work by julius aronius, _regesten zur geschichte der juden in deutschland,_ berlin, . it presents many new facts on the medieval jewries of germany. the quaint story of the jewish sailors told by synesius is taken from t.r. glover's "life and letters in the fourth century" (cambridge, ), p. . a careful statement on communal organization with regard to the status of travellers and settlers was contributed by weinberg to vol. xii of the breslau _monatsschrift_. the title of the series of papers is _die organisation der jüdischen gemeinden_. for evidence of the existence of communal codes, or note-books, see dr. a. berliner's _beiträge zur geschichte der raschi-commentare_, berlin, , p. . benjamin of tudela's "itinerary" has been often edited, most recently by the late m.n. adler (london, ). benjamin's travels occupied the years to , and his narrative is at once informing and entertaining. the motives for his extensive journeys through europe, asia, and africa are thus summed up by mr. adler (pp. xii, xiii): "at the time of the crusades, the most prosperous communities in germany and the jewish congregations that lay along the route to palestine had been exterminated or dispersed, and even in spain, where the jews had enjoyed complete security for centuries, they were being pitilessly persecuted in the moorish kingdom of cordova. it is not unlikely, therefore, that benjamin may have undertaken his journey with the object of finding out where his expatriated brethren might find an asylum. it will be noted that benjamin seems to use every effort to trace and afford particulars of independent communities of jews, who had chiefs of their own, and owed no allegiance to the foreigner. he may have had trade and mercantile operations in view. he certainly dwells on matters of commercial interest with considerable detail. probably he was actuated by both motives, coupled with the pious wish of making a pilgrimage to the land of his fathers." for jewish pilgrims to palestine see steinschneider's contribution to röhricht and meisner's _deutsche pilgerreisen_, pp. - . my statement as to the existence of a jewish colony at ramleh in the eleventh century is based on genizah documents at cambridge, t.s. j. . for my account of the trade routes of the jews in the medieval period, i am indebted to beazley's "dawn of modern geography," p. . the letter of nachmanides is quoted from dr. schechter's "studies in judaism," first series, pp. _et seq._ the text of obadiah of bertinoro's letter was printed by dr. neubauer in the _jahrbuch für die geschichte der juden,_ . the fox's heart (pp. - ) the main story discussed in this essay is translated from the so-called "alphabet of ben sira," the edition used being steinschneider's (_alphabetum siracidis,_ berlin, ). the original work consists of two alphabets of proverbs,--twenty-two in aramaic and twenty-two in hebrew--and is embellished with comments and fables. a full account of the book is given in a very able article by professor l. ginzberg, "jewish encyclopedia," ii, p. . the author is not the ben sira who wrote the wisdom book in the apocrypha, but the ascription of it to him led to the incorporation of some legends concerning him. dr. ginzberg also holds this particular fox fable to be a composite, and to be derived more or less from indian originals. "marriages are made in heaven" the chief authorities to which the reader is referred are: _midrash rabba_, genesis section ; leviticus section ; and numbers sections and . further, _midrash tanchuma_, to the sections _ki tissa, mattoth_, and _vayishlach; midrash samuel_, ch. v; babylonian talmud, _moed katon_, b, and _sotah_, a. in dr. w. bacher's _agada der tannaiten_, ii, pp. - , will be found important notes on some of these passages. i have freely translated the story of solomon's daughter from buber's _tanchuma_, introduction, p. . it is clearly pieced together from several stories, too familiar to call for the citation of parallels. with one of the incidents may be compared the device of sindbad in his second voyage. he binds himself to one of the feet of a rukh, _i.e._ condor, or bearded vulture. in another adventure he attaches himself to the carcass of a slaughtered animal, and is borne aloft by a vulture. a similar incident may be noted in pseudo-ben sira (steinschneider, p. ). compare also gubernatis, zool. myth, ii, . the fabulous anka was banished as punishment for carrying off a bride. for the prayers based on belief in the divine appointment of marriages, see "jewish life in the middle ages," ch. x. one of the many sixteenth century tobit dramas is _tobie, comedie de catherin le doux: en laquelle on void comme les marriages sont faicts au ciel, & qu'il n'y a rien qui eschappe la providence de dieu_ (cassel, ). hebrew love songs from personal observation, dr. g.h. dalman collected a large number of modern syrian songs in his _palästinischer diwan_ (leipzig, ). the songs were taken down, and the melodies noted, in widely separated districts. judea, the hauran, lebanon, are all represented. dr. dalman prints the arabic text in "latin" transliteration, and appends german renderings. wetzstein's earlier record of similar folk-songs appears in delitzsch's commentary on canticles--_hohelied und koheleth_,-- and also in the _zeitschrift für ethnologie_, v, p. . previous commentators had sometimes held that the song of songs was a mere collection of detached and independent fragments, but on the basis of wetzstein's discoveries, professor budde elaborated his theory, that the song is a syrian wedding-minstrel's repertory. this theory will be found developed in budde's commentary on canticles ( ); it is a volume in marti's _kurzer hand-commentar zum alten testament_. an elaborate and destructive criticism of the repertory theory may be read in appendix ii of mr. andrew harper's "song of solomon" ( ): the book forms a volume in the series of the cambridge bible for schools. harper's is a very fine work, and not the least of its merits is its exposition of the difficulties which confront the attempt to deny unity of plot and plan to the biblical song. harper also expresses a sound view as to the connection between love-poetry and mysticism. "sensuality and mysticism are twin moods of the mind." the allegorical significance of the song of songs goes back to the _targum_, an english version of which has been published by professor h. gollancz in his "translations from hebrew and aramaic" ( ). professor j.p. mahaffy's view on the idylls of theocritus may be read in his "history of greek literature," ii, p. , and in several pages of his "greek life and thought" (see index, _s.v._). the passage in which graetz affirms the borrowing of the pastoral scheme by the author of canticles from theocritus, is translated from p. of graetz's _schir ha-schirim, oder das salomonische hohelied_ (vienna, ). though the present writer differs entirely from the opinion of graetz on this point, he has no hesitation in describing graetz's commentary as a masterpiece of brilliant originality. the rival theory, that theocritus borrowed from the biblical song, is supported by professor d.s. margoliouth, in his "lines of defence of the biblical revelation" ( ), pp. - . he also suggests (p. ), that theocritus borrowed lines - of idyll xxiv from isaiah xi. . the evidence from the scenery of the song, in favor of the natural and indigenous origin of the setting of the poem, is strikingly illustrated in g.a. smith's "historical geography of the holy land" (ed. ), pp. - . the quotation from laurence oliphant is taken from his "land of gilead" (london, ). egyptian parallels to canticles occur in the hieroglyphic love-poems published by maspero in _Études égyptiennes_, i, pp. _et seq_., and by spiegelberg in _aegyptiaca_ (contained in the ebers _festschrift_, pp. _et seq_.). maspero, describing, in , the affinities of canticles to the old egyptian love songs, uses almost the same language as g.e. lessing employed in , in summarizing the similarities between canticles and theocritus. it will amuse the reader to see the passages side by side. [transcriber's note: in our print copy these were set in parallel columns.] maspero il n'y a personne qui, en lisant la traduction de ces chants, ne soit frappé de la ressemblance qu'ils présentent avec le cantique des cantiques. ce sont les mêmes façons ..., les mêmes images ..., les mêmes comparaisons. lessing immo sunt qui maximam similitudinem inter canticum canticorum et theocriti idyllia esse statuant ... quod iisdem fere videtur esse verbis, loquendi formulis, similibus, transitu, figuris. if these resemblances were so very striking, then, as argued in the text of this essay, the idylls of theocritus ought to resemble the egyptian poems. this, however, they utterly fail to do. for my acquaintance with the modern greek songs i am indebted to mr. g.f. abbott's "songs of modern greece" (cambridge, ). the levantine character of the melodies to hebrew piyyutim based on the song of songs is pointed out by mr. f.l. cohen, in the "jewish encyclopedia," i, p. , and iii, p. . the poem of taubah, and the comments on it, are taken from c.j.l. lyall's "translations of ancient arabic poetry, chiefly prae-islamic" ( ), p. . the hebrew text of moses ibn ezra's poem--cited with reference to the figure of love surviving the grave--may be found in kaempf's _zehn makamen_ ( ), p. . a german translation is given, i believe, in the same author's _nichtandalusische poesie andalusischer dichter._ many hebrew love-poems, in german renderings, are quoted in dr. a. sulzbach's essay, _die poetische litteratur_ (second section, _die weltliche poesie_), contributed to the third volume of winter and wunsche's jüdische litteratur ( ). his comments, cited in my essay, occur in that work, p. . amy levy's renderings of some of jehudah halevi's love songs are quoted by lady magnus in the first of her "jewish portraits." dr. j. egers discusses samuel ha-nagid's "stammering maid" in the graetz _jubelschrift_ ( ), pp. - . george eliot and solomon maimon the autobiography of solomon maimon ( - ) was published in berlin ( - ) in two parts, under the title _salomon maimon's lebensgeschichte._ moses mendelssohn befriended maimon, in so far as it was possible to befriend so wayward a personality. maimon made real contributions to philosophy. the description of daniel deronda's purchase of the volume is contained in ch. xxxiii of the novel. in holborn, deronda came across a "second-hand book-shop, where, on a narrow table outside, the literature of the ages was represented in judicious mixture, from the immortal verse of homer to the mortal prose of the railway novel. that the mixture was judicious was apparent from deronda's finding in it something that he wanted--namely, that wonderful piece of autobiography, the life of the polish jew, salomon maimon." the man in temporary charge of the shop was mordecai. this is his first meeting with deronda, who, after an intensely dramatic interval, "paid his half-crown and carried off his 'salomon maimon's lebensgeschichte' with a mere 'good morning.'" how milton pronounced hebrew milton's transliterations are printed in several editions of his poems; the version used in this book is that given in d. masson's "poetical works of milton," in, pp. - . the notes of the late a.b. davidson on milton's hebrew knowledge are cited in the same volume by masson (p. ). landor had no high opinion of milton as a translator. "milton," he said, "was never so much a regicide as when he lifted up his hand and smote king david." but there can be no doubt of milton's familiarity with the original, whatever be the merit of the translations. to me, milton's rendering of psalm lxxxiv seems very fine. the controversy between the advocates of the versions of rous and barton--which led to milton's effort--is described in masson, ii, p. . reuchlin's influence on the pronunciation of hebrew in england is discussed by dr. s.a. hirsch, in his "book of essays" (london, ), p. . roger bacon, at a far earlier date, must have pronounced hebrew in much the same way, but he was not guilty of the monstrosity of turning the _ayin_ into a nasal. bacon (as may be seen from the facsimile printed by dr. hirsch) left the letter _ayin_ unpronounced, which is by far the best course for westerns to adopt. the cambridge platonists henry more ( - ) was the most important of the "cambridge platonists." several of his works deal with the jewish cabbala. more recognized a "threefold cabbala, literal, philosophical, and mystical, or divinely moral." he dedicated his _conjectura cabbalistica_ to cudworth, master of christ's college, cambridge, of which more was a fellow. cudworth was one of those who attended the whitehall conference, summoned by cromwell in to discuss the readmission of the jews to england. platonic influence was always prevalent in mystical thought. the cabbala has intimate relations with neo-platonism. the anglo-jewish yiddish literary society the question raised as to the preservation of yiddish is not unimportant at this juncture. it is clear that the old struggle between hebrew and yiddish for predominance as the jewish language must become more and more severe as hebrew advances towards general acceptance as a living language. probably the struggle will end in compromise. hebrew might become one of the two languages spoken by jews, irrespective of what the other language might happen to be. the mystics and saints of india the full title of professor oman's work is "the mystics, ascetics, and saints of india. a study of sadhuism, with an account of the yogis, sanyasis, bairagis, and other strange hindu sectaries" (london, ). the subject of asceticism in judaism has of late years been more sympathetically treated than used to be the case. the jewish theologians of a former generation were concerned to attack the excesses to which an ascetic course of life may lead. this attack remains as firmly justified as ever. but to deny a place to asceticism in the jewish scheme, is at once to pronounce the latter defective and do violence to fact. speaking of the association of fasting with repentance, dr. schechter says: "it is in conformity with this sentiment, for which there is abundant authority both in the scriptures and in the talmud, that ascetic practices tending both as a sacrifice and as a castigation of the flesh, making relapse impossible, become a regular feature of the penitential course in the medieval rabbinic literature" ("some aspects of rabbinic theology," , pp. - ). moreover, the fuller appreciation of the idea of saintliness, and the higher esteem of the mystical elements in judaism--ideas scarcely to be divorced from asceticism--have helped to confirm the newer attitude. here, too, dr. schechter has done a real service to theology. the second series of his "studies in judaism" contains much on this subject. what he has written should enable future exponents of judaism to form a more balanced judgment on the whole matter. fortunately, the newer view is not confined to any one school of jewish thought. the reader will find, in two addresses contained in mr. c.g. montefiore's "truth in religion" ( ), an able attempt to weigh the value and the danger of an ascetic view of life. it was, indeed, time that the jewish attitude towards so powerful a force should be reconsidered. lost purim joys the burning of haman in effigy is recorded in the _responsa_ of a gaon published by professor l. ginzberg in his "geniza studies" ("geonica," ii, pp. - ). he holds that the statement as to the employment of "purim bonfires among the babylonian and elamitic jews as given in the _aruch_ (s. v. [hebrew: shin-vav-vav-resh]) undoubtedly goes back to this _responsum_." on purim parodies much useful information will be found in dr. israel davidson's "parody in jewish literature" (new york, ). see index s.v. purim (p. ). for a statement of the supposed connection between purim and other spring festivals, see paul haupt's "purim" (baltimore, ), and the article in the "encyclopaedia biblica," cols. - . such theories do not account adequately for the book of esther. schodt _(jüdische merkwürdigkeiten,_ , ii, p. ) gives a sprightly account of what seems to have been the first public performance of a purim play in germany. jews and letters leopold löw investigated the history of writing, and of the materials used among the jews, in his _graphische requisiten und erzeugnisse bei den juden_ ( vols., leipzig, - ). on jewish letter-carriers in germany, see the article of dr. i. kracauer in the "jewish encyclopedia," viii, p. . the first post-jude is named in . these jewish letter-carriers received no salary from the government, but collected a fee from the recipients of the letters. the talmudic _bê-davvar_ [hebrew: beth-yod-(maqqef)-daleth-vav-aleph-resh] was really a court of justice (perhaps a circuit court). as, however, _davvar_ meant a despatch-bearer, the phrase _bê-davvar_ passed over later into the meaning post-office. _davvar_ seems connected with the root _dur,_ "to form a circle"; the pael form _(davvar)_ would mean "to go around," perhaps to travel with merchandise and letters. the shape of matzoth in the twentieth chapter of proverbs v. , we find the maxim: "bread gained by fraud is sweet to a man, but afterwards his mouth will be filled with gravel." the exact point of this comparison was brought home to me when i spent a night at modin, the ancient home of the maccabees. over night i enjoyed the hospitality of a bedouin. in the morning i was given some native bread for breakfast. i was very hungry, and i took a large and hasty bite at the bread, when lo! my mouth was full of gravel. they make the bread as follows: one person rolls the dough into a thin round cake (resembling a matzah), while another person places hot cinders on the ground. the cake is put on the cinders and gravel, and an earthenware pot is spread over all, to retain the heat. hence the bread comes out with fragments of gravel and cinder in it. woe betide the hasty eater! compare lamentations iii. , "he hath broken my teeth with gravel stones." this, then, may be the meaning of the proverb cited at the head of this note. bread hastily snatched, advantages thoughtlessly or fraudulently grasped, may appear sweet in anticipation, but eventually they fill a man's mouth with gravel. the quotation from paulus aringhus' _roma subterranea novissima_ will be found in vol. ii, p. of the first edition (rome, ). this work, dealing mainly with the christian sepulchres in rome, was reprinted in amsterdam ( ) and arnheim ( ), and a german translation appeared in arnheim in . the first volume (pp. _et seq._) fully describes the jewish tombs in rome, and cites the judeo-greek inscriptions. there is much else to interest the jewish student in these two stately and finely illustrated folios. [transcriber's note: "betwen" was corrected to "between" in chapters iii and vii.] gilgamesh epic*** this ebook was produced by jeroen hellingman. 						 yale oriental series 							 researches 							 volume iv 								part iii published from the fund given to the university in memory of mary 							stevens hammond 			yale oriental series. researches, volume iv, . 			an old babylonian version of the gilgamesh epic 			 on the basis of recently discovered texts 								 by 					morris jastrow jr., ph.d., ll.d. 	 professor of semitic languages, university of pennsylvania 								 and 				 albert t. clay, ph.d., ll.d., litt.d. professor of assyriology and babylonian literature, yale university 			 copyright, , by yale university press 							 in memory of 						 william max müller 							 ( - ) 			whose life was devoted to egyptological research 					 which he greatly enriched 						 by many contributions prefatory note the introduction, the commentary to the two tablets, and the appendix, are by professor jastrow, and for these he assumes the sole responsibility. the text of the yale tablet is by professor clay. the transliteration and the translation of the two tablets represent the joint work of the two authors. in the transliteration of the two tablets, c. e. keiser's "system of accentuation for sumero-akkadian signs" (yale oriental researches--vol. ix, appendix, new haven, ) has been followed. introduction. i. the gilgamesh epic is the most notable literary product of babylonia as yet discovered in the mounds of mesopotamia. it recounts the exploits and adventures of a favorite hero, and in its final form covers twelve tablets, each tablet consisting of six columns (three on the obverse and three on the reverse) of about lines for each column, or a total of about lines. of this total, however, barely more than one-half has been found among the remains of the great collection of cuneiform tablets gathered by king ashurbanapal ( - b.c.) in his palace at nineveh, and discovered by layard in [ ] in the course of his excavations of the mound kouyunjik (opposite mosul). the fragments of the epic painfully gathered--chiefly by george smith--from the _circa_ , tablets and bits of tablets brought to the british museum were published in model form by professor paul haupt; [ ] and that edition still remains the primary source for our study of the epic. for the sake of convenience we may call the form of the epic in the fragments from the library of ashurbanapal the assyrian version, though like most of the literary productions in the library it not only reverts to a babylonian original, but represents a late copy of a much older original. the absence of any reference to assyria in the fragments recovered justifies us in assuming that the assyrian version received its present form in babylonia, perhaps in erech; though it is of course possible that some of the late features, particularly the elaboration of the teachings of the theologians or schoolmen in the eleventh and twelfth tablets, may have been produced at least in part under assyrian influence. a definite indication that the gilgamesh epic reverts to a period earlier than hammurabi (or hammurawi) [ ] i.e., beyond b. c., was furnished by the publication of a text clearly belonging to the first babylonian dynasty (of which hammurabi was the sixth member) in _ct_. vi, ; which text zimmern [ ] recognized as a part of the tale of atra-hasis, one of the names given to the survivor of the deluge, recounted on the eleventh tablet of the gilgamesh epic. [ ] this was confirmed by the discovery [ ] of a fragment of the deluge story dated in the eleventh year of ammisaduka, i.e., c. b.c. in this text, likewise, the name of the deluge hero appears as atra-hasis (col. viii, ). [ ] but while these two tablets do not belong to the gilgamesh epic and merely introduce an episode which has also been incorporated into the epic, dr. bruno meissner in published a tablet, dating, as the writing and the internal evidence showed, from the hammurabi period, which undoubtedly is a portion of what by way of distinction we may call an old babylonian version. [ ] it was picked up by dr. meissner at a dealer's shop in bagdad and acquired for the berlin museum. the tablet consists of four columns (two on the obverse and two on the reverse) and deals with the hero's wanderings in search of a cure from disease with which he has been smitten after the death of his companion enkidu. the hero fears that the disease will be fatal and longs to escape death. it corresponds to a portion of tablet x of the assyrian version. unfortunately, only the lower portion of the obverse and the upper of the reverse have been preserved ( lines in all); and in default of a colophon we do not know the numeration of the tablet in this old babylonian edition. its chief value, apart from its furnishing a proof for the existence of the epic as early as b. c., lies (a) in the writing _gish_ instead of gish-gi(n)-mash in the assyrian version, for the name of the hero, (b) in the writing en-ki-du--abbreviated from dug--"enki is good" for en-ki-dú in the assyrian version, [ ] and (c) in the remarkable address of the maiden sabitum, dwelling at the seaside, to whom gilgamesh comes in the course of his wanderings. from the assyrian version we know that the hero tells the maiden of his grief for his lost companion, and of his longing to escape the dire fate of enkidu. in the old babylonian fragment the answer of sabitum is given in full, and the sad note that it strikes, showing how hopeless it is for man to try to escape death which is in store for all mankind, is as remarkable as is the philosophy of "eat, drink and be merry" which sabitum imparts. the address indicates how early the tendency arose to attach to ancient tales the current religious teachings. 	"why, o gish, does thou run about? 	the life that thou seekest, thou wilt not find. 	when the gods created mankind, 	death they imposed on mankind; 	life they kept in their power. 	thou, o gish, fill thy belly, 	day and night do thou rejoice, 	daily make a rejoicing! 	day and night a renewal of jollification! 	let thy clothes be clean, 	wash thy head and pour water over thee! 	care for the little one who takes hold of thy hand! 	let the wife rejoice in thy bosom!" such teachings, reminding us of the leading thought in the biblical book of ecclesiastes, [ ] indicate the _didactic_ character given to ancient tales that were of popular origin, but which were modified and elaborated under the influence of the schools which arose in connection with the babylonian temples. the story itself belongs, therefore, to a still earlier period than the form it received in this old babylonian version. the existence of this tendency at so early a date comes to us as a genuine surprise, and justifies the assumption that the attachment of a lesson to the deluge story in the assyrian version, to wit, the limitation in attainment of immortality to those singled out by the gods as exceptions, dates likewise from the old babylonian period. the same would apply to the twelfth tablet, which is almost entirely didactic, intended to illustrate the impossibility of learning anything of the fate of those who have passed out of this world. it also emphasizes the necessity of contenting oneself with the comfort that the care of the dead, by providing burial and food and drink offerings for them affords, as the only means of ensuring for them rest and freedom from the pangs of hunger and distress. however, it is of course possible that the twelfth tablet, which impresses one as a supplement to the adventures of gilgamesh, ending with his return to uruk (i.e., erech) at the close of the eleventh tablet, may represent a _later_ elaboration of the tendency to connect religious teachings with the exploits of a favorite hero. ii. we now have further evidence both of the extreme antiquity of the literary form of the gilgamesh epic and also of the disposition to make the epic the medium of illustrating aspects of life and the destiny of mankind. the discovery by dr. arno poebel of a sumerian form of the tale of the descent of ishtar to the lower world and her release [ ]--apparently a nature myth to illustrate the change of season from summer to winter and back again to spring--enables us to pass beyond the akkadian (or semitic) form of tales current in the euphrates valley to the sumerian form. furthermore, we are indebted to dr. langdon for the identification of two sumerian fragments in the nippur collection which deal with the adventures of gilgamesh, one in constantinople, [ ] the other in the collection of the university of pennsylvania museum. [ ] the former, of which only lines are preserved ( on the obverse and on the reverse), appears to be a description of the weapons of gilgamesh with which he arms himself for an encounter--presumably the encounter with humbaba or huwawa, the ruler of the cedar forest in the mountain. [ ] the latter deals with the building operations of gilgamesh in the city of erech. a text in zimmern's _sumerische kultlieder aus altbabylonischer zeit_ (leipzig, ), no. , appears likewise to be a fragment of the sumerian version of the gilgamesh epic, bearing on the episode of gilgamesh's and enkidu's relations to the goddess ishtar, covered in the sixth and seventh tablets of the assyrian version. [ ] until, however, further fragments shall have turned up, it would be hazardous to institute a comparison between the sumerian and the akkadian versions. all that can be said for the present is that there is every reason to believe in the existence of a literary form of the epic in sumerian which presumably antedated the akkadian recension, just as we have a sumerian form of ishtar's descent into the nether world, and sumerian versions of creation myths, as also of the deluge tale. [ ] it does not follow, however, that the akkadian versions of the gilgamesh epic are translations of the sumerian, any more than that the akkadian creation myths are translations of a sumerian original. indeed, in the case of the creation myths, the striking difference between the sumerian and akkadian views of creation [ ] points to the independent production of creation stories on the part of the semitic settlers of the euphrates valley, though no doubt these were worked out in part under sumerian literary influences. the same is probably true of deluge tales, which would be given a distinctly akkadian coloring in being reproduced and steadily elaborated by the babylonian _literati_ attached to the temples. the presumption is, therefore, in favor of an independent _literary_ origin for the semitic versions of the gilgamesh epic, though naturally with a duplication of the episodes, or at least of some of them, in the sumerian narrative. nor does the existence of a sumerian form of the epic necessarily prove that it originated with the sumerians in their earliest home before they came to the euphrates valley. they may have adopted it after their conquest of southern babylonia from the semites who, there are now substantial grounds for believing, were the earlier settlers in the euphrates valley. [ ] we must distinguish, therefore, between the earliest _literary_ form, which was undoubtedly sumerian, and the _origin_ of the episodes embodied in the epic, including the chief actors, gilgamesh and his companion enkidu. it will be shown that one of the chief episodes, the encounter of the two heroes with a powerful guardian or ruler of a cedar forest, points to a western region, more specifically to amurru, as the scene. the names of the two chief actors, moreover, appear to have been "sumerianized" by an artificial process, [ ] and if this view turns out to be correct, we would have a further ground for assuming the tale to have originated among the akkadian settlers and to have been taken over from them by the sumerians. iii. new light on the earliest babylonian version of the epic, as well as on the assyrian version, has been shed by the recovery of two substantial fragments of the form which the epic had assumed in babylonia in the hammurabi period. the study of this important new material also enables us to advance the interpretation of the epic and to perfect the analysis into its component parts. in the spring of , the museum of the university of pennsylvania acquired by purchase a large tablet, the writing of which as well as the style and the manner of spelling verbal forms and substantives pointed distinctly to the time of the first babylonian dynasty. the tablet was identified by dr. arno poebel as part of the gilgamesh epic; and, as the colophon showed, it formed the second tablet of the series. he copied it with a view to publication, but the outbreak of the war which found him in germany--his native country--prevented him from carrying out this intention. [ ] he, however, utilized some of its contents in his discussion of the historical or semi-historical traditions about gilgamesh, as revealed by the important list of partly mythical and partly historical dynasties, found among the tablets of the nippur collection, in which gilgamesh occurs [ ] as a king of an erech dynasty, whose father was Â, a priest of kulab. [ ] the publication of the tablet was then undertaken by dr. stephen langdon in monograph form under the title, "the epic of gilgamish." [ ] in a preliminary article on the tablet in the _museum journal_, vol. viii, pages - , dr. langdon took the tablet to be of the late persian period (i.e., between the sixth and third century b. c.), but his attention having been called to this error of some _ years_, he corrected it in his introduction to his edition of the text, though he neglected to change some of his notes in which he still refers to the text as "late." [ ] in addition to a copy of the text, accompanied by a good photograph, dr. langdon furnished a transliteration and translation with some notes and a brief introduction. the text is unfortunately badly copied, being full of errors; and the translation is likewise very defective. a careful collation with the original tablet was made with the assistance of dr. edward chiera, and as a consequence we are in a position to offer to scholars a correct text. we beg to acknowledge our obligations to dr. gordon, the director of the museum of the university of pennsylvania, for kindly placing the tablet at our disposal. instead of republishing the text, i content myself with giving a full list of corrections in the appendix to this volume which will enable scholars to control our readings, and which will, i believe, justify the translation in the numerous passages in which it deviates from dr. langdon's rendering. while credit should be given to dr. langdon for having made this important tablet accessible, the interests of science demand that attention be called to his failure to grasp the many important data furnished by the tablet, which escaped him because of his erroneous readings and faulty translations. the tablet, consisting of six columns (three on the obverse and three on the reverse), comprised, according to the colophon, lines [ ] and formed the second tablet of the series. of the total, lines are preserved in full or in part, and of the missing thirty-six quite a number can be restored, so that we have a fairly complete tablet. the most serious break occurs at the top of the reverse, where about eight lines are missing. in consequence of this the connection between the end of the obverse (where about five lines are missing) and the beginning of the reverse is obscured, though not to the extent of our entirely losing the thread of the narrative. about the same time that the university of pennsylvania museum purchased this second tablet of the gilgamesh series, yale university obtained a tablet from the same dealer, which turned out to be a continuation of the university of pennsylvania tablet. that the two belong to the same edition of the epic is shown by their agreement in the dark brown color of the clay, in the writing as well as in the size of the tablet, though the characters on the yale tablet are somewhat cramped and in consequence more difficult to read. both tablets consist of six columns, three on the obverse and three on the reverse. the measurements of both are about the same, the pennsylvania tablet being estimated at about inches high, as against / inches for the yale tablet, while the width of both is / inches. the yale tablet is, however, more closely written and therefore has a larger number of lines than the pennsylvania tablet. the colophon to the yale tablet is unfortunately missing, but from internal evidence it is quite certain that the yale tablet follows immediately upon the pennsylvania tablet and, therefore, may be set down as the third of the series. the obverse is very badly preserved, so that only a general view of its contents can be secured. the reverse contains serious gaps in the first and second columns. the scribe evidently had a copy before him which he tried to follow exactly, but finding that he could not get all of the copy before him in the six columns, he continued the last column on the edge. in this way we obtain for the sixth column lines as against for column iv, and for column v, and a total of lines for the six columns. subtracting the lines written on the edge leaves us lines for our tablet as against for its companion. the width of each column being the same on both tablets, the difference of lines is made up by the closer writing. both tablets have peculiar knobs at the sides, the purpose of which is evidently not to facilitate holding the tablet in one's hand while writing or reading it, as langdon assumed [ ] (it would be quite impracticable for this purpose), but simply to protect the tablet in its position on a shelf, where it would naturally be placed on the edge, just as we arrange books on a shelf. finally be it noted that these two tablets of the old babylonian version do not belong to the same edition as the meissner tablet above described, for the latter consists of two columns each on obverse and reverse, as against three columns each in the case of our two tablets. we thus have the interesting proof that as early as b.c. there were already several editions of the epic. as to the provenance of our two tablets, there are no definite data, but it is likely that they were found by natives in the mounds at warka, from which about the year , many tablets came into the hands of dealers. it is likely that where two tablets of a series were found, others of the series were also dug up, and we may expect to find some further portions of this old babylonian version turning up in the hands of other dealers or in museums. iv. coming to the contents of the two tablets, the pennsylvania tablet deals with the meeting of the two heroes, gilgamesh and enkidu, their conflict, followed by their reconciliation, while the yale tablet in continuation takes up the preparations for the encounter of the two heroes with the guardian of the cedar forest, humbaba--but probably pronounced hubaba [ ]--or, as the name appears in the old babylonian version, huwawa. the two tablets correspond, therefore, to portions of tablets i to v of the assyrian version; [ ] but, as will be shown in detail further on, the number of _completely_ parallel passages is not large, and the assyrian version shows an independence of the old babylonian version that is larger than we had reason to expect. in general, it may be said that the assyrian version is more elaborate, which points to its having received its present form at a considerably later period than the old babylonian version. [ ] on the other hand, we already find in the babylonian version the tendency towards repetition, which is characteristic of babylonian-assyrian tales in general. through the two babylonian tablets we are enabled to fill out certain details of the two episodes with which they deal: ( ) the meeting of gilgamesh and enkidu, and ( ) the encounter with huwawa; while their greatest value consists in the light that they throw on the gradual growth of the epic until it reached its definite form in the text represented by the fragments in ashurbanapal's library. let us now take up the detailed analysis, first of the pennsylvania tablet and then of the yale tablet. the pennsylvania tablet begins with two dreams recounted by gilgamesh to his mother, which the latter interprets as presaging the coming of enkidu to erech. in the one, something like a heavy meteor falls from heaven upon gilgamesh and almost crushes him. with the help of the heroes of erech, gilgamesh carries the heavy burden to his mother ninsun. the burden, his mother explains, symbolizes some one who, like gilgamesh, is born in the mountains, to whom all will pay homage and of whom gilgamesh will become enamoured with a love as strong as that for a woman. in a second dream, gilgamesh sees some one who is like him, who brandishes an axe, and with whom he falls in love. this personage, the mother explains, is again enkidu. langdon is of the opinion that these dreams are recounted to enkidu by a woman with whom enkidu cohabits for six days and seven nights and who weans enkidu from association with animals. this, however, cannot be correct. the scene between enkidu and the woman must have been recounted in detail in the first tablet, as in the assyrian version, [ ] whereas here in the second tablet we have the continuation of the tale with gilgamesh recounting his dreams directly to his mother. the story then continues with the description of the coming of enkidu, conducted by the woman to the outskirts of erech, where food is given him. the main feature of the incident is the conversion of enkidu to civilized life. enkidu, who hitherto had gone about naked, is clothed by the woman. instead of sucking milk and drinking from a trough like an animal, food and strong drink are placed before him, and he is taught how to eat and drink in human fashion. in human fashion he also becomes drunk, and his "spree" is naïvely described: "his heart became glad and his face shone." [ ] like an animal, enkidu's body had hitherto been covered with hair, which is now shaved off. he is anointed with oil, and clothed "like a man." enkidu becomes a shepherd, protecting the fold against wild beasts, and his exploit in dispatching lions is briefly told. at this point--the end of column (on the obverse), i.e., line , and the beginning of column (on the reverse), i.e., line --a gap of lines--the tablet is obscure, but apparently the story of enkidu's gradual transformation from savagery to civilized life is continued, with stress upon his introduction to domestic ways with the wife chosen or decreed for him, and with work as part of his fate. all this has no connection with gilgamesh, and it is evident that the tale of enkidu was originally an _independent_ tale to illustrate the evolution of man's career and destiny, how through intercourse with a woman he awakens to the sense of human dignity, how he becomes accustomed to the ways of civilization, how he passes through the pastoral stage to higher walks of life, how the family is instituted, and how men come to be engaged in the labors associated with human activities. in order to connect this tale with the gilgamesh story, the two heroes are brought together; the woman taking on herself, in addition to the rôle of civilizer, that of the medium through which enkidu is brought to gilgamesh. the woman leads enkidu from the outskirts of erech into the city itself, where the people on seeing him remark upon his likeness to gilgamesh. he is the very counterpart of the latter, though somewhat smaller in stature. there follows the encounter between the two heroes in the streets of erech, where they engage in a fierce combat. gilgamesh is overcome by enkidu and is enraged at being thrown to the ground. the tablet closes with the endeavor of enkidu to pacify gilgamesh. enkidu declares that the mother of gilgamesh has exalted her son above the ordinary mortal, and that enlil himself has singled him out for royal prerogatives. after this, we may assume, the two heroes become friends and together proceed to carry out certain exploits, the first of which is an attack upon the mighty guardian of the cedar forest. this is the main episode in the yale tablet, which, therefore, forms the third tablet of the old babylonian version. in the first column of the obverse of the yale tablet, which is badly preserved, it would appear that the elders of erech (or perhaps the people) are endeavoring to dissuade gilgamesh from making the attempt to penetrate to the abode of huwawa. if this is correct, then the close of the first column may represent a conversation between these elders and the woman who accompanies enkidu. it would be the elders who are represented as "reporting the speech to the woman," which is presumably the determination of gilgamesh to fight huwawa. the elders apparently desire enkidu to accompany gilgamesh in this perilous adventure, and with this in view appeal to the woman. in the second column after an obscure reference to the mother of gilgamesh--perhaps appealing to the sun-god--we find gilgamesh and enkidu again face to face. from the reference to enkidu's eyes "filled with tears," we may conclude that he is moved to pity at the thought of what will happen to gilgamesh if he insists upon carrying out his purpose. enkidu, also, tries to dissuade gilgamesh. this appears to be the main purport of the dialogue between the two, which begins about the middle of the second column and extends to the end of the third column. enkidu pleads that even his strength is insufficient, 	"my arms are lame, 	my strength has become weak." (lines - ) gilgamesh apparently asks for a description of the terrible tyrant who thus arouses the fear of enkidu, and in reply enkidu tells him how at one time, when he was roaming about with the cattle, he penetrated into the forest and heard the roar of huwawa which was like that of a deluge. the mouth of the tyrant emitted fire, and his breath was death. it is clear, as professor haupt has suggested, [ ] that enkidu furnishes the description of a volcano in eruption, with its mighty roar, spitting forth fire and belching out a suffocating smoke. gilgamesh is, however, undaunted and urges enkidu to accompany him in the adventure. "i will go down to the forest," says gilgamesh, if the conjectural restoration of the line in question (l. ) is correct. enkidu replies by again drawing a lurid picture of what will happen "when we go (together) to the forest......." this speech of enkidu is continued on the reverse. in reply gilgamesh emphasizes his reliance upon the good will of shamash and reproaches enkidu with cowardice. he declares himself superior to enkidu's warning, and in bold terms says that he prefers to perish in the attempt to overcome huwawa rather than abandon it. 	"wherever terror is to be faced, 	thou, forsooth, art in fear of death. 	thy prowess lacks strength. 	i will go before thee, 	though thy mouth shouts to me: 'thou art afraid to approach,' 	if i fall, i will establish my name." (lines - ) there follows an interesting description of the forging of the weapons for the two heroes in preparation for the encounter. [ ] the elders of erech when they see these preparations are stricken with fear. they learn of huwawa's threat to annihilate gilgamesh if he dares to enter the cedar forest, and once more try to dissuade gilgamesh from the undertaking. 	"thou art young, o gish, and thy heart carries thee away, 	thou dost not know what thou proposest to do." (lines - ) they try to frighten gilgamesh by repeating the description of the terrible huwawa. gilgamesh is still undaunted and prays to his patron deity shamash, who apparently accords him a favorable "oracle" (_têrtu_). the two heroes arm themselves for the fray, and the elders of erech, now reconciled to the perilous undertaking, counsel gilgamesh to take provision along for the undertaking. they urge gilgamesh to allow enkidu to take the lead, for 	"he is acquainted with the way, he has trodden the road 	[to] the entrance of the forest." (lines - ) the elders dismiss gilgamesh with fervent wishes that enkidu may track out the "closed path" for gilgamesh, and commit him to the care of lugalbanda--here perhaps an epithet of shamash. they advise gilgamesh to perform certain rites, to wash his feet in the stream of huwawa and to pour out a libation of water to shamash. enkidu follows in a speech likewise intended to encourage the hero; and with the actual beginning of the expedition against huwawa the tablet ends. the encounter itself, with the triumph of the two heroes, must have been described in the fourth tablet. v. now before taking up the significance of the additions to our knowledge of the epic gained through these two tablets, it will be well to discuss the forms in which the names of the two heroes and of the ruler of the cedar forest occur in our tablets. as in the meissner fragment, the chief hero is invariably designated as dgish in both the pennsylvania and yale tablets; and we may therefore conclude that this was the common form in the hammurabi period, as against the writing dgish-gì(n)-mash [ ] in the assyrian version. similarly, as in the meissner fragment, the second hero's name is always written en-ki-du [ ] (abbreviated from dúg) as against en-ki-dú in the assyrian version. finally, we encounter in the yale tablet for the first time the writing hu-wa-wa as the name of the guardian of the cedar forest, as against hum-ba-ba in the assyrian version, though in the latter case, as we may now conclude from the yale tablet, the name should rather be read hu-ba-ba. [ ] the variation in the writing of the latter name is interesting as pointing to the aspirate pronunciation of the labial in both instances. the name would thus present a complete parallel to the hebrew name howawa (or hobab) who appears as the brother-in-law of moses in the p document, numbers , . [ ] since the name also occurs, written precisely as in the yale tablet, among the "amoritic" names in the important lists published by dr. chiera, [ ] there can be no doubt that huwawa or hubaba is a west semitic name. this important fact adds to the probability that the "cedar forest" in which huwawa dwells is none other than the lebanon district, famed since early antiquity for its cedars. this explanation of the name huwawa disposes of suppositions hitherto brought forward for an elamitic origin. gressmann [ ] still favors such an origin, though realizing that the description of the cedar forest points to the amanus or lebanon range. in further confirmation of the west semitic origin of the name, we have in lucian, _de dea syria_, § , the name kombabos [ ] (the guardian of stratonika), which forms a perfect parallel to hu(m)baba. of the important bearings of this western character of the name huwawa on the interpretation and origin of the gilgamesh epic, suggesting that the episode of the encounter between the tyrant and the two heroes rests upon a tradition of an expedition against the west or amurru land, we shall have more to say further on. the variation in the writing of the name enkidu is likewise interesting. it is evident that the form in the old babylonian version with the sign du (i.e., dúg) is the original, for it furnishes us with a suitable etymology "enki is good." the writing with dúg, pronounced du, also shows that the sign dú as the third element in the form which the name has in the assyrian version is to be read dú, and that former readings like ea-bani must be definitely abandoned. [ ] the form with dú is clearly a _phonetic_ writing of the sumerian name, the sign dú being chosen to indicate the _pronunciation_ (not the ideograph) of the third element dúg. this is confirmed by the writing en-gi-dú in the syllabary _ct_ xviii, , . the phonetic writing is, therefore, a warning against any endeavor to read the name by an akkadian transliteration of the signs. this would not of itself prove that enkidu is of sumerian _origin_, for it might well be that the writing en-ki-dú is an endeavor to give a sumerian _aspect_ to a name that _may_ have been foreign. the element dúg corresponds to the semitic _tâbu_, "good," and en-ki being originally a designation of a deity as the "lord of the land," which would be the sumerian manner of indicating a semitic baal, it is not at all impossible that en-ki-dúg may be the "sumerianized" form of a semitic ba`l tzob "baal is good." it will be recalled that in the third column of the yale tablet, enkidu speaks of himself in his earlier period while still living with cattle, as wandering into the cedar forest of huwawa, while in another passage (ll. - ) he is described as "acquainted with the way ... to the entrance of the forest." this would clearly point to the west as the original home of enkidu. we are thus led once more to amurru--taken as a general designation of the west--as playing an important role in the gilgamesh epic. [ ] if gilgamesh's expedition against huwawa of the lebanon district recalls a babylonian campaign against amurru, enkidu's coming from his home, where, as we read repeatedly in the assyrian version, 	"he ate herbs with the gazelles, 	drank out of a trough with cattle," [ ] may rest on a tradition of an amorite invasion of babylonia. the fight between gilgamesh and enkidu would fit in with this tradition, while the subsequent reconciliation would be the form in which the tradition would represent the enforced union between the invaders and the older settlers. leaving this aside for the present, let us proceed to a consideration of the relationship of the form dgish, for the chief personage in the epic in the old babylonian version, to dgish-gi(n)-mash in the assyrian version. of the meaning of gish there is fortunately no doubt. it is clearly the equivalent to the akkadian _zikaru_, "man" (brünnow no. ), or possibly _rabû_, "great" (brünnow no. ). among various equivalents, the preference is to be given to _itlu_, "hero." the determinative for deity stamps the person so designated as deified, or as in part divine, and this is in accord with the express statement in the assyrian version of the gilgamesh epic which describes the hero as 	"two-thirds god and one-third human." [ ] gish is, therefore, the hero-god _par excellence_; and this shows that we are not dealing with a genuine proper name, but rather with a descriptive attribute. proper names are not formed in this way, either in sumerian or akkadian. now what relation does this form gish bear to [figure] as the name of the hero is invariably written in the assyrian version, the form which was at first read diz-tu-bar or dgish-du-bar by scholars, until pinches found in a neo-babylonian syllabary [ ] the equation of it with gi-il-ga-mesh? pinches' discovery pointed conclusively to the popular pronunciation of the hero's name as gilgamesh; and since aelian (_de natura animalium_ xii, ) mentions a babylonian personage gilgamos (though what he tells us of gilgamos does not appear in our epic, but seems to apply to etana, another figure of babylonian mythology), there seemed to be no further reason to question that the problem had been solved. besides, in a later syriac list of babylonian kings found in the scholia of theodor bar koni, the name glmgvm with a variant gmygmvs occurs, [ ] and it is evident that we have here again the gi-il-ga-mesh, discovered by pinches. the existence of an old babylonian hero gilgamesh who was likewise a king is thus established, as well as his identification with [figure] it is evident that we cannot read this name as iz-tu-bar or gish-du-bar, but that we must read the first sign as gish and the third as mash, while for the second we must assume a reading gìn or gi. this would give us gish-gì(n)-mash which is clearly again (like en-ki-dú) not an etymological writing but a _phonetic_ one, intended to convey an _approach_ to the popular pronunciation. gi-il-ga-mesh might well be merely a variant for gish-ga-mesh, or _vice versa_, and this would come close to gish-gi-mash. now, when we have a name the pronunciation of which is not definite but approximate, and which is written in various ways, the probabilities are that the name is foreign. a foreign name might naturally be spelled in various ways. the epic in the assyrian version clearly depicts dgish-gì(n)-mash as a conqueror of erech, who forces the people into subjection, and whose autocratic rule leads the people of erech to implore the goddess aruru to create a rival to him who may withstand him. in response to this appeal denkidu is formed out of dust by aruru and eventually brought to erech. [ ] gish-gì(n)-mash or gilgamesh is therefore in all probability a foreigner; and the simplest solution suggested by the existence of the two forms ( ) gish in the old babylonian version and ( ) gish-gì(n)-mash in the assyrian version, is to regard the former as an abbreviation, which seemed appropriate, because the short name conveyed the idea of the "hero" _par excellence_. if gish-gì(n)-mash is a foreign name, one would think in the first instance of sumerian; but here we encounter a difficulty in the circumstance that outside of the epic this conqueror and ruler of erech appears in quite a different form, namely, as dgish-bil-ga-mesh, with dgish-gibil(or bìl)-ga-mesh and dgish-bil-ge-mesh as variants. [ ] in the remarkable list of partly mythological and partly historical dynasties, published by poebel, [ ] the fifth member of the first dynasty of erech appears as dgish-bil-ga-mesh; and similarly in an inscription of the days of sin-gamil, dgish-bil-ga-mesh is mentioned as the builder of the wall of erech. [ ] moreover, in the several fragments of the sumerian version of the epic we have invariably the form dgish-bil-ga-mesh. it is evident, therefore, that this is the genuine form of the name in sumerian and presumably, therefore, the oldest form. by way of further confirmation we have in the syllabary above referred to, ct, xviii, , - , three designations of our hero, viz: 	dgish-gibil(or bíl)-ga-mesh 	_muk-tab-lu_ ("warrior") 	_a-lik pa-na_ ("leader") all three designations are set down as the equivalent of the sumerian esigga imin i.e., "the seven-fold hero." of the same general character is the equation in another syllabary: [ ] 	esigga-tuk and its equivalent gish-tuk = "the one who is 	a hero." furthermore, the name occurs frequently in "temple" documents of the ur dynasty in the form dgish-bil-ga-mesh [ ] with dgish-bil-gi(n)-mesh as a variant. [ ] in a list of deities (_ct_ xxv, , k ) we likewise encounter dgish-gibil(or bíl)-ga-mesh, and lastly in a syllabary we have the equation [ ] 	dgish-gi-mas-[si?] = dgish-bil-[ga-mesh]. the variant gish-gibil for gish-bil may be disposed of readily, in view of the frequent confusion or interchange of the two signs bil (brünnow no. ) and gibil or bíl (brünnow no. ) which has also the value gi (brünnow ), so that we might also read gish-gi-ga-mesh. both signs convey the idea of "fire," "renew," etc.; both revert to the picture of flames of fire, in the one case with a bowl (or some such obiect) above it, in the other the flames issuing apparently from a torch. [ ] the meaning of the name is not affected whether we read dgish-bil-ga-mesh or dgish-gibil(or bíl)-ga-mesh, for the middle element in the latter case being identical with the fire-god, written dbil-gi and to be pronounced in the inverted form as gibil with _-ga_ (or _ge_) as the phonetic complement; it is equivalent, therefore, to the writing bil-ga in the former case. now gish-gibil or gish-bíl conveys the idea of _abu_, "father" (brünnow no. ), just as bil (brünnow no. ) has this meaning, while pa-gibil-(ga) or pa-bíl-ga is _abu abi_, "grandfather." [ ] this meaning may be derived from gibil, as also from bíl = _isatu_, "fire," then _essu_, "new," then _abu_, "father," as the renewer or creator. gish with bíl or gibil would, therefore, be "the father-man" or "the father-hero," i.e., again the hero _par excellence_, the original hero, just as in hebrew and arabic _ab_ is used in this way. [ ] the syllable _ga _being a phonetic complement, the element _mesh_ is to be taken by itself and to be explained, as poebel suggested, as "hero" (_itlu_. brünnow no. ). we would thus obtain an entirely artificial combination, "man (or hero), father, hero," which would simply convey in an emphatic manner the idea of the _ur-held_, the original hero, the father of heroes as it were--practically the same idea, therefore, as the one conveyed by gish alone, as the hero _par excellence_. our investigation thus leads us to a substantial identity between gish and the longer form gish-bil(or bíl)-ga-mesh, and the former might, therefore, well be used as an abbreviation of the latter. both the shorter and the longer forms are _descriptive epithets _based on naive folk etymology, rather than personal names, just as in the designation of our hero as _muktablu_, the "fighter," or as _âlik pâna_, "the leader," or as _esigga imin_, "the seven-fold hero," or _esigga tuk_, "the one who is a hero," are descriptive epithets, and as atra-hasis, "the very wise one," is such an epithet for the hero of the deluge story. the case is different with gi-il-ga-mesh, or gish-gì(n)-mash, which represent the popular and actual pronunciation of the name, or at least the _approach_ to such pronunciation. such forms, stripped as they are of all artificiality, impress one as genuine names. the conclusion to which we are thus led is that gish-bil(or bíl)-ga-mesh is a play upon the genuine name, to convey to those to whom the real name, as that of a foreigner, would suggest no meaning an interpretation _fitting in with his character_. in other words, gish-bil-ga-mesh is a "sumerianized" form of the name, introduced into the sumerian version of the tale which became a folk-possession in the euphrates valley. such plays upon names to suggest the character of an individual or some incident are familiar to us from the narratives in genesis. [ ] they do not constitute genuine etymologies and are rarely of use in leading to a correct etymology. reuben, e.g., certainly does not mean "yahweh has seen my affliction," which the mother is supposed to have exclaimed at the birth (genesis , ), with a play upon _ben_ and _be'onyi_, any more than judah means "i praise yahweh" (v. ), though it does contain the divine name (_ye_hô) as an element. the play on the name may be close or remote, as long as it fulfills its function of _suggesting_ an etymology that is complimentary or appropriate. in this way, an artificial division and at the same time a distortion of a foreign name like gilgamesh into several elements, gish-bil-ga-mesh, is no more violent than, for example, the explanation of issachar or rather issaschar as "god has given my hire" (genesis , ) with a play upon the element _se_char, and as though the name were to be divided into _yah_ ("god") and _se_char ("hire"); or the popular name of alexander among the arabs as _zu'l karnaini_, "the possessor of the two horns." with a suggestion of his conquest of two hemispheres, or what not. [ ] the element gil in gilgamesh would be regarded as a contraction of gish-bil or gi-bil, in order to furnish the meaning "father-hero," or gil might be looked upon as a variant for gish, which would give us the "phonetic" form in the assyrian version dgish-gi-mash, [ ] as well as such a variant writing dgish-gi-mas-(si). now a name like gilgamesh, upon which we may definitely settle as coming closest to the genuine form, certainly impresses one as foreign, i.e., it is neither sumerian nor akkadian; and we have already suggested that the circumstance that the hero of the epic is portrayed as a conqueror of erech, and a rather ruthless one at that, points to a tradition of an invasion of the euphrates valley as the background for the episode in the first tablet of the series. now it is significant that many of the names in the "mythical" dynasties, as they appear in poebel's list, [ ] are likewise foreign, such as mes-ki-in-ga-se-ir, son of the god shamash (and the founder of the "mythical" dynasty of erech of which dgish-bil-ga-mesh is the fifth member), [ ] and en-me-ir-kár his son. in a still earlier "mythical" dynasty, we encounter names like ga-lu-mu-um, zu-ga-gi-ib, ar-pi, e-ta-na, [ ] which are distinctly foreign, while such names as en-me(n)-nun-na and bar-sal-nun-na strike one again as "sumerianized" names rather than as genuine sumerian formations. [ ] some of these names, as galumum, arpi and etana, are so amoritic in appearance, that one may hazard the conjecture of their western origin. may gilgamesh likewise belong to the amurru [ ] region, or does he represent a foreigner from the east in contrast to enkidu, whose name, we have seen, may have been baal-tôb in the west, with which region he is according to the epic so familiar? it must be confessed that the second element _ga-mesh_ would fit in well with a semitic origin for the name, for the element impresses one as the participial form of a semitic stem g-m-s, just as in the second element of meskin-gaser we have such a form. gil might then be the name of a west-semitic deity. such conjectures, however, can for the present not be substantiated, and we must content ourselves with the conclusion that gilgamesh as the real name of the hero, or at least the form which comes closest to the real name, points to a foreign origin for the hero, and that such forms as dgish-bil-ga-mesh and dgish-bíl-gi-mesh and other variants are "sumerianized" forms for which an artificial etymology was brought forward to convey the idea of the "original hero" or the hero _par excellence_. by means of this "play" on the name, which reverts to the compilers of the sumerian version of the epic, gilgamesh was converted into a sumerian figure, just as the name enkidu may have been introduced as a sumerian translation of his amoritic name. dgish at all events is an abbreviated form of the "sumerianized" name, introduced by the compilers of the earliest akkadian version, which was produced naturally under the influence of the sumerian version. later, as the epic continued to grow, a phonetic writing was introduced, dgish-gi-mash, which is in a measure a compromise between the genuine name and the "sumerianized" form, but at the same time an _approach_ to the real pronunciation. vi. next to the new light thrown upon the names and original character of the two main figures of the epic, one of the chief points of interest in the pennsylvania fragment is the proof that it furnishes for a striking resemblance of the two heroes, gish and enkidu, to one another. in interpreting the dream of gish, his mother. ninsun, lays stress upon the fact that the dream portends the coming of someone who is like gish, "born in the field and reared in the mountain" (lines - ). both, therefore, are shown by this description to have come to babylonia from a mountainous region, i.e., they are foreigners; and in the case of enkidu we have seen that the mountain in all probability refers to a region in the west, while the same may also be the case with gish. the resemblance of the two heroes to one another extends to their personal appearance. when enkidu appears on the streets of erech, the people are struck by this resemblance. they remark that he is "like gish," though "shorter in stature" (lines - ). enkidu is described as a rival or counterpart. [ ] this relationship between the two is suggested also by the assyrian version. in the creation of enkidu by aruru, the people urge the goddess to create the "counterpart" (_zikru_) of gilgamesh, someone who will be like him (_ma-si-il_) (tablet i, , ). enkidu not only comes from the mountain, [ ] but the mountain is specifically designated as his birth-place (i, , ), precisely as in the pennsylvania tablet, while in another passage he is also described, as in our tablet, as "born in the field." [ ] still more significant is the designation of gilgamesh as the _talimu_, "younger brother," of enkidu. [ ] in accord with this, we find gilgamesh in his lament over enkidu describing him as a "younger brother" (_ku-ta-ni_); [ ] and again in the last tablet of the epic, gilgamesh is referred to as the "brother" of enkidu. [ ] this close relationship reverts to the sumerian version, for the constantinople fragment (langdon, above, p. ) begins with the designation of gish-bil-ga-mesh as "his brother." by "his" no doubt enkidu is meant. likewise in the sumerian text published by zimmern (above, p. ) gilgamesh appears as the brother of enkidu (rev. , ). turning to the numerous representations of gilgamesh and enkidu on seal cylinders, [ ] we find this resemblance of the two heroes to each other strikingly confirmed. both are represented as bearded, with the strands arranged in the same fashion. the face in both cases is broad, with curls protruding at the side of the head, though at times these curls are lacking in the case of enkidu. what is particularly striking is to find gilgamesh generally _a little taller_ than enkidu, thus bearing out the statement in the pennsylvania tablet that enkidu is "shorter in stature." there are, to be sure, also some distinguishing marks between the two. thus enkidu is generally represented with animal hoofs, but not always. [ ] enkidu is commonly portrayed with the horns of a bison, but again this sign is wanting in quite a number of instances. [ ] the hoofs and the horns mark the period when enkidu lived with animals and much like an animal. most remarkable, however, of all are cylinders on which we find the two heroes almost exactly alike as, for example, ward no. where two figures, the one a duplicate of the other (except that one is just a shade taller), are in conflict with each other. dr. ward was puzzled by this representation and sets it down as a "fantastic" scene in which "each gilgamesh is stabbing the other." in the light of the pennsylvania tablet, this scene is clearly the conflict between the two heroes described in column , preliminary to their forming a friendship. even in the realm of myth the human experience holds good that there is nothing like a good fight as a basis for a subsequent alliance. the fragment describes this conflict as a furious one in which gilgamesh is worsted, and his wounded pride assuaged by the generous victor, who comforts his vanquished enemy by the assurance that he was destined for something higher than to be a mere "hercules." he was singled out for the exercise of royal authority. true to the description of the two heroes in the pennsylvania tablet as alike, one the counterpart of the other, the seal cylinder portrays them almost exactly alike, as alike as two brothers could possibly be; with just enough distinction to make it clear on close inspection that two figures are intended and not one repeated for the sake of symmetry. there are slight variations in the manner in which the hair is worn, and slightly varying expressions of the face, just enough to make it evident that the one is intended for gilgamesh and the other for enkidu. when, therefore, in another specimen, no. , we find a gilgamesh holding his counterpart by the legs, it is merely another aspect of the fight between the two heroes, one of whom is intended to represent enkidu, and not, as dr. ward supposed, a grotesque repetition of gilgamesh. [ ] the description of enkidu in the pennsylvania tablet as a parallel figure to gilgamesh leads us to a consideration of the relationship of the two figures to one another. many years ago it was pointed out that the gilgamesh epic was a composite tale in which various stories of an independent origin had been combined and brought into more or less artificial connection with the _heros eponymos_ of southern babylonia. [ ] we may now go a step further and point out that not only is enkidu originally an entirely independent figure, having no connection with gish or gilgamesh, but that the latter is really depicted in the epic as the counterpart of enkidu, a reflection who has been given the traits of extraordinary physical power that belong to enkidu. this is shown in the first place by the fact that in the encounter it is enkidu who triumphs over gilgamesh. the entire analysis of the episode of the meeting between the two heroes as given by gressmann [ ] must be revised. it is not enkidu who is terrified and who is warned against the encounter. it is gilgamesh who, during the night on his way from the house in which the goddess ishhara lies, encounters enkidu on the highway. enkidu "blocks the path" [ ] of gilgamesh. he prevents gilgamesh from re-entering the house, [ ] and the two attack each other "like oxen." [ ] they grapple with each other, and enkidu forces gilgamesh to the ground. enkidu is, therefore, the real hero whose traits of physical prowess are afterwards transferred to gilgamesh. similarly in the next episode, the struggle against huwawa, the yale tablet makes it clear that in the original form of the tale enkidu is the real hero. all warn gish against the undertaking--the elders of erech, enkidu, and also the workmen. "why dost thou desire to do this?" [ ] they say to him. "thou art young, and thy heart carries thee away. thou knowest not what thou proposest to do." [ ] this part of the incident is now better known to us through the latest fragment of the assyrian version discovered and published by king. [ ] the elders say to gilgamesh: 	"do not trust, o gilgamesh, in thy strength! 	be warned(?) against trusting to thy attack! 	the one who goes before will save his companion, [ ] 	he who has foresight will save his friend. [ ] 	let enkidu go before thee. 	he knows the roads to the cedar forest; 	he is skilled in battle and has seen fight." gilgamesh is sufficiently impressed by this warning to invite enkidu to accompany him on a visit to his mother, ninsun, for the purpose of receiving her counsel. [ ] it is only after enkidu, who himself hesitates and tries to dissuade gish, decides to accompany the latter that the elders of erech are reconciled and encourage gish for the fray. the two in concert proceed against huwawa. gilgamesh alone cannot carry out the plan. now when a tale thus associates two figures in one deed, one of the two has been added to the original tale. in the present case there can be little doubt that enkidu, without whom gish cannot proceed, who is specifically described as "acquainted with the way ... to the entrance of the forest" [ ] in which huwawa dwells is the _original_ vanquisher. naturally, the epic aims to conceal this fact as much as possible _ad majorem gloriam_ of gilgamesh. it tries to put the one who became the favorite hero into the foreground. therefore, in both the babylonian and the assyrian version enkidu is represented as hesitating, and gilgamesh as determined to go ahead. gilgamesh, in fact, accuses enkidu of cowardice and boldly declares that he will proceed even though failure stare him in the face. [ ] traces of the older view, however, in which gilgamesh is the one for whom one fears the outcome, crop out; as, for example, in the complaint of gilgamesh's mother to shamash that the latter has stirred the heart of her son to take the distant way to hu(m)baba, 	"to a fight unknown to him, he advances, 	an expedition unknown to him he undertakes." [ ] ninsun evidently fears the consequences when her son informs her of his intention and asks her counsel. the answer of shamash is not preserved, but no doubt it was of a reassuring character, as was the answer of the sun-god to gish's appeal and prayer as set forth in the yale tablet. [ ] again, as a further indication that enkidu is the real conqueror of huwawa, we find the coming contest revealed to enkidu no less than three times in dreams, which gilgamesh interprets. [ ] since the person who dreams is always the one to whom the dream applies, we may see in these dreams a further trace of the primary rôle originally assigned to enkidu. another exploit which, according to the assyrian version, the two heroes perform in concert is the killing of a bull, sent by anu at the instance of ishtar to avenge an insult offered to the goddess by gilgamesh, who rejects her offer of marriage. in the fragmentary description of the contest with the bull, we find enkidu "seizing" the monster by "its tail." [ ] that enkidu originally played the part of the slayer is also shown by the statement that it is he who insults ishtar by throwing a piece of the carcass into the goddess' face, [ ] adding also an insulting speech; and this despite the fact that ishtar in her rage accuses gilgamesh of killing the bull. [ ] it is thus evident that the epic alters the original character of the episodes in order to find a place for gilgamesh, with the further desire to assign to the latter the _chief_ rôle. be it noted also that enkidu, not gilgamesh, is punished for the insult to ishtar. enkidu must therefore in the original form of the episode have been the guilty party, who is stricken with mortal disease as a punishment to which after twelve days he succumbs. [ ] in view of this, we may supply the name of enkidu in the little song introduced at the close of the encounter with the bull, and not gilgamesh as has hitherto been done. 	"who is distinguished among the heroes? 	who is glorious among men? 	[enkidu] is distinguished among heroes, 	[enkidu] is glorious among men." [ ] finally, the killing of lions is directly ascribed to enkidu in the pennsylvania tablet: 	"lions he attacked 	*     *     *     *     * 	lions he overcame" [ ] whereas gilgamesh appears to be afraid of lions. on his long search for utnapishtim he says: 	"on reaching the entrance of the mountain at night 	i saw lions and was afraid." [ ] he prays to sin and ishtar to protect and save him. when, therefore, in another passage some one celebrates gilgamesh as the one who overcame the "guardian," who dispatched hu(m)baba in the cedar forest, who killed lions and overthrew the bull, [ ] we have the completion of the process which transferred to gilgamesh exploits and powers which originally belonged to enkidu, though ordinarily the process stops short at making gilgamesh a _sharer_ in the exploits; with the natural tendency, to be sure, to enlarge the share of the favorite. we can now understand why the two heroes are described in the pennsylvania tablet as alike, as born in the same place, aye, as brothers. gilgamesh in the epic is merely a reflex of enkidu. the latter is the real hero and presumably, therefore, the older figure. [ ] gilgamesh resembles enkidu, because he _is_ originally enkidu. the "resemblance" _motif_ is merely the manner in which in the course of the partly popular, partly literary transfer, the recollection is preserved that enkidu is the original, and gilgamesh the copy. the artificiality of the process which brings the two heroes together is apparent in the dreams of gilgamesh which are interpreted by his mother as portending the coming of enkidu. not the conflict is foreseen, but the subsequent close association, naïvely described as due to the personal charm which enkidu exercises, which will lead gilgamesh to fall in love with the one whom he is to meet. the two will become one, like man and wife. on the basis of our investigations, we are now in a position to reconstruct in part the cycle of episodes that once formed part of an enkidu epic. the fight between enkidu and gilgamesh, in which the former is the victor, is typical of the kind of tales told of enkidu. he is the real prototype of the greek hercules. he slays lions, he overcomes a powerful opponent dwelling in the forests of lebanon, he kills the bull, and he finally succumbs to disease sent as a punishment by an angry goddess. the death of enkidu naturally formed the close of the enkidu epic, which in its original form may, of course, have included other exploits besides those taken over into the gilgamesh epic. vii. there is another aspect of the figure of enkidu which is brought forward in the pennsylvania tablet more clearly than had hitherto been the case. many years ago attention was called to certain striking resemblances between enkidu and the figure of the first man as described in the early chapters of genesis. [ ] at that time we had merely the assyrian version of the gilgamesh epic at our disposal, and the main point of contact was the description of enkidu living with the animals, drinking and feeding like an animal, until a woman is brought to him with whom he engages in sexual intercourse. this suggested that enkidu was a picture of primeval man, while the woman reminded one of eve, who when she is brought to adam becomes his helpmate and inseparable companion. the biblical tale stands, of course, on a much higher level, and is introduced, as are other traditions and tales of primitive times, in the style of a parable to convey certain religious teachings. for all that, suggestions of earlier conceptions crop out in the picture of adam surrounded by animals to which he assigns names. such a phrase as "there was no helpmate corresponding to him" becomes intelligible on the supposition of an existing tradition or belief, that man once lived and, indeed, cohabited with animals. the tales in the early chapters of genesis must rest on very early popular traditions, which have been cleared of mythological and other objectionable features in order to adapt them to the purpose of the hebrew compilers, to serve as a medium for illustrating certain religious teachings regarding man's place in nature and his higher destiny. from the resemblance between enkidu and adam it does not, of course, follow that the latter is modelled upon the former, but only that both rest on similar traditions of the condition under which men lived in primeval days prior to the beginnings of human culture. we may now pass beyond these general indications and recognize in the story of enkidu as revealed by the pennsylvania tablet an attempt to trace the evolution of primitive man from low beginnings to the regular and orderly family life associated with advanced culture. the new tablet furnishes a further illustration for the surprisingly early tendency among the babylonian _literati_ to connect with popular tales teachings of a religious or ethical character. just as the episode between gilgamesh and the maiden sabitum is made the occasion for introducing reflections on the inevitable fate of man to encounter death, so the meeting of enkidu with the woman becomes the medium of impressing the lesson of human progress through the substitution of bread and wine for milk and water, through the institution of the family, and through work and the laying up of resources. this is the significance of the address to enkidu in column of the pennsylvania tablet, even though certain expressions in it are somewhat obscure. the connection of the entire episode of enkidu and the woman with gilgamesh is very artificial; and it becomes much more intelligible if we disassociate it from its present entanglement in the epic. in gilgamesh's dream, portending the meeting with enkidu, nothing is said of the woman who is the companion of the latter. the passage in which enkidu is created by aruru to oppose gilgamesh [ ] betrays evidence of having been worked over in order to bring enkidu into association with the longing of the people of erech to get rid of a tyrannical character. the people in their distress appeal to aruru to create a rival to gilgamesh. in response, 	"aruru upon hearing this created a man of anu in her heart." now this "man of anu" cannot possibly be enkidu, for the sufficient reason that a few lines further on enkidu is described as an offspring of ninib. moreover, the being created is not a "counterpart" of gilgamesh, but an animal-man, as the description that follows shows. we must separate lines - in which the creation of the "anu man" is described from lines - in which the creation of enkidu is narrated. indeed, these lines strike one as the proper _beginning_ of the original enkidu story, which would naturally start out with his birth and end with his death. the description is clearly an account of the creation of the first man, in which capacity enkidu is brought forward. 	"aruru washed her hands, broke off clay, 	threw it on the field [ ] 	... created enkidu, the hero, a lofty 	offspring of the host of ninib." [ ] the description of enkidu follows, with his body covered with hair like an animal, and eating and drinking with the animals. there follows an episode [ ] which has no connection whatsoever with the gilgamesh epic, but which is clearly intended to illustrate how enkidu came to abandon the life with the animals. a hunter sees enkidu and is amazed at the strange sight--an animal and yet a man. enkidu, as though resenting his condition, becomes enraged at the sight of the hunter, and the latter goes to his father and tells him of the strange creature whom he is unable to catch. in reply, the father advises his son to take a woman with him when next he goes out on his pursuit, and to have the woman remove her dress in the presence of enkidu, who will then approach her, and after intercourse with her will abandon the animals among whom he lives. by this device he will catch the strange creature. lines - of column in the first tablet in which the father of the hunter refers to gilgamesh must be regarded as a later insertion, a part of the reconstruction of the tale to connect the episode with gilgamesh. the advice of the father to his son, the hunter, begins, line , 	"go my hunter, take with thee a woman." in the reconstructed tale, the father tells his son to go to gilgamesh to relate to him the strange appearance of the animal-man; but there is clearly no purpose in this, as is shown by the fact that when the hunter does so, gilgamesh makes _precisely the same speech_ as does the father of the hunter. lines - of column , in which gilgamesh is represented as speaking to the hunter form a complete _doublet_ to lines - , beginning 	"go, my hunter, take with thee a woman, etc." and similarly the description of enkidu appears twice, lines - in an address of the hunter to his father, and lines - in the address of the hunter to gilgamesh. the artificiality of the process of introducing gilgamesh into the episode is revealed by this awkward and entirely meaningless repetition. we may therefore reconstruct the first two scenes in the enkidu epic as follows: [ ] tablet i, col. , - : creation of enkidu by aruru. - : description of enkidu's hairy body and of his life with the animals. - : the hunter sees enkidu, who shows his anger, as also his woe, at his condition. , - : the hunter tells his father of the strange being who pulls up the traps which the hunter digs, and who tears the nets so that the hunter is unable to catch him or the animals. - : the father of the hunter advises his son on his next expedition to take a woman with him in order to lure the strange being from his life with the animals. line , beginning "on the advice of his father," must have set forth, in the original form of the episode, how the hunter procured the woman and took her with him to meet enkidu. column gives in detail the meeting between the two, and naïvely describes how the woman exposes her charms to enkidu, who is captivated by her and stays with her six days and seven nights. the animals see the change in enkidu and run away from him. he has been transformed through the woman. so far the episode. in the assyrian version there follows an address of the woman to enkidu beginning (col. , ): 	"beautiful art thou, enkidu, like a god art thou." we find her urging him to go with her to erech, there to meet gilgamesh and to enjoy the pleasures of city life with plenty of beautiful maidens. gilgamesh, she adds, will expect enkidu, for the coming of the latter to erech has been foretold in a dream. it is evident that here we have again the later transformation of the enkidu epic in order to bring the two heroes together. will it be considered too bold if we assume that in the original form the address of the woman and the construction of the episode were such as we find preserved in part in columns to of the pennsylvania tablet, which forms part of the new material that can now be added to the epic? the address of the woman begins in line of the pennsylvania tablet: 	"i gaze upon thee, enkidu, like a god art thou." this corresponds to the line in the assyrian version (i, , ) as given above, just as lines - : 	"why with the cattle 	dost thou roam across the field?" correspond to i, , , of the assyrian version. there follows in both the old babylonian and the assyrian version the appeal of the woman to enkidu, to allow her to lead him to erech where gilgamesh dwells (pennsylvania tablet lines - = assyrian version i, , - ); but in the pennsylvania tablet we now have a _second_ speech (lines - ) beginning like the first one with _al-ka_, "come:" 	"come, arise from the accursed ground." enkidu consents, and now the woman takes off her garments and clothes the naked enkidu, while putting another garment on herself. she takes hold of his hand and leads him to the sheepfolds (not to erech!!), where bread and wine are placed before him. accustomed hitherto to sucking milk with cattle, enkidu does not know what to do with the strange food until encouraged and instructed by the woman. the entire third column is taken up with this introduction of enkidu to civilized life in a pastoral community, and the scene ends with enkidu becoming a guardian of flocks. now all this has nothing to do with gilgamesh, and clearly sets forth an entirely different idea from the one embodied in the meeting of the two heroes. in the original enkidu tale, the animal-man is looked upon as the type of a primitive savage, and the point of the tale is to illustrate in the naïve manner characteristic of folklore the evolution to the higher form of pastoral life. this aspect of the incident is, therefore, to be separated from the other phase which has as its chief _motif_ the bringing of the two heroes together. we now obtain, thanks to the new section revealed by the pennsylvania tablet, a further analogy [ ] with the story of adam and eve, but with this striking difference, that whereas in the babylonian tale the woman is the medium leading man to the higher life, in the biblical story the woman is the tempter who brings misfortune to man. this contrast is, however, not inherent in the biblical story, but due to the point of view of the biblical writer, who is somewhat pessimistically inclined and looks upon primitive life, when man went naked and lived in a garden, eating of fruits that grew of themselves, as the blessed life in contrast to advanced culture which leads to agriculture and necessitates hard work as the means of securing one's substance. hence the woman through whom adam eats of the tree of knowledge and becomes conscious of being naked is looked upon as an evil tempter, entailing the loss of the primeval life of bliss in a gorgeous paradise. the babylonian point of view is optimistic. the change to civilized life--involving the wearing of clothes and the eating of food that is cultivated (bread and wine) is looked upon as an advance. hence the woman is viewed as the medium of raising man to a higher level. the feature common to the biblical and babylonian tales is the attachment of a lesson to early folk-tales. the story of adam and eve, [ ] as the story of enkidu and the woman, is told _with a purpose_. starting with early traditions of men's primitive life on earth, that may have arisen independently, hebrew and babylonian writers diverged, each group going its own way, each reflecting the particular point of view from which the evolution of human society was viewed. leaving the analogy between the biblical and babylonian tales aside, the main point of value for us in the babylonian story of enkidu and the woman is the proof furnished by the analysis, made possible through the pennsylvania tablet, that the tale can be separated from its subsequent connection with gilgamesh. we can continue this process of separation in the fourth column, where the woman instructs enkidu in the further duty of living his life with the woman decreed for him, to raise a family, to engage in work, to build cities and to gather resources. all this is looked upon in the same optimistic spirit as marking progress, whereas the biblical writer, consistent with his point of view, looks upon work as a curse, and makes cain, the murderer, also the founder of cities. the step to the higher forms of life is not an advance according to the j document. it is interesting to note that even the phrase the "cursed ground" occurs in both the babylonian and biblical tales; but whereas in the latter (gen. , ) it is because of the hard work entailed in raising the products of the earth that the ground is cursed, in the former (lines - ) it is the place in which enkidu lives _before_ he advances to the dignity of human life that is "cursed," and which he is asked to leave. adam is expelled from paradise as a punishment, whereas enkidu is implored to leave it as a necessary step towards _progress_ to a higher form of existence. the contrast between the babylonian and the biblical writer extends to the view taken of viniculture. the biblical writer (again the j document) looks upon noah's drunkenness as a disgrace. noah loses his sense of shame and uncovers himself (genesis , ), whereas in the babylonian description enkidu's jolly spirit after he has drunk seven jars of wine meets with approval. the biblical point of view is that he who drinks wine becomes drunk; [ ] the babylonian says, if you drink wine you become happy. [ ] if the thesis here set forth of the original character and import of the episode of enkidu with the woman is correct, we may again regard lines - of the pennsylvania tablet, in which gilgamesh is introduced, as a later addition to bring the two heroes into association. the episode in its original form ended with the introduction of enkidu first to pastoral life, and then to the still higher city life with regulated forms of social existence. now, to be sure, this enkidu has little in common with the enkidu who is described as a powerful warrior, a hercules, who kills lions, overcomes the giant huwawa, and dispatches a great bull, but it is the nature of folklore everywhere to attach to traditions about a favorite hero all kinds of tales with which originally he had nothing to do. enkidu, as such a favorite, is viewed also as the type of primitive man, [ ] and so there arose gradually an epic which began with his birth, pictured him as half-animal half-man, told how he emerged from this state, how he became civilized, was clothed, learned to eat food and drink wine, how he shaved off the hair with which his body was covered, [ ] anointed himself--in short, 	"he became manlike." [ ] thereupon he is taught his duties as a husband, is introduced to the work of building, and to laying aside supplies, and the like. the fully-developed and full-fledged hero then engages in various exploits, of which _some_ are now embodied in the gilgamesh epic. who this enkidu was, we are not in a position to determine, but the suggestion has been thrown out above that he is a personage foreign to babylonia, that his home appears to be in the undefined amurru district, and that he conquers that district. the original tale of enkidu, if this view be correct, must therefore have been carried to the euphrates valley, at a very remote period, with one of the migratory waves that brought a western people as invaders into babylonia. here the tale was combined with stories current of another hero, gilgamesh--perhaps also of western origin--whose conquest of erech likewise represents an invasion of babylonia. the center of the gilgamesh tale was erech, and in the process of combining the stories of enkidu and gilgamesh, enkidu is brought to erech and the two perform exploits in common. in such a combination, the aim would be to utilize all the incidents of _both_ tales. the woman who accompanies enkidu, therefore, becomes the medium of bringing the two heroes together. the story of the evolution of primitive man to civilized life is transformed into the tale of enkidu's removal to erech, and elaborated with all kinds of details, among which we have, as perhaps embodying a genuine historical tradition, the encounter of the two heroes. before passing on, we have merely to note the very large part taken in both the old babylonian and the assyrian version by the struggle against huwawa. the entire yale tablet--forming, as we have seen, the third of the series--is taken up with the preparation for the struggle, and with the repeated warnings given to gilgamesh against the dangerous undertaking. the fourth tablet must have recounted the struggle itself, and it is not improbable that this episode extended into the fifth tablet, since in the assyrian version this is the case. the elaboration of the story is in itself an argument in favor of assuming some historical background for it--the recollection of the conquest of amurru by some powerful warrior; and we have seen that this conquest must be ascribed to enkidu and not to gilgamesh. viii. if, now, enkidu is not only the older figure but the one who is the real hero of the most notable episode in the gilgamesh epic; if, furthermore, enkidu is the hercules who kills lions and dispatches the bull sent by an enraged goddess, what becomes of gilgamesh? what is left for him? in the first place, he is definitely the conqueror of erech. he builds the wall of erech, [ ] and we may assume that the designation of the city as _uruk supûri_, "the walled erech," [ ] rests upon this tradition. he is also associated with the great temple eanna, "the heavenly house," in erech. to gilgamesh belongs also the unenviable tradition of having exercised his rule in erech so harshly that the people are impelled to implore aruru to create a rival who may rid the district of the cruel tyrant, who is described as snatching sons and daughters from their families, and in other ways terrifying the population--an early example of "schrecklichkeit." tablets ii to v inclusive of the assyrian version being taken up with the huwawa episode, modified with a view of bringing the two heroes together, we come at once to the sixth tablet, which tells the story of how the goddess ishtar wooed gilgamesh, and of the latter's rejection of her advances. this tale is distinctly a nature myth. the attempt of gressmann [ ] to find some historical background to the episode is a failure. the goddess ishtar symbolizes the earth which woos the sun in the spring, but whose love is fatal, for after a few months the sun's power begins to wane. gilgamesh, who in incantation hymns is invoked in terms which show that he was conceived as a sun-god, [ ] recalls to the goddess how she changed her lovers into animals, like circe of greek mythology, and brought them to grief. enraged at gilgamesh's insult to her vanity, she flies to her father anu and cries for revenge. at this point the episode of the creation of the bull is introduced, but if the analysis above given is correct it is enkidu who is the hero in dispatching the bull, and we must assume that the sickness with which gilgamesh is smitten is the punishment sent by anu to avenge the insult to his daughter. this sickness symbolizes the waning strength of the sun after midsummer is past. the sun recedes from the earth, and this was pictured in the myth as the sun-god's rejection of ishtar; gilgamesh's fear of death marks the approach of the winter season, when the sun appears to have lost its vigor completely and is near to death. the entire episode is, therefore, a nature myth, symbolical of the passing of spring to midsummer and then to the bare season. the myth has been attached to gilgamesh as a favorite figure, and then woven into a pattern with the episode of enkidu and the bull. the bull episode can be detached from the nature myth without any loss to the symbolism of the tale of ishtar and gilgamesh. as already suggested, with enkidu's death after this conquest of the bull the original enkidu epic came to an end. in order to connect gilgamesh with enkidu, the former is represented as sharing in the struggle against the bull. enkidu is punished with death, while gilgamesh is smitten with disease. since both shared equally in the guilt, the punishment should have been the same for both. the differentiation may be taken as an indication that gilgamesh's disease has nothing to do with the bull episode, but is merely part of the nature myth. gilgamesh now begins a series of wanderings in search of the restoration of his vigor, and this _motif_ is evidently a continuation of the nature myth to symbolize the sun's wanderings during the dark winter in the hope of renewed vigor with the coming of the spring. professor haupt's view is that the disease from which gilgamesh is supposed to be suffering is of a venereal character, affecting the organs of reproduction. this would confirm the position here taken that the myth symbolizes the loss of the sun's vigor. the sun's rays are no longer strong enough to fertilize the earth. in accord with this, gilgamesh's search for healing leads him to the dark regions [ ] in which the scorpion-men dwell. the terrors of the region symbolize the gloom of the winter season. at last gilgamesh reaches a region of light again, described as a landscape situated at the sea. the maiden in control of this region bolts the gate against gilgamesh's approach, but the latter forces his entrance. it is the picture of the sun-god bursting through the darkness, to emerge as the youthful reinvigorated sun-god of the spring. now with the tendency to attach to popular tales and nature myths lessons illustrative of current beliefs and aspirations, gilgamesh's search for renewal of life is viewed as man's longing for eternal life. the sun-god's waning power after midsummer is past suggests man's growing weakness after the meridian of life has been left behind. winter is death, and man longs to escape it. gilgamesh's wanderings are used as illustration of this longing, and accordingly the search for life becomes also the quest for immortality. can the precious boon of eternal life be achieved? popular fancy created the figure of a favorite of the gods who had escaped a destructive deluge in which all mankind had perished. [ ] gilgamesh hears of this favorite and determines to seek him out and learn from him the secret of eternal life. the deluge story, again a pure nature myth, symbolical of the rainy season which destroys all life in nature, is thus attached to the epic. gilgamesh after many adventures finds himself in the presence of the survivor of the deluge who, although human, enjoys immortal life among the gods. he asks the survivor how he came to escape the common fate of mankind, and in reply utnapishtim tells the story of the catastrophe that brought about universal destruction. the moral of the tale is obvious. only those singled out by the special favor of the gods can hope to be removed to the distant "source of the streams" and live forever. the rest of mankind must face death as the end of life. that the story of the deluge is told in the eleventh tablet of the series, corresponding to the eleventh month, known as the month of "rain curse" [ ] and marking the height of the rainy season, may be intentional, just as it may not be accidental that gilgamesh's rejection of ishtar is recounted in the sixth tablet, corresponding to the sixth month, [ ] which marks the end of the summer season. the two tales may have formed part of a cycle of myths, distributed among the months of the year. the gilgamesh epic, however, does not form such a cycle. both myths have been artificially attached to the adventures of the hero. for the deluge story we now have the definite proof for its independent existence, through dr. poebel's publication of a sumerian text which embodies the tale, [ ] and without any reference to gilgamesh. similarly, scheil and hilprecht have published fragments of deluge stories written in akkadian and likewise without any connection with the gilgamesh epic. [ ] in the epic the story leads to another episode attached to gilgamesh, namely, the search for a magic plant growing in deep water, which has the power of restoring old age to youth. utnapishtim, the survivor of the deluge, is moved through pity for gilgamesh, worn out by his long wanderings. at the request of his wife, utnapishtim decides to tell gilgamesh of this plant, and he succeeds in finding it. he plucks it and decides to take it back to erech so that all may enjoy the benefit, but on his way stops to bathe in a cool cistern. a serpent comes along and snatches the plant from him, and he is forced to return to erech with his purpose unachieved. man cannot hope, when old age comes on, to escape death as the end of everything. lastly, the twelfth tablet of the assyrian version of the gilgamesh epic is of a purely didactic character, bearing evidence of having been added as a further illustration of the current belief that there is no escape from the nether world to which all must go after life has come to an end. proper burial and suitable care of the dead represent all that can be done in order to secure a fairly comfortable rest for those who have passed out of this world. enkidu is once more introduced into this episode. his shade is invoked by gilgamesh and rises up out of the lower world to give a discouraging reply to gilgamesh's request, 	"tell me, my friend, tell me, my friend, 	the law of the earth which thou hast 	experienced, tell me," the mournful message comes back: 	"i cannot tell thee, my friend, i cannot tell." death is a mystery and must always remain such. the historical gilgamesh has clearly no connection with the figure introduced into this twelfth tablet. indeed, as already suggested, the gilgamesh epic must have ended with the return to erech, as related at the close of the eleventh tablet. the twelfth tablet was added by some school-men of babylonia (or perhaps of assyria), purely for the purpose of conveying a summary of the teachings in regard to the fate of the dead. whether these six episodes covering the sixth to the twelfth tablets, ( ) the nature myth, ( ) the killing of the divine bull, ( ) the punishment of gilgamesh and the death of enkidu, ( ) gilgamesh's wanderings, ( ) the deluge, ( ) the search for immortality, were all included at the time that the old babylonian version was compiled cannot, of course, be determined until we have that version in a more complete form. since the two tablets thus far recovered show that as early as b.c. the enkidu tale had already been amalgamated with the current stories about gilgamesh, and the endeavor made to transfer the traits of the former to the latter, it is eminently likely that the story of ishtar's unhappy love adventure with gilgamesh was included, as well as gilgamesh's punishment and the death of enkidu. with the evidence furnished by meissner's fragment of a version of the old babylonian revision and by our two tablets, of the early disposition to make popular tales the medium of illustrating current beliefs and the teachings of the temple schools, it may furthermore be concluded that the death of enkidu and the punishment of gilgamesh were utilized for didactic purposes in the old babylonian version. on the other hand, the proof for the existence of the deluge story in the hammurabi period and some centuries later, _independent_ of any connection with the gilgamesh epic, raises the question whether in the old babylonian version, of which our two tablets form a part, the deluge tale was already woven into the pattern of the epic. at all events, till proof to the contrary is forthcoming, we may assume that the twelfth tablet of the assyrian version, though also reverting to a babylonian original, dates as the _latest_ addition to the epic from a period subsequent to b.c.; and that the same is probably the case with the eleventh tablet. ix. to sum up, there are four main currents that flow together in the gilgamesh epic even in its old babylonian form: ( ) the adventures of a mighty warrior enkidu, resting perhaps on a faint tradition of the conquest of amurru by the hero; ( ) the more definite recollection of the exploits of a foreign invader of babylonia by the name of gilgamesh, whose home appears likewise to have been in the west; [ ] ( ) nature myths and didactic tales transferred to enkidu and gilgamesh as popular figures; and ( ) the process of weaving the traditions, exploits, myths and didactic tales together, in the course of which process gilgamesh becomes the main hero, and enkidu his companion. furthermore, our investigation has shown that to enkidu belongs the episode with the woman, used to illustrate the evolution of primitive man to the ways and conditions of civilized life, the conquest of huwawa in the land of amurru, the killing of lions and also of the bull, while gilgamesh is the hero who conquers erech. identified with the sun-god, the nature myth of the union of the sun with the earth and the subsequent separation of the two is also transferred to him. the wanderings of the hero, smitten with disease, are a continuation of the nature myth, symbolizing the waning vigor of the sun with the approach of the wintry season. the details of the process which led to making gilgamesh the favorite figure, to whom the traits and exploits of enkidu and of the sun-god are transferred, escape us, but of the fact that enkidu is the _older_ figure, of whom certain adventures were set forth in a tale that once had an independent existence, there can now be little doubt in the face of the evidence furnished by the two tablets of the old babylonian version; just as the study of these tablets shows that in the combination of the tales of enkidu and gilgamesh, the former is the prototype of which gilgamesh is the copy. if the two are regarded as brothers, as born in the same place, even resembling one another in appearance and carrying out their adventures in common, it is because in the process of combination gilgamesh becomes the _reflex_ of enkidu. that enkidu is not the figure created by aruru to relieve erech of its tyrannical ruler is also shown by the fact that gilgamesh remains in control of erech. it is to erech that he returns when he fails of his purpose to learn the secret of escape from old age and death. erech is, therefore, not relieved of the presence of the ruthless ruler through enkidu. the "man of anu" formed by aruru as a deliverer is confused in the course of the growth of the epic with enkidu, the offspring of ninib, and in this way we obtain the strange contradiction of enkidu and gilgamesh appearing first as bitter rivals and then as close and inseparable friends. it is of the nature of epic compositions everywhere to eliminate unnecessary figures by concentrating on one favorite the traits belonging to another or to several others. the close association of enkidu and gilgamesh which becomes one of the striking features in the combination of the tales of these two heroes naturally recalls the "heavenly twins" _motif_, which has been so fully and so suggestively treated by professor j. rendell harris in his _cult of the heavenly twins_, (london, ). professor harris has conclusively shown how widespread the tendency is to associate two divine or semi-divine beings in myths and legends as inseparable companions [ ] or twins, like castor and pollux, romulus and remus, [ ] the acvins in the rig-veda, [ ] cain and abel, jacob and esau in the old testament, the kabiri of the phoenicians, [ ] herakles and iphikles in greek mythology, ambrica and fidelio in teutonic mythology, patollo and potrimpo in old prussian mythology, cautes and cautopates in mithraism, jesus and thomas (according to the syriac acts of thomas), and the various illustrations of "dioscuri in christian legends," set forth by dr. harris in his work under this title, which carries the _motif_ far down into the period of legends about christian saints who appear in pairs, including the reference to such a pair in shakespeare's henry v: 	"and crispin crispian shall ne'er go by 	from that day to the ending of the world."--(_act, iv, 	 , - ._) there are indeed certain parallels which suggest that enkidu-gilgamesh may represent a babylonian counterpart to the "heavenly twins." in the indo-iranian, greek and roman mythology, the twins almost invariably act together. in unison they proceed on expeditions to punish enemies. [ ] but after all, the parallels are of too general a character to be of much moment; and moreover the parallels stop short at the critical point, for gilgamesh though worsted is _not_ killed by enkidu, whereas one of the "heavenly twins" is always killed by the brother, as abel is by cain, and iphikles by his twin brother herakles. even the trait which is frequent in the earliest forms of the "heavenly twins," according to which one is immortal and the other is mortal, though applying in a measure to enkidu who is killed by ishtar, while gilgamesh the offspring of a divine pair is only smitten with disease, is too unsubstantial to warrant more than a general comparison between the enkidu-gilgamesh pair and the various forms of the "twin" _motif_ found throughout the ancient world. for all that, the point is of some interest that in the gilgamesh epic we should encounter two figures who are portrayed as possessing the same traits and accomplishing feats in common, which suggest a partial parallel to the various forms in which the twin-_motif_ appears in the mythologies, folk-lore and legends of many nations; and it may be that in some of these instances the duplication is due, as in the case of enkidu and gilgamesh, to an actual transfer of the traits of one figure to another who usurped his place. x. in concluding this study of the two recently discovered tablets of the old babylonian version of the gilgamesh epic which has brought us several steps further in the interpretation and in our understanding of the method of composition of the most notable literary production of ancient babylonia, it will be proper to consider the _literary_ relationship of the old babylonian to the assyrian version. we have already referred to the different form in which the names of the chief figures appear in the old babylonian version, dgish as against dgish-gì(n)-mash, den-ki-du as against den-ki-dú, hu-wa-wa as against hu(m)-ba-ba. erech appears as _uruk ribîtim_, "erech of the plazas," as against _uruk supûri_, "walled erech" (or "erech within the walls"), in the assyrian version. [ ] these variations point to an _independent_ recension for the assyrian revision; and this conclusion is confirmed by a comparison of parallel passages in our two tablets with the assyrian version, for such parallels rarely extend to verbal agreements in details, and, moreover, show that the assyrian version has been elaborated. beginning with the pennsylvania tablet, column i is covered in the assyrian version by tablet i, , , to , , though, as pointed out above, in the assyrian version we have the anticipation of the dreams of gilgamesh and their interpretation through their recital to enkidu by his female companion, whereas in the old babylonian version we have the dreams _directly_ given in a conversation between gilgamesh and his mother. in the anticipation, there would naturally be some omissions. so lines - and - of the pennsylvania tablet do not appear in the assyrian version, but in their place is a line (i, , ), to be restored to 	"[i saw him and like] a woman i fell in love with him." which occurs in the old babylonian version only in connection with the second dream. the point is of importance as showing that in the babylonian version the first dream lays stress upon the omen of the falling meteor, as symbolizing the coming of enkidu, whereas the second dream more specifically reveals enkidu as a man, [ ] of whom gilgamesh is instantly enamored. strikingly variant lines, though conveying the same idea, are frequent. thus line of the babylonian version reads 	"i bore it and carried it to thee" and appears in the assyrian version (i, , _b_ supplied from , ) 	"i threw it (or him) at thy feet" [ ] with an additional line in elaboration 	"thou didst bring him into contact with me" [ ] which anticipates the speech of the mother 	(line = assyrian version i, , ). line of the pennsylvania tablet has _pa-hi-ir_ as against _iz-za-az_ i, , . line has _ik-ta-bi-it_ as against _da-an_ in the assyrian version i, , . more significant is the variant to line 	"i became weak and its weight i could not bear" as against i, , . 	"its strength was overpowering, [ ] and i could not endure 	its weight." the important lines - are not found in the assyrian version, with the exception of i, , , which corresponds to lines - , but this lack of correspondence is probably due to the fact that the assyrian version represents the anticipation of the dreams which, as already suggested, might well omit some details. as against this we have in the assyrian version i, , - , an elaboration of line in the pennsylvania tablet and taken over from the recital of the first dream. through the assyrian version i, , - , we can restore the closing lines of column i of the pennsylvania tablet, while with line = line of the pennsylvania tablet, the parallel between the two versions comes to an end. lines - of the assyrian version (bringing tablet i to a close) [ ] represent an elaboration of the speech of ninsun, followed by a further address of gilgamesh to his mother, and by the determination of gilgamesh to seek out enkidu. [ ] nothing of this sort appears to have been included in the old babylonian version.our text proceeds with the scene between enkidu and the woman, in which the latter by her charms and her appeal endeavors to lead enkidu away from his life with the animals. from the abrupt manner in which the scene is introduced in line of the pennsylvania tablet, it is evident that this cannot be the _first_ mention of the woman. the meeting must have been recounted in the first tablet, as is the case in the assyrian version. [ ] the second tablet takes up the direct recital of the dreams of gilgamesh and then continues the narrative. whether in the old babylonian version the scene between enkidu and the woman was described with the same naïve details, as in the assyrian version, of the sexual intercourse between the two for six days and seven nights cannot of course be determined, though presumably the assyrian version, with the tendency of epics to become more elaborate as they pass from age to age, added some realistic touches. assuming that lines - of the pennsylvania tablet--the cohabitation of enkidu and the address of the woman--is a repetition of what was already described in the first tablet, the comparison with the assyrian version i, , - , not only points to the elaboration of the later version, but likewise to an independent recension, even where parallel lines can be picked out. only lines - of the pennsylvania tablet form a complete parallel to line of column of the assyrian version. the description in lines - of column is missing, though it may, of course, have been included in part in the recital in the first tablet of the old babylonian version. lines - of the pennsylvania tablet are covered by - , the only slight difference being the specific mention in line of the pennsylvania tablet of eanna, the temple in erech, described as "the dwelling of anu," whereas in the assyrian version eanna is merely referred to as the "holy house" and described as "the dwelling of anu and ishtar," where ishtar is clearly a later addition. leaving aside lines - , which may be merely a variant (though independent) of line of column of the assyrian version, we now have in the pennsylvania tablet a second speech of the woman to enkidu (not represented in the assyrian version) beginning like the first one with _alka_, "come" (lines - ), in which she asks enkidu to leave the "accursed ground" in which he dwells. this speech, as the description which follows, extending into columns - , and telling how the woman clothed enkidu, how she brought him to the sheep folds, how she taught him to eat bread and to drink wine, and how she instructed him in the ways of civilization, must have been included in the second tablet of the assyrian version which has come down to us in a very imperfect form. nor is the scene in which enkidu and gilgamesh have their encounter found in the preserved portions of the second (or possibly the third) tablet of the assyrian version, but only a brief reference to it in the fourth tablet, [ ] in which in epic style the story is repeated, leading up to the second exploit--the joint campaign of enkidu and gilgamesh against huwawa. this reference, covering only seven lines, corresponds to lines - of the pennsylvania tablet; but the former being the repetition and the latter the original recital, the comparison to be instituted merely reveals again the independence of the assyrian version, as shown in the use of _kibsu_, "tread" (iv, , ), for _sêpu_, "foot" (l. ), _i-na-us_, "quake" (line c), as against _ir-tu-tu_ (ll. and ). such variants as 	_d_gish êribam ûl iddin (l. ) against 	_d_gilgamesh ana surûbi ûl namdin, (iv, , ). and again 	_issabtûma kima lîm_ "they grappled at the gate of the family 	house" (iv, , ), against 	_issabtûma ina bâb bît emuti_, "they grappled at the gate of 	the family house" (iv, , ), all point once more to the literary independence of the assyrian version. the end of the conflict and the reconciliation of the two heroes is likewise missing in the assyrian version. it may have been referred to at the beginning of column [ ] of tablet iv. coming to the yale tablet, the few passages in which a comparison may be instituted with the fourth tablet of the assyrian version, to which in a general way it must correspond, are not sufficient to warrant any conclusions, beyond the confirmation of the literary independence of the assyrian version. the section comprised within lines - , where enkidu's grief at his friend's decision to fight huwawa is described [ ], and he makes confession of his own physical exhaustion, _may_ correspond to tablet iv, column , of the assyrian version. this would fit in with the beginning of the reverse, the first two lines of which ( - ) correspond to column of the fourth tablet of the assyrian version, with a variation "seven-fold fear" [ ] as against "fear of men" in the assyrian version. if lines - (in column ) of the yale tablet correspond to line of column of tablet iv of the assyrian version, we would again have an illustration of the elaboration of the later version by the addition of lines - . but beyond this we have merely the comparison of the description of huwawa 	"whose roar is a flood, whose mouth is fire, and whose breath 	is death" which occurs twice in the yale tablet (lines - and - ), with the same phrase in the assyrian version tablet iv, , --but here, as just pointed out, with an elaboration. practically, therefore, the entire yale tablet represents an addition to our knowledge of the huwawa episode, and until we are fortunate enough to discover more fragments of the fourth tablet of the assyrian version, we must content ourselves with the conclusions reached from a comparison of the pennsylvania tablet with the parallels in the assyrian version. it may be noted as a general point of resemblance in the exterior form of the old babylonian and assyrian versions that both were inscribed on tablets containing six columns, three on the obverse and three on the reverse; and that the length of the tablets--an average of to lines--was about the same, thus revealing in the external form a conventiona size for the tablets in the older period, which was carried over into later times. pennsylvania tablet the lines of the six columns of the text are enumerated in succession, with an indication on the margin where a new column begins. this method, followed also in the case of the yale tablet, seems preferable to langdon's breaking up of the text into obverse and reverse, with a separate enumeration for each of the six columns. in order, however, to facilitate a comparison with langdon's edition, a table is added: 	obverse col. i, 	= line of our text. 	,,			 i, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,,			 i, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,,		 i, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,, i, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,,			 i, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,,			 i, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,,			 i, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	col. ii, 	= line 	 ,, ,,	 ,, 	,, ii, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,, ii, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,, ii, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,, ii, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,, ii, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,, ii, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,, ii, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	col. iii, 	= line 	 ,, ,,	 ,, 	,, iii, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,, iii, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,, iii, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,, iii, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,, iii, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,, iii, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	,, iii, 	=	 ,, ,, ,, ,, 	reverse col. i, (= col. iv) = line of our text. 	,, i, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, i, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, i, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, i, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, i, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, i, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, ii, (= col. v) = line ,, ,, ,, 	,, ii, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, ii, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, ii, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, ii, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, ii, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, ii, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, iii, (= col. vi) = line ,, ,, ,, 	,, iii, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, iii, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, iii, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, iii, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, iii, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, iii, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, 	,, iii, 			 = ,, ,, ,,	,, pennsylvania tablet. transliteration. col. i. 	it-bi-e-ma dgis sú-na-tam i-pa-ás-sar 	iz-za-kàr-am a-na um-mi-sú 	um-mi i-na sá-at mu-si-ti-ia 	sá-am-ha-ku-ma at-ta-na-al-la-ak 	i-na bi-ri-it it-lu-tim 	ib-ba-sú-nim-ma ka-ka-bu sá-ma-i 	[ki]-is-rù sá a-nim im-ku-ut a-na si-ri-ia 	ás-si-sú-ma ik-ta-bi-it e-li-ia 	ú-ni-is-sú-ma nu-us-sá-sú ú-ul il-ti-'i 	urukki ma-tum pa-hi-ir e-li-sú 	it-lu-tum ú-na-sá-ku si-pi-sú 	ú-um-mi-id-ma pu-ti 	i-mi-du ia-ti 	ás-si-a-sú-ma ab-ba-la-ás-sú a-na si-ri-ki 	um-mi dgis mu-di-a-at ka-la-ma 	iz-za-kàr-am a-na dgis 	mi-in-di dgis sá ki-ma ka-ti 	i-na si-ri i-wa-li-id-ma 	ú-ra-ab-bi-sú sá-du-ú 	ta-mar-sú-ma [kima sal(?)] ta-ha-du at-ta 	it-lu-tum ú-na-sá-ku si-pi-sú 	tí-it-ti-ra-ás-[sú tu-ut]-tu-ú-ma 	ta-tar-ra-[as-su] a-na si-[ri]-ia 	[us]-ti-nim-ma i-ta-mar sá-ni-tam 	[sú-na]-ta i-ta-wa-a-am a-na um-mi-sú 	[um-mi] a-ta-mar sá-ni-tam 	[sú-na-tu a-ta]-mar e-mi-a i-na su-ki-im 	[sá uruk]ki ri-bi-tim 	ha-as-si-nu na-di-i-ma 	e-li-sú pa-ah-ru 	ha-as-si-nu-um-ma sá-ni bu-nu-sú 	a-mur-sú-ma ah-ta-du a-na-ku 	a-ra-am-sú-ma ki-ma ás-sá-tim 	a-ha-ab-bu-ub el-sú 	el-ki-sú-ma ás-ta-ka-an-sú 	a-na a-hi-ia 	um-mi dgis mu-da-at [ka]-la-ma 	[iz-za-kàr-am a-na dgis] 	[dgis sá ta-mu-ru amêlu] 	[ta-ha-ab-bu-ub ki-ma ás-sá-tim el-sú] col. ii. 	ás-sum us-[ta]-ma-ha-ru it-ti-ka 	dgis sú-na-tam i-pa-sar 	den-ki-[du wa]-si-ib ma-har ha-ri-im-tim 	ur-[sá ir]-ha-mu di-da-sá(?) ip-tí-[e] 	[den-ki]-du im-ta-si a-sar i-wa-al-du 	ûm, ù mu-si-a-tim 	den-[ki-du] ti-bi-i-ma 	sá-[am-ka-ta] ir-hi 	ha-[ri-im-tum pa-a]-sá i-pu-sá-am-ma 	iz-za-[kàr-am] a-na den-ki-du 	a-na-tal-ka den-ki-du ki-ma ili ta-ba-ás-si 	am-mi-nim it-ti na-ma-ás-te-e 	ta-at-ta-[na-al]-ak si-ra-am 	al-kam lu-úr-di-ka 	a-na libbi [urukki] ri-bi-tim 	a-na bît [el]-lim mu-sá-bi sá a-nim 	den-ki-du ti-bi lu-ru-ka 	a-na Ê-[an]-na mu-sá-bi sá a-nim 	a-sar [dgis gi]-it-ma-[lu] ne-pi-si-tim 	ù at-[ta] ki-[ma sal ta-ha]-bu-[ub]-sú 	ta-[ra-am-sú ki-ma] ra-ma-an-ka 	al-ka ti-ba i-[na] ga-ag-ga-ri 	ma-a-ag-ri-i-im 	is-me a-wa-as-sa im-ta-har ga-ba-sá 	mi-il-[kum] sá assatim 	im-ta-ku-ut a-na libbi-sú 	is-hu-ut li-ib-sá-am 	is-ti-nam ú-la-ab-bi-is-sú 	li-ib-[sá-am] sá-ni-a-am 	si-i it-ta-al-ba-ás 	sa-ab-tat ga-as-su 	ki-ma [ili] i-ri-id-di-sú 	a-na gu-up-ri sá-ri-i-im 	a-sar tar-ba-si-im 	i-na [ás]-ri-sú [im]-hu-ruri-ia-ú 	[ù sú-u den-ki-du i-lit-ta-sú sá-du-um-ma] 	[it-ti sabâti-ma ik-ka-la sam-ma] 	[it-ti bu-lim mas-ka-a i-sat-ti] 	[it-ti na-ma-ás-te-e mê i-tab lib-ba-sú] (perhaps one additional line missing.) col. iii. 	si-iz-ba sá na-ma-ás-te-e 	i-te-en-ni-ik 	a-ka-lam is-ku-nu ma-har-sú 	ib-tí-ik-ma i-na-at-tal 	ù ip-pa-al-la-as 	ú-ul i-di den-ki-du 	aklam a-na a-ka-lim 	sikaram a-na sá-te-e-im 	la-a lum-mu-ud 	ha-ri-im-tum pi-sá i-pu-sá-am-ma 	iz-za-kàr-am a-na den-ki-du 	a-ku-ul ak-lam den-ki-du 	zi-ma-at ba-la-ti-im 	sikaram si-ti si-im-ti ma-ti 	i-ku-ul a-ak-lam den-ki-du 	a-di si-bi-e-sú 	sikaram is-ti-a-am 	 as-sa-am-mi-im 	it-tap-sar kab-ta-tum i-na-an-gu 	i-li-is libba-sú-ma 	pa-nu-sú [it]-tam-ru 	ul-tap-pi-it [lùsÚ]-i 	sú-hu-ra-am pa-ga-ar-sú 	sá-am-nam ip-ta-sá-ás-ma 	a-we-li-is i-we 	il-ba-ás li-ib-sá-am 	ki-ma mu-ti i-ba-ás-si 	il-ki ka-ak-ka-sú 	la-bi ú-gi-ir-ri 	us-sa-ak-pu re'ûti mu-si-a-tim 	ut-tap-pi-is sib-ba-ri 	la-bi uk-ta-si-id 	it-ti-[lu] na-ki-[di-e] ra-bu-tum 	den-ki-du ma-as-sa-ar-sú-nu 	a-we-lum gis-ru-um 	is-te-en it-lum 	a-na [na-ki-di-e(?) i]-za-ak-ki-ir (about five lines missing.) col. iv. (about eight lines missing.) 	i-ip-pu-us ul-sa-am 	is-si-ma i-ni-i-sú 	i-ta-mar a-we-lam 	iz-za-kàr-am a-na harimtim 	sá-am-ka-at uk-ki-si a-we-lam 	a-na mi-nim il-li-kam 	zi-ki-ir-sú lu-us-sú 	ha-ri-im-tum is-ta-si a-we-lam 	i-ba-us-su-um-ma i-ta-mar-sú 	e-di-il e-es ta-hi-[il-la]-am 	lim-nu a-la-ku ma-na-ah-[ti]-ka 	e-pi-sú i-pu-sá-am-ma 	iz-za-kàr-am a-na den-[ki-du] 	bi-ti-is e-mu-tim ik ...... 	si-ma-a-at ni-si-i-ma 	tu-a-(?)-ar e-lu-tim 	a-na âli(?) dup-sak-ki-i e-si-en 	uk-la-at âli(?) e-mi-sa a-a-ha-tim 	a-na sarri sá urukki ri-bi-tim 	pi-ti pu-uk episi(-si) a-na ha-a-a-ri 	a-na dgis sarri sá urukki ri-bi-tim 	pi-ti pu-uk episi(-si) 	a-na ha-a-a-ri 	ás-sa-at si-ma-tim i-ra-ah-hi 	sú-ú pa-na-nu-um-ma 	mu-uk wa-ar-ka-nu 	i-na mi-il-ki sá ili ga-bi-ma 	i-na bi-ti-ik a-bu-un-na-ti-sú 	si-ma-as-su 	a-na zi-ik-ri it-li-im 	i-ri-ku pa-nu-sú (about three lines missing.) col. v. (about six lines missing.) 	i-il-la-ak [den-ki-du i-na pa-ni] 	u-sá-am-ka-at [wa]-ar-ki-sú 	i-ru-ub-ma a-na libbi urukki ri-bi-tim 	ip-hur um-ma-nu-um i-na si-ri-sú 	iz-zi-za-am-ma i-na su-ki-im 	sá urukki ri-bi-tim 	pa-ah-ra-a-ma ni-sú 	i-ta-wa-a i-na si-ri-sú 	a-na salam dgis ma-si-il pi-it-tam 	la-nam sá-pi-il 	si-ma .... [sá-ki-i pu]-uk-ku-ul 	............. i-pa-ka-du 	i-[na mâti da-an e-mu]-ki i-wa 	si-iz-ba sá na-ma-as-te-e 	i-te-en-ni-ik 	ka-a-a-na i-na [libbi] urukki kak-ki-a-tum 	it-lu-tum ú-te-el-li-lu 	sá-ki-in ur-sá-nu 	a-na itli sá i-sá-ru zi-mu-sú 	a-na dgis ki-ma i-li-im 	sá-ki-is-sum me-ih-rù 	a-na dis-ha-ra ma-a-a-lum 	na-di-i-ma 	dgis it-[ti-il-ma wa-ar-ka-tim] 	i-na mu-si in-ni-[ib-bi]-it 	i-na-ag-sá-am-ma 	it-ta-[zi-iz den-ki-du] i-na sûkim 	ip-ta-ra-[as a-la]-ak-tam 	sá dgis 	[a-na e-pi-is] da-na-ni-is-sú (about three lines missing.) col. vi. (about four lines missing.) 	sar(?)-ha 	dgis ... 	i-na si-ri-[sú il-li-ka-am den-ki-du] 	i-ha-an-ni-ib [pi-ir-ta-sú] 	it-bi-ma [il-li-ik] 	a-na pa-ni-sú 	it-tam-ha-ru i-na ri-bi-tum ma-ti 	den-ki-du ba-ba-am ip-ta-ri-ik 	i-na si-pi-sú 	dgis e-ri-ba-am ú-ul id-di-in 	is-sa-ab-tu-ma ki-ma li-i-im 	i-lu-du 	zi-ip-pa-am 'i-bu-tu 	i-ga-rum ir-tu-tu 	dgis ù den-ki-du 	is-sa-ab-tu-ú-ma 	ki-ma li-i-im i-lu-du 	zi-ip-pa-am 'i-bu-tu 	i-ga-rum ir-tu-tú 	ik-mi-is-ma dgis 	i-na ga-ag-ga-ri si-ip-sú 	ip-si-ih uz-za-sú-ma 	i-ni-ih i-ra-as-su 	is-tu i-ra-su i-ni-hu 	den-ki-du a-na sá-si-im 	iz-za-kàr-am a-na dgis 	ki-ma is-te-en-ma um-ma-ka 	ú-li-id-ka 	ri-im-tum sá su-pu-ri 	dnin-sun-na 	ul-lu e-li mu-ti ri-es-ka 	sar-ru-tú sá ni-si 	i-si-im-kum den-lil 		duppu kam-ma 	sú-tu-ur e-li ..................... 		 sú-si translation. col. i. 	gish sought to interpret the dream; 	spoke to his mother: 	"my mother, during my night 	i became strong and moved about 	among the heroes; 	and from the starry heaven 	a meteor(?) of anu fell upon me: 	i bore it and it grew heavy upon me, 	i became weak and its weight i could not endure. 	the land of erech gathered about it. 	the heroes kissed its feet. [ ] 	it was raised up before me. 	they stood me up. [ ] 	i bore it and carried it to thee." 	the mother of gish, who knows all things, 	spoke to gish: 	"some one, o gish, who like thee 	in the field was born and 	whom the mountain has reared, 	thou wilt see (him) and [like a woman(?)] thou wilt rejoice. 	heroes will kiss his feet. 	thou wilt spare [him and wilt endeavor] 	to lead him to me." 	he slept and saw another 	dream, which he reported to his mother: 	["my mother,] i have seen another 	[dream.] my likeness i have seen in the streets 	[of erech] of the plazas. 	an axe was brandished, and 	they gathered about him; 	and the axe made him angry. 	i saw him and i rejoiced, 	i loved him as a woman, 	i embraced him. 	i took him and regarded him 	as my brother." 	the mother of gish, who knows all things, 	[spoke to gish]: 	["o gish, the man whom thou sawest,] 	[whom thou didst embrace like a woman]. col ii. 	(means) that he is to be associated with thee." 	gish understood the dream. 	[as] enki[du] was sitting before the woman, 	[her] loins(?) he embraced, her vagina(?) he opened. 	[enkidu] forgot the place where he was born. 	six days and seven nights 	enkidu continued 	to cohabit with [the courtesan]. 	[the woman] opened her [mouth] and 	spoke to enkidu: 	"i gaze upon thee, o enkidu, like a god art thou! 	why with the cattle 	dost thou [roam] across the field? 	come, let me lead thee 	into [erech] of the plazas, 	to the holy house, the dwelling of anu, 	o, enkidu arise, let me conduct thee 	to eanna, the dwelling of anu, 	the place [where gish is, perfect] in vitality. 	and thou [like a wife wilt embrace] him. 	thou [wilt love him like] thyself. 	come, arise from the ground 	(that is) cursed." 	he heard her word and accepted her speech. 	the counsel of the woman 	entered his heart. 	she stripped off a garment, 	clothed him with one. 	another garment 	she kept on herself. 	she took hold of his hand. 	like [a god(?)] she brought him 	to the fertile meadow, 	the place of the sheepfolds. 	in that place they received food; 	[for he, enkidu, whose birthplace was the mountain,] 	[with the gazelles he was accustomed to eat herbs,] 	[with the cattle to drink water,] 	[with the water beings he was happy.] (perhaps one additional line missing.) col. iii. 	milk of the cattle 	he was accustomed to suck. 	food they placed before him, 	he broke (it) off and looked 	and gazed. 	enkidu had not known 	to eat food. 	to drink wine 	he had not been taught. 	the woman opened her mouth and 	spoke to enkidu: 	"eat food, o enkidu, 	the provender of life! 	drink wine, the custom of the land!" 	enkidu ate food 	till he was satiated. 	wine he drank, 	seven goblets. 	his spirit was loosened, he became hilarious. 	his heart became glad and 	his face shone. 	[the barber(?)] removed 	the hair on his body. 	he was anointed with oil. 	he became manlike. 	he put on a garment, 	he was like a man. 	he took his weapon; 	lions he attacked, 	(so that) the night shepherds could rest. 	he plunged the dagger; 	lions he overcame. 	the great [shepherds] lay down; 	enkidu was their protector. 	the strong man, 	the unique hero, 	to [the shepherds(?)] he speaks: (about five lines missing.) col. iv. (about eight lines missing.) 	making merry. 	he lifted up his eyes, 	he sees the man. 	he spoke to the woman: 	"o, courtesan, lure on the man. 	why has he come to me? 	his name i will destroy." 	the woman called to the man 	who approaches to him [ ] and he beholds him. 	"away! why dost thou [quake(?)] 	evil is the course of thy activity." [ ] 	then he [ ] opened his mouth and 	spoke to enkidu: 	"[to have (?)] a family home 	is the destiny of men, and 	the prerogative(?) of the nobles. 	for the city(?) load the workbaskets! 	food supply for the city lay to one side! 	for the king of erech of the plazas, 	open the hymen(?), perform the marriage act! 	for gish, the king of erech of the plazas, 	open the hymen(?), 	perform the marriage act! 	with the legitimate wife one should cohabit. 	so before, 	as well as in the future. [ ] 	by the decree pronounced by a god, 	from the cutting of his umbilical cord 	(such) is his fate." 	at the speech of the hero 	his face grew pale. (about three lines missing.) col. v. (about six lines missing.) 	[enkidu] went [in front], 	and the courtesan behind him. 	he entered into erech of the plazas. 	the people gathered about him. 	as he stood in the streets 	of erech of the plazas, 	the men gathered, 	saying in regard to him: 	"like the form of gish he has suddenly become; 	shorter in stature. 	[in his structure high(?)], powerful, 	.......... overseeing(?) 	in the land strong of power has he become. 	milk of cattle 	he was accustomed to suck." 	steadily(?) in erech ..... 	the heroes rejoiced. 	he became a leader. 	to the hero of fine appearance, 	to gish, like a god, 	he became a rival to him. [ ] 	for ishhara a couch 	was stretched, and 	gish [lay down, and afterwards(?)] 	in the night he fled. 	he approaches and 	[enkidu stood] in the streets. 	he blocked the path 	of gish. 	at the exhibit of his power, (about three lines missing.) col. vi. (about four lines missing.) 	strong(?) ... 	gish 	against him [enkidu proceeded], 	[his hair] luxuriant. 	he started [to go] 	towards him. 	they met in the plaza of the district. 	enkidu blocked the gate 	with his foot, 	not permitting gish to enter. 	they seized (each other), like oxen, 	they fought. 	the threshold they demolished; 	the wall they impaired. 	gish and enkidu 	seized (each other). 	like oxen they fought. 	the threshold they demolished; 	the wall they impaired. 	gish bent 	his foot to the ground, [ ] 	his wrath was appeased, 	his breast was quieted. 	when his breast was quieted, 	enkidu to him 	spoke, to gish: 	"as a unique one, thy mother 	bore thee. 	the wild cow of the stall, [ ] 	ninsun, 	has exalted thy head above men. 	kingship over men 	enlil has decreed for thee. 	second tablet, 	enlarged beyond [the original(?)]. 	 lines. commentary on the pennsylvania tablet. line . the verb _tibû_ with _pasâru_ expresses the aim of gish to secure an interpretation for his dream. this disposes of langdon's note on page of his edition, in which he also erroneously speaks of our text as "late." _pasâru_ is not a variant of _zakâru_. both verbs occur just as here in the assyrian version i, , . line . _ina sât musitia_, "in this my night," i.e., in the course of this night of mine. a curious way of putting it, but the expression occurs also in the assyrian version, e.g., i, , (parallel passage to ours) and ii, a, . in the yale tablet we find, similarly, _mu-si-it-ka_ (l. ), "thy night," i.e., "at night to thee." line . before langdon put down the strange statement of gish "wandering about in the midst of omens" (misreading _id-da-tim _ for _it-lu-tim_), he might have asked himself the question, what it could possibly mean. how can one walk among omens? line . _ka-ka-bu sá-ma-i_ must be taken as a compound term for "starry heaven." the parallel passage in the assyrian version (tablet i, , ) has the ideograph for star, with the plural sign as a variant. literally, therefore, "the starry heaven (or "the stars in heaven") was there," etc. langdon's note on page rests on an erroneous reading. line . _kisru sá anim_, "mass of anu," appears to be the designation of a meteor, which might well be described as a "mass" coming from anu, i.e., from the god of heaven who becomes the personification of the heavens in general. in the assyrian version (i, , ) we have _kima ki-is-rù_, i.e., "something like a mass of heaven." note also i, , , where in a description of gilgamesh, his strength is said to be "strong like a mass (i.e., a meteor) of heaven." line . for _nussasu ûl iltê_ we have a parallel in the hebrew phrase nle'etiy ns' (isaiah , ). line . _uruk mâtum_, as the designation for the district of erech, occurs in the assyrian version, e.g., i, , , and iv, , ; also to be supplied, i, , . for _pahir_ the parallel in the assyrian version has _iz-za-az_ (i, , ), but vi, , we find _pah-ru_ and _pah-ra_. line . _mi-in-di_ does not mean "truly" as langdon translates, but "some one." it occurs also in the assyrian version x, , , _mi-in-di-e ma-an-nu-u_, "this is some one who," etc. line . cf. assyrian version i, , , and iv, , , _ina siri âlid_--both passages referring to enkidu. line . cf. assyrian version ii, b, , with _malkê_, "kings," as a synonym of _itlutum_. line . _ta-tar-ra-as-sú_ from _tarâsu_, "direct," "guide," etc. line . i take _us-ti-nim-ma_ as iii, , from _isênu_ (yosen), the verb underlying _sittu_, "sleep," and _suttu_, "dream." line . cf. assyrian version i, , --a complete parallel. line . _uruk ri-bi-tim_, the standing phrase in both tablets of the old babylonian version, for which in the assyrian version we have _uruk su-pu-ri_. the former term suggests the "broad space" outside of the city or the "common" in a village community, while _supûri_, "enclosed," would refer to the city within the walls. dr. w. f. albright (in a private communication) suggests "erech of the plazas" as a suitable translation for _uruk ribîtim_. a third term, _uruk mâtum_ (see above, note to line ), though designating rather the district of which erech was the capital, appears to be used as a synonym to _uruk ribîtim_, as may be concluded from the phrase _i-na ri-bi-tum ma-ti_ (l. of the pennsylvania tablet), which clearly means the "plaza" of the city. one naturally thinks of rehobot `iyr in genesis , --the equivalent of babylonian _ri-bi-tu âli_--which can hardly be the name of a city. it appears to be a gloss, as is hiy' ho`iyr hagedoloh at the end of v. . the latter gloss is misplaced, since it clearly describes "nineveh," mentioned in v. . inasmuch as rehobot `iyr immediately follows the mention of nineveh, it seems simplest to take the phrase as designating the "outside" or "suburbs" of the city, a complete parallel, therefore, to _ri-bi-tu mâti_ in our text. nineveh, together with the "suburbs," forms the "great city." _uruk ribîtim_ is, therefore, a designation for "greater erech," proper to a capital city, which by its gradual growth would take in more than its original confines. "erech of the plazas" must have come to be used as a honorific designation of this important center as early as b. c., whereas later, perhaps because of its decline, the epithet no longer seemed appropriate and was replaced by the more modest designation of "walled erech," with an allusion to the tradition which ascribed the building of the wall of the city to gilgamesh. at all events, all three expressions, "erech of the plazas," "erech walled" and "erech land," are to be regarded as synonymous. the position once held by erech follows also from its ideographic designation (brünnow no. ) by the sign "house" with a "gunufied" extension, which conveys the idea of unu = _subtu_, or "dwelling" _par excellence_. the pronunciation unug or unuk (see the gloss _u-nu-uk_, vr , a), composed of _unu_, "dwelling," and _ki_, "place," is hardly to be regarded as older than uruk, which is to be resolved into _uru_, "city," and _ki_, "place," but rather as a play upon the name, both unu + ki and uru + ki conveying the same idea of _the_ city or _the_ dwelling place _par excellence_. as the seat of the second oldest dynasty according to babylonian traditions (see poebel's list in _historical and grammatical texts_ no. ), erech no doubt was regarded as having been at one time "the city," i.e., the capital of the entire euphrates valley. line . a difficult line for which langdon proposes the translation: "another axe seemed his visage"!!--which may be picturesque, but hardly a description befitting a hero. how can a man's face seem to be an axe? langdon attaches _sá-ni_ in the sense of "second" to the preceding word "axe," whereas _sanî bunusu_, "change of his countenance" or "his countenance being changed," is to be taken as a phrase to convey the idea of "being disturbed," "displeased" or "angry." the phrase is of the same kind as the well-known _sunnu têmu_, "changing of reason," to denote "insanity." see the passages in muss-arnolt, _assyrian dictionary_, pp. and . in hebrew, too, we have the same two phrases, e.g., vayesanov 'etta`emov (i sam. , = ps. , ), "and he changed his reason," i.e., feigned insanity and mesaneh ponoyv (job , ), "changing his face," to indicate a radical alteration in the frame of mind. there is a still closer parallel in biblical aramaic: dan. , , "the form of his visage was changed," meaning "he was enraged." fortunately, the same phrase occurs also in the yale tablet (l. ), _sá-nu-ú bu-nu-sú_, in a connection which leaves no doubt that the aroused fury of the tyrant huwawa is described by it: 	"huwawa heard and his face was changed" precisely, therefore, as we should say--following biblical usage--"his countenance fell." cf. also the phrase _pânusu arpu_, "his countenance was darkened" (assyrian version i, , ), to express "anger." the line, therefore, in the pennsylvania tablet must describe enkidu's anger. with the brandishing of the axe the hero's anger was also stirred up. the touch was added to prepare us for the continuation in which gish describes how, despite this (or perhaps just because of it), enkidu seemed so attractive that gish instantly fell in love with him. may perhaps the emphatic form _hasinumma_ (line ) against _hasinu_ (line ) have been used to indicate "the axe it was," or "because of the axe?" it would be worth while to examine other texts of the hammurabi period with a view of determining the scope in the use and meaning of the emphatic _ma_ when added to a substantive. line . the combination _amur ù ahtadu_ occurs also in the el-amarna letters, no. , . line . in view of the common hebrew, syriac and arabic hobab "to love," it seems preferable to read here, as in the other passages in the assyrian versions (i, , ; , ; , , etc.), _a-ha-ab-bu-ub_, _ah-bu-ub_, _ih-bu-bu_, etc. (instead of with _p_), and to render "embrace." lines - , completing the column, may be supplied from the assyrian version i, , - , in conjunction with lines - of our text. the beginning of line in jensen's version is therefore to be filled out _[ta-ra-am-sú ki]-i_. line . the restoration at the beginning of this line 	_en-ki-[du wa]-si-ib ma-har ha-ri-im-tim_ enables us to restore also the beginning of the second tablet of the assyrian version (cf. the colophon of the fragment , - , , in jeremias, _izdubar-nimrod_, plate iv = jensen, p. ), 	_[d_en-ki-du wa-si-ib] ma-har-sá. line . the restoration of this line is largely conjectural, based on the supposition that its contents correspond in a general way to i, , , of the assyrian version. the reading _di-da_ is quite certain, as is also _ip-ti-[e]_; and since both words occur in the line of the assyrian version in question, it is tempting to supply at the beginning _ur-[sá]_ = "her loins" (cf. holma, _namen der körperteile_, etc., p. ), which is likewise found in the same line of the assyrian version. at all events the line describes the fascination exercised upon enkidu by the woman's bodily charms, which make him forget everything else. lines - form a parallel to i, , , of the assyrian version. the form _samkatu_, "courtesan," is constant in the old babylonian version (ll. and ), as against _samhatu_ in the assyrian version (i, , , , ; , ), which also uses the plural _sam-ha-a-ti_ (ii, b, ). the interchange between _h_ and _k_ is not without precedent (cf. meissner, _altbabylonisches privatrecht_, page , note , and more particularly chiera, _list of personal names_, page ). in view of the evidence, set forth in the introduction, for the assumption that the enkidu story has been combined with a tale of the evolution of primitive man to civilized life, it is reasonable to suggest that in the original enkidu story the female companion was called _samkatu_, "courtesan," whereas in the tale of the primitive man, which was transferred to enkidu, the associate was _harimtu_, a "woman," just as in the genesis tale, the companion of adam is simply called _ishshâ_, "woman." note that in the assyrian parallel (tablet i, , ) we have two readings, _ir-hi_ (imperf.) and a variant _i-ri-hi_ (present). the former is the better reading, as our tablet shows. lines - run parallel to the assyrian version i, , - , with slight variations which have been discussed above, p. , and from which we may conclude that the assyrian version represents an independent redaction. since in our tablet we have presumably the repetition of what may have been in part at least set forth in the first tablet of the old babylonian version, we must not press the parallelism with the first tablet of the assyrian version too far; but it is noticeable nevertheless ( ) that our tablet contains lines - which are not represented in the assyrian version, and ( ) that the second speech of the "woman" beginning, line , with _al-ka_, "come" (just as the first speech, line ), is likewise not found in the first tablet of the assyrian version; which on the other hand contains a line ( ) not in the babylonian version, besides the detailed answer of enkidu (i , - , ). line , which reads "enkidu and the woman went (_il-li-ku_) to walled erech," is also not found in the second tablet of the old babylonian version. line . for _magrû_, "accursed," see the frequent use in astrological texts (jastrow, _religion babyloniens und assyriens_ ii, page , note ). langdon, by his strange error in separating _ma-a-ag-ri-im_ into two words _ma-a-ak_ and _ri-i-im_, with a still stranger rendering: "unto the place yonder of the shepherds!!", naturally misses the point of this important speech. line corresponds to i, , , of the assyrian version, which has an additional line, leading to the answer of enkidu. from here on, our tablet furnishes material not represented in the assyrian version, but which was no doubt included in the second tablet of that version of which we have only a few fragments. line must be interpreted as indicating that the woman kept one garment for herself. _ittalbas_ would accordingly mean, "she kept on." the female dress appears to have consisted of an upper and a lower garment. line . the restoration "like a god" is favored by line , where enkidu is likened to a god, and is further confirmed by l. . line . _gupru_ is identical with _gu-up-ri_ (thompson, _reports of the magicians and astrologers_, etc., rev. and a rev. ), and must be correlated to _gipâru_ (muss-arnolt, _assyrian dictionary_, p. a), "planted field," "meadow," and the like. thompson's translation "men" (as though a synonym of _gabru_) is to be corrected accordingly. line . there is nothing missing between _a-sar_ and _tar-ba-si-im_. line . _ri-ia-ú_, which langdon renders "shepherd," is the equivalent of the arabic _ri'y_ and hebrew re`iy "pasturage," "fodder." we have usually the feminine form _ri-i-tu_ (muss-arnolt, _assyrian dictionary_, p. b). the break at the end of the second column is not serious. evidently enkidu, still accustomed to live like an animal, is first led to the sheepfolds, and this suggests a repetition of the description of his former life. of the four or five lines missing, we may conjecturally restore four, on the basis of the assyrian version, tablet i, , - , or i, , - . this would then join on well to the beginning of column . line . both here and in l. our text has _na-ma-ás-te-e_, as against _nam-mas-si-i_ in the assyrian version, e.g., tablet i, , ; , , etc.,--the feminine form, therefore, as against the masculine. langdon's note on page is misleading. in astrological texts we also find _nam-mas-te_; e.g., thompson, _reports of the magicians and astrologers_, etc., no. , obv. . line . _zi-ma-at_ (for _simat_) _ba-la-ti-im_ is not "conformity of life" as langdon renders, but that which "belongs to life" like _si-mat pag-ri-sá_, "belonging to her body," in the assyrian version iii, a, (jensen, page ). "food," says the woman, "is the staff of life." line . langdon's strange rendering "of the conditions and fate of the land" rests upon an erroneous reading (see the corrections, appendix i), which is the more inexcusable because in line the same ideogram, kàs = _sikaru_, "wine," occurs, and is correctly rendered by him. _simti mâti_ is not the "fate of the land," but the "fixed custom of the land." line . _as-sa-mi-im_ (plural of _assamu_), which langdon takes as an adverb in the sense of "times," is a well-known word for a large "goblet," which occurs in incantation texts, e.g., _ct_ xvi, , obv. , , _mê a-sa-am-mi-e sú-puk_, "pour out goblets of water." line of the passage shoves that _asammu_ is a sumerian loan word. line . _it-tap-sar_, i, , from _pasâru_, "loosen." in combination with _kabtatum_ (from _kabitatum_, yielding two forms: _kabtatum_, by elision of _i_, and _kabittu_, by elision of _a_), "liver," _pasâru_ has the force of becoming cheerful. cf. _ka-bit-ta-ki lip-pa-sir_ (_za_ v., p. , line ). line , note the customary combination of "liver" (_kabtatum_) and "heart" (_libbu_) for "disposition" and "mind," just as in the standing phrase in penitential prayers: "may thy liver be appeased, thy heart be quieted." line . the restoration [lùsÚ]-i = _gallabu_ "barber" (delitzsch, _sumer. glossar_, p. ) was suggested to me by dr. h. f. lutz. the ideographic writing "raising the hand" is interesting as recalling the gesture of shaving or cutting. cf. a reference to a barber in lutz, _early babylonian letters from larsa_, no. , . line . langdon has correctly rendered _suhuru_ as "hair," and has seen that we have here a loan-word from the sumerian suhur = _kimmatu_, "hair," according to the syllabary sb (cf. delitzsch, _sumer. glossar._, p. ). for _kimmatu_, "hair," more specifically hair of the head and face, see holma, _namen der körperteile_, page . the same sign suhur or suh (brünnow no. ), with lal, i.e., "hanging hair," designates the "beard" (_ziknu_, cf. brünnow, no. , and holma, l. c., p. ), and it is interesting to note that we have _suhuru_ (introduced as a loan-word) for the barbershop, according to ii r, , c (= _ct_ xii, ). 	Ê suhur(ra) (i.e., house of the hair) = _sú-hu-ru_. in view of all this, we may regard as assured holma's conjecture to read _sú-[hur-ma-sú]_ in the list obv. (_mvag_ , p. ; and holma, _beiträge z. assyr. lexikon_, p. ), as the akkadian equivalent to suhur-mas-ha and the name of a fish, so called because it appeared to have a double "beard" (cf. holma, _namen der körperteile_). one is tempted, furthermore, to see in the difficult word skyrh (isaiah , ) a loan-word from our _suhuru_, and to take the words 'ethoro's vesa`ar horagelayim "the head and hair of the feet" (euphemistic for the hair around the privates), as an explanatory gloss to the rare word skyrh for "hair" of the body in general--just as in the passage in the pennsylvania tablet. the verse in isaiah would then read, "the lord on that day will shave with the razor the hair (hskyrh), and even the beard will be removed." the rest of the verse would represent a series of explanatory glosses: (a) "beyond the river" (i.e., assyria), a gloss to yegalah (b) "with the king of assyria," a gloss to beta`ar "with a razor;" and (c) "the hair of the head and hair of the feet," a gloss to hskyrh. for "hair of the feet" we have an interesting equivalent in babylonian _su-hur_ (and _sú-hu-ur_) _sêpi_ (_ct_ xii, , - c-d). cf. also boissier, _documents assyriens relatifs aux présages_, p. , - . the babylonian phrase is like the hebrew one to be interpreted as a euphemism for the hair around the male or female organ. to be sure, the change from h to k in hskyrh constitutes an objection, but not a serious one in the case of a loan-word, which would aim to give the _pronunciation_ of the original word, rather than the correct etymological equivalent. the writing with aspirated k fulfills this condition. (cf. _samkatum_ and _samhatum_, above p. ). the passage in isaiah being a reference to assyria, the prophet might be tempted to use a foreign word to make his point more emphatic. to take hskyrh as "hired," as has hitherto been done, and to translate "with a hired razor," is not only to suppose a very wooden metaphor, but is grammatically difficult, since hskyrh would be a feminine adjective attached to a masculine substantive. coming back to our passage in the pennsylvania tablet, it is to be noted that enkidu is described as covered "all over his body with hair" (assyrian version, tablet i, , ) like an animal. to convert him into a civilized man, the hair is removed. line . _mutu_ does not mean "husband" here, as langdon supposes, but must be taken as in l. in the more general sense of "man," for which there is good evidence. line . _la-bi_ (plural form) are "lions"--not "panthers" as langdon has it. the verb _ú-gi-ir-ri_ is from _gâru_, "to attack." langdon by separating _ú_ from _gi-ir-ri_ gets a totally wrong and indeed absurd meaning. see the corrections in the appendix. he takes the sign _ú_ for the copula (!!) which of course is impossible. line . read _us-sa-ak-pu_, iii, , of _sakâpu_, which is frequently used for "lying down" and is in fact a synonym of _salâlu_. see muss-arnolt, _assyrian dictionary_, page a. the original has very clearly síb (= _rê'u_, "shepherd") with the plural sign. the "shepherds of the night," who could now rest since enkidu had killed the lions, are of course the shepherds who were accustomed to watch the flocks during the night. line . _ut-tap-pi-is_ is ii, , _napâsu_, "to make a hole," hence "to plunge" in connection with a weapon. _sib-ba-ri_ is, of course, not "mountain goats," as langdon renders, but a by-form to _sibbiru_, "stick," and designates some special weapon. since on seal cylinders depicting enkidu killing lions and other animals the hero is armed with a dagger, this is presumably the weapon _sibbaru_. line . langdon's translation is again out of the question and purely fanciful. the traces favor the restoration _na-ki-[di-e]_, "shepherds," and since the line appears to be a parallel to line , i venture to suggest at the beginning _[it-ti]-lu_ from _na'âlu_, "lie down"--a synonym, therefore, to _sakâpu_ in line . the shepherds can sleep quietly after enkidu has become the "guardian" of the flocks. in the assyrian version (tablet ii, a, ) enkidu is called a _na-kid_, "shepherd," and in the preceding line we likewise have lùna-kid with the plural sign, i.e., "shepherds." this would point to _nakidu_ being a sumerian loan-word, unless it is _vice versa_, a word that has gone over into the sumerian from akkadian. is perhaps the fragment in question (k ) in the assyrian version (haupt's ed. no. ) the _parallel_ to our passage? if in line of this fragment we could read _sú_ for _sa_, i.e., _na-kid-sú-nu_, "their shepherd, we would have a parallel to line of the pennsylvania tablet, with _na-kid_ as a synonym to _massaru_, "protector." the preceding line would then be completed as follows: 	_[it-ti-lu]-nim-ma na-kidmes_ [ra-bu-tum] (or perhaps only _it-ti-lu-ma_, since the _nim_ is not certain) and would correspond to line of the pennsylvania tablet. inasmuch as the writing on the tiny fragment is very much blurred, it is quite possible that in line we must read _sib-ba-ri_ (instead of _bar-ba-ri_), which would furnish a parallel to line of the pennsylvania tablet. the difference between bar and sib is slight, and the one sign might easily be mistaken for the other in the case of close writing. the continuation of line of the fragment would then correspond to line of the pennsylvania tablet, while line of the fragment might be completed _[re-e]-u-ti(?) sá [mu-si-a-tim]_, though this is by no means certain. the break at the close of column (about lines) and the top of column (about lines) is a most serious interruption in the narrative, and makes it difficult to pick up the thread where the tablet again becomes readable. we cannot be certain whether the "strong man, the unique hero" who addresses some one (lines - ) is enkidu or gish or some other personage, but presumably gish is meant. in the assyrian version, tablet i, , and , we find gilgamesh described as the "unique hero" and in l. of the pennsylvania tablet gish is called "unique," while again, in the assyrian version, tablet i, , and , he is designated as _gasru_ as in our text. assuming this, whom does he address? perhaps the shepherds? in either case he receives an answer that rejoices him. if the fragment of the assyrian version (k ) above discussed is the equivalent to the close of column of the pennsylvania tablet, we may go one step further, and with some measure of assurance assume that gish is told of enkidu's exploits and that the latter is approaching erech. this pleases gish, but enkidu when he sees gish(?) is stirred to anger and wants to annihilate him. at this point, the "man" (who is probably gish, though the possibility of a third personage must be admitted) intervenes and in a long speech sets forth the destiny and higher aims of mankind. the contrast between enkidu and gish (or the third party) is that between the primitive savage and the civilized being. the contrast is put in the form of an opposition between the two. the primitive man is the stronger and wishes to destroy the one whom he regards as a natural foe and rival. on the other hand, the one who stands on a higher plane wants to lift his fellow up. the whole of column , therefore, forms part of the lesson attached to the story of enkidu, who, identified with man in a primitive stage, is made the medium of illustrating how the higher plane is reached through the guiding influences of the woman's hold on man, an influence exercised, to be sure, with the help of her bodily charms. line . _uk-ki-si_ (imperative form) does not mean "take away," as langdon (who entirely misses the point of the whole passage) renders, but on the contrary, "lure him on," "entrap him," and the like. the verb occurs also in the yale tablet, ll. and . line . langdon's note to _lu-us-sú_ had better be passed over in silence. the form is ii. , from _esû_, "destroy." line . since the man whom the woman calls approaches enkidu, the subject of both verbs is the man, and the object is enkidu; i.e., therefore, "the man approaches enkidu and beholds him." line . langdon's interpretation of this line again is purely fanciful. _e-di-il_ cannot, of course, be a "phonetic variant" of _edir_; and certainly the line does not describe the state of mind of the woman. lines - are to be taken as an expression of amazement at enkidu's appearance. the first word appears to be an imperative in the sense of "be off," "away," from _dâlu_, "move, roam." the second word _e-es_, "why," occurs with the same verb _dâlu_ in the meissner fragment: _e-es ta-da-al_ (column , ), "why dost thou roam about?" the verb at the end of the line may perhaps be completed to _ta-hi-il-la-am_. the last sign appears to be _am_, but may be _ma_, in which case we should have to complete simply _ta-hi-il-ma_. _tahîl_ would be the second person present of _hîlu_. cf. _i-hi-il_, frequently in astrological texts, e.g., virolleaud, _adad_ no. , lines and . line . the reading _lim-nu_ at the beginning, instead of langdon's _mi-nu_, is quite certain, as is also _ma-na-ah-ti-ka_ instead of what langdon proposes, which gives no sense whatever. _manahtu_ in the sense of the "toil" and "activity of life" (like `omol throughout the book of ecclesiastes) occurs in the introductory lines to the assyrian version of the epic i, , , _ka-lu ma-na-ah-ti-[su]_, "all of his toil," i.e., all of his career. line . the subject of the verb cannot be the woman, as langdon supposes, for the text in that case, e.g., line , would have said _pi-sá_ ("her mouth") not _pi-sú_ ("his mouth"). the long speech, detailing the function and destiny of civilized man, is placed in the mouth of the man who meets enkidu. in the introduction it has been pointed out that lines and of the speech appear to be due to later modifications of the speech designed to connect the episode with gish. assuming this to be the case, the speech sets forth the following five distinct aims of human life: ( ) establishing a home (line ), ( ) work (line ), ( ) storing up resources (line ), ( ) marriage (line ), ( ) monogamy (line ); all of which is put down as established for all time by divine decree (lines - ), and as man's fate from his birth (lines - ). line . _bi-ti-is e-mu-ti_ is for _bîti sá e-mu-ti_, just as _kab-lu-us ti-a-ma-ti_ (assyrian creation myth, iv, ) stands for _kablu sá tiamti_. cf. _bît e-mu-ti_ (assyrian version, iv, , and ). the end of the line is lost beyond recovery, but the general sense is clear. line . _tu-a-ar_ is a possible reading. it may be the construct of _tu-a-ru_, of frequent occurrence in legal texts and having some such meaning as "right," "claim" or "prerogative." see the passages given by muss-arnolt, _assyrian dictionary_, p. b. line . the reading _uk-la-at_, "food," and then in the wider sense "food supply," "provisions," is quite certain. the fourth sign looks like the one for "city." _e-mi-sa_ may stand for _e-mid-sa_, "place it." the general sense of the line, at all events, is clear, as giving the advice to gather resources. it fits in with the babylonian outlook on life to regard work and wealth as the fruits of work and as a proper purpose in life. line (repeated lines - ) is a puzzling line. to render _piti pûk epsi_ (or _episi_), as langdon proposes, "open, addressing thy speech," is philologically and in every other respect inadmissible. the word _pu-uk_ (which langdon takes for "thy mouth"!!) can, of course, be nothing but the construct form of _pukku_, which occurs in the assyrian version in the sense of "net" (_pu-uk-ku_ i, , and , and also in the colophon to the eleventh tablet furnishing the beginning of the twelfth tablet (haupt's edition no. ), as well as in column , , and column , , of this twelfth tablet). in the two last named passages _pukku_ is a synonym of _mekû_, which from the general meaning of "enclosure" comes to be a euphemistic expression for the female organ. so, for example, in the assyrian creation myth, tablet iv, (synonym of _kablu_, "waist," etc.). see holma, _namen der körperteile_, page . our word _pukku_ must be taken in this same sense as a designation of the female organ--perhaps more specifically the "hymen" as the "net," though the womb in general might also be designated as a "net" or "enclosure." _kak-(si)_ is no doubt to be read _epsi_, as langdon correctly saw; or perhaps better, _episi_. an expression like _ip-si-sú lul-la-a_ (assyrian version, i, , ; also line , _i-pu-us-su-ma lul-la-a_), with the explanation _sipir zinnisti_, "the work of woman" (i.e., after the fashion of woman), shows that _epêsu_ is used in connection with the sexual act. the phrase _pitî pûk episi a-na ha-a-a-ri_, literally "open the net, perform the act for marriage," therefore designates the fulfillment of the marriage act, and the line is intended to point to marriage with the accompanying sexual intercourse as one of the duties of man. while the general meaning is thus clear, the introduction of gish is puzzling, except on the supposition that lines and represent later additions to connect the speech, detailing the advance to civilized life, with the hero. see above, p. _seq._ line . _assat simâtim_ is the "legitimate wife," and the line inculcates monogamy as against promiscuous sexual intercourse. we know that monogamy was the rule in babylonia, though a man could in addition to the wife recognized as the legalized spouse take a concubine, or his wife could give her husband a slave as a concubine. even in that case, according to the hammurabi code, §§ - , the wife retained her status. the code throughout assumes that a man has only _one_ wife--the _assat simâtim_ of our text. the phrase "so" (or "that") before "as afterwards" is to be taken as an idiomatic expression--"so it was and so it should be for all times"--somewhat like the phrase _mahriam ù arkiam_, "for all times," in legal documents (_ct_ viii, c, - ). for the use of _mûk_ see behrens, _assyrisch-babylonische briefe_, p. . line . _i-na bi-ti-ik a-bu-un-na-ti-sú_. another puzzling line, for which langdon proposes "in the work of his presence," which is as obscure as the original. in a note he says that _apunnâti_ means "nostrils," which is certainly wrong. there has been considerable discussion about this term (see holma, _namen der körperteile_, pages and ), the meaning of which has been advanced by christian's discussion in _olz_ , p. . from this it appears that it must designate a part of the body which could acquire a wider significance so as to be used as a synonym for "totality," since it appears in a list of equivalent for dur = _nap-ha-ru_, "totality," _ka-lu-ma_, "all," _a-bu-un-na-tum e-si-im-tum_, "bony structure," and _kul-la-tum_, "totality" (_ct_ xii, , - ). christian shows that it may be the "navel," which could well acquire a wider significance for the body in general; but we may go a step further and specify the "umbilical cord" (tentatively suggested also by christian) as the primary meaning, then the "navel," and from this the "body" in general. the structure of the umbilical cord as a series of strands would account for designating it by a plural form _abunnâti_, as also for the fact that one could speak of a right and left side of the _appunnâti_. to distinguish between the "umbilical cord" and the "navel," the ideograph dur (the common meaning of which is _riksu_, "bond" [delitzsch, _sumer. glossar._, p. ]), was used for the former, while for the latter li dur was employed, though the reading in akkadian in both cases was the same. the expression "with (or at) the cutting of his umbilical cord" would mean, therefore, "from his birth"--since the cutting of the cord which united the child with the mother marks the beginning of the separate life. lines - , therefore, in concluding the address to enkidu, emphasize in a picturesque way that what has been set forth is man's fate for which he has been destined from birth. [see now albright's remarks on _abunnatu_ in the revue d'assyriologie , pp. - , with whose conclusion, however, that it means primarily "backbone" and then "stature," i cannot agree.] in the break of about three lines at the bottom of column , and of about six at the beginning of column , there must have been set forth the effect of the address on enkidu and the indication of his readiness to accept the advice; as in a former passage (line ), enkidu showed himself willing to follow the woman. at all events the two now proceed to the heart of the city. enkidu is in front and the woman behind him. the scene up to this point must have taken place outside of erech--in the suburbs or approaches to the city, where the meadows and the sheepfolds were situated. line . _um-ma-nu-um_ are not the "artisans," as langdon supposes, but the "people" of erech, just as in the assyrian version, tablet iv, , , where the word occurs in connection with _i-dip-pi-ir_, which is perhaps to be taken as a synonym of _pahâru_, "gather;" so also _i-dip-pir_ (tablet i, , ) "gathers with the flock." lines - must have contained the description of enkidu's resemblance to gish, but the lines are too mutilated to permit of any certain restoration. see the corrections (appendix) for a suggested reading for the end of line . line can be restored with considerable probability on the basis of the assyrian version, tablet i, , and , where enkidu is described as one "whose power is strong in the land." lines - . the puzzling word, to be read apparently _kak-ki-a-tum_, can hardly mean "weapons," as langdon proposes. in that case we should expect _kakkê_; and, moreover, to so render gives no sense, especially since the verb _ú-te-el-li-lu_ is without much question to be rendered "rejoiced," and not "purified." _kakkiatum_--if this be the correct reading--may be a designation of erech like _ribîtim_. lines - are again entirely misunderstood by langdon, owing to erroneous readings. see the corrections in the appendix. line . _i-li-im_ in this line is used like hebrew elohîm, "god." line . _sakissum_ = _sakin-sum_, as correctly explained by langdon. line . with this line a new episode begins which, owing to the gap at the beginning of column , is somewhat obscure. the episode leads to the hostile encounter between gish and enkidu. it is referred to in column of the fourth tablet of the assyrian version. lines - --all that is preserved of this column--form in part a parallel to columns - of the pennsylvania tablet, but in much briefer form, since what on the pennsylvania tablet is the incident itself is on the fourth tablet of the assyrian version merely a repeated summary of the relationship between the two heroes, leading up to the expedition against hu(m)baba. lines - of column of the assyrian version correspond to lines - of the pennsylvania tablet, and lines - to lines - . it would seem that gish proceeds stealthily at night to go to the goddess ishhara, who lies on a couch in the _bît êmuti_ , the "family house" assyrian version, tablet iv, . - ). he encounters enkidu in the street, and the latter blocks gish's path, puts his foot in the gate leading to the house where the goddess is, and thus prevents gish from entering. thereupon the two have a fierce encounter in which gish is worsted. the meaning of the episode itself is not clear. does enkidu propose to deprive gish, here viewed as a god (cf. line of the pennsylvania tablet = assyrian version, tablet i, , , "like a god"), of his spouse, the goddess ishhara--another form of ishtar? or are the two heroes, the one a counterpart of the other, contesting for the possession of a goddess? is it in this scene that enkidu becomes the "rival" (_me-ih-rù_, line of the pennsylvania tablet) of the divine gish? we must content ourself with having obtained through the pennsylvania tablet a clearer indication of the occasion of the fight between the two heroes, and leave the further explanation of the episode till a fortunate chance may throw additional light upon it. there is perhaps a reference to the episode in the assyrian version, tablet ii, b, - . line . for _i-na-ag-sá-am_ (from _nagâsu_), langdon proposes the purely fanciful "embracing her in sleep," whereas it clearly means "he approaches." cf. muss-arnolt, _assyrian dictionary_, page a. lines - appear to correspond to tablet iv, , - , of the assyrian version, though not forming a complete parallel. we may therefore supply at the beginning of line of the assyrian version _[ittaziz] enkidu_, corresponding to line of the pennsylvania tablet. line of iv, , certainly appears to correspond to line (_dan-nu-ti_ = _da-na-ni-is-sú_). line . the first sign looks more like _sar_, though _ur_ is possible. line is clearly a description of enkidu, as is shown by a comparison with the assyrian version i, , : _[pi]-ti-ik pi-ir-ti-sú uh-tan-na-ba kima d_nidaba, "the form of his hair sprouted like wheat." we must therefore supply enkidu in the preceding line. tablet iv, , , of the assyrian version also contains a reference to the flowing hair of enkidu. line . for the completion of the line cf. harper, _assyrian and babylonian letters_, no. . line . for _ribîtu mâti_ see the note above to line of column . lines - correspond almost entirely to the assyrian version iv, , - . the variations _ki-ib-su_ in place of _sêpu_, and _kima lîm_, "like oxen," instead of _ina bâb êmuti_ (repeated from line ), _ana surûbi_ for _êribam_, are slight though interesting. the assyrian version shows that the "gate" in line is "the gate of the family house" in which the goddess ishhara lies. lines - . the detailed description of the fight between the two heroes is only partially preserved in the assyrian version. line . _li-i-im_ is evidently to be taken as plural here as in line , just as _su-ki-im_ (lines and ), _ri-bi-tim_ (lines , , etc.), _tarbasim_ (line ), _assamim_ (line ) are plural forms. our text furnishes, as does also the yale tablet, an interesting illustration of the vacillation in the hammurabi period in the twofold use of _im_: (a) as an indication of the plural (as in hebrew), and (b) as a mere emphatic ending (lines , , and ), which becomes predominant in the post-hammurabi age. line . gilgamesh is often represented on seal cylinders as kneeling, e.g., ward seal cylinders nos. , , . cf. also assyrian version v, , , where gilgamesh is described as kneeling, though here in prayer. see further the commentary to the yale tablet, line . line . we must of course read _uz-za-sú_, "his anger," and not _us-sa-sú_, "his javelin," as langdon does, which gives no sense. line . langdon's note is erroneous. he again misses the point. the stem of the verb here as in line (_i-ni-ih_) is the common _nâhu_, used so constantly in connection with _pasâhu_, to designate the cessation of anger. line . _istên_ applied to gish designates him of course as "unique," not as "an ordinary man," as langdon supposes. line . on this title "wild cow of the stall" for ninsun, see poebel in _olz_ , page , to whom we owe the correct view regarding the name of gilgamesh's mother. line . _mu-ti_ here cannot mean "husband," but "man" in general. see above note to line . langdon's strange misreading _ri-es-su_ for _ri-es-ka_ ("thy head") leads him again to miss the point, namely that enkidu comforts his rival by telling him that he is destined for a career above that of the ordinary man. he is to be more than a mere prize fighter; he is to be a king, and no doubt in the ancient sense, as the representative of the deity. this is indicated by the statement that the kingship is decreed for him by enlil. similarly, hu(m)baba or huwawa is designated by enlil to inspire terror among men (assyrian version, tablet iv, , and ), _i-sim-sú d_enlil = yale tablet, l. , where this is to be supplied. this position accorded to enlil is an important index for the origin of the epic, which is thus shown to date from a period when the patron deity of nippur was acknowledged as the general head of the pantheon. this justifies us in going back several centuries at least before hammurabi for the beginning of the gilgamesh story. if it had originated in the hammurabi period, we should have had marduk introduced instead of enlil. line . as has been pointed out in the corrections to the text (appendix), _sú-tu-ur_ can only be iii, , from _atâru_, "to be in excess of." it is a pity that the balance of the line is broken off, since this is the first instance of a colophon beginning with the term in question. in some way _sutûr_ must indicate that the copy of the text has been "enlarged." it is tempting to fill out the line _sú-tu-ur e-li [duppi labiri]_, and to render "enlarged from an original," as an indication of an independent recension of the epic in the hammurabi period. all this, however, is purely conjectural, and we must patiently hope for more tablets of the old babylonian version to turn up. the chances are that some portions of the same edition as the yale and pennsylvania tablets are in the hands of dealers at present or have been sold to european museums. the war has seriously interfered with the possibility of tracing the whereabouts of groups of tablets that ought never to have been separated. yale tablet. transliteration. (about ten lines missing.) col. i. 	.................. [ib]-ri(?) 	[mi-im-ma(?) sá(?)]-kú-tu wa(?)-ak-rum 	[am-mi-nim] ta-ah-si-ih 	[an-ni]-a-am [e-pi]-sá-am 	...... mi-im[-ma sá-kú-tu(?)]ma- 	di-is 	[am-mi]-nim [tah]-si-ih 	[ur(?)]-ta-du-ú [a-na ki-i]s-tim 	si-ip-ra-am it-[ta-sú]-ú i-na [nisê] 	it-ta-ás-sú-ú-ma 	i-pu-sú ru-hu-tam 	.................. us-ta-di-nu 	............................. bu 	............................... (about lines missing.) 	.............. nam-........ 	.................... u ib-[ri] ..... 	.............. ú-na-i-du ...... 	[zi-ik]-ra-am ú-[tí-ir]-ru 	[a-na] ha-ri-[im]-tim 	[i]-pu(?)-sú a-na sa-[ka]-pu-ti col. ii. (about eleven lines missing.) 	... sú(?)-mu(?) ............... 	ma-hi-ra-am [sá i-si-sú] 	sú-uk-ni-sum-[ma] ............... 	la-al-la-ru-[tu] .................. 	um-mi d-[gis mu-di-a-at ka-la-ma] 	i-na ma-[har dsamas i-di-sá is-si] 	sá ú 	i-na- an(?)-[na am-mi-nim] 	ta-[as-kun(?) a-na ma-ri-ia li-ib-bi la] 	sa-[li-la te-mid-su] 	............................. (about four lines missing.) 	i-na [sá den-ki-du im-la-a] di-[im-tam] 	il-[pu-ut li]-ib-ba-sú-[ma] 	[zar-bis(?)] us-ta-ni-[ih] 	[i-na sá den]-ki-du im-la-a di-im-tam 	[il-pu-ut] li-ib-ba-sú-ma 	[zar-bis(?)] us-ta-ni-[ih] 	[dgis ú-ta]-ab-bil pa-ni-sú 	[iz-za-kar-am] a-na den-ki-du 	[ib-ri am-mi-nim] i-na-ka 	[im-la-a di-im]-tam 	[il-pu-ut li-ib-bi]-ka 	[zar-bis tu-us-ta]-ni-ih 	[den-ki-du pi-sú i-pu-sá]-am-ma 	iz-za-[kàr-am] a-na dgis 	ta-ab-bi-a-tum ib-ri 	us-ta-li-pa da- [ ]da-ni-ia 	a-ha-a-a ir-ma-a-ma 	e-mu-ki i-ni-is 	dgis pi-sú i-pu-sá-am-ma 	iz-za-kàr-am a-na den-ki-du (about four lines missing.) col. iii. 	..... [a-di dhu]-wa-wa da-pi-nu 	.................. ra-[am(?)-ma] 	................ [ú-hal]- li-ik 	[lu-ur-ra-du a-na ki-is-ti sá] iserini 	............ lam(?) hal-bu 	............ [li]-li-is-su 	.............. lu(?)-up-ti-sú 	den-ki-du pi-sú i-pu-sá-am-ma 	iz-za-kàr-am a-na dgis 	i-di-ma ib-ri i-na sadî(-i) 	i-nu-ma at-ta-la-ku it-ti bu-lim 	a-na istên(-en) kas-gíd-ta-a-an nu-ma-at ki-is-tum 	[e-di-is(?)] ur-ra-du a-na libbi-sá 	d[hu-wa]-wa ri-ig-ma-sú a-bu-bu 	pi-[sú] dbil-gi-ma 	na-pi-is-sú mu-tum 	am-mi-nim ta-ah-si-ih 	an-ni-a-am e-pi-sá-am 	ga-[ba]-al-la ma-ha-ar 	[sú]-pa-at dhu-wa-wa 	(d)gis pi-sú i-pu-sá-am-ma 	[iz-za-k]àr-am a-na den-ki-du 	....... su(?)-lu-li a-sá-ki [ ]-sá 	............. [i-na ki-is]-tim 	............................... 	ik(?) ......................... 	a-na .......................... 	mu-sá-ab [dhu-wa-wa] ....... 	ha-as-si-nu ................. 	at-ta	lu(?) ................. 	a-na-ku lu-[ur-ra-du a-na ki-is-tim] 	den-ki-du pi-sú i-pu-[sá-am-ma] 	iz-za-kàr-am a-na [dgis] 	ki-i ni[il]-la-ak [is-te-nis(?)] 	a-na ki-is-ti [sá iserini] 	na-si-ir-sá dgis muk-[tab-lu] 	da-a-an la sa[-li-lu(?)] 	dhu-wa-wa dpi-ir-[hu sa (?)] 	dadad is .......... 	sú-ú .................. col. iv. 	ás-súm sú-ul-lu-m[u ki-is-ti sáiserini] 	pu-ul-hi-a-tim [sú(?) i-sim-sú denlil] 	dgis pi-sú i-pu [sá-am-ma] 	iz-za-kàr-am a-na [den-ki-du] 	ma-an-nu ib-ri e-lu-ú sá-[ru-ba(?)] 	i-tib-ma it-ti dsamas da-ri-is ú-[me-sú] 	a-we-lu-tum ba-ba-nu ú-tam-mu-sá-[ma] 	mi-im-ma sá i-te-ni-pu-sú sá-ru-ba 	at-ta an-na-nu-um-ma ta-dar mu-tam 	ul is-sú da-na-nu kar-ra-du-ti-ka 	lu-ul-li-ik-ma i-na pa-ni-ka 	pi-ka li-is-si-a-am ti-hi-e ta-du-ur 	sum-ma am-ta-ku-ut sú-mi lu-us-zi-iz 	dgis mi [ ]-it-ti dhu-wa-wa da-pi-nim 	il(?)-ku-ut is-tu 	i-wa-al-dam-ma tar-bi-a i-na sam-mu(?) il(?) 	is-hi-it-ka-ma la-bu ka-la-ma ti-di 	it- ku(?) ..... [il(?)]-pu-tu-(?) ma ..... 	.............. ka-ma 	.............. si pi-ti 	............ ki-ma re'i(?) na-gi-la sa-rak-ti 	.... [ta-sá-s]i-a-am tu-lim-mi-in li-ib-bi 	[ga-ti lu]-us-ku-un-ma 	[lu-u-ri]-ba-am iserini 	[sú-ma sá]-ta-ru-ú a-na-ku lu-us-ta-ak-na 	[pu-tu-ku(?)] ib-ri a-na ki-is-ka-tim lu-mu-ha 	[be-le-e li-is-]-pu-ku i-na mah-ri-ni 	[pu-tu]-ku a-na ki-is-ka-ti-i i-mu-hu 	wa-ás-bu us-ta-da-nu um-mi-a-nu 	pa-si is-pu-ku ra-bu-tim 	ha-as-si-ni biltu-ta-a-an is-tap-ku 	pa-at-ri is-pu-ku ra-bu-tim 	me-se-li-tum biltu-ta-a-an 	si-ip-ru ma-na-ta-a-an sá a-hi-si-na 	isid(?) pa-at-ri ma-na-ta-a-an hurasi 	[d]gis ù [den-ki-]du biltu-ta-a-an sá-ak-nu] 	.... ul-la . .[uruk]ki i-di-il-sú 	...... is-me-ma um-ma-nu ib-bi-ra 	[us-te-(?)]-mi-a i-na sûki sá urukki ri-bi-tim 	...... [u-se(?)]-sa-sú dgis 	[ina sûki sá(?) urukki] ri-bi-tim 	[den-ki-du(?) ú]-sá-ab i-na mah-ri-sú 	..... [ki-a-am(?) i-ga]-ab-bi 	[........ urukki ri]-bi-tim 			[ma-ha-ar-sú] col. v. 	dgis sá i-ga-ab-bu-ú lu-mu-ur 	sá sú-um-sú it-ta-nam-ma-la ma-ta-tum 	lu-uk-sú-su-ma i-na ki-is-ti iserini 	ki-ma da-an-nu pi-ir-hu-um sá urukki 	lu-si-es-mi ma-tam 	ga-ti lu-us-ku-un-ma lu-uk-[sú] [ ]-su-ma iserini 	sú-ma sá-ta-ru-ú a-na-ku lu-us-tak-nam 	si-bu-tum sá urukki ri-bi-tim 	zi-ik-ra ú-ti-ir-ru a-na dgis 	si-ih-ri-ti-ma dgis libbi-ka na-si-ka 	mi-im-ma sá te-te-ni-pu-sú la ti-di 	ni-si-im-me-ma dhu-wa-wa sá-nu-ú bu-nu-sú 	ma-an-nu-um [us-tam]-ha-ru ka-ak-ki-sú 	a-na istên(-en) [kas-gíd-ta-a]-an nu-ma-at kisti 	ma-an-nu sá [ur-ra]-du a-na libbi-sá 	dhu-wa-wa ri-ig-ma-sú a-bu-bu 	pi-sú dbil-gi-ma na-pi-su mu-tum 	am-mi-nim tah-si-ih an-ni-a-am e-pi-sá 	ga-ba-al-la ma-ha-ar sú-pa-at dhu-wa-wa 	is-me-e-ma dgis zi-ki-ir ma-li-[ki]-sú 	ip-pa-al-sa-am-ma i-si-ih a-na ib-[ri-sú] 	i-na-an-na ib-[ri] ki-a-am [a-ga-ab-bi] 	a-pa-al-ah-sú-ma a-[al-la-ak a-na kisti] 	[lu]ul-[lik it-ti-ka a-na ki-is-ti iserini(?)] (about five lines missing.) 	........................ -ma 	li ............... -ka 	ilu-ka li(?) ..............-ka 	harrana li-sá-[tir-ka a-na sú-ul-mi] 	a-na kar sá [urukki ri-bi-tim] 	ka-mi-is-ma dgis [ma-ha-ar dsamas(?)] 	a-wa-at i-ga-ab- [bu-sú-ma] 	a-al-la-ak dsamas katâ-[ka a-sa-bat] 	ul-la-nu lu-us-li-ma na-pi-[is-ti] 	te-ir-ra-an-ni a-na kar i-[na urukki] 	si-il-[la]m sú-ku-un [a-na ia-a-si(?)] 	is-si-ma dgis ib-[ri.....] 	te-ir-ta-sú .......... 	is(?) .............. 	tam ................ 	........................ 	i-nu(?)-[ma] .................. (about two lines missing.) col. vi. 	[a-na-ku] dgis [i-ik]-ka-di ma-tum 	........... harrana sá la al-[kam] ma-ti-ma 	.... a-ka-lu ..... la(?) i-di 	[ul-la-nu] lu-us-li-[mu] a-na-ku 	[lu-ud-lul]-ka i-na [h]u-ud li-ib-bi 	...... [sú]-ku-ut-[ti] la-li-ka 	[lu-se-sib(?)] - ka i-na kussêmes 	....................... ú-nu-su 	[bêlêmes(?)ú-ti-ir]-ru ra-bu-tum 	[ka-as-tum] ù is-pa-tum 	[i-na] ga-ti is-ku-nu 	[il-]te-ki pa-si 	....... -ri is-pa-as-su 	..... [a-na] ili sá-ni-tam 	[it-ti pa(?)] - tar-[sú] i-na si-ip-pi-sú 	........ i-ip-pu-sú a-la-kam 	[sa]-nis ú-ga-ra-bu dgis 	[a-di ma]-ti tu-ut-te-ir a-na libbi urukki 	[si-bu]-tum i-ka-ra-bu-sú 	[a-na] harrani i-ma-li-ku dgis 	[la t]a-at-kal dgis a-na e-[mu]-ki-ka 	[a-]ka-lu sú-wa-ra-ma ú-sur ra-ma-an-ka 	[li]-il-lik den-ki-du i-na pa-ni-ka 	[ur-ha]-am a-we-ir a-lik harrana(-na) 	[a-di] sá kisti ni-ri-bi-tim 	[sá(?)] [d]hu-wa-wa ka-li-sú-nu si-ip-pi-ih(?)-sú 	[sa(?)a-lik] mah-ra tap-pa-a ú-sá-lim 	[harrana](-na)-sú sú-wa-ra-[ma ú-sur ra-ma-na-ka] 	[li-sak-sid]-ka ir-[ni-ta]-ka dsamas 	[ta]-ak-bi-a-at pi-ka li-kal-li-ma i-na-ka 	li-ip-ti-ku pa-da-nam pi-hi-tam 	harrana li-is-ta-zi-ik a-na ki-ib-si-ka 	sá-di-a li-is-ta-zi-ik a-na sêpi-ka 	mu-si-it-ka aw-a-at ta-ha-du-ú 	li-ib-la-ma dlugal-ban-da li-iz-zi-iz-ka 	i-na ir-ni-ti-ka 	ki-ma si-ih-ri ir-ni-ta-ka-ma lus-mida(-da) 	i-na na-ri sá dhu-wa-wa sá tu-sa-ma-ru 	mi-zi si-pi-ka 	i-na bat-ba-ti-ka hi-ri bu-ur-tam 	lu-ka-a-a-nu mê ellu i-na na-di-ka 	[ka-]su-tim me-e a-na dsamas ta-na-di 	[li-is]ta-ha-sa-as dlugal-ban-da 	[den-ki-]du pi-su i-pu-sá-am-ma, iz-za-kàr a-na dgis 	[is(?)]-tu(?) ta-ás-dan-nu e-pu-us a-la-kam 	[la pa]la-ah libbi-ka ia-ti tu-uk-la-ni 	[sú-ku-]un i-di-a-am sú-pa-as-su 	[harrana(?)]sá dhu-wa-wa it-ta-la-ku 	.......... ki-bi-ma te-[ir]-sú-nu-ti (three lines missing.) l.e. 	.............. nam-ma-la 	............... il-li-ku it-ti-ia 	............... ba-ku-nu-si-im 	......... [ul]-la(?)-nu i-na hu-ud li-ib-bi 	[i-na se-me-e] an-ni-a ga-ba-sú 	e-dis harrana(?) us-te-[zi-ik] 	a-lik dgis lu-[ul-lik a-na pa-ni-ka] 	li-lik il-ka .......... 	li-sá-ak-lim-[ka harrana] ...... 	dgis ù[den-ki-du] ....... 	mu-di-es .......... 	bi-ri-[su-nu] ........ translation. (about ten lines missing.) col. i. 	.................. (my friend?) 	[something] that is exceedingly difficult, 	[why] dost thou desire 	[to do this?] 	.... something (?) that is very [difficult (?)], 	[why dost thou] desire 	[to go down to the forest]? 	a message [they carried] among [men] 	they carried about. 	they made a .... 	.............. they brought 	.............................. 	.............................. (about lines missing.) 	............................. 	................... my friend 	................ they raised ..... 	answer [they returned.] 	[to] the woman 	they proceeded to the overthrowing col. ii. (about eleven lines missing.) 	.......... name(?) ............. 	[the one who is] a rival [to him] 	subdue and ................ 	wailing ................ 	the mother [of gish, who knows everything] 	before [shamash raised her hand] 	who 	now(?) [why] 	hast thou stirred up the heart for my son, 	[restlessness imposed upon him (?)] 	............................ (about four lines missing.) 	the eyes [of enkidu filled with tears]. 	[he clutched] his heart; 	[sadly(?)] he sighed. 	[the eyes of en]kidu filled with tears. 	[he clutched] his heart; 	[sadly(?)] he sighed. 	the face [of gish was grieved]. 	[he spoke] to enkidu: 	["my friend, why are] thy eyes 	[filled with tears]? 	thy [heart clutched] 	dost thou sigh [sadly(?)]?" 	[enkidu opened his mouth] and 	spoke to gish: 	"attacks, my friend, 	have exhausted my strength(?). 	my arms are lame, 	my strength has become weak." 	gish opened his mouth and 	spoke to enkidu: (about four lines missing.) col. iii. 	..... [until] huwawa, [the terrible], 	........................ 	............ [i destroyed]. 	[i will go down to the] cedar forest, 	................... the jungle 	............... tambourine (?) 	................ i will open it. 	enkidu opened his mouth and 	spoke to gish: 	"know, my friend, in the mountain, 	when i moved about with the cattle 	to a distance of one double hour into the heart of the forest, 	[alone?] i penetrated within it, 	[to] huwawa, whose roar is a flood, 	whose mouth is fire, 	whose breath is death. 	why dost thou desire 	to do this? 	to advance towards 	the dwelling(?) of huwawa?" 	gish opened his mouth and 	[spoke to enkidu: 	"... [the covering(?)] i will destroy. 	....[in the forest] 	.................... 	.................... 	to ................. 	the dwelling [of huwawa] 	the axe .......... 	thou .......... 	i will [go down to the forest]." 	enkidu opened his mouth and 	spoke to [gish:] 	"when [together(?)] we go down 	to the [cedar] forest, 	whose guardian, o warrior gish, 	a power(?) without [rest(?)], 	huwawa, an offspring(?) of .... 	adad ...................... 	he ........................ col. iv. 	to keep safe [the cedar forest], 	[enlil has decreed for it] seven-fold terror." 	gish [opened] his mouth and 	spoke to [enkidu]: 	"whoever, my friend, overcomes (?) [terror(?)], 	it is well (for him) with shamash for the length of [his days]. 	mankind will speak of it at the gates. 	wherever terror is to be faced, 	thou, forsooth, art in fear of death. 	thy prowess lacks strength. 	i will go before thee. 	though thy mouth calls to me; "thou art afraid to approach." 	if i fall, i will establish my name. 	gish, the corpse(?) of huwawa, the terrible one, 	has snatched (?) from the time that 	my offspring was born in ...... 	the lion restrained (?) thee, all of which thou knowest. 	........................ 	.............. thee and 	................ open (?) 	........ like a shepherd(?) ..... 	[when thou callest to me], thou afflictest my heart. 	i am determined 	[to enter] the cedar forest. 	i will, indeed, establish my name. 	[the work(?)], my friend, to the artisans i will entrust. 	[weapons(?)] let them mould before us." 	[the work(?)] to the artisans they entrusted. 	a dwelling(?) they assigned to the workmen. 	hatchets the masters moulded: 	axes of talents each they moulded. 	lances the masters moulded; 	blades(?) of talents each, 	a spear of mina each attached to them. 	the hilt of the lances of mina in gold 	gish and [enki]du were equipped with talents each 	.......... in erech seven its .... 	....... the people heard and .... 	[proclaimed(?)] in the street of erech of the plazas. 	..... gis [brought him out(?)] 	[in the street (?)] of erech of the plazas 	[enkidu(?)] sat before him 	..... [thus] he spoke: 	"........ [of erech] of the plazas 	............ [before him] col. v. 	gish of whom they speak, let me see! 	whose name fills the lands. 	i will lure him to the cedar forest, 	like a strong offspring of erech. 	i will let the land hear (that) 	i am determined to lure (him) in the cedar (forest) [ ]. 	a name i will establish." 	the elders of erech of the plazas 	brought word to gish: 	"thou art young, o gish, and thy heart carries thee away. 	thou dost not know what thou proposest to do. 	we hear that huwawa is enraged. 	who has ever opposed his weapon? 	to one [double hour] in the heart of the forest, 	who has ever penetrated into it? 	huwawa, whose roar is a deluge, 	whose mouth is fire, whose breath is death. 	why dost thou desire to do this? 	to advance towards the dwelling (?) of huwawa?" 	gish heard the report of his counsellors. 	he saw and cried out to [his] friend: 	"now, my friend, thus [i speak]. 	i fear him, but [i will go to the cedar forest(?)]; 	i will go [with thee to the cedar forest]. (about five lines missing.) 	.............................. 	may ................... thee 	thy god may (?) ........ thee; 	on the road may he guide [thee in safety(?)]. 	at the rampart of [erech of the plazas], 	gish kneeled down [before shamash(?)], 	a word then he spoke [to him]: 	"i will go, o shamash, [thy] hands [i seize hold of]. 	when i shall have saved [my life], 	bring me back to the rampart [in erech]. 	grant protection [to me ?]!" 	gish cried, "[my friend] ...... 	his oracle .................. 	........................ 	........................ 	........................ 	when (?) (about two lines missing.) col. vi. 	"[i(?)] gish, the strong one (?) of the land. 	...... a road which i have never [trodden]; 	........ food ...... do not (?) know. 	[when] i shall have succeeded, 	[i will praise] thee in the joy of my heart, 	[i will extol (?)] the superiority of thy power, 	[i will seat thee] on thrones." 	.................. his vessel(?) 	the masters [brought the weapons (?)]; 	[bow] and quiver 	they placed in hand. 	[he took] the hatchet. 	................. his quiver. 	..... [to] the god(?) a second time 	[with his lance(?)] in his girdle, 	......... they took the road. 	[again] they approached gish! 	"[how long] till thou returnest to erech?" 	[again the elders] approached him. 	[for] the road they counselled gis: 	"do [not] rely, o gish, on thy strength! 	provide food and save thyself! 	let enkidu go before thee. 	he is acquainted with the way, he has trodden the road 	[to] the entrance of the forest. 	of huwawa all of them his ...... 	[he who goes] in advance will save the companion. 	provide for his [road] and [save thyself]! 	(may) shamash [carry out] thy endeavor! 	may he make thy eyes see the prophecy of thy mouth. 	may he track out (for thee) the closed path! 	may he level the road for thy treading! 	may he level the mountain for thy foot! 	during thy night [ ] the word that wilt rejoice 	may lugal-banda convey, and stand by thee 	in thy endeavor! 	like a youth may he establish thy endeavor! 	in the river of huwawa as thou plannest, 	wash thy feet! 	round about thee dig a well! 	may there be pure water constantly for thy libation 	goblets of water pour out to shamash! 	[may] lugal-banda take note of it!" 	[enkidu] opened his mouth and spoke to gish: 	"[since thou art resolved] to take the road. 	thy heart [be not afraid,] trust to me! 	[confide] to my hand his dwelling(?)!" 	[on the road to] huwawa they proceeded. 	....... command their return (three lines missing.) l.e. 	............... were filled. 	.......... they will go with me. 	............................... 	.................. joyfully. 	[upon hearing] this word of his, 	alone, the road(?) [he levelled]. 	"go, o gish [i will go before thee(?)]. 	may thy god(?) go ......... 	may he show [thee the road !] ..... 	gish and [enkidu] 	knowingly .................... 	between [them] ................ lines - (also line ). see for the restoration, lines - . line . for the restoration, see jensen, p. (tablet iii, a, .) lines - . restored on the basis of the assyrian version, _ib_. line . line . cf. assyrian version, tablet iv, , , and restore at the end of this line _di-im-tam_ as in our text, instead of jensen's conjecture. lines , and . the restoration _zar-bis_, suggested by the assyrian version, tablet iv, , . lines and . cf. assyrian version, tablet viii, , . line . _(ú-ta-ab-bil_ from _abâlu_, "grieve" or "darkened." cf. _us-ta-kal_ (assyrian version, _ib_. line ), where, perhaps, we are to restore _it-ta-[bil pa-ni-sú]_. line . _us-ta-li-pa_ from _elêpu_, "exhaust." see muss-arnolt, _assyrian dictionary_, p. a. line . cf. assyrian version, _ib_. line , and restore the end of the line there to _i-ni-is_, as in our text. line . for _dapinu_ as an epithet of huwawa, see assyrian version, tablet iii, a, , and a, . _dapinu_ occurs also as a description of an ox (rm , bezold, _catalogue of the kouyunjik tablets_, etc., p. ). line . the restoration on the basis of _ib._ iii, a, . lines - may possibly form a parallel to _ib_. lines - , which would then read about as follows: "until i overcome huwawa, the terrible, and all the evil in the land i shall have destroyed." at the same time, it is possible that we are to restore _[lu-ul]-li-ik_ at the end of line . line . _lilissu_ occurs in the assyrian version, tablet iv, , . line . for _halbu_, "jungle," see assyrian version, tablet v, , (p. ). lines - . these lines enable us properly to restore assyrian version, tablet iv, , = haupt's edition, p. (col. , ). no doubt the text read as ours _mu-tum_ (or _mu-u-tum_) _na-pis-su_. line . _supatu_, which occurs again in line and also line ._sú-pa-as-su_ (= _supat-su_) must have some such meaning as "dwelling," demanded by the context. [dhorme refers me to _olz_ , p. ]. line . restored on the basis of the assyrian version, tablet iv, , . line . the restoration _muktablu_, tentatively suggested on the basis of ct xviii, , b, where _muktablu_, "warrior," appears as one of the designations of gilgamesh, followed by _a-lik pa-na_, "the one who goes in advance," or "leader"--the phrase so constantly used in the huwawa episode. line . cf. assyrian version, tablet i, , - . lines - . these two lines restored on the basis of jensen iv, , and . the variant in the assyrian version, _sá nise_ (written ukumes in one case and lumes in the other), for the numeral in our text to designate a terror of the largest and most widespread character, is interesting. the number is similarly used as a designation of gilgamesh, who is called _esigga imin_, "seven-fold strong," i.e., supremely strong (ct xviii, , - ). similarly, enkidu, _ib._ line , is designated _a-rá imina_, "seven-fold." line . a difficult line because of the uncertainty of the reading at the beginning of the following line. the most obvious meaning of _mi-it-tu_ is "corpse," though in the assyrian version _salamtu_ is used (assyrian version, tablet v, , ). on the other hand, it is possible--as dr. lutz suggested to me--that _mittu_, despite the manner of writing, is identical with _mittú_, the name of a divine weapon, well-known from the assyrian creation myth (tablet iv, ), and other passages. the combination _mit-tu sá-ku-ú-_, "lofty weapon," in the bilingual text iv, r , no. , - , would favor the meaning "weapon" in our passage, since _[sá]-ku-tu_ is a possible restoration at the beginning of line . however, the writing _mi-it-ti_ points too distinctly to a derivative of the stem _mâtu_, and until a satisfactory explanation of lines - is forthcoming, we must stick to the meaning "corpse" and read the verb _il-ku-ut_. line . the context suggests "lion" for the puzzling _la-bu_. line . another puzzling line. dr. clay's copy is an accurate reproduction of what is distinguishable. at the close of the line there appears to be a sign written over an erasure. line . _[ga-ti lu-]us-kun_ as in line , literally, "i will place my hand," i.e., i purpose, i am determined. line . the restoration on the basis of the parallel line . note the interesting phrase, "writing a name" in the sense of acquiring "fame." line . the _kiskattê_, "artisans," are introduced also in the assyrian version, tablet vi, , to look at the enormous size and weight of the horns of the slain divine bull. see for other passages muss-arnolt _assyrian dictionary_, p. b. at the beginning of this line, we must seek for the same word as in line . line . while the restoration _belê_, "weapon," is purely conjectural, the context clearly demands some such word. i choose _belê_ in preference to _kakkê_, in view of the assyrian version, tablet vi, . line . _putuku_ (or _putukku_) from _patâku_ would be an appropriate word for the fabrication of weapons. line . the _rabûtim_ here, as in line , i take as the "master mechanics" as contrasted with the _ummianu_, "common workmen," or journeymen. a parallel to this forging of the weapons for the two heroes is to be found in the sumerian fragment of the gilgamesh epic published by langdon, _historical and religious texts from the temple library of nippur_ (munich, ), no. , - . lines - describe the forging of the various parts of the lances for the two heroes. the _sipru_ is the spear point muss-arnolt, _assyrian dictionary_, p. b; the _isid patri_ is clearly the "hilt," and the _meselitum_ i therefore take as the "blade" proper. the word occurs here for the first time, so far as i can see. for minas, see assyrian version, tablet vi, , as the weight of the two horns of the divine bull. each axe weighing _biltu_, and the lance with point and hilt _biltu_ we would have to assume _biltu_ for each _pasu_, so as to get a total of _biltu_ as the weight of the weapons for each hero. the lance is depicted on seal cylinders representing gilgamesh and enkidu, for example, ward, _seal cylinders_, no. , and also in nos. and in the field, with the broad hilt; and in an enlarged form in no. . note the clear indication of the hilt. the two figures are gilgamesh and enkidu--not two gilgameshes, as ward assumed. see above, page . a different weapon is the club or mace, as seen in ward, nos. and . this appears also to be the weapon which gilgamesh holds in his hand on the colossal figure from the palace of sargon (jastrow, _civilization of babylonia and assyria_, pl. lvii), though it has been given a somewhat grotesque character by a perhaps intentional approach to the scimitar, associated with marduk (see ward, _seal cylinders_, chap. xxvii). the exact determination of the various weapons depicted on seal-cylinders merits a special study. line . begins a speech of huwawa, extending to line , reported to gish by the elders (line - ), who add a further warning to the youthful and impetuous hero. line . _lu-uk-sú-su_ (also l. ), from _akâsu_, "drive on" or "lure on," occurs on the pennsylvania tablet, line , _uk-ki-si_, "lure on" or "entrap," which langdon erroneously renders "take away" and thereby misses the point completely. see the comment to the line of the pennsylvania tablet in question. line . on the phrase _sanû bunu_, "change of countenance," in the sense of "enraged," see the note to the pennsylvania tablet, l. . line . _nu-ma-at_ occurs in a tablet published by meissner, _altbabyl. privatrecht_, no. , with _bît abi_, which shows that the total confine of a property is meant; here, therefore, the "interior" of the forest or heart. it is hardly a "by-form" of _nuptum_ as muss-arnolt, _assyrian dictionary_, p. b, and others have supposed, though _nu-um-tum_ in one passage quoted by muss-arnolt, _ib._ p. a, may have arisen from an aspirate pronunciation of the _p_ in _nubtum_. line . the kneeling attitude of prayer is an interesting touch. it symbolizes submission, as is shown by the description of gilgamesh's defeat in the encounter with enkidu (pennsylvania tablet, l. ), where gilgamesh is represented as forced to "kneel" to the ground. again in the assyrian version, tablet v, , , gilgamesh kneels down (though the reading _ka-mis_ is not certain) and has a vision. line . it is much to be regretted that this line is so badly preserved, for it would have enabled us definitely to restore the opening line of the assyrian version of the gilgamesh epic. the fragment published by jeremias in his appendix to his _izdubar-nimrod_, plate iv, gives us the end of the colophon line to the epic, reading ......... _di ma-a-ti_ (cf. _ib._, pl. i, . ... _a-ti_). our text evidently reproduces the same phrase and enables us to supply _ka_, as well as the name of the hero gish of which there are distinct traces. the missing word, therefore, describes the hero as the ruler, or controller of the land. but what are the two signs before _ka_? a participial form from _pakâdu_, which one naturally thinks of, is impossible because of the _ka_, and for the same reason one cannot supply the word for shepherd (_nakidu_). one might think of _ka-ak-ka-du_, except that _kakkadu_ is not used for "head" in the sense of "chief" of the land. i venture to restore _[i-ik-]ka-di_, "strong one." our text at all events disposes of haupt's conjecture _is-di ma-a-ti_ (_jaos_ , p. ), "bottom of the earth," as also of ungnad's proposed _[a-di pa]-a-ti_, "to the ends" (ungnad-gressmann, _gilgamesch-epos_, p. , note), or a reading _di-ma-a-ti_, "pillars." the first line of the assyrian version would now read 	_sá nak-ba i-mu-ru [d_gis-gi(n)-mas i-ik-ka]-di ma-a-ti, i.e., "the one who saw everything, gilgamesh the strong one (?) of the land." we may at all events be quite certain that the name of the hero occurred in the first line and that he was described by some epithet indicating his superior position. lines - are again an address of gilgamesh to the sun-god, after having received a favorable "oracle" from the god (line ). the hero promises to honor and to celebrate the god, by erecting thrones for him. lines - describe the arming of the hero by the "master" craftsman. in addition to the _pasu_ and _patru_, the bow (?) and quiver are given to him. line is paralleled in the new fragment of the assyrian version published by king in _psba_ , page (col. , ), except that this fragment adds _gi-mir_ to _e-mu-ki-ka_. lines - correspond to column , - , of king's fragment, with interesting variations "battle" and "fight" instead of "way" and "road," which show that in the interval between the old babylonian and the assyrian version, the real reason why enkidu should lead the way, namely, because he knows the country in which huwawa dwells (lines - ), was supplemented by describing enkidu also as being more experienced in battle than gilgamesh. line . i am unable to furnish a satisfactory rendering for this line, owing to the uncertainty of the word at the end. can it be "his household," from the stem which in hebrew gives us misepohoh "family?" line . is paralleled by col. , , of king's new fragment. the episode of gish and enkidu proceeding to ninsun, the mother of gish, to obtain her counsel, which follows in king's fragment, appears to have been omitted in the old babylonian version. such an elaboration of the tale is exactly what we should expect as it passed down the ages. line . our text shows that _irnittu_ (lines , , ) means primarily "endeavor," and then success in one's endeavor, or "triumph." lines - . do not appear to refer to rites performed after a victory, as might at a first glance appear, but merely voice the hope that gish will completely take possession of huwawa's territory, so as to wash up after the fight in huwawa's own stream; and the hope is also expressed that he may find pure water in huwawa's land in abundance, to offer a libation to shamash. line . _on sú-pa-as-su_ = _supat-su_, see above, to l. . [note on sabitum (above, p. ) in a communication before the oriental club of philadelphia (feb. , ), prof. haupt made the suggestion that _sa-bi-tum_ (or _tu_), hitherto regarded as a proper name, is an epithet describing the woman who dwells at the seashore which gilgamesh in the course of his wanderings reaches, as an "innkeeper". it is noticeable that the term always appears without the determinative placed before proper names; and since in the old babylonian version (so far as preserved) and in the assyrian version, the determinative is invariably used, its consistent absence in the case of _sabitum_ (assyrian version, tablet x, , , , , ; , - [_sa-bit_]; meissner fragment col. , - ) speaks in favor of professor haupt's suggestion. the meaning "innkeeper", while not as yet found in babylonian-assyrian literature is most plausible, since we have _sabu_ as a general name for 'drink', though originally designating perhaps more specifically sesame wine (muss-arnolt, assyrian dictionary, p. b) or distilled brandy, according to prof. haupt. similarly, in the aramaic dialects, _se_bha is used for "to drink" and in the pael to "furnish drink". muss-arnolt in his assyrian dictionary, b, has also recognized that _sabitum_ was originally an epithet and compares the aramaic _se_bhoyâthâ(p ) "barmaids". in view of the bad reputation of inns in ancient babylonia as brothels, it would be natural for an epithet like _sabitum_ to become the equivalent to "public" women, just as the inn was a "public" house. sabitum would, therefore, have the same force as _samhatu_ (the "harlot"), used in the gilgamesh epic by the side of _harimtu_ "woman" (see the note to line of pennsylvania tablet). the sumerian term for the female innkeeper is sal gestinna "the woman of the wine," known to us from the hammurabi code §§ - . the bad reputation of inns is confirmed by these statutes, for the house of the sal gestinna is a gathering place for outlaws. the punishment of a female devotee who enters the "house of a wine woman" (bît sal gestinna § ) is death. it was not "prohibition" that prompted so severe a punishment, but the recognition of the purpose for which a devotee would enter such a house of ill repute. the speech of the _sabitum_ or innkeeper to gilgamesh (above, p. ) was, therefore, an invitation to stay with her, instead of seeking for life elsewhere. viewed as coming from a "public woman" the address becomes significant. the invitation would be parallel to the temptation offered by the _harimtu_ in the first tablet of the enkidu, and to which enkidu succumbs. the incident in the tablet would, therefore, form a parallel in the adventures of gilgamesh to the one that originally belonged to the enkidu cycle. finally, it is quite possible that _sabitum_ is actually the akkadian equivalent of the sumerian sal gestinna, though naturally until this equation is confirmed by a syllabary or by other direct evidence, it remains a conjecture. see now also albright's remarks on sabitum in the a. j. s. l. , pp. _seq._] corrections to the text of langdon's edition of the pennsylvania tablet. [ ] column . . read _it-lu-tim_ ("heroes") instead of _id-da-tim_ ("omens"). . read _ka-ka-bu_ instead of _ka-ka-'a_. this disposes of langdon's note on p. . read _ú-ni-is-sú-ma_, "i became weak" (from _enêsu_, "weak") instead of _ilam is-sú-ma_, "he bore a net"(!). this disposes of langdon's note on page . . read _urukki_ instead of _ad-ki_. langdon's note is wrong. . langdon's note is wrong. _ú-um-mid-ma pu-ti_ does not mean "he attained my front." . read _ab-ba-la-ás-sú_ instead of _at-ba-la-ás-sú_. . read _mu-di-a-at_ instead of _mu-u-da-a-at_. . read _ta-ha-du_ instead of an impossible _[sa]-ah-ha-ta_--two mistakes in one word. supply _kima sal_ before _tahadu_. . read _ás-sú_ instead of _sú_; and at the end of the line read _[tu-ut]-tu-ú-ma_ instead of _sú-ú-zu_. . read _ta-tar-ra-[as-su]_. . read _[us]-ti-nim-ma_ instead of _[is]-ti-lam-ma_. . read at the beginning _sá_ instead of _ina_. . langdon's text and transliteration of the first word do not tally. read _ha-as-si-nu_, just as in line . . read _ah-ta-du_ ("i rejoiced") instead of _ah-ta-ta_. column . . read at the end of the line _di-da-sá(?) ip-tí-[e]_ instead of _di-?-al-lu-un_ (!). . supply _d_en-ki-du at the beginning. traces point to this reading. . read _[gi]-it-ma-[lu]_ after _d_gis, as suggested by the assyrian version, tablet i, , , where _emûku_ ("strength") replaces _nepistu_ of our text. . read _at-[ta kima sal ta-ha]-bu-[ub]-sú_. . read _ta-[ra-am-sú ki-ma]_. . read as one word _ma-a-ag-ri-i-im_ ("accursed"), spelled in characteristic hammurabi fashion, instead of dividing into two words _ma-a-ak_ and _ri-i-im_, as langdon does, who suggests as a translation "unto the place yonder(?) of the shepherd"(!). . read _im-ta-har_ instead of _im-ta-gar_. . supply _ili_(?) after _ki-ma_. . read _sá-ri-i-im_ as one word. . read _i-na [ás]-ri-sú [im]-hu-ru_. . traces at beginning point to either _ù_ or _ki_ (= _itti_). restoration of lines - (perhaps to be distributed into five lines) on the basis of the assyrian version, tablet i, , - . column . . read _kàs_ (= _sikaram_, "wine") _si-ti_, "drink," as in line , instead of _bi-is-ti_, which leads langdon to render this perfectly simple line "of the conditions and the fate of the land"(!). . read _it-tam-ru_ instead of _it-ta-bir-ru_. . supply _[lù_sú]-i. . read _ú-gi-ir-ri_ from _garû_ ("attack), instead of separating into _ú_ and _gi-ir-ri_, as langdon does, who translates "and the lion." the sign used can _never_ stand for the copula! nor is _girru_, "lion!" . read _síbmes_, "shepherds," instead of _sab-[si]-es_! . _sib-ba-ri_ is not "mountain goat," nor can _ut-tap-pi-is_ mean "capture." the first word means "dagger," and the second "he drew out." . read _it-ti-[lu] na-ki-[di-e]_, instead of _itti immer nakie_ which yields no sense. langdon's rendering, even on the basis of his reading of the line, is a grammatical monstrosity. . read _gis_ instead of _wa_. . read perhaps _a-na [na-ki-di-e i]- za-ak-ki-ir_. column . . the first sign is clearly _iz_, not _ta_, as langdon has it in note on page . . the fourth sign is _su_, not _sú_. . separate _e-es_ ("why") from the following. read _ta-hi-[il]_, followed, perhaps, by _la_. the last sign is not certain; it may be _ma_. . read _lim-nu_ instead of _mi-nu_. in the same line read _a-la-ku ma-na-ah-[ti]-ka_ instead of _a-la-ku-zu_(!) _na-ah ... ma_, which, naturally, langdon cannot translate. . read _e-lu-tim_ instead of _pa-a-ta-tim_. the first sign of the line, _tu_, is not certain, because apparently written over an erasure. the second sign may be _a_. some one has scratched the tablet at this point. . read _uk-la-at âli_ (?) instead of _ug-ad-ad-lil_, which gives no possible sense! column . . read _[wa]-ar-ki-sú_. . read _i-ta-wa-a_ instead of _i-ta-me-a_. the word _pi-it-tam_ belongs to line ! the sign _pi_ is unmistakable. this disposes of note on p. . . read mi = _salmu_, "image." this disposes of langdon's note on page . of six notes on this page, four are wrong. . the first sign appears to be _si_ and the second _ma_. at the end we are perhaps to supply _[sá-ki-i pu]-uk-ku-ul_, on the basis of the assyrian version, tablet iv, , , _sá-ki-i pu-[uk-ku-ul]_. . traces at end of line suggest _i-pa(?)-ka-du_. . read _i-[na mâti da-an e-mu]-ki i-wa_. . read _ur-sá-nu_ instead of _ip-sá-nu_. . read _i-sá-ru_ instead of _i-tu-ru_. . the reading _it-ti_ after _d_gis is suggested by the traces. . read _in-ni-[ib-bi-it]_ at the end of the line. . read _ip-ta-ra-[as a-la]-ak-tam_ at the end of the line, as in the assyrian version, tablet iv, , . . the conjectural restoration is based on the assyrian version, tablet iv, , . column . . read _i-na si-ri-[sú]_. . supply _[il-li-ik]_. . langdon's text has a superfluous _ga_. . read _uz-za-sú_, "his anger," instead of _us-sa-sú_, "his javelin" (!). . read _i-ni-ih i-ra-as-su_, i.e., "his breast was quieted," in the sense of "his anger was appeased." . read _ri-es-ka_ instead of _ri-es-su_. in general, it should be noted that the indications of the number of lines missing at the bottom of columns - and at the top of columns - as given by langdon are misleading. nor should he have drawn any lines at the bottom of columns - as though the tablet were complete. besides in very many cases the space indications of what is missing within a line are inaccurate. dr. langdon also omitted to copy the statement on the edge: _ sú-si_, i.e., " lines;" and in the colophon he mistranslates _sú-tu-ur_, "written," as though from _satâru_, "write," whereas the form is the permansive iii, , of _atâru_, "to be in excess of." the sign _tu_ never has the value _tu_! in all, langdon has misread the text or mistransliterated it in over forty places, and of the preserved lines he has mistranslated about one-half. notes [ ] see for further details of this royal library, jastrow, _civilization of babylonia and assyria_, p. _seq_. [ ] _das babylonische nimrodepos_ (leipzig, - ), supplemented by haupt's article _die zwölfte tafel des babylonischen nimrodepos_ in _ba_ i, pp. - , containing the fragments of the twelfth tablet. the fragments of the epic in ashurbanapal's library--some sixty--represent portions of several copies. sin-likî-unnini--perhaps from erech, since this name appears as that of a family in tablets from erech (see clay, _legal documents from erech_, index, p. )--is named in a list of texts (k --haupt's edition no. , line ) as the editor of the epic, though probably he was not the only compiler. since the publication of haupt's edition, a few fragments were added by him as an appendix to alfred jeremias _izdubar-nimrod_ (leipzig, ) plates ii-iv, and two more are embodied in jensen's transliteration of all the fragments in the _keilinschriftliche bibliothek_ vi; pp. - , with elaborate notes, pp. - . furthermore a fragment, obtained from supplementary excavations at kouyunjik, has been published by l. w. king in his _supplement to the catalogue of the cuneiform tablets in the kouyunjik collection of the british cuneiform tablets in the kouyunjik collection of the british museum_ no. and _psba_ vol. , pp. - . recently a fragment of the th tablet from the excavations at assur has been published by ebeling, _keilschrifttexte aus assur religiösen inhalts_ no. , and one may expect further portions to turn up. the designation "nimrod epic" on the supposition that the hero of the babylonian epic is identical with nimrod, the "mighty hunter" of genesis , has now been generally abandoned, in the absence of any evidence that the babylonian hero bore a name like nimrod. for all that, the description of nimrod as the "mighty hunter" and the occurrence of a "hunter" in the babylonian epic (assyrian version tablet i)--though he is not the hero--points to a confusion in the hebrew form of the borrowed tradition between gilgamesh and nimrod. the latest french translation of the epic is by dhorme, _choix de textes religieux assyro-babyloniens_ (paris, ), pp. - ; the latest german translation by ungnad-gressmann, _das gilgamesch-epos_ (göttingen, ), with a valuable analysis and discussion. these two translations now supersede jensen's translation in the _keilinschriftliche bibliothek_, which, however, is still valuable because of the detailed notes, containing a wealth of lexicographical material. ungnad also gave a partial translation in gressmann-ranke, _altorientalische texte and bilder_ i, pp. - . in english, we have translations of substantial portions by muss-arnolt in harper's _assyrian and babylonian literature_ (new york, ), pp. - ; by jastrow, _religion of babylonia and assyria_ (boston, ), chap. xxiii; by clay in _light on the old testament from babel_, pp. - ; by rogers in _cuneiform parallels to the old testament_, pp. - ; and most recently by jastrow in _sacred books and early literature of the east_ (ed. c. f. horne, new york, ), vol. i, pp. - . [ ] see luckenbill in _jaos_, vol. , p. _seq._ prof. clay, it should be added, clings to the older reading, hammurabi, which is retained in this volume. [ ] _za_, vol. , pp. - . [ ] the survivor of the deluge is usually designated as ut-napishtim in the epic, but in one passage (assyrian version, tablet xi, ), he is designated as atra-hasis "the very wise one." similarly, in a second version of the deluge story, also found in ashurbanapal's library (iv r additions, p. , line ). the two names clearly point to two versions, which in accordance with the manner of ancient compositions were merged into one. see an article by jastrow in _za_, vol. , pp. - . [ ] published by scheil in _recueil des travaux_, etc. vol. , pp. - . [ ] the text does not form part of the gilgamesh epic, as the colophon, differing from the one attached to the epic, shows. [ ] _ein altbabylonisches fragment des gilgamosepos_ (_mvag_ , no. ). [ ] on these variant forms of the two names see the discussion below, p. . [ ] the passage is paralleled by ecc. , - . see jastrow, _a gentle cynic_, p. _seq._ [ ] among the nippur tablets in the collection of the university of pennsylvania museum. the fragment was published by dr. poebel in his _historical and grammatical texts_ no. . see also poebel in the _museum journal_, vol. iv, p. , and an article by dr. langdon in the same journal, vol. vii, pp. - , though langdon fails to credit dr. poebel with the discovery and publication of the important tablet. [ ] no. in langdon's _historical and religious texts from the temple library of nippur_ (munich, ). [ ] no. in his _sumerian liturgical texts_. (philadelphia, ) [ ] see on this name below, p. . [ ] see further below, p. _seq_. [ ] see poebel, _historical and grammatical texts_, no. , and jastrow in _jaos_, vol. , pp. - and - . [ ] see an article by jastrow, _sumerian and akkadian views of beginnings_ (_jaos_ vol. , pp. - ). [ ] see on this point eduard meyer, _sumerier und semiten in babylonien_ (berlin, ), p. _seq_., whose view is followed in jastrow, _civilization of babylonia and assyria_, p. . see also clay, _empire of the amorites_ (yale university press, ), p. _et seq_. [ ] see the discussion below, p. _seq_. [ ] dr. poebel published an article on the tablet in _olz_, , pp. - , in which he called attention to the correct name for the mother of gilgamesh, which was settled by the tablet as ninsun. [ ] _historical texts_ no. , column , . see the discussion in _historical and grammatical texts_, p. , _seq._ [ ] see fostat in _olz_, , p. . [ ] _publications of the university of pennsylvania museum, babylonian section_, vol. x, no. (philadelphia, ). it is to be regretted that dr. langdon should not have given full credit to dr. poebel for his discovery of the tablet. he merely refers in an obscure footnote to dr. poebel's having made a copy. [ ] e.g., in the very first note on page , and again in a note on page . [ ] dr. langdon neglected to copy the signs _ sú-si_ = which appear on the edge of the tablet. he also misunderstood the word _sú-tu-ur_ in the colophon which he translated "written," taking the word from a stem _satâru_, "write." the form _sú-tu-ur_ is iii, , from _atâru_, "to be in excess of," and indicates, presumably, that the text is a copy "enlarged" from an older original. see the commentary to the colophon, p. . [ ] _museum journal_, vol. viii, p. . [ ] see below, p. . [ ] i follow the enumeration of tablets, columns and lines in jensen's edition, though some fragments appear to have been placed by him in a wrong position. [ ] according to bezold's investigation, _verbalsuffixformen als alterskriterien babylonisch-assyrischer inschriften_ (heidelberg akad. d. wiss., philos.-histor. klasse, , te abhandlung), the bulk of the tablets in ashurbanapal's library are copies of originals dating from about b.c. it does not follow, however, that all the copies date from originals of the same period. bezold reaches the conclusion on the basis of various forms for verbal suffixes, that the fragments from the ashurbanapal library actually date from three distinct periods ranging from before c. to c. b.c. [ ] "before thou comest from the mountain, gilgamesh in erech will see thy dreams," after which the dreams are recounted by the woman to enkidu. the expression "thy dreams" means here "dreams about thee." (tablet i, , - ). [ ] lines - . [ ] in a paper read before the american oriental society at new haven, april , . [ ] see the commentary to col. of the yale tablet for further details. [ ] this is no doubt the correct reading of the three signs which used to be read iz-tu-bar or gish-du-bar. the first sign has commonly the value gish, the second can be read gin or gi (brünnow no. ) and the third mash as well as bar. see ungnad in ungnad-gressmann, _das gilgamesch-epos_, p. , and poebel, _historical and grammatical texts_, p. . [ ] so also in sumerian (zimmern, _sumerische kultlieder aus altbabylonischer zeit_, no. , rev. and .) [ ] the sign used, lum (brünnow no. ), could have the value hu as well as hum. [ ] the addition "father-in-law of moses" to the name hobab b. re'uel in this passage must refer to re'uel, and not to hobab. in judges , , the gloss "of the bene hobab, the father-in-law of moses" must be separated into two: ( ) "bene hobab," and ( ) "father-in-law of moses." the latter addition rests on an erroneous tradition, or is intended as a brief reminder that hobab is identical with the son of re'uel. [ ] see his _list of personal names from the temple school of nippur_, p. . _hu-um-ba-bi-tu_ and _si-kin hu-wa-wa_ also occur in omen texts (_ct_ xxvii, , - = pl. , = pl. , - = _ct_ xxviii, , ). the contrast to _huwawa_ is _ligru_, "dwarf" (_ct_ xxvii, , and = pl. , . = pl. , ). see jastrow, _religion babyloniens und assyriens_, ii, p. , note . huwawa, therefore, has the force of "monster." [ ] ungnad-gressmann, _das gilgamesch-epos_, p. _seq._ [ ] ungnad, . c. p. , called attention to this name, but failed to draw the conclusion that hu(m)baba therefore belongs to the west and not to the east. [ ] first pointed out by ungnad in _olz_ , p. , on the basis of _ct_ xviii, , , where en-gi-dú appears in the column furnishing _phonetic_ readings. [ ] see clay _amurru_, pp. , , etc. [ ] tablet i, , - ; , - and - ; , - . [ ] tablet i, , and ix, , . note also the statement about gilgamesh that "his body is flesh of the gods" (tablet ix, , ; x, , ). [ ] _bor_ iv, p. . [ ] lewin, _die scholien des theodor bar koni zur patriarchengeschichte_ (berlin, ), p. . see gressmann in ungnad-gressmann, _das gilgamesch-epos_, p. , who points out that the first element of glmgvs compared with the second of gmygmvs gives the exact form that we require, namely, gilgamos. [ ] tablet i, col. , is taken up with this episode. [ ] see poebel, _historical and grammatical texts_, p. . [ ] see poebel, _historical texts_ no. , col. , . [ ] hilprecht, _old babylonian inscriptions_ i, no. . [ ] delitzsch, _assyrische lesestücke_, p. , vi, - . cf. also _ct_ xxv, (k ) , where we must evidently supply [esigga]-tuk, for which in the following line we have again gish-bil-ga-mesh as an equivalent. see meissner, _olz_ , . [ ] see, e.g., barton, _haverford collection_ ii no. , col. i, , etc. [ ] deimel, _pantheon babylonicum_, p. . [ ] _ct_ xii, (k ) obv. . [ ] see barton, _origin and development of babylonian writing_, ii, p. _seq._, for various explanations, though all centering around the same idea of the picture of fire in some form. [ ] see the passages quoted by poebel, _historical and grammatical texts_, p. . [ ] e.g., genesis , , jabal, "the father of tent-dwelling and cattle holding;" jubal ( , ), "the father of harp and pipe striking." [ ] see particularly the plays (in the j. document) upon the names of the twelve sons of jacob, which are brought forward either as tribal characteristics, or as suggested by some incident or utterance by the mother at the birth of each son. [ ] the designation is variously explained by arabic writers. see beidhawi's _commentary_ (ed. fleischer), to súra , . [ ] the writing gish-gi-mash as an approach to the pronunciation gilgamesh would thus represent the beginning of the artificial process which seeks to interpret the first syllable as "hero." [ ] see above, p. . [ ] poebel, _historical texts_, p. _seq_. [ ] many years ago (_ba_ iii, p. ) i equated etana with ethan in the old testament--therefore a west semitic name. [ ] see clay, _the empire of the amorites_, p. . [ ] professor clay strongly favors an amoritic origin also for gilgamesh. his explanation of the name is set forth in his recent work on _the empire of the amorites_, page , and is also referred to in his work on _amurru_, page , and in his volume of _miscellaneous inscriptions in the yale babylonian collection_, page , note. according to professor clay the original form of the hero's name was west semitic, and was something like _bilga-mash_, the meaning of which was perhaps "the offspring of mash." for the first element in this division of the name cf. pilikam, the name of a ruler of an early dynasty, and balak of the old testament. in view of the fact that the axe figures so prominently in the epic as an instrument wielded by gilgamesh, professor clay furthermore thinks it reasonable to assume that the name was interpreted by the babylonian scribe as "the axe of mash." in this way he would account for the use of the determinative for weapons, which is also the sign gish, in the name. it is certainly noteworthy that the ideogram gish-tún in the later form of _gish-tún-mash_ = _pasu_, "axe," _ct_ xvi, : b, etc. _tun_ also = _pilaku_ "axe," _ct_ xii, : b. names with similar element (besides pilikam) are belaku of the hammurabi period, bilakku of the cassite period, etc. it is only proper to add that professor jastrow assumes the responsibility for the explanation of the form and etymology of the name gilgamesh proposed in this volume. the question is one in regard to which legitimate differences of opinion will prevail among scholars until through some chance a definite decision, one way or the other, can be reached. [ ] _me-ih-rù_ (line ). [ ] tablet i, , . cf. i, , and . [ ] tablet iv, , and i, , . [ ] assyrian version, tablet ii, b , in an address of shamash to enkidu. [ ] so assyrian version, tablet viii, , . also supplied viii, , and ; and x, , - and , - . [ ] tablet xii, , . [ ] ward, _seal cylinders of western asia_, chap. x, and the same author's _cylinders and other ancient oriental seals_--morgan collection nos. - . [ ] e.g., ward no. , enkidu has human legs like gilgamesh; also no. , where it is difficult to say which is gilgamesh, and which is enkidu. the clothed one is probably gilgamesh, though not infrequently gilgamesh is also represented as nude, or merely with a girdle around his waist. [ ] e.g., ward, nos. , , , , as well as and . [ ] on the other hand, in ward nos. and , the conflict between the two heroes is depicted with the heroes distinguished in more conventional fashion, enkidu having the hoofs of an animal, and also with a varying arrangement of beard and hair. [ ] see jastrow, _religion of babylonia and assyria_ (boston, ), p. _seq._ [ ] ungnad-gressmann, _das gilgamesch-epos_, p. _seq._ [ ] pennsylvania tablet, l. = assyrian version, tablet iv, , . [ ] "enkidu blocked the gate" (pennsylvania tablet, line ) = assyrian version tablet iv, , : "enkidu interposed his foot at the gate of the family house." [ ] pennsylvania tablet, lines and . [ ] yale tablet, line ; also to be supplied lines - . [ ] yale tablet, lines and . [ ] _psba_ , _seq._ = jensen iii, a, - , which can now be completed and supplemented by the new fragment. [ ] i.e., enkidu will save gilgamesh. [ ] these two lines impress one as popular sayings--here applied to enkidu. [ ] king's fragment, col. i, - , which now enables us to complete jensen iii, a, - . [ ] yale tablet, lines - . [ ] yale tablet, lines - = assyrian version, tablet iv, , _seq._ [ ] assyrian version, tablet iii, a, - . [ ] lines - . [ ] assyrian version, tablet v, columns - . we have to assume that in line of column (jensen, p. ), enkidu takes up the thread of conversation, as is shown by line : "enkidu brought his dream to him and spoke to gilgamesh." [ ] assyrian version, tablet vi, lines - . [ ] lines - . [ ] lines - . [ ] tablet vii, column . [ ] assyrian version, tablet vi, - . these words are put into the mouth of gilgamesh (lines - ). it is, therefore, unlikely that he would sing his own praise. both jensen and ungnad admit that enkidu is to be supplied in at least one of the lines. [ ] lines and . [ ] assyrian version, tablet ix, , - . [ ] tablet viii, , - . [ ] so also gressmann in ungnad-gressmann, _das gilgamesch-epos_, p. , regards enkidu as the older figure. [ ] see jastrow, _adam and eve in babylonian literature, ajsl_, vol. , pp. - . [ ] assyrian version, tablet i, , - . [ ] it will be recalled that enkidu is always spoken of as "born in the field." [ ] note the repetition _ibtani_ "created" in line of the "man of anu" and in line of the offspring of ninib. the creation of the former is by the "heart," i.e., by the will of aruru, the creation of the latter is an act of moulding out of clay. [ ] tablet i, column . [ ] following as usual the enumeration of lines in jensen's edition. [ ] an analogy does not involve a dependence of one tale upon the other, but merely that both rest on similar traditions, which _may_ have arisen independently. [ ] note that the name of eve is not mentioned till after the fall (genesis , ). before that she is merely _ishsha_, i.e., "woman," just as in the babylonian tale the woman who guides enkidu is _harimtu_, "woman." [ ] "and he drank and became drunk" (genesis , ). [ ] "his heart became glad and his face shone" (pennsylvania tablet, lines - ). [ ] that in the combination of this enkidu with tales of primitive man, inconsistent features should have been introduced, such as the union of enkidu with the woman as the beginning of a higher life, whereas the presence of a hunter and his father shows that human society was already in existence, is characteristic of folk-tales, which are indifferent to details that may be contradictory to the general setting of the story. [ ] pennsylvania tablet, lines - . [ ] line . [ ] tablet i, , . see also the reference to the wall of erech as an "old construction" of gilgamesh, in the inscription of an-am in the days of sin-gamil (hilprecht, _old babylonian inscriptions_, i, no. .) cf iv r , , . [ ] the invariable designation in the assyrian version as against _uruk ribîtim_, "erech of the plazas," in the old babylonian version. [ ] in ungnad-gressmann, _das gilgamesch-epos_, p. _seq._ [ ] see jensen, p. . gilgamesh is addressed as "judge," as the one who inspects the divisions of the earth, precisely as shamash is celebrated. in line of the hymn in question, gilgamesh is in fact addressed as shamash. [ ] the darkness is emphasized with each advance in the hero's wanderings (tablet ix, col. ). [ ] this tale is again a nature myth, marking the change from the dry to the rainy season. the deluge is an annual occurrence in the euphrates valley through the overflow of the two rivers. only the canal system, directing the overflow into the fields, changed the curse into a blessing. in contrast to the deluge, we have in the assyrian creation story the drying up of the primeval waters so that the earth makes its appearance with the change from the rainy to the dry season. the world is created in the spring, according to the akkadian view which is reflected in the biblical creation story, as related in the p. document. see jastrow, _sumerian and akkadian views of beginnings_ (_jaos_, vol , p. seq.). [ ] as-am in sumerian corresponding to the akkadian sabatu, which conveys the idea of destruction. [ ] the month is known as the "mission of ishtar" in sumerian, in allusion to another nature myth which describes ishtar's disappearance from earth and her mission to the lower world. [ ] _historical texts_ no. . the sumerian name of the survivor is zi-u-gíd-du or perhaps zi-u-su-du (cf. king, _legends of babylon and egypt_, p. , note ), signifying "he who lengthened the day of life," i.e., the one of long life, of which ut-napishtim ("day of life") in the assyrian version seems to be an abbreviated akkadian rendering, with the omission of the verb. so king's view, which is here followed. see also _ct_ xviii, , , and langdon, _sumerian epic of paradise_, p. , who, however, enters upon further speculations that are fanciful. [ ] see the translation in ungnad-gressmann, _das gilgamesch-epos_, pp. , _seq._ and . [ ] according to professor clay, quite certainly amurru, just as in the case of enkidu. [ ] gressmann in ungnad-gressmann, _das gilgamesch-epos_, p. _seq._ touches upon this _motif_, but fails to see the main point that the companions are also twins or at least brothers. hence such examples as abraham and lot, david and jonathan, achilles and patroclus, eteokles and polyneikes, are not parallels to gilgamesh-enkidu, but belong to the _enlargement_ of the _motif_ so as to include companions who are _not_ regarded as brothers. [ ] or romus. see rendell harris, l. c., p. , note . [ ] one might also include the primeval pair yama-yami with their equivalents in iranian mythology (carnoy, _iranian mythology_, p. _seq._). [ ] becoming, however, a triad and later increased to seven. cf. rendell harris, l. c., p. . [ ] i am indebted to my friend, professor a. j. carnoy, of the university of louvain, for having kindly gathered and placed at my disposal material on the "twin-brother" _motif_ from indo-european sources, supplemental to rendell harris' work. [ ] on the other hand, _uruk mâtum_ for the district of erech, i.e., the territory over which the city holds sway, appears in both versions (pennsylvania tablet, . = assyrian version i, , ). [ ] "my likeness" (line ). it should be noted, however, that lines - of i, , in jensen's edition are part of a fragment k (not published, but merely copied by bezold and johns, and placed at jensen's disposal), which may represent a _duplicate_ to i, , - , with which it agrees entirely except for one line, viz., line of k which is not found in column , - . if this be correct, then there is lacking after line of column , the interpretation of the dream given in the pennsylvania tablet in lines - . [ ] _ina sap-li-ki_, literally, "below thee," whereas in the old babylonian version we have _ana si-ri-ka_, "towards thee." [ ] repeated i, , . [ ] _ul-tap-rid ki-is-su-sú-ma_. the verb is from _parâdu_, "violent." for _kissu_, "strong," see _ct_ xvi, , - . langdon (_gilgamesh epic_, p. , note ) renders the phrase: "he shook his murderous weapon!!"--another illustration of his haphazard way of translating texts. [ ] shown by the colophon (jeremias, _izdubar-nimrod_, plate iv.) [ ] lines - must be taken as part of the narrative of the compiler, who tells us that after the woman had informed enkidu that gilgamesh already knew of enkidu's coming through dreams interpreted by ninsun, gilgamesh actually set out and encountered enkidu. [ ] tablet i, col. . see also above, p. . [ ] iv, , - . the word _ullanum_, (l. ) "once" or "since," points to the following being a reference to a former recital, and not an original recital. [ ] only the lower half (haupt's edition, p. ) is preserved. [ ] "the eyes of enkidu were filled with tears," corresponding to iv, , . [ ] unless indeed the number "seven" is a slip for the sign sa. see the commentary to the line. [ ] i.e., paid homage to the meteor. [ ] i.e., the heroes of erech raised me to my feet, or perhaps in the sense of "supported me." [ ] i.e., enkidu. [ ] i.e., "thy way of life." [ ] i.e., the man. [ ] i.e., an idiomatic phrase meaning "for all times." [ ] i.e., enkidu became like gish, godlike. cf. col. , . [ ] he was thrown and therefore vanquished. [ ] epithet given to ninsun. see the commentary to the line. [ ] scribal error for _an_. [ ] text apparently _di_. [ ] hardly _ul_. [ ] omitted by scribe. [ ] _kisti_ omitted by scribe. [ ] i.e., at night to thee, may lugal-banda, etc. [ ] the enumeration here is according to langdon's edition. this ebook was produced by jc byers. text scanned by jc byers and proofread by the distributed proofers. the "aldine" edition of the arabian nights entertainments illustrated by s. l. wood from the text of dr. jonathan scott in four volumes volume london pickering and chatto contents of volume iv. the story of the enchanted horse the story of prince ahmed, and the fairy perie banou the story of the sisters who envied their younger sister story of the three sharpers and the sultan the adventures of the abdicated sultan history of mahummud, sultan of cairo story of the first lunatic story of the second lunatic story of the retired sage and his pupil, related to the sultan by the second lunatic story of the broken-backed schoolmaster story of the wry-mouthed schoolmaster story of the sisters and the sultana their mother story of the bang-eater and the cauzee story of the bang-eater and his wife the sultan and the traveller mhamood al hyjemmee the koord robber story of the husbandman story of the three princes and enchanting bird story of a sultan of yemen and his three sons story of the first sharper in the cave history of the sultan of hind story of the fisherman's son story of abou neeut and abou neeuteen; or, the well-intentioned and the double-minded adventure of a courtier, related by himself to his parton, an ameer of egypt story of the prince of sind, and fatima, daughter of amir bin naomaun story of the lovers of syria; or, the heroine story of hyjauje, the tyrannical governor of coufeh, and the young syed story of ins alwujjood and wird al ikmaun, daughter of ibrahim, vizier to sultan shamikh the adventures of mazin of khorassaun story of the sultan the dervish, and the barber's son adventures of aleefa daughter of mherejaun sultan of hind, and eusuff, son of sohul, sultan of sind adventures of the three princes, sons of the sultan of china story of the good vizier unjustly imprisoned story of the lady of cairo and her four gallants the cauzee's story story of the merchant, his daughter, and the prince of eerauk adventures of the cauzee, his wife, &c the sultan's story of himself conclusion the story of the enchanted horse. the nooroze, or the new day, which is the first of the year and spring, is observed as a solemn festival throughout all persia, which has been continued from the time of idolatry; and our prophet's religion, pure as it is, and true as we hold it, has not been able to abolish that heathenish custom, and the superstitious ceremonies which are observed, not only in the great cities, but celebrated with extraordinary rejoicings in every little town, village, and hamlet. but the rejoicings are the most splendid at the court, for the variety of new and surprising spectacles, insomuch that strangers are invited from the neighbouring states, and the most remote parts, by the rewards and liberality of the sovereign, towards those who are the most excellent in their invention and contrivance. in short, nothing in the rest of the world can compare with the magnificence of this festival. one of these festival days, after the most ingenious artists of the country had repaired to sheerauz, where the court then resided, had entertained the king and all the court with their productions, and had been bountifully and liberally rewarded according to their merit and to their satisfaction by the monarch; when the assembly was just breaking up, a hindoo appeared at the foot of the throne, with an artificial horse richly caparisoned, and so naturally imitated, that at first sight he was taken for a living animal. the hindoo prostrated himself before the throne; and pointing to the horse, said to the emperor, "though i present myself the last before your majesty, yet i can assure you that nothing shewn to-day is so wonderful as this horse, on which i beg your majesty would be pleased to cast your eyes." "i see nothing more in the horse," said the emperor, "than the natural resemblance the workman has given him; which the skill of another workman may possibly execute as well or better." "sir," replied the hindoo, "it is not for his outward form and appearance that i recommend my horse to your majesty's examination as wonderful, but the use to which i can apply him, and which, when i have communicated the secret to them, any other persons may make of him. whenever i mount him, be it where it may, if i wish to transport myself through the air to the most distant part of the world, i can do it in a very short time. this, sir, is the wonder of my horse; a wonder which nobody ever heard speak of, and which i offer to shew your majesty, if you command me." the emperor of persia, who was fond of every thing that was curious, and notwithstanding the many prodigies of art he had seen had never beheld or heard of anything that came up to this, told the hindoo, that nothing but the experience of what he asserted could convince him: and that he was ready to see him perform what he had promised. the hindoo instantly put his foot into the stirrup, mounted his horse with admirable agility, and when he had fixed himself in the saddle, asked the emperor whither he pleased to command him. about three leagues from sheerauz there was a lofty mountain discernible from the large square before the palace, where the emperor, his court, and a great concourse of people, then were. "do you see that mountain?" said the emperor, pointing to it; "it is not a great distance from hence, but it is far enough to judge of the speed you can make in going and returning. but because it is not possible for the eye to follow you so far, as a proof that you have been there, i expect that you will bring me a branch of a palm-tree that grows at the bottom of the hill." the emperor of persia had no sooner declared his will than the hindoo turned a peg, which was in the hollow of the horse's neck, just by the pummel of the saddle; and in an instant the horse rose off the ground and carried his rider into the air with the rapidity of lightning to such a height, that those who had the strongest sight could not discern him, to the admiration of the emperor and all the spectators. within less than a quarter of an hour they saw him returning with the palm branch in his hand; but before he descended, he took two or three turns in the air over the spot, amid the acclamations of all the people; then alighted on the spot whence he had set off, without receiving the least shock from the horse to disorder him. he dismounted, and going up to the throne, prostrated himself, and laid the branch of the palm-tree at the feet of the emperor. the emperor, who had viewed with no less admiration than astonishment this unheard-of sight which the hindoo had exhibited, conceived a great desire to have the horse; and as he persuaded himself that he should not find it a difficult matter to treat with the hindoo, for whatever sum of money he should value it at, began to regard it as the most valuable thing in his treasury. "judging of thy horse by his outward appearance," said he to the hindoo, "i did not think him so much worth my consideration. as you have shewn me his merits, i am obliged to you for undeceiving me; and to prove to you how much i esteem it, i will purchase him of you, if he is to be sold." "sir," replied the hindoo, "i never doubted that your majesty, who has the character of the most liberal prince on earth, would set a just value on my work as soon as i had shewn you on what account he was worthy your attention. i also foresaw that you would not only admire and commend it, but would desire to have it. though i know his intrinsic value, and that my continuing master of him would render my name immortal in the world; yet i am not so fond of fame but i can resign him, to gratify your majesty; however, in making this declaration, i have another to add, without which i cannot resolve to part with him, and perhaps you may not approve of it. "your majesty will not be displeased," continued the hindoo, "if i tell you that i did not buy this horse, but obtained him of the inventor, by giving him my only daughter in marriage, and promising at the same time never to sell him; but if i parted with him to exchange him for something that i should value beyond all else." the hindoo was proceeding, when at the word exchange, the emperor of persia interrupted him. "i am willing," said he, "to give you whatever you may ask in exchange. you know my kingdom is large, and contains many great, rich, and populous cities; i will give you the choice of which you like best, in full sovereignty for life." this exchange seemed royal and noble to the whole court; but was much below what the hindoo had proposed to himself, who had raised his thoughts much higher. "i am infinitely obliged to your majesty for the offer you make me," answered he, "and cannot thank you enough for your generosity; yet i must beg of you not to be displeased if i have the presumption to tell you, that i cannot resign my horse, but by receiving the hand of the princess your daughter as my wife: this is the only price at which i can part with my property." the courtiers about the emperor of persia could not forbear laughing aloud at this extravagant demand of the hindoo; but the prince firoze shaw, the eldest son of the emperor, and presumptive heir to the crown, could not hear it without indignation. the emperor was of a very different opinion, and thought he might sacrifice the princess of persia to the hindoo, to satisfy his curiosity. he remained however undetermined, considering what he should do. prince firoze shaw, who saw his father hesitated what answer to make, began to fear lest he should comply with the hindoo's demand, and regarded it as not only injurious to the royal dignity, and to his sister, but also to himself; therefore to anticipate his father, he said, "sir, i hope your majesty will forgive me for daring to ask, if it is possible your majesty should hesitate about a denial to so insolent a demand from such an insignificant fellow, and so scandalous a juggler? or give him reason to flatter himself a moment with being allied to one of the most powerful monarchs in the world? i beg of you to consider what you owe to yourself, to your own blood, and the high rank of your ancestors." "son," replied the emperor of persia, "i much approve of your remonstrance, and am sensible of your zeal for preserving the lustre of your birth; but you do not consider sufficiently the excellence of this horse; nor that the hindoo, if i should refuse him, may make the offer somewhere else, where this nice point of honour may be waived. i shall be in the utmost despair if another prince should boast of having exceeded me in generosity, and deprived me of the glory of possessing what i esteem as the most singular and wonderful thing in the world. i will not say i consent to grant him what he asked. perhaps he has not well considered his exorbitant demand: and putting my daughter the princess out of the question, i may make another agreement with him that will answer his purpose as well. but before i conclude the bargain with him, i should be glad that you would examine the horse, try him yourself, and give me your opinion." as it is natural for us to flatter ourselves in what we desire, the hindoo fancied, from what he had heard, that the emperor was not entirely averse to his alliance, and that the prince might become more favourable to him; therefore, he expressed much joy, ran before the prince to help him to mount, and shewed him how to guide and manage the horse. the prince mounted without the hindoo's assisting him; and no sooner had he got his feet in both stirrups, but without staying for the artist's advice, he turned the peg he had seen him use, when instantly the horse darted into the air, quick as an arrow shot out of a bow by the most adroit archer; and in a few moments the emperor his father and the numerous assembly lost sight of him. neither horse nor prince were to be seen. the hindoo, alarmed at what had happened, prostrated himself before the throne, and said, "your majesty must have remarked the prince was so hasty, that he would not permit me to give him the necessary instructions to govern my horse. from what he saw me do, he was ambitious of shewing that he wanted not my advice. he was too eager to shew his address, but knows not the way, which i was going to shew him, to turn the horse, and make him descend at the wish of his rider. therefore, the favour i ask of your majesty is, not to make me accountable for what accidents may befall him; you are too just to impute to me any misfortune that may attend him." this address of the hindoo much surprised and afflicted the emperor, who saw the danger his son was in to be inevitable, if, as the hindoo said, there was a secret to bring him back, different from that which carried him away; and asked, in a passion, why he did not call him the moment he ascended? "sir," answered the hindoo, "your majesty saw as well as i with what rapidity the horse flew away. the surprise i was then, and still am in, deprived me of the use of my speech; but if i could have spoken, he was got too far to hear me. if he had heard me, he knew not the secret to bring him back, which, through his impatience, he would not stay to learn. but, sir," added he, "there is room to hope that the prince, when he finds himself at a loss, will perceive another peg, and as soon as he turns that, the horse will cease to rise, and descend to the ground, when he may turn him to what place he pleases by guiding him with the bridle." notwithstanding all these arguments of the hindoo, which carried great appearance of probability, the emperor of persia was much alarmed at the evident danger of his son. "i suppose," replied he, "it is very uncertain whether my son may perceive the other peg, and make a right use of it; may not the horse, instead of lighting on the ground, fall upon some rock, or tumble into the sea with him?" "sir," replied the hindoo, "i can deliver your majesty from this apprehension, by assuring you, that the horse crosses seas without ever falling into them, and always carries his rider wherever he may wish to go. and your majesty may assure yourself, that if the prince does but find out the other peg i mentioned, the horse will carry him where he pleases. it is not to be supposed that he will stop any where but where he can find assistance, and make himself known." "be it as it may," replied the emperor of persia, "as i cannot depend upon the assurance you give me, your head shall answer for my son's life, if he does not return safe in three days' time, or i should hear that he is alive." he then ordered his officers to secure the hindoo, and keep him close prisoner; after which he retired to his palace in affliction that the festival of nooroze should have proved so inauspicious. in the mean time the prince was carried through the air with prodigious velocity; and in less than an hour's time had ascended so high, that he could not distinguish any thing on the earth, but mountains and plains seemed confounded together. it was then he began to think of returning, and conceived he might do this by turning the same peg the contrary way, and pulling the bridle at the same time. but when he found that the horse still rose with the same swiftness, his alarm was great. he turned the peg several times, one way and the other, but all in vain. it was then he grew sensible of his fault, in not having learnt the necessary precautions to guide the horse before he mounted. he immediately apprehended the great danger he was in, but that apprehension did not deprive him of his reason. he examined the horse's head and neck with attention, and perceived behind the right ear another peg, smaller than the other. he turned that peg, and presently perceived that he descended in the same oblique manner as he had mounted, but not so swiftly. night had overshadowed that part of the earth over which the prince was when he found out and turned the small peg; and as the horse descended, he by degrees lost sight of the sun, till it grew quite dark; insomuch that, instead of choosing what place he would go to, he was forced to let the bridle lie upon the horse's neck, and wait patiently till he alighted, though not without the dread lest it should be in the desert, a river, or the sea. at last the horse stopped upon some solid substance about midnight, and the prince dismounted very faint and hungry, having eaten nothing since the morning, when he came out of the palace with his father to assist at the festival. he found himself to be on the terrace of a magnificent palace, surrounded with a balustrade of white marble, breast high; and groping about, reached a staircase, which led down into an apartment, the door of which was half open. few but prince firoze shaw would have ventured to descend those stairs dark as it was, and in the danger he exposed himself to from friends or foes. but no consideration could stop him. "i do not come," said he to himself, "to do anybody harm; and certainly, whoever meets or sees me first, and finds that i have no arms in my hands, will not attempt any thing against my life, before they hear what i have to say for myself." after this reflection, he opened the door wider, without making any noise, went softly down the stairs, that he might not awaken anybody; and when he came to a landing-place on the staircase, found the door of a great hall, that had a light in it, open. the prince stopped at the door, and listening, heard no other noise than the snoring of some people who were fast asleep. he advanced a little into the room, and by the light of a lamp saw that those persons were black eunuchs, with naked sabres laid by them; which was enough to inform him that this was the guard-chamber of some sultan or princess; which latter it proved to be. in the next room to this the princess lay, as appeared by the light, the door being open, through a silk curtain, which drew before the door-way, whither prince firoze shaw advanced on tip-toe, without waking the eunuchs. he drew aside the curtain, went in, and without staying to observe the magnificence of the chamber, gave his attention to something of greater importance. he saw many beds; only one of them on a sofa, the rest on the floor. the princess slept in the first, and her women in the others. this distinction was enough to direct the prince. he crept softly towards the bed, without waking either the princess or her women, and beheld a beauty so extraordinary, that he was charmed, and inflamed with love at the first sight. "o heavens!" said he to himself, "has my fate brought me hither to deprive me of my liberty, which hitherto i have always preserved? how can i avoid certain slavery, when those eyes shall open, since, without doubt, they complete the lustre of this assemblage of charms! i must quickly resolve, since i cannot stir without being my own murderer; for so has necessity ordained." after these reflections on his situation, and on the princess's beauty, he fell on his knees, and twitching gently the princess's sleeve, pulled it towards him. the princess opened her eyes, and seeing a handsome man on his knees, was in great surprise; yet seemed to shew no sign of fear. the prince availed himself of this favourable moment, bowed his head to the ground, and rising said, "beautiful princess, by the most extraordinary and wonderful adventure, you see at your feet a suppliant prince, son of the emperor of persia, who was yesterday morning in his court, at the celebration of a solemn festival, but is now in a strange country, in danger of his life, if you have not the goodness and generosity to afford him your assistance and protection. these i implore, adorable princess, with confidence that you will not refuse me. i have the more ground to persuade myself, as so much beauty and majesty cannot entertain inhumanity." the personage to whom prince firoze shaw so happily addressed himself was the princess of bengal, eldest daughter of the rajah of that kingdom, who had built this palace at a small distance from his capital, whither she went to take the benefit of the country air. after she had heard the prince with all the candour he could desire, she replied with equal goodness, "prince, you are not in a barbarous country; take courage; hospitality, humanity, and politeness are to be met with in the kingdom of bengal, as well as in that of persia. it is not merely i who grant you the protection you ask; you not only have found it in my palace, but will meet it throughout the whole kingdom; you may believe me, and depend on what i say." the prince of persia would have thanked the princess for her civility, and had already bowed down his head to return the compliment; but she would not give him leave to speak. "notwithstanding i desire," said she, "to know by what miracle you have come hither from the capital of persia in so short a time; and by what enchantment you have been able to penetrate so far as to come to my apartment, and to have evaded the vigilance of my guards; yet, as it is impossible but you must want some refreshment, and regarding you as a welcome guest, i will waive my curiosity, and give orders to my women to regale you, and shew you an apartment, that you may rest yourself after your fatigue, and be better able to satisfy my curiosity." the princess's women, who awoke at the first words which the prince addressed to the princess, were in the utmost surprise to see a man at the princess's feet, as they could not conceive how he had got thither, without waking them or the eunuchs. they no sooner comprehended the princess's intentions, than they were ready to obey her commands. they each took a wax candle, of which there were great numbers lighted up in the room; and after the prince had respectfully taken leave, went before and conducted him into a handsome chamber; where, while some were preparing the bed, others went into the kitchen; and notwithstanding it was so unseasonable an hour, they did not make prince firoze shaw wait long, but brought him presently a collation; and when he had eaten as much as he chose, removed the trays, and left him to taste the sweets of repose. in the mean time, the princess of bengal was so struck with the charms, wit, politeness, and other good qualities which she had discovered in her short interview with the prince, that she could not sleep: but when her women came into her room again asked them if they had taken care of him, if he wanted any thing; and particularly, what they thought of him? the women, after they had satisfied her as to the first queries, answered to the last: "we do not know what you may think of him, but, for our parts, we are of opinion you would be very happy if your father would marry you to so amiable a youth; for there is not a prince in all the kingdom of bengal to be compared to him; nor can we hear that any of the neighbouring princes are worthy of you." this flattering compliment was not displeasing to the princess of bengal; but as she had no mind to declare her sentiments, she imposed silence, telling them that they talked without reflection, bidding them return to rest, and let her sleep. the next day the princess took more pains in dressing and adjusting herself at the glass than she had ever done before. she never tired her women's patience so much, by making them do and undo the same thing several times. she adorned her head, neck, arms, and waist, with the finest and largest diamonds she possessed. the habit she put on was one of the richest stuffs of the indies, of a most beautiful colour, and made only for kings, princes, and princesses. after she had consulted her glass, and asked her women, one after another, if any thing was wanting to her attire, she sent to know, if the prince of persia was awake; and as she never doubted but that, if he was up and dressed, he would ask leave to come and pay his respects to her, she charged the messenger to tell him she would make him the visit, and she had her reasons for this. the prince of persia, who by the night's rest had recovered the fatigue he had undergone the day before, had just dressed himself, when he received the princess of bengal's compliments by one of her women. without giving the lady who brought the message leave to communicate it, he asked her, if it was proper for him then to go and pay his respects to the princess; and when the lady had acquitted herself of her errand, he replied, "it shall be as the princess thinks fit; i came here to be solely at her pleasure." as soon as the princess understood that the prince of persia waited for her, she immediately went to pay him a visit. after mutual compliments, the prince asking pardon for having waked the princess out of a profound sleep, and the princess inquiring after his health, and how he had rested, the princess sat down on a sofa, as did also the prince, though at some distance, out of respect. the princess then resuming the conversation, said, "i would have received you, prince, in the chamber in which you found me last night; but as the chief of my eunuchs has the liberty of entering it, and never comes further without my leave, from my impatience to hear the surprising adventure which procured me the happiness of seeing you, i chose to come hither, that we may not be interrupted; therefore i beg of you to give me that satisfaction, which will highly oblige me." prince firoze shaw, to gratify the princess of bengal, began with describing the festival of the nooroze, and mentioned the shows which had amazed the court of persia, and the people of sheerauz. afterwards he came to the enchanted horse; the description of which, with the account of the wonders which the hindoo had performed before so august an assembly, convinced the princess that nothing of that kind could be imagined more surprising in the world. "you may well think, charming princess," continued the prince of persia, "that the emperor my father, who cares not what he gives for any thing that is rare and curious, would be very desirous to purchase such a curiosity. he asked the hindoo what he would have for him; who made him an extravagant reply, telling him, that he had not bought him, but taken him in exchange for his only daughter, and could not part with him but on the like condition, which was to have his consent to marry the princess my sister. "the crowd of courtiers, who stood about the emperor my father, hearing the extravagance of this proposal, laughed loudly; i for my part conceived such great indignation, that i could not disguise it; and the more, because i saw that my father was doubtful what answer he should give. in short, i believe he would have granted him what he asked, if i had not represented to him how injurious it would be to his honour; yet my remonstrance could not bring him entirely to quit his design of sacrificing the princess my sister to so despicable a person. he fancied he should bring me over to his opinion, if once i could comprehend, as he imagined he did, the singular worth of this horse. with this view he would have me mount, and make a trial of him myself. "to please my father, i mounted the horse, and as soon as i was upon his back, put my hand on a peg, as i had seen the hindoo do before, to make the horse mount into the air, without stopping to take instructions of the owner for his guidance or descent. the instant i touched the peg, the horse ascended, as swift as an arrow shot out of a bow, and i was presently at such a distance from the earth that i could not distinguish any object. from the swiftness of the motion i was for some time unapprehensive of the danger to which i was exposed; when i grew sensible of it, i endeavoured to turn the peg the contrary way. but the experiment would not answer my expectation, for still the horse rose, and carried me a greater distance from the earth. at last i perceived another peg, which i turned, and then i grew sensible that the horse descended towards the earth, and presently found myself so surrounded with darkness, that it was impossible for me to guide the machine. in this condition i laid the bridle on his neck, and trusted myself to the will of god to dispose of my fate. "at length the horse stopped, i got off his back, and examining whereabouts i might be, perceived myself on the terrace of this palace, and found the door of the staircase half open. i came softly down the stairs, and seeing a door open, put my head into the room, perceived some eunuchs asleep, and a great light in an adjoining chamber. the necessity i was under, notwithstanding the inevitable danger to which i should be exposed, if the eunuchs had waked, inspired me with the boldness, or rather rashness, to cross that room to get to the other. "it is needless," added the prince, "to tell you the rest, since you are not unacquainted with all that passed afterwards. but i am obliged in duty to thank you for your goodness and generosity, and to beg of you to let me know how i may shew my gratitude. according to the law of nations i am already your slave, and cannot make you an offer of my person; there only remains my heart: but, alas! princess, what do i say? my heart is no longer my own, your charms have forced it from me, but in such a manner, that i will never ask for it again, but yield it up; give me leave, therefore, to declare you mistress both of my heart and inclination." these last words of the prince were pronounced with such an air and tone, that the princess of bengal never doubted of the effect she had expected from her charms; neither did she seem to resent the precipitate declaration of the prince of persia. her blushes served but to heighten her beauty, and render her more amiable in his eyes. as soon as she had recovered herself, she replied, "prince, you have given me sensible pleasure, by telling me your wonderful adventure. but, on the other hand, i can hardly forbear shuddering, when i think on the height you were in the air; and though i have the good fortune to see you here safe and well, i was in pain till you came to that part where the horse fortunately descended upon the terrace of my palace. the same thing might have happened in a thousand other places. i am glad that chance has given me the preference to the whole world, and of the opportunity of letting you know, that it could not have conducted you to any place where you could have been received with greater pleasure. "but, prince," continued she, "i should think myself offended, if i believed that the thought you mentioned of being my slave was serious, and that it did not proceed from your politeness rather than from a sincerity of sentiment; for, by the reception i gave you yesterday, you might assure yourself you are here as much at liberty as in the midst of the court of persia. "as to your heart," added the princess, in a tone which shewed nothing less than a refusal, "as i am persuaded that you have not lived so long without disposing of it, and that you could not fail of making choice of a princess who deserves it, i should be sorry to give you an occasion to be guilty of infidelity to her." prince firoze shaw would have protested that when he left persia he was master of his own heart: but, at that instant, one of the princess's ladies in waiting came to tell that a collation was served up. this interruption delivered the prince and princess from an explanation, which would have been equally embarrassing to both, and of which they stood in need. the princess of bengal was fully convinced of the prince of persia's sincerity; and the prince, though the princess had not explained herself, judged nevertheless from some words she had let fall, that he had no reason to complain. as the lady held the door open, the princess of bengal said to the prince, rising off her seat, as he did also from his, "i am not used to eat so early; but as i fancied you might have had but an indifferent supper last night, i ordered breakfast to be got ready sooner than ordinary." after this compliment she led him into a magnificent hall, where a cloth was laid covered with great plenty of choice and excellent viands; and as soon as they were seated, many beautiful slaves of the princess, richly dressed, began a most agreeable concert of vocal and instrumental music, which lasted the whole time of eating. this concert was so sweet and well managed, that it did not in the least interrupt the prince and princess's conversation. the prince served the princess with the choicest of every thing, and strove to outdo her in civility, both by words and actions, which she returned with many new compliments: and in this reciprocal commerce of civilities and attentions, love made a greater progress in both than a concerted interview would have promoted. when they rose, the princess conducted the prince into a large and magnificent saloon, embellished with paintings in blue and gold, and richly furnished; there they both sat down in a balcony, which afforded a most agreeable prospect into the palace garden, which prince firoze shaw admired for the vast variety of flowers, shrubs, and trees, which were full as beautiful as those of persia, but quite different. here taking the opportunity of entering into conversation with the princess, he said, "i always believed, madam, that no part of the world but persia afforded such stately palaces and beautiful gardens; but now i see, that other great monarchs know as well how to build mansions suitable to their power and greatness; and if there is a difference in the manner of building, there is none in the degree of grandeur and magnificence." "prince," replied the princess of bengal, "as i have no idea of the palaces of persia, i cannot judge of the comparison you have made of mine. but, however sincere you seem to be, i can hardly think it just, but rather incline to believe it a compliment: i will not despise my palace before you; you have too good an eye, too good a taste not to form a sound judgment. but i assure you, i think it very indifferent when i compare it with the king my father's, which far exceeds it for grandeur, beauty, and richness; you shall tell me yourself what you think of it, when you have seen it: for since a chance has brought you so nigh to the capital of this kingdom, i do not doubt but you will see it, and make my father a visit, that he may pay you all the honour due to a prince of your rank and merit." the princess flattered herself, that by exciting in the prince of persia a curiosity to see the capital of bengal, and to visit her father, the king, seeing him so handsome, wise, and accomplished a prince, might perhaps resolve to propose an alliance with him, by offering her to him as a wife. and as she was well persuaded she was not indifferent to the prince, and that he would be pleased with the proposal, she hoped to attain to the utmost of her wishes, and preserve all the decorum becoming a princess, who would appear resigned to the will of her king and father; but the prince of persia did not return her an answer according to her expectation. "princess," he replied, "the preference which you give the king of bengal's palace to your own is enough to induce me to believe it much exceeds it: and as to the proposal of my going and paying my respects to the king your father, i should not only do myself a pleasure, but an honour. but judge, princess, yourself, would you advise me to present myself before so great a monarch, like an adventurer, without attendants, and a train suitable to my rank?" "prince," replied the princess, "let not that give you any pain; if you will but go, you shall want no money to have what train and attendants you please: i will furnish you; and we have traders here of all nations in great numbers, and you may make choice of as many as you please to form your household." prince firoze shaw penetrated the princess of bengal's intention, and this sensible mark of her love still augmented his passion, which, notwithstanding its violence, made him not forget his duty. without any hesitation he replied, "princess, i should most willingly accept of the obliging offer you make me, for which i cannot sufficiently shew my gratitude, if the uneasiness my father must feel on account of my absence did not prevent me. i should be unworthy of the tenderness he has always had for me, if i should not return as soon as possible to calm his fears. i know him so well, that while i have the happiness of enjoying the conversation of so lovely a princess, i am persuaded he is plunged into the deepest grief, and has lost all hopes of seeing me again. i trust you will do me the justice to believe, that i cannot, without ingratitude, and being guilty of a crime, dispense with going to restore to him that life, which a too long deferred return may have endangered already. "after this, princess," continued the prince of persia, "if you will permit me, and think me worthy to aspire to the happiness of becoming your husband, as my father has always declared that he never would constrain me in my choice, i should find it no difficult matter to get leave to return, not as a stranger, but as a prince, to contract an alliance with your father by our marriage; and i am persuaded that the emperor will be overjoyed when i tell him with what generosity you received me, though a stranger in distress." the princess of bengal was too reasonable, after what the prince of persia had said, to persist any longer in persuading him to pay a visit to the raja of bengal, or to ask any thing of him contrary to his duty and honour. but she was much alarmed to find he thought of so sudden a departure; fearing, that if he took his leave of her so soon, instead of remembering his promise, he would forget when he ceased to see her. to divert him from his purpose, she said to him, "prince, my intention of proposing a visit to my father was not to oppose so just a duty as that you mention, and which i did not foresee. but i cannot approve of your going so soon as you propose; at least grant me the favour i ask of a little longer acquaintance; and since i have had the happiness to have you alight in the kingdom of bengal, rather than in the midst of a desert, or on the top of some steep craggy rock, from which it would have been impossible for you to descend, i desire you will stay long enough to enable you to give a better account at the court of persia of what you may see here." the sole end the princess had in this request was, that the prince of persia, by a longer stay, might become insensibly more passionately enamoured of her charms; hoping thereby that his ardent desire of returning would diminish, and then he might be brought to appear in public, and pay a visit to the rajah of bengal. the prince of persia could not well refuse her the favour she asked, after the kind reception she had given him; and therefore politely complied with her request; and the princess's thoughts were directed to render his stay agreeable by all the amusements she could devise. nothing went forward for several days but concerts of music, accompanied with magnificent feasts and collations in the gardens, or hunting-parties in the vicinity of the palace, which abounded with all sorts of game, stags, hinds, and fallow deer, and other beasts peculiar to the kingdom of bengal, which the princess could pursue without danger. after the chase, the prince and princess met in some beautiful spot, where a carpet was spread, and cushions laid for their accommodation. there resting themselves, after their violent exercise, they conversed on various subjects. the princess took pains to turn the conversation on the grandeur, power, riches, and government of persia; that from the prince's replies she might have an opportunity to talk of the kingdom of bengal, and its advantages, and engage him to resolve to make a longer stay there; but she was disappointed in her expectations. the prince of persia, without the least exaggeration, gave so advantageous an account of the extent of the kingdom of persia, its magnificence and riches, its military force, its commerce by sea and land with the most remote parts of the world, some of which were unknown even to him; the vast number of large cities it contained, almost as populous as that which the emperor had chosen for his residence, where he had palaces furnished ready to receive him at all seasons of the year; so that he had his choice always to enjoy a perpetual spring; that before he had concluded, the princess found the kingdom of bengal to be very much inferior to that of persia in a great many respects. when he had finished his relation, he begged of her to entertain him with a description of bengal. the princess after much entreaty gave prince firoze shaw that satisfaction; but by lessening a great many advantages the kingdom of bengal was well known to have over that of persia, she betrayed the disposition she felt to accompany him, so that he believed she would consent at the first proposition he should make; but he thought it would not be proper to make it till he had shewed her so much deference as to stay with her long enough to make the blame fall on herself, in case she wished to detain him from returning to his father. two whole months the prince of persia abandoned himself entirely to the will of the princess of bengal, yielding to all the amusements she contrived for him, for she neglected nothing to divert him, as if she thought he had nothing else to do but to pass his whole life with her in this manner. but he now declared seriously he could not stay longer, and begged of her to give him leave to return to his father; repeating again the promise he had made her to come back soon in a style worthy of her and himself, and to demand her in marriage of the rajah of bengal. "and, princess," observed the prince of persia, "that you may not suspect the truth of what i say; and that by my asking this permission you may not rank me among those false lovers who forget the object of their affection as soon as absent from them; to shew that my passion is real, and not feigned, and that life cannot be pleasant to me when absent from so lovely a princess, whose love to me i cannot doubt is mutual; i would presume, were i not afraid you would be offended at my request, to ask the favour of taking you along with me." as the prince saw that the princess blushed at these words, without any mark of anger, he proceeded, and said, "princess, as for my father's consent, and the reception he will give you, i venture to assure you he will receive you with pleasure into his alliance; and as for the rajah of bengal, after all the love and tender regard he has always expressed for you, he must be the reverse of what you have described him, an enemy to your repose and happiness, if he should not receive in a friendly manner the embassy which my father will send to him for his approbation of our marriage." the princess returned no answer to this address of the prince of persia; but her silence, and eyes cast down, were sufficient to inform him that she had no reluctance to accompany him into persia. the only difficulty she felt was, that the prince knew not well enough how to govern the horse, and she was apprehensive of being involved with him in the same difficulty as when he first made the experiment. but the prince soon removed her fear, by assuring her she might trust herself with him, for that after the experience he had acquired, he defied the hindoo himself to manage him better. she thought therefore only of concerting measures to get off with him so secretly, that nobody belonging to the palace should have the least suspicion of their design. the next morning, a little before day-break, when all the attendants were asleep, they went upon the terrace of the palace. the prince turned the horse towards persia, and placed him where the princess could easily get up behind him; which she had no sooner done, and was well settled with her arms about his waist, for her better security, than he turned the peg, when the horse mounted into the air, and making his usual haste, under the guidance of the prince, in two hours time the prince discovered the capital of persia. he would not alight at the great square from whence he had set out, nor in the palace, but directed his course towards a pleasure-house at a little distance from the capital. he led the princess into a handsome apartment, where he told her, that to do her all the honour that was due to her, he would go and inform his father of their arrival, and return to her immediately. he ordered the housekeeper of the palace, who was then present, to provide the princess with whatever she had occasion for. after the prince had taken his leave of the princess, he ordered a horse to be saddled, which he mounted, after sending back the housekeeper to the princess, with orders to provide her refreshments immediately, and then set forwards for the palace. as he passed through the streets he was received with acclamations by the people, who were overjoyed to see him again. the emperor his father was giving audience, when he appeared before him in the midst of his council. he received him with ecstacy, and embracing him with tears of joy and tenderness, asked him, what was become of the hindoo's horse. this question gave the prince an opportunity of describing the embarrassment and danger he was in when the horse ascended into the air, and how he had arrived at last at the princess of bengal's palace, the kind reception he had met with there, and that the motive which had induced him to stay so long with her was the affection she had shewn him; also, that after promising to marry her, he had persuaded her to accompany him into persia. "but, sir," added the prince, "i felt assured that you would not refuse your consent, and have brought her with me on the enchanted horse, to a palace where your majesty often goes for your pleasure; and have left her there, till i could return and assure her that my promise was not in vain." after these words, the prince prostrated himself before the emperor to obtain his consent, when his father raised him up, embraced him a second time, and said to him, "son, i not only consent to your marriage with the princess of bengal, but will go and meet her myself, and thank her for the obligation i in particular have to her, and will bring her to my palace, and celebrate your nuptials this day." the emperor now gave orders for his court to make preparations for the princess's entry; that the rejoicings should be announced by the royal band of military music, and that the hindoo should be fetched out of prison and brought before him. when the hindoo was conducted before the emperor, he said to him, "i secured thy person, that thy life, though not a sufficient victim to my rage and grief, might answer for that of the prince my son, whom, however, thanks to god! i have found again: go, take your horse, and never let me see your face more." as the hindoo had learned of those who brought him out of prison that prince firoze shaw was returned with a princess, and was also informed of the place where he had alighted and left her, and that the emperor was making preparations to go and bring her to his palace; as soon as he got out of the presence, he bethought himself of being revenged upon the emperor and the prince. without losing any time, he went directly to the palace, and addressing himself to the keeper, told him, he came from the prince of persia for the princess of bengal, and to conduct her behind him through the air to the emperor, who waited in the great square of his palace to gratify the whole court and city of sheerauz with that wonderful sight. the palace-keeper, who knew the hindoo, and that the emperor had imprisoned him, gave the more credit to what he said, because he saw that he was at liberty. he presented him to the princess of bengal; who no sooner understood that he came from the prince of persia than she consented to what the prince, as she thought, had desired of her. the hindoo, overjoyed at his success, and the ease with which he had accomplished his villany, mounted his horse, took the princess behind him, with the assistance of the keeper, turned the peg, and instantly the horse mounted into the air. at the same time the emperor of persia, attended by his court, was on the road to the palace where the princess of bengal had been left, and the prince of persia was advanced before, to prepare the princess to receive his father; when the hindoo, to brave them both, and revenge himself for the ill-treatment he had received, appeared over their heads with his prize. when the emperor of persia saw the ravisher, he stopped. his surprise and affliction were the more sensible, because it was not in his power to punish so high an affront. he loaded him with a thousand imprecations, as did also all the courtiers, who were witnesses of so signal a piece of insolence and unparalleled artifice and treachery. the hindoo, little moved with their curses, which just reached his ears, continued his way, while the emperor, extremely mortified at so great an insult, but more so that he could not punish the author, returned to his palace in rage and vexation. but what was prince firoze shaw's grief at beholding the hindoo hurrying away the princess of bengal, whom he loved so passionately that he could not live without her! at a spectacle so little expected he was confounded, and before he could deliberate with himself what measures to pursue, the horse was out of sight. he could not resolve how to act, whether he should return to his father's palace, and shut himself in his apartment, to give himself entirely up to his affliction, without attempting to pursue the ravisher. but as his generosity, love, and courage, would not suffer this, he continued on his way to the palace where he had left his princess. when he arrived, the palace-keeper, who was by this time convinced of his fatal credulity, in believing the artful hindoo, threw himself at his feet with tears in his eyes, accused himself of the crime, which unintentionally he had committed, and condemned himself to die by his hand. "rise," said the prince to him, "i do not impute the loss of my princess to thee, but to my own want of precaution. but not to lose time, fetch me a dervish's habit, and take care you do not give the least hint that it is for me." not far from this palace there stood a convent of dervishes, the superior of which was the palace-keeper's particular friend. he went to his chief, and telling him that a considerable officer at court and a man of worth, to whom he had been very much obliged and wished to favour, by giving him an opportunity to withdraw from some sudden displeasure of the emperor, readily obtained a complete dervish's habit, and carried it to prince firoze shaw. the prince immediately pulled off his own dress, put it on, and being so disguised, and provided with a box of jewels, which he had brought as a present to the princess, left the palace, uncertain which way to go, but resolved not to return till he had found out his princess, and brought her back again, or perish in the attempt. but to return to the hindoo; he governed his enchanted horse so well, that he arrived early next morning in a wood, near the capital of the kingdom of cashmeer. being hungry, and concluding the princess was so also, he alighted in that wood, in an open part of it, and left the princess on a grassy spot, close to a rivulet of clear fresh water. during the hindoo's absence, the princess of bengal, who knew that she was in the power of a base ravisher, whose violence she dreaded, thought of escaping from him, and seeking out for some sanctuary. but as she had eaten scarcely any thing on her arrival at the palace, was so faint, that she could not execute her design, but was forced to abandon it and stay where she was, without any other resource than her courage, and a firm resolution rather to suffer death than be unfaithful to the prince of persia. when the hindoo returned, she did not wait to be entreated, but ate with him, and recovered herself enough to answer with courage to the insolent language he now began to hold to her. after many threats, as she saw that the hindoo was preparing to use violence, she rose up to make resistance, and by her cries and shrieks drew towards them a company of horsemen, which happened to be the sultan of cashmeer and his attendants, who, as they were returning from hunting, happily for the princess of bengal, passed through that part of the wood, and ran to her assistance, at the noise she made. the sultan addressed himself to the hindoo, demanded who he was, and wherefore he ill treated the lady? the hindoo, with great impudence, replied, "that she was his wife, and what had any one to do with his quarrel with her?" the princess, who neither knew the rank nor quality of the person who came so seasonably to her relief, told the hindoo he was a liar; and said to the sultan, "my lord, whoever you are whom heaven has sent to my assistance, have compassion on a princess, and give no credit to that impostor. heaven forbid that i should be the wife of so vile and despicable a hindoo! a wicked magician, who has forced me away from the prince of persia, to whom i was going to be united, and has brought me hither on the enchanted horse you behold there." the princess of bengal had no occasion to say more to persuade the sultan of cashmeer that what she told him was truth. her beauty, majestic air, and tears, spoke sufficiently for her. justly enraged at the insolence of the hindoo, he ordered his guards to surround him, and strike off his head: which sentence was immediately executed. the princess, thus delivered from the persecution of the hindoo, fell into another no less afflicting. the sultan conducted her to his palace, where he lodged her in the most magnificent apartment, next his own, commanded a great number of women slaves to attend her, and ordered a guard of eunuchs. he led her himself into the apartment he had assigned her; where, without giving her time to thank him for the great obligation she had received, he said to her, "as i am certain, princess, that you must want rest, i will take my leave of you till to-morrow, when you will be better able to relate to me the circumstances of this strange adventure;" and then left her. the princess of bengal's joy was inexpressible at finding herself delivered from the violence of the hindoo, of whom she could not think without horror. she flattered herself that the sultan of cashmeer would complete his generosity by sending her back to the prince of persia when she should have told him her story, and asked that favour of him; but she was much deceived in these hopes; for her deliverer had resolved to marry her himself the next day; and for that end had ordered rejoicings to be made by day-break, by beating of drums, sounding of trumpets, and other instruments expressive of joy; which not only echoed through the palace, but throughout the whole city. the princess of bengal was awakened by these tumultuous concerts; but attributed them to a very different cause from the true one. when the sultan of cashmeer, who had given orders that he should be informed when the princess was ready to receive a visit, came to wait upon her; after he had inquired after her health, he acquainted her that all those rejoicings were to render their nuptials the more solemn; and at the same time desired her assent to the union. this declaration put her into such agitation that she fainted away. the women-slaves, who were present, ran to her assistance; and the sultan did all he could to bring her to herself, though it was a long time before they succeeded. but when she recovered, rather than break the promise she had made to prince firoze shaw, by consenting to marry the sultan of cashmeer, who had proclaimed their nuptials before he had asked her consent, she resolved to feign madness. she began to utter the most extravagant expressions before the sultan, and even rose off her seat as if to attack him; insomuch that he was greatly alarmed and afflicted, that he had made such a proposal so unseasonably. when he found that her frenzy rather increased than abated, he left her with her women, charging them never to leave her alone, but to take great care of her. he sent often that day to inquire how she did; but received no other answer than that she was rather worse than better. at night she seemed more indisposed than she had been all day, insomuch that the sultan deferred the happiness he had promised himself. the princess of bengal continued to talk wildly, and shew other marks of a disordered mind, next day and the following; so that the sultan was induced to send for all the physicians belonging to his court, to consult them upon her disease, and to ask if they could cure her. the physicians all agreed that there were several sorts and degrees of this disorder, some curable and others not; and told the sultan, that they could not judge of the princess of bengal's unless they might see her; upon which the sultan ordered the eunuchs to introduce them into the princess's chamber, one after another, according to their rank. the princess, who foresaw what would happen, and feared, that if she let the physicians feel her pulse, the least experienced of them would soon know that she was in good health, and that her madness was only feigned, flew into such a well-dissembled rage and passion, that she appeared ready to injure those who came near her; so none of them durst approach her. some who pretended to be more skilful than the rest, and boasted of judging of diseases only by sight, ordered her some potions, which she made the less difficulty to take, well knowing she could be sick or well at pleasure, and that they could do her no harm. when the sultan of cashmeer saw that his court physicians could not cure her, he called in the most celebrated and experienced of the city, who had no better success. afterwards he sent for the most famous in the kingdom, who met with no better reception than the others from the princess, and what they prescribed had no effect. afterwards he dispatched expresses to the courts of neighbouring sultans, with the princess's case, to be distributed among the most famous physicians, with a promise of a munificent reward to any of them who should come and effect her cure. various physicians arrived from all parts, and tried their skill; but none could boast of better success than their predecessors, or of restoring the princess's faculties, since it was a case that did not depend on medicine, but on the will of the princess herself. during this interval firoze shaw, disguised in the habit of a dervish, travelled through many provinces and towns, involved in grief; and endured excessive fatigue, not knowing which way to direct his course, or whether he might not be pursuing the very opposite road from what he ought, in order to hear the tidings he was in search of. he made diligent inquiry after her at every place he came to; till at last passing through a city of hindoostan, he heard the people talk much of a princess of bengal, who ran mad on the day of the intended celebration of her nuptials with the sultan of cashmeer. at the name of the princess of bengal, and supposing that there could exist no other princess of bengal than her upon whose account he had undertaken his travels, he hastened towards the kingdom of cashmeer, and upon his arrival at the capital took up his lodging at a khan, where the same day he was informed of the story of the princess, and the fate of the hindoo magician, which he had so richly deserved. from the circumstances, the prince was convinced that she was the beloved object he had sought so long. being informed of all these particulars, he provided himself against the next day with a physician's habit, and having let his beard grow during his travels, he passed the more easily for the character he assumed, went to the palace, impatient to behold his beloved, where he presented himself to the chief of the officers, and observed modestly, that perhaps it might be looked upon as a rash undertaking to attempt the cure of the princess, after so many had failed; but that he hoped some specifics, from which he had experienced success, might effect the desired relief. the chief of the officers told him he was welcome, that the sultan would receive him with pleasure, and that if he should have the good fortune to restore the princess to her former health, he might expect a considerable reward from his master's liberality: "stay a moment," added he, "i will come to you again immediately." some time had elapsed since any physician had offered himself; and the sultan of cashmeer with great grief had begun to lose all hope of ever seeing the princess restored to health, that he might marry, and shew how much he loved her. he ordered the officer to introduce the physician he had announced. the prince of persia was presented, when the sultan, without wasting time in superfluous discourse, after having told him the princess of bengal could not bear the sight of a physician without falling into most violent transports, which increased her malady, conducted him into a closet, from whence, through a lattice, he might see her without being observed. there firoze shaw beheld his lovely princess sitting melancholy, with tears in her eyes, and singing an air in which she deplored her unhappy fate, which had deprived her, perhaps, for ever, of the object she loved so tenderly. the prince was sensibly affected at the melancholy condition in which he found his dear princess, but he wanted no other signs to comprehend that her disorder was feigned, or that it was for love of him that she was under so grievous an affliction. when he came out of the closet, he told the sultan that he had discovered the nature of the princess's complaint, and that she was not incurable; but added withal, that he must speak with her in private, and alone, as, notwithstanding her violent agitation at the sight of physicians, he hoped she would hear and receive him favourably. the sultan ordered the princess's chamber door to be opened, and firoze shaw went in. as soon as the princess saw him (taking him by his habit to be a physician), she rose up in a rage, threatening him, and giving him the most abusive language. he made directly towards her, and when he was nigh enough for her to hear him, for he did not wish to be heard by any one else, said to her, in a low voice, "princess, i am not a physician, but the prince of persia, and am come to procure you your liberty." the princess, who knew the sound of the voice, and the upper features of his face, notwithstanding he had let his beard grow so long, grew calm at once, and a secret joy and pleasure overspread her face, the effect of seeing the person so much desired so unexpectedly. her agreeable surprise deprived her for some time of the use of speech, and gave firoze shaw time to tell her as briefly as possible, how despair had seized him when he saw the hindoo carry her away; the resolution he afterwards had taken to leave every thing to find her out, and never to return home till he had regained her out of the hands of the perfidious wretch; and by what good fortune, at last, after a long and fatiguing journey, he had the satisfaction to find her in the palace of the sultan of cashmeer. he then desired the princess to inform him of all that happened to her, from the time she was taken away, till that moment when he had the happiness to converse with her, telling her, that it was of the greatest importance to know this, that he might take the most proper measures to deliver her from the tyranny of the sultan of cashmeer. the princess informed him how she was delivered from the hindoo's violence by the sultan, as he was returning from hunting; how she was alarmed the next day, by a declaration he had made of his precipitate design to marry her, without even the ceremony of asking her consent; that this violent and tyrannical conduct put her into a swoon; after which she thought she had no other way than what she had taken, to preserve herself for a prince to whom she had given her heart and faith; or die, rather than marry the sultan, whom she neither loved, nor could ever love. the prince of persia then asked her, if she knew what became of the horse, after the death of the hindoo magician. to which she answered, that she knew not what orders the sultan had given; but supposed, after the account she had given him of it, he would take care of it as a curiosity. as firoze shaw never doubted but that the sultan had the horse, he communicated to the princess his design of making use of it to convey them both into persia; and after they had consulted together on the measures they should take, they agreed that the princess should dress herself the next day, and receive the sultan civilly, but without speaking to him. the sultan of cashmeer was overjoyed when the prince of persia stated to him what effect his first visit had had towards the cure of the princess. on the following day, when the princess received him in such a manner as persuaded him her cure was far advanced, he regarded him as the greatest physician in the world; and seeing her in this state, contented himself with telling her how rejoiced he was at her being likely soon to recover her health. he exhorted her to follow the directions of so skilful a physician, in order to complete what he had so well begun; and then retired without waiting for her answer. the prince of persia, who attended the sultan of cashmeer out of the princess's chamber, as he accompanied him, asked if, without failing in due respect, he might inquire, how the princess of bengal came into the dominions of cashmeer thus alone, since her own country was far distant? this he said on purpose to introduce some conversation about the enchanted horse, and to know what was become of it. the sultan, who could not penetrate into the prince's motive, concealed nothing from him; but informed him of what the princess had related, when he had delivered her from the hindoo magician: adding, that he had ordered the enchanted horse to be kept safe in his treasury as a great curiosity, though he knew not the use of it. "sir," replied the pretended physician, "the information which your majesty has given your devoted slave affords me a means of curing the princess. as she was brought hither on this horse, and the horse is enchanted, she hath contracted something of the enchantment, which can be dissipated only by a certain incense which i am acquainted with. if your majesty would entertain yourself, your court, and the people of your capital, with the most surprising sight that ever was beheld, let the horse be brought into the great square before the palace, and leave the rest to me. i promise to show you, and all that assembly, in a few moments time, the princess of bengal completely restored in body and mind. but the better to effect what i propose, it will be requisite that the princess, should be dressed as magnificently as possible, and adorned with the most valuable jewels your majesty may possess." the sultan would have undertaken much more difficult things to have arrived at the enjoyment of his desires, which he expected soon to accomplish. the next day, the enchanted horse was, by his order, taken out of the treasury, and placed early in the great square before the palace. a report was spread through the town that there was something extraordinary to be seen, and crowds of people flocked thither from all parts, insomuch that the sultan's guards were placed to prevent disorder, and to keep space enough round the horse. the sultan of cashmeer, surrounded by all his nobles and ministers of state, was placed on a scaffold erected on purpose. the princess of bengal, attended by a number of ladies whom the sultan had assigned her, went up to the enchanted horse, and the women helped her to mount. when she was fixed in the saddle, and had the bridle in her hand, the pretended physician placed round the horse at a proper distance many vessels full of lighted charcoal, which he had ordered to be brought, and going round them with a solemn pace, cast in a strong and grateful perfume; then collected in himself, with downcast eyes, and his hands upon his breast, he ran three times about the horse, making as if he pronounced some mystical words. the moment the pots sent forth a dark cloud of pleasant smell, which so surrounded the princess, that neither she nor the horse could be discerned, watching his opportunity, the prince jumped nimbly up behind her, and reaching his hand to the peg, turned it; and just as the horse rose with them into the air, he pronounced these words, which the sultan heard distinctly, "sultan of cashmeer, when you would marry princesses who implore your protection, learn first to obtain their consent." thus the prince delivered the princess of bengal, and carried her the same day to the capital of persia, where he alighted in the square of the palace, before the emperor his father's apartment, who deferred the solemnization of the marriage no longer than till he could make the preparations necessary to render the ceremony pompous and magnificent, and evince the interest he took in it. after the days appointed for the rejoicings were over, the emperor of persia's first care was to name and appoint an ambassador to go to the rajah of bengal with an account of what had passed, and to demand his approbation and ratification of the alliance contracted by this marriage; which the rajah of bengal took as an honour, and granted with great pleasure and satisfaction. the story of prince ahmed, and the fairy perie banou. there was a sultan who had peaceably filled the throne of india many years, and had the satisfaction in his old age to have three sons the worthy imitators of his virtues, who, with the princess his niece, were the ornaments of his court. the eldest of the princes was called houssain, the second ali, the youngest ahmed, and the princess his niece nouronnihar. the princess nouronnihar was the daughter of the younger brother of the sultan, to whom in his lifetime he had allowed a considerable revenue. but that prince had not been married long before he died, and left the princess very young. the sultan, in consideration of the brotherly love and friendship that had always subsisted between them, besides a great attachment to his person, took upon himself the care of his daughter's education, and brought her up in his palace with the three princes; where her singular beauty and personal accomplishments, joined to a lively wit and irreproachable virtue, distinguished her among all the princesses of her time. the sultan, her uncle, proposed to marry her when she arrived at a proper age, and by that means to contract an alliance with some neighbouring prince; and was thinking seriously on the subject, when he perceived that the three princes his sons loved her passionately. this gave him much concern, though his grief did not proceed from a consideration that their passion prevented his forming the alliance he designed, but the difficulty he foresaw to make them agree, and that the two youngest should consent to yield her up to their eldest brother. he spoke to each of them apart; and remonstrated on the impossibility of one princess being the wife of three persons, and the troubles they would create if they persisted in their attachment. he did all he could to persuade them to abide by a declaration of the princess in favour of one of them; or to desist from their pretensions, to think of other matches which he left them free liberty to choose, and suffer her to be married to a foreign attachment. but as he found them obstinate, he sent for them all together, and said, "my children, since i have not been able to dissuade you from aspiring to marry the princess your cousin; and as i have no inclination to use my authority, to give her to one in preference to his brothers, i trust i have thought of an expedient which will please you all, and preserve harmony among you, if you will but hear me, and follow my advice. i think it would not be amiss if you were to travel separately into different countries, so that you might not meet each other: and as you know i am very curious, and delight in every thing that is rare and singular, i promise my niece in marriage to him who shall bring me the most extraordinary rarity; chance may lead you to form your own judgment of the singularity of the things which you bring, by the comparison you make of them, so that you will have no difficulty to do yourselves justice by yielding the preference to him who has deserved it; and for the expense of travelling, i will give each of you a sum suited to your rank, and for the purchase of the rarity you shall search after; which shall not be laid out in equipage and attendants, as much display, by discovering who you are, would not only deprive you of the liberty to acquit yourselves of your charge, but prevent your observing those things which may merit your attention, and may be most useful to you." as the three princes were always submissive and obedient to the sultan's will, and each flattered himself fortune might prove favourable to him, and give him possession of the princess nouronnihar, they all consented to the proposal. the sultan gave them the money he promised; and that very day they issued orders for the preparations for their travels, and took leave of their father, that they might be ready to set out early next morning. they all went out at the same gate of the city, each dressed like a merchant, attended by a trusty officer, habited as a slave, and all well mounted and equipped. they proceeded the first day's journey together; and slept at a caravanserai, where the road divided into three different tracks. at night when they were at supper together, they all agreed to travel for a year, to make their present lodging their rendezvous; and that the first who came should wait for the rest; that as they had all three taken leave together of the sultan, they might return in company. the next morning by break of day, after they had embraced and wished each other reciprocally good success, they mounted their horses, and took each a different road. prince houssain, the eldest brother, who had heard wonders of the extent, power, riches, and splendour of the kingdom of bisnagar, bent his course towards the indian coast; and after three months' travelling, joining himself to different caravans, sometimes over deserts and barren mountains, and sometimes through populous and fertile countries, arrived at bisnagar, the capital of the kingdom of that name, and the residence of its maharajah. he lodged at a khan appointed for foreign merchants; and having learnt that there were four principal divisions where merchants of all sorts kept their shops, in the midst of which stood the castle, or rather the maharajah's palace, on a large extent of ground, as the centre of the city, surrounded by three courts, and each gate distant two leagues from the other, he went to one of these quarters the next day. prince houssain could not view this quarter without admiration. it was large, divided into several streets, all vaulted and shaded from the sun, but yet very light. the shops were all of the same size and proportion; and all who dealt in the same sort of goods, as well as all the artists of the same profession, lived in one street. the number of shops stocked with all kinds of merchandizes, such as the finest linens from several parts of india, some painted in the most lively colours, and representing men, landscapes, trees, and flowers; silks and brocades from persia, china, and other places; porcelain from japan and china; foot carpets of all sizes; surprised him so much, that he knew not how to believe his eyes: but when he came to the shops of the goldsmiths and jewellers (for those two trades were exercised by the same merchants), he was in a kind of ecstasy, at beholding such prodigious quantities of wrought gold and silver, and was dazzled by the lustre of the pearls, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and other precious stones exposed to sale. but if he was amazed at seeing so many treasures in one place, he was much more surprised when he came to judge of the wealth of the whole kingdom, by considering, that except the brahmins, and ministers of the idols, who profess a life retired from worldly vanity, there was not an indian, man or woman, through the extent of the kingdom, but wore necklaces, bracelets, and ornaments about their legs and feet, made of pearls, and precious stones, which appeared with the greater lustre, as they were blacks, which colour admirably set off their brilliancy. another object which prince houssain particularly admired was the great number of flower-sellers who crowded the streets; for the indians are such great lovers of flowers that not one will stir without a nosegay of them in his hand, or a garland of them on his head; and the merchants keep them in pots in their shops, so that the air of the whole quarter, however extensive, is perfectly perfumed. after prince houssain had passed through that quarter, street by street, his thoughts fully employed on the riches he had seen, he was much fatigued; which a merchant perceiving, civilly invited him to sit down in his shop. he accepted his offer; but had not been seated long, before he saw a crier pass with a piece of carpeting on his arm, about six feet square, and crying it at thirty purses. the prince called to the crier, and asked to see the carpeting, which seemed to him to be valued at an exorbitant price, not only for the size of it, but the meanness of the materials. when he had examined it well, he told the crier that he could not comprehend how so small a piece of carpeting, and of so indifferent an appearance, could be set at so high a price. the crier, who took him for a merchant, replied, "sir, if this price seems so extravagant to you, your amazement will be greater when i tell you, i have orders to raise it to forty purses, and not to part with it under." "certainly," answered prince houssain, "it must have something very extraordinary in it, which i know nothing of." "you have guessed right, sir," replied the crier, "and will own it when you come to know, that whoever sits on this piece of carpeting may be transported in an instant wherever he desires to be, without being stopped by any obstacle." at this account, the prince of the indies, considering that the principal motive of his tour was to carry the sultan his father home some singular rarity, thought that he could not meet with any which would afford him more satisfaction. "if the carpeting," said he to the crier, "has the virtue you attribute to it, i shall not think forty purses too much; but shall make you a present besides." "sir," replied the crier, "i have told you the truth; and it will be an easy matter to convince you of it, as soon as you have made the bargain for forty purses, on condition i shew you the experiment. but as i suppose you have not so much with you, and to receive them, i must go with you to the khan where you lodge; with the leave of the master of this shop we will go into the back warehouse, where i will spread the carpeting; and when we have both sat down, and you have formed the wish to be transported into your apartment at the khan, if we are not conveyed thither, it shall be no bargain, and you shall be at your liberty. as to your present, as i am paid for my trouble by the seller, i shall receive it as a favour, and feel much obliged by your liberality." on this assurance of the crier, the prince accepted the conditions, and concluded the bargain; then having obtained the master's leave, they went into his back-shop, where they both sat down on the carpeting; and as soon as the prince had formed his wish to be transported into his apartment at the khan, he in an instant found himself and the crier there: as he wanted not a more convincing proof of the virtue of the carpeting, he counted to the crier forty purses of gold, and gave him twenty pieces for himself. in this manner prince houssain became the possessor of the carpeting, and was overjoyed that at his arrival at bisnagar he had found so rare a curiosity, which he never doubted must of course gain him the possession of nouronnihar. in short, he thought it impossible for the princes, his younger brothers, to meet with any thing to be compared with it. it was in his power, by sitting on this carpeting, to be at the place of rendezvous that very day; but as he would be obliged to wait there for his brothers, as they had agreed, and as he was desirous of seeing the maharajah of bisnagar and his court, and to inform himself of the strength, laws, customs, and religion of the kingdom, he chose to make a longer abode in this capital, and to spend some months in satisfying his curiosity. it was the custom of the maharajah of bisnagar to give all foreign merchants access to his person once a week; so that in his assumed character prince houssain saw him often: and as this prince was of an engaging presence, sensible and accomplished, he distinguished himself among the merchants, and was preferred before them all by the maharajah, who addressed himself to him to be informed of the person of the sultan of the indies, and of the government, strength, and riches of his dominions. the rest of his time the prince employed in viewing what was most remarkable in and about the city; and among the objects which were most worthy of admiration, he visited a temple remarkable for being built all of brass. it was ten cubits square, and fifteen high; but its greatest ornament was an idol of the height of a man, of massive gold; its eyes were two rubies, set so artificially, that it seemed to look at those who viewed it, on which side soever they turned: besides this, there was another not less curious, in the environs of the city, in the midst of a lawn of about ten acres, which was like a delicious garden full of roses and the choicest flowers, surrounded by a low wall, breast high, to keep out the cattle. in the midst of this lawn was raised a terrace, a man's height, and covered with such beautiful cement, that the whole pavement seemed to be but one single stone, most highly polished. a temple was erected in the middle of this terrace, having a spire rising about fifty cubits high from the building, which might be seen for several leagues round. the temple was thirty cubits long, and twenty broad; built of red marble, highly polished. the inside of the spire was adorned with three compartments of fine paintings: and there was not a part in the whole edifice but what was embellished with paintings, or relievos, and gaudy idols from top to bottom. every night and morning there were superstitious ceremonies performed in this temple, which were always succeeded by sports, concerts of music, dancing, singing, and feasts. the brahmins of the temple, and the inhabitants of this suburb, had nothing to subsist on but the offerings of pilgrims, who came in crowds from the most distant parts of the kingdom to perform their vows. prince houssain was also spectator of a solemn festival, which was celebrated every year at the court of bisnagar, at which all the governors of provinces, commanders of fortified places, all heads and magistrates of towns, and the brahmins most celebrated for their learning, were usually present; and some lived so far off, that they were four months in coming. this assembly, composed of such innumerable multitudes of hindoos encamped in variously coloured tents, on a plain of vast extent, was a splendid sight, as far as the eye could reach. in the centre of this plain was a square of great length and breadth, closed on one side by a large scaffolding of nine stories, supported by forty pillars, raised for the maharajah and his court, and those strangers whom he admitted to audience once a week: within, it was adorned and furnished magnificently with rich carpets and cushions; and on the outside were painted landscapes, wherein all sorts of beasts, birds, and insects, even flies and gnats, were drawn very naturally. other scaffolds of at least four or five stories, and painted almost all with the same fanciful brilliancy, formed the other three sides. but what was more particular in these scaffolds, they could turn, and make them change their fronts so as to present different decorations to the eye every hour. on each side of the square, at some little distance from each other, were ranged a thousand elephants, sumptuously caparisoned, each having upon his back a square wooden stage, finely gilt, upon which were musicians and buffoons. the trunks, ears, and bodies of these elephants were painted with cinnabar and other colours, representing grotesque figures. but what prince houssain most of all admired, as a proof of the industry, address, and inventive genius of the hindoos, was to see the largest of these elephants stand with his four feet on a post fixed into the earth, and standing out of it above two feet, playing and beating time with his trunk to the music. besides this, he admired another elephant as large as the former, placed upon a plank, laid across a strong beam about ten feet high, with a sufficiently heavyweight at the other end, which balanced him, while he kept time, by the motions of his body and trunk, with the music, as well as the other elephant. the hindoos, after having fastened on the counterpoise, had drawn the other end of the board down to the ground, and made the elephant get upon it. prince houssain might have made a longer stay in the kingdom and court of bisnagar, where he would have been agreeably diverted by a great variety of other wonders, till the last day of the year, whereon he and his brothers had appointed to meet. but he was so well satisfied with what he had seen, and his thoughts ran so much upon the object of his love, that after such success in meeting with his carpet, reflecting on the beauty and charms of the princess nouronnihar increased every day the violence of his passion, and he fancied he should be the more easy and happy the nearer he was to her. after he had satisfied the master of the khan for his apartment, and told him the hour when he might come for the key, without mentioning how he should travel, he shut the door, put the key on the outside, and spreading the carpet, he and the officer he had brought with him sat down upon it, and as soon as he had formed his wish, were transported to the caravanserai at which he and his brothers were to meet, and where he passed for a merchant till their arrival. prince ali, the second brother, who had designed to travel into persia, in conformity with the intention of the sultan of the indies, took that road, having three days after he parted with his brothers joined a caravan; and in four months arrived at sheerauz, which was then the capital of the empire of persia; and having in the way contracted a friendship with some merchants, passed for a jeweller, and lodged in the same khan with them. the next morning, while the merchants opened their bales of merchandises, prince ali, who travelled only for his pleasure, and had brought nothing but necessaries with him, after he had dressed himself, took a walk into that quarter of the town where they sold precious stones, gold and silver works, brocades, silks, fine linens, and other choice and valuable articles, and which was at sheerauz called the bezestein. it was a spacious and well-built street, arched over, within the arcades of which were shops. prince ali soon rambled through the bezestein, and with admiration judged of the riches of the place by the prodigious quantities of the most precious merchandises exposed to view. but among the criers who passed backwards and forwards with several sorts of goods, offering to sell them, he was not a little surprised to see one who held in his hand an ivory tube, of about a foot in length, and about an inch thick, which he cried at forty purses. at first he thought the crier mad, and to inform himself, went to a shop, and said to the merchant who stood at the door, "pray, sir, is not that man" (pointing to the crier, who cried the ivory tube at forty purses) "mad? if he is not, i am much deceived." "indeed, sir," answered the merchant, "he was in his right senses yesterday; and i can assure you he is one of the ablest criers we have, and the most employed of any, as being to be confided in when any thing valuable is to be sold; and if he cries the ivory tube at forty purses, it must be worth as much or more, on some account or other which does not appear. he will come by presently, when we will call him, and you shall satisfy yourself: in the mean time sit down on my sofa, and rest yourself." prince ali accepted the merchant's obliging offer, and presently afterwards the crier arrived. the merchant called him by his name, and pointing to the prince, said to him, "tell that gentleman, who asked me if you were in your right senses, what you mean by crying that ivory tube, which seems not to be worth much, at forty purses? i should indeed be much amazed myself, if i did not know you were a sensible man." the crier, addressing himself to prince ali, said, "sir, you are not the only person that takes me for a madman, on account of this tube; you shall judge yourself whether i am or no, when i have told you its property; and i hope you will value it at as high a price as those i have shewed it to already, who had as bad an opinion of me as you have. "first, sir," pursued the crier, presenting the ivory tube to the prince, "observe, that this tube is furnished with a glass at both ends; by looking through one of them, you will see whatever object you wish to behold." "i am," said the prince, "ready to make you all proper reparation for the reflection i have cast upon you, if you can make the truth of what you advance appear; and" (as he had the ivory tube in his hand, after he had looked at the two glasses), he said, "shew me at which of these ends i must look, that i may be satisfied." the crier presently shewed him, and he looked through; wishing, at the same time, to see the sultan his father, whom he immediately beheld in perfect health, sitting on his throne, in the midst of his council. next, as there was nothing in the world so dear to him, after the sultan, as the princess nouronnihar, he wished to see her; and instantly beheld her laughing, and in a gay humour, with her women about her. prince all wanted no other proof to persuade him that this tube was the most valuable article, not only in the city of sheerauz, but in all the world; and believed, that if he should neglect to purchase it, he should never meet with an equally wonderful curiosity. he said to the crier, "i am very sorry that i have entertained so erroneous an opinion of you, but hope to make amends by buying the tube, for i should be sorry if any body else had it; so tell me the lowest price the owner has fixed; and do not give yourself any farther trouble to hawk it about, but go with me and i will pay you the money." the crier assured him, with an oath, that his last orders were to take no less than forty purses; and if he disputed the truth of what he said, he would carry him to his employer. the prince believed him, took him to the khan where he lodged, told him out the money, and received the tube. prince ali was overjoyed at his purchase; and persuaded himself, that as his brothers would not be able to meet with any thing so rare and admirable, the princess nouronnihar must be the recompense of his fatigue and travels. he thought now of only visiting the court of persia incognito, and seeing whatever was curious in and about sheerauz, till the caravan with which he came might be ready to return to the indies. he satisfied his curiosity, and when the caravan took its departure, the prince joined the former party of merchants his friends, and arrived happily without any accident or trouble, further than the length of the journey and fatigue of travelling, at the place of rendezvous, where he found prince houssain, and both waited for prince ahmed. prince ahmed took the road of samarcand, and the day after his arrival, went, as his brothers had done, into the bezestein; where he had not walked long before he heard a crier, who had an artificial apple in his hand, cry it at five-and-thirty purses. he stopped the crier, and said to him, "let me see that apple, and tell me what virtue or extraordinary property it possesses, to be valued at so high a rate?" "sir," replied the crier, giving it into his hand, "if you look at the mere outside of this apple it is not very remarkable; but if you consider its properties, and the great use and benefit it is of to mankind, you will say it is invaluable, and that he who possesses it is master of a great treasure. it cures all sick persons of the most mortal diseases, whether fever, pleurisy, plague, or other malignant distempers; for even if the patient is dying, it will recover him immediately, and restore him to perfect health: and this merely by the patient's smelling to it." "if one may believe you," replied prince ahmed, "the virtues of this apple are wonderful, and it is indeed invaluable: but what ground has the purchaser to be persuaded that there is no exaggeration in the high praises you bestow on it?" "sir," replied the crier, "the truth is known by the whole city of samarcand; but without going any farther, ask all these merchants you see here, and hear what they say; you will find several of them will tell you they had not been alive this day had they not made use of this excellent remedy; and that you may the better comprehend what it is, i must tell you it is the fruit of the study and experience of a celebrated philosopher of this city, who applied himself all his lifetime to the knowledge of the virtues of plants and minerals, and at last attained to this composition, by which he performed such surprising cures, as will never be forgotten; but died suddenly himself, before he could apply his own sovereign remedy; and left his wife and a great many young children behind in very indifferent circumstances, who, to support her family, and to provide for her children, has resolved to sell it." while the crier was detailing to prince ahmed the virtues of the artificial apple, many persons came about them, and confirmed what he declared; and one amongst the rest said he had a friend dangerously ill, whose life was despaired of; which was a favourable opportunity to shew the experiment. upon which prince ahmed told the crier he would give him forty purses for the apple if it cured the sick person by smelling to it. the crier, who had orders to sell it at that price, said to prince ahmed, "come, sir, let us go and make the experiment, and the apple shall be yours; and i say this with the greater confidence, as it is an undoubted fact that it will always have the same effect, as it already has had whenever it has been applied to save from death so many persons whose lives were despaired of." in short, the experiment succeeded; and the prince, after he had counted out to the crier forty purses, and had received the apple from him, waited with the greatest impatience for the departure of a caravan for the indies. in the mean time he saw all that was curious at and about samarcand, and principally the valley of sogd, which is reckoned by the arabians one of the four paradises of this world, for the beauty of its fields, gardens, and palaces, and for its fertility in fruit of all sorts, and all the other pleasures enjoyed there in the fine season. ahmed joined himself to the first caravan that set out for the indies, and notwithstanding the inevitable inconveniences of so long a journey, arrived in perfect health at the caravanserai, where the princes houssain and ali waited for him. ali, who had arrived some time before ahmed, asked houssain how long he had been there? who told him, "three months;" to which he replied, "then certainly you have not been very far." "i will tell you nothing now," said prince houssain, "of where i have been, but only assure you, i was above three months travelling to the place i went to." "but then," replied prince ali, "you made a short stay there." "indeed, brother," said prince houssain, "you are mistaken; i resided at one place above four months, and might have stayed longer." "unless you flew back," returned ali again, "i cannot comprehend how you can have been three months here, as you would make me believe." "i tell you the truth," added houssain, "and it is a riddle which i shall not explain to you, till our brother ahmed joins us; when i will let you know what rarity i have purchased in my travels. i know not what you have got, but believe it to be some trifle, because i do not perceive that your baggage is increased." "and pray what have you brought?" demanded prince ali, "for i can see nothing but an ordinary piece of carpeting, with which you cover your sofa; and therefore i think i may return your raillery; and as you seem to make what you have brought a secret, you cannot take it amiss that i do the same with respect to what i have procured." "i consider the rarity i have purchased," replied houssain, "to excel all others whatever, and should not make any difficulty to shew it you, and make you allow that it is so, and at the same time tell you how i came by it, without being in the least apprehensive that what you have got is to be preferred to it: but it is proper that we should wait till our brother ahmed arrives, when we may communicate our good fortune to each other." prince all would not enter into a dispute with prince houssain on the preference he gave his rarity, but was persuaded, that if his perspective glass was not preferable, it was impossible it should be inferior to it; and therefore agreed to stay till prince ahmed arrived, to produce his purchase. when prince ahmed joined his brothers, they embraced with tenderness, and complimented each other on the happiness of meeting together at the same place they had set out from. houssain, as the eldest brother, then assumed the discourse, and said to them, "brothers, we shall have time enough hereafter to entertain ourselves with the particulars of our travels. let us come to that which is of the greatest importance for us to know; and as i do not doubt you remember the principal motive which engaged us to travel, let us not conceal from each other the curiosities we have brought, but shew them, that we may do ourselves justice beforehand, and judge to which of us the sultan our father may give the preference. "to set the example," continued houssain, "i will tell you, that the rarity which i have brought from the kingdom of bisnagar is the carpeting on which i sit, which looks but ordinary, and makes no shew; but when i have declared its virtues, you will be struck with admiration, and confess you never heard of any thing like it. whoever sits on it, as we do, and desires to be transported to any place, be it ever so far distant, he is immediately carried thither. i made the experiment myself, before i paid the forty purses, which i most readily gave for it; and when i had fully satisfied my curiosity at the court of bisnagar, and wished to return here, i made use of no other conveyance than this wonderful carpet for myself and servant, who can tell you how long we were on our journey. i will shew you both the experiment whenever you please. i expect now that you should tell me whether what you have brought is to be compared with this carpet." here prince houssain finished his commendations of the excellency of his carpet; and prince ali, addressing himself to him, said, "i must own, brother, that your carpet is one of the most surprising curiosities, if it has, as i do not doubt, the property you speak of. but you must allow that there may be other rarities, i will not say more, but at least as wonderful, in another way; and to convince you there are, here is an ivory tube, which appears to the eye no more a prodigy than your carpet; it cost me as much, and i am as well satisfied with my purchase as you can be with yours; and you will be so just as to own that i have not been imposed upon, when you shall know by experience, that by looking at one end you see whatever object you wish to behold. i would not have you take my word," added prince ali, presenting the tube to him; "take it, make trial of it yourself." houssain took the ivory tube from prince ali, and put that end to his eye which ali directed, with an intention to see the princess nouronnihar; when ali and prince ahmed, who kept their eyes fixed upon him, were extremely surprised to see his countenance change in such a manner, as expressed extraordinary alarm and affliction. prince houssain did not give them time to ask what was the matter, but cried out, "alas! princes, to what purpose have we undertaken such long and fatiguing journeys, but with the hopes of being recompensed by the possession of the charming nouronnihar, when in a few moments that lovely princess will breathe her last. i saw her in her bed, surrounded by her women and eunuchs, all in tears, who seem to expect her death. take the tube, behold yourselves the miserable state she is in, and mingle your tears with mine." prince ali took the tube out of houssain's hand, and after he had seen the same object with sensible grief, presented it to ahmed, who took it, to behold the melancholy sight which so much concerned them all. when prince ahmed had taken the tube out of ali's hands, and saw that the princess nouronnihar's end was so near, he addressed himself to his two brothers, and said, "princes, the princess nouronnihar, equally the object of our vows, is indeed just at death's door; but provided we make haste and lose no time, we may preserve her life." he then took the artificial apple out of his bosom, and shewing it to his brothers, resumed, "this apple cost me as much and more than either the carpet or tube. the opportunity which now presents itself to shew you its wonderful property makes me not regret the forty purses i gave for it. but not to keep you longer in suspense, it has this virtue; if a sick person smells to it, though in the last agonies, it will restore him to perfect health immediately. i have made the experiment, and can show you its wonderful effect on the person of the princess nouronnihar, if we hasten to assist her." "if that be all," replied prince houssain, "we cannot make more dispatch than by transporting ourselves instantly into her chamber by means of my carpet. come, lose no time, sit down, it is large enough to hold us all: but first let us give orders to our servants to set out immediately, and join us at the palace." as soon as the order was given, the princes ali and ahmed sat down by houssain, and as their interest was the same, they all framed the same wish, and were transported instantaneously into the princess nouronnihar's chamber. the presence of the three princes, who were so little expected, alarmed the princess's women and eunuchs, who could not comprehend by what enchantment three men should be among them; for they did not know them at first; and the eunuchs were ready to fall upon them, as people who had got into a part of the palace where they were not allowed to come; but they presently found their mistake. prince ahmed no sooner saw himself in nouronnihar's chamber, and perceived the princess dying, but he rose off the carpet, as did also the other two princes, went to the bed-side, and put the apple to her nostrils. the princess instantly opened her eyes, and turned her head from one side to another, looking at the persons who stood about her; she then rose up in the bed, and asked to be dressed, with the same freedom and recollection as if she had awaked out of a sound sleep. her women presently informed her, in a manner that shewed their joy, that she was obliged to the three princes her cousins, and particularly to prince ahmed, for the sudden recovery of her health. she immediately expressed her joy at seeing them, and thanked them all together, but afterwards prince ahmed in particular. as she desired to dress, the princes contented themselves with telling her how great a pleasure it was to them to have come soon enough to contribute each in any degree towards relieving her from the imminent danger she was in, and what ardent prayers they had offered for the continuance of her life; after which they retired. while the princess was dressing, the princes went to throw themselves at the sultan their father's feet; but when they came to him, they found he had been previously informed of their unexpected arrival by the chief of the princess's eunuchs, and by what means the princess had been so suddenly cured. the sultan received and embraced them with the greatest joy, both for their return, and the wonderful recovery of the princess his niece, whom he loved as if she had been his own daughter, and who had been given over by the physicians. after the usual compliments, the princes presented each the rarity which he had brought: prince houssain his carpet, prince ali his ivory tube, and prince ahmed the artificial apple; and after each had commended his present, as he put it into the sultan's hands, they begged of him to pronounce their fate, and declare to which of them he would give the princess nouronnihar, according to his promise. the sultan of the indies having kindly heard all that the princes had to say in favour of their rarities, without interrupting them, and being well informed of what had happened in relation to the princess nouronnihar's cure, remained some time silent, considering what answer he should make. at last he broke silence, and said to them in terms full of wisdom, "i would declare for one of you, my children, if i could do it with justice; but consider whether i can? it is true, ahmed, the princess my niece is obliged to your artificial apple for her cure: but let me ask you, whether you could have been so serviceable to her if you had not known by ali's tube the danger she was in, and if houssain's carpet had not brought you to her so soon? your tube, ali, informed you and your brothers that you were likely to lose the princess your cousin, and so far she is greatly obliged to you. you must also grant, that the knowledge of her illness would have been of no service without the artificial apple and the carpet. and as for you, houssain, the princess would be very ungrateful if she did not show her sense of the value of your carpet, which was so necessary a means towards effecting her cure. but consider, it would have been of little use, if you had not been acquainted with her illness by ali's tube, or if ahmed had not applied his artificial apple. therefore, as neither the carpet, the ivory tube, nor the artificial apple has the least preference to the other articles, but as, on the contrary, their value has been perfectly equal, i cannot grant the princess to any one of you; and the only fruit you have reaped from your travels is the glory of having equally contributed to restore her to health. "as this is the case," added the sultan, "you see that i must have recourse to other means to determine me with certainty in the choice i ought to make; and as there is time enough between this and night, i will do it to-day. go and procure each of you a bow and arrow, repair to the plain where the horses are exercised; i will soon join you, and will give the princess nouronnihar to him who shoots the farthest. "i do not, however, forget to thank you all in general, and each in particular, for the present you have brought me. i have many rarities in my collection already, but nothing that comes up to the miraculous properties of the carpet, the ivory tube, and the artificial apple, which shall have the first places among them, and shall be preserved carefully, not only for curiosity, but for service upon all proper occasions." the three princes had nothing to object to the decision of the sultan. when they were dismissed his presence, they each provided themselves with a bow and arrow, which they delivered to one of their officers, and went to the plain appointed, followed by a great concourse of people. the sultan did not make them wait long for him: as soon as he arrived, prince houssain, as the eldest, took his bow and arrow, and shot first. prince ali shot next, and much beyond him; and prince ahmed last of all; but it so happened, that nobody could see where his arrow fell; and notwithstanding all the search made by himself and all the spectators, it was not to be found. though it was believed that he had shot the farthest, and had therefore deserved the princess nouronnihar, it was however necessary that his arrow should be found, to make the matter more evident and certain; but notwithstanding his remonstrances, the sultan determined in favour of prince ali, and gave orders for preparations to be made for the solemnization of the nuptials, which were celebrated a few days after with great magnificence. prince houssain would not honour the feast with his presence; his passion for the princess nouronnihar was so sincere and ardent, that he could scarcely support with patience the mortification of seeing her in the arms of prince ali: who, he said, did not deserve her better nor love her more than himself. in short, his grief was so violent and insupportable, that he left the court, and renounced all right of succession to the crown, to turn dervish, and put himself under the discipline of a famous chief, who had gained great reputation for his exemplary life; and had taken up his abode, and that of his disciples, whose number was great, in an agreeable solitude. prince ahmed, urged by the same motive, did not assist at prince ali and the princess nouronnihar's nuptials, any more than his brother houssain, yet did not renounce the world as he had done. but as he could not imagine what could have become of his arrow, he resolved to search for it, that he might not have any thing to reproach himself with. with this intent he went to the place where the princes houssain's and ali's were gathered up, and proceeding straight forwards from thence looked carefully on both sides as he advanced. he went so far, that at last he began to think his labour was in vain; yet he could not help proceeding till he came to some steep craggy rocks, which would have obliged him to return, had he been ever so desirous to continue his course. as he approached these rocks, he perceived an arrow, which he took up, looked earnestly at it, and was in the greatest astonishment to find it was the same he had shot. "certainly," said he to himself, "neither i, nor any man living, could shoot an arrow so far; and finding it laid flat, not sticking into the ground, he judged that it had rebounded from the rock. there must be some mystery in this, said he to himself again, and it may be to my advantage. perhaps fortune, to make amends for depriving me of what i thought the greatest happiness of my life, may have reserved a greater blessing for my comfort." as these rocks were full of sharp points and indentures between them, the prince meditating, entered into one of the cavities, and looking about, beheld an iron door, which seemed to have no lock. he feared it was fastened; but pushing against it, it opened, and discovered an easy descent, which he walked down with his arrow in his hand. at first he thought he was going into a dark place, but presently a light quite different from that which he had quitted succeeded; and entering into a spacious square, he, to his surprise, beheld a magnificent palace, the admirable structure of which he had not time to look at: for at the same instant, a lady of majestic air, and of a beauty to which the richness of her habit and the jewels which adorned her person added no advantage, advanced, attended by a troop of ladies, or whom it was difficult to distinguish which was the mistress, as all were so magnificently dressed. as soon as ahmed perceived the lady, he hastened to pay his respects; and the lady seeing him coming, prevented him. addressing him first, she said, "come near, prince ahmed, you are welcome." it was with no small surprise that the prince heard himself named in a palace he had never heard of, though so nigh to his father's capital, and he could not comprehend how he should be known to a lady who was a stranger to him. at last he returned the lady's compliment, by throwing himself at her feet, and rising up, said to her, "lady, i return you a thousand thanks for the assurance you give me of welcome to a place where i had reason to believe my imprudent curiosity had made me penetrate too far. but may i, without being guilty of rudeness, presume to inquire by what adventure you know me? and how you who live in the same neighbourhood should be so little known by me?" "prince," said the lady, "let us go into the hall; there i will gratify you in your request more commodiously for us both." after these words, the lady led prince ahmed into the hall, the noble structure of which, displaying the gold and azure which embellished the dome, and the inestimable richness of the furniture, appeared so great a novelty to him, that he could not forbear his admiration, but exclaimed, that he had never beheld its equal. "i can assure you," replied the lady, "that this is but a small part of my palace, as you will judge when you have seen all the apartments." she then sat down on a sofa; and when the prince at her entreaty had seated himself by her, she continued, "you are surprised, you say, that i know you, and am not known by you; but you will be no longer surprised when i inform you who i am. you cannot be ignorant, as the koran informs you, that the world is inhabited by genii as well as men: i am the daughter of one of the most powerful and distinguished of these genii, and my name is perie banou; therefore you ought not to wonder that i know you, the sultan your father, the princes your brothers, and the princess nouronnihar. i am no stranger to your loves or your travels, of which i could tell you all the circumstances, since it was i myself who exposed to sale the artificial apple which you bought at samarcand, the carpet which prince houssain purchased at bisnagar, and the tube which prince ali brought from sheerauz. this is sufficient to let you know that i am not unacquainted with every thing that relates to you. i have to add, that you seemed to me worthy of a more happy fate than that of possessing the princess nouronnihar; and that you might attain to it, i was present when you drew your arrow, and foresaw it would not go beyond prince houssain's. i seized it in the air, and gave it the necessary motion to strike against the rocks near which you found it. it is in your power to avail yourself of the favourable opportunity which presents itself to make you happy." as the fairy perie banou pronounced the last words with a different tone, and looked at the same time tenderly at the prince, with downcast eyes and a modest blush upon her cheeks, it was not difficult for him to comprehend what happiness she meant. he reflected that the princess nouronnihar could never be his, saw that perie banou excelled her infinitely in beauty and accomplishments, and, as far as he could conjecture by the magnificence of the palace, in immense riches. he blessed the moment that he thought of seeking after his arrow a second time, and yielding to his inclination, which drew him towards the new object which had fired his heart: he then replied, "should i, all my life, have the happiness of being your slave, and the admirer of the many charms which ravish my soul, i should think myself the happiest of men. pardon the presumption which inspires me to ask this favour, and do not refuse to admit into your court a prince who is entirely devoted to you." "prince," answered the fairy, "as i have been, long my own mistress, and have no dependence on a parent's consent, it is not as a slave that i would admit you into my court, but as master of my person, and all that belongs to me, by pledging your faith to me, and taking me as your wife. i hope you will not think it indecorous, that i anticipate you in this proposal. i am, as i said, mistress of my will; and must add, that the same customs are not observed among fairies as with human-kind, in whom it would not have been decent to have made such advances: but it is what we do, and we suppose we confer obligation by the practice." ahmed made no answer to this declaration, but was so penetrated with gratitude, that he thought he could not express it better than by prostration to kiss the hem of her garment; which she would not give him time to do, but presented her hand, which he kissed a thousand times, and kept fast locked in his. "well, prince ahmed," said she, "will you pledge your faith to me, as i do mine to you?" "yes, madam," replied the prince, in an ecstacy of joy. "what can i do more fortunate for myself, or with greater pleasure? yes, my sultaness, i give it you with my heart without the least reserve." "then," answered the fairy, "you are my husband, and i am your wife. our fairy marriages are contracted with no other ceremonies, and yet are more firm and indissoluble than those among men, with all their formalities. but as i suppose," pursued she, "that you have eaten nothing to-day, a slight repast shall be served up for you while preparations are making for our nuptial feast this evening, and then i will shew you the apartments of my palace." some of the fairy's women who came into the hall with them, and guessed her intentions, went immediately out, and returned with some excellent viands and wines. when ahmed had refreshed himself, the fairy led him through all the apartments, where he saw diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and all sorts of fine jewels, intermixed with pearls, agate, jasper, porphyry, and all kinds of the most precious marbles; not to mention the richness of the furniture, which was inestimable; the whole disposed in such elegant profusion, that the prince acknowledged there could not be any thing in the world equal to it. "prince," said the fairy, "if you admire my humble abode so much, what would you say to the palaces of the chiefs of our genii, which are much more beautiful, spacious, and magnificent? i could also shew you my garden; but we will leave that till another time. night draws near, and it will be time to go to supper." the next hall which the fairy led the prince into, where the cloth was laid for the feast, was the only apartment he had not seen, and it was not in the least inferior to the others. at his entrance, he admired the infinite number of wax candles perfumed with amber, the multitude of which, instead of being confused, were placed with so just a symmetry, as to form an agreeable and pleasant light. a large beaufet was set out with all sorts of gold plate, so finely wrought, that the workmanship was much more valuable than the weight of the gold. several bands of beautiful women richly dressed, and whose voices were ravishing, began a concert, accompanied by the most harmonious instruments he had ever heard. when they were seated, the fairy took care to help prince ahmed to the most delicious meats, which she named as she invited him to eat of them, and which the prince had never heard of, but found so exquisite, that he commended them in the highest terms, saying, that the entertainment which she gave him far surpassed those among men. he found also the same excellence in the wines, which neither he nor the fairy tasted till the dessert was served up, which consisted of the choicest sweetmeats and fruits. after the dessert, the fairy perie banou and prince ahmed rose and repaired to a sofa, with cushions of fine silk, curiously embroidered with all sorts of large flowers, laid at their backs. presently after a great number of genii and fairies danced before them to the chamber where the nuptial bed was prepared; and when they came to the entrance, divided themselves into two rows, to let them pass, after which they made obeisance and retired. the nuptial festivity was renewed the next day; or rather, every day following the celebration was a continued feast, which the fairy perie banou knew how to diversify, by new delicacies, new concerts, new dances, new shows, and new diversions; which were all so gratifying to his senses, that ahmed, if he had lived a thousand years among men, could not have experienced equal enjoyment. the fairy's intention was not only to give the prince convincing proofs of the sincerity of her love, by so many attentions; but to let him see, that as he had no pretensions at his father's court, he could meet with nothing comparable to the happiness he enjoyed with her, independently of her beauty and attractions, and to attach him entirely to herself. in this attempt she succeeded so well, that ahmed's passion was not in the least diminished by possession; but increased so much, that if he had been so inclined, it was not in his power to forbear loving her. at the end of six months, prince ahmed, who always loved and honoured the sultan his father, felt a great desire to know how he was; and as that desire could not be satisfied without his absenting himself, he mentioned his wish to the fairy, and requested she would give him leave to visit the sultan. this request alarmed the fairy, and made her fear it was only an excuse to leave her. she said to him, "what disgust can i have given to you to ask me this permission? is it possible you should have forgotten that you have pledged your faith to me, or have you ceased to love one who is so passionately fond of you? are not the proofs i have repeatedly given you of my affection sufficient?" "my queen," replied the prince, "i am perfectly convinced of your love, and should be unworthy of it, if i did not testify my gratitude by a reciprocal affection. if you are offended at the permission i solicit, i entreat you to forgive me, and i will make all the reparation in my power. i did not make the request with any intention of displeasing you, but from a motive of respect towards my father, whom i wish to free from the affliction in which my so long absence must have overwhelmed him, and which must be the greater, as, i have reason to presume, he believes that i am dead. but since you do not consent that i should go and afford him that comfort, i will deny myself the pleasure, as there is nothing to which i would not submit to please you." ahmed did not dissemble, for he loved her at heart as much as he had assured her by this declaration; and the fairy expressed her satisfaction. but as he could not absolutely abandon his design, he frequently took an opportunity to speak to her of the great qualifications of the sultan his father: and above all, of his particular tenderness towards himself, in hopes he might at length be able to move her. as the prince had supposed, the sultan of the indies, in the midst of the rejoicings on account of the nuptials of prince ali and the princess nouronnihar, was sensibly afflicted at the absence of the other two princes his sons, though it was not long before he was informed of the resolution houssain had taken to forsake the world, and the place he had chosen for his retreat. as a good father, whose happiness consists in seeing his children about him, especially when they are deserving of his tenderness, he would have been better pleased had he stayed at his court, near his person; but as he could not disapprove of his choice of the state of perfection which he had entered, he supported his absence more patiently. he made the most diligent search after ahmed, and dispatched couriers to all the provinces of his dominions, with orders to the governors to stop him, and oblige him to return to court: but all the pains he took had not the desired success, and his affliction, instead of diminishing, increased. he would make it the subject of his conversation with his grand vizier; and would say to him, "vizier, thou knowest i always loved ahmed the most of all my sons; and thou art not insensible of the means i have in vain used to find him out. my grief is so heavy, i shall sink under it, if thou hast not compassion on me; if thou hast any regard for the preservation of my life, i conjure thee to assist and advise me." the grand vizier, no less attached to the person of the sultan than zealous to acquit himself well of the administration of the affairs of state, considering how to give his sovereign some ease, recollected a sorceress, of whom he had heard wonders, and proposed to send for and consult her. the sultan consented, and the grand vizier, upon her arrival, introduced her into the presence. the sultan said to the sorceress, "the affliction i have been in since the marriage of my son prince ali to the princess nouronnihar, my niece, on account of the absence of prince ahmed, is so well known, and so public, that thou canst be no stranger to it. by thy art and skill canst thou tell me what is become of him? if he be alive, where he is? what he is doing? and if i may hope ever to see him again?" to this the sorceress replied, "it is impossible, sir, for me, however skilful in my profession, to answer immediately the questions your majesty asks; but if you allow me till to-morrow, i will endeavour to satisfy you." the sultan granted her the time, and permitted her to retire, with a promise to recompense her munificently, if her answer proved agreeable to his hopes. the sorceress returned the next day, and the grand vizier presented her a second time to the sultan. "sir," said she, "notwithstanding all the diligence i have used in applying the rules of my art to obey your majesty in what you desire to know, i have not been able to discover any thing more than that prince ahmed is alive. this is certain, and you may depend upon it; but as to where he is i cannot discover." the sultan of the indies was obliged to remain satisfied with this answer; which left him in the same uneasiness as before as to the prince's situation. to return to prince ahmed. he so often entertained the fairy perie banou with talking about his father, though without speaking any more of his desire to visit him, that she fully comprehended what he meant; and perceiving the restraint he put upon himself, and his fear of displeasing her after her first refusal, she inferred, from the repeated proofs he had given her, that his love for her was sincere; and judging by herself of the injustice she committed in opposing a son's tenderness for his father, and endeavouring to make him renounce that natural affection, she resolved to grant him the permission which she knew he so ardently desired. one day she said to him, "prince, the request you made to be allowed to go and see the sultan your father gave me apprehension that it was only a pretext to conceal inconstancy, and that was the sole motive of my refusal; but now, as i am fully convinced by your actions and words that i can depend on your honour and the fidelity of your love, i change my resolution, and grant you the permission you seek, on condition that you will first swear to me that your absence shall not be long. you ought not to be uneasy at this condition, as if i asked it out of distrust. i impose it only because i know that it will give you no concern, convinced, as i have already told you i am, of the sincerity of your love." prince ahmed would have thrown himself at the fairy's feet to shew his gratitude, but she prevented him. "my sultaness," said he, "i am sensible of the great favour you grant me; but want words to express my thanks. supply this defect, i conjure you, by your own feelings, and be persuaded i think much more. you may believe that the oath will give me no uneasiness, and i take it more willingly, since it is not possible for me to live without you. i go, but the haste i will make to return shall shew you, that it is not the fear of being foresworn, but my inclination, which is to live with you for ever, that urges me; and if with your consent i now and then deprive myself of your society, i shall always avoid the pain a too long absence would occasion me." "prince," replied perie banou, delighted with his sentiments, "go when you please; but do not take it amiss that i give you some advice how you shall conduct yourself. first, i do not think it proper for you to inform your father of our marriage, neither of my quality, nor the place of our residence. beg of him to be satisfied with knowing that you are happy, that you want nothing from him, and let him know that the sole end of your visit is to make him easy respecting your fate." perie banou then appointed twenty horsemen, well mounted and equipped, to attend him. when all was ready, prince ahmed took his leave of the fairy, embraced her, and renewed his promise to return soon. a charger, which was most richly caparisoned, and as beautiful a creature as any in the sultan of the indies' stables, was brought to him, which he mounted with extraordinary grace, which gave great pleasure to the fairy; and after he had bidden her adieu, he set forward on his journey. as it was no great distance to his father's capital, prince ahmed soon arrived there. the people, rejoiced to see him again, received him with acclamations, and followed him in crowds to the palace. the sultan received and embraced him with great joy; complaining at the same time, with a fatherly tenderness, of the affliction his long absence had occasioned; which, he said, was the more distressing, as fortune having decided in favour of prince ali his brother, he was afraid he might have committed some act of despair. "sir," replied prince ahmed, "i leave it to your majesty to consider, if after having lost the princess nouronnihar, who was the only object of my desires, i could bear to be a witness of ali's happiness. if i had been capable of such unworthy apathy, what would the court and city have thought of my love, or what your majesty? love is a passion we cannot suppress at our will; while it lasts, it rules and governs us in spite of our boasted reason. your majesty knows, that when i shot my arrow, the most extraordinary accident that ever befell mortal happened to me, for surely it was such, that in so large and level a plain as that where the horses are exercised, it should not be possible to find my arrow. i lost your decision in my favour, which was as much due to my love, as to that of the princes my brothers. though thus vanquished by the caprice of fate, i lost no time in vain complaints; but to satisfy my perplexed mind, upon what i could not comprehend, i left my attendants, and returned alone to look for my arrow. i sought all about the place where houssain's and ali's arrows were found, and where i imagined mine must have fallen, but all my labour was in vain. i was not discouraged, but continued my search in a direct line, and after this manner had gone above a league, without being able to meet with any thing like an arrow, when i reflected that it was not possible that mine should have flown so far. i stopped, and asked myself whether i was in my right senses, to flatter myself with having had strength to shoot an arrow so much farther than any of the strongest archers in the world were able to do. after i had argued thus with myself, i was ready to abandon my enterprise; but when on the point of putting my resolution in execution, i found myself drawn forward against my will; and after having gone four leagues, to that part of the plain where it is bounded by rocks, i perceived an arrow. i ran, took it up, and knew it to be the same which i had shot. far from thinking your majesty had done me any injustice in declaring for my brother ali, i interpreted what had happened to me quite otherwise, and never doubted there was a mystery in it to my advantage; the discovery of which i ought not to neglect, and which i found out without going from the spot. but as to this mystery i beg your majesty will not be offended if i remain silent, and that you will be satisfied to know from my own mouth that i am happy, and content with my fate. "in the midst of my happiness, the only thing that troubled me, or was capable of disturbing me, was the uneasiness i feared your majesty would experience on account of my leaving the court, and your not knowing what was become of me. i thought it my duty to satisfy you in this point. this was the only motive which brought me hither; the only favour i ask of your majesty is to give me leave to come occasionally to pay you my duty, and inquire after your health." "son," answered the sultan of the indies, "i cannot refuse you the permission you ask, but i should much rather you would resolve to stay with me. at least tell me where i may hear of you, if you should fail to come, or when i may think your presence necessary." "sir," replied the prince, "what your majesty requires is part of the mystery i spoke of. i beg of you to allow me to remain silent on this head; for i shall come so frequently where my duty calls, that i am afraid i shall sooner be thought troublesome than be accused of negligence, when my presence may be necessary." the sultan of the indies pressed ahmed no more, but said to him, "son, i wish to penetrate no farther into your secrets, but leave you at your liberty. i can only tell you, that you could not have done me greater pleasure than by your presence, having restored to me the joy i have not felt for a long time; and that you shall always be welcome when you can come, without interrupting your business or your pleasure." prince ahmed stayed but three days at his father's court, and on the fourth returned to the fairy perie banou, who received him with the greater joy, as she did not expect him so soon. his expedition made her condemn herself for suspecting his want of fidelity. she never dissembled, but frankly owned her weakness to the prince, and asked his pardon. so perfect was the union of the two lovers, that they had but one will. a month after prince ahmed's return from visiting his father, as the fairy had observed that since the time when he gave her an account of his journey, and his conversation with his father, in which he asked his permission to come and see him from time to time, he had never spoken of the sultan, whereas before he was frequently mentioning him, she thought he forebore on her account, and therefore took an opportunity to say to him one day, "tell me, prince, have you forgotten the sultan your father? do not you remember the promise you made to pay your duty to him occasionally? i have not forgotten what you told me at your return, and put you in mind of it, that you may acquit yourself of your promise when you may feel inclined." "madam," replied ahmed, with equal animation, "as i know i am not guilty of the forgetfulness you lay to my charge, i rather choose to be thus reproached, however undeservedly, than expose myself to a refusal, by manifesting a desire for what it might have given you pain to grant." "prince," said the fairy, "i would not have you in this affair have so much consideration for me, since it is a month since you have seen the sultan your father. i think you should not be longer in renewing your visits. pay him one to-morrow, and after that, go and visit once a month, without speaking to me, or waiting for my permission. i readily consent to such an arrangement." prince ahmed went the next morning with the same attendants as before, but much more magnificently mounted, equipped, and dressed, and was received by the sultan with the same joy and satisfaction. for several months he constantly paid him visits, and always in a richer and more brilliant equipage. at last the sultan's favourites, who judged of prince ahmed's power by the splendour of his appearance, abused the privilege the sultan accorded them of speaking to him with freedom, to make him jealous of his son. they represented that it was but common prudence to discover where the prince had retired, and how he could afford to live so magnificently, since he had no revenue assigned for his expenses; that he seemed to come to court only to insult him, by affecting to shew that he wanted nothing from his father to enable him to live like a prince; and that it was to be feared he might court the people's favour and dethrone him. the sultan of the indies was so far from thinking that prince ahmed could be capable of so wicked a design, that he said to them in displeasure, "you are mistaken, my son loves me, and i am the more assured of his tenderness and fidelity, as i have given him no reason to be disgusted." at these words, one of the favourites took an opportunity to say, "your majesty, in the opinion of the most sensible people, could not have taken a better method than you did with the three princes, respecting their marriage with the princess nouronnihar; but who knows whether prince ahmed has submitted to his fate with the same resignation as prince houssain? may not he imagine that he alone deserved her; and that your majesty, by leaving the match to be decided by chance, has done him injustice? "your majesty may say," added the malicious favourite, "that prince ahmed has manifested no appearance of dissatisfaction; that our fears are vain; that we are too easily alarmed, and are to blame in suggesting to you suspicions of this kind, which may, perhaps, be unfounded, against a prince of your blood. but, sir," pursued the favourite, "it may be also, that these suspicions are well grounded. your majesty must be sensible, that in so nice and important an affair you cannot be too much on your guard, and should take the safest course. consider, it is the prince's interest to dissemble, amuse, and deceive you; and the danger is the greater, as he resides not far from your capital; and if your majesty give but the same attention that we do, you may observe that every time he comes his attendants are different, their habits new, and their arms clean and bright, as if just come from the maker's hands; and their horses look as if they had only been walked out. these are sufficient proofs that prince ahmed does not travel far, so that we should think ourselves wanting in our duty did we not make our humble remonstrances, in order that, for your own preservation and the good of your people, your majesty may take such measures as you shall think advisable." when the favourite had concluded these insinuations, the sultan said, "i do not believe my son ahmed is so wicked as you would persuade me he is; however, i am obliged to you for your advice, and do not doubt that it proceeds from good intention and loyalty to my person." the sultan of the indies said this, that his favourites might not know the impressions their observations had made on his mind. he was, however, so much alarmed by them, that he resolved to have prince ahmed watched, unknown to his grand vizier. for this end he sent for the sorceress, who was introduced by a private door into his closet. "you told me the truth," said he, "when you assured me my son ahmed was alive, for which i am obliged to you. you must do me another kindness. i have seen him since, and he comes to my court every month; but i cannot learn from him where he resides, and do not wish to force his secret from him; but believe you are capable of satisfying my curiosity, without letting him, or any of my court, know any thing of the discovery. you know that he is at this time with me, and usually departs without taking leave of me, or any of my court. place yourself immediately upon the road, and watch him so as to find out where he retires, and bring me information." the sorceress left the sultan, and knowing the place where prince ahmed had found his arrow, went immediately thither, and concealed herself near the rocks, so as not to be seen. the next morning prince ahmed set out by daybreak, without taking leave either of the sultan or any of his court, according to custom. the sorceress seeing him coming, followed him with her eyes, till suddenly she lost sight of him and his attendants. the steepness of the rocks formed an insurmountable barrier to men, whether on horseback or on foot, so that the sorceress judged that the prince retired either into some cavern, or some subterraneous place, the abode of genies or fairies. when she thought the prince and his attendants must have far advanced into whatever concealment they inhabited, she came out of the place where she had hidden herself, and explored the hollow way where she had lost sight of them. she entered it, and proceeding to the spot where it terminated after many windings, looked carefully on all sides. but notwithstanding all her acuteness she could perceive no opening, nor the iron gate which prince ahmed had discovered. for this door was to be seen by or opened to none but men, and only to those whose presence was agreeable to the fairy perie banou, but not at all to women. the sorceress, who saw it was in vain for her to search any farther, was obliged to be satisfied with the insufficient discovery she had made, and returned to communicate it to the sultan. when she had told him what she had explored, she added, "your majesty may easily understand, after what i have had the honour to tell you, that it will be no difficult matter to obtain you the satisfaction you desire concerning prince ahmed's conduct. to do this, i only ask time, that you will have patience, and give me leave to act, without inquiring what measures i design to take." the sultan was pleased with the conduct of the sorceress, and said to her, "do you as you think fit; i will wait patiently the event of your promises:" and to encourage her, he presented her with a diamond of great value, telling her, it was only an earnest of the ample recompense she should receive when she should have performed the important service which he left to her management. as prince ahmed, after he had obtained the fairy perie banou's leave, never failed once a month to visit his father, the sorceress knowing the time, went a day or two before to the foot of the rock where she had lost sight of him and his attendants, and waited there to execute the project she had formed. the next morning prince ahmed went out as usual at the iron gate, with the same attendants as before, passed the sorceress, and seeing her lie with her head on the rock, complaining as if she was in great pain, he pitied her, turned his horse, and asked what he could do to relieve her? the artful sorceress, without lifting up her head, looked at the prince in such a manner as to increase his compassion, and answered in broken accents and sighs, as if she could hardly breathe, that she was going to the city; but in the way was taken with so violent a fever, that her strength failed her, and she was forced to stop and lie down where he saw her, far from any habitation, and without any hopes of assistance. "good woman," replied the prince, "you are not so far from help as you imagine. i will assist you, and convey you where you shall not only have all possible care taken of you, but where you will find a speedy cure: rise, and let one of my people take you behind him." at these words, the sorceress, who pretended sickness only to explore where the prince resided, and his situation, did not refuse the charitable offer, and to shew her acceptance rather by her actions than her words, made many affected efforts to rise, pretending that the violence of her illness prevented her. at the same time, two of the prince's attendants alighting, helped her up, and placed her behind another. they mounted their horses again, and followed the prince, who turned back to the iron gate, which was opened by one of his retinue. when he came into the outward court of the fairy's palace, without dismounting himself, he sent to tell her he wanted to speak with her. the fairy came with all imaginable haste, not knowing what had made prince ahmed return so soon; who, not giving her time to ask, said, "my princess, i desire you would have compassion on this good woman," pointing to the sorceress, who was taken off the horse by two of his retinue; "i found her in the condition you see her, and promised her the assistance she requires. i recommend her to your care, and am persuaded that you, from inclination, as well as my request, will not abandon her." the fairy, who had her eyes fixed on the pretended sick woman all the time the prince was speaking, ordered two of her women to take her from the men who supported her, conduct her into an apartment of the palace, and take as much care of her as they would of herself. whilst the two women were executing the fairy's commands, she went up to prince ahmed, and whispering him in the ear, said, "prince, i commend your compassion, which is worthy of you and your birth. i take great pleasure in gratifying your good intention; but permit me to tell you i am afraid it will be but ill rewarded. this woman is not so sick as she pretends to be; and i am much mistaken if she is not sent hither on purpose to occasion you great trouble. but do not be concerned, let what will be devised against you; be persuaded that i will deliver you out of all the snares that shall be laid for you. go and pursue your journey." this address of the fairy's did not in the least alarm prince ahmed. "my princess," said he, "as i do not remember i ever did, or designed to do, any body injury, i cannot believe any one can have a thought of injuring me; but if they have, i shall not forbear doing good whenever i have an opportunity." so saying, he took leave of the fairy, and set forward again for his father's capital, where he soon arrived, and was received as usual by the sultan, who constrained himself as much as possible, to disguise the anxiety arising from the suspicions suggested by his favourites. in the mean time, the two women to whom perie banou had given her orders conveyed the sorceress into an elegant apartment, richly furnished. they first set her down upon a sofa, with her back supported by a cushion of gold brocade, while they made a bed on the same sofa, the quilt of which was finely embroidered with silk, the sheets of the finest linen, and the coverlid cloth of gold. when they had put her into bed (for the old sorceress pretended that her fever was so violent she could not help herself in the least), one of the women went out, and returned soon with a china cup in her hand, full of a certain liquor, which she presented to the sorceress, while the other helped her to sit up. "drink this," said the attendant, "it is the water of the fountain of lions, and a sovereign remedy against fevers. you will find the effect of it in less than an hour's time." the sorceress, the better to dissemble, took it, after a great deal of entreaty, as if she did it with reluctance. when she was laid down again, the two women covered her up: "lie quiet," said she, who brought her the china cup, "and get a little sleep, if you can: we will leave you, and hope to find you perfectly recovered when we return an hour hence." the sorceress, who came not to act a sick part long, but to discover prince ahmed's retreat, being fully satisfied in what she wanted to know, would willingly have declared that the potion had then had its effect, so great was her desire to return to the sultan, to inform him of the success of her commission: but as she had been told that the potion did not operate immediately, she was forced to wait the women's return. the two women came again at the time they had mentioned, and found the sorceress seated on the sofa; who, when she saw them open the door of the apartment, cried out, "o the admirable potion! it has wrought its cure much sooner than you told me it would, and i have waited with impatience to desire you to conduct me to your charitable mistress, to thank her for her kindness, for which i shall always feel obliged; but being thus cured as by a miracle, i would not lose time, but prosecute my journey." the two women, who were fairies as well as their mistress, after they had told the sorceress how glad they were that she was cured so soon, walked before her, and conducted her through several apartments, all more superb than that wherein she had lain, into a large hall, the most richly and magnificently furnished of all the palace. perie banou was seated in this hall, upon a throne of massive gold, enriched with diamonds, rubies, and pearls of an extraordinary size, and attended on each hand by a great number of beautiful fairies, all richly dressed. at the sight of so much splendour, the sorceress was not only dazzled, but so struck, that after she had prostrated herself before the throne, she could not open her lips to thank the fairy, as she had proposed. however, perie banou saved her the trouble, and said, "good woman, i am glad i had an opportunity to oblige you, and that you are able to pursue your journey. i will not detain you; but perhaps you may not be displeased to see my palace: follow my women, and they will shew it you." the old sorceress, who had not power nor courage to say a word, prostrated herself a second time, with her head on the carpet that covered the foot of the throne, took her leave, and was conducted by the two fairies through the same apartments which were shewn to prince ahmed at his first arrival, and at sight of their uncommon magnificence she made frequent exclamations. but what surprised her most of all was, that the two fairies told her, that all she saw and so much admired was a mere sketch of their mistress's grandeur and riches; for that in the extent of her dominions she had so many palaces that they could not tell the number of them, all of different plans and architecture, but equally magnificent. in speaking of many other particulars, they led her at last to the iron gate at which prince ahmed had brought her in; and after she had taken her leave of them, and thanked them for their trouble, they opened it, and wished her a good journey. after the sorceress had gone a little way, she turned to observe the door, that she might know it again, but all in vain; for, as was before observed, it was invisible to her and all other women. except in this circumstance, she was very well satisfied with her success, and posted away to the sultan. when she came to the capital, she went by many by-ways to the private door of the palace. the sultan being informed of her arrival, sent for her into his apartment, and perceiving a melancholy hang upon her countenance, thought she had not succeeded, and said to her, "by your looks, i guess that your journey has been to no purpose, and that you have not made the discovery i expected from your diligence." "sir," replied the sorceress, "your majesty must give me leave to represent that you ought not to judge by my looks whether or no i have acquitted myself well in the execution of the commands you were pleased to honour me with; but by the faithful report i shall make you of all that has happened to me, and by which you will find that i have not neglected any thing that could render me worthy of your approbation. the melancholy you observe proceeds from another cause than the want of success, which i hope your majesty will have ample reason to be satisfied with. i do not tell you the cause; the relation i shall give will inform you." the sorceress now related to the sultan of the indies how, pretending to be sick, prince ahmed compassionating her, had her carried into a subterraneous abode, and presented and recommended her to a fairy of incomparable beauty, desiring her by her care to restore her health. she then told him with how much condescension the fairy had immediately ordered two women to take care of her, and not to leave her till she was recovered; which great condescension, said she, could proceed from no other female, but from a wife to a husband. afterwards the old sorceress failed not to dwell on her surprise at the front of the palace, which she said had not its equal for magnificence in the world. she gave a particular account of the care they took of her, after they had led her into an apartment; of the potion they made her drink, and of the quickness of her cure; which she had pretended as well as her sickness, though she doubted not the virtue of the draught; the majesty of the fairy seated on a throne, brilliant with jewels, the value of which exceeded all the riches of the kingdom of the indies, and all the other treasures beyond computation contained in that vast palace. here the sorceress finishing the relation of the success of her commission, and continuing her discourse, said, "what does your majesty think of these unheard-of riches of the fairy? perhaps you will say, you are struck with admiration, and rejoice at the good fortune of prince ahmed your son, who enjoys them in common with the fairy. for my part, sir, i beg of your majesty to forgive me if i take the liberty to say that i think otherwise, and that i shudder when i consider the misfortunes which may happen to you from his present situation. and this is the cause of the melancholy which i could not so well dissemble, but that you soon perceived it. i would believe that prince ahmed, by his own good disposition, is incapable of undertaking anything against your majesty; but who can answer that the fairy, by her attractions and caresses, and the influence she has over him, may not inspire him with the unnatural design of dethroning your majesty, and seizing the crown of the indies? this is what your majesty ought to consider as of the utmost importance." though the sultan of the indies was persuaded that prince ahmed's natural disposition was good, yet he could not help being moved at the representations of the old sorceress, and said, "i thank you for the pains you have taken, and your wholesome caution. i am so sensible of its great importance that i shall take advice upon it." he was consulting with his favourites, when he was told of the sorceress's arrival. he ordered her to follow him to them. he acquainted them with what he had learnt, communicated to them the reason he had to fear the fairy's influence over the prince, and asked them what measures they thought most proper to be taken to prevent so great a misfortune as might possibly happen. one of the favourites, taking upon himself to speak for the rest, said, "your majesty knows who must be the author of this mischief. in order to prevent it, now he is in your court, and in your power, you ought not to hesitate to put him under arrest; i will not say take away his life, for that would make too much noise; but make him a close prisoner." this advice all the other favourites unanimously applauded. the sorceress, who thought it too violent, asked the sultan leave to speak, which being granted, she said, "i am persuaded it is the zeal of your counsellors for your majesty's interest that makes them propose arresting prince ahmed. but they will not take it amiss if i offer to your and their consideration, that if you arrest the prince you must also detain his retinue. but they are all genies. do they think it will be so easy to surprise, seize, and secure their persons? will they not disappear, by the property they possess of rendering themselves invisible, and transport themselves instantly to the fairy, and give her an account of the insult offered her husband? and can it be supposed she will let it go unrevenged? would it not be better, if by any other means which might not make so great a noise, the sultan could secure himself against any ill designs prince ahmed may have, and not involve his majesty's honour? if his majesty has any confidence in my advice, as genies and fairies can do things impracticable to men, he will rather trust prince ahmed's honour, and engage him by means of the fairy to procure certain advantages, by flattering his ambition, and at the same time narrowly watching him. for example; every time your majesty takes the field, you are obliged to be at a great expense, not only in pavilions and tents for yourself and army, but likewise in mules and camels, and other beasts of burden, to carry their baggage. request the prince to procure you a tent, which can be carried in a man's hand, but so large as to shelter your whole army. "i need say no more to your majesty. if the prince brings such a tent, you may make other demands of the same nature, so that at last he may sink under the difficulties and the impossibility of executing them, however fertile in means and inventions the fairy, who has enticed him from you by her enchantments, may be; so that in time he will be ashamed to appear, and will be forced to pass the rest of his life with the fairy, excluded from any commerce with this world; when your majesty will have nothing to fear from him, and cannot be reproached with so detestable an action as the shedding of a son's blood, or confining him for life in a prison." when the sorceress had finished her speech, the sultan asked his favourites if they had any thing better to propose; and finding them all silent, determined to follow her advice, as the most reasonable and most agreeable to his mild manner of government. the next day when the prince came into his father's presence, who was talking with his favourites, and had sat down by him, after a conversation on different subjects, the sultan, addressing himself to prince ahmed, said, "son, when you came and dispelled those clouds of melancholy which your long absence had brought upon me, you made the place you had chosen for your retreat a mastery. i was satisfied with seeing you again, and knowing that you were content with your condition, sought not to penetrate into your secret, which i found you did not wish i should. i know not what reason you had thus to treat a father, who ever was and still continues anxious for your happiness. i now know your good fortune. i rejoice with you, and much approve of your conduct in marrying a fairy so worthy of your love, and so rich and powerful as i am informed she is. powerful as i am, it was not possible for me to have procured for you so great a match. now you are raised to so high a rank, as to be envied by all but a father, i not only desire to preserve the good understanding which has hitherto subsisted between us, but request that you will use your influence with your wife, to obtain her assistance when i may want it. i will therefore make a trial of your interest this day. "you are not insensible at what a great expense, not to say trouble to my generals, officers, and myself, every time i take the field, they provide tents, mules, camels, and other beasts of burden, to carry them. if you consider the pleasure you would do me, i am persuaded you could easily procure from the fairy a pavilion that might be carried in a man's hand, and which would extend over my whole army; especially when you let her know it is for me. though it may be a difficult thing to procure, she will not refuse you. all the world knows fairies are capable of executing most extraordinary undertakings." prince ahmed never expected that the sultan his father would have made a demand like this, which appeared to him so difficult, not to say impossible. though he knew not absolutely how great the power of genii and fairies was, he doubted whether it extended so far as to furnish such a tent as his father desired. moreover, he had never asked any thing of the fairy perie banou, but was satisfied with the continual proofs she had given him of her passion, and had neglected nothing to persuade her that his heart perfectly corresponded without any views beyond maintaining himself in her good graces: he was therefore in the greatest embarrassment what answer to make. at last he replied, "if, sir, i have concealed from your majesty what has happened to me, and what course i took after finding my arrow, the reason was, that i thought it of no great importance to you to be informed of such circumstances; and though i know not how this mystery has been revealed to you, i cannot deny but your information is correct. i have married the fairy you speak of. i love her, and am persuaded she loves me in return. but i can say nothing as to the influence your majesty believes i have over her. it is what i have not yet proved, nor thought of trying, but could wish you would dispense with my making the experiment, and let me enjoy the happiness of loving and being beloved, with all that disinterestedness i had proposed to myself. however, the demand of a father is a command upon every child, who, like me, thinks it his duty to obey him in every thing. and though it is with the greatest reluctance, i will not fail to ask my wife the favour your majesty desires, but cannot promise you to obtain it; and if i should not have the honour to come again to pay you my respects, it will be the sign that i have not been able to succeed in my request: but beforehand, i desire you to forgive me, and consider that you yourself have reduced me to this extremity." "son," replied the sultan of the indies, "i should be sorry that what i ask should oblige you to deprive me of the gratification of seeing you as usual. i find you do not know the power a husband has over a wife; and yours would shew that her love to you was very slight, if, with the power she possesses as a fairy, she should refuse so trifling a request as that i have begged you to make. lay aside your fears, which proceed from your believing yourself not to be loved so well as you love her. go; only ask her. you will find the fairy loves you better than you imagine; and remember that people, for want of requesting, often lose great advantages. think with yourself, that as you love her, you could refuse her nothing; therefore, if she loves you, she will not deny your requests." all these representations of the sultan of the indies could not satisfy prince ahmed, who would rather he had asked anything else than, as he supposed, what must expose him to the hazard of displeasing his beloved perie banou; and so great was his vexation that he left the court two days sooner than he used to do. when he returned, the fairy, to whom he always before had appeared with a gay countenance, asked him the cause of the alteration she perceived in his looks; and finding that instead of answering he inquired after her health, to avoid satisfying her, she said to him, "i will answer your question when you have answered mine." the prince declined a long time, protesting that nothing was the matter with him; but the more he denied the more she pressed him, and said, "i cannot bear to see you thus: tell me what makes you uneasy, that i may remove the cause, whatever it may be; for it must be very extraordinary if it is out of my power, unless it be the death of the sultan your father; in that case, time, with all that i will contribute on my part, can alone comfort you." prince ahmed could not long withstand the pressing instances of the fairy. "madam," said he, "god prolong the sultan my father's life, and bless him to the end of his days. i left him alive and in perfect health; therefore that is not the cause of the melancholy you perceive in me. the sultan, however, is the occasion of it, and i am the more concerned because he has imposed upon me the disagreeable necessity of importuning you. you know the care i have at your desire taken to conceal from him the happiness i have enjoyed in living with you, and of having received the pledge of your faith after having pledged my love to you. how he has been informed of it i cannot tell." here the fairy interrupted prince ahmed, and said, "but i know. remember what i told you of the woman who made you believe she was sick, on whom you took so much compassion. it is she who has acquainted your father with what you have taken so much care to hide from him. i told you that she was no more sick than you or i, and she has made it appear so; for, in short, after the two women, whom i charged to take care of her, had given her the water sovereign against all fevers, but which however she had no occasion for, she pretended that it had cured her, and was brought to take her leave of me that she might go the sooner to give an account of the success of her undertaking. she was in so much haste, that she would have gone away without seeing my palace if i had not, by bidding my two women shew it her, given her to understand that it was worth her seeing. but proceed and tell me what is the necessity your father has imposed on you to be so importunate, which, be persuaded, however, you can never be to your affectionate wife." "madam," pursued prince ahmed, "you may have observed that hitherto i have been content with your love, and have never asked you any other favour: for what, after the possession of so amiable a wife, can i desire more? i know how great your power is, but i have taken care not to make proof of it to please myself. consider then, i conjure you, that it is not myself, but the sultan my father, who, indiscreetly as i think, asks of you a pavilion large enough to shelter him, his court, and army, from the violence of the weather, when he takes the field, and which a man may carry in his hand. once more remember it is not i, but the sultan my father who asks this favour." "prince," replied the fairy smiling, "i am sorry that so trifling a matter should disturb and make you so uneasy as you appear. i see plainly two things have contributed towards it: one is, the law you have imposed on yourself, to be content with loving me, being beloved by me, and deny yourself the liberty of soliciting the least favour that might try my power. the other, i do not doubt, whatever you may say, was, that you thought that what your father asked was out of my power. as to the first, i commend you, and shall love you the better, if possible, for it; and for the second, i must tell you that what the sultan your father requests is a trifle; as upon occasion i can do him more important service. therefore be easy in your mind, and persuaded that far from thinking myself importuned i shall always take real pleasure in performing whatever you can desire." perie banou then sent for her treasurer, to whom, when she came, she said, "noor-jehaun" (which was her name), "bring me the largest pavilion in my treasury." noor-jehaun returned presently with a pavilion, which could not only be held, but concealed in the palm of the hand, when it was closed, and presented it to her mistress, who gave it prince ahmed to look at. when prince ahmed saw the pavilion, which the fairy called the largest in her treasury, he fancied she had a mind to banter him, and his surprise soon appeared in his countenance; which perie banou perceiving, she burst out a laughing. "what! prince," cried she, "do you think i jest with you? you will see that i am in earnest. noor-jehaun," said she to her treasurer, taking the tent out of prince ahmed's hands, "go and set it up, that he may judge whether the sultan his father will think it large enough." the treasurer went out immediately with it from the palace, and carried it to such a distance, that when she had set it up, one end reached to the palace. the prince, so far from thinking it small, found it large enough to shelter two armies as numerous as that of the sultan his father; and then said to perie banou, "i ask my princess a thousand pardons for my incredulity: after what i have seen, i believe there is nothing impossible to you." "you see," said the fairy, "that the pavilion is larger than your father may have occasion for; but you are to observe that it has one property, that it becomes larger or smaller, according to the extent of the army it is to cover, without applying any hands to it." the treasurer took down the tent again, reduced it to its first size, brought it and put it into the prince's hands. he took it, and without staying longer than till the next day, mounted his horse, and went with the usual attendants to the sultan his father. the sultan, who was persuaded that such a tent as he had asked for was beyond all possibility, was in great surprise at the prince's speedy return. he took the tent, but after he had admired its smallness, his amazement was so great that he could not recover himself when he had set it up in the great plain before-mentioned, and found it large enough to shelter an army twice as large as he could bring into the field. regarding this excess in its dimension as what might be troublesome in the use, prince ahmed told him that its size would always be proportionable to his army. to outward appearance the sultan expressed great obligation to the prince for so noble a present, desiring him to return his thanks to the fairy; and to shew what a value he set upon it, ordered it to be carefully laid up in his treasury. but within himself he felt greater jealousy than his flatterers and the sorceress had suggested to him; considering, that by the fairy's assistance the prince his son might perform things infinitely above his own power, notwithstanding his greatness and riches; therefore, more intent upon his ruin, he went to consult the sorceress again, who advised him to engage the prince to bring him some of the water of the fountain of lions. in the evening, when the sultan was surrounded as usual by all his court, and the prince came to pay his respects among the rest, he addressed himself to him in these words: "son, i have already expressed to you how much i am obliged for the present of the tent you have procured me, which i esteem the most valuable curiosity in my treasury: but you must do one thing more, which will be no less agreeable to me. i am informed that the fairy your spouse makes use of a certain water, called the water of the fountain of lions, which cures all sorts of fevers, even the most dangerous; and as i am perfectly well persuaded my health is dear to you, i do not doubt but you will ask her for a bottle of that water, and bring it me as a sovereign remedy, which i may use as i have occasion. do me this important service, and complete the duty of a good son towards a tender father." prince ahmed, who believed that the sultan his father would have been satisfied with so singular and useful a tent as that which he had brought, and that he would not have imposed any new task upon him which might hazard the fairy's displeasure, was thunderstruck at this new request, notwithstanding the assurance she had given him of granting him whatever lay in her power. after a long silence, he said, "i beg of your majesty to be assured, that there is nothing i would not undertake to procure which may contribute to the prolonging of your life, but i could wish it might not be by the means of my wife. for this reason i dare not promise to bring the water. all i can do is, to assure you i will request it of her; but it will be with as great reluctance as i asked for the tent." the next morning prince ahmed returned to the fairy perie banou, and related to her sincerely and faithfully all that had passed at his father's court from the giving of the tent, which he told her he received with the utmost gratitude, to the new request he had charged him to make. he added: "but, my princess, i only tell you this as a plain account of what passed between me and my father. i leave you to your own pleasure, whether you will gratify or reject this his new desire. it shall be as you please." "no, no," replied the fairy, "i am glad that the sultan of the indies knows that you are not indifferent to me. i will satisfy him, and whatever advice the sorceress may give him (for i see that he hearkens to her counsel), he shall find no fault with you or me. there is much wickedness in this demand, as you will understand by what i am going to tell you. the fountain of lions is situated in the middle of a court of a great castle, the entrance into which is guarded by four fierce lions, two of which sleep alternately, while the other two are awake. but let not that frighten you. i will supply you with means to pass by them without danger." the fairy perie banou was at that time at work with her needle; and as she had by her several clues of thread, she took up one, and presenting it to prince ahmed, said, "first take this clue of thread, i will tell you presently the use of it. in the second place, you must have two horses; one you must ride yourself, and the other you must lead, which must be loaded with a sheep cut into four quarters, that must be killed to-day. in the third place, you must be provided with a bottle, which i will give you, to bring the water in. set out early to-morrow morning, and when you have passed the iron gate throw before you the clue of thread, which will roll till it reaches the gates of the castle. follow it, and when it stops, as the gates will be open, you will see the four lions. the two that are awake will, by their roaring, wake the other two. be not alarmed, but throw each of them a quarter of the sheep, and then clap spurs to your horse, and ride to the fountain. fill your bottle without alighting, and return with the same expedition. the lions will be so busy eating they will let you pass unmolested." prince ahmed set out the next morning at the time appointed him by the fairy, and followed her directions punctually. when he arrived at the gates of the castle, he distributed the quarters of the sheep among the four lions, and passing through the midst of them with intrepidity, got to the fountain, filled his bottle, and returned safe. when he had got a little distance from the castle gates, he turned about; and perceiving two of the lions coming after him, drew his sabre, and prepared himself for defence. but as he went forwards, he saw one of them turn out of the road at some distance, and shewed by his head and tail that he did not come to do him any harm, but only to go before him, and that the other stayed behind to follow. he therefore put his sword again into its scabbard. guarded in this manner he arrived at the capital of the indies; but the lions never left him till they had conducted him to the gates of the sultan's palace; after which they returned the way they had come, though not without alarming the populace, who fled or hid themselves to avoid them, notwithstanding they walked gently and shewed no signs of fierceness. a number of officers came to attend the prince while he dismounted, and conduct him to the sultan's apartment, who was at that time conversing with his favourites. he approached the throne, laid the bottle at the sultan's feet, kissed the rich carpet which covered the footstool, and rising, said, "i have brought you, sir, the salutary water which your majesty so much desired to store up among other rarities in your treasury; but at the same time wish you such health as never to have occasion to make use of it." after the prince had concluded his compliment, the sultan placed him on his right hand, and said, "son, i am much obliged to you for this valuable present; as also for the great danger you have exposed yourself to on my account (which i have been informed of by the sorceress, who knows the fountain of lions); but do me the pleasure, continued he, to inform me by what address, or rather by what incredible power, you have been preserved." "sir," replied prince ahmed, "i have no share in the compliment your majesty is pleased to make me; all the honour is due to the fairy my spouse, and i take no other merit than that of having followed her advice." then he informed the sultan what that advice was, by the relation of his expedition, and how he had conducted himself. when he had done, the sultan, who shewed outwardly all the demonstrations of joy, but secretly became more and more jealous, retired into an inward apartment, whence he sent for the sorceress. the sorceress, on her arrival, saved the sultan the trouble of telling her of the success of prince ahmed's journey, which she had heard before she came, and therefore was prepared with a new request. this she communicated to the sultan, who declared it the next day to the prince, in the midst of all his courtiers, in these words: "son, i have one thing yet to ask of you; after which, i shall expect nothing more from your obedience, nor your interest with your wife. this request is, to bring me a man not above a foot and a half high, whose beard is thirty feet long, who carries upon his shoulders a bar of iron of five hundred weight, which he uses as a quarter-staff, and who can speak." prince ahmed, who did not believe that there was such a man in the world as his father had described, would gladly have excused himself; but the sultan persisted in his demand, and told him the fairy could do more incredible things. next day the prince returned to the subterraneous kingdom of perie banou, to whom he related his father's new demand, which, he said, he looked upon to be a thing more impossible than the two first. "for," added he, "i cannot imagine there is or can be such a man in the world; without doubt he has a mind to try whether i am silly enough to search, or if there is such a man he seeks my ruin. in short, how can we suppose that i should lay hold of a man so small, armed as he describes? what arms can i use to reduce him to submission? if there are any means, i beg you will tell me how i may come off with honour this time also." "do not alarm yourself, prince," replied the fairy: "you ran a risk in fetching the water of the fountain of the lions for your father; but there is no danger in finding this man. it is my brother schaibar, who is so far from being like me, though we both had the same father, that he is of so violent a nature, that nothing can prevent his giving bloody marks of his resentment for a slight offence; yet, on the other hand, is so liberal as to oblige any one in whatever they desire. he is made exactly as the sultan your father has described him; and has no other arms than a bar of iron of five hundred pounds weight, without which he never stirs, and which makes him respected. i will send for him, and you shall judge of the truth of what i tell you; but prepare yourself not to be alarmed at his extraordinary figure." "what! my queen," replied prince ahmed, "do you say schaibar is your brother? let him be ever so ugly or deformed i shall be so far from being frightened at his appearance, that i shall love and honour him, and consider him as my nearest relation." the fairy ordered a gold chafing-dish to be set with a fire in it under the porch of her palace, with a box of the same metal: out of the latter she took some incense, and threw it into the fire, when there arose a thick cloud of smoke. some moments after, the fairy said to prince ahmed, "prince, there comes my brother; do you see him?" the prince immediately perceived schaibar, who was but a foot and a half high, coming gravely with his heavy bar on his shoulder; his beard thirty feet long, which supported itself before him, and a pair of thick moustaches in proportion, tucked up to his ears, and almost covering his face: his eyes were very small, like a pig's, and deep sunk in his head, which was of an enormous size, and on which he wore a pointed cap: besides all this, he had a hump behind and and before. if prince ahmed had not known that schaibar was perie banou's brother, he would not have been able to behold him without fear; but knowing who he was, he waited for him with the fairy, and received him without the least concern. schaibar, as he came forwards, looked at the prince with an eye that would have chilled his soul in his body, and asked perie banou, when he first accosted her, who that man was? to which she replied, "he is my husband, brother; his name is ahmed; he is a son of the sultan of the indies. the reason why i did not invite you to my wedding was, i was unwilling to divert you from the expedition you were engaged in, and from which i heard with pleasure you returned victorious; on his account i have taken the liberty now to call for you." at these words, schaibar, looking at prince ahmed with a favourable eye, which however diminished neither his fierceness nor savage look, said, "is there any thing, sister, wherein i can serve him? he has only to speak. it is enough for me that he is your husband, to engage me to do for him whatever he desires." "the sultan his father," replied perie banou, "has a curiosity to see you, and i desire he may be your guide to the sultan's court." "he needs but lead the way; i will follow him," replied schaibar. "brother," resumed perie banou, "it is too late to go to-day, therefore stay till to-morrow morning; and in the mean time, as it is fit you should know all that has passed between the sultan of the indies and prince ahmed since our marriage, i will inform you this evening." the next morning, after schaibar had been informed of all that was proper for him to know, he set out with prince ahmed, who was to present him to the sultan. when they arrived at the gates of the capital, the people, as soon as they saw schaibar, ran and hid themselves in their shops and houses, shutting their doors, while others taking to their heels, communicated their fear to all they met, who stayed not to look behind them; insomuch, that schaibar and prince ahmed, as they went along, found all the streets and squares desolate, till they came to the palace, where the porters, instead of preventing schaibar from entering, ran away too; so that the prince and he advanced without any obstacle to the council-hall, where the sultan was seated on his throne and giving audience. here likewise the officers, at the approach of schaibar, abandoned their posts, and gave them free admittance. schaibar, carrying his head erect, went fiercely up to the throne, without waiting to be presented by prince ahmed, and accosted the sultan of the indies in these words: "you have asked for me," said he; "see, here i am, what would you have with me?" the sultan, instead of answering, clapped his hands before his eyes, and turned away his head, to avoid the sight of so terrible an object. schaibar was so much provoked at this uncivil and rude reception, after he had given him the trouble to come so far, that he instantly lifted up his iron bar, saying, "speak, then;" let it fall on his head, and killed him, before prince ahmed could intercede in his behalf. all that he could do was to prevent his killing the grand vizier, who sat not far from him on his right hand, representing to him that he had always given the sultan his father good advice. "these are they then," said schaibar, "who gave him bad;" and as he pronounced these words, he killed all the other viziers on the right and left, flatterers and favourites of the sultan, who were prince ahmed's enemies. every time he struck he crushed some one or other, and none escaped but those who, not rendered motionless by fear, saved themselves by flight. when this terrible execution was over, schaibar came out of the council-hall into the court-yard with the iron bar upon his shoulder, and looking at the grand vizier, who owed his life to prince ahmed, said, "i know there is here a certain sorceress, who is a greater enemy of the prince my brother-in-law than all those base favourites i have chastised; let her be brought to me immediately." the grand vizier instantly sent for her, and as soon as she was brought, schaibar, knocking her down with his iron bar, said, "take the reward of thy pernicious counsel, and learn to feign sickness again;" he left her dead on the spot. after this he said, "this is not yet enough; i will treat the whole city in the same manner, if they do not immediately acknowledge prince ahmed my brother-in-law as sultan of the indies." then all who were present made the air ring with the repeated acclamations of "long life to sultan ahmed;" and immediately after, he was proclaimed through the whole metropolis. schaibar caused him to be clothed in the royal vestments, installed him on the throne, and after he had made all swear homage and fidelity, returned to his sister perie banou, whom he brought with great pomp, and made her to be owned sultaness of the indies. as for prince ali and princess nouronnihar, as they had no concern in the conspiracy, prince ahmed assigned them a considerable province, with its capital, where they spent the rest of their lives. afterwards he sent an officer to houssain, to acquaint him with the change, and make him an offer of any province he might choose; but that prince thought himself so happy in his solitude, that he desired the officer to return his brother thanks for the kindness he designed him, assuring him of his submission; but that the only favour he desired was, to be indulged with leave to live retired in the place he had chosen for his retreat. the story of the sisters who envied their younger sister. there was an emperor of persia named khoosroo shaw, who, when he first came to his crown, in order to obtain a knowledge of affairs, took great pleasure in night adventures, attended by a trusty minister. he often walked in disguise through the city, and met with many adventures. after the ceremonies of his father's funeral-rites and his own inauguration were over, the new sultan, as well from inclination as duty, went out one evening attended by his grand vizier, disguised like himself, to observe what was transacting in the city. as he was passing through a street in that part of the town inhabited only by the meaner sort, he heard some people talking very loud; and going close to the house whence the noise proceeded, and looking through a crack in the door, perceived a light, and three sisters sitting on a sofa, conversing together after supper. by what the eldest said, he presently understood the subject of their conversation was wishes: "for," said she, "since we have got upon wishes, mine shall be to have the sultan's baker for my husband, for then i shall eat my fill of that bread, which by way of excellence is called the sultan's: let us see if your tastes are as good as mine." "for my part," replied the second sister, "i wish i was wife to the sultan's chief cook, for then i should eat of the most excellent dishes; and as i am persuaded that the sultan's bread is common in the palace, i should not want any of that; therefore you see," addressing herself to her eldest sister, "that i have a better taste than you." the youngest sister, who was very beautiful, and had more charms and wit than the two elder, spoke in her turn: "for my part, sisters," said she, "i shall not limit my desires to such trifles, but take a higher flight; and since we are upon wishing, i wish to be the emperor's queen consort. i would make him father of a prince, whose hair should be gold on one side of his head, and silver on the other; when he cried, the tears from his eyes should be pearl; and when he smiled, his vermilion lips should look like a rose-bud fresh blown." the three sisters' wishes, particularly that of the youngest, seemed so singular to the sultan, that he resolved to gratify them in their desires; but without communicating his design to his grand vizier, he charged him only to take notice of the house, and bring the three sisters before him the following day. the grand vizier, in executing the emperor's orders, would but just give the sisters time to dress themselves to appear before him, without telling them the reason. he brought them to the palace, and presented them to the emperor, who said to them, "do you remember the wishes you expressed last night, when you were all in so pleasant a mood? speak the truth; i must know what they were." at these unexpected words of the emperor, the three sisters were much confounded. they cast down their eyes and blushed, and the colour which rose in the cheeks of the youngest quite captivated the emperor's heart. modesty, and fear lest they might have offended the emperor by their conversation, kept them silent. the emperor perceiving their confusion, said, to encourage them, "fear nothing, i did not send for you to distress you; and since i see that is the effect of the question i asked, without my intending it, as i know the wish of each, i will relieve you from your fears. you," added he, "who wished to be my wife shall have your desire this day; and you," continued he, addressing himself to the two elder sisters, "shall also be married to my chief baker and cook." as soon as the sultan had declared his pleasure, the youngest sister, setting her eldest an example, threw herself at the emperor's feet, to express her gratitude. "sir," said she, "my wish, since it is come to your majesty's knowledge, was expressed only in the way of conversation and amusement. i am unworthy of the honour you do me, and supplicate your pardon for my presumption." the two other sisters would have excused themselves also; but the emperor interrupting them, said, "no, no; it shall be as i have declared; every one's wish shall be fulfilled." the nuptials were all celebrated that day, as the emperor had resolved, but in a different manner. the youngest sister's were solemnized with all the rejoicings usual at the marriages of the emperors of persia; and those of the other two sisters according to the quality and distinction of their husbands; the one as the sultan's chief baker, and the other as head cook. the two elder felt strongly the disproportion of their marriages to that of their younger sister. this consideration made them far from being content, though they were arrived at the utmost height of their late wishes, and much beyond their hopes. they gave themselves up to an excess of jealousy, which not only disturbed their joy, but was the cause of great troubles and afflictions to the queen consort their younger sister. they had not an opportunity to communicate their thoughts to each other on the preference the emperor had given her, but were altogether employed in preparing themselves for the celebration of their marriages. some days afterwards, when they had an opportunity of seeing each other at the public baths, the eldest said to the other, "well, what say you to our sister's great fortune? is not she a fine person to be a queen!" "i must own," said the other sister, "i cannot conceive what charms the emperor could discover to be so bewitched by the young gipsy. was it a reason sufficient for him not to cast his eyes on you, because she was somewhat younger? you were as worthy of his bed; and in justice he ought to have preferred you." "sister," said the elder, "i should not have regretted if his majesty had but pitched upon you; but that he should choose that hussy really grieves me. but i will revenge myself; and you, i think, are as much concerned as me; therefore i propose that we should contrive measures, and act in concert in a common cause: communicate to me what you think the likeliest way to mortify her, while i, on my side, will inform you what my desire of revenge shall suggest to me." after this wicked agreement, the two sisters saw each other frequently, and consulted how they might disturb and interrupt the happiness of the queen. they proposed a great many ways, but in deliberating about the manner of executing them, found so many difficulties, that they durst not attempt them. in the mean time, they often went together to make her visits with a detestable dissimulation, and every time shewed her all the marks of affection they could devise, to persuade her how overjoyed they were to have a sister raised to so high a fortune. the queen, on her part, constantly received them with all the demonstrations of esteem they could expect: from a sister who was not puffed up with her high dignity, and loved them as cordially as before. some months after her marriage, the queen found herself to be with child. the emperor expressed great joy, which was communicated to all the court, and spread throughout the empire of persia. upon this news the two sisters came to pay their compliments, and proffered their service to deliver her, desiring her, if not provided with a midwife, to accept of them. the queen said to them most obligingly, "sisters, i should desire nothing more, if it was absolutely in my power to make the choice. i am however obliged to you for your good-will, but must submit to what the emperor shall order on this occasion. let your husbands employ their friends to make interest, and get some courtier to ask this favour of his majesty; and if he speaks to me about it, be assured that i shall not only express the pleasure he does me, but thank him for making choice of you." the two husbands applied themselves to some courtiers their patrons, and begged of them to use their interest to procure their wives the honour they aspired to. those patrons exerted themselves so much in their behalf, that the emperor promised them to consider of the matter, and was as good as his word; for in conversation with the queen, he told her, that he thought her sisters were the most proper persons to assist her in her labour; but would not name them before he had asked her consent. the queen, sensible of the deference the emperor so obligingly paid her, said to him, "sir, i was prepared to do as your majesty might please to command. but since you have been so kind as to think of my sisters, i thank you for the regard you have shewn them for my sake; and therefore i shall not dissemble, that i had rather have them than strangers." the emperor named the queen's two sisters to be her midwives; and from that time they went frequently to the palace, overjoyed at the opportunity they should have of executing the detestable wickedness they had meditated against the queen. when the queen's time was up she was safely delivered of a young prince, as bright as the day; but neither his innocence nor beauty could move the cruel hearts of the merciless sisters. they wrapped him up carelessly in his cloths, and put him into a basket, which they abandoned to the stream of a small canal, that ran under the queen's apartment, and declared that she was delivered of a little dead dog, which they produced. this disagreeable intelligence was announced to the emperor, who became so angry at the circumstance, that he was likely to have occasioned the queen's death, if his grand vizier had not represented to him, that he could not, without injustice, make her answerable for the caprices of nature. in the mean time, the basket in which the little prince was exposed was carried by the stream beyond a wall, which bounded the prospect of the queen's apartment, and from thence floated with the current down the gardens. by chance the intendant of the emperor's gardens, one of the principal and most considerable officers of the kingdom, was walking in the garden by the side of this canal, and perceiving a basket floating, called to a gardener, who was not far off, to bring it to shore, that he might see what it contained. the gardener, with a rake which he had in his hand, drew the basket to the side of the canal, took it up, and gave it to him. the intendant of the gardens was extremely surprised to see in the basket a child, which, though he knew it could be but just born, had very fine features. this officer had been married several years, but though he had always been desirous of having children, heaven had never blessed him with any. this accident interrupted his walk: he made the gardener follow him with the child; and when he came to his own house, which was situated at the entrance into the gardens of the palace, went into his wife's apartment. "wife," said he, "as we have no children of our own, god has sent us one. i recommend him to you; provide him a nurse, and take as much care of him as if he were our own son; for, from this moment, i acknowledge him as such." the intendant's wife received the child with great joy, and took particular pleasure in the care of him. the intendant himself would not inquire too narrowly whence the child came. he saw plainly it came not far off the queen's apartment; but it was not his business to examine too closely into what had passed, nor to create disturbances in a place where peace was so necessary. the following year the queen consort was brought to bed of another prince, on whom the unnatural sisters had no more compassion than on his brother; but exposed him likewise in a basket, and set him adrift in the canal, pretending this time that the sultaness was delivered of a cat. it was happy also for this child that the intendant of the gardens was walking by the canal side, who had it carried to his wife, and charged her to take as much care of it as of the former; which was as agreeable to her inclination as it was to that of the intendant. the emperor of persia was more enraged this time against the queen than before, and she had felt the effects of his anger if the grand vizier's remonstrances had not prevailed. the third time the queen lay in she was delivered of a princess, which innocent babe underwent the same fate as the princes her brothers; for the two sisters being determined not to desist from their detestable schemes, till they had seen the queen their younger sister at least cast off, turned out, and humbled, exposed this infant also on the canal. but the princess, as well as the two princes her brothers, was preserved from death by the compassion and charity of the intendant of the gardens. to this inhumanity the two sisters added a lie and deceit as before. they produced a piece of wood, and affirmed it to be a false birth of which the queen had been delivered. khoosroo shaw could no longer contain himself, when he was informed of the new extraordinary birth. "what!" said he; "this woman, unworthy of my bed, will fill my palace with monsters, if i let her live any longer! no, it shall not be; she is a monster herself, and i must rid the world of her." he pronounced sentence of death, and ordered the grand vizier to see it executed. the grand vizier and the courtiers who were present cast themselves at the emperor's feet, to beg of him to revoke the sentence. "your majesty, i hope, will give me leave," said the grand vizier, "to represent to you, that the laws which condemn persons to death were made to punish crimes; the three extraordinary labours of the queen are not crimes; for in what can she be said to have contributed towards them? many other women have had, and have the same every day, and are to be pitied, but not punished. your majesty may abstain from seeing her, but let her live. the affliction in which she will spend the rest of her life, after the loss of your favour, will be a punishment sufficiently distressing." the emperor of persia considered with himself, and reflecting that it was unjust to condemn the queen to death for what had happened, said, "let her live then; i will spare her life; but it shall be on this condition, that she shall desire to die more than once every day. let a wooden shed be built for her at the gate of the principal mosque, with iron bars to the windows, and let her be put into it, in the coarsest habit; and every mussulmaun that shall go into the mosque to prayers shall spit in her face. if any one fail, i will have him exposed to the same punishment; and that i maybe punctually obeyed, i charge you, vizier, to appoint persons to see this done." the emperor pronounced his sentence in such a tone that the grand vizier durst not further remonstrate; and it was executed, to the great satisfaction of the two envious sisters. a shed was built, and the queen, truly worthy of compassion, was put into it, and exposed ignominiously to the contempt of the people; which usage, as she did not deserve it, she bore with a patient resignation that excited the admiration as well as compassion of those who judged of things better than the vulgar. the two princes and the princess were, in the mean time, nursed and brought up by the intendant of the gardens and his wife with all the tenderness of a father and mother; and as they advanced in age, they all shewed marks of superior dignity, but the princess in particular, which discovered itself every day by their docility and inclinations above trifles, different from those of common children, and by a certain air which could only belong to exalted birth. all this increased the affections of the intendant and his wife, who called the eldest prince bahman, and the second perviz, both of them names of the most ancient emperors of persia, and the princess, perie-zadeh, which name also had been borne by several queens and princesses of the kingdom. as soon as the two princes were old enough, the intendant provided proper masters to teach them to read and write; and the princess their sister, who was often with them, shewing a great desire to learn, the intendant, pleased with her quickness, employed the same master to teach her also. her emulation, vivacity, and piercing wit, made her in a little time as great a proficient as her brothers. from that time the brothers and sister had the same masters in geography, poetry, history, and even the secret sciences; and made so wonderful a progress, that their tutors were amazed, and frankly owned that they could teach them no farther. at the hours of recreation, the princess learned to sing and play upon all sorts of instruments; and when the princes were learning to ride she would not permit them to have that advantage over her, but went through all the exercises with them, learning to ride also, to bend the bow, and dart the reed or javelin, and often-times outdid them in the race, and other contests of agility. the intendant of the gardens was so overjoyed to find his adopted children so accomplished in all the perfections of body and mind, and that they so well requited the expense he had been at in their education, that he resolved to be at a still greater: for as he had till then been content only with his lodge at the entrance of the garden, and kept no country house, he purchased a country seat at a short distance from the city, surrounded by a large tract of arable land, meadows, and woods. as the house was not sufficiently handsome nor convenient, he pulled it down, and spared no expense in building a mansion more magnificent. he went every day to hasten, by his presence, the great number of workmen he employed; and as soon as there was an apartment ready to receive him, passed several days together there when his presence was not necessary at court; and by the same exertions, the interior was furnished in the richest manner, answerably to the magnificence of the edifice. afterwards he made gardens, according to a plan drawn by himself. he took in a large extent of ground, which he walled round, and stocked with fallow deer, that the princes and princess might divert themselves with hunting when they chose. when this country seat was finished and fit for habitation, the intendant of the gardens went and cast himself at the emperor's feet, and after representing how long he had served, and the infirmities of age which he found growing upon him, begged he would permit him to resign his charge into his majesty's disposal, and retire. the emperor gave him leave, with the more pleasure because he was satisfied with his long services, both in his father's reign and his own; and when he granted it, asked what he should do to recompense him? "sir," replied the intendant of the gardens, "i have received so many obligations from your majesty and the late emperor your father of happy memory, that i desire no more than the honour of dying in your favour." he took his leave of the emperor, and retired with the two princes and the princess to the country retreat he had built. his wife had been dead some years, and he himself had not lived above six months with them before he was surprised by so sudden a death, that he had not time to give them the least account of the manner in which he had discovered them. the princes bahman and perviz, and the princess perie-zadeh, who knew no other father than the intendant of the emperor's gardens, regretted and bewailed him as such, and paid all the honours in his funeral obsequies which love and filial gratitude required of them. satisfied with the plentiful fortune he had left them, they lived together in perfect union, free from the ambition of distinguishing themselves at court, or aspiring to places of honour and dignity, which they might easily have obtained. one day when the two princes were hunting, and the princess had remained at home, a religious old woman came to the gate, and desired leave to go in to say her prayers, it being then the hour. the servants asked the princess's permission, who ordered them to shew her into the oratory, which the intendant of the emperor's gardens had taken care to fit up in his house, for want of a mosque in the neighbourhood. she bade them also, after the good woman had finished her prayers, shew her the house and gardens, and then bring her to her. the old woman went into the oratory, said her prayers, and when she came out two of the princess's women invited her to see the house and gardens; which civility she accepted, followed them from one apartment to another, and observed, like a person who understood what belonged to furniture, the nice arrangement of every thing. they conducted her also into the garden, the disposition of which she found so well planned, that she admired it, observing that the person who had formed it must have been an excellent master of his art. afterwards she was brought before the princess, who waited for her in the great hall, which in beauty and richness exceeded all that she had admired in the other apartments. as soon as the princess saw the devout woman, she said to her, "my good mother, come near and sit down by me. i am overjoyed at the happiness of having the opportunity of profiting for some moments by the good example and conversation of such a person as you, who have taken the right way by dedicating yourself to the service of god. i wish every one were as wise." the devout woman, instead of sitting on a sofa, would only sit upon the edge of one. the princess would not permit her to do so, but rising from her seat,'and taking her by the hand, obliged her to come and sit by her. the good woman, sensible of the civility, said, "madam, i ought not to have so much respect shewn me; but since you command, and are mistress of your own house, i will obey you." when she had seated herself, before they entered into any conversation, one of the princess's women brought a little low stand of mother of pearl and ebony, with a china dish full of cakes upon it, and many others set round it full of fruits in season, and wet and dry sweetmeats. the princess took up one of the cakes, and presenting her with it, said, "eat, good mother, and make choice of what you like best; you had need to eat after coming so far." "madam," replied the good woman, "i am not used to eat such delicacies; but will not refuse what god has sent me by so liberal a hand as yours." while the devout woman was eating, the princess ate a little too, to bear her company, and asked her many questions upon the exercise of devotion which she practised, and how she lived: all which she answered with great modesty. talking of several things, at last she asked her what she thought of the house, and how she liked it. "madam," answered the devout woman, "i must certainly have very bad taste to disapprove any thing in it, since it is beautiful, regular, and magnificently furnished with exactness and judgment, and all its ornaments adjusted in the best manner. its situation is an agreeable spot, and no garden can be more delightful; but yet if you will give me leave to speak my mind freely, i will take the liberty to tell you, that this house would be incomparable if it had three things which are wanting to complete it." "my good mother," replied the princess perie-zadeh, "what are those? i conjure you, in god's name, to tell me what they are: i will spare nothing to get them, if it be possible." "madam," replied the devout woman, "the first of these three things is the speaking bird, so singular a creature, that it draws round it all the singing birds of the neighbourhood, which come to accompany his song. the second is the singing tree, the leaves of which are so many mouths, which form an harmonious concert of different voices, and never cease. the third is the yellow water of a gold colour, a single drop of which being poured into a vessel properly prepared, it increases so as to fill it immediately, and rises up in the middle like a fountain, which continually plays, and yet the basin never overflows." "ah! my good mother," cried the princess, "how much am i obliged to you for the knowledge of these curiosities! they are surprising, and i never before heard there were such wonderful rarities in the world; but as i am persuaded that you know, i expect that you should do me the favour to inform me where they are to be found." "madam," replied the good woman, "i should be unworthy the hospitality you have with so much goodness shewn me, if i should refuse to satisfy your curiosity in that point; and am glad to have the honour to tell you, that these curiosities are all to be met with in the same spot on the confines of this kingdom, towards india. the road to it lies before your house, and whoever you send needs but follow it for twenty days, and on the twentieth let him only ask the first person he meets where the speaking bird, singing tree, and yellow water are, and he will be informed." after saying this, she rose from her seat, took her leave, and went her way. the princess perie-zadeh's thoughts were so taken up with what the devout woman had told her of the speaking bird, singing tree, and yellow water, that she never perceived her departure, till she wanted to ask her some question for her better information; for she thought that what she had told her was not a sufficient reason for exposing herself by undertaking a long journey, possibly to no purpose. however, she would not send after her, but endeavoured to remember all she had told her; and when she thought she had recollected every word, took real pleasure in thinking of the satisfaction she should have if she could get these wonderful curiosities into her possession; but the difficulties she apprehended, and the fear of not succeeding, made her very uneasy. she was absorbed in these thoughts when her brothers returned from hunting; who, when they entered the great hall, instead of finding her lively and gay, as she used to be be, were amazed to see her so pensive, and hanging down her head as if something troubled her. "sister," said prince bahman, "what is become of all your mirth and gaiety? are you not well? or has some misfortune befallen you? has any body given you reason to be so melancholy? tell us, that we may know how to act, and give you some relief. if any one has affronted you, we will resent his insolence." the princess remained in the same posture some time without answering; but at last lifted up her eyes to look at her brothers, and then held them down again, telling them nothing disturbed her. "sister," said prince bahman, "you conceal the truth from us; there must be something of consequence. it is impossible we could observe so sudden a change if nothing was the matter with you. you would not have us satisfied with the evasive answer you have given: do not conceal any thing, unless you would have us suspect that you renounce the strict union which has hitherto subsisted between us from our infancy." the princess, who had not the smallest intention to offend her brothers, would not suffer them to entertain such a thought, but said, "when i told you nothing disturbed me, i meant nothing that was of importance to you; but to me it is of some consequence; and since you press me to tell you by our strict union and friendship, which are so dear to me, i will. you think, and i always believed so too, that this house was so complete that nothing was wanting. but this day i have learned that it wants three rarities, which would render it so perfect that no country seat in the world could be compared with it. these three things are, the speaking bird, the singing tree, and the yellow water." after she had informed them wherein consisted the excellency of these rarities, "a devout woman," added she, "has made this discovery to me, told me the place where they are to be found, and the way thither. perhaps you may imagine these things to be trifles, and of little consequence to render our house complete, that without these additions it will always be thought sufficiently elegant with what it already contains, and that we can do without them. you may think as you please; but i cannot help telling you that i am persuaded they are absolutely necessary, and i shall not be easy without them. therefore, whether you value them or not, i desire you to consider what person you may think proper for me to send in search of the curiosities i have mentioned." "sister," replied prince bahman, "nothing can concern you in which we have not an equal interest. it is enough that you have an earnest desire for the things you mention to oblige us to take the same interest; but if you had not, we feel ourselves inclined of our own accord and for our own individual satisfaction. i am persuaded my brother is of the same opinion, and therefore we ought to undertake this conquest; for the importance and singularity of the undertaking deserve that name. i will take that charge upon myself; only tell me the place, and the way to it, and i will defer my journey no longer than till to-morrow." "brother," said prince perviz, "it is not proper that you, who are the head and director of our family, should be absent. i desire my sister would join with me to oblige you to abandon your design, and allow me to undertake it. i hope to acquit myself as well as you, and it will be a more regular proceeding." "i am persuaded of your good-will, brother," replied prince bahman, "and that you would succeed as well as myself in this journey; but i have resolved, and will undertake it. you shall stay at home with our sister, and i need not recommend her to you." he spent the remainder of the day in making preparations for his journey, and informing himself from the princess of the directions which the devout woman had left her. the next morning bahman mounted his horse, and perviz and the princess embraced, and wished him a good journey. but in the midst of their adieus, the princess recollected what she had not thought of before. "brother," said she, "i had quite forgotten the accidents which attend travellers. who knows whether i shall ever see you again? alight, i beseech you, and give up this journey. i would rather be deprived of the sight and possession of the speaking bird, singing tree, and yellow water, than run the risk of never seeing you more." "sister," replied bahman, smiling at the sudden fears of the princess, "my resolution is fixed, but were it not, i should determine upon it now, and you must allow me to execute it. the accidents you speak of befall only those who are unfortunate; but there are more who are not so. however, as events are uncertain, and i may fail in this undertaking, all i can do is to leave you this knife." bahman, pulling a knife from his vestband, and presenting it in the sheath to the princess, said, "take this knife, sister, and give yourself the trouble sometimes to pull it out of the sheath: while you see it clean as it is now, it will be a sign that i am alive; but if you find it stained with blood, then you may believe me dead, and indulge me with your prayers." the princess could obtain nothing more of bahman. he bade adieu to her and prince perviz for the last time, and rode away. when he got into the road he never turned to the right hand nor to the left, but went directly forward towards india. the twentieth day he perceived on the road side a hideous old man, who sat under a tree some small distance from a thatched house, which was his retreat from the weather. his eye-brows were as white as snow, as was also the hair of his head; his whiskers covered his mouth, and his beard and hair reached down to his feet. the nails of his hands and feet were grown to an extensive length; a flat broad umbrella covered his head. he had no clothes, but only a mat thrown round his body. this old man was a dervish, for many years retired from the world, to give himself up entirely to the service of god; so that at last he became what we have described. prince bahman, who had been all that morning very attentive to see if he could meet with any body who could give him information of the place he was in search of, stopped when he came near the dervish, alighted, in conformity to the directions which the devout woman had given the princess perie-zadeh, and leading his horse by the bridle, advanced towards him, and saluting him, said, "god prolong your days, good father, and grant you the accomplishment of your desires." the dervish returned the prince's salutation, but so unintelligibly that he could not understand one word he said: prince bahman perceiving that this difficulty proceeded from the dervish's whiskers hanging over his mouth, and unwilling to go any farther without the instructions he wanted, pulled out a pair of scissors he had about him, and having tied his horse to a branch of the tree, said, "good dervish, i want to have some talk with you: but your whiskers prevent my understanding what you say: and if you will consent, i will cut off some part of them and of your eye-brows, which disfigure you so much that you look more like a bear than a man." the dervish did not oppose the offer; and when the prince had cut off as much hair as he thought fit, he perceived that the dervish had a good complexion, and that he did not seem so old as he really was. "good dervish," said he, "if i had a glass i would shew you how young you look: you are now a man, but before nobody could tell what you were." the kind behaviour of prince bahman made the dervish smile, and return his compliment. "sir," said he, "whoever you are, i am obliged by the good office you have performed, and am ready to shew my gratitude by doing any thing in my power for you. you must have alighted here upon some account or other. tell me what it is, and i will endeavour to serve you." "good dervish," replied prince bahman, "i am in search of the speaking bird, the singing tree, and the yellow water; i know these three rarities are not far from hence, but cannot tell exactly the place where they are to be found; if you know, i conjure you to shew me the way, that i may not lose my labour after so long a journey." the prince, while he spoke, observed that the dervish changed countenance, held down his eyes, looked very serious, and instead of making any reply, remained silent; which obliged him to say to him again, "good father, i fancy you heard me; tell me whether you know what i ask you, that i may not lose my time, but inform myself somewhere else." at last the dervish broke silence. "sir," said he to prince bahman, "i know the way you ask of me; but the regard which i conceived for you the first moment i saw you, and which is grown stronger by the service you have done me, kept me in suspense, whether i should give you the satisfaction you desire." "what motive can hinder you?" replied the prince; "and what difficulties do you find in so doing?" "i will tell you," replied the dervish; "the danger you are going to expose yourself to is greater than you may suppose. a number of gentlemen of as much bravery and courage as you can possibly possess have passed this way, and asked me the same question. when i had used all my endeavours to persuade them to desist, they would not believe me; at last, i yielded, to their importunities; i was compelled to shew them the way, and i can assure you they have all perished, for i have not seen one come back. therefore, if you have any regard for your life, take my advice, go no farther, but return home." prince bahman persisted in his resolution. "i will not suppose," said he to the dervish, "but that your advice is sincere. i am obliged to you for the friendship you express for me; but whatever may be the danger, nothing shall make me change my intention: whoever attacks me, i am well armed, and can say i am as brave as any one." "but they who will attack you are not to be seen," replied the dervish; "how will you defend yourself against invisible persons?" "it is no matter," answered the prince; "all you say shall not persuade me to do any thing contrary to my duty. since you know the way, i conjure you once more to inform me." when the dervish found he could not prevail upon prince bahman, and that he was obstinately bent to pursue his journey notwithstanding his friendly remonstrance, he put his hand into a bag that lay by him and pulled out a bowl, which he presented to him. "since i cannot prevail on you to attend to my advice," said he, "take this bowl; when you are on horseback throw it before you, and follow it to the foot of a mountain, where it will stop. as soon as the bowl stops, alight, leave your horse with the bridle over his neck, and he will stand in the same place till you return. as you ascend you will see on your right and left a great number of large black stones, and will hear on all sides a confusion of voices, which will utter a thousand injurious abuses to discourage you, and prevent your reaching the summit of the mountain. be not afraid; but above all things, do not turn your head to look behind you; for in that instant you will be changed into such a black stone as those you see, which are all youths who have failed in this enterprise. if you escape the danger of which i give you but a faint idea, and get to the top of the mountain, you will see a cage, and in that cage is the bird you seek; ask him which are the singing tree and the yellow water, and he will tell you. i have nothing more to say; this is what you have to do, and the danger you have to avoid; but if you are prudent, you will take my advice, and not expose your life. consider once more while you have time that the difficulty is almost insuperable." "i am obliged to you for your repeated advice," replied prince bahman, after he had received the bowl, "but cannot follow it. however, i will endeavour to conform myself to that part of it which bids me not look behind me as i shall ascend the mountain, and i hope to come and see you again soon, and thank you when i have obtained what i am seeking." after these words, to which the dervish made no other answer than that he should be overjoyed to see him again, the prince mounted his horse, took his leave of the dervish with a respectful salute, and threw the bowl before him. the bowl rolled away unceasingly with as much swiftness as when prince bahman first hurled it from his hand, which obliged him to put his horse to the same pace to avoid losing sight of it, and when it had reached the foot of the mountain it stopped. the prince alighted from his horse, laid the bridle on his neck; and having first surveyed the mountain, and seen the black stones, began to ascend; but had not gone four steps, before he heard the voices mentioned by the dervish, though he could see nobody. some said, "where is that fool going? where is he going? what would he have? do not let him pass." others, "stop him, catch him, kill him;" and others with a voice like thunder, "thief! assassin! murderer!" while some in a gibing tone cried, "no, no, do not hurt him; let the pretty fellow pass, the cage and bird are kept for him." notwithstanding all these troublesome voices, prince bahman ascended with courage and resolution for some time, but the voices redoubled with so loud a din near him, both behind and before, that at last he was seized with dread, his legs trembled under him, he staggered, and finding that his strength failed him, he forgot the dervish's advice, turned about to run down the hill, and was that instant changed into a black stone; a metamorphosis which had happened to many before him, who had attempted the ascent. his horse likewise underwent the same change. from the time of prince bahman's departure, the princess perie-zadeh always wore the knife and sheath in her girdle, and pulled it out several times in a day, to know whether her brother was alive. she had the consolation to understand he was in perfect health, and to talk of him frequently with prince perviz, who sometimes prevented her by asking her what news. on the fatal day that prince bahman was transformed into a stone, as prince perviz and the princess were talking together in the evening, as usual, the prince desired his sister to pull out the knife to know how their brother did. the princess readily complied, and seeing the blood run down the point was seized with so much horror that she threw it down. "ah! my dear brother," cried she, "i have been the cause of your death, and shall never see you more! why did i tell you of the speaking bird, singing tree, and yellow water; or rather, of what importance was it to me to know whether the devout woman thought this house ugly or handsome, or complete or not? i wish to heaven she had never addressed herself to me? deceitful hypocrite!" added she, "is this the return you have made for the kind reception i gave you? why did you tell me of a bird, a tree, and a water, which, imaginary as i am persuaded they are, by my dear brother's death, yet disturb me by your enchantment?" prince perviz was as much afflicted at the death of prince bahman as the princess; but not to waste time in needless regret, as he knew that she still passionately desired possession of the speaking bird, the singing tree, and the golden water, he interrupted her, saying, "sister, our regret for our brother is vain and useless; our grief and lamentations cannot restore him to life; it is the will of god, we must submit to it, and adore the decrees of the almighty without searching into them. why should you now doubt of the truth of what the holy woman told you? do you think she spoke to you of three things that were not in being? and that she invented them on purpose to deceive you, who had given her no cause to do so, but received her with so much goodness and civility? let us rather believe that our brother's death is owing to some error on his part, or some accident which we cannot conceive. it ought not therefore to prevent us from pursuing our object. i offered to go this journey, and am now more resolved than ever; his example has no effect upon my resolution; to-morrow i will depart." the princess did all she could to dissuade prince perviz, conjuring him not to expose her to the danger of losing two brothers; but he was obstinate, and all the remonstrances she could urge had no effect upon him. before he went, that she might know what success he had, he left her a string of a hundred pearls, telling her, that if they would not run when she should count them upon the string, but remain fixed, that would be a certain sign he had undergone the same fate as his brother; but at the same time told her he hoped it would never happen, but that he should have the happiness to see her again to their mutual satisfaction. prince perviz, on the twentieth day after his departure, met the same dervish in the same place as his brother bahman had done before him. he went directly up to him, and after he had saluted, asked him, if he could tell him where to find the speaking bird, the singing tree, and the golden water? the dervish urged the same difficulties and remonstrances as he had done to prince bahman, telling him, that a young gentleman, who very much resembled him, was with him a short time before; that, overcome by his importunity and pressing instances, he had shewn him the way, given him a guide, and told him how he should act to succeed; but that he had not seen him since, and doubted not but he had shared the same fate as all other adventurers. "good dervish," answered prince perviz, "i know whom you speak of; he was my elder brother, and i am informed of the certainty of his death, but know not the cause." "i can tell you," replied the dervish; "he was changed into a black stone, as all i speak of have been; and you must expect the same transformation, unless you observe more exactly than he has done the advice i gave him, in case you persist in your resolution, which i once more entreat you to renounce." "dervish," said prince perviz, "i cannot sufficiently express how much i am obliged for the concern you take in my life, who am a stranger to you, and have done nothing to deserve your kindness: but i thoroughly considered this enterprise before i undertook it, and i cannot now relinquish it: therefore i beg of you to do me the same favour you have done my brother. perhaps i may have better success in following your directions." "since i cannot prevail with you," said the dervish, "to give up your obstinate resolution, if my age did not prevent me, and i could stand, i would get up to reach you a bowl i have here, which will shew you the way." without giving the dervish time to say more, the prince alighted from his horse and went to the dervish, who had taken a bowl out of his bag, in which he had a great many, and gave it him, with the same directions he had given prince bahman; and after warning him not to be discouraged by the voices he should hear without seeing any body, however threatening they might be, but to continue his way up the hill till he saw the cage and bird, he let him depart. prince perviz thanked the dervish, and when he had remounted, and taken leave, threw the bowl before his horse, and spurring him at the same time, followed it. when the bowl came to the bottom of the hill it stopped, the prince alighted, and stood some time to recollect the dervish's directions. he encouraged himself, and began to walk up with a resolution to reach the summit; but before he had gone above six steps, he heard a voice, which seemed to be near, as of a man behind him, say in an insulting tone, "stay, rash youth, that i may punish you for your presumption." upon this affront the prince, forgetting the dervish's advice, clapped his hand upon his sword, drew it, and turned about to revenge himself; but had scarcely time to see that nobody followed him before he and his horse were changed into black stones. in the mean time the princess perie-zadeh, several times a day after her brother's departure, counted her chaplet. she did not omit it at night, but when she went to bed put it about her neck; and in the morning when she awoke counted over the pearls again to see if they would slide. the day that prince perviz was transformed into a stone, she was counting over the pearls as she used to do, when all at once they became immoveably fixed, a certain token that the prince her brother was dead. as she had determined what to do in case it should so happen, she lost no time in outward demonstrations of grief, which she concealed as much as possible; but having disguised herself in man's apparel, armed and equipped, she mounted her horse the next morning, having told her servants she should return in two or three days, and took the same road her brothers had done. the princess, who had been used to ride on horseback in hunting, supported the fatigue of so long a journey better than most ladies could have done; and as she made the same stages as her brothers, she also met with the dervish on the twentieth day. when she came near him, she alighted off her horse, leading him by the bridle, went and sat down by the dervish, and after she had saluted him, said, "good dervish, give me leave to rest myself; and do me the favour to tell me if you have not heard that there are somewhere in this neighbourhood a speaking bird, a singing tree, and golden water." "princess," answered the dervish, "for so i must call you, since by your voice i know you to be a woman disguised in man's apparel, i thank you for your compliment, and receive the honour you do me with great pleasure. i know the place well where these things are to be found: but what makes you ask me this question?" "good dervish," replied the princess, "i have had such a flattering relation of them given me, that i have a great desire to possess them." "madam," replied the dervish, "you have been told the truth. these curiosities are more singular and surprising than they have been represented to you: but you have not been made acquainted with the difficulties which must be surmounted in order to obtain them. if you had been fully informed of these, you would not have undertaken so troublesome and dangerous an enterprise. take my advice, go no farther, return, and do not urge me to contribute towards your ruin." "good father," said the princess, "i have travelled a great way, and should be sorry to return without executing my design. you talk of difficulties, and danger of life; but you do not tell me what those difficulties are, and wherein the danger consists. this is what i desire to know, that i may consider and judge whether i can trust my courage and strength to brave them." the dervish repeated to the princess what he had said to the princes bahman and perviz, exaggerating the difficulties of climbing up to the top of the mountain, where she was to make herself mistress of the bird, which would inform her of the singing tree and golden water. he magnified the noise and din of the terrible threatening voices which she would hear on all sides of her, without seeing any body, and the great number of black stones, alone sufficient to strike terror. he entreated her to reflect that those stones were so many brave gentlemen, so metamorphosed for having omitted to observe the principal condition of success in the perilous undertaking, which was not to look behind them before they had got possession of the cage. when the dervish had done, the princess replied, "by what i comprehend from your discourse, the difficulties of succeeding in this affair are, first, the getting up to the cage without being frightened at the terrible din of voices i shall hear; and secondly, not to look behind me: for this last, i hope i shall be mistress enough of myself to observe it. as to the first, i own that those voices, such as you represent them to be, are capable of striking terror into the most undaunted; but as in all enterprises and dangers every one may use stratagem, i desire to know of you if i may use any in one of so great importance." "and what stratagem is it you would employ?" said the dervish. "to stop my ears with cotton," answered the princess, "that the voices, however loud and terrible, may make the less impression upon my imagination, and my mind remain free from that disturbance which might cause me to lose the use of my reason." "princess," replied the dervish, "of all the persons who have addressed themselves to me for information, i do not know that ever one made use of the contrivance you propose. all i know is, that they all perished. if you persist in your design, you may make the experiment. you will be fortunate if it succeeds; but i would advise you not to expose yourself to the danger." "my good father," replied the princess, "nothing can hinder my persisting in my design. i am sure my precaution will succeed, and am resolved to try the experiment. nothing remains for me but to know which way i must go; i conjure you not to deny me the favour of that information." the dervish exhorted her again, for the last time, to consider well what she was going to do; but finding her resolute, he took out a bowl, and presenting it to her, said, "take this bowl; mount your horse again, and when you have thrown it before you, follow it through all its windings, till it stops at the bottom of the mountain, there alight, and ascend the hill. go; you know the rest." after the princess had thanked the dervish, and taken her leave of him, she mounted her horse, threw the bowl before her, and followed it till it stopped at the foot of the mountain. the princess alighted, stopped her ears with cotton; and after she had well examined the path leading to the summit, began with a moderate pace, and walked up with intrepidity. she heard the voices, and perceived the great service the cotton was to her. the higher she went, the louder and more numerous the voices seemed; but they were not capable of making any impression upon her. she heard a great many affronting speeches and raillery very disagreeable to a woman, which she only laughed at. "i mind not," said she to herself, "all that can be said, were it worse; i only laugh at them, and shall pursue my way." at last she got so high, that she could perceive the cage and the bird, which endeavoured, with the voices, to frighten her, crying in a thundering tone, notwithstanding the smallness of its size, "retire, fool, and approach no nearer." the princess, encouraged by this object, redoubled her speed, and by effort gained the summit of the mountain, where the ground was level; then running directly to the cage, and clapping her hand upon it, cried, "bird, i have you, and you shall not escape me." while perie-zadeh was pulling the cotton out of her ears, the bird said to her, "heroic princess, be not angry with me for joining with those who exerted themselves to preserve my liberty. though in a cage, i was content with my condition; but since i am destined to be a slave, i would rather be yours than any other person's, since you have obtained me so courageously. from this instant, i swear inviolable fidelity, and an entire submission to all your commands. i know who you are; you do not: but the time will come when i shall do you essential service, which i hope you will think yourself obliged to me for. as a proof of my sincerity, tell me what you desire, and i am ready to obey you." the princess's joy was the more inexpressible, because the conquest she had made had cost her the lives of two beloved brothers, and given her more trouble and danger than she could have imagined, notwithstanding what the dervish had represented to her. "bird," said she, "it was my intention to have told you that i wish for many things which are of importance; but i am overjoyed that you have shewn your good-will and prevented me. i have been told that there is not far off a golden water, the property of which is very wonderful; before all things, i ask you to tell me where it is." the bird shewed her the place, which was just by, and she went and filled a little silver flagon which she had brought with her. she returned to the bird and said, "bird, this is not enough; i want also the singing tree; tell me where it is." "turn about," said the bird, "and you will see behind you a wood, where you will find this tree." the princess went into the wood, and by the harmonious concert she heard soon knew the tree among many others, but it was very large and high. she came back to the bird, and said to it, "bird, i have found the singing tree, but i can neither pull it up by the roots, nor carry it." the bird replied, "it is not necessary that you should take it up by the roots; it will be sufficient to break off a branch, and carry it to plant in your garden; it will take root as soon as it is put into the earth, and in a little time will grow to as fine a tree as that you have seen." when the princess had obtained possession of the three things which the devout woman had told her of, and for which she had conceived so great a desire, she said again to the bird, "bird, what you have yet done for me is not sufficient. you have been the cause of the death of my two brothers, who must be among the black stones which i saw as i ascended the mountain. i wish to take them home with me." the bird seemed reluctant to satisfy the princess in this point, and indeed made some difficulty to comply. "bird," said the princess, "remember you told me that you were my slave. you are so; and your life is in my disposal." "that i cannot deny," answered the bird; "but although what you now ask is more difficult than all the rest, yet i will do it for you. cast your eyes around," added he, "and look if you can see a little pitcher." "i see it already," said the princess. "take it then," said he, "and as you descend the mountain, sprinkle a little of the water that is in it upon every black stone." the princess took up the pitcher accordingly, carried with her the cage and bird, the flagon of golden water, and the branch of the singing tree, and as she descended the mountain, threw a little of the water on every black stone, which was changed immediately into a man; and as she did not miss one stone, all the horses, both of the princes her brothers, and of the other gentlemen, resumed their natural forms. she instantly recognized bahman and perviz, as they did her, and ran to embrace her. she returned their embraces, and expressed her amazement. "what do you here, my dear brothers?" said she; they told her they had been asleep. "yes," replied she, "and if it had not been for me, perhaps you might have slept till the day of judgment. do not you remember that you came to fetch the speaking bird, the singing tree, and the yellow water? and did not you see, as you came along, the place covered with black stones? look and see if there be any now. the gentlemen and their horses who surround us, and you yourselves, were these black stones. if you desire to know how this wonder was performed," continued she, shewing the pitcher, which she set down at the foot of the mountain, having no further use for it, "it was done by virtue of the water which was in this pitcher, with which i sprinkled every stone. after i had made the speaking bird (which you see in this cage) my slave, by his directions i found out the singing tree, a branch of which i have now in my hand; and the yellow water, which this flagon is filled with; but being still unwilling to return without taking you with me, i constrained the bird, by the power i had over him, to afford me the means. he told me where to find this pitcher, and the use i was to make of it." the princes bahman and perviz learnt by this relation the obligation they had to the princess their sister; as did all the other gentlemen, who were collected round, and expressed to the princess, that, far from envying her happiness in the conquest she had made, and which they all had aspired to, they thought they could not any otherwise acknowledge the favour she had done them, or better express their gratitude to her for restoring them to life again, than by declaring themselves all her slaves, and that they were ready to obey her in whatever she should command. "gentlemen," replied the princess, "if you had given any attention to my words you might have observed that i had no other intention in what i have done than to recover my brothers; therefore, if you have received any benefit, you owe me no obligation, and i have no further share in your compliment than your politeness towards me, for which i return you my thanks. in other respects, i regard each of you individually as free as you were before your misfortunes, and i rejoice with you at the happiness which has accrued to you by my means. let us however stay no longer in a place where we have nothing to detain us; but mount our horses, and return to our respective homes." the princess took her horse, which stood in the place where she had left him.--before she mounted, prince bahman desired her to give him the cage to carry. "brother," replied the princess, "the bird is my slave, and i will carry him myself; if you will take the pains to carry the branch of the singing tree, there it is; only hold the cage while i get on horseback." when she had mounted her horse; and prince bahman had given her the cage, she turned about and said to prince perviz, "i leave the flagon of golden water to your care, if it will not be too much trouble for you to carry it." prince perviz took charge of it with pleasure. when bahman, perviz, and all the gentlemen had mounted their horses, the princess waited for some of them to lead the way. the two princes paid that compliment to the gentlemen, and they again to the princess, who, finding that none of them would accept of the honour, but that it was reserved for her, addressed herself to them and said, "gentlemen, i expect that some of you should lead the way;" to which one who was nearest to her, in the name of the rest, replied, "madam, were we ignorant of the respect due to your sex, yet after what you have done for us there is no deference we would not willingly pay you, notwithstanding your modesty; we entreat you no longer to deprive us of the happiness of following you." "gentlemen," said the princess, "i do not deserve the honour you do me, and accept it only because you desire it." at the same time she led the way, and the two princes and the gentlemen followed. this illustrious company called upon the dervish as they passed, to thank him for his reception and wholesome advice, which they had all found to be sincere. but he was dead: whether of old age, or because he was no longer necessary to shew the way to the obtaining the three rarities which the princess perie-zadeh had secured, did not appear. they pursued their route, but lessened in their numbers every day. the gentlemen who, as we said before, had come from different countries, after severally repeating their obligations to the princess and her brothers, took leave of them one after another as they approached the road they had come. as soon as the princess reached home, she placed the cage in the garden; and the bird no sooner began to warble than he was surrounded by nightingales, chaffinches, larks, linnets, goldfinches, and every species of birds of the country. and the branch of the singing tree was no sooner set in the midst of the parterre, a little distance from the house, than it took root, and in a short time became a large tree, the leaves of which gave as harmonious a concert as those of the tree from which it was gathered. a large basin of beautiful marble was placed in the garden; and when it was finished, the princess poured into it all the yellow water from the flagon, which instantly increased and swelled so much that it soon reached up to the edges of the basin, and afterwards formed in the middle a fountain twenty feet high, which fell again into the basin perpetually without running over. the report of these wonders was presently spread abroad, and as the gates of the house and those of the gardens were shut to nobody, a great number of people came to admire them. some days after, when the princes bahman and perviz had recovered from the fatigue of their journey, they resumed their former way of living; and as their usual diversion was hunting, they mounted their horses and went for the first time since their return, not to their own demesne, but two or three leagues from their house. as they pursued their sport, the emperor of persia came in pursuit of game upon the same ground. when they perceived by the number of horsemen in different places that he would soon be up, they resolved to discontinue their chase, and retire to avoid encountering him; but in the very road they took they chanced to meet him in so narrow a way that they could not retreat without being seen. in their surprise they had only time to alight, and prostrate themselves before the emperor, without lifting up their heads to look at him. the emperor, who saw they were as well mounted and dressed as if they had belonged to his court, had the curiosity to see their faces. he stopped, and commanded them to rise. the princes rose up, and stood before him with an easy and graceful air, accompanied with respectful modest countenances. the emperor took some time to view them before he spoke: and after he had admired their good air and mien, asked them who they were, and where they lived. "sir," said prince bahman, "we are the sons of the late intendant of your majesty's gardens: and live in a house which he built a little before he died, till we should be fit to serve your majesty, and ask of you some employ when opportunity offered." "by what i perceive," replied the emperor, "you love hunting." "sir," replied prince bahman, "it is our common exercise, and what none of your majesty's subjects who intend to bear arms in your armies ought, according to the ancient custom of the kingdom, to neglect." the emperor, charmed with so prudent an answer, said, "since it is so, i should be glad to see your expertness in the chase; choose your own game." the princes mounted their horses again, and followed the emperor; but had not gone far before they saw many wild beasts together. prince bahman chose a lion, and prince perviz a bear; and pursued them with so much intrepidity, that the emperor was surprised. they came up with their game nearly at the same time, and darted their javelins with so much skill and address, that they pierced, the one the lion, and the other the bear, so effectually, that the emperor saw them fall one after the other. immediately afterwards prince bahman pursued another bear, and prince perviz another lion, and killed them in a short time, and would have beaten out for fresh game, but the emperor would not let them, and sent to them to come to him. when they approached he said, "if i would have given you leave, you would soon have destroyed all my game: but it is not that which i would preserve, but your persons; for i am so well assured your bravery may one time or other be serviceable to me, that from this moment your lives will be always dear to me." the emperor, in short, conceived so great a kindness for the two princes, that he invited them immediately to make him a visit: to which prince bahman replied, "your majesty does us an honour we do not deserve; and we beg you will excuse us." the emperor, who could not comprehend what reason the princes could have to refuse this token of his favour, pressed them to tell him why they excused themselves. "sir," said prince bahman, "we have a sister younger than ourselves, with whom we live in such perfect union, that we undertake nothing before we consult her, nor she any thing without asking our advice." "i commend your brotherly affection," answered the emperor. "consult your sister, meet me here tomorrow, and give me an answer." the princes went home, but neglected to speak of their adventure in meeting the emperor, and hunting with him, and also of the honour he had done them, by asking them to go home with him; yet did not the next morning fail to meet him at the place appointed. "well," said the emperor, "have you spoken to your sister? and has she consented to the pleasure i expect of seeing you?" the two princes looked at each other and blushed. "sir," said prince bahman, "we beg your majesty to excuse us: for both my brother and i forgot." "then remember to-day," replied the emperor, "and be sure to bring me an answer to-morrow." the princes were guilty of the same fault a second time, and the emperor was so good-natured as to forgive their negligence; but to prevent their forgetfulness the third time, he pulled three little golden balls out of a purse, and put them into prince bahman's bosom. "these balls," said he, smiling, "will prevent your forgetting a third time what i wish you to do for my sake; since the noise they will make by falling on the floor, when you undress, will remind you, if you do not recollect it before." the event happened just as the emperor foresaw; and without these balls the princes had not thought of speaking to their sister of this affair. for as prince bahman unloosed his girdle to go to bed the balls dropped on the floor, upon which he ran into prince perviz's chamber, when both went into the princess perie-zadeh's apartment, and after they had asked her pardon for coming at so unseasonable a time, they told her all the circumstances of their meeting the emperor. the princess was somewhat surprised at this intelligence. "your meeting with the emperor," said she, "is happy and honourable, and may in the end be highly advantageous to you, but it is very disagreeable and distrustful to me. it was on my account, i know, you refused the emperor, and i am infinitely obliged to you for doing so. i know by this your affection is equal to my own, since you would rather be guilty of incivility towards the emperor than violate the brotherly union we have sworn to each other. you judge right, for if you had once gone you would insensibly have been engaged to leave me, to devote yourselves to him. but do you think it an easy matter absolutely to refuse the emperor what he seems so earnestly to desire? monarchs will be obeyed in their desires, and it may be dangerous to oppose them; therefore, if to follow my inclination i should dissuade you from shewing the complaisance he expects from you, it may expose you to his resentment, and may render myself and you miserable. these are my sentiments: but before we conclude upon any thing let us consult the speaking bird, and hear what he says; he is penetrating, and has promised his assistance in all difficulties." the princess sent for the cage, and after she had related the circumstances to the bird in the presence of her brothers, asked him what they should do in this perplexity? the bird answered, "the princes your brothers must conform to the emperor's pleasure, and in their turn invite him to come and see your house." "but, bird," replied the princess, "my brothers and i love one another, and our friendship is yet undisturbed. will not this step be injurious to that friendship?" "not at all," replied the bird; "it will tend rather to cement it." "then," answered the princess, "the emperor will see me." the bird told her it was necessary he should, and that everything would go better afterwards. next morning the princes met the emperor hunting, who, at as great a distance as he could make himself be heard, asked them if they had remembered to speak to their sister? prince bahman approached, and answered, "sir, your majesty may dispose of us as you please; we are ready to obey you; for we have not only obtained our sister's consent with great ease, but she took it amiss that we should pay her that deference in a matter wherein our duty to your majesty was concerned. but if we have offended, we hope you will pardon us." "do not be uneasy on that account," replied the emperor; "so far from taking amiss what you have done, i highly approve of your conduct, and hope you will have the same deference and attachment to my person, if i have ever so little share in your friendship." the princes, confounded at the emperor's goodness, returned no other answer but a low obeisance, to shew the great respect with which they received it. the emperor, contrary to his usual custom, did not hunt long that day. presuming that the princes possessed wit equal to their courage and bravery, he longed with impatience to converse with them more at liberty. he made them ride on each side of him, an honour which, without speaking of the principal courtiers who accompanied him, was envied by the grand vizier, who was much mortified to see them preferred before him. when the emperor entered his capital, the eyes of the people, who stood in crowds in the streets, were fixed upon the two princes bahman and perviz; and they were earnest to know who they might be, whether foreigners or natives. all, however, agreed in wishing that the emperor had been blessed with two such handsome princes, and said, "he might have had children as old, if the queen, who had suffered the punishment of her misfortune, had been more fortunate in her lyings-in." the first thing that the emperor did when he arrived at his palace was to conduct the princes into the principal apartments; who praised without affectation, like persons conversant in such matters, the beauty and symmetry of the rooms, and the richness of the furniture and ornaments. afterwards a magnificent repast was served up, and the emperor made them sit with him, which they at first refused; but finding it was his pleasure, they obeyed. the emperor, who had himself much learning, particularly in history, foresaw that the princes, out of modesty and respect, would not take the liberty of beginning any conversation. therefore, to give them an opportunity, he furnished them with subjects all dinner-time. but whatever subject he introduced, they shewed so much wit, judgment, and discernment, that he was struck with admiration. "were these my own children," said he to himself, "and i had improved their talents by suitable education, they could not have been more accomplished or better informed." in short, he took such great pleasure in their conversation, that after having sat longer than usual he led them into his closet, where he pursued his conversation with them, and at last said, "i never supposed that there were among my subjects in the country youths so well brought up, so lively, so capable; and i never was better pleased with any conversation than yours: but it is time now we should relax our minds with some diversion; and as nothing is more capable of enlivening the mind than music, you shall hear a vocal and instrumental concert which may not be disagreeable to you." the emperor had no sooner spoken for them than the musicians, who had orders to attend, entered, and answered fully the expectations the princes had been led to entertain of their abilities. after the concerts, an excellent farce was acted, and the entertainment was concluded by dancers of both sexes. the two princes seeing night approach, prostrated themselves at the emperor's feet; and having first thanked him for the favours and honours he had heaped upon them, asked his permission to retire; which was granted by the emperor, who, in dismissing them, said, "i give you leave to go; but remember i brought you to the palace myself only to shew you the way; you will be always welcome, and the oftener you come the greater pleasure you will do me." before they went out of the emperor's presence, prince bahman said, "sir, may we presume to request that your majesty will do us and our sister the honour to pass by our house, and rest and refresh yourself after your fatigue, the first time you take the diversion of hunting in that neighbourhood? it is not worthy your presence; but monarchs sometimes have vouchsafed to take shelter in a cottage." "my children," replied the emperor; "your house cannot be otherwise than beautiful, and worthy of its owners. i will call and see it with pleasure, which will be the greater for having for my hosts you and your sister, who is already dear to me from the account you give me of the rare qualities with which she is endowed; and this satisfaction i will defer no longer than to-morrow. early in the morning i will be at the place where i shall never forget that i first saw you. meet me, and you shall be my guides." when the princes bahman and perviz had returned home, they gave the princess an account of the distinguished reception the emperor had given them; and told her that they had invited him to do them the honour, as he passed by, to call at their house; and that he had appointed the next day. "if it be so," replied the princess, "we must think of preparing a repast fit for his majesty; and for that purpose i think it would be proper we should consult the speaking bird, he will tell us perhaps what meats the emperor likes best." the princes approved of her plan, and after they had retired she consulted the bird alone. "bird," said she, "the emperor will do us the honour to-morrow to come and see our house, and we are to entertain him; tell us what we shall do to acquit ourselves to his satisfaction." "good mistress," replied the bird, "you have excellent cooks, let them do the best they can; but above all things, let them prepare a dish of cucumbers stuffed full of pearls, which must be set before the emperor in the first course before all the other dishes." "cucumbers stuffed full of pearls!" cried princess perie-zadeh, with amazement; "surely, bird, you do not know what you say; it is an unheard-of dish. the emperor may admire it as a piece of magnificence, but he will sit down to eat, and not to admire pearls; besides, all the pearls i possess are not enough for such a dish." "mistress," said the bird, "do what i say, and be not uneasy about what may happen. nothing but good will follow. as for the pearls, go early to-morrow morning to the foot of the first tree on your right hand in the park, dig under it, and you will find more than you want." that night the princess ordered a gardener to be ready to attend her, and the next morning early led him to the tree which the bird had told her of, and bade him dig at its foot. when the gardener came to a certain depth, he found some resistance to the spade, and presently discovered a gold box about a foot square, which he shewed the princess. "this," said she, "is what i brought you for; take care not to injure it with the spade." when the gardener took up the box, he gave it into the princess's hands, who, as it was only fastened with neat little hasps, soon opened it, and found it full of pearls of a moderate size, but equal, and fit for the use that was to be made of them. very well satisfied with having found this treasure, after she had shut the box again she put it under her arm, and went back to the house, while the gardener threw the earth into the hole at the foot of the tree as it had been before. the princes bahman and perviz, who, as they were dressing themselves in their own apartments, saw the princess their sister in the garden earlier than usual, as soon as they could get out went to her, and met her as she was returning, with a gold box under her arm, which much surprised them. "sister," said bahman, "you carried nothing with you when we saw you before with the gardener, and now we see you have a golden box: is this some treasure found by the gardener, and did he come and tell you of it?" "no, brother," answered the princess; "i took the gardener to the place where this casket was concealed, and shewed him where to dig: but you will be more amazed when you see what it contains." the princess opened the box, and when the princes saw that it was full of pearls, which, though small, were of great value; they asked her how she came to the knowledge of this treasure? "brothers," said she, "if nothing more pressing calls you elsewhere, come with me, and i will tell you." "what more pressing business," said prince perviz, "can we have than to be informed of what concerns us so much? we have nothing to do to prevent our attending you." the princess, as they returned to the house, gave them an account of her having consulted the bird, as they had agreed she should, and the answer he had given her; the objection she had raised to preparing a dish of cucumbers stuffed full of pearls, and how he had told her where to find this box. the princes and princess formed many conjectures to penetrate into what the bird could mean by ordering them to prepare such a dish; and after much conversation, though they could not by any means guess at his reason, they nevertheless agreed to follow his advice exactly. as soon as the princess entered the house, she called for the head cook; and after she had given him directions about the entertainment for the emperor, said to him, "besides all this, you must dress an extraordinary dish for the emperor's own eating, which nobody else must have any thing to do with besides yourself. this dish must be of cucumbers stuffed with these pearls;" and at the same time she opened him the box, and shewed him the pearls. the chief cook, who had never heard of such a dish, started back, and shewed his thoughts by his looks; which the princess penetrating, said, "i see you take me to be mad to order such a dish, which you never heard of, and which one may say with certainty was never made. i know this as well as you; but i am not mad, and give you these orders with the most perfect recollection. you must invent and do the best you can, and bring me back what pearls are left." the cook could make no reply, but took the box and retired: and afterwards the princess gave directions to all the domestics to have every thing in order, both in the house and gardens, to receive the emperor. next day the two princes went to the place appointed; and as soon as the emperor of persia arrived the chase began, which lasted till the heat of the sun obliged him to leave off. while prince bahman stayed to conduit the emperor to their house, prince perviz rode before to shew the way, and when he came in sight of the house, spurred his horse, to inform the princess perie-zadeh that the emperor was approaching; but she had been told by some servants whom she had placed to give notice, and the prince found her waiting ready to receive him. when the emperor had entered the court-yard, and alighted at the portico, the princess came and threw herself at his feet, and the two princes informed him she was their sister, and besought him to accept her respects. the emperor stooped to raise her, and after he had gazed some time on her beauty, struck with her fine person and dignified air, he said, "the brothers are worthy of the sister, and she worthy of them; since, if i may judge of her understanding by her person, i am not amazed that the brothers would do nothing without their sister's consent; but," added he, "i hope to be better acquainted with you, my daughter, after i have seen the house." "sir," said the princess, "it is only a plain country residence, fit for such people as we are, who live retired from the great world. it is not to be compared with houses in great cities, much less with the magnificent palaces of emperors." "i cannot perfectly agree with you in opinion," said the emperor very obligingly, "for its first appearance makes me suspect you; however, i will not pass my judgment upon it till i have seen it all; therefore be pleased to conduct me through the apartments." the princess led the emperor through all the rooms except the hall; and, after he had considered them very attentively and admired their variety, "my daughter," said he to the princess, "do you call this a country house? the finest and largest cities would soon be deserted, if all country houses were like yours. i am no longer surprised that you take so much delight in it, and despise the town. now let me see the garden, which i doubt not is answerable to the house." the princess opened a door which led into the garden; and the first object which presented itself to the emperor's view was the golden fountain. surprised at so rare an object, he asked from whence that wonderful water, which gave so much pleasure to behold, had been procured; where was its source; and by what art it was made to play so high, that he thought nothing in the world was to be compared to it? he said he would presently take a nearer view of it. the princess then led him to the spot where the harmonious tree was planted; and there the emperor heard a concert, different from all he had ever heard before; and stopping to see where the musicians were, he could discern nobody far or near; but still distinctly heard the music, which ravished his senses. "my daughter," said he to the princess, "where are the musicians whom i hear? are they under ground, or invisible in the air? such excellent performers will hazard nothing by being seen; on the contrary, they would please the more." "sir," answered the princess smiling, "they are not musicians, but the leaves of the trees your majesty sees before you, which form this concert; and if you will give yourself the trouble to go a little nearer, you will be convinced, and the voices will be the more distinct." the emperor went nearer, and was so charmed with the sweet harmony, that he would never have been tired with hearing it, but that his desire to have a nearer view of the fountain of yellow water forced him away. "daughter," said he, "tell me, i pray you, whether this wonderful tree was found in your garden by chance, or was a present made to you, or have you procured it from some foreign country? it must certainly have come from a great distance, otherwise, curious as i am after natural rarities, i should have heard of it. what name do you call it by?" "sir," replied the princess, "this tree has no other name than that of the singing tree, and is not a native of this country. it would at present take up too much time to tell your majesty by what adventures it came here; its history is connected with the yellow water, and the speaking bird, which came to me at the same time, and which your majesty may see after you have taken a nearer view of the golden water. but if it be agreeable to your majesty, after you have rested yourself, and recovered the fatigue of hunting, which must be the greater because of the sun's intense heat, i will do myself the honour of relating it to you." "my daughter," replied the emperor, "my fatigue is so well recompensed by the wonderful things you have shewn me, that i do not feel it the least. i think only of the trouble i give you. let us finish by seeing the yellow water. i am impatient to see and admire the speaking bird." when the emperor came to the yellow water, his eyes were fixed so steadfastly upon the fountain, that he could not take them off. at last, addressing himself to the princess, he said, "as you tell me, daughter, that this water has no spring or communication, i conclude that it is foreign, as well as the singing tree." "sir," replied the princess, "it is as your majesty conjectures; and to let you know that this water has no communication with any spring, i must inform you that the basin is one entire stone, so that the water cannot come in at the sides or underneath. but what your majesty will think most wonderful is, that all this water proceeded but from one small flagon, emptied into this basin, which increased to the quantity you see, by a property peculiar to itself, and formed this fountain." "well," said the emperor, going from the fountain, "this is enough for one time. i promise myself the pleasure to come and visit it often; but now let us go and see the speaking bird." as he went towards the hall, the emperor perceived a prodigious number of singing birds in the trees around, filling the air with their songs and warblings, and asked, why there were so many there, and none on the other trees in the garden? "the reason, sir," answered the princess, "is, because they come from all parts to accompany the song of the speaking bird, which your majesty may see in a cage in one of the windows of the hall we are approaching; and if you attend, you will perceive that his notes are sweeter than those of any of the other birds, even the nightingale." the emperor went into the hall; and as the bird continued singing, the princess raised her voice, and said, "my slave, here is the emperor, pay your compliments to him." the bird left off singing that instant, when all the other birds ceased also, and it said, "the emperor is welcome; god prosper him, and prolong his life." as the entertainment was served on the sofa near the window where the bird was placed, the sultan replied, as he was taking his seat, "bird, i thank you, and am overjoyed to find in you the sultan and king of birds." as soon as the emperor saw the dish of cucumbers set before him, thinking it was stuffed in the best manner, he reached out his hand and took one; but when he cut it, was in extreme surprise to find it stuffed with pearls. "what novelty is this?" said he "and with what design were these cucumbers stuffed thus with pearls, since pearls are not to be eaten?" he looked at the two princes and princess to ask them the meaning: when the bird interrupting him, said, "can your majesty be in such great astonishment at cucumbers stuffed with pearls, which you see with your own eyes, and yet so easily believe that the queen your wife was delivered of a dog, a cat, and a piece of wood?" "i believed these things," replied the emperor, "because the midwives assured me of the facts." "those midwives, sir," replied the bird, "were the queen's two sisters, who, envious of her happiness in being preferred by your majesty before them, to satisfy their envy and revenge, have abused your majesty's credulity. if you interrogate them, they will confess their crime. the two brothers and the sister whom you see before you are your own children, whom they exposed, and who were taken in by the intendant of your gardens, who provided nurses for them, and took care of their education." this speech of the bird's presently cleared up the emperor's understanding. "bird," cried he, "i believe the truth which you discover to me. the inclination which drew me to them told me plainly they must be my own blood. come then, my sons, come, my daughter, let me embrace you, and give you the first marks of a father's love and tenderness." the emperor then rose, and after having embraced the two princes and the princess, and mingled his tears with theirs, said, "it is not enough, my children; you must embrace each other, not as the children of the intendant of my gardens, to whom i have been so much obliged for preserving your lives, but as my own children, of the royal blood of the monarchs of persia, whose glory, i am persuaded, you will maintain." after the two princes and princess had embraced mutually with new satisfaction, the emperor sat down again with them, and finished his meal in haste; and when he had done, said, "my children, you see in me your father; to-morrow i will bring the queen your mother, therefore prepare to receive her." the emperor afterwards mounted his horse, and returned with expedition to his capital. the first thing he did, as soon as he had alighted and entered his palace, was to command the grand vizier to seize the queen's two sisters. they were taken from their houses separately, convicted, and condemned to be quartered; which sentence was put in execution within an hour. in the mean time the emperor khoosroo shaw, followed by all the lords of his court who were then present, went on foot to the door of the great mosque; and after he had taken the queen out of the strict confinement she had languished under for so many years, embracing her in the miserable condition to which she was then reduced, said to her with tears in his eyes, "i come to entreat your pardon for the injustice i have done you, and to make you the reparation i ought; which i have begun, by punishing the unnatural wretches who put the abominable cheat upon me; and i hope you will look upon it as complete, when i present to you two accomplished princes, and a lovely princess, our children. come and resume your former rank, with all the honours which are your due." all this was done and said before great crowds of people, who flocked from all parts at the first news of what was passing, and immediately spread the joyful intelligence through the city. next morning early the emperor and queen, whose mournful humiliating dress was changed for magnificent robes, went with all their court to the house built by the intendant of the gardens, where the emperor presented the princes bahman and perviz, and the princess perie-zadeh, to their enraptured mother. "these, much injured wife," said he, "are the two princes your sons, and this princess your daughter; embrace them with the same tenderness i have done, since they are worthy both of me and you." the tears flowed plentifully down their cheeks at these tender embraces, especially the queen's, from the comfort and joy of having two such princes for her sons, and such a princess for her daughter, on whose account she had so long endured the severest afflictions. the two princes and the princess had prepared a magnificent repast for the emperor and queen, and their court. as soon as that was over, the emperor led the queen into the garden, and shewed her the harmonious tree and the beautiful effect of the yellow fountain. she had seen the bird in his cage, and the emperor had spared no panegyric in his praise during the repast. when there was nothing to detain the emperor any longer, he took horse, and with the princes bahman and perviz on his right hand, and the queen consort and the princess at his left, preceded and followed by all the officers of his court, according to their rank, returned to his capital. crowds of people came out to meet them, and with acclamations of joy ushered them into the city, where all eyes were fixed not only upon the queen, the two princes, and the princess, but also upon the bird, which the princess carried before her in his cage, admiring his sweet notes, which had drawn all the other birds about him, which followed him, flying from tree to tree in the country, and from one house-top to another in the city. the princes bahman and perviz, and the princess perie-zadeh, where at length brought to the palace with this pomp, and nothing was to be seen or heard all that night but illuminations and rejoicings both in the palace and in the utmost parts of the city, which lasted many days, and were continued throughout the empire of persia, as intelligence of the joyful event reached the several provinces. story of the sultan of yemen and his three sons. there was in the land of yemen (arabia felix) a sultan, under whom were three tributary princes. he had four children, three sons and a daughter. he possessed greater treasures than could be estimated, as well as innumerable camels, horses, and flocks of sheep; and was held in awe by all contemporary sovereigns. after a long and prosperous reign, age brought with it infirmity, and he at length became incapable of appearing in his hall of audience; upon which he commanded his sons to his presence, and said to them, "my wish is to divide among you, before my death, all my possessions, that you may be satisfied, and live in unanimity and brotherly affection with each other, and in obedience to my dying commands." they exclaimed, "to hear is to obey." the sultan then said, "my will is, that the eldest be sovereign in my room; that the second possess my treasures; and the third every description of animals. let no, one encroach upon another, but all assist each other." he then caused them to sign an agreement to abide by his bequests, and shortly afterwards was received into the mercy of the almighty; upon which his sons prepared what was suitable to his dignity for his funeral. they washed the corpse, enshrouded it, prayed over it, and having committed it to the earth, returned to their palaces; where the viziers, officers of state, and inhabitants of the metropolis, high and low, rich and poor, attended to console with them on the loss of their father. the news of the death of the sultan was soon spread abroad into all the provinces, and deputations from every city came to condole with the princes. after these ceremonies, the eldest prince demanded that he should be inaugurated sultan in the room of the deceased monarch, agreeably to his will; but this was not possible, as each of the other brothers was ambitious of being sovereign. contention and disputes now arose between them for the government, till at length the elder brother, wishing to avoid civil war, said, "let us go and submit to the arbitration of one of the tributary sultans, and to let him whom he adjudges the kingdom peaceably enjoy it." to this they assented, as did also the viziers; and they departed, unattended, towards the capital of one of the tributary sultans. when the princes had proceeded about half way on their journey, they reached a verdant spot, abounding in herbage and flowers, with a clear rivulet running through it, the convenience of which made them halt to refresh themselves. they sat down and were eating, when one of the brothers casting his eyes on the grass, said, "a camel has lately passed this way loaded, half with sweetmeats and half with grain." "true," cried another, "and he was blind of one eye." "yes," exclaimed the third, "and he had lost his tail." they had scarcely concluded their remarks, when the owner of the camel came up to them (for he had heard what they had said, and was convinced, as they had described the beast and his load, that they must have stopped him), crying out, that they had stolen his camel. "we have not seen him," answered the princes, "nor touched him." "by allah!" replied he, "none but you can have taken him; and if you will not deliver him up, i will complain of you to the sultan." they rejoined, "it is well; let us go to the sultan." when all four had reached the palace, information was given of the arrival of the princes, and they were admitted to an audience, the owner of the camel following, who bawled out, "these men, my lord, by their own confession, have stolen my property, for they described him and the load he carried." the man then related what each of the princes, had said; upon which the sultan demanded if it was true. they answered, "my lord, we have not seen the camel; but we chanced, as we were sitting on the grass taking some refreshment, to observe that part of the pasture had been grazed; upon which we supposed that the camel must have been blind of an eye, as the grass was only eaten on one side. we then observed the dung of a camel in one heap on the ground, which made us agree that its tail must have been cut off, as it is the custom for camels to shake their tails, and scatter it abroad. on the grass where the camel had lain down, we saw on one side flies collected in great numbers, but none on the other: this made us conclude that one of the panniers must have contained sweets, and the other only grain." upon hearing the above, the sultan said to the complainant, "friend, go and look for thy camel, for these observations do not prove the theft on the accused, but only the strength of their understandings and penetration." the sultan now ordered apartments for the princes, and directed that they should be entertained in a manner befitting their rank; after which he left them to their repose. in the evening, when the usual meal was brought in, the elder prince having taken up a cake of bread, said, "this bread, i am sure, was made by a sick woman." the second, on tasting some kid, exclaimed, "this kid was suckled by a bitch:" and the third cried out, "certainly this sultan must be illegitimate." at this instant the sultan, who had been listening, entered hastily, and exclaimed, "wherefore utter ye these affronting speeches?" "inquire," replied the princes, "into what you have heard, and you will find all true." the sultan now retired to his haram, and on inquiry, found that the woman who had kneaded the bread was sick. he then sent for the shepherd, who owned that the dam of the kid having died, he had suckled it upon a bitch. next, in a violent passion, he proceeded to the apartments of the sultana mother, and brandishing his cimeter--threatened her with death, unless she confessed whether he was son to the late sultan or not. the sultana was alarmed, and said, "to preserve my life, i must speak truth. know then that thou art the son of a cook. thy father had no male offspring, at which he was uneasy: on the same day myself and the wife of the cook lay in, i of a daughter and she of a son. i was fearful of the coolness of the sultan, and imposed upon him the son of the cook for his own: that son art thou, who now enjoyest an empire." the spurious sultan left the sultana in astonishment at the penetration of the brothers, whom he summoned to his presence, and inquired of them on what grounds they had founded their just suspicions respecting the bread, the kid, and himself. "my lord," replied the elder prince, "when i broke the cake, the flour fell out in lumps; and hence i guessed that she who made it had not strength to knead it sufficiently, and must have been unwell." "it is as thou hast said," replied the sultan. "the fat of the kid," continued the second brother, "was all next the bone, and the flesh of every other animal but the dog has it next the skin. hence my surmise that it must have been suckled by a bitch." "thou wert right," answered the sultan; "but now for myself." "my reason for supposing thee illegitimate," said the youngest prince, "was, because thou didst not associate with us, who are of the same rank with thyself. every man has properties which he inherits from his father, his grandfather, or his mother. from his father, generosity, or avarice; from his grandfather, valour or cowardice; from his mother, bashfulness or impudence." "thou hast spoken justly," replied the sultan; "but why came ye to ask judgment of me, since ye are so much better able to decide difficult questions than myself? return home, and agree among yourselves." the princes did so; and obeyed the will of their father. story of the three sharpers and the sultan. three very ingenious sharpers who associated together, being much distressed, agreed, in hopes of obtaining immediate relief, that they would go to the sultan, and pretend each to superior ability in some occupation. accordingly they proceeded to the metropolis, but found admission to the presence difficult; the sultan being at a garden palace surrounded by guards, who would not let them approach. upon this they consulted, and agreed to feign a quarrel, in hopes that their clamour would draw the notice of the sultan. it did so: he commanded them to be brought before him, inquired who they were, and the cause of their dispute. "we were disputing," said they, "concerning the superiority of our professions; for each of us possesses complete skill in his own." "what are your professions?" replied the sultan. "i am," said one, "o sovereign, a lapidary of wonderful skill." "i fear thou art an astonishing rascal," exclaimed the sultan. "i am," said the second sharper, "a genealogist of horses." "and i," continued the third, "a genealogist of mankind, knowing every one's true descent; an art much more wonderful than that of either of my companions, for no one possesses it but myself, nor ever did before me." the sultan was astonished, but gave little credit to their pretensions: yet he said to himself, "if these men speak truth, they are worthy of encouragement. i will keep them near me till i have occasion to try them; when, if they prove their abilities, i will promote them; but if not, i will put them to death." he then allotted them an apartment, with an allowance of three cakes of bread and a mess of pottage daily; but placed spies over them, fearing lest they might escape. not long after this, a present of rarities was brought to the sultan, among which were two precious stones; one of them remarkably clear in its water, and the other with a flaw. the sultan now bethought himself of the lapidary, and sent for him to his presence, when he gave him the clear jewel to examine, and demanded what he thought it was worth. the sharper took the stone, and with much gravity turned it backwards and forwards in his hands, examining it with minute attention on every part; after which he said, "my lord, this jewel has a flaw in the very centre of it." when the sultan heard this, he was enraged against the sharper, and gave orders to strike off his head; saying, "this stone is free from blemish, and yet thou pretendest it hath a flaw." the executioner now advanced, laid hold of the sharper, bound him, and was going to strike, when the vizier entered, and seeing the sultan enraged, and the sharper under the cimeter, inquired the cause. being informed, he advanced towards the sultan, and said, "my lord, act not thus, but first break the stone: should a flaw appear in it, the words of this man are true; but if it be found free from blemish, put him to death." the sultan replied, "thy advice is just:" and broke it in two with his mace. in the middle he found a flaw, at which he was astonished, and exclaimed to the sharper, "by what means couldst thou discover the blemish?" he replied, "by the acuteness of my sight." the sultan then released him, and said, "take him back to his companions, allow him a mess of pottage to himself, and two cakes of bread." some time after this a tribute came from one of the provinces, part of which consisted of a beautiful black colt, in colour resembling the hue of the darkest night. the sultan was delighted with the animal, and spent whole days in admiring him. at length he bethought himself of the sharper who had pretended to be a genealogist of horses, and commanded him to his presence. when he appeared, the sultan said, "art thou a judge of horses?" he replied, "yes, my lord," upon which the sultan exclaimed, "it is well! but i swear by him who appointed me guardian of his subjects, and said to the universe, be! and it was, that should i find untruth in thy declaration, i will strike off thy head." the man replied, "to hear is to submit." after this they brought out the colt, that he might examine him. the sharper desired the groom to mount the colt and pace him before him, which he did backwards and forwards, the fiery animal all the while plunging and rearing. at length the genealogist said, "it is enough:" and turning to the sultan exclaimed, "my lord, this colt is singularly beautiful, of true blood by his sire, his paces exquisite and proportions just; but in him there is one blemish; could that be done away, he would be all perfection; nor would there be upon the face of the earth his equal among all the various breeds of horses." "what can that blemish be?" said the sultan. "his sire," rejoined the genealogist, "was of true blood, but his dam of another species of animal; and, if commanded, i will inform you." "speak," said the sultan. "the dam of this beautiful colt," continued the genealogist, "was a buffalo." when the sultan heard this he flew into a rage, and commanded an executioner to strike off the head of the sharper; exclaiming, "thou accursed dog! how could a buffalo bring forth a colt?" "my lord," replied the sharper, "the executioner is in attendance; but send for the person who presented the colt, and inquire of him the truth. if my words prove just, my skill will be ascertained; but if what i have said be false, then let my head pay the forfeit for my tongue." upon this the sultan sent for the master of the colt to attend his presence. when the master of the colt appeared before him, the sultan inquired whether it was purchased of another person, or had been bred by himself? to which the man replied, "my lord, i will relate nothing but the truth. the production of this colt is surprising. his sire belonged to me, and was of the true breed of sea-horses: he was always kept in an enclosure by himself, as i was fearful of his being injured; but it happened one day in the spring, that the groom took him for air into the country, and picqueted him in the plain. by chance a cow-buffalo coming near the spot, the stallion became outrageous, broke his heel-ropes, joined the buffalo, which after the usual period of gestation, produced this colt, to our great astonishment." the sultan was surprised at this relation. he commanded the genealogist to be sent for, and upon his arrival said, "thy words have proved true, and thy wonderful skill in the breed of horses is ascertained; but by what mark couldst thou know that the dam of this colt was a buffalo?" the man replied, "my lord, the mark is visible in the colt itself. it is not unknown to any person of observation, that the hoof of a horse is nearly round, but the hoof of a buffalo thick and longish, like this colt's: hence i judged that the dam must certainly have been a buffalo." the sultan now dismissed him graciously, and commanded that he should be allowed daily a mess of pottage, and two cakes of bread. not long after this the sultan bethought himself of the third sharper, who pretended that he was the genealogist of man, and sent for him to the presence. on his appearance he said, "thou canst trace the descent of man?" "yes, my lord," replied the genealogist. upon this the sultan commanded an eunuch to take him into his haram, that he might examine the descent of his favourite mistress. upon his introduction, he looked at the lady on this side and on that, through her veil, till he was satisfied, when he came out; and the sultan exclaimed, "well, what hast thou discovered in my mistress?" he replied, "my lord, she is all perfect in elegance, beauty, grace, stature, bloom, modesty, accomplishments, and knowledge, so that every thing desirable centres in herself; but still there is one point that disgraces her, from which if she was free, it is not possible she could be excelled in anything among the whole of the fair sex." when the sultan had heard this, he rose up angrily, and drawing his cimeter, ran towards the genealogist, intending to strike off his head. just as he was going to strike, some of the attendants said, "my lord, put not the man to death before thou art convinced of his falsehood." upon which the sultan exclaimed, "what fault appeared to thee in my mistress?" "o sultan," replied the man, "she is, as to herself, all perfect; but her mother was a rope-dancer." upon this the sultan immediately sent for the father of the lady, and said, "inform me truly who was the mother of thy daughter, or i will put thee to death." "mighty prince," replied the father, "there is no safety for man but in the truth. her mother was a rope-dancer, whom i took when very young from a company of strolling mummers, and educated. she grew up most beautiful and accomplished: i married her, and she produced me the girl whom thou hast chosen." when the sultan heard this, his rage cooled, but he was filled with astonishment; and said to the genealogist, "inform me what could shew thee that my mistress was the daughter of a rope-dancer?" "my lord," replied the man, "this cast of people have always their eyes very black, and their eyebrows bushy; such are hers: and from them i guessed her descent." the sultan was now convinced of his skill, dismissed him graciously, and commanded that he should be allowed a mess of pottage and three cakes of bread daily, which was done accordingly. some time after this the sultan reflected on the three sharpers, and said to himself, "these men have proved their skill in whatever i have tried them. the lapidary was singularly excellent in his art, the horse genealogist in his, and the last has proved his upon my mistress. i have an inclination to know my own descent beyond a doubt." he then ordered the genealogist into his presence, and said, "dost thou think thou canst prove my descent?" "yes, my lord," replied the man, "but on condition that you spare my life after i shall have informed you; for the proverb says, 'when the sultan is present, beware of his anger, as there is no delay when he commands to strike.'" "there shall be safety for thee," exclaimed the sultan, "in my promise, an obligation that can never be forfeited." "o sultan," continued the genealogist, "when i shall inform thee of thy parentage and descent, let not there be any present who may hear me." "wherefore?" replied the sultan. "my lord," answered the sharper, "you know the attributes of the deity should be veiled in mystery." the sultan now commanded all his attendants to retire, and when they were alone, the genealogist advanced and said, "mighty prince, thou art illegitimate, and the son of an adulteress." as soon as the sultan heard this, his colour changed, he turned pale, and fainted away. when he was recovered, he remained some time in deep contemplation, after which he exclaimed, "by him who constituted me the guardian of his people, i swear that if thy assertion be found true i will abdicate my kingdom, and resign it to thee, for royalty cannot longer become me; but should thy words prove void of foundation, i will put thee to instant death." "to hear is to assent," replied the sharper. the sultan now arose, entered the haram, and bursting into his mother's apartment with his cimeter drawn, exclaimed, "by him who divided the heavens from the earth, shouldst thou not answer faithfully to what i shall inquire, i will cut thee to pieces with this cimeter." the queen, trembling with alarm, said, "what dost thou ask of me?" "inform me," replied the sultan, "of whom am i the son?" "since truth only can save me," cried the princess, "know that thou art the offspring of a cook. my husband had no children either male or female, on which account he became sad, and lost his health and appetite. in a court of the haram we had several sorts of birds, and one day the sultan fancying he should relish one of them, ordered the cook to kill and dress it. i happened then to be in the bath alone. "as i was in the bath," continued the sultana, "i saw the cook endeavouring to catch the birds. at that instant it occurred to my mind from the instigation of satan, that if i bore not a son, after the death of the sultan my influence would be lost. i tempted the man, and thou art the produce of my crime. the signs of my pregnancy soon appeared; and when the sultan was informed of them, he recovered his health, and rejoiced exceedingly, and conferred favours and presents on his ministers and courtiers daily, till the time of my delivery. on that day he chanced to be upon a hunting excursion at a country palace; but when intelligence was brought him of the birth of a son, he instantly returned to me, and issued orders for the city to be decorated, which was done for forty days together, out of respect to the sultan. such was my crime, and such was thy birth." the sultan now returned to the adventurer, and commanded him to pull off his clothes, which he did; when the sultan, disrobing himself, habited him in the royal vestments, after which he said, "inform me whence thou judgest that i was a bastard?" "my lord," replied the adventurer, "when each of us shewed our skill in what was demanded, you ordered him only an allowance of a mess of pottage and three cakes of bread. hence i judged you to be the offspring of a cook, for it is the custom of princes to reward the deserving with wealth and honours, but you only gratified us with victuals from your kitchen." the sultan replied, "thou hast spoken truly." he then made him put on the rest of the royal robes and ornaments, and seated him upon the throne; after which he disguised himself in the habit of a dervish, and wandered from his abdicated dominions. when the lucky adventurer found himself in possession of the throne, he sent for his companions; and finding they did not recognize him in his royal habiliments, dismissed them with liberal presents, but commanded them to quit his territories with the utmost expedition, lest they should discover him. after this, with a satisfied mind, he fulfilled the duties of his new station with a liberality and dignity that made the inhabitants of the metropolis and all the provinces bless him, and pray for the prolongation of his reign. the adventures of the abdicated sultan. the abdicated prince, disguised as a dervish, did not cease travelling in a solitary mood till he came to the city of cairo, which he perceived to be in repose and security, and well regulated. here he amused himself with walking through several streets, till he had reached the royal palace, and was admiring its magnificent architecture and extent, and the crowds passing in and out, when the sultan with his train appeared in sight returning from a hunting excursion, upon which he retired to one side of the road. the sultan observing his dignified demeanour, commanded one of his attendants to invite him to the palace, and entertain him till he should inquire after him. when the sultan had reposed himself from the fatigue of his exercise, he sent for the supposed dervish to his presence, and said, "from what kingdom art thou arrived?" he answered, "i am, my lord, a wandering dervish." "well," replied the sultan, "but inform me on what account thou art come here." on which he said, "my lord, this cannot be done but in privacy." "let it be so," rejoined the sultan; and rising up, led him into a retired apartment of the palace. the supposed dervish then related what had befallen him, the cause of his having abdicated his kingdom, and taken upon himself the character of a religious. the sultan was astonished at his self-denial, and exclaimed, "blessed be his holy name, who exalteth and humbleth whom he will by his almighty power; but my history is more surprising than thine. i will relate it to thee, and conceal nothing." history of mahummud, sultan of cairo. at my first outset in the world i was an indigent man, and possessed none of the conveniences of life, till at length i became possessed of ten pieces of silver, which i resolved to expend in amusing myself. with this intention, i one day walked into the principal market, intending first to purchase somewhat delicate to feast upon. while i was looking about me, a man passed by, with a great crowd following and laughing at him, for he led in an iron chain a monstrous baboon, which he cried for sale at the price of ten pieces of silver. something instinctively impelled me to purchase the creature, so i paid him the money, and took my bargain to my lodging; but on my arrival, was at a loss how to procure a meal for myself or the baboon. while i was considering what i should do, the baboon having made several springs, became suddenly transformed into a handsome young man, beautiful as the moon at the fourteenth night of its appearance, and addressed me, saying, "shekh mahummud, thou hast purchased me for ten pieces of silver, being all thou hadst, and art now thinking how thou canst procure food for me and thyself." "that is true," replied i; "but in the name of allah, from whence dost thou come?" "ask no questions," replied my companion, "but take this piece of gold, and purchase us somewhat to eat and drink." i took the gold, did as he had desired, and we spent the evening merrily together in feasting and conversation, till it was time to repose. in the morning the young man said, "my friend, this lodging is not fitting for us; go, and hire a better." "to hear is to obey," replied i, and departed to the principal serai, where i hired an upper apartment, to which we removed. he then gave me ten deenars, with orders to purchase carpets and cushions, which i did, and on my return found before him a package, containing princely vestments. these he gave to me, desiring that i would go to the bath, and, after bathing, put them on. i obeyed his commands, dressed myself, and found in each pocket a hundred deenars. i was not a little proud of my improved appearance in the rich robes. on my return, he praised my figure, and seated me by him, when we refreshed ourselves, and chatted on various subjects. at length he gave me a bundle, desiring that i would present it to the sultan, and at the same time demand his daughter in marriage for myself, assuring me that my request would meet a ready compliance. the young man commanded a slave he had bought to attend me, who carried the bundle, and i set out for the palace; near which i found a great crowd of grandees, officers, and guards, who seeing me so richly habited, inquired respectfully what i wanted. upon my replying that my business was with the sultan, they informed the ushers, who introduced me to the presence. i made the customary obeisance, and the sultan returned my salute; after which i presented the bundle before him, saying, "will my lord accept this trifle, becoming my humble situation to offer, but certainly not worthy the royal dignity to receive?" the sultan commanded the package to be opened; when, lo! it contained a complete dress of royal apparel, richer than had ever been before seen, at which the sultan was astonished, and exclaimed, "heavens! i have nothing like this, nor ever possessed so magnificent a suit; it shall be accepted: but inform me, shekh, what thou requirest in return for so valuable an offering." "mighty sovereign," replied i, "my wish is to become thy relation by espousing that precious gem of the casket of beauty, thy incomparable daughter." when the sultan had heard this request, he turned towards his vizier and said, "advise me how i should act in this affair." upon which the minister replied, "shew him, my lord, your most valuable diamond, and inquire if he has any one equally precious to match it as a marriage present for your daughter." the sultan did so; when i said, "if i present two, will you give me your daughter?" to which he assented, and i took my leave, carrying with me the diamond, to shew the young man as a model. upon my arrival at our serai, i informed him of what passed, when he examined the diamond, and said, "the day is now far spent, but tomorrow i will procure ten like it, which thou shalt present to the sultan." accordingly in the morning he walked out, and in the space of an hour returned with ten diamonds, which he gave me, and i hastened with them to the sultan. when he beheld the precious stones he was enraptured at their brilliancy, and again consulted his vizier how he should act in this business. "my lord," replied the minister, "you only required one diamond of the shekh, and he has presented you with ten: it is therefore incumbent upon you to give him your daughter." the sultan now sent for the cauzees and effendis, who drew up the deed of espousals, which they gave me, when i returned to our serai, and shewed it to the young man, who said, "it is well; go and complete thy marriage; but i entreat that thou wilt not consummate thy nuptials till i shall give thee permission." "to hear is to obey," replied i. when it was night i entered the princess's apartment, but sat down at a distance from her, and did not speak till morning, when i bade her farewell, and took my leave for the day. i observed the same conduct the second night and the third, upon which, offended at my coldness, she complained to her mother, who informed the sultan of my affronting behaviour. the sultan sent for me to his presence, and with much anger threatened, if i should continue my coldness to the princess another evening, that he would put me to death. upon this i hastened to inform my friend at the serai, who commanded, that when i should next be alone with my wife i should demand of her a bracelet which she wore upon her right arm, and bring it to him, after which i might consummate my nuptials. i replied, "to hear is to obey;" and the next evening, when i entered the apartment, said to my wife, "if thou desirest that we should live happily together, give me the bracelet on thy right arm." she did so immediately, when i carried it to the young man, and, returning to the palace, slept, as i supposed, with the princess till morning. guess, however, what was my surprise, when on awaking i found myself lying in my first humble lodging, stripped of my rich vestments, and saw on the ground my former mean attire; namely, an old vest, a pair of tattered drawers, and a ragged turban, as full of holes as a sieve. when i had somewhat recovered my senses, i put them on and walked out in a melancholy mood, regretting my lost happiness, and not knowing what i should do to recover it. as i strolled towards the palace, i beheld sitting in the street a fortune-teller, who had some written papers before him, and was casting omens for the bystanders. i advanced, and made him a salute, which he returned kindly; and after looking attentively in my face, exclaimed, "what! has that accursed wretch betrayed thee, and torn thee from thy wife?" i replied, "yes." upon this he desired me to wait a little, and seated me by him. when his employers were departed, he said, "my friend, the ape which you purchased for ten pieces of silver, and who soon after was transformed into a young man, is not of human race, but a genie deeply in love with the princess whom you married. however, he could not approach her while she wore the bracelet, containing a powerful charm, upon her right arm, and therefore made use of thee to obtain it. he is now with her, but i will soon effect his destruction, that genii and men may be secure from his wickedness, for he is one of the rebellious and accursed spirits who disobeyed our lord solomon, son of david." after this, the fortune-teller wrote a note, which having sealed and directed, he gave it to me, saying, "go to a certain spot, wait there, and observe those who may approach. fortify thy mind, and when thou shall see a great personage attended by a numerous train, present to him this letter, when he will accomplish thy desires." i took the note, immediately departed for the place to which the fortune-teller had directed me, and after travelling all night and half the next day reached it, and sat down to wait for what might happen. the evening shut in, and about a fourth part of the night had passed, when a great glare of lights appeared advancing towards me from a distance; and as it shone nearer, i perceived persons carrying flambeaux and lanterns, also a numerous train of attendants, as if belonging to some mighty sultan. my mind was alarmed, but i recovered myself, and resolved to stay where i was. a great concourse passed by me, marching two and two, and at length there appeared a sultan of the genii, surrounded by a splendid attendance; upon which i advanced as boldly as i could, and having prostrated myself, presented the letter, which he opened, and read aloud, as follows: "be it known unto thee, o sultan of the genii, that the bearer of this is in distress, from which thou must relieve him by destroying his enemy. shouldst thou not assist him, beware of thy own safety. farewell." when the sultan of the genii had read the note, he called out to one of his messengers, who immediately attended before him, and commanded him to bring into his presence without delay the genie who had enchanted the daughter of the sultan of cairo. "to hear is to obey," replied the messenger, and instantly disappearing, was absent for about an hour, when he returned with the criminal, and placed him before the sultan of the genii, who exclaimed, "accursed wretch, hast thou ill-treated this man?" "mighty sovereign," replied the genie, "my crime proceeded from love of the princess, who wore a charm in her bracelet which prevented my approaching her, and therefore i made use of this man. he procured me the charm, and i now have her in my power; but i love her tenderly, and have not injured her." "return the bracelet instantly," replied the sultan of the genii, "that the man may recover his wife, or i will command an executioner to strike off thy head." the offending genie, who was of an accursed and obstinate race, upon hearing these words was inflamed with passion, and insolently cried out, "i will not return the bracelet, for no one shall possess the princess but myself." having said thus, he attempted to fly away, but in vain. the sultan of the genii now commanded his attendants to bind the criminal in chains, which they did, and having forced the bracelet from him, struck off his head. the sultan then presented me the charm, which was no sooner in my hand than all the genii vanished from my sight, and i found myself dressed as before, in the rich habit given me by the pretended young man. i proceeded to the city, which i entered, and when i came near the palace was recognized by the guards and courtiers, who cried out in raptures of joy, "our lost prince is at length returned." they paid their respects, and i entered the apartment of the princess, whom i found in a deep sleep, in which state she had been ever since my departure. on my replacing the bracelet on her arm, she awoke. after this we lived together in all happiness till the death of her father, who appointed me his successor, having no son, so that i am what i am. when the sultan of cairo had finished his narrative, the abdicated prince expressed his surprise at his adventures: upon which the sultan said, "wonder not, my brother, at the dispensations of the almighty, for he worketh in secret, and when he pleaseth revealeth his mysteries. since thou hast quitted thy kingdom, if thou choosest, thou shalt be my vizier, and we will live together as friends and brothers." "to hear is to obey," replied the prince. the sultan then constituted him vizier, enrobed him in a rich uniform, and committed to him his seal, the inkstand, and other insignia of office, at the same time conferring upon him a magnificent palace, superbly furnished with gorgeous carpets, musnuds, and cushions: belonging to it were also extensive gardens. the vizier entered immediately upon his new office; held his divans regularly twice every day, and judged so equitably on all appeals brought before him, that his fame for justice and impartiality was soon spread abroad; insomuch, that whoever had a cause or dispute willingly referred it to his decision, and was satisfied with it, praying for his life and prosperity. in this state he remained for many years, the sovereign pleased with him, and he happy under the protection of the sultan of cairo, so that he did not regret his abdicated kingdom. it happened one evening that the mind of the sultan was depressed, upon which he sent for the vizier, who attended; when he said, "vizier, my mind is so uneasy that nothing will amuse me." "enter then," replied the minister, "into thy cabinet, and look at thy jewels, the examination of which may perhaps entertain thee." the sultan did so, but it had no effect on his lassitude; when he said, "vizier, this dispiritedness will not quit me, and nothing gives me pleasure within my palace; let us, therefore, walk out in disguise." "to hear is to obey," replied the vizier. they then retired into a private chamber, and putting on the habits of dervishes of arabia, strolled through the city till they reached a hospital for lunatics, which they entered. here they beheld two men, one reading and the other listening to him; when the sultan said to himself, "this is surprising;" and addressed the men, saying, "are you really mad?" they replied, "we are not mad, but our stories are so wonderful, that were they recorded on a tablet of adamant, they would remain for examples to them who would be advised." "let us hear them," said the sultan; upon which, the man who had been reading exclaimed, "hear mine first!" and thus began. story of the first lunatic. i was a merchant, and had a warehouse in which were indian goods of all sorts, and of the highest value, and i bought and sold to great advantage. one day as i was sitting in my warehouse, according to custom, busy in buying and selling, an old woman came in, telling her beads, and greeted me. i returned her salute, when she sat down, and said, "sir, have you any choice indian cloths?" "yes, my mistress," replied i, "of all sorts that you can possibly wish for." "bring them," said she. i showed her a piece of great value, with which she was highly pleased, and inquired the price. "five hundred deenars," replied i: she took out her purse, paid me the money, and went away with the cloth; upon which i had a profit of one hundred and fifty deenars. she returned the next day, bought another piece, paid for it, and, in short, did the same for fifteen days successively, paying me regularly for each purchase. on the sixteenth day she came to my shop as usual, chose the cloth and was going to pay me, but missed her purse; upon which she said, "sir, i have unfortunately left my purse at home." "mistress," replied i, "it is of no consequence; take the cloth, and if you return, well, if not, you are welcome to this trifle:" she would not take it: i pressed her, but in vain. much friendly argument passed between us, till at length she said, "sir, you contradict, and i contradict, but we shall never agree unless you will favour me by accompanying me to my house to receive the value of your goods; so lock up your warehouse, lest any thing should be lost in your absence." accordingly i fastened my doors, and accompanied her; we walked on conversing, till we came near her house, when she pulled out a handkerchief from her girdle, and said, "my desire is to tie this over thy eyes." "on what account?" replied i. "because," said she, "in our way are several houses, the gates of which are open, and the women sitting in their balconies, so that possibly thy eyes may glance upon some one of them, and thy heart be distracted with love; for in this part are many beautiful damsels, who would fascinate even a religious, and therefore i am alarmed for thy peace." upon this i said to myself, "this old woman advises me properly," and i consented to her demand; when she bound the handkerchief over my eyes, and we proceeded till we arrived at her house. she knocked at the door, which was opened by a damsel, and we entered. the old lady then took the handkerchief from my eyes, when i looked around me, and perceived that i was in a mansion having several quadrangles, highly ornamented, and resembling the palaces of the sultan. the old lady now desired me to retire into a room, which i did, and there beheld heaped together all the pieces of cloth which she had purchased of me, at which i was surprised, but still more so when two damsels beautiful as resplendent moons approached, and having divided a piece of cloth into halves, each took one, and wrapped it round her hand. they then sprinkled the floor with rose water and other scents, wiping it with the cloth, and rubbing it till it became bright as silver; after which they withdrew into an adjoining room, and brought out at least fifty stools, which they set down, and placed over each a rich covering, with cushions of tissue. they then fetched a large stool of gold, and having put upon it a carpet and cushions of gold brocade, retired. not long after this, there descended from the staircase by two and two, as many damsels in number as the stools; upon each of which one sat down. at last descended a lady attended by ten damsels, who placed herself upon the larger stool. when i beheld her, my lord, my senses forsook me, and i was in raptures at her beauty, her stature, and elegance, as she chatted and laughed with her companions. at length she exclaimed, "my dear mother!" when the old woman entered; to whom she said, "hast thou brought the young man?" she replied, "yes, my daughter, he is ready to attend thee." upon which the lady said, "introduce him to me." when i heard this i was alarmed, and said to myself, "there is no refuge but in the most high god; doubtless she has discovered my being here, and will command me to be put to death." the old woman came to me, and leading me by the hand, took me before the lady seated on the golden stool, who, on seeing me, smiled, made a graceful salute, and waved her hand for a seat to be brought, which was done, and placed close to her own. she then commanded me to sit down, which i did with much confusion. when i was seated, the lady began to chat and joke with me, saying, "what think you of my appearance and my beauty, do you judge me worthy of your affection? shall i be your partner and you mine?" when i had heard these words, i replied, "how, dear lady, dare i presume, who am not worthy to be your servant, to arrive at such an honour?" upon this, she said, "young man, my words have no evasion in them; be not discouraged, or fearful of returning me an answer, for my heart is devoted to thy love." i now perceived, my lord, that the lady was anxious to marry me; but could not conceive on what account, or who could have given her intelligence concerning me. she continued to shew me so many pleasing attentions, that at length i was emboldened to say, "lady, if your words to me are sincere, according to the proverb, no time is so favourable as the present." "there cannot," said she, "be a more fortunate day than this for our union." upon this i replied, "my dear lady, how can i allot for you a proper dowry?" "the value of the cloth you intrusted to the old lady, who is my mother," answered she, "is sufficient." "that cannot be enough," rejoined i. "nothing more shall be added," exclaimed the lady; "and my intention is this instant to send for the cauzee and witnesses, and i will choose a trustee, that they may unite us without delay. we will celebrate our nuptials this very evening, but upon one condition." "what is that?" replied i. she answered, "that you bind yourself not to address or hold conversation with any woman but myself." my lord, i was eager to be in possession of so beautiful a woman, and therefore said to her, "i agree, and will never contradict thee either by my words or actions." she then sent for the cauzee and witnesses, and appointed a trustee, after which we were married. after the ceremony, she ordered coffee and sherbet, gave money to the cauzee, a dress of honour to her trustee, and they departed. i was lost in astonishment, and said to myself, "do i dream, or am i awake?" she now commanded her damsels to empty the warm bath, fill it afresh, and prepare cloths and necessaries for bathing. when they had done as she desired, she ordered the eunuchs in waiting to conduct me to the hummaum, and gave them a rich dress. they led me into an elegant apartment, difficult for speech to describe. they spread many-coloured carpets, upon which i sat down and undressed; after which i entered the hummaum, and perceived delightful odours from sandal wood, of comorin, and other sweets diffusing from every part. here they seated me, covered me with perfumed soaps, and rubbed me till my body became bright as silver; when they brought the basins, and i washed with warm water, after which they gave me rose-water, and i poured it over me. they next brought in sweet-smelling salves, which i rubbed over me, and then repaired to the hummaum, where i found a royal dress, in which the eunuchs arrayed me; and after perfuming me with incense of sandal wood, brought in confections, coffee, and sherberts of various sorts, with which i refreshed myself. i then left the bath with my attendants, who shewed me into the grand hall of the palace, which was spread with most magnificent carpets, stools, and cushions. here the lady met me, attired in a new habit, more sumptuous than i had seen her in before. when i beheld my bride, she appeared to me, from the richness of her ornaments, like a concealed treasure from which the talisman had just been removed. she sat down by me, and smiled so fascinatingly upon me, i could no longer contain my rapture. in a short time she retired, but soon returned again in a dress richer than her last. i again embraced her, and in short, my lord, we remained together for ten days in the height of happiness and enjoyment. at the end of this period i recollected my mother, and said to my wife, "it is so long since i have been absent from home, and since my mother has not seen me, that i am certain she must be anxious concerning me. will you permit me to visit her and look after my warehouse?" "there can be no impediment," replied she; "you may visit your mother daily, and employ yourself in your warehouse, but the old woman must conduct you and bring you back;" to which i assented. the old lady then came in, tied a handkerchief over my eyes, conducted me to the spot where she had first blindfolded me, and said, "you will return here about the time of evening prayer, and will find me waiting." i left her, and repaired to my mother, whom i found in great affliction at my absence, and weeping bitterly. upon seeing me, she ran and embraced me with tears of joy. i said, "weep not, my dear mother, for my absence has been owing to the highest good fortune." i then informed her of my lucky adventure, when she exclaimed, "may allah protect thee, my son, but visit me at least every two days, that my affection for thee may be gratified." i then went to my warehouse, and employed myself as usual till evening, when i returned to the place appointed, where i found the old lady, who blindfolded me as before, and conducted me to the palace of my wife, who received me with fondness. for three months i continued to go and come in this manner, but i could not help wishing to know whom i had married, and wondering at the affluence, splendour, and attendance that appeared around her. at length i found an opportunity of being in private with one of her black slaves, and questioned her concerning her mistress. "my lord," replied she, "the history of my mistress is wonderful; but i dare not relate it, lest she should put me to death." upon this, i assured her, that if she would inform me, no one should know it but myself, and i took an oath of secrecy, when she began as follows: "my mistress one day went to a public bath, intending to amuse herself, for which purpose she made such preparations of delicacies and rarities, as were worth a camel's load of treasure, and when she left the hummaum, made an excursion to a garden, where a splendid collation was laid out. here she continued enjoying herself till evening, when she ordered her retinue to make ready for departure, and the fragments of the entertainment to be distributed among the poor. on her return, she passed through the street in which is your warehouse. it was upon a friday, when you were sitting in conversation with a friend, arrayed in your best attire. she beheld you, her heart was stricken with love, but no one perceived her emotion. however, she had no sooner reached her palace than she became low and melancholy, and her appetite failed her. at length she took to her bed, her colour left her, sleep forsook her, and she became very weak. upon this her mother went to call in a physician, that he might consider what might be the cause of her daughter's indisposition; but on the way she met a skilful old lady, with whom she returned home. "the old lady on feeling the pulse of her patient, and after asking several questions, could perceive in her no bodily ailment or pain; upon which she judged she was in love, but did not venture to speak to her before her mother of her suspicions. she took leave, and said, 'by god's blessing thou wilt soon recover; i will return tomorrow, and bring with me an infallible medicine.' she then took her mother aside, and said, 'my good lady, be not angry at what i shall remark, but thy daughter has no bodily disorder; she is in love, and there can be no cure for her but by a union with her beloved.' the mother, on the departure of the old lady, repaired to her daughter, and with much difficulty, after twenty days of denial (for my mistress's modesty was hurt), obtained from her a description of your person, and the street in which you lived; upon which she behaved to you in the manner you are well acquainted with, brought you here, and you know what followed. such is her history," concluded the black slave, "which you must not reveal." "i will not," replied i; and after this i continued to live very happily with my wife, going daily to see my mother, to attend in my warehouse, and return in the evening, conducted as usual by the old lady my mother-in-law. one day, after the expiration of some months, as i was sitting in my warehouse, a damsel came into the street with the image of a cock, composed of jewelry. it was set with pearls, diamonds, and other precious stones, and she offered it to the merchants for sale; when they began bidding for it at five hundred deenars, and went to nine hundred and fifty; all which i observed in silence and did not interfere by speaking or bidding. at length the damsel came up to me, and said, "my lord, all the merchants have increased in bidding for my precious toy, but you have neither bidden, nor taken any notice of me." "i have no occasion for it," replied i. "nay," exclaimed she, "but you must bid something more." "since i must," i answered, "i will give fifty deenars more, which will be just a thousand." she accepted the price, and i went into my warehouse to fetch the money to pay her, saying to myself, "i will present this curiosity to my wife, as it may please her." when i was going to pay the money, the damsel would not take it, but said, "my lord, i have a request to make, which is, that i may snatch one kiss from your cheek as the price of my jewelry, for i want nothing else." upon this, i thought to myself, a single kiss of my cheek is an easy price for the value of a thousand deenars, and consented; when she came up to me and gave me a kiss, but at the same time a most severe bite; left the piece of jewelry, and went away with the greatest haste. in the evening i repaired to the house of my wife, and found the old lady waiting as usual at the accustomed spot. she tied the handkerchief over my eyes, and when she had conducted me home, took it off. i found my wife sitting upon her golden stool, but dressed in scarlet, and with an angry countenance; upon which i said to myself, "god grant all may be well." i approached her, took out the toy set with diamonds and rubies (thinking that on sight of it her ill-humour would vanish), and said, "my mistress, accept this, for it is curious, and i purchased it for thee." she took it into her hand, and examined it on all sides; after which she exclaimed, "didst thou really purchase this on my account?" "by heavens," replied i, "i bought it for thy sake, for a thousand deenars." upon this she frowned angrily upon me, and exclaimed, "what means that wound upon thy cheek?" i was overwhelmed with confusion. while i was in this state, she called out to her attendants, who immediately descended the staircase, carrying the headless corpse of a young girl, the head placed upon the middle of the body. i looked, and knew it to be the head of the damsel who had sold me the piece of jewelry for a kiss, and had bitten my cheek. my wife now exclaimed, "i had no occasion for such baubles, for i have many of them; but i wished to know if thou wert so faithful to thy agreement with me, as not to address another woman than myself, and sent the girl to try thee. since thy promise has been broken, begone, and return no more." when my wife had finished her speech, the old woman took me by the hand, tied the handkerchief over my eyes, and conducted me to the usual spot, when she said, "begone!" and disappeared. i was so overcome by the sad adventure, and the loss of my wife, that i ran through the streets like one frantic, crying, "ah, what beauty, what grace, what elegance did she possess!" upon which, the people, supposing me distracted, conducted me to this hospital, and bound me in fetters, as you see. when the sultan had heard the young man's story, he was much affected, inclined his head for some instants in deep thought, then said to his vizier, "by allah, who has intrusted me with sovereignty, if thou dost not discover the lady who married this young man, thy head shall be forfeited." the vizier was alarmed, but recovering himself, replied, "allow me three days to search," to which the sultan consented. the vizier then took with him the young man, and for two days was at a loss how to find out the house. at length he inquired if he should know the spot where the handkerchief was tied over his eyes, and the gateway at which it was taken off, of both which the youth professed to be certain. he conducted the minister to the street where he was blindfolded, and they reached a gateway, at which the vizier knocked. it was opened by the domestics, who knowing the vizier, and seeing the young man with him, were alarmed, and ran to communicate the quality of the visitants to their mistress. she desired to know the commands of the vizier, who informed her, that it was the sultan's pleasure she should be reconciled to her husband; to which she replied, "since the sultan hath commanded, my duty is obedience." the young man was reunited to his wife, who was the daughter of a former sultan of cairo. such were the adventures of the young man who was reading in the hospital. we now recite those of the youth who was listening to him. upon the sultan's inquiring his story, he began as follows. story of the second lunatic. my lord, i was by profession a merchant, and on my commencing business the youngest of my trade, having but just entered my sixteenth year. as i was one day busy in my warehouse, a damsel entering, put into my hands a packet, which, on opening, i found to contain several copies of verses in praise of myself, with a letter expressive of ardent affection for my person. supposing them meant only as banter, i foolishly flew into a passion, seized the bearer, and beat her severely. on her departure, i reflected on my improper behaviour, dreaded lest she should complain to her relations, and that they might revenge themselves upon me by some sudden assault. i repented of what i had done, but alas! it was when repentance would not avail. ten days had passed, when, as i was sitting in my warehouse as usual, a young lady entered most superbly dressed, and odoriferously perfumed. she resembled in brightness the moon on its fourteenth night, so that when i gazed upon her my senses forsook me, and i was incapable of attention to any thing but herself. she addressed me, saying, "young man, have you in your warehouse any female ornaments?" to which i replied, "of all sorts, my lady, that you can possibly require." upon this she desired to see some bracelets for the ankles, which i shewed her, when holding out her foot, she desired me to try them on. i did so. after this, she asked for a necklace, and opening her veil, made me tie it on. she then chose a pair of bracelets, and extending her hands, desired me to put them on her wrists, which i did; after which, she inquired the amount of the whole, when i exclaimed, "fair lady, accept them as a present, and inform me whose daughter thou art." she replied, "i am the daughter of the chief magistrate;" when i said, "my wish is to demand thee in marriage of thy father." she consented that i should, but observed, "when you ask me of my father, he will say, i have only one daughter, who is a cripple, and wretchedly deformed. do thou, however, reply, that thou art willing to accept her, and if he remonstrates, still insist upon wedding her." i then asked when i should make my proposals. she replied, "the best time to visit my father is on the eed al koorbaun, which is three days hence, as thou wilt then find with him all his relations and friends, and our espousals will add to his festivity." agreeably to the lady's instructions, on the third day following i repaired with several of my friends to the house of the chief magistrate, and found him sitting in state, receiving the compliments of the day from the chief inhabitants of the city. we made our obeisance, which he graciously noticed, received us with kindness, and entered familiarly into conversation. a collation was brought in, the cloth spread, and we partook with him of the viands, after which we drank coffee. i then stood up, saying, "my lord, i am desirous of espousing the chaste lady your daughter, more precious than the richest gem." when the chief magistrate heard my speech, he inclined his head for some time towards the earth in deep thought, after which he said, "son, my daughter is an unfortunate cripple, miserably deformed." to this i replied, "to have her for my wife is all i wish." the magistrate then said, "if thou wilt have a wife of this description, it must be on condition that she shall not be taken from my house, that thou shalt consummate the marriage here, and abide with me." i replied, "to hear is to obey;" believing that she was the beautiful damsel who had visited my warehouse, and whose charms i had so rapturously beheld. in short, the nuptial ceremony was performed, when i said to myself, "heavens! is it possible that i am become master of this beautiful damsel, and shall possess her charms!" when night set in, the domestics of the chief magistrate introduced me into the chamber of my bride. i ran eagerly to gaze upon her beauty, but guess my mortification when i beheld her a wretched dwarf, a cripple, and deformed, as her father had represented. i was overcome with horror at the sight of her, distracted with disappointment, and ashamed of my own foolish credulity, but i dared not complain, as i had voluntarily accepted her as my wife from the magistrate: i sat down silently in one corner of the chamber, and she in another, for i could not bring myself to approach her, as she was disgusting to the sight of man, and my soul could not endure her company. at day-break i left the house of my father-in-law, repaired to my warehouse, which i opened, and sat down much distressed in mind, with my head dizzy, like one suffering from intoxication, when lo! who should appear before me but the lady who had put upon me so mortifying a trick. she entered, and paid me the customary salute. i was enraged, and began to abuse her, saying, "wherefore hast thou put upon me such a stratagem?" when she replied, "wretch, recollect the day that i brought thee a packet, in return for which you seized, beat, reviled, and drove me scornfully away. in retaliation for such treatment, i have taken revenge by giving thee such a delectable bride." i now fell at her feet, entreated her forgiveness, and expressed my repentance; upon which, smiling upon me, she said, "be not uneasy, for as i have plunged thee into a dilemma, i will also relieve thee from it. go to the aga of the leather-dressers, give him a sum of money, and desire him to call thee his son; then repair with him, attended by his followers and musicians, to the house of the chief magistrate. when he inquires the cause of their coming, let the aga say, 'my lord, we are come to congratulate thy son-in-law, who is my beloved child, on his marriage with thy daughter, and to rejoice with him.' the magistrate will be furiously enraged, and exclaim, 'dog, is it possible that, being a leather-dresser, thou durst marry the daughter of the chief magistrate?' do thou then reply, 'my lord, my ambition was to be ennobled by your alliance, and as i have married your lordship's daughter, the mean appellation of leather-dresser will soon be forgotten and lost in the glorious title of the son-in-law of your lordship; i shall be promoted under your protection, and purified from the odour of the tan-pit, so that my offspring will smell as sweet as that of a syed." i did as the lady had directed me, and having bribed the chief of the leather-dressers, he accompanied me with the body of his trade, and a numerous party of musicians, vocal and instrumental, to my father-in-law's house, before which they began to sing and dance with great clamour every now and then crying out, "long live our noble kinsman! long live the son-in-law of the chief magistrate!" the magistrate inquired into the cause of our intrusive rejoicing, when i told him my kinsfolk were congratulating me upon my alliance with his illustrious house, and come to thank him for the honour he had done the whole body of leather-dressers in my person. the chief magistrate on hearing this was passionately enraged, and abused me; but reflecting that without my consent the supposed disgrace of his noble house could not be done away, he became calm, and offered me money to divorce his daughter. at first i pretended unwillingness, but at length affecting to be moved by his earnest entreaties, accepted forty purses of gold, which he gave me to repudiate my deformed wife, and i returned home with a lightened heart. the day following, the lady came to my warehouse, when i thanked her for having freed me from my ridiculous marriage, and begged her to accept of me as a husband. to this she consented, but said she was, she feared, too meanly born for me to marry, as her father was but a cook, though of eminence in his way, and very rich. i replied, "even though he were a leather-dresser, thy charms would grace a throne." in short, my lord, we were married, and have lived together very happily from the day of our union to the present time. such is my story, but it is not so surprising as that of the learned man and his pupil, whose adventures were among the miracles of the age, which i will relate. story of the retired sage and his pupil, related to the sultan by the second lunatic, there was a learned and devout sage, who in order to enjoy his studies and contemplations uninterrupted, had secluded himself from the world in one of the cells of the principal mosque of the city, which he never left but upon the most pressing occasions. he had led this retired life some years, when a boy one day entered his cell, and earnestly begged to be received as his pupil and domestic. the sage liked his appearance, consented to his request, inquired who were his parents, and whence he came; but the lad could not inform him, and said, "ask not who i am, for i am an orphan, and know not whether i belong to heaven or earth." the shekh did not press him, and the boy served him with the most undeviating punctuality and attention for twelve years, during which he received his instructions in every branch of learning, and became a most accomplished youth. at the end of the twelve years, the youth one day heard some young men praising the beauty of the sultan's daughter, and saying that her charms were unequalled by those of all the princesses of the age. this discourse excited his curiosity to behold so lovely a creature. he repaired to his master, saying, "my lord, i understand that the sultan hath a most beautiful daughter, and my soul longs ardently for an opportunity of beholding her, if only for an instant." the sage exclaimed, "what have such as we to do, my son, with the daughters of sovereigns or of others? we are a secluded order, and should refrain ourselves from associating with the great ones of this world." the old man continued to warn his pupil against the vanities of the age, and to divert him from his purpose; but the more he advised and remonstrated, the more intent the youth became on his object, which affected his mind so much, that he grew very uneasy, and was continually weeping. the sage observing his distress was afflicted at it, and at length said to the youth, "will one look at the princess satisfy thy wishes?" "it shall," replied the pupil. the sage then anointed one of his eyes with a sort of ointment; when lo! he became to appearance as a man divided into half, and the sage ordered him to go and hop about the city. the youth obeyed his commands, but he had no sooner got into the street than he was surrounded by a crowd of passengers, who gazed with astonishment at his appearance. the report of so strange a phenomenon as a half man soon spread throughout the city, and reached the palace of the sultan, who sent for the supposed monster to the presence. the youth was conveyed to the palace, where the whole court gazed upon him with wonder; after which he was taken into the haram, to gratify the curiosity of the women. he beheld the princess, and was fascinated by the brilliancy of her charms, insomuch, that he said to himself, "if i cannot wed her, i will put myself to death." the youth being at length dismissed from the palace, returned home; his heart tortured with love for the daughter of the sultan. on his arrival, the sage inquired if he had seen the princess. "i have," replied the youth, "but one look is not enough, and i cannot rest until i shall sit beside her, and feast my eyes till they are wearied with gazing upon her." "alas! my son," exclaimed the old man, "i fear for thy safety: we are religious men, and should avoid temptations; nor does it become us to have any thing to do with the sultan." to this the youth replied, "my lord, unless i shall sit beside her, and touch her neck with my hands, i shall, through despair, put myself to death." at these words, the sage was alarmed for the safety of his pupil, and said to himself, "i will, if possible, preserve this amiable youth, and perchance allah may gratify his wishes." he then anointed both his eyes with an ointment, which had the effect of rendering him invisible to human sight. after this, he said, "go, my son, and gratify thy wishes, but return again, and be not too long absent from thy duty." the youth hastened towards the royal palace, which he entered unperceived, and proceeded into the haram, where he seated himself near the daughter of the sultan. for some time he contented himself with gazing on her beauty, but at length extending his hands, touched her softly on the neck. as soon as she felt his touch, the princess, alarmed, shrieked out violently, and exclaimed, "i seek refuge with allah, from satan the accursed." her mother and the ladies present, affrighted at her outcries, eagerly inquired the cause; when she said, "eblees, or some other evil spirit, hath this instant touched me on the neck." upon this, the mother was alarmed and sent for her nurse, who, when informed of what had happened, declared, "that nothing was so specific to drive away evil spirits as the smoke of camel's hair;" a quantity of which was instantly brought, and being set fire to, the smoke of it filled the whole apartment, and so affected the eyes of the young man, that they watered exceedingly, when he unthinkingly wiped them with his handkerchief, so that with his tears the ointment was soon washed off. the ointment was no sooner wiped away from his eyes than the young man became visible, and the princess, her mother, and the ladies, all at once uttered a general cry of astonishment and alarm; upon which the eunuchs rushed into the apartment. seeing the youth, they surrounded him, beat him unmercifully, then bound him with cords, and dragged him before the sultan, whom they informed of his having been found in the royal haram. the sultan, enraged, sent for an executioner, and commanded him to seize the culprit, to clothe him in a black habit patched over with flame colour, to mount him upon a camel, and after parading with him through the streets of the city, to put him to death. the executioner took the young man, dressed him as he had been directed, placed him upon the camel, and led him through the city, preceded by guards and a crier, who bawled out, "behold the merited punishment of him who has dared to violate the sanctuary of the royal haram." the procession was followed by an incalculable crowd of people, who were astonished at the beauty of the young man, and the little concern he seemed to feel at his own situation. at length the procession arrived in the square before the great mosque, when the sage, disturbed by the noise and concourse of the people, looked from the window of his cell, and beheld the disgraceful situation of his pupil. he was moved to pity, and instantly calling upon the genii (for by his knowledge of magic and every abstruse science he had them all under his control), commanded them to bring him the youth from the camel, and place in his room, without being perceived, some superannuated man. they did so, and when the multitude saw the youth, as it were, transformed into a well-known venerable shekh, they were stricken with awe, and said, "heavens! the young man turns out to be our reverend chief of the herb-sellers;" for the old man had long been accustomed to dispose of greens and sugarcane at the college gate near the great mosque, and was the oldest in his trade. the executioner, on beholding the change of appearance in his prisoner, was confounded. he returned to the palace with the old man upon the camel, and followed by the crowd. he hastened or contrive my death to the sultan, and said, "my lord, the young man is vanished, and in his room became seated upon the camel this venerable shekh, well known to the whole city." on hearing this, the sultan was alarmed, and said to himself, "whoever has been able to perform this, can do things much more surprising he may depose me from my kingdom." the sultan's fears increased so much, that he was at a loss how to act. he summoned his vizier, and said, "advise me what to do in the affair of this strange youth, for i am utterly confounded." the vizier for some time inclined his head towards the ground in profound thought, then addressing the sultan, said, "my lord, no one could have done this but by the help of genii, or by a power which we cannot comprehend, and he may possibly, if irritated, do you in future a greater injury respecting your daughter. i advise, therefore, that you cause it to be proclaimed throughout the city, that whoever has done this, if he will appear before you shall have pardon on the word of a sultan, which can never be broken. should he then surrender himself, espouse him to your daughter, when perhaps his mind may be reconciled by her love. he has already beheld her, and seen the ladies of the haram, so that nothing can save your honour but his union with the princess." the sultan approved the advice of his vizier, the proclamation was issued, and the crier proceeded through several streets, till at length he reached the square of the great mosque. the pupil hearing the proclamation, was enraptured, and running to his patron, declared his intention of surrendering himself to the sultan. "my son," said the sage, "why shouldst thou do so? hast thou not already suffered sufficiently?" the youth replied, "nothing shall prevent me." upon which the sage exclaimed, "go then, my son, and my midnight prayers shall attend thee." the youth now repaired to the hummaum, and having bathed, dressed himself in his richest habit; after which he discovered himself to the crier, who conducted him to the palace. he made a profound obeisance to the sultan, at the same time uttering an eloquent prayer for his long life and prosperity. the sultan was struck with his manly beauty, the gracefulness of his demeanour, and the propriety of his delivery, and said, "young stranger, who art thou, and from whence dost thou come?" "i am," replied the youth, "the half man whom you saw, and have done what you are already acquainted with." the sultan now requested him to sit in the most honourable place, and entered into conversation on various subjects. he put to him several difficult questions in science, to which the youth replied with such judgment, that his abilities astonished him, and he said to himself, "this young man is truly worthy of my daughter." he then addressed him, saying, "young man, my wish is to unite thee to my daughter, for thou hast already seen her, also her mother, and after what has passed no one will marry her." the youth replied, "i am ready in obedience, but must advise with my friends." "go then," said the sultan, "consult with thy friends, and return quickly." the young man repaired to the sage, and having informed him of what had passed between himself and the sultan, signified his wish to marry the princess, when the shekh replied, "do so, my son; there can be in the measure no crime, as it is a lawful alliance." "but i wish," said the youth, "to invite the sultan to visit you." "by all means," answered the sage. "my lord," rejoined the pupil, "since i first came, and you honoured me in your service, i have beheld you in no other residence but this confined cell, from which you have never stirred night or day. how can i invite the sultan here?" "my son," exclaimed the shekh, "go to the sultan, rely upon allah, who can work miracles in favour of whom he chooseth, and say unto him, 'my patron greets thee, and requests thy company to an entertainment five days hence.'" the youth did as he was directed, and having returned to his master, waited upon him as before, but anxiously wishing for the fifth day to arrive. on the fifth day, the sage said to his impatient pupil, "let us remove to our own house, that we may prepare for the reception of the sultan, whom you must conduct to me." they arose, and walked, till on coming to a ruinous building about the middle of the city, the walls of which were fallen in heaps, the shekh said, "my son, this is my mansion, hasten and bring the sultan." the pupil, in astonishment, exclaimed, "my lord, this abode is a heap of ruins, how can i invite the sultan here, it would only disgrace us?" "go," repeated the sage, "and dread not the consequences." upon this the youth departed, but as he went on could not help saying to himself, "surely my master must be insane, or means to make a jest of us." when he had reached the palace he found the sultan expecting him; upon which he made his obeisance, and said, "will my lord honour me by his company?" the sultan arose, mounted his horse, and attended by his whole court, followed the youth to the place chosen by the venerable shekh. it now appeared a royal mansion, at the gates of which were ranged numerous attendants in costly habits, respectfully waiting. the young man, at sight of this transformed appearance, was confounded in such a manner that he could hardly retain his senses. he said to himself, "it was but this instant that i beheld this place a heap of ruins, yet now it is a palace far more magnificent than any belonging to this sultan. i am astonished, but must keep the secret to myself." the sultan alighted, as did also his courtiers, and entered the palace. they were surprised and delighted at the splendour of the first court, but much more so at the superior magnificence of a second; into which they were ushered, and introduced into a spacious hall, where they found the venerable shekh sitting to receive them. the sultan made a low obeisance; upon which the sage just moved his head, but did not rise. the sultan then sat down, when the shekh greeted him, and they entered into conversation on various subjects; but the senses of the sultan were confounded at the dignified demeanour of his host, and the splendid objects around him. at length the shekh desired his pupil to knock at a door and order breakfast to be brought in, which he did: when lo! the door opened, and there entered a hundred slaves, bearing upon their heads golden trays, on which were placed dishes of agate, cornelian, and other stones, filled with various eatables, which they arranged in order before the sultan. he was astonished, for he had nothing so magnificent in his own possession. he then partook of the sumptuous collation, as did also the venerable shekh, and all the courtiers, till they were satisfied; after which they drank coffee and sherbets of various sorts, when the sultan and the sage conversed on religious and literary subjects, and the former was edified by the remarks of the latter. when it was noon the shekh again desired his pupil to knock at another door, and order dinner to be brought in. he had no sooner done so, than immediately a hundred slaves, different from the former, entered, bearing trays of the richest viands. they spread the cloth before the sultan, and arranged the dishes, which were each thickly set with precious stones, at which he was more astonished than before. when all had eaten till they were satisfied, basins and ewers, some of gold and others of agate, were carried round, and they washed their hands; after which the shekh said to the sultan, "have you fixed what my son must give as the dower of your daughter?" to this, the sultan replied, "i have already received it." this he said out of compliment; but the shekh replied, "my lord, the marriage cannot be valid without a dower." he then presented a vast sum of money, with many jewels, for the purpose to his pupil; after which he retired with the sultan into a chamber, and arrayed him in a splendid habit; rich dresses were also given to each of his attendants according to their rank. the sultan then took leave of the shekh, and returned with his intended son-in-law to the palace. when evening arrived the young man was introduced into the apartment of the princess, which he found spread with the richest carpets, and perfumed with costly essences, but his bride was absent: at which he was somewhat surprised, but supposed her coming was put off till midnight, for which he waited with impatience. midnight came, but no bride appeared; when a thousand uneasy sensations afflicted his mind, and he continued in restless anxiety till morning: nor were the father and mother of the princess less impatient; for supposing she was with her husband, they waited anxiously, and were mortified at the delay. at daylight, the mother, unable to bear longer suspense, entered the chamber; when the young man, rather angrily, inquired what had delayed the coming of his bride. "she entered before thee," replied the mother. "i have not seen her," answered the bridegroom. upon this the sultana shrieked with affright, calling aloud on her daughter, for she had no other child but her. her cries alarmed the sultan, who rushing into the apartment, was informed that the princess was missing, and had not been seen since her entrance in the evening. search was now made in every quarter of the palace, but in vain; and the sultan, sultana, and the bridegroom, were involved in the deepest distress. to account for the sudden disappearance of the princess, be it known, that a genie used often to divert himself with visiting the haram of the sultan; and happening to be there on the marriage night, was so captivated by the charms of the bride, that he resolved to steal her away. accordingly, having rendered himself invisible, he waited in the nuptial chamber, and upon her entering bore her off, and soared into the air. at length he alighted with his prey in a delightful garden, far distant from the city; placed the princess in a shady arbour, and set before her delicious fruits; but contented himself with gazing upon her beauty. the young bridegroom, when recovered from his first alarm, bethought himself of his tutor, and, together with the sultan, repaired to the palace where the splendid entertainment had been given. here they found every thing in the same order as on the day of festivity, and were kindly received by the venerable shekh; who on hearing of the loss of the princess, desired them to be comforted. he then commanded a chafing-dish of lighted charcoal to be set before him, and after some moments of contemplation, cast into it some perfumes, over which he pronounced incantations. he had scarcely ended them, when lo! the earth shook, whirlwinds arose, lightnings flashed, and clouds of dust darkened the air, from which speedily descended winged troops, bearing superb standards and massive spears. in the centre of them appeared three sultans of the genii, who bowing low before the shekh, exclaimed all at once, "master, hail! we are come to obey thy commands." the shekh now addressed them, saying, "my orders are, that you instantly bring me the accursed spirit who hath carried off the bride of my son;" when the genii replied, "to hear is to obey:" and immediately detached fifty of their followers to reconduct the princess to her chamber, and drag the culprit to the presence of the sage. these commands were no sooner issued than they were performed. ten of the genii carefully conveyed the bride to her apartment, while the rest having seized the offending genie, dragged him before the sage, who commanded the three sultans to burn him to ashes, which was executed in an instant. all this was done in the presence of the sultan, who was wrapt in astonishment, and viewed with awe the tremendously gigantic figures of the genii, wondering at the submissive readiness with which they obeyed the commands of the venerable shekh. when the offending genie was consumed to ashes, the shekh renewed his incantations; during which the sultans of the genii, with their followers, bowed themselves before him, and when he had ended, vanished from sight. the sultan and the bridegroom having taken leave of the shekh, returned to the palace, where all was now gladness for the safe return of the princess. the marriage was consummated, and the young man was so happy with his bride, that he did not quit the haram for seven days. on the eighth, the sultan ordered public rejoicings to be made, and invited all the inhabitants of the city to feast at the royal cost; causing it to be proclaimed, that no one, either rich or poor, should for three days presume to eat at home, light a fire, or burn a lamp in his own house, but all repair to the nuptial festival of the daughter of the sultan. ample provision was made for all comers in the courts of the palace, and the officers of the household attended day and night to serve the guests according to their quality. during one of the nights of this grand festival, the sultan being anxious to know if his proclamation was generally obeyed, resolved to walk through the city in disguise. accordingly he and his vizier, in the habit of dervishes of persia, having quitted the palace privately, began their excursion, and narrowly examined several streets. at length they came to a close alley, in one of the houses of which they perceived a light, and heard the sound of voices. when they had reached the door, they heard a person say to another, "our sultan understands not how to treat properly, nor is he liberal, since the poor have it not in their option to partake of the costly feast he has prepared for his daughter's nuptials. he should have distributed his bounty among the wretched, who dare not presume to enter the palace in their ragged garments, by sending it to their home." the sultan, upon hearing this, said to the vizier, "we must enter this house;" and knocked at the door, when a person cried out, "who is there?" "guests," replied the sultan. "you shall be welcome to what we have," answered the person, and opened the door. on entering, the sultan beheld three mean-looking old men, one of whom was lame, the second broken-backed, and the third wry-mouthed. he then inquired the cause of their misfortunes; to which they answered, "our infirmities proceeded from the weakness of our understandings." the sultan upon this replied in a whisper to his vizier, that at the conclusion of the festival he should bring the three men to his presence, in order that he might learn their adventures. when they had tasted of their homely fare, the sultan and vizier rose up, and having presented the three maimed companions with a few deenars, took leave and departed. they strolled onwards. it was now near midnight when they reached a house in which, through a lattice, they could perceive three girls with their mother eating a slender meal; during which, at intervals, one of them sung, and the other two laughed and talked. the sultan resolved to enter the house, and commanded the vizier to knock at the door, which he did; when one of the sisters cried out, "who knocks at our door at this advanced time of night?" "we are two foreign dervishes," replied the vizier; to which the ladies answered, "we are women of virtue, and have no men in our house to whom you can be introduced: repair to the festival of the sultan, who will entertain you!" "alas!" continued the vizier, "we are strangers unacquainted with the way to the palace, and dread lest the magistrate of the police should meet and apprehend us. we beg that you will afford us lodging till daylight: we will then depart, and you need not apprehend from us any improper behaviour." when the mother of the ladies heard this she pitied the strangers, and commanded them to open the door: upon which the sultan and vizier having entered, paid their respects and sat down; but the former, on observing the beauty of the sisters and their elegant demeanour, could not contain himself, and said, "how comes it that you dwell by yourselves, have no husbands or any male to protect you?" the younger sister replied, "impertinent dervish, withhold thy inquiries! our story is surprising; but unless thou wert sultan, and thy companion vizier, you could not appreciate our adventures." the sultan upon this remark became silent on the subject, and they discoursed upon indifferent matters till near daylight, when the pretended dervishes took a respectful leave, and departed. at the door the sultan commanded the vizier to mark it, so that he might know it again, being resolved, when the nuptial festivities should be concluded, to send for the ladies and hear their story. on the last evening of the festival the sultan bestowed dresses of honour on all his courtiers; and on the following day, affairs returning to their usual course, he commanded his vizier to bring before him the three maimed men, and ordered them to relate the cause of their misfortunes, which they did as follows. story of the broken-backed schoolmaster. formerly, o mighty sultan, was a schoolmaster, and had under my tuition nearly seventy scholars, of whose manners i was as careful as of their learning: so much did i make them respect me, that whenever i sneezed they laid down their writing boards, stood up with arms crossed, and with one voice exclaimed, "god have mercy upon our tutor!" to which i replied, "may he have mercy upon me and you, and all who have children." if any one of the boys did not join in this prayer, i used to beat him severely. one fine afternoon my scholars requested leave to visit a certain garden some distance from the town, which i granted; and they clubbed their pittances to purchase sweetmeats and fruits. i attended them on this excursion, and was as much delighted as themselves with the pleasure they enjoyed, and their childish gambols. when evening approached we returned homewards, and on the way, my boys having fatigued themselves with play, as well as eaten much sweets and fruit, were seized with extreme thirst, of which they heavily complained. at length we reached a draw-well, but, alas! it had no bucket or cord. i pitied their situation, and resolved, if possible, to relieve them. i requested them to give me their turbans, which i tied to each other; but as they were altogether not long enough to reach the water, i fixed one of the turbans round my body, and made them let one down into the well, where i filled a small cup i had with me, which they drew up repeatedly till their thirst was satisfied. i then desired them to draw me up again, which they attempted; and i had reached nearly the mouth of the well, when i was unfortunately seized with a fit of sneezing; upon which the boys mechanically, as they had been accustomed to do in school, one and all let go their hold, crossed their arms, and exclaimed, "god have mercy upon our venerable tutor!" while i tumbled at once to the bottom of the well, and broke my back. i cried out from the agony of pain, and the children ran on all sides for help. at length some charitable passengers drew me out, and placing me upon an ass, carried me home; where i languished for a considerable time, and never could recover my health sufficiently again to attend to my school. thus did i suffer for my foolish pride: for had i not been so tenacious of respect from my scholars, they would not upon my sneezing have let go their hold and broken my back. when the broken-backed schoolmaster had finished his story, the old man with the wry-mouth thus began: story of the wry-mouthed schoolmaster. i also, o sultan, was a schoolmaster; and so strict with my pupils, that i allowed them no indulgence, but even kept them to their studies frequently after the usual hours. at length, one more cunning than the rest resolved, in revenge, to play me a trick. he instructed the lads as they came into school to say to me, "dear master, how pale you look!" not feeling myself ill, i, though surprised at their remarks, did not much regard them on the first day; but a second, and so on to a fifth passing, on each of which all the pupils on entrance uttered the same exclamation, i began to think some fatal disorder had seized me, and resolved, by way of prevention, to take physic. i did so the following morning, and remained in my wife's apartments; upon which the unlucky lads, clubbing their pittances together to the amount of about a hundred faloose, requested my acceptance of the money as an offering for my recovery; and i was so pleased with the present that i gave them a holiday. the receipt of cash in so easy a manner was so agreeable to me, that i feigned illness for some days; my pupils made an offering as usual, and were allowed to play. on the tenth day the cunning urchin who had planned the scheme came into my chamber, as customary, with an offering of faloose. i happened then to have before me a boiled egg, which, upon seeing him enter, i clapped into my mouth, supposing, that if he perceived me well enough to eat he might not give me the money. he, however, observed the trick, and coming up to me with affected condolence, exclaimed, "dear master, how your cheeks are swelled!" at the same time pressing his hands upon my face. the egg was boiling hot, and gave me intolerable pain, while the young wit pretended compassionately to stroke my visage. at length, he pressed my jaws together so hard that the egg broke, when the scalding yolk ran down my throat, and over my beard: upon which the artful lad cried out in seeming joy, "god be praised, my dear master, that the dreadful imposthume has discharged itself; we, your pupils, will all return thanks for your happy recovery." my mouth was contracted by the scald in the manner you behold, and i became so ridiculed for my folly, that i was obliged to shut up my school. the sultan having heard the other man's story, which was of but little interest, dismissed the three foolish schoolmasters with a present, commanded the vizier to go and recognize the house of the three ladies and their mother, it being his intention to visit them again in disguise and hear their adventures. the vizier hastened to the street, but to his surprise and mortification found all the houses marked in the same manner, for the youngest sister having overheard the sultan's instructions, had done this to prevent a discovery of their residence. the vizier returned to the sultan, and informed him of the trick which had been played. he was much vexed, but the circumstance excited his curiosity in a greater degree. at length the vizier bethought himself of a stratagem, and said, "my lord, let a proclamation be issued for four days successively throughout the city, that whoever presumes after the first watch of the night to have a lamp lighted in his house, shall have his head struck off, his goods confiscated, his house razed to the ground, and his women dishonoured. it is possible, as these ladies did not regard your proclamation at the nuptials of the princess, they may disobey this, and by that means we may discover their residence." the sultan approved the contrivance of the vizier, caused the proclamation to be made, and waited impatiently for the fourth night, when he and his minister having disguised themselves as before, proceeded to the street in which the ladies lived. a light appeared only in one house, which it being now tolerably certain was that they were in quest of, they knocked at the door. immediately on their knocking the youngest sister called out, "who is at the door?" and they replied, "we are dervishes, and entreat to be your guests." she exclaimed, "what can you want at such a late hour, and where did you lodge last night?" they answered, "our quarters are at a certain serai, but we have lost our way, and are fearful of being apprehended by the officers of police. let your kindness then induce you to open the door, and afford us shelter for the remainder of the night: it will be a meritorious act in the eye of heaven." the mother overhearing what was said, ordered the door to be opened. when they were admitted, the old lady and her daughters rose up, received them respectfully, and having seated them, placed refreshments before them, of which they partook, and were delighted with their treatment. at length the sultan said, "daughters, you cannot but know of the royal proclamation; how comes it that you alone of all the inhabitants of the city have disobeyed it by having lights in your house after the first watch of the night?" upon this the youngest sister replied, "good dervish, even the sultan should not be obeyed but in his reasonable commands, and as this proclamation against lighting our lamps is tyrannical, it ought not to be complied with, consistently with the law of scripture; for the koraun says, 'obedience to a creature in a criminal matter, is a sin against the creator.' the sultan (may god pardon him!) acts against scripture, and obeys the dictates of satan. we three sisters, with our good mother, make it a rule to spin every night a certain quantity of cotton, which in the morning we dispose of, and of the price of our labour we lay out a part in provisions, and the remainder in a new supply of materials for working to procure us a subsistence." the sultan now whispered to his vizier, saying, "this damsel astonishes me by her answers; endeavour to think of some question that may perplex her." "my lord," replied the vizier, "we are here in the characters of strangers and dervishes as their guests: how then can we presume to disturb them by improper questions?" the sultan still insisted upon his addressing them: upon which, the vizier said to the ladies, "obedience to the sultan's orders is incumbent upon all subjects." "it is true he is our sovereign," exclaimed the youngest sister, "but how can he know whether we are starving or in affluence?" "suppose," replied the vizier, "he should send for you to the presence, and question you concerning your disobedience to his commands, what could you advance in excuse for yourselves?" "i would say to the sultan," rejoined she, "'your majesty has acted in contradiction to the divine law.'" the vizier upon this turned towards the sultan, and said in a whisper, "let us leave off disputing further with this lady on points of law or conscience, and inquire if she understands the fine arts." the sultan put the question; upon which she replied, "i am perfect in all:" and he then requested her to play and sing. she retired immediately, but soon returning with a lute, sat down, tuned it, and played in a plaintive strain, which she accompanied with the following verses: "it is praiseworthy in subjects to obey their sovereigns, but his reign will continue long who gains their affections by kindness. be liberal in thy manners, and he who is dependent upon thee will pray for thy life, for the free man alone can feel gratitude. to him who confers gifts man will ever resort, for bounty is fascinating. sadden not with denial the countenance of the man of genius, for the liberal mind is disgusted at stinginess and haughty demeanour. not a tenth part of mankind understand what is right, for human nature is ignorant, rebellious, and ungrateful." when the sultan had heard these verses, he remained for some time immersed in thought; then whispering his vizier, said, "this quotation was certainly meant in allusion to ourselves, and i am convinced they must know that i am their sultan, and thou vizier, for the whole tenor of their conversation shews their knowledge of us." he then addressed the lady, saying, "your music, your performance, your voice, and the subject of your stanzas have delighted me beyond expression." upon this she sang the following verse: "men endeavour to attain station and riches during an age of toil and oppression, while, alas! their accounts to heaven and their graves are decreed from their very birth." the sultan, from the purport of these last verses, was more assured than ever that she knew his quality. she did not leave off singing and playing till day-light, when she retired, and brought in a breakfast, of which the sultan and the vizier partook; after which she said, "i hope you will return to us this night at the conclusion of the first watch, and be our guests." the sultan promised, and departed in admiration at the beauty of the sisters, their accomplishments, and graceful manners; saying to the vizier, "my soul is delighted with the charms of these elegant women." the following evening the sultan and vizier, disguised as usual, repaired to the house of the sisters, taking with them some purses of deenars, and were received with the same respectful welcome. being seated, supper was set before them, and after it basins and ewers to wash their hands. coffee was then served up, and conversation on various subjects amused them till the prayer time of the first watch; they then arose, performed their ablutions, and prayed. when, their devotions were ended, the sultan presented a purse of a thousand deenars to the youngest sister, and said, "expend this upon your necessary occasions." she took the purse with a profound obeisance, kissed his hands, and was convinced, as she had before suspected, that he must be the sultan; at the same time hinting privately to her mother and sisters the quality of their guests, and prostrating herself before him. the other ladies upon this arose, and followed the example of their sister; when the sultan said aside to his vizier, "they certainly know us:" and then turning to the ladies, addressed them saying, "we are merely dervishes, and you pay us a respect only due to sovereigns; i beseech you refrain." the youngest sister again fell at his feet, and repeated the following verse: "may prosperous fortune daily accompany thee in spite of the malice of the envious! may thy days be bright and those of thy enemies gloomy!" "i am convinced thou art the sultan, and thy companion thy vizier." the sultan replied, "what reason have you for such a supposition?" she answered, "from your dignified demeanour and liberal conduct, for the signs of royalty cannot be concealed even in the habit of a recluse." the sultan replied, "you have indeed judged truly, but inform me how happens it, that you have with you no male protectors?" she answered, "my lord the sultan, our history is so wonderful, that were it written on a tablet of adamant it might serve as an example in future ages to such as would be advised." the sultan requested her to relate it, which she did in the following manner. story of the sisters and the sultana their mother. we are not, my lord the sultan, natives of this city, but of eerauk, of which country our father was sovereign, and our mother his sultana the most beautiful woman of her time, insomuch that her fame was celebrated throughout distant regions. it chanced that in our infancy our father the sultan marched upon a hunting excursion throughout his dominions, for some months, leaving his vizier to conduct affairs at the capital. not long after the departure of the sultan, our mother, taking the air on the roof of the palace, which adjoined that of the vizier, who was then sitting upon his terrace, her image was reflected in a mirror which he held in his hand. he was fascinated with her beauty, and resolved, if possible, to seduce her to infidelity and compliance with his wishes. the day following he sent the female superintendant of his haram with a package, containing a most superb dress, and many inestimable jewels, to the sultana, requesting her acceptance of them, and that she would allow him to see her either at the palace or at his own house. my mother, when the old woman was admitted into her apartments, received her with kindness, supposing that she must be intrusted with some confidential message from the vizier respecting the affairs of her husband, or with letters from him. the old woman having paid her obeisance, opened the bundle, and displayed the rich dress and dazzling jewels; when my mother, admiring them much, inquired the value, and what merchant had brought them to dispose of. the wretched old woman, supposing that the virtue of the sultana would not be proof against such a valuable present, impudently disclosed the passion of the vizier: upon which my mother, indignant with rage at this insult offered to her virtue and dignity, drew a sabre, which was near, and exerting all her strength, struck off the head of the procuress, which, with the body, she commanded her attendants to cast into the common sewer of the palace. the vizier finding his messenger did not return, the next day despatched another, to signify that he had sent a present to the sultana, but had not heard whether it had been delivered. my mother commanded the infamous wretch to be strangled, and the corpse to be thrown into the same place as that of the old woman, but she did not make public the vizier's baseness, hoping that he would reform. he, however, continued every day to send a female domestic, and my mother to treat her in the same way as the others till the sultan's return; but my mother, not wishing to destroy the vizier, and still trusting that he would repent of his conduct, for in other respects he was a faithful and prudent minister, kept his treachery a secret from my father. some years after this, the sultan my father resolved on a pilgrimage to mecca, and having, as before, left the vizier in charge of his kingdom, departed. when he had been gone ten days, the vizier, still rapturously in love, and yet presumtuously hoping to attain his wishes, sent a female domestic, who, being admitted into the apartment of the sultana, said, "for heaven's sake have compassion on my master, for his heart is devoted to love, his senses are disturbed, and his body is wasted away. pity his condition, revive his heart, and restore his health by the smiles of condescension." when my mother heard this insolent message, she in a rage commanded her attendants to seize the unfortunate bearer, and having strangled her, to leave the carcase for public view in the outer court of the palace, but without divulging the cause of her displeasure. her orders were obeyed. when the officers of state and others saw the body they informed the vizier, who, resolving to be revenged, desired them for the present to be silent, and on the sultan's return he would make known on what account the sultana had put to death his domestic, of which they could bear testimony. when the time of the sultan's return from mecca approached, and the treacherous vizier judged he was on his march, he wrote and despatched to him the following letter: "after prayers for thy health, be it known, that since thy absence the sultana has sent to me five times, requesting improper compliances, to which i would not consent, and returned for answer, that however she might wish to abuse my sovereign, i could not do it, for i was left by him guardian of his honour and his kingdom: to say more would be superfluous." the messenger reached the sultan's camp when distant eight days' journey from the city, and delivered the letter. on reading it the countenance of my father became pale, his eyes rolled with horror, he instantly ordered his tents to be struck, and moved by forced marches till he arrived within two days' journey of his capital. he then commanded a halting day, and despatched two confidential attendants with orders to conduct our innocent and unfortunate mother, with us three sisters, a day's distance from the city, and then to put us to death. they accordingly dragged us from the haram, and carried us into the country; but on arriving at the spot intended for our execution, their hearts were moved with compassion, for our mother had conferred many obligations on these men and their families. they said one to another, "by heavens, we cannot murder them!" and informed us of what the vizier had written to our father: upon which the sultana exclaimed, "god knows that he hath most falsely accused me;" and she then related to them all that she had done, with the strictest fidelity. the men were moved even to tears at her misfortunes, and said, "we are convinced that thou hast spoken truly." they then caught some fawns of the antelope, killed them, and having required an under garment from each of us, dipped it in the blood, after which they broiled the flesh, with which we satisfied our hunger. our preservers now bade us farewell, saying, "we intrust you to the protection of the almighty, who never forsaketh those who are committed to his care;" and then departed from us. we wandered for ten days in the desert, living on such fruits as we could find, without beholding any signs of population, when, at length, fortunately we reached a verdant spot, abounding in various sorts of excellent vegetables and fruits. here also was a cave, in which we resolved to shelter ourselves till a caravan might pass by. on the fourth day of our arrival one encamped near our asylum. we did not discover ourselves, but when the caravan marched, speedily followed its track at some distance, and after many days of painful exertion reached this city, where, having taken up our lodging in a serai, we returned thanks to the almighty assister of the distressed innocent for our miraculous escape from death and the perils of the desert. we must now quit for awhile the unfortunate sultana and her daughters, to learn the adventures of the sultan her husband. as he drew near his capital, the treacherous vizier, attended by the officers of government and the principal inhabitants of the city, came out to meet him; and both high and low congratulated his safe return from the sacred pilgrimage. the sultan, as soon as he had alighted at his palace, retired with the vizier alone, and commanded him to relate the particulars of the atrocious conduct of his wife; upon which he said, "my lord, the sultana in your absence despatched to me a slave, desiring me to visit her, but i would not, and i put the slave to death that the secret might be hidden; hoping she might repent of her weakness, but she did not, and repeated her wicked invitation five times. on the fifth i was alarmed for your honour, and acquainted you of her atrocious behaviour." the sultan, on hearing the relation of the vizier, held down his head for some time in profound thought, then lifting it up, commanded the two attendants whom he had despatched with orders to put his wife and children to death to be brought before him. on their appearance, he said, "what have you done in execution of the charge i gave you?" they replied, "we have performed that which you commanded to be done, and as a testimony of our fidelity, behold these garments dyed with the blood of the offenders!" the sultan took the garments; but the recollection of his beauteous consort, her former affectionate endearments, of the happiness he had enjoyed with her, and of the innocence of his guiltless children, so affected his mind, that he wept bitterly and fainted away. on his recovery he turned to the vizier, and said, "is it possible thou canst have spoken the truth?" he replied, "i have." the sultan, after a long pause, again said to the two attendants, "have you really put to death my innocent children with their guilty mother?" they remained silent. the sultan exclaimed, "why answer ye not, and wherefore are ye silent?" they replied, "my lord, the honest man cannot support a lie, for lying is the distinction of traitors." when the vizier heard these words his colour changed, his whole frame was disordered, and a trembling seized him, which the sultan perceiving, he said to the attendants, "what mean you by remarking that lying is the distinction of traitors? is it possible that ye have not put them to death? declare the truth instantly, or by the god who hath appointed me guardian of his people, i will have you executed with the most excruciating torments." the two men now fell at the feet of the sultan, and said, "dread sovereign, we conveyed, as thou commandest us, the unfortunate sultana and thy daughters to the middle of the desert, when we informed them of the accusation of the vizier and thy orders concerning them. the sultana, after listening to us with fortitude, exclaimed, 'there is no refuge or asylum but with the almighty; from god we came, and to god we must return; but if you put us to death, you will do it wrongfully, for the treacherous vizier hath accused me falsely, and he alone is guilty.' she then informed us of his having endeavoured to corrupt her by rich presents, and that she had put his messengers to death." the sultan at these words exclaimed in agony, "have ye slain them, or do they yet live?" "my lord," replied the attendants, "we were so convinced of the innocence of the sultana, that we could not put her to death. we caught some fawn antelopes, killed them, and having dipped these garments belonging to the abused mother and your children in their blood, dressed the flesh, and gave it to our unfortunate mistress and thy daughters, after which we said to them, 'we leave you in charge of a gracious god who never deserts his trust; your innocence will protect you.' we then left them in the midst of the desert, and returned to the city." the sultan turned in fury towards the vizier, and exclaimed, "wretched traitor! and is it thus thou hast estranged from me my beloved wife and innocent children?" the self-convicted minister uttered not a word, but trembled like one afflicted with the palsy. the sultan commanded instantly an enormous pile of wood to be kindled, and the vizier, being bound hand and foot, was forced into an engine, and cast from it into the fire, which rapidly consumed him to ashes. his house was then razed to the ground, his effects left to the plunder of the populace, and the women of his haram and his children sold for slaves. we now return to the three princesses and their mother. when the sultan had heard their adventures, he sympathized with their misfortunes, and was astonished at the fortitude with which they had borne their afflictions, saying to his vizier, "how sad has been their lot! but blessed be allah, who, as he separateth friends, can, when he pleaseth, give them a joyful meeting." he then caused the sultana and the princesses to be conveyed to his palace, appointed them proper attendants and apartments suitable to their rank, and despatched couriers to inform the sultan their father of their safety. the messengers travelled with the greatest expedition, and on their arrival at the capital, being introduced, presented their despatches. the sultan opened them, and began to read; but when he perceived the contents, was so overcome with joy, that, uttering a loud exclamation of rapture, he fell to the ground and fainted away. his attendants were alarmed, lifted him up, and took means for his recovery. when he was revived, he informed them of his sultana and daughters being still alive, and ordered a vessel to be prepared to convey them home. the ship was soon ready, and being laden with every necessary for the accommodation of his family, also rich presents for the friendly sultan who had afforded them protection, sailed with a favourable wind, and speedily arrived at the desired haven. the commander of the vessel was welcomely received by the sultan, who issued orders for his entertainment and that of his whole crew at the royal cost, and at the expiration of three days the sultana and her daughters, being anxious to return home after so long an absence, and that so unfortunate, took leave and embarked. the sultan made them valuable presents, and the wind being fair they set sail. for three days the weather was propitious, but on the evening of the last a contrary gale arose, when they cast anchor, and lowered their topmasts. at length the storm increased to such violence that the anchor parted, the masts fell overboard, and the crew gave themselves over for lost. the vessel was driven about at the mercy of the tempest till midnight, all on board weeping and wailing, when at length she struck upon the rocks, and went to pieces. such of the crew whose deaths were decreed perished, and those whose longer life was predestined escaped to shore, some on planks, some on chests, and some on the broken timbers of the ship, but all separated from each other. the sultana mother was tossed about till daylight on a plank, when she was perceived by the commander of the vessel, who with three of his crew had taken to the ship's boat. he took her in, and after three days' rowing they reached a mountainous coast, on which they landed, and advanced into the country. they had not proceeded far when they perceived a great dust, which clearing up, displayed an approaching army. to their joyful surprise it proved to be that of the sultan, who, after the departure of the vessel, dreading lest an accident might happen, had marched in hopes of reaching the city where they were before his wife and daughters should sail, in order to conduct them home by land. it is impossible to describe the meeting of the sultan and his consort, but their joy was clouded by the absence of their daughters, and the dreadful uncertainty of their fate. when the first raptures of meeting were over, they wept together, and exclaimed, "we are from god, and to god we must return." after forty days' march they arrived at their capital, but continually regretting the princesses, saying, "alas, alas! most probably they have been drowned, but even should they have escaped to shore, perhaps they may have been separated; and ah! what calamities may have befallen them!" constantly did they bemoan together in this manner, immersed in grief, and taking no pleasure in the enjoyments of life. the youngest princess, after struggling with the waves till almost exhausted, was fortunately cast ashore on a pleasant coast, where she found some excellent fruits and clear fresh water. being revived, she reposed herself awhile, and then walked from the beach into the country; but she had not proceeded far, when a young man on horseback with some dogs following him met her, and upon hearing that she had just escaped shipwreck, mounted her before him, and having conveyed her to his house, committed her to the care of his mother. she received her with compassionate kindness, and during a whole month assiduously attended her, till by degrees she recovered her health and beauty. the young man was legal heir to the kingdom, but his succession had been wrested from him by a usurper, who, however, dying soon after the arrival of the princess, he was reinstated in his rights and placed on the throne, when he offered her his hand; but she said, "how can i think of marriage while i know not the condition of my unfortunate family, or enjoy repose while my mother and sisters are perhaps suffering misery? when i have intelligence of their welfare i will be grateful to my deliverer." the young sultan was so much in love with the princess, that the most distant hope gave him comfort, and he endeavoured to wait patiently her pleasure; but the nobles of the country were anxious to see him wedded, he being the last of his race, and importuned him to marry. he promised to conform to their wishes, but much time elapsing, they became importunate and discontented, when his mother, dreading a rebellion, earnestly entreated the princess to consent to a union as the only measure that could prevent disturbances. the princess, who really loved her preserver, was unwilling to endanger the safety of one to whom she owed such important obligations, and at length consented, when the marriage was celebrated with the greatest pomp and rejoicings. at the expiration of three years the sultana was delivered of two sons, whose birth added to the felicity of the union. the second princess, after being long driven about by the waves upon a plank, was at length cast on shore near a large city, which she entered, and was fortunately compassionated by a venerable matron, who invited her to her house, and adopted her as a daughter in the room of her own, who had lately died. here she soon recovered her health and beauty. it chanced that the sultan of this city, who was much beloved for his gentle government and liberality, was taken ill, and not withstanding the skill of the most celebrated physicians, daily became worse, insomuch that his life was despaired of, to the general grief of the people. the princess having heard her venerable protectress lament the danger of the sultan, said, "my dear mother, i will prepare a dish of pottage, which, if you will carry to the sultan, and he can be prevailed upon to eat it, will, by the blessing of allah, recover him from his disorder." "i fear," replied the matron, "i shall hardly be allowed admittance to the palace, much less to present him the pottage." "you can but try," answered the princess; "and even the attempt at a good action is acceptable to god." "well," rejoined the old woman, "prepare your pottage, my dear daughter, and i will endeavour to get admission." the princess prepared the dish of pottage, composed of various minerals, herbs, and perfumes, and when it was ready the old woman took it to the sultan's palace. the guards and eunuchs inquired what she had brought, when she said, "a dish of pottage, which i request you will present to the sultan, and beg him to eat as much of it as he can, for by god's help it will restore him to health." the eunuchs introduced her into the chamber of their sick sovereign, when the old woman taking off the cover of the dish, such a grateful perfume exhaled from the contents as revived his spirits. being informed what the venerable matron had brought, he thanked her and tasted the pottage, which was so agreeably flavoured that he ate part of it with an appetite to which he had been long a stranger. he then presented the bearer with a purse of deenars, when she returned home, informed the princess of her welcome reception, and of the present she had received. the sultan had no sooner eaten part of the pottage than he felt an inclination to repose, and sunk into a refreshing sleep, which lasted for some hours. on his awakening he found himself wonderfully revived, and having a desire afresh to eat, finished the whole. he now wished for more, and inquired after the old woman, but none of his attendants could inform him where she lived. however, in the evening she brought another mess, which the princess had prepared, and the sultan ate it with renewed appetite; after which, though before quite helpless, he was now able to sit up and even to walk. he inquired of the old woman if it was her own preparation; to which she replied, "no, my lord, but my daughter dressed it, and entreated me to bring it." the sultan exclaimed, "she cannot be thy own daughter, as her skill shews her of much higher quality." he then made her a present, and requested that she would bring him every morning a fresh supply, to which she said, "to hear is to obey;" and retired. the princess sent regularly for seven mornings successively a dish of pottage, and the sultan as regularly presented her adopted mother with a purse of deenars; for such was the rapidity of his recovery, that at the expiration of the sixth day he was perfectly well, and on the seventh he mounted his horse and repaired to his country palace to make the absolution of health and enjoy the fresh air. during her visits he had questioned the old lady concerning her adopted daughter, and she so described her beauty, virtues, and accomplishments, that his heart was smitten, and he became anxious to see her. the sultan, in order to gratify his curiosity, disguised himself one day in the habit of a dervish, and repairing to the house of the old woman, knocked at the door. on being questioned what he wanted, he replied, "i am a wandering dervish, a stranger in this city, and distressed with hunger." the old woman being fearful of admitting an unknown person, would have sent him away, but the princess exclaimed, "hospitality to strangers is incumbent upon us, especially to the religious poor." upon this he was admitted, and the princess having seated him respectfully, set victuals before him, of which he ate till he was satisfied, and having washed, rose up, thanked the old woman and her supposed daughter for their bounty, and retired, but his sight was fascinated with her beauty, and his heart devoted to her love. the sultan on his return to the palace sent for the old woman, and on her arrival presented her with a rich dress and valuable jewels, desiring that she would give them to her daughter, and prevail upon her to put them on. the old lady promised obedience, and as she walked homewards, said to herself, "if this adopted daughter of mine is wise, she will comply with the sultan's desires, and put on the dress, but if she does not, i will expel her from my house." when she reached home, she displayed the superb habit and the dazzling ornaments; but the princess at first refused to accept them, till at length, moved by the entreaties of her protectress, whom she could not disoblige, she put them on, and the old lady was delighted with her appearance. the sultan, who had slipped on a female dress, having covered himself with a close veil, followed the old woman to her house, and listened at the door to know if the daughter would accept his present. when he found that she had put on the dress, he was overcome with rapture, and hastening back to his palace, sent again for the old lady, to whom he signified his wish to marry her daughter. when the princess was informed of the offer she consented, and the sultan, attended by a splendid cavalcade, conducted her that evening to his palace, where the cauzee united them in marriage. a general feast was made for all the inhabitants of the city for seven days successively, and the sultan and the princess enjoyed the height of felicity. in the course of five years the almighty blessed them with a son and two daughters. the eldest princess on the wreck of the ship having clung to a piece of timber, was after much distress floated on shore, where she found a man's habit, and thinking it a safe disguise for the protection of her honour, she dressed herself in it, and proceeded to a city which appeared near the coast. on her entrance she was accosted by a maker of cotton wallets for travelling, who observing that she was a stranger, and supposing her a man, asked if she would live with him, as he wanted an assistant. being glad to secure any asylum, she accepted his offer of maintenance, and daily wages of half a dirhem. he conducted her to his house, and treated her with kindness. the next day she entered upon her business, and so neat was the work she executed, that in a short time her master's shop was more frequented than any other. it happened that the shop was situated near the palace of the sultan. one morning the princess his daughter looking through the lattice of a balcony beheld the seeming young man at work, with the sleeves of his vest drawn up to his shoulder: his arms were white and polished as silver, and his countenance brilliant as the sun unobscured by clouds. the daughter of the sultan was captivated in the snare of love. the sultan's daughter continued gazing at the supposed young man till he withdrew from work, when she retired to her apartment; but so much was she fascinated by his charms, that she became restless, and at length indisposed. her nurse who attended her felt her pulse, and asked her several questions, but could find no symptoms of bodily illness upon her. she said, "my dear daughter, i am convinced that nothing has afflicted thee but desire of some youth with whom thou art in love." the princess exclaimed, "my dear mother, as thou hast discovered my secret, thou wilt, i trust, not only keep it sacred, but bring to me the man i love." the nurse replied, "no one can keep a secret closer than myself, so that you may safely confide it to my care." the princess then said, "mother, my heart is captivated by the young man who works in the shop opposite my windows, and if i cannot meet him i shall die of grief." the nurse replied, "my dear mistress, he is the most beautiful youth of the age, and the women of the whole city are distracted with his charms; yet he is so bashful as to answer no advances, and shrinks from notice like a school-boy, but i will endeavour to overcome his shyness, and procure you a meeting." having said thus, she went immediately to the wallet-maker's, and giving him a piece of gold, desired he would let his assistant accompany her home with two of his best wallets. the man was pleased with her generosity, and selecting his choicest manufacture, commanded his journeyman to accompany the nurse. the old woman led the disguised princess through by-paths to a private passage of the palace, and introduced her into the apartments of the daughter of the sultan, who received her supposed beloved with emotions of joy too violent to be concealed. pretending to admire the goods, she asked some questions, and giving him twenty pieces of gold, desired him to return with more goods on the following evening, to which the seeming journeyman replied, "to hear is to obey." the disguised princess on her return home delivered the twenty pieces of gold to her employer, who was alarmed, and inquired from whence they came: upon which she informed him of her adventure, when the wallet-maker was in greater terror than before, and said to himself, "if this intrigue goes on, the sultan will discover it, i shall be put to death, and my family ruined on account of this young man and his follies." he then besought him not to repeat his visit, but he answered, "i cannot forbear, though i dread my death may be the consequence." in short, the disguised princess went every evening with the old nurse to the apartments of the sultan's daughter, till at length the sultan one night suddenly entered, and perceiving, he supposed, a man with the princess, commanded him to be seized and bound hand and foot. the sultan then sent for an executioner, resolved to put the culprit to death. the executioner on his arrival seized the disguised princess; but what was the surprise of all present, when, on taking off the turban and vest, they discovered her sex. the sultan commanded her to be conducted to his haram, and inquired her story, when having no resource but the truth, she related her adventures. when the princess had informed the sultan of the treachery of the vizier, the consequent conduct of her father, the distress of her mother, her sisters and herself, their being relieved, and her escape from shipwreck, with what had happened since, he was filled with wonder and compassion, and ordered his daughter to accommodate her in the haram. the love of the latter was now changed to sincere friendship, and under her care and attentions the unfortunate princess in a few months recovered her former beauty. it chanced that the sultan visiting his daughter was fascinated with the charms of the princess, but unwilling to infringe the rules of hospitality concealed his love, till at length he became dangerously ill, when the daughter suspecting the matter, prevailed upon him to reveal the cause of his complaint. she then informed her friend, and entreated her to accept her father in marriage; but the princess said, at the same time weeping bitterly, "misfortune hath separated me from my family; i know not whether my sisters, my father and my mother, are living, or, if so, what is their condition. how can i be happy or merry, while they are perhaps involved in misery?" the daughter of the sultan did not refrain from comforting the unfortunate princess, at the same time representing the hopeless condition of her father, till at length she consented to the marriage. this joyful intelligence speedily revived the love-lorn sultan, and the nuptials were celebrated with the utmost joy and magnificence. the aged sultan and sultana continued to lament the loss of their daughters for some years, when at length the former resolved to travel in search of them, and having left the government in charge of his wife, departed, attended only by his vizier. they both assumed the habit of dervishes, and after a month's uninterrupted travelling reached a large city extending along the sea coast, close upon which the sultan of it had erected a magnificent pleasure house, where the pretended dervishes beheld him sitting in one of the pavilions with his two sons, one six and the other seven years old. they approached, made their obeisance, and uttered a long invocation, agreeably to the usage of the religious, for his prosperity. the sultan returned their compliment, desired them to be seated, and having conversed with them till evening, dismissed them with a present, when they repaired to a caravanserai, and hired an apartment. on the following day, after amusing themselves with viewing the city, they again repaired to the beach, and saw the sultan sitting with his children, as before. while they were admiring the beauty of the structure, the younger prince, impelled by an unaccountable impulse, came up to them, gazed eagerly at them, and when they retired followed them to their lodging, which they did not perceive till he had entered with them and sat down. the old sultan was astonished at the child's behaviour, took him in his arms, kissed and fondled him, after which he desired him to return to his parents, but the boy insisted upon staying, and remained four days, during which the pretended dervishes did not stir from their caravanserai. the sultan missing his son, supposed that he had gone to his mother, and she imagined that he was still with his father; but on the latter entering the haram the loss was discovered. messengers were despatched every way, but no tidings of the boy could be obtained. the miserable parents now supposed that he had fallen into the sea and was drowned. nets were dragged, and divers employed for three days, but in vain. on the fifth day orders were issued to search every house in the city, when the infant prince was at length discovered at the caravanserai in the apartment of the pretended dervishes, who were ignominiously dragged before the sultan. the sultan was transported with joy at the recovery of his son, but supposing the dervishes had meant to steal him away, he ordered them instantly to be put to death. the executioners seized them, bound their hands behind them, and were going to strike, when the child with loud outcries ran up, and clinging to the knees of the elder victim could not be forced away. the sultan was astonished, and ordering the execution for the present to be delayed, went and informed the mother of the child of his wonderful behaviour. the sultana, on hearing it, was no less surprised than the sultan, and felt a curiosity to hear from the dervish himself on what account he had enticed away her son. she said, "it is truly extraordinary that the boy should express such affection for a strange dervish. send for him to your closet, and order him to relate his adventures, to which i will listen from behind a curtain." the sultan sent for the supposed dervish, and commanding all his attendants to retire, withdrew with him into his closet, and desired him to be seated; after which he said, "wicked dervish, what could have induced thee to entice away my son, or to visit my kingdom?" he replied, "heaven knows, o sultan, i did not entice him. the boy followed me to my lodging, when i said, 'my son, return to thy father,' but he would not; and i remained in continual dread till what was decreed occurred." the sultan was softened, spoke kindly to him, and begged him to relate his adventures, when the pretended dervish wept, and said, "my history is a wonderful one. i had a friend whom i left as my agent and guardian to my family, while i was performing a pilgrimage to mecca; but had scarcely left my house ten days, when accidently seeing my wife he endeavoured to debauch her, and sent an old woman with a rich present to declare his adulterous love. my wife was enraged, and put the infamous messenger to death. he sent a second, and a third, whom she also killed." these last words were scarcely spoken, when the sultana bursting from her concealment ran up to the dervish, fell upon his neck, and embraced him: upon which, the sultan her husband was enraged, put his hand to his cimeter, and exclaimed, "what means this shameless behaviour?" the sultana, at once laughing and crying with rapture, informed him that the supposed dervish was her father: upon which the sultan also fell at his feet and welcomed him. he then ordered the other dervish his vizier to be released, commanded royal robes to be brought for his father-in-law, and a suite of apartments in the palace to be prepared for his reception, with an attendance befitting his dignity. when the old sultan had spent some time with his youngest daughter thus happily recovered, he became anxious to search after the others, and signified his intention of departing; but his son-in-law declared that he would accompany him on the expedition with a number of his nobles, and an army, lest some fatal accident might occur from his being unattended. preparations were accordingly made for march, the two sultans encamped without the city, and in a few days began their expedition, which proved successful to their wishes. the aged monarch having recovered his children retired to his own kingdom, where he reigned prosperously till the angel of death summoned him to paradise. story of the bang-eater and the cauzee. in a certain city there was a vagabond fellow much addicted to the use of bang, who got his livelihood by fishing. when he had sold the product of his day's labour, he laid part of it out in provisions and part in bang, with which (his day's, work over) he solaced himself till he became intoxicated, and such was his constant practice. one night, having indulged more than ordinary, his senses were unusually stupefied; and in this, condition he had occasion to come down into the square in which was his lodging. it happened to be the fourteenth night of the moon, when she shone uncommonly bright, and shed such a lustre upon the ground, that the bang-eater from the dizziness of his head mistook the bright undulations of her reflection on the pavement for water, and fancied he was upon the brink of the river. he returned to his chamber, and brought down his line, supposing that he should catch his usual prey. the bang-eater threw out his line, made of strong cord, and baited on several hooks with bits of flesh, into the square, when a dog, allured by the scent, swallowed one of the pieces, and feeling pain from the hook which stuck in his throat, pulled strongly at the cord. the bang-eater, supposing he had caught a monstrous fish, lugged stoutly, but in vain. the dog, agonized by the hook, resisted; at the same time yelping hideously, when the bang-eater, unwilling to quit his prey, yet fearing he should be dragged into the imaginary river, bellowed aloud for help. the watch came up, seized him, and perceiving him intoxicated, carried him bound to the cauzee. it happened that the cauzee often privately indulged himself with bang. seeing the intoxicated situation of the fisherman, he pitied his condition, and ordered him to be put into a chamber to sleep off his disorder; at the same time saying to himself, "this is a man after my own heart, and to-morrow evening i will enjoy myself with him." the fisherman was well taken care of during the day, and at night the cauzee sent for him to his apartment; where, after eating, they took each a powerful dose of bang, which soon operating upon their brains, they began to sing, dance, and commit a thousand extravagancies. the noise which they made attracted the notice of the sultan, who with his vizier was traversing the city, disguised as merchants. finding the doors open, they entered, and beheld the cauzee and his companion in the height of their mirth, who welcomed them, and they sat down. at length, after many ridiculous tricks, the fisherman starting up, exclaimed, "i am the sultan!" "and i," rejoined the cauzee, "am my lord the bashaw!" "bashaw!" continued the fisherman, "if i choose i can strike off thy head." "i know it," returned the cauzee, "but at present i am not worth beheading; give me first a rich government, that i may be worth punishing." "thou sayest true," answered the fisherman; "i must make thee fat before thou wilt be fit for killing." the sultan laughed at their extravagancies, and said to his vizier, "i will amuse myself with these vagabonds to-morrow evening:" then rising up, he and his minister departed. the next evening the cauzee and the fisherman indulged themselves as before, and while they were making merry, the sultan and his vizier entered, but in different disguises from those they had worn on the former night. they brought with them a strong confection of opium, which they presented to their hosts, who, highly delighted, greedily devoured it, and such were the effects that they became madder than ever. at length, the fisherman starting up, exclaimed, "the sultan is deposed, and i am sovereign in his stead." "suppose the sultan should hear thee," replied the prince. "if he opposes me," cried the fisherman, "i will order my bashaw to strike off his head; but i will now punish thee for thy insolent question." he then ran up and seized the sultan by the nose, the cauzee at the same time attacking the vizier: it was with difficulty that they made their escape from the house. the sultan, notwithstanding his tweak by the nose, resolved to divert himself further with the bang-eaters, and the next evening putting on a fresh disguise, repaired to the cauzee's house with his vizier; where he found the happy companions in high glee. they had taken it into their heads to dance, which they did with such vehemence, and for so long a time, that at length they fell down with fatigue. when they had rested a little, the fisherman perceiving the sultan, said, "whence comest thou?" "we are strangers," replied the sultan, "and only reached this city to-night; but on our way through the streets, hearing your mirth, we made bold to enter, that we might participate it with you. are ye not, however, fearful lest the sultan should hear you on his rounds, and punish you for an infringement of the laws?" "how should the sultan hear us?" answered the fisherman; "he is in his palace, and we in our own house, though, perhaps, much merrier than he, poor fellow, with the cares of state upon his mind, notwithstanding his splendour." "how comes it," rejoined the sovereign, "that you have not visited the sultan? for you are merry fellows, and i think he would encourage you." "we fear," replied the fisherman, "his guards would beat us away." "never mind them," said the sultan; "if you choose i will give you a letter of recommendation, which i am sure he will pay attention to, for we were intimate when youths." "let us have it," cried the fisherman. the sultan wrote a note, directed to himself, and departed. in the morning the cauzee and the fisherman repaired to the palace, and delivered the note to one of the guards, who, on sight of it, placed it on his head, prostrated himself to the ground, and then introduced them to the sultan. having read the letter, the sultan commanded them to be led into separate apartments, and to be treated respectfully. at noon a handsome collation was served up to each, and at sunset a full service, after which they were presented with coffee. when about two hours of the night had passed, the sultan ordered them into his presence, and on their making their obeisance returned their salutes, and desired them to be seated, saying, "where is the person who gave you this letter?" "mighty sultan," replied the fisherman, "two men who last night visited our house inquired why we did not repair to your majesty, and partake of your bounty. we replied, that we feared the guards would drive us away; when one of them gave us this note, saying, 'fear not; take this recommendation to the sultan, with whom in my youth i was intimate.' we followed his direction, and have found his words to be true. we inquired whence they came; but they would not tell us more than that they were strangers in this city." "it is," continued the sultan, "absolutely necessary that you should bring them to my presence, for it is long since i have beheld my old friends." "permit us then to return home, where they may possibly visit us again," said the fisherman, "and we will oblige them to come with us." "how can you do that," replied the sultan, "when the other evening you could not prevent your guest escaping, though you had him by the nose?" the poor fisherman, and his companion the cauzee, were now confounded at the discovery that it was the sultan himself who had witnessed their intoxication and ridiculous transports. they trembled, turned pale, and fell prostrate to the ground, crying, "pardon, pardon, gracious sovereign, for the offences we have committed, and the insult which in our madness we offered to the sacred person of your majesty." the sultan, after laughing heartily at their distress, replied, "your pardon is granted, for the insult was involuntary, though deserved, as i was an impertinent intruder on your privacy; make yourselves easy, and sit down; but you must each of you relate to me your adventures, or some story that you have heard." the cauzee and the fisherman, having recovered from their confusion, obeyed the commands of the sultan, and being seated, the latter related the following tale. story of the bang-eater and his wife. there lived formerly, near bagdad, a half-witted fellow, who was much addicted to the use of bang. being reduced to poverty, he was obliged to sell his stock. one day he went to the market to dispose of a cow; but the animal being in bad order, no one would bid for it, and after waiting till he was weary he returned homewards. on the way he stopped to repose himself under a tree, and tied the cow to one of the branches while he ate some bread, and drank of an infusion of his beloved bang, which he always carried with him. in a short time it began to operate, so as to bereave him of the little sense he possessed, and his head was filled with ridiculous reveries. while he was musing, a magpie beginning to chatter from her nest in the tree, he fancied it was a human voice, and that some woman had asked to purchase his cow: upon which he said, "reverend mother of solomon, dost thou wish to buy my cow?" the bird croaked again. "well," replied he, "what wilt thou give if i will sell her a bargain." the bird repeated her croak. "never mind," said the foolish fellow, "for though thou hast forgotten to bring thy purse, yet, as i dare say thou art an honest woman, and hast bidden me ten deenars, i will trust thee with the cow, and call on friday for the money." the bird renewed her croaking, which he fancied to be thanks for his confidence; so leaving the cow tied to the branch of the tree, he returned home exulting in the good bargain he had made for the animal. when he entered the house, his wife inquired what he had gotten for the cow; to which he replied, that he had sold her to an honest woman named am solomon, who had promised to pay him on the next friday ten pieces of gold. the wife was contented, and when friday arrived, her idiot of a husband having, as usual, taken a dose of bang, repaired to the tree, and hearing the bird chattering, as before, said, "well, my good mother, hast thou brought the gold?" the bird croaked. supposing the imaginary woman refused to pay him, he became angry, and threw up his spade, which frightening the bird, it flew from the nest, and alighted on a heap of soil at some distance. he fancied that am solomon had desired him to take his money from the heap, into which he dug with his spade, and found a brazen vessel full of gold coin. this discovery convinced him he was right, and being, notwithstanding his weakness, naturally honest, he only took ten pieces; then replacing the soil, said, "may allah requite thee for thy punctuality, good mother!" and returned to his wife, to whom he gave the money, informing her at the same time of the great treasure his friend am solomon possessed, and where it was concealed. the wife waited till night, when she went and brought away the pot of gold; which her husband observing, said, "it is dishonest to rob one who has paid us so punctually, and if thou dost not return it to its place, i will inform the (walee) officer of police." the wife laughed at his folly; but fearing the ill consequences of his executing his threat, she planned a stratagem to prevent them. going to the market, she purchased some broiled meat and fish ready dressed, which she brought privately home, and concealed in the house. at night, the husband having regaled himself with his beloved bang, retired to sleep off his intoxication; but about midnight she strewed the provisions she had brought at the door, and awakening her partner, cried out, in pretended astonishment, "dear husband, a most wonderful phenomenon has occurred; there has been a violent storm while you slept, and, strange to tell, it has rained pieces of broiled meat and fish, which now lie at the door!" the husband, still in a state of stupefaction from the bang, got up, went to the door, and seeing the provisions, was persuaded of the truth of his wife's story. the fish and flesh were gathered up, and he partook with much glee of the miraculous treat; but he still threatened to inform the walee of her having stolen the treasure of the good old woman am solomon. in the morning the foolish bang-eater actually repaired to the walee, and informed him that his wife had stolen a pot of gold, which she had still in her possession. the walee upon this apprehended the woman, who denied the accusation, when she was threatened with death. she then said, "my lord, the power is in your hands; but i am an injured woman, as you will find by questioning my unfortunate husband; who, alas! is deranged in his intellects. ask him when i committed the theft." the walee did so; to which he replied, "it was on the evening of that night on which it rained broiled flesh and fish ready dressed." "wretch!" exclaimed the walee, "dost thou dare to utter falsehoods before me? who ever saw it rain any thing but water?" "as i hope for life, my lord," replied the bang-eater, "i speak the truth; for my wife and myself ate of the fish and flesh which fell from the clouds." the woman being appealed to, denied the assertion of her husband. the walee being now convinced that the man was crazy, released his wife, and sent the husband to the madhouse; where he remained some days, till the wife, pitying his condition, contrived to get him released by the following stratagem. she visited her husband, and desired him when any one inquired of him if he had seen it rain flesh and fish, to answer, "no: who ever saw it rain any thing but water?" she then informed the keeper that he was come to his senses, and desired him to put the question. on his answering properly he was released. the fisherman had not long been in the service of the sultan, when walking one day near the house of a principal merchant, his daughter chanced to look through a window, and the buffoon was so struck with her beauty that he became devoted to love. daily did he repair to the same spot for weeks together in hopes of once seeing her, but in vain; for she did not again appear at the window. at length, his passion had such an effect upon him that he fell sick, kept his bed, and began to rave, exclaiming, "ah! what charming eyes, what a beautiful complexion, what a graceful stature has my beloved!" in this situation he was attended by an old woman, who, compassionating his case, desired him to reveal the cause of his uneasiness. "my dear mother," replied he, "i thank thee for thy kindness; but unless thou canst assist me i must soon die." he then related what he had seen, and described to her the house of the merchant. when she said, "son, be of good cheer; for no one could so readily have assisted thee in this dilemma as myself. have patience, and i will speedily return with intelligence of thy beloved." having spoken thus, she departed, and upon reaching her own house disguised herself as a devotee. throwing over her shoulders a coarse woollen gown, holding in one hand a long string of beads, in the other a walking staff, she proceeded to the merchant's house, at the gate of which she cried, "god is god, there is no god but god; may his holy name be praised, and may god be with you," in a most devout tone. the merchant's daughter, on hearing this devout ejaculation, came to the door, saluted the old woman with great respect, and said, "dear mother, pray for me:" when she exclaimed, "may allah protect thee, my beloved child, from all injury!" the young lady then introduced her into the house, seated her in the most honourable place, and with her mother sat down by her. they conversed on religious subjects till noon, when the old woman called for water, performed her ablutions, and recited prayers of an unusual length: upon which the mother and daughter remarked to one another that the aged matron must certainly be a most religious character. when prayers were ended, they set a collation before her; but she declined partaking, saying, "i am to day observing a fast." this increased their respect and admiration of her sanctity, so that they requested her to remain with them till sunset, and break her fast with them, to which she consented. at sunset she prayed again, after which she ate a little, and then uttered many pious exhortations. in short, the mother and daughter were so pleased with her, that they invited her to stay all night. in the morning, she rose early, made her ablutions, prayed for a considerable time, and concluded with a blessing upon her entertainers in learned words, which they could not understand. when she rose up, they supported her by the arms respectfully, and entreated her longer stay; but she declined it, and having taken leave, departed; promising, however, with the permission of allah, to make them soon another visit. on the second day following, the old woman repaired again to the merchant's house, and was joyfully received by the mother and daughter; who, kissing her hands and feet, welcomed her return. she behaved the same as before, and inspired them with stronger veneration for her sandity. her visits now grew frequent, and she was always a welcome guest in the merchant's family. at length, one evening she entered, and said, "i have an only daughter, whose espousals are now celebrating, and this night the bride goes in state to her husband's house. my desire is that my good young lady should attend the ceremony, and receive the benefit of my prayers." the mother replied, "i am unwilling to let her go, lest some accident should befall her:" upon which the pretended religious exclaimed, "what canst thou fear, while i and other devout women shall be with her?" the daughter expressing great eagerness to attend the nuptials, her mother at length consented. when the merchant's daughter had adorned herself in her richest habit, she accompanied the old woman; who, after leading her through several streets, conducted her to the lodging of the late fisherman, but now favourite to the sultan, who was eagerly expecting her arrival. the young lady was astonished on her entrance at beholding a comely looking man; who, she saw, could hardly restrain his raptures at the sight of her. her first alarm was great at finding herself betrayed into such a snare by the hypocritical beldam; but having naturally much presence of mind, she concealed her fears, and considered how she might escape. she sat down, and after looking round the apartment affected to laugh, saying to the gallant, "it is commonly usual when a lover invites his mistress to his house to have an entertainment prepared; for what is love without the accompaniment of a feast? if you wish, therefore, that i should spend the evening here, go and bring in some good cheer, that our joy may be complete. i will with my good mother wait your return." the gallant, rejoiced at her commands, exclaimed, "thou hast spoken truly, and to hear is to obey;" after which, he went towards the market to order a splendid entertainment. when he was gone, the young lady locked the door after him, and thanking the old woman for introducing her to so handsome a lover, threw her off her guard, while she walked about the apartment meditating her escape. at length she found in one corner of it a sharp sabre, and drawing up her sleeve to her elbow, she grasped the weapon, which she struck with such force at her false friend, who was reclining on a sofa, as to cleave the head of the abandoned procuress in two, and she fell down weltering in her blood, to rise no more. the merchant's daughter now searched the room, and finding a rich dress which the favourite usually wore when he visited the sultan, rolled it up in a bundle, and carrying it under her veil, unlocked the door, and hastened homewards. luckily she reached her father's house without interruption. her mother welcomed her with joy; but on perceiving the bundle, said, "my dear daughter, what can have been given thee at the nuptials of a poor religious?" the daughter, whose mind had been over agitated with her late adventure, was not able to answer; her spirits sunk at the recollection of her narrow escape, and she fainted away. the mother shrieked aloud with affright, which brought in her husband and attendants, who used various means for the young lady's recovery; and at length, having regained her senses, she related what had passed. the merchant having cursed the memory of the old woman for her hypocritical deception, comforted his virtuous daughter, and taking up the dress which he knew, and to whom it belonged, hastened to make his complaint to the sultan. when the sultan had heard the complaint of the merchant, he was enraged against his unworthy favourite, and commanded him to be apprehended; but he could no where be found, for having on his return home seen the old woman weltering in her blood, he guessed what had happened; and apprehensive of being called to an account, putting on a mean disguise, made his escape from the city. fortunately for him a caravan was just taking its departure, and with it he travelled for five days successively, with a mind tortured by disappointed love, and the fear of discovery. at length the caravan passed the confines of his late master, and encamped before a large city, which he entered, and having hired a room at a caravanserai, he resolved to repose, and seek out for some employment less dangerous than making love, or serving princes. when he had rested himself for some days, he repaired to a market, where labourers stood to be hired; and had not waited long, when a woman coming up asked if he wanted work, to which he replied in the affirmative. she then said, "part of the wall round the court of my house is so much decayed, that i must have it taken down and rebuilt, and if thou art willing to undertake the job i will employ thee." on his consenting, she led him to her house, and shewing him the wall, gave him a pick-axe, directing him as he went on to place the stones in one heap and the rubbish in another. he replied, "to hear is to obey." she then brought him some provision and water, when he refreshed himself, and having thanked god that he had escaped, and was able to get his living, began his task, which he continued till sunset. his employer paid him ten pieces of silver for his day's work, and he returned contented to his lodging. the following morning he again went to labour, and was treated with the same kindness as before. about noon, as he was stocking up the foundation of the wall he found a copper vessel, which upon examination proved to be full of golden coin. he carried the vessel to his lodging, where he counted the money, upwards of a hundred deenars, and returned to his work. as he was coming home in the evening, he saw a crowd following a man who carried upon his head a large chest, which he offered for sale at a hundred deenars, but refused to mention the contents. the fisherman was seized with an irresistible impulse to purchase the chest, and having a small silver coin of not more value than a silver penny, said to himself, "i will try my fate, possibly it may contain something valuable; but if not, i will disregard the disappointment;" ordered it to be conveyed to his lodging, and paid the price demanded. he then locked his door and opened the chest, when, to his astonishment, he beheld in it a beautiful girl very richly dressed, but apparently lifeless. however, on putting his hand to her mouth, he perceived that she breathed, and was only in a deep sleep, from which he endeavoured to awake her, but in vain. he then took her out of the chest, laid her gently on his carpet, and continued to gaze at her charms; till at length about midnight she awoke, and in an exclamation of alarm and surprise exclaimed, "gracious allah, where am i?" when the lady's first alarm had subsided, she asked the fisherman how he had brought her to his lodging, and on being informed of the circumstances her mind became easy; for he behaved towards her with respectful attention. concealing for the present her condition and adventures, she said, "this lodging is too mean, on the morrow you must hire a better. serve me with fidelity, do as i desire, and you shall be amply rewarded." the fisherman, who, cautioned by his last love adventure, was fearful of taking liberties, and awed by her dignified demeanour, made a profound obeisance, and professed himself her slave. he set before her the best refreshments he could procure, and when she had supped left her, and retired to sleep in a separate chamber. early the next morning he went and hired a decent house, to which he conveyed her in a covered litter, and did not cease to attend upon her in all her commands for twenty days, she supplying him with money to purchase necessaries. it is proper now to mention, that the lady bought by the fisherman in the chest was the favourite mistress of the sultan: having deserted for her all his other women, they had become envious; but the sultana, who, before the arrival of koout al koolloob (for such was her name) had presided over the haram, was more mortified than the rest, and had resolved to effect her removal. for this a favourable opportunity soon occurred, owing to the sultan's departure for twenty days upon a hunting excursion. in a day or two after his absence, the sultana invited koout al koolloob to an entertainment, and having mixed a strong soporific in some sherbet, presented it her to drink. the effect of the potion was instantaneous, and she sunk into a trance; when the sultana putting her into the chest, commanded it to be given to a broker, and sold without examination of the contents, for a hundred deenars; hoping, that whoever might be the purchaser, he would be so fascinated with the charms of the beautiful koout al koolloob, as to enjoy his good fortune in secrecy; and that she should thus get rid of a rival without the crime of assassination. when the sultan returned from his excursion, immediately on entering the palace he inquired for his favourite; when the sultana entering with affected sadness, said, "alas! my lord, the beautiful and affectionate koout al koolloob, unable to bear the pangs of absence, three days after your departure fell sick, and having lingered for seven days, was gathered to the mercy of the almighty." the sultan, on hearing this, burst into an agony of grief, and exclaimed, "there is no asylum or refuge but with god; from god we came, and to god we must return." he was overcome with affliction, and remained the whole night involved in melancholy. in the morning he sent for his vizier, and commanded him to look out for a spot on the bank of the river for the erection of a building in which he might sit retired, and meditate on his beloved koout al koolloob. the vizier replied, "to hear is to obey;" and taking with him an architect, fixed upon a pleasant spot, on which he ordered him to mark out a space of ninety yards in length and seventy in breadth for the intended building. the necessary materials, of stone and marbles, were soon collected, and the work was begun upon; which the minister for two days superintended in person. on the third the sultan came to view the progress. he approved of the plan, and said, "it is truly beautiful; but, alas! only worthy of the residence of koout al koolloob;" after which he wept bitterly. seeing the distress of the sultan, his vizier said, "my lord, be resigned under distress; for the wise have written, 'be moderate when prosperity occurs, and when calamity afflicts thee exercise patience.'" the sultan replied, "it is true, o vizier, that resignation is praiseworthy, and impatience blamable; for a poet has justly said, 'be calm under adversity; for calmness can alone extricate from danger.' to affliction joy often succeeds, and after trouble we generally enjoy repose; but, alas! human nature cannot divest itself of feeling; and koout al koolloob was so dear to me, and so delighted my soul, that i dread i shall never find another mistress her equal in beauty and accomplishments." the vizier consoled his master, and at length prevailed upon him to submit to his misfortune with some degree of resignation. the sultan and vizier daily repaired to view the progress of the new edifice, the report of which had spread through the city, and at length reached koout al koolloob, who said to the fisherman, "we are every day expending our money, and getting nothing: suppose, therefore, you seek employment in the building which the sultan is erecting. report says that he is liberal, so that possibly advantage may accrue." the fisherman replied, "my dear mistress, how shall i bear the least absence from you?" for he loved her, and she perceiving it, often dreaded that he would have made advances; but the remembrance of what he had endured from the conduct of the merchant's daughter had made him cautious. she replied, "dost thou really love me?" "canst thou doubt it?" answered he; "thou art my life, and the light of my eyes!" "if so," exclaimed she, "take this necklace, and when you think of me as you are working, look at it, and it will console you till your return home." the fisherman obeyed the commands of koout al koolloob, repaired to the spot where the edifice was erecting, and beheld the sultan and vizier observing the workmen. the former inquired if he wanted employment, to which he replied in the affirmative, and was hired. he began his labour; but so much was his mind engaged with his mistress, that every now and then, dropping his implements, he drew out the necklace, and looking upon it heaved a deep sigh, which the sultan observing, said to his vizier, "this man, perchance, is more unhappy than myself; let us call him to us, and inquire into his circumstances." the vizier brought him to the presence, and desired him to tell honestly why he had sighed so deeply. "alas!" replied he, "i am absent from my beloved, who gave me this necklace to look at whenever i might think upon her; and my mind is so taken up with her, that i cannot help laying down my tools, and admiring it constantly." when the sultan saw the necklace, he recollected that it was one which he had purchased for koout al koolloob for a thousand deenars. he concealed his agitation, and said, "to whom does this necklace belong?" "to my slave," replied the labourer, "whom i purchased for a hundred deenars." "canst thou admit us to thy lodging," rejoined the sultan, "that we may see her?" "i dread," answered the labourer, "that her modesty may be offended; but i will consult her, and if she assents, i will invite you to my lodging." "that is but just," said the sultan, "and no more than what is proper." the labourer at sunset returned home, and informed koout al koolloob of his adventure, when she desired him on the morrow to purchase what was requisite for a decent entertainment, at the same time giving him five deenars. in the morning he bought what she had desired, and going to his work, informed the sultan and vizier that they were welcome to his homely fare, and to see his slave; or rather, said he, "my divinity, for as such i have at humble distance adored her." the sultan and vizier accompanied the labourer to his house where they were astonished to find prepared an elegant collation, of which they partook; after which they drank sherbet and coffee. the sultan then desired to see his slave, who just made her appearance, but retired immediately. however, the sultan knew her; and said to the labourer, "wilt thou dispose of this damsel?" "i cannot, my lord," replied the labourer, "for my soul is wholly occupied with her love, though as yet unreturned." "may thy love be rewarded!" exclaimed the sultan; "but bring her with thee at sunset to the palace." "to hear is to obey," replied the labourer. at sunset the labourer conducted his slave to the palace, when the eunuchs attended, and would have led her into the haram; but he clung round her, and exclaimed, "she is my beloved, and i cannot part with her." upon this the sultan related the circumstances of his having lost her; and requested him to give her up. knowing that he durst not oppose the sovereign, he submitted to his commands with resignation, when the sultan presented him with fifteen hundred deenars, and a beautiful slave, also a rich dress, at the same time receiving him among the most distinguished of his officers. so well did he conduct himself in his new station, that in a short time he was promoted to the rank of prime minister, and fulfilled the duties of it with such ability and integrity, that he became celebrated by the title of the just vizier. such was the celebrity of the vizier's decisions, that in a short time appeals were made from the most distant provinces to his judgment. one of the most remarkable cases was the following. two women belonging to one man conceived on the same day, and were delivered, one of a boy, the other of a girl, at the same time, and in one apartment. the female infant died, when each laid claim to the male child. the magistrates, unable to decide between the mothers, referred the decision to the just vizier; who, on hearing the circumstances, commanded two eggs to be brought, and the contents to be drawn out without breaking the shells; after which he ordered them to be filled with milk from the breast of each woman. this being done, he placed the shells in separate scales, and finding one outweigh the other, declared that she whose milk was heaviest must be the mother of the male child; but the other woman was not satisfied with this decision, and still affirmed she was the mother of the boy. the vizier, vexed at her obstinacy, now commanded the infant to be cut in two; when she, whom he had said was the mother, fell into agonies, and besought its life; but the other was unmoved, and assented to the death of the child. he then ordered her to be severely punished, and committed the boy to its afflicted mother. on being asked on what proofs he had grounded his decision, he replied, "on two: the first, because the milk of a woman having produced a male child is always heavier than that of the mother of a female infant: the second, because the pretended mother consented to the boy's death; and i supposed it impossible for a woman to agree to the destruction of her offspring, which is a part of herself." the sultan and the traveller mhamood al hyjemmee. there was a sultan, who one evening being somewhat low-spirited, sent for his vizier, and said, "i know not the cause, but my mind is uneasy, and i want something to divert it." "if so," replied the vizier, "i have a friend, named mhamood al hyjemmee, a celebrated traveller, who has witnessed many wonderful occurrences, and can relate a variety of astonishing narratives. shall i send for him to the presence?" "by all means," answered the sultan, "that i may hear his relations." the minister departed, and informed his friend that the sultan desired to see him. "to hear is to obey," replied mhamood, and hastened with the vizier to the palace. when they had entered the palace, mhamood made the obeisance usual to the caliphs, and uttered a poetical invocation for the prosperity of the sultan, who returned his salute; and after desiring him to be seated, said, "mhamood, my mind is uneasy, and as i hear you are acquainted with many curious events, i wish you to relate some of them to amuse me." mhamood replied, "to hear is to obey;" and thus began an adventure of his own. the koord robber. some years ago i took a journey from my own country to the land of yemen, accompanied by a slave, who was a lad of much ready wit, and who carried a wallet containing a few necessaries. as we were entering a town, a rascally koord snatched the wallet from his hands, and asserted that it was his own, which we had stolen from him: upon which, i called out to some passengers to assist me in the recovery of my property, and they helped me to carry the sharper before the cauzee, to whom i complained of his assault. the magistrate asked the koord what he had to allege in his defence; to which he replied, "my lord, i lost this wallet some days since, and found it in possession of the complainant, who pretends that it is his own, and will not resign it." "if it be thine," rejoined the cauzee, "describe to me what it contains, when i shall be satisfied that thou speakest the truth." the koord assented, and with a loud voice cried out, "in this wallet, my lord, are two chests, in which are collyrium for the eyes, a number of rich napkins, drinking vessels of gold, lamps, cooking utensils, dishes, basins, and ewers; also bales of merchandize, jewels, gold, silks, and other precious articles, with a variety of wearing apparel, carpets, cushions, eating cloths, and other things too tedious to enumerate; besides, i can bring a number of my brother koords to testify to the truth of what i have said, and that the wallet is mine." when the koord had finished, the cauzee smiled, and asked me and my slave what we could describe to be in the wallet: upon which, my slave said, "my lord, there is nothing in it of what the koord has mentioned, for it contains only both worlds, with all their lands, seas, cities, habitations, men, animals, and productions of every kind." the cauzee laughed, and turning to the koord, said, "friend, thou hast heard what has past; what further canst thou say?" "the bag is mine," continued the koord: upon which, the cauzee ordered it to be emptied; when, lo! there were found in it some cakes of bread, a few limes, a little pepper, and a cruet of oil. seeing this, the koord exclaimed, "pardon me, my lord the cauzee, i have been mistaken, the wallet is not mine; but i must away and search for the thief who has stolen my valuable property." having said this, he ran off, leaving the cauzee, myself, and the spectators bursting with laughter at his impudent knavery. the sultan was much diverted with the relation of mhamood, and requested him to relate another story, which he did as follows. story of the husbandman. a certain husbandman having reared some choice vegetables and fruits earlier than usual, resolved to present them to the sultan, in hopes of receiving a handsome present. he accordingly loaded his ass and set off for the capital, on the road to which he met the sultan, whom he had never before seen; and who being on a hunting excursion had separated from his attendants. the sultan inquired where he was going, and what he carried. "i am repairing," said the husbandman, "to our lord the sultan, in hopes that he will reward me with a handsome price for my fruits and vegetables, which i have reared earlier than usual." "what dost thou mean to ask him?" replied the sultan. "a thousand deenars," answered the husbandman; "which if he refuses to give, i will demand five hundred; should he think that sum too much, i will come down to two hundred; and if he declines to give so much, i will ask thirty deenars, from which price i will not depart." the sultan now left the husbandman, and hastening to the city, entered the palace, where the latter soon after arrived with his fruits, and was introduced to the presence. having made his obeisance, the sultan returning his salute, said, "father, what hast thou brought with thee?" "fruits, reared earlier than usual," answered the husbandman: to which the sultan replied, "they are acceptable," and uncovering them, sent a part by the eunuchs into his haram, and distributed the rest to his courtiers, excepting a few which he ate himself, talking all the while to the countryman, whose sensible remarks gave him much pleasure. he presented him with two hundred deenars, and the ladies of the haram sent him a present of half that sum. the sultan then desired him to return home, give the money to his family, and come back with speed, as he wished to enjoy his conversation. the husbandman having replied, "to hear is to obey," blessed the sultan for his bounty, and hastening home gave the deenars to his wife, informing her that he was invited to spend the evening at court, and took his leave. it was sunset when he arrived at the palace, and the sultan being at his evening meal invited him to partake. when they were satisfied, they performed their ablutions, and having said the evening prayer, and read a portion of the koraun, the sultan, desiring him to be seated, commanded the husbandman to relate him some narrative. the husbandman being seated, thus began. story of the three princes and enchanting bird. it has been lately related that there was formerly a sovereign of the east who had three sons, the eldest of whom had heard some traveller describe a particular country where there was a bird called bulbul al syach, who transformed any passenger who came near him into stone. the prince resolved to see this wonderful bird; and requested leave to travel from his father, who endeavoured in vain to divert him from his purpose. he took leave, and on his departure, pulling off a ring set with a magical gem, gave it to his second brother, saying, "whenever you perceive this ring press hard upon your finger, be assured that i am lost beyond recovery." having begun his journey, he did not cease travelling till he reached the spot where was the bird's cage, in which it used to pass the night, but in the daytime it flew about for exercise and food. it was the custom of the bird to return about sunset to the cage; when, if it perceived any person near, it would cry out in a plaintive tone, "who will say to a poor wanderer, lodge? who will say to an unhappy bulbul, lodge?" and if the person replied, "lodge, poor bird!" it immediately hovered over his head, and scattering upon him some earth from its bill, the person became transformed into a stone. such proved the fate of the unfortunate prince. the transformation of the eldest prince had no sooner taken place than the ring pressed hard upon the finger of the second, who exclaimed, "alas! alas! my brother is lost; but i will travel, and endeavour to find out his condition." it was in vain that the sultan his father, and the sultana his mother, remonstrated. he departed after he had delivered the magical ring to his younger brother, and journeyed till he reached the cage of the bird; who having ensnared him to pronounce the word lodge, scattered some earth upon his head, when he, also, immediately became transformed into stone. at this instant the youngest prince was sitting at a banquet with his father; when the ring pressed so hard to his finger, as to put him to much pain. he rose up, and exclaimed, "there is no refuge or asylum but with god; for his we are, and to him we must return." the sultan, upon this, inquired the cause of his grief; when he said, "my brother has perished." the old sultan was loudly lamenting the loss of his two children, when the youngest continued, "i will travel and learn the fate of my brothers." "alas!" said the father, "is it not enough that i have lost them, but thou also wilt rush into destruction? i entreat thee not to leave me." "father," replied the prince, "fate impels me to search for my brothers, whom, perhaps, i may recover; but if i fail, i shall only have done my duty." having said this, he departed, in spite of the tears and lamentations of his parents, and travelled till he had reached the residence of the bird; where he found his brothers transformed into images of stone. at sunset the bird began its usual tone; but the prince suspecting some deceit, forbore to speak, till at length the bulbul retired to his cage, and fell asleep; when watching the opportunity, the prince darted upon it, and fastened the door. the bird awoke at the noise, and seeing himself caught, said, "thou hast won the prize, o glorious son of a mighty sultan!" "if so," exclaimed the prince, "inform me by what means thou hast enchanted so many persons as i see around me changed into images of marble, and how i may release them from their unhappy state." "behold," replied the bird, "yonder two heaps of earth, one white and the other blue. the blue enchants, and the other will recover from transformation." the prince immediately took up handfuls of the white earth, and scattering it over the numerous images, they instantly became animated and restored to all their functions. he embraced his two brothers, and received their thanks; also those of the sons of many sultans, bashaws, and great personages, for giving them new life. they informed him that near the spot was a city, all the inhabitants of which had been, like them, transformed into stone. to this he repaired, and having relieved them from their enchantment, the people out of gratitude made him rich presents, and would have chosen him for their sovereign, but he declined their offer, and resolved to conduct his brothers in safety to their father. the two elder princes, notwithstanding they owed the restoration of their lives to their brother, became envious of the valuable presents he had received, and of the fame he would acquire at home for his achievement. they said to one another, "when we reach the capital the people will applaud him, and say, 'lo! the two elder brothers have been rescued from destruction by the youngest.'" the youngest prince being supplied with horses, camels, and carriages, for himself and companions, began his march homewards, and proceeded by easy stages towards the capital of his father; within one day's journey of which was a reservoir of water lined with marble. on the brink of this he ordered his tents to be pitched, resolving to pass the night and enjoy himself in feasting with his brothers. an elegant entertainment was prepared, and he sat with them till it was time to repose; when they retired to their tents, and he lay down to sleep, having on his finger a ring, which he had found in the cage of the bulbul. the envious brothers thinking this a fit opportunity to destroy their generous preserver, arose in the dead of night, and taking up the prince, cast him into the reservoir, and escaped to their tents undiscovered. in the morning they issued orders of march, the tents were struck, and the camels loaded; but the attendants missing the youngest prince, inquired after him; to which the brothers replied, that being asleep in his tent, they were unwilling to disturb him. this satisfied them, and having pursued their march they reached the capital of their father, who was overjoyed at their return, and admired the beauty of the bulbul, which they had carried with them; but he inquired with eagerness what was become of their brother. the brothers replied, "we know nothing of him, and did not till now hear of his departure in search of the bird, which we have brought with us." the sultan dearly loved his youngest son; and on hearing that his brothers had not seen him, beat his hands together, exclaiming, "alas! alas! there is no refuge or asylum but with the almighty, from whom we came, and to whom we must return." we must now return to the youngest brother. when he was cast into the reservoir he awoke, and finding himself in danger, exclaimed, "i seek deliverance from that god who relieveth his servants from the snares of the wicked." his prayer was heard, and he reached the bottom of the reservoir unhurt; where he seated himself on a ledge, when he heard persons talking. one said to another, "some son of man is near." "yes," replied the other, "he is the youngest son of our virtuous sultan; who, after having delivered his two brothers from enchantment, hath been treacherously cast into this reservoir." "well," answered the first voice, "he may easily escape, for he has a ring upon his finger, which if he will rub a genie will appear to him and perform whatever he may command." the prince no sooner heard these words than he rubbed his hand over the ring, when a good genie appearing, said, "prince, what are thy commands?" "i command," replied the prince, "that thou instantly prepare me tents, camels, domestics, guards, and every thing suitable to my condition." "all is ready," answered the genie; who, at the same instant taking him from the ledge, conducted him into a splendid encampment, where the troops received him with acclamations. he ordered signals of march to be sounded, and proceeded towards the capital of his father. when he had arrived near the city, he commanded his tents to be pitched on the plain. immediately his orders were obeyed, the tents were raised (a most magnificent one for himself), before which the servants raised a gorgeous awning, and sprinkled water to lay the dust. the cooks lighted their fires, and a great smoke ascended, which filled the plain. the inhabitants of the city were astonished at the approach of the army, and when they saw the encampment pitched, supposed it to be that of a powerful enemy preparing for assaulting them. intelligence of this unexpected host was conveyed to the sultan; who, on hearing it, instead of alarm, felt a pleasure which he could not account for, and said, "gracious allah! my heart is filled with delight; but why i know not." immediately he commanded his suite to attend, and repaired to the encampment of his son, to whom he was introduced; but the prince being habited very richly, and differently from what he had seen him in, was not known by the sultan. the prince received his father with the honours due to his rank, and when they were seated, and had entered into conversation, said, "what is become of thy youngest son?" the words were scarcely uttered, when the old sultan fell fainting to the earth. on his recovery, he exclaimed, "alas! my son's imprudence led him to travel, and he has fallen a prey to the beasts of the forest." "be comforted," replied the prince; "the disasters of fortune have not reached thy son, for he is alive and in health." "is it possible?" cried the sultan; "ah! tell me where i shall find him!" "he is before thee," replied the prince: upon which, the sultan looking more closely, knew him, fell upon his neck, wept, and sunk to the earth overpowered with ecstacy. when the sultan had recovered, he desired his son to relate his adventures, which he did from first to last. just as he had finished the elder brothers arrived, and seeing him in such splendour, hung down their heads, abashed and unable to speak; but yet more envious than ever. the old sultan would have put them to death for their treachery, but the youngest prince said, "let us leave them to the almighty, for whoever commits sin will meet its punishment in himself." when the husbandman had concluded the above story, the sultan was so highly pleased that he presented him with a large sum of money, and a beautiful slave, inquiring at the same time if he could divert him with another story, to which he replied in the affirmative. on another night, when the sultan and the countryman had sat down to converse, the former desired him to relate some ancient story, when the latter began as follows. story of a sultan of yemen and his three sons. it has been related, that in the kingdom of yemen there was a sultan who had three sons, two of whom were born of the same mother, and the third of another wife, with whom becoming disgusted from some caprice, and having degraded her to the station of a domestic, he suffered her and her son to live unnoticed among the servants of the haram. the two former, one day, addressed their father, requesting his permission to hunt: upon which he presented them each with a horse of true blood, richly caparisoned, and ordered proper domestics to attend them to the chase. when they had departed, the unfortunate youngest brother repaired to his unhappy mother, and expressed his wishes to enjoy, like the elder princes, the pleasures of the field. "my son," replied she, "it is not in my power to procure thee a horse or other necessaries." upon this he wept bitterly; when she gave him some of her silver ornaments, which he took, and having sold them, with the price purchased a foundered steed. having mounted it, and provided himself with some bread, he followed the track of his brothers for two days, but on the third lost his way. after wandering two days more he beheld upon the plain a string of emeralds and pearls, which shone with great lustre. having taken it up, he wreathed it round his turban, and returned homewards exulting in his prize; but when he had arrived near the city his brothers met him, pulled him from his horse, beat him, and forced it from him. he excelled them both in prowess and vigour, but he was fearful of the sultan's displeasure, and his mother's safety, should he punish his insulters. he therefore submitted to the indignity and loss, and retired. the two cowardly princes entered the palace, and presented the string of jewels to the sultan; who, after admiring it, said, "i shall not rest satisfied till the bird arrives to whom this certainly must have belonged:" upon which the brothers replied, "we will travel in search of it, and bring it to our august father and sultan." preparations being made, the brothers departed, and the youngest prince having mounted his lame steed followed them. after three days' journey he reached an arid desert, which having passed over by great exertion, he arrived almost exhausted at a city; which on entering he found resounding with the shrieks of lamentation and woe. at length he met with a venerable old man, to whom having made a respectful salute, he inquired of him the cause of such universal mourning. "my son," replied the old man, "on a certain day during the last forty-three years, a terrible monster has appeared before our city, demanding a beautiful virgin to be delivered up to him, threatening to destroy it in case of refusal. unable to defend ourselves, we have complied with his demand, and the damsels of the city have drawn lots for the dreadful sacrifice; but this year the chance has fallen upon the beautiful daughter of our sultan. this is the day of the monster's usual arrival, and we are involved in universal lamentation for her unhappy fate." when the young prince heard the above, he, under the direction of the old man, repaired to the place of the monster's resort, resolved to conquer him or die. scarcely had he reached it, when the princess approached it, splendidly habited, but with a dejected head, and drowned in tears. he made a respectful salute, which she returned, saying, "hasten, young man, from this spot, for a monster will soon appear, to whom, by my unhappy fate, i am destined. should he discover thee, he will tear thee in pieces." "princess," replied he, "i know the circumstance, and am resolved to become a ransom for thy beauty." the prince had hardly uttered these words, when a column of dust arose; from which with dreadful howlings and fury the monster issued, lashing his gigantic sides with his thick tail. the princess shrieked, and wept in the agonies of fear; but the prince drawing his sabre, put himself in the way of the savage monster; who, enraged, snorted fire from his wide nostrils, and made a spring at the prince. the gallant youth with wonderful agility evaded his talons, and darting from side to side of the monster, watched his opportunity, till rushing upon him, he cleft his head asunder just between his eyes, when the huge creature fell down and growled his last in a tremendous roar. the princess, on seeing the monster expire, ran to her deliverer, wiped the dust and sweat from his face with her veil, uttering grateful thanks, to which he replied, "return to thy lamenting parents;" but she would not, and said, "my lord, and light of my eyes, thou must be mine and i thine." "that is perhaps impossible," rejoined the prince; and hastening from her, he returned to the city, where he took up his lodging in an obscure corner. she now repaired to the palace. on her entrance, the sultan and her mother were astonished, and inquired in alarm the cause of her return; fearing that she had escaped from the monster, who would in revenge destroy the city. the princess related the story of her deliverance by a handsome youth: upon which, the sultan, with his attendants, and most of the inhabitants of the place, repaired to view the monster, whom they found extended dead on the earth. the whole city was now filled with grateful thanksgivings and universal rejoicing. the sultan, eager to shew his gratitude to the gallant youth, said to the princess, "shouldst thou know thy deliverer wert thou to see him again?" "certainly!" replied she; for love had impressed his image on her mind too strongly to be ever erased. the sultan, upon this, issued a proclamation, commanding every male in the city to pass under the windows of his daughter's apartment; which was done successively for three days; but she did not recognize her beloved champion. the sultan then inquired if all the men of the city had obeyed his commands, and was informed that all had done so, except a young man at a certain serai, who was a foreigner, and therefore had not attended. the sultan ordered him to appear; and he had no sooner approached the window than the princess threw down upon his head an embroidered handkerchief, exclaiming, "this is our deliverer from the fangs of the monster." the sultan now ordered the young prince to be introduced to his presence, to which he advanced, making the obeisances customary to royal personages in a graceful manner. "art thou the destroyer of the monster?" exclaimed the sultan. "i am," answered the prince. "tell me how i can reward thee?" replied the sultan. "my request to god and your majesty," answered the prince, "is, that the princess thy daughter may be given me in marriage." "rather ask me a portion of my treasures," rejoined the sultan. upon this, the officers of the court observed, that as he had saved the princess from death, he was worthy of her; and the sultan at length consenting, the marriage knot was tied. the young prince received his bride, and the nuptials were consummated. towards the close of night he arose, and having taken off her ring, put his own in its room on her finger, and wrote upon the palm of her hand, "i am called alla ad deen, the son of a potent sultan, who rules in yemen; if thou canst come to me there, well; otherwise remain with thy father." when the prince had done as above related, he left his bride asleep, and quitting the palace and city, pursued his travels; during which he married another wife, whom he had saved from an elephant in a similar way: he left her in the same manner as the first. when the prince had left his second wife, he proceeded in search of the bird to whom the string of emeralds and pearls had belonged, and at length reached the city of its mistress, who was daughter to the sultan, a very powerful monarch. having entered the capital, he walked through several streets, till at last he perceived a venerable old man, whose age seemed to be, at least, that of a hundred years, sitting alone. he approached him, and having paid his respects, sat down, and entering into conversation, at length said, "canst thou, my uncle, afford me any information respecting a bird, whose chain is composed of pearls and emeralds, or of its mistress?" the old man remained silent, involved in thought, for some instants; after which, he said, "my son, many sultans and princes have wished to attain this bird and the princess, but failed in the attempt; however, do thou procure seven lambs, kill them, flay and cut them up into halves. in the palace are eight courts, at the gates of seven of which are placed two hungry lions; and in the latter, where the princess resides, are stationed forty slaves. go, and try thy fortune." the prince having thanked the old man, took his leave, procured the lambs, cut them up as directed, and towards midnight, when the step of man had ceased from passing, repaired to the first gate of the palace, before which he beheld two monstrous lions, their eyes flaming like the mouth of a lighted oven. he cast before each half a lamb, and while they were devouring it passed on. by the same stratagem he arrived safely into the eighth court: at the gate of which lay the forty slaves sunk in profound sleep. he entered cautiously, and beheld the princess in a magnificent hall, reposing on a splendid bed; near which hung her bird in a cage of gold wire strung with valuable jewels. he approached gently, and wrote upon the palm of her hand, "i am alla ad deen, son of a sultan of yemen. i have seen thee sleeping, and taken away thy bird. shouldst thou love me, or wish to recover thy favourite, come to my father's capital." he then departed from the palace, and having reached the plain, stopped to repose till morning. the prince being refreshed, at day-light having invoked allah to protect him from discovery, travelled till sunset, when he discovered an arab encampment, to which he repaired and requested shelter. his petition was readily attended to by the chief; who seeing him in possession of the bird, which he knew, said to himself, "this young man must be a favourite of heaven, or he could not have obtained a prize for which so many potent sultans, princes, and viziers, have vainly fallen sacrifices." he entertained him with hospitality, but asked no questions, and in the morning dismissed him with prayers for his welfare, and a present of a beautiful horse. alla ad deen having thanked his generous host took leave, and proceeded unceasingly till he arrived within sight of his father's capital. on the plain he was again overtaken by his two brothers, returning from their unsuccessful expedition, who seeing the bird and splendid cage in his possession, dragged him suddenly from his horse, beat him cruelly, and left him. they entered the city, and presenting the cage to their father, framed an artful tale of danger and escapes that they had undergone in procuring it; on hearing which, the sultan loaded them with caresses and praises, while the unfortunate alla ad deen retired bruised and melancholy to his unhappy mother. the young prince informed his mother of his adventures, complained heavily of his loss, and expressed his resolves to be revenged upon his envious brothers. she comforted him, entreated him to be patient, and wait for the dispensations of allah; who, in proper season, would shew his power in the revealment of justice. we now return to the princess who had lost her bird. when she awoke in the morning, and missed her bird, she was alarmed; but on perceiving what was written upon her palm still more so. she shrieked aloud; her attendants ran in, and finding her in a frantic state, informed the sultan; who, anxious for her safety, hastened to the apartment. the princess being somewhat recovered, related the loss of her bird, shewed the writing on her hand, and declared that she would marry no one but him who had seen her asleep. the sultan finding remonstrances vain, agreed to accompany his daughter in search of the prince, and issued orders for his army to prepare for a march to yemen. when the troops were assembled, the sultan conducted his daughter to the camp, and on the day following marched; the princess with her ladies being conveyed in magnificent equipages. no halt was made till the army arrived near the city, where alia ad deen had delivered the daughter of its sultan by killing the elephant. a friendly ambassador being dispatched to request permission to encamp and purchase a supply of provisions, he was honourably received, and the sultan of the city proceeded in great pomp to visit his brother monarch, who then informed him of the object of his expedition. this convinced the other sultan that the stealer of the bird must also have been the deliverer of his daughter, and he resolved to join in the search. accordingly, after three days of splendid entertainments and rejoicings, the two sultans, with the two princesses, and their united forces, moved towards yemen. their route lay through the capital, the daughter of whose sultan alla ad deen had saved from the fangs of the savage monster. on the arrival of the allies at this city an explanation similar to the last took place, and the third sultan resolved to accompany them in search of the husband of his daughter, who readily agreed to join the other princesses. they marched; and on the route the princess who had lost her bird was fully informed by the others of the beauty, prowess, and manly vigour of alla ad deen; which involved her more than ever in anxious impatience to meet him. at length, by continued and uninterrupted movements, the three sultans reached yemen, and pitched their encampments about sunset on a verdant plain well watered, near the capital. it was with much dread and apprehension that the sultan of yemen beheld such a numerous host encamped so near his residence; but he concealed his fears, and gave proper orders for securing it from surprise during the night. with the morning his alarms were removed, as the allied sultans dispatched an ambassador with rich presents, assurances that they had no hostile intentions, and a request that he would honour them by a visit to their camp, and furnish it with supplies. the sultan complied with the invitation, and the suite being prepared, he proceeded, attended by all his courtiers in the highest magnificence, to the encampment; where he was received with due honours. at the outposts the three sultans met him, and after the usual greetings of ceremony conducted him to a splendid tent made of crimson velvet, the fringes and ropes of which were composed of gold threads, the pins of solid silver, and the lining of the richest silver tissue, embroidered with flowers of raised work in silks of all colours, intermixed with foils and gold. it was covered with superb carpets, and at the upper end on a platform spread with gold brocade were placed four stools, the coverings of which, and the cushions, were magnificent beyond description, being made of persian velvet, fringed and flowered with costly pearls. when the four sultans were seated, and some conversation had taken place, in which the latter was informed of the occasion of the others having marched into his country, the cloth was spread, and a magnificent entertainment served up in dishes of agate, crystal, and gold. the basins and ewers for washing were of pure gold set with jewels. such was the richness of every thing, that the sultan with difficulty refrained from shewing his surprise, and inwardly exclaimed, "by allah, till now i never have beheld such a profusion of splendour, elegance, and valuable furniture!" when the meal was ended, coffee, various sorts of confections, and sherbets were brought in; after which the company conversed. the three sultans inquired of their royal guest if he had any children, to which he replied that he had two sons. the sultans then requested that he would send for them: upon which, their father dispatched a messenger to summon them to his presence. they repaired to the camp, mounted on chargers richly caparisoned, and most splendidly dressed. on their entering the tent, the princesses, who were seated in a recess concealed from view by blinds of gold wire, gazed eagerly at them; and she who had lost her bird inquired of the other two if either of them was their husband. they replied in the negative, remarking that he was of personal beauty, and dignified appearance, far superior to these princes. the three sultans, also, questioned their daughters on the subject, and received similar answers. the sultans, upon this, inquired of the father of the princes if he had any other sons; to which he replied that he had one; but that he had long rejected him, and also his mother, from notice; and that they lived among the domestics of the palace. the sultans entreated to see him, and he was introduced, but in a mean habit. the two princesses whom he had delivered from the monsters and married immediately recognized him, and exclaimed together, "this is truly our beloved husband!" he was then embraced by the sultans, and admitted to his wives; who fell upon his neck in transports of joy and rapture, kissing him between his eyes, while the princess who had lost the bird prostrated herself before him, covered with a veil, and kissed his hand. after this scene the young prince returned to his father, and the other sultans, who received him respectfully, and seated him by them, at which the father was astonished; but more so, when, turning to his brothers, he addressed them, saying, "which of you first found the string of emeralds and pearls?" to this they made no reply: when he continued, "who of you killed the monster, destroyed the elephant, or, fortifying his mind, dared to enter the palace of this sultan, and bring away the cage with the bird? when you both, coward-like, rushed upon me, robbed me of my prizes, and wounded me, i could easily have overcome you; but i felt that there was a season appointed by providence for justice upon you and my wretched father, who rejected my mother and myself, depriving us of our just claims." having thus spoken, he drew his sabre, and rushing upon the two guilty princes struck them dead, each at one blow. he would, in his rage, have attacked his father; but the sultans prevented him, and having reconciled them, the old sultan promised to leave him his heir, and to restore his mother to her former rank and consequence. his nuptials with the third princess were then celebrated; and their fathers, after participating for forty days in the magnificent entertainments given on the occasion, took leave, and returned to their several kingdoms. the old sultan finding himself, from age, incapable of the cares of government, resigned the throne to his son, whose authority was gladly submitted to by the people, who admired his prowess and gallantry. some time after his accession to the kingdom, attended only by some select courtiers, and without the cumbrous appendages of royalty, he left his capital upon a hunting excursion. in the course of the sport, passing over a desert plain, he came to a spot where was the opening of a cave, into which he entered, and observed domestic utensils and other marks of its being inhabited; but no one was then within it. the curiosity of the sultan being excited, he resolved to wait until the owners of the cave should appear, and cautioned his attendants not to mention his rank. he had not sat long, when a man was seen advancing with a load of provisions and two skins of water. on his coming to the mouth of the cave, the sultan addressed him, saying, "whence comest thou, where art thou going, and what dost thou carry?" "i am," replied the man, "one of three companions, who inhabit this cave, having fled from our city to avoid imprisonment, and every ten days one of us goes to purchase provisions: to-day was my turn, and my friends will be here presently." "what was the cause of your flight?" rejoined the sultan. "as to that," answered the man, "it can only be communicated by the relation of our adventures, which are curious, and if you wish to hear them, stay with us to-night, and we will each, in our turn, relate his own story." the sultan upon this, said to himself, "i will not move from this spot until i have heard their adventures;" and immediately dispatched his attendants, excepting a few, with orders to bring from the city some necessaries for the night. "for," thought he, "hearing these stories will be pleasanter than hunting, as they may, perhaps, inform my mind." he remained in the cave with his few followers; and soon after arrived the two other inmates, who were succeeded by the sultan's messengers with the requisites for a substantial repast, of which all partook without ceremony. when it was finished, the sultan desired the owners of the cave to relate their adventures; and they replied, "to hear is to obey:" the first beginning as follows. story of the first sharper in the cave. my father died when i was a youth, leaving my mother and myself with little property, but an old she-goat, which we sold, and with the price bought a calf, and nourished her as well as we could for a whole year; when my mother desired me to go and dispose of her in the market. accordingly i went, and soon perceived that there was not a fatter or finer beast in the market. the company of butchers, composed of forty persons, fixed their eyes upon the calf, and supposing me an ignorant lad, resolved to have her for little or nothing, and feast themselves upon her flesh. after concerting among themselves, one of them coming up, said, "my lad, dost thou mean to sell this she-goat?" "goat!" replied i, "it is a calf." "nay," answered he, "surely thou must be blind or under enchantment; but, old as the goat is, if thou wilt sell it, i will give thee a koorsh for her." i angrily refused, and he went away; when presently up came another; and, in short, in regular succession the whole forty, the last of whom was the chief of the butchers. i perceived the connivance to cheat me, and resolving to be revenged, said, "i am convinced i am deceived, so you shall have the goat, if such she is, for the koorsh, provided you let me have her tail." this was agreed to, and it being cut off, i delivered my calf to the chief of the butchers, received the money, and returned home. on my arrival at home, my mother asked if i had sold the calf; to which i replied, "yes, for a koorsh, and her tail into the bargain." she thought me stupid or mad, and inquired what i would do with the latter. i answered, "i will be amply revenged on the sharpers, who pretended that my calf was a she-goat, and force from them, at least, a thousand times the price they gave me." after this, i skinned the tail, cut the leather into thongs, and twisted them into a whip with hard thick knots. i then disguised myself in female attire, taking pains to make myself look as handsome as possible with the assistance of my mother, who put soorma into my eyelids, and arranged my eyebrows, stained my hands with hinna, and directed me how to ogle and smile. in short, as i was then a beardless lad, and reckoned comely, i appeared as a very desirable maiden in my disguise. on my arrival at the house of the chief of the butchers, i found him sitting with his companions in the court. the whole of my calf had been cooked in various ways, and they were just going to spread the cloth and feast upon it. on my entrance i made a profound salutation: upon which they all rose up to return it, and having seated me welcomely, whispered one to another, saying, "by allah, this will be a night of glorious festivity, illumined by so much beauty! however, our chief must have the preference, this night shall be his; after which we will all cast lots for his turn of enjoyment." when we had feasted on my calf, and the night was far advanced, the butchers took leave, departed to their homes, and i remained alone with the chief, who began to entertain me with amusing conversation. observing a rope hanging from the ceiling of an apartment, i, as if ignorant of its purpose, inquired the use of it; when the venerable chief of the butchers informed me it was for suspending animals to cut up; also, occasionally his dependants, whose crimes required the punishment of flogging. upon this i expressed a great desire to be tied with the rope, drawn up, and swung for amusement. "my dear lady," replied he, "the cord will hurt thy delicate skin; but thou shall put it round me, draw me up, and see the use without injuring thyself." i consented to the wish of the chief butcher, placed the cord under his arms, and drew him up till the ends of his toes scarcely touched the ground. i then secured the rope, and for some moments kept running playfully round him, and tickling his sides, which made him laugh with delight. at length, tired of his posture, he desired me to release him; but i refused, saying, "my dear chief, i have not yet finished my amusement;" after which i tore the clothes from his back, as if in merriment. when i had done this, i pulled out my whip, which was well knotted, saying, "this is the tail of a she-goat, and not of a calf." the butcher now began to be somewhat alarmed, asking me who i was, and whence i came? to which i replied, "i am the owner of the fat calf, of which thou and thy villanous companions so rascally cheated me." i then bared my arm to my elbow, and so belaboured his back and sides with my whip that he roared in agony; nor did i leave off till his skin was completely flayed, and he fainted from the pain. after this i searched the apartment, found a bag containing three hundred deenars, some handsome dresses, and other valuable articles, all of which i bundled up, and carried off; leaving the chief of the butchers, suspended, to his fate. when i had reached home, i gave my prize to my mother, saying, "this is only part of the value of my calf, which i have just received of the purchaser." early in the morning the butchers repaired, as usual, to the residence of their chief, and finding the door of the court-yard locked, joked one with another, saying, "our old gentleman has been so fatigued with his happiness that he sleeps longer than ordinary." they waited till near noon, when they called out for admittance; but receiving no answer, became apprehensive of some disaster, and forcing the door, found their chief suspended, almost lifeless, and his scars dropping blood. to their inquiries into the cause of his doleful situation, he replied, "that pretended vixen was no woman, but a brawny youth, the owner of the calf; who, in return for our roguery, has flogged me thus, and carried off all he could find in my chamber worth having." the butchers vowed revenge, saying, "we will seize and put him to death;" but their chief requested them for the present to be patient, and carry him to a warm bath, that he might wash and get his wounds dressed. i observed the chief butcher enter the bathing house alone, while his followers waited at the gate: upon which i went to a slaughter-house, poured over my back the blood of a sheep, dabbed it with plaisters of cotton, and leaning on a crutch, as if in agony of pain, repaired to the bath. at first the butchers refused me admittance, saying their chief was within; but on my entreating their compassion for my miserable condition, they at length permitted me to enter. passing through the different rooms, i came to the bath, in which i found the unfortunate chief washing his scars. i pulled out my whip, and having said to him, "shekh, this is the tail of my calf!" flogged him again so severely that he fainted; after which i made my escape by another entrance to the hummaum, which opened into a different street. the butchers growing impatient at the long stay of their chief in the bath, at length entered, and found him in extreme agony. he informed them of this second revenge of the owner of the calf, and requested that he would take him into the country, pitch a tent for his reception, and remain to guard him till he should be cured of his wounds. they did so; but i watched their motions, and disguising myself, repaired in the evening towards the tent. here i found a bedouin arab, whom i bribed with a piece of gold to cry out, "i am the owner of the calf, and will have the life of your chief!" cautioning him at the same time, after he had so exclaimed, to make his escape as quickly as possible from the butchers, who would pursue him. "i shall not heed them," replied he, "though they may be mounted on the fleetest coursers." having said this, the bedouin went up close to the tents, bawling out vociferously, as i had directed him: upon which all the butchers started up and pursued him, but in vain, to a great distance. i then entered the tent in which the chief was reposing alone, and pulling out my whip, once more flogged him till he roared with agony. when i was tired i bundled up such articles as i could lay my hands on; and returning home, presented them to my mother, saying, "here is the balance of the price of our calf." the butchers having attempted to overtake the bedouin, till they were wearied with running, but in vain, returned to their chief, whom they found in a fainting fit from the pain of his wounds. having sprinkled water on his face, they recovered him so far that he was able to inform them of what had happened; and to request them to convey him once more to his own house, to give out that he was dead of his wounds, and make a mock funeral; when, possibly, the owner of the calf, believing him departed this life, might cease to torment him. the butchers obeyed the commands of their chief, and reporting that he was dead, laid him in a litter, and marched in mournful procession towards the burying ground, followed by a great concourse of people. mixing with the crowd, in disguise, i at length stooped under the litter, and giving the chief, who lay extended in a winding sheet, a smart poke with a pointed stick, up he jumped, to the astonishment of the beholders; who cried out, "a miracle! a miracle! the dead is raised to life!" while i made my escape in the throng; but being fearful that the many tricks i had played, especially this last, might excite inquiry, and lead to a discovery, i fled from the city, and resolved to remain in this cave till curiosity should subside. the sultan exclaimed, "these adventures are surprising;" when the second inhabitant of the cave said, "my lord, my story is much more wonderful than the last; for i contrived not only to be dead and buried, but to escape from the tomb." "possibly," said the sultan, "thy adventures may have been stranger than those of this man; but if any of you are acquainted with the memoirs of ancient monarchs, i could wish you to relate them; however, at present, i must take you with me to the palace, that i may make you welcome." when the men heard this proposition, they were alarmed, and cried out, "what, my lord, would you carry us to the city from which we have escaped to save our lives?" "fear not," replied he, "i am the sultan, and was amusing myself with hunting when i chanced to discover your cave." they bowed themselves before him, and exclaimed, "to hear is to obey;" after which they attended him to the city. on their arrival, the sultan ordered them proper apartments and suitable entertainment, and invested each of them with a rich habit. for some days they remained enjoying themselves; when, at length, one evening the sultan commanded them to his presence, and requested a narrative, when one of them related the following story. history of the sultan of hind. in ancient days there lived a sultan of hind, than whom no prince of the age was greater in extent of territory, riches, or force; but heaven had not allotted to him offspring, either male or female: on which account he was involved in sorrow. one morning, being even more melancholy than usual, he put on a red habit, and repaired to his divan; when his vizier, alarmed at the robes of mourning, said, "what can have occasioned my lord to put on this gloomy habit?" "alas!" replied the sultan, "my soul is this morning overclouded with melancholy." "repair then to the treasury," said the vizier, "and view thy wealth; as, perhaps, the lustre of gold, and the brilliant sparkling of jewels, may amuse thy senses and disperse thy sorrow." "vizier," answered the sultan, "this world to me is all vanity; i regard nothing but the contemplation of the deity: yet how can i be relieved from melancholy, since i have lived to this age and he has not blessed me with children, either sons or daughters, who are the ornaments of manhood in this world?" the sultan had scarcely ceased speaking, when a human figure of a dusky hue appeared before him, and said, "my sovereign, here is a confection left me by my ancestors, with an assurance, that whoever might eat of it would have offspring." the sultan eagerly took the confection, and by the blessing of allah, one of the ladies of his haram conceived that very night. when her pregnancy was made known to him, the sultan was overjoyed, distributed large sums in charity to the poor, and every day comforted the distressed by his bounty. when the sultana had gone her full time, she was delivered of a son beautiful in aspect, and of graceful person; at which the sultan became overjoyed, and on that day set apart one half of his treasures for the use of the infant prince, who was intrusted to the charge of experienced nurses. after he had thrived sufficiently at the breast he was weaned, and at six years of age put under the care of learned tutors, who taught him to write, to read the koran, and instructed him in the other several branches of literature. when he had completed his twelfth year, he was accomplished in horsemanship, archery, and throwing the lance, till at length he became a distinguished cavalier, and excelled the most celebrated equestrians. the young prince being on a certain day hunting in the vicinity of the capital, there suddenly appeared soaring and wheeling in the air a bird, whose plumage was of the most beautiful and glossy green. the prince let fly an arrow, but without effect, and the bird suddenly disappeared. it was in vain that he turned his eye to all quarters, in hopes of again discovering his wished-for prey, for the bird had flown out of sight, and the prince after searching in all directions till the close of day, returned vexed and much disappointed to his father's palace. on his entrance, the sultan and sultana perceiving his countenance gloomy, inquired the cause of his melancholy, when he informed them of the bird: upon which, they said, "dear son, the creatures of the almighty are innumerably diversified; and, doubtless, there are many birds as beautiful, and wonderfully more so than this, whose escape you so much regret." "it may be so," replied the prince; "but unless i shall be able to take this, which has so captivated my fancy, i will abstain from food." on the following morning the prince repaired again to the chase, and having reached the same spot on the plain, to his great joy beheld the green bird. having taken a cautious aim, he let fly an arrow; but she evaded it, and soared before him in the air. the prince spurred his courser and followed, keeping his desired prey in sight unceasingly till sunset; when both himself and his horse being exhausted he gave up the pursuit, and returned towards the city. as he was riding slowly, and almost fainting with hunger and fatigue, there met him a venerable looking personage, who said, "prince, both thyself and thy charger seem exhausted; what can have been the cause of such over exercise?" "father," answered the prince, "i have been pursuing, but in vain, a beautiful green bird, on which i had set my mind." "son," replied the sage, "if thou wert to follow it for a whole year's journey, thy pursuit would be useless; for thou couldst never take it. this bird comes from a city in the country of kafoor, in which are most delightful gardens abounding in such birds as this, and many other species still more beautiful, some of which sing enchantingly, and others talk like human beings; but, alas thou canst never reach that happy spot. give up then all thoughts of the bird, and seek some other object for a favourite that thou mayst enjoy repose, and no longer vex thyself for impossibilities." when the prince heard this from the old man, he exclaimed, "by allah! nothing shall prevent me from visiting the charming country thou hast mentioned;" and leaving the sage, he rode homewards, his mind wholly taken up in meditating on the land of kafoor. when the prince had reached the palace, the sultan perceiving his disordered state, inquired the adventures of the day; and being informed of his fruitless pursuit, and the remarks of the old man, said, "my son, discharge this idle chimera from thy mind, nor perplex thyself longer, since he who wishes for an impossibility may pine himself to death, but can never gain his desires: calm then thy soul, nor vex thyself longer in vain." "by allah!" answered the prince, "my soul, o my father, is captivated with the desire of possessing this bird more strongly than ever, from the words of the venerable old man; nor is it possible i can enjoy repose till i have travelled to the island of kafoor, and beheld the gardens containing such a wonderful feathered species." "alas! my dear son," exclaimed the sultan, "think how afflicting must be to myself and thy mother thy absence from our sight, and for our sakes give up such a fruitless expedition." the prince, notwithstanding the remonstrances of his father, continued obstinate, and said, "my travelling is inevitable: grant me then permission, or i will put myself to death." "if so," exclaimed the affrighted sultan, "there is no refuge or help but from the omnipotent allah: well has the proverb remarked, that the nestling would not be restrained from the air, when suddenly the raven pounced upon it and bore it away. heaven guard my son from the consequences of his imprudence." having said thus, the sultan commanded preparations for the requisites of travel, and ordered a force to accompany the headstrong prince; who, having taken leave of his afflicted parents, began his expedition towards the country of kafoor. the prince pursued his journey without any extraordinary adventure for a whole month, and at the expiration of it arrived at a spot from which branched out three roads. at the junction of them was erected a lofty pyramid, each face fronting one of the roads. on one face was inscribed, "this is named the path of safety:" on the second, "this is called the way of repentance:" and on the third, "whoever follows this road will not probably return." "i will pursue this last," said the prince to himself, and accordingly striking into it, proceeded onwards for twenty days, at the end of which he encamped near a desolated city, crumbling into ruin, wholly destitute of inhabitants. he commanded his attendants, as no provisions could be found in the city, to kill five sheep of the flocks he had brought with him, and dress them for their refreshment in various ways. when all were ready, and the simmaut was spread out, having performed his ablutions, he sat down with his principal followers. the prince and his company had scarcely seated themselves, when, lo! there advanced from the desolated city a genie, whom the prince seeing, stood up, and thus accosted, "hail! and welcome to the sovereign of the aoon, friendly to his brethren, and ruler of this extensive desert." he then addressed him, flatteringly, in fluent language and eloquent expression. the hair of this oone genie hung shaggily over his eyes, and flowed in matted tresses upon his shoulders. the prince took out a pair of scissors, and having condescendingly cut his hair, pared his nails, and washed him, seated him at the cloth, and placed before him the dish dressed peculiarly for himself. the oone ate, and was delighted with the affability of the prince, whom he addressed, saying, "by allah, o mahummud, son of a sultan! i am doomed to death by thy arrival here; but what, my lord, was thy object in coming?" upon this the prince informed him of his having seen the bird, his vain attempts to take her, the account he had received from the old man, and his resolution, in consequence of his information, to penetrate to the kingdom of kafoor, to visit the gardens, and bring away some of the wonderful birds. when the oone heard this, he said, "o son of a sultan, that country to thee is impenetrable, thou canst not reach it; for the distance from hence is a journey of three hundred years to the most laborious traveller; how then canst thou hope to arrive at it, much more return? but, my son, the good old proverb remarks, that kindness should be returned with kindness, and evil with evil, and that none are so cruel or so benevolent as the inhabitants of the desert. as thou hast treated me kindly, so, god willing, shalt thou have a return for thy goodness; but thou must leave here thy attendants and thy effects. thou and i only will go together, and i will accomplish thy wish in gratitude for what thou hast done for me." the prince immediately retired from his encampment with the oone, who said, "mount upon my shoulders." the prince obeyed the commands of the oone, who having first stopped his rider's ears with cotton, mounted into the air, and after soaring for some hours descended; when the prince found himself in the island of kafoor, and near the desired garden. having alighted from the shoulders of the generous oone, he examined the spot, beheld groves, blooming shrubs, flowers bordering clear streams, and beautiful birds chanting various melodies. the oone said, "behold the object, of thy search, enter the garden!" upon this the prince left him, passed the gate, which was open, and entered. he walked on every quarter, and depending from the branches of flowering shrubs saw cages holding a variety of beautiful birds, two birds in each cage. the prince took down a large cage, and having examined the birds, placed in it such as pleased him to the number of six, with which he was preparing to leave the garden; when at the gate a watchman met him, who cried out loudly, "a robber! a robber!" instantly numerous guards rushing out, seized the prince, bound, and carried him before the sultan, to whom they complained, saying, "we found in the garden this young man, carrying off a cage with six birds. he must certainly be a robber." the sultan addressed the prince, saying, "what induced thee, youthful stranger, to violate my property, trespass on the garden, and attempt stealing these birds?" the prince returned no answer: upon which the sultan exclaimed, "young man, thou art verging upon death; yet still, if thy soul is bent upon having these birds, bring me from the black island some bunches of grapes, which are composed of emeralds and diamonds, and i will give thee six birds in addition to those thou hast stolen." having said this, the sultan released the prince, who repaired to his generous friend the oone, whom he informed of the unlucky conclusion of his adventure. "our task is an easy one," answered the oone; "mount upon my shoulders." the prince did as he was desired, and after two hours flight the oone descended and alighted, when the prince found himself in the black island. he immediately advanced towards the garden in which was the fruit composed of emeralds and diamonds. on the way a monster met him of terrible appearance. the monster sprung at the prince, who, with surprising agility, drawing his sword, wounded the furious beast on the forehead with such effect, that, uttering a dreadful groan, he fell dead at his feet. it happened, by divine decree, that the sultan's daughter looking from a window of the haram, beheld the combat, and, stricken with the manly beauty and prowess of the prince, exclaimed, "who can withstand thy courage, or who resist thy all conquering charms?" but he did not see the princess, or hear her applause. the prince, after having slain the monster, proceeded to the garden, the gate of which he found open, and on entering, perceived variety of artificial trees composed of precious stones. among them was one resembling the vine, the fruits of which were of emeralds and diamonds. he plucked off six bunches, and was quitting the garden when a sentinel met him; who, being alarmed, cried out, "a robber! a robber!" the guards rushed out, and having bound him, carried him before the sultan, saying, "my lord, we found this youth stealing the fruit from the garden of jewels." the sultan was enraged, and on the point of ordering him to be put to death, when a number of persons entered, crying out, "good tidings to our sovereign." "on what account?" exclaimed the sultan. "the horrible monster," replied they, "who used annually to appear and devour our sons and daughters, we have just now found dead and cloven in two." the sultan was so rejoiced at this happy event, that he refrained from the blood of the prince, and exclaimed, "whoever has destroyed this monster let him come to me, and i swear by allah, who has invested me with royalty, that i will give him my daughter in marriage; and whatever else he may desire, even to the half of my empire." upon the sultan's declaration being proclaimed, several young men appeared, pretending that they had killed the monster, and gave various accounts of the combat, which made the prince smile. "by allah! it is strange," said the sultan, "that a youth in such a perilous situation should be so unconcerned as to smile." while the sultan was ruminating on this occurrence, a eunuch entered from the haram, requesting that he would come and speak to the princess his daughter, who had business of importance to communicate; upon which the sultan arose, and retired from the hall of audience. when the sultan had entered the princess's apartment, he said, "what can have happened which has occasioned you to send for me so suddenly?" she replied, "is it thy wish to know who slew the monster, and to reward the courageous hero?" "by allah," answered the sultan, "who created subjects and their sovereigns, if i can discover him, my first offer to him shall be to espouse thee, whatever be his condition, or though he dwell in the most distant region." the princess rejoined, "no one slew the monster but the youth who entered the garden of gems, and was bearing off the fruit, whom thou wast just now on the point of putting to death." when the sultan heard the above from his daughter, he returned to the divan, and calling the prince before him, said, "young man, i grant thee thy pardon; art thou he who destroyed the monster?" "i am," replied the prince. the sultan would instantly have summoned the cauzee to perform the espousals; but the prince said, "i have a friend to consult; permit me to retire, and i will soon return." the sultan consented, saying, "thy request is but reasonable; but come back quickly." the prince having repaired to his friend the oone, informed him of what had happened to him, and of the offer of the sultan's daughter in marriage: upon which the oone said, "accept the princess; but on condition that, if you marry her, you shall be allowed to carry her to your own kingdom." the prince having returned to the sultan, proposed his terms, which were readily agreed to, and the nuptials were celebrated with the most splendid magnificence. after abiding in the palace of the sultan for a month and three days, he requested permission to depart with his bride towards his own country, which was granted. on the departure of the prince, his father-in-law presented him with a hundred bunches of the grapes composed of emeralds and diamonds, and he repaired to his friend the oone; who, having first stopped their ears with cotton, mounted them upon his shoulders, and soaring into the air, after two hours descended near the capital of the island of kafoor. the prince, taking four bunches of the jewelled fruit, hastened to the palace, and laid them before the sultan; who, in astonishment, exclaimed, "surely, this young stranger must be a powerful magician, or how could he have travelled the distance of three hundred years' journey, and have accomplished his purpose in less time than three months! such an action is truly miraculous. hast thou, indeed, young man," said the sultan, "been at the black island?" "i have," answered the prince. "describe it to me," replied the sultan, "its appearance, its buildings, its gardens, and rivers." the prince having answered all his queries, the sultan said, "noble youth, you may assuredly ask of me whatever you wish!" "i want nothing but the birds," rejoined the prince. "they are thine," returned the sultan; "but annually on a certain day, and this is it, there descends from yonder mountain a monstrous vulture, which tears in pieces our men, women, and children; and having flown away with them in his gigantic talons devours their flesh. i have a beautiful daughter, whom, if thou canst overcome this calamitous monster, i will give to thee in marriage." the prince replied, "i will consult my friend;" and then returned to the oone, whom he informed of the offer; but he had scarcely done speaking, when, lo! the vulture appeared: upon which the oone, ascending into the air, attacked the monster, and after a fierce combat, tore him into halves; after which he descended to the prince, and said, "go to the sultan, and acquaint him that his destructive enemy is slain." the prince did as he was directed: upon which the sultan with his train, and an immense crowd of the inhabitants of the city, came out on horseback, and beheld the monstrous vulture, stretched dead on the ground, torn in halves. the sultan then conducted the prince of hind to the palace; where his marriage with the princess was instantly celebrated, amid the highest festivity and rejoicings; and after remaining a full month at the sultan's court, he requested leave to depart; when his father-in-law presented him with ten cages, in each of which were four of the beautiful birds of variously coloured plumage, and dismissed him, after an affectionate farewell, with his daughter. the prince having departed from the sultan repaired to his faithful friend the oone, who welcomed his return; and having mounted him upon his back with his two brides, his jewel fruit, and the cages, immediately ascended into the air, from whence, after soaring for some hours, he gradually descended, and alighted near the ruined city, where the prince had left his tents, cattle, and followers, whom he found anxiously expecting his arrival. the friendly oone had scarcely set him down, when he said to the prince, "my young friend mahummud, the obligation already conferred upon me by thy coming here was great; but i have one more favour to request." "what can that be?" replied the prince. "that thou leave not this spot," continued the oone, "until thou hast washed my corpse, enshrouded, and laid it in the grave." having said thus, the oone suddenly uttered one loud groan, and instantly his soul took its flight from the body. the astonished prince stood for some time overpowered with sorrow; but at length recovering himself, he, with the assistance of his domestics, washed the corpse, wrapped it in a winding sheet, and having prayed over it, deposited it in the earth. the funeral ceremonies of his friend being over, he commenced his march homewards, and after three days arrived in sight of the inscribed pyramid, near which he perceived an extensive encampment, which, on reconnoitring, he found to be that of his father. the aged sultan, unable to bear the absence of his son, had marched from his capital in hopes of overtaking him; but on his arrival at the junction of the three ways, being confounded at the sight of the inscriptions, he had halted, not knowing where to proceed. great was his joy on discovering the prince advancing towards that face of the pyramid on which was engraved, "whoever travels this road will probably never return." when the raptures of meeting and mutual congratulations were over, the prince informed the sultan of his wonderful and successful adventures, which overpowered him with astonishment and joy. after reposing a few days, they proceeded towards the capital of the sultan; where tidings having arrived of their approach, the inhabitants ornamented the city with silks, carpets, and transparent paintings; and the nobles and respectable persons issued forth with splendid trains to meet and congratulate their sovereign and the prince, who entered in triumphal procession, amid the greatest rejoicings and prayers for their welfare and prosperity. story of the fisherman's son. a fisherman's son having in company with his father caught a large fish, the latter proposed to present it to the sultan, in hopes of receiving a great reward. while he was gone home to fetch a basket, the son, moved by compassion, returned the fish into the water; but fearful of his father's anger, fled from his country, and repaired to a distant city, where he was entertained by a person as a servant. strolling one day in the market, he saw a jew purchase of a lad a cock at a very high price, and send it by his slave to his wife, with orders to keep it safely till his return home. the fisherman's son supposing that as the jew gave so great a price for the cock it must possess some extraordinary property, resolved to obtain it; and, accordingly, having bought two large fowls, carried them to the jew's wife, whom he informed that her husband had sent him for the cock, which he had exchanged for the fowls. she gave it him; and he having retired, killed the bird, in whose entrails he found a magical ring; which being rubbed by his touch, a voice proceeded from it demanding what were the commands of its possessor, which should be immediately executed by the genii who were servants of the ring. the fisherman's son was rejoiced at his good fortune, and while meditating what use he should make of his ring, passed by the sultan's palace, at the gates of which were suspended many human heads. he inquired the reason, and was informed that they were those of unfortunate princes, who having failed in performing the conditions on which the sultan's daughter was offered them in marriage, had been put to death. hoping to be more fortunate than them by the aid of his ring, he resolved to demand the princess's hand. he rubbed the ring, when the voice asked his commands: upon which he required a rich dress, and it was instantly laid before him. he put it on, repaired to the palace, and being introduced to the sultan, demanded his daughter to wife. the sultan consented, on condition that his life should be forfeited unless he should remove a lofty and extensive mound of sand that lay on one side of the palace, which must be done before he could wed the princess. he accepted the condition; but demanded an interval of forty days to perform the task. this being agreed to, he took his leave, and having repaired to his lodging, rubbed his ring, commanded the genii to remove the mound, and erect on the space it covered a magnificent palace, and to furnish it suitably for a royal residence. in fifteen days the task was completed; he was wedded to the princess, and declared heir to the sultan. in the mean while, the jew whom he had tricked of the cock and the magical ring resolved to travel in search of his lost prize, and at last arrived at the city, where he was informed of the wonderful removal of the mound, and the erection of the palace. he guessed that it must have been done by means of his ring, to recover which he planned the following stratagem. having disguised himself as a merchant, he repaired to the palace, and cried for sale valuable jewels. the princess hearing him, sent an attendant to examine them and inquire their price, when the jew asked in exchange only old rings. this being told to the princess, she recollected that her husband kept an old shabby looking ring in his writing stand, and he being asleep, she took it out, and sent it to the jew; who, knowing it to be the one he had so long sought for, eagerly gave for it all the jewels in his basket. he retired with his prize, and having rubbed the ring, commanded the genii to convey the palace and all its inhabitants, excepting the fisherman's son, into a distant desert island, which was done instantly. the fisherman's son, on awaking in the morning, found himself lying on the mound of sand, which had reoccupied its old spot. he arose, and in alarm lest the sultan should put him to death in revenge for the loss of his daughter, fled to another kingdom as quickly as possible. here he endured a disconsolate life, subsisting on the sale of some jewels, which he happened to have upon his dress at his flight. wandering one day through a town, a man offered him for sale a dog, a cat, and a rat, which he purchased, and kept, diverting his melancholy with their tricks, and uncommon playfulness together. these seeming animals proved to be magicians; who, in return for his kindness, agreed to recover for their master his lost prize, and informed him of their intention. he eagerly thanked them, and they all set out in search of the palace, the ring, and the princess. at length they reached the shore of the ocean, after much travel, and descried the island on which it stood, when the dog swam over, carrying on his back the cat and the rat. being landed, they proceeded to the palace; when the rat entered, and perceived the jew asleep upon a sofa, with the ring laid before him, which he seized in his mouth, and then returned to his companions. they began to cross the sea, as before, but when about half over the dog expressed a wish to carry the ring in his mouth. the rat refused, lest he should drop it; but the dog threatened, unless he would give it him, to dive and drown them both in the sea. the rat, alarmed for his life, complied with his demand: but the dog missed his aim in snatching at the ring, which fell into the ocean. they landed, and informed the fisherman's son of his loss: upon which he, in despair, resolved to drown himself; when suddenly, as he was going to execute his purpose, a great fish appearing with the ring in his mouth, swam close to shore, and having dropped it within reach of the despairing youth, miraculously exclaimed, "i am the fish which you released from captivity, and thus reward you for your generosity." the fisherman's son, overjoyed, returned to his father-in-law's capital, and at night rubbing the ring, commanded the genii to convey the palace to its old site. this being done in an instant, he entered the palace, and seized the jew, whom he commanded to be cast alive into a burning pile, in which he was consumed. from this period he lived happily with his princess, and on the death of the sultan succeeded to his dominions. story of abou neeut and abou neeuteen; or, the well-intentioned and the double-minded. a person named abou neeut, or the well-intentioned, being much distressed in his own country, resolved to seek a better livelihood in another. accordingly he took with him all he possessed, being only one single sherif, and began his journey. he had not travelled far when there overtook him a man, who entertained him with his conversation; in the course of which it appeared that his name was abou neeuteen, or double-minded. being upon the same scheme, they agreed to seek their fortunes together, and it was settled that abou neeut should be the purse-bearer of the common stock. the other possessed ten sherifs. after some days of toilsome journey they reached a city; on entering which, a beggar accosted them, crying out, "worthy believers, disburse your alms and ye shall be rewarded ten-fold." upon this, abou neeut gave him a sherif; when his companion, enraged at what he thought prodigality, demanded back his money, which was given him, and he marched off leaving his new friend without any thing. abou neeut, resigned to his fate, and relying on providence, proceeded to a mosque to pay his devotions, hoping to meet some charitable person who would relieve his necessities; but he was mistaken. for a night and day he remained in the mosque, but no one offered him charity. pressed by hunger, he in the dusk of evening stole out, and wandered with fainting steps through the streets. at length perceiving a servant throwing the fragments from an eating cloth, he advanced, and gathering them up, sat down in a corner, and gnawed the bones and half-eaten morsels with eagerness; after which, lifting up his eyes towards heaven, he thanked god for his scanty meal. the servant, who had observed his motions, was surprised and affected at his wretched condition and devotion, of which he informed his master; who, being a charitable man, took from his purse ten sherifs, which he ordered the servant to give to abou neeut. the servant, through avarice, having retained one sherif as a perquisite, delivered the rest to abou neeut; who, having counted the money, thanked god for his bounty; but said, agreeably to the scriptural declaration he ought to have had ten-fold for the sherif he had given to the beggar. the master of the servant overhearing this, called abou neeut up stairs; and having seated him, inquired his story, which he faithfully related to his host, who was a capital merchant, and was so much pleased at his pious simplicity, that he resolved to befriend him, and desired him to abide for the present in his house. abou neeut had resided some days with his friendly host, when the season arrived at which the merchant, who was punctual in discharging the duties of religion, having examined his stock, set apart the tenth of it in kind, and bestowed it upon his guest, whom he advised to open a shop and try his fortune in trade. abou neeut did so, and was so successful, that in a few years he became one of the most reputable merchants in the place. at the end of this period, sitting one day in his warehouse, he saw in the streets wretchedly habited, lean, and with eyes sunken and dim, his old companion abou neeuteen, begging alms of passengers with the importunate cry of distress. abou neeut compassionating his miserable situation, ordered a servant to call him to him; and on his arrival, having seated him, sent for refreshments to relieve his immediate want. he then invited him to spend the night at his house; and in the evening, having shut up his warehouse, conducted him home, where a bath was made warm for him, and when he had bathed, he was presented with a change of handsome apparel. supper was served, and when they had eaten till they were satisfied they conversed on several subjects. at length abou neeut exclaimed, "dost thou not recollect me, my brother?" "no, by allah, most liberal host," replied the other; "but who art thou?" "i was," answered abou neeut, "the companion of thy travel at such a period; but my disposition is still unchanged, nor have i forgotten our old connection. half of what i possess is thine." having said this, abou neeut balanced his accounts, and gave half of his property to his distressed fellow traveller; who with it stocked a warehouse, and traded for himself with good success. for some time the two friends lived near each other in great repute, when abou neeuteen growing restless, requested abou neeut to quit their present abode, and travel for recreation and profit. "my dear friend," replied abou neeut, "why should we travel? have we not here affluence and ease, and what more can we enjoy in any part of the world?" this remonstrance had no effect on abou neeuteen, who became so importunate, that at length his kind friend yielded to his whim; they loaded an ample stock of merchandize on mules and camels, and departed for the city of moussul. after travelling ten days, they one evening encamped near a deep well, round which they took up their lodging. in the morning abou neeut, by his own desire, was let down into the well, more readily to fill the water bags for the use of the caravan, men and cattle, little apprehending what was by providence decreed to befall him; for his ungrateful friend, who envied his prosperity, and coveted his wealth, having loaded the beasts, cut the rope at the top of the well, and leaving him to his fate, departed. abou neeut remained all day without food, but humbly putting his trust in allah for deliverance. about the middle of the following night he overheard two afreets in conversation with each other, when one said, "i am now perfectly happy: for at length i have possessed the beautiful princess of moussul, and no one can drive me away, unless by sprinkling the infusion of wormwood under her feet on a friday during divine service in the great mosque, a recipe which will hardly be found out." "i," continued the other afreet, "have been as fortunate as yourself: for i am in possession of such a hidden treasure of gold and jewels, under the mound near moussul, as cannot be computed, the talisman of which cannot be opened to any one unless by killing on the mound a white cock, and pouring over it the blood; which secret i judge, will not be found out by man." having said this, the afreets took their flight from the well. abou neeut treasured up in his mind the conversation of the afreets, and at day-light was happily delivered from the well by the arrival of a caravan, some of the followers of which were let down to fill water, and having discovered him, charitably drew him up, and gave him some refreshments. when he was somewhat revived by them, they inquired by what accident he had remained in the well; and he, concealing the treachery of his ungrateful companion, informed them that having reposed to sleep on the edge he had fallen in, and not being missed at the time by his fellow travellers, the caravan had proceeded on its journey. he then begged leave to accompany his generous deliverers to moussul, to which they agreed, and liberally furnished him with a conveyance. on entering the city abou neeut perceived all the people in motion, and on inquiring the reason, was informed that they were hastening to the great square before the palace, to see the beheading of a physician, who had failed in attempting to expel an evil spirit that had long possessed the daughter of the sultan, and that such had been the fate of many unhappy men who had tried their skill upon the unfortunate princess. upon this intelligence he hastened with all speed to the palace, and having obtained admission to the sultan, made the usual prostrations; after which he offered to expel the evil spirit, and begged as part of his reward the sparing of the life of the unsuccessful physician. to this the sultan for the present agreed; but declared, that should abou neeut fail in his undertaking, he would execute them together, as ignorant pretenders in their art. abou neeut then begged that the trial of his skill might be deferred till the friday, which he requested of the sultan might be solemnly observed, as the devout prayers of all true believers would draw down a blessing on his operations. the sultan consented; the unfortunate physician was released from the executioner, and commanded to be kept in the palace, in which abou neeut had also an apartment allotted him. proclamation was then made through the city for the strict celebration of the approaching sabbath, under pain of the royal displeasure on those who should neglect it. friday being arrived, and the whole city assembled at prayers, abou neeut prepared his infusion of wormwood, as the afreet had mentioned. being introduced into the apartment of the princess, who lay in a melancholy stupor, he poured the infusion upon her feet, when a loud yell was heard near her, and she starting up, as if from sleep, called upon her attendants to assist her in rising. news was immediately conveyed to the sultan of the princess's recovery, and he came overjoyed to witness her returned senses. he commanded public rejoicings to be made, large sums to be distributed in alms, and desired abou neeut to demand what he chose in reward for his important service, at the same time ordering the unsuccessful physician to be set at liberty, with a handsome present. abou neeut, who had been captivated by the beauty of the princess, asked, as his reward, her hand in marriage: upon which the sultan consulted with his viziers, who advised him to dismiss the petitioner for the present, with orders to return in the morning, when he should receive the sultan's decision on a request which demanded much consideration. when abou neeut had retired, the viziers represented to the sultan, that it was fitting the husband of his daughter should at least possess great wealth: for though abou neeut had expelled the evil spirit, yet if he could not support her in a manner becoming her rank, he was not worthy to marry her. they, therefore, advised him to select a number of his most valuable jewels, to shew them to abou neeut, and demand as a dowry for the princess some of equal estimation; which if he could produce he was ready to receive him as his son-in-law; but if not, he must accept a compensation for his services more suited to his condition than the royal alliance. on abou neeut's appearance at court the next morning the sultan displayed the jewels, and made the proposal advised by his viziers; when looking with the utmost indifference upon the brilliant stones before him, he assured the sultan that he would the next day present him with ten times the number, of superior value and lustre; which declaration astonished the whole court, as it was known that no prince possessed richer gems than those in possession of the sultan of moussul. abou neeut having taken leave of the sultan proceeded to the poultry market, and having purchased a cock entirely white and free from blemish, brought it to his lodgings, where he continued till the rising of the moon, when he walked out of the city alone, and speeded to the mound of blueish earth mentioned by the afreet of the well to contain the invaluable hidden treasure. being arrived at the mound, he ascended it, cut the throat of the cock, whose blood began to flow, when, lo! the earth shook, and soon made an opening, through which, to his great satisfaction, he perceived such heaps of inestimable precious stones, of all sorts, as are not to be adequately described, abou neeut now went back to the city, where, having procured ten camels, with two panniers on each, he returned and loaded them with his treasure, which he conveyed to his lodging, having first filled up the cavity of the mound. in the morning abou neeut repaired with his loaded camels to the palace, and entering the court of the divan, in which the sultan sat expecting him, after a profound obeisance, cried out, "descend for a moment, my lord, and examine the dowry of the princess." the sultan, arising from his throne, came down the steps of the hall, and the camels being made to kneel, he examined the panniers, and was so astonished at the richness of their contents, being jewels far surpassing his own in size and lustre, that he exclaimed, "by allah! if the treasuries of all the sultans of the world were brought together they could not afford gems equal to these." when somewhat recovered from his surprise, he inquired of his viziers how he should now act towards abou neeut; when they all unanimously cried out, "by all means give him your daughter." the marriage was then immediately celebrated with great splendour, and abou neeut conducted himself so well in his high station, that the sultan his father-in-law committed to him the giving public audience in his stead, and the decision of all appeals, three days in each week. some time had elapsed after his elevation, when abou neeut one day giving audience in the magnificent hall of one of his country palaces, beheld a man among the crowd of a sorrowful aspect, dressed in a wretched habit, who cried, "o true believers, o charitable gentlemen, relieve the distressed!" abou neeut commanded one of his mace-bearers to bring him to his presence, and on his appearance recognized his treacherous companion who had left him in the well. without making himself known, or betraying any emotion but that of compassion, he ordered attendants to conduct him to the warm bath; in which being refreshed, he was arrayed in a magnificent habit, and again brought to the divan. abou neeut having retired with him into a closet, said, "knowest them me not, my old friend?" "no, by allah," replied the other. "know then," returned he, "that i am abou neeut, thy benefactor and companion, whom you treacherously left in the well." he then related all his adventures, concluding them with an assurance, that so far from resenting his treachery, he regarded his conduit as the impulse of fate, and as the means by which he, himself, had attained his present dignity and affluence, which he would share with him. the envious heart of abou neeuteen was unconquerable; and instead of thanking the noble-minded abou neeut for his forgiveness and liberality, he exclaimed, "since the well has been to thee so fortunate, why should it not prove so also to me?" having said this, he hastily rose up and quitted abou neeut, who would not punish such rudeness, even without taking leave. abou neeuteen hastened with all speed to the well, and having descended by a rope, sat down, impatiently expecting the arrival of the afreets, who about midnight alighted, and resting themselves on the terrace above, began to inquire each other's adventures. "since we met last," said one, "i have been rendered miserable; for a cunning mussulmaun found out the secret of overpowering me, and has married my princess, nor can i revenge myself, for he is under the protection of a converted genie, whom the prophet has appointed to watch over him." "i," continued the other afreet, "have been equally unfortunate with thyself; for the same man who has wedded thy mistress discovered my hidden treasure, and keeps it in spite of my attempts to recover it: but let us fill up this abominable well, which must have been the cause of all our disasters." having said thus, the two afreets immediately hurled the terrace and large stones into the well, which crushed the ungrateful and envious abou neeuteen to atoms. some days after this, the good abou neeut, finding he did not return, repaired to the well, and seeing it fallen in, ordered it to be cleared; when the discovery of the body proved to him that the malicious spirit of the wretch had been the cause of his own destruction. he with reverence exclaimed, "there is no refuge but with the almighty; may he preserve us from envy, which is destructive to the envious alone!" abou neeut returned to the capital, where, not long after, his father-in-law the sultan dying, left him heir to his kingdom. his succession was disputed by the husbands of the two elder sisters of his wife; but the ministers and people being in favour of the sultan's will, they resigned their pretensions and submitted to his authority. his wife being brought to bed of a son, her sisters bribed the midwife to pretend that the sultana had produced a dog. they did the same by another son. at the third lying-in of the sultana abou neeut resolved to be present, and a beautiful princess appeared. the two infant princes having been thrown at the gate of one of the royal palaces, were taken up by the gardener and his wife, who brought them up as their own. abou neeut in visiting the garden with his daughter, who shewed an instinctive affection for them, from this, and their martial play with each other (having made horses of clay, bows and arrows, &c.), was induced to inquire of the gardener whether they were really his own children. the gardener upon this related the circumstance of his having found them exposed at the gate of the palace, and mentioned the times, which agreed exactly with those of the sultana's delivery. abou neeut then questioned the midwife, who confessed the imposition and wickedness of the sisters, whom he left to be punished by the pangs of their own consciences, convinced that envy is its own severest tormentor. the young princes were acknowledged; and the good abou neeut had the satisfaction of seeing them grow up to follow his example. adventure of a courtier, related by himself to his patron, an ameer of egypt. it is related by an historian that there was an ameer of the land of egypt, whose mind being one night unusually disturbed, he sent for one of his courtiers, a convivial companion, and said to him, "to-night my bosom, from what cause i know not, is uncommonly restless, and i wish thee to divert me by some amusing narrative." the courtier replied, "to hear is to obey: i will describe an adventure which i encountered in the youthful part of my life." when a very young man i was deeply in love with a beautiful arab maiden, adorned by every elegance and grace, who resided with her parents; and i used frequently to visit their camp, for her family was one of the desert tribes. one day my mind felt uncommonly anxious concerning her, and i resolved to seek relief by a visit; but when i reached the spot found neither my beloved nor any of her kindred. i questioned some passengers, who informed me that the family had removed their encampment from scarcity of forage for their herds and camels. i remained for some time on the ground; but observing no signs of their return, my impatience of absence became intolerable, and my love compelled me to travel in search of my charmer. though the shades of evening were falling, i replaced the saddle upon my camel, put on my vestments, and girding on my sabre proceeded. i had advanced some distance, when the night became dismally black, and from the darkness i now sunk into sands and hollows, and now ascended declivities, while the yells of wild beasts resounded on every quarter. my heart beat with apprehension, and my tongue did not cease to repeat the attributes of the almighty, our only defender in time of need. at length stupor overcame my senses, and i slept; while my camel quitted the track, and wandered from the route i had meant to pursue all night. suddenly my head was violently intercepted by the branch of a tree, and i was awakened by the blow, which gave me infinite pain. as i recovered myself i beheld trees, verdure sprinkled with flowers, and a clear rivulet; also a variety of birds, whose notes were melodiously sweet. i alighted from my camel, and laid the bridle on my arm, as the underwood of the thicket was closely entwined. i did not cease leading my camel till i was out of the thicket, when i remounted; but at a loss which way to go, and unknowing where providence might direct me, i reached the desert, and cast my eyes over the expanse; when, lo! at length a smoke appeared in the midst of it. i whipped my camel, and at length reached a fire, and near it observed a handsome tent, before which was a standard planted, surrounded by spears, horses picketted, and camels grazing. i said to myself, "what can mean this tent, which has a grand appearance, in so solitary a plain?" i then went to the rear of the tent, and exclaimed, "health to you, o inhabitants of this tent, and may the almighty to you be merciful!" upon this there advanced from it a youth, seemingly about nineteen, who appeared graceful as the rising moon, and valour and benevolence gleamed upon his aspect. he returned my salutation, and said, "brother arab, perchance thou hast missed thy way." i answered, "yes, shew it, and may god requite thee!" upon which he replied, "my dwelling, brother arab, is at present in this wild spot; but the night is dreary, and shouldst thou proceed there is no surety against wild beasts tearing thee in pieces. lodge, then, at present with me in safety, and repose, and when day shall appear i will direct thee on thy way." i alighted, when he took my camel, picketted her, and gave her water and fodder. he then retired for a while; but returned with a sheep, which he killed, flayed, and cut up; then lighted a fire, and when it was of a proper glow broiled part of the sheep, which he had previously seasoned with sundry dried herbs, seeds, and spices, and when ready presented his cookery to me. during his hospitalities i observed that my kind host sometimes beat his breast and wept, from which i guessed that he was in love, and a wanderer, like myself. my curiosity was raised; but i said within myself, "i am his guest, why should i intrude upon him by painful questions?" and refrained from inquiry. when i had eaten as much as sufficed me, the youth arose, went into his tent, and brought out a basin and ewer, with a napkin embroidered with silk and fringed with gold; also a cruet of rose water, in which musk had been infused. i was astonished at his proceedings, and the politeness of his demeanour, and exclaimed inwardly, "how wonderful is the abode of so accomplished a personage in this wild desert." we made our ablutions, and conversed awhile upon various subjects; after which my gentle host went to his tent, from whence he brought out a piece of red silk damask, which he divided between us, saying, "brother arab, go into my tent and choose thy place of repose, for last night and to-day great must have been thy hardship and fatigue." i entered the tent, and in one partition of it found a mattress of green damask: upon which, having pulled off my upper garments, i lay down, and slept so soundly that i never enjoyed, before or since, so refreshing a repose. at length i awoke, when night was far advanced, and became involved in thought respecting my hospitable host; but knew not what to conjecture, and was sinking again into slumber, when, lo! gentle murmurs struck my ears, than which i never heard sound more soft or tenderly affecting. i lifted up the curtain of my partition, and looked around, when i beheld a damsel more beautiful than any i had ever seen, seated by the generous owner of the tent. they wept and complained of the agonies of love, of separation and interruptions to their desire of frequent meetings. then i said within myself, "there is a wonderfully dignified appearance in this amiable youth, yet he lives alone, and i have seen no other tent on the plain. what can i conjecture, but that this damsel must be a daughter of one of the good genii, who has fallen in love with him, and upon her account he has retired to this solitary spot?" respect for their love made me drop the curtain; i drew the coverlid over me, and again fell asleep. when the morning dawned i awoke, dressed, and having performed my ablutions and prayers, said to the young man, who had already risen, "brother arab, if in addition to thy hospitalities already shewn thou wilt put me in my way, my obligations will be complete." he looked kindly, and said, "if convenient, my brother, let me entertain thee as my guest for three days." i could not refuse his hospitable request, and abode with him. on the third day i ventured to inquire his name and family, when he replied, "i am of the noble tribe of azzra," and i discovered that he was the son of my father's brother. "son of my uncle," exclaimed i, "what can have induced thee to court the seclusion of this desert spot, and to quit thy kinsmen, neighbours, and dependents?" upon hearing these words, the eyes of the youth became suffused with tears, he sighed, and said, "ah! my cousin, i passionately admired the daughter of my uncle, and was so devoted to her love that i asked her in marriage; but he refused me, and wedded her to another of our tribe richer than myself, who carried her to his abode. when she was thus torn from me, despair agitated my soul, i quitted my relations, friends, and companions, became enamoured of solitude, and retired to this lonely spot." when he had finished his communication, i said, "but where is the abode of thy beloved and thy successful rival?" he replied, "near the summit of yonder mountain, from whence, as frequently as opportunity will allow, in the stillness of night, when sleep hath overpowered the eyes of the village, she ventures to my tent, and we enjoy the company of each other; but believe me, my brother, our passion is innocent as devotional love. hence i dwell here in the manner you have witnessed, and while she visits me delightful will pass the hours, until allah shall execute his appointed decrees, and reward our constancy in this world, or consign us to the grave together." when the unfortunate youth had concluded his narration, at which i was affected with sincere compassion for his circumstances, an eager desire to relieve the lovers from their oppressors occupied my mind, and after much consideration i addressed him thus: "if thou choosest, i think i can point out a plan which, under the blessing of allah, may end the sufferings of thyself and thy beloved." he replied, "o son of my uncle, reveal it to me!" and i continued, saying, "when night shall arrive, and the damsel cometh, let us seat her upon my camel; for she is sure-footed and swift of pace; do thou then mount thy steed, and i will accompany you upon one of your camels. we will travel all night, and ere morning shall have passed the forest, when you will be safe, and thy heart will be rendered happy with thy beloved. the land of god is wide enough to afford us an asylum; and by heaven i swear, that while life remains i will be thy friend." the youth replied, "son of my uncle, i will consult upon thy plan with my beloved, for she is prudent and well-informed." when night had shut in, and the usual hour of the damsel's coming approached, my kind host impatiently expected her arrival; but in vain, for she did not appear. he rose, stood in the doorway of the tent, opened his mouth, and drew in the exhalations of the gale, then returned, sat down pensively for a few minutes, and at last bursting into tears, exclaimed, "ah! my cousin, there are no tidings of the daughter of my uncle, some, mishap must have befallen her. remain here while i go in search of intelligence." having said thus, he took up his sabre, his lance, and departed. when somewhat more than an hour had elapsed, i heard his footstep, and soon perceived him advancing, bearing something bulky in his arms, while he called loudly upon me in a distressful tone. i hastened towards him, and upon my arrival he exclaimed, "alas, alas! the beloved daughter of my uncle is no more, and i bear her remains. she was hastening, as usual, to my tent, when suddenly a lion sprung upon her in the path, and tore her in pieces. these relics are all that remain of my beloved." he then laid them down, and, lo! the thigh bones of the damsel and part of her ribs. he wept piteously, and said, "remain here till i return;" after which he departed with the swiftness of an arrow. in about an hour he returned, and in his hand was the head of the lion, which he threw down, and asked eagerly for water, which i brought him. he then washed his hands, cleansed the mouth of the lion, which he rapturously kissed, and wept bitterly for some moments. he then exclaimed, "by allah, i conjure thee, o son of my uncle, and by the ties of relationship between us, that thou observe my will; for within this hour i shall follow my beloved; be thou our mourner, and bury her remains with mine in the same grave." having said this, he retired into the sleeping partition of the tent; where he remained at his devotions for an hour, then came out, beat his breast, sighed deeply, and at length heaved his expiring groan, saying, "i come, i come, my beloved, i come!" and his pure soul took flight for the mansions of paradise. when i beheld his corpse, sad indeed was my condition, and from excess of sorrow i found it difficult to perform my promise; but at length i arose, washed, enshrouded, and laid the remains of these constant lovers in the same grave, near which i remained for three days in prayer and lamentation; after which i departed homewards: but have not failed annually to visit the spot, to bedew their grave with my tears, and pray for the mercy of allah to their souls and my own errors. story of the prince of sind, and fatima, daughter of amir bin naomaun. some ages back a certain sultan of sind had a son by a concubine, who behaved so rudely to his sultana, that she became dispirited and lost her health, which her favourite woman observing, resolved by stratagem to get rid of the prince. she advised her mistress, when he might next insult her, to say to him, "that he would never appear becoming his rank till he was beloved by fatima, daughter of a sultan named amir bin naomaun." the queen having followed the woman's directions, the prince resolved to travel to the country of the princess, and demand her in marriage. accordingly, having obtained the consent of the sultan his father, he departed with an attendance suitable to his rank. after marching for some time he entered a desert, which was covered with a numberless flight of locusts, that had fallen exhausted for want of food. pitying their distress, he ordered meal to be spread on the ground, when the locusts having refreshed themselves flew away. some days after this incident he reached a thick forest crowded with elephants, and herds of wild animals of every description; but as they did not attempt to attack him, and were in a starving condition, he ordered some of his cattle to be killed, and distributed to them for food. having satisfied themselves they retired, shewing every sign that dumbness would allow of being pleased with his kind treatment. on his march onwards the prince met a venerable old man, of whom he inquired the route to the territories of amir bin naomaun, and was informed that they were at no great distance; but only to be entered by a range of rugged and steep mountains composed of iron-stone, and next to impassable; also, that should he succeed in overcoming this difficulty, it was in vain to hope to attain the princess. the prince inquiring the reason, the old man continued, "sultan amir bin naomaun has resolved that no one shall wed his daughter unless he can perform three tasks which he will impose, and these are of so difficult a nature as not to be executed by the labour or ingenuity of man, and many unhappy princes have lost their heads in the attempt; for he puts them to death instantly on failure: be advised, therefore, and give up so fruitless an expedition." the prince, instead of listening to the admonition of the old man, resolved to proceed; and having requested his prayers and benedictions, continued his march. in a short time, having entered the passes of the mountains, he discovered vast caverns inhabited by a species of genii, who were employed in working upon masses of iron-stone, which they dug from the rock. the prince having entertained them with a hospitable feast, they, in return, shewed him the easiest route through the stupendous mountains, and he at length arrived in safety before the capital of sultan amir bin naomaun, to whom he sent an envoy, requesting leave to encamp on the plain, and to offer himself as a candidate for the beautiful princess his daughter. the sultan, in reply, acceded to his petition, and invited him to the palace; where, in the evening, he was led into a court, in which was placed an immense vessel filled with three kinds of grain mixed together, which (as his first task towards obtaining the princess) he was to separate entirely from each other, and put into three heaps; which if not accomplished before sunrise, he was then to forfeit his head in punishment for his temerity. it being now too late to recede, the prince resigned himself to providence; and the gates of the court being locked upon him, he prayed to allah, and began to separate the grains; but finding his progress vain, his spirits deserted him about midnight, and he left off his fruitless labour in despair, endeavouring to reconcile himself to death. while he was praying for fortitude to bear him up in his last moments, a voice was heard, saying, "be comforted, and receive the reward of thy charity to famished insects." immediately after this the heavens were obscured, as if by thick clouds, which descended on the court, when, lo! this phenomenon proved to be myriads of locusts; who, alighting on the vessel, in a few hours emptied it of all the grain, which they disposed of, each in its kind, in three several heaps, and having given a general buzzing of salutation, took flight, and vanished into the air. the prince was overjoyed at the miraculous accomplishment of his task by the grateful locusts, and having offered up thanks to allah and the prophet for his deliverance from impending destruction, composed himself to rest, doubting not but that they would assist him to overcome the two remaining labours. great was the surprise of the sultan amir bin naomaun, when, on coming at daylight to the court, he beheld his intended victim in a profound sleep, and the grain in three separate heaps, neatly piled up in the form of domes. the prince awaking, saluted him, and demanded to be informed of his next task; but the sultan put him off to the evening, until when he entertained him at the palace with a most magnificent feast; and his obdurate heart was so softened by the noble address and demeanour of his guest, that he wished he might be able to overcome the remaining impositions and become his son-in-law. the princess, also, who had the curiosity to look at him through the blinds of her apartments, was so fascinated with his appearance that she prayed for his success. when night had set in, the prince was conducted to an open plain in front of the palace, in the centre of which was a large reservoir full of clear water, which the sultan commanded him to drain off before sunrise, or forfeit his life. the prince remained alone on the brink of the reservoir with rather somewhat more hope of success than he had felt of overcoming his task of the preceding night; nor was he disappointed, for about midnight a voice was heard exclaiming, "prince, benevolence is never unrequited:" and, lo! the plain was filled with elephants, rhinoceroses, camels, dromedaries, lions, tigers, and every species of wild beasts, in such immense droves as could not be numbered, who, advancing in turn to the reservoir, drank in such quantity that it, at length, was completely emptied, and became as dry as if just finished. the beasts then expressing pleasure by their varying natural noises at having served their benefactor departed, and left him to enjoy the deliverance from the labour imposed upon him. the prince, now more assured than ever that he was the favourite of allah and the prophet, after offering up prayers with a relieved heart, slept comfortably in a building creeled on the margin of the reservoir, and was only awakened by the call of the sultan at sun-rise, who was more astonished at the accomplishment of this labour than the former, though certainly each was equally difficult. he conducted the prince to his palace, and the day was spent in the highest festivity. at the approach of night the prince was conducted to his third task, which was to complete and fit up before daylight from a vast mass of planks of the choicest timber ready stored the doors, windows, and balconies of an unfinished palace, much larger than that which the sultan inhabited. the prince at the apprehension of the consequences of failure was somewhat alarmed; but the recollection of his former aids supported him, and after offering up his devotions he sat down, composedly waiting for the decision of providence on his fate. his resignation was accepted, for at midnight he was roused from his contemplations by the sounds of sawing, planing, hammering, nailing, and the songs of happy work-men. looking up he perceived his friends of the iron mountains; who, all saluting him, cried out, "prince, set your heart at rest, for we are come to repay you for your hospitable feast." before daylight the palace was fitted up in a manner more elegant than can be described, and every door, window, and balcony painted with the most brilliant colours, flowered with silver and gold. the grateful labourers of the iron mountains having finished their work, respectfully saluted the prince and departed. the prince having taken a grateful leave of his useful friends, walked through the palace, and was eagerly employed in admiring its elegance and the magnificence of their finishing hand, when the sultan amir bin naomaun, who from his apartments at sun-rise had observed the miraculous completion, appeared, having hastened to examine the superb workmanship, and to congratulate his son-in-law, for as such he now acknowledged him, and as the favoured of allah, and of the last of prophets. he conducted the prince to the palace, and the most magnificent preparations being made, the nuptials with his daughter were celebrated in the new edifice, where the bride and bridegroom enjoyed themselves for three months, at the expiration of which the prince begged permission to return to his father's dominions, which he reached just in time to release him from the attack of an inimical sultan, who had invaded the country, and laid close siege to his capital. his father received him with rapture, and the prince having made an apology to the sultana for his former rude behaviour, she received his excuses, and having no child of her own readily adopted him as her son; so that the royal family lived henceforth in the utmost harmony, till the death of the sultan and sultana, when the prince succeeded to the empire. story of the lovers of syria; or, the heroine. there formerly dwelt in the city of damascus two brothers, one poor and the other rich, the former of whom had a son, and the latter a daughter. the poor man dying left his son, just emerging from infancy, to the protection of his wealthy uncle, who behaved to his unfortunate charge with paternal tenderness, till the youth, who had exchanged vows of love with his cousin, requested her in marriage; when the father refused, and expelled him from his house. the young lady, however, who ardently loved him, agreed to elope, and having one night escaped from her father's dwelling, repaired to the object of her affection; who, having had notice of her intentions, had prepared two horses and a mule to carry their baggage. they travelled all night, and by morning reached a sea-port, where they found a ship ready to sail, in which, having secured a passage, the lady immediately embarked; but the lover remained on shore to dispose of the horses and mule. while he was seeking for a purchaser in the market, a fair wind sprung up, and the master of the ship having weighed anchor, hoisted sail and departed: the lady in vain entreating him to wait the return of her beloved, or send her on shore, for he was captivated with her beauty. finding herself thus ensnared, as she was a woman of strong mind, instead of indulging in unavailing complaint, she assumed a satisfied air; and as the only way to preserve her honour, received the addresses of the treacherous master with pretended complacency, and consented to receive him as a husband at the first port at which the ship might touch. with these assurances he was contented, and behaved to her with honourable deference, and affectionate respect. at length the vessel anchored near a city, to which the captain went to make preparations for his marriage; but the lady, while he was on shore, addressed the ship's crew, setting forth with such force his treacherous conduct to herself, and offering such rewards if they would convey her to her lover at the port they had left, that the honest sailors were moved in her favour, agreed to obey her as their mistress, and hoisting sail, left the master to shift for himself. after some days of favourable weather, a contrary gale blowing hard, the vessel was driven far out of her course, and for shelter obliged to anchor in the first haven that offered, which proved to be that of a large city, the capital of a potent sultan, whose officers came on board to examine the vessel, and inquire into her cargo and destination. these men, to their great surprise, finding it commanded by a lady of exquisite beauty, reported her charms to the sultan, who resolved to possess them, and sent her an offer of marriage; to which she seemingly consented, and the sultan commanded the most splendid preparations to be made for the nuptials. when all was ready, he sent onboard the vessel the daughter of his vizier, with other ladies, thirty-nine in number, magnificently attired, to wait upon his bride, and attend her on shore. they were graciously received by the politic lady, and invited to refresh themselves in the grand cabin, which she had elegantly adorned with costly hangings, and prepared in it a superb collation, to which they sat down. she then dismissed the boats in which they came, sending a message to the sultan that she should entertain the ladies on board till the next morning, when she would repair on shore and conclude their marriage. she behaved towards her new guests with such winning affability, that they one and all admired their expected sultana, and partook of the entertainment with the highest satisfaction; but what was their surprise when, in the middle of the night, she commanded the crew to weigh anchor, having first warned them, on pain of her displeasure and immediate death, to keep silence, and raise no alarm in the harbour. the vessel sailed, and put to sea without being molested, when the intrepid commandress consoled the affrighted ladies, related to them her own adventures, and assured them that when she should have rejoined her lover, they should, if they chose it, be honourably restored to their homes; but in the mean time she hoped they would contentedly share her fortunes. this behaviour, by degrees, so won upon their minds, that the ladies forgot their sorrows, became pleased with their situation, and in a short time were so attached to their new mistress, that they would not have left her had it been in their power. after some weeks sail, it became necessary to steer towards the first coast that should present itself, to lay in a supply of fresh water and provisions, and land appearing, the vessel anchored, when the lady with her companions went on shore. here they were surrounded by forty robbers, who threatened to take them prisoners; when the heroic lady, desiring her friends to conceal their fears, assumed a smiling countenance, and addressing the chief of the banditti, assured him there would be no occasion for force, as she and her companions were ready to share their love, being women who were above the prejudices of their sex, and had devoted themselves to pleasure, in search of which they roved on board their vessel from one coast to another, and would now stay with them as long as they might wish for their company. this declaration suiting the depraved minds of the robbers, they laid aside their fierce looks and warlike weapons, bringing abundance of all sorts of provisions to regale their expected mistresses, with whom they sat down to a plentiful repast, which was heightened by a store of wines which the lady had brought in her boats from the ship. mirth and jollity prevailed; but the fumes of the liquors, in which the politic lady had infused strong opiates, suddenly operated upon their senses, and they fell down one and all in a state of stupefaction. she then with her companions drew the sabres of their brutal admirers and put them all to death excepting the chief, whom they bound hand and foot with strong cords, and after cutting off his beard and mustachios, tied his own cimeter round his neck, leaving him to feel mortification worse than death on the recovery of his senses, namely, the sight of his slaughtered fellows, and regret at the loss of his imagined happiness. the ladies then stripped the caves of the robbers of the vast wealth which they had hoarded up from their plunders, and having carried it on board their boats, with a stock of water and provisions, returned to the ship, weighed anchor, and sailed triumphant and rejoicing from such a dangerous coast. after some weeks' sail they again descried land, to which they approached, and discovered a spacious harbour, round which rose a vast city, the buildings of which were sublimely lofty, adorned with flights of marble steps to the water's edge, and crowned with domes and minarets topped with pinnacles of gold. the enterprising lady having anchored, clothed herself and her companions in magnificent male habits; after which she ordered the boats to be hoisted out, and they were rowed ashore by part of their crew richly dressed. on landing, they found all the inhabitants of the city in mourning, and making doleful lamentation for their late sultan, who had died only a few days before. the gallant appearance of a stranger so nobly attended created much surprise, and intelligence of the arrival was instantly conveyed to the vizier, who acted as regent till the election of a new monarch, which ceremony was just on the point of taking place. the minister, who thought he perceived in such a critical arrival the work of fate, immediately waited on the now supposed prince, whom he invited to be present at the election; at the same time informing him that when in this kingdom a sultan died without issue, the laws appointed that his successor should be chosen by the alighting of a bird on his shoulder, which bird would be let fly among the crowd assembled in the square before the palace. the seeming prince accepted the invitation, and with the disguised ladies was conducted to a gorgeous pavilion, open on all sides, to view the ceremony. the ominous bird being loosened from his chain, soared into the air to a great height, then gradually descending, flew round and round the square repeatedly, even with the faces of the spectators. at length it darted into the pavilion, where the lady and her companions were seated, fluttered around her head, and at length rested upon her shoulder, giving at the same time a cry of exultation, stretching its neck, and flapping its wings. immediately upon this, the viziers and courtiers bowed themselves to the ground, and the assembled crowd prostrated themselves on the earth, crying out, "long live our glorious sultan, the chosen of providence, the elected by the decrees of fate!" the disguised lady was instantly conducted to the palace, seated on a splendid throne, and proclaimed amidst the acclamations of the people, sovereign of an extensive empire; nor were the abilities of her mind unequal to the task of government. in a few days the vizier offered to the supposed sultan his daughter in marriage; and his offer being accepted, the nuptials were celebrated with the utmost magnificence; but what was the astonishment of the bride, when, instead of being caressed, the sultan on retiring with her became cold and reserved, rose from her, and spent the night in prayer. in the morning the sultana was questioned by her mother; who, on her relating the behaviour of the husband, observed, that possibly from his youth he might be over reserved; but that love would naturally in time operate its effect. several evenings past in the same manner, when the bride, mortified at such coldness, could no longer restrain herself, and said, "why, my lord, if you disliked me, did you take me to wife? but if you love not as other men, tell me so, and i will suffer my misfortune in silence." the lady, moved by this remonstrance, replied, "most virtuous princess, would that for your sake i were of the sex you suppose me; but, alas! i am like you a woman, disappointed in love." she then related to her the wonderful adventures she had undergone since leaving her father's house, at which the vizier's daughter was so affected that she vowed for her a lasting friendship, agreed to keep her secret, and live with her till such times as chance should restore her lover. in return for this kindness the lady promised that should the object of her affections ever arrive, he should marry them both, and that she should have the precedence in the ceremony of union. the two friends having thus agreed, the vizier's daughter regained her cheerfulness, and means were taken to convince her father, mother, and friends of the consummation of the nuptials. from this time they lived in perfect happiness together, one exercising the authority of sultan to the satisfaction of the subject, and the other acting the part of a satisfied and obedient wife; but still both were anxious to meet their mutual husband. as the capital of the kingdom was a mart for most nations of the world, the pretended sultan formed the following stratagem for discovering her beloved, not doubting but that he would travel over all parts of the world in search of the object of his affection. she erected a most magnificent caravanserai, furnished with baths hot and cold, and every convenience for the weary traveller. when it was finished, she issued a proclamation, that sojourners from all parts should be welcome to lodge in it, and be provided with every necessary till they could accommodate themselves in the city, or pursued, if only travellers, their journey to another part. over the gate of this edifice she placed an exact statue of herself, and gave orders to the guards that whatever stranger, on looking at it, should shew signs of agitation, or utter words signifying that he knew the original, should be immediately seized and confined in the palace. many weeks had not passed when the father of this enterprising lady, who had travelled many thousands of miles in search of his daughter, arrived at the gate, and on seeing the statue, exclaimed, "alas! alas! how like my poor, lost child!" he was immediately carried to the palace, lodged in a magnificent apartment, treated with the highest respect; but kept in complete ignorance as to the cause of his confinement and his future fate. not long after this, his disconsolate nephew, who, on the departure of the treacherous captain, had wandered from city to city in hopes of finding his mistress, arrived, and repaired to the caravanserai. on sight of the statue his feelings overcame him; he sighed and fainted: when he was taken up by the guards and lodged in the palace, where being come to himself, he was astonished at the respect and attention paid him by the domestics, and the splendid manner in which he was entertained; but it was in vain that he inquired the cause of his detention, the only answer he could get being, "have patience, my lord, and repose yourself till providence shall free you from our confinement." soon after this the master of the ship, who had visited port after port in hopes of recovering his vessel, reached the city, and hearing of the hospitality with which all strangers were received at the caravanserai of the sultan, repaired to the gateway; but no sooner had he cast his eyes on the statue, than he exclaimed, "ah! how like to the artful yet virtuous woman who cheated me of my property by stealing my ship." immediately he was seized by the guards, and conveyed to the palace, but treated with kindness. many days had not succeeded to this event, when the sultan and the vizier, whose daughter with the thirty-nine ladies had been so artfully carried away from them by the enterprising heroine of this history, made their appearance at the gateway of the caravanserai, and on beholding the statue, cried out, "surely this is the likeness of her who deprived us of our children; ah! that we could find her and be revenged on her hypocrisy!" on saying this they were apprehended and taken to the palace, where they were conducted to apartments suitable to their rank. in a few days afterwards the chief of the banditti, who, burning with the ireful resolution of revenging the deaths of his associates, had travelled from place to place in hopes of finding the object of his fury, arrived at the gateway, and observing the statue, roared out in a rage, "surely this is the resemblance of my tormenter; oh! that i could meet thy original, so that i might have the satisfaction of making her blood atone for the murder of my friends!" instantly, as he had spoken, the guards at the gate rushing upon him, bound him hand and foot, conveyed him to the palace, where he was confined in a loathsome dungeon, and fed on the coarsest viands. the pretended sultan having now all the parties in her power, one morning ascended her throne in full audience, and commanded them to be brought before her. when they had made their obeisance, she commanded them to relate the cause of their having journeyed to her capital; but the royal presence rendered them incapable of uttering a word: upon which she exclaimed, "since you cannot speak, i will;" and then discovered to their astonished minds the adventures of each, which had occasioned their travelling. she then discovered herself, and fell upon the necks of her father and lover, with whom she retired into the private apartments. the sultan and his vizier were made happy in the company of the daughter of the latter and the other ladies. the master of the ship, as his troubles had atoned for his irregular behaviour, was received into favour, and had his vessel restored; but the savage chief of the banditti was put to death, by being cast into a burning pile, that no further injury might be offered to mankind. in a few days, the most magnificent preparations being made, the double nuptials of the heroic lady and her friend the vizier's daughter were celebrated with her constant lover, to whom she resigned her throne, and the happy wives lived together in felicity, undisturbed by jealousy of the husband's attention to either, so equally did they share his love. the sultan and vizier, after being long entertained at the court, took leave, and returned, under an escort, to their own country; but the daughter and the thirty-nine ladies could not be prevailed upon to accompany them, only to visit and bid farewell to their parents, for such was their attachment to their gallant mistress, that they came back immediately, and were espoused to the principle nobles of her court. years of unusual happiness passed over the heads of the fortunate adventurers of this history, until death, the destroyer of all things, conducted them to a grave which must one day be the resting-place for ages of us all, till the receiving angel shall sound his trumpet. story of hyjauje, the tyrannical governor of coufeh, and the young syed. as hyjauje (the ommiad caliph) was was one day seated in his hall of audience, surrounded by his nobles and dependents, tremblingly awaiting his commands, for his countenance resembled that of an enraged lion, there suddenly entered, unceremoniously, into the assembly a beardless youth of noble but sickly aspect, arrayed in tattered garments, for misfortune had changed his original situation, and poverty had withered the freshness of his opening youth. he made the customary obeisance to the governor, who returned his salute, and said, "who art thou, boy? what hast thou to say, and wherefore hast thou intruded thyself into the company of princes, as if thou wert invited? who art thou, and of whom art thou the son?" "of my father and mother," replied the youth. "but how earnest thou here?" "in my clothes." "from whence?" "from behind me." "where art thou going?" "before me." "upon what dost thou travel?" "upon the earth" hyjauje, vexed at the pertness of the youth, exclaimed, "quit this trifling, and inform me whence thou comest." "from egypt." "art thou from cairo?" "why askest thou?" said the boy? "because," replied hyjauje, "her sands are of gold, and her river nile miraculously fruitful; but her women are wanton, free to every conqueror, and her men unstable." "i am not from thence, but from damascus," cried the youth. "then," said hyjauje, "thou art from a most rebellious place, filled with wretched inhabitants, a wavering race, neither jews nor christians." "but i am not from thence," replied the youth, "but from khorassan." "that is a most impure country," said hyjauje, "whose religion is worthless, for the inhabitants are of all barbarians the most savage. plunderers of flocks, they know not mercy, their poor are greedy, and their rich men misers." "i am not of them," cried the youth, "but of moussul." "then," exclaimed hyjauje, "thou art of an unnatural and adulterous race, whose youths are catamites, and whose old men are obstinate as asses." "but i am from yemen," said the boy. "if so," answered the tyrant, "thou belongest to a comfortless region, where the most honourable profession is robbery, where the middling ranks tan hides, and where a wretched poor spin wool and weave coarse mantles." "but i am from mecca," said the boy. "then," replied hyjauje, "thou comest from a mine of perverseness, stupidity, ignorance, and slothfulness; for from among its people god raised up his prophet, whom they disbelieved, rejected, and forced away to a strange nation, who loved, venerated, and assisted him in spite of the men of mecca. but whence comest thou, youth? for thy pertness is become troublesome, and my inclination leads me to punish thee for thy impertinence." "had i been assured that thou durst kill me," cried the youth, "i should not have appeared before thee; but thou canst not." "woe to thee, rash boy," exclaimed hyjauje; "who is he that can prevent my executing thee instantly?" "to thee be thy woe," replied the youth: "he can prevent thee who directs man and his inmost thoughts, and who never falsifieth his gracious promises." "he it is," cried the tyrant, "who instigates me to put thee to death." "withhold thy blaspheming," replied the youth; "it is not god, but satan that prompts thy mind to my murder, and with god i hope for refuge from the accursed: but know, that i am from the glorious medina, the seat of religion, virtue, respectability, and honour, descended of the race of bin ghalib, and family of ali, son of abou talib, whom god has glorified and approved, and will protect all his posterity, which you would extirpate; but you cannot root it out, for it will flourish even to the last day of the existence of this world." the tyrant was now overcome with rage, and commanded the youthful syed to be slain; but his nobles and officers interceded for him, saying, while they bowed their necks before him, "pardon, pardon; behold our heads and our lives a ransom for his! for god's sake accept our intercession, o ameer, for this youth is not deserving of death." "forbear your entreaties," exclaimed the tyrant, "for were an angel to cry from heaven, 'do not slay him!' i would not attend." upon this the young syed said, "thou ravest, o hyjauje; who art thou that an angel should be commissioned for thy sake?" the tyrant, struck with his magnanimity, became calm, and commanding the executioner to release the youth, said, "for the present i forbear, and will not kill thee unless thy answers to my further questions shall deserve it." they then entered on the following dialogue; hyjauje hoping to entrap him in discourse. hyjauje. how can the creature approach the perfection of the almighty? syed. by prayer, by fasting, by the commanded alms, by pilgrimage, and fighting for the cause of god. h. i serve him by shedding the blood of infidel man. you pretend that hassan and houssain, your ancestors, were descendants of the prophet; but how can that be, when god has declared in the koran mahummud was not of your obstinate race; but the prophet of god, and last of divine messengers? s. hear the answer to that in the verse following it. "hath not a prophet come unto you of your own nation? receive him, and from what he hath forbidden be forbidden." surely, then, god hath forbidden the shedding of the blood of him whom he sanctified. h. thou hast spoken justly, young man; but inform me what god hath daily and nightly commanded us as obligatory to do? s. to pray five times. h. what to observe in each year? s. to keep the month of ramzaun as a fast. h. what to perform in the course of life? s. to make a pilgrimage to mecca, the temple of god. h. truly said; but what hath mostly dignified and enlightened arabia? s. the tribe of koreish. h. wherefore? s. because of our holy prophet's being a member of it. h. who were the most skilful in horsemanship in all arabia, the most valiant, and of best conduct in war? s. the tribe of hashim. h. why think you so? s. because my grandfather imaum ali, son of abou talib, was one of it. h. what tribe of arabs is most famous for benevolence, and celebrated for liberality? s. the family of tai. h. wherefore? s. because hatim belonged to it. h. which of the tribes have been most disgraceful to arabia, and most oppressive to its inhabitants? s. the tribe of sukkeef. h. why so? s. because thou belongest to it. the tyrant could scarcely now contain his anger; but said, hoping to cut the youth off from reply, "tell me, is the capricorn of the heavens male or female?" to which he answered, "shew me its tail, that i may inform thee." the tyrant laughed, and continued his questions as follows: h. wert thou ever in love? s. yes, completely immersed in it. h. with whom? s. with my god, who will, i trust, pardon me for my errors, and deliver me from thee this day. h. knowest thou thy god? s. yes. h. by what means? s. by the scriptures, which he caused to descend to his prophet. h. dost thou guard the koran? s. does it fly from me, that i should guard it? h. what dost thou learn from it? s. that god commanded its rules to be obeyed. h. hast thou read and understood it? s. yes. h. if so, tell me, first, what passage in it is most sublime. secondly, which most commanding. thirdly, which most just. fourthly, which most alarming. fifthly, which most encouraging. sixthly, that which jews and christians both believe in. seventhly, that in which god has spoken purely of himself; that where he speaks of the angels; that in which he mentions the prophets; that where he alludes to those destined to paradise; and that in which he speaks of those devoted to hell; that which includes ten points; and that which eblis the accursed delivered. s. by god's help i will answer thee. the most sublime passage is the koorsee: the most commanding, "god insisteth on justice:" the most just, "whoever diminishes the least of a measure, god will requite him doubly, and the same to whoever addeth the least:" the most alarming, "all expect to enter paradise:" the most encouraging, "o my servants, who have mortified yourselves, despair not of the mercy of god!" that in which are ten points, "god created the heavens and the earth, the revolutions of night and day; also, the firmament over the waters that it might profit man:" that which is believed alike by jews and christians, "the jew saith that the christian is in error, and the christian saith that the jew is mistaken, they both believe so; and both are in error:" that in which god hath spoken purely of himself, "i have not created genii and men but to worship me:" that in which he speaks of the angels, "they said, we have no knowledge, but what thou hast taught us; for thou only art wise and all-knowing:" that which speaks of the prophets, "how could we deliver you a verse without the order of god, on whom the faithful will rely:" that which mentions the devoted to hell, "god hath cast us down from heaven, for we were transgressors:" that which describes the blessed, "praised be god, who hath divested us of all sorrow, for our lord is merciful and gracious:" that which satan spoke, "none will profit by thy mercy but thy servants the blessed." hyjauje involuntarily exclaimed, "praised be god, who giveth wisdom to whom it pleaseth him; but i have found none so learned of such tender age." having thus spoken, he put many other questions to the youth in every science, and he answered them so readily that the tyrant was overcome with admiration, and offered him a residence at his court; but the young man declined it, and requested his dismission, which he granted, conferring upon him a beautiful female slave richly habited, a thousand pieces of gold, and a steed elegantly caparisoned. the courtiers were astonished at the bounty of the tyrant, which he perceiving, said, "be not surprised, for the advice he hath given me was worthy of reward, and 'cursed is he who doth not requite a sincere adviser,' declareth our sacred koran." story of ins al wujjood and wird al ikmaum, daughter of ibrahim, vizier to sultan shamikh. many ages past there was a very powerful sultan who had a vizier named ibrahim, and this minister had a daughter the most beautiful of her sex and accomplished of her age, so that she became distinguished by the appellation of wird al ikmaum, or the rose among flowers. it was the custom of sultan shamikh to hold annually a general assembly of all the nobles of his kingdom, and persons eminent for science or the arts, during which they were magnificently entertained at the royal expense. the former displayed their prowess in martial exercises before the sovereign, and the latter the productions of their genius and skill; when valuable prizes were bestowed by the arbitration of appointed judges on those who deserved them. on one of the days of this festival, the vizier's daughter from a latticed balcony of the palace, in which she sat to view the sports, was so struck with the manly figure and agility of a young nobleman named ins al wujjood (or the perfection of human nature), that love took possession of her mind. she pointed him out to a female confidant, and gave her a letter to convey to the object of her affections. the young nobleman, who had heard her praises, was enraptured by his good fortune, and the next day, having obtained as full a sight of her beauties as could be had through the golden wires of the balcony, retired overcome by love. letters now passed daily, and almost hourly, between them; but they were impatient for a meeting, which was at length planned; but the note fixing the place and time was unfortunately dropped by the confidant and carried to the vizier; who, alarmed for the honour of his family, sent his daughter the same night to a far distant castle belonging to himself, and situated on an island in a vast lake, surrounded by mountainous deserts thinly inhabited. the unfortunate lady was obliged to submit to her fate, but before her departure contrived to write on the outside of her balcony the following words, "they are carrying me off, but i know not where." in the morning her lover repairing, as usual, in hopes of seeing his mistress in the balcony, read the unwelcome intelligence, which for a time deprived him of his senses. when somewhat recovered he resolved to leave the court, though then the chief favourite of the sultan, and go in search of his beloved. having put on the habit of a wandering devotee, he, on the following evening, quitted the city, and recommending himself to providence, set out, but knew not whither. many weeks did he travel, but could find no traces of his beloved object; when suddenly, passing through a thick forest, there met him a monstrous lion, from whom he thought it impossible to escape, and having uttered a prayer for the happiness of his beloved, and repeated the testimony of martyrdom, he resigned himself to his fate, and waited the spring of his expected devourer. what was his surprise when the majestic animal, instead of making him his prey, on approaching close to him, having looked compassionately in his face, licked his hands, and turning round, walked gently onwards, moving his head, as if to signify the youth should follow him. ins al wujjood did so, and was conducted through the forest by the lion; who, ascending a high mountain, suddenly stopped at the entrance of a cave, to which was a door of iron, then moving his head, and once more licking the hands of his companion, the generous animal left him, and retired back to the woods. the youth now went to the cave, and having knocked at the door, it was opened by a venerable hermit, who bade him welcome, brought him warm water to wash his feet, and set before him refreshments of various kinds. when he had eaten, he inquired the cause of his coming to such a desolate country; and ins al wujjood having related his adventures, the old man exclaimed, "thou art a favourite of heaven, or the lion would have devoured thee; despair not, therefore, of success, for my mind presages that thou wilt be happy, nor shalt thou want my assistance." ins al wujjood having thanked him for his hospitality and generous offers, the hermit informed him, that for nearly twenty years past he had not beheld a human face till a few days prior to his coming, when, wandering over the mountains, he had seen an encampment on the margin of the great lake below, in which appeared a crowd of men and women, some very richly habited, part of whom had embarked on board a stately yacht, and the remainder having taken leave of them, struck their tents, and returned by the road they had come. "most probably," said the hermit, "the yacht may have conveyed thy mistress to the castle which stands on an island in the middle of the lake, and if so thou shalt soon be safely landed: for the rest providence must be thy guide. i will this night remember thee in my prayers, and meditate on what can be done for thy benefit." having said this, the hermit conducted the wanderer to a chamber, and left him to his repose. the beautiful wird al ikmaum during this time remained overwhelmed with uneasiness in her confinement, and it was in vain that her attendants tried to amuse her. she wandered melancholy through the magnificent gardens of the castle, the groves of which were filled with every variety of birds, whose harmony was delightful; but the soft cooing of the turtle dove and the plaintive note of the lovelorn nightingale alone caught her attention. to these she would listen for hours together, reclined on a mossy bank, and fancy their pensive strains the language of her beloved. such was her daily employment, nor would she quit the garden till forced by her attendants to take shelter from the falling dews of night. we now return to her lover. fatigue and the consoling assurances of the friendly hermit had greatly composed the mind of ins al wujjood, who enjoyed a refreshing sleep, nor did he awake till the sun was mounted high in the heavens, when he joined his venerable host in his devotions; after which they partook of a repast of bread, milk, and fresh fruits. this ended, the old man requested him to fetch from the forest a bundle of the filaments of palm bark, which, when brought to him, he plaited into a shape resembling a little boat, and giving it to ins al wujjood, said, "repair to the lake, and put this into the water, when it will become instantly large enough to hold thee, then embark in it, and trust to heaven for the rest. farewell!" ins al wujjood having taken leave of his venerable friend the hermit, with many thanks, did as he had been commanded, and soon arrived on the margin of the lake, into which he launched his little vessel, when, to his great surprise, it instantaneously became a handsome boat with the sails set. he got into it, and a fair wind springing up was soon out of sight of land. for some days he was wafted over the deep; but at length the shore of an island appeared, on which he landed, and made his boat fast to the trunk of a large tree. he then walked into the country, and found it beautifully interspersed with green meadows, clear streams, and shady groves of bending fruit trees, on the branches of which all sorts of birds were warbling in their different strains. having refreshed himself with several fruits, he proceeded onwards, and at length came in sight of a superb edifice, to the gateway of which he advanced; but found it locked. for three days he waited in hopes of seeing some of its inhabitants, but in vain. however on the fourth morning the gate was opened by a man, who seeing ins al wujjood, advanced towards him, and inquired who he was, whence he came, and what was his reason for waiting at the gate. "i am of ispahaun," replied ins al wujjood, "and was shipwrecked in a trading voyage upon this coast, to the shore of which i alone of all my companions had the good fortune to escape." upon hearing this the man burst into tears, embraced him, and said, "may god preserve thee from future calamities! i am also a native of ispahaun, where also dwelt my cousin, whom i dearly loved, and by whom i was beloved. at this happy period of my youth a nation stronger than ours made war against us, overcame us, and among other captives forced me from my country; after which they sold me as a slave to my present master: but come, my dear countryman, enter the palace, and repose thyself in my apartment, where we will endeavour to console each other under our misfortunes till providence shall restore us to our homes." ins al wujjood gladly accepted such a friendly invitation, and on entering the court beheld a lofty and wide-spreading tree, from the branches of which were suspended several golden cages, each inhabited by a beautiful bird, and each striving to rival the other in melody, as if in welcome of his approach. he inquired of his host to whom the splendid edifice belonged, and was informed to the vizier of sultan shamikh; who, to secure his daughter from the vicissitudes of fortune, had lodged her here, and only visited her annually to inquire after her health, and bring the necessary supplies for her convenience and the support of her attendants in the castle. upon hearing the above circumstances, ins al wujjood was nearly overcome with ecstacy; but restraining his feelings, exclaimed to himself, "at length i have reached the abode of my beloved, and may hope for success;" which was yet, however, afar off. his charming mistress, little thinking that her lover was so near, and weary of absence and the solitude of her abode, had that very evening resolved to escape from confinement. in the darkness of night she accordingly let herself down from the battlements by a silken rope, which she had twisted from slips of various robes, and reached the ground unhurt. with haste she fled towards the sea shore, where she perceived a fishing boat, the owner of which, though at first alarmed, supposing her, from her dazzling appearance (for she was covered with jewels), to be an ensnaring genie, at length, on her assurances that she was really a woman, admitted her into his vessel. she thanked him for his kindness, which she rewarded by the gift of many rich jewels, and requested to be conveyed across the lake. the fisherman hoisted sail, and for some hours the wind was prosperous; but now a heavy tempest arose, which tossed them constantly in imminent danger for three days, and drove them far from their intended course. at length the gale subsided, the sea became assuaged, and land appeared. as they approached the shore a stately city rose to their view, the buildings of which seemed unusually magnificent. under the terrace of the sultan's palace they safely, at last, cast anchor; and it chanced that the prince, who was named dara, was then sitting with his daughter in a balcony to enjoy the fresh sea breeze, and the view of the extensive harbour, crowded with the vessels of every country. perceiving the boat, the sultan commanded his officers to bring the master and his crew to the presence. great was his surprise at the introduction of the beautiful wird al ikmaum. from her rich dress, dignified air, and demeanour, he concluded her to be of superior rank, and having seated her near his daughter, he graciously requested to be informed of the name of her country, and the cause of her having travelled to his capital; to which she replied in eloquent language, giving a summary detail of all her adventures. the sultan consoled her by encouraging assurances of his protection, promised to exert his authority to effect a union with her beloved, and immediately dispatched his vizier with costly presents to sultan shamikh, requesting him to send ins al wujjood to his court. the vizier, after a prosperous voyage, having reached the capital of sultan shamikh, presented his offerings, and made known the request of his master; to which the sultan replied, that nearly a year had elapsed since ins al wujjood had, to his great regret, absented himself from his court, nor had any tidings been obtained of the place of his retirement; but that he would order his vizier to accompany the ambassador in search of his retreat, being willing to oblige his master the sultan to the utmost of his power. accordingly, after a repose of some days, the two viziers departed in search of ins al wujjood, but without knowing where to bend their journey. at length they reached the shore of the ocean of kunnooz, on which they embarked in a hired vessel, and sailed to the mountainous island of tukkalla, of which the vizier of sultan shamikh gave to his companion the following account. "this island was some ages back inhabited by genii; a princess of whom became violently enamoured of a handsome young man, a son of an ameer of the city of misr, or cairo, whom she beheld in her flight sleeping in his father's garden in the heat of the day. she sat down by him, and having gently awoke him, the youth, on looking up, to his astonishment and rapture saw a most beautiful damsel who courted his addresses: he was not backward in offering them; and mutual protestations of love and constancy took place. after some hours of happiness the genie princess took an affectionate leave, promising soon to visit him again, and vanished from sight. the youth remained musing on his fortunate adventure till the dews of night began to fall, when his parents, fearful of some injury, sent attendants to conduct him to their palace, but he refused to go; and talked, as it appeared to them, so incoherently concerning his beloved, that they thought him distracted; seized him roughly, and forced him homewards. his father and mother were alarmed: it was in vain that they courted him to partake of refreshment; he was sullen and gloomy, and at length abruptly retired to his chamber, where he remained in restless anxiety all night, waiting impatiently for morning, that he might revisit the happy spot where his charmer had promised again to meet him. "at early dawn the ameer's son repaired to the garden, and was soon gratified with the sight of his beloved; but while they were exchanging mutual protestations of regard, the mother of the genie princess, who had suspected from her daughter's conduct that she was carrying on some intrigue, and had followed her in the air unperceived, suddenly appeared. rushing upon the lovers, she seized her daughter by the hair, beat, and abused her in the harshest language for having disgraced the honour of the genii by an amour with a wretched son of mortality: to all which the genie princess replied, that her remonstrances were vain; she had fixed her affections, and would rather be torn into a thousand pieces than desert the object of her heart. the mother upon this finding the case desperate, and being herself softened by the uncommon beauty of the youth, who had fallen at her feet, entreating mercy for his beloved, at length relented, and agreed to sanctify their loves by her consent to their marriage. it was accordingly celebrated; and this island, which after the name of the genie princess was called tukkalla, was fixed upon for the place of their residence. its magnificent palace still remains, after the lapse of many ages, and is at present in my possession. here i hope to meet my only daughter, whom i brought to reside in it nearly a year ago, to secure her from the attempts of a young courtier, on whom she had, against my consent, fixed her affections." the two viziers now disembarked, and proceeded up the island; but what was the astonishment and mortification of ibrahim on learning, when he arrived at the palace, that his daughter had escaped, nor had the attendants heard of her since her departure, though they had repeatedly searched every quarter of the island. perceiving among his attendants whom he had left at the palace a strange young man of pallid countenance, wasted frame, and melancholy air, the vizier inquired how he had come among them; and received for reply, that he was a shipwrecked merchant of ispahaun, whom they had taken in for the sake of charity. ibrahim now requested of the vizier of sultan dara that he would return to his master, and inform him of their vain search after ins al wujjood; at the same time desiring him to receive into his suite the supposed merchant as far as the city of ispahaun, which lay in his route. to this the vizier of sultan dara consented: and the two ministers having taken a friendly leave of each other separated, and departed for their several capitals. the vizier of sultan dara, in the course of the journey, became so pleased with the agreeable manners of the supposed merchant, that he often conversed with him familiarly; and at length the young man, emboldened by his condescending attention, ventured to inquire the cause of his travels to regions so distant from his own country: upon which he was informed of the arrival of the beautiful wird al ikmaum at the court of sultan dara; of the compassion of that sultan for her misfortunes; his generous protection; and his own fruitless mission in search of her lover ins al wujjood. a this happy intelligence, the latter, overcome with ecstacy, could no longer contain himself, but discovered who he was; and the vizier was also overjoyed at knowing, when least expected, that he had found the despaired of object of his long journey. he embraced the young man, congratulated him upon the speedy termination of absence from his beloved, and the happy union which awaited him. he then made him an inmate of his own tents, supplied him with rich attire, and every necessary becoming the condition of a person for whose fortunes he knew his sovereign to be so highly concerned. ins al wujjood, now easy in mind, and renovated by the happy prospects before him, daily recovered health and strength, so that by the time of their arrival at the capital of sultan dara he had regained his pristine manliness and vigour. when the vizier waited upon his master the sultan dara to communicate his successful commission, the sultan commanded the youth to his presence. ins al wujjood performed the usual obeisance of kissing the ground before the throne, with the graceful demeanour of one who had been used to a court. the sultan graciously returned his salutation, and commanded him to be seated; after which he requested him to relate his adventures, which he did in eloquent language, interspersing in his narrative poetical quotations, and extempore verses applicable to the various incidents and situations. the sultan was charmed with his story; and when he had finished its relation, sent for a cauzee and witnesses to tie the marriage knot between the happy ins al wujjood and the beautiful wird al ikmaum; at the same time dispatching a messenger to announce the celebration of the nuptials to sultan shamikh and ibrahim his vizier, who were bewailing their supposed irrecoverable losses; one that of his favourite, and the latter that of his daughter. sultan dara detained the happy couple at his court for some time, after which he dismissed them with valuable presents to their own country, which they reached in safety, and were received with the most heart-felt rejoicings by the sultan and the repentant vizier, who now recompensed them by his kindness for the former cruelty of his behaviour towards them; so that in favour with the sultan, and happy in their own family, the lovers henceforth enjoyed every earthly felicity, sweetened by the reflection on past distresses, till the angel of death summoned them to submit to the final destination of mortality. the adventures of mazin of khorassaun. in ancient days there resided in the city of khorassaun a youth named mazin, who, though brought up by his mother, a poor widow, to the humble occupation of a dyer, was so celebrated for his personal accomplishments and capacity as to become the admiration of crowds, who daily flocked to his shop to enjoy the pleasure of his conversation. this young man was as good as he was able, nor did flattery take away his humility, or make him dissatisfied with his laborious occupation, which he followed with industry unceasing, and maintained his mother and himself decently from the fruits of his labour. so delicate was his taste in the choice of colours, that veils, turbans, and vests of mazin's dyeing were sought after by all the young and gay of khorassaun; and many of the females would often cast a wishful glance at him from under their veils as they gave him their orders. mazin, however, was destined by fate not always to remain a dyer, but for higher fortunes and surprising adventures. as he was one day busy in his occupation, a man of hijjem came to his shop, and after looking at him earnestly for some moments, exclaimed, "alas, that such a noble youth should be confined to drudge at so mean an employment!" "i thank you, father, for your compassion," replied mazin, "but honest industry can never be disgraceful." "true," said the old man of hijjem, "yet if providence puts affluence and distinction in our way, should we refuse it?" "by no means," said mazin; "canst thou point me out the way to it without making me forfeit my integrity? if so, i assure thee i am not so fond of my trade but i would be glad to live at ease in an honest manner without it; for i should like to enjoy leisure to follow my studies, which have already gained me some little celebrity." "son," said the hijjemmee, "thy wishes shall be satisfied: thou hast no father, but i will be one to thee; from this instant i adopt thee as my son. i possess the art of transmuting common metals into gold: be ready at thy shop early in the morning, when i will meet thee. farewell!" having thus said, the old man took leave. mazin's curiosity and ambition were raised: he shut up his shop sooner than usual, and returned with a full heart to his mother, to whom he communicated the offered kindness of the hijjemmee. the good woman, after some moments of reflection, said, "son, i fear some evil lurks under this apparent kindness, for we live in wicked days, when men profess more than they mean to do for the sake of attaining an object; be cautious then, and do not till thou hast proof of his sincerity regard his office. we have at present all we want, and what can riches give more?" mazin agreed to the propriety of his mother's advice, and promised to be wary. they ate their usual cheerful meal, and retired to rest; but the young man could sleep but little, and he longed with impatience for the morning that was to put him into possession of the art of transmuting metals into gold. the morning arrived, and mazin repaired impatiently to his shop, where he had soon after the satisfaction of seeing his adopted father, who came bearing in his hands a crucible. "welcome, son!" "welcome, father!" was the mutual salutation; after which the hijjemmee desired mazin to kindle a fire: he did so, when the old man inquired of mazin if he had any old metal, iron, brass, copper, &c. mazin produced some pieces of an old pot of the latter metal, which were put into the crucible. when melted, the hijiemmee took from his turban a paper containing powder of a yellowish hue, which he threw into the crucible, over which he repeated some cabalistic words while he stirred the melting metal. at length he took it from the fire, and to his astonishment mazin beheld a large lump of pure gold, which the hijiemmee desired him to carry to a goldsmith's and get it exchanged for coin he did did so, and received a handsome sum, with which he returned to his adopted father. "well, my son," said the hijjemmee, "art thou now convinced of my skill, and my sincerity in offering to promote thy fortunes?" "i am," said mazin, "and am ready to follow wherever thou choosest, in hopes of learning this invaluable secret" "that shall soon be thine," replied the transmuter of metals; "i will sup with thee this evening, and in the privacy of retirement give thee the necessary instruction." mazin, overjoyed, immediately shut up his shop, and with his adopted father repaired to his own house, where he seated him in his best apartment. he then went to his mother, desiring that she would go and spend the night at a neighbour's, shewing her the gold which his broken copper had procured, as a proof of the sincerity of his new friend. the old lady no longer doubted upon such evidence, and cheerfully took leave and departed to a friend's house. mazin next went to a cook's shop, from which he returned laden with every sort of refreshment, nor was wine forgotten, though forbidden to the faithful. the adopted father and son ate heartily, at the same time pushing about the spirit-stirring liquor, till at last mazin, who had not been used to drink wine, became intoxicated. the wily magician, for such in fact was his pretended friend, watching his opportunity, infused into the goblet of his unsuspecting host a certain potent drug, which mazin had scarcely drunk oft, when he fell back upon his cushion totally insensible, the treacherous wizard tumbled him into a large chest, and shutting the lid, locked it. he then ransacked the apartments of the house of every thing portable worth having, which, with the gold, he put into another chest, then fetching in porters, he made them take up the chests and follow him to the seaside, where a vessel waited his orders to sail, and embarked with the unfortunate mazin and his plunder. the anchor was weighed, and the wind being fair, the ship was soon out of sight of the land. mazin's mother early in the morning returning to her house found the door open, her son missing, and the rooms ransacked of all her valuables. she gave a loud shriek, tore her hair, beat her bosom, and threw herself on the ground, crying out for her son, who she thought must have been murdered by the treacherous magician, against whose professions she had warned him to be cautious, till the sight of the transmuted gold had deceived her, as well as the unfortunate victim of his accursed arts. some neighbours hearing her lamentations rushed in, lifted her from the ground, and inquired the cause of her distress; which, when informed of, they endeavoured to alleviate by every consolation in their power, but in vain: the afflicted old lady was not to be comforted. she commanded a tombstone to be raised in the court-yard, over which she sat night and day bewailing her son, taking scarcely food sufficient to preserve her miserable existence. the infidel hijjemmee, who was a wicked magician and a worshipper of fire, by name bharam, hated the true believers, one of whom annually for several years past he had inveigled by his offers of instructing in the science of transmuting metals into his power; and after making him subservient to his purposes in procuring the ingredients necessary for his art, had treacherously put him to death, lest the secret should be divulged: such was now his intention towards the unfortunate mazin. on the evening of the second day after the sailing of the vessel, bharam thought proper to awaken his victim to a sense of his misery. he opened the chest, which had been placed in his cabin, and poured a certain liquid down the throat of mazin, who instantly sneezed several times; then opening his eyes, gazed for some minutes wildly around him. at length, seeing the magician, observing the sea, and feeling the motion of the ship, his mind surmised to him the misfortune which had happened; and he guessed his having fallen into the snares of the treacherous bharam, against which his mother had warned him, but in vain. still, being a virtuous mussulmaun, he would not complain against the decrees of heaven; and instead of lamentation uttered the following verse of the sacred koran: "there is no support or refuge but from the almighty, whose we are, and to whom we must return. deal gently with me, o my god, in the dictates of thy omnipotence; and make me resigned under thy chastening, o lord of all being." having finished the above prayer, mazin turning humbly towards his accursed betrayer, said in a supplicating tone, "what hast thou done, my father? didst thou not promise me enjoyment and pleasure?" the magician, after striking him, with a scowling and malignant sneer, exclaimed, "thou dog! son of a dog! my pleasure is in thy destruction. nine and thirty such ill-devoted wretches as thyself have i already sacrificed, and thou shalt make the fortieth victim to my enjoyment, unless thou wilt abjure thy faith, and become, like me, a worshipper of the sacred fire, in which case thou shalt be my son, and i will teach thee the art of making gold." "cursed be thou, thy religion, and thy art," exclaimed the enraged mazin: "god forbid that for the pleasures of this world i should apostatize from our holy prophet, and give up the glorious rewards reserved in certain store for his faithful disciples. thou mayest indeed destroy my body, but my soul despises thy torments" "vile dog!" roared out the now furious sorcerer, "i will try thy constancy." he then called in his slaves, who held mazin on the floor of the cabin while their abominable master beat him with a knotted whip till he was covered with a gore of blood, but the resolute youth, instead of complaining, uttered only prayers to heaven for divine support under his pangs, and strength of fortitude to acquire the glory of martyrdom. at length the magician, exhausted by his cruel exercise, desisted, and making his slaves load his unfortunate victim with heavy fetters, chained him down with only a coarse mat to lie upon in a dark closet, in which was placed some stinking water and coarse bread, just sufficient to keep up his miserable existence. mazin's courage was not to be overcome he washed his wounds, and comforted himself with the hope that if he died he should enjoy the blisses of paradise, or if providence had decreed his continuance in life, that the same providence would present a mode of relief from his present and future afflictions. in this assurance he took a little of his wretched fare, and in spite of the agony of his wounds fell asleep, but only to awake to fresh misery in the morning he was again persecuted by his cruel tormentor, who for three months daily harassed him with blows, with revilings, and every sort of insult that malice could invent or cruelty devise. hitherto the wind had been fair, and the vessel had nearly reached the desired haven, when suddenly it changed, and a most tremendous storm arose the waves threatened to swallow up or dash the vessel in pieces, so that all gave themselves over for lost. at this crisis the sailors, who believed that the tempest was sent by heaven as a judgment for their suffering the unfortunate mazin to be so cruelly tormented, went in a body to the accursed bharam, and accused him of having brought down the wrath of god upon the crew by his persecution of the young mussulmaun; at the same time threatening to cast him overboard if he did not instantly release the youth from his confinement. to show the seriousness of their resolves, the sailors seized the slaves who had been the instruments of the magician's cruelty, and threw them into the sea, which so alarmed the treacherous bharam that he immediately released mazin from his chains, fell at his feet, begging pardon for his hard usage, and promising if they escaped the storm to conduct him safely to his own country, and fulfil his promise of instructing him in the secret of making gold. wonderful to relate! but no sooner was mazin freed from his fetters than the violence of the tempest lessened, by degrees the winds subsided, the waves abated their swell, and the sea no longer threatened to overwhelm them: in a few hours all was calm and security, and a prosperous gale enabled the shattered vessel to resume her course. the sailors now regarding mazin as one immediately befriended by heaven, treated him with the greatest respect and attention; and the hypocritical magician pretending sorrow for his late cruelties, strove to procure his forgiveness and good opinion by every art of flattery and affected contrition; which had such an effect on the ingenuous youth that he forgot his treachery, again believed his fair promises and assurances that the torments he had undergone had only been inflicted as trials of his constancy and belief in the true religion, virtues necessary to be proved before the grand secret of transmuting metals could be trusted to his keeping. the remainder of the voyage was prosperous and happy, and at the expiration of three months more the vessel anchored on the wished for coast, which was rocky, and the beach strewed with pebbles of every colour. the magician having given orders to the master of the vessel to wait a month for their return, disembarked with mazin, and they proceeded together into the country. when they had got out of sight of the ship the magician sat down, and taking from his vestband a small drum, began to beat upon it with two sticks, when instantly a whirlwind arose, and a thick column of dust rolled towards them from the desert. mazin was alarmed, and began to repent having left the vessel; when the magician, seeing his colour change, desired him to calm his apprehensions, for which there was no cause, that he had only to obey his orders and be happy. he had scarcely spoken when the wind ceased, the dust dispersed, and three camels stood before them, one of which was laden with water and provisions; the others were bridled and very richly caparisoned. bharam having mounted one, and, at his desire, mazin the other, they travelled without ceasing, except to take the necessary refreshment and repose, for seven days and nights successively over a wild and sandy desert. on the eighth morning they reached a beautifully fertile tract, delightfully watered by clear streams; the ground verdant, shaded by spreading trees laden with fruit, on whose branches various birds warbled melodiously, and beneath them antelopes and other forest animals sported unmolested. at the end of a thick avenue rose to view a capacious dome of blue and green enamel, resting upon four columns of solid gold, each pillar exceeding in value the treasures of the sovereigns of persia and greece. they approached the dome, stopped their camels and dismounted, and turned the animals to graze. this splendid building was surrounded by a delightful garden, in which the now happy mazin and the magician reposed themselves all that day and night. at some distance from this enchanting spot appeared a stupendous fabric, whose numerous turrets and lofty pinnacles glittered to the eye, and denoted a palace of uncommon magnificence, so that the curiosity of mazin was raised, and he could not help inquiring of his companion to whom such a superb edifice might belong. the magician, rather roughly, desired him for the present to ask no questions concerning a place which belonged to his most bitter enemies, who were evil genii, and of whom at a proper time he would give him the history. mazim was silent, but from the magician's manner he began to forbode some new treachery. in the morning bharam beat his magical drum, and the three camels appealed, when mazim and his companion mounted, pursuing their journey in the same manner as before for seven days, with a speed more resembling flight than the pace of travel, for their camels were supernatural. on the eighth morning the magician inquired of mazim what he saw on the horizon. "i behold," said he, "to appearance, a range of thick black clouds extending from east to west." "they are not clouds," replied bharam, "but lofty mountains, called the jubbal al sohaub, or mountains of clouds, from their cloud-like appearance, on their summit lies the object of our journey, which with thy assistance we shall soon obtain, and return to our vessel more enriched than all the sovereigns of the world, but thou must be sure to obey me in whatever i may command." mazin promised to do so, but his heart trembled within him as he beheld the gloomy prospect before him, and recollected the boast which the accursed magician had made of his having sacrificed thirty-nine youthful victims on these mountains, and also his threat on board the ship to make the fortieth offering of himself. he repented of having trusted himself from the vessel, but it was now too late to recede. he resigned himself to the same providence who had relieved his sufferings in his voyage, and concealed, as well as he could, his uneasiness from the magician, who now endeavoured to sooth and flatter him with artful promises and caresses. for four days longer they pursued their route, when it was stopped by the black mountains, which formed, as it were, a wall inaccessible, for the precipices were perpendicular, as if scarped by art, and their tremendous height cast a dark and gloomy shade to a vast distance. they now dismounted, and turned their camels to graze, when the magician took out of his package three loaves and a sum of water, after which he lighted a fire; then having beat his talismanic drum, the camels again appeared, the smallest of which he killed, embowelled, and carefully flayed off the skin, the inside of which he washed with water. having done thus, he addressed mazin, saying, "my son, the task must now be thine to crown our labours with success. enter this skin, with these loaves and this water bag for thy sustenance while thou remainest on the summit of the mountain. be not afraid, for no harm can happen i will sew up the skin, leaving room enough for the admission of air. by and by a roc will descend, and seizing it in her talons carry thee easily through the air. when she shall have alighted on the table-land of the mountain, rip open the stitches of the skin with thy dagger, and the roc on seeing thee will be instantly scared, and fly far away. then arise, gather as much as possible of a black dust which thou wilt find thickly strewed on the ground; put it into this bag, and throw it down to me, after which i will contrive an easy means for thy descent, and when thou hast rejoined me we will return to our vessel, and i will convey thee safely back to thy own country. the dust, which has the quality of transmuting metals into gold, we will share between us, and shall each have enough to rival all the treasuries on earth." mazim finding it in vain to oppose, allowed himself to be sewn up in the camel's skin with the loaves and water, recommending himself by mental prayer to the protection of allah and his prophet. the magician having finished his work retired to some distance, when, as he had said, a monstrous roc, darting from a craggy precipice, descended with the rapidity of lightning, grasped the skin in her widely extended talons, and soaring swifter than the eagle soon alighted on the table-land of the mountain; when mazin, feeling himself on the ground, ripped the stitches of his dangerous enclosure, and the roc being alarmed, uttered a loud scream and flew away. mazin now arose, and walked upon the surface of the mountain, which he found covered with black dust; but he beheld also the skeletons of the young men whom the accursed bharam, after they had served his purpose, had left to perish. his blood became chilled with horror at the view, as he apprehended the same unhappy fate: he however filled his bag with the black powder, and advanced to the edge of a precipice, from which he beheld the magician eagerly looking upwards to discover him. mazin called out; and when the hypocrite saw him, he began dancing and capering for joy, at the same time exclaiming, "welcome, welcome, my son! my best friend, beloved child! all our dangers are now over, throw me down the bag." "i will not," said mazin, "but will give it thee when thou hast conveyed me safely from this perilous summit." "that is not in my power," answered bharam, "till i shall have the bag: cast it down, and i swear by the fire which i worship immediately to procure thee a safe descent." mazin, relying on his oath, and seeing no other chance of escape, cast down the bag; which having taken up, the accursed sorcerer mounted his camel and was departing. the unhappy mazin in agony called after him, saying, "surely thou wilt not forfeit thy oath, nor leave me to perish!" "perish thou must, mussulmaun dog!" exclaimed the treacherous magician, "that my secret may be kept, nor can thy boasted prophet save thee from destruction; for around thee are mountains impassable, and below a fathomless sea. i have obtained what i wished, and leave thee to thy fate." having said thus he speeded onwards, and was soon out of sight. mazin was now in an agony of despair, not a ray of hope comforted his mind; he beat his bosom, threw himself on the ground amid the mouldering skeletons of the former victims to the treachery of the magician, and lay for some time in a state of insensibility. at length the calls of hunger and thirst forced him back to a sense of wretched existence; and the love of life, however miserable, made him have recourse to his water and his loaves. being somewhat revived, religion came to his aid, and he began to pray for resignation to submit to the decrees of heaven, however painful. he then walked to the edge of the mountain overhanging the sea, which he observed to wash the base of the rock without any beach, at sight of which a desperate chance of escape struck his mind: this was, to throw himself from the precipice into the ocean, in hopes, should he survive the fall and rise to the surface, he might reach land. he commended himself to god, shut his eyes, held in his breath, and giving a desperate spring, plunged headlong into the dreadful abyss, which providentially received him unhurt, and a friendly wave drove him on shore; where, however, he remained some minutes in a lifeless stupor, owing to the rapidity of his descent from the brain-sickening precipice. when his senses returned mazin looked wildly around him, at first scarcely able to bear the light from the recollection of the dizzy eminence from which he had plunged; and an uneasy interval elapsed before he could persuade himself that the certainty of death was past. convinced at length of this, he prostrated himself to the earth, and exclaimed, "in god alone is our refuge and support! i thought i should have perished, but his providence has sustained me." he then wept exceedingly, entreated forgiveness of his offences, read several passages from the koran, which he had preserved in his vestband, repeated the whole of his rosary, and besought the intercession of the prophet for his deliverance from future dangers. after this he walked onwards till evening, the fruits of the forest his food, his drink the water of the streams, and his resting place the green turf. such was his progress, that after three days he reached the spot under the mountain where he had been taken up by the roc in the camel's skin. he now recognized the road he had come; and after measuring back his steps for nine days, beheld on the last the superb palace, concerning which he had inquired of the magician, who had informed him it was inhabited by evil genii, his most bitter enemies. for some time mazin hesitated whether he should advance to the gates of the palace; but considering that no greater calamity could happen to him than he had already endured, he contemned danger, and boldly advanced to a grand lodge built of white marble exquisitely polished. he entered, and beheld on one of the raised platforms which skirted the passage into the court two beautiful damsels playing at the game of chess; one of whom on beholding him exclaimed, "surely, sister, this is the young man who passed this way about a month ago with bharam the magician?" "i am he!" exclaimed mazin, at the same time throwing himself at her feet, "and entreat your hospitable protection." the lady, raising him from the ground, said, "stranger, you resemble so much a once beloved brother, that i feel inclined to adopt thee as such, if my sister will also agree to do so." the other lady readily assented. they then embraced mazin, seated him between them, and requested to be informed of his adventures, of which he gave them a true narration. when mazin had concluded his story, the ladies expressed compassion for his misfortunes, and the strongest resentment against the accursed magician, whom they vowed to punish by a tormenting death for having had the insolence to accuse them of being evil genii. they then proceeded to acquaint him with the cause of their residence in this secluded palace, saying, "brother, for as such we shall henceforward regard you, our father is a most potent sultan of a race of good genii, who were converted by solomon, the son of david, to the true faith; we are seven daughters by the same mother; but for some cause which we do not know the sultan our father, being fearful of our becoming connected with mankind, has placed us in this solitary spot. this palace was erected by genii for our accommodation; the meadows and forests around it are delightful, and we often amuse ourselves with field sports, there being plenty of every sort of game, as you must have observed. when we want horses or camels we have only to beat a small magical drum, and they instantly attend our call, ready caparisoned. our five sisters are at present at the chase, but will soon return. set thy heart at rest, forget thy misfortunes, which are now at an end, and thou shall live with us in ease and pleasure." the five sisters soon returned, and mazin's adventures being recounted to them they also adopted him as their brother; and he continued with these ladies, who strove to divert him all in their power by repeated rounds of amusements: one day they hunted, another hawked, another fished, and their indoor pleasures were varied and delightful; so that mazin soon recovered his health, and was happy to the extent of his wishes. a year had elapsed, when mazin one day riding out for his amusement to the enamelled dome supported on four golden columns, perceived under it the accursed magician, and with him a youth, whom, like himself, he had inveigled into his snares, and devoted also to destruction. the rage of mazin was kindled at the sight; he drew his sabre, and rushing unperceived behind the sorcerer, who was in the act of flaying a camel for the purposes already described, seized him by his hair, and exclaimed, "wretch! the judgment of heaven at length hath overtaken thee, and soon shall thy impure soul be plunged into that fire thou hast blasphemously adored." the magician struggled, but in vain. he then implored for mercy and forgiveness; but mazin, convinced by experience that he deserved none, struck off his head at one blow. then informing the intended victim, who stood near gazing with astonishment, of the wicked arts of the accursed bharam, and of his own narrow escape from almost certain destruction, he advised the young man to remount his camel, and return to the spot where he had disembarked from the vessel, which would safely convey him back to his own country. the youth, having thanked him for his deliverance, took his leave; and mazin returned to the palace, carrying with him the head of the magician as a trophy of his victory. he was highly applauded for his prowess by the sisters, who rejoiced in the destruction of so cruel an enemy to mankind. many days had not elapsed after this event, when one morning mazin and the sisters sitting together in a gallery of the palace, observed a thick cloud of dust rising from the desert and approaching towards them. as it came nearer they perceived through it a troop of horsemen; upon which the sisters, desiring mazin to retire into an inner chamber, went to the gateway to inquire who the strangers might be. they were servants of the genie sultan, father to the ladies, and sent by him to conduct them to his presence, in order to attend the nuptials of a near relation. upon this summons the sisters prepared for the journey, and at the end of three days departed, assuring mazin that they would return in a month. at taking leave they gave him the keys of every apartment in the palace, telling him that he might open every door except one, which to enter might be attended with unpleasant consequences, and therefore had better be avoided. mazin promised to observe their caution; and for many days was so well amused in examining the magnificent rooms and curiosities of the palace, that he did not feel a wish to transgress till the forbidden door alone remained unopened. having then nothing to divert him, he could not resist the impulse of curiosity, but unlocked the door, which opened on a marble staircase by which he ascended to the terraced roof of the palace, from whence a most delightful prospect feasted his sight. on one side his eye was arrested by an extensive garden, in the centre of which, under shady trees, was a basin of clear water, lined with gems of every colour and description. he resolved to visit this enchanting object; and descending the staircase, explored his way through a long arcade, which led him at length into the garden, in which he diverted himself with the scenery it afforded for some time. he then retired to an alcove on the margin of the basin, and sat down; but had not rested many moments, when to his astonishment he beheld descending from the sky a company of beautiful damsels, whose robes of light green silk floating in the air seemed their only support. alarmed at such a preternatural appearance, he retired to the end of the alcove, from whence he watched their motions. they alighted on the brink of the water, and having thrown off their robes, stood to the enraptured view of mazin in native loveliness. never had he beheld such enchanting beauty; but one even more exquisitely charming than the rest attracted his gaze, and from the instant fixed the affections of his heart. they now plunged into the basin, where for some time they amused themselves by swimming, every now and then playfully dashing the water over themselves and at each other. when satiated with frolic they came out of the water, sat for some time on the verdant margin, then dressed themselves, and adjusting their robes to the air, soared aloft, and were soon far from the sight of the enamoured mazin, who followed them till his eyes could stretch no farther; then despairing of ever again beholding the object of his affections, he fainted on the grass, and it was some time before he recovered his senses. he returned melancholy to the palace, and spent the night in reposeless agitation. the following morning the seven sisters returned; and she who had first welcomed him to their abode, and had ever since retained for mazin the purest affection, ran with eagerness to inquire after his health. great was her affliction on beholding him upon his bed, pale, and apparently in a state of rapid decay. after many kind questions, to which he returned no answers, she entreated earnestly, by the vow of brotherly and sisterly adoption which had past between them, that he would inform her of the cause of his unhappy dejection; assuring him that she would use every exertion to remove it, and gratify his wishes, be they what they might, however difficult to be obtained. mazin upon this, in a feeble tone, related his adventure in the garden; and declared that unless the beautiful (he supposed celestial) damsel could be obtained for him he must die of grief. the sister bade him be comforted, for in a short time his desires should be satisfied, which revived his spirits, and he accompanied his kind hostess to welcome home her sisters, who received him with their usual hospitality, but were grieved and alarmed at the sad alteration in his appearance, of which they inquired the reason, and were informed that it was the effect of absence from his generous patronesses. the next morning the sisters went upon a hunting excursion for ten days, only one (his kindest friend) remained in the palace, under pretence of attending mazin, whose health, she said, was too delicate to bear the exercise of the chase. when the others were departed, she informed mazin that the beautiful beings he had seen in the garden were of a race of genie much more powerful than her own, that they inhabited a country surrounded by seas and deserts not to be approached by human exertion, that the ladies he beheld were sisters to the queen of these genii, whose subjects were entirely female, occasionally visited by male genii, with whom they were in alliance for the sake of population, and to whom all the males were sent away as soon as born. she further told him, that these females had the power, from their silken robes, of soaring through the air with a flight an hundred times swifter than that of any bird, that they were fond of recreating in verdant spots, and bathing in the clearest waters, and that the garden he had seen them in was a favourite place of their resort, so that they would probably soon visit it again. "possibly," continued she, "they may recreate themselves there to-day; we will be on the watch, and if they appear, you must fix your eye on your favourite, mark where she places her robes, and while they are in the water seize and conceal them, for deprived of these she cannot fly away, and you may make her your prisoner. bring her to the palace, and endeavour by tenderness and endearing attention to gain her affection and consent to marriage; but remember when she is in your power to keep her robes from her, for should she regain possession of them she would certainly return to the flying islands, and you would see her no more." mazin and his adopted sister now repaired to the garden, and seated themselves in the alcove, nor had they been there long when the fair genii appeared as before, descended on the margin of the basin, and all having undressed, each laying her robes by themselves, rushed playfully into the water, in which they began to swim, dive, and besprinkle playfully each other. mazin, whose eager eye had ardently watched his beloved, swiftly, but cautiously, snatching up the robes of his mistress, conveyed them to the alcove unobserved by the fair bathers; who, when they had sufficiently amused themselves, quitted the water, and ascending the bank, began to dress; but how can we describe the distressful confusion of the unhappy genie whose robes had been stolen? big tears rolled down her beautiful cheeks, she beat her bosom, tore her hair, and uttered loud shrieks, while her sisters, instead of consoling her, were concerned only for their own safety, and dressing themselves with confused haste, bade her farewell, mounted into the air, and disappeared. on their departure, mazin and his adopted sister approached, and saluting the disconsolate genie endeavoured to console her, but for the present in vain, her mind being intent only on the sad captivity she thought awaited her, and the loss of her native country and relations. they led her gently to the palace, and mazin, retiring respectfully, left her to the care of his adopted sister, who by a thousand endearments and attentions so gained upon her, that in two days the genie began to recover her spirits, and consented to receive mazin as her husband, when the ladies should return from the chase. on their arrival at the palace they were informed by their sisters of what had happened, and introduced to the fair stranger; who, diverted by their company and attentions, now scarcely regretted her captivity. preparations were made for the nuptials, and in a short time mazin was made happy in the possession of his beloved genie. a round of festivities succeeded their marriage, and the seven sisters strove with each other who should by invention of new amusements make their residence among them most delightful to the happy pair mazin, however, now began to think of his mother and his native city with fond regret, and at length begged leave of his kind patronesses to return home, to which request they, from admiration of his filial love, though unwilling to part, consented, and a day was fixed for his departure. the time being arrived, the sisters beat their magical drum, when several camels appeared at the gates of the palace heavily laden with the richest goods, a large sum of money, valuable jewels, and refreshments for the journey, led by proper attendants. one camel carried a splendid litter for the conveyance of his wife, and another was richly caparisoned for the use of mazin, who, having taken an affectionate leave of his generous benefactresses, whom he promised to revisit at some future time, departed, and pursued the route back towards the sea shore, where he had disembarked with the magician. on the journey nothing remarkable occurred, and on their arrival at the coast they found a vessel ready to receive them, when the wind proving fair, a short time carried them safely to bussorah, where mazin had the satisfaction of finding his mother alive, though greatly wasted with constant grief and lamentation for his loss. to describe the joy of their meeting is impossible, for never was there more tender affection between parent and child than subsisted between mazin and his mother. she seemed to gain new life from his recovery, and again to grow young. the fair genie, who was now in the way of being a mother, appeared perfectly contented in her situation, and mazin, so unexpectedly restored to his country, was happy in the possession of all he wished; for the generous sisters had bestowed such wealth upon him, that, in addition to the domestic felicity he enjoyed, he was now one of the richest persons in all bussorah. three years had rolled away in undisturbed happiness, during which the fair genie had borne him two sons, when mazin thought it grateful to perform his promise to the seven sisters, the benevolent foundresses of his good fortune. having accordingly made preparations for his journey, he committed his wife's native robes to the care of his mother, giving her the key of a secret recess in which he had lodged them, but with a strict charge not to let the genie put them on, lest an irresistible impulse might inspire her to fly away to her own country; for though in general she had seemed contented, he had heard her now and then express a wish to be again with her own friends and species. the mother promised obedience, and mazin having taken an affectionate leave of her, his wife and children, with assurances of speedy return, embarked on board a vessel and pursued his voyage, which was uncommonly prosperous. on his landing he found camels waiting his arrival on the beach, for the genie ladies, by magic arts, knew of his coming, and had stationed them for his conveyance to their palace, which he reached in safety, and was received with the most affectionate welcomes and hospitality. some time after the departure of mazin, his wife requested her mother-in-law's permission to amuse herself at a public bath, and the old lady willingly accompanied her and the children to the most celebrated humnaum in the city, which was frequented by the ladies and those of the chief personages of the court, the caliph haroon al rusheed then happening to be at bussorah. when they reached the bath there were then in it some of the principal female slaves, attendants of zobeide, who, on the entrance of mazin's wife, were struck with her uncommon beauty, and instantly collecting round her, rapturously gazed upon her as she was undressing. the slaves of zobeide did not cease to admire mazin's wife till she left the hummaum, and even followed her till she entered her own house, when dusk had begun to gloom, and they became apprehensive of their mistress's being displeased at their long absence, and so it happened. upon entering into her presence, zobeide exclaimed, "where have ye loitered, and what has been the cause of your unusually long stay at the hummaum?" upon which they looked confusedly at each other, and remained silent. the sultana then said in anger, "instantly inform me of the cause of your delay!" when they related the wonderful beauty of mazin's wife, and dwelt so much upon her charms, that zobeide was overcome by curiosity to behold them. on the following day she sent for the mother of mazin, who obeyed the summons with fear and trembling, wondering what could have made the caliph's consort desirous of seeing a person of her inferior rank. mazin's mother prostrated herself, and kissed the feet of the sultana, who graciously raising her, said, "am mazin, our wish is that you introduce to me your son's wife, of whose beauty i have heard such a description, that i long to behold her." when the mother of mazin heard these words, her heart sunk within her, she trembled, but dared not refuse the command of zobeide, and she said, "to hear is to obey!" after which she took leave, with the usual ceremony of prostration before the throne of the sultana. when the mother of mazin left the princess zobeide she returned towards her own house; and when she had reached it, entered to her son's wife, and said, "our sultana zobeide hath invited thee to an entertainment." the wife of mazin was delighted, instantly rose up, arrayed herself in the richest apparel she was mistress of, and dressed her two children in their choicest garments and ornaments then with them, the mother of her husband, and a black slave, she proceeded, till they reached the palace of the princess zobeide, which they entered, and found her sitting in impatient expectation. they kissed the ground be fore her, and prayed for her prosperity. when the sultana zobeide beheld the wife of mazin her senses were confounded, her heart fluttered, she was astonished at her beauty, elegance, graceful stature, and blooming complexion, and exclaimed, "gracious heaven! where could such a form as this have been created?" then she seated her guests, and ordered a collation to be brought in, which was done immediately, when they ate and were satisfied, but zobeide could not keep her eyes from the wife of mazin of bussorah. she kissed her, and questioned her concerning what had befallen herself and her husband. her astonishment was redoubled on the relation of their adventures. the wife of mazin then said, "my princess, if you are thus surprised, though you have not seen me in my native robes, how would you be delighted at my appearance in them! if, therefore, you wish to gratify your curiosity by beholding a miracle, you must command the mother of my husband to bring my country dress." upon this zobeide commanded the mother of mazin to fetch the flying robes, and as she dared not disobey the sultana of the caliph, she went home, and speedily returned with them. zobeide took them into her hands, examined them, and was surprised at their fashion and texture. at length she gave them to the wife of mazin. when the wife of mazin had received the robes, she unfolded them, and going into the open court of the palace, arrayed herself in them, then taking her children in her arms, mounted with them suddenly into the air. when she had ascended to about the height of sixty feet, she called out to the mother of her husband, saying, "give my adieu, dear mother, to my lord, and tell him, should ardent love for me affect him he may come to me in the islands of waak al waak." after this speech she soared towards the clouds, till she was hidden from their eyes, and speeded to her own country. when the mother of mazin beheld her in the air, she beat her cheeks, scattered dust upon her head, and cried aloud to the princess zobeide, "this is thy mischief." zobeide was not able to answer or reprove her boldness from the excess of her sorrow and regret, which made her repent, when repentance could not avail. the old lady returned in despair to her own habitation. thus it happened to the persons above mentioned, but how was it with the affairs of mazin? he did not cease travelling for some time, till he arrived at the palace of the seven sisters, and paid his respects. they were rejoiced at his arrival, and inquired after his wife, when he informed them she was well, and that god had blessed him with two children, both sons, which added to their satisfaction. he remained with them for some time, after which he entreated their permission to depart. they took a tender leave of him, when he bade them farewell, and returned towards his own country; nor did he halt till he arrived in safety at bussorah. when he entered his house he found his mother alone, mournfully weeping and lamenting what had happened in his absence. seeing her in this state, he inquired the cause, upon which she informed him of all that had occurred, from the beginning to the conclusion. when mazin had heard the unwelcome intelligence, he cried out in an agony of distress for the loss of his wife and children, fell fainting to the ground, and forgot his own existence. his mother, on beholding his condition, beat her cheeks, and sprinkled water upon his face till he came to himself, when he wept and said to his mother, "inform me what my wife may have spoken on her departure." she repeated her farewell words: upon hearing which his distress and ardent longing for his wife and children was redoubled. he remained mournfully at home for the space of ten days, after which he resolved upon the journey to the islands of waak al waak, distant from bussorah one hundred and fifty years of travel. mazin departed from his mother after he had taken leave and entreated her prayers for his success, but the aged matron was so affected that she ordered her tomb to be prepared, and did nothing but weep and lament night and day for her son, who did not halt till he had reached the palace of the seven sisters. when they saw him they were surprised, and said to one another, "there must be some urgent cause for his returning so speedily." they saluted him, and inquired after his affairs: upon which he informed them of the desertion of his wife, what she had said at going away, and of his resolves to travel to the islands of waak al waak. the seven ladies replied, "this expedition is impossible to be accomplished either by thee or any of thy race; for these islands are distant a hundred and fifty years' journey, so that thou canst not live to reach them." mazin exclaimed, "my attempting it, however, is incumbent upon me, though i may perish on the road: if god has decreed my reunion with my wife i shall meet her again; but if not, i shall die and be received into the mercy of the almighty." the sisters did not cease to importune him to lay aside the journey, but it was impossible for him to obey them or remain at ease; upon which their grief for his situation increased. they knew that the distance was such as he could never overcome by human aid, or rejoin his wife, but they respected his ardent love for her and his children. on this account they consulted with one another how to assist him on the journey. he remained with them a month, but unable to repose or enjoy their entertainments. the sisters had two uncles, one named abd al kuddoos, and the other abd al sulleeb, who lived at three months distance from them, to whom they wrote in recommendation of mazin as follows. "the bearer is our friend mazin of bussorah. if you can direct him how to reach the islands of waak al waak, assist him; but if not, prevent him from proceeding, lest he plunge himself into destruction. at present he will not attend to our advice or reproofs, from excess of love to his wife and children, but through you there may finally occur to him safety and success." when they had sealed this letter they gave it to mazin, and bestowed also upon him, of water and provisions, what would suffice for three months' consumption, laden upon camels, and a steed for his conveyance, upon which he took leave of them with many thanks, fully resolved to pursue his journey to the islands of waak al waak. with much pain and difficulty he pursued his journey, nor had he any pleasure either in eating or drinking during the three months of his pilgrimage. at length he reached a verdant pasturage, in which was a variety of flowers, flocks of sheep, and cattle feeding. it was indeed a paradise upon earth. in one part of it he perceived a pleasant eminence on which were buildings: he advanced to them, and entered a court. within it he beheld a venerable looking personage, his beard flowing to his middle, whom he saluted; when the sage returned his compliments, welcomed him with respectful demeanour, and congratulated him on his arrival. he seated him, and laid before him a collation, of which they both ate till they were satisfied. mazin lodged with him that night, and in the morning the sage inquired of him his situation, and the reason of his coming to such a sequestered spot. mazin informed him; and, behold! this personage was abd al kuddoos; who, when he heard his guest mention particulars of his brother's children, redoubled his attentions to him, and said, "did they give you any letter?" mazin replied, "yes." he eagerly exclaimed, "give it to me." he gave it him, when he opened it, read it to himself, and considered the contents word byword. abd al kuddoos gazed earnestly at mazin; reflected on his adventures, at which he was astonished; and how he had plunged himself into danger and difficulty in such a wild pursuit. he then said to him, "my son, my advice is, that thou return by the way which thou hast come, and no longer vex thy soul on account of impossibilities, for this business thou canst not accomplish. i will write to the daughters of my brother what shall make thee happy with them, and restore thy peace. return then to them, and perplex not thyself farther, for between this spot and the islands of waak al waak is the distance of a hundred and fifty years' journey. on the way also are numerous perils, for in it are the abodes of genii, the haunts of wild beasts, and monstrous serpents, and some parts also where food cannot be had or thirst be gratified. have compassion then, my son, upon thyself, and rush not on destruction." abd al kuddoos continued to dissuade him from his resolution during three days, but he would not hear advice or reproof. on the third he prepared to depart, being sufficiently refreshed; upon which the old man, seeing his steadiness, arose, kindled a fire, cast into it some perfumes, and uttered incantations, to mazin unintelligible; when suddenly appeared a genie, in stature forty cubits; he was one of the subdued spirits of our lord solomon. he muttered and growled, saying, "for what, my lord, hast thou summoned me here? shall i tear up this eminence by the roots, and hurl it beyond the mountains of kaaf?" abd al kuddoos replied, "god be merciful to thee; i have occasion for thee, and request that thou wilt accomplish my wish in one day:" upon which the genie answered, "to hear is to obey." abd al kuddoos then said to the genie, "take up this young man, and convey him to my brother abd al sullecb." he consented, though the distance was a common journey of seventy years. the genie advanced, seized mazin, and placing him upon his shoulders, soared with him through the air from morning till sunset, when he descended before abd al sulleeb, paid his respects, and informed him of the commands of his brother abd al kuddoos. upon this he greeted mazin, who presented him the letter from the daughters of his brother, which he opened and read. when he had examined the contents, he was astonished at the circumstances which had befallen mazin, his arrival with him, and his resolve to penetrate to the islands of waak al waak. he then said to him, "my son, i advise that thou vex not thyself with these difficulties and dangers, for thou canst never attain thy object, or reach these islands." mazin now began to despair, and at the remembrance of his wife and children to weep bitterly, insomuch that he fainted, which, when abd al sulleeb beheld, his heart sympathized with his unhappy condition. he perceived that he would not return from his pursuit, or be controlled, and therefore thought it best to assist his progress towards the islands. going into another apartment, he kindled a fire, over which he sprinkled some perfumes, and uttered incantations; when, lo! ten genii presented themselves before him, and said, "inform us, my lord, what thou desirest, and we will bring it thee in an instant." he replied, "may god be gracious unto you!" and related to them the story of mazin, his wife, and children. when the ten genii had heard the narration, they exclaimed, "this affair is wonderful and miraculous; however, we will take and convey him safely over the mountains and deserts, to the extent of our country and dominion, and leave him there, but cannot promise further assistance, as we dare not pass a step beyond our own territories, for the land belongs to others. in it are innumerable horrors, and we dread the inhabitants." mazin having heard what they said, exclaimed, "i accept your offer with gratitude." the ten genii now took up mazin, soared with him through the air for a night and day, till they came to the limits of their territories, and then set him down in a country called the land of kafoor, took, their leaves, and vanished from his sight. he walked onwards, and did not neglect to employ his tongue in prayer, beseeching from god deliverance and the attainment of his wishes. often would he exclaim, "o god, deliverer from bondage, who canst guide in safety over mountains, who feedest the wild beasts of the forest, who decreest life and death, thou canst grant me if thou choosest relief from all my distress, and free me from all my sorrows." in this manner did he travel onwards during ten days; on the last of which he beheld three persons contending with each other, each man trying to kill his fellow. he was astonished at their conduit, but advanced towards them. upon his approach they desisted from combat, and one and all exclaimed, "we will be judged before his young man, and whoever contradicts his opinion shall be deemed in the wrong." to this they agreed, and coming up to mazin, demanded from him a just arbitration in their dispute. they then displayed before him a cap, a small copper drum, and a wooden ball, saying, "we are three brothers, by the same father and mother, who are both received into the mercy of god, leaving behind them these articles. they are three, and we are three; but a dispute hath fallen out among us respecting their allotment, as each of us says, 'i will have the cap.' our contention made us proceed to blows, but now we are desirous that thou shouldst arbitrate between us, and allot an article to each of us as thou shall judge best, when we will rest satisfied with thy decision, but should either contradict it he shall be adjuged an offender." when mazin heard the above he was surprised, and said to himself, "these articles are so paltry and of such trifling value as not to be worth an arbitration; for surely this shabby cap, the drum, and the wooden ball, cannot be worth altogether more than half a deenar; but i will inquire farther about them." he then said, "my brethren, wherein lies the value of these three things about which you were contending, for to me they appear of very little worth." they replied, "dear uncle, each of them has a property worth treasuries of wealth, and to each of them belongs a tale so wonderful, that wert thou to write it on a tablet of adamant it would remain an example for those who will be admonished." mazin then requested that they would relate to him the stories of the three articles, when they said, "the eldest brother shall first deliver the account of one, its properties, what can be gained from them, and we will not conceal any thing from thee." "this cap," said the elder brother, "is called the cap of invisibility, by which, whoever possesseth it may become sovereign of the world. when he puts it on, he may enter where he pleases, for none can perceive him, either genii or men, so that he may convey away whatever he chooses, unseen, in security. he may enter the cabinets of kings and statesmen, and hear all they converse upon respecting political intrigues. does he covet wealth, he may visit the royal treasuries, and plunder them at his pleasure; or does he wish for revenge, he can kill his enemy without being detected. in short, he may act as he pleases without fear of discovery." mazin now said to himself, "this cap can become nobody but me, to whom it will be most advantageous in the object of my expedition. perhaps it may conduct me to my wife and children, and i may obtain from its possession all i wish. it is certainly one of the wonders of the world and rarities of the age, not to be found among the riches of kings of the present day." when he had ruminated thus, he said, "i am acquainted with the properties of the cap, what are those of the drum?" the second brother began, saying, "whoever has this drum in his possession, should he be involved in a difficult situation, let him take it out of its case, and with the sticks gently beat upon the characters engraven on the copper; when, if his mind be collected and his courage firm, there will appear to him wonderful matters. the virtue of it consists in the words inscribed upon it, which were written by our lord solomon bin david in talismanic characters, each of which has control over certain spirits and princes of the genii, and a power that cannot be described in speech. hence, whoever is master of this drum may become superior to all the monarchs of the present day, for, on his beating it in the manner already described, when he is pressed for help, all the princes of the genii, with their sons, will appear also their troops and followers, ready to obey his commands. whatever he may order them to execute they will perform by virtue of the talisman of our lord solomon bin david." when mazin of bussorah had heard the above, he said to himself, "this drum is fitting only for me, as i have much more need of it than the brothers. it will protect me from all evil in the islands of waak al waak, should i reach them, and meet with my wife and children. it is true, if i take only the cap i may be able to enter all places, but this drum will keep injury from me, and with it i shall be secure from all enemies." after this, he said, "i have been informed of the virtues of the cap, and the properties of the drum, there now only remains the account of the wooden ball, that i may give judgment between you, therefore let the third brother speak." he answered, "to hear is to obey." the third brother said, "my dear uncle, whoever possesses this ball will find in it wonderful properties, for it brings distant parts near, and makes near distant, it shortens long journeys, and lengthens short ones if any person wish to perform one of two hundred years in two days, let him take it from its case, then lay it upon the ground and mention what place he desires to go, it will instantly be in motion, and rush over the earth like the blast of the stormy gale. he must then follow it till he arrives at the place desired, which he will have the power to do with ease." when the youth had concluded his description of the virtue of the wooden ball, mazin resolved within himself to take this also from the brothers, and said, "if your wish be that i should arbitrate between you, i must first prove the virtues of these three articles, and afterwards let each take that which may fall to him by decision." the three brothers exclaimed, "we have heard, and we consent; act as thou thinkest best, and may god protect thee in thy undertakings!" mazin then put on the cap, placed the drum under his vestband, took up the ball and placed it on the ground, when it speeded before him swiftly as the gale. he followed it till it came to the gate of a building which it entered, and mazin also went in with it. the brothers ran till they were fatigued, and cried out, "thou hast sufficiently tried them;" but in vain, for by this time there was between him and them the distance of ten years' journey. mazin now rested, took the drum in his hands, rubbed his fingers over the talismanic characters, hesitated whether he should strike them with the sticks, then labored lightly upon them, when, lo! a voice exclaimed, "mazin, thou hast gained thy desires. "thou wilt not, however," continued the voice, "arrive at thy object till after much trouble, but take care of the ball in this spot, for thou art at present in the land of the evil genii." upon this, mazin took up the ball and concealed it in his clothes; but he was overcome with astonishment at hearing words without seeing the speaker, and exclaimed, "who art thou, my lord?" "i am," replied the voice, "one of the slaves of the characters which thou seest engraved upon the drum, and unremittingly in attendance; but the other servants will not appear except the drum be beaten loudly, when three hundred and sixty chiefs will attend thy commands, each of whom has under his authority ten thousand genii, and every individual of them numerous followers." mazin now inquired the distance of the islands of waak al waak; to which the voice replied, "three years' journey:" upon which he struck the ball before him, and followed it. he next arrived in a region infested by serpents, dragons, and ravenous beasts, in the mountains of which were mines of copper. he now again tabored gently upon the drum, when the voice exclaimed, "i am ready to obey thy commands." "inform me," said mazin, "what is the name of this country?" "it is called," answered the voice, "the land of dragons and ravenous animals. be careful then of thyself, and make no delay, nor regard fatigue, for these mountains are not to be passed without a chance of trouble from the inhabitants, who are genii, and in their caves are furious wild beasts." upon this he struck the ball afresh, and followed it unceasingly, till at length he reached the sea shore, and perceived the islands of waak al waak at a distance, whose mountains appeared of a fiery red, like the sky gilded by the beams of the setting sun. when he beheld them he was struck with awe and dread; but recovering, he said to himself, "why should i be afraid? since god has conducted me hither, he will protect me; or, if i die, i shall be relieved from my troubles, and be received into the mercy of god." he then gathered some fruits, which he ate, drank some water, and having performed his devotions, laid himself down to sleep, nor did he awake till the morning. in the morning mazin had recourse to his drum, which he rubbed gently, when the voice inquired his commands. "how am i," said he, "to pass this sea, and enter the islands?" "that is not to be done," replied the voice, "without the assistance of a sage who resides in a cell on yonder mountains, distant from hence a day's journey, but the ball will conduct thee there in half an hour. when you reach his abode, knock softly at the door, when he will appear, and inquire whence you come, and what you want. on entering he will receive thee kindly, and desire thee to relate thy adventures from beginning to end. conceal nothing from him, for he alone can assist thee in passing the sea." mazin then struck the ball, and followed it till he arrived at the abode of the hermit, the gate of which he found locked he knocked, when a voice from within said, "who is at the gate?" "a guest," replied mazin upon which the sage arose and opened the door, admitted him, and entertained him kindly for a whole night and day, after which mazin ventured to inquire how he might pass the sea the sage replied, "what occasions thy searching after such an object?" mazin answered, "my lord, i intend to enter the islands, and with that view have i travelled far distant from my own country." when the sage heard this, he stood up before him, took a book, opened it, and read in it to himself for some time, every now and then casting a look of astonishment upon mazin. at length he raised his head and said, "heavens! what troubles, disasters, and afflictions in exile have been decreed to this youth in the search of his object!" upon this mazin exclaimed, "wherefore, my lord, did you look at the book and then at me so earnestly?" the sage replied, "my son, i would instruct thee how to reach the islands, since such is thy desire, but thou canst not succeed in thy desires till after much labour and inconvenience. however, at present relate to me thy adventures from first to last" mazin rejoined, "my story, my lord, is such a surprising one, that were it engraven on tablets of adamant, it would be an example for such as would take warning." when he had related his story from beginning to end, the sage exclaimed, "god willing thou wilt attain thy wishes:" upon which mazin inquired concerning the sea surrounding the islands, and how he could overcome such an impediment to his progress; when the sage answered, "by god's permission, in the morning we will repair to the mountains, and i will shew thee the wonders of the seas." when god permitted morning to dawn the hermit arose, took mazin with him, and they ascended the mountains, till they reached a structure resembling a fortress, which they entered, and proceeded into the inmost court, in which was an immense colossal statue of brass, hollowed into pipes, having in the midst of it a reservoir lined with marble, the work of magicians. when mazin beheld this he was astonished, and began to tremble with fear at the vastness of the statue, and what miraculous power it might contain. the hermit now kindled a fire, threw into it some perfumes, and muttered some unintelligible words, when suddenly dark clouds arose, from which burst out eddies of tempestuous wind, lightnings, claps of thunder, groans, and frightful noises, and in the midst of the reservoir appeared boiling waves, for it was near the ocean surrounding the islands. the hermit did not cease to utter his incantations, until the hurricane and noises had subsided by his authority, for he was more powerful than any of the magicians, and had command over the rebellious genii. he now said to mazin, "go out, and look towards the ocean surrounding the islands." mazin repaired to the summit of the mountain, and looked towards the sea, but could not discover the smallest trace of its existence: upon which he was astonished at the miraculous power of the hermit. he returned to him, exclaiming, "i can behold no remains of the ocean, and the islands appear joined to the main land;" when the sage said, "my son, place thy reliance on god and pursue thy object," after which he vanished from sight. mazin now proceeded into the islands, and did not stop till he had reached a verdant spot watered by clear rivulets, and shaded by lofty trees. it was now sunrise, and among the wonders which he beheld was a tree like the weeping willow, on which hung, by way of fruit, beautiful damsels, who exclaimed, "praised be god our creator, and former of the islands of waak al waak." they then dropped from the tree and expired. at sight of this prodigy his senses were confounded, and he exclaimed, "by heavens, this is miraculously surprising!" when he had recovered himself, he roamed through the groves, and admired the contrivances of the almighty till sunset, when he sat down to rest. he had not sat long when there approached towards him a masculinely looking old woman of disagreeable countenance, at sight of whom mazin was alarmed. the matron guessing that he was in fear of her, said to him, "what is thy name, what are thy wants? art thou of this country? inform me; be not afraid or apprehensive, for i will request of god that i may be the means of forwarding thy wishes." on hearing these words the heart of mazin was encouraged, and he rerelated to her his adventures from first to last. when she had heard them, she knew that he must be husband to the sister of her mistress, who was queen of the islands of waak al waak, and said, "thy object is a difficult one, but i will assist thee all in my power." the old woman now conducted mazin through by-paths to the capital of the island, and led him unperceived in the darkness of night, when the inhabitants had ceased to pass through the streets, to her own house. she then set before him refreshments, and having eaten and drunk till he was satisfied, he praised god for his arrival; when the matron informed him concerning his wife, that she had endured great troubles and afflictions since her separation, and repented sincerely of her flight. upon hearing this, mazin wept bitterly, and fainted with anguish. when revived by the exertions of the old woman, she comforted him by promises of speedy assistance to complete his wishes, and left him to his repose. next morning the old woman desiring mazin to wait patiently for her return, repaired to the palace, where she found the queen and her sisters in consultation concerning the wife of mazin, and saying, "this wretch hath espoused a man, by whom she has children, but now she is returned, we will put her to death after divers tortures." upon the entrance of the old lady they arose, saluted her with great respect, and seated her, for she had been their nurse. when she had rested a little, she said, "were you not conversing about your unfortunate sister? but can ye reverse the decrees of god?" "dear nurse," replied they, "no one can avoid the will of heaven, and had she wedded one of our own nature there would have been no disgrace, but she has married a human being of bussorah, and has children by him, so that our species will despise us, and tauntingly say, 'your sister is a harlot.' her death is therefore not to be avoided." the nurse rejoined, "if you put her to death your scandal will be greater than hers, for she was wedded lawfully, and her offspring is legitimate; but i wish to see her." the eldest sister answered, "she is now confined in a subterraneous dungeon;" upon which the nurse requested permission to visit her, which was granted, and one of the sisters attended to conduct her to the prison. the nurse, on her arrival at the prison, found the wife of mazin in great distress from the cruelty of her sisters. her children were playing about her, but very pallid, from the closeness of their confinement. on the entrance of the nurse she stood up, made her obeisance, and began to weep, saying, "my dear nurse, i have been long in this dungeon, and know not what in the end may be my fate." the old woman kissed her cheeks, and said, "my dear daughter, god will bring thee relief, perchance on this very day." when the wife of mazin heard this, she said, "good heavens! your words, my dear nurse, recall a gleam of comfort that last night struck across my mind from a voice, which said, 'be comforted, o wife of mazin, for thy deliverance is near.'" upon this the old woman replied, "thou shalt indeed be comforted, for thy husband is at my abode, and will speedily release thee." the unfortunate prisoner, overcome with joy, fainted away, but was soon restored by the nurse's sprinkling water upon her face, when she opened her eyes and said, "i conjure thee by heaven, my dear nurse, inform me if thou speakest truth, or dissemblest." "i not only speak truth," answered the nurse, "but by god's help thou shalt meet thy husband this day." after this she left her. the nurse, upon her return home, inquired of mazin if he had skill to take his wife away, provided he was admitted into the dungeon at night. he replied, "yes." when night was set in, she conducted him to the spot where she was confined, left him near the gate, and went her way. he then put on his cap of invisibility, and remained unperceived all night by any one. early in the morning the queen, his wife's eldest sister, advanced, opened the gate of the prison, and entered, when he followed unseen behind her, and seated himself in a corner of the apartment. the queen went up to her sister, and beat her cruelly with a whip, while her children wept around her, till the blood appeared upon her body, when she left her hanging by her hair from a pillar, went out, and locked the door of the dungeon. mazin now arose, unloosed his wife's hair, and pulling off the cap, appeared before her, when she exclaimed, "from whence didst thou come?" they then embraced each other, and he said. "ah, why didst thou act thus, leave me in such affliction, and plunge thyself into such distress, which, indeed, thy conduct hath almost deserved?" "it is true," replied she; "but what is past is past, and reproach will not avail, unless thus canst effect our escape:" upon which he exclaimed, "does thy inclination really lead thee to accompany me to my own country?" she answered, "yes; do with me what thou choosest." they remained in endearment with their children until evening, when the keeper of the dungeon approaching, mazin put on his cap of invisibility. the keeper having set down the provisions for the night, retired into a recess of the dungeon and fell asleep; when mazin and his family sat down and refreshed themselves. perceiving the keeper asleep, mazin tried the door and found it unlocked; upon which, he, with his wife and children, left the prison, and travelled as quickly as possible all night. when the queen, in the morning, was informed of her sister's escape she was enraged, and made incantations, on which seven thousand genii attended, with whom she marched out in pursuit, resolved to cut the fugitives in pieces. mazin, looking behind him, perceived a cloud of dust, and soon appeared the forces of his wife's sister, who cried out on seeing him, with dreadful howls, "where will ye go, ye wretches, ye accursed? where can ye hide yourselves?" upon this mazin took out his drum, and beat it violently, when, lo! there appeared before him legions of genii, in number more than could be reckoned, and they fought with the armies of the queen, who was taken prisoner, with her principal attendants. when the wife of mazin beheld her sister in this distress her compassion was moved towards her, and she said to her husband, "hurt not my sister, nor use her ill, for she is my elder:" upon which he treated her respectfully, and commanded tents to be pitched for her and her court. peace being established, the sisters took an affectionate leave, and mazin, with his family, departed for the residence of abd al sulleeb, which they speedily reached with the assistance of the genii, and the directing ball. the old man received him kindly, and inquired his adventures, when he related them to him; at which he was surprised, especially at the account of the cap, the drum, and the ball; of which last mazin begged his acceptance, being now near home, and having no farther occasion for its use. abd al sulleeb was much pleased, and entertained him magnificently for three days, when mazin wishing to depart, the old man presented him with rich gifts, and dismissed him. mazin was continuing his route, when suddenly a band of a hundred banditti appeared, resolved to plunder and put him and his companions to death, with which design they kept advancing. mazin called out to them, "brother arabs, let the covenant of god be between you and me, keep at a distance from me." when they heard this they increased their insolence, surrounded him, and supposed they should easily seize all that he had; but especially when they beheld his wife, and the beauty she was endowed with, they said one to another, "let us put him to death, and not suffer him to live." each man resolved within himself, saying, "i will seize this damsel, and not take the plunder." when mazin saw that they were bent upon attacking him, to seize his wife and plunder his effects, he took out his drum and beat upon it in a slight manner, when, behold! ten genii appeared before him, requiring his commands. he replied, "i wish the dispersion of yonder horsemen;" upon which one of the ten advanced among the hundred banditti, and uttered such a tremendous yell as made the mountains reverberate the sound. immediately as he sent forth the yell, the banditti, in alarm, dispersed themselves among the rocks, when such as fell from their horses' backs fled on foot; so that they lost their reputation, and were ridiculed among the chiefs of the abbasside tribes. mazin now pursued his journey, and did not halt till he had reached the abode of abd al kuddoos, who advanced to meet him and saluted him, but was astonished when he beheld his company, and the wealth he had obtained. mazin related what had befallen him, of dangers, and hunger, and thirst; his safe arrival in the islands of waak al waak; the deliverance of his wife from prison, and the defeat of the army sent to oppose his return. he mentioned also the reconciliation between the sisters of his wife, and whatever had happened to him from first to last. abd al kuddoos was greatly astonished at these adventures, and said to mazin of bussorah, "truly, my son, these events are most surprising, and can have never occurred to any but thyself." mazin remained three days to repose himself, and was treated with hospitality and respect until the fourth, when he resolved to continue his journey, and took leave. he proceeded towards his own country, and did not halt on the way till he arrived with the seven sisters, the owners of the palace, who had so much befriended him. when mazin of bussorah arrived near the palace of the seven sisters, they came out to meet him, saluted him and his wife, and conducted them within; but they were astonished at his return, and at first could scarcely believe his success, wondering that he had not perished on the road, or been torn in pieces by the wild beasts of the desert; for they had regarded it as impossible that he should ever reach the islands of waak al waak. when they were seated, they requested him to relate to them all that had befallen him, which he did from first to last, and they were more than ever astonished at his uncommon adventures. after this they introduced a collation, and spread the cloth, when they ate till they were satisfied, and then wrote a letter and dispatched it to the mother of mazin, congratulating her on the health of her son, and his safe return with his wife and children. mazin remained with the ladies a month, enjoying himself in feasting and amusements, after which he begged permission to depart to his own country, for his heart was anxious for his mother. they dismissed him, and he travelled unceasingly till he arrived at bussorah. he entered the city at sunset, and proceeded to his own house, when his mother came out, saluted him, and embraced him. she had erected her tomb in the court of her house, and had wept night and day till she became blind, but when the letter arrived from the sisters, from the rapture of joy her sight returned unto her again. she beheld the children of her son, embraced them, and that night was to her as an eed or festival. when god had caused the morning to dawn, the chief personages of bussorah visited mazin to congratulate him on his return, and the principal ladies came to his mother, and rejoiced with her on the safety of her son. at length intelligence of it reached the caliph haroon al rusheed, who sent for mazin to his presence. having entered the audience chamber, he made the usual obeisance, when the caliph returned his salute, and commanded him to sit. when he was seated, the caliph demanded that he should relate the whole of what had befallen him, to which he answered, "to hear is to obey." mazin then recited his adventures from the time the fire-worshipper who had stolen him from his mother by his stratagems, the mode of his coming to the palace of the seven ladies, the manner in which he obtained his wife, her flight from the palace of the empress zobeide, his journey to the islands of waak al waak, also the dangers and difficulties he had encountered from first to last. the caliph was astonished, and said, "the substance of these adventures must not be lost or concealed, but shall be recorded in writing." he then commanded an amanuensis to attend, and seated mazin of bussorah by him, until he had taken down his adventures from beginning to end. story of the sultan, the dervish, and the barber's son. in the capital of a sultan named rammaud lived a barber, who had a son growing up to manhood, possessing great accomplishments of mind and person, and whose wit and humour drew numerous customers to his shop. one day a venerable dervish entering it, sat down, and calling for a looking glass, adjusted his beard and whiskers, at the same time asking many questions of the young man; after which he laid down a sherif, rose up, and departed. the next day he came again, and for several days following, always finishing his visit by leaving a piece of gold upon the looking-glass, to the great satisfaction of the barber, who from his other customers never usually received more than sonic coppers of little value; but though he liked the gold, his suspicions were raised against the generous donor, supposing him to be a necromancer, who had some evil design against his son, whom, therefore, he cautioned to be upon his guard. the visits of the dervish were continued as usual for some time; when one day he found the barber's son alone in the shop, and was informed that his father had gone to divert himself with viewing some experiments which the sultan was making of the mixture of various metals, being an adept in chemistry, and eager in search of the philosopher's stone. the dervish now invited the young man to accompany him to the spot where the experiments were making, and on their arrival they saw a vast furnace, into which the sultan and his attendants cast pieces of metal of various sorts. the dervish having taken a lump of ore from his wallet threw it into the furnace; then addressing the young barber, said, "i must for the present bid you farewell, as i have a journey to take; but if the sultan should inquire after me, let him know i am to be found in a certain city, and will attend his summons." having said this, the dervish presented the barber's son with a purse of gold, took his leave, and the youth returned home. great was the surprise of the sultan, when the metals in the furnace were all melted, to find them converted into a mass of solid gold, which proved, on assay, to be of the purest quality. every one was questioned as to what he had cast into the furnace, when there appeared no reason to suppose the transmutation could have been effected by such an accidental mixture of metals. at length it was remarked, that a dervish, accompanying the barber's son, had cast in a lump of ore, and immediately disappeared. upon this the sultan summoned the youth to his presence, and inquiring after his companion, was informed of the place of his residence, and of what, on his departure, he had said to him. the sultan was overjoyed at the welcome intelligence, and dispatched the young man, with an honourable attendance, to conduct the venerable dervish to his presence, where being arrived, he was received with the most distinguishing attention, and the barber's son was promoted to high office. after some days, the sultan requested the dervish to instruct him in the transmutation of metals, which he readily did, as well as in many other occult mysteries; which so gratified his royal patron, that he trusted the administration of government to his care. this disgusted the ministers and courtiers, who could not bear to be controlled by a stranger, and therefore resolved to effect his ruin. by degrees they persuaded their credulous master that the dervish was a magician, who would in time possess himself of his throne, and the sultan, alarmed, resolved to put him to death. with this intention, calling him to the presence, he accused him of sorcery, and commanded an executioner to strike off his head. "forbear awhile," exclaimed the dervish, "and let me live till i have shown you the most wonderful specimen of my art." to this the sultan consented, when the dervish, with chalk, drew a circle of considerable extent round the sultan and his attendants, then stepping into the middle of it, he drew a small circle round himself, and said, "now seize me if you can;" and immediately disappeared from sight. at the same instant, the sultan and his courtiers found themselves assaulted by invisible agents, who, tearing off their robes, whipped them with scourges till the blood flowed in streams from their lacerated backs. at length the punishment ceased, but the mortification of the sultan did not end here, for all the gold which the dervish had transmuted returned to its original metals. thus, by his unjust credulity, was a weak prince punished for his ungrateful folly. the barber and his son also were not to be found, so that the sultan could gain no intelligence of the dervish, and he and his courtiers became the laughingstock of the populace for years after their merited chastisement. adventures of aleefa, daughter of mherejaun, sultan of hind, and eusuff, son of sohul, sultan of sind. mherejaun, sultan of hind, was many years without any progeny, and immersed in melancholy at the thought of his kingdom's passsing to another family. one evening, while indulging his gloomy thoughts, he dropped into a doze, from which he was roused by a voice exclaiming, "sultan, thy wife this night shall conceive. if she bears a son, he will increase the glory of thy house; but if a daughter, she will occasion thee disgrace and misfortune." in due time the favourite sultana was delivered of a daughter, to the great mortification of the parents, who would have destroyed her had not her infant smiles diverted their anger. she was brought up in the strictest privacy, and at the end of twelve years the sultan had her conveyed to a strong citadel erected in the middle of a deep lake, hoping in such a confinement to prevent her from fulfilling the prediction which had been made concerning her. nothing could excel the magnificence of her abode, where she was left only with female attendants of the highest accomplishments, but no male was allowed to approach even the borders of the lake, except when supplies were conveyed for the use of its fair inhabitants, who were then restricted to their apartments. the gate of the citadel was entrusted to the care of an old lady, the princess's nurse. for three years the fair aleefa lived happy in her splendid prison, but the decree of fate was not to be overcome, and an event predestined by heaven overturned the cautious project of sultan mherejaun. eusuff, a dissipated young prince, son to the sultan of sind, having offended his father, fled from his court, and with a few attendants reached the borders of the lake, in his way to seek an asylum in the territories of mherejaun. curious to know who inhabited the citadel in the midst of it, he swam over the lake, and landed at the gate, which he found shut, but no one answered his loudest call for admission. upon this he wrote a note, requesting compassion to a helpless stranger, and having fixed it to an arrow, shot it over the battlements. it luckily for him fell at the feet of the princess, then walking in one of the courts of her palace. she prevailed upon her nurse to open the gate, and at sight of eusuff fell in love with him, as he did with her. he was admitted, and the tenderest interviews took place between them. joy and pleasure prevailed in the citadel, while the prince's attendants remained, expecting his return, on the banks of the lake. after some time, sultan sohul wishing to be reconciled to his son, and having learnt the route he had taken, dispatched his nephew named yiah to assure him of forgiveness, and invite him to return to sind. yiah arriving at the lake, was informed by eusuff's attendants that the prince had entered the citadel, since which they had not seen or heard anything of him. yiah, upon this, penned a note expressive of the sultan's forgiveness, and his wish to see the prince, which he fixed to an arrow and shot it into the palace, in the garden of which it fell, as eusuff and aleefa were walking for their amusement. the prince, on reading the note, overcome with joy at the intelligence of his father's forgiveness of his errors, resolved to return home and pay his duty to his parents. he communicated his design to the princess, who was plunged into the deepest sorrow at the thought of his departure, but he comforted her by assurances of his speedy return, declaring that nothing but filial duty could have torn him from her, even for a moment. she now implored him to to take her with him, but eusuff prudently represented that such a step could only disgrace her fame and enrage her father, who, on discovery of her flight, would invade the kingdom of sind with his powerful armies, and a scene of unnecessary bloodshed would ensue. on the contrary, it they waited patiently, sultan mherejaun might be prevailed upon to consent to their union; but, in the mean time, he would visit her often, while their meetings might, through the fidelity of their mutual attendants, be kept secret. aleefa, though unwilling, was obliged to acknowledge the justice of his reasoning, and consented to his departure; but on his taking leave, with tears and embraces entreated him not to be long absent, which he promised, and with truth, for his love was sincere, and it was with difficulty he submitted to the call of duty to a forgiving parent. eusuff having swam the lake with his bow and quiver upon his head, as before, rejoined his companions, who rejoiced to see him. he was received by his cousin yiah with transports of affection, and informed of what had happened since his departure from court; after which the prince related his love adventure with the fair aleefa, at the same time requesting his secrecy, and that he would charge the same on his attendants, as to his having been in the citadel, which he should earnestly beg also of his companions to observe. after a night's repose the two princes marched towards sind, and when within a day's distance from the capital, dispatched a courier to give notice of their approach. sultan sohul, overcome with joy at the recovery of his son, having commanded the city to be ornamented and splendid entertainments to be made for his triumphal entry, with his whole court in their most magnificent array advanced to meet him. the prince, on seeing his father's train, dismounted, fell on his face, then running up, eagerly embraced the stirrup of the old sultan, who threw himself upon his neck in a transport of joy, and wept over him with tears of affectionate rapture. a horse sumptuously caparisoned was now brought for the prince's mounting, and the father and son rode side by side into the city, amid the acclamations of all ranks of people; while, as they proceeded, basins full of silver and gold, coined for the occasion, were showered amongst the assembled crowds in the streets. it is impossible to describe the tender interview between the prince and the queen his mother, whose heart had been nearly broken on the flight of her son, or the glad transports of eusuff's own ladies, who were in number three wives and forty concubines. suffice it to say, that all was joy and pleasure in the palace, except in the breast of eusuff; who mingled with the satisfaction of return to his family an ardent desire to meet again the beautiful aleefa, so that the caresses of his women gave him no pleasure; and when he retired to his apartment, he did not, as was usual, call any of them to his presence, but passed the night alone, thinking of his beloved. morning invited him to new scenes of festivity, prepared by his happy parents, who little suspected how soon they were again to lose their son. eusuff having sacrificed a few days (to him long as the eve of dissolution) to his sense of duty, could no longer restrain his impatience, but with a faithful slave named hullaul, mounted on a favourite courser behind him, left the palace undiscovered in the darkness of night, and speeded with the swiftness of the gale towards the citadel of aleefa. being arrived on the banks of the lake, he secured his saddle and bridle among some bushes, and was carried with his attendant safely through the water by his noble steed. unbounded was the joy of the princess at again meeting her faithful lover, nor was his rapture less than hers. having committed hullaul to the care of the ladies of aleefa, they retired to their apartment. thirty days rolled on almost unperceived by eusuff, who forgot his parents, his family, and country, in the delights of love. on the thirtieth evening, as eusuff and aleefa were viewing the beautiful prospect from the terrace of the palace, they perceived a boat sailing towards it, which, as it drew nearer, the princess knew to belong to her father the sultan mherejaun; upon which she requested her lover to keep himself concealed from view, while she received the persons in the vessel. eusuff accordingly withdrew into a chamber, the lattice of which looked upon the lake; but how can we express his indignant surprise, and furious jealousy, when he beheld landing from the boat two handsome young men, into the arms of one of whom aleefa threw herself with eager transport, and after mutual embraces they withdrew together into the palace. without considering that his supposed rival might be a near relation to the princess, as he in fact was, being her first cousin, who had been brought up with her till her confinement to the lake; eusuff suffered himself to be overcome by unworthy suspicion, and resolved to quit for ever a faithless mistress. having written an angry letter upraiding her with falsehood, and bidding her farewell, he with his attendant hullaul mounted his courser; then delivering his note to one of the females, to be given to the princess, he swam over the lake and speeded rapidly to his own country, where he was once more joyfully received by his parents and family; and in order to forget the charms of aleefa, he indulged himself in mirth and pleasure with his lately forsaken ladies, who, delighted with the long-wished-for return of his affection, strove with each ether who should please him best. the unsuspecting aleefa was engaged with her cousin sohaul and ali bin ibrahim, a faithful eunuch who was his attendant, asking a thousand questions and listening to the news of her father's court, when eusuff's letter was put into her hands. rising up, she withdrew into a closet, opened it, and was much vexed at its ungrateful contents; but knowing herself innocent, and trusting that her lover would return when convinced of his mistake, she composed her mind as firmly as she, could till the departure of her cousin, who after some days took leave and returned to the capital of mherejaun, leaving behind him the eunuch, to the great satisfaction of the princess, who hoped to make him the mediator between her and her beloved. nor was she mistaken. when unfolding to him the whole of her adventures with eusuff, he agreed to be the bearer of a letter, and explain to him the cause of his needless suspicion. having swam the lake with the fair aleefa's packet wrapped in his clothes upon his head, the faithful ah in twenty days reached the city of sind, and demanding an audience in private, which was readily granted, delivered his commission to the prince. eusuff, whose anger was now calmed, and who had already begun to feel uneasy at absence from the still reigning favourite of his heart, on perusing her letter was overcome with joy. he listened eagerly to the account of his fancied rival by the eloquent ali bin ibrohim, to whom he expressed his conviction of her constancy, his own sorrow for his unreasonable desertion of her, and his intention of departing to visit her the next night, till when he desired the eunuch to repose himself after his fatigue. ali bin ibrahim was then lodged, by the prince's orders, in one of the most splendid apartments of the palace, and respectfully waited upon by the domestics of his court. the night following, eusuff having ordered his favourite hullaul to make preparations, departed from sind as before, with the eunuch mounted on a second courser. they in a few days reached the borders of the lake, swam over, and to the great joy of the once more happy aleefa arrived at the citadel. the recollection of the pains of absence added a zest to the transports of reunion, and the lovers were, if possible, more delighted with each other than before their separation. the faithful ali bin ibrahim was now dismissed with invaluable presents of precious stones, and returned to the court of mherejaun, the time for his stay at the citadel of the lake being expired. on his arrival, the sultan, anxious for intelligence of his daughter's health, took him into his closet, and while he was questioning him, by some accident the eunuch's turban unfortunately falling off, the precious stones, which, with a summary of the adventures of eusuff and aleefa, and his own embassy to sind, were wrapped in the folds, tumbled upon the floor. the sultan knew the jewels, and examining the turban, to make farther discoveries, found the paper, which he eagerly read; and furious was his wrath, when from the contents it appeared that all his caution to guard against the decrees of heaven had been vain, that the princess had been seduced, and his house dishonoured. he sternly inquired of the trembling ali if eusuff was yet with his daughter, and was answered in the affirmative, when he immediately gave orders for vessels to be prepared for his departure, hoping to take him prisoner, and at the same time commanded his army to march along the banks of the lake and encamp opposite the citadel. the unfortunate eunuch was thrown into a dungeon and loaded with heavy chains, after he had been bastinadoed almost to death; but still faithful to the lovers, he prevailed upon his gaoler by a large bribe during the night to permit him to dispatch a note by a trusty messenger to the princess, apprising her of the misfortune which had happened, in hopes that she would have time to escape with eusuff towards his own country before her father's arrival. fortunately for the lovers, this information reached them the next morning, when they consulted what measures to pursue, and it was agreed, that instead of both quitting the citadel, only eusuff and hullaul should return to sind, as the princess was unequal to such a rapid journey, but that in order to ensure her safety, the slaves should, on the sultan's arrival, assure him that she had gone off with her lover, when he would either return home or pursue the prince with his army; who, however, mounted as he was on so swift a courser, could not be overtaken. it was also settled that eusuff, on his arrival in his own country, should send an embassy to mherejaun, declaring his marriage with aleefa, and requesting pardon, and leave to pay his duty as his son-in-law. this stratagem had in part its effect, but no precaution could ward off the fulfilment of the prediction at the princess's birth, which was that she should occasion the disgrace and death of her father. mherejaun armed at the citadel a few hours after eusuff's escape, and was informed by her attendants that she had also accompanied him in his flight; upon which the enraged sultan, hurried on by fate, without stopping to search the palace in which his daughter was concealed, hastened to join his troops on the banks of the lake, and with a vast army pursued the sindian prince, who, however, reached his capital in safety. on his arrival, having informed his father of his adventures, the old sultan, eager to gratify his son, approved of his additional marriage with the fair aleefa, and dispatched an embassy to mherejaun, who by this time was in the territory of sind, laying it waste with fire and sword, no troops scarcely being opposed to his sudden invasion. he received the ambassador with mortifying haughtiness, bidding him return to his master, and inform him that he never would forgive the seduction of his daughter, in revenge for which he had taken a solemn oath to overturn the kingdom of sind, raze the capital, and feast his eyes with the blood of the old sultan and his son. on receipt of this ungracious reply to his proposals, the sultan and eusuff had no alternative but to oppose so inveterate a foe. they collected their troops, by whom they were much beloved, and marched to meet the enemy, whom, after an obstinate battle, they defeated, and mherejaun was slain in the action. it is impossible to resist the decrees of heaven. from god we came, and to god we must return. eusuff, after the action, behaved with the greatest humility to the conquered, and had the body of the unfortunate mherejaun embalmed and laid in a splendid litter, in which it was conducted by a numerous escort, in respectful solemnity, to the capital of hind, and deposited with funeral pomp, becoming the rank of the deceased, in a magnificent mausoleum, which had been erected by himself, as is customary among the sovereigns of asia. the prince, at the same time, dispatched letters of condolence to the mother of aleefa, lamenting the fate of mherejaun, whom he had been, much against his will, necessitated to oppose in battle, and expressing his ardent love for her daughter, a marriage with whom was his highest hope, as it was his first wish to console the mother of his beloved in her misfortunes. the sultana, who had received intelligence of the decisive victory and the death of her husband, and who expected, instead of such conduct, to see the victor besieging her capital, felt some alleviation of her sorrow in the prospect of saving her people from destruction, by consenting to an union between eusuff and aleefa. her answer accordingly was favourable, upon which the prince of sind repaired to the lake, and conducting his willing bride to the capital of hind, at the expiration of the stated time of mourning for mherejaun, their nuptials were celebrated with all possible magnificence, amid the united acclamations of the subjects, who readily acknowledged his authority, and had no cause to repent of their submission to his yoke. his next care was to inform the caliph mamoon, who was then commander of the faithful at bagdad, of the events which had happened, accompanying his petition with a great sum of money, and offerings of all the rarities the countries of hind and sind afforded; among which were ten beautiful slaves, highly accomplished in singing, dancing, and a talent for poetry. they recited extempore verses before the caliph, but the subject of each was so expressive of their wish to return to their beloved sovereign, and delivered in so affecting a manner, that mamoon, though delighted with their wit and beauty, sacrificed his own pleasure to their feelings, and sent them back to eusuff by the officer who carried the edict, confirming him in his dominions, where the prince of sind and the fair aleefa continued long, amid a numerous progeny, to live the protectors of their happy subjects. adventures of the three princes, sons of the sultan of china. a sultaness of china being seized with an alarming illness was given over by the physicians, who declared her case incurable by any other means than the water of life, which they feared it was next to impossible to obtain before nature would be exhausted; the country in which, if anywhere, it was to be found, being so very distant. such, however, was the affection of the sultaness's three sons, that in hopes of saving their mother they resolved to go in search of the precious medicine, and departed immediately in the route pointed out by the physicians. after travelling without success to their inquiries through divers countries, they agreed to separate, in hopes that one of them at least might be fortunate enough to procure the wished-for miraculous liquid, and return home in time to save their mother. having taken an affectionate farewell, each pursued his journey alone. the eldest prince, after a fatiguing walk (for the brothers had thought it prudent to lay aside their dignity, and as safest to disguise themselves in mean habits) over a wild country, arrived at last within sight of a large city, inhabited by blasphemous jews, near which, in a superb synagogue, he laid himself down on a carpet to repose, being quite exhausted with toil and hunger. he had not rested long, when a jew rabbi entering the building, the prince begged for the love of god a little refreshment; but the wicked infidel, who hated true believers, instead of relieving, cruelly put him to death with his sabre, and wrapping the corpse in a mat, threw it into a corner of the synagogue. by ill fortune, on the day following the second prince arrived, and was treated in the same manner by the barbarous jew, and on the next came also the youngest brother to the same place, where he was met by the base assassin, who would have killed him also, had not the extraordinary beauty of the young prince struck his covetous mind with the idea of making him a slave, and selling him for a large sum of money. speaking therefore to him in a kind manner he brought him refreshments, and inquired if he was willing to be his servant, and employ himself in cleaning the synagogue and lighting the lamps; to which the prince, being in an exhausted condition, seemingly assented, seeing no other means of present support, but secretly resolved to escape when recovered from his fatigue. the jew now took him to his house in the city, and showed him, apparently, the same tenderness as he used towards his own children. the next day the prince repaired to his allotted task of cleaning the synagogue, where, to his grief and horror, he presently discovered the bodies of his unfortunate brothers. while he lamented their unhappy fate with showers of tears, the recollection of his own perilous situation, in the power of their murderer, filled his mind with terror; but after the agonies of thought were over, the natural courage of a princely heart rose in his bosom, and he meditated how to revenge the death of his brothers on the savage infidel. an opportunity happened that same night. the prince having composed his mind, finished his work, and when the jew arrived to examine it, dissembled so well, that no appearance of his inward melancholy was displayed. the jew applauded his diligence, and taking him home, made him sit down to supper with himself and family, consisting of a wife and two young lads. it being the middle of summer, and the weather sultry, they retired to sleep on the open terrace of the house, which was very lofty. in the dead of night, when the jew and his family were fast locked in the arms of slumber, the prince, who had purposely kept himself awake, seized the sabre of the treacherous infidel, and with a dexterous blow struck off his head; then snatching up the two children, hurled them headlong from the terrace, so that their brains were dashed out on the stone pavement of the court below. he then uplifted the sabre to destroy the jew's wife, but the thought that she might be of use to him withheld his hand. he awoke her gently, commanded her to make no noise, and follow him down stairs, where, by degrees, he informed her of his adventures, the discovery he had made of the murder of his brothers, and his revenge on her treacherous husband and ill-fated children, whom, however, he would not have destroyed had he not been apprehensive of their cries alarming the neighbourhood. the moosulmaun woman, for such she secretly was, did not regard the death of the wicked jew, who had married her against her will, and often used her with great harshness, and her sorrows for the children were softened by the salvation of her own life. she also felt sentiments of tenderness towards the prince, whose injuries in the murder of his unfortunate brothers had compelled him to revenge, and felt herself obliged to his mercy in letting her live. she now informed him that in the jew's laboratory were many valuable medicines, and among them the very water of life he was in search of; which intelligence was most gratifying to the prince, who offered to take the woman under his protection, and she willingly consented to accompany him to a country inhabited by true believers. having packed up the medicines, with some valuable jewels, and put them, with various refreshments and necessaries, on two camels, they mounted and left the city undiscovered, nor did any accident occur on their journey; but on reaching the capital of china, the prince found that his father was dead, while his mother, contrary to expectation, lingered in painful existence. the ministers, who had with difficulty, in hopes of the three brothers' arrival, kept the next relations of the throne from disputing their right to ascend it, were rejoiced at his return; and on being informed of the untimely end of the two elder princes, immediately proclaimed him sultan. his first care was to administer comfort and relief to his afflicted mother, on whom the water of life had an instantaneous effect; his next, to regulate the affairs of his government, which he did with such ability, justice, and moderation, that he became endeared to his subjects, and an example to other sovereigns. as the sultan, some time after his accession, was one day amusing himself in the chase, he saw a venerable arab, accompanied by his daughter, travelling on horseback. by accident the young female's veil being blown aside, displayed such beauty to the eyes of the sultan, as instantly fascinated his heart, and made him wish to have her for his sultana. he immediately made offers to her father of his alliance; but great was his mortification and surprise when the arab rejected them, saying, "that he had sworn not to give his daughter to any one who was not master of some useful trade, by which a livelihood might be earned." "father," replied the sultan, "what occasion is there that i should learn a mean occupation, when i have the wealth of a kingdom at my command?" "because," rejoined the arab, "such are the vicissitudes of the world, that you may lose your kingdom and starve, if not able to work in some way for your living." the sultan, unlike some princes, who would have seized the lady and punished the arab for his freedom, felt the force of his remark, applauded his wisdom, and requested that he would not betroth her to another, as he was resolved to make himself worthy of becoming his son-in-law by learning some handicraft, till when he hoped they would accept of an abode near the palace. to this the old man readily consented; and in a short time the sultan, eager to possess his bride, became such an adept in the handicraft of making ornamental mats for sofas and cushions of cane and reeds, that the arab agreed to the nuptials, which were celebrated with all possible splendour and rejoicing, while the subjects admired more than ever the justice and moderation of their sovereign; so true is it, that, unless in depraved states, a good prince makes a good people. some years rolled on in uninterrupted felicity to the sultan and his beloved partner. it was the custom of the former frequently to visit in the disguise of a dervish the various quarters of the city, by which means he learnt the opinions of the people, and inspected the conduct of the police. one day in an excursion of this sort he passed by a cook's shop, and being hungry, stepped in to take some refreshment. he was, with seeming respect, conducted to a back room spread with flowered carpeting, over which was a covering of muslin transparently fine. pulling off his slippers, he entered the room and sat down upon a neat musnud, but to his surprise and terror it instantly sunk under him, and he found himself at the bottom of a dark vault, where by a glimmering light he could discern several naked bodies of unfortunate persons who had been murdered, and presently appeared, descending from a narrow staircase, a black slave of savage countenance, who, brandishing a huge cimeter, cried out, "wretch, prepare thyself to die!" the sultan was alarmed, but his presence of mind did not forsake him. "what good," said he, "will my death do you or your employers? i have nothing about me but the humble habit i wear; but if you spare my life, i possess an art that will produce your employers considerable wealth." upon this, the slave going to the master of the house informed him of what the supposed dervish had said, when the treacherous cook came to inquire after the promised riches. "give me only some reeds and canes, varnished of different colours," said the sultan, "and i will make a mat, which if you carry to the palace and present to the vizier, he will purchase it for a thousand pieces of gold." the desired articles were furnished, and the sultan setting to work, in a few days finished a mat, in which he ingeniously contrived to plait in flowery characters, known only to himself and his vizier, the account of his situation. when finished, he gave it to his treacherous host, who admired the beauty of the workmanship, and not doubting of the reward, carried it to the palace, where he demanded admission, saying he had a curiosity to offer for sale. the vizier, who was then giving audience to petitioners, commanded him to be brought in; but what was his astonishment when the mat was unfolded, to see pourtrayed upon it the imminent danger of the sultan, whom he supposed to be in his haram, and whose absence the sultana had, in order to prevent confusion, commanded to be kept secret, hoping for his speedy return. the vizier instantly summoning his guards seized the villanous cook, and proceeding to his house, released the sultan from his confinement. the house was razed to the ground, and the abominable owner, with his guilty family, put to death. the sultan exultingly felt the use of having learnt a useful art, which had been the means of saving his life. story of the good vizier unjustly imprisoned. a certain vizier, though perfectly loyal and of the strictest integrity, having been falsely accused by his enemies, was, without due examination of the charges brought against him, thrown into prison, where, by orders from the sultan, he was confined to a gloomy dungeon, and allowed only bread and water for his daily food. in this wretched abode he lay for seven years, at the expiration of which, the sultan his master, who was in the habit of walking about the city in disguise to amuse himself, chanced to pass by the house of his injured minister, dressed as a dervish. to his surprise he saw it open, and a crowd of domestics busy in cleaning the apartments, and preparing for the reception of the owner, who, they said, had commanded them by a messenger from the prison to put things in order, as he should that day be restored to the sultan's favour, and return home. the sultan, who, so far from intending to release the unfortunate vizier, had almost erased the remembrance of him from his mind, was astonished at the report of the domestics, but thought his long confinement might possibly have disturbed the brain of his prisoner, who in his madness might have fancied his deliverance to be at hand. he resolved however to go and visit the prison disguised as he was, and see the vizier. having purchased a quantity of bread and cakes, he proceeded to the gaol, and requested, under pretence of fulfilling a vow he had made to feed the prisoners, to be admitted, and allowed to distribute his charity among them. the gaoler granted his request, and permitted him to visit the different cells. at length he came to that of the vizier, who was employed earnestly at his devotions, which on the entrance of the supposed dervish he suspended, and inquired his business. "i come," said he, "for though unknown to you i have always prayed for your welfare, to congratulate you on your approaching deliverance, which i understand you have announced to your domestics, but fear without foundation, not having heard of any orders for the purpose from the sultan." "that may be true, charitable dervish," said the vizier, "but depend upon it before night i shall be released and restored to office." "i wish it may be so," replied the sultan; "but upon what ground do you build an expectation, the gratification of which appears to me so improbable?" "be seated, good dervish, and i will tell you," rejoined the vizier, and began as follows: "know then, my friend, experience has convinced me that the height of prosperity is always quickly succeeded by adverse fortune, and the depth of affliction by sudden relief. when i was in office, beloved by the people for my lenient administration, and distinguished by the sultan, whose honour and advantage were the constant objects of my care, and for whose welfare i have never ceased to pray even in this gloomy dungeon, i was one evening taking the air upon the river in a splendid barge with some favourite companions. as we were drinking coffee, the cup i held in my hand, which was made of a single emerald of immense value, and which i highly prized, slipped from it and fell into the water; upon which i ordered the barge to be stopped, and sent for a diver, to whom i promised an ample reward should he recover the cup. he undressed, and desired me to point out the place at which it fell; when i, having in my hand a rich diamond ring, heedlessly, in a fit of absence, threw it into that part of the river. while i was exclaiming against my own stupidity, the diver made a plunge towards where i had cast the ring, and in less than two minutes reappeared with the coffee-cup in his hand, when to my great surprise within it i found also my ring. i rewarded him liberally, and was exulting in the recovery of my jewels, when it suddenly struck my mind, that such unusual good fortune must speedily be followed by some disaster. this reflection made me melancholy, and i returned home with a foreboding sadness, nor without cause, for that very night my enemies accused me falsely of treason to the sultan, who believed the charge, and next morning i was hurried to this gloomy cell, where i have now remained seven years with only bread and water for my support. god, however, has given me resignation to his decrees, and this day an accident occurred which makes me confident of release before night, and restoration to the sultan's favour, which, as i have always done, i will endeavour to deserve. you must know, venerable dervish, that this morning i felt an unconquerable longing to taste a bit of flesh, and earnestly entreated my keeper, giving him at the same time a piece of gold, to indulge my wish. the man, softened by the present, brought me a stew, on which i prepared to make a delicious meal; but while, according to custom before eating, i was performing my ablutions, guess my mortification, when a huge rat running from his hole leaped into the dish which was placed upon the floor. i was near fainting with agony at the sight, and could not refrain from tears; but at length recovering from the poignancy of disappointment, the rays of comfort darted upon my mind, and i reflected that as disgrace and imprisonment had instantaneously followed the fortunate recovery of my cup and ring, so this mortification, a greater than which could not have happened, would be immediately succeeded by returning prosperity. in this conviction i prevailed on the gaoler to order my domestics to make ready my house and expect my return." the disguised sultan, who, while the vizier was speaking, felt every word impress him more and more with the conviction of his innocence, had much difficulty to support his assumed character; but not choosing his visit to the prison should be known at present, he restrained his feelings, and when the minister had finished took his leave, saying, he hoped his presage would be fulfilled. he then returned undiscovered to the palace, and entering his cabinet, resumed his usual habit; after which he issued orders for the release of the vizier, sending him a robe of honour and splendid attendants to escort him to court, at the same time condemning to confiscation and imprisonment his malicious accusers. on his arrival, the sultan received the vizier with the most gracious distinction; and having presented him with the canopy of state, the seal and the inkstand set with rich jewels, the insignia of office, conducted him to a private chamber, where falling upon his neck he embraced him, and requesting him to forget past oppression, informed him of his disguised visit to the prison; after which he dismissed him to his own palace. story of the lady of cairo and her four gallants. a virtuous lady of cairo, who seldom left her house but upon urgent business, one day returning from the bath, passed by the tribunal of the cauzee just as it was breaking up, when the magistrate perceived her, and struck with her dignity and elegance of gait, from which he judged of her beauty, called her to him, and in a soft whisper expressed his desire of a private interview. the lady being resolved to punish him for his unworthy conduct, seemingly consented, and desired him to repair to her house that evening, which he gladly promised. she then pursued her route homewards, but was on the way accosted by three other men, who made her similar proposals, all which she accepted, and fixed that evening for receiving their visits. the first of these gallants was the customs tax-collector of cairo, the second the chief of the butchers, and the third a rich merchant. when the lady returned to her house she informed her husband of what had happened, and begged him to permit her to execute a stratagem that she had formed to punish their insolence, which would not only afford himself and her much laughable amusement, but solid advantage, as doubtless the lovers would each bring with him a handsome present. the husband, who knew he could trust the virtue of his wife, readily consented, and the lady having prepared a handsome entertainment, adorned herself in her richest apparel, and seated herself to receive her guests. evening had just shut in, when the venerable cauzee having finished his sunset devotions, impatiently repaired first to his mistress and knocked at the door, which the lady opened and led him upstairs, where he presented her with a rosary of valuable pearl; after which she made him undress, and in place of his robes put on a loose vest of yellow muslin, and a parti-coloured cap, her husband all the while looking at them through the door of a closet, and ready to burst his sides with laughter as he beheld the tender grimaces of the enamoured magistrate. the happiness of the venerable gallant was however soon changed to frightful alarm, for he had scarcely sat down and begun to partake of some refreshment, when a loud rap was heard at the door; upon which the lady starting up in well-affected terror, cried out, "mahummud protect us! for this is my husband's knock, and if he finds you here, he will put us both to death." the cauzee's heart sank within him, and he became more dead than alive; but the lady somewhat revived him by thrusting him into her bed-chamber, desiring him to remain still, as possibly a way might be found for his escape. he gladly retired, secretly vowing that if spared from his present threatening distress, satan should no more tempt him to make love or break the sacred law. the lady having disposed of the cauzee, hastened to the door, where she found the expecting tax-collector, who brought with him, as a present, a set of jewels. she shewed him upstairs, took off his rich clothes, and made him put on a crimson vest, and a green cap with black spots. he had scarcely sat down when the door again resounded, and she played over the same game as she had done with the cauzee, who on his also entering the bed-chamber was somewhat pleased at seeing a brother magistrate in the same ridiculous plight with himself. the venerable lovers condoled by signs with each other, but dared not speak for fear of discovery. the chief of the butchers, on his arrival, was next ushered up stairs, and his present received, then made to undress and put on a blue vest with a scarlet cap, ornamented with sea shells and bits of tinsel; but he had scarce time to finish, when a fourth loud rap was heard at the door, the scene of alarm was renewed, and the frightened gallant hurried into the room to keep company with his rivals. now appeared the respectable merchant, who presented the cunning lady with several rich veils, pieces of silk, and embroidered muslins, after which he was asked to undress and enrobe himself in a sky coloured vest and a cap striped with red and white; which he had hardly put on when a thundering knock at the gate put an end to his transports, and the wife pretending great alarm, as it was her husband's rap, forced him into the bed-chamber, where, to his surprise he discovered three of his intimate acquaintance. the husband, who had left his hiding place and knocked at the door, now entered, and after saluting his wife, sat down, when having partaken of the refreshments provided for the gallants, the happy couple entered into conversation loud enough to be overheard by the wretched inamorati, who were quaking for fear of discovery. "light of my eyes," said the husband, "didst thou meet with any thing amusing to-day in thy visit to the bath? and if so, divert me with an account of it." "i did, indeed," said the lady, "for i met with four antic creatures, whom" (at hearing this the unfortunate lovers gave themselves over for lost) "i had a great inclination to bring home with me" (here they recovered a little from their alarm) "to divert us, but fearful of your displeasure i did not; however, if agreeable, we can send for them to-morrow." the frighted gallants now indulged some hope of escape through the kindness of their cunning mistress, and began to breathe a little freer, but very short was the suspension of their fears. "i am sorry thou didst not bring them," said the husband, "because business will to-morrow call me from home, and i shall be absent for some days." upon this, the lady laughing, said, "well, then, you must know that in fact i have brought them, and was diverting myself with them when you came in, but fearful you might suspect something wrong i hurried them into our bed-chamber, in order to conceal them till i had tried your temper, hoping, should you not be in good humour, to find some means of letting them out undiscovered." it is impossible to describe the alarm into which the wretched gallants were now plunged, especially when the husband commanded his wife to bring them out one by one, saying, "let each entertain us with a dance and then recite a story, but if they do not please me, i will strike off their heads." "heaven protect us," said the cauzee, "how can men of our gravity dance? but there is no resisting the decrees of fate, nor do i see any chance of escape from this artful baggage and her savage husband but by performing as well as we can." his companions were of the same opinion, and mustered what courage they could to act as they should be ordered. the wife now entered the chamber, and putting a tambourine into the cauzee's hands, led him out and began to play a merry tune upon her lute, to which the affrighted magistrate danced with a thousand antics and grimaces like an old baboon, beating time with the tambourine, to the great delight of the husband, who every now and then jeeringly cried out, "really wife, if i did not know this fellow was a buffoon, i should take him for our cauzee; but god forgive me, i know our worthy magistrate is either at his devotions, or employed in investigating cases for to-morrow's decision." upon this the cauzee danced with redoubled vigour, and more ridiculous gestures, in hopes of evading discovery. at length he was overpowered by such unusual exercise; but the husband had no mercy upon his sufferings, and made him continue capering by threatening the bastinado, till the tired judge was exhausted, and fainted upon the floor in a bath of perspiration, when they held him up, and pouring a goblet of wine down his throat it somewhat revived him. he was now suffered to breathe a little, and something given him to eat, which, with a second cup of liquor, recovered his strength. the husband now demanded his story; and the cauzee, assuming the gesture of a coffee-house droll, began as follows. the cauzee's story. a young tailor, whose shop was opposite the house of an officer, was so attracted from his work by the appearance of a beautiful young lady, his wife, in her balcony, that he became desperately in love, and would sit whole days waiting her coming, and when she showed herself make signs of his passion. for some time his ridiculous action diverted her, but at length she grew tired of the farce she had kept up by answering his signals, and of the interruption it gave to her taking the fresh air, so that she resolved to punish him for his presumption, and oblige him to quit his stall. having laid her plan, one day when her husband was gone out for a few hours she dispatched a female slave to invite the tailor to drink coffee. to express the rapture of the happy snip is impossible. he fell at the feet of the slave, which he kissed as the welcome messengers of good tidings, gave her a piece of gold, and uttered some nonsensical verses that he had composed in praise of his beloved; then dressing himself in his best habit, he folded his turban in the most tasty manner, and curled his mustachios to the greatest advantage, after which he hastened exultingly to the lady's house, and was admitted to her presence. she sat upon a rich musnud, and gracefully lifting up her veil welcomed the tailor, who was so overcome that he had nearly fainted away with excess of rapture. she desired him to be seated, but such was his bashfulness that he would not approach farther than the corner of the carpet. coffee was brought in, and a cup presented him; but not being used to such magnificence and form, and his eyes, also, being staringly fixed on the beauties of the lady, instead of carrying the cup to his mouth, he hit his nose and overthrew the liquid upon his vest. the lady smiled, and ordered him another cup; but while he was endeavouring to drink it with a little more composure, a loud knock was heard at the door, and she starting up, cried out with great agitation, "good heavens! this is my husband's knock; if he finds us together he will sacrifice us to his fury!" the poor tailor, in terror, fell flat upon the carpet, when the lady and her slave threw some cold water upon his face, and when a little recovered hurried him away to a chamber, into which they forced him, and desired him to remain quiet, as the only means of saving his life. here he remained quivering and trembling, more alive than dead, but perfectly cured of his love, and vowing never again to look up at a balcony. when the tailor was disposed of, the lady again sat down upon her stool, and ordered her slave to open the gate. upon her husband's entering the room he was surprised at beholding things set out for an entertainment, and inquired who had been with her; when she replied tartly, "a lover." "and where is he now?" angrily replied the officer. "in yonder chamber, and if you please you may sacrifice him to your fury, and myself afterwards." the officer demanded the key, which she gave him; but while this was passing, the agony of the unfortunate tailor was worse than death; he fully expecting every moment to have his head struck off: in short, he was in a most pitiable condition. the officer went to the door, and had put the key into the lock, when his wife burst suddenly into a fit of laughter: upon which he exclaimed angrily, "who do you laugh at?" "why, at yourself, to be sure, my wise lord," replied the lady; "for who but yourself could suppose a woman serious when she told him where to find out a concealed lover? i wanted to discover how far jealousy would carry you, and invented this trick for the purpose," the officer, upon this, was struck with admiration of his wife's pleasantry and his own credulity, which so tickled his fancy that he laughed immoderately, begged pardon for his foolish conduct, and they spent the evening cheerfully together; after which, the husband going to the bath, his wife charitably released the almost dead tailor, and reproving him for his impertinence, declared if he ever again looked up at her balcony she would contrive his death. the tailor, perfectly cured of love for his superior in life, made the most abject submission, thanked her for his deliverance, hurried home, prayed heartily for his escape, and the very next day took care to move from so dangerous a neighbourhood. the husband and wife were highly diverted with the cauzee's story, and after another dance permitted him to depart, and get home as well as he could in his ridiculous habit. how he got there, and what excuse he was able to make for so unmagisterial an appearance, we are not informed; but strange whispers went about the city, and the cauzee's dance became the favourite one or the strolling drolls, whom he had often the mortification of seeing taking him off as he passed to and from the tribunal, and not unfrequently in causes of adultery the evidences and culprits would laugh in his face. he, however, never again suffered satan to tempt him, and was scarcely able to look at a strange woman, so great was his fear of being led astray. when the cauzee was gone, the lady, repairing to the apartment, brought out the grave tax-collector, whom her husband addressed by name, saying, "venerable sir, how long have you turned droll? can you favour me with a dance?" the tax-collector made no reply, but began capering, nor was he permitted to stop till quite tired. he was then allowed to sit, some refreshment was given him, and when revived he was desired to tell a story: knowing resistance vain, he complied. after having finished he was dismissed, and the other gallants were brought in and treated in a like manner. story of the merchant, his daughter, and the prince of eerauk. a certain rich merchant was constantly repining, because providence had not added to his numerous blessings that of a child to inherit his vast wealth. this want destroyed the power of affluence to make him happy, and he importuned heaven with unceasing prayers. at length one evening, just as he had concluded his devotions, he heard a voice, saying, "thy request has been heard, and thou wilt have a daughter, but she will give thee much uneasiness in her fourteenth year by an amour with the prince of eerauk, and remember there is no avoiding the decrees of fate." the merchant's wife that same night conceived, and at the usual time brought forth a daughter, who grew up an exquisite beauty. no pains were spared in her education, so that at thirteen she became most accomplished, and the fame of her charms and perfections was spread throughout the city. the merchant enjoyed the graces of his child, but at the same time his heart was heavy with anxiety for her fate, whenever he called to mind the prediction concerning her; so that at length he determined to consult a celebrated dervish, his friend, on the possible means of averting the fulfilment of the prophecy. the dervish gave him but little hopes of being able to counteract the will of heaven, but advised him to carry the beautiful maiden to a sequestered mansion, situated among unfrequented mountains surrounding it on all sides, and the only entrance to which was by a dark cavern hewn out of the solid rock, which might be safely guarded by a few faithful domestics. "here," said the dervish, "your daughter may pass the predicted year, and if any human care can avail she may be thus saved from the threatened dishonour; but it is in vain for man to fight against the arms of heaven, therefore prepare thy mind for resignation to its decrees." the merchant followed the advice of his friend, and having made the necessary preparations, accompanied by him, and attended by some white and black slaves of both sexes, arrived, after a month's journey, with his daughter, at the desired mansion; in which having placed her, he, after a day's repose, took his departure homewards with the dervish. ample stores of all necessaries for her accommodation had been laid in, and slaves male and female were left for her attendance and protection. not many days, had elapsed when an incident occurred, clearly proving the emptiness of human caution against the predestination of fate. the prince of eerauk being upon a hunting excursion outrode his attendants, and missing his way, reached the gate of the cavern leading to the mansion, which was guarded by two black slaves, who seeing a stranger, cried out to him to withdraw. he stopped his horse, and in a supplicating tone requested protection and refreshment for the night, as he had wandered from the road, and was almost exhausted from weariness and want of food. the slaves were moved by the representation of his distress, as well as awed by his noble appearance, and apprehending no danger from a single person, conducted him through the cavern, into the beautiful valley, in which stood the mansion. they then informed their mistress of his arrival, who commanded him to be introduced into an apartment, in which an elegant entertainment was provided, where she gave him the most hospitable reception. to become known to each other was to love; nor was it long ere the prediction respecting the merchant's daughter proved fully verified. some months passed in mutual happiness; when the prince, becoming anxious to return to his friends, took leave of his mistress, promising when he had seen his family to visit her again, and make her his wife. on his way he met the merchant, who was coming to see his daughter. halting at the same spot they fell into conversation, in which each inquired after the other's situation, and the prince, little aware to whom he was speaking, related his late adventure. the merchant, convinced that all his caution had been vain, concealed his uneasiness, resolved to take his daughter home, make the best of what had happened, and never again to struggle against fate. on his arrival at the cavern he found his daughter unwell; and before they reached their own abode she was delivered of a male infant, who, to save her credit, was left exposed in a small tent with a sum of money laid under its pillow, in hopes that the first passenger would take the child under his care. it so happened, that a caravan passing by, the leader of it, on examining the tent and seeing the infant, took it up, and having no children adopted it as his own. the prince of eerauk having seen his parents, again repaired to visit his beautiful mistress, and on his journey to the cavern once more met the merchant, who, at his daughter's request, was travelling towards eerauk to acquaint him with her situation. the prince, overjoyed, accompanied the merchant home, married the young lady, and with her parents returned to his dominions. their exposed son, after long inquiry, was discovered, and liberal rewards bestowed on the leader of the caravan, who at his own request was permitted to reside in the palace of eerauk, and superintend the education of his adopted son. adventures of the cauzee, his wife, &c. in the capital of bagdad there was formerly a cauzee, who filled the seat of justice with the purest integrity, and who by his example in private life gave force to the strictness of his public decrees. after some years spent in this honourable post, he became anxious to make the pilgrimage to mecca; and having obtained permission of the caliph, departed on his pious journey, leaving his wife, a beautiful woman, under the protection of his brother, who promised to respect her as his daughter. the cauzee, however, had not long left home, when the brother, instigated by passion, made love to his sister-in-law, which she rejected with scorn; being, however, unwilling to expose so near a relative to her husband, she endeavoured to divert him from his purpose by argument on the heinousness of his intended crime, but in vain. the abominable wretch, instead of repenting, a gain and again offered his love, and at last threatened, if she would not accept his love, to accuse her of adultery, and bring upon her the punishment of the law. this threat having no effect, the atrocious villain suborned evidences to swear that they had seen her in the act of infidelity, and she was sentenced to receive one hundred strokes with a knotted whip, and be banished from the city. having endured this disgraceful punishment, the unhappy lady was led through bagdad by the public executioner, amid the taunts and scorns of the populace; after which she was thrust oat of the gates and left to shift for herself. relying on providence, and without complaining of its decrees, she resolved to travel to mecca, in hopes of meeting her husband, and clearing her defamed character to him, whose opinion alone she valued. when advanced some days on her journey she entered a city, and perceived a great crowd of people following the executioner, who led a young man by a rope tied about his neck. inquiring the crime of the culprit, she was informed that he owed a hundred deenars, which being unable to pay, he was sentenced to be hung, such being the punishment of insolvent debtors in that city. the cauzee's wife, moved with compassion, immediately tendered the sum, being nearly all she had, when the young man was released, and falling upon his knees before her, vowed to dedicate his life to her service. she related to him her intention of making the pilgrimage to mecca, upon which the young man requested to accompany and protect her, to which she consented. they set out on their journey; but had not proceeded many days, when the youth forgot his obligations, and giving way to impulse, insulted his benefactress by offering her his love. the unfortunate lady reasoned with him on the ingratitude of his conduct, and the youth seemed to be convinced and repentant, but revenge rankled in his heart. some days after this they reached the sea-shore, where the young man perceiving a ship, made a signal to speak with it, and the master letting down his boat sent it to land; upon which the young man going on board the vessel, informed the master that he had for sale a handsome female slave, for whom he asked a thousand deenars. the master, who had been used to purchase slaves upon that coast, went on shore, and looking at the cauzee's wife, paid the money to the wicked young man, who went his way, and the lady was carried on board the ship, supposing that her companion had taken the opportunity of easing her fatigue, by procuring her a passage to some sea-port near mecca: but her persecution was not to end here. in the evening she was insulted by attentions of the master of the vessel, who being surprised at her coolness, informed her that he had purchased her as his slave for a thousand deenars. the unfortunate lady told him that she was a free woman, but this had no effect on the brutish sailor, who finding tenderness ineffectual proceeded to force and blows in order to reduce her to submit to his authority. her strength was almost exhausted, when suddenly the ship struck upon a rock, the master was hurried upon deck, and in a few moments the vessel went to pieces. providentially the virtuous wife laying hold of a plank was wafted to the shore, after being for several hours buffeted by the waves. having recovered her senses she walked inland, and found a pleasant country abounding in fruits and clear streams, which satisfied her hunger and thirst. on the second day she arrived at a magnificent city, and on entering it was conducted to the sultan, who inquiring her story, she informed him that she was a woman devoted to a religious life, and was proceeding on the pilgrimage to mecca, when her vessel was shipwrecked on his coast, and whether any of the crew had escaped she knew not, as she had seen none of them since her being cast ashore on a plank; but as now the hopes of her reaching the sacred house were cut off, if the sultan would allot her a small hut, and a trifling pittance for her support, she would spend the remainder of her days in prayers for the prosperity of himself and his subjects. the sultan, who was truly devout, and pitied the misfortune of the lady, gladly acceded to her request, and allotted a pleasant garden-house near his palace for her residence, at which he often visited her, and conversed with her on religious topics, to his great edification and comfort, for she was sensibly pious. not long after her arrival, several refractory vassals who had for years withheld their usual tribute, and against whom the good sultan, unwilling to shed blood, though his treasury much felt the defalcation, had not sent a force to compel payment, unexpectedly sent in their arrears; submissively begged pardon for their late disobedience, and promised in future to be loyal in their duty. the sultan, who attributed this fortunate event to the successful prayers of his virtuous guest, mentioned his opinion to his courtiers in full divan, and they to their dependents. as, according to the proverb, the sheep always follow their leader, so it was in the present instance. all ranks of people on every emergency flocked to beg the prayers and counsel of the sultan's favourite devotee; and such was their efficacy, that her clients every day became more numerous, nor were they ungrateful; so that in a short time the offerings made to her amounted in value to an incalculable sum. her reputation was not confined to the kingdom of her protector, but spread gradually abroad through all the countries in the possession of true believers, who came from all parts of asia to solicit her prayers. her residence was enlarged to a vast extent, in which she supported great numbers of destitute persons, as well as entertained the crowds of poor people who came in pilgrimage to so holy a personage as she was now esteemed. but we must now return to her pious husband. the good cauzee having finished the ceremonies of his pilgrimage at mecca, where he resided one year, and visited all the holy spots around, returned to bagdad: but dreadful was his agony and grief when informed that his wife had played the harlot, and that his brother, unable to bear the disgrace of his family, had left the city, and had not been heard of since. this sad intelligence had such an effect upon his mind, that he resolved to give up worldly concerns, and adopt the life of a wandering religious, to move from place to place, from country to country, and visit the devotees celebrated for sanctity in each. for two years he travelled through various kingdoms, and at length hearing of his wife's fame, though he little supposed the much-talked-of female saint stood in that relation to himself, he resolved to pay his respects to so holy a personage. with this view he journeyed towards the capital of the sultan her protector, hoping to receive benefit from her pious conversation and prayers. the cauzee on his way overtook his treacherous brother, who, repenting of his wicked life, had turned mendicant, and was going to confess his sins, and ask the prayers for absolution of the far-famed religious woman. time and alteration of dress, for they were both habited as dervishes, caused the brothers not to know each other. as fellow travellers they entered into conversation; and finding they were both bound the same way, agreed to continue their journey together. they had not proceeded many days when they came up with a driver of camels, who informed them that he was upon the same errand as themselves, having been guilty of a horrid crime, the reflection upon which tormented his conscience, and made life miserable; that he was going to confess his sins to the pious devotee, and consult her on whatever penance could atone for his villany, of which he had heartily repented, and hoped to obtain the mercy of heaven by a sincere reformation of life. the crime of this wretch was no less than murder; the circumstances of which we forgot to detail in its proper place. the cauzee's wife immediately after her expulsion from bagdad, and before she had met the young man who sold her for a slave, had taken shelter in the hut of a camel breeder, whose wife owed her great obligations, and who received her with true hospitality and kindness; consoling her in her misfortunes, dressing her wounds, and insisting on her stay till she should be fully recovered of the painful effects of her unjust and disgraceful punishment; and in this she was seconded by the honest husband. with this humble couple, who had an infant son, she remained some time, and was recovering her spirits and beauty when the wicked camel breeder, first mentioned, arrived on a visit to her host; and being struck with her beauty made love to her, which she mildly but firmly rejected, informing him that she was a married woman. blinded by passion, the wretch pressed his addresses repeatedly, but in vain; till at length, irritated by refusal, he changed his love into furious anger, and resolved to revenge his disappointed lust by her death. with this view he armed himself with a poniard; and about midnight, when the family were asleep, stole into the chamber where she reposed, and close by her the infant son of her generous host. the villain being in the dark made a random stroke, not knowing of the infant, and instead of stabbing the object of his revenge, plunged his weapon into the bosom of the child, who uttered loud screams; upon which the assassin, fearful of detection, ran away, and escaped from the house. the cauzee's wife awaking in a fright, alarmed her unhappy hosts, who, striking a light, came to her assistance; but how can we describe their agonizing affliction when they beheld their beloved child expiring, and their unfortunate guest, who had swooned away, bathed in the infant's blood. from such a scene we turn away, as the pen is incapable of description. the unhappy lady at length revived, but their darling boy was gone for ever. some days after this tragical event she began her pilgrimage, and, as above stated, reached the city where she released the young man from his cruel creditors, and was shortly afterwards ungratefully sold by him as a slave. but to return to the good cauzee and his wicked companions. they had not travelled far when they overtook a young man, who saluted them, and inquired their course; of which being informed, he begged to join in company, saying, that he also was going to pay his respects to the celebrated religious, in hopes that by her prayers he might obtain pardon of god for a most flagitious ingratitude; the remorse for which had rendered him a burthen to himself ever since the commission of the crime. the four pilgrims pursued their journey, and a few days afterwards overtook the master of a vessel, who told them he had some time back suffered shipwreck; since which he had undergone the severest distress, and was now going to request the aid of the far-famed woman, whose charities and miraculous prayers had been noised abroad through all countries. the companions then invited him to join them, and they proceeded on the pilgrimage together, till at length they reached the capital of the good sultan who protected the cauzee's wife. the five pilgrims having entered the city, repaired immediately to the abode of the respected devotee; the courts of which were crowded with petitioners from all parts, so that they could with difficulty gain admission. some of her domestics seeing they were strangers newly arrived, and seemingly fatigued, kindly invited them, into an apartment, and to repose themselves while they informed their mistress of their arrival; which having done, they brought word that she would see them when the crowd was dispersed, and hear their petitions at her leisure. refreshments were then brought in, of which they were desired to partake, and the pilgrims having make their ablutions, sat down to eat, all the while admiring and praising the hospitality of their pious hostess; who, unperceived by them, was examining their persons and features through the lattice of a balcony, at one end of the hall. her heart beat with joyful rapture when she beheld her long lost husband, whose absence she had never ceased to deplore, but scarcely expected ever to meet him again; and great was her surprise to find him in company with his treacherous brother, her infamous intending assassin, her ungrateful betrayer the young man, and the master of the vessel to whom he had sold her as a slave. it was with difficulty she restrained her feelings; but not choosing to discover herself till she should hear their adventures, she withdrew into her chamber, and being relieved by tears prostrated herself on the earth, and offered up thanksgivings to the protector of the just, who had rewarded her patience under affliction by succeeding blessings, and at length restored to her the partner of her heart. having finished her devotions, she sent to the sultan requesting him to send her a confidential officer, who might witness the relations of five visitors whom she was going to examine. on his arrival she placed him where he could listen unseen; and covering herself with a veil, sat down on her stool to receive the pilgrims, who being admitted, bowed their foreheads to the ground; when requesting them to arise, she addressed them as follows: "you are welcome, brethren, to my humble abode, to my counsel and my prayers, which, by god's mercy, have sometimes relieved the repentant sinner; but as it is impossible i can give advice without hearing a case, or pray without knowing the wants of him who entreats me, you must relate your histories with the strictest truth, for equivocation, evasion, or concealment, will prevent my being of any service; and this you may depend upon, that the prayers of a liar tend only to his own destruction." having said this, she ordered the cauzee to remain, but the other four to withdraw; as she should, to spare their shame before each other, hear their cases separately. the good cauzee having no sins to confess related his pilgrimage to mecca; the supposed infidelity of his wife; and his consequent resolve to spend his days in visiting sacred places and holy personages, among whom she stood so famous, that to hear her edifying conversation, and entreat the benefit of her prayers for his unhappy wife, was the object of his having travelled to her sacred abode. when he had finished his narrative the lady dismissed him to another chamber, and heard one by one the confessions of his companions; who not daring to conceal any thing, related their cruel conduct towards herself, as above-mentioned; but little suspecting that they were acknowledging their guilt to the intended victim of their evil passions. after this the cauzee's wife commanded the officer to conduct all five to the sultan, and inform him of what he had heard them confess. the sultan, enraged at the wicked behaviour of the cauzee's brother, the camel-driver, the young man, and the master of the vessel, condemned them to death; and the executioner was preparing to put the sentence in force, when the lady arriving at the presence demanded their pardon; and to his unspeakable joy discovered herself to her delighted husband. the sultan complying with her request, dismissed the criminals; but prevailed on the cauzee to remain at his court, where for the remainder of his life this upright judge filled the high office of chief magistrate with honour to himself, and satisfaction to all who had causes tried before him; while he and his faithful partner continued striking examples of virtue and conjugal felicity. the sultan was unbounded in his favour towards them, and would often pass whole evenings in their company in friendly conversation, which generally turned upon the vicissitudes of life, and the goodness of providence in relieving the sufferings of the faithful, by divine interposition, at the very instant when ready to sink under them and overwhelmed with calamity. "i myself," said the sultan, "am an example of the protection of heaven, as you, my friends, will learn from my adventures." he then began as follows. the sultan's story of himself. though now seated on a throne, i was not born to such exalted rank, but am the son of a rich merchant in a country far distant from this which i now govern. my father brought me up to his own profession; and by instruction and example encouraged me to be virtuous, diligent, and honest. soon after i had attained to the age of manhood death snatched away this valuable parent, who in his last moments gave me instructions for my future conduct; but particularly requested that nothing might ever prevail upon me to take an oath, though ever so just or necessary to my concerns. i assured him it would not: soon after which he breathed his last, leaving me, my mother, and sister in sincere grief for his loss. after the funeral i examined his property, and found myself in possession of a vast sum of money, besides an ample stock in trade, two-thirds of which i immediately paid to my mother and sister, who retired to a house which they purchased for themselves. many weeks had not elapsed when a merchant set up a claim on my father's estate for a sum of money equal to nearly the whole that i possessed: i asked him for his bond, but he had none, yet swore solemnly to the justice of his demand. i had no doubt of the falsity of his oath, but as i had promised never to swear, i could not disprove it by mine, and therefore was obliged to pay the money, which i did entirely from my own share, not choosing to distress my mother and sister by lessening theirs. after this, other unjust demands were preferred, and i paid them, rather than falsify my promise to my father, though by so doing i became reduced to the most abject poverty, as still i would not trouble my mother. at length i resolved to quit my native city, and seek for subsistence in a distant country as clerk to a merchant, or in any other way that might offer. i accordingly set out alone, and had travelled some days, when in passing over a sandy desert i met a venerable looking personage dressed in white, who kindly accosting me, inquired the object of my journey: upon which i related my story. the old man blessed me, highly praised the steadfastness of my adherence to the promise i had made to a dying father; and said, "my son, be not dismayed, thy virtuous conduct has been approved by our holy prophet, who has interceded for thee at the throne of bounty: follow me, and reap the reward of thy sufferings." i did as he desired; and we, after some time, reached this city, which was then wholly depopulated, and even this palace in a state of decay. on our entrance my venerable guide bade me welcome, saying, "here heaven has decreed thee to reign, and thou wilt soon become a powerful sultan." he then conducted me to the palace, and we descended from one of the apartments into a vault, where to my astonishment i beheld vast heaps of gold and silver ingots, large bags of coins of the same metals, and several rich chests filled with jewels of inestimable value, of all which he saluted me master. i was overcome with astonishment; but said, "of what use is all this wealth in a depopulated city? and how can i be a sultan without subjects?" the old man smiled, and said, "have patience, my son; this evening a numerous caravan will arrive here composed of emigrants, who are in search of a settlement, and they will elect thee their sovereign." his words proved true; the caravan arrived, when the old man invited them to inhabit the city; his offer was gladly accepted, and by his direction they declared me their sultan. my protector remained with me a whole year, during which he gave me instructions how to govern, and i became what i am. heaven has prospered my endeavours to do good: the fame of my liberality, justice, and clemency soon spread abroad; the city was soon filled by industrious inhabitants, who repaired the decayed buildings, and erected new ones. the country round became well cultivated, and our port was filled with vessels from every quarter. i shortly after sent for my family, for i had left behind me a wife and two sons; and you may guess from your own joy at meeting after long separation what must have been mine on such an occasion. my venerable patron, at the expiration of the year, one day thus addressed me: "my son, as my mission is completed i must now leave you; but be not alarmed, for provided thou continuest to act as thou hast begun, we shall meet again. know that i am the prophet khizzer, and was sent by heaven to protect thee. mayest thou deserve its blessings!" having said this he embraced me in his arms, and then vanished, how i know not, from my sight. for some time i continued rapt in astonishment and wonder, which at length gave place to reverential awe and gratitude to heaven; by degrees i recovered myself, and bowed down with fervent devotion. i have endeavoured to follow the admonitions of my holy adviser. it is unnecessary to say more; you see my state and the happiness i enjoy. conclusion. the sultan of the indies could not but admire the prodigious and inexhaustible memory of the sultaness his wife, who had entertained him so many nights with such a variety of interesting stories. a thousand and one nights had passed away in these innocent amusements, which contributed so much towards removing the sultan's unhappy prejudice against the fidelity of women. his temper was softened. he was convinced of the merit and great wisdom of the sultaness scheherazade. he remembered with what courage she had offered to be his wife, without fearing the death to which she knew she exposed herself, as so many sultanesses had suffered within her knowledge. these considerations, and the many other good qualities he knew her to possess, induced him at last to forgive her. "i see, lovely scheherazade," said he, "that you can never be at a loss for these little stories, which have so long diverted me. you have appeased my anger. i freely renounce the law i had imposed on myself. i restore your sex to my favourable opinion, and will have you to be regarded as the deliverer of the many damsels i had resolved to sacrifice to my unjust resentment." the sultaness cast herself at his feet, and embraced them tenderly with all the marks of the most lively and perfect gratitude. the grand vizier was the first who learned this agreeable intelligence from the sultan's own mouth. it was instantly carried to the city, towns, and provinces; and gained the sultan, and the lovely scheherazade his consort, universal applause, and the blessings of all the people of the extensive empire of the indies. end of volume . proofreaders oriental literature the literature of arabia with critical and biographical sketches by epiphanius wilson, a.m. contents the romance of antar introduction the early fortunes of antar khaled and djaida the absians and fazareans arabian poetry introduction selections.-- an elegy the tomb of mano tomb of sayid on the death of his mistress on avarice the battle of sabla verses to my enemies on his friends on temper the song of maisuna to my father on fatalism to the caliph harun-al-rashid lines to harun and yahia the ruin of barmecides to taher ben hosien the adieu to my mistress to a female cup-bearer mashdud on the monks of khabbet rakeek to his female companions dialogue by rais to a lady weeping on a valetudinarian on a miser to cassim obio allah a friend's birthday to a cat an epigram upon ebn naphta-wah fire to a lady blushing on the vicissitudes of life to a dove on a thunder storm to my favorite mistress crucifixion of ebn bakiah caprices of fortune on life extempore verses on the death of a son to leila on moderation in our pleasures the vale of bozâa to adversity on the incompatibility of pride and true glory the death of nedham almolk lines to a lover verses to my daughters serenade to my sleeping mistress the inconsistent the capture of jerusalem to a lady an epigram on a little man with a very large beard lamiat alajem to youth on love a remonstrance with a drunkard verses on procrastination the early death of abou alhassan aly the interview arabian nights the seven voyages of sindbad first voyage second voyage third voyage fourth voyage fifth voyage sixth voyage seventh and last voyage aladdin's wonderful lamp the romance of antar [_translation by Étienne delécluse and epiphanius wilson_] introduction the romantic figure of antar, or antarah, takes the same place in arabian literature as that of achilles among the greeks. the cid in spain, orlando in italy, and arthur in england, are similar examples of national ideals put forth by poets and romance writers as embodiments of a certain half-mythic age of chivalry, when personal valor, prudence, generosity, and high feeling gave the warrior an admitted preeminence among his fellows. the literature of arabia is indeed rich in novels and tales. the "thousand and one nights" is of world-wide reputation, but the "romance of antar" is much less artificial, more expressive of high moral principles, and certainly superior in literary style to the fantastic recitals of the coffee house and bazaar, in which sindbad and morgiana figure. a true picture of bedouin society, in the centuries before mohammed had conquered the arabian peninsula, is given us in the charming episodes of antar. we see the encampments of the tribe, the camels yielding milk and flesh for food, the women friends and councillors of their husbands, the boys inured to arms from early days, the careful breeding of horses, the songs of poet and minstrel stirring all hearts, the mail-clad lines of warriors with lance and sword, the supreme power of the king--often dealing out justice with stern, sudden, and inflexible ferocity. among these surroundings antar appears, a dazzling and irresistible warrior and a poet of wonderful power. the arab classics, in years long before mohammed had taken the kaaba and made it the talisman of his creed, were hung in the little shrine where the black volcanic stone was kept. they were known as maallakat, or suspended books, which had the same meaning among arabian literati as the term classic bore among the italian scholars of the renaissance. numbered with these books of the kaaba were the poems of antar, who was thus the taliessin of arabian chivalry. it is indeed necessary to recollect that in reading the episodes of antar we have been taken back to the heroic age in the arabian peninsula. war is considered the noblest occupation of a man, and khaled despises the love of a noble maiden "from pride in his passion for war." antar has his famous horse as the cid had his babicca, and his irresistible sword as arthur his excalibur. the wealth of chiefs and kings consists in horses and camels; there is no mention of money or jewelry. when a wager is made the stakes are a hundred camels. the commercial spirit of the arabian nights is wanting in this spirited romance of chivalry. the arabs had sunk to a race of mere traders when aladdin became possessed of his lamp, and the trickery, greed, and avarice of peddlers and merchants are exhibited in incident after incident of the "thousand and one nights." war is despised or feared, courage less to be relied upon than astute knavery, and one of the facts that strikes us is the general frivolity, dishonesty, and cruelty which prevail through the tales of bagdad. the opposite is the case with antar. natural passion has full play, but nobility of character is taken seriously, and generosity and sensibility of heart are portrayed with truthfulness and naiveté. of course the whole romance is a collection of many romantic stories: it has no epic unity. it will remind the reader of the "morte d'arthur" of sir thomas malory, rather than of the "iliad." we have chosen the most striking of these episodes as best calculated to serve as genuine specimens of arabian literature. they will transport the modern reader into a new world--which is yet the old, long vanished world of pastoral simplicity and warlike enthusiasm, in primitive arabia. but the novelty lies in the plot of the tales. djaida and khaled, antar and ibla, and the race between shidoub and the great racers dahir and ghabra, bring before our eyes with singular freshness the character of a civilization, a domestic life, a political system, which were not wanting in refinement, purity, and justice. the conception of such a dramatic personage as antar would be original in the highest degree, if it were not based upon historic fact. antar is a more real personage than arthur, and quite as real and historic as the cid. yet his adventures remind us very much of those which run through the story of the round table. the arabs, in the days of romance, were a collection of tribes and families whose tents and villages were spread along the red sea, between egypt and the indian ocean. there were some tribes more powerful than others, and the result of their tyranny was often bitter war. there was no central monarchy, no priesthood, and no written law. the only stable and independent unit was the family. domestic life with its purest virtues constituted the strong point amongst the arabian tribes, where gentleness, free obedience, and forbearance were conspicuous. each tribe bore the name of its first ancestor, and from him and his successors came down a traditionary, unwritten law, the violation of which was considered the most heinous of offences. there was no settled religion before the conquest of mohammed; each tribe and each family worshipped whom they would--celestial spirits, sun and moon, or certain idols. in the account given in antar of the council of war, the ancients, or old men of the tribe, came forth with idols or amulets round their necks, and the whole account of the council, in which the bard as well as the orator addressed the people, is strictly accurate in historic details. the custom of infanticide in the case of female children was perfectly authorized among the arabs, and illustrates the motive of the pretty episode of khaled and djaida. war was individual and personal among the arabs, and murder was atoned for by murder, or by the price of a certain number of camels. raising of horses, peaceful contests in arms, or poetic competitions where each bard recited in public his compositions, formed their amusements. they were very sensible to the charms of music, poetry and oratory, and as a general rule the arab chieftain was brave, generous, and munificent. all these historic facts are fully reflected in the highly emotional tale of "antar," which is the greatest of all the national romances of arabia. it would scarcely be possible to fix upon any individual writer as its author, for it has been edited over and over again by arabian scribes, each adding his own glosses and enriching it with incidents. its original date may have been the sixth century of our era, about five hundred years before the production of the "thousand and one nights." e.w. the early fortunes of antar at the time the "romance of antar" opens, the most powerful and the best governed of the bedouin tribes were those of the absians and the adnamians. king zoheir, chief of the absians, was firmly established upon his throne, so that the kings of other nations, who were subject to him, paid him tribute. the whole of arabia in short became subject to the absians, so that all the chiefs of other tribes and all inhabitants of the desert dreaded their power and depredations. under these circumstances, and as a consequence of a flagrant act of tyranny on the part of zoheir, several chieftains, among whom was shedad, a son of zoheir, seceded from the absian tribe, and set out to seek adventures, to attack other tribes, and to carry off their cattle and treasure. these chieftains arrived at the dwelling-place of a certain tribe, named djezila, whom they fought with and pillaged. amongst their booty was a black woman of extraordinary beauty, the mother of two children. her name was zebiba; her elder son was djaris; her younger shidoub. shedad became passionately enamoured of this woman, and yielded all the rest of his share in the booty in order to obtain possession of her and her two children. he dwelt in the fields with this negress, whose sons took care of the cattle. in course of time zebiba bore a son to shedad. this child was born tawny as an elephant; his eyes were bleared, his head thick with hair, his features hard and fixed. the corners of his mouth drooped, his eyes started from his head, his bones were hard, his feet long; he had ears of prodigious size, and his glance flashed like fire. in other respects he resembled shedad, who was transported with delight at the sight of his son, whom he named antar. meanwhile the child waxed in strength, and his name soon became known. then the companions of shedad wished to dispute the possession of the boy with him, and king zoheir was informed of the matter. he demanded that the boy should be brought into his presence, and shedad complied. as soon as the king caught sight of this extraordinary child, he uttered a cry of astonishment, and flung him a piece of goat's flesh. at the same moment a dog, who happened to be in the tent, seized the meat and ran off with it. but antar, filled with rage, pursued the animal, and, violently taking hold of him, drew his jaws apart, splitting the throat down to the shoulders, and thus recovered the meat. king zoheir, in amazement, deferred the matter to the cadi, who confirmed shedad's possession of zebiba, and her three children, djaris, shidoub, and antar. shedad therefore provided a home for zebiba, in order that his sons might be educated in their business of tending the herds. it was at this time that antar began to develop his strength of body, his courage, and intelligence. when he was ten years of age he slew a wolf which threatened to attack the herds committed to his charge. although brutal, headstrong, and passionate, he early exhibited a love of justice, and a disposition to protect the weak, especially women. he put to death a slave who beat an old woman, his slave and companion; and this action, although at first misunderstood, eventually gained the admiration of king zoheir, who treated antar with distinction, because of his nobility of character. in consequence of this action, which had been so much applauded by king zoheir, the young arab women and their mothers hung round antar to learn the details of this courageous deed, and to congratulate him on his magnanimity. among the young women was ibla, daughter of malek, the son of zoheir. ibla, fair as the full moon, was somewhat younger than antar. she was accustomed to banter him in a familiar way, feeling that he was her slave. "and you," she said to him, "you, born so low, how dared you kill the slave of a prince? what provocation can you have against him?" "mistress," replied antar, "i struck that slave because he deserved it, for he had insulted a poor woman. he knocked her down, and made her the laughing stock of all the servants." "of course you were right," answered ibla, with a smile, "and we were all delighted that you escaped from the adventure safe and sound. because of the service you have rendered us by your conduct, our mothers look upon you as a son, and we as a brother." from that moment antar made the service of women his special duty above all others. at that time the arabian ladies had the habit of drinking camel's milk morning and evening, and it was especially the duty of those who waited upon them to milk the camels, and to cool it in the wind before offering it to them. antar had been for some time released from this duty, when one morning he entered the dwelling of his uncle malek, and found there his aunt, engaged in combing the hair of her daughter ibla, whose ringlets, black as the night, floated over her shoulders. antar was struck with surprise, and ibla, as soon as she knew that he had seen her, fled and left him with his eyes fixed abstractedly on her disappearing form. it was from this incident that the love of antar for the daughter of his uncle took its origin. he saw how ibla shone in society, and his passion grew to such an extent that he ventured to sound her praises, and to express the feeling she excited in him by writing verses which, while they gained the admiration of the multitude, incurred also the envy of the chieftains. moreover his father could not pardon the presumption of antar, who, born a slave, had dared to cast eyes on his free-born cousin. when therefore he slew a slave who had slandered him, his father ordered him to be flogged, and sent away to watch over the cattle in the pastures. he had now before him a fresh opportunity for exhibiting his prodigious strength and invincible courage. a lion attempted to attack the herds committed to his care. he killed it at the very moment that his father shedad, enraged against him, had come, accompanied by his brother, to do him ill. but a mingled feeling of admiration and fear held their hands, and in the evening, when antar returned from the pastures, his father and his uncle made him seat himself at dinner with them, while the rest of the attendants stood behind them. meanwhile king zoheir was called upon a warlike expedition against the tribe of temin. all his warriors followed him; the women alone remained behind. shedad entrusted them to the protection of antar, who pledged his life for their safety. during the absence of the warriors, semiah, the lawful wife of shedad, conceived the idea of giving an entertainment on the bank of the lake zatoulizard. ibla attended it with her mother, and antar witnessed all the amusements in which his beloved took part. his passion for her became intensified. he was once tempted to violate the modesty of love by the violence of desire, but, at that moment, he saw a great cloud of dust rise in the distance; the shouts of war were heard; and suddenly the warriors of the tribe of cathan appeared on the scene, and, descending on the pleasure-seekers, carried off the women, including ibla. antar, being unarmed, ran after one of the horsemen, seized him, strangled and threw him to the ground. then he put on the armor of the vanquished foe, attacked and put to flight the tribe of cathan, rescued the women, and obtained a booty of twenty-five horses. from that moment semiah, the wife of shedad, who hitherto had a pronounced aversion to antar, conceived a sincere affection for him. king zoheir, meantime, had returned victorious from his expedition. shedad returned at the same moment, and went to visit his herds. seeing antar surrounded by horses which he did not know, and mounted upon a fine black courser, he asked, "where did these animals, and particularly this superb horse, come from?" then antar, not willing to betray the imprudence of semiah, declared that, as the cathanians had left their horses behind them, he had seized them. shedad was indignant, and treated antar as a robber, reproached him for his wickedness, and after repeatedly telling him how wrong it was to rouse discord among the arabs, struck him with his whip, with such violence as to draw blood. then semiah, distressed by the sight of this unjust treatment, took off her veil, letting her hair fall over her shoulders, took antar into her arms and told all that had happened and how she and all the other women of her tribe were indebted to this hero for their honor and liberty. shedad could not restrain his tenderness on learning the magnanimity of his son's silence. soon afterwards king zoheir, to whom this incident had been related, summoned antar into his presence, and declared that a man who could exhibit such courage and generosity was bound to become preeminent among his companions. all the chieftains who surrounded the king congratulated antar, and one of his friends, in order to give the court a complete idea of this young man's remarkable gifts, asked him to recite some of his verses. in compliance with this request he recited a poem in praise of warriors and war, and the king and all the court manifested their delight. zoheir bade antar approach, gave him a robe of honor, and thanked him. that evening antar departed with his father shedad, his heart full of joy over the honors which had been lavished on him, and his love for ibla still more heightened. in spite of the indisputable virtues of antar, in spite of the great services he had rendered the absians, the chieftains of this tribe still regarded him as merely a common slave and tender of cattle. the beginning of his rise to favor excited a feeling of keen hatred, and caused many plots to be laid against him. a series of intrigues was entered upon, the aim of which was the death of the hero. but each attack upon his reputation and his life redounded to his benefit, and furnished him with an opportunity of putting his enemies to silence and defeat. for by his generosity and magnanimity, even his envious foes felt themselves under obligation to him. on each of his triumphs the mutual love between himself and ibla went on increasing. after the performance of many feats as a horseman, antar came into possession of a famous horse named abjer, and a sword of marvellous temper, djamy--and every time he appeared on the field of combat, as well as when he returned victorious from the fight, he made a poetic address, finishing with the words, "i am the lover of ibla." at the conclusion of a war in which he had performed prodigies of valor, king zoheir gave him the surname of alboufauris, which means, "the father of horsemen." the greater grew his name, the more highly he was honored by king zoheir, so much the more did the hatred of the chieftains and the love of ibla towards him increase. but it came to pass that ibla was asked in marriage by amarah, a stupid youth, puffed up by his wealth and lineage. antar, on hearing the news, was transported with rage, and attacked his young rival with such violence that all the arabian chiefs begged of zoheir to punish the aggressor. the king left to shedad, antar's father, the pronouncing of sentence. shedad had, like the others, viewed the rise of antar, the black slave, to favor, with jealous eye, and sent him back to the pastures to keep the herds. it was at this point that the greatness of antar's character appeared in its full dimensions. the hero submitted with resignation to the orders of his father, "to whom," he said, "he owed obedience as to his master, since he was his slave"; and he swore to him, in the presence of witnesses, not to mount horse, nor engage in battle, without his permission. tears flowed from his eyes, and before departing for the pastures he went to see his mother zebiba, and to talk with her concerning ibla. "ibla?" said his mother--"but a moment ago she was here beside me, and said to me, 'comfort the heart of antar, and tell him from me, that even should my father torture me to death in trying to change my mind, i would not desire nor ask for other husband than antar.'" these words of ibla filled with rapture the heart of antar, as he started for the pastures in company with his brothers, djaris and shidoub. at this time the tribe of abs, which zoheir ruled over, was at war with that of tex, on account of the carrying off of anima, daughter of the chief of the tex, a man known as "the drinker of blood." animated by the desire to take vengeance and recover his daughter, this chief and his army fell upon the absians like a thunderbolt. the absians were defeated, and their women, among whom was ibla, taken prisoners. all pride was then, in this time of need, laid aside, and to their assistance antar was summoned. but before acting antar laid down his conditions, and stipulated that, in case he succeeded in subduing the foe and recovering the women, ibla should be given him in marriage. malek, the father of ibla, and shedad, the father of antar, assented, and bound themselves by an oath to fulfil these conditions and to reinstate antar in all the honors and dignities belonging to him. antar was victorious. he rescued ibla, and received grateful expressions of gratitude from his beloved, while king zoheir gave him the kiss of royal honor. everything seemed to unite in fulfilling the hopes of antar. but at the very moment in which he was honored by royal felicitations, several chieftains, indignant at the elevation of a black slave, employed every means to prevent his marriage with ibla, and to force him to undertake enterprises which would prove fatal to him. shedad, his father, and malek, the father of ibla, connived at these plots. they demanded of antar, who was of that trusting disposition which belongs to generous and brave men, that he give as a wedding present to his bride, a thousand camels, of a particular breed, not to be found excepting on the borders of the persian kingdom. the hero made no remark on hearing this treacherous demand, and was so eager to please ibla, that he took no count of the difficulties to be undergone. he set off and soon found himself engaged in conflict with a large army of persians, who made him prisoner, and led him off with the view of bringing him into the presence of their king. there he was taken, bound and on horseback, when at that instant, the news came that a fierce lion of extraordinary size was ravaging the country. it was alleged that even armed men fled before it. antar, who was on the point of being put to death, asked the king of persia to cause his arms at least to be unbound, and to let him confront the lion. his prayer was granted; he rushed upon the savage creature, and transfixed it with his lance. nor was this the only service he did the king of persia, who in gratitude for many others, not only gave antar the thousand camels he was looking for, but loaded him with treasures, with which to do homage to ibla. on his return antar was received with a rapturous welcome by the absian tribe. but the hostile and the envious continued to plot against him. they still aimed at preventing his marriage, and compassing his death. amarah, who aspired to ibla's hand, backed by all the chieftains hostile to antar, renewed his suit and pretensions. ibla was carried off from her house among the absians, and taken to another tribe. then antar set out in search of her, and at length rescued her: their mutual love was intensified by this reunion. by a series of wiles and intrigues skilfully conducted, the chiefs who surrounded ibla persuaded her to demand still further dowry from antar. she spoke of khaled and djaida, whose history has already been related; she said, in presence of antar, that that young warrior girl would not consent to marry khaled, saving on the condition that her camel's bridle be held by the daughter of moawich. this word was sufficient for antar, and he promised to ibla that djaida should hold the bridle of her camel on her wedding day; and more than that, the head of khaled should be slung round the neck of the warrior girl. thus the hero, constantly loving and beloved by ibla, incessantly deceived by the cunningly devised obstacles raised by his foes, sustained his reputation for greatness of character and strength of arm, submitted with resignation to the severest tests, and passed victoriously through them all. after the death of king zoheir, whom he avenged, he undertook to assist cais, zoheir's son, in all his enterprises, and after a long series of adventures which tired the patience, love, and courage of antar, this hero, recognized as chief among arabian chieftains, obtained the great reward of his long struggles and mighty toils, by marriage to his well-loved ibla. khaled and djaida moharib and zahir were brothers, of the same father and mother; the arabs call them "brothers germane." both were, renowned for courage and daring. but moharib was chief of the tribe, and zahir, being subject to his authority, was no more than his minister, giving him counsel and advice. now it happened that a violent dispute arose between them. zahir subsequently retired to his tent, in profound sorrow, and not knowing what course to take. "what is the matter with you?" asked his wife, "why are you so troubled? what has happened to you? has any one displeased or insulted you--the greatest of arab chiefs?" "what am i to do?" replied zahir; "the man who has injured me is one whom i cannot lay hands on, or do him wrong; he is my companion in the bosom of my family, my brother in the world. ah, if it had been any one but he, i would have shown him what sort of a man he was at odds with, and have made an example of him before all the chiefs of our tribes!" "leave him; let him enjoy his possessions alone," cried his wife, and, in order to persuade her husband to take this course, she recited verses from a poet of the time, which dissuade a man from tolerating an insult even at the hands of his parents. zahir assented to the advice of his wife. he made all preparations for departure, struck his tents, loaded his camels, and started off on the road towards the camp of the saad tribe, with whom he was in alliance. yet in spite of all, he felt a keen pang at separating himself from his brother--and thus he spoke: "on starting on a journey which removes me from you, i shall be a thousand years on the way, and each year will carry me a thousand leagues.... even though the favors you heap upon me be worth a thousand egypts, and each of these egypts had a thousand niles, all those favors would be despised. i shall be contented with little so long as i am far from you. away from you, i shall recite this distich, which is worth more than a necklace of fine pearls: 'when a man is wronged on the soil of his tribe, there is nothing left him but to leave it; you, who have so wickedly injured me, before long shall feel the power of the kindly divinity, for he is your judge and mine, he is unchangeable and eternal." zahir continued his journey, until he reached the saad tribe, when he dismounted from his horse. he was cordially received and was pressed to take up his abode with them. his wife was at that time soon to become a mother, and he said to her: "if a son is given to us, he will be right welcome; but if it be a daughter, conceal her sex and let people think we have a male child, so that my brother may have no reason to crow over us." when her time came zahir's wife brought into the world a daughter. they agreed that her name should be actually djaida, but that publicly she should be known as djonder, that people might take her for a boy. in order to promote this belief, they kept up feasting and entertainment early and late for many days. about the same time moharib, the other brother, had a son born to him, whom he named khaled (the eternal). he chose this name in gratitude to god, because, since his brother's departure, his affairs had prospered well. the two children eventually reached full age, and their renown was widespread among the arabs. zahir had taught his daughter to ride on horseback, and had trained her in all the accomplishments fitting to a warrior bold and daring. he accustomed her to the severest toils, and the most perilous enterprises. when he went to war, he put her among the other arabs of the tribe, and in the midst of these horsemen she soon took her rank as one of the most valiant of them. thus it came to pass that she eclipsed all her comrades, and would even attack the lions in their dens. at last her name became an object of terror; when she had overcome a champion she never failed to cry out: "i am djonder, son of zahir, horseman of the tribes." her cousin khaled, on the other hand, distinguished himself equally by his brilliant courage. his father moharib, a wise and prudent chief, had built houses of entertainment for strangers; all horsemen found a welcome there. khaled had been brought up in the midst of warriors. in this school his spirit had been formed, here he had learned to ride, and at last had become an intrepid warrior, and a redoubtable hero. it was soon perceived by the rest of the army that his spirit and valor were unconquerable. eventually he heard tell of his cousin djonder, and his desire to see and know him and to witness his skill in arms became extreme. but he could not satisfy this desire because of the dislike which his father showed for his cousin, the son of his uncle. this curiosity of khaled continued unsatisfied until the death of his father moharib, which put him in possession of rank, wealth, and lands. he followed the example of his father in entertaining strangers, protecting the weak and unfortunate, and giving raiment to the naked. he continued also to scour the plains on horseback with his warriors, and in this way waxed greater in bodily strength and courage. after some time, gathering together a number of rich gifts, he started, in company with his mother, to visit his uncle. he did not draw rein until he reached the dwelling of zahir, who was delighted to see him, and made magnificent preparations for his entertainment; for the uncle had heard tell on many occasions of his nephew's worth and valor. khaled also visited his cousin. he saluted her, pressed her to his bosom, and kissed her forehead, thinking she was a young man. he felt the greatest pleasure in her company, and remained ten days with his uncle, regularly taking part in the jousts and contests of the horsemen and warriors. as for his cousin, the moment she had seen how handsome and valiant khaled was, she had fallen violently in love with him. her sleep left her; she could not eat; and her love grew to such a pitch that feeling her heart completely lost to him, she spoke to her mother and said: "o mother, should my cousin leave without taking me in his company, i shall die of grief at his absence." then her mother was touched with pity for her, and uttered no reproaches, feeling that they would be in vain. "djaida," she said, "conceal your feelings, and restrain yourself from grief. you have done nothing improper, for your cousin is the man of your choice, and is of your own blood. like him, you are fair and attractive; like him, brave and skilful in horsemanship. tomorrow morning, when his mother approaches us, i will reveal to her the whole matter; we will soon afterwards give you to him in marriage, and finally we will all return to our own country." the wife of zahir waited patiently until the following morning, when the mother of khaled arrived. she then presented her daughter, whose head she uncovered, so as to allow the hair to fall to her shoulders. at the sight of such charms the mother of khaled was beyond measure astonished, and exclaimed: "what! is not this your son djonder?" "no! it is djaida--she the moon of beauty, at last has risen." then she told her all that had passed between herself and her husband, and how and why they had concealed the sex of their child. "dear kinswoman," replied the mother of khaled, still quite surprised, "among all the daughters of arabia who have been celebrated for their beauty i have never seen one more lovely than this one. what is her name?" "i have already told you that it is djaida, and my especial purpose in telling you the secret is to offer you all these charms, for i ardently desire to marry my daughter to your son, so that we may all be able to return to our own land." the mother of khaled at once assented to this proposal, and said: "the possession of djaida will doubtless render my son very happy." she at once rose and went out to look for khaled, and communicated to him all she had seen and learned, not failing to extol especially the charms of djaida. "by the faith of an arab," said she, "never, my son, have i seen in the desert, or in any city, a girl such as your cousin; i do not except the most beautiful. nothing is so perfect as she is, nothing more lovely and attractive. make haste, my son, to see your uncle and ask him for his daughter in marriage. you will be happy indeed if he grants your prayer: go, my son, and do not waste time in winning her." when khaled had heard these words, he cast his eyes to the ground, and remained for some time thoughtful and gloomy. then he replied: "my mother, i cannot remain here any longer. i must return home amid my horsemen and troops. i have no intention of saying anything more to my cousin; i am convinced that she is a person whose temper and ideas of life are uncertain; her character and manner of speech are utterly destitute of stability and propriety. i have always been accustomed to live amid warriors, on whom i spend my wealth, and with whom i win a soldier's renown. as for my cousin's love for me, it is the weakness of a woman, of a young girl." he then donned his armor, mounted his horse, bade his uncle farewell, and announced his intention of leaving at once. "what means this haste?" cried zahir. "i can remain here no longer," answered khaled, and, putting his horse to a gallop, he flung himself into the depths of the wilderness. his mother, after relating to djaida the conversation she held with her son, mounted a camel and made her way towards her own country. the soul of djaida felt keenly this indignity. she brooded over it--sleepless and without appetite. some days afterwards, as her father was preparing with his horsemen to make a foray against his foes, his glance fell on djaida, and seeing how altered she was in face, and dejected in spirit, he refrained from saying anything, thinking and hoping that she would surely become herself again after a short time. scarcely was zahir out of sight of his tents, when djaida, who felt herself like to die, and whose frame of mind was quite unsupportable, said to her mother: "mother, i feel that i am dying, and that this miserable khaled is still in the vigor of life. i should like, if god gives me the power, to make him taste the fury of death, the bitterness of its pang and torture." so saying, she rose like a lioness, put on her armor, and mounted her horse, telling her mother she was going on a hunting expedition. swiftly, and without stopping, she traversed rocks and mountains, her excitement increasing as she approached the dwelling-place of her cousin. as she was disguised, she entered, unrecognized, into the tent where strangers were received. her visor was, however, lowered, like that of a horseman of hijaz. slaves and servants received her, offered her hospitality, comporting themselves towards her as to one of the guests, and the most noble personages of the land. that night djaida took rest; but the following day she joined the military exercises, challenged many cavaliers, and exhibited so much address and bravery, that she produced great astonishment among the spectators. long before noon the horsemen of her cousin were compelled to acknowledge her superiority over themselves. khaled wished to witness her prowess, and, surprised at the sight of so much skill, he offered to match himself with her. djaida entered the contest with him, and then both of them joining in combat tried, one after another, all the methods of attack and defence, until the shadows of night came on. when they separated both were unhurt, and none could say who was the victor. thus djaida, while rousing the admiration of the spectators, saw the annoyance they felt on finding their chief equalled in fight by so skilful an opponent. khaled ordered his antagonist to be treated with all the care and honor imaginable, then retired to his tent, his mind filled with thoughts of his conflict. djaida remained three days at her cousin's habitation. every morning she presented herself on the ground of combat, and remained under arms until night. she enjoyed it greatly, still keeping her _incognito_, whilst khaled, on the other hand, made no enquiries, and asked no questions of her, as to who she was and to what tribe she might belong. on the morning of the fourth day, while khaled, according to his custom, rode over the plain, and passed close to the tents reserved for strangers, he saw djaida mounting her horse. he saluted her, and she returned his salute. "noble arab," said khaled, "i should like to ask you one question. up to this moment i have failed in courtesy towards you, but, i now beg of you, in the name of that god who has endowed you with such great dexterity in arms, tell me, who are you, and to what noble princes are you allied? for i have never met your equal among brave cavaliers. answer me, i beseech you, for i am dying to learn." djaida smiled, and raising her visor, replied: "khaled, i am a woman, and not a warrior. i am your cousin djaida, who offered herself to you, and wished to give herself to you; but you refused her--from the pride you felt in your passion for arms." as she spoke she turned her horse suddenly, stuck spurs into him, and dashed off at full gallop towards her own country. khaled filled with confusion withdrew to his tent, not knowing what to do, nor what would be the end of the passionate love which he suddenly felt rise within him. he was seized with disgust for all these warlike habits and tastes, which had reduced him to the melancholy plight in which he found himself. his distaste for women was changed into love. he sent for his mother and related to her all that had occurred. "my son," she said, "all these circumstances should render djaida still dearer to you. wait patiently a little, until i have been able to go and ask her of her mother." she straightway mounted her camel, and started through the desert on the tracks of djaida, who immediately on her arrival home had told her mother all that had happened. as soon as the mother of khaled had arrived, she flung herself into the arms of her kinswoman and demanded djaida in marriage for her son, for zahir had not yet returned from his foray. when djaida heard from her mother the request of khaled, she said, "this shall never be, though i be forced to drink the cup of death. that which occurred at his tents was brought about by me to quench the fire of my grief and unhappiness, and soothe the anguish of my heart." at these words the mother of khaled, defeated of her object, went back to her son, who was tortured by the most cruel anxiety. he rose suddenly to his feet, for his love had reached the point of desperation, and asked with inquietude what were the feelings of his cousin. when he learned the answer of djaida his distress became overwhelming, for her refusal only increased his passion. "what is to be done, my mother," he exclaimed. "i see no way of escaping from this embarrassment," she replied, "excepting you assemble all your horsemen from among the arab sheiks, and from among those with whom you are on friendly terms. wait until your uncle returns from the campaign, and then, surrounded by your followers, go to him, and in the presence of the assembled warriors, demand of him his daughter in marriage. if he deny that he has a daughter, tell him all that has happened, and urge him until he gives way to your demand." this advice, and the plan proposed moderated the grief of khaled. as soon as he learned that his uncle had returned home, he assembled all the chiefs of his family and told his story to them. all of them were very much astonished, and madi kereb. one of the khaled's bravest companions, could not help saying: "this is a strange affair; we have always heard say that your uncle had a son named djonder, but now the truth is known. you are certainly the man who has most right to the daughter of your uncle. it is therefore our best course to present ourselves in a body and prostrate ourselves before him, asking him to return to his family and not to give his daughter to a stranger." khaled, without hearing any more, took with him a hundred of his bravest horsemen, being those who had been brought up with moharib and zahir from their childhood, and, having provided themselves with presents even more costly than those they had taken before, they started off, and marched on until they came to the tribe of saad. khaled began by complimenting his uncle on his happy return from war, but no one could be more astonished than zahir at this second visit, especially when he saw his nephew accompanied by all the chieftains of his family. it never for a moment occurred to him that his daughter djaida had anything to do with khaled's return, but thought that his nephew merely wished to persuade him to return to his native territory. he offered them every hospitality, provided them with tents and entertained them magnificently. he ordered camels and sheep to be killed, and gave a banquet; he furnished his guests with all things needful and proper for three days. on the fourth day khaled arose, and after thanking his uncle for all his attentions, asked him for his daughter in marriage, and begged him to return to his own land. zahir denied that he had any child but his son djonder, but khaled told him all that he had learned, and all that had passed between himself and djaida. at these words zahir was overcome with shame and turned his eyes to the ground. he remained for some moments plunged in thought, and after reflecting that the affair must needs proceed from bad to worse, he addressed those present in the following words: "kinsmen, i will no longer delay acknowledging this secret; therefore to end the matter, she shall be married to her cousin as soon as possible, for, of all the men i know, he is most worthy of her." he offered his hand to khaled, who immediately clasped it in presence of the chiefs who were witnesses to the contract. the dowry was fixed at five hundred brown black-eyed camels, and a thousand camels loaded with the choicest products of yemen. the tribe of saad, in the midst of which zahir had lived, were excluded from all part in this incident. but when zahir had asked his daughter's consent to this arrangement, djaida was overwhelmed with confusion at the course her father had taken. since he let his daughter clearly understand that he did not wish her to remain unmarried, she at last replied: "my father, if my cousin desires to have me in marriage, i shall not enter into his tent until he undertakes to slaughter at my wedding a thousand camels, out of those which belong to gheshem, son of malik, surnamed 'the brandisher of spears.'" kahled agreed to this condition; but the sheiks and the warriors did not leave zahir before he had collected all his possessions for transportation to his own country. no sooner were these preparations completed than khaled marched forth at the head of a thousand horsemen, with whose assistance he subdued the tribe of aamir. having thrice wounded "the brandisher of spears," and slain a great number of his champions, he carried off their goods and brought back from their country even a richer spoil than djaida had demanded. loaded with booty he returned, and was intoxicated with success. but when he asked that a day should be fixed for the wedding, djaida begged him to approach, and said to him: "if you desire that i become your wife, fulfil first of all my wishes, and keep the engagement i make with you. this is my demand: i wish that on the day of my marriage, some nobleman's daughter, a free-born woman, hold the bridle of my camel; she must be the daughter of a prince of the highest rank, so that i may be the most honored of all the daughters of arabia." khaled consented, and prepared to carry out her wishes. that very day he started with his horsemen, and traversed plains and valleys, searching the land of ymer, even till he reached the country of hijar and the hills of sand. in this place he attacked the tribe-family of moawich, son of mizal. he burst upon them like a rain-storm, and cutting a way with his sword through the opposing horsemen, he took prisoner amima, daughter of moawich, at the very moment when she was betaking herself to flight. after having accomplished feats which rendered futile the resistance of the most experienced heroes, after having scattered all the tribes in flight, and carried off all the wealth of all the arabs in that country, he returned home. but he did not wish to come near his tents until he had first gathered in all the wealth which he had left at different points and places in the desert. the young maidens marched before him sounding their cymbals and other instruments of music. all the tribe rejoiced; and when khaled appeared, he distributed clothing to the widows and orphans, and invited his companions and friends to the feast he was preparing for his wedding. all the arabs of the country came in a crowd to the marriage. he caused them to be regaled with abundance of flesh and wine. but while all the guests abandoned themselves to feasting and pleasure, khaled, accompanied by ten slaves, prepared to scour the wild and marshy places of the land, in order to attack hand to hand in their caverns the lions and lionesses and their cubs, and bear them slain to the tents, in order to provide meat for all those who attended the festival. djaida had been informed of this design. she disguised herself in coat of mail, mounted her horse, and left the tents; as three days of festivities still remained, she hastily followed khaled into the desert, and met him face to face in a cavern. she flung herself upon him with the impetuosity of a wild beast, and attacked him furiously, crying aloud, "arab! dismount from your horse, take off your coat of mail, and your armor; if you hesitate to do so, i will run this lance through your heart." khaled was resolved at once to resist her in this demand. they engaged in furious combat. the struggle lasted for more than an hour, when the warrior saw in the eyes of his adversary an expression which alarmed him. he remounted his horse, and having wheeled round his steed from the place of combat, exclaimed: "by the faith of an arab, i adjure you to tell me what horseman of the desert you are; for i feel that your attack and the violence of your blows are irresistible. in fact, you have prevented me from accomplishing that which i had intended, and all that i had eagerly desired to do." at these words djaida raised her visor, thus permitting him to see her face. "khaled," she cried, "is it necessary for the girl you love to attack wild beasts, in order that the daughters of arabia may learn that this is not the exclusive privilege of a warrior?" at this cutting rebuke khaled was overcome with shame. "by the faith of an arab," he replied, "no one but you can overcome me; but is there anyone in this country who has challenged you, or are you come hither merely to prove to me the extent of your valor?" "by the faith of an arab," replied djaida, "i came into this desert solely for the purpose of helping you to hunt wild beasts, and in order that your warriors might not reproach you for choosing me as your wife." at these words khaled felt thrilled with surprise and admiration, that such spirit and resolution should have been exhibited in the conduct of djaida. then both of them dismounted from their horses and entered into a cavern. there khaled seized two ferocious wild beasts, and djaida attacked and carried off a lion and two lionesses. after these exploits they exchanged congratulations, and djaida felt happy to be with khaled. "meanwhile," she said, "i shall not permit you to leave our tents until after our marriage." she immediately left him in haste and betook herself to her own dwelling. khaled proceeded to rejoin the slaves whom he had left a little way off, and ordered them to carry to the tents the beasts he had slain. trembling with fright at the view of what khaled had done, they extolled him with admiration above all other champions of the land. the feasts meanwhile went on, and all who came were welcomed with magnificence. the maidens sounded their cymbals; the slaves waved their swords in the air, and the young girls sang from morn till evening. it was in the midst of such rejoicings that djaida and khaled were married. amima, the daughter of moawich, held the reins of the young bride's camel, and men and women alike extolled the glory of djaida. the absians and fazareans king cais, chief of the absians, distrusting the evil designs of hadifah, the chief of the tribe of fazarah, had sent out his slaves in every direction to look after antar. one of these slaves on his return said to the king: "as for antar, i have not even heard his name; but as i passed by the tribe of tenim, i slept one night in the tents of the tribe byah. there i saw a colt of remarkable beauty. he belonged to a man named jahir, son of awef. i have never seen a colt so fine and swift." this recital made a profound impression upon cais. and in truth this young animal was the wonder of the world, and never had a handsomer horse been reared among the arabs. he was in all points high-bred and renowned for race and lineage, for his sire was ocab and his dam helweh, and these were horses regarded by the arabs as quicker than lightning. all the tribes admired their points, and the tribe of byah had become celebrated above all others, because of the mare and stallion which pertained to it. as for this fine colt, one day, when his sire ocab had been put out on pasture, he was being led by the daughter of jahir along the side of a lake at noonday, and there he saw the mare helweh, who was tethered close to the tent of her master. he immediately began to neigh, and slipped his halter. the young girl in her embarrassment let him go, and for modesty took refuge in the tent of a friend. the stallion remained on the spot until the girl returned. she seized the halter and took him to the stables. but her father discerned the anxiety which she could not conceal. he questioned her, and she told him what had happened. he became furious with rage on hearing her story, for he was naturally choleric; he ran among the tents, flinging off his turban, and crying at the top of his voice, while all the arabs crowded round him, "tribe of byah, tribe of byah! kinsmen and friends, hear me." then he related what his daughter had told him. "i cannot permit," he added, "that the blood of my horse should be blended with that of helweh; yet i am not willing to sell him for the most costly sheep and camels; and if i cannot otherwise prevent helweh from bearing a colt to my stallion, i shall be glad if some one will put the mare to death." "by all means," cried his listeners, "do as you please, for we can have no objection." such were the usual terms of arabian courtesy. nevertheless, helweh, in course of time, bore a fine colt, whose birth brought great joy to her master. he named the young horse dahir. the colt waxed in strength and beauty, until he actually excelled his sire ocab. his chest was broad, his neck long, his hoofs hard, his nostrils widely expanded. his tail swept the ground, and he was of the gentlest temper; in short, he was the most perfect creature ever seen. being reared with the greatest care, his shape was perfect as the archway of a royal palace. when the mare helweh, followed by her colt, was one day moving along the shore of a lake, ocab's owner chanced to see them. he seized the young horse, and took him home with him, leaving his mother in grief for his difference. "as for jahir," he said, "this colt belongs to me, and i have more right to him than anyone else." the news of the colt's disappearance soon reached his owner's ears. he assembled the chiefs of the tribe, and told them what had happened. they sent to jahir, and he was reproached bitterly. "jahir," they said, "you have not suffered, yet have done injustice, in that you carried off that which belonged to another man." "say no more," answered jahir, "and spare me these reproaches, for, by the faith of an arab, i will not return the colt, unless compelled by main force. i will declare war against you first." at that moment the tribe was not prepared for a quarrel; and several of them said to jahir: "we are too much attached to you to push things to such an extreme as that; we are your allies and kinsmen. we will not fight with you, though an idol of gold were at stake." then kerim, son of wahrab (the latter being the owner of the mare and colt, a man renowned among the arabs for his generosity), seeing the obstinacy of jahir, said to him: "cousin, the colt is certainly yours, and belongs to you; as for the mare here, accept her as a present from my hand, so that mother and colt will not be separated, and no one will ever be able to accuse me of wronging a kinsman." the tribe highly applauded this act, and jahir was so humiliated by the generosity with which he had been treated, that he returned mare and colt to kerim, adding to the gift a pair of male and a pair of female camels. dahir soon became a horse of absolute perfection in every point, and when his master kerim undertook to race him with another horse, he rode the animal himself, and was in the habit of saying to his antagonist, "even should you pass me like an arrow, i could catch you up, and distance you," and in fact this always happened. as soon as king cais heard tell of this horse, he became beside himself with longing and mortification, and his sleep left him. he sent to kerim, offering to buy the horse for as much gold or silver as the owner demanded, and adding that the price would be forwarded without delay. this message enraged kerim. "is not this cais a fool, or a man of no understanding?" he exclaimed. "does he think i am a man of traffic--a horse-dealer, who cannot mount the horses he owns? i swear by the faith of an arab that if he had asked for dahir, as a present, i would have sent the horse, and a troop of camels besides: but if he thinks of obtaining him by bidding a price, he will never have him; even were i bound to drink the cup of death." the messenger returned to cais, and gave him the answer of kerim, at which the latter was much annoyed. "am i a king over the tribes of abs, of adnan, of fazarah, and of dibyan," he exclaimed, "and yet a common arab dares to oppose me!" he summoned his people and his warriors. immediately there was the flash of armor, of coats of mail, and swords and helmets appeared amid the tents; the champions mounted their steeds, shook their spears, and marched forth against the tribe of byah. as soon as they reached their enemy's territory they overran the pastures, and gathered an immense booty in cattle, which cais divided among his followers. they next made for the tents and surprised the dwellers there, who were not prepared for such an attack: kerim being absent with his warriors on an expedition of the same sort. cais at the head of the absians, pushing his way into the dwellings, carried off the wives and daughters of his foe. as for dahir, he was tethered to one of the tent-pegs, for kerim never used him as a charger, for fear some harm might befall him, or he might be killed. one of the slaves who had been left in the encampment, and had been among the first to see the approach of the absians, went up to dahir for the purpose of breaking the line by which he was hobbled. this he failed to accomplish, but mounting him, and digging his heels into his flanks, he forced the horse, although he was hobbled, to rush off prancing like a fawn, until he reached the desert. it was in vain that the absians pursued him; they could not even catch up with the trail of dust that he left behind him. as soon as cais perceived dahir, he recognized him, and the desire of possessing him became intensified. he hurried on, but his chagrin was great, as he perceived that, do what he would, he never could catch up with him. at last the slave, perceiving that he had quite out-distanced the absians, dismounted, untied the feet of dahir, leapt again into the saddle, and galloped off. cais, who had kept up the pursuit, gained ground during this stop, and coming within ear-shot of the slave, shouted out, "stop, arab, there is no cause for fear; you have my protection; by the faith of a noble arab, i swear it." at these words the slave stopped. "do you intend to sell that horse?" said king cais to him, "for in that case you have the most eager buyer of all the arabian tribesmen." "i do not wish to sell him, sire," replied the slave, "excepting at one price, the restoration of all the booty." "i will buy him then," the king answered, and he clasped the hand of the arab as pledge of the bargain. the slave dismounted from the young horse, and delivered him over to king cais, and the latter overjoyed at having his wish, leapt on to his back, and set out to rejoin the absians, whom he commanded to restore all the booty which they had taken. his order was executed to the letter. king cais, enchanted at the success of his enterprise, and at the possession of dahir, returned home. so great was his fondness for the horse that he groomed and fed him with his own hands. soon as hadifah, chief of the tribe of fazarah, heard that cais had possession of dahir, jealousy filled his heart. in concert with other chiefs he plotted the death of this beautiful horse. now it came to pass that at this time hadifah gave a great feast, and carwash, kinsman of king cais, was present. at the end of the meal, and while the wine circulated freely the course of conversation turned to the most famous chiefs of the time. the subject being exhausted, the guests began to speak about their most celebrated horses, and next, of the journeys made by them in the desert. "kinsmen," said carwash, "none of you ever saw a horse like dahir, which belongs to my ally cais. it is vain to seek his equal; his pace is absolutely terrifying. he chases away sorrow from the heart of him who beholds him, and protects like a strong tower the man who mounts him." carwash did not stop here, but continued to praise, in the highest and most distinguished language, the horse dahir, until all of the tribe of fazarah and of the family of zyad, felt their hearts swell with rage. "do you hear him, brother?" said haml to hadifah; "come, that is enough," he added, turning towards carwash. "all that you have said about dahir is absolute nonsense--for at present there are no horses better or finer than mine, and those of my brother." with these words he ordered his slaves to bring his horses and parade them before carwash. this was done. "come, carwash, look at that horse." "he is not worth the hay you feed him on," said the other. then those of hadifah were led out; among them was a mare, named ghabra, and a stallion called marik. "now look at these," said hadifah. "they are not worth the hay they eat," replied carwash. hadifah, filled with indignation at these words: "what, not even ghabra?" "not even ghabra, or all the horses in the world," repeated carwash. "would you like to make a bet for us with king cais?" "certainly," answered carwash--"i will wager that dahir will beat all the horses of the tribe of fazarah, even if he carries a hundred weight of stone on his back." they discussed the matter for a long time, the one affirming the other denying the statements, until hadifah closed the altercation by saying, "i hold to the wager, on condition that the winner takes from the loser as many male and female camels as he chooses." "you are going to play me a nice trick," said carwash, "and for my part i tell you plainly that i won't bet more than twenty camels; the man whose horse loses shall pay this forfeit." the matter was arranged accordingly. they sat at table until nightfall, and then rested. the next day carwash left his tent at early morn, went to the tribe of abs, to find cais, whom he told about the wager. "you were wrong," said cais. "you might have made a bet with anyone excepting hadifah, who is a man of tricks and treachery. if you have made the wager, you will have to declare it off." cais waited until certain persons who were with him had retired, then he at once took horse, and repaired to the tribe of fazarah, where everybody was taking their morning meal in their tents. cais dismounted, took off his arms, and seating himself among them began to eat with them, like a noble arab. "cousin," said hadifah to him jokingly, "what large mouthfuls you take; heaven preserve me from having an appetite like yours." "it is true," said cais, "that i am dying of hunger, but by him who abides always, and will abide forever, i came not here merely to eat your victuals. my intention is to annul the wager which was yesterday made between you and my kinsman carwash, i beg of you to cancel this bet, for all that is uttered over cups and flagons is of no serious account, and ought to be forgotten." "i would have you to know," was the answer, "that i will not withdraw from the challenge, unless you forfeit the camels which are staked. if you accept this condition, i shall be perfectly indifferent to everything else. nevertheless, if you wish it, i will seize the camels by force, or, if it be your good pleasure, i will waive every claim, save as a debt of honor." in spite of all that cais could say, hadifah remained firm in his resolution, and as his brother began to deride cais, the latter lost his temper, and with a face blazing with wrath he asked of hadifah, "what stake did you offer in your wager with my cousin?" "twenty she-camels," said hadifah. "as for this first wager," answered cais, "i cancel it, and propose another one in its stead: i will bet thirty camels." "and i forty," replied hadifah, "i make it fifty," was the retort of cais. "sixty," quickly added the other; and they continued raising the terms of the wager, until the number of camels staked was one hundred. the contract of the bet was deposited in the hands of a man named sabic, son of wahhab, and in the presence of a crowd of youths and old men. "what shall be the length of the race?" asked hadifah of cais. "one hundred bow-shots," replied cais, "and we have an archer here, ayas, the son of mansour, who will measure the ground." ayas was in fact the strongest and most accomplished archer then living among the arabs. king cais, by choosing ayas, wished the course to be made long, knowing the endurance of his horse, and the longer distance dahir had to travel, the more he gained speed, from the increased excitement of his spirit. "well now, we had better fix the day for the race," said cais to hadifah. "forty days will be required," replied hadifah, "to bring the horses into condition." "you are right," said cais, and they agreed that the horses should be trained for forty days, that the race should take place by the lake zatalirsad, and that the horse that first reached the goal should be declared winner. all these preliminaries having been arranged, cais returned to his tents. meanwhile one of the horsemen of the tribe of fazarah said to his neighbors: "kinsmen, you may rest assured that there is going to be a breach between the tribe of abs and that of fazarah, as a result of this race between dahir and ghabra. the two tribes, you must know, will be mutually estranged, for king cais has been there in person; now he is a prince and the son of a prince. he has made every effort to cancel the bet, but hadifah would by no means consent. all this is the beginning of a broil, which may be followed by a war, possibly lasting fifty years, and many a one will fall in the struggle." hadifah hearing this prediction, said: "i don't trouble myself much about the matter, and your suggestion seems to me absurd." "o hadifah," exclaimed ayas, "i am going to tell you what will be the result of all your obstinacy towards cais." then he recited some verses, with the following meaning: "in thee, o hadifah, there is no beauty; and in the purity of cais there is not a single blot. how sincere and honest was his counsels, although they were lacking in prudence and dignity. make a wager with a man who does not possess even an ass, and whose father has never been rich enough to buy a horse. let cais alone; he has wealth, lands, horses, a proud spirit, and he is the owner of this dahir, who is always first on the day of a race, whether he is resting or running--this dahir, a steed whose feet even appear through the obscurity of night like burning brands." "ayas," replied hadifah, "do you think i would break my word? i will take the camels of cais, and will not permit my name to be inscribed among the number of those who have been vanquished. let things run their course." as soon as king cais had regained his tents he hastened to tell his slaves to begin the training of his horses, and to pay especial attention to dahir. then he told his kinsmen all that had taken place between himself and hadifah. antar was present at this recital, and as he took great interest in all that concerned the king, he said, "cais, calm your fears, keep your eyes well open, run the race, and have no fear. for, by the faith of an arab, if hadifah makes any trouble or misunderstanding, i will kill him, as well as the whole tribe of fazarah." the conversation on this subject continued until they reached the tents, which antar declined to enter before seeing dahir. he walked several times round this animal, and saw at a glance that the horse actually possessed qualities which astonished any one who saw him. hadifah quickly learned the return of antar, and knew that the hero was encouraging king cais to run the race. haml, hadifah's brother, had also heard the news, and in the distress which he felt remarked to hadifah, "i fear lest antar should fall upon me, or some one of the family of beder, and kill us, and thus render us disgraced. give up this race, or we are ruined. let me go to king cais, and i will not leave him until he promises to come to you and cancel the contract." "do as you please," answered hadifah. thereupon haml took horse, and went immediately to king cais. he found him with his uncle assyed, a wise and prudent man. haml approached cais, saluted him by kissing his hand, and after saying that he was the bearer of an important message, added: "kinsman, you know that my brother hadifah is a low fellow, whose mind is full of intrigues. i have spent the last three days in trying to persuade him to cancel this wager. at last he has said: 'very good, if cais comes to me, and wishes to be released from the contract, i will annul it; but do not let any arab think that i abandon the bet through fear of antar.' now you, cais, are aware that the greatest proof of attachment between kinsmen is their willingness to give way to one another. so i am here to beg that you will come to the dwelling of my brother hadifah and ask him to give up the race, before it causes trouble, and the tribe be utterly driven away from its territories." at this address of haml, cais became flushed with shame, for he was trusting and generous. he at once arose, and leaving his uncle assyed in charge of his domestic business, he accompanied haml to the land of fazarah. when they were midway on their journey haml began to utter lavish praises of cais to the latter's face, and to blame his own brother's faults, in the following terms: "o cais, do not let your wrath be stirred up against hadifah, for he is verily a man headstrong and unjust in his actions. o cais, if you persist in holding to the bet, great disasters will follow. both you and he are impulsive and passionate, and this is what causes me to feel anxiety about you, cais. put aside your private feelings, be kind and generous, and it will come to pass that the oppressor himself will become the oppressed." haml continued to abuse his brother, and to flatter cais with expressions of admiration all the way, until in the evening they arrived at the tribe of fazarah. hadifah, who at the moment was surrounded by many powerful chiefs, upon whose aid he depended in the hour of need, had changed his mind since his brother haml's departure, and in place of coming to terms and making peace with cais he had determined to yield in nothing, but to maintain rigorously the conditions of the coming race. he was speaking of this very matter with one of the chiefs at the moment when cais and haml presented themselves before him. as soon as hadifah saw cais, he resolved to cover him with shame. turning therefore to his brother, he asked: "who ordered you to go to this man? by the faith of a noble arab, even if all the men who cover the surface of the earth were to come and importune me, saying, 'o hadifah, give up one hair of these camels,' i would not yield until a lance had pierced my heart and a sword stricken the head from my shoulders." cais crimsoned, and immediately remounted his horse, bitterly reproaching haml. he returned home with the utmost haste, and found his uncle and brothers waiting for him in extreme anxiety. "o my son!" said his uncle assyed as soon as he saw him, "you have had a disastrous journey, for it has caused you to be disgraced." "if hadifah had not been surrounded by certain chiefs, who gave him treacherous counsels, i could have arranged the whole affair," answered cais. "there is now nothing left but to carry out the race and the bet." king cais did not sleep the whole of that night. on the morrow he thought of nothing but the training of his horses during the forty days' interval before the race. all the arabs of the land agreed to come to the pastures and see the race, and when the forty days had expired the horsemen of the two tribes came in a crowd to the banks of lake zatalirsud. next arrived the archer ayas, who, turning his back to the lake at the point where the horses were to start, drew his bow as he walked toward the north a hundred times, and measured out to the goal the course of a hundred bow-shots. soon the horsemen of ghitfan and dibyan arrived, for they were of the same territory, and because of their friendly relations and kinship were comprised as one tribe under the name of adnan. king cais had begged antar not to show himself on this occasion, fearing that his appearance might cause dissension. antar listened to this advice, but was unable to rest quiet in the tents. the interest he felt in cais, and the deep distrust with which the falseness of the fazareans--who were always ready for treason--inspired him, induced him to show himself. girding on his sword dhami, and mounting his famous charger, abjer, he took with him his brother shidoub, and reached the spot fixed upon for the race, in order that he might watch over the safety of king zoheir's sons. on his arrival he seemed to excel all that crowd, like a lion clad in coat of mail. he carried his naked sword, and his eyes flashed like blazing coals. as soon as he had reached the middle of the crowd, he cried out with a loud voice, that struck terror to all hearts: "hearken, noble arabian chieftains and men of renown assembled here--all of you know that i was supported and favored by king zoheir, father of king cais, that i am a slave bound to him, by his goodness and munificence; that it is he who caused my parents to acknowledge me, and gave me my rank, making me to be numbered among arab chiefs. although he is no longer living, i wish to show my gratitude to him, and bring the kings of the land into subjection to him, even after his death. he has left a son, whom his brothers have acknowledged, and have set on the throne of his father. this son is cais, whom they have thus distinguished, because of his wisdom, rectitude, and noble heart. i am the slave of cais, and am his property; i intend to be the supporter of him whom i love, and the enemy of whosoever resists him. it shall never be said, as long as i live, that i have suffered an enemy to affront him. as to the conditions of this wager, it is our duty to see them observed. the best thing, accordingly, to do is to let the horses race unobstructed, for victory comes from the creator of day and night. i make an oath, therefore, by the holy house at mecca, by the temple, by the eternal god, who never forgets his servants and never sleeps, that if hadifah commits any act of violence, i will make him drink the cup of vengeance and of death; and will make the whole tribe of fazarah the byword of all the world. and you, arab chieftains, if you sincerely desire the race to take place, conduct yourselves with justice and impartiality; otherwise, by the eyes of my dear ibla, i will make the horses run the race in blood." "antar is right," the horsemen shouted on all sides. hadifah chose, as the rider of ghabra, a groom of the tribe of dibyan. this man had passed all his days and many of his nights in rearing and tending horses. cais, on the other hand, chose as rider of dahir a groom of the tribe of abs, much better trained and experienced in his profession than was the dibyanian. when the two contestants had mounted their horses king cais gave this parting instruction to his groom: "do not let the reins hang too loosely in managing dahir; if you see him flag, stand up in your stirrups, and press his flanks gently with your legs. do not urge him too much, or you will break his spirit." hadifah heard this advice and repeated it, word for word, to his rider. antar began to laugh. "by the faith of an arab," he said to hadifah, "you will be beaten. are words so scarce that you are obliged to use exactly those of cais? but as a matter of fact cais is a king, the son of a king; he ought always to be imitated by others, and since you have followed, word by word, his speech, it is a proof that your horse will follow his in the desert." at these words the heart of hadifah swelled with rage and indignation, and he swore with an oath that he would not let his horse run that day, but that he wished the race to take place at sunrise, next morning. this delay was indispensable to him in preparing the act of perfidy which he meditated, for he had no sooner seen dahir than he was speechless with astonishment at the beauty and perfections of the horse. the judges had already dismounted and the horsemen of the various tribes were preparing to return home, when shidoub began to cry out with a loud voice, "tribes of abs, of adnan, of fazarah and of dibyan, and all here present attend to me for an instant, and listen to words which shall be repeated from generation to generation." all the warriors stood motionless. "speak on," they cried, "what is your will? perhaps there may be something good in your words." "illustrious arabs," continued shidoub, "you know what happened in consequence of the match between dahir and ghabra: i assure you on my life that i will outstrip both of them in running, even were they swifter than the wind. but listen to the condition i offer; if i am the winner, i am to take the hundred camels which are at stake; but if i am beaten, i am to forfeit fifty." upon this one of the sheiks of fazarah exclaimed, "what is that you are saying, vile slave? why should you receive a hundred camels if you win and only forfeit fifty if you lose?" "do you ask why, ancient mire of a dunghill," replied shidoub, "because i have but two legs to run on and a horse has four, not counting his tail." all the arabs burst out laughing; yet as they were astonished at the conditions proposed by shidoub, and extremely curious to see him run the race, they agreed that he should make the hazardous experiment. when all had returned to the tents antar said to shidoub: "come, now, thou son of a cursed mother, how dared thou say that thou couldst outstrip these two horses, whose race all horsemen of our tribes have assembled to see, and who all the world admits have no equals in speed, not even among the birds of the air?" "by him who created the springs in the rocks and who knows all things," replied shidoub, "i will outstrip those two horses, be they fleet as the winds. yes, and my victory will have an advantageous result, for when the arabs hear of it, they will give up all idea of pursuing me, when i run across the desert." antar laughed, for he was in doubt about shidoub's plan. the latter went to find king cais and his brothers, and the other witnesses of the race, and made oath on his life that he would outstrip the two horses. all present acknowledged themselves witnesses of the oath, and left the spot, filled with astonishment at the proposition. as for the trickster hadifah, in the evening he summoned one of his slaves named dames, a rascal, if ever there was one. "o dames," he said, "you frequently boast of your cunning, but hitherto i have had no opportunity of putting it to the proof." "my lord," answered the slave, "tell me in what way i can be useful to you." "i desire," said hadifah, "that you go and post yourself in the great pass. remain in this place, and go and hide yourself there in the morning. watch the horses well, and see if dahir is in advance. if he is, show yourself suddenly, strike him on the head, and cause him to stop, so that ghabra may outstrip him, and we may not incur the disgrace of defeat. for i confess that since i have seen dahir, his excellent points have made me doubt the superiority of ghabra, and i fear my mare will be beaten, and we shall become the laughing stock of all the arabs." "but, sir, how shall i distinguish dahir from ghabra when they advance, both of them wrapped in a cloud of dust?" hadifah replied, "i am going to give you a sign, and to explain how the matter may be free from difficulty." as he spoke he picked up some stones from the ground and said: "take these stones with you at sunrise, begin to count them, and throw them to the earth, four at a time. you must repeat the operation five times, and the last time ghabra will arrive. that is the calculation i have made, so that if a cloud of dust presents itself to you, and some of the stones, a third or a half of them, still remain in your hand, you may be sure that dahir has gained first place, and is before your eyes. you must then hurl a stone at his head, as i said, and stop his running, so that my mare may gain the lead." the slave agreed to do so. he provided himself with stones and went to hide himself at the great pass, and hadifah felt confident of gaining the wager. at the dawn of day, the arabs, coming from all quarters, were assembled on the race ground. the judges gave the signal for the start, and the two riders uttered loud shouts. the racers started like flashes of lightning which dazzle the sight and seemed like the wind when, as it blows, it increases in fury. ghabra passed ahead of dahir and distanced him. "now you are lost, my brother of the tribe of abs," cried the fazarean groom to the absian, "try and console yourself for this defeat." "you lie," retorted the absian, "and in a few moments you will see how completely you are mistaken. wait till we have passed this uneven ground. mares always travel faster on rough roads than on smooth country." and so it happened, for when they arrived in the plain, dahir shot forward like a giant, leaving a trail of dust behind him. it seemed as if he went on wings, not legs; in the twinkling of an eye he had outstripped ghabra. "here," cried the absian to the fazarean groom, "send a messenger from me to the family of beder, and you yourself drink the bitter cup of patience behind me." meanwhile shidoub, swift as the north wind, kept ahead of dahir, bounding like a fawn and running like an ostrich, until he reached the defile where dames was hidden. the slave had only thrown down less than a third of his pebbles, when he looked up and saw dahir approaching. he waited till the horse passed close by him, and suddenly showed himself with a shout, and hit the racer violently between the eyes with a stone. the horse reared, stopped one moment, and the rider was on the point of being unseated. shidoub was a witness to the incident, and having looked at the slave, recognized him as belonging to the treacherous hadifah. in the violence of his rage he flung himself upon dames, and struck him dead with his sword: then he approached dahir for the purpose of speaking soothingly to him, and starting him again on the race; but, alas, the mare ghabra rushed up like the wind. then shidoub, fearing defeat, thinking of the camels he would forfeit, set out running at full speed towards the lake, where he arrived two bow-shots in advance of the horses. ghabra followed, then dahir last, bearing on his forehead the mark of the missile; his cheeks were covered with blood and tears. all the spectators were astounded on seeing the agility and endurance of shidoub; but as soon as ghabra had reached the finish the fazareans uttered loud shouts of joy. dahir was led home all bleeding, and his rider told the men of the tribe of abs what the slave had done. cais examined the wound of his horse and asked for full details of the occurrence. antar grew crimson with anger, and laid his hand upon his invincible sword, as if impatient to annihilate the tribe of the fazareans. but the sheiks restrained him, although with difficulty, after which they went to hadifah to cover him with shame, and to reproach him with the infamous deed he had done. hadifah denied it, with false oaths, affirming that he knew nothing of the blow dealt to dahir; then he added, "i demand the camels which are due to me, and i do not admit the treacherous pretext on which they are being withheld." "that blow is doubtless of evil augury for the tribe of fazarah," said cais. "god will certainly give us victory and triumph, and destroy them. for hadifah only desired this race to take place in order that it might cause trouble and discord, and the disturbance which this contest is sure to excite will stir up one tribe against another, so that there will be many men killed, and children made orphans." the conversation which followed among the tribesmen became more and more excited, confusion followed, shouts rang out on all sides, and drawn swords flashed. bloodshed would have resulted had not the sheiks and wise men dismounted and with bared heads mingled with the crowd, with humble mien, imploring them, until at last the matter was settled as harmoniously as possible. it was agreed that shidoub should receive the amount of the wager--a hundred camels from the tribe of fazarah, and that hadifah should abandon his claims and refrain from all dispute. such were the measures taken to extinguish the hostility and disorder which threatened to burst out among the tribes. then the different families retired to their own dwellings, but the hearts of all were filled with bitter hatred. one whose resentment seemed keenest was hadifah, especially when he learned of the slave dames's death. as for cais, he was also filled with mute rage and intense hatred. yet antar tried to reassure him. "king," he said to him, "do not let your heart be a prey to mortification; for i swear by the tomb of king zoheir, your father, that i will cause disgrace and infamy to fall on hadifah, and it is only from regard for you that i have up to this time delayed action." soon after all returned to their tents. the following morning shidoub killed twenty of the camels he had won the day before, and caused the meat to be distributed among the widows and those who had been wounded and crippled in war. he slaughtered twenty others, which he used in entertaining the tribe of abs, including women and slaves. finally, the next day, he killed the rest of the camels and made a great feast near the lake zatalirsad, to which he invited the sons of king zoheir and his noblest chieftains. at the end of this banquet, when the wine circulated among the guests, all praised the behavior of shidoub. but the news of the camel slaughter and of all the feasting was soon known to the tribe of fazarah. all the enraged tribesmen hastened to seek hadifah. "what," said they, "while we were first in the race, slaves and traitorous absians have eaten our camels! send for an equal number of camels, by all means; but if he refuses them let us make a terrible war upon the absians." hadifah raised his eyes upon his son abou-firacah. "mount horse at once," he said to him, "and go and say to cais: my father says that you must this instant pay the wager, or he will come and seize the amount by main force, and will bring trouble upon you." there was then present a chief among the sheiks, who, hearing the order that hadifah had given to his son, said: "o hadifah, are you not ashamed to send such a message to the tribe of the absians? are they not our kindred and allies? does this proposal harmonize with the counsel and desire of allaying dissensions? the genuine man shows gratitude for generosity and kindness. i think it quite reasonable to expect that you desist from this perverse mood, which will end in our total extermination. cais has shown himself quite impartial and has done wrong to no one; cherish, therefore, peace with the horsemen of the tribe of abs. take warning from what happened to the slave dames; he struck dahir, the horse of king cais, and god punished him at once; he is left bathed in his slavish blood. i beg you to listen to none but wise counsels; act nobly, and abandon base designs. while you are thus forewarned as to your situation, keep a prudent eye on your affairs." this discourse rendered hadifah furious. "contemptible sheik! dog of a traitor!" he exclaimed. "what! must i be in fear of cais and the whole tribe of the absians? by the faith of an arab, i will let all men of honor know that if cais refuse to send the camels i will not leave one of his tents standing." the sheik was indignant, and to increase the fear he would cast into the heart of hadifah he spoke to him in verses, to the following effect: "insult is cowardliness, for it takes by surprise him who is not expecting it, as the night enwraps those who wander in the desert. when the sword shall once be drawn look out for blows. be just and do not clothe thyself with dishonor. enquire of those who know the fate of themond and his tribe, when they committed acts of rebellion and tyranny. they will tell you that a command of god from on high destroyed them in one night, and on the morrow they lay scattered on the ground, their eyes turned towards the sky." hadifah dissembled his contempt for these verses and the sheik who had pronounced them, but he ordered his son to go at once to cais. abou-firacah started for the tribe of abs, and as soon as he arrived there repaired to the home of cais, who was absent. the messenger asked then for his wife modelilah, the daughter of rebia. "what do you desire of my husband?" she asked. "i demand my due, the prize of the horse race." "misfortune take you and that which you demand," she replied. "son of hadifah! do you not fear the consequences of such perfidy? if cais were here he would send you to your death, instantly." abou-firacah returned to his father, to whom he told all that the wife of cais had said "what, you coward," shouted hadifah, "do you come back without completing your errand? are you afraid of the daughter of rebia? go to him again." as abou-firacah reminded his father that it was now near night-fall, the message was postponed until the next day. as for cais, when he re-entered his home, he learned from his wife that abou-firacah had come to ask for the camels. "by the faith of an arab," he said, "if i had been here i would have slain him. but the matter is closed; let us think no more of it." yet king cais passed the night in grief and annoyance until sunrise, at which time he betook himself to his tent antar came to see him. cais rose, and making him take a seat, mentioned the name of hadifah. "would you believe he had the shamelessness to send his son to demand the camels of me? ah, if i had been present i would have slain the messenger." scarcely had he finished uttering these words when abou-firacah presented himself on horseback. without dismounting, and uttering no word of salutation or preface, he said: "cais, my father desires that you send him that which is his due; by so doing your conduct will be that of a generous man; but if you refuse, my father will come against you, carry off his property by force, and plunge you into misfortune." on hearing these words cais felt the light change to darkness before his eyes. "o thou son of a vile coward," he exclaimed "how is it that you are not more respectful in your address to me?" he seized a javelin and plunged it into the breast of abou-firacah. pierced through, the young messenger lost control of his horse.--antar dragged him down and flung him on the ground. then, turning the horse's head away from the direction of fazarah, he struck him on the flank with a holly-stick, and the horse took the road towards the pastures, and finally entered his stable, all covered with blood. the shepherds at once led him to the tents, crying out, "misfortune! misfortune!" hadifah became furious. he smote upon his breast, repeating the words: "tribe of fazarah, to arms, to arms, to arms!" and all the disaffected came to hadifah once more, begging him to declare war on the absians, and to take vengeance on them. "kinsmen!" replied hadifah, with alacrity, "let none of us sleep to-night without our armor on." and so it happened. at break of day hadifah was on horseback; the warriors were ready, and only women and children and the feeble were left in the tents. cais, on the other hand, after slaying abou-firacah, expected that the fazareans would come and attack himself and his warriors; he therefore prepared for battle. antar was charged with taking the necessary reconnoitre. he left in the tents only women, children, and those too feeble to bear the sword; then he put himself in command of the heroes of carad. nothing could be more brilliant than the ranks of the absians in their coats of mail and gleaming weapons. these preparations caused an anxious moment for both parties. they marched forth against each other, and the sun had scarcely appeared, before scimitars flashed, and the whole country was in a turmoil. antar was impatient to press forward, and satisfy his thirst for battle; but, lo! hadifah, dressed in a black robe, advances, his heart broken by the death of his son. "son of zoheir," he cried to cais, "it is a base action to slay a child; but it is good to meet in battle, to decide with these lances which shall predominate, you or me." these words cut cais to the quick. hurried along by passion he left his standard and rushed against hadifah. then the two chiefs, spurred on by mutual hatred, fought together on their noble chargers, until nightfall. cais was mounted on dahir, and hadifah on ghabra. in the course of this combat the exploits of the past were eclipsed. each tribe despaired of his chieftain's safety, and they were eager to make a general attack, in order to stop the struggle of the chieftains and the fury with which they contended. cries began to be heard in the air. scimitars were drawn, and lances advanced over the ears of arabian chargers. antar approached certain absian chiefs and said, "let us attack the traitors." he prepared to charge, when the ancients of the two tribes came forth into the middle of the plain, with heads uncovered, their feet bared, and their idols hung from their shoulders. standing between the two armies they spoke as follows: "kinsmen and allies, in the name of that harmony which has hitherto prevailed among us, let us do nothing that will make us the byword of our slaves. let us not furnish our enemies with ground for reproaching us. let us forget all matter of dispute and dissension. let us not turn wives into widows and our children into orphans. satisfy your warlike ardor by attacking those among the arabs who are your real foes; and you, kinsmen of fazarah, show yourselves more humble and less haughty, towards your brethren the absians. above all, forget not that insolent wrong has often caused the destruction of many tribes, which have had sore reason to regret their impious actions; in this way many men have been deprived of their possessions, and a vast number been plunged into the gulf of despair and regret. expect the fatal hour of death, the day of dissolution, for it is upon you. you will be rent asunder by the threatening eagles of destruction, and enclosed in the dark prison-house of the tomb. take care, that when your bodies are separated from life, men may think about you without any other memory than that of your virtues." the sheiks talked together for a long time, and meanwhile the flame of passion which had been kindled in the soul of the two heroes, cais and hadifah, became quenched. hadifah withdrew from the fight, and it was agreed that cais should pay as the price of abou-firacah's blood a quantity of cattle and a string of camels. the sheiks did not wish even then to quit the field of battle until cais and hadifah embraced each other and had agreed to all the arrangements. antar was crimson with rage. "o king cais," he exclaimed, "what have you done? what! while our swords flash in our hands shall the tribe of fazarah exact a price for the blood of its dead? and we never be able to obtain retaliation excepting with our spear points! the blood of our dead is shed, and shall we not avenge it?" hadifah was beside himself on hearing these words. "and you, vile bastard," said antar to him, "you son of a vile mother, must your honor be purchased at the expense of our disgrace? but for the presence of these noble sheiks i would annihilate you and all your people this very instant." then hadifah's indignation and anger overleaped all bounds. "by the faith of an arab," he said to the sheiks, "i wish to hear no talk of peace at the moment that the enemy is ready to spear me." "do not talk in that way, dear son of my mother," said haml to his brother. "do not dart away on the path of imprudence; abandon these gloomy resolutions. remain in peace with the allies of the absians, for they are shining stars: the burnished sun that guides all arabs who love glory. it was but the other day that you wronged them by causing the horse dahir to be wounded, and thus erred from the path of justice. as for your son, he was justly slain, for you had sent him to demand something that was not due you. after all, nothing is so proper as to make peace, for he who would seek and stir up war is a tyrant, and an oppressor. accept therefore the compensation offered you, or you are likely to call up around us a fire which will burn us in the flames of hell." haml concluded with verses of the following import: "by the truth of him who has rooted firm the mountains, without foundations, if you decline to accept the compensation offered by the absians, you are in the wrong. they acknowledge hadifah as their chief; be a chief in very deed, and be content with the cattle and camels offered you. dismount from the horse of outrage, and mount it not again, for it will carry you to the sea of grief and calamity. hadifah, renounce like a generous man, all violence, but particularly the idea of contending with the absians. make of them and of their leader a powerful rampart against the enemies that may attack us. make of them friends that will remain faithful, for they are men of the noblest intentions. such are the absians, and if cais has acted unjustly towards you, it is you who first set him the example some days ago." when haml finished these verses, the chiefs of the different tribes thanked him, and hadifah having consented to accept the compensation offered, all the arabs renounced violence and war. all who carried arms remained at home. cais sent to hadifah two hundred camels, six men-slaves, ten women-slaves, and ten horses. thus peace was reestablished and every one rested in tranquillity throughout the land. selections from arabian poetry [_translation by j.d. carlyle_] introduction the essential qualities of arabian poetry appear in the "romance of antar," and the tales of the "thousand and one nights." for such a blending of prose and verse is the favorite form of arabian literature in its highest and severest form, even in the drama. but the character of the people is most clearly shown in the lyrical poems of the bedouin country. the pastoral poetry of the peninsula is so local in its allusions that it cannot adequately be translated into english. it is in the lyrics that we find that "touch of nature which makes the whole world kin." the gorgeousness of hindoo literature, with its lavish description of jewelry and gold, precious stones and marbles, hideous demons, and mighty gods, is not to be looked for in arabia. there the horizon is clear, and the plain has nothing but human occupants. the common passions of men are the only powers at work; love, war, sorrow, and wine, are the subjects of these little songs, some of which might have been written by "anacreon" moore, and others by catullus. the influence of greek poetry is indeed manifest in these light and sometimes frivolous effusions. the sweetness and grace which distinguish some are only equalled by the wit of others. for wit is the prevailing characteristic of arabian poetry, which is attractive for its cleverness, its brightness, the alternate smiles and tears which shine through it, and make the present selections so refreshing and interesting a revelation of the national heart and intellect. i use the word refreshing, because some of the imagery of these lyrics is new to me, and quite unparalleled in european literature. what can be more novel, and at the same time more charming than the following simile, with which a short elegy concludes:-- "but though in dust thy relics lie, thy virtues, mano, ne'er shall die; though nile's full stream be seen no more, that spread his waves from shore to shore, still in the verdure of the plain his vivifying smiles remain." the praise of a humble lot has been sung from háfiz to horace, but never illustrated by a prettier conceit than the arabic poet has recourse to in this stanza:-- "not always wealth, not always force a splendid destiny commands; the lordly vulture gnaws the corse that rots upon yon barren sands. "nor want nor weakness still conspires to bind us to a sordid state; the fly that with a touch expires, sips honey from the royal plate." this is undoubtedly a very original way of stating the philosophic axiom of the augustan poet, "the lord of boundless revenues, do not salute as happy." i have spoken of the wit of these verses, which is certainly one of their distinguishing qualities. it is quite attic in its flavor and exquisitely delicate in its combined good-humor and freedom from rancor. an epigram, according to the old definition, should be like a bee; it should carry the sweetness of honey, although it bears a sting at the end. sometimes the end has a point which does not sting, as in the following quatrain of an arabic poet:-- "when i sent you my melons, you cried out with scorn, they ought to be heavy and wrinkled and yellow; when i offered myself, whom those graces adorn, you flouted, and called me an ugly old fellow." martial himself could not have excelled the wit of an epigram addressed to a very little man who wore a very big beard, which thus concludes:-- "surely thou cherishest thy beard in hope to hide thyself behind it." to study a literature like that of the arabians, even partially and in a translation, is one of those experiences which enlarge and stimulate the mind and expand its range of impressions with a distinctly elevating and liberalizing effect. it has the result of genuine education, in that it increases our capacity for sympathy for other peoples, making us better acquainted with the language in which they reveal that common human heart which they share with us. e.w. an elegy[ ] those dear abodes which once contain'd the fair, amidst mitata's wilds i seek in vain, nor towers, nor tents, nor cottages are there, but scatter'd ruins and a silent plain. the proud canals that once rayana grac'd, their course neglected and their waters gone, among the level'd sands are dimly trac'd, like moss-grown letters on a mouldering stone. rayana say, how many a tedious year its hallow'd circle o'er our heads hath roll'd, since to my vows thy tender maids gave ear, and fondly listened to the tale i told? how oft, since then, the star of spring, that pours a never-failing stream, hath drenched thy head? how oft, the summer cloud in copious showers or gentle drops its genial influence shed? how oft since then, the hovering mist of morn hath caus'd thy locks with glittering gems to glow? how oft hath eve her dewy treasures borne to fall responsive to the breeze below? the matted thistles, bending to the gale, now clothe those meadows once with verdure gay; amidst the windings of that lonely vale the teeming antelope and ostrich stray. the large-eyed mother of the herd that flies man's noisy haunts, here finds a sure retreat, here watches o'er her young, till age supplies strength to their limbs and swiftness to their feet. save where the swelling stream hath swept those walls and giv'n their deep foundations to the light (as the retouching pencil that recalls a long-lost picture to the raptur'd sight). save where the rains have wash'd the gathered sand and bared the scanty fragments to our view, (as the dust sprinkled on a punctur'd hand bids the faint tints resume their azure hue). no mossy record of those once lov'd seats points out the mansion to inquiring eyes; no tottering wall, in echoing sounds, repeats our mournful questions and our bursting sighs. yet, midst those ruin'd heaps, that naked plain, can faithful memory former scenes restore, recall the busy throng, the jocund train, and picture all that charm'd us there before. ne'e shall my heart the fatal morn forget that bore the fair ones from these seats so dear-- i see, i see the crowding litters yet, and yet the tent-poles rattle in my ear. i see the maids with timid steps descend, the streamers wave in all their painted pride, the floating curtains every fold extend, and vainly strive the charms within to hide. what graceful forms those envious folds enclose! what melting glances thro' those curtains play! sure weira's antelopes, or tudah's roes thro' yonder veils their sportive young survey! the band mov'd on--to trace their steps i strove, i saw them urge the camel's hastening flight, till the white vapor, like a rising grove, snatch'd them forever from my aching sight. nor since that morn have i nawara seen, the bands are burst which held us once so fast, memory but tells me that such things have been, and sad reflection adds, that they are past. _lebid ben rabiat alamary_. [ ] the author of this poem was a native of yemen. he was contemporary with mohammed and was already celebrated as a poet when the prophet began to promulgate his doctrines. lebid embraced islamism and was one of the most aggressive helpers in its establishment. he fixed his abode in the city of cufa, where he died at a very advanced age. this elegy, as is evident, was written previous to lebid's conversion to islamism. its subject is one that must be ever interesting to the feeling mind--the return of a person after a long absence to the place of his birth--in fact it is the arabian "deserted village." the tomb of mano friends of my heart, who share my sighs! go seek the turf where mano lies, and woo the dewy clouds of spring, to sweep it with prolific wing. within that cell, beneath that heap, friendship and truth and honor sleep, beneficence, that used to clasp the world within her ample grasp. there rests entomb'd--of thought bereft-- for were one conscious atom left new bliss, new kindness to display, 'twould burst the grave, and seek the day. but tho' in dust thy relics lie, thy virtues, mano, ne'er shall die; tho' nile's full stream be seen no more, that spread his waves from shore to shore, still in the verdure of the plain his vivifying smiles remain. _hassan alasady_. tomb of sayid[ ] blest are the tenants of the tomb! with envy i their lot survey! for sayid shares the solemn gloom, and mingles with their mouldering clay. dear youth! i'm doom'd thy loss to mourn when gathering ills around combine; and whither now shall malec turn, where look for any help but thine? at this dread moment when the foe my life with rage insatiate seeks, in vain i strive to ward the blow, my buckler falls, my sabre breaks. upon thy grassy tomb i knelt, and sought from pain a short relief-- th' attempt was vain--i only felt intenser pangs and livelier grief. the bud of woe no more represt, fed by the tears that drench'd it there, shot forth and fill'd my laboring breast soon to expand and shed despair. but tho' of sayid i'm bereft, from whom the stream of bounty came, sayid a nobler meed has left-- th' exhaustless heritage of fame. tho' mute the lips on which i hung, their silence speaks more loud to me than any voice from mortal tongue, "what sayid was let malec be." _abd almalec alharithy_. [ ] abd almalec was a native of arabia felix. the exact period when he flourished is unknown, but as this production is taken from the hamasa it is most probable that he was anterior to mohammedanism. the death of his mistress[ ] dost thou wonder that i flew charm'd to meet my leila's view? dost thou wonder that i hung raptur'd on my leila's tongue? if her ghost's funereal screech thro' the earth my grave should reach, on that voice i lov'd so well my transported ghost would dwell:-- if in death i can descry where my leila's relics lie, saher's dust will flee away, there to join his leila's clay. _abu saher alhedily_. [ ] the sentiment contained in this production determines its antiquity. it was the opinion of the pagan arabs that upon the death of any person a bird, by them called manah, issued from his brain, which haunted the sepulchre of the deceased, uttering a lamentable scream. on avarice[ ] how frail are riches and their joys? morn builds the heap which eve destroys; yet can they have one sure delight-- the thought that we've employed them right. what bliss can wealth afford to me when life's last solemn hour i see, when mavia's sympathizing sighs will but augment my agonies? can hoarded gold dispel the gloom that death must shed around his tomb? or cheer the ghost which hovers there, and fills with shrieks the desert air? what boots it, mavia, in the grave, whether i lov'd to waste or save? the hand that millions now can grasp, in death no more than mine shall clasp. were i ambitious to behold increasing stores of treasured gold, each tribe that roves the desert knows i might be wealthy if i chose:-- but other joys can gold impart, far other wishes warm my heart-- ne'er may i strive to swell the heap, till want and woe have ceas'd to weep. with brow unalter'd i can see the hour of wealth or poverty: i've drunk from both the cups of fate, nor this could sink, nor that elate. with fortune blest, i ne'er was found to look with scorn on those around; nor for the loss of paltry ore, shall hatem seem to hatem poor. _hatem tai_. [ ] hatem tai was an arabian chief, who lived a short time prior to the promulgation of mohammedanism. he has been so much celebrated through the east for his generosity that even to this day the greatest encomium which can be given to a generous man is to say that he is as liberal as hatem. hatem was also a poet; but his talents were principally exerted in recommending his favorite virtue. the battle of sabla[ ] sabla, them saw'st th' exulting foe in fancied triumphs crown'd; thou heard'st their frantic females throw these galling taunts around:-- "make now your choice--the terms we give, desponding victims, hear; these fetters on your hands receive, or in your hearts the spear." "and is the conflict o'er," we cried, "and lie we at your feet? and dare you vauntingly decide the fortune we must meet? "a brighter day we soon shall see, tho' now the prospect lowers, and conquest, peace, and liberty shall gild our future hours." the foe advanc'd:--in firm array we rush'd o'er sabla's sands, and the red sabre mark'd our way amidst their yielding bands. then, as they writh'd in death's cold grasp, we cried, "our choice is made, these hands the sabre's hilt shall clasp, your hearts shall have the blade." _jaafer ben alba_. [ ] this poem and the one following it are both taken from the hamasa and afford curious instances of the animosity which prevailed amongst the several arabian clans, and of the rancor with which they pursued each other, when once at variance. verses to my enemies why thus to passion give the rein? why seek your kindred tribe to wrong? why strive to drag to light again the fatal feud entomb'd so long? think not, if fury ye display, but equal fury we can deal; hope not, if wrong'd, but we repay revenge for every wrong we feel. why thus to passion give the rein? why seek the robe of peace to tear? rash youths desist, your course restrain, or dread the wrath ye blindly dare. yet friendship we not ask from foes, nor favor hope from you to prove, we lov'd you not, great allah knows, nor blam'd you that ye could not love. to each are different feelings given, this slights, and that regards his brother; 'tis ours to live--thanks to kind heav'n-- hating and hated by each other. _alfadhel ibn alabas_. on his friends[ ] with conscious pride i view the band of faithful friends that round me stand, with pride exult that i alone can join these scatter'd gems in one:-- for they're a wreath of pearls, and i the silken cord on which they lie. 'tis mine their inmost souls to see, unlock'd is every heart to me, to me they cling, on me they rest, and i've a place in every breast:-- for they're a wreath of pearls, and i the silken cord on which they lie. _meskin aldaramy_. [ ] these lines are also from the hamasa. on temper[ ] yes, leila, i swore by the fire of thine eyes, i ne'er could a sweetness unvaried endure; the bubbles of spirit, that sparkling arise, forbid life to stagnate and render it pure. but yet, my dear maid, tho' thy spirit's my pride, i'd wish for some sweetness to temper the bowl; if life be ne'er suffer'd to rest or subside, it may not be flat, but i fear 'twill be foul. _nabegat beni jaid_. [ ] there have been several arabian poets of the name of nabegat. the author of these verses was descended from the family of jaid. as he died in the fortieth year of the hegira, aged one hundred and twenty, he must have been fourscore at the promulgation of islamism; he, however, declared himself an early convert to the new faith. the song of maisuna[ ] the russet suit of camel's hair, with spirits light, and eye serene, is dearer to my bosom far than all the trappings of a queen. the humble tent and murmuring breeze that whistles thro' its fluttering wall, my unaspiring fancy please better than towers and splendid halls. th' attendant colts that bounding fly and frolic by the litter's side, are dearer in maisuna's eye than gorgeous mules in all their pride. the watch-dog's voice that bays whene'er a stranger seeks his master's cot, sounds sweeter in maisuna's ear than yonder trumpet's long-drawn note. the rustic youth unspoilt by art, son of my kindred, poor but free, will ever to maisuna's heart be dearer, pamper'd fool, than thee. [ ] maisuma was a daughter of the tribe of calab; a tribe, according to abulfeda, remarkable both for the purity of dialect spoken in it, and for the number of poets it had produced. she was married, whilst very young, to the caliph mowiah. but this exalted situation by no means suited the disposition of maisuna, and amidst all the pomp and splendor of damascus, she languished for the simple pleasures of her native desert. to my father[ ] must then my failings from the shaft of anger ne'er escape? and dost thou storm because i've quaff'd the water of the grape? that i can thus from wine be driv'n thou surely ne'er canst think-- another reason thou hast giv'n why i resolve to drink. 'twas sweet the flowing cup to seize, 'tis sweet thy rage to see; and first i drink myself to please; and next--to anger thee. _yezid_. [ ] yezid succeeded mowiah in the caliphate a.h. ; and in most respects showed himself to be of a very different disposition from his predecessor. he was naturally cruel, avaricious, and debauched; but instead of concealing his vices from the eyes of his subjects, he seemed to make a parade of those actions which he knew no good mussulman could look upon without horror; he drank wine in public, he caressed his dogs, and was waited upon by his eunuchs in sight of the whole court. on fatalism[ ] not always wealth, not always force a splendid destiny commands; the lordly vulture gnaws the corse that rots upon yon barren sands. nor want, nor weakness still conspires to bind us to a sordid state; the fly that with a touch expires sips honey from the royal plate. _imam shafay mohammed ben idris_. [ ] shafay, the founder of one of the four orthodox sects into which the mohammedans are divided, was a disciple of malek ben ans, and master to ahmed ebn hanbal; each of whom, like himself, founded a sect which is still denominated from the name of its author. the fourth sect is that of abou hanifah. this differs in tenets considerably from the three others, for whilst the malekites, the shafaites, and the hanbalites are invariably bigoted to tradition in their interpretations of the koran, the hanifites consider themselves as at liberty in any difficulty to make use of their own reason. to the caliph harun-al-rashid[ ] religion's gems can ne'er adorn the flimsy robe by pleasure worn; its feeble texture soon would tear, and give those jewels to the air. thrice happy they who seek th' abode of peace and pleasure, in their god! who spurn the world, its joys despise, and grasp at bliss beyond the skies. _ibrahim ben adham_. [ ] the author of this poem was a hermit of syria, equally celebrated for his talents and piety. he was son to a prince of khorasan, and born about the ninety-seventh year of the hegira. this poem was addressed to the caliph upon his undertaking a pilgrimage to mecca. lines to harun and yahia[ ] th' affrighted sun ere while he fled, and hid his radiant face in night; a cheerless gloom the world overspread-- but harun came, and all was bright. again the sun shoots forth his rays, nature is deck'd in beauty's robe-- for mighty harun's sceptre sways, and yahia's arm sustains the globe. _isaac almousely_. [ ] isaac almousely is considered by the orientals as the most celebrated musician that ever flourished in the world. he was born in persia, but having resided almost entirely at mousel, he is generally supposed to have been a native of that place. the ruin of barmecides[ ] no, barmec! time hath never shown so sad a change of wayward fate; nor sorrowing mortals ever known a grief so true, a loss so great. spouse of the world! thy soothing breast did balm to every woe afford; and now no more by thee caress'd, the widow'd world bewails her lord. [ ] the family of barmec was one of the most illustrious in the east. they were descended from the ancient kings of persia, and possessed immense property in various countries; they derived still more consequence from the favor which they enjoyed at the court of bagdad, where, for many years, they filled the highest offices of the state with universal approbation. to taher ben hosien[ ] a pair of right hands and a single dim eye must form not a man, but a monster, they cry:-- change a hand to an eye, good taher, if you can, and a monster perhaps may be chang'd to man. [ ] taher ben hosien was ambidexter and one-eyed and, strange to say, the most celebrated general of his time. the adieu[ ] the boatmen shout, "tis time to part, no longer we can stay"-- 'twas then maimnna taught my heart how much a glance could say. with trembling steps to me she came; "farewell," she would have cried, but ere her lips the word could frame in half-form'd sounds it died. then bending down with looks of love, her arms she round me flung, and, as the gale hangs on the grove, upon my breast she hung. my willing arms embraced the maid, my heart with raptures beat; while she but wept the more and said, "would we had never met!" _abou mohammed_. [ ] this was sung before the caliph wathek, by abou mohammed, a musician of bagdad, as a specimen of his musical talents; and such were its effects upon the caliph, that he immediately testified his approbation of the performance by throwing his own robe over the shoulders of abou mohammed, and ordering him a present of an hundred thousand dirhems. to my mistress[ ] ungenerous and mistaken maid, to scorn me thus because i'm poor! canst thou a liberal hand upbraid for dealing round some worthless ore? to spare's the wish of little souls, the great but gather to bestow; yon current down the mountain rolls, and stagnates in the swamp below. _abou teman habib_. [ ] abou teman is considered the most excellent of all the arabian poets. he was born near damascus a.h. , and educated in egypt; but the principal part of his life was spent at bagdad, under the patronage of the abasside caliphs. to a female cup-bearer[ ] come, leila, fill the goblet up, reach round the rosy wine, think not that we will take the cup from any hand but thine. a draught like this 'twere vain to seek, no grape can such supply; it steals its tint from leila's cheek, its brightness from her eye. _abd alsalam ben ragban_. [ ] abd alsalam was a poet more remarkable for abilities than morality. we may form an idea of the nature of his compositions from the nickname he acquired amongst his contemporaries of cock of the evil genii. he died in the th year of the hegira, aged near eighty. mashdud on the monks of khabbet[ ] tenants of yon hallow'd fane! let me your devotions share, there increasing raptures reign-- none are ever sober there. crowded gardens, festive bowers ne'er shall claim a thought of mine; you can give in khabbet's towers-- purer joys and brighter wine. tho' your pallid faces prove how you nightly vigils keep, 'tis but that you ever love flowing goblets more than sleep. tho' your eye-balls dim and sunk stream in penitential guise, 'tis but that the wine you've drunk bubbles over from your eyes. [ ] the three following songs were written by mashdud, rakeek, and rais, three of the most celebrated improvisators in bagdad, at an entertainment given by abou isy. rakeek to his female companions tho' the peevish tongues upbraid, tho' the brows of wisdom scowl, fair ones here on roses laid, careless will we quaff the bowl. let the cup, with nectar crown'd, thro' the grove its beams display, it can shed a lustre round, brighter than the torch of day. let it pass from hand to hand, circling still with ceaseless flight, till the streaks of gray expand o'er the fleeting robe of night. as night flits, she does but cry, "seize the moments that remain"-- thus our joys with yours shall vie, tenants of yon hallow'd fane! dialogue by rais _rais_: maid of sorrow, tell us why sad and drooping hangs thy head? is it grief that bids thee sigh? is it sleep that flies thy bed? _lady_: ah! i mourn no fancied wound, pangs too true this heart have wrung, since the snakes which curl around selim's brows my bosom stung. destin'd now to keener woes, i must see the youth depart, he must go, and as he goes rend at once my bursting heart. slumber may desert my bed, tis not slumber's charms i seek-- 'tis the robe of beauty spread o'er my selim's rosy cheek. to a lady weeping[ ] when i beheld thy blue eyes shine thro' the bright drop that pity drew, i saw beneath those tears of thine a blue-ey'd violet bath'd in dew. the violet ever scents the gale, its hues adorn the fairest wreath, but sweetest thro' a dewy veil its colors glow, its odors breathe. and thus thy charms in brightness rise-- when wit and pleasure round thee play, when mirth sits smiling in thine eyes, who but admires their sprightly ray? but when thro' pity's flood they gleam, who but must love their soften'd beam? _ebn alrumi_. [ ] ebn alrumi is reckoned by the arabian writers as one of the most excellent of all their poets. he was by birth a syrian, and passed the greatest part of his time at emessa, where he died a.h. . on a valetudinarian so careful is isa, and anxious to last, so afraid of himself is he grown, he swears thro' two nostrils the breath goes too fast, and he's trying to breathe thro' but one. _ebn alrumi_. on a miser "hang her, a thoughtless, wasteful fool, she scatters corn where'er she goes"-- quoth hassan, angry at his mule, that dropt a dinner to the crows. _ebn alrumi_. to cassim obio allah[ ] poor cassim! thou art doom'd to mourn by destiny's decree; whatever happens it must turn to misery for thee. two sons hadst thou, the one thy pride, the other was thy pest; ah, why did cruel death decide to snatch away the best? no wonder thou shouldst droop with woe, of such a child bereft; but now thy tears must doubly flow, for, ah! the other's left. _aly ben ahmed ben mansour_. [ ] aly ben ahmed distinguished himself in prose as well as poetry, and an historical work of considerable reputation, of which he was the author, is still extant. but he principally excelled in satire, and so fond was he of indulging this dangerous talent that no one escaped his lash; if he could only bring out a sarcasm, it was matter of indifference to him whether an enemy or a brother smarted under its severity. he died at bagdad a.h. . a friend's birthday[ ] when born, in tears we saw thee drown'd, while thine assembled friends around, with smiles their joy confest; so live, that at thy parting hour, they may the flood of sorrow pour, and thou in smiles be drest! [ ] the thought contained in these lines, appears so natural and so obvious, that one wonders it did not occur to all who have attempted to write upon a birthday or a death. to a cat poor puss is gone! 'tis fate's decree-- yet i must still her loss deplore, for dearer than a child was she, and ne'er shall i behold her more. with many a sad presaging tear this morn i saw her steal away, while she went on without a fear except that she should miss her prey. i saw her to the dove-house climb, with cautious feet and slow she stept resolv'd to balance loss of time by eating faster than she crept. her subtle foes were on the watch, and mark'd her course, with fury fraught, and while she hoped the birds to catch, an arrow's point the huntress caught. in fancy she had got them all, and drunk their blood and suck'd their breath; alas! she only got a fall, and only drank the draught of death. why, why was pigeons' flesh so nice, that thoughtless cats should love it thus? hadst thou but liv'd on rats and mice, thou hadst been living still, poor puss. curst be the taste, howe'er refined, that prompts us for such joys to wish, and curst the dainty where we find destruction lurking in the dish. _ibn alalaf alnaharwany_. an epigram upon ebn naphta-wah[ ] by the former with ruin and death we are curst, in the latter we grieve for the ills of the first; and as for the whole, where together they meet, it's a drunkard, a liar, a thief, and a cheat. _mohammed ben zeid almotakalam_. [ ] mohammed ben arfa, here called naphta-wah, was descended from a noble family in khorasan. he applied himself to study with indefatigable perseverance, and was a very voluminous author in several branches of literature, but he is chiefly distinguished as a grammarian. he died in the year of the hegira . fire[ ] _a riddle_. the loftiest cedars i can eat, yet neither paunch nor mouth have i, i storm whene'er you give me meat, whene'er you give me drink, i die. [ ] this composition seems a fit supplement to the preceding one; notwithstanding its absurdity, however. it is inserted merely to show that this mode of trifling was not unknown to the orientals. it is taken from the mostatraf, where a great number of similar productions on various subjects are preserved. to a lady blushing[ ] leila, whene'er i gaze on thee my altered cheek turns pale, while upon thine, sweet maid, i see a deep'ning blush prevail. leila, shall i the cause impart why such a change takes place? the crimson stream deserts my heart, to mantle on thy face. _the caliph radhi billah_. [ ] radhi billah, son to moctader, was the twentieth caliph of the house of abbas, and the last of these princes who possessed any substantial power. on the vicissitudes of life mortal joys, however pure, soon their turbid source betray; mortal bliss, however sure, soon must totter and decay. ye who now, with footsteps keen, range through hope's delusive field, tell us what the smiling scene to your ardent grasp can yield? other youths have oft before deem'd their joys would never fade, till themselves were seen no more swept into oblivion's shade. who, with health and pleasure gay, e'er his fragile state could know, were not age and pain to say man is but the child of woe? _the caliph radhi billah_. to a dove the dove to ease an aching breast, in piteous murmurs vents her cares; like me she sorrows, for opprest, like me, a load of grief she bears. her plaints are heard in every wood, while i would fain conceal my woes; but vain's my wish, the briny flood, the more i strive, the faster flows. sure, gentle bird, my drooping heart divides the pangs of love with thine, and plaintive murm'rings are thy part, and silent grief and tears are mine. _serage alwarak_. on a thunder storm bright smil'd the morn, till o'er its head the clouds in thicken'd foldings spread a robe of sable hue; then, gathering round day's golden king, they stretch'd their wide o'ershadowing wing, and hid him from our view. the rain his absent beams deplor'd, and, soften'd into weeping, pour'd its tears in many a flood; the lightning laughed with horrid glare; the thunder growl'd, in rage; the air in silent sorrow stood. _ibrahim ben khiret abou isaac_. to my favorite mistress i saw their jealous eyeballs roll, i saw them mark each glance of mine, i saw thy terrors, and my soul shar'd ev'ry pang that tortur'd thine. in vain to wean my constant heart, or quench my glowing flame, they strove; each deep-laid scheme, each envious art, but wak'd my fears for her i love. 'twas this compelled the stern decree, that forc'd thee to those distant towers, and left me nought but love for thee, to cheer my solitary hours. yet let not abla sink deprest, nor separation's pangs deplore; we meet not--'tis to meet more blest; we parted--'tis to part no more. _saif addaulet, sultan of aleppe_. crucifixion of ebn bakiah[ ] whatever thy fate, in life and death, thou'rt doom'd above us still to rise, whilst at a distance far beneath we view thee with admiring eyes. the gazing crowds still round thee throng, still to thy well-known voice repair, as when erewhile thy hallow'd tongue pour'd in the mosque the solemn prayer. still, generous vizir, we survey thine arms extended o'er our head, as lately, in the festive day, when they were stretch'd thy gifts to shed. earth's narrow boundaries strove in vain to limit thy aspiring mind, and now we see thy dust disdain within her breast to be confin'd. the earth's too small for one so great, another mansion thou shalt have-- the clouds shall be thy winding sheet, the spacious vault of heaven thy grave. _abou hassan alanbary_. [ ] ebn bakiah was vizir to azzad addaulet or bachteir, emir alomra of bagdad, under the caliphs moti lillah and tay lillah; but azzad addaulet being deprived of his office, and driven from bagdad by adhed addaulet, sultan of persia, ebn bakiah was seized and crucified at the gates of the city, by order of the conqueror. caprices of fortune[ ] why should i blush that fortune's frown dooms me life's humble paths to tread? to live unheeded, and unknown? to sink forgotten to the dead? 'tis not the good, the wise, the brave, that surest shine, or highest rise; the feather sports upon the wave, the pearl in ocean's cavern lies. each lesser star that studs the sphere sparkles with undiminish'd light: dark and eclips'd alone appear the lord of day, the queen of night. _shems almaali cabus_. [ ] history can show few princes so amiable and few so unfortunate as shems almaali cabus. he is described as possessed of almost every virtue and every accomplishment: his piety, justice, generosity, and humanity, are universally celebrated; nor was he less conspicuous for intellectual powers; his genius was at once penetrating, solid, and brilliant, and he distinguished himself equally as an orator, a philosopher, and a poet. on life like sheep, we're doom'd to travel o'er the fated track to all assign'd, these follow those that went before, and leave the world to those behind. as the flock seeks the pasturing shade, man presses to the future day, while death, amidst the tufted glade, like the dun robber,[a] waits his prey. [a] the wolf. extempore verses[ ] lowering as barkaidy's face the wintry night came in, cold as the music of his bass, and lengthen'd as his chin. sleep from my aching eyes had fled, and kept as far apart, as sense from ebn fahdi's head, or virtue from his heart. the dubious paths my footsteps balk'd, i slipp'd along the sod, as if on jaber's faith i'd walk'd, or on his truth had trod. at length the rising king of day burst on the gloomy wood, like carawash's eye, whose ray dispenses every good. _ebn alramacram_. [ ] the occasion of the following composition is thus related by abulfeda. carawash, sultan of mousel, being one wintry evening engaged in a party of pleasure along with barkaidy, ebn fahdi, abou jaber, and the improvisatore poet, ebn alramacram, resolved to divert himself at the expense of his companions. he therefore ordered the poet to give a specimen of his talents, which at the same time should convey a satire upon the three courtiers, and a compliment to himself. ebn alramacram took his subject from the stormy appearance of the night, and immediately produced these verses. on the death of a son[ ] tyrant of man! imperious fate! i bow before thy dread decree, nor hope in this uncertain state to find a seat secure from thee. life is a dark, tumultuous stream, with many a care and sorrow foul, yet thoughtless mortals vainly deem that it can yield a limpid bowl. think not that stream will backward flow, or cease its destin'd course to keep; as soon the blazing spark shall glow beneath the surface of the deep. believe not fate at thy command will grant a meed she never gave; as soon the airy tower shall stand, that's built upon a passing wave. life is a sleep of threescore years, death bids us wake and hail the light, and man, with all his hopes and fears, is but a phantom of the night. _aly ben mohammed altahmany_. [ ] aly ben mohammed was a native of that part of arabia called hejaz; and was celebrated not only as a poet, but as a politician. to leila leila, with too successful art, has spread for me love's cruel snare; and now, when she has caught my heart, she laughs, and leaves it to despair. thus the poor sparrow pants for breath, held captive by a playful boy, and while it drinks the draught of death, the thoughtless child looks on with joy. ah! were its flutt'ring pinions free, soon would it bid its chains adieu, or did the child its suff'rings see, he'd pity and relieve them too. on moderation in our pleasures[ ] how oft does passion's grasp destroy the pleasure that it strives to gain? how soon the thoughtless course of joy is doom'd to terminate in pain? when prudence would thy steps delay, she but restrains to make thee blest; whate'er from joy she lops away, but heightens and secures the rest. wouldst thou a trembling flame expand, that hastens in the lamp to die? with careful touch, with sparing hand, the feeding stream of life supply. but if thy flask profusely sheds a rushing torrent o'er the blaze, swift round the sinking flame it spreads, and kills the fire it fain would raise. _abou alcassim ebn tabataba_. [ ] tabataba deduced his pedigree from ali ben abou taleb, and fatima, the daughter of mohammed. he was born at ispahan, but passed the principal part of his life in egypt, where he was appointed chief of the sheriffs, i.e. the descendants of the prophet, a dignity held in the highest veneration by every mussulman. he died in the year of the hegira , with the reputation of being one of the most excellent poets of his time. the vale of bozaa[ ] the intertwining boughs for thee have wove, sweet dell, a verdant vest, and thou in turn shalt give to me a verdant couch upon thy breast. to shield me from day's fervid glare thine oaks their fostering arms extend, as anxious o'er her infant care i've seen a watchful mother bend. a brighter cup, a sweeter draught, i gather from that rill of thine, than maddening drunkards ever quaff'd, than all the treasures of the vine. so smooth the pebbles on its shore, that not a maid can thither stray, but counts her strings of jewels o'er, and thinks the pearls have slipp'd away. _ahmed ben yousef almenazy_. [ ] ben yousef for many years acted as vizir to abou nasser, sultan of diarbeker. his political talents are much praised, and he is particularly celebrated for the address he displayed while upon an embassy to the greek emperor at constantinople. yousef's poetry must be looked upon merely as a jeu d'esprit suggested by the beauties of the vale of bozâa, as he passed through it. to adversity[ ] hail, chastening friend adversity! 'tis thine the mental ore to temper and refine, to cast in virtue's mould the yielding heart, and honor's polish to the mind impart. without thy wakening touch, thy plastic aid, i'd lain the shapeless mass that nature made; but form'd, great artist, by thy magic hand, i gleam a sword to conquer and command. _abou menbaa carawash_. [ ] the life of this prince was checkered with various adventures; he was perpetually engaged in contests either with the neighboring sovereigns, or the princes of his own family. after many struggles he was obliged to submit to his brother, abou camel, who immediately ordered him to be seized, and conveyed to a place of security. on the incompatibility of pride and true glory[ ] think not, abdallah, pride and fame can ever travel hand in hand; with breast oppos'd, and adverse aim, on the same narrow path they stand. thus youth and age together meet, and life's divided moments share; this can't advance till that retreat, what's here increas'd, is lessen'd there. and thus the falling shades of night still struggle with the lucid ray, and e'er they stretch their gloomy flight must win the lengthen'd space from day. _abou alola_. [ ] abou alola is esteemed as one of the most excellent of the arabian poets. he was born blind, but this did not deter him from the pursuit of literature. abou alola died at maara in the year , aged eighty-six. the death of nedham almolk thy virtues fam'd thro' every land, thy spotless life, in age and youth, prove thee a pearl, by nature's hand, form'd out of purity and truth. too long its beams of orient light upon a thankless world were shed; allah has now reveng'd the slight, and call'd it to its native bed. _shebal addaulet_. lines to a lover when you told us our glances soft, timid and mild, could occasion such wounds in the heart, can ye wonder that yours, so ungovern'd and wild, some wounds to our cheeks should impart? the wounds on our cheeks are but transient, i own, with a blush they appear and decay; but those on the heart, fickle youths, ye have shown to be even more transient than they. _waladata_. verses to my daughters[ ] with jocund heart and cheerful brow i used to hail the festal morn-- how must mohammed greet it now?-- a prisoner helpless and forlorn. while these dear maids in beauty's bloom, with want opprest, with rags o'erspread, by sordid labors at the loom must earn a poor, precarious bread. those feet that never touched the ground, till musk or camphor strew'd the way, now bare and swoll'n with many a wound. must struggle thro' the miry clay. those radiant cheeks are veil'd in woe, a shower descends from every eye, and not a starting tear can flow, that wakes not an attending sigh. fortune, that whilom own'd my sway, and bow'd obsequious to my nod, now sees me destin'd to obey, and bend beneath oppression's rod. ye mortals with success elate, who bask in hope's delusive beam, attentive view mohammed's fate, and own that bliss is but a dream. _mohammed bed abad_. [ ] seville was one of those small sovereignties into which spain had been divided after the extinction of the house of ommiah. it did not long retain its independence, and the only prince who ever presided over it as a separate kingdom seems to have been mohammed ben abad, the author of these verses. for thirty-three years he reigned over seville and the neighboring districts with considerable reputation, but being attacked by joseph, son to the emperor of morocco, at the head of a numerous army of africans, was defeated, taken prisoner, and thrown into a dungeon, where he died in the year . serenade to my sleeping mistress[ ] sure harut's[b] potent spells were breath'd upon that magic sword, thine eye; for if it wounds us thus while sheath'd, when drawn, 'tis vain its edge to fly. how canst thou doom me, cruel fair, plung'd in the hell[c] of scorn to groan? no idol e'er this heart could share, this heart has worshipp'd thee alone. _aly ben abd_. [ ] this author was by birth an african; but having passed over to spain, he was much patronized by mohammed, sultan of seville. after the fall of his master, ben abd returned to africa, and died at tangier, a.h. . [b] a wicked angel who is permitted to tempt mankind by teaching them magic; see the legend respecting him in the koran. [c] the poet here alludes to the punishments denounced in the koran against those who worship a plurality of gods: "their couch shall be in hell, and over them shall be coverings of fire." the inconsistent[ ] when i sent you my melons, you cried out with scorn, they ought to be heavy and wrinkled and yellow; when i offer'd myself, whom those graces adorn, you flouted, and call'd me an ugly old fellow. [ ] written to a lady upon her refusal of a present of melons, and her rejection of the addresses of an admirer. the capture of jerusalem[ ] from our distended eyeballs flow a mingled stream of tears and blood; no care we feel, nor wish to know, but who shall pour the largest flood. but what defense can tears afford? what aid supply in this dread hour? when kindled by the sparkling sword war's raging flames the land devour. no more let sleep's seductive charms upon your torpid souls be shed: a crash like this, such dire alarms, might burst the slumbers of the dead. think where your dear companions lie-- survey their fate, and hear their woes-- how some thro' trackless deserts fly, some in the vulture's maw repose; while some more wretched still, must bear the tauntings of a christian's tongue-- hear this--and blush ye not to wear the silken robe of peace so long? remember what ensanguin'd showers the syrian plains with crimson dyed, and think how many blooming flowers in syrian forts their beauties hide. arabian youths! in such a cause can ye the voice of glory slight? warriors of persia! can ye pause, or fear to mingle in the fight? if neither piety nor shame your breasts can warm, your souls can move, let emulation's bursting flame wake you to vengeance and to love. _almodhafer alabiwerdy_. [ ] the capture of jerusalem took place in the d year of the hegira, a.d. . alabiwerdy, who wrote these verses, was a native of khorasan; he died a.h. . to a lady no, abla, no--when selim tells of many an unknown grace that dwells in abla's face and mien, when he describes the sense refin'd, that lights thine eye and fills thy mind, by thee alone unseen. tis not that drunk with love he sees ideal charms, which only please thro' passion's partial veil, 'tis not that flattery's glozing tongue hath basely fram'd an idle song, but truth that breath'd the tale. thine eyes unaided ne'er could trace each opening charm, each varied grace, that round thy person plays; some must remain conceal'd from thee, for selim's watchful eye to see, for selim's tongue to praise. one polish'd mirror can declare that eye so bright, that face so fair, that cheek which shames the rose; but how thy mantle waves behind, how float thy tresses on the wind, another only shows. an epigram[ ] whoever has recourse to thee can hope for health no more, he's launched into perdition's sea, a sea without a shore. where'er admission thou canst gain, where'er thy phiz can pierce, at once the doctor they retain, the mourners and the hearse. _george_. [ ] written to abou alchair selamu, an egyptian physician. the author was a physician of antioch. on a little man with a very large beard how can thy chin that burden bear? is it all gravity to shock? is it to make the people stare? and be thyself a laughing stock? when i behold thy little feet after thy beard obsequious run, i always fancy that i meet some father followed by his son. a man like thee scarce e'er appear'd-- a beard like thine--where shall we find it? surely thou cherishest thy beard in hope to hide thyself behind it. _isaai, ben khalif_. lamiat alajem[ ] no kind supporting hand i meet, but fortitude shall stay my feet; no borrow'd splendors round me shine, but virtue's lustre all is mine; a fame unsullied still i boast, obscur'd, conceal'd, but never lost-- the same bright orb that led the day pours from the west his mellow'd ray. zaura, farewell! no more i see within thy walls, a home for me; deserted, spurn'd, aside i'm toss'd, as an old sword whose scabbard's lost: around thy walls i seek in vain some bosom that will soothe my pain-- no friend is near to breathe relief, or brother to partake my grief. for many a melancholy day thro' desert vales i've wound my way; the faithful beast, whose back i press, in groans laments her lord's distress; in every quiv'ring of my spear a sympathetic sigh i hear; the camel bending with his load, and struggling thro' the thorny road, 'midst the fatigues that bear him down, in hassan's woes forgets his own; yet cruel friends my wanderings chide, my sufferings slight, my toils deride. once wealth, i own, engrossed each thought, there was a moment when i sought the glitt'ring stores ambition claims to feed the wants his fancy frames; but now 'tis past--the changing day has snatch'd my high-built hopes away, and bade this wish my labors close-- give me not riches, but repose. 'tis he--that mien my friend declares, that stature, like the lance he bears; i see that breast which ne'er contain'd a thought by fear or folly stain'd, whose powers can every change obey, in business grave, in trifles gay, and, form'd each varying taste to please, can mingle dignity with ease. what, tho' with magic influence, sleep, o'er every closing eyelid creep: tho' drunk with its oblivious wine our comrades on their bales recline, my selim's trance i sure can break-- selim, 'tis i, 'tis i who speak. dangers on every side impend, and sleep'st thou, careless of thy friend? thou sleep'st while every star on high, beholds me with a wakeful eye-- thou changest, ere the changeful night hath streak'd her fleeting robe with white. 'tis love that hurries me along-- i'm deaf to fear's repressive song-- the rocks of idham i'll ascend, tho' adverse darts each path defend, and hostile sabres glitter there, to guard the tresses of the fair. come, selim, let us pierce the grove, while night befriends, to seek my love. the clouds of fragrance as they rise shall mark the place where abla lies. around her tent my jealous foes, like lions, spread their watchful rows; amidst their bands, her bow'r appears embosom'd in a wood of spears-- a wood still nourish'd by the dews, which smiles, and softest looks diffuse. thrice happy youths! who midst yon shades sweet converse hold with idham's maids, what bliss, to view them gild the hours, and brighten wit and fancy's powers, while every foible they disclose new transport gives, new graces shows. 'tis theirs to raise with conscious art the flames of love in every heart; 'tis yours to raise with festive glee the flames of hospitality: smit by their glances lovers lie, and helpless sink and hopeless die; while slain by you the stately steed to crown the feast, is doom'd to bleed, to crown the feast, where copious flows the sparkling juice that soothes your woes, that lulls each care and heals each wound, as the enlivening bowl goes round. amidst those vales my eager feet shall trace my abla's dear retreat, a gale of health may hover there, to breathe some solace to my care. i fear not love--i bless the dart sent in a glance to pierce the heart: with willing breast the sword i hail that wounds me thro' an half-clos'd veil: tho' lions howling round the shade, my footsteps haunt, my walks invade, no fears shall drive me from the grove, if abla listen to my love. ah, selim! shall the spells of ease thy friendship chain, thine ardor freeze! wilt thou enchanted thus, decline each gen'rous thought, each bold design? then far from men some cell prepare; or build a mansion in the air-- but yield to us, ambition's tide, who fearless on its waves can ride; enough for thee if thou receive the scattered spray the billows leave. contempt and want the wretch await who slumbers in an abject state-- 'midst rushing crowds, by toil and pain the meed of honor we must gain; at honor's call, the camel hastes thro' trackless wilds and dreary wastes, till in the glorious race she find the fleetest coursers left behind: by toils like these alone, he cries, th' adventurous youths to greatness rise; if bloated indolence were fame, and pompous ease our noblest aim, the orb that regulates the day would ne'er from aries' mansion stray. i've bent at fortune's shrine too long-- too oft she heard my suppliant tongue-- too oft has mock'd my idle prayers, while fools and knaves engross'd her cares, awake for them, asleep to me, heedless of worth she scorn'd each plea. ah! had her eyes, more just survey'd the diff'rent claims which each display'd, those eyes from partial fondness free had slept to them, and wak'd for me. but, 'midst my sorrows and my toils, hope ever sooth'd my breast with smiles; her hand remov'd each gathering ill, and oped life's closing prospects still. yet spite of all her friendly art the specious scene ne'er gain'd my heart; i lov'd it not altho' the day met my approach, and cheer'd my way; i loath it now the hours retreat, and fly me with reverted feet. my soul from every tarnish free may boldly vaunt her purity, but ah, how keen, however bright, the sabre glitter to the sight, its splendor's lost, its polish vain, till some bold hand the steel sustain. why have my days been stretch'd by fate, to see the vile and vicious great-- while i, who led the race so long, am last and meanest of the throng? ah, why has death so long delay'd to wrap me in his friendly shade, left me to wander thus alone, when all my heart held dear is gone! but let me check these fretful sighs-- well may the base above me rise, when yonder planets as they run mount in the sky above the sun. resigned i bow to fate's decree, nor hope his laws will change for me; each shifting scene, each varying hour, but proves the ruthless tyrants' power. but tho' with ills unnumber'd curst, we owe to faithless man the worst; for man can smile with specious art, and plant a dagger in the heart. he only's fitted for the strife which fills the boist'rous paths of life, who, as he treads the crowded scenes, upon no kindred bosom leans. too long my foolish heart had deem'd mankind as virtuous as they seem'd; the spell is broke, their faults are bare, and now i see them as they are; truth from each tainted breast has flown, and falsehood marks them all her own. incredulous i listen now to every tongue, and every vow, for still there yawns a gulf between those honeyed words, and what they mean; with honest pride elate, i see the sons of falsehood shrink from me, as from the right line's even way the biass'd curves deflecting stray-- but what avails it to complain? with souls like theirs reproof is vain; if honor e'er such bosoms share the sabre's point must fix it there. but why exhaust life's rapid bowl, and suck the dregs with sorrow foul, when long ere this my youth has drain'd whatever zest the cup contain'd? why should we mount upon the wave, and ocean's yawning horrors brave, when we may swallow from the flask whatever the wants of mortals ask? contentment's realms no fears invade, no cares annoy, no sorrows shade, there plac'd secure, in peace we rest, nor aught demand to make us blest. while pleasure's gay fantastic bower, the splendid pageant of an hour, like yonder meteor in the skies, flits with a breath no more to rise. as thro' life's various walks we're led, may prudence hover o'er our head! may she our words, our actions guide, our faults correct, our secrets hide! may she, where'er our footsteps stray, direct our paths, and clear the way! till, every scene of tumult past, she bring us to repose at last, teach us to love that peaceful shore, and roam thro' folly's wilds no more! _mauid eddin alhassan abou ismael altograi_. [ ] abou ismael was a native of ispahan. he devoted himself to the service of the seljuk sultans of persia, and enjoyed the confidence of malec shah, and his son and grandson, mohammed and massoud, by the last of whom he was raised to the dignity of vizir. massoud, however, was not long in a condition to afford abou ismael any protection, for, being attacked by his brother mahmoud, he was defeated, and driven from mousel, and upon the fall of his master the vizir was seized and thrown into prison, and at length in the year sentenced to be put to death. to youth yes, youth, thou'rt fled, and i am left, like yonder desolated bower, by winter's ruthless hand bereft of every leaf and every flower. with heaving heart and streaming eyes i woo'd thee to prolong thy stay, but vain were all my tears and sighs, thou only fled'st more fast away. yet tho' thou fled'st away so fast, i can recall thee if i will; for i can talk of what is past, and while i talk, enjoy thee still. _ebn alrabia_. on love[ ] i never knew a sprightly fair that was not dear to me, and freely i my heart could share, with every one i see. it is not this or that alone on whom my choice would fall, i do not more incline to one than i incline to all. the circle's bounding line are they, its centre is my heart, my ready love the equal ray that flows to every part. _abou aly_. [ ] abou aly flourished in egypt about the year , and was equally celebrated as a mathematician and as a poet. a remonstrance with a drunkard[ ] as drench'd in wine, the other night, zeid from the banquet sallied, thus i reprov'd his drunken plight, thus he my prudence rallied; "in bev'rage so impure and vile, how canst thou thus delight?"-- "my cups," he answer'd with a smile, "are generous and bright." "beware those dang'rous draughts," i cried, "with love the goblet flows"-- "and curst is he," the youth replied, "who hatred only knows." "those cups too soon with sickness fraught thy stomach shall deplore"-- "then soon," he cried, "the noxious draught and all its ills are o'er." "rash youth, thy guilty joys resign." "i will," at length he said, "i vow i'll bid adieu to wine as soon as i am dead." _yahia ben salamet_. [ ] this author was a native of syria, and died at miafarakir in the year of the hegira . verses[ ] tho' such unbounded love you swear, 'tis only art i see; can i believe that one so fair should ever dote on me? say that you hate, and freely show that age displeases youth; and i may love you when i know that you can tell the truth. _caliph almonklafi laimrillah_. [ ] almonklafi was the thirty-first caliph of the house of abbas, and the only one who possessed any real authority since the reign of radhi. these lines were addressed to a lady who pretended a passion for him in his old age. on procrastination[ ] youth is a drunken noisy hour, with every folly fraught; but man, by age's chast'ning power, is sober'd into thought. then we resolve our faults to shun, and shape our course anew; but ere the wise reform's begun life closes on our view. the travellers thus who wildly roam, or heedlessly delay, are left, when they should reach their home, benighted on the way. _hebat allah ibn altalmith_. [ ] ibn altalmith died in the th year of the hegira, at the advanced age of one hundred. the early death of abou alhassan aly[ ] soon hast thou run the race of life, nor could our tears thy speed control-- still in the courser's gen'rous strife the best will soonest reach the goal. as death upon his hand turns o'er the different gems the world displays, he seizes first to swell his store the brightest jewel he surveys. thy name, by every breath convey'd, stretch'd o'er the globe its boundless flight; alas! in eve the lengthening shade but lengthens to be lost in night! if gracious allah bade thee close thy youthful eyes so soon on day, 'tis that he readiest welcomes those who love him best and best obey. _alnassar ledin allah_. [ ] alnassar ledin allah was the thirty-fourth abasside caliph, and the last excepting three who enjoyed this splendid title, which was finally abolished by the tartars in the year . the interview _a song_ darkness clos'd around, loud the tempest drove, when thro' yonder glen i saw my lover rove, dearest youth! soon he reach'd our cot--weary, wet, and cold, but warmth, wine, and i, to cheer his spirits strove, dearest youth! how my love, cried i, durst thou hither stray thro' the gloom, nor fear the ghosts that haunt the grove? dearest youth! in this heart, said he, fear no seat can find, when each thought is fill'd alone with thee and love, dearest maid! arabian nights [_selected tales edited by andrew lang_] the seven voyages of sindbad in the times of the caliph harun-al-rashid there lived in bagdad a poor porter named hindbad, who, on a very hot day, was sent to carry a heavy load from one end of the city to the other. before he had accomplished half the distance he was so tired that, finding himself in a quiet street where the pavement was sprinkled with rose-water, and a cool breeze was blowing, he set his burden upon the ground, and sat down to rest in the shade of a grand house. very soon he decided that he could not have chosen a pleasanter place; a delicious perfume of aloes-wood and pastilles came from the open windows and mingled with the scent of the rose-water which steamed up from the hot pavement. within the palace he heard some music, as of many instruments cunningly played, and the melodious warble of nightingales and other birds, and by this, and the appetizing smell of many dainty dishes of which he presently became aware, he judged that feasting and merry-making were going on. he wondered who lived in this magnificent house which he had never seen before, the street in which it stood being one which he seldom had occasion to pass. to satisfy his curiosity he went up to some splendidly dressed servants who stood at the door, and asked one of them the name of the master of the mansion. "what," replied he, "do you live in bagdad, and not know that here lives the noble sindbad the sailor, that famous traveller who sailed over every sea upon which the sun shines?" the porter, who had often heard people speak of the immense wealth of sindbad, could not help feeling envious of one whose lot seemed to be as happy as his own was miserable. casting his eyes up to the sky he exclaimed aloud:-- "consider, mighty creator of all things, the difference between sindbad's life and mine. every day i suffer a thousand hardships and misfortunes, and have hard work to get even enough bad barley bread to keep myself and my family alive, while the lucky sindbad spends money right and left and lives upon the fat of the land! what has he done that you should give him this pleasant life--what have i done to deserve so hard a fate?" so saying he stamped upon the ground like one beside himself with misery and despair. just at this moment a servant came out of the palace, and taking him by the arm said, "come with me, the noble sindbad, my master, wishes to speak to you." hindbad was not a little surprised at this summons, and feared that his unguarded words might have drawn upon him the displeasure of sindbad, so he tried to excuse himself upon the pretext that he could not leave the burden which had been intrusted to him in the street. however the lackey promised him that it should be taken care of, and urged him to obey the call so pressingly that at last the porter was obliged to yield. he followed the servant into a vast room, where a great company was seated round a table covered with all sorts of delicacies. in the place of honor sat a tall, grave man, whose long white beard gave him a venerable air. behind his chair stood a crowd of attendants eager to minister to his wants. this was the famous sindbad himself. the porter, more than ever alarmed at the sight of so much magnificence, tremblingly saluted the noble company. sindbad, making a sign to him to approach, caused him to be seated at his right hand, and himself heaped choice morsels upon his plate, and poured out for him a draught of excellent wine, and presently, when the banquet drew to a close, spoke to him familiarly, asking his name and occupation. "my lord," replied the porter, "i am called hindbad." "i am glad to see you here," continued sindbad. "and i will answer for the rest of the company that they are equally pleased, but i wish you to tell me what it was that you said just now in the street." for sindbad, passing by the open window before the feast began, had heard his complaint and therefore had sent for him. at this question hindbad was covered with confusion, and hanging down his head, replied, "my lord, i confess that, overcome by weariness and ill-humor, i uttered indiscreet words, which i pray you to pardon me." "oh!" replied sindbad, "do not imagine that i am so unjust as to blame you. on the contrary, i understand your situation and can pity you. only you appear to be mistaken about me, and i wish to set you right. you doubtless imagine that i have acquired all the wealth and luxury that you see me enjoy without difficulty or danger, but this is far indeed from being the case. i have only reached this happy state after having for years suffered every possible kind of toil and danger. "yes, my noble friends," he continued, addressing the company, "i assure you that my adventures have been strange enough to deter even the most avaricious men from seeking wealth by traversing the seas. since you have, perhaps, heard but confused accounts of my seven voyages, and the dangers and wonders that i have met with by sea and land, i will now give you a full and true account of them, which i think you will be well pleased to hear." as sindbad was relating his adventures chiefly on account of the porter, he ordered, before beginning his tale, that the burden which had been left in the street should be carried by some of his own servants to the place for which hindbad had set out at first, while he remained to listen to the story. first voyage i had inherited considerable wealth from my parents, and being young and foolish i at first squandered it recklessly upon every kind of pleasure, but presently, finding that riches speedily take to themselves wings if managed as badly as i was managing mine, and remembering also that to be old and poor is misery indeed, i began to bethink me of how i could make the best of what still remained to me. i sold all my household goods by public auction, and joined a company of merchants who traded by sea, embarking with them at balsora in a ship which we had fitted out between us. we set sail and took our course towards the east indies by the persian gulf, having the coast of persia upon our left hand and upon our right the shores of arabia felix. i was at first much troubled by the uneasy motion of the vessel, but speedily recovered my health, and since that hour have been no more plagued by sea-sickness. from time to time we landed at various islands, where we sold or exchanged our merchandise, and one day, when the wind dropped suddenly, we found ourselves becalmed close to a small island like a green meadow, which only rose slightly above the surface of the water. our sails were furled, and the captain gave permission to all who wished to land for a while and amuse themselves. i was among the number, but when after strolling about for some time we lighted a fire and sat down to enjoy the repast which we had brought with us, we were startled by a sudden and violent trembling of the island, while at the same moment those left upon the ship set up an outcry bidding us come on board for our lives, since what we had taken for an island was nothing but the back of a sleeping whale. those who were nearest to the boat threw themselves into it, others sprang into the sea, but before i could save myself the whale plunged suddenly into the depths of the ocean, leaving me clinging to a piece of the wood which we had brought to make our fire. meanwhile a breeze had sprung up, and in the confusion that ensued on board our vessel in hoisting the sails and taking up those who were in the boat and clinging to its sides, no one missed me and i was left at the mercy of the waves. all that day i floated up and down, now beaten this way, now that, and when night fell i despaired for my life; but, weary and spent as i was, i clung to my frail support, and great was my joy when the morning light showed me that i had drifted against an island. the cliffs were high and steep, but luckily for me some tree-roots protruded in places, and by their aid i climbed up at last, and stretched myself upon the turf at the top, where i lay, more dead than alive, till the sun was high in the heavens. by that time i was very hungry, but after some searching i came upon some eatable herbs, and a spring of clear water, and much refreshed i set out to explore the island. presently i reached a great plain where a grazing horse was tethered, and as i stood looking at it i heard voices talking apparently underground, and in a moment a man appeared who asked me how i came upon the island. i told him my adventures, and heard in return that he was one of the grooms of mihrage, the king of the island, and that each year they came to feed their master's horses in this plain. he took me to a cave where his companions were assembled, and when i had eaten of the food they set before me, they bade me think myself fortunate to have come upon them when i did, since they were going back to their master on the morrow, and without their aid i could certainly never have found my way to the inhabited part of the island. early the next morning we accordingly set out, and when we reached the capital i was graciously received by the king, to whom i related my adventures, upon which he ordered that i should be well cared for and provided with such things as i needed. being a merchant i sought out men of my own profession, and particularly those who came from foreign countries, as i hoped in this way to hear news from bagdad, and find out some means of returning thither, for the capital was situated upon the sea-shore, and visited by vessels from all parts of the world. in the meantime i heard many curious things, and answered many questions concerning my own country, for i talked willingly with all who came to me. also to while away the time of waiting i explored a little island named cassel, which belonged to king mihrage, and which was supposed to be inhabited by a spirit named deggial. indeed, the sailors assured me that often at night the playing of timbals could be heard upon it. however, i saw nothing strange upon my voyage, saving some fish that were full two hundred cubits long, but were fortunately more in dread of us than even we were of them, and fled from us if we did but strike upon a board to frighten them. other fishes there were only a cubit long which had heads like owls. one day after my return, as i went down to the quay, i saw a ship which had just cast anchor, and was discharging her cargo, while the merchants to whom it belonged were busily directing the removal of it to their warehouses. drawing nearer i presently noticed that my own name was marked upon some of the packages, and after having carefully examined them, i felt sure that they were indeed those which i had put on board our ship at balsora. i then recognized the captain of the vessel, but as i was certain that he believed me to be dead, i went up to him and asked who owned the packages that i was looking at. "there was on board my ship," he replied, "a merchant of bagdad named sindbad. one day he and several of my other passengers landed upon what we supposed to be an island, but which was really an enormous whale floating asleep upon the waves. no sooner did it feel upon its back the heat of the fire which had been kindled, than it plunged into the depths of the sea. several of the people who were upon it perished in the waters, and among others this unlucky sindbad. this merchandise is his, but i have resolved to dispose of it for the benefit of his family if i should ever chance to meet with them." "captain," said i, "i am that sindbad whom you believe to be dead, and these are my possessions!" when the captain heard these words he cried out in amazement, "lackaday! and what is the world coming to? in these days there is not an honest man to be met with. did i not with my own eyes see sindbad drown, and now you have the audacity to tell me that you are he! i should have taken you to be a just man, and yet for the sake of obtaining that which does not belong to you, you are ready to invent this horrible falsehood." "have patience, and do me the favor to hear my story," said i. "speak then," replied the captain, "i am all attention." so i told him of my escape and of my fortunate meeting with the king's grooms, and how kindly i had been received at the palace. very soon i began to see that i had made some impression upon him, and after the arrival of some of the other merchants, who showed great joy at once more seeing me alive, he declared that he also recognized me. throwing himself upon my neck he exclaimed, "heaven be praised that you have escaped from so great a danger. as to your goods, i pray you take them, and dispose of them as you please." i thanked him, and praised his honesty, begging him to accept several bales of merchandise in token of my gratitude, but he would take nothing. of the choicest of my goods i prepared a present for king mihrage, who was at first amazed, having known that i had lost my all. however, when i had explained to him how my bales had been miraculously restored to me, he graciously accepted my gifts, and in return gave me many valuable things. i then took leave of him, and exchanging my merchandise for sandal and aloes-wood, camphor, nutmegs, cloves, pepper, and ginger, i embarked upon the same vessel and traded so successfully upon our homeward voyage that i arrived in balsora with about one hundred thousand sequins. my family received me with as much joy as i felt upon seeing them once more. i bought land and slaves, and built a great house in which i resolved to live happily, and in the enjoyment of all the pleasures of life to forget my past sufferings. here sindbad paused, and commanded the musicians to play again, while the feasting continued until evening. when the time came for the porter to depart, sindbad gave him a purse containing one hundred sequins, saying, "take this, hindbad, and go home, but to-morrow come again and you shall hear more of my adventures." the porter retired quite overcome by so much generosity, and you may imagine that he was well received at home, where his wife and children thanked their lucky stars that he had found such a benefactor. the next day hindbad, dressed in his best, returned to the voyager's house, and was received with open arms. as soon as all the guests had arrived the banquet began as before, and when they had feasted long and merrily, sindbad addressed them thus:-- "my friends, i beg that you will give me your attention while i relate the adventures of my second voyage, which you will find even more astonishing than the first." second voyage i had resolved, as you know, on my return from my first voyage, to spend the rest of my days quietly in bagdad, but very soon i grew tired of such an idle life and longed once more to find myself upon the sea. i procured, therefore, such goods as were suitable for the places i intended to visit, and embarked for the second time in a good ship with other merchants whom i knew to be honorable men. we went from island to island, often making excellent bargains, until one day we landed at a spot which, though covered with fruit-trees and abounding in springs of excellent water, appeared to possess neither houses nor people. while my companions wandered here and there gathering flowers and fruit i sat down in a shady place, and, having heartily enjoyed the provisions and the wine i had brought with me, i fell asleep, lulled by the murmur of a clear brook which flowed close by. how long i slept i know not, but when i opened my eyes and started to my feet i perceived with horror that i was alone and that the ship was gone. i rushed to and fro like one distracted, uttering cries of despair, and when from the shore i saw the vessel under full sail just disappearing upon the horizon, i wished bitterly enough that i had been content to stay at home in safety. but since wishes could do me no good, i presently took courage and looked about me for a means of escape. when i had climbed a tall tree i first of all directed my anxious glances towards the sea; but, finding nothing hopeful there, i turned landward, and my curiosity was excited by a huge dazzling white object, so far off that i could not make out what it might be. descending from the tree i hastily collected what remained of my provisions and set off as fast as i could go towards it. as i drew near it seemed to me to be a white ball of immense size and height, and when i could touch it, i found it marvellously smooth and soft. as it was impossible to climb it--for it presented no foothold--i walked round about it seeking some opening, but there was none. i counted, however, that it was at least fifty paces round. by this time the sun was near setting, but quite suddenly it fell dark, something like a huge black cloud came swiftly over me, and i saw with amazement that it was a bird of extraordinary size which was hovering near. then i remembered that i had often heard the sailors speak of a wonderful bird called a roc, and it occurred to me that the white object which had so puzzled me must be its egg. sure enough the bird settled slowly down upon it, covering it with its wings to keep it warm, and i cowered close beside the egg in such a position that one of the bird's feet, which was as large as the trunk of a tree, was just in front of me. taking off my turban i bound myself securely to it with the linen in the hope that the roc, when it took flight next morning, would bear me away with it from the desolate island. and this was precisely what did happen. as soon as the dawn appeared the bird rose into the air carrying me up and up till i could no longer see the earth, and then suddenly it descended so swiftly that i almost lost consciousness. when i became aware that the roc had settled and that i was once again upon solid ground, i hastily unbound my turban from its foot and freed myself, and that not a moment too soon; for the bird, pouncing upon a huge snake, killed it with a few blows from its powerful beak, and seizing it rose up into the air once more and soon disappeared from my view. when i had looked about me i began to doubt if i had gained anything by quitting the desolate island. the valley in which i found myself was deep and narrow, and surrounded by mountains which towered into the clouds, and were so steep and rocky that there was no way of climbing up their sides. as i wandered about, seeking anxiously for some means of escaping from this trap, i observed that the ground was strewed with diamonds, some of them of an astonishing size. this sight gave me great pleasure, but my delight was speedily dampened when i saw also numbers of horrible snakes so long and so large that the smallest of them could have swallowed an elephant with ease. fortunately for me they seemed to hide in caverns of the rocks by day, and only came out by night, probably because of their enemy the roc. all day long i wandered up and down the valley, and when it grew dusk i crept into a little cave, and having blocked up the entrance to it with a stone, i ate part of my little store of food and lay down to sleep, but all through the night the serpents crawled to and fro, hissing horribly, so that i could scarcely close my eyes for terror. i was thankful when the morning light appeared, and when i judged by the silence that the serpents had retreated to their dens i came tremblingly out of my cave and wandered up and down the valley once more, kicking the diamonds contemptuously out of my path, for i felt that they were indeed vain things to a man in my situation. at last, overcome with weariness, i sat down upon a rock, but i had hardly closed my eyes when i was startled by something which fell to the ground with a thud close beside me. it was a huge piece of fresh meat, and as i stared at it several more pieces rolled over the cliffs in different places. i had always thought that the stories the sailors told of the famous valley of diamonds, and of the cunning way which some merchants had devised for getting at the precious stones, were mere travellers' tales invented to give pleasure to the hearers, but now i perceived that they were surely true. these merchants came to the valley at the time when the eagles, which keep their eyries in the rocks, had hatched their young. the merchants then threw great lumps of meat into the valley. these, falling with so much force upon the diamonds, were sure to take up some of the precious stones with them, when the eagles pounced upon the meat and carried it off to their nests to feed their hungry broods. then the merchants, scaring away the parent birds with shouts and outcries, would secure their treasures. until this moment i had looked upon the valley as my grave, for i had seen no possibility of getting out of it alive, but now i took courage and began to devise a means of escape. i began by picking up all the largest diamonds i could find and storing them carefully in the leathern wallet which had held my provisions; this i tied securely to my belt. i then chose the piece of meat which seemed most suited to my purpose, and with the aid of my turban bound it firmly to my back; this done i laid down upon my face and awaited the coming of the eagles. i soon heard the flapping of their mighty wings above me, and had the satisfaction of feeling one of them seize upon my piece of meat, and me with it, and rise slowly towards his nest, into which he presently dropped me. luckily for me the merchants were on the watch, and setting up their usual outcries, they rushed to the nest, scaring away the eagle. their amazement was great when they discovered me, and also their disappointment, and with one accord they fell to abusing me for having robbed them of their usual profit. addressing myself to the one who seemed most aggrieved, i said:-- "i am sure, if you knew all that i have suffered, you would show more kindness towards me, and as for diamonds, i have enough here of the very best for you and me and all your company." so saying i showed them to him. the others all crowded around me, wondering at my adventures and admiring the device by which i had escaped from the valley, and when they had led me to their camp and examined my diamonds, they assured me that in all the years that they had carried on their trade they had seen no stones to be compared with them for size and beauty. i found that each merchant chose a particular nest, and took his chance of what he might find in it. so i begged the one who owned the nest to which i had been carried to take as much as he would of my treasure, but he contented himself with one stone, and that by no means the largest, assuring me that with such a gem his fortune was made, and he need toil no more. i stayed with the merchants several days, and then as they were journeying homewards i gladly accompanied them. our way lay across high mountains infested with frightful serpents, but we had the good luck to escape them and came at last to the seashore. thence we sailed to the isle of roha, where the camphor-trees grow to such a size that a hundred men could shelter under one of them with ease. the sap flows from an incision made high up in the tree into a vessel hung there to receive it, and soon hardens into the substance called camphor, but the tree itself withers up and dies when it has been so treated. in this same island we saw the rhinoceros, an animal which is smaller than the elephant and larger than the buffalo. it has one horn about a cubit long which is solid, but has a furrow from the base to the tip. upon it is traced in white lines the figure of a man. the rhinoceros fights with the elephant, and transfixing him with his horn carries him off upon his head, but becoming blinded with the blood of his enemy, he falls helpless to the ground, and then comes the roc, and clutches them both up in his talons and takes them to feed his young. this doubtless astonishes you, but if you do not believe my tale go to roha and see for yourself. for fear of wearying you i pass over in silence many other wonderful things which we saw in this island. before we left i exchanged one of my diamonds for much goodly merchandise by which i profited greatly on our homeward way. at last we reached balsora, whence i hastened to bagdad, where my first action was to bestow large sums of money upon the poor, after which i settled down to enjoy tranquilly the riches i had gained with so much toil and pain. having thus related the adventures of his second voyage, sindbad again bestowed a hundred sequins upon hindbad, inviting him to come again on the following day and hear how he fared upon his third voyage. the other guests also departed to their homes, but all returned at the same hour next day, including the porter, whose former life of hard work and poverty had already begun to seem to him like a bad dream. again after the feast was over did sindbad claim the attention of his guests and began the account of his third voyage. third voyage after a very short time the pleasant easy life i led made me quite forget the perils of my two voyages. moreover, as i was still in the prime of life, it pleased me better to be up and doing. so once more providing myself with the rarest and choicest merchandise of bagdad, i conveyed it to balsora, and set sail with other merchants of my acquaintance for distant lands. we had touched at many ports and made much profit, when one day upon the open sea we were caught by a terrible wind which blew us completely out of our reckoning, and lasting for several days finally drove us into harbor on a strange island. "i would rather have come to anchor anywhere than here," quoth our captain. "this island and all adjoining it are inhabited by hairy savages, who are certain to attack us, and whatever these dwarfs may do we dare not resist, since they swarm like locusts, and if one of them is killed the rest will fall upon us, and speedily make an end of us." these words caused great consternation among all the ship's company, and only too soon we were to find out that the captain spoke truly. there appeared a vast multitude of hideous savages, not more than two feet high and covered with reddish fur. throwing themselves into the waves they surrounded our vessel. chattering meanwhile in a language we could not understand, and clutching at ropes and gangways, they swarmed up the ship's side with such speed and agility that they almost seemed to fly. you may imagine the rage and terror that seized us as we watched them, neither daring to hinder them nor able to speak a word to deter them from their purpose, whatever it might be. of this we were not left long in doubt. hoisting the sails, and cutting the cable of the anchor, they sailed our vessel to an island which lay a little further off, where they drove us ashore; then taking possession of her, they made off to the place from which they had come, leaving us helpless upon a shore avoided with horror by all mariners for a reason which you will soon learn. turning away from the sea we wandered miserably inland, finding as we went various herbs and fruits which we ate, feeling that we might as well live as long as possible though we had no hope of escape. presently we saw in the far distance what seemed to us to be a splendid palace, towards which we turned our weary steps, but when we reached it we saw that it was a castle, lofty, and strongly built. pushing back the heavy ebony doors we entered the courtyard, but upon the threshold of the great hall beyond it we paused, frozen with horror, at the sight which greeted us. on one side lay a huge pile of bones--human bones; and on the other numberless spits for roasting! overcome with despair we sank trembling to the ground, and lay there without speech or motion. the sun was setting when a loud noise aroused us, the door of the hall was violently burst open and a horrible giant entered. he was as tall as a palm tree, and perfectly black, and had one eye, which flamed like a burning coal in the middle of his forehead. his teeth were long and sharp and grinned horribly, while his lower lip hung down upon his chest, and he had ears like elephant's ears, which covered his shoulders, and nails like the claws of some fierce bird. at this terrible sight our senses left us and we lay like dead men. when at last we came to ourselves the giant sat examining us attentively with his fearful eye. presently when he had looked at us enough he came towards us, and stretching out his hand took me by the back of the neck, turning me this way and that, but feeling that i was mere skin and bone he set me down again and went on to the next, whom he treated in the same fashion; at last he came to the captain, and finding him the fattest of us all, he took him up in one hand and stuck him upon a spit and proceeded to kindle a huge fire at which he presently roasted him. after the giant had supped he lay down to sleep, snoring like the loudest thunder, while we lay shivering with horror the whole night through, and when day broke he awoke and went out, leaving us in the castle. when we believed him to be really gone we started up bemoaning our horrible fate, until the hall echoed with our despairing cries. though we were many and our enemy was alone it did not occur to us to kill him, and indeed we should have found that a hard task, even if we had thought of it, and no plan could we devise to deliver ourselves. so at last, submitting to our sad fate, we spent the day in wandering up and down the island eating such fruits as we could find, and when night came we returned to the castle, having sought in vain for any other place of shelter. at sunset the giant returned, supped upon one of our unhappy comrades, slept and snored till dawn, and then left us as before. our condition seemed to us so frightful that several of my companions thought it would be better to leap from the cliffs and perish in the waves at once, rather than await so miserable an end; but i had a plan of escape which i now unfolded to them, and which they at once agreed to attempt. "listen, my brothers," i added. "you know that plenty of driftwood lies along the shore. let us make several rafts, and carry them to a suitable place. if our plot succeeds, we can wait patiently for the chance of some passing ship which would rescue us from this fatal island. if it fails, we must quickly take to our rafts; frail as they are, we have more chance of saving our lives with them than we have if we remain here." all agreed with me, and we spent the day in building rafts, each capable of carrying three persons. at nightfall we returned to the castle, and very soon in came the giant, and one more of our number was sacrificed. but the time of our vengeance was at hand! as soon as he had finished his horrible repast he lay down to sleep as before, and when we heard him begin to snore i, and nine of the boldest of my comrades, rose softly, and took each a spit, which we made red-hot in the fire, and then at a given signal we plunged it with one accord into the giant's eye, completely blinding him. uttering a terrible cry, he sprang to his feet clutching in all directions to try to seize one of us, but we had all fled different ways as soon as the deed was done, and thrown ourselves flat upon the ground in corners where he was not likely to touch us with his feet. after a vain search he fumbled about till he found the door, and fled out of it howling frightfully. as for us, when he was gone we made haste to leave the fatal castle, and, stationing ourselves beside our rafts, we waited to see what would happen. our idea was that if, when the sun rose, we saw nothing of the giant, and no longer heard his howls, which still came faintly through the darkness, growing more and more distant, we should conclude that he was dead, and that we might safely stay upon the island and need not risk our lives upon the frail rafts. but alas! morning light showed us our enemy approaching us, supported on either hand by two giants nearly as large and fearful as himself, while a crowd of others followed close upon their heels. hesitating no longer we clambered upon our rafts and rowed with all our might out to sea. the giants, seeing their prey escaping them, seized up huge pieces of rock, and wading into the water hurled them after us with such good aim that all the rafts except the one i was upon were swamped, and their luckless crews drowned, without our being able to do anything to help them. indeed i and my two companions had all we could do to keep our own raft beyond the reach of the giants, but by dint of hard rowing we at last gained the open sea. here we were at the mercy of the winds and waves, which tossed us to and fro all that day and night, but the next morning we found ourselves near an island, upon which we gladly landed. there we found delicious fruits, and having satisfied our hunger we presently lay down to rest upon the shore. suddenly we were aroused by a loud rustling noise, and starting up, saw that it was caused by an immense snake which was gliding towards us over the sand. so swiftly it came that it had seized one of my comrades before he had time to fly, and in spite of his cries and struggles speedily crushed the life out of him in its mighty coils and proceeded to swallow him. by this time my other companion and i were running for our lives to some place where we might hope to be safe from this new horror, and seeing a tall tree we climbed up into it, having first provided ourselves with a store of fruit off the surrounding bushes. when night came i fell asleep, but only to be awakened once more by the terrible snake, which after hissing horribly round the tree at last reared itself up against it, and finding my sleeping comrade who was perched just below me, it swallowed him also, and crawled away leaving me half dead with terror. when the sun rose i crept down from the tree with hardly a hope of escaping the dreadful fate which had overtaken my comrades; but life is sweet, and i determined to do all i could to save myself. all day long i toiled with frantic haste and collected quantities of dry brushwood, reeds and thorns, which i bound with fagots, and making a circle of them under my tree i piled them firmly one upon another until i had a kind of tent in which i crouched like a mouse in a hole when she sees the cat coming. you may imagine what a fearful night i passed, for the snake returned eager to devour me, and glided round and round my frail shelter seeking an entrance. every moment i feared that it would succeed in pushing aside some of the fagots, but happily for me they held together, and when it grew light my enemy retired, baffled and hungry, to his den. as for me i was more dead than alive! shaking with fright and half suffocated by the poisonous breath of the monster, i came out of my tent and crawled down to the sea, feeling that it would be better to plunge from the cliffs and end my life at once than pass such another night of horror. but to my joy and relief i saw a ship sailing by, and by shouting wildly and waving my turban i managed to attract the attention of her crew. a boat was sent to rescue me, and very soon i found myself on board surrounded by a wondering crowd of sailors and merchants eager to know by what chance i found myself in that desolate island. after i had told my story they regaled me with the choicest food the ship afforded, and the captain, seeing that i was in rags, generously bestowed upon me one of his own coats. after sailing about for some time and touching at many ports we came at last to the island of salahat, where sandal-wood grows in great abundance. here we anchored, and as i stood watching the merchants disembarking their goods and preparing to sell or exchange them, the captain came up to me and said:-- "i have here, brother, some merchandise belonging to a passenger of mine who is dead. will you do me the favor to trade with it, and when i meet with his heirs i shall be able to give them the money, though it will be only just that you shall have a portion for your trouble." i consented gladly, for i did not like standing by idle. whereupon he pointed the bales out to me, and sent for the person whose duty it was to keep a list of the goods that were upon the ship. when this man came he asked in what name the merchandise was to be registered. "in the name of sindbad the sailor," replied the captain. at this i was greatly surprised, but looking carefully at him i recognized him to be the captain of the ship upon which i had made my second voyage, though he had altered much since that time. as for him, believing me to be dead it was no wonder that he had not recognized me. "so, captain," said i, "the merchant who owned those bales was called sindbad?" "yes," he replied. "he was so named. he belonged to bagdad, and joined my ship at balsora, but by mischance he was left behind upon a desert island where we had landed to fill up our water-casks, and it was not until four hours later that he was missed. by that time the wind had freshened, and it was impossible to put back for him." "you suppose him to have perished then?" said i. "alas! yes," he answered. "why, captain!" i cried, "look well at me. i am that sindbad who fell asleep upon the island and awoke to find himself abandoned!" the captain stared at me in amazement, but was presently convinced that i was indeed speaking the truth, and rejoiced greatly at my escape. "i am glad to have that piece of carelessness off my conscience at any rate," said he. "now take your goods, and the profit i have made for you upon them, and may you prosper in future." i took them gratefully, and as we went from one island to another i laid in stores of cloves, cinnamon, and other spices. in one place i saw a tortoise which was twenty cubits long and as many broad, also a fish that was like a cow and had skin so thick that it was used to make shields. another i saw that was like a camel in shape and color. so by degrees we came back to balsora, and i returned to bagdad with so much money that i could not myself count it, besides treasures without end. i gave largely to the poor, and bought much land to add to what i already possessed, and thus ended my third voyage. when sindbad had finished his story he gave another hundred sequins to hindbad, who then departed with the other guests, but next day when they had all reassembled, and the banquet was ended, their host continued his adventures. fourth voyage rich and happy as i was after my third voyage, i could not make up my mind to stay at home altogether. my love of trading, and the pleasure i took in anything that was new and strange, made me set my affairs in order, and begin my journey through some of the persian provinces, having first sent off stores of goods to await my coming in the different places i intended to visit. i took ship at a distant seaport, and for some time all went well, but at last, being caught in a violent hurricane, our vessel became a total wreck in spite of all our worthy captain could do to save her, and many of our company perished in the waves. i, with a few others, had the good fortune to be washed ashore clinging to pieces of the wreck, for the storm had driven us near an island, and scrambling up beyond the reach of the waves we threw ourselves down quite exhausted, to wait for morning. at daylight we wandered inland, and soon saw some huts, to which we directed our steps. as we drew near their black inhabitants swarmed out in great numbers and surrounded us, and we were led to their houses, and as it were divided among our captors. i with five others was taken into a hut, where we were made to sit upon the ground, and certain herbs were given to us, which the blacks made signs to us to eat. observing that they themselves did not touch them, i was careful only to pretend to taste my portion; but my companions, being very hungry, rashly ate up all that was set before them, and very soon i had the horror of seeing them become perfectly mad. though they chattered incessantly i could not understand a word they said, nor did they heed when i spoke to them. the savages now produced large bowls full of rice prepared with cocoanut oil, of which my crazy comrades ate eagerly, but i only tasted a few grains, understanding clearly that the object of our captors was to fatten us speedily for their own eating, and this was exactly what happened. my unlucky companions having lost their reason, felt neither anxiety nor fear, and ate greedily all that was offered them. so they were soon fat and there was an end of them, but i grew leaner day by day, for i ate but little, and even that little did me no good by reason of my fear of what lay before me. however, as i was so far from being a tempting morsel, i was allowed to wander about freely, and one day, when all the blacks had gone off upon some expedition leaving only an old man to guard me, i managed to escape from him and plunged into the forest, running faster the more he cried to me to come back, until i had completely distanced him. for seven days i hurried on, resting only when the darkness stopped me, and living chiefly upon cocoanuts, which afforded me both meat and drink, and on the eighth day i reached the sea-shore and saw a party of white men gathering pepper, which grew abundantly all about. reassured by the nature of their occupation, i advanced towards them and they greeted me in arabic, asking who i was and whence i came. my delight was great on hearing this familiar speech, and i willingly satisfied their curiosity, telling them how i had been shipwrecked, and captured by the blacks. "but these savages devour men!" said they. "how did you escape?" i repeated to them what i have just told you, at which they were mightily astonished. i stayed with them until they had collected as much pepper as they wished, and then they took me back to their own country and presented me to their king, by whom i was hospitably received. to him also i had to relate my adventures, which surprised him much, and when i had finished he ordered that i should be supplied with food and raiment and treated with consideration. the island on which i found myself was full of people, and abounded in all sorts of desirable things, and a great deal of traffic went on in the capital, where i soon began to feel at home and contented. moreover, the king treated me with special favor, and in consequence of this everyone, whether at the court or in the town, sought to make life pleasant to me. one thing i remarked which i thought very strange; this was that, from the greatest to the least, all men rode their horses without bridle or stirrups. i one day presumed to ask his majesty why he did not use them, to which he replied, "you speak to me of things of which i have never before heard!" this gave me an idea. i found a clever workman and made him cut out under my direction the foundation of a saddle, which i wadded and covered with choice leather, adorning it with rich gold embroidery. i then got a locksmith to make me a bit and a pair of spurs after a pattern that i drew for him, and when all these things were completed i presented them to the king and showed him how to use them. when i had saddled one of his horses he mounted it and rode about quite delighted with the novelty, and to show his gratitude he rewarded me with large gifts. after this i had to make saddles for all the principal officers of the king's household, and as they all gave me rich presents i soon became very wealthy and quite an important person in the city. one day the king sent for me and said, "sindbad, i am going to ask a favor of you. both i and my subjects esteem you, and wish you to end your days amongst us. therefore i desire that you will marry a rich and beautiful lady whom i will find for you, and think no more of your own country." as the king's will was law i accepted the charming bride he presented to me, and lived happily with her. nevertheless i had every intention of escaping at the first opportunity, and going back to bagdad. things were thus going prosperously with me when it happened that the wife of one of my neighbors, with whom i had struck up quite a friendship, fell ill, and presently died. i went to his house to offer my consolations, and found him in the depths of woe. "heaven preserve you," said i, "and send you a long life!" "alas!" he replied, "what is the good of saying that when i have but an hour left to live!" "come, come!" said i, "surely it is not so bad as all that. i trust that you may be spared to me for many years." "i hope," answered he, "that your life may be long, but as for me, all is finished. i have set my house in order, and to-day i shall be buried with my wife. this has been the law upon our island from the earliest ages--the living husband goes to the grave with his dead wife, the living wife with her dead husband. so did our fathers, and so must we do. the law changes not, and all must submit to it!" as he spoke the friends and relations of the unhappy pair began to assemble. the body, decked in rich robes and sparkling with jewels, was laid upon an open bier, and the procession started, taking its way to a high mountain at some distance from the city, the wretched husband, clothed from head to foot in a black mantle, following mournfully. when the place of interment was reached the corpse was lowered, just as it was, into a deep pit. then the husband, bidding farewell to all his friends, stretched himself upon another bier, upon which were laid seven little loaves of bread and a pitcher of water, and he also was let down-down-down to the depths of the horrible cavern, and then a stone was laid over the opening, and the melancholy company wended its way back to the city. you may imagine that i was no unmoved spectator of these proceedings; to all the others it was a thing to which they had been accustomed from their youth up; but i was so horrified that i could not help telling the king how it struck me. "sire," i said, "i am more astonished than i can express to you at the strange custom which exists in your dominions of burying the living with the dead. in all my travels i have never before met with so cruel and horrible a law." "what would you have, sindbad?" he replied. "it is the law for everybody. i myself should be buried with the queen if she were the first to die." "but, your majesty," said i, "dare i ask if this law applies to foreigners also?" "why, yes," replied the king smiling, in what i could but consider a very heartless manner: "they are no exception to the rule if they have married in the country." when i heard this i went home much cast down, and from that time forward my mind was never easy. if only my wife's little finger ached i fancied she was going to die, and sure enough before very long she fell really ill and in a few days breathed her last. my dismay was great, for it seemed to me that to be buried alive was even a worse fate than to be devoured by cannibals, nevertheless there was no escape. the body of my wife, arrayed in her richest robes and decked with all her jewels, was laid upon the bier. i followed it, and after me came a great procession, headed by the king and all his nobles, and in this order we reached the fatal mountain, which was one of a lofty chain bordering the sea. here i made one more frantic effort to excite the pity of the king and those who stood by, hoping to save myself even at this last moment, but it was of no avail. no one spoke to me, they even appeared to hasten over their dreadful task, and i speedily found myself descending into the gloomy pit, with my seven loaves and pitcher of water beside me. almost before i reached the bottom the stone was rolled into its place above my head, and i was left to my fate. a feeble ray of light shone into the cavern through some chink, and when i had the courage to look about me i could see that i was in a vast vault, bestrewn with bones and bodies of the dead. i even fancied that i heard the expiring sighs of those who, like myself, had come into this dismal place alive. all in vain did i shriek aloud with rage and despair, reproaching myself for the love of gain and adventure which had brought me to such a pass, but at length, growing calmer, i took up my bread and water, and wrapping my face in my mantle i groped my way towards the end of the cavern, where the air was fresher. here i lived in darkness and misery until my provisions were exhausted, but just as i was nearly dead from starvation the rock was rolled away overhead and i saw that a bier was being lowered into the cavern, and that the corpse upon it was a man. in a moment my mind was made up, the woman who followed had nothing to expect but a lingering death; i should be doing her a service if i shortened her misery. therefore when she descended, already insensible from terror, i was ready armed with a huge bone, one blow from which left her dead, and i secured the bread and water which gave me a hope of life. several times did i have recourse to this desperate expedient, and i know not how long i had been a prisoner when one day i fancied that i heard something near me, which breathed loudly. turning to the place from which the sound came i dimly saw a shadowy form which fled at my movement, squeezing itself through a cranny in the wall. i pursued it as fast as i could, and found myself in a narrow crack among the rocks, along which i was just able to force my way. i followed it for what seemed to me many miles, and at last saw before me a glimmer of light which grew clearer every moment until i emerged upon the sea-shore with a joy which i cannot describe. when i was sure that i was not dreaming, i realized that it was doubtless some little animal which had found its way into the cavern from the sea, and when disturbed had fled, showing me a means of escape which i could never have discovered for myself. i hastily surveyed my surroundings, and saw that i was safe from all pursuit from the town. the mountains sloped sheer down to the sea, and there was no road across them. being assured of this i returned to the cavern, and amassed a rich treasure of diamonds, rubies, emeralds and jewels of all kinds, which strewed the ground. these i made up into bales, and stored them into a safe place upon the beach, and then waited hopefully for the passing of a ship. i had looked out for two days, however, before a single sail appeared, so it was with much delight that i at last saw a vessel not very far from the shore, and by waving my arms and uttering loud cries succeeded in attracting the attention of her crew. a boat was sent off to me, and in answer to the questions of the sailors as to how i came to be in such a plight, i replied that i had been shipwrecked two days before, but had managed to scramble ashore with the bales which i pointed out to them. luckily for me they believed my story, and without even looking at the place where they found me, took up my bundles, and rowed me back to the ship. once on board, i soon saw that the captain was too much occupied with the difficulties of navigation to pay much heed to me, though he generously made me welcome, and would not even accept the jewels with which i offered to pay my passage. our voyage was prosperous, and after visiting many lands, and collecting in each place great store of goodly merchandise, i found myself at last in bagdad once more with unheard-of riches of every description. again i gave large sums of money to the poor, and enriched all the mosques in the city, after which i gave myself up to my friends and relations, with whom i passed my time in feasting and merriment. here sindbad paused, and all his hearers declared that the adventures of his fourth voyage had pleased them better than anything they had heard before. they then took their leave, followed by hindbad, who had once more received a hundred sequins, and with the rest had been bidden to return next day for the story of the fifth voyage. when the time came all were in their places, and when they had eaten and drunk of all that was set before them sindbad began his tale. fifth voyage not even all that i had gone through could make me contented with a quiet life. i soon wearied of its pleasures, and longed for change and adventure. therefore i set out once more, but this time in a ship of my own, which i built and fitted out at the nearest seaport. i wished to be able to call at whatever port i chose, taking my own time; but as i did not intend carrying enough goods for a full cargo, i invited several merchants of different nations to join me. we set sail with the first favorable wind, and after a long voyage upon the open seas we landed upon an unknown island which proved to be uninhabited. we determined, however, to explore it, but had not gone far when we found a roc's egg, as large as the one i had seen before and evidently very nearly hatched, for the beak of the young bird had already pierced the shell. in spite of all i could say to deter them, the merchants who were with me fell upon it with their hatchets, breaking the shell, and killing the young roc. then lighting a fire upon the ground they hacked morsels from the bird, and proceeded to roast them while i stood by aghast. scarcely had they finished their ill-omened repast, when the air above us was darkened by two mighty shadows. the captain of my ship, knowing by experience what this meant, cried out to us that the parent birds were coming, and urged us to get on board with all speed. this we did, and the sails were hoisted, but before we had made any way the rocs reached their despoiled nest and hovered about it, uttering frightful cries when they discovered the mangled remains of their young one. for a moment we lost sight of them, and were flattering ourselves that we had escaped, when they reappeared and soared into the air directly over our vessel, and we saw that each held in its claws an immense rock ready to crush us. there was a moment of breathless suspense, then one bird loosed its hold and the huge block of stone hurtled through the air, but thanks to the presence of mind of the helmsman, who turned our ship violently in another direction, it fell into the sea close beside us, cleaving it asunder till we could nearly see the bottom. we had hardly time to draw a breath of relief before the other rock fell with a mighty crash right in the midst of our luckless vessel, smashing it into a thousand fragments, and crushing, or hurling into the sea, passengers and crew. i myself went down with the rest, but had the good fortune to rise unhurt, and by holding on to a piece of driftwood with one hand and swimming with the other i kept myself afloat and was presently washed up by the tide on to an island. its shores were steep and rocky, but i scrambled up safely and threw myself down to rest upon the green turf. when i had somewhat recovered i began to examine the spot in which i found myself, and truly it seemed to me that i had reached a garden of delights. there were trees everywhere, and they were laden with flowers and fruit, while a crystal stream wandered in and out under their shadow. when night came i slept sweetly in a cosey nook, though the remembrance that i was alone in a strange land made me sometimes start up and look around me in alarm, and then i wished heartily that i had stayed at home at ease. however, the morning sunlight restored my courage, and i once more wandered among the trees, but always with some anxiety as to what i might see next. i had penetrated some distance into the island when i saw an old man bent and feeble sitting upon the river bank, and at first i took him to be some shipwrecked mariner like myself. going up to him i greeted him in a friendly way, but he only nodded his head at me in reply. i then asked what he did there, and he made signs to me that he wished to get across the river to gather some fruit, and seemed to beg me to carry him on my back. pitying his age and feebleness, i took him up, and wading across the stream i bent down that he might more easily reach the bank, and bade him get down. but instead of allowing himself to be set upon his feet (even now it makes me laugh to think of it!), this creature who had seemed to me so decrepit leaped nimbly upon my shoulders, and hooking his legs round my neck gripped me so tightly that i was well-nigh choked, and so overcome with terror that i fell insensible to the ground. when i recovered my enemy was still in his place, though he had released his hold enough to allow me breathing space, and seeing me revive he prodded me adroitly first with one foot and then with the other, until i was forced to get up and stagger about with him under the trees while he gathered and ate the choicest fruits. this went on all day, and even at night, when i threw myself down half dead with weariness, the terrible old man held on tight to my neck, nor did he fail to greet the first glimmer of morning light by drumming upon me with his heels, until i perforce awoke and resumed my dreary march with rage and bitterness in my heart. it happened one day that i passed a tree under which lay several dry gourds, and catching one up i amused myself with scooping out its contents and pressing into it the juice of several bunches of grapes which hung from every bush. when it was full i left it propped in the fork of a tree, and a few days later, carrying the hateful old man that way, i snatched at my gourd as i passed it and had the satisfaction of a draught of excellent wine so good and refreshing that i even forgot my detestable burden, and began to sing and caper. the old monster was not slow to perceive the effect which my draught had produced and that i carried him more lightly than usual, so he stretched out his skinny hand and seizing the gourd first tasted its contents cautiously, then drained them to the very last drop. the wine was strong and the gourd capacious, so he also began to sing after a fashion, and soon i had the delight of feeling the iron grip of his goblin legs unclasp, and with one vigorous effort i threw him to the ground, from which he never moved again. i was so rejoiced to have at last got rid of this uncanny old man that i ran leaping and bounding down to the sea-shore, where, by the greatest good luck, i met with some mariners who had anchored off the island to enjoy the delicious fruits, and to renew their supply of water. they heard the story of my escape with amazement, saying, "you fell into the hands of the old man of the sea, and it is a mercy that he did not strangle you as he has everyone else upon whose shoulders he has managed to perch himself. this island is well-known as the scene of his evil deeds, and no merchant or sailor who lands upon it cares to stray far away from his comrades." after we had talked for awhile they took me back with them on board their ship, where the captain received me kindly, and we soon set sail, and after several days reached a large and prosperous-looking town where all the houses were built of stone. here we anchored, and one of the merchants, who had been very friendly to me on the way, took me ashore with him and showed me a lodging set apart for strange merchants. he then provided me with a large sack, and pointed out to me a party of others equipped in like manner. "go with them," said he, "and do as they do, but beware of losing sight of them, for if you strayed your life would be in danger." with that he supplied me with provisions, and bade me farewell, and i set out with my new companions. i soon learnt that the object of our expedition was to fill our sacks with cocoa-nuts, but when at length i saw the trees and noted their immense height and the slippery smoothness of their slender trunks, i did not at all understand how we were to do it. the crowns of the cocoa-palms were all alive with monkeys, big and little, which skipped from one to the other with surprising agility, seeming to be curious about us and disturbed at our appearance, and i was at first surprised when my companions after collecting stones began to throw them at the lively creatures, which seemed to me quite harmless. but very soon i saw the reason of it and joined them heartily, for the monkeys, annoyed and wishing to pay us back in our own coin, began to tear the nuts from the trees and cast them at us with angry and spiteful gestures, so that after very little labor our sacks were filled with the fruit which we could not otherwise have obtained. as soon as we had as many as we could carry we went back to the town, where my friend bought my share and advised me to continue the same occupation until i had earned money enough to carry me to my own country. this i did, and before long had amassed a considerable sum. just then i heard that there was a trading ship ready to sail, and taking leave of my friend i went on board, carrying with me a goodly store of cocoanuts; and we sailed first to the islands where pepper grows, then to comari where the best aloes-wood is found, and where men drink no wine by an unalterable law. here i exchanged my nuts for pepper and good aloes-wood, and went a-fishing for pearls with some of the other merchants, and my divers were so lucky that very soon i had an immense number, and those very large and perfect. with all these treasures i came joyfully back to bagdad, where i disposed of them for large sums of money, of which i did not fail as before to give the tenth part to the poor, and after that i rested from my labors and comforted myself with all the pleasures that my riches could give me. having thus ended his story, sindbad ordered that one hundred sequins should be given to hindbad, and the guests then withdrew; but after the next day's feast he began the account of his sixth voyage as follows. sixth voyage it must be a marvel to you how, after having five times met with shipwreck and unheard-of perils, i could again tempt fortune and risk fresh trouble. i am even surprised myself when i look back, but evidently it was my fate to rove, and after a year of repose i prepared to make a sixth voyage, regardless of the entreaties of my friends and relations, who did all they could to keep me at home. instead of going by the persian gulf, i travelled a considerable way overland, and finally embarked from a distant indian port with a captain who meant to make a long voyage. and truly he did so, for we fell in with stormy weather which drove us completely out of our course, so that for many days neither captain nor pilot knew where we were, nor where we were going. when they did at last discover our position we had small ground for rejoicing, for the captain, casting his turban upon the deck and tearing his beard, declared that we were in the most dangerous spot upon the whole wide sea, and had been caught by a current which was at that moment sweeping us to destruction. it was too true! in spite of all the sailors could do we were driven with frightful rapidity towards the foot of a mountain, which rose sheer out of the sea, and our vessel was dashed to pieces upon the rocks at its base, not, however, until we had managed to scramble on shore, carrying with us the most precious of our possessions. when we had done this the captain said to us:-- "now we are here we may as well begin to dig our graves at once, since from this fatal spot no shipwrecked mariner has ever returned." this speech discouraged us much, and we began to lament over our sad fate. the mountain formed the seaward boundary of a large island, and the narrow strip of rocky shore upon which we stood was strewn with the wreckage of a thousand gallant ships, while the bones of the luckless mariners shone white in the sunshine, and we shuddered to think how soon our own would be added to the heap. all around, too, lay vast quantities of the costliest merchandise, and treasures were heaped in every cranny of the rocks, but all these things only added to the desolation of the scene. it struck me as a very strange thing that a river of clear fresh water, which gushed out from the mountain not far from where we stood, instead of flowing into the sea as rivers generally do, turned off sharply, and flowed out of sight under a natural archway of rock, and when i went to examine it more closely i found that inside the cave the walls were thick with diamonds, rubies, and masses of crystal, and the floor was strewn with ambergris. here, then, upon this desolate shore we abandoned ourselves to our fate, for there was no possibility of scaling the mountain, and if a ship had appeared it could only have shared our doom. the first thing our captain did was to divide equally amongst us all the food we possessed, and then the length of each man's life depended on the time he could make his portion last. i myself could live upon very little. nevertheless, by the time i had buried the last of my companions my stock of provisions was so small that i hardly thought i should live long enough to dig my own grave, which i set about doing, while i regretted bitterly the roving disposition which was always bringing me into such straits, and thought longingly of all the comfort and luxury that i had left. but luckily for me the fancy took me to stand once more beside the river where it plunged out of sight in the depths of the cavern, and as i did so an idea struck me. this river which hid itself underground doubtless emerged again at some distant spot. why should i not build a raft and trust myself to its swiftly flowing waters? if i perished before i could reach the light of day once more i should be no worse off than i was now, for death stared me in the face, while there was always the possibility that, as i was born under a lucky star, i might find myself safe and sound in some desirable land. i decided at any rate to risk it, and speedily built myself a stout raft of drift-wood with strong cords, of which enough and to spare lay strewn upon the beach. i then made up many packages of rubies, emeralds, rock crystal, ambergris, and precious stuffs, and bound them upon my raft, being careful to preserve the balance, and then i seated myself upon it, having two small oars that i had fashioned laid ready to my hand, and loosed the cord which held it to the bank. once out in the current my raft flew swiftly under the gloomy archway, and i found myself in total darkness, carried smoothly forward by the rapid river. on i went as it seemed to me for many nights and days. once the channel became so small that i had a narrow escape of being crushed against the rocky roof, and after that i took the precaution of lying flat upon my precious bales. though i only ate what was absolutely necessary to keep myself alive, the inevitable moment came when, after swallowing my last morsel of food, i began to wonder if i must after all die of hunger. then, worn out with anxiety and fatigue, i fell into a deep sleep, and when i again opened my eyes i was once more in the light of day; a beautiful country lay before me, and my raft, which was tied to the river bank, was surrounded by friendly looking black men. i rose and saluted them, and they spoke to me in return, but i could not understand a word of their language. feeling perfectly bewildered by my sudden return to life and light, i murmured to myself in arabic, "close thine eyes, and while thou sleepest heaven will change thy fortune from evil to good." one of the natives, who understood this tongue, then came forward saying:-- "my brother, be not surprised to see us; this is our land, and as we came to get water from the river we noticed your raft floating down it, and one of us swam out and brought you to the shore. we have waited for your awakening; tell us now whence you come and where you were going by that dangerous way?" i replied that nothing would please me better than to tell them, but that i was starving, and would fain eat something first. i was soon supplied with all i needed, and having satisfied my hunger i told them faithfully all that had befallen me. they were lost in wonder at my tale when it was interpreted to them, and said that adventures so surprising must be related to their king only by the man to whom they had happened. so, procuring a horse, they mounted me upon it, and we set out, followed by several strong men carrying my raft just as it was upon their shoulders. in this order we marched into the city of serendib, where the natives presented me to their king, whom i saluted in the indian fashion, prostrating myself at his feet and kissing the ground; but the monarch bade me rise and sit beside him, asking first what was my name. "i am sindbad," i replied, "whom men call 'the sailor,' for i have voyaged much upon many seas." "and how came you here?" asked the king. i told my story, concealing nothing, and his surprise and delight were so great that he ordered my adventures to be written in letters of gold and laid up in the archives of his kingdom. presently my raft was brought in and the bales opened in his presence, and the king declared that in all his treasury there were no such rubies and emeralds as those which lay in great heaps before him. seeing that he looked at them with interest, i ventured to say that i myself and all that i had were at his disposal, but he answered me smiling:-- "nay, sindbad. heaven forbid that i should covet your riches; i will rather add to them, for i desire that you shall not leave my kingdom without some tokens of my good-will." he then commanded his officers to provide me with a suitable lodging at his expense, and sent slaves to wait upon me and carry my raft and my bales to my new dwelling-place. you may imagine that i praised his generosity and gave him grateful thanks, nor did i fail to present myself daily in his audience-chamber, and for the rest of my time i amused myself in seeing all that was most worthy of attention in the city. the island of serendib being situated on the equinoctial line, the days and nights there are of equal length. the chief city is placed at the end of a beautiful valley, formed by the highest mountain in the world, which is in the middle of the island. i had the curiosity to ascend to its very summit, for this was the place to which adam was banished out of paradise. here are found rubies and many precious things, and rare plants grow abundantly, with cedar-trees and cocoa-palms. on the sea-shore and at the mouths of the rivers the divers seek for pearls, and in some valleys diamonds are plentiful. after many days i petitioned the king that i might return to my own country, to which he graciously consented. moreover, he loaded me with rich gifts, and when i went to take leave of him he intrusted me with a royal present and a letter to the commander of the faithful, our sovereign lord, saying, "i pray you give these to the caliph harun-al-rashid, and assure him of my friendship." i accepted the charge respectfully, and soon embarked upon the vessel which the king himself had chosen for me. the king's letter was written in blue characters upon a rare and precious skin of yellowish color, and these were the words of it: "the king of the indies, before whom walk a thousand elephants, who lives in a palace, of which the roof blazes with a hundred thousand rubies, and whose treasure-house contains twenty thousand diamond crowns, to the caliph harun-al-rashid sends greeting. though the offering we present to you is unworthy of your notice, we pray you to accept it as a mark of the esteem and friendship which we cherish for you, and of which we gladly send you this token, and we ask of you a like regard if you deem us worthy of it. adieu, brother." the present consisted of a vase carved from a single ruby, six inches high and as thick as my finger; this was filled with the choicest pearls, large, and of perfect shape and lustre; secondly, a huge snake-skin, with scales as large as a sequin, which would preserve from sickness those who slept upon it. then quantities of aloes-wood, camphor, and pistachio-nuts; and lastly, a beautiful slave-girl, whose robes glittered with precious stones. after a long and prosperous voyage we landed at balsora, and i made haste to reach bagdad, and taking the king's letter i presented myself at the palace gate, followed by the beautiful slave, and various members of my own family, bearing the treasure. as soon as i had declared my errand i was conducted into the presence of the caliph, to whom, after i had made my obeisance, i gave the letter and the king's gift, and when he had examined them he demanded of me whether the prince of serendib was really as rich and powerful as he claimed to be. "commander of the faithful," i replied, again bowing humbly before him, "i can assure your majesty that he has in no way exaggerated his wealth and grandeur. nothing can equal the magnificence of his palace. when he goes abroad his throne is prepared upon the back of an elephant, and on either side of him ride his ministers, his favorites, and courtiers. on his elephant's neck sits an officer, his golden lance in his hand, and behind him stands another bearing a pillar of gold, at the top of which is an emerald as long as my hand. a thousand men in cloth of gold, mounted upon richly caparisoned elephants, go before him, and as the procession moves onward the officer who guides his elephant cries aloud, 'behold the mighty monarch, the powerful and valiant sultan of the indies, whose palace is covered with a hundred thousand rubies, who possesses twenty thousand diamond crowns. behold a monarch greater than solomon and mihrage in all their glory!' "then the one who stands behind the throne answers: 'this king, so great and powerful, must die, must die, must die!' "and the first takes up the chant again, 'all praise to him who lives for evermore.' "further, my lord, in serendib no judge is needed, for to the king himself his people come for justice." the caliph was well satisfied with my report. "from the king's letter," said he, "i judged that he was a wise man. it seems that he is worthy of his people, and his people of him." so saying he dismissed me with rich presents, and i returned in peace to my own house. when sindbad had done speaking his guests withdrew, hindbad having first received a hundred sequins, but all returned next day to hear the story of the seventh voyage. seventh and last voyage after my sixth voyage i was quite determined that i would go to sea no more. i was now of an age to appreciate a quiet life, and i had run risks enough. i only wished to end my days in peace. one day, however, when i was entertaining a number of my friends, i was told that an officer of the caliph wished to speak to me, and when he was admitted he bade me to follow him into the presence of harun-al-rashid, which i accordingly did. after i had saluted him, the caliph said:-- "i have sent for you, sindbad, because i need your services. i have chosen you to bear a letter and a gift to the king of serendib in return for his message of friendship." the caliph's commandment fell upon me like a thunderbolt. "commander of the faithful," i answered, "i am ready to do all that your majesty commands, but i humbly pray you to remember that i am utterly disheartened by the unheard-of sufferings i have undergone. indeed, i have made a vow never again to leave bagdad." with this i gave him a long account of some of my strangest adventures, to which he listened patiently. "i admit," said he, "that you have indeed had some extraordinary experiences, but i do not see why they should hinder you from doing as i wish. you have only to go straight to serendib and give my message, then you are free to come back and do as you will. but go you must; my honor and dignity demand it." seeing that there was no help for it, i declared myself willing to obey; and the caliph, delighted at having got his own way, gave me a thousand sequins for the expenses of the voyage. i was soon ready to start, and taking the letter and the present i embarked at balsora, and sailed quickly and safely to serendib. here, when i had disclosed my errand, i was well received, and brought into the presence of the king, who greeted me with joy. "welcome, sindbad," he cried. "i have thought of you often, and rejoice to see you once more." after thanking him for the honor that he did me, i displayed the caliph's gifts. first a bed with complete hangings all cloth of gold, which cost a thousand sequins, and another like to it of crimson stuff. fifty robes of rich embroidery, a hundred of the finest white linen from cairo, suez, cufa, and alexandria. then more beds of different fashion, and an agate vase carved with the figure of a man aiming an arrow at a lion, and finally a costly table, which had once belonged to king solomon. the king of serendib received with satisfaction the assurance of the caliph's friendliness towards him, and now my task being accomplished i was anxious to depart, but it was some time before the king would think of letting me go. at last, however, he dismissed me with many presents, and i lost no time in going on board a ship, which sailed at once, and for four days all went well. on the fifth day we had the misfortune to fall in with pirates, who seized our vessel, killing all who resisted, and making prisoners of those who were prudent enough to submit at once, of whom i was one. when they had despoiled us of all we possessed, they forced us to put on vile raiment, and sailing to a distant island there sold us for slaves. i fell into the hands of a rich merchant, who took me home with him, and clothed and fed me well, and after some days sent for me and questioned me as to what i could do. i answered that i was a rich merchant who had been captured by pirates, and therefore i knew no trade. "tell me," said he, "can you shoot with a bow?" i replied that this had been one of the pastimes of my youth, and that doubtless with practice my skill would come back to me. upon this he provided me with a bow and arrows, and mounting me with him upon his own elephant took the way to a vast forest which lay far from the town. when we had reached the wildest part of it we stopped, and my master said to me: "this forest swarms with elephants. hide yourself in this great tree, and shoot at all that pass you. when you have succeeded in killing one come and tell me." so saying he gave me a supply of food, and returned to the town, and i perched myself high up in the tree and kept watch. that night i saw nothing, but just after sunrise the next morning a large herd of elephants came crashing and trampling by. i lost no time in letting fly several arrows, and at last one of the great animals fell to the ground dead, and the others retreated, leaving me free to come down from my hiding-place and run back to tell my master of my success, for which i was praised and regaled with good things. then we went back to the forest together and dug a mighty trench in which we buried the elephant i had killed, in order that when it became a skeleton my master might return and secure its tusks. for two months i hunted thus, and no day passed without my securing an elephant. of course i did not always station myself in the same tree, but sometimes in one place, sometimes in another. one morning as i watched the coming of the elephants i was surprised to see that, instead of passing the tree i was in, as they usually did, they paused, and completely surrounded it, trumpeting horribly, and shaking the very ground with their heavy tread, and when i saw that their eyes were fixed upon me i was terrified, and my arrows dropped from my trembling hand. i had indeed good reason for my terror when, an instant later, the largest of the animals wound his trunk round the stem of my tree, and with one mighty effort tore it up by the roots, bringing me to the ground entangled in its branches. i thought now that my last hour was surely come, but the huge creature, picking me up gently enough, set me upon its back, where i clung more dead than alive, and followed by the whole herd turned and crashed off into the dense forest. it seemed to me a long time before i was once more set upon my feet by the elephant, and i stood as if in a dream watching the herd, which turned and trampled off in another direction, and were soon hidden in the dense underwood. then, recovering myself, i looked about me, and found that i was standing upon the side of a great hill, strewn as far as i could see on either hand with bones and tusks of elephants. "this then must be the elephants' burying-place," i said to myself, "and they must have brought me here that i might cease to persecute them, seeing that i want nothing but their tusks, and here lie more than i could carry away in a lifetime." whereupon i turned and made for the city as fast as i could go, not seeing a single elephant by the way, which convinced me that they had retired deeper into the forest to leave the way open to the ivory hill, and i did not know how sufficiently to admire their sagacity. after a day and a night i reached my master's house, and was received by him with joyful surprise. "ah! poor sindbad," he cried, "i was wondering what could have become of you. when i went to the forest i found the tree newly uprooted, and the arrows lying beside it, and i feared i should never see you again. pray tell me how you escaped death." i soon satisfied his curiosity, and the next day we went together to the ivory hill, and he was overjoyed to find that i had told him nothing but the truth. when we had loaded our elephant with as many tusks as it could carry and were on our way back to the city, he said:-- "my brother--since i can no longer treat as a slave one who has enriched me thus--take your liberty, and may heaven prosper you. i will no longer conceal from you that these wild elephants have killed numbers of our slaves every year. no matter what good advice we gave them, they were caught sooner or later. you alone have escaped the wiles of these animals, therefore you must be under the special protection of heaven. now through you the whole town will be enriched without further loss of life, therefore you shall not only receive your liberty, but i will also bestow a fortune upon you." to which i replied, "master, i thank you, and wish you all prosperity. for myself i only ask liberty to return to my own country." "it is well," he answered, "the monsoon will soon bring the ivory ships hither, then i will send you on your way with somewhat to pay your passage." so i stayed with him till the time of the monsoon, and every day we added to our store of ivory till all his warehouses were overflowing with it. by this time the other merchants knew the secret, but there was enough and to spare for all. when the ships at last arrived my master himself chose the one in which i was to sail, and put on board for me a great store of choice provisions, also ivory in abundance, and all the costliest curiosities of the country, for which i could not thank him enough, and so we parted. i left the ship at the first port we came to, not feeling at ease upon the sea after all that had happened to me by reason of it, and having disposed of my ivory for much gold, and bought many rare and costly presents, i loaded my pack animals, and joined a caravan of merchants. our journey was long and tedious, but i bore it patiently, reflecting that at least i had not to fear tempests, nor pirates, nor serpents, nor any of the other perils from which i had suffered before, and at length we reached bagdad. my first care was to present myself before the caliph, and give him an account of my embassy. he assured me that my long absence had disquieted him much, but he had nevertheless hoped for the best. as to my adventure among the elephants he heard it with amazement, declaring that he could not have believed it had not my truthfulness been well-known to him. by his orders this story and the others i had told him were written by his scribes in letters of gold, and laid up among his treasures. i took my leave of him, well satisfied with the honors and rewards he bestowed upon me; and since that time i have rested from my labors, and given myself up wholly to my family and my friends. thus sindbad ended the story of his seventh and last voyage, and turning to hindbad he added:-- "well, my friend, and what do you think now? have you ever heard of anyone who has suffered more, or had more narrow escapes than i have? is it not just that i should now enjoy a life of ease and tranquillity?" hindbad drew near, and kissing his hand respectfully, replied, "sir, you have indeed known fearful perils; my troubles have been nothing compared to yours. moreover, the generous use you make of your wealth proves that you deserve it. may you live long and happily in the enjoyment of it." sindbad then gave him a hundred sequins, and henceforward counted him among his friends; also he caused him to give up his profession as a porter, and to eat daily at his table that he might all his life remember sindbad the sailor. aladdin's wonderful lamp there once lived a poor tailor, who had a son called aladdin, a careless, idle boy, who would do nothing but play all day long in the streets with little idle boys like himself. this so grieved the father that he died; yet, in spite of his mother's tears and prayers, aladdin did not mend his ways. one day, when he was playing in the streets as usual, a stranger asked him his age, and if he were not the son of mustapha the tailor. "i am, sir," replied aladdin; "but he died a long while ago." on this the stranger, who was a famous african magician, fell on his neck and kissed him, saying: "i am your uncle, and knew you from your likeness to my brother. go to your mother and tell her i am coming." aladdin ran home, and told his mother of his newly-found uncle. "indeed, child," she said, "your father had a brother, but i always thought he was dead." however, she prepared supper, and bade aladdin seek his uncle, who came laden with wine and fruit. he presently fell down and kissed the place where mustapha used to sit, bidding aladdin's mother not to be surprised at not having seen him before, as he had been forty years out of the country. he then turned to aladdin and asked him his trade, at which the boy hung his head, while his mother burst into tears. on learning that aladdin was idle and would learn no trade, he offered to take a shop for him and stock it with merchandise. next day he bought aladdin a fine suit of clothes, and took him all over the city, showing him the sights, and brought him home at nightfall to his mother, who was overjoyed to see her son so fine. next day the magician led aladdin into some beautiful gardens a long way outside the city gates. they sat down by a fountain, and the magician pulled a cake from his girdle, which he divided between them. they then journeyed onwards till they almost reached the mountains. aladdin was so tired that he begged to go back, but the magician beguiled him with pleasant stories, and led him on in spite of himself. at last they came to two mountains divided by a narrow valley. "we will go no farther," said the false uncle. "i will show you something wonderful; only do you gather up sticks while i kindle a fire." when it was lit the magician threw on it a powder he had about him, at the same time saying some magical words. the earth trembled a little and opened in front of them, disclosing a square flat stone with a brass ring in the middle to raise it by. aladdin tried to run away, but the magician caught him and gave him a blow that knocked him down. "what have i done, uncle?" he said piteously; whereupon the magician said more kindly: "fear nothing, but obey me. beneath this stone lies a treasure which is to be yours, and no one else may touch it, so you must do exactly as i tell you." at the word treasure, aladdin forgot his fears, and grasped the ring as he was told, saying the names of his father and grandfather. the stone came up quite easily and some steps appeared. "go down," said the magician; "at the foot of those steps you will find an open door leading into three large halls. tuck up your gown and go through them without touching anything, or you will die instantly. these halls lead into a garden of fine fruit-trees. walk on till you come to a niche in a terrace where stands a lighted lamp. pour out the oil it contains and bring it to me." he drew a ring from his finger and gave it to aladdin, bidding him prosper. aladdin found everything as the magician had said, gathered some fruit off the trees, and, having got the lamp, arrived at the mouth of the cave. the magician cried out in a great hurry:-- "make haste and give me the lamp." this aladdin refused to do until he was out of the cave. the magician flew into a terrible passion, and throwing some more powder on the fire, he said something, and the stone rolled back into its place. the magician left persia forever, which plainly showed that he was no uncle of aladdin's, but a cunning magician who had read in his magic books of a wonderful lamp, which would make him the most powerful man in the world. though he alone knew where to find it, he could only receive it from the hand of another. he had picked out the foolish aladdin for this purpose, intending to get the lamp and kill him afterwards. for two days aladdin remained in the dark, crying and lamenting. at last he clasped his hands in prayer, and in so doing rubbed the ring, which the magician had forgotten to take from him. immediately an enormous and frightful genie rose out of the earth, saying:-- "what wouldst thou with me? i am the slave of the ring, and will obey thee in all things." aladdin fearlessly replied: "deliver me from this place!" whereupon the earth opened, and he found himself outside. as soon as his eyes could bear the light he went home, but fainted on the threshold. when he came to himself he told his mother what had passed, and showed her the lamp and the fruits he had gathered in the garden, which were in reality precious stones. he then asked for some food. "alas! child," she said, "i have nothing in the house, but i have spun a little cotton and will go and sell it." aladdin bade her keep her cotton, for he would sell the lamp instead. as it was very dirty she began to rub it, that it might fetch a higher price. instantly a hideous genie appeared, and asked what she would have. she fainted away, but aladdin, snatching the lamp, said boldly:-- "fetch me something to eat!" the genie returned with a silver bowl, twelve silver plates containing rich meats, two silver cups, and two bottles of wine. aladdin's mother, when she came to herself, said:-- "whence comes this splendid feast?" "ask not, but eat," replied aladdin. so they sat at breakfast till it was dinner-time, and aladdin told his mother about the lamp. she begged him to sell it, and have nothing to do with devils. "no," said aladdin, "since chance has made us aware of its virtues, we will use it and the ring likewise, which i shall always wear on my finger." when they had eaten all the genie had brought, aladdin sold one of the silver plates, and so on till none was left. he then had recourse to the genie, who gave him another set of plates, and thus they lived for many years. one day aladdin heard an order from the sultan proclaimed that everyone was to stay at home and close his shutters while the princess, his daughter, went to and from the bath. aladdin was seized by a desire to see her face, which was very difficult, as she always went veiled. he hid himself behind the door of the bath, and peeped through a chink. the princess lifted her veil as she went in, and looked so beautiful that aladdin fell in love with her at first sight. he went home so changed that his mother was frightened. he told her he loved the princess so deeply that he could not live without her, and meant to ask her in marriage of her father. his mother, on hearing this, burst out laughing, but aladdin at last prevailed upon her to go before the sultan and carry his request. she fetched a napkin and laid in it the magic fruits from the enchanted garden, which sparkled and shone like the most beautiful jewels. she took these with her to please the sultan, and set out, trusting in the lamp. the grand-vizir and the lords of council had just gone in as she entered the hall and placed herself in front of the sultan. he, however, took no notice of her. she went every day for a week, and stood in the same place. when the council broke up on the sixth day the sultan said to his vizir: "i see a certain woman in the audience-chamber every day carrying something in a napkin. call her next time, that i may find out what she wants." next day, at a sign from the vizir, she went up to the foot of the throne, and remained kneeling till the sultan said to her: "rise, good woman, and tell me what you want." she hesitated, so the sultan sent away all but the vizir, and bade her speak freely, promising to forgive her beforehand for anything she might say. she then told him of her son's violent love for the princess. "i prayed him to forget her," she said, "but in vain; he threatened to do some desperate deed if i refused to go and ask your majesty for the hand of the princess. now i pray you to forgive not me alone, but my son aladdin." the sultan asked her kindly what she had in the napkin, whereupon she unfolded the jewels and presented them. he was thunderstruck, and turning to the vizir said: "what sayest thou? ought i not to bestow the princess on one who values her at such a price?" the vizir, who wanted her for his own son, begged the sultan to withhold her for three months, in the course of which he hoped his son would contrive to make him a richer present. the sultan granted this, and told aladdin's mother that, though he consented to the marriage, she must not appear before him again for three months. aladdin waited patiently for nearly three months, but after two had elapsed his mother, going into the city to buy oil, found everyone rejoicing, and asked what was going on. "do you not know," was the answer, "that the son of the grand-vizir is to marry the sultan's daughter to-night?" breathless, she ran and told aladdin, who was overwhelmed at first, but presently bethought him of the lamp. he rubbed it, and the genie appeared, saying: "what is thy will?" aladdin replied: "the sultan, as thou knowest, has broken his promise to me, and the vizir's son is to have the princess. my command is that to-night you bring hither the bride and bridegroom." "master, i obey," said the genie. aladdin then went to his chamber, where, sure enough at midnight the genie transported the bed containing the vizir's son and the princess. "take this new-married man," he said, "and put him outside in the cold, and return at daybreak." whereupon the genie took the vizir's son out of bed, leaving aladdin with the princess. "fear nothing," aladdin said to her; "you are my wife, promised to me by your unjust father, and no harm shall come to you." the princess was too frightened to speak, and passed the most miserable night of her life, while aladdin lay down beside her and slept soundly. at the appointed hour the genie fetched in the shivering bridegroom, laid him in his place, and transported the bed back to the palace. presently the sultan came to wish his daughter good-morning. the unhappy vizir's son jumped up and hid himself, while the princess would not say a word, and was very sorrowful. the sultan sent her mother to her, who said: "how comes it, child, that you will not speak to your father? what has happened?" the princess sighed deeply, and at last told her mother how, during the night, the bed had been carried into some strange house, and what had passed there. her mother did not believe her in the least, but bade her rise and consider it an idle dream. the following night exactly the same thing happened, and next morning, on the princess's refusing to speak, the sultan threatened to cut off her head. she then confessed all, bidding him ask the vizir's son if it were not so. the sultan told the vizir to ask his son, who owned the truth, adding that, dearly as he loved the princess, he had rather die than go through another such fearful night, and wished to be separated from her. his wish was granted, and there was an end of feasting and rejoicing. when the three months were over, aladdin sent his mother to remind the sultan of his promise. she stood in the same place as before, and the sultan, who had forgotten aladdin, at once remembered him, and sent for her. on seeing her poverty the sultan felt less inclined than ever to keep his word, and asked the vizir's advice, who counselled him to set so high a value on the princess that no man living could come up to it. the sultan then turned to aladdin's mother, saying: "good woman, a sultan must remember his promises, and i will remember mine, but your son must first send me forty basins of gold brimful of jewels, carried by forty black slaves, led by as many white ones, splendidly dressed. tell him that i await his answer." the mother of aladdin bowed low and went home, thinking all was lost. she gave aladdin the message, adding: "he may wait long enough for your answer!" "not so long, mother, as you think," her son replied. "i would do a great deal more than that for the princess." he summoned the genie, and in a few moments the eighty slaves arrived, and filled up the small house and garden. aladdin made them set out to the palace, two and two, followed by his mother. they were so richly dressed, with such splendid jewels in their girdles, that everyone crowded to see them and the basins of gold they carried on their heads. they entered the palace, and, after kneeling before the sultan, stood in a half-circle round the throne with their arms crossed, while aladdin's mother presented them to the sultan. he hesitated no longer, but said: "good woman, return and tell your son that i wait for him with open arms." she lost no time in telling aladdin, bidding him make haste. but aladdin first called the genie. "i want a scented bath," he said, "a richly embroidered habit, a horse surpassing the sultan's, and twenty slaves to attend me. besides this, six slaves, beautifully dressed, to wait on my mother; and lastly, ten thousand pieces of gold in ten purses." no sooner said than done. aladdin mounted his horse and passed through the streets, the slaves strewing gold as they went. those who had played with him in his childhood knew him not, he had grown so handsome. when the sultan saw him he came down from his throne, embraced him, and led him into a hall where a feast was spread, intending to marry him to the princess that very day. but aladdin refused, saying, "i must build a palace fit for her," and took his leave. once home he said to the genie: "build me a palace of the finest marble, set with jasper, agate, and other precious stones. in the middle you shall build me a large hall with a dome, its four walls of massy gold and silver, each side having six windows, whose lattices, all except one, which is to be left unfinished, must be set with diamonds and rubies. there must be stables and horses and grooms and slaves; go and see about it!" the palace was finished by next day, and the genie carried him there and showed him all his orders faithfully carried out, even to the laying of a velvet carpet from aladdin's palace to the sultan's. aladdin's mother then dressed herself carefully, and walked to the palace with her slaves, while he followed her on horseback. the sultan sent musicians with trumpets and cymbals to meet them, so that the air resounded with music and cheers. she was taken to the princess, who saluted her and treated her with great honor. at night the princess said good-by to her father, and set out on the carpet for aladdin's palace, with his mother at her side, and followed by the hundred slaves. she was charmed at the sight of aladdin, who ran to receive her. "princess," he said, "blame your beauty for my boldness if i have displeased you." she told him that, having seen him, she willingly obeyed her father in this matter. after the wedding had taken place aladdin led her into the hall, where a feast was spread, and she supped with him, after which they danced till midnight. next day aladdin invited the sultan to see the palace. on entering the hall with the four-and-twenty windows, with their rubies, diamonds, and emeralds, he cried:-- "it is a world's wonder! there is only one thing that surprises me. was it by accident that one window was left unfinished?" "no, sir, by design," returned aladdin. "i wished your majesty to have the glory of finishing this palace." the sultan was pleased, and sent for the best jewellers in the city. he showed them the unfinished window, and bade them fit it up like the others. "sir," replied their spokesman, "we cannot find jewels enough." the sultan had his own fetched, which they soon used, but to no purpose, for in a month's time the work was not half done. aladdin, knowing that their task was vain, bade them undo their work and carry the jewels back, and the genie finished the window at his command. the sultan was surprised to receive his jewels again and visited aladdin, who showed him the window finished. the sultan embraced him, the envious vizir meanwhile hinting that it was the work of enchantment. aladdin had won the hearts of the people by his gentle bearing. he was made captain of the sultan's armies, and won several battles for him, but remained modest and courteous as before, and lived thus in peace and content for several years. but far away in africa the magician remembered aladdin, and by his magic arts discovered that aladdin, instead of perishing miserably in the cave, had escaped, and had married a princess, with whom he was living in great honor and wealth. he knew that the poor tailor's son could only have accomplished this by means of the lamp, and travelled night and day till he reached the capital of china, bent on aladdin's ruin. as he passed through the town he heard people talking everywhere about a marvellous palace. "forgive my ignorance," he asked, "what is this palace you speak of?" "have you not heard of prince aladdin's palace," was the reply, "the greatest wonder of the world? i will direct you if you have a mind to see it." the magician thanked him who spoke, and having seen the palace knew that it had been raised by the genie of the lamp, and became half mad with rage. he determined to get hold of the lamp, and again plunge aladdin into the deepest poverty. unluckily, aladdin had gone a-hunting for eight days, which gave the magician plenty of time. he bought a dozen copper lamps, put them into a basket, and went to the palace, crying: "new lamps for old!" followed by a jeering crowd. the princess, sitting in the hall of four-and-twenty windows, sent a slave to find out what the noise was about, who came back laughing, so that the princess scolded her. "madam," replied the slave, "who can help laughing to see an old fool offering to exchange fine new lamps for old ones?" another slave, hearing this, said: "there is an old one on the cornice there which he can have." now this was the magic lamp, which aladdin had left there, as he could not take it out hunting with him. the princess, not knowing its value, laughingly bade the slave take it and make the exchange. she went and said to the magician: "give me a new lamp for this." he snatched it and bade the slave take her choice, amid the jeers of the crowd. little he cared, but left off crying his lamps, and went out of the city gates to a lonely place, where he remained till nightfall, when he pulled out the lamp and rubbed it. the genie appeared, and at the magician's command carried him, together with the palace and the princess in it, to a lonely place in africa. next morning the sultan looked out of the window towards aladdin's palace and rubbed his eyes, for it was gone. he sent for the vizir, and asked what had become of the palace. the vizir looked out too, and was lost in astonishment. he again put it down to enchantment, and this time the sultan believed him, and sent thirty men on horseback to fetch aladdin in chains. they met him riding home, bound him, and forced him to go with them on foot. the people, however, who loved him, followed, armed, to see that he came to no harm. he was carried before the sultan, who ordered the executioner to cut off his head. the executioner made aladdin kneel down, bandaged his eyes, and raised his scimitar to strike. at that instant the vizir, who saw that the crowd had forced their way into the courtyard and were scaling the walls to rescue aladdin, called to the executioner to stay his hand. the people, indeed, looked so threatening that the sultan gave way and ordered aladdin to be unbound, and pardoned him in the sight of the crowd. aladdin now begged to know what he had done. "false wretch!" said the sultan, "come hither," and showed him from the window the place where his palace had stood. aladdin was so amazed that he could not say a word. "where is my palace and my daughter?" demanded the sultan. "for the first i am not so deeply concerned, but my daughter i must have, and you must find her or lose your head." aladdin begged for forty days in which to find her, promising if he failed, to return and suffer death at the sultan's pleasure. his prayer was granted, and he went forth sadly from the sultan's presence. for three days he wandered about like a madman, asking everyone what had become of his palace, but they only laughed and pitied him. he came to the banks of a river, and knelt down to say his prayers before throwing himself in. in so doing he rubbed the magic ring he still wore. the genie he had seen in the cave appeared, and asked his will. "save my life, genie," said aladdin, "and bring my palace back." "that is not in my power," said the genie; "i am only the slave of the ring; you must ask the slave of the lamp." "even so," said aladdin, "but thou canst take me to the palace, and set me down under my dear wife's window." he at once found himself in africa, under the window of the princess, and fell asleep out of sheer weariness. he was awakened by the singing of the birds, and his heart was lighter. he saw plainly that all his misfortunes were owing to the loss of the lamp, and vainly wondered who had robbed him of it. that morning the princess rose earlier than she had done since she had been carried into africa by the magician, whose company she was forced to endure once a day. she, however, treated him so harshly that he dared not live there altogether. as she was dressing, one of her women looked out and saw aladdin. the princess ran and opened the window, and at the noise she made aladdin looked up. she called to him to come to her, and great was the joy of these lovers at seeing each other again. after he had kissed her aladdin said: "i beg of you, princess, in god's name, before we speak of anything else, for your own sake and mine, tell me what has become of an old lamp i left on the cornice in the hall of four-and-twenty windows, when i went a-hunting." "alas!" she said, "i am the innocent cause of our sorrows," and told him of the exchange of the lamp. "now i know," cried aladdin, "that we have to thank the african magician for this! where is the lamp?" "he carries it about with him," said the princess, "i know, for he pulled it out of his breast to show me. he wishes me to break my faith with you and marry him, saying that you were beheaded by my father's command. he is forever speaking ill of you, but i only reply by my tears. if i persist, i doubt not that he will use violence." aladdin comforted her, and left her for awhile. he changed clothes with the first person he met in the town, and having bought a certain powder returned to the princess, who let him in by a little side door. "put on your most beautiful dress," he said to her, "and receive the magician with smiles, leading him to believe that you have forgotten me. invite him to sup with you, and say you wish to taste the wine of his country. he will go for some, and while he is gone i will tell you what to do." she listened carefully to aladdin, and when he left her arrayed herself gayly for the first time since she left china. she put on a girdle and head-dress of diamonds, and seeing in a glass that she looked more beautiful than ever, received the magician, saying to his great amazement: "i have made up my mind that aladdin is dead, and that all my tears will not bring him back to me, so i am resolved to mourn no more, and have therefore invited you to sup with me; but i am tired of the wines of china, and would fain taste those of africa." the magician flew to his cellar, and the princess put the powder aladdin had given her in her cup. when he returned she asked him to drink her health in the wine of africa, handing him her cup in exchange for his as a sign she was reconciled to him. before drinking the magician made her a speech in praise of her beauty, but the princess cut him short, saying:-- "let me drink first, and you shall say what you will afterwards." she set her cup to her lips and kept it there, while the magician drained his to the dregs and fell back lifeless. the princess then opened the door to aladdin, and flung her arms round his neck, but aladdin put her away, bidding her to leave him, as he had more to do. he then went to the dead magician, took the lamp out of his vest, and bade the genie carry the palace and all in it back to china. this was done, and the princess in her chamber only felt two little shocks, and little thought she was at home again. the sultan, who was sitting in his closet, mourning for his lost daughter, happened to look up, and rubbed his eyes, for there stood the palace as before! he hastened thither, and aladdin received him in the hall of the four-and-twenty windows, with the princess at his side. aladdin told him what had happened, and showed him the dead body of the magician, that he might believe. a ten days' feast was proclaimed, and it seemed as if aladdin might now live the rest of his life in peace; but it was not to be. the african magician had a younger brother, who was, if possible, more wicked and more cunning than himself. he travelled to china to avenge his brother's death, and went to visit a pious woman called fatima, thinking she might be of use to him. he entered her cell and clapped a dagger to her breast, telling her to rise and do his bidding on pain of death. he changed clothes with her, colored his face like hers, put on her veil and murdered her, so that she might tell no tales. then he went towards the palace of aladdin, and all the people thinking he was the holy woman, gathered round him, kissing his hands and begging his blessing. when he got to the palace there was such a noise going on round him that the princess bade her slave look out of the window and ask what was the matter. the slave said it was the holy woman, curing people by her touch of their ailments, whereupon the princess, who had long desired to see fatima, sent for her. on coming to the princess the magician offered up a prayer for her health and prosperity. when he had done the princess made him sit by her, and begged him to stay with her always. the false fatima, who wished for nothing better, consented, but kept his veil down for fear of discovery. the princess showed him the hall, and asked him what he thought of it. "it is truly beautiful," said the false fatima. "in my mind it wants but one thing." "and what is that?" said the princess. "if only a roc's egg," replied he, "were hung up from the middle of this dome, it would be the wonder of the world." after this the princess could think of nothing but a roc's egg, and when aladdin returned from hunting he found her in a very ill humor. he begged to know what was amiss, and she told him that all her pleasure in the hall was spoilt for the want of a roc's egg hanging from the dome. "if that is all," replied aladdin, "you shall soon be happy." he left her and rubbed the lamp, and when the genie appeared commanded him to bring a roc's egg. the genie gave such a loud and terrible shriek that the hall shook. "wretch!" he said, "is it not enough that i have done everything for you, but you must command me to bring my master and hang him up in the midst of this dome? you and your wife and your palace deserve to be burnt to ashes; but this request does not come from you, but from the brother of the african magician whom you destroyed. he is now in your palace disguised as the holy woman--whom he murdered. he it was who put that wish into your wife's head. take care of yourself, for he means to kill you." so saying the genie disappeared. aladdin went back to the princess, saying his head ached, and requesting that the holy fatima should be fetched to lay her hands on it. but when the magician came near, aladdin, seizing his dagger, pierced him to the heart. "what have you done?" cried the princess. "you have killed the holy woman!" "not so," replied aladdin, "but a wicked magician," and told her of how she had been deceived. after this aladdin and his wife lived in peace. he succeeded the sultan when he died, and reigned for many years, leaving behind him a long line of kings. chinese literature comprising the analects of confucius, the sayings of mencius, the shi-king, the travels of fÂ-hien, and the sorrows of han with critical and biographical sketches by epiphanius wilson, a.m. revised edition the analects of confucius introduction book i. on learning--miscellaneous sayings ii. good government--filial piety--the superior man iii. abuse of proprieties in ceremonial and music iv. social virtue--superior and inferior man v. a disciple and the golden rule--miscellaneous vi. more characteristics--wisdom--philanthropy vii. characteristics of confucius--an incident viii. sayings of tsang--sentences of the master ix. his favorite disciple's opinion of him x. confucius in private and official life xi. comparative worth of his disciples xii. the master's answers--philanthropy--friendships xiii. answers on the art of governing--consistency xiv. good and bad government--miscellaneous sayings xv. practical wisdom--reciprocity the rule of life xvi. against intestine strife--good and bad friendships xvii. the master induced to take office--nature and habit xviii. good men in seclusion--duke of chow to his son xix. teachings of various chief disciples xx. extracts from the book of history the sayings of mencius introduction book i. king hwuy of lëang.-- part i [_books ii., iii., and iv. are omitted_] book v. wan chang.-- part i the shi-king introduction _part i.--lessons from the states_. book i.--the odes of chow and the south.-- celebrating the virtue of king wan's bride celebrating the industry of king wan's queen in praise of a bride celebrating t'ae-sze's freedom from jealousy the fruitfulness of the locust lamenting the absence of a cherished friend celebrating the goodness of the descendants of king wan the virtuous manners of the young women praise of a rabbit-catcher the song of the plantain-gatherers the affection of the wives on the joo book ii.--the odes of shaou and the south.-- the marriage of a princess the industry and reverence of a prince's wife the wife of some great officer bewails his absence the diligence of the young wife of an officer the love of the people for the duke of shaou the easy dignity of the officers at some court anxiety of a young lady to get married book iii.--the odes of p'ei.-- an officer bewails the neglect with which he is treated a wife deplores the absence of her husband the plaint of a rejected wife soldiers of wei bewail separation from their families an officer tells of his mean employment an officer sets forth his hard lot the complaint of a neglected wife in praise of a maiden discontent chwang keang bemoans her husband's cruelty [_books iv., v., and vi. are omitted_] book vii.--the odes of ch'ing.--- the people's admiration for duke woo a wife consoled by her husband's arrival in praise of some lady a man's praise of his wife an entreaty a woman scorning her lover a lady mourns the absence of her student lover--- book viii.--the odes of ts'e.-- a wife urging her husband to action the folly of useless effort the prince of loo book ix.--the odes of wei.-- on the misgovernment of the state the mean husband a young soldier on service book x.--the odes of t'ang.-- the king goes to war lament of a bereaved person the drawbacks of poverty a wife mourns for her husband book xi.--the odes of ts'in.-- celebrating the opulence of the lords of ts'in a complaint a wife's grief because of her husband's absence lament for three brothers in praise of a ruler of ts'in the generous nephew book xii.--the odes of ch'in.-- the contentment of a poor recluse the disappointed lover a love-song the lament of a lover book xiii.--the odes of kwei-- the wish of an unhappy man book xiv.--the odes of ts'aou.-- against frivolous pursuits book xv.--the odes of pin.-- the duke of chow tells of his soldiers there is a proper way for doing everything _part ii.--minor odes of the kingdom_. book i.--decade of luh ming.-- a festal ode a festal ode complimenting an officer the value of friendship the response to a festal ode an ode of congratulation an ode on the return of the troops book ii.--the decade of pih hwa.-- an ode appropriate to a festivity book iii.--the decade of t'ung kung.-- celebrating a hunting expedition the king's anxiety for his morning levee moral lessons from natural facts book iv.--the decade of k'e-foo.-- on the completion of a royal palace the condition of king seuen's flocks book v.--the decade of seaou min.-- a eunuch complains of his fate an officer deplores the misery of the time on the alienation of a friend book vi.--the decade of pih shan.-- a picture of husbandry the complaint of an officer book vii.--decade of sang hoo.-- the rejoicings of a bridegroom against listening to slanderers book viii.--the decade of too jin sze.-- in praise of by-gone simplicity a wife bemoans her husband's absence the earl of shaou's work the plaint of king yew's forsaken wife hospitality on the misery of soldiers _part iii.--greater odes of the kingdom_. book i.--decade of king wan.-- celebrating king wan [_book ii. is omitted_] book iii.--decade of tang.-- king seuen on the occasion of a great drought _part iv.--odes of the temple and altar_. book i.--sacrificial odes of chow.-- appropriate to a sacrifice to king wan on sacrificing to the kings woo, ching, and k'ang the travels of fÂ-hien translator's introduction chapter i. from ch'ang-gan to the sandy desert ii. on to shen-shen and thence to khoten iii. khoten--processions of images iv. through the ts'ung mountains to k'eech-ch'a v. great quinquennial assembly of monks vi. north india--image of maitreya bodhisattva vii. the perilous crossing of the indus viii. woo-chang, or udyana--traces of buddha ix. soo ho-to--legends of buddha x. gandhara--legends of buddha xi. takshasila--legends--the four great topes xii. buddha's alms-bowl--death of hwuy-king xiii. festival of buddha's skull-bone xiv. crossing the indus to the east xv. sympathy of monks with the pilgrims xvi. condition and customs of central india xvii. legend of the trayastrimsas heaven xviii. buddha's subjects of discourse xix. legend of buddha's danta-kashtha xx. the jetavana vihara--legends of buddha xxi. the three predecessors of sakyamuni xxii. legends of buddha's birth xxiii. legends of rama and its tope xxiv. where buddha renounced the world xxv. the kingdom of vaisali xxvi. remarkable death of Ânanda xxvii. king asoka's spirit-built palace and halls xxviii. rajagriha, new and old--legends connected with it xxix. fâ-hien passes a night on gridhra-kuta hill xxx. srataparna cave, or cave of the first council xxxi. sakyamuni's attaining to the buddhaship xxxii. legend of king asoka in a former birth xxxiii. kasyapa buddha's skeleton on mount gurupada xxxiv. on the way returning to patna xxxv. dakshina, and the pigeon monastery xxxvi. fâ-hien's indian studies xxxvii. fâ-hien's stay in champa and tamalipti xxxviii. at ceylon--feats of buddha--his statue in jade xxxix. cremation of an arhat--sermon of a devotee xl. after two years fâ-hien takes ship for china conclusion the sorrows of han introduction translator's preface dramatis personae prologue act first act second act third act fourth the analects of confucius [_translated into english by william jennings_] pronunciation of proper names _j_, as in french. _ng_, commencing a word, like the same letters terminating one. _ai_ or _ei_, as in _aisle_ or _eider_. _au_, as in german, or like _ow_ in _cow_. _é_, as in _fête_. _i_ (not followed by a consonant), as _ee_ in _see_. _u_ (followed by a consonant), as in _bull_. _iu_, as _ew_ in _new_. _ui_, as _ooi_ in _cooing_. _h_ at the end of a name makes the preceding vowel short. _i_ in the middle of a word denotes an aspirate (_h_), as _k'ung_=khung. introduction the strangest figure that meets us in the annals of oriental thought is that of confucius. to the popular mind he is the founder of a religion, and yet he has nothing in common with the great religious teachers of the east. we think of siddartha, the founder of buddhism, as the very impersonation of romantic asceticism, enthusiastic self-sacrifice, and faith in the things that are invisible. zoroaster is the friend of god, talking face to face with the almighty, and drinking wisdom and knowledge from the lips of omniscience. mohammed is represented as snatched up into heaven, where he receives the divine communication which he is bidden to propagate with fire and sword throughout the world. these great teachers lived in an atmosphere of the supernatural. they spoke with the authority of inspired prophets. they brought the unseen world close to the minds of their disciples. they spoke positively of immortality, of reward or punishment beyond the grave. the present life they despised, the future was to them everything in its promised satisfaction. the teachings of confucius were of a very different sort. throughout his whole writings he has not even mentioned the name of god. he declined to discuss the question of immortality. when he was asked about spiritual beings, he remarked, "if we cannot even know men, how can we know spirits?" yet this was the man the impress of whose teaching has formed the national character of five hundred millions of people. a temple to confucius stands to this day in every town and village of china. his precepts are committed to memory by every child from the tenderest age, and each year at the royal university at pekin the emperor holds a festival in honor of the illustrious teacher. the influence of confucius springs, first of all, from the narrowness and definiteness of his doctrine. he was no transcendentalist, and never meddled with supramundane things. his teaching was of the earth, earthy; it dealt entirely with the common relations of life, and the golden rule he must necessarily have stumbled upon, as the most obvious canon of his system. he strikes us as being the great stoic of the east, for he believed that virtue was based on knowledge, knowledge of a man's own heart, and knowledge of human-kind. there is a pathetic resemblance between the accounts given of the death of confucius and the death of zeno. both died almost without warning in dreary hopelessness, without the ministrations of either love or religion. this may be a mere coincidence, but the lives and teachings of both men must have led them to look with indifference upon such an end. for confucius in his teaching treated only of man's life on earth, and seems to have had no ideas with regard to the human lot after death; if he had any ideas he preserved an inscrutable silence about them. as a moralist he prescribed the duties of the king and of the father, and advocated the cultivation by the individual man of that rest or apathy of mind which resembles so much the disposition aimed at by the greek and roman stoic. even as a moralist, he seems to have sacrificed the ideal to the practical, and his loose notions about marriage, his tolerance of concubinage, the slight emphasis which he lays on the virtue of veracity--of which indeed he does not seem himself to have been particularly studious in his historic writings--place him low down in the rank of moralists. yet he taught what he felt the people could receive, and the flat mediocrity of his character and his teachings has been stamped forever upon a people who, while they are kindly, gentle, forbearing, and full of family piety, are palpably lacking not only in the exaltation of mysticism, but in any religious feeling, generally so-called. the second reason that made the teaching of confucius so influential is based on the circumstances of the time. when this thoughtful, earnest youth awoke to the consciousness of life about him, he saw that the abuses under which the people groaned sprang from the feudal system, which cut up the country into separate territories, over which the power of the king had no control. china was in the position of france in the years preceding philippe-auguste, excepting that there were no places of sanctuary and no truce of god. the great doctrine of confucius was the unlimited despotism of the emperor, and his moral precepts were intended to teach the emperor how to use his power aright. but the emperor was only typical of all those in authority--the feudal duke, the judge on the bench, and the father of the family. each could discharge his duties aright only by submitting to the moral discipline which confucius prescribed. a vital element in this system is its conservatism, its adherence to the imperial idea. as james i said, "no bishop, no king," so the imperialists of china have found in confucianism the strongest basis for the throne, and have supported its dissemination accordingly. the analects of confucius contain the gist of his teachings, and is worthy of study. we find in this work most of the precepts which his disciples have preserved and recorded. they form a code remarkable for simplicity, even crudity, and we are compelled to admire the force of character, the practical sagacity, the insight into the needs of the hour, which enabled confucius, without claiming any divine sanction, to impose this system upon his countrymen. the name confucius is only the latinized form of two words which mean "master k'ung." he was born b.c., his father being governor of shantung. he was married at nineteen, and seems to have occupied some minor position under the government. in his twenty-fourth year he entered upon the three years' mourning for the death of his mother. his seclusion gave him time for deep thought and the study of history, and he resolved upon the regeneration of his unhappy country. by the time he was thirty he became known as a great teacher, and disciples flocked to him. but he was yet occupied in public duties, and rose through successive stages to the office of chief judge in his own country of lu. his tenure of office is said to have put an end to crime, and he became the "idol of the people" in his district. the jealousy of the feudal lords was roused by his fame as a moral teacher and a blameless judge. confucius was driven from his home, and wandered about, with a few disciples, until his sixty-ninth year, when he returned to lu, after accomplishing a work which has borne fruit, such as it is, to the present day. he spent the remaining five years of his life in editing the odes and historic monuments in which the glories of the ancient chinese dynasty are set forth. he died in his seventy-third year, b.c. there can be no doubt that the success of confucius has been singularly great, owing especially to the narrow scope of his scheme, which has become crystallized in the habits, usages, and customs of the people. especially has it been instrumental in consolidating the empire, and in strengthening the power of the monarch, who, as he every year burns incense in the red-walled temple at pekin, utters sincerely the invocation: "great art thou, o perfect sage! thy virtue is full, thy doctrine complete. among mortal men there has not been thine equal. all kings honor thee. thy statutes and laws have come gloriously down. thou art the pattern in this imperial school. reverently have the sacrificial vessels been set out. full of awe, we sound our drums and bells." e. w. the analects book i on learning--miscellaneous sayings:-- "to learn," said the master, "and then to practise opportunely what one has learnt--does not this bring with it a sense of satisfaction? "to have associates in study coming to one from distant parts--does not this also mean pleasure in store? "and are not those who, while not comprehending all that is said, still remain not unpleased to hear, men of the superior order?" a saying of the scholar yu:-- "it is rarely the case that those who act the part of true men in regard to their duty to parents and elder brothers are at the same time willing to turn currishly upon their superiors: it has never yet been the case that such as desire not to commit that offence have been men willing to promote anarchy or disorder. "men of superior mind busy themselves first in getting at the root of things; and when they have succeeded in this the right course is open to them. well, are not filial piety and friendly subordination among brothers a root of that right feeling which is owing generally from man to man?" the master observed, "rarely do we meet with the right feeling due from one man to another where there is fine speech and studied mien." the scholar tsang once said of himself: "on three points i examine myself daily, viz., whether, in looking after other people's interests, i have not been acting whole-heartedly; whether, in my intercourse with friends, i have not been true; and whether, after teaching, i have not myself been practising what i have taught." the master once observed that to rule well one of the larger states meant strict attention to its affairs and conscientiousness on the part of the ruler; careful husbanding of its resources, with at the same time a tender care for the interests of all classes; and the employing of the masses in the public service at suitable seasons. "let young people," said he, "show filial piety at home, respectfulness towards their elders when away from home; let them be circumspect, be truthful; their love going out freely towards all, cultivating good-will to men. and if, in such a walk, there be time or energy left for other things, let them employ it in the acquisition of literary or artistic accomplishments." the disciple tsz-hiá said, "the appreciation of worth in men of worth, thus diverting the mind from lascivious desires--ministering to parents while one is the most capable of so doing--serving one's ruler when one is able to devote himself entirely to that object--being sincere in one's language in intercourse with friends: this i certainly must call evidence of learning, though others may say there has been 'no learning.'" sayings of the master:-- "if the great man be not grave, he will not be revered, neither can his learning be solid. "give prominent place to loyalty and sincerity. "have no associates in study who are not advanced somewhat like yourself. "when you have erred, be not afraid to correct yourself." a saying of the scholar tsang:-- "the virtue of the people is renewed and enriched when attention is seen to be paid to the departed, and the remembrance of distant ancestors kept and cherished." tsz-k'in put this query to his fellow disciple tsz-kung: said he, "when our master comes to this or that state, he learns without fail how it is being governed. does he investigate matters? or are the facts given him?" tsz-kung answered, "our master is a man of pleasant manners, and of probity, courteous, moderate, and unassuming: it is by his being such that he arrives at the facts. is not his way of arriving at things different from that of others?" a saying of the master:-- "he who, after three years' observation of the will of his father when alive, or of his past conduct if dead, does not deviate from that father's ways, is entitled to be called 'a dutiful son.'" sayings of the scholar yu:-- "for the practice of the rules of propriety,[ ] one excellent way is to be natural. this naturalness became a great grace in the practice of kings of former times; let everyone, small or great, follow their example. "it is not, however, always practicable; and it is not so in the case of a person who does things naturally, knowing that he should act so, and yet who neglects to regulate his acts according to the rules. "when truth and right are hand in hand, a statement will bear repetition. when respectfulness and propriety go hand in hand, disgrace and shame are kept afar-off. remove all occasion for alienating those to whom you are bound by close ties, and you have them still to resort to." a saying of the master:-- "the man of greater mind who, when he is eating, craves not to eat to the full; who has a home, but craves not for comforts in it; who is active and earnest in his work and careful in his words; who makes towards men of high principle, and so maintains his own rectitude--that man may be styled a devoted student." tsz-kung asked, "what say you, sir, of the poor who do not cringe and fawn; and what of the rich who are without pride and haughtiness?" "they are passable," the master replied; "yet they are scarcely in the same category as the poor who are happy, and the rich who love propriety." "in the 'book of the odes,'" tsz-kung went on to say, "we read of one polished, as by the knife and file, the graving-tool, the smoothing-stone. does that coincide with your remark?" "ah! such as you," replied the master, "may well commence a discussion on the odes. if one tell you how a thing goes, you know what ought to come." "it does not greatly concern me," said the master, "that men do not know me; my great concern is, my not knowing them." [footnote : an important part of a chinaman's education still. the text-book, "the li ki," contains rules for behavior and propriety for the whole life, from the cradle to the grave.] book ii good government--filial piety--the superior man sayings of the master:-- "let a ruler base his government upon virtuous principles, and he will be like the pole-star, which remains steadfast in its place, while all the host of stars turn towards it. "the 'book of odes' contains three hundred pieces, but one expression in it may be taken as covering the purport of all, viz., unswerving mindfulness. "to govern simply by statute, and to reduce all to order by means of pains and penalties, is to render the people evasive, and devoid of any sense of shame. "to govern upon principles of virtue, and to reduce them to order by the rules of propriety, would not only create in them the sense of shame, but would moreover reach them in all their errors. "when i attained the age of fifteen, i became bent upon study. at thirty, i was a confirmed student. at forty, nought could move me from my course. at fifty, i comprehended the will and decrees of heaven. at sixty, my ears were attuned to them. at seventy, i could follow my heart's desires, without overstepping the lines of rectitude." to a question of mang-i, as to what filial piety consisted in, the master replied, "in not being perverse." afterwards, when fan ch'i was driving him, the master informed him of this question and answer, and fan ch'i asked, "what was your meaning?" the master replied, "i meant that the rules of propriety should always be adhered to in regard to those who brought us into the world: in ministering to them while living, in burying them when dead, and afterwards in the offering to them of sacrificial gifts." to a query of mang wu respecting filial piety, the master replied, "parents ought to bear but one trouble--that of their own sickness." to a like question put by tsz-yu, his reply was this: "the filial piety of the present day simply means the being able to support one's parents--which extends even to the case of dogs and horses, all of which may have something to give in the way of support. if there be no reverential feeling in the matter, what is there to distinguish between the cases?" to a like question of tsz-hia, he replied: "the manner is the difficulty. if, in the case of work to be done, the younger folks simply take upon themselves the toil of it; or if, in the matter of meat and drink, they simply set these before their elders--is this to be taken as filial piety?" once the master remarked, "i have conversed with hwúi the whole day long, and he has controverted nothing that i have said, as if he were without wits. but when his back was turned, and i looked attentively at his conduct apart from me, i found it satisfactory in all its issues. no, indeed! hwúi is not without his wits." other observations of the master:-- "if you observe what things people (usually) take in hand, watch their motives, and note particularly what it is that gives them satisfaction, shall they be able to conceal from you what they are? conceal themselves, indeed! "be versed in ancient lore, and familiarize yourself with the modern; then may you become teachers. "the great man is not a mere receptacle." in reply to tsz-kung respecting the great man:-- "what he first says, as a result of his experience, he afterwards follows up. "the great man is catholic-minded, and not one-sided. the common man is the reverse. "learning, without thought, is a snare; thought, without learning, is a danger. "where the mind is set much upon heterodox principles--there truly and indeed is harm." to the disciple tsz-lu the master said, "shall i give you a lesson about knowledge? when you know a thing, maintain that you know it; and when you do not, acknowledge your ignorance. this is characteristic of knowledge." tsz-chang was studying with an eye to official income. the master addressed him thus: "of the many things you hear hold aloof from those that are doubtful, and speak guardedly with reference to the rest; your mistakes will then be few. also, of the many courses you see adopted, hold aloof from those that are risky, and carefully follow the others; you will then seldom have occasion for regret. thus, being seldom mistaken in your utterances, and having few occasions for regret in the line you take, you are on the high road to your preferment." to a question put to him by duke ngai [ ] as to what should be done in order to render the people submissive to authority, confucius replied, "promote the straightforward, and reject those whose courses are crooked, and the thing will be effected. promote the crooked and reject the straightforward, and the effect will be the reverse." when ki k'ang [ ] asked of him how the people could be induced to show respect, loyalty, and willingness to be led, the master answered, "let there be grave dignity in him who has the oversight of them, and they will show him respect; let him be seen to be good to his own parents, and kindly in disposition, and they will be loyal to him; let him promote those who have ability, and see to the instruction of those who have it not, and they will be willing to be led." some one, speaking to confucius, inquired, "why, sir, are you not an administrator of government?" the master rejoined, "what says the 'book of the annals,' with reference to filial duty?--'make it a point to be dutiful to your parents and amicable with your brethren; the same duties extend to an administrator.' if these, then, also make an administrator, how am i to take your words about being an administrator?" on one occasion the master remarked, "i know not what men are good for, on whose word no reliance can be placed. how should your carriages, large or little, get along without your whipple-trees or swing-trees?" tsz-chang asked if it were possible to forecast the state of the country ten generations hence. the master replied in this manner: "the yin dynasty adopted the rules and manners of the hiá line of kings, and it is possible to tell whether it retrograded or advanced. the chow line has followed the yin, adopting its ways, and whether there has been deterioration or improvement may also be determined. some other line may take up in turn those of chow; and supposing even this process to go on for a hundred generations, the result may be known." other sayings of the master:-- "it is but flattery to make sacrificial offerings to departed spirits not belonging to one's own family. "it is moral cowardice to leave undone what one perceives to be right to do." [footnote : of lu (confucius's native state).] [footnote : head of one of the "three families" of lu.] book iii abuse of proprieties in ceremonial and music alluding to the head of the ki family, [ ] and the eight lines of posturers [ ] before their ancestral hall, confucius remarked, "if the ki can allow himself to go to this extent, to what extent will he not allow himself to go?" the three families [ ] were in the habit, during the removal of the sacred vessels after sacrifice, of using the hymn commencing, "harmoniously the princes draw near with reverent tread, assisting in his worship heaven's son, the great and dread." "how," exclaimed the master, "can such words be appropriated in the ancestral hall of the three families?" "where a man," said he again, "has not the proper feelings due from one man to another, how will he stand as regards the rules of propriety? and in such a case, what shall we say of his sense of harmony?" on a question being put to him by lin fang, a disciple, as to what was the radical idea upon which the rules of propriety were based, the master exclaimed, "ah! that is a large question. as to some rules, where there is likelihood of extravagance, they would rather demand economy; in those which relate to mourning, and where there is likelihood of being easily satisfied, what is wanted is real sorrow." speaking of the disorder of the times he remarked that while the barbarians on the north and east had their chieftains, we here in this great country had nothing to compare with them in that respect:--we had lost these distinctions! alluding to the matter of the chief of the ki family worshipping on tai-shan, [ ] the master said to yen yu, "cannot you save him from this?" he replied, "it is beyond my power." "alas, alas!" exclaimed the master, "are we to say that the spirits of t'ai-shan have not as much discernment as lin fang?" of "the superior man," the master observed, "in him there is no contentiousness. say even that he does certainly contend with others, as in archery competitions; yet mark, in that case, how courteously he will bow and go up for the forfeit-cup, and come down again and give it to his competitor. in his very contest he is still the superior man." tsz-hiá once inquired what inference might be drawn from the lines-- "dimples playing in witching smile, beautiful eyes, so dark, so bright! oh, and her face may be thought the while colored by art, red rose on white!" "coloring," replied the master, "requires a pure and clear background." "then," said the other, "rules of ceremony require to have a background!" "ah!" exclaimed the master, "you are the man to catch the drift of my thought. such as you may well introduce a discussion on the odes." said the master, "as regards the ceremonial adopted and enforced by the hiá dynasty, i am able to describe it, although their own descendants in the state of ki can adduce no adequate testimony in favor of its use there. so, too, i am able to describe the ceremonial of the yin dynasty, although no more can the sung people show sufficient reason for its continuance amongst themselves. and why cannot they do so? because they have not documents enough, nor men learned enough. if only they had such, i could refer them to them in support of their usages. "when i am present at the great quinquennial sacrifice to the _manes_ of the royal ancestors," the master said, "from the pouring-out of the oblation onwards, i have no heart to look on." some one asked what was the purport of this great sacrifice, and the master replied, "i cannot tell. the position in the empire of him who could tell you is as evident as when you look at this"--pointing to the palm of his hand. when he offered sacrifices to his ancestors, he used to act as if they were present before him. in offering to other spirits it was the same. he would say, "if i do not myself take part in my offerings, it is all the same as if i did not offer them." wang-sun kiá asked him once, "what says the proverb, 'better to court favor in the kitchen than in the drawing-room'?" the master replied, "nay, better say, he who has sinned against heaven has none other to whom prayer may be addressed." of the chow dynasty the master remarked, "it looks back upon two other dynasties; and what a rich possession it has in its records of those times! i follow chow!" on his first entry into the grand temple, he inquired about every matter connected with its usages. some one thereupon remarked, "who says that the son of the man of tsou [ ] understands about ceremonial? on entering the grand temple he inquired about everything." this remark coming to the master's ears, he said, "what i did is part of the ceremonial!" "in archery," he said, "the great point to be observed is not simply the perforation of the leather; for men have not all the same strength. that was the fashion in the olden days." once, seeing that his disciple tsz-kung was desirous that the ceremonial observance of offering a sheep at the new moon might be dispensed with, the master said, "ah! you grudge the loss of the sheep; i grudge the loss of the ceremony." "to serve one's ruler nowadays," he remarked, "fully complying with the rules of propriety, is regarded by others as toadyism!" when duke ting questioned him as to how a prince should deal with his ministers, and how they in turn should serve their prince, confucius said in reply, "in dealing with his ministers a prince should observe the proprieties; in serving his prince a minister should observe the duty of loyalty." referring to the first of the odes, he remarked that it was mirthful without being lewd, and sad also without being painful. duke ngai asked the disciple tsai wo respecting the places for sacrificing to the earth. the latter replied, "the family of the great yu, of the hiá dynasty, chose a place of pine trees; the yin founders chose cypresses; and the chow founders chestnut trees, solemn and majestic, to inspire, 'tis said, the people with feelings of awe." the master on hearing of this exclaimed, "never an allusion to things that have been enacted in the past! never a remonstrance against what is now going on! he has gone away without a word of censure." the master once said of kwan chung, [ ] "a small-minded man indeed!" "was he miserly?" some one asked. "miserly, indeed!" said he; "not that: he married three rimes, and he was not a man who restricted his official business to too few hands--how could he be miserly?" "he knew the rules of propriety, i suppose?" "judge:--seeing that the feudal lords planted a screen at their gates, he too would have one at his! seeing that when any two of the feudal lords met in friendly conclave they had an earthenware stand on which to place their inverted cups after drinking, he must have the same! if he knew the rules of propriety, who is there that does not know them?" in a discourse to the chief preceptor of music at the court of lu, the master said, "music is an intelligible thing. when you begin a performance, let all the various instruments produce as it were one sound (inharmonious); then, as you go on, bring out the harmony fully, distinctly, and with uninterrupted flow, unto the end." the warden of the border-town of i requested an interview with confucius, and said, "when great men have come here, i have never yet failed to obtain a sight of them." the followers introduced him; and, on leaving, he said to them, "sirs, why grieve at his loss of office? the empire has for long been without good government; and heaven is about to use your master as its edict-announcer." comparing the music of the emperor shun with the music of king wu, the master said, "that of shun is beautiful throughout, and also good throughout. that of wu is all of it beautiful, but scarcely all of it good." "high station," said the master, "occupied by men who have no large and generous heart; ceremonial performed with no reverence; duties of mourning engaging the attention, where there is absence of sorrow;--how should i look on, where this is the state of things?" [footnote : the chief of the ki clan was virtually the duke of lu, under whom confucius for a time held office.] [footnote : these posturers were mutes who took part in the ritual of the ancestral temple, waving plumes, flags, etc. each line or rank of these contained eight men. only in the sovereign's household should there have been eight lines of them; a ducal family like the ki should have had but six lines; a great official had four, and one of lower grade two. these were the gradations marking the status of families, and confucius's sense of propriety was offended at the ki's usurping in this way the appearance of royalty.] [footnote : three great families related to each other, in whose hands the government of the state of lu then was, and of which the ki was the chief.] [footnote : one of the five sacred mountains, worshipped upon only by the sovereign.] [footnote : tsou was confucius's birthplace; his father was governor of the town.] [footnote : a renowned statesman who flourished about two hundred years before confucius's time. a philosophical work on law and government, said to have been written by him, is still extant. he was regarded as a sage by the people, but he lacked, in confucius's eyes, the one thing needful--propriety.] book iv social virtue--superior and inferior man sayings of the master:-- "it is social good feeling that gives charm to a neighborhood. and where is the wisdom of those who choose an abode where it does not abide? "those who are without it cannot abide long, either in straitened or in happy circumstances. those who possess it find contentment in it. those who are wise go after it as men go after gain. "only they in whom it exists can have right likings and dislikings for others. "where the will is set upon it, there will be no room for malpractices. "riches and honor are what men desire; but if they arrive at them by improper ways, they should not continue to hold them. poverty and low estate are what men dislike; but if they arrive at such a condition by improper ways, they should not refuse it. "if the 'superior man' make nought of social good feeling, how shall he fully bear that name? "not even whilst he eats his meal will the 'superior man' forget what he owes to his fellow-men. even in hurried leave-takings, even in moments of frantic confusion, he keeps true to this virtue. "i have not yet seen a lover of philanthropy, nor a hater of misanthropy--such, that the former did not take occasion to magnify that virtue in himself, and that the latter, in his positive practice of philanthropy, did not, at times, allow in his presence something savoring of misanthropy. "say you, is there any one who is able for one whole day to apply the energy of his mind to this virtue? well, i have not seen any one whose energy was not equal to it. it may be there are such, but i have never met with them. "the faults of individuals are peculiar to their particular class and surroundings; and it is by observing their faults that one comes to understand the condition of their good feelings towards their fellows. "one may hear the right way in the morning, and at evening die. "the scholar who is intent upon learning the right way, and who is yet ashamed of poor attire and poor food, is not worthy of being discoursed with. "the masterly man's attitude to the world is not exclusively this or that: whatsoever is right, to that he will be a party. "the masterly man has an eye to virtue, the common man, to earthly things; the former has an eye to penalties for error--the latter, to favor. "where there is habitual going after gain, there is much ill-will. "when there is ability in a ruler to govern a country by adhering to the rules of propriety, and by kindly condescension, what is wanted more? where the ability to govern thus is wanting, what has such a ruler to do with the rules of propriety? "one should not be greatly concerned at not being in office; but rather about the requirements in one's self for such a standing. neither should one be so much concerned at being unknown; but rather with seeking to become worthy of being known." addressing his disciple tsang sin, the master said, "tsang sin, the principles which i inculcate have one main idea upon which they all hang." "aye, surely," he replied. when the master was gone out the other disciples asked what was the purport of this remark. tsang's answer was, "the principles of our master's teaching are these--whole-heartedness and kindly forbearance; these and nothing more." other observations of the master:-- "men of loftier mind manifest themselves in their equitable dealings; small-minded men in their going after gain. "when you meet with men of worth, think how you may attain to their level; when you see others of an opposite character, look within, and examine yourself. "a son, in ministering to his parents, may (on occasion) offer gentle remonstrances; when he sees that their will is not to heed such, he should nevertheless still continue to show them reverent respect, never obstinacy; and if he have to suffer, let him do so without murmuring. "whilst the parents are still living, he should not wander far; or, if a wanderer, he should at least have some fixed address. "if for three years he do not veer from the principles of his father, he may be called a dutiful son. "a son should not ignore the years of his parents. on the one hand, they may be a matter for rejoicing (that they have been so many), and on the other, for apprehension (that so few remain). "people in olden times were loth to speak out, fearing the disgrace of not being themselves as good as their words. "those who keep within restraints are seldom losers. "to be slow to speak, but prompt to act, is the desire of the 'superior man.' "virtue dwells not alone: she must have neighbors." an observation of tsz-yu:-- "officiousness, in the service of princes, leads to disgrace: among friends, to estrangement." book v a disciple and the golden rule--miscellaneous the master pronounced kung-ye ch'ang, a disciple, to be a marriageable person; for although lying bound in criminal fetters he had committed no crime. and he gave him his own daughter to wife. of nan yung, a disciple, he observed, that in a state where the government was well conducted he would not be passed over in its appointments, and in one where the government was ill conducted he would evade punishment and disgrace. and he caused his elder brother's daughter to be given in marriage to him. of tsz-tsien, a disciple, he remarked, "a superior man indeed is the like of him! but had there been none of superior quality in lu, how should this man have attained to this excellence?" tsz-kung asked, "what of me, then?" "you," replied the master--"you are a receptacle." "of what sort?" said he. "one for high and sacred use," was the answer. some one having observed of yen yung that he was good-natured towards others, but that he lacked the gift of ready speech, the master said, "what need of that gift? to stand up before men and pour forth a stream of glib words is generally to make yourself obnoxious to them. i know not about his good-naturedness; but at any rate what need of that gift?" when the master proposed that tsi-tiau k'ai should enter the government service, the latter replied, "i can scarcely credit it." the master was gratified. "good principles are making no progress," once exclaimed the master. "if i were to take a raft, and drift about on the sea, would tsz-lu, i wonder, be my follower there?" that disciple was delighted at hearing the suggestion; whereupon the master continued, "he surpasses me in his love of deeds of daring. but he does not in the least grasp the pith of my remark." in reply to a question put to him by mang wu respecting tsz-lu--as to whether he might be called good-natured towards others, the master said, "i cannot tell"; but, on the question being put again, he answered, "well, in an important state [ ] he might be intrusted with the management of the military levies; but i cannot answer for his good nature." "what say you then of yen yu?" "as for yen," he replied, "in a city of a thousand families, or in a secondary fief, [ ] he might be charged with the governorship; but i cannot answer for his good-naturedness." "take tsz-hwa, then; what of him?" "tsz-hwa," said he, "with a cincture girt upon him, standing as attendant at court, might be charged with the addressing of visitors and guests; but as to his good-naturedness i cannot answer." addressing tsz-kung, the master said, "which of the two is ahead of the other--yourself or hwúi?" "how shall i dare," he replied, "even to look at hwúi? only let him hear one particular, and from that he knows ten; whereas i, if i hear one, may from it know two." "you are not a match for him, i grant you," said the master. "you are not his match." tsai yu, a disciple, used to sleep in the daytime. said the master, "one may hardly carve rotten wood, or use a trowel to the wall of a manure-yard! in his case, what is the use of reprimand? "my attitude towards a man in my first dealings with him," he added, "was to listen to his professions and to trust to his conduct. my attitude now is to listen to his professions, and to watch his conduct. my experience with tsai yu has led to this change. "i have never seen," said the master, "a man of inflexible firmness." some one thereupon mentioned shin ch'ang, a disciple. "ch'ang," said he, "is wanton; where do you get at his inflexibleness?" tsz-kung made the remark: "that which i do not wish others to put upon me, i also wish not to put upon others." "nay," said the master, "you have not got so far as that." the same disciple once remarked, "there may be access so as to hear the master's literary discourses, but when he is treating of human nature and the way of heaven, there may not be such success." tsz-lu, after once hearing him upon some subject, and feeling himself as yet incompetent to carry into practice what he had heard, used to be apprehensive only lest he should hear the subject revived. tsz-kung asked how it was that kung wan had come to be so styled wan (the talented). the master's answer was, "because, though a man of an active nature, he was yet fond of study, and he was not ashamed to stoop to put questions to his inferiors." respecting tsz-ch'an,[ ] the master said that he had four of the essential qualities of the 'superior man':--in his own private walk he was humble-minded; in serving his superiors he was deferential; in his looking after the material welfare of the people he was generously kind; and in his exaction of public service from the latter he was just. speaking of yen ping, he said, "he was one who was happy in his mode of attaching men to him. however long the intercourse, he was always deferential to them." referring to tsang wan, he asked, "what is to be said of this man's discernment?--this man with his tortoise-house, with the pillar-heads and posts bedizened with scenes of hill and mere!" tsz-chang put a question relative to the chief minister of tsu, tsz-wan. he said, "three times he became chief minister, and on none of these occasions did he betray any sign of exultation. three times his ministry came to an end, and he showed no sign of chagrin. he used without fail to inform the new minister as to the old mode of administration. what say you of him?" "that he was a loyal man," said the master. "but was he a man of fellow-feeling?" said the disciple. "of that i am not sure," he answered; "how am i to get at that?" the disciple went on to say:--"after the assassination of the prince of ts'i by the officer ts'ui, the latter's fellow-official ch'in wan, who had half a score teams of horses, gave up all, and turned his back upon him. on coming to another state, he observed, 'there are here characters somewhat like that of our minister ts'ui,' and he turned his back upon them. proceeding to a certain other state, he had occasion to make the same remark, and left. what say you of him?" "that he was a pure-minded man," answered the master. "but was he a man of fellow-feeling?" urged the disciple. "of that i am not sure," he replied; "how am i to get at that?" ki wan was one who thought three times over a thing before he acted. the master hearing this of him, observed, "twice would have been enough." of ning wu, the master said that when matters went well in the state he used to have his wits about him: but when they went wrong, he lost them. his intelligence might be equalled, but not his witlessness! once, when the master lived in the state of ch'in, he exclaimed, "let me get home again! let me get home! my school-children [ ] are wild and impetuous! though they are somewhat accomplished, and perfect in one sense in their attainments, yet they know not how to make nice discriminations." of peh-i and shuh ts'i he said, "by the fact of their not remembering old grievances, they gradually did away with resentment." of wei-shang kau he said, "who calls him straightforward? a person once begged some vinegar of him, and he begged it from a neighbor, and then presented him with it!" "fine speech," said he, "and studied mien, and superfluous show of deference--of such things tso-k'iu ming was ashamed, i too am ashamed of such things. also of hiding resentment felt towards an opponent and treating him as a friend--of this kind of thing he was ashamed, and so too am i." attended once by the two disciples yen yuen and tsz-lu, he said, "come now, why not tell me, each of you, what in your hearts you are really after?" "i should like," said tsz-lu, "for myself and my friends and associates, carriages and horses, and to be clad in light furs! nor would i mind much if they should become the worse for wear." "and i should like," said yen yuen, "to live without boasting of my abilities, and without display of meritorious deeds." tsz-lu then said, "i should like, sir, to hear what your heart is set upon." the master replied, "it is this:--in regard to old people, to give them quiet and comfort; in regard to friends and associates, to be faithful to them; in regard to the young, to treat them with fostering affection and kindness." on one occasion the master exclaimed, "ah, 'tis hopeless! i have not yet seen the man who can see his errors, so as inwardly to accuse himself." "in a small cluster of houses there may well be," said he, "some whose integrity and sincerity may compare with mine; but i yield to none in point of love of learning." [footnote : lit., a state of , war chariots.] [footnote : lit., a house of war chariots.] [footnote : a great statesman of confucius's time.] [footnote : a familiar way of speaking of his disciples in their hearing.] book vi more characteristics--wisdom--philanthropy of yen yung, a disciple, the master said, "yung might indeed do for a prince!" on being asked by this yen yung his opinion of a certain individual, the master replied, "he is passable. impetuous, though." "but," argued the disciple, "if a man habituate himself to a reverent regard for duty--even while in his way of doing things he is impetuous--in the oversight of the people committed to his charge, is he not passable? if, on the other hand, he habituate himself to impetuosity of mind, and show it also in his way of doing things, is he not then over-impetuous?" "you are right," said the master. when the duke ngai inquired which of the disciples were devoted to learning, confucius answered him, "there was one yen hwúi who loved it--a man whose angry feelings towards any particular person he did not suffer to visit upon another; a man who would never fall into the same error twice. unfortunately his allotted time was short, and he died, and now his like is not to be found; i have never heard of one so devoted to learning." while tsz-hwa, a disciple, was away on a mission to ts'i, the disciple yen yu, on behalf of his mother, applied for some grain. "give her three pecks," said the master. he applied for more. "give her eight, then." yen gave her fifty times that amount. the master said, "when tsz-hwa went on that journey to ts'i, he had well-fed steeds yoked to his carriage, and was arrayed in light furs. i have learnt that the 'superior man' should help those whose needs are urgent, not help the rich to be more rich." when yuen sz became prefect under him, he gave him nine hundred measures of grain, but the prefect declined to accept them.[ ] "you must not," said the master. "may they not be of use to the villages and hamlets around you?" speaking of yen yung again, the master said, "if the offspring of a speckled ox be red in color, and horned, even though men may not wish to take it for sacrifice, would the spirits of the hills and streams reject it?" adverting to hwúi again, he said, "for three months there would not be in his breast one thought recalcitrant against his feeling of good-will towards his fellow-men. the others may attain to this for a day or for a month, but there they end." when asked by ki k'ang whether tsz-lu was fit to serve the government, the master replied, "tsz-lu is a man of decision: what should prevent him from serving the government?" asked the same question respecting tsz-kung and yen yu he answered similarly, pronouncing tsz-kung to be a man of perspicacity, and yen yu to be one versed in the polite arts. when the head of the ki family sent for min tsz-k'ien to make him governor of the town of pi, that disciple said, "politely decline for me. if the offer is renewed, then indeed i shall feel myself obliged to go and live on the further bank of the wan." peh-niu had fallen ill, and the master was inquiring after him. taking hold of his hand held out from the window, he said, "it is taking him off! alas, his appointed time has come! such a man, and to have such an illness!" of hwúi, again: "a right worthy man indeed was he! with his simple wooden dish of rice, and his one gourd-basin of drink, away in his poor back lane, in a condition too grievous for others to have endured, he never allowed his cheery spirits to droop. aye, a right worthy soul was he!" "it is not," yen yu once apologized, "that i do not take pleasure in your doctrines; it is that i am not strong enough." the master rejoined, "it is when those who are not strong enough have made some moderate amount of progress that they fail and give up; but you are now drawing your own line for yourself." addressing tsz-hiá, the master said, "let your scholarship be that of gentlemen, and not like that of common men." when tsz-yu became governor of wu-shing, the master said to him, "do you find good men about you?" the reply was, "there is tan-t'ai mieh-ming, who when walking eschews by-paths, and who, unless there be some public function, never approaches my private residence." "mang chi-fan," said the master, "is no sounder of his own praises. during a stampede he was in the rear, and as they were about to enter the city gate he whipped up his horses, and said, 'twas not my daring made me lag behind. my horses would not go.'" _obiter dicta_ of the master:-- "whoever has not the glib utterance of the priest t'o, as well as the handsomeness of prince cháu of sung, will find it hard to keep out of harm's way in the present age. "who can go out but by that door? why walks no one by these guiding principles? "where plain naturalness is more in evidence than polish, we have--the man from the country. where polish is more in evidence than naturalness, we have--the town scribe. it is when naturalness and polish are equally evident that we have the ideal man. "the life of a man is--his rectitude. life without it--such may you have the good fortune to avoid! "they who know it are not as those who love it, nor they who love it as those who rejoice in it--that is, have the fruition of their love for it. "to the average man, and those above the average, it is possible to discourse on higher subjects; to those from the average downwards, it is not possible." fan ch'i put a query about wisdom. the master replied, "to labor for the promoting of righteous conduct among the people of the land; to be serious in regard to spiritual beings, and to hold aloof from them;--this may be called wisdom." to a further query, about philanthropy, he replied, "those who possess that virtue find difficulty with it at first, success later. "men of practical knowledge," he said, "find their gratification among the rivers of the lowland, men of sympathetic social feeling find theirs among the hills. the former are active and bustling, the latter calm and quiet. the former take their day of pleasure, the latter look to length of days." alluding to the states of ts'i and lu, he observed, that ts'i, by one change, might attain to the condition of lu; and that lu, by one change, might attain to good government. an exclamation of the master (satirizing the times, when old terms relating to government were still used while bereft of their old meaning):--"a quart, and not a quart! _quart_, indeed! _quart_, indeed!" tsai wo, a disciple, put a query. said he, "suppose a philanthropic person were told, 'there's a fellow-creature down in the well!' would he go down after him?" "why should he really do so?" answered the master. "the good man or, a superior man might be induced to go, but not to go down. he may be misled, but not befooled." "the superior man," said he, "with his wide study of books, and hedging himself round by the rules of propriety, is not surely, after all that, capable of overstepping his bounds." once when the master had had an interview with nan-tsz, which had scandalized his disciple tsz-lu, he uttered the solemn adjuration, "if i have done aught amiss, may heaven reject me! may heaven reject me!" "how far-reaching," said he, "is the moral excellence that flows from the constant mean! [ ] it has for a long time been rare among the people." tsz-kung said, "suppose the case of one who confers benefits far and wide upon the people, and who can, in so doing, make his bounty universally felt--how would you speak of him? might he be called philanthropic?" the master exclaimed, "what a work for philanthropy! he would require indeed to be a sage! he would put into shade even yau and shun!--well, a philanthropic person, desiring for himself a firm footing, is led on to give one to others; desiring for himself an enlightened perception of things, he is led on to help others to be similarly enlightened. if one could take an illustration coming closer home to us than yours, that might be made the starting-point for speaking about philanthropy." [footnote : at this time confucius was criminal judge in his native state of lu. yuen sz had been a disciple. the commentators add that this was the officer's proper salary, and that he did wrong to refuse it.] [footnote : the doctrine afterwards known by that name, and which gave its title to a confucian treatise.] book vii characteristics of confucius--an incident said the master:-- "i, as a transmitter[ ] and not an originator, and as one who believes in and loves the ancients, venture to compare myself with our old p'ang. "what find you indeed in me?--a quiet brooder and memorizer; a student never satiated with learning; an unwearied monitor of others! "the things which weigh heavily upon my mind are these--failure to improve in the virtues, failure in discussion of what is learnt, inability to walk according to knowledge received as to what is right and just, inability also to reform what has been amiss." in his hours of recreation and refreshment the master's manner was easy and unconstrained, affable and winning. once he exclaimed, "alas! i must be getting very feeble; 'tis long since i have had a repetition of the dreams in which i used to see the duke of chow. [ ] "concentrate the mind," said he, "upon the good way. "maintain firm hold upon virtue. "rely upon philanthropy. "find recreation in the arts. [ ] "i have never withheld instruction from any, even from those who have come for it with the smallest offering. "no subject do i broach, however, to those who have no eager desire to learn; no encouraging hint do i give to those who show no anxiety to speak out their ideas; nor have i anything more to say to those who, after i have made clear one corner of the subject, cannot from that give me the other three." if the master was taking a meal, and there were any in mourning beside him, he would not eat to the full. on one day on which he had wept, on that day he would not sing. addressing his favorite disciple, he said, "to you only and myself it has been given to do this--to go when called to serve, and to go back into quiet retirement when released from office." tsz-lu, hearing the remark said, "but if, sir, you had the handling of the army of one of the greater states,[ ] whom would you have associated with you in that case?" the master answered:-- "not the one 'who'll rouse the tiger,' not the one 'who'll wade the ho;' not the man who can die with no regret. he must be one who should watch over affairs with apprehensive caution, a man fond of strategy, and of perfect skill and effectiveness in it." as to wealth, he remarked, "if wealth were an object that i could go in quest of, i should do so even if i had to take a whip and do grooms' work. but seeing that it is not, i go after those objects for which i have a liking." among matters over which he exercised great caution were times of fasting, war, and sickness. when he was in the state of ts'i, and had heard the ancient shau music, he lost all perception of the taste of his meat. "i had no idea," said he, "that music could have been brought to this pitch." in the course of conversation yen yu said, "does the master take the part of the prince of wei?" "ah yes!" said tsz-kung, "i will go and ask him that." on going in to him, that disciple began, "what sort of men were peh-i and shuh ts'i?" "worthies of the olden time," the master replied. "had they any feelings of resentment?" was the next question. "their aim and object," he answered, "was that of doing the duty which every man owes to his fellows, and they succeeded in doing it;--what room further for feelings of resentment?" the questioner on coming out said, "the master does not take his part." "with a meal of coarse rice," said the master, "and with water to drink, and my bent arm for my pillow--even thus i can find happiness. riches and honors without righteousness are to me as fleeting clouds." "give me several years more to live," said he, "and after fifty years' study of the 'book of changes' i might come to be free from serious error." the master's regular subjects of discourse were the "books of the odes" and "history," and the up-keeping of the rules of propriety. on all of these he regularly discoursed. the duke of shih questioned tsz-lu about confucius, and the latter did not answer. hearing of this, the master said, "why did you not say, he is a man with a mind so intent on his pursuits that he forgets his food, and finds such pleasure in them that he forgets his troubles, and does not know that old age is coming upon him?" "as i came not into life with any knowledge of it," he said, "and as my likings are for what is old, i busy myself in seeking knowledge there." strange occurrences, exploits of strength, deeds of lawlessness, references to spiritual beings--such-like matters the master avoided in conversation. "let there," he said, "be three men walking together: from that number i should be sure to find my instructors; for what is good in them i should choose out and follow, and what is not good i should modify." on one occasion he exclaimed, "heaven begat virtue in me; what can man do unto me?" to his disciples he once said, "do you look upon me, my sons, as keeping anything secret from you? i hide nothing from you. i do nothing that is not manifest to your eyes, my disciples. that is so with me." four things there were which he kept in view in his teaching--scholarliness, conduct of life, honesty, faithfulness. "it is not given to me," he said, "to meet with a sage; let me but behold a man of superior mind, and that will suffice. neither is it given to me to meet with a good man; let me but see a man of constancy, and it will suffice. it is difficult for persons to have constancy, when they pretend to have that which they are destitute of, to be full when they are empty, to do things on a grand scale when their means are contracted!" when the master fished with hook and line, he did not also use a net. when out with his bow, he would never shoot at game in cover. "some there may be," said he, "who do things in ignorance of what they do. i am not of these. there is an alternative way of knowing things, viz.--to sift out the good from the many things one hears, and follow it; and to keep in memory the many things one sees." pupils from hu-hiang were difficult to speak with. one youth came to interview the master, and the disciples were in doubt whether he ought to have been seen. "why so much ado," said the master, "at my merely permitting his approach, and not rather at my allowing him to draw back? if a man have cleansed himself in order to come and see me, i receive him as such; but i do not undertake for what he will do when he goes away." "is the philanthropic spirit far to seek, indeed?" the master exclaimed; "i wish for it, and it is with me!" the minister of crime in the state of ch'in asked confucius whether duke ch'an, of lu was acquainted with the proprieties; and he answered, "yes, he knows them." when confucius had withdrawn, the minister bowed to wu-ma k'i, a disciple, and motioned to him to come forward. he said, "i have heard that superior men show no partiality; are they, too, then, partial? that prince took for his wife a lady of the wu family, having the same surname as himself, and had her named 'lady tsz of wu, the elder,' if he knows the proprieties, then who does not?" the disciple reported this to the master, who thereupon remarked, "well for me! if i err in any way, others are sure to know of it." when the master was in company with any one who sang, and who sang well, he must needs have the song over again, and after that would join in it. "although in letters," he said, "i may have none to compare with me, yet in my personification of the 'superior man' i have not as yet been successful." "'a sage and a philanthropist?' how should i have the ambition?" said he. "all that i can well be called is this--an insatiable student, an unwearied teacher;--this, and no more."--"exactly what we, your disciples, cannot by any learning manage to be," said kung-si hwa. once when the master was seriously ill, tsz-lu requested to be allowed to say prayers for him. "are such available?" asked the master. "yes," said he; "and the manual of prayers says, 'pray to the spirits above and to those here below,'" "my praying has been going on a long while," said the master. "lavish living," he said, "renders men disorderly; miserliness makes them hard. better, however, the hard than the disorderly." again, "the man of superior mind is placidly composed; the small-minded man is in a constant state of perturbation." the master was gentle, yet could be severe; had an over-awing presence, yet was not violent; was deferential, yet easy. [footnote : in reference to his editing the six classics of his time.] [footnote : this was one of his "beloved ancients," famous for what he did in helping to found the dynasty of chow, a man of great political wisdom, a scholar also, and poet. it was the "dream" of confucius's life to restore the country to the condition in which the duke of chow left it.] [footnote : these were six in number, viz.: ceremonial, music, archery, horsemanship, language, and calculation.] [footnote : lit., three forces. each force consisted of , men, and three of such forces were the equipment of a greater state.] book viii sayings of tsang--sentences of the master speaking of t'ai-pih the master said that he might be pronounced a man of the highest moral excellence; for he allowed the empire to pass by him onwards to a third heir; while the people, in their ignorance of his motives, were unable to admire him for so doing. "without the proprieties," said the master, "we have these results: for deferential demeanor, a worried one; for calm attentiveness, awkward bashfulness; for manly conduct, disorderliness; for straightforwardness, perversity. "when men of rank show genuine care for those nearest to them in blood, the people rise to the duty of neighborliness and sociability. and when old friendships among them are not allowed to fall off, there will be a cessation of underhand practices among the people." the scholar tsang was once unwell, and calling his pupils to him he said to them, "disclose to view my feet and my hands. what says the ode?-- 'act as from a sense of danger, with precaution and with care, as a yawning gulf o'erlooking, as on ice that scarce will bear,' at all times, my children, i know how to keep myself free from bodily harm." again, during an illness of his, mang king, an official, went to ask after him. the scholar had some conversation with him, in the course of which he said-- "'doleful the cries of a dying bird, good the last words of a dying man,' there are three points which a man of rank in the management of his duties should set store upon:--a lively manner and deportment, banishing both severity and laxity; a frank and open expression of countenance, allied closely with sincerity; and a tone in his utterances utterly free from any approach to vulgarity and impropriety. as to matters of bowls and dishes, leave such things to those who are charged with the care of them." another saying of the scholar tsang: "i once had a friend who, though he possessed ability, would go questioning men of none, and, though surrounded by numbers, would go with his questions to isolated individuals; who also, whatever he might have, appeared as if he were without it, and, with all his substantial acquirements, made as though his mind were a mere blank; and when insulted would not retaliate;--this was ever his way." again he said: "the man that is capable of being intrusted with the charge of a minor on the throne, and given authority over a large territory, and who, during the important term of his superintendence cannot be forced out of his position, is not such a 'superior man'? that he is, indeed." again:--"the learned official must not be without breadth and power of endurance: the burden is heavy, and the way is long. "suppose that he take his duty to his fellow-men as his peculiar burden, is that not indeed a heavy one? and since only with death it is done with, is not the way long?" sentences of the master:-- "from the 'book of odes' we receive impulses; from the 'book of the rules,' stability; from the 'book on music,' refinement. [ ] "the people may be put into the way they should go, though they may not be put into the way of understanding it. "the man who likes bravery, and yet groans under poverty, has mischief in him. so, too, has the misanthrope, groaning at any severity shown towards him. "even if a person were adorned with the gifts of the duke of chow, yet if he were proud and avaricious, all the rest of his qualities would not indeed be worth looking at. "not easily found is the man who, after three years' study, has failed to come upon some fruit of his toil. "the really faithful lover of learning holds fast to the good way till death. "he will not go into a state in which a downfall is imminent, nor take up his abode in one where disorder reigns. when the empire is well ordered he will show himself; when not, he will hide himself away. under a good government it will be a disgrace to him if he remain in poverty and low estate; under a bad one, it would be equally disgraceful to him to hold riches and honors. "if not occupying the office, devise not the policy. "when the professor chi began his duties, how grand the finale of the first of the odes used to be! how it rang in one's ears! "i cannot understand persons who are enthusiastic and yet not straightforward; nor those who are ignorant and yet not attentive; nor again those folks who are simple-minded and yet untrue. "learn, as if never overtaking your object, and yet as if apprehensive of losing it. "how sublime was the handling of the empire by shun and yu!--it was as nothing to them! "how great was yau as a prince! was he not sublime! say that heaven only is great, then was yau alone after its pattern! how profound was he! the people could not find a name for him. how sublime in his achievements! how brilliant in his scholarly productions!" shun had for his ministers five men, by whom he ordered the empire. king wu (in his day) stated that he had ten men as assistants for the promotion of order. with reference to these facts confucius observed, "ability is hard to find. is it not so indeed? during the three years' interregnum between yau and shun there was more of it than in the interval before this present dynasty appeared. there were, at this latter period, one woman, and nine men only. "when two-thirds of the empire were held by king wan, he served with that portion the house of yin. we speak of the virtue of the house of chow; we may say, indeed, that it reached the pinnacle of excellence." "as to yu," added the master, "i can find no flaw in him. living on meagre food and drink; yet providing to the utmost in his filial offerings to the spirits of the dead! dressing in coarse garments; yet most elegant when vested in his sacrificial apron and coronet! dwelling in a poor palace; yet exhausting his energies over those boundary-ditches and watercourses! i can find no flaw in yu." [footnote : comparison of three of the classics: the "shi-king," the "li ki," and the "yoh." the last is lost.] book ix his favorite disciple's opinion of him topics on which the master rarely spoke were--advantage, and destiny, and duty of man to man. a man of the village of tah-hiang exclaimed of him, "a great man is confucius!--a man of extensive learning, and yet in nothing has he quite made himself a name!" the master heard of this, and mentioning it to his disciples he said, "what then shall i take in hand? shall i become a carriage driver, or an archer? let me be a driver!" "the sacrificial cap," he once said, "should, according to the rules, be of linen; but in these days it is of pure silk. however, as it is economical, i do as all do. "the rule says, 'make your bow when at the lower end of the hall'; but nowadays the bowing is done at the upper part. this is great freedom; and i, though i go in opposition to the crowd, bow when at the lower end." the master barred four words:--he would have no "shall's," no "must's," no "certainty's," no "i's." once, in the town of k'wang fearing that his life was going to be taken, the master exclaimed, "king wan is dead and gone; but is not '_wan_' [ ] with you here? if heaven be about to allow this '_wan_' to perish, then they who survive its decease will get no benefit from it. but so long as heaven does not allow it to perish, what can the men of k'wang do to me?" a high state official, after questioning tsz-kung, said, "your master is a sage, then? how many and what varied abilities must be his!" the disciple replied, "certainly heaven is allowing him full opportunities of becoming a sage, in addition to the fact that his abilities are many and varied." when the master heard of this he remarked, "does that high official know me? in my early years my position in life was low, and hence my ability in many ways, though exercised in trifling matters. in the gentleman is there indeed such variety of ability? no." from this, the disciple lau used to say, "'twas a saying of the master: 'at a time when i was not called upon to use them, i acquired my proficiency in the polite arts.'" "am i, indeed," said the master, "possessed of knowledge? i know nothing. let a vulgar fellow come to me with a question--a man with an emptyish head--i may thrash out with him the matter from end to end, and exhaust myself in doing it!" "ah!" exclaimed he once, "the phoenix does not come! and no symbols issue from the river! may i not as well give up?" whenever the master met with a person in mourning, or with one in full-dress cap and kirtle, or with a blind person, although they might be young persons, he would make a point of rising on their appearance, or, if crossing their path, would do so with quickened step! once yen yuen exclaimed with a sigh (with reference to the master's doctrines), "if i look up to them, they are ever the higher; if i try to penetrate them, they are ever the harder; if i gaze at them as if before my eyes, lo, they are behind me!--gradually and gently the master with skill lures men on. by literary lore he gave me breadth; by the rules of propriety he narrowed me down. when i desire a respite, i find it impossible; and after i have exhausted my powers, there seems to be something standing straight up in front of me, and though i have the mind to make towards it i make no advance at all." once when the master was seriously ill, tsz-lu induced the other disciples to feign they were high officials acting in his service. during a respite from his malady the master exclaimed, "ah! how long has tsz-lu's conduct been false? whom should i delude, if i were to pretend to have officials under me, having none? should i deceive heaven? besides, were i to die, i would rather die in the hands of yourselves, my disciples, than in the hands of officials. and though i should fail to have a grand funeral over me, i should hardly be left on my death on the public highway, should i?" tsz-kung once said to him, "here is a fine gem. would you guard it carefully in a casket and store it away, or seek a good price for it and sell it?" "sell it, indeed," said the master--"that would i; but i should wait for the bidder." the master protested he would "go and live among the nine wild tribes." "a rude life," said some one;--"how could you put up with it?" "what rudeness would there be," he replied, "if a 'superior man' was living in their midst?" once he remarked, "after i came back from wei to lu the music was put right, and each of the festal odes and hymns was given its appropriate place and use." "ah! which one of these following," he asked on one occasion, "are to be found exemplified in me--proper service rendered to superiors when abroad; duty to father and elder brother when at home; duty that shrinks from no exertion when dear ones die; and keeping free from the confusing effects of wine?" standing once on the bank of a mountain stream, he said (musingly), "like this are those that pass away--no cessation, day or night!" other sayings:-- "take an illustration from the making of a hill. a simple basketful is wanting to complete it, and the work stops. so i stop short. "take an illustration from the levelling of the ground. suppose again just one basketful is left, when the work has so progressed. there i desist! "ah! it was hwúi, was it not? who, when i had given him his lesson, was the unflagging one! "alas for hwúi! i saw him ever making progress. i never saw him stopping short. "blade, but no bloom--or else bloom, but no produce; aye, that is the way with some! "reverent regard is due to youth. how know we what difference there may be in them in the future from what they are now? yet when they have reached the age of forty or fifty, and are still unknown in the world, then indeed they are no more worthy of such regard. "can any do otherwise than assent to words said to them by way of correction? only let them reform by such advice, and it will then be reckoned valuable. can any be other than pleased with words of gentle suasion? only let them comply with them fully, and such also will be accounted valuable. with those who are pleased without so complying, and those who assent but do not reform, i can do nothing at all. "give prominent place to loyalty and sincerity. "have no associates in study who are not advanced somewhat like yourself. "when you have erred, be not afraid to correct yourself. "it may be possible to seize and carry off the chief commander of a large army, but not possible so to rob one poor fellow of his will. "one who stands--clad in hempen robe, the worse for wear--among others clad in furs of fox and badger, and yet unabashed--'tis tsz-lu, that, is it not?" tsz-lu used always to be humming over the lines-- "from envy and enmity free, what deed doth he other than good?" "how should such a rule of life," asked the master, "be sufficient to make any one good?" "when the year grows chilly, we know the pine and cypress are the last to fade. "the wise escape doubt; the good-hearted, trouble; the bold, apprehension. "some may study side by side, and yet be asunder when they come to the logic of things. some may go on together in this latter course, but be wide apart in the standards they reach in it. some, again, may together reach the same standard, and yet be diverse in weight of character." "the blossom is out on the cherry tree, with a flutter on every spray. dost think that my thoughts go not out to thee? ah, why art thou far away!" commenting on these lines the master said, "there can hardly have been much 'thought going out,' what does distance signify?" [footnote : "wan" was the honorary appellation of the great sage and ruler, whose praise is in the "shi-king" as one of the founders of the chow dynasty, and the term represented civic talent and virtues, as distinct from wu, the martial talent--the latter being the honorary title of his son and successor. "wan" also often stands for literature and polite accomplishments. here confucius simply means, "if you kill me, you kill a sage."] book x confucius in private and official life in his own village, confucius presented a somewhat plain and simple appearance, and looked unlike a man who possessed ability of speech. but in the ancestral temple, and at court, he spoke with the fluency and accuracy of a debater, but ever guardedly. at court, conversing with the lower order of great officials, he spoke somewhat firmly and directly; with those of the higher order his tone was somewhat more affable. when the prince was present he was constrainedly reverent in his movements, and showed a proper degree of grave dignity in demeanor. whenever the prince summoned him to act as usher to the court, his look would change somewhat, and he would make as though he were turning round to do obeisance. he would salute those among whom he took up his position, using the right hand or the left, and holding the skirts of his robe in proper position before and behind. he would make his approaches with quick step, and with elbows evenly bent outwards. when the visitor withdrew, he would not fail to report the execution of his commands, with the words, "the visitor no longer looks back." when he entered the palace gate, it was with the body somewhat bent forward, almost as though he could not be admitted. when he stood still, this would never happen in the middle of the gateway; nor when moving about would he ever tread on the threshold. when passing the throne, his look would change somewhat, he would turn aside and make a sort of obeisance, and the words he spoke seemed as though he were deficient in utterance. on going up the steps to the audience chamber, he would gather up with both hands the ends of his robe, and walk with his body bent somewhat forward, holding back his breath like one in whom respiration has ceased. on coming out, after descending one step his countenance would relax and assume an appearance of satisfaction. arrived at the bottom, he would go forward with quick step, his elbows evenly bent outwards, back to his position, constrainedly reverent in every movement. when holding the sceptre in his hand, his body would be somewhat bent forward, as if he were not equal to carrying it; wielding it now higher, as in a salutation, now lower, as in the presentation of a gift; his look would also be changed and appear awestruck; and his gait would seem retarded, as if he were obeying some restraining hand behind. when he presented the gifts of ceremony, he would assume a placid expression of countenance. at the private interview he would be cordial and affable. the good man would use no purple or violet colors for the facings of his dress. [ ] nor would he have red or orange color for his undress. [ ] for the hot season he wore a singlet, of either coarse or fine texture, but would also feel bound to have an outer garment covering it. for his black robe he had lamb's wool; for his white one, fawn's fur; and for his yellow one, fox fur. his furred undress robe was longer, but the right sleeve was shortened. he would needs have his sleeping-dress one and a half times his own length. for ordinary home wear he used thick substantial fox or badger furs. when he left off mourning, he would wear all his girdle trinkets. his kirtle in front, when it was not needed for full cover, he must needs have cut down. he would never wear his (black) lamb's-wool, or a dark-colored cap, when he went on visits of condolence to mourners. [ ] on the first day of the new moon, he must have on his court dress and to court. when observing his fasts, he made a point of having bright, shiny garments, made of linen. he must also at such times vary his food, and move his seat to another part of his dwelling-room. as to his food, he never tired of rice so long as it was clean and pure, nor of hashed meats when finely minced. rice spoiled by damp, and sour, he would not touch, nor tainted fish, nor bad meat, nor aught of a bad color or smell, nor aught overdone in cooking, nor aught out of season. neither would he eat anything that was not properly cut, or that lacked its proper seasonings. although there might be an abundance of meat before him, he would not allow a preponderance of it to rob the rice of its beneficial effect in nutrition. only in the matter of wine did he set himself no limit, yet he never drank so much as to confuse himself. tradesmen's wines, and dried meats from the market, he would not touch. ginger he would never have removed from the table during a meal. he was not a great eater. meat from the sacrifices at the prince's temple he would never put aside till the following day. the meat of his own offerings he would never give out after three days' keeping, for after that time none were to eat it. at his meals he would not enter into discussions; and when reposing (afterwards) he would not utter a word. even should his meal consist only of coarse rice and vegetable broth or melons, he would make an offering, and never fail to do so religiously. he would never sit on a mat that was not straight. after a feast among his villagers, he would wait before going away until the old men had left. when the village people were exorcising the pests, he would put on his court robes and stand on the steps of his hall to receive them. when he was sending a message of inquiry to a person in another state, he would bow twice on seeing the messenger off. ki k'ang once sent him a present of some medicine. he bowed, and received it; but remarked, "until i am quite sure of its properties i must not venture to taste it." once when the stabling was destroyed by fire, he withdrew from the court, and asked, "is any person injured? "--without inquiring as to the horses. whenever the prince sent him a present of food, he was particular to set his mat in proper order, and would be the first one to taste it. if the prince's present was one of raw meat, he must needs have it cooked, and make an oblation of it. if the gift were a live animal, he would be sure to keep it and care for it. when he was in waiting, and at a meal with the prince, the prince would make the offering,[ ] and he (the master) was the pregustator. when unwell, and the prince came to see him, he would arrange his position so that his head inclined towards the east, would put over him his court robes, and draw his girdle across them. when summoned by order of the prince, he would start off without waiting for his horses to be put to. on his entry into the grand temple, he inquired about everything connected with its usages. if a friend died, and there were no near relatives to take him to, he would say, "let him be buried from my house." for a friend's gift--unless it consisted of meat that had been offered in sacrifice--he would not bow, even if it were a carriage and horses. in repose he did not lie like one dead. in his home life he was not formal in his manner. whenever he met with a person in mourning, even though it were a familiar acquaintance, he would be certain to change his manner; and when he met with any one in full-dress cap, or with any blind person, he would also unfailingly put on a different look, even though he were himself in undress at the time. in saluting any person wearing mourning he would bow forwards towards the front bar of his carriage; in the same manner he would also salute the bearer of a census-register. when a sumptuous banquet was spread before him, a different expression would be sure to appear in his features, and he would rise up from his seat. at a sudden thunder-clap, or when the wind grew furious, his look would also invariably be changed. on getting into his car, he would never fail (first) to stand up erect, holding on by the strap. when in the car, he would never look about, nor speak hastily, nor bring one hand to the other. "let one but make a movement in his face, and the bird will rise and seek some safer place." apropos of this, he said, "here is a hen-pheasant from shan liang--and in season! and in season!" after tsz-lu had got it prepared, he smelt it thrice, and then rose up from his seat. [footnote : because, it is said, such colors were adopted in fasting and mourning.] [footnote : because they did not belong to the five correct colors (viz. green, yellow, carnation, white, and black), and were affected more by females.] [footnote : since white was, as it is still, the mourning color.] [footnote : the act of "grace," before eating.] book xi comparative worth of his disciples "the first to make progress in the proprieties and in music," said the master, "are plain countrymen; after them, the men of higher standing. if i had to employ any of them, i should stand by the former." "of those," said he, "who were about me when i was in the ch'in and ts'ai states, not one now is left to approach my door." "as for hwui," [ ] said the master, "he is not one to help me on: there is nothing i say but he is not well satisfied with." "what a dutiful son was min tsz-k'ien!" he exclaimed. "no one finds occasion to differ from what his parents and brothers have said of him." nan yung used to repeat three times over the lines in the odes about the white sceptre. confucius caused his own elder brother's daughter to be given in marriage to him. when ki k'ang inquired which of the disciples were fond of learning, confucius answered him, "there was one yen hwúi who was fond of it; but unfortunately his allotted time was short, and he died; and now his like is not to be found." when yen yuen died, his father, yen lu, begged for the master's carriage in order to get a shell for his coffin. "ability or no ability," said the master, "every father still speaks of 'my son.' when my own son li died, and the coffin for him had no shell to it, i know i did not go on foot to get him one; but that was because i was, though retired, in the wake of the ministers, and could not therefore well do so." on the death of yen yuen the master exclaimed, "ah me! heaven is ruining me, heaven is ruining me!" on the same occasion, his wailing for that disciple becoming excessive, those who were about him said, "sir, this is too much!"--"too much?" said he; "if i am not to do so for him, then--for whom else?" the disciples then wished for the deceased a grand funeral. the master could not on his part consent to this. they nevertheless gave him one. upon this he remarked, "he used to look upon me as if i were his father. i could never, however, look on him as a son. twas not my mistake, but yours, my children." tsz-lu propounded a question about ministering to the spirits of the departed. the master replied, "where there is scarcely the ability to minister to living men, how shall there be ability to minister to the spirits?" on his venturing to put a question concerning death, he answered, "where there is scarcely any knowledge about life, how shall there be any about death?" the disciple min was by his side, looking affable and bland; tsz-lu also, looking careless and intrepid; and yen yu and tsz-kung, firm and precise. the master was cheery. "one like tsz-lu there," said he, "does not come to a natural end." some persons in lu were taking measures in regard to the long treasury house. min tsz-k'ien observed, "how if it were repaired on the old lines?" the master upon this remarked, "this fellow is not a talker, but when he does speak he is bound to hit the mark!" "there is yu's harpsichord," exclaimed the master--"what is it doing at my door?" on seeing, however, some disrespect shown to him by the other disciples, he added, "yu has got as far as the top of the hall; only he has not yet entered the house." tsz-kung asked which was the worthier of the two--tsz-chang or tsz-hiá. "the former," answered the master, "goes beyond the mark; the latter falls short of it." "so then tsz-chang is the better of the two, is he?" said he. "to go too far," he replied, "is about the same as to fall short." the chief of the ki family was a wealthier man than the duke of chow had been, and yet yen yu gathered and hoarded for him, increasing his wealth more and more. "he is no follower of mine," said the master. "it would serve him right, my children, to sound the drum, and set upon him." characteristics of four disciples:--tsz-káu was simple-minded; tsang si, a dullard; tsz-chang, full of airs; tsz-lu, rough. "as to hwúi," said the master, "he comes near to perfection, while frequently in great want. tsz-kung does not submit to the appointments of heaven; and yet his goods are increased;--he is often successful in his calculations." tsz-chang wanted to know some marks of the naturally good man. "he does not walk in others' footprints," said the master; "yet he does not get beyond the hall into the house." once the master said, "because we allow that a man's words have something genuine in them, are they necessarily those of a superior man? or words carrying only an outward semblance and show of gravity?" tsz-lu put a question about the practice of precepts one has heard. the master's reply was, "in a case where there is a father or elder brother still left with you, how should you practise all you hear?" when, however, the same question was put to him by yen yu, his reply was, "yes; do so." kung-si hwa animadverted upon this to the master. "tsz-lu asked you, sir," said he, "about the practice of what one has learnt, and you said, 'there may be a father or elder brother still alive'; but when yen yu asked the same question, you answered, 'yes, do so.' i am at a loss to understand you, and venture to ask what you meant." the master replied, "yen yu backs out of his duties; therefore i push him on. tsz-lu has forwardness enough for them both; therefore i hold him back." on the occasion of that time of fear in k'wang, yen yuen having fallen behind, the master said to him (afterwards), "i took it for granted you were a dead man." "how should i dare to die," said he, "while you, sir, still lived?" on ki tsz-jen putting to him a question anent tsz-lu and yen yu, as to whether they might be called "great ministers," the master answered, "i had expected your question, sir, to be about something extraordinary, and lo! it is only about these two. those whom we call 'great ministers' are such as serve their prince conscientiously, and who, when they cannot do so, retire. at present, as regards the two you ask about, they may be called 'qualified ministers.'" "well, are they then," he asked, "such as will follow their leader?" "they would not follow him who should slay his father and his prince!" was the reply. through the intervention of tsz-lu, tsz-kau was being appointed governor of pi. "you are spoiling a good man's son," said the master. tsz-lu rejoined, "but he will have the people and their superiors to gain experience from, and there will be the altars; what need to read books? he can become a student afterwards." "here is the reason for my hatred of glib-tongued people," said the master. on one occasion tsz-lu, tsang sin, yen yu, and kung-si hwa were sitting near him. he said to them, "though i may be a day older than you, do not (for the moment) regard me as such. while you are living this unoccupied life you are saying, 'we do not become known.' now suppose some one got to know you, what then?" tsz-lu--first to speak--at once answered, "give me a state of large size and armament, hemmed in and hampered by other larger states, the population augmented by armies and regiments, causing a dearth in it of food of all kinds; give me charge of that state, and in three years' time i should make a brave country of it, and let it know its place." the master smiled at him. "yen," said he, "how would it be with you?" "give me," said yen, "a territory of sixty or seventy li square, or of fifty or sixty square; put me in charge of that, and in three years i should make the people sufficiently prosperous. as regards their knowledge of ceremonial or music, i should wait for superior men to teach them that." "and with you, kung-si, how would it be?" this disciple's reply was, "i have nothing to say about my capabilities for such matters; my wish is to learn. i should like to be a junior assistant, in dark robe and cap, at the services of the ancestral temple, and at the grand receptions of the princes by the sovereign." "and with you, tsang sin?" this disciple was strumming on his harpsichord, but now the twanging ceased, he turned from the instrument, rose to his feet, and answered thus: "something different from the choice of these three." "what harm?" said the master; "i want each one of you to tell me what his heart is set upon." "well, then," said he, "give me--in the latter part of spring--dressed in full spring-tide attire--in company with five or six young fellows of twenty, [ ] or six or seven lads under that age, to do the ablutions in the i stream, enjoy a breeze in the rain-dance, [ ] and finish up with songs on the road home." the master drew in his breath, sighed, and exclaimed, "ah, i take with you!" the three other disciples having gone out, leaving tsang sin behind, the latter said, "what think you of the answers of those three?"--"well, each told me what was uppermost in his mind," said the master;--"simply that." "why did you smile at tsz-lu, sir?" "i smiled at him because to have the charge of a state requires due regard to the rules of propriety, and his words betrayed a lack of modesty." "but yen, then--he had a state in view, had he not?" "i should like to be shown a territory such as he described which does not amount to a state." "but had not kung-si also a state in view?" "what are ancestral temples and grand receptions, but for the feudal lords to take part in? if kung-si were to become an unimportant assistant at these functions, who could become an important one?" [footnote : the men of virtuous life were yen yuen (hwúi), min tsz-k'ien, yen pihniu, and chung-kung (yen yung); the speakers and debaters were tsai wo and tsz-kung; the (capable) government servants were yen yu and tsz-lu; the literary students, tsz-yu and tsz-hiá.] [footnote : lit., capped ones. at twenty they underwent the ceremony of capping, and were considered men.] [footnote : i.e., before the altars, where offerings were placed with prayer for rain. a religious dance.] book xii the master's answers--philanthropy--friendships yen yuen was asking about man's proper regard for his fellow-man. the master said to him, "self-control, and a habit of falling back upon propriety, virtually effect it. let these conditions be fulfilled for one day, and every one round will betake himself to the duty. is it to begin in one's self, or think you, indeed! it is to begin in others?" "i wanted you to be good enough," said yen yuen, "to give me a brief synopsis of it." then said the master, "without propriety use not your eyes; without it use not your ears, nor your tongue, nor a limb of your body." "i may be lacking in diligence," said yen yuen, "but with your favor i will endeavor to carry out this advice." chung-kung asked about man's proper regard for his fellows. to him the master replied thus: "when you go forth from your door, be as if you were meeting some guest of importance. when you are making use of the common people (for state purposes), be as if you were taking part in a great religious function. do not set before others what you do not desire yourself. let there be no resentful feelings against you when you are away in the country, and none when at home." "i may lack diligence," said chung-kung, "but with your favor i will endeavor to carry out this advice." sz-ma niu asked the like question. the answer he received was this: "the words of the man who has a proper regard for his fellows are uttered with difficulty." "'his words--uttered with difficulty?'" he echoed, in surprise. "is that what is meant by proper regard for one's fellow-creatures?" "where there is difficulty in doing," the master replied, "will there not be some difficulty in utterance?" the same disciple put a question about the "superior man." "superior men," he replied, "are free from trouble and apprehension." "'free from trouble and apprehension!'" said he. "does that make them 'superior men'?" the master added, "where there is found, upon introspection, to be no chronic disease, how shall there be any trouble? how shall there be any apprehension?" the same disciple, being in trouble, remarked, "i am alone in having no brother, while all else have theirs--younger or elder." tsz-hiá said to him, "i have heard this: 'death and life have destined times; wealth and honors rest with heaven. let the superior man keep watch over himself without ceasing, showing deference to others, with propriety of manners--and all within the four seas will be his brethren. how should he be distressed for lack of brothers!'" [ ] tsz-chang asked what sort of man might be termed "enlightened." the master replied, "that man with whom drenching slander and cutting calumny gain no currency may well be called enlightened. ay, he with whom such things make no way may well be called enlightened in the extreme." tsz-kung put a question relative to government. in reply the master mentioned three essentials:--sufficient food, sufficient armament, and the people's confidence. "but," said the disciple, "if you cannot really have all three, and one has to be given up, which would you give up first?" "the armament," he replied. "and if you are obliged to give up one of the remaining two, which would it be?" "the food," said he. "death has been the portion of all men from of old. without the people's trust nothing can stand." kih tsz-shing once said, "give me the inborn qualities of a gentleman, and i want no more. how are such to come from book-learning?" tsz-kung exclaimed, "ah! sir, i regret to hear such words from you. a gentleman!--but 'a team of four can ne'er o'er-take the tongue!' literary accomplishments are much the same as inborn qualities, and inborn qualities as literary accomplishments. a tiger's or leopard's skin without the hair might be a dog's or sheep's when so made bare." duke ngai was consulting yu joh. said he, "it is a year of dearth, and there is an insufficiency for ways and means--what am i to do?" "why not apply the tithing statute?" said the minister. "but two tithings would not be enough for my purposes," said the duke; "what would be the good of applying the statute?" the minister replied, "so long as the people have enough left for themselves, who of them will allow their prince to be without enough? but--when the people have not enough, who will allow their prince all that he wants?" tsz-chang was asking how the standard of virtue was to be raised, and how to discern what was illusory or misleading. the master's answer was, "give a foremost place to honesty and faithfulness, and tread the path of righteousness, and you will raise the standard of virtue. as to discerning what is illusory, here is an example of an illusion:--whom you love you wish to live; whom you hate you wish to die. to have wished the same person to live and also to be dead--there is an illusion for you." duke king of ts'i consulted confucius about government. his answer was, "let a prince be a prince, and ministers be ministers; let fathers be fathers, and sons be sons." "good!" exclaimed the duke; "truly if a prince fail to be a prince, and ministers to be ministers, and if fathers be not fathers, and sons not sons, then, even though i may have my allowance of grain, should i ever be able to relish it?" "the man to decide a cause with half a word," exclaimed the master, "is tsz-lu!" tsz-lu never let a night pass between promise and performance. "in hearing causes, i am like other men," said the master. "the great point is--to prevent litigation." tsz-chang having raised some question about government, the master said to him, "in the settlement of its principles be unwearied; in its administration--see to that loyally." "the man of wide research," said he, "who also restrains himself by the rules of propriety, is not likely to transgress." again, "the noble-minded man makes the most of others' good qualities, not the worst of their bad ones. men of small mind do the reverse of this." ki k'ang was consulting him about the direction of public affairs. confucius answered him, "a director should be himself correct. if you, sir, as a leader show correctness, who will dare not to be correct?" ki k'ang, being much troubled on account of robbers abroad, consulted confucius on the matter. he received this reply: "if you, sir, were not covetous, neither would they steal, even were you to bribe them to do so." ki k'ang, when consulting confucius about the government, said, "suppose i were to put to death the disorderly for the better encouragement of the orderly--what say you to that?" "sir," replied confucius, "in the administration of government why resort to capital punishment? covet what is good, and the people will be good. the virtue of the noble-minded man is as the wind, and that of inferior men as grass; the grass must bend, when the wind blows upon it." tsz-chang asked how otherwise he would describe the learned official who might be termed influential. "what, i wonder, do you mean by one who is influential?" said the master. "i mean," replied the disciple, "one who is sure to have a reputation throughout the country, as well as at home." "that," said the master, "is reputation, not influence. the influential man, then, if he be one who is genuinely straightforward and loves what is just and right, a discriminator of men's words, and an observer of their looks, and in honor careful to prefer others to himself--will certainly have influence, both throughout the country and at home. the man of mere reputation, on the other hand, who speciously affects philanthropy, though in his way of procedure he acts contrary to it, while yet quite evidently engrossed with that virtue--will certainly have reputation, both in the country and at home." fan ch'i, strolling with him over the ground below the place of the rain-dance, said to him, "i venture to ask how to raise the standard of virtue, how to reform dissolute habits, and how to discern what is illusory?" "ah! a good question indeed!" he exclaimed. "well, is not putting duty first, and success second, a way of raising the standard of virtue? and is not attacking the evil in one's self, and not the evil which is in others, a way of reforming dissolute habits? and as to illusions, is not one morning's fit of anger, causing a man to forget himself, and even involving in the consequences those who are near and dear to him--is not that an illusion?" the same disciple asked him what was meant by "a right regard for one's fellow-creatures." he replied, "it is love to man." asked by him again what was meant by wisdom, he replied, "it is knowledge of man." fan ch'i did not quite grasp his meaning. the master went on to say, "lift up the straight, set aside the crooked, so can you make the crooked straight." fan ch'i left him, and meeting with tsz-hiá he said, "i had an interview just now with the master, and i asked him what wisdom was. in his answer he said, 'lift up the straight, set aside the crooked, and so can you make the crooked straight.' what was his meaning?" "ah! words rich in meaning, those," said the other. "when shun was emperor, and was selecting his men from among the multitude, he 'lifted up' káu-yáu; and men devoid of right feelings towards their kind went far away. and when t'ang was emperor, and chose out his men from the crowd, he 'lifted up' i-yin--with the same result." tsz-kung was consulting him about a friend. "speak to him frankly, and respectfully," said the master, "and gently lead him on. if you do not succeed, then stop; do not submit yourself to indignity." the learned tsang observed, "in the society of books the 'superior man' collects his friends; in the society of his friends he is furthering good-will among men." [footnote : from confucius, it is generally thought.] book xiii answers on the art of governing--consistency tsz-lu was asking about government. "lead the way in it," said the master, "and work hard at it." requested to say more, he added, "and do not tire of it." chung-kung, on being made first minister to the chief of the ki family, consulted the master about government, and to him he said, "let the heads of offices be heads. excuse small faults. promote men of sagacity and talent." "but," he asked, "how am i to know the sagacious and talented, before promoting them?" "promote those whom you do know," said the master. "as to those of whom you are uncertain, will others omit to notice them?" tsz-lu said to the master, "as the prince of wei, sir, has been waiting for you to act for him in his government, what is it your intention to take in hand first?" "one thing of necessity," he answered--"the rectification of terms." "that!" exclaimed tsz-lu. "how far away you are, sir! why such rectification?" "what a rustic you are, tsz-lu!" rejoined the master. "a gentleman would be a little reserved and reticent in matters which he does not understand. if terms be incorrect, language will be incongruous; and if language be incongruous, deeds will be imperfect. so, again, when deeds are imperfect, propriety and harmony cannot prevail, and when this is the case laws relating to crime will fail in their aim; and if these last so fail, the people will not know where to set hand or foot. hence, a man of superior mind, certain first of his terms, is fitted to speak; and being certain of what he says can proceed upon it. in the language of such a person there is nothing heedlessly irregular--and that is the sum of the matter." fan ch'i requested that he might learn something of husbandry. "for that." said the master, "i am not equal to an old husbandman." might he then learn something of gardening? he asked. "i am not equal to an old gardener." was the reply. "a man of little mind, that!" said the master, when fan ch'i had gone out. "let a man who is set over the people love propriety, and they will not presume to be disrespectful. let him be a lover of righteousness, and they will not presume to be aught but submissive. let him love faithfulness and truth, and they will not presume not to lend him their hearty assistance. ah, if all this only were so, the people from all sides would come to such a one, carrying their children on their backs. what need to turn his hand to husbandry? "though a man," said he, "could hum through the odes--the three hundred--yet should show himself unskilled when given some administrative work to do for his country; though he might know much of that other lore, yet if, when sent on a mission to any quarter, he could answer no question personally and unaided, what after all is he good for? "let a leader," said he, "show rectitude in his own personal character, and even without directions from him things will go well. if he be not personally upright, his directions will not be complied with." once he made the remark, "the governments of lu and of wei are in brotherhood." of king, a son of the duke of wei, he observed that "he managed his household matters well. on his coming into possession, he thought, 'what a strange conglomeration!'--coming to possess a little more, it was, 'strange, such a result!' and when he became wealthy, 'strange, such elegance!'" the master was on a journey to wei, and yen yu was driving him. "what multitudes of people!" he exclaimed. yen yu asked him, "seeing they are so numerous, what more would you do for them?" "enrich them," replied the master. "and after enriching them, what more would you do for them?" "instruct them." "were any one of our princes to employ me," he said, "after a twelvemonth i might have made some tolerable progress;" again, "how true is that saying, 'let good men have the management of a country for a century, and they would be adequate to cope with evil-doers, and thus do away with capital punishments,'" again, "suppose the ruler to possess true kingly qualities, then surely after one generation there would be good-will among men." again, "let a ruler but see to his own rectitude, and what trouble will he then have in the work before him? if he be unable to rectify himself, how is he to rectify others?" once when yen yu was leaving the court, the master accosted him. "why so late?" he asked. "busy with legislation," yen replied. "the details of it," suggested the master; "had it been legislation, i should have been there to hear it, even though i am not in office." duke ting asked if there were one sentence which, if acted upon, might have the effect of making a country prosperous. confucius answered, "a sentence could hardly be supposed to do so much as that. but there is a proverb people use which says, 'to play the prince is hard, to play the minister not easy.' assuming that it is understood that 'to play the prince is hard,' would it not be probable that with that one sentence the country should be made to prosper?" "is there, then," he asked, "one sentence which, if acted upon, would have the effect of ruining a country?" confucius again replied, "a sentence could hardly be supposed to do so much as that. but there is a proverb men have which says, 'not gladly would i play the prince, unless my words were ne'er withstood.' assuming that the words were good, and that none withstood them, would not that also be good? but assuming that they were not good, and yet none withstood them, would it not be probable that with that one saying he would work his country's ruin?" when the duke of sheh consulted him about government, he replied, "where the near are gratified, the far will follow." when tsz-hiá became governor of kü-fu, and consulted him about government, he answered, "do not wish for speedy results. do not look at trivial advantages. if you wish for speedy results, they will not be far-reaching; and if you regard trivial advantages you will not successfully deal with important affairs." the duke of sheh in a conversation with confucius said, "there are some straightforward persons in my neighborhood. if a father has stolen a sheep, the son will give evidence against him." "straightforward people in my neighborhood are different from those," said confucius. "the father will hold a thing secret on his son's behalf, and the son does the same for his father. they are on their way to becoming straightforward." fan ch'i was asking him about duty to one's fellow-men. "be courteous," he replied, "in your private sphere; be serious in any duty you take in hand to do; be leal-hearted in your intercourse with others. even though you were to go amongst the wild tribes, it would not be right for you to neglect these duties." in answer to tsz-kung, who asked, "how he would characterize one who could fitly be called 'learned official,'" the master said, "he may be so-called who in his private life is affected with a sense of his own unworthiness, and who, when sent on a mission to any quarter of the empire, would not disgrace his prince's commands." "may i presume," said his questioner, "to ask what sort you would put next to such?" "him who is spoken of by his kinsmen as a dutiful son, and whom the folks of his neighborhood call' good brother.'" "may i still venture to ask whom you would place next in order?" "such as are sure to be true to their word, and effective in their work--who are given to hammering, as it were, upon one note--of inferior calibre indeed, but fit enough, i think, to be ranked next." "how would you describe those who are at present in the government service?" "ugh! mere peck and panier men!--not worth taking into the reckoning." once he remarked, "if i cannot get _via media_ men to impart instruction to, then i must of course take the impetuous and undisciplined! the impetuous ones will at least go forward and lay hold on things; and the undisciplined have at least something in them which needs to be brought out." "the southerners," said he, "have the proverb, 'the man who sticks not to rule will never make a charm-worker or a medical man,' good!--'whoever is intermittent in his practise of virtue will live to be ashamed of it.' without prognostication," he added, "that will indeed be so." "the nobler-minded man," he remarked, "will be agreeable even when he disagrees; the small-minded man will agree and be disagreeable." tsz-kung was consulting him, and asked, "what say you of a person who was liked by all in his village?" "that will scarcely do," he answered. "what, then, if they all disliked him?" "that, too," said he, "is scarcely enough. better if he were liked by the good folk in the village, and disliked by the bad." "the superior man," he once observed, "is easy to serve, but difficult to please. try to please him by the adoption of wrong principles, and you will fail. also, when such a one employs others, he uses them according to their capacity. the inferior man is, on the other hand, difficult to serve, but easy to please. try to please him by the adoption of wrong principles, and you will succeed. and when he employs others he requires them to be fully prepared for everything." again, "the superior man can be high without being haughty. the inferior man can be haughty if not high." "the firm, the unflinching, the plain and simple, the slow to speak," said he once, "are approximating towards their duty to their fellow-men." tsz-lu asked how he would characterize one who might fitly be called an educated gentleman. the master replied, "he who can properly be so-called will have in him a seriousness of purpose, a habit of controlling himself, and an agreeableness of manner: among his friends and associates the seriousness and the self-control, and among his brethren the agreeableness of manner." "let good and able men discipline the people for seven years," said the master, "and after that they may do to go to war." but, said he, "to lead an undisciplined people to war--that i call throwing them away." book xiv good and bad government--miscellaneous sayings yuen sz asked what might be considered to bring shame on one. "pay," said the master; "pay--ever looking to that, whether the country be well or badly governed." "when imperiousness, boastfulness, resentments, and covetousness cease to prevail among the people, may it be considered that mutual good-will has been effected?" to this question the master replied, "a hard thing overcome, it may be considered. but as to the mutual good-will--i cannot tell." "learned officials," said he, "who hanker after a home life, are not worthy of being esteemed as such." again, "in a country under good government, speak boldly, act boldly. when the land is ill-governed, though you act boldly, let your words be moderate." again, "men of virtue will needs be men of words--will speak out--but men of words are not necessarily men of virtue. they who care for their fellow-men will needs be bold, but the bold may not necessarily be such as care for their fellow-men." nan-kung kwoh, who was consulting confucius, observed respecting i, the skilful archer, and ngau, who could propel a boat on dry land, that neither of them died a natural death; while yu and tsih, who with their own hands had labored at husbandry, came to wield imperial sway. the master gave him no reply. but when the speaker had gone out he exclaimed, "a superior man, that! a man who values virtue, that!" "there have been noble-minded men," said he, "who yet were wanting in philanthropy; but never has there been a small-minded man who had philanthropy in him." he asked, "can any one refuse to toil for those he loves? can any one refuse to exhort, who is true-hearted?" speaking of the preparation of government notifications in his day he said, "p'i would draw up a rough sketch of what was to be said; the shishuh then looked it carefully through and put it into proper shape; tsz-yu next, who was master of the ceremonial of state intercourse, improved and adorned its phrases; and tsz-ch'an of tung-li added his scholarly embellishments thereto." to some one who asked his opinion of the last-named, he said, "he was a kind-hearted man." asked what he thought of tsz-si, he exclaimed, "alas for him! alas for him!"--asked again about kwan chung, his answer was, "as to him, he once seized the town of p'in with its three hundred families from the chief of the pih clan, who, afterwards reduced to living upon coarse rice, with all his teeth gone, never uttered a word of complaint." "it is no light thing," said he, "to endure poverty uncomplainingly; and a difficult thing to bear wealth without becoming arrogant." respecting mang kung-ch'oh, he said that, while he was fitted for something better than the post of chief officer in the cháu or wei families, he was not competent to act as minister in small states like those of t'ang or sieh. tsz-lu asked how he would describe a perfect man. he replied, "let a man have the sagacity of tsang wu-chung, the freedom from covetousness of kung-ch'oh, the boldness of chwang of p'in, and the attainments in polite arts of yen yu; and gift him further with the graces taught by the 'books of rites' and 'music'--then he may be considered a perfect man. but," said he, "what need of such in these days? the man that may be regarded as perfect now is the one who, seeing some advantage to himself, is mindful of righteousness; who, seeing danger, risks his life; and who, if bound by some covenant of long standing, never forgets its conditions as life goes on." respecting kung-shuh wan, the master inquired of kung-ming kiá, saying, "is it true that your master never speaks, never laughs, never takes aught from others?" "those who told you that of him," said he, "have gone too far. my master speaks when there is occasion to do so, and men are not surfeited with his speaking. when there is occasion to be merry too, he will laugh, but men have never overmuch of his laughing. and whenever it is just and right to take things from others, he will take them, but never so as to allow men to think him burdensome." "is that the case with him?" said the master. "can it be so?" respecting tsang wu-chung the master said, "when he sought from lu the appointment of a successor to him, and for this object held on to his possession of the fortified city of fang--if you say he was not then using constraint towards his prince, i must refuse to believe it." duke wan of tsin he characterized as "artful but not upright"; and duke hwan of ts'i as "upright but not artful." tsz-lu remarked, "when duke hwan caused his brother kiu to be put to death, shau hwuh committed suicide, but kwan chung did not. i should say he was not a man who had much good-will in him--eh?" the master replied, "when duke hwan held a great gathering of the feudal lords, dispensing with military equipage, it was owing to kwan chung's energy that such an event was brought about. match such good-will as that--match it if you can." tsz-kung then spoke up. "but was not kwan chung wanting in good-will? he could not give up his life when duke hwan caused his brother to be put to death. besides, he became the duke's counsellor." "and in acting as his counsellor put him at the head of all the feudal lords," said the master, "and unified and reformed the whole empire; and the people, even to this day, reap benefit from what he did. had it not been for him we should have been going about with locks unkempt and buttoning our jackets (like barbarians) on the left. would you suppose that he should show the same sort of attachment as exists between a poor yokel and his one wife--that he would asphyxiate himself in some sewer, leaving no one the wiser?" kung-shuh wan's steward, who became the high officer sien, went up accompanied by wan to the prince's hall of audience. when confucius heard of this he remarked, "he may well be esteemed a 'wan,'" the master having made some reference to the lawless ways of duke ling of wei, ki k'ang said to him, "if he be like that, how is it he does not ruin his position?" confucius answered, "the chung-shuh, yu, is charged with the entertainment of visitors and strangers; the priest t'o has charge of the ancestral temple; and wang-sun kiá has the control of the army and its divisions:--with men such as those, how should he come to ruin?" he once remarked, "he who is unblushing in his words will with difficulty substantiate them." ch'in shing had slain duke kien. hearing of this, confucius, after performing his ablutions, went to court and announced the news to duke ngai, saying, "ch'in hang has slain his prince. may i request that you proceed against him?" "inform the chiefs of the three families," said the duke. soliloquizing upon this, confucius said, "since he uses me to back his ministers, [ ] i did not dare not to announce the matter to him; and now he says, 'inform the three chiefs.'" he went to the three chiefs and informed them, but nothing could be done. whereupon again he said, "since he uses me to back his ministers, i did not dare not to announce the matter." tsz-lu was questioning him as to how he should serve his prince. "deceive him not, but reprove him," he answered. "the minds of superior men," he observed, "trend upwards; those of inferior men trend downwards." again, "students of old fixed their eyes upon themselves: now they learn with their eyes upon others." kü pih-yuh despatched a man with a message to confucius. confucius gave him a seat, and among other inquiries he asked, "how is your master managing?" "my master," he replied, "has a great wish to be seldom at fault, and as yet he cannot manage it." "what a messenger!" exclaimed he admiringly, when the man went out. "what a messenger!" "when not occupying the office," was a remark of his, "devise not the policy." the learned tsang used to say, "the thoughts of the 'superior man' do not wander from his own office." "superior men," said the master, "are modest in their words, profuse in their deeds." again, "there are three attainments of the superior man which are beyond me--the being sympathetic without anxiety, wise without scepticism, brave without fear." "sir," said tsz-kung, "that is what you say of yourself." whenever tsz-kung drew comparisons from others, the master would say, "ah, how wise and great you must have become! now i have no time to do that." again, "my great concern is, not that men do not know me, but that they cannot." again, "if a man refrain from making preparations against his being imposed upon, and from counting upon others' want of good faith towards him, while he is foremost to perceive what is passing--surely that is a wise and good man." wi-shang mau accosted confucius, saying, "kiu, how comes it that you manage to go perching and roosting in this way? is it not because you show yourself so smart a speaker, now?" "i should not dare do that," said confucius. "tis that i am sick of men's immovableness and deafness to reason." "in a well-bred horse," said he, "what one admires is not its speed, but its good points." some one asked, "what say you of the remark, 'requite enmity with kindness'?" "how then," he answered, "would you requite kindness? requite enmity with straightforwardness, and kindness with kindness." "ah! no one knows me!" he once exclaimed. "sir," said tsz-kung, "how comes it to pass that no one knows you?" "while i murmur not against heaven," continued the master, "nor cavil at men; while i stoop to learn and aspire to penetrate into things that are high; yet 'tis heaven alone knows what i am." liáu, a kinsman of the duke, having laid a complaint against tsz-lu before ki k'ang, an officer came to confucius to inform him of the fact, and he added, "my lord is certainly having his mind poisoned by his kinsman liáu, but through my influence perhaps we may yet manage to see him exposed in the marketplace or the court." "if right principles are to have their course, it is so destined," said the master; "if they are not to have their course, it is so destined. what can liáu do against destiny?" "there are worthy men," said the master, "fleeing from the world; some from their district; some from the sight of men's looks; some from the language they hear." "the men who have risen from their posts and withdrawn in this manner are seven in number." tsz-lu, having lodged overnight in shih-mun, was accosted by the gate-keeper in the morning. "where from?" he asked. "from confucius," tsz-lu responded. "that is the man," said he, "who knows things are not up to the mark, and is making some ado about them, is it not?" when the master was in wei, he was once pounding on the musical stone, when a man with a basket of straw crossed his threshold, and exclaimed, "ah, there is a heart that feels! aye, drub the stone!" after which he added, "how vulgar! how he hammers away on one note!--and no one knows him, and he gives up, and all is over! be it deep, our skirts we'll raise to the waist, --or shallow, then up to the knee,'" "what determination!" said the master. "yet it was not hard to do." tsz-chang once said to him, "in the 'book of the annals' it is stated that while káu-tsung was in the mourning shed he spent the three years without speaking. what is meant by that?" "why must you name káu-tsung?" said the master. "it was so with all other ancient sovereigns: when one of them died, the heads of every department agreed between themselves that they should give ear for three years to the prime minister." "when their betters love the rules, then the folk are easy tools," was a saying of the master. tsz-lu having asked what made a "superior man," he answered, "self-culture, with a view to becoming seriously-minded." "nothing more than that?" said he. "self-culture with a view to the greater satisfaction of others," added the master. "that, and yet no more?" "self-culture with a view to the greater satisfaction of all the clans and classes," he again added. "self-culture for the sake of all--a result that, that would almost put yau and shun into the shade!" to yuen jang, [ ] who was sitting waiting for him in a squatting (disrespectful) posture, the master delivered himself as follows: "the man who in his youth could show no humility or subordination, who in his prime misses his opportunity, and who when old age comes upon him will not die--that man is a miscreant." and he tapped him on the shin with his staff. some one asked about his attendant--a youth from the village of kiueh--whether he was one who improved. he replied, "i note that he seats himself in the places reserved for his betters, and that when he is walking he keeps abreast with his seniors. he is not one of those who care for improvement: he wants to be a man all at once." [footnote : confucius had now retired from office, and this incident occurred only two years before his death.] [footnote : it is a habit with the chinese, when a number are out walking together, for the eldest to go first, the others pairing off according to their age. it is a custom much older than the time of confucius.] book xv practical wisdom--reciprocity the rule of life duke ling of wei was consulting confucius about army arrangements. his answer was, "had you asked me about such things as temple requisites, i have learnt that business, but i have not yet studied military matters." and he followed up this reply by leaving on the following day. after this, during his residence in the state of ch'in, his followers, owing to a stoppage of food supply, became so weak and ill that not one of them could stand. tsz-lu, with indignation pictured on his countenance, exclaimed, "and is a gentleman to suffer starvation?" "a gentleman," replied the master, "will endure it unmoved, but a common person breaks out into excesses under it." addressing tsz-kung, the master said, "you regard me as one who studies and stores up in his mind a multiplicity of things--do you not?"--"i do," he replied; "is it not so?"--"not at all. i have one idea--one cord on which to string all." to tsz-lu he remarked, "they who know virtue are rare." "if you would know one who without effort ruled well, was not shun such a one? what did he indeed do? he bore himself with reverent dignity and undeviatingly 'faced the south,' and that was all." tsz-chang was consulting him about making way in life. he answered, "be true and honest in all you say, and seriously earnest in all you do, and then, even if your country be one inhabited by barbarians, south or north, you will make your way. if you do not show yourself thus in word and deed how should you succeed, even in your own district or neighborhood?--when you are afoot, let these two counsels be two companions preceding you, yourself viewing them from behind; when you drive, have them in view as on the yoke of your carriage. then may you make your way." tsz-chang wrote them on the two ends of his cincture. "straight was the course of the annalist yu," said the master--"aye, straight as an arrow flies; were the country well governed or ill governed, his was an arrow-like course. "a man of masterly mind, too, is kü pih-yuh! when the land is being rightly governed he will serve; when it is under bad government he is apt to recoil, and brood." "not to speak to a man." said he, "to whom you ought to speak, is to lose your man; to speak to one to whom you ought not to speak is to lose your words. those who are wise will not lose their man nor yet their words." again, "the scholar whose heart is in his work, and who is philanthropic, seeks not to gain a livelihood by any means that will do harm to his philanthropy. there have been men who have destroyed their own lives in the endeavor to bring that virtue in them to perfection." tsz-kung asked how to become philanthropic. the master answered him thus: "a workman who wants to do his work well must first sharpen his tools. in whatever land you live, serve under some wise and good man among those in high office, and make friends with the more humane of its men of education." yen yuen consulted him on the management of a country. he answered:-- "go by the hiá calendar. have the state carriages like those of the yin princes. wear the chow cap. for your music let that of shun be used for the posturers. put away the songs of ch'ing, and remove far from you men of artful speech: the ch'ing songs are immodest, and artful talkers are dangerous." other sayings of the master:-- "they who care not for the morrow will the sooner have their sorrow. "ah, 'tis hopeless! i have not yet met with the man who loves virtue as he loves beauty. "was not tsang wan like one who surreptitiously came by the post he held? he knew the worth of hwúi of liu-hiá, and could not stand in his presence. "be generous yourself, and exact little from others; then you banish complaints. "with one who does not come to me inquiring 'what of this?' and 'what of that?' i never can ask 'what of this?' and give him up. "if a number of students are all day together, and in their conversation never approach the subject of righteousness, but are fond merely of giving currency to smart little sayings, they are difficult indeed to manage. "when the 'superior man' regards righteousness as the thing material, gives operation to it according to the rules of propriety, lets it issue in humility, and become complete in sincerity--there indeed is your superior man! "the trouble of the superior man will be his own want of ability: it will be no trouble to him that others do not know him. "such a man thinks it hard to end his days and leave a name to be no longer named. "the superior man is exacting of himself; the common man is exacting of others. "a superior man has self-respect, and does not strive; is sociable, yet no party man. "he does not promote a man because of his words, or pass over the words because of the man." tsz-kung put to him the question, "is there one word upon which the whole life may proceed?" the master replied, "is not reciprocity such a word?--what you do not yourself desire, do not put before others." "so far as i have to do with others, whom do i over-censure? whom do i over-praise? if there be something in them that looks very praiseworthy, that something i put to the test. i would have the men of the present day to walk in the straight path whereby those of the three dynasties have walked. "i have arrived as it were at the annalist's blank page.--once he who had a horse would lend it to another to mount; now, alas! it is not so. "artful speech is the confusion of virtue. impatience over little things introduces confusion into great schemes. "what is disliked by the masses needs inquiring into; so also does that which they have a preference for. "a man may give breadth to his principles: it is not principles (in themselves) that give breadth to the man. "not to retract after committing an error may itself be called error. "if i have passed the whole day without food and the whole night without sleep, occupied with my thoughts, it profits me nothing: i were better engaged in learning. "the superior man deliberates upon how he may walk in truth, not upon what he may eat. the farmer may plough, and be on the way to want: the student learns, and is on his way to emolument. to live a right life is the concern of men of nobler minds: poverty gives them none. "whatsoever the intellect may attain to, unless the humanity within is powerful enough to keep guard over it, is assuredly lost, even though it be gained. "if there be intellectual attainments, and the humanity within is powerful enough to keep guard over them, yet, unless (in a ruler) there be dignity in his rule, the people will fail to show him respect. "again, given the intellectual attainments, and humanity sufficient to keep watch over them, and also dignity in ruling, yet if his movements be not in accordance with the rules of propriety, he is not yet fully qualified. "the superior man may not be conversant with petty details, and yet may have important matters put into his hands. the inferior man may not be charged with important matters, yet may be conversant with the petty details. "good-fellowship is more to men than fire and water. i have seen men stepping into fire and into water, and meeting with death thereby; i have not yet seen a man die from planting his steps in the path of good-fellowship. "rely upon good nature. 'twill not allow precedence even to a teacher. "the superior man is inflexibly upright, and takes not things upon trust. "in serving your prince, make your service the serious concern, and let salary be a secondary matter. "where instruction is to be given, there must be no distinction of persons. "where men's methods are not identical, there can be no planning by one on behalf of another. "in speaking, perspicuity is all that is needed." when the blind music-master mien paid him a visit, on his approaching the steps the master called out "steps," and on his coming to the mat, said "mat." when all in the room were seated, the master told him "so-and-so is here, so-and-so is here." when the music-master had left, tsz-chang said to him, "is that the way to speak to the music-master?" "well," he replied, "it is certainly the way to assist him." book xvi against intestine strife--good and bad friendships the chief of the ki family was about to make an onslaught upon the chuen-yu domain. yen yu and tsz-lu in an interview with confucius told him, "the ki is about to have an affair with chuen-yu." "yen," said confucius, "does not the fault lie with you? the chief of chuen-yu in times past was appointed lord of the east mung (mountain); besides, he dwells within the confines of your own state, and is an official of the state-worship; how can you think of making an onslaught upon him?" "it is the wish of our chief," said yen yu, "not the wish of either of us ministers." confucius said, "yen, there is a sentence of cháu jin which runs thus: 'having made manifest their powers and taken their place in the official list, when they find themselves incompetent they resign; if they cannot be firm when danger threatens the government, nor lend support when it is reeling, of what use then shall they be as assistants?'--besides, you are wrong in what you said. when a rhinoceros or tiger breaks out of its cage--when a jewel or tortoise-shell ornament is damaged in its casket--whose fault is it?" "but," said yen yu, "so far as chuen-yu is concerned, it is now fortified, and it is close to pi; and if he does not now take it, in another generation it will certainly be a trouble to his descendants." "yen!" exclaimed confucius, "it is a painful thing to a superior man to have to desist from saying, 'my wish is so-and-so,' and to be obliged to make apologies. for my part, i have learnt this--that rulers of states and heads of houses are not greatly concerned about their small following, but about the want of equilibrium in it--that they do not concern themselves about their becoming poor, but about the best means of living quietly and contentedly; for where equilibrium is preserved there will be no poverty, where there is harmony their following will not be small, and where there is quiet contentment there will be no decline nor fall. now if that be the case, it follows that if men in outlying districts are not submissive, then a reform in education and morals will bring them to; and when they have been so won, then will you render them quiet and contented. at the present time you two are assistants of your chief; the people in the outlying districts are not submissive, and cannot be brought round. your dominion is divided, prostrate, dispersed, cleft in pieces, and you as its guardians are powerless. and plans are being made for taking up arms against those who dwell within your own state. i am apprehensive that the sorrow of the ki family is not to lie in chuen-yu, but in those within their own screen." "when the empire is well-ordered," said confucius, "it is from the emperor that edicts regarding ceremonial, music, and expeditions to quell rebellion go forth. when it is being ill governed, such edicts emanate from the feudal lords; and when the latter is the case, it will be strange if in ten generations there is not a collapse. if they emanate merely from the high officials, it will be strange if the collapse do not come in five generations. when the state-edicts are in the hands of the subsidiary ministers, it will be strange if in three generations there is no collapse. "when the empire is well-ordered, government is not left in the hands of high officials. "when the empire is well-ordered, the common people will cease to discuss public matters." "for five generations," he said, "the revenue has departed from the ducal household. four generations ago the government fell into the hands of the high officials. hence, alas! the straitened means of the descendants of the three hwan families." "there are," said he, "three kinds of friendships which are profitable, and three which are detrimental. to make friends with the upright, with the trustworthy, with the experienced, is to gain benefit; to make friends with the subtly perverse, with the artfully pliant, with the subtle in speech, is detrimental." again, "there are three kinds of pleasure which are profitable, and three which are detrimental. to take pleasure in going regularly through the various branches of ceremonial and music, in speaking of others' goodness, in having many worthy wise friends, is profitable. to take pleasure in wild bold pleasures, in idling carelessly about, in the too jovial accompaniments of feasting, is detrimental." again, "three errors there be, into which they who wait upon their superior may fall:--( ) to speak before the opportunity comes to them to speak, which i call heedless haste; ( ) refraining from speaking when the opportunity has come, which i call concealment; and ( ) speaking, regardless of the mood he is in, which i call blindness." again, "three things a superior should guard against:--( ) against the lusts of the flesh in his earlier years while the vital powers are not fully developed and fixed; ( ) against the spirit of combativeness when he has come to the age of robust manhood and when the vital powers are matured and strong, and ( ) against ambitiousness when old age has come on and the vital powers have become weak and decayed." "three things also such a man greatly reveres:--( ) the ordinances of heaven, ( ) great men, ( ) words of sages. the inferior man knows not the ordinances of heaven and therefore reveres them not, is unduly familiar in the presence of great men, and scoffs at the words of sages." "they whose knowledge comes by birth are of all men the first in understanding; they to whom it comes by study are next; men of poor intellectual capacity, who yet study, may be added as a yet inferior class; and lowest of all are they who are poor in intellect and never learn." "nine things there are of which the superior man should be mindful:--to be clear in vision, quick in hearing, genial in expression, respectful in demeanor, true in word, serious in duty, inquiring in doubt, firmly self-controlled in anger, just and fair when the way to success opens out before him." "some have spoken of 'looking upon goodness as upon something beyond their reach,' and of 'looking upon evil as like plunging one's hands into scalding liquid';--i have seen the men, i have heard the sayings. "some, again, have talked of 'living in seclusion to work out their designs,' and of 'exercising themselves in righteous living in order to render their principles the more effective';--i have heard the sayings, i have not seen the men." "duke king of ts'i had his thousand teams of four, yet on the day of his death the people had nothing to say of his goodness. peh-i and shuh-ts'i starved at the foot of shau-yang, and the people make mention of them to this day. 'e'en if not wealth thine object be, 'tis all the same, thou'rt changed to me.' "is not this apropos in such cases?" tsz-k'in asked of pih-yu, "have you heard anything else peculiar from your father?" "not yet," said he. "once, though, he was standing alone when i was hurrying past him over the vestibule, and he said, 'are you studying the odes?' 'not yet,' i replied. 'if you do not learn the odes,' said he, 'you will not have the wherewithal for conversing,' i turned away and studied the odes. another day, when he was again standing alone and i was hurrying past across the vestibule, he said to me, 'are you learning the rules of propriety?' 'not yet,' i replied. 'if you have not studied the rules, you have nothing to stand upon,' said he. i turned away and studied the rules.--these two things i have heard from him." tsz-k'in turned away, and in great glee exclaimed, "i asked one thing, and have got three. i have learnt something about the odes, and about the rules, and moreover i have learnt how the superior man will turn away his own son." the wife of the ruler of a state is called by her husband "my helpmeet." she speaks of herself as "your little handmaiden." the people of that state call her "the prince's helpmeet," but addressing persons of another state they speak of her as "our little princess." when persons of another state name her they say also "your prince's helpmeet." book xvii the master induced to take office--nature and habit yang ho was desirous of having an interview with confucius, but on the latter's failing to go and see him, he sent a present of a pig to his house. confucius went to return his acknowledgments for it at a time when he was not at home. they met, however, on the way. he said to confucius, "come, i want a word with you. can that man be said to have good-will towards his fellow-men who hugs and hides his own precious gifts and allows his country to go on in blind error?" "he cannot," was the reply. "and can he be said to be wise who, with a liking for taking part in the public service, is constantly letting slip his opportunities?" "he cannot," was the reply again. "and the days and months are passing; and the years do not wait for us." "true," said confucius; "i will take office." it was a remark of the master that while "by nature we approximate towards each other, by experience we go far asunder." again, "only the supremely wise and the most deeply ignorant do not alter." the master once, on his arrival at wu-shing, heard the sound of stringed instruments and singing. his face beamed with pleasure, and he said laughingly, "to kill a cock--why use an ox-knife?" tsz-yu, the governor, replied, "in former days, sir, i heard you say, 'let the superior man learn right principles, and he will be loving to other men; let the ordinary person learn right principles, and he will be easily managed.'" the master (turning to his disciples) said, "sirs, what he says is right: what i said just now was only in play." having received an invitation from kung-shan fuh-jau, who was in revolt against the government and was holding to his district of pi, the master showed an inclination to go. tsz-lu was averse to this, and said, "you can never go, that is certain; how should you feel you must go to that person?" "well," said the master, "he who has invited me must surely not have done so without a sufficient reason! and if it should happen that my services were enlisted, i might create for him another east chow--don't you think so?" tsz-chang asked confucius about the virtue of philanthropy. his answer was, "it is the being able to put in practice five qualities, in any place under the sun." "may i ask, please, what these are?" said the disciple. "they are," he said, "dignity, indulgence, faithfulness, earnestness, kindness. if you show dignity you will not be mocked; if you are indulgent you will win the multitude; if faithful, men will place their trust in you; if earnest, you will do something meritorious; and if kind, you will be enabled to avail yourself amply of men's services." pih hih sent the master an invitation, and he showed an inclination to go. tsz-lu (seeing this) said to him, "in former days, sir, i have heard you say, 'a superior man will not enter the society of one who does not that which is good in matters concerning himself'; and this man is in revolt, with chung-man in his possession; if you go to him, how will the case stand?" "yes," said the master, "those are indeed my words; but is it not said, 'what is hard may be rubbed without being made thin,' and 'white may be stained without being made black'?--i am surely not a gourd! how am i to be strung up like that kind of thing--and live without means?" "tsz-lu," said the master, "you have heard of the six words with their six obfuscations?" "no," said he, "not so far." "sit down, and i will tell you them. they are these six virtues, cared for without care for any study about them:--philanthropy, wisdom, faithfulness, straightforwardness, courage, firmness. and the six obfuscations resulting from not liking to learn about them are, respectively, these:--fatuity, mental dissipation, mischievousness, perversity, insubordination, impetuosity." "my children," said he once, "why does no one of you study the odes?--they are adapted to rouse the mind, to assist observation, to make people sociable, to arouse virtuous indignation. they speak of duties near and far--the duty of ministering to a parent, the duty of serving one's prince; and it is from them that one becomes conversant with the names of many birds, and beasts, and plants, and trees." to his son pih-yu he said, "study you the odes of chow and the south, and those of shau and the south. the man who studies not these is, i should say, somewhat in the position of one who stands facing a wall!" "'etiquette demands it.' 'etiquette demands it,' so people plead," said he; "but do not these hankerings after jewels and silks indeed demand it? or it is, 'the study of music requires it'--'music requires it'; but do not these predilections for bells and drums require it?" again, "they who assume an outward appearance of severity, being inwardly weak, may be likened to low common men; nay, are they not somewhat like thieves that break through walls and steal?" again, "the plebeian kind of respect for piety is the very pest of virtue." again, "listening on the road, and repeating in the lane--this is abandonment of virtue." "ah, the low-minded creatures!" he exclaimed. "how is it possible indeed to serve one's prince in their company? before they have got what they wanted they are all anxiety to get it, and after they have got it they are all anxiety lest they should lose it; and while they are thus full of concern lest they should lose it, there is no length to which they will not go." again, "in olden times people had three moral infirmities; which, it may be, are now unknown. ambitiousness in those olden days showed itself in momentary outburst; the ambitiousness of to-day runs riot. austerity in those days had its sharp angles; in these it is irritable and perverse. feebleness of intellect then was at least straightforward; in our day it is never aught but deceitful." again, "rarely do we find mutual good feeling where there is fine speech and studied mien." again, "to me it is abhorrent that purple color should be made to detract from that of vermilion. also that the odes of ch'ing should be allowed to introduce discord in connection with the music of the festal songs and hymns. also that sharp-whetted tongues should be permitted to subvert governments." once said he, "would that i could dispense with speech!" "sir," said tsz-kung, "if you were never to speak, what should your pupils have to hand down from you?" "does heaven ever speak?" said the master. "the four seasons come and go, and all creatures live and grow. does heaven indeed speak?" once ju pi desired an interview with confucius, from which the latter excused himself on the score of ill-health; but while the attendant was passing out through the doorway with the message he took his lute and sang, in such a way as to let him hear him. tsai wo questioned him respecting the three years' mourning, saying that one full twelve-month was a long time--that, if gentlemen were for three years to cease from observing rules of propriety, propriety must certainly suffer, and that if for three years they neglected music, music must certainly die out--and that seeing nature has taught us that when the old year's grain is finished the new has sprung up for us--seeing also that all the changes[ ] in procuring fire by friction have been gone through in the four seasons--surely a twelve-month might suffice. the master asked him, "would it be a satisfaction to you--that returning to better food, that putting on of fine clothes?" "it would," said he. "then if you can be satisfied in so doing, do so. but to a gentleman, who is in mourning for a parent, the choicest food will not be palatable, nor will the listening to music be pleasant, nor will comforts of home make him happy in mind. hence he does not do as you suggest. but if you are now happy in your mind, then do so." tsai wo went out. and the master went on to say, "it is want of human feeling in this man. after a child has lived three years it then breaks away from the tender nursing of its parents. and this three years' mourning is the customary mourning prevalent all over the empire. can this man have enjoyed the three years of loving care from his parents?" "ah, it is difficult," said he, "to know what to make of those who are all day long cramming themselves with food and are without anything to apply their minds to! are there no dice and chess players? better, perhaps, join in that pursuit than do nothing at all!" "does a gentleman," asked tsz-lu, "make much account of bravery?" "righteousness he counts higher," said the master. "a gentleman who is brave without being just may become turbulent; while a common person who is brave and not just may end in becoming a highwayman." tsz-kung asked, "i suppose a gentleman will have his aversions as well as his likings?" "yes," replied the master, "he will dislike those who talk much about other people's ill-deeds. he will dislike those who, when occupying inferior places, utter defamatory words against their superiors. he will dislike those who, though they may be brave, have no regard for propriety. and he will dislike those hastily decisive and venturesome spirits who are nevertheless so hampered by limited intellect." "and you, too, tsz-kung," he continued, "have your aversions, have you not?" "i dislike," said he, "those plagiarists who wish to pass for wise persons. i dislike those people who wish their lack of humility to be taken for bravery. i dislike also those divulgers of secrets who think to be accounted straightforward." "of all others," said the master, "women-servants and men-servants are the most difficult people to have the care of. approach them in a familiar manner, and they take liberties; keep them at a distance, and they grumble." again, "when a man meets with odium at forty, he will do so to the end." [footnote : different woods were adopted for this purpose at the various seasons.] book xviii good men in seclusion--duke of chow to his son "in the reign of the last king of the yin dynasty," confucius i said, "there were three men of philanthropic spirit:--the viscount of wei, who withdrew from him; the viscount of ki, who became his bondsman; and pi-kan, who reproved him and suffered death." hwúi of liu-hiá, who filled the office of chief criminal judge, was thrice dismissed. a person remarked to him, "can you not yet bear to withdraw?" he replied, "if i act in a straightforward way in serving men, whither in these days should i go, where i should not be thrice dismissed? were i to adopt crooked ways in their service, why need i leave the land where my parents dwell?" duke king of ts'i remarked respecting his attitude towards confucius, "if he is to be treated like the chief of the ki family, i cannot do it. i should treat him as somewhere between the ki and mang chiefs.--i am old," he added, "and not competent to avail myself of him." confucius, hearing of this, went away. the ts'i officials presented to the court of lu a number of female musicians. ki hwan accepted them, and for three days no court was held. confucius went away. tsieh-yu, the madman [ ] of ts'u, was once passing confucius, singing as he went along. he sang-- "ha, the phoenix! ha, the phoenix! how is virtue lying prone! vain to chide for what is o'er, plan to meet what's yet in store. let alone! let alone! risky now to serve a throne." confucius alighted, wishing to enter into conversation with him; but the man hurried along and left him, and he was therefore unable to get a word with him. ch'ang-tsü and kieh-nih [ ] were working together on some ploughed land. confucius was passing by them, and sent tsz-lu to ask where the ford was. ch'ang-tsü said, "who is the person driving the carriage?" "confucius," answered tsz-lu. "he of lu?" he asked. "the same," said tsz-lu. "he knows then where the ford is," said he. tsz-lu then put his question to kieh-nih; and the latter asked, "who are you?" tsz-lu gave his name. "you are a follower of confucius of lu, are you not?" "you are right," he answered. "ah, as these waters rise and overflow their bounds," said he, "'tis so with all throughout the empire; and who is he that can alter the state of things? and you are a follower of a learned man who withdraws from his chief; had you not better be a follower of such as have forsaken the world?" and he went on with his harrowing, without stopping. tsz-lu went and informed his master of all this. he was deeply touched, and said, "one cannot herd on equal terms with beasts and birds: if i am not to live among these human folk, then with whom else should i live? only when the empire is well ordered shall i cease to take part in the work of reformation." tsz-lu was following the master, but had dropped behind on the way, when he encountered an old man with a weed-basket slung on a staff over his shoulder. tsz-lu inquired of him, "have you seen my master, sir?" said the old man, "who is your master?--you who never employ your four limbs in laborious work; you who do not know one from another of the five sorts of grain!" and he stuck his staff in the ground, and began his weeding. tsz-lu brought his hands together on his breast and stood still. the old man kept tsz-lu and lodged him for the night, killed a fowl and prepared some millet, entertained him, and brought his two sons out to see him. on the morrow tsz-lu went on his way, and told all this to the master, who said, "he is a recluse," and sent tsz-lu back to see him again. but by the time he got there he was gone. tsz-lu remarked upon this, "it is not right he should evade official duties. if he cannot allow any neglect of the terms on which elders and juniors should live together, how is it that he neglects to conform to what is proper as between prince and public servant? he wishes for himself personally a pure life, yet creates disorder in that more important relationship. when a gentleman undertakes public work, he will carry out the duties proper to it; and he knows beforehand that right principles may not win their way." among those who have retired from public life have been peh-i and shuh-ts'i, yu-chung, i-yih, chu-chang, hwúi of liuhia, and sháu-lien. "of these," said the master, "peh-i and shuh-ts'i may be characterized, i should say, as men who never declined from their high resolve nor soiled themselves by aught of disgrace. "of hwúi of liu-hiá and sháu-lien, if one may say that they did decline from high resolve, and that they did bring disgrace upon themselves, yet their words were consonant with established principles, and their action consonant with men's thoughts and wishes; and this is all that may be said of them. "of yu-chung and i-yih, if it be said that when they retired into privacy they let loose their tongues, yet in their aim at personal purity of life they succeeded, and their defection was also successful in its influence. "my own rule is different from any adopted by these: i will take no liberties, i will have no curtailing of my liberty." the chief music-master went off to ts'i. kan, the conductor of the music at the second repast, went over to ts'u. liáu, conductor at the third repast, went over to ts'ai. and kiueh, who conducted at the fourth, went to ts'in. fang-shuh, the drummer, withdrew into the neighborhood of the ho. wu the tambourer went to the han. and yang the junior music-master, and siang who played on the musical stone, went to the sea-coast. anciently the duke of chow, addressing his son the duke of lu, said, "a good man in high place is not indifferent about the members of his own family, and does not give occasion to the chief ministers to complain that they are not employed; nor without great cause will he set aside old friendships; nor does he seek for full equipment for every kind of service in any single man." there were once eight officials during this chow dynasty, who were four pairs of twins, all brothers--the eldest pair tab and kwoh, the next tub and hwuh, the third yé and hiá, the youngest sui and kwa. [footnote : he only pretended to be mad, in order to escape being employed in the public service.] [footnote : two worthies who had abandoned public life, owing to the state of the times.] book xix teachings of various chief disciples "the learned official," said tsz-chang, "who when he sees danger ahead will risk his very life, who when he sees a chance of success is mindful of what is just and proper, who in his religious acts is mindful of the duty of reverence, and when in mourning thinks of his loss, is indeed a fit and proper person for his place." again he said, "if a person hold to virtue but never advance in it, and if he have faith in right principles and do not build himself up in them, how can he be regarded either as having such, or as being without them?" tsz-hiá's disciples asked tsz-chang his views about intercourse with others. "what says your master?" he rejoined. "he says," they replied, "'associate with those who are qualified, and repel from you such as are not,'" tsz-chang then said, "that is different from what i have learnt. a superior man esteems the worthy and wise, and bears with all. he makes much of the good and capable, and pities the incapable. am i eminently worthy and wise?--who is there then among men whom i will not bear with? am i not worthy and wise?--others will be minded to repel me: i have nothing to do with repelling them." sayings of tsz-hiá:-- "even in inferior pursuits there must be something worthy of contemplation, but if carried to an extreme there is danger of fanaticism; hence the superior man does not engage in them. "the student who daily recognizes how much he yet lacks, and as the months pass forgets not what he has succeeded in learning, may undoubtedly be called a lover of learning. "wide research and steadfast purpose, eager questioning and close reflection--all this tends to humanize a man. "as workmen spend their time in their workshops for the perfecting of their work, so superior men apply their minds to study in order to make themselves thoroughly conversant with their subjects. "when an inferior man does a wrong thing, he is sure to gloss it over. "the superior man is seen in three different aspects:--look at him from a distance, he is imposing in appearance; approach him, he is gentle and warm-hearted; hear him speak, he is acute and strict. "let such a man have the people's confidence, and he will get much work out of them; so long, however, as he does not possess their confidence they will regard him as grinding them down. "when confidence is reposed in him, he may then with impunity administer reproof; so long as it is not, he will be regarded as a detractor. "where there is no over-stepping of barriers in the practice of the higher virtues, there may be freedom to pass in and out in the practice of the lower ones." tsz-yu had said, "the pupils in the school of tsz-hiá are good enough at such things as sprinkling and scrubbing floors, answering calls and replying to questions from superiors, and advancing and retiring to and from such; but these things are only offshoots--as to the root of things they are nowhere. what is the use of all that?" when this came to the ears of tsz-hiá, he said, "ah! there he is mistaken. what does a master, in his methods of teaching, consider first in his precepts? and what does he account next, as that about which he may be indifferent? it is like as in the study of plants--classification by _differentiae_. how may a master play fast and loose in his methods of instruction? would they not indeed be sages, who could take in at once the first principles and the final developments of things?" further observations of tsz-hiá:-- "in the public service devote what energy and time remain to study. after study devote what energy and time remain to the public service. "as to the duties of mourning, let them cease when the grief is past. "my friend tsz-chang, although he has the ability to tackle hard things, has not yet the virtue of philanthropy." the learned tsang observed, "how loftily tsz-chang bears himself! difficult indeed along with him to practise philanthropy!" again he said, "i have heard this said by the master, that 'though men may not exert themselves to the utmost in other duties, yet surely in the duty of mourning for their parents they will do so!'" again, "this also i have heard said by the master: 'the filial piety of mang chwang in other respects might be equalled, but as manifested in his making no changes among his father's ministers, nor in his father's mode of government--that aspect of it could not easily be equalled.'" yang fu, having been made senior criminal judge by the chief of the mang clan, consulted with the learned tsang. the latter advised him as follows: "for a long time the chiefs have failed in their government, and the people have become unsettled. when you arrive at the facts of their cases, do not rejoice at your success in that, but rather be sorry for them, and have pity upon them." tsz-kung once observed, "we speak of 'the iniquity of cháu'--but 'twas not so great as this. and so it is that the superior man is averse from settling in this sink, into which everything runs that is foul in the empire." again he said, "faults in a superior man are like eclipses of the sun or moon: when he is guilty of a trespass men all see it; and when he is himself again, all look up to him." kung-sun ch'an of wei inquired of tsz-kung how confucius acquired his learning. tsz-kung replied, "the teachings of wan and wu have not yet fallen to the ground. they exist in men. worthy and wise men have the more important of these stored up in their minds; and others, who are not such, store up the less important of them; and as no one is thus without the teachings of wan and wu, how should our master not have learned? and moreover what permanent preceptor could he have?" shuh-sun wu-shuh, addressing the high officials at the court, remarked that tsz-kung was a greater worthy than confucius. tsz-fuh king-pih went and informed tsz-kung of this remark. tsz-kung said, "take by way of comparison the walls outside our houses. my wall is shoulder-high, and you may look over it and see what the house and its contents are worth. my master's wall is tens of feet high, and unless you should effect an entrance by the door, you would fail to behold the beauty of the ancestral hall and the rich array of all its officers. and they who effect an entrance by the door, methinks, are few! was it not, however, just like him--that remark of the chief?" shuh-sun wu-shuh had been casting a slur on the character of confucius. "no use doing that," said tsz-kung; "he is irreproachable. the wisdom and worth of other men are little hills and mounds of earth: traversible. he is the sun, or the moon, impossible to reach and pass. and what harm, i ask, can a man do to the sun or the moon, by wishing to intercept himself from either? it all shows that he knows not how to gauge capacity." tsz-k'in, addressing tsz-kung, said, "you depreciate yourself. confucius is surely not a greater worthy than yourself." tsz-kung replied, "in the use of words one ought never to be incautious; because a gentleman for one single utterance of his is apt to be considered a wise man, and for a single utterance may be accounted unwise. no more might one think of attaining to the master's perfections than think of going upstairs to heaven! were it ever his fortune to be at the head of the government of a country, then that which is spoken of as 'establishing the country' would be establishment indeed; he would be its guide and it would follow him, he would tranquillize it and it would render its willing homage: he would give forward impulses to it to which it would harmoniously respond. in his life he would be its glory, at his death there would be great lamentation. how indeed could such as he be equalled?" book xx extracts from the book of history the emperor yau said to shun, "ah, upon you, upon your person, lies the heaven-appointed order of succession! faithfully hold to it, without any deflection; for if within the four seas necessity and want befall the people, your own revenue will forever come to an end." shun also used the same language in handing down the appointment to yu. the emperor t'ang in his prayer, said, "i, the child li, presume to avail me of an ox of dusky hue, and presume to manifestly announce to thee, o god, the most high and sovereign potentate, that to the transgressor i dare not grant forgiveness, nor yet keep in abeyance thy ministers. judgment rests in thine heart, o god. should we ourself transgress, may the guilt not be visited everywhere upon all. should the people all transgress, be the guilt upon ourself!" chow possessed great gifts, by which the able and good were richly endowed. "although," said king wu, "he is surrounded by his near relatives, they are not to be compared with men of humane spirit. the people are suffering wrongs, and the remedy rests with me--the one man." after wu had given diligent attention to the various weights and measures, examined the laws and regulations, and restored the degraded officials, good government everywhere ensued. he caused ruined states to flourish again, reinstated intercepted heirs, and promoted to office men who had gone into retirement; and the hearts of the people throughout the empire drew towards him. among matters of prime consideration with him were these--food for the people, the duty of mourning, and sacrificial offerings to the departed. he was liberal and large-hearted, and so won all hearts; true, and so was trusted by the people; energetic, and thus became a man of great achievements; just in his rule, and all were well content. tsz-chang in a conversation with confucius asked, "what say you is essential for the proper conduct of government?" the master replied, "let the ruler hold in high estimation the five excellences, and eschew the four evils; then may he conduct his government properly." "and what call you the five excellences?" he was asked. "they are," he said, "bounty without extravagance; burdening without exciting discontent; desire without covetousness; dignity without haughtiness; show of majesty without fierceness." "what mean you," asked tsz-chang, "by bounty without extravagance?" "is it not this," he replied--"to make that which is of benefit to the people still more beneficial? when he selects for them such labors as it is possible for them to do, and exacts them, who will then complain? so when his desire is the virtue of humaneness, and he attains it, how shall he then be covetous? and if--whether he have to do with few or with many, with small or with great--he do not venture ever to be careless, is not this also to have dignity without haughtiness? and if--when properly vested in robe and cap, and showing dignity in his every look--his appearance be so imposing that the people look up to and stand in awe of him, is not this moreover to show majesty without fierceness?" "what, then, do you call the four evils?" said tsz-chang. the answer here was, "omitting to instruct the people and then inflicting capital punishment on them--which means cruel tyranny. omitting to give them warning and yet looking for perfection in them--which means oppression. being slow and late in issuing requisitions, and exacting strict punctuality in the returns--which means robbery. and likewise, in intercourse with men, to expend and to receive in a stingy manner--which is to act the part of a mere commissioner." "none can be a superior man," said the master, "who does not recognize the decrees of heaven. "none can have stability in him without a knowledge of the proprieties. "none can know a man without knowing his utterances." the sayings of menicus [translated into english by james legge_] introduction a hundred years after the time of confucius the chinese nation seemed to have fallen back into their original condition of lawlessness and oppression. the king's power and authority was laughed to scorn, the people were pillaged by the feudal nobility, and famine reigned in many districts. the foundations of truth and social order seemed to be overthrown. there were teachers of immorality abroad, who published the old epicurean doctrine, "let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die." this teaching was accompanied by a spirit of cold-blooded egotism which extinguished every spark of confucian altruism. even the pretended disciples of confucius confused the precepts of the master, and by stripping them of their narrow significance rendered them nugatory. it was at this point that mang-tsze, "mang the philosopher," arose. he was sturdy in bodily frame, vigorous in mind, profound in political sagacity and utterly fearless in denouncing the errors of his countrymen. he had been brought up among the disciples of confucius, in whose province he was born b.c. , but he was much more active and aggressive, less a mystic than a fanatic, in comparison! with his master. he resolved on active measures in stemming the tendency of his day. he did indeed surround himself with a school of disciples, but instead of making a series of desultory travels, teaching in remote places and along the high-road, he went to the heart of the evil. he presented himself like a second john the baptist at the courts of kings and princes, and there boldly denounced vice and misrule. it was not difficult for a chinese scholar and teacher to find access to the highest of the land. the chinese believed in the divine right of learning, just as they believed in the divine right of kings. mang employed every weapon of persuasion in trying to combat heresy and oppression; alternately ridiculing and reproving: now appealing in a burst of moral enthusiasm, and now denouncing in terms of cutting sarcasm the abuses which after all he failed to check. the last prince whom he successfully confronted was the marquis of lu, who turned him carelessly away. he accepted this as the divine sentence of his failure, "that i have not found in this marquis, a ruler who would hearken to me is an intimation of heaven." henceforth he lived in retirement until his ninety-seventh year; but from his apparent failure sprang a practical success. his written teachings are amongst the most lively and epigrammatic works of chinese literature, have done much to keep alive amongst his countrymen the spirit of confucianism, and even western readers may drink wisdom from this spring of oriental lore. the following selections from his sayings well exhibit the spirit of his system of philosophy and morality. e.w. the sayings of mencius book i king hwuy of lËang part i mencius went to see king hwuy of lëang. [ ] the king said, "venerable sir, since you have not counted it far to come here a distance of a thousand li, may i presume that you are likewise provided with counsels to profit my kingdom?" mencius replied, "why must your majesty used that word 'profit'? what i am likewise provided with are counsels to benevolence and righteousness; and these are my only topics. "if your majesty say, 'what is to be done to profit my kingdom?' the great officers will say, 'what is to be done to profit our families?' and the inferior officers and the common people will say, 'what is to be done to profit our persons?' superiors and inferiors will try to take the profit the one from the other, and the kingdom will be endangered. in the kingdom of ten thousand chariots, the murderer of his ruler will be the chief of a family of a thousand chariots. in the state of a thousand chariots, the murderer of his ruler will be the chief of a family of a hundred chariots. to have a thousand in ten thousand, and a hundred in a thousand, cannot be regarded as not a large allowance; but if righteousness be put last and profit first, they will not be satisfied without snatching all. "there never was a man trained to benevolence who neglected his parents. there never was a man trained to righteousness who made his ruler an after consideration. let your majesty likewise make benevolence and righteousness your only themes--why must you speak of profit?" when mencius, another day, was seeing king hwuy of lëang, the king went and stood with him by a pond, and, looking round on the wild geese and deer, large and small, said, "do wise and good princes also take pleasure in these things?" mencius replied, "being wise and good, they then have pleasure in these things. if they are not wise and good, though they have these things, they do not find pleasure." it is said in the 'book of poetry':-- 'when he planned the commencement of the marvellous tower, he planned it, and defined it, and the people in crowds undertook the work, and in no time completed it. when he planned the commencement, he said, "be not in a hurry." but the people came as if they were his children. the king was in the marvellous park, where the does were lying down-- the does so sleek and fat; with the white birds glistening. the king was by the marvellous pond;-- how full was it of fishes leaping about!' king wan used the strength of the people to make his tower and pond, and the people rejoiced to do the work, calling the tower 'the marvellous tower,' and the pond 'the marvellous pond,' and being glad that he had his deer, his fishes and turtles. the ancients caused their people to have pleasure as well as themselves, and therefore they could enjoy it. "in the declaration of t'ang it is said, 'o sun, when wilt thou expire? we will die together with thee.' the people wished for këeh's death, though they should die with him. although he had his tower, his pond, birds and animals, how could he have pleasure alone?" king hwuy of lëang said, "small as my virtue is, in the government of my kingdom, i do indeed exert my mind to the utmost. if the year be bad inside the ho, i remove as many of the people as i can to the east of it, and convey grain to the country inside. if the year be bad on the east of the river, i act on the same plan. on examining the governmental methods of the neighboring kingdoms, i do not find there is any ruler who exerts his mind as i do. and yet the people of the neighboring kings do not decrease, nor do my people increase--how is this?" mencius replied, "your majesty loves war; allow me to take an illustration from war. the soldiers move forward at the sound of the drum; and when the edges of their weapons have been crossed, on one side, they throw away their buff coats, trail their weapons behind them, and run. some run a hundred paces and then stop; some run fifty paces and stop. what would you think if these, because they had run but fifty paces, should laugh at those who ran a hundred paces?" the king said, "they cannot do so. they only did not run a hundred paces; but they also ran." mencius said, "since your majesty knows this you have no ground to expect that your people will become more numerous than those of the neighboring kingdoms. "if the seasons of husbandry be not interfered with, the grain will be more than can be eaten. if close nets are not allowed to enter the pools and ponds, the fish and turtles will be more than can be consumed. if the axes and bills enter the hill-forests only at the proper times, the wood will be more than can be used. when the grain and fish and turtles are more than can be eaten, and there is more wood than can be used, this enables the people to nourish their living and do all offices for their dead, without any feeling against any. but this condition, in which the people nourish their living, and do all offices to their dead without having any feeling against any, is the first step in the royal way. "let mulberry trees be planted about the homesteads with their five acres, and persons of fifty years will be able to wear silk. in keeping fowls, pigs, dogs, and swine, let not their time of breeding be neglected, and persons of seventy years will be able to eat flesh. let there not be taken away the time that is proper for the cultivation of the field allotment of a hundred acres, and the family of several mouths will not suffer from hunger. let careful attention be paid to the teaching in the various schools, with repeated inculcation of the filial and fraternal duties, and gray-haired men will not be seen upon the roads, carrying burdens on their backs or on their heads. it has never been that the ruler of a state where these results were seen, persons of seventy wearing silk and eating flesh, and the black-haired people suffering neither from hunger nor cold, did not attain to the royal dignity. "your dogs and swine eat the food of men, and you do not know to store up of the abundance. there are people dying from famine on the roads, and you do not know to issue your stores for their relief. when men die, you say, 'it is not owing to me; it is owing to the year,' in what does this differ from stabbing a man and killing him, and then saying, 'it was not i; it was the weapon'? let your majesty cease to lay the blame on the year and instantly the people, all under the sky, will come to you." king hwuy of lëang said, "i wish quietly to receive your instructions." mencius replied, "is there any difference between killing a man with a stick and with a sword?" "there is no difference," was the answer. mencius continued, "is there any difference between doing it with a sword and with governmental measures?" "there is not," was the answer again. mencius then said, "in your stalls there are fat beasts; in your stables there are fat horses. but your people have the look of hunger, and in the fields there are those who have died of famine. this is leading on beasts to devour men. beasts devour one another, and men hate them for doing so. when he who is called the parent of the people conducts his government so as to be chargeable with leading on beasts to devour men, where is that parental relation to the people? chung-ne said, 'was he not without posterity who first made wooden images to bury with the dead?' so he said, because that man made the semblances of men and used them for that purpose; what shall be thought of him who causes his people to die of hunger?" king hwuy of lëang said, "there was not in the kingdom a stronger state than ts'in, as you, venerable sir, know. but since it descended to me, on the east we were defeated by ts'e, and then my eldest son perished; on the west we lost seven hundred li of territory to ts'in; and on the south we have sustained disgrace at the hands of ts'oo. i have brought shame on my departed predecessors, and wish on their account to wipe it away once for all. what course is to be pursued to accomplish this?" mencius replied, "with a territory only a hundred li square it has been possible to obtain the royal dignity. if your majesty will indeed dispense a benevolent government to the people, being sparing in the use of punishments and fines, and making the taxes and levies of produce light, so causing that the fields shall be ploughed deep, and the weeding well attended to, and that the able-bodied, during their days of leisure, shall cultivate their filial piety, fraternal duty, faithfulness, and truth, serving thereby, at home, their fathers and elder brothers, and, abroad, their elders and superiors, you will then have a people who can be employed with sticks which they have prepared to oppose the strong buff-coats and sharp weapons of the troops of ts'in and ts'oo. "the rulers of those states rob their people of their time, so that they cannot plough and weed their fields in order to support their parents. parents suffer from cold and hunger; elder and younger brothers, wives and children, are separated and scattered abroad. those rulers drive their people into pitfalls or into the water; and your majesty will go to punish them. in such a case, who will oppose your majesty? in accordance with this is the saying, 'the benevolent has no enemy!' i beg your majesty not to doubt what i said." mencius had an interview with king sëang[ ] of lëang. when he came out he said to some persons, "when i looked at him from a distance, he did not appear like a ruler; when i drew near to him, i saw nothing venerable about him. abruptly he asked me, 'how can the kingdom, all under the sky, be settled?' i replied, 'it will be settled by being united under one sway,' "'who can so unite it?' he asked. "i replied, 'he who has no pleasure in killing men can so unite it.' "'who can give it to him?' he asked. "i replied, 'all under heaven will give it to him. does your majesty know the way of the growing grain? during the seventh and eighth months, when drought prevails, the plants become dry. then the clouds collect densely in the heavens, and send down torrents of rain, so that the grain erects itself as if by a shoot. when it does so, who can keep it back? now among those who are shepherds of men throughout the kingdom, there is not one who does not find pleasure in killing men. if there were one who did not find pleasure in killing men, all the people under the sky would be looking towards him with outstretched necks. such being indeed the case, the people would go to him as water flows downwards with a rush, which no one can repress." king seuen of ts'e asked, saying, "may i be informed by you of the transactions of hwan of ts'e and wan of ts'in?" mencius replied, "there were none of the disciples of chung-ne who spoke about the affairs of hwan and wan, and therefore they have not been transmitted to these after-ages; your servant has not heard of them. if you will have me speak, let it be about the principles of attaining to the royal sway." the king said, "of what kind must his virtue be who can attain to the royal sway?" mencius said, "if he loves and protects the people, it is impossible to prevent him from attaining it." the king said, "is such an one as poor i competent to love and protect the people?" "yes," was the reply. "from what do you know that i am competent to that?" "i have heard," said mencius, "from hoo heih the following incident:--'the king,' said he, 'was sitting aloft in the hall, when some people appeared leading a bull past below it. the king saw it, and asked where the bull was going, and being answered that they were going to consecrate a bell with its blood, he said, "let it go, i cannot bear its frightened appearance--as if it were an innocent person going to the place of death." they asked in reply whether, if they did so, they should omit the consecration of the bell, but the king said, "how can that be omitted? change it for a sheep."' i do not know whether this incident occurred." "it did," said the king, and mencius replied, "the heart seen in this is sufficient to carry you to the royal sway. the people all supposed that your majesty grudged the animal, but your servant knows surely that it was your majesty's not being able to bear the sight of the creature's distress which made you do as you did." the king said, "you are right; and yet there really was an appearance of what the people imagined. but though ts'e be narrow and small, how should i grudge a bull? indeed it was because i could not bear its frightened appearance, as if it were an innocent person going to the place of death, that therefore i changed it for a sheep." mencius said, "let not your majesty deem it strange that the people should think you grudged the animal. when you changed a large one for a small, how should they know the true reason? if you felt pained by its being led without any guilt to the place of death, what was there to choose between a bull and a sheep?" the king laughed and said, "what really was my mind in the matter? i did not grudge the value of the bull, and yet i changed it for a sheep! there was reason in the people's saying that i grudged the creature." mencius said, "there is no harm in their saying so. it was an artifice of benevolence. you saw the bull, and had not seen the sheep. so is the superior man affected towards animals, that, having seen them alive, he cannot bear to see them die, and, having heard their dying cries, he cannot bear to eat their flesh. on this account he keeps away from his stalls and kitchen." the king was pleased and said, "the ode says, 'what other men have in their minds, i can measure by reflection,' this might be spoken of you, my master. i indeed did the thing, but when i turned my thoughts inward and sought for it, i could not discover my own mind. when you, master, spoke those words, the movements of compassion began to work in my mind. but how is it that this heart has in it what is equal to the attainment of the royal sway?" mencius said, "suppose a man were to make this statement to your majesty, 'my strength is sufficient to lift three thousand catties, but is not sufficient to lift one feather; my eyesight is sharp enough to examine the point of an autumn hair, but i do not see a wagon-load of fagots,' would your majesty allow what he said?" "no," was the king's remark, and mencius proceeded, "now here is kindness sufficient to reach to animals, and yet no benefits are extended from it to the people--how is this? is an exception to be made here? the truth is, the feather's not being lifted is because the strength was not used; the wagon-load of firewood's not being seen is because the eyesight was not used; and the people's not being loved and protected is because the kindness is not used. therefore your majesty's not attaining to the royal sway is because you do not do it, and not because you are not able to do it." the king asked, "how may the difference between him who does not do a thing and him who is not able to do it be graphically set forth?" mencius replied, "in such a thing as taking the t'ae mountain under your arm, and leaping with it over the north sea, if you say to people, 'i am not able to do it,' that is a real case of not being able. in such a matter as breaking off a branch from a tree at the order of a superior, if you say to people, 'i am not able to do it,' it is not a case of not being able to do it. and so your majesty's not attaining to the royal sway is not such a case as that of taking the t'ae mountain under your arm and leaping over the north sea with it; but it is a case like that of breaking off a branch from a tree. "treat with reverence due to age the elders in your own family, so that those in the families of others shall be similarly treated; treat with the kindness due to youth the young in your own family, so that those in the families of others shall be similarly treated--do this and the kingdom may be made to go round in your palm. it is said in the 'book of poetry,' 'his example acted on his wife, extended to his brethren, and was felt by all the clans and states;' telling us how king wan simply took this kindly heart, and exercised it towards those parties. therefore the carrying out of the feeling of kindness by a ruler will suffice for the love and protection of all within the four seas; and if he do not carry it out, he will not be able to protect his wife and children. the way in which the ancients came greatly to surpass other men was no other than this, that they carried out well what they did, so as to affect others. now your kindness is sufficient to reach to animals, and yet no benefits are extended from it to the people. how is this? is an exception to be made here? "by weighing we know what things are light, and what heavy. by measuring we know what things are long, and what short. all things are so dealt with, and the mind requires specially to be so. i beg your majesty to measure it.--your majesty collects your equipments of war, endangers your soldiers and officers and excites the resentment of the various princes--do these things cause you pleasure in your mind?" the king said, "no. how should i derive pleasure from these things? my object in them is to seek for what i greatly desire." mencius said, "may i hear from you what it is that your majesty greatly desires?" the king laughed, and did not speak. mencius resumed, "are you led to desire it because you have not enough of rich and sweet food for your mouth? or because you have not enough of light and warm clothing for your body? or because you have not enough of beautifully colored objects to satisfy your eyes? or because there are not voices and sounds enough to fill your ears? or because you have not enough of attendants and favorites to stand before you and receive your orders? your majesty's various officers are sufficient to supply you with all these things. how can your majesty have such a desire on account of them?" "no," said the king, "my desire is not on account of them." mencius observed, "then what your majesty greatly desires can be known. you desire to enlarge your territories, to have ts'in and ts'oo coming to your court, to rule the middle states, and to attract to you the barbarous tribes that surround them. but to do what you do in order to seek for what you desire is like climbing a tree to seek for fish." "is it so bad as that?" said the king. "i apprehend it is worse," was the reply. "if you climb a tree to seek for fish, although you do not get the fish, you have no subsequent calamity. but if you do what you do in order to seek for what you desire, doing it even with all your heart, you will assuredly afterwards meet with calamities." the king said, "may i hear what they will be?" mencius replied, "if the people of tsow were fighting with the people of ts'oo, which of them does your majesty think would conquer?" "the people of ts'oo would conquer," was the answer, and mencius pursued, "so then, a small state cannot contend with a great, few cannot contend with many, nor can the weak contend with the strong. the territory within the seas would embrace nine divisions, each of a thousand li square. all ts'e together is one of them. if with one part you try to subdue the other eight, what is the difference between that and tsow's contending with ts'oo? with the desire which you have, you must turn back to the proper course for its attainment. "now, if your majesty will institute a government whose action shall all be benevolent, this will cause all the officers in the kingdom to wish to stand in your majesty's court, the farmers all to wish to plough in your majesty's fields, the merchants, both travelling and stationary, all to wish to store their goods in your majesty's market-places, travellers and visitors all to wish to travel on your majesty's roads, and all under heaven who feel aggrieved by their rulers to wish to come and complain to your majesty. when they are so bent, who will be able to keep them back?" the king said, "i am stupid and cannot advance to this. but i wish you, my master, to assist my intentions. teach me clearly, and although i am deficient in intelligence and vigor, i should like to try at least to institute such a government." mencius replied, "they are only men of education, who, without a certain livelihood, are able to maintain a fixed heart. as to the people, if they have not a certain livelihood, they will be found not to have a fixed heart. and if they have not a fixed heart, there is nothing which they will not do in the way of self-abandonment, of moral deflection, of depravity, and of wild license. when they have thus been involved in crime, to follow them up and punish them, is to entrap the people. how can such a thing as entrapping the people be done under the rule of a benevolent man?" "therefore, an intelligent ruler will regulate the livelihood of the people, so as to make sure that, above, they shall have sufficient wherewith to serve their parents, and below, sufficient wherewith to support their wives and children; that in good years they shall always be abundantly satisfied, and that in bad years they shall not be in danger of perishing. after this he may urge them, and they will proceed to what is good, for in this case the people will follow after that with readiness. "but now the livelihood of the people is so regulated, that, above, they have not sufficient wherewith to serve their parents, and, below, they have not sufficient wherewith to support their wives and children; even in good years their lives are always embittered, and in bad years they are in danger of perishing. in such circumstances their only object is to escape from death, and they are afraid they will not succeed in doing so--what leisure have they to cultivate propriety and righteousness? "if your majesty wishes to carry out a benevolent government, why not turn back to what is the essential step to its attainment? "let mulberry trees be planted about the homesteads with their five acres, and persons of fifty years will be able to wear silk. in keeping fowls, pigs, dogs, and swine, let not their times of breeding be neglected, and persons of seventy years will be able to eat flesh. let there not be taken away the time that is proper for the cultivation of the field-allotment of a hundred acres, and the family of eight mouths will not suffer from hunger. let careful attention be paid to the teaching in the various schools, with repeated inculcation of the filial and fraternal duties, and gray-haired men will not be seen upon the roads, carrying burdens on their backs or on their heads. it has never been that the ruler of a state, where these results were seen, the old wearing silk and eating flesh, and the black-haired people suffering neither from hunger nor cold, did not attain to the royal dignity." [note: _books ii, iii, and iv are omitted_] [footnote : the title of this book in chinese is--"king hwuy of lëang; in chapters and sentences." like the books of the confucian analects, those of this work are headed by two or three words at or near the commencement of them. each book is divided into two parts. this arrangement was made by chaou k'e, and to him are due also the divisions into chapters, and sentences, or paragraphs, containing, it may be, many sentences.] [footnote : sëang was the son of king hwuy. the first year of his reign is supposed to be b.c. . sëang's name was hih. as a posthumous epithet, sëang has various meanings: "land-enlarger and virtuous"; "successful in arms." the interview here recorded seems to have taken place immediately after hih's accession, and mencius, it is said, was so disappointed by it that he soon after left the country.] the shi-king [_metrical translation by james legge_] introduction the wisdom of confucius as a social reformer, as a teacher and guide of the chinese people, is shown in many ways. he not only gave them a code of personal deportment, providing them with rules for the etiquette and ceremony of life, but he instilled into them that profound spirit of domestic piety which is one of the strongest features in the chinese character. he took measures to secure also the intellectual cultivation of his followers, and his five canons contain all the most ancient works of chinese literature, in the departments of poetry, history, philosophy, and legislation. the shi-king is a collection of chinese poetry made by confucius himself. this great anthology consists of more than three hundred pieces, covering the whole range of chinese lyric poetry, the oldest of which dates some eighteen centuries before christ, while the latest of the selections must have been written at the beginning of the sixth century before christ. these poems are of the highest interest, and even nowadays may be read with delight by europeans. the ballad and the hymn are among the earliest forms of national poetry, and the contents of the shi-king naturally show specimens of lyric poetry of this sort. we find there not only hymns, but also ballads of a really fine and spirited character. sometimes the poems celebrate the common pursuits, occupations, and incidents of life. they rise to the exaltation of the epithalamium, or of the vintage song; at other times they deal with sentiment and human conduct, being in the highest degree sententious and epigrammatic. we must give the credit to confucius of having saved for us the literature of china, and of having set his people an example in preserving the monuments of a remote antiquity. while the literatures of ancient greece and rome have largely perished in the convulsions that followed the breaking up of the roman empire in europe, when the kingdom of china fell into disorder and decrepitude this one great teacher stepped forward to save the precious record of historic fact, philosophical thought, and of legislation as well as poetry, from being swept away by the deluge of revolution. confucius showed his wisdom by the high value he set upon the poetry of his native land, and his name must be set side by side with that of the astute tyrant of athens who collected the poems of homer and preserved them as a precious heritage to the greek world. confucius has given us his opinion with regard to the poems of the shi-king. no man, he says, is worth speaking to who has not mastered the poems of an anthology, the perusal of which elevates the mind and purifies it from all corrupt thoughts. thanks to the work of modern scholarship, english readers can now verify this dictum for themselves. e. w. the shi-king _part i--lessons from the states_ book i the odes of chow and the south ~celebrating the virtue of king wan's bride~ hark! from the islet in the stream the voice of the fish-hawks that o'er their nests rejoice! from them our thoughts to that young lady go, modest and virtuous, loth herself to show. where could be found to share our prince's state, so fair, so virtuous, and so fit a mate? see how the duckweed's stalks, or short or long, sway left and right, as moves the current strong! so hard it was for him the maid to find! by day, by night, our prince with constant mind sought for her long, but all his search was vain. awake, asleep, he ever felt the pain of longing thought, as when on restless bed, tossing about, one turns his fevered head. here long, there short, afloat the duckweed lies; but caught at last, we seize the longed-for prize. the maiden modest, virtuous, coy, is found; strike every lute, and joyous welcome sound. ours now, the duckweed from the stream we bear, and cook to use with other viands rare. he has the maiden, modest, virtuous, bright; let bells and drums proclaim our great delight ~celebrating the industry of king wan's queen~ sweet was the scene. the spreading dolichos extended far, down to the valley's depths, with leaves luxuriant. the orioles fluttered around, and on the bushy trees in throngs collected--whence their pleasant notes resounded far in richest melody. the spreading dolichos extended far, covering the valley's sides, down to its depths, with leaves luxuriant and dense. i cut it down, then boiled, and from the fibres spun of cloth, both fine and coarse, large store, to wear, unwearied of such simple dress. now back to my old home, my parents dear to see, i go. the matron i have told, who will announcement make. meanwhile my clothes, my private clothes i wash, and rinse my robes. which of them need be rinsed? and which need not? my parents dear to visit, back i go. ~in praise of a bride~ graceful and young the peach-tree stands; how rich its flowers, all gleaming bright! this bride to her new home repairs; chamber and house she'll order right. graceful and young the peach-tree stands; large crops of fruit it soon will show. this bride to her new home repairs; chamber and house her sway shall know. graceful and young the peach-tree stands, its foliage clustering green and full. this bride to her new home repairs; her household will attest her rule. ~celebrating t'ae-sze's freedom from jealousy~ in the south are the trees whose branches are bent, and droop in such fashion that o'er their extent all the dolichos' creepers fast cling. see our princely lady, from whom we have got rejoicing that's endless! may her happy lot and her honors repose ever bring! in the south are the trees whose branches are bent, and droop in such fashion that o'er their extent all the dolichos' creepers are spread. see our princely lady, from whom we have got rejoicing that's endless! of her happy lot and her honors the greatness ne'er fade! in the south are the trees whose branches are bent, and droop in such fashion that o'er their extent all the dolichos' creepers entwine. see our princely lady, from whom we have got rejoicing that's endless! may her happy lot and her honors complete ever shine! ~the fruitfulness of the locust~ ye locusts, wingèd tribes, gather in concord fine; well your descendants may in numerous bright hosts shine! ye locusts, wingèd tribes, your wings in flight resound; well your descendants may in endless lines be found! ye locusts, wingèd tribes, together cluster strong; well your descendants may in swarms forever throng! ~lamenting the absence of a cherished friend~ though small my basket, all my toil filled it with mouse-ears but in part. i set it on the path, and sighed for the dear master of my heart. my steeds, o'er-tasked, their progress stayed, when midway up that rocky height. give me a cup from that gilt vase-- when shall this longing end in sight? to mount that lofty ridge i drove, until my steeds all changed their hue. a cup from that rhinoceros's horn may help my longing to subdue. striving to reach that flat-topped hill, my steeds, worn out, relaxed their strain; my driver also sank oppressed:-- i'll never see my lord again! ~celebrating the goodness of the descendants of king wan~ as the feet of the _lin_, which avoid each living thing, so our prince's noble sons no harm to men will bring. they are the _lin!_ as the front of the _lin_, never forward thrust in wrath, so our prince's noble grandsons of love tread the path. they are the _lin!_ as the horn of the _lin_, flesh-tipped, no wound to give, so our prince's noble kindred kindly with all live. they are the _lin!_ [note.--the "lin" is the female of "k'e"--a fabulous animal--the symbol of all goodness and benevolence; having the body of a deer, the tail of an ox, the hoofs of a horse, one horn, the scales of a fish, etc. its feet do not tread on any living thing--not even on live grass; it does not butt with its forehead; and the end of its horn is covered with flesh--to show that, while able for war, it wills to have peace. the "lin" was supposed to appear inaugurating a golden age, but the poet finds a better auspice of that in the character of wan's family and kindred.] ~the virtuous manners of the young women~ high and compressed, the southern trees no shelter from the sun afford. the girls free ramble by the han, but will not hear enticing word. like the broad han are they, through which one cannot dive; and like the keang's long stream, wherewith no raft can strive. many the fagots bound and piled; the thorns i'd hew still more to make. as brides, those girls their new homes seek; their colts to feed i'd undertake. like the broad han are they, through which one cannot dive; and like the keang's long stream, wherewith no raft can strive. many the fagots bound and piled; the southern-wood i'd cut for more. as brides, those girls their new homes seek; food for their colts i'd bring large store. like the broad han are they, through which one cannot dive; and like the keang's long stream, wherewith no raft can strive. ~praise of a rabbit-catcher~ careful he sets his rabbit-nets all round; _chang-chang_ his blows upon the pegs resound. stalwart the man and bold! his bearing all shows he might be his prince's shield and wall. careful he is his rabbit-nets to place where many paths of rabbits' feet bear trace. stalwart the man and bold! 'tis plain to see he to his prince companion good would be. careful he is his rabbit-nets to spread, where in the forest's depth the trees give shade. stalwart the man and bold! fit his the part guide to his prince to be, and faithful heart. ~the song of the plantain-gatherers~ we gather and gather the plantains; come gather them anyhow. yes, gather and gather the plantains, and here we have got them now. we gather and gather the plantains; now off the ears we must tear. yes, gather and gather the plantains, and now the seeds are laid bare. we gather and gather the plantains, the seeds in our skirts are placed. yes, gather and gather the plantains. ho! safe in the girdled waist! ~the affection of the wives on the joo~ along the raised banks of the joo, to hew slim stem and branch i wrought, my lord away, my husband true, like hunger-pang my troubled thought! along the raised banks of the joo, branch and fresh shoot confessed my art. i've seen my lord, my husband true, and still he folds me in his heart. as the toiled bream makes red its tail, toil you, sir, for the royal house; amidst its blazing fires, nor quail:-- your parents see you pay your vows. book ii the odes of shaou and the south ~the marriage of a princess~ in the magpie's nest dwells the dove at rest. this young bride goes to her future home; to meet her a hundred chariots come. of the magpie's nest is the dove possessed. this bride goes to her new home to live; and escort a hundred chariots give. the nest magpie wove now filled by the dove. this bride now takes to her home her way; and these numerous cars her state display. ~the industry and reverence of a prince's wife~ around the pools, the islets o'er, fast she plucks white southern-wood, to help the sacrificial store; and for our prince does service good. where streams among the valleys shine, of southern-woods she plucks the white; and brings it to the sacred shrine, to aid our prince in solemn rite. in head-dress high, most reverent, she the temple seeks at early dawn. the service o'er, the head-dress see to her own chamber slow withdrawn. ~the wife of some great officer bewails his absence~ shrill chirp the insects in the grass; all about the hoppers spring. while i my husband do not see, sorrow must my bosom wring. o to meet him! o to greet him! then my heart would rest and sing. ascending high that southern hill, turtle ferns i strove to get. while i my husband do not see, sorrow must my heart beset. o to meet him! o to greet him! then my heart would cease to fret. ascending high that southern hill, spinous ferns i sought to find. while i my husband do not see, rankles sorrow in my mind. o to meet him! o to greet him! in my heart would peace be shrined. ~the diligence of the young wife of an officer~ she gathers fast the large duckweed, from valley stream that southward flows; and for the pondweed to the pools left on the plains by floods she goes. the plants, when closed her toil, she puts in baskets round and baskets square. then home she hies to cook her spoil, in pans and tripods ready there. in sacred chamber this she sets, where the light falls down through the wall. 'tis she, our lord's young reverent wife, who manages this service all. ~the love of the people for the duke of shaou~ o fell not that sweet pear-tree! see how its branches spread. spoil not its shade, for shaou's chief laid beneath it his weary head. o clip not that sweet pear-tree! each twig and leaflet spare. 'tis sacred now, since the lord of shaou, when weary, rested him there. o touch not that sweet pear-tree! bend not a twig of it now. there long ago, as the stories show, oft halted the chief of shaou. ~the easy dignity of the officers at some court~ arrayed in skins of lamb or sheep, with five silk braidings all of white, from court they go, to take their meal, all self-possessed, with spirits light. how on their skins of lamb or sheep the five seams wrought with white silk show! with easy steps, and self-possessed, from court to take their meal, they go. upon their skins of lamb or sheep shines the white silk the seams to link. with easy steps and self-possessed, they go from court to eat and drink. ~anxiety of a young lady to get married~ ripe, the plums fall from the bough; only seven-tenths left there now! ye whose hearts on me are set, now the time is fortunate! ripe, the plums fall from the bough; only three-tenths left there now! ye who wish my love to gain, will not now apply in vain! no more plums upon the bough! all are in my basket now! ye who me with ardor seek, need the word but freely speak! book iii the odes of p'ei ~an officer bewails the neglect with which he is treated~ it floats about, that boat of cypress wood, now here, now there, as by the current borne. nor rest nor sleep comes in my troubled mood; i suffer as when painful wound has torn the shrinking body. thus i dwell forlorn, and aimless muse, my thoughts of sorrow full. i might with wine refresh my spirit worn; i might go forth, and, sauntering try to cool the fever of my heart; but grief holds sullen rule. my mind resembles not a mirror plate, reflecting all the impressions it receives. the good i love, the bad regard with hate; i only cherish whom my heart believes. colleagues i have, but yet my spirit grieves, that on their honor i cannot depend. i speak, but my complaint no influence leaves upon their hearts; with mine no feelings blend; with me in anger they, and fierce disdain contend. my mind is fixed, and cannot, like a stone, be turned at will indifferently about; and what i think, to that, and that alone, i utterance give, alike within, without; nor can like mat be rolled and carried out. with dignity in presence of them all, my conduct marked, my goodness who shall scout? my foes i boldly challenge, great and small, if there be aught in me they can in question call. how full of trouble is my anxious heart! with hate the blatant herd of creatures mean ceaseless pursue. of their attacks the smart keeps my mind in distress. their venomed spleen aye vents itself; and with insulting mien they vex my soul; and no one on my side a word will speak. silent, alone, unseen, i think of my sad case; then opening wide my eyes, as if from sleep, i beat my breast, sore-tried. thy disc, o sun, should ever be complete, while thine, o changing moon, doth wax and wane. but now our sun hath waned, weak and effete, and moons are ever full. my heart with pain is firmly bound, and held in sorrow's chain, as to the body cleaves an unwashed dress. silent i think of my sad case; in vain i try to find relief from my distress. would i had wings to fly where ills no longer press! ~a wife deplores the absence of her husband~ away the startled pheasant flies, with lazy movement of his wings. borne was my heart's lord from my eyes;-- what pain the separation brings! the pheasant, though no more in view, his cry, below, above, forth sends. alas! my princely lord, 'tis you-- your absence, that my bosom rends. at sun and moon i sit and gaze, in converse with my troubled heart. far, far from me my husband stays! when will he come to heal its smart? ye princely men who with him mate, say, mark ye not his virtuous way. his rule is--covet nought, none hate;-- how can his steps from goodness stray? ~the plaint of a rejected wife~ the east wind gently blows, with cloudy skies and rain. 'twixt man and wife should ne'er be strife, but harmony obtain. radish and mustard plants are used, though some be poor; while my good name is free from blame, don't thrust me from your door. i go along the road, slow, with reluctant heart. your escort lame to door but came, there glad from me to part. sow-thistle, bitter called, as shepherd's purse is sweet; with your new mate you feast elate, as joyous brothers meet. part clear, the stream of king is foul beside the wei. you feast elate with your new mate, and take no heed of me. loose mate, avoid my dam, nor dare my basket move! person slighted, life all blighted, what can the future prove? the water deep, in boat, or raft-sustained, i'd go; and where the stream did narrow seem, i dived or breasted through. i labored to increase our means, or great or small; when 'mong friends near death did appear, on knees to help i'd crawl. no cherishing you give, i'm hostile in your eyes. as pedler's wares for which none cares, my virtues you despise. when poverty was nigh, i strove our means to spare; you, now rich grown, me scorn to own; to poison me compare. the stores for winter piled are all unprized in spring. so now, elate with your new mate, myself away you fling. your cool disdain for me a bitter anguish hath. the early time, our love's sweet prime, in you wakes only wrath. ~soldiers of wei bewail separation from their families~ list to the thunder and roll of the drum! see how we spring and brandish the dart! some raise ts'aou's walls; some do field work at home; but we to the southward lonely depart. our chief, sun tsze-chung, agreement has made, our forces to join with ch'in and with sung. when shall we back from this service be led? our hearts are all sad, our courage unstrung. here we are halting, and there we delay; anon we soon lose our high-mettled steeds. the forest's gloom makes our steps go astray; each thicket of trees our searching misleads. for death as for life, at home or abroad, we pledged to our wives our faithfulest word. their hands clasped in ours, together we vowed, we'd live to old age in sweetest accord. this march to the south can end but in ill; oh! never shall we our wives again meet. the word that we pledged we cannot fulfil; us home returning they never will greet. ~an officer tells of his mean employment~ with mind indifferent, things i easy take; in every dance i prompt appearance make:-- then, when the sun is at his topmost height, there, in the place that courts the public sight. with figure large i in the courtyard dance, and the duke smiles, when he beholds me prance. a tiger's strength i have; the steeds swift bound; the reins as ribbons in my hands are found. see how i hold the flute in my left hand; in right the pheasant's plume, waved like a wand; with visage red, where rouge you think to trace, while the duke pleased, sends down the cup of grace! hazel on hills; the _ling_ in meadow damp;-- each has its place, while i'm a slighted scamp. my thoughts go back to th' early days of chow, and muse upon its chiefs, not equalled now. o noble chiefs, who then the west adorned, would ye have thus neglected me and scorned? ~an officer sets forth his hard lot~ my way leads forth by the gate on the north; my heart is full of woe. i hav'n't a cent, begged, stolen, or lent, and friends forget me so. so let it be! 'tis heaven's decree. what can i say--a poor fellow like me? the king has his throne, sans sorrow or moan; on me fall all his cares, and when i come home, resolved not to roam, each one indignant stares. so let it be! 'tis heaven's decree. what can i say--a poor fellow like me? each thing of the king, and the fate of the state, on me come more and more. and when, sad and worn, i come back forlorn, they thrust me from the door. so let it be! 'tis heaven's decree. what can i say--a poor fellow like me? ~the complaint of a neglected wife~ when the upper robe is green, with a yellow lining seen, there we have a certain token, right is wronged and order broken. how can sorrow from my heart in a case like this depart? color green the robe displays; lower garment yellow's blaze. thus it is that favorite mean in the place of wife is seen. vain the conflict with my grief; memory denies relief. yes, 'twas you the green who dyed, you who fed the favorite's pride. anger rises in my heart, pierces it as with a dart. but on ancient rules lean i, lest to wrong my thoughts should fly. fine or coarse, if thin the dress, cold winds always cause distress. hard my lot, my sorrow deep, but my thoughts in check i keep. ancient story brings to mind sufferers who were resigned. [note.--yellow is one of the five "correct" colors of the chinese, while green is one of the "intermediate" colors that are less esteemed. here we have the yellow used merely as a lining to the green, or employed in the lower, or less honorable, part of the dress;--an inversion of propriety, and intimating how a favorite had usurped the place of the rightful wife and thrust her down.] ~in praise of a maiden~ o sweet maiden, so fair and retiring, at the corner i'm waiting for you; and i'm scratching my head, and inquiring what on earth it were best i should do. oh! the maiden, so handsome and coy, for a pledge gave a slim rosy reed. than the reed is she brighter, my joy; on her loveliness how my thoughts feed! in the pastures a _t'e_ blade she sought, and she gave it, so elegant, rare. oh! the grass does not dwell in my thought, but the donor, more elegant, fair. ~discontent~ as when the north winds keenly blow, and all around fast falls the snow, the source of pain and suffering great, so now it is in wei's poor state. let us join hands and haste away, my friends and lovers all. 'tis not a time will brook delay; things for prompt action call. as when the north winds whistle shrill, and drifting snows each hollow fill, the source of pain and suffering great, so now it is in wei's poor state, let us join hands, and leave for aye, my friends and lovers all, 'tis not a time will brook delay; things for prompt action call. we look for red, and foxes meet; for black, and crows our vision greet. the creatures, both of omen bad, well suit the state of wei so sad. let us join hands and mount our cars, my friends and lovers all. no time remains for wordy jars; things for prompt action call. ~chwang keang bemoans her husband's cruelty~ fierce is the wind and cold; and such is he. smiling he looks, and bold speaks mockingly. scornful and lewd his words, haughty his smile. bound is my heart with cords in sorrow's coil. as cloud of dust wind-blown, just such is he. ready he seems to own, and come to me. but he comes not nor goes, stands in his pride. long, long, with painful throes, grieved i abide. strong blew the wind; the cloud hastened away. soon dark again, the shroud covers the day. i wake, and sleep no more visits my eyes. his course i sad deplore, with heavy sighs. cloudy the sky, and dark; the thunders roll. such outward signs well mark my troubled soul. i wake, and sleep no more comes to give rest. his course i sad deplore, in anguished breast. [note: selections from books iv., v., and vi., have been omitted.--editor.] book vii the odes of ch'ing ~the people's admiration for duke woo~ the black robes well your form befit; when they are worn we'll make you new. now for your court! oh! there we'll sit, and watch how you your duties do. and when we to our homes repair, we'll send to you our richest fare, such is the love to you we bear! those robes well with your virtue match; when they are worn we'll make you new. now for your court! there will we watch, well pleased, how you your duties do. and when we to our homes repair, we'll send to you our richest fare, such is the love to you we bear! those robes your character beseem; when they are worn we'll make you new. now for your court! oh! there we deem it pleasure great your form to view. and when we to our homes repair, we'll send to you our richest fare, such is the love to you we bear! ~a wife consoled by her husband's arrival~ cold is the wind, fast falls the rain, the cock aye shrilly crows. but i have seen my lord again;-- now must my heart repose. whistles the wind, patters the rain, the cock's crow far resounds. but i have seen my lord again, and healed are my heart's wounds. all's dark amid the wind and rain, ceaseless the cock's clear voice! but i have seen my lord again;-- should not my heart rejoice? ~in praise of some lady~ there by his side in chariot rideth she, as lovely flower of the hibiscus tree, so fair her face; and when about they wheel, her girdle gems of _ken_ themselves reveal. for beauty all the house of këang have fame; its eldest daughter--she beseems her name. there on the path, close by him, walketh she, bright as the blossom of hibiscus tree, and fair her face; and when around they flit, her girdle gems a tinkling sound emit. among the keang she has distinguished place, for virtuous fame renowned, and peerless grace. ~a man's praise of his wife~ my path forth from the east gate lay, where cloud-like moved the girls at play. numerous are they, as clouds so bright, but not on them my heart's thoughts light. dressed in a thin white silk, with coiffure gray is she, my wife, my joy in life's low way. forth by the covering wall's high tower, i went, and saw, like rush in flower, each flaunting girl. brilliant are they, but not with them my heart's thoughts stay. in thin white silk, with head-dress madder-dyed, is she, my sole delight, 'foretime my bride. ~an entreaty~ along the great highway, i hold you by the cuff. o spurn me not, i pray, nor break old friendship off. along the highway worn, i hold your hand in mine. do not as vile me scorn; your love i can't resign. ~a woman scorning her lover~ o dear! that artful boy refuses me a word! but, sir, i shall enjoy my food, though you're absurd! o dear! that artful boy my table will not share! but, sir, i shall enjoy my rest, though you're not there! ~a lady mourns the absence of her student lover~ you student, with the collar blue, long pines my heart with anxious pain. although i do not go to you, why from all word do you refrain? o you, with girdle strings of blue, my thoughts to you forever roam! although i do not go to you, yet why to me should you not come? how reckless you, how light and wild, there by the tower upon the wall! one day, from sight of you exiled, as long as three long months i call. [note: selections from books iv., v., and vi., have been omitted.--editor.] book viii the odes of ts'e ~a wife urging her husband to action~ his lady to the marquis says, "the cock has crowed; 'tis late. get up, my lord, and haste to court. 'tis full; for you they wait." she did not hear the cock's shrill sound, only the blueflies buzzing round. again she wakes him with the words, "the east, my lord, is bright. a crowded court your presence seeks; get up and hail the light." 'twas not the dawning light which shone, but that which by the moon was thrown. he sleeping still, once more she says, "the flies are buzzing loud. to lie and dream here by your side were pleasant, but the crowd of officers will soon retire; draw not on you and me their ire!" ~the folly of useless effort~ the weeds will but the ranker grow, if fields too large you seek to till. to try to gain men far away with grief your toiling heart will fill, if fields too large you seek to till, the weeds will only rise more strong. to try to gain men far away will but your heart's distress prolong. things grow the best when to themselves left, and to nature's vigor rare. how young and tender is the child, with his twin tufts of falling hair! but when you him ere long behold, that child shall cap of manhood wear! ~the prince of loo~ a grand man is the prince of loo, with person large and high. lofty his front and suited to the fine glance of his eye! swift are his feet. in archery what man with him can vie? with all these goodly qualities, we see him and we sigh! renowned through all the land is he, the nephew of our lord. with clear and lovely eyes, his grace may not be told by word. all day at target practice, he'll never miss the bird. such is the prince of loo, and yet with grief for him we're stirred! all grace and beauty he displays, high forehead and eyes bright. and dancing choice! his arrows all the target hit aright. straight through they go, and every one lights on the self-same spot. rebellion he could well withstand, and yet we mourn his lot! book ix the odes of wei ~on the misgovernment of the state~ a fruit, small as the garden peach, may still be used for food. a state, though poor as ours, might thrive, if but its rule were good. our rule is bad, our state is sad, with mournful heart i grieve. all can from instrument and voice my mood of mind perceive. who know me not, with scornful thought, deem me a scholar proud. "those men are right," they fiercely say, "what mean your words so loud?" deep in my heart my sorrows lie, and none the cause may know. how should they know who never try to learn whence comes our woe? the garden jujube, although small, may still be used for food. a state, though poor as ours, might thrive, if but its rule were good. our rule is bad, our state is sad, with mournful heart i grieve. methinks i'll wander through the land, my misery to relieve. who know me not, with scornful thought, deem that wild views i hold. "those men are right," they fiercely say, "what mean your words so bold?" deep in my heart my sorrows lie, and none the cause may know. how can they know, who never try to learn whence comes our woe? ~the mean husband~ thin cloth of dolichos supplies the shoes, in which some have to brave the frost and cold. a bride, when poor, her tender hands must use, her dress to make, and the sharp needle hold. this man is wealthy, yet he makes his bride collars and waistbands for his robes provide. conscious of wealth, he moves with easy mien; politely on the left he takes his place; the ivory pin is at his girdle seen:-- his dress and gait show gentlemanly grace. why do we brand him in our satire here? 'tis this---his niggard soul provokes the sneer. ~a young soldier on service~ to the top of that tree-clad hill i go, and towards my father i gaze, till with my mind's eye his form i espy, and my mind's ear hears how he says:-- "alas for my son on service abroad! he rests not from morning till eve. may he careful be and come back to me! while he is away, how i grieve!" to the top of that barren hill i climb, and towards my mother i gaze, till with my mind's eye her form i espy, and my mind's ear hears how she says:-- "alas for my child on service abroad! he never in sleep shuts an eye. may he careful be, and come back to me! in the wild may his body not lie!" up the lofty ridge i, toiling, ascend, and towards my brother i gaze, till with my mind's eye his form i espy, and my mind's ear hears how he says:-- "alas! my young brother, serving abroad, all day with his comrades must roam. may he careful be, and come back to me, and die not away from his home." book x the odes of tang ~the king goes to war~ the wild geese fly the bushy oaks around, with clamor loud. _suh-suh_ their wings resound, as for their feet poor resting-place is found. the king's affairs admit of no delay. our millet still unsown, we haste away. no food is left our parents to supply; when we are gone, on whom can they rely? o azure heaven, that shinest there afar, when shall our homes receive us from the war? the wild geese on the bushy jujube-trees attempt to settle and are ill at ease;-- _suh-suh_ their wings go flapping in the breeze. the king's affairs admit of no delay; our millet still unsown, we haste away. how shall our parents their requirements get? how in our absence shall their wants be met? o azure heaven, that shinest there afar, when shall our homes receive us from the war? the bushy mulberry-trees the geese in rows seek eager and to rest around them close-- with rustling loud, as disappointment grows. the king's affairs admit of no delay; to plant our rice and maize we cannot stay. how shall our parents find their wonted food? when we are gone, who will to them be good? o azure heaven, that shinest there afar, when shall our homes receive us from the war? ~lament of a bereaved person~ a russet pear-tree rises all alone, but rich the growth of leaves upon it shown! i walk alone, without one brother left, and thus of natural aid am i bereft. plenty of people there are all around, but none like my own father's sons are found. ye travellers, who forever hurry by, why on me turn the unsympathizing eye? no brother lives with whom my cause to plead;-- why not perform for me the helping deed? a russet pear-tree rises all alone, but rich with verdant foliage o'ergrown. i walk alone, without one brother's care, to whom i might, amid my straits repair. plenty of people there are all around, but none like those of my own name are found. ye travellers, who forever hurry by, why on me turn the unsympathizing eye? no brother lives with whom my cause to plead;-- why not perform for me the helping deed? ~the drawbacks of poverty~ on the left of the way, a russet pear-tree stands there all alone--a fit image of me. there is that princely man! o that he would come, and in my poor dwelling with me be at home! in the core of my heart do i love him, but say, whence shall i procure him the wants of the day? at the bend in the way a russet pear-tree stands there all alone--a fit image of me. there is that princely man! o that he would come, and rambling with me be himself here at home! in the core of my heart i love him, but say, whence shall i procure him the wants of the day? ~a wife mourns for her husband~ the dolichos grows and covers the thorn, o'er the waste is the dragon-plant creeping. the man of my heart is away and i mourn-- what home have i, lonely and weeping? covering the jujubes the dolichos grows, the graves many dragon-plants cover; but where is the man on whose breast i'd repose? no home have i, having no lover! fair to see was the pillow of horn, and fair the bed-chamber's adorning; but the man of my heart is not here, and i mourn all alone, and wait for the morning. while the long days of summer pass over my head, and long winter nights leave their traces, i'm alone! till a hundred of years shall have fled, and then i shall meet his embraces. through the long winter nights i am burdened with fears, through the long summer days i am lonely; but when time shall have counted its hundreds of years i then shall be his--and his only! book xi the odes of ts'in ~celebrating the opulence of the lords of ts'in~ our ruler to the hunt proceeds; and black as iron are his steeds that heed the charioteer's command, who holds the six reins in his hand. his favorites follow to the chase, rejoicing in his special grace. the season's males, alarmed, arise-- the season's males, of wondrous size. driven by the beaters, forth they spring, soon caught within the hunters' ring. "drive on their left," the ruler cries; and to its mark his arrow flies. the hunting done, northward he goes; and in the park the driver shows the horses' points, and his own skill that rules and guides them at his will. light cars whose teams small bells display, the long-and short-mouthed dogs convey. ~a complaint~ he lodged us in a spacious house, and plenteous was our fare. but now at every frugal meal there's not a scrap to spare. alas! alas that this good man could not go on as he began! ~a wife's grief because of her husband's absence~ the falcon swiftly seeks the north, and forest gloom that sent it forth. since i no more my husband see, my heart from grief is never free. o how is it, i long to know, that he, my lord, forgets me so? bushy oaks on the mountain grow, and six elms where the ground is low. but i, my husband seen no more, my sad and joyless fate deplore. o how is it, i long to know, that he, my lord, forgets me so? the hills the bushy wild plums show, and pear-trees grace the ground below. but, with my husband from me gone, as drunk with grief, i dwell alone. o how is it, i long to know, that he, my lord, forgets me so? ~lament for three brothers~ they flit about, the yellow birds, and rest upon the jujubes find. who buried were in duke muh's grave, alive to awful death consigned? 'mong brothers three, who met that fate, 'twas sad the first, yen-seih to see. he stood alone; a hundred men could show no other such as he. when to the yawning grave he came, terror unnerved and shook his frame. why thus destroy our noblest men, to thee we cry, o azure heaven! to save yen-seih from death, we would a hundred lives have freely given. they flit about, the yellow birds, and on the mulberry-trees rest find. who buried were in duke muh's grave, alive to awful death consigned? 'mong brothers three, who met that fate, 'twas sad the next, chung-hang to see. when on him pressed a hundred men, a match for all of them was he. when to the yawning grave he came, terror unnerved and shook his frame. why thus destroy our noblest men, to thee we cry, o azure heaven! to save chung-hang from death, we would a hundred lives have freely given. they flit about, the yellow birds, and rest upon the thorn-trees find. who buried were in duke muh's grave, alive to awful death consigned? 'mong brothers three, who met that fate, 'twas sad the third, k'ëen-foo, to see. a hundred men in desperate fight successfully withstand could he. when to the yawning grave he came, terror unnerved and shook his frame. why thus destroy our noblest men, to thee we cry, o azure heaven! to save k'ëen-foo from death, we would a hundred lives have freely given. [note.--the incident related in this poem occurred in the year b.c. , when the duke of muh died after playing an important part in the affairs of northwest china. muh required the three officers here celebrated, to be buried with him, and according to the "historical records" this barbarous practice began with duke ching, muh's predecessor. in all, individuals were buried with muh. the death of the last distinguished man of the ts'in dynasty, the emperor i, was subsequently celebrated by the entombment with him of all the inmates of his harem.] ~in praise of a ruler of ts'in~ what trees grow on the chung-nan hill? the white fir and the plum. in fur of fox, 'neath 'broidered robe, thither our prince is come. his face glows with vermilion hue. o may he prove a ruler true! what find we on the chung-nan hill? deep nook and open glade. our prince shows there the double _ke_ on lower robe displayed. his pendant holds each tinkling gem, long life be his, and deathless fame! ~the generous nephew~ i escorted my uncle to tsin, till the wei we crossed on the way. then i gave as i left for his carriage a gift four steeds, and each steed was a bay. i escorted my uncle to tsin, and i thought of him much in my heart. pendent stones, and with them of fine jasper a gem, i gave, and then saw him depart. book xii the odes of ch'in ~the contentment of a poor recluse~ my only door some pieces of crossed wood, within it i can rest enjoy. i drink the water wimpling from the spring; nor hunger can my peace destroy. purged from ambition's aims i say, "for fish. we need not bream caught in the ho; nor, to possess the sweets of love, require to ts'e, to find a keang, to go. "the man contented with his lot, a meal of fish without ho carp can make; nor needs, to rest in his domestic joy, a tsze of sung as wife to take." ~the disappointed lover~ where grow the willows near the eastern gate, and 'neath their leafy shade we could recline, she said at evening she would me await, and brightly now i see the day-star shine! here where the willows near the eastern gate grow, and their dense leaves make a shady gloom, she said at evening she would me await. see now the morning star the sky illume! ~a love-song~ the moon comes forth, bright in the sky; a lovelier sight to draw my eye is she, that lady fair. she round my heart has fixed love's chain, but all my longings are in vain. 'tis hard the grief to bear. the moon comes forth, a splendid sight; more winning far that lady bright, object of my desire! deep-seated is my anxious grief; in vain i seek to find relief; while glows the secret fire. the rising moon shines mild and fair; more bright is she, whose beauty rare my heart with longing fills. with eager wish i pine in vain; o for relief from constant pain, which through my bosom thrills! ~the lament of a lover~ there where its shores the marsh surround, rushes and lotus plants abound. their loveliness brings to my mind the lovelier one that i would find. in vain i try to ease the smart of wounded love that wrings my heart. in waking thought and nightly dreams, from every pore the water streams. all round the marsh's shores are seen valerian flowers and rushes green. but lovelier is that beauty rare, handsome and large, and tall and fair, i wish and long to call her mine, doomed with the longing still to pine. nor day nor night e'er brings relief; my inmost heart is full of grief. around the marsh, in rich display, grow rush and lotus flowers, all gay. but not with her do they compare, so tall and large, majestic, fair. both day and night, i nothing speed; still clings to me the aching need. on side, on back, on face, i lie, but vain each change of posture. the odes of kwei ~the wish of an unhappy man~ where the grounds are wet and low, there the trees of goat-peach grow, with their branches small and smooth, glossy in their tender youth. joy it were to me, o tree, consciousness to want like thee. where the grounds are wet and low, there the trees of goat-peach grow. soft and fragrant are their flowers, glossy from the vernal showers. joy it were to me, o tree, ties of home to want like thee. where the grounds are wet and low, there the trees of goat-peach grow, what delicious fruits they bear, glossy, soft, of beauty rare! joy it were to me, o tree, household cares to want like thee. book xiv the odes of ts'aou ~against frivolous pursuits~ like splendid robes appear the wings of the ephemeral fly; and such the pomp of those great men, which soon in death shall lie! i grieve! would they but come to me! to teach them i should try. the wings of the ephemeral fly are robes of colors gay; and such the glory of those men, soon crumbling to decay! i grieve! would they but rest with me, they'd learn a better way! the ephemeral fly bursts from its hole, with gauzy wings like snow; so quick the rise, so quick the fall, of those great men we know! i grieve! would they but lodge with me, forth they would wiser go. book xv the odes of pin ~the duke of chow tells of his soldiers~ to the hills of the east we went, and long had we there to remain. when the word of recall was sent, thick and fast came the drizzling rain. when told our return we should take, our hearts in the west were and sore; but there did they clothes for us make:-- they knew our hard service was o'er. on the mulberry grounds in our sight the large caterpillars were creeping; lonely and still we passed the night, all under our carriages sleeping. to the hills of the east we went, and long had we there to remain. when the word of recall was sent, thick and fast came the drizzling rain. the heavenly gourds rise to the eye, with their fruit hanging under the eave. in our chambers the sow-bug we spy; their webs on our doors spiders weave. our paddocks seem crowded with deer, with the glow-worm's light all about. such thoughts, while they filled us with fear, we tried, but in vain, to keep out. to the hills of the east we went, and long had we there to remain. when the word of recall was sent, thick and fast came the drizzling rain. on ant-hills screamed cranes with delight; in their rooms were our wives sighing sore. our homes they had swept and made tight:-- all at once we arrived at the door. the bitter gourds hanging are seen, from branches of chestnut-trees high. three years of toil away we had been, since such a sight greeted the eye. to the hills of the east we went, and long had we there to remain. when the word of recall was sent, thick and fast came the drizzling rain. with its wings now here, and now there, is the oriole sporting in flight. those brides to their husbands repair, their steeds red and bay, flecked with white. each mother has fitted each sash; their equipments are full and complete; but fresh unions, whatever their dash, can ne'er with reunions compete. ~there is a proper way for doing everything~ in hewing an axe-shaft, how must you act? another axe take, or you'll never succeed. in taking a wife, be sure 'tis a fact, that with no go-between you never can speed. in hewing an axe-shaft, hewing a shaft, for a copy you have the axe in your hand. in choosing a wife, you follow the craft, and forthwith on the mats the feast-vessels stand. part ii.--minor odes to the kingdom book i decade of luh ming ~a festal ode~ with sounds of happiness the deer browse on the celery of the meads. a nobler feast is furnished here, with guests renowned for noble deeds. the lutes are struck; the organ blows, till all its tongues in movement heave. each basket loaded stands, and shows the precious gifts the guests receive. they love me and my mind will teach, how duty's highest aim to reach. with sounds of happiness the deer the southern-wood crop in the meads, what noble guests surround me here, distinguished for their worthy deeds! from them my people learn to fly whate'er is mean; to chiefs they give a model and a pattern high;-- they show the life they ought to live. then fill their cups with spirits rare, till each the banquet's joy shall share. with sounds of happiness the deer the salsola crop in the fields. what noble guests surround me here! each lute for them its music yields. sound, sound the lutes, or great or small. the joy harmonious to prolong;-- and with my spirits rich crown all the cups to cheer the festive throng. let each retire with gladdened heart, in his own sphere to play his part. ~a festal ode complimenting an officer~ on dashed my four steeds, without halt, without stay, though toilsome and winding from chow was the way. i wished to return--but the monarch's command forbade that his business be done with slack hand; and my heart was with sadness oppressed. on dashed my four steeds; i ne'er slackened the reins. they snorted and panted--all white, with black manes. i wished to return, but our sovereign's command forbade that his business be done with slack hand;-- and i dared not to pause or to rest. unresting the filial doves speed in their flight, ascending, then sweeping swift down from the height, now grouped on the oaks. the king's high command forbade that his business be done with slack hand;-- and my father i left, sore distressed. unresting the filial doves speed in their flight, now fanning the air and anon they alight on the medlars thick grouped. but our monarch's command forbade that his business be done with slack hand;-- of my mother i thought with sad breast. my four steeds i harnessed, all white and black-maned, which straight on their way, fleet and emulous strained. i wished to return; and now venture in song the wish to express, and announce how i long for my mother my care to attest. [note.--both maou and choo agree that this ode was composed in honor of the officer who narrates the story in it, although they say it was not written by the officer himself, but was put into his mouth, as it were, to express the sympathy of his entertainer with him, and the appreciation of his devotion to duty.] ~the value of friendship~ the woodmen's blows responsive ring, as on the trees they fall; and when the birds their sweet notes sing, they to each other call. from the dark valley comes a bird, and seeks the lofty tree. _ying_ goes its voice, and thus it cries, "companion, come to me." the bird, although a creature small, upon its mate depends; and shall we men, who rank o'er all, not seek to have our friends? all spirits love the friendly man, and hearken to his prayer. what harmony and peace they can bestow, his lot shall share. _hoo-hoo_ the woodmen all unite to shout, as trees they fell. they do their work with all their might;-- what i have done i'll tell. i've strained and made my spirits clear, the fatted lambs i've killed. with friends who my own surname bear, my hall i've largely filled. some may be absent, casually, and leave a broken line; but better this than absence by an oversight of mine. my court i've sprinkled and swept clean, viands in order set. eight dishes loaded stand with grain; there's store of fatted meat. my mother's kith and kin i'm sure i've widely called by name. that some be hindered better is than ~i~ give cause for blame. on the hill-side the trees they fell, all working with good-will i labor too, with equal zeal. and the host's part fulfil. spirits i've set in order meet, the dishes stand in rows. the guests are here; no vacant seat a brother absent shows. the loss of kindly feeling oft from slightest things shall grow, where all the fare is dry and spare, resentments fierce may glow. my store of spirits is well strained, if short prove the supply, my messengers i straightway send, and what is needed buy. i beat the drums, and in the dance lead joyously the train. oh! good it is, when falls the chance the sparkling cup to drain. ~the response to a festal ode~ heaven shields and sets thee fast. it round thee fair has cast thy virtue pure. thus richest joy is thine;-- increase of corn and wine, and every gift divine, abundant, sure. heaven shields and sets thee fast. from it thou goodness hast; right are thy ways. its choicest gifts 'twill pour, that last for evermore, nor time exhaust the store through endless days. heaven shields and sets thee fast, makes thine endeavor last and prosper well. like hills and mountains high, whose masses touch the sky; like streams aye surging by; thine increase swell! with rite and auspice fair, thine offerings thou dost bear, and son-like give, the season's round from spring, to olden duke and king, whose words to thee we bring:-- "forever live," the spirits of thy dead pour blessings on thy head, unnumbered sweet. thy subjects, simple, good, enjoy their drink and food. our tribes of every blood follow thy feet. like moons that wax in light; or suns that scale the height; or ageless hill; nor change, nor autumn know; as pine and cypress grow; the sons that from thee flow be lasting still! ~an ode of congratulation~ the russet pear-tree stands there all alone; how bright the growth of fruit upon it shown! the king's affairs no stinting hands require, and days prolonged still mock our fond desire. but time has brought the tenth month of the year; my woman's heart is torn with wound severe. surely my warrior lord might now appear! the russet pear-tree stands there all alone; how dense the leafy shade all o'er it thrown! the king's affairs require no slackening hand, and our sad hearts their feelings can't command. the plants and trees in beauty shine; 'tis spring. from off my heart its gloom i fain would fling. this season well my warrior home may bring! i climbed that northern hill, and medlars sought; the spring nigh o'er, to ripeness they were brought. "the king's affairs cannot be slackly done";-- 'tis thus our parents mourn their absent son. but now his sandal car must broken be; i seem his powerful steeds worn out to see. relief has gone! he can't be far from me! alas! they can't have marched; they don't arrive! more hard it grows with my distress to strive. the time is passed, and still he is not here! my sorrows multiply; great is my fear. but lo! by reeds and shell i have divined, that he is near, they both assure my mind;-- soon at my side my warrior i shall find! ~an ode on the return of the troops~ forth from the city in our cars we drove, until we halted at the pasture ground. the general came, and there with ardor strove a note of zeal throughout the host to sound. "direct from court i come, by orders bound the march to hasten";--it was thus he spake. then with the carriage-officers around, he strictly charged them quick despatch to make:-- "urgent the king's affairs, forthwith the field we take." while there we stopped, the second corps appeared, and 'twixt us and the city took its place. the guiding standard was on high upreared, where twining snakes the tortoises embrace, while oxtails, crest-like, did the staff's top grace. we watched the sheet unfolding grandly wave; each flag around showed falcons on its face. with anxious care looked on our leader brave; watchful the carriage-officers appeared and grave. nan chung, our chief, had heard the royal call to go where inroad by heen-yuns was made, and 'cross the frontier build a barrier wall. numerous his chariots, splendidly arrayed! the standards--this where dragons were displayed, and that where snakes round tortoises were coiled-- terrific flew. "northward our host," he said, "heaven's son sends forth to tame the heen-yun wild." soon by this awful chief would all their tribes be foiled. when first we took the field, and northward went, the millet was in flower;--a prospect sweet. now when our weary steps are homeward bent, the snow falls fast, the mire impedes our feet. many the hardships we were called to meet, ere the king's orders we had all fulfilled. no rest we had; often our friends to greet the longing came; but vain regrets we stilled; by tablets stern our hearts with fresh resolve were thrilled. "incessant chirp the insects in the grass; all round about the nimble hoppers spring. from them our thoughts quick to our husbands pass? although those thoughts our hearts with anguish wring. oh! could we see them, what relief 'twould bring! our hearts, rejoiced, at once would feel at rest." thus did our wives, their case deploring, sing; the while our leader farther on had pressed, and smitten with his power the wild jung of the west. the spring days now are lengthening out their light; the plants and trees are dressed in living green; the orioles resting sing, or wing their flight; our wives amid the southern-wood are seen, which white they bring, to feed their silkworms keen. our host, returned, sweeps onwards to the hall, where chiefs are questioned, shown the captives mean nan chung, majestic, draws the gaze of all, proud o'er the barbarous foe his victories to recall. book ii the decade of pih h'wa ~an ode appropriate to a festivity~ the dew lies heavy all around, nor, till the sun shines, leaves the ground. far into night we feasting sit; we drink, and none his place may quit. the dew lies heavy, and its gems stud the luxuriant, grassy stems. the happy night with wassail rings; so feasted here the former kings. the jujube and the willow-tree all fretted with the dew we see. each guest's a prince of noble line, in whom the virtues all combine. the _t'ung_ and _e_ their fruits display, pendant from every graceful spray. my guests are joyous and serene, no haggard eye, no ruffled mien. book iii the decade of tung rung ~celebrating a hunting expedition~ our chariots were well-built and firm, well-matched our steeds, and fleet and strong. four, sleek and large, each chariot drew, and eastward thus we drove along. our hunting cars were light and good, each with its team of noble steeds. still further east we took the way to foo-mere's grassy plains that leads. loud-voiced, the masters of the chase arranged the huntsmen, high and low. while banners streamed, and ox-tails flew, we sought the prey on distant gaou. each with full team, the princes came, a lengthened train in bright array. in gold-wrought slippers, knee-caps red, they looked as on an audience day. each right thumb wore the metal guard; on the left arm its shield was bound. in unison the arrows flew; the game lay piled upon the ground. the leaders of the tawny teams sped on their course, direct and true. the drivers perfect skill displayed; like blow well aimed each arrow flew. neighing and pleased, the steeds returned; the bannered lines back slowly came. no jostling rude disgraced the crowd; the king declined large share of game. so did this famous hunt proceed! so free it was from clamorous sound! well does our king become his place, and high the deeds his reign have crowned! ~the king's anxiety for his morning levée~ how goes the night? for heavy morning sleep ill suits the king who men would loyal keep. the courtyard, ruddy with the torch's light, proclaims unspent the deepest hour of night. already near the gate my lords appear; their tinkling bells salute my wakeful ear. how goes the night? i may not slumber on. although not yet the night is wholly gone, the paling torch-light in the court below gives token that the hours swift-footed go. already at the gate my lords appear; their tinkling bells with measured sound draw near. how goes the night? i may not slumber now. the darkness smiles with morning on its brow. the courtyard torch no more gives forth its ray, but heralds with its smoke the coming day. my princes pass the gate, and gather there; i see their banners floating in the air. ~moral lessons from natural facts~ all true words fly, as from yon reedy marsh the crane rings o'er the wild its screaming harsh. vainly you try reason in chains to keep;-- freely it moves as fish sweeps through the deep. hate follows love, as 'neath those sandal-trees the withered leaves the eager searcher sees. the hurtful ne'er without some good was born;-- the stones that mar the hill will grind the corn. all true words spread, as from the marsh's eye the crane's sonorous note ascends the sky. goodness throughout the widest sphere abides, as fish round isle and through the ocean glides. and lesser good near greater you shall see, as grows the paper shrub 'neath sandal-tree. and good emerges from what man condemns;-- those stones that mar the hill will polish gems. book iv the decade of k'e-foo ~on the completion of a royal palace~ on yonder banks a palace, lo! upshoots, the tender blue of southern hill behind; firm-founded, like the bamboo's clamping roots; its roof made pine-like, to a point defined. fraternal love here bears its precious fruits, and unfraternal schemes be ne'er designed! ancestral sway is his. the walls they rear, five thousand cubits long; and south and west the doors are placed. here will the king appear, here laugh, here talk, here sit him down and rest. to mould the walls, the frames they firmly tie; the toiling builders beat the earth and lime. the walls shall vermin, storm, and bird defy;-- fit dwelling is it for his lordly prime. grand is the hall the noble lord ascends;-- in height, like human form most reverent, grand; and straight, as flies the shaft when bow unbends; its tints, like hues when pheasant's wings expand. high pillars rise the level court around; the pleasant light the open chamber steeps; and deep recesses, wide alcoves, are found, where our good king in perfect quiet sleeps. laid is the bamboo mat on rush mat square;-- here shall he sleep, and, waking, say, "divine what dreams are good? for bear and grizzly bear, and snakes and cobras, haunt this couch of mine." then shall the chief diviner glad reply, "the bears foreshow that heaven will send you sons. the snakes and cobras daughters prophesy. these auguries are all auspicious ones. "sons shall be his--on couches lulled to rest. the little ones, enrobed, with sceptres play; their infant cries are loud as stern behest; their knees the vermeil covers shall display. as king hereafter one shall be addressed; the rest, our princes, all the states shall sway. "and daughters also to him shall be born. they shall be placed upon the ground to sleep; their playthings tiles, their dress the simplest worn; their part alike from good and ill to keep, and ne'er their parents' hearts to cause to mourn; to cook the food, and spirit-malt to steep." ~the condition of king seuen's flocks~ who dares to say your sheep are few? the flocks are all three hundred strong. who dares despise your cattle too? there ninety, black-lipped, press along. though horned the sheep, yet peaceful each appears; the cattle come with moist and flapping ears. these climb the heights, those drink the pool; some lie at rest, while others roam. with rain-coats, and thin splint hats cool, and bearing food, your herdsmen come. in thirties, ranged by hues, the creatures stand; fit victims they will yield at your command. your herdsmen twigs and fagots bring, with prey of birds and beasts for food. your sheep, untouched by evil thing, approach, their health and vigor good. the herdsman's waving hand they all behold, and docile come, and pass into the fold. your herdsmen dream;--fish take the place of men; on banners falcons fly, displacing snakes and tortoises. the augur tells his prophecy:-- "the first betoken plenteous years; the change of banners shows of homes a widening range." book v the decade of seaou min ~a eunuch complains of his fate~ a few fine lines, at random drawn, like the shell-pattern wrought in lawn to hasty glance will seem. my trivial faults base slander's slime distorted into foulest crime, and men me worthless deem. a few small points, pricked down on wood, may be made out a picture good of the bright southern sieve. who planned, and helped those slanderers vile, my name with base lies to defile? unpitied, here i grieve. with babbling tongues you go about, and only scheme how to make out the lies you scatter round. hear me--be careful what you say; people ere long your words will weigh, and liars you'll be found. clever you are with changeful schemes! how else could all your evil dreams and slanders work their way? men now believe you; by and by, the truth found out, each vicious lie will ill for ill repay. the proud rejoice; the sufferer weeps. o azure heaven, from out thy deeps why look in silence down? behold those proud men and rebuke; with pity on the sufferers look, and on the evil frown. those slanderers i would gladly take, with all who help their schemes to make, and to the tigers throw. if wolves and tigers such should spare, td hurl them 'midst the freezing air, where the keen north winds blow. and should the north compassion feel i'd fling them to great heaven, to deal on them its direst woe. as on the sacred heights you dwell, my place is in the willow dell, one is the other near. before you, officers, i spread these lines by me, poor eunuch, made. think not mang-tsze severe. ~an officer deplores the misery of the time~ in the fourth month summer shines; in the sixth the heat declines. nature thus grants men relief; tyranny gives only grief. were not my forefathers men? can my suffering 'scape their ken? in the cold of autumn days each plant shrivels and decays. nature then is hard and stern; living things sad lessons learn. friends dispersed, all order gone, place of refuge have i none. winter days are wild and fierce; rapid gusts each crevice pierce. such is my unhappy lot, unbefriended and forgot! others all can happy be; i from misery ne'er am free. on the mountains are fine trees; chestnuts, plum-trees, there one sees. all the year their forms they show; stately more and more they grow. noble turned to ravening thief! what the cause? this stirs my grief. waters from that spring appear sometimes foul, and sometimes clear, changing oft as falls the rain, or the sky grows bright again. new misfortunes every day still befall me, misery's prey. aid from mighty streams obtained, southern states are shaped and drained. thus the keang and han are thanked, and as benefactors ranked. weary toil my vigor drains; all unnoticed it remains! hawks and eagles mount the sky; sturgeons in deep waters lie. out of reach, they safely get, arrow fear not, nor the net. hiding-place for me there's none; here i stay, and make my moan. ferns upon the hills abound; _ke_ and _e_ in marshy ground. each can boast its proper place, where it grows for use or grace. i can only sing the woe, which, ill-starred, i undergo. ~on the alienation of a friend~ gently and soft the east wind blows, and then there falls the pelting rain. when anxious fears pressed round you close, then linked together were we twain. now happy, and your mind at rest, you turn and cast me from your breast. gently and soft the east wind blows, and then there comes the whirlwind wild. when anxious fears pressed round you close, your bosom held me as a child. now happy, and in peaceful state, you throw me off and quite forget. gently and soft the east wind blows, then round the rocky height it storms. each plant its leaves all dying shows; the trees display their withered forms. my virtues great forgotten all, you keep in mind my faults, though small. book vi the decade of pih shan ~a picture of husbandry~ various the toils which fields so large demand! we choose the seed; we take our tools in hand. in winter for our work we thus prepare; then in the spring, bearing the sharpened 'share, we to the acres go that south incline, and to the earth the different seeds consign. soon, straight and large, upward each plant aspires;-- all happens as our noble lord desires. the plants will ear; within their sheath confined, the grains will harden, and be good in kind. nor darnel these, nor wolf's-tail grass infests; from core and leaf we pick the insect pests, and pick we those that eat the joints and roots:-- so do we guard from harm the growing fruits. may the great spirit, whom each farmer names, those insects take, and cast them to the flames! the clouds o'erspread the sky in masses dense, and gentle rain down to the earth dispense. first may the public fields the blessing get, and then with it our private fields we wet! patches of unripe grain the reaper leaves; and here and there ungathered are the sheaves. handfuls besides we drop upon the ground, and ears untouched in numbers lie around;-- these by the poor and widows shall be found. when wives and children to the toilers come, bringing provisions from each separate home, our lord of long descent shall oft appear; the inspector also, glad the men to cheer. they too shall thank the spirits of the air, with sacrifices pure for all their care; now red, now black, the victims that they slay, as north or south the sacrifice they pay; while millet bright the altars always show;-- and we shall thus still greater blessings know. ~the complaint of an officer~ o heaven above, before whose light revealed is every deed and thought, to thee i cry. hither on toilsome service brought, in this wild k'ew i watch time's flight, and sadly sigh. the second month had just begun, when from the east we took our way. through summer hot we passed, and many a wintry day. summer again its course has run. o bitter lot! there are my compeers, gay at court, while here the tears my face begrime. i'd fain return-- but there is that dread net for crime! the fear of it the wish cuts short. in vain i burn! ere we the royal city left, the sun and moon renewed the year. we marched in hope. now to its close this year is near. return deferred, of hope bereft, all mourn and mope. my lonesome state haunts aye my breast, while duties grow, and cares increase, too hard to bear. toils that oppress me never cease; not for a moment dare i rest, nigh to despair. i think with fond regard of those, who in their posts at court remain, my friends of old. fain would i be with them again, but fierce reproof return would cause. this post i hold. when for the west i left my home, the sun and moon both mildly shone, our hearts to cheer. we'd soon be back, our service done! alas! affairs more urgent come, and fix us here. the year is hastening to expire. we gather now the southern-wood, the beans we reap;-- that for its fragrance, these for food. such things that constant care require me anxious keep. thinking of friends still at their posts, i rise and pass the night outside, so vexed my mind. but soon what changes may betide? i here will stay, whate'er it costs, and be resigned. my honored friends, o do not deem your rest which seems secure from ill will ever last! your duties quietly fulfil, and hold the upright in esteem, with friendship fast. so shall the spirits hear your cry, you virtuous make, and good supply, in measure vast. my honored friends, o do not deem repose that seems secure from ill will lasting prove. your duties quietly fulfil, and hold the upright in esteem, with earnest love. so shall the spirits hear your prayer, and on you happiness confer, your hopes above. book vii decade of sang hoo ~the rejoicings of a bridegroom~ with axle creaking, all on fire i went, to fetch my young and lovely bride. no thirst or hunger pangs my bosom rent-- i only longed to have her by my side. i feast with her, whose virtue fame had told, nor need we friends our rapture to behold. the long-tailed pheasants surest covert find, amid the forest on the plain. here from my virtuous bride, of noble mind, and person tall, i wisdom gain. i praise her while we feast, and to her say, "the love i bear you ne'er will know decay. "poor we may be; spirits and viands fine my humble means will not afford. but what we have, we'll taste and not repine; from us will come no grumbling word. and though to you no virtue i can add, yet we will sing and dance, in spirit glad. "i oft ascend that lofty ridge with toil, and hew large branches from the oaks; then of their leafy glory them i spoil, and fagots form with vigorous strokes. returning tired, your matchless grace i see, and my whole soul dissolves in ecstasy. "to the high hills i looked, and urged each steed; the great road next was smooth and plain. up hill, o'er dale, i never slackened speed; like lute-string sounded every rein. i knew, my journey ended, i should come to you, sweet bride, the comfort of my home." ~against listening to slanderers~ like the blueflies buzzing round, and on the fences lighting, are the sons of slander found, who never cease their biting. o thou happy, courteous king, to the winds their slanders fling. buzzing round the blueflies hear, about the jujubes flocking! so the slanderers appear, whose calumnies are shocking. by no law or order bound, all the kingdom they confound. how they buzz, those odious flies, upon the hazels clust'ring! and as odious are the lies of those slanderers blust'ring. hatred stirred between us two shows the evil they can do. book viii the decade of too jin sze ~in praise of by-gone simplicity~ in the old capital they stood, with yellow fox-furs plain, their manners all correct and good, speech free from vulgar stain. could we go back to chow's old days, all would look up to them with praise. in the old capital they wore _t'ae_ hats and black caps small; and ladies, who famed surnames bore, their own thick hair let fall. such simple ways are seen no more, and the changed manners i deplore. ear-rings, made of plainest gold, in the old days were worn. each lady of a noble line a yin or keih seemed born. such officers and ladies now i see not and my sorrows grow. with graceful sweep their girdles fell, then in the days of old. the ladies' side-hair, with a swell, like scorpion's tail, rose bold. such, if i saw them in these days, i'd follow with admiring gaze. so hung their girdles, not for show;-- to their own length 'twas due. 'twas not by art their hair curled so;-- by nature so it grew. i seek such manners now in vain, and pine for them with longing pain. [note.--yin and keih were clan names of great families, the ladies of which would be leaders of fashion in the capital.] ~a wife bemoans her husband's absence~ so full am i of anxious thought, though all the morn king-grass i've sought, to fill my arms i fail. like wisp all-tangled is my hair! to wash it let me home repair. my lord soon may i hail! though 'mong the indigo i've wrought the morning long; through anxious thought my skirt's filled but in part. within five days he was to appear; the sixth has come and he's not here. oh! how this racks my heart! when here we dwelt in union sweet, if the hunt called his eager feet, his bow i cased for him. or if to fish he went away, and would be absent all the day, his line i put in trim. what in his angling did he catch? well worth the time it was to watch how bream and tench he took. men thronged upon the banks and gazed; at bream and tench they looked amazed, the triumphs of his hook. ~the earl of shaou's work~ as the young millet, by the genial rain enriched, shoots up luxuriant and tall, so, when we southward marched with toil and pain, the earl of shaou cheered and inspired us all. we pushed our barrows, and our burdens bore; we drove our wagons, and our oxen led. "the work once done, our labor there is o'er, and home we travel," to ourselves we said. close kept our footmen round the chariot track; our eager host in close battalions sped. "when once our work is done, then we go back, our labor over," to themselves they said. hard was the work we had at seay to do, but shaou's great earl the city soon upreared. the host its service gave with ardor true;-- such power in all the earl's commands appeared! we did on plains and low lands what was meet; we cleared the springs and streams, the land to drain. the earl of shaou announced his work complete, and the king's heart reposed, at rest again. ~the plaint of king yew's forsaken wife~ the fibres of the white-flowered rush are with the white grass bound. so do the two together go, in closest union found. and thus should man and wife abide, the twain combined in one; but this bad man sends me away, and bids me dwell alone. both rush and grass from the bright clouds the genial dew partake. kind and impartial, nature's laws no odious difference make. but providence appears unkind; events are often hard. this man, to principle untrue, denies me his regard. northward the pools their waters send, to flood each paddy field; so get the fields the sap they need, their store of rice to yield. but that great man no deed of grace deigns to bestow on me. my songs are sighs. at thought of him my heart aches wearily. the mulberry branches they collect, and use their food to cook; but i must use a furnace small, that pot nor pan will brook. so me that great man badly treats, nor uses as his wife, degrades me from my proper place, and fills with grief my life. the bells and drums inside the court men stand without and hear; so should the feelings in my breast, to him distinct appear. all-sorrowful, i think of him, longing to move his love; but he vouchsafes no kind response; his thoughts far from me rove. the marabow stands on the dam, and to repletion feeds; the crane deep in the forest cries, nor finds the food it needs. so in my room the concubine by the great man is placed; while i with cruel banishment am cast out and disgraced. the yellow ducks sit on the dam, with left wing gathered low; so on each other do they lean, and their attachment show. and love should thus the man and wife in closest concord bind; but that man turns away from me, and shows a fickle mind. when one stands on a slab of stone, no higher than the ground, nothing is added to his height;-- low with the stone he's found. so does the favorite's mean estate render that great man mean, while i by him, to distance sent, am pierced with sorrow keen. ~hospitality~ a few gourd leaves that waved about cut down and boiled;--the feast how spare! but the good host his spirits takes, pours out a cup, and proves them rare. a single rabbit on the mat, or baked, or roast:--how small the feast! but the good host his spirits takes, and fills the cup of every guest. a single rabbit on the mat, roasted or broiled:--how poor the meal! but the guests from the spirit vase fill their host's cup, and drink his weal. a single rabbit on the mat, roasted or baked:--no feast we think! but from the spirit vase they take, both host and guests, and joyous drink. ~on the misery of soldiers~ yellow now is all the grass; all the days in marching pass. on the move is every man; hard work, far and near, they plan. black is every plant become; every man is torn from home. kept on foot, our state is sad;-- as if we no feelings had! not rhinoceroses we! tigers do we care to be? fields like these so desolate are to us a hateful fate. long-tailed foxes pleased may hide 'mong the grass, where they abide. we, in box carts slowly borne, on the great roads plod and mourn. part iii.--greater odes of the kingdom book i decade of king wan ~celebrating king wan~ the royal wan now rests on high, enshrined in brightness of the sky. chow as a state had long been known, and heaven's decree at last was shown. its lords had borne a glorious name; god kinged them when the season came. king wan ruled well when earth he trod; now moves his spirit near to god. a strong-willed, earnest king was wan, and still his fame rolls widening on. the gifts that god bestowed on chow belong to wan's descendants now. heaven blesses still with gifts divine the hundred scions of his line; and all the officers of chow from age to age more lustrous grow. more lustrous still from age to age, all reverent plans their zeal engage; and brilliant statesmen owe their birth to this much-favored spot of earth. they spring like products of the land-- the men by whom the realm doth stand. such aid their numerous bands supply, that wan rests tranquilly on high. deep were wan's thoughts, sustained his ways; his reverence lit its trembling rays. resistless came great heaven's decree; the sons of shang must bend the knee;-- the sons of shang, each one a king, in numbers beyond numbering. yet as god spoke, so must it be:-- the sons of shang all bent the knee. now each to chow his homage pays-- so dark and changing are heaven's ways. when we pour our libations here, the officers of shang appear, quick and alert to give their aid:-- such is the service by them paid, while still they do not cast aside the cap and broidered axe--their pride. ye servants of our line of kings, remember him from whom it springs. remember him from whom it springs;-- let this give to your virtue wings. seek harmony with heaven's great mind;-- so shall you surest blessing find. ere shang had lost the nation's heart, its monarchs all with god had part in sacrifice. from them you see 'tis hard to keep high heaven's decree. 'tis hard to keep high heaven's decree! o sin not, or you cease to be. to add true lustre to your name, see shang expire in heaven's dread flame. for heaven's high dealings are profound, and far transcend all sense and sound. from wan your pattern you must draw, and all the states will own your law. [book ii. is omitted] book iii [*] decade of tang ~king seuen on the occasion of a great drought~ grand shone the milky way on high, with brilliant span athwart the sky, nor promise gave of rain. king seuen long gazed; then from him broke, in anguished tones the words he spoke. well might he thus complain! "o heaven, what crimes have we to own, that death and ruin still come down? relentless famine fills our graves. pity the king who humbly craves! our miseries never cease. to every spirit i have vowed; the choicest victim's blood has flowed. as offerings i have freely paid my store of gems and purest jade. hear me, and give release! "the drought consumes us. as on wing its fervors fly, and torment bring. with purest mind and ceaseless care my sacrifices i prepare. at thine own border altars, heaven, and in my father's fane, i've given what might relief have found. what powers above, below, have sway, to all my precious gifts i pay, then bury in the ground. yes, every spirit has received due honor, and, still unrelieved, our sufferings greater grow. how-tseih can't give the needed aid, and help from god is still delayed! the country lies a ruined waste. o would that i alone might taste this bitter cup of woe! "the drought consumes us. nor do i to fix the blame on others try. i quake with dread; the risk i feel, as when i hear the thunders peal, or fear its sudden crash. our black-haired race, a remnant now, will every one be swept from chow, as by the lightning's flash. nor i myself will live alone. god from his great and heavenly throne will not spare even me. o friends and officers, come, blend your prayers with mine; come, lowly bend. chow's dynasty will pass away; its altars at no distant day in ruins all shall be! "the drought consumes us. it keeps on its fatal course. all hope is gone. the air more fierce and fiery glows. where can i fly? where seek repose? death marks me for its prey. above, no saving hand! around, no hope, no comfort, can be found. the dukes and ministers of old give us no help. can ye withhold your sympathy, who lately reigned? and parents, how are you restrained, in this so dreadful day? "the drought consumes us. there on high the hills are parched. the streams are dry. drought's demon stalks abroad in ire, and scatters wide his flames and fire. alas, my woful heart! the fires within its strength consume; the heat without creates a gloom that from it will not part. the dukes and ministers by-gone respond not to my prayer and moan. god in great heaven, permission give that i may in retirement live, and try to heal my smart! "the drought consumes us. still i strive, and will not leave while i survive. duty to shun i fear. why upon me has come this drought? vainly i try to search it out, vainly, with quest severe. for a good harvest soon i prayed, nor late the rites i duly paid, to spirits of the air and land. there wanted nought they could demand, their favor to secure. god in great heaven, be just, be kind! thou dost not bear me in thy mind. my cry, ye wisest spirits, hear! ye whom i constantly revere, why do i this endure? "the drought consumes us. people fly, and leave their homes. each social tie and bond of rule is snapt. the heads of boards are all perplexed; my premier's mind is sorely vexed; in trouble all are wrapt. the masters of my horse and guards; my cook, and men of different wards:-- not one has from the struggle shrunk. though feeling weak, they have not sunk, but done their best to aid. to the great sky i look with pain;-- why do these grievous sorrows rain on my devoted head? "yes, at the mighty sky i gaze, and lo! the stars pursue their maze, and sparkle clear and bright. ah! heaven nor helps, nor seems to ken. great officers and noble men, with all your powers ye well have striven, and reverently have sought from heaven its aid in our great fight. my death is near; but oh! keep on, and do as thus far you have done. regard you only me? no, for yourselves and all your friends, on whom for rule the land depends, you seek security. i turn my gaze to the great sky;-- when shall this drought be done, and i quiet and restful be?" [note *: selections from book ii. are omitted.--editor.] part iv.--odes of the temple and altar book i sacrificial odes of chow ~appropriate to a sacrifice to king wan~ my offerings here are given, a ram, a bull. accept them, mighty heaven, all-bountiful. thy statutes, o great king, i keep, i love; so on the realm to bring peace from above. from wan comes blessing rich; now on the right he owns those gifts to which him i invite. do i not night and day, revere great heaven, that thus its favor may to chow be given? ~on sacrificing to the kings woo, ching, and k'ang~ the arm of woo was full of might; none could his fire withstand; and ching and k'ang stood forth to sight, as kinged by god's own hand. we err not when we call them sage. how grandly they maintained their hold of all the heritage that wan and woo had gained! as here we worship, they descend, while bells and drums resound, and stones and lutes their music blend. with blessings we are crowned. the rites correctly we discharge; the feast we freely share. those sires chow's glory will enlarge, and ever for it care. the travels of fÂ-hien [translation by james legge] translator's introduction nothing of great importance is known about fâ-hien in addition to what may be gathered from his own record of his travels. i have read the accounts of him in the "memoirs of eminent monks," compiled in a.d. , and a later work, the "memoirs of marvellous monks," by the third emperor of the ming dynasty (a.d. - ), which, however, is nearly all borrowed from the other; and all in them that has an appearance of verisimilitude can be brought within brief compass. his surname, they tell us, was kung, and he was a native of wu-yang in p'ing-yang, which is still the name of a large department in shan-hsî. he had three brothers older than himself; but when they all died before shedding their first teeth, his father devoted him to the service of the buddhist society, and had him entered as a srâmanera, still keeping him at home in the family. the little fellow fell dangerously ill, and the father sent him to the monastery, where he soon got well and refused to return to his parents. when he was ten years old, his father died; and an uncle, considering the widowed solitariness and helplessness of the mother, urged him to renounce the monastic life, and return to her, but the boy replied, "i did not quit the family in compliance with my father's wishes, but because i wished to be far from the dust and vulgar ways of life. this is why i choose monkhood." the uncle approved of his words and gave over urging him. when his mother also died, it appeared how great had been the affection for her of his fine nature; but after her burial he returned to the monastery. on one occasion he was cutting rice with a score or two of his fellow-disciples, when some hungry thieves came upon them to take away their grain by force. the other srâmaneras all fled, but our young hero stood his ground, and said to the thieves, "if you must have the grain, take what you please. but, sirs, it was your former neglect of charity which brought you to your present state of destitution; and now, again, you wish to rob others. i am afraid that in the coming ages you will have still greater poverty and distress; i am sorry for you beforehand." with these words he followed his companions to the monastery, while the thieves left the grain and went away, all the monks, of whom there were several hundred, doing homage to his conduct and courage. when he had finished his novitiate and taken on him the obligations of the full buddhist orders, his earnest courage, clear intelligence, and strict regulation of his demeanor, were conspicuous; and soon after, he undertook his journey to india in search of complete copies of the vinaya-pitaka. what follows this is merely an account of his travels in india and return to china by sea, condensed from his own narrative, with the addition of some marvellous incidents that happened to him, on his visit to the vulture peak near râjagriha. it is said in the end that after his return to china, he went to the capital (evidently nanking), and there, along with the indian sramana buddha-bhadra, executed translations of some of the works which he had obtained in india; and that before he had done all that he wished to do in this way, he removed to king-chow (in the present hoo-pih), and died in the monastery of sin, at the age of eighty-eight, to the great sorrow of all who knew him. it is added that there is another larger work giving an account of his travels in various countries. such is all the information given about our author, beyond what he has himself told us. fâ-hien was his clerical name, and means "illustrious in the law," or "illustrious master of the law." the shih which often precedes it is an abbreviation of the name of buddha as sâkyamuni, "the sâkya, mighty in love, dwelling in seclusion and silence," and may be taken as equivalent to buddhist. he is sometimes said to have belonged to "the eastern tsin dynasty" (a.d. - ), and sometimes to "the sung," that is, the sung dynasty of the house of liû (a.d. - ). if he became a full monk at the age of twenty, and went to india when he was twenty-five, his long life may have been divided pretty equally between the two dynasties. if there were ever another and larger account of fâ-hien's travels than the narrative of which a translation is now given, it has long ceased to be in existence. in the catalogue of the imperial library of the suy dynasty (a.d. - ), the name fâ-hien occurs four times. towards the end of the last section of it, after a reference to his travels, his labors in translation at kin-ling (another name for nanking), in conjunction with buddha-bhadra, are described. in the second section we find "a record of buddhistic kingdoms"--with a note, saying that it was the work of "the sramana, fâ-hien"; and again, we have "narrative of fâ-hien in two books," and "narrative of fâ-hien's travels in one book." but all these three entries may possibly belong to different copies of the same work, the first and the other two being in separate subdivisions of the catalogue. in the two chinese copies of the narrative in my possession the title is "record of buddhistic kingdoms." in the japanese or corean recension the title is twofold; first, "narrative of the distinguished monk, fâ-hien"; and then, more at large, "incidents of travels in india, by the sramana of the eastern tsîn, fâ-hien, recorded by himself." there is still earlier attestation of the existence of our little work than the suy catalogue. the "catalogue raisonné" of the imperial library of the present dynasty mentions two quotations from it by le tâo-yüen, a geographical writer of the dynasty of the northern wei (a.d. - ), one of them containing eighty-nine characters, and the other two hundred and seventy-six; both of them given as from the "narrative of fâ-hien." in all catalogues subsequent to that of suy our work appears. the evidence for its authenticity and genuineness is all that could be required. it is clear to myself that the "record of buddhistic kingdoms" and the "narrative of his travels by fâ-hien" were designations of one and the same work, and that it is doubtful whether any larger work on the same subject was ever current. with regard to the text subjoined to my translation, it was published in japan in . the editor had before him four recensions of the narrative; those of the sung and ming dynasties, with appendices on the names of certain characters in them; that of japan; and that of corea. he wisely adopted the corean text, published in accordance with a royal rescript in , so far as i can make out; but the different readings of the other texts are all given in top-notes, instead of foot-notes as with us, this being one of the points in which customs in the east and west go by contraries. very occasionally, the editor indicates by a single character, equivalent to "right" or "wrong," which reading in his opinion is to be preferred. the editors of the "catalogue raisonné" intimate their doubts of the good taste and reliability of all fâ-hien's statements. it offends them that he should call central india the "middle kingdom," and china, which to them was the true and only middle kingdom, but "a border-land"--it offends them as the vaunting language of a buddhist writer, whereas the reader will see in the expressions only an instance of what fâ-hien calls his "simple straightforwardness." as an instance of his unreliability they refer to his account of the buddhism of khoten, whereas it is well-known, they say, that the khoteners from ancient times till now have been mohammedans;--as if they could have been so one hundred and seventy years before mohammed was born, and two hundred twenty-two years before the year of the hegira! and this is criticism in china. the catalogue was ordered by the k'ien-lung emperor in . between three and four hundred of the "great scholars" of the empire were engaged on it in various departments, and thus egregiously ignorant did they show themselves of all beyond the limits of their own country, and even of the literature of that country itself. much of what fâ-hien tells his readers of buddhist miracles and legends is indeed unreliable and grotesque; but we have from him the truth as to what he saw and heard. in concluding this introduction i wish to call attention to some estimates of the number of buddhists in the world which have become current, believing, as i do, that the smallest of them is much above what is correct. in a note on the first page of his work on the bhilsa topes ( ), general cunningham says: "the christians number about two hundred and seventy millions; the buddhists about two hundred and twenty-two millions, who are distributed as follows: china one hundred and seventy millions, japan twenty-five millions, anam fourteen millions, siam three millions, ava eight millions, nepál one million, and ceylon one million." in his article on m.j. barthélemy saint-hilaire's "le bouddha et sa religion," republished in his "chips from a german workshop," vol. i. ( ), professor max müller says, "the young prince became the founder of a religion which, after more than two thousand years, is still professed by four hundred and fifty-five millions of human beings," and he appends the following note: "though truth is not settled by majorities, it would be interesting to know which religion counts at the present moment the largest numbers of believers. berghaus, in his 'physical atlas,' gives the following division of the human race according to religion: 'buddhists . per cent., christians . , mohammedans . , brahmanists . , heathens . , and jews o. .' as berghaus does not distinguish the buddhists in china from the followers of confucius and laotse, the first place on the scale belongs really to christianity. it is difficult in china to say to what religion a man belongs, as the same person may profess two or three. the emperor himself, after sacrificing according to the ritual of confucius, visits a tao-tsé temple, and afterwards bows before an image of fo in a buddhist chapel." ("mélanges asiatiques de st. pétersbourg," vol. ii. p. .) both these estimates are exceeded by dr. t.w. rhys davids (intimating also the uncertainty of the statements, and that numbers are no evidence of truth) in the introduction to his "manual of buddhism." the buddhists there appear as amounting in all to five hundred millions:--thirty millions of southern buddhists, in ceylon, burma, siam, anam, and india (jains); and four hundred and seventy millions of northern buddhists, of whom nearly thirty-three millions are assigned to japan, and , , to the eighteen provinces of china proper. according to him, christians amount to about per cent, of mankind, hindus to about , mohammedans to about - / , buddhists to about , and jews to about one-half of one per cent. in regard to all these estimates, it will be observed that the immense numbers assigned to buddhism are made out by the multitude of chinese with which it is credited. subtract cunningham's one hundred and seventy millions of chinese from his total of two hundred and twenty-two millions, and there remain only fifty-two millions of buddhists. subtract davids's four hundred fourteen and one-half millions of chinese from his total of five hundred millions, and there remain only eighty-five and one-half millions for buddhism. of the numbers assigned to other countries, as well as of their whole populations, i am in considerable doubt, excepting in the cases of ceylon and india; but the greatness of the estimates turns upon the immense multitudes said to be in china. i do not know what total population cunningham allowed for that country, nor on what principle he allotted one hundred and seventy millions of it to buddhism; perhaps he halved his estimate of the whole, whereas berghaus and davids allotted to it the highest estimates that have been given of the people. but we have no certain information of the population of china. at an interview with the former chinese ambassador, kwo sung-tâo, in paris, in , i begged him to write out for me the amount, with the authority for it, and he assured me that it could not be done. i have read probably almost everything that has been published on the subject, and endeavored by methods of my own to arrive at a satisfactory conclusion;--without reaching a result which i can venture to lay before the public. my impression has been that four hundred millions is hardly an exaggeration. but supposing that we had reliable returns of the whole population, how shall we proceed to apportion that among confucianists, tâoists, and buddhists? confucianism is the orthodoxy of china. the common name for it is jû chiâo, "the doctrines held by the learned class," entrance into the circle of which is, with a few insignificant exceptions, open to all the people. the mass of them and the masses under their influence are preponderatingly confucian; and in the observance of ancestral worship, the most remarkable feature of the religion proper of china from the earliest times, of which confucius was not the author but the prophet, an overwhelming majority are regular and assiduous. among "the strange principles" which the emperor of the k'ang-hsî period, in one of his famous sixteen precepts, exhorted his people to "discountenance and put away, in order to exalt the correct doctrine," buddhism and tâoism were both included. if, as stated in the note quoted from professor müller, the emperor countenances both the tâoist worship and the buddhist, he does so for reasons of state; to please especially his buddhistic subjects in thibet and mongolia, and not to offend the many whose superstitious fancies incline to tâoism. when i went out and in as a missionary among the chinese people for about thirty years, it sometimes occurred to me that only the inmates of their monasteries and the recluses of both systems should be enumerated as buddhists and taoists; but i was in the end constrained to widen that judgment, and to admit a considerable following of both among the people, who have neither received the tonsure nor assumed the yellow top. dr. eitel, in concluding his discussion of this point in his "lecture on buddhism, an event in history," says: "it is not too much to say that most chinese are theoretically confucianists, but emotionally buddhists or taoists. but fairness requires us to add that, though the mass of the people are more or less influenced by buddhist doctrines, yet the people, as a whole, have no respect for the buddhist church, and habitually sneer at buddhist priests." for the "most" in the former of these two sentences i would substitute "nearly all;" and between my friend's "but" and "emotionally" i would introduce "many are," and would not care to contest his conclusion further. it does seem to me preposterous to credit buddhism with the whole of the vast population of china, the great majority of whom are confucianists. my own opinion is that its adherents are not so many as those even of mohammedanism, and that instead of being the most numerous of the religions (so-called) of the world, it is only entitled to occupy the fifth place, ranking below christianity, confucianism, brahmanism, and mohammedanism, and followed, some distance off, by tâoism. to make a table of percentages of mankind, and to assign to each system its proportion, are to seem to be wise where we are deplorably ignorant; and, moreover, if our means of information were much better than they are, our figures would merely show the outward adherence. a fractional percentage might tell more for one system than a very large integral one for another. james legge. the travels of fÂ-hien chapter i ~from ch'ang-gan to the sandy desert~ fâ-hien had been living in ch'ang-gan. [ ] deploring the mutilated and imperfect state of the collection of the books of discipline, in the second year of the period hwang-che, being the ke-hâe year of the cycle, [ ] he entered into an engagement with hwuy-king, tâo-ching, hwuy-ying, and hwuy-wei, that they should go to india and seek for the disciplinary rules. after starting from ch'ang-gan, they passed through lung, [ ] and came to the kingdom of k'een-kwei,[ ] where they stopped for the summer retreat. when that was over, they went forward to the kingdom of now-t'an, crossed the mountain of yang-low, and reached the emporium of chang-yih.[ ] there they found the country so much disturbed that travelling on the roads was impossible for them. its king, however, was very attentive to them, kept them in his capital, and acted the part of their dânapati.[ ] here they met with che-yen, hwuy-keen, sang-shâo, pâo-yun, and sang-king; and in pleasant association with them, as bound on the same journey with themselves, they passed the summer retreat of that year [ ] together, resuming after it their travelling, and going on to t'un-hwang, [ ] the chief town in the frontier territory of defence extending for about eighty li from east to west, and about forty from north to south. their company, increased as it had been, halted there for some days more than a month, after which fâ-hien and his four friends started first in the suite of an envoy, having separated for a time from pâo-yun and his associates. le hâo, the prefect of tun-hwang, had supplied them with the means of crossing the desert before them, in which there are many evil demons and hot winds. travellers who encounter them perish all to a man. there is not a bird to be seen in the air above, nor an animal on the ground below. though you look all round most earnestly to find where you can cross, you know not where to make your choice, the only mark and indication being the dry bones of the dead left upon the sand. [footnote : ch'ang-gan is still the name of the principal district (and its city) in the department of se-gan, shen-se. it had been the capital of the first empire of han (b.c. a.d. ), as it subsequently was that of suy (a.d. - ).] [footnote : the period hwang-che embraced from a.d. to , being the greater portion of the reign of yâo hing of the after ts'in, a powerful prince. he adopted hwang-che for the style of his reign in , and the cyclical name of that year was kang-tsze. it is not possible at this distance of time to explain, if it could be explained, how fâ-hien came to say that ke-hâe was the second year of the period. it seems most reasonable to suppose that he set out on his pilgrimage in a.d. , the cycle name of which was ke-hâe. in the "memoirs of eminent monks" it is said that our author started in the third year of the period lung-gan of the eastern ts'in, which was a.d. .] [footnote : lung embraced the western part of shen-se and the eastern part of kan-suh. the name remains in lung chow, in the extreme west of shen-se.] [footnote : k'een-kwei was the second king of "the western ts'in." fâ-hien would find him at his capital, somewhere in the present department of lan-chow, kan-suh.] [footnote : chang-yih is still the name of a district in kan-chow department, kan-suh. it is a long way north and west from lan-chow, and not far from the great wall. its king at this time was, probably, twan-yeh of "the northern lëang."] [footnote : dâna is the name for religious charity, the first of the six pâramitâs, or means of attaining to nirvâna; and a dânapati is "one who practises dâna and thereby crosses the sea of misery."] [footnote : this was the second summer since the pilgrims left ch'ang-gan. we are now, therefore, probably, in a.d. .] [footnote : t'un-hwang is still the name of one of the two districts constituting the department of gan-se, the most western of the prefectures of kan-suh; beyond the termination of the great wall.] chapter ii ~on to shen-shen and thence to khoten~ after travelling for seventeen days, a distance we may calculate of about li, the pilgrims reached the kingdom of shen-shen, a country rugged and hilly, with a thin and barren soil. the clothes of the common people are coarse, and like those worn in our land of han, [ ] some wearing felt and others coarse serge or cloth of hair; this was the only difference seen among them. the king professed our law, and there might be in the country more than four thousand monks, who were all students of the hînayâna. [ ] the common people of this and other kingdoms in that region, as well as the sramans, [ ] all practise the rules of india, only that the latter do so more exactly, and the former more loosely. so the travellers found it in all the kingdoms through which they went on their way from this to the west, only that each had its own peculiar barbarous speech. the monks, however, who had given up the worldly life and quitted their families, were all students of indian books and the indian language. here they stayed for about a month, and then proceeded on their journey, fifteen days' walking to the northwest bringing them to the country of woo-e. in this also there were more than four thousand monks, all students of the hînayâna. they were very strict in their rules, so that sramans from the territory of ts'in were all unprepared for their regulations. fâ-hien, through the management of foo kung-sun, _maître d'hotellerie_, was able to remain with his company in the monastery where they were received for more than two months, and here they were rejoined by pâo-yun and his friends. at the end of that time the people of woo-e neglected the duties of propriety and righteousness, and treated the strangers in so niggardly a manner that che-yen, hwuy-keen, and hwuy-wei went back towards kâo-ch'ang, hoping to obtain there the means of continuing their journey. fâ-hien and the rest, however, through the liberality of foo kung-sun, managed to go straight forward in a southwest direction. they found the country uninhabited as they went along. the difficulties which they encountered in crossing the streams and on their route, and the sufferings which they endured, were unparalleled in human experience, but in the course of a month and five days they succeeded in reaching yu-teen. [footnote : this is the name which fâ-hien always uses when he would speak of china, his native country, as a whole, calling it from the great dynasty which had ruled it, first and last, for between four and five centuries. occasionally, as we shall immediately see, he speaks of "the territory of ts'in or ch'in," but intending thereby only the kingdom of ts'in, having its capital in ch'ang-gan.] [footnote : meaning the "small vehicle, or conveyance." there are in buddhism the triyâna, or "three different means of salvation, i.e. of conveyance across the samsâra, or sea of transmigration, to the shores of nirvâna. afterwards the term was used to designate the different phases of development through which the buddhist dogma passed, known as the mahâyâna, hînayâna, and madhyamayâna." "the hînayâna is the simplest vehicle of salvation, corresponding to the first of the three degrees of saintship." e.h., pp. - , , and .] [footnote : "sraman" may in english take the place of sramana, the name for buddhist monks, as those who have separated themselves from (left) their families, and quieted their hearts from all intrusion of desire and lust.] chapter iii ~khoten--processions of images~ yu-teen is a pleasant and prosperous kingdom, with a numerous and flourishing population. the inhabitants all profess our law, and join together in its religious music for their enjoyment. the monks amount to several myriads, most of whom are students of the mahâyâna. [ ] they all receive their food from the common store. throughout the country the houses of the people stand apart like separate stars, and each family has a small tope [ ] reared in front of its door. the smallest of these may be twenty cubits high, or rather more. they make in the monasteries rooms for monks from all quarters, the use of which is given to travelling monks who may arrive, and who are provided with whatever else they require. the lord of the country lodged fâ-hien and the others comfortably, and supplied their wants, in a monastery called gomati, of the mahâyâna school. attached to it there are three thousand monks, who are called to their meals by the sound of a bell. when they enter the refectory, their demeanor is marked by a reverent gravity, and they take their seats in regular order, all maintaining a perfect silence. no sound is heard from their alms-bowls and other utensils. when any of these pure men require food, they are not allowed to call out to the attendants for it, but only make signs with their hands. hwuy-king, tâo-ching, and hwuy-tah set out in advance towards the country of k'eeh-ch'â; but fâ-hien and the others, wishing to see the procession of images, remained behind for three months. there are in this country four great monasteries, not counting the smaller ones. beginning on the first day of the fourth month, they sweep and water the streets inside the city, making a grand display in the lanes and byways. over the city gate they pitch a large tent, grandly adorned in all possible ways, in which the king and queen, with their ladies brilliantly arrayed, take up their residence for the time. the monks of the gomati monastery, being mahâyâna students, and held in greatest reverence by the king, took precedence of all the others in the procession. at a distance of three or four li from the city, they made a four-wheeled image car, more than thirty cubits high, which looked like the great hall of a monastery moving along. the seven precious substances [ ] were grandly displayed about it, with silken streamers and canopies hanging all around. the chief image stood in the middle of the car, with two bodhisattvas [ ] in attendance on it, while devas were made to follow in waiting, all brilliantly carved in gold and silver, and hanging in the air. when the car was a hundred paces from the gate, the king put off his crown of state, changed his dress for a fresh suit, and with bare feet, carrying in his hands flowers and incense, and with two rows of attending followers, went out at the gate to meet the image; and, with his head and face bowed to the ground, he did homage at its feet, and then scattered the flowers and burnt the incense. when the image was entering the gate, the queen and the brilliant ladies with her in the gallery above scattered far and wide all kinds of flowers, which floated about and fell promiscuously to the ground. in this way everything was done to promote the dignity of the occasion. the carriages of the monasteries were all different, and each one had its own day for the procession. the ceremony began on the first day of the fourth month, and ended on the fourteenth, after which the king and queen returned to the palace. seven or eight li to the west of the city there is what is called the king's new monastery, the building of which took eighty years, and extended over three reigns. it may be two hundred and fifty cubits in height, rich in elegant carving and inlaid work, covered above with gold and silver, and finished throughout with a combination of all the precious substances. behind the tope there has been built a hall of buddha, of the utmost magnificence and beauty, the beams, pillars, venetianed doors and windows, being all overlaid with gold-leaf. besides this, the apartments for the monks are imposingly and elegantly decorated, beyond the power of words to express. of whatever things of highest value and preciousness the kings in the six countries on the east of the ts'ung range of mountains are possessed, they contribute the greater portion to this monastery, using but a small portion of them themselves. [footnote : mahâyâna is a later form of the buddhist doctrine, the second phase of its development corresponding to the state of a bodhisattva, who, being able to transport himself and all mankind to nirvâna, may be compared to a huge vehicle.] [footnote : a worshipping place, an altar, or temple.] [footnote : the sapta-ratna, gold, silver, lapis lazuli, rock crystal, rubies, diamonds or emeralds, and agate.] [footnote : a bodhisattva is one whose essence has become intelligence; a being who will in some future birth as a man (not necessarily or usually the next) attain to buddhahood. the name does not include those buddhas who have not yet attained to parinirvâna. the symbol of the state is an elephant fording a river.] chapter iv ~through the ts'ung mountains to k'eech-ch'a~ when the processions of images in the fourth month were over, sang-shâo, by himself alone, followed a tartar who was an earnest follower of the law, and proceeded towards ko-phene. fâ-hien and the others went forward to the kingdom of tsze-hoh, which it took them twenty-five days to reach. its king was a strenuous follower of our law, and had around him more than a thousand monks, mostly students of the mahâyâna. here the travellers abode fifteen days, and then went south for four days, when they found themselves among the ts'ung-ling mountains, and reached the country of yu-hwuy, where they halted and kept their retreat. [ ] when this was over, they went on among the hills for twenty-five days, and got to k'eeh-ch'a, there rejoining hwuy-king and his two companions. [footnote : this was the retreat already twice mentioned as kept by the pilgrims in the summer, the different phraseology, "quiet rest," without any mention of the season, indicating their approach to india. two, if not three, years had elapsed since they left ch'ang-gan. are we now with them in ?] chapter v ~great quinquennial assembly of monks~ it happened that the king of the country was then holding the pañcha parishad; that is, in chinese, the great quinquennial assembly. when this is to be held, the king requests the presence of the sramans from all quarters of his kingdom. they come as if in clouds; and when they are all assembled, their place of session is grandly decorated. silken streamers and canopies are hung out in it, and water-lilies in gold and silver are made and fixed up behind the places where the chief of them are to sit. when clean mats have been spread, and they are all seated, the king and his ministers present their offerings according to rule and law. the assembly takes place in the first, second, or third month, for the most part in the spring. after the king has held the assembly, he further exhorts the ministers to make other and special offerings. the doing of this extends over one, two, three, five, or even seven days; and when all is finished, he takes his own riding-horse, saddles, bridles, and waits on him himself, while he makes the noblest and most important minister of the kingdom mount him. then, taking fine white woollen cloth, all sorts of precious things, and articles which the sramans require, he distributes them among them, uttering vows at the same time along with all his ministers; and when this distribution has taken place, he again redeems whatever he wishes from the monks. the country, being among the hills and cold, does not produce the other cereals, and only the wheat gets ripe. after the monks have received their annual portion of this, the mornings suddenly show the hoar-frost, and on this account the king always begs the monks to make the wheat ripen [ ] before they receive their portion. there is in the country a spittoon which belonged to buddha, made of stone, and in color like his alms-bowl. there is also a tooth of buddha, for which the people have reared a tope, connected with which there are more than a thousand monks and their disciples, all students of the hînayâna. to the east of these hills the dress of the common people is of coarse materials, as in our country of ts'in, but here also there were among them the differences of fine woollen cloth and of serge or haircloth. the rules observed by the sramans are remarkable, and too numerous to be mentioned in detail. the country is in the midst of the onion range. as you go forward from these mountains, the plants, trees, and fruits are all different from those of the land of han, excepting only the bamboo, pomegranate, and sugarcane. [footnote : watters calls attention to this as showing that the monks of k'eeh-ch'â had the credit of possessing weather-controlling powers.] chapter vi ~north india--image of maitreya bodhisattva~ from this the travellers went westward towards north india, and after being on the way for a month, they succeeded in getting across and through the range of the onion mountains. the snow rests on them both winter and summer. there are also among them venomous dragons, which, when provoked, spit forth poisonous winds, and cause showers of snow and storms of sand and gravel. not one in ten thousand of those who encounter these dangers escapes with his life. the people of the country call the range by the name of "the snow mountains." when the travellers had got through them, they were in north india, and immediately on entering its borders, found themselves in a small kingdom called t'oleih, where also there were many monks, all students of the hînayâna. in this kingdom there was formerly an arhan, [ ] who by his supernatural power took a clever artificer up to the tushita [ ] heaven, to see the height, complexion, and appearance of maitreya bodhisattva, [ ] and then return and make an image of him in wood. first and last, this was done three times, and then the image was completed, eighty cubits in height, and eight cubits at the base from knee to knee of the crossed legs. on fast-days it emits an effulgent light. the kings of the surrounding countries vie with one another in presenting offerings to it. here it is--to be seen now as of old. [footnote : lo-han, arhat, arahat are all designations of the perfected Ârya, the disciple who has passed the different stages of the noble path, or eightfold excellent way, who has conquered all passions, and is not to be reborn again. arhatship implies possession of certain supernatural powers, and is not to be succeeded by buddhaship, but implies the fact of the saint having already attained nirvâna.] [footnote : tushita is the fourth devaloka, where all bodhisattvas are reborn before finally appearing on earth as buddha. life lasts in tushita four thousand years, but twenty-four hours there are equal to four hundred years on earth.] [footnote : maitreya was a bodhisattva, the principal one, indeed, of sâkyamuni's retinue, but is not counted among the ordinary disciples, nor is anything told of his antecedents. it was in the tushita heaven that sâkyamuni met him and appointed him as his successor, to appear as buddha after the lapse of five thousand years. maitreya is therefore the expected messiah of the buddhists, residing at present in tushita.] chapter vii ~the perilous crossing of the indus~ the travellers went on to the southwest for fifteen days at the foot of the mountains, and following the course of their range. the way was difficult and rugged, running along a bank exceedingly precipitous, which rose up there, a hill-like wall of rock, ten thousand cubits from the base. when one approached the edge of it, his eyes became unsteady; and if he wished to go forward in the same direction, there was no place on which he could place his foot; and beneath were the waters of the river called the indus. in former times men had chiselled paths along the rocks, and distributed ladders on the face of them, to the number altogether of seven hundred, at the bottom of which there was a suspension bridge of ropes, by which the river was crossed, its banks being there eighty paces apart. the place and arrangements are to be found in the records of the nine interpreters, but neither chang k'een [ ] nor kan ying [ ] had reached the spot. the monks asked fâ-hien if it could be known when the law of buddha first went to the east. he replied, "when i asked the people of those countries about it, they all said that it had been handed down by their fathers from of old that, after the setting up of the image of maitreya bodhisattva, there were sramans of india who crossed this river, carrying with them sútras and books of discipline. now the image was set up rather more than three hundred years after the nirvâna of buddha, which may be referred to the reign of king p'ing of the chow dynasty. according to this account we may say that the diffusion of our great doctrines in the east began from the setting up of this image. if it had not been through that maitreya, the great spiritual master who is to be the successor of the sâkya, who could have caused the 'three precious ones,' [ ] to be proclaimed so far, and the people of those border lands to know our law? we know of a truth that the opening of the way for such a mysterious propagation is not the work of man; and so the dream of the emperor ming of han had its proper cause." [footnote : chang k'een, a minister of the emperor woo of han (b.c. - ), is celebrated as the first chinese who "pierced the void," and penetrated to "the regions of the west," corresponding very much to the present turkestan. through him, by b.c. , a regular intercourse was established between china and the thirty-six kingdoms or states of that quarter.] [footnote : less is known of kan ying than of chang k'een. being sent in a.d. by his patron pan châo on an embassy to the roman empire, he only got as far as the caspian sea, and returned to china. he extended, however, the knowledge of his countrymen with regard to the western regions.] [footnote : "the precious buddha," "the precious law," and "the precious monkhood"; buddha, dharma, and sangha; the whole being equivalent to buddhism.] chapter viii ~woo-chang, or udyâna--traces of buddha~ after crossing the river, the travellers immediately came to the kingdom of woo-chang, which is indeed a part of north india. the people all use the language of central india, "central india" being what we should call the "middle kingdom." the food and clothes of the common people are the same as in that central kingdom. the law of buddha is very flourishing in woo-chang. they call the places where the monks stay for a time or reside permanently sanghârâmas; and of these there are in all five hundred, the monks being all students of the hînayâna. when stranger bhikshus [ ] arrive at one of them, their wants are supplied for three days, after which they are told to find a resting-place for themselves. there is a tradition that when buddha came to north india, he came at once to this country, and that here he left a print of his foot, which is long or short according to the ideas of the beholder on the subject. it exists, and the same thing is true about it, at the present day. here also are still to be seen the rock on which he dried his clothes, and the place where he converted the wicked dragon. the rock is fourteen cubits high, and more than twenty broad, with one side of it smooth. hwuy-king, hwuy-tah, and tâo-ching went on ahead towards the place of buddha's shadow in the country of nâgara; but fâ-hien and the others remained in woo-chang, and kept the summer retreat. that over, they descended south, and arrived in the country of soo-ho-to. [footnote : bhikshu is the name for a monk as "living by alms," a mendicant. all bhikshus call themselves sramans. sometimes the two names are used together by our author.] chapter ix ~soo-ho-to--legends of buddha~ in that country also buddhism is flourishing. there is in it the place where sakra, [ ] ruler of devas, in a former age, tried the bodhisattva, by producing a hawk in pursuit of a dove, when the bodhisattva cut off a piece of his own flesh, and with it ransomed the dove. after buddha had attained to perfect wisdom, and in travelling about with his disciples arrived at this spot, he informed them that this was the place where he ransomed the dove with a piece of his own flesh. in this way the people of the country became aware of the fact, and on the spot reared a tope, adorned with layers of gold and silver plates. [footnote : sakra is a common name for the brahmanic indra, adopted by buddhism into the circle of its own great adherents;--it has been said, "because of his popularity." he is now the representative of the secular power, the valiant protector of the buddhist body, but is looked upon as inferior to sâkyamuni, and every buddhist saint.] chapter x ~gandhâra--legends of buddha~ the travellers, going downwards from this towards the east, in five days came to the country of gandhâra, the place where dharma-vivardhana, the son of asoka, [ ] ruled. when buddha was a bodhisattva, he gave his eyes also for another man here; and at the spot they have also reared a large tope, adorned with layers of gold and silver plates. the people of the country were mostly students of the hînayâna. [footnote : asoka is here mentioned for the first time--the constantine of the buddhist society, and famous for the number of vihâras and topes which he erected. he was the grandson of chandragupta, a rude adventurer, who at one time was a refugee in the camp of alexander the great; and within about twenty years afterwards drove the greeks out of india, having defeated seleucus, the greek ruler of the indus provinces. his grandson was converted to buddhism by the bold and patient demeanor of an arhat whom he had ordered to be buried alive, and became a most zealous supporter of the new faith.] chapter xi ~takshasilâ--legends--the four great topes~ seven days' journey from this to the east brought the travellers to the kingdom of takshasilâ, which means "the severed head" in the language of china. here, when buddha was a bodhisattva, he gave away his head to a man; and from this circumstance the kingdom got its name. going on further for two days to the east, they came to the place where the bodhisattva threw down his body to feed a starving tigress. in these two places also large topes have been built, both adorned with layers of all the precious substances. the kings, ministers, and peoples of the kingdoms around vie with one another in making offerings at them. the trains of those who come to scatter flowers and light lamps at them never cease. the nations of those quarters call those and the other two mentioned before "the four great topes." chapter xii ~buddha's alms-bowl--death of hwuy-king~ going southwards from gândhâra, the travellers in four days arrived at the kingdom of purushapura. [ ] formerly, when buddha was travelling in this country with his disciples, he said to Ânanda, [ ] "after my pari-nirvâna, [ ] there will be a king named kanishka, who shall on this spot build a tope." this kanishka was afterwards born into the world; and once, when he had gone forth to look about him, sakra, ruler of devas, wishing to excite the idea in his mind, assumed the appearance of a little herd-boy, and was making a tope right in the way of the king, who asked what sort of a thing he was making. the boy said, "i am making a tope for buddha." the king said, "very good;" and immediately, right over the boy's tope, he proceeded to rear another, which was more than four hundred cubits high, and adorned with layers of all the precious substances. of all the topes and temples which the travellers saw in their journeyings, there was not one comparable to this in solemn beauty and majestic grandeur. there is a current saying that this is the finest tope in jambudvîpa [ ]. when the king's tope was completed, the little tope of the boy came out from its side on the south, rather more than three cubits in height. buddha's alms-bowl is in this country. formerly, a king of yüeh-she raised a large force and invaded this country, wishing to carry the bowl away. having subdued the kingdom, as he and his captains were sincere believers in the law of buddha, and wished to carry off the bowl, they proceeded to present their offerings on a great scale. when they had done so to the three precious ones, he made a large elephant be grandly caparisoned, and placed the bowl upon it. but the elephant knelt down on the ground, and was unable to go forward. again he caused a four-wheeled wagon to be prepared in which the bowl was put to be conveyed away. eight elephants were then yoked to it, and dragged it with their united strength; but neither were they able to go forward. the king knew that the time for an association between himself and the bowl had not yet arrived, and was sad and deeply ashamed of himself. forthwith he built a tope at the place and a monastery, and left a guard to watch the bowl, making all sorts of contributions. there may be there more than seven hundred monks. when it is near mid-day, they bring out the bowl, and, along with the common people, make their various offerings to it, after which they take their mid-day meal. in the evening, at the time of incense, they bring the bowl out again. it may contain rather more than two pecks, and is of various colors, black predominating, with the seams that show its fourfold composition distinctly marked. its thickness is about the fifth of an inch, and it has a bright and glossy lustre. when poor people throw into it a few flowers, it becomes immediately full, while some very rich people, wishing to make offering of many flowers, might not stop till they had thrown in hundreds, thousands, and myriads of bushels, and yet would not be able to fill it.[ ] pâo-yun and sang-king here merely made their offerings to the alms-bowl, and then resolved to go back. hwuy-king, hwuy-tah, and tâo-ching had gone on before the rest to nagâra, to make their offerings at the places of buddha's shadow, tooth, and the flat-bone of his skull. there hwuy-king fell ill, and tâo-ching remained to look after him, while hwuy-tah came alone to purushapura, and saw the others, and then he with pâo-yun and sang-king took their way back to the land of ts'in. hwuy-king came to his end in the monastery of buddha's alms-bowl, and on this fâ-hien went forward alone towards the place of the flat-bone of buddha's skull.[ ] [footnote : the modern peshâwur.] [footnote : a first cousin of sâkyamuni, and born at the moment when he attained to buddhaship. under buddha's teaching, Ânanda became an arhat, and is famous for his strong and accurate memory; and he played an important part at the first council for the formation of the buddhist canon. the friendship between sâkyamuni and Ânanda was very close and tender; and it is impossible to read much of what the dying buddha said to him and of him, as related in the mahâpari-nirvâna sûtra, without being moved almost to tears. Ânanda is to reappear on earth as buddha in another kalpa.] [footnote : on his attaining to nirvâna, sâkyamuni became the buddha, and had no longer to mourn his being within the circle of transmigration, and could rejoice in an absolute freedom from passion, and a perfect purity. still he continued to live on for forty-five years, till he attained to pari-nirvâna, and had done with all the life of sense and society, and had no more exercise of thought. he died; but whether he absolutely and entirely ceased to be, in any sense of the word being, it would be difficult to say. probably he himself would not and could not have spoken definitely on the point. so far as our use of language is concerned, apart from any assured faith in and hope of immortality, his pari-nirvâna was his death.] [footnote : jambudvîpa is one of the four great continents of the universe, representing the inhabited world as fancied by the buddhists, and so-called because it resembles in shape the leaves of the jambu tree.] [footnote : compare the narrative in luke's gospel, xxi. - .] [footnote : this story of hwuy-king's death differs from the account given in chapter xiv.--editor.] chapter xiii ~festival of buddha's skull-bone~ going west for sixteen yojanas, [ ] he came to the city he-lo [ ] in the borders of the country of nagâra, where there is the flat-bone of buddha's skull, deposited in a vihâra [ ] adorned all over with gold-leaf and the seven sacred substances. the king of the country, revering and honoring the bone, and anxious lest it should be stolen away, has selected eight individuals, representing the great families in the kingdom, and committed to each a seal, with which he should seal its shrine and guard the relic. at early dawn these eight men come, and after each has inspected his seal, they open the door. this done, they wash their hands with scented water and bring out the bone, which they place outside the vihâra, on a lofty platform, where it is supported on a round pedestal of the seven precious substances, and covered with a bell of lapis lazuli, both adorned with rows of pearls. its color is of a yellowish white, and it forms an imperfect circle twelve inches round, curving upwards to the centre. every day, after it has been brought forth, the keepers of the vihâra ascend a high gallery, where they beat great drums, blow conches, and clash their copper cymbals. when the king hears them, he goes to the vihâra, and makes his offerings of flowers and incense. when he has done this, he and his attendants in order, one after another, raise the bone, place it for a moment on the top of their heads, and then depart, going out by the door on the west as they had entered by that on the east. the king every morning makes his offerings and performs his worship, and afterwards gives audience on the business of his government. the chiefs of the vaisyas [ ] also make their offerings before they attend to their family affairs. every day it is so, and there is no remissness in the observance of the custom. when all of the offerings are over, they replace the bone in the vihâra, where there is a vimoksha tope, of the seven precious substances, and rather more than five cubits high, sometimes open, sometimes shut, to contain it. in front of the door of the vihâra, there are parties who every morning sell flowers and incense, and those who wish to make offerings buy some of all kinds. the kings of various countries are also constantly sending messengers with offerings. the vihâra stands in a square of thirty paces, and though heaven should shake and earth be rent, this place would not move. going on, north from this, for a yojana, fâ-hien arrived at the capital of nagâra, the place where the bodhisattva once purchased with money five stalks of flowers, as an offering to the dipânkara buddha. in the midst of the city there is also the tope of buddha's tooth, where offerings are made in the same way as to the flat-bone of his skull. a yojana to the northeast of the city brought him to the mouth of a valley, where there is buddha's pewter staff; and a vihâra also has been built at which offerings are made. the staff is made of gosirsha chandana, and is quite sixteen or seventeen cubits long. it is contained in a wooden tube, and though a hundred or a thousand men were to try to lift it, they could not move it. entering the mouth of the valley, and going west, he found buddha's sanghâli, [ ] where also there is reared a vihâra, and offerings are made. it is a custom of the country when there is a great drought, for the people to collect in crowds, bring out the robe, pay worship to it, and make offerings, on which there is immediately a great rain from the sky. south of the city, half a yojana, there is a rock-cavern, in a great hill fronting the southwest; and here it was that buddha left his shadow. looking at it from a distance of more than ten paces, you seem to see buddha's real form, with his complexion of gold, and his characteristic marks in their nicety, clearly and brightly displayed. the nearer you approach, however, the fainter it becomes, as if it were only in your fancy. when the kings from the regions all around have sent skilful artists to take a copy, none of them have been able to do so. among the people of the country there is a saying current that "the thousand buddhas must all leave their shadows here." rather more than four hundred paces west from the shadow, when buddha was at the spot, he shaved off his hair and clipped his nails, and proceeded, along with his disciples, to build a tope seventy or eighty cubits high, to be a model for all future topes; and it is still existing. by the side of it there is a monastery, with more than seven hundred monks in it. at this place there are as many as a thousand topes of arhans and pratyeka buddhas. [footnote : now in india, fâ-hien used the indian measure of distance; but it is not possible to determine exactly what its length then was. the estimates of it are very different, and vary from four and a half or five miles to seven, and sometimes more.] [footnote : the present hidda, west of peshâwur, and five miles south of jellalabad.] [footnote : "the vihara," says hardy, "is the residence of a recluse or priest;" and so davids--"the clean little hut where the mendicant lives."] [footnote : the vaisyas, or the bourgeois caste of hindu society, are described here as "resident scholars."] [footnote : or sanghâti, the double or composite robe, part of a monk's attire, reaching from the shoulders to the knees, and fastened round the waist.] chapter xiv ~crossing the indus to the east~ having stayed there till the third month of winter, fâ-hien and the two others, proceeding southwards, crossed the little snowy mountains. on them the snow lies accumulated both winter and summer. on the north side of the mountains, in the shade, they suddenly encountered a cold wind which made them shiver and become unable to speak. hwuy-king could not go any farther. a white froth came from his mouth, and he said to fâ-hien, "i cannot live any longer. do you immediately go away, that we do not all die here"; and with these words he died. fâ-hien stroked the corpse, and cried out piteously, "our original plan has failed; it is fate. what can we do?" he then again exerted himself, and they succeeded in crossing to the south of the range, and arrived in the kingdom of lo-e, [ ] where there were nearly three thousand monks, students of both the mahâyâna and hînayâna. here they stayed for the summer retreat, [ ] and when that was over, they went on to the south, and ten days' journey brought them to the kingdom of poh-nâ, where there are also more than three thousand monks, all students of the hînayâna. proceeding from this place for three days, they again crossed the indus, where the country on each side was low and level. [footnote : lo-e, or rohi, or afghanistan; only a portion of it can be intended.] [footnote : we are now therefore in a.d. .] chapter xv ~sympathy of monks with the pilgrims~ after they had crossed the river, there was a country named pe-t'oo, where buddhism was very flourishing, and the monks studied both the mahâyâna and hînayâna. when they saw their fellow-disciples from ts'in passing along, they were moved with great pity and sympathy, and expressed themselves thus: "how is it that these men from a border-land should have learned to become monks, and come for the sake of our doctrines from such a distance in search of the law of buddha?" they supplied them with what they needed, and treated them in accordance with the rules of the law. chapter xvi ~condition and customs of central india~ from this place they travelled southeast, passing by a succession of very many monasteries, with a multitude of monks, who might be counted by myriads. after passing all these places, they came to a country named ma-t'âou-lo. they still followed the course of the p'oo-na river, on the banks of which, left and right, there were twenty monasteries, which might contain three thousand monks; and here the law of buddha was still more flourishing. everywhere, from the sandy desert, in all the countries of india, the kings had been firm believers in that law. when they make their offerings to a community of monks, they take off their royal caps, and along with their relatives and ministers, supply them with food with their own hands. that done, the king has a carpet spread for himself on the ground, and sits down on it in front of the chairman;--they dare not presume to sit on couches in front of the community. the laws and ways, according to which the kings presented their offerings when buddha was in the world, have been handed down to the present day. all south from this is named the middle kingdom. in it the cold and heat are finely tempered, and there is neither hoarfrost nor snow. the people are numerous and happy; they have not to register their households, or attend to any magistrates and their rules; only those who cultivate the royal land have to pay a portion of the gain from it. if they want to go they go; if they want to stay on, they stay. the king governs without decapitation or other corporal punishments. criminals are simply fined, lightly or heavily, according to the circumstances of each case. even in cases of repeated attempts at wicked rebellion, they only have their right hands cut off. the king's body-guards and attendants all have salaries. throughout the whole country the people do not kill any living creature, nor drink intoxicating liquor, nor eat onions or garlic. the only exception is that of the chandâlas. that is the name for those who are held to be wicked men, and live apart from others. when they enter the gate of a city or a market-place, they strike a piece of wood to make themselves known, so that men know and avoid them, and do not come into contact with them. in that country they do not keep pigs and fowls, and do not sell live cattle; in the markets there are no butchers' shops and no dealers in intoxicating drink. in buying and selling commodities they use cowries. only the chandâlas are fishermen and hunters, and sell flesh meat. after buddha attained to pari-nirvâna the kings of the various countries and the heads of the vaisyas built vihâras for the priests, and endowed them with fields, houses, gardens, and orchards, along with the resident populations and their cattle, the grants being engraved on plates of metal, so that afterwards they were handed down from king to king, without any one daring to annul them, and they remain even to the present time. the regular business of the monks is to perform acts of meritorious virtue, and to recite their sûtras and sit wrapped in meditation. when stranger monks arrive at any monastery, the old residents meet and receive them, carry for them their clothes and alms-bowl, give them water to wash their feet, oil with which to anoint them, and the liquid food permitted out of the regular hours. [ ] when the stranger has enjoyed a very brief rest, they further ask the number of years that he has been a monk, after which he receives a sleeping apartment with its appurtenances, according to his regular order, and everything is done for him which the rules prescribe. where a community of monks resides, they erect topes to sâriputtra, [ ] to mahâ-maudgalyâyana, [ ] and to Ânanda, and also topes in honor of the abhidharma, [ ] the vinaya, [ ] and the sûtras. [ ] a month after the annual season of rest, the families which are looking out for blessing stimulate one another to make offerings to the monks, and send round to them the liquid food which may be taken out of the ordinary hours. all the monks come together in a great assembly, and preach the law; after which offerings are presented at the tope of sâriputtra, with all kinds of flowers and incense. all through the night lamps are kept burning, and skilful musicians are employed to perform. when sâriputtra was a great brahman, he went to buddha, and begged to be permitted to quit his family and become a monk. the great mugalan and the great kas'yapa also did the same. the bhikshunis [ ] for the most part make their offerings at the tope of Ånanda, because it was he who requested the world-honored one to allow females to quit their families and become nuns. the srâmaneras [ ] mostly make their offerings to rahula. [ ] the professors of the abhidharma make their offerings to it; those of the vinaya to it. every year there is one such offering, and each class has its own day for it. students of the mahâyâna present offerings to the prajña-pâramitâ, to mañjus'ri, and to kwan-she-yin. when the monks have done receiving their annual tribute from the harvests, the heads of the vaisyas and all the brahmans bring clothes and such other articles as the monks require for use, and distribute among them. the monks, having received them, also proceed to give portions to one another. from the nirvâna of buddha, the forms of ceremony, laws, and rules, practised by the sacred communities, have been handed down from one generation to another without interruption. from the place where the travellers crossed the indus to south india, and on to the southern sea, a distance of forty or fifty thousand li, all is level plain. there are no large hills with streams among them; there are simply the waters of the rivers. [footnote : no monk can eat solid food except between sunrise and noon, and total abstinence from intoxicating drinks is obligatory. food eaten at any other part of the day is called vikâla, and forbidden; but a weary traveller might receive unseasonable refreshment, consisting of honey, butter, treacle, and sesamum oil.] [footnote : sâriputtra was one of the principal disciples of buddha, and indeed the most learned and ingenious of them all.] [footnote : mugalan, the singhalese name of this disciple, is more pronounceable. he also was one of the principal disciples, called buddha's "left-hand attendant." he was distinguished for his power of vision, and his magic powers.] [footnote : the different parts of the tripitaka.] [footnote : the bhikshunis are the female monks or nuns, subject to the same rules as the bhikshus, and also to special ordinances of restraint.] [footnote : the srâmaneras are the novices, male or female, who have vowed to observe the shikshâpada, or ten commandments.] [footnote : the eldest son of sâkyamuni by yasodharâ. converted to buddhism, he followed his father as an attendant; and after buddha's death became the founder of a philosophical realistic school (vaibhâshika). he is now revered as the patron saint of all novices, and is to be reborn as the eldest son of every future buddha.] chapter xvii ~legend of the trayastrimsas heaven~ from this they proceeded southeast for eighteen yojanas, and found themselves in a kingdom called sankâs'ya, at the place where buddha came down, after ascending to the trayastrims'as heaven [ ], and there preaching for three months his law for the benefit of his mother [ ]. buddha had gone up to this heaven by his supernatural power, without letting his disciples know; but seven days before the completion of the three months he laid aside his invisibility, and anuruddha [ ], with his heavenly eyes, saw the world-honored one, and immediately said to the honored one, the great mugalan, "do you go and salute the world-honored one," mugalan forthwith went, and with head and face did homage at buddha's feet. they then saluted and questioned each other, and when this was over, buddha said to mugalan, "seven days after this i will go down to jambudvîpa"; and thereupon mugalan returned. at this time the great kings of eight countries with their ministers and people, not having seen buddha for a long time, were all thirstily looking up for him, and had collected in clouds in this kingdom to wait for the world-honored one. then the bhikshunî utpala thought in her heart, "to-day the kings, with their ministers and people, will all be meeting and welcoming buddha. i am but a woman; how shall i succeed in being the first to see him?" buddha immediately, by his spirit-like power, changed her into the appearance of a holy chakravartti king, and she was the foremost of all in doing reverence to him. as buddha descended from his position aloft in the trayastrims'as heaven, when he was coming down, there were made to appear three flights of precious steps. buddha was on the middle flight, the steps of which were composed of the seven precious substances. the king of brahma-loka [ ] also made a flight of silver steps appear on the right side, where he was seen attending with a white chowry in his hand. sakra, ruler of devas, made a flight of steps of purple gold on the left side, where he was seen attending and holding an umbrella of the seven precious substances. an innumerable multitude of the devas followed buddha in his descent. when he was come down, the three flights all disappeared in the ground, excepting seven steps, which continued to be visible. afterwards king as'oka, wishing to know where their ends rested, sent men to dig and see. they went down to the yellow springs without reaching the bottom of the steps, and from this the king received an increase to his reverence and faith, and built a vihâra over the steps, with a standing image, sixteen cubits in height, right over the middle flight. behind the vihâra he erected a stone pillar, about fifty cubits high, with a lion on the top of it. [ ] let into the pillar, on each of its four sides, there is an image of buddha, inside and out shining and transparent, and pure as it were of lapis lazuli. some teachers of another doctrine once disputed with the s'ramanas about the right to this as a place of residence, and the latter were having the worst of the argument, when they took an oath on both sides on the condition that, if the place did indeed belong to the s'ramanas, there should be some marvellous attestation of it. when these words had been spoken, the lion on the top gave a great roar, thus giving the proof; on which their opponents were frightened, bowed to the decision, and withdrew. through buddha having for three months partaken of the food of heaven, his body emitted a heavenly fragrance, unlike that of an ordinary man. he went immediately and bathed; and afterwards, at the spot where he did so, a bathing-house was built, which is still existing. at the place where the bhikshuni utpala was the first to do reverence to buddha, a tope has now been built. at the places where buddha, when he was in the world, cut his hair and nails, topes are erected; and where the three buddhas [ ] that preceded s'âkyamuni buddha and he himself sat; where they walked, and where images of their persons were made. at all these places topes were made, and are still existing. at the place where s'akra, ruler of the devas, and the king of the brahma-loka followed buddha down from the trayastrimsas heaven they have also raised a tope. at this place the monks and nuns may be a thousand, who all receive their food from the common store, and pursue their studies, some of the mahayana and some of the hînayâna. where they live, there is a white-eared dragon, which acts the part of danapati to the community of these monks, causing abundant harvests in the country, and the enriching rains to come in season, without the occurrence of any calamities, so that the monks enjoy their repose and ease. in gratitude for its kindness, they have made for it a dragon-house, with a carpet for it to sit on, and appointed for it a diet of blessing, which they present for its nourishment. every day they set apart three of their number to go to its house, and eat there. whenever the summer retreat is ended, the dragon straightway changes its form, and appears as a small snake, with white spots at the side of its ears. as soon as the monks recognize it, they fill a copper vessel with cream, into which they put the creature, and then carry it round from the one who has the highest seat at their tables to him who has the lowest, when it appears as if saluting them. when it has been taken round, immediately it disappears; and every year it thus comes forth once. the country is very productive, and the people are prosperous, and happy beyond comparison. when people of other countries come to it, they are exceedingly attentive to them all, and supply them with what they need. fifty yojanas northwest from the monastery there is another, called "the great heap." great heap was the name of a wicked demon, who was converted by buddha, and men subsequently at this place reared a vihâra. when it was being made over to an arhat by pouring water on his hands, some drops fell on the ground. they are still on the spot, and however they may be brushed away and removed, they continue to be visible, and cannot be made to disappear. at this place there is also a tope to buddha, where a good spirit constantly keeps all about it swept and watered, without any labor of man being required. a king of corrupt views once said, "since you are able to do this, i will lead a multitude of troops and reside there till the dirt and filth has increased and accumulated, and see whether you can cleanse it away or not." the spirit thereupon raised a great wind, which blew the filth away, and made the place pure. at this place there are many small topes, at which a man may keep counting a whole day without being able to know their exact number. if he be firmly bent on knowing it, he will place a man by the side of each tope. when this is done, proceeding to count the number of the men, whether they be many or few, he will not get to know the number. [ ] there is a monastery, containing perhaps six hundred or seven hundred monks, in which there is a place where a pratyeka buddha used to take his food. the nirvâna ground where he was burned after death is as large as a carriage wheel; and while grass grows all around, on this spot there is none. the ground also where he dried his clothes produces no grass, but the impression of them, where they lay on it, continues to the present day. [footnote : the heaven of indra or sâkya, meaning "the heaven of thirty-three classes," a name which has been explained both historically and mythologically. "the description of it," says eitel, "tallies in all respects with the svarga of brahmanic mythology. it is situated between the four peaks of the meru, and consists of thirty-two cities of devas, eight on each of the four corners of the mountain. indra's capital of bellevue is in the centre. there he is enthroned, with a thousand heads and a thousand eyes, and four arms grasping the vajra, with his wife and , concubines. there he receives the monthly reports of the four mahârâjas, concerning the progress of good and evil in the world," etc., etc.] [footnote : buddha's mother, mâyâ and mahâ-mâyâ, died seven days after his birth.] [footnote : anuruddha was a first cousin of sâkyamuni, being the son of his uncle amritodana. he is often mentioned in the account we have of buddha's last moments. his special gift was the "heavenly eye," the first of the six "supernatural talents," the faculty of comprehending in one instantaneous view, or by intuition, all beings in all worlds.] [footnote : this was brahma, the first person of the brahmanical trimurti, adopted by buddhism, but placed in an inferior position, and surpassed by every buddhist saint who attains to bodhi.] [footnote : a note of mr. beal says on this:--"general cunningham, who visited the spot ( ), found a pillar, evidently of the age of asoka, with a well-carved elephant on the top, which, however, was minus trunk and tail. he supposes this to be the pillar seen by fâ-hien, who mistook the top of it for a lion. it is possible such a mistake may have been made, as in the account of one of the pillars at srâvasti, fâ-hien says an ox formed the capital, whilst hsüan-chwang calls it an elephant."] [footnote : these three predecessors of sakya-muni were the three buddhas of the present or mahâ-bhadra kalpa, of which he was the fourth, and maitreya is to be the fifth and last. they were: (i) kra-kuchanda, "he who readily solves all doubts"; a scion of the kasyapa family. human life reached in his time forty thousand years, and so many persons were converted by him. ( ) kanakamuni, "body radiant with the color of pure gold"; of the same family. human life reached in his time thirty thousand years, and so many persons were converted by him. ( ) kasyapa, "swallower of light." human life reached in his time twenty thousand years, and so many persons were converted by him.] [footnote : this would seem to be absurd; but the writer evidently intended to convey the idea that there was something mysterious about the number of the topes.] chapter xviii ~buddha's subjects of discourse~ fâ-hien stayed at the dragon vihara till after the summer retreat, [ ] and then, travelling to the southeast for seven yojanas, he arrived at the city of kanyakubja, lying along the ganges. there are two monasteries in it, the inmates of which are students of the hinayâna. at a distance from the city of six or seven li, on the west, on the northern bank of the ganges, is a place where buddha preached the law to his disciples. it has been handed down that his subjects of discourse were such as "the bitterness and vanity of life as impermanent and uncertain," and that "the body is as a bubble or foam on the water." at this spot a tope was erected, and still exists. having crossed the ganges, and gone south for three yojanas, the travellers arrived at a village named a-le, containing places where buddha preached the law, where he sat, and where he walked, at all of which topes have been built. [footnote : this was, probably, in a.d. .] chapter xix ~legend of buddha's danta-kâshtha~ going on from this to the southeast for three yojanas, they came to the great kingdom of shâ-che. as you go out of the city of shâ-che by the southern gate, on the east of the road is the place where buddha, after he had chewed his willow branch, stuck it in the ground, when it forthwith grew up seven cubits, at which height it remained, neither increasing nor diminishing. the brahmans, with their contrary doctrines, became angry and jealous. sometimes they cut the tree down, sometimes they plucked it up, and cast it to a distance, but it grew again on the same spot as at first. here also is the place where the four buddhas walked and sat, and at which a tope was built that is still existing. chapter xx ~the jetavana vihâra--legends of buddha~ going on from this to the south, for eight yojanas, the travellers came to the city of sravasti in the kingdom of kosala, in which the inhabitants were few and far between, amounting in all only to a few more than two hundred families; the city where king prasenajit ruled, and the place of the old vihâra of maha-prajâpati; [ ] of the well and walls of the house of the vaisya head sudatta; [ ] and where the angulimâlya [ ] became an arhat, and his body was afterwards burned on his attaining to pari-nirvâna. at all these places topes were subsequently erected, which are still existing in the city. the brahmans, with their contrary doctrine, became full of hatred and envy in their hearts, and wished to destroy them, but there came from the heavens such a storm of crashing thunder and flashing lightning that they were not able in the end to effect their purpose. as you go out from the city by the south gate, and one thousand two hundred paces from it, the vais'ya head sudatta built a vihâra, facing the south; and when the door was open, on each side of it there was a stone pillar, with the figure of a wheel on the top of that on the left, and the figure of an ox on the top of that on the right. on the left and right of the building the ponds of water clear and pure, the thickets of trees always luxuriant, and the numerous flowers of various hues, constituted a lovely scene, the whole forming what is called the jetavana vihâra. when buddha went up to the trayastrimsas heaven, and preached the law for the benefit of his mother, after he had been absent for ninety days, prasenajit, longing to see him, caused an image of him to be carved in gosirsha chandana wood, and put in the place where he usually sat. when buddha, on his return entered the vihara, this image immediately left its place, and came forth to meet him. buddha said to it, "return to your seat. after i have attained to pari-nirvâna, you will serve as a pattern to the four classes of my disciples," [ ] and on this the image returned to its seat. this was the very first of all the images of buddha, and that which men subsequently copied. buddha then removed, and dwelt in a small vihara on the south side of the other, a different place from that containing the image, and twenty paces distant from it. the jetavana vihâra was originally of seven stories. the kings and people of the countries around vied with one another in their offerings, hanging up about it silken streamers and canopies, scattering flowers, burning incense, and lighting lamps, so as to make the night as bright as the day. this they did day after day without ceasing. it happened that a rat, carrying in its mouth the wick of a lamp, set one of the streamers or canopies on fire, which caught the vihâra, and the seven stories were all consumed. the kings, with their officers and people, were all very sad and distressed, supposing that the sandalwood image had been burned; but lo! after four or five days, when the door of a small vihâra on the east was opened, there was immediately seen the original image. they were all greatly rejoiced, and cooperated in restoring the vihâra. when they had succeeded in completing two stories, they removed the image back to its former place. when fâ-hien and tâo-ching first arrived at the jetavana monastery, and thought how the world-honored one had formerly resided there for twenty-five years, painful reflections arose in their minds. born in a border-land, along with their like-minded friends, they had travelled through so many kingdoms; some of those friends had returned to their own land, and some had died, proving the impermanence and uncertainty of life; and today they saw the place where buddha had lived now unoccupied by him. they were melancholy through their pain of heart, and the crowd of monks came out, and asked them from what kingdom they were come. "we are come," they replied, "from the land of han." "strange," said the monks with a sigh, "that men of a border country should be able to come here in search of our law!" then they said to one another, "during all the time that we, preceptors and monks, have succeeded to one another, we have never seen men of han, followers of our system, arrive here." four li to the northwest of the vihâra there is a grove called "the getting of eyes." formerly there were five hundred blind men, who lived here in order that they might be near the vihâra. buddha preached his law to them, and they all got their eyesight. full of joy, they stuck their staves in the earth, and with their heads and faces on the ground, did reverence. the staves immediately began to grow, and they grew to be great. people made much of them, and no one dared to cut them down, so that they came to form a grove. it was in this way that it got its name, and most of the jetavana monks, after they had taken their mid-day meal, went to the grove, and sat there in meditation. six or seven li northeast from the jetavana, mother vaisakha built another vihâra, to which she invited buddha and his monks, and which is still existing. to each of the great residences for the monks at the jetavana vihâra there were two gates, one facing the east and the other facing the north. the park containing the whole was the space of ground which the vaisaya head, sudatta, purchased by covering it with gold coins. the vihâra was exactly in the centre. here buddha lived for a longer time than at any other place, preaching his law and converting men. at the places where he walked and sat they also subsequently reared topes, each having its particular name; and here was the place where sundari [ ] murdered a person and then falsely charged buddha with the crime. outside the east gate of the jetavana, at a distance of seventy paces to the north, on the west of the road, buddha held a discussion with the advocates of the ninety-six schemes of erroneous doctrine, when the king and his great officers, the householders, and people were all assembled in crowds to hear it. then a woman belonging to one of the erroneous systems, by name chañchamana, prompted by the envious hatred in her heart, and having put on extra clothes in front of her person, so as to give her the appearance of being with child, falsely accused buddha before all the assembly of having acted unlawfully towards her. on this, sakra, ruler of devas, changed himself and some devas into white mice, which bit through the strings about her waist; and when this was done, the extra clothes which she wore dropped down on the ground. the earth at the same time was rent, and she went down alive into hell. this also is the place where devadatta, trying with empoisoned claws to injure buddha, went down alive into hell. men subsequently set up marks to distinguish where both these events took place. further, at the place where the discussion took place, they reared a vihâra rather more than sixty cubits high, having in it an image of buddha in a sitting posture. on the east of the road there was a devâlaya [ ] of one of the contrary systems, called "the shadow covered," right opposite the vihâra on the place of discussion, with only the road between them, and also rather more than sixty cubits high. the reason why it was called "the shadow covered" was this: when the sun was in the west, the shadow of the vihâra of the world-honored one fell on the devâlaya of a contrary system; but when the sun was in the east, the shadow of that devâlaya was diverted to the north, and never fell on the vihâra of buddha. the malbelievers regularly employed men to watch their devâlaya, to sweep and water all about it, to burn incense, light the lamps, and present offerings; but in the morning the lamps were found to have been suddenly removed, and in the vihâra of buddha. the brahmans were indignant, and said, "those sramanas take our lamps and use them for their own service of buddha, but we will not stop our service for you!" [ ] on that night the brahmans themselves kept watch, when they saw the deva spirits which they served take the lamps and go three times round the vihâra of buddha and present offerings. after this administration to buddha they suddenly disappeared. the brahmans thereupon knowing how great was the spiritual power of buddha, forthwith left their families, and became monks. it has been handed down, that, near the time when these things occurred, around the jetavana vihâra there were ninety-eight monasteries, in all of which there were monks residing, excepting only in one place which was vacant. in this middle kingdom there are ninety-six sorts of views, erroneous and different from our system, all of which recognize this world and the future world and the connection between them. each has its multitude of followers, and they all beg their food: only they do not carry the alms-bowl. they also, moreover, seek to acquire the blessing of good deeds on unfrequented ways, setting up on the roadside houses of charity, where rooms, couches, beds, and food and drink are supplied to travellers, and also to monks, coming and going as guests, the only difference being in the time for which those parties remain. there are also companies of the followers of devadatta still existing. they regularly make offerings to the three previous buddhas, but not to sâkyamuni buddha. four li southeast from the city of srâvastî, a tope has been erected at the place where the world-honored one encountered king virûdhaha, when he wished to attack the kingdom of shay-e, and took his stand before him at the side of the road. [footnote : explained by "path of love," and "lord of life." prajâpati was aunt and nurse of sâkyamuni, the first woman admitted to the monkhood, and the first superior of the first buddhistic convent. she is yet to become a buddha.] [footnote : sudatta, meaning "almsgiver," was the original name of anâtha-pindika, a wealthy householder, or vaisya head, of srâvasti, famous for his liberality. of his old house, only the well and walls remained at the time of fâ-hien's visit to srâvasti.] [footnote : the angulimâlya were a sect or set of sivaitic fanatics, who made assassination a religious act. the one of them here mentioned had joined them by the force of circumstances. being converted by buddha, he became a monk.] [footnote : Ârya, meaning "honorable," "venerable," is a title given only to those who have mastered the four spiritual truths:--(i) that "misery" is a necessary condition of all sentient existence; this is duhka: (ii) that the "accumulation" of misery is caused by the passions; this is samudaya: (iii) that the "extinction" of passion is possible; this is nirodha: and (iv) that the "path" leads to the extinction of passion; which is marga. according to their attainment of these truths, the aryas, or followers of buddha, are distinguished into four classes--srotâpannas, sakridâgamins, anâgâmins, and arhats.] [footnote : hsüan-chwang does not give the name of this murderer; see in julien's "vie et voyages de hiouen-thsang "--"a heretical brahman killed a woman and calumniated buddha." see also the fuller account in beal's "records of western countries," where the murder is committed by several brahmacharins. in this passage beal makes sundari to be the name of the murdered person. but the text cannot be so construed.] [footnote : a devâlaya is a place in which a deva is worshipped--a general name for all brahmanical temples.] [footnote : their speech was somewhat unconnected, but natural enough in the circumstances. compare the whole account with the narrative in samuel v. about the ark and dagon, that "twice-battered god of palestine."] chapter xxi ~the three predecessors of sâkyamuni~ fifty li to the west of the city brings the traveller to a town named too-wei, the birthplace of kâsyapa buddha. at the place where he and his father met, and at that where he attained to pari-nirvâna, topes were erected. over the entire relic of the whole body of him, the kâsyapa tathâgata, a great tope was also erected. going on southeast from the city of srâvasti for twelve yojanas, the travellers came to a town named na-pei-keâ, the birthplace of krakuchanda buddha. at the place where he and his father met, and at that where he attained to pari-nirvâna, topes were erected. going north from here less than a yojana, they came to a town which had been the birthplace of kanakamuni buddha. at the place where he and his father met, and where he attained to pari-nirvâna, topes were erected. chapter xxii ~legends of buddha's birth~ less than a yojana to the east from this brought them to the city of kapilavastu; but in it there was neither king nor people. all was mound and desolation. of inhabitants there were only some monks and a score or two of families of the common people. at the spot where stood the old palace of king suddhodana there have been made images of his eldest son and his mother; and at the places where that son appeared mounted on a white elephant when he entered his mother's womb, and where he turned his carriage round on seeing the sick man after he had gone out of the city by the eastern gate, topes have been erected. the places were also pointed out where the rishi Â-e inspected the marks of buddhaship on the body of the heir-apparent when an infant; where, when he was in company with nanda and others, on the elephant being struck down and drawn on one side, he tossed it away; [ ] where he shot an arrow to the southeast, and it went a distance of thirty li, then entering the ground and making a spring to come forth, which men subsequently fashioned into a well from which travellers might drink; where, after he had attained to wisdom, buddha returned and saw the king, his father; where five hundred sâkyas quitted their families and did reverence to upâli [ ] while the earth shook and moved in six different ways; where buddha preached his law to the devas, and the four deva kings and others kept the four doors of the hall, so that even the king, his father, could not enter; where buddha sat under a nyagrodha tree, which is still standing, with his face to the east, and his aunt mahâ-prajâpati presented him with a sanghâli; and where king vaidûrya slew the seed of sâkya, and they all in dying became srotâpannas. [ ] a tope was erected at this last place, which is still existing. several li northeast from the city was the king's field, where the heir-apparent sat under a tree, and looked at the ploughers. fifty li east from the city was a garden, named lumbinî, where the queen entered the pond and bathed. having come forth from the pond on the northern bank, after walking twenty paces, she lifted up her hand, laid hold of a branch of a tree, and, with her face to the east, gave birth to the heir-apparent. when he fell to the ground, he immediately walked seven paces. two dragon-kings appeared and washed his body. at the place where they did so, there was immediately formed a well, and from it, as well as from the above pond, where the queen bathed, the monks even now constantly take the water, and drink it. there are four places of regular and fixed occurrence in the history of all buddhas: first, the place where they attained to perfect wisdom and became buddha; second, the place where they turned the wheel of the law; third, the place where they preached the law, discoursed of righteousness, and discomfited the advocates of erroneous doctrines; and fourth, the place where they came down, after going up to the trayastrimsas heaven to preach the law for the benefit of their mothers. other places in connection with them became remarkable, according to the manifestations which were made at them at particular times. the country of kapilavastu is a great scene of empty desolation. the inhabitants are few and far between. on the roads people have to be on their guard against white elephants [ ] and lions, and should not travel incautiously. [footnote : the lichchhavis of vaisâlî had sent to the young prince a very fine elephant; but when it was near kapilavastu, deva-datta, out of envy, killed it with a blow of his fist. nanda (not Ânanda, but a half-brother of siddhartha), coming that way, saw the carcass lying on the road, and pulled it on one side; but the bodhisattva, seeing it there, took it by the tail, and tossed it over seven fences and ditches, when the force of its fall made a great ditch.] [footnote : they did this, probably, to show their humility, for upâli was only a sûdra by birth, and had been a barber; so from the first did buddhism assert its superiority to the conditions of rank and caste. upâli was distinguished by his knowledge of the rules of discipline, and praised on that account by buddha. he was one of the three leaders of the first synod, and the principal compiler of the original vinaya books.] [footnote : the srotâpannas are the first class of saints, who are not to be reborn in a lower sphere, but attain to nirvàna after having been reborn seven times consecutively as men or devas. the chinese editions state there were one thousand of the sãkya seed. the general account is that they were five hundred, all maidens, who refused to take their place in king vaidurya's harem, and were in consequence taken to a pond, and had their hands and feet cut off. there buddha came to them, had their wounds dressed, and preached to them the law. they died in the faith, and were reborn in the region of the four great kings. thence they came back and visited buddha at jetavana in the night, and there they obtained the reward of srotâpanna.] [footnote : fâ-hien does not say that he himself saw any of these white elephants, nor does he speak of the lions as of any particular color. we shall find by and by, in a note further on, that, to make them appear more terrible, they are spoken of as "black."] chapter xxiii ~legends of râma and its tope~ east from buddha's birthplace, and at a distance of five yojanas, there is a kingdom called râma. the king of this country, having obtained one portion of the relics of buddha's body, returned with it and built over it a tope, named the râma tope. by the side of it there was a pool, and in the pool a dragon, which constantly kept watch over the tope, and presented offerings at it day and night. when king asoka came forth into the world, he wished to destroy the eight topes over the relics, and to build instead of them eighty-four thousand topes. [ ] after he had thrown down the seven others, he wished next to destroy this tope. but then the dragon showed itself, and took the king into its palace; when he had seen all the things provided for offerings, it said to him, "if you are able with your offerings to exceed these, you can destroy the tope, and take it all away. i will not contend with you." the king, however, knew that such appliances for offerings were not to be had anywhere in the world, and thereupon returned without carrying out his purpose. afterwards, the ground all about became overgrown with vegetation, and there was nobody to sprinkle and sweep about the tope; but a herd of elephants came regularly, which brought water with their trunks to water the ground, and various kinds of flowers and incense, which they presented at the tope. once there came from one of the kingdoms a devotee to worship at the tope. when he encountered the elephants he was greatly alarmed, and screened himself among the trees; but when he saw them go through with the offerings in the most proper manner, the thought filled him with great sadness--that there should be no monastery here, the inmates of which might serve the tope, but the elephants have to do the watering and sweeping. forthwith he gave up the great prohibitions by which he was bound, and resumed the status of a srâmanera. with his own hands he cleared away the grass and trees, put the place in good order, and made it pure and clean. by the power of his exhortations, he prevailed on the king of the country to form a residence for monks; and when that was done, he became head of the monastery. at the present day there are monks residing in it. this event is of recent occurrence; but in all the succession from that time till now, there has always been a srâmanera head of the establishment. [footnote : the bones of the human body are supposed to consist of , atoms, and hence the legend of asoka's wish to build , topes, one over each atom of sakyamuni's skeleton.] chapter xxiv ~where buddha renounced the world~ east from here four yojanas, there is the place where the heir-apparent sent back chandaka, with his white horse; and there also a tope was erected. four yojanas to the east from this, the travellers came to the charcoal tope, where there is also a monastery. going on twelve yojanas, still to the east, they came to the city of kusanagara, on the north of which, between two trees, on the bank of the nairañjanâ river, is the place where the world-honored one, with his head to the north, attained to pan-nirvâna and died. there also are the places where subhadra, [ ] the last of his converts, attained to wisdom and became an arhat; where in his coffin of gold they made offerings to the world-honored one for seven days, where the vajrapâni laid aside his golden club, and where the eight kings divided the relics of the burnt body: at all these places were built topes and monasteries, all of which are now existing. in the city the inhabitants are few and far between, comprising only the families belonging to the different societies of monks. going from this to the southeast for twelve yojanas, they came to the place where the lichchhavis wished to follow buddha to the place of his pari-nirvâna, and where, when he would not listen to them and they kept cleaving to him, unwilling to go away, he made to appear a large and deep ditch which they could not cross over, and gave them his alms-bowl, as a pledge of his regard, thus sending them back to their families. there a stone pillar was erected with an account of this event engraved upon it. [footnote : a brahman of benâres, said to have been one hundred and twenty years old, who came to learn from buddha the very night he died. Ânanda would have repulsed him; but buddha ordered him to be introduced; and then putting aside the ingenious but unimportant question which he propounded, preached to him the law. the brahman was converted and attained at once to arhatship.] chapter xxv ~the kingdom of vaisâlî~ east from this city ten yojanas, the travellers came to the kingdom of vaisâlî. north of the city so named is a large forest, having in it the double-galleried vihâra where buddha dwelt, and the tope over half the body of Ânanda. inside the city the woman Âmbapâlî [ ] built a vihâra in honor of buddha, which is now standing as it was at first. three li south of the city, on the west of the road, is the garden which the same Âmbapâlî presented to buddha, in which he might reside. when buddha was about to attain to his pari-nirvâna, as he was quitting the city by the west gate, he turned round, and, beholding the city on his right, said to them, "here i have taken my last walk." men subsequently built a tope at this spot. three li northwest of the city there is a tope called, "bows and weapons laid down." the reason why it got that name was this: the inferior wife of a king, whose country lay along the river ganges, brought forth from her womb a ball of flesh. the superior wife, jealous of the other, said, "you have brought forth a thing of evil omen," and immediately it was put into a box of wood and thrown into the river. farther down the stream another king was walking and looking about, when he saw the wooden box floating in the water. he had it brought to him, opened it, and found a thousand little boys, upright and complete, and each one different from the others. he took them and had them brought up. they grew tall and large, and very daring and strong, crushing all opposition in every expedition which they undertook. by and by they attacked the kingdom of their real father, who became in consequence greatly distressed and sad. his inferior wife asked what it was that made him so, and he replied, "that king has a thousand sons, daring and strong beyond compare, and he wishes with them to attack my kingdom; this is what makes me sad." the wife said, "you need not be sad and sorrowful. only make a high gallery on the wall of the city on the east; and when the thieves come, i shall be able to make them retire." the king did as she said; and when the enemies came, she said to them from the tower, "you are my sons; why are you acting so unnaturally and rebelliously?" they replied, "who are you that say you are our mother?" "if you do not believe me," she said, "look, all of you, towards me, and open your mouths." she then pressed her breasts with her two hands, and each sent forth five hundred jets of milk, which fell into the mouths of the thousand sons. the thieves thus knew that she was their mother, and laid down their bows and weapons. the two kings, the fathers, hereupon fell into reflection, and both got to be pratyeka buddhas. the tope of the two pratyeka buddhas is still existing. in a subsequent age, when the world-honored one had attained to perfect wisdom and become buddha, he said to his disciples, "this is the place where i in a former age laid down my bow and weapons." [ ] it was thus that subsequently men got to know the fact, and raised the tope on this spot, which in this way received its name. the thousand little boys were the thousand buddhas of this bhadra-kalpa. [ ] it was by the side of the "weapons-laid-down" tope that buddha, having given up the idea of living longer, said to Ânanda, "in three months from this i will attain to pari-nirvâna"; and king mâra [ ] had so fascinated and stupefied Ânanda, that he was not able to ask buddha to remain longer in this world. three or four li east from this place there is a tope commemorating the following occurrence: a hundred years after the pari-nirvâna of buddha, some bhikshus of vaisâlî went wrong in the matter of the disciplinary rules in ten particulars, and appealed for their justification to what they said were the words of buddha. hereupon the arhats and bhikshus observant of the rules, to the number in all of seven hundred monks, examined afresh and collated the collection of disciplinary books [ ]. subsequently men built at this place the tope in question, which is still existing. [footnote : Âmbapâlî, Âmrapâlî, or Âmradarikâ, "the guardian of the Âmra (probably the mango) tree," is famous in buddhist annals. she was a courtesan. she had been in many nârakas or hells, was one hundred thousand times a female beggar, and ten thousand times a prostitute; but maintaining perfect continence during the period of kâsyana buddha, sakyamuni's predecessor, she had been born a devî, and finally appeared in earth under an Âmra tree in vaisâlî. there again she fell into her old ways, and had a son by king bimbisâra; but she was won over by buddha to virtue and chastity, renounced the world, and attained to the state of an arhat.] [footnote : thus sâkyamuni had been one of the thousand little boys who floated in the box in the ganges. how long back the former age was we cannot tell. i suppose the tope of the two fathers who became pratyeka buddhas had been built like the one commemorating the laying down of weapons after buddha had told his disciples of the strange events in the past.] [footnote : bhadra-kalpa, "the kalpa of worthies or sages." "this," says eitel, "is a designation for a kalpa of stability, so-called because one thousand buddhas appear in the course of it. our present period is a bhadra-kalpa, and four buddhas have already appeared. it is to last two hundred and thirty-six millions of years, but over one hundred and fifty-one millions have already elapsed."] [footnote : "the king of demons." the name mara is explained by "the murderer," "the destroyer of virtue," and similar appellations. "he is," says eitel, "the personification of lust, the god of love, sin, and death, the arch-enemy of goodness, residing in the heaven paranirmita vasavartin on the top of the kamadhatu. he assumes different forms, especially monstrous ones, to tempt or frighten the saints, or sends his daughters, or inspires wicked men like devadatta or the nirgranthas to do his work. he is often represented with arms, and riding on an elephant."] [footnote : or the vinaya-pitaka. the meeting referred to was an important one, and is generally spoken of as the second great council of the buddhist church. the first council was that held at râjagriha, shortly after buddha's death, under the presidency of kâsyapa--say about b.c. . the second was that spoken of here--say about b.c. .] chapter xxvi ~remarkable death of Ânanda~ four yojanas on from this place to the east brought the travellers to the confluence of the five rivers. when Ânanda was going from magadha to vaisâlî, wishing his pari-nirvâna to take place there, the devas informed king ajâtasatru [ ] of it, and the king immediately pursued him, in his own grand carriage, with a body of soldiers, and had reached the river. on the other hand, the lichchhavis of vaisâlî had heard that Ânanda was coming to their city, and they on their part came to meet him. in this way, they all arrived together at the river, and Ânanda considered that, if he went forward, king ajâtasatru would be very angry, while, if he went back, the lichchhavis would resent his conduct. he thereupon in the very middle of the river burnt his body in a fiery ecstasy of samâdhi [ ], and his pari-nirvâna was attained. he divided his body into two parts, leaving one part on each bank; so that each of the two kings got one part as a sacred relic, and took it back to his own capital, and there raised a tope over it. [footnote : he was the son of king bimbisâra, who was one of the first royal converts to buddhism. ajasat murdered his father, or at least wrought his death; and was at first opposed to sakyamuni, and a favorer of devadotta. when converted, he became famous for his liberality in almsgiving.] [footnote : "samâdhi," says eitel, "signifies the highest pitch of abstract, ecstatic meditation; a state of absolute indifference to all influences from within or without; a state of torpor of both the material and spiritual forces of vitality; a sort of terrestrial nirvâna, consistently culminating in total destruction of life."] chapter xxvii ~king asoka's spirit-built palace and halls~ having crossed the river, and descended south for a yojana, the travellers came to the town of pâtaliputtra [ ], in the kingdom of magadha, the city where king asoka ruled. the royal palace and halls in the midst of the city, which exist now as of old, were all made by spirits which he employed, and which piled up the stones, reared the walls and gates, and executed the elegant carving and inlaid sculpture-work--in a way which no human hands of this world could accomplish. king asoka had a younger brother who had attained to be an arhat, and resided on gridhra-kûta hill, finding his delight in solitude and quiet. the king, who sincerely reverenced him, wished and begged him to come and live in his family, where he could supply all his wants. the other, however, through his delight in the stillness of the mountain, was unwilling to accept the invitation, on which the king said to him, "only accept my invitation, and i will make a hill for you inside the city." accordingly, he provided the materials of a feast, called to him the spirits, and announced to them, "tomorrow you will all receive my invitation; but as there are no mats for you to sit on, let each one bring his own seat." next day the spirits came, each one bringing with him a great rock, like a wall, four or five paces square, for a seat. when their sitting was over, the king made them form a hill with the large stones piled on one another, and also at the foot of the hill, with five large square stones, to make an apartment, which might be more than thirty cubits long, twenty cubits wide, and more than ten cubits high. in this city there had resided a great brahman, named râdha-sâmi, a professor of the mahâyâna, of clear discernment and much wisdom, who understood everything, living by himself in spotless purity. the king of the country honored and reverenced him, and served him as his teacher. if he went to inquire for and greet him, the king did not presume to sit down alongside of him; and if, in his love and reverence, he took hold of his hand, as soon as he let it go, the brahman made haste to pour water on it and wash it. he might be more than fifty years old, and all the kingdom looked up to him. by means of this one man, the law of buddha was widely made-known, and the followers of other doctrines did not find it in their power to persecute the body of monks in any way. by the side of the tope of asoka, there has been made a mahâyâna monastery, very grand and beautiful; there is also a hînayâna one; the two together containing six hundred or seven hundred monks. the rules of demeanor and the scholastic arrangements in them are worthy of observation. shamans of the highest virtue from all quarters, and students, inquirers wishing to find out truth and the grounds of it, all resort to these monasteries. there also resides in this monastery a brahman teacher, whose name also is mañjusrî, whom the shamans of greatest virtue in the kingdom, and the mahâyâna bhikshus honor and look up to. the cities and towns of this country are the greatest of all in the middle kingdom. the inhabitants are rich and prosperous, and vie with one another in the practice of benevolence and righteousness. every year on the eighth day of the second month they celebrate a procession of images. they make a four-wheeled car, and on it erect a structure of five stories by means of bamboos tied together. this is supported by a king-post, with poles and lances slanting from it, and is rather more than twenty cubits high, having the shape of a tope. white and silk-like cloth of hair is wrapped all round it, which is then painted in various colors. they make figures of devas, with gold, silver, and lapis lazuli grandly blended and having silken streamers and canopies hung out over them. on the four sides are niches, with a buddha seated in each, and a bodhisattva standing in attendance on him. there may be twenty cars, all grand and imposing, but each one different from the others. on the day mentioned, the monks and laity within the borders all come together; they have singers and skilful musicians: they say their devotions with flowers and incense. the brahmans come and invite the buddhas to enter the city. these do so in order, and remain two nights in it. all through the night they keep lamps burning, have skilful music, and present offerings. this is the practice in all the other kingdoms as well. the heads of the vaisya families in them establish in the cities houses for dispensing charity and medicines. all the poor and destitute in the country, orphans, widowers, and childless men, maimed people and cripples, and all who are diseased, go to those houses, and are provided with every kind of help, and doctors examine their diseases. they get the food and medicines which their cases require, and are made to feel at ease; and when they are better, they go away of themselves. when king asoka destroyed the seven topes, intending to make eighty-four thousand, the first which he made was the great tope, more than three li to the south of this city. in front of this there is a footprint of buddha, where a vihara has been built. the door of it faces the north, and on the south of it there is a stone pillar, fourteen or fifteen cubits in circumference, and more than thirty cubits high, on which there is an inscription, saying, "asoka gave the jambudvipa to the general body of all the monks, and then redeemed it from them with money. this he did three times." north from the tope three hundred or four hundred paces, king asoka built the city of ne-le. in it there is a stone pillar, which also is more than thirty feet high, with a lion on the top of it. on the pillar there is an inscription recording the things which led to the building of ne-le, with the number of the year, the day, and the month. [footnote : the modern patna. the sanscrit name means "the city of flowers." it is the indian florence.] chapter xxviii ~râjagriha, new and old--legends connected with it~ the travellers went on from this to the southeast for nine yojanas, and came to a small solitary rocky hill, at the head or end of which was an apartment of stone, facing the south--the place where buddha sat, when sakra, ruler of devas, brought the deva-musician, pañchasikha, to give pleasure to him by playing on his lute. sakra then asked buddha about forty-two subjects, tracing the questions out with his finger one by one on the rock. the prints of his tracing are still there; and here also there is a monastery. a yojana southwest from this place brought them to the village of nâla, where sâriputtra was born, and to which also he returned, and attained here his pari-nirvâna. over the spot where his body was burned there was built a tope, which is still in existence. another yojana to the west brought them to new râjagriha--the new city which was built by king ajâtasatru. there were two monasteries in it. three hundred paces outside the west gate, king ajâtasatru, having obtained one portion of the relics of buddha, built over them a tope, high, large, grand, and beautiful. leaving the city by the south gate, and proceeding south four li, one enters a valley, and comes to a circular space formed by five hills, which stand all round it, and have the appearance of the suburban wall of a city. here was the old city of king bimbisâra; from east to west about five or six li, and from north to south seven or eight. it was here that sâriputtra and maudgalyâyana first saw upasena [ ]; that the nirgrantha made a pit of fire and poisoned the rice, and then invited buddha to eat with him; that king ajâtasatru made a black elephant intoxicated with liquor, wishing him to injure buddha; and that at the northeast corner of the city in a large curving space jîvaka built a vihâra in the garden of Âmbapâlî, and invited buddha with his one thousand two hundred and fifty disciples to it, that he might there make his offerings to support them. these places are still there as of old, but inside the city all is emptiness and desolation; no man dwells in it. [footnote : one of the five first followers of sakyamuni. he is also called asvajit; in pali assaji; but asvajit seems to be a military title, "master or trainer of horses." the two more famous disciples met him, not to lead him, but to be directed by him, to buddha.] chapter xxix ~fâ-hien passes a night on gridhra-kûta hill~ entering the valley, and keeping along the mountains on the southeast, after ascending fifteen li, the travellers came to mount gridhra-kûta. three li before you reach the top, there is a cavern in the rocks, facing the south, in which buddha sat in meditation. thirty paces to the northwest there is another, where Ânanda was sitting in meditation, when the deva mâra pisuna, having assumed the form of a large vulture, took his place in front of the cavern, and frightened the disciple. then buddha, by his mysterious, supernatural power, made a cleft in the rock, introduced his hand, and stroked Ânanda's shoulder, so that his fear immediately passed away. the footprints of the bird and the cleft for buddha's hand are still there, and hence comes the name of "the hill of the vulture cavern." in front of the cavern there are the places where the four buddhas sat. there are caverns also of the arhats, one where each sat and meditated, amounting to several hundred in all. at the place where in front of his rocky apartment buddha was walking from east to west in meditation, and devadatta, from among the beetling cliffs on the north of the mountain, threw a rock across, and hurt buddha's toes, the rock is still there. the hall where buddha preached his law has been destroyed, and only the foundations of the brick walls remain. on this hill the peak is beautifully green, and rises grandly up; it is the highest of all the five hills. in the new city fâ-hien bought incense-sticks, flowers, oil and lamps, and hired two bhikshus, long resident at the place, to carry them to the peak. when he himself got to it, he made his offerings with the flowers and incense, and lighted the lamps when the darkness began to come on. he felt melancholy, but restrained his tears and said, "here buddha delivered the sûrângama sûtra. i, fâ-hien, was born when i could not meet with buddha; and now i only see the footprints which he has left, and the place where he lived, and nothing more." with this, in front of the rock cavern, he chanted the sûrângama sûtra, remained there over the night, and then returned towards the new city. chapter xxx ~srataparna cave, or cave of the first council~ out from the old city, after walking over three hundred paces, on the west of the road, the travellers found the karanda bamboo garden, where the old vihâra is still in existence, with a company of monks, who keep the ground about it swept and watered. north of the vihâra two or three li there was the smasânam, which name means in chinese "the field of graves into which the dead are thrown." as they kept along the mountain on the south, and went west for three hundred paces, they found a dwelling among the rocks, named the pippala cave, in which buddha regularly sat in meditation after taking his mid-day meal. going on still to the west for five or six li, on the north of the hill, in the shade, they found the cavern called srataparna, [ ] the place where, after the nirvâna of buddha, five hundred arhats collected the sûtras. when they brought the sûtras forth, three lofty seats had been prepared and grandly ornamented. sâriputtra occupied the one on the left, and maudgalyâyana that on the right. of the number of five hundred one was wanting. mahâkasyapa was president on the middle seat. Ânanda was then outside the door, and could not get in. at the place there was subsequently raised a tope, which is still existing. along the sides of the hill, there are also a very great many cells among the rocks, where the various arhans sat and meditated. as you leave the old city on the north, and go down east for three li, there is the rock dwelling of devadatta, and at a distance of fifty paces from it there is a large, square, black rock. formerly there was a bhikshu, who, as he walked backwards and forwards upon it, thought with himself:--"this body is impermanent, a thing of bitterness and vanity, and which cannot be looked on as pure. i am weary of this body, and troubled by it as an evil." with this he grasped a knife, and was about to kill himself. but he thought again:--"the world-honored one laid down a prohibition against one's killing himself." [ ] further it occurred to him:--"yes, he did; but i now only wish to kill three poisonous thieves." immediately with the knife he cut his throat. with the first gash into the flesh he attained the state of a srotâpanna; when he had gone half through, he attained to be an anâgâmin; and when he had cut right through, he was an arhat, and attained to pari-nirvâna, and died. [footnote : a very great place in the annals of buddhism. the council in the srataparna cave did not come together fortuitously, but appears to have been convoked by the older members to settle the rules and doctrines of the order. the cave was prepared for the occasion by king ajâtasatru.] [footnote : buddha made a law forbidding the monks to commit suicide. he prohibited any one from discoursing on the miseries of life in such a manner as to cause desperation.] chapter xxxi ~sâkyamuni's attaining to the buddhaship~ from this place, after travelling to the west for four yojanas, the pilgrims came to the city of gayâ; but inside the city all was emptiness and desolation. going on again to the south for twenty li, they arrived at the place where the bodhisattva for six years practised with himself painful austerities. all around was forest. three li west from here they came to the place where, when buddha had gone into the water to bathe, a deva bent down the branch of a tree, by means of which he succeeded in getting out of the pool. two li north from this was the place where the grâmika girls presented to buddha the rice-gruel made with milk; and two li north from this was the place where, seated on a rock under a great tree, and facing the east, he ate the gruel. the tree and the rock are there at the present day. the rock may be six cubits in breadth and length, and rather more than two cubits in height. in central india the cold and heat are so equally tempered that trees live for several thousand and even for ten thousand years. half a yojana from this place to the northeast there was a cavern in the rocks, into which the bodhisattva entered, and sat cross-legged with his face to the west. as he did so, he said to himself, "if i am to attain to perfect wisdom and become buddha, let there be a supernatural attestation of it." on the wall of the rock there appeared immediately the shadow of a buddha, rather more than three feet in length, which is still bright at the present day. at this moment heaven and earth were greatly moved, and devas in the air spoke plainly, "this is not the place where any buddha of the past, or he that is to come, has attained, or will attain, to perfect wisdom. less than half a yojana from this to the southwest will bring you to the patra tree, where all past buddhas have attained, and all to come must attain, to perfect wisdom." when they had spoken these words, they immediately led the way forward to the place, singing as they did so. as they thus went away, the bodhisattva arose and walked after them. at a distance of thirty paces from the tree, a deva gave him the grass of lucky omen, which he received and went on. after he had proceeded fifteen paces, five hundred green birds came flying towards him, went round him thrice, and disappeared. the bodhisattva went forward to the patra tree, placed the kusa grass at the foot of it, and sat down with his face to the east. then king mâra sent three beautiful young ladies, who came from the north, to tempt him, while he himself came from the south to do the same. the bodhisattva put his toes down on the ground, and the demon soldiers retired and dispersed, and the three young ladies were changed into old grandmothers. at the place mentioned above of the six years' painful austerities, and at all these other places, men subsequently reared topes and set up images, which all exist at the present day. where buddha, after attaining to perfect wisdom, for seven days contemplated the tree, and experienced the joy of vimukti; where, under the patra tree, he walked to and fro from west to east for seven days; where the devas made a hall appear, composed of the seven precious substances, and presented offerings to him for seven days; where the blind dragon muchilinda [ ] encircled him for seven days; where he sat under the nyagrodha tree, on a square rock, with his face to the east, and brahma-deva came and made his request to him; where the four deva kings brought to him their alms-bowls; where the five hundred merchants presented to him the roasted flour and honey; and where he converted the brothers kasyapa and their thousand disciples;--at all these places topes were reared. at the place where buddha attained to perfect wisdom, there are three monasteries, in all of which there are monks residing. the families of their people around supply the societies of these monks with an abundant sufficiency of what they require, so that there is no lack or stint. the disciplinary rules are strictly observed by them. the laws regulating their demeanor in sitting, rising, and entering when the others are assembled, are those which have been practised by all the saints since buddha was in the world down to the present day. the places of the four great topes have been fixed, and handed down without break, since buddha attained to nirvâna. those four great topes are those at the places where buddha was born; where he attained to wisdom; where he began to move the wheel of his law; and where he attained to pari-nirvâna. [footnote : called also maha, or the great muchilinda. eitel says: "a naga king, the tutelary deity of a lake near which sakyamuni once sat for seven days absorbed in meditation, whilst the king guarded him." the account in "the life of the buddha" is:--"buddha went to where lived the naga king muchilinda, and he, wishing to preserve him from the sun and rain, wrapped his body seven times round him, and spread out his hood over his head; and there he remained seven days in thought."] chapter xxxii ~legend of king asoka in a former birth~ when king asoka, in a former birth, was a little boy and playing on the road, he met kasyapa buddha walking. the stranger begged food, and the boy pleasantly took a handful of earth and gave it to him. the buddha took the earth, and returned it to the ground on which he was walking; but because of this the boy received the recompense of becoming a king of the iron wheel, to rule over jambudvîpa. once when he was making a judicial tour of inspection through jambudvîpa, he saw, between the iron circuit of the two hills, a naraka for the punishment of wicked men. having thereupon asked his ministers what sort of a thing it was, they replied, "it belongs to yama, [ ] king of demons, for punishing wicked people." the king thought within himself:--"even the king of demons is able to make a naraka in which to deal with wicked men; why should not i, who am the lord of men, make a naraka in which to deal with wicked men?" he forthwith asked his ministers who could make for him a naraka and preside over the punishment of wicked people in it. they replied that it was only a man of extreme wickedness who could make it; and the king thereupon sent officers to seek everywhere for such a bad man; and they saw by the side of a pond a man tall and strong, with a black countenance, yellow hair, and green eyes, hooking up the fish with his feet, while he called to him birds and beasts, and, when they came, then shot and killed them, so that not one escaped. having got this man, they took him to the king, who secretly charged him, "you must make a square enclosure with high walls. plant in it all kinds of flowers and fruits; make good ponds in it for bathing; make it grand and imposing in every way, so that men shall look to it with thirsting desire; make its gates strong and sure; and when any one enters, instantly seize him and punish him as a sinner, not allowing him to get out. even if i should enter, punish me as a sinner in the same way, and do not let me go. i now appoint you master of that naraka." soon after this a bhikshu, pursuing his regular course of begging his food, entered the gate of the place. when the lictors of the naraka saw him, they were about to subject him to their tortures; but he, frightened, begged them to allow him a moment in which to eat his mid-day meal. immediately after, there came in another man, whom they thrust into a mortar and pounded till a red froth overflowed. as the bhikshu looked on, there came to him the thought of the impermanence, the painful suffering and inanity of this body, and how it is but as a bubble and as foam; and instantly he attained to arhatship. immediately after, the lictors seized him, and threw him into a caldron of boiling water. there was a look of joyful satisfaction, however, in the bhikshu's countenance. the fire was extinguished, and the water became cold. in the middle of the caldron there rose up a lotus flower, with the bhikshu seated on it. the lictors at once went and reported to the king that there was a marvellous occurrence in the naraka, and wished him to go and see it; but the king said, "i formerly made such an agreement that now i dare not go to the place." the lictors said, "this is not a small matter. your majesty ought to go quickly. let your former agreement be altered." the king thereupon followed them, and entered the naraka, when the bhikshu preached the law to him, and he believed, and was made free. forthwith he demolished the naraka, and repented of all the evil which he had formerly done. from this time he believed in and honored the three precious ones, and constantly went to a patra tree, repenting under it, with self-reproach, of his errors, and accepting the eight rules of abstinence. the queen asked where the king was constantly going to, and the ministers replied that he was constantly to be seen under such and such a patra tree. she watched for a time when the king was not there, and then sent men to cut the tree down. when the king came, and saw what had been done, he swooned away with sorrow, and fell to the ground. his ministers sprinkled water on his face, and after a considerable time he revived. he then built all round the stump with bricks, and poured a hundred pitchers of cows' milk on the roots; and as he lay with his four limbs spread out on the ground, he took this oath, "if the tree do not live, i will never rise from this." when he had uttered this oath, the tree immediately began to grow from the roots, and it has continued to grow till now, when it is nearly one hundred cubits in height. [footnote : yama was originally the Âryan god of the dead, living in a heaven above the world, the regent of the south; but brahmanism transferred his abode to hell. both views have been retained by buddhism. the yama of the text is the "regent of the narakas, residing south of jambudvîpa, outside the chakravâlas (the double circuit of mountains above), in a palace built of brass and iron. he has a sister who controls all the female culprits, as he exclusively deals with the male sex. three times, however, in every twenty-four hours, a demon pours boiling copper into yama's mouth, and squeezes it down his throat, causing him unspeakable pain." such, however, is the wonderful "transrotation of births," that when yama's sins have been expiated, he is to be reborn as buddha, under the name of "the universal king."] chapter xxxiii ~kasyapa buddha's skeleton on mount gurupada~ the travellers, going on from this three li to the south, came to a mountain named gurupada, inside which mahâkasyapa even now is. he made a cleft, and went down into it, though the place where he entered would not now admit a man. having gone down very far, there was a hole on one side, and there the complete body of kasyapa still abides. outside the hole at which he entered is the earth with which he had washed his hands. if the people living thereabouts have a sore on their heads, they plaster on it some of the earth from this, and feel immediately easier. on this mountain, now as of old, there are arhats abiding. devotees of our law from the various countries in that quarter go year by year to the mountain, and present offerings to kasyapa; and to those whose hearts are strong in faith there come arhats at night, and talk with them, discussing and explaining their doubts, and disappearing suddenly afterwards. on this hill hazels grow luxuriantly; and there are many lions, tigers, and wolves, so that people should not travel incautiously. chapter xxxiv ~on the way returning to patna~ fâ-hien returned from here towards pâtaliputtra, keeping along the course of the ganges and descending in the direction of the west. after going ten yojanas he found a vihâra, named "the wilderness"--a place where buddha had dwelt, and where there are monks now. pursuing the same course, and going still to the west, he arrived, after twelve yojanas, at the city of vârânasî in the kingdom of kâsî. rather more than ten li to the northeast of the city, he found the vihâra in the park of "the rishi's deer-wild." [ ] in this park there formerly resided a pratyeka buddha, with whom the deer were regularly in the habit of stopping for the night. when the world-honored one was about to attain to perfect wisdom, the devas sang in the sky, "the son of king suddhodana, having quitted his family and studied the path of wisdom, will now in seven days become buddha." the pratyeka buddha heard their words, and immediately attained to nirvâna; and hence this place was named "the park of the rishi's deer-wild." after the world-honored one had attained to perfect wisdom, men built the vihâra in it. buddha wished to convert kaundinya and his four companions; but they, being aware of his intention, said to one another, "this sramana gotama [ ] for six years continued in the practice of painful austerities, eating daily only a single hemp-seed, and one grain of rice, without attaining to the path of wisdom; how much less will he do so now that he has entered again among men, and is giving the reins to the indulgence of his body, his speech, and his thoughts! what has he to do with the path of wisdom? to-day, when he comes to us, let us be on our guard not to speak with him." at the places where the five men all rose up, and respectfully saluted buddha, when he came to them; where, sixty paces north from this, he sat with his face to the east, and first turned the wheel of the law, converting kaundinya and the four others; where, twenty paces further to the north, he delivered his prophecy concerning maitreya; and where, at a distance of fifty paces to the south, the dragon elâpattra asked him, "when shall i get free from this nâga body?"--at all these places topes were reared, and are still existing. in the park there are two monasteries, in both of which there are monks residing. when you go northwest from the vihâra of the deer-wild park for thirteen yojanas, there is a kingdom named kausâmbi. its vihâra is named ghochiravana--a place where buddha formerly resided. now, as of old, there is a company of monks there, most of whom are students of the hînayâna. east from this, when you have travelled eight yojanas, is the place where buddha converted the evil demon. there, and where he walked in meditation and sat at the place which was his regular abode, there have been topes erected. there is also a monastery, which may contain more than a hundred monks. [footnote : "the rishi," says eitel, "is a man whose bodily frame has undergone a certain transformation by dint of meditation and asceticism, so that he is, for an indefinite period, exempt from decrepitude, age, and death. as this period is believed to extend far beyond the usual duration of human life, such persons are called, and popularly believed to be, immortals." rishis are divided into various classes; and rishi-ism is spoken of as a seventh path of transrotation, and rishis are referred to as the seventh class of sentient beings.] [footnote : this is the only instance in fâ-hien's text where the bodhisattva or buddha is called by the surname "gotama." for the most part our traveller uses buddha as a proper name, though it properly means "the enlightened." he uses also the combinations "sâkya buddha," which means "the buddha of the sâkya tribe," and "sâkyamuni," which means "the sâkya sage." this last is the most common designation of the buddha in china. among other buddhistic peoples "gotama" and "gotama buddha" are the more frequent designations.] chapter xxxv ~dakshina, and the pigeon monastery~ south from this two hundred yojanas, there is a country named dakshina, where there is a monastery dedicated to the by-gone kasyapa buddha, and which has been hewn out from a large hill of rock. it consists in all of five stories;--the lowest, having the form of an elephant, with five hundred apartments in the rock; the second, having the form of a lion, with four hundred apartments; the third, having the form of a horse, with three hundred apartments; the fourth, having the form of an ox, with two hundred apartments; and the fifth, having the form of a pigeon, with one hundred apartments. at the very top there is a spring, the water of which, always in front of the apartments in the rock, goes round among the rooms, now circling, now curving, till in this way it arrives at the lowest story, having followed the shape of the structure, and flows out there at the door. everywhere in the apartments of the monks, the rock has been pierced so as to form windows for the admission of light, so that they are all bright, without any being left in darkness. at the four corners of the tiers of apartments, the rock has been hewn so as to form steps for ascending to the top of each. the men of the present day, being of small size, and going up step by step, manage to get to the top; but in a former age they did so at one step. because of this, the monastery is called paravata, that being the indian name for a pigeon. there are always arhats residing in it. the country about is a tract of uncultivated hillocks, without inhabitants. at a very long distance from the hill there are villages, where the people all have bad and erroneous views, and do not know the sramanas of the law of buddha, brahmanas, or devotees of any of the other and different schools. the people of that country are constantly seeing men on the wing, who come and enter this monastery. on one occasion, when devotees of various countries came to perform their worship at it, the people of those villages said to them, "why do you not fly? the devotees whom we have seen hereabouts all fly"; and the strangers answered, on the spur of the moment, "our wings are not yet fully formed." the kingdom of dakshina is out of the way, and perilous to traverse. there are difficulties in connection with the roads; but those who know how to manage such difficulties and wish to proceed should bring with them money and various articles, and give them to the king. he will then send men to escort them. these will, at different stages, pass them over to others, who will show them the shortest routes. fâ-hien, however, was after all unable to go there; but having received the above accounts from men of the country, he has narrated them. chapter xxxvi ~fâ-hien's indian studies~ from vârânasî the travellers went back east to pâtaliputtra. fâ-hien's original object had been to search for copies of the vinaya. in the various kingdoms of north india, however, he had found one master transmitting orally the rules to another, but no written copies which he could transcribe. he had therefore travelled far and come on to central india. here, in the mahâyâna monastery, he found a copy of the vinaya, containing the mahâsânghikâ [ ] rules--those which were observed in the first great council, while buddha was still in the world. the original copy was handed down in the jetavana vihâra. as to the other eighteen schools, each one has the views and decisions of its own masters. those agree with this in the general meaning, but they have small and trivial differences, as when one opens and another shuts. this copy of the rules, however, is the most complete, with the fullest explanations. [ ] he further got a transcript of the rules in six or seven thousand gâthas, [ ] being the sarvâstivâdâh [ ] rules--those which are observed by the communities of monks in the land of ts'in; which also have all been handed down orally from master to master without being committed to writing. in the community here, moreover, he got the samyuktâbhi-dharma-hridaya-sâstra, containing about six or seven thousand gâthas; he also got a sûtra of two thousand five hundred gâthas; one chapter of the pari-nirvâna-vaipulya sûtra, of about five thousand gâthas; and the mahâsânghikâ abhidharma. in consequence of this success in his quest fâ-hien stayed here for three years, learning sanscrit books and the sanscrit speech, and writing out, the vinaya rules. when tâo-ching arrived in the central kingdom, and saw the rules observed by the sramanas, and the dignified demeanor in their societies which he remarked under all occurring circumstances, he sadly called to mind in what a mutilated and imperfect condition the rules were among the monkish communities in the land of ts'in, and made the following aspiration: "from this time forth till i come to the state of buddha, let me not be born in a frontier-land." he remained accordingly in india, and did not return to the land of han. fâ-hien, however, whose original purpose had been to secure the introduction of the complete vinaya rules into the land of han, returned there alone. [footnote : mahâsânghikâ simply means "the great assembly," that is, of monks.] [footnote : it was afterwards translated by fâ-hien into chinese.] [footnote : a gâtha is a stanza, generally consisting of a few, commonly of two, lines somewhat metrically arranged.] [footnote : "a branch," says eitel, "of the great vaibhâshika school, asserting the reality of all visible phenomena, and claiming the authority of râhula."] chapter xxxvii ~fâ-hien's stay in champâ and tâmaliptî~ following the course of the ganges, and descending eastward for eighteen yojanas, he found on the southern bank the great kingdom of champâ, with topes reared at the places where buddha walked in meditation by his vihâra, and where he and the three buddhas, his predecessors, sat. there were monks residing at them all. continuing his journey east for nearly fifty yojanas, he came to the country of tâmaliptî, the capital of which is a seaport. in the country there are twenty-two monasteries, at all of which there are monks residing. the law of buddha is also flourishing in it. here fâ-hien stayed two years, writing out his sûtras, and drawing pictures of images. after this he embarked in a large merchant-vessel, and went floating over the sea to the southwest. it was the beginning of winter, and the wind was favorable; and, after fourteen days, sailing day and night, they came to the country of singhala. the people said that it was distant from tâmaliptî about seven hundred yojanas. the kingdom is on a large island, extending from east to west fifty yojanas, and from north to south thirty. left and right from it there are as many as one hundred small islands, distant from one another ten, twenty, or even two hundred li; but all subject to the large island. most of them produce pearls and precious stones of various kinds; there is one which produces the pure and brilliant pearl--an island which would form a square of about ten li. the king employs men to watch and protect it, and requires three out of every ten pearls which the collectors find. chapter xxxviii ~at ceylon--feats of buddha--his statue in jade~ the country originally had no human inhabitants, but was occupied only by spirits and nâgas, with which merchants of various countries carried on a trade. when the trafficking was taking place, the spirits did not show themselves. they simply set forth their precious commodities, with labels of the price attached to them; while the merchants made their purchases according to the price; and took the things away. through the coming and going of the merchants in this way, when they went away, the people of their various countries heard how pleasant the land was, and flocked to it in numbers till it became a great nation. the climate is temperate and attractive, without any difference of summer and winter. the vegetation is always luxuriant. cultivation proceeds whenever men think fit: there are no fixed seasons for it. when buddha came to this country, wishing to transform the wicked nâgas by his supernatural power, he planted one foot at the north of the royal city, and the other on the top of a mountain, [ ] the two being fifteen yojanas apart. over the footprint at the north of the city the king built a large tope, four hundred cubits high, grandly adorned with gold and silver, and finished with a combination of all the precious substances. by the side of the tope he further built a monastery, called the abhayagiri, where there are now five thousand monks. there is in it a hall of buddha, adorned with carved and inlaid work of gold and silver, and rich in the seven precious substances, in which there is an image of buddha in green jade, more than twenty cubits in height, glittering all over with those substances, and having an appearance of solemn dignity which words cannot express. in the palm of the right hand there is a priceless pearl. several years had now elapsed since fâ-hien left the land of han; the men with whom he had been in intercourse had all been of regions strange to him; his eyes had not rested on an old and familiar hill or river, plant or tree: his fellow-travellers, moreover, had been separated from him, some by death, and others flowing off in different directions; no face or shadow was now with him but his own, and a constant sadness was in his heart. suddenly one day, when by the side of this image of jade, he saw a merchant presenting as his offering a fan of white silk; [ ] and the tears of sorrow involuntarily filled his eyes and fell down. a former king of the country had sent to central india and got a slip of the patra tree, which he planted by the side of the hall of buddha, where a tree grew up to the height of about two hundred cubits. as it bent on one side towards the southeast, the king, fearing it would fall, propped it with a post eight or nine spans around. the tree began to grow at the very heart of the prop, where it met the trunk; a shoot pierced through the post, and went down to the ground, where it entered and formed roots, that rose to the surface and were about four spans round. although the post was split in the middle, the outer portions kept hold of the shoot, and people did not remove them. beneath the tree there has been built a vihâra, in which there is an image of buddha seated, which the monks and commonalty reverence and look up to without ever becoming wearied. in the city there has been reared also the vihâra of buddha's tooth, in which, as well as on the other, the seven precious substances have been employed. the king practises the brahmanical purifications, and the sincerity of the faith and reverence of the population inside the city are also great. since the establishment of government in the kingdom there has been no famine or scarcity, no revolution or disorder. in the treasuries of the monkish communities there are many precious stones, and the priceless manis. one of the kings once entered one of those treasuries, and when he looked all round and saw the priceless pearls, his covetous greed was excited, and he wished to take them to himself by force. in three days, however, he came to himself, and immediately went and bowed his head to the ground in the midst of the monks, to show his repentance of the evil thought. as a sequel to this, he informed the monks of what had been in his mind, and desired them to make a regulation that from that day forth the king should not be allowed to enter the treasury and see what it contained, and that no bhikshu should enter it till after he had been in orders for a period of full forty years. in the city there are many vaisya elders and sabaean merchants, whose houses are stately and beautiful. the lanes and passages are kept in good order. at the heads of the four principal streets there have been built preaching halls, where, on the eighth, fourteenth, and fifteenth days of the month, they spread carpets, and set forth a pulpit, while the monks and commonalty from all quarters come together to hear the law. the people say that in the kingdom there may be altogether sixty thousand monks, who get their food from their common stores. the king, besides, prepares elsewhere in the city a common supply of food for five or six thousand more. when any want, they take their great bowls, and go to the place of distribution, and take as much as the vessels will hold, all returning with them full. the tooth of buddha is always brought forth in the middle of the third month. ten days beforehand the king grandly caparisons a large elephant, on which he mounts a man who can speak distinctly, and is dressed in royal robes, to beat a large drum, and make the following proclamation: "the bodhisattva, during three asankhyeya-kalpas, [ ] manifested his activity, and did not spare his own life. he gave up kingdom, city, wife, and son; he plucked out his eyes and gave them to another; he cut off a piece of his flesh to ransom the life of a dove; he cut off his head and gave it as an alms; he gave his body to feed a starving tigress; he grudged not his marrow and brains. in many such ways as these did he undergo pain for the sake of all living. and so it was, that, having become buddha, he continued in the world for forty-five years, preaching his law, teaching and transforming, so that those who had no rest found rest, and the unconverted were converted. when his connection with the living was completed, he attained to pari-nirvana and died. since that event, for one thousand four hundred and ninety-seven years, the light of the world has gone out, and all living things have had long-continued sadness. behold! ten days after this, buddha's tooth will be brought forth, and taken to the abhayagiri -vihâra. let all and each, whether monks or laics, who wish to amass merit for themselves, make the roads smooth and in good condition, grandly adorn the lanes and by-ways, and provide abundant store of flowers and incense to be used as offerings to it." when this proclamation is over, the king exhibits, so as to line both sides of the road, the five hundred different bodily forms in which the bodhisattva has in the course of his history appeared:--here as sudâna, there as sâma; now as the king of elephants, and then as a stag or a horse. all these figures are brightly colored and grandly executed, looking as if they were alive. after this the tooth of buddha is brought forth, and is carried along in the middle of the road. everywhere on the way offerings are presented to it, and thus it arrives at the hall of buddha in the abhayagiri-vihâra. there monks and laics are collected in crowds. they burn incense, light lamps, and perform all the prescribed services, day and night without ceasing, till ninety days have been completed, when the tooth is returned to the vihâra within the city. on fast-days the door of that vihâra is opened, and the forms of ceremonial reverence are observed according to the rules. forty li to the east of the abhayagiri-vihâra there is a hill, with a vihâra on it, called the chaitya, where there may be two thousand monks. among them there is a sramana of great virtue, named dharma-gupta, honored and looked up to by all the kingdom. he has lived for more than forty years in an apartment of stone, constantly showing such gentleness of heart, that he has brought snakes and rats to stop together in the same room, without doing one another any harm. [footnote : this would be what is known as "adam's peak," having, according to hardy, the three names of selesumano, samastakûta, and samanila. there is an indentation on the top of it, a superficial hollow, feet / inches long, and / feet wide. the hindus regard it as the footprint of siva; the mohammedans, as that of adam; and the buddhists, as in the text--as having been, made by buddha.] [footnote : we naturally suppose that the merchant-offerer was a chinese, as indeed the chinese texts say, and the fan such as fâ-hien had seen and used in his native land.] [footnote : a kalpa, we have seen, denotes a great period of time; a period during which a physical universe is formed and destroyed. asankhyeya denotes the highest sum for which a conventional term exists--according to chinese calculations equal to one followed by seventeen ciphers; according to thibetan and singhalese, equal to one followed by ninety-seven ciphers. every maha-kalpa consists of four asankhye-yakalpas.] chapter xxxix ~cremation of an arhat--sermon of a devotee~ south of the city seven li there is a vihâra, called the mahâ-vihâra, where three thousand monks reside. there had been among them a sramana, of such lofty virtue, and so holy and pure in his observance of the disciplinary rules, that the people all surmised that he was an arhat. when he drew near his end, the king came to examine into the point; and having assembled the monks according to rule, asked whether the bhikshu had attained to the full degree of wisdom. they answered in the affirmative, saying that he was an arhat. the king accordingly, when he died, buried him after the fashion of an arhat, as the regular rules prescribed. four or five li east from the vihâra there was reared a great pile of firewood, which might be more than thirty cubits square, and the same in height. near the top were laid sandal, aloe, and other kinds of fragrant wood. on the four sides of the pile they made steps by which to ascend it. with clean white hair-cloth, almost like silk, they wrapped the body round and round. they made a large carriage-frame, in form like our funeral car, but without the dragons and fishes. at the time of the cremation, the king and the people, in multitudes from all quarters, collected together, and presented offerings of flowers and incense. while they were following the car to the burial-ground, the king himself presented flowers and incense. when this was finished, the car was lifted on the pile, all over which oil of sweet basil was poured, and then a light was applied. while the fire was blazing, every one, with a reverent heart, pulled off his upper garment, and threw it, with his feather-fan and umbrella, from a distance into the midst of the flames, to assist the burning. when the cremation was over, they collected and preserved the bones, and proceeded to erect a tope. fâ-hien had not arrived in time to see the distinguished shaman alive, and only saw his burial. at that time the king, who was a sincere believer in the law of buddha and wished to build a new vihâra for the monks, first convoked a great assembly. after giving the monks a meal of rice, and presenting his offerings on the occasion, he selected a pair of first-rate oxen, the horns of which were grandly decorated with gold, silver, and the precious substances. a golden plough had been provided, and the king himself turned up a furrow on the four sides of the ground within which the building was to be. he then endowed the community of the monks with the population, fields, and houses, writing the grant on plates of metal, to the effect that from that time onwards, from generation to generation, no one should venture to annul or alter it. in this country fâ-hien heard an indian devotee, who was reciting a sûtra from the pulpit, say: "buddha's alms-bowl was at first in vaisâlî, and now it is in gandhâra. after so many hundred years (he gave, when fâ-hien heard him, the exact number of years, but he has forgotten it), it will go to western tukhâra; after so many hundred years, to khoten; after so many hundred years, to kharachar; after so many hundred years, to the land of han; after so many hundred years, it will come to sinhala; and after so many hundred years, it will return to central india. after that, it will ascend to the tushita heaven; and when the bodhisattva maitreya sees it, he will say with a sigh, 'the alms-bowl of sâkyamuni buddha is come'; and with all the devas he will present to it flowers and incense for seven days. when these have expired, it will return to jambudvîpa, where it will be received by the king of the sea nâgas, and taken into his nâga palace. when maitreya shall be about to attain to perfect wisdom and become buddha, it will again separate into four bowls, which will return to the top of mount anna, whence they came. after maitreya has become buddha, the four deva kings will again think of the buddha with their bowls as they did in the case of the previous buddha. the thousand buddhas of this bhadra-kalpa, indeed, will all use the same alms-bowl; and when the bowl has disappeared, the law of buddha will go on gradually to be extinguished. after that extinction has taken place, the life of man will be shortened, till it is only a period of five years. during this period of a five years' life, rice, butter, and oil will all vanish away, and men will become exceedingly wicked. the grass and trees which they lay hold of will change into swords and clubs, with which they will hurt, cut, and kill one another. those among them on whom there is blessing will withdraw from society among the hills; and when the wicked have exterminated one another, they will again come forth, and say among themselves, 'the men of former times enjoyed a very great longevity; but through becoming exceedingly wicked, and doing all lawless things, the length of our life has been shortened and reduced even to five years. let us now unite together in the practice of what is good, cherishing a gentle and sympathizing heart, and carefully cultivating good faith and righteousness. when each one in this way practises that faith and righteousness, life will go on to double its length till it reaches eighty thousand years. when maitreya appears in the world, and begins to turn the wheel of this law, he will in the first place save those among the disciples of the law left by the sâkya who have quitted their families, and those who have accepted the three refuges, undertaken the five prohibitions and the eight abstinences, and given offerings to the three precious ones; secondly and thirdly, he will save those between whom and conversion there is a connection transmitted from the past.'" [ ] such was the discourse, and fâ-hien wished to write it down as a portion of doctrine; but the man said, "this is taken from no sûtra, it is only the utterance of my own mind." [footnote : that is, those whose karma in the past should be rewarded by such conversion in the present.] chapter xl ~after two years fâ-hien takes ship for china~ fâ-hien abode in this country two years; and, in addition to his acquisitions in patna, succeeded in getting a copy of the vinaya-pitaka of the mahîsâsakâh school; the dîrghâgama and samyuktâgama sûtras; and also the samyukta-sañchaya-pitaka;--all being works unknown in the land of han. having obtained these sanscrit works, he took passage in a large merchantman, on board of which there were more than two hundred men, and to which was attached by a rope a smaller vessel, as a provision against damage or injury to the large one from the perils of the navigation. with a favorable wind, they proceeded eastward for three days, and then they encountered a great wind. the vessel sprang a leak and the water came in. the merchants wished to go to the smaller vessel; but the men on board it, fearing that too many would come, cut the connecting rope. the merchants were greatly alarmed, feeling their risk of instant death. afraid that the vessel would fill, they took their bulky goods and threw them into the water. fâ-hien also took his pitcher and washing-basin, with some other articles, and cast them into the sea; but fearing that the merchants would cast overboard his books and images, he could only think with all his heart of kwan-she-yin, and commit his life to the protection of the church of the land of han, saying in effect, "i have travelled far in search of our law. let me, by your dread and supernatural power, return from my wanderings, and reach my resting-place!" in this way the tempest continued day and night, till on the thirteenth day the ship was carried to the side of an island, where, on the ebbing of the tide, the place of the leak was discovered, and it was stopped, on which the voyage was resumed. on the sea hereabouts there are many pirates, to meet with whom is speedy death. the great ocean spreads out, a boundless expanse. there is no knowing east or west; only by observing the sun, moon, and stars was it possible to go forward. if the weather were dark and rainy, the ship went as she was carried by the wind, without any definite course. in the darkness of the night, only the great waves were to be seen, breaking on one another, and emitting a brightness like that of fire, with huge turtles and other monsters of the deep all about. the merchants were full of terror, not knowing where they were going. the sea was deep and bottomless, and there was no place where they could drop anchor and stop. but when the sky became clear, they could tell east and west, and the ship again went forward in the right direction. if she had come on any hidden rock, there would have been no way of escape. after proceeding in this way for rather more than ninety days, they arrived at a country called java-dvipa, where various forms of error and brahmanism are flourishing, while buddhism in it is not worth speaking of. after staying there for five months, fâ-hien again embarked in another large merchantman, which also had on board more than two hundred men. they carried provisions for fifty days, and commenced the voyage on the sixteenth day of the fourth month. fâ-hien kept his retreat on board the ship. they took a course to the northeast, intending to fetch kwang-chow. after more than a month, when the night-drum had sounded the second watch, they encountered a black wind and tempestuous rain, which threw the merchants and passengers into consternation. fâ-hien again, with all his heart, directed his thoughts to kwan-she-yin and the monkish communities of the land of han; and, through their dread and mysterious protection, was preserved to daybreak. after daybreak, the brahmans deliberated together and said, "it is having this sramana on board which has occasioned our misfortune and brought us this great and bitter suffering. let us land the bhikshu and place him on some island-shore. we must not for the sake of one man allow ourselves to be exposed to such imminent peril." a patron of fâ-hien, however, said to them, "if you land the bhikshu, you must at the same time land me; and if you do not, then you must kill me. if you land this sramana, when i get to the land of han, i will go to the king, and inform against you. the king also reveres and believes the law of buddha, and honors the bhikshus." the merchants hereupon were perplexed, and did not dare immediately to land fâ-hien. at this time the sky continued very dark and gloomy, and the sailing-masters looked at one another and made mistakes. more than seventy days passed from their leaving java, and the provisions and water were nearly exhausted. they used the salt-water of the sea for cooking, and carefully divided the fresh water, each man getting two pints. soon the whole was nearly gone, and the merchants took counsel and said, "at the ordinary rate of sailing we ought to have reached kwang-chow, and now the time is passed by many days;--must we not have held a wrong course?" immediately they directed the ship to the northwest, looking out for land; and after sailing day and night for twelve days, they reached the shore on the south of mount lao, on the borders of the prefecture of ch'ang-kwang, and immediately got good water and vegetables. they had passed through many perils and hardships, and had been in a state of anxious apprehension for many days together; and now suddenly arriving at this shore, and seeing those well-known vegetables, the lei and kwoh, [ ] they knew indeed that it was the land of han. not seeing, however, any inhabitants nor any traces of them, they did not know whereabouts they were. some said that they had not yet got to kwang-chow, and others that they had passed it. unable to come to a definite conclusion, some of them got into a small boat and entered a creek, to look for someone of whom they might ask what the place was. they found two hunters, whom they brought back with them, and then called on fâ-hien to act as interpreter and question them. fâ-hien first spoke assuringly to them, and then slowly and distinctly asked them, "who are you?" they replied, "we are disciples of buddha." he then asked, "what are you looking for among these hills?" they began to lie,[ ] and said, "to-morrow is the fifteenth day of the seventh month. we wanted to get some peaches to present to buddha." he asked further, "what country is this?" they replied, "this is the border of the prefecture of ch'ang-kwang, a part of ts'ing-chow under the ruling house of ts'in." when they heard this, the merchants were glad, immediately asked for a portion of their money and goods, and sent men to ch'ang-kwang city. the prefect le e was a reverent believer in the law of buddha. when he heard that a sramana had arrived in a ship across the sea, bringing with him books and images, he immediately came to the sea-shore with an escort to meet the traveller, and receive the books and images, and took them back with him to the seat of his government. on this the merchants went back in the direction of yang-chow; but when fâ-hien arrived at ts'ing-chow, the prefect there begged him to remain with him for a winter and a summer. after the summer retreat was ended, fâ-hien, having been separated for a long time from his fellows, wished to hurry to ch'ang-gan; but as the business which he had in hand was important, he went south to the capital; and at an interview with the masters there exhibited the sûtras and the collection of the vinaya which he had procured. after fâ-hien set out from ch'ang-gan, it took him six years to reach central india; stoppages there extended over six years; and on his return it took him three years to reach ts'ing-chow. the countries through which he passed were a few under thirty. from the sandy desert westwards on to india, the beauty of the dignified demeanor of the monkhood and of the transforming influence of the law was beyond the power of language fully to describe; and reflecting how our masters had not heard any complete account of them, he therefore went on without regarding his own poor life, or the dangers to be encountered on the sea upon his return, thus incurring hardships and difficulties in a double form. he was fortunate enough, through the dread power of the three honored ones, to receive help and protection in his perils; and therefore he wrote out an account of his experiences, that worthy readers might share with him in what he had heard and said. [footnote : what these vegetables exactly were it is difficult to say; and there are different readings of the characters for kwoh, brings the two names together in a phrase, but the rendering of it is simply "a soup of simples."] [footnote : it is likely that these men were really hunters; and, when brought before fâ-hien, because he was a sramana, they thought they would please him by saying they were disciples of buddha. but what had disciples of buddha to do with hunting and taking life? they were caught in their own trap, and said they were looking for peaches.] ~the sorrows of han~ [translated into english by john francis davis] introduction "the sorrows of han" is considered by chinese scholars to be one of the largest tragedies in the whole range of the chinese drama, which is very voluminous. although, properly speaking, there are no theatres in china, the chinese are passionately fond of dramatic representations. chinese acting is much admired and praised by travellers who are competent to follow the dialogue. the stage is generally a temporary erection improvised in a market-place, and the stage arrangements are of the most primitive character; no scenery is employed, and the actors introduce themselves in a sort of prologue, in which they state the name and character they represent in the drama. they also indicate the place where they are in the story, or the house which they have entered. yet the chinese stage has many points in common with that of ancient greece. it is supported and controlled by government, and has something of a religious and national character, being particularly employed for popular amusement in the celebration of religious festivals. only two actors are allowed to occupy the stage at the same time, and this is another point in common with the early greek drama. the plots or stories of the chinese plays are simple and effective, and voltaire is known to have taken the plot of a chinese drama, as molière took a comedy of plautus, and applied it in writing a drama for the modern french stage. "the sorrows of han" belongs to the famous collection entitled "the hundred plays of the yuen dynasty." it is divided into acts and is made up of alternate prose and verse. the movement of the drama is good, and the dénouement arranged with considerable skill. e.w. translator's preface the following drama was selected from the "hundred plays of yuen," which has already supplied to europe two specimens of the chinese stage--the first, called the "orphan of chaou," translated by père premare; and the second, entitled an "heir in old age," by the author of the present version. "the sorrows of han" is historical, and relates to one of the most interesting periods of the chinese annals, when the growing effeminacy of the court, and consequent weakness of the government, emboldened the tartars in their aggressions, and first gave rise to the temporizing and impolitic system of propitiating those barbarians by tribute, which long after produced the downfall of the empire and the establishment of the mongol dominion. the moral of the piece is evidently to expose the evil consequences of luxury, effeminacy, and supineness in the sovereign. "when love was all an easy monarch's care, seldom at council--never in a war." the hero, or rather the chief personage, of the drama, came to the throne very near the beginning of the christian era, about b.c. . the fate of the lady chaoukeun is a favorite incident in history, of which painters, poets, and romancers frequently avail themselves; her "verdant lamb" is said to exist at the present day, and to remain green all the year round, while the vegetation of the desert in which it stands is parched by the summer sun. in selecting this single specimen from among so many, the translator was influenced by the consideration of its remarkable accordance with our own canons of criticism. the chinese themselves make no regular classification of comedy and tragedy; but we are quite at liberty to give the latter title to a play which so completely answers to the european definition. the unity of action is complete, and the unities of time and place much less violated than they frequently are on our own stage. the grandeur and gravity of the subject, the rank and dignity of the personages, the tragical catastrophe, and the strict award of poetical justice, might satisfy the most rigid admirer of grecian rules. the translator has thought it necessary to adhere to the original by distinguishing the first act (or proëm) from the four which follow it: but the distinction is purely nominal, and the piece consists, to all intents and purposes, of five acts. it is remarkable that this peculiar division holds true with regard to a large number of the "hundred plays of yuen." the reader will doubtless be struck by the apparent shortness of the drama which is here presented to him; but the original is eked out, in common with all chinese plays, by an irregular operatic species of song, which the principal character occasionally chants forth in unison with a louder or a softer accompaniment of music, as may best suit the sentiment or action of the moment. some passages have been embodied in our version: but the translator did not give all, for the same reasons that prompted père premare to give none--"they are full of allusions to things unfamiliar to us, and figures of speech very difficult for us to observe." they are frequently, moreover, mere repetitions or amplifications of the prose parts; and being intended more for the ear than the eye, are rather adapted to the stage than to the closet. his judgment may perhaps be swayed by partiality towards the subject of his own labors; but the translator cannot help thinking the plot and incidents of "the sorrows of han" superior to those of the "orphan of chaou"--though the genius of voltaire contrived to make the last the ground-work of an excellent french tragedy. far is he, however, from entertaining the presumptuous expectation that a destiny of equal splendor awaits the present drama; and he will be quite satisfied if the reader has patience to read it to the end, and then pronounces it to be a somewhat curious sample of a very foreign literature. john francis davis. dramatis personae yuente, emperor of china of the dynasty han. hanchenyu, k'han of the tartars. maouyenshow, a worthless minister of the emperor. shangshoo (a title), president of the imperial council. changshee (a title), officer in waiting. fanshe (a title), envoy of the k'han. chaoukeun, lady, raised to be princess of han. tartar soldiers, female attendants, eunuchs. the scene is laid in the tartar camp on the frontiers; and in the palace of han. ~the sorrows of han~ [ ] ~prologue~ _enter hanchenyu, k'han [ ] of the tartars, reciting four verses_. k'han. the autumnal gale blows wildly through the grass, amidst our woolen tents. and the moon of night, shining on the rude huts, hears the lament of the mournful pipe: the countless hosts, with their bended horns, obey me as their leader. our tribes are ten distinguished friends of the family of han. i am hanchenyu, the old inhabitant of the sandy waste; the sole ruler of the northern regions. the wild chase is our trade; battle and conquest our chief occupation. the emperor wunwong retired before our eastern tribes; weikeang trembled at us, and sued for our friendship. the ancient title of our chiefs has in the course of time been changed to that which i now bear. when the two races of tsin and han contended in battle, and filled the empire with tumult, our tribes were in full power: numberless was the host of armed warriors with their bended horns. for seven days my ancestor hemmed in with his forces the emperor kaoute; until, by the contrivance of the minister, a treaty was concluded, and the princesses of china were yielded in marriage to our k'hans. since the time of hoeyte and the empress leuhow, [ ] each successive generation has adhered to the established rule, and sought our alliance with its daughters. in the reign of the late emperor seuente, my brothers contended with myself for the rule of our nation, and its power was weakened until the tribes elected me as their chief. i am a real descendant of the empire of han. i command a hundred thousand armed warriors. we have moved to the south, and approached the border, claiming an alliance with the imperial race. yesterday i despatched an envoy with tributary presents to demand a princess in marriage; but know not if the emperor will ratify the engagement with the customary oaths. the fineness of the season has drawn away our chiefs on a hunting excursion amidst the sandy steppes. may they meet with success, for we tartars have no fields--our bows and arrows are our sole means of subsistence. _enter minister of han, reciting verses_. minister. let a man have the heart of a kite, and the talons of an eagle. let him deceive his superiors, and oppress those below him; let him enlist flattery, insinuation, profligacy, and avarice on his side, and he will find them a lasting assistance through life. i am no other than maouyenshow, a minister of the sovereign of han. by a hundred arts of specious flattery and address i have deceived the emperor, until he places his whole delight in me alone. my words he listens to; and he follows my counsel. within the precincts of the palace, as without them, who is there but bows before me--who is there but trembles at my approach? but observe the chief art which i have learned: it is this: to persuade the emperor to keep aloof from his wise counsellors, and seek all his pleasures amidst the women of his palace. thus it is that i strengthen my power and greatness. but, in the midst of my lucubrations--here comes the emperor. _enter emperor yuente, attended by eunuchs and women_. emperor [_recites verses]_. during the ten generations that have succeeded our acquisition of empire, my race has alone possessed the four hundred districts of the world. long have the frontiers been bound in tranquillity by the ties of mutual oaths. and our pillow has been undisturbed by grief or anxiety. behold in us the emperor yuente, of the race of han. our ancestor kaoute emerged from a private station, and raised his family by extinguishing the dynasty of tsin, and slaughtering their race. ten generations have passed away since he left this inheritance to us. the four boundaries of the empire have been tranquil; the eight regions at rest! but not through our personal merits; we have wholly depended on the exertions of our civil and military rulers. on the demise of our late father, the female inmates of the palace were all dispersed, and our harem is now solitary and untenanted; but how shall this be endured! minister. consider, sir, that even the thriving husbandman may desire to change his partner; then why not your majesty, whose title is the law of heaven, whose possessions are the whole world! may i advise that commissioners be despatched to search throughout the empire for all of whatever rank that is most beautiful between the ages of fifteen and twenty, for the peopling of the inner palace. emperor. you say well. we appoint you at once our minister of selection, and will invest you with a written authority. search diligently through our realms; and when you have selected the most worthy, let us be provided with portraits of each, as a means of fixing our choice. by the merits of your services, you may supply us with an occasion of rewarding you on your return. [_exeunt_. [footnote : han koong tsew, literally "autumn in the palace of han"; but in chinese, autumn is emblematic of sorrow, as spring is of joy, and may therefore be rendered by what it represents.] [footnote : in chinese, ko-ban.] [footnote : the mother of hoeyte, a bold and able woman, who ruled for her son, the second emperor of han.] ~act first~ minister [_repeats verses_]. the huge ingots of yellow gold i appropriate to myself. i heed not the seas of blood which flow by perverting the laws. during life i am determined to have abundance of riches; what care i for the curses of mankind after my death? having received the emperor's commission to search far and wide for the most beautiful damsels, i have fixed upon ninety and nine. their families were glad to invite my selection by rich gifts, and the treasure that i have amassed is not small. on arriving yesterday at a district pertaining to chingtoo city, i met with a maiden, daughter of one wongchang. the brightness of her charms was piercing as an arrow. she was perfectly beautiful--and doubtless unparalleled in the whole empire. but, unfortunately, her father is a cultivator of the land, not possessed of much wealth. when i insisted on a hundred ounces of gold to secure her being the chief object of the imperial choice, they first pleaded their poverty--and then, relying on her extraordinary beauty, rejected my offers altogether. i therefore left them. [_considers awhile_.] but no!----i have a better plan. [_he knits his brows and matures his scheme_.] i will disfigure her portrait in such a manner that when it reaches the emperor it shall secure her being doomed to neglected seclusion. thus i shall contrive to make her unhappy for life--base is the man who delights not in revenge! [_exit._ _night_.--_enter the lady chaoukeun, with two female attendants_. chaoukeun [_recites verses_]. though raised to be an inhabitant of the imperial dwelling i have long been here without the good fortune to see my prince. this beautiful night must i pass in lonely solitude, with no companion but my lute to solace my retirement. i am a native of chingtoo city; and my father's occupation is husbandry. my mother dreamed on the day i was born that the light of the moon shone on her bosom, but was soon cast low to the earth.[ ] i was just eighteen years of age when chosen as an inhabitant of the imperial palace; but the minister maouyenshow, disappointed in the treasure which he demanded on my account, disfigured my portrait in such a manner as to keep me out of the emperor's presence; and now i live in neglected solitude. while at home, i learned a little music, and could play a few airs on the lute. thus sorrowing in the stillness of midnight, let me practise one of my songs to dispel my griefs. [_begins to play on the lute_. _enter emperor, attended by a eunuch, carrying a light_. emperor. since the beauties were selected to grace our palace, we have not yet discovered a worthy object on whom to fix our preference. vexed and disappointed, we pass this day of leisure roaming in search of her who may be destined for our imperial choice. [_hears the lute._] is not that some lady's lute? attendant. it is.--i hasten to advise her of your majesty's approach. emperor. no, hold! keeper of the yellow gate, discover to what part of our palace that lady pertains; and bid her approach our presence; but beware lest you alarm her. attendant [_approaches in the direction of the sound, and speaks_]. what lady plays there? the emperor comes! approach to meet him. [_lady advances_. emperor. keeper of the yellow gate, see that the light burns brightly within your gauze [ ] lamp, and hold it nearer to us. lady _[approaching_]. had your handmaid but known it was your majesty, she would have been less tardy; forgive, then, this delay. emperor. truly this is a very perfect beauty! from what quarter come such superior charms? lady. my name is chaoukeun: my father cultivates at chingtoo the fields which he has derived from his family. born in an humble station, i am ignorant of the manners that befit a palace. emperor. but with such uncommon attractions, what chance has kept you from our sight? lady. when i was chosen by the minister maouyenshow, he demanded of my father an amount of treasure which our poverty could not supply; he therefore disfigured my portrait, by representing a scar under the eyes, and caused me to be consigned to seclusion and neglect. emperor. keeper of the yellow gate, bring us that picture, that we may view it. [_sees the picture_.] ah, how has he dimmed the purity of the gem, bright as the waves in autumn. [_to the attendant_] transmit our pleasure to the officer of the guard, to behead maouyenshow and report to us his execution. lady. my parents, sir, are subject to the tax [ ] in our native district. let me entreat your majesty to remit their contributions and extend favor towards them! emperor. that shall readily be done. approach and hear our imperial pleasure. we create you a princess of our palace. lady. how unworthy is your handmaid of such gracious distinction! [_goes through the form of returning thanks_.] early to-morrow i attend your majesty's commands in this place. the emperor is gone: let the attendants close the doors:--i will retire to rest. _[exit._ [footnote : boding a short but fatal distinction to her offspring.] [footnote : instead of glass, to defend it from the wind.] [footnote : the principal taxes in china are the land-tax, customs, salt monopoly, and personal service; which last is the source of much oppression to the lowest orders, who have nothing but their labor to contribute.] ~act second~ _enter k'han of the tartars, at the head of his tribes_. k'han. i lately sent an envoy to the sovereign of han, with the demand of a princess in marriage; but the emperor has returned a refusal, under the plea that the princess is yet too young. this answer gives me great trouble. had he not plenty of ladies in his palace, of whom he might have sent me one? the difference was of little consequence. [ ] let me recall my envoy with all speed, for i must invade the south with out forces. and yet i am unwilling to break a truce of so many years' standing! we must see how matters turn out, and be guided by the event. _enter minister of han_. minister. the severity with which i extorted money, in the selection of beauties for the palace, led me to disfigure the picture of chaoukeun, and consign her to neglected seclusion. but the emperor fell in with her, obtained the truth, and condemned me to lose my head. i contrived to make my escape--though i have no home to receive me. i will take this true portrait of chaoukeun and show it to the tartar k'han, persuading him to demand her from the emperor, who will no doubt be obliged to yield her up. a long journey has brought me to this spot, and from the troops of men and horses i conclude i have reached the tartar camp. [_addresses himself to somebody_] leader, inform king hanchenyu that a great minister of the empire of han is come to wait on him. k'han [_on being informed_]. command him to approach. [_seeing maouyenshow_] what person are you? minister. i am a minister of han. in the western palace of the emperor is a lady, named chaoukeun, of rare and surpassing charms. when your envoy, great king, came to demand a princess, this lady would have answered the summons, but the emperor of han could not bring himself to part with her, and refused to yield her up. i repeatedly renewed my bitter reproaches, and asked how he could bear, for the sake of a woman's beauty, to implicate the welfare of two nations. for this the emperor would have beheaded me; and i therefore escaped with the portrait of the lady, which i present, great king, to yourself. should you send away an envoy with the picture to demand her, she must certainly be delivered up. here is the portrait. [_hands it up_. k'han. whence could so beautiful a female have appeared in the world! if i can only obtain her, my wishes are complete. immediately shall an envoy be despatched, and my ministers prepare a letter to the emperor of han, demanding her in marriage as the condition of peace. should he refuse, i will presently invade the south: his hills and rivers shall be exposed to ravage. our warriors will commence by hunting, as they proceed on their way; and thus gradually entering the frontiers, i shall be ready to act as may best suit the occasion. [_exit._ _the palace of han. enter lady, attended by females_. princess. a long period has elapsed since i had to thank his majesty for his choice. the emperor's fondness for me is so great, that he has still neglected to hold a court. i hear he is now gone to the hall of audience, and will therefore ornament myself at my toilet and be ready to wait on him at his return. [_stands opposite a mirror_. _enter emperor_. emperor. since we first met with chaoukeun in the western palace, we have been as it were deranged and intoxicated; a long interval has elapsed since we held a court; and on entering the hall of audience this day, we waited not until the assembly had dispersed, but returned hither to obtain a sight of her. [_perceiving the princess_.] let us not alarm her, but observe in secret what she is doing. [_comes close behind and looks over her._] reflected in that round mirror, she resembles the lady in the moon. [ ] _enter president, and an officer in waiting_. president [_recites verses._] ministers should devote themselves to the regulation of the empire; they should be occupied with public cares in the hall of government. but they do nought but attend at the banquets in the palace. when have they employed a single day in the service of their prince? this day, when the audience was concluded, an envoy arrived from the tartars to demand chaoukeun in marriage, as the only condition of peace. it is my duty to report this to his majesty, who has retired to his western palace. here i must enter. [_perceiving the emperor._] i report to your majesty that hanchenyu, the leader of the northern foreigners, sends an envoy to declare that maouyenshow has presented to him the portrait of the princess, and that he demands her in marriage as the only condition of peace. if refused, he will invade the south with a great power, and our rivers and hills will be exposed to rapine. emperor. in vain do we maintain and send forth armies; vain are the crowds of civil and military officers about our palace! which of them will drive back for us these foreign troops? they are all afraid of the tartar swords and arrows! but if they cannot exert themselves to expel the barbarians, why call for the princess to propitiate them? president. the foreigners say that through your majesty's devoted fondness for the princess, the affairs of your empire are falling into ruin. they declare that if the government does not yield her up, they will put their army in motion, and subdue the country. your servant reflects, that chow-wong [ ] who lost his empire and life entirely through his blind devotion to takee, is a fit example to warn your majesty. our army is weak, and needs the talents of a fit general. should we oppose the tartars, and be defeated, what will remain to us? let your majesty give up your fondness for the princess, to save your people. officer. the envoy waits without for an audience. emperor. well; command that he approach us. _enter envoy_. envoy. hanchenyu, k'han of the tartars, sends me, his minister, to state before the great sovereign of han, that the northern tribes and the southern empire have long been bound in peace by mutual alliances; but that envoys being twice sent to demand a princess, his requisitions have been refused. the late minister, maouyenshow, took with him the portrait of a beautiful lady, and presented it to the k'ban, who now sends me, his envoy, on purpose to demand the lady chaoukeun, and no other, as the only condition of peace between the two nations. should your majesty refuse, the k'han has a countless army of brave warriors, and will forthwith invade the south to try the chances of war. i trust your majesty will not err in your decision. emperor. the envoy may retire to repose himself in his lodging. [_exit the envoy_.] let our civil and military officers consult, and report to us the best mode of causing the foreign troops to retire, without yielding up the princess to propitiate them. they take advantage of the compliant softness of her temper. were the empress leuhow alive--let her utter a word--which of them would dare to be of a different opinion? it would seem that, for the future, instead of men for ministers, we need only have fair women to keep our empire in peace. princess. in return for your majesty's bounties, it is your handmaid's duty to brave death to serve you. i can cheerfully enter into this foreign alliance, for the sake of producing peace, and shall leave behind me a name still green in history.--but my affection for your majesty, how am i to lay aside! emperor. alas, i [ ] know too well that i can do no more than yourself! president. i entreat your majesty to sacrifice your love, and think of the security of your dynasty. hasten, sir, to send the princess on her way! emperor. let her this day advance a stage on her journey, and be presented to the envoy.--to-morrow we will repair as far as the bridge of pahling, and give her a parting feast. president. alas! sir, this may not be! it will draw on us the contempt of these barbarians. emperor. we have complied with all our minister's propositions--shall they not, then, accede to ours? be it as it may, we will witness her departure--and then return home to hate the traitor maouyenshow! president. unwillingly we advise that the princess be sacrificed for the sake of peace; but the envoy is instructed to insist upon her alone--and from ancient times, how often hath a nation suffered for a woman's beauty! princess. though i go into exile for the nation's good, yet ill can i bear to part from your majesty! _[exeunt._ [footnote : the honor of the imperial alliance being the chief object.] [footnote : changngo, the goddess of the moon, gives her name to the finely curved eyebrows of the chinese ladies, which are compared to the lunar crescent when only a day or two old.] [footnote : chow-wong was the last of the shang dynasty, and infamous by his debaucheries and cruelties, in concert with his empress takee, the theodora of chinese history.] [footnote : the imperial pronoun "tchin," _me_, is with very good taste supplied by _i_ in these impassioned passages.] ~act third~ _enter envoy, escorting the princess, with a band of music_. princess. thus was i, in spite of the treachery of maouyenshow, who disfigured my portrait, seen and exalted by his majesty; but the traitor presented a truer likeness to the tartar king, who comes at the head of an army to demand me, with a threat of seizing the country. there is no remedy--i must be yielded up to propitiate the invaders! how shall i bear the rigors--the winds and frosts of that foreign land! it has been said of old, that "surpassing beauty is often coupled with an unhappy fate." let me grieve, then, without entertaining fruitless resentment at the effects of my own attractions. _enter emperor, attended by his several officers_. emperor. this day we take leave of the princess at pahling bridge! [_to his ministers_.] can ye not devise a way to send out these foreign troops, without yielding up the princess for the sake of peace? [_descends from his horse and seems to grieve with chaoukeun_.] let our attendants delay awhile, till we have conferred the parting cup. envoy. lady, let us urge you to proceed on your way--the sky darkens, and night is coming on. princess. alas! when shall i again behold your majesty? i will take off my robes of distinction and leave them behind me. to-day in the palace of han--to-morrow i shall be espoused to a stranger. i cease to wear these splendid vestments--they shall no longer adorn my beauty in the eyes of men. envoy. again let us urge you, princess, to depart; we have delayed but too long already! emperor. 'tis done!--princess, when you are gone, let your thoughts forbear to dwell with sorrow and resentment upon us! [_they part_.] and am i the great monarch of the line of han? president. let your majesty cease to dwell with such grief upon this subject! emperor. she is gone! in vain have we maintained those armed heroes on the frontier. [ ] mention but swords and spears, and they tremble at their hearts like a young deer. the princess has this day performed what belonged to themselves: and yet they affect the semblance of men! president. your majesty is entreated to return to the palace: dwell not so bitterly, sir, on her memory:--allow her to depart! emperor. did i not think of her, i had a heart of iron--a heart of iron! the tears of my grief stream in thousand channels--this evening shall her likeness be suspended in the palace, where i will sacrifice to it--and tapers with their silver lights shall illuminate her chamber. president. let your majesty return to the palace--the princess is already far distant! [_exeunt_. _the tartar camp. enter k'han at the head of his tribes, leading in the princess_. k'han. the emperor of han having now, in observance of old treaties, yielded up to me the lady chaoukeun in marriage, i take her as my rightful queen. the two nations shall enjoy the benefits of peace. [_to his generals_] leaders, transmit my commands to the army to strike our encampment, and proceed to the north. [_they march_. _the river amoor. [ ] tartar army on its march_. princess. what place is this? envoy. it is the river of the black dragon, the frontier of the tartar territories and those of china. this southern shore is the emperor's; on the northern side commences our tartar dominion. princess [_to the k'han_]. great king, i take a cup of wine, and pour a libation towards the south--my last farewell to the emperor--[_pours the libation_] of han, this life is finished. i await thee in the next! [_throws herself into the river. the k'han, in great consternation, endeavors to save her, but in vain_. k'han. alas! alas!--so determined was her purpose against this foreign alliance--she has thrown herself into the stream, and perished! tis done, and remediless! let her sepulchre be on this river's bank, and be it called "the verdant tomb," [ ] she is no more; and vain has been our enmity with the dynasty of han! the traitor maouyenshow was the author of all this misery. [_to an officer_] take maouyenshow and let him be delivered over to the emperor for punishment. i will return to our former friendship with the dynasty of han. we will renew and long preserve the sentiments of relationship. the traitor disfigured the portrait to injure chaoukeun--then deserted his sovereign, and stole over to me, whom he prevailed on to demand the lady in marriage. how little did i think that she would thus precipitate herself into the stream, and perish!--in vain did my spirit melt at the sight of her! but if i detained this profligate and traitorous rebel, he would certainly prove to us a root of misfortune: it is better to deliver him for his reward to the emperor of han, with whom i will renew, and long retain, our old feelings of friendship and amity. _[exeunt._ [footnote : it may be observed that the great wall is never once expressly mentioned through this drama. the expression used is pëensih, the border, or frontier. the wall had existed two hundred years at this time, but the real frontier was beyond it.] [footnote : or saghalien, which falls into the sea of ochotsk.] [footnote : said to exist now and to be green all the year.] ~act fourth~ _enter emperor, with an attendant_. emperor. since the princess was yielded to the tartars, we have not held an audience. the lonely silence of night but increases our melancholy! we take the picture of that fair one and suspend it here, as some small solace to our griefs, [_to the attendant_] keeper of the yellow gate, behold, the incense in yonder vase is burnt out: hasten then to add some more. though we cannot see her, we may at least retain this shadow; and, while life remains, betoken our regard. but oppressed and weary, we would fain take a little repose. [_lies down to sleep. the princess appears before him in a vision_.] [ ] princess. delivered over as a captive to appease the barbarians, they would have conveyed me to their northern country: but i took an occasion to elude them and have escaped back. is not this the emperor, my sovereign? sir, behold me again restored. [_a tartar soldier appears in the vision_.] soldier. while i chanced to sleep, the lady, our captive, has made her escape, and returned home. in eager pursuit of her, i have reached the imperial palace.--is not this she? [_carries her off. the emperor starts from his sleep_.] emperor. we just saw the princess returned--but alas, how quickly has she vanished! in bright day she answered not to our call--but when morning dawned on our troubled sleep, a vision presented her in this spot. [_hears the wild fowl's [ ] cry_] hark, the passing fowl screamed twice or thrice!--can it know there is no one so desolate as i? [_cries repeated_] perhaps worn out and weak, hungry and emaciated, they bewail at once the broad nets of the south and the tough bows of the north. [_cries repeated_] the screams of those water-birds but increase our melancholy. attendant. let your majesty cease this sorrow, and have some regard to your sacred [ ] person. emperor. my sorrows are beyond control. cease to upbraid this excess of feeling, since ye are all subject to the same. yon doleful cry is not the note of the swallow on the carved rafters, nor the song of the variegated bird upon the blossoming tree. the princess has abandoned her home! know ye in what place she grieves, listening like me to the screams of the wild bird? _enter president_. president. this day after the close of the morning council, a foreign envoy appeared, bringing with him the fettered traitor maouyenshow. he announces that the renegade, by deserting his allegiance, led to the breach of truce, and occasioned all these calamities. the princess is no more! and the k'han wishes for peace and friendship between the two nations. the envoy attends, with reverence, your imperial decision. emperor. then strike off the traitor's head, and be it presented as an offering to the shade of the princess! let a fit banquet be got ready for the envoy, preparatory to his return. _[recites these verses_. at the fall of the leaf, when the wild-fowl's cry was heard in the recesses of the palace. sad dreams returned to our lonely pillow; we thought of her through the night: her verdant tomb remains--but where shall we seek her self? the perfidious painter's head shall atone for the beauty which he wronged. [footnote : there is nothing in this more extravagant than the similar vision in the tragedy of richard iii.] [footnote : yengo, a species of wild goose, is the emblem in china of intersexual attachment and fidelity, being said never to pair again after the loss of its mate. an image of it is worshipped by newly married couples.] [footnote : literally, "dragon person." the emperor's throne is often called the "dragon seat."] proofreading team. armenian literature comprising poetry, drama, folk-lore, and classic traditions translated into english for the first time with a special introduction by robert arnot, m.a. revised edition special introduction the literature of ancient armenia that is still extant is meagre in quantity and to a large extent ecclesiastical in tone. to realize its oriental color one must resort entirely to that portion which deals with the home life of the people, with their fasts and festivals, their emotions, manners, and traditions. the ecclesiastical character of much of the early armenian literature is accounted for by the fact that christianity was preached there in the first century after christ, by the apostles thaddeus and bartholomew, and that the armenian church is the oldest national christian church in the world. it is no doubt owing to the conversion of the entire armenian nation under the passionate preaching of gregory the illuminator that most of the literary products, of primitive armenia--the mythological legends and chants of heroic deeds sung by bards--are lost. the church would have none of them. gregory not only destroyed the pagan temples, but he sought to stamp out the pagan literature--the poetry and recorded traditions that celebrated the deeds of gods and goddesses and of national heroes. he would have succeeded, too, had not the romantic spirit of the race clung fondly to their ballads and folk-lore. ecclesiastical historiographers in referring to those times say quaintly enough, meaning to censure the people, that in spite of their great religious advantages the armenians persisted in singing some of their heathen ballads as late as the twelfth century. curiously enough, we owe the fragments we possess of early armenian poetry to these same ecclesiastical critics. these fragments suggest a popular poesy, stirring and full of powerful imagery, employed mostly in celebrating royal marriages, religious feasts, and containing dirges for the dead, and ballads of customs--not a wide field, but one invaluable to the philologist and to ethnological students. the christian chroniclers and critics, however, while preserving but little of the verse of early armenia, have handed down to us many legends and traditions, though they relate them, unfortunately, with much carelessness and with a contempt for detail that is often exasperating to one seeking for instructive parallelisms between the heroic legends of different nations. evidently the only object of the ecclesiastical chroniclers in preserving these legends was to invest their descriptions of the times with a local color. even moses of chorene, who by royal command collected many of these legends, and in his sympathetic treatment of them evinces poetic genius and keen literary appreciation, fails to realize the importance of his task. after speaking of the old armenian kings with enthusiasm, and even condoning their paganism for the sake of their virility, he leaves his collection in the utmost disorder and positively without a note or comment. in the face of such difficulties, therefore, it has been hard to present specimens of early armenian folk-lore and legends that shall give the reader a rightful idea of the race and the time. as armenia was the highroad between asia and europe, these old stories and folk-plays show the influence of migrating and invading people. the mythology of the chaldeans and persians mingles oddly with traditions purely armenian. this is well shown in the story of david of sassun, given in this volume. david was the local hero of the place where moses of chorene was born and probably spent his declining years, after years of literary labor and study in athens and alexandria. the name of the district was mush, and close by the monastery in which moses was buried lies the village of sassun. david's history is rich in personal incident, and recalls to the reader the tales related of the persian izdubar, the chaldeo-babylonian nimrod, and the greek heracles. he is as much the hero of the tale as is joseph andrews in fielding's classic of that name. his marvellous strength is used as handily for a jest as for some prodigious victory over man or monster. he is drawn for us as a bold, reckless fellow, with a rollicking sense of humor, which, in truth, sits but awkwardly upon the intense devotion to the cross and its demands with which moses or some later redactor has seen fit to burden this purely pagan hero. david is very human in spite of his blood-stained club and combative instincts, and his kindliness and bonhomie awake in us a passing disappointment at his untimely demise. if we except some ecclesiastical writings, these fragments preserved by moses of chorene and others comprehend all that is left to us of the literature of armenia antedating the persian invasion. after the persian flood of fire and sword had rolled over this asiatic poland, the stricken christian church revived. a monk named mesrob set to work to revive the spirit of literature. his difficulties were great. it was not alone the resuscitating of a dead literary desire, but it entailed also the providing of a vehicle of expression, namely an alphabet, so deeply had the persian domination imprinted itself upon the land. as might be expected, the primary results of the revival were didactic, speculative, or religious in character. mysticism at that time flourished in the monasteries, and the national spirit--the customs, habits, joys, and emotions of the people--had not yet found re-expression in script. the church became the dominant power in literature, and if it is true on the one hand that the armenian people lost intellectual independence, it is also true on the other that they gained that religious zeal and strength which enabled them as an entity--a united race--to survive the fatal day of avarair, where, under the shadow of hoary ararat, the armenian marathon was fought and lost, and vartan, their national hero, died. all sorts of traditions cluster still around the battlefield of avarair. a species of red flower grows there that is nowhere else to be found, and it is commonly believed that this red blossom sprang originally from the blood of the slain armenian warriors. on the plain of avarair is also found a small antelope with a pouch upon its breast secreting musk--a peculiarity gained, they say, from feeding on grass soaked with the blood of armenia's sons. and at avarair, too, it is said that the lament of the nightingales is ever, "vartan, vartan." the story of these times is preserved in fragments in the religious chronicles of lazarus of pharb and of eliseus. when, during the persian domination, armenia became entirely shut off from the avenues of greek culture, and was left unaided in her struggle for national existence, the light of literature again sank to a feeble gleam. there was, indeed, a faint revival in the tenth century, and again a second and a stronger renaissance in the twelfth under the impulse given by nerses, and by his namesake, the patriarch. but this revival, like the former, was not general in character. it was mostly a revival of religious mysticism in literature, not of the national spirit, though to this epoch belong the choicest hymnological productions of the armenian church. there are no chronicles extant that can be called purely armenian. the oldest chronicles that we have of armenia--and there are many--wander off into the histories of other people--of the byzantines, for instance, and even of the crusaders. the passages that deal with armenia are devoted almost entirely to narrating the sufferings of the armenians under the successive invasions of pagans and mahometans, and the efforts made to keep the early christian faith--forming almost a national book of martyrs, and setting forth a tragic romance of perpetual struggle. these records cannot be called armenian literature in a real sense, for in many cases they were not written by armenians, but they picture in vivid fashion the trials suffered by armenians at the hands of invading nations, and the sacrifices made to preserve a national existence. they picture, in pages bristling with horrible detail, the sacrifices and sufferings of a desperate people, and in them we see armenia as the prophet saw judea, "naked, lying by the wayside, trodden under foot by all nations." these chronicles have an interest all their own, but they lack literary beauty, and not being, in themselves, armenian literature, have not been included in the selections made as being purely representative of the race and land. the examples of armenian proverbs and folk-lore included in this volume show, as is usual, the ethnological relationship that is so easily traced between the fables of _aesop_, of bidpai, of vartan, and of loqman. it may be said with truth that in the folk-lore and fables of all nations can be traced kinship of imagination, with a variety of application that differs with the customs and climate of the people. but the armenian is especially rich in a variety of elements. we meet enchantments, faculties, superstitions, and abstract ideas personified, which are supposed to attach miraculous meanings to the most ordinary events. dreams, riddles, and the like--all are there. the one strange personification is the dew. the dew is a monster, half demon, half human; sometimes harmless, sometimes malevolent; mortal, indeed, but reaching a good or, shall we say, an evil old age. the dew figures in nearly all armenian fairy-tales. the armenian proverbs exhibit the persistent capacity of the armenians during a time of _sturm und drang_ to embody, in pithy, wise, and sometimes cynical form, the wisdom drawn from their own experience and from that of the ages. it is possible that the cynical vein discernible in some of these proverbs is a result of the intense and continued national trials. take, for instance, this proverb, "if a brother were a good thing, god would have provided himself with one." can anything be more cynical? the poems are of later origin. since the twelfth century, when literature burst the bonds imposed upon it by ecclesiastical domination, the poetic spirit of the armenians has found expression. it is rich in oriental passion and imagery, brilliant in expression, and intensely musical. but through all the poems we are reminded of the melancholy strain that pervaded the exiles of jerusalem when "by the waters of babylon" they "sat down and wept." the apostrophe to araxes reminds us of the trials of armenia, of her exiled sons, of her wasted land, and of the perpetual fast she ever keeps in mourning for her children. the comedy of "the ruined family" and the pathetic story of "the vacant yard" are also of the post-monastic era. in the comedy we gain an insight into the jealousy and the pride of life that pervaded then as now the middle walks of life. its ibsenesque quality is very striking. the persistent and human struggle of the mother to gain a high position in life for her daughter through marriage, and the agonizing of the father to get together a suitable dower for his daughter, together with the worldly-wise comments and advice of the old aunt, are so true to modern life that one realizes anew the sameness of human nature in all climes and ages. "the vacant yard" gives us a charming picture of armenian life. the people are depicted with an impartial pen, subject to the minor crosses and humors of fate, having their ups and downs just as we do to-day, but the intense local color that pervades the story holds one to the closing line. as a people the armenians cannot boast of as vast a literature as the persians, their one-time conquerors, but that which remains of purely armenian prose, folk-lore, and poetry tells us of a poetic race, gifted with imaginative fire, sternness of will, and persistency of adherence to old ideas, a race that in proportion to their limited production in letters can challenge comparison with any people. [signature: robert arnot] contents proverbs and folk-lore the vacant yard armenian poems a plaint spring in exile fly, lays of mine the woe of araxes the armenian maiden one of a thousand longing david of sassun the ruined family * * * * * proverbs and folk-lore [_translated by f.b. collins, b.s._] * * * * * proverbs and folk-lore i know many songs, but i cannot sing. when a man sees that the water does not follow him, he follows the water. when a tree falls there is plenty of kindling wood. he who falls into the water need have no fear of rain. a good swimmer finds death in the water. strong vinegar bursts the cask. dogs quarrel among themselves, but against the wolf they are united. god understands the dumb. only he who can read is a man. the chick shows itself in the egg, the child in the cradle. what a man acquires in his youth serves as a crutch in his old age. one wit is good; two wits are better. begin with small things, that you may achieve great. a devil with experience is better than an angel without. what the great say, the humble hear. he who steals an egg will steal a horse also. turn the spit, so that neither meat nor roasting-iron shall burn. one can spoil the good name of a thousand. what manner of things thou speakest of, such shalt thou also hear. the grandfather ate unripe grapes, and the grandson's teeth were set on edge. one bad deed begets another. go home when the table is set, and to church when it is almost over. a devil at home, a parson abroad. god created men and women: who, then, created monks? poor and proud. in dreams the hungry see bread and the thirsty water. ere the fat become lean, the lean are already dead. wish for a cow for your neighbor, that god may give you two. what is play to the cat is death to the mouse. unless the child cries, the mother will not suckle it. a fish in the water is worth nothing. gold is small but of great worth. at home the dog is very brave. observe the mother ere you take the daughter. if you lose half and then leave off, something is gained. the good mourn for what was taken away, the wolf for what was left behind. only a bearded man can laugh at a beardless face. he descends from a horse and seats himself on an ass. no other day can equal the one that is past. when a man grows rich, he thinks his walls are awry. make friends with a dog, but keep a stick in your hand. one should not feel hurt at the kick of an ass. the blind have no higher wish than to have two eyes. the thief wants only a dark night. a thief robbed another thief, and god marvelled at it in heaven. he who has money has no sense; and he who has sense, no money. he who begs is shameless, but still more shameless is he who lends not to him. better lose one's eyes than one's calling. what the wind brings it will take away again. a bad dog neither eats himself nor gives to others. running is also an art. only in the bath can one tell black from white. water is sure to find its way. what does the blind care if candles are dear? speak little and you will hear much. no one is sure that his light will burn till morning. he who speaks the truth must have one foot in the stirrup. the more you stone a dog the more he barks. one blossom does not make a spring. one hand cannot clap alone. strike the iron while it is hot. take up a stick, and the thieving dog understands. corruption illumines dark paths. when they laid down the law to the wolf, he said, "be quiet, or the sheep will run away." one hears ali is dead; but one knows not which one. the scornful soon grow old. who shall work? i and thou. who shall eat? i and thou. stay in the place where there is bread. if bread tastes good, it is all one to me whether a jew or a turk bakes it. one loves the rose, another the lilac. before susan had done prinking, church was over. the simpleton went to the wedding and said, "indeed, it is much better here than it is at home." he sleeps for himself and dreams for others. the flower falls under the bush. not everything round is an apple. what does an ass know about almonds? a king must be worthy of a crown. when you are going in consider first how you are coming out. what thou canst do to-day leave not until to-morrow. the rose of winter-time is fire. the end of strife is repentance. from the same flower the serpent draws poison and the bees honey. my heart is no table-cover to be spread over everything. as long as the wagon is not upset the way is not mended. the water that drowns me is for me an ocean. the armenian has his understanding in his head, the georgian in his eyes. the ass knows seven ways of swimming, but when he sees the water he forgets them all. the wound of a dagger heals, but that of the tongue, never. a good ox is known in the yoke, a good woman at the cradle of her child. love ever so well, there is also hate; hate ever so much, there is always love. a shrewd enemy is better than a stupid friend. to rise early is not everything; happy are they who have the help of god. a dress that is not worn wears itself out. i came from the ocean and was drowned in a spoonful of water. because the cat could get no meat, he said, "to-day is friday." the house that a woman builds god will not destroy; but a woman is likely to destroy the house that god has built. the dowry a woman brings into the house is a bell. whenever you come near, the clapper strikes in your face. by asking, one finds the way to jerusalem. which of the five fingers can you cut off without hurting yourself? the father's kingdom is the son's mite. far from the eye, far from the heart. if a brother was really good for anything, god would have one. when god gives, he gives with both hands. a daughter is a treasure which belongs to another. the world is a pair of stairs: some go up and others go down. the poor understand the troubles of the poor. the childless have one trouble, but those who have children have a thousand. god turns away his face from a shameless man. the eyes would not disagree even if the nose were not between them. until you see trouble you will never know joy. you never know a man until you have eaten a barrel of salt with him. every man's own trouble is as large as a camel. the goat prefers one goat to a whole herd of sheep. the fox has destroyed the world, and the wolf has lost his calling. the fool throws himself into the stream, and forty wise men cannot pull him out. a near neighbor is better than a distant kinsman. when i have honey, the flies come even from bagdad. a guest comes from god. the guest is the ass of the inn-keeper. when everything is cheap the customer has no conscience. * * * * * the sheep-brother once there was a widow and she had a daughter. the widow married a widower who had by his first wife two children, a boy and a girl. the wife was always coaxing her husband: "take the children, do, and lead them up into the mountains." her husband could not refuse her, and, lo! one day he put some bread in his basket, took the children, and set off for the mountain. they went on and on and came to a strange place. then the father said to the children, "rest here a little while," and the children sat down to rest. the father turned his face away and wept bitterly, very bitterly. then he turned again to the children and said, "eat something," and they ate. then the boy said, "father, dear, i want a drink." the father took his staff, stuck it into the ground, threw his coat over it, and said, "come here, my son, sit in the shadow of my coat, and i will get you some water." the brother and sister stayed and the father went away and forsook his children. whether they waited a long time or a short time before they saw that their father was not coming back is not known. they wandered here and there looking for him, but saw no human being anywhere. at last they came back to the same spot, and, beginning to weep, they said: "alas! alas! see, here is father's staff, and here is his coat, and he comes not, and he comes not." whether the brother and sister sat there a long time or a short time is not known. they rose after a while, and one took the staff and the other the coat, and they went away without knowing whither. they went on and on and on, until they saw tracks of horses' hoofs filled with rain-water. "i am going to drink, sister," said the brother. "do not drink, little brother, or you will become a colt," said the sister. they passed on till they saw tracks of oxen's hoofs. "o sister dear, how thirsty i am!" "do not drink, little brother, or you will be a calf," the sister said to him. they went on till they saw the tracks of buffalo hoofs. "o sister dear, how thirsty i am!" "drink not, little brother, or you will be a buffalo calf." they passed on and saw the tracks of bears' paws. "oh, i am so thirsty, sister dear." "drink not, little brother, or you will become a little bear." they went on and saw the tracks of swine's trotters. "o sister dear, i am going to drink." "drink not, little brother, or you will become a little pig." they went on and on till they saw the tracks of the pads of wolves. "o sister dear, how thirsty i am!" "do not drink, little brother, or you will become a little wolf." they walked on and on till they saw the tracks of sheep's trotters. "o sister dear, i am almost dying with thirst." "o little brother, you grieve me so! you will, indeed, be a sheep if you drink." he could stand it no longer. he drank and turned into a sheep. he began to bleat and ran after his sister. long they wandered, and at last came home. then the stepmother began to scheme against them. she edged up to her husband and said: "kill your sheep. i want to eat him." the sister got her sheep-brother away in the nick of time and drove him back into the mountains. every day she drove him to the meadows and she spun linen. once her distaff fell from her hand and rolled into a cavern. the sheep-brother stayed behind grazing while she went to get the distaff. she stepped into the cavern and saw lying in a corner a dew, one thousand years old. she suddenly spied the girl and said: "neither the feathered birds nor the crawling serpent can make their way in here; how then hast thou, maiden, dared to enter?" the girl spoke up in her fright. "for love of you i came here, dear grandmother." the old dew mother bade the girl come near and asked her this and that. the maiden pleased her very much. "i will go and bring you a fish," she said, "you are certainly hungry." but the fishes were snakes and dragons. the girl was sorely frightened and began to cry with terror. the old dew said, "maiden, why do you weep?" she answered, "i have just thought of my mother, and for her sake i weep." then she told the old mother everything that had happened to her. "if that is so," said the dew, "sit down here and i will lay my head on your knee and go to sleep." she made up the fire, stuck the poker into the stove, and said: "when the devil flies by do not waken me. if the rainbow-colored one passes near, take the glowing poker from the stove and lay it on my foot." the maiden's heart crept into her heels from fright. what was she to do? she sat down, the dew laid her head on her knees and slept. soon she saw a horrible black monster flying by. the maiden was silent. after a while there came flying by a rainbow-colored creature. she seized the glowing poker and threw it on the old dew's foot. the old mother awoke and said, "phew, how the fleas bite." she rose and lifted up the maiden. the girl's hair and clothing were turned to gold from the splendor of the rainbow colors. she kissed the old dew's hand and begged that she might go. she went away, and taking her sheep-brother with her started for home. the stepmother was not there, and the maiden secretly dug a hole, buried her golden dress, and sat down and put on an old one. the stepmother came home and saw that the maiden had golden hair. "what have you done to your hair to make it like gold?" she asked. the maiden told her all, how and when. the next day the stepmother sent her own daughter to the same mountain. the stepmother's daughter purposely let her distaff fall and it rolled into the hole. she went in to get it, but the old dew mother turned her into a scarecrow and sent her home. about that time there was a wedding in the royal castle; the king was giving one of his sons in marriage, and the people came from all directions to look on and enjoy themselves. the stepmother threw on a kerchief and smartened up the head of her daughter and took her to see the wedding. the girl with the golden hair did not stay at home, but, putting on her golden dress so that she became from head to foot a gleaming houri, she went after them. but on the way home, she ran so fast to get there before her stepmother, that she dropped one of her golden shoes in the fountain. when they led the horses of the king's second son to drink, the horses caught sight of the golden shoe in the water and drew back and would not drink. the king caused the wise men to be called, and asked them to make known the reason why the horses would not drink, and they found only the golden shoe. the king sent out his herald to tell the people that he would marry his son to whomsoever this shoe fitted. he sent people throughout the whole city to try on the shoe, and they came to the house where the sheep-brother was. the stepmother pushed the maiden with the golden locks into the stove, and hid her, and showed only her own daughter. a cock came up to the threshold and crowed three times, "cock-a-doodle doo! the fairest of the fair is in the stove." the king's people brushed the stepmother aside and led the maiden with golden hair from the stove, tried on the shoe, which fitted as though moulded to the foot. "now stand up," said they, "and you shall be a royal bride." the maiden put on her golden dress, drove her sheep-brother before her, and went to the castle. she was married to the king's son, and seven days and seven nights they feasted. again the stepmother took her daughter and went to the castle to visit her stepdaughter, who in spite of all treated her as her mother and invited her into the castle garden. from the garden they went to the seashore and sat down to rest. the stepmother said, "let us bathe in the sea." while they were bathing she pushed the wife of the king's son far out into the water, and a great fish came swimming by and swallowed her. meanwhile the stepmother put the golden dress on her own daughter and led her to the royal castle and placed her in the seat where the young wife always sat, covering her face and her head so that no one would know her. the young wife sat in the fish and heard the voice of the bell-ringer. she called to him and pleaded: "bell-ringer, o bell-ringer, thou hast called the people to church; cross thyself seven times, and i entreat thee, in the name of heaven, go to the prince and say that they must not slaughter my sheep-brother." once, twice the bell-ringer heard this voice and told the king's son about it. the king's son took the bell-ringer with him and went at night to the seashore. the same voice spoke the same words. he knew that it was his dear wife that spoke, and drew his sword and ripped open the fish and helped his loved one out. they went home, and the prince had the stepmother brought to him, and said to her: "mother-in-law, tell me what kind of a present you would like: a horse fed with barley or a knife with a black handle?" the stepmother answered: "let the knife with a black handle pierce the breast of thine enemy; but give me the horse fed with barley." the king's son commanded them to tie the stepmother and her daughter to the tail of a horse, and to hunt them over mountain and rock till nothing was left of them but their ears and a tuft of hair. after that the king's son lived happily with his wife and her sheep-brother. the others were punished and she rejoiced. and three apples fell down from heaven. * * * * * the youth who would not tell his dream there lived once upon a time a man and wife who had a son. the son arose from his sleep one morning and said to his mother: "mother dear, i had a dream, but what it was i will not tell you." the mother said, "why will you not tell me?" "i will not, and that settles it," answered the youth, and his mother seized him and cudgelled him well. then he went to his father and said to him: "father dear, i had a dream, but what it was i would not tell mother, nor will i tell you," and his father also gave him a good flogging. he began to sulk and ran away from home. he walked and walked the whole day long and, meeting a traveller, said after greeting him: "i had a dream, but what it was i would tell neither father nor mother and i will not tell you," then he went on his way till finally he came to the emir's house and said to the emir: "emir, i had a dream, but what it was i would tell neither father nor mother, nor yet the traveller, and i will not tell you." the emir had him seized and thrown into the garret, where he began to cut through the floor with a knife he managed to get from some one of the emir's people. he cut and cut until he made an opening over the chamber of the emir's daughter, who had just filled a plate with food and gone away. the youth jumped down, emptied the plate, ate what he wanted, and crept back into the garret. the second, third, and fourth days he did this also, and the emir's daughter could not think who had taken away her meal. the next day she hid herself under the table to watch and find out. seeing the youth jump down and begin to eat from her plate, she rushed out and said to him, "who are you?" "i had a dream, but what it was i would tell neither father nor mother, nor the traveller, nor yet the emir. the emir shut me up in the garret. now everything depends on you; do with me what you will." the youth looked at the maiden, and they loved each other and saw each other every day. the king of the west came to the king of the east to court the daughter of the king of the east for his son. he sent an iron bar with both ends shaped alike and asked: "which is the top and which is the bottom? if you can guess that, good! if not, i will carry your daughter away with me." the king asked everybody, but nobody could tell. the king's daughter told her lover about it and he said: "go tell your father the emir to throw the bar into a brook. the heavy end will sink. make a hole in that end and send the bar back to the king of the west." and it happened that he was right, and the messengers returned to their king. the king of the west sent three horses of the same size and color and asked: "which is the one-year-old, which is the two-year-old, and which the mare? if you can guess that, good. if not, then i will carry off your daughter." the king of the east collected all the clever people, but no one could guess. he was helpless and knew not what to do. then his daughter went to her lover and said, "they are going to take me away," and she told him when and how. the youth said: "go and say to your father, 'dip a bundle of hay in water, strew it with salt, and put it near the horses' stall. in the morning the mare will come first, the two-year-old second, the one-year-old last.'" they did this and sent the king of the west his answer. he waited a little and sent a steel spear and a steel shield, and said: "if you pierce the shield with the spear, i will give my daughter to your son. if not, send your daughter to my son." many people tried, and among them the king himself, but they could find no way of piercing the shield. the king's daughter told him of her beloved prisoner, and the king sent for him. the youth thrust the spear into the ground, and, striking the shield against it, pierced it through. as the king had no son, he sent the youth in place of a son to the king of the west to demand his daughter, according to agreement. he went on and on--how long it is not known--and saw someone with his ear to the ground listening. "who are you?" the youth asked. "i am he who hears everything that is said in the whole world." "this is a brave fellow," said the youth. "he knows everything that is said in the world." "i am no brave fellow. he who has pierced a steel shield with a steel spear is a brave fellow," was the answer. "i am he," said the youth. "let us be brothers." they journeyed on together and saw a man with a millstone on each foot, and one leg stepped toward chisan and the other toward stambul. "that seems to me a brave fellow! one leg steps toward chisan and the other toward stambul." "i am no brave fellow. he who has pierced a steel shield with a steel spear is a brave fellow," said the man with the millstones. "i am he. let us be brothers." they were three and they journeyed on together. they went on and on and saw a mill with seven millstones grinding corn. and one man ate all and was not satisfied, but grumbled and said, "o little father, i die of hunger." "that is a brave fellow," said the youth. "seven millstones grind for him and yet he has not enough, but cries, 'i die of hunger.'" "i am no brave fellow. he who pierced a steel shield with a steel spear is a brave fellow," said the hungry man. "i am he. let us be brothers," said the youth and the four journeyed on together. they went on and on and saw a man who had loaded the whole world on his back and even wished to lift it up. "that is a brave fellow. he has loaded himself with the whole world and wishes to lift it up," said the youth. "i am no brave fellow. he who has pierced a steel shield with a steel spear is a brave fellow," said the burdened man. "i am he. let us be brothers." the five journeyed on together. they went on and on and saw a man lying in a brook and he sipped up all its waters and yet cried, "o little father, i am parched with thirst." "that is a brave fellow. he drinks up the whole brook and still says he is thirsty," said the youth. "i am no brave fellow. he who has pierced a steel shield with a steel spear is a brave fellow," said the thirsty man. "i am he. let us be brothers." the six journeyed on together. they went on and on and saw a shepherd who was playing the pipes, and mountains and valleys, fields and forests, men and animals, danced to the music. "that seems to me to be a brave fellow. he makes mountains and valleys dance," said the youth. "i am no brave fellow. he who has pierced a steel shield with a steel spear is a brave fellow," said the musical man. "i am he. let us be brothers," said the youth. the seven journeyed on together. "brother who hast pierced a steel shield with a steel spear, whither is god leading us?" "we are going to get the daughter of the king of the west," said the youth. "only you can marry her," said they all. they went on till they came to the king's castle, but when they asked for the daughter the king would not let her go, but called his people together and said: "they have come after the bride. they are not very hungry, perhaps they will eat only a bite or two. let one-and-twenty ovens be filled with bread and make one-and-twenty kettles of soup. if they eat all this i will give them my daughter; otherwise, i will not." the seven brothers were in a distant room. he who listened with his ear to the ground heard what the king commanded, and said: "brother who hast pierced a steel shield with a steel spear, do you understand what the king said?" "rascal! how can i know what he says when i am not in the same room with him? what did he say?" "he has commanded them to bake bread in one-and-twenty ovens and to make one-and-twenty kettles of soup. if we eat it all, we can take his daughter; otherwise, not." the brother who devoured all the meal that seven millstones, ground said: "fear not, i will eat everything that comes to hand, and then cry, 'little father, i die of hunger.'" when the king saw the hungry man eat he screamed: "may he perish! i shall certainly meet defeat at his hands." again he called his people to him and said, "kindle a great fire, strew it with ashes and cover it with blankets. when they come in in the evening they will be consumed, all seven of them." the brother with the sharp ears said: "brother who hast pierced a steel shield with a steel spear, do you understand what the king said?" "no; how can i know what he said?" "he said, 'kindle a fire, strew it with ashes, and cover it with blankets, and when they come in in the evening they will be consumed, all seven of them.'" then said the brother who drank up the brook: "i will drink all i can and go in before you. i will spit it all out and turn the whole house into a sea." in the evening they begged the king to allow them to rest in the room set apart for them. the water-drinker filled the whole room with water, and they went into another. the king lost his wits and knew not what to do. he called his people together, and they said in one voice, "let what will happen, we will not let our princess go!" the man with the sharp ears heard them, and said, "brother who hast pierced a steel shield with a steel spear, do you understand what the king said?" "how should i know what he said?" "he said, 'let what will happen, i will not let my daughter go.'" the brother who had loaded himself with the whole world said: "wait, i will take his castle and all his land on my back and carry it away." he took the castle on his back and started off. the shepherd played on his pipes, and mountains and valleys danced to the music. he who had fastened millstones to his feet led the march, and they all went joyously forward, making a great noise. the king began to weep, and begged them to leave him his castle. "take my daughter with you. you have earned her." they put the castle back in its place, the shepherd stopped playing, and mountain and valley stood still. they took the king's daughter and departed, and each hero returned to his dwelling-place, and he who had pierced the steel shield with the steel spear took the maiden and came again to the king of the east. and the king of the east gave him his own daughter, whom the youth had long loved, for his wife. so he had two wives--one was the daughter of the king of the east, the other the daughter of the king of the west. at night, when they lay down to sleep, he said: "now, i have one sun on one side and another sun on the other side, and a bright star plays on my breast." in the morning he sent for his parents and called also the king to him, and said, "now, i will tell my dream." "what was it, then?" they all said. he answered: "i saw in my dream one sun on one side of me and another sun on the other, and a bright star played on my breast." "had you such a dream?" they asked. "i swear i had such a dream." and three apples fell from heaven: one for the story-teller, one for him who made him tell it, and one for the hearer. * * * * * the vacant yard [_translated by e.b. collins, b.s._] * * * * * the vacant yard several days ago i wished to visit an acquaintance, but it chanced he was not at home. i came therefore through the gate again out into the street, and stood looking to right and left and considering where i could go. in front of me lay a vacant yard, which was, i thought, not wholly like other vacant yards. on it was neither house nor barn nor stable: true, none of these was there, but it was very evident that this yard could not have been deserted long by its tenants. the house must, also, in my opinion, have been torn down, for of traces of fire, as, for example, charred beams, damaged stoves, and rubbish heaps, there was no sign. in a word, it could be plainly perceived that the house which once stood there had been pulled down, and its beams and timbers carried away. in the middle of the premises, near the line hedge, stood several high trees, acacias, fig, and plum-trees; scattered among them were gooseberry bushes, rose-trees, and blackthorns, while near the street, just in the place where the window of the house was probably set, stood a high, green fig-tree. i have seen many vacant lots, yet never before have i given a passing thought as to whom any one of them belonged, or who might have lived there, or indeed where its future possessor might be. but in a peculiar way the sight of this yard called up questions of this sort; and as i looked at it many different thoughts came into my mind. perhaps, i thought to myself, a childless fellow, who spoiled old age with sighs and complaints, and as his life waned the walls mouldered. finally, the house was without a master; the doors and windows stood open, and when the dark winter nights came on, the neighbors fell upon it and stripped off its boards, one after another. yes, various thoughts came into my head. how hard it is to build a house, and how easy to tear it down! while i stood there lost in thought, an old woman, leaning on a staff, passed me. i did not immediately recognize her, but at a second glance i saw it was hripsime. nurse hripsime was a woman of five-and-seventy, yet, from her steady gait, her lively speech, and her fiery eyes, she appeared to be scarcely fifty. she was vigorous and hearty, expressed her opinions like a man, and was abrupt in her speech. had she not worn women's garments one could easily have taken her for a man. indeed, in conversation she held her own with ten men. once, i wot not for what reason, she was summoned to court. she went thither, placed herself before the judge, and spoke so bravely that everyone gaped and stared at her as at a prodigy. another time thieves tried to get into her house at night, knowing that she was alone like an owl in the house. the thieves began to pry open the door with a crowbar, and when nurse hripsime heard it she sprang nimbly out of bed, seized her stick from its corner, and began to shout: "ho, there! simon, gabriel, matthew, stephan, aswadur, get up quickly. get your axes and sticks. thieves are here; collar the rascals; bind them, skin them, strike them dead!" the thieves probably did not know with whom they had to deal, and, when at the outcry of the old woman they conceived that a half-dozen stout-handed fellows might be in the house, they took themselves off. just such a cunning, fearless woman was aunt hripsime. "good-morning, nurse," said i. "god greet thee," she replied. "where have you been?" "i have been with the sick," she rejoined. oh, yes! i had wholly forgotten to say that nurse hripsime, though she could neither read nor write, was a skilful physician. she laid the sick person on the grass, administered a sherbet, cured hemorrhoids and epilepsy; and especially with sick women was she successful. yes, to her skill i myself can bear witness. about four years ago my child was taken ill in the dog-days, and for three years my wife had had a fever, so that she was very feeble. the daughter of arutin, the gold-worker, and the wife of saak, the tile-maker, said to me: "there is an excellent physician called hripsime. send for her, and you will not regret it." to speak candidly, i have never found much brains in our doctor. he turns round on his heels and scribbles out a great many prescriptions, but his skill is not worth a toadstool. i sent for hripsime, and, sure enough, not three days had passed before my wife's fever had ceased and my children's pain was allayed. for three years, thank god, no sickness has visited my house. whether it can be laid to her skill and the lightness of her hand or to the medicine i know not. i know well, however, that nurse hripsime is my family physician. and what do i pay her? five rubles a year, no more and no less. when she comes to us it is a holiday for my children, so sweetly does she speak to them and so well does she know how to win their hearts. indeed, if i were a sultan, she should be my vezir. "how does the city stand in regard to sickness?" i asked her. "of that one would rather not speak," answered hripsime. "ten more such years and our whole city will become a hospital. heaven knows what kind of diseases they are! moreover, they are of a very peculiar kind, and often the people die very suddenly. the bells fly in pieces almost from so much tolling, the grave-diggers' shovels are blunt, and from the great demand for coffins the price of wood is risen. what will become of us, i know not." "is not, then, the cause of these diseases known to you?" "oh, that is clear enough," answered hripsime. "it is a punishment for our sins. what good deeds have we done that we should expect god's mercy? thieves, counterfeiters, all these you find among us. they snatch the last shirt from the poor man's back, purloin trust moneys, church money: in a word, there is no shameless deed we will not undertake for profit. we need not wonder if god punishes us for it. yes, god acts justly, praised be his holy name! indeed, it would be marvellous if god let us go unpunished." hripsime was not a little excited, and that was just what i wished. when she once began she could no longer hold in: her words gushed forth as from a spring, and the more she spoke the smoother her speech. "do you know?" i began again, "that i have been standing a long while before this deserted yard, and cannot recall whose house stood here, why they have pulled it down, and what has become of its inhabitants? you are an aged woman, and have peeped into every corner of our city: you must have something to tell about it. if you have nothing important on hand, be kind enough to tell me what you know of the former residents of the vanished house." nurse hripsime turned her gaze to the vacant yard, and, shaking her head, said: "my dear son, the history of that house is as long as one of our fairy-tales. one must tell for seven days and seven nights in order to reach the end. "this yard was not always so desolate as you see it now," she went on. "once there stood here a house, not very large, but pretty and attractive, and made of wood. the wooden houses of former days pleased me much better than the present stone houses, which look like cheese mats outside and are prisons within. an old proverb says, 'in stone or brick houses life goes on sadly,' "here, on this spot, next to the fig-tree," she continued, "stood formerly a house with a five-windowed front, green blinds, and a red roof. farther back there by the acacias stood the stable, and between the house and the stable, the kitchen and the hen-house. here to the right of the gate a spring." with these words nurse hripsime took a step forward, looked about, and said: "what is this? the spring gone, too! i recollect as if to-day that there was a spring of sweet water on the very spot where i am standing. what can have happened to it! i know that everything can be lost--but a spring, how can that be lost?" hripsime stooped and began to scratch about with her stick. "look here," she said suddenly, "bad boys have filled up the beautiful spring with earth and stones. plague take it! well, if one's head is cut off, he weeps not for his beard. for the spring i care not, but for poor sarkis and his family i am very sorry." "are you certain that the house of sarkis, the grocer, stood here? i had wholly forgotten it. now tell me, i pray, what has become of him? does he still live, or is he dead? where is his family? i remember now that he had a pretty daughter and also a son." nurse hripsime gave no heed to my questions, but stood silently, poking about with her stick near the choked-up spring. the picture of grocer sarkis, as we called him, took form vividly in my memory, and with it awoke many experiences of my childhood. i remembered that when i was a child a dear old lady often visited us, who was continually telling us about grocer sarkis, and used to hold up his children as models. in summer, when the early fruit was ripe, she used to visit his house, gather fruit in his garden, and would always come to us with full pockets, bringing us egg-plums, saffron apples, fig-pears, and many other fruits. from that time we knew sarkis, and when my mother wanted any little thing for the house i got it for her at his store. i loved him well, this sarkis; he was a quiet, mild man, around whose mouth a smile hovered. "what do you want, my child?" he always asked when i entered his store. "my mother sends you greeting," i would answer. "she wants this or that." "well, well, my child, you shall have it," he usually answered, and always gave me a stick of sugar candy, with the words, "that is for you; it is good for the cough." it never happened that i went out of the store without receiving something from him. in winter-time he treated me to sugar candy, and in summer-time he always had in his store great baskets full of apricots, plums, pears, and apples, or whatever was in season in his garden. his garden at that time--some thirty or thirty-five years ago--was very famous. one time my mother sent me to sarkis's store to procure, as i remember, saffron for the pillau. sarkis gave me what i desired, and then noticing, probably, how longingly i looked toward the fruit-baskets, he said: "now, you shall go and have a good time in my garden. do you know where my house is?" "yes, i know. not far from the church of our lady." "right, my son, you have found it. it has green blinds, and a fig-tree stands in front of it. now take this basket and carry it to auntie, and say that i sent word that she was to let you go into the garden with my son toros. there you two may eat what you will." he handed me a neat-looking basket. i peeped into it and saw a sheep's liver. i was as disgusted with this as though it were a dead dog, for at that time liver-eaters were abhorred not less than thieves and counterfeiters; they with their whole family were held in derision, and people generally refused to associate with them. in a moment i forgot entirely what a good man sarkis was; i forgot his fruit-garden and his pretty daughter, of whom the good old lady had told me so many beautiful things. the liver had spoiled everything in a trice. sarkis noticed this, and asked me smiling: "what is the matter?" "have you a dog in your yard?" i asked, without heeding his words. "no," he said. "for whom, then, is the liver?" "for none other than ourselves. we will eat it." i looked at sarkis to see if he were jesting with me, but no sign of jesting was to be seen in his face. "you will really eat the liver yourselves?" i asked. "what astonishes you, my boy? is not liver to be eaten, then?" "dogs eat liver," i said, deeply wounded, and turned away, for sarkis appeared to me at that moment like a ghoul. just then there came into the store a pretty, pleasing boy. "mamma sent me to get what you have bought at the bazaar, and the hearth-fire has been lit a long time." i concluded that this was sarkis's son, toros. i perceived immediately from his face that he was a good boy, and i was very much taken with him. "here, little son, take that," sarkis said, and handed him the basket which i had set down. toros peeped in, and when he spied the liver he said, "we will have a pie for dinner." then he put on his cap and turned to go. "toros," called his father to him, "take melkon with you to our house and play with him as a brother." i was exceedingly pleased with the invitation, and went out with toros. when we arrived at sarkis's house and entered the garden it seemed as though i were in an entirely new world. the yard was very pretty, no disorder was to be seen anywhere. here and there pretty chickens, geese, and turkeys ran about with their chicks. on the roof sat doves of the best kinds. the yard was shaded in places by pretty green trees, the house had a pretty balcony, and under the eaves stood green-painted tubs for catching rain-water. in the windows different flowers were growing, and from the balcony hung cages of goldfinches, nightingales, and canary birds; in a word, everything i saw was pretty, homelike, and pleasant. in the kitchen cooking was going on, for thick smoke rose from the chimney. at the kitchen-door stood sarkis's wife, a healthy, red-cheeked, and vigorous woman, apparently about thirty years old. from the fire that burned on the hearth her cheeks were still more reddened, so that it seemed, as they say, the redness sprang right out of her. on a little stool on the balcony sat a little girl, who wore, according to the prevailing fashion, a red satin fez on her head. this was toros's sister. i have seen many beautiful girls in my time, but never a prettier one. her name was takusch. getting the mother's consent, we entered the garden, where we helped ourselves freely to the good fruit and enjoyed the fragrance of many flowers. at noon, sarkis came home from the store, and invited me to dinner. my gaze was continually directed toward the beautiful takusch. oh, well-remembered years! what a pity it is that they pass by so quickly! two or three months later i journeyed to the black sea, where i was apprenticed to a merchant, and since that time i have not been in my native city--for some twenty-four years--and all that i have told was awakened in my memory in a trice by my meeting with hripsime. the old woman was still standing on the site of the choked-up spring, scratching around on the ground with her stick. "nurse hripsime, where is sarkis and his family now?" i asked. "did you know him, then?" she asked, astonished. "yes, a little," i replied. "your parents were acquainted with him?" "no. i was only once in his house, and then as a boy." "oh, then! that was his happiest time. what pleasant times we had in his garden! formerly it was not as it is now--not a trace of their pleasant garden remains. the house has disappeared. look again: yonder was the kitchen, there the hen-house, there the barn, and here the spring." as she spoke she pointed out with her stick each place, but of the buildings she named not a trace was to be seen. "ah, my son," she went on, "he who destroyed the happiness of these good, pious people, who tore down their house and scattered the whole family to the winds, may that man be judged by god! he fell like a wolf upon their goods and chattels. i wish no evil to him, but if there is a god in heaven may he find no peace in his house, may his children bring no joy to him, and may no happiness find its way within his four walls. as he ruined those four poor wretches and was guilty of their early death, so may he roam over the wide world without rest nor find in sleep any comfort! yes, may his trouble and sorrow increase with the abundance of his wealth! "i knew sarkis when he was still a boy. when you knew him he must have been about forty years old. he was always just as you saw him: reserved, discreet, pious, beneficent to the poor, and hospitable. it never occurred that he spoke harshly to his wife or raised his hand against his children. he was ever satisfied with what he had; never complained that he had too little, or coveted the possessions of others. yes, a pious man was sarkis, and his wife had the same virtues. early in childhood she lost her parents, and relatives of her mother adopted her, but treated her badly. yes, bitter is the lot of the orphan, for even if they have means they are no better off than the poor! they said that when her father died he left her a store with goods worth about , rubles, and beside that , ducats in cash; but he was hardly dead when the relations came and secured the stock and gold as guardians of the orphan. when she was fourteen years old, one after another wooed her, but when the go-betweens found out that there was nothing left of her property they went away and let the girl alone. "happily for her, sarkis appeared, and said: 'i want a wife; i seek no riches,' of course, the relations gave her to him at once, and with her all sorts of trumpery, some half-ruined furniture, and a few gold pieces. 'that is all her father left,' they said, and demanded from him a receipt for the whole legacy from her father. that was the way they shook her off! "at that time sarkis himself had nothing, and was just as poor as his wife. he was clerk in a store, and received not more than rubles in notes yearly, which were worth in current money scarcely one-third their face value. yes, they were both poor, but god's mercy is great and no one can fathom his purposes! in the same year the merchant whom he served suddenly died after making over to sarkis the whole store and all that was in it, on condition that a certain sum should be paid every year to the widow. "sarkis took the business, and after three years he was sole owner of it. he increased it continually, and on the plot of ground he had inherited from his father he built a pretty house and moved into it. in the same year god gave him a daughter, whom he named takusch, and four years later his son toros came into the world. "so these two orphans established a household and became somebodies; people who had laughed at them now sought their society, and began to vie with each other in praising sarkis. but sarkis remained the same god-fearing sarkis. he spoke evil of no one, and even of his wife's relatives, who had robbed him, he said nothing. indeed, when they had gone through that inheritance and were in want he even helped them out. "as i have said, sarkis refused no one his assistance, but his wife had also a good heart. the good things she did cannot be told. how often she baked cracknel, cakes, rolls, and sweet biscuit, and sent great plates full of them to those who could not have such things, for she said, 'may those who pass by and smell the fragrance of my cakes never desire them in vain.' "about this time my husband died--may god bless him!--and i was living alone. sarkis's wife came to me and said, 'why will you live so lonely in your house? rent it and come to us.' of course, i did not hesitate long. i laid my things away in a large chest and moved over to their house, and soon we lived together like two sisters. takusch was at that time four years old, and toros was still a baby in arms. i lived ten years at their house, and heard not a single harsh word from them. not once did they say to me, 'you eat our bread, you drink our water, you wear our clothing,' they never indulged in such talk: on the contrary, they placed me in the seat of honor. yes, so they honored me. and, good heavens! what was i to them! neither mother nor sister nor aunt, in no way related to them. i was a stranger taken from the streets. "yes, such god-fearing people were sarkis and his wife. the poor wretches believed that all mankind were as pure in heart as they were. i had even at that time a presentiment that they would not end well, and often remonstrated with them, begging them to be on their guard with people. but it was useless for me to talk, for they sang the old songs again. "like a sweet dream my years with the good people passed. surely pure mother's milk had nourished them! i knew neither pain nor grief, nor did i think of what i should eat to-morrow, nor of how i could clothe myself. as bounteous as the hand of god was their house to me. twelve months in every year i sat peacefully at my spinning-wheel and carried on my own business. "once during dog-days--takusch was at that time fifteen years old and beginning her sixteenth year--toward evening, according to an old custom, we spread a carpet in the garden and placed a little table there for tea. near us steamed and hissed the clean shining tea-urn, and around us roses and pinks shed their sweet odors. it was a beautiful evening, and it became more beautiful when the full moon rose in the heavens like a golden platter. i remember that evening as clearly as though it were yesterday. takusch poured out the tea, and auntie mairam, sarkis's wife, took a cup; but as she lifted it to her lips it fell out of her hand and the tea was spilled over her dress. "my spirits fell when i saw this, for my heart told me that it meant something bad was coming. 'keep away, evil; come, good,' i whispered, and crossed myself in silence. i glanced at takusch and saw that the poor child had changed color. then her innocent soul also felt that something evil was near! sarkis and mairam, however, remained in merry mood and thought of nothing of that sort. but if you believe not a thousand times that something is to come, it comes just the same! mairam took her napkin and wiped off her dress and takusch poured her a fresh cup. 'there will come a guest with a sweet tongue,' said sarkis, smiling. 'mairam, go and put another dress on. you will certainly be ashamed if anyone comes.' "'who can come to-day, so late?' said mairam, smiling; 'and, beside, the dress will dry quickly.' "scarcely had she spoken when the garden door opened with a rush and a gentleman entered the enclosure. he had hardly stepped into the garden when he began to blab with his goat's voice like a windmill. "'good-evening. how are you? you are drinking tea? that is very fine for you. what magnificent air you have here! good-evening, mr. sarkis. good-evening, mrs. mairam, good-evening, hripsime. what are you doing? i like to drink tea in the open air. what a beautiful garden you have. dare i taste these cherries? well--they are not bad; no, indeed, they are splendid cherries. if you will give me a napkin full of these cherries i will carry them home to my wife. and what magnificent apricots! mr. sarkis, do you know what! sell me your house. no, i will say something better to you. come to my store--you know where it is--yonder in the new two-storied house. yes, yes, come over there and we will sit down pleasantly by the desk and gossip about moscow happenings.' "we were as if turned to stone. there are in the world many kinds of madmen, chatterboxes, and braggarts, but such a creature as this i saw for the first time in my life, and do you know who it was? hemorrhoid jack. "have you heard of him? have you seen this hostage of god? hripsime asked. "no, i do not know him," i said. "what! and you live in our city? is there anyone who does not know the scoundrel? go to the brokers, and they will tell you many he has thrown out of house and home by fraud and hunted out of the city. have you ever seen how a bird-catcher lures the birds into his net--how he whistles to them? that's the way this john gets the people into his traps. to-day he will act as if altogether stupid. to-morrow he is suddenly shrewd, and understands the business well. then he is simple again and a pure lamb. now he is avaricious, now generous. and so he goes on. yes, he slips around among the people like a fox with his tail wagging, and when he picks out his victim, he fastens his teeth in his neck and the poor beggar is lost. he gets him in his debt and never lets him get his breath between interest payments, or he robs him almost of his last shirt and lets him run. but see how i run away from my story! "'good-evening,' said sarkis, as soon as he perceived hemorrhoid jack, and offered him his hand. 'what wind has blown you here? mairam, a cup of tea for our honored mr. john.' "'mr. sarkis, do you know why i have come to you?' began jack. 'the whole world is full of your praise; everywhere they are talking about you, and i thought to myself, "i must go there and see what kind of a man this sarkis is." and so here i am. excuse my boldness. i cannot help it: i resemble in no way your stay-at-home. "'i am somewhat after the european fashion, you know. who pleases me, i visit him quite simply. present myself and make his acquaintance. then i invite him to my house, go again to his and bring my family with me. yes, such a fellow am i, let them laugh at me who will,' "'oh,' i thought, 'poor sarkis is already fallen into the net, and his family with him.' "meanwhile, mairam had poured the tea, placed the cup on a tray, and takusch had put it before jack. "'where did you buy the tea?' he began, taking the cup. 'when you want tea, buy it of me, i pray. you know, i am sure, where my store is. i can give you every desirable brand, and at low price. the tea that cost two rubles i will give to you for one ruble ninety-five kopecks. yes, i will sell it to you at a loss. oh, what bad tea you drink!' at the same time he began to sip and in a moment emptied the cup. 'be so good as to give me another cup,' he said. 'in the fresh air one gets an appetite. if i am to enjoy tea-drinking, let me hitch up my carriage and drive out to the monastery gardens. there, out-of-doors, i drink two or three glasses and settle for them. yes, such european customs please me,' "'may it benefit you!' said sarkis. "'now, now, mr. sarkis, are you coming to my house to-morrow?' asked hemorrhoid jack. "'i will see,' answered sarkis. "'what is there to see? if you want to come, come then. we will sit behind the counter, drink our glass of tea, and chat. now and then, we will talk about european affairs, bookkeeping, news, and other things,' "'all right, i shall surely come. i shall not forget.' "'good. and now it is time for me to be gone, for i must make two more visits to-day,' remarked hemorrhoid jack. "'do they pay visits at this hour?' responded sarkis. 'it must be nearly ten o'clock. takusch, get a light.' "takusch went into the room, and soon returned with a light. sarkis took out his watch, and coming near the light said: 'look, it is already a quarter to ten.' "john looked, and at once cried out: 'oh, mr. sarkis, what a magnificent watch you have! where did you get it? it appears to me to be a costly one. let me see it.' "'this watch i received as a gift from our late czar. you know that several years ago our late czar visited taganrog. on this occasion the people of taganrog wished to give him a magnificent horse, but they could not find an appropriate saddle. it happened that i had one that would do, and when they heard of it, they came to me and told me for what they needed the saddle. who would not be ready to make such a sacrifice for the czar? indeed, who would not only sacrifice a costly saddle (and this one was not worth much), but even his life, gladly, if need be? therefore, i immediately hired a wagon, and taking this extraordinary saddle with me and then on to taganrog to the governor's. "'"your highness seeks a saddle?" i asked. "'"yes, indeed," he answered. "'"here it is," said i. "'"thank you," he said, and pressed my hand. then he led me into his own room. by george! it looked like one in a king's castle. he had me sit down, served me with tea, invited me to dine at his table: in a word, he treated me well. at my departure, he took out of a drawer a ring set with genuine brilliants, gave it to me, and said, "take this from me as a gift, and what i receive from the czar i will give to you also." and he kept his word. the czar really came, and they gave him the horse with my saddle. his majesty thanked me for it and gave me this watch. look, now, what a beautiful one it is!' "'yes, truly, it is a pretty thing. show me it again. i wish to see what kind of a watch it is,' said hemorrhoid jack, examining the watch. 'and have you the ring by you? can i see it? oh, let me see what kind of a thing it is. i like to see such things, particularly if they come from persons of high rank.' "'is the ring not in the chest of drawers?' said sarkis, looking around toward his wife. "'yes, i keep it there,' answered mairam, faintly, for she might well foresee something evil. 'who is it routs about in the chest of drawers in the night?' "'good auntie mairam,' began jack, in a wheedling tone, 'i beg of you, bring the ring, that i may see it. be so kind! when i see such a rare thing my heart leaps in my breast with delight. it is true joy for me to hold such things in my hand and look at them. bring me the ring, i beg of you.' "i looked at him at that moment, and he seemed to me like a veritable gypsy. had i not been obliged to consider those present, i should certainly have spit in his face, so great was my aversion to this scoundrel. yes, what the proverb says is true: 'if a rich man becomes poor, he is scented for years with his wealth; if a poor man grows rich he stinks of poverty for forty years!' that was the way with this hemorrhoid jack. oh, if it had been in my power i would have seized the scoundrel by the collar and thrown him out of the gate. but sarkis was not of my temperament; he had a gentle heart and was meek as a lamb. i went up to him, pushed his elbow, and whispered: "'what are you doing, you good-natured fool? why did you let him take the watch in his hand? and are you going to show the ring, too? you will see, he has bad intentions. i'll bet my head he will bring misfortune on yours. do you not see his greedy eyes? he will ruin you altogether, you and house, and ground,' i said. "i had my trouble for my pains. although a man of ripe years, sarkis was nevertheless like a mere boy, believing all people as honest as himself. heaven knows! perhaps such a fate was destined for him, and it was impossible for him to get out of the way of misfortune. "mairam brought the ring, and as soon as the scoundrel saw it he grabbed it from her hand and put it on his finger. "'what a pretty thing it is!' he said, smirking. 'how it glistens! what a precious ring! what wonderfully beautiful brilliants! what ought i to give you for such a ring? tell me. it pleases me exceedingly. yes, without joking, sell it to me. no, we will arrange it otherwise: i will give you all kinds of goods out of my store at a very low price, yes, very cheap. may the apoplexy strike me if i make anything out of you! i will sell you everything at cost price, and if you wish, will give you ten kopecks rebate on the ruble.' "'no, my dear sir,' said mairam, embarrassed. 'can one sell a souvenir of the czar, and one of such great value? we have no occasion to do it. we are no jews, to sell off everything, to turn into money whatever comes into our hands. are we such poor beggars that we cannot have something good and valuable in our chest? no, mr. john, what you say seems to me to be very singular. you are rich, yet you say that you have never in your life seen a gold watch nor a ring set with brilliants. it seems to me a fine new custom that one must immediately have what one sees. no, dear sir, cast not your eyes upon our property; be content with what you have.' "'mrs. mairam,' said the scoundrel, smirking, 'why are you so angry? may one not joke with you?' "'a fine joke!' i said, putting in my oar. 'you looked at the trees, and you will at once tear them down. you fell on the fruit like a wolf. you saw the garden, and at once wanted to buy. now you want the ring, and will exchange for it your wares. what sort of tomfoolery are you talking to us? you are either crazy yourself or will make others so. the apple falls not far from the stem--one sees that in you.' "'aunt hripsime, why are you so cross? dare one not jest?' "'enough, enough; i understand your joke very well,' i cried indignantly. "yes, we women scolded him right well, but sarkis said no earthly word. he sat there dumb and speechless as the stick in my hand. the lord god gave him a tongue to speak with, but, dear heaven, he sat there like a clod and never uttered a syllable. i was like to burst with wrath. "then that unscrupulous fellow repeated his speech. 'don't you understand a joke? have you, then, no sense of fun?' he would have struck us over the ear, and that the fellow called a joke! and how the creature looked! his face was like a drum-skin. it was as though someone had wiped off the holy oil from this grimacing mask with a butcher's sponge. yes, here you see how people become rich; how they get hold of other people's property. conscience hunts the scoundrel to the deuce: he lets his skin grow thick; feigns outwardly to be dull; if anyone spits in his face he regards it only as a may-shower; if anyone goes for him for his rascality, he takes it as a joke. and so the rascals become rich! one must be born to those things, that's the way i see it. "if you knew all that we said to this scoundrel's face! we all but seized him by the collar and threw him out the gate. we belabored him well, but the fellow stood as if dumb, remained silent, and laughed in our faces as if we had been speaking to each other and not to him. he neither took the watch out of his pocket nor the ring from his finger. finally, i thought to myself, 'i will wait a little and see what will happen.' "and do you know what this bad fellow said to our sarkis after a short silence? 'your watch and ring please me well, old fellow. let me take them for a month or two. i will send them to moscow and have some like them made for myself. as soon as i get them back i will give them back to you unhurt.' "our stupid sarkis dared not say no, and he had his way. "'take them,' said sarkis, 'but take care that they do not go astray, for--' "'but what are you thinking about?' answered the scoundrel. 'am i then--. where do you buy your calico?' the scoundrel began after a pause. 'how much do you pay an ell? where do you buy your linen cloth? how high does it come by the ell? where do you buy your silk and satin?' "heaven knows what all he prated about, and sarkis answered him and told everything just as it really was. "'we buy our manufactured goods of yellow pogos,' and told the prices of everything without reserve. "'have you lost your wits, man?' cried hemorrhoid jack. 'can any man in his full senses buy anything of yellow pogos? don't you know that he is a swindler? why don't you buy your goods of me? i will give them to you cheaper by half,' "to this sarkis answered, 'when i need something again i will buy it of you.' "i knew well enough that sarkis needed nothing at the time, and that he said this only to get rid of the fellow. but jack did not or would not understand, and began again. "'no, do not put it that way,' he said. 'come to-morrow and pick out what pleases you. do not think for a minute that i wish to make money out of you. let the goods lie in your closet, for, between ourselves, goods were very cheap in moscow this year, and i cleverly threw out my line and bought everything at half price. this year is a lucky one for my customers. if one of them will let his goods lie a little while he will certainly double his money on them. yes, buy, i tell you, but not by the ell. buy by the piece and you will not regret it, i assure you. i will send you in the morning five or six different kinds of goods.' "'but why such haste?' said mairam. 'my chest of drawers is full of stuff for clothes, and what i am wearing is still quite new. if we need anything we will come to you.' "'what are you talking about, auntie mairam?' answered hemorrhoid jack. 'do you not believe me? i tell you, you can get double for the goods, and if you cannot use everything yourself, give it to your neighbors. you will do good business. on my word of honor, i swear to you, you will make double on it. would i lie for the sake of such a trifle? whom do you think you have here? but that is a small matter: i have still something better to propose. you must take a shipment of tea from me. in the winter the price will rise, and you can make enormous profits out of it. to-morrow i will send you one chest--for the present. well? now, really, i will send it to you.' "'my dear john,' exclaimed sarkis, 'you must know how risky it is to begin a new business. i have never handled tea, and the thing appears to me somewhat daring. i know no customers for tea, and understand nothing about the goods. if it remains lying by me and spoils--' "'what empty straw are you threshing now?' cried hemorrhoid jack. 'as soon as the people know that you have tea to sell they will of their own accord come running into your store. do you think that you will have to look up customers? in a week or two not a trace of your tea will remain. i speak from practical experience. this year little tea has been brought from siberia, and what they have brought has almost all fallen into my hands. do not think that i seek a buyer in you! god forbid! when i learned what a good man you were, i thought to myself, "i must give him a chance to make something. yes, i want him to make a few kopecks." do you think i am in need of purchasers? now, sarkis, to-morrow i will send you the goods. what?' "'by heaven, i know not how i ought to answer you. do you know, i am afraid,' said sarkis. "the poor fellow could say nothing farther, for he was such an honest, good-natured fellow that it was hard for him to refuse anybody anything. the word 'no' did not exist for him. "'you are talking nonsense,' began hemorrhoid jack anew. 'give up your grocery and set up a wholesale business. manage it according to the european plan, and you shall see how thankful to me you will be in time. do you believe that i am your enemy? would i advise you badly? now, the matter is settled. in the morning i will send you several chests of tea and put them in your store. you will find out that hemorrhoid jack wishes you no ill. yes, i will say something even better. you know what machorka is?--a cheap tobacco that the poor folk smoke. what do you think of this stuff? do you think that there is a class of goods more profitable than this? people make thousands from it, and build themselves fine houses. and what expenses have they with it? put the tobacco in an empty stable or shed and it may lie there. a chest of it put on sale in your store and i tell you, if you do not make ruble for ruble out of it, then spit in my face. "'last spring most of this stuff was in the hands of a cossack. the stupid fellow didn't know what he ought to expect for it, and he needed money--this gander! i brought him home with me; had brandy, bread, and ham set out; and, after a little talk back and forth, i bought chests at half price. half i paid in cash, the rest in eighteen months. now, wasn't that a good trade? if i don't make my , rubles out of it, i shall be a fool. if you like, i will send you some of these goods. put it in your shop or in your shed and let it lie there; it eats and drinks nothing. now, i tell you, if you do not make per cent, out of it, spit in my face. shall i send you a few chests of it?' "'by heaven, i cannot go into it,' answered sarkis. 'do you know, i am afraid to undertake a new trade? if the stuff does not go off or spoils on my hands or the price falls, what shall i do? you know that our capital consists of only a few kopecks. we spend as we earn. if i run after the rubles and lose the kopecks thereby, who will give me something to eat?' concluded the poor wretch, as if he scented some evil. "but could he free himself from that satan of a hemorrhoid jack? like a leech he had fastened himself on his neck and demanded that he should buy the goods. "'now, sarkis,' he began again, 'the thing is settled. i am to send you in the morning manufactured goods, tea, and tobacco. well?' "'i will see; i must turn it over in my mind,' stammered sarkis. he wanted to be rid of him, but he knew not how to begin. "'what does that "i will see!" mean? nothing,' the other continued. 'you may see a thousand times and you will not find again such good goods and such a favorable opportunity. i speak from experience. you must not let this chance slip by or you will throw gold out of the window with your own hands. i am talking about great gains, great profits; do you think it is a joke?' "'we shall see,' said poor sarkis. 'we have many days before us. yes, we will surely do something.' "'what you do now is not worth much,' cried hemorrhoid jack. 'i see that if i leave the thing to your decision, in five years you will not have reached one. isn't that true? in the morning i will send you one load of goods and the rest later.' "with these words he seized his cap, quickly made his adieus, and went away. "it was nearly one o'clock; mairam and takusch were sitting there asleep and i also was very sleepy, but i fought against my sleepiness to watch that devil of a hemorrhoid jack. mankind can be a priest to mankind--also a satan! "when he was in the street, sarkis said to me: 'what a wonderful conversation we have had this evening. of all this man has said, i understand nothing. his purposes are not exactly bad, but i don't know how it happens--my heart presages something of evil.' "i was just going to answer him when suddenly i sneezed; but only once. "'see now,' i said to sarkis; 'i was right in saying he was going to trick you. now it has proved itself.' "'if one sneezes only once by day that is a bad sign, but at night it means something good,' he interrupted me. "'oh,' i said, 'do not, i pray, give me lessons; don't teach me what a sneeze is the sign of. whether it is in the daytime or at night it is a bad sign, and if one just made up his mind to do anything, he should let it drop.' "sarkis would not give in that i was right, but began to chatter about a sneeze at night being a good thing. i said no and he said yes, and so it went on until i finally gave it up." "'oh, 'i said, 'have your own way, but when misfortune comes to you do not blame me for it.' "'i have really begun nothing,' he observed. 'that was only a talk. we have only discussed something. i have really no desire to try my hand with the tea and tobacco.' "that he said to me, but heaven only knows! perhaps in his thoughts he was already counting the thousands he hoped to earn. money has such power that my blessed grandmother always said that the devil had invented it. he had racked his brains to find a way to lead mankind into wickedness and did not succeed until he invented money. then he was master of our souls. how many men money has deprived of reason! sarkis was not of so firm a mind that he would be able to stand out against such rosy hopes. "the next day, early in the morning, the shop-boy came running into the house in a great hurry, and said that nine cart-loads of goods were standing at the gate. the man who was in charge of them was asking for sarkis. "'what kind of an invasion is this!' cried sarkis. 'i must go and see who it is. perhaps the loads are not for me at all. god knows for whom they are!' "he went out, and we after him. although i had not seen the loads of goods, i knew the whole story in a moment. "before we had reached the gate a man met us and said: "'my master sends you greeting and begs you to take these nine wagon-loads of goods and sign for them.' "'who is your master?' we asked, all together. "'hemorrhoid jack. don't you know him? he was at your house last evening.' "i was ready to burst with anger. "'you fellow,' i said, 'who told your master to send these goods here? have we ordered anything? turn at once and get out of the room.' "'is that so!' said the man. 'after a thing is settled you can't take back your word. where shall i put the goods now?' "'where you brought them from, take them back there!' "'the coach-house is closed.' "'that does not concern us; that is your master's affair.' "'if he were here i would tell him, but he is not here.' "'where is he then?' i asked. "'he has gone to taganrog.' "'when did he start?' "'about two hours ago. he will not be back for two months, for he has very important business in the courts.' "it could not be doubted now that this villain of a john had already begun his tricks; but that innocent sarkis did not see through his devilish purposes. had i been in his place i would have run immediately to the city hall and told every detail of the business, and the thing would have come out all right. but sarkis was not the man for that. "'well, if that is the case drive into the yard and unload. the goods cannot stand in the street. when jack comes back from taganrog i will arrange things with him in some way.' "the wagons came into the yard with a clatter and the driver unloaded the goods and piled them up in the coach-house. i stood as if turned to stone and silently watched this move in their game. 'what will come of it?' i thought to myself. "ah, but i would rather have died than see what did come of it! "when the goods were unloaded the clerk demanded a receipt, which sarkis gave him without hesitation, whereupon the clerk went away satisfied. "later we heard that jack had not gone to taganrog at all, and had only ordered the clerk to say so. "that same day when we were sitting at dinner, sarkis turned to me and said: 'see, hripsime, your sneeze has cheated you. did you not say that jack was going to play a trick on me? you see something very different has happened. this forenoon four or five persons came into my shop who wished to buy tea and tobacco. i told them the matter was not yet settled; that we had not agreed on the price; as soon as the agreement was made i would begin business. do you see? i have not advertised that i was going to handle the goods, yet everybody knows it and one customer after another comes into my store. how will it be when the goods are put on sale?--they will fight for them. it will give me a great deal to do; i must only go to john and settle on the terms. yes, little mother, such a wholesale trade is not to be despised; the wholesaler can often make more money in a moment than the retailer makes in two years. yes, my love, in business that is really so!' "'god grant that it may be so!' i said, and nothing more was said about jack. "several months passed by and november came. one evening we were sitting together chatting comfortably when the door opened softly and an old woman entered. i knew immediately that she was a matchmaker. in three days takusch was betrothed to a plain, middle-rate man. the wedding was to take place the next winter on her father's name-day. as a dowry her parents promised , rubles-- , in cash, and the rest in jewels. "tagusch was at that time fifteen years old. although i had lived in her parents' house i had never looked right attentively at her face, scarcely knew, in fact, whether she was beautiful or ugly; but when on her betrothal day she put on a silk dress and adorned herself as is customary at such a festive time; when she had put on her head a satin fez with gold tassels and a flower set with brilliants, i fairly gaped with admiration. i am almost eighty years old, but in all my life i have never seen a more beautiful girl. "i am no dwarf, but she was a few inches taller than i. she was slender as a sweet-pine tree. her hands were delicate and soft, her fingers were like wax. hair and eyebrows were black, and her face like snow. her cheeks were tinged rose-red, and her glance! that i cannot forget even to this day. it was brighter than a genuine holland diamond. her eyelashes were so long that they cast shadows on her cheeks. no, such a charming creature i have never seen in dreams, let alone reality. she was--god forgive my sins--the pure image of the mother of god in our church; yes, she was even more beautiful. when i looked at her i could not turn my eyes away again. i gazed at her and could not look enough. on the betrothal day i sat in the corner of the room with my eyes nailed on takusch. "'how sorry i am,' thought i, 'that you with that angel face are to be the wife of a commonplace man, to be the mother of a family and go into a dirty, smoky kitchen. shall your tender hands become hard as leather with washing, ironing, kneading, and who knows what housework beside? shall your angel cheeks fade from the heat of the oven and your eyes lose their diamond-shine from sewing?' yes, so thought i, and my heart bled within me for this girl who ought to wear a queen's crown and live in a palace. surely, if this rose maiden had lived in olden times she would certainly have married a king or a king's son. and the poor thing stood there like a lamb, for she did not understand what life was. she thought marriage would be nothing more than a change in her dwelling-place. oh, but i was sorry that evening that she was going to marry only an ordinary, but still eligible, young man, and yet it would have been a great good fortune for her if this had come to pass. had we thought at that time that great misfortunes were in store for the poor child! and that cursed hemorrhoid jack was the cause of them all! "that betrothal day was the last happy day of the poor wretches. i never afterward saw smiles on their faces, for from that day their circumstances grew worse and worse and their business became very bad. they lost house and ground, moved about for several months from one rented house to another, until finally they disappeared from the city. "the day after the betrothal hemorrhoid jack sent word to sarkis by his clerk that sarkis must pay , rubles for the tobacco and tea and rubles for the manufactured goods. i have forgotten to tell you that among the latter were old-fashioned dress-goods, taxed cloth, linen, satin, and some silk. the clerk also said that if sarkis did not pay the rubles the ring and watch would be retained. "poor sarkis was completely dazed. "'have i bought the goods?' he asked. "'certainly you have bought them,' answered the unscrupulous clerk. 'otherwise you would not have sold a chest of tea and a bale of tobacco. beside, the coat your boy is wearing was made from our cloth.' "this was true. on the third day after receiving the goods, sarkis had sold a bale of tobacco and a chest of tea, and had cut off several yards of cloth. it was very singular that in the course of three months sarkis had not once caught sight of hemorrhoid jack to call him to account for the delivery of the goods. he had been several times to his house, where they said, 'he is at the store.' at the store they said jack was at home. it was very evident that he wished to defraud sarkis. after much talk back and forth the matter came into the courts, and since sarkis had sold part of the goods and had given a receipt for them, he had to pay the sum demanded. "for several months past business had been going very badly with the poor fellow and he could not raise the required sum, so he had to give up his property. first they drove the poor man out of his house and emptied his store and his storehouse. then they sold the tobacco and the tea, for which no one would give more than fifty rubles, for both were half rotten. the store and all that was in it were then auctioned off for a few hundred rubles, and finally the house was offered for sale. no one would buy it, for among our people the praiseworthy custom rules that they never buy a house put up at auction till they convince themselves that the owner sells it of his own free-will. the household furniture was also sold, and sarkis became almost a beggar, and was obliged, half naked, to leave his house, with his wife and children. "i proposed that they should occupy my house, but he would not have it. 'from to-day the black earth is my dwelling-place,' he said, and rented a small house at the edge of the town near where the fields begin. "when the neighbors found out the treachery of hemorrhoid jack, they were terribly angry, and one of them threw a note into his yard in which was written: that if he took possession of poor sarkis's house they would tear or burn it down. that was just what john wished, and he immediately sent carpenters to tear down the house and stable and then he sold the wood. "at this time i became very sick and lay two months in bed. when i got up again i thought to myself, 'i must go and visit the poor wretches!' i went to their little house, but found the door locked and the windows boarded up. i asked a boy, 'my child, do you know where the people of this house are?' 'two weeks ago they got into a wagon and drove away,' answered the lad. 'where are they gone?' i asked. 'that i don't know,' he said. "i would not have believed it, but an old woman came up to me on the street, of her own accord, and said: "'they all got into a wagon and have moved away into a russian village.' "what the village was called she could not tell me, and so every trace of them was lost. "many years later a gentleman came from stavropol to our city, who gave me some news of the poor wretches. they had settled in a cossack village--he told me the name, but i have forgotten--where at first they suffered great want; and just as things were going a little better with them, mairam and sarkis died of the cholera and takusch and toros were left alone. soon after, a russian officer saw takusch and was greatly pleased with her. after a few months she married him. toros carried on his father's business for a time, then gave it up and joined the army. so much i found out from the gentleman from stavropol. "some time later i met again one who knew takusch. he told me that she was now a widow. her husband had been a drunkard, spent his whole nights in inns, often struck his poor wife, and treated her very badly. finally they brought him home dead. toros's neck had been broken at a horse-race and he was dead. he said also that takusch had almost forgotten the armenian language and had changed her faith. "'that is the history of the vacant yard." * * * * * armenian poems [_metrical version, by robert arnot, m.a._] * * * * * armenian poems a plaint were i a springtime breeze, a breeze in the time when the song-birds pair, i'd tenderly smooth and caress your hair, and hide from your eyes in the budding trees. were i a june-time rose, i'd glow in the ardor of summer's behest, and die in my passion upon your breast, in the passion that only a lover knows. were i a lilting bird, i'd fly with my song and my joy and my pain, and beat at your lattice like summer-rain, till i knew that your inmost heart was stirred. were i a winged dream, i'd steal in the night to your slumbering side, and the joys of hope in your bosom i'd hide, and pass on my way like a murmuring stream. tell me the truth, the truth, have i merited woe at your tapering hands, have you wilfully burst love's twining strands, and cast to the winds affection and ruth? 'twas a fleeting vision of joy, while you loved me you plumed your silvery wings, and in fear of the pain that a man's love brings you fled to a bliss that has no alloy. mugurditch beshettashlain. * * * * * spring in exile wind of the morn, of the morn of the year, violet-laden breath of spring, to the flowers and the lasses whispering things that a man's ear cannot hear, in thy friendly grasp i would lay my hand, but thou comest not from my native land. birds of the morn, of the morn of the year, chanting your lays in the bosky dell, higher and fuller your round notes swell, till the fauns and the dryads peer forth to hear the trilling lays of your feathery band: ye came not, alas, from my native land. brook of the morn, of the morn of the year, burbling joyfully on your way, maiden and rose and woodland fay use as a mirror your waters clear: but i mourn as upon your banks i stand, that you come not, alas, from my native land. breezes and birds and brooks of the spring, chanting your lays in the morn of the year, though armenia, my country, be wasted and sere, and mourns for her maidens who never shall sing, yet a storm, did it come from that desolate land, would awaken a joy that ye cannot command. raphael patkanian. * * * * * fly, lays of mine! fly, lays of mine, but not to any clime where happiness and light and love prevail, but seek the spots where woe and ill and crime leave as they pass a noisome serpent-trail fly, lays of mine, but not to the ether blue, where golden sparks illume the heavenly sphere, but seek the depths where nothing that is true relieves the eye or glads a listening ear. fly, lays of mine, but not to fruitful plains where spring the harvests by god's benison, but seek the deserts where for needed rains both prayers and curses rise in unison. fly, lays of mine, but not to riotous halls, where dancing sylphs supply voluptuous songs, but seek the huts where pestilence appals, and death completes the round of human wrongs. fly, lays of mine, but not to happy wives, whose days are one unending flow of bliss, but seek the maidens whose unfruitful lives have known as yet no lover's passionate kiss. fly, lays of mine, and like the nightingales, whose liquid liltings charm away the night, reveal in song the sweets of summer's gales, of lover's pleadings and of love's delight. and tell my lady, when your quests are o'er, that i, away from her, my heart's desire, yearn for the blissful hour when i shall pour down at her feet a love surcharged with fire. mugurditch beshettashlain. * * * * * the woe of araxes meditating by araxes, pacing slowly to and fro, sought i traces of the grandeur hidden by her turgid flow. "turgid are thy waters, mother, as they beat upon the shore. do they offer lamentations for armenia evermore? "gay should be thy mood, o mother, as the sturgeons leap in glee: ocean's merging still is distant, shouldest thou be sad, like me? "are thy spume-drifts tears, o mother, tears for those that are no more? dost thou haste to pass by, weeping, this thine own beloved shore?" then uprose on high araxes, flung in air her spumy wave, and from out her depths maternal sonorous her answer gave: "why disturb me now, presumptuous, all my slumbering woe to wake? why invade the eternal silence for a foolish question's sake? "know'st thou not that i am widowed; sons and daughters, consort, dead? wouldst thou have me go rejoicing, as a bride to nuptial bed? "wouldst thou have me decked in splendor, to rejoice a stranger's sight, while the aliens that haunt me bring me loathing, not delight? "traitress never i; armenia claims me ever as her own; since her mighty doom hath fallen never stranger have i known. "yet the glories of my nuptials heavy lie upon my soul; once again i see the splendor and i hear the music roll. "hear again the cries of children ringing joyfully on my banks, and the noise of marts and toilers, and the tread of serried ranks. "but where, now, are all my people? far in exile, homeless, lorn. while in widow's weeds and hopeless, weeping, sit i here and mourn. "hear now! while my sons are absent age-long fast i still shall keep; till my children gain deliverance, here i watch and pray and weep." silent, then, the mighty mother let her swelling tides go free. and in mournful meditation slowly wandered to the sea. raphael patkanian. * * * * * the armenian maiden in the hush of the spring night dreaming the crescent moon have you seen, as it shimmers on apricots gleaming, through velvety masses of green. have you seen, in a june-tide nooning, a languorous full-blown rose in the arms of the lilies swooning and yielding her sweets to her foes? yet the moon in its course and the roses by armenia's maiden pale, when she coyly and slowly discloses the glories beneath her veil. and a lute from her mother receiving, with a blush that a miser would move, she treads a soft measure, believing that music is sister to love. like a sapling her form in its swaying, full of slender and lissomy grace as she bends to the time of her playing, or glides with a fairy-light pace. the lads for her beauty are burning, the elders hold forth on old age, but the maiden flies merrily spurning youth, lover, and matron and sage. raphael patkanian. * * * * * one of a thousand sweet lady, whence the sadness in your face? what heart's desire is still unsatisfied? your face and form are fair and full of grace, and silk and velvet lend you all their pride. a nod, a glance, and straight your maidens fly to execute your hest with loving zeal. by night and day you have your minstrelsy, your feet soft carpets kiss and half conceal; while fragrant blooms adorn your scented bower, fruits fresh and rare lie in abundance near. the costly narghilé exerts its power to soothe vain longing and dispel all fear: envy not angels; you have paradise. no lowly consort you. a favored wife, whose mighty husband can her wants suffice; why mar with grieving such a fortunate life? so to haripsime, the armenian maid, on whom the cruel fortune of her lot had laid rejection of her faith, spake with a sigh the wrinkled, ugly, haggard slave near by. haripsime replied not to the words, but, silent, turned her face away. with scorn and sorrow mingled were the swelling chords of passionate lament, and then forlorn, hopeless, she raised her tearful orbs to heaven. silent her lips, her grief too deep for sound; her fixed gaze sought the heavy banks of cloud surcharged with lightning bolts that played around the gloomy spires and minarets; then bowed her head upon her hands; the unwilling eyes shed tears as heavy as the thunder-shower that trails the bolt to where destruction lies. there was a time when she, a happy girl, had home and parents and a numerous kin; but on an eastertide, amid a whirl of pillage, murder, and the savage din of plundering kavasses, the pacha saw her budding beauty, and his will was law. her vengeful sire fell 'neath a sabre's stroke; her mother, broken-hearted, gave to god the life in which no joys could now evoke the wonted happiness. the harem of the turk enfolds haripsime's fresh maidenhood, and there where danger and corruption lurk, where shitan's nameless and befouling brood surround each georgian and armenian pearl, she weeps and weeps, shunning the shallow joys of trinkets, robes, of music, or the whirl of joyous dance, of singing girls and boys, and murmurs always in a sobbing prayer, "shall never help be sent? is this despair?" raphael patkanian. * * * * * longing tell me, brother, where is rest from the flame that racks my breast with its pain? fires unceasing sear my heart; ah, too long, too deep, the smart to heal again. when i'd pluck the roses sweet sharpest thorns my fingers greet; courage flies. since my love has humbled me, tyrant-like has troubled me, 'spite my cries. health and joy have taken flight, prayer nor chant nor priestly rite do i prize. girl, my girl, my peerless one, radiant as armenia's sun, beautiful sanan! earth has none as fair as thou, nor can ages gone bestow one like my sanan. sixteen summers old is she, grace of slender pines has she, like the stars her eyes. lips, thrice blessed whom they kiss, brows as dark as hell's abyss, and with sighs, her heart to win, her love alone, what mighty prince from his high throne would not descend? so i crave nor crown nor gold, longed-for one, i her would hold till time shall end. raphael patkanian. * * * * * david of sassun national epos of armenia [_translated by f.b. collins, b.s._] * * * * * david of sassun strong and mighty was the caliph of bagdad[ ]; he gathered together a host and marched against our holy john the baptist[ ]. hard he oppressed our people, and led many into captivity. among the captives was a beautiful maiden, and the caliph made her his wife. in time she bore two sons, sanassar and abamelik. the father of these children was a heathen, but their mother was a worshipper of the cross[ ], for the caliph had taken her from our people. [ ] from the sense and according to the time in which the action takes place, nineveh must be understood here; and instead of an arabian caliph, the assyrian king sennacherib. there is an anachronism here, as the reader will see, for a king living years before christ is called an arabian caliph, though the caliphs first took up their residence in bagdad in the year . [ ] the reference here is to the famous monastery of st. john the baptist, which was built by gregory the illuminator during the fourth century, on the mountain of kark, near the euphrates, on a spot where heathen altars had previously stood. on certain days pious armenians made annual pilgrimages to the place. among them many poets and champions, who, with long fasts and many prayers, begged from the saint the gifts of song, strength, and courage. john the baptist was regarded by the armenians generally as the protector of the arts. [ ] so the armenians called christians. this same caliph again gathered together a host and fell upon our people. this time--i bow before thy holy miracle, o sainted john--this time our people pressed him sorely, and in his affliction he cried unto his idols: "may the gods save me from these people; bring me to my city safe and well, and both my sons will i sacrifice unto them." in bagdad the mother lay sleeping, and she had a dream. she dreamed she had in each hand a lamp, and when their flames seemed ready to go out they flashed up brightly again. when morning came she told this dream to her sons, and said: "last night holy st. john appeared to me in my dreams and said that your father was in great trouble and had vowed to sacrifice you. when he again comes home he will stab you: look to your safety." both sons cried unto their gods, took food with them for their journey, put gold into their purses, and set out on their travels. coming to a narrow valley they halted there. they saw a river, and in the distance a brook clove the river to mid-stream, then mingled with its waters and flowed onward with it. and sanassar said to abamelik: "he who finds the source of this brook and builds him a dwelling there, his race shall also wax mighty." the brothers rose with one will and followed the brook upstream. they found its spring and saw its waters flowing as from a small pipe, and they ran down with the brook and increased till they mixed with waters of the great river. here the brothers halted and laid the foundations of their dwelling. and sanassar hunted while abamelik worked on the house. ten, yea, twenty days they worked on their dwelling. it happened that once abamelik came upon sanassar asleep, worn out with fatigue, his venison thrown away unroasted. abamelik was much troubled at this, and said, "rise, brother, and we will depart from this place. how long shall we stay here and eat meat without salt? if it were god's will that we should have happiness, in our father's wooden palace we should have found it." and they mounted their horses and rode to the lord of arsrom.[ ] both came thither, presented themselves to him, and bowed before him. [ ] the original name of this city is theodosiopol. it was founded by the greek commander anato in the year a.d. and named in honor of emperor theodosius ii. later it was captured by the sultan of ikonika, who named it arsi-rom, "land of the greeks." the armenians call it karin, after the old armenian province in which it lies. now both brothers were mighty men. they found favor with the emir of arsrom, and he asked them of their birth and of their tribe, and said, "what manner of men are you?" sanassar answered and said, "we are the sons of the caliph of bagdad." "hoho!" said the emir, while terror seized him. "we feared you dead, and here we meet you living. we cannot take you in. go whither ye will." and sanassar said to abamelik, "since we have run away from our father, why should we bear his name? from this day, when anyone asks us concerning ourselves, let us say we have neither father nor mother nor home nor country: then will people lodge us." thence they rode to the emir of kars, who gave the lads the same answer. they turned and rode to the king of kraput-koch. the king of kraput-koch scrutinized the lads, and they found favor in his sight; and abamelik presented himself to the king and bowed low before him. this pleased the king greatly, and he said: "my children, whither came ye? what have you? and what do you lack?"[ ] [ ] southwest from the sea of wan lies a high mountain called kraput-koch ("blue ridge," from its blue color). probably there was a dukedom or kingdom of kraput-koch which served as a city of refuge for the wandering assyrian princes. perhaps the legend has preserved in the person of the king of kraput-koch the memory of the armenian prince skajordi. "we have neither father nor mother nor anyone beside," answered the brothers. and it came to pass that sanassar became the king's _tschubuktschi_[ ] and abamelik his _haiwatschi,_[ ] and they lived at the king's house a long time. [ ] pipe-bearer. [ ] the servant who prepares the coffee. but sanassar said one day to abamelik: "we fatigued ourselves greatly with labor, yet was our house not finished. to-morrow make the king no coffee, nor will i hand him his pipe. let us not appear before him to-morrow." when the king awoke, neither of them was near. he called the lads to him and said: "i asked you once if you had anyone belonging to you, either father or mother; and you said you had no one. why, then, are you so sad?" and the brothers said: "live long, o king! in truth, we have neither father nor mother. even if we hide it from you we cannot hide it from god. we worked a little on a dwelling, but left the work unfinished and came away." and they told the king everything as it was. the heart of the king was grieved, and he said: "my children, if such is the case, to-morrow i will give you some court servants. go and finish your house." then the king arose and gave them forty servants, skilful workers, and each had a mule and a bridle. early in the morning they arose and loaded the beasts with their tools, and the two brothers led them to the dwelling. they travelled on and at last reached the spring and the threshold of their house. now sanassar said to abamelik: "brother, shall we build the house first or the huts for the servants? these poor wretches cannot camp out in the sun." and they began first to make the huts. so strong was abamelik that he built ten huts every day, while the others brought in wood for their building. in four days they finished forty huts, and then they set about building the house and finished it. they set up stone pillars in rows--so powerful were they--and laid a stone base under them, and the house was made ready. abamelik rode to the king of kraput-koch and said: "we are thy children. we have built our castle: it is finished, and we come to you and entreat you, 'come and give our dwelling a name,'" it pleased the king of kraput-koch that abamelik had done this, and he said: "i rejoice that you have not forgotten me." so the king gave abamelik his daughter in marriage and made him his close friend. after the wedding the king and the young pair came together at the palace--and uncle toross[ ] was with them--and they mounted their horses and departed. abamelik rode before them to point out the way. when they were approaching the castle the king suddenly turned his horse as if to ride back again, and said: "you have given your castle a name and have purposely brought me here to try me." [ ] probably the king's brother. abamelik said: "may your life be long, o master! believe me, we have given the castle no name. we have but built it and made it ready." "very well. it may be that you have given it no name, but as you have set up rows of stone pillars let us call it sausun or sassun."[ ] [ ] "sassun" signifies "pillar upon pillar." this explains the origin of the name of sassun, a district of the old armenian province achznik, south of the city of musch. the residents of this district up to the present day owe their independence to their inaccessible dwelling-place. here they remained several days. uncle toross was also married and stayed at sassun, but the king returned home. and abamelik was strong and became a mighty man. from the environs of the black mountain and the peak of zetzinak, from upper musch as far as sechanssar and the plains of tschapachtschur,[ ] he reigned, and built a wall around his dominions. he made four gates. often he shut his doors, mounted his horse, and captured whatever came in his way, both demons and beasts of prey. once he penetrated into mösr and ravaged it, and he went in to the wife of the lord of mösr and lay with her. she bore a son, and the king of mösr knew that the boy was abamelik's and named him mösramelik. but afterward abamelik slew the king and took his wife and became king of mösr.[ ] [ ] the names cited here exist to the present day. the places lie in the old districts of the turuberan and achznik in the present district musch. [ ] the armenians now call egypt mösr. this probably refers to mossul. * * * * * now sanassar dwelt at sassun, but the gods of his fathers gave him no repose, so he travelled to bagdad to the home of his father and mother. his father, sitting at his window, saw his son sanassar come riding up, and recognized him, and the caliph said: "my life to thee, great god! thou hast brought back thy victim. certainly in thy might thou wilt restore the second soon." the mother--she was a christian--began to weep and shed tears over her children. the father took a sharp sword and went out to meet his son, saying: "come, my son, let us worship the great god in his temple. i must sacrifice to him." the son said, "dear father, your god is great and very wonderful. truly in the night he permits us no rest. certainly he will bring the second victim to you by force." and they went into the temple of the god, and the son said: "father dear, you know that we left your house when we were yet children, and we knew not the might of your god." "yes, yes, my son, but kneel before him and pray." the son said: "what a wonderful god your god is! when you bowed before your god, there was a darkness before my eyes and i did not see how you did it. bow once more before him, that i may learn to worship him." when the father did the second time the son cried: "bread and wine, the lord liveth!" and seized his club and hurled the caliph full seven yards distant to the ground. and with his club he shattered all the images where they stood, put the silver in the skirts of his robe and carried it to his mother, saying: "take this, mother, and wear it for ornament!" his mother fell full length and bowed herself and said: "i thank thee, creator of heaven and earth. it is well that thou hast rescued me from the hands of this cruel man." they found sanassar a wife and placed him on the throne in his father's place, and he remained at bagdad.[ ] [ ] here the story of sanassar breaks off and he is not mentioned again in the tale. now abamelik, who reigned in mösr, left his son mösramelik to rule in his stead and went to sassun. many years passed and children were born to him. to one he gave the name tschentschchapokrik. the eldest son he named zöra-wegi, the second zenow-owan; while the third son was called chor-hussan,[ ] and the youngest david. [ ] all these names are poetic and refer to certain characteristics of their bearers. "zenow-owan" means "melodiously-speaking john"; "chor-hussan" means "good singer"; "tschentschchapokrik" means "sparrow"; and "zöranwegi," "cowardly wegi." of these, tschentschchapokrik and zöranwegi proved to be ne'er-do-weels. zenow-owan had such a voice that he dried seven buffalo hides in the sun and wound them round his body so that it should not rend him. but the cleverest of all was david, and to his strength words cannot do justice. abamelik's life was long, but old age came upon him. once he sat sunk in thought and said to himself: "enemies are all about me. who will care for my children after my death? mösramelik alone can do this, for none beside him can cope with my enemies." he set out to visit mösramelik,[ ] but he was very aged. "mösramelik, my son," he said, "you are truly of my blood. if i die before you, i intrust my children to you. take care of them. if you die first, confide yours to me and i will watch over them." [ ] to mossul. he returned and lived in his castle. his time came and he died. then mösramelik came and took the children to his house, for he had not forgotten his father's command. sassun mourned the death of abamelik for seven years. then the peasants feasted and drank again with uncle toross, for they said: "uncle toross, our lads have grown old and our pretty girls are old women. if thou thinkest that by our seven years of weeping abamelik will live again we would weep seven years longer." uncle toross gave the peasants their way, and said: "marry your lads and maidens. weeping leads nowhere." and they sat down and feasted and drank wine. uncle toross took a cup in his hand and paused: he was thinking about something, and he neither drank nor set the cup down. his son cries from the street: "father, dear, there are the mad men of sassun. take care, they will be jeering at you. let us go away." uncle toross turned to his son and said: "oh, you dog of a son! shall i sit here and feast? did not mösramelik come and take our children away? abamelik's children in trouble, and i sitting at a banquet? oh, what a shame it is! bread and wine, god be praised! truly, i will drink no wine till i have fetched the little ones." and uncle toross went out of sassun and came to mösr. he greeted mösramelik, and they sat down together. said uncle toross: "now, we are come for god's judgment. it is true that you made an agreement with abamelik, but if a man sells a captive he should first wait on the lord."[ ] [ ] this means that if a captive is to be sold his kinsmen have a right before all others to redeem him. they arose and went to the court,[ ] and uncle toross was given the children. [ ] schariat, the name of the turkish court of justice, stands in the original. but mösramelik stood in fear of these children, and he said to uncle toross, "let these children first pass under my sword, and then take them with you." uncle toross told the lads of this, and zöranwegi said, "let us pass under his sword and escape hence"; and the other two said the same. but david said otherwise: "if he wishes us dead he will not kill us to-day, for the people will say he has murdered the children. under his sword i will not go. he does this so that i shall not lift my sword against him when i am a man." uncle toross got the boys together, that they might pass under the sword of mösramelik, for he was very anxious. david was rebellious; he stood still and went not under it. uncle toross seized his collar and pushed him, but david would not go. he ran past it at one side and kicked with his great toe upon a flint until the sparks flew. and mösramelik was frightened and said: "this child is still so young and yet is terrible. what will happen when he is a man! if any evil comes to me it will be through him." uncle toross took the children and came to sassun. zöranwegi he established in the castle in his father's place, but david, who was the youngest, was sent out to herd the calves. what a boy david was! if he struck out at the calves with his oaken stick, he would throw them all down, and forty others beside. once he drove the calves to the top of the mountain. he found a herdsman there who was abusing his calves, and said: "you fellow! what are you up to? wait now, if i catch you, you will get something from my oaken stick that will make you cry ow! ow!" the fellow answered david: "i am ready to give my life for your head if i am not a shepherd from your father's village. these calves, here, belong to the peasants." david said, "if that is so, watch my calves also. i know not what time i should drive them home. when the time comes tell me, that i may drive them in." then david drove in the calves on time that day, and uncle toross was pleased and said: "always be punctual, my son; go out and come back every day at the right time." "uncle toross, it was not my wisdom that did this. i have hired a comrade who will watch over my calves and see that i am ready with them." once his comrade tarried, and david was greatly vexed. it appeared that a religious festival was held in the village, and on this account the young man was detained. finally he arrived, and david said to him, "to-day you get nothing from me." the young man said: "david, i am willing to die for you. from fear of your anger, i waited not for the end of the service of god in the church, and not one spoonful of the holy soup[ ] has passed my lips. i drove out the calves and am here. now you know why i tarried." [ ] although me armenians became christians in the fourth century, they still retain many heathen customs which have lost all their original significance. they still sacrifice sheep and cows which have on the previous evening been given some salt consecrated by the priests. the meat is cooked in immense kettles and carried around to the houses. the shepherd speaks of soup of this kind. david said: "wait here; i will bring you your dinner." he set off with his oaken stick over his shoulder. he came to the village, and found that all the people had brought corn to the priests, who blessed it. david stuck his oaken stick through the handle of the four-handled kettle, and, full as it was, lifted it to his shoulder and walked away. the priests and the peasants wondered at it, and one cried, "truly, he has carried off a kettle!" a priest cried out, "for god's sake, be silent! it is one of those mad men of sassun. take care or he will come back and break our ribs for us. may he take the thing and fall down with it!" and david took the kettle of grits to his comrade, whom he found weeping on the mountain. "ha, ha," said david, "i know why you weep. i have brought the grits, but have forgotten butter and salt. that is why you weep. eat the grits now, and have salt and butter this evening." but the youth said. "david, i am ready to die for you, what need have i of salt and butter; forty thieving dews have come and driven away our calves." david said, "stay here and watch these calves, and i will bring back all the others"; and he went after the calves. he followed their tracks to the entrance of a cave and paused. he cried out with so loud a voice that the dews were frightened, and were as full of fear as is the devil when christ's voice is heard in hell. and when the leader of the dews heard the voice he said: "that is surely david, abamelik's son. go receive him with honor, else he will strike us dead." they went out, one by one, and david struck each as he passed with his oaken cudgel, so that their heads fell off and only dead bodies remained in the place. he cut off the ears of all the forty and buried them under a stone at the mouth of the cave. he laid down his club and entered the cave. there he saw a heap of gold and a heap of silver--indeed, all the treasures of the world. since his father's death they had robbed and concealed their plunder in this cavern. he opened a door, and saw a steed standing fastened to a ring. david was sunk in thought, and said to himself: "uncle dear, this property belongs to you, but this beast to me. if you give it to me--good. if not, you travel after those other fellows." then he answered for uncle toross: "my child, the treasure and the beast should belong to you. what shall i do with them?" he looked around and saw upon a pyre a copper kettle with four handles, and in it were his forty calves. he stuck his oaken stick through the handles and raised the kettle, poured off the water, pushed the calves' feet back into the kettle, lifted it to his shoulder, and went back to his comrade. the two drove the rest of the herd into the village, and david called the owners to him and said: "if you deceive my brother a hair's breadth in the reckoning it will go badly with you. sell this kettle. may it repay you for your calves." he separated his own calves from the peasants', and went home. it was then midday. he said to uncle toross: "take quickly twenty asses and we will go out and bring back treasure that shall suffice you and your children till the seventh generation." and they took the asses and set forth. when they reached the cavern, uncle toross saw the bodies of the dews stretched near the entrance, and they were swelled up like hills. in great fright uncle toross loosed his ass from the others and fell back. david said: "you destroyer! i fled not before them living, but you fear them dead! if you believe me not, turn back and raise this stone. i concealed all their ears there." uncle toross came back and took the asses, and they went into the cave. they made a pack of all the treasure and carried it away with them. david said: "all this treasure belongs to you, but the steed is mine. if you will not give it to me, you shall follow after them." he answered: "my child, the horse and the treasure too are yours. what should i do with it?" uncle toross let david mount the steed. he gave him the spurs and he bucked to right and left. this was no ordinary steed--the difficulties of managing him cannot be described. they returned to sassun with the treasure. david procured a beautiful falcon and rode off to hunt. the calves he had long ago given over. once, as he hunted, he rode across the soil of a poor man, whose family numbered seven heads, and the man had seven beds of millet. four beds he laid waste, and three remained. someone ran with the news to the old graybeard and said: "you are ruined. go at once to your field, for before night he will destroy the other three beds." the graybeard rose early and went out and saw his field was laid waste. he glanced about and saw david coming with a falcon on his hand. the graybeard cursed david and said: "dost thou not fear god? dost thou test thy strength on my grain-field? i have seven mouths to fill, and seven millet beds. four thou hast destroyed, and three remain! if you are brave, go and get back your inheritance that extends from the summit of mount zözmak as far as sechanssar. mösramelik has taken it from you and draws wealth from it go and get it back. why try your strength on me?" but david answered: "old man, curse me not. here is a handful of gold--use it." and as he said it he killed his falcon. david returned home and said: "uncle toross, go and bring me my father's staff and bow. i am going to make war, for others consume my inheritance and none of you have said anything about it to me." uncle toross arose and demanded of zöranwegi in david's name the staff and bow of abamelik, but zöranwegi refused it. david sent a second time, saying: "if you give it to me, good. if not, i will see to it that your head flies off and only your body remains." zöranwegi was frightened, and surrendered the bow and baton, and uncle toross brought them to david. and david fell asleep and dreamed. the next day he took forty calves and went to holy maratuk,[ ] where he slaughtered the forty calves and bathed in their blood. then he fell on his face and prayed and wept until god sent from heaven a sacred sign and a token. even now the holy sign is to be found in hawar at the house of sork. david kissed the holy sign and put it under the right shoulder, and the token under the left. [ ] maratuk is a monastery built on a mountain of the same name. mösramelik knew that david, abamelik's son, was come into manhood, and he gathered together a host to march against him. and he appointed a _holbaschi_,[ ] who prepared his army and attacked david at maratuk. he met on the march seven women, and said to them, "sing and dance until i return," and they answered: "why shall we dance and sing? we know not what we should say." [ ] this turkish title shows that the legend has been altered at a late date. and holbaschi sang for them: "may the little women busy themselves grinding corn; may the stout women help with the camel-loading; for holbaschi carries grim war to sassun. strong yoke-oxen and red milch-cows he'll bring back in the springtime; butter and tochorton will be plentiful in the land of mösr." holbaschi saw the women begin dancing and singing, and started his host again and went to maratuk and entered its gates. the daughter of the priest of maratuk had often glanced slyly at david, and he was not indifferent to her. the priest's daughter went to david and said: "david, i am ready to die for you! arise and see how many warriors are congregated in the courtyard." when she had spoken she went out and closed all the gates from without. david stretched himself and cried: "bread and wine, the lord liveth!" and began to knock off the heads of the men of war. he beheaded them so that the bodies flew over the walls and the heads remained lying in the court. and he laid hold of holbaschi, and tore out his teeth and drove them into his brow like nails. and he bent his lance till it curved like a dog's collar and put it around his neck. "now," he said, "take yourself off and tell all to mösramelik. if people still remain in his country let him herd them together before i come." holbaschi met the women a second time, and they were singing and dancing. and one of them sang: "holbaschi, dear holbaschi, went hence like a cruel wolf, why come you back to us like a hunting dog? your lance lies on your neck like a dog's collar, thy mouth gapes like an open window, and slime flows out like curdled milk from a skin;[ ] and whole caravans of flies buzz round it." [ ] in armenia, as is usual in the east, they make butter out of curdled milk; and for this reason the vessel is always covered with scum. and holbaschi sang: "oh, you shameless, worthless hussies, i thought that sassun was a free field. think not that only rocks and clefts opposed me. there new-born children are fierce devils, their arrows like beams of the oil-mill; and like windows they tear out the mouths of their enemies. all the brave lads who went with me are fallen in charaman.[ ] in the spring its waters will bring you booty, then your butter and cheese can be made." [ ] a valley near musch. now david armed himself and marched against mösramelik. he found a great host assembled and encamped near sechanssar.[ ] [ ] literally, a table-like mountain. david said: "i promise thee not to give battle till i have eaten rice pillau in the green and red tent," and he urged his horse forward and appeared suddenly from the west in front of the tent. great fright possessed the army when they perceived this rider, and melik said, "what manner of man art thou?" "i am the son of a western king, and i have come to help you." melik pitched a tent for him, and they ate together seven days. on the eighth day david mounted his horse, rode twice before mösramelik's tent, and said: "now, come out, i want to fight you. how long, mösramelik, are you going to encroach upon my inheritance?" and david cried: "bread and wine, god lives!" and fighting began on all sides. uncle toross heard of the combat. he tore up a poplar by its roots, threw it across his shoulder, and set out. he halted at the upper end of the valley in which the fight was going on. if anyone crept away david shouted: "dear uncle toross, chase him back into the valley and i will be ready for him!" at last the army began to murmur: "let them struggle hand to hand. he who overpowers the other has conquered." then said one of them. "sit down, that i may slay you with my club," and the other said: "no, you sit down." at last they agreed that david, being the youngest, should sit, so he put his shield over his head, laid under it the holy cross, and sat down. mösramelik made an onset from three leagues, burst upon him, and assailed him with a club, saying, "earth thou art, be earth again!" david said: "i believe in the high and holy cross of maratuk. it is to me as if i were still eating rice pillau under the red and green tent." mösramelik sprung upon him three times, struck him with his club, and said: "earth thou art, be earth again!" and david replied only, "i believe in the high and holy cross of maratuk." then came mösramelik's turn to sit down, and he was stubborn and would not. but the army reproached him and put his shield over his head, and he sat down. then came mösramelik's mother, and began to ask mercy, saying: "david, i am ready to die for you! is he not thy brother? slay him not; have pity on him!" "o shameless woman! when he struck me, thou saidst not, 'is he not thy brother!' but, may your wish be granted! one blow i will give up for god's sake, the second for your sake, but the third belongs to me, and when i strike either he dies or lives!" david rode back and forward again, and seizing his club hurled mösramelik seven yards deep into the earth. then he ravaged mösr and ascended the throne. * * * * * the emir[ ] of kachiswan had a daughter, and her name was chandud-chanum.[ ] chandud-chanum heard of david's valor, and gave gifts to a bard and said to him: "go, sing to david of my beauty, that he may come hither and we may love each other." [ ] "emir," in the eyes of the orientals, is almost the same as "king." [ ] "chandud" is a woman's name. "chanum" means "lady." the bard went to sassun, for he thought david was there. he came to sassun and entered zöranwegi's castle, thinking david lived in it, and sat down and began to sing to zöranwegi. zöranwegi cried: "go. club him and hunt him forth. he thinks to bring david hither by cunning!" they set upon the singer, dragged him to the valley, and threw him into the road. in the evening the shepherds returned on their oxen to the village. an ox became wild, and the herdsman fell off, and seeking the cause he found the bard, who wept and lamented and asked the herdsman: "which of the brothers lives in that castle?" the shepherd answered: "here lives zöranwegi; yonder, in mösr, david." and the bard gave a piece of gold to the shepherds, and they gathered up the pieces of his broken tambur[ ] and pointed out his way to him. he went and sang of chandud-chanum's beauty before david. david rewarded him richly, and said, "go before, i will come," and the singer went and told all to chandud-chanum.[ ] [ ] an instrument like a guitar. [ ] the song in which the bard praises the beauty of chandud-chanum is wanting. a certain carelessness is seen generally in the rest of the narrative. david departed straightway and went by way of sassun and the heights of zözmak. he found a plough[ ] standing in his way. he freed the oxen, seized the plough-chain, mounted his horse, and dragged the plough down. and it fell from the summit of the black mountain plump into the aqueduct of the village of marnik. [ ] the armenians use, in ploughing, a kind of plough which is drawn by from five to ten pairs of buffaloes or oxen. he drew on and perceived that a buffalo had got loose and run along the road and left its dung there. david looked at the dung and said: "if evil befalls me he is guilty of it who left the dung there; if not, it is also his work that it befalls me not." from a side-path appeared a buffalo, and david had never seen the like before. he lifted his club to slay him when from the opposite side a shepherd came and began to scold the buffalo. david thought the shepherd was scolding him and said, "fellow, what have i done to you that you rail at me?" the shepherd answered: "who are you? ah, you are a sassun brawler who has seen nothing of the world! i spoke to my buffalo." "don't be angry, youngster! it is a shame, indeed, that in my country i have never seen the like. are there many such creatures in these parts?" the shepherd said, "come, and i will show you." and they went to the field of ausut, where the peasants hitched their buffaloes and drove them. david found the buffaloes with tongues lolling from the heat as they drew the plough. david felt pity for them; he unhitched them and drove them to the pond. the ploughman began to curse him, and he said: "ploughman, curse me not; only give me the chain into my hand." he seized the chain and began to draw; the ploughman guided the plough and david ploughed nine furrows. then the shepherd said to david: "that is not thy strength. leave thy horse and then draw. we shall see whether it is thine or thy horse's strength." david left his horse and ploughed nine furrows alone. the shepherd then said to david: "it is already noon. come now and eat, then thou canst go on thy way!" david answered: "no, i will ride on. thy children want to eat, and if i come nothing will remain for them." however, they sat down and when the dinner was set out david crumbled all the bread and the vessels all at once, and the shepherd said: "here, hide yourselves or he will devour us also." david said: "surely, brother, he who drags the plough must eat bread. how could it be otherwise?" and he went his way to the city where chandud-chanum dwelt. * * * * * david came to the gates of the castle where chandud-chanum lived--to the place where all her suitors came to woo. he saw a youth standing near the door with a club in his hand, david said: "ha, my lad, what do they call you?" "my name is gorgis." "gorgis!" said david. "when i marry chandud-chanum you shall be godfather! now, godfather gorgis, who is in the house?" "matchmakers from the giants--schibikan of chorassan and hamsa of lori." david said, "take my horse and fasten him." and he took his horse and tied him. then david asked: "what kind of a club have you? show it me." david took the club and threw it into the air with such force that it is whirring till this very day. then he said, "godfather gorgis, let us go in and eat and drink." they went in, and david sat down, for he was tired and hungry, and every matchmaker, one after the other, handed david a cup of wine. david lost patience and seized the wine-pitcher and emptied it in one draught, saying, "now say only what is well for you!" the wine made david drunk, and when he let his head fall the matchmakers drew their swords to strike him, but when he raised his head they concealed their swords. they began this again when godfather gorgis called out: "think not that you are in georgia! no, this is a dangerous country." and when david heard him he said, "now stand bravely at the door!" the matchmakers sprang up and as they ran each gave gorgis a box on the ear and escaped. david then turned to gorgis and said: "where can i see chandud-chanum?" "in the garden of the king," gorgis answered. "to-day is friday and she will be there. before her walk twenty slaves, and twenty walk behind her. we will go to-day and see her there." so gorgis and david went thither and concealed themselves behind the garden wall and waited. the slaves passed by one after another, and, when chandud-chanum came, david put his arm around her neck and kissed her three times. chandud-chanum said not a word. he kissed her again. chandud-chanum seized him by the collar and threw him against the wall so that the blood gushed from his nose. david was angry and was going to mount his horse. "godfather gorgis," he said, "lead out my horse. i will destroy the city and depart." gorgis began to plead: "i pray you, put it off till morning. it is dark now. at daybreak arise and destroy the city and depart." david lay in bed and could not sleep from anger. "would it were dawn that i might rise and destroy the city and get away from here," he thought to himself. chandud-chanum was still walking in the garden. a lame slave came to her and said: "thy walk will end sadly. take care, david is going to destroy the city and depart." she took the cloth in which her evening meal had been brought, and wrapped her head in it. she turned and went straightway into the castle where david was and knocked at his door. david said: "what insolent people live here! they will not wait till morning, but say, 'arise, destroy the city and be off!'" gorgis arose and looked out of the window and said, "these are women, not men," and they opened the door. chandud-chanum came to david and said: "you kissed me first for the fatigue of your journey, a second time for yourself, and a third time for god's sake. why did you kiss me a fourth time? you are the son of your father and i am the daughter of mine. it has been said: take to yourself a wife that you may have a son who is like his uncle. do you think you have brought me the heads of the giants hamsa of lori and schibikan of chorassan, that you kiss me a fourth time?" david's heart softened and he said: "if that is so i will go out at daybreak and bring you their heads." then he added: "very well, i go; if they are stronger than i they will kill me. for god's sake come and seek my body. on the right hand i have a birth-mark--a cross--by that you shall know me. bring my body back and bury it." so david set out. the giants perceived a rider coming, for the dust from his horse's hoofs rose to heaven: "this rider comes to fight with us. perhaps he is of the race of sergo."[ ] [ ] sergo-sarkus (sergius) so the kurds called the christians, regarding them as descendants of st. sergius, who is very popular among the armenians of wan and musch. they called to him, saying: "ho, fellow! who are you, and whence come you? do you know chandud-chanum? will you take this ring to her?" david said: "certainly i know her, but i have come to take your heads to the princess chandud. i know nothing about your rings!" the eyebrows of schibikan of chorassan hung down over his breast and he fastened them across his back. hamsa of lori had an underlip so long that it reached the ground and swept it. david and the giants began to hack and hew each other and they fought with clubs and bows until night. david cried: "i believe in the high and holy cross of maratuk," and took his sword and cut both their heads off. he bound their hair together and hung them across his horse like saddle bags and their tongues furrowed the ground like a plough. david rode away with their heads and had already traversed half the way when he saw approaching him, riding between heaven and earth, a rider, who called out to him! "do you think you have conquered the giants schibikan and hamsa?" the rider sprang behind david and struck at him with a club. he crawled under the saddle and the club struck the stirrup and tore it loose, and it fell to the ground. david sprang out from under the saddle and cried: "bread and wine, as the lord liveth!" and swung his club over his enemy. the enemy dodged the blow, but his hair fell away from his face. david looked and recognized chandud-chanum; she had disguised herself and had come to meet him. "o shameless woman!" david said. "you would disgrace me a second time." they rode together into chandud-chanum's city. they arrived and dismounted and called chandud-chanum's father. david said to him: "will you give me your daughter for a wife?" her father said: "i will not give her to you. if you will marry her and live here, i will give her to you. if you must take her away, i will not give her. how can i do otherwise? i have enemies all around me; they will destroy my city." and david said: "i will marry her and stay here. i will not take her away." so they were married and celebrated the wedding, feasting seven days and seven nights. the time passed by unheeded, and when nine months, nine days and nine hours had passed, god sent them a son. and david said to chandud-chanum: "if this child is mine, he must have a mark--he will show great strength." they put the child in swaddling-clothes, but instead of bands they bound him with plough-chains. he began to cry and stir in his cradle and the chain snapped into pieces. they sent word to david: "the youngster is a stout fellow. he has broken the chains. but one of his hands seems hurt. he clenches his fist, and no one can open it." david came and sat down, looked at the hand and opened it. in the hand he found a little lump of clotted blood. "the whole world is to him as a drop of blood, and he will hold it in his hand. if he lives he will do wonderful deeds." then they christened the boy and gave him the name of mcher. time passed and the boy grew fast, and david left him in kachiswan with his grandparents, and took chandud-chanum with him to sassun. the men of chlat[ ] heard david's coming and they assembled an army, built a rampart, formed their wagons into a fortress, and began to give battle. when chandud-chanum sent her lance against the wall she shattered it and the wagons flew seven leagues away. then david went forward and drove the fighters away, saying to them: "ye men of chlat! what shameless people ye be! ye wage war on women! let me but take my wife to sassun and i will come back, and we will fight it out." [ ] the city of chlat (turkish "achlat") lies northwest of the sea of wan. in olden times it was famous for its splendor, its high walls, and its citadel. the inhabitants had been injured by david's father and wished to avenge themselves. but the men of chlat believed him not. "swear to us by the holy cross you carry; then we will believe you," said they. david touched the token with his hand as he thought, but the cross was there and he knew it not, and the power of the cross was that no one could swear by it. he took chandud-chanum to sassun. here he first knew that he had sworn on the cross, for he found the cross lying at his left shoulder where the token had been. "now it will go badly with me," said david. "whether i go or whether i stay, it will go badly with me. and i must go." he advanced, therefore, to give battle, and the men of chlat pressed him sorely. his horse was caught in the reedy marsh of tschechur.[ ] with difficulty he crawled out of the bog and reached the waters of the lochur.[ ] [ ] a marsh at the outlet of the kara-su, a tributary of the euphrates. [ ] a small river which empties into the sea of wan not far from chlat. once abamelik had lingered at the house of ibraham aga, and forcibly entered the sleeping-room of his wife. her name was schemschen-chanum. she had borne a daughter to abamelik, who was now an ardent mahometan. this daughter took up her bow and arrows and concealed herself on the sloping river-bank. when david bathed in the waters of locher she shot him, assassin-like, with an arrow in the back. david arose and made a great outcry and his voice sounded even up to sassun. zönow-owan, chorassan, uncle toross, tschöntschchapokrik, and zöranwegi came together, for they heard the voice of david. and zönow-owan called to him from sassun, "we are coming." and they went forth to help david, who heard in the water the voice of his kinsmen. they came to the river and found david, who said: "zönow-owan, she seemed frightened at our calling. go and find her." and they sought and found the blue-eyed maiden. david seized her by one foot, trod on the other, tore her in pieces, and threw her into the village at the foot of the mountain. from this deed he named the village tschiwtis-tschapkis.[ ] the village lies at the mouth of the tschechur and is called tschapkis to this day. [ ] literally, "i will tear in pieces and scatter." the brothers took david with them and moved on to sassun. and after four days david died, and his brothers mourned for him. they went to chandud-chanum to console her and wish her long life; but chandud-chanum said, "ah, me, after david's death i am but the subject of your scorn." and tschöntschchapokrik said: "chandud-chanum, weep not, weep not. david is dead, but my head is still whole." chandud-chanum climbed the tower and threw herself down. her head struck a stone and made a hole in it, and into this hole the men of sassun pour millet and grind as the people of mösr do; and every traveller from mösr stops there before the castle to see the stone. the brothers came to see the body of chandud-chanum, and they pressed on her breasts and milk flowed therefrom. they said: "surely she has a child! if there is a child it must be in kachiswan."[ ] and they set out for kachiswan and said to the governor: "a child of our brother and sister-in-law lives here. where is it?" [ ] the small city of kagisman, not far from kars. "it is not here." "we have a sign. in the breast of our sister-in-law was milk." then the governor said: "she had a daughter, but it is dead." "we have a test for that also--for our dead. the grave of one dead one year is one step long, of one dead two years, two steps long, and so on." they went to the church-yard and found not a single grave which stood their test. zönow-owan said: "bind leather bands about me. i will cry out." the truth was, they had dug a cellar for mcher underground, and hid him there and watched over him. the brothers bound zönow-owan about the body and he cried out. mcher knew his voice and would have gone to him, but his grandmother said to him: "that is not the voice of thy kinsman. it is the noise of children and the beating of drums." when mcher heard the voice for the third time he beat down the door and went out. one door destroyed the other. by a blow of his fist he sent the first door against the second, the second against the third, and so all seven doors were shattered. mcher saw his uncles from afar, but his father was not there. he asked, and his uncle told him the men of chlat had slain his father. he fell upon his face and wept, and as he lay there his uncles wished to lift him, but exert themselves as they would they could not move him. the tears of mcher furrowed the earth and flowed like a river. after three days he arose, mounted his father's horse, and rode to chlat. he circled the town and destroyed it--as it is even to this day. then he ascended the mountain memrut[ ] and saw the smoke of the ruins grow ever denser. only one old woman remained alive. he seized her, and, bending two trees down, bound her feet to the trees and let them loose. and thus he killed her. since then no smoke ascends from chlat. [ ] a high mountain not far from chlat northwest of the sea of wan. many interesting legends about it exist. haik, the ancestor of the armenian nimrod, is said to be buried here. mcher permitted his uncles to return to their own dwelling-places and himself rode toward tosp. men say he is still there, and they show his house, and even now water flows from the rocks for his horse. on ascension-night the door of mcher's rock opens. but it is decreed that he shall not go out: the floor holds him not, his feet sink into the earth. once on ascension-night a shepherd saw mcher's door open, and the shepherd entered. mcher asked him: "by what occupation do you live?" "by brains," said the shepherd. then mcher said: "we shall see what kind of brains you have! take the nose-bag of my horse and hang it around his neck." the shepherd tried with all his might, but could not lift the bag. he led the horse to the bag, opened it, and put the straps around the horse's neck. the horse raised his head and lifted the bag. the shepherd led him back to his place and said, "that is the sort of brains by which we live in the world." then the shepherd said, "mcher, when will you leave this place?" mcher answered: "when plum-trees bear wheat and wild-rose bushes barley, it is appointed i shall leave this place." and three apples fell down from heaven--one for the story-teller, one for the hearer, and the other for the whole world. * * * * * the ruined family by gabriel sundukianz [_translated by f.b. collins, b.s._] dramatis personae ossep gulabianz, a merchant. salome, his wife. nato, his daughter. chacho, ossep's aunt. gewo, a merchant, ossep's friend. alexander marmarow, a young official. barssegh leproink, a merchant. khali, his wife. mosi, leproink's relative. micho, shop-boy at leproink's. dartscho, clerk at leproink's. martha, salome's friend. guests, an executor, his secretary, creditors, witnesses, and several servants. the scene is tiflis. the first and third acts take place in ossep's house, the second in barssegh's. the ruined family act i _well-furnished room with open door in centre and ante-room behind. to the left in foreground a window looking out upon a garden. to the right a sofa, in front of which is a table. to the left a tachta[ ] with a ketscha[ ] and several mutakas.[ ] a side door._ [ ] broad, low sofa. [ ] carpet. [ ] long, round pillows. scene i _salome. chacho_. salome [_from back of stage_]. you're welcome. come, come, i beg of you. dear aunt, how can i thank you for taking the trouble to come here! chacho [_covered by a tschadra[ ] enters from the right of the ante-chamber_]. good-morning! [_taking off the tschadra._] why did you send for me in such haste? [_gives one end of the tschadra to salome_. [ ] a long veil, covering the head and upper part of the body. salome [_taking hold of one end of the tschadra_]. dear aunt, i am in such a desperate mood that if someone were to pierce my heart not a drop of blood would flow. [_while she is speaking they fold the tschadra_. chacho. so it seems that it cannot be managed? salome. how could it be managed, dear aunt? they insist upon having , rubles. ossep will not give so much. you know what a miser he is! chacho. yes, he is really odd. salome. but, dear aunt, god would surely not allow an affair like this to come to nothing for the sake of , rubles. what, am i to let a man of such social position and such brilliancy escape me? chacho. great heaven, how can anyone be so obstinate! salome. that is just why i begged you to come to us. speak to ossep about it, and perhaps your words will soften him. chacho. i will talk with him; yes, indeed, i will talk to him. we cannot neglect a matter of such importance, my child. [_lays the tschadra under the tachta covering the ketscha and sits down on it_.] great heaven, how sore the pavement has made my feet! salome [_seating herself on a chair_]. may god reward you, dear aunt! may the holy mother be a protectress for your children as you are now for my nato. chacho. is not nato my child also? is she a stranger to me? i am altogether charmed with her beautiful form. but where is the child? is she not at home? salome. yes, certainly; she is dressing. you understand, dear aunt, how you are to talk to him? perhaps you will succeed with him. they expect the final answer to-day; this morning the young man's sister was here, and she may be here again any minute. chacho. don't be afraid, dear child. calm yourself. where is ossep? what does he think about it? salome. he is busy, but he will be here directly. he says, and insists upon it, that he will allow our daughter to marry no one but a business man. chacho. he is right, my child; a good business man is worth much. yes; is not one who has money in his pockets the best? salome. oh, how you talk! what business man is to be compared with alexander marmarow! is there any business man worthy to untie his shoe-strings? his politeness alone is worth more than ten business men. lately he honored us with a visit, and i was so fascinated with his manners! and beside he is still young; is handsome; is educated; has a good position and a good salary and will advance every day--everybody says so. perhaps some day he will be governor. chacho. that is all very well, dear salome; but if the thing cannot be done, what then? one must submit, to some extent, to the head of the family. a good business man never suffers from hunger, and lives without wanting anything. i don't know what has gotten into your heads. officials! always officials! salome. you speak well, dear aunt, but nato would not marry a business man at any price. i would thank god if she would. would i be so stupid as not to be glad of it? the deuce take these times! this comes of too much study: the girls now mind neither father nor mother! chacho. yes; how the world has changed! the streams and the hills are the same, but the people are different! but, by the way, salome, do you know what i have heard? they say that leproink is trying for him also; is that true? salome. yes, yes, dear aunt, a lot of go-betweens go to his house. but god will surely not let a man like that become his son-in-law while my daughter is left to become the wife of a shopkeeper. chacho. who would have believed that this barssegh would have worked himself up like that! yet god be praised! perhaps it is the times that bring it about. yesterday or the day before he was a shop-boy at basaschoma,[ ] and now! i can picture him as he was then! he wore a _tschocha_[ ] of green camelot with a narrow purple belt. the wadding stuck out at his elbows and his boots were mended in four places. great piles of goods were loaded on the poor devil's shoulders. many a time, with the yardstick in one hand, he came to our houses with whole pieces of calico and got a few pennies from us for his trouble. and now he is a man of some importance! many's the time we gave him a cuff and sent him back and forth with his goods. and, salome, do you know that he lied? god save us from such lies! but what could he do? one would die of hunger, to be sure, if one always told the truth. [ ] a bazaar in tiflis. [ ] a long overcoat. salome. yes, yes, dear aunt, it is the same barssegh--whom they all call "wassil matwejitsch" now. chacho. what! have they turned mathus, his father, into matjewitsch? who is good enough for them now? many a time has the cobbler, mathus, mended my shoes. his workshop was in the norasch quarter. o good heavens, the world is upside down! scene ii nato [_entering at right_]. mamma! o aunt, are you here, too? [_hugs her and kisses her_. chacho. o my only treasure! [_kisses her_.] how fresh and pretty you are! where are you going? are you going out when i have just come? nato. what are you saying, dear aunt? i will come back again immediately. i am only going to make a few purchases at the bazaar. [_turning to salome_] dear mamma---- [_they begin to speak together in a low tone_. chacho [_aside_]. yes, yes, her father is right! [_aloud._] i will go and see what the children are doing [_trying to rise_]. come here, you pretty rogue, and give me your hand. i feel exhausted. [_nato helps her_. salome [_offering her hand_]. let me help you, too. chacho. may god give you health and a life as long as mine! [_to nato:_] o my heart's angel--if only i have my wish and see you wear the bridal wreath! salome. god grant it, dear aunt! chacho. he will, he will, my child! [_going toward the entrance._] good heaven! how old i have grown! [_goes out at the left._ scene iii nato. don't keep me waiting, mamma. salome. and won't a little less satisfy you? why do you want so much all of a sudden? nato. but, dear mamma, please; i want it so much! salome [_putting her hand in her pocket_]. i can never get away from you. [_takes out her purse and looks for something in it._ nato [_holding out her hand_]. you have it there, mamma. salome. have a little patience. [_takes out some money and gives it to her_.] take it! take it! though i know your father will scold about it. nato. but what can i do, when i need it so badly? salome. need it--nonsense! there is no end of your needs. [_pulling at nato's hat._] how have you put your hat on again? and the flowers are all pulled apart. [_arranges it._ nato. bah! what difference does that make? salome. you're crazy! [_removes her veil._] how have you put on your veil? i must ever and eternally fix something on you! nato. you will make me too beautiful, mamma. salome. whether i make you beautiful or not, it will make no difference. you will be only the wife of a merchant. nato. yes, yes, i have been expecting that! salome. and you really think that your father will ask you? nato. and whom should he ask? salome. think what you will; he will not let his decision be altered by you. he says, "i will give her only to a business man." nato. yes, yes, surely. salome. by heaven! nato. mamma, is what you say true? salome. as true as the sun shines above you. he spoke of it again to-day. nato. it is decided, then? salome. what am i to do if there is no other way out? you know we have not any too much money. nato. and you are going to make a shopkeeper's wife of me, so that everyone will laugh at me [_ready to cry_]; so that i shall be an object of scorn for all. and why have you had me so well educated? have i learned russian and french and piano-playing for a man of that sort? what does a shopkeeper want of a piano? pickle-jars and butter-tubs are useful to him, but not my french! i am curious as to how he would speak to me: _moi aller, vous joli tu voir_. salome. enough! enough! you wild girl! nato [_crying_]. it is out of the question, mamma. no, not for the world could i marry a business man! i will not have one! i would rather jump into the water than marry one! [_crying, she gives the money back_.] take it back! what do i need it for now? why should i go out and make purchases? for whom, then? [_takes off her mantle, flings her parasol aside, sits down on the sofa and begins to cry_. salome. o great heaven! is this not torture? i get it on both sides. [_turning to nato_:] be still, you stupid girl! nato. for this i have learned so much; for this you have brought me up so grandly and given yourself so much trouble and care! [_weeping_.] is he, also, to take me walking on the boulevard? is he to accompany me to the club and to the theatre? [_sobbing_. salome. be quiet! enough! give yourself no unnecessary heartache. nato [_jumps up and embraces salome_]. dear, dear mamma! dearest mamma, save me! salome. oh, rather would your mother be dead than to see this day! nato. dear mamma, save me! save me, or i shall go into consumption! god is my witness! salome [_weeping_]. the deuce take everything! [_wipes away her tears_. nato. mamma, if you please, i would rather not marry at all. i will serve you here at home like a housemaid. only make them stop this affair! salome. that has already happened, my child. nato. dear mamma, please do it. salome. but i tell you, truly. nato. is it really true? salome. as true as the sun shines. nato [_kissing salome_]. o my dear, dear mamma! salome. at last i am rid of you. your eyes are real tear-fountains. it would not have taken much more to make me cry, too. nato [_laughing_]. ha! ha! ha! salome. you can laugh now. nato. ha! ha! ha! you gave me such a fright! salome. you are terribly flighty. [_presses the money into her hand_.] here, take it; and do not be too long. [_smoothes nato's hair_. nato [_pulling herself away from her mother_]. very well, mamma. [_taking her parasol and mantle_. salome. wipe your eyes, i pray, or they will laugh at you! nato. they are quite dry; and what does anybody care about my eyes? [_going._ salome. come back soon; don't allow yourself to be delayed. nato. i will come back right away, dear mamma. [_goes toward the right into the ante-room._ scene iv salome [_alone_]. no, there is no other way out. cost what it will, i shall accomplish what i want. yes, i must, if i am ruined by it. mother of god, plead for my nato! ossep [_enters, right_]. where has nato gone? salome. just across the way, to the store. she needed some music. ossep. these are fine times for me! and a girl like this is to become a good citizen's wife! [_sits down on the sofa_. salome [_coming near_]. that is what i say, too, dear ossep. [_lays hand on his shoulder_.] are you not sorry? is it not too bad about her? ossep. i am still more to be pitied; but who pities me? salome. shall we really give her to a business man for a wife? ossep. and what else? is a merchant such a bad fellow? to judge by your words, i also am good for nothing; i who, day and night, worry myself to get you bread. salome [_embracing him_]. how can you say such a thing, dear ossep? listen to me; are you not sorry for nato? it would be quite different if she had been educated as i was. ossep [_smiling_]. hm! then she would be the right sort. salome [_draws back her hand_]. you are very polite, really! you laugh at poor me! well, talk as you like, but finish this affair with nato. ossep. i have already finished it. what will you have of me? salome. how, then? you will not give as much as they demand. ossep. how can i give it when i have not so much? salome [_embracing him_]. dear ossep, please do it. ossep. but i cannot do it. salome [_still pleading_]. if you love me only a little bit, you will do me this favor. ossep. o woman! can you not understand at all what yes and no mean? i tell you short and plain that i cannot afford to do it. my back is too weak to lift such a burden. a man can stretch out his feet in bed only as far as the covers reach. isn't that true? am i stingy? and would i be stingy toward my own child? salome. but in this case no one asks whether we have it or not. would it not be stupid to have such a lover for your daughter and not sacrifice everything for him? others, indeed, have no great wealth, and yet give and are not called crazy. ossep. perhaps they have stolen money, since it is so easy for them to give it up. however, what is the use of so much talk? take the cotton out of your ears and listen, for, i tell you, i have no money; and i repeat, i have no money. to-day or to-morrow i expect the conclusion of important business. if it is not completed, i am lost, body and soul. and you stand before me and torture me by asking me to do what is impossible! salome. but why do you seem so angry? one cannot even open one's mouth before you. [_seats herself sulking on the tachta_. ossep. yes, i am angry. you women would exasperate an angel, let alone a man! salome [_reproachfully_]. just heaven! with my heart bleeding, i speak to you of our daughter and you are angry! you, then, are her father? let us suppose i was dead: would it not be your sacred duty to provide for her future? ossep. am i not providing for her, you wicked woman? have i not presented three or four young persons to you as sons-in-law? for that matter, they would still be very glad to take her. they are young, clever, and industrious, and, moreover, persons of our condition in life. but who can be reasonable and speak to you? you have got it into your head that nato's husband shall be an official, and there you stick. it is not your daughter's future that makes your heart bleed, but your own ambition. salome. what more can i say to you? are they, then, your equals? who are they, properly speaking? who are their parents? ossep [_springing up_]. and who are you, then? whose daughter, whose wife are you? perhaps you are descended from king heraclius; or perhaps you are the wife of a prince! salome. how the man talks! were your parents of better rank than mine? what? say! scene v _chacho_. chacho [_enters, left_]. what's all this noise about? ossep. o aunt, you are here? chacho. yes, it is i, as i love and live. how are you, my son? ossep. pretty well, thank god. and how are you, aunt? chacho. my dear son, i am very feeble. but what is going on here? they must have heard your voices in the street. salome. do you not know that married people often have little quarrels? chacho. that i know a hundred times better than you. and only a blockhead takes a dispute between man and wife seriously. that is true; but that you two have already had time to get used to each other is also true. ossep. sit down, dear aunt. tell me, rather, whether a wagon can be moved when one ox pulls to the right and the other to the left. chacho. it will not stir from its place any more than i will now. [_sits down with legs planted firmly_.] what can move me away from here? ossep. now, is it not true? one must help the other, for one alone cannot accomplish much, be he ever so strong and ready to work. salome. oh, yes! and you are the one ready to work and i am the lazy one, i suppose. ossep. for heaven's sake, do not fly into a passion like that! chacho [_to salome_]. that was nothing more than a figure of speech. who is accusing you of laziness? ossep [_sitting down_]. tell me, can we count ourselves among those persons who can give their daughter , rubles for a dowry? are we able to do that? salome. eight thousand is surely not , . ossep. both are too much for me. salome. oh, it is all the same to me; it is not for myself; it is for your daughter. [_sits down, ready to cry, upon the sofa_. ossep. it is a beautiful thing, the way you look out for your daughter; but everything has its time and place. we have, remember, two other daughters to provide for. chacho. dear ossep, why are you so obstinate? ossep. i am not obstinate; but you two are. yes, you are obstinate, and will pay no attention at all to what i say. chacho. since when have you become such a niggard? you should have economized when you gave the sasandars[ ] something like ten rubles for a fee. [ ] musicians. ossep. those times have passed and won't come back again, dear aunt. at that time i was able to do it; but not now. trade is dull and my business is going badly. chacho. possibly with your enemies, dear son; but there is nothing the matter with your business. ossep [_aside_]. there you have it! they insist that i let them inspect my books. [_aloud_.] do you know, what, aunt? what i say i first consider, for i do not like to speak to no purpose. if that young man pleases you and my daughter, and you will have him at all hazards, i have nothing against it. so therefore go to him; and if you can settle the affair with , rubles, do it. i will gladly make the best of it; but mind, this is my last word, and if you hang me up by the feet, i will not add a single shilling. chacho. what has come over you, ossep? if you are willing to give , rubles, you will surely not let the whole thing go to pieces for the sake of or , more? ossep. do you know what, aunt? even if a voice from heaven were to demand it of me, that is my last word. even if you flayed me alive, i would not give another shilling. chacho. do not excite yourself, dear son. let us first see. perhaps it can be settled with , rubles. ossep. yes, to that even i say yes. salome. if a man can give , , he can surely give , or , more. why do you fret yourself unnecessarily? ossep [_aroused_]. god deliver me from the hands of these women! they say that one woman can get the best of two men; and here i am alone and fallen into the hands of two of you. where, then, have you discovered this confounded fellow of a son-in-law? that comes of his visits. what has he to do with us? we are entirely different kind of people. [_to salome_:] he is neither your brother nor your cousin; why, then, does he come running into our house? i believe he has been here as many as three times. i decline once and for all his visits. may his foot never cross my threshold! chacho. do not get excited, my son. do not be vexed. ossep. now, aunt, you come so seldom to our house, and just to-day you happen in: how does that come? chacho. if you are so vexed about my visit, go down in the cellar and cool yourself off a little. ossep. i am a man; do you understand me? if i tell you that i can give no more, you should believe me. chacho. we believe it, truly; we believe it, but we must say to you, nevertheless, that the dowry that a man gives his daughter means a great deal. it does not mean buying a house, when it is laudable to be economical. no; where the dowry is concerned, a man must think neither of his pocket nor of his money-box. you were acquainted with jegor? did he not sell his last house and afterward lived like a beggar to give his daughter a proper dowry? when he died, was there not money for his burial? that you know yourself very well. are you any poorer than he, that you grumble like a bear about , rubles? ossep. o great heavens! they will bring me to despair yet. isn't this a punishment of providence, to bring up a daughter, spend a lot of money on her education, and when you have done everything, then hang a bag of gold around her neck, so that she may find someone who is kind enough to take her home with him? a pretty custom! salome. against the manners and customs of the world you can do nothing, however. ossep. the devil take your manners and customs! if you hold so fast to old ways, then stick to all of them. is it an old custom to wear, instead of georgian shoes, little boots--and with men's heels, too? and that a girl should be ashamed to go with her own people and should walk around on the arm of a strange young man: is that also one of the good old customs? where can we find anything of the good old manners and customs of our fathers, in the living or eating or housekeeping, or in the clothing, or in balls and society? what! was it so in old times? do you still talk about old manners and customs? if once we begin to live after the new fashion, let us follow it in all things. why do we still need to have bedclothes for twenty-four beds for guests? why do we use the old cupboard and cake-oven and sofa-cover? why does one not visit a mother with a young baby and stay whole months with them? why does one invite persons to a wedding and give funeral feasts and let eighty women mourners come and howl like so many dervishes? and what is that yonder [_points to the furniture_]? that one is old-fashioned and the others new-fashioned. if we can have one kind, why do we use the other? [_silent awhile_. salome. well, well! don't be angry! so you will give , rubles--you have promised it. what is lacking i will procure. ossep. you will procure it? where, then, will you get it? not some of your own dowry, i hope. salome. i had no dowry. why do you tease me with that? no, everything i have i will sell or pawn. the pearls, my gold ornaments, i will take off of my _katiba_. the gold buttons can be melted. my brooch and my necklace, with twelve strings of pearls, i will also sell; and, if it is necessary, even the gold pins from my velvet cap must go. let it all go! i will sacrifice everything for my nato. i would give my head to keep the young man from slipping through my hands. [_exit hastily at left_. scene vi _ossep. chacho_. ossep. have you ever seen anything like it, aunt? i ask you, aunt, does that seem right? chacho. my son, who takes a thing like that to heart? ossep. she is obstinate as a mule. say, does she not deserve to be soundly beaten, now? chacho. it only needed this--that you should say such a thing! as many years as you have lived together you have never harmed a hair of her head; then all of a sudden you begin to talk like this. is that generous? ossep. o aunt! i have had enough of it all. were another man in my place, he would have had a separation long ago. [_sits down_.] if she sees on anyone a new dress that pleases her, i must buy one like it for her; if a thing pleases her anywhere in a house, she wants one in her house; and if i don't get it for her she loses her senses. it is, for all the world, as though she belonged to the monkey tribe. can a man endure it any longer? chacho. the women are all so, my son. why do you fret yourself so much on that account? ossep. yes, yes; you have the habit of making out that all women are alike--all! all! if other people break their heads against a stone, shall i do the same? no; i do what pleases myself, and not what pleases others. chacho. ossep, what nonsense are you talking? as i was coming here, even, i saw a laborer's wife so dressed up that a princess could hardly be compared with her. she had on a lilac silk dress and a splendid shawl on her head, fine, well-fitting gloves, and in her hand she held a satin parasol. i stood staring, open-mouthed, as she passed. moreover, she trailed behind her a train three yards long. i tell you my heart was sad when i saw how she swept the street with that beautiful dress and dragged along all sorts of rubbish with it. i really do not see why they still have street-sweepers. it was a long time before i could turn my eyes from her, and thought to myself, lord, one can't tell the high from the low nowadays! and what can one say to the others if a laborer's wife puts on so much style? ossep. i said that very thing. i have just spoken of it. a new public official has just arrived. she sees that others want to marry their daughters to him, and she runs, head first, against the wall to get ahead of them. chacho. you are really peculiar. you have, you say, not enough money to provide a dowry for your daughter, and yet you brought her up and educated her in the fashion. for what has she learned to play the piano, then? consider everything carefully. ossep. devil take this education! of what good is this education if it ruins me? is that sort of an education for the like of us? ought we not to live as our fathers lived and stay in our own sphere, so that we could eat our bread with a good appetite? what kind of a life is that of the present day? where is the appetizing bread of earlier times? everything that one eats is smeared with gall! for what do i need a _salon_ and a parlor, a cook and a footman? if a man stretches himself too much in his coat the seams must burst! chacho. if you don't want to have all those things can't you manage the house another way? who is to blame for it? ossep. have i managed it so? i wish he may break his neck who brought it all to pass! i haven't done it; it came of itself, and how it happened i don't know oftentimes when i look back over my early days i see that things were very different twenty years ago. it seems to me i have to live like an ambassador! [_stands up_.] we are all the same, yes, we all go the same pace. wherever you go you find the same conditions, and no one questions whether his means permit it. if a man who has , rubles lives so, i say nothing; but if one with an income of , rubles imitates him, then my good-nature stops. what are the poorer people to learn from us if we give them such an example? weren't the old times much better? in a single _darbas_[ ] we all lived together; three or four brothers and their families. we saved in light and heat, and the blessing of god was with us. now in that respect it is wholly different. if one brother spends fifty rubles, the other spends double the sum, so as not to be behind him. and what kind of brothers are there now, as a rule? and what kind of sisters and fathers and mothers? if you were to chain them together you could not hold them together a week at a time. if it is not a punishment from god, i don't know what is. [ ] hall. chacho. my dear ossep, why do you revive those old memories? it gives me the heartache to recall those old times. i remember very well how it was. in the room stood a long broad sofa that was covered with a carpet. when evening came there would be a fire-pan lighted in the middle of the room and we children would sit around it that was our chandelier. then a blue table-cloth was spread on the sofa and something to eat, and everything that tasted good in those days was placed on it. then we sat around it, happy as could be: grandfather, father, uncle, aunt, brothers, and sisters. the wine pitcher poured out sparkling wine into the glasses, and it wandered from one end of the table to the other. many times there were twenty of us. now if for any reason five persons come together in a room one is likely to be suffocated. [_points to the ceiling_.] with us there was an opening for smoke in the ceiling that was worth twenty windows. when it became bright in the morning the daylight pressed in on us, and when it grew dark the twilight came in there, and the stars glimmered through. then we spread our bed-things out, and we went to sleep together with play and frolic. we had a kettle and a roasting-spit in the house, and also a pot-ladle and strainer, and the men brought in the stock of provisions in bags. of the things they brought, one thing was as appetizing as the other. now, it seems the cooks and servants eat all the best bits. god preserve me from them! our homes are ruined by the new ways! ossep. do you know what, aunt? i wager it will not be long before the whole city is bankrupt. on one side extravagance and the new mode of life will be to blame, and on the other our stupidity. can we go on living so? it is god's punishment, and nothing more. you will scarcely believe it when i tell you that i pay out ten rubles every month for pastry for the children alone. chacho. no! reduce your expenses a little, my son. retrench! ossep. that is easily said. retrench, is it? well, come over here and do it. i would like to see once how you would begin. listen, now! lately i bought a pair of children's shoes at the bazaar for three abaces.[ ] the lad threw them to the ceiling. "i want boots at two and a half rubles," said the six-year-old rascal. he was ready to burst out crying. what could i do but buy new ones? if others would do the same i could let the youngster run in cheap boots. how can one retrench here? twenty years, already, i have struggled and see no way out. to-day or to-morrow my head will burst, or i may beat it to pieces against a stone wall. isn't it an effort at retrenchment when i say that i cannot afford it? but with whom am i to speak here? does anyone understand me? yes, reduce your expenses! [_goes toward the ante-room to the right and meets nato with four sheets of music in her hand_. [ ] abace-- kopecks. scene vii _nato, ossep, chacho_. ossep. yes, yes, reduce your expenses! chacho. little girl, how quickly you have come back! nato. i did not go far, aunt. chacho. what have you in your hand, sweetheart? nato. i have bought some new music. ossep [_stepping up to them_]. yes, yes, retrench! [_taking a sheet of music out of her hand_.] what did you pay for this? nato. four abaces. ossep. and for this [_taking another_]? nato [_looking at it_]. six abaces. ossep [_taking a third_]. and for this? nato [_fretfully_]. one ruble and a half. ossep [_taking the last_]. and certainly as much for this? nato. no, papa; i paid two rubles and a half for that. ossep [_angrily_]. and one is to economize! am i to blame for this? what have you bought four pieces for? was not one or two enough? nato [_frightened_]. i need them. ossep [_still more angrily_]. tell me one thing--is this to be endured? if she could play properly at least, but she only drums two or three pieces and says she can play. i cannot play myself, but i have heard persons who played well. they could use these things, but not we. i wish the devil had the man who introduced this! [_throws the music on the floor_.] i'll cut off my hand if she can play properly. chacho. there, there, stop, now! ossep. whatever she tries to do is only half done: music, languages--she has only half learned. tell me, what can she do? is she able to sew anything? or to cut out a dress for herself? yes, that one seems like a european girl! ha! ha! five times i have been in leipsic, and the daughter of the merest pauper there can do more than she can. what have i not seen in the way of needlework! i gaped with admiration. and she cannot even speak armenian properly, and that is her mother tongue! can she write a page without mistakes? can she pronounce ten french words fluently? yes, tell me, what can she do? what does she understand? she will make a fine housekeeper for you! the man who takes her for his wife is to be pitied. she be able to share with him the troubles of life! some day or other she will be a mother and must bring up children. ha, ha! they will have a fine bringing-up! she is here to make a show; but for nothing beside! she is an adept at spending money. yes, give her money, money, so that she can rig herself out and go to balls and parties! [_nato cries._] can i stand this any longer? can i go on with these doings? retrench, you say. what is this [_taking a corner of nato's tunic in his hand_]? how is this for a twelve-story building? does it warm the back? how am i to reduce expenses here? and if i do it, will others do it also? i'd like to see the man who could do it! [_nato still crying._ chacho. do all these things you have said in my presence amount to anything? you yourself said that you troubled yourself little about what others did. what do you want, then? why should you poison the heart of this innocent girl? [_all are silent awhile._ ossep [_lays his hand on his forehead and recovers himself._] o just heaven, what am i doing? i am beside myself. [_goes up to nato._] not to you, not to you, my nato, should i say all this! [_embraces her._] no, you do not deserve it; you are innocent. we are to blame for all. i am to blame, i! because i imitated the others and brought you up as others brought up their daughters. don't cry! i did not wish to hurt you. i was in bad humor, for everything has vexed me to-day, and unfortunately you came in at the wrong moment. [_picks up the music and gives it to her._] here, take the music, my child. [_embraces her again._] go and buy some more. do what you wish everywhere, and be behind no one. until to-day you have wanted nothing, and, with god's help, you shall want nothing in the future. [_kisses her and turns to go._ chacho. now, ossep, think it over; come to some decision in the matter. ossep. i should like to, indeed; but what i cannot do i cannot do. [_goes off at the right._ scene viii _nato, chacho, then salome_. nato [_falling sobbing in chacho's arms_]. o dear, dear aunt. chacho. stop; don't cry, my dear, my precious child. it is indeed your father. stop; stop, salome. salome [_coming in smiling_]. dear aunt, i have arranged everything. [_stops._] what is this now? why are you crying? [_nato wipes away her tears and goes toward the divan_. chacho. you know her father, don't you? he has been scolding her, and has made her cry. salome. if her father has been troubling her, then i will make her happy again. nato, dear, i have betrothed you. [_nato looks at her in wonderment._] yes, my love, be happy--what have you to say about it? mr. alexander marmarow is now your betrothed. nato. is it really true, mamma dear? chacho [_at the same time_]. is it true? salome. it is true, be assured. nato [_embracing salome_]. o my dear, dear mother. salome [_seizing her daughter and kissing her_]. now i am rid of my worries about you. i hope it will bring you joy. go and put on another dress, for your betrothed is coming. nato. now? salome. certainly, at once. you know, i presume, that you must make yourself pretty. nato [_happy and speaking quickly_]. certainly. i will wear the white barège with blue ribbons, the little cross on black velvet ribbon, and a blue ribbon in my hair. [_hugs chacho_.] o my precious auntie! chacho [_embracing and kissing her_]. may this hour bring you good-fortune! i wish it for you with all my heart. nato [_hugging and kissing salome again_]. o you dear, you dearest mamma. [_runs out of the room_. scene ix _salome. chacho_. chacho. what does all this mean? am i dreaming or am i still awake? salome. what are you saying about dreams? his sister champera was here, and about five minutes later he himself came. they live very near here. chacho. if it was arranged so easily, why have you wrangled and quarrelled so much? salome [_in a whisper_]. but what do you think, aunt? i have arranged the affair for , rubles, and i have had to promise his sister rubles beside. chacho. may i be struck blind! and you have done this without ossep's knowing it? salome [_whispering_]. he will not kill me for it, and let him talk as much as he will. it could not go through otherwise. get up and let us go into that room where ossep will not hear us. [_helps her to rise_. chacho. o just heaven! what women we have in these days! scene x ossep [_alone, buckling his belt and holding his cap in his hand, comes in through the right-hand door, stands awhile in deep thought while he wrings his hands several times_]. give me money! give me money! i would like to know where i am to get it. it is hard for me to give what i have promised. and what if it cannot be arranged for that sum? am i, then, to make a mess of this!--i who have always been willing to make any sacrifice for my children? it must, indeed, lie in this--that the suitor does not please; for i could not find , to add to the , that i have promised. yes, that's it! the man is not the one i want for her. if he were an ordinary fellow, he would not treat with me. at any rate, what he is after will show itself now; yes, we shall soon see what kind of man he is! up to this day i have always kept my word, and the best thing i can do is to keep it now. _enter gewo_. ossep [_meeting him as he enters from the right_]. oh, it is you, dear gewo! what brings you to our house? [_offering him his hand_.] i love you; come again, and often! gewo. you know well that if i had not need of you, i would not come. ossep. how can i serve you? pray, sit down. gewo [_seating himself_]. what are you saying about serving? do you think that this confounded santurian has-- ossep [_interrupting him anxiously_]. what has happened? gewo. the dear god knows what has happened to the fellow! ossep. but go on, what has happened? gewo. what could happen? the fellow has cleared out everything. ossep [_disturbed and speaking softly_]. what did you say, gewo? then i am lost, body and soul; then i am ruined! gewo. i hope he will go to the bottom. how is one to trust any human being nowadays? everyone who saw his way of living must have taken him for an honest man. ossep [_softly_]. you kill me, man! gewo. god in heaven should have destroyed him long ago, so that this could not have happened. but who could have foreseen it? when one went into his store everything was always in the best order. he kept his word, paid promptly when the money was due; but what lay behind that, no one knew. ossep. i have depended on him so much. what do you say, gewo? he owes me , rubles! i was going to satisfy my creditors with this sum. to-morrow his payment was due, and the next day mine. how can i satisfy them now? can i say that i cannot pay them because santurian has given me nothing? am i to be a bankrupt as well as he? may the earth swallow me rather! gewo. i wish the earth would swallow him, or rather that he had never come into the world! i have just , rubles on hand; if you wish i will give them to you to-morrow. ossep. good; i will be very thankful for them. but what do you say to that shameless fellow? have you seen him? have you spoken with him? gewo. of course. i have just come from him. ossep. what did he say? will he really give nothing? gewo. if he does not lie, he will settle with you alone. let the others kick, he said. go to him right off, dear ossep. before the thing becomes known perhaps you can still get something out of him. ossep. come with me, gewo. yes, we must do something, or else i am lost. gewo. the devil take the scoundrel! scene xi salome [_coming in from the left_]. may i lose my sight if he is not coming already. he is already on the walk. [_looking out of the window and then walking toward the entry_.] how my heart beats! [_goes into the ante-room. alexander appears at the window and then at the door of the ante-room_.] _alexander enters_. salome [_at the door_]. come; pray come in. [_offers her hand_.] may your coming into our house bring blessings! alexander [_making a bow_]. madame salome [_kisses her hand_], i am happy that from now on i dare call myself your son. salome [_kissing him on the brow_]. may god make you as happy as your mother wishes. please, please sit down! nato will be here immediately. [_they sit down_. alexander. how are you, madame salome? what is miss natalie doing? since that evening i have not had the pleasure of seeing her. salome. thank you, she is very well. the concert that evening pleased me exceedingly. thank heaven that so good a fashion has found entrance among us. in this way we have a perfect bazaar for the marriageable girls, for had not this concert taken place where would you two have found an opportunity to make each other's acquaintance? where else could you have caught sight of each other? alexander. dear lady, miss natalie must please everybody without concerts, and awaken love in them. oh, how i bless my fate that it is my happy lot to win her love! salome. and my nato pleases you, dear son-in-law? alexander. oh, i love her with all my heart, dear madame! salome. if you love her so much, dear son, why did you exact so much money? for the sake of , rubles this affair almost went to pieces. your sister champera swore to me that if we did not give , rubles more you would this very day betroth yourself to the daughter of barssegh leproink. alexander. i wonder, madame salome, that you should credit such things. i marry leproink's daughter! i refuse miss natalie on her account! forget her beautiful black eyes and her good heart, and run after money! would not that be shameful in me! i must confess to you freely, dear madame, that my sister's way of doing things is hateful to me. _fi mauvais genre!_ but let us say no more about it. if only god will help us to a good ending! salome. god grant that neither of you may have anything to regret!--[_rising_] i will come back immediately, dear son-in-law; i am only going to see what is keeping nato. [_alexander also rises_.] keep your seat, i beg of you. how ceremonious you are! i will come right back. [_exit right_. scene xii alexander [_alone._] at last my burning wish is fulfilled! now i have both a pretty wife and money. without money a man is not of the least importance. let him give himself what trouble he may, if he has no money, no one will pay any attention to him. i have made only one mistake in the business. i have been in too much of a hurry. if i had held out a little longer they would have given me , rubles; now i must be satisfied with , . still, what was to be done? it would not have gone through otherwise; and for that matter, i may, perhaps, somehow make up for it in other ways. in any case, i stand here on a fat pasture-land where they seem to be pretty rich. the principal thing is that i should make myself popular among them, then i shall have succeeded in getting my fill out of them. ha, ha, ha! how they worry themselves! yes, the whole office will be in an uproar to-morrow. [_with affected voice_:] "have you heard the news? marmarow is engaged, and has received , rubles dowry. and such a beautiful girl! such a lovely creature!" [_clucking with his tongue and changing his voice_:] "is it possible!" [_in his own voice_:] charming, charming, marmarow! [_looking at his clothing:_] chic! a true gentleman am i! yes, i am getting on. i must now think only of to-morrow and the next day, and how to get on further. the principal thing is for a man to know the value of money, for without money nothing can be undertaken. first, i shall have the interest on my capital; then my salary, and last some hundred rubles beside. that makes , or , rubles a year. if i lay aside , rubles every year, i have in seven or eight years , ; in fifteen years double that, and so on. yes, monsieur marmarow, you understand it! be happy, therefore, and let the others burst with envy. _salome and nato enter at the right, salome holding nato's hand_. alexander. miss natalie, the whole night long i thought only of you! [_kisses her hand_.] salome. kiss her on the cheek and give her the engagement ring. alexander. oh, you are the sun of my existence! [_draws a ring from his finger and gives it to natalie_.] from now on you are mine. please! [_kisses her_.] salome. be happy and may you reach old age together. [_kisses alexander; then nato_.] god bless you, my children. sit down, i pray you, alexander [_pointing to the sofa on which alexander and nato sit down_]. your father will soon be here. [_walks to and fro in joyful excitement_.] alexander [_looking at nato_]. dear natalie, why are you so silent? let me hear your sweet voice, i beg of you. nato. i am speechless, monsieur marmarow. alexander. monsieur! nato. dear alexander. alexander [_seizing her hand_]. so! that sounds much sweeter! [_kisses her hand_.] _enter chacho_. salome. come in, dear aunt. chacho. such a thing has never happened to me before! could you not wait till the man of the house arrived? salome. oh, it is all the same; he will be here soon enough. give them your blessing, i beg of you. chacho. may god bestow all good things upon you. may heaven grant the prayer of me, a sinner. [_alexander and nato stand up_.] may you have nothing to regret. may you flourish and prosper and grow old together on the same pillow. [_ossep comes to the door and stands astonished_.] chacho [_continuing_]. god grant that your first may be a boy! love and respect each other! may the eye of the czar look down on you with mercy! [_sees ossep_.] let the father now offer you his good wishes. salome. dear ossep, congratulate your daughter. nato. dear papa! [_goes up to ossep and kisses his hand. ossep stands motionless_. alexander [_seizing ossep's hand_]. from now on, dear father, count me among your children. [_turning to nato offended_:] what is this? salome. don't be impolite, ossep. chacho. what has happened to you, ossep? alexander [_to salome_]. i understand nothing of this. [_to ossep_:] my father, you seem dissatisfied. ossep [_recovering himself_]. i dissatisfied! no--yes--i am dizzy. alexander [_offering him a chair_]. sit down, i pray, my father. ossep [_to alexander_]. do not trouble yourself. it is already passed. salome. can one meet his son-in-law like that? and such a son-in-law, beside! say something, do. ossep. what shall i say, then? you have consummated the betrothal. god grant that all will end well. [_to alexander_:] please be seated. alexander. my father, when do you wish the betrothal to be celebrated? ossep. that depends upon you. do as you wish. alexander. i will invite twenty persons and bring them with me. my superiors i must invite also; it would not do to omit them. ossep. do as you see fit. alexander [_to salome_]. perhaps he is angry with me. if there is any reason for it, pray tell me now. salome. what are you saying? that cannot be! [_they move away a little and speak softly together_. ossep [_on the other side of the stage to chacho_]. you godforsaken! could you not wait a moment? chacho. what is the matter now? ossep. only god in heaven knows how i stand! think of it! santurian has failed. chacho. great heaven! alexander [_offering nato his arm_]. something must have happened! [_they go off at the left, salome following_. ossep. righteous god, why dost thou punish me thus? salome [_returning to ossep_]. do with me as you will, but it could not have been helped. i have promised him , rubles as dowry, [_turning to chacho as she leaves the room_:] pray come with me, aunt. you come, too, ossep. [_exit salome_. scene xiii ossep [_much excited_]. what do i hear? has she spoken the truth? do you hear? why do you not answer me? why are you silent? [_still more excited_.] it is true, then! yes, yes, i see that it is true! o god, let lightning strike this unlucky house that we may all die together. i have just lost an important sum and come home to prevent further negotiations. and see there! chacho. i am to blame for it. do not get excited. i will add , rubles to it, if need be, from the money i have laid by for my burial. ossep. from your burial money? have i already fallen so low that i must ask alms? keep your money for yourself! i do not want it. drop that complaint also, for i am still rich, very rich. how can it injure me that santurian has failed? i stand here firm and unshakable, and have inexhaustible money resources. [_tearing his hair_.] o god! o god! [_walks to and fro excitedly_.] now i will go and wish my son-in-law joy. yes, i must go so that i shall not make myself ridiculous to him. the man is a government official! [_exit right, laughing bitterly_. chacho. gracious heaven, be thou our saviour and deliverer. curtain. act second scene i _a richly furnished sales-room in barssegh's house_. micho. two, three, four, five, six and this little piece. it does not measure so much! barssegh [_standing up and giving micho a rap on the nose_]. you have what is lacking there. measure again. now you've got what is lacking. i will tear your soul out of your body if you measure so that in seven arschin[ ] it comes out one werschok short. [ ] russian measure of length. micho [_measuring again_]. o dear, o dear! barssegh. look out, or i will take that "o dear" out of your ear. be up and at it now! micho. oh, mr. barssegh! [_measuring._] one, two, three-- barssegh. stretch it, you blockhead. micho [_stretching the cotton_]. three, four. [_wipes the perspiration from his brow_.] barssegh. what is the matter with you? you sweat as though you had a mule-pack on your back. micho. five. barssegh. pull it out more. micho. six and this little piece. it lacks three werschok again. barssegh [_pulling his ears_]. it lacks three werschok? there they are! micho. oh my, oh my! barssegh. you calf; will you ever develop into a man? micho. o dear mother! barssegh [_pulling him again by the ear_]. doesn't it grow longer? micho [_crying_]. dear mr. barssegh, dear sir, let me go. barssegh. i want to teach you how to measure. micho. it reaches, i say; it reaches, indeed; it reaches. let me measure again. barssegh. now take care that you make it seven arschin. micho [_aside_]. holy karapet, help me. [_measuring_.] one, two-- barssegh. o you blockhead! micho. three. barssegh wake up! micho. four. barssegh. haven't you seen how dartscho measures? micho. five. barssegh. will you ever learn how to do it? micho. five. barssegh. if you keep on being so stupid my business will be ruined. micho. five--five. barssegh. i give you my word that i will give you the sack. micho. five--five. barssegh. measure further. micho. five--[_aside_:]; holy george, help me! [_aloud_:] six. i cannot stretch it any more or i shall tear it. barssegh. measure, now. micho. o dear; i believe it is already torn. barssegh [_looking at the cloth_]. i see nothing. god forbid! micho [_looking at the measure_]. it is short a half werschok of seven arschin every time. _the madman, mosi, comes in at the middle door and stands in the background_. scene ii _mosi_. barssegh [_hitting micho on the head_]. what are you good for? can't you get that half werschok out of it? micho [_howling_.] what am i to do when the cloth is too short? barssegh [_pulling his hair_]. are you sure you're not lying? micho [_yelling_.] how can you say that? measure it yourself and we shall see whether there are seven arschin here. barssegh [_angry; taking measure and calico_]. you say there are not seven here? wait, i will show you [_measuring._] one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and a quarter left over for a present to you. what do you say about it now? you must learn to measure if you burst doing it. but you think only of your week's pay. now, hurry up; be lively there! micho. o heaven! how shall i begin? one, two-- barssegh. be careful and don't tear it. micho [_crying._] what do you want of me? if i pull on the stuff i tear it; and if i don't stretch it, no seven arschin will come out of it. mosi [_coming near_]. ha! ha! ha! who is the toper? who? 'tis i; the mad mosi. ha! ha! ha! barssegh [_aside._] how comes this crazy fellow here? mosi [_seizing the measure and calico_]. give it to me, you booby! there are not only seven arschin here, but twenty-seven [_measuring quickly_]. one, two, four, six, eight, ten, twelve, and here are thirteen and fourteen. do you want me to make still more out of it? you must shove the stick back in measuring. can't you understand that? [_throws the stick and calico upon micho_.] here, take it and be a man at last. you the shop-boy of such a great merchant and not find out a little thing like that. haven't you learned yet how to steal half a werschok? ha, ha, ha! [_micho tries to free himself but becomes more entangled in the cloth_. barssegh [_to mosi_], i forbid such impudent talk in my presence! be silent, or i'll show you. mosi. that's the way with all mankind. they never appreciate good intentions. [_pointing to micho_.] i only wanted to make something of him. go, go, my son, be a man! learn from your master! you surely see how much money he has scraped together! [_to barssegh_:] how is it about eating? it's time for dinner! have the table set; i have come as a guest. what have you to-day? coal-soup, perhaps, or water-soup? yes, yes; you will entertain me finely! ha, ha! barssegh [_aside_]. this confounded fellow is drunk again! [_to micho_:] get out of the room! [_exit micho middle door._ scene iii mosi. from this stuff you can make a shroud for yourself. to-day or to-morrow you must die, that's sure. barssegh. you'd better be still! [_enter khali at left_. khali. do you know the latest? barssegh. what has happened? khali. what has happened? marmarow was betrothed yesterday. barssegh. no! khali. by heaven! barssegh. to whom? khali. to the daughter of ossep gulabianz. barssegh. is that really true? khali. do you think i am lying? they promised him , rubles dowry. i always said you should have saved something. now you have it! they have snatched him away from you. and such a man, too! they puff themselves up entirely too much. where did they get the money, i would like to know? [_micho appears at the middle door_. barssegh. run right off down to the tapitach.[ ] you know where ossep gulabianz's store is? [ ] a district of tiflis. micho. gulabianz? the one who brought money to-day? barssegh. yes, that one. go and look for him wherever he is likely to be. tell him he must bring the rest of the money at once. now, run quickly. what else do i want to say? oh, yes [_pointing to the calico_]; take that winding-sheet with you. mosi. ha, ha, ha! listen to him! barssegh. by heaven! what am i chattering about? i am crazed! [_angrily, to micho_:] what are you gaping at? do you hear? take this calico. go to the store and tell dartscho to come here. lively, now! [_exit micho with goods_. barssegh [_going on_]. i would like to see how he is going to give , rubles dowry. i would like to know whose money it is? khali. that stuck-up salome has gotten my son-in-law away from me. barssegh. never mind. i will soon put them into a hole. mosi. oh, don't brag about things you can't perform. what has ossep done to you that you want revenge? how can ossep help it if your daughter is as dumb as straw and has a mouth three ells long? and what have micho's ears to do with it? you should simply have given what the man asked. barssegh [_rising_]. o you wretch, you! mosi. yes, you should certainly have paid it. why didn't you? for whom are you saving? to-morrow or the day after you will have to die and leave it here. barssegh. stop, or-- khali [_to mosi_]. why do you anger him? haven't we trouble and anxiety enough? mosi. well, i will be still. but i swear that this young man may call himself lucky that he has freed himself from you and closed with ossep. both of you together are not worth ossep's finger-tips. barssegh. leave me in peace or i will shake off all my anger on to you. mosi. what can you do to me? you cannot put my store under the hammer. what a man you are, indeed! barssegh. a better man than you any day. mosi. in what are you better? barssegh. in the first place, i am master of my five senses, and you are cracked. mosi [_laughs_]. ha, ha, ha! if you were rational you would not have said that. am i crazy because i show up your villanies? you are wise, you say? perhaps you are as wise as solomon! barssegh. i am wealthy. mosi. take your money and--[_whispers something in his ear._] you have stolen it here and there. you have swindled me out of something, too. me and this one and that one, and so you became rich! you have provided yourself with a carriage, and go riding in it and make yourself important. yes, that is the way with your money. did your father matus come riding to his store in a carriage, eh? you say you are rich? true, there is scarcely anyone richer than you; but if we reckon together all the money you have gained honorably, we shall see which of us two has most. [_drawing his purse from his pocket and slapping it_.] see! i have earned all this by the sweat of my brow. oh, no, like you i collected it for the church and put it in my own pocket. are you going to fail again soon? barssegh. heaven preserve me from it! mosi. it would not be the first time. when you are dead they will shake whole sacks full of money in your grave for you. barssegh. will you never stop? khali. are you not ashamed to make such speeches? mosi. till you die i will not let you rest. as long as you live i will gnaw at you like a worm, for you deserve it for your villany. what! haven't you committed every crime? you robbed your brother of his inheritance; you cheated your partner; you have repudiated debts, and held others to false debts. haven't you set your neighbors' stores on fire? if people knew everything they would hang you. but the world is stone-blind, and so you walk god's earth in peace. good-by! i would like to go to ossep and warn him against you; for if he falls into your clutches he is lost. scene iv barssegh. yes, yes; go and never come back. khali. i wish water lay in front of him and a drawn sword behind. barssegh. this fellow is a veritable curse! khali. yes, he is, indeed. barssegh. the devil take him! if he is going to utter such slanders, i hope he will always do it here, and not do me harm with outsiders. khali. you are to blame for it yourself. why do you have anything to do with the good-for-nothing fellow? barssegh. there you go! do i have anything to do with him? he is always at my heels, like my own shadow. khali. can't you forbid him to enter your doors? barssegh. so that he will not let me pass by in the streets? do you want him to make me the talk of the town? khali. then don't speak to him any more. barssegh. as if i took pleasure in it! it is all the same to him whether one speaks to him or not. khali. what are we to do with him, then? barssegh [_angrily_]. why do you fasten yourself on to me like a gadfly? have i not trouble enough already? [_beating his hands together_.] how could you let him escape? you are good for nothing! khali. what could i do, then, if you were stingy about the money? if you had promised the , rubles, you would have seen how easily and quickly everything would have been arranged. barssegh. if he insists upon so much he may go to the devil. for , rubles i will find a better man for my daughter. khali. i know whom you mean. give me the money and i will arrange the thing to-day. barssegh [_derisively_]. give it! how easily you can say it! is that a mulberry-tree, then, that one has only to shake and thousands will fall from it? don't hold my rubles so cheaply; for every one of them i have sold my soul twenty times. khali. if i can only get sight of that insolent salome, i'll shake a cart-load of dirt over her head. only let her meet me! [_exit, left_. scene v barssegh [_alone_]. and you shall see what i will do! only wait, my dear ossep! i am getting a day of joy ready for you and you will shed tears as thick as my thumb. i have been looking for the chance a long time, and now fate has delivered you into my hands. you braggart, you shall see how you will lie at my feet. i am the son of the cobbler matus. there are certain simpletons who shake their heads over those who had nothing and suddenly amount to something. but i tell you that this world is nothing more than a great honey-cask. he who carries away the best part for himself, without letting the others come near it, he is the man to whom praise and honor are due. but a man who stands aside, like ossep, and waits till his turn comes is an ass. _enter dartscho_. barssegh. ah, dartscho! how quickly you have come! dartscho. i met micho just now, and he told me that you had sent for me. barssegh. i have something important to speak with you about. [_he sits down_.] where were you just now? dartscho. at george's, the coal man. he owed us some money, and i have been to see him seven times this week on that account. barssegh. he is very unpunctual. but how does it stand? has he paid? dartscho. of course! what do you take me for? i stayed in the store as if nailed there, and when a new customer came in i repeated my demand. there was nothing left for him to do but to pay me, for shame's sake. barssegh. that pleases me in you, my son. go on like that and you will get on in the world. look at me! there was a time when they beat me over the head and called me by my given name. then they called me barssegh, and finally "mr." barssegh. when i was as old as you are i was nothing, and now i am a man who stands for something. if my father, matus, were still alive he would be proud of me. i tell you all this so that you will spare no pains to make yourself a master and make people forget that you are the son of a driver. a son can raise up the name of his father; he can also drag it down into the dust. dartscho. you see best of all what trouble i take, mr. barssegh. when i open the store in the morning, i never wait until micho comes, but i take the broom in my hand and sweep out the store. and how i behave with the customers, you yourself see. barssegh. yes, i see it; i see it, my son, and it is on that account i am so good to you. only wait till next year and you shall be my partner. i will supply the money and you the labor. dartscho. may god give you a long life for that! i seem to myself like a tree which you have planted. i hope i will still bear fruit and you will have your joy in me. do you know that i have gotten rid of those damaged goods? barssegh. is it possible? dartscho. it's a fact. barssegh. to whom have you sold them? dartscho. to a man from signach. i laid two good pieces on top so that he did not notice it. let him groan now. barssegh. and how? on credit? dartscho. am i then crazy? have i ever sold damaged goods on credit, that you make such a supposition? of course i took something off for it, but made believe i only did it to please him. he paid me the full sum at once; and if he is now boasting how cheap he bought the goods, i hope he will sing my praises also. barssegh. do you know, dear dartscho, you are a fine fellow? yes, i have always said that you would amount to something. dartscho. god grant it! what commands have you, mr. barssegh? there is no one in the store. barssegh. oh, right! i had almost forgotten. if ossep gulabianz comes to borrow money, give him nothing. dartscho. what has happened? barssegh. i am terribly angry at him. dartscho. and i have even more reason to be angry at him; he is altogether too stuck-up. but what has occurred? barssegh. i will show him now who i am. his whole business is just like a hayrick; a match is enough to set the whole thing ablaze. dartscho. i would not be sorry for ten matches! tell me what i can do about it? the rest i know already. barssegh. think of it! the fellow has snatched away a fine fat morsel from my very mouth. i had found an excellent husband for my daughter. for a whole week we carried on negotiations with him and everything was near final settlement when this ossep came in and bid over us. on the very same day he betrothed his daughter to the man. dartscho. the devil take him for it! barssegh. and do you know, also, whose money he is going to use? it is my money he is going to give him. dartscho. that is just it! that is it! barssegh. things look bad for his pocket. now he is going to marry off his daughter and put himself in a tight place. go, therefore, and get out an execution against him; otherwise nothing can be squeezed out of him. dartscho. we shall see. i will go at once and demand our money. barssegh. i have already sent micho, but i hardly believe he will give it up so easily. on that account i sent for you to find out someone who can help us. dartscho. i know a lawyer who can manage so that in three hours they will put an attachment on his store. barssegh. go on so forever, dear dartscho! yes, i have long known that you were going to be the right sort of fellow! dartscho. the apprentice of a right good master always gets on in the world. barssegh. go quickly then; lose no time. dartscho. i will not waste an hour. barssegh. go! may you succeed! [_exit dartscho, middle door_. barssegh [_alone_]. yes, yes, friend ossep, now show what you can do! i would burn ten candles to have you in my power. [_exit, right, taking the account book_. scene vi _khali. salome_. khali [_entering from the left_]. such a bold creature i never saw before in my life! [_calling through the window_:] come in! come in! i pray! do you hear, salome? i am calling you. come in here a moment [_coming back from the window_]. she is coming. wait, you insolent thing! i will give you a setting-out such as no one has ever given you before! salome [_dressed in the latest fashion, with a parasol in her hand; enters at middle door_]. why did you call me? good-morning! how are you? [_they shake hands_. khali. thank you. pray sit down. [_they both sit down_.] so you have betrothed your daughter? salome. yes, dear khali. god grant that we soon hear of your nino's like good-fortune! i betrothed her last evening. i found a good husband for her. he is as handsome as a god. i can scarcely stand for joy! khali. yes, make yourself important about it! salome [_offended_]. what is this? what does it mean? khali. you owed us a favor, and you have done it for us. salome. what have i done to you? khali. you could not do more, indeed. you have cheated me out of a son-in-law. is not that enough? salome. but, my dear khali, what kind of things are you saying to me? what do you mean by it? khali. be still! be still! i know well enough how it was. salome. may i go blind if i know what you are talking about! khali. didn't you know very well that i wished to give my daughter to him? salome. i don't understand you! you said no earthly word to me about it. khali. even if i have not said anything about it, someone has certainly told you of it. salome. no one has said a word about it. khali. she lies about it, beside! isn't that shameful? salome. satan lies. what are you accusing me of? khali. and you really did not know that i wished to give him my daughter? salome. and if i had known it? when a man wants to marry, they always speak of ten, and yet he marries only one. khali. so you knew it very well? why did you lie, then? salome. you are out of your head! how was i to find it out? did you send word by anyone that you were going to give your daughter to the man? in what way am i to blame for it? you knew as much as i did. you treated with him just as i did and sent marriage brokers to him. khali. i approached him first. salome. o my dear, the flowers in the meadow belong not to those who see them first, but to those who pluck them. khali. you did not wait. perhaps i would have plucked them. salome. and why didn't you pluck them? khali. you wouldn't let me. do you think i do not know that you promised him more than we did? salome. may i go blind! khali, how can you say that? how much did you promise him? khali. how much did we promise him? ha! ha! as though you did not know it! eight thousand rubles. salome. then you promised more than we did, for we can give him only , . khali. you surely do not think me so stupid as to believe that! salome. as sure as i wish my nato all good fortune, what i say is true. khali. and you think that i believe you? salome. what? what do you say? would i swear falsely about my daughter? khali. of course it is so! would he let my , go to take your , ? salome. i am not to blame for that. probably your daughter did not please him, since he did not want her. khali. what fault have you to find with my daughter? as though yours were prettier, you insolent woman, you! salome [_standing up_]. you are insolent! is it for this you called me in? can your daughter be compared to my nato? is it my fault that your daughter has a wide mouth? khali. you have a wide mouth yourself; and your forward daughter is not a bit prettier than mine! salome. what! you say she is forward? everyone knows her as a modest and well-behaved girl, while everybody calls yours stupid. yes, that is true; and if you want to know the truth, i can tell it to you--it is just on that account that he would not have her. khali. oh, you witch, you! you have caught the poor young man in your nets and deceived him. i would like to know where you are going to get the , rubles. salome. that is our affair. i would rather have broken my leg than to have come in here. khali. he is up to the ears in debt and is going to give such a dowry! salome [_coming back_]. even if we are in debt, we have robbed nobody, as you have. khali [_springing up_]. 'tis you who steal; you! you are a thief! look out for yourself that i do not tear the veil off your head, you wicked witch, you! salome [_holding her veil toward her_]. try it once. i would like to see how you begin it. you have altogether too long a tongue, and are only the daughter-in-law of the cobbler matus. khali. and what better are you? you are a gardener's daughter, you insolent thing! salome. you are insolent, yourself! do not think so much of yourself--everyone knows that you have robbed the whole world, and only in that way have gotten up in the world. khali. oh, you good-for-nothing! [_throws herself on salome and tears her veil off_. salome. oh! oh! [_gets hold of khali's hair_. khali. oh! oh! salome. i'll pull all your hair out! [_astonished, she holds a lock in her hand_. _enter ossep_. ossep. what do i see? khali [_tearing the lock from salome's hand_]. may i be blind! [_exit embarrassed_. salome [_arranging her veil_]. oh, you monkey, you! ossep. what is the meaning of this? salome. god only knows how it came to this. i was walking quietly in the street and she called me in and tore the veil from my head because i, as she said, took her daughter's suitor away from her. ossep. it serves you right! that comes from your having secrets from me and promising him , rubles instead of , . salome. i would rather have broken a leg than come into this horrid house. i did it only out of politeness. i wish these people might lose everything they have got [_pinning her veil_]. at any rate, i punished her for it by pulling off her false hair. if she tells on herself now, she may also tell about me. she got out of the room quickly, so that no one would find out that her hair was as false as everything else. ossep. it would be best for us if the earth opened and swallowed us up. salome [_crying_]. am i, then, so much to blame here? ossep. really, you look splendid! go! go! that no one sees you here. it is not the first time that you have put me in a dilemma. go! and pray god to change noon into midnight and make the streets dark, so that no one sees that you have a torn veil on your head. salome [_wiping away her tears_]. god only knows everything i have to suffer from you! ossep [_alone_]. great heaven! how this world is arranged! when one trouble comes to a man a second comes along, too, and waits at his door. when i am just about ready to cope with the first, in comes the second and caps the climax. i don't know which way to turn with all my debts; and now this women's quarrel will be laid at my door. scene vii barssegh [_coming in, angry_]. i will show him that i am a man! ossep. good-morning! barssegh. i want neither "good-morning" nor any other wish from you. you have, i suppose, come to help your wife. give me a blow, too, so the measure will be full. this is surely the interest on the money you owe me. ossep. calm yourself. what, indeed, do you want? barssegh. do you, then, believe that i will overlook my wife's hair being pulled out? that i will not pardon. ossep. what is there to pardon? your wife tore my wife's veil from her head. barssegh. a veil is not hair. ossep. for heaven's sake, stop! is a women's spat our affair? barssegh. say what you wish, but i will do what pleases me. ossep. calm yourself; calm yourself. barssegh. yes, yes; i will calm you, too. ossep. believe me; it is unworthy of you. barssegh. she has torn her veil, he says. what is a veil, then? a thing that one can buy, and at most costs two rubles. ossep. the hair was also not her own. why do you worry yourself about it? for a two-ruble veil she tore a two-kopeck band. the band is there, and she can fasten the hair on again. barssegh. no, you can't get out of it that way. i will not pardon her for this insolence. ossep [_aside_]. great heaven! barssegh. you'll see! you'll see! ossep. do what you will! i did not come to you on that account. you sent for me by micho? barssegh. yes, you are right. have you brought me my money? give it to me, quick! ossep. how you speak to me! am i your servant, that you speak so roughly? you surely do not know whom you have before you. look out, for if i go for you, you will sing another tune. barssegh. that has not happened to me yet! he owes me money, and even here he makes himself important! ossep. do you think because i owe you money i shall stand your insults? i speak politely to you, and i demand the same from you. barssegh. enough of that! tell me whether you have brought the money or not. ossep. have i ever kept back from you any of your money? why should i do it to-day? barssegh. then give it to me now. ossep. you said at that time-- barssegh. i know nothing of that time. ossep. what is the matter with you? you speak as if in a dream. barssegh. whether i speak as in a dream or not, give me the money, and have done with it. ossep [_takes a chair and sits down_]. you are mistaken, my dear mr. barssegh; you are mistaken. sit down, pray. barssegh [_ironically_]. thank you very much. ossep. you will surely not take back your word? barssegh. hand over the money. ossep. what has happened to you? you speak like a madman. barssegh. it is all the same to me however i speak. ossep. when i gave you the , rubles that time, did not you say that i was to pay the rest in a month? barssegh [_sitting down_]. and if i did say so, what does it amount to? i need it now. ossep. you should have said so at the time and i would not have paid out my money in other ways. how comes it that you demand it so suddenly? i am no wizard, i am sure, to procure it from the stars for you. barssegh. you may get it wherever you want to. i need it, and that settles it. ossep. just heaven! why did you give me a month's grace and reckon on an additional twelve per cent. for it? barssegh. what kind of grace? have you anything to show for it? ossep. isn't your word enough? why do we need a paper in addition? barssegh. i didn't give you my word. ossep. what? you did not give it? you admitted it just a few minutes ago. barssegh. no, i said nothing about it. ossep [_standing_]. my god! what do i see and hear? you are a merchant and tread your word under foot. shame on you! [_takes him by the arm and leads him to the mirror_.] look! look at your face! why do you turn pale? barssegh. let me go! ossep [_holding him fast by the sleeve_]. how can you be so unscrupulous? look! how pale your lips are! barssegh. let me go! [_freeing himself_.] you act exactly as though you were the creditor. ossep. no, you are the creditor. i would rather be swallowed up alive by the earth than be such a creditor as you are. what do you think you will be in my eyes after this? barssegh. i tell you, hand out my money or i will lay your note before the court immediately! i would only like to know where you are going to get the dowry for your daughter. you will pay over my money to your son-in-law, will you, and give me the go-by? ossep. give yourself no trouble! even if you should beg me now, i would not keep your money. to-morrow at this time you shall have it, and then may the faces turn black of those who still look at you. barssegh. i want it at once. ossep. then come with me. you shall have it. the sooner a man is rid of a bad thing, the better it is. give me the note! no, don't give it to me, for you don't trust me. you are not worthy of trusting me. take it yourself and come with me. we will go at once to the bazaar, sell it, then you can have your money. i may lose something by it. it makes no difference. it is easier to bear this misfortune than to talk to you. do you hear? shall we go? barssegh. what do you mean? ossep. get the note, i tell you! don't you hear? barssegh. what kind of a note? ossep. rostom's note. barssegh. rostom's' note? what is this note to you? ossep. what is it to me? it is no word, indeed, that you can deny. it is a document. barssegh. what is it to you that i have this document in my hands? that is mine and rostom's business. ossep. yours and rostom's business! [_pauses_.] it is, i see, not yet enough that you lie. you are a thief and a robber beside. what people say of you is really true; namely, that you have robbed everybody, and by this means have acquired your wealth. yes, it is true that you have ruined twenty-five families; that you have put out their candle and lighted yours by it. now i see, for the first time, that everything that people say about you is true. now i believe, indeed, that these chairs, this sofa, this mirror, your coat, your cane--in a word, every article that you call yours--represents some person you have robbed. take my bones and add to them. make the measure full. you have made your conscience a stone and will hear nothing; but i tell you, one day it will awake, and every object that lies or stands here will begin to speak and hold up to you your villanies. then you can go and justify yourself before your maker. shame upon him who still calls you a human being! [_exit by the middle door_. barssegh. ha! ha! ha! [_exit at the right_. curtain. act third scene i--ossep's house nato [_stands before the mirror elegantly dressed, and, while she prinks, hums a european melody. then she draws out of her pocket a little photograph and speaks to herself while looking in the mirror_]. o my treasure! my treasure! [_presses the photo to her breast and kisses it._] _mon chèr!_ come; we will dance. [_dances around the table_.] tra-la-la, tra-la-la. [_sits down at the right_.] alexander; my alexander; dear alexander! yes, you are really an angel. why are you so handsome? you have black eyes and i also have black. then arched eyebrows just like me. [_touches her eyebrows_.] a pretty little mustache, which i lack. which of us is more beautiful, i or you? you are handsomest; no, i am handsomest [_springing up_]. we will see at once. [_looks at herself in the mirror and then at the photograph. enter alexander at the middle door_. nato [_without noticing alexander_]. no, you are the more beautiful! [_kisses the photograph_. [_alexander approaches softly and kisses nato_. nato [_frightened_]. oh! alexander. no, you are the more beautiful, natalie, dear. _ma chère nathalie!_ nato. _o mon chèr alexandre!_ how you frightened me! alexander [_putting his arm around her_]. let me kiss you again, and your fright will pass away. [_kisses her_.] give me a kiss just once! nato [_kissing him_]. there, you have one. alexander. well, i ought to allow you to kiss me. am i not worth more than that piece of paper? [_takes her by the hand; they sit down on sofa at the right_. nato. they have come to congratulate us. alexander. yes, your grandmother, your aunts, and your cousins. nato, shall you give evening parties like this? nato [_smiling_]. ha! ha! ha! no such _soirées_ as this, my dear alexander. two evenings every month we will give little dances, either on tuesdays or thursdays. which is better? do you not think, alexander, that thursday will be best? alexander [_with a grimace_]. as you wish, _chère nathalie_. if you like, you can give a _soirée_ every week. nato. no, twice a month is better. sophie, who is now madame jarinskaja, gives only two _soirées_ in a month. alexander. very well, nato dear. nato. that is agreed, then. and every thursday we will dance at the casino. [_alexander makes another grimace_.] mind, now! every thursday. alexander. do you like to visit the casino? nato [_laying her hand on his shoulder_]. who doesn't like to visit it? is there another place where one can amuse one's self better? the beautiful long _salon_! the _boudoir_! the beautiful music and the rich costumes! how beautiful they all are! [_embracing alexander_.] we will dance together, and when we are tired, we will go into the mirror-room and rest ourselves and talk and laugh. alexander. and then we will dance again and rest ourselves, and talk and laugh again. nato. it will be splendid! [_kisses him_.] i will dress beautifully _à la mode_, so that everyone will say, "look! look! what a charming woman madame marmarow is!" and then, dear alexander, we will subscribe for a box at the theatre for fridays. alexander [_making another grimace aside_]. she's piling it on. nato. and do you know where? in the upper tier at the left, near the foyer. alexander. wouldn't it be better to subscribe for two evenings a week? nato. wouldn't it cost too much? alexander. what has that to do with it? do you think i could deny you any pleasure? no! no! you shall have everything. nato [_embracing him_]. _chèr alexandre_! do you really love me so much? alexander. i cannot tell you at all how much i love you. right at our first meeting i fell in love with you! nato. i don't believe it! i don't believe it! all young men talk so! alexander. ha! ha! ha! do you think i am like them? with them the tongues have nothing to do with the heart; but my tongue speaks what is here! [_strikes himself on the breast_. nato [_ironically_]. i know! i know! if i had no dowry you would not marry me. alexander. nato dear, you wrong me! _ma chère_! as if the dowry made any difference! _fi donc_! nato. then you really love me so much? alexander. very, very much, nato dear. you can put me to the test if you will. nato. do you know, my piano is not fit to use! alexander [_smoothing his hair_--_aside_]. something new again. nato. buy me a new piano. to-day i saw one at a store; it cost rubles. alexander. five hundred rubles! you cannot buy a decent piano for that! nato. dear alexander! alexander. be patient awhile, nato dear. one of my friends brought a piano from abroad that cost , ; yes, even , rubles. nato. my sweetheart; my dear sweetheart! [_kissing him_.] i will come right back. [_rises_.] i must go and prepare for our reception or mamma will be angry. tra-la-la. [_exit at left_. alexander [_alone, springing up_]. ha! ha! ha! _soirées_, balls at the club, box at the theatre, dresses and ornaments after the latest fashion! am i a millionaire? i would have nothing against it if i had the money to do it. she acts as though she was going to bring , rubles dowry into the house. no, natalie, that will all come later. in ten or twenty years, perhaps, i will set up a carriage; but it is not even to be thought of now. indeed, i don't know, where it will lead to if she makes such demands on me every day. it will lead to quarrels and unpleasantness, and it will be all up with my economizing. no, indeed, natalie, it will be no easy thing to satisfy you. why did i not think of this sooner? let her talk, and demand what she will. i will do what pleases me. nato [_enter right; speaks to someone behind the scenes_]. i will come at once. i am coming. come, alexander, let us go into the garden. mamma must go upstairs, and the guests will be all alone in the garden. alexander. i am waiting for your father, nato dear, i have something important to discuss with him. nato. why, we will soon return, and by that time father will be home. do you want to sit here alone? alexander. well, we will go. nato. come! come! i want to introduce you to my coquettish aunt. [_mimics her while making a courtesy, and makes faces. alexander, shaking his head, goes out with nato noisily through middle door_. scene ii _salome. chacho_. chacho. no, indeed, salome. she behaves too boldly. you must give her a warning. such self-confidence i have i never before seen in a girl. salome. that is all a matter of fashion! what is to be done? [_shuffling the cards_. chacho [_seating herself_]. when one thinks how the times have changed, one grows dizzy! when i was engaged, my love, i dared not open my mouth; it was as if they had put a lock on it. indeed, i dared not look anyone in the face, even, and kept my eyes always cast down, as if glued fast to the floor. salome. how could anyone endure all that? the eyes are made to look with, i hope, and the tongue to speak! i wouldn't have borne it. it is well that those times are past. i should die of such a life. chacho. oh, your present times are the true ones! isn't this shameful, now, what goes on here? all the money that the husband can make in a week, the wife loses at play in a single evening. is that widow, the stout one, going to play with you? she is surely more than fifty years old. salome. of course! we wouldn't play at all without her. chacho. that is the best of all. why, she has a married daughter as old as you are! salome. what of that? whoever has money can always play. but what do you say to the wife of blind gigoli? she hasn't enough to eat, but gives herself airs before us just the same. chacho. don't talk to me about her! a few weeks ago she pawned a silver pitcher to one of our neighbors for five rubles without her husband's knowledge. god punished her for it, for that same evening she lost it all at cards. i should like to know how she is going to redeem the pitcher. salome [_arranging her dress before the mirror_]. yes, yes; no one can take her measure better than i. [_enter ossep_. ossep [_angrily_]. and what have you gotten ready for again? salome. what was to be done? look and see how many guests there are in the garden! ossep. it was very wrong of them to come here. has no one invited them, then? they should have asked me first. salome. you are a singular being! we have betrothed our daughter and they were obliged to come and congratulate us. ossep. congratulate! as though my joy went to their hearts! on the contrary, they would enjoy it if i had a misfortune; they could put their heads together and criticise and laugh at me. chacho. what are you so ill-humored about? for the last two days you have been intolerable. ossep. if i could unbosom myself to you and show you my heart, you would comprehend what the cause of it is. chacho. god protect you from all evil! ossep. am i not right? tell me yourself! this is not the time for card-playing. why have they come, then? if they wished to congratulate us, they could come separately. how does it happen that they all thought of us at once? perhaps each has sent word to the other that salome has betrothed her daughter and they have all taken advantage of the opportunity to come. of course only for the sake of those damned cards! this one or that one has probably been invited by her [_pointing to salome_]. she sent word to them, "come to us, i pray! x and z are already here." [_to salome_:] say, isn't that so? salome. what nonsense he talks! ought they not to know at your uncle's house that we have betrothed our daughter? i was obliged to give them some information about it, was i not? ossep. and to whom beside? salome. whom else? your cousins. and i have just sent for your sister-in-law. ossep [_anxiously_]. for what purpose? she could have come another time just as well. salome. how useless it is to talk so! you understand nothing at all about the matter. your relatives would take offence in every possible way if i did not invite them. they would not speak to me for a year! ossep. great heaven! i wish they were struck blind! [_sits down and pulls at the end of the table-cloth_.] i would take pleasure in throwing them all out! salome. i have no time to dispute with you. [_exit at left, angry_. ossep. great heaven! have women been created only to bleed the men? chacho. don't excite yourself so, dear ossep. what you say is in every way pure facts. but you must overlook something now and then. it can't be helped now; they are all here; you cannot chase them out of the house. the whole city would be stirred up about it. ossep. and what will people say when to-morrow or the day after my creditors come and chase me out of my house? chacho. oh, don't talk about such things! ossep [_sitting down at the card-table_]. that's easily said. but let me tell you, i feel as though the house was going to fall down on top of me. chacho. what has happened, ossep? ossep. they say barssegh leproink has brought action against me. chacho. what? brought action against you? ossep. i owe him money, and on that account he holds the knife at my throat. chacho. god bless me! ossep. the wicked fellow has my note, and another security beside, and yet he will not wait. chacho. his match for wickedness cannot be found in the whole world. ossep. no, not another such miserable scoundrel! i expect every moment to be notified, and have no idea where i can get the money. everyone i have asked to help me has refused me. i can borrow no more on my note, and i cannot sell my goods at half price. that everyone must understand. they all show their claws as soon as they find out the position i am in. salome is to blame for all this; the , rubles she promised is the cause of it all. i would like to know who will pay them to him now. chacho. you talk nonsense! you will make your daughter unhappy forever, ossep. ossep. i am still more unhappy myself. but let us see what the coming day brings forth. i still have hope of one. perhaps he will supply me with money. chacho. how could you trust the scamp so blindly? is such want of thought consistent with reason? ossep. what is the use of reason in this? i have always said i could not stand the expense that now everybody assumes. if a man conducts his business honestly, he makes little profit; and as for a dishonest business, i am not fit for that! so i have suffered one reverse after another; and where i was most vulnerable i have been hit at last. chacho. heavens! what do i hear? why don't i sink into the earth? ossep. in our line of trade only a few persons carry on their business with their own money. most of us have to borrow. when i sell goods to one, i pay my debt to the other. i sell goods to the third and pay to the fourth; and so it goes in a circle, like a wheel drawing water, until one falls in the hands of a man who draws the needle out of the knitting and everything falls in pieces. who is in a position to fight against such conditions? one must pay the store rent and the clerk's salary, and beside that the interest on the working capital. then there are the goods that are spoiled or stolen--and here at home! [_striking the cards_.] all this rubbish and more beside! [_striking the table again._] and the women are to blame for all this; if my wife had not promised , rubles, without my knowledge, the betrothal would not have taken place, and this bad luck would not have come to me. but where does one find among our women insight and forethought? for model women give me some foreign countries. there the women stand by the men in everything: the wife of a cook is a cook; the wife of a writer, a writer; the wife of a merchant is in every case a merchant. they earn jointly and spend jointly. with us the man is here only to make money for them, so that they [_striking the table_] may kill time with foolish things like this. chacho. say, rather, that times are changed; for the men also sit at the club all day and play cards. ossep. ho! ho! as though women did not play cards also! formerly the cards were solely our diversion; but they have taken them away from us. don't worry yourself; with god's help they will be learning to play billiards. why do you dwell upon the fact that the men play cards? one in a thousand plays; while of a thousand women, nine hundred play. men are always more moderate. they see that the times are hard, and have given up most of their earlier pleasures. where are the banquets that used to be given, one after another? where are the drinking-places where the music played? they have given them up; and the women are just like they were, only worse. to-day they arrange a picnic, to-morrow a little party, and so on. the men stand gaping at them, and the children are left to the servants. if i could take the law into my own hands, i'd soon set them right. [_paces to and fro in anger_. chacho [_rising, aside_]. he is right. all that he says is pure truth. [_exit left_ scene iii _ossep. then alexander_. ossep. o dear! o dear! [_stands near fireplace; rests head on hand and remains motionless_. alexander [_enter right_]. you have come, father? [_silence--comes near ossep_.] father. ossep. ah! alexander [_offering his hand_]. please sit down. have you just come? alexander. no; i have been here a long time. i was in the garden. ossep. what is the news? [_both sit down_. alexander. nothing, except that i wish to have a wedding next week. ossep. so soon? alexander. yes; my chief goes soon to petersburg, and i want him to be at the wedding. ossep. and can't we wait till he comes back? alexander. that would be too long. ossep. very well. as you wish. alexander [_stammering_]. but--my dear father-- ossep. i understand; i understand. you want me to pay over the money at once? alexander. yes, my dear father, if it is possible. ossep. i am sorry to confess that at the present moment i have no money at hand. you must wait a little. if you wish to marry without money, that is your affair. alexander. you amaze me! ossep. it is better for me to tell you this than to deceive you. you know the law to some extent. tell me, if i owe someone money on a note, can my creditor bring action against me and put an execution on me without having me called before the court? alexander. is the note attested by a notary? ossep. yes. alexander. he has the right to come to your house and have everything put under seal. ossep. without first bringing me into court? alexander. yes, without court proceedings. ossep. but if he has received on account of this debt the note of a third person? alexander. that is another thing. have you a receipt for it? ossep. no; but i can take my oath on it. alexander. according to law you must first pay the money and then produce proofs that you gave him the other document. ossep [_excited_]. is that true? alexander. yes, it is so. ossep [_wringing his hands and springing up_]. then i am ruined. [_a silence. nato's voice is heard outside_.] alexander, they are calling you. alexander [_approaching ossep_]. what is it? for god's sake tell me the truth. ossep. there, there. go out first. they are calling you. alexander [_aside, taking his hat_]. so far as i see, i am ruined also. [_exit._ ossep [_alone_]. what do i not suffer! if they really come here i shall perish through shame. where can i find so much money in such a hurry? one must have time for it, and that fellow may come to-day even--perhaps this minute. then i am lost--who will trust me then? my creditors will tie a rope around my neck and prevent me from saying a word in my own behalf. "pay us," they will cry; "pay us!" o salome, salome! _enter gewo_. ossep. there he is. gewo. good-evening, ossep. ossep. you have come, too. you want your money, too? yes, choke me; double my debt; say that i owe you, not , rubles, but , . speak! you are my creditor; speak! have no pity on me. you want your money--why do you wait, then? slay me; tear my heart out of my body; hack me in pieces and sell it piece by piece, so that your money shall not be lost. [_gewo wipes his eyes_.] weep, weep, for your money is lost. i am bankrupt--bankrupt! gewo [_embracing ossep_]. dear ossep, dear ossep! ossep. you say "dear" to me? yet you are my creditor. gewo. take courage; be a man! ossep. what kind of a man? i am a good-for-nothing; i have lost my good name [_weeping_]. my good name is gone. [_wipes his eyes_.] gewo. god is merciful, dear ossep. ossep. god and heaven have taken their mercy from me. you see now where the marriage of my daughter has led me? if i could at least pay you everything i owe you--that i must do at any price. gewo. what are you saying, ossep? if i had the means i would go on your bond. why should i be your friend otherwise? ossep. if you had money, dear gewo, you would not be my friend, nor have such a good heart. stay poor as you are, so that i shall not lose your friendship. only your sympathy is left me in this world. i would not like to lose your friendship. in this one day i have suffered everything. no one has shown interest in me; no one has given proof of his sympathy--neither my uncle, nor my brother, nor my nephew. when they saw i was near my last breath, they all forsook me and shut the door in my face. gewo. come with me; perhaps we will find help somewhere. ossep. there can be no more talk of help. gewo. come, come; there is still a way out. ossep. what way out can there be? gewo. come, come; let us not delay. ossep. but tell me how is it to be managed? gewo. come, come! i will tell you on the way. ossep. what you say sounds very strange; tell me what it is. speak, what has occurred? don't fear! don't spare me! whatever happens cannot be worse than what has happened; they have already sent a bullet into my heart, and what worse can they do to me, except tear open my breast and take my heart out? speak; what is it? have they put seals on my store? gewo. come and you will see. ossep. they have put seals on it, then? gewo. i tell-- ossep. you are ruined, ossep. [_rushes to the table, seizes the box and scatters the cards; some fall on the floor_.] now you may play; now you may play. [_exit_. gewo. too bad; too bad about him! [_follows him_. scene iv _enter salome, martha, nino, pepel, and many well-dressed ladies, followed by two footmen carrying candelabra and lamps, which they put on the table_. salome. take seats, please. the cards are already here. martha. how pretty it is, isn't it? the cards are already dealt. [_the ladies converse smilingly with one another_. salome [_stepping forward and noticing the cards on the floor_]. what is this? who can have done it? martha. probably the cats ran over the table. salome. i cannot think how it could have happened! please sit down. _enter nato and her friends_. salome [_collecting the cards_]. who can have done it? nato, did you do it? nato. no, mamma, i did not touch them. salome [_to the guests_]. sit down, i beg. [_all the guests sit down at the table, nato and her friends sit on the other side of the stage. salome, standing, deals the cards which the guests hand one to the other. then they pay in the stakes to salome, which she lays on the table in front of her_. _enter alexander_. nato [_going to meet alexander_]. alexander, why were you so long? alexander. i was obliged to be [_leading nato aside excitedly, and in a whisper_:] i have something to say to you. nato [_in a whisper_]. what makes your hand tremble? alexander. they have brought action against your father in the courts. nato. what! for what reason? alexander. because of debts. nato. who told you so? alexander. your father himself. nato [_laughing aloud_]. ha! ha! ha! [_whispering_:] my father has no debts. alexander. well, he told me so himself. nato. he was joking. don't believe him. [_goes over to her friends, laughing_. alexander. well, i can't make it out. i am not so stupid, however. until i have the money in my hands i will not cross this threshold again. salome. let us begin. [_guests begin to play_. scene v _enter chacho_. chacho [_coming from left_]. get this stuff out of the way. salome. what is the matter? what has happened? chacho. what was to happen? we are ruined. [_behind the scenes are heard threatening voices_:] "here! yes! no." [_then ossep's voice_:] "come in, come in." chacho [_to salome_]. do you not hear them? _enter barssegh through middle door_. barssegh. this is really splendid! i work for my daily bread, and you illuminate your house on my money. chacho [_to salome_]. now you have it. salome [_rising_]. are you mad? show him out. barssegh. i will show you pretty soon who is to be shown out. salome. alexander, show this man out. alexander [_to barssegh_]. what do you want, sir? how can you indulge in such insolence? barssegh. that is not your affair, sir! i demand my money. demand yours also if you can. you will be obliged to wait a long while for it. chacho [_to barssegh_]. have you no conscience? barssegh. i want my money, and nothing more. _enter ossep, gewo, a sheriff and his secretary, dartscho, and several others_. ossep [_opening the door with both hands as he enters_]. come in! come in! [_the others follow him_.] play, play and laugh as much as you will over my misfortunes! chacho [_aside_]. now it is all over with us! salome. tell me, for god's sake, the meaning of this. ossep. god will judge you and me also. [_to sheriff and others:_] come, make your inventory, put your seals on everything--the house, the furniture, and on the cards, too. barssegh. make an inventory of everything. [_the sheriff lists furniture in the background and puts a ticket on each piece. the guests assemble, frightened, on the left side of the table_. salome [_beating her head_]. good heavens! martha. this is a disgrace for us as well. chacho [_in a low voice to martha_]. you at least should be silent. ossep [_pointing to barssegh_]. he has stripped me of my honor. now you will honor and esteem him. he will arrange for your parties. yes, he, the man who takes the shirt from my back and possesses himself of all my property. alexander [_aside_]. i have my sister to thank for all this, who dragged me into this house. ossep [_ironically_]. alexander, look for a dowry elsewhere, for i can no longer give my daughter one. alexander [_angry_]. what, you deride me as well! i don't belong to your class, sir! ossep. and has it come to this! alexander [_taking his hat_]. i have not acquired my present dignity to lose it through you. ossep. ha! ha! ha! his dignity! alexander [_coming near nato_]. i have loved you truly, miss nato, but i must give you up. i am not to blame for it. farewell. [_goes to the door_. [_barssegh laughs for joy_. ossep [_approaching salome, who stands dismayed, takes her by the arm and points to the departing alexander_]. there goes your official! nato [_standing at the left near the sofa_]. alexander! alexander! [_exit alexander_.] dear alexander. [_sitting down on the sofa, begins to cry_. salome [_in a low tone, striking her brow with both hands_]. why doesn't the earth open and swallow me? ossep [_to salome_]. now you are punished, are you not? [_turning to barssegh_:] take it all, now! satisfy yourself! [_takes off his coat_.] take this also! [_throws it to barssegh_.] yes, take it! [_takes his cap from the table and throws it to barssegh_.] make off with this also; i need it no longer. [_runs to and fro as if distracted_. barssegh [_in a low voice_]. keep on giving! [_turns to sheriff and speaks softly to him_. ossep [_taking up different articles from card table and throwing them on the floor_]. take these also! take these also! [_taking a lighted candelabra and smashing it on the floor_] stick that also down your throat! several of the guests. the poor fellow is losing his wits. [_nato crying; her friends comfort her. salome faints_. chacho. ossep! my dear ossep! gewo [_embracing ossep_]. be calm, dear ossep. you behave like a madman. ossep [_after a pause_]. gewo, i was mad when i settled in this city. this life is too much for me; it was not for me. i am ruined. i am a beggar. he is to be praised who comes off better than i. [_exit._ salome [_with her hand on her brow sinks down on the sofa, groaning loudly_]. ah! gewo. poor ossep! barssegh [_turns from dartscho, to whom he has been speaking, to the sheriff_]. what are you gazing around for, sir? keep on with your writing. [_sheriff looks at barssegh in disgust, sits down by card table and writes_. martha [_to the guests_]. we have nothing more to look for here. [_aside:_] a charming set! [_goes toward middle door; some ladies follow; others stand offended_. chacho [_raising her eyes_]. would that i had died long ago, so that i had not lived to see this unfortunate day! curtain. the garden of bright waters one hundred and twenty asiatic love poems translated by edward powys mathers dedication: to my wife introduction head in hand, i look at the paper leaf; it is still white. i look at the ink dry on the end of my brush. my soul sleeps. will it ever wake? i walk a little in the pouring of the sun and pass my hands over the higher flowers. there is the soft green forest, there are the sweet lines of the mountains carved with snow, red in the sunlight. i see the slow march of the clouds, i hear the crows jeering, and i come back to sit and look at the paper leaf, which is still white under my brush. _from the chinese of chang-chi ( - )._ contents introduction afghanistan (pus'hto) the princess of qulzum come, my beloved! ballade of muhammad khan ghazal of tavakkul ghazal of sayyid kamal ghazal of sayyid ahmad ghazal of pir muhammad ballade of nurshali ghazal of muhammad din tilai micra ballade of muhammad din tilai ghazal of mira ghazal of majid shah ghazal of mira ballade of ajam the washerman ghazal of isa akhun zada annam the bamboo garden stranger things have happened nocturne the gao flower the girl of ke-mo the little woman of clear river waiting to marry a student a song for two arabic sand two similes melodian the lost lady love brown and bitter okhouan lying down alone old greek lovers night and morning in a yellow frame because the good are never fair white and green and black tears a conceit values what love is the dancing heart the great offence an escape three queens her nails perturbation at dawn the resurrection of the tattooed girl moallaka of antar moallaka of amr ebn kultum baluchistan comparisons burma a canker in the heart cambodia disquiet caucasus vengeance the flight china we were two green rushes song writer paid with air the bad road the western window in lukewarm weather written on white frost a flute of marvel the willow-leaf a poet looks at the moon we two in a park at night the jade staircase the morning shower a virtuous wife written on a wall in spring a poet thinks in the cold night daghestan winter comes georgia part of a ghazal hindustan fard incurable a poem fard mortification fard japan grief and the sleeve drink song a boat comes in the opinion of men old scent of the plum-tree an orange sleeve invitation the clocks of death green food for a queen the cushion a single night at a dance of girls alone one night kafiristan walking up a hill at dawn proposal of marriage kazacks you do not want me, zohrah korea tears the dream separation kurdistan paradise laos misadventure khap-salung the holy swan manchuria fire and love hearts of women persia to his love instead of a promised picture book too short a night the roses i asked my love a request see you have dancers siam the sighing heart syria handing over the gun tatars honey thibet the love of the archer prince turkestan distich things seen in battle hunter's song turkey the bath distich a proverb envoy in autumn translator's notes the garden of bright waters _afghanistan_ the princess of qulzum (ballade by nur uddin) i have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight; i have seen the daughter of the king of qulzum passing from grace to grace. yesterday she threw her bed on the floor of her double house and laughed with a thousand graces. she has a little pearl and coral cap and rides in a palanquin with servants about her and claps her hands, being too proud to call. i have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. "my palanquin is truly green and blue; i fill the world with pomp and take my pleasure; i make men run up and down before me, and am not as young a girl as you pretend. i am of iran, of a powerful house, i am pure steel. i hear that i am spoken of in lahore." i have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. i also hear that they speak of you in lahore, you walk with a joyous step, your nails are red and the palms of your hands are rosy. a pear-tree with a fresh stem is in your palace gardens, i would not that your mother should give my pear-tree to twine with an evil spice-tree or fool banana. i have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. "the coins that my father gave me for my forehead throw rays and light the hearts of far men; the ray of light from my red ring is sharper than a diamond. i go about and about in pride as of hemp wine and my words are chosen. but i give you my honey cheeks, dear, i trust them to you." i have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. the words of my mouth are coloured and shining things; and two great saints are my perpetual guards. there is never a song of _nur uddin_ but has in it a great achievement and is as brilliant as a young hyacinth; i pour a ray of honey on my disciples, there is as it were a fire in my ballades. i have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight. _from the pus'hto (afghans, nineteenth century)._ come, my beloved! come, my beloved! and i say again: come, my beloved! the doves are moaning and calling and will not cease. come, my beloved! "the fairies have made me queen, and my heart is love. sweeter than the green cane is my red mouth." come, my beloved! the jacinth has spilled odour on your hair, the balance of your neck is like a jacinth; you have set a star of green between your brows. come, my beloved! like lemon-trees among the rocks of grey hills are the soft colours of the airy veil to your rose knee from your curved almond waist. come, my beloved! your light breast veil is tawny brown with stags, stags with eyes of emerald, hunted by red kings. come, my beloved! _muhammad din_ is wandering; he is drunken and mad; for a year he has been dying. send for the doctor! come, my beloved! _from the pus'hto of muhammad din tilai (afghans, nineteenth century)._ ballade of muhammad khan she has put on her green robe, she has put on her double veil, my idol; my idol has come to me. she has put on her green robe, my love is a laughing flower; gently, gently she comes, she is a young rose, she has come out of the garden. gently she has shown her face, parting her veil, my idol; my idol has come to me. she has put on her green robe, my love is a young rose for me to break. her chin has the smooth colour of peaches and she guards it well; she is the daughter of a moghol house and well they guard her. she put on her red jewels when she came with a noise of rings, my idol; my idol has come to me. she has put on her green robe, my love is the stem of a rose; she breaks not, she is strong. she has a throne, but comes into the woods for love. i was well and she troubled me when she came to me in the evening, my idol; my idol has come to me. she has put on her green robe, her wrist is a sword. the villages speak of her; the child is as fair as badri. she has red lips and six hundred and fifty beads upon her light blue scarf. give your garland to _muhammad khan_, my idol; my idol has come to me. _from the pus'hto (afghans, nineteenth century)._ ghazal of tavakkul to-day i saw laila's breasts, the hills of a fair city from which my heart might leap to heaven. her breasts are a garden of white roses having two drifted hills of fallen rose-leaves. her breasts are a garden where doves are singing and doves are moaning with arrows because of her. all her body is a flower and her face is shalibagh; she has fruits of beautiful colours and the doves abide there. over the garden of her breasts she combs the gold rain of her hair.... you have killed _tavakkul_, the faithful pupil of abdel qadir gilani. _from the pus'hto (afghans, nineteenth century)._ ghazal of sayyid kamal i am burning, i am crumbled into powder, i stand to the lips in a tossing sea of tears. like a stone falling in hamun lake i vanish; i return no more, i am counted among the dead. i am consumed like yellow straw on red flames; you have drawn a poisoned sword along my throat to-day. people have come to see me from far towns, great and small, arriving with bare heads, for i have become one of the great historical lovers. in the desire of your red lips my heart has become a red kiln, like a terrace of roses. it is because she does not trouble about the bee on the rose that my heart is taken. "i have blackened my eyes to kill you, _sayyid kamal_. i kill you with my eyelids; i am natarsa, the panjabie, the pitiless." _from the pus'hto (afghans, nineteenth century)._ ghazal of sayyid ahmad my heart is torn by the tyranny of women very quietly; day and night my tears are wearing away my cheeks very quietly. life is a red thing like the sun setting very quietly; setting quickly and heavily and very quietly. if you are to buy heaven by a good deed, to-day the market is open; to-morrow is a day when no man buys, and the caravan is broken up very quietly. the kings are laughing and the slaves are laughing; but for your sake _sayyid ahmad_ is walking and mourning very quietly. _from the pus'hto (afghans, nineteenth century)._ ghazal, in lament for the dead, of pir muhammad the season of parting has come up with the wind; my girl has hollowed my heart with the hot iron of separation. keep away, doctor, your roots and your knives are useless. none ever cured the ills of the ill of separation. there is no one near me noble enough to be told; i tear my collar in the "alas! alas!" of separation. she was a branch of santal; she closed her eyes and left me. autumn has come and she has gone, broken to pieces in the wind of separation. i am _pir muhammad_ and i am stumbling away to die; she stamped on my eyes with the foot of separation. _from the pus'hto (afghans, nineteenth century)._ ballade of nurshali come in haste this dusk, dear child. i will be on the water path when your girl friends go laughing by the road. "come in haste this dusk; i have become your nightingale, and the young girls leave me alone because of you. i give you the poppy of my mouth and my fallen hair." come in haste this dusk, dear child. "i have dishevelled and spread out my hair for you; take my wrist, for there is no shame and my father has gone out. sit near me on this red bed quietly." come in haste this dusk, dear child. "sit near me on this red bed, i lift the poppy to your lips; your hand is strong upon my breast; my beauty is a garden and you the bird in the flowering tree." come in haste this dusk, dear child. "my beauty is a garden with crimson flowers." but i cannot reach over the thicket of your hair. this is _nurshali_ sighing for the garden; come in haste this dusk, dear child. _from the pus'hto (afghans)._ ghazal of muhammad din tilai the world is fainting, and you will weep at last. the world is fainting and falling into a swoon. the world is turning and changing; the world is fainting, and you will weep at last. look at the love of farhad, who pierced a mountain and pierced a brass hill for the love of shirin. the world is fainting, and you will weep at last. qutab khan of the ranizais was in love and death became the hostess of his lady. the world is fainting, and you will weep at last. adam loved durkho, and they were separated. you know the story; there is no lasting love. the world is fainting, and you will weep at last. _muhammad din_ is ill for the matter of a little honey; this is a moment to be generous. the world is fainting, and you will weep at last. _from the pus'hto (afghans, nineteenth century)._ micra when you lie with me and love me, you give me a second life of young gold; and when you lie with me and love me not, i am as one who puts out hands in the dark and touches cold wet death. _from the pus'hto of mirza rahchan kayil (afghans, nineteenth century)._ ballade of muhammad din tilai a twist of fresh flowers on your dark hair, and your hair is a panther's shadow. on your white cheeks the down of a thousand roses, they speak about your beauty in lahore. you have your mother's lips; your ring is frosted with rubies, and your hair is a panther's shadow. your ring is frosted with rubies; i was unhappy and you looked over the wall, i saw your face among the crimson lilies; there is no armour that a lover can buy, and your hair is a panther's shadow. "the cool fingers of the mistress burn her lovers and they go away. i have fatigued the wise of many lands, and my hair is a tangle of serpents. what is the profit of these shawls without you? and my hair is a panther's shadow." "a squadron of my father's men are about me, and i have woven a collar of yellow flowers. my eyes are veiled because i drink cups of bhang, being a daughter of the daughter of queens. you cannot touch me because of my palaces, and my hair is a panther's shadow." i will touch you, though your beauty be as fair as song; for i am a disciple of abdel qadir gilani, and my songs are as beautiful as women and as strong as love; and your hair is a panther's shadow. your ring is frosted with rubies.... _muhammad din_ awaits the parting of your scarves; _tilai_ is standing here, young and magnificent like a tree; and your hair is a panther's shadow. _from the pus'hto (afghans, nineteenth century)._ ghazal of mira the lover to his lass: i have fallen before your door. i came to ask for alms and have lost my all, i had a copper-shod quarter-staff but the dogs attacked me, and not a strand of her hair came the way of my lips. the lover to his lass: i have fallen before your door. the lamp burns and i must play the green moth. i have stolen her scented rope of flowers, but the women caught me and built a little gaol about my heart with your old playthings. the lover to his lass: i have fallen before your door. _mira_ is a mountain goat that climbs to die upon the top peak in the rocks of grief; it is the hour; make haste. the lover to his lass: i have fallen before your door. _from the pus'hto (afghans, nineteenth century)._ ghazal of majid shah grief is hard upon me, master, for she has left me; the black dust has covered my pretty one. my heart is black, for the tomb has taken my friend; how pleasantly would go the days if my friend were here. i can only dream of the stature of my friend; the flowers are dying in my heart, my breast is a fading garden. her breast is a sweet garden now, and her garments are gold flowers; i am an orchard at night, for my friend has gone a journey. i am _majid shah_, a slave that ministers to the dead; abdel qadir gilani, even the master, shall not save me. _from the pus'hto (afghans, nineteenth century)._ ghazal of mira the world passes, nothing lasts, and the creation of men is buried alive under the vault of time. autumn comes pillaging gardens; the bulbuls laugh to see the flowers falling. wars start up wherever your eye glances, and the young men moan marching on to the batteries. _mira_ is the unkempt old man you see on the road; he has taken his death-wound in battle. _from the pus'hto (afghans, nineteenth century)._ ballade of ajam the washerman come to me to-day wearing your green collar, make your two orange sleeves float in the air, and come to me. touch your hair with essence and colour your clothes yellow; the deer of reason has fled from the hill of my heart; come to me. the deer of reason has fled from the hill of my heart because i have seen your gold rings and your amber rings; your eyes have lighted a small fire below my heart, put on your gold rings and your amber rings, and come to me. put on your gold rings and your amber rings, and you will be more beautiful than the brown girls of poets and the milk-white wives of kings. the coil of your hair is like a hangman's rope; but press me to your green collar between your orange sleeves. press me to your green collar between your orange sleeves, and give yourself once to _ajam_. slip away weeping, slip weeping away from the house of the wicked, and come to me. come to me to-day wearing your green collar, make your two orange sleeves float in the air and come to me. _from the pus'hto (afghans)._ ghazal of isa akhun zada beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me; breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; beauty with the flame shawl, let me say a little thing, lend your small ears to my quick sighing. breathing idol, i have come to the walls of death; and there are coloured cures behind the crystal of your eyes. life is a tale ill constructed without love. beauty of the flame shawl, do not repulse me; i am at your door wasted and white and dying. breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. this is the salaam that slaves make, and after the salaam listen to these quick sighings and their wisdom. all the world has spied on us and seen our love, and in four days or five days will be whispering evil. knot your robes in a turban, escape and be mine for ever; beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. after that we will both of us go to prison. breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. my quick sighings carry a tender promise; i will have time to remember in the battle, though all the world is a thousand whistling swords against me. the iron is still in the rock that shall forge my death-sword, though i have foes more than the stars of a thousand valley starlights. breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. i am as strong as sikander, i am as strong as death; you will hear me come with guns brooding behind me, and laughing bloody battalions following after. _isa gal_ is stronger than god; do not whip me, do not whip me, beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me; breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me. breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me; beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me. _from the pus'hto (afghans, nineteenth century)._ _annam_ the bamboo garden old bamboos are about my house, and the floor of my house is untidy with old books. it is sweet to rest in the shade of it and read the poems of the masters. but i remember a delightful fisherman who played on the five-stringed dan in the evening. in the day he allowed his reed canoe to float over the lakes and rivers, watching his nets and singing. a sweet boy promised to marry me, but he went away and left like a reed canoe that rolls adrift in the middle of a river. _song of annam._ stranger things have happened do not believe that ink is always black, or lime white, or lemon sour; you cannot ring one bell from two pagodas, you cannot have two governors for the city of lang son. i found you binding an orange spray of flowers with white flowers; i never noticed the flower gathering of other village ladies. would you like me to go and see your father and mother? _song of annam._ nocturne it is late at night and the north star is shining. the mist covers the rice-fields and the bamboos are whispering full of crickets. the watch beats on the iron-wood gong, and priests are ringing the pagoda bells. we hear the far-away games of peasants and distant singing in the cottages. it is late at night. as we talk gently, sitting by one another, life is as beautiful as night. the red moon is rising on the mountain side like a fire started among the trees. there is the north star shining like a paper lantern. the light air brings dew to our faces and the sound of tamtams beaten far away. let us sit like this all night. _song of annam._ the gao flower i am the gao flower high in a tree, you are the grass long mai on the path-side. when heat comes down after the dews of morning the flower grows pale and tumbles on the grass, the grass long mai that keeps the fallen gao. folk who let their daughters grow without achieving a husband might easily forget to fence their garden, or let their radishes grow flower and rank when they could eat them ripe and tender. come to me, you that i see walk every night in a red turban; young man with the white turban, come to me. we will plant marrows together in a garden, and there may be little marrows for your children. i will dye your turban blue and red and yellow, you with the white turban. you that are passing with a load of water, i call you and you do not even turn your head. _song of annam._ the girl of ke-mo i'm a girl of ke-mo village selling my rice wine on the road. mine is the strongest rice wine in the land, though my bottle is so patched and dirty. these silly rags are not my body, the parts you cannot see are counted pleasant; but you are just too drunk to drink my wine, and just too plain to lie down on my mat. he who would drink the wine of the girl of ke-mo needs a beautiful body and a lofty wit. _song of annam._ the little woman of clear river clear river twists nine times about clear river; but so deep that none can see the green sand. you hear the birds about clear river: dik, dik, dik, dik, diu dik. a little woman with jade eyes leans on the wall of a pavilion. she has the moonrise in her heart and the singing of love songs comes to her up the river. she stands and dreams for me outside the house by the bamboo door. in a minute i will leave my shadow and talk to her of poetry and love. _song of annam._ waiting to marry a student i still walk slowly on the river bank where i came singing, and where i saw your boat pass up beyond the sun setting red in the river. i want autumn, i want the leaves to begin falling at once, so that the cold time may bring us close again like k'ien niü and chik nü, the two stars. each year when autumn comes the crows make a black bridge across the milky sea, and then these two poor stars can run together in gold and be at peace. darling, for my sake work hard and be received with honour at the examinations. since i saw your boat pass up beyond the sun i have forgotten how to sing and how to paddle the canoe across the lake. i know how to sit down and how to be sad, and i know how to say nothing; but every other art has slipped away. _song of annam._ a song for two i have lacquered my teeth to find a husband. and i have need of a wife. give me a kiss and they will marry us at mo-lao, my village. i will marry you if you will wait for me, wait till the banana puts forth branches, and fruit hangs heavy on the sung-tree, and the onion flowers; wait till the dove goes down in the pool to lay her eggs, and the eel climbs into a tree to make her nest. _song of annam._ _arabic_ sand the sand is like acres of wet milk poured out under the moonlight; it crawls up about your brown feet like wine trodden from white stars. _from the arabic of john duncan._ two similes you have taken away my cloak, my cloak of weariness; take my coat also, my many-coloured coat of life.... on this great nursery floor i had three toys, a bright and varnished vow, a speckled monster, best of boys, true friend to me, and more beloved and a thing of cost, my doll painted like life; and now one is broken and two are lost. _from the arabic of john duncan._ melodian i have been at this shooting-gallery too long. it is monotonous how the little coloured balls make up and down on their silvery water thread; it would be pleasant to have money and go instead to watch your greasy audience in the threepenny stalls of the world-famous caravan of dance and song. and i want to go out beyond the turf fires there, after i've looked at your just smiling face, to that untented silent dark blue nighted place; and wait such time as you will wish the noise all dumb and drop your fairings and leave the funny man, and come ... you have the most understanding face in all the fair. _from the arabic of john duncan._ the lost lady you are the drowned, star that i found washed on the rim of the sea before the morning. you are the little dying light that stopped me in the night. _from the arabic of john duncan._ love brown and bitter you know so well how to stay me with vapours distilled expertly to that unworthy end; you know the poses of your body i love best and that i am cheerful with your head on my breast, you know you please me by disliking one friend; you read up what amuses me in the papers. who knows me knows i am not of those fools that gets tired of a woman who is kind to them, yet you know not how stifled you render me by learning me so well, how i long to see an unpractised girl under your clever phlegm, a soul not so letter-perfect in the rules. _from the arabic of john duncan._ okhouan a mole shows black between her mouth and cheek. as if a negro, coming into a garden, wavered between a purple rose and a scarlet camomile. _from the arabic._ lying down alone i shall never see your tired sleep in the bed that you make beautiful, nor hardly ever be a dream that plays by your dark hair; yet i think i know your turning sigh and your trusting arm's abandonment, for they are the picture of my night, my night that does not end. _from the arabic of john duncan._ old greek lovers they put wild olive and acanthus up with tufts of yellow wool above the door when a man died in greece and in greek islands, grey stone by the blue sea, or sage-green trees down to the water's edge. how many clanging years ago i, also withering into death, sat with him, old man of so white hair who only, only looked past me into the red fire. at last his words were all a jumble of plum-trees and white boys smelling of the sea's green wine and practice of his lyre. suddenly the bleak resurgent mind called wonderfully clear: "what mark have i left?" crying girls with wine and linen washed the straight old body and wrapped up, and set the doorward feet. later for me also under greek sun the pendant leaves in green and bitter flakes blew out to join the wastage of the world, and wool, i take it, in the nests of birds. _from the arabic of john duncan._ night and morning the great brightness of the burning of the stars, little frightened love, is like your eyes, when in the heavy dusk you question the dark blue shadows, fearing an evil. below the night the one clear line of dawn; as it were your head where there is one golden hair though your hair is very brown. _from the arabic (school of ebn-el-moattaz) (ninth century)._ in a yellow frame her hand tinted to gold with henna gave me a cup of wine like gold water, and i said: the moon rise, the sun rise. _from the arabic of hefny-bey-nassif (contemporary)._ because the good are never fair when she appears the daylight envies her garment, the wanton daylight envies her garment to show it to the jealous sun. and when she walks, all women tall and tiny want her figure and start crying. because of your mouth, long life to the agata valley, long life to pearls. watchers have discovered paradise in your cheeks, but i am undecided, for there is a hint of the tops of flames in their purple shining. _from the arabic of ahmed bey chawky (contemporary)._ white and green and black tears why are your tears so white? dear, i have wept so long that my old tears grow white like my old hair. why are your tears so green? dear, the waters are wept away and the green gall is flowing. why are your tears so black? dear, the weeping is over and the black flash you loved is breaking. _from the arabic (school of ebn-el-farid) (thirteenth century)._ a conceit i hide my love, i will not say her name. and yet since i confess i love, her name is told. you know that if i love it must be ... whom? _from the arabic of ebn kalakis abu el fath nasrallah (eleventh century)._ values since there is excitement in suffering for a woman, let him burn on. the dust in a wolf's eyes is balm of flowers to the wolf when a flock of sheep has raised it. _from the arabic._ what love is love starts with a little throb in the heart, and in the end one dies like an ill-treated toy. love is born in a look or in four words, the little spark that burnt the whole house. love is at first a look, and then a smile, and then a word, and then a promise, and then a meeting of two among flowers. _from the arabic._ the dancing heart when she came she said: you know that your love is granted, why is your heart trembling? and i: you are bringing joy for my heart and so my heart is dancing. _from the arabic of urak el hutail._ the great offence she seemed so bored, i wanted to embrace her by surprise; but then the scalding waters fell from her eyes and burnt her roses. i offered her a cup.... and came to paradise.... ah, sorrow, when she rose from the waves of wine i thought she would have killed me with the swords of her desolation.... especially as i had tied her girdle with the wrong bow. _from the arabic of abu nuas (eighth century)._ an escape she was beautiful that evening and so gay.... in little games my hand had slipped her mantle, i am not sure about her skirts. then in the night's curtain of shadows, heavy and discreet, i asked and she replied: to-morrow. next day i came saying, remember. words of a night, she said, to bring the day. _from the arabic of abu nuas (eighth century)._ three queens three sweet drivers hold the reins, and hold the places of my heart. a great people obeys me, but these three obey me not. am i then a lesser king than love? _from the arabic of haroun el raschid (eighth century)._ her nails she is as wise as hippocrates, as beautiful as joseph, as sweet-voiced as david, as pure as mary. i am as sad as jacob, as lonely as jonah, as patient as job, as unfortunate as adam. when i met her again and saw her nails prettily purpled, i reproached her for making up when i was not there. she told me gently that she was no coquette, but had wept tears of blood because i was not there, and maybe she had dried her eyes with her little hands. i would like to have wept before she wept; but she wept first and has the better love. her eyes are long eyes, and her brows are the bows of subtle strong men. _from the arabic of yazid ebn moauia (seventh century)._ perturbation at dawn day comes.... and when she sees the withering of the violet garden and the saffron garden flowering, the stars escaping on their black horse and dawn on her white horse arriving, she is afraid. against the sighing of her frightened breasts she puts her hand; i see what i have never seen, five perfect lines on a crystal leaf written with coral pens. _from the arabic of ebn maatuk (seventeenth century)._ the resurrection of the tattooed girl her hands are filled with what i lack, and on her arms are pictures, looking like files of ants forsaking the battalions, or hail inlaid by broken clouds on green lawns. she fears the arrows of her proper eyes and has her hands in armour. she has stretched her hands in a cup to me, begging for my heart. she has circled me with the black magic of her brows and shot small arrows at me. the black curl that lies upon her temple is a scorpion pointing his needle at the stars. her eyes seem tight, tight shut; but i believe she is awake. _from the arabic of yazid ebn moauia (seventh century)._ moallaka the poets have muddied all the little fountains. yet do not my strong eyes know you, far house? o dwelling of abla in the valley of gawa, speak to me, for my camel and i salute you. my camel is as tall as a tower, and i make him stand and give my aching heart to the wind of the desert. o erstwhile dwelling of abla in the valley of gawa; and my tribe in the valleys of hazn and samna and in the valley of motethalem! salute to the old ruins, the lonely ruins since oum el aythan gathered and went away. now is the dwelling of abla in a valley of men who roar like lions. it will be hard to come to you, o daughter of makhram. * * * * * abla is a green rush that feeds beside the water. but they have taken her to oneiza and my tribe feeds in lazy ghailam valley. they fixed the going, and the camels waked in the night and evilly prepared. i was afraid when i saw the camels standing ready among the tents and eating grain to make them swift. i counted forty-two milk camels, black as the wings of a black crow. white and purple are the lilies of the valley, but abla is a branch of flowers. who will guide me to the dwelling of abla? _from the arabic of antar (late sixth and early seventh centuries)._ moallaka rise and hold up the curved glass, and pour us wine of the morning, of el andar. pour wine for us, whose golden colour is like a water stream kissing flowers of saffron. pour us wine to make us generous and carelessly happy in the old way. pour us wine that gives the miser a sumptuous generosity and disregard. o oum-amr, you have prevented me from the cup when it should have been moving to the right; and yet the one of us three that you would not serve is not the least worthy. how many cups have i not emptied at balbek, and emptied at damas and emptied at cacerin! more cups! more cups! for death will have his day; his are we and he ours. * * * * * by herself she is fearless and gives her arms to the air, the limbs of a long camel that has not borne. she gives the air her breasts, unfingered ivory. she gives the air her long self and her curved self, and hips so round and heavy that they are tired. all these noble abundances of girlhood make the doors divinely narrow and myself insane. columns of marble and ivory in the old way, and anklets chinking in gold and musical bracelets. without her i am a she-camel that has lost, and howls in the sand at night. without her i am as sad as an old mother hearing of the death of her many sons. _from the arabic of amr ebn kultum (seventh century)._ _baluchistan_ comparisons touch my hands with your fingers, yellow wallflower. did god use a bluer paint painting the sky for the gold sun or making the sea about your two black stars? treasure the touches of my fingers. god did not spread his bluest paint on a hollow sky or a girl's eye, but on a topaz chain, from you to me. touch my temples with your fingers, scarlet rose. did god use a stronger light when he fashioned and dropped the sun into the sky or dropped your black stars into their blue sea? treasure the touches of my fingers. god did not spend his strongest light on a sun above or a look of love, but on a round gold ring, from you to me. touch my cheeks with your fingers, blue hyacinth. did god use a whiter silk weaving the veil for your fevered roses, or spinning the moon that lies across your face? treasure the touches of my fingers. god did not waste his whitest web on veils of silk or moons of milk, but on a marriage cap, from you to me. _popular song of baluchistan._ _burma_ a canker in the heart i made a bitter song when i was a boy, about a girl with hot earth-coloured hair, who lived with me and left me. i made a sour song on her marriage-day, that ever his kisses would be ghosts of mine, and ever the measure of his halting love flow to my music. it was a silly song, dear wife with cool black hair, and yet when i recall (at night with you asleep) that once you gave yourself before we met, i do not quite well know what song to make. _from the burmese (nineteenth century) (¿ by asmapur)._ _cambodia_ disquiet brother, my thought of you in this letter on a palm-leaf goes up about you as her own scent goes up about the rose. the bracelets on my arms have grown too large because you went away. i think the sun of love melted the snow of parting, for the white river of tears has overflowed. but though i am sad i am still beautiful, the girl that you desired in april. brother, my love for you in this letter on a palm-leaf brightens about you as her own rays brighten about the moon. _love poem of cambodia._ _caucasus_ vengeance aischa was mine, my tender cousin, my blond lover; and you knew our love, uncle without bowels, foul old man. for a few weights of gold you sold her to the blacks, and they will drive a stinking trade at the dark market; your slender daughter, the free child of our hills. she will go to serve the bed of a fat man with no god, a guts that cannot walk, a belly hiding his own feet, a rolling paunch between itself and love. she was slim and quick like the antelope of our hills when he comes down in the summer-time to bathe in the pools of tereck, her stainless flesh was all moonlight. her long silk hair was of so fine a gold and of so honey-like a brown that bees flew there, and her red lips were flowers in sunlight. she was fair, alas, she was fair, so that her beauty goes to a garden of dying flowers, made one with the girls that mourn and wither for light and love behind the harem bars. and you have dirty dreams that she will be sultane, and you will drink and boast and roll about, the grinning ancestor of little kings. hugging your very wicked gold within a greasy belt, you paddle exulting like a bald ape that glories to defile, unmindful of two hot young streams of tears. you stole this dirty gold, for this gold means your daughter's freedom and your nephew's love, two fresh and lovely things groaning within your belt. the sunny playing of our childhood at the green foot of elbours, the starry playing of our youth beyond the flowery fences, these sigh their lost delights within your belt. give me the gold; damn you, give me the gold.... you kill my mercy when you kill my love.... hold up your trembling sword; for this is death. * * * * * i take the belt from the dead loins that put away my love, and turn my sweet white horse after the caravan.... with dirty gold and clean steel i'll set aischa free. _ballad of the caucasus._ the flight softly into the saddle of my black horse with white feet; your brothers are frowning and grasping swords in sleep. my rifle is as clean as moonlight, my flints are new; my long grey sword is sighing in his blue sheath. fatima gave me my grey sword of temrouk steel, damascened in red gold to cut a pathway for the feet of love. my eye is dark and keen, my hand has never trembled on the sword. if your brothers rise and follow on their stormy horses, if they stretch their hot hands to catch you from my breast, my rifle shall not sing to them, my steel shall spare. my rifle's song is for my yellow girl, my eye is dark and keen, i'll send my bullet to the fairest heart that ever lady loved with in the world. my hand upon the sword shall be so strong, he'll find the little laughing place where you dance in my breast; and we'll have no more of the silly world where our lips must lie apart. we'll let death pour our souls into one cup, and mount like joyous birds to god with hearts on fire, and god will mingle us into one shape in an eternal garden of gold stars. _love ballad of the caucasus._ _china_ we were two green rushes we were two green rushes by opposing banks, and the small stream ran between. not till the water beat us down could we be brought together, not till the winter came could we be mingled in a frosty sleep, locked down and close. _from the chinese of j. wing (nineteenth century)._ song writer paid with air i sit on a white wood box smeared with the black name of a seller of white sugar. the little brown table is so dirty that if i had food i do not think i could eat. how can i promise violets drunken in wine for your amusement, how can i powder your blue cotton dress with splinters of emerald, how can i sing you songs of the amber pear, or pour for the finger-tips of your white fingers mingled scents in a rose agate bowl? _from the chinese of j. wing (nineteenth century)._ the bad road i have seen a pathway shaded by green great trees, a road bordered by thickets light with flowers. my eyes have entered in under the green shadow, and made a cool journey far along the road. but i shall not take the road, because it does not lead to her house. when she was born they shut her little feet in iron boxes, so that my beloved never walks the roads. when she was born they shut her heart in a box of iron, so that my beloved shall never love me. _from the chinese._ the western window at the head of a thousand roaring warriors, with the sound of gongs, my husband has departed following glory. at first i was overjoyed to have a young girl's liberty. now i look at the yellowing willow-leaves; they were green the day he left. i wonder if he also was glad? _from the chinese of wang ch'ang ling (eighth century)._ in lukewarm weather the women who were girls a long time ago are sitting between the flower bushes and speaking softly together: "they pretend that we are old and have white hair; they say also that our faces are not like the spring moons. "perhaps it is a lie; we cannot see ourselves. "who will tell us for certain that winter is not at the other side of the mirror, obscuring our delights and covering our hair with frost?" _from the chinese of wang ch'ang ling (eighth century)._ written on white frost the white frost covers all the arbute-trees, like powder on the faces of women. looking from window consider that a man without women is like a flower naked without its leaves. to drive away my bitterness i write this thought with my narrowed breath on the white frost. _from the chinese of wang chi (sixth and seventh centuries)._ a flute of marvel under the leaves and cool flowers the wind brought me the sound of a flute from far away. i cut a branch of willow and answered with a lazy song. even at night, when all slept, the birds were listening to a conversation in their own language. _from the chinese of li po ( - )._ the willow-leaf i am in love with a child dreaming at the window. not for her elaborate house on the banks of yellow river; but for a willow-leaf she has let fall into the water. i am in love with the east breeze. not that he brings the scent of the flowering of peaches white on eastern hill; but that he has drifted the willow-leaf against my boat. i am in love with the willow-leaf. not that he speaks of green spring coming to us again; but that the dreaming girl pricked there a name with her embroidery needle, and the name is mine. _from the chinese of chang chiu ling ( - )._ a poet looks at the moon i hear a woman singing in my garden, but i look at the moon in spite of her. i have no thought of trying to find the singer singing in my garden; i am looking at the moon. and i think the moon is honouring me with a long silver look. i blink as bats fly black across the ray; but when i raise my head the silver look is still upon me. the moon delights to make eyes of poets her mirror, and poets are many as dragon scales on the moonlit sea. _from the chinese of chang jo hsu._ we two in a park at night we have walked over the high grass under the wet trees to the gravel path beside the lake, we two. a noise of light-stepping shadows follows now from the dark green mist in which we waded. six geese drop one by one into the shivering lake; they say "peeng" and then after a long time, "peeng," swimming out softly to the moon. three of the balancing dancing geese are dim and black, and three are white and clear because of the moon; in what explanatory dawn will our souls be seen to be the same? _from the chinese of j. wing (nineteenth century)._ the jade staircase the jade staircase is bright with dew. slowly, this long night, the queen climbs, letting her gauze stockings and her elaborate robe drag in the shining water. dazed with the light, she lowers the crystal blind before the door of the pavilion. it leaps down like a waterfall in sunlight. while the tiny clashing dies down, sad and long dreaming, she watches between the fragments of jade light the shining of the autumn moon. _from the chinese of li po ( - )._ the morning shower the young lady shows like a thing of light in the shadowy deeps of a fair window grown round with flowers. she is naked and leans forward, and her flesh like frost gathers the light beyond the stone brim. only the hair made ready for the day suggests the charm of modern clothing. her blond eyebrows are the shape of very young moons. the shower's bright water overflows in a pure rain. she lifts one arm into an urgent line, cooling her rose fingers on the grey metal of the spray. if i could choose my service, i would be the shower dashing over her in the sunlight. _from the chinese of j.s. ling ( )._ a virtuous wife one moment i place your two bright pearls against my robe, and the red silk mirrors a rose in each. why did i not meet you before i married? see, there are two tears quivering at my lids; i am giving back your pearls. _from the chinese of chang chi ( - )._ written on a wall in spring it rained last night, but fair weather has come back this morning. the green clusters of the palm-trees open and begin to throw shadows. but sorrow drifts slowly down about me. i come and go in my room, heart-heavy with memories. the neighbour green casts shadows of green on my blind; the moss, soaked in dew, takes the least print like delicate velvet. i see again a gauze tunic of oranged rose with shadowy underclothes of grenade red. how things still live again. i go and sit by the day balustrade and do nothing except count the plains and the mountains and the valleys and the rivers that separate from my spring. _from the chinese (early nineteenth century)._ a poet thinks the rain is due to fall, the wind blows softly. the branches of the cinnamon are moving, the begonias stir on the green mounds. bright are the flying leaves, the falling flowers are many. the wind lifted the dry dust, and he is lifting the wet dust; here and there the wind moves everything he passes under light gauze and touches me. i am alone with the beating of my heart. there are leagues of sky, and the water is flowing very fast. why do the birds let their feathers fall among the clouds? i would have them carry my letters, but the sky is long. the stream flows east and not one wave comes back with news. the scented magnolias are shining still, but always a few are falling. i close his box on my guitar of jasper and lay aside my jade flute. i am alone with the beating of my heart. stay with me to-night, old songs. _from the chinese of liu chi ( - )._ in the cold night reading in my book this cold night, i have forgotten to go to sleep. the perfumes have died on the gilded bed-cover; the last smoke must have left the hearth when i was not looking. my beautiful friend snatches away the lamp. do you know what the time is? _from the chinese of yuan mei ( - )._ _daghestan_ winter comes winter scourges his horses through the north, his hair is bitter snow on the great wind. the trees are weeping leaves because the nests are dead, because the flowers were nests of scent and the nests had singing petals and the flowers and nests are dead. your voice brings back the songs of every nest, your eyes bring back the sun out of the south, violets and roses peep where you have laughed the snow away and kissed the snow away, and in my heart there is a garden still for the lost birds. _song of daghestan._ _georgia_ part of a ghazal lonely rose out-splendouring legions of roses, how could the nightingales behold you and not sing? _by rustwell of georgia (from the tariel, twelfth century)._ _hindustan_ fard love brings the tiny sweat into your hair like stars marching in the dead of night. _from the hindustani of mir taqui (eighteenth century)._ incurable i desire the door-sill of my beloved more than a king's house; i desire the shadow of the wall where her beauty hides more than the delhi palaces. why did you wait till spring; were not my hands already full of red-thorned roses? my heart is yours, so that i know not which heart i hear sighing: yaquin, yaquin, yaquin, foolish yaquin. _from the hindustani of yaquin (eighteenth century)._ a poem joy fills my eyes, remembering your hair, with tears, and these tears roll and shine; into my thoughts are woven a dark night with raindrops and the rolling and shining of love songs. _from the hindustani of mir taqui (eighteenth century)._ fard ever your rose face or black curls are with shaguil; because your curls are night and your face is day. _from the hindustani of shaguil (eighteenth century)._ mortification now that the wind has taught your veil to show your eyes and hair, all the world is bowing down to your dear head; faith has crept away to die beside the tomb of prayer, and men are kneeling to your hair, and god is dead. _from the hindustani of hatifi (eighteenth century)._ fard a love-sick heart dies when the heart is whole, for all the heart's health is to be sick with love. _from the hindustani of miyan jagnu (eighteenth century)._ _japan_ grief and the sleeve tears in the moonlight, you know why, have marred the flowers on my rose sleeve. ask why. _from the japanese of hide-yoshi._ drink song the crows have wakened me by cawing at the moon. i pray that i shall not think of him; i pray so intently that he begins to fill my whole mind. this is getting on my nerves; i wonder if there is any of that wine left. _japanese street song._ a boat comes in although i shall not see his face for the low riding of the ship, the three armorial oak-leaves on his cloak will be enough. but what if i make a mistake and call to the wrong man? or make no sign at all, and it is he? _japanese street song._ the opinion of men my desires are like the white snows on fuji that grow but never melt. i am becoming proud of my bad reputation; and the more men say, we cannot understand why she loves him, the less i care. i am sure that in a very short time i shall give myself to him. _japanese street song._ old scent of the plum-tree remembering what passed under the scent of the plum-tree, i asked the plum-tree for tidings of that other. alas ... the cold moon of spring.... _from the japanese of fujiwara ietaka. ( - )._ an orange sleeve in the fifth month, when orange-trees fill all the world with scent, i think of the sleeve of a girl who loved me. _from the japanese of nari-hira._ invitation the chief flower of the plum-tree of this isle opens to-night.... come, singing to the moon, in the third watch. _from the japanese of a courtesan of nagasaki._ the clocks of death in a life where the clocks are slow or fast, it is a pleasant thing to die together as we are dying. _from the japanese of the wife of bes-syo ko-saburo naga-haru, (sixteenth century)._ green food for a queen i was gathering leaves of the wakana in springtime. why did the snow fall on my dress? _from the japanese of the mikado ko-ko ten-no, (ninth century)._ the cushion your arm should only be a spring night's dream; if i accepted it to rest my head upon there would be rumours and no delight. _from the japanese of the daughter of taira-no tsu-gu-naka._ a single night was one night, and that a night without much sleep, enough to make me love all the life long? _from the japanese of the wife of the mikado sui-toka in (twelfth century)._ at a dance of girls let the wind's breath blow in the glades of the clouds until they close; so that the beauty of these girls may not escape. _from the japanese of so-dzyo hend-zyo._ alone one night this night, long like the drooping feathers of the pheasant, the chain of mountains, shall i sleep alone? _from the japanese of kaik-no motto-no hitomaro (seventh and eighth centuries)._ _kafiristan_ walking up a hill at dawn here is the wind in the morning; the kind red face of god is looking over the hill we are climbing. to-morrow we are going to marry and work and play together, and laugh together at things which would not amuse our neighbours. _song of kafiristan._ proposal of marriage your eyes are black like water-melon pips, your lips are red like the red flesh of water-melons, your loins are smooth like smooth-rind water-melons. you are more beautiful than my favourite among mares, your buttocks are sleeker and firmer, like her your movements are on legs of light steel. come and sit at my hearth, and i will celebrate your coming; i will choose from the hundred flocks of each a hundred, passing at the foot of the himalaya, the two most silky and most beautiful great sheep. we will go to the temple and sacrifice one of the two to the god pandu, that you may have many children; and i will kill the other and roast it whole, my most fair rose-tree serving as a spit. i will ask the prettiest eaters and the prettiest drinkers; and while they eat and drink greatly for three days, i will wind silver rings upon your arms and feet and hang a chain of river gold about your neck. _popular song of kafiristan._ _kazacks_ you do not want me? you do not want me, zohrah. is it because i am maimed? yet tamour-leng was maimed, going on crippled feet, and he conquered the vast of the world. you do not want me, zohrah. is it because i am maimed? yet i have one arm to fight for you, one arm to crush you to my rough breast, one arm to break men for you. it was to shield you from the khargis that i drag this stump in the long days. it has been so with my women; they would have made you a toy for heat. after their chief with his axe once swinging cut my left arm, that, severed, bloody, and dead, yet struggled on the ground trying to guard you, i have had pain for long in my arm that's lost. since the silk nets of your grape-lustrous eyes ensnared this heart that did not try to guard, ever i have a great pain in my heart that's lost. you do not want me, zohrah. _kazack poem of the chief gahuan-beyg ( - )._ _korea_ tears how can a heart play any more with life, after it has found a woman and known tears? in vain i shut my windows against the moonlight; i have estranged sleep. the flower of her face is growing in the shadow among warm and rustling leaves.... i see the sunlight on her house, i see her curtains of vermilion silk.... here is the almond-coloured dawn; and there is dew on the petals of my night flower. _lyric of korea._ the dream i dreamed that i was touching her eyelids, and i awoke to find her sleepy temples of rose jade for one heart-beat.... though the moonlight beats upon the sea, there is no boat. _lyric of korea._ separation as water runs in the river, so runs time; and ever my eyes are wasted of her presence. the red flowers of the second moon were yesterday; to-day the earth has spots of blood, and there are no flowers. the wild geese were harnessed to the autumn moon; they have come, i heard their crying, and they are gone. they have passed and given me no message; i only hear the falling, falling noise of white rain. _song of korea._ _kurdistan_ paradise paradise, my darling, know that paradise, the prophet-given paradise after death, is far and very mysterious and most high; my habits would be upset in such a place. without impiety, i should be mortally weary if i went there alone, without my wife; an ugly crowding of inferior females, what should i do with the houris? what should i do with those tall loaded fruit-trees, seeing i could not give the fruit to you? what by the freshness of those blue streams, seeing my face reflected there alone? and it might be worse if you came with me, for all of allah's chosen would desire you. and if mahomet threw his handkerchief and took you up and loved you for himself? eyes of my eyes, how could i then defend you? i could not be at ease and watch him love you; and if i mutinied against the prophet, he, being zealous to love you in his peace, would rise and send me hurrying back by the sword-blade thinness of the bridge from paradise to earth, and in the middle flick me down sideways to the fires of hell. my skin would cook and be renewed for ever where murderers were burning and renewing; and evil souls, my only crime being love, would burn me and annoy me and destroy me. if i were there and you in paradise, i could not even make my prayer to allah that in his justice he should give me back my paradise. let us love, therefore, on the earth together; our love is our garden, let us take great care, whisper and call pet names and kiss each other to live our paradise as long as may be. _love ballad of kurdistan._ _laos_ misadventure ever at the far side of the current the fishes hurl and swim, for pelicans and great birds watch and go fishing on the bank-side. no man dare go alone in the dim great forest, but if i were as strong as the green tiger i would go. the holy swan on the sea wishes to pass over with his wings, but i think it would be hard to go so far. if you are still pure, tell me, darling; if you are no longer clear like an evening star, you are the heart of a great tree eaten by insects. why do you lower your eyes? why do you not look at me? when the blue elephant finds a lotus by the water-side he takes it up and eats it. lemons are not sweeter than sugar. if i had the moon at home i would open my house wide to the four winds of the horizon, so that the clouds that surround her should escape and be shaken away. _song of the love nights of laos._ khap-salung seeing that i adore you, scarf of golden flowers, why do you stay unmarried? as the liana at a tree's foot that quivers to wind it round, so do i wait for you. i pray you do not detest me.... i have come to say farewell. farewell, scarf; garden royal where none may enter, gaudy money i may not spend. _song of the love nights of laos._ the holy swan fair journey, o holy swan with gold wings; o holy swan that i love, fair journey! carry this letter for me to the new land, the place where my lover labours. if it rains fly low beneath the trees, if the sun is hot fly in the forest shadows; if any ask you where you are going do not answer. you who rise for so long a journey, avoid the roofs at the hour when the sun is red. carry this letter to the new land of my lover. if he is faithful, give it to him; if he has forgotten, read it to him only and let the lightning burn it afterwards. _song of the love nights of laos._ _manchuria_ fire and love if you do not want your heart burnt at a small flame like a spitted sheep, fly the love of women. fire burns what it touches, but love burns from afar. _folk song of manchuria._ hearts of women it is hard for a man to tell the hidden thought in his friend's heart, and the thought in a man's own heart is a thing darker. if you have seen a woman's heart bare to your eyes, go quickly away and never tell what you have seen there. _street song of manchuria._ _persia_ to his love instead of a promised picture-book _the greater and the lesser ills:_ he waved his grey hand wearily back to the anger of the sea, then forward to the blue of hills. out from the shattered barquenteen the black frieze-coated sailors bore their dying despot to the shore and wove a crazy palanquin. they found a valley where the rain had worn the fern-wood to a paste and tiny streams came down in haste to eastward of the mountain chain. and here was handiwork of cretes, and olives grew beside a stone, and one slim phallos stood alone blasphemed at by the paroquets. hard by a wall of basalt bars the night came like a settling bird, and here he wept and slept and stirred faintly beneath the turning stars. then like a splash of saffron whey that spills from out a bogwood bowl oozed from the mountain clefts the whole rich and reluctant light of day. and when he neither moved nor spoke and did not heed the morning call, they laid him underneath the wall and wrapped him in a purple cloak. _from the modern persian._ too short a night lily of streams lay by my side last night and to my prayers gave answers of delight; day came before our fairy-tale was finished, because the tale was long, not short the night. _from the persian of abu-said ( - )._ the roses roses are a wandering scent from heaven. rose-seller, why do you sell your roses? for silver? but with the silver from your roses what can you buy so precious as your roses? _from the persian of abu-yshac (middle of the tenth century)._ i asked my love i asked my love: "why do you make yourself so beautiful?" "to please myself. i am the eye, the mirror, and the loveliness; the loved one and the lover and the love." _from the persian of abu-said ( - )._ a request when i am cold and undesirous and my lids lie dead, come to watch by the body that loved you and say: this is _rondagui_, whom i killed and my heart regrets for ever. _from the persian of rondagui (tenth century)._ see you have dancers see you have dancers and wine and a girl like one of the angels (if they exist), and find a clear stream singing near its birth and a bed of moss (if moss exists), for loving and singing to the dancers and drinking and forgetting hell (if hell exists), because this is a pastime better than paradise (if paradise exists). _from the persian of omar khayyam (eleventh century)._ _siam_ the sighing heart i made search for you all my life, and when i found you there came a trouble on me, so that it seemed my blood escaped and my life ran back from me and my heart slipped into you. it seems, also, that you are the moon and that i am at the top of a tree. if i had wings i would spread them as far as you, dear bud, that will not open though the kisses of the holy bird knock at your petal door. _song of siam._ _syria_ handing over the gun kill me if you will not love me. here are flints; ram down the heavy bullet, little leopard, on the black powder. only you must not shoot me through the head, nor touch my heart; because my head is full of the ways of you and my heart is dead. _song of syria._ _tatars_ honey young man, if you try to eat honey on the blade of a knife, you will cut yourself. if you try to taste honey on the kiss of a woman, taste with the lips only, if not, young man, you will bite your own heart. _song of the tatars._ _thibet_ the love of the archer prince the khan. the son of the khan. the love of the son of the khan. the veil of the love of the son of the khan. the clear breeze that lifted the veil of the love of the son of the khan. the buds of fire that scented the clear breeze that lifted the veil of the love of the son of the khan. the archer prince whose love kissed the buds of fire that scented the clear breeze that lifted the veil of the love of the son of the khan. and the girl married the archer prince whose love kissed the buds of fire that scented the clear breeze that lifted the veil of the love of the son of the khan. _street song of thibet._ _turkestan_ distich your face upon a drop of purple wine shows like my soul poised on a bead of blood. _from the turkic of hussein baikrani._ things seen in a battle clear diamond heart, i have been hunting death among the swords. but death abhors my shadow, and i come back wounded with memories. your eyes, for steel is amorous of steel and there are bright blue sparks. your lips, i see great bloody roses cut in white dead breasts. your bed, for i see wrestling bodies under the evening star. _from the turkic._ hunter's song not a stone from my black sling ever misses anything, but the arrows of your eye surer shoot and faster fly. not one creature that i hit lingers on to know of it, but the game that falls to love lives and lingers long enough. _from the turkic._ _turkey_ the bath my dreams are bubbles of cool light, sunbeams mingled in the light green waters of your bath. through fretted spaces in the olive wood my love adventures with the white sun. i dive into the ice-coloured shadows where the water is like light blue flowers dancing on mirrors of silver. the sun rolls under the waters of your bath like the body of a strong swimmer. and now you cool your feet, which have the look of apple flowers, under the water on the oval marble coloured like yellow roses. your scarlet nipples waver under the green kisses of the water, flowers drowned in a mountain stream. _from the modern turkish._ distich lions tremble at my claws; and i at a gazelle with eyes. _from the turkish of sultan selim i._ a proverb before you love, learn to run through snow leaving no footprint. _from the turkish._ envoy in autumn here are the doleful rains, and one would say the sky is weeping the death of the tolerable weather. tedium cloaks the wit like a veil of clouds and we sit down indoors. now is the time for poetry coloured with summer. let it fall on the white paper as ripe flowers fall from a perfect tree. i will dip down my lips into my cup each time i wet my brush. and keep my thoughts from wandering as smoke wanders, for time escapes away from you and me quicker than birds. _from the chinese of tu fu ( - )._ translator's notes the garden of bright waters i am hoping that some readers will look on this collection primarily as a book of poems. the finding and selection of material and the shaping of the verses is my principal part in it. most of the songs have been written from, or by comparing, the literal translations of french and italian scholars, checked wherever possible by my own knowledge. when my first and very great debt to these has been stated, there remains my debt to the late john duncan, to mr. j. wing, and to a friend, a distinguished writer both in persian and turkish, who wishes to remain unnamed. the kindness of these writers lies in trusting their work to my translation and helping me in that task. my book also owes much to suggestions prompted by the wide learning of mr. l. cranmer-byng. my final debt is to him and to another generous critic. i have arranged my poems in the alphabetical order of their countries, and added short notes wherever i considered them necessary, at the instance of some kindly reviewers of an earlier book, which was not so arranged and provided. afghanistan sikander, alexander the great. shalibagh, the notable garden of shalimar in lahore, planted by shah jahan in . abdel qadir gilani, abd al-qadir al-jilani, founder of the qadirite order of the dervishes, twelfth century. annam k'ien niÃ� and chik nÃ�: the legend of these two stars comes from china and is told in japan. readers are referred to that section of mr. l. cranmer-byng's _a lute of jade_ which deals delightfully with po-chü-i; and to lafcadio hearn's _romance of the milky way._ arabic antar, the hero antar ebn cheddad ebn amr corad, who lived in the late sixth and early seventh centuries, owes his european reputation to _siret antar_, the adventures of antar, or more exactly the conduct of antar, written by abul-moyyed "el antari" in the twelfth century. this book tells of the fighter's feats in war and of his love for his cousin abla; and these are the themes of antar's own poems. an escape: in this poem abu nuas, the court poet, tells of an adventure of the khalif haroun. there is a story that the khalif, being set back by the answer of his lady, called his poets in the morning and bade them write a poem round the phrase, "words of a night to bring the day." all were rewarded for their work save abu nuas; and he was condemned to death for spying through keyholes on his master. but after he had proved an alibi, he also was rewarded. "john duncan was a lowland scot, who lived in edinburgh until he was between twenty and twenty-five years old. he was educated at one of the scots schools, and knew his way about the university if he was not actually a student there. he certainly had enough money to live on. a love affair in which he must have been infamously treated caused him to leave scotland. within a year or two he was an established member of a small tribe of nomadic arabs, and eventually he became in speech and appearance one of them, living their lazy, pastoral life and travelling up and down with them the whole line of the southwest coast of the persian gulf. before his death, which occurred last year, at the age of forty-two or forty-three, he had become acquainted with the whole of habitable arabia. "let mr. mathers take up the story as he told it to me: 'he married an arab, and all his forty-odd poems are addressed to her. i saw only a snapshot of her, which showed her to be beautiful. in her he certainly found healing for the wound his abnormally fiery and sensitive nature had taken from the first woman. she pulled together an intellect rather easily subdued. i only knew him after her death (his reason for travelling to this country), and a dazed, utterly unpractical and uninterested habit of mind, which alternated with his brilliance of speech and to a less degree of thought, was probably a reversion to the psychic state which his marriage had cured. "'like so many to whom life has at one time given a paralysing shock, duncan was extremely reticent, save when he could lead the conversation, and be confidential at points of his own choosing; and he was not an easy man to question. the disappointment which had driven him from his country certainly made him more bitter against the british than any other man i have listened to. all his considerable wit and the natural acid of his thought were directed against our ideas, institutions, and beliefs. "'his one sane enthusiasm, english lyric verse, of whose depths, main-stream, and back-waters his knowledge was profound, formed one-half of his conversation. "'his english in talking was rich and varied, and it was an ironic caprice which made him refuse to write in that language. i doubt, though, whether he would have composed with ease in any tongue, for he found it hard to concentrate, and his small stock of verse was the outcome of ten years of unoccupied life. he approved, rather mockingly, my promise to try to find an english equivalent for some of them; and i think i have copies of all he wrote. "'one not acquainted with the man might find them rather hard to render, as, had he been an arab actually, still he would have been the most unconventional of poets, neglecting form and the literary language.'" my most cordial thanks are due to the bookworm, of the _weekly dispatch_, for permission to make this long quotation from an article headed, "the strange story of john duncan, the arab-scot," which appeared over his _nom de plume_ in the issue of that newspaper for march , . china j. wing: i have already translated three of this writer's poems: "english girl," "climbing after nectarines," and "being together at night." these may be found in _coloured stars_. mr. wing is an american-born chinese and practises the profession of a valet. japan the clocks of death: this poem is a _zi-sei_, or lyric made at the point of death. naga-haru committed suicide after an unsuccessful defence of the strong castle mi-ki against hashiba hideyoshi in . his wife followed his example, composing this poem as she died. wakana, the turnip cabbage, whose leaves are eaten in early spring. the mikado is lamenting a sudden realisation that he is too old for his love. the cushion: the poetess, daughter of tsu-gu-naka, lord of su-wo, while at a party, asked for a cushion. a certain iye-tada offered his arm for her to lean her head against, and she answered with these lines. street songs: the three poems which i have so called are written in everyday colloquial japanese. the words of the old language, which are the ornament of literary verse, are almost entirely excluded from these songs. in them one finds a superabundance of auxiliaries, and the presence of these marks a clear line between the literary and the folk-idiom. kazacks tamour-leng, tamerlane. the facts of "you do not want me" are historical; but it should be added that gahuan-beyg succeeded in overcoming zohrah's indifference, and that a few months after their marriage he beheaded her with his own hand for speaking to another man. laos the love nights of laos, "wan-pak" nights, at the eighth evening of the waxing or waning of the moon, when even buddha has no fault to find with love-making in the thickets. songs, of which i have translated three, are sung on these nights to the accompaniments of the "khane," a pan-pipe of seven flutes; some being reserved for the singing of the wandering bands of girls, and others for answer by the youths. persia the roses, this rubai made abu yshac famous. he died at least twenty years before the birth of omar khayyam. readers will have been struck by the similarity of idea in "the roses" and in two lines in fitzgerald's rubaiyat: i often wonder what the vintners buy one-half so precious as the goods they sell. thibet the love of the archer prince: this form of poem, with one rhyme and repetitive and increasing lines, is a familiar one in thibet; and thence it has entered kafiristan and become a popular manner of composition archipelago. english readers will remember an analogous poem, "the house that jack built." proofreading team babylonian and assyrian literature comprising the epic of izdubar, hymns, tablets, and cuneiform inscriptions with a special introduction by epiphanius wilson, a.m. revised edition special introduction the great nation which dwelt in the seventh century before our era on the banks of tigris and euphrates flourished in literature as well as in the plastic arts, and had an alphabet of its own. the assyrians sometimes wrote with a sharp reed, for a pen, upon skins, wooden tablets, or papyrus brought from egypt. in this case they used cursive letters of a phoenician character. but when they wished to preserve their written documents, they employed clay tablets, and a stylus whose bevelled point made an impression like a narrow elongated wedge, or arrow-head. by a combination of these wedges, letters and words were formed by the skilled and practised scribe, who would thus rapidly turn off a vast amount of "copy." all works of history, poetry, and law were thus written in the cuneiform or old chaldean characters, and on a substance which could withstand the ravages of time, fire, or water. hence we have authentic monuments of assyrian literature in their original form, unglossed, unaltered, and ungarbled, and in this respect chaldean records are actually superior to those of the greeks, the hebrews, or the romans. the literature of the chaldeans is very varied in its forms. the hymns to the gods form an important department, and were doubtless employed in public worship. they are by no means lacking in sublimity of expression, and while quite unmetrical they are proportioned and emphasized, like hebrew poetry, by means of parallelism. in other respects they resemble the productions of jewish psalmists, and yet they date as far back as the third millennium before christ. they seem to have been transcribed in the shape in which we at present have them in the reign of assurbanipal, who was a great patron of letters, and in whose reign libraries were formed in the principal cities. the assyrian renaissance of the seventeenth century b.c. witnessed great activity among scribes and book collectors: modern scholars are deeply indebted to this golden age of letters in babylonia for many precious and imperishable monuments. it is, however, only within recent years that these works of hoar antiquity have passed from the secluded cell of the specialist and have come within reach of the general reader, or even of the student of literature. for many centuries the cuneiform writing was literally a dead letter to the learned world. the clue to the understanding of this alphabet was originally discovered in by colonel rawlinson, and described by him in a paper read before the royal society. hence the knowledge of assyrian literature is, so far as europe is concerned, scarcely more than half a century old. among the most valuable of historic records to be found among the monuments of any nation are inscriptions, set up on public buildings, in palaces, and in temples. the greek and latin inscriptions discovered at various points on the shores of the mediterranean have been of priceless value in determining certain questions of philology, as well as in throwing new light on the events of history. many secrets of language have been revealed, many perplexities of history disentangled, by the words engraven on stone or metal, which the scholar discovers amid the dust of ruined temples, or on the _cippus_ of a tomb. the form of one greek letter, perhaps even its existence, would never have been guessed but for its discovery in an inscription. if inscriptions are of the highest critical importance and historic interest, in languages which are represented by a voluminous and familiar literature, how much more precious must they be when they record what happened in the remotest dawn of history, surviving among the ruins of a vast empire whose people have vanished from the face of the earth? hence the cuneiform inscriptions are of the utmost interest and value, and present the greatest possible attractions to the curious and intelligent reader. they record the deeds and conquests of mighty kings, the napoleons and hannibals of primeval time. they throw a vivid light on the splendid sculptures of nineveh; they give a new interest to the pictures and carvings that describe the building of cities, the marching to war, the battle, by sea and land, of great monarchs whose horse and foot were as multitudinous as the locusts that in eastern literature are compared to them. lovers of the bible will find in the assyrian inscriptions many confirmations of scripture history, as well as many parallels to the account of the primitive world in genesis, and none can give even a cursory glance at these famous remains without feeling his mental horizon widened. we are carried by this writing on the walls of assyrian towns far beyond the little world of the recent centuries; we pass, as almost modern, the day when julius cæsar struggled in the surf of kent against the painted savages of britain. nay, the birth of romulus and remus is a recent event in comparison with records of incidents in assyrian national life, which occurred not only before moses lay cradled on the waters of an egyptian canal, but before egypt had a single temple or pyramid, three millenniums before the very dawn of history in the valley of the nile. but the interest of assyrian literature is not confined to hymns, or even to inscriptions. a nameless poet has left in the imperishable tablets of a babylonian library an epic poem of great power and beauty. this is the epic of izdubar. at dur-sargina, the city where stood the palace of assyrian monarchs three thousand years ago, were two gigantic human figures, standing between the winged bulls, carved in high relief, at the entrance of the royal residence. these human figures are exactly alike, and represent the same personage--a colossus with swelling thews, and dressed in a robe of dignity. he strangles a lion by pressing it with brawny arm against his side, as if it were no more than a cat. this figure is that of izdubar, or gisdubar, the great central character of assyrian poetry and sculpture, the theme of minstrels, the typical hero of his land, the favored of the gods. what is called the epic of izdubar relates the exploits of this hero, who was born the son of a king in ourouk of chaldea. his father was dethroned by the elamites, and izdubar was driven into the wilderness and became a mighty hunter. in the half-peopled earth, so lately created, wild beasts had multiplied and threatened the extermination of mankind. the hunter found himself at war with monsters more formidable than even the lion or the wild bull. there were half-human scorpions, bulls with the head of man, fierce satyrs and winged griffins. deadly war did izdubar wage with them, till as his period of exile drew near to a close he said to his mother, "i have dreamed a dream; the stars rained from heaven upon me; then a creature, fierce-faced and taloned like a lion, rose up against me, and i smote and slew him." the dream was long in being fulfilled, but at last izdubar was told of a monstrous jinn, whose name was heabani; his head was human but horned; and he had the legs and tail of a bull, yet was he wisest of all upon earth. enticing him from his cave by sending two fair women to the entrance, izdubar took him captive and led him to ourouk, where the jinn married one of the women whose charms had allured him, and became henceforth the well-loved servant of izdubar. then izdubar slew the elamite who had dethroned his father, and put the royal diadem on his own head. and behold the goddess ishtar (ashtaroth) cast her eyes upon the hero and wished to be his wife, but he rejected her with scorn, reminding her of the fate of tammuz, and of alala the eagle, and of the shepherd taboulon--all her husbands, and all dead before their time. thus, as the wrath of juno pursued paris, so the hatred of this slighted goddess attends izdubar through many adventures. the last plague that torments him is leprosy, of which he is to be cured by khasisadra, son of oubaratonton, last of the ten primeval kings of chaldea. khasisadra, while still living, had been transported to paradise, where he yet abides. here he is found by izdubar, who listens to his account of the deluge, and learns from him the remedy for his disease. the afflicted hero is destined, after being cured, to pass, without death, into the company of the gods, and there to enjoy immortality. with this promise the work concludes. the great poem of izdubar has but recently been known to european scholars, having been discovered in by the eminent assyriologist, mr. george smith. it was probably written about b.c., though the extant edition, which came from the library of king assurbanipal in the palace at dur-sargina, must bear the date of b.c. the hero is supposed to be a solar personification, and the epic is interesting to modern writers not only on account of its description of the deluge, but also for the pomp and dignity of its style, and for its noble delineation of heroic character. [signature: epiphanius wilson] contents the epic of ishtar and izdubar: the invocation. the fall of erech. the rescue of erech. coronation of izdubar. ishtar and her maids. izdubar falls in love with ishtar. ishtar's midnight courtship. the king's second dream. izdubar relates his second dream. heabani, the hermit seer. expedition of zaidu. heabani resolves to return. heabani's wisdom. in praise of izdubar and heabani. zaidu's return. the two maidens entice the seer. festival in honor of heabani. izdubar slays the midannu. annual sale of the maidens of babylon. council in the palace. the king at the shrine of ishtar. the king at the temple of samas. expedition against khumbaba. conflict of the rival giants. coronation of izdubar. the king's answer and ishtar's rage. ishtar complains to anu. fight with the winged bull of anu. the curse of ishtar. ishtar weaves a spell over izdubar. ishtar's descent to hades. effect of ishtar's imprisonment in hades. papsukul intercedes for ishtar. release of ishtar. tammuz restored to life. escape of tammuz from hades. the king and the seer converse. contest with the dragons. heabani reveals visions to the king. grief of the king over heabani. burial of the seer. izdubar enters hades. the king's adventure. the king meets ur-hea. mua welcomes izdubar. the king becomes immortal. izdubar falls in love with mua. mua's answer. tablets and cuneiform inscriptions: babylonian exorcisms. accadian hymn to istar. annals of assur-nasi-pal. assyrian sacred poetry. assyrian talismans and exorcisms. ancient babylonian charms. inscription of tiglath pileser i. the revolt in heaven. the legend of the tower of babel. an accadian penitential psalm. the black obelisk of shalmaneser ii. inscription of nebuchadnezzar. accadian poem on the seven evil spirits. chaldean hymns to the sun. two accadian hymns. accadian proverbs and songs. babylonian public documents. babylonian private contracts. great inscription of khorsabad. ishtar and izdubar [_translated by leonidas le cenci hamilton, m.a._] alcove i tablet i: column i invocation o love, my queen and goddess, come to me; my soul shall never cease to worship thee; come pillow here thy head upon my breast, and whisper in my lyre thy softest, best. and sweetest melodies of bright _sami_,[ ] our happy fields[ ] above dear _subartu_;[ ] come nestle closely with those lips of love and balmy breath, and i with thee shall rove through _sari_[ ] past ere life on earth was known, and time unconscious sped not, nor had flown. thou art our all in this impassioned life: how sweetly comes thy presence ending strife, thou god of peace and heaven's undying joy, oh, hast thou ever left one pain or cloy upon this beauteous world to us so dear? to all mankind thou art their goddess here. to thee we sing, our holiest, fairest god, the one who in that awful chaos trod and woke the elements by law of love to teeming worlds in harmony to move. from chaos thou hast led us by thy hand, [ ]thus spoke to man upon that budding land: "the queen of heaven, of the dawn am i, the goddess of all wide immensity, for thee i open wide the golden gate of happiness, and for thee love create to glorify the heavens and fill with joy the earth, its children with sweet love employ." thou gavest then the noblest melody and highest bliss--grand nature's harmony. with love the finest particle is rife, and deftly woven in the woof of life, in throbbing dust or clasping grains of sand, in globes of glistening dew that shining stand on each pure petal, love's own legacies of flowering verdure, earth's sweet panoplies; by love those atoms sip their sweets and pass to other atoms, join and keep the mass with mighty forces moving through all space, tis thus on earth all life has found its place. through kisar,[ ] love came formless through the air in countless forms behold her everywhere! oh, could we hear those whispering roses sweet, three beauties bending till their petals meet, and blushing, mingling their sweet fragrance there in language yet unknown to mortal ear. their whisperings of love from morn till night would teach us tenderly to love the right. o love, here stay! let chaos not return! with hate each atom would its lover spurn in air above, on land, or in the sea, o world, undone and lost that loseth thee! for love we briefly come, and pass away for other men and maids; thus bring the day of love continuous through this glorious life. oh, hurl away those weapons fierce of strife! we here a moment, point of time but live, too short is life for throbbing hearts to grieve. thrice holy is that form that love hath kissed, and happy is that man with heart thus blessed. oh, let not curses fall upon that head whom love hath cradled on the welcome bed of bliss, the bosom of our fairest god, or hand of love e'er grasp the venging rod. oh, come, dear zir-ri,[ ] tune your lyres and lutes, and sing of love with chastest, sweetest notes, of accad's goddess ishtar, queen of love, and izdubar, with softest measure move; great samas'[ ] son, of him dear zir-ri sing! of him whom goddess ishtar warmly wooed, of him whose breast with virtue was imbued. he as a giant towered, lofty grown, as babil's[ ] great _pa-te-si_[ ] was he known, his armèd fleet commanded on the seas and erstwhile travelled on the foreign leas; his mother ellat-gula[ ] on the throne from erech all kardunia[ ] ruled alone. [footnote : "samu," heaven.] [footnote : "happy fields," celestial gardens, heaven.] [footnote : "subartu," syria.] [footnote : "sari," plural form of "saros," a cycle or measurement of time used by the babylonians, , years.] [footnote : from the "accadian hymn to ishtar," terra-cotta tablet numbered "s, ," one of the oldest hymns of a very remote date, deposited in the british museum by mr. smith. it comes from erech, one of the oldest, if not the oldest, city of babylonia. we have inserted a portion of it in its most appropriate place in the epic. see translation in "records of the past," vol. v. p. .] [footnote : "kisar," the consort or queen of sar, father of all the gods.] [footnote : "zir-ri" (pronounced "zeer-ree"), short form of "zi-aria," spirits of the running rivers--naiads or water-nymphs.] [footnote : "samas," the sun-god.] [footnote : babil, babylon; the accadian name was "diu-tir," or "duran."] [footnote : "pa-te-si," prince.] [footnote : "ellat-gula," one of the queens or sovereigns of erech, supposed to have preceded nammurabi or nimrod on the throne. we have identified izdubar herein with nimrod.] [footnote : "kardunia," the ancient name of babylonia.] column ii the fall of erech o moon-god,[ ] hear my cry! with thy pure light oh, take my spirit through that awful night that hovers o'er the long-forgotten years, to sing accadia's songs and weep her tears! 'twas thus i prayed, when lo! my spirit rose on fleecy clouds, enwrapt in soft repose; and i beheld beneath me nations glide in swift succession by, in all their pride: the earth was filled with cities of mankind, and empires fell beneath a summer wind. the soil and clay walked forth upon the plains in forms of life, and every atom gains a place in man or breathes in animals; and flesh and blood and bones become the walls of palaces and cities, which soon fall to unknown dust beneath some ancient wall. all this i saw while guided by the stroke of unseen pinions: then amid the smoke that rose o'er burning cities, i beheld white khar-sak-kur-ra's[ ] brow arise that held the secrets of the gods--that felt the prore of khasisadra's ark; i heard the roar of battling elements, and saw the waves that tossed above mankind's commingled graves. the mighty mountain as some sentinel stood on the plains alone; and o'er it fell a halo, bright, divine; its summit crowned with sunbeams, shining on the earth around and o'er the wide expanse of plains;--below lay khar-sak-kal-ama[ ] with light aglow, and nestling far away within my view stood erech, nipur, marad, eridu, and babylon, the tower-city old, in her own splendor shone like burnished gold. and lo! grand erech in her glorious days lies at my feet. i see a wondrous maze of vistas, groups, and clustering columns round, within, without the palace;--from the ground of outer staircases, massive, grand, stretch to the portals where the pillars stand. a thousand carvèd columns reaching high to silver rafters in an azure sky, and palaces and temples round it rise with lofty turrets glowing to the skies, and massive walls far spreading o'er the plains, here live and move accadia's courtly trains, and see! the _pit-u-dal-ti_[ ] at the gates, and _masari_[ ] patrol and guard the streets! and yonder comes a _kis-ib_, nobleman, with a young prince; and see! a caravan winds through the gates! with men the streets are filled! and chariots, a people wise and skilled in things terrestrial, what science, art, here reign! with laden ships from every mart the docks are filled, and foreign fabrics bring from peoples, lands, where many an empire, king, have lived and passed away, and naught have left in history or song. dread time hath cleft us far apart; their kings and kingdoms, priests and bards are gone, and o'er them sweep the mists of darkness backward spreading through all time, their records swept away in every clime. those alabaster stairs let us ascend, and through this lofty portal we will wend. see! richest sumir rugs amassed, subdue the tilèd pavement with its varied hue, upon the turquoise ceiling sprinkled stars of gold and silver crescents in bright pairs! and gold-fringed scarlet curtains grace each door, and from the inlaid columns reach the floor: from golden rods extending round the halls, bright silken hangings drape the sculptured walls. but part those scarlet hangings at the door of yon grand chamber! tread the antique floor! behold the sovereign on her throne of bronze, while crouching at her feet a lion fawns; the glittering court with gold and gems ablaze with ancient splendor of the glorious days of accad's sovereignty. behold the ring of dancing beauties circling while they sing with amorous forms in moving melody, the measure keep to music's harmony. hear! how the music swells from silver lute and golden-stringèd lyres and softest flute and harps and tinkling cymbals, measured drums, while a soft echo from the chamber comes. but see! the sovereign lifts her jewelled hand, the music ceases at the queen's command; and lo! two chiefs in warrior's array, with golden helmets plumed with colors gay, and golden shields, and silver coats of mail, obeisance make to her with faces pale, prostrate themselves before their sovereign's throne in silence brief remain with faces prone, till ellat-gula[ ] speaks: "my chiefs, arise! what word have ye for me? what new surprise?" tur-tau-u,[ ] rising, says, "o dannat[ ] queen! thine enemy, khum-baba[ ] with rim-siu[ ] with clanging shields, appears upon the hills, and elam's host the land of sumir fills." "away, ye chiefs! sound loud the _nappa-khu_![ ] send to their post each warrior _bar-ru_!"[ ] the gray embattlements rose in the light that lingered yet from samas'[ ] rays, ere night her sable folds had spread across the sky. thus erech stood, where in her infancy the huts of wandering accads had been built of soil, and rudely roofed by woolly pelt o'erlaid upon the shepherd's worn-out staves, and yonder lay their fathers' unmarked graves. their chieftains in those early days oft meet upon the mountains where they samas greet, with their rude sacrifice upon a tree high-raised that their sun-god may shining see their offering divine; invoking pray for aid, protection, blessing through the day. beneath these walls and palaces abode the spirit of their country--each man trod as if his soul to erech's weal belonged, and heeded not the enemy which thronged before the gates, that now were closed with bars of bronze thrice fastened. see the thousand cars and chariots arrayed across the plains! the marching hosts of elam's armèd trains, the archers, slingers in advance amassed, with black battalions in the centre placed, with chariots before them drawn in line, bedecked with brightest trappings iridine, while gorgeous plumes of elam's horses nod beneath the awful sign of elam's god. on either side the mounted spearsmen far extend; and all the enginery of war are brought around the walls with fiercest shouts, and from behind their shields each archer shoots. thus erech is besieged by her dread foes, and she at last must feel accadia's woes, and feed the vanity of conquerors, who boast o'er victories in all their wars. great subartu[ ] has fallen by sutu[ ] and kassi,[ ] goim[ ] fell with lul-lu-bu,[ ] thus khar-sak-kal-a-ma[ ] all eridu[ ] o'erran with larsa's allies; subartu with duran[ ] thus was conquered by these sons of mighty shem and strewn was accad's bones throughout her plains, and mountains, valleys fair, unburied lay in many a wolf's lair. oh, where is accad's chieftain izdubar, her mightiest unrivalled prince of war? the turrets on the battlemented walls swarm with skilled bowmen, archers--from them falls a cloud of wingèd missiles on their foes, who swift reply with shouts and twanging bows; and now amidst the raining death appears the scaling ladder, lined with glistening spears, but see! the ponderous catapults now crush the ladder, spearsmen, with their mighty rush of rocks and beams, nor in their fury slacked as if a toppling wall came down intact upon the maddened mass of men below. but other ladders rise, and up them flow the tides of armèd spearsmen with their shields; from others bowmen shoot, and each man wields a weapon, never yielding to his foe, for death alone he aims with furious blow. at last upon the wall two soldiers spring, a score of spears their corses backward fling. but others take their place, and man to man, and spear to spear, and sword to sword, till ran the walls with slippery gore; but erech's men are brave and hurl them from their walls again. and now the battering-rams with swinging power commence their thunders, shaking every tower; and miners work beneath the crumbling walls, alas! before her foemen erech falls. vain are suspended chains against the blows of dire assaulting engines. ho! there goes the eastern wall with erech's strongest tower! and through the breach her furious foemen pour: a wall of steel withstands the onset fierce, but thronging elam's spears the lines soon pierce, a band of chosen men there fight to die, before their enemies disdain to fly; the _masari_[ ] within the breach thus died, and with their dying shout the foe defied. the foes swarm through the breach and o'er the walls, and erech in extremity loud calls upon the gods for aid, but prays for naught, while elam's soldiers, to a frenzy wrought, pursue and slay, and sack the city old with fiendish shouts for blood and yellow gold. each man that falls the foe decapitates, and bears the reeking death to erech's gates. the gates are hidden 'neath the pile of heads that climbs above the walls, and outward spreads a heap of ghastly plunder bathed in blood. beside them calm scribes of the victors stood, and careful note the butcher's name, and check the list; and for each head a price they make. thus pitiless the sword of elam gleams and the best blood of erech flows in streams. from erech's walls some fugitives escape, and others in euphrates wildly leap, and hide beneath its rushes on the bank and many 'neath the yellow waters sank. the harper of the queen, an agèd man, stands lone upon the bank, while he doth scan the horizon with anxious, careworn face, lest ears profane of elam's hated race should hear his strains of mournful melody: now leaning on his harp in memory enwrapt, while fitful breezes lift his locks of snow, he sadly kneels upon the rocks and sighing deeply clasps his hands in woe, while the dread past before his mind doth flow. a score and eight of years have slowly passed since rim-a-gu, with elam's host amassed, kardunia's ancient capital had stormed. the glorious walls and turrets are transformed to a vast heap of ruins, weird, forlorn, and elam's spears gleam through the coming morn. from the sad sight his eyes he turns away, his soul breathes through his harp while he doth play with bended head his agèd hands thus woke the woes of erech with a measured stroke: o erech! dear erech, my beautiful home, accadia's pride, o bright land of the bard, come back to my vision, dear erech, oh, come! fair land of my birth, how thy beauty is marred! the horsemen of elam, her spearsmen and bows, thy treasures have ravished, thy towers thrown down, and accad is fallen, trod down by her foes. oh, where are thy temples of ancient renown? gone are her brave heroes beneath the red tide, gone are her white vessels that rode o'er the main, no more on the river her pennon shall ride, gargan-na is fallen, her people are slain. wild asses[ ] shall gallop across thy grand floors, and wild bulls shall paw them and hurl the dust high upon the wild cattle that flee through her doors, and doves shall continue her mournful slave's cry. oh, where are the gods of our erech so proud, as flies they are swarming away from her halls, the sedu[ ] of erech are gone as a cloud, as wild fowl are flying away from her walls. three years did she suffer, besieged by her foes, her gates were thrown down and defiled by the feet who brought to poor erech her tears and her woes, in vain to our ishtar with prayers we entreat. to ishtar bowed down doth our bel thus reply, "come, ishtar, my queenly one, hide all thy tears, our hero, tar-u-man-i izzu sar-ri,[ ] in kipur is fortified with his strong spears. the hope of kardunia,[ ] land of my delight, shall come to thy rescue, upheld by my hands, deliverer of peoples, whose heart is aright, protector of temples, shall lead his brave bands." awake then, brave accad, to welcome the day! behold thy bright banners yet flaming on high, triumphant are streaming on land and the sea! arise, then, o accad! behold the sami![ ] arranged in their glory the mighty gods come in purple and gold the grand tam-u[ ] doth shine over erech, mine erech, my beautiful home, above thy dear ashes, behold thy god's sign! [footnote : "o moon-god, hear my cry!" ("siu lici unnini!") the name of the author of the izdubar epic upon which our poem is based.] [footnote : "khar-sak-kur-ra," the deluge mountain on which the ark of khasisadra (the accadian noah) rested.] [footnote : "khar-sak-kal-ama" is a city mentioned in the izdubar epic, and was probably situated at the base of khar-sak-kur-ra, now called mount elwend. the same mountain is sometimes called the "mountain of the world" in the inscriptions, where the gods were supposed to sometimes reside.] [footnote : "pit-u-dal-ti," openers of the gates.] [footnote : "masari," guards of the great gates of the city, etc.] [footnote : "ellat-gula," the queen of erech, the capital of babylonia.] [footnote : "tur-tan-u" was the army officer or general who in the absence of the sovereign took the supreme command of the army, and held the highest rank next to the queen or king.] [footnote : "dannat" (the "powerful lady") was a title applied to the queen, the mother of izdubar (sayce's ed. smith's "chal. acc. of gen.," p. ). we have here identified her with ellat-gula, the queen of babylon, who preceded ham-murabi or nammurabi, whom the inscriptions indicate was an accadian. the latter we have identified with nimrod, following the suggestion of mr. george smith.] [footnote : "khumbaba" was the giant elamitic king whom izdubar overthrew. we identify him with the king of the elamites who, allied with rimsin or rimagu, was overthrown by nammurabi or izdubar.] [footnote : "rim-siu," above referred to, who overthrew uruk, or karrak, or erech. he was king of larsa, immediately south of erech.] [footnote : "nap-pa-khu," war-trumpet.] [footnote : "bar-ru," army officer.] [footnote : "samas," the sun-god.] [footnote : "subartu" is derived from the accadian "subar" ("high"), applied by the accadians to the highlands of aram or syria. it is probable that all these countries, viz., subartu, goim, lullubu, kharsak-kalama, eridu, and duran, were at one time inhabited by the accadians, until driven out by the semites.] [footnote : "sutu" is supposed to refer to the arabians.] [footnote : "kassi," the kassites or elamites. the kassi inhabited the northern part of elam.] [footnote : "goim," or "gutium," supposed by sir henry rawlinson to be the goyim of gen. xiv, ruled by tidal or turgal ("the great son").] [footnote : "lul-lu-bu," a country northward of mesopotamia and nizir.] [footnote : "kharsak-kala-ma," the city supposed to lie at the base of kharsak-kurra, or mount nizir, or mount elwend. the same city was afterward called echatana.] [footnote : "eridu," the land of ur, or erech.] [footnote : "duran," babylonia.] [footnote : "masari," guards of the palace, etc.] [footnote : see sayce's translation in the "chal. acc. of gen.," by smith, p. .] [footnote : "sedu," spirits of prosperity.] [footnote : "tar-u-mani izzu sarri," son of the faith, the fire of kings, or fire-king.] [footnote : "kardunia," the ancient name of babylon.] [footnote : "sami," heavens (plural).] [footnote : "tamu," dawn or sunrise, day.] column iii the rescue of erech by izdubar heabani, weary, eyes his native land, and on his harp now lays his trembling hand; the song has ended in a joyous lay, and yet, alas! his hands but sadly play: unused to hope, the strings refuse their aid to tune in sympathy, and heartless played. again the minstrel bows his head in woe, and the hot tear-drops from his eyelids flow, and chanting now a mournful melody, o'er erech's fall, thus sang an elegy: [ ] "how long, o ishtar, will thy face be turned, while erech desolate doth cry to thee? thy towers magnificent, oh, hast thou spurned? her blood like water in ul-bar,[ ] oh, see! the seat of thine own oracle behold! the fire hath ravaged all thy cities grand, and like the showers of heaven them all doth fold. o ishtar! broken-hearted do i stand! oh, crush our enemies as yonder reed! for hopeless, lifeless, kneels thy bard to thee, and, oh! i would exalt thee in my need, from thy resentment, anger, oh, us free!" with eyes bedimmed with tears, he careful scans the plain, "perhaps the dust of caravans it is! but no!! i see long lines of spears! a warrior from the lifting cloud appears, and chariots arrayed upon the plain! and is the glorious omen not in vain? what! no?" he rubs his eyes in wild surprise, and drinks the vision while he loudly cries: "oh, joy! our standards flashing from afar! he comes! he comes! our hero izdubar!" he grasps his harp inspired, again to wake in song--the cry of battle now doth break. "nin-a-rad,[ ] servant of our great nin,[ ] shall lead our hosts to victory! god of the chase and war, o'er him, oh, shine! tar-u-ma-ni iz-zu sar-ri![ ] "let elam fall! the cause of accad's woes, revenge of erech, be the cry! this land our father's blessed, our king they chose, tar-u-ma-ni iz-zu sar-ri! our holy fathers sleep upon this plain, we conquer, or we here will die; for victory, then raise the cry, ye men! tar-u-ma-ni iz-zu sar-ri!" the minstrel ceases, lifts his hands on high, and still we hear his joyful waning cry: now echoed by yon hosts along the sky, "he comes! tar-u-ma-ni iz-zu sar-ri! great accad's hosts arrayed with spears and shields are coming! see them flashing o'er the fields! and he! bright flashing as the god's attire, doth lead in burnished gold, our king of fire. his armor shines through yonder wood and fen, that tremble 'neath the tread of armèd men. see! from his jewelled breastplate, helmet, fly the rays like samas from the cloudless sky! how martially he rides his sable steed, that proudly treads and lifts his noble head, while eagerly he gallops down the line, and bears his princely load with porte divine; and now, along the plains there sounds afar the piercing bugle-note of izdubar; for erech's walls and turrets are in view, and high the standards rise of varied hue. the army halts; the twanging bows are strung; and from their chariots the chieftains sprung. the wheeling lines move at each chief's command, with chariots in front; on either hand extend the lines of spears and cavalry, a wingèd storm-cloud waiting for its prey: and see! while accad's army ready waits, the enemy are swarming from the gates. the charge, from either host, the trumpets sound, and bristling chariots from each army bound: a cloud of arrows flies from accad's bows that hides the sun, and falls among their foes. now roars the thunder of great accad's cars, their brazen chariots as blazing stars through nuk-khu's[ ] depths with streams of blazing fire, thus fall upon the foe with vengeful ire. the smoking earth shakes underneath their wheels, and from each cloud their thunder loudly peals. thus accad on their foes have fiercely hurled their solid ranks with nin-rad's flag unfurled, the charging lines meet with a fearful sound, as tempests' waves from rocks in rage rebound; the foe thus meet the men of izdubar, while o'er the field fly the fierce gods of war. dark nin-a-zu[ ] her torch holds in her hand. with her fierce screams directs the gory brand; and mam-mit[ ] urges her with furious hand, and coiling dragons[ ] poison all the land with their black folds and pestilential breath, in fierce delight thus ride the gods of death. the shouts of accad mingle with the cries of wounded men and fiery steeds, which rise from all the fields with shrieks of carnage, war, till victory crowns the host of izdubar. the chariots are covered with the slain, and crushed beneath lie dead and dying men, and horses in their harness wounded fall, with dreadful screams, and wildly view the wall of dying warriors piling o'er their heads, and wonder why each man some fury leads; and others break across the gory plain in mad career till they the mountain gain; and snorting on the hills in wild dismay, one moment glance below, then fly away; away from sounds that prove their masters, fiends, away to freedom snuffing purer winds, within some cool retreat by mountain streams, where peacefully for them, the sun-light gleams. at last the foe is scattered o'er the plain, and accad fiercely slays the flying men; when izdubar beholds the victory won by accad's grand battalions of the sun, his bugle-call the awful carnage stays, then loud the cry of victory they raise. [footnote : the above elegy is an assyrian fragment remarkably similar to one of the psalms of the jewish bible, and i believe it belongs to the irdubar epic (w.a. i. iv. , no. ; also see "records of the past," vol. xi. p. ).] [footnote : "ul-bar," bel's temple.] [footnote : "nin-a-rad," literally "servant of nin," or "nin-mar-ad," "lord of the city of marad."] [footnote : "nin," the god of the chase and war, or lord.] [footnote : "tar-u-ma-ni izzu sar-ri," "son of the faith, the fire-king."] [footnote : "nuk-khu," darkness (god of darkness).] [footnote : "nin-a-zu," god of fate and death.] [footnote : "mam-mit," or "mam-mi-tu," goddess of fate.] [footnote : "dragons," gods of chaos and death.] column iv coronation of izdubar a crowd of maidens led a glorious van; with roses laden the fair heralds ran, with silver-throated music chant the throng, and sweetly sang the coronation song: and now we see the gorgeous cavalcade, within the walls in accad's grand parade they pass, led by the maidens crowned with flowers, who strew the path with fragrance;--to the towers and walls and pillars of each door bright cling the garlands. hear the maidens joyful sing! "oh, shout the cry! accadians, joyful sing for our deliverer! oh, crown him king! then strew his path with garlands, tulips, rose, and wave his banners as he onward goes; our mighty nin-rad comes, oh, raise the cry! we crown tar-u-ma-ni iz-zu sar-ri! away to samas' temple grand, away! for accad crowns him, crowns him there! he is our chosen sar[ ] this glorious day, oh, send the khanga[ ] through the air! then chant the chorus, all ye hosts above! o daughters, mothers, sing for him we love! his glory who can sing, who brings us joy? for hope and gladness all our hearts employ. he comes, our hope and strength in every war: we crown him as our king, our izdubar! away to samas' temple grand, away! for accad crowns him, crowns him there! he is our chosen sar this glorious day, oh, send the khanga through the air!" toward the temple filed the long parade, the nobles led while accad's music played; the harps and timbrels, barsoms, drums and flutes unite with trumpets and the silver lutes. surrounded by his chieftains rides the sar in purple robes upon his brazen car. bedecked with garlands, steeds of whitest snow the chariot draw in state with movement slow, each steed led by a _kisib_, nobleman, a score of beauteous horses linked in span. the army follows with their nodding plumes, and burnished armor, trumpets, rolling drums, and glistening spears enwreathed with fragrant flowers, while scarfs are waving from the crowded towers, and shouts of joy their welcome loud proclaim, and from each lip resounds their monarch's name. and now before the holy temple stands the chariot, in silence cease the bands. around an altar stand the waiting priests, and held by them, the sacrificial beasts. the hero from his chair descends, and bowing to the priests, he lowly bends before the sacred altar of the sun, and prays to samas, accad's holy one. [ ] "o samas, i invoke thee, throned on high! within the cedars' shadow bright thou art, thy footing rests upon immensity; all nations eagerly would seek thy heart. their eyes have turned toward thee; o our friend! whose brilliant light illuminates all lands, before thy coming all the nations bend, oh, gather every people with thy hands! for thou, o samas, knowest boundaries of every kingdom, falsehood dost destroy, and every evil thought from sorceries of wonders, omens, dreams that do annoy, and evil apparitions, thou dost turn to happy issue; malice, dark designs; and men and countries in thy might o'erturn, and sorcery that every soul maligns. oh, in thy presence refuge let me find! from those who spells invoke against thy king, protect one! and my heart within thine, oh, bind! [ ]thy breath within mine inmost soul, oh, bring! that i with thee, o samas, may rejoice. and may the gods who me created, take thy hands and lead me, make thy will my choice, [ ]direct my breath, my hands, and of me make they servant, lord of light of legions vast, o judge, thy glory hath all things surpassed!" the king then rises, takes the sacred glass,[ ] and holds it in the sun before the mass of waiting fuel on the altar piled. the centring rays--the fuel glowing gild with a round spot of fire and quickly, spring above the altar curling, while they sing! [ ] "oh, to the desert places may it fly, this incantation holy! o spirit of the heavens, us this day remember, oh, remember! o spirit of the earth, to thee we pray, remember! us remember! "o god of fire! a lofty prince doth stand, a warrior, and son of the blue sea, before the god of fire in thine own land, before thy holy fires that from us free dread darkness, where dark nuk-khu reigns. our prince, as monarch we proclaim, his destiny thy power maintains, oh, crown his glory with wide fame! "with bronze and metal thou dost bless all men, and givest silver, gold. the goddess with the hornèd face did bless us with thee from of old. from dross thy fires change gold to purity; oh, bless our fire-king, round him shine with heaven's vast sublimity! and like the earth with rays divine, as the bright walls of heaven's shrine." [footnote : "sar," king.] [footnote : "khanga," chorus.] [footnote : one of the accadian psalms is here quoted from "chaldean magic," by lenormant, pp. , . see also "records of the past," vol. xi. pl. , col. .] [footnote : literally, "right into my marrow, o lords of breath."] [footnote : literally, "direct the breath of my mouth!"] [footnote : sacred glass, sun-glass used to light the sacred fire.] [footnote : incantation to fire ("records of the past," vol. xi. p. ). the accadian and assyrian text is found in "c.i.w.a.," vol. iv. pl. , and on tablet k. , , in the british museum.] column v ishtar and her maids in the favorite haunt of izdubar the king while hunting where a forest grows, around sweet hyacinths and budding rose, where a soft zephyr o'er them gently flows from the dark _sik-ka-ti_[ ] where kharsak[ ] glows; and sedu[ ] softly dances on the leaves, and a rich odorous breath from them receives; where tulips peep with heliotrope and pink, with violets upon a gleaming brink of silver gliding o'er a water-fall that sings its purling treasures o'er a wall of rugged onyx sparkling to the sea: a spot where zir-ri[ ] sport oft merrily, where hea's[ ] arm outstretched doth form a bay, wild, sheltered, where his sea-daughters play; a jasper rock here peeps above the waves of emerald hue; with them its summit laves. around, above, this cool enchanting cove bend amorous, spicy branches; here the dove oft coos its sweetest notes to its own mate, and fragrance pure, divine, the air doth freight, to sport with gods no lovelier place is found, with love alone the mystic woods resound. here witching zi-na-ki[ ] oft drag within the waves unwilling zi-si;[ ] here the din of roars of sullen storms is never known when tempests make the mighty waters groan; nor sound of strife is heard, but rippling rills, or softest note of love, the breezes fills. and here the king in blissful dreams oft lies 'mid pure ambrosial odors, and light flies the tune in bliss; away from kingly care, and hollow splendor of the courtly glare; away from triumphs, battle-fields afar, the favorite haunt of huntsman izdubar. the queen of love the glowing spot surveys, and sees the monarch where he blissful lays; and watching till he takes his bow and spear to chase the wild gazelles now browsing near, she, ere the king returns, near by arrives with her two maids; with them for love connives, joy and seduction thus voluptuous fly her samkhatu,[ ] kharimtu[ ] from the sky, as gently, lightly as a spirit's wing oft carries gods to earth while sedu sing. thus, they, with lightest step, expectant stood within this lovely spot beneath the wood. their snowy limbs they bare, undraped now stand upon the rock at ishtar's soft command. like marble forms endued with life they move, and thrill the air with welcome notes of love. the _its-tu-ri same mut-tab-ri_[ ] sang their sweetest notes, and the _khar-san-u_[ ] rang with songs of thrushes, turtle-doves and jays, and linnets, with the nightingale's sweet lays, goldfinches, magpies and the wild hoopoes; with cries of green-plumed parrots and cuckoos, pee-wits and sparrows join the piercing cries of gorgeous herons, while now upward flies the eagle screaming, joyful spreads his wings above the forest; and the woodchuck rings a wild tattoo upon the trees around; and humming-birds whirr o'er the flowering ground in flocks, and beat the luscious laden air with emerald and gold, and scarlet, where these perfect forms with godly grace divine, in loveliness upon the rock recline. sweet joy is slender formed, with bright black eyes that sparkle oft and dance with joy's surprise; seduction, with her rare voluptuous form, enchanteth all till wildest passions warm the blood and fire the eye beneath her charm; all hearts in heaven and earth she doth disarm. the queen with every perfect charm displayed delights the eye, and fills the heart, dismayed with fear, lest the bright phantom may dissolve to airy nothingness, till fierce resolve fills each who her beholds, while love doth dart from liquid eyes and captivates the heart. she is the queen who fills the earth with love and reigns unrivalled in her realms above. beware, ye hearts! beware! who feel the snare of ishtar, lest ye tread upon the air; when ye her rosy chain of fragrance wear, when blindness strikes the eye, and deaf the ear becomes, and heartstrings only lead you then, till ye return to common sense again; enthralled mayhap and captive led in chains, ye then will leisure have to bear your pains; or if perchance a joy hath come to thee, through all thy joyous life, then happy be! [footnote : "sik-ka-ti," narrow mountain gorges.] [footnote : "khar-sak," the deluge mountain, where the ark rested.] [footnote : "se-du," a spirit of the earth, and rivers.] [footnote : "zir-ri," the spirits of the rivers, water-nymphs.] [footnote : "hea," the god of the ocean.] [footnote : "zi-na-ki," pronounced "zee-na-kee," spirits of purity.] [footnote : "zi-si," corn-gods, or spirits of the corn.] [footnote : "sam-kha-tu," one of the maids of ishtar, "joy."] [footnote : "kha-rima-tu," one of the maids of ishtar, "seduction."] [footnote : "its-tu-ri same mut-tab ri," "the wingèd birds of heaven."] [footnote : "khar-san-u," forest.] column vi izdubar falls in love with ishtar, the queen of love the hour has come when izdubar will seek the cool enchantment of the cove, and slake his thirst with its sweet waters bubbling pure, where love has spread for him her sweetest lure, the maids expectant listening, watch and wait his coming; oft in ecstacies they prate o'er his surprise, and softly sport and splash the limpid waves around, that glowing flash like heaps of snowy pearls lung to the light by hea's[ ] hands, his zir-ri[ ] to delight. and now upon the rock each maid reclines, while ishtar's form beneath them brightly shines; beside the fountain stands the lovely god, the graceful sovereign of love's sweet abode. "he comes; the shrubs of yonder jasmine near are rustling, oh, he comes! my izdubar!" and thus her love she greets: "why art thou here? thou lovely mortal! king art thou, or seer? we reck not which, and welcome give to thee; wouldst thou here sport with us within the sea?" and then, as if her loveliness forgot, she quickly grasped her golden locks and wrought them round her form of symmetry with grace that well became a god, while o'er her face of sweetest beauty blushes were o'erspread; "thou see-est only nature's robe," she said. "'tis all i wish while sporting with my maids, and all alone no care have we for jades; and if with thee we can in truth confide, we here from all the world may cosey hide." she hurls a glance toward him, smiling naïve, then bounding from the rock, peeps from a wave; the waters fondling her surround, embrace her charms; and now emerging with rare grace, she turning says: "make haste, my hearts! come forth! attend your queen!" and then she parts the azure waves, to where, in dumb surprise, the king enchanted stands, and fondly eyes the queen divine, while fascinating thrills sweep wildly through his breast; as fragrance fills the rose-tree groves, or gardens of the gods, or breezes odorous from the blest abodes. a longing, rising, fills his inmost soul for this sweet queen who offers him a goal his stormy life has never known, since he, his loved one lost beneath the raging sea; and all his calm resolves to seek no more a joy which passed and left his heart forlore, are breaking, vanishing beneath her charms, dissolving as the mists, when sunlight warms the earth, then scorching drinks the rising dews; till he at last no longer can refuse, and love directs while he the goddess greets: "such wondrous beauty here no mortal meets; but come, thou zir-ru,[ ] with me sweetly rest; primroses, gentians, with their charms invest my mossy couch, with odorous citron-trees and feathery palms above; and i will please thee with a mortal's love thou hast not known; in pure love mingling let our spirits run, for earthly joys are sweeter than above, that rarest gift, the honeyed kiss of love on earth, is sweeter bliss than gods enjoy; their shadowy forms with love cannot employ such pleasure as a mortal's sweet caress. come, zi-ru, and thy spirit i will bless; the mandrake[ ] ripened golden, glows around; the fruit of love is fragrant on the ground." amid the dud'im[ ] plants he now reclines, and to his welcome fate himself resigns; the lovely queen beside him now doth lay, and leads his soul along the blissful way that comes to every heart that longs for love, when purest joy doth bless us from above; from her soft liquid eyes the love-light speaks, and her warm hands she lays in his, and wakes beneath her touch a thrill of wild desire, until his blood now seems like molten fire. her eyes half closed begat a passion wild, with her warm breast, her loves hath beguiled; she nearer creeps with hot and balmy breath, and trembling form aglow, and to him saith: "my lips are burning for a kiss, my love!" a prize like this, a heart of stone would move, and he his arms around her fondly placed till she reclined upon his breast, embraced, their lips in one long thrilling rapture meet. but hark! what are these strains above so sweet that float around, above, their love surround? an-nu-na-ci[ ] from forests, mounts around, and from the streams and lakes, and ocean, trees, and all that haunt the godly place, to please the lovers, softly chant and dance around to cymbals, lyres until the rocks resound, of goddess ishtar chant, and izdubar, the queen of love wed to the king of war. and he alarmed starts up and springs away, and furious cries, to ishtar's wild dismay: "what meanest thou, thou wanton brazen thing? wouldst thou on me the direst curses bring?" and lo! the goddess is transformed! the crown of her own silver skies shines like the sun, and o'er her dazzling robes a halo falls; her stately form with glory him appals, for heaven's dazzling splendor o'er her flows, with rays celestial; o'er her brow there glows a single star. "have i embraced a god?" he horrified now cries; and she doth nod assent. "but, oh! wilt thou thy queen forgive? i love thee! stay! oh, stay! my heart you grieve!" he springs beyond the mystic circling ring, and from their sight thus glides the angry king, beneath the wood himself he doth disguise in tattered garments, on his steed he flies; and when he comes in sight of erech's gate, his beggar's mantle throws aside; in state again enrobed, composed his anxious face, through erech's gates he rides with kingly grace; o'er his adventure thus the king reflects: "alas my folly leads, my life directs! 'tis true, the goddess hath seductive charms, e'en yet i feel her warm embracing arms. enough! her love from me i'll drive away; alas! for me, is this unfruitful day!" [footnote : "hea," god of the ocean.] [footnote : "zir-ri," spirits of the river, the sea-daughters of hea.] [footnote : "zir-ru," water-nymph.] [footnote : "mandrake," the "love-plant."] [footnote : "dud'im" or "dudaim," [hebrew: dud'im] or chald. [hebrew: ibduchin] and syr. [hebrew: ibduch'] the "love-plant" or mandrake; perhaps also originally from "du-du" ("love") or ex. [hebrew: du] ("particula"), arab. "possessorem designante," et ex rad. arab. [hebrew: ddy] ("ægrotavit"), or [hebrew: dud] or "amare." see simoni's lex. man. heb. et chald. et lat., pp. - , and park's heb. lex., p. , note +.] [transcriber's note: the above "+" is my rendering of a footnote "cross" common in older books.] [footnote : "an-nu-na-ci," spirits of the earth.] tablet ii--column i ishtar's midnight courtship in the palace of izdubar. as samas' car sank in the glowing west, and sin the moon-god forth had come full drest for starry dance across the glistening skies, the sound of work for man on earth now dies, and all betake themselves to sweet repose. the silver light of sin above bright flows, and floods the figures on the painted walls, o'er sculptured lions, softly, lightly falls; like grim and silent watch-dogs at the door they stand; in marble check their leaping roar. the king within his chamber went his way, upon his golden jewelled couch he lay. the silken scarlet canopy was hung in graceful drapery and loosely clung around his couch, and purple damask cloths embroidered with rare skill, preserved from moths by rich perfumes, to the carved lintel clung in graceful folds; thus o'er the entrance hung. queen ishtar softly comes, and o'er his dreams a mystic spell she draws, until it seems while half awake he lies, that she is yet close nestling in his arms, as he had met her in the wood, and with her there reclined, while her soft arms around him were entwined. thus while he sleeps she hovers o'er his bed with throbbing heart, and close inclines her head until her lips near touch the sleeping king's, but daring not to kiss. she love thus brings, all through his dreams; until one misty night, while he yet restless tossed, the lovely sprite sunk him to deeper sleep with her soft lyre while hanging o'er his couch consumed with fire that nestling around her heart-strings fiercely burned until at last lulled by the strain he turned upon his couch at rest, and she now lay beside him closely, when she heard him say: "my love thou art, but canst not be!" no more he murmurs, then inflamed she sought the door. "perchance the _su-khu-li_[ ] sleep not!" she said; and satisfied, turned where her lover laid; and to his royal couch she crept again; her bliss will have despite of gods and men. her hot and burning lips cannot resist the tempting treasure lying there, nor missed shall be the dearest joys of love from her who rules all hearts in heaven, earth, and air. her right divine that blessing sweet to take, she will assert, her burning thirst to slake. his couch the heavenly queen of love now graces, and on his breast her glorious head she places; embracing him, she softly through her lips and his, the sweetest earthly nectar sips, while he in sleep lies murmuring of love, and she in blissful ecstasy doth move. her lips to his, she wildly places there, until to him it seems a fond nightmare. and thus, against his will, she fondly takes what he her shall deny when he awakes, the stolen kisses both the lovers thrill: unquenched her warm desire would kiss him still, but his hot blood now warms him in his dream which is much more to him than it doth seem; and clasping her within convulsing arms, receives a thrill that all his nerves alarms, and wakes him from the dreams she had instilled. "what means this fantasy that hath me filled, and spirit form that o'er my pillow leans; i wonder what this fragrant incense means? oh, tush! 'tis but an idle, wildering dream, but how delightful, joyous it did seem! her beauteous form it had, its breath perfume; do spirit forms such loveliness assume?" the goddess yet dares not her form reveal, and quickly she herself doth now conceal behind the damask curtains at the door. when he awoke, sprang to the chamber floor, as his own maid the queen herself transforms, says entering in haste: "what wild alarms thee, sar?" and then demure awaits reply, in doubt to hear or to his bosom fly. "my maid art thou? 'tis well, for i have dreamed of spirits, as a zi-ru fair it seemed." [footnote : "su-khu-li," guards of the palace.] column ii the king's second dream and early ride upon sumir's plain, and hand-to-hand conflict on the banks of the euphrates the night is fleeing from the light of dawn, which dimly falls upon the palace lawn; the king upon his royal _dum-khi_[ ] sleeps, and to his couch again queen ishtar creeps. in spite his dream to dismal thoughts she turns, her victim tosses, now with fever burns: he wildly starts, and from his _dum-khi_ springs, while loud his voice throughout the palace rings: "ho! vassals! haste to me! your king!" he cries, and stamping fiercely while his passions rise. the _sukhu-li_[ ] and _masari_[ ] rush in: "what trouble, sar? have foes here come within?" then searching around they in his chamber rush, and eagerly aside the curtains push. the king yet paces on the floor with strides that show the trouble of his mind, and chides them all as laggards; "soon the sun will rise: my steed prepared bring hence!" he turning cries. he mounts and gallops through the swinging gates, nor for attendance of his vassals waits. nor turns his face toward the _nam-za-khi_,[ ] who quickly opened for the king to fly without the gates; across the plains he rides away unmindful where his steed he guides. the horse's hoofs resound upon the plain as the lone horseman with bewildered brain, to leave behind the phantoms of the night, rides fiercely through the early morning light, beyond the orange orchards, citron groves, 'mid feathery date-palms he reckless roves. the fields of yellow grain mid fig-trees flash unseen, and prickly pears, pomegranates, dash in quick succession by, till the white foam from his steed's mouth and quiv'ring flanks doth come; nor heeds the whitened flowing mane, but flies, while clouds of dust him follow, and arise behind him o'er the road like black storm clouds, while zu[ ] the storm-bird onward fiercely goads the seven[ ] raven spirits of the air, and nus-ku[ ] opens wide the fiery glare of pent-up lightnings for fierce gibil's[ ] hand, who hurls them forth at nergal's[ ] stern command, and rimmon[ ] rides triumphant on the air, and ninazu[ ] for victims doth prepare, the king rides from the road into the wild, nor thought of danger, his stern features smiled as the worn steed from a huge lion shied, which turning glanced at them and sprang aside; now zi-pis-au-ni[ ] fly before the king. and yellow leopards through the rushes spring. upon euphrates' banks his steed he reins, and views the rosy wilds of sumir's plains. he looked toward the east across the plain that stretched afar o'er brake and marshy fen, and clustering trees that marked the tigris' course; and now beyond the plain o'er fields and moors, the mountain range of zu[ ] o'er susa's land. is glowing 'neath the touch of samas' hand; for his bright face is rising in the east, and shifting clouds from sea and rising mist, the robes of purple, violet and gold, with rosy tints the form of samas fold. the tamarisk and scarlet mistletoe, with green acacias' golden summits glow, and citron, olives, myrtle, climbing vine, arbutus, cypress, plane-tree rise divine; the emerald verdure, clad with brilliant hues, with rose-tree forests quaffs the morning dews. the king delighted bares his troubled brow, in samas' golden rays doth holy bow. but see! a shadow steals along the ground! and trampling footsteps through the copses sound, and izdubar, his hand placed on his sword, loud cries: "who cometh o'er mine erech's sward?" an armèd warrior before him springs; the king, dismounted, his bright weapon swings. "'tis i, prince dib-bara,[ ] lord izdubar, and now at last alone we meet in war; my soldiers you o'erthrew upon the field, but here to nuk-khu's[ ] son thine arm shall yield!" the monarch eyes the warrior evil-born, and thus replies to him with bitter scorn: "and dost thou think that samas' son shall die by a vile foe who from my host did fly? or canst thou hope that sons of darkness may the heaven-born of light and glory slay? as well mayst hope to quench the god of fire, but thou shalt die if death from me desire." the giant forms a moment fiercely glared, and carefully advanced with weapons bared, which flash in the bright rays like blades of fire, and now in parry meet with blazing ire. each firmly stood and rained their ringing blows, and caught each stroke upon their blades, till glows the forest round with sparks of fire that flew like blazing meteors from their weapons true; and towering in their rage they cautious sprung upon each, foiled, while the deep suk-ha[ ] rung. at last the monarch struck a mighty blow, his foeman's shield of gold, his blade cleft through; and as the lightning swung again his sword, and struck the chieftain's blade upon the sward, a sedu springs from out the tangled copse, and at his feet the sword still ringing drops. the king his sword placed at his foeman's throat and shouted: "hal-ca[ ] to yon waiting boat! or i will send thy body down this stream! _ca is-kab-bu! va kal-bu!_[ ] whence you came!" the chief disarmed now slunk away surprised, and o'er the strength of sar-dan-nu[ ] surmised. the king returns, and rides within the gate of erech, and the council entered late. [footnote : "dum-khi," couch.] [footnote : "su-khu-li rabi," attendants of the king.] [footnote : "masari," guards of the palace.] [footnote : "nam-za-ki," openers of the gates.] [footnote : "zu," the divine bird of the storm-cloud, the god worshipped by izdubar, the god who stole the tablets of heaven.] [footnote : the seven wicked spirits in the form of men with faces of ravens.] [footnote : "nus-ku," the gate-keeper of thunder.] [footnote : "gibil," the god of fire and spells and witchcraft.] [footnote : "ner-gal," director of the storms, the giant king of war, the strong begetter.] [footnote : "rimmon," the god of storms and hurricanes.] [footnote : "nin-a-zu," the goddess of fate and death.] [footnote : "zi-pis-au-ni," spirits of the papyri, or reeds.] [footnote : mountain range of zu. the ancient name is unknown, but as susa takes its name from zu, the divine bird of the storm-cloud, we have given the mountains of susiana their probable ancient name.] [footnote : "dib-bara" ("the darkening one"), the son of nuk-khu. he is supposed to have been the viceroy of khumbaba, and led the attack upon erech.] [footnote : "nuk-hu," or "nuk-khu," the god of darkness and sleep. he is sometimes called "cus-u."] [footnote : "suk-ha," wood or grove, or a forest.] [footnote : "hal-ca!" "go!"] [footnote : "ca is-kab-bu! va kal-bu!" "thou fool and dog!" "ca" ("thou") is the short form of "cat-ta" or "ca'a"; generally it appears as "at-ta."] [footnote : "sar-dan-nu," the great king.] column iii izdubar relates his second dream to his seers, who cannot interpret it the counsellors assembled round the throne within the council halls of _zam-at_[ ] stone, now greet their monarch, and behold his face with trouble written on his brow, and trace uneasiness within that eagle eye, while he with stately tread, yet wearily his throne approached; he turned to the mu-di,[ ] and swept a glance upon his khas-iz-i.[ ] uneasy they all eyed his troubled face, for he had ridden at a furious pace. the _abuli_[ ] had told them on that morn, how he across the plains had wildly torn to drive away some vision of the night. one asked, "hath our sardan-nu's dreams been light? or hath dread phantoms o'er thy pillow hung? for trouble on thy countenance hath clung." the monarch startled at the question eyes the councillor, and to him thus replies: "'tis true, my counsellors and wisest men, i dreamed a fearful dream sat mu-si;[ ] when i have disclosed it, if one clear reveals its meaning all and naught from me conceals, on him will i the greatest wealth bestow: i will ennoble him, and the _sib-zu_[ ] a _ku-bar-ra_[ ] for him shall rich prepare; as my _tur-tan-u_[ ] he shall be, and seer, decked with a golden chain shall next preside at every feast, and break his bread beside the king, and highest rank he shall attain 'mong counsellors, and mine own favor gain; and seven wives to him i will allow, and a grand palace. this as king i vow, the scribe it shall enroll above my seal as erech's sar's decree beyond repeal. "i dreamed upon my _dum-khi_[ ] fast asleep, the stars from heaven fell from yonder deep to earth; and one, with fierceful heat my back did pierce as molten fire, and left its track of flames like some huge ball along my spine; and then transformed, it turned its face to mine; as some fierce god it glowed before my sight till agony was lost in dread affright. i rooted stood, in terror, for its face was horrible; i saw in its feet's place a lion's claws. it sprang, my strength it broke, and slew me, gloating over me! awoke, i sprang, methought i was a corpse _ka-ra va tal-ka mat sar, talka bu-la sha ra-pas-ti sat-ti, ar-id-da! ka-rat va hal-li-ka! lik-ru-bu ki-mi-ta!_[ ]" the seers in silence stand, perplexed and think; but from the task at once the wisest shrink. the king each face soon read: "ye tell me no?" and nodding all, concealed from him their woe, for they beheld within the dream some fate impending o'er him born of godly hate, and durst not to their monarch prate their fears, for flatterers of kings are all his seers. the king impatient eyed them all with scorn, and hid his thoughts by wildest passions born; and then at last contemptuous to them said, "so all my seers of trouble are afraid? or else in ignorance you turn away; 'tis well! i sorely need a seer this day." and they now prostrate fall before his throne, "forgive thy seers!" one cries, "o mighty one! for we this dreadful dream do fear portends thy harm! a god some message to thee sends! we know not what, but fear for thee, our sar, and none but one can augur it; afar he lives, heabani should before the king be brought from za-ga-bri[ ] the _na-bu_[ ] bring!" "'tis well! prince zaidu for the hermit send, and soon this mystery your sar will end." the king distressed now to the temple goes to lay before the mighty gods his woes; this prayer recites to drive away bad dreams, while samas' holy altar brightly gleams: [ ] "o samas! may my prayer bring me sweet rest, and may my lord his favor grant to me: annihilate the things that me invest! this day, o god! distressed, i cry to thee! o goddess! be thou gracious unto me, receive my prayer, my sins forgive i pray: my wickedness and will arrayed 'gainst thee. oh, pardon me! o god, be kind this day, my groaning may the seven winds destroy, clothe me with deep humility! receive my prayers, as wingèd birds, oh, may they fly and fishes carry them, and rivers weave them in the waters on to thee, o god! as creeping things of the vast desert, cry i unto thee outstretched on erech's sod; and from the river's lowest depths i pray; my heart cause thou to shine like polished gold, though food and drink of nin-a-zu[ ] this day be mine, while worms and death thy servant fold. oh, from thine altar me support, protect, in low humility i pray, forgive! feed me with joy, my dreams with grace direct; the dream i dreamed, oh favorable give to me its omen filled with happiness! may mak-hir,[ ] god of dreams, my couch invest! with visions of bit-sag-gal my heart bless, the temple of the gods, of nin, with rest unbroken, and to merodach i pray! the favoring one, to prosper me and mine: [ ]oh, may thy entering exalted be! and thy divinity with glory shine, and may our city shine with glowing meads, and all my people praise thy glorious deeds." now to euphrates' banks the sar and seers their footsteps turn to pray into the ears of hea,[ ] where, in white, a band of priests drawn in a crescent, izdubar invests. now at the water's edge he leans, his hands dips in the waves, and pours upon the sands the sparkling drops, while all a hymn descant to hea, thus the incantation chant: "o chant our incantation to the waters pure, euphrates' waters flowing to the sea! where hea's holy face shines bright on every shore, o sabit[ ] of timatu[ ] to ye we pray! may your bright waters glowing shine as hea's face, and heaving breast divine! "o sabit, to your father hea take our prayer! and may dao-ki-na,[ ] your bright mother, hear! with joy, oh shine, as peaceful as the sleeping light, o ever may your throbbing waves be bright. o spirit of the heaven, hear! remember us, remember! o spirit of the earth, come near! remember us, remember! o hear us, hea! hear us, dear dao-ki-na! _ca-ca-ma u ca-ca-ma u ca-ca-ma!_"[ ] [footnote : "zam-at" stone, diamond, crystal or lapis lazuli.] [footnote : "mu-di," seers.] [footnote : "khas-i-zi," counsellors.] [footnote : "ab-u-li," guard of the great gates of the city.] [footnote : "sat mu-si," in the night-time, or last night.] [footnote : "sib-zu," embroiderer.] [footnote : "ku-bar-ra," robe of a prince.] [footnote : "tur-tan-u," next in rank to the king.] [footnote : "dum-khi" or "dun-khi," couch.] [footnote : "ka-ra! va," etc., "speak out! and if thou augurest the death of the king, or if thou augurest life of extended years, i have spoken! speak out! and cast the lots! may they be propitious with us!"] [footnote : "za-ga-bri," the mountains of zu, "ga-bri" ("mountains"), and "za," another form of "zu," the divine bird of the storm-cloud. they were at one time called the mountains of susa, now the kurdistan range of mountains. the name we have given we believe to be the probable ancient one.] [footnote : "na-bu," prophet, seer.] [footnote : we have here quoted a prayer after a bad dream, the text of which is lithographed in "c.i.w.a.," vol. iv. , , and is supposed to be an ancient accadian prayer. see "records of the past," vol. ix. p. .] [footnote : "nin-a-zu," the goddess of darkness and death.] [footnote : "mak-hir," the daughter of the sun, and goddess of dreams.] [footnote : literally, "he that shows favor." the above prayer was translated for the first time by rev. a.h. sayce, m.a., in the "records of the past," vol. ix. p. . we have followed as literally as possible the original, and have given it its probable place in the epic.] [footnote : hea, god of the ocean, the earth's surface, brightness, etc., and chief protector of men.] [footnote : "sab-it," or "sabitu" ("seven"), the seven winds, gods of the abyss or ocean.] [footnote : "tiamatu," the abyss or ocean.] [footnote : "dao-ki-na" or "dao-ci-na," the wife of hea, and goddess of the ocean.] [footnote : "amen and amen and amen!" the assyrian word is "amanu." the original "ca-ca-ma" ("amen") concludes the incantation; heb. [hebrew: amen] see "c.i.w.a.," vol. iv. pl. ; also "records of the past," vol. xi. p. .] column iv heabani, the hermit seer before a cave within the gab-ri[ ] wild, a seer is resting on a rock; exiled by his own will from all the haunts of men, beside a pool within a rocky glen he sits; a turban rests upon his brow, and meets the lengthened beard of whitest snow. this morn an omen comes before his eyes, and him disturbs with a wild eagle's cries that fierce attacks a fox before his cave; for he of beasts is the most cunning knave; in wait upon the ground the fox hath lain to lure the bird, which flying deems him slain. he fiercely seizes it, as swooping down, the bird with its sly quarry would have flown; but the _a-si_[ ] quick seized it by the throat, while the wide wings with frantic fury smote the beast, and the sharp talons deeply tore its foe--both greedy for the other's gore. and lo! a voice from yonder sky resounds; heabani to his feet now quickly bounds, and bowing, listens to the voice that comes in gentleness; upon the winds it roams from yon blue heights like sighing of the trees; the seer in reverence upon his knees now holy bares his head in samas' rays, while the soft voice to him thus gently says: "a messenger, heabani, soon shall come with offers rich, to leave thy lonely home. this eagle sought its food and found a snare, the messenger will come from izdubar, to learn from thee the meaning of his dream which goddess ishtar sent,--a snare for him. then to the messenger prove not a snare, as yonder _a-si_ doth the eagle tear." the seer in fury tore his beard of snow and cried-- "alas! my days shall end in woe within these wilds my happiness is mine, no other joys i seek, my god divine; i would upon these rocks lie down to die, upon my back here sleep eternally." and samas urging, to him thus replied: "heabani, hast thou not some manly pride? and thinkest thou no joy thou here wilt lose? the lovely sam-kha-tu[ ] the seer may choose. arrayed in trappings of divinity and the insignia of royalty, heabani then in erech shall be great, and live in happiness and royal state; and izdubar shall hearken, and incline his heart in warmest friendship, and recline with thee upon a couch of luxury. and seat thee on a throne of royalty, on his left hand, a crown shall grace thy brow. kings of the earth shall to thee subject bow and kiss thy feet, and izdubar shall give thee wealth, and thou in luxury shalt live. in silence erech's men shall bow to thee, in royal raiment thou shalt happy be." heabani listened to the words that came from samas, and his brow was lit with shame to hear the god of war urge him to go to earthly happiness--mayhap to woe; but he within his cave now listless turns when samas ceased; then to his rock returns, and seats himself with calmness on his brow; his thoughts in happy memories now flow, and he recalls the blissful days of yore when he as seer lived on euphrates' shore, as the queen's bard oft tuned a festive lay, while soft-eyed maidens dance and cymbals play. [footnote : "gab-ri," mountains.] [footnote : "a-si," fox.] [footnote : "sam-kha-tu" ("joy"), one of the maids of ishtar.] column v expedition of zaidu in search of the seer prince zaidu on his steed now hastes away, upon the plains he travelled all that day; next morn the za-gabri he slow ascends, along the mountain sides the horseman wends beneath the eri-ni,[ ] and cliffs, and sees the plains and mountains o'er the misty trees from the wild summit, and old khar-sak glow above them all with its twin crests of snow. he plunges in the wild to seek the cave; three days unceasing sought young zaidu brave, and now at last within the glen he rode, and near approached heabani's wild abode. at last he sees the seer before his home, and with his monster[ ] now toward him come, that walked subdued beside the hermit seer, thus they upon the rocks above appear. "why art thou here in warrior's array?" the hermit cries. "i know thee not! away!" "o holy seer, 'tis zaidu, from our sar! the king of erech, chieftain izdubar." "what seekest thou within my mountain lair?" heabani angry cried. "what brings thee here?" "for thee! if true heabani is thy name; i seek the hermit seer of wondrous fame. my king doth offer thee rich gifts of state, and sent me to thee here to make thee great." "no empty honors do i seek, which void of all true happiness, all men have cloyed. return then to thy haunts of pleasure, pain, for thy king's embassy is all in vain." the seer returns within his lonely cave and leaves the prince alone the beast to brave. at last it slinks away within the gloom; no more from their wild home doth either come, three days prince zaidu watches the dark lair, but now his courage turns to blank despair: the seer hath changed his mind since samas sought to urge him forth to leave his lonely lot. the prince the mountain precipice now climbs, and peers within while clinging to the limbs of stunted oaks, and views the mountain lair; but all in vain his calls ring on the air. then mounting wearily his steed he turns away, and unsuccessful thus returns. [footnote : "eri-ni," cedar-trees.] [footnote : a carnivorous animal supposed to have been either a lion or a tiger, more probably a lion.] column vi heabani resolves to return to erech as zaidu sadly turns and rides away, the hermit from his cave comes forth to pray: "alas! hath all these wilds their charms here lost? and is my breast with wild ambition tost? my lonely cot i look upon with shame; again i long to seek the fields of fame, where luxury my remaining years may crown, and happiness may find--or tears; 'tis true! i should have welcomed the _bar-ru;_[ ] but he hath since returned to subartu."[ ] his harp he took from its dust-covered case, and kissed its carved and well-remembered face; and tuning it, he glanced toward the wood, and sang his farewell ode to solitude: farewell, ye mountains, woods and trees-- my heart doth long again for joy; i love your wilds and mossy leas, but oh, your solitude doth cloy! i love to see the _bur-khi-is_[ ] sweep stately o'er the mossy rocks; and _tsabi_[ ] in a wild like this, hear the tattoo of red woodchucks. i love the cries of _lig-bar-ri_[ ] the _nes-i_[ ] calling for their prey; and leaping of the _na-a-li_[ ] that fly in wildest fear away. i love the _bu-hir-tser-i_[ ] all, _khar-sa-a-nii sa-qu-u-tu;_[ ] hear _cu-uts-tsi_[ ] with thunder roll across the skies within my view. i love to see the _ca-ca-bi_[ ] peep through the pine-trees o'er my home, and watch the wild _tu-ra-a-khi_[ ] and _arme_[ ] welcome, to me come. farewell! ye solitudes, farewell! i will not moulder rotting lie with no one's lips to wish me well; o give me immortality! but what is fame? a bubble blown upon the breeze, that bursts its shell, and all our brightest hopes are flown, and leaves our solitude a hell. the holy minstrel bows his head in woe, and sweeps the harpstrings with a movement slow; then lifts his eyes toward the setting sun, his evening invocation thus begun: [ ]o samas! to the lifting of my hands show favor! unto me thy servant turn! what man before thy blessèd light withstands? o thou! what mortal thine own words can learn? and who can rival them inviolate? [ ]among the gods no equal thou hast found. in heaven who of all the gods is great? o thou alone! art great through heaven's bound! on earth what man is great? alas! no one, for thou alone art great! through earth's vast bounds. when wide thy awful voice in heaven resounds, the gods fall prostrate to our holy one; when on the earth thy voice afar resounds, the genii[ ] bow to thee and kiss the dust. in thee, o samas! do i put my trust, for thy great love and mercy wide abounds! o my creator, god, thy watchfulness o'er me, oh may it never cease! keep thou the opening of my lips! the fleece of purest snow be my soul's daily dress. guard thou my hands! o samas, lord of light! and ever keep my life and heart aright! [footnote : "bar-ru," an army officer] [footnote : "su-bar-tu," syria] [footnote : "bur-khi-is," antelopes] [footnote : "tsabi," gazelles] [footnote : "lig-bar-ri," hyenas] [footnote : "nes-i," lions] [footnote : "na-a-li," spotted stags] [footnote : "bu-hir-tser-i," beasts of the field] [footnote : "khar-sa-a-nu sa-qu-u-tu," forests thick] [footnote : "cu-uts-tsi," storms.] [footnote : "ca-ca-bi," stars.] [footnote : "tu-ra-a-khi," deer.] [footnote : "arme," wild goats.] [footnote : this prayer is made up from assyrian fragments now in the british museum.] [footnote : see "records of the past," vol. iii. p. .] [footnote : "genii," spirits.] tablet iii--column i heabani's wisdom--song of the khau-ik-i the dark-eyed maids are dancing in the halls of erech's palace: music fills the walls of splendor where the sar-dan-nu[ ] enthroned, his hours is whiling by the maidens zoned; a whirling garland chanting forth a song. accompanied with harps thus sang the throng: "heabani's wisdom chant and sing to erech's king our mighty sar.[ ] when hea did heabani bring, who now to erech comes afar, he taught him then all hidden things of ki[ ] or bright samu[ ] above, that to the mu-di[ ] mystery brings. oh, how heabani we shall love!" _chorus_ "then sing with joy ye khau-ik-i![ ] the khau-ga[ ] chant with waving arms, the nin-uit[ ] sing au-un-na-ci[ ] give to our sar your sweetest charms. "all knowledge that is visible heabani holds it in his glance, sees visions inconceivable, the zi[ ] his wizard eyes entrance. sweet peace he brings from troubled dreams, he comes to el-li-tar-du-si,[ ] from a far road by mountain streams; then sing with joy ye khau-ik-i! _chorus_ "then sing with joy ye khau-ik-i! the khau-ga chant with waving arms, the nin-uit sing an-un-na-ci! give to our sar your sweetest charms. "e'en all that on the tablet rests, in erech's tower, the su-bu-ri,[ ] the beautiful, with glorious crests, he wrote for far posterity. we plead with him to leave us not, but zi-gab-ri[ ] him led away, when our great shal-man[ ] joy us brought, and elam fled to the blue sea. _chorus_ "then sing with joy ye khau-ik-i! il-gi-sa-kis-sat[ ] from above, the nin-uit sing an-un-na-ci! oh, how heabani we shall love!" the maidens note their monarch's moody face, and turn their songs to him with easy grace, of their great ruler tune a joyous lay, and oft into his eyes hurl glances gay; and trumpets join the chorus, rolling drums, and wild applause from all the chieftains comes, till the grave seers and councillors now cry in praise of him they love so tenderly: with arms upraised the mighty chorus join, until his heart is filled with joy divine; and thus they sing with more than royal praise, their love for him in every face doth blaze. [footnote : "sar-dan-nu," the great king.] [footnote : "sar," king.] [footnote : "ki," earth.] [footnote : "samu," heaven.] [footnote : "mu-di," seers or wise men.] [footnote : "khau-ik-i," the choral band.] [footnote : "khau-ga," chorus.] [footnote : "nin-uit," song.] [footnote : "an-un-na-ci," spirits of the earth.] [footnote : "zi," spirits of the earth, air, water, etc.] [footnote : "el-li-tar-du-si," one of the temples of erech.] [footnote : "su-bu-ri," the lofty.] [footnote : "zi-gab-ri," spirits of the mountains.] [footnote : "shal-man," deliverer.] [footnote : "il-gi-sa-kis-sat," spirits of the hosts.] column ii songs in praise of izdubar and heabani as sung by the khau-ik-i our izdubar dear erech raised from her distress, when she did mourn; with joy his glorious name be praised! of a great warrior's daughter born, and bel in his own might, him arms, to erech's sons and daughters save; what other sar hath glorious charms like his, who saved proud elam's slave? _chorus_ no rival hath our mighty sar, thy cymbals strike and raise the cry! all hail! all hail! great izdubar! his deeds immortal glorify! our izdubar our sons preserves to all our fathers day and night, and erech's ruler well deserves our highest praise, whose matchless might delights the gods! all hail our sar! whose firmness, wisdom need no praise! queen daunat's son, our izdubar, his glory to the sami[ ] raise! _chorus_ of a great warrior's daughter born, the gods clothe him with matchless might; his glory greets the coming morn, oh, how in him we all delight! and thus of seer heabani they now chant his birth and history and hyemal haunt. who can compare with thee, o nin![ ] the son of bel; thy hands didst lay upon ar-ur-u, thine own queen, with glory crowned her on that day. to her thy strength did give, and blessed her with thy love and a dear son; with ami's strength within his breast, and ninip sped then to his throne. when queen ar-u-ru hears her lord from erech's city far has gone, she bows her head upon the sward, with pleading hands in woe doth moan. and to heabani she gave birth, the warrior, great ninip's son, whose fame is spread through all the earth. the queen with her own maids alone retired within her palace walls for purity in erech's halls. like the corn-god his face concealed, of men and countries he possessed, great wisdom by the gods revealed: as ner[ ] the god, his limbs were dressed. with wild gazelles he ate his food while roaming with them in the night; for days he wandered in the wood, and bu-hir-tser-i[ ] him delight. the zi-ar-ri[ ] heabani loves, that play within the running streams; with zi-ti-am-a-ti[ ] he roves upon the sands in warm sunbeams. "the prince returns, o sar!" the herald said, and low before the throne he bowed his head; "our zaidu, the bewitcher of all men, doth unsuccessful to us come again. before the cave the seer confronted him three days where khar-sak's snowy brow doth gleam. heabani with his beast in his cave went, and zaidu waited, but his courage spent when he beheld the seer and beast remain within the cave, and all his words were vain. the prince remains without with downcast face, and beg of thee, his sar, thy sovereign grace." the king to all the maidens waves his hand, then vanishes from sight the choral band. [footnote : "sami," heavens.] [footnote : "nin" or "nin-ip," the god of the chase and war.] [footnote : "ner" or "nergal," the giant king of war, the strong begetter.] [footnote : "bu-hir-tser-i," beasts of the field.] [footnote : "zi-ar-ri," spirits of the rivers, water-nymphs.] [footnote : "zi-ti-am-a-ti," spirits of the sea, naiads or water-nymphs.] column iii zaidu's return, and his instruction to take two maids with him to entice the seer from his cave prince zaidu prostrate bows before the sar, arises, thus narrates to izdubar: "thy sovereign, zaidu hath his king obeyed, the royal mission i have thus essayed as amu's[ ] soldier; i undaunted tried to urge my mission which the seer denied. i firmly met the beast that with him came: unmanly fear, confess i to my shame, came o'er me when i first beheld the beast, in vain i plead, and in despair i ceased when he refused, and angry from me passed within his cave, where cliffs and rocks are massed; i climbed, but the wild entrance did not gain, and for advice have i returned again." "'tis well, my son," the sar to zaidu said, "thy wisdom i commend for thy young head, again upon thy mission thou must go. his might, and strength of purpose, thou dost know, before a maiden's charms will flee away; for he doth love the zi-ga-bri[ ] that play within the mountain gorges. turn thy face again with manly portance; for i'll grace thine embassy with two of our sweet maids, who oft shall cheer thee through the mountain glades, whom thou shalt lead before heabani's den with their bright charms exposed within the glen. take sam-kha-tu and sweet khar-imatu: they will entice the seer when he shall view their charms displayed before his wondering eyes. with sam-kha, joy, the seer you will surprise; khar-im-tu will thy plans successful end, to her seductive glance his pride will bend. sweet sam-kha's charms are known, she is our joy, as ishtar's aid her charms ne'er cloy; kharun-tu with her perfect face and form, the hearts of all our court doth take by storm: when joys by our sweet sam-kha are distilled, kharun-tu's love overcomes us till we yield. thus, armed with love's seduction and her joy, the greatest powers of earth thou dost employ; no flesh can face them but a heart of stone. and all the world doth lie before them prone." three days prince zaidu sat with kharun-tu before the cave within heabani's view; beside the pool they waited for the seer: from erech three days' journey brought them here, but where hath joy, sweet sam-kha, roving gone? when they arrived at setting of the sun she disappeared within with waving arms; with bright locks flowing she displayed her charms. as some sweet _zir-ru_ did young sam-kha seem, a thing of beauty of some mystic dream. [footnote : "anu," the king of heaven.] [footnote : "zi-gab-ri," spirits of the mountains.] column iv the two maidens entice the seer thus in heabani's cave the maiden went, and o'er the sleeping seer her form she bent; o'er him who with gazelles oft eats his food; o'er him who drinks with _bhu-ri_[ ] in the wood; o'er him who loves the _zir-ri,_--of them dreams, and sports with them within the mountain streams. and when the gay enticer saw the seer unconscious sleeping with sweet joy so near, she clasped him to her breast and kissed his brow. the seer awakes, with wonder eyes her now: "thy glory thou hast brought to me!" he saith, "sweet zir-ru comes to me with fragrant breath!" and with delight he eyes her beauteous form, his breast warm moved by the enticer's charm. he springs upon his feet and her pursues: she laughing flees; to sport with him doth choose. and now he eyes his hairy body, arms compared to sam-kha's snowy god-like charms, she give to him her freshness, blooming youth? she laughing comes again to him,--forsooth! her glorious arms she opens, flees away, while he doth follow the enticer gay. he seizes, kisses, takes away her breath, and she falls to the ground--perhaps in death he thinks, and o'er her leans where she now lay; at last she breathes, and springs, and flees away. but he the sport enjoys, and her pursues; but glancing back his arms she doth refuse. and thus three days and four of nights she played; for of heabani's love she was afraid. her joyous company doth him inspire for sam-kha, joy, and love, and wild desire. he was not satisfied unless her form remained before him with her endless charm. but when his _bhu-ri_ of the field the sight beheld, the wild gazelles fled in affright. and now without the cave they came in view of zaidu waiting with sweet kharim-tu, and when heabani saw the rounded form of bright kharim-tu, her voluptuous charm drew him to her, and at her feet he sate with wistful face, resigned to any fate. kharim-tu, smiling sweetly, bent her head, enticing him the tempter coyly said, "heabani, like a famous god thou art, why with these creeping things doth sleep thy heart? come thou with me to erech su-bu-ri[ ] to anu's temple elli-tar-du-si, and ishtar's city where great izdubar doth reign, the glorious giant king of war; whose mighty strength above his chiefs doth tower, come see our giant king of matchless power." her flashing eyes half languid pierce the seer, until his first resolves all disappear. and rising to his feet his eyes he turned toward sweet joy,[ ] whose love for him yet burned; and eyeing both with beaming face he saith, "with sam-kha's love the seer hath pledged his faith; and i will go to elli-tar-du-si, great anu's seat and ishtar's where with thee, i will behold the giant izdubar, whose fame is known to me as king of war; and i will meet him there, and test the power of him whose fame above all men doth tower. a _mid-dan-nu_[ ] to erech i will take, to see if he its mighty strength can break. in these wild caves its strength has mighty grown; if he the beast destroys, i will make known his dream to him--e'en all the seer doth know; and now with thee to erech i will go. [footnote : "bhu-ri," wild-beasts, pets of the hermit seer.] [footnote : "su-bu-ri," the lofty.] [footnote : "sam-kha-tu" or "samkha."] [transcriber's note: footnote looks like it should be two lines down from where it is; this is probably an error.] [footnote : "mid-dan-nu," a carnivorous animal, supposed to be a tiger; the khorsabad sculpture, however, portrays it as a lion.] column v festival in honor of heabani, who arrives at erech--interpretation of the dream the sounds of wild rejoicing now arise; "heabani comes!" resound the joyful cries, and through the gates of erech suburi now file the chieftains, su-khu-li rubi.[ ] a festival in honor of their guest the sar proclaims, and erech gaily drest, her welcome warm extends to the famed seer. the maidens, erech's daughters, now appear, with richest kirtles gaily decked with flowers, and on his head they rain their rosy showers. rejoicing sing, while harps and cymbals play, and laud him to the skies in their sweet way; and mingling with their joy, their monarch rode before the seer, who stately after strode beside his beast, and next the men of fame. the maids thus chant high honors to his name: "a prince we make thee, mighty seer! be filled with joy and royal cheer! all hail to erech's seer! whom day and night our sar hath sought, o banish fear! for hea taught the seer, his glory wrought. he comes! whom samas loves as gold, to erech grace, our city old; all wisdom he doth hold. great hea doth to him unfold all that remains to man untold; give him the chain of gold! he cometh from the za-gab-ri to our dear erech su-bu-ri. heabani glorify! thy dream he will reveal, o sar! its meaning show to izdubar, victorious king of war." within the council halls now lead the seers with trepidation and with many fears, to hear the seer explain their monarch's dream. beside the royal throne he sits supreme among the seers, the sar, his scribe commands to read his dream recorded as it stands in erech's gi;[ ] who reads it to the seer, who answers thus: "in this there doth appear a god, whose ardent love will lead to deeds of hate against thee, sar; thy present needs are great, o king! as fire this love will burn until the wicked seven[ ] on thee turn; and blood, alone, will not their fury sate: the gods will hurl upon thee some dread fate." in silence, izdubar the warning heard; his blood with terror froze, and then was stirred by passions wild, when he recalled the scene of ishtar's love for him by man unseen; when she so wildly then proclaimed her love; and now with hate his inmost soul doth move, and her bright form to a black dal-khu[ ] turned and furious passions on his features burned. and then of the first dream he thought, and light across his vision broke: "'tis true! aright thy seer hath read! for ishtar came to me in the first dream, her face e'en yet i see! aye, more! her lips to mine again then fell! her arms i felt around me,--breath too well i know! of fragrance, while perfume arose around my dream and fled not at the close; as frankincense and myrrh it lingered, when i woke. ah yes! the queen will come again!" then to his counsellor who wondering stood, nor heard his murmuring, but saw subdued his features were, at first, and then, they grand became with settled hate; he raised his hand; "'tis true!" he said, "reward on him bestow! then to the waiting feast we all shall go." [footnote : "su-khu-li ru-bi," attendants of the king.] [footnote : "gi," literally a written tablet, a record.] [footnote : the seven wicked spirits of the earth, air, and ocean.] [footnote : "dal-khu," an evil spirit, a demon.] column vi izdubar slays the midannu in the festive hall, and heabani declares him to be a god the guests are seated round the festal board; heabani takes his seat beside his lord. the choicest viands of the wealthy plain before them placed and fishes of the main, with wines and cordials, juices rich and rare the chieftains all enjoy--the royal fare. this day, with izdubar they laugh and joke 'mid courtesies and mirth, and oft provoke the ringing merry laughter through the halls. when all are satisfied within the walls, their fill have eaten of the royal fare, with wine they banish from them every care. the su-khu-li[ ] with tinkling bells proclaim, "our sar would speak! our king of mighty fame," who says: "my chieftains, lords, our seer requests a test of strength before assembled guests; unarmed requires your sar-dan-nu to slay the mid-an-nu[ ] which he hath brought to-day. so stand aside, my friends, behold the test! your sar will satisfy his seer and guest." the monster now is brought before the king, heabani him unchains to let him spring upon the giant king. his chieftains stand in terror looking at their monarch grand, who smiling stands, his eyes on the beast fixed; while they in wildest terror are transfixed. heabani claps his hands towards the king, and the wild beast upon his form doth spring. the giant grasps its throat in high mid-air, [ ]and holds it 'neath his arm without a fear. with sullen choking roars it struggling dies, while shouts of joy from all the guests arise. the mighty deed of strength the seer appals, and at the feet of izdubar he falls: "immortal king! illustrious of men! thy glorious strength reveals the gods again on earth. to thee i bow in reverent fear, a god returned thou art! o erech, hear! of kingdoms thou art blessed with grandest fame, that thou among thy kings a god can name." again they gathered round the festal board, and joy and revelry they soon restored. the revels high are raised o'er sparkling wine; through all the night they praise their king divine. [footnote : "su-khu-li," the attendants.] [footnote : "mid-an-nu," carnivorous animal, supposed to be a lion, the pet of the seer.] [footnote : this feat of izdubar is portrayed on the bas-relief in the louvre museum, paris, from the khorsabad sculpture, and is also copied in sayce's edition of smith's "chaldean account of genesis." opposite p. .] tablet iv[ ]--column i the annual sale of the maidens of babylon hail holy union! wedded love on earth! the highest bliss which crowns us from our birth, our joy! the mainspring of our life and aims, our great incentive when sweet love inflames our hearts to glorious deeds and ever wreathes around our brows, the happy smile that breathes sweet fragrance from the home of holy love, and arms us with a courage from above. o woman! woman! weave thy love around thy chosen lover, who in thee hath found a loveliness and purity so sweet, that he doth watch for coming of the feet that brings him happiness and thrill his heart-- for one, of all thy kind who can impart to him the holiest bliss, the sweetest joy, that e'er can crown his life so tenderly; he worships thee within a holy fane, let not his hope and joy be all in vain! o thou, sweet queen! we crown thee in our homes, and give to thee our love that holy comes from heaven to inspire and bless our lives. for this mankind all hope to take pure wives to sacredest of all our temples, shrines, and keep thee pure within sweet love's confines that we may worship thee, and daily bring devotions to our altar,--to thee sing our orisons of praise, and sacred keep our homes till we shall softly drop asleep within the arms we love so tenderly, and carry with us a sweet memory of purity and bliss that blessed our lives, and children gave from sweetest of pure wives. thou art our all! o holy woman, pure forever may thy charms on earth endure! oh, trample not upon thy husband's love! for true devotion he doth daily prove. oh, shackle not his feet in life's fierce strife, his weary shoulders burden,--blast his life! or palsy those dear hands that work for thee, and fill his eyes with tears of agony, till love shall turn as acid to his teeth, and thorns shall tear his side with hellish wreath, and daggers pierce his heart, and ice his soul, and thou become to him a hated ghoul! [ ]what married woman is untainted, pure? she, who when married spreads for men no lure, bestows caresses on no man but him who is her husband; she who doth not trim her form to catch the vulgar gaze, nor paints herself, or in her husband's absence taunts not her sweet purity; exposes not her form undraped, whose veil no freeman aught has raised;[ ] or shows her face to others than her slaves; and loves alone her husbandman; she who has never moistened her pure lips with liquors that intoxicate;[ ] nor sips with others joys that sacred are alone to him, her strength; who claims her as his own. o beauty, purity, my theme inspire! to woman's love of old, my muse aspire! when her sweet charms were equally bestowed, and fairest of the sex with hopes imbued of capturing men of wealth and lives of ease, when loveliness at public sale[ ] doth please the nobles of the land to wealth bestow upon ill-favored sisters, maids of woe, who claimed no beauty, nor had lovely charms; when crones and hags, and maids with uncouth forms, secured a husbandman despite of fate, and love redeemed them from the arms of hate. the proclamation izdubar had made to bring to the great plaza every maid, for beltis' feast and hergal's now arrives, when maidens are selected as the wives of noblemen or burghers of the towns and cities of the kingdom; when wealth crowns the nobles richest, ever as of old, with beauty they have purchased with their gold. the festival, the sabat-tu[ ] hath come! the sabat-tu of elul! hear the hum of voices filling erech's streets! the maids are coming, how each gaily prates! the day and hour has come for them to stand and meet the bidders from all sumir's land; the day that ends their maidenhood, and brings them joy or not. oh, how the poor young things with throbbing hearts approach yon gathering throng to hear their fate pronounced; but is it wrong? the custom old, accadia thinks is good, they all are young and fresh with maidenhood; the ugly ones as well, shall husbands have, and their young lives from shame thus they will save. no aged maids shall pass from yonder throng with bitterness,--their heart's unuttered song for some dear love to end their joyless woe, and longings unallayed that e'er may flow. but love! o where art thou? art thou a thing that gold may buy? doth lucre thy bright wing unfold to hover over human hearts? oh, no! thy presence to our soul imparts a sweeter joy than selfishness can give, thou givest love that thou mayst love receive; nor asking aught of wealth, of rank, or fame. true love in palace, hovel, is the same sweet joy, the holiest of sacred things. for this we worship ishtar, for she brings us happiness, when we ourselves forget in the dear arms we love; no coronet of power, or countless gold, or rank, or fame, or aught that life can give, or tongue can name, can reach the heart that loyally doth love, nor hopes of heaven, nor fears of hell can move. mayhap, this sabattu, some lover may all wealth he claims abandon on this day, for the dear heart that seeming pleads to him, while her fond glistening eyes shall on him gleam. a look, a glance; when mingling souls speak love, will in his breast undying longings move; and let us hope that when the youths have lain[ ] their all before the herald, that no men who see their sacrifice will rob their hearts of all that gives them joy or bliss imparts; or that this day alone will maidens see who have not loved, and they will happy be with him who purchases her as his wife; or proud young beauties will enjoy the strife of bidders to secure their lovely charms, and love may bring their husbands to their arms. the day is sacred, dedicated old to love and strength, when loving arms shall fold a vigorous husband to a maiden's breast, where she may ever stay and safely rest. the day of ishtar, queen of love! the day of nergal, the strong god, to whom they pray for strength to bless with vigor accad's sons. for many anxious years this day atones. [ ]this day their sar the flesh of birds eats not, nor food profaned by fire this day, nor aught of labor may perform nor _zubat_[ ] change, nor snowy _ku-bar-ra_[ ] anew arrange. a sacrifice he offers not, nor rides upon his chariot this day, nor guides his realm's affairs, and his tur-tan-nu rests. of soldiers, and of orders, he divests his mind; and even though disease may fall upon him, remedies he may not call. the temple he shall enter in the night, and pray that ishtar's favor may delight his heart; and lift his voice in holy prayer, in nergal's temple rest from every care, where he before the holy altar bends with lifted hands, his soul's petition sends. around the square the palms and cedars shine, and bowers of roses cluster round divine. beneath an arch of myrtles, climbing vines, and canopy,--with wreathing flowers it shines, there stands a wondrous garland-wreathèd throne, where maids are gathered;--each unmarried one. the timid maids and bold of babylon are each in turn led to the rosy throne; the crowd of bidders round the herald stand, the richest and the poorest of the land. the queen of accad's maids doth now appear, we see the burnished chariot coming near, ten beauteous bays with proud steps, nodding plumes come first; behind, a train of nobles comes; and now we see the close-drawn canopy thrown back by slaves, who step aside, that she the queen of beauty crowned with lilies, rose, may here alight. and see! she queenly goes with dainty steps between the noblemen, who stand on either side the queen of beauty of the plains, who first this day shall reign upon the throne, and lead the way for all the maids who shall be bought for gold, and thus the first upon the throne is sold. she takes her seat beneath the canopy, upon the throne high raised, that all may see; as she her veil of fine spun gold flings back from her sweet face and o'er her ringlets black, her large dark eyes, soft as a wild gazelle's, upon the richest nobles dart appeals. her bosom throbs 'neath gems and snowy lace, and robes of broidered satin, velvets, grace her beauty with their pearly folds that fall around her form. hark! hear the herald's call! "behold this pearl! my lords and noblemen, and who will bid for her as wife, my men?" "ana-bilti khurassi ash at ka!"[ ] "akhadu khurassi ana sa-sa!"[ ] "u sinu bilti khurassi!"[ ] two cried. "sal-sutu bilti!"[ ] nobles three replied; and four, and five, and six, till one bid ten, a vast amount of gold for noblemen: but see! the bidders in excitement stand around a youth who cries with lifted hand and features pale and stern, who now began to bid against a wealthy nobleman, whose countless herds graze far upon the plain, his laden ships that ride upon the main he counts by scores. he turns his evil eyes and wolfish face upon the youth and cries, "khamisserit!"[ ] the lover answering says: "esra'a!"[ ] "u selasa'a!"[ ] then brays the gray-haired lover. "u irbaha!"[ ] cries the youth, and still the nobleman defies; who answers cooly, "khausa'a;"[ ] and eyes the anxious youth, who wildly "miha!"[ ] cries. "mine! mine! she is! though you _alapu_[ ] bid!" "a fool thou art!" the noble, leaving, said. "one hundred talents for a maid!" he sneered, and in the crowd he growling disappeared. the measures filled with shining gold are brought, and thus the loveliest of all is bought. the next in beauty on the throne is sold, and thus the beautiful are sold for gold. the richest thus select the beautiful, the poor must take alone the dutiful and homely with a dower which beauty bought, and ugliness with gold becomes his lot. the ugliest, unsightly, and deformed, is now brought forth; with many wriggles squirmed she to the throne, where beauty late had sat: her ugliness distorted thus; whereat the herald cries: "who will this woman take with smallest dowry? she can cook and bake, and many household duties well perform, although she does not claim a beauty's charm. who wants a wife?" the ugly crone with blinks doth hideous look, till every bidder shrinks. a sorry spectacle, mis-shapen, gross, she is, and bidders now are at a loss how much to ask to take the hag to wife. at last one cries: "five _bilti,_[ ] for relief of herald i will take, to start the bid!" "and four of _bilti_, i'll take, with the maid!" "three and a half!" one cries with shaking head, "and she is yours, my man!" the herald said, and thus she bought a husband and a home. and so the scare-crows, scraggy ones, now come in turn; the lean, ill-favored, gawky, bald, long-nosed, uncouth, raw-boned, and those with scald and freckled, frowsy, ricketty and squat, the stumpy, bandy-leggèd, gaunt, each bought a man; though ugly as a toad, they sold, for every man with her received his gold. the heaped-up gold which beauteous maids had brought is thus proportioned to the bidder's lot; the grisly, blear-eyed, every one is sold, and husbands purchased for a pile of gold, and happiness diffused throughout the land; for when the maid refused her husband's hand she might return by paying back the gold. and every maid who thus for wife was sold received a bond from him who purchased her, to wed her as his wife, or else incur the forfeit of his bond, and thus no maids in all the land were found as grumbling jades, whose fate it was to have no husbandman, for every woman had a husband then. [footnote : we have included in tablet iv tablets v and vi of the original, as classified by mr. sayce.] [footnote : the above is taken from an assyrian fragment ("w.a.i.," ii. , no. ) translated in "records of the past," vol. xi., pp. , , and presents the assyrian view of purity and the customs of their people.] [footnote : literally, "whose veil no freeman of pure race has raised." before slaves and men of mean rank, women of the east are not obliged to veil the face.] [footnote : literally, "who has never moistened her teeth with an intoxicating liquor." "rec. of the past," p. , l. .] [footnote : the public sale herein described is taken from the statement of herodotus (see herodotus, vol. i., p. . compare "nic. dam. fr.," , and Ælian. "var. hist.," iv. ), who says all the marriageable virgins in all the towns of the empire or kingdom were sold at public auction. the beautiful maidens were sold to the highest bidder, and the proceeds were deposited before the herald. the ugly maidens in turn were then put up, and the bidders were called upon to take them as wives with the smallest dowry to be paid from the proceeds of the sales of the beautiful maids, and they were in turn awarded to those who would accept them with the smallest amount as dowry. the numerous contracts for the sales of women now in the british museum may possibly be records of these transactions.] [footnote : "sab-at-tu," a day of rest for the heart ("w.a.i.," ii. ), the sabbath day, which was dedicated to the worship of the sun, moon, and stars, and their gods, which were known by different names.] [footnote : "lain," to lay, v.a. (pretr. "laid," part, passive "lain," from "liggan," sax.), "to place along the ground."--fenning's royal eng. dic., london, mdclxxv.] [footnote : from the babylonian festival calendar ("c.i.w.a.," vol. iv., pls. , ); also translated in "records of the past," vol. vii., pp. , .] [footnote : "zubat," robes.] [footnote : "ku-bar-ra," linen robes.] [footnote : "and two golden talents!"] [footnote : "three talents!"] [footnote : "fifteen!"] [footnote : "twenty!"] [footnote : "and thirty!"] [footnote : "and forty!"] [footnote : "fifty!"] [footnote : "one hundred!"] [footnote : "one thousand!"] [footnote : "five bilti," about £ , sterling, or $ , .] column ii council in the palace the seers on silver couches round the throne; the hangings of the carved lintel thrown aside; the heralds cried: "the sar! the sar! the council opens our king izdubar!" the sar walked o'er the velvets to his throne of gold inlaid with gems. a vassal prone before the sar now placed the stool of gold, arranged his royal robes with glittering fold of laces, fringes rich inwove with pearls, embroidered with quaint figures, curious twirls. behind the throne a prince of royal blood arrayed in courtly splendor, waiting stood, and gently waved a jewelled fan aloft above the sar's tiara; carpets soft from accad's looms the varied tilings bright, in tasteful order, part conceal from sight. the glittering pillars stand with gold o'erlaid in rows throughout the room to the arcade, within the entrance from a columned hall. the ivory-graven panels on the wall on every side are set in solid gold. the canopy chased golden pillars hold above the throne, and emeralds and gems flash from the counsellor's rich diadems. in silence all await the monarch's sign: "this council hath been called, the hour is thine to counsel with thy king upon a plan of conquest of our foes, who ride this plain, unchecked around; these suti should be driven from sumir's plain. have ye our wrongs forgiven? khumbaba hath enjoyed great accad's spoils too long; with him we end these long turmoils. what sayest thou, heabani?--all my seers? hath accad not her chariots and spears?" then one among the wisest seers arose "to save our precious tune which hourly flows, he should our seer, rab-sak-i[ ] first invite to lay his plans before the sar, and light may break across our vision. i confess great obstacles i see, but acquiesce in any plan you deem may bring success. the gods, i feel our cause will gladly bless." another spoke, and all agree at last to hear the seer whose wisdom all surpassed. heabani modestly arose and said, and gracefully to all inclined his head: "o sar! thy seer will gladly counsel give to thee, and all our seers; my thanks receive for thy great confidence in my poor skill to crush our foes who every country fill. i with the sar agree that we should strike a blow against the rival king, who like our sar, is a great giant king, and lives within a mountain castle, whence he grieves all nations by his tyranny, and reigns with haughty power from kharsak to these plains. i'll lead the way, my sar, to his wild home; 'tis twenty _kas-pu_[ ] hence, if you will come. a wall surrounds his castle in a wood, with brazen gates strong fastened. i have stood beneath the lofty pines which dwindle these to shrubs that grow in parks as ornate trees. the mighty walls will reach six _gars_[ ] in height, and two in breadth, like nipur's[ ] to the sight. and when you go, take with you many mules; with men to bring the spoils, and needed tools to break the gates, his castle overthrow: to lose no time, to-morrow we should go. to erech, pines and cedars we can bring with all the wealth of elam's giant king, and erech fill with glorious parks and halls, remove these _man-u-bani,_[ ] ruined walls. take to your hearts, ye seers, poor erech's wrongs! her fall, the bards of elam sing in songs. i love dear erech, may her towers shine!" he seized his harp, thus sung the seer divine: "o erech! thy bright plains i love; although from thee thy seer did rove, my heart remained with thee! the foe destroyed thy beauteous towers, sa-mu forgot to rain her showers, and could i happy be? mine eyes beheld thy fallen gates, thy blood warm flowing in thy streets, my heart was broken then. i raised mine eyes and saw thy sar in glory on his steed of war, and joy returned again! i saw the foe in wild dismay before him flee that glorious day. with joy i heard the cry of victory resound afar, saw elam crushed 'neath accad's car: i shouted, victory! away! till birds of prey shall rend his flesh and haughty elam bend before our mighty sar! beneath his forest of pine-trees the battle-cry then loudly raise, we follow izdubar! and may the birds of prey surround khumbaba stretched upon the ground, destroy his body there! and izdubar alone be king, and all his people joyful sing, with glory crown him here! all hail! all hail! our giant king, the _amaranti_[ ] for him bring, to crown him, crown him here, as king of accad and sutu, and all the land of subar-tu! so sayeth hea's seer!" the counsellors and chieftains wildly cry around the throne, "all hail _izzu sar-ri_ of su-bar-tu!" and shouting leave the halls to summon accad's soldiers from the walls to hear the war proclaimed against their foes, and accad's war-cry from them loud arose. king izdubar heabani warmly prest within his arms upon his throbbing breast, and said, "let us to the war temple go, that all the gods their favor may bestow." the seer replied, "tis well! then let us wend our way, and at the altar we will bend,-- to ishtar's temple, where our goddess queen doth reign, seek her propitious favor, then in samas' holy temple pray for aid to crush our foe;--with glory on each blade, our hands will carry victory in war." the chiefs, without the temple, join their sar. [footnote : "rab-sak-i," chief of the high ones, chief of the seers and counsellors; prime minister.] [footnote : "twenty kaspu," miles; each kaspu was seven miles, or two hours' journey.] [footnote : "six gars," feet; each gar was a twenty-foot measure. khumbaba's walls were thus feet high and forty feet thick--much like the walls of babylon.] [footnote : "nipur" was one of the cities of izdubar's kingdom, from whence he came to the rescue of erech.] [footnote : "man-u-ban-i," a tree or shrub of unpleasant odor mentioned by heabani. see sayce's revised edition smith's "chald. acc. of genesis," p. . the fragment translated by mr. sayce should be placed in another position in the epic.] [footnote : "amaranti," amaranth. "immortal amaranth."--"par. lost."] column iii the king worships at the shrine of ishtar [ ]the richest and the poorest here must stay, each proud or humble maid must take her way; to ishtar's temple grand, a lofty shrine, with youth and beauty seek her aid divine. some drive in covered chariots of gold, with courtly trains come to the temple old. with ribbons on their brows all take their seats, the richer maid of nobles, princes, waits within grand chambers for the nobler maids; the rest all sit within the shrine's arcades. thus fill the temple with sweet beauties, crones; the latest maids are the most timid ones. in rows the maidens sat along the halls and vestibules, on couches, where the walls were carved with mystic signs of ishtar's feast; till at the inner shrine the carvings ceased. amid the crowd long silken cords were strung to mark the paths, and to the pillows clung. the king through the great crowd now pressed his way toward the inner shrine, where he may pray. the jewelled maidens on the cushioned seats, now babbling hailed the king, and each entreats for sacred service, silver or of gold, and to him, all, their sweetest charms unfold. some lovely were, in tears besought and cried, and many would a blooming bride provide; while others were deformed and homely, old, as spinsters still remained, till now grown bold, they raised their bony arms aloft and bawled. some hideous were with harshest voices squalled, and hags like _dal-khi_ from the under-world, their curses deep, growled forth from where they curled. but these were few and silent soon became, and hid their ugliness away in shame. for years some maids had waited day and night, but beauty hides the ugly ones from sight. the king astounded, eyed them seated round; beneath their gaze his eyes fell to the ground. "and hath great accad lost so many sons, and left so many maids unmarried ones?" he eyed the image where the goddess stood upon a pedestal of cedar wood o'erlaid with gold and pearls and _uk-ni_ stones, and near it stands the altar with its cones of gold adorned with gems and solid pearls,-- and from the golden censer incense curls. beside the altar stands a table grand of solid metal carved with skilful hand; upon it stands a mass of golden ware, with wines and fruits which pious hands prepare. the walls are glistening with gold and gems, the priestesses all wear rich diadems. the sar now eyes the maidens, while they gaze; thus they expectant wait, while he surveys. and see! he takes from them a charming girl with ishtar's eyes and perfect form, the pearl of beauty of them all; turns to the shrine, when in her lap he drops a golden coin, and says, "the goddess ishtar, prosper thee!"[ ] she springs, for she from ishtar's halls is free, and kneels and weeps before the monarch's feet, "o great and mighty sar i thee entreat, my will is thine, but all my sisters free: behold my sisters here imploring thee!" the king gazed at the beauteous pleading face, which roused within his breast the noble race before her heavenly charms transfixed he stood. before her heavenly charms transfixed he stood. "'tis well! my daughter, i the favor grant!" and to the priestess said, "let here be sent great coffers filled with gold! for i release these maids. let all their weary waiting cease, the price i'll send by messengers to thee." and all rejoicing sing a psalmody. a ring of maidens round the image forms; with flashing eyes they sing, with waving arms, a wilderness of snowy arms and feet, to song and dance the holy measure beat; a mass of waving ringlets, sparkling eyes. in wildest transport round each maiden flies, the measure keeps to sacred psalmody, with music ravishing,--sweet melody. the priestess leads for them the holy hymn, thus sing they, measure keep with body, limb: [ ]"let length of days, long lasting years, with sword of power, extend his holy life! with years extended full of glory, shine, pre-eminent above all kings in strife. oh, clothe our king, our lord, with strength divine, who with such gifts to gods appears! "let his great empire's limits be, now vast and wide, enlarged, and may he reign (till it shall spread before his eyes complete) supreme above all kings! may he attain to silver hairs, old age, and nations greet our sovereign in his royalty! "when gifts are ended of life's days, the feasts of the land of the silver sky, with bliss, the blest abode refulgent courts, may he enjoy through all eternity, where light of happy fields with joy transports and dwell in life eternal, holy there in presence of the gods with sacred cheer, with assur's gods walk blessèd ways!" when they have ended all their joyful song, they gratefully around their monarch throng; and kneeling at his feet, they bathe his hands with tears of joy, and kiss the 'broidered bands of his bright robes, then joyous haste away; and erech's shame was ended on that day. and now the sar as his libation pours the sparkling sacred wine before the doors that lead to ishtar's glorious inner shrine. he bows before her golden form divine, thus prays: [ ]"in thy fair shrine i bow to thee, o light of heaven! bright thy majesty as glowing flames upon the world doth dawn, bright goddess of the earth, thy fixed abode! who dawned upon the earth a glorious god! with thee prosperity hath ever gone. to gild the towers of cities of mankind! thou warrior's god, who rideth on the wind! as a hyena fierce thou sendest war, and as a lion comes thy raging car. each day thou rulest from thy canopy that spreads above in glory,--shines for thee; o come, exalted goddess of the sun!" [ ]against the tyrant king i go to war, attend mine arms, o queen! with radiant car of battles! ride upon the giant king with thy bright, fiery chargers! valor bring to me at rising of the glistening car of samas, send attendants fierce of war! but goddess mam-nutu of fate and death; oh, keep away from me her blasting breath; let samas fix the hour with favor thine, and o'er mine unknown path, oh ride divine! thy servant strengthen with thy godly power that he invincible in war may tower, against thy chosen city's greatest foe, who brought on erech all her deepest woe." and from the inner shrine with curtains hung, the oracle of ishtar sweetly sung: "o king of vast unnumbered countries, hear! thine enemy khum-baba do not fear, my hands will waft the winds for thee. thus i reveal! khum-baba falls! thine enemy! nor aught conceal. "the harvest month[ ] propitious shines, array great accad's battle lines! before thy feet thy queen descends, before thy will thine ishtar bends, to fight thine enemy, to war i go with thee! my word is spoken, thou hast heard, for thee, my favor thou hast stirred. as i am ishtar of mine or divine, thine enemy shall fall! be glory thine! "before mine izdubar i go, and at thy side direct thy blow. i go with thee, fear not, my king, for every doubt and fear, i bring relief, to thy heart rest! of sars, i love thee best!" [footnote : the account given by herodotus of the worship of beltis or ishtar, if true (see herodotus, i. ), was one of the darkest features of babylonian religion. it is probable that the first intention was only to represent love as heaven-born, and that it afterward became sensual in the time of herodotus. (see sayce's edition smith's "c.a. of gen.," p. .) the presence of the women may have been intended at first to present an innocent attraction. see also rawlinson's "ancient monarchies," vol. iii. p. .] [footnote : see herodotus, vol. i. p. . ishtar was called mylitta or beltis in the time of herodotus. we have taken the above description from herodotus, whose work is mostly confirmed by the cuneiform inscriptions.] [footnote : the above psalm is found in vol. iii. of rawlinson's "british museum inscriptions," pl. , and was translated by h.f. talbot, f.r.s., in vol. i. of the "transactions of the society of biblical archæology," p. , and also by m. lenormant in his "premières civilisations," p. . we have used mr. talbot's transcription.] [footnote : see terra-cotta tablet numbered "s. " in the british museum; also translation by rev. a.h. sayce, m.a., in the "records of the past," vol. v. p. .] [footnote : see fragment in sayce's edition smith's "chald. acc. of gen.," p. , col. iii.] [footnote : the harvest month was the month of sivan, which is mentioned by the oracle of ishtar of arbela. see "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. iv. pl. ; also "records of the past," vol. xi. pp. - .] column iv the king goes from ishtar's temple to the temple of samas he rose and raised the pendant mystic charms and kissed them, and the jewels of her arms and ornaments upon her breast divine, and then her crown with jewels iridine he placed upon his brow, and it returned; and from the shrine in reverence he turned; to samas' temple all the chiefs of war and seers, _pa-te-si,_ go with izdubar. before the fire he stands where holy burns the flames of samas. in a vase he turns the crimson wine, to samas, god, he pours libation, and his favor thus implores: "o samas, why hast thou established, raised me in thy heart?--protected? men have praised thee, holy one! my expedition bless in thine own will, o god, i acquiesce. i go, o samas, on a path afar, against khumbaba i declare this war; the battle's issue thou alone dost know, or if success attends me where i go. the way is long, o may thy son return from the vast pine-tree forest, i would earn for erech glory and renown! destroy khumbaba and his towers! he doth annoy all nations, and is evil to thy sight. to-morrow i will go, o send thy light upon my standards, and dark nina-zu keep thou away, that i may wary view mine enemies, and fix for me the hour when i shall strike and crush khumbaba's power. to all the gods i humbly pray to izdubar propitious be! [ ]_assur samas u marduk-u, ana sar bel-ni-ya lik-ru-bu!"_ and thus the oracle with sweetest voice to him replied, and made his heart rejoice: "fear not, o izdubar, for i am bel, thy strength in war.[ ] a heart of strength give i to thee! to trust, we can but faithful be! as thou hast shown to me. the sixty gods, our strongest ones, will guide thy path where'er it runs; the moon-god on thy right shall ride, and samas on thy left shall guide. the sixty gods thy will commands to crush khumbaba's bands. in man alone, do not confide, thine eyes turn to the gods, who rule from their abodes, and trust in heaven where powers abide!" with joyous heart the sar comes from the shrine to bathe his brow in samas' rays divine; upon the pyramid he stands and views the scene below with its bright varied hues. a peerless pile the temple grandly shone with marble, gold, and silver in the sun; in seven stages rose above the walls, with archways vast and polished pillared halls. a marble portico surrounds the mass with sculptured columns, banisters of brass, and winding stairways round the stages' side, grand temples piled on temples upward glide, a mass of colors like the rainbow hues, thus proudly rise from breezy avenues. the brazen gates lead to the temple's side, the stairs ascend and up the stages glide. the basement painted of the darkest blue is passed by steps ascending till we view from them the second stage of orange hue and crimson third! from thence a glorious view-- a thousand turrets far beneath, is spread o'er lofty walls, and fields, and grassy mead; the golden harvests sweep away in sight and orchards, vineyards, on the left and right; euphrates' stream as a broad silver band sweeps grandly through the glowing golden land, till like a thread of silver still in sight it meets the tigris gleaming in the light that spreads along the glorious bending skies, the brightest vault of all the emperies. now rested from the cushioned seats we rise and to the stairway turn again our eyes; the fourth stage plated o'er with beaten gold we pass, and topaz fifth till we behold the sixth of azure blue; to seventh glide, that glows with silvery summit where reside the gods, within a shrine of silvery sheen which brightly glows, and from afar is seen. without the temple, burnished silver shines; within, pure gold and gems in rare designs. [footnote : "assur samas and merodac" ("unto the king, my lord, may they be propitious!"), the response of the priest to the prayer.] [footnote : see "records of the past," vol. xi. p. . these oracles seem to be formulas which are filled in with the monarch's name, and may apply to any king.] column v expedition against khumbaba, and battle in the black forest at early dawn the shining ranks are massed, and erech echoes with the trumpet's blast; the chosen men of erech are in line, and ishtar in her car above doth shine. the blazing standards high with shouts are raised, as samas' car above grand sumir blazed. the march they sound at izdubar's command, and thus they start for king khumbaba's land; the gods in bright array above them shine, by ishtar led, with samas, moon-god sin, on either side with merodac and bel, and ninip, nergal, nusku with his spell, the sixty gods on chargers of the skies, and ishtar's chariot before them flies. across cazina's desert far have come, the armies now have neared khumbaba's home; beneath grand forests of tall cedar, pine, and the dark shades near khar-sak's brow divine. a brazen gate before them high appeared, and massive walls which their great foe had reared; the mighty gates on heavy pivots hung, they broke, and on their brazen hinges swung with clanging roars against the solid wall, and sent through all the wilds a clarion call. within his halls khumbaba is enthroned, in grand tul-khumba's walls by forests zoned with her bright palaces and templed shrines, the sanctuaries of the gods, where pines sigh on the wafting winds their rich perfumes; where elam's god with sullen thunder dooms from kharsak's brow the wailing nation's round, and elam's hosts obey the awful sound. the giant here his castled city old had strengthened, wrung his tributes, silver, gold; his palace ceiling with pure silver shines, and on his throne of gold from magan's[ ] mines in all his pride the conqueror exults, with wealth has filled his massive iron vaults. oft from his marble towers the plains surveys, and sees his foes' most ancient cities blaze; while his _pa-te-si_ lead his allied hosts, and o'er his famous victories he boasts. with rimsin he allied when erech fell, the king of sarsa, whose great citadel was stormed by nammurabi the great sar, ninrad of erech, our king izdubar. khumbaba's ally was by him o'erthrown, and thus appeared to take khumbaba's throne. and now within his palace came a sound that roared through all the forest, shook the ground: "our foes! our foes! the gate! hear how it rings!" and from his throne the giant furious springs: "ho! vassals! sound the trump! 'tis izdubar, to arms! our foes are on us from afar!" his weapons seizes, drives his men in fear before him with his massive sword and spear, and as a tempest from his lips he pours his orders, while his warrior steed he spurs along his serried lines of bristling spears; among the pines the army disappears. the men of accad now in squadrons form, arrayed to take khumbaba's towers by storm; while izdubar the forest black surveyed of pines and cedars thickly grown, and made a reconnoitre of his hidden foe. the road was straight; afar the turrets glow with samas' light, and all the gods arrayed, ride o'er the pines and flash through their dark shade. the glorious blaze of accad's glistening spears one _kaspu_ pass, and now the foe appears; beneath the deepest shadows of the pines khumbaba stands with solid battle lines before the marching host of izdubar. the forest echoes with the shouts of war, as they sweep on with ringing battle cries, now loudly echoed from the woods and skies: "_kar-ro! kar-ra!_[ ] we follow izdubar!" and through the forests fly the bolts of war. the foe beheld the gods in wrath above, and accad's charging lines toward them move, but bravely stand to meet the onset fierce, their mailed armor, shields, no arrows pierce. and now in direst conflict meet the mass, and furious still meets ringing bronze and brass, khumbaba on his mighty steed of war, above the ranks towers high a giant sar, and sweeps the men of accad with his blade, till to his breast a heap of corpses made, and fiercely urged his men to fight, to die; and izdubar, with helmet towering high, his men has led with fury on the foe, and massacres each man with one fell blow, who dares to stand in front with sword or spear, and fighting by him stands his valiant seer. the gods now rushing from the gleaming sky, with blazing weapons carry victory; the foe no longer stand before the sight, and shouting fly away in wild affright. their monarch turned and slowly rode away; and accad's hosts his men pursue and slay, until the forest deep resounds with cries. to save himself each man in terror flies. [footnote : "mag-an" or "mizir," egypt, or the famous mines of africa.] [footnote : "karra! kar-ra!" (cry out) "hurrah! hurrah!"] column vi hand-to-hand conflict of the rival giants--death of khumbaba now the black forest through, the sar and seer sought for their foe, khumbaba, far and near; but he had fled when he beheld the gods in fury rushing from their bright abodes. now from the battle-field the king and seer the farthest limit of the forest near, and passing on, the sar thus to his seer: "the gods have filled our foeman's heart with fear; he comes not forth to meet us 'neath his walls." but lo! within their sight, far from his halls, khumbaba stands beside his steed of snow held by his queen, and eyes his coming foe. heabani cries: "behold the enemy! and with his queen from us disdains to fly!" and izdubar turned to heabani, said: "my seer, methought this king from us had fled; his army slain or scattered from us fly; but by our hands this monarch here must die." heabani eyed khumbaba, nor replied before the queen, who wrung her hands and cried; and izdubar continued: "he, of war, it seems, doth lack in skill, and from afar he scents the battle, while his fighting men their raids oft make, and here return again; his castle we may enter without fear, and thou his queen mayst have who standeth here, and now we end the reign of elam's throne; so lend thy hand to strike this monarch prone. my friend, if i mistake thee not, for war thou art prepared, since thou upon the car wast wont to ride in former years now gone; and if he falls, a feast day of the sun [ ]we will appoint, and may the birds of prey surround his carcass on this glorious day: but stay! this giant i will slay alone, although his weight is many _gur-ri_[ ] stone; this giant's form the gods have surely made an enemy well worthy of my blade." and izdubar upon his foe advanced, who waiting stood, and at him fiercely glanced, and naught replied; but raised his glory blade. their furious glance, the giant's queen dismayed. she wildly eyed the rivals towering high, and breathless stood, then quickly turned to fly, as izdubar upon his heavy shield received khumbaba's stroke, and then doth wield his massive blade as lightning o'er his head, he strikes the giant's helmet on the mead. khumbaba, furious, strikes a mighty blow, which staggers izdubar, who on his foe now springs and rains upon him faster blows, until his blade with fire continuous glows. khumbaba caught his blows on sword and shield with parries; thrusts returned, and naught would yield; and thus they fought, the peerless kings of war. now ishtar downward drove his raging car, and in khumbaba's eyes her rays she cast, the giant turned his glance--it was his last; unwary caught, his foe has swung his sword, khumbaba's gory head rolls o'er the sward. [footnote : smith's "chald. acc. of gen.," sayce's edition, p. , ls. and .] [footnote : "gur-ri," a measurement of weight corresponding to "ton"(?). it [transcriber's note: missing, probably "was"] also used as a measurement of ships.] alcove ii tablet v--column i coronation of izdubar as king of the four races, and appearance of ishtar in his royal presence, who sues for his hand to erech's palaces returns the sar, rich laden with khumbaba's spoils of war. the land of ur with grandest glories shines-- and gleams with palaces and towers and shrines. the plain with temples, cities, walls is filled, and wide canals, and yellow harvests tilled. grand erech to the sight presents no walls in ruins laid, but glows with turrets, halls; with splendor proudly shines across the plain. and now with joy he meets his courtly train; their shouts of welcome rend the gleaming skies, and happiness beams from his people's eyes. within the walls he rides with kingly pride, and all his chiefs and seers beside him ride; to his grand palace they now lead the way, to crown him king of subartu this day. arrayed in splendor on his throne, the sar before him eyes the kassite spoils of war, khumbaba's crown of gold, and blazing gems, the richest of the kassite diadems, the royal sceptre of all subartu, of larsa, ur, kardunia and sutu the sar upon his brow the crown now bound, receives the sceptre while his courts resound with shouts for sar-dan-nu of subartu, the sar of kip-rat arba[ ] and sutu, of sumir, accad, nipur, bar-ili,[ ] and erech, larsa, mairu, and kus-si, of mal-al-nak, kitu;--the sky resounds-- for iz-zu-bar-ili,[ ] from earth rebounds; for nam-mu-rabi, bar-bels king of fire. what king to his great glory can aspire? the zig-gur-at-u to the skies his hands have built, where holy fires to samas burn; its flame ne'er dies, to holiness lead man's desires. he opens wide the fiery gates of all the gods at dintir old, ka-ding-ir-a.[ ] this day completes his grandeur--may it far be told of our great sar whose godly gate wide opens heaven's joy for man, of iz-zu-bar-ili the great, who rules from khar-sak to the main. within the entrance to the royal rooms, queen ishtar with her train in splendor comes, her radiant form with glistening gems ablaze, and shining crescent with its glorious rays, glow with bright heaven's unremitting flame; thus came the queen of love of godly fame. the richest robe of gods her form enshrines, with every charm of heaven and earth she shines; of their wide splendors robs the farthest skies, that she with love her hero may surprise. her train she robes with liveries of heaven, to her are all the dazzling splendors given. the glittering court is filled with chiefs and seers, when ishtar at the entrance now appears, the ner-kalli,[ ] her heralds at the door, as some grand sovereign from a foreign shore. the goddess proudly enters with her train, the spirits of the earth, and tossing main, from mountains, rivers, woods, and running streams; and every spirit where the sunlight gleams, now fill the courts and palaces and halls, and thousands glowing bright surround the walls; each wafting wind brings i-gi-gi[ ] that soar above an-un-na-ci from every shore, and herald ishtar's presence, queen of love, with music through the halls, around, above. from lyres and lutes their softest wooings bring, as ishtar bows before her lover king. a halo from the goddess fills the halls, and shines upon the dazzling jewelled walls. the sar and seers in wonder were amazed at the sweet strains, and glorious light that blazed; transfixed in silence stood, as she now spoke, and sweeter music through the palace woke. like fragrant zephyrs, warbling from retreats of gardens of the gods, she thus entreats from izdubar her welcome, or a glance of love; and she the sar would thus entrance: "thy wisdom, sar, surpasses all mankind, in thee, o king! no blemish do i find. the queen of heaven favor seeks from thee, i come with love, and prostrate bend the knee. my follies past, i hope thou wilt forgive, alone i love thee, with thee move and live; my heart's affections to thee, me have led, to woo thee to thine ishtar's marriage bed. o kiss me, my beloved! i adore thee! hear me! i renounce the godly shore with all its hollow splendor where as queen i o'er the heavenly hosts, unrivaled reign in grandest glory on my shining throne; and yet for thee my heart here pines alone, i cannot live without my izdubar! my husband's love and simple word shall far surpass the godly bond. o let me, king, rest on thy breast, and happiness will cling to all the blissful days which shall be thine. with glory of the skies, my love shall shine. o izdubar, my king! this love below is grander here than mortals e'er can know, for this i leave my throne in yonder skies, and at the feet of love thy queen now lies. oh, let me taste with thee the sweets of love, and i my love for thee will grandly prove, and thou shalt ride upon a diamond car, lined with pure gold; and jeweled horns of war shall stud it round like rays of samas' fire. rich gifts whate'er my lover shall desire, thy word shall bring to thee, my sar-dan-nu! lo! all the wealth that gods above can view, i bring to thee with its exhaustless store. oh, come my love! within the halls, where more than i have named is found, all, all is thine; oh, come with me within our halls divine! amid the fragrant odors of the pines, and all shrubs and flowers, vines, euphrates' _zir-ri_ there shall sing for thee, and dance around thy feet with zi-mu-ri[ ] and kings and lords and princes i will bring to bow to thee, beloved, glorious king! with tribute from the mountains and the plains, as offerings to thee. thy flocks shall twins bring forth; and herds of fattened, lowing kine shall fast increase upon the plains divine. thy warrior steeds shall prance with flowing manes, resistless with thy chariot on the plain. vast spoils, thy beasts of burden far shall bear, unrivaled then shall be my king of war; and victory o'er all, thine eyes shall view, and loud acclaims shall rend the bright samu." [footnote : "kip-rat arba," the four races or regions.] [footnote : "bar-ili," from "bar," gate, and "ili," of the gods--babel, bab--originates from the accadian word "bar," semitic "bab;" thus babel was originally called "bar-ili." see taylor and furst. the latter renders it "bar-(bir-)bel," "town of belus."] [footnote : "izzu-bar-ili" we believe to be the original name of izdubar, afterward shortened to izdubar, and means literally the fire-king of "bar-ili," or the "fire-king of the gate of the gods." this identifies him with nimrod, the founder of bar-bet or babylon.] [footnote : ka-ding-ir-a (acc.), "gate of god"--pinches.] [footnote : "ner-kalli," or "ner-ekalli," chief of the palace.] [footnote : "i-gi-gi," pronounced "e-gee-gee," spirits of heaven.] [footnote : "zi-mu-ri," spirits of the light.] column ii the king's answer and ishtar's rage amazed the sovereign sat upon his throne; and while she wooed, his heart was turned to stone; in scorn replied: "rise ishtar, heaven's high queen, though all thy wealth, possessions i had seen now piled before me, all in gems and gold, of all the wealth of heaven there heaped of old, i nakedness and famine would prefer to all the wealth divine thou canst confer. what carest thou for earthly royalty? the cup of poison shall thy lovers see. thou sawest me within a haunt away from men. i lingered on that direful day, and took thee for a beauteous _zi-re-mu_[ ] or _zi-ar-i-a_ or a _zi-lit-tu_[ ] and thou didst cause to enter love divine. as _zi-cur-un-i,_ spirit of the wine, thou didst deceive me with thine arts refined, and love escaped upon the passing wind. then to my palace come, and me there seek; didst place thy mouth upon my lips, and wake within my breast a dream of love and fire, till i awoke and checked thy wild desire; thou camest with the form of spirits fair, didst hover o'er me in my chamber there. thy godly fragrance from the skies above, a sign did carry of the queen of love: i woke, and thou didst vanish, then didst stand as mine own servant in my palace grand. then as a skulking foe, a mystic spell didst weave, and scorch me with the fires of hell while i was wrapped in sleep. again i woke, i saw around me _dal-khi_, sulphurous smoke, which thou didst send around my royal bed; and i believed that i was with the dead, with _dal-khi_ gloating over me in hell. my _su-khu-li_ then sought thy presence fell. forever may thy wooing cease! for love hath fled, may godly praises never move upon the lips of holy gods, or men,-- of thee, the god of love ne'er speak again! i loved thee once; with love my heart inflamed once sought thee, but my troubles i have blamed upon thee, for the dreams which thou didst send. go! rest thy heart; and to thy pleasures wend! "for tammuz of thy youth thy heart once wailed, for years his weary form thy love assailed; allala next, the eagle, lovest, tore his wings. no longer could he joyful soar and float above the forest to the sky. thou leavest him with fluttering wings to die. a lusty lion thou didst love, his might destroyed, and plucked his claws in fierce delight, by sevens plucked, nor heard his piteous cry. a glorious war-steed next thy love didst try, who yielded to thee, till his strength was gone: for seven _kaspu_[ ] thou didst ride upon him without ceasing, gave no food nor drink, till he beneath thee to the earth did sink, and to his mistress, sil-i-li, the steed returned with broken spirit, drooping head. thou lovest tabulu, the shepherd king, and from his love continuous didst wring _sem-uk-ki_[ ], till he to appease thy love, the mighty gods of heaven then sought to move to pity with his daily offerings. beneath thy wand upon the ground he springs, transformed to a hyena; then was driven from his own city--by his dogs was riven. next is-ul-lan-u lov'st, uncouth, and rude, thy father's laborer, who subject stood to thee, and daily scoured thy vessels bright: his eyes from him were torn, before thy sight. and chained before thee, there thy lover stood, with deadly poison placed within his food. thou sayst: 'o isullanu, stretch thy hand! the food partake, that doth before thee stand!' then with thy hand didst offer him the food. he said: 'what askest thou? it is not good! i will not eat the poison thus prepared.' thy godly wand him from thy presence cleared, transformed him to a pillar far away. and for my love queen ishtar comes this day? as thou hast done with others, would thy love return to me, thine actions all doth prove." the queen in fury from his presence turned, in speechless rage the palace halls she spurned; and proudly from the earth swept to the skies; her godly train in terror quickly flies. [footnote : "zi-re-mu," spirit of mercy or grace.] [footnote : "zi-lit-tu," spirit of the mist.] [footnote : "seven kaspu," fourteen hours; each kaspu was two hours.] [footnote : "sem-uk-ki," translated by sayce "stibium," antimony; by talbot, "lütarish semukki," "thou who didst make evil with thy drugs."-- "trans. soc. bib. arch.", vol. v. p. . sayce's edition smith's "c.a.g.," p. .] column iii ishtar complains to anu, king of heaven, who creates a winged bull to destroy ishtar before the throne of anu, ishtar cries, and anatu, the sovereigns of the skies: "o sar, this king my beauty doth despise, my sweetest charms beholds not with his eyes." and anu to his daughter thus replied: "my daughter, thou must crush his vaunting pride, and he will claim thy beauty and thy charms, and gladly lie within thy glorious arms." "i hate him now, o sar, as i did love! against the strength of anu let him prove his right divine to rule without our aid, before the strength of anu let him bleed. upon this giant sar so filled with pride, let anu's winged bull[ ] in fury ride, and i will aid the beast to strike him prone, till he in death shall breathe his dying groan." and anu said: "if thou to it shall join thy strength, which all thy noble names define thy glories[ ] and thy power thus magnified, will humble him, who has thy power defied," and ishtar thus: "by all my might as queen of war and battles, where i proudly reign, this sar my hands shall strike upon the plain, and end his strength and all his boastings vain. by all the noble names with gods i hold as queen of war, this giant monarch bold, who o'er mine ancient city thinks to reign, shall lie for birds of prey upon the plain. for answering my love for thee with scorn, proud monarch! from thy throne thou shalt be torn!" for ishtar, anu from the clouds creates a shining monster with thick brazen plates and horns of adamant;[ ] and now it flies toward the palace, roaring from the skies. [footnote : "anu's winged bull," taurus, constellation of the heavens.] [footnote : "glories" ("maskhi"). this word is not translated by mr. sayce.] [footnote : "horns of adamant." sayce translates in i. , col. v., horns of crystal--"thirty manehs of crystal," etc. the meaning probably of "zamat stone," as given by smith, was a hard substance, such as the diamond or adamant. by some translators it has been rendered onyx, and others lazuli.] column iv the fight with the winged bull of anu the gods appear above to watch the fight, and erech's _masari_ rush in affright to izdubar, who sits upon his throne, before him fall in speechless terror prone. a louder roar now echoes from the skies, and erech's sar without the palace flies. he sees the monster light upon the plain, and calls heabani with the choicest men of erech's spearsmen armed, who fall in line without the gates, led by their sar divine. and now the monster rushed on izdubar, who meets it as the god of chase and war. with whirling sword before the monster's face, he rains his blows upon its front of brass and horns, and drives it from him o'er the plain, and now with spreading wings it comes again, with maddened fury; fierce its eyeballs glare. it rides upon the monarch's pointed spear; the scales the point have turned, and broke the haft. then as a pouncing hawk when sailing daft, in swiftest flight o'er him drops from the skies, but from the gleaming sword it quickly flies. three hundred warriors now nearer drew to the fierce monster, which toward them flew; into their midst the monster furious rushed, and through their solid ranks resistless pushed to slay heabani, onward fought and broke two lines and through the third, which met the shock with ringing swords upon his horns and scales. at last the seer it reaches, him impales with its sharp horns: but valiant is the seer-- he grasps its crest and fights without a fear. the monster from his sword now turns to fly; heabani grasps its tail, and turns his eye towards his king, while scudding o'er the plain. so quickly has it rushed and fled amain, that izdubar its fury could not meet, but after it he sprang with nimble feet. heabani loosed his grasp and stumbling falls, and to his king approaching, thus he calls: "my friend, our strongest men are overthrown: but see! he comes! such strength was never known. with all my might i held him, but he fled! we both it can destroy! strike at its head!" like rimmon now he flies upon the air, as sceptred nebo,[ ] he his horns doth bear, that flash with fire along the roaring skies, [ ]around the sar and seer he furious flies. heabani grasps the plunging horns, nor breaks his grasp; in vain the monster plunging shakes his head, and roaring, upward furious rears. heabani's strength the mighty monster fears; he holds it in his iron grasp, and cries: "quick! strike!" beneath the blows the monster dies; and izdubar now turned his furious face toward the gods, and on the beast doth place his foot; he raised his gory sword on high, and sent his shout defiant to the sky: "'tis thus, ye foes divine! the sar proclaims his war against your power, and highest names! hurl! hurl! your darts of fire, ye vile _kal-bi!_[ ] my challenge hear! ye cravens of the sky!" [footnote : "nebo," the holder of the sceptre of power; also the god of prophecy.] [footnote : "around" ("tarka"), or it may mean "between."] [footnote : "kal-bi," dogs.] column v the curse of ishtar, and rejoicing of erech over the victory the monarch and his seer have cleft the head from anu's bull prone lying on the mead. they now command to bring it from the plain within the city where they view the slain. the heart they brought to samas' holy shrine, before him laid the offering divine. without the temple's doors the monster lays, and ishtar o'er the towers the bulk surveys; she spurns the carcass, cursing thus, she cries: "woe! woe to izdubar, who me defies! my power has overthrown, my champion slain; accursèd sar! most impious of men!" heabani heard the cursing of the queen, and from the carcass cleft the tail in twain, before her laid it; to the goddess said: "and wherefore comest thou with naught to dread? since i with izdubar have conquered thee, thou hearest me! before thee also see thine armored champion's scales! thy beast is dead," and ishtar from his presence furious fled, and to her maids the goddess loudly calls joy and seduction from the palace halls; and o'er her champion's death she mourning cries, and flying with her maids, sped to the skies. king izdubar his summons sends afar to view the monster slain by erech's sar. the young and old the carcass far surround, and view its mighty bulk upon the ground. the young men eye its horns with wild delight, and weigh them on the public scales in sight of erech. "thirty _manehs_ weighs!" they cry; "of purest _zamat_ stone, seems to the eye in substance, with extremities defaced." six _gurri_ weighed the monster's bulk undressed. as food for lugul-turda, their sar's god, the beast is severed, placed upon the wood. piled high upon the altar o'er the fires. then to euphrates' waters each retires to cleanse themselves for erech's grand parade, as izdubar by proclamation bade. upon their steeds of war with izdubar the chiefs and warriors extend afar with chariots, and waving banners, spears, and erech rings with their triumphant cheers. before the chariot of their great sar, who with his seer rides in his brazen car, the seers a proclamation loud proclaim and cheer their sar and seer; and laud the name of their great monarch, chanting thus his praise, while erech's band their liveliest marches play: "if anyone to glory can lay claim among all chiefs and warriors of fame, we izdubar above them all proclaim our izzu-ul-bar[ ] of undying fame. _sar gabri la isu, sar-dannu bu-mas-lu!_[ ] "he wears the diadem of subartu, from bar-ili[ ] he came to eridu; our giant monarch, who of all _barri_[ ] can rival him, our nin-arad _rabi?_[ ] _sar-dannu ina mati basi, sar bu-mas-la e-mu-ki, nesi._"[ ] through the grand halls of erech far resounds the feast their sar proclaimed through all the grounds of erech's palaces; where he now meets his heroes, seers and counsellors, and greets them in his crowded festal halls. grand banquets far are spread within the walls, and sparkling rarest wines each freely drank, and revels ruled the hour till samas sank, and shadows sweep across the joyous plain, and samas sleeps with hea 'neath the main. the jewelled lamps are lit within the halls, and dazzling glory on the feasters falls. the rays o'er gems and richest garments shone upon the lords and ladies round the throne; while troops of dancing girls around them move with cymbals, harps and lutes, with songs of love. again the board glows with rich food and wines, now spread before them till each man reclines upon his couch at rest in the far night, and swimming halls and wines pass from their sight. [footnote : "izzu-ul-bar," the fire of bel's temple.] [footnote : "the king who has no rival. the powerful giant king." the royal titles of izdubar.] [footnote : "bar-ili," temple, or country of the gods.] [footnote : "barri," chieftains, army, soldiers.] [footnote : "nin-arad rabi," "the servant of nin, the king."] [footnote : "who is the great king (in the land) of all countries, the powerful giant king, the lion!" the royal titles of izdubar.] column vi ishtar weaves a mystic spell over the king and seer, and vanishes--the seer advises the king to seek the aid of the immortal seer who escapes from the flood. the goddess ishtar wrapped in darkness waits until the goddess tsil-at-tu[ ] the gates of sleep has closed upon the darkened plain; then lightly to the palace flies the queen. o'er the king's couch she weaves an awful dream, while her bright eyes upon him furious gleam. then o'er heabani's couch a moment stands, and heaven's curtains pulls aside with hands of mystic power, and he a vision sees-- the gods in council;--vanishing, she flees without the palace like a gleam of light, and wakes the guard around in wild affright. next day the seer reveals to izdubar how all the gods a council held of war, and gave to anu power to punish them for thus defying ishtar's godly claim; and thus the seer gave him his counsel, well considered, how to meet their plottings fell: "to khasisadra go, who from the flood escaped when o'er the earth the waters stood above mankind, and covered all the ground; he at the river's mouth may yet be found. for his great aid, we now the seer must seek, for anu's fury will upon us break. immortal lives the seer beside the sea; through hades pass, and soon the seer mayst see." thus izdubar replied, and him embraced: "with thee, heabani, i my throne have graced; with thee i go, mine own companion dear, and on the road each other we may cheer," "the way is long, my king, and if i live, with thee i go, but oh, thou must not grieve, for perils great attend the way, and old am i: the suppleness of youth to hold my strength i need, but it alas! is gone. my heart is ready, but i fear, my son, these crippled limbs which anu's bull hath left of my strong vigor, have thy seer bereft. too weak am i, for that long journey hard to undertake; my presence would retard thee,--with these wounds; nor strength have i to last to guard my body in the mountain fast. but if thou wilt, my strength is thine, my king! to do thy will my agèd form shall spring with gladness, and all perils i'll defy; if need be, for thee will thy servant die." "heabani, noble one! my chosen seer! i love thee, bid thy loyal heart good cheer. he steeds may take to ride through all the way, with easy journeys on the road each day; from perils i will guard thee, and defend; to-morrow then we on our way will wend." equipped for the long journey they appear next morn and leave, while erech's people cheer them on their way across the glowing plain, to perils dire they go--distress and pain. [footnote : "tsil-at-tu," goddess of darkness, or shades of night.] tablet vi--column i ishtar's descent to hades--her fearful reception to hades' darkened land, whence none return, queen ishtar, sin's great daughter, now doth turn; inclined her ear and listened through the void that lay beneath of every path devoid, the home of darkness, of the under-world, where god ir-kal-la[ ] from the heights was hurled. the land and road from whence is no return, where light no entrance hath to that dark bourne; where dust to dust returns, devouring clods; where light dwells not in tsil-lat-tus abodes; where sable ravens hovering rule the air; o'er doors and bolts dust reigneth with despair. before the gates of gloom the queen now stands, and to the keeper ishtar thus commands: "o keeper of the waters! open wide thy gate, that i through these dark walls may glide; but if thou open'st not the gate for me, that i may enter, shattered thou shalt see the doors and bolts before thee lying prone, and from the dust shall rise each skeleton, with fleshless jaws devour all men with thee, till death shall triumph o'er mortality." the keeper to the princess ishtar said: "withhold thy speech! or allat's fury dread! to her i go to bid thee welcome here." to allat then the keeper doth appear: "thy sister ishtar the dark waters seeks-- the queen of heaven," thus allat's fury breaks. "so like an herb uprooted comes this queen, to sting me as an asp doth ishtar mean? what can her presence bring to me but hate? doth heaven's queen thus come infuriate?" and ishtar thus replies: "the fount i seek, where i with tammuz, my first love, may speak; and drink its waters, as sweet nectar-wines, weep o'er my husband, who in death reclines; my loss as wife with handmaids i deplore, o'er my dear tammuz let my teardrops pour." and allat said, "go! keeper, open wide the gates to her! she hath me once defied; bewitch her as commanded by our laws." to her thus hades opened wide its jaws. "within, o goddess! cutha thee receives! thus hades' palace its first greeting gives." he seized her, and her crown aside was thrown. "o why, thou keeper, dost thou seize my crown?" "within, o goddess! allat thee receives! 'tis thus to thee our queen her welcome gives." within the next gate he her earrings takes, and goddess ishtar now with fury shakes. "then why, thou slave, mine earrings take away?" "thus entrance, goddess, allat bids this day." at the third gate her necklace next he takes, and now in fear before him ishtar quakes. "and wilt thou take from me my gems away?" "thus entrance, goddess, allat bids this day." and thus he strips the goddess at each gate, of ornaments upon her breast and feet and arms; her bracelets, girdle from her waist, her robe next took, and flung the queen undrest within a cell of that dark solitude. at last, before queen ishtar allat stood, when she had long remained within the walls, and allat mocked her till queen ishtar falls humiliated on the floor in woe; then turning wildly, cursed her ancient foe. queen allat furious to her servant cries: "go! naintar! with disease strike blind her eyes! and strike her side! her breast and head and feet; with foul disease her strike, within the gate!" [footnote : "ir-kal-la," the king of hades, who was hurled from the heights of heaven with the evil gods who rebelled with tiamatu, the goddess of chaos, against the reign of the gods of heaven.] column ii effect of ishtar's imprisonment in hades--love departs from the earth--the earth's solemn dirge of woe. when ishtar, queen of love, from earth had flown, with her love fled, and left all nature prone; from earth all peace with love then fled amain. in loneliness the bull stalked o'er the plain, and tossed his drooping crest toward the sky, in sadness lay upon the green to die; on the far kine looked weary and bereaved, and turned toward the gods, and wondering grieved. the troubled kine then gravely chewed their cud, and hungerless in the rich pastures stood. the ass his mate abandoned, fled away, and loveless wives then cursed the direful day; and loving husbands kiss their wives no more, and doves their cooing ceased, and separate soar; and love then died in all the breasts of men, and strife supreme on earth was reveling then. the sexes of mankind their wars divide, and women hate all men, and them deride; and some demented hurl aside their gowns, and queens their robes discard and jewelled crowns, and rush upon the streets bereft of shame, their forms expose, and all the gods defame. alas! from earth the queen of love has gone, and lovers 'void their haunts with faces wan and spurn from them the hateful thought of love, for love no longer reigns, all life to move. an awful thrill now speeds through hades' doors, and shakes with horror all the dismal floors; a wail upon the breeze through space doth fly, and howling gales sweep madly through the sky; through all the universe there speeds a pang of travail. mam-nu-tu[ ] appalled doth hang upon her blackened pinions in the air, and piteous from her path leads black despair, "the queen in chains in hades dying lies, and life with her," they cry, "forever dies!" through misty glades and darkened depths of space, tornadoes roar her fate to earth's sweet face; the direful tidings from far hades pour upon her bosom with their saddest roar; like moans of mighty powers in misery, they bring the tale with awful minstrelsy. and earth her mists wrapped round her face in woe, while icy pangs through all her breast deep flow. her bosom sobbing wails a mighty moan, "alas! forever my sweet queen hath flown!" with shrieks of hurricane, and ocean's groan, and sobbing of the winds through heights unknown, through mountain gorges sweep her wails of woe, through every land and seas, her sorrows flow: oh, moan! oh, moan! dear mountains, lakes, and seas! oh, weep with me dear plants, and flowers, and trees! alas! my beauty fading now will die! oh, weep, ye stars, for me in every sky! oh, samas, hide thy face! i am undone! oh, weep with me ur-ru,[ ] my precious son. let all your notes of joy, my birds, be stilled; your mother's heart with dread despair is filled: "come back, my flowerets, with your fragrant dews; come, all my beauties, with your brightest hues; come back, my plants and buds and youngling shoots! within your mother's bosom hide your roots. oh, children, children! love hath fled away, alas! that life i gave should see this day! your queen lies dying in her awful woe, oh, why should she from us to hades go?" wide nature felt her woe, and ceased to spring, and withered buds their vigor lost, and fling no more their fragrance to the lifeless air; the fruit-trees died, or barren ceased to bear; the male plants kiss their female plants no more; and pollen on the winds no longer soar to carry their caresses to the seed of waiting hearts that unavailing bleed, until they fold their petals in despair, and dying, drop to earth, and wither there. the growing grain no longer fills its head, the fairest fields of corn lie blasted, dead. all nature mourning dons her sad attire, and plants and trees with falling leaves expire. and samas' light and moon-god's soothing rays earth's love no more attracts; recurring days are shortened by a blackness deep profound that rises higher as the days come round. at last their light flees from the darkened skies, the last faint gleam now passes, slowly dies. upon a blasted world, dread darkness falls, o'er dying nature, crumbling cities' walls. volcanoes' fires are now the only light, where pale-faced men collect around in fright; with fearful cries the lurid air they rend, to all the gods their wild petitions send. [footnote : "mam-nu-tu," goddess of fate.] [footnote : "ur-ru," the moon-god.] column iii papsukul, the god of hope, and herald of the gods, flies from the earth and intercedes for the release of ishtar, and hea grants his prayer o hope! thou fleeting pleasure of the mind, forever with us stay, our hearts to bind! we cling to thee till life has fled away; our dearest phantom, ever with us stay! without thee, we have naught but dread despair, the worst of all our torments with us here; oh, come with thy soft pinions, o'er us shine! and we will worship thee, a god divine: the _ignis fatuus_ of all our skies that grandly leads us, vanishes and dies, and we are left to grope in darkness here, without a ray of light our lives to cheer. oh, stay! sweet love's companion, ever stay! and let us hope with love upon our way! we reck not if a phantom thou hast been, and we repent that we have ever seen thy light on earth to lead us far astray; forever stay! or ever keep away! when papsukul beheld in man's abodes the change that spread o'er blasted, lifeless clods, and heard earth's wailing through the waning light, with vegetation passing out of sight, from the doomed world to heaven he quickly flies, while from the earth are rising fearful cries. to samas' throne he speeds with flowing tears, and of the future dark he pours his fears. to sin, the moon-god, pap-su-kul now cries o'er ishtar's fate, who in black hades lies; o'er earth's dire end, which with queen ishtar dies; to hea he appeals with mournful cries: "o hea, our creator, god and king! queen ishtar now is lying prone. to earth, our godly queen again, oh, bring! i trust thy love, o holy one! to all the gods who reign o'er us on high i pray! thus hope thine aid implores, release our queen! to hades quickly fly! thy pap-su-kul with faith adores. "the bull hath left the lowing kine bereaved, and sulking dies in solitude; the ass hath fled away, his mates hath grieved, and women are no more imbued with love, and drive their husbands far away, and wives enjoy not their caress; all peace and love have gone from earth this day, and love on earth knows not its bliss. "the females die through all the living world, among all beasts, and men, and plants; all love from them on earth have madly hurled, for blissful love no more each pants; and samas' light is turned away from earth, and left alone volcanoes' fire; the land is filled with pestilence and dearth, all life on earth will soon expire." when hea heard the solemn chant of hope, from his high throne he let his sceptre drop, and cried: "and thus, i rule o'er all mankind! for this, i gave them life, immortal mind; to earth's relief, my herald shall quick go, i hear thy prayer, and song of ishtar's woe." "go! at-su-su-namir, with thy bright head! with all thy light spring forth! and quickly speed; towards the gates of hades, turn thy face! and quickly fly for me through yonder space. before thy presence may the seven gates of hades open with their gloomy grates; may allat's face rejoice before thy sight, her rage be soothed, her heart filled with delight; but conjure her by all the godly names, and fearless be,--towards the roaring streams incline thine ear, and seek the path there spread. release queen ishtar! raise her godly head! and sprinkle her with water from the stream; her purify! a cup filled to the brim place to her lips that she may drink it all. the herald as a meteor doth fall, with blazing fire disparts the hanging gloom around the gates of that dark world of doom." column iv release of ishtar--her attempts to bring to life tammuz, her first lover when allat saw the flaming herald come, and his bright light dispelling all her gloom, she beat her breast; and at him furious foams in rage, and stamping shakes all hades' domes, thus cursed the herald, at-su-su-namir: "away! thou herald! or i'll chain thee here in my dark vaults, and throw thee for thy food the city's garbage, which has stagnant stood, with impure waters for thy daily drink, and lodge thee in my prison till you sink from life impaled in yonder dismal room of torture; to thy fate so thou hast come? thine offspring with starvation i will strike!" at last obedient doth allat speak: "go, namtar! and the iron palace strike! o'er asherim[ ] adorned let the dawn break! and seat the spirits on their thrones of gold! let ishtar life's bright waters then behold, and drink her fill, and bring her then to me; from her imprisonment, i send her free." and namtar then goes through the palace walls, and flings the light through all the darkened halls, and places all the spirits on their thrones, leads ishtar to the waters near the cones. she drinks the sparkling water now with joy, which all her form doth cleanse and purify. and he at the first gate her robe returns, and leads her through the second; where he turns, and gives her bracelets back;--thus at each door returns to her her girdle, gems; then o'er her queenly brow he placed her shining crown. with all her ornaments that were her own, she stands with pride before the seventh gate, and namtar bows to her in solemn state: "thou hast no ransom to our queen here paid for thy deliverance, yet thou hast said thy tammuz thou didst seek within our walls, turn back! and thou wilt find him in these halls. to bring him back to life the waters pour upon him; they thy tammuz will restore; with robes thou mayst adorn him and a crown of jewels, and thy maid with thee alone shall give thee comfort and appease thy grief. kharimtu, samkha come to thy relief!" now ishtar lifts her eyes within a room prepared for her, and sees her maidens come, before a weird procession wrapped in palls, that soundless glide within and fills the halls. before her now they place a sable bier beside the fount; and ishtar, drawing near, raised the white pall from tammuz's perfect form. the clay unconscious, had that mystic charm of beauty sleeping sweetly on his face,-- of agony or sorrow left no trace: but, oh! that awful wound of death was there with its deep mark;--the wound, and not the scar. when ishtar's eyes beheld it, all her grief broke forth afresh, refusing all relief; she smote her breast in woe, and moaning cried, nor the bright waters to his wound applied: "o tammuz! tammuz! turn thine eyes on me! thy queen thou didst adorn, before thee see! behold the emeralds and diamond crown thou gavest me when i became thine own! alas! he answers not: and must i mourn forever o'er my love within this bourne? but, oh! the waters from this glowing stream! perhaps those eyes on me with love will beam, and i shall hear again his song of love. oh, quickly let these waters to me prove their claim to banish death with magic power!" then with her maids, she o'er his form doth pour the sparkling drops of life-- "he moves! he lives! what happiness is this my heart receives? o come, my tammuz! to my loving arms!" and on breast his breathing form she warms; with wondering eyes he stares upon his queen, and nestling closed his eyes in bliss again. [footnote : "asherim," literally "stone stakes" or "cones," the symbols of the goddess asherah or ishtar (sayce), but calmet says that the god ashima is a deity of very uncertain origin, and that the name "ashima" may be very well compared with the persian "asuman" ("heaven"); in "zend," "acmano," so gesenius in his man. lex., . this also, according to the magi, is the name of the angel of death, who separates the souls of men from their bodies, cal. dic., p. . cones are to be seen in the british museum which are probably of the character which represented elah-gabalah, the sun-god, adored in rome during the reign of heliogabalus. the symbol and worship came from hamath in syria.] column v tammuz is restored to life by the waters of life--his song of love the nectared cup the queen placed to his lips, and o'er his heaving breast the nectar drips, and now his arms are folded round his queen, and her fond kisses he returns again; and see! they bring to him his harp of gold, and from its strings, sweet music as of old his skilful hands wake through the sounding domes; oh, how his song of love wakes those dark rooms! "my queen of love comes to my arms! her faithful eyes have sought for me, my love comes to me with her charms; let all the world now happy be! my queen has come again! forever, dearest, let me rest upon the bosom of my queen! thy lips of love are honeyed best; come! let us fly to bowering green! to our sweet bower again. o love on earth! o love in heaven! that dearest gift which gods have given, through all my soul let it be driven, and make my heart its dearest haven, for love returns the kiss! oh! let me pillow there within thy breast, and, oh, so sweetly rest, my life anew shall there begin; on thy sweet charms, oh, let me feast! life knows no sweeter bliss. oh, let me feast upon thy lips, as honey-bird the nectar sips, and drink new rapture through my lips, as honey-bee its head thus drips in nectarine abyss! o love, sweet queen! my heart is thine! my life i clasp within mine arms! my fondest charmer, queen divine! my soul surrenders to thy charms, in bliss would fly away. no dearer joy than this i want; if love is banished from that life there bodyless, my soul would pant, and pine away in hopeless grief, if love be fled away. if love should hide and fold her wings in bowers of yonder gleaming skies, unmeaning then each bard oft sings of bliss that lives on earth and dies,-- i want such love as this. i want thy form, thy loving breast, mine arms of love surrounding thee, and on thy bosom sweetly rest, or else that world were dead to me. no other life is bliss. if it is thus, my queen, i go with joy to yonder blissful clime; but if not so, then let me flow to soil and streams through changing time, to me would be more bliss. for then, in blooming flowerets, i could earth adorn, my soul delight, and never thus on earth could die; for though i should be hid from sight, would spring again with joy! and sing as some sweet warbling bird, or in the breezes wave as grain, as yellow sun-birds there have whirred on earth, could i thus live again, that beauteous world enjoy! 'mid safflower-fields or waving cane, or in the honeysuckles lie, in forms of life would breathe again, enjoy earth's sweetest revelry, and ever spring again! each life to me new joys would bring, in breast of beast or bird or flower, in each new form new joys would spring, and happy, ever, love would soar! triumphant filled with joy! in jujube or tamarisk perhaps would come to life again, or in the form of fawns would frisk 'mid violets upon the plain; but i should live again! and throb beneath the glistening dew, in bamboo tufts, or mango-trees, in lotus bloom, and spring anew, in rose-tree bud, or such as these on earth return again! and i should learn to love my mate, in beast or singing bird or flower, for kiss of love in hope could wait; perhaps i then would come that hour, in form i have again! and love you say, my queen, is there, where i can breathe with life anew? but is it so? my love, beware! for some things oft are false, some true, but i thee trust again! we fly away! from gates away! oh, life of bliss! oh, breath of balm! with wings we tread the silver way, to trailing vines and feathery palm, to bower of love again." column vi escape of tammuz from hades--his death in the clouds--funeral procession of the gods--ishtar's elegy over the death of tammuz--his revival in hades, where he is crowned as the lord of hades--ishtar's return brings light and love back to earth. but see! they pass from those dark gates and walls, and fly upon the breeze from hades' halls, hark! hark! the sounding harp is stilled! it falls from tammuz's hands! oh, how its wailing calls to you bright _zi-ni_[ ] flying through the skies, see! one sweet spirit of the wind swift flies and grasps the wailing harp before it ends its wail of woe, and now beneath it bends, with silent pinions listening to its strings, wild sobbing on the winds;--with wailing rings the conscious harp, and trembles in her hands. a rush of pinions comes from myriad lands, with moanings sends afar the awful tale, and mourners brings with every whispering gale. and see! the queen's companion fainting sinks! she lays him on that cloud with fleecy brinks! and oh! his life is ebbing fast away! she wildly falls upon his breast, and gray her face becomes with bitter agony. she tearless kneels, wrapt in her misery and now upon his breast she lays her head, with tears that gods, alas! with men must shed; she turning, sobs to her sweet waiting maids, who weeping o'er her stand with bended heads: "assemble, oh, my maids, in mourning here, the gods! and spirits of the earth bring near!" they come! they come! three hundred spirits high, the heavenly spirits come! the i-gi-gi! from heaven's streams and mouths and plains and vales, and gods by thousands on the wings of gales. the spirits of the earth, an-un-na-ci, now join around their sisters of the sky. hark! hear her weeping to the heavenly throng, imploring them to chant their mournful song: "with your gold lyres, the dirge, oh, sing with me! and moan with me, with your sweet melody; with swelling notes, as zephyrs softly wail, and cry with me as sobbing of the gale. o earth! dear earth! oh, wail with thy dead trees! with sounds of mountain torrents, moaning seas! and spirits of the lakes, and streams, and vales, and zi-ku-ri of mountains' trackless trail, join our bright legions with your queen! oh, weep with your sad tears, dear spirits of the deep! let all the mournful sounds of earth be heard, the breeze hath carried stored from beast and bird; join the sweet notes of doves for their lost love to the wild moans of hours,--wailing move; let choirs of heaven and of the earth then peal, all living beings my dread sorrow feel! oh, come with saddest, weirdest melody, join earth and sky in one sweet threnody!" ten thousand times ten thousand now in line, in all the panoplies of gods divine; a million crowns are shining in the light, a million sceptres, robes of purest white! ten thousand harps and lutes and golden lyres are waiting now to start the heavenly choirs. and lo! a chariot from heaven comes, while halves rise from yonder sapphire domes; a chariot incrusted with bright gems, a blaze of glory shines from diadems. see! in the car the queen o'er tammuz bends, and nearer the procession slowly wends, her regal diadem with tears is dimmed; and her bright form by sorrow is redeemed to sweeter, holier beauty in her woe; her tears a halo form and brighter flow. caparisoned with pearls, ten milk-white steeds are harnessed to her chariot that leads; on snow-white swans beside her ride her maids, they come! through yonder silver cloudy glades! behind her chariot ten sovereigns ride; behind them comes all heaven's lofty pride, on pale white steeds, the chargers of the skies. the clouds of snowy pinions rustling rise! but hark! what is that strain of melody that fills our souls with grandest euphony? hear how it swells and dies upon the breeze! to softest whisper of the leaves of trees; then sweeter, grander, nobler, sweeping comes, like myriad lyres that peal through heaven's domes. but, oh! how sad and sweet the notes now come! like music of the spheres that softly hum; it rises, falls, with measured melody, with saddest notes and mournful symphony. from all the universe sad notes repeat with doleful strains of woe transcendent, sweet; hush! hear the song! my throbbing heart be still! the songs of gods above the heavens fill! "oh, weep with your sweet tears, and mourning chant, o'er this dread loss of heaven's queen. with her, o sisters, join your sweetest plaint o'er our dear tammuz, tammuz slain. come, all ye spirits, with your drooping wings, no more to us sweet joy he brings; ah, me, my brother![ ] oh, weep! oh, weep! ye spirits of the air, oh, weep! oh, weep! an-un-na-ci! our own dear queen is filled with dread despair. oh, pour your tears, dear earth and sky, oh, weep with bitter tears, o dear sedu, o'er fearful deeds of nin-azu; ah, me, my brother! let joy be stilled! and every hope be dead! and tears alone our hearts distil. my love has gone!--to darkness he has fled; dread sorrow's cup for us, oh, fill! and weep for tammuz we have held so dear, sweet sisters of the earth and air; ah, me, my sister! oh, come ye, dearest, dearest zi-re-nu, with grace and mercy help us bear our loss and hers; our weeping queen, oh, see! and drop with us a sister's tear. before your eyes our brother slain! oh, view; oh, weep with us o'er him so true; ah, me, his sister! the sky is dead; its beauty all is gone, oh, weep, ye clouds, for my dead love! your queen in her dread sorrow now is prone. o rocks and hills in tears, oh, move! and all my heavenly flowerets for me weep, o'er him who now in death doth sleep; ah, me, my tammuz! oh, drop o'er him your fragrant dewy tears, for your own queen who brings you joy, for love, the queen of love, no longer cheers, upon my heart it all doth cloy. alas! i give you love, nor can receive, o all my children for me grieve; ah, me, my tammuz! alas! alas! my heart is dying--dead! with all these bitter pangs of grief despair hath fallen on my queenly head, oh, is there, sisters, no relief? hath tammuz from me ever, ever, gone? my heart is dead, and turned to stone; ah, me, his queen! my sister spirits, o my brothers dear, my sorrow strikes me to the earth; oh, let me die! i now no fate can fear, my heart is left a fearful dearth. alas, from me all joy! all joy! hath gone; oh, ninazu, what hast thou done? ah, me, his queen!" to hades' world beyond our sight they go, and leave upon the skies mar-gid-da's[ ] glow, that shines eternally along the sky, the road where souls redeemed shall ever fly. prince tammuz now again to life restored, is crowned in hades as its king and lord,[ ] and ishtar's sorrow thus appeased, she flies to earth, and fills with light and love the skies. [footnote : "zi-ni," pronounced "zee-nee," spirits of the wind.] [footnote : "ah, me, my brother, and, ah, me, my sister! ah, me, adonis (or tammuz), and ah, me, his lady (or queen)!" is the wailing cry uttered by the worshippers of tammuz or adonis when celebrating his untimely death. it is referred to in jer. xxii. , and in ezek. viii. , and amos viii. , and zech. xii. , . see smith's revised edition of "chal. acc. of genesis," by sayce, pp. , .] [footnote : "mar-gid-da," "the long road." we have also given the accadian name for "the milky way." it was also called by them the "river of night."] [footnote : "lord of hades" is one of the titles given to tammuz in an accadian hymn found in "c.i.w.a.," vol. iv. , , . see also translation in "records of the past," vol. xi. p. .] tablet vii--column i the king and seer conversing on their way to khasi-sadra--interpretation of the king's dream in the palace on the night of the festival "the dream, my seer, which i beheld last night within our tent, may bring to us delight. i saw a mountain summit flash with fire, that like a royal robe or god's attire illumined all its sides. the omen might some joy us bring, for it was shining bright." and thus the sar revealed to him his dream. heabani said, "my friend, though it did seem propitious, yet, deceptive was it all, and came in memory of elam's fall. the mountain burning was khumbaba's halls we fired, when all his soldiers from the walls had fled;--the _ni-takh-garri_,[ ]--on that morn, of such deceptive dreams, i would thee warn!" some twenty _kaspu_ they have passed this day, at thirty _kaspu_ they dismount to pray and raise an altar, samas to beseech that they their journey's end may safely reach. the tent now raised, their evening meal prepare beneath the forest in the open air; and izdubar brought from the tent the dream he dreamed the festal night when ishtar came to him;--he reads it from a written scroll: "upon my sight a vision thus did fall: i saw two men that night beside a god; one man a turban wore, and fearless trod. the god reached forth his hand and struck him down like mountains hurled on fields of corn, thus prone he lay; and izdubar then saw the god was anatu,[ ] who struck him to the sod. the troubler of all men, samu's fierce queen, thus struck the turbaned man upon the plain. he ceased his struggling, to his friend thus said: 'my friend, thou askest not why i am laid here naked, nor my low condition heed. accursèd thus i lie upon the mead; the god has crushed me, burned my limbs with fire.' "the vision from mine eyes did then expire. a third dream came to me, which i yet fear, the first beyond my sight doth disappear. a fire-god thundering o'er the earth doth ride; the door of darkness burning flew aside; like a fierce stream of lightning, blazing fire, beside me roared the god with fury dire, and hurled wide death on earth on every side; and quickly from my sight it thus did glide, and in its track i saw a palm-tree green upon a waste, naught else by me was seen." heabani pondering, thus explained the dream: "my friend, the god was samas, who doth gleam with his bright glory, power, our god and lord, our great creator king, whose thunders roared by thee, as through yon sky he takes his way; for his great favor we should ever pray. the man thou sawest lying on the plain was thee, o king,--to fight such power is vain. thus anatu will strike thee with disease, unless thou soon her anger shalt appease; and if thou warrest with such foes divine, the fires of death shall o'er thy kingdom shine. the palm-tree green upon the desert left doth show that we of hope are not bereft; the gods for us their snares have surely weft,[ ] one shall be taken, and the other left." [footnote : "ni-takh-garri," "the helpers," or soldiers of khumbaba.] [footnote : "anatu," the consort of anu.] [footnote : "weft," weaved.] column ii contest with the dragons in the mountains--the seer is mortally wounded-- his calm view of the hereafter [ ]"o mam-mitu, thou god of fate and death! thou spirit of fierce hate and parting breath, thou banisher of joy! o ghastly law, that gathers countless forces in thy maw! a phantom! curse! and oft a blessing, joy! all heaven and earth thy hands shall e'er employ. with blessings come, or curses to us bring, the god who fails not with her hovering wing; nor god, nor man thy coming e'er may ken, o mystery! thy ways none can explain." if thou must come in earthquakes, fire, and flood, or pestilence and eftsoons cry for blood, thou comest oft with voice of sweetest love, our dearest, fondest passions, hopes, to move; and men have worshipped thee in every form, in fear have praised thee, sought thy feet to charm. we reck not if you blessings, curses bring, for men oft change thy noiseless, ghoulish wing. and yet, thou comest, goddess mam-mitu, to bring with thee the feet of nin-a-zu, two sister ghouls, remorseless, tearless, wan, we fear ye not; ye _bu'i-du_,[ ] begone! sweet life renews itself in holy love, your victory is naught! ye vainly rove across our pathway with yours forms inane, for somewhere, though we die, we live again. [ ]the soul departed shall in glory shine, as burnished gold its form shall glow divine, and samas there shall grant to us new life; and merodac, the eldest son, all strife shall end in peace in yonder blest abode, where happiness doth crown our glorious god. [ ]the sacred waters there shall ever flow, to anat's arms shall all the righteous go; the queen of anu, heaven's king, our hands outstretched will clasp, and through the glorious lands will lead us to the place of sweet delights; the land that glows on yonder blessed heights where milk and honey from bright fountains flow. and nectar to our lips, all sorrows, woe, shall end in happiness beside the stream of life, and joy for us shall ever gleam; our hearts with thankfulness shall sweetly sing and grander blissfulness each day will bring. and if we do not reach that spirit realm, where bodyless each soul may ages whelm with joy unutterable; still we live, with bodies knew upon dear earth, and give our newer life to children with our blood. or if these blessings we should miss; in wood, or glen, or garden, field, or emerald seas, our forms shall spring again; in such as these we see around us throbbing with sweet life, in trees or flowerets. this needs no belief on which to base the fabric of a dream, for earth her children from death doth redeem, and each contributes to continuous bloom; so go your way! ye sisters, to your gloom! far on their road have come the king of fame and seer, within the land of mas[ ] they came, nor knew that fate was hovering o'er their way, in gentle converse they have passed the day. some twenty _kaspu_ o'er the hills and plain, they a wild forest in the mountain gain, in a deep gorge they rode through thickets wild, beneath the pines; now to a pass they filed, and lo! two dragons[ ] near a cave contend their path! with backs upreared their coils unbend, extend their ravenous jaws with a loud roar that harshly comes from mouths of clotted gore. the sky overhead with lowering clouds is cast, which anu in his rage above them massed. dark tempests fly above from rimmon's breath, who hovers o'er them with the gods of death; the wicked seven winds howl wildly round, and crashing cedars falling shake the ground. now tsil-lattu her black wings spreads o'er all, dark shrouding all the forest with her pall, and from his steed for safety each dismounts, and o'er their heads now break the ebon founts. but hark! what is that dreadful roaring noise? the dragons come! their flaming crests they poise above, and nearer blaze their eyes of fire, and see! upon them rush the monsters dire. the largest springs upon the giant sar, who parrying with the sword he used in war, with many wounds it pierces, drives it back; again it comes, renews its fierce attack, with fangs outspread its victims to devour, high o'er the monarch's head its crest doth tower, its fiery breath upon his helm doth glow. exposed its breast! he strikes! his blade drives through its vitals! dying now it shakes the ground, and furious lashes all the forest round. but hark! what is that awful lingering shriek and cries of woe, that on his ears wild break? a blinding flash, see! all the land reveals, with dreadful roars, and darkness quick conceals the fearful sight, to ever after come before his eyes, wherever he may roam. the king, alas! too late heabani drags from the beast's fangs, that dies beneath the crags overhanging near the cave. and now a din loud comes from _dalkhi_ that around them spin in fierce delight, while hellish voices rise in harsh and awful mockery; the cries of agony return with taunting groans, and mock with their fell hate those piteous moans. amazed stands izdubar above his seer, nor hears the screams, nor the fierce _dalkhi's_ jeer; beneath the flashing lightnings he soon found the cave, and lays the seer upon the ground. his breaking heart now cries in agony, "heabani! o my seer, thou must not die! alas! dread mam-mitu hath led us here, awake for me! arouse! my noble seer! i would to gods of erech i had died for thee! my seer! my strength! my kingdom's pride!" the seer at last revives and turns his face with love that death touched not, his hand doth place with friendly clasp in that of his dear king, and says: "grieve not, beloved friend, this thing called death at last must come, why should we fear? 'tis hades' mist that opens for thy seer! "the gods us brought, nor asked consent, and life they give and take away from all this strife that must be here, my life i end on earth; both joy and sorrow i have seen from birth; to hades' awful land, whence none return, heabani's face in sorrow now must turn. my love for thee, mine only pang reveals, for this alone i grieve." a teardrop steals across his features, shining 'neath the light the king has lit to make the cavern bright. "but oh, friend izdubar, my king, when i from this dear earth to waiting hades fly, grieve not; and when to erech you return, thou shalt in glory reign, and zaidu learn as thy companion all that thine own heart desires, thy throne thou wilt to him impart. the female, samkha, whom he brought to me is false, in league with thine own enemy. and she will cause thee mischief, seek to drive thee from thy throne; but do not let her live within the walls of erech, for the gods have not been worshipped in their high abodes. when thou returnest, to the temple go, and pray the gods to turn from thee the blow of anu's fury, the strong god, who reigns above, and sent these woes upon the plains. his anger raised against thee, even thee, must be allayed, or thy goods thou shalt see, and kingdom, all destroyed by his dread power. but khasisadra will to thee give more advice when thou shalt meet the ancient seer, for from thy side must i soon disappear." the seer now ceased, and on his couch asleep spoke not, and izdubar alone doth weep. and thus twelve days were past, and now the seer of the great change he saw was drawing near informed his king, who read to him the prayers, and for the end each friendly act prepares, then said: "o my heabani, dearest friend, i would that i thy body could defend from thy fierce foe that brings the end to thee. my friend in battle i may never see again, when thou didst nobly stand beside me; with my seer and friend i then defied all foes; and must thou leave thy friend, my seer?" "alas! my king, i soon shall leave thee here." [footnote : we have here quoted an accadian hymn to the goddess of fate. ("trans. soc. of bib. arch.," vol. ii. p. .)] [footnote : "bu'i-du," ghosts.] [footnote : accadian hymn on the future of the just. ("trans. soc. of bib. arch.," vol. ii. p. .)] [footnote : assyrian fragmentary hymn ("w.a.i.," iv. , col. v.), translated in "records of the past," vol. xi. pp. , .] [footnote : the land of mas, mr. sayce supposes, was situated west of the euphrates valley.] [footnote : "dragons." the word for this animal is "tammabuk-ku." it was probably one of the monsters portrayed on the babylonian cylinders now in the british museum.] column iii heabani reveals two wonderful visions to the king, one of death and oblivion, and the other of heaven, and dies in the arms of the king "but, oh, my king! to thee i now reveal a secret that my heart would yet conceal, to thee, my friend, two visions i reveal: the first i oft have dreamed beneath some spell of night, when i enwrapped from all the world, with self alone communed. unconscious hurled by winged thought beyond this present life, i seeming woke in a dark world where rife was nothingness,--a darksome mist it seemed, all eke was naught;--no light for me there gleamed; and floating 'lone, which way i turned, saw naught; nor felt of substance 'neath my feet, nor fraught with light was space around; nor cheerful ray of single star. the sun was quenched; or day or night, knew not. no hands had i, nor feet, nor head, nor body, all was void. no heat or cold i felt, no form could feel or see; and naught i knew but conscious entity. no boundary my being felt, or had; and speechless, deaf, and blind, and formless, sad, i floated through dark space,--a conscious blank! no breath of air my spirit moved; i sank i knew not where, till motionless i ceased at last to move, and yet i could not rest, around me spread the limitless, and vast. my cheerless, conscious spirit,--fixed and fast in some lone spot in space was moveless, stark! an atom chained by forces stern and dark, with naught around me. comfortless i lived in my dread loneliness! oh, how i grieved! and thus, man's fate in life and death is solved with naught but consciousness, and thus involved all men in hopes that no fruition have? and this alone was all that death me gave? that all had vanished, gone from me that life could give, and left me but a blank, with strife of rising thoughts, and vain regrets, to float;-- away from life and light, be chained remote! "oh, how my spirit longed for some lone crag to part the gloom beneath, and rudely drag my senses back! or with its shock to end my dire existence;--to oblivion send me quickly! how i strove to curse, and break that soundless void, with shrieks or cries, to wake that awful silence which around me spread! in vain! in vain! all but my soul was dead. and then my spirit soundless cried within: 'oh, take me! take me back to earth again!' for tortures of the flesh were bliss and joy to such existence! pain can never cloy the smallest thrill of earthly happiness! 'twas joy to live on earth in pain! i'll bless thee, gods, if i may see its fields i've trod to kiss its fragrant flowers, and clasp the sod of mother earth, that grand and beauteous world! from all its happiness, alas! was hurled my spirit,--then in frenzy--i awoke! great bel! a dream it was! as vanished smoke it sped! and i sprang from my couch and prayed to all the gods, and thus my soul allayed. and then with blessings on my lips, i sought my couch, and dropped away in blissful thought in dream the second: "then the silver sky came to me. near the stream of life i lie: my couch the rarest flowers; and music thrills my soul! how soft and sweet it sounds from rills and streams, and feathered songsters in the trees of heaven's fruits!--e'en all that here doth please the heart of man was there. in a dear spot i lay, 'mid olives, spices, where was wrought a beauteous grotto; and beside me near, were friends i loved; and one both near and dear with me reclined, in blissful converse, sweet with tender thoughts. our joy was full, complete! the ministering spirits there had spread before us all a banquet on the mead, with heaven's food and nectar for our feast; and oh, so happy! how our joy increased as moments flew, to years without an end! to courts refulgent there we oft did wend. "beside a silver lake, a holy fane there stood within the centre of the plain, high built on terraces, with walls of gold, where palaces and mansions there enfold a temple of the gods, that stands within 'mid feathery palms and _gesdin_[ ] bowers green, the city rises to a dizzy height, with jewelled turrets flashing in the light, grand mansions piled on mansions rising high until the glowing summits reach the sky. a cloud of myriad wings, e'er fills the sky, as doves around their nests on earth here fly; the countless millions of the souls on earth, the gods have brought to light from mortal birth, are carried there from the dark world of doom; for countless numbers more there still is room. through trailing vines my love and i oft wind, with arms of love around each other twined. this day, we passed along the stream of life, through blooming gardens, with sweet odors rife; beneath the ever-ripening fruits we walk, along dear paths, and sweetly sing, or talk, while warbling birds around us fly in view, from bloom to bloom with wings of every hue; and large-eyed deer, no longer wild, us pass, with young gazelles, and kiss each other's face. "we now have reached the stately stairs of gold, the city of the gods, here built of old. the pearled pillars rise inlaid divine, with lotus delicately traced with vine in gold and diamonds, pearls, and unknown gems, that wind to capital with blooming stems of lilies, honeysuckles, and the rose. an avenue of columns in long rows of varied splendor, leads to shining courts where skilful spirit hands with perfect arts have chiselled glorious forms magnificent, with ornate skill and sweet embellishment. their golden sculpture view on every hand, or carvèd images in pearl that stand in clusters on the floor, or in long rows; and on the walls of purest pearl there glows the painting of each act of kindest deed each soul performs on earth;--is there portrayed. "the scenes of tenderness and holy love, there stand and never end, but onward move, and fill the galleries of heaven with joy, and ever spirit artist hands employ. the holiest deeds are carved in purest gold, or richest gems, and there are stored of old; within the inner court a fountain stood, of purest diamond moulded, whence there flowed into a golden chalice,--trickling cool, the nectar of the gods,--a sparkling pool, that murmuring sank beneath an emerald vase that rested underneath;--the fountain's base. "we entered then an arcade arching long through saph'rine galleries, and heard the song that swelling came from temples hyaline; and passed through lazite courts and halls divine, while dazzling glories brighter round us shone. how sweet then came the strains! with grander tone! and, oh, my king! i reached the gates of pearl that stood ajar, and heard the joyous whirl that thrilled the sounding domes and lofty halls, and echoed from the shining jasper walls. i stood within the gate, and, oh, my friend, before that holy sight i prone did bend, and hid my face upon the jacinth stairs. a shining god raised me, and bade my fears be flown, and i beheld the glorious throne of crystaled light; with rays by man unknown. the awful god there sat with brows sublime, with robes of woven gold, and diadem that beamed with blazing splendor o'er his head. i thus beheld the god with presence dread, the king of kings, the ancient of the days, while music rose around with joyous praise. with awful thunders how they all rejoice! and sing aloud with one commingled voice! "what happiness it was to me, my king! from bower to temple i went oft to sing, or spread my wings above the mount divine, and viewed the fields from heights cerulean. those songs still linger on dear memory's ear, and tireless rest upon me, ever cheer. but from the happy fields, alas! i woke, and from my sight the heavenly vision broke; but, oh, my king, it all was but a dream! i hope the truth is such, as it did seem; if it is true that such a heavenly land exists with happiness so glorious, grand, within that haven i would happy be! but it, alas! is now denied to me. for, oh, my king, to hades i must go, my wings unfold to fly to realms of woe; in darkness to that other world unknown, alas! from joyous earth my life has flown. "farewell, my king, my love thou knowest well; i go the road; in hades soon shall dwell; to dwelling of the god irkalla fierce, to walls where light for me can never pierce, the road from which no soul may e'er return, where dust shall wrap me round, my body urn, where sateless ravens float upon the air, where light is never seen, or enters there, where i in darkness shall be crowned with gloom; with crownèd heads of earth who there shall come to reign with anu's favor or great bel's, then sceptreless are chained in their dark cells with naught to drink but hades' waters there, and dream of all the past with blank despair. within that world, i too shall ceaseless moan, where dwell the lord and the unconquered one, and seers and great men dwell within that deep, with dragons of those realms we all shall sleep; where king etana[ ] and god ner doth reign with allat, the dark under-world's great queen, who reigns o'er all within her regions lone, the mistress of the fields, her mother, prone before her falls, and none her face withstands; but i will her approach, and take her hands, and she will comfort me in my dread woe. alas! through yonder void i now must go! my hands i spread! as birds with wings i fly! descend! descend! beneath that awful sky!" the seer falls in the arms of izdubar, and he is gone;--'tis clay remaineth here. [footnote :"gesdin," the tree of life and immortality.] [footnote : "etana," lord or king of hades. he is mentioned in the creation series of legends as having reigned before the flood.] column iv the grief of the king over the loss of his seer, and his prayer to the moon-god, who answers his prayer with a vision the king weeps bitterly with flowing tears above his seer when from him disappears the last faint breath; and then in deepest woe he cries: "and through that desert must i go? heabani, thou to me wast like the gods; oh, how i loved thee! must thou turn to clods? through that dread desert must i ride alone; and leave thee here, heabani, lying prone? alas, i leave thee in this awful place, to find our khasisadra, seek his face, the son of ubara-tutu, the seer; oh, how can i, my friend, thus leave thee here? this night through those dark mountains i must go, i can no longer bear this awful woe: if i shall tarry here, i cannot sleep. o sin, bright moon-god, of yon awful deep! i pray to thee upon my face, oh, hear my prayer! my supplications bring thou near to all the gods! grant thou to me,--e'en me, a heart of strength and will to worship thee. "oh, is this death like that the seer hath dreamed? perhaps the truth then on his spirit gleamed! if land of silver sky is but a myth, the other dream is true! e'en all he saith! oh, tell me, all ye sparkling stars, that wing above thy glorious flight, and feel not nature's jars; but grandly, sweetly fling thy light to our bright world beneath serene, hath mortals on thee known or viewed beyond,--that great unseen, their future fate by gods been shown? "oh, hear me, all ye gods on high! to gods who love mankind i pray, despairing, oh, i cry! oh, drive these doubts and fears away! and yet--and yet, what truths have we? o wondrous mortal, must thou die? beyond this end thou canst not see, o life! o death! o mystery! "the body still is here, with feeling dead! and sight is gone!--and hearing from his head, nor taste, nor smell, nor warmth, nor breath of life! where is my seer? perhaps, his spirit rife e'en now in nothingness doth wander lone! in agony his thoughts! with spirit prone! in dread despair!--if conscious then, o gods! he spake the truth!--his body to the clods hath turned! by this we feel, or hear, or see, and when 'tis gone,--exist?--in agony! to hades hath he gone? as he hath thought! alas, the thought is torture, where have wrought the gods their fearful curse! ah, let me think! the silver sky? alas, its shining brink he hath not crossed. the wrathful gods deny him entrance! where, oh, where do spirits fly whom gods have cursed? alas, he is condemned to wander lone in that dark world, contemned and from the light of happy fields is barred! oh, why do gods thus send a fate so hard, and cruel? o dear moon-god, moon-god sin! my seer hath erred. receive his soul within to joys prepared for gods and men! though seer he was, he immortality did fear, as some unknown awakening in space. oh, turn upon him thy bright blessed face! he was my friend! o moon-god, hear my prayer! imploring thee, doth pray thine izdubar!" and lo! a vision breaks before his eyes! the moon-god hides the shadows of the skies, and sweeps above with his soft, soothing light that streams around his face; he drives the night before his rays, and with his hands sweet peace he spreads through all the skies; and strife doth cease! a girdle spans the heavens with pure light that shines around the river of the night, within the circling rays a host appears! the singers of the skies, as blazing spheres! hark! hear their harps and lyres that sweetly sound! they sing! oh, how the glowing skies resound! "o king of light and joy and peace, supreme thy love shall ever reign; oh, can our songs of bliss here cease? our souls for joy cannot restrain, sweep! sweep thy lyres again! the former things[ ] are passed away, which we on earth once knew below; and in this bright eternal day we happiness alone can know where bliss doth ever flow." [footnote : literally, "the former names," which appears on a fragment of the epic translated by mr. sayce. see smith's "c.a. of gen.," p. , which he has rendered "the former name, the new name."] column v the king buries his seer in the cave, and continuing his journey, he meets two fiery giants who guide the sun in the heavens--they make merry over the king, and direct him on his way the king within the cave his seer entombs, and mourning sadly from the cavern comes; the entrance closes with the rocks around, again upon his journey he is bound. but soon within the mountains he is lost within the darkness,--as some vessel tost upon the trackless waves of unknown seas, but further from the awful cavern flees. the morning breaks o'er crags and lonely glens, and he dismayed, the awful wild now scans. he reins his steed and wondering looks around, and sees of every side a mystic ground. before him stands the peak of mount masu,[ ] the cliffs and crags forlorn his eyes swift view, and cedars, pines, among the rocks amassed, that weirdly rise within the mountain fast. hark! hear that dreadful roaring all around! what nameless horror thrills the shaking ground? the king in terror stares! and see! his steed springs back! wild snorting,--trembling in his dread. behold! behold those forms there blazing bright! fierce flying by the earth with lurid light; two awful spirits, demons, or fierce gods, with roaring thunders spring from their abodes! from depths beneath the earth the monsters fly, and upward lift their awful bodies high, yet higher!--higher! till their crests are crowned by heaven's gates; thus reaching from the ground to heights empyrean, while downward falls each form, extending far 'neath hades' walls. and see! each god as molten metal gleams, while sulphurous flame from hell each monster climbs! two fiery horrors reaching to the skies, while wrathful lightning from each monster flies! hell's gate they guard with death's remorseless face, and hurl the sun around the realms of space e'en swifter than the lightning, while it goes along its orbit, guided by their blows. dire tempests rise above from their dread blows, and ever round a starry whirlwind glows; the countless stars thus driven whirl around, with all the circling planets circling round. the king astounded lifts his staring eyes, into his face gray fear, with terror flies; as they approach, his thoughts the king collects, thus over him one of the gods reflects. "who cometh yonder with the form of gods?" the second says: "he comes from man's abodes, but with a mortal's feebleness he walks; behold upon the ground alone he stalks." one lifts his mighty arm across the sky, and strikes the sun as it goes roaring by; the fiery world with whiter heat now glows, while a vast flood of flame behind it flows, that curling, forms bright comets, meteors, and planets multiplies, and blazing stars; the robe of flames spreads vast across the sky, adorned with starry gems that sparkling fly upon the ambient ether forming suns that through new orbits sing their orisons; their pealing thunders rend the trembling sky, the endless anthem of eternity. the monster turning to the king then says, when nearer now his awful form doth blaze: "so thus you see, my son, the gods are strong, and to provoke great power, is foolish, wrong; but whither goest thou, thou sad-eyed king, what message hast thou;--to us here would bring?" the king now prostrate to the monsters prayed: "ye gods or demons, i within your glade of horrors, have unwilling come to seek our khasisadra, who a spell can make to turn the anger of the gods away. immortal lives the seer beside the sea, he knoweth death and life, all secret things; and this alone your servant to you brings. the goddess sought my hand, which i denied, and anu's fury thus i have defied; this all my troubles caused, show me the way to khasisadra, this i ask and pray." the god's vast face broke out with wondrous smiles, and laughing, ripples rolled along for miles; his mouth wide opened its abyss and yawned, as earthquake gulf, far spreading through the ground. his roaring laughter shakes the earth around, "ho! ho! my son! so you at last have found the queen can hate, as well as love her friends, and on thy journey ishtar's love thee sends? a mortal wise thou wast, to her refuse, for she can do with man what she may choose. a mortal's love, in truth, is wondrous strong, a glorious thing it is, life's ceaseless song! within a cave upon the mountain side, thou there thy footsteps must to hades guide, twelve _kaspu_ go to yonder mountain gates, a heart like thine may well defy the fates. a darkness deep profound doth ever spread within those regions black,--home of the dead. go, izdubar! within this land of mas, thy road doth lead, and to the west[ ] doth pass, and may the maidens sitting by the walls refresh thee, lead thee to the happy halls." the path they take behind the rising sun the setting sun they pass,--with wings have flown the scorpion men,[ ] within wide space have gone, thus from his sight the monsters far have flown. [footnote : "mount masu," the mountains of masius, or "mons masius" of strabo (vi. , §§ , , , etc.), may be referred to by the author of the epic. these mountains are now known to the turks as jebel tur and karaiah dag.--rawlinson's "ancient monarchies," vol. ii. pp. and .] [footnote : mr. sayce translates thus: "the path of the sun."] [footnote : he also names the monsters "the scorpion men," and refers to an assyrian cylinder on which two composite winged monsters are carved, with the winged emblem of the supreme god in the centre above them. the monsters have the feet of lions and the tails of scorpions. see illustration in smith's revised edition, by sayce, "chald. acc. of gen.," p. . the monsters were supposed to fly ahead of the sun, and as it passed guide it along its orbit.] column vi izdubar enters hades--the song of the dalkhi in the cavern of horrors--the king passes through hades to the garden of the gods, and sees the wonderful fountain of life's waters in a weird passage to the under-world, where demon shades sit with their pinions furled along the cavern's walls with poisonous breath, in rows here mark the labyrinths of death. the king with torch upraised, the pathway finds, along the way of mortal souls he winds, where shades sepulchral, soundless rise amid dark gulfs that yawn, and in the blackness hide their depths beneath the waves of gloomy lakes and streams that sleep beneath the sulphurous flakes that drift o'er waters bottomless, and chasms; where moveless depths receive life's dying spasms. here silence sits supreme on a drear throne of ebon hue, and joyless reigns alone o'er a wide waste of blackness,--solitude black, at her feet, there sleeps the awful flood of mystery which grasps all mortal souls, where grisly horrors sit with crests of ghouls, and hateless welcome with their eyes of fire each soul;--remorseless lead to terrors dire; and ever, ever crown the god of fate; and there, upon her ebon throne she sate the awful fiend, dark goddess mam-mitu, who reigns through all these realms of la-atzu.[ ] but hark! what are these sounds within the gloom? and see! long lines of torches nearer come! and now within a recess they have gone; the king must pass their door! perhaps some one of them may see him! turn the hags of gloom upon him, as he goes by yonder room! he nearer comes, and peers within; and see! a greenish glare fills all the cave! and he beholds a blaze beneath a cauldron there; coiled, yonder lie the dragons of despair; and lo! from every recess springs a form of shapeless horror! now with dread alarm he sees the flitting forms wild whirling there, and awful wailings come of wild despair: but hark! the _dal-khis'_ song rings on the air! with groans and cries they shriek their mad despair: oh, fling on earth, ye demons dark, your madness, hate, and fell despair, and fling your darts at each we mark, that we may welcome victims here. then sing your song of hate, ye fiends, and hurl your pestilential breath, till every soul before us bends, and worship here the god of death. in error still for e'er and aye, they see not, hear not many things; the unseen forces do not weigh, and each an unknown mystery brings. in error still for e'er and aye, they delve for phantom shapes that ride across their minds alone,--and they but mock the folly of man's pride. in error still for e'er and aye! they learn but little all their lives, and wisdom ever wings her way, evading ever,--while man strives! but hark! another song rings through the gloom, and, oh, how sweet the music far doth come! oh, hear it, all ye souls in your despair, for joy it brings to sorrowing ones e'en here! "there is a deep unknown beyond, that all things hidden well doth weigh! on man's blind vision rests the bond of error still for e'er and aye! "but to the mighty gods, oh, turn for truth to lead you on your way, and wisdom from their tablets learn, and ever hope for e'er and aye!" and see! the hags disperse within the gloom, as those sweet sounds resound within the room; and now a glorious light doth shine around, their rays of peace glide o'er the gloomy ground. and lo! 'tis papsukul, our god of hope,-- with cheerful face comes down the fearful slope of rugged crags, and blithely strides to where our hero stands, amid the poisonous air, and says: "behold, my king, that glorious light that shines beyond! and eye no more this sight of dreariness, that only brings despair, for phantasy of madness reigneth here!" the king in wonder carefully now eyes the messenger divine with great surprise, and says: "but why, thou god of hope, do i thus find thee in these realms of agony? this world around me banishes thy feet from paths that welcome here the god of fate and blank despair, and loss irreparable. why comest thou to woe immeasurable?" "you err, my king, for hope oft rules despair; i ofttimes come to reign with darkness here; when i am gone, the god of fate doth reign; when i return, i soothe these souls again." "so thus you visit all these realms of woe, to torture them with hopes they ne'er can know? avaunt! if this thy mission is on earth or hell, thou leavest after thee but dearth!" "not so, my king! behold yon glorious sphere, where gods at last take all these souls from here! adieu! thou soon shalt see the world of light, where joy alone these souls will e'er delight." the god now vanishes away from sight, the hero turns his face toward the light; nine _kaspu_ walks, till weird the rays now gleam, as _zi-mu-ri_ behind the shadows stream. he sees beyond, umbrageous grots and caves, where odorous plants entwine their glistening leaves. and lo! the trees bright flashing gems here bear! and trailing vines and flowers do now appear, that spread before his eyes a welcome sight, like a sweet dream of some mild summer night. but, oh! his path leads o'er that awful stream, across a dizzy arch 'mid sulphurous steam that covers all the grimy bridge with slime. he stands perplexed beside the waters grime, which sluggish move adown the limbo black, with murky waves that writhe demoniac,-- as ebon serpents curling through the gloom and hurl their inky crests, that silent come toward the yawning gulf, a tide of hate; and sweep their dingy waters to realms of fate. he cautious climbs the slippery walls of gloom, and dares not look beneath, lest fate should come; he enters now the stifling clouds that creep around the causeway, while its shadows sleep upon the stream that sullen moves below,-- he slips!--and drops his torch! it far doth glow beneath him on the rocks! alas, in vain he seeks a path to bring it back again. it moves! snatched by a _dal-khu's_ hand it flies away within the gloom, then falling dies within those waters black with a loud hiss that breaks the silence of that dread abyss. he turns again, amid the darkness gropes, and careful climbs the cragged, slimy slopes, and now he sees, oh, joy! the light beyond! he springs! he flies along the glowing ground, and joyous dashes through the waving green that lustrous meets his sight with rays serene, where trees pure amber from their trunks distil, where sweet perfumes the groves and arbors fill, where zephyrs murmur odors from the trees, and sweep across the flowers, carrying bees with honey laden for their nectar store; where humming sun-birds upward flitting soar o'er groves that bear rich jewels as their fruit, that sparkling tingle from each youngling shoot, and fill the garden with a glorious blaze of chastened light and tender thrilling rays. he glides through that enchanted mystic world, o'er streams with beds of gold that sweetly twirled with woven splendor 'neath the blaze of gems that crown each tree with glistening diadems. the sounds of streams are weft with breezes, chant their arias with trembling leaves,--the haunt of gods! o how the tinkling chorus rings!-- with rhythms of the unseen rustling wings of souls that hover here where joy redeems them with a happiness that ever gleams. the hero stands upon a damasked bed of flowers that glow beneath his welcome tread, and softly sink with 'luring odors round, and beckon him to them upon the ground. amid rare pinks and violets he lies, and one sweet pink low bending near, he eyes. with tender petals thrilling on its stem, it lifts its fragrant face and says to him, "dear king, wilt thou love me as i do thee? we love mankind, and when a mortal see we give our fragrance to them with our love, their love for us our inmost heart doth move." the king leans down his head, it kissing, says, "sweet beauty, i love thee? with thy sweet face? my heart is filled with love for all thy kind. i would that every heart thy love should find." the fragrant floweret thrills with tenderness, with richer fragrance answers his caress. he kisses it again and lifts his eyes, and rises from the ground with glad surprise. and see! the glorious spirits clustering round! they welcome him with sweet melodious sound. we hear their golden instruments of praise, as they around him whirl a threading maze; in great delight he views their beckoning arms, and lustrous eyes, and perfect, moving forms. and see! he seizes one bright, charming girl, as the enchanting ring doth nearer whirl; he grasps her in his arms, and she doth yield the treasure of her lips, where sweets distilled give him a joy without a taint of guilt. it thrills his heart-strings till his soul doth melt, a kiss of chastity, and love, and fire, a joy that few can dare to here aspire. the beauteous spirit has her joy, and flees with all her sister spirits 'neath the trees. and lo! the _gesdin_[ ] shining stands, with crystal branches in the golden sands, in this immortal garden stands the tree, with trunk of gold, and beautiful to see. beside a sacred fount the tree is placed, with emeralds and unknown gems is graced, thus stands, the prince of emeralds,[ ] elam's tree, as once it stood, gave immortality to man, and bearing fruit, there sacred grew, till heaven claimed again fair eridu.[ ] the hero now the wondrous fountain eyes; its beryl base to ruby stem doth rise, to emerald and sapphire bands that glow, where the bright curvings graceful outward flow; around the fountain to its widest part, the wondrous lazite bands now curling start and mingle with bright amethyst that glows, to a broad diamond band,--contracting grows to _uk-ni_ stone, turquoise, and clustering pearls, inlaid with gold in many curious curls of twining vines and tendrils bearing birds, among the leaves and blooming flowers, that words may not reveal, such loveliness in art, with fancies spirit hands can only start from plastic elements before the eye, and mingle there the charms of empery. beneath two diamond doves that shining glow upon the summit, the bright waters flow, with aromatic splendors to the skies, while glistening colors of the rainbow rise. here ends the tablet,[ ] "when the hero viewed the fountain which within the garden stood." [footnote : "la-atzu," hades, hell, the spirit-world.] [footnote : "gesdin," the tree of life and immortality.] [footnote : see sayce's edition smith's "chald. acc. of gen.," p. .] [footntoe : "eridu," the garden of eden. idem, pp. - .] [footnote : "tablet of the series; when the hero izdubar saw the fountain."--sayce's edition smith's "chald. acc. of gen.," p. , l. .] tablet viii--column i the king's adventure at the gate of the garden of the gods with the two maidens--one of them leads him into the happy halls--songs of the sabitu and zi-si. a gate half opened shows the silvery sea yet distant shining lambent on his way. and now he sees young siduri,[ ] whose breast infuses life; all nature she hath blest, whose lips are flames, her arms are walls of fire, whose love yields pleasures that can never tire, she to the souls who joy on earth here miss, grants them above a holier, purer bliss. the maiden sits within a holy shrine beside the gate with lustrous eyes divine, and beckons to the king, who nearer comes, and near her glows the happy palace domes. and lo! 'tis she his lips have fondly kissed within the garden, when like fleeing mist she disappeared with the bright spirit seven,[ ] the sabit, who oft glide from earth to heaven. and lo! one of the seven, sabitu, emerging from the gate doth jealous view the coming hero who hath kissed her mate, she angry springs within to close the gate, and bars it, enters then the inner halls, and izdubar to her now loudly calls, "o sabitu! what see-est thou, my maid? of izdubar is sabitu afraid? thy gate thou barrest thus before my face. quick, open for me! or i'll force the brass!" the maid now frightened opens wide the door. the sar and siduri now tread the floor of the bright palace where sweet joy doth reign. through crystal halls 'neath golden roofs the twain next go within a lofty ceilinged hall, with shining pearled columns, golden wall, and purple silken hangings at each door, with precious gems inlaid upon the floor; where couches grand are spread for one to rest beneath the softened rays that sweet invest the senses with a thrill of happiness; where siduri with joy all souls doth bless. the maid sits on a couch and turns her face toward the king with that immortal grace that love to gods and men will e'er bestow. their eyes now mingling with a happy glow, the maiden sweetly says: "where wouldst thou go? within these happy halls we joy but know, and if thou wilt, my king, my heart is thine! our love will ever bring us bliss divine." "alas, my maid, thy love to me is dear, and sad am i that i must go from here. i came from erech by advice from one i loved more than thou canst e'er know, but gone from me is my heabani, faithful seer. across a desert waste have i come here, and he has there to dust returned,--to dust-- o how the love of my friend i did trust! i would that we had never started here, i now must find the great immortal seer." the maiden turns her glowing eyes on him, replies: "my king, thou knowest joy may gleam, take courage, weary heart, and sing a song! the hour of sorrow can never be long; the day will break, and flood thy soul with joy, and happiness thy heart will then employ! each day must end with all its sorrow, woe, oh, sing with me, dear heart! i love thee so!" and lo! the curtains flung aside, now comes the joyous sabitu from yonder rooms, and gathering round, a song they gayly sing, oh, how with music the bright walls now ring! if evil thou hast done, my king, oh, pray! oh, pray! and to the gods thy offerings bring, and pray! and pray! the sea is roaring at thy feet, the storms are coming, rain and sleet; to all the gods, oh, pray to them! oh, pray! _chorus_ to all the gods, oh, pray to them! oh, pray! thy city we will bless, o sar! with joy, with joy! and prosper thee in peace and war with joy, with joy! and bless thee every day and night, thy kingly robes keep pure and bright; give thee bright dreams, o glorious king of war! _chorus_ give thee bright dreams, o glorious king of war! and if thy hand would slay thy foes in war, in war! with thee returning victory goes in war, in war! we grant thee victory, my king; like marshes swept by storms, we bring our power to thee with victory in war! _chorus_ our power to thee with victory in war! and if thou wouldst the waters pass, the sea, the sea! we'll go with thee in every place, with thee, with thee! to hea's halls and glorious throne, where he unrivalled reigns alone, to hea go upon his throne of snow. _chorus_ to hea go upon his throne of snow. and if thine anger rules thy heart as fire, as fire! and thou against thy foes would start with ire, with ire! against thy foes thy heart be hard, and all their land with fire be scarred, destroy thy foes! destroy them in thine ire! _chorus_ destroy thy foes! destroy them in thine ire! and lo! young siduri hath disappeared, and with the zisi crowned she now appeared; the corn-gods in a crescent round their queen, she waves before the king her nusku[ ] green, and sings with her sweet voice a joyful lay, and all the zisi join the chorus gay: [ ]a heifer of the corn am i, kara! kara![ ] yoked with the kine we gayly fly, kara! kara! the ploughman's hand is strong and drives the glowing soil, the meadow thrives! before the oxen sa-lum-mat-u na-si.[ ] _chorus_ before the oxen sa-lum-mat-u na-si. the harvesters are in the corn! kara! kara! our feet are flying with the morn, kara! kara! we bring thee wealth! it is thine own! the grain is ripe! oh, cut it down! the yellow grain sa-lum-mat-u na-si. _chorus_ the yellow grain sa-lum-mat-u na-si. the fruit of death, oh, king, taste it not! taste not! taste not! with fruit of life the land is fraught around! around! the fruit of life we give to thee and happiness, oh, ever see. all joy is thine through earth and heaven's bound. _chorus_ all joy is thine through earth and heaven's bound. our corn immortal there is high and ripe! and ripe! and ever ripens 'neath that sky as gold! as gold! our corn is bearded,[ ] thus 'tis known, and ripens quickly when 'tis grown. be joy with thee, our love around thee fold! _chorus_ be joy with thee, our love around thee fold! our king from us now goes, now goes! away! away! his royal robe behind him glows afar! afar! across the waves where hea reigns the waters swollen he soon gains! to our great seer, he sails to him afar! _chorus_ to our great seer, he sails to him afar! and he will reach that glorious land away! away! amid our fruit-trees he will stand that day! that day! our fruit so sweet the king will eat, nor bitter mingle with the sweet. in our seer's land that glows afar away! _chorus_ in our seer's land that glows afar away! the singing spirits from them fled, and he alone stood thinking by young siduri. the king leaned on his bow, and eyed the maid, a happy look came in his eyes,--and fled, for lo! the curtain quick aside is pushed, and sabitu within upon them rushed. she stately glides across the shining floor, and eyes them both, then turns toward the door. but izdubar is equal to the task, with grace now smiling, of the maid doth ask: "o sabitu! wouldst thou tell me the way to khasisadra? for i go this day. if i the sea may cross, how shall i go? or through the desert? thou the path mayst know." the maiden startled looks upon his face, and thus she answers him with queenly grace: "so soon must go? thou canst not cross the sea, for thou wilt perish in the waves that way. great samas once the way of me did ask, and i forbade him, but the mighty task he undertook, and crossed the mighty deep, where death's dark waters lie in wait asleep: his mighty car of gold swept through the skies, with fiery chargers now he daily flies. when i approach thee, thou from me wouldst flee? but if thou must so soon thus go, the sea perhaps thou too canst cross, if thou wilt 'void death's waters, which relentless ever glide. but izdubar, ur-hea, here hath come! the boatman of the seer, who to his home returns. he with an axe in yonder woods a vessel builds to cross the raging floods. if thou desirest not to cross with him, we here will welcome thee through endless time; but if thou goest, may they see thy face thou seekest,--welcome thee, and thy heart bless." [footnote : "siduri," the "pourer" or "shedder forth," the "all-bountiful," the goddess who brings the rain, and mists, and running streams to fill the vegetable world with its productions; the goddess who presides over productive nature. she was also called "the goddess of wisdom."] [footnote : seven spirits of the earth and heaven, the daughters of hea.] [footnote : "nusku," a budding or blooming shrub or branch, the wand of the queen, used in magical incantations, which was called the plant of nusku, the divining-rod.] [footnote : see accadian songs, "c.i.w.a.," vol. ii. , , and translated by mr. sayce in "records of the past, vol. xi. pp. , .] [footnote : "kara!" cry out, sing, shout.] [footnote : "sa-lum-mat-u na-si," lift up the shadows, or be joyful.] [footnote : "our corn is bearded." this refers to the heads of wheat which are bearded. see translation by mr. sayce, "the corn is bearded." ("records of the past," vol. xi. p. .)] column ii the king on leaving the happy halls meets ur-hea, the boatman of the seer khasisadra--they build a ship and embark on an unknown sea, and on their voyage pass through the waters of death and izdubar turned from the halls and goes toward a fountain in the park, whence flows a merry stream toward the wood. he finds an axe beside the fount, and thoughtful winds, through groves of sandal-wood and mastic-trees and algum, umritgana. now he sees the sig-a-ri and ummakana, pines, with babuaku; and ri-wood brightly shines among the azuhu; all precious woods that man esteems are grown around, each buds continuous in the softened, balmy air. he stops beneath a musrilkanna where the pine-trees spread toward the glowing sea, wild mingled with the surman, sa-u-ri. the king, now seated, with himself communes, heeds not the warbling of the birds, and tunes of gorgeous songsters in the trees around, but sadly sighing gazes on the ground: "and i a ship must build; alas! i know not how i shall return, if i thus go. the awful flood of death awaits me there, wide-stretching from this shore--i know not where." he rests his chin upon his hand in thought, full weary of a life that woe had brought; he says: "when i remember siduri, whose heart with fondest love would comfort me within these happy halls, why should i go to pain and anguish, death, mayhap, and woe? but will i thus desert my kingdom, throne? for one i know not! what! my fame alone! mine honor should preserve! and royal state! alas! this fame is but a dream of--fate! "a longing after that which does not cheer the heart. applause of men, or thoughtless sneer, is naught to me, i am alone! alone! this immortality cannot atone for my hard fate that wrings mine aching heart. i long for peace and rest, and i must start and find it, leave these luring bright abodes,-- i seek the immortality of gods. this fame of man is not what it doth seem, it sleeps with all the past, a vanished dream. my duty calls me to my kingdom, throne! to khasisadra go, whose aid alone can save my people from an awful fate that hangs above them, born of fiends of hate. and i shall there return without my seer! i live; and he is dead. why did i hear his words advising me to come? alas! i sadly all my weary days shall pass; no one shall love me as my seer, my friend. "but what said siduri?--there comes an end at last to sorrow, joy will hopeful spring on wings of light! oh, how my heart will sing! i bless ye all, ye holy spirits here! your songs will linger with me, my heart cheer; upon my way i turn with joy again! how true your joyful song! your memory then will keep me hopeful through yon darkened way; how bright this land doth look beside the sea!" he looks across the fields; the river glows and winds beside taprani-trees, and flows by teberinth and groves of tarpikhi and ku-trees; curving round green mez-kha-i, through beds of flowers, that kiss its waves and spring luxuriant,--with songs the groves far ring. now thinking of the ship, he turns his eyes, toward the fountain,--springs up with surprise! "'tis he! the boatman comes! ur-hea comes! and, oh! at last, i'll reach the glistening domes of khasisadra's palaces,--at last my feet shall rest,--upon that land be placed." and now ur-hea nearer makes his way, and izdubar addressing him, doth say: "ur-hea is thy name? from yonder sea thou comest, from the seer across the way?" "thou speakest truth, great sar, what wouldst thou have?" "how shall i khasisadra reach? the grave he hath escaped, immortal lives beyond, for i to him upon my way am bound; shall i the waters cross or take my way through yon wide desert, for i start this day?" "across the sea we go, for i with thee return to him,--i know the winding way. thine axe of bronze with precious stones inlaid with mine, we'll use beneath the pine-trees' shade." and now, within the grove a ship they made, complete and strong as wise ur-hea bade. they fell the pines five _gar_ in length, and hew the timbers square, and soon construct a new and buoyant vessel, firmly fixed the mast, and tackling, sails, and oars make taut and fast. thus built, toward the sea they push its prow, equipped complete, provisioned, launch it now. an altar next they raise and thus invoke the gods, their evil-workings to revoke: "[ ]o lord of charms, illustrious! who gives life to the dead, the merciful who lives, and grants to hostile gods of heaven return, to homage render, worship thee, and learn obedience! thou who didst create mankind in tenderness, thy love round us, oh, wind! the merciful, the god with whom is life, establish us, o lord, in darkest strife. o never may thy truth forgotten be, may accad's race forever worship thee." one month and fifteen days upon the sea, thus far the voyagers are on their way; now black before them lies a barren shore, o'ertopped with frowning cliffs, whence comes a roar of some dread fury of the elements that shakes the air and sweeping wrath foments o'er winds and seas. and see! a yawning cave, there opens vast into a void dislave, where fremèd shadows ride the hueless waves. dread ninazu whose deathless fury craves for hapless victims lashes with a roar the mighty seas upon that awful shore. the fiends of darkness gathered lie in wait, with mammitu, the goddess of fierce hate, and gibil[ ] with his spells, and nibiru[ ] the twin-god of black fate, and grim nusku[ ] the keeper of red thunders, and urbat[ ] the dog of death, and fiend of queen belat;[ ] and nuk-khu, and the black-browed ed-hutu[ ] the gods of darkness here with tsi-lat-tu.[ ] and see! dark rimmon[ ] o'er a crag alone! and gibil with his blasting malisoun, above with his dark face maleficent, who wields a power o'er men omnipotent forlore! forlore! the souls who feel that blast which sweeps around that black forbidding coast! fierce whirling storms and hurricanes here leap, with blasting lightnings maltalent and sweep the furious waves that lash around that shore, as the fierce whirl of some dread maëlstrom's power! above the cavern's arch! see! ninip[ ] stands! he points within the cave with beckoning hands! ur-hea cries: "my lord! the tablets[ ] say, that we should not attempt that furious way! those waters of black death will smite us down! within that cavern's depths we will but drown." "we cannot go but once, my friend, that road," the hero said, "'tis only ghosts' abode!" "we go, then, izdubar, its depths will sound, but we within that gloom will whirl around, around, within that awful whirlpool black,-- and once within, we dare not then turn back,-- how many times, my friend, i dare not say, 'tis written, we within shall make our way." the foaming tide now grasped them with its power, and billowed round them with continuous roar; away! they whirl! with growing speed, till now they fly on lightnings' wings and ride the brow of maddened tempests o'er the dizzy deep. so swift they move,--the waves in seeming sleep beneath them, whirling there with force unseen. but see! updarting with a sulphurous gleen, the hag of death leaps on the trembling prow! her eyes, of fire and hate, turns on them now! with famine gaunt, and haggard face of doom, she sits there soundless in the awful gloom. "o gods!" shrieked izdubar in his despair, "have i the god of fate at last met here? avaunt, thou fiend! hence to thy pit of hell! hence! hence! and rid me of thy presence fell!" and see! she nearer comes with deathless ire, with those fierce, moveless, glaring eyes of fire! her wand is raised! she strikes! "o gods!" he screams; he falls beneath that bolt that on them gleams, and she is gone within the awful gloom. hark! hear those screams! "accurst! accurst thy doom!" and lo! he springs upon his feet in pain, and cries: "thy curses, fiend! i hurl again!" and now a blinding flash disparts the black and heavy air, a moment light doth break; and see! the king leans fainting 'gainst the mast, with glaring eyeballs, clenched hands,--aghast! behold! that pallid face and scaly hands! a leper white, accurst of gods, he stands! a living death, a life of awful woe, incurable by man, his way shall go. but oh! the seer in all enchantments wise will cure him on that shore, or else he dies. and see! the vessel's prow with shivering turns, adown the roaring flood that gapes and churns beneath like some huge boiling cauldron black, thus whirl they in the slimy cavern's track. and spirit ravens round them fill the air, and see! they fly! the cavern sweeps behind! away the ship doth ride before the wind! the darkness deep from them has fled away, the fiends are gone!--the vessel in the spray with spreading sails has caught the glorious breeze, and dances in the light o'er shining seas; the blissful haven shines upon their way, the waters of the dawn sweep o'er the sea! they proudly ride up to the glowing sand, and joyfully the king springs to the land. [footnote : this remarkable prayer is to be found among a collection of prayers which are numbered and addressed to separate deities. it seems that the prayers were originally accadian, and were afterward adopted by the assyrians, and made to apply to one god (hea). professor oppert and professor sayce think, however, that they are connected in one hymn to hea. this may have been so after the assyrians adopted them, but they are distinct, and addressed to separate gods. the one we have selected is addressed to hea, the creator of mankind, sayce edition smith's "c.a.g.," pp. to . the one we have selected is found at the top of page , idem.] [footnote : "gibil," the god of fire, of spells and witchcraft.] [footnote : "nibiru," the god of fate, and ruler of the stars.] [footnote : "nusku," the gatekeeper of thunders.] [footnote : "urbat," the dog of death.] [footnote : "belat" or "allat," the queen of hades.] [footnote : "ed-hutu," god of darkness.] [footnote : "tsi-lat-tu," shades of night.] [footnote : "rimmon," god of storms.] [footnote : "ninip," god of bravery and war.] [footnote : "tablets." this may mean charts or scrolls similar to the charts used by modern navigators. babylon communicated with all nations in commerce.] column iii khasisadra on the shore sees the vessel coming, and returning to his palace, sends his daughter mua to welcome izdubar--meeting of the king and sage beneath a ku-tree khasisadra eyes the spreading sea beneath the azure skies, an agèd youth with features grave, serene, matured with godly wisdom; ne'er was seen such majesty, nor young, nor old,--a seer in purpose high. the countenance no fear of death has marred, but on his face sublime the perfect soul has left its seal through time. "ah, yes! the dream was clear, the vision true, i saw him on the ship! is it in view? a speck! ah, yes! he comes! he comes to me my son from erech comes across the sea!" back to his palace goes the holy seer, and mua[ ] sends, who now the shore doth near; as beautiful as waters of the dawn, comes mua here, as graceful as a fawn. the king now standing on the glistening sand, beholds the beauteous mua where she stands, with hands outstretched in welcome to the king, "o thou sweet spirit, with thy snowy wing, oh, where is khasisadra in this land? i seek the aid of his immortal hand." "great sar," said mua, "hadst thou not a seer, that thou shouldst come to seek my father here?" "'tis true, my daughter dear, a seer had i, whom i have lost,--a dire calamity; by his advice and love i undertake this journey. but alas! for mine own sake he fell by perils on this lengthened way; he was not strong, and feared that he should lay himself to rest amid the mountains wild. he was a warrior, with him i killed khumbaba, elam's king who safely dwelt within a forest vast of pines, and dealt destruction o'er the plains. we razed his walls-- my friend at last before me dying falls. "alas! why did my seer attempt to slay the dragons that we met upon the way, he slew his foe, and like a lion died. ah, me! the cause, when i the gods defied, and brought upon us all this awful woe; in sorrow o'er his death, my life must flow! for this i came to find the ancient seer, lead me to him, i pray, if he lives here." then mua leads him through the glorious land of matchless splendor, on the border grand of those wide happy fields that spread afar o'er beaming hills and vales, where ambient air with sweetest zephyrs sweeps a grand estrade, where softest odors from each flowering glade lull every sense aswoon that breathes not bliss and harmony with world of blessedness. 'neath trees of luring fruits she leads the way, through paths of flowers where night hath fled away, a wilderness of varied crystal flowers, where fragrance rests o'er clustering, shining bowers. each gleaming cup its nectared wine distils, for spirit lips each chalice ever fills. beyond the groves a lucent palace shone in grandest splendor near an inner zone; in amethyst and gold divinely rose, with glories scintillant the palace glows. a dazzling halo crowns its lofty domes, and spreading from its summit softly comes with grateful rays, and floods the balustrades and golden statues 'neath the high arcades; a holy palace built by magic hand with wondrous architecture, portals grand, and aurine turrets piled to dizzy heights, oh, how its glory izdubar delights! beneath majestic arcades carved, they pass, up golden steps that shine like polished glass, through noble corridors with sculptured walls, by lofty columns, archways to the halls of glories, the bright harbinger of fanes of greater splendor of the heavenly plains. beneath an arch of gems the king espies a form immortal, he who death defies. advancing forth the sage his welcome gives, "'tis izdubar who comes to me and lives!" embracing him he leads him in a room, where many a curious graven tablet, tome, and scrolls of quaint and old forgotten lore have slept within for centuries of yore. the tablets high are heaped, the alcoves full, where truth at last has found a welcome goal. in wisdom's room, the sage his guest has led, and seats him till the banquet high is spread; of izdubar he learns his journeys great, how he for aid has left his throne of state. the maid now comes, him welcomes to the hall of banquets, where are viands liberal, and fruits, immortal bread, celestial wines of vintage old; and when the hero dines, they lead him to his private chamber room that overlooks the wondrous garden's bloom across the plain and jasper sea divine, to heaven's mountains rising sapphirine. four beauteous streams of liquid silver lead across the plain; the shining sea they feed; the king reclines upon his couch at rest, with dreams of happiness alone is blest. [footnote : "mua," the waters of the dawn, the daughter of khasisadra.] column iv the king is cured by the incantations of khasisadra and he becomes immortal when izdubar awakes, they lead the way to the bright fount beside the jasper sea. the seer, with mua and ur-hea, stands beside the king, who holily lifts his hands above an altar where the glowing rays of sacred flames are curling; thus he prays: "ye glorious stars that shine on high, remember me! oh, hear my cry, su-ku-nu,[ ] bright star of the west! dil-gan, my patron star, oh, shine! o mar-bu-du, whose rays invest dear nipur[ ] with thy light divine, the flames that shines, upon the waste! o papsukul, thou star of hope, sweet god of bliss, to me, oh, haste, before i faint and lifeless drop! o adar,[ ] star of ninazu, be kind! o ra-di-tar-tu-khu. sweet u-tu-ca-ga-bu,[ ] dear star with thy pure face that shines afar! "oh, pardon me! each glorious star! za-ma-ma,[ ] hear me! o za-ma-ma! ca-ca-ma u ca-ca-ma."[ ] "[ ]remember him! o dear za-ma-ma! ca-ca-ma u ca-ca-ma." as izdubar doth end his holy prayer he kneels, and they now bear his body where a snowy couch doth rest beneath a shrine that stands near by the glowing fount divine, and khasisadra lifts his holy hands, his incantation chants, and o'er him stands. "o bel, lord of an-nu-na-ci, o nina, hea's daughter! zi![ ] this incantation aid, remember us, remember! "[ ]ye tempests of high heaven, be still! ye raging lightnings, oh, be calm! from this brave man his strength is gone, before thee see him lying ill! oh, fill with strength his feeble frame, o ishtar, shine from thy bright throne! from him thine anger turn away, come from thy glowing mountains, come! from paths untrod by man, oh, haste! and bid this man arise this day. with strength divine as heaven's dome, his form make pure and bright and chaste! the evil curse, oh, drive away! "go! a-sac-cu-kab-bi-lu,[ ] go! o nam-ta-ru-lim-nu,[ ] oh, fly! u-tuc-cu-lim-nu[ ] from him flow! a-lu-u-lim-nu,[ ] hence! away! e-ci-mu-lim-nu,[ ] go! thou fiend! fly, gal-lu-u-lim-nu,[ ] afar! fly from his head! his life! i send thee, fiend! depart from izdubar! go from his forehead, breast, and heart, and feet! avaunt! thou fiend! depart! oh, from the curse, thou spirit high! and spirit of the earth, come nigh! protect him, may his spirit fly! o spirit of the lord of lands, and goddess of the earthly lands, protect him! raise with strength his hands! "oh, make him as the holy gods, his body, limbs, like thine abodes, and like the heavens may he shine! and like the earth with rays divine! quick! with the khis-ib-ta[ ] to bring high heaven's charm--bind round his brow! the sis-bu[ ] place around his hands! and let the sab-u-sat[ ] bright cling! the mus-u-kat[ ] lay round him now, and wrap his feet with rad-bat-bands,[ ] and open now his zik-a-man[ ] the sis-bu cover, and his hands the bas-sat[ ] place around his form! from baldness and disease, this man cleanse, make him whole, head, feet, and hands! "o purity, breathe thy sweet charm! "restore his health and make his skin shine beautifully, beard and hair restore! make strong with might his loins! and may his body glorious shine as the bright gods!-- ye winds him bear! immortal flesh to his soul joins! thou spirit of this man! arise! come forth with joy! come to the skies!" and lo! his leprosy has fled away! he stands immortal,--purged! released from clay! [footnote : "su-ku-nu" or "kak-si-di," the star of the west.] [footnote : "nipur," the city from which izdubar came.] [footnote : "adar," the star of ninazu, the goddess of death, who cursed him with leprosy in the cavern. this star was also called "ra-di-tar-tu-khu."] [footnote : "u-tu-ca-ga-bu," the star with the white or pure face.] [footnote : "za-ma-ma," another name for adar. this is the deity for whom izdubar or nammurabi built the great temple whose top, in the language of the babylonians, reached the skies. it was afterward called the "tower of the country" or "tower of babylon." this was perhaps the tower of babel. he also restored another temple called "bite-muris," which was dedicated to the same goddess.] [footnote : "amen and amen!" the word "amen" is usually repeated three times.] [footnote : the response of the priest khasi-sadra.] [footnote : "zi," spirits.] [footnote : see "t.s.b.a.," vol. ii. p. .] [footnote : "a-sac-cu-kab-bi-lu," evil spirit of the head.] [footnote : "nam-ta-ru-lim-nu," evil spirit of the life or heart.] [footnote : "u-tuc-cu-lim-nu," evil spirit of the forehead.] [footnote : "a-lu-u-lim-nu," evil spirit of the breast.] [footnote : "e-ci-mu-lim-nu," evil spirit of the stomach.] [footnote : "gal-lu-u-lim-nu," evil spirit of the hands.] [footnote : "khis-ib-ta," a strip of parchment or linen on which was inscribed a holy text, a charm like that used by the jews, a philactery.] [footnote : "sis-bu," the same as the preceding.] [footnote : "sab-u-sat," was perhaps a holy cloth, also inscribed in the same manner.] [footnote : "mus-u-kat," was also of the same character as the preceding.] [footnote : "rad-bat-bands," similar bands to the khis-ib-ta.] [footnote : "zik-a-man," this is unknown, it perhaps was the inner garment.] [footnote : "bas-sat," supposed to be the outside or last covering placed over the person so treated. that some such ceremony was performed in the case of izdubar seems to be undoubted. see "trans. soc. bib. arch.," vol. ii. p. ; also sayce's edition smith's "c.a. of g.," p. .] column v izdubar falls in love with mua, and offers her his hand "o mua! thou bright waters of the dawn! oh, where art thou?" one cries as he doth run through the bright garden. see! 'tis izdubar! immortal! glorious! our king of war! and now in love is seeking mua here. he scarcely treads the ground as he comes near; a glow of youth immortal on his cheek, a form that sorrow, death, will never seek within these happy fields, his eyes with light that love alone may give, show his delight. a dazzling pillared vista round him shines, where golden columns bear the bowering shrines, with gemmèd domes that clustering round him rise, 'mid fruit-trees, flashing splendors to the skies. he goes through silver grots along a zone, and now he passes yonder blazing throne, o'er diamond pavements, passes shining seats whereon the high and holy conclave meets to rule the empires vast that spread away to utmost bounds in all their vast array. around the whole expanse grand cestes spread o'er paths sidereal unending lead. as circling wheels within a wheel they shine, enveloping the fields with light divine. a noontide glorious of shining stars, where humming music rings from myriad cars, where pinioned multitudes their harps may tune, and in their holy sanctity commune. and see! here mua comes! she stops and waits within a _gesdin_ bower beside its gates. around, above her spreads a flowering vine, and o'er a ruby fountain almandine. and on a graven garnet table grand, carved cups of solid pearl and tilpe[ ] stand. a zadu[ ] reservoir stands near, which rounds the fount wherein the fragrant nectar bounds. the ground is strewn with pari[ ] gems and pearls, wherefrom the light now softly backward hurls its rays o'er couches of paruti[ ] stone, soft cushioned, circling in the inner zone beside the shining kami-sadi way,[ ] where nectar fountains in their splendor play. the path leads far along life's beauteous stream, that ever through this world of joy doth gleam. and see! the hero comes! and now doth near the maiden, where with love she waits him here. she flings a flowering garland, weaves it round his form as he comes by! he turns around, and she enwraps his breast and arms, and says: "dear izdubar! and thus my lover strays! i'll bind thee with this fragrant chain to keep thee ever by my side! thy pleasant sleep hath kept my lover from my side too long!" "o thou sweet spirit, like a warbling song thy words are to my heart! i sought for thee, and thy bright face and presence did not see; i come to tell thee that i must return, when from thy father all the past shall learn." "and wilt thou go from me to earth again? no! no! dear izdubar, i thee enchain!" "'tis true, my love, i must return to men; my duty calls me to my throne again." "dear izdubar! my friend! my love! my heart! i cannot let thee from my soul depart! thou shinest in my breast as some bright star! and shall i let thee from me go afar?" "but mua, we immortal are, and we there might return; and thou on earth shalt see the glories of my kingdom,--be my queen! upon a couch i'll seat thee, there to reign with me, my beauteous queen,--beside me sit; and kings will come to us and kiss thy feet. with all my wealth i'll clothe thee, ever love thee, fairest of these glorious souls that move within this happy world. my people there shall love us,--ever drive away all care!" when mua heard him offer thus his hand, she then unbinds him,--thoughtful now doth stand. [footnote : "tilpe," a precious gem known only to the babylonians.] [footnote : "zadu," a precious gem known only to the babylonians.] [footnote : "pari," an unknown gem.] [footnote : "paruti," an unknown gem.] [footnote : "kami-sadi" way, a path paved with unknown gems. these precious stones are mentioned on the various inscriptions in the list of precious jewels with gold, diamonds, pearls, etc., taken as spoils from their enemies.] column vi mua's answer sweet mua lifts her eyes toward the heights that glow afar beneath the softened lights that rest upon the mountain's crystalline. and see! they change their hues incarnadine to gold, and emerald, and opaline; swift changing to a softened festucine before the eye. and thus they change their hues to please the sight of every soul that views them in that land; but she heeds not the skies, or glorious splendor of her home; her eyes have that far look of spirits viewing men on earth, from the invisible mane, that erstwhile rests upon the mortal eye,-- a longing for that home beyond the sky; a yearning for that bliss that love imparts, where pain and sorrow reach no mortal hearts. a light now breaks across her beauteous face; she, turning, says to him with heavenly grace: "dear izdubar, thou knowest how i love thee, how my heart my love doth daily prove; and, oh, i cannot let thee go alone. i know not what awaits each soul there gone. our spirits often leave this glorious land, invisible return on earth, and stand amidst its flowerets, 'neath its glorious skies. thou knowest every spirit here oft flies from earth, but none its secrets to us tell, lest some dark sorrow might here work its spell. and, oh, i could not see dark suffering, woe there spread, with power none to stop its flow! "i saw thee coming to us struck with fire, oh, how to aid thee did my heart desire! our tablets tell us how dread sorrow spreads upon that world and mars its glowing meads. but, oh, so happy am i, here to know that they with us here end all sorrow, woe. o precious izdubar! its sights would strike me there with sadness, and my heart would break! and yet i learn that it is glorious, sweet! to there enjoy its happiness,--so fleet it speeds to sorrowing hearts to turn their tears to joy! how sweet to them when it appears, and sends a gleam of heaven through their lives! "no! no! dear heart! i cannot go! it grieves thee! come, my dear one! quick to us return; we here again will pair our love, and learn how sweet it is to meet with joy again; how happy will sweet love come to us then!" she rests her head upon his breast, and lifts her face for love's sweet kiss, and from them drifts a halo o'er the shining gesdin-trees and spreads around them heaven's holy rays. he kisses her sweet lips, and brow, and eyes, then turns his gaze toward the glowing skies: "i bless thee, for thy sweetest spirit here! i bless this glorious land, that brings me near to one that wafts sweet heaven in my heart; from thy dear plains how can my soul depart? o mua, mua! how my heart now sings! thy love is sweeter than all earthly things! i would i were not crowned a king!--away from this bright land--here would i ever stay! as thou hast said, i soon will here return; the earth cannot withhold me from this bourne, and soon my time allotted there will end, and hitherward how happy i will wend!" "and when thou goest, how my love shall there guard thee, and keep thy heart with mua here. another kiss!" her form doth disappear within the garden, gliding through the air. he seats himself upon a couch and rests his head upon his hand, and thought invests him round. his memory returns again to erech's throne, and all the haunts of men. he rises, turns his footsteps to the halls, and thoughtful disappears within its walls. cuneiform inscriptions [_translated by various babylonian and assyrian scholars_] cuneiform inscriptions babylonian exorcisms translated by rev. a.h. sayce, m.a. the charms translated below will illustrate the superstition of the assyrians and babylonians. like the jews of the talmud, they believed that the world was swarming with noxious spirits who produced the various diseases to which man is liable, and might be swallowed with the food and the drink that support life. they counted no less than spirits of heaven and spirits of earth. all this, with the rest of their mythology, was borrowed by the assyrians from the primitive population of babylonia, who spoke an agglutinative language akin to the dialects of the finnic or tatar tribes. the charms are written in this ancient language, but assyrian translations are appended in a column to the right of the tablet. the legends are lithographed in the "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. ii, plates and . they have been translated by m. oppert in the "_journal asiatique_" of january, , and an analytical rendering of them is given by m. fr. lenormant in his "_etudes accadiennes_" ii, i ( ). translation of the exorcisms tablet i the noxious god, the noxious spirit of the neck, the neck-spirit of the desert, the neck-spirit of the mountains, the neck-spirit of the sea, the neck-spirit of the morass, the noxious cherub of the city, this noxious wind which seizes the body (and) the health of the body. spirit of heaven remember, spirit of earth remember. tablet ii the burning spirit of the neck which seizes the man, the burning spirit of the neck which seizes the man, the spirit of the neck which works evil, the creation of an evil spirit. spirit of heaven remember, spirit of earth remember. tablet iii wasting, want of health, the evil spirit of the ulcer, spreading quinsy of the gullet, the violent ulcer, the noxious ulcer. spirit of heaven remember, spirit of earth remember. tablet iv sickness of the entrails, sickness of the heart, the palpitation of a sick heart, sickness of bile, sickness of the head, noxious colic, the _agitation_ of terror, flatulency[ ] of the entrails, noxious illness, lingering sickness, nightmare. spirit of heaven remember, spirit of earth remember. [footnote : literally, "opposition."] tablet v he who makes an image (which) injures the man,[ ] an evil face, an evil eye, an evil mouth, an evil tongue, evil lips, an evil poison. spirit of heaven remember, spirit of earth remember. [footnote : here we have a reference to a custom well known in the middle ages. a waxen figure was made, and as it melted before the fire the person represented by it was supposed, similarly to waste away. it will be remembered that horace ("sat." i, , sq.) speaks of the waxen figure made by the witch canidia in order that the lover might consume away in the fires of love. roman and mediæval sorcery had its origin in that of ancient accad.] tablet vi the cruel spirit, the strong spirit of the head, the head-spirit that departs not, the head-spirit that goes not forth, the head-spirit that will not go, the noxious head-spirit. spirit of heaven remember, spirit of earth remember. tablet vii the poisonous spittle of the mouth[ ] which is noxious to the voice, the phlegm which is destructive to the ..., the pustules of the _lungs_, the pustule of the body, the loss of the nails, the removal (and) dissolving of old _excrement_, the _skin_ which is _stripped off_, the recurrent ague of the body, the food which hardens in a man's body, the food which returns after being eaten, the drink which distends after drinking, death by poison, from the swallowing of the mouth which distends, the unreturning wind from the desert. spirit of heaven remember, spirit of earth remember. [footnote : that would be consumption.] tablet viii may nin-cigal,[ ] the wife of nin-a'su, turn her face toward another place; may the noxious spirit go forth and seize another; may the propitious cherub and the propitious genie settle upon his body. spirit of heaven remember, spirit of earth remember. [footnote : "nin-cigal" ("the lady of the mighty earth") was queen of hades and a form of "allat" or "istar." she is also identified with gula or bahu (the bohu or "chaos" of gen. i. ), "the lady of the house of death," and wife of hea or nin-a'su.] tablet ix may nebo, the great steward, the recliner (or _incubus_) supreme among the gods, like the god who has begotten him, seize upon his head; against his life may he not break forth. spirit of heaven remember, spirit of earth remember. tablet x (on) the sick man by the sacrifice of mercy may perfect health shine like bronze; may the sun-god give this man life; may merodach, the eldest son of the deep (give him) strength, prosperity, (and) health. spirit of heaven remember, spirit of earth remember. accadian hymn to istar translated by rev. a.h. sayce, m.a. the following is one of the many early chaldean hymns that were incorporated into a collection which m. lenormant has aptly compared with the rig-veda of india. the concluding lines show that it originally belonged to the city of erech (now warka). the date of its composition must be exceedingly remote, and this increases the interest of the astronomical allusions contained in it. the original accadian text is given, with an interlinear assyrian translation, as is usually the case with hymns of this kind. the terra-cotta tablet on which it is found is numbered s, , being one of those that have been recently brought back from assyria by mr. george smith, who has translated the reverse in his "assyrian discoveries," pp. , . i owe a copy of the text to the kindness of mr. boscawen. it is of considerable importance for the study of assyrian grammar. accadian hymn to istar obverse light of heaven, who like the fire dawnest on the world, (art) thou. goddess in the earth, in thy fixed abode, who dawnest[ ] like the earth, (art) thou. (as for) thee, prosperity approaches thee. to the house of men in thy descending (thou goest). a hyena, which as they go in warlike strength are made to march, (art) thou. a lion, which into the midst is wont to march, (art) thou. day (is thy) servant, heaven (thy) canopy. the servant of istar;[ ] heaven (is thy) canopy. princess of the four cities, head of the sea,[ ] heaven (is thy) canopy. the exalted of the sun-god, heaven (is thy) canopy. for the revolver of the seasons sanctuaries i build, a temple i build. for my father the moon-god, the revolver of the seasons, sanctuaries i build, a temple i build. for my brother the sun-god, the revolver of the seasons, sanctuaries i build, a temple i build. (as for) me, for nannaru[ ] i build the precinct, for the revolver of seasons sanctuaries i build, a temple i build. in heaven _he laid the hand_; for the revolver of seasons sanctuaries i build, a temple i build. in the beginning (thou art) my begetter; in the beginning (thou art) my begetter. in the beginning the goddess _spoke thus to men_: the lady of heaven,[ ] the divinity of the zenith, (am) i. the lady of heaven, the divinity of the dawn, (am) i. the queen of heaven, the opener of the locks of the high heaven, my begetter. heaven she benefits, earth she enlightens;[ ] my begetter. the benefiter of heaven, the enlightener[ ] of earth; my begetter. [footnote : the assyrian rendering has, "art caused to journey."] [footnote : the assyrian mistranslates, "a servant (is) istar."] [footnote : the translation given in the text is extremely doubtful.] [footnote : literally, "the brilliant one," a title of the moon-god, which gave rise to the classical legend of nannarus.] [footnote : the assyrian renders this by "istar."] [footnote : or perhaps "smites."] [footnote : or perhaps "smiter."] reverse thou who on the axis of heaven dawnest, in the dwellings of the earth her name revolves; my begetter. (as) queen of heaven above and below may she be invoked; my begetter. the mountains fiercely she hurls-into-the-deep;[ ] my begetter. as to the mountains, their goodly stronghold (art) thou, their mighty lock (art) thou;[ ] my begetter. may thy heart rest; may thy liver be magnified. o lord anu, the mighty, may thy heart rest. o lord, the mighty prince[ ] bel, may thy liver be magnified. o istar, the lady of heaven, may thy heart rest. o lady, queen of heaven, may thy liver (be magnified). o lady, queen of the house of heaven, may thy heart (rest). o lady, queen of the land of erech, may thy liver (be magnified). o lady, queen of the land of the four rivers of erech,[ ] may thy heart (rest). o lady, queen of the mountain of the world,[ ] may thy liver (be magnified). o lady, queen of the temple of the resting-place of the world, may thy heart (rest). o lady, queen of babylon, may thy liver (be magnified). o lady, queen of the memorial of nan'a, may thy heart (rest). o queen of the temple, queen of the gods, may thy liver (be magnified). prayer of the heart to istar. like its original[ ] written and translated. palace of assur-bani-pal, king of assyria; son of esar-haddon, king of multitudes, king of assyria, high-priest of babylon, king of sumer and accad, king of the kings of cush and egypt, king of the four zones; son of sennacherib, king of multitudes, king of assyria; who to assur and beltis, nebo and tasmit trusts. thy kingdom, o light of the gods. [footnote : the assyrian mistranslates, "i hurl into the deep."] [footnote : the assyrian mistranslates "i" for "thou."] [footnote : "sadi" in assyrian, literally "mountain" or "rock," and apparently connected with the hebrew "shaddai," as in the phrase "el shad-dai," "god almighty."] [footnote : possibly the four rivers of paradise.] [footnote : also called the "mountain of the east," mount elwand on which the ark rested.] [footnote : that is the text from which the assyrian copy was made for the library of assurbanipal.] annals of assur-nasir-pal (sometimes called sardanapalus) translated, with notes, by rev. j.m. rodwell, m.a. concerning assur-nasir-habal or assur-nasir-pal (_i.e._, "assur preserves the son") we possess fuller historical records than of any other of the assyrian monarchs, and among these the following inscription is the most important. from it, and from the inscription upon his statue discovered by mr. layard [footnote: now in the british museum.] in the ruins of one of the nimroud temples, we learn that he was the son of tuklat-adar or tuklat-ninip, that he reigned over a territory extending from the "tigris to the lebanon, and that he brought the great sea and all countries from the sunrise to the sunset under his sway." these inscriptions are published in the "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. i, plates to , and were partially translated by professor oppert, "_histoire des empires de chaldée et d'assyrie,_," page and following "_extrait des annales de philosophie chrétienne_" tom. ix, . there is considerable difficulty and a consequent divergence of opinion as to the precise date when assur-nasir-pal ascended the throne. but he most probably reigned from to b.c. it need scarcely be remarked that assur-nasir-pal is a different person from the well-known sardanapalus of classic writers, or assur-bani-pal, the son of esar-haddon, who reigned from about b.c. to . it will be seen from the inscription that the campaigns of assur-nasir-pal took place in the mountains of armenia, in commagene and the provinces of the pontus, inhabited by the moschi [footnote: the mesek of psalm cxx. .] and other tribes. he probably advanced into media and a portion of western persia. the countries on the banks of the euphrates submitted to his arms, and in one of his expeditions he vanquished nabu-bal-iddin, king of babylon. westward, he reduced the southern part of syria, and advanced to the mountain chains of the amanus and lebanon, but though he penetrated as far as to tyre and sidon and exacted tribute from both as well as from byblus and aradus, he did not subdue phoenicia. the kingdoms of israel and judah, under the sway of ahab and jehosaphat, were no doubt too powerful, as is evinced by the armies which they must have maintained for their struggle with the syrians, [footnote: see chron. xvii. and following chapters.] for assur-nasir-pal to have ventured upon attacking them. this feat was reserved for his successors on the throne of assyria. the inscription was found in the ruins of the temple at the foot of the pyramid at nimroud (calach). annals of assur-nasir-pal to ninip[ ] most powerful hero, great, chief of the gods, warrior, powerful lord, whose onset in battle has not been opposed, eldest son, crusher of opponents, first-born son of nukimmut,[ ] supporter of the seven,[ ] noble ruler, king of the gods the producers, governor, he who rolls along the mass of heaven and earth, opener of canals, treader of the wide earth, the god who in his divinity nourishes heaven and earth, the beneficent, the exalted, the powerful, who has not lessened the glory of his face,[ ] head of nations, bestower of sceptres, glorious, over all cities a ruler,[ ] valiant, the renown of whose sceptre is not approached, chief of widespread influence, great among the gods, shading from the southern sun, lord of lords, whose hand the vault of heaven (and) earth has controlled, a king in battle mighty[ ] who has vanquished opposition, victorious, powerful, lord of water-courses and seas,[ ] strong, not yielding, whose onset brings down the green corn, smiting the land of the enemy, like the cutting of reeds, the deity who changes not his purposes, the light of heaven and earth, a bold leader on the waters, destroyer of them that hate (him), a spoiler (and) lord of the disobedient, dividing enemies, whose name in the speech of the gods no god has ever disregarded, the gatherer of life, the god(?) whose prayers are good, whose abode is in the city of calah, a great lord, my lord--(who am) assur-nasir-pal, the mighty king, king of multitudes, a prince unequalled, lord of all the four countries, powerful over hosts of men, the possession of bel and ninip the exalted and anu and of dakan,[ ] a servant of the great gods in the lofty shrine for great (o ninip) is thy heart; a worshipper of bel whose might upon thy great deity is founded, and thou makest righteous his life, valiant, warrior, who in the service of assur his lord hath proceeded, and among the kings of the four regions who has not his fellow, a prince for admiration, not sparing opponents, mighty leader, who an equal has not, a prince reducing to order his disobedient ones, who has subdued whole multitudes of men, a strong worker, treading down the heads of his enemies, trampling on all foes, crushing assemblages of rebels, who in the service of the great gods his lords marched vigorously and the lands of all of them his hand captured, caused the forests of all of them to fall,[ ] and received their tribute, taking securities, establishing laws over all lands, when assur the lord who proclaims my name and augments my royalty laid hold upon his invincible power for the forces of my lordship, for assur-nasir-pal, glorious prince, worshipper of the great gods the generous, the great, the powerful, acquirer of cities and forests and the territory of all of them, king of lords, destroying the wicked, strengthening the peaceful, not sparing opponents, a prince of firm will(?) one who combats oppression, lord of all kings, lord of lords, the acknowledged, king of kings, seated gloriously, the renown of ninip the warrior, worshipper of the great gods, prolonging the benefits (conferred by) his fathers: a prince who in the service of assur and the sun-god, the gods in whom he trusted, royally marched to turbulent lands, and kings who had rebelled against him he cut off like grass, all their lands to his feet he subjected, restorer of the worship of the goddesses and that of the great gods, chief unwavering, who for the guidance of the heads (and) elders of his land is a steadfast guardian, the work of whose hands and the gift of whose finger the great gods of heaven and earth have exalted, and his steps[ ] over rulers have they established forever; their power for the preservation of my royalty have they exercised; the retribution of his power, (and) the approach of his majesty over princes of the four regions they have extended: the enemies of assur in all their country, the upper and the lower i chastised, and tribute and impost upon them i established, capturing the enemies of assur--mighty king, king of assyria, son of tuklat-adar who all his enemies has scattered; (who) in the dust threw down the corpses of his enemies, the grandson of bin-nirari, the servant of the great gods, who crucified alive and routed his enemies and subdued them to his yoke, descendant of assur-dan-il, who the fortresses established (and) the fanes made good. in those days by the decree[ ] of the great gods to royalty power supremacy i rose up: i am a king, i am a lord, i am glorious, i am great, i am mighty, i have arisen, i am chief, i am a prince, i am a warrior i am great and i am glorious, assur-nasir-habal, a mighty king of assyria, proclaimer of the moon-god, worshipper of anu, exalter of yav,[ ] suppliant of the gods am i, servant unyielding, subduing the land of his foeman, a king mighty in battle, destroyer of cities and forests, chief over opponents, king of the four regions, expeller of his foes, prostrating all his enemies, prince of a multitude of lands of all kings even of all, a prince subduing those disobedient to him, who is ruling all the multitudes of men. these aspirations to the face of the great gods have gone up; on my destiny steadfastly have they determined; at the wishes of my heart and the uplifting of my hand, istar, exalted lady, hath favored me in my intentions, and to the conduct of (my) battles and warfare hath applied her heart. in those days i assur-nasir-pal, glorious prince, worshipper of the great gods the wishes of whose heart bel will cause him to attain, and who has conquered all kings who disobey him, and by his hand capturing his enemies, who in difficult places has beaten down assemblages of rebels; when assur, mighty lord, proclaimer of my name aggrandizer of my royalty over the kings of the four regions, bountifully hath added his invincible power to the forces of my government, putting me in possession of lands, and mighty forests for exploration hath he given and urgently impelled me--by the might of assur my lord, perplexed paths, difficult mountains by the impetuosity of my hosts i traversed, and an equal there was not. in the beginning of my reign (and) in my first campaign when the sun-god guider of the lands threw over me his beneficent protection[ ] on the throne of my dominion i firmly seated myself; a sceptre the dread of man into my hands i took; my chariots (and) armies i collected; rugged paths, difficult mountains, which for the passage of chariots and armies was not suited i passed, and to the land of nairi[ ] i went: libie, their capital city, the cities zurra and abuqu arura arubie, situated within the limits of the land of aruni and etini, fortified cities, i took, their fighting-men in numbers i slew; their spoil, their wealth, their cattle i spoiled; their soldiers were discouraged; they took possession of a difficult mountain, a mountain exceedingly difficult; after them i did not proceed, for it was a mountain ascending up like lofty points of iron, and the beautiful birds of heaven had not reached up into it: like nests of the young birds in the midst of the mountain their defence they placed, into which none of the kings my fathers had ever penetrated: in three days successfully on one large mountain, his courage vanquished opposition: along the feet of that mountain i crept and hid: their nests, their tents, i broke up; of their warriors with weapons i destroyed; their spoil in abundance like the young of sheep i carried off; their corpses like rubbish on the mountains i heaped up; their relics in tangled hollows of the mountains i consumed; their cities i overthrew, i demolished, in fire i burned: from the land of nummi to the land of kirruri i came down; the tribute of kirruri of the territory of zimizi, zimira, ulmanya, adavas, kargai, harmasai, horses,[ ] (fish (?), oxen, horned sheep in numbers, copper, as their tribute i received: an officer to guard boundaries[ ] over them i placed. while in the land of kirruri they detained me, the fear of assur my lord overwhelmed the lands of gilzanai and khubuskai; horses, silver gold, tin, copper, _kams_ of copper as their tribute they brought to me. from the land of kirruri i withdrew; to a territory close by the town khulun in gilhi[ ] bitani i passed: the cities of khatu, khalaru, nistun, irbidi, mitkie, arzanie, zila, khalue, cities of gilhi situated in the environs of uzie and arue and arardi powerful lands, i occupied: their soldiers in numbers i slew; their spoil, their riches i carried off; their soldiers were discouraged; the summits projecting over against the city of nistun which were menacing like the storms of heaven, i captured; into which no one among the princes my sires had ever penetrated; my soldiers like birds (of prey) rushed upon them; of their warriors by the sword i smote down; their heads cut off in heaps i arranged; the rest of them like birds in a nest, in the rocks of the mountains nestled; their spoil, their riches from the midst of the mountains i brought down; cities which were in the midst of vast forests situated i overthrew, destroyed, burned in fire; the rebellious soldiers fled from before my arms; they came down; my yoke they received; impost tribute and a viceroy i set over them. bubu son of bubua son of the prefect of nistun in the city of arbela i flayed; his skin i stretched in contempt upon the wall. at that time an image of my person i made; a history of my supremacy upon it i wrote, and (on) a mountain of the land of ikin(?) in the city of assur-nasir-pal at the foot i erected (it). in my own eponym in the month of july[ ] and the th day (probably b.c. ). in honor of assur and istar the great gods my lords, i quitted the city of nineveh: to cities situated below nipur and pazate powerful countries i proceeded; atkun, nithu, pilazi and other cities in their environs i captured; many of their soldiers i slew; their spoil, their riches i carried off; the cities i burned with fire; the rebel soldiers fled from before my arms, submitted, and took my yoke; i left them in possession of their land. from the cities below nipur and pazate i withdrew; the tigris i passed; to the land of commagene i approached; the tribute of commagene and of the moschi[ ] in _kams_ of copper, sheep and goats i received; while in commagene i was stationed, they brought me intelligence that the city suri in bit-khalupe had revolted. the people of hamath had slain their governor ahiyababa the son of lamamana[ ] they brought from bit-adini and made him their king. by help of assur and yav the great gods who aggrandize my royalty, chariots, (and) an army, i collected: the banks of the chaboras[ ] i occupied; in my passage tribute in abundance from salman-haman-ilin of the city of sadi-kannai and of il-yav of the city of sunai,[ ] silver, gold, tin, _kam_ of copper, vestments of wool, vestments of linen i received. to suri which is in bit-halupe i drew near; the fear of the approach of assur my lord overwhelmed them; the great men and the multitudes of the city, for the saving of their lives, coming up after me,[ ] submitted to my yoke; some slain, some living, some tongueless i made: ahiyababa son of lamamana whom from bit-adini they had fetched, i captured; in the valor of my heart and the steadfastness of my soldiers i besieged the city; the soldiers, rebels all, were taken prisoners; the nobles to the principal palace of his land i caused to send; his silver, his gold, his treasure, his riches, copper (?)tin, _kams, tabhani, hariati_ of copper, choice copper in abundance, alabaster and iron-stone of large size the treasures of his harem, his daughters and the wives of the rebels with their treasures, and the gods with their treasures, precious stones of the land of ..., his swift chariot, his horses, the harness, his chariot-yoke, trappings for horses, coverings for men, vestments of wool, vestments of linen, handsome altars of cedar, handsome ..., bowls of cedar-wood beautiful black coverings, beautiful purple coverings, carpets, his oxen, his sheep, his abundant spoil, which like the stars of heaven could not be reckoned, i carried off; aziel as my lieutenant over them i placed; a trophy along the length of the great gate i erected: the rebellious nobles who had revolted against me and whose skins i had stripped off, i made into a trophy: some in the middle of the pile i left to decay; some on the top of the pile on stakes i impaled; some by the side of the pile i placed in order on stakes; many within view of my land i flayed; their skins on the walls i arranged; of the officers of the king's officer, rebels, the limbs i cut off; i brought ahiyababa to nineveh; i flayed[ ] him and fastened his skin to the wall; laws and edicts over lakie i established. while i was staying in suri the tribute of the princes of lakie throughout the whole of them, silver, gold, tin, copper, _kam_ of copper, oxen, sheep, vestments of wool and linen, as tribute and gift, i defined and imposed upon them. in those days, the tribute of khayani of the city of hindanai, silver, gold, tin, copper, amu-stone, alabaster blocks, beautiful black (and) lustrous coverings i received as tribute from him. in those days an enlarged image of my royalty i made; edicts and decrees upon it i wrote; in the midst of his palace i put it up; of stone my tablets i made; the decrees of my throne upon it i wrote; in the great gate i fixed them, in the date of this year which takes its name from me, in honor of assur my lord and ninip who uplifts my feet.[ ] whereas in the times of the kings my fathers no man of suhi to assyria had ever come, il-bani prince of suhi together with his soldiers (and) his son, silver, gold as his tribute to nineveh in abundance brought: in my own eponym[ ] at the city of nineveh i stayed: news they brought me that men of the land of assyria, (and) hulai the governor of their city which shalmaneser king of assyria my predecessor to the city of hasiluha had united, had revolted: dandamusa[ ] a city of my dominion marched out to subdue (them); in honor of assur, the sun-god and yav, the gods in whom i trust, my chariots and army i collected at the head of the river zupnat, the place of an image which tiglath-pileser and tiglath-adar, kings of assyria my fathers had raised; an image of my majesty i constructed and put up with theirs. in those days i renewed the tribute of the land of izala, oxen, sheep, goats: to the land of kasyari[ ] i proceeded, and to kinabu the fortified city of the province of hulai. i drew near; with the impetuosity of my formidable attack i besieged and took the town; of their fighting men with (my) arms i destroyed; , of their captives i consigned to the flames; as hostages i left not one of them alive; hulai the governor of their town i captured by (my) hand alive; their corpses into piles i built; their boys and maidens i dishonored; hulai the governor of their city i flayed: his skin on the walls of damdamusa i placed in contempt; the city i overthrew demolished, burned with fire; in the city of mariru within their territory i took; warrior fighting men by (my) weapons i destroyed; of their captives in the flame i burned; the soldiers of the land of nirbi i slew in fight in the desert; their spoil, their oxen, their sheep, i brought away; nirbu which is at the foot of mount ukhira i boldly took; i then passed over to tila their fortified city; from kinabu i withdrew; to tila i drew near; a strong city with three forts facing each other: the soldiers to their strong forts and numerous army trusted and would not submit; my yoke they would not accept; (then,) with onset and attack i besieged the city; their fighting men with my weapons i destroyed; of their spoil, their riches, oxen and sheep, i made plunder; much booty i burned with fire; many soldiers i captured alive; of some i chopped off the hands and feet; of others the noses and ears i cut off; of many soldiers i destroyed the eyes;[ ] one pile of bodies while yet alive, and one of heads i reared up on the heights within their town; their heads in the midst i hoisted; their boys (_continued on column ii._) [footnote : ninip was one of the great gods of the assyrian pantheon, often joined with assur as one of the special deities invoked by the assyrian kings at the opening of their inscriptions. his name is also written under the symbol used for iron ("parzii"). thus in later times the planets were connected with special metals.] [footnote : a goddess, called also nuha, and the mother of nebo as well as of ninip. fox talbot (gloss. ) compares "nu (= 'al') kimmut" with the "al-gum" of prov. xxx. , i.e., "irresistible."] [footnote : planets. or, "warrior among spirits." i mention this rendering as the suggestion of mr. g. smith, though i prefer that given above.] [footnote : literally, "horn." cf. job xvi. .] [footnote : tigallu. menant renders this sentence "la massue pour regner sur les villes."] [footnote : cf. ps. xxiv. .] [footnote : cf. ps. xcv. ; civ. ; cvii. .] [footnote : probably the dagon of scripture.] [footnote : compare the boast in isaiah xxxvii. , "i cut down the tall cedars."] [footnote : goings. cf. ps. xl. , "he hath established my goings."] [footnote : mouth.] [footnote : the god yav may be the yaveh of the moabite stone.] [footnote : or, shade. this may refer to the eclipse of july , b.c.] [footnote : a federation of states north and northeast of assyria at the head of the euphrates. in tig. iv. , of their kings are mentioned.] [footnote : literally, "animals of the east." this looks as if the assyrians obtained the horse from some eastern land.] [footnote : or, a viceroy.] [footnote : a mountainous country near the upper tigris, possibly kurdistan.] [footnote : the hebrew month ab.] [footnote : in the text, "kummuhi" and "muski."] [footnote : dr. hincks was of opinion that lamaman meant "nobody"; and that "son of lamaman" was a delicate way of indicating a man was of low origin. norr. dict., p. .] [footnote : assyrian, "khabur." this may be the chebar mentioned in the prophet ezekiel. schultens, however (in his geogr.), mentions another chaboras which flows into the tigris.] [footnote : in the north of mesopotamia.] [footnote : literally, to my back.] [footnote : compare mace. vii. for a somewhat similar proceeding. the custom may also be alluded to in mic. iii. .] [footnote : compare ps. lxxiv. , "lift up thy feet," etc.] [footnote : about b.c.] [footnote : near the modern diarbekir, on the road to the sources of the supnat.] [footnote : in armenia near the sources of the tigris.] [footnote : thus in kings xxv. we read that the chaldees "put out the eyes of zedekiah." samson (judges xvi. ) was similarly treated. and the custom may be alluded to in num. xvi. . it may be well to compare the treatment of children as recorded in joshua xi. with what we read in line . horrible and ferocious as was the treatment of the conquered by the israelites, they at least on that occasion were content with enslaving the children.] column ii and their maidens i dishonored, the city i overthrew, razed and burned with fire, in those days the cities of the land of nirbi (and) their strong fortresses, i overthrew, demolished, burned with fire: from nirbi i withdrew and to the city tuskha i approached; the city of tuskha i again occupied; its old fort i threw down: its place i prepared, its dimensions i took; a new castle from its foundation to its roof i built, i completed, i reared: a palace for the residence of my royalty with doors of _iki_ wood i made; a palace of brick from its foundations to its roof i made, i completed: a complete image of my person of polished stone i made; the history of my surpassing nation and an account of my conquests which in the country of nairi i had accomplished i wrote upon it; in the city of tuskha i raised it; on suitable stone i wrote and upon the wall i fixed it; (then) the men of assyria, those who from the privation of food to various countries and to rurie had gone up, to tuskha i brought back and settled there: that city to myself i took; the wheats and barleys of nirbi i accumulated in it; the populace of nirbi who before my arms had fled, returned and accepted my yoke; of their towns, their viceroys, their many convenient houses i took possession; impost and tribute, horses, horses for the yoke, fish, oxen, sheep, goats in addition to what i had before settled, i imposed upon them; their youths as hostages i took. while i was staying in tuskha, i received the tribute of ammibaal son of zamani, of anhiti of the land of rurie of labduri son of dubuzi of the land of nirdun and the tribute of the land of urumi-sa bitani, of the princes of the land of nairi, chariots, horses, horses for the yoke, tin, silver, gold, _kam_ of copper, oxen, sheep, goats. over the land of nairi i established a viceroy: (but) on my return the land of nairi, and nirbu which is in the land of kasyari, revolted; nine of their cities leagued themselves with ispilipri one of their fortified towns and to a mountain difficult of access they trusted; but the heights of the hill i besieged and took; in the midst of the strong mountain their fighting men i slew; their corpses like rubbish on the hills i piled up; their common people in the tangled hollows of the mountains i consumed; their spoil, their property i carried off; the heads of their soldiers i cut off; a pile (of them) in the highest part of the city i built; their boys and maidens i dishonored; to the environs of the city buliyani i passed; the banks of the river lukia[ ] i took possession of; in my passage i occupied the towns of the land of kirhi hard by; many of their warriors i slew; their spoil i spoiled; their cities with fire i burned: to the city of ardupati i went. in those days the tribute of ahiramu son of yahiru of the land of nilaai son of bahiani of the land of the hittites[ ] and of the princes of the land of hanirabi, silver, gold, tin, _kam_ of copper, oxen, sheep, horses, as their tribute i received; in the eponym of assuridin[ ] they brought me intelligence that zab-yav prince of the land of dagara had revolted. the land of zamua throughout its whole extent he boldly seized; near the city of babite they constructed a fort; for combat and battle they marched forth: in the service of assur, the great god my lord and the great merodach going before me,[ ] by the powerful aid which the lord assur extended to my people, my servants and my soldiers i called together; to the vicinity of babite i marched: the soldiers to the valor of their army trusted and gave battle: but in the mighty force of the great merodach going before me i engaged in battle with them; i effected their overthrow: i broke them down; , of their warriors in the environs i slew; uzie, birata, and lagalaga, their strong towns, with towns within their territory i captured; their spoil, their youths, their oxen, and sheep i carried off; zab-yav for the preservation of his life, a rugged mountain ascended; , of their soldiers i carried off; from the land of dagara i withdrew; to the city of bara i approached; the city of bara i captured; of their soldiers by my weapons i destroyed; their oxen, sheep, and spoil in abundance i removed; of their soldiers i took off; on tasritu[ ] th from the town kalzi i withdrew, and came to the environs of babite; from babite i withdrew; to the land of nizir which they call lúlu-kinaba i drew near; the city bunasi one of their fortified cities belonging to musazina and cities of their environs i captured; the soldiers were discouraged; they took possession of a mountain difficult of access; i, assur-nasir-pal impetuously after them like birds swooped down; their corpses lay thick on the hills of nizir; of their warriors i smote down; his horses i exacted of him, their common people in the tangled hollows i consumed; seven cities in nizir, which were of their duly appointed fortresses i captured; their soldiers i slew; their spoil, their riches, their oxen, their sheep i carried off; the cities themselves i burned; to these my tents i returned to halt; from those same tents i departed; to cities of the land of nizir whose place no one had ever seen i marched; the city of larbusa the fortified city of kirtiara and cities of their territory i captured; the soldiers lost heart and took to a steep mountain, a mountain (which) like sharp iron stakes rose high upward; as for his soldiers, i ascended after them; in the midst of the mountain i scattered their corpses; of their men i slew; soldiers in numbers in the hollows of the mountain i hunted down; their spoil, their cattle, their sheep, i took away; their cities with fire i burned; their heads on the high places of the mountain i lifted up;[ ] their boys and maidens i dishonored; to the tents aforesaid i returned to halt; from those same tents i withdrew; cities of the territory of larbusai, durlulumai, bunisai and barai i captured; their fighting men i slew; their spoil i spoiled; the city of hasabtal i razed (and) burned with fire; soldiers of barai i slew in battle on the plain. in those days the princes of the entire land of zamua were overwhelmed by the dread of the advance of assur my lord and submitted to my yoke; horses, silver, gold, i received; the entire land under a prefect i placed; horses, silver, gold, wheat, barley, submission, i imposed upon them from the city of tuklat-assur-azbat i withdrew; the land of nispi accepted my yoke; i went down all night; to cities of remote site in the midst of nispi which zab-yav had established as his stronghold i went, took the city of birutu and consigned it to the flames. in the eponym of damiktiya-tuklat, when i was stationed at nineveh, they brough me news[ ] that amaka, and arastua withheld the tribute and vassalage due to assur my lord. in honor of assur mighty lord and merodach the great going before me, on the first of may[ ] i prepared for the third time an expedition against zamua: my fighting men[ ] before the many chariots i did not consider: from kalzi i withdrew; the lower zab i passed; to the vicinity of babite i proceeded; the river radanu at the foot of the mountains of zima, my birthplace, i approached; oxen, sheep, goats, as the tribute of dagara i received: near zimaki i added my strong chariots and battering rams as chief of warlike implements to my magazines; by night and daybreak i went down; the turnat in rafts i crossed; to amali the strong city of arastu i approached; with vigorous assault the city i besieged and took; of their fighting men i destroyed by my weapons; i filled the streets of their city with their corpses; their many houses i burned; many soldiers i took alive; their spoil in abundance i carried off; the city i overthrew razed and burnt with fire; the city khudun and cities in its environs i took; their soldiers i slew; their booty in cattle and sheep i carried off; their cities i overthrew razed and burned; their boys their maidens i dishonored; the city of kisirtu a fortified city of zabini with neighboring cities i took; their soldiers i slew; their spoil i carried off; the cities of barai and kirtiara, bunisai together with the province of khasmar i overthrew razed and burned with fire; i reduced the boundaries to a heap, and then from the cities of arastua i withdrew: to the neighborhood of the territory of laara and bidirgi, rugged land, which for the passage of chariots and an army was not adapted, i passed; to the royal city zamri of amika of zamua i drew near; amika from before the mighty prowess of my formidable attack fled in fear and took refuge on a hill difficult of access: i brought forth the treasures of his palace and his chariot; from zamri i withdrew and passed the river lallu and to the mountains of etini, difficult ground, unfit for the passage of chariots and armies, whither none of the princes my sires had ever penetrated; i marched in pursuit of his army on the mountains of etini: the hill i ascended: his treasure, his riches, vessels of copper, abundance of copper, _kam_ of copper, bowls of copper, pitchers of copper, the treasures of his palace and of his storehouses, from within the mountains i took away to my camp and made a halt: by the aid of assur and the sun-god, the gods in whom i trust, from that camp i withdrew and proceeded on my march; the river edir i passed on the confines of soua and elaniu, powerful lands; their soldiers i slew in numbers; their treasure, their riches, _am_[ ] of copper, _kam_ of copper, _sapli_ and _namziete_ of copper, vessels of copper in abundance, _pásur_ wood, gold and _ahzi_, their oxen, sheep, riches, his abundant spoil, from below the mountains of elani, his horses, i exacted from him: amika for the saving of his life to the land of sabue went up; the cities zámru, arazitku, amaru, parsindu, eritu, zuritu his fortified city, with cities of his territory i overthrew, razed, burned; the boundary i reduced to a heap. while in the vicinity of parsindi i was stationed, the warlike engines of the tribe of kallabu came forth against the place; of the fighting men of amika i slew in the plain; their heads i cut off and put them up on the heights of his palace; of his soldiers taken by (my) hands alive i left to rot on the wall of his palace:[ ] from zamri the battering-rams and ... my banners i made ready; to the fortress ata, of arzizai, whither none of the kings my sires had ever penetrated i marched: the cities of arzizu, and arzindu his fortified city, with ten cities situated in their environs in the midst of nispi a rugged country, i captured; their soldiers i slew the cities i overthrew razed and burned with fire: to those my tents i returned. in those days i received copper, _tabbili_ of copper, _kanmate_ of copper, and _sariete_ as the tribute of the land of siparmina, such as women collect: from the city of zamri i withdrew; to lara, (the rugged hill-country, unfitted for the passage of chariots and armies, with instruments [axes] of iron i cut through and with rollers of metal i beat down) with the chariots and troops i brought over to the city of tiglath-assur-azbat in the land of lulu--the city of arakdi they call it--i went down; the kings of zamue, the whole of them, from before the impetuosity of my servants and the greatness of my power drew back and accepted my yoke; tribute of silver, gold, tin, copper, _kam_ of copper, vestments of wool, horses, oxen, sheep, goats, in addition to what i had before settled, i imposed upon them; a viceroy in kalach i created. while in the land of zamue i was stationed the cities khudunai, khartisai, khutiskai kirzanai were overwhelmed by fear of the advance of assur my lord; impost, tribute, silver, gold, horses, vestments of wool, oxen, sheep, goats, they brought to me; the rebel soldiers fled from before my arms; they fled to the mountains; i marched after them; within confines of the land of aziru they settled and got ready the city of mizu as their strong place; the land of aziru i overthrew and destroyed; from zimaki as far as the turnat i scattered their corpses; of their fighting men i destroyed; their spoil in abundance i carried off. in those days in the land of samua, (in which is) the city of atlila which zibir king of kardunias had taken, devastated, and reduced to a heap of ruins, i assur-nasir-pal king of assyria took, after laying siege to its castle a second time; the palace as a residence for my majesty i therein strengthened, made princely and enlarged beyond what of old was planned; the wheat and barleys of the land of kalibi i accumulated therein; i gave it the name of dur-assur. on the first of may in the eponym of sanmapakid[ ] i collected my chariots and soldiers the tigris i crossed; to the land of commagene i passed on; i inaugurated a palace in the city of tiluli; the tribute due from commagene i received; from commagene i withdrew; i passed on to the land of the istarat;[ ] in the city of kibaki i halted; from kibaki i received oxen, sheep, goats, and copper; from kibaki i withdrew; to the city of mattyati i drew nigh; i took possession of the land of yatu with the town kapranisa; , of their fighting men i smote down with my weapons; their spoil in abundance i carried off; the rebels who had fled from before my arms now accepted my yoke; of their cities i left them in possession; tribute impost and an officer[ ] over them i set; an image of my person i made; collected laws i wrote upon it and in the city of mattiyati i placed it; from mattiyati i withdrew; at the city of zazabuka i halted; the tribute of calach in oxen, sheep, goats and various copper articles i received; from zazabuka i withdrew; at the city of irzia i made a halt; that city i burned; but received there the tributes due from zura in oxen, sheep, goats and _kam_ copper: from izria i withdrew; in the land of kasyari i halted; madara (and) anzi two cities of the territory i captured and slew their soldiers; their spoil i carried off; the cities i burned with fire; six lakes i crossed over in kasyari, a rugged highland for the passage of chariots and an army unsuited; (the hills with instruments of iron i cut through [and] with rollers of metal i beat down;) the chariots and army i brought over. in a city of assur[ ] on the sandy side which is in kasyari, oxen, sheep, goats _kam_ and _gurpisi_ of copper i received; by the land of kasyari i proceeded; a second time to the land of nairi i went down; at the city of sigisa i made a halt; from sigisa i withdrew; to madara the fortified city of labduri the son of dubisi i drew near, a city extremely strong with four impregnable castles; the city i besieged; they quailed before my mighty prowess; i received, for the preservation of their lives, their treasures, their riches, their sons, by tale; i imposed upon them tribute and duties; an officer[ ] i appointed over them; the city i demolished, razed, and reduced to a heap of ruins; from madara i withdrew; to tuskha i passed over; a palace in tuskha i dedicated; the tribute of the land of nirdun, horses, yoke-horses, fish, _kam_ of copper, _gurpisi_ of copper, oxen, sheep, goats, in tuskha i received; cities and strong castles below kasyari, belonging to labduri son of dubuzi i overthrew razed and converted to a heap of ruins. in the service of assur my lord from tuskha i withdrew. the powerful chariots and battering-rams i put up in my stores; on rafts i passed the tigris; all night i descended; to pitura a strong town of dirrai i drew near--a very strong city-- two forts facing each other, whose castle like the summit of a mountain stood up: by the mighty hands of assur my lord and the impetuosity of my army and my formidable attack i gave them battle; on two days before sunrise like yav the inundator i rushed upon them; destruction upon them i rained with the might[ ] and prowess of my warriors; like the rush of birds coming upon them, the city i captured; of their soldiers by my arms i destroyed; their heads i cut off; many soldiers i captured in hand alive; their populace in the flames i burned; their spoil i carried off in abundance; a trophy of the living and of heads about his great gate i built;[ ] soldiers i there impaled on stakes;[ ] the city i overthrew, razed, and reduced to a heap of ruins all round; their boys, their maidens, i dishonored; the city of kukunu[ ] facing the mountains of matni i captured; of their fighting men i smote down with my weapons; their spoil in abundance i carried off; cities of dira i occupied; their soldiers i slew; i plundered them; soldiers i took alive; the cities i overthrew razed and burned; the approach of my royalty overcame them; from pitura i withdrew, and went down to arbaki in gilhi-bitani; they quailed before the approach of my majesty, and deserted their towns and strong places: for the saving of their lives they went up to matni a land of strength i went after them in pursuit; , of their warriors i left in the rugged hills; their corpses on a hill i piled up; with their bodies the tangled hollows of the mountains i filled; i captured soldiers and cut off their hands; their spoil i carried away; their oxen, their sheep without number, i took away; iyaya, salaniba, strong cities of arbaki i occupied; the soldiers i slew; their spoil i carried off towns surrounded with strong walls in the land of nairi i overthrew demolished and reduced to heaps and ruins; the trees of their land i cut down; the wheat and barley in tuskha i kept. ammiba'al the son of zamani had been betrayed and slain by his nobles.[ ] to revenge ammiba'al i marched; from before the vehemence of my arms and the greatness of my royalty they drew back: his swift chariots, trappings for men and horses one hundred in number, horses, harness, his yokes, tribute of silver and gold with talents in tin, talents in copper, talents in _annui_, _kam_ of copper, , _kappi_ of copper, bowls of copper, vessels of copper, , vestments of wool, _nui_ wood, _eru_ wood, _zalmalli_ wood, horns, choice gold, the treasures of his palace, , oxen, , sheep, his wife, with large donations from her; the daughters of his chiefs with large donations from them i received. i, assur-nasir-pal, great king, mighty king, king of legions, king of assyria, son of tuklat-adar great and mighty king, king of legions, king of assyria, noble warrior, in the strength of assur his lord walked, and whose equal among the kings of the four regions exists not;[ ] a king who from beyond the tigris up to lebanon and the great sea hath subjugated the land of laki in its entirety, the land of zuhi with the city of ripaki: from the sources of the ani (and) the zupnat to the land bordering on sabitan has he held in hand: the territory of kirrouri with kilzani on the other side the lower zab to tul-bari which is beyond the country of the zab; beyond the city of tul-sa-zabdani, hirimu, harute, the land of birate and of kardunias i annexed to the borders of my realm and on the broad territory of nairi i laid fresh tribute. the city of calach i took anew; the old mound i threw down; to the top of the water i brought it; hand-breadths in depth i made it good; a temple to ninip my lord i therein founded; when an image of ninip himself which had not been made before, in the reverence of my heart for his great mighty god-ship, of mountain stone and brilliant gold i caused to make in its completeness; for my great divinity in the city of calach i accounted him: his festivals in the months of january and september[ ] i established: bit-kursi which was unoccupied i closed: an altar to ninip my lord i therein consecrated: a temple for beltis, sin, and gulanu, hea-manna[ ] and yav great ruler of heaven and earth i founded. [footnote : probably the lycus or upper zab.] [footnote : the term "hittites" is used in a large sense, as the equivalent of "syrians," including the northern parts of palestine.] [footnote : about b.c.] [footnote : a scriptural phrase of frequent occurrence.] [footnote : corresponding to the jewish month tisri, and to part of our september, called in accadian "the holy altar."] [footnote : cf. gen. xi. , "yet within three days shall pharaoh lift up thy head from off thee."] [footnote : about b.c.] [footnote : the hebrew sivan.] [footnote : i.e., in comparison with.] [footnote : "am" may be the name of some weight, or figure; v. norr. assyr. dict., pp. and .] [footnote : menant renders, "j'ai fait etouffer _dans_ le mur."] [footnote : about b.c.] [footnote : goddesses.] [footnote : urasi.] [footnote : or, "assur-sidi-huli" may be taken as the name of the town.] [footnote : "urasi"(?).] [footnote : compare a similar expression, job xx. , "god shall rain (his fury) upon him while he is eating."] [footnote : cf. kings x. , "lay ye them (the heads) in two heaps in the entering in of the gate."] [footnote : or, crosses.] [footnote : on the upper tigris.] [footnote : i follow dr. oppert in the rendering of this obscure passage. compare with ammiba'al the name of the father of bathsheba, which like many other proper names is indicative of the close relations between assyria, phoenicia, syria, and judea.] [footnote : this frequently recurring expression refers to the four races of syria.] [footnote : "tabita" (heb. "tebeth") and "tasritu" (heb. "tisri"). it should be remarked that after the captivity the names of the months were exchanged for the chaldean; and the old hebrew names, such as "abib" (exod. xiii. ), "zif" ( kings vi. ), "ethanim" (ib. viii. ), "bul" (ib. vi. ), and the titles first, second, third month, etc., were dropped.] [footnote : this name has also been read as "nisroch-salmon."] column iii l on the d day of the third month, may,[ ] in the eponym of dagan-bel-ussur,[ ] withdrew from calach; i passed the tigris at its nearer bank and received a large tribute; at tabite i made a halt; on the th day of the fourth month, june,[ ] i withdrew from tabite and skirted the banks of kharmis; at the town of magarizi i made a halt; withdrew from it and passed along by the banks of the chaboras and halted at sadikanni; the tribute due from sadikanni, silver, gold, tin, _kam_ of copper, oxen, sheep, i received and quitted the place. at the city of katni i made a halt; the tribute of sunaya i received, and from katni withdrew; at dar-kumlimi[ ] halted; withdrew from it and halted at bit-halupe, whose tribute of silver, gold, tin, _kam_ of copper, vestments of wool and linen, oxen and sheep i received, and withdrew from it; at the city of zirki i made a halt; the tribute of zirki, silver, gold, tin, oxen, sheep, i received; withdrew from zirki; halted at zupri, whose tribute of silver, gold, tin, _kami_, oxen, sheep, i received; withdrew from zupri and halted at nagarabani, whose tribute in silver, gold, tin, _kami_, oxen, sheep, i received and withdrew from it; near khindani, situated on the nearer banks of the euphrates i halted; the tribute of khindani, silver, gold, tin, _kami_, oxen, sheep, i received. from khindani i withdrew; at the mountains over against the euphrates[ ] i halted; i withdrew from those mountains and halted at bit-sabáya near the town of haridi situate on the nearer bank of the euphrates. from bit-sabáya i withdrew; at the commencement of the town of anat[ ] i made a halt. anat is situated in the midst of the euphrates. from anat i withdrew. the city of zuru the fortified city of sadudu of the land of zuhi i besieged: to the numerous warriors of the spacious land of the kassi he trusted and to make war and battle to my presence advanced; l the city i besieged; two days i was engaged in fighting; i made good an entrance: (then) through fear[ ] of my mighty arms sadudu and his soldiers for the preservation of his life, into the euphrates threw himself: i took the city; _bit-hallu_[ ] and their soldiers in the service of nabu-bal-idin king of kardunias; zabdanu his brother with of his soldiers and bel-bal-idin who marched at the head of their armies i captured, together with them many soldiers i smote down with my weapons; silver, gold, tin, precious stone of the mountains,[ ] the treasure of his palace, chariots, horses trained to the yoke, trappings for men and horses, the women of his palace, his spoil, in abundance i carried off; the city i pulled down and razed; ordinances and edicts i imposed on zuhi; the fear of my dominion to kardunias reached; the greatness of my arms overwhelmed chaldæa;[ ] on the countries of the banks of the euphrates my impetuous soldiers i sent forth; an image of my person i made; decrees and edicts upon it i inscribed; in zuri i put it up, i assur-nasir-pal, a king who has enforced his laws (and) decrees and who to the sword hath directed his face to conquests and alliances hath raised his heart. while i was stationed at calach they brought me news that the population of laqai and khindanu of the whole land of zukhi had revolted and crossed the euphrates on the eighteenth of may[ ] i withdrew from calach; passed the tigris, took the desert to zúri by bit-halupí i approached in ships belonging to me which i had taken at zúri: i took my way to the sources of the euphrates; the narrows of the euphrates i descended, the cities of khintiel and aziel in the land of laqai i took; their soldiers i slew; their spoil i carried off; the cities i overthrew, razed, burned with fire. in my expedition marching westward of the banks of the chaboras to the city zibate of zuhi, cities on the other side of the euphrates in the land of laqai i overthrew, devastated and burned with fire; their crops i seized soldiers their fighting men by (my) weapons i destroyed; i took alive and impaled them on stakes;[ ] on ships which i had built-- in ships which were drawn up on the sand at haridi i crossed the euphrates. the land of zuhaya and laqai and the city of khindanai[ ] to the power of their chariots armies and hands trusted and summoned , of their soldiers to engage in fight and battle. they came to close quarters; i fought with them; i effected their overthrow; i destroyed their chariots , of their warriors i smote down by my weapons; the remainder in starvation in the desert of the euphrates i shut up. from haridi in zukhi to kipina and the cities of khin-danai[ ] in laqai on the other side i occupied; their fighting men i slew; the city i overthrew razed and burned. aziel of laqai trusted to his forces and took possession of the heights of kipina; i gave them battle; at the city of kipina i effected his overthrow; , of his warriors i slew; his chariots i destroyed; spoil i carried off in plenty; their gods i took away; for the preservation of his life he took refuge on a rugged hill of bizuru at the sources of the euphrates; for two days i descended the river in pursuit: the relics of his army with my weapons i destroyed; their hiding place by the hills on the euphrates i broke up; to the cities of dumite and azmú belonging to the son of adini[ ] i went down after him; his spoil, his oxen, his sheep, which like the stars of heaven were without number i carried off. in those days ila of laqai, his swift chariots and soldiers to my land of assyria i transported; dumutu and azmu i captured, overthrew, razed and burned; in the narrows of the euphrates i turned aside in my course and i outflanked aziel, who fled before my mighty power to save his life. ila; the prince of laqai, his army his chariots, his harness, i carried off and took to my city of assur: khimtiel of laqai i made prisoner in his own city. through the might of assur my lord, (and) in the presence of my mighty arms and the formidable attack of my powerful forces he was afraid, and i received the treasures of his palaces, silver, gold, tin, copper, _kam_ of copper, vestments of wool, his abundant spoil; and tribute and impost in addition to what i had previously fixed i laid upon them; in those days i slew buffaloes in the neighborhood of the nearer side of the euphrates: eight buffaloes i caught alive; i killed eagles, and captured others alive: i founded two cities on the euphrates; one on the farther bank of the euphrates which i named dur-assur-nasir-pal; one on the nearer bank which i named nibarti-assur. on the th of may[ ] i withdrew from calach; i crossed the tigris; to the land of bit-adini i went; to their strong city of katrabi i approached, a city exceedingly strong, like a storm rushing from heaven,[ ] the soldiers confided to their numerous troops, and would not submit and accept my yoke: in honor of assur the great lord, my lord, and the god the great protector going before me, i besieged the city by the warlike engines[ ] on foot and strong, the city i captured; many of their soldiers i slew; of their fighting men i dispersed; their spoil and property i carried off, , of their warriors i transported away and detained them at calach; the city i overthrew razed and burnt; the fear of the approach of assur my lord over bit-adini i made good. in those days the tribute of ahuni son of adini of habini, of the city of tul-abnai,[ ] silver, gold, tin,[ ] copper, vestments of wool and linen, wood for bridges, cedar wood, the treasures of his palace i received; their hostages i took, _rimutu_[ ] i imposed upon them. in the month april[ ] and on the eighth day i quitted calach; the tigris i passed; to carchemish[ ] in syria i directed my steps; to bit-bakhiani i approached; the tribute due from the son[ ] of bakhiani, swift chariots, horses, silver, gold, tin, copper, _kami_ of copper, i received; the chariots and warlike engines of the officer of the son of bakhiani i added to my magazines; i menaced the land of anili: the tribute of hu-immi of nilaya, swift war chariots, horses, silver, gold, tin,[ ] copper, _kami_ of copper, oxen, sheep, horses, i received; the chariots and warlike instruments of the officer i added to my magazines. from anili i withdrew; to bit-adini i approached; the tribute of ahuni son of adini, silver, gold, tin,[ ] copper, wood of _ereru_ and _rabaz_, horns, _sai_-wood, horns[ ] of thrones horns of silver, and gold, _sari_, bracelets of gold, _sahri_ fastenings for covers of gold, scabbards of gold, oxen, sheep, goats as his tribute i received; the chariots and warlike engines of the officer of ahuni i added to my magazines. in those days i received the tribute of habini of tul-abnai, four maneh of silver and sheep; ten maneh of silver for his first year as tribute i imposed upon him: from bit-adini i withdrew; the euphrates, in a difficult part of it, i crossed in ships of hardened skins: i approached the land of carchemish: the tribute of sangara king of syria, twenty talents of silver, _sahri_ gold, bracelets of gold, scabbards of gold, talents of copper, talents of annui _kami, harlate, nirmakate kibil_[ ] of copper, the extensive furniture of his palace, of incomprehensible perfection[ ] different kinds of woods,[ ] _ka_ and _sara_, female slaves, vestments of wool, and linen; beautiful black coverings, beautiful purple coverings, precious stones, horns of buffaloes, white[ ] chariots, images of gold, their coverings, the treasures of his royalty, i received of him; the chariots and warlike engines of the general of carchemish i laid up in my magazines; the kings of all those lands who had come out against me received my yoke; their hostages i received; they did homage in my presence; to the land of lebanon[ ] i proceeded. from carchemish i withdrew and marched to the territory of munzigani and harmurga: the land of ahanu i reduced; to gaza[ ] the town of lubarna[ ] of the khatti i advanced; gold and vestments of linen i received: crossing the river abrie i halted and then leaving that river approached the town of kanulua a royal city belonging to lubarna of the khatti: from before my mighty arms and my formidable onset he fled in fear, and for the saving of his life submitted to my yoke; twenty talents of silver, one talent of gold, talents in tin, talents in _annui_, , oxen, , sheep, , vestments of wool, linen, _nimati_ and _ki_ woods coverings, _ahuzate_ thrones, _kui_ wood, wood for seats, their coverings, _sarai, zueri_-wood, horns of _kui_ in abundance, the numerous utensils of his palace, whose beauty could not be comprehended:[ ] ... _pagatu_(?)[ ] from the wealth of great lords as his tribute i imposed upon him; the chariots and warlike engines of the land of the khatti i laid up in my magazines; their hostages i took. in those days (i received) the tribute of guzi of the land of yahanai, silver, gold, tin,[ ] ... oxen, sheep, vestments of wool and linen i received: from kunalua the capital of lubarna i withdrew, of the land of the khatti, crossed the orontes,[ ] and after a halt left it, and to the borders of the land of yaraki and of yahturi i went round: the land[ ] ... had rebelled: from the sangura after a halt i withdrew; i made a detour to the lands of saratini and girpani[ ] ... i halted and advanced to aribue a fortified city belonging to lubarna of the land of the khatti: the city i took to myself; the wheats and barleys of luhuti i collected; i allowed his palace to be sacked and settled assyrians there.[ ] while i was stationed at aribua, i captured the cities of the land of luhiti and slew many of their soldiers; overthrew razed and burned them with fire; the soldiers whom i took alive i impaled on stakes close by their cities. in those days i occupied the environs of lebanon; to the great sea of phoenicia[ ] i went up: up to the great sea my arms i carried: to the gods i sacrificed; i took tribute of the princes of the environs of the sea-coast, of the lands of tyre, sidon, gebal, maacah[ ] maizai kaizai, of phoenicia and arvad on the sea-coast--silver, gold, tin, copper, _kam_ of copper, vestments of wool and linen, _pagutu_[ ] great and small, strong timber, wood of _ki_[ ] teeth of dolphins, the produce of the sea, i received as their tribute: my yoke they accepted; the mountains of amanus[ ] i ascended; wood for bridges, pines, box, cypress, _li_-wood, i cut down; i offered sacrifices for my gods; a trophy[ ] of victory i made, and in a central place i erected it; _gusuri_-wood, cedar wood from amanus i destined for bit-hira, and my pleasure house called azmaku, for the temple of the moon and sun the exalted gods. i proceeded to the land of iz-mehri, and took possession of it throughout: i cut down beams for bridges of _mehri_ trees, and carried them to nineveh; (and) to istar lady of nineveh (on) my knees i knelt.[ ] in the eponym of samas-nuri[ ] in the honor of the great lord assur my lord on the th of april[ ] from calach i withdrew--crossed the tigris--descended to the land of kipani, and there, in the city of huzirina, received the tribute of the governors of its cities. while stationed at huzirana i received the tribute of ittiel of nilaya, giridadi of assaya, in silver gold, oxen, sheep. in those days i received the tribute in beams for bridges, cedar wood, silver, gold of qatuzili of commagene[ ]--withdrew from huzirina and took my way upward along the banks of the euphrates; to kubbu.[ ] i crossed over into the midst of the towns of assa in kirkhi over against syria. the cities of umalie and khiranu powerful cities centrally situated in adani i captured; numbers of their soldiers i slew; spoil beyond reckoning i carried off; the towns i overthrew and demolished; cities of their territory i burned with fire; then from khiranu i withdrew; i passed over to the environs of the land of amadani; i went down among the cities of dirrie, and the cities within the lands of amadani and arquanie i burned with fire: mallanu which is in the middle of arquanie i took as my own possession; i withdrew from mallanu to the cities of zamba on the sandy outskirt, which i burned with fire: i passed the river sua, proceeding up to the tigris whose cities on those banks and on these banks of the tigris in arkanie to a heap i reduced: its waters overflowed all kirkhi: my yoke they took; their hostages i exacted; a viceroy of my own i appointed over them: in the environs of the land of amadani i arrived: at barza-nistun to dandamusa the fortified city of ilani son of zamani i drew near and laid siege to it: my warriors like birds of prey rushed upon them; of their warriors i put to the sword and decapitated; i took alive; , captives i brought forth; i took possession of the city for myself: the living soldiers, and heads to the city of amidi[ ] the royal city, i sent; heaps of the heads close by his great gate i piled; the living soldiers i crucified on crosses[ ] at the gates of the town; inside the gates i made carnage; their forests i cut down;[ ] from amidi i withdrew toward the environs of kasyari; the city of allabzie to whose rocks and stones no one among the kings my fathers had ever made approach, i penetrated; to the town of uda the fortress of labduri son of dubuzi i approached and besieged the city with _bilsi_(?) strengthened and marching; the city i captured;[ ] ... soldiers[ ] ... with my weapons i destroyed; soldiers i captured; , captives i took forth; soldiers alive i caught; some i impaled on stakes;[ ] of others the eyes i put out: the remainder i carried off to assur and took the city as my own possession--i who am assur-nasir-pal mighty king, king of assyria son of tuklat-adar, (tuklat-ninip) great king, powerful king, king of legions, king of assyria son of vul-nirari[ ] great king, mighty king, king of legions, king of assyria, noble warrior, who in the service of assur his lord proceeded, and among the kings of the four regions, has no equal, a prince[ ] (giving) ordinances, not fearing opponents, mighty unrivalled leader, a prince subduer of the disobedient, who all the thrones of mankind has subdued; powerful king treading over the heads of his enemies, trampling on the lands of enemies, breaking down the assemblages of the wicked; who in the service of the great gods his lords marched along; whose hand hath taken possession of all their lands, laid low the forests of all of them, and received their tributes, taking hostages (and) imposing laws upon all those lands; when assur the lord proclaimer of my name, aggrandizer of my royalty, who added his unequivocal service to the forces of my government i destroyed the armies of the spacious land of lúlumi. in battle by weapons i smote them down. with the help of the sun-god and yav, the gods in whom i trust, i rushed upon the armies of nairi, kirkhi subariya and nirbi like yav the inundator;[ ] a king who from the other side the tigris to the land of lebanon and the great sea has subjugated to his yoke the entire land of lakie and the land of zukhi as far as the city rapik; to whose yoke is subjected (all) from the sources of the zupnat to the frontiers of bitani; from the borders of kirruri to kirzani; from beyond the lower zab to the town of tulsa-zabdani and the town of tul-bari beyond the land of zaban as far as the towns of tul-sa-zabdani and tul-sa-abtani; harimu, harutu in birate of kardunias[ ] to the borders of my land i added; (the inhabitants) of the territory of babite with khasmar among the people of my own country i accounted: in the countries which i held i established a deputy: they performed homage: submission i imposed upon them; i, assur-nasir-pal, great, noble, worshipper of the great gods, generous, great, mighty possessors of cities and the forests of all their domains, king of lords, consumer of the wicked _taskaru_ invincible, who combats injustice, lord of all kings, king of kings, glorious, upholder of bar (ninip) the warlike, worshipper of the great gods, a king who, in the service of assur and ninip, gods in whom he trusted, hath marched royally, and wavering lands and kings his enemies in all their lands to his yoke hath subdued, and the rebels against assur, high and low, hath opposed and imposed on them impost and tribute--assur-nasir-pal mighty king, glory of the moon-god[ ] worshipper of anu, related[ ] to yav, suppliant of the gods, an unyielding servant, destroyer of the land of his foes; i, a king vehement in war, destroyer of forests and cities, chief over opponents, lord of four regions, router of his enemies in strong lands and forests, and who kings mighty and fearless from the rising to the setting of the sun to my yoke subjugated. the former city of calach which shalmaneser king of assyria going before me, had built-- that city was decayed and reduced to a heap of ruins: that city i built anew; the people captured by my hand of the countries which i had subdued, zukhi and lakie, throughout their entirety, the town of sirku on the other side of the euphrates, all zamua, bit-adini, the khatti, and the subjects of liburna i collected within, i made them occupy.[ ] a water-course from the upper zab i dug and called it pati-kanik: timber upon its shores i erected: a choice of animals to assur my lord and (for) the chiefs of my realm i sacrificed; the ancient mound i threw down: to the level of the water i brought it: courses on the low level i caused it to go: its wall i built; from the ground to the summit i built (and) completed. [additional clauses are found on the monolith inscription in the british museum. they are not, however, of any great importance and amount to little more than directions for the preservation and reparation of the palace, with imprecations upon those who should at any time injure the buildings. on this same monolith is found an invocation to the great gods of the assyrian pantheon: namely, to assur, anu, hea, sin [the moon], merodach, yav jahve, jah[?], ninip, nebo, beltis, nergal, bel-dagon, samas [the sun], istar.] [footnote : sivan.] [footnote : b.c.] [footnote : heb. "tammuz," assyr. "duwazu."] [footnote : a city in mesopotamia.] [footnote : "burattu." in hebrew (gen. ii. ). "phrat."] [footnote : dr. oppert renders this "anatho."] [footnote : literally, "from the face of."] [footnote : probably military engines used in sieges.] [footnote : or, sadi-stone shining.] [footnote : "kaldu." there are fragments existing in the british museum of a treaty made between this nabu-bal-idin, king of kardunias (babylonia), and shalmaneser, son of assur-nasir-pal. v. "trans. soc. bib. archæol.," i. .] [footnote : the hebrew sivan.] [footnote : literally, "impaled on stakes." but dr. oppert and mr. norris generally adopt the rendering given in the text, i. , p. .] [footnote : it will be observed that this city is differently spelled in line . irregularities of this kind are very frequent, especially in the termination of proper names.] [footnote : see note , p. .] [footnote : "ahuni." see l. , p. .] [footnote : the hebrew sivan.] [footnote : or, "as it were situated among the storm-clouds of heaven."] [footnote : the nature of these engines ("bilsi") is uncertain.] [footnote : i.e., stony-hill.] [footnote : or, lead.] [footnote : possibly "humiliation," from the chaldee "rama."] [footnote : airu.] [footnote : carchemish. cf. jeremiah xlvi. .] [footnote : tribe(?).] [footnote : or, lead.] [footnote : some projecting ornament, like "horns of an altar." cf. ps. cxviii. ; exod. xxx. .] [footnote : probably some utensils, as explained by the hebrew word "unutu" ("anioth").] [footnote : or, with mr. norris, "the whole of it was not taken." dict., p. .] [footnote : the words specified are "sa" or "issa," "passur," and probably "ebony"; the others have not been identified.] [footnote : probably "in ivory."] [footnote : labnana.] [footnote : hazazi.] [footnote : prince.] [footnote : the inscription is here defaced.] [footnote : may this be the hebrew word for garments, "beged"?] [footnote : defaced.] [footnote : arunte.] [footnote : defaced.] [footnote : defaced.] [footnote : precisely thus: "the king of assyria brought men from babylon ... and placed them in the cities of samaria instead of the children of israel."-- kings xvii. .] [footnote : "akhari." heb. [hebrew: achari].] [footnote : literally, zurai, sidunai, gubalai, makullat.] [footnote : see p. , note .] [footnote : ebony.] [footnote : the mountain chain which divides syria from cilicia.] [footnote : or, proof.] [footnote : literally, sat.] [footnote : i.e., "the sun is my light."] [footnote : assyr. "airu," heb. "iyar." b.c.] [footnote : literally, kumukhaya.] [footnote : between carchemish and the orontes.] [footnote : diarbekr, still known by the name of "kar-amid." rawlinson's "herodotus," l. . the name is of frequent occurrence in early christian writers.] [footnote : see p. , note .] [footnote : cf. is. x. , "he shall cut down the thickets of the forest with iron"; also ezek. xxxix. .] [footnote : the inscription is here defaced.] [footnote : defaced.] [footnote : see p. , note .] [footnote : the grandfather of assur-nasir-pal. his reign probably terminated at b.c.] [footnote : literally, shepherd. thus, isa. xliv. , "cyrus is my shepherd."] [footnote : cf. ps. xxix. , "the lord (jhvh) sitteth upon the flood; yea the lord sitteth king forever."] [footnote : this reads like an annexation of a portion of babylonian territory.] [footnote : or upholder, proclaimer of sin, the moon; of. i. .] [footnote : assyr. "nalad." cf. the heb. yâlad "born of."] [footnote : precisely thus were the israelites carried away to babylon.] assyrian sacred poetry translated by h.f. talbot, f.r.s. the following translations are some of those which i published in the "transactions of the society of biblical archæology" in order to show that the assyrians had a firm belief in the immortality of the soul: a fact which was previously unknown. i have added specimens of their penitential psalms, and some notices of their numerous superstitions, such as the exorcism of evil spirits, the use of magic knots and talismans, the belief in inherited or imputed sins, and in the great degree of holiness which they attributed to the number _seven_. in some of these respects we may evidently see how great an influence was exercised on the mind and belief of the jews by their long residence at babylon. assyrian sacred poetry a prayer for the king "length of days long lasting years a strong sword a long life extended years of glory pre-eminence among kings grant ye to the king my lord, who has given such gifts to his gods! the bounds vast and wide of his empire and of his rule, may he enlarge and may he complete! holding over all kings supremacy and royalty and empire may he attain to gray hairs and old age! and after the life of these days, in the feasts of the silver mountain,[ ] the heavenly courts the abodes of blessedness: and in the light of the _happy fields,_ may he dwell a life eternal, holy in the presence of the gods who inhabit assyria!" [footnote : from the "trans. soc. bib. arch.," vol. i. p. . the original is in "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. iii. pl. .] [footnote : the assyrian olympus. the epithet "silver" was doubtless suggested by some snowy inaccessible peak, the supposed dwelling-place of the gods.] short prayer for the soul of a dying man [footnote: "trans. soc. bib. arch.," vol. ii. p. .] like a bird may it fly to a lofty place! to the holy hands of its god, may it ascend! the death of a righteous man [footnote: ibid., vol. ii. p. .] bind the sick man to heaven, for from the earth he is being torn away! of the brave man who was so strong, his strength has departed. of the righteous servant, the force does not return. in his bodily frame he lies dangerously ill. but ishtar, who in her dwelling is grieved concerning him descends from her mountain, unvisited of men. to the door of the sick man she comes. the sick man listens! who is there? who comes? it is ishtar daughter of the moon-god sin: it is the god (...) son of bel: it is marduk, son of the god (...). they approach the body of the sick man. (the next line, , is nearly destroyed.) they bring a _khisibta_[ ] from the heavenly treasury. they bring a _sisbu_ from their lofty storehouse: into the precious _khisibta_ they pour bright liquor. that righteous man, may he now rise on high! may he shine like that _khisibta_! may he be bright as that _sisbu_! like pure silver may his garment be shining white! like brass may he be radiant! to the sun, greatest of the gods, may he ascend! and may the sun, greatest of the gods, receive his soul into his holy hands![ ] [footnote : probably a cup or drinking-vessel.] [footnote : there is a fine inscription not yet fully translated, describing the soul in heaven, clothed in a white radiant garment, seated in the company of the blessed, and fed by the gods themselves with celestial food.] penitential psalms (these lamentations seem frequently to be incoherent. a few specimens are taken from the same work as the preceding. [footnote: "trans. soc. bib. arch.," vol. ii. p. .]) o my lord! my sins are many, my trespasses are great; and the wrath of the gods has plagued me with disease and with sickness and sorrow. i fainted: but no one stretched forth his hand! i groaned: but no one drew nigh! i cried aloud: but no one heard! o lord! do not abandon thy servant! in the waters of the great storm, seize his hand! the sins which he has committed, turn thou to righteousness! elsewhere we find o my god! my sins are seven times seven! o my goddess! my sins are seven times seven! (and then a prayer follows, that those sins may be pardoned as a father and mother would pardon them!) an address to some deity in heaven who is great? thou alone art great! on earth who is great? thou alone art great! when thy voice resounds in heaven, the gods fall prostrate! when thy voice resounds on earth, the genii kiss the dust! elsewhere [footnote: ibid., vol. ii. p. .] o thou; thy words who can resist? who can rival them? among the gods thy brothers, thou hast no equal! a prayer [footnote: idem.] the god my creator, may he stand by my side! keep thou the door of my lips! guard thou my hands, o lord of light! ode to fire (the original text of this will be found in r l. which is a lithographic copy of the tablet k, . a part of it was translated some years ago from a photograph of that tablet; see no. of my glossary. very few assyrian odes are so simple and intelligible as this is: unfortunately most of them are mystical and hard of interpretation.) o fire, great lord, who art the most exalted in the world, noble son of heaven, who art the most exalted in the world, o fire, with thy bright flame in the dark house thou dost cause light. of all things that can be named, thou dost form the fabric! of bronze and of lead, thou art the melter! of silver and of gold, thou art the refiner! of ... thou art the purifier! of the wicked man in the night time thou dost repel the assault! but the man who serves his god, thou wilt give him light for his actions! assyrian talismans and exorcisms translated by h.f. talbot, f.r.s. demoniacal possession and exorcism diseases were attributed to the influence of evil spirits. exorcisms were used to drive away those tormentors: and this seems to have been the sole remedy employed, for i believe that no mention has been found of medicine. this is a very frequent subject of the tablets. [footnote: taken from r pl. .] one of them says of a sick man: "may the goddess ... wife of the god ... turn his face in another direction; that the evil spirit may come out of him and be thrust aside, and that good spirits and good powers may dwell in his body!" sometimes divine images were brought into the chamber, and written texts taken from holy books were placed on the walls and bound around the sick man's brows. if these failed recourse was had to the influence of the _mamit_, which the evil powers were unable to resist. on a tablet r p. the following is found, written in the accadian language only, the assyrian version being broken off: take a white cloth: in it place the _mamit_, in the sick man's right hand. and take a black cloth: wrap it round his left hand. then all the evil spirits.[ ] and the sins which he has committed shall quit their hold of him, and shall never return.[ ] [footnote : a long list of them is given.] [footnote : "trans. soc. bib. arch.," vol. ii. p. .] the symbolism of the black cloth in the left hand seems evident. the dying man repudiates all his former evil deeds. and he puts his trust in holiness, symbolized by the white cloth in his right hand. then follow some obscure lines about the spirits-- their heads shall remove from his head: their hands shall let go his hands: their feet shall depart from his feet: which perhaps may be explained thus--we learn, from another tablet, that the various classes of evil spirits troubled different parts of the body. some injured the head, some the hands and feet, etc., etc. therefore the passage before us may mean: "the spirits whose power is over the hand, shall loose their hands from his," etc. but i can offer no decided opinion on such obscure points of their superstition. inherited or imputed sins these were supposed to pursue a sick man and torment him. [footnote: see "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. iv. p. .] the _mamit_ for him reveal! the _mamit_ for him unfold![ ] against the evil spirit, disturber of his body! whether it be the sin of his father: or whether it be the sin of his mother: or whether it be the sin of his elder brother: or whether it be the sin of someone who is unknown![ ] [footnote : a holy object, the nature of which has not been ascertained.] [footnote : "trans. soc. bib. arch.," vol. ii, p. .] magic knots justin martyr, speaking of the jewish exorcists, says "they use magic ties or knots." a similar usage prevailed among the babylonians. [footnote : ibid., p. .] the god marduk wishes to soothe the last moments of a dying man. his father hea says: go my son! take a woman's linen kerchief bind it round thy right hand! loose it from the left hand! knot it with seven knots: do so twice: sprinkle it with bright _wine_: bind it round the head of the sick man: bind it round his hands and feet, like manacles and fetters. sit down on his bed: sprinkle holy water over him. he shall hear the voice of hea, davkina[ ] shall protect him! and marduk, eldest son of heaven, shall find him a happy habitation![ ] [footnote : one of the principal goddesses, the wife of the god hea.] [footnote : "trans. soc. bib. arch.," vol. ii. p. .] talismans to cure diseases they seem to have relied wholly on charms and incantations. the first step was to guard the entrance to the sick man's chamber. a tablet says: "that nothing evil may enter, place at the door the god (...) and the god (...)." that is to say, their images. i believe these were little figures of the gods, brought by the priests, perhaps a sort of teraphim. the following line is more explicit: "place the guardian statues of hea and marduk at the door, on the right hand and on the left." but they added to this another kind of protection: right and left of the threshold of the door, spread out holy texts and sentences. place on the statues texts bound around them. these must have been long strips like ribbons of parchment or papyrus. the following line is still clearer: "in the night-time bind around the sick man's head a sentence taken from a good book."[ ] [footnote : similar to these were the phylacteries of the jews, which were considered to be protections from all evil. schleusner in his lexicon of the new testament says that they were "strips of parchment on which were written various portions of the mosaic law, for the jews believed that these ligaments had power to avert every kind of evil, but especially to drive away demons. as appears from the targum on the canticles," etc. we see that the babylonian precept was to bind holy sentences "around the head" and others "right and left of the threshold of the door." cf. deut. xi. : "ye shall lay up these my words in your heart, and in your soul, and bind them for a sign upon your hand, and as frontlets between your eyes. "and thou shalt write them upon the door-posts of thine house, and upon thy gates."] holiness of the number seven innumerable are the evidences of this opinion which are found on the tablets. two or three instances may suffice here: the song of the seven spirits [footnote: "trans. soc. bib. arch.," vol. ii. p. .] they are seven! they are seven! in the depths of ocean they are seven! in the heights of heaven they are seven! in the ocean stream in a palace they were born. male they are not: female they are not! wives they have not! children are not born to them! rule they have not! government they know not! prayers they hear not! they are seven, and they are seven! twice over they are seven! this wild chant touches one of the deepest chords of their religious feeling. they held that seven evil spirits at once might enter into a man: there are frequent allusions to them, and to their expulsion, on the tablets. one runs thus: the god (...) shall stand by his bedside: those seven evil spirits he shall root out, and shall expel them from his body. and those seven shall never return to the sick man again! but sometimes this belief attained the grandeur of epic poetry. there is a fine tale on one of the tablets [footnote : "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. iv. pl. .] of the seven evil spirits assaulting heaven, and the gods alarmed standing upon the defensive, no doubt successfully, but unluckily the conclusion of the story is broken off. ancient babylonian charms translated by rev. a.h. sayce, m.a. the following are specimens of the imprecatory charms with which the ancient babylonian literature abounded, and which were supposed to be the most potent means in the world for producing mischief. some examples are given in the first volume of the "records of the past," pp. - of the exorcisms used to avert the consequences of such enchantments. the original accadian text is preserved in the first column with an interlinear assyrian translation: the short paragraphs in column iii also give the accadian original; but elsewhere the assyrian scribe has contented himself with the assyrian rendering alone. the charms are rhythmic, and illustrate the rude parallelism of accadian poetry. the assyrian translations were probably made for the library of sargon of aganè, an ancient babylonian monarch who reigned not later than the sixteenth century b.c.; but the copy we possess was made from the old tablets by the scribes of assur-bani-pal. the larger part of the first column has already been translated by m. françois lenormant in "_la magie chez les chaldéens_" p. . the tablet on which the inscription occurs is marked k in the british museum collection and will be published in the "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. iv, plates , . ancient babylonian charms column i the beginning[ ]--the baneful charm[ ] like an evil demon acts against[ ] the man. the voice _that defiles_ acts upon him. the maleficent voice acts upon him. the baneful charm is a spell that originates sickness.[ ] this man the baneful charm strangles like a lamb. his god in his flesh makes the wound. his goddess mutual enmity brings down. the voice _that defiles_ like a hyena covers him and subjugates him. merodach[ ] favors him; and to his father hea into the house he enters and cries: "o my father, the baneful charm like an evil demon acts against the man." to the injured (man) he (hea) speaks thus: "(a number) make: this man is unwitting: by means of the number he enslaves thee." (to) his son merodach he replies[ ] "my son, the number thou knowest not; the number let me fix for thee. merodach, the number thou knowest not; the number let me fix for thee. what i know thou knowest. go, my son merodach. ... with noble hand seize him, and his enchantment explain and his enchantment make known. evil (is to) the substance of his body,[ ] whether (it be) the curse of his father, or the curse of his mother, or the curse of his elder brother, or the bewitching curse of an unknown man." spoken (is) the enchantment by the lips of hea. like a signet may he[ ] be brought near. like garden-herbs may he be destroyed. like a weed may he be gathered-for-sale. (this) enchantment may the spirit of heaven remember, may the spirit of earth remember. like this signet he[ ] shall be cut, and the sorcerer the consuming fire-god shall consume. by written-spells he shall not be _delivered_. by curses and poisons he shall not be _moved_. his property (and) ground he shall not take. his corn shall not be high and the sun shall not remember (him). [footnote : the accadian word is translated by the assyrian "siptu" ("lip"), and may be translated "beginning" or "fresh paragraph."] [footnote : in the assyrian version, "curse."] [footnote : in the assyrian, "goes against."] [footnote : in the assyrian, "(is) the cause of sickness."] [footnote : the accadian god identified with merodach by the assyrian translator was "silik-mulu-khi" ("the protector of the city who benefits mankind"). he was regarded as the son of hea.] [footnote : the verbs throughout are in the aorist, but the sense of the original is better expressed in english by the present than the past tense.] [footnote : that is, the sorcerer's.] [footnote : the sorcerer.] [footnote : the sorcerer.] column ii on the festival of the god, the king unconquerable, may the man (by) the enchantment, (with) _eldest_ son (and) wife, (by) sickness, the loss of the bliss of prosperity, of joy (and) of gladness, (by) the sickness which exists in a man's skin, a man's flesh (and) a man's entrails, like this signet be brought near and on that day may the consuming fire-god consume; may the enchantment go forth and to (its) dwelling-place betake itself. like this vineyard he shall be cut off, and the sorcerer the consuming fire-god shall consume. despite the _holidays_ of a _plague_ that returns not, despite the shrine of the god, the king unconquerable, may the man, (by) the enchantment, (with) _eldest_ son (and) wife, (by) sickness, the loss of the bliss of prosperity, of joy (and) of gladness, (by) the sickness which exists in a man's skin, a man's flesh, a man's _entrails_, like this garden-stuff be rooted out, and on that day may the consuming fire-god consume. may the enchantment go forth and to (its) dwelling-place betake itself. like this weed he shall be gathered for sale, and the sorcerer the consuming fire-god shall consume. before him, despite his blessedness that is not, despite the canopy of a covering that departs not, may the man (by) the enchantment, (with) _eldest_ son (and) wife, (by) sickness, the loss of the bliss of prosperity, of joy (and) of gladness, (by) the sickness which exists in a man's skin, a man's flesh, a man's _entrails_, like this weed be plucked, and on that day may the consuming fire-god consume. may the enchantment go forth and to (its) dwelling-place betake itself. like this thread he shall be stretched, and the sorcerer the consuming fire-god shall consume. despite his adoration that is not, despite the clothing of the god, the king unconquerable, may the man, (through) the enchantment, (with) _eldest_ son (and) wife, (by) sickness, the loss of the bliss of prosperity, of joy (and) of gladness, (by) the sickness which exists in a man's skin, a man's flesh, a man's _entrails_, like this thread be stretched, and on that day may the consuming fire-god consume. may the enchantment go forth and to (its) dwelling-place betake itself. like this goat's-hair cloth he shall be stretched, and the sorcerer the consuming fire-god shall consume. despite the goat's-hair that is not, despite the canopy of the covering (that departs not), may the man (through) the enchantment, (with) _eldest_ son (and) wife, (by) sickness, the loss of the bliss of prosperity, of joy (and) of gladness, (by) the sickness which exists in a man's skin, a man's flesh, a man's _entrails_, like this goat's-hair cloth be stretched, and on that day the man may the consuming fire-god consume. may the enchantment go forth and to (its) dwelling-place betake itself. like these _boards_ he shall be stretched, and the sorcerer the consuming fire-god shall consume. o son of the macebearer, despite produce unproduced, despite the clothing of the god, the king unconquerable, may the man (by) the enchantment, (with) _eldest_ son and wife, (by) sickness, the loss of prosperity, of joy (and) of gladness, (by) the sickness which exists in a man's skin, a man's flesh, a man's _entrails_, like these _boards_ be stretched, and on that day may the consuming fire-god consume. may the enchantment go forth and to (its) dwelling-place betake itself. column iii (the first part of column iii is mutilated. it becomes legible in the middle of a list of magical _formulæ_.) the chiefest talisman, the mighty talisman, the engraved talisman, the talisman is the binder, with enchantment. the repetition of the enchantment (is) baneful to man. the curses of the gods. ... the binder with enchantment. (with enchantment) his hands (and) his feet he binds. merodach, the son of hea, the prince, with his holy hands cuts the knots. may the enchantment cause this talisman to the desert among the wild beasts to go forth. may the baneful enchantment seize upon others. may this man rest (and) open (his eyes). to the blessed hand of his god may he be committed. conclusion of the _formulæ_ for averting sorcery. for the raising of the mighty foundation thus have i burned up straight, like fire have i burned up (and) have delivered the oracle.[ ] [footnote : or, "have laid the witchcraft."] column iv the noble _cupbearer_ of hea, the scribe of merodach (am) i. like fire have i blazed (and) i rejoice;[ ] (like) fire have i burned (and) i grow; the corn i purify and make heavy. like fire have i blazed (and) will rejoice; (like) fire have i burned (and) will grow; the corn will i purify and make heavy. o nadir (and) zenith, the light of god and man, may the store he collected be delivered. may the store of (his) heart whoever he be, ye his god and his goddess, be delivered. may his gate be _kept fast_. on that day may they enrich him, may they deliver him. may the rejoicing[ ] of the warrior fire-god rejoice with thee. may lands and rivers rejoice with thee. may tigris and (euphrates) rejoice with thee. may the seas and (the ocean) rejoice with thee. may the forest, the daughter of the gods, rejoice with thee. may all the production (of the earth) rejoice with thee. may the hearts of my god and my goddess, well-feasted, rejoice with thee. may the hearts of the god and the goddess of the city, well-feasted, (rejoice with thee). on that day from the curse may my heart, o my god and my goddess, be delivered, and may the enchantment go forth from my body. when the doom _comes upon_ thee, and from the fulfilment thou protectest thyself, the doom when fulfilled cut thou off. (the tablet) beginning: ... _colophon_. tablet (copied from) the old (tablets of chaldea). country of (assur-bani-pal) king of (assyria). [footnote : or, "rest."] [footnote : the words translated "rejoicing" and "rejoice" properly signify "rest" and that may be their meaning here.] inscription of tiglath pileser i, king of assyria translated by sir h. rawlinson, k.c.b., d.c.l., etc. this inscription of tiglath pileser i is found on an octagonal prism and on some other clay fragments discovered at kalah-shergat and at present in the british museum. the text is published in the "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. i, pp. ix-xvi. four translations of this inscription, made simultaneously in by sir h. rawlinson, mr. fox talbot, dr. hincks, and dr. oppert, were published in that year under the title of "inscription of tiglath pileser i, king of assyria, b.c. ." dr. oppert has also given a revised translation in his "_histoire de l'empire de chaldée et d'assyrie,_" vo, versailles, , extracted from the "_annales de la philosophie chrétienne_" of the same year, e series, p. and foll. the translations simultaneously published were submitted to the asiatic society in that year as a test of the advance made in assyrian interpretations and the close approximation made by scholars in their interpretation of assyrian texts. the notes contain some of the different readings of the other assyrian scholars at that time and give a few of the principal varieties of reading some of the words. it was generally considered a very triumphant demonstration of the sound basis on which the then comparatively recent assyrian researches were placed and a confutation of certain opinions then prevalent, that no certain or accurate advance had been made in the decipherment of assyrian inscriptions. on the whole for its extent and historical information relating to the early history of assyria this inscription is one of the most important of the series showing the gradual advance and rise of assyria, while as one of the first interpreted it presents considerable literary interest in respect to the details of the progress of assyrian interpretation. it is also nearly the oldest assyrian text of any length which has been hitherto discovered and is very interesting from its account of the construction of the temples and palaces made by the king in the early part of his reign. s.b. inscription of tiglath pileser i the beginning _ashur,_ the great lord, ruling supreme over the gods; the giver of sceptres and crowns; the appointer of sovereignty. bel, the lord; _king of the circle of constellations_;[ ] father of the gods; lord of the world. sin;[ ] the leader the _lord of empire_ the _powerful_ the _auspicious_ god; _shamas_;[ ] the establisher of the heavens and the earth; ...;[ ] the vanquisher of enemies; the dissolver of cold. _vul_;[ ] he who causes the tempest to rage over hostile lands and _wicked_ countries. _abnil_[ ] hercules; the champion who subdues _heretics_ and enemies, and who strengthens the heart. _ishtar_, the eldest[ ] of the gods; the queen of _victory_; she who arranges battles. [footnote : aratnaki. (fox talbot.)] [footnote : the moon.] [footnote : the sun.] [footnote : lacuna.] [footnote : ninev. (fox talbot.) ao. (dr. oppert.)] [footnote : ninip-sumdan. dr. oppert.] [footnote : or source.] ii the great gods, ruling over the heavens and the earth, whose attributes i have recorded and whom i have _named_; the guardians of the kingdom of tiglath pileser, the prince inspiring your hearts with _joy_; the proud chief whom in the strength of your hearts ye have made firm, (to whom) ye have confided the supreme crown, (whom) ye have appointed in might to the sovereignty of the country of bel, to whom ye have granted pre-eminence, exaltation, and warlike power. may the duration of his empire continue forever to his royal posterity, lasting as the great temple of bel! iii tiglath pileser the powerful king; supreme king of lash-anan;[ ] king of the four regions; king of all kings; lord of lords; the _supreme_; monarch of monarchs; the illustrious chief who under the auspices of the sun god, being armed with the sceptre and girt with the girdle of power over mankind, rules over all the people of bel; the mighty prince whose praise is blazoned forth among the kings: the exalted sovereign, whose servants ashur has appointed to the government of the country of the four regions (and) has made his name celebrated to posterity; the conqueror of many plains and mountains of the upper and lower country; the conquering hero, the terror of whose name has overwhelmed all regions; the bright constellation who, according to his power[ ] has warred against foreign countries (and) under the auspices of bel, there being no equal to him, has subdued the enemies of ashur.[ ] [footnote : "various tongues." talbot.] [footnote : or, "as he wished."] [footnote : or, "has made them obedient to ashur."] iv ashur (and) the great gods, the guardians of my kingdom, who gave government and laws to my dominions, and ordered an enlarged frontier to their territory, having committed to (my) hand their valiant and warlike servants, i have subdued the lands and the peoples and the strong places, and the kings who were hostile to ashur; and i have reduced all that was contained in them. with a host[ ] of kings i have fought ...[ ] and have imposed on them the bond of _servitude_. there is not to me a second in war, nor an equal in battle. i have added territory to assyria and peoples to her people. i have enlarged the frontier of my territories, and subdued all the lands contained in them.[ ] [footnote : the preamble concludes here.] [footnote : lacuna.] [footnote : literally, "a sixty."] v in the beginning of my reign , of the _muskayans_[ ] and their kings, who for years had held the countries of alza and perukhuz, without paying tribute and offerings to ashur my lord, and whom a king of assyria had never ventured to meet in battle betook themselves to their strength, and went and seized the country of comukha. in the service of ashur my lord my chariots and warriors i assembled after me ...[ ] the country of _kasiyaia_[ ] a difficult country, i passed through. with their , fighting men and their kings in the country of comukha i engaged. i defeated them. the ranks of their warriors in fighting the battle were beaten down as if by the tempest. their carcasses covered the valleys and the tops of the mountains. i cut off their heads. the battlements of their cities i made heaps of, like mounds of _earth_, their movables, their wealth, and their valuables i plundered to a countless amount. , of their common soldiers who fled before my servants and accepted my yoke, i took them, and gave them over to the men of my own territory.[ ] [footnote : sirki citizens. (fox talbot.)] [footnote : lacuna.] [footnote : mount kasiyaia. (dr. hincks.)] [footnote : as slaves.] vi then i went into the country of _comukha,_[ ] which was disobedient and withheld the tribute and offerings due to ashur my lord: i conquered the whole country of comukha. i plundered their movables, their wealth, and their valuables. their cities i burnt with fire, i destroyed and ruined. the common people of comukha, who fled before the face of my servants, crossed over to the city of _sherisha_[ ] which was on the further banks of the tigris, and made this city into their stronghold. i assembled my chariots and warriors. i betook myself to _carts of iron_[ ] in order to overcome the rough mountains and their difficult marches. i made the wilderness (thus) practicable for the passage of my chariots and warriors. i crossed the tigris and took the city of sherisha their stronghold. their fighting men, in the middle of the forests, like wild beasts, i smote. their carcasses filled the tigris, and the tops of the mountains. at this time the troops of the _akhe_,[ ] who came to the deliverance and assistance of comukha, together with the troops of comukha, like chaff i scattered. the carcasses of their fighting men i piled up like heaps on the tops of the mountains. the bodies of their warriors, the _roaring_[ ] waters carried down to the tigris. kili teru son of kali teru, son of zarupin zihusun, their king,[ ] in the course of their fighting fell into my power. his wives and his children, the delight of his heart i dispossessed him of. one hundred and eighty[ ] iron vessels and trays of copper, together with the gods of the people in gold and silver, and their beds and furniture i brought away. their movables and their wealth i plundered. this city and its palace i burnt with fire, i destroyed and ruined. [footnote : dummuk. (dr. oppert.)] [footnote : sharisha. (fox talbot.) siris. (dr. hincks.)] [footnote : bridge. (fox talbot.)] [footnote : aliens. (dr. hincks.)] [footnote : nami river. (fox talbot.) blood river. (dr. hincks.)] [footnote : tirikali fil tirikali. (fox talbot.) kiliantiru eldest son of campineiyusan, (dr. hincks.)] [footnote : literally, "three sixties."] vii the city of _urrakluiras_ their stronghold which was in the country of panari, i went toward. the exceeding fear of the power of ashur, my lord, overwhelmed them. to save their lives they took their gods, and fled like birds to the tops of the lofty mountains. i collected my chariots and warriors, and crossed the tigris. _shedi teru_[ ] the son of _khasutkh_[ ] king of _urrakluiras_ on my arriving in his country submitted to my yoke. his sons, the delight of his heart, and his favorites, i condemned to the service of the gods: vessels of iron; _trays_[ ] and _bars_ of copper ...[ ] with cattle, and flocks he brought as tribute and offerings. i accepted (them) and spared him. i gave him his life, but imposed upon him the yoke of my empire heavily forever. the wide spreading country of comukha i entirely conquered, and subjected to my yoke. at this time one tray of copper and one bar of copper from among the service offerings and tribute of comukha i dedicated to ashur my lord, and iron vessels with their gods i offered to my guardian god, _vul_.[ ] [footnote : sadiyantim. (dr. hincks.) tiri-dates. (fox talbot.)] [footnote : kuthakin. (fox talbot.) kha-thukhi. (dr. hincks.)] [footnote : "nirmah mamkhar." (dr. hincks.)] [footnote : lacuna.] [footnote : "yem." (fox talbot.)] viii from among my valiant servants, to whom ashur the lord gave strength and power, in of my chariots, select companies of my troops and bands of my warriors who were expert in battle, i gathered together. i proceeded to the extensive country of _miltis_,[ ] which did not obey me; it consisted of strong mountains and a difficult land. where it was easy i traversed it in my chariots: where it was difficult i went on foot. in the country of aruma, which was a difficult land, and impracticable to the passage of my chariots, i left the chariots and marched in front of my troops. like ...[ ] on the peak of the rugged mountains, i marched victoriously. the country of _miltis_,[ ] like heaps of stubble, i swept. their fighting men in the course of the battle like chaff i scattered. their movables, their wealth and their valuables i plundered. many of their cities i burned with fire. i imposed on them _religious service_[ ], and offerings and tribute. [footnote : eshtish. (fox talbot.)] [footnote : lacuna.] [footnote : hostages. fox talbot. for further and subsequent various readings see the edition of .] ix tiglath pileser, the illustrious warrior, the opener of the roads of the countries, the subjugator of the rebellious ...[ ] he who has overrun the whole magian world. [footnote : lacuna.] x i subdued the extensive country of subair, which was in rebellion. the countries of alza and purukhuz, which deferred their tribute and offerings, the yoke of my empire heavily upon them i imposed, decreeing that they should bring their tribute and offerings into my presence in the city of ashur. while i was on this expedition, which the lord ashur, committing to my hand a powerful rebel subduing army, ordered for the enlargement of the frontiers of his territory, there were , of the _kaskaya_ and _hurunaya_ rebellious tribes of the kheti[ ] who had brought under their power the cities of subarta, attached to the worship of ashur, my lord (so that) they did not acknowledge dependence on subarta. the terror of my warlike expedition overwhelmed them. they would not fight, but submitted to my yoke. then i took their valuables, and [ ] of their chariots fitted to the yoke, and i gave them to the men of my own country. [footnote : hittites.] [footnote : two "soss."] xi in the course of this my expedition, a second time i proceeded to the country of comukha. i took many of their cities. their movables, their wealth, and their valuables i plundered. their cities i burnt with fire, i destroyed and overthrew. the soldiers of their armies, who from before the face of my valiant servants fled away, they would not engage with me in the fierce battle: to save their lives they took to the stony heights of the mountains, an inaccessible region: to the recesses of the deep forests and the peaks of the difficult mountains which had never been trodden by the feet of men, i ascended after them: they fought with me; i defeated them: the ranks of their warriors on the tops of the mountains fell like rain: their carcasses filled the ravines and the high places of the mountains: their movables, their wealth, and their valuables i carried off from the stony heights of the mountains. i subdued the country of comukha throughout its whole extent, and i attached it to the frontiers of my own territory. xii tiglath pileser, the powerful king, the vanquisher of the disobedient, he who has swept the face of the earth. xiii in profound reverence to ashur my lord, to the country of kharia, and the far-spreading tribes of the akhe, deep forests, which no former king (of assyria) had ever reached, the lord ashur invited me to proceed. my chariots and forces i assembled, and i went to an inaccessible region beyond the countries of itni and ayá. as the steep mountains stood up like metal posts, and were impracticable to the passage of my chariots, i placed my chariots in wagons, and (thus) i traversed the difficult ranges of hills. all the lands of the akhe and their wide-spreading tribes having assembled, arose to do battle in the country of _azutapis_. in an inaccessible region i fought with them and defeated them. the ranks of their (slain) warriors on the peaks of the mountains were piled up in heaps; the carcasses of their warriors filled the ravines and high places of the mountains. to the cities which were placed on the tops of the mountains i _penetrated_ victoriously: cities of kharía, which were situated in the districts of aya, suira, itni, shetzu, shelgu, arzanibru, varutsu, and anitku, i took; their movables, their wealth, and their valuables i plundered; their cities i burnt with fire, i destroyed and overthrew. xiv the people of adavas feared to engage in battle with me; they left their habitations, and fled like birds to the peaks of the lofty mountains. the terror of ashur my lord overwhelmed them; they came and submitted to my yoke; i imposed on them tribute and offerings. xv the countries of tsaravas and ammavas, which from the olden time had never submitted, i swept like heaps of stubble; with their forces in the country of aruma i fought, and i defeated them. the ranks of their fighting men i levelled like grass. i bore away their gods; their movables, their wealth, and their valuables i carried off. their cities i burnt with fire, i destroyed and overthrew, and converted into heaps and mounds. the heavy yoke of my empire i imposed on them. i attached them to the worship of ashur my lord. xvi i took the countries of itsua and daria, which were turbulent and disobedient. tribute and offerings i imposed on them. i attached them to the worship of ashur. xvii in my triumphant progress over my enemies, my chariots and troops i assembled; i crossed the lower zab. the countries of muraddan and tsaradavas, which were near atsaniu and atuva, difficult regions, i captured; their warriors i cut down _like weeds_. the city of muraddan, their capital city, and the regions toward the rising sun, i took possession of. their gods, their wealth, and their valuables, one _soss_ bars of iron, talents of iron, the abundant wealth of the lords, of their palaces, and their movables, i carried off. this city i burnt with fire, i destroyed and overthrew. at this time this iron to the god vul, my great lord and guardian, i dedicated. xviii in the might and power of ashur my lord, i went to the country of tsugi, belonging to gilkhi, which did not acknowledge ashur my lord. with , of their troops, belonging to the countries khimi, lukhi, arirgi, alamun, nuni, and all the far-spread land of the _akhí_, in the country of khirikhi, a difficult region, which rose up like metal posts, with all their people i fought _on foot_. i defeated them; the bodies of their fighting men on the tops of the mountains i heaped in masses. the carcasses of their warriors i strewed over the country of khirikhi like chaff. i took the entire country of tsugi. twenty-five of their gods, their movables, their wealth, and their valuables i carried off. many of their cities i burnt with fire, i destroyed and overthrew. the men of their armies submitted to my yoke. i had mercy on them. i imposed on them tribute and offerings. with attachment to the worship of ashur, my lord, i intrusted them.[ ] [footnote : that is, "i caused them to worship ashur."] xix at this time of the gods belonging to those countries, subject to my government, which i had taken, i dedicated for the honor of the temple of the queen of glory, the great ancestress of ashur my lord, of anu, and of vul, the goddess who is the guardian of all the public temples of my city of ashur, and of all the goddesses of my country. xx tiglath-pileser, the powerful king; the subduer of hostile races; the conqueror of the whole circle of kings. xxi at this time, in exalted reverence to ashur, my lord, by the godlike support of the heroic "sun," having in the service of the great gods, ruled over the four regions imperially; there being found (to me) no equal in war, and no second in battle, to the countries of the powerful kings who dwelt upon the upper ocean and had never made their submission, the lord ashur having urged me, i went. difficult mountain chains, and distant (or inaccessible) hills, which none of our kings had ever previously reached, tedious paths and unopened roads i traversed. the countries of elama, of amadana, of eltís, of sherabili, of _likhuna_, of tirkakhuli, of kisra, of likhanubi, of elula, of khastare, of sakhisara, of hubira, of miliatruni, of _sulianzi_, of nubanashe, and of sheshe, strong countries, the easy parts in my chariots, and the difficult parts in wagons of iron, i passed through; the thickets of the mountains i cut down; bridges for the passage of my troops i prepared; i crossed over the euphrates; the king of elammi, the king of tunubi, the king of tuhali, the king of kindari, the king of huzula, the king of vanzamuni, the king of andiabi, the king of pilakinna, the king of atúrgina, the king of kulibartzini, the king of pinibirni, the king of khimua, the king of päíteri, the king of vaíram, the king of sururia, the king of abäéni, the king of adäéni, the king of kirini, the king of albaya, the king of vagina, the king of nazabia, the king of _amalziú_, the king of dayeni, in all kings of the countries of naíri, in their own provinces having assembled their chariots and troops, they came to fight with me.[ ] by means of my powerful servants i straitened them.[ ] i caused the destruction of their far-spreading troops, as if with the destroying tempest of vul. i levelled the ranks of their warriors, both on the tops of the mountains and on the battlements of the cities, like _grass_. two soss [ ] of their chariots i held as a trophy from the midst of the fight; one soss [ ] of the kings of the countries of naíri, and of those who had come to their assistance, in my victory as far as the upper ocean i pursued them; i took their great castles; i plundered their movables, their wealth and their valuables; their cities i burnt with fire, i destroyed and overthrew, and converted into heaps and mounds. droves of many horses and mules, of calves and of lambs, their property, in countless numbers i carried off. many of the kings of the countries of naíri fell alive into my hands; to these kings i granted pardon; their lives i spared; their abundance and wealth i poured out before my lord, the sun-god. in reverence to my great gods, to after-times, to the last day, i condemned them to do homage. the young men, the pride of their royalty, i gave over to the service of the gods; , horses and , cattle i imposed on them as tribute, and i allowed them to remain in their own countries. [footnote : literally, to make war and do battle.] [footnote : or, brought them into difficulties.] [footnote : one hundred and twenty.] [footnote : sixty.] xxii tseni, the king of dayani, who was not submissive to ashur my lord, his abundance and wealth i brought it to my city of ashur. i had mercy on him. i left him in life to learn the worship of the great gods from my city of ashur. i reduced the far-spreading countries of naíri throughout their whole extent, and many of their kings i subjected to my yoke. xxiii in the course of this expedition, i went to the city of milidia, belonging to the country of khanni-rabbi, which was independent and did not obey me. they abstained from engaging in the rude fight with me; they submitted to my yoke, and i had mercy on them. this city i did not occupy, but i gave the people over to religious service, and i imposed on them as a token of their allegiance a fixed tribute of ...[ ] [footnote : lacuna.] xxiv tiglath-pileser, the ruling constellation; the powerful; the lover of battle. xxv in the service of my lord ashur, my chariots and warriors i assembled; i set out on my march. in front of my strong men i went to the country of the aramæans, the enemies of my lord ashur. from before tsukha, as far as the city of qarqamis[ ] belonging to the country of khatte,[ ] i smote with _one blow_. their fighting men i slew; their movables, their wealth, and their valuables in countless numbers i carried off. the men of their armies who fled from before the face of the valiant servants of my lord ashur, crossed over the euphrates; in boats covered with bitumen skins i crossed the euphrates after them; i took six of their cities which were below the country of bisri; i burnt them with fire, and i destroyed and overthrew; and i brought their movables, their wealth, and their valuables to my city of ashur. [footnote : carchemish.] [footnote : the hittites.] xxvi tiglath-pileser, he who tramples upon the magian world; he who subdues the disobedient; he who has overrun the whole earth. xxvii my lord ashur having urged me on, i took my way to the vast country of muzri, lying beyond elammi, tala, and kharutsa; i took the country of muzri throughout its whole extent; i subdued their warriors; i burnt their cities with fire, i destroyed and overthrew; the troops of the country of comani hastened to the assistance of the country of muzri: in the mountains i fought with them and defeated them. in the metropolis, the city of arin, which was under the country of ayatsa, i besieged them; they submitted to my yoke; i spared this city; but i imposed on them religious service and tribute and offerings. xxviii at this time the whole country of comani which was in alliance with the country of muzri, all their people assembled and arose to do battle and make war. by means of my valiant servants i fought with , of their numerous troops in the country of tala, and i defeated them; their mighty mass broke in pieces; as far as the country of kharutsa, belonging to muzri, i smote them and pursued; the ranks of their troops on the heights of the mountains i cut down _like grass_; their carcasses covered the valleys and the tops of the mountains; their great castles i took, i burnt with fire, i destroyed, and overthrew into heaps and mounds. xxix the city of khunutsa, their stronghold, i overthrew like a heap of stubble. with their mighty troops in the city and on the hills i fought _fiercely_. i defeated them; their fighting men in the middle of the forests i scattered like _chaff_. i cut off their heads as if they were _carrion_; their carcasses filled the valleys and (covered) the heights of the mountains. i captured this city; their gods, their wealth, and their valuables i carried off, and burnt with fire. three of their great castles, which were built of brick, and the entire city i destroyed and overthrew, and converted into heaps and mounds, and upon the site i laid down large stones; and i made tablets of copper, and i wrote on them an account of the countries which i had taken by the help of my lord ashur, and about the taking of this city, and the building of its castle; and upon it[ ] i built a house of brick, and i set up within it these copper tablets. [footnote : "the stone foundation."] xxx in the service of ashur my lord, my chariots and warriors i assembled, and i approached kapshuna, their capital city; the tribes of comani would not engage in battle with me; they submitted to my yoke, and i spared their lives. the great castle of the city and its brick buildings i trampled under foot; from its foundations to its roofs i destroyed it and converted it into heaps and mounds, and a band of fugitive heretics who did not acknowledge my lord ashur, and who were expelled from inside this _castle_, i took this band and condemned to the service of the gods, and i imposed upon the people tribute and offerings in excess of their former tribute; and the far-spreading country of comani throughout its whole extent i reduced under my yoke. xxxi there fell into my hands altogether between the commencement of my reign and my fifth year countries, with their kings, from beyond the river zab, plain, forest, and mountain, to beyond the river euphrates, the country of the khatte[ ] and the upper ocean of the setting sun. i brought them under one government; i placed them under the magian religion, and i imposed on them tribute and offerings. [footnote : hittites.] xxxii i have omitted many hunting expeditions which were not connected with my warlike achievements. in pursuing after the game i traversed the easy tracts in my chariots, and the difficult tracts on foot. i demolished the wild animals throughout my territories.[ ] [footnote : a very difficult paragraph.] xxxiii tiglath-pileser, the illustrious warrior, he who holds the sceptre of lashanan; he who has extirpated all wild animals. xxxiv the gods hercules and nergal gave their valiant servants and their _arrows_ as a glory to support my empire. under the auspices of hercules, my guardian deity, four wild bulls, strong and fierce, in the desert, in the country of mitan, and in the city arazik, belonging to the country of the khatte,[ ] with my long _arrows_ tipped with iron, and with heavy blows i took their lives. their skins and their horns i brought to my city of ashur. [footnote : hittites.] xxxv ten large wild buffaloes in the country of kharran, and the plains of the river khabur, i slew. four buffaloes i took alive; their skins and their horns, with the live buffaloes, i brought to my city of ashur. xxxvi under the auspices of my guardian deity hercules, two _soss_ of lions fell before me. in the course of my progress on foot i slew them, and lions in my chariots in my exploratory journeys i laid low. all the beasts of the field and the flying birds of heaven i made the victims of my shafts.[ ] [footnote : a very doubtful sentence.] xxxvii from all the enemies of ashur, the whole of them, i exacted _labor_. i made, and finished the repairs of, the temple of the goddess astarte, my lady, and of the temple of martu, and of bel, and il, and of the sacred buildings and _shrines_ of the gods belonging to my city of ashur. i _purified_ their shrines, and set up inside the images of the great gods, my lords. the royal palaces of all the great fortified cities throughout my dominions, which from the olden time our kings had neglected through long years, had become ruined. i repaired and finished them. the castles of my country, i filled up their _breaches_. i founded many new buildings throughout assyria, and i opened out irrigation for corn in excess of what my fathers had done. i carried off the droves of the horses, cattle, and asses that i obtained, in the service of my lord ashur, from the subjugated countries which i rendered tributary, and the droves of the wild goats and ibexes, the wild sheep and the wild cattle which ashur and hercules, my guardian gods, incited me to chase in the depths of the forests, having taken them i drove them off, and i led away their young ones like the tame young goats. these little _wild animals_, the delight of their parents' hearts, in the fulness of my own heart, together with my own victims, i sacrificed to my lord ashur. xxxviii the pine, the ...,[ ] and the _algum tree_, these trees which under the former kings my ancestors, they had never planted, i took them from the countries which i had rendered tributary, and i planted them in the groves of my own territories, and i _bought_ fruit trees; whatever i did not find in my own country, i took and placed in the groves[ ] of assyria. [footnote : lacuna.] [footnote : or "orchards."] xxxix i built chariots fitted to the yoke for the use of my people[ ] in excess of those which had existed before. i added territories to assyria, and i added populations to her population. i improved the condition of the people, and i obtained for them abundance and security. [footnote : or "throughout my territories."] xl tiglath-pileser, the illustrious prince, whom ashur and hercules have exalted to the utmost wishes of his heart; who has pursued after the enemies of ashur, and has subjugated all the earth. xli the son of ashur-ris-ili, the powerful king, the subduer of foreign countries, he who has reduced all the lands of the magian world. xlii the grandson of mutaggil-nabu, whom ashur, the great lord, aided according to the wishes of his _heart_ and established in strength in the government of assyria. xliii the glorious offspring of ashur-dapur-il, who held the sceptre of dominion, and ruled over the people of bel; who in all the works of his hand and the deeds of his life placed his reliance on the great gods, and thus obtained a prosperous and _long life_. xliv the beloved child[ ] of barzan-pala-kura, the king who first organized the country of assyria, who purged his territories of the wicked as if they had been ...,[ ] and established the troops of assyria in authority. [footnote : or, "heart of hearts."] [footnote : lacuna.] xlv at this time the temple of anu and vul, the great gods, my lords, which, in former times, shansi-vul, high-priest of ashur, son of ismi dagan, high-priest of ashur, had founded, having lasted for years, it fell into ruin. ashur-dapur-il, king of assyria, son of barzan-pala-kura, king of assyria, took down this temple and did not rebuild it. for years the foundations of it were not laid. xlvi in the beginning of my reign, anu and vul, the great gods, my lords, guardians of my steps, they invited me to repair this their shrine. so i made bricks; i levelled the earth, i took its _dimensions_; i laid down its foundations upon a mass of strong rock. this place throughout its whole extent i paved with bricks in _set order_, feet deep i prepared the ground, and upon this substructure i laid the lower foundations of the temple of anu and vul. from its foundations to its roofs i built it up, better than it was before. i also built two lofty cupolas in honor of their noble godships, and the holy place, a spacious hall, i consecrated for the convenience of their worshippers, and to accommodate their votaries, who were numerous as the stars of heaven, and in quantity poured forth like flights of arrows.[ ] i repaired, and built, and completed my work. outside the temple i fashioned (everything with the same care) as inside. the mound of earth (on which it was built) i enlarged like the firmament of the rising stars, and i beautified the entire building. its cupolas i raised up to heaven, and its roofs i built entirely of brick. an inviolable shrine for their noble godships i laid down near at hand. anu and vul, the great gods, i glorified inside,[ ] i set them up on their honored purity, and the hearts of their noble godships i delighted. [footnote : very doubtful.] [footnote : the shrine.] xlvii bit-khamri, the temple of my lord vul, which shansi-vul, high-priest of ashur, son of ismi-dagan, high-priest of ashur, had founded, became ruined. i levelled its site, and from its foundation to its roofs i built it up of brick, i enlarged it beyond its former state, and i adorned it. inside of it i sacrificed precious victims to my lord vul. xlviii at this time i found various sorts of stone[ ] in the countries of nairi which i had taken by the help of ashur, my lord, and i placed them in the temple of bit-khamri, belonging to my lord, vul, to remain there forever. [footnote : the particular sorts cannot be identified.] xlix since a holy place, a noble hall, i have thus consecrated for the use of the great gods, my lords anu and vul, and have laid down an adytum for their special worship, and have finished it successfully, and have delighted the hearts of their noble godships, may anu and vul preserve me in power. may they support the men of my government. may they establish the authority of my officers. may they bring the rain, the joy of the year, on the cultivated land and the desert during my time. in war and in battle may they preserve me victorious. many foreign countries, turbulent nations, and hostile kings i have reduced under my yoke; to my children and descendants may they keep them in firm allegiance. i will lead my steps, firm as the mountains, to the last days before ashur and their noble godships. l the list of my victories and the catalogue of my triumphs over foreigners hostile to ashur, which anu and vul have granted to my arms, i have inscribed on my tablets and cylinders, and i have placed them to the last days in the temple of my lords anu and vul, and the tablets of shamsi-vul, my ancestor, i have raised altars and sacrificed victims (before them), and set them up in their places. li in after-times, and in the latter days ...,[ ] if the temple of the great gods, my lords anu and vul, and these shrines should become old and fall into decay, may the prince who comes after me repair the ruins. may he raise altars and sacrifice victims before my tablets and cylinders, and may he set them up again in their places, and may he inscribe his name on them together with my name. as anu and vul, the great gods, have ordained, may he worship honestly with a good heart and full trust. [footnote : lacuna.] lii whoever shall abrade or injure my tablets and cylinders, or shall moisten them with water, or scorch them with fire, or expose them to the air, or in the holy place of god shall assign them a position where they cannot be seen or understood, or who shall erase the writing and inscribe his own name, or who shall divide the sculptures, and break them off from my tablets, liii anu and vul, the great gods, my lords, let them consign his name to perdition; let them curse him with an irrevocable curse; let them cause his sovereignty to perish; let them pluck out the stability of the throne of his empire; let not offspring survive him in the kingdom;[ ] let his servants be broken; let his troops be defeated; let him fly vanquished before his enemies. may vul in his fury tear up the produce of his land. may a scarcity of food and of the necessaries of life afflict his country. for one day may he not be called happy. may his name and his race perish in the land. in the month of _kuzallu_[ ] on the th day, in the high-priesthood of _ina-iliya-hallik,_ (entitled) _rabbi-turi._ [footnote : doubtful and faulty in text.] [footnote : chisleu.] the revolt in heaven translated by h. fox talbot, f.r.s. this curious narrative is found on a cuneiform tablet in the british museum. the original text is published in plate of delitzsch's work, "_assyrische lesestucke_." i gave a translation of it in the "transactions of the society of biblical archæology," vol. iv, pp. - . this tablet describes the revolt of the gods or angels against their creator. it seems to have been preceded by an account of the perfect harmony which existed in heaven previously. and here i would call to mind a noble passage in job, chap, xxxviii, which deserves particular attention, since it is not derived from the mosaic narrative but from some independent source, namely, that when god laid the foundations of the world, "the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of god shouted for joy." by "the sons of god" in this passage are to be understood the angels. in the beginning, therefore, according to this sacred author, all was joy and harmony and loyalty to god. but this state of union and happiness was not to last. at some unknown time, but before the creation of man, some of the angels ceased to worship their creator: thoughts of pride and ingratitude arose in their hearts, they revolted from god, and were by his just decree expelled from heaven. these were the angels of whom it is said in the book of jude that "they kept not their first estate, but left their own habitation." [footnote: jude .] the opinions of the fathers and of other religious writers on this mysterious subject it were useless to examine, since they admit that nothing can be certainly known about it. the opinion that one-third of the heavenly host revolted from their creator is founded on rev. xii. , where it is said: "and there appeared a dragon in heaven, having seven heads ... and his tail drew the third part of the stars of heaven and did cast them to the earth. and there was war in heaven. michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon fought and his angels. and prevailed not: neither was their place found any more in heaven. and the great dragon was cast out--he was cast out into the earth and his angels were cast out with him," the revelation of st. john was written in the first century, but some of the imagery employed may have been far more ancient, and for that reason more impressive to the religious mind of the age. the war between michael and the dragon bears much resemblance to the combat of bel and the dragon recounted on a chaldean tablet. [footnote: see g. smith, p. of his chaldean genesis.] and it is not unworthy of remark that the chaldean dragon had seven heads, like that spoken of in the revelation. [footnote: see r , col. ii. , and my assyrian glossary, no. .] at the creation harmony had prevailed in heaven. all the sons of god, says job, shouted for joy. what caused the termination of this blissful state? we are not informed, and it would be in vain to conjecture. but the babylonians have preserved to us a remarkable tradition, which is found in the tablet of page , and has not, i believe, been hitherto understood. it is unlike anything in the bible or in the sacred histories of other countries. while the host of heaven were assembled and were all engaged in singing hymns of praise to the creator, suddenly some evil spirit gave the signal of revolt. the hymns ceased in one part of the assembly, which burst forth into loud curses and imprecations on their creator. in his wrath he sounded a loud blast of the trumpet and drove them from his presence never to return. the revolt in heaven (the first four lines are broken. they related, no doubt, that a festival of praise and thanksgiving was being held in heaven, when this rebellion took place.) the divine being spoke three times, the commencement of a psalm. the god of holy songs, lord of religion and worship seated a thousand singers and musicians: and established a choral band who to his hymn were to respond in multitudes ... with a loud cry of contempt they broke up his holy song spoiling, confusing, confounding, his hymn of praise. the god of the bright crown [ ] with a wish to summon his adherents sounded a trumpet blast which would wake the dead, which to those rebel angels prohibited return, he stopped their service, and sent them to the gods who were his enemies.[ ] in their room he created mankind.[ ] the first who received life dwelt along with him. may he give them strength, never to neglect his word, following the serpent's voice, whom his hands had made. and may the god of divine speech [ ] expel from his five thousand [ ] that wicked thousand who in the midst of his heavenly son, had shouted evil blasphemies! the god ashur, who had seen the malice of those gods who deserted their allegiance to raise a rebellion, refused to go forth with them. (the remainder of the tablet, nine or ten lines more, is too much broken for translation.) [footnote : the assyrian scribe annotates in the margin that the same god is meant throughout, under all these different epithets.] [footnote : they were in future to serve the powers of evil.] [footnote : it will be observed that line says that mankind were created to fill up the void in creation which the ungrateful rebellion of the angels had caused. a friend has supplied me with some striking evidence that the mediæval church also held that opinion, though it was never elevated to the rank of an authorized doctrine.] [footnote : see note . this is another epithet.] [footnote : the total number of the gods is, i believe, elsewhere given as , .] the legend of the tower of babel translated by w. st. chad boscawen this legend is found on a tablet marked k, , , in the british museum. the story which the tablet contains appears to be the building of some great temple tower, apparently by command of a king. the gods are angry at the work, and so to put an end to it they confuse the speech of the builders. the tablet is in a very broken condition, only a few lines being in any way complete. the late mr. george smith has given a translation of the legend in his work on chaldean genesis, and i have published the text and translation in the fifth volume of "transactions of the society of biblical archæology." legend of the tower of babel column i ...[ ] them the father. (the thoughts) of his heart were evil ...[ ] the father of all the gods[ ] he turned from. (the thoughts) of his heart were evil[ ] ...[ ] babylon corruptly to sin went and small and great mingled on the mound.[ ] ...[ ] babylon corruptly to sin went and small and great mingled on the mound. [footnote : lacunæ.] [footnote : a title of anu.] [footnote : refers to the king who caused the people to sin.] [footnote : the verb used here is the same as in gen. xi. , [hebrew: bll].] column ii the king of the holy mound[ ] ...[ ] in front and anu lifted up ...[ ] to the good god his father..,[ ] then his heart also ...[ ] which carried a command ...[ ] at that time also ...[ ] he lifted it up ...[ ] davkina. their (work) all day they founded to their stronghold[ ] in the night entirely an end he made. in his anger also the secret counsel he poured out to scatter (abroad) his face he set he gave a command to make strange their speech[ ] ...[ ] their progress he impeded ...[ ]the altar (column iii is so broken only a few words remain, so i have omitted it.) [footnote : a title of anu.] [footnote : lacunæ.] [footnote : all these broken lines relate to council of gods?] [footnote : the tower.] [footnote : "uttaccira--melic-su-nu," "make hostile their council."] [footnote : lacunæ.] column iv [footnote: relates to the destruction of the tower by a storm.] in (that day) he blew and ...[ ] for future time the mountain ...[ ] nu-nam-nir[ ] went ...[ ] like heaven and earth he spake ...[ ] his ways they went ...[ ] violently they fronted against him [ ] he saw them and to the earth (descended) when a stop he did not make of the gods ...[ ] against the gods they revolted ...[ ] violence ...[ ] violently they wept for babylon[ ] very much they wept. and in the midst (the rest is wanting.) [footnote : lacunæ.] [footnote : the god of "no rule," or lawlessness.] [footnote : the builders continued to build.] [footnote : lamentations of the gods for the babylonians.] an accadian penitential psalm translated by rev. a.h. sayce, m.a. the following psalm for remission of sins is remarkable alike for its deeply spiritual tone and for its antiquity. as it is written in accadian, its composition must be referred to a date anterior to the seventeenth century b.c., when that language became extinct. an assyrian interlinear translation is attached to most of the lines; some, however, are left untranslated. the tablet is unfortunately broken in the middle, causing a lacuna in the text. similarities will be noticed between the language of the psalm and that of the psalms of the old testament, and one passage reminds us strongly of the words of christ in st. matthew xviii. . seven, it must be remembered, was a sacred number among the accadians. accadian poetry was characterized by a parallelism of ideas and clauses; and as this was imitated, both by the assyrians and by the jews, the striking resemblance between the form of accadian and hebrew poetry can be accounted for. some of the lines in the middle of the psalm have been previously translated by mr. fox talbot, in the "transactions of the society of biblical archæology," vol. ii, p. , and prof. schrader in his "_hollenfahrt der istar_," pp. - . a copy of the text is given in the fourth volume of the "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," plate . an accadian penitential psalm obverse of tablet the heart of my lord[ ] was wroth: to his place may he return. from the man that (sinned) unknowingly to his place may (my) god return. from him that (sinned) unknowingly to her place may (the) goddess return. may god who knoweth (that) he knew not to his place return. may the goddess[ ] who knoweth (that) he knew not to her place return. may the heart of my god to his place return. may the heart of my goddess to his place return. may my god and my goddess (unto their place) return. may god (unto his place) return. may the goddess (unto her place return). the transgression (that i committed my god) knew it. the transgression (that i committed my goddess knew it). the holy name (of my god i profaned?). the holy name (of my goddess i profaned?). (the next three lines are obliterated.) the waters of the sea (the waters of my tears) do i drink. that which was forbidden by my god with my mouth i ate. that which was forbidden by my goddess in my ignorance i trampled upon. o my lord, my transgression (is) great, many (are) my sins. o my god, my transgression (is) great, my sins (are many). o my goddess, my transgression (is) great, my sins (are many). o my god that knowest (that) i knew not, my transgression (is) great, my sins (are many). o my goddess, that knowest (that) i knew not, my transgression (is) great, my sins (are many). the transgression (that) i committed i knew not. the sin (that) i sinned i knew not. the forbidden thing did i eat. the forbidden thing did i trample upon. my lord in the wrath of his heart has punished me. god in the strength of his heart has overpowered me. the goddess upon me has laid affliction and in pain has set me. god who knew, (though) i knew not, hath pierced me. the goddess who knew (though) i knew not hath caused darkness. i lay on the ground and no man seized me by the hand.[ ] i wept,[ ] and my palms none took. [footnote : literally, "of my lord his heart."] [footnote : the accadian throughout has the word "mother" before "goddess."] [footnote : accadian, "extended the hand."] [footnote : accadian, "in tears [water of the eye] i dissolved myself."] reverse of tablet i cried aloud; there was none that would hear me. i am in darkness (and) trouble:[ ] i lifted not myself up. to my god my (distress) i referred; my prayer i addressed. the feet of my goddess i embraced. to (my) god, who knew (though) i knew not, (my prayer) i addressed. to (my) goddess, who knew (though i knew not, my prayer) i addressed. (the next four lines are lost.) how long o my god (shall i suffer?). how long o my goddess (shall i suffer?). how long o my god, who knewest (though) i knew not, shall (thy) strength (oppress me?). how long o my goddess, who knewest (though) i knew not, shall thy heart (be wroth?). of mankind thou writest the number and there is none that knoweth. of mankind the name (that) is fully proclaimed how can i know? whether it be afflicted or whether it be blessed there is none that knoweth. o lord, thy servant thou dost not restore.[ ] in the waters of the raging flood seize his hand. the sin (that) he has sinned to blessedness bring back. the transgression he has committed let the wind carry away. my manifold affliction like a garment destroy. o my god, seven times seven (are my) transgressions, my transgressions are before (me). (to be repeated) times.[ ] o my goddess, seven times seven (are my) transgressions. o god who knowest (that) i knew not, seven times seven (are my) transgressions. o goddess who knowest (that) i knew not, seven times seven (are my) transgressions. my transgressions are before (me): may thy judgment give (me) life. may thy heart like the heart of the mother of the setting day to its place return. (to be repeated) times.[ ] like the mother of the setting day (and) the father of the setting day to its place (may it return). for the tearful supplication of my heart times let the name be invoked of every god.[ ] peace afterward. _(colophon)_ like its old (copy) engraved and written. country of assur-bani-pal king of multitudes, king of assyria. [footnote : or more literally, "hiding." the verb that follows means "to lift self up so as to face another."] [footnote : in the assyrian "quiet."] [footnote : a rubrical direction.] [footnote : a rubrical direction.] the black obelisk inscription of shalmaneser ii translated by rev. a.h. sayce, m.a. this inscription is engraved on an obelisk of black marble, five feet in height, found by mr. layard in the centre of the mound at nimroud, and now in the british museum. each of its four sides is divided into five compartments of sculpture representing the tribute brought to the assyrian king by vassal princes, jehu of israel being among the number. shalmaneser, whose annals and conquests are recorded upon it, was the son of assur-natsir-pal, and died in b.c., after a reign of thirty-five years. a translation of the inscription was one of the first achievements of assyrian decipherment, and was made by sir. h. rawlinson; and dr. hincks shortly afterward (in ) succeeded in reading the name of jehu in it. m. oppert translated the inscription in his "_histoire des empires de chaldée et d'assyrie_," and m. ménant has given another rendering of it in his "_annales des rois d'assyrie_" ( ). a copy of the text will be found in layard's "inscriptions in the cuneiform character" ( ). black obelisk of shalmaneser face a assur, the great lord, the king of all the great gods; anu, king of the spirits of heaven and the spirits of earth, the god, lord of the world; bel, the supreme, father of the gods, the creator; hea, king of the deep, determiner of destinies, the king of crowns, drinking in brilliance; rimmon, the _crowned_ hero, lord of canals;[ ] the sun-god the judge of heaven and earth, the urger on of all; (merodach), prince of the gods, lord of battles; adar, the terrible, (lord) of the spirits of heaven and the spirits of earth, the exceeding strong god; nergal, the powerful (god), king of the battle; nebo, the bearer of the high sceptre, the god, the father above; beltis, the wife of bel, mother of the (great) gods; istar, sovereign of heaven and earth, who the face of heroism perfectest; the great (gods), determining destinies, making great my kingdom. (i am) shalmaneser, king of multitudes of men, prince (and) hero of assur, the strong king, king of all the four zones of the sun (and) of multitudes of men, the marcher over the whole world; son of assur-natsir-pal, the supreme hero, who his heroism over the gods has made good and has caused all the world[ ] to kiss his feet; [footnote : or, "fertility."] [footnote : or, "the countries the whole of them."] face b the noble offspring of tiglath-adar who has laid his yoke upon all lands hostile to him, and has swept (them) like a whirlwind. at the beginning of my reign; when on the throne of royalty mightily i had seated myself, the chariots of my host i collected. into the lowlands[ ] of the country of 'sime'si i descended. the city of aridu, the strong city of ninni, i took. in my first year the euphrates in its flood i crossed. to the sea of the setting sun[ ] i went. my weapons on the sea i rested. victims for my gods i took.[ ] to mount amanus [ ] i went up. logs of cedar-wood and pine-wood i cut. to the country of lallar i ascended. an image of my royalty in the midst (of it) i erected. in my second year to the city of tel-barsip i approached. the cities of akhuni the son of adin i captured. in his city i shut him up. the euphrates in its flood i crossed. the city of dahigu, a choice city of the hittites together with the cities which (were) dependent upon it i captured. in my third year akhuni the son of adin, from the face of my mighty weapons fled, and the city of tel-barsip, [footnote : or, "the descendings."] [footnote : that is, the mediterranean.] [footnote : namely, in sacrifice.] [footnote : "khamanu" in assyrian.] face c his royal city, he fortified. the euphrates i crossed. the city unto assyria i restored. i took it. (the town) which (is) on the further side of the euphrates which (is) upon the river 'sagurri, which the kings of the hittites call the city of pitru,[ ] for myself i took. at my return into the lowlands of the country of alzi i descended. the country of alzi i conquered. the countries of dayaeni (and) elam, (and) the city of arzascunu, the royal city of arame of the country of the armenians, the country of gozan (and) the country of khupuscia. during the eponymy of dayan-assur from the city of nineveh i departed. the euphrates in its upper part i crossed. after akhuni the son of adin i went. the heights on the banks of the euphrates as his stronghold he made. the mountains i attacked, i captured. akhuni with his gods, his chariots, his horses, his sons (and) his daughters i carried away. to my city assur i brought (them). in that same year the country of kullar i crossed. to the country of zamua of bit-ani i went down. the cities of nigdiara of the city of the idians (and) nigdima i captured. in my fifth year to the country of kasyari i ascended. the strongholds i captured. elkhitti of the serurians (in) his city i shut up. his tribute to a large amount i received. in my sixth year to the cities on the banks of the river balikhi [footnote : pethor in the old testament.] face d i approached. gi'ammu, their governor, i smote. to the city of tel-abil-akhi i descended. the euphrates in its upper part i crossed. the tribute of the kings of the hittites all of them i received. in those days rimmon-idri[ ] of damascus, irkhulina of hamath, and the kings of the hittites and of the sea-coasts to the forces of each other trusted, and to make war and battle against me came. by the command of assur, the great lord, my lord, with them i fought. a destruction of them i made. their chariots, their war-carriages, their war-material[ ] i took from them. , of their fighting men with arrows i slew. in my seventh year to the cities of khabini of the city of tel-abni i went. the city of tel-abni, his stronghold, together with the cities which (were) dependent on it i captured. to the head of the river, the springs of the tigris, the place where the waters rise,[ ] i went. the weapons of assur in the midst (of it) i rested. sacrifices for my gods i took. feasts and rejoicing i made. an image of my royalty of large size i constructed. the laws of assur my lord, the records of my victories, whatsoever in the world i had done, in the midst of it i wrote. in the middle (of the country) i set (it) up. [footnote : this is the ben-hadad of scripture whose personal name seems to have been rimmon-idri.] [footnote : or, "furniture of battle."] [footnote : or, "the place of the exit of the waters situated." the tablet is still to be seen near the town of egil.] face a, _base_ in my eighth year, merodach-suma-iddin king of gan-dunias[ ] did merodach-bila-yu'sate his _foster_-brother against him rebel; strongly had he fortified (the land). to exact punishment[ ] against merodach-suma-iddin i went. the city of the waters of the dhurnat[ ] i took. in my ninth campaign a second time to the land of accad i went. the city of gana-nate i besieged. merodach-bila-yu'sate exceeding fear of assur (and) merodach overwhelmed, and to save his life to the mountains he ascended. after him i rode. merodach-bila-yu'sate (and) the officers the rebels[ ] who (were) with him (with) arrows i slew. to the great fortresses i went. sacrifices in babylon, borsippa, (and) cuthah i made. thanksgivings to the great gods i offered up. to the country of kaldu [ ] i descended. their cities i captured. the tribute of the kings of the country of kaldu i received. the greatness of my arms as far as the sea overwhelmed. in my tenth year for the eighth time the euphrates i crossed. the cities of 'sangara of the city of the carchemishians i captured. to the cities of arame i approached. arne his royal city with of his (other) towns i captured. in my eleventh year for the ninth time the euphrates i crossed. cities to a countless number i captured. to the cities of the hittites of the land of the hamathites i went down. eighty-nine cities i took. rimmon-idri of damascus (and) twelve of the kings of the hittites with one another's forces strengthened themselves. a destruction of them i made. in my twelfth campaign for the tenth time the euphrates i crossed. to the land of pagar-khubuna i went. their spoil i carried away. in my thirteenth year to the country of yaeti i ascended. their spoil i carried away. in my fourteenth year the country i assembled; the euphrates i crossed. twelve kings against me had come. i fought. a destruction of them i made. in my fifteenth year among the sources of the tigris (and) the euphrates i went. an image of my majesty in their hollows i erected. in my sixteenth year the waters of the zab i crossed. to the country of zimri i went. merodach-mudammik king of the land of zimru to save his life (the mountains) ascended. his treasure his army (and) his gods to assyria i brought. yan'su son of khanban to the kingdom over them i raised.[ ] [footnote : that is, chaldea.] [footnote : or, "to return benefits."] [footnote : the tornadotus of classical geographers.] [footnote : or, "the lord of sin."] [footnote : this is the primitive chaldea. the caldai or chaldeans afterward overran babylonia and gave their name to it among classical writers.] [footnote : or, "i made."] face b, _base_ in my seventeenth year the euphrates i crossed. to the land of amanus i ascended. logs of _cedar_ i cut. in my eighteenth year for the sixteenth time the euphrates i crossed. hazael of damascus to battle came. , of his chariots, of his war-carriages with his camp i took from him. in my nineteenth campaign for the eighteenth[ ] time the euphrates i crossed. to the land of amanus i ascended. logs of cedar i cut. in my th year for the th time the euphrates i crossed. to the land of kahue i went down. their cities i captured. their spoil i carried off. in my st campaign, for the st time the euphrates i crossed. to the cities of hazael of damascus i went. four of his fortresses i took. the tribute of the tyrians, the zidonians (and) the gebalites i received. in my d campaign for the d time the euphrates i crossed. to the country of tabalu[ ] i went down. in those days (as regards) the kings of the country of tabalu their wealth i received. to conquer the mines of silver, of salt and of stone for sculpture i went. in my d year the euphrates i crossed. the city of uetas, his strong city, (which belonged) to lalla of the land of the milidians i captured. the kings of the country of tabalu had set out. their tribute i received. in my th year, the lower zab i crossed. the land of khalimmur i passed through. to the land of zimru i went down. yan'su king of the zimri from the face of my mighty weapons fled and to save his life ascended (the mountains). the cities of 'sikhisatakh, bit-tamul, bit-sacci (and) bit-sedi, his strong cities, i captured. his fighting men i slew. his spoil i carried away. the cities i threw down, dug up, (and) with fire burned. the rest of them to the mountains ascended. the peaks of the mountains i attacked, i captured. their fighting men i slew. their spoil (and) their goods i caused to be brought down. from the country of zimru i departed. the tribute of kings of the country of par'sua[ ] i received. from the country of par'sua i departed. to the strongholds of the country of the amadai,[ ] (and) the countries of arazias (and) kharkhar i went down. the cities of cua-cinda, khazzanabi, ermul, (and) cin-ablila with the cities which were dependent on them i captured. their fighting men [footnote : the king counts his passage of the river on his return from syria the seventeenth time of his crossing the euphrates.] [footnote : the tubal of the old testament, and tibareni of classical geographers.] [footnote : the parthia of classical authors.] [footnote : these seem to be the madai or medes of later inscriptions. this is the first notice that we have of them. it will be observed that they have not yet penetrated into media but are still eastward of the parthians.] face c, _base_ i slew. their spoil i carried away. the cities i threw down, dug up (and) burned with fire. an image of my majesty in the country of kharkhara i set up. yan'su son of khaban with his abundant treasures his gods, his sons, his daughters, his soldiers in large numbers i carried off. to assyria i brought (them). in my th campaign the euphrates at its flood i crossed. the tribute of the kings of the hittites, all of them, i received. the country of amanus i traversed. to the cities of cati of the country of the kahuians i descended. the city of timur, his strong city i besieged, i captured. their fighting men i slew. its spoil i carried away. the cities to a countless number i threw down, dug up, (and) burned with fire. on my return, the city of muru, the strong city of arame the son of agu'si, (as) a possession for myself i took. its entrance-space i marked out. a palace, the seat of my majesty, in the middle (of it) i founded. in my th year for the seventh time the country of the amanus i traversed. for the fourth time to the cities of cati of the country of the kahuians i went. the city of tanacun, the strong city of tulca i approached. exceeding fear of assur my lord overwhelmed him and (when) he had come out my feet he took. his hostages i took. silver, gold, iron, oxen, (and) sheep, (as) his tribute i received. from the city of tanacun i departed. to the country of lamena i went. the men collected themselves. an inaccessible mountain they occupied. the peak of the mountain i assailed, i took. their fighting men i slew. their spoil, their oxen, their sheep, from the midst of the mountain i brought down. their cities i threw down, dug up (and) burned with fire. to the city of khazzi i went. my feet they took. silver (and) gold, their tribute, i received. cirri, the brother of cati to the sovereignty over them i set. on my return to the country of amanus i ascended. beams of cedar i cut, i removed, to my city assur[ ] i brought. in my th year the chariots of my armies i mustered. dayan-assur the tartan,[ ] the commander of the wide-spreading army, at the head of my army to the country of armenia i urged, i sent. to bit-zamani he descended. into the low ground to the city of ammas he went down. the river arzane he crossed. 'seduri of the country of the armenians heard, and to the strength of his numerous host he trusted; and to make conflict (and) battle against me he came. with him i fought. a destruction of him i made. with the flower of his youth [ ] his broad fields i filled. in my th year when in the city of calah i was stopping news had been brought (me, that) men of the patinians lubarni their lord had slain (and) 'surri (who was) not heir to the throne to the kingdom had raised. dayan-assur the tartan, the commander of the wide-spreading army at the head of my host (and) my camp[ ] i urged, i sent. the euphrates in its flood he crossed. in the city of cinalua his royal city a slaughter he made. (as for) 'surri the usurper, exceeding fear of assur my lord overwhelmed him, and the death of his destiny he went.[ ] the men of the country of the patinians from before the sight of my mighty weapons [footnote : the ellasar of genesis, now kalah shergat.] [footnote : "turtanu" ("chief prince") in assyrian.] [footnote : or, "the chiefs of his young warriors."] [footnote : the word properly means "baggage." and sometimes signifies "standard," which may be the translation here.] [footnote : that is, he died as was fated.] face d, _base_ fled, and the children of 'surri together with the soldiers, the rebels, (whom) they had taken they delivered to me. those soldiers on stakes i fixed. 'sa'situr of the country of uzza my feet took. to the kingdom over them i placed (him). silver, gold, lead, bronze, iron, (and) the horns of wild bulls to a countless number i received. an image of my majesty of great size i made. in the city of cinalua his royal city in the temple of his gods i set it up. in my th year (my) army (and) camp i urged, i sent. to the country of cirkhi[ ] i ascended. their cities i threw down, dug up, (and) burned with fire. their country like a thunderstorm i swept. exceeding fear over them i cast. in my th year when in the city of calah i was stopping, dayan-assur the tartan, the commander of the wide-spreading army at the head of my army i urged, i sent. the river zab he crossed. to the midst of the cities of the city of khupuscã he approached. the tribute of datana of the city of the khupuscians i received. from the midst of the cities of the khupuscians i departed.[ ] to the midst of the cities of maggubbi of the country of the madakhirians he approached. the tribute i received. from the midst of the cities of the country of the madakhirians he departed. to the midst of the cities of udaci of the country of the mannians he approached. udaci of the country of the mannians from before the sight of my mighty weapons fled, and the city of zirta, his royal city, he abandoned. to save his life he ascended (the mountains). after him i pursued. his oxen, his sheep, his spoil, to a countless amount i brought back. his cities i threw down, dug up, (and) burned with fire. from the country of the mannians[ ] he departed. to the cities of sulu'sunu of the country of kharru he approached. the city of mairsuru, his royal city, together with the cities which depended on it he captured. (to) sulu'sunu together with his sons mercy i granted. to his country i restored him. a payment (and) tribute of horses i imposed. my yoke upon him i placed. to the city of surdira he approached. the tribute of arta-irri of the city of the surdirians i received. to the country of par'sua[ ] i went down. the tribute of the kings of the country of par'sua i received. (as for) the rest of the country of par'sua which did not reverence assur, its cities i captured. their spoil, their plunder to assyria i brought. in my st year, the second time, the cyclical-feast of assur and rimmon i had inaugurated.[ ] at the time while i was stopping in the city of calah, dayan-assur the tartan, the commander of my wide-spreading army, at the head of my army (and) my camp i urged, i sent. to the cities of datâ of the country of khupuscä he approached. the tribute i received. to the city of zapparia, a stronghold of the country of muzatsira, i went. the city of zapparia together with forty-six cities of the city of the muzatsirians i captured. up to the borders of the country of the armenians i went. fifty of their cities i threw down, dug up (and) burned with fire. to the country of guzani[ ] i went down. the tribute of upu of the country of the guzanians, of the country of the mannians, of the country of the buririans, of the country of the kharranians,[ ] of the country of the sasganians, of the country of the andians,[ ] (and) of the country of the kharkhanians, oxen, sheep, (and) horses trained to the yoke i received. to the cities of the country of ... i went down. the city of perria (and) the city of sitivarya, its strongholds, together with cities which depended upon it, i threw down, dug up (and) burned with fire. exceeding fear over them i cast. to the cities of the parthians he went. the cities of bustu, sala-khamanu (and) cini-khamanu, fortified towns, together with cities which depended upon them i captured. their fighting-men i slew. their spoil i carried off. to the country of zimri i went down. exceeding fear of assur (and) merodach overwhelmed them. their cities they abandoned. to inaccessible mountains they ascended. two hundred and fifty of their cities i threw down, dug up (and) burned with fire. into the lowground of sime'si at the head of the country of khalman i went down. [footnote : the mountainous country near the sources of the tigris.] [footnote : that is in the person of his commander-in-chief, dayan-assur.] [footnote : the modern van.] [footnote : parthia.] [footnote : this refers to his assuming the eponymy a second time after completing a reign of thirty years. at this period the assyrian kings assumed the eponymy on first ascending the throne, and the fact that shalmaneser took the same office again in his thirty-first year shows that a cycle of thirty years was in existence.] [footnote : the gozan of the old testament.] [footnote : haran or harran in the old testament; called carrhæ by the classical geographers.] [footnote : andia was afterward incorporated into assyria by sargon.] the epigraphs accompanying the sculptures i the tribute of 'su'a of the country of the guzanians: silver, gold, lead, articles of bronze, sceptres for the king's hand, horses (and) camels with double backs: i received. ii the tribute of yahua[ ] son of khumri[ ]: silver, gold, bowls of gold, vessels of gold, goblets of gold, pitchers of gold, lead, sceptres for the king's hand, (and) staves: i received. iii the tribute of the country of muzri[ ]: camels with double backs, an ox of the river 'saceya,[ ] horses, _wild asses, elephants_, (and) apes: i received. iv the tribute of merodach-pal-itstsar of the country of the 'sukhians[ ]: silver, gold, pitchers of gold, tusks of the wild bull, staves, antimony, garments of many colors, (and) linen: i received. v the tribute of garparunda of the country of the patinians: silver, gold, lead, bronze, gums, articles of bronze, tusks of wild bulls, (and) _ebony_[ ]: i received. [footnote : jehu.] [footnote : omri.] [footnote : this is the armenian muzri, not egypt.] [footnote : this would seem from the sculpture to mean a rhinoceros. lenormant, however, identifies it with the yak.] [footnote : nomadic tribes in the southwest of babylonia.] [footnote : the word means literally "pieces of strong wood."] inscription of nebuchadnezzar translated by rev. j.m. rodwell, m.a. babylonian inscriptions are by no means so replete with interest as the assyrian. the latter embrace the various expeditions in which the assyrian monarchs were engaged, and bring us into contact with the names and locality of rivers, cities, and mountain-ranges, with contemporary princes in judea and elsewhere, and abound in details as to domestic habits, civil usages, and the implements and modes of warfare. but the babylonian inscriptions refer mainly to the construction of temples, palaces, and other public buildings, and at the same time present especial difficulties in their numerous architectural terms which it is often impossible to translate with any certainty. they are, however, interesting as records of the piety and religious feelings of the sovereigns of babylon, and as affording numerous topographical notices of that famous city; while the boastful language of the inscription will often remind the reader of nebuchadnezzar's words in dan. iv. : "is not this great babylon, that i have built for the house of the kingdom, by the might of my power, and for the honor of my majesty?" compare column vii, line . the reign of nebuchadnezzar extended from b.c. to . in b.c. he laid siege to jerusalem ( kings xxiv.) and made jehoiachin prisoner, and in again captured the city, and carried zedekiah, who had rebelled against him, captive to babylon ( kings xxv.). josephus gives an account of his expeditions against tyre and egypt, which are also mentioned with many details in ezek. xxvii.-xxix. the name nebuchadnezzar, or more accurately nebuchadrezzar (jer. xxi. , , etc.), is derived from the jewish scriptures. but in the inscriptions it reads nebo-kudurri-ussur, _i.e.,_ "may nebo protect the crown"; a name analogous to that of his father nebo(nabu)-habal-ussur. ("nebo protect the son") and to that of belshazzar, _i.e.,_ "bel protect the prince." the phonetic writing of nebuchadnezzar is _"an-pa-sa-du-sis,"_ each of which syllables has been identified through the syllabaries. the word "_kudurri_" is probably the [hebrew: kether] of esther vi. , and the [greek: kidaris] of the greeks. the inscriptions of which a translation follows was found at babylon by sir harford jones bridges, and now forms part of the india house collection. it is engraved on a short column of black basalt, and is divided into ten columns, containing lines. it may be worth while to remark that in the name given to the prophet daniel, belteshazzar, _i.e.,_ balat-su-ussur ("preserve thou his life"), and in abednego ("servant of nebo"), we have two of the component parts of the name of nebuchadnezzar himself. inscription of nebuchadnezzar column i nebuchadnezzar king of babylon, glorious prince, worshipper of marduk, adorer of the lofty one, glorifier of nabu, the exalted, the possessor of intelligence, who the processions of their divinities hath increased; a worshipper of their lordships, firm, not to be destroyed; who for the embellishment of bit-saggatu and bit-zida[ ] appointed days hath set apart, and the shrines of babylon and of borsippa hath steadily increased; exalted chief, lord of peace, embellisher of bit-saggatu and bit-zida, the valiant son of nabopolassar king of babylon am i. when he, the lord god my maker made me, the god merodach, he deposited my germ in my mother's (womb): then being conceived i was made. under the inspection of assur my judge the processions of the god i enlarged, (namely) of merodach great lord, the god my maker. his skilful works highly have i glorified; and of nebo his eldest son exalter of my royalty the processions (in honor of)[ ] his exalted deity i firmly established. with all my heart firmly (in) worship of their deities i uprose in reverence for nebo their lord. whereas merodach, great lord, the head of my ancient royalty, hath empowered me over multitudes of men, and (whereas) nebo bestower of thrones in heaven and earth, for the sustentation of men, a sceptre of righteousness hath caused my hand to hold; now i, that sacred way for the resting-place of their divinities, for a memorial of all their names, as a worshipper of nebo, yav and istar, for merodach my lord i strengthened. its threshold i firmly laid, and my devotion of heart he accepted, and him did i proclaim ... lord of all beings, and[ ] as prince of the lofty house, and thou, (o nebuchadnezzar) hast proclaimed the name of him who has been beneficent unto thee. his name, (o god,) thou wilt preserve, the path of righteousness thou hast prescribed to him. i, a prince, and thy worshipper am the work of thy hand; thou hast created me, and[ ] the empire over multitudes of men thou hast assigned me, according to thy favor, o lord, which thou hast accorded to them all.[ ] may thy lofty lordship be exalted! in the worship of thy divinity may it subsist! in my heart may it continue, and my life which to thee is devoted _(continued on column ii_.) [footnote : two of the principal temples of babylon. the former occurs below, col. ii. , where it is followed by the epithet, "temple of his power." dr. oppert always renders it "la pyramide et la tour."] [footnote : literally, "the goings." compare ps. lxviii. : "they have seen thy goings, o god," i.e., processions.] [footnote : of this line mr. norris (dict., p. ) states "that he cannot suggest any rendering."] [footnote : it seems as if the hand were addressed.] [footnote : i.e., "in making me their ruler."] column ii mayest thou bless! he, the chief, the honorable, the prince of the gods, the great merodach, my gracious lord, heard and received my prayer; he favored it, and by his exalted power, reverence for his deity placed he in my heart: to bear his tabernacle he hath made my heart firm, with reverence for thy power, for exalted service, greatly and eternally. the foundation of his temple it was which from the upper waters to the lower waters in a remote way, in a spot exposed to winds, in a place whose pavements had been broken, low, dried up, a rugged way, a difficult path, i extended. the disobedient i stirred up, and i collected the poor and gave full directions (for the work) and in numbers i supported them. wares and ornaments for the women i brought forth, silver, molten gold, precious stones, metal, _umritgana_ and cedar woods, (however their names be written) a splendid abundance, the produce of mountains, sea clay,[ ] beautiful things in abundance, riches and sources of joy, for my city babylon, into his presence have i brought for bit-saggatu the temple of his power, ornaments for dakan[ ] bit-kua, the shrine of merodach, lord of the house of the gods, i have made conspicuous with fine linen[ ] and its seats with splendid gold, as for royalty and deity, with lapis lazuli and alabaster blocks[ ] i carefully covered them over; a gate of passage, the gate beautiful,[ ] and the gate of bit-zida and bit-saggatu i caused to be made brilliant as the sun. a fulness of the treasures of countries i accumulated;[ ] around the city it was placed as an ornament, when at the festival of lilmuku at the beginning of the year, on the eighth day (and) eleventh day, the divine prince, deity of heaven and earth, the lord god, they raised within it. (the statue) of the god el, the beauty of the sphere, reverently they bring; treasure have they displayed before it, a monument to lasting days, a monument of my life. they also placed within it _(continued on column iii_.) [footnote : mr. norris conjectures "amber."] [footnote : dagon.] [footnote : "sassanis." the root is probably identical with the hebrew "shesh," "fine linen"; thus in ex. xxvi. i: "thou shalt make the tabernacle with ten curtains of fine twined linen."] [footnote : these are found still in the ruins of babylon.] [footntoe : compare the beautiful gate of the jewish temple.] [footnote : mr. norris in his dictionary professes his inability to master the first words of this line, p. . the same remark applies to line . the above rendering is suggested to me by mr. g. smith.] column iii his altar, an altar of royalty; an altar of lordship, (for) the chief of the gods, the prince merodach, whose fashion the former prince had fashioned in silver, with bright gold accurately weighed out i overlaid. beautiful things for the temple bit-saggatu seen at its very summit, the shrine of merodach, with statues and marbles i embellished as the stars of heaven. the fanes of babylon i built, i adorned. of the house, the foundation of the heaven and earth, i reared the summit with blocks of noble lapis lazuli: to the construction of bit-saggatu my heart uplifted me; in abundance i wrought the best of my pine trees which from lebanon together with tall _babil-_wood i brought, for the portico of the temple of merodach: the shrine of his lordship i made good, and interior walls with pine and tall cedar woods: the portico of the temple of merodach, with brilliant gold i caused to cover, the lower thresholds, the cedar awnings, with gold and precious stones i embellished: in the erection of bit-saggatu i proceeded: i supplicated the king of gods, the lord of lords: in borsippa, the city of his loftiness, , i raised bit-zida: a durable house in the midst thereof i caused to be made. with silver, gold, precious stones, bronze, _ummakana_ and pine woods, those thresholds i completed: the pine wood portico of the shrine of nebo with gold i caused to cover, the pine wood portico of the gate of the temple of merodach i caused to overlay with bright silver. the bulls and columns of the gate of the shrine the thresholds, the _sigari_ of _ri-_wood, conduits of _babnaku_ wood and their statues with cedar wood awnings of lofty building, and silver, i adorned. the avenues of the shrine and the approach to the house, of conspicuous brick sanctuaries in its midst with perforated silver work. bulls, columns, doorways, , in marble beautifully i built; , i erected a shrine and with rows of wreathed work i filled it: the fanes of borsippa i made and embellished; the temple of the seven spheres ...[ ] with bricks of noble lapis lazuli i reared its summit: the tabernacle of nahr-kanul the chariot of his greatness _(continued on column iv_.) [footnote : lacuna.] column iv the tabernacle, the shrine lilmuku, the festival of babylon, , his pageant of dignity within it, i caused to decorate with beryls and stones. a temple for sacrifices, the lofty citadel of bel and merodach, god of gods, a threshold of joy and supremacy among angels and spirits, with the stores of babylon, with cement and brick, like a mountain i erected. a great temple of ninharissi[ ] in the centre of babylon to the great goddess the mother who created me, in babylon i made. to nebo of lofty intelligence who hath bestowed (on me) the sceptre of justice, to preside over all peoples, a temple of rule over men, and a site for this his temple , in babylon, of cement and brick the fashion i fashioned. , to the moon-god, the strengthener of my hands a large house of alabaster as his temple in babylon i made. to the sun, the judge supreme who perfects good in my body, a house for that guide of men, even his house' , in babylon, of cement and brick, skilfully did i make. to the god yav, establisher of fertility in my land, bit-numkan as his temple in babylon i built. to the goddess gula, the regulator and benefactress of my life, bit-samit, and bit-haris the lofty, , as fanes in babylon, in cement and brick strongly did i build. to the divine lady of bit anna, my gracious mistress, bit-kiku in front of her house so as to strengthen the wall of babylon i skilfully constructed. , to ninip the breaker of the sword of my foes a temple in borsippa i made; and to the lady gula[ ] the beautifier of my person[ ] bit-gula, bit-tila, bit-ziba-tila, her three temples in borsippa i erected: to the god yav who confers the fertilizing rain upon my land, , his house (also) in borsippa i strongly built: to the moon-god who upholds the fulness of my prosperity bit-ti-anna[ ] as his temple, on the mound near bit-ziba i beautifully constructed: , imgur-bel and nimetti-belkit the great walls of babylon, ...[ ] i built, which nabopolassar king, king of babylon, the father who begat me, had commenced but not completed their beauty _(continued on column v_.) [footnote : wife of the sun.] [footnote : in i mich. iv. . gula is said to be the wife of the southern sun.] [footnote : or, "the favorer of my praises."] [footnote : the goddess anna is identical with the nana whose image was by her own command restored by assurbanipal to the temple of bit-anna after an absence in elam of , years. see smith's "assurb.," pp. , .] [footnote : lacuna.] column v its fosse he dug and of two high embankments in cement and brick he finished the mass: , an embankment for pathways he made, , buttresses of brick beyond the euphrates , he constructed, but did not complete: , the rest from ...[ ] the best of their lands i accumulated: a place for sacrifice, as ornament, , as far as aibur-sabu[ ] near babylon opposite the principal gate with brick and _durmina-turda_ stone as a shrine of the great lord, the god merodach i built as a house for processions. , i his eldest son, the chosen of his heart, , imgur-bel and nimetti-bel , the great walls of babylon, completed: buttresses for the embankment of its fosse, and two long embankments with cement and brick i built, and with the embankment my father had made , i joined them; and to the city for protection , i brought near an embankment of enclosure beyond the river, westward. the wall of babylon , i carried round aibur-sabu in the vicinity of babylon: for a shrine of the great lord merodach , the whole enclosure i filled (with buildings) with brick made of _kamina-turda_ stone and brick of stone cut out of mountains. , aibur-sabu from the high gate, , as far as istar-sakipat i made, , for a shrine for his divinity i made good, and with what my father had made , i joined, and built it; , , and the access to istar-sakipat i made, , which is imgur-bel and nimetti-bel, the great gates, the whole temple of the gods, , in completeness near to babylon i brought down; , the materials of those great gates i put together and _(continued on column vi_.) [footnote : lacuna.] [footnote : an ornamental piece of water near babylon.] column vi their foundations opposite to the waters , in cement and brick i founded, and of strong stone of _zamat-hati,_ bulls and images, the building of its interior skilfully i constructed: , , tall cedars for their porticos i arranged, _ikki_ wood, cedar wood, with coverings of copper, on domes and arches: , work in bronze i overlaid substantially on its gates, , bulls of strong bronze and molten images for their thresholds, strongly. those large gates for the admiration of multitudes of men with wreathed work i filled: the abode of imzu-bel the invincible castle of babylon, which no previous king had effected, , cubits complete, the walls of babylon whose banner is invincible, as a high fortress by the ford of the rising sun, i carried round babylon. its fosse i dug and its mass with cement and brick , i reared up and a tall tower at its side like a mountain i built. , the great gates whose walls i constructed with _ikki_ and pine woods and coverings of copper i overlaid them, to keep off enemies from the front of the wall of unconquered babylon. , great waters like the might of the sea i brought near in abundance and their passing by was like the passing by of the great billows of the western ocean: , passages through them were none, , but heaps of earth i heaped up, and embankments of brickwork i caused to be constructed. , the fortresses i skilfully strengthened and the city of babylon i fitted to be a treasure-city. the handsome pile , the fort of borsippa i made anew: , its fosse i dug out and in cement and brick i reared up its mass nebuchadnezzar _(continued on column vii._) column vii king of babylon whom merodach, the sun, the great lord, for the holy places of his city babylon hath called, am i: and bit-saggatu and bit-zida like the radiance of the sun i restored: the fanes of the great gods i completely brightened. at former dates from the days of old to the days ...[ ] of nabopolassar king of babylon the exalted father who begat me, many a prince who preceded me , whose names el had proclaimed for royalty for the city, my city, the festivals of these gods in the perfected places a princely temple, a large temple did they make and erected it as their dwelling-places. , their spoils in the midst they accumulated, they heaped up, and their treasures for the festival lilmuku of the good lord, merodach god of gods they transferred into the midst of babylon; , when at length merodach who made me for royalty and the god nero his mighty son, committed his people to me as precious lives. highly have i exalted their cities; (but) above babylon and borsippa i have not added a city in the realm of babylonia as a city of my lofty foundation. a great temple, a house of admiration for men, , a vast construction, a lofty pile, , a palace of my royalty for the land of babylon, in the midst of the city of babylon , from imgur bel to libit-higal the ford of the sun-rise, from the bank of the euphrates as far as aibur-sabu which nabopolassar king of babylon the father who begat me , made in brick and raised up in its midst, but whose foundation was damaged by waters and floods , at bit-imli near babylon, , and the gates of that palace were thrown down, , of this the structure with brickwork i repaired with its foundation and boundary wall, and a depth of waters i collected: , then opposite the waters i laid its foundation and with cement and brick _(continued on column viii_.) [footnote : lacuna.] column viii , i skilfully surrounded it; , tall cedars for its porticos i fitted; , _ikki_ and cedar woods with layers of copper, on domes and arches , and with bronze work, i strongly overlaid its gates with silver, gold, precious stones, , whatsoever they call them, in heaps; i valiantly collected spoils; as an adornment of the house were they arranged, and were collected within it; , trophies, abundance, royal treasures, i accumulated and gathered together. as to the moving of my royalty to any other city, there has not arisen a desire: among any other people no royal palace have i built: the merchandise and treasures of my kingdom , , i did not deposit within the provinces of babylon: a pile for my residence , to grace my royalty was not found: therefore with reverence for merodach my lord, , the exterior and interior in babylon as his treasure city , and for the elevation of the abode of my royalty his shrine i neglected not: its weak parts which were not completed, its compartments that were not remembered, as a securely compacted edifice , i dedicated and set up as a preparation for war , by imgur bel, the fortress of invincible babylon, cubits in its completeness, a wall of nimitti-bel an outwork of babylon , for defence. two lofty embankments, in cement and brick, a fortress like a mountain i made, and in their sub-structure i built a brickwork; then on its summit a large edifice for the residence of my royalty , with cement and brick i skilfully built and brought it down by the side of the temple: and in the exact middle, on the second day its foundation in a solid depth , i made good and its summit i carried round; and on the th day its beauty _(continued on column ix_.) column ix i skilfully completed and exalted as an abode of royalty. , tall pines, the produce of lofty mountains, thick _asuhu_ wood , and _surman_ wood in choice pillars for its covered porticos i arranged. _ikki_ and _musritkanna_ woods cedar and _surman_ woods brought forth, and in heaps, with a surface of silver and gold and with coverings of copper, , on domes and arches, and with works of metal its gates i strongly overlaid and completely with _zamat_-stone i finished off its top. , a strong wall in cement and brick like a mountain i carried round , a wall, a brick fortress, a great fortress with long blocks of stone , gatherings from great lands i made , and like hills i upraised its head. , that house for admiration i caused to build and for a banner to hosts of men: with carved work i fitted it; the strong power of reverence for the presence of royalty environs its walls; , the least thing not upright enters it not, that evil may not make head. the walls of the fortress of babylon , its defence in war i raised and the circuit of the city of babylon. , i have strengthened skilfully. to merodach my lord my hand i lifted: o merodach the lord, chief of the gods, , a surpassing prince thou hast made me, and empire over multitudes of men, , hast intrusted to me as precious lives; thy power have i extended on high, , over babylon thy city, before all mankind. no city of the land have i exalted , as was exalted the reverence of thy deity: i caused it to rest: and may thy power , bring its treasures abundantly to my land. i, whether as king and embellisher, am the rejoicer of thy heart or whether as high priest appointed, embellishing all thy fortresses, (_continued on column x_.) column x , for thy glory, o exalted merodach a house have i made. may its greatness advance! may its fulness increase! , in its midst abundance may it acquire! may its memorials be augmented! may it receive within itself the abundant tribute , of the kings of nations and of all peoples![ ] , from the west to the east by the rising sun may i have no foemen! may they not be multiplied , within, in the midst thereof, forever, over the dark races may he rule! [footnote : compare dan. i. , "he brought the vessels into the treasure-house of his god."] accadian poem on the seven evil spirits translated by rev. a.h. sayce, m.a. the following poem is one of the numerous bilingual texts, written in the original accadian with an interlinear assyrian translation, which have been brought from the library of assur-bani-pal, at kouyunjik. the seven evil spirits who are mentioned in it are elsewhere described as the seven storm-clouds or winds whose leader seems to have been the dragon tiamat ("the deep") defeated by bel-merodach in the war of the gods. it was these seven storm-spirits who were supposed to attack the moon when it was eclipsed, as described in an accadian poem translated by mr. fox talbot in a previous volume of "records of the past." here they are regarded as the allies of the incubus or nightmare. we may compare them with the maruts or storm-gods of the rig-veda (see max müller, "rig-veda-sanhita: the sacred hymns of the brahmans translated and explained," vol. i). the author of the present poem seems to have been a native of the babylonian city of eridu, and his horizon was bounded by the mountains of susiania, over whose summits the storms raged from time to time. a fragment of another poem relating to eridu is appended, which seems to celebrate a temple similar to that recorded by maimonides in which the babylonian gods gathered round the image of the sun-god to lament the death of tammuz. a copy of the cuneiform text will be found in the "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. iv, pl. . m. fr. lenormant has translated a portion of it in "_la magie chez les chaldéens"_ pp. , . accadian poem on the seven evil spirits obverse (in) the earth their borders were taken, and that god[ ] came not forth. from the earth he came not forth, (and) their power was baneful. the heaven like a vault they extended and that which had no exit they opened.[ ] among the stars of heaven their watch they kept not, in watching (was) their office. the mighty hero[ ] to heaven they exalted, and his father he knew not.[ ] the fire-god on high, the supreme, the first-born, the mighty, the divider of the supreme crown of anu! the fire-god the light that exalts him with himself he exalts. baleful (are) those seven, destroyers. for his ministers in his dwelling he chooses (them). o fire-god, those seven how were they born, how grew they up? those seven in the mountain of the sunset were born. those seven in the mountain of the sunrise grew up. in the hollows of the earth have they their dwelling. on the high-places of the earth are they proclaimed. as for them in heaven and earth immense (is) their habitation. among the gods their couch they have not. their name in heaven (and) earth exists not. seven they are: in the mountain of the sunset do they rise. seven they are: in the mountain of the sunrise did they set. into the hollows of the earth do they penetrate.[ ] on the high places of the earth did they ascend. as for them, goods they have not, in heaven and earth they are not known.[ ] unto merodach[ ] draw near, and this word may he say unto thee.[ ] of those baleful seven, as many as he sets before thee, their might may he give thee, according to the command of his blessed mouth, (he who is) the supreme judge of anu. the fire-god unto merodach draws near, and this word he saith unto thee. in the pavilion, the resting-place of might, this word he hears, and to his father hea[ ] to his house he descends, and speaks: o my father, the fire-god unto the rising of the sun has penetrated, and these secret words has uttered. learning the story of those seven, their places grant thou to another. enlarge the ears, o son of eridu.[ ] hea his son merodach answered: my son, those seven dwell in earth; those seven from the earth have issued. [footnote : that is, the god of fire.] [footnote : the assyrian has, "unto heaven that which was not seen they raised."] [footnote : the assyrian adds; "the first-born supreme."] [footnote : in the accadian text, "they knew not."] [footnote : in the accadian, "cause the foot to dwell."] [footnote : in the assyrian, "learned."] [footnote : in the accadian text, merodach, the mediator and protector of mankind, is called "protector of the covenant."] [footnote : that is, the fire-god.] [footnote : hea, the god of the waters, was the father of merodach, the sun-god.] [footnote : "eridu," the "rata" of ptolemy, was near the junction of the euphrates and tigris, on the arabian side of the river. it was one of the oldest cities of chaldea.] reverse those seven in the earth were born, those seven in the earth grew up. the forces of the deep for war[ ] have drawn near. go, my son merodach! (for) the laurel, the baleful tree that breaks in pieces the incubi, the name whereof hea remembers in his heart. in the mighty enclosure, the girdle of eridu which is to be praised, to roof and foundation may the fire ascend and to (work) evil may those seven never draw near. like a broad scimitar in a broad place bid (thine) hand rest; and in circling fire by night and by day[ ] on the (sick) man's head may it abide. at night mingle the potion and at dawn in his hand let him raise (it). in the night a precept[ ] in a holy book,[ ] in bed, on the sick man's head let them place.[ ] the hero (merodach) unto his warriors sends: let the fire-god seize on the incubus. those baleful seven may he remove and their bodies may he bind. during the day the sickness (caused by) the incubus (let him) overcome. may the fire-god bring back the mighty powers to their foundations. may nin-ci-gal [ ] the wife of (hea) establish before her the _bile_ (of the man). burn up the sickness[ ] ... may nin-akha-kuddu [ ] seize upon his body and abide upon his head, according to the word of nin-akha-kuddu, (in) the enclosure of eridu. (in) the mighty girdle of the deep and of eridu may she remember his return (to health). in (her) great watch may she keep (away) the incubus supreme among the gods (that is) upon his head, and in the night may she watch him. (by) night and day to the prospering hands of the sun-god may she intrust him. _conclusion_. (in) eridu a dark pine grew, in a holy place it was planted. its (crown) was white crystal which toward the deep spread. the ... [ ] of hea (was) its pasturage in eridu, a canal full (of waters). its seat (was) the (central) place of this earth.[ ] its shrine (was) the couch of mother zicum. [ ] the ...[ ] of its holy house like a forest spread its shade; there (was) none who within entered not. (it was the seat) of the mighty the mother, begetter of anu.[ ] within it (also was) tammuz.[ ] (of the two next and last lines only the last word, "the universe," remains.) [footnote : literally, "warlike expedition."] [footnote : in the accadian, "day (and) night."] [footnote : "masal" (mashal), as in hebrew, "a proverb."] [footnote : literally, "tablet."] [footnote : it is evident that the poem was to be used as a charm in case of sickness. compare the phylacteries of the jews.] [transcriber's note: the following footnote ( ) is illegible in many places. illegible areas are marked with a '*'.] [footnote : "nin-ci-gal" ("the lady of the empty country") was queen of *s, and identified with gula, or *, "chaos" ["bohu"] of gen-*, *, "the lady of the house of death."] [footnote : in the accadian, "the sick head (and) sick heart." then follows a lacuna.] [footnote : apparently another name of nin-ci-gal.] [footnote : lacuna.] [footnote : compare the greek idea of delphi as the central [greek: omphalos] or "navel" of the earth.] [footnote : zicum, or zigara, was the primeval goddess, "the mother of anu and the gods."] [footnote : lacuna.] [footnote : that is, of zicum.] [footnote : tammuz, called "du-zi" ("the [only] son") in accadian, was a form of the sun-god. his death through the darkness of winter caused istar to descend into hades in search of him.] charm for averting the seven evil spirits for the sake of completeness a charm for averting the attack of the seven evil spirits or storm-clouds may be added here, though the larger part of it has already been translated by mr. fox talbot in "records of the past," vol. ill, p. . it forms part of the great collection of magical _formulæ_, and is lithographed in the "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. iv, pl. , col. v, lines - . seven (are) they, seven (are) they! in the channel of the deep seven (are) they! (in) the radiance of heaven seven (are) they! in the channel of the deep in a palace grew they up. male they (are) not, female they (are) not.[ ] (in) the midst of the deep (are) their paths. wife they have not, son they have not. order (and) kindness know they not. prayer (and) supplication hear they not. the _cavern_ in the mountain they enter. unto hea (are) they hostile. the throne-bearers of the gods (are) they. disturbing the _lily_ in the torrents are they set. baleful (are) they, baleful (are) they. seven (are) they, seven (are) they, seven twice again (are) they. may the spirits of heaven remember, may the spirits of earth remember. [footnote : the accadian text, "female they are not, male they are not." this order is in accordance with the position held by the woman in accad; in the accadian table of laws, for instance, translated in "records of the past," vol. iii. p. , the denial of the father by the son is punished very leniently in comparison with the denial of the mother.] chaldean hymns to the sun translated by franÇois lenormant the sun-god, called in the accadian _utu_ and _parra_ (the latter is of less frequent occurrence), and in the semitic assyrian _samas_, held a less important rank in the divine hierarchy of the chaldaic-babylonian pantheon, afterward adopted by the assyrians, than the moon-god (in the accadian _aku, enizuna_, and _huru-kî;_ in the assyrian _sin_), who was even sometimes said to be his father. his principal and most common title was "judge of heaven and earth," in the accadian _dikud ana kîa_, in the assyrian _dainu sa same u irtsiti_. the most important sanctuaries of the deity were at larsam, in southern chaldsea, and sippara, in the north of babylonia. some few fragments of liturgical or magical hymns addressed to shamas have come down to us. these are five in number, and i give a translation of them here. they have all been studied previously by other assyriologists, but i think the present interpretation of them is superior to any which has as yet been furnished. the following are the chief bibliographical data concerning them: i. the primitive accadian text, accompanied by an interlinear assyrian version published in the "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. iv, pl. , no. . i put forth a first attempt at a translation in my "_magie chez les chaldéens"_ (p. ), and since then m. friedrich delitzsch has given a much better explanation of it ("_g. smith's chaldäische genesis,"_ p. ). of this hymn we possess only the first five lines. ii. the primitive accadian text, with an interlinear assyrian version, is published in the "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. iv, pl. , no. . m. delitzsch has given a german translation of it in "_g. smith's chaldäische genesis_" p. , and a revised one in english has just appeared in prof. sayce's "lectures upon babylonian literature," p. . iii. a similar sacred text, published in the "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. iv, pl. , no. i, in which the indications as to the obverse and reverse of the tablet are incorrect and ought to be altered. the two fragments left to us, separated by a gap, the extent of which it is at present impossible to estimate, belong to an incantatory hymn destined to effect the cure of the king's disease. interpretations have been attempted in my "premières civilisations" (vol. ii, p. _et seq_.), and in the appendices added by m. friedrich delitzsch to his german translation of g. smith's work, already cited. iv. the primitive accadian text with an interlinear assyrian version, published in the "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. iv, pi. , col. i. this hymn, like the preceding one, is intended to be recited by the priest of magic in order to cure the invalid king. i gave a very imperfect translation of it in my "_magie chez les chaldéens_" (p. ). v. we possess only the semitic assyrian version of this text; it was published in the "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. iv, pl. , col. . as yet, no one has produced a complete translation of this hymn; but a few passages have been quoted by m. friedrich delitzsch ("_g. smith's chaldäische genesis_" p. ) and myself ("_la magie chez les chaldéens_" p. , and pp. , , of the english edition, ). i refer the reader to the various publications above mentioned for a convincing proof of the entirely revised character of the translations here submitted to him, and i think he will grant that i have made some progress in this branch of knowledge, since my first attempts many years ago. chaldean hymns to the sun first hymn magical incantation. sun, from the foundations of heaven thou art risen; thou hast unfastened the bolts of the shining skies; thou hast opened the door of heaven. sun, above the countries thou hast raised thy head. sun, thou hast covered the immensity of the heavens and the terrestrial countries. (the fragments of the four following lines are too mutilated to furnish any connected sense; all the rest of the hymn is entirely wanting.) second hymn [footnote: see also lenormant, "chaldean magic," p. .] lord, illuminator of the darkness, who piercest the face of darkness, merciful god, who settest up those that are bowed down, who sustainest the weak, toward the light the great gods direct their glances, the archangels of the abyss,[ ] every one of them, contemplate eagerly thy face. the language of praise,[ ] as one word, thou directest it. the host of their heads seeks the light of the sun in the south.[ ] like a bridegroom thou restest joyful and gracious.[ ] in thy illumination thou dost reach afar to the boundaries of heaven.[ ] thou art the banner of the vast earth. o god! the men who dwell afar off contemplate thee and rejoice. the great gods fix ...[ ] nourisher of the luminous heavens, who favorest ...[ ] he who has not turned his hands (toward thee ...[ ] ....[ ] [footnote : in the assyrian version, "the archangels of the earth." ] [footnote : in the assyrian version, "the eager language."] [footnote : the assyrian version has simply, "of the sun." ] [footnote : "like a wife thou submittest thyself, cheerful and kindly."-- sayce.] [footnote : in the assyrian version, "thou art the illuminator of the limits of the distant heavens."] [footnote : here occurs a word which i cannot yet make out.] [footnote : lacunæ.] third hymn thou who marchest before ...[ ] with anu and bel ...[ ] the support of crowds of men, direct them! he who rules in heaven, he who arranges, is thyself. he who establishes truth in the thoughts of the nations, is thyself. thou knowest the truth, thou knowest what is false. sun, justice has raised its head; sun, falsehood, like envy, has spoken calumny. sun, the servant of anu and bel [ ] is thyself; sun, the supreme judge of heaven and earth is thyself. sun, ... (in this place occurs the gap between the two fragments on the obverse and on the reverse of the tablet.) sun, the supreme judge of the countries, is thyself. the lord of living beings, the one merciful to the countries, is thyself. sun, illuminate this day the king, son of his god,[ ] make him shine! everything that is working evil in his body, may that be driven elsewhere. like a cruse of ...[ ] purify him! like a cruse of milk, make him flow! may it flow like molten bronze! deliver him from his infirmity! then, when he revives, may thy sublimity direct him! and me, the magician, thy obedient servant, direct me! [footnote : lacunæ.] [footnote : in the accadian, "ana and mulge"] [footnote : meaning the pious king.] [footnote : here follows an incomprehensible word.] fourth hymn great lord, from the midst of the shining heavens at thy rising, valiant hero, sun, from the midst of the shining heavens, at thy rising, in the bolts of the shining heavens, in the entrance which opens heaven, at thy rising in the bar of the door of the shining heavens, in ...[ ] at thy rising, in the great door of the shining heavens, when thou openest it. in the highest (summits) of the shining heavens, at the time of thy rapid course, the celestial archangels with respect and joy press around thee; the servants of the lady of crowns[ ] lead thee in a festive manner; the ...[ ] for the repose of thy heart fix thy days; the multitudes of the crowds on the earth turn their eyes often toward thee; the spirits of heaven and earth lead thee. the ...[ ] thou crushest them with thy strength, ...[ ] thou discoverest them, ...[ ] thou causest to seize, ...[ ] thou directest. [footnote : lacuna.] [footnote : in the assyrian version, "of the lady of the gods."] [footnote : lacunæ.] (i am obliged here to pass over five lines which are too mutilated for me to attempt to translate them with any degree of certainty.) the lord, as to me, has sent me; the great god, hea, as to me, has sent me.[ ] settle what has reference to him,[ ] teach the order which concerns him, decide the question relating to him. thou, in thy course thou directest the human race; cast upon him a ray of peace, and let it cure his suffering. the man, son of his god,[ ] has laid before thee his shortcomings and his transgressions; his feet and his hands are in pain, grievously defiled by disease. sun, to the lifting up of my hands pay attention; eat his food, receive the victim, give his god (for a support) to his hand! by his order let his shortcomings be pardoned! let his transgressions be blotted out! may his trouble leave him! may he recover from his disease! give back life to the king![ ] then, on the day that he revives, may thy sublimity envelop him! direct the king who is in subjection to thee! and me, the magician, thy humble servant, direct me! [footnote : there is no assyrian version of this line; we have only the accadian.] [footnote : the invalid on behalf of whom the invocation is recited.] [footnote : the pious man.] [footnote : from this verse onward the assyrian version is wanting.] fifth hymn [footnote: cf. also "chaldean magic," pp. , .] magical incantation. i have invoked thee, o sun, in the midst of the high heavens. thou art in the shadow of the cedar, and thy feet rest on the summits. the countries have called thee eagerly, they have directed their looks toward thee, o friend; thy brilliant light illuminates every land, overthrowing all that impedes thee, assemble the countries, for thou, o sun, knowest their boundaries. thou who annihilatest falsehood, who dissipatest the evil influence of wonders, omens, sorceries, dreams, evil apparitions, who turnest to a happy issue malicious designs, who annihilatest men and countries that devote themselves to fatal sorceries, i have taken refuge in thy presence. ...[ ] do not allow those who make spells, and are hardened, to arise; frighten their heart...[ ] settle also, o sun, light of the great gods. right into my marrow, o lords of breath, that i may rejoice, even i. may the gods who have created me take my hands! direct the breath of my mouth! my hands direct them also, lord, light of the legions of the heavens, sun, o judge! the day, the month, the year...[ ] ...[ ] conjure the spell! ...[ ] deliver from the infirmity! [footnote : here i am obliged to omit a line, which i cannot yet make out.] [footnote : lacunæ.] two accadian hymns translated by rev. a.h. sayce, m.a. the two following hymns, both of which are unfortunately mutilated, are interesting from their subject-matter. the first is addressed to the sun-god tammuz, the husband of istar, slain by the boar's tusk of winter, and sought by the goddess in the underground world. it is this visit which is described in the mythological poem known as the "descent of istar into hades" ("records of the past," vol. i, p. ). the myth of tammuz and istar passed, through the phoenicians, to the greeks, among whom adonis and aphrodite represent the personages of the ancient accadian legend. tammuz is referred to in ezek. viii. . (see "records of the past," vol. ix, p. .) the second hymn treats of the world-mountain, the atlas of the greeks, which supports the heaven with its stars, and is rooted in hades. under its other name, "kharsak-kurra," or "mountain of the east," it was identified with the present mount elwend, and was regarded as the spot where the ark had rested, and where the gods had their seat. a reference is made to it in isa. xiv. . both hymns illustrate the imagery and metaphor out of which grew the mythology of primeval babylonia, and offer curious parallels to the aryan hymns of the rig-veda. the cuneiform texts are lithographed in the "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. iv, , i, . two accadian hymns i o shepherd,[ ] lord tammuz, bridegroom[ ] of istar! lord of hades, lord of tul-sukhba! _understanding_ one, who among the papyri the water drinks not! his brood in the desert, even the reed, he created not.[ ] its bulrush in his canal he lifted not up. the roots of the bulrush were carried away. o god of the world, who among the papyri the water drinks not! .....[ ] [footnote : the early accadian kings frequently call themselves "shepherds." according to berosus, alorus, the first antediluvian king of babylonia, gave himself the same title. compare the homeric [greek: poimaen laon].] [footnote : "khamir," literally "red" or "blushing one," in reference to the glow of the setting sun.] [footnote : or, "was not green."] [footnote : lacuna.] ii o mighty mountain of bel, im-kharsak,[ ] whose head rivals heaven, whose root (is) the holy deep! among the mountains, like a strong wild bull, it lieth down. its horn like the brilliance of the sun is bright. like the star of heaven[ ] it is a prophet and is filled with sheen. o mighty mother of beltis, daughter of bit-esir: splendor of bit-kurra,[ ] appointment of bit-gigune, handmaid of bit-cigusurra![ ] .....[ ] [footnote : "wind of the mountain."] [footnote : that is, dilbat, "the prophet," or venus, the morning-star.] [footnote : "the temple of the east."] [footnote : "the temple of the land of forests."] [footnote : lacuna.] accadian proverbs and songs translated by rev. a.h. sayce, m.a. the following is a selection from an interesting collection of accadian songs and proverbs, gjven in a mutilated reading-book of the ancient language which was compiled for the use of assyrian (or rather semitic babylonian) students. these sentences were drawn up at a time when it was necessary for the scribes to be familiar with the old language of accad, and to be able to translate it into assyrian, and hence these phrases are of very great philological value, since they indicate often analogous words and various verbal forms. the assyrian translation and the accadian texts are arranged in parallel columns. some of the proverbs must be taken from an agricultural treatise of the same nature as the "works and days" of hesiod. copies of the texts will be found in the "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. ii, , . accadian proverbs door and bolt are made fast. oracle to oracle: to the oracle it is brought.[ ] the cut beam he strikes: the strong beam he shapes. the resting-place of the field which (is) in the house he will establish. within the court of the house he feels himself small. a heap of witnesses[ ] as his foundation he has made strong. once and twice he has made gains;[ ] yet he is not content. by himself he dug and wrought.[ ] for silver his resting-place he shall buy. on his heap of bricks a building he builds not, a beam he set not up. a house like his own house one man to another consigns. if the house he contracts for he does not complete, shekels of silver he pays. the joists of his wall he plasters. in the month marchesvan,[ ] the th day (let him choose) for removal. (let him choose it, too,) for the burning of weeds. the tenant of the farm two-thirds of the produce on his own head to the master of the orchard pays out. [footnote : that is, "compared."] [footnote : accadian "izzi ribanna," assyrian "igar kasritu" ("heap of covenant"), like the hebrew "galeed," aramaic "yegar-sahadutha" (gen. xxxi. ).] [footnote : that is, "the more a man has, the more he wants."] [footnote : that is, "if you want a thing done, do it yourself."] [footnote : october.] accadian songs (if) evil thou hast done, (to) the sea forever ...[ ] thou goest. my _city_ bless: among my men fully prosper me. bless everything; and to (my) dress be favorable. before the oxen as they march in the grain thou liest down. my knees are marching, my feet are not resting: with no wealth of thine own, grain thou begettest for me. a heifer am i; to the cow i am yoked: the plough-handle is strong; lift it up, lift it up! may he perform vengeance: may he return also (to him) who gives. the marsh as though it were not he passes;[ ] the slain as though they were not ...[ ] he makes good. to the waters their god[ ] has returned: to the house of bright things he descended (as) an icicle: (on) a seat of snow he grew not old in wisdom. ....[ ] like an oven (which is) old against thy foes be hard. thou wentest, thou spoiledst the land of the foe; (for) he went, he spoiled thy land, (even) the foe. kingship in its going forth (is) like a _royal robe_(?) into the river thou plungest, and thy water (is) swollen at the time:[ ] into the orchard thou plungest, and thy fruit (is) bitter. the corn (is) high, it is flourishing; how is it known? the corn (is) bearded, it is flourishing; how is it known? the fruit of death may the man eat, (and yet) the fruit of life may he achieve. [footnote : lacuna.] [footnote : i have translated this line from the accadian, the assyrian text being wanting, and the words "a recent lacuna" being written instead. this makes it clear that the scribe who copied the tablet for assur-bani-pal's library did not understand accadian and could not therefore supply the translation.] [footnote : lacunæ.] [footnote : this seems to be quoted from a hymn describing the return of oannes to the persian gulf.] [footnote : see "cuneiform inscriptions of western asia," vol. i. , .] babylonian public documents concerning private persons edited by mm. oppert and menant these translations are taken from a french work published by dr. oppert and m. ménant; [footnote: the title of the work is "documents juridiques de l'assyrie et de la chaldée," par j. oppert et j. ménant, paris, .] the versions have been revised, in some essential points, for the "records of the past," by dr. oppert, who holds himself personally responsible for the exact representation of the sense of these documents; but on account of the unusual difficulty of these texts, the reader may easily be convinced that for a long time yet, and particularly in details of minor importance, there will remain room enough for a conscientious improvement of all previous translations. babylonian private contracts the stone of za'aleh this document, engraved on a small broken slab of basalt, is dated from the first year of the reign of marduk-idin-akhe. it was discovered long ago in the small mound of za'aleh, on the left bank of the euphrates, a few miles northwest of babylon. the text forms two columns of cursive babylonian characters; the first column is extremely damaged. though defaced, this contract offers some interest by its differing from other documents of the aforesaid reign. it has been published in the first volume of the collection of the british museum ("w.a.i.," pl. ), and translated for the first time by dr. oppert, "_expédition en mésopotamie_" t. i, p. . column i covenant which in the town of babylon, in the month sebat, in the first year of marduk-idin-akhe, the mighty king, the men of m ..., have agreed: the waters of the river ...,[ ] and the waters of the canals did not go through....[ ] [footnote : lacuna.] [footnote : lacuna of several lines.] column ii ....[ ] and all the streams which exist at the mouth of the river salmani. therefore, aradsu, son of erisnunak, has agreed to (aforesaid things) for the times to come, in giving his signature to this tablet. bit-karra-basa, son of hea-habal-idin, governor of the town of isin; babilayu, son of sin-mustesir, chief; malik-akh-idinna, son of nigazi, chief of the _ru-bar;_[ ] tab-asap-marduk, son of ina-e-saggatu-irbu, a scribe; zikar-nana, son of ...[ ] bin, _sabil_; nabu-mumaddid-zir, a servant, son of zikar-ea, a governor; and nabu-idin-akhe, son of namri, have fixed it in the furnitures of the house. in the town of babylon, on the th of sebat (january), in the first year of marduk-idin-akhe, the mighty king. the masters of the royal seal have granted approbation. [footnote : lacuna of several lines.] [footnote : unknown dignity.] the paris michaux stone this monument is so called from the name of the traveller by whom it was brought over to france in . it was discovered near the tigris, not far from the ruins of the ancient city of ctesiphon. it is an ovoid basalt stone of seventeen inches in height, by twenty-four in circumference. the upper part is decorated with symbolical figures spread over nearly one-third of the monument; one of the sides is divided in two parts. at the top the moon crescent and the sun are represented; in a somewhat lower place there are four altars; two on the right support tiaras; the other two are adorned with two symbolical figures. in the middle a winged goat kneeling; the lower part of the animal is hidden by the image of another altar. the second part contains two altars; one of them bears a sort of arrow-head which for a long time has been taken for the symbol of the cuneiform writing, because it resembles the element of these characters, on the other part there is a triangular symbol, then, between both altars, two kneeling monsters; only the fore part of their body is visible. on the left behind the altar there is to be seen a symbolical figure preceding a downward pointed arrow. on the back side of the monument there is a scorpion, a bird roosting. on the ground there is a bird, on the head of which is to be seen an unknown symbol composed of two other monsters, one bears a bird's head, and the other has a hideous horned face; the rest of the body is wrapped up in a sort of sheath; opposite to which a dog kneeling. the top of the stone is bordered with an immense snake; its tail extends into the very inscriptions, its head touches the head of the dog. on each side of the monument in its lower part, there are two columns of cuneiform texts, which contain altogether ninety-five lines. this monument is now kept since in the "_cabinet des médailles_" at paris (no. ). since that epoch it has always attracted the attention of scholars; it was published by m. millin in , "_monuments inédits_" t. i, pl. viii, ix. münter first attempted to explain the symbolical figures (_"religion der babylonier,"_ p. , pl. iii). sir henry rawlinson has also published the inscription again, in "w.a.i.," vol. i, p. . the sense of this text has been fixed for the first time, in , by m. oppert's translation in the "_bulletin archéologique de l'athénéum français_" after this translation, mr. fox talbot gave one in , in the "transactions of the royal asiatic society," vol. xviii, p. . column i hin of corn is the quantity for seeding an _arura_.[ ] the field is situated near the town of kar-nabu, on the bank of the river mekaldan, depending of the property of kilnamandu. the field is measured as follows:[ ] three stades in length toward the east, in the direction of the town of bagdad; three stades in length toward the west, adjoining the house of tunamissah; stade fathoms[ ] in breadth toward the north, adjoining the property of kilnamandu; stade fathoms up in the south, adjoining the property of kilnamandu. sirusur, son of kilnamandu, gave it for all future days to dur-sarginaiti, his daughter, the bride[ ] of tab-asap-marduk, son of ina-e-saggatu-irbu (the pretended), who wrote this; and tab-asap-marduk, son of ina-e-saggatu-irbu, who wrote this in order to perpetuate without interruption the memory of this gift, and commemorated on this stone the will of the great gods and the god serah. [footnote : or the great u, namely, of the field in question.] [footnote : dr. oppert's first translation of this passage, which is to be found in almost all documents of this kind, has been corrected in "l'etalon des mesures assyriennes," p. . the field of kilnamandu was a rectangle of - / stades in breadth and stades long, viz., - / square stades, amounting to . hectares, or - / english acres. the stone of micheux is the only one which affords a valuation of the land. the arura (great u) is valued at hectares, acres in the babylonian system; a hin is almost litres, or pints and a quarter; hins, therefore, are somewhat more than gallons. the fertility of the babylonian soil was renowned in antiquity. see herodotus i. .] [footnote : a fathom, - / feet, is the sixtieth part of a stade, feet.] [footnote : this word is explained in a syllabary copied by dr. oppert in , but which has never been published. the three signs of the ideogram ("bit-gigunu-a") are rendered by "kallatu" ("a bride"), and this very important statement put the translator on the track of the right interpretation.] column ii whosoever in the process of time, among the brothers, the sons, the family, the men and women, the servants both male and female, of the house of kilnamandu, either a foreigner, or a guest, or whosoever he may be (or anyone else), who will destroy this field, who will venture to take away the boundary-stone, or will vindicate it: whether he consecrate this field to a god, or earn it for his superior, or claim it for himself, or change the extent, the surface, or the limits, that he reaps new harvests (crops); or who will say of the field with its measures, "there is no granter;" whether he call forth malediction and hostility on the tablets; or establish on it anyone other who change these curses, in swearing: "the head is not the head;" and in asserting: there is no evil eye;[ ] whosoever will carry elsewhere those tablets; or will throw them into the water; will bury them in the earth; will hide them under stones; will burn them with fire, will alter what is written on them, will confine them into a place where they might not be seen; that man shall be cursed: may the gods anu, el, hea, the great goddess, the great gods, inflict upon him the utmost contumely, extirpate his name, annihilate his family. may marduk, the great lord of eternity without end, bind him in fetters which cannot be broken. may samas, the great judge of heaven and earth, judge his unpunished misdeeds, and surprise him in flagrant deeds. may sin, the brilliant (_nannar_), who dwells in the sacred heavens, clothe him in leprosy as in a garment, and give him up to the wild beasts that wander in the outsides of the town. may istar, the queen of heaven and earth, carry him off, and deliver him for avenge to the god and the king. may ninip, son of the zenith, son of el the sublime, take away his lands, funds, and limits. may gula, the great queen, the wife of ninip, infilter into his bowels a poison which cannot be pushed out, and may he void blood and pus like water. may bin, the great guardian of heaven and earth, the son of the warrior anu, inundate his field. may serah destroy his firstborn; may he torture his flesh, and load his feet with chains. may nabu, the supreme watcher, strike him with misfortune and ruin, and blast his happiness that he not obtain it, in the wrath of his face. may all the great gods whose names are recorded on this tablet, curse him with irrevocable malediction, and scatter his race even to the last days. [footnote : this seems to be a usual formula.] (this monument is equally engraved on a black basalt stone; it offers the same arrangement as the stone of michaux. the analogous documents show that numerous inaccuracies have been committed. in the upper part there occur the same altars, tiaras, birds, as well as the above-mentioned goat, dog, scorpion, and snake. the surface of the basso-relievo is also covered with cuneiform writing. the inscriptions are arranged in four columns, and take both sides of the monument. the first column originally finished at the th line; it seems to have been completed by four lines, which contain one of the essential articles of the contract, but which evidently are not in their right place, and had been actually forgotten in the original engraving. on the margins and the bassso-relievo many additions and repetitions are to be read, which also prove the engraver's carelessness or precipitation.) hins[ ] of corn are sufficient to seed an _arura_,[ ] a field in the land of zunire,[ ] on the bank of the river zirzirri, belonging to the house of ada. marduk-idin-akhe, king of babylon, has thus sentenced according to the laws of the country of assur. bin-zir-basa, his minister, has favored marduk-ilusu, son of ina-e-saggatu-irbu,[ ] who has written this to the king of babylon: i say, he has loaded me with favors, and i proclaim that this rating has been made according to the epha[ ] of the king of babylon. hin of corn are sufficient to seed an _arura_. bin-zir-basa, the lieutenant (of the king) has invested him with it, and (the measurer of lands) has thus measured it for the time to come. in the length[ ] above toward the north, turned to the river zirzirri, adjoining the house of ada, and the field of the house of the satraps. in the length below, toward the south of the river atab-du-istar, adjoining the house of ada. in breadth above toward the east, adjoining the limits of bit-ulbar. in breadth below toward the west, adjoining the house of ada. according to the law of marduk-idin-akhe, king of babylon, servant of the gods of the city of the eternal fire,[ ] it was so measured by bel-zir-kini, son of zikar-istar, the measurer of the field. in the town of dindu, in the month of tebet, on the th day (december) in the th year of marduk-idin-akhe, king of babylon. in the presence of bet-ulbar-sakimu, son of bazi, chief of the _ru-bar_ of the countries; in the presence of babilai, son of sin-mustesir,[ ] chief of the head rulers of the country; in the presence of hea-kudurri-ibni, son of zikar-ea, governor of the provinces; in the presence of bel-nasir-habal, son of the chief of the _rubar_ of the orders in the provinces; in the presence of takisa-belit, son of riu-simti; in the presence of uballitsu, son of karistiya-napasti; in the presence of bel-idin-akh, son of suti; in the presence of sukamuna[ ]-idin, son of meliharbat; in the presence of isu-il, son of habliya; in the presence of bel-akhesu, son of meliharbat; in the presence of nis-bet-ulbar, son of ulamhala; in the presence of sumidu, son of marduk-kabuya, prefect of the house of ada; in the presence of e-saggatu-bunuya, _hazan_[ ] of the house of ada; in the presence of babrabtatutai, son of sar-babil-assurissi; in the presence of sadu-rabu-kabuya, judge; in the presence of marduk-nasir, son of gamilu. whoever in the process of time, among the brothers, the sons, among the near relations, the allies of the family of the house of ada, would claim this land, would nourish against it bad designs, or would suggest them; whoever would utter these words, "there is no giver," who would say, "there is no sealer," or whosoever will say, "i deny that there is a master of the house of ada, that there is a chief in the house of ada; that there is a _hazan_ of the house of ada; or that there is either a speculator for the house of ada; or a _gitta_[ ] of the house of ada; or a _sumtalu_; or a _lubattu_; or an _aklu_; or a _kisirtu_ in the house of ada;" or he will say, "the confiscation has been pronounced;" whether he say: "this field has no measurer," or say, "this seal is not of a sealer" (who has the right to); or whoever will take possession of this field; or consecrate it to the gods; or claim it for himself; or alter its surface, circumference and limits; or construct buildings on this land, and in the middle of this field (that man will be cursed): the gods who are inscribed on this tablet, all those whose name is commemorated herein, will curse him with irrevocable curses. may the gods anu,[ ] bel, hea, these great gods, torment him and overwhelm him; that ...[ ] may marduk, the great lord of eternity without limits, fetter him with inextricable bonds. may nebo, the supreme minister, overthrow the surface, circumference, and limits of his properties. may bin, the great lord of heaven and earth, cause the streams of his river to overflow[ ] ... have his progeny circumcised, and load his feet with a heavy chain. may sin, who turns around heaven, envelop his body with leprosy as in a garment. may samas, the bright judge of heaven and earth, judge his lawsuit, and have him seized in deed doing. may istar, the goddess of heaven and earth, deliver him to the vengeance of the gods and of the king. may gula, the sovereign lady, the great wife of ninip, infilter into his bowels with a poison that will not leave him, and may he void pus and blood like water. may ninip, the god of boundaries, _filium camelas inire cogat_.[ ] may nergal, the god of arms and bows, break his arrows. may zamal, the king of battles, prevent him in the midst of the fray from taking a prisoner. may turda, the keeper of the images of the great gods, walking in the right ways of the gods, besiege his door during the night. may iskhara, the goddess of the ancient customs, not hear him in the battles. may malik, the great master of heaven,[ ] while he sins cause him to be slain in the act. may all the gods that are on this stone, whose name is commemorated, curse him with irrevocable curses. (the lines at the end of the first column read as follows:) [ ]if anybody swears thus: this head is not a head ...[ ] or institutes here an outlaw or a causer of mischief, immerse them in the waters, bury them in the earth, hide them under a heap of stones, destroy them by fire. (on the edge of the second column:) may the gods whose image is on this table, and whose name is invoked, curse him with irrevocable curses. (on the edge of the fourth column:) the horses ...[ ] the master of the house of ada may dispose of them after him. horses, buffaloes, mares in the fields are not inclosed in the decree of the king of babylon; bin-zir-basa has ascribed it for the benefit of mahanitu, after marduk-ilusu, son of ina-e-saggatu-irbu. the chief of the _rubar_ of the house of ada has said it (named and pronounced) to marduk-ilusu, son of the scribe of marduk-idin-akhe, king of babylon, and ina-e-saggatu-irbu, the scribe, the field, this one has[ ] ... owner of the house of ada, has given it for the days to come, and has yielded it up. (a great many short inscriptions are placed over the basso-relievos. . the smallest of them is placed over a kind of lyre. it reads: in sum, an epha and a half. . entangled between the branches of an object difficult to design and the horns of a goat, occurs a sentence which has not been translated. . the word "_nase_" is written between and the altar supporting a triangular object. . a legend of three lines is engraved between the mentioned altar, and a horned animal.) so that he may not devastate the land of zunire, nor the dwellings which are belonging to the governor of zunire. . under an undetermined object, opposite to the nose of the above-mentioned fantastical animal is written a sentence composed of a perpendicular line and four lines parallel to the circumference.) that he will not acknowledge either the _kisirtu_ or the tribute of this house, or the prefect, or the _hazan_ of the house of ada. . below the preceding one. either the author of the treaty, or the _hazan_ of the land of zunire. . included between the roost and the back of the dog occurs another sentence which has not been translated. . across the symbolical figures [commencement obscure]: that he might not watch upon the streets of bit-ada. . between the scorpion and the back of the snake. that he may pay the rent of the land. . over the head of the snake. that in his abode, there may not be any power, any judge, any implorer. [footnote : twenty hins are equal to litres, - / gallons.] [footnote : great u, the standard agrarian measure.] [footnote : the country is unknown; the river zirzirri is also mentioned elsewhere.] [footnote : this name signifies, "in the pyramid he will increase."] [footnote : the valuations of the estates are made by the quantity of corn required to seed them, as it is the case in rabbinical literature, where the unity is a beth-sea, or the surface seeded by a sea. therefore the epha of the king (royal epha) is quite in its place: the epha is varying from to pints. the text itself states the royal endowment of a perhaps conquered land.] [footnote : there is no valuation of the field. an error crept into the french transliteration; "us" is not "a stade," but the word "length."] [footnote : this is the city generally read "agade."] [footnote : person already mentioned in the za-aleh stone.] [footnote : the god sukamanu occurs elsewhere.] [footnote : the "hazan" seems to be a superintendent.] [footnote : by an error, this line is omitted in the french work; the assyrian words are not yet understood.] [footnote : in the text is nu.] [footnote : lacuna.] [footnote : the passage is very obscure; if dr. oppert's idea is correct, there is an allusion to the detested custom of circumcision, the performance of which was regarded as an affliction.] [footnote : see lev. xx. .] [footnote : "gara anna."] [footnote : in the french work, this passage has been left untranslated.] [footnote : lacunæ.] [footnote : here are two very obscure words.] contract of hankas (the fourth monument of the reign of marduk-idin-akhe is a black basalt stone of nearly the same size and arrangement as the preceding. at the top we also see analogous symbols disposed in a similar way. the inscription has but two colums, and occupies but one side of the monument; on the other, the image of the king is engraved, and near the garment of the king, represented by the basso-relievo, the three lines of the beginning are repeated at the end of the document.) by this table, the author of the everlasting limits has forever perpetuated his name.[ ] hins[ ] of corn are sufficient to seed an arura,[ ] in a field lying on the bank of the river besim, belonging to hankas. in length[ ] above toward the north, adjoining the property of hankas; in length below toward the south, adjoining the property of imbiyati; in breadth above toward the west, adjoining the property of hankas; in breadth below toward the east, limited by the river besim. such is what marduk-nasir, captain of the king, has received from the hands of nis-bel, son of hankas. he has paid the price for it. sapiku son of itti-marduk-balat, son of zikar-ea, is the measurer[ ] of the field. weights of chariot with its team of horses[ ] silver harnesses " ass from phoenicia " harnesses, ass from phoenicia " weights of mule silver cow (pregnant) " measures of corn, measures of epha[ ] " hemicorion, shovels of epha " dogs, good " greyhounds from the east " hunting dog " shepherd dog " dog (bloodhound[ ]) " total [ ] (weights of) silver. such is what nis-bel, son of hankas, has paid in the hands of marduk-nasir, captain of the king, as equivalent of the price of a field of hins of (grain). at any epoch whatever, in the days to come (or process of time) either an _aklu,[ ]_ or a no-servant, or a farmer, or a husbandman, or a workman, or any other guardian who presents himself, and who settles in the house of hankas, and will endeavor to lay waste this field, will earn its first-fruits, will turn it over, will plough it (mix up the earth), will have it put under water, who will occupy this property by fraud or violence and will settle in its territories, either in the name of the god, or in the name of the king, or in the name of the representative of the lord of the country, or in the name of the representative of the house, or in the name of any person whatever, whoever he may be, who will give it, will earn the harvest of the land, will say,[ ] "these fields are not granted as gifts by the king"; whether he pronounce against them the holy malediction or he swears by these words, "the head is not the head"; and establish anyone therein, in saying, "there is no eye"; or who will carry away this tablet, or will throw it into the river, or will break it into pieces, or will bury it under a heap of stones, or will burn it by fire, or will bury it in the earth, or will hide it in a dark place, that man (shall be cursed): may the god anu, bel, hea, the great gods, afflict him and curse him with maledictions which are not (retracted). may the god sin, the splendid in the high heaven, envelop all his members with incurable leprosy until the day of his death; and expel him to the farthest limits like a wild beast. may samas, the judge of heaven and earth, fly before him; that he change into darkness the light of the day. may istar, the sovereign, the queen of the gods, load him with infirmities and anguish of illness like arrows, may she increase (day and night his pains,) so that he runs about like a dog, in the ways of his town. may marduk, the king of heaven and earth, the lord of the eternity without end, entangle his weapons with bonds which cannot be broken. may ninip, the god of crops and boundaries, sweep away its limits and tread upon his crops, and remove its limit. may gula, the mother (nurse), the great lady, infect his bowels with a poison, and that he void pus and blood like water. may bin, the supreme guardian of heaven and earth, inundate his field like a ...[ ] may serah suffocate his first-born. may nabu, the holy minister of the gods, continually pour over his destinies laments and curses; and blast his wishes. may all the great gods whose name is invoked on this table, devote him to vengeance and scorn, and may his name, his race, his fruits, his offspring, before the face of men perish wretchedly. by this table, the author of the everlasting limits has forever perpetuated his name. [footnote : see at the end.] [footnote : these hins represent litres, gallons and a half, for seeding a surface of acres.] [footnote : the great u, or arura.] [footnote : again in this deed no statement is given in account of the measurings. the space is determined merely by the indication of the boundaries. this document is also the charter of a royal donation: it is not clear whether the below-mentioned objects are the price, or if, what is much more verisimilar, they are only the accessoria of the field.] [footnote : measurer is expressed by "masi-han."] [footnote : cf. i kings x. : "a chariot ... of egypt for shekels of silver; and a horse for ."] [footnote : it is a question here of the utensils used for measuring, viz., thirty of one kind, and sixty of another.] [footnote : the quality of the dogs is somewhat uncertain.] [footnote : there is evidently a fault in the total number, instead of . a weight of silver may be an obolus, the th part of a mina.] [footnote : the "akli," who were at the royal court, may have been legists.] [footnote : all these are formulæ solennes, as in the roman law.] [footnote : obscure.] translation of an unedited fragment five-sixths of an _artaba_[ ] of corn sows an _arura_, a field situated on the euphrates. ....adjoining ... wide ... adjoining ... a field in great measure ... zirbet-u-alzu ... and for the days to come he has given ... this table ... sin-idin ... son of tuklat-habal-marduk, governor of the town of nisin. bani-marduk, son of tuklat ... malik-kilim, son of tuklat ... chief of ... an-sali ... son of zab-zib-malik ... malik-habal-idin, of the town of balaki ... chief of sin-idin-habal ... may he cause him to perish ... and his offering.[ ] [footnote : the artaba was epha, hins; the mentioned quantity of hins necessary to seed this very fertile field is only pints.] [footnote : dr. oppert copied this text twenty years ago; he does not know whether since that time any other piece of the stone has been discovered.] great inscription in the palace of khorsabad translated by dr. julius oppert the document of which i publish a translation has been copied with admirable precision by m. botta in his "_monuments de ninive_" there are four specimens of this same text in the assyrian palace, which bear the title of inscriptions of the halls, nos. iv, vii, viii, and x. there is another historical document in the palace of khorsabad containing more minute particulars, and classed in a chronological order, which i translated in my "_dur-sar-kayan_," , and in the "records of the past," vol. vii. the several copies of this document have been united in one sole text in a work which i published in common with m. ménant in the "_journal asiatique_," . i published my translation of the "great inscriptions of khorsabad," in the "_annales de philosophie chrétienne_," july and august, , tom. v (new series), p. ; then in my "_inscriptions des sargonides_," p. ( ). the same text was inserted in the work which i edited in communion with my friend m. joachim ménant, entitled "_la grande inscription des salles de khorsabad_," "_journal asiatique_," . some passages have been since corrected by me in my "_dur-sarkayan_," paris, , in the great work of m. victor place, and these corrections have been totally admitted by m. ménant in a translation which he has given in his book, "_annales des rois d'assyrie_," paris, , p. . as the reader may easily convince himself in collating it with my previous attempts, this present translation is now amended according to the exigencies of the progressing science of assyriology, as it is now understood. great inscription of the palace of khorsabad palace of sargon, the great king, the powerful king, king of the legions, king of assyria, viceroy of the gods at babylon, king of the sumers and of the accads, favorite of the great gods. the gods assur, nebo, and merodach have conferred on me the royalty of the nations, and they have propagated the memory of my fortunate name to the ends of the earth. i have followed the reformed precepts of sippara, nipur, babylon, and borsippa; i have amended the imperfections which the men of all laws had admitted. i have reunited the dominions of kalu, ur, orchoé, erikhi, larsa,[ ] kullab, kisik, the dwelling-place of the god laguda; i have subdued their inhabitants. as to the laws of sumer[ ] and of the town of harran, which had fallen into desuetude from the most ancient times, i have restored to fresh vigor their forgotten customs. the great gods have made me happy by the constancy of their affection, they have granted me the exercise of my sovereignty over all kings; they have re-established obedience upon them all. from the day of my accession there existed no princes who were my masters; i have not, in combats or battles, seen my victor. i have crushed the territories of the rebels like straws, and i have struck them with the plagues of the four elements. i have opened innumerable deep and very extensive forests, i have levelled their inequalities. i have traversed winding and thick valleys, which were impenetrable, like a needle, and i passed in digging tanks dug on my way. by the grace and power of the great gods, my masters, i have flung my arms; by my force i have defeated my enemies. i have ruled from iatnan,[ ] which is in the middle of the sea of the setting sun, to the frontiers of egypt and of the country of the moschians, over vast phoenicia, the whole of syria, the whole of _guti muski_[ ] of distant media, near the country of bikni, to the country of ellip, from ras which borders upon elam, to the banks of the tigris, to the tribes of itu, rubu, haril, kaldud, hauran, ubul, ruhua, of the litaï who dwell on the borders of the surappi and the ukne, gambul, khindar, and pukud.[ ] i have reigned over the _suti_ hunters who are in the territory of iatbur, in whatever it was as far as the towns of samhun, bab-dur, dur-tilit, khilikh, pillat, dunni-samas, bubi, tell-khumba, which are in the dependency of elam,[ ] and kar-duniyas[ ] upper and lower, of the countries of bit-amukkan, bit-dakkur, bit-silan, bit-sa'alla, which together form chaldea in its totality, over the country of bit-iakin, which is on the sea-shore, as far as the frontier of dilmun. i have received their tributes, i have established my lieutenants over them as governors, and i have reduced them under my suzerainty. this is what i did from the beginning of my reign to my fifteenth year of reign: i defeated khumbanigas, king of elam, in the plains of kalu. i besieged and occupied the town of samaria, and took , of its inhabitants captive. i took from them chariots, but left them the rest of their belongings. i placed my lieutenants over them; i renewed the obligation imposed upon them by one of the kings who preceded me.[ ] hanun, king of gaza, and sebech, sultan[ ] of egypt, allied themselves at rapih[ ] to oppose me, and fight against me; they came before me, i put them to flight. sebech yielded before my cohorts, he fled, and no one has ever seen any trace of him since. i took with my own hand hanun, king of gaza. i imposed a tribute on pharaoh, king of egypt; samsie, queen of arabia; it-amar, the sabean, of gold, sweet smelling herbs of the land, horses, and camels. kiakku of sinukhta had despised the god assur, and refused submission to him. i took him prisoner, and seized his chariots and , of his soldiers. i gave sinuhta, the town of his royalty, to matti from the country of tuna, i added some horses and asses to the former tribute and appointed matti as governor. amris of tabal, had been placed upon the throne of khulli his father; i gave to him a daughter and i gave him cilicia[ ] which had never submitted to his ancestors. but he did not keep the treaty and sent his ambassador to urzaha, king of armenia, and to mita, king of the moschians, who had seized my provinces. i transported amris to assyria, with his belongings, the members of his ancestors' families, and the magnates of the country, as well as chariots; i established some assyrians, devoted to my government, in their places. i appointed my lieutenant governor over them, and commanded tributes to be levied upon them. jaubid of hamath, a smith,[ ] was not the legitimate master of the throne, he was an infidel and an impious man, and he had coveted the royalty of hamath. he incited the towns of arpad, simyra, damascus, and samaria to rise against me, took his precautions with each of them, and prepared for battle. i counted all the troops of the god assur; in the town of karkar which had declared itself for the rebel, i besieged him and his warriors, i occupied karkar and reduced it to ashes. i took him, himself, and had him flayed, and i killed the chief of the rioters in each town, and reduced them to a heap of ruins. i recruited my forces with chariots and horsemen from among the inhabitants of the country of hamath and added them to my empire. whilst iranzu of van[ ] lived, he was subservient and devoted to my rule, but fate removed him. his subjects placed his son aza on the throne. urzaha the armenian intrigued with the people of mount mildis, zikirta, misiandi, with the nobles of van, and enticed them to rebellion; they threw the body of their master aza on the top of the mountains. ullusun of van, his brother, whom they had placed on his father's throne, did homage to urzaha, and gave him fortresses with their garrisons. in the anger of my heart i counted all the armies of the god assur, i watched like a lion in ambush and advanced to attack these countries. ullusun of van saw my expedition approaching, he set out with his troops and took up a strong position in the ravines of the high mountains. i occupied izirti the town of his royalty, and the towns of izibia and armit, his formidable fortresses, i reduced them to ashes. i killed all that belonged to urzaha the armenian, in these high mountains. i took with my own hand royal members of his family. i occupied royal towns of which were ordinary towns and impregnable fortresses. i reduced them to ashes. i incorporated the strong towns, that ullusun of van had delivered to him with assyria. i occupied strong cities of the country of tuaya and the districts of tilusina of andia; , men, with their belongings, were carried away into slavery. mitatti, of zikirta, had secured himself against my arms; he and the men of his country had fled into the forests; no trace of them was to be seen. i reduced parda, the town of his royalty to ashes; i occupied twenty-three great towns in the environs, and i spoiled them. the cities of suandakhul and zurzukka, of the country of van, took the part of mitatti; i occupied and pillaged them. then i took bagadatti of the mount mildis, and i had him flayed. i banished dayaukku and his suite to hamath, and i made them dwell there. then ullusun heard in his high mountains of my glorious exploits: he departed in haste like a bird, and kissed my feet; i pardoned his innumerable misdeeds, and i blotted out his iniquities. i granted pardon to him; i replaced him upon the throne of his royalty. i gave him the two fortresses and the great towns that i had taken away from urzaha and mitatti. i endeavored to restore peace to his country. i made the image of my majesty: i wrote on it the glory of the god assur, my master, i erected many fac-similes of it in izirti, the town of his royalty. i imposed a tribute of horses, oxen, and lambs upon ianzu, king of the river country, in hupuskia, the town of his power. assurlih, of kar-alla, itti, of allapur, had sinned against assur and despised his power. i had assurlih flayed. i banished the men of kar-alla, whoever they were, and itti, with his suite, i placed them in hamath. i took the inhabitants of the towns of sukkia, bala, ahitikna, pappa,[ ] lallukni away from their homes; i made them dwell at damascus in syria. i occupied the towns of the country of niksamma, i took with my own hand nirisar, governor of the town of surgadia; i added these towns to the satrapy of parsuas.[ ] bel-sar-usur[ ] was king of the town of kisisim; i had him transported to assyria with all that he possessed, his treasure, the contents of his palace; i put my lieutenant in as governor of the town, to which i gave the name of kar-marduk. i had an image made of my majesty and erected it in the middle of the town. i occupied towns in the neighborhood and i added them to his government. i attacked and conquered kibaba, prefect of the town of kharkhar, i took him and the inhabitants of his country captive, i rebuilt this city and made the inhabitants of the provinces, that my arm had conquered, live there. i placed my lieutenant as governor over them. i named the town kar-sarkin; i established the worship of the god assur, my master, there. i erected an image of my royal self. i occupied towns in the environs, and added them to his government. i besieged and took the towns of tel-akhi-tub, khindau, bagai, and anzaria; i transported the inhabitants of them to assyria. i rebuilt them; i gave them the names of kar-nabu, kar-sin, kar-ben, kar-istar. to maintain my position in media, i have erected fortifications in the neighborhood of kar-sarkin. i occupied towns in media and annexed them to assyria and i levied annual tributes of horses upon them. i besieged and took the town of eristana, and the surrounding towns in the country of bait-ili; i carried away the spoil. the countries of agag[ ] and ambanda,[ ] in media, opposite the arabs of the east, had refused their tributes, i destroyed them, laid them waste, and burnt them by fire. dalta of ellip was subject to me, and devoted to the worship of assur; of his towns revolted and no longer recognized his dominion. i came to his aid, i besieged and occupied these towns, i carried the men and their goods away into assyria with numberless horses. urzana, of the town of musasir, had attached himself to urzaha the armenian, and had refused me his allegiance. with the multitude of my army, i covered the city of musasir as if it were with ravens, and he to save his life, fled alone into the mountains. i entered as a ruler into musasir. i seized as spoil urzana's wife, sons and daughters, his money, his treasures, all the stores of his palace whatever they were, with , men and all that they possessed, the gods haldia and bagabarta, his gods, and their holy vessels in great numbers. urzaha, king of armenia, heard of the defeat of musasir and the carrying away of the god haldia[ ] his god, he cut off his life by his own hands with a dagger of his girdle. i held a severe judgment over the whole of armenia. i spread over the men, who inhabit this country, mourning and lamentation. tarhunazi, of the town of melid, sought for revenge. he sinned against the laws of the great gods, and refused his submission. in the anger of my heart, i crushed like briars melid, which was the town of his kingdom, and the neighboring towns. i made him, his wife, sons and daughters, the slaves of his palace whoever they were, with , warriors, leave tel-garimmi; i treated them all as booty. i rebuilt tel-garimmi; i had it entirely occupied by some archers from the country of khammanua, which my hand had conquered, and i added it to the boundaries of this country. i put it in the hands of my lieutenant, and i restituted the surface of the dominion, as it had been in the time of gunzinan, the preceding king. tarhular, of gamgum, had a son muttallu, who had murdered his father by the arms, and sat on the throne against my will, and to whom they had intrusted their country. in the anger of my heart, i hastily marched against the town of markasi, with my chariots and horsemen, who followed on my steps, i treated muttallu, his son and the families of the country of bit-pa'alla in its totality, as captives, and seized as booty the gold and silver and the numberless treasures of his palace. i reinstated the men of gamgum and the neighboring tribes, and placed my lieutenant as governor over them; i treated them like the assyrians. azuri, king of ashdod,[ ] determined within himself to render no more tributes; he sent hostile messages against assyria to the neighboring kings. i meditated vengeance for this, and i withdrew from him the government over his country. i put his brother akhimit on his throne. but the people of syria, eager for revolt, got tired of akhimit's rule, and installed iaman, who like the former, was not the legitimate master of the throne. in the anger of my heart, i did not assemble the bulk of my army nor divide my baggage, but i marched against ashdod with my warriors, who did not leave the trace of my feet. iaman learnt from afar of the approach of my expedition; he fled beyond egypt toward libya (meluhhi),[ ] and no one ever saw any further trace of him. i besieged and took ashdod and the town of gimtu-asdudim;[ ] i carried away captive iaman's gods, his wife, his sons, his daughters, his money, and the contents of his palace, together with the inhabitants of his country. i built these towns anew and placed in them the men that my arm had conquered. i placed my lieutenant as governor over them, and i treated them as assyrians. they never again became guilty of impiety. the king of libya[ ] lives in the middle of the desert, in an inaccessible place, at (a month's) journey. from the most remote times until the renewal of the lunar period[ ] his fathers had sent no ambassadors to the kings, my ancestors, to ask for peace and friendship and to acknowledge the power of merodach. but the immense terror inspired by my majesty roused him, and fear changed his intentions. in fetters of iron he threw him (iaman), directed his steps toward assyria and kissed my feet. muttallu, of commagene, a fraudulent and hostile man, did not honor the memory of the gods, he plotted a conspiracy, and meditated defection. he trusted upon ar-gisti,[ ] king of armenia, an helper who did not assist him, took upon himself the collection of the tributes and his part of the spoil, and refused me his submission. in the anger of my heart, i took the road to his country with the chariots of my power, and the horsemen who never left the traces of my feet. muttallu saw the approach of my expedition, he withdrew his troops, and no one saw any further trace of him. i besieged and occupied his capital and large towns all together. i carried away his wife, his sons, his daughters, his money, his treasure, all precious things from his palace, together with the inhabitants of his country as spoil, i left none of them. i inaugurated this town afresh; i placed in it men from the country of bit-iakin, that my arm had conquered. i instituted my lieutenant as governor, and subdued them under my rule. i previously took from them chariots, , horsemen, , archers, , men armed with shields and lances, and i confided the country to my satrap. while dalta, king of ellip, lived, he was submissive and devoted to my rule, the infirmities of age however came and he walked on the path of death. nibie and ispabara, the sons of his wives, claimed both the vacant throne of his royalty, the country and the taxes, and they fought a battle. nibie applied to sutruk-nakhunti[ ] king of elam to support his claims, giving to him pledges for his alliance, and the other came as a helper. ispabara, on his side, implored me to maintain his cause, and to encourage him, at the same time bowing down, and humbling himself, and asking my alliance. i sent seven of my lieutenants with their armies to support his claims, they put nibie and the army of the four rivers,[ ] which had helped him, to flight, at the town of mareobisti. i reinstated ispabara on the throne; i re-established peace in his country, and confided it to his care. merodach-baladan, son of iakin,[ ] king of chaldæa, the fallacious, the persistent in enmity, did not respect the memory of the gods, he trusted in the sea, and in the retreat of the marshes; he eluded the precepts of the great gods, and refused to send his tributes. he had supported as an ally khumbanigas, king of elam. he had excited all the nomadic tribes of the desert against me. he prepared himself for battle, and advanced. during twelve years,[ ] against the will of the gods of babylon, the town of bel which judges the gods, he had excited the country of the sumers and accads, and had sent ambassadors to them. in honor of the god assur, the father of the gods, and of the great and august lord merodach, i roused my courage, i prepared my ranks for battle. i decreed an expedition against the chaldeans, an impious and riotous people. merodach-baladan heard of the approach of my expedition, dreading the terror of his own warriors, he fled before it, and flew in the night time like an owl, falling back from babylon, to the town of ikbibel. he assembled together the towns possessing oracles, and the gods living in these towns he brought to save them to dur-iakin, fortifying its walls. he summoned the tribes of gambul, pukud, tamun, ruhua, and khindar, put them in this place, and prepared for battle. he calculated the extent of a plethrum[ ] in front of the great wall. he constructed a ditch spans[ ] wide, and deep one fathom and a half.[ ] the conduits of water, coming from the euphrates, flowed out into this ditch; he had cut off the course of the river, and divided it into canals, he had surrounded the town, the place of his revolt, with a dam, he had filled it with water, and cut off the conduits. merodach-baladan, with his allies and his soldiers had the insignia of his royalty kept as in an island on the banks of the river; he arranged his plan of battle. i stretched my combatants all along the river dividing them into bands; they conquered the enemies. by the blood of the rebels the waters of these canals reddened like dyed wool. the nomadic tribes were terrified by this disaster which surprised him and fled; i completely separated his allies and the men of marsan from him; i filled the ranks of the insurgents with mortal terror. he left in his tent the insignia of his royalty, the golden ...[ ] the golden throne, the golden parasol, the golden sceptre, the silver chariot, the golden ornaments, and other effects of considerable weight; he fled alone, and disappeared like the ruined battlements of his fortress, and i entered into his retreat. i besieged and occupied the town of dur-iakin, i took as spoil and made captive, him, his wife, his sons, his daughters, the gold and silver and all that he possessed, the contents of his palace, whatever it was, with considerable booty from the town. i made each family and every man who had withdrawn himself from my arms, accountable for this sin. i reduced dur-iakin the town of his power to ashes. i undermined and destroyed its ancient forts. i dug up the foundation stone;[ ] i made it like a thunder-stricken ruin, i allowed the people of sippara, nipur, babylon, and borsippa, who live in the middle of the towns to exercise their profession, to enjoy their belongings in peace, and i have watched upon them. i took away the possession of the fields which from remote times had been in the hand of the _suti_ nomad, and restored them to their rightful owners. i placed the nomadic tribes of the desert again under my yoke, and i restored the forgotten land delimitations which had existed during the tranquillity of the land. i gave to each of the towns of ur, orchoé, erikhi, larsa, kullab, and kisik, the dwelling of the god laguda, the god that resides in each, and i restored the gods who had been taken away, to their sanctuaries. i re-established the altered laws in full force. i imposed tributes on the countries of bet-iakin, the high and low part, and on the towns of samhun, bab-dur, dur-tilit, bubi, tell-khumba, which are the resort of elam. i transplanted into elam the inhabitants of the commagene, in syria, that i had attacked with my own hand, obeying the commands of the great gods my masters, and i placed them on the territory of elam, in the town of sakbat. nabu-pakid-ilan was authorized to collect the taxes from the elamites in order to govern them; i claimed as a pledge the town of birtu. i placed all this country in the hands of my lieutenant at babylon and my lieutenant in the country of gambul.[ ] i returned alone to babylon, to the sanctuaries of bel, the judge of the gods, in the excitement of my heart and the splendor of my appearance; i took the hands of the great lord, the august god merodach, and i traversed the way to the chamber of the spoil. i transported into it talents minas drachms of gold _russù_;[ ] talents minas of silver;[ ] ivory, a great deal of copper, iron in an innumerable quantity, some of the stone _ka_, alabaster, the minerals _pi digili_, flattened _pi sirru_ for witness seals, blue and purple stuffs, cloth of _berom_ and cotton, ebony; cedar, and cypress wood, freshly cut from the fine forests on mount amanus, in honor of bel, zarpanit, nebo, and tasmit, and the gods who inhabit the sanctuaries of the sumers and accads; all that from my accession to the third year of my reign.[ ] upir, king of dilmun who dwells at the distance of parasanges[ ] in the midst of the sea of the rising sun and who is established as a fish, heard of the favor that the gods assur, nebo, and merodach had accorded me; he sent therefore his expiatory gift. and the seven kings of the country of iahnagi, of the country of iatnan (who have established and extended their dwellings at a distance of seven days' navigation in the midst of the sea of the setting sun, and whose name from the most ancient ages until the renewal of the lunar period,[ ] none of the kings my fathers in assyria and chaldea[ ] had heard), had been told of my lofty achievements in chaldea and syria, and my glory, which had spread from afar to the midst of the sea. they subdued their pride and humbled themselves; they presented themselves before me at babylon, bearing metals, gold, silver, vases, ebony wood, and the manufactures of their country; they kissed my feet. while i endeavored to exterminate bet-iakin and reduce aram, and render my rule more efficacious in the country of iatbur, which is beyond elam, my lieutenant, the governor of the country of kue, attacked mita, the moschian, and , of his towns; he demolished these towns, destroyed them, burnt them with fire, and led away many captives. and this mita the moschian, who had never submitted to the kings my predecessors and had never changed his will, sent his envoy to me to the very borders of the sea of the rising sun, bearing professions of allegiance and tributes. in these days, these nations and these countries that my hand has conquered, and that the gods assur, nebo, and merodach have made bow to my feet, followed the ways of piety. with their help i built at the feet of the _musri_, following the divine will and the wish of my heart, a town that i called _dur-sarkin_[ ] to replace nineveh.[ ] nisroch,[ ] sin, samas, nebo, bin, ninip, and their great spouses, who procreate eternally in the lofty temple of the upper and the nether world (aralli) blessed the splendid wonders, the superb streets in the town of dur-sarkin. i reformed the institutions which were not agreeable to their ideas. the priests, the _nisi ramki_, the _surmahhi supar_ disputed at their learned discussions about the pre-eminence of their divinities, and the efficacy of their sacrifices. i built in the town some palaces covered with the skin of the sea-calf,[ ] and of sandal wood, ebony, the wood of mastic tree, cedar, cypress, wild pistachio nut tree, a palace of incomparable splendor, as the seat of my royalty. i placed their _dunu_ upon tablets of gold, silver, alabaster, _tilpe_ stones, _parut_ stones, copper, lead, iron, tin, and _khibisti_ made of earth. i wrote thereupon the glory of the gods. above i built a platform of cedar beams. i bordered the doors of pine and mastic wood with bronze garnitures, and i calculated their distance. i made a spiral staircase similar to the one in the great temple of syria, that is called in the phoenician language, _bethilanni_. between the doors i placed double lions whose weight is _ner_ _soss_, talents[ ] of first-rate copper, made in honor of mylitta ...[ ] and their four _kubur_ in materials from mount amanus; i placed them on _nirgalli_.[ ] over them i sculptured artistically a crown of beast of the fields, a bird in stone of the mountains. toward the four celestial regions, i turned their front. the lintels and the uprights i made in large gypsum stone that i had taken away with my own hand, i placed them above. i walled them in and i drew upon me the admiration of the people of the countries. from the beginning to the end, i walked worshipping the god assur, and following the custom of wise men, i built palaces, i amassed treasures. in the month of blessing, on the happy day, i invoked, in the midst of them, assur, the father of the gods, the greatest sovereign of the gods and the _istarât_[ ] who inhabit assyria. i presented vessels of glass, things in chased silver, ivory, valuable jewels and immense presents, in great quantities, and i rejoiced their heart. i exhibited sculptured idols, double and winged, some ...[ ] winged, some ...[ ] winged, serpents, fishes, and birds, from unknown regions and abysses, the ...[ ] in high mountains, summits of the lands that i have conquered with my own hand, for the glory of my royalty. as a worshipper of the gods and the god assur, i sacrificed in their presence, with the sacrifice of white lambs, holy holocausts of expiation, in order to withdraw the gifts that had not been agreeable to the gods. he has granted me in his august power, a happy existence, long life, and i obtained a constantly lucky reign. i have entrusted myself to his favor. the great lord bel-el, the master of the lands, inhabits the lofty tracts; the gods and _istarât_ inhabit assyria; their legions remain there in _pargiti_, and _martakni_. with the chiefs of provinces, the satraps, wise men, astronomers, magnates, the lieutenants and governors of assyria, i have ruled in my palace, and administered justice. i have bid them take gold, silver, gold and silver vessels, precious stones, copper, iron, considerable products of mountains the mines of which are rich, cloth of _berom_ and cotton, blue and purple cloth, amber, skins of sea-calves, pearls, sandal-wood, ebony, horses from higher egypt,[ ] asses, mules, camels, oxen. with all these numerous tributes i have rejoiced the heart of the gods. may assur, the father of the gods, bless these palaces, by giving to his images a spontaneous splendor. may he watch over the issue even to the remote future. may the sculptured bull, the protector and god who imparts perfection, dwell in day and in night-time in his presence, and never stir from this threshold! with the help of assur, may the king who has built these palaces, attain an old age, and may his offspring multiply greatly! may these battlements last to the most remote future! may he who dwells there come forth surrounded with the greatest splendor; may he rejoice in his corporal health, in the satisfaction of his heart accomplish his wishes, attain his end, and may he render his magnificence seven times more imposing! [footnote : orchoé, the erech of the bible, is certainly the warka of the present day; sippara, sofeira; nipur, niffar; larsam, senkereh. ur (the ur of the bible) is mugheir; kullab and erikhi are unknown. (see "expéd. en mésopot.," i. p. et seq.)] [footnote : the old empire bal-bat-ki. the syllabaries explain this ideogram by "assur," but it is very awkward that in these texts the identification with assur occurs nowhere. i therefore transcribe "sumer," which was the true name of the people and the language named wrongly accadian. the term of "sumerian" is supported by mm. ménant, eneberg, gelzer, prætorius, delitzsch, olshausen, and other scholars.] [footnote : "itanus," or yatnan, in the island of crete, became afterward the name of the island of cyprus.] [footnote : for the words in italics no satisfactory translation has as yet been found.] [footnote : the "pekod" of the bible (jer. i. ; ezek. xxiii. ).] [footnote : which belongs to elam.] [footnote : lower chaldea. nearly all the names of the elamite towns are semitic (see gen. x. ), but the susian ones are not.] [footnote : tiglatpileser, whom sargon would not acknowledge.] [footnote : this is the word "siltan," the hebrew "shilton" ("power"), the arabic "sultan."] [footnote : raphia, near the frontier of egypt.] [footnote : khilakku. it seems to be identical with the "sparda" of persian, the "sepharad" of obadiah.] [footnote : the condition of jaubid before his accession.] [footnote : or minni.] [footnote : it seems not to be paphos.] [footnote : parthia(?).] [footnote : the same name as belshazzar.] [footnote : this agag is very possibly the country of haman the agagite, if we must not read agaz.] [footnote : ambanda is perhaps the median "kampanda."] [footnote : we find in the inscriptions of van, the god haldi as god of the armenians, which proves more forcibly than ever that the syllabary of the armenian inscriptions is the same as the assyrian syllabary.] [footnote : see isaiah xx. .] [footnote : meluhhi is not méroe, but libya, and especially the marmarica. the name seems to be the "milyes" of herodotus.] [footnote : "asdudim" seems to be a hebraic plural.] [footnote : meluhhi. this is the only passage where small gaps occur.] [footnote : this is one of the most important passages of the text; the period is the chaldean eclipse period of , years, and ended in b.c. instead of this passage, the stele of larnaca, now in berlin, has, "from the remotest times, the beginning of assyria, until now." the commencement of the period, b.c., coincided very nearly with the capture of babylon by the medes. this date commences the real history; previous to this time reigned the princes during twelve lunar periods of , , and twelve solar periods of , years, viz., , years. the very event may have happened eleven years afterward, b.c. the deluge happened, according to the chaldeans, in b.c.] [footnote : this royal name is still found in the armenian texts of van.] [footnote : the inscriptions of this prince are translated in the seventh volume.] [footnote : elam. we are now certain of this identification.] [footnote : the same who occurs in the ptolemaic canon ( - ).] [footnote : from to b.c.] [footnote : m. cm., yds.] [footnote : m. cm., yds.] [footnote : m. cm., - / ft.] [footnote : unexplained.] [footnote : "timin," not "cylinder."] [footnote : only two years after the commencement of the war.] [footnote : , . pd. troy .] [footnote : , . pd. troy, . a royal silver drachm is nearly s., a royal mina £ ; the state drachm and mina is the half of it. a silver talent is always very close to £ sterling.] [footnote : sargon speaks of his third "year" and not of his third campaign, in order to mark what he had already accomplished before the year .] [footnote : one hundred and ten english miles.] [footnote : this is the second passage where sargon alludes to this period ending under his reign.] [footnote : "karduniyas."] [footnote : or "dur-sarkayan." the king passes rapidly over some other peculiarities which he inserts in other texts, namely, the measures of the town, and the ceremonies of its edification. the circuit is given as containing - / ners (miles) stadium canes spans, or , spans, and botta's measurings afford , metres ( , yds.). this statement gives for the span, with a slight correction in the fourth decimal, , cm. ( . ins., and for the cubit , cm. . ins.).] [transcriber's note: above, the author seems to be using the european decimal point ",", in the metric measurements, and the american decimal point in the imperial measurements, ".".] [footnote : at this time the palace of nineveh was still in ruins. it was rebuilt by sennacherib.] [footnote : this is my former transcription of the divine name which is now pronounced hea. but i think sincerely that the latter is not better than the former one.] [footnote : this assimilation is not quite certain.] [footnote : one thousand ten talents cwt. english.] [footnote : obscure.] [footnote : a very difficult passage; the name of the god nergal does not interfere with the object.] [footnote : the hebrew "astaroth," which signifies "goddesses." compare judges x. .] [footnote : obscure.] [footnote : it is not clear what animals are meant.] the book of the thousand nights and one night: now first completely done into english prose and verse, from the original arabic, by john payne (author of "the masque of shadows," "intaglios: sonnets," "songs of life and death," "lautrec," "the poems of master francis villon of paris," "new poems," etc, etc.). in nine volumes: volume the first. london printed for subscribers only delhi edition contents of the first volume. introduction. story of king shehriyar and his brother a. story of the ox and the ass . the merchant and the genie a. the first old man's story b. the second old man's story c. the third old man's story . the fisherman and the genie a. story of the physician douban ab. story of king sindbad and his falcon ac. story of the king's son and the ogress b. story of the enchanted youth . the porter and the three ladies of baghdad a. the first calender's story b. the second calender's story ba. story of the envier and the envied c. the third calender's story d. the eldest lady's story e. the story of the portress . the three apples . noureddin ali of cairo and his son bedreddin hassan . story of the hunchback a. the christian broker's story b. the controller's story c. the jewish physician's story d. the tailor's story e. the barber's story ea. story of the barber's first brother eb. story of the barber's second brother ec. story of the barber's third brother ed. story of the barber's fourth brother ee. story of the barber's fifth brother ef. story of the barber's sixth brother . noureddin ali and the damsel enis el jelis . ghanim ben eyoub the slave of love a. story of the eunuch bekhit b. story of the eunich kafour prefatory note. the present is, i believe, the first complete translation of the great arabic compendium of romantic fiction that has been attempted in any european language comprising about four times as much matter as that of galland and three times as much as that of any other translator known to myself; and a short statement of the sources from which it is derived may therefore be acceptable to my readers. three printed editions, more or less complete, exist of the arabic text of the thousand and one nights; namely, those of breslau, boulac (cairo) and calcutta ( ), besides an incomplete one, comprising the first two hundred nights only, published at calcutta in . of these, the first is horribly corrupt and greatly inferior, both in style and completeness, to the others, and the second (that of boulac) is also, though in a far less degree, incomplete, whole stories (as, for instance, that of the envier and the envied in the present volume) being omitted and hiatuses, varying in extent from a few lines to several pages, being of frequent occurrence, whilst in addition to these defects, the editor, a learned egyptian, has played havoc with the style of his original, in an ill-judged attempt to improve it, producing a medley, more curious than edifying, of classical and semi-modern diction and now and then, in his unlucky zeal, completely disguising the pristine meaning of certain passages. the third edition, that which we owe to sir william macnaghten and which appears to have been printed from a superior copy of the manuscript followed by the egyptian editor, is by far the most carefully printed and edited of the three and offers, on the whole, the least corrupt and most comprehensive text of the work. i have therefore adopted it as my standard or basis of translation and have, to the best of my power, remedied the defects (such as hiatuses, misprints, doubtful or corrupt passages, etc.) which are of no infrequent occurrence even in this, the best of the existing texts, by carefully collating it with the editions of boulac and breslau (to say nothing of occasional references to the earlier calcutta edition of the first two hundred nights), adopting from one and the other such variants, additions and corrections as seemed to me best calculated to improve the general effect and most homogeneous with the general spirit of the work, and this so freely that the present version may be said, in great part, to represent a variorum text of the original, formed by a collation of the different printed texts; and no proper estimate can, therefore, be made of the fidelity of the translation, except by those who are intimately acquainted with the whole of these latter. even with the help of the new lights gained by the laborious process of collation and comparison above mentioned, the exact sense of many passages must still remain doubtful, so corrupt are the extant texts and so incomplete our knowledge, as incorporated in dictionaries, etc, of the peculiar dialect, half classical and half modern, in which the original work is written. one special feature of the present version is the appearance, for the first time, in english metrical shape, preserving the external form and rhyme movement of the originals, of the whole of the poetry with which the arabic text is so freely interspersed. this great body of verse, equivalent to at least ten thousand twelve-syllable english lines, is of the most unequal quality, varying from poetry worthy of the name to the merest doggrel, and as i have, in pursuance of my original scheme, elected to translate everything, good and bad (with a very few exceptions in cases of manifest mistake or misapplication), i can only hope that my readers will, in judging of my success, take into consideration the enormous difficulties with which i have had to contend and look with indulgence upon my efforts to render, under unusually irksome conditions, the energy and beauty of the original, where these qualities exist, and in their absence, to keep my version from degenerating into absolute doggrel. the present translation being intended as a purely literary work produced with the sole object of supplying the general body of cultivated readers with a fairly representative and characteristic version of the most famous work of narrative fiction in existence, i have deemed it advisable to depart, in several particulars, from the various systems of transliteration of oriental proper names followed by modern scholars, as, although doubtless admirably adapted to works having a scientific or non-literary object, they rest mainly upon devices (such as the use of apostrophes, accents, diacritical points and the employment of both vowels and consonants in unusual groups and senses) foreign to the genius of the english language and calculated only to annoy the reader of a work of imagination. of these points of departure from established usage i need only particularize some of the more important; the others will, in general, be found to speak for themselves. one of the most salient is the case of the short vowel fet-heh, which is usually written [a breve], but which i have thought it better to render, as a rule, by [e breve], as in "bed" (a sound practically equivalent to that of a, as in "beggar," adopted by the late mr. lane to represent this vowel), reserving the english a, as in "father," to represent the alif of prolongation or long arabic a, since i should else have no means of differentiating the latter from the former, save by the use of accents or other clumsy expedients, at once, to my mind, foreign to the purpose and vexatious to the reader of a work of pure literature. in like manner, i have eschewed the use of the letter q, as an equivalent for the dotted or guttural kaf (choosing to run the risk of occasionally misleading the reader as to the original arabic form of a word by leaving him in ignorance whether the k used is the dotted or undotted one,--a point of no importance whatever to the non-scientific public,--rather than employ an english letter in a manner completely unwarranted by the construction of our language, in which q has no power as a terminal or as moved by any vowel other than u, followed by one of the four others) and have supplied its place, where the dotted kaf occurs as a terminal or as preceding a hard vowel, by the hard c, leaving k to represent it (in common with the undotted kaf generally) in those instances where it is followed by a soft vowel. for similar reasons, i have not attempted to render the arabic quasi-consonant aïn, save by the english vowel corresponding to that by which it is moved, preferring to leave the guttural element of its sound (for which we have no approach to an equivalent in english) unrepresented, rather than resort to the barbarous and meaningless device of the apostrophe. again, the principle, in accordance with which i have rendered the proper names of the original, is briefly (and subject to certain variations on the ground of convenience and literary fitness) to preserve unaltered such names as tigris, bassora, cairo, aleppo, damascus, etc., which are familiar to us otherwise than by the arabian nights and to alter which, for the sake of mere literality, were as gratuitous a piece of pedantry as to insist upon writing copenhagen kjobenhavn, or canton kouang-tong, and to transliterate the rest as nearly as may consist with a due regard to artistic considerations. the use of untranslated arabic words, other than proper names, i have, as far as possible, avoided, rendering them, with very few exceptions, by the best english equivalents in my power, careful rather to give the general sense, where capable of being conveyed by reasonable substitution of idiom or otherwise, than to retain the strict letter at the expense of the spirit; nor, on the other hand, have i thought it necessary to alter the traditional manner of spelling certain words which have become incorporated with our language, where (as in the case of the words genie, houri, roe, khalif, vizier, cadi, bedouin, etc. etc.) the english equivalent is fairly representative of the original arabic. i have to return my cordial thanks to captain richard f. burton, the well-known traveller and author, who has most kindly undertaken to give me the benefit of his great practical knowledge of the language and customs of the arabs in revising the manuscript of my translation for the press. the book of the thousand nights and one night in the name of god, the compassionate, the merciful! praise be to god, the lord of the two worlds,[fn# ] and blessing and peace upon the prince of the prophets, our lord and master mohammed, whom god bless and preserve with abiding and continuing peace and blessing until the day of the faith! of a verity, the doings of the ancients become a lesson to those that follow after, so that men look upon the admonitory events that have happened to others and take warning, and come to the knowledge of what befell bygone peoples and are restrained thereby. so glory be to him who hath appointed the things that have been done aforetime for an example to those that come after! and of these admonitory instances are the histories called the thousand nights and one night, with all their store of illustrious fables and relations. it is recorded in the chronicles of the things that have been done of time past that there lived once, in the olden days and in bygone ages and times, a king of the kings of the sons of sasan, who reigned over the islands[fn# ] of india and china and was lord of armies and guards and servants and retainers. he had two sons, an elder and a younger, who were both valiant cavaliers, but the elder was a stouter horseman than the younger. when their father died, he left his empire to his elder son, whose name was shehriyar, and he took the government and ruled his subjects justly, so that the people of the country and of the empire loved him well, whilst his brother shahzeman became king of samarcand of tartary. the two kings abode each in his own dominions, ruling justly over their subjects and enjoying the utmost prosperity and happiness, for the space of twenty years, at the end of which time the elder king yearned after his brother and commanded his vizier to repair to the latter's court and bring him to his own capital. the vizier replied, "i hear and obey," and set out at once and journeyed till he reached king shahzeman's court in safety, when he saluted him for his brother and informed him that the latter yearned after him and desired that he would pay him a visit, to which king shahzeman consented gladly and made ready for the journey and appointed his vizier to rule the country in his stead during his absence. then he caused his tents and camels and mules to be brought forth and encamped, with his guards and attendants, without the city, in readiness to set out next morning for his brother's kingdom. in the middle of the night, it chanced that he bethought him of somewhat he had forgotten in his palace; so he returned thither privily and entered his apartments, where he found his wife asleep in his own bed, in the arms of one of his black slaves. when he saw this, the world grew black in his sight, and he said to himself, "if this is what happens whilst i am yet under the city walls, what will be the condition of this accursed woman during my absence at my brother's court?" then he drew his sword and smote the twain and slew them and left them in the bed and returned presently to his camp, without telling any one what had happened. then he gave orders for immediate departure and set out a'once and travelled till he drew near his brother's capital when he despatched vaunt-couriers to announce his approach. his brother came forth to meet him and saluted him and rejoiced exceedingly and caused the city to be decorated in his honour. then he sat down with him to converse and make merry; but king shahzeman could not forget the perfidy of his wife and grief grew on him more and more and his colour changed and his body became weak. shehriyar saw his condition, but attributed it to his separation from his country and his kingdom, so let him alone and asked no questions of him, till one day he said to him, "o my brother, i see that thou art grown weak of body and hast lost thy colour." and shahzeman answered, "o my brother, i have an internal wound," but did not tell him about his wife. said shehriyar, "i wish thou wouldst ride forth with me a-hunting; maybe it would lighten thy heart." but shahzeman refused; so his brother went out to hunt without him. now there were in king shahzeman's apartments lattice-windows overlooking his brother's garden, and as the former was sitting looking on the garden, behold a gate of the palace opened, and out came twenty damsels and twenty black slaves, and among them his brother's wife, who was wonderfully fair and beautiful. they all came up to a fountain, where the girls and slaves took off their clothes and sat down together. then the queen called out, "o mesoud!" and there came to her a black slave, who embraced her and she him. then he lay with her, and on likewise did the other slaves with the girls. and they ceased not from kissing and clipping and cricketing and carousing until the day began to wane. when the king of tartary saw this, he said to himself, "by allah, my mischance was lighter than this!" and his grief and chagrin relaxed from him and he said, "this is more grievous than what happened to me!" so he put away his melancholy and ate and drank. presently, his brother came back from hunting and they saluted each other: and shehriyar looked at shahzeman and saw that his colour had returned and his face was rosy and he ate heartily, whereas before he ate but little. so he said to him, "o my brother, when i last saw thee, thou wast pale and wan, and now i see that the colour has returned to thy face. tell me how it is with thee." quoth shahzeman, "i will tell thee what caused my loss of colour, but excuse me from acquainting thee with the cause of its return to me." said shehriyar, "let me hear first what was the cause of thy pallor and weakness." "know then, o my brother," rejoined shahzeman, "that when thou sentest thy vizier to bid me to thee, i made ready for the journey and had actually quitted my capital city, when i remembered that i had left behind me a certain jewel, that which i gave thee. so i returned to my palace, where i found my wife asleep in my bed, in the arms of a black slave. i slew them both and came to thee; and it was for brooding over this affair, that i lost my colour and became weak. but forgive me if i tell thee not the cause of my restoration to health." when his brother heard this, he said to him, "i conjure thee by allah, tell me the reason of thy recovery!" so he told him all that he had seen, and shehriyar said, "i must see this with my own eyes." "then," replied shahzeman, "feign to go forth to hunt and hide thyself in my lodging and thou shalt see all this and have ocular proof of the truth." so shehriyar ordered his attendants to prepare to set out at once; whereupon the troops encamped without the city and he himself went forth with them and sat in his pavilion, bidding his servants admit no one. then he disguised himself and returned secretly to king shahzeman's palace and sat with him at the lattice overlooking the garden, until the damsels and their mistress came out with the slaves and did as his brother had reported, till the call to afternoon prayer. when king shehriyar saw this, he was as one distraught and said to his brother, "arise, let us depart hence, for we have no concern with kingship, and wander till we find one to whom the like has happened as to us, else our death were better than our life." then they went out by a postern of the palace and journeyed days and nights till they came to a tree standing in the midst of a meadow, by a spring of water, on the shore of the salt sea, and they drank of the stream and sat down by it to rest. when the day was somewhat spent, behold, the sea became troubled and there rose from it a black column that ascended to the sky and made towards the meadow. when the princes saw this, they were afraid and climbed up to the top of the tree, which was a high one, that they might see what was the matter; and behold, it was a genie of lofty stature, broad-browed and wide-cheated, bearing on his head a coffer of glass with seven locks of steel. he landed and sat down under the tree, where he set down the coffer, and opening it, took out a smaller one. this also he opened, and there came forth a damsel slender of form and dazzlingly beautiful, as she were a shining sun, as says the poet uteyeh: she shines out in the dusk, and lo! the day is here, and all the trees flower forth with blossoms bright and clear, the sun from out her brows arises, and the moon, when she unveils her face, cloth hide for shame and fear. all living things prostrate themselves before her feet, when she unshrouds and all her hidden charms appear; and when she flashes forth the lightnings of her glance, she maketh eyes to rain, like showers, with many a tear. when the genie saw her, he said to her, "o queen of noble ladies, thou whom indeed i stole away on thy wedding night, i have a mind to sleep awhile." and he laid his head on her knees and fell asleep. presently the lady raised her eyes to the tree and saw the two kings among the branches; so she lifted the genie's head from her lap and laid it on the ground, then rose and stood beneath the tree and signed to them to descend, without heeding the afrit.[fn# ] they answered her, in the same manner, "god on thee [fn# ] excuse us from this." but she rejoined by signs, as who should say, "if you do not come down, i will wake the afrit on you, and he will kill you without mercy." so they were afraid and came down to her, whereupon she came up to them and offered them her favours, saying, "to it, both of you, and lustily; or i will set the afrit on you." so for fear of him, king shehriyar said to his brother shahzeman, "o brother, do as she bids thee." but he replied, "not i; do thou have at her first." and they made signs to each other to pass first, till she said, "why do i see you make signs to each other? an you come not forward and fall to, i will rouse the afrit on you." so for fear of the genie, they lay with her one after the other, and when they had done, she bade them arise, and took out of her bosom a purse containing a necklace made of five hundred and seventy rings, and said to them, "know ye what these are?" they answered, "no." and she said, "every one of the owners of these rings has had to do with me in despite of this afrit. and now give me your rings, both of you." so each of them took off a ring and gave it to her. and she said to them, "know that this genie carried me off on my wedding night and laid me in a box and shut the box up in a glass chest, on which he clapped seven strong locks and sank it to the bottom of the roaring stormy sea, knowing not that nothing can hinder a woman, when she desires aught, even as says one of the poets: i rede thee put no faith in womankind, nor trust the oaths they lavish all in vain: for on the satisfaction of their lusts depend alike their love and their disdain. they proffer lying love, but perfidy is all indeed their garments do contain. take warning, then, by joseph's history, and how a woman sought to do him bane; and eke thy father adam, by their fault to leave the groves of paradise was fain. or as another says: out on yon! blame confirms the blamed one in his way. my fault is not so great indeed as you would say. if i'm in love, forsooth, my case is but the same as that of other men before me, many a day. for great the wonder were if any man alive from women and their wiles escape unharmed away!" when the two kings heard this, they marvelled and said, "allah! allah! there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the supreme! we seek aid of god against the malice of women, for indeed their craft is great!" then she said to them, "go your ways." so they returned to the road, and shehriyar said to shahzeman, "by allah, o my brother, this afrit's case is more grievous than ours. for this is a genie and stole away his mistress on her wedding night and clapped her in a chest, which he locked with seven locks and sank in the midst of the sea, thinking to guard her from that which was decreed by fate, yet have we seen that she has lain with five hundred and seventy men in his despite, and now with thee and me to boot. verily, this is a thing that never yet happened to any, and it should surely console us. let us therefore return to our kingdoms and resolve never again to take a woman to wife; and as for me, i will show thee what i will do." so they set out at once and presently came to the camp outside shehriyar's capital and, entering the royal pavilion, sat down on their bed of estate. then the chamberlains and amirs and grandees came in to them and shehriyar commanded them to return to the city. so they returned to the city and shehriyar went up to his palace, where he summoned his vizier and bade him forthwith put his wife to death. the vizier accordingly took the queen and killed her, whilst shehriyar, going into the slave girls and concubines, drew his sword and slew them all. then he let bring others in their stead and took an oath that every night he would go in to a maid and in the morning put her to death, for that there was not one chaste woman on the face of the earth. as for shahzeman, he sought to return to his kingdom at once; so his brother equipped him for the journey and he set out and fared on till he came to his own dominions. meanwhile, king shehriyar commanded his vizier to bring him the bride of the night, that he might go in to her; so he brought him one of the daughters of the amirs and he went in to her, and on the morrow he bade the vizier cut off her head. the vizier dared not disobey the king's commandment, so he put her to death and brought him another girl, of the daughters of the notables of the land. the king went in to her also, and on the morrow he bade the vizier kill her; and he ceased not to do thus for three years, till the land was stripped of marriageable girls, and all the women and mothers and fathers wept and cried out against the king, cursing him and complaining to the creator of heaven and earth and calling for succour upon him who heareth prayer and answereth those that cry to him; and those that had daughters left fled with them, till at last there remained not a single girl in the city apt for marriage. one day the king ordered the vizier to bring him a maid as of wont; so the vizier went out and made search for a girl, but found not one and returned home troubled and careful for fear of the king's anger. now this vizier had two daughters, the elder called shehrzad and the younger dunyazad, and the former had read many books and histories and chronicles of ancient kings and stories of people of old time; it is said indeed that she had collected a thousand books of chronicles of past peoples and bygone kings and poets. moreover, she had read books of science and medicine; her memory was stored with verses and stories and folk-lore and the sayings of kings and sages, and she was wise, witty, prudent and well-bred. she said to her father, "how comes it that i see thee troubled and oppressed with care and anxiety? quoth one of the poets: 'tell him that is of care oppressed, that grief shall not endure alway, but even as gladness fleeteth by, so sorrow too shall pass away.'" when the vizier heard his daughter's words, he told her his case, and she said, "by allah, o my father, marry me to this king, for either i will be the means of the deliverance of the daughters of the muslims from slaughter or i will die and perish as others have perished." "for god's sake," answered the vizier, "do not thus adventure thy life!" but she said, "it must be so." whereupon her father was wroth with her and said to her, "fool that thou art, dost thou not know that the ignorant man who meddles in affairs falls into grievous peril, and that he who looks not to the issue of his actions finds no friend in time of evil fortune? as says the byword, 'i was sitting at my ease, but my officiousness would not let me rest.' and i fear lest there happen to thee what happened to the ox and the ass with the husbandman." "and what happened to them?" asked she. quoth the vizier, "know, o my daughter, that story of the ox[fn# ] and the ass there was once a merchant who was rich in goods and cattle, and he had a wife and children and dwelt in the country and was skilled in husbandry. now god had gifted him to understand the speech of beasts and birds of every kind, but under pain of death if he divulged his gift to any one; so he kept it secret for fear of death. he had in his byre an ox and an ass, each tied up in his stall, hard by the other. one day, as the merchant was sitting near at hand, he heard the ox say to the ass, 'i give thee joy, o father wakeful![fn# ] thou enjoyest rest and attention and they keep thy stall always swept and sprinkled, and thine eating is sifted barley and thy drink fresh water, whilst i am always weary, for they take me in the middle of the night and gird the yoke on my neck and set me to plough and i toil without ceasing from break of morn till sunset. i am forced to work more than my strength and suffer all kinds of indignities, such as blows and abuse, from the cruel ploughman; and i return home at the end of the day, and indeed my sides are torn and my neck is flayed. then they shut me up in the cow-house and throw me beans and straw mixed with earth and husks, and i lie all night in dung and stale. but thy place is always swept and sprinkled and thy manger clean and full of sweet hay and thou art always resting, except that, now and then, our master hath occasion to ride thee and returns speedily with thee; and but for this thou art always resting and i toiling, and thou sleeping and i waking; thou art full and i hungry and thou honoured and i despised.' 'o broadhead,' answered the ass,' he was in the right who dubbed thee ox [fn# ], for thou art stupid in the extreme, nor is there in thee thought or craft but thou showest zeal and cost thine utmost endeavour before thy master and fearest and killest thyself for the benefit of another. thou goest forth at the time of morning prayer and returnest not till sundown and endurest all day all manner of afflictions, now blows now fatigue and now abuse. when thou returnest, the ploughman ties thee to a stinking manger, and thou friskest and pawest the ground and buttest with thy horns and bellowest greatly, and they think thou art content. no sooner have they thrown thee thy fodder than thou fallest on it greedily and hastenest to fill thy belly with it. but if thou wilt follow my counsel, it will be the better for thee and thou wilt get twice as much rest as i. when thou goest forth to the furrow and they lay the yoke on thy neck, lie down, and do not rise, even if they beat thee, or only rise and lie down again; and when they bring thee home, fall prostrate on thy back and refuse thy fodder, when they throw it thee and feign to be sick. do this for a day or two and thou wilt have rest from toil and weariness.' the ox thanked the ass greatly for his advice and called down blessings on him; and the merchant heard all that passed between them. next day the ploughman took the ox and yoked him to the plough and set him to work as usual. the ox began to fall short in his work, and the ploughman beat him till he broke the yoke and fled, following out the ass's precepts; but the man overtook him and beat him till he despaired of life. yet for all that, he did nothing but stand still and fall down till the evening. then the ploughman took him home and tied him in his stall; but he withdrew from the manger and neither frisked nor stamped nor bellowed as usual, and the man wondered at this. then he brought him the beans and straw, but he smelt at them and left them and lay down at a distance and passed the night without eating. next morning, the ploughman came and found the straw and beans untouched and the ox lying on his back, with his stomach swollen and his legs in the air; so he was concerned for him and said to himself, 'he has certainly fallen ill, and this is why he would not work yesterday.' then he went to his master and told him that the ox was ill and would not touch his fodder. now the farmer knew what this meant, for that he had overheard the talk between the ox and the ass as before mentioned. so he said, 'take that knave of an ass and bind the yoke on his neck and harness him to the plough and try and make him do the ox's work.' so the ploughman took the ass and made him work all day beyond his strength to accomplish the ox's task; and he beat him till his skin and ribs were sore and his neck flayed with the yoke. when the evening came and the ass resumed home, he could hardly drag himself along. but as for the ox, he had lain all day, resting, and had eaten his fodder cheerfully and with a good appetite; and all day long he had called down blessings on the ass for his good counsel, not knowing what had befallen him on his account. so when the night came and the ass returned to the stable, the ox arose and said to him, 'mayst thou be gladdened with good news, o father wakeful! through thee, i have rested today and have eaten my food in peace and comfort.' the ass made him no answer, for rage and vexation and fatigue and the beating he had undergone; but he said to himself, 'all this comes of my folly in giving another good advice; as the saying goes, "i was lying at full length, but my officiousness would not let me be." but i will go about with him and return him to his place, else i shall perish.' then he went to his manger weary, whilst the ox thanked him and blessed him. "and thou, o my daughter," said the vizier, "like the ass, wilt perish through thy lack of sense, so do thou oft quiet and cast not thyself into perdition; indeed i give thee good counsel and am affectionately solicitous for thee." "o my father," answered she, "nothing will serve me but i must go up to this king and become his wife." quoth he, "an thou hold not thy peace and bide still, i will do with thee even as the merchant did with his wife." "and what was that?" asked she. "know," answered he, "that the merchant and his wife and children came out on the terrace, it being a moonlit night and the moon at its full. now the terrace overlooked the byre; and presently, as he sat, with his children playing before him, the merchant heard the ass say to the ox, 'tell me, o father stupid, what dost thou mean to do tomorrow?' 'what but that thou advisest me?' answered the ox. 'thine advice was as good as could be and has gotten me complete rest, and i will not depart from it in the least; so when they bring me my fodder, i will refuse it and feign sickness and swell out my belly.' the ass shook his head and said, 'beware of doing that i' 'why?' asked the ox, and the ass answered, 'know that i heard our master say to the labourer, "if the ox do not rise and eat his fodder today, send for the butcher to slaughter him, and give his flesh to the poor and make a rug of his skin." and i fear for thee on account of this. so take my advice, ere ill-hap betide thee, and when they bring thee the fodder, eat it and arise and bellow and paw the ground with thy feet, or our master will assuredly slaughter thee.' whereupon the ox arose and bellowed and thanked the ass, and said, 'tomorrow, i will go with them readily.' then he ate up all his fodder, even to licking the manger with his tongue. when the merchant heard this, he was amused at the ass's trick, and laughed, till he fell backward. 'why dost thou laugh?' asked his wife; and he said, 'i laughed at something that i saw and heard, but it is a secret and i cannot disclose it, or i shall die.' quoth she, 'there is no help for it but thou must tell me the reason of thy laughter, though thou die for it.' 'i cannot reveal it,' answered he, 'for fear of death.' 'it was at me thou didst laugh,' said she, and ceased not to importune him till he was worn out and distracted. so he assembled all his family and kinsfolk and summoned the cadi and the witnesses, being minded to make his last dispositions and impart to her the secret and die, for indeed he loved her with a great love, and she was the daughter of his father's brother and the mother of his children. moreover, he sent for all her family and the neighbours, and when they were all assembled, he told them the state of the case and announced to them the approach of his last hour. then he gave his wife her portion and appointed guardians of his children and freed his slave girls and took leave of his people. they all wept, and the cadi and the witnesses wept also and went up to the wife and said to her, 'we conjure thee, by allah, give up this matter, lest thy husband and the father of thy children die. did he not know that if he revealed the secret, he would surely die, he would have told thee.' but she replied, 'by allah, i will not desist from him, till he tell me, though he die for it.' so they forbore to press her. and all who were present wept sore, and there was a general mourning in the house. then the merchant rose and went to the cow-house, to make his ablutions and pray, intending after to return and disclose his secret and die. now he had a cock and fifty hens and a dog, and he heard the latter say in his lingo to the cock, 'how mean is thy wit, o cock! may he be disappointed who reared thee! our master is in extremity and thou clappest thy wings and crowest and fliest from one hen's back to another's! god confound thee! is this a time for sport and diversion? art thou not ashamed of thyself?' 'and what ails our master, o dog?' asked the cock. the dog told him what had happened and how the merchant's wife had importuned him, till he was about to tell her his secret and die, and the cock said, 'then is our master little of wit and lacking in sense; if he cannot manage his affairs with a single wife, his life is not worth prolonging. see, i have fifty wives. i content this one and anger that, stint one and feed another, and through my good governance they are all under my control. now, our master pretends to sense and accomplishments, and he has but one wife and yet knows not how to manage her.' quoth the dog, 'what, then, should our master do?' 'he should take a stick,' replied the cock, 'and beat her soundly, till she says, "i repent, o my lord! i will never again ask a question as long as i live." and when once he has done this, he will be free from care and enjoy life. but he has neither sense nor judgment.' when the merchant heard what the cock said, he went to his wife (after he had hidden a rattan in an empty store-room) and said to her, 'come with me into this room, that i may tell thee my secret and die and none see me.' so she entered gladly, thinking that he was about to tell her his secret, and he locked the door; then he took the rattan and brought it down on her back and ribs and shoulders, saying, 'wilt thou ask questions about what is none of thy business?' he beat her till she was well-nigh senseless, and she cried out, 'by allah, i will ask thee no more questions, and indeed i repent sincerely!' and she kissed his hands and feet. then he unlocked the door and went out and told the company what had happened, whereat they rejoiced, and mourning was changed into joy and gladness. so the merchant learnt good management from a cock, and he and his wife lived happily until death. and thou, o my daughter," added the vizier, "except thou desist from this thing, i will do with thee even as the merchant did with his wife." "i will never desist," answered she, "nor is it this story that can turn me from my purpose; and an thou yield not to me, i will go up myself to the king and complain to him of thee, in that thou grudges the like of me to the like of him." quoth her father, "must it be so?" and she answered "yes." so being weary of striving with her and despairing of turning her from her purpose, he went up to king shehriyar and kissing the earth before him, told him about his daughter and how she would have him give her to him that next night; whereat the king marvelled and said to him, "how is this? by him who raised up the heavens, if thou bring her to me, i shall say to thee on the morrow, 'take her and put her to death.' and if thou kill her not, i will kill thee without fail." "o king of the age," answered the vizier, "it is she who will have it so; and i told her all this, but she will not hear me and insists upon passing this night with thy highness." "it is well," answered shehriyar; "go and make her ready, and tonight bring her to me." so the vizier returned to his daughter and told her what had passed, saying, "may god not bereave us of thee!" but shehrzad rejoiced with an exceeding joy and made ready all that she needed, and said to her sister dunyazad, "o my sister, note well what i shall enjoin thee. when i go up to the sultan, i will send after thee, and when thou comest to me and seest that the king has done his will of me, do thou say to me, 'o my sister, an thou be not asleep, tell us some of thy delightful stories, to pass away the watches of this our night.' do this and (god willing) it shall be the means of my deliverance and of the ridding of the folk of this calamity, and by it i will turn the king from his custom." dunyazad answered, "it is well." and the vizier carried shehrzad to the king, who took her to his bed and fell to toying with her. but she wept, and he said to her, "why dost thou weep?" "o king of the age," answered she, "i have a young sister and i desire to take leave of her this night and that she may take leave of me before the morning." so he sent for dunyazad, and she waited till the sultan had done his desire of her sister and they were all three awake, when she coughed and said, "o my sister, an thou be not asleep, tell us one of thy pleasant stories, to beguile the watches of our night, and i will take leave of thee before the morning." "with all my heart," answered shehrzad, "if the good king give me leave." the king being wakeful, was pleased to hear a story and said, "tell on." whereat she rejoiced greatly and said, "it is related, o august king, that the merchant and the genie. there was once a merchant, who had much substance and traded largely in foreign countries. one day, as he was riding through a certain country, whither he had gone to collect what was due to him, there overtook him the heat of the day and presently he espied a garden[fn# ] before him; so he made towards it for shelter and alighting, sat down under a walnut tree, by a spring of water. then he put his hand to his saddle bags and took out a cake of bread and a date and ate them and threw away the date stone, when behold, there started up before him a gigantic afrit, with a naked sword in his hand, who came up to him and said, 'arise, that i may slay thee, even as thou hast slain my son.' 'how did i slay thy son?' asked the merchant, and the genie replied, 'when thou threwest away the date stone, it smote my son, who was passing at the time, on the breast, and he died forthright.' when the merchant heard this, he said, 'verily we are god's and to him we return! there is no power and no virtue but in god, the most high, the supreme! if i killed him, it was by misadventure, and i prithee pardon me.' but the genie said, 'there is no help for it but i must kill thee.' then he seized him and throwing him down, raised his sword to strike him: whereupon the merchant wept and said, 'i commit my affair to god!' and recited the following verses: fate has two days, untroubled one, the other lowering, and life two parts, the one content, the other sorrowing. say unto him that taunteth us with fortune's perfidy, 'at whom but those whose heads are high doth fate its arrows fling?' if that the hands of time have made their plaything of our life, till for its long protracted kiss ill-hap upon us spring, dost thou not see the hurricane, what time the wild winds blow, smite down the stately trees alone and spare each lesser thing? lo! in the skies are many stars, no one can tell their tale, but to the sun and moon alone eclipse brings darkening. the earth bears many a pleasant herb and many a plant and tree: but none is stoned save only those to which the fair fruit cling. look on the sea and how the waifs float up upon the foam, but in its deepest depths of blue the pearls have sojourning. 'cut short thy speech,' said the genie, 'for, by allah, there is no help for it but i must kill thee.' 'know, o afrit,' replied the merchant, 'that i have a wife and children and much substance, and i owe debts and hold pledges: so let me return home and give every one his due, and i vow by all that is most sacred that i will return to thee at the end of the year, that thou mayest do with me as thou wilt, and god is witness of what i say.' the genie accepted his promise and released him, whereupon he returned to his dwelling-place and paid his debts and settled all his affairs. moreover, he told his wife and children what had happened and made his last dispositions, and tarried with his family till the end of the year. then he rose and made his ablutions[fn# ] and took his winding sheet under his arm and bidding his household and kinsfolk and neighbours farewell, set out, much against his will, to perform his promise to the genie; whilst his family set up a great noise of crying and lamentation. he journeyed on till he reached the garden, where he had met with the genie, on the first day of the new year, and there sat down to await his doom. presently, as he sat weeping over what had befallen him, there came up an old man, leading a gazelle by a chain, and saluted the merchant, saying, 'what ails thee to sit alone in this place, seeing that it is the resort of the jinn?'[fn# ] the merchant told him all that had befallen him with the afrit, and he wondered and said, 'by allah, o my brother, thy good faith is exemplary and thy story is a marvellous one! if it were graven with needles on the corners of the eye, it would serve as a warning to those that can profit by example.' then he sat down by his side, saying, 'by allah, o my brother, i will not leave thee till i see what befalls thee with this afrit.' so they sat conversing, and fear and terror got hold upon the merchant and trouble increased upon him, notwithstanding the old man's company. presently another old man came up, leading two black dogs, and saluting them, inquired why they sat in a place known to be haunted by jinn, whereupon the merchant repeated his story to him. he had not sat long with them when there came up a third old man leading a dappled she-mule, and after putting to them the same question and receiving a like answer, sat down with them to await the issue of the affair. they had sat but a little while longer, when behold, there arose a cloud of dust and a great whirling column approached from the heart of the desert. then the dust lifted and discovered the genie, with a drawn sword in his hand and sparks of fire issuing from his eyes. he came up to them and dragged the merchant from amongst them, saying, 'rise, that i may slay thee as thou slewest my son, the darling of my heart!' whereupon the merchant wept and bewailed himself and the three old men joined their cries and lamentations to his. then came forward the first old man, he of the gazelle, and kissed the afrit's hand and said to him, 'o genie and crown of the kings of the jinn, if i relate to thee my history with this gazelle and it seem to thee wonderful, wilt thou grant me a third of this merchant's blood?' 'yes, o old man,' answered the genie, 'if thou tell me thy story and i find it wonderful, i will remit to thee a third of his blood.' then said the old man, 'know, o afrit, that the first old man's story. this gazelle is the daughter of my father's brother and my own flesh and blood. i married her whilst she was yet of tender age and lived with her near thirty years, without being blessed with a child by her. so i took me a concubine and had by her a son like the rising full moon, with eyes and eyebrows of perfect beauty; and he grew up and flourished till he reached the age of fifteen, when i had occasion to journey to a certain city, and set out thither with great store of merchandise. now my wife had studied sorcery and magic from her youth: so, i being gone, she turned my son into a calf and his mother into a cow and delivered them both to the cowherd: and when, after a long absence, i returned from my journey and inquired after my son and his mother, my wife said to me, "thy slave died and her son ran away, whither i know not." i abode for the space of a year, mournful-hearted and weeping-eyed, till the coming of the greater festival, when i sent to the herdsman and bade him bring me a fat cow for the purpose of sacrifice. so he brought me the very cow into which my wife had changed my concubine by her art; and i tucked up my skirts and taking the knife in my hand, went up to the cow to slaughter her; but she lowed and moaned so piteously, that i was seized with wonder and compassion and held my hand from her and said to the herd, "bring me another cow." "not so!" cried my wife. "slaughter this one, for we have no finer nor fatter." so i went up to her again, but she cried out, and i left her and ordered the herdsman to kill her and skin her. so he killed her and flayed her, but found on her neither fat nor flesh, only skin and bone. then i was sorry for having slain her, when repentance availed me not; and i gave her to the herd and said to him, "bring me a fat calf." so he brought me my son in the guise of a calf; and when he saw me, he broke his halter and came up to me and fawned on me and moaned and wept, till i took pity on him and said to the man, "bring me a cow and let this calf go." but my wife cried out at me and said, "not so: thou must sacrifice this calf and none other to-day: for it is a holy and a blessed day, on which it behoves us to offer up none but a good thing, and we have no calf fatter or finer than this one." quoth i, "look at the condition of the cow i slaughtered by thine order; we were deceived in her, and now i will not be persuaded by thee to slay this calf this time." "by the great god, the compassionate, the merciful," answered she, "thou must without fail sacrifice this calf on this holy day! else thou art no longer my husband nor am i thy wife." when i heard this harsh speech from her, i went up to the calf, knowing not what she aimed at, and took the knife in my hand.'" here shehrzad perceived the day and was silent; and her sister said to her, "what a charming and delightful story!" quoth shehrzad, "this is nothing to what i will tell thee to-morrow night, if the king let me live." and the king said to himself, "by allah, i will not kill her, till i hear the rest of the story!" so they lay together till morning, when the king went out to his hall of audience and the vizier came in to him, with the winding-sheet under his arm. then the king ordered and appointed and deposed, without telling the vizier aught of what had happened, much to the former's surprise, until the end of the day, when the divan broke up and he retired to his apartments. and when it was the second night dunyazad said to her sister shehrzad, "o my sister, finish us thy story of the merchant and the genie." "with all my heart," answered she, "if the king give me leave." the king bade her "say on." so she began as follows: "it has reached me, o august king and wise governor, that the first old man continued his story as follows: 'o lord of the kings of the jinn, as i was about to kill the calf, my heart failed me and i said to the herdsman, "keep this calf with the rest of the cattle." so he took it and went away. next day the herd came to me, as i was sitting by myself, and said to me, "o my lord, i have that to tell thee will rejoice thee, and i claim a reward for good news." quoth i, "it is well." and he said, "o merchant, i have a daughter, who learnt the art of magic in her youth from an old woman who lived with us, and yesterday, when i took home the calf that thou gavest me, she looked at it and veiled her face and fell a-weeping. then she laughed and said to me, 'o my father, am i become of so little account in thine eyes that thou bringest in to me strange men?' 'where are the strange men?' asked i. 'and why dost thou weep and laugh?' quoth she, 'the calf thou hast there is our master's son, who has been enchanted, as well as his mother, by his father's wife. this is why i laughed: and i wept for his mother, because his father slaughtered her.' i wondered exceedingly at this and the day had no sooner broken than i came to tell thee." when (continued the old man) i heard the herdsman's story, o genie, i went out with him, drunken without wine for stress of joy and gladness, and accompanied him to his house, where his daughter welcomed me and kissed my hand; and the calf came up to me and fawned on me. said i to the girl, "is it true what i hear about this calf?" "yes, o my lord," answered she, "this is indeed thy son and the darling of thy heart." so i said to her, "o damsel, if thou wilt release him, all that is under thy father's hand of beasts and goods shall be thine!" but she smiled and said, "o my lord, i care not for wealth, but i will do what thou desirest upon two conditions, the first that thou marry me to this thy son, and the second that thou permit me to bewitch the sorceress and imprison her (in the shape of a beast); else i shall not be safe from her craft." i answered, "besides what thou seekest, thou shalt have all that is under thy father's hand, and as to my wife, it shall be lawful to thee to shed her blood, if thou wilt." when she heard this, she took a cup full of water, and conjured over it; then sprinkled the calf with the water, saying, "if thou be a calf by the creation of the almighty, abide in that form and change not: but if thou be enchanted, return to thine original form, with the permission of god the most high!" with that he shook and became a man: and i fell upon him and said to him, "for god's sake, tell me what my wife did with thee and thy mother." so he told me what had befallen them and i said to him, "o my son, god hath sent thee one to deliver and avenge thee." then i married him to the herdsman's daughter, and she transformed my wife into this gazelle, saying to me, "i have given her this graceful form for thy sake, that thou mayest look on her without aversion." she dwelt with us days and nights and nights and days, till god took her to himself; and after her death, my son set out on a journey to the land of ind, which is this merchant's native country; and after awhile, i took the gazelle and travelled with her from place to place, seeking news of my son, till chance led me to this garden, where i found this merchant sitting weeping; and this is my story.' quoth the genie, 'this is indeed a rare story, and i remit to thee a third part of his blood.' then came forward the second old man, he of the two greyhounds, and said to the genie, 'i will tell thee my story with these two dogs, and if thou find it still rarer and more marvellous, do thou remit to me another third part of his blood. quoth the genie, 'i agree to this.' then said the second old man, 'know, o lord of the kings of the jinn, that the second old man's story. these two dogs are my elder brothers. our father died and left us three thousand dinars,[fn# ] and i opened a shop that i might buy and sell therein, and my brothers did each the like. but before long, my eldest brother sold his stock for a thousand dinars and bought goods and merchandise and setting out on his travels, was absent a whole year. one day, as i was sitting in my shop, a beggar stopped before me and i said to him, "god assist thee!"[fn# ] but he said to me, weeping, "dost thou not recognize me?" i took note of him, and behold, it was my brother. so i rose and welcomed him and made him sit down by me and inquired how he came in such a case: but he answered, "do not ask me: my wealth is wasted and fortune has turned her back on me." then i carried him to the bath and clad him in one of my own suits and took him to live with me. moreover, i cast up my accounts and found that i had made a thousand dinars profit, so that my capital was now two thousand dinars. i divided this between my brother and myself, saying to him, "put it that thou hast never travelled nor been abroad." he took it gladly and opened a shop with it. presently, my second brother arose like the first and sold his goods and all that belonged to him and determined to travel. we would have dissuaded him, but he would not be dissuaded and bought merchandise with which he set out on his travels, and we saw no more of him for a whole year; at the end of which time he came to us as had done his elder brother, and i said to him, "o my brother, did i not counsel thee not to travel?" and he wept and said, "o my brother, it was decreed: and behold, i am poor, without a dirhem [fn# ] or a shirt to my back." then i carried him to the bath and clad him in a new suit of my own and brought him back to my shop, where we ate and drank together; after which, i said to him, "o my brother, i will make up the accounts of my shop, as is my wont once a year, and the increase shall be between thee and me." so i arose and took stock and found i was worth two thousand dinars increase, in excess of capital, wherefore i praised the divine creator and gave my brother a thousand dinars, with which he opened a shop. in this situation we remained for some time, till one day, my brothers came to me and would have me go on a voyage with them; but i refused and said to them, "what did your travels profit you, that i should look to profit by the same venture?" and i would not listen to them; so we abode in our shops, buying and selling, and every year they pressed me to travel, and i declined, until six years had elapsed. at last i yielded to their wishes and said to them, "o my brothers, i will make a voyage with you, but first let me see what you are worth." so i looked into their affairs and found they had nothing left, having wasted all their substance in eating and drinking and merrymaking. however, i said not a word of reproach to them, but sold my stock and got in all i had and found i was worth six thousand dinars. so i rejoiced and divided the sum into two equal parts and said to my brothers, "these three thousand dinars are for you and me to trade with." the other three thousand i buried, in case what befell them should befall me also, so that we might still have, on our return, wherewithal to open our shops again. they were content and i gave them each a thousand dinars and kept the like myself. then we provided ourselves with the necessary merchandise and equipped ourselves for travel and chartered a ship, which we freighted with our goods. after a month's voyage, we came to a city, in which we sold our goods at a profit of ten dinars on every one (of prime cost). and as we were about to take ship again, we found on the beach a damsel in tattered clothes, who kissed my hand and said to me, "o my lord, is there in thee kindness and charity? i will requite thee for them." quoth i, "indeed i love to do courtesy and charity, though i be not requited." and she said, "o my lord, i beg thee to marry me and clothe me and take me back to thy country, for i give myself to thee. entreat me courteously, for indeed i am of those whom it behoves to use with kindness and consideration; and i will requite thee therefor: do not let my condition prejudice thee." when i heard what she said, my heart inclined to her, that what god (to whom belong might and majesty) willed might come to pass. so i carried her with me and clothed her and spread her a goodly bed in the ship and went in to her and made much of her. then we set sail again and indeed my heart clove to her with a great love and i left her not night nor day and occupied myself with her to the exclusion of my brothers. wherefore they were jealous of me and envied me my much substance; and they looked upon it with covetous eyes and took counsel together to kill me and to take my goods, saying, "let us kill our brother, and all will be ours." and satan made this to seem good in their eyes. so they took me sleeping beside my wife and lifted us both up and threw us into the sea. when my wife awoke, she shook herself and becoming an afriteh,[fn# ] took me up and carried me to an island, where she left me for awhile. in the morning, she returned and said to me, "i have paid thee my debt, for it is i who bore thee up out of the sea and saved thee from death, by permission of god the most high. know that i am of the jinn who believe in god and his apostle (whom god bless and preserve!) and i saw thee and loved thee for god's sake. so i came to thee in the plight thou knowest of and thou didst marry me, and now i have saved thee from drowning. but i am wroth with thy brothers, and needs must i kill them." when i heard her words, i wondered and thanked her for what she had done and begged her not to kill my brothers. then i told her all that had passed between us, and she said, "this very night will i fly to them and sink their ship and make an end of them." "god on thee," answered i, "do not do this, for the proverb says, 'o thou who dost good to those who do evil, let his deeds suffice the evil doer!' after all, they are my brothers." quoth she, "by allah, i must kill them." and i besought her till she lifted me up and flying away with me, set me down on the roof of my own house, where she left me. i went down and unlocked the doors and brought out what i had hidden under the earth and opened my shop, after i had saluted the folk and bought goods. at nightfall, i returned home and found these two dogs tied up in the courtyard: and when they saw me, they came up to me and wept and fawned on me. at the same moment, my wife presented herself and said to me, "these are thy brothers." "who has done this thing unto them?" asked i; and she answered, "i sent to my sister, who turned them into this form, and they shall not be delivered from the enchantment till after ten years." then she left me, after telling me where to find her; and now, the ten years having expired, i was carrying the dogs to her, that she might release them, when i fell in with this merchant, who acquainted me with what had befallen him. so i determined not to leave him, till i saw what passed between thee and him: and this is my story.' 'this is indeed a rare story,' said the genie, 'and i remit to thee a third part of his blood and his crime.' then came forward the third old man, he of the mule, and said, 'o genie, i will tell thee a story still more astonishing than the two thou hast heard, and do thou remit to me the remainder of his blood and crime.' the genie replied, 'it is well.' so the third old man said, 'know, o sultan and chief of the jinn, that the third old man's story. this mule was my wife. some time ago, i had occasion to travel and was absent from her a whole year; at the end of which time i returned home by night and found my wife in bed with a black slave, talking and laughing and toying and kissing and dallying. when she saw me, she made haste and took a mug of water and muttered over it; then came up to me and sprinkled me with the water, saying, "leave this form for that of a dog!" and immediately i became a dog. she drove me from the house, and i went out of the door and ceased not running till i came to a butcher's shop, where i stopped and began to eat the bones. the butcher took me and carried me into his house; but when his daughter saw me, she veiled her face and said to her father, "how is it that thou bringest a man in to me?" "where is the man?" asked he; and she replied, "this dog is a man, whose wife has enchanted him, and i can release him." when her father heard this, he said, "i conjure thee by allah, o my daughter, release him!" so she took a mug of water and muttered over it, then sprinkled a little of it on me, saying, "leave this shape and return to thy former one." and immediately i became a man again and kissed her hand and begged her to enchant my wife as she had enchanted me. so she gave me a little of the water and said to me, "when thou seest her asleep, sprinkle her with this water and repeat the words thou hast heard me use, naming the shape thou wouldst have her take, and she will become whatever thou wishest." so i took the water and returned home and went in to my wife. i found her asleep and sprinkled the water upon her, saying, "quit this form for that of a mule." and she at once became a mule; and this is she whom thou seest before thee, o sultan and chief of the kings of the jinn!' then he said to the mule, 'is it true?' and she nodded her head and made signs as who should say, 'yes, indeed: this is my history and what befell me.'" here shehrzad perceived the day and was silent. and dunyazad said to her, "o my sister, what a delightful story is this of thine!" "this is nothing," answered shehrzad, "to what i will tell thee to-morrow night, if the king let me live." quoth the king to himself, "by allah, i will not put her to death till i hear the rest of her story, for it is wonderful." and they lay together till the morning. then the king rose and betook himself to his audience-chamber, and the vizier and the troops presented themselves and the court was full. the king judged and appointed and deposed and ordered and forbade till the end of the day, when the divan broke up and he returned to his apartments. and when it was the third night and the king had taken his will of the vizier's daughter, dunyazad said to her sister, "o my sister, finish us thy story." "with all my heart," answered shehrzad. "know, o august king, that when the genie heard the third old man's story, he marvelled exceedingly and shook with delight and said, 'i remit to thee the remainder of his crime.' then he released the merchant, who went up to the three old men and thanked them; and they gave him joy of his escape and returned, each to his own country. nor is this more wonderful than the story of the fisherman and the genie." "what is that?" asked the king: and she said, "i have heard tell, o august king, that the fisherman and the genie. there was once a poor fisherman, who was getting on in years and had a wife and three children; and it was his custom every day to cast his net four times and no more. one day he went out at the hour of noon and repaired to the sea-shore, where he set down his basket and tucked up his skirts and plunging into the sea, cast his net and waited till it had settled down in the water. then he gathered the cords in his hand and found it heavy and pulled at it, but could not bring it up. so he carried the end of the cords ashore and drove in a stake, to which he made them fast. then he stripped and diving round the net, tugged at it till he brought it ashore. whereat he rejoiced and landing, put on his clothes; but when he came to examine the net, he found in it a dead ass; and the net was torn. when he saw this, he was vexed and said: 'there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the supreme! this is indeed strange luck!' and he repeated the following verses: o thou that strivest in the gloom of darkness and distress, cut short thine efforts, for in strife alone lies not success! seest not the fisherman that seeks his living in the sea, midmost the network of the stars that round about him press! up to his midst he plunges in: the billows buffet him; but from the bellying net his eyes cease not in watchfulness; till when, contented with his night, he carries home a fish, whose throat the hand of death hath slit with trident pitiless, comes one who buys his prey of him, one who has passed the night, safe from the cold, in all delight of peace and blessedness. praise be to god who gives to this and cloth to that deny! some fish, and others eat the fish caught with such toil and stress. then he said, 'courage! i shall have better luck next time, please god!' and repeated the following verses: if misfortune assail thee, clothe thyself thereagainst with patience, the part of the noble: 'twere wiselier done. complain not to men: that were indeed to complain, to those that have no mercy, of the merciful one. so saying, he threw out the dead ass and wrung the net and spread it out. then he went down into the sea and cast again, saying, 'in the name of god!' and waited till the net had settled down in the water, when he pulled the cords and finding it was heavy and resisted more than before, thought it was full of fish. so he made it fast to the shore and stripped and dived into the water round the net, till he got it free. then he hauled at it till he brought it ashore, but found in it nothing but a great jar full of sand and mud. when he saw this, he groaned aloud and repeated the following verses: anger of fate, have pity and forbear, or at the least hold back thy hand and spare! i sally forth to seek my daily bread and find my living vanished into air. how many a fool's exalted to the stars, whilst sages hidden in the mire must fare! then he threw out the jar and wrung out and cleansed his net: after which he asked pardon of god the most high[fn# ] and returning to the sea a third time, cast the net. he waited till it had settled down, then pulled it up and found in it potsherds and bones and broken bottles: whereat he was exceeding wroth and wept and recited the following verses: fortune's with god: thou mayst not win to bind or set it free: nor letter-lore nor any skill can bring good hap to thee. fortune, indeed, and benefits by fate are lotted out: one country's blest with fertile fields, whilst others sterile be. the shifts of evil chance cast down full many a man of worth and those, that merit not, uplift to be of high degree. so come to me, o death! for life is worthless verily; when falcons humbled to the dust and geese on high we see. 'tis little wonder if thou find the noble-minded poor, what while the loser by main force usurps his sovranty. one bird will traverse all the earth and fly from east to west: another hath his every wish although no step stir he. then he lifted his eyes to heaven and said, 'o my god, thou knowest that i cast my net but four times a day; and now i have cast it three times and have taken nothing. grant me then, o my god, my daily bread this time!' so he said, 'in the name of god!' and cast his net and waited till it had settled down in the water, then pulled it, but could not bring it up, for it was caught in the bottom whereupon, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god!' said he and repeated the following verses: away with the world, if it be like this, away! my part in it's nought but misery and dismay! though the life of a man in the morning be serene, he must drink of the cup of woe ere ended day. and yet if one asked, 'who's the happiest man alive?' the people would point to me and 'he' would say. then he stripped and dived down to the net and strove with it till he brought it to shore, where he opened it and found in it a brazen vessel, full and stoppered with lead, on which was impressed the seal of our lord solomon, son of david (on whom be peace!). when he saw this, he was glad and said, 'i will sell this in the copper market, for it is worth half a score diners.' then he shook it and found it heavy and said to himself, 'i wonder what is inside! i will open it and see what is in it, before i sell it.' so he took out a knife and worked at the leaden seal, till he extracted it from the vessel and laid it aside. then he turned the vase mouth downward and shook it, to turn out its contents; but nothing came out, and he wondered greatly and laid it on the ground. presently, there issued from it a smoke, which rose up towards the sky and passed over the face of the earth; then gathered itself together and condensed and quivered and became an afrit, whose head was in the clouds and his feet in the dust. his head was like a dome, his hands like pitchforks, his legs like masts, his mouth like a cavern, his teeth like rocks, his nostrils like trumpets, his eyes like lamps, and he was stern and lowering of aspect. when the fisherman saw the afrit, he trembled in every limb; his teeth chattered and his spittle dried up and he knew not what to do. when the afrit saw him, he said, 'there is no god but god, and solomon is his prophet! o prophet of god, do not kill me, for i will never again disobey thee or cross thee, either in word or deed !' quoth the fisherman, 'o marid,[fn# ] thou sayest, "solomon is the prophet of god." solomon is dead these eighteen hundred years, and we are now at the end of time. but what is thy history and how comest thou in this vessel?' when the marid heard this, he said, 'there is no god but god! i have news for thee, o fisherman!' 'what news?' asked he, and the afrit answered, 'even that i am about to slay thee without mercy.' 'o chief of the afrits,' said the fisherman, 'thou meritest the withdrawal of god's protection from thee for saying this! why wilt thou kill me and what calls for my death? did i not deliver thee from the abysses of the sea and bring thee to land and release thee from the vase?' quoth the afrit, 'choose what manner of death thou wilt die and how thou wilt be killed.' 'what is my crime?' asked the fisherman. 'is this my reward for setting thee free?' the afrit answered, 'hear my story, o fisherman!' 'say on and be brief,' quoth he, 'for my heart is in my mouth.' then said the afrit, 'know, o fisherman, that i was of the schismatic jinn and rebelled against solomon son of david (on whom be peace!), i and sekhr the genie; and he sent his vizier asef teen berkhiya, who took me by force and bound me and carried me, in despite of myself, before solomon, who invoked god's aid against me and exhorted me to embrace the faith[fn# ] and submit to his authority: but i refused. then he sent for this vessel and shut me up in it and stoppered it with lead and sealed it with the most high name and commanded the jinn to take me and throw me into the midst of the sea. there i remained a hundred years, and i said in my heart, "whoso releaseth me, i will make him rich for ever." but the hundred years passed and no one came to release me, and i entered on another century and said, "whoso releaseth me, i will open to him the treasures of the earth" but none released me, and other four hundred years passed over me, and i said, "whoso releaseth me, i will grant him three wishes." but no one set me free. then i was exceeding wroth and said to myself, "henceforth, whoso releaseth me, i will kill him and let him choose what death he will die." and now, thou hast released me, and i give thee thy choice of deaths.' when the fisherman heard this, he exclaimed, 'o god, the pity of it that i should not have come to release thee till now!' then he said to the afrit, 'spare me, that god may spare thee, and do not destroy me, lest god set over thee one who will destroy thee.' but he answered, 'there is no help for it, i must kill thee: so choose what death thou wilt die.' the fisherman again returned to the charge, saying, 'spare me for that i set thee free.' 'did i not tell thee,' replied the marid, 'that is why i kill thee?' 'o head of the afrits,' said the fisherman, 'i did thee a kindness, and thou repayest me with evil: indeed the proverb lieth not that saith: "we did them good, and they the contrary returned: and this, upon my life, is what the wicked do! who helps those, that deserve it not, shall be repaid as the hyæna paid the man that helped her through."' 'make no more words about it,' said the afrit; 'thou must die.' quoth the fisherman to himself, 'this is a genie, and i am a man; and god hath given me a good wit. so i will contrive for his destruction by my wit and cunning, even as he plotted mine of his craft and perfidy.' then he said to the afrit, 'is there no help for it, but thou must kill me?' he answered, 'no,' and the fisherman said, 'i conjure thee, by the most high name graven upon the ring of solomon son of david (on whom be peace!), answer me one question truly.' when the afrit heard him mention the most high name, he was agitated and trembled and replied, 'it is well: ask and be brief.' quoth the fisherman, 'this vessel would not suffice for thy hand or thy foot: so how could it hold the whole of thee?' said the afrit, 'dost thou doubt that i was in it?' 'yes,' answered the fisherman; 'nor will i believe it till i see it with my own eyes.'" here shehrzad perceived the day and was silent. and when it was the fourth night[fn# ] dunyazad said to her sister, "o sister, an thou be not asleep, finish us thy story." so shehrzad began, "i have heard tell, o august king, that, when he heard what the fisherman said, the afrit shook and became a smoke over the sea, which drew together and entered the vessel little by little, till it was all inside. whereupon the fisherman made haste to take the leaden stopper and clapping it on the mouth of the vessel, called out to the afrit, saying, 'choose what death thou wilt die! by allah, i will throw thee back into the sea and build myself a house hard by, and all who come hither i will warn against fishing here, and say to them, "there is an afrit in these waters, that gives those who pull him out their choice of deaths and how he shall kill them."' when the afrit heard this and found himself shut up in the vessel, he knew that the fisherman had outwitted him and strove to get out, but could not, for solomon's seal prevented him; so he said to the fisherman, 'i did but jest with thee.' 'thou liest, o vilest and meanest and foulest of afrits!' answered he, and rolled the vessel to the brink of the sea; which when the afrit felt, he cried out, 'no! no!' and the fisherman said, 'yes! yes!' then the afrit made his voice small and humbled himself and said, 'what wilt thou do with me, o fisherman?' 'i mean to throw thee back into the sea,' replied he; 'since thou hast lain there already eighteen hundred years, thou shalt lie there now till the hour of judgment. did i not say to thee, "spare me, so god may spare thee; and do not kill me, lest god kill thee?" but thou spurnedst my prayers and wouldst deal with me no otherwise than perfidiously. so i used cunning with thee and now god has delivered thee into my hand.' said the afrit, 'let me out, that i may confer benefits on thee.' the fisherman answered, 'thou liest, o accursed one! thou and i are like king younan's vizier and the physician douban.' 'who are they,' asked the afrit, 'and what is their story?' then said the fisherman, 'know, o afrit, that story of the physician douban. there was once in a city of persia a powerful and wealthy king, named younan, who had guards and troops and auxiliaries of every kind: but he was afflicted with a leprosy, which defied the efforts of his physicians and wise men. he took potions and powders and used ointments, but all to no avail, and not one of the doctors could cure him. at last, there came to the king's capital city a great physician, stricken in years, whose name was douban: and he had studied many books, greek, ancient and modern, and persian and turkish and arabic and syriac and hebrew, and was skilled in medicine and astrology, both theoretical and practical. moreover he was familiar with all plants and herbs and grasses, whether harmful or beneficial, and was versed in the learning of the philosophers; in brief, he had made himself master of all sciences, medical and other. he had not been long in the town before he heard of the leprosy with which god had afflicted the king, and of the failure of the physicians and men of science to cure him; whereupon he passed the night in study; and when the day broke and the morning appeared and shone, he donned his richest apparel and went in to the king and kissing the ground before him, wished him enduring honour and fair fortune, in the choicest words at his command. then he told him who he was and said to him, "o king, i have learnt what has befallen thee in thy person and how a multitude of physicians have failed to find a means of ridding thee of it: but i will cure thee, o king, and that without giving thee to drink of medicine or anointing thee with ointment." when the king heard this, he wondered and said to him, "how wilt thou do this? by allah, if thou cure me, i will enrich thee, even to thy children's children, and i will heap favours on thee, and whatever thou desirest shalt be shine, and thou shalt be my companion and my friend." then he gave him a dress of honour and made much of him, saying, "wilt thou indeed cure me without drugs or ointment?" "yes," answered douban, "i will cure thee from without." whereat the king marvelled exceedingly and said, "o physician, when wilt thou do as thou hast said? make haste, o my son!" quoth douban, "i hear and obey: it shall be done tomorrow." and he went down into the city and hired a house, in which he deposited his books and medicines. then he took certain drugs and simples and fashioned them into a mall, which he hollowed out and made thereto a handle and a ball, adapted to it by his art. next morning he presented himself before the king and kissing the ground before him, ordered him to repair to the tilting ground and play at mall there. so the king mounted and repaired thither with his amirs and chamberlains and viziers, and hardly had he reached the appointed place when the physician douban came up and presented him with the mall and ball he had prepared, saying, "take this mall and grip the handle thus and drive into the plain and stretch thyself well and strike this ball till thy hand and thy body sweat, when the drugs will penetrate thy hand and permeate thy body. when thou hast done and the medicine has entered into thee, return to thy palace and enter the bath and wash. then sleep awhile and thou wilt awake cured, and peace be on thee!" the king took the mall and mounting a swift horse, threw the ball before him and drove after it with all his might and smote it: and his hand gripped the mall firmly. and he ceased not to drive after the bail and strike it, till his hand and all his body sweated, and douban knew that the drugs had taken effect upon him and ordered him to return and enter the bath at once. so the king returned immediately and ordered the bath to be emptied for him. they turned the people out of the bath, and his servants and attendants hastened thither and made him ready change of linen and all that was necessary: and he went in and washed himself well and put on his clothes. then he came out of the bath and went up to his palace and slept there. when he awoke, he looked at his body and found it clean as virgin silver, having no trace left of the leprosy: whereat he rejoiced exceedingly and his breast expanded with gladness. next morning, he repaired to the divan and sat down on his chair of estate, and the chamberlains and grandees attended on him. presently, the physician douban presented himself and kissed the earth before the king and repeated the following verses: the virtues all exalted are, when thou art styled their sire: none else the title dares accept, of all that men admire. lord of the radiant brow, whose light dispels the mists of doubt from every goal of high emprize whereunto folk aspire, ne'er may thy visage cease to shine with glory and with joy, although the face of fate should gloom with unremitting ire! even as the clouds pour down their dews upon the thirsting hills, thy grace pours favour on my head, outrunning my desire. with liberal hand thou casteth forth thy bounties far and nigh, and so hast won those heights of fame thou soughtest to acquire. the king rose to him in haste and embraced him and made him sit down and clad him in a splendid dress of honour. then tables of rich food were brought in, and douban ate with the king and ceased not to bear him company all that day. when it was night, the king gave him two thousand diners, besides other presents, and mounted him on his own horse; and the physician returned to his lodging, leaving the king astonished at his skill and saying, "this man cured me from without, without using ointments. by allah, this is none other than consummate skill! and it behoves me to honour and reward him and make him my companion and bosom friend to the end of time." the king passed the night in great content, rejoicing in the soundness of his body and his deliverance from his malady. on the morrow, he went out and sat down on his throne; and the grandees stood before him, whilst the amirs and viziers sat on his right hand and on his left. then he sent for the physician, who came and kissed the ground before him, whereupon the king rose to him and made him sit by his side and eat with him, and ceased not to converse with him and make much of him till night; when he commanded five dresses of honour and a thousand diners to be given to him, and he returned to his house, well contented with the king. next morning, the king repaired as usual to his council-chamber, and the amirs and viziers and chamberlains took their places round him. now he had among his viziers one who was forbidding of aspect, sordid, avaricious and envious: a man of ill omen, naturally inclined to malevolence: and when he saw the esteem in which the king held douban and the favours he bestowed on him, he envied him and plotted evil against him; for, as says the byword, "nobody is free from envy"--and again--"tyranny is latent in the soul: weakness hides it and strength reveals it." so he came to the king and kissed the earth before him and said to him "o king of the age, thou in whose bounties i have grown up, i have a grave warning to give thee, which did i conceal from thee, i were a son of shame: wherefore, if thou command me to impart it to thee, i will do so." quoth the king (and indeed the vizier's words troubled him), "what is thy warning?" "o illustrious king," answered the vizier, "the ancients have a saying, 'whoso looks not to the issue of events, fortune is no friend of his :' and indeed i see the king in other than the right way, in that he favours his enemy, who seeks the downfall of his kingdom, and makes much of him and honours him exceedingly and is beyond measure familiar with him: and of a truth i am fearful for the king." quoth king younan (and indeed he was troubled and his colour changed), "of whom dost thou speak?" the vizier answered, "if thou sleepest, awake. i mean the physician douban." "out on thee!" said the king. "he is my true friend and the dearest of all men to me; seeing that he medicined me by means of a thing i held in my hand and cured me of my leprosy, which the doctors were unable to cure; and there is not his like to be found in this time, no, not in the whole world, east nor west; and it is of him that thou speakest thus! but from to-day i will assign him stipends and allowances and appoint him a thousand diners a month: and if i should share my kingdom with him, it were but a little thing. methinks thou sayest this out of pure envy and wouldst have me kill him and after repent, as king sindbad repented the killing of his falcon." "pardon me, o king of the age," said the vizier, "but how was that! quoth the king, "it is said that king sindbad and his falcon. there was once a king of persia, who delighted in hunting; and he had reared a falcon, that left him not day or night, but slept all night long, perched upon his hand. whenever he went out to hunt, he took the falcon with him; and he let make for it a cup of gold to hang round its neck, that he might give it to drink therein. one day, his chief falconer came in to him and said, 'o king, now is the time to go a-hunting.' so the king gave orders accordingly and took the falcon on his wrist and set out, accompanied by his officers and attendants. they rode on till they reached a valley, where they formed the circle of the chase, and behold, a gazelle entered the ring; whereupon quoth the king, 'whoso lets the gazelle spring over his head, i will kill him.' then they drew the ring closelier round her, and behold, she came to the king's station and standing still, put her forelegs to her breast, as if to kill the earth before him. he bowed to her, but she sprang over his head and was off into the desert. the king saw his attendants nodding and winking to one another about him and said to his vizier, 'o vizier, what say my men?' 'they say,' answered the vizier, that thou didst threaten to kill him over whose head the gazelle should spring.' 'as my head liveth,' rejoined the king, 'i will follow her up, till i bring her back!' so he pricked on after her and followed her till he came to a mountain and she made for her lair; but the king cast off the falcon, which swooped down on her and pecked at her eyes, till he blinded her and dazed her; whereupon the king threw his mace at her and brought her down. then he alighted and cut her throat and skinned her and made her fast to his saddle-bow. now it was the hour of midday rest and the place, where he was, was desert, and the king was athirst and so was his horse. so he searched till he saw a tree, with water dripping slowly, like oil, from its branches. now the king's hands were gloved with leather;[fn# ] so he took the cup from the falcon's neck and filled it with the liquid and set it before himself, when behold, the falcon smote the cup and overturned it. the king took it and refilled it with the falling drops and set it before the bird, thinking that it was athirst: but it smote it again and overturned it. at this, the king was vexed with the falcon and rose and filled the cup a third time and set it before the horse: but the falcon again overturned it with its wing. then said the king, 'god confound thee, thou most mischievous of fowls, thou wilt neither drink thyself nor let me nor the horse drink!' and he smote it with his sword and cut off its wings: whereupon it erected its head and made signs as who should say, 'look what is at the top of the tree.' the king raised his eyes and saw at the top of the tree a brood of snakes, and this was their venom dripping, which he had taken for water. so he repented him of having cut off the falcon's wings and mounting, rode on till he reached his tents and gave the gazelle to the cook to roast. then he sat down on his chair, with the falcon on his wrist: and presently the bird gasped and died: whereupon the king cried out in sorrow and lament for having slain the bird that had saved him from death, and repented him when repentance availed him not. this, then, is the story of king sindbad; and as for thee, o vizier, envy hath entered into thee, and thou wouldst have me kill the physician and after repent, even as king sindbad repented." "o mighty king," answered the vizier, "what harm has this physician done me that i should wish his death? indeed i only do this thing in compassion for thee and that thou mayst know the truth of the matter: else may i perish as perished the vizier who plotted to destroy the king his master's son." "how was that? asked the king, and the vizier replied, "know, o king, that the king's son and the ogress. there was once a king's son who was passionately fond of the chase; and his father had charged one of his viziers to attend him wherever he went. one day, the prince went out to hunt, accompanied by the vizier, and as they were going along, they saw a great wild beast, whereupon the vizier said to the prince, 'up and after yonder beast!' so the prince rode after the beast and followed it, till he was lost to sight. after awhile, the beast disappeared in the desert, and the prince found himself alone, not knowing which way to turn. presently he came upon a damsel, weeping, and said to her, 'who art thou?' quoth she, 'i am the daughter of one of the kings of india, and i was journeying through this country, with a company of people, when sleep overcame me and i fell from my horse, not knowing what i did. my people did not note my fall and went on and left me; and now i am alone and bewildered.' when the prince heard this, he had pity on her case and took her up behind himself and they rode on, till they came to some ruins; when she said to him, 'o my lord, i wish to do an occasion here.' so he put her down, and she entered the ruins and tarried there till he became impatient and went in search of her; when he was ware that she was an ogress, and heard her say to her children, 'o my children, i have brought you to day a fat youth.' 'o mother,' answered they, 'bring him to us, that we may browse on him our bellyful.' when the prince heard this their talk, he trembled in every nerve and made sure of destruction and turned back. the ogress came out after him and finding him terrified and trembling, said to him, 'why dost thou fear?' quoth he, 'i have an enemy, of whom i am in fear.' 'didst thou not say that thou wast a king's son?' asked she, and he answered 'yes.' 'then,'said she, 'why dost thou not give thine enemy money and so appease him?' he replied, 'indeed he will not be satisfied with money nor with aught but life; and i fear him and am an oppressed man.' 'if thou be oppressed as thou sayst,' rejoined she, 'ask help of god; surely he will protect thee from thine enemy and from the mischief thou fearest from him.' so the prince raised his eyes to heaven and said, 'o thou that answerest the prayer of the distressed, when they call on thee, and dispellest evil from them, o my god, succour me against mine enemy and turn him back from me, for thou indeed canst do whatsoever thou wilt.' when the ogress heard his prayer, she departed from him and he resumed to the king his father and informed him of the vizier's conduct: whereupon the king sent for the latter and put him to death. and thou, o king" (continued the envious vizier), "if thou put thy trust in this physician, he will kill thee in the foulest fashion. he, verily, whom thou hast favoured and admitted to thy friendship, plots thy destruction: for know that he is a spy come from a far land with intent to destroy thee. seest thou not that he cured thee of thy distemper from without, by means of a thing held in thy hand, and how canst thou be sure that he will not kill thee by some like means?" "thou speakest sooth, o vizier of good counsel!" said the king. "it must indeed be as thou sayst; this physician doubtless comes as a spy, seeking to destroy me; and indeed, if he could cure me by means of a handle held in my hand, he can kill me by means of something i shall smell. but what is to be done with him?" "send after him at once," answered the vizier, "and when he comes, strike off his head and play him false, ere he play thee false; and so shalt thou ward off his mischief and be at peace from him." "thou art right, o vizier," rejoined the king and sent for the physician, who came, rejoicing, for he knew not what the compassionate had decreed unto him. as the saying runs: thou that fearest ill fortune, be of good heart and hope! trust thine affairs to him who fashioned the earth and sea! what is decreed of god surely shall come to pass; that which is not decreed never shall trouble thee. when douban entered, he recited the following verses: if all the thanks i speak come short of that which is your due, say for whom else my verse and prose i make except for you? you have indeed prevented me with many an unasked boon, blest me, unhindered of excuse, with favours not a few. how then should i omit to give your praise its full desert and celebrate with heart and voice your goodness ever new? i will indeed proclaim aloud the boons i owe to you, favours, that, heavy to the hack, are light the thought unto. and also the following: avert thy face from trouble and from care and trust in god to order thine affair. rejoice in happy fortune near at hand, in which thou shalt forget the woes that were. full many a weary and a troublous thing is, in its issue, solaceful and fair. god orders all according to his will: oppose him not in what he doth prepare. and these also: trust thine affairs to the subtle, to god that knoweth all, and rest at peace from the world, for nothing shall thee appal. know that the things of the world not, as thou wilt, befall, but as the great god orders, to whom all kings are thrall! and lastly these: take heart and rejoice and forget thine every woe, for even the wit of the wise is eaten away by care. what shall thought-taking profit a helpless, powerless slave? leave it and be at peace in joy enduring fore'er! when he had finished, the king said to him, "dost thou know why i have sent for thee?" and the physician answered, "none knoweth the hidden things save god the most high." quoth the king, "i have sent for thee to kill thee and put an end to thy life." douban wondered greatly at these words and said, "o king, wherefore wilt thou kill me and what offence have i committed?" "i am told," replied younan, "that thou art a spy and comest to kill me, but i will kill thee first." then he cried out to his swordbearer, saying, "strike off the head of this traitor and rid us of his mischief!" "spare me," said douban; "so may god spare thee; and kill me not, lest god kill thee!" and he repeated these words to him, even as i did to thee, o afrit, and thou wouldst not spare me, but persistedst in thine intent to put me to death. then the king said to douban, "verily i shall not be secure except i kill thee: for thou curedst me by means of a handle i held in my hand, and i have no assurance but thou wilt kill me by means of perfumes or otherwise." "o king," said douban, "is this my reward from thee? thou returnest evil for good?" the king replied, "it boots not: thou must die and that without delay." when the physician saw that the king was irrevocably resolved to kill him, he wept and lamented the good he had done to the undeserving, blaming himself for having sown in an ungrateful soil and repeating the following verses: maimouneh has no wit to guide her by, although her sire among the wise ranks high. the man, who has no sense to rule his steps, slips, he the ground he treads on wet or dry. then the swordbearer came forward and bandaged his eyes and baring his sword, said to the king, "have i thy leave to strike?" whereupon the physician wept and said, "spare me, so god may spare thee: and kill me not, lest god kill thee!" and he recited the following verses: i acted in good faith and they betrayed: i came to nought: they prospered, whilst my loyalty brought me to evil case. if that i live, i will to none good counsel give again: and if i die, good counsellors be curst of every race! and he said to the king, "is this my reward from thee? thou givest me the crocodile's recompense." quoth the king, "what is the story of the crocodile?" "i cannot tell it," answered douban, "and i in this case; but, god on thee, spare me, so may he spare thee!" and he wept sore. then one of the king's chief officers rose and said, "o king, grant me this man's life, for we see not that he has committed any offence against thee nor that he has done aught but cure thee of thy disorder, which baffled the doctors and sages." "ye know not why i put him to death," answered the king: "it is because i believe him to be a spy, who hath been suborned to kill me and came hither with that intent: and verily he who cured me by means of a handle held in my hand can easily poison me in like manner. if i spare him, he will infallibly destroy me: so needs must i kill him, and then i shall feel myself safe." when the physician was convinced that there was no hope for him, but that the king would indeed put him to death, he said to the latter, "o king, if thou must indeed kill me, grant me a respite, that i may go to my house and discharge my last duties and dispose of my medical books and give my people and friends directions for my burial. among my books is one that is a rarity of rarities, and i will make thee a present of it, that thou mayst lay it up in thy treasury." "and what is in this book?" asked the king. quoth douban, "it contains things without number: the least of its secret virtues is that if, when thou hast cut off my head, thou open the book, turn over six leaves and read three lines of the left-hand page, my head will speak and answer whatever questions thou shalt ask it." at this the king marvelled greatly and shook with delight and said, "o physician, will thy head indeed speak to me, after it is cut off?" and he answered, "yes, o king." quoth the king, "this is indeed wonderful!" and sent him under guard to his house, where douban spent the remainder of the day in setting his affairs in order. next day, the amirs and viziers and chamberlains and all the great officers and notables of the kingdom came to the court, and the presence chamber was like a flower garden. presently the physician entered, bearing an old book and a small pot full of powder; and sitting down, called for a dish. so they brought him a dish, and he poured the powder therein and levelled it. then he said, "o king, take this book, but do not open it till my head has been cut off, placed on this dish and pressed down on the powder, when the blood will cease to flow: then open the book and do as i have enjoined thee." the king took the book and gave the signal to the headsman, who rose and struck off the physician's head and set it on the dish, pressing it down upon the powder, when the blood immediately ceased to flow, and the head unclosed its eyes and said, "open the book, o king!" younan opened the book and found the leaves stuck together; so he put his finger to his mouth and took of his spittle and loosened them therewith and turned over the pages in this manner, one after another, for the leaves would not come apart but with difficulty, till he came to the seventh page, but found nothing written thereon and said to the head, "o physician, there is nothing here." quoth the head, "open more leaves." so the king turned over more leaves in the same manner. now the book was as poisoned, and before long the poison began to work upon the king, and he fell back in convulsions and cried out, "i am poisoned!" whereupon the head repeated the following verses: lo, these once were kings who governed with a harsh and haughty sway! in a little, their dominion was as if it ne'er had been. had they swayed the sceptre justly, they had been repaid the like, but they were unjust, and fortune guerdoned them with dole and teen. now they're passed away, the moral of their case bespeaks them thus, "this is what your sins have earnt you: fate is not to blame, i ween." no sooner had it done speaking, than the king fell down dead and the head also ceased to live. and know, o afrit (continued the fisherman), that if king younan had spared the physician douban, god would have spared him; but he refused and sought his death; so god killed him. and thou, o afrit, if thou hadst spared me, i would spare thee; but nothing would serve thee but thou must put me to death; so now i will kill thee by shutting thee up in this vessel and throwing thee into the sea.' at this the marid roared out and said, 'god on thee, o fisherman, do not do that! spare me and bear me not malice for what i did, for men's wit is still better than that of jinn. if i did evil, do thou good, in accordance with the adage, "o thou that dost good to him that does evil, the deed of the evil-doer suffices him." do not thou deal with me as did umameh with aatikeh.' 'and what did umameh with aatikeh?' asked the fisherman. but the afrit answered, 'this is no time to tell stories, and i in this duresse: let me out, and i will tell thee.' quoth the fisherman, 'leave this talk: i must and will throw thee into the sea, and thou shalt never win out again; for i besought thee and humbled myself to thee, but nothing would serve thee but thou must kill me, who had committed no offence against thee deserving this nor done thee any ill, but only kindness, in that i delivered thee from duresse. when thou didst thus by me, i knew thee for an incorrigible evil-doer; and know that, when i have thrown thee back into the sea, i will tell every one what happened between me and thee and warn him, to the end that whoever fishes thee up may throw thee in again; and thou shalt remain in the sea till the end of time and suffer all manner of torments.' quoth the afrit, 'let me out, for this is the season of generosity; and i will make a compact with thee never to do thee hurt and to help thee to what shall enrich thee.' the fisherman accepted his proposal and unsealed the vessel, after he had taken the afrit's pledge and made him swear by the most high name never to hurt him, but on the contrary to do him service. then the smoke ascended as before and gathered itself together and became an afrit, who gave the vessel a kick and sent it into the sea. when the fisherman saw this, he let fly in his clothes and gave himself up for lost, saying, 'this bodes no good.' but he took courage and said to the afrit, 'o afrit, quoth god the most high, "be ye faithful to your covenants, for they shall be enquired of:" and verily thou madest a pact with me and sworest to me that thou wouldst do me no hurt. so play me not false, lest god do the like with thee: for indeed he is a jealous god, who delayeth to punish, yet letteth not the evil-doer escape. and i say to thee, as said the physician douban to king younan, "spare me, so god may spare thee!"' the afrit laughed and started off inland, saying to the fisherman, 'follow me.' so he followed him, trembling and not believing that he should escape, and the afrit led him to the backward of the town: then crossing a hill, descended into a spacious plain, in the midst of which was a lake of water surrounded by four little hills. he led the fisherman into the midst of the lake, where he stood still and bade him throw his net and fish. the fisherman looked into the water and was astonished to see therein fish of four colours, white and red and blue and yellow. then he took out his net and cast and drawing it in, found in it four fish, one of each colour. at this he rejoiced, and the afrit said to him, 'carry them to the sultan and present them to him, and he will give thee what shall enrich thee. and accept my excuse, for i know not any other way to fulfil my pro mise to thee, having lain in yonder sea eighteen hundred years and never seen the surface of the earth till this time. but do not fish here more than once a day; and i commend thee to god's care!' so saying, he struck the earth with his foot, and it opened and swallowed him up, whilst the fisherman returned, wondering at all that had befallen him, to his house, where he took a bowl of water and laid therein the fish, which began to frisk about. then he set the bowl on his head and going up to the palace, as the afrit had bidden him, presented the fish to the king, who wondered at them greatly, for that he had never seen their like, in shape or kind, and said to his vizier, 'give these fish to the cookmaid that the king of the greeks sent us, and tell her to fry them.' now this was a damsel that he had received as a present from the king of the greeks three days before and of whom he had not yet made trial in cookery. so the vizier carried the fish to the cookmaid and said to her, 'these fish have been brought as a present to the sultan and he says to thee, "o my tear, i have reserved thee against my stress!" so do thou show us to-day thy skill and the excellence of thy cookery.' then he returned to the sultan, who bade him give the fisherman four hundred diners. so he gave them to him and he took the money in his lap and set off home, running and stumbling and falling and rising again and thinking that he was dreaming. and he bought what was needful for his family and returned to his wife, glad and happy. meanwhile the cookmaid took the fish and cleaned them and set the frying-pan on the fire. then she poured in oil of sesame and waited till it was hot, when she put in the fish. as soon as one side was done, she fumed them, when lo, the wall of the kitchen opened and out came a handsome and well-shaped young lady, with smooth cheeks and liquid black eyes.[fn# ] she was clad in a tunic of satin, yarded with spangles of egyptian gold, and on her head she had a silken kerchief, fringed with blue. she wore rings in her ears and bracelets on her wrists and rings on her fingers, with beazels of precious stones, and held in her hand a rod of indian cane. she came up to the brazier and thrust the rod into the frying-pan saying 'o fish, are you constant to your covenant?' and when the cookmaid heard this she swooned away. then the damsel repeated her question a second and a third time; and the fish lifted up their heads and cried out with one voice, 'yes, yes: return, and we return: keep faith, and so will we: or, if thou wilt, forsake, and we'll do like to thee!' with this the damsel overturned the frying-pan and went out by the way she had come, and the wall closed up again as before. presently the cookmaid came to herself and seeing the four fish burnt black as coal, said, 'my arms are broken in my first skirmish!' and fell down again in a swoon. whilst she was in this state, in came the vizier, to seek the fish, and found her insensible, not knowing saturday from thursday. so he stirred her with his foot and she came to herself and wept and told him what had passed. he marvelled and said, 'this is indeed a strange thing !' then he sent for the fisherman and said to him, 'o fisherman, bring us four more fish of the same kind.' so the fisherman repaired to the lake and cast his net and hauling it in, found in it four fish like the first and carried them to the vizier, who took them to the cookmaid and said to her, 'come, fry them before me, that i may see what happens.' so she cleaned the fish and setting the frying-pan on the fire, threw them into it: and they had not lain long before the wall opened and the damsel appeared, after the same fashion, and thrust the rod into the pan, saying, 'o fish, o fish, are you constant to the old covenant?' and behold the fish all lifted up their heads and cried out as before, 'yes, yes: return, and we return: keep faith, and so will we: or, if thou wilt, forsake, and we'll do like to thee!' then she overturned the pan and went out as she had come and the wall closed up again. when the vizier saw this, he said, 'this is a thing that must not be kept from the king. so he went to him and told him what he had witnessed; and the king said, 'i must see this with my own eyes.' then he sent for the fisherman and commanded him to bring him other four fish like the first; and the fisherman went down at once to the lake and casting his net, caught other four fish and returned with them to the king, who ordered him other four hundred diners and set a guard upon him till he should see what happened. then he turned to the vizier and said to him, 'come thou and fry the fish before me.' quoth the vizier, 'i hear and obey.' so he fetched the frying-pan and setting it on the fire, cleaned the fish and threw them in: but hardly had he turned them, when the wall opened, and out came a black slave, as he were a mountain or one of the survivors of the tribe of aad,[fn# ] with a branch of a green tree in his hand: and he said, in a terrible voice, 'o fish, o fish, are you constant to the old covenant?' whereupon they lifted up their heads and cried out' 'yes, yes; we are constant: return, and we return: keep faith, and so will we: or, if thou wilt, forsake, and we'll do like to thee!' then the slave went up to the pan and overturning it with the branch, went out as he had come, and the wall closed up as before. the king looked at the fish and found them black as coal; whereat he was bewildered and said to the vizier, 'this is a thing about which it is impossible to keep silence; and indeed there must be some strange circumstance connected with these fish.' then he sent for the fisherman and said to him, 'hark ye, sirrah, whence hadst thou those fish?' 'from a lake between four hills,' answered he, 'on the thither side of the mountain behind the city.' 'how many days' journey hence?' asked the king; and the fisherman said, 'o my lord sultan, half an hour's journey.' at this the king was astonished and ordering the troops to mount, set out at once, followed by his suite and preceded by the fisherman, who began to curse the afrit. they rode on over the mountain and descended into a wide plain, that they had never before set eyes on, whereat they were all amazed. then they fared on till they came to the lake lying between the four hills and saw the fish therein of four colours, red and white and yellow and blue. the king stood and wondered and said to his attendants, 'has any one of you ever seen this lake before?' but they answered, 'never did we set eyes on it in all our lives, o king of the age.' then he questioned those stricken in years, and they made him the same answer. quoth he, 'by allah, i will not return to my capital nor sit down on my chair of estate till i know the secret of this pond and its fish!' then he ordered his people to encamp at the foot of the hills and called his vizier, who was a man of learning and experience, sagacious and skilful in business, and said to him, 'i mean to go forth alone to-night and enquire into the matter of the lake and these fish: wherefore do thou sit down at the door of my pavilion and tell the amirs and viziers and chamberlains and officers and all who ask after me that the sultan is ailing and hath ordered thee to admit no one, and do thou acquaint none with my purpose.' the vizier dared not oppose his design; so the king disguised himself and girt on his sword and going forth privily, took a path that led over one of the hills and fared on all that night and the next day, till the heat overcame him and he paused to rest. then he set out again and fared on the rest of that day and all the next night, till on the morning of the second day, he caught sight of some black thing in the distance, whereat he rejoiced and said, 'belike i shall find some one who can tell me the secret of the lake and the fish.' so he walked on, till he came to the black object, when he found it a palace built of black stone, plated with iron; and one leaf of its gate was open and the other shut. at this the king rejoiced and went up to the gate and knocked lightly, but heard no answer. so he knocked a second time and a third time, with the same result. then he knocked loudly, but still no one answered; and he said to himself, 'it must be deserted.' so he took courage and entering the vestibule, cried out, 'ho, people of the palace! i am a stranger and a wayfarer and hungry. have ye any victual?' he repeated these words a second and a third time, but none answered. so he took heart and went on boldly into the interior of the palace, which he found hung and furnished with silken stuffs, embroidered with stars of gold, and curtains let down before the doors. in the midst was a spacious courtyard, with four estrades, one on each side, and a bench of stone. midmost the courtyard was a great basin of water, from which sprang a fountain, and at the corners stood four lions of red gold, spouting forth water as it were pearls and jewels; and the place was full of birds, which were hindered from flying away by a network of gold stretched overhead. the king looked right and left, but there was no one to be seen; whereat he marvelled and was vexed to find none of whom he might enquire concerning the lake and the fish and the palace itself. so he returned to the vestibule and sitting down between the doors, fell to musing upon what he had seen, when lo, he heard a moaning that came from a sorrowful heart, and a voice chanted the following verses: i hid what i endured from thee: it came to light, and sleep was changed to wake thenceforward to my sight. o fate, thou sparest not nor dost desist from me; lo, for my heart is racked with dolour and affright! have pity, lady mine, upon the great laid low, upon the rich made poor by love and its despite! once, jealous of the breeze that blew on thee, i was, alas! on whom fate falls, his eyes are veiled with night. what boots the archer's skill, if, when the foe draws near, his bow-string snap and leave him helpless in the fight? so when afflictions press upon the noble mind, where shall a man from fate and destiny take flight? when the king heard this, he rose and followed the sound and found that it came from behind a curtain let down before the doorway of a sitting-chamber. so he raised the curtain and saw a young man seated upon a couch raised a cubit from the ground. he was a handsome well-shaped youth, with flower-white forehead and rosy cheeks and a black mole, like a grain of ambergris, on the table of his cheek, as says the poet: the slender one! from his brow and the night of his jetty hair, the world in alternate gloom and splendour of day doth fare. blame not the mole on his cheek. is an anemone's cup perfect, except in its midst an eyelet of black it wear? he was clad in a robe of silk, laced with egyptian gold, and had on his head a crown set with jewels, but his face bore traces of affliction. the king rejoiced when he saw him and saluted him; and the youth returned his salute in the most courteous wise, though without rising, and said to him, 'o my lord, excuse me if i do not rise to thee, as is thy due; indeed, i am unable to do so.' 'i hold thee excused, o youth!' answered the king. 'i am thy guest and come to thee on a pressing errand, beseeching thee to expound to me the mystery of the lake and the fish and of this palace, and why thou sittest here alone and weeping.' when the young man heard this, the tears ran down his cheeks and he wept sore, till his breast was drenched, and repeated the following verses: say unto those that grieve, at whom doth fate her arrows cast, "how many an one hath she raised up but to lay low at last! lo, if ye sleep, the eye of god is never closed in sleep. for whom indeed is life serene, for whom is fortune fast?" then he gave a heavy sigh and repeated the following: trust thine affair to the ruler of all that be and put thought-taking and trouble away from thee: say not of aught that is past, "how came it so?" all things depend upon the divine decree. the king marvelled and said to him, 'what makes thee weep, o youth?' 'how should i not weep,' answered he 'being in such a plight?' then he put out his hand and lifted the skirt of his robe, and behold, he was stone from the waist downward. when the king saw this his condition, he grieved sore and lamented and cried out, 'alas! alas!' and said, 'verily, o youth, thou addest trouble to my trouble. i came to enquire concerning the fish; and now i am concerned to know thy history also. but there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the supreme! hasten therefore, o youth, and expound to me thy story.' quoth the youth, 'give me thine ears and understanding:' and the king replied, 'i am all attention.' then said the youth, 'there hangs a strange story by these fish and by myself, a story which, were it graven with needles on the corners of the eye,[fn# ] would serve as a warning to those who can profit by example. 'how so ?' asked the king and the youth replied, 'know, o my lord, that story of the enchanted youth. my father was king of the city that stood in this place, and his name was mohammed, lord of the black islands, which are no other than the four hills of which thou wottest. he reigned seventy years, at the end of which time god took him to himself, and i succeeded to his throne and took to wife the daughter of my father's brother, who loved me with an exceeding love, so that, whenever i was absent from her, she would neither eat nor drink till she saw me again. with her i lived for five years, till one day she went out to go to the bath, and i bade the cook hasten supper for us against her return. then i entered the palace and lay down on the bed where we were wont to lie and ordered two slave-girls to sit, one at my head and the other at my feet, and fan me. now i was disturbed at my wife's absence and could not sleep, but remained awake, although my eyes were closed. presently i heard the damsel at my head say to the other one, "o mesoudeh, how unhappy is our lord and how wretched is his youth, and oh, the pity of him with our accursed harlot of a mistress!" "yes, indeed," replied mesoudeh; "may god curse all unfaithful women and adulteresses! indeed, it befits not that the like of our lord should waste his youth with this harlot, who lies abroad every night." quoth the other, "is our lord then a fool, that, when he wakes in the night and finds her not by his side, he makes no enquiry after her?" "out on thee," rejoined mesoudeh; "has our lord any knowledge of this or does she leave him any choice? does she not drug him every night in the cup of drink she gives him before he sleeps, in which she puts henbane? so he sleeps like a dead man and knows nothing of what happens. then she dresses and scents herself and goes forth and is absent till daybreak, when she returns and burns a perfume under his nose and he awakes." when i heard the girls' talk, the light in my eyes became darkness, and i thought the night would never come. presently, my wife returned from the bath, and they served up supper and we ate and sat awhile drinking and talking as usual. then she called for my sleeping-draught and gave me the cup: and i feigned to drink it, but made shift to pour it into my bosom and lay down at once and began to snore as if i slept. then said she, "sleep out thy night and never rise again! by allah, i hate thee and i hate thy person; i am sick of thy company and i know not when god will take away thy life!" then she rose and donned her richest clothes and perfumed herself and girt on my sword and opened the palace gate and went out. i rose and followed her, and she passed through the streets of the city, till she came to the gate, when she muttered words i understood not: and straight-way the locks fell off and the gate opened. she went forth and fared on among the rubbish heaps, i still following her without her knowledge, till she came to a reed fence, within which was a hut of brick. she entered the hut and i climbed up on the roof and looking down, saw my wife standing by a scurvy black slave, with blubber lips, one of which overlapped the other, like a coverlet, and swept up the sand from the gravel floor, lying upon a bed of sugar-cane refuse and wrapped in an old cloak and a few rags. she kissed the earth before him, and he raised his head to her and said, "out on thee! why hast thou tarried till now? there have been some of my kinsmen the blacks here, drinking; and they have gone away, each with his wench; but i refused to drink on account of thine absence." "o my lord and my love and solace of my eyes," answered she, "dost thou not know that i am married to my cousin, and that i hate to look upon him and abhor myself in his company. did i not fear for thy sake, i would not let the sun rise again till his city was a heap of ruins wherein the owl and the raven should hoot and wolves and foxes harbour; and i would transport its stones behind the mountain caf."[fn# ] "thou liest, o accursed one!" said the black, "and i swear by the valour of the blacks (else may our manhood be as that of the whites!) that if thou tarry again till this hour, i will no longer keep thee company nor join my body to thine! o accursed one, wilt thou play fast and loose with us at thy pleasure, o stinkard, o bitch, o vilest of whites?" when i heard and saw what passed between them, the world grew dark in my eyes and i knew not where i was; whilst my wife stood weeping and humbling herself to him and saying, "o my love and fruit of my heart, if thou be angry with me, who is left me, and if thou reject me, who shall shelter me, o my beloved and light of mine eyes?" and she ceased not to weep and implore him till he forgave her. then she was glad and rose and putting off her clothes, said to the slave, "o my lord, hast thou aught here for thy handmaid to eat?" "take the cover off yonder basin," answered he; "thou wilt find under it cooked rats' bones, and there is a little millet beer left in this pot. eat and drink." so she ate and drank and washed her hands and mouth; then lay down, naked, upon the rushes, beside the slave, and covered herself with the rags. when i saw this, i became as one distraught and coming down from the roof, went in by the door. then i took the sword she had brought and drew it, thinking to kill them both. i struck first at the slave's neck and thought i had made an end of him; but the blow only severed the flesh and the gullet, without dividing the jugulars. he gave a loud gurgling groan and roused my wife, whereupon i drew back, after i had restored the sword to its place, and resuming to the palace, lay down on my bed till morning, when my wife came and awoke me, and i saw that she had cut off her hair and put on mourning garments. "o my cousin," said she, "do not blame me for this i have done; for i have news that my mother is dead, that my father has fallen in battle and that both my brothers are dead also, one of a snake-bite and the other of a fall from a precipice, so that i have good reason to weep and lament." when i heard this, i did not reproach her, but said to her, "do what thou wilt: i will not baulk thee." she ceased not to mourn and lament for a whole year, at the end of which time she said to me, "i wish to build me in thy palace a tomb with a cupola and set it apart for mourning and call it house of lamentations." quoth i, "do what seemeth good to thee." so she built herself a house of mourning, roofed with a dome, and a monument in the midst like the tomb of a saint. thither she transported the slave and lodged him in the tomb. he was exceeding weak and from the day i wounded him he had remained unable to do her any service or to speak or do aught but drink; but he was still alive, because his hour was not yet come. she used to visit him morning and evening in the mausoleum and carry him wine and broths to drink and weep and make moan over him; and thus she did for another year, whilst i ceased not to have patience with her and pay no heed to her doings, till one day i came upon her unawares and found her weeping and saying, "why art thou absent from my sight, o delight of my heart? speak to me, o my life! speak to me, o my love!" and she recited the following verses: my patience fails me for desire: if thou forgettest me, my heart and all my soul can love none other after thee. carry me with thee, body and soul, wherever thou dost fare, and where thou lightest down to rest, there let me buried be. speak but my name above my tomb; the groaning of my bones, turning towards thy voice's sound, shall answer drearily. and she wept and recited the following: my day of bliss is that whereon thou drawest near to me; and that whereon thou turn'st away, my day of death and fear. what though i tremble all the night and be in dread of death, yet thine embraces are to me than safety far more dear. and again the following: though unto me were given all that can make life sweet, though the chosroes empire, yea, and the world were mine, all were to me in value less than a midge's wing, if that mine eyes must never look on that face of thine! when she had finished, i said to her, "o my cousin, let thy mourning suffice thee: for weeping profiteth nothing." she replied, "thwart me not, or i will kill myself." so i held my peace and let her go her way: and she ceased not to mourn and weep for the space of another year. at the end of the third year, i came into the mausoleum one day, vexed at something that had crossed me and weary of this excessive affliction, and found her by the tomb under the dome, saying, "o my lord, i never hear thee speak to me, no, not one word. why dost thou not answer me, o my lord?" and she recited the following verses: o tomb, o tomb, have his beauties ceased, or does thy light indeed, the sheen of the radiant countenance, no more in thee abound? o tomb, o tomb, thou art neither earth nor heaven unto me: how comes it then that sun and moon at once in thee are found? when i heard this, it added wrath to my wrath, and i said, "alas! how much more of this mourning?" and i repeated the following [parody of her] verses: o tomb, o tomb, has his blackness ceased, or does thy light indeed, the sheen of the filthy countenance, no more in thee abound? o tomb, thou art neither kitchen-stove nor sewer-pool for me! how comes it then that mire and coal at once in thee are found? when she heard this, she sprang to her feet and said, "out on thee, thou dog! it was thou that didst thus with me and woundedst the beloved of my heart and hast afflicted me and wasted his youth, so that these three years he hath lain, neither dead nor alive!" "o foulest of harlots and filthiest of whorish doxies of hired slaves," answered i, "it was indeed i who did this!" and i drew my sword and made at her to kill her; but she laughed and said, "avaunt, thou dog! thinkst thou that what is past can recur or the dead come back to life? verily, god has given into my hand him who did this to me and against whom there was in my heart fire that might not be quenched and insatiable rage." then she stood up and pronouncing some words i did not understand, said to me, "let one half of thee by my enchantments become stone and the other half remain man." and immediately i became as thou seest me and have remained ever since neither sitting nor standing and neither dead nor alive. then she enchanted the city with all its streets and gardens and turned it into the lake thou wottest of, and the inhabitants, who were of four religions, muslims, christians, magians and jews, she changed to fish of various colours, the muslims white, the christians blue, the magians red and the jews yellow; and the four islands she turned into four mountains encompassing the lake. moreover, the condition to which she has reduced me does not suffice her: but every day she strips me and gives me a hundred lashes with a whip, so that the blood runs down me and my shoulders are torn. then she clothes my upper half in a shirt of hair-cloth and over that she throws these rich robes.' and he wept and repeated the following verses: lord, i submit myself to thee and eke to fate, content, if so thou please, to suffer and to wait. my enemies oppress and torture me full sore: but paradise at last, belike, shall compensate. though fate press hard on me, i trust in the elect,[fn# ] the accepted one of god, to be my advocate. with this the king turned to him and said, 'o youth, after having rid me of one trouble, thou addest another to me: but tell me, where is thy wife and where is the wounded slave?' 'the slave lies in the tomb under the dome,' answered the youth, 'and she is in the chamber over against the gate. every day at sunrise, she comes out and repairs first to me and strips off my clothes and gives me a hundred strokes with the whip; and i weep and cry out, but cannot stir to keep her off. when she has done torturing me, she goes down to the slave with the wine and broth on which she feeds him; and to-morrow at sunrise she will come.' 'o youth,' rejoined the king, 'by allah, i will assuredly do thee a service by which i shall be remembered and which men shall chronicle to the end of time!' then he sat down by the youth and talked with him till nightfall, when they went to sleep. at peep of day, the king rose and put off his clothes and drawing his sword, repaired to the mausoleum, where, after noting the paintings of the place and the candles and lamps and perfumes burning there, he sought for the slave till he came upon him and slew him with one blow of the sword; after which he took the body on his back and threw it into a well that was in the palace. then he returned to the dome and wrapping himself in the black's clothes, lay down in his place, with his drawn sword by his side. after awhile, the accursed enchantress came out and, going first to her husband, stripped him and beat him with the whip, whilst he cried out, 'alas! the state i am in suffices me. have mercy on me, o my cousin!' but she replied, 'didst thou show me any mercy or spare my beloved?' and beat him till she was tired and the blood ran from his sides. then she put the hair shirt on him and the royal robes over it, and went down to the dome with a goblet of wine and a bowl of broth in her hands. when she came to the tomb, she fell a-weeping and wailing and said, 'o my lord, speak to me!' and repeated the following verse: how long ere this rigour pass sway and thou relent? is it not yet enough of the tears that i have spent?' and she wept and said again, 'o my lord, speak to me!' the king lowered his voice and knotting his tongue, spoke after the fashion of the blacks and said, 'alack! alack! there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high the supreme!' when she heard this, she screamed out for joy and swooned away; and when she revived, she said, 'o my lord, can it be true and didst thou indeed speak to me?' the king made his voice small and said, 'o accursed woman, thou deservest not that i should speak to thee!' 'why so?' asked she; and he replied, 'because all day thou tormentest thy husband and his cries disturb me, and all night long he calls upon god for help and invokes curses on thee and me and keeps me awake from nightfall to daybreak and disquiets me; and but for this, i had been well long ago. this is what has hindered me from answering thee.' quoth she, 'with thy leave, i will release him from his present condition.' 'do so,' said the king, 'and rid us of his noise.' 'i hear and obey,' answered she, and going out into the palace, took a cup full of water and spoke over it certain words, whereupon the water began to boil and bubble as the cauldron bubbles over the fire. then she went up to the young king and sprinkled him with it, saying, 'by the virtue of the words i have spoken, if thou art thus by my spells, quit this shape for thy former one.' and immediately he shook and rose to his feet, rejoicing in his deliverance, and said, 'i testify that there is no god but god and that mohammed is his apostle, may god bless and preserve him!' then she said to him, 'depart hence and do not return, or i will kill thee.' and she screamed out in his face. so he went out from before her, and she returned to the dome and going down into the tomb, said, 'o my lord, come forth to me, that i may see thy goodly form!' the king replied in a weak voice, 'what hast thou done? thou hast rid me of the branch, but not of the root.' 'o my beloved, o my little black,' said she, 'what is the root?' 'out on thee, o accursed one!' answered he. 'every night, at the middle hour, the people of the city, whom thou by thine enchantments didst change into fish, lift up their heads from the water and cry to god for help and curse thee and me; and this is what hinders my recovery: so do thou go quickly and set them free, and after return and take me by the hand and raise me up; for indeed health returns to me.' when she heard this speech of the king, whom she supposed to be the slave, she rejoiced and said, 'o my lord, on my head and eyes be it, in the name of god!' then she went out, full of joy, and ran to the lake and taking a little of the water in her hand, spoke over it words that might not be understood, whereupon there was a great stir among the fish; and they raised their heads to the surface and stood upright and became men as before. thus was the spell dissolved from the people of the city and the lake became again a populous city, with its streets and bazaars, in which the merchants bought and sold, and every one returned to his employment; whilst the four hills were restored to their original form of islands. then the enchantress returned to the king and said to him, 'o my lord, give me thy noble hand and arise.' 'come nearer to me,' answered he, in a faint voice. so she came close to him, and he took his sword and smote her in the breast, that the steel came forth, gleaming, from her back. he smote her again and cut her in twain, and she fell to the ground in two halves. then he went out and found the young king standing awaiting him and gave him joy of his deliverance, whereupon the youth rejoiced and thanked him and kissed his hand. quoth the sultan, 'wilt thou abide in this thy city or come with me to mine?' 'o king of the age,' rejoined he, 'dost thou know how far it is from here to thy capital?' and the sultan replied, 'two and a half days' journey.' 'o king,' said the other, 'if thou sleepest, awake! between thee and thy capital is a full year's journey to a diligent traveller; and thou hadst not come hither in two days and a half, save that the city was enchanted. but, o king, i will never leave thee, no, not for the twinkling of an eye!' the sultan rejoiced at his words and said, 'praised be god, who hath bestowed thee upon me! thou shalt be my son, for in all my life i have never been blessed with a son.' and they embraced each other and rejoiced with exceeding great joy. then they returned to the palace, and the young king bade his officers make ready for a journey and prepare his baggage and all that he required. the preparations occupied ten days, at the end of which time the young king set out in company of the sultan, whose heart burned within him at the thought of his long absence from his capital, attended by fifty white slaves and provided with magnificent presents. they journeyed day and night for a whole year, and god ordained them safety, till they drew near the sultan's capital and sent messengers in advance to acquaint the vizier with his safe arrival. then came out the vizier and the troops, who had given up all hope of the sultan's return, and kissed the ground before him and gave him joy of his safety. so he entered his palace and sat down on his throne and the vizier came in to him, to whom he related all that had befallen him with the young king: and the vizier gave the latter joy of his deliverance. then all things being set in order, the sultan gave largesse to many of his people and sending for the fisherman who had brought him the enchanted fish and had thus been the first cause of the delivery of the people of the black islands, bestowed on him a dress of honour and enquired of his condition and whether he had any children, to which he replied that he had three children, two daughters and one son. so the king sent for them and taking one daughter to wife, married the other to the young king and made the son his treasurer. moreover, he invested his vizier with the sovereignty of the black islands and despatched him thither with the fifty officers, who had accompanied the young king thence, giving him robes of honour for all the amirs. so the vizier kissed hands and set out for the black islands. the fisherman became the richest man of his time, and he and his daughters and the two kings their husbands abode in peace till death came to them. the porter and the three ladies of baghdad. there was once a porter of baghdad who was a bachelor. one day, as he stood in the market, leant upon his basket, there came to him a lady, swathed in a wrapper of gold embroidered muslin, fringed with gold lace, and wearing embroidered boots and floating tresses plaited with silk and gold. she stopped before him and raising her kerchief, showed a pair of languishing black eyes of perfect beauty, bordered with long drooping lashes. then she turned to the porter and said, in a clear sweet voice, 'take thy basket and follow me.' no sooner had she spoken than he took up his basket in haste, saying, 'o day of good luck! o day of god's grace!' and followed her till she stopped and knocked at the door of a house, when there came out a nazarene, to whom she gave a dinar, and he gave her in return an olive-green bottle, full of wine, which she put into the basket, saying to the porter, 'hoist up and follow me.' said he, 'by allah, this is indeed a happy and fortunate day!' and shouldering the basket, followed her till she came to a fruiterer's, where she bought syrian apples and turkish quinces and arabian peaches and autumn cucumbers and sultani oranges and citrons, beside jessamine of aleppo and damascus water-lilies and myrtle and basil and henna-blossoms and blood-red anemones and violets and sweet-briar and narcissus and camomile and pomegranate flowers, all of which she put into the porter's basket, saying, 'hoist up!' so he shouldered the basket and followed her, till she stopped at a butcher's shop and said to him, 'cut me off ten pounds of meat.' he gave her the meat, wrapped in a banana leaf, and she put it in the basket, saying, 'hoist up, o porter!' and went on to a grocer's, of whom she took pistachio kernels and shelled almonds and hazel-nuts and walnuts and sugar cane and parched peas and mecca raisins and all else that pertains to dessert. thence to a pastry-cook's, where she bought a covered dish and put therein open-work tarts and honey-fritters and tri-coloured jelly and march-pane, flavoured with lemon and melon, and zeyneb's combs and ladies' fingers and cadi's mouthfuls and widow's bread and meat-and-drink[fn# ] and some of every kind of sweetmeat in the shop and laid the dish in the basket of the porter, who said to her, 'thou shouldst have told me, that i might have brought a mule or a camel to carry all these good things.' she smiled and gave him a tap on the nape, saying, 'make haste and leave chattering and god willing, thou shalt have a good wage.' she stopped next at the shop of a druggist, where she bought rose-water and water-lily water and orange-flower water and willow-flower water and six other kinds of sweet waters and a casting bottle of rose-water mingled with musk, besides two loaves of sugar and frankincense and aloes-wood and ambergris and musk and saffron and candles of alexandrian wax, all of which she put into the basket. then she went on to a greengrocer's, of whom she bought pickled safflower and olives, in brine and fresh, and tarragon and juncates and syrian cheese and put them all into the basket and said to the porter, 'take up thy basket and follow me.' so he shouldered his load and followed her till she came to a tall handsome house, with a spacious court before it and a two-leaved door of ebony, inlaid with plates of glittering gold. the lady went up to the door and throwing back her kerchief, knocked softly, whilst the porter stood behind her, musing upon her beauty and grace. after awhile the door opened and both the leaves swung back; whereupon he looked to see who opened it, and behold, it was a damsel of dazzling beauty and symmetry, high-bosomed, with flower-white forehead and rosy cheeks, eyes like those of gazelles or wild oxen and eyebrows like the crescent of the new moon of ramazan[fn# ], cheeks like blood-red anemones, mouth like solomon's seal, lips red as coral and teeth like clustered pearls or camomile-petals, neck like an antelope's and bosom like a fountain, breasts like double pomegranates, belly like brocade and navel holding an ounce of benzoin ointment, even as says of her the poet: look at her, with her slender shape and radiant beauty! this is she who is at once the sun and moon of palaces! thine eyes shall ne'er see grace combine so featly black and white as in her visage and the locks that o'er her forehead kiss. she in whose cheeks the red flag waves, her beauty testifies unto her name, if that to paint her sweet seductions miss. with swimming gait she walks: i laugh for wonder at her hips, but weep to see her waist, that all too slight to bear them is. when the porter saw her, his mind and heart were taken by storm, so that he well-nigh let fall the basket and exclaimed, 'never in all my life saw i a more blessed day than this!' then said the portress to the cateress, 'o my sister, why tarriest thou? come in from the gate and ease this poor man of his burden.' so the cateress entered, followed by the portress and the porter, and went on before them to a spacious saloon, elegantly built and handsomely decorated with all manner of colours and carvings and geometrical figures, with balconies and galleries and cupboards and benches and closets with curtains drawn before them. in the midst was a great basin of water, from which rose a fountain, and at the upper end stood a couch of juniper wood, inlaid with precious stones and surmounted by a canopy of red satin, looped up with pearls as big as hazel-nuts or bigger. thereon sat a lady of radiant countenance and gentle and demure aspect, moonlike in face, with eyes of babylonian witchcraft and arched eyebrows, sugared lips like cornelian and a shape like the letter i. the radiance of her countenance would have shamed the rising sun, and she resembled one of the chief stars of heaven or a pavilion of gold or a high-born arabian bride on the night of her unveiling, even as says of her the poet: her teeth, when she smiles, like pearls in a cluster show, or shredded camomile-petals or flakes of snow: her ringlets seem, as it were, the fallen night, and her beauty shames the dawn and its ruddy glow. then she rose and coming with a stately gait to meet her sisters in the middle of the saloon, said to them, 'why stand ye still? relieve this poor porter of his burden.' so the cateress came and stood before and the portress behind him and with the help of the third damsel, lifted the basket from his head and emptying it, laid everything in its place. then they gave him two dinars, saying, 'go, o porter!' but he stood, looking at the ladies and admiring, their beauty and pleasant manners, never had he seen goodlier, and wondering greatly at the profusion of wine and meat and fruits and flowers and so forth that they had provided and to see no man with them, and made no movement to go. so the eldest lady said to him, 'what ails thee that thou dost not go away? belike, thou grudgest at thy pay?' and she turned to the cateress and said to her, 'give him another dinar.' 'no, by allah, o lady!' answered the porter. 'i do not indeed grudge at my pay, for my right hire is scarce two dirhems; but of a truth my heart and soul are taken up with you and how it is that ye are alone and have no man with you and no one to divert you, although ye know that women's sport is little worth without men, nor is an entertainment complete without four at the table, and ye have no fourth. what says the poet? dost thou not see that for pleasure four several things combine, instruments four, harp, hautboy and gittern and psaltery? and unto these, four perfumes answer and correspond, violets, roses and myrtle and blood-red anemone. nor is our pleasure perfect, unless four things have we, money and wine and gardens and mistress fair and free. and ye are three and need a fourth, who should be a man, witty, sensible and discreet, one who can keep counsel.' when they heard what he said, it amused them and they laughed at him and replied, 'what have we to do with that, we who are girls and fear to entrust our secrets to those who will not keep them? for we have read, in such and such a history, what says ibn eth thumam: tell not thy secrets: keep them with all thy might. a secret revealed is a secret lost outright. if thine own bosom cannot thy secrets hold, why expect more reserve from another wight? or, as well says abou nuwas on the same subject: the fool, that to men doth his secrets avow, deserves to be marked with a brand on the brow.' 'by your lives,' rejoined the porter, 'i am a man of sense and discretion, well read in books and chronicles. i make known what is fair and conceal what is foul, and as says the poet: none keeps a secret but the man who's trusty and discreet. a secret's ever safely placed with honest folk and leal; and secrets trusted unto me are in a locked-up house whose keys are lost and on whose door is set the cadi's seal. when the girls heard this, the eldest one said to him, 'thou knowest that we have laid out much money in preparing this entertainment: hast thou aught to offer us in return? for we will not let thee sit with us and be our boon companion and gaze on our bright fair faces, except thou pay down thy share of the cost. dost thou not know the saying: love without money is not worth a penny?' 'if thou have aught, my friend,' added the portress, 'then art thou something: but if thou have nothing, be off without anything.' here the cateress interposed, saying, 'o sisters, let him be: for by allah, he has not failed us to-day: another had not been so patient with us. i will pay his share for him.' whereupon the porter, overjoyed, kissed the earth and thanked her, saying, 'by allah, it was thou didst handsel me this day! here are the two dinars i had of you: take them and admit me to your company, not as a guest, but as a servant.' 'sit down,' answered they; 'thou art welcome.' but the eldest lady said, 'by allah, we will not admit thee to our society but on one condition; and it is that thou enquire not of what does not concern thee; and if thou meddle, thou shalt be beaten.' said the porter, 'i agree to this, o my lady, on my head and eyes! henceforth i am dumb.' then arose the cateress and girding her middle, laid the table by the fountain and set out the cups and flagons, with flowers and sweet herbs and all the requisites for drinking. moreover, she strained the wine and set it on; and they sat down, she and her sisters, with the porter, who fancied himself in a dream. the cateress took the flagon of wine and filled a cup and drank it off. then she filled again and gave it to one of her sisters, who drank and filled another cup and gave it to her other sister: then she filled a fourth time and gave it to the porter, saying: drink and fare well and health attend thee still. this drink indeed's a cure for every ill. he took the cup in his hand and bowed and returned thanks, reciting the following verses: quaff not the cup except with one who is of trusty stuff, one who is true of thought and deed and eke of good descent. wine's like the wind, that, if it breathe on perfume, smells as sweet, but, if o'er carrion it pass, imbibes its evil scent. and again: drink not of wine except at the hands of a maiden fair, who, like unto thee and it, is joyous and debonair. then he kissed their hands and drank and was merry with wine and swayed from side to side and recited the following verses: hither, by allah, i conjure thee! goblets that full of the grape juice be! and brim up, i prithee, a cup for me, for this is the water of life, perdie! then the cateress filled the cup and gave it to the portress, who took it from her hand and thanked her and drank. then she filled again and gave it to the eldest, who filled another cup and handed it to the porter. he gave thanks and drank and recited the following verses: it is forbidden us to drink of any blood except it be of that which gushes from the vine. so pour it out to me, an offering to thine eyes, to ransom from thy hands my soul and all that's mine. then he turned to the eldest lady, who was the mistress of the house, and said to her, 'o my lady, i am thy slave and thy servant and thy bondman!' and repeated the following verses: there is a slave of all thy caves now standing at thy gate who ceases not thy bounties all to sing and celebrate. may he come in, o lady fair, to gaze upon thy charms? desire and i from thee indeed may never separate. and she said to him, 'drink, and health and prosperity attend thee!' so he took the cup and kissed her hand and sang the following verses: i brought my love old wine and pure, the likeness of her cheeks, whose glowing brightness called to mind a brazier's heart of red. she touched the wine-cup with her lips, and laughing roguishly, "how canst thou proffer me to drink of my own cheeks?" she said. "drink!" answered i, "it is my tears; its hue is of my blood; and it was heated at a fire that by my sighs was fed." and she answered him with the following verse: if, o my friend, thou hast indeed wept tears of blood for me, i prithee, give them me to drink, upon thine eyes and head! then she took the cup and drank it off to her sisters' health; and they continued to drink and make merry, dancing and laughing and singing and reciting verses and ballads. the porter fell to toying and kissing and biting and handling and groping and dallying and taking liberties with them: whilst one put a morsel into his mouth and another thumped him, and this one gave him a cuff and that pelted him with flowers; and he led the most delightful life with them, as if he sat in paradise among the houris. they ceased not to drink and carouse thus, till the wine sported in their heads and got the better of their senses, when the portress, arose, and putting off her clothes, let down her hair over her naked body, for a veil. then she threw herself into the basin and sported in the water and swam about and dived like a duck and took water in her mouth and spurted it at the porter and washed her limbs and the inside of her thighs. then she came up out of the water and throwing herself into the porter's lap, pointed to her commodity and said to him, 'o my lord o my friend, what is the name of this?' 'thy kaze,' answered he; but she said, 'fie! art thou not ashamed!' and cuffed him on the nape of the neck. quoth he, 'thy catso.' and she dealt him a second cuff, saying, 'fie! what an ugly word! art thou not ashamed?' 'thy commodity,' said he; and she, 'fie! is there no shame in thee?' and thumped him and beat him. then said he, 'thy coney.' whereupon the eldest fell on him and beat him, saying, 'thou shalt not say that.' and whatever he said, they beat him more and more, till his neck ached again; and they made a laughing-stock of him amongst them, till he said at last, 'well, what is its name amongst you women?' 'the sweet basil of the dykes,' answered they. 'praised be god for safety!' cried he. 'good, o sweet basil of the dikes!' then they passed round the cup and presently the cateress rose and throwing herself into the porter's lap, pointed to her kaze and said to him, 'o light of mine eyes, what is the name of this?' 'thy commodity,' answered he. 'art thou not ashamed?' said she, and dealt him a buffet that made the place ring again, repeating, 'fie! fie! art thou not ashamed?' quoth he, 'the sweet basil of the dykes.' 'no! no!' answered she, and beat him and cuffed him on the nape. then said he, 'thy kaze, thy tout, thy catso, thy coney.' but they replied, 'no! no!' and he said again, 'the sweet basil of the dykes.' whereupon they laughed till they fell backward and cuffed him on the neck, saying, 'no; that is not its name.' at last he said, 'o my sisters, what is its name?' and they answered, 'what sayest thou to the peeled barleycorn?' then the cateress put on her clothes and they sat down again to carouse, whilst the porter lamented over his neck and shoulders. the cup passed round among them awhile, and presently the eldest and handsomest of the ladies rose and put off her clothes; whereupon the porter took his neck in his hand and said, 'my neck and shoulders are in the way of god!' then she threw herself into the basin and plunged and sported and washed; whilst the porter looked at her, naked, as she were a piece of the moon or the full moon when she waxes or the dawn at its brightest, and noted her shape and breasts and her heavy quivering buttocks, for she was naked as god created her. and he said, 'alack!' alack!' and repeated the following verses: if to the newly-budded branch thy figure i compare, i lay upon my heart a load of wrong too great to bear; for that the branch most lovely is, when clad upon with green, but thou, when free of every veil, art then by far most fair. when she heard this, she came up out of the water and sitting down on his knees, pointed to her kaze and said, 'o my little lord, what is the name of this?' 'the sweet basil of the dykes,' answered he; but she said, 'no! no!' quoth he, 'the peeled barleycorn.' and she said, 'pshaw!' then said he, 'thy kaze.' fie! fie!' cried she. 'art thou not ashamed?' and cuffed him on the nape of the neck. and whatever name he said, they beat him, saying, 'no! no!' till at last he said, 'o my sisters, what is its name?' 'the khan[fn# ] of abou mensour,' answered they. and he said, 'praised be god for safety! bravo! bravo! o khan of abou mensour!' then the damsel rose and put on her clothes and they returned to their carousing and the cup passed round awhile. presently, the porter rose and putting off his clothes, plunged into the pool and swam about and washed under his chin and armpits, even as they had done. then he came out and threw himself into the eldest lady's lap and putting his arms into the portress's lap and his feet into that of the cateress pointed to his codpiece and said, 'o my mistresses, what is the name of this?' they laughed till they fell backward and one of them answered, 'thy yard.' 'art thou not ashamed?' said he. 'a forfeit!' and took of each a kiss. quoth another, 'thy pintle.' but he replied, 'no,' and gave each of them a bite in play. then said they, 'thy pizzle.' 'no,' answered he, and gave each of them a hug; and they kept saying, 'thy yard, thy pintle, thy pizzle, thy codpiece!' whilst he kissed and hugged and fondled them to his heart's content, and they laughed till they were well nigh dead. at last they said, 'o our brother, and what is its name?' 'don't you know?' asked he; and they said, 'no.' quoth he, 'this is the mule break-all, that browses on the basil of the dykes and gobbles up the peeled barleycorn and lies by night in the khan of abou mensour.' and they laughed till they fell backward. then they fell again to drinking and continued after this fashion till the night came upon them, when they said to the porter, 'in the name of god, put on thy sandals and be off and let us see the breadth of thy shoulders!' quoth he, 'by allah, the leaving life were easier to me than the leaving you! let us join the night to the day, and to-morrow we will each go our own way.' 'my life on you!' said the cateress, 'let him pass the night with us, that we may laugh at him, for he is a pleasant rogue; and we may never again chance upon the like of him.' so the mistress of the house said to the porter, 'thou shalt pass the night with us on condition that thou submit to our authority and that, whatever thou seest, thou ask no questions about it nor enquire the reason of it.' 'it is well,' answered he; and they said, 'go and read what is written over the door.' so he went to the door and found the following words written thereon in letters of gold, 'he who speaks of what concerns him not, shall hear what will not please him.' and he said, 'be ye witness against me that i will not speak of what concerns me not.' then rose the cateress and prepared food, and they ate: after which they lighted the lamps and candles and strewed on the latter ambergris and aloes-wood; then changed the service and set on fresh fruits and flowers and wine and so forth and sat down again to drink. they ceased not to eat and drink and make merry, hobnobbing and laughing and talking and frolicking, till there came a knocking at the door: whereupon one of them rose and went to the door, without disturbing the party, and presently returned, saying, 'verily, our pleasure is to be complete to-night.' 'how so?' asked the others, and she replied, 'there are three foreign calenders[fn# ] at the door, with shaven heads and chins and eyebrows and every one blind of the right eye, which is a most extraordinary coincidence. apparently they are fresh from a journey and indeed the traces of travel are evident on them; and the reason of their knocking at the door is this. they are strangers to baghdad and this is their first coming to our city: the night surprised them and they could not find a lodging in the city and know no one with whom to take shelter: so they said to each other, "perhaps the owner of this house will give us the key of a stable or outhouse and let us sleep there." and, o my sisters, each of them is a laughing-stock after his own fashion; and if we let them in, they will make us sport this night, and on the morrow each shall go his own way.' and she ceased not to persuade them, till they said, 'let them come in, on condition that they ask no questions of what does not concern them, on pain of hearing what will not please them.' so she rejoiced and going to the door, returned with the three calenders, who saluted and bowed low and held back; but the ladies rose to them and welcomed them and gave them joy of their safety and made them sit down. the calenders looked about them and seeing a pleasant place and a table elegantly spread with flowers and fruits and green herbs and dessert and wine, with candles burning and perfumes smoking, and the three maidens, with their faces unveiled, said with one voice ''fore allah, it is good!' then they turned to the porter and saw that he was tipsy and jaded with drinking and dalliance. so they took him for one of themselves and said, 'he is a calender like ourselves, either an arab or a foreigner.' when the porter heard this, he rose and fixing his eyes on them, said, 'sit still and do not meddle. have you not read what is written on the door? it befits not folk, like yourselves, who come to us as mendicants, to loose your tongues on us.' 'we ask pardon of god, o fakir!' answered they. 'our heads are before thee.' the ladies laughed and making peace between them, set food before the calenders. when they had eaten, they all sat down again to carouse, the portress serving the new comers, and the cup passed round awhile, till the porter said to the calenders, 'o brothers, have ye no story or rare trait to divert us withal?' the calenders, being warm with wine, called for musical instruments; so the portress brought them a tambourine and a lute and a persian harp; and each calender took one and tuned it and played and sang; and the girls joined in lustily and made a great noise. whilst they were thus engaged, some one knocked at the gate and the portress rose and went to see who it was. now the cause of this knocking was that, that very night, the khalif haroun er reshid had gone down into the city, as was his wont, every now and then, to walk about for his diversion and hear what news was stirring, attended by his vizier jaafer and mesrour his headsman, all three, as usual, disguised as merchants. their way brought them to the house of the three ladies, where they heard the noise of musical instruments and of singing and merriment, and the khalif said to jaafer, 'i have a mind to enter this house and listen to this music and see the singers.' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered jaafer, 'these people are certainly drunk, and i fear lest some mischief betide us at their hands.' 'it matters not,' rejoined the khalif; 'i must and will go in and i desire that thou contrive some pretext to that end.' 'i hear and obey,' replied the vizier and going up to the gate, knocked, whereupon the portress came down and opened. jaafer came forward and kissing the earth before her, said, 'o lady, we are merchants from tiberias: we reached baghdad ten days ago and sold our merchandise and took up our lodging at the khan of the merchants. now we were bidden to-night to an entertainment at the house of a certain merchant, who set food before us and we ate and caroused with him awhile, till he gave us leave to depart and we went out, intending for our lodging; but being strangers in baghdad, we lost ourselves and could not find our way back to our khan: so we hope, of your courtesy, that you will admit us to pass the night with you, and god will requite you.' the portress looked at them and saw that they were dressed like merchants and appeared respectable; so she returned to her sisters and repeated to them jaafer's story, and they took compassion on the supposed strangers and bade her admit them. so she resumed and opened the gate to them, and they said, 'have we thy leave to enter?' 'enter,' answered she; whereupon the khalif and jaafer and mesrour entered; and when the girls saw them, they rose and welcomed them and made them sit down and served them, saying, 'ye are welcome as our guests, but on one condition.' 'what is that?' asked they; and the mistress of the house answered, 'it is that you be eyes without tongues and that, whatever you see, you enquire not thereof nor speak of that which concerns you not, lest you hear what will not please you.' 'good,' answered they: 'we are no meddlers.' then they sat down to carouse; whilst the khalif looked at the three calenders and marvelled for that they were all blind of the right eye, and gazed upon the ladies and was amazed at their beauty and goodliness. they fell to drinking and talking and said to the khalif, 'drink.' but he answered, 'excuse me, for i am vowed to the pilgrimage.'[fn# ] whereupon the portress rose and spreading a gold-embroidered cloth before him, set thereon a china bowl, into which she poured willow-flower water, with a spoonful of snow and some pounded sugar-candy. the khalif thanked her and said to himself, 'by allah, i will reward her to-morrow for her kind office!' then they addressed themselves to carousel, till the wine began to work upon them, when the eldest lady rose and making an obeisance to her guests, took the cateress by the hand and said, 'come, sisters, let us do our duty.' and they answered, 'it is well.' so the portress rose and cleared the middle of the saloon, after she had removed the table service and thrown away the remains of the banquet. then she renewed the perfumes in the censers and made the calenders sit down on a sofa by the dais and the khalif and his companions on a sofa at the other end; after which she called to the porter, saying, 'how dull and slothful thou art! come and help us: thou art no stranger, but one of the household!' so he rose and girt his middle and said, 'what would you have me do?' and she answered, 'stay where thou art.' then the cateress rose and setting a chair in the middle of the room, went to a closet, which she opened, saying to the porter, 'come and help me.' so he went to her and she brought out two black bitches, with chains round their necks, and gave them to him, saying, 'take them.' so he took them and carried them to the middle of the saloon; whereupon the mistress of the house tucked up her sleeves and taking a whip, said to the porter, 'bring me one of the bitches.' so he brought it to her by the chain; and the bitch wept and shook its head at the damsel, who brought the whip down on it, whilst the porter held it by the chain. the bitch howled and whined, but the lady ceased not to beat it till her arm was tired; when she threw away the whip and pressing the bitch to her bosom, kissed it on the head and wiped away its tears. then she said to the porter, 'take it back and bring the other.' he did as she bade him, and she did with the second bitch as she had done with the first. the khalif's mind was troubled at her doings and his breast contracted and he could not restrain his impatience to know the meaning of all this. so he winked to jaafer to ask, but the latter turned and signed to him as who should say, 'be silent: this is no time for impertinent curiosity.' then said the portress to the mistress of the house, 'o my lady, rise and go up to thy place, that i in turn may do my part.' 'it is well,' answered she and went up and sat down on the couch of juniper-wood, at the upper end of the dais; whilst the portress sat down on a chair and said to the cateress, 'do what thou hast to do.' so the latter rose and going to a closet, brought out a bag of yellow satin, with cords of green silk and tassels of gold, and came and sat down before the portress. then she opened the bag and took out a lute, which she tuned, and sang the following verses, accompanying herself on the lute: thou art my wish, thou art my end; and in thy presence, o my friend, there is for me abiding joy: thine absence sets my heart a-flame for thee distraught, with thee possest, thou reignest ever in my breast, nor in the love i bear to thee is there for me reproach or shame. life's veil for me was torn apart, when love gat hold upon my heart for love still rends the veils in twain and brings dishonour on fair fame. the cloak of sickness i did on; and straight my fault appeared and shone. since that my heart made choice of thee and love and longing on me came, my eyes are ever wet with tears, and all my secret thought appears, when with my tears' tumultuous flow exhales the secret of thy name. heal thou my pains, for thou to me art both disease and remedy. yet him, whose cure is in thy hand, affliction shall for ever claim, thy glances set my heart on fire, slay me with swords of my desire: how many, truly, of the best have fallen beneath love's sword of flame? yet may i not from passion cease nor in forgetting seek release; for love's my comfort, pride and law, public and private, aye the same. blest eyes that have of thee their fill and look upon thee at their will! ay, of my own unforced intent, the slave of passion i became. when the portress heard this foursome song, she cried out, 'alas! alas! alas!' and tore her clothes and fell down in a swoon; and the khalif saw on her body the marks of beating with rods and whips, and wondered greatly. then the cateress rose and sprinkled water upon her and brought her a fresh dress and put it on her. when the company saw this, their minds were troubled, for they understood not the reason of these things. and the khalif said to jaafer, 'didst thou not see the marks of beating with rods upon the girl's body! i cannot keep silence nor be at rest, except i come at the truth of all this and know the story of this damsel and the two bitches.' 'o my lord,' answered jaafer, 'they made it a condition with us that we should not speak of what concerns us not, under pain of hearing what should not please us.' then said the portress 'by allah! o my sister, come and complete thy service to me.' 'with all my heart!' answered the cateress and took the lute and leant it against her breasts. then she swept the strings with her finger-tips and sang the following verses: if we complain of absence, what alas! shall we say? or if longing assail us, where shall we take our way? if, to interpret for us, we trust to a messenger, how can a message rightly a lover's plaint convey? or if we put on patience, short is a lover's life, after his heart's beloved is torn from him away. nothing, alas! is left me but sorrow and despair and tears that adown my cheeks without cessation stray. thou that art ever absent from my desireful sight, thou that art yet a dweller within my heart alway, hast thou kept troth, i wonder, with one who loves thee dear, whose faith, whilst time endureth, never shall know decay? or hast thou e'en forgotten her who for love of thee, in tears and sickness and passion, hath wasted many a day? alas! though love unite us again in one embrace, reproach for thy past rigour with me full long shall stay. when the portress heard this second song, she gave a loud scream and exclaimed, 'by allah! it is good!' and putting her hand to her clothes, tore them as before and fell down in a swoon. whereupon the cateress rose and brought her another dress, after she had sprinkled water on her. then she sat up again and said to the cateress 'to it again and help me to do the rest of my duty; for there remains but one more song.' so the cateress took the lute and sang the following verses: how long, ah me! shall this rigour last and this inhumanity? are not the tears that i have shed enough to soften thee? if thou, of thy relentless will, estrangement do prolong, intending my despite, at last, i pray, contented be! if treacherous fortune were but just to lovers and their woe, they would not watch the weary night in sleepless agony. have ruth on me, for thy disdain is heavy on my heart; is it not time that thou relent at last, my king, to me? to whom but thee that slayest me should i reveal my pain? what grief is theirs who love and prove the loved one's perfidy! love and affliction hour by hour redouble in my breast: the days of exile are prolonged; no end to them i see. muslims, avenge a slave of love, the host of wakefulness, whose patience hath been trampled out by passion's tyranny! can it be lawful, o my wish, that thou another bless with thine embraces, whilst i die, in spite of love's decree? yet in thy presence, by my side, what peace should i enjoy, since he i love doth ever strive to heap despite on me? when the portress heard this third song, she screamed out and putting forth her hand, tore her clothes even to the skirt and fell down in a swoon for the third time, and there appeared once more on her body the marks of beat ing with rods. then said the three calenders, 'would god we had never entered this house, but had slept on the rubbish-heaps! for verily our entertainment hath been troubled by things that rend the heart.' the khalif turned to them and said, 'how so?' and they answered, 'indeed, our minds are troubled about this matter.' quoth he, 'are you not then of the household?' 'no,' replied they; 'nor did we ever see the place till now.' said the khalif, 'there is the man by you: he will surely know the meaning of all this.' and he winked at the porter. so they questioned the latter and he replied, 'by the almighty, we are all in one boat! i was brought up at baghdad, but never in my life did i enter this house till to-day, and the manner of my coming in company with them was curious.' 'by allah,' said they, 'we thought thee one of them, and now we see thou art but as one of ourselves.' then said the khalif, 'we are here seven men, and they are but three women: so let us question them of their case, and if they do not answer willingly, they shall do so by force.' they all agreed to this, except jaafer, who said, 'this is not well-advised: let them be, for we are their guests, and as ye know, they imposed on us a condition, to which we all agreed. wherefore it is better that we keep silence concerning this affair, for but a little remains of the night, and each go about his business.' and he winked to the khalif and whispered to him, 'there is but a little longer to wait, and to-morrow i will bring them before thee and thou canst then question them of their story.' but the khalif lifted his head and cried out angrily, 'i have not patience to wait till then: let the calenders ask them.' and jaafer said, 'this is not well-advised.' then they consulted together, and there was much talk and dispute between them, who should put the question, before they fixed upon the porter. the noise drew the notice of the lady of the house, who said to them, 'o guests, what is the matter and what are you talking about?' then the porter came forward and said to her, 'o lady, the company desire that thou acquaint them with the history of the two bitches and why thou didst beat them and after fellest to kissing and weeping over them and also concerning thy sister and why she has been beaten with rods, like a man. this is what they charge me to ask thee, and peace be on thee.' when she heard this, she turned to the others and said to them 'is this true that he says of you?' and they all replied 'yes;' except jaafer, who held his peace. then said she, 'by allah! o guests, ye have done us a grievous wrong, for we made it a previous condition with you that whoso spoke of what concerned him not, should hear what should not please him. is it not enough that we have taken you into our house and fed you with our victual! but the fault is not so much yours as that of her who brought you in to us.' then she tucked up her sleeves and smote three times on the floor, saying, 'come quickly!' whereupon the door of a closet opened and out came seven black slaves, with drawn swords in their hands, to whom said the lady, 'bind these babblers' hands behind them and tie them one with another.' the slaves did as she bade, and said, 'o noble lady, is it thy will that we strike off their heads?' 'hold your hands awhile,' answered she, 'till i question them of their condition, before ye strike off their heads.' 'by allah, o my lady,' exclaimed the porter 'do not slay me for another's fault, for all have erred and offended save myself. and by allah, our night would have been a pleasant one, had we not been afflicted with these calenders, whose presence is enough to lay a flourishing city in ruins.' and he repeated the following verses: how fair a thing is mercy to the great! and how much more to those of low estate! by all the love that has between us been, doom not the guiltless to the guilty's fate! when the lady heard this, she laughed, in spite of her anger, and coming up to the guests, said to them, 'tell me who you are, for ye have but a little while to live, and were you not men of rank and consideration, you had never dared to act thus.' then the khalif said to jaafer, 'out on thee! tell her who we are, or we shall be slain in a mistake, and speak her fair, ere an abomination befall us.' 'it were only a part of thy deserts,' replied jaafer. whereupon the khalif cried out at him in anger and said, 'there is a time to jest and a time to be serious.' then the lady said to the calenders, 'are ye brothers?' 'not so,' answered they; 'we are only poor men and strangers.' and she said to one of them, 'wast thou born blind of one eye?' 'no, by allah!' replied he; 'but there hangs a rare story by the loss of my eye, a story which, were it graven with needles on the corners of the eye, would serve as a lesson to those that can profit by example.' she questioned the two other calenders, and they made a like reply, saying, 'by allah! o our mistress, each one of us comes from a different country and is the son of a king and a sovereign prince ruling over lands and subjects.' then she turned to the others and said to them, 'let each of you come forward in turn and tell us his history and the manner of his coming hither and after go about his business; but whoso refuses, i will cut off his head.' the first to come forward was the porter, who said, 'o my lady, i am a porter. this lady, the cateress, hired me and took me first to the vintner's, then to the butcher's, from the butcher's to the fruiterer's, from the fruiterer's to the grocer's, from the grocer's to the greengrocer's, from the greengrocer's to the confectioner's and the druggist's, and thence to this place, where there happened to me with you what happened. this is my story; and peace be on thee!' at this the lady laughed and said to him, 'begone about thy business.' but he said, 'by allah, i will not budge 'till i hear the others' stories.' then came forward the first calender and said, 'know, o lady, that the first calender's story. my father was a king, and he had a brother, who was also a king over another city. the latter had a son and a daughter, and it chanced that i and the son of my uncle were both born on the same day. in due time we grew up to man's estate and there was a great affection between us. now it was my wont every now and then to visit my uncle and abide with him several months at a time. one day, i went to visit him as usual and found him absent a-hunting; but my cousin received me with the utmost courtesy and slaughtered sheep and strained wine for me and we sat down to drink. when the wine had got the mastery of us, my cousin said to me, "o son of my uncle i have a great service to ask of thee, and i beg of thee not to baulk me in what i mean to do." "with all my heart," answered i; and he made me swear by the most solemn oaths to do his will. then he went away and returning in a little, with a lady veiled and perfumed and very richly clad, said to me, "take this lady and go before me to the burial-ground and enter such and such a sepulchre," and he described it to me and i knew it, "and wait till i come." i could not gainsay him, by reason of the oath i had sworn to him; so i took the lady and carried her to the cemetery, and entering the tomb sat down to await my cousin, who soon rejoined us, carrying a vessel of water, a bag containing plaster and an adze. he went up to the tomb in the midst of the sepulchre and loosening its stones with the adze, laid them on one side after which he fell to digging with the adze in the earth till he uncovered a trap of iron, as big as a small door, and raised it, when there appeared beneath it a winding stair. then he turned to the lady and said to her, "up and make thy choice." so she descended the stair and was lost to sight; and he said to me, "o my cousin, when i have descended, complete thy kindness to me by replacing the trap-door and throwing back the earth on it: then mix the plaster in the bag with the water in this vessel and build up the tomb again with the stones and plaster it over as before, lest any see it and say, 'this tomb has been newly opened, albeit it is an old one;' for i have been at work here a whole year, unknown to any save god. this then is the service i had to ask of thee, and may god never bereave thy friends of thee, o my cousin!" then he descended the stair; and when he was out of sight, i replaced the trap-door and did as he had bidden me, till the tomb was restored to its original condition, and i the while in a state of intoxication; after which i returned to the palace, and found my uncle still absent. next morning i called to mind what had happened and repented of having obeyed my cousin, when repentance was of no avail, but thought that it must have been a dream. so i fell to enquiring after my cousin; but none could give me any news of him; and i went out to the burial-ground and sought for the tomb where i had left him, but could not find it, and ceased not to go from sepulchre to sepulchre and from tomb to tomb, without success, till nightfall. then i returned to the palace and could neither eat nor drink, for my heart was troubled about my cousin, seeing i knew not what was come of him; and i was extremely chagrined and slept not that night, but lay awake for anxiety till morning. as soon as it was day, i repaired again to the cemetery, pondering what my cousin had done and repenting me of having hearkened to him, and vent round among all the tombs, but could not find the one i sought. thus i did for the space of seven days, but with no better success, and my trouble and anxiety increased till i was well-nigh mad and could find nothing for it but to return to my father. so i set out and journeyed till i reached his capital; but as i entered the gate of the city, a number of men sprang out on me and tied my hands behind me. at this i was beyond measure amazed, seeing that i was the son of the sultan and that they were his servants and my own; and great fear fell on me, and i said to myself, "i wonder what has befallen my father!" then i questioned my captors; but they returned me no answer. however, after awhile, one of them, who had been my servant, said to me, "fortune has played thy father false; and the troops deserted him. so the vizier slew him and seized on his throne; and we laid wait for thee by his command." then they took me and carried me before the vizier, well-nigh distraught for this news of my father. now between me and this vizier was an old feud, the cause of which was as follows. i was fond of shooting with a pellet-bow, and one day, as i was standing on the terrace of my palace, a bird lighted on the terrace of the vizier's house, where the latter chanced to be standing at the time. i let fly at the bird, but, as fate and destiny would have it, the pellet swerved and striking the vizier on the eye, put it out. as says the poet: our footsteps follow on in their predestined way, nor from the ordered track can any mortal stray: and he whom fate appoints in any land to die, no other place on earth shall see his dying day. the vizier dared say nothing, at the time, because i was the sultan's son of the city, but thenceforward he nourished a deadly hatred against me. so when they brought me bound before him, he commanded my head to be smitten off; and i said, "for what crime wilt thou put me to death?" "what crime could be greater than this?" answered he, and pointed to his ruined eye. quoth i, "that i did by misadventure." and he replied, "if thou didst it by misadventure, i will do the like with intent." then said he, "bring him to me." so they brought me up to him, and he put his finger into my right eye and pulled it out; and thenceforward i became one-eyed as ye see me. then he caused me to be bound hand and foot and put in a chest and said to the headsman, "take this fellow and carry him forth of the city and slay him and leave him for the beasts and birds to eat." so the headsman carried me without the city to the midst of the desert, where he took me out of the chest, bound hand and foot as i was, and would have bandaged my eyes, that he might slay me. but i wept sore till i made him weep, and looking at him, repeated the following verses: i counted on you as a coat of dart-proof mail toward the foeman's arrows from my breast. alas! ye are his sword! i hoped in you to succour me in every evil chance, although my right hand to my left no more should help afford. yet stand aloof nor cast your lot with those who do me hate, and let my foemen shoot their shafts against your whilom lord! if you refuse to succour me against my enemies, at least be neutral, nor to me nor them your aid accord. and these also: how many of my friends, methought, were coats of mail! and so they were, indeed, but on my foeman's part. unerring shafts and true i deemed them; and they were unerring shafts, indeed, alas, but in my heart! when the headsman heard this (now he had been my father's headsman and i had done him kindness) he said, "o my lord what can i do, being but a slave commanded?" then he said, "fly for thy life and never return to this country, or thou art lost and i with thee." as says one of the poets: escape with thy life, if oppression betide thee, and let the house tell of its builder's fate! country for country thou'lt find, if thou seek it; life for life never, early or late. it is strange men should dwell in the house of abjection, when the plain of god's world is so wide and so great! i kissed his hands, hardly crediting my escape; and recked little of the loss of my eye, in consideration of my deliverance from death. then i repaired to my uncle's capital and going in to him, told him what had befallen my father and myself; whereat he wept sore and said, "verily, thou addest affliction to my affliction and sorrow to my sorrow; for thy cousin has been missing these many days; i know not what is become of him, and none can give me any news of him." then he wept till he swooned away, and my heart was sore for him. when he revived, he would have medicined my eye, but found there was but the socket left and said, "o my son, it is well that it was thine eye and not thy life!" i could not keep silence about my cousin; so i told him all that had passed, and he rejoiced greatly at hearing news of his son and said, "come, show me the tomb." "by allah, o my uncle," answered i, "i know it not, for i went after many times to seek for it, but could not find it." however, we went out to the burial-ground and looked right and left, till at last i discovered the tomb. at this we both rejoiced greatly and entering, removed the earth, raised the trapdoor and descended fifty steps, till we came to the foot of the stair, where we were met by a great smoke that blinded our eyes: and my uncle pronounced the words, which whoso says shall never be confounded, that is to say, "there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme!" then we went on and found ourselves in a saloon, raised upon columns, drawing air and light from openings communicating with the surface of the ground and having a cistern in its midst. the place was full of crates and sacks of flour and grain and other victual; and at the upper end stood a couch with a canopy over it. my uncle went up to the bed and drawing the curtains, found his son and the lady in each other's arms; but they were become black coal, as they had been cast into a well of fire. when he saw this, he spat in his son's face and taking off his shoe, smote him with it, exclaiming, "swine that thou art, thou hast thy deserts! this is thy punishment in this world, but there awaits thee a far sorer and more terrible punishment in the world to come!" his behaviour amazed me, and i mourned for my cousin, for that he was become a black coal, and said to the king, "o my uncle, is not that which hath befallen him enough, but thou must beat him with thy shoe?" "o son of my brother," answered my uncle, "this my son was from his earliest youth madly enamoured of his sister, and i forbade him from her, saying in myself, 'they are but children.' but, when they grew up, sin befell between them, notwithstanding that his attendants warned him to abstain from so foul a thing, which none had done before nor would do after him, lest the news of it should be carried abroad by the caravans and he become dishonoured and unvalued among kings to the end of time. i heard of this and believed it not, but took him and upbraided him severely, saying, 'have a care lest this thing happen to thee; for i will surely curse thee and put thee to death.' then i shut her up and kept them apart, but this accursed girl loved him passionately, and satan got the upper hand of them and made their deeds to seem good in their eyes. so when my son saw that i had separated them, he made this place under ground and transported victual hither, as thou seest, and taking advantage of my absence a-hunting, came here with his sister, thinking to enjoy her a long while. but the wrath of god descended on them and consumed them; and there awaits them in the world to come a still sorer and more terrible punishment." then he wept and i with him, and he looked at me and said, "henceforth thou art my son in his stead." then i bethought me awhile of the world and its chances and how the vizier had slain my father and usurped his throne and put out my eye and of the strange events that had befallen my cousin and wept again, and my uncle wept with me. presently we ascended, and replacing the trap-door, restored the tomb to its former condition. then we resumed to the palace, but hardly had we sat down when we heard a noise of drums and trumpets and cymbals and galloping of cavalry and clamour of men and clash of arms and clank of bridles and neighing of horses, and the world was filled with clouds of dust raised by the horses' hoofs. at this we were amazed and knew not what could be the matter so we enquired and were told that the vizier, who had usurped my father's throne, had levied troops and hired the wild arabs and was come with an army like the sands of the sea, none could tell their number nor could any avail against them. they assaulted the city unawares, and the people, being unable to withstand them, surrendered the place to them. my uncle was slain and i took refuge in the suburbs, knowing that, if i fell into the vizier's hands, he would put me to death. wherefore trouble was sore upon me and i bethought me of all that had befallen me and my father and uncle and knew not what to do, for if i showed myself, the people of the city and my father's troops would know me and hasten to win the usurpers favour by putting me to death; and i could find no means of escape but by shaving my face. so i shaved off my beard and eyebrows and donning a calender's habit, left the town, without being known of any, and made for this city, in the hope that perhaps some one would bring me to the presence of the commander of the faithful and vicar of the lord of the two worlds, that i might relate to him my story and lay my case before him. i arrived here today and was standing, perplexed where i should go, when i saw this second calender; so i saluted him, saying "i am a stranger," and he replied, "and i also am a stranger." presently up came our comrade, this other calender, and saluted us, saying, "i am a stranger." "we also are strangers," answered we; and we walked on together, till darkness overtook us, and destiny led us to your house. this, then, is my history and the manner of the loss of my right eye and the shaving of my beard and eyebrows.' they all marvelled at his story, and the khalif said to jaafer, 'by allah, i never heard or saw the like of what happened to this calender.' then the mistress of the house said to the calender, 'begone about thy business.' but he answered, 'i will not budge till i hear the others' stories.' then came forth the second calender and kissing the earth, said, 'o my lady, i was not born blind of one eye, and my story is a marvellous one; were it graven with needles on the corners of the eye, it would serve as a warning to those that can profit by example. the second calender's story. i am a king, son of a king. my father taught me to read and write, and i got the koran by heart, according to the seven readings, and read all manner of books under the guidance of learned professors; i studied the science of the stars and the sayings of poets and applied myself to all branches of knowledge, till i surpassed all the folk of my time. in particular, my skill in handwriting excelled that of all the scribes, and my fame was noised abroad in all countries and at the courts of all the kings. amongst others, the king of ind heard of me and sent to my father to seek me, with gifts and presents such as befit kings. so my father fitted out six ships for me, and we put to sea and sailed for a whole month, till we reached the land. then we brought out the horses that were with us in the ships, together with ten camels laden with presents for the king of ind. and set out inland, but had not gone far, before there arose a great dust, that grew till it covered the whole country. after awhile it lifted and discovered fifty steel-clad horsemen, as they were fierce lions, whom we soon found to be arab highwaymen. when they saw that we were but a small company and had with us ten laden camels, they drove at us with levelled spears. we signed to them with our fingers to do us no hindrance, for that we were ambassadors to the mighty king of ind; but they replied (in the same manner) that they were not in his dominions nor under his rule. then they set on us and slew some of my attendants and put the rest to flight; and i also fled, after i had gotten a sore wound whilst the arabs were taken up with the baggage. i knew not whither to turn, being reduced from high to low estate; so i fled forth at a venture till i came to the top of a mountain, where i took shelter for the night in a cavern. on the morrow, i continued my journey and fared on thus for a whole month, till i reached a safe and pleasant city. the winter had passed away from it with its cold and the spring was come with its roses; its flowers were blowing and its streams welling and its birds warbling. as says the poet, describing the city in question: a town, wherein who dwells is free from all affray; security and peace are masters there alway. like paradise itself, it seemeth, for its folk, with all its beauties rare decked out in bright array. i was both glad and sorry to reach the city, glad for that i was weary with my journey and pale for weakness and anxiety, and grieved to enter it in such sorry case. however, i went in, knowing not whither to betake me, and fared on till i came to a tailor sitting in his shop. i saluted him, and he returned my salute and bade me a kindly welcome, and seeing me to be a stranger and noting marks of gentle breeding on me, enquired how i came thither. i told him all that had befallen me; and he was concerned for me and said, "o my son, do not discover thyself to any, for the king of this city is the chief of thy father's foes and hath a mortal feud against him." then he set meat and drink before me, and i ate and he with me, and we talked together till nightfall, when he lodged me in a chamber beside his own, and brought me a bed and coverlet. i abode with him three days, at the end of which time he said to me, "dost thou know any craft by which thou mayst earn thy living?" i replied, "i am a doctor of the law and a man of learning, a scribe, a grammarian, a poet, a mathematician and a skilled penman." quoth he, "thy trade is not in demand in this country nor are there in this city any who understand science or writing or aught but money-getting." "by allah," said i, "i know nought but what i have told thee!" and he said, "gird thy middle and take axe and cord and go and cut firewood in the desert for thy living, till god send thee relief, and tell none who thou art, or they will kill thee." then he bought me an axe and a cord and gave me in charge to certain woodcutters; with whom i went out into the desert and cut wood all day and carried home a load on my head. i sold it for half a dinar, with part of which i bought victual and laid up the rest. on this wise i lived a whole year, at the end of which time i went out one day into the desert, according to my wont, and straying from my companions, happened on a tract full of trees and running streams, in which there was abundance of firewood; so i entered and coming on the gnarled stump of a great tree, dug round it with my axe and cleared the earth away from it. presently, the axe struck upon a ring of brass; so i cleared away the earth, till i uncovered a wooden trap-door, which i raised and there appeared beneath it a stair i descended the stair, till i came to a door, which i opened and found myself in a vaulted hall of goodly structure, wherein was a damsel like a pearl of great price, whose aspect banished pain and care and anxiety from the heart and whose speech healed the troubled soul and captivated the wise and the intelligent. she was slender of shape and swelling-breasted, delicate-cheeked and bright of colour and fair of form; and indeed her face shone like the sun through the night of her tresses, and her teeth glittered above the snows of her bosom. as says the poet of her: slender of waist, with streaming hair the hue of night, is she, with hips like hills of sand and shape straight as the balsam-tree. and as says another: there are four things that ne'er unite, except it be to shed my heart's best blood and take my soul by storm. and these are night-black locks and brow as bright as day, cheeks ruddy as the rose and straight and slender form. when i looked on her, i prostrated myself before her maker, for the grace and beauty he had created in her and she looked at me and said, "art thou a man or a genie?" "i am a man," answered i; and she said, "and who brought thee to this place, where i have dwelt five-and-twenty years without seeing man?" quoth i (and indeed her speech was sweet to me), "o my lady, my good star brought me hither for the dispelling of my grief and anxiety." and i told her all that had befallen me from first to last. my case was grievous to her and she wept: then she said, "i will tell thee my story in turn. i am the daughter of a king of farther india, by name efitamous, lord of the ebony islands, who married me to my cousin, but on my wedding-night an afrit called jerjis ben rejmous, the mother's sister's son of iblis, carried me off and flying away with me, set me down in this place whither he transported all that i needed of clothes and ornaments and furniture and meat and drink and so forth. once in every ten days he comes to me and lies the night here, then goes his way; for he took me without the consent of his family: and he has agreed with me that, in case i should ever have occasion for him in the interval between his visits, whether by night or by day, i have only to touch these two lines engraved upon the alcove, and he will be with me before i take away my hand. it is now four days since he was here, and there remain six before he comes again. wilt thou therefore spend five days with me and depart the day before his coming?" "i will well," answered i. "o rare! if it be not all a dream." at this she rejoiced and taking me by the hand, led me through a vaulted doorway into a small but elegant bath-room, where we put off our clothes and she washed me. then she clad me in a new suit and seated me by her side on a high divan and gave me to drink of sherbet of sugar flavoured with musk. then she brought food, and we ate and conversed. after awhile, she said to me, "lie down and rest, for thou art weary." so i lay down and slept and forgot all that had befallen me. when i awoke, i found her rubbing my feet:[fn# ] so i thanked her and blessed her, and we sat talking awhile. quoth she, "by allah, i was sad at heart, for that i have dwelt alone under ground these five-and-twenty years, without any to talk withal. so praised be god who hath sent thee to me!" then she said, "o youth, art thou for wine?" and i answered, "as thou wilt." whereupon she went to the cupboard and took out a sealed flask of old wine and decked the table with flowers and green herbs. then she recited the following verses: had we thy coming known, we would for sacrifice have poured thee forth heart's blood and blackness of the eyes: ay, and we would have laid our cheeks within thy way, that so thy feet might tread on eyelids, carpet-wise! i thanked her, for indeed love of her had taken hold of me, and my grief and anxiety left me. we sat carousing till nightfall, and i passed the night with her, never knew i such a night. on the morrow, delight succeeded delight till the middle of the day, when i drank wine, till i lost my senses and rose, staggering from side to side, and said to her, "come, o fair one! i will carry thee up from under the earth and rid thee of this genie." she laughed and replied, "be content and hold thy peace. one day in every ten is the genie's, and the other nine shall be thine." quoth i (and indeed drunkenness had got the better of me), "this very moment will i break the alcove, on which is graven the talisman, and summon the afrit hither, that i may kill him, for i am used to kill afrits ten at a time." when she heard this, she conjured me by allah to refrain and repeated the following verses: this is a thing wherein thine own destruction lies: i rede thee keep thyself therefrom, if thou be wise. and also these: o thou that seek'st to hasten on the feet of parting's steeds, the matchless swift of flight, forbear, for fortune's nature is deceit, and parting is the end of love delight. i paid no heed to her words, but kicked the alcove with all my might, and immediately the place grew dark, it thundered and lightened, the earth trembled and the world was wrapped in gloom. when i saw this, the fumes of the wine left my head and i said to the lady, "what is the matter?" "the afrit is upon us," answered she "did i not warn thee of this! by allah, thou hast ruined me! but fly for thy life and return whence thou camest." so i ascended the stair, but, in the excess of my fear i forgot my sandals and hatchet. when i had mounted two steps, i turned to look, and behold, the ground clove in sunder and out came an afrit of hideous aspect, who said to the lady, "what is this commotion with which thou disturbest me? what misfortune has befallen thee?" "nothing has befallen me," answered she, "except that i was heavy at heart and drank a little wine to hearten myself. then i rose to do an occasion, but my head became heavy and i fell against the alcove." "thou liest, o harlot!" said he, and looked right and left, till he caught sight of the axe and the sandals and said, "these are some man's gear. who has been with thee?" quoth she, "i never set eyes on them till this moment; they must have clung to thee as thou camest hither." but he said, "this talk is absurd and will not impose on me, o strumpet!" then he stripped her naked and stretching her on the ground, tied her hands and feet to four stakes and proceeded to torture her to make her confess. i could not bear to hear her weeping; so i ascended the stair, quaking for fear. when i reached the top, i replaced the trap-door and covered it over with earth; and i thought of the lady and her beauty and what had befallen her through my folly and repented me sore of what i had done. then i bethought me of my father and his kingdom and how i had become a woodcutter, and how, after my life had been awhile serene, it had again become troubled, and i wept and repeated the following verse: what time the cruelties of fate o'erwhelm thee with distress, think that one day must bring thee ease, another day duresse. then i went on till i reached the house of my friend, whom i found awaiting me, as he were on coals of fire on my account. when he saw me, he rejoiced and said, "o my brother, where didst thou pass the night? my heart has been full of anxiety on thine account, fearing for thee from the wild beasts or other peril: but praised be god for thy safety!" i thanked him for his solicitude, and retiring to my chamber, fell a-musing on what had passed and reproached myself grievously for my meddlesomeness in kicking the alcove. presently the tailor came in to me and said, "o my son, there is without an old man, a foreigner, who seeks thee. he has thine axe and sandals and came to the woodcutters and said to them, 'i went out at the hour of the call to morning prayer and happened on these and know not whose they are: direct me to their owner.' they knew thine axe and sent him to thee; and he is now sitting in my shop. so do thou go out to him and thank him and take thy gear." when i heard this, my colour changed and i was sick for terror but before i could think, the floor clove asunder and up came the stranger, and lo, it was the afrit! now he had tortured the lady in the most barbarous manner, without being able to make her confess: so he took the axe and sandals, saying, "as sure as i am jerjis of the lineage of iblis, i will bring back the owner of this axe and these sandals!" so he went to the woodcutters with the tale aforesaid, and they directed him to me. he snatched me up without parley and flew high into the air, but presently descended and plunged into the ground with me, and i the while unconscious. then he came up with me in the underground palace, where i saw the lady stretched out naked, with the blood running from her sides. at this sight, my eyes ran over with tears; but the afrit unbound her and veiling her, said to her, "o wanton, is not this thy lover?" she looked at me and said, "i know not this man, nor have i ever seen him till now." quoth he, "wilt thou not confess after all this torture?" and she answered, "i never saw him in my life, and god forbid that i should lie against him and thou kill him." "then," said he, "if thou know him not, take this sword and cut off his head." she took the sword and came and stood at my head; and i made signs to her with my eyebrows whilst the tears ran down my cheeks. she understood me and signed to me with her eyes as who should say, "thou hast brought all this upon us." and i answered her, in the same fashion, that it was a time for forgiveness; and the tongue of the case spoke[fn# ] the words of the poet: my looks interpret for my tongue and tell of what i feel: and all the love appears that i within my heart conceal. when as we meet and down our cheeks our tears are running fast, i'm dumb, and yet my speaking eyes my thought of thee reveal. she signs to me; and i, i know the things her glances say: i with my fingers sign, and she conceives the mute appeal. our eyebrows of themselves suffice unto our intercourse: we're mute; but passion none the less speaks in the looks we steal. then she threw down the sword and said, "how shall i strike off the head of one whom i know not and who has done me no hurt? my religion will not allow of this." quoth the afrit, "it is grievous to thee to kill thy lover. because he hath lain a night with thee, thou endurest this torture and wilt not confess upon him. it is only like that pities like." then he turned to me and said, "o mortal, dost thou not know this woman?" "who is she?" answered i. "i never saw her till now." "then," said he "take this sword and strike off her head and i will believe that thou knowest her not and will let thee go and do thee no hurt." quoth i, "it is well;" and taking the sword, went up to her briskly and raised my hand. but she signed to me with her eyebrows, as who should say, "what hurt have i done thee? is it thus thou requitest me?" i understood what she would say and replied in the same manner, "i will ransom thee with my life." and the tongue of the case repeated the following verses: how many a lover with his eyelids speaks and doth his thought unto his mistress tell he flashes signals to her with his eyes, and she at once is ware of what befell. how swift the looks that pass betwixt the twain! how fair, indeed, and how delectable! one with his eyelids writes what he would say: the other with her eyes the writ doth spell. then my eyes ran over with tears and i said, "o mighty afrit and doughty hero! if a woman, lacking sense and religion, deem it unlawful to strike off my head, how can i, who am a man, bring myself to slay her whom i never saw in my life? never will i do it, though i drink the cup of death and ruin!" and i threw the sword from my hand. quoth the afrit, "ye show the good understanding between you, but i will let you see the issue of your doings." then he took the sword and cut off the lady's hands and feet at four strokes; whilst i looked on and made sure of death; and she signed me a farewell with her eyes. quoth he, "thou cuckoldest me with thine eyes!" and struck off her head with a blow of his sword. then he turned to me and said, "o mortal, by our law; when our wives commit adultery, it is lawful to us to put them to death. as for this woman, i stole her away on her wedding-night, when she was a girl of twelve, and she has known no one but myself. i used to come to her once in every ten days in the habit of a man, a foreigner, and pass one night with her; and when i was assured that she had played me false, i slew her. but as for thee, i am not sure that thou west her accomplice: nevertheless, i must not let thee go unharmed; but i will grant thee a favour." at this i rejoiced greatly and said, "what favour wilt thou grant me?" "i will give thee thy choice," replied he, "whether i shall change thee into a dog, an ass or an ape." quoth i (and indeed i had hoped that he would pardon me), "by allah, spare me, and god will reward thee for sparing a true believer, who hath done thee no harm." and i humbled myself before him to the utmost and wept, saying, "indeed, thou dost me injustice." "do not multiply words on me," answered he; "it is in my power to kill thee: but i give thee thy choice." "o afrit," rejoined i, "it would best become thee to pardon me, even as the envied pardoned the envier." quoth he, "and how was that?" "they say, o afrit," answered i, "that story of the envier and the envied. there dwelt once in a certain city two men, who occupied adjoining houses, having a common party-wall; and one of them envied the other and looked on him with an evil eye and did his utmost endeavour to work him ill; and his envy grew on him till he could hardly eat or enjoy the delight of sleep for it. but the envied man did nought but prosper, and the more the other strove to do him hurt, the more he increased and throve and flourished. at last the hatred his neighbour bore him and his constant endeavour to do him hurt came to his knowledge and he said, 'by allah, i will renounce the world on his account!' so he left his native place and settled in a distant city, where he bought a piece of land, in which was a dried-up well, that had once been used for watering the fields. here he built him an oratory, which he fitted up with all that he required, and took up his abode therein, devoting himself with a sincere heart to the service of god the most high. fakirs[fn# ] and poor folk soon flocked to him from all sides, and his fame spread abroad in the city, so that the notables resorted to him. after awhile, the news reached the envious man of the good fortune that had befallen his old neighbour and the high consideration in which he was held: so he set out for the town in which the latter dwelt and repaired to the hermitage, where the envied man welcomed him and received him with the utmost honour. quoth the envier, 'i have journeyed hither on purpose to tell thee a piece of good news. so order thy fakirs to retire to their cells and go with me apart, for i will not say what i have to tell thee, except privately where none may overhear us.' accordingly the envied man ordered the fakirs to retire to their cells; and they did so. then he took the other by the hand and walked on with him a little way, till they came to the deserted well, when the envious man gave the other a push and cast him into the well, unseen of any; after which, he went out and went his way thinking that he had killed him. now this well was haunted by jinn, who bore up the envied man and let him down little by little, so that he reached the bottom unhurt, and they seated him on a stone. then said one of the jinn to the others, 'know ye who this is?' and they answered, 'no.' quoth he, 'this is the envied man who fled from him who envied him and settled in our city, where he built him this oratory and entertains us with his litanies and recitations of the koran. but the envious man set out and journeyed till he rejoined him and contrived to throw him into this well. now the news of him hath this very night come to the sultan of the city and he purposes to visit him to-morrow, on account of his daughter. 'and what ails his daughter?' asked another. 'she is possessed of an evil spirit,' replied the first, 'for the genie meimoun ben demdem has fallen in love with her; but if the pious man knew the remedy, he could cure her; and it is the easiest of things.' 'and what is the remedy?' asked the other. quoth the first speaker 'the black cat that is with him in the oratory has a white spot, the size of a dirhem, at the end of her tail: he should take seven white hairs from this spot and fumigate the princess therewith; whereupon the marid will leave her and never return, and she will be cured immediately.' and the envied man heard all this. when the day broke and the morning appeared and shone, the fakirs came to seek their chief and found him rising from the well, wherefore he was magnified in their eyes; and he took the black cat and plucking seven white hairs from the spot at the end of her tail, laid them aside. the sun had hardly risen when the king arrived and entered the hermitage, attended by his chief officers, leaving the rest of his suite without. the envied man bade him welcome and drawing near to him, said, 'shall i tell thee the object of thy visit?' 'yes,' answered the king. and he said, 'thou comest to consult me concerning thy daughter.' quoth the king, 'thou sayst truly, o virtuous elder!' then said the envied man, 'send and fetch her, and (god willing) i trust to cure her at once.' the king rejoiced and sent for his daughter; and they brought her bound hand and foot. the envied man made her sit down behind a curtain and taking out the hairs, fumigated her with them; whereupon the afrit that was in her roared out and departed from her. and she was restored to her right mind and veiled her face, saying, 'what has happened and who brought me hither?' at this, the sultan rejoiced beyond measure and kissed her on the eyes and kissed the envied man's hand. then he turned to his officers and said, 'how say you? what reward doth he deserve who cured my daughter?' they answered, 'he deserves to have her to wife;' and the king, 'ye say well.' so he married him to her, and the envied man became the king's son-in-law. after awhile, the vizier died, and the king said, 'whom shall we make vizier in his stead?' 'thy son-in-law,' answered the courtiers. so the envied man was made vizier. presently the sultan also died, and the grandees determined to appoint the vizier king in his place. so they made him sultan, and he became king regnant. one day, as he was riding forth in his royal state, surrounded by his viziers and amirs and grandees, his eyes fell on his old neighbour, the envious man; so he turned to one of his viziers and said to him, 'bring me yonder man and frighten him not.' so the vizier went and returned with the envious man: and the king said, 'give him a thousand dinars from my treasury and twenty loads of merchandise and send him under an escort to his own city.' then he bade him farewell and sent him away and forbore to punish him for what he had done with him see, o afrit, how the envied man forgave his envier, who had always hated him and borne him malice and had journeyed to him and made shift to throw him into the well: yet did he not requite him his ill-doing, but on the contrary was bountiful to him and forgave him." then i wept before him exceeding sore, and repeated the following verses: i prithee, pardon mine offence: for men of prudent mind to pardon unto those that sin their sins are still inclined. if i, alas! contain in me all fashions of offence, let there in thee forgiveness fair be found in every kind. for men are bound to pardon those that are beneath their hand, if they themselves with those that be above them grace would find. quoth the afrit, "i will neither kill thee nor let thee go free, but i will assuredly enchant thee." then he tore me from the ground and flew up with me into the air, till i saw the earth as it were a platter midmost the water. presently he set me down on a mountain and took a little earth, over which he muttered some magical words, then sprinkled me with it, saying, "quit this shape for that of an ape." and immediately i became an ape, a hundred years old. then he went away and left me; and when i saw myself in this ugly shape, i wept, but resigned myself to the tyranny of fate, knowing that fortune is constant to no one, and descended to the foot of the mountain, where found a wide plain. i fared on for the space of a month till my course brought me to the shore of the salt sea: where i stood awhile and presently caught sight of a ship in the midst of the sea, making for the land with a fair wind. i hid myself behind a rock on the beach and waited till the ship drew near, when i sprang on board. quoth one of the passengers, "turn this unlucky brute out from amongst us!" and the captain said, "let us kill him." and a third, "i will kill him with this sword." but i laid hold of the captain's skirts and wept, and the tears ran down my face. the captain took pity on me and said, "o merchants, this ape appeals to me for protection, and i will protect him: henceforth he is under my safeguard, and none shall molest or annoy him." then he entreated me kindly and whatever he said i understood and ministered to all his wants and waited on him, so that he loved me. the ship sailed on with a fair wind for the space of fifty days, at the end of which time we cast anchor over against a great city, wherein were much people, none could tell their number save god. no sooner had we come to an anchor, than we were boarded by officers from the king of the city; who said to the merchants, "our king gives you joy of your safety and sends you this scroll of paper, on which each one of you is to write a line. for know that the king's vizier, who was an excellent penman, is dead and the king has sworn a solemn oath that he will make none vizier in his stead who cannot write like him." then they gave them a scroll, ten cubits long by one wide, and each of the merchants, who could write, wrote a line therein: after which i rose and snatched the scroll from their hands, and they cried out at me and rated me, fearing that i would tear it or throw it into the sea. but i made signs that i would write; whereat they marvelled, saying, "we never saw an ape write!" and the captain said to them, "let him alone; if he scrabble, we will drive him away and kill him; but if he write well, i will adopt him as my son, for i never saw so intelligent and well-mannered an ape; and would god my son had his sense and good breeding!" so i took the pen and dipping it in the inkhorn, wrote in an epistolary hand the following verses: time hath recorded the virtues of the great: but thine have remained unchronicled till now. may god not orphan the human race of thee, for sire and mother of all good deeds art thou. then i wrote the following in a running hand: thou hast a pen whose use confers good gifts on every clime; upon all creatures of the world its happy favours fall. what are the bounties of the nile to thy munificence, whose fingers five extend to shower thy benefits on all? and in an engrossing hand the following: there is no writer but he shall pass away: yet what he writes shall last for ever and aye. write, therefore, nought but that which shall gladden thee, when as it meets thine eye on the judgment day. and in a transcribing hand the following: when separation is to us by destiny decreed and 'gainst the cruel chance of fate our efforts are in vain, unto the inkhorn's mouth we fly that, by the tongues of pens, of parting and its bitterness it may for us complain. and in a large formal hand the following: the regal state endureth not to any mortal man. if thou deny this, where is he who first on earth held sway? plant therefore saplings of good deeds, whilst that thou yet art great though thou be ousted from thy stead, they shall not pass away. and in a court hand the following: when thou the inkhorn op'st of power and lordship over men, make thou thine ink of noble thoughts and generous purpose; then write gracious deeds and good therewith, whilst that thy power endures. so shall thy virtues blazoned be at point of sword and pen. then i gave the scroll to the officers, who took it and returned with it to the king. when he saw it, no writing pleased him but mine; so he said to his officers, "go to the writer of these lines and dress him in a splendid robe; then mount him on a mule and bring him to me with a band of music before him." at this they smiled, and the king was wroth with them and said, "o accursed ones, i give you an order, and ye laugh at me!" "o king," answered they, "we have good cause to laugh." quoth he, "what is it?" and they replied, "o king, thou orderest us to bring thee the man who wrote these lines: now he who wrote them is no man, but an ape belonging to the captain of the ship." "can this be true?" asked he; and they said, "yea, by thy munificence!" the king was astonished at their report and shook with mirth and said, "i have a mind to buy this ape of the captain." then he sent messengers to the ship and said to them, "dress him none the less in the robe and mount him on the mule and bring him hither in state, with the band of music before him." so they came to the ship and took me and clad me in the robe and mounted me on the mule and carried me in procession through the city; whilst the people were astounded and crowded to gaze upon me, and the place was all astir on my account. when i reached the king's presence, i kissed the earth before him three times, and he bade me be seated; so i sat down on my heels; and all the bystanders marvelled at my good manners, and the king most of all. after awhile the king dismissed his courtiers, and there remained but myself, his highness the king, an eunuch and a little white slave. then the king gave orders and they brought the table of food, containing all kinds of birds that hop and fly and couple in the nests, such as grouse and quails and so forth. he signed to me to eat with him; so i rose and kissed the earth before him then sat down and ate with him. when we had done eating, the table was removed, and i washed my hands seven times. then i took pen and ink and wrote the following verses: weep for the cranes that erst within the porringers did lie, and for the stews and partridges evanished heave a sigh! mourn for the younglings of the grouse; lament unceasingly, as, for the omelettes and the fowls browned in the pan, do i. how my heart yearneth for the fish, that in its different kinds, upon a paste of wheaten flour lay hidden in the pie! praised be god for the roast meat! as in the dish it lay, with pot-herbs, soaked in vinegar, in porringers hard by! my hunger was appeased: i lay, intent upon the gleam of arms that in the frumenty were buried bracelet high. i woke my sleeping appetite to eat, as 'twere in jest, of all the tarts that, piled on trays, shone fair unto the eye. o soul, have patience! for indeed, fate full of marvel is: if fortune straiten thee one day, the next relief is nigh. then i rose and seated myself at a distance, whilst the king read what i had written and marvelled and said "strange that an ape should be gifted with such fluency and skill in penmanship! by allah, this is a wonder of wonders!" then they set choice wine before the king in flagons of glass; and he drank, then passed the cup to me; and i kissed the earth and drank and wrote the following verses: they burnt me[fn# ] with fire, to make me speak, and found me patient and debonair. for this i am borne on men's hands on high and kiss the rosy lips of the fair! and these also: morn struggles through the dusk; so pour me out, i pray, of wine, such wine as makes the saddest-hearted gay! so pure and bright it is, that whether wine in glass or glass in wine be held, i' faith, 'tis hard to say. the king read them and said, with a sigh, "if a man had this quickness of wit, he would excel all the folk of his age and time." then he called for a chess-board and said to me, "wilt thou play with me?" i signed with my head as who should say, "yes," and came forward and placed the men and played two games with him, each of which i won, much to his amazement. then i took the pen and wrote the following verses: two hosts throughout the live-long day contend in deadly fight, that waxes ever till the shades of night upon them creep; then, when the darkness puts an end at last unto their strife, upon one couch and side by side, they lay them down to sleep. these verses filled the king with wonder and delight, and he said to the eunuch, "go to thy mistress, the lady of beauty, and bid her come and amuse herself with the sight of this wonderful ape." so the eunuch went out and presently returned with the lady, who, when she saw me, veiled her face, and said, "o my father, how comes it that thou art pleased to send for me and show me to strange men?" "o my daughter," said he, "there is none here save the little slave and the eunuch who reared thee and myself, thy father. from whom then dost thou veil thy face?" quoth she, "this that thou deemest an ape is a wise and learned man, the son of a king; the afrit jerjis of the lineage of iblis enchanted him thus, after putting to death his own wife, the daughter of king efitamous, lord of the ebony islands." at this the king wondered and turning to me, said, "is this true that she says of thee?" and i signed with my head, as who should say, "yes;" and wept. then said he to his daughter, "whence knewest thou that he was enchanted?" "o my father," answered she, "there was with me, in my childhood, an old woman who was skilled in magic and taught me its rules and practice; and i became skilled therein and committed to memory a hundred and seventy magical formulas, by the least of which i could transport the stones of thy?? behind the mountain caf and make its site an abyss of the sea and its people fishes swimming in its midst." "o my daughter," said her father, "i conjure thee, by my life, to disenchant this young man, that i may make him my vizier, for he is a right pleasant and ingenious youth." "with all my heart," replied she, and taking a knife, on which were engraved hebrew characters, drew therewith a circle in the midst of the hall and wrote there in names and talismans and muttered words and charms, some of which we understood and others not. presently the world darkened upon us, and the afrit presented himself before us in his own shape and aspect, with hands like pitchforks legs like masts and eyes like flames of fire. we were affrighted at him, but the princess said to him, "an ill welcome to thee, o dog!" whereupon he took the form of a lion and said to her, "o traitress, thou hast broken thy compact with me! did we not swear that neither of us should molest the other?" "o accursed one," answered she, "how could there be a compact between me and the like of thee?" "then," said he, "take what thou hast brought on thyself." and opening his mouth, rushed upon her: but she made haste and plucked a hair from her head and waved it in the air, muttering the while; and it at once became a sharp sword, with which she smote the lion and cut him in two. his head became a scorpion, whereupon the princess transformed herself into a great serpent and fell upon the scorpion and there befell a sore battle between them. presently the scorpion changed to an eagle, and the serpent at once became a griffin, which pursued the eagle a long while, till the latter became a black cat. thereupon the griffin became a piebald wolf and they fought long and sore, till the cat finding itself beaten, changed into a worm and crept into a pomegranate which lay beside the fountain in the midst of the hall whereupon the pomegranate swelled till it was as big as a watermelon. the wolf ran to seize it, but it rose into the air and falling on the pavement, broke in pieces, and all the seeds fell out and rolled hither and thither, till the floor was covered with them. then the wolf shook itself and became a cock, which fell to picking up the seeds, till they were all gone, except one that, by the decree of fate, had rolled to the side of the basin and lay hidden there. the cock began to crow and clap its wings and signed to us with his beak, as who should say, "are there any grains left?" but we understood him not; and he gave such a cry that we thought the palace would fall on us. then he ran about all over the hall, till he saw the remaining pomegranate-seed, and rushed to pick it up, but it sprang into the midst of the water and became a fish, which sank to the bottom of the basin. thereupon the cock became big fish and plunged in after the other; and we saw nothing of them for a time, but heard a loud crying and screaming and trembled. presently the afrit rose out of the water, as he were one great flame, with fire and smoke issuing from his mouth and eyes and nostrils. immediately after, the princess rose also, like a great coal of fire, and they fought till they were wrapped in flames and the hall was filled with smoke. as for us, we were well-nigh suffocated and hid ourselves and would have plunged into the water, fearing lest we be burnt up and destroyed: and the king said, "there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme! we are god's and to him we return! would god i had not urged my daughter to attempt the delivery of this ape, whereby i have imposed on her this fearful labour with yonder accursed afrit, against whom all the other afrits in the world could not prevail! and would we had never seen this ape, may god's blessing not be on him nor on the hour of his coming! we thought to do him a kindness for the love of god, by freeing him from this enchantment, and lo, we have brought this terrible travail upon ourselves!" but my tongue was tied and i could not say a word to him. suddenly, the afrit roared out from under the flames and coming up to us, as we stood on the dais, blew fire in our faces. the princess pursued him and blew flames at him, and the sparks from them both fell upon us; her sparks did us no hurt, but of his one lighted on my right eye and destroyed it; another fell on the king's face and scorched the lower part, burning away half his beard and making his under teeth drop out, and a third lighted on the eunuch's breast and set him on fire, so that he was consumed and died forthright. so we despaired of life and looked for nothing but death; but presently we heard a voice exclaiming, "god is most great! he giveth aid and victory to the true believer and abandoneth him who denieth the religion of mohammed, the moon of the faith!" and lo, the king's daughter had burnt up the afrit and he was become a heap of ashes! then she came up to us and said, "bring me a cup of water." they did so: and she spoke over the water words we understood not and sprinkled me with it, saying, "by the virtue of the truth and of the most great name of god, return to thine original shape!" and immediately i shook and became a man as before, save that i had lost my right eye. then she cried out, "the fire! the fire! o my father, i have but an instant to live, for i am not used to fight with jinn: had he been a man, i had slain him long ago. i had no travail till the time when the pomegranate burst asunder and i overlooked the seed in which was the genie's life. had i picked it up, he would have died at once; but as fate and destiny would have it, i knew not of this, so that he came upon me unawares and there befell between us a sore strife under the earth and in the air and in the water: and as often as i opened on him a gate[fn# ] (of magic), he opened on me another, till at last he opened on me the gate of fire, and seldom does he on whom the gate of fire is opened escape alive. but providence aided me against him, so that i consumed him first, after i had summoned him to embrace the faith of islam. as for me, i am a dead woman and may god supply my place to you!" then she called upon god for help and ceased not to implore relief from the fire, till presently a tongue of fierce flame broke out from her clothes and shot up to her breast and thence to her face. when it reached her face, she wept and said, "i testify that there is no god but god and that mohammed is the apostle of god!" and we looked at her and behold, she was a heap of ashes beside those of the genie. we mourned for her and i wished i had been in her place, so had i not seen the fair-faced one who had done me this good office reduced to ashes; but there is no averting the decree of god. when the king saw what had befallen his daughter, he plucked out the rest of his beard and buffeted his face and rent his clothes; and i did the like, and we both wept for her. then came in the chamberlains and grandees and were amazed to find two heaps of ashes and the sultan in a swoon. so they stood round him till he revived and told them what had happened, whereat they were sore afflicted and the women and slave-girls shrieked aloud and kept up their lamentation for the space of seven days. moreover, the king bade build a great dome over his daughter's ashes and burn therein candles and lamps: but the afrit's ashes they scattered to the winds, committing them to the malediction of god. the king was sick, well-nigh unto death, for a month's space, after which health returned to him and his beard grew again. then he sent for me and said to me, "o youth, verily we led the happiest of lives, safe from the vicissitudes of fortune, till thou camest to us, when troubles flocked upon us. o that we had never seen thee nor the ugly face of thee! for through our taking pity on thee, we are come to this state of bereavement. i have lost, on thine account, first, my daughter, who was worth a hundred men; secondly, i have suffered what befell me by the fire and the loss of my teeth, and my eunuch also is dead. i do not indeed blame thee for aught of this; for all was decreed of god to us and to thee; and praised be he that my daughter delivered thee, though at the cost of her own life! but now, o my son, depart from my city and let what has befallen us on thine account suffice. depart in peace, and if i see thee again i will kill thee." and he cried out at me. so i went forth from his presence, knowing not whither i should go, and hardly believing in my escape. and i recalled all that had befallen me from first to last and thanked god that it was my eye that i had lost and not my life. before i left the town, i entered the bath and shaved my head and put on a hair-cloth garment. then i fared forth at a venture, and every day i recalled all the misfortunes that had befallen me and wept and repeated the following verses: by the compassionate, i'm dazed and know not where i go. griefs flock on me from every side, i know not whence they grow. i will endure till patience' self less patient is than i: i will have patience till it please the lord to end my woe. a vanquished man, without complaint, my doom i will endure, as the parched traveller in the waste endures the torrid glow. i will endure till aloes'[fn# ] self confess that i, indeed, can 'gainst a bitt'rer thing abide than even it can show. there is no bitt'rer thing; and yet if patience play me false, it were to me a bitt'rer thing than all the rest, i trow. the wrinkles graven on my heart would speak my hidden pain if through my breast the thought could pierce and read what lies below. were but my load on mountains laid, they'd crumble into dust; on fire it would be quenched outright; on wind, 'twould cease to blow. let who will say that life is sweet; to all there comes a day when they must needs a bitt'rer thing than aloes[fn# ] undergo. then i journeyed through many lands and cities, intending for the abode of peace[fn# ], baghdad, in the hope that i might get speech of the commander of the faithful and tell him all that had befallen me. i arrived here this night and found my brother, this first calender, standing perplexed; so i saluted him and entered into converse with him. presently up came our brother, this third calender, and said to us, "peace be on you! i am a stranger." "we also are strangers," answered we, "and have come hither this blessed night." so we all three walked on together, none of us knowing the others' story, till chance brought us to this door and we came in to you. this, then, is my story and the manner of the shaving of my face and the loss of my eye.' quoth the mistress of the house, 'thy story is indeed a rare one: and now begone about thy business.' but he replied, 'i will not stir till i hear the others' stories.' then came forward the third calender and said, 'o illustrious lady, my history is not like that of these my comrades, but still stranger and more marvellous, in that, whilst destiny and fore-ordained fate overcame them unawares, i with mine own hand drew fate and affliction upon myself, as thou shalt presently hear. know that story of the third calender. i also am a king, the son of a king, and my name is agib, son of khesib. my father died, and i took the kingdom after him and ruled my subjects with justice and beneficence. my capital city stood on the shore of a wide spreading sea, on which i had fifty merchant ships and fifty smaller vessels for pleasure and a hundred and fifty cruisers equipped for war; and near at hand were many great islands in the midst of the ocean. now i loved to sail the sea and had a mind to visit the islands aforesaid so i took ship with a month's victual and set out and took my pleasure in the islands and returned to my capital then, being minded to make a longer voyage upon the ocean, i fitted out half a score ships with provision for two months and sailed twenty days, till one night the wind blew contrary and the sea rose against us with great billows; the waves clashed together and there fell on us a great darkness. so we gave ourselves up for lost and i said, "he who perils himself is not to be commended, though he come off safe." then we prayed to god and besought him, but the wind ceased not to rage and the waves to clash together, till daybreak, when the wind fell, the sea became calm and the sun shone out. presently we sighted an island, where we landed and cooked food and ate and rested two days. then we set out again and sailed other twenty days, without seeing land; but the currents carried us out of our true course, so that the captain lost his reckoning and finding himself in strange waters, bade the watch go up to the mast-head and look out. so he climbed the mast and looked out and said "o captain, i see nothing to right and left save sky and water, but ahead i see something looming afar off in the midst of the sea, now black and now white." when the captain heard the look-out's words, he cast his turban on the deck and plucked out his beard and buffeted his face and said, "o king, we are all dead men, not one of us can be saved." we all wept for his weeping and i said to him, "o captain, tell us what it is the look-out saw." "o my lord," answered he, "know that we lost our way on the night of the storm and since then we have gone astray one-and-twenty days and there is no wind to bring us back to our true course. to-morrow, by the end of the day, we shall come to a mountain of black stone, called loadstone, for thither the currents bear us perforce. as soon as we come within a certain distance, all the nails in the ships will fly out and fasten to the mountain, and the ships will open and fall to pieces, for that god the most high has gifted the loadstone with a secret virtue, by reason whereof all iron is attracted to it; and on this mountain is much iron, how much god only knows, from the many ships that have been wrecked there from old time. on its summit there stands a dome of brass, raised on ten columns and on the top of the dome are a horse and horseman of the same metal. the latter holds in his hand a brazen lance and on his breast is a tablet of lead, graven with names and talismans: and, o king, it is nought but this horseman that causeth the folk to perish, nor will the charm be broken till he fall from his horse." then he wept sore and we all made sure of death and each took leave of his comrade and charged him with his last wishes, in case he should be saved. that night we slept not, and in the morning, we sighted the loadstone mountain, towards which the currents carried us with irresistible force. when the ships came within a certain distance, they opened and the nails started out and all the iron in them sought the loadstone and clove to it; so that by the end of the day, we were all struggling in the sea round the mountain. some of us were saved, but the most part drowned, and even those who escaped knew not one of the other, being stupefied by the raging wind and the buffeting of the waves. as for me, god preserved me that i might suffer that which he willed to me of trouble and torment and affliction, for i got on a plank from one of the ships and, the wind driving it ashore, i happened on a pathway leading to the top, as it were a stair hewn out of the rock. so i called upon the name of god the most high and besought his succour and clinging to the steps, addressed myself to climb up little by little. and god stilled the wind and aided me in my ascent, so that i reached the summit in safety. there i found nothing but the dome; so i entered, mightily rejoiced at my escape, and made my ablutions and prayed a two-bow prayer[fn# ] in gratitude to god for my preservation. then i fell asleep under the dome and saw in a dream one who said to me, "o son of khesib, when thou awakest, dig under thy feet and thou wilt find a bow of brass and three leaden arrows, inscribed with talismanic characters. take the bow and shoot the arrows at the horseman on the top of the dome and rid mankind of this great calamity. when thou shootest at him, he will fall into the sea and the horse will drop at thy feet: take it and bury it in the place of the bow. this done, the sea will swell and rise till it is level with the top of the mountain, and there will appear on it a boat containing a man of brass (other than he whom thou shalt have thrown down), with an oar in his hands. he will come to thee, and do thou embark with him, but beware of naming god. he will row with thee for the space of ten days, till he brings thee to a port of safety, where thou shalt find those who will carry thee to thine own country: and all this shall be fulfilled to thee, so thou pronounce not the name of god." i started up from my sleep and hastening to do the bidding of the mysterious voice, found the bow and arrows and shot at the horseman and overthrew him; whereupon he fell into the sea, whilst the horse dropped at my feet and i took it and buried it. then the sea grew troubled and rose till it reached the top of the mountain; nor had i long to wait before i saw a boat in the midst of the sea coming towards me. so i gave thanks to god: and when the boat came up to me, i saw in it a man of brass, with a tablet of lead on his breast, inscribed with names and talismans; and i embarked without saying a word. the boatman rowed on with me for ten whole days, till i caught sight of islands and mountains and signs of safety; whereat i was beyond measure rejoiced and in the excess of my gladness, i called upon the name of the almighty and exclaimed, "there is no god but god! god is most great!" when behold, the boat turned over and cast me out into the sea, then righted and sank beneath the water. now, i knew how to swim, so i swam the whole day till nightfall, when my arms and shoulders failed me for fatigue, and i abode in mortal peril and made the profession of the faith[fn# ], looking for nothing but death. presently, the sea rose, for the greatness of the wind, and a wave like a great rampart took me and bearing me forward, cast me up on the land, that the will of god might be done. i clambered up the beach and, putting off my clothes, wrung them and spread them out to dry, then lay down and slept all night. as soon as it was day, i put on my clothes and rose to look about me. presently i came to a grove of trees and making a circuit round it, found that i was on a little island, surrounded on all sides by the sea; whereupon i said to myself, "no sooner do i escape from one peril than i fall into a worse." but as i was pondering my case and wishing for death, i spied a ship afar off making towards me; so i climbed up into a tree and hid myself among the branches. presently the ship came to an anchor, and ten slaves landed, bearing spades, and made for the middle of the island, where they dug till they uncovered a trapdoor and raised it. then they returned to the ship and brought thence bread and flour and oil and honey and meat and carpets and all else that was needed to furnish one dwelling there; nor did they leave going back and forth till they had transferred to the underground dwelling all that was in the ship: after which they again repaired to the vessel and returned, laden with wearing apparel of the finest kind and in their midst a very old man, whom time had mauled till he was wasted and worn, as he were a bone wrapped in a rag of blue cloth, through which the winds blew east and west. as says the poet of him: time makes us tremble ah, how piteously! for full of violence and might is he. once on a time i walked and was not tired: now am i tired, yet have not walked, ah me! he held by the hand a youth cast in the mould of symmetry and perfection, so fair that his beauty might well be the subject of proverbs; for he was like a tender sapling, ravishing every heart with his beauty and seducing every wit with his amorous grace. it was of him the poet spoke, when he said: beauty they brought to liken it with him: but beauty hung its head for shame and fear. "o beauty," said they, "dost thou know his like?" it answered, "never have i seen his peer." they proceeded to the underground, where they descended all and did not reappear for an hour or more, at the end of which time the old man and the slaves came up, without the youth, and replacing the trap-door, covered it again with earth; then returned to the ship and set sail. as soon as they were out of sight, i came down from the tree and going to the place i had seen them fill up, made shift to clear away the earth, till i came to the trap-door, which was of wood, the shape and bigness of a mill-stone, and raised it, when there appeared underneath a winding stair of stone. at this i wondered and descending, came to a fair chamber, spread with various kinds of carpets and hung with silken stuffs, where i saw the youth sitting alone upon a raised couch and leant upon a cushion, with a fan in his hand and sweet-scented flowers and herbs and fruits before him. when he saw me, he turned pale; but i saluted him, saying, "calm thyself and put away fear; no harm shall come to thee: i am a man like unto thee and a king's son, whom providence hath sent to bear thee company in thy solitude. but now tell me thy history and why thou dwellest underground by thyself." when he was assured that i was of his kind, he was glad and his colour returned; then he made me draw near to him and said, "o my brother, my story is a strange one, and it is as follows. my father is a merchant jeweller, possessed of great wealth and having black and white slaves, who make trading voyages, on his account, in ships and on camels, to the most distant countries; and he has dealings with kings. until my birth, he had never been blessed with a child, but one night he dreamt that a son had been born to him, who lived but a short time, and awoke weeping and crying out. the following night my mother conceived and he took note of the date of her conception. the days of her pregnancy were accomplished and she gave birth to myself, whereupon my father rejoiced and made banquets and fed the poor and the needy for that i had been vouchsafed to him in his old age. then he assembled the astrologers and mathematicians of the day and those learned in nativities and horoscopes; and they drew my horoscope and said to my father, 'thy son will live till the age of fifteen, at which date there is a break[fn# ] in his line of life, which if he tide over in safety, he shall live long. the danger with which he is threatened is as follows. in the sea of peril stands a mountain called the loadstone mountain, on whose summit is a horseman of brass, seated on a horse of the same metal, with a tablet of lead on his breast. fifty days after this horseman falls from his horse, thy son will die, and his slayer will be he who overthrows the statue, a king called agib, son of khesib.' my father was sore concerned at this prediction; but he brought me up and gave me a good education, till i attained my fifteenth year. ten days ago, news came to him that the horseman had fallen into the sea and that he who overthrew him was agib, son of king khesib; whereat he was as one distraught and feared for my life. so he built me this place under the earth and stocking it with all that i need during the forty days that yet remain of the period of danger, transported me hither, that i might be safe from king agib's hands. when the forty days are past, he will come back and fetch me; and this is my story and why thou findest me here alone." when i heard his story, i marvelled and said to myself, "i am that king agib of whom he speaks; but, by allah, i will assuredly not kill him!" and i said to him, "o my lord, god willing, thou shalt be spared suffering and death, nor shalt thou see trouble or sorrow or disquiet, for i will abide with thee and serve thee; and when i have borne thee company during the appointed days, i will go with thee to thy dwelling-place and thou shalt bring me to some of thy father's servants, with whom i may journey to my own country; and god shall requite thee for me." he rejoiced in my words and we sat conversing till nightfall when i rose and lighted a great wax candle and fed the lamps and set on meat and drink and sweetmeats. we ate and drank and sat talking till late into the night, when he lay down to sleep and i covered him up and went to sleep myself. next morning, i rose and heated a little water, then woke him gently and brought him the warm water, with which he washed his face and thanked me, saying, "god requite thee with good, o youth! by allah, if i escape from this my danger and from him they call agib ben khesib, i will make my father reward thee!" "may the day never come on which evil shall befall thee," answered i, "and may god appoint my last day before thine!" then i set on food and we ate, and i made ready perfumes with which he scented himself. moreover, i made him a backgammon board[fn# ], and we played and ate sweetmeats and played again till nightfall when i rose and lighting the lamps, set on food; and we ate and sat talking till the night was far spent. then he lay down to sleep and i covered him up and went to sleep myself. thus i did with him, day and night, and the love of him got hold upon my heart and i forgot my troubles and said to myself, "the astrologers lied; by allah, i will not kill him!" i ceased not to serve him and bear him company and entertain him thus, till nine-and-thirty days were passed and we came to the morning of the fortieth day, when he rejoiced and said to me, "o my brother, the forty days are up to-day, praised be god who hath preserved me from death, and this by thy blessing and the blessing of thy coming to me, and i pray him to restore thee to thy country! but now, o my brother, i prithee heat me some water, that i may wash my body and change my clothes." "with all my heart," answered i; and heated water in plenty and carrying it in to him, washed his body well with lupin-meal[fn# ] and rubbed him down and changed his clothes and spread him a high bed, on which he lay down to rest after the bath. then said he, "o my brother, cut me a melon and sweeten it with sugar-candy." so i went to the closet and bringing a fine melon i found there on a platter, said to him, "o my lord, hast thou no knife?" "here it is," answered he, "on the high shelf at my head." so i got up hurriedly and taking the knife, drew it from its sheath; but in stepping down backward, my foot slipped and i fell heavily on the youth, holding in my hand the knife, which hastened to fulfil that which was ordained and entered his heart, and he died forthright. when i saw that he was no more and that i had indeed killed him, i cried out grievously and buffeted my face and tore my clothes, saying, "we are god's and to him we return! there remained for this youth but one day of the period of danger that the astrologers had foretold for him, and the death of this fair one was to be at my hand! verily, my life is nought but disasters and afflictions! would he had not asked me to cut the melon or would i had died before him! but what god decrees cometh to pass." when i was certain that there was no life left in him, i rose and ascending the stair, replaced the trap-door and covered it with earth. then i looked out to sea and saw the ship cleaving the waters in the direction of the island. whereat i was afeared and said, "they will be here anon and will find their son dead and know 'twas i killed him and will slay me without fail." so i climbed up into a high tree and hid myself among the leaves. hardly had i done so, when the vessel came to an anchor and the slaves landed with the old man and made direct for the place, where they cleared away the earth and were surprised to find it soft.[fn# ] then they raised the trap-door and going down, found the boy lying dead, clad in clean clothes, with his face shining from the bath and the knife sticking in his breast. at this sight, they shrieked aloud and wept and buffeted their faces and cried out, "alas! woe worth the day!" whilst the old man swooned away and remained so long insensible, that the slaves thought he would not survive his son. so they wrapped the dead youth in his clothes and carried him up and laid him on the ground, covering him with a shroud of silk. then they addressed themselves to transport all that was in the place to the ship, and presently the old man revived and coming up after them, saw his son laid out, whereupon he fell on the ground and strewed dust on his head and buffeted his face and tore his beard; and his weeping redoubled, as he hung over his dead son, till he swooned away again. after awhile the slaves came back, with a silken carpet, and laying the old man thereon, sat down at his head. all this time i was in the tree above them, watching them; and indeed my heart became hoary before my head, for all the grief and affliction i had undergone. the old man ceased not from his swoon till nigh upon sundown, when he came to himself and looking upon his dead son, recalled what had happened and how what he had feared had come to pass: and he buffeted his face and head and recited the following verses: my heart is cleft in twain for severance of loves; the burning tears pour down in torrents from my eye. my every wish with him i loved is fled away: what can i do or say? what help, what hope have i? would i had never looked upon his lovely face! alas, the ways on me are straitened far and nigh! what charm can bring me peace, what drink forgetfulness, whilst in my heart the fire of love burns fierce and high? would that my feet had trod with him the road of death! then should i not, as now, in lonely sorrow sigh. o god, that art my hope, have pity upon me! unite us twain, i crave, in paradise for aye! how blessed were we once, whilst one house held us both and twinned in pure content our happy lives passed by! till fortune aimed at us the shafts of severance and parted us; for who her arrows can defy? for lo! the age's pearl, the darling of his folk, the mould of every grace, was singled out to die! i call him back: "would god thine hour had never come!" what while the case takes speech and doth forestall my cry. which is the speediest way to win to thee, my son! my soul had paid the price, if that thy life might buy. the sun could not compare with him, for lo! it sets. nor yet the moon that wanes and wasteth from the sky. alas, my grief for thee and my complaint of fate! none can console for thee nor aught thy place supply. thy sire is all distraught with languishment for thee; since death upon thee came, his hopes are gone awry. surely, some foe hath cast an envious eye on us: may he who wrought this thing his just deserts aby! then he sobbed once and gave up the ghost; whereupon the slaves cried out, "alas, our master!" and strewed dust on their heads and wept sore. then they carried the two bodies to the ship and set sail. as soon as they were out of sight, i came down from the tree and raising the trap-door, went down into the underground dwelling, where the sight of some of the youth's gear recalled him to my mind, and i repeated the following verses: i see their traces and pine for longing pain; my tears rain down on the empty dwelling-place! and i pray to god, who willed that we should part, one day to grant us reunion, of his grace! then i went up again and spent the day in walking about the island, returning to the underground dwelling for the night. thus i lived for a month, during which time i became aware that the sea was gradually receding day by day from the western side of the island, till by the end of the month, i found that the water was become low enough to afford a passage to the mainland. at this i rejoiced, making sure of delivery, and fording the little water that remained, made shift to reach the mainland, where i found great heaps of sand, in which even a camel would sink up to the knees. however, i took heart and making my way through the sand, espied something shining afar off, as it were a bright-blazing fire. so i made towards it, thinking to find succour and repeating the following verses: it may be fate at last shall draw its bridle-rein and bring me happy chance; for fortune changes still; and things shall happen yet, despite the things fordone, to further forth my hopes and bring me to my will. when i drew near the supposed fire, behold, it was a palace, with a gate of brass, whereon, when the sun shone, it gleamed and glistened and showed from afar, as it were a fire. i rejoiced at the sight and sat down before the palace gate; but hardly had i done so, when there came up ten young men, sumptuously clad and all blind of the right eye. they were accompanied by an old man; and i marvelled at their appearance and at their being all blind of the same eye. they saluted me and questioned me of my condition, whereupon i told them all that had befallen me. they wondered at my story and carried me into the palace, where i saw ten couches, with beds and coverlets of blue stuff, ranged in a circle, with a like couch of smaller size in the midst. as we entered, each of the young men went up to his own couch, and the old man seated himself on the smaller one in the middle. then said they unto me, "o youth, sit down on the ground and enquire not of our doings nor of the loss of our right eyes." presently the old man rose and brought each one of the young men and myself his portion of meat and drink in separate vessels; and we sat talking, they questioning me of my adventures and i replying, till the night was far spent. then said they to the old man, "o elder, wilt thou not bring us our ordinary? the time is come." "willingly," answered he, and rose and entering a closet, disappeared and presently returned, bearing on his head ten dishes, each covered with a piece of blue stuff. he set a dish before each youth and lighting ten wax-candles, set one upon each dish; after which he uncovered the dishes, and lo, they were full of ashes and powdered charcoal and soot. then all the young men tucked up their sleeves and fell to weeping and lamenting; and they blackened their faces and rent their clothes and buffeted their cheeks and beat their breasts, exclaiming "we were seated at our ease, but our impertinent curiosity would not let us be!" they ceased not to do thus till near daybreak, when the old man rose and heated water for them, and they washed their faces and put on fresh clothes. when i saw this, my senses left me for wonderment and my heart was troubled and my mind perplexed, for their strange behaviour, till i forgot what had befallen me and could not refrain from questioning them; so i said to them, "what makes you do thus, after our sport and merry-making together? praised be god, ye are whole of wit, yet these are the doings of madmen! i conjure you, by all that is most precious to you, tell me why you behave thus and how ye came to lose each an eye!" at this, they turned to me and said, "o young man, let not thy youth beguile thee, but leave thy questioning." then they slept and i with them, and when we awoke, the old man served up food; and after we had eaten and the vessels had been removed, we sat conversing till nightfall, when the old man rose and lit the candles and lamps and set meat and drink before us. we ate and sat talking and carousing till midnight, when they said to the old man, "bring us our ordinary, for the hour of sleep is at hand." so he rose and brought them the dishes of soot and ashes, and they did as they had done on the preceding night. i abode with them on this wise for a month, during which time they blackened their faces every night, then washed them and changed their clothes and my trouble and amazement increased upon me till i could neither eat nor drink. at last, i lost patience and said to them, "o young men, if ye will not relieve my concern and acquaint me with the reason of your blackening your faces and the meaning of your words, 'we were seated at our ease, but our impertinent curiosity would not let us be,' let me leave you and return to my own people and be at rest from seeing these things, for as says the proverb, 'twere wiser and better your presence to leave, for when the eye sees not, the heart does not grieve." "o youth," answered they, "we have not concealed this thing from thee but in our concern for thee, lest what befell us before thee and thou become like unto us." "it avails not," said i; "you must tell me." "we give thee good advice," rejoined they; "do thou take it and leave questioning us of our case, or thou wilt become one-eyed like unto us." but i still persisted in my demand and they said, "o youth, if this thing befall thee, we warn thee that we will never again receive thee into our company nor let thee abide with us." then they took a ram and slaughtering it, skinned it and gave me a knife, saying, "lie down on the skin and we will sew thee up in it and leave thee and go away. presently there will come to thee a bird called the roc[fn# ], that will catch thee up in its claws and fly away with thee and set thee down on a mountain. as soon as thou feelest it alight with thee, slit the skin with the knife and come forth; whereupon the bird will take fright at thee and fly away and leave thee. then rise and fare on half a day's journey, till thou comest to a palace rising high into the air, builded of khelenj[fn# ] and aloes and sandal-wood and plated with red gold, inlaid with all manner emeralds and other jewels. there enter and thou wilt attain thy desire. we all have been in that place, and this is the cause of the loss of our right eyes and the reason why we blacken our faces. were we to tell thee our stories, it would take too much time, for each lost his eye by a separate adventure." they then sewed me up in the skin and left me on the ground outside the palace; and the roc carried me off and set me down on the mountain. i cut open the skin and came out, whereupon the bird flew away and i walked on till i reached the palace. the door stood open; so i entered and found myself in a very wide and goodly hall, as big as a tilting-ground, round which were a hundred doors of sandal and aloes-wood, plated with red gold and furnished with rings of silver. at the upper end of the hall, i saw forty young ladies, sumptuously clad and adorned, as they were moons, one could never tire of gazing on them: and they all came up to me, saying, "welcome and fair welcome, o my lord! this month past have we been expecting the like of thee; and praised be god who hath sent us one who is worthy of us and we of him!" then they made me sit down on a high divan and said to me, "from to-day thou art our lord and master, and we are thy handmaids; so order us as thou wilt." and i marvelled at their case. presently one of them arose and set food before me, and i ate, whilst others heated water and washed my hands and feet and changed my clothes, and yet others made ready sherbets and gave me to drink; and they were all full of joy and delight at my coming. then they sat down and conversed with me till nightfall, when five of them arose and spreading a mat, covered it with flowers and fruits and confections in profusion and set on wine; and we sat down to drink, while some of them sang and others played the lute and psaltery and recorders and other instruments. so the cup went round amongst us and such gladness possessed me that i forgot all the cares of the world and said, "this is indeed life, but that it is fleeting." we ceased not to drink and make merry till the night was far spent and we were warm with wine, when they said to me, "o our lord, choose from amongst us one who shall be thy bedfellow this night and not lie with thee again till forty days be past." so i chose a girl fair of face, with liquid black eyes and jetty hair, slightly parted teeth[fn# ] and joining eyebrows, perfect in shape and form, as she were a palm-sapling or a stalk of sweet basil; such an one as troubles the heart and bewilders the wit, even as saith of her the poet: 'twere vain to liken her unto the tender branch, and out on who compares her form to the gazelle! whence should gazelles indeed her shape's perfection get or yet her honeyed lips so sweet to taste and smell, or those great eyes of hers, so dire to those who love, that bind their victims fast in passion's fatal spell? i dote on her with all the folly of a child. what wonder if he turn a child who loves too well! and i repeated to her the following verses: my eyes to gaze on aught but thy grace disdain and none but thou in my thought shall ever reign. the love of thee is my sole concern, my fair; in love of thee, i will die and rise again. so i lay with her that night, never knew i a fairer, and when it was morning, the ladies carried me to the bath and washed me and clad me in rich clothes. then they served up food and we ate and drank, and the cup went round amongst us till the night, when i chose from among them one who was fair to look upon and soft of sides, such an one as the poet describes, when he says: i saw upon her breast two caskets snowy-white, musk-sealed; she doth forbid to lovers their delight. she guards them with the darts that glitter from her eyes; and those who would them press, her arrowy glances smite. i passed a most delightful night with her; and to make a long story short, i led the goodliest life with them, eating and drinking and carousing and every night taking one or other of them to my bed, for a whole year, at the end of which time they came in to me in tears and fell to bidding me farewell and clinging to me, weeping and crying out; whereat i marvelled and said to them, "what ails you? indeed you break my heart." "would we had never known thee!" answered they. "we have companied with many men, but never saw we a pleasanter or more courteous than thou: and now we must part from thee. yet it rests with thee to see us again, and if thou hearken to us, we need never be parted: but our hearts forebode us that thou will not hearken to us; and this is the cause of our weeping" "tell me how the case stands," said i; and they answered, "know that we are the daughters of kings, who have lived here together for years past, and once in every year we are absent for forty days; then we return and abide here for the rest of the year, eating and drinking and making merry. we are now about to depart according to our custom, and we fear lest thou disobey our injunctions in our absence, in which case we shall never see thee again; but if thou do as we bid thee, all will yet be well. take these keys: they are those of the hundred apartments of the palace, each of which contains what will suffice thee for a day's entertainment. ninety-and-nine of these thou mayst open and take thy pleasure therein, but beware lest thou open the hundredth, that which has a door of red gold; for therein is that which will bring about a separation between us and thee." quoth i, "i will assuredly not open the hundredth door, if therein be separation from you." then one of them came up to me and embraced me and repeated the following verses: if but the days once more our severed loves unite, if but my eyes once more be gladdened by thy sight, then shall the face of time smile after many a frown, and i will pardon fate for all its past despite. and i repeated the following: when she drew near to bid farewell, upon our parting day, whilst on her heart the double stroke of love and longing smote, she wept pure pearls, and eke mine eyes did rain cornelians forth; and lo, they all combined and made a necklace for her throat! when i saw her weeping, i said, "by allah, i will never open the hundredth door!" then they bade me farewell and departed, leaving me alone in the palace. when the evening drew near, i opened the first door and found myself in an orchard, full of blooming trees, laden with ripe fruit, and the air resounded with the loud singing of birds and the ripple of running waters. the sight brought solace to my soul, and i entered and walked among the trees, inhaling the odours of the flowers and listening to the warble of the birds, that sang the praises of god the one, the almighty. i looked upon the apple, whose colour is parcel red and parcel yellow, as says the poet: the apple in itself two colours doth unite, the loved one's cheek of red, and yellow of despite. then i looked upon the quince and inhaled its fragrance that puts musk and ambergris to shame, even as says the poet: the quince contains all pleasant things that can delight mankind, wherefore above all fruits that be its virtues are renowned. its taste is as the taste of wine, its breath the scent of musk; its hue is that of virgin gold, its shape the full moon's round. thence i passed to the pear, whose taste surpasses rose-water and sugar, and the plum, whose beauty delights the eye, as it were a polished ruby. when i had taken my fill of looking on the place, i went and locked the door again. next day, i opened the second door and found myself in a great pleasaunce, set with many palm-trees and watered by a running stream, whose borders were decked with bushes of rose and jessamine and henna[fn# ] and camomile and marjoram and sweetbriar and carpeted with narcissus and ox-eye and violets and lilies and gillyflowers. the breeze fluttered over all these sweet-smelling plants and scattered their scents right and left, possessing me with complete delight. i took my pleasure in the place awhile, and my chagrin was somewhat lightened. then i went out and locked the door and opening the third door, found therein a great hall paved with vari-coloured marbles and other precious stones and hung with cages of sandal and aloes wood, full of singing-birds, such as the thousand-voiced nightingale[fn# ] and the cushat and the blackbird and the turtle-dove and the nubian warbler. my heart was ravished by the song of the birds and i forgot my cares and slept in the aviary till the morning. then i opened the fourth door and saw a great hall, with forty cabinets ranged on either side. the doors of the latter stood open; so i entered and found them full of pearls and rubies and chrysolites and beryls and emeralds and corals and carbuncles and all manner of precious stones and jewels of gold and silver, such as the tongue fails to describe. i was amazed at what i saw and said in myself "methinks, if all the kings of the earth joined together they could not produce the like of these treasures!" and my heart dilated and i exclaimed, "now am i king of my time, for all these riches are mine by the favour of god, and i have forty young ladies under my hand, nor is there any with them but myself!" in short, i passed nine-and-thirty days after this fashion, exploring the riches of the place, till i had opened all the doors, except that which the princesses had charged me not to open, but my thoughts ran ever on this latter and satan urged me, for my ruin, to open it, nor had i patience to forbear; though there remained but one day of the appointed time. so i opened the hundredth door, that which was plated with red gold, and was met by a perfume, whose like i had never before smelt and which was of so subtle and penetrating a quality, that it invaded my head and i fell down, as if intoxicated, and lay awhile unconscious. then i revived and took heart and entering, found myself in a place strewn with saffron and blazing with light shed by lamps of gold and candles, that diffused a scent of musk and aloes. in the midst stood two great censers, full of burning aloes wood and ambergris and other perfumes, and the place was full of their fragrance. presently i espied a horse, black as night at its darkest, girt and bridled and saddled with red gold, standing before two mangers of white crystal, one full of winnowed sesame and the other of rose-water flavoured with musk. when i saw this, i was amazed and said to myself, "surely this horse must be of extraordinary value!" and the devil tempted me, so that i took him out and mounted him, but he would not stir. so i spurred him with my heel, but he did not move; and i took a. switch and struck him with it. when he felt the blow, he gave a neigh like the roaring thunder, and spreading a pair of wings flew up with me high into the air. after awhile, he descended and set me down on the terrace of a palace; then, shaking me off his back, he smote me on the face with his tail and struck out my right eye and flew away, leaving me there. i went down into the palace and found myself again among the ten one-eyed youths, who exclaimed, when they saw me, "an ill welcome to thee!" quoth i, "behold, i am become like unto you, and now i would have you give me a dish of soot, that i may blacken my face and admit me to your company." "by allah," answered they, "thou shalt not abide with us! depart hence!" and they drove me away. i was grieved at their rejection of me and went out from them, mourning-hearted and tearful-eyed, saying to myself, "of a truth, i was sitting at my ease, but my impertinent curiosity would not let me be." then i shaved my beard and eyebrows and renouncing the world, became a calender and wandered about god's earth, till by his blessing, i arrived at baghdad in safety this evening and met with these two other calenders standing bewildered. so i saluted them, saying, "i am a stranger;" to which they replied, "we also are strangers." and, as it chanced, we were all calenders and each blind of the right eye. this, then, o my lady, is my story and the manner of the shaving of my face and the loss of my eye.' quoth the mistress of the house, 'begone about thy business.' but he said, 'by allah, i will not go, till i hear the others' stories!' then she turned to the khalif and his companions and said, 'give me an account of yourselves.' so jaafer came forward and repeated the story he had told the portress; whereupon the lady said, 'i pardon you all: go your ways.' so they all went out; and when they reached the street the khalif said to the calenders, 'o folk, whither are you bound now, seeing that it is not yet day?' 'by allah, o my lord,' answered they, 'we know not where to go!' 'then come and pass the rest of the night with us,' said the khalif, and turning to jaafer, said to him, 'take them home with thee and to-morrow bring them before me, that we may cause their adventures to be recorded.' jaafer did as the khalif bade him, and the latter returned to his palace. sleep did not visit him that night, but he lay awake, pondering the adventures of the three calenders and full of impatience to know the history of the two ladies and the black bitches; and no sooner had the day dawned than he went out and sat down on his chair of estate. then his courtiers presented themselves and withdrew, whereupon he turned to jaafer and said to him, 'bring me the three ladies and the bitches and the calenders, and make haste.' so jaafer went out and brought them all before him and seated the ladies behind a curtain; then turned to them and said, speaking for the khalif, 'o women, we pardon you your rough usage of us, in consideration of your previous kindness and for that ye knew us not: and now i would have you to know that you are in the presence of the fifth of the sons of abbas, the commander of the faithful haroun er reshid, son of el mehdi mohammed, son of abou jaafer el mensour. so do ye acquaint him with your stories and tell him nothing but the truth.' when the ladies heard jaafer's speech, the eldest came forward and said, 'o commander of the faithful, my story is one which, were it graven with needles on the corners of the eye, would serve for an example to those who can profit by example and a warning to those who can take warning. and it is that the eldest lady's story. these two bitches are my elder sisters by the same mother and father, and these two others, she on whom are the marks of blows and the cateress, are my sisters by another mother. when my father died, each took her portion of the heritage, and after awhile my mother died also and left me and my sisters-german a thousand dinars each. after awhile my two sisters married and lived with their husbands for a time; then the latter bought merchandise with their wives' money and set out on their travels, and i heard no more of them for five years: for their husbands spent their wives' fortunes and became bankrupt and deserted them in a foreign land. presently, my eldest sister came back to me in the guise of a beggar, with tattered clothes and a dirty old veil, and altogether in so sorry a plight, that at first i knew her not; but when i recognised her, i asked her how she came in such a state. "o my sister," answered she, "talking profits not now: the pen[fn# ] hath written what was decreed." then i sent her to the bath and clothed her in a suit of my own and entreated her kindly and said to her, "o my sister, thou standest to me in the stead of my father and mother; and god has blessed me in the share of the inheritance that fell to me and prospered it to me, so that i am now in flourishing case; and thou shalt share with me in my increase." so she abode with me a whole year, during which time we were much concerned to know what was become of our other sister. at last, she too came back to me, in a worse plight than the other, and i dealt still more kindly by her than by the first, and each of them had a share of my substance. after awhile, they said to me, "o sister, we desire to marry again, for we can no longer endure to live without husbands." "o my dear ones[fn# ]," answered i, "there is no good in marriage, for now-a-days good men are rare to find; nor do i see the advantage of marrying again, since ye have already made trial of matrimony and it has profited you nothing." they would not listen to me, but married without my consent; nevertheless i equipped them and portioned them with my own money and they went away with their husbands. after a little, the latter cheated them of all they had and went away and left them. then they came to me, in abject case, and made their excuses to me, saying, "do not reproach us; thou art younger than we, but riper of wit, so take us as thy handmaids, that we may eat our mouthful; and we will never again speak of marriage." quoth i, "ye are welcome, o my sisters: there is nothing dearer to me than you." and i took them in and redoubled in kindness to them. we lived thus for a whole year, at the end of which time i was minded to travel. so i fitted out a great ship at bassora and loaded her with merchandise and victual and other necessaries for a voyage, and said to my sisters, "will you come with me or abide at home till i return?" "we will go with thee," answered they, "for we cannot endure to be parted from thee." so i took them and set sail, after dividing my money into two parts, one of which i deposited with a trusty person, saying, "maybe ill-hap shall betide the ship and yet we remain alive; but now, if we return, we shall find what will be of service to us." we sailed days and nights, till the captain missed the true course and the ship went astray with us and entered a sea other than that we aimed at. we knew not of this awhile and the wind blew fair for us ten days, at the end of which time, the watch went up to the mast-head, to look out, and cried, "good news!" then he came down, rejoicing, and said to us, "i see a city in the distance as it were a dove." at this we rejoiced and before an hour of the day was past, the city appeared to us afar off: and we said to the captain, "what is the name of yonder city?" "by allah!" replied he, "i know not, for i never saw it before nor have i ever sailed this sea in my life; but since the affair has issued in safety, ye have nought to do but to land your goods, and if ye find a market, sell and buy and barter, as the occasion serves; if not, we will rest here two days, re-victual and depart." so we entered the harbour and the captain landed and was absent awhile, after which he returned and said to us, "arise, go up into the city and marvel at god's dealings with his creatures and seek to be preserved from his wrath." so we landed and going up to the city, saw at the gate men with staves in their hands; but when we drew near them, behold, they had been stricken by the wrath of god and were become stones. then we entered the city and found all its in habitants changed into black stones: there was not a living soul therein, no, not a blower of the fire. at this we were amazed and passed on through the bazaars, where we found all the goods and gold and silver left lying in their places, and rejoiced and said, "doubtless, there is some mystery in all this." then we dispersed about the streets of the city and each busied himself with making prize of the wealth and stuffs lying about and took no heed of his comrades, whilst i went up to the citadel and found it goodly of fashion. i entered the king's palace and saw all the vessels of gold and silver and the king himself seated in the midst of his officers and grandees, clad in raiment such as confounded the wit. the throne on which he sat was encrusted with pearls and jewels and his robes were of cloth of gold, adorned with all manner jewels, that shone like stars. around him stood fifty white slaves, with drawn swords in their hands and clad in divers sorts of silken stuffs; but when i drew near to them, behold, they were all black stones. my understanding was confounded at the sight, but i went on and came to the saloon of the harem, which i found hung with tapestries of gold-striped silk and spread with carpets of the same, embroidered with flowers of gold. here i saw the queen lying, arrayed in a robe covered with fresh pearls as big as hazel-nuts and crowned with a diadem set with all manner jewels. her neck was covered with collars and necklaces and all her clothes and ornaments were unchanged, but she herself had been smitten of god and was become black stone. presently i spied an open door, with seven steps leading to it, and going up, found myself in a place paved with marble and hung and carpeted with gold-embroidered stuffs. at the upper end stood an alcove with drawn curtains and i saw a light issuing thence. so i went up to the alcove and found therein a couch of juniper wood, inlaid with pearls and diamonds and set with bosses of emeralds, with silken coverings of bewildering richness and curtains of the same, looped up with pearls. at the head of the bed stood two lighted candles and in the midst of the alcove was a little stool, on which lay a jewel, the size of a goose's egg, that shone like a lamp and lighted the whole place; but there was no one to be seen. when i saw these things, i wondered and said, "some one must have lighted these candles." then i went out and came to the kitchen and thence to the buttery and the king's treasuries and continued to explore the palace and to go from place to place; and for wonderment at what i saw, i forgot myself and wandered on, lost in thought, till the night overtook me. then i would have gone out, but lost my way and could not find the gate; so i returned to the alcove, where i lay down on the bed and covering myself with a quilt, repeated somewhat of the koran and would have slept, but could not, for restlessness possessed me. in the middle of the night, i heard a low sweet voice reciting the koran, whereat i rejoiced and rising, followed the sound, till it led me to a chamber with the door ajar. i looked through the chink of the door and saw an oratory, wherein was a prayer-niche[fn# ], with candles burning and lamps hanging from the ceiling. in the midst was spread a prayer-carpet, on which sat a handsome youth, with a copy of the koran open before him, from which he was reading. i wondered to see him alone alive of all the people of the city and entered and saluted him; whereupon he raised his eyes and returned my salutation. then said i, "i implore thee, by the truth of that thou readest from the book of god, to answer me my questions." he looked at me with a smile and said, "o handmaid of god, tell me first how thou camest hither, and i will tell thee what has befallen me and the people of this city and the manner of my preservation." so i told him my story, at which he marvelled, and questioned him of the people of the city. quoth he, "have patience with me a little, o my sister!" and shutting the koran, laid it in a bag of satin. then he made me sit down by his side, and i looked at him and behold, he was like the moon at its full, bright-faced, soft-sided, well-shaped and fair to look upon, as he were a figure of sugar,[fn# ] even as says the poet of the like of him: a seer of the stars one night was reading the book of the skies, when lo, in his scroll he saw a lovely youth arise. saturn had dyed his hair the hue of the raven's wing and sprinkled upon his face the musk of paradise[fn# ]: the rose of his cheeks from mars its ruddy colour drew, and the archer winged the shafts that darted from his eyes. hermes dowered the youth with his own mercurial wit, and the great bear warded off the baleful glance of spies. wonder seized on the sage at the sight of the lovely boy, for the full moon kissed the earth before him, servant-wise. and indeed god the most high had clad him in the garment of perfection and broidered it with the shining fringes of his cheeks, even as says the poet of him: by the perfume of his eyelids and his slender waist i swear, by the arrows that he feathers with the witchery of his air, by his sides so soft and tender and his glances bright and keen, by the whiteness of his forehead and the blackness of his hair, by his arched imperious eyebrows, chasing slumber from my eyes, with their yeas and noes that hold me 'twixt rejoicing and despair, by the myrtle of his whiskers and the roses of his cheeks, by his lips' incarnate rubies and his teeth's fine pearls and rare, by his neck and by its beauty, by the softness of his breast and the pair of twin pomegranates that my eyes discover there, by his heavy hips that tremble, both in motion and repose, and the slender waist above them, all too slim their weight to bear, by his skin's unsullied satin and the quickness of his spright, by the matchless combination in his form of all things fair, by his hand's perennial bounty and his true and trusty speech, by the stars that smile upon him, favouring and debonair, lo, the smell of musk none other than his very fragrance is, and the ambergris's perfume breathes around him everywhere. yea, the sun in all its splendour cannot with his grace compare, seeming but a shining fragment that he from his nail doth pare. i stole a look at him, which cost me a thousand sighs, for my heart was taken with his love, and i said to him, "o my lord, tell me what i asked thee." "i hear and obey," answered he. "know, o handmaid of god, that this city was the capital of my father, who is the king thou sawest on the throne, changed to a black stone, and as for the queen on the bed, she was my mother; and they and all the people of the city were magians, worshipping the fire, instead of the all-powerful king, and swearing by the fire and the light and the shade and the heat and the revolving sphere. my father had no child, till i was vouchsafed to him in his old age, and he reared me and i grew up and flourished. now, as my good star would have it, there was with us an old woman stricken in years, who was at heart a muslim, believing in god and his prophet, but conforming outwardly to the religion of my people. my father had confidence in her, supposing her to be of his own belief, and showed her exceeding favour, for that he knew her to be trusty and virtuous; so when i grew to a fitting age, he committed me to her charge, saying, 'take him and do thy best to give him a good education and teach him the things of our faith.' so she took me and taught me the tenets of islam and the ordinances of ablution and prayer and made me learn the koran by heart, bidding me worship none but god the most high and charging me to keep my faith secret from my father, lest he should kill me. so i hid it from him, and i abode thus till, in a little while, the old woman died and the people of the city redoubled in their impiety and frowardness and in the error of their ways. one day, they heard a voice from on high, proclaiming aloud, with a noise like the resounding thunder, so that all heard it far and near, and saying, 'o people of the city, turn from your worship of the fire and serve god the compassionate king!' at this, fear fell on the people of the city and they crowded to my father and said to him; 'what is this awful voice that we have heard and that has confounded us with the excess of its terror?' but he said, 'let not a voice fright you nor turn you from your faith.' their hearts inclined to his word and they ceased not to worship the fire, but redoubled in their frowardness, till the anniversary of the day on which they had heard the supernatural voice. when they heard it anew, and so again a third time at the end of the second year. still they persisted in their evil ways, till one day, at break of dawn, judgment descended on them and wrath from heaven, and they were all turned into black stones, they and their beasts and cattle; and none was spared, save myself. from that day to this, i have remained as thou seest me, occupying myself with prayer and fasting and reading the koran aloud; and indeed i am grown weary of solitude, having none to bear me company." then said i to him (and indeed he had won my heart), "o youth, wilt thou go with me to the city of baghdad and foregather with men of learning and theologians and grow in wisdom and understanding and knowledge of the law? if so, i will be thy handmaid, albeit i am head of my family and mistress over men and slaves and servants. i have here a ship laden with merchandise; and indeed it was providence drove us to this city, that i might come to the knowledge of these things, for it was fated that we should meet." and i ceased not to speak him fair and persuade him, till he consented to go with me, and i passed the night at his feet, beside myself for joy. when it was day, we repaired to the treasuries and took thence what was little of weight and great of value; then went down into the town, where we met the slaves and the captain seeking for me. when they saw me, they rejoiced and i told them all i had seen and related to them the story of the young man and of the curse that had fallen on the people of the city. at this they wondered: but when my sisters saw me with the prince, they envied me on his account and were enraged and plotted mischief against me in their hearts. then we took ship again, beside ourselves for joy in the booty we had gotten, though the most of my joy was in the prince, and waited till the wind blew fair for us, when we set sail and departed. as we sat talking, my sisters said to me, "o sister, what wilt thou do with this handsome young man?" "i purpose to make him my husband," answered i; and i turned to the prince and said, "o my lord, i have that to propose to thee, in which i will not have thee cross me: and it is that, when we reach baghdad, i will give myself to thee as a handmaid in the way of marriage, and thou shalt be my husband and i thy wife." quoth he, "i hear and obey; thou art my lady and my mistress, and whatever thou dost, i will not cross thee." then i turned to my sisters and said to them, "this young man suffices me; and those who have gotten aught, it is theirs." "thou sayest well," replied they; but in their hearts they purposed me evil. we sailed on with a fair wind, till we left the sea of peril and came into safe waters, and in a few days, we came in sight of the walls of bassora, even as night overtook us. my sisters waited till the prince and i were asleep, when they took us up, bed and all, and threw us into the sea. the prince, who could not swim, was drowned and god wrote him of the company of the martyrs. as for me, would i had been drowned with him! but god decreed that i should be of the saved; so he threw in my way a piece of wood and i got astride of it, and the waters tossed me about till they cast me up on an island. i landed and walked about the island the rest of the night, and when the day broke, i saw a footway, leading to the mainland. by this time, the sun had risen; so i dried my clothes in its rays and ate of the fruits of the island and drank of its waters. then i set out and fared on till i reached the mainland and found myself but two hours' distant from the city. so i sat down to rest and presently i saw a great serpent, the bigness of a palm-tree, come fleeing towards me, with all her might, whilst her tongue for weariness hung from her mouth a span's length and swept the dust as she went. she was pursued by a dragon, as long and thin as a spear, which presently overtook her and seized her by the tail whereat the tears streamed from her eyes and she wriggled from side to side. i took pity on her and catching up a stone, threw it at the dragon's head and killed him on the spot. then the serpent spread a pair of wings and flew away out of sight, leaving me wondering. now i was tired and drowsiness overcoming me, i slept where i was for awhile. when i awoke, i found a damsel sitting at my feet, rubbing them, and with her, two black bitches, and i was ashamed before her; so i sat up and said to her, "o my sister, who art thou?" "how quickly thou hast forgotten me!" answered she. "i am the serpent, whom thou didst deliver from my enemy by killing him, for i am a jinniyeh[fn# ] and the dragon was a genie; and i was only saved from him by thy kindness. as soon as thou hadst done me this service, i flew on the wind to your ship and transported all that was therein to thy house. then i sank the vessel and changed thy sisters into two black bitches, for i know all that has passed between thee and them: but as for the young man, he is drowned." so saying, she flew up with me and the two bitches and presently set us down on the roof of my house, where i found all the goods that were in my ship, nor was aught missing. then she said to me, "by that which is written on the seal of our lord solomon (on whom be peace!) except thou give each of these bitches three hundred lashes every day, i will come and make thee like unto them." "i hear and obey," answered i; and since then i have never failed to beat them thus, o commander of the faithful, pitying them the while; and they know it is no fault of mine that they are beaten and accept my excuse. and this is my story.' the khalif marvelled at her story and said to the portress, 'and thou, how camest thou by the weals on thy body?' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered she: story of the portress. 'my father died and left me great wealth, and soon after his death i married one of the richest men of baghdad. at the end of a year he too died and i inherited from him fourscore thousand dinars, being my lawful share of his property; so that i became passing rich and the report of my wealth spread abroad, for i got me half a score suits of clothes, each worth a thousand dinars. one day, as i was sitting alone, there came in to me an old woman with sunken cheeks and worn eyebrows, bleared eyes and broken teeth, blotched face and bald head, grizzled hair and bent and mangy body, running nose and sallow complexion, even as says the poet of the like of her: a right pernicious hag! unshriven be her sins, nor let her mercy find what time she comes to die! so full of wile she is, that with a single thread of spider's silk she'd curb a thousand mules that shy. she saluted me and kissing the ground before me, said, "i have an orphan daughter whose wedding and unveiling[fn# ] i celebrate to-night. we are strangers in the city and know none of its inhabitants, and verily our hearts are broken so do thou earn through us a recompense and reward in the world to come by being present at her unveiling. when the ladies of the city hear that thou art to be present, they also will attend, and so wilt thou bring healing to her spirit, for now she is broken-hearted and has none to look to but god the most high." then she wept and kissed my feet, repeating the following verses: thy presence honoureth us, and we confess thy magnanimity: if thou forsake us, there is none can stand to us in stead of thee. i was moved to pity for her and said, "i hear and obey; and god willing, i will do more than this for her, for she shall not be unveiled but in my clothes and ornaments and jewellery." at this the old woman rejoiced and fell at my feet and kissed them, saying, "god requite thee with good and gladden thy heart as thou hast gladdened mine! but, o my lady, do not trouble thyself now, but be ready against the evening, when i will come and fetch thee." so saying, she kissed my hand and went away, whilst i attired myself and made my preparations. at the appointed time, the old woman returned, smiling, and kissed my hand, saying, "o my mistress, the most part of the ladies of the city are assembled; and i told them that thou hadst promised to be present, whereat they rejoiced and they are now awaiting thee and are looking eagerly for thy coming." so i veiled myself and taking my serving-maids with me, followed the old woman, till we came to a street swept and watered, through which blew a pleasant breeze. here she stopped at a handsome portico vaulted with marble and leading to a palace that rose from the ground and took hold upon the clouds. the gateway was hung with a black curtain and lighted by a lamp of gold curiously wrought; and on the door were written the following verses: i am a dwelling, builded for delight; my time is still for joyance day and night. right in my midst a springing fountain wells, whose waters banish anguish and despite, whose marge with rose, narcissus, camomile, anemone and myrtle, is bedight. the old woman knocked at the gate, which opened; and we entered a carpeted vestibule hung with lighted lamps and candles and adorned with pendants of precious stones and minerals. through this we passed into a saloon, whose like is not to be found in the world, hung and carpeted with silken stuffs and lighted by hanging lamps and wax candles in rows. at the upper end stood a couch of juniper-wood, set with pearls and jewels and canopied with curtains of satin, looped up with pearls. hardly had i taken note of all this, when there came out from the alcove a young lady more perfect than the moon at its full, with a forehead brilliant as the morning, when it shines forth, even as says the poet: upon the imperial necks she walks, a loveling bright, for bride-chambers of kings and emperors bedight. the blossom of her cheek is red as dragon's blood, and all her face is flowered with roses red and white. slender and sleepy-eyed and languorous of gait, all manner loveliness is in her sweetest sight. the locks upon her brow are like a troubled night, from out of which there shines a morning of delight. she came down from the dais and said to me, "welcome, a thousand times welcome to the dear and illustrious sister!" and she recited the following verses: if the house knew who visits it, it would indeed rejoice and stoop to kiss the happy place whereon her feet have stood; and in the voice with which the case, though mute, yet speaks, exclaim, "welcome and many a welcome to the generous and good!" then she sat down and said to me, "o my sister, i have a brother, who is handsomer than i; and he saw thee at certain festivals and assemblies and fell passionately in love with thee, for that thou art possessed of beauty and grace beyond thy share. he heard that thou wast thine own mistress, even as he also is the head of his family, and wished to make thine acquaintance; wherefore he used this device to bring thee in company with me; for he desires to marry thee according to the law of god and his prophet, and there is no shame in what is lawful." when i heard what she said, i bethought me that i was fairly entrapped and answered, "i hear and obey." at this she was glad and clapped her hands, whereupon a door opened and out came the handsomest of young men, elegantly dressed and perfect in beauty and symmetry and winning grace, with eyebrows like a bended bow and eyes that ravished hearts with lawful enchantments, even as says a poet, describing the like of him: his face is like unto the new moon's face with signs[fn# ], like pearls, of fortune and of grace. and god bless him who said: he hath indeed been blest with beauty and with grace, and blest be he who shaped and fashioned forth his face! all rarest charms that be unite to make him fair, his witching loveliness distracts the human race. beauty itself hath set these words upon his brow, "except this youth there's none that's fair in any place." when i looked at him, my heart inclined to him and i loved him; and he sat down by me and talked with me awhile. presently the young lady clapped her hands a second time, and behold, a side door opened and there came out a cadi and four witnesses, who saluted and sitting down, drew up the contract of marriage between me and the young man and retired. then he turned to me and said, "may our night be blessed! o my mistress, i have a condition to lay on thee." quoth i, "o my lord, what is it?" whereupon he rose and fetching a copy of the koran, said to me, "swear to me that thou wilt never look upon another man than myself, nor incline to him." i did as he wished and he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and embraced me and my whole heart was taken with love of him. presently they set food before us and we ate and drank, till we were satisfied and night closed in upon us. then he took me and went to bed with me and ceased not to kiss and embrace me till the morning. i lived with him in all delight and happiness for a month, at the end of which time i asked his leave to go to the bazaar to buy certain stuffs that i wanted, and he gave me leave. so i veiled myself and taking with me the old woman and a serving-maid, went to the bazaar, where i sat down in the shop of a young merchant, whom the old woman knew and had recommended to me, saying, "the father of this young man died, when he was a boy, and left him great wealth: he has great store of goods, and thou wilt find what thou seekest with him, for none in the bazaar has finer stuffs than he." so she said to him, "show this lady thy finest stuffs." and he answered, "i hear and obey." then she began to sound his praises; but i said, "i have no concern with thy praises of him; all i want is to buy what i need of him and return home." so he brought me what i sought, and i offered him the price, but he refused to take it, saying, "it is a guest-gift to thee on the occasion of thy visit to me this day." then i said to the old woman, "if he will not take the money, give him back the stuff." "by allah!" said he, "i will take nothing from thee! i make thee a present of it all, in return for one kiss; for that is more precious to me than all that is in my shop." quoth the old woman, "what will a kiss profit thee?" then she said to me, "o my daughter, thou hearest what this young man says. what harm will it do thee, if he take from thee a kiss and thou get the stuffs for nothing?" "dost thou not know," answered i, "that i am bound by an oath?" but she said, "hold thy tongue and let him kiss thee, and thou shalt keep thy money and no harm shall betide thee." and she ceased not to persuade me till i put my head into the noose and consented. so i veiled my eyes and held up the edge of my veil between me and the street, that the passers-by might not see me; and he put his mouth to my cheek under the veil. but, instead of kissing me, he bit me so hard that he tore the flesh of my cheek, and i swooned away. the old woman took me in her arms and when i came to myself, i found the shop shut up and her lamenting over me and saying, "thank god it was no worse!" then she said to me, "come, take courage and let us go home, lest the thing get wind and thou be disgraced. when thou returnest, do thou feign sickness and lie down and cover thyself up, and i will bring thee a remedy that will soon heal the wound." so, after awhile, i arose, full of fear and anxiety, and went little by little, till i came to the house, where i lay down and gave out that i was ill. when it was night, my husband came in to me and said, "o my lady, what has befallen thee in this excursion?" quoth i, "i am not well: i have a pain in my head." then he lighted a candle and drew near and looked at me and said, "what is that wound on thy cheek, in the soft part?" said i, "when i went out to-day to buy stuffs, with thy leave, a camel laden with firewood jostled me and the end of one of the pieces of wood tore my veil and wounded my cheek, as thou seest; for indeed the ways are strait in this city." "to-morrow," rejoined he, "i will go to the governor and speak to him, that he may hang every firewood-seller in the city." "god on thee," cried i, "do not burden thy conscience with such a sin against any one! the truth is that i was riding on an ass, and it stumbled and threw me down, and my cheek fell on a piece of glass, which wounded it." "then," said he, "to morrow i will go to jaafer the barmecide and tell him the case, and he will kill every ass in the city." "wilt thou ruin all the folk on my account," said i, "when this that befell me was decreed of god?" "there is no help for it," answered he, and springing to his feet, plied me with questions and pressed me, till i was frightened and stammered in my speech, so that he guessed how the case stood and exclaimed, "thou hast been false to thine oath!" then he gave a great cry, whereupon a door opened and in came seven black slaves, whom he commanded to drag me from my bed and throw me down in the middle of the room. moreover, he made one take me by the shoulders and sit upon my head and another sit on my knees and hold my feet and giving a third a naked sword, said to him, "strike her, o saad, and cut her in twain and let each take half and throw it into the tigris that the fish may eat her, for this is the reward of her who breaks her oath and is unfaithful to her love." and he redoubled in wrath and repeated the following verses: if any other share with me in her whom i adore, i'll root out passion from my heart, though longing me destroy; and i will say unto my soul, "death is the better part;" for love is naught that men with me in common do enjoy. then he said to the slave, "smite her, o saad!" whereupon the latter bent down to me and said, "o my lady, repeat the profession of the faith and tell us if there be aught thou wouldst have done, for thy last hour is come." "o good slave," said i, "grant me a little respite, that i may give thee my last injunctions." then i raised my head and considered my case and how i had fallen from high estate into abjection; wherefore the tears streamed from my eyes and i wept passing sore. he looked at me with angry eyes and repeated the following say unto her who wronged us, on whom our kisses tire, her that hath chosen another for darling of desire, lo, we will spurn thee from us, before thou cast us off! that which is past between us suffices to our ire. when i heard this, i wept and looked at him and repeated the following verses: you doom my banishment from love and all unmoved remain; you rob my wounded lids of rest and sleep whilst i complain. you make mine eyes familiar with watching and unrest; yet can my heart forget you not, nor eyes from tears refrain. you swore to me that you would keep, for aye, your plighted faith; but when my heart was yours, you broke the oath that you had ta'en. are you secure against the shifts of time and evil chance, that you've no mercy on my love nor aught of pity deign? if i must die, i prithee, write, 'fore god, upon my tomb, "a slave of passion lieth here, who died of love in vain." it may be one shall pass that way, who knows the pangs of love, and looking on a lover's grave, take pity on her pain. then i wept; and when he heard what i said and saw my tears, his anger redoubled, and he repeated the following verses: i left the darling of my heart, not from satiety; but she had sinned a sin that called aloud for punishment. she would have ta'en another in to share with me her love, but the religion of my heart to share will not consent[fn# ]. then i wept again and implored him, saying to myself, "i will work on him with words; so haply he may spare my life, though he take all i have." so i complained to him of my sufferings and repeated the following verses: if thou indeed wert just to me, thou wouldst not take my life. alas! against the law of death no arbiter is there! thou layst upon my back the load of passion and desire, when i for weakness scarce can lift the very gown i wear! that so my soul should waste away, small wonder is to me; but oh! i wonder how my flesh can thine estrangement bear. then i wept again, and he looked at me and reviled and reproached me, repeating the following verses: thou hast forgotten my love in the arms of another than me; thou shew'st me estrangement, though i was never unfaithful to thee. so i will cast thee away, since thou wast the first to forsake, and by thy pattern content to live without thee will i be. and (like thyself) in the arms of another thy charms i'll forget; 'tis thou that hast sundered our loves: thou canst not reproach it to me. then he called to the slave with the sword, saying "cut her in half and rid us of her, for we have no profit of her." so the slave drew near to me and i gave myself up for lost and committed my affair to god the most high; but, at this moment, in came the old woman and threw herself at my husband's feet and kissed them, saying, "o my son, for the sake of my fosterage of thee and my service to thee, spare this young lady, for indeed she has done nothing deserving of death. thou art a very young man, and i fear lest her death be laid to thy count, for it is said, 'he who kills shall be killed.' as for this wretched woman, put her away from thee and from thy thought and heart." and she ceased not to weep and implore him, till he relented and said, "i pardon her, but i will set a mark on her that shall stay with her all her life." then he made the slaves strip off my clothes and hold me down, and taking a rod of quince-wood beat me with it on the back and sides till i lost my senses for excess of pain and despaired of life. then he commanded slaves, as soon as it was dark, to carry me back to the house in which i had lived before my marriage with him, taking the old woman with them to guide them. they did as he bade them and cast me down in my house and went away. i did not recover from my swoon till the morning, when i applied myself to the dressing of my wounds, and medicined myself and kept my bed for four months, at the end of which time my body healed and i was restored to health; but my sides still bore the marks of the blows, as thou hast seen. as soon as i could walk, i went to the house where all this had happened, but found the whole street pulled down and nothing but heaps of rubbish where the house had stood, nor could i learn how this had come about. then i betook myself to this my half-sister and found with her these two black bitches. i saluted her and told her what had befallen me; and she said, "o my sister, who is safe from the vicissitudes of fortune? praised be god, who hath brought thee off with thy life!" and she repeated the following verse: fortune indeed was ever thus: endure it patiently, whether thou suffer loss of wealth or friends depart from thee. then she told me her own story, and we abode together, she and i, never mentioning the name of marriage. after awhile there came to live with us this our other sister the cateress, who goes out every day and buys what we require for the day and night. we led this life till yesterday, when our sister went out as usual and fell in with the porter. presently we were joined by these three calenders and later on by three respectable merchants from tiberias, all of whom we admitted to our company on certain conditions, which they infringed. but we forgave them their breach of faith, on condition that they should give us an account of themselves; so they told us their stories and went away; and we heard nothing more till this morning, when we were summoned to appear before thee; and this is our story.' the khalif wondered at her story, and ordered it and those of her sister and the calenders to be recorded in the archives of his reign and laid up in the royal treasury. then he said to the eldest lady, 'knowst thou where to find the afriteh who enchanted thy sisters?' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered she, 'she gave me some of her hair, saying, "when thou wouldst see me, burn one or two of these hairs, and i will be with thee presently, though i be behind the mountain caf."' quoth the khalif, 'bring me the hair.' so she fetched it and he threw the whole lock into the fire, whereupon the palace shook and they heard a rumbling sound of thunder, and presently the jinniyeh appeared and saluted the khalif, saying, 'peace be upon thee, o vicar of god!' 'and on thee be peace,' answered he, 'and the mercy of god and his blessing!' quoth she, 'know that this lady did me a service for which i cannot enough requite her, in that she saved me from death and slew my enemy. now i had seen how her sisters dealt with her and felt bound to avenge her on them. at first, i was minded to kill them, but i feared it would be grievous to her, so i turned them into bitches; and now, o commander of the faithful, if thou wouldst have me release them, i will do so, out of respect to thee and to her, for i am of the true believers.' 'release them,' said the khalif; 'and after we will proceed to look into the affair of the beaten lady, and if her account prove true, we will avenge her on him who wronged her.' 'o commander of the faithful,' replied she, 'i will release them forthwith and bring thee to the knowledge of him who maltreated this lady and took her property; and he is the nearest of all men to thee.' so saying, she took a cup of water and muttered over it and spoke words that might not be understood. then she threw some of the water in the faces of the bitches, saying, 'return to your former human shape;' whereupon they were restored to their original form, and the afriteh said to the khalif, 'o commander of the faithful, he who beat this lady is thy son el amin, brother of el mamoun[fn# ], who heard of her beauty and grace and laid a trap for her and married her; and indeed he is not to blame for beating her, for he laid a condition on her and took of her a solemn oath that she would not do a certain thing; but she was false to her vow; and he was minded to kill her, but was restrained by the fear of god the most high and contented himself with beating her, as thou hast seen, and sending her back to her own place.' when the khalif heard this, he wondered greatly and said, 'glory be to god the most high, the supreme, who hath vouchsafed me the delivery of these two damsels from enchantment and torment and hath granted me to know the secret of this lady's history! by allah, i will do a thing that shall be chronicled after me!' then he summoned his son el amin and questioned him of the story of the portress, and he told him the truth; whereupon the khalif sent for cadis and witnesses and married the eldest lady and her two sisters-german to the three calenders, whom he made his chamberlains, appointing them stipends and all that they needed and lodging them in his palace at baghdad. moreover, he returned the beaten girl to her husband, his son el amin, renewing the marriage contract between them, and gave her great wealth and bade rebuild the house more handsomely than before. as for himself, he took to wife the cateress and lay with her that night; and on the morrow he assigned her a separate lodging in his seraglio, with a fixed allowance and serving-maids to wait on her; and the people marvelled at his equity and magnificence and generosity. when shehrzad had made an end of her story, dunyazad said to her, "by allah, this is indeed a pleasant and delightful story, never was heard its like! but now, o my sister, tell us another story, to beguile the rest of the waking hours of our night." "with all my heart," answered shehrzad, "if the king give me leave." and he said, "tell thy story, and that quickly." then said she, "they say, o king of the age and lord of the time and the day, that the three apples. the khalif haroun er reshid summoned his vizier jaafer one night and said to him, 'i have a mind to go down into the city and question the common people of the conduct of the officers charged with its government; and those of whom they complain, we will depose, and those whom they commend, we will advance.' quoth jaafer, 'i hear and obey.' so the khalif and jaafer and mesrour went down into the town and walked about the streets and markets till, as they were passing through a certain alley, they came upon an old man walking along at a leisurely pace, with a fishing-net and a basket on his head and a staff in his hand, and heard him repeat the following verses: they tell me i shine, by my wisdom and wit, midst the rest of my kind, as the moon in the night. "a truce to your idle discourses!" i cry, "what's knowledge, indeed, unattended by might?" if you offered me, knowledge and wisdom and all, with my inkhorn and papers, in pawn for a mite, to buy one day's victual, the pledge they'd reject and cast, like an unread petition, from sight. sorry, indeed, is the case of the poor, and his life, what a load of chagrin and despite! in summer, he's pinched for a living and cowers o'er the fire-pot in winter, for warmth and for light. the curs of the street dog his heels, as he goes, and the scurviest rascal may rail at the wight. if he lift up his voice to complain of his case, he finds not a soul who will pity his plight. since such is the life and the lot of the poor, it were better he lay in the graveyard forthright! when the khalif heard this, he said to jaafer, 'see yonder poor man and note his verses, for they show his necessity.' then he went up to him and said, 'o old man, what is thy trade?' 'o my lord,' replied he, 'i am a fisherman, with a family to maintain; and i have been out since mid-day, but god has not vouchsafed me aught wherewith to feed them, and indeed i abhor myself and wish for death.' quoth the khalif, 'wilt thou go back with me to the tigris and cast thy net yet once more on my account, and i will buy of thee whatever comes up for a hundred dinars?' 'on my head be it!' answered the fisherman joyfully. 'i will go back with you.' so he returned with them to the river-bank and cast his net and waited awhile, then drew it up and found in it a chest, locked and heavy. the khalif lifted it and found it weighty; so he gave the fisherman a hundred dinars, and he went his way; whilst mesrour carried the chest to the palace, where he set it down before the khalif and lighted the candles. then jaafer and mesrour broke open the chest and found in it a basket of palm-leaves, sewn together with red worsted. this they cut open and found within a bundle wrapped in a piece of carpet. under the carpet was a woman's veil and in this a young lady, as she were an ingot of silver, slain and cut in pieces. when the khalif saw this, he was sore enraged and afflicted; the tears ran down his cheeks and he turned to jaafer and said, "o dog of a vizier, shall folk be murdered in my capital city and thrown into the river and their death laid to my account on the day of judgment? i must avenge this woman on her murderer and put him to death without mercy! and as surely as i am descended from the sons of abbas, an thou bring me not him who slew her, that i may do her justice on him, i will hang thee and forty of thy kinsmen at the gate of my palace!' quoth jaafer, 'grant me three days' respite.' and the khalif said, 'i grant thee this.' so jaafer went out from before him and returned to his house, full of sorrow and saying to himself, 'how shall i find him who killed the damsel, that i may bring him before the khalif? if i bring other than the right man, it will be laid to my charge by god. indeed, i know not what to do.' then he kept his house three days, and on the fourth day, the khalif sent one of his chamberlains for him and said to him, 'where is the murderer of the damsel?' 'o commander of the faithful,' replied the vizier, 'am i inspector of murdered folk, that i should know who killed her?' the khalif was enraged at his answer and commanded to hang him before his palace-gate and that proclamation should be made in the streets of baghdad, 'whoso hath a mind to witness the hanging of jaafer the barmecide, vizier of the khalif, and of forty of his kin, before the gate of the khalif's palace, let him come out to see!' so the people came out from all quarters to witness the execution of jaafer and his kinsmen, not knowing the reason. then they set up the gallows and made jaafer and the others stand underneath in readiness; but whilst they awaited the khalif's signal for the execution and the people wept for jaafer and his kinsmen, behold, a handsome and well-dressed young man, with shining face and bright black eyes, flower-white forehead, downy whiskers and rosy cheeks and a mole like a grain of ambergris, pressed through the crowd, till he stood before jaafer and said to him, 'i come to deliver thee from this strait, o chief of the amirs and refuge of the poor! i am he who killed the woman ye found in the chest; so hang me for her and do her justice on me!' when jaafer heard this, he rejoiced at his own deliverance, but grieved for the young man; and whilst they were yet talking, behold, a man far advanced in years made his way when he saluted them and said, 'o vizier and noble lord, credit not what this young man says. none killed the damsel but i; so do thou avenge her on me, or i do accuse thee before god the most high.' then said the youth, 'o vizier, this is a doting old man, who knows not what he says: it was i killed her, so do thou avenge her on me.' 'o my son,' said the old man, 'thou art young and desirest the things of the world, and i am old and weary of the world. i will ransom thee and the vizier and his kinsmen with my life. none killed the damsel but i; so god on thee, make haste to hang me, or there is no living for me after her!' the vizier marvelled at all this and taking the youth and the old man, carried them before the khalif and said to him, 'o commander of the faithful, i bring thee the murderer of the damsel.' 'where is he?' asked the khalif, and jaafer answered, 'this youth says he killed her, but this old man gives him the lie and affirms that he himself killed her: and behold, they are both in thy hands.' the khalif looked at them and said, 'which of you killed the damsel?' the youth replied, 'it was i.' and the old man, 'indeed, none killed her but myself.' then the khalif said to jaafer, 'take them and hang them both.' but the vizier replied, 'if one of them be the murderer, to hang the other were unjust.' 'by him who vaulted the heavens and spread out the earth like a carpet,' cried the youth, 'it was i killed her!' and he set forth the circumstance of her death and how they had found her body, so that the khalif was certified that he was the murderer, whereat he wondered and said to him, 'why didst thou slay the damsel wrongfully and what made thee come and accuse thyself thus and confess thy crime without being beaten?' 'know, o commander of the faithful,' answered the young man, 'that this damsel was my wife and the daughter of this old man, who is my father's brother, and she was a virgin when i married her. god blessed me with three male children by her, and she loved me and served me, and i also loved her with an exceeding love and saw no evil in her. we lived happily together till the beginning of this month, when she fell grievously ill. i fetched the doctors to her and she recovered slowly; and i would have had her take a bath; but she said, "there is something i long for, before i go to the bath." "what is it?" asked i, and she replied, "i have a longing for an apple, that i may smell it and bite a piece of it." so i went out into the city at once and sought for apples, but could find none, though, had they been a dinar apiece, i would have bought them. i was vexed at this and went home and said to my wife, "by allah, my cousin, i can find none." she was distressed, being yet weak, and her weakness increased greatly on her that night, and i passed the night full of anxiety. as soon as it was day, i went out again and made the round of the gardens, but could find no apples anywhere. at last i met an old gardener, of whom i enquired for them, and he said to me, "o my son, this fruit is rare with us and is not now to be found but in the garden of the commander of the faithful at bassora, where the gardener keeps them for the khalif's table.' i returned home, troubled at my ill-success, and my love and concern for her moved me to undertake the journey to bassora. so i set out and travelled thither and bought three apples of the gardener there for three dinars, with which i returned to baghdad, after having been absent fifteen days and nights, going and coming. i went in to my wife and gave her the apples; but she took no pleasure in them and let them lie by her side; for weakness and fever had increased on her and did not leave her for ten days, at the end of which time she began to mend. so i left the house and went to my shop, where i sat buying and selling. about mid-day a great ugly black slave came into the bazaar, having in his hand one of the three apples, with which he was playing; so i called to him and said, "prithee, good slave, tell me whence thou hadst that apple, that i may get the fellow to it." he laughed and answered, "i had it of my mistress; for i had been absent and on my return i found her lying ill, with three apples by her side: and she told me that the cuckold her husband had made a journey for them to bassora, where he had bought them for three dinars. so i ate and drank with her and took this one from her." when i heard this, the world grew black in my eyes, and i rose and shut my shop and went home, beside myself for excess of rage. i looked for the apples and finding but two of them, said to my wife, "where is the third apple?" quoth she, "i know not what is come of it." this convinced me of the truth of the slave's story, so i took a knife and coming behind her, without word said, got up on her breast and cut her throat; after which i hewed her in pieces and wrapping her in her veil and a piece of carpet, sewed the whole up hurriedly in the basket. then i put the basket in the chest and locking it up, set it on my mule and threw it into the tigris with my own hands. so, god on thee, o commander of the faithful, make haste to hang me, for i fear lest she sue for vengeance on me at the day of resurrection! for when i had thrown her into the river, unknown of any, i returned home and found my eldest boy weeping, though he knew not what i had done with his mother; and i said to him "why dost thou weep, my son?" he replied, "i took one of my mother's apples and went down with it into the street to play with my brothers, when lo, a tall black slave snatched it from my hand, saying, 'whence hadst thou this?' quoth i, 'my father journeyed to bassora for it and brought it to my mother, who is ill, with two other apples for which he paid three dinars. give it back to me and do not get me into trouble for it.' he paid no heed to my words and i demanded the apple a second and a third time; but he beat me and went away with it. i was afraid that my mother would beat me on account of the apple; so for fear of her, i went without the city with my brothers and abode there until night closed in upon us, and indeed i am in fear of her: so by allah, o my father, say nothing to her of this, or it will add to her illness." when i heard what the child said, i knew that the slave was he who had forged a lie against my wife and was certified that i had killed her wrongfully. so i wept sore, and presently, this old man, her father, came in and i told him what had passed; and he sat down by my side and wept and we ceased not weeping half the night. this was five days ago and from that time to this, we have never ceased to bewail her and mourn for her, sorrowing sore for that she was unjustly put to death. all this came of the lying story of the slave, and this was the manner of my killing her; so i conjure thee, by the honour of thy forefathers, make haste to kill me and do her justice on me, for there is no living for me after her.' the khalif wondered at his story and said, 'by allah, the young man is excusable, and i will hang none but the accursed slave!' then he fumed to jaafer and said to him, 'bring me the accursed slave, who was the cause of this calamity, and if thou bring him not in three days, thou shalt suffer in his stead.' and jaafer went out, weeping and saying, 'verily, i am beset by deaths; the pitcher does not come off for aye unbroken. i can do nothing in this matter; but he who saved me the first time may save me again. by allah, i will not leave my house during the three days that remain to me, and god who is the truth shall do what he will.' so he kept his house three days, and on the fourth day, he summoned cadis and witnesses and made his last dispositions and bade farewell to his children, weeping. presently in came a messenger from the khalif and said to him, 'the commander of the faithful is beyond measure wroth and sends to seek thee and swears that the day shall not pass without thy being hanged.' when jaafer heard this, he wept and his children and slaves and all that were in the house wept with him. then they brought him his little daughter, that he might bid her farewell. now he loved her more than all his other children; so he pressed her to his breast and kissed her and wept over his separation from her; when lo, he felt something round in her bosom and said to her, 'what's this in thy bosom?' 'o my father,' answered she, 'it is an apple with the name of our lord the khalif written on it. our slave rihan brought it to me four days ago and would not let me have it, till i gave him two dinars for it.' when jaafer heard this, he put his hand into her bosom and took out the apple and knew it and rejoiced, saying, 'o swift dispeller of trouble[fn# ]!' then he sent for the slave and said to him, 'harkye rihan, whence hadst thou this apple?' 'by allah, o my lord,' replied he, 'though lying might get me off, yet is it safer to tell the truth[fn# ]! i did not steal it from thy palace nor from the palace of his highness nor the garden of the commander of the faithful. the fact is that some days ago, i was passing along a certain alley of this city, when i saw some children playing and this apple in the hand of one of them. so i snatched it from him, and he wept and said, "o youth, this apple is my mother's and she is ill. she longed for apples, and my father journeyed to bassora and bought her three for three dinars, and i took one of them to play with." but i paid no heed to what he said and beat him and went off with the apple and sold it to my little mistress for two dinars.' when jaafer heard this, he wondered that the death of the damsel and all this misery should have been caused by his slave and grieved for the relation of the slave to himself, whilst rejoicing over his own delivery: and he repeated the following verses: if through a servant misfortune befall thee, spare not to save thine own life at his cost. servants in plenty thou'lt find to replace him, life for life never, once it is lost. then he carried the slave to the khalif, to whom he related the whole story; and the khalif wondered greatly and laughed till he fell backward and ordered the story to be recorded and published among the folk. then said jaafer, 'o commander of the faithful, wonder not at this story, for it is not more marvellous than that of noureddin ali of cairo and his son bedreddin hassan.' 'what is that?' asked the khalif; 'and how can it be more marvellous than this story?' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered jaafer, 'i will not tell it thee except thou pardon my slave.' quoth the khalif, 'if it be indeed more marvellous than that of the three apples, i grant thee thy slave's life; but if not, i will kill him.' 'know, then, o commander of the faithful,' said jaafer, 'that noureddin ali of cairo and his son bedreddin hassan. there was once in the land of egypt a just and pious king who loved the poor and companied with the learned, and he had a vizier, a wise and experienced man, well versed in affairs and in the art of government. this vizier, who was a very old man, had two sons, as they were two moons, never was seen their like for beauty and grace, the elder called shemseddin mohammed and the younger noureddin ali; but the younger excelled his brother in comeliness and fair favour, so that folk heard of him in distant lands and journeyed to egypt to get sight of him. after awhile the vizier died, to the great grief of the sultan, who sent for his two sons and invested them with robes of honour, saying, "let not your hearts be troubled, for you shall stand in your father's stead and be joint viziers of egypt." at this they were glad and kissed the earth before him and mourned for their father a whole month, at the end of which time they entered upon the vizierate, and the government passed into their hands, as it had been in those of their father, each ruling for a week at a time. whenever the sultan went on a journey, they took it in turns to accompany him; and the two brothers lived in one house, and there was perfect accord between them. it chanced, one night, that the sultan purposed setting out on a journey on the morrow and the elder, whose turn it was to attend him, was sitting talking with his brother and said to him, "o my brother, it is my wish that we both marry and go in to our wives on the same night." "o my brother," replied noureddin, "do as thou wilt; i will conform to thee." so they agreed upon this and shemseddin said, "if it be the will of god that we both marry on the same night, and our wives be brought to bed on the same day, and thy wife bear a boy and mine a girl, we will marry the children to one another, for they will be cousins." "o my brother," asked noureddin, "what dowry wilt thou require of my son for thy daughter!" quoth the other, "i will have of him three thousand dinars and three gardens and three farms, for it would not be fitting that he bring her a smaller dowry than this." when noureddin heard this, he said, "what dowry is this thou wouldst impose on my son? knowest thou not that we are brothers and both by god's grace viziers and equal in rank? it behoves thee to offer thy daughter to my son, without dowry: or if thou must have a dower, it should be something of nominal value, for mere show; for thou knowest the male to be more worthy than the female, and my son is a male, and our memory will be preserved by him, not by thy daughter; but i see thou wouldst do with me according to the saying, 'if thou wouldst drive away a purchaser, ask him a high price,' or as did one, who, being asked by a friend to do him a favour, replied, 'in the name of god; i will comply with thy request, but not till tomorrow.' whereupon the other answered him with this verse: 'when one, of whom a favour's asked, postpones it till next day, 'tis, to a man who knows the world, as if he said him nay.'" quoth shemseddin, "verily, thou errest in that thou wouldst make thy son more worthy than my daughter, and it is plain that thou lackest both judgment and manners. thou talkest of thy share in the vizierate, when i only admitted thee to share with me, in pity for thee, not wishing to mortify thee, and that thou mightest help me. but since thou talkest thus, by allah, i will not marry my daughter to thy son, though thou pay down her weight in gold!" when noureddin heard this, he was angry and said, "and i, i will never marry my son to thy daughter." "i would not accept him as a husband for her," answered the other, "and were i not bound to attend the sultan on his journey, i would make an example of thee; but when i return, i will let thee see what my dignity demands." when noureddin heard this speech from his brother, he was beside himself for rage, but held his peace and stifled his vexation; and each passed the night in his own place, full of wrath against the other. as soon as it was day, the sultan went out to ghizeh and made for the pyramids, accompanied by the vizier shemseddin, whilst noureddin arose, sore enraged, and prayed the morning-prayer. then he went to his treasury, and taking a small pair of saddle-bags, filled them with gold. and he called to mind his brother's words and the contempt with which he had treated him and repeated the following verses: travel, for yon shall find new friends in place of those you leave, and labour, for in toil indeed the sweets of life reside. nor gain nor honour comes to him who idly stays at home; so leave thy native land behind and journey far and wide. oft have i seen a stagnant pool corrupt with standing still; if water run, 'tis sweet, but else grows quickly putrefied. if the full moon were always high and never waned nor set, men would not strain their watchful eyes for it at every tide. except the arrow leave the bow, 'twill never hit the mark, nor will the lion chance on prey, if in the copse he bide. the aloes in its native land a kind of firewood is, and precious metals are but dust whilst in the mine they hide. the one is sent abroad and grows more precious straight than gold; the other's brought to light and finds its value magnified. then he bade one of his people saddle him his mule with a padded saddle. now she was a dapple mule, high-backed, like a dome builded upon columns; her saddle was of cloth of gold and her stirrups of indian steel, her housings of ispahan velvet, and she was like a bride on her wedding night. moreover, he bade lay on her back a carpet of silk and strap the saddle-bags on that and spread a prayer-rug over the whole. the man did as he bade him and noureddin said to his servants, "i have a mind to ride out a-pleasuring towards kelyoubiyeh, and i shall lie three nights abroad; but let none of you follow me, for my heart is heavy." then he mounted the mule in haste and set out from cairo, taking with him a little victual, and made for the open country. about mid-day, he reached the town of belbeys, where he alighted and rested himself and the mule. then he took out food and ate and fared on again in the direction of the desert, after having bought victual and fodder for the mule in the town. towards nightfall, he came to a town called saadiyeh, where he alighted and took out food and ate, then spread the carpet on the ground and laying the saddle bags under his head, slept in the open air, for he was still overcome with anger. as soon as it was day, he mounted and rode onward, till he reached the city of jerusalem and thence to aleppo, where he alighted at one of the khans and abode three days, to rest himself and the mule. then, being still intent upon travel, he mounted and setting out again, he knew not whither, journeyed on without ceasing, till he reached the city of bassora, where he alighted at a certain khan and spread out his prayer-carpet, after having taken the saddle-bags off the mule's back and given her to the porter that he might walk her about. as chance would have it, the vizier of bassora, who was a very old man, was sitting at a window of his palace opposite the khan and saw the porter walking the mule up and down. he remarked her costly trappings and took her to be a mule of parade, of such as are ridden by kings and viziers. this set him thinking and he became perplexed and said to one of his servants, "bring me yonder porter." so the servant went and returned with the porter, who kissed the ground before the vizier; and the latter said to him, "who is the owner of that mule, and what manner of man is he?" "o my lord," replied the porter, "he is a comely young man of the sons of the merchants, grave and dignified of aspect." when the vizier heard this, he rose at once and mounting his horse, rode to the khan and went in to noureddin, who, seeing him making towards himself, rose and went to meet him and saluted him. the vizier bade him welcome to bassora and dismounting, embraced him and made him sit down by his side and said to him, "o my son, whence comest thou and what dost thou seek?" "o my lord." answered noureddin, "i come from the city of cairo;" and told him his story from beginning to end, saying, "i am resolved not to return home, till i have seen all the towns and countries of the world." when the vizier heard this, he said to him, "o my son, follow not the promptings of thy soul, lest they bring thee into peril; for indeed the lands are waste and i fear the issues of fortune for thee." then he let load the saddle-bags and the carpets on the mule and carried noureddin to his own house, where he lodged him in a pleasant place and made much of him, for he had conceived a great affection for him. after awhile, he said to him, "o my son, i am an old man and have no male child, but god has given me a daughter who is thy match for beauty, and i have refused many suitors for her hand. but love of thee has got hold upon my heart; so wilt thou accept of my daughter to thine handmaid and be her husband? if thou consent to this, i will carry thee to the sultan of bassora and tell him that thou art my brother's son and bring thee to be appointed vizier in my stead, that i may keep the house, for, by allah, o my son, i am a very old man and i am weary." when noureddin heard the vizier's proposal, he bowed his head awhile, then raised it and answered, "i hear and obey." at this the vizier rejoiced and bade his servants decorate the great hall, in which they were wont to celebrate the marriages of nobles. then he assembled his friends and the notables of the kingdom and the merchants of bassora and said to them, "i had a brother who was vizier in cairo, and god vouchsafed him two sons, whilst to me, as you know, he has given a daughter. my brother proposed to me to marry my daughter to one of his sons, to which i consented; and when my daughter came at a marriageable age, he sent me one of his sons, this young man now present, to whom i purpose now to marry her, for he is better than a stranger, and that he shall go in to her in my house this night. after, if he please, he shall abide with me, or if he please, he shall return with his wife to his father." the guests replied, "it is well seen of thee." and they looked at noureddin and were pleased with him. so the vizier sent for cadis and witnesses, and they drew up the marriage contract, after which the servants perfumed the guests with incense and sprinkled rose-water on them, and they drank sherbet of sugar and went away. then the vizier bade his servants take noureddin to the bath and sent him a suit of the best of his own clothes, besides cups and napkins and perfume-burners and all else that he required. so he went to the bath, and when he came out and put on the suit, he was like the moon on the night of her full. then he mounted his mule and returning to the vizier's palace, went in to the latter and kissed his hands. the vizier welcomed him and said to him, "arise, go in to thy wife this night, and tomorrow i will carry thee to the sultan; and i pray god to bless thee with all manner of good!" so noureddin left him and went in to his wife, the vizier's daughter. to return to his brother shemseddin. when he came back to cairo, after having been absent awhile with the sultan, he missed his brother and enquired of his servants, who said, "on the day of thy departure with the sultan, thy brother mounted his mule, caparisoned as for state, saying, 'i am going towards el kelyoubiyeh and shall be absent a day or two, for i am heavy of heart; and let none follow me.' then he rode away, and from that time to this we have heard nothing of him." shemseddin was concerned at his brother's absence and became exceedingly uneasy, when he found that he did not return, and said to himself, "this is because i spoke harshly to him that night, and he has taken it to heart and gone away; but i must send after him." then he went in to the king and acquainted him with what had happened, and he wrote letters and despatched couriers to his deputies in every province; but after awhile they returned without having been able to come at any news of noureddin, who had by this time reached bassora. so shemseddin despaired of finding his brother and said, "indeed, i went beyond all bounds in what i said to him, with reference to the marriage of our children. would it had not been so! this all comes of my lack of sense and judgment." soon after this he sought in marriage the daughter of a merchant of cairo and took her to wife and went in to her (as it happened by the will of god the most high, that so he might carry out what he had decreed to his creatures) on the very night on which noureddin went in to the vizier's daughter of bassora. moreover, it was as the two brothers had said; for their wives conceived by them and were brought to bed on the same day, the wife of shemseddin of a daughter, never was seen in cairo a fairer than she, and the wife of noureddin of a son, than whom a handsomer was never seen in his time. they named the boy bedreddin hassan, and his grandfather, the vizier of bassora rejoiced in him and gave feasts and public entertainments, as for the birth of a king's son. then he took noureddin and went up with him to the sultan. when noureddin came in presence of the king, he kissed the ground before him and repeated the following verses, for he was facile of speech, firm of soul and abounding in good parts and natural gifts: may all delights of life attend thee, o my lord, and mayst thou live as long as night and morning be! lo! when meets tongues recall thy magnanimity, the age doth leap for joy and time claps hands for glee. the sultan rose to receive them and after thanking noureddin for his compliment, asked the vizier who he was. the vizier replied, "this is my brother's son." and the sultan said, "how comes it that we have never heard of him?" "o my lord the sultan," answered the vizier, know that my brother was vizier in egypt and died, leaving two sons, whereof the elder became vizier in his father's stead and the younger, whom thou seest, came to me. i had sworn that i would give my daughter in marriage to none but him; so when he came, i married him to her. now he is young and i am old; my hearing grows dull and my judgment fails; wherefore i pray our lord the sultan to make him vizier in my room, for he is my brother's son and the husband of my daughter, and he is apt for the vizierate, being a man of sense and judgment." the sultan looked at noureddin and was pleased with him, so granted the vizier's request and appointed him to the vizierate, presenting him with a splendid dress of honour and one of his choicest mules and allotting him stipends and allowances. noureddin kissed the sultan's hands and went home, he and his father-in-law, rejoicing greatly and saying, "this is of the good fortune of the new-born hassan.'' next day he presented himself before the king and repeated the following verses: new favours attend thee each day of thy life, and fortune to counter the craft of thy foes! may thy days with god's favour be white to the end, and black be their days with misfortune and woes! the sultan commanded him to sit in the vizier's place; so he sat down and applied himself to the business of his office, examining into the folks' affairs and giving judgment on their suits, after the usage of viziers, whilst the sultan watched him and wondered at his wit and good sense and judgment, wherefore he loved him and took him into favour. when the divan broke up, noureddin returned to his house and related what had passed to his father-in-law, who rejoiced. thence-forward noureddin ceased not so to apply himself to the duties of the vizierate, that he left not the sultan day or night and the latter increased his stipends and allowances till he amassed great wealth and became the owner of ships, that made trading voyages for his hand, as well as of slaves and servants, black and white, and laid out many estates and made irrigation-works and planted gardens. when his son hassan was four years old, his father-in-law, the old vizier, died, and he buried him with great pomp. then he occupied himself with the education of his son and when he came to the age of seven, he brought him a doctor of the law, to teach him in his own house, and charged him to give him a good education and teach him good manners. so the tutor taught the boy to read and all manner of useful knowledge, after he had spent some years in committing the koran to memory; and he grew in stature and beauty and symmetry, even as says the poet: the moon in the heaven of his grace shines full and fair to see, and the sun of the morning glows in his cheeks' anemones. he's such a compend of beauties, meseems, indeed, from him the world all beauty borrows that lives in lands and seas. the professor brought him up in his father's palace, and all his years of youth he never left the house, till one day his father clad him in his richest clothes, and mounting him on one of the best of his mules, carried him to the sultan, who was struck with his beauty and loved him. as for the people of the city, when he passed through the streets on his way to the palace, they were dazzled with his loveliness and sat down in the road, awaiting his return, that they might gaze their fill on his beauty and grace and symmetry. the sultan made much of the boy and bade his father bring him with him, whenever his affairs called him to the palace. noureddin replied, "i hear and obey," and ceased not to carry him to the sultan's court, till he reached the age of fifteen, when his father sickened and calling his son, said to him, "know, o my son, that this world is but a temporary abode, whilst the next is an eternal one. before i die, i wish to give thee certain last injunctions, so pay heed to my words and set thy mind to understand them." then he gave him certain advice as to the proper way of dealing with folk and the conduct of his affairs; after which he called to mind his brother and his native land and wept for his separation from those he loved. then he wiped away his tears and turning to his son, said to him, "before i proceed to my parting exhortations, thou must know that thou hast an uncle who is vizier in cairo, and i left him and went away without his consent." then he took a sheet of paper and wrote therein all that had happened to him from the day of the dispute, together with the dates of his marriage and going in to the vizier's daughter and the birth of his son; after which he folded and sealed the paper and gave it to his son, saying, "keep this paper carefully, for in it is written thy rank and lineage and origin, and if any mishap befall thee, go to cairo and ask for thine uncle and give him this and tell him that i died in a foreign land, full of longing for him." so bedreddin took the paper and wrapping it in a piece of waxed cloth, sewed it into the lining of his skull-cap and wound the muslin of his turban over it, weeping the while at the thought of losing his father, whilst himself but a boy. then said noureddin, "i have five behests to lay on thee: and the first is that thou be not too familiar with any one, neither frequent him nor foregather with him over-much; so shalt thou be safe from his mischief, for in retirement is safety, and i have heard it said by a poet: there is no man in all the world, whose love is worth thy trust, no friend who, if fate play thee false, will true and constant be. wherefore i'd have thee live apart and lean for help on none. in this i give thee good advice; so let it profit thee. secondly, o my son, oppress no one, lest fortune oppress thee; for the fortune of this world is one day for thee and another against thee, and its goods are but a loan to be repaid. as i have heard a poet say: be slow to move and hasten not to snatch thy heart's desire; be merciful to all, as thou on mercy reckonest; for no hand is there but the hand of god is over it, and no oppressor but shall be with worse than he oppress. thirdly, preserve silence and let thy faults distract thee from those of other men; for it is said that in silence is safety; and thereon i have heard the following verses: silence is fair and safety lies in taciturnity. so, when thou speak'st, i counsel thee, give not thy tongue the rein. since, for one time that thou repent the having held thy tongue, thou shalt of having spoke repent again and yet again. fourthly, o my son, beware of drinking wine, for wine is the root of all evils and the thief of wit. guard thyself from it, for the poet says: wine and the drinkers of wine i have put away, and am become of those that of it mis-say. for wine indeed diverts from the road of right, and to all kinds of evil opens the way. lastly, o my son, keep thy wealth, that it may keep thee, and watch over it, that it may watch over thee. squander not thy substance, or thou wilt come to need the meanest of folk. guard well thy money, for it is a sovereign salve for the wounds of life, even as says the poet: if wealth should fail, there is no friend will bear thee company, but whilst thy substance still abounds, all men are friends to thee. how many a foe for money's sake hath companied with me! but when wealth failed beneath my hand, my dearest friend did flee." and noureddin ceased not to exhort his son till his spirit departed and his house became the abode of mourning. the king and all the amirs grieved for him and buried him; but bedreddin ceased not to bewail his father for two whole months, during which time he never left the house, nor did he attend the divan or present himself before the sultan. at last the latter became wroth with him and made one of his chamberlains vizier in his stead and bade him seize on all noureddin's houses and goods and possessions and seal them up. so the new vizier went forth to do this and take bedreddin hassan and bring him before the sultan, that he might deal with him as he thought fit. now there was among the troops one who had been a servant of the deceased vizier, and when he heard this order he spurred his steed and rode at full speed to bedreddin's house, where he found him sitting at the gate, with downcast head, broken-hearted. so he dismounted and kissing his hand, said to him, "o my lord and son of my lord, hasten, ere destruction light on thee!" when bedreddin heard this, he trembled and said, "what is the matter?" "the sultan is wroth with thee," answered the other, "and has given orders for thine arrest, and calamity follows hard upon me, so flee for thy life." quoth bedreddin, "is there time for me to go in and take somewhat to stand me in stead in my strangerhood?" but the other answered, "o my lord, rise at once and save thyself whilst it is yet time, and leave thy house." so bedreddin covered his face with his skirt and went out and walked on till he came without the city. on his way, he heard the people saying that the sultan had sent the new vizier to the late vizier's house, to seize on his possessions and take his son bedreddin hassan and bring him before him, that he might put him to death, and they grieved for him by reason of his beauty and grace. when he heard this, he fled forth at hazard, not knowing whither, and chance led him to the cemetery where his father was buried. so he passed among the tombs, till he came to his father's sepulchre and entering, sat down and let fall from over his head the skirt of his cassock, which was made of brocade, with the following lines embroidered in gold on the hem: thou whose face with the rainbow might vie, that art bright as the stars of the sky, may thy fortune ne'er fail to be fair and thy glory for ever be high! as he sat by his father's tomb, there came up a jew, as he were a money-changer, with a pair of saddle-bags full of gold, and accosted him, saying, "whither away, o my lord? it is near the end of the day and thou art lightly clad and bearest the marks of chagrin on thy countenance." "i was asleep but now," answered bedreddin, "when my father appeared to me and reproached me for not having visited his tomb, and i awoke, trembling, and came hither at once, fearing lest the day should pass, without my paying him a visit, which would have been grievous to me." "o my lord," said the jew, "thy father had many ships at sea, whereof some are now due; and it is my wish to buy of thee the cargo of the first that comes into port for a thousand dinars." "i will well," answered bedreddin; whereupon the jew took out a purse of gold and counted out a thousand dinars, which he gave to bedreddin, saying, "write me an acknowledgment and seal it." so bedreddin took pen and paper and wrote the following in double: "the writer, bedreddin hassan, son of the vizier noureddin of bassora, has sold to isaac the jew all the cargo of the first of his father's ships that comes into port, at the price of a thousand dinars, which he has received in advance." then he gave one copy to the jew, who took it and went away, and put the other in the purse, which he thrust into his waistcloth. and he bethought him of his former estate of honour and consideration and wept and repeated the following verses: home is no longer home to me, now ye are gone away, nor are the neighbours neighbours now, after our parting-day, the comrade, whom i loved whilere, no more a comrade is, and even the very sun and moon' no longer bright are they. ye went away and all the world was saddened for your loss, and all the hills and plains grew dark with sorrow and dismay. o that the raven of ill-luck, that croaked our parting hour, may lose his plumes nor find a nest in which his bead to lay! my patience fails me for desire, my body wasteth sore; how many a veil the hands of death and parting rend in tway! i wonder, will our happy nights come ever back again, or one house hold us two once more, after the olden way! then he wept sore and laying his head on his father's tomb, remained plunged in melancholy thought till drowsiness overcame him and he fell asleep. he slept on till the moon rose, when his head rolled off the tomb and he lay on his back, with his face gleaming in the moon. now the cemetery was haunted by true-believing jinn, and presently a jinniyeh came out and seeing bedreddin lying asleep, marvelled at his beauty and grace and said, "glory be to god! this can be no other than one of the children of paradise." then she rose into the air to fly about, as was her wont, and met an afrit flying, who saluted her, and she said to him, "whence comest thou?" "from cairo," replied he. quoth she, "wilt thou come with me and look on the beauty of a youth who sleeps in the burial-ground yonder?" and he said, "i will well." so they both flew down to the tomb and she showed him bedreddin, saying, "sawest thou ever the like of this young man?" the afrit looked at him and exclaimed, "blessed be god to whom there is none like! but, o my sister, shall i tell thee what i have seen this day?" "what is that?" asked she; and he answered, "i have seen a young lady in the land of egypt, who is the counterpart of this youth. she is the daughter of the vizier shemseddin of cairo and is possessed of beauty and grace and symmetry and perfection. when she reached the age of fifteen, the sultan of egypt heard of her and sending for the vizier her father, said to him, 'o vizier, it has come to my knowledge that thou hast a daughter and i wish to demand her of thee in marriage.' 'o my lord the sultan,' replied the vizier, 'i prithee accept my excuse and take compassion on my grief, for thou knowest that my brother noureddin, who was my partner in the vizierate, left us many years ago and went i know not whither. now the reason of his departure was that one night we were sitting talking of marriage and children, when we came to words on the subject and he was angry with me and went away in his anger. but on the day her mother bore her, fifteen years ago, i swore that i would marry my daughter to none but my brother's son. now, awhile ago, i heard that he is lately dead at bassora, where he was vizier, after having married the former vizier's daughter and had by her a son; and i will not marry my daughter but to him, in honour of my brother's memory. moreover, i recorded the date of my marriage and of the conception and birth of my daughter and drew her horoscope, and she is destined for her cousin and there are girls in plenty for our lord the sultan.' when the sultan heard the vizier's answer, he was exceeding wroth and said, 'when the like of me demands in marriage the daughter of the like of thee, he confers a favour on her, and thou puttest me off with idle excuses! as my head liveth, i will marry her to the meanest of my serving men, to spite thee!' now the sultan had a hunchbacked groom, with a hump behind and before, and he sent for him and married him to the vizier's daughter, whether she would or no, and bade carry him in procession and bring him in to his bride this very night. now i have just come from cairo, where i left the hunchback at the door of the bath, surrounded by the king's servants holding lighted flambeaux and making mock of him. as for the vizier's daughter, she sits among her nurses and tire-women, weeping, for they have forbidden her father access to her. never, o my sister, saw i one more hideous than the hunchback, whilst the young lady is the likest of all folk to this youth, though she is even handsomer than he." "thou liest," replied the jinniyeh; "this youth is handsomer than any one of his day." "by allah, o my sister," replied the afrit, "the girl i speak of is handsomer than he, but none but he is worthy of her, for they resemble each other as they were brother and sister or brothers' children. alas, the pity of her with that hunchback!" then said she, "o my brother, let us take him up and carry him to cairo, that we may compare him with the damsel and see whether of them is the handsomer." "i hear and obey," answered the afrit; "this is right well advised, and i will carry him." so he took bedreddin up and flew with him through the air, accompanied by the afriteh, till he alighted in the city of cairo and set him down on a stone bench. then he aroused him, and when he found himself no longer on his father's tomb in bassora, but in a strange city, he would have cried out, but the afrit gave him a cuff and imposed silence on him. then he brought him a splendid dress and made him put it on, and giving him a lighted flambeau, said to him, "know that i have brought thee hither, meaning to do thee a good turn for the love of god; so take this torch and mingle with the people at the door of the bath and accompany them to the house of the wedding festival. then advance and enter the hall and fear none, but sit down on the right hand of the humpbacked bridegroom; and as often as the tire-women and singers stop before thee, put thy hand into thy pocket and thou wilt find it full of gold. take it out by handsful and give to all who come to thee and spare not, for as often as thou puttest thy hand into thy pocket, thou wilt find it without fail full of gold. so fear nothing, but put thy trust in him who created thee, for all this is not by shine own strength but by that of god, that his decrees may take effect upon his creatures." quoth bedreddin to himself, "i wonder what is the meaning of all this!" and taking the torch, went to the bath, where he found the hunchback already on horseback. so he mixed with the people and moved on with the bridal-procession; and as often as the singing-women stopped to collect largesse from the people, he put his hand into his pocket and finding it full of gold, took out a handful and threw it into the singers' tambourine, till it was full of dinars. the singing women were amazed at his munificence and they and the people wondered at his beauty and grace and the richness of his dress. he ceased not to do thus, till he reached the vizier's palace, where the chamberlains drove back the people and forbade them to enter; but the singing women said, "by allah, we will not enter, unless this young man enter with us, for he has overwhelmed us with his bounties; nor shall the bride be displayed, except he be present." so the chamberlains let him pass, and he entered the bridal saloon with the singers, who made him sit down, in defiance of the humpbacked bridegroom. the wives of the viziers and amirs and chamberlains were ranged, each veiled to the eyes and holding a great lighted flambeau, in two ranks, extending right and left from the bride's throne[fn# ] to the upper end of the dais, in front of the door from which she was to issue. when the ladies saw bedreddin and noted his beauty and grace and his face that shone like the new moon, they all inclined to him, and the singers said to all the women present, "you must know that this handsome youth has handselled us with nought but red gold, so fail ye not to wait on him and comply with all that he says." so all the women crowded round bedreddin, with their torches, and gazed on his beauty arid envied him his grace; and each would gladly have lain in his bosom an hour or a year. in their intoxication, they let fall their veils from their faces and said, "happy she who belongs to him or to whom he belongs!" and they cursed the humpbacked groom and him who was the cause of his marriage to that lovely lady; and as often as they invoked blessings on bedreddin, they followed them up with imprecations on the hunchback, saying, "indeed, this youth and he alone deserves our bride. alas, the pity of her with this wretched hunchback, god's curse be on him and on the sultan who will have her marry him!" then the singers beat their tambourines and raised cries of joy, announcing the coming of the bride; and the vizier's daughter entered, surrounded by her tire-women, who had perfumed her with essences and incensed her and decked her hair and dressed her in costly robes and ornaments such as were worn by the ancient kings of persia. over all she wore a robe embroidered in red gold with figures of birds and beasts with eyes and beaks of precious stones and feet and claws of red rubies and green beryl, and about her neck was clasped a necklace of yemen work, worth many thousands of dinars, whose beazels were all manner jewels, never had caesar or king of yemen its like. she seemed as it were the full moon, when it shines out on the fourteenth night, or one of the houris of paradise, glory be to him who made her so splendidly fair! the women encompassed her as they were stars, and she in their midst as the moon breaking through the clouds. as she came forward, swaying gracefully to and fro, the hunchback rose to kiss her, but she turned from him and seeing bedreddin hassan seated, with all the company gazing on him, went and stood before him. when the folk saw her thus attracted towards bedreddin, they laughed and shouted and the singers raised their voices, whereupon he put his hand to his pocket and cast gold by handsful into the tambourines of the singing-women, who rejoiced and said, "would this bride were thine!" at this he smiled, and the people came round him, with the flambeaux in their hands, whilst the hunchback was left sitting alone, looking like an ape; for as often as they lighted a candle for him, it went out and he abode in darkness, speechless and confounded and grumbling to himself. when bedreddin saw the bridegroom sitting moping alone and all the lights and people collected round himself, he was confounded and marvelled; but when he looked at his cousin, the vizier's daughter, he rejoiced and was glad, for indeed her face was radiant with light and brilliancy. then the tire-women took off the veil and displayed the bride in her first dress of red satin, and she moved to and fro with a languorous grace, till the heads of all the men and women were turned by her loveliness, for she was even as says the excellent poet: like a sun at the end of a cane in a hill of sand, she shines in a dress of the hue of pomegranate-flower. she gives me to drink of her cheeks and her honeyed lips, and quenches the flaming fires that my heart devour. then they changed her dress and displayed her in a robe of blue; and she reappeared like the moon when it bursts through the clouds, with her coal-black hair and her smiling teeth, her delicate cheeks and her swelling bosom, even as says the sublime poet: she comes in a robe the colour of ultramarine, blue as the stainless sky unflecked with white. i view her with yearning eyes, and she seems to me a moon of the summer set in a winter's night. then they clad her in a third dress and letting down her long black ringlets, veiled her face to her eyes with the super-abundance of her hair, which vied with the murkiest night in length and blackness; and she smote all hearts with the enchanted arrows of her glances. as says the poet: with hair that hides her rosy cheeks ev'n to her speaking eyes, she comes; and i her locks compare unto a sable cloud and say to her, "thou curtainest the morning with the night." but she, "not so; it is the moon that with the dark i shroud." then they displayed her in the fourth dress, and she shone forth like the rising sun, swaying to and fro with amorous languor and turning from side to side with gazelle-like grace. and she pierced hearts with the arrows of her eyelashes; even as says the poet: a sun of beauty she appears to all that look on her, glorious in arch and amorous grace, with coyness beautified; and when the sun of morning sees her visage and her smile, conquered, he hasteneth his face behind the clouds to hide. then they displayed her in the fifth dress, with her ringlets let down. the downy hair crept along her cheeks, and she swayed to and fro, like a willow-wand or a gazelle bending down to drink, with graceful motions of the neck and hips. as says the poet, describing her: like the full moon she doth appear, on a calm night and fair; slender of shape and charming all with her seductive air. she hath an eye, whose glances pierce the hearts of all mankind, nor can cornelian with her cheeks for ruddiness compare. the sable torrent of her locks falls down unto her hips; beware the serpents of her curls, i counsel thee, beware! indeed, her glance, her sides are soft, but none the less, alas! her heart is harder than the rock; there is no mercy there. the starry arrows of her looks she darts above her veil; they hit and never miss the mark, though from afar they fare. when i clasp hands about her waist, to press her to my heart, the swelling apples of her breast compel me to forbear. alas, her beauty! it outdoes all other loveliness; her shape transcends the willow-wand and makes the branch despair. then they unveiled her in the sixth dress, which was green. in this she reached the utmost bounds of loveliness, outvying in slender straightness the tawny spear-shaft, and in suppleness and flexile grace the bending branch, whilst the splendours of her face outshone the radiance of the full moon. indeed, she transcended the fair of all quarters of the world and all hearts were broken by her loveliness; for she was even as says the poet: a damsel made for love and decked with subtle grace; you'd say the very sun had borrowed from her face. she came in robes of green, the likeness of the leaf that the pomegranate flower cloth in the bud encase. "how call'st thou this thy dress?" we said to her, and she made answer with a word full of malicious grace. "breaker of hearts," quoth she, "i call it, for therewith i've broken many a heart among the human race." then they dressed her in the seventh dress, which was of a colour between saffron and orange, even as says the poet: scented with sandal and musk and ambergris, lo! she comes. the blended hues of her dress 'twixt orange and saffron show. slender and shapely she is; vivacity bids her arise, but the weight of her hips says, "sit, or softly and slowly go." when i solicit her kiss and sue for my heart's desire, "be gracious," her beauty says, but her coquetry answers, "no." they unveiled the bride, in all her seven dresses, before bedreddin hassan, leaving the hunchback sitting by himself; and when she opened her eyes, she said, "o my god, grant that this youth may be my husband and deliver me from this humpbacked groom." then they dismissed the company and all who were present retired, except bedreddin hassan and the hunchback, whilst the tire-women carried off the bride to undress her and prepare her for the bridegroom. thereupon the hunchback came up to bedreddin hassan and said to him, "o my lord, thou hast cheered us with thy company tonight and overwhelmed us with thy favours. wilt thou not now rise and depart?" "in the name of god," replied bedreddin, and rising, went out of the door, where the afrit met him and said to him, "stay where thou art, and when the hunchback goes out to the draught-house, enter thou the bride chamber and do not hesitate, but sit down in the alcove, and when the bride comes, say to her, ''tis i who am thy husband, for the king only played this trick on thee, to conjure the evil eye from us; and he whom thou sawest is one of our grooms.' then go up to her and uncover her face and fear nothing, for jealousy hath taken us of this affair and none is worthy to enjoy her youth but thyself.' as he was yet speaking, the groom came out and entering the closet, sat down on the stool. hardly had he done so, when the afrit appeared to him in the shape of a mouse, issuing from the water-trough,[fn# ] and cried "queek!" quoth the hunchback, "what ails thee?" and the mouse increased till it became a cat and said, "miaou! miaou!" then it grew still more and became a dog and cried, "bow! wow!" when the hunchback saw this, he was terrified and exclaimed, "begone, o unlucky one!" the dog increased and became an ass-colt, that brayed and cried out in his face, "heehaw! heehaw!" whereupon the hunchback quaked and cried out, "come to my aid, o people of the house!" but the ass increased and swelled, till it became a buffalo and barred the way against him and said with a human voice, "out on thee, hunchback, thou stinkard!" the groom was seized with a colic and sat down on the jakes with his clothes on and his teeth chattering. quoth the afrit, "is the world so small that thou canst find none to marry but my mistress?'' but he was silent, and the afrit said, "answer me, or i will make thee a dweller in the dust." "by allah," replied the hunchback, "i am not to blame, for they forced me to marry her, and i knew not that she had a buffalo for a gallant; but i repent to god and to thee. what wilt thou have me do?" quoth the afrit, "i swear to thee that, if thou leave this place or speak before sunrise, i will wring thy neck! when the sun rises, go thy way and never return to this house." so saying, he seized the hunchback and set him upside down against the wall, with his head in the slit and his feet in the air, and said to him, "i will leave thee here and watch thee till sunrise; and if thou stir before then, i will seize thee by the feet and dash out thy brains against the wall." meanwhile bedreddin hassan entered the bride chamber and sat down in the alcove. presently, in came the bride, attended by an old woman, who stopped at the door of the chamber and said, "o father of symmetry,[fn# ] arise and take what god sends thee." then the old woman went away, and the bride, whose name was the lady of beauty, entered, heart-broken and saying to herself, "by allah, i will never yield myself to him, though he kill me!" when she came to the alcove, she saw bedreddin sitting there and said, "o my friend, thou here at this hour! by allah, i was wishing that thou wast my husband or that thou and the groom were partners in me!" "how should the groom have access to thee," asked bedreddin, "and how should he share with me in thee?" quoth she "who is my husband, thou or he?" "o lady of beauty," replied bedreddin, "all this was only a device to conjure the evil eye from us. thy father hired the hunchback for ten diners to that end, and now he has taken his wage and gone away. didst thou not see the singers and tire-women laughing at him and how thy people displayed thee before me?" when the lady of beauty heard this, she smiled and rejoiced and laughed softly. then she said to him, "thou hast quenched the fire of my heart, so, by allah, take me and press me to thy bosom." now she was without clothes; so she threw open the veil in which she was wrapped and showed her hidden charms. at this sight, desire stirred in bedreddin, and he rose and put off his clothes. the purse of a thousand dinars he had received of the jew he wrapped in his trousers and laid them under the mattress; then took off his turban and hung it on the settle, remaining in a skull-cap and shirt of fine silk, laced with gold. with this arose the lady of beauty and drew him to her, and he did the like with her. then he took her to his embrace and pointing the engine that batters down the fortalice of virginity, stormed the citadel and found her an unpierced pearl and a filly that none but he had ridden. so he took her maidenhead and enjoyed her dower of youth; nor did he stint to return to the assault till he had furnished fifteen courses, and she conceived by him. then he laid his hand under her head and she did the like, and they embraced and fell asleep in each other's arms, whilst the tongue of the case spoke the words of the poet: cleave fast to her thou lov'st and let the envious rail amain, for calumny and envy ne'er to favour love were fain. lo! the compassionate hath made no fairer thing to see than when one couch in its embrace enfoldeth lovers twain, each to the other's bosom clasped, clad in their own delight, whilst hand with hand and arm with arm about their necks enchain. lo! when two hearts are straitly knit in passion and desire, but on cold iron smite the folk that chide at them in vain. if in thy time thou find but one to love thee and be true, i rede thee cast the world away and with that one remain. as soon as bedreddin was asleep, the afrit said to the afriteh, "come, let us take up the young man and carry him back to his place, ere the dawn overtake us, for the day is near." so she took up bedreddin, as he lay asleep, clad only in his shirt and skull-cap, and flew away with him, accompanied by the afrit. but the dawn overtook them midway and the muezzins began to chant the call to morning-prayer. then god let his angels cast at the afrit with shooting-stars, and he was consumed; but the afriteh escaped and lighted down with bedreddin, fearing to carry him further, lest he should come to harm. now as fate would have it, she had reached the city of damascus, so she laid bedreddin down before one of its gates and flew away. as soon as it was day, the gate was thrown open and the folk came out, and seeing a handsome young man, clad in nothing but a shirt and skull-cap, lying on the ground, drowned in sleep by reason of his much swink of the night before, said, "happy she with whom this youth lay the night! would he had waited to put on his clothes!" quoth another, "a sorry race are young men of family! belike, this fellow but now came forth of the tavern on some occasion or other, but being overcome with drunkenness, missed the place he was making for and strayed till he came to the city gate, and finding it shut, lay down and fell asleep." as they were bandying words about him, the breeze blew on him and raising his shirt, showed a stomach and navel and legs and thighs, firm and clear as crystal and softer than cream; whereupon the bystanders exclaimed, "by allah, it is good!" and made such a noise, that bedreddin awoke and finding himself lying at the gate of a city, in the midst of a crowd of people, was astonished and said to them, "o good people, where am i, and why do you crowd round me thus?" "we found thee lying here asleep, at the time of the call to morning-prayer," replied they, "and this is all we know of the matter. where didst thou lie last night?" "by allah, good people," answered he, "i lay last night in cairo!" quoth one, "thou hast eaten hashish." and another, "thou art mad; how couldst thou lie yesternight in cairo and awake this morning in damascus?" "by allah, good people," rejoined he, "i do not lie to you; indeed i lay last night in the city of cairo and yesterday i was in bassora." "good," said one; and another, "this youth is mad." and they clapped their hands at him and said to each other, "alack, the pity of his youth! by allah, there is no doubt of his madness." then said they to him, "collect thyself and return to thy senses. how couldst thou be in bassora yesterday and in cairo last night and yet awake in damascus this morning?" but he said, "indeed, i was a bridegroom in cairo last night." "doubtless thou hast been dreaming," rejoined they, "and hast seen all this in sleep." so he bethought himself awhile, then said to them, "by allah, it was no dream! i certainly went to cairo and they displayed the bride before me, in the presence of the hunchback. by allah, o my brethren, this was no dream; or if it was a dream, where is the purse of gold i had with me and my turban and trousers and the rest of my clothes?" then he rose and entered the town and passed through its streets and markets; but the people followed him and pressed on him, crying out, "madman! madman!" till he took refuge in a cook's shop. now this cook had been a robber and a sharper, but god had made him repent and turn from his evil ways and open a cookshop; and all the people of damascus stood in awe of him and feared his mischief. so when they saw bedreddin enter his shop, they dispersed for fear of him and went their ways. the cook looked at bedreddin and noting his beauty and grace, fell in love with him and said to him, "whence comest thou, o youth? tell me thy case, for thou art become to me dearer than my soul." so bedreddin told him all that had befallen him from first to last; and the cook said, "o my lord bedreddin, this is indeed a strange thing and a rare story; but, o my son, keep thy case secret, till god grant thee relief, and abide here with me meanwhile, for i am childless and will adopt thee as my son." and bedreddin answered, "i will well, o uncle." with this the cook went to the bazaar, where he bought him a handsome suit of clothes and made him put it on, then carried him to the cadi and formally acknowledged him as his son. so bedreddin passed in damascus for the cook's son and abode with him, sitting in the shop to take the money. to return to the lady of beauty. when the day broke and she awoke from sleep, she missed bedreddin from her side and thought he had gone to the lavatory, so lay expecting him awhile, when behold, her father entered. now he was sore at heart by reason of what had passed between him and the sultan and for that he had married his daughter by force to one of his servants, and he a lump of a hunchbacked groom; and he said to himself, "if she have suffered this damnable fellow to possess her, i will kill her." so he came to the door of the alcove and cried out, "ho, lady of beauty!" she replied, "here am i, o my lord"; and came out tottering for joy, with a face whose brightness and beauty had redoubled for that she had lain in the arms of that gazelle,[fn# ] and kissed the ground before her father. when the vizier saw her thus, he said to her, "o accursed woman, dost thou rejoice in this groom?" at these words, the lady of beauty smiled and said, "o my lord, let what happened yesterday suffice, when all the folk were laughing at me and flouting me with that groom, who is not worth the paring of one of my husband's nails. by allah, i never in all my life passed a pleasanter night! so do not mock me by reminding me of that hunchback." when her father heard this, he was filled with rage and glared at her, saving, "out on thee! what words are these? it was the hunchbacked groom that lay with thee." "for god's sake," replied the lady of beauty, "do not mention him to me, may god curse his father! and mock me not, for the groom was only hired for ten dinars to conjure the evil eye from us, and he took his hire and departed. as for me, i entered the bridal chamber, where i found my true husband sitting in the alcove, him before whom the singers had unveiled me and who flung them the red gold by handsful, till he made all the poor there rich; and i passed the night in the arms of my sprightly husband, with the black eyes and joined eyebrows." when her father heard this, the light in his eyes became darkness, and he cried out at her, saying, "o wanton, what is this thou sayest? where are thy senses?" "o my father," rejoined she, "thou breakest my heart with thy persistence in making mock of me! indeed, my husband, who took my maidenhead, is in the wardrobe and i am with child by him." the vizier rose, wondering, and entered the draught-house, where he found the hunchbacked groom with his head in the slit and his heels in the air. at this sight he was confounded and said, "this is none other than the hunchback." so he called to him, "hallo, hunchback!" the groom made no answer but a grunt, thinking it was the afrit who spoke to him. but the vizier cried out at him, saying, "speak, or i will cut off thy head with this sword." then said the hunchback, "by allah, o chief of the afrits, i have not lifted my head since thou didst set me here; so, god on thee, have mercy on me!" "what is this thou sayest?" quoth the vizier. "i am no afrit; i am the father of the bride." "it is enough that though hast already gone nigh to make me lose my life," replied the hunchback, "go thy ways ere he come upon thee who served me thus. could ye find none to whom to marry me but the mistress of an afrit and the beloved of a buffalo? may god curse him who married me to her and him who was the cause of it?" then said the vizier to him, "come, get up out of this place." "am i mad," answered the groom, "that i should go with thee without the afrit's leave? he said to me, 'when the sun rises, get up and go thy way.' so has the sun risen or no? for i dare not budge till then." "who brought thee hither?" asked the vizier; and the hunchback replied, "i came here last night to do an occasion, when behold, a mouse came out of the water and squeaked and grew to a buffalo and spoke to me words that entered my ears. then he left me here and went away, accursed be the bride and he who married me to her!" the vizier went up to him and set him on his feet; and he went out, running, not crediting that the sun had risen, and repaired to the sultan, to whom he related what had befallen him with the afrit. meanwhile, the vizier returned to the bride's chamber, troubled in mind about his daughter, and said to her, "o my daughter, expound thy case to me." "o my father," answered she, "what more can i tell thee? indeed, the bridegroom, he before whom they displayed me yesterday, lay with me all night and took my virginity, and i am with child by him. if thou believe me not, there is his turban, just as he left it, on the settle, and his trousers under the bed, with i know not what wrapped up in them." when her father heard this, he entered the alcove and found bedreddin's turban; so he took it up and turning it about, said, "this is a vizier's turban, except that it is of the mosul cut."[fn# ] then he perceived an amulet sewn in the cap of the turban so he unsewed the lining and took it out; then took the trousers, in which was the purse of a thousand dinars. in the latter he found the duplicate of bedreddin's docket of sale to the jew, naming him as bedreddin hassan, son of noureddin ali of cairo. no sooner had he read this, than he cried out and fell down in a swoon; and when he revived, he wondered and said, "there is no god but god the omnipotent! o my daughter, dost thou know who took thy maidenhead?" "no," answered she; and he said, "it was thy cousin, my brother's son, and these thousand dinars are thy dowry' glory be to god! would i knew how this had come about!" then he opened the amulet and found therein a paper in the handwriting of his brother noureddin; and when he saw his writing, he knew it and kissed it again and again, weeping and making moan for his brother. then he read the scroll and found in it a record of the dates of noureddin's marriage with the vizier's daughter of bassora, his going in to her, her conception and the birth of bedreddin hassan, and the history of his brother's life till his death. at this he wondered and was moved to joy and comparing the dates with those of his own marriage and the birth of his daughter the lady of beauty, found that they agreed in all respects. so he took the scroll and carrying it to the sultan, told him the whole story from first to last, at which the king wondered and commanded the case to be at once set down in writing. the vizier abode all that day awaiting his nephew, but he came not; and when seven days were past and he could learn nothing of him, he said, "by allah, i will do a thing that none has done before me!" so he took pen and ink and paper and drew a plan of the bride-chamber, showing the disposition of all the furniture therein, as that the alcove was in such a place, this or that curtain in another, and so on with all that was in the room. then he folded the paper and laid it aside, and causing all the furniture to be taken up and stored away, took bedreddin's purse and turban and clothes and locked them up with an iron padlock, on which he set a seal, against his nephew's coming. as for the lady of beauty, she accomplished the months of her pregnancy and bore a son like the full moon, resembling his father in beauty and grace. they cut his navel and blackened his eyelids with kohl[fn# ] and committed him to the nurses, naming him agib. his day was as a month and his month as a year, and when seven years had passed over him, his grandfather sent him to school, bidding the master teach him to read the koran and give him a good education; and he remained at the school four years, till he began to bully the little ones and beat them and abuse them, saying, "which of you is like me? i am the son of the vizier of egypt." at last the children came, in a body, to complain to the monitor of agib's behavior to them, and he said, "i will tell you how to do with him, so that he shall leave coming to the school and you shall never see him again. it is this: when he comes to-morrow, sit down round him and let one of you say to the others, 'by allah, none shall play at this game except he tell us the names of his father and mother; for he who knows not his parents' names is a bastard and shall not play with us.'" so next day, when agib came to the school, they all assembled round him, and one of them said, "we will play a game, in which no one shall join except he tell us the names of his father and mother." and they all said, "by allah, it is good." then said one of them, "my name is majid, my mother's name is alawiyeh and my father's izeddin." and the others said the like, till it came to agib's turn and he said, "my name is agib, my mother is the lady of beauty and my father shemseddin, vizier of egypt." "by allah," cried they, "the vizier is not thy father." said he, "he is indeed my father." then they all laughed and clapped their hands at him, saying, "he does not know his father! arise and go out from us, for none shall play with us, except he know his father's name." thereupon they dispersed from around him and laughed him to scorn, leaving him choked with tears and mortification. then said the monitor to him, "o agib, knowst thou not that the vizier is thy mother's father, thy grandfather and not thy father? as for thy father, thou knowest him not nor do we, for the sultan married thy mother to a humpbacked groom; but the jinn came and lay with her, and thou hast no known father. wherefore, do thou leave evening thyself with the boys in the school, till thou know who is thy father; for till then thou wilt pass for a misbegotten brat amongst them. dost thou not see that the huckster's son knows his own father? thy grandfather is the vizier of egypt, but as for thy father, we know him not, and we say, thou hast no father. so return to thy senses." when agib heard the insulting words of the children and the monitor, he went out at once and ran to his mother, to complain to her; but his tears would not let him speak awhile. when she heard his sobs and saw his tears, her heart was on fire for him and she said to him, "o my son, why dost thou weep? tell me what is the matter." so he told her what the children and the monitor had said and said to her, "who is my father, o my mother?" "thy father is the vizier of egypt," answered she; but he said, "do not lie to me. the vizier is thy father, not mine. who then is my father? except thou tell me the truth, i will kill myself with this dagger." when the lady of beauty heard him speak of his father, she wept, as she thought of her cousin and her bridal-night, and repeated the following verses: love in my breast, alas! they lit and went away; far distant is the camp that holds my soul's delight! patience and reason fled from me, when they withdrew; sleep failed me, and despair o'ercame me like a blight. they left me, and with them departed all my joy; tranquility and peace with them have taken flight. they made my lids run down with tears of love laid waste; my eyes for lack of them brim over day and night. when as my sad soul longs to see them once again and waiting and desire are heavy on my spright; midmost my heart of hearts their images i trace, love and desireful pain and longing for their sight. o ye, one thought of whom clings round me like a cloak, whose love it as a shirt about my body dight, o my beloved ones, how long will ye delay? how long must i endure estrangement and despite? then she wept and cried out and her son did the like, when in came the vizier, whose heart burned within him at the sight of their weeping, and he said, "why do ye weep?" the lady of beauty told him what had happened to agib, and the vizier also wept and called to mind his brother and all that had passed between them and what had befallen his daughter, and knew not the secret of the matter. then he rose at once and going to the divan, related the matter to the sultan and begged his leave to travel eastward to the city of bassora and enquire for his nephew. moreover, he besought him for letters-patent, authorizing him to take bedreddin, wherever he should find him. and he wept before the king, who took pity on him and wrote him royal letters-patent to his deputies in all his provinces; whereat the vizier rejoiced and called down blessings on him. then taking leave of him, he returned to his house, where he equipped himself and his daughter and grandson for the journey, and set out and travelled till he came to the city of damascus and found it rich in trees and waters, even as says the poet: i mind me a night and a day spent in damascus town, (time swore 'twould ne'er again their like to man outmete). we lay in its languorous glades, where the careless calm of the night and the morn, with its smiling eyes and its twy-coloured tresses, meet. the dew to its branches clings like a glittering chain of pearl, whose jewels the zephyr smites and scatters beneath his feet. the birds on the branches chant from the open book of the lake; the breezes write on the scroll and the clouds mark the points, as they fleet. the vizier alighted without the city and pitched his tents in an open space called the plain of pebbles, saying to his servants, "we will rest here two days." so they went down into the city upon their several occasions, this to sell, that to buy, another to go to the bath and a fourth to visit the mosque of the ommiades, whose like is not in the world. agib also went into the city to look about him, followed by an eunuch, carrying a knotted cudgel of almond-tree wood, wherewith if one smote a camel, it would not rise again. when the people of the city saw agib's beauty and symmetry (for he was a marvel of loveliness and winning grace, blander than the northern zephyr,[fn# ] sweeter than limpid water to the thirsty and more delightful than recovery to the sick), a great concourse of folk followed him, whilst others ran on before and sat down in the road, against he should come up, that they might gaze on him, till, as fate would have it, the eunuch stopped before the shop of bedreddin hassan. now the cook was dead and bedreddin, having been formally adopted by him, had succeeded to his shop and property; and in the course of the twelve years that had passed over him, his beard had grown and his understanding ripened. when his son and the eunuch stopped before him, he had just finished preparing a mess of pomegranate-seed, dressed with sugar; and when he looked at agib and saw how beautiful he was, his heart throbbed, blood drew to blood and his bowels yearned to him. so he called to him and said, "o my lord, o thou that hast gotten the mastery of my heart and my soul, thou to whom my bowels yearn, wilt thou not enter my shop and solace my heart by eating of my food?" and the tears welled up, uncalled, from his eyes, and he bethought him of his former estate and compared it with his present condition. when agib heard his words his heart yearned to him, and he said to the eunuch, "indeed, my heart inclines to this cook, and meseems he hath lost a child, so let us enter and gladden his soul by partaking of his hospitality. perhaps god may requite us our kindness to him by reuniting us with my father." "by allah!" replied the eunuch, "it were a fine thing for a vizier's son to eat in a cookshop! indeed, i keep off the folk with this stick, lest they look too closely on thee, and i dare not let thee enter a shop." when bedreddin heard these words, he wondered and turned to the eunuch, with the tears running down his cheeks, and agib said to the latter, "indeed, my heart yearns for him." but he answered, "leave this talk; indeed, thou shalt not go in." then bedreddin turned to the eunuch and said, "o noble sir, why wilt thou not gladden my soul by entering my shop? o thou who art as a chestnut, black without, but with a white heart,[fn# ] thou of whom the poet says ..........." the eunuch laughed and said, "what? say on, by allah, and be quick about it." so bedreddin repeated the following verses: were he not polished and discreet and worthy of all trust, he in kings' houses would not be advanced to high estate. o what a guardian he is for a seraglio! the very angels of the skies delight on him to wait. this pleased the eunuch, who laughed and taking agib by the hand, entered the shop with him. bedreddin ladled out a dishful of pomegranate-seed, conserved with almonds and sugar, and set it before them, saying, "ye do me honour. eat and may health and enjoyment attend you!" and agib said to him, "sit down and eat with us, so haply god may unite us with him for whom we long." "o my son," said bedreddin, "hast thou then suffered the loss of friends, at thy tender age?" "yes, o uncle!" answered agib, "my heart irks me for the loss of a beloved one, who is none other than my father; and indeed my grandfather and myself have come forth to seek for him throughout the world. alas i how i sigh to be united with him!" then he wept sore, whilst bedreddin wept at the sight of his tears and for his bereavement, which recalled to him his own separation from those he loved and from his father and mother, and the eunuch was moved to pity for him. then they ate together till they were satisfied, and agib and the eunuch rose and left the shop. at this, bedreddin felt as if his soul had departed his body and gone with them, for he could not live a moment without their sight, albeit he knew not that agib was his son. so he rose and shutting his shop, hastened after them and overtook them before they went out at the great gate. the eunuch turned and said to him, "what dost thou want?" "when you left me," replied bedreddin, "meseemed my soul had quitted my body, and as i had an occasion without the city, i thought to bear you company till i had done my business and so return." the eunuch was vexed and said to agib, "this is what i feared. because we entered this fellow's shop and ate that unlucky mouthful, he thinks he has a right to presume upon us, for see, he follows us from place to place." agib turned and seeing the cook following him, reddened for anger and said to the eunuch, "let him walk in the high road of the muslims; but if he follow us when we turn aside to our tents, we will drive him away." then he bowed his head and walked on, with the eunuch behind him. when they came to the plain of pebbles and drew near their tents, agib turned and saw bedreddin still following him; whereat he was enraged, fearing least the eunuch should tell his grandfather and vexed that it should be said he had entered a cookshop and the cook had followed him. so he looked at bedreddin and found his eyes fixed on him, for he was as it were a body without a soul; and it seemed to agib that his eye was that of a knave or a lewd fellow. so his rage redoubled and he took up a stone and threw it at bedreddin. it struck him on the forehead and cut it open; and he fell down in a swoon, with the blood streaming down his face, whilst agib and the eunuch made for the tents. when he came to himself, he wiped away the blood and tore off a piece of the muslin of his turban, with which he bound his head, blaming himself and saying, "i wronged the lad in closing my shop and following him, so that he thought i was some lewd fellow." then he returned to his shop, where he busied himself with the sale of his meats; and he yearned after his mother at bassora and wept over her and recited the following verses: if thou demand fair play of fate, therein thou dost it wrong; and blame it not, for twas not made, indeed, for equity. take what lies ready to thy hand and lay concern aside, for troubled days and days of peace in life must surely be. meanwhile, the vizier, his uncle, tarried in damascus three days, then departed for hems, and passing through that city, fared on by way of hemah and aleppo and thence through diarbekir, maridin and mosul, making enquiries at every place he came to, till he arrived at bassora, where he halted and presented himself before the sultan, who received him with honour and consideration and asked the reason of his coming. the vizier related to him his history and told him that noureddin ali was his brother, whereupon the sultan commended the latter's soul to the mercy of god and said, "sir, he was my vizier for fifteen years, and i loved him greatly. then he died, leaving a son, who abode here but two months after his father's death; since which time he hath disappeared and we have never come upon any news of him. but his mother, who was the daughter of my former vizier, is still with us." shemseddin rejoiced to hear that his nephew's mother was still alive and said, "o king, i wish to see her." the king at once gave him leave to visit her; so he betook himself to his brother noureddin's house and went round about it and kissed its threshold. and he bethought him of his brother and how he had died in a strange land and wept and repeated the following verses: i wander through the halls, the halls where leila lived, and kiss the lifeless walls that of her passage tell. it is not for the house that i with passion burn, but for the cherished ones that erst therein did dwell. then he entered the gate and found himself in a spacious courtyard, at the end whereof was a door vaulted over with hard stone, inlaid with vari-coloured marbles. he walked round about the house, and casting his eyes on the walls, saw the name of his brother noureddin written on them in letters of gold. so he went up to the inscription and kissed it and wept for his brother's loss and repeated the following verses: i sue unto the rising sun, each morn, for news of thee, and of the lightning's lurid gleam i do for thee enquire. the hands of passion and of pain sport with me all the night; yet i complain not of the ills i suffer from desire. o my beloved, if the times be yet for me prolonged, be all consumed with separation's fire. lo! if thy sight one happy day should bless my longing eyes, there is no other thing on earth that i of fate require. think not that other loves avail to solace me for thee; my heart can hold no love but thine, my faith can never tire. then he walked on till he came to the lodging of his brother's widow. now from the day of her son's disappearance, she had given herself up to weeping and lamentation day and night; and when the years grew long upon her, she made him a tomb of marble midmost the saloon and there wept for him day and night, sleeping not but thereby. when the vizier drew near her apartment, he heard her weeping and repeating verses, so he went in to her and saluting her, informed her that he was her husband's brother and told her all that had passed between them, and how her son bedreddin hassan had spent a whole night with his daughter, twelve years ago, but had disappeared in the morning, and how she had conceived by him and borne a son, whom he had brought with him. when bedreddin's mother heard this news of her son and grandson and that the former was haply still alive and saw her husband's brother, she threw herself at his feet and kissed them, repeating the following verses: may god be good to him who brought me news that they were come; for never more delightful news unto my ears were borne. if he would take a worn-out weds for boon, i'd proffer him a heart that at the parting hour was all to pieces torn. then the vizier sent for agib; and his grandmother embraced him and wept, but shemseddin said to her, "this is no time for weeping; it behoves thee to make ready to go with us to egypt; perhaps god will reunite us with thy son, my nephew." "i hear and obey," answered she, and rising at once, collected her goods and treasures and equipped herself and her handmaids for the journey, whilst the vizier went to take his leave of the sultan of bassora, who sent by him gifts and rarities to the sultan of egypt. then he set out at once on his homeward journey and travelled till he came to damascus, where he halted and pitched his tents as before, saying to his suite, "we will halt here a week, to buy presents and curiosities for the sultan." now the tie of blood drew agib to his father, so he said to the eunuch, "o laic, i have a mind to go a-walking; so come, let us go down into the streets of damascus and see what is become of the cook whose victuals we ate and whose head we broke, for indeed he was kind to us and we used him scurvily." the eunuch replied, "i hear and obey." so they left the tents and going down into the city, stayed not till they came to the cookshop, where they found bedreddin hassan standing at the door. it was near the time of afternoon-prayer, and as chance would have it, he had just prepared a mess of pomegranate-seed. agib looked at him and saw the scar of the blow on his forehead; wherefore his heart yearned to him and he said, "peace be on thee! know that my heart is with thee." when bedreddin saw him, his bowels were troubled and his heart throbbed, and he bowed his head and would have spoken, but could not. then he raised his head and looked at his son humbly and imploringly and repeated the following verses: i longed to look on him i love; but when i saw his face, i was as one amazed and lost the use of tongue and eyes. i bowed my head down to his feet for reverence and awe, and would have hidden what i felt, but could it not disguise. volumes of plaining and reproach i had within my heart; yet, when we met, no word i spoke nor uttered aught but sighs. then he said to them, "heal my heart and eat of my food, for, by allah, i cannot look at you but my heart throbs! i should not have followed you the other day, but that i was beside myself." "by allah," replied agib, "thou art too fond of us! we ate with thee before and thou madest us repent of it, in that thou followedst us and wouldst have put us to shame; so we will not eat with thee, except thou swear not to go out after us nor follow us. else we will not visit thee again during our present stay, for we abide here a week, that my grandfather may take presents for the king." and bedreddin said, "i grant you this." so agib and the eunuch entered, and bedreddin set before them a dish of pomegranate-seed. quoth agib, "sit down and eat with us, so haply god may grant us relief." at this bedreddin was glad and sat down and ate with them, with his eyes fixed on agib's face, for indeed his heart and entrails were taken with his love, till the boy said to him, "what a tiresome dotard thou art! leave thy staring in my face." when bedreddin heard this, he repeated the following verses: thy face excites in all men's hearts a love they do not own; folded in silence and concealed, it may not be made known. o thou whose beauty puts to shame the splendour of the moon, whose grace recalls the shining sight of morning newly blown, in thy bright visage is a sign that may not be fulfilled, and there all beauties that incite to tenderness are shown. must i then die of thirst, what while thy lips with nectar flow? thy face is paradise to me; must i in hell-fire groan? so they ate till they were satisfied, when bedreddin rose and poured water on their hands, wiping them with a napkin of silk, which he loosed from his waist; after which he sprinkled rose-water on them from a casting-bottle he had by him. then he went out and returned with a pitcher of sherbet, flavoured with rose-water and musk, which he set before them, saying, "complete your favours to me, by drinking of this sherbet." so agib took the pitcher and drank and passed it to the eunuch, and it went round amongst them till their stomachs were full, for they had eaten and drunken beyond their wont. then they went away and made haste in walking till they reached the tents, and agib went in to his grandmother, who kissed him, and thinking of her son bedreddin hassan, wept and repeated the following verses: but for my hope that god would yet our severed loves unite, i had not lived for life to me is void of all delight. i swear there's nothing in my heart but love of thee alone, by god, who reads the heart and brings the hidden things to light! and she said to agib, "o my son, where hast thou been?" quoth he, "we have been in the city of damascus. then she rose and set before him confection of pomegranate-seed and said to the eunuch, "sit down and eat with thy young master." the eunuch said to himself, "by allah, we have no mind to eat!" but he sat down, and so did agib, though his belly was full of what he had already eaten and drunk. now the conserve lacked sugar, so he took a piece of bread and dipped it therein and ate, but found it insipid, for that he was already surfeited, and exclaimed, "faugh! what is this nasty mess?" "o my son," said his grandmother, "dost thou find fault with my cookery? i cooked this myself, and there is not a cook in the land can compare with me, except it be thy father bedreddin hassan." "o my lady," replied agib, "this thy dish is naught; for we saw but now in the city a cook who dresses pomegranate-seed, so that the very smell of it opens the heart and the taste would give a full man an appetite; and as for thy mess, compared with his, it is worth neither much nor little." when his grandmother heard this, she was exceeding wroth and said to the eunuch, "out on thee, dost thou corrupt my grandson and take him into cookshops?" the eunuch was frightened and denied, saying, "we did not enter the shop, but only saw it in passing." "by allah!" said agib, "we went in and ate, and it was better than thine." then his grandmother rose and went and told her brother-in-law, who was incensed against the eunuch and sending for him, said to him, "why didst thou take my son into a cookshop?" "we did not go in," replied the eunuch. but agib said, "we did go in and ate of pomegranate-seed, till we were full; and the cook gave us to drink of iced sherbet of sugar." at this, the vizier's anger redoubled and he questioned the eunuch, but he still denied. then said the vizier, "if what thou sayest be true, sit down and eat before us." so he sat down and tried to eat, but could not and threw away the morsel, saying, "o my lord, indeed i am full since yesterday." by this, the vizier knew that he had eaten at the cook's and bade his slaves throw him down and beat him. so they drubbed him, till he roared for mercy and said, "o my lord, do not beat me, and i will tell thee the truth." whereupon the vizier stopped the beating and said, "speak the truth." quoth the eunuch, "know then that we did enter the shop of a cook, who was dressing pomegranate seed, and he set some of it before us; by allah, i never ate the like of it in my life, nor did i ever taste aught nastier than that which is before us!" bedreddin's mother was enraged at this and said to the eunuch, "thou must go back to the cook and fetch us a dish of his pomegranate-seed and show it to thy master, that he may say which is the better, his or mine." "good," answered he. so she gave him a dish and half a dinar, and he returned to the shop and said to bedreddin, "we have made a wager about thy cookery in our lord's household, for they have pomegranate-seed there also; so give me half a dinar's worth of thy confection and let it be of thy best, for i have eaten my bellyful of stick on account of thy cookery." bedreddin laughed and answered, "by allah, none can dress this dish aright but myself and my mother, and she is far away." then he filled the dish with pomegranate-seed and finishing it off with musk and rose-water, gave it to the eunuch, who hastened back with it and delivered it to bedreddin's mother. no sooner had she tasted it and remarked the excellence of its flavour and cookery, than she knew who had dressed it and shrieked and fell down in a swoon, to the amazement of the vizier, who sprinkled rose-water on her, till she came to herself and said, "if my son be yet of this world, none made this conserve but he! without doubt, this cook is my son bedreddin hassan, for none knew how to dress this dish but he and i, and i taught him." the vizier rejoiced greatly at her words, and said, "o how i long to see my brother's son! i wonder if the days will indeed reunite us with him! but it is to god alone that we look for reunion with him." then he went out forthright and said to his men, "let twenty of you go to the cook's shop and demolish it; then tie his hands behind him with the linen of his turban, saying, 'it was thou madest that vile mess of pomegranate-seed,' and bring him hither by force, but without doing him any hurt." and they replied, "it is well." then he mounted and riding to the palace, foregathered with the viceroy of damascus and showed him the sultan's letters-patent. he kissed them and laying them on his head, said to the vizier, "who is it hath offended against thee?" quoth the vizier, "he is a cook of this city." so the viceroy at once despatched his chamberlains to the shop and they went thither and found it in ruins and everything in it broken; for whilst the vizier was at the palace, his men had done his bidding and carried bedreddin to the tents, where they were then awaiting their master's return, whilst bedreddin said, "i wonder what they can have found in the pomegranate-seed to bring matters to this pass!" when the vizier returned to the tents, after having gotten the viceroy's permission to take his debtor and depart with him, he called for the cook, and they brought bedreddin before him, with his hands bound behind his back. when he saw his uncle, he wept sore and said, "o my lord, what is my offence against thee?" "art thou he who made the mess of pomegranate-seed?" asked shemseddin. "yes," replied bedreddin; "didst thou find aught in it to call for the cutting off of my head?" quoth the vizier, "that were the least of thy desert." "o my lord," said bedreddin, "wilt thou not tell me my crime and what ails the pomegranate-seed?" "presently," answered the vizier and called to his men, saying, "bring the camels." so they struck camp and the vizier caused bedreddin to be put into a chest, which they locked and set on a camel. then they departed and journeyed till nightfall, when they halted to eat and took bedreddin out of his chest and fed him and locked him up again. then they set out again and travelled till they reached kumreh, where they took him out of the chest and brought him before the vizier, who said to him, "art thou he who made the mess of pomegranate-seed?" "yes, o my lord," answered he; and shemseddin said, "shackle him." so they shackled him and returned him to the chest and fared on again, till they arrived at cairo and halted in the suburb of er reidaniyeh. then the vizier commanded to take bedreddin out of his chest and sent for a carpenter, to whom he said, "make a cross[fn# ] of wood for this fellow." quoth bedreddin, "what wilt thou do with it?" "i mean to nail thee upon it," replied the vizier, "and parade thee throughout the city." "and why wilt thou use me thus? asked bedreddin; and the vizier answered, "because of thy villainous mess of pomegranate-seed and for that it lacked pepper." "and because it lacked pepper," said bedreddin, "wilt thou do all this to me? is it not enough that thou hast laid my shop in ruins and smashed my gear and imprisoned me and fed me but once a day?" "it lacked pepper," answered the vizier; "and nothing less than death is thy desert." at this bedreddin wondered and mourned for himself, till the vizier said to him, "of what art thou thinking?" "i was thinking of crack-brains like unto thee," answered bedreddin, "for hadst thou any sense, thou wouldst not treat me thus." quoth the vizier, "it behoves me to punish thee, lest thou do the like again." and bedreddin said, "verily, my offence were over-punished by the least of what thou hast already done to me." "it avails not," answered shemseddin; "i must crucify thee." all this time the carpenter was shaping the cross, whilst bedreddin looked on; and thus they did till nightfall, when the vizier took him and clapped him in the chest, saying, "the thing shall be done tomorrow." then he waited till he knew bedreddin to be asleep, when he mounted and taking the chest up before him, rode into the town to his own house, where he alighted and said to his daughter, the lady of beauty, "praised be god who hath reunited thee with thy cousin! arise and order the house as it was on thy wedding-night." so the servants arose and lit the candles, whilst the vizier took out his plan of the bride chamber and directed them what to do, till they had set everything in its place, so that whoever saw it would not doubt but it was the very night of the wedding. then he made them lay bedreddin's turban on the stool, where he had left it, and his trousers and purse under the mattress, and bade his daughter undress herself and go to bed, as on the wedding-night, adding, "when he comes in to thee, say to him, 'thou has tarried long in the wardrobe,' and call him to lie with thee and hold him in converse till the morning, when we will explain the whole matter to him." then he took bedreddin out of the chest and laid him in the vestibule, after he had unbound him and taken off his clothes, leaving him in a shirt of fine silk, and he still asleep and knowing nothing. presently he turned over and awoke, and finding himself in a lighted vestibule, said to himself, "surely, i am dreaming." then he rose and opening the inner door, found himself in the chamber, where he had passed his wedding-night, and knew the alcove and the stool by the bed-side, with his turban and clothes. when he saw this, he was confounded and advanced one foot and drew the other back, saying, "am i asleep or awake?" and he began to rub his forehead and say, wondering, "by allah, this is the chamber of the bride that was unveiled before me! but where can i be? i was surely but now in a chest." whilst he was debating with himself, the lady of beauty lifted the curtain of the alcove and said to him, "o my lord, wilt thou not come in? thou hast tarried long in the wardrobe." when he heard what she said and saw her face, he laughed and said, "this is certainly an imbroglio of dreams!" then he entered, sighing, and recalled what had happened and was perplexed, and his affair became confused to him and he knew not what to think. presently, he caught sight of his turban and trousers, so he handled the latter and feeling the purse of a thousand dinars, said, "god alone is all knowing! i am certainly in the mazes of a dream." then said the lady of beauty to him, "what ails thee to stand agape and seem perplexed? thou wast not thus the first part of the night." he laughed and said to her, "how long have i been absent from thee?" "god preserve thee!" exclaimed she. "the name of god encompass thee! thou didst but go out an hour ago to do an occasion and return. hast thou lost thy wits?" when bedreddin heard this, he laughed and said, "thou art right; but when i went out from thee, i forgot myself in the closet and dozed and dreamt that i was a cook in damascus and abode there twelve years and that there came to me a boy, the son of some great man, and with him an eunuch." here he put his hand to his forehead and feeling the scar made by the stone, said, "by allah, o lady, it must have been true, for here is the scar made by the stone, with which he smote me and cut my forehead open. so it would seem as if it had really happened. but perhaps i dreamt it, when we embraced and fell asleep together: for meseemed i journeyed to damascus without turban or drawers and set up as a cook there." then he was perplexed and considered awhile and said, "by allah, i fancied also that i made a mess of pomegranate-seed and put too little pepper in it. by allah, i must have slept in the closet and dreamt all this!" "god on thee," said the lady of beauty, "tell me what else thou didst dream." "by allah," replied he, "had i not woke up, they would have nailed me to a cross of wood!" "wherefore?" asked she; and he said, "because of the lack of pepper in the pomegranate-seed. meseemed they demolished my shop and broke my utensils in pieces and put me in a chest; then they sent for a carpenter to make a cross and would have crucified me thereon. but praised be god who caused all this to happen to me in sleep and not on wake!" the lady of beauty laughed and pressed him to her bosom, and he returned her caresses; then he thought again and said, "by allah, i cannot help thinking it must have been a reality after all! indeed i know not what to think of it all." then he lay down and passed the night in a state of perplexity, saying now, "i was dreaming," and now, "i was awake," till the morning, when his uncle shemseddin entered and saluted him. when bedreddin saw him, he said to him, "by allah, art thou not he who gave orders to bind me and demolish my shop and would have nailed me on a cross, and all because a mess of pomegranate-seed lacked pepper?" "o my son," replied the vizier, "know that the truth has appeared and that which was hidden is divulged. thou art my brother's son, and i did all this with thee but that i might certify myself that thou wast indeed he who lay with my daughter on her wedding-night. i could not be sure of this, till i saw that thou knewest the chamber and thy turban and clothes and purse and the scrolls in thy handwriting and that of my brother, for i had never seen thee and did not know thee; and i have brought thy mother with me from bassora." so saying, he threw himself on him and they embraced and wept for excess of joy. then said the vizier to bedreddin, "o my son, all this came of what passed between thy father and myself." and he told him what had taken place between them and the manner of his father's flight to bassora; after which he sent for agib, and when his father saw him, he exclaimed, "this is he who threw the stone at me!" quoth the vizier, "this is thy son." and bedreddin threw himself on agib and repeated the following verses: long time have i bewailed the sev'rance of our loves, with tears that from my lids streamed down like burning rain, and vowed that, if the days should reunite us two, my lips should never speak of severance again. joy hath o'erwhelmed me so, that for the very stress of that which gladdens me, to weeping i am fain. tears are become to you a habit, o my eyes! so that ye weep as well for gladness as for pain. presently, bedreddin's mother came in and fell on him, repeating the following verses: when we met, to each other we both did complain of the manifold things that we each had to say; for the lover's complaint of the anguish he feels the tongue of a messenger cannot convey. then she wept and related to him what had befallen her since his departure, and he told her what he had suffered and they thanked god the most high for their reunion with one another. two days after his arrival, the vizier went in to the sultan and kissing the earth before him, saluted him after the fashion of salutation to kings. the sultan rejoiced at his return and received him with distinguished favour. then he desired to hear what had befallen him in his travels; so the vizier told him all that had passed, and the sultan said, "praised be god for that thou hast attained thy desire and returned in safety to thy kinsfolk and family! i must see thy brother's son, so do thou bring him to the divan tomorrow." shemseddin replied, "god willing, thy slave shall be present tomorrow." then he saluted him and returning to his own house, informed his nephew of the king's wish to see him, to which bedreddin replied, "the slave is obedient to his lord's commands." so next day he accompanied his uncle to the divan and after saluting the sultan in the most punctilious and elegant manner, repeated the following verses: all ranks and classes kiss the earth, in homage to thy state, for lo i through thee their every wish is crowned with happy fate. for thou the fount of honour art for those that hope in thee, and from thy hand the bounties flow that make there rich and great. the sultan smiled and signed to him to sit down. so he sat down beside the vizier, and the king enquired his name. quoth bedreddin, "the meanest of thy slaves is known as bedreddin hassan of bassora, who prays for thee day and night." the sultan was pleased at his words and being minded to try him and prove his knowledge and good-breeding, said to him, "dost thou remember any verses in praise of a mole on the cheek?" "yes," replied bedreddin, and repeated the following: when i think of my loved one, the sighs from my breast burst up and the tears to my eyes quickly start. she's a mole, that resembles, in beauty and hue, the black of the eye and the core of the heart. the sultan liked these verses and said, "let us have some more. heaven bless thy sire! may thy tongue never tire!" so he repeated the following: the mole's black spot upon her cheek they liken to a grain of musk; yet wonder not at that, for wonder were in vain. but rather wonder at her face, wherein all beauty is: there is no particle of grace that it doth not contain. the sultan shook with delight and said to him, "more! god bless thy life!" so he repeated the following: o thou, the moles upon whose cheek recall globules of musk upon cornelian strewed, grant me thy favours, be not hard of heart, o thou, my heart's desire, my spirit's food! then said the king, "thou hast done well, o hassan, and hast acquitted thyself most excellently. but tell me how many meanings hath the word khal[fn# ] in the arabic language." "fifty," replied hassan, "and some say eight and-fifty." quoth the king, "thou art right. canst thou tell me the points of excellence in beauty?" "yes," answered bedreddin, "brightness of face, purity of skin, shapeliness in the nose, softness in the eyes, sweetness in the mouth, elegance in speech, slenderness of shape and quickness of wit; and the perfection of beauty is in the hair. and indeed es shihab el hijazi has brought them all together in the following doggrel: say to the face, 'be bright,' and to the skin, say, 'see, i show thee what befits thee best: 'tis purity.' for elegance of shape the nose we chiefly prize, and languor soft it is, that best becomes the eyes. then say unto the mouth, 'sweetness, but mark thou me; let fragrancy of breath fail never unto thee.' chaste be the speech, the shape be slender and well knit, and quickness mark the thought, the manners and the wit. then say that in the hair is ever beauty's prime. give ear to me and eke forgive my doggrel rhyme." the sultan rejoiced in his converse and said to him "what is the meaning of the popular saying, 'shureih is more cunning than the fox'?" "know, o king," answered bedreddin, "may god aid thee! that shureih[fn# ] was wont during the days of the plague, to go out to nejef, and whenever he stood up to pray, there came a fox, which would plant itself over against him and distract him from his devotions by mimicking his movements. this went on for some time, till the man became weary of it; so one day he took off his shirt and put it on a cane and shook out the sleeves. then he set his turban on top of the cane and tied a girdle round the middle of the effigy and planted it in the place where he used to say his prayers. presently up came the fox, according to his wont, and stood over against the figure; whereupon shureih came behind him and took him: hence the saying." when the sultan heard bedreddin's explanation, he said to his uncle shemseddin, "verily, this thy nephew is perfect in all kinds of culture. i do not believe that his like is to be found in egypt." at this, bedreddin arose and kissed the earth and sat down again in the posture of a servant before his master. when the sultan had thus assured himself of his proficiency in the liberal arts, he rejoiced greatly and bestowing on him a splendid dress of honour, invested him with an office, whereby he might better his condition. then bedreddin arose and kissing the earth before the king, wished him enduring glory and craved leave to retire. the sultan gave him leave; so he returned home with his uncle and they set food before them and they ate, after which bedreddin repaired to his wife's apartment and told her what had passed between the sultan and himself. quoth she, "he cannot fail to make thee his boon-companion and load thee with favours and presents; and by the grace of god, the splendours of thy perfections shall shine like the greater light,[fn# ] wherever thou goest, by land or sea." then said he, "i purpose to make an ode in the king's praise, that he may redouble in affection for me." "that is well thought," replied she. "consider it well and word thy thought elegantly, and i doubt not but it will procure thee his favour." so bedreddin shut himself up and composed the following verses, which he copied in an ornamental hand: my king hath reached the height of lordlihead; the shining path of virtue he cloth tread. his justice blocks the ways against his foes and peace and plenty showers on every stead. bold as a lion, pious, quick of wit, angel or king,[fn# ] he's whichsoe'er is said. he sends the suppliant content away. words fail, indeed, to paint his goodlihead. in time of gifts, he's like the brilliant moon; like night, in battle, lowering and dread. our necks are girt with his munificence; he rules by favours on the noble shed. may god prolong his life for our behoof and ward the blows of fortune from his head. when he had finished transcribing the poem, he despatched it by one of his uncle's slaves to the king, who perused it, and it gladdened his heart; so he read it out to those present before him and they praised it exceedingly. then he sent for bedreddin to his sitting-chamber and said to him, "henceforth thou art my boon-companion and i appoint thee a stipend of a thousand dirhems a month, over and above what i have already given thee." so he arose and kissing the earth three times before the sultan, wished him abiding glory and length of life. then bedreddin increased in honour and estate, so that his report spread into all countries, and he abode in the enjoyment of all the delights and comforts of life, he and his uncle and family, till death overtook him.' when the khalif haroun er reshid heard this story from the mouth of his vizier jaafer, he wondered and said, 'it behoves that these stories be written in letters of gold.' then he set the slave at liberty and assigned the young man who had killed his wife such a monthly allowance as sufficed to make his life easy. moreover he gave him one of his female slaves to wife, and he became one of his boon-companions. story of the hunchback there lived once in the city of bassora a tailor, who was openhanded and loved pleasure and merrymaking: and he was wont, he and his wife, to go out by times, a-pleasuring, to the public places of recreation. one day they went out as usual and were returning home in the evening, when they fell in with a hunchback, the sight of whom would make the disappointed laugh and dispel chagrin from the sorrowful. so they went up to look at him and invited him to go home and make merry with them that night. he consented and accompanied them to their house; whereupon, the night being now come, the tailor went out to the market and buying fried fish and bread and lemon and conserve of roses by way of dessert, set them before the hunchback, and they ate. presently, the tailor's wife took a great piece of fish and cramming it into the hunchback's mouth, clapped her hand over it, saying, 'by allah, thou must swallow it at one gulp; and i will give thee no time to chew it.' so he bolted it; but there was a great bone in it, which stuck in his gullet, and his hour being come, it choked him, and he died at once. when the tailor saw this, he exclaimed, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god! alas, poor wretch, that he should have come by his death at our hands!' 'why dost thou waste time in idle lamentation?' rejoined his wife. 'hast thou not heard it said......?' and she repeated the following verses: what ails me that i waste the time in idle grief, until i find no friend mishap for me to bear? who but a fool would sit upon an unquenched fire? to wait upon mischance as great a folly were. 'what is to be done?' asked he; and she replied, 'rise and take the hunchback in thine arms and cover him with a silk handkerchief: then go out with him, and i will go before thee: and if thou meet any one, say, "this is my son: his mother and i are taking him to the doctor, that he may look at him." so he rose and taking the hunchback in his arms, carried him along the streets, preceded by his wife, who kept saying, 'o my son, god keep thee! where has this smallpox attacked thee and in what part dost thou feel pain?' so that all who saw them said, 'it is a child ill of smallpox.' they went along, enquiring for a doctor, till the people directed them to the house of one, who was a jew. they knocked at the gate, and a black servant-maid came down and opened the door and seeing a man carrying a child and a woman with him, said to them, 'what is your business?' 'we have a sick child here,' answered the tailor's wife, 'whom we want the doctor to look at: so take this quarter-dinar and give it to thy master, and let him come down and see my son.' the girl went up to tell her master, leaving the tailor and his wife in the vestibule, whereupon the latter said to her husband, 'let us leave the hunchback here and be off.' so the tailor carried the dead man to the top of the stairs and propping him up against the wall, went away, he and his wife. meanwhile the serving-maid went in to the jew and said to him, 'there are a man and a woman at the gate, with a sick child; and they have given me a quarter-dinar for thee, that thou mayst go down and see the child and prescribe for him.' when the jew saw the quarter-dinar, he was glad and rose hastily and went down in the dark. hardly had he made a step, when he stumbled on the dead body and threw it down, and it rolled to the bottom of the stairs. so he cried out to the girl to make haste with the light, and she brought it, whereupon he went down and examining the hunchback, found that he was dead. 'o esdras and moses and the ten commandments!' exclaimed he; 'o aaron and joshua, son of nun! i have stumbled against the sick person and he has fallen downstairs and is dead! how shall i get the body out of my house?' then he took it up and carrying it into the house, told his wife what had happened. quoth she, 'why dost thou sit still? if he be found here when the day rises, we shall both of us lose our lives. let us carry him up to the roof and throw him over into the house of our neighbour the muslim; for if he abide there a night, the dogs will come down on him from the terraces and eat him all up.' now the neighbour in question was controller of the sultan's kitchen and was wont to bring home great store of fat and broken meats; but the cats and mice used to eat it, or, if the dogs scented a fat sheep's tail, they would come down from the roofs and tear at it; and in this way he lost much of what he brought home. so the jew and his wife carried the hunchback up to the roof, and letting him down, through the windshaft, into the controller's house, stood him up against the wall and went away. hardly had they done so, when the controller, who had been spending the evening with some of his friends, hearing a recitation of the koran, came home and going up with a lighted candle, found a man standing in the corner, under the ventilator. when he saw this, he said, 'by allah, this is a fine thing! he who steals my goods is none other than a man.' then he turned to the hunchback and said to him, 'so it is thou that stealest the meat and fat. i thought it was the cats and dogs, and i kill the cats and dogs of the quarter and sin against them. and all the while it is thou comest down through the windshaft! but i will take my wreak of thee with my own hand.' so he took-a great cudgel and smote him on the breast, and he fell down. then he examined him and finding that he was dead, cried out in horror, thinking that he had killed him, and said, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god the supreme, the omnipotent!' and he feared for himself and said, 'may god curse the fat and the sheep's tails, that have caused this man's death to be at my hand!' then he looked at the dead man and seeing him to be humpbacked, said, 'did it not suffice thee to be a hunchback, but thou must turn thief and steal meat and fat? o protector, extend to me thy gracious protection!' then he took him up on his shoulders and going forth with him, carried him to the beginning of the market, where he set him on his feet against the wall of a shop, at the corner of a dark lane, and went away. after awhile, there came up a christian, the sultan's broker, who had sallied forth, in a state of intoxication, intending for the bath, for in his drunkenness he thought that matins were near. he came staggering along, till he drew near the hunchback and squatted down over against him to make water, when, happening to look round, he saw a man standing against the wall. now some one had snatched off the broker's turban early in the night, and seeing the hunchback standing there he concluded that he meant to play him the same trick. so he clenched his fist and smote him on the neck. down fell the hunchback, whilst the broker called to the watchman of the market and fell on the dead man, pummelling and throttling him in the excess of his drunken rage. presently, the watchman came up and finding a christian kneeling on a muslim and beating him, said to the former, 'what is the matter?' 'this fellow tried to snatch off my turban,' answered the broker; and the watchman said, 'get up from him.' so he rose, and the watchman went up to the hunchback and finding him dead, exclaimed, 'by allah, it is a fine thing that a christian should kill a muslim!' then he seized the broker and tying his hands behind him, carried him to the house of the prefect of police, where they passed the night; and all the while the broker kept saying, 'o messiah! o virgin! how came i to kill this man? indeed, he must have been in a great hurry to die of one blow with the fist!' and his drunkenness left him and reflection came in its stead. as soon as it was day, the prefect came out and commanded to hang the supposed murderer and bade the executioner make proclamation of the sentence. so they set up a gallows, under which they made the broker stand, and the hangman put the rope round his neck and was about to hoist him up, when behold, the controller of the sultan's kitchen, passing by, saw the broker about to be hanged, and pressing through the crowd, cried out to the executioner, saying, 'stop! stop! i am he who killed the hunchback.' quoth the prefect, 'what made thee kill him?' and he replied, 'i came home last night and found this man who had come down the windshaft to steal my goods; so i struck him with a cudgel on the breast and he died. then i took him up and carried him to the market and set him up against the wall in such a place. is it not enough for me to have killed a muslim, without burdening my conscience with the death of a christian also? hang therefore none but me.' when the prefect heard this, he released the broker and said to the executioner, 'hang up this man on his own confession.' so he loosed the rope from the broker's neck and threw it round that of the controller, and placing him under the gallows, was about to hang him, when behold, the jewish physician pushed through the press and cried out, 'stop! it was i and none else who killed him! i was sitting at home last night, when a man and a woman knocked at the door, carrying this hunchback, who was sick, and gave my servant a quarter-dinar, bidding her give it to me and tell me to come down to see him. whilst she was gone, they brought the hunchback into the house and setting him on the stairs, went away. presently, i came down and not seeing him, stumbled on him in the dark, and he fell to the foot of the stair and died forthright. then we took him up, i and my wife, and carried him on to the roof, whence we let him down, through the windshaft, into the house of this controller, which adjoins my own. when he came home and found the hunchback, he took him for a robber and beat him, so that he fell to the ground, and he concluded that he had killed him. so is it not enough for me to have killed one muslim unwittingly, without burdening myself with the death of another wittingly?' when the prefect heard the jew's story, he said to the hangman, 'let the controller go, and hang the jew.' so the hangman took the jew and put the rope round his neck, when behold, the tailor pressed through the folk and cried out to him, 'hold thy hand! none killed him save i, and it fell out thus. i had been out a-pleasuring yesterday and coming back in the evening, met this hunchback, who was drunk and singing lustily to a tambourine. so i carried him to my house and bought fish, and we sat down to eat. presently, my wife took a piece of fish and crammed it down the hunchback's throat; but it went the wrong way and stuck in his gullet and choked him, so that he died at once. so we lifted him up, i and my wife, and carried him to the jew's house, where the girl came down and opened the door to us, and i said to her, "give thy master this quarter-dinar and tell him that there are a man and a woman at the door, who have brought a sick person for him to see." so she went in to tell her master, and whilst she was gone, i carried the hunchback to the top of the stair, where i propped him up, and went away with my wife. when the jew came out, he stumbled over him and thought that he had killed him.' then he said to the jew, 'is not this the truth?' 'it is,' replied the jew. and the tailor turned to the prefect and said, 'let the jew go, and hang me.' when the prefect heard the tailor's story, he wondered at the adventure of the hunchback and exclaimed, 'verily, this is a matter that should be recorded in books!' then he said to the hangman, 'let the jew go, and hang the tailor on his own confession.' so the hangman took the tailor and put the rope round his neck, saying, 'i am tired of taking this man and loosing that, and no one hanged after all.' now the hunchback in question was the favourite buffoon of the sultan, who could not bear him out of his sight: so when he got drunk and did not make his appearance that night or next day, the sultan asked the courtiers about him and they replied, 'o our lord, the chief of the police has come upon him dead and ordered his murderer to be hanged: but, as the hangman was about to hoist him up, there came a second and a third and a fourth, each declaring himself to be the sole murderer and giving the prefect an account of the manner in which the crime had been committed.' when the king heard this, he cried out to one of his chamberlains, saying, 'go down to the chief of the police and bring me all four of them.' so the chamberlain went down at once to the place of execution, where he found the hangman on the point of hanging the tailor and cried out to him to stop. then he gave the king's order to the prefect, who took the tailor, the physician, the controller and the broker, and brought them all, together with the dead hunchback, before the king. when he came into the presence, he kissed the earth and told the king all that had passed; whereat he was moved to wonder and mirth and commended the story to be written in letters of gold, saying to the courtiers, 'did you ever hear a more wonderful story than that of this hunchback?' with this came forward the christian broker and said, 'o king of the age, with thy leave, i will tell thee a thing that happened to myself and which is still stranger and more wonderful and pleasant than the story of the hunchback.' quoth the king, 'let us hear it.' then said the broker, 'o king of the age, i came to this city with merchandise, and fate made me settle here with you, but the christian broker's story. i am by birth a copt, and a native of cairo, where i was brought up. my father was a broker, and when i came to man's estate, he died and i became a broker in his stead. one day, as i was sitting in my shop, there came up to me a young man as handsome as could be, richly clad and riding on an ass. when he saw me, he saluted me, and i rose to do him honour. then he pulled out a handkerchief, containing a sample of sesame, and said to me, "what is the worth of an ardebb[fn# ] of this?" "a hundred dirhems," replied i; and he said, "take porters and measures and come to-morrow to the khan of el jaweli, by the gate of victory, where thou wilt find me." then he went away, leaving with me the handkerchief containing the sample of sesame; and i went round to the buyers and agreed for a hundred and twenty dirhems an ardebb. next day, i took four gaugers and carried them to the khan, where i found him awaiting me. as soon as he saw me, he rose and opened his magazines, and we measured the contents and found them fifty ardebbs of sesame, making five thousand dirhems. then said he to me, "thou shalt have ten dirhems an ardebb to thy brokerage; so take the price and lay by four thousand five hundred dirhems for me; and when i have made an end of selling my other goods, i will come to thee and take the amount." "it is well," replied i, and kissed his hand and went away, having made that day a profit of a thousand dirhems, besides the brokerage. i saw no more of him for a month, at the end of which time he came to me and said, "where is the money?" i rose and saluted him and said to him, "wilt thou not eat somewhat with me?" but he refused, saying, "get the money ready, and i will come back for it." so i brought out the money and sat down to await his return, but saw no more of him for another month, at the end of which time he came to me and said, "where is the money?" i rose and saluted him and said, "wilt thou not eat a morsel with me?" but he refused, saying, "have the money ready against my return," and rode away. so i fetched the dirhems and sat awaiting him; but he did not come near me for another month, and i said, "verily, this young man is the incarnation of liberality." at the end of the month, he came up, riding on a mule and clad in sumptuous raiment. his face shone like the moon at its full and he seemed as if he had just come from the bath, with his rosy cheeks and flower-white forehead and mole like a grain of ambergris, even as says the poet: within one mansion of the sky the sun and moon combine; with all fair fortune and delight of goodliness they shine. their beauty stirs all those that see to passion and to love: good luck to them, for that they move to ravishment divine! in grace and beauty they increase and aye more perfect grow: all souls yearn out to them for love, all hearts to them incline. blessed be god, whose creatures are so full of wonderment! whate'er he wills he fashions forth, even as he doth design. when i saw him, i rose and saluted him and kissed his hand, saying, "o my lord, wilt thou not take thy money?" "what hurry is there?" replied he; "wait till i have made an end of my business, when i will come and take it." then he went away, and i said to myself, "by allah, when he comes next time, i must press him to eat with me," for i had traded with his money and profited largely by it. at the end of the year he came again, dressed even more richly than before, and i conjured him to dismount and eat of my victual; and he said to me, "i consent, on condition that what thou expendest on me shall be of my money in thy hands." "so be it," replied i, and made him sit down, whilst i made ready what was needful of meat and drink and so forth and set the tray before him, saying, "in the name of god." so he came to the table and put out his left hand and ate with me; and i wondered at his using his left hand.[fn# ] when we had done eating, i poured water on his hand and gave him wherewith to wipe it. then we sat talking, after i had set sweetmeats before him, and i said to him, "o my lord, i prithee relieve my mind by telling me why thou eatest with thy left hand. belike something ails thy right hand?" when he heard my words, he recited the following verses: ask not, i prithee, my friend, of the anguish that burns in my heart 'twould but the infirmities show that now in my bosom lie hid. if with selma i company now and harbour with leila no more, believe me, 'tis none of my will; needs must, if necessity bid. then he drew his right arm out from his sleeve, and behold, it was a stump without a hand, the latter having been cut off at the wrist. i was astonished at this, and he said to me, "thou seest that my eating with the left hand arose, not from conceit, but from necessity; and there hangs a strange story by the cutting off of my right hand." "and how came it to be cut off?" asked i. "know," answered he, "that i am a native of baghdad and the son of one of the principal men of that city. when i came to man's estate, i heard the pilgrims and travellers and merchants talk of the land of egypt, and this abode in my thought till my father died, when i laid out a large sum of money in the purchase of stuffs of baghdad and mosul, with which i set out on my travels and god decreed me safety, till i reached this your city." and he wept and recited the following verses: it chances oft that the blind man escapes a pit, whilst he that is clear of sight falls into it: the ignorant man can speak with impunity a word that is death to the wise and the ripe of wit: the true believer is pinched for his daily bread, whilst infidel rogues enjoy all benefit. what is a man's resource and what shall he do? it is the almighty's will: we must submit. "so i entered cairo," continued he, "and put up at the khan of mesrour, where i unpacked my goods and stored them in the magazines. then i gave the servant money to buy me something to eat and lay down to sleep awhile. when i awoke, i went to the street called bein el kesrein[fn# ] and presently returned and passed the night at the khan. next morning, i said to myself, 'i will walk through the bazaars and see the state of the market.' so i opened a bale and took out certain stuffs, which i gave to one of my servants to carry, then repaired to the bazaar of jergis, where i was accosted by the brokers, who had heard of my arrival. they took my stuffs and cried them for sale, but could not get the prime cost of them. i was vexed at this; but the chief of the brokers said to me, 'o my lord, i will tell thee how thou mayst make a profit of thy goods. thou shouldst do as the other merchants do and sell thy goods on credit, for a fixed period, on a contract drawn up by a scrivener, and duly witnessed, and employ a money-changer and take thy money every monday and thursday. so shalt thou profit two dirhems for every one; and besides this, thou canst amuse thyself meanwhile at leisure in viewing cairo and the nile.' quoth i, 'this advice is good,' and carried the brokers to the khan. they took my stuffs and transported them to the bazaar, where i sold them to various merchants, taking their bonds for the value. these bonds i deposited with a money-changer, who gave me an acknowledgment in writing, with which i returned to my khan. here i abode a month, breaking my fast with a cup of wine every morning and sending out for mutton and sweetmeats, till the time came when my receipts began to fall due. so, every monday and thursday, i used to repair to the bazaar and sit in the shop of one or other of the merchants, whilst the scrivener and money-changer went round to collect the money from the different merchants, till after the time of afternoon-prayer, when they brought me the amount, and i counted it and gave receipts for it, then took it and returned to my khan. one day i went to the bath and retured to the khan, where i broke my fast on a cup of wine, after which i slept a little. when i awoke, i ate a fowl, and scenting myself, repaired to the shop of a merchant called bedreddin el bustani, who welcomed me; and i sat talking with him till the market should open. presently, there came up a lady of stately figure, wearing a magnificent head-dress and exhaling perfumes, as she walked along with a swimming gait. she stopped before bedreddin and saluted him, raising her kerchief and showing a pair of large black eyes. he returned her salute and stood talking with her; and when i heard her speech, the love of her got hold upon my heart. then she said to bedreddin, 'hast thou any stuffs of figured cloth of gold?' so he brought out to her a piece that he had had of me and she bought it of him for twelve hundred dirhems, saying, 'i will take it with me and send thee the price.' 'it may not be, o my lady,' answered he. 'this is the owner of the stuff and i owe him the price of it.' 'out on thee!' said she. 'do i not use to take great store of costly stuffs of thee, at a greater profit than thou askest, and send thee the money?' 'yes,' rejoined he; 'but i am in pressing need of the price to-day.' with this she took the piece of stuff and threw it back into his lap, saying, 'you merchants have no respect for any one!' then she turned to go, and i felt as if my soul went with her; so i rose and stopped her, saying, 'o my lady, favour me by retracing thy gracious steps!' she smiled and saying, 'for thy sake, i will return,' came back and sat down in the shop opposite me. then i said to bedreddin, 'what is the price set upon this piece?' and he replied, 'eleven hundred dirhems.' 'the other hundred shall be thy profit,' rejoined i. 'give me a piece of paper and i will write thee a discharge for it! so i wrote him a docket to that effect and gave the piece of stuff to the lady, saying, 'take it and, if thou wilt, bring me the price next market-day; or, better still, accept it as a gift from me to thee.' 'may god requite thee with good,' answered she, 'and make thee my husband and master of my property!'[fn# ] (and god heard her prayer.) 'o my lady,' replied i, 'this piece of stuff is thine and another like it, if thou wilt but let me see thy face.' so she lifted her veil, and i took one look at her face, that caused me a thousand regrets, and fell so violently in love with her, that i was no longer master of my reason. then she let down her veil and taking the piece of stuff, said, 'o my lord, leave me not desolate!'[fn# ] and went away, whilst i remained sitting in the shop till the time of afternoon-prayer was past, lost to the world and fairly distraught for love; and the violence of my passion prompted me to make enquiries about her of the merchant, who replied, 'she is a lady of wealth, the daughter of an amir, who died and left her a large fortune.' then i took leave of him and returned to the khan, where they set the evening meal before me; but i could not eat, for thinking of her, and laid down to rest. but sleep came not to me and i lay awake till daylight, when i rose and changed my dress. i broke my fast on a cup of wine and a morsel of bread and going to the market, saluted bedreddin and sat down by him in his shop. presently up came the lady, followed by a slave-girl, and more richly dressed than before, and saluting me, instead of bedreddin, said to me, in a voice than which i never heard a sweeter or softer, 'send with me some one to take the twelve hundred dirhems, the price of the stuff.' 'what hurry is there?' asked i. and she said, 'may we never lose thee!' and gave me the money. then i sat talking with her, and presently i made signs to her, by which she understood that i desired to enjoy her and rose hastily, as if vexed with me, and went away. my heart clung to her and i rose and followed in her track; but as i went along, a slave-girl accosted me, saying. 'o my lord, my mistress would speak with thee.' at this i was astonished, and said, 'there is no one who knows me here.' 'o my lord,' answered the slave, 'how quickly thou hast forgotten her! my mistress is she who was to-day at the shop of the merchant bedreddin.' so i followed her to the money-changer's, where i found the lady, who drew me to her side and said to me, 'o my beloved, thou hast made prize of my heart, and love of thee has conquered my soul. since the day i saw thee first, i have taken no delight in sleep nor in meat nor drink.' 'my sufferings have been still greater than thine,' answered i; 'and my state dispenses me from complaint.' then said she, 'o my lord, shall i come to thee or wilt thou come to me?' quoth i, 'i am a stranger here and have no lodging but the khan; so by thy favour, it shall be at thy house.' 'it is well,' replied she; 'to-night is friday eve, and nothing can be done; but to-morrow, after the morning-prayer, mount thine ass and enquire for the house of berekat the syndic, known as abou shameh, in the hebbaniyeh quarter; for i live there; and do not delay, for i shall be expecting thee.' at this, i rejoiced greatly and took leave of her and returned to the khan, where i passed a sleepless night. as soon as it was day, i rose and changed my clothes and perfumed myself with essences and sweet-scented smoke. then i took fifty dinars in a handkerchief and went out to the zuweyleh gate, where i hired an ass, bidding the driver carry me to the hebbaniyeh. so he set off with me and brought me in the twinkling of an eye to a by-street called el munkeri, where i bade him go in and enquire for the syndic's house. after a little he returned and said, 'alight.' but i made him guide me to the house, where i dismounted and giving him a quarter-dinar, said, 'come back to-morrow at daybreak and fetch me away.' 'in the name of god,' answered he, and went away. then i knocked at the gate and there came out two young girls, high-bosomed maids, as they were moons, and said to me, 'enter, for our mistress awaits thee, and she slept not last night for joyance in thee.' so i entered and they brought me, through a vestibule, into an upper chamber with seven doors, paved with vari-coloured marbles and furnished with hangings and carpets of coloured silk. the walls were plastered with stucco-royal, in which one might see his own face, and the roof was ribbed with gold and bordered with inscriptions emblazoned in ultramarine. all around were latticed windows overlooking a garden, full of fruits of all colours, with streams running and birds singing on the branches, and midmost the hall was a fountain, at whose angles stood birds fashioned in red gold, spouting forth water as it were pearls and jewels; and indeed the place comprised all kinds of beauty and dazzled the beholder with its radiance. i entered and sat down; but hardly had i done so, when the lady came up to me, crowned with a diadem of pearls and jewels and having her eyebrows pencilled and her hands stained with henna. when she saw me, she smiled on me and embraced me and pressed me to her bosom; and she set her mouth to mine and sucked my tongue, and i did the like with her. then she said, 'can it be true that thou art indeed come to me?' 'i am thy slave,' answered i; and she said, 'welcome, a thousand times! by allah, since i first saw thee, sleep has not been sweet to me nor food pleasant!' quoth i, 'so has it been with me also.' then we sat down to converse, and i bowed my head for bashfulness. presently, she set before me a tray of the most exquisite meats, such as ragouts and fritters soaked in honey and fricassees and fowls stuffed with sugar and pistachio-nuts, and we ate till we were satisfied. then they brought ewer and basin and i washed my hands, after which we scented ourselves with rose-water mingled with musk and sat down again to converse. we complained to each other of the sufferings we had undergone, and my love for her took such hold on me, that all my wealth was of little account to me, in comparison with her. we passed the time in toying and kissing and dalliance, till nightfall, when the damsels set before us a banquet of food and wine and we sat carousing half the night. then we went to bed and i lay with her till the morning, never in my life saw i the like of that night. as soon as it was day, i arose and took leave of her, after having slipped under the mattress the handkerchief containing the dinars; and she wept and said 'o my lord, when shall i see that fair face again?' 'i will be with thee at eventide,' answered i, and going out, found the ass-man waiting for me at the door. so i mounted and rode to the khan of mesrour, where i alighted and gave the driver half a dinar, saying, 'come back at sun down.' and he said, 'good.' then i broke my fast and went out to seek the price of my stuffs, after which i returned and taking a roast lamb and some sweetmeats, called a porter and despatched them by him to the lady, paying him his hire in advance. i occupied myself with my affairs till sunset, when the ass-driver came for me and i took fifty dinars in a handkerchief and rode to the house, where i found the marble floor swept, the brass burnished, the lamps filled and the candles lighted, the meats ready dished and the wines strained. when my mistress saw me, she threw her arms round my neck and exclaimed, 'thou hast desolated me by thine absence!' then they set the tables and we ate till we were satisfied, when the serving-maids took away the tray of food and set on wine. we gave not over drinking till midnight, when we went to the sleeping-chamber and lay together till morning. then i rose and went away, leaving the fifty dinars with her as before. i found the ass-driver at the door and mounting, rode to the khan, where i slept awhile, then went out to prepare the evening-meal. i took a brace of geese with broth on two platters of dressed rice, together with colocasia-roots[fn# ], fried and soaked in honey, and wax candles and fruits and conserves and flowers and nuts and almonds, and sent them all to her. as soon as it was night, i mounted the ass as usual, taking with me fifty dinars in a handkerchief, and rode to the house, where we ate and drank and lay together till morning, when i left the handkerchief and dinars with her and rode back to the khan. i ceased not to lead this life, till one fine morning i found myself without a single dirhem and said, 'this is satan's doing!' and i repeated the following verses: when a rich man grows poor, his lustre dies away, like to the setting sun that pales with ended day. absent, his name is not remembered among men: present, he hath no part in life and its array. he passes through the streets and fain would hide his head and pours out floods of tears in every desert way. by allah, when distress and want descend on men, but strangers midst their kin and countrymen are they. then i left the khan and walked along bein el kesrein till i came to the zuweyleh gate, where i found the folk crowded together and the gate blocked up for the much people. as fate would have it, i saw there a trooper, against whom i pressed, without meaning it, so that my hand came on his pocket and i felt a purse inside. i looked and seeing a string of green silk hanging from the pocket, knew that it belonged to the purse. the crowd increased every moment and just then, a camel bearing a load of wood jostled the trooper on the other side and he turned to ward it off from him, lest it should tear his clothes. when i saw this, satan tempted me; so i pulled the string and drew out a little purse of blue silk, full of something that chinked like money. hardly had i done so, when the soldier turned and feeling his pocket lightened, put his hand to it and found it empty; whereupon he turned to me and raising his mace, smote me on the head i fell to the ground, whilst the people came round us and seizing the soldier's horse by the bridle, said to him, 'is it because he pushed against thee in the throng, that thou smitest this young man such a blow?' but he cried out at them and said, 'this fellow is an accursed thief!' with this i came to myself and stood up, and the folk looked at me and said, 'this is a comely youth and would not steal aught.' some took part for me and others against me and there was a great clamour, and the people pulled at me and would have rescued me from the trooper; but as fate would have it, the chief of the police and the captain and officers of the watch entered by the gate at this moment; and the prefect, seeing the crowd about the soldier and myself, enquired what was the matter. 'o my lord,' replied the soldier, 'this fellow is a thief. i had a blue purse in my pocket, containing twenty dinars, and he took it, whilst i was in the crush.' 'was any one else by thee?' asked the magistrate, and the trooper answered, 'no.' then the prefect cried out to the officers of the watch, who seized me and stripping me by his order, found the purse in my clothes. he took it and found in it twenty dinars, as the soldier had said, whereat he was wroth and calling to the officers to bring me before him, said to me, 'o young man tell me the truth. didst thou steal this purse?' at this i hung down my head and said to myself, 'it is useless for me to say i did not steal the purse, for they found it in my clothes: and if i confess to the theft, i fall into trouble.' so i raised my head and said, 'yes: i took it.' when the prefect heard what i said, he wondered and called for witnesses, who came forward and attested by confession. then he bade the hangman cut off my right hand, and he did so; after which he would have cut off my left foot also; but the trooper took pity on me and interceded for me with the prefect, who left me and went away; whilst the folk remained round me and gave me a cup of wine to drink. as for the trooper, he gave me the purse, saying, 'thou art a comely youth, and it befits not that thou be a thief.' and i repeated the following verses: by allah, trusty brother mine, i am indeed no thief, nor, o most bountiful of men, a highwayman am i. but the vicissitudes of fate overthrew me suddenly, and care and stress and penury full sorely did me try. it was not thou, but god who cast the fatal shaft at me, the shaft that made from off my head the crown of honour fly. then he left me, and i went away, after having wrapt my hand in a piece of rag and thrust it into my bosom. i betook me to my mistress's house, faint and ill at ease and pale by reason of what had befallen me, and threw myself on the couch. she saw that my colour was changed and said to me, 'what ails thee and why do i see thee thus changed?' 'my head irks me,' answered i; 'i am not well.' when she heard this, she was vexed and concerned for me and said to me, 'fret not my heart, o my lord! sit up and raise thy head and let me know what has happened to thee to-day, for thy face tells me a tale.' 'spare me this talk,' replied i. but she wept and said, 'meseems thou art tired of me, for i see that thou art contrary to thy wont.' but i was silent, and she continued to talk to me, though i made her no answer, till nightfall, when she brought me food: but i refused it, fearing to let her see me eat with my left hand, and said to her, 'i do not care to eat at present.' quoth she 'tell me what has befallen thee to-day and what ails thee, that thou art troubled and broken in heart and spirit.' 'presently,' replied i; 'i will tell thee at my leisure.' then she brought me wine, saying, 'take it for it will dispel thy care: thou must indeed drink and tell me what is thy matter with thee.' 'must i tell thee?' said i; and she answered, 'yes.' then said i, 'if it must be so, give me to drink with thine own hand.' so she filled and drank then filled again and gave me the cup. i took it from her with my left hand and repeated the following verses with tears running from my eyes: when god would execute his will in anything on one endowed with sight, hearing and reasoning, he stops his ears and blinds his eyes and draws his wit from him, as one draws out the hairs to paste that cling; till, his decrees fulfilled, he gives him back his wit, that therewithal he may receive admonishing. at this she gave a loud cry and said to me, 'what makes thee weep? thou settest my heart on fire. and what ails thee to take the cup with thy left hand?' 'i have a boil on my right hand,' answered i; and she said, 'put it out and i will lance it for thee.' 'it is not ripe for lancing,' answered i; 'so do not torment me, for i will not show it thee at present.' then i drank off the cup, and she plied me with wine till i became drowsy and fell asleep in my place; whereupon she looked at my right arm and saw that it was but a stump without a hand. so she searched me and found the purse of gold and my severed hand wrapt in a piece of rag. with this, there overcame her such grief as none ever knew, and she ceased not to lament for my sake till the morning. when i awoke, i found she had made me a dish of broth of four boiled fowls, which she brought to me, together with a cup of wine. i ate and drank and laying down the purse, would have gone out; but she said to me, 'whither goest thou?' 'where my business calls me,' replied i; and she said, 'thou shalt not go: sit down.' so i sat down, and she said, 'has thy love for me brought thee to such a pass, that thou hast wasted thy substance and lost thy hand on my account? since this is so, i call god to witness against me that i will never part with thee: and thou shalt see the truth of my words.' then she sent for the cadi and the witnesses and said to them, 'draw up a contract of marriage between me and this young man and bear witness that i have received the dowry.' so they drew up our marriage contract, and she said to them, 'be witness that all my money that is in this chest and all that belongs to me and all my slaves, male and female, are the property of this young man.' so they took act of this and withdrew, after having received their fees. then she took me by the hand and leading me to a closet, opened a large chest and said to me, 'see what is herein.' i looked and behold, it was full of handkerchiefs. quoth she, 'this is the money i had of thee; for every time thou gavest me a handkerchief, with fifty dinars in it, i wrapped it together and threw it into this chest; so now take thy money, for indeed it returns to thee, and thou to-day art become of high estate. fate afflicted thee, so that thou didst lose thy right hand for my sake, and i can never requite thee: nay, though i gave my life, it were little and i should still remain thy debtor.' then she said to me, 'take possession of thy property!' and transferred the contents of the other chest to that which contained the money i had given her. at this, my heart was gladdened and my grief forsook me, and i rose and kissed and thanked her. quoth she, 'thou hast lost thy hand for love of me, and how can i requite thee? by allah, if i gave my life for thy love, it were far short of thy due!' then she made over to me by deed all her clothes and jewels and other property and lay not down to sleep that night, being in sore concern on my account, till i told her all that had befallen me. i passed the night with her; but before we had lived together a month's time, she fell grievously ill and sickness was upon her, by reason of her grief for the loss of my hand; and she endured but fifty days before she was numbered of the folk of the other world. so i laid her in the ground and had recitations of the koran made over her tomb and gave much money in alms for her; after which i returned to the house and found that she had left much substance in money and houses and lands. among her storehouses was one full of sesame, whereof i sold part to thee; and it was the fact of my being busied in selling the rest of my goods and all that was in the storehouses, that diverted my attention from thee; nor have i till now made an end of receiving the price. this, then, is the reason of the cutting off of my right hand and of my eating with the left. now thou shalt not baulk me in what i am about to say, for that i have eaten of thy victual; and it is that i make thee a gift of the money that is in thy hands." "indeed," replied i, "thou hast shown me the utmost kindness and liberality." then said he, "wilt thou journey with me to my native country, whither i am about to return with a lading of cairo and alexandria stuffs?" "i will well," answered i, and appointed with him for the end of the month. so i sold all i had and bought merchandise; then we set out, he and i, and journeyed till we came to this town, where he sold his goods, and buying others in their stead, set out again for egypt. but it was my lot to abide here, so that there befell me in my strangerhood what befell last night. this, then, is my story, o king of the age. is it not more marvellous than that of the hunchback?' 'not so,' answered the king; 'and needs must you all be hanged.' then came forward the controller of the sultan's kitchen and said, 'with thy leave, i will tell thee what happened to me but lately and if it be more marvellous than the story of the hunchback, do thou grant us our lives.' 'so be it,' answered the king. then said the controller, 'know, o king, that the controller's story. i was the night before last in company with a number of persons who were assembled for the purpose of hearing a recitation of the koran. the doctors of the law attended, and when the readers had made an end of reading, the table was spread, and amongst other things they set before us a ragout flavoured with cumin-seed. so we sat down to eat it; but one of our number held back and abstained from eating. we conjured him to eat of the ragout; but he swore that he would not, and we pressed him till he said, "press me not; what has already befallen me through eating of this dish suffices me." and he repeated the following verses: shoulder thy tray, 'fore god, and get thee gone with it, and to thine eyes apply such salve as thou deem'st fit.[fn# ] "for god's sake," said we, "tell us the reason of thy refusal to eat of the ragout!" "if i must eat of it," replied he, "i will not do so, except i may wash my hands forty times with soap, forty times with potash and forty times with galingale, in all a hundred and twenty times." so the master of the house ordered his servants to bring water and all that he required; and the young man washed his hands as he had said. then he sat down, as if afraid, and dipping his hand into the ragout, began to eat, though with evident repugnance and as if doing himself violence, whilst we regarded him with the utmost wonder; for his hand trembled and we saw that his thumb had been cut off and he ate with his four fingers only. so we said to him, "god on thee, what has become of thy thumb? is thy hand thus by the creation of god or has it been mutilated by accident?" "o my brothers, answered he, "it is not this thumb alone that has been cut off, but also that of the other hand and the great toe of each of my feet, as ye shall see." then he bared his left hand and his feet, and we saw that the left hand was even as the right and that each of his feet lacked the great toe. at this sight, our amazement increased and we said to him, "we are impatient to know thy history and the manner of the cutting off of thy thumbs and great toes and the reason of thy washing thy hands a hundred and twenty times." "know then," answered he, "that my father was chief of the merchants of baghdad in the time of the khalif haroun er reshid; but he was given to drinking wine and listening to the lute and other instruments, so that when he died, he left nothing. i buried him and had recitations of the koran made over him and mourned for him days and nights. then i opened his shop and found he had left little but debts. however, i compounded with his creditors for time to pay and betook myself to buying and selling, paying them something week by week on account, till at last i succeeded in clearing off the debts and began to add to my capital. one day, as i sat in my shop, there came up to the entrance of the bazaar a lady, than whom my eyes never saw a fairer, richly clad and decked and riding on a mule, with one slave walking before and another behind her. she halted the mule at the entrance of the bazaar and entered, followed by an eunuch, who said to her, 'o my lady, come out, without telling any one, or thou wilt bring us into trouble.' and he stood before her,[fn# ] whilst she looked at the shops. she found no shop open but mine, so came up, with the eunuch behind her, and sitting down in my shop, saluted me; never did i hear aught sweeter than her voice or more pleasant than her speech. then she unveiled her face and i saw she was like the moon and stole at her a glance that cost me a thousand sighs. my heart was captivated with her love and i could not take my eyes off her face; and i repeated the following verses: say to the fairest fair, her in the dove-coloured veil, "death would be welcome to me, to save me from thy bale: grant me thy favours, i pray! so i may live perchance. lo! i stretch forth my palm: let not thy bounties fail." when she heard this, she answered me by repeating the following verses: power to forget thee, for desire, fails even unto me: my heart and all my soul will love none other after thee. if my eyes ever look on aught except thy loveliness, may union after severance ne'er brighten them with glee! i've sworn an oath by my right hand ne'er to forget thy grace. my sad heart pineth for thy love and never may win free. passion hath given me to drink a brimming cup of love; would it had given the self-same draught to drink, dear heart, to thee! if thou shouldst ask me what i'd crave most earnestly of god, "the almighty's favour first, then thine," i'd say, "my prayer shall be." then she said to me, 'o youth, hast thou any handsome stuffs?' 'o my lady,' answered i, 'thy slave is poor: but wait till the merchants open their shops, and i will get thee what thou wilt.' then we sat talking, she and i, whilst i was drowned in the sea of her love and dazed with passion for her, till the merchants opened their shops, when i rose and fetched her all she sought, to the value of five thousand dirhems. she gave the stuffs to the slave and leaving the bazaar, mounted the mule and rode away, without telling me whence she came, and i was ashamed to ask her. so i became answerable to the merchants for the price of the goods and thus took on myself a debt of five thousand dirhems. then i went home, drunken with love of her, and they set the evening-meal before me. i ate a mouthful and lay down to rest, musing upon her beauty and grace: but sleep came not to me. a week passed thus, and the merchants sought their money of me, but i persuaded them to wait another week, at the end of which time she came up, riding on the mule and attended by an eunuch and two slaves. she saluted me and said, 'o my lord, we have been long in bringing thee the price of the stuffs; but now fetch a money-changer and take the amount.' so i sent for the money-changer, and the eunuch counted me out the money, and we sat talking, the lady and i, till the market opened, when she said to me, 'get me this and this.' so i got her from the merchants what she wanted, and she took it and went away, without saying a word to me about the price. as soon as she was out of sight, i repented me of what i had done, for the price of what i had bought for her was a thousand dinars, and i said to myself, 'what doting is this? she has brought me five thousand dirhems[fn# ], and taken a thousand dinars'[fn# ] worth of goods.' and i feared lest i should be beggared, through having to pay the merchants their money, and said, 'they know none but me and this woman is none other than a cheat, who hath cozened me with her beauty and grace, for she saw that i was young and laughed at me; and i did not ask her address.' she did not come again for more than a month, and i abode in constant distress and perplexity, till at last the merchants dunned me for their money and pressed me so that i put up my property for sale and looked for nothing but ruin. however, as i was sitting in my shop, one day, absorbed in melancholy thought, she rode up and dismounting at the gate of the bazaar, came in and made towards me. when i saw her, my anxiety ceased and i forgot my troubles. she came up to me and greeting me with her pleasant speech, said to me, 'fetch the money-changer and take thy money.' so she gave me the price of the goods i had gotten for her and more, and fell to conversing freely with me, till i was like to die of joy and delight. presently, she said to me, 'hast thou a wife?' 'no,' answered i; 'i have never known woman.' and fell a-weeping. quoth she, 'why dost thou weep?' 'it is nothing,' replied i; and giving the eunuch some of the dinars, begged him to use his influence with her for me; but he laughed and said, 'she is more in love with thee than thou with her. she had no occasion for the stuffs she bought of thee and did all this but out of love for thee. so ask of her what thou wilt; she will not deny thee.' when she saw me give the eunuch money, she returned and sat down again; and i said to her, 'be charitable to thy slave and pardon him what he is about to say.' then i told her what was in my mind, and she assented and said to the eunuch, 'thou shalt carry my message to him.' then to me, 'do as the eunuch bids thee.' then she rose and went away, and i paid the merchants what i owed them, and they all profited; but as for me, i gained nought but regret for the breaking off of our intercourse. i slept not all that night; but before many days were past, the eunuch came to me, and i made much of him and asked after his mistress. 'she is sick for love of thee,' replied he; and i said, 'tell me who she is.' quoth he, 'she is one of the waiting-women of the lady zubeideh, the wife of the khalif haroun er reshid, who brought her up and advanced her to be stewardess of the harem and granted her the right of going in and out at will. she told her mistress of thee and begged her to marry her to thee; but she said, "i will not do this, till i see the young man; and if he be worthy of thee, i will marry thee to him." so now we wish to bring thee into the palace at once and if thou succeed in entering without being seen, thou wilt win to marry her; but if the affair get wind, thou wilt lose thy head. what sayst thou?' and i answered, 'i will go with thee and abide the risk of which thou speakest.' then said he, 'as soon as it is night, go to the mosque built by the lady zubeideh on the tigris and pray and pass the night there.' 'with all my heart,' answered i. so at nightfall i repaired to the mosque, where i prayed and passed the night. just before daybreak, there came up some eunuchs in a boat, with a number of empty chests, which they deposited in the mosque and went away all, except one who remained behind and whom, on examination, i found to be he who served as our go-between. presently, in came my mistress herself and i rose to her and embraced her. she kissed me, weeping, and we talked awhile; after which she made me get into one of the chests and locked it upon me. then the eunuchs came back with a number of packages; and she fell to stowing them in the chests and locking the latter one by one, till she had filled them all. then they embarked the chests in the boat and made for the lady zubeideh's palace. with this, reflection came to me and i said to myself, 'my lust will surely bring me to destruction, nor do i know whether i shall gain my end or no!' and i began to weep, shut up as i was in the chest, and to pray to god to deliver me from the peril i was in, whilst the boat ceased not going till it reached the palace gate, where they lifted out the chests and amongst them that in which i was. then they carried them into the palace, passing through a troop of eunuchs, guardians of the harem and door-keepers, till they came to the post of the chief of the eunuchs, who started up from sleep and called out to the lady, saying, 'what is in those chests?' quoth she, 'they are full of wares for the lady zubeideh.' 'open them,' said he, 'one by one, that i may see what is in them.'--'why wilt thou open them?' asked she: but he cried out at her, saying, 'give me no words! they must and shall be opened.' now the first that they brought to him to open was that in which i was: and when i felt this, my senses failed me and i bepissed myself for terror, and the water ran out of the chest. then said she to the eunuch, 'o chief, thou hast undone me and thyself also, for thou hast spoiled that which is worth ten thousand dinars. this box contains coloured dresses and four flasks of zemzem water; and now one of the bottles has broken loose and the water is running out over the clothes and their colours will be ruined.' then said the eunuch, 'take up thy chests and begone with god's malison!' so the slaves took up the chests and hurried on with them, till suddenly i heard a voice saying, 'alas! alas! the khalif! the khalif!' when i heard this, my heart died within me and i spoke the words which whoso says shall not be confounded, that is to say, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme! i have brought this affliction on myself.' presently i heard the khalif say to my mistress, 'harkye, what is in those chests of thine ?' 'clothes for the lady zubeideh,' answered she; and he said, 'open them to me.' when i heard this, i gave myself up for lost and said, 'by allah, this is the last of my worldly days!' and began to repeat the profession of the faith. then i heard the lady say to the khalif, 'these chests have been committed to my charge by the lady zubeideh, and she does not wish their contents to be seen of any one.'--'no matter,' said he; 'i must open them and see what is in them.' and he cried out to the eunuchs saying, 'bring them to me.' at this, i made sure of death and swooned away. then the slaves brought the chests up to him and opened them, one after another, and he saw in them perfumes and stuffs and rich clothes, till none remained unopened but that in which i was. they put their hands to it to open it, but the lady made haste and said to the khalif, 'this one thou shalt see in the lady zubeideh's presence, for that which is in it is her secret.' when he heard this, he ordered them to carry in the chests; so they took up that in which i was and carried it, with the rest, into the harem and set it down in the middle of the saloon; and indeed my spittle was dried up for fear. then my mistress opened the chest and took me out, saying, 'fear not: no harm shall befall thee, but be of good courage and sit down, till the lady zubeideh comes, and thou shalt surely win thy wish of me.' so i sat down, and after awhile, in came ten maidens like moons and ranged themselves in two rows, one facing the other, and after them other twenty, high-bosomed maids with the lady zubeideh, who could hardly walk for the weight of her dresses and ornaments. as she drew near, the damsels dispersed from around her, and i advanced and kissed the earth before her. she signed to me to be seated and questioned me of my condition and family, to which i made such answers as pleased her, and she said to my mistress, 'o damsel, our nurturing of thee has not been in vain.' then she said to me, 'know that this damsel is to us even as our own child, and she is a trust committed to thee by god.' i kissed the earth again before her, well pleased that i should marry my mistress, and she bade me sojourn ten days in the palace. so i abode there ten days, during which time i saw not my mistress nor any one save a serving-maid, who brought me the morning and evening meals. after this the lady zubeideh took counsel with the khalif on the marriage of her favourite, and he gave leave and assigned her a wedding portion of ten thousand dinars. so the lady zubeideh sent for the cadi and the witnesses, and they drew up our marriage contract, after which the women made sweetmeats and rich viands and distributed them among the inmates of the harem. thus they did other ten days, at the end of which time my mistress entered the bath. meanwhile, they set before me a tray of food, on which was a basin containing a ragout of fricasseed fowls' breasts dressed with cumin-seed and flavoured with sugar and rose-water, mixed with musk, and many another dish, such as amazed the wit; and by allah, i did not hesitate, but fell upon the ragout and ate my fill of it. then i wiped my hands, but forgot to wash them and sat till it grew dark, when they lit the candles and the singing-women came with tambourines and proceeded to display the bride and carry her in procession from room to room, receiving largesse of gold and pieces of silk, till they had made the round of the palace. then they brought her to me and disrobed her. when i found myself alone in bed with her, i embraced her, hardly believing in my good fortune; but she smelt the odour of the ragout on my hands and gave a loud cry, at which the maids came running to her from all sides. i was alarmed and trembled, not knowing what was the matter, and the girls said to her, 'what ails thee, o sister?' quoth she, 'take this madman away from me: methought he was a man of sense.' 'what makes thee think me mad?' asked i. 'o madman,' answered she, 'what made thee eat of ragout of cumin-seed, without washing thy hands? by allah, i will punish thee for thy misconduct! shall the like of thee come to bed to the like of me, with unwashed hands?' then she took from her side a whip of plaited thongs and laid on to my back and buttocks till i swooned away for the much beating; when she said to the maids, 'take him and carry him to the chief of the police, that he may cut off the hand wherewith he ate of the ragout and washed it not.' when i heard this, i said, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god! wilt thou cut off my hand, because i ate of a ragout and did not wash?' and the girls interceded with her, saying, 'o our sister, forgive him this once!' but she said, 'by allah, i must and will dock him of somewhat!' then she went away and i saw no more of her for ten days, at the end of which time, she came in to me and said, 'o black-a-vice, i will not make peace with thee, till i have punished thee for eating ragout of cumin-seed, without washing thy hands!' then she cried out to the maids, who bound me; and she took a sharp razor and cut off my thumbs and toes, as ye have seen. thereupon i swooned away and she sprinkled the severed parts with a powder which staunched the blood; and i said, 'never again will i eat of ragout of cumin-seed without washing my hands forty times with potash, forty times with galingale and forty times with soap!' and she took of me an oath to that effect. so when the ragout was set before me, my colour changed and i said to myself, 'it was this that was the cause of the cutting off of my thumbs and toes.' and when ye forced me, i said, 'i must needs fulfil the oath i have taken.'" "and what befell thee after this?" asked the others. "after this," replied he, "her heart was appeased and i lay with her that night. we abode thus awhile, till she said to me, one day, 'it befits not that we continue in the khalif's palace: for none ever came hither but thou, and thou wonst not in but by the grace of the lady zubeideh. now she has given me fifty thousand dinars; so take this money and go out and buy us a commodious house.' so i went forth and bought a handsome and spacious house, whither she transported all her goods and valuables." then (continued the controller) we ate and went away: and after, there happened to me with the hunchback that thou wottest of. this then is my story and peace be on thee.' quoth the king, 'this story is not more agreeable than that of the hunchback: on the contrary, it is less so, and you must all be hanged.' then came forward the jewish physician and kissing the earth, said, 'o king of the age, i will tell thee a story more wonderful than that of the hunchback.' 'tell on,' answered the king; and the jew said, 'the strangest adventure that ever befell me was as follows: the jewish physician's story. in my younger days i lived at damascus, where i studied my art; and one day, as i sat in my house, there came to me a servant with a summons from the governor of the city. so i followed him to the house and entering the saloon, saw, lying on a couch of juniper-wood, set with plates of gold, that stood at the upper end, a sick youth, never was seen a handsomer. i sat down at his head and offered up a prayer for his recovery. he made a sign to me with his eyes and i said to him, "o my lord, give me thy hand." so he put forth his left hand, at which i wondered and said to myself, "by allah, it is strange that so handsome a young man of high family should lack good breeding! this can be nothing but conceit." however, i felt his pulse and wrote him a prescription and continued to visit him for ten days, at the end of which time he recovered and went to the bath, whereupon the governor gave me a handsome dress of honour and appointed me superintendent of the hospital at damascus. i accompanied him to the bath, the whole of which they had cleared for his accommodation, and the servants came in with him and took off his clothes within the bath, when i saw that his right hand had been newly cut off, and this was the cause of his illness. at this i was amazed and grieved for him: then looking at his body i saw on it the marks of beating with rods, for which he had used ointments. i was perplexed at this and my perplexity appeared in my face. the young man looked at me and reading my thought, said to me, "o physician of the age, marvel not at my case. i will tell thee my story, when we leave the bath." then we washed and returning to his house, partook of food and rested awhile; after which he said to me, "what sayest thou to taking the air in the garden?" "i will well," answered i; so he bade the slaves carry out carpets and cushions and roast a lamb and bring us some fruit. they did as he bade them, and we ate of the fruits, he using his left hand for the purpose. after awhile, i said to him, "tell me thy story." "o physician of the age," answered he, "hear what befell me. know that i am a native of mosul and my father was the eldest of ten brothers, who were all married, but none of them was blessed with children except my father, to whom god had vouchsafed me. so i grew up among my uncles, who rejoiced in me with exceeding joy, till i came to man's estate. one friday, i went to the chief mosque of mosul with my father and my uncles, and we prayed the congregational prayers, after which all the people went out, except my father and uncles, who sat conversing of the wonders of foreign lands and the strange things to be seen in various cities. at last they mentioned egypt and one of my uncles said, 'travellers say that there is not on the face of the earth aught fairer than cairo and its nile.' quoth my father, 'who has not seen cairo has not seen the world. its dust is gold and its nile a wonder; its women are houris and its houses palaces: its air is temperate and the fragrance of its breezes outvies the scent of aloes-wood: and how should it be otherwise, being the mother of the world? bravo for him who says,' and he repeated the following verses: shall i from cairo wend and leave the sweets of its delight? what sojourn after it indeed were worth a longing thought? how shall i leave its fertile plains, whose earth unto the scent is very perfume, for the land contains no thing that's naught? it is indeed for loveliness a very paradise, with all its goodly carpet[fn# ] spread and cushions richly wrought. a town that maketh heart and eye yearn with its goodliness, uniting all that of devout and profligate is sought, or comrades true, by god his grace conjoined in brotherhood, their meeting-place the groves of palms that cluster round about. o men of cairo, if it be god's will that i depart, let bonds of friendship and of love unite us still in thought! name not the city to the breeze, lest for its rival lands it steal the perfumes, wherewithal its garden-ways are fraught. 'and if,' added my father, 'you saw its gardens in the evenings, with the tree-shadows sloping over them, you would behold a marvel and incline to them with delight.' and they fell to describing cairo and the nile. when i heard their accounts of cairo, my mind dwelt on it and i longed to visit it; and when they had done talking, each went to his own dwelling. as for me, i slept not that night, for stress of yearning after egypt, nor was meat nor drink pleasant to me. after awhile, my uncles prepared to set out for cairo, and i wept before my father, till he made ready for me merchandise and consented to my going wish them, saying to them, 'let him not enter egypt, but leave him to sell his goods at damascus.' then i took leave of my father and we left mosul and journeyed till we reached aleppo, where we abode some days. then we fared on, till we came to damascus and found it a city as it were a paradise, abounding in trees and rivers and birds and fruits of all kinds. we alighted at one of the khans, where my uncles tarried awhile, selling and buying: and they sold my goods also at a profit of five dirhems on every one, to my great satisfaction; after which they left me and went on to egypt, whilst i abode at damascus in a handsome house, such as the tongue fails to describe, which i had hired for two dinars a month. here i remained, eating and drinking and spending the money in my hands, till, one day, as i sat at the door of my lodging, there came up a young lady, clad in costly apparel, never saw my eyes richer. i winked at her; and she entered without hesitation. i entered with her and shut the door, and she raised her kerchief and did off her veil, when i found her of surpassing beauty, and love of her took hold upon my heart. so i rose and fetched a tray of the most delicate viands and fruits and all that was needed for a carouse, and we ate and sported and drank till we were warm with wine. then i lay with her the most delightful of nights, till the morning, when i offered to give her ten dinars; but she frowned and knit her brows and said, 'for shame! thinkest thou i covet thy money?' and she took out from the bosom of her shift ten dinars and laid them before me, saying, 'by allah, except thou take them, i will never come back!' so i accepted them, and she said to me, 'o my beloved, expect me again in three days' time, when i will be with thee between sundown and nightfall; and do thou provide us with these dinars the like of yesterday's entertainment.' so saying, she bade me adieu and went away, taking my reason with her. at the end of the three days, she came again, dressed in gold brocade and wearing richer ornaments than before. i had made ready a repast; so we ate and drank and lay together, as before, till the morning, when she gave me other ten dinars and appointed me again for three days thence. accordingly, i made ready as before, and at the appointed time she came again, more richly dressed than ever, and said to me, 'o my lord, am i not fair?' 'yea, by allah!' answered i. then she said, 'wilt thou give me leave to bring with me a young lady handsomer than i and younger, that she may frolic with us and that thou and she may laugh and make merry and rejoice her heart, for she has been sad at heart this long time past and has asked me to let her go out and spend the night abroad with me?' 'ay, by allah!' answered i; and we drank till we were warm with wine and slept together till the morning, when she gave me twenty dinars and said to me, 'add to thy usual provision, on account of the young lady who will come with me.' then she went away, and on the fourth day, i made ready as usual, and soon after sundown she came, accompanied by another damsel, wrapped in a veil. they entered and sat down; and when i saw them, i repeated the following verses: how lovely and how pleasant is our day! the railer's absent, reckless of our play, love and delight and wine with us abide, each one enough to charm the wit away; the full moon[fn# ] glitters through the falling veil; bough-like, the shapes within the vestments sway: the rose blooms in the cheeks, and in the eyes narcissus languishes, in soft decay[fn# ]. delight with those i love fulfilled for me and life, as i would have it, fair and gay! then i lighted the candles and received them with joy and gladness. they put off their outer clothing, and the new damsel unveiled her face, when i saw that she was like the moon at its full, never beheld i one more beautiful. then i rose and set meat and drink before them, and we ate and drank: and i began to feed the new damsel and to fill her cup and drink with her. at this the first lady was secretly jealous and said to me, 'is not this girl more charming than i?' 'ay, by allah!' replied i. quoth she, 'it is my intent that thou lie with her this night.' and i answered, 'on my head and eyes!' then she rose and spread the bed for us, and i took the young lady and lay with her that night till the morning, when i awoke and found myself wet, as i thought, with sweat. i sat up and tried to rouse the damsel, but when i shook her by the shoulders, her head rolled off the pillow. thereupon my reason fled and i cried out, saying, 'o gracious protector, extend to me thy protection!' then i saw that she had been murdered, and the world became black in my sight and i sought the lady my first mistress, but could not find her. so i knew that it was she who had murdered the girl, out of jealousy, and said, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme! what is to be done?' i considered awhile, then rose and taking off my clothes, dug a hole midmost the courtyard, in which i laid the dead girl, with her jewellery and ornaments, and throwing back the earth over her, replaced the marble of the pavement. after this i washed and put on clean clothes and taking what money i had left, locked up the house and took courage and went to the owner of the house, to whom i paid a year's rent, telling him that i was about to join my uncles at cairo. then i set out and journeying to egypt, foregathered with my uncles, who rejoiced in me and i found that they had made an end of selling their goods. they enquired the reason of my coming, and i said, 'i yearned after you;' but did not let them know that i had any money with me. i abode with them a year, enjoying the pleasures of the city and the nile and squandering the rest of my money in feasting and drinking, till the time drew near for my uncles' departure when i hid myself from them and they sought for me, but could hear no news of me and said, 'he must have gone back to damascus.' so they departed, and i came out from my hiding and sojourned in cairo three years, sending year by year the rent of the house at damascus to its owner, until at last i had nothing left but one year's rent. at this my breast was straitened and i set out and journeyed till i reached damascus, where my landlord received me with joy. i alighted at the house and found everything locked up as i had left it: so i opened the closets and took out what was in them and found under the bed, where i had lain with the murdered girl, a necklet of gold set with jewels. i took it up and cleansing it of her blood, examined it and wept awhile. then i abode in the house two days and on the third day, i went to the bath and changed my clothes. i had now no money left and the devil prompted me to sell the necklet, that destiny might be accomplished; so i took it to the market and handed it to a broker, who made me sit down in the shop of my landlord and waited till the market was full, when he took the necklet and offered it for sale privily without my knowledge. the price bidden for it was two thousand dinars; but the broker returned and said to me, 'this necklet is a brass counterfeit of frank manufacture, and a thousand dirhems have been bidden for it.' 'yes,' answered i; 'i knew it to be brass, for we had it made for such an one, that we might mock her: and now my wife has inherited it and we wish to sell it; so go and take the thousand dirhems.' when the broker heard this, his suspicions were roused; so he carried the necklet to the chief of the market, who took it to the prefect of police and said to him, 'this necklet was stolen from me, and we have found the thief in the habit of a merchant.' so the officers fell on me unawares and brought me to the prefect, who questioned me and i told him what i had told the broker: but he laughed and said, 'this is not the truth.' then, before i knew what was toward, his people stripped me and beat me with rods on my sides, till for the smart of the blows i said, 'i did steal it,' bethinking me that it was better to confess that i stole it than let them know that she who owned it had been murdered in my house, lest they should put me to death for her. so they wrote down that i had stolen it and cut off my hand. the stump they seared with boiling oil and i swooned away: but they gave me wine to drink, and i revived and taking up my hand, was returning to my lodging, when the landlord said to me, 'after what has passed, thou must leave my house and look for another lodging, since thou art convicted of theft.' 'o my lord,' said i, 'have patience with me two or three days, till i look me out a new lodging.' 'so be it,' he answered and i returned to the house, where i sat weeping and saying, 'how shall i return to my people with my hand cut off and they know not that i am innocent?' then i abode in sore trouble and perplexity for two days, and on the third day the landlord came in to me, and with him some officers of police and the chief of the market, who had accused me of stealing the necklace. i went out to them and enquired what was the matter, but they seized on me, without further parley, and tied my hands behind me and put a chain about my neck, saying, 'the necklet that was with thee has been shown to the governor of damascus, and he recognizes it as one that belonged to his daughter, who has been missing these three years.' when i heard this, my heart sank within me, and i said to myself, 'i am lost without resource; but i must needs tell the governor my story; and if he will, let him kill me, and if he will, let him pardon me.' so they carried me to the governor's house and made me stand before him. when he saw me, he looked at me out of the corner of his eye and said to those present, 'why did ye cut off his hand? this man is unfortunate and hath committed no offense; and indeed ye wronged him in cutting off his hand.' when i heard this, i took heart and said to him, 'by allah, o my lord, i am no thief! but they accused me of this grave offence and beat me with rods in the midst of the market, bidding me confess, till for the pain of the beating, i lied against myself and confessed to the theft, although i am innocent.' 'fear not,' said the governor; 'no harm shall come to thee.' then he laid the chief of the market under arrest, saying to him, 'give this man the price of his hand, or i will hang thee and seize on all thy goods.' and he cried out to the officers, who took him and dragged him away, leaving me with the governor, who made his people unbind me and take the chain off my neck. then he looked at me and said, 'o my son, speak the truth and tell me how thou camest by the necklet.' and he repeated the following verse: to tell the whole truth is thy duty, although it bring thee to burn on the brasier of woe! 'by allah, o my lord,' answered i, 'such is my intent!' and i told him all that had passed between me and the first lady and how she had brought the second one to me and had slain her out of jealousy. when he heard my story, he shook his head and beat hand upon hand; then putting his handkerchief to his eyes, wept awhile and repeated the following verses: i see that fortune's maladies are many upon me, for, every dweller in the world, sick unto death is he. to every gathering of friends there comes a parting day: and few indeed on earth are those that are from parting free? then he turned to me and said, 'know, o my son, that she who first came to thee was my eldest daughter. i brought her up in strict seclusion and when she came to womanhood, i sent her to cairo and married her to my brother's son. after awhile, he died and she came back to me: but she had learnt profligate habits from the natives of cairo: so she visited thee four times and at last brought her younger sister. now they were sisters by the same mother and much attached to each other; and when this happened to the elder, she let her sister into her secret, and she desired to go out with her. so she asked thy leave and carried her to thee; after which she returned alone, and i questioned her of her sister, finding her weeping for her; but she said, "i know nothing of her." however, after this, she told her mother privily what had happened and how she had killed her sister; and her mother told me. then she ceased not to weep and say, "by allah, i will never leave weeping for her till i die!" and so it fell out. this, o my son, is what happened, and now i desire that thou baulk me not in what i am about to say to thee; it is that i purpose to marry thee to my youngest daughter, for she is a virgin and born of another mother, and i will take no dower from thee, but on the contrary will appoint thee an allowance, and thou shalt be to me as my very son.' 'i will well,' replied i; 'how could i hope for such good fortune?' then he sent at once for the cadi and the witnesses and married me to his daughter, and i went in to her. moreover, he got me a large sum of money from the chief of the market and i became in high favour with him. soon after, news came to me that my father was dead so the governor despatched a courier to fetch me the property he had left behind him, and now i am living in all prosperity. this is how i came to lose my right hand." his story amazed me (continued the jew) and i abode with him three days, after which he gave me much money and i set out and travelled, till i reached this thy city. the sojourn liked me well, so i took up my abode here and there befell me what thou knowest with the hunchback.' quoth the king, 'this thy story is not more wonderful than that of the hunchback, and i will certainly hang you all. however, there still remains the tailor, who was the head of the offending.' then he said to the tailor, 'o tailor, if thou canst tell me aught more wonderful than the story of the hunchback, i will pardon you all your offenses.' so the tailor came forward and said, 'know, o king of the age, that a most rare thing happened to me yesterday before i fell in with the hunchback. the tailor's story. yesterday morning early i was at an entertainment given by a friend of mine, at which there were assembled near twenty men of the people of the city, amongst them tailors and silk-weavers and carpenters and other craftsmen. as soon as the sun had risen, they set food before us that we might eat, when behold, the master of the house entered, and with him a comely young man, a stranger from baghdad, dressed in the finest of clothes and perfectly handsome, except that he was lame. he saluted us, while we rose to receive him; and he was about to sit down, when he espied amongst us a certain barber; whereupon he refused to sit and would have gone away. but we stopped him and the host seized him and adjured him, saying, "what is the reason of thy coming in and going out again at once?" "by allah, o my lord," answered he, "do not hinder me, for the cause of my turning back is yonder barber of ill-omen sitting there." when the host heard this, he wondered and said, "how comes this young man, who is from baghdad. to be troubled in his mind about this barber?" then we looked at the young man and said to him, "tell us the reason of thine anger against the barber." "o company," replied he, "there befell me a strange adventure with this barber in my native city of baghdad; he was the cause of the breaking of my leg and of my lameness, and i have sworn that i will never sit in the same place with him nor tarry in any city of which he is an inhabitant. i left baghdad, to be rid of him, and took up my abode in this city and lo, i find him with you! but now not another night shall pass, before i depart hence." so we begged him to sit down and tell us what had passed between him and the barber in baghdad, whereat the latter changed colour and hung down his head. then said the young man, "know, o company, that my father was one of the chief merchants of baghdad, and god had vouchsafed him no child but myself. when i grew up to man's estate, my father was translated to the mercy of god, leaving me great wealth in money and slaves and servants, and i began to dress handsomely and feed daintily. now god had made me a hater of women, and one day, as i was going along one of the streets of baghdad, a company of women stopped the way before me; so i fled from them, and entering a by-street without an outlet, sat down upon a stone bench at the other end. i had not sat long, before the lattice of one of the houses in the street opened and a young lady, as she were the moon at its full, never in my life saw i her like, put forth her head and began to water some flowers she had on the balcony. then she turned right and left and seeing me watching her, smiled and shut the window and went away. therewithal, fire flamed up in my heart and my mind was taken up with her, and my hatred (of women) was changed to love. i continued sitting there, lost to the world, till sundown, when the cadi of the city came riding up the street, with slaves before him and servants behind him, and alighting, entered the very house at which the young lady had appeared. by this i guessed that he was her father; so i went home, sorrowful, and fell on my bed, oppressed with melancholy thoughts. my women came in to me and sat round me, puzzled to know what ailed me; but i would not speak to them nor answer their questions, and they wept and lamented over me. presently, in came an old woman, who looked at me and saw at once what was the matter with me. so she sat down at my head and spoke me fair and said, 'o my son, tell me what ails thee, and i will bring thee to thy desire.' so i told her what had happened to me, and she said, 'o my son, this girl is the cadi's daughter of baghdad; she is kept in strict seclusion, and the window at which thou sawest her is that of her apartment, where she dwells alone, her father occupying a great suite of rooms underneath. i often visit her, and thou shalt not come at her but through me; so gird thy middle and be of good cheer.' so saying, she went away, whilst i took comfort at what she said and arose in the morning well, to the great satisfaction of my people. by-and-by the old woman came in, chopfallen, and said to me, 'o my son, do not ask how i have fared with her! when i opened the subject to her, she said to me, "an thou leave not this talk, pestilent hag that thou art, i will assuredly use thee as thou deserves!" but needs must i have at her again.' when i heard this, it added sickness to my sickness: but after some days, the old woman came again and said to me, 'o my son, i must have of thee a present for good news.' with this, life returned to me, and i said, 'whatever thou wilt is thine.' then said she, 'o my son, i went yesterday to the young lady, who seeing me broken-spirited and tearful-eyed, said to me, "o my aunt, what ails thee that i see thy heart thus straitened?" whereupon i wept and replied, "o my lady, i am just come from a youth who loves thee and is like to die for thy sake." quoth she (and indeed her heart was moved to pity), "and who is this youth of whom thou speakest?" "he is my son," answered i, "and the darling of my heart. he saw thee, some days since, at the window, tending thy flowers, and fell madly in love with thee. i told him what passed between thee and me the other day, whereupon his disorder increased and he took to his bed and will surely die." at this her colour changed and she said, "is all this on my account?" "yea, by allah!" answered i. "what wouldst thou have me do?" then said she, "go back to him and salute him for me and tell him that my sufferings are twice as great as his. and on friday, before the time of prayer, let him come hither and i will come down and open the door to him. then i will carry him to my chamber, where we can converse awhile and he can go away, before my father comes back from the mosque."' when i heard this, my anguish ceased and my heart was comforted. so i took off the clothes i was wearing and gave them to the old woman; and she said, 'be of good cheer.' 'there is no pain left in me,' answered i; and she went away. my household and friends rejoiced in my restoration to health, and i abode thus till friday, when the old woman entered and asked me how i did, to which i replied that i was well and in good case. then i dressed and perfumed myself and sat down to await the going in of the folk to the mosque, that i might betake myself to the young lady. but the old woman said to me, 'thou hast time and to spare; so thou wouldst do well to go to the bath and have thy head shaved, to do away the traces of thy disorder.' 'it is well thought,' answered i; 'i will first have my head shaved and then go to the bath.' then i said to my servant, 'go to the market and bring me a barber, and look that he be no meddler, but a man of sense, who will not split my head with his much talk.' so he went out and returned with this wretched old man. when he came in, he saluted me, and i returned his salutation. then said he, 'surely, i see thee thin of body.' and i replied, 'i have been ill.' quoth he, 'god cause affliction and trouble and anxiety to depart from thee!' 'may god hear thy prayer!' answered i: and he said, 'be of good cheer, o my lord, for indeed recovery is come to thee. dost thou wish to be polled or let blood? indeed, it is reported, on the authority of ibn abbas[fn# ] (whom god accept!), that the prophet said, "whoso is polled on a friday, god shall avert from him threescore and ten diseases;" and again, "he who is cupped on a friday is safe from loss of sight and a host of other ailments."' 'leave this talk,' said i; 'come, shave my head at once, for i am yet weak.' with this he pulled out a handkerchief, from which he took an astrolabe with seven plates, mounted in silver, and going into the courtyard, held the instrument up to the sun's rays and looked for some time. then he came back and said to me, 'know that eight degrees and six minutes have elapsed of this our day, which is friday, the tenth of sefer, in the six hundred and fifty-third year of the flight of the prophet (upon whom be the most excellent of blessing and peace!) and the seven thousand three hundred and twentieth year of the alexandrian era, and the planet now in the ascendant, according to the rules of mathematics, is mars, which being in conjunction with mercury, denotes a favourable time for cutting hair; and this also indicates to me that thou purposest to foregather with some one and that your interview will be propitious; but after this there occurs a sign, respecting a thing which i will not name to thee.' 'by allah,' exclaimed i, 'thou weariest me and pesterest me with thy foolish auguries, when i only sent for thee to shave my head! so come, shave me at once and give me no more talk.' 'by allah,' rejoined he, 'if thou knewest what is about to befall thee, thou wouldst do nothing this day; and i counsel thee to do as i shall tell thee, by observation of the stars.' 'by allah,' said i, 'i never saw a barber skilled in astrology except thee: but i think and know that thou art prodigal of idle talk. i sent for thee to shave my head, and thou plaguest me with this sorry prate!' 'what more wouldst thou have!' replied he. 'god hath vouchsafed thee a barber, who is an astrologer, versed in the arts of alchemy and white magic, syntax, grammar and lexicology, rhetoric and logic, arithmetic, astronomy and geometry, as well as in the knowledge of the law and the traditions of the prophet and in exegesis. moreover, i have read many books and digested them and have had experience of affairs and understand them thoroughly. in short, i have examined into all things and studied all arts and crafts and sciences and mastered them; and thy father loved me because of my lack of officiousness, for which reason my service is obligatory on thee. i am no meddler, as thou pretendest, and on this account i am known as the silent, the grave one. wherefore it behoves thee to give thanks to god and not cross me for i am a true counsellor to thee and take an affectionate interest in thee. i would i were in thy service a whole year, that thou mightst do me justice: and i would ask no hire of thee for this.' when i heard this, i said, 'thou wilt certainly be the death of me this day!' 'o my lord,' replied he, 'i am he whom the folk call the silent, by reason of my few words, to distinguish me from my six brothers, the eldest of whom was called becbac,[fn# ] the second heddar,[fn# ] the third fekic,[fn# ] the fourth el kouz el aswani,[fn# ] the fifth el feshar,[fn# ] the sixth shecashic[fn# ] and the seventh (myself) samit[fn# ].' whilst he thus overwhelmed me with his talk, i thought my gall-bladder would burst so i said to the servant, 'give him a quarter-dinar and let him go, for god's sake! i won't have my head shaved to-day.' 'what words are these, o my lord?' said he. 'by allah, i will take no hire of thee till i have served thee; and needs must i serve thee, for indeed it is incumbent on me to do so and fulfil thy need; and i care not if i take no money of thee. if thou knowest not my worth, i know thine; and i owe thy father (may god the most high have mercy on him!) many a kindness, for he was a generous man. by allah, he sent for me one day as it were this blessed day, and i went in to him and found a company of his friends with him. he would have had me let him blood; but i pulled out my astrolabe and taking an altitude for him, found the aspect inauspicious and the hour unfavourable for the letting of blood. i told him of this and he conformed to my advice and put off the operation to a more convenient season. so i recited the following verses in his honour: i came one day unto my lord, that i might let him blood, but found that for his body's health the season was not good; so sat me down and talked with him of many a pleasant thing and all the treasures of my mind before him freely strewed. well pleased, he listened, then, "o mine of knowledge!" he did say, "thy wit and wisdom overpass the bounds of likelihood!" "not so," quoth i; "my wit indeed were little, but for thee, o prince of men, that pour'st on me thy wisdom like a flood! thou seem'st indeed the lord of grace, bounty and excellence, world's treasure-house of knowledge, wit, sense and mansuetude!" thy father was charmed and cried out to the servant, saying, "give him a hundred and three dinars and a dress of honour." the servant did as he bade, and i waited till a favourable moment, when i let him blood; and he did not cross me, but thanked me, and all present also praised me. when the cupping was over, i could not help saying to him, "by allah, o my lord, what made thee say to the servant, 'give him a hundred and three dinars'?" quoth he, "one dinar was for the astrological observation, another for thine entertaining converse, the third for the bloodletting and the remaining hundred and the dress for thy verses in my honour."' 'may god show no mercy to my father,' exclaimed i, 'for knowing the like of thee?' he laughed and said, 'there is no god but god and mohammed is his apostle! glory be to him who changes but is not changed! i took thee for a man of sense; but i see thou dotest for illness. god says, in his precious book, that paradise is prepared for "those who restrain their wrath and forgive men", and in any case thou art excused. but i am ignorant of the cause of thy haste, and thou must know that thy father and grandfather did nothing without consulting me, for indeed it is said that he with whom one takes counsel should be trustworthy and that he who takes counsel shall not be disappointed. it is said also that he who hath not an elder (to advise him) will never be an elder himself; and indeed the poet says: ere thou decide to venture thyself in aught, consult an experienced man and cross him not. and indeed thou wilt find none better versed in affairs than i, and i am here standing on my feet to serve thee. i am not vexed with thee: why shouldst thou be vexed with me? but i will bear with thee for the sake of the favours i owe thy father.' 'by allah,' exclaimed i, 'o thou whose tongue is as long as a jackass's tail, thou persistest in pestering me with talk and pelting me with words, when all i want of thee is to shave my head and take thyself off!' then he lathered my head, saying, 'i know that thou art vexed with me, but i bear thee no malice; for thy wit is weak and thou art a boy: it was but yesterday i took thee on my shoulders and carried thee to the school' 'o my brother,'. cried i, 'for god's sake, do what i want and go thy way!' and i rent my clothes. when he saw me do this, he took the razor and fell to sharpening it and stinted not, till i was well-nigh distraught. then he came up to me and shaved a part of my head, then held his hand and said, 'o my lord, hurry is of the devil and deliberation of the merciful one. methinks thou knowest not my station; verily my hand falls on the heads of kings and amirs and viziers and sages and learned men: and it was of me the poet said: all the trades are like necklets of jewels and gold and this barber indeed's the chief pearl of the strings. he excelleth all others that boast of their skill. and under his hand are the topknots of kings.' 'leave what concerns thee not,' said i: 'indeed thou hast straitened my breast and troubled my mind.' quoth he, meseems thou art in haste. 'yes, yes, yes!' answered i, and he, 'thou wouldst do well to proceed with deliberation, for haste is of the devil and bequeaths repentance and disappointment. verily he upon whom be blessing and peace[fn# ] hath said, "the best affair is that which is undertaken with deliberation." by allah, thy case troubles me, and i would have thee let me know what it is thou art in such haste to do, for i fear me it is other than good.' then said he, 'it wants three hours yet of the time of prayer. however, i do not wish to be in doubt as to this, but am minded to know the time for certain; for speech, when it is conjectural, is but faulty, especially in the like of me, whose merit is plain and known of all men; and it does not befit me to talk at random, as do the common sort of astrologers.' so saying, he threw down the razor and taking up the astrolabe, went out under the sun and stood a long while, after which he returned and said to me, 'it wants three hours of the time of prayer, neither more nor less.' 'by allah,' answered i, 'hold thy tongue, for thou breakest my heart in pieces!' so he took his razor and after sharpening it as before, shaved another part of my head. then he said, 'i am concerned about thy haste; and indeed thou wouldst do well to tell me the cause of it, for thou knowest that thy father and grandfather did nothing without my counsel.' when i saw that there was no getting rid of him, i said to myself, 'the time of prayer draws near and i wish to go to her before the folk come out from the mosque. if i am delayed much longer, i know not how i shall come at her.' then i said to him, 'be quick and leave this prating and officiousness, for i have to go to an entertainment at the house of one of my friends.' when he heard me speak of an entertainment, he said, 'this thy day is a blessed one for me! verily, yesterday i invited a party of my intimate friends and i have forgotten to provide aught for them to eat. i bethought me of it but now, on hearing thee speak of an entertainment. alack, how i shall be disgraced in their eyes!' 'be in no concern for that,' answered i. 'have i not told thee that i am bidden abroad to-day? all the meat and drink in the house shall be thine, so thou despatch my affair and make haste to shave my head.' 'god requite thee with good!' rejoined he. 'tell me what thou hast for my guests, that i may know.' quoth i, 'i have five dishes of meat and ten fricasseed fowls and a roasted lamb.' 'bring them out to me,' said he, 'that i may see them.' so i had all this brought, and when he saw it, he said, 'there lacks the wine.' 'i have a flagon or two in the house,' answered i; and he said, 'have it brought out.' so i sent for it, and he exclaimed, 'god bless thee for a generous soul! but there are still the perfumes and the essences.' so i brought him a box, containing fifty dinars' worth of aloes-wood and ambergris and musk and other perfumes. by this, the time began to run short and my heart was straitened; so i said to him, 'take it all and finish shaving my head, by the life of mohammed, whom god bless and preserve!' 'by allah,' said he, 'i will not take it till i see all that is in it.' so i made the servant open the box, and the barber threw down the astrolabe and sitting down on the ground, turned over the contents, till i was well-nigh distracted. then he took the razor and coming up to me, shaved some little of my head and recited the following verse: the boy after his father's guise grows up and follows suit as surely as the tree springs up from out its parent root. then said he, 'o my son, i know not whether to thank thee or thy father; for my entertainment to-day is all due to thy kindness and liberality, and none of my company is worthy of it; though i have none but men of consideration, such as zentout the bath-keeper and selya the corn-chandler and silet the bean-seller and akresheh the grocer and hemid the scavenger and said the camel-driver and suweyd the porter and abou mukarish the bathman[fn# ] and cassim the watchman and kerim the groom. there is not among them all one curmudgeon or make-bate or meddler or spoil-sport; each has his own dance that he dances and his own couplets that he repeats, and the best of them is that they are like thy servant, knowing not abundance of talk nor meddlesomeness. the bath-keeper sings enchantingly to the tambourine and dances and says, "i am going, o my mother, to fill my jar!" as for the corn-chandler, he brings more skill to it than any of them; he dances and says, "o mourner, my mistress, thou dost not fall short!" and draws the very heart out of one for laughing at him. whilst the scavenger sings, so that the birds stop to listen to him, and dances and says, "news with my wife is not kept in a chest!" and indeed he is a witty, accomplished rogue, and of his excellence i use to say the following: my life redeem the scavenger! i love him passing dear, for, in his goodly gait, he's like the zephyr-shaken bough. fate blessed my eyes with him one night; and i to him did say, (whilst in my bosom, as i spoke, desire did ebb and flow,) "thou'st lit thy fire within my heart!" whereto he answer made "what wonder though the scavenger have turned a fire-man[fn# ] now?" and indeed each is perfection in all that can charm the wit with mirth and jollity. but hearing is not like seeing; and indeed if thou wilt join us and put off going to thy friends, it will be better both for us and for thee: for the traces of sickness are yet upon thee and belike thou art going amongst talkative folk, who will prate of what does not concern them, or there may be amongst them some impertinent busybody who will split thy head, and thou still weak from illness.' 'this shall be for another day,' answered i and laughed in spite of my anger. 'finish what thou hast to do for me and go in peace and enjoy thyself with thy friends, for they will be awaiting thy coming.' 'o my lord,' replied he, 'i only seek to bring thee in company with these pleasant folk, amongst whom there is neither meddlesomeness nor excess of talk; for never, since i came to years of discretion, could i endure to consort with those who ask of what concerns them not, nor with any except those who are, like myself, men of few words. verily, if thou wert once to see them and company with them, thou wouldst forsake all thy friends.' 'god fulfil thy gladness with them!' rejoined i. 'needs must i foregather with them one of these days.' and he said, 'i would it were to be to-day, for i had made up my mind that thou shouldst make one of us: but if thou must indeed go to thy friends to-day, i will take the good things, with which thy bounty hath provided me for them, to my guests, and leave them to eat and drink, without waiting for me, whilst i return to thee in haste and accompany thee whither thou goest; for there is no ceremony between me and my friends to hinder me from leaving them.' 'there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme!' cried i. 'go thou to thy friends and make merry with them and let me go to mine and be with them this day, for they expect me.' 'i will not let thee go alone,' replied he: and i said, 'none can enter where i am going but myself.' then said he, 'i believe thou hast an assignation with some woman to-day; else thou wouldst take me with thee, for it is the like of me that furnishes a merry-making; or if thou go to any one with whom thou wouldst be private, i am the fittest of all men for thy purpose, for i would help thee to what thou desirest and look that none saw thee. i fear lest thou go in to some strange woman and lose thy life; for in this city one cannot do aught of the kind, especially on a day like this and under so keen and masterful a chief of the police as ours of baghdad.' 'out on thee, o wretched old man!' cried i. 'avaunt! what words are these thou givest me?' 'o dolt!' rejoined he, 'thou sayest to me what is not true and hidest thy mind from me; but i know that this is so and am certain of it, and i only seek to help thee this day.' i was fearful lest my people or the neighbours should hear the barber's talk, so kept silence, whilst he finished shaving my head; by which time the hour of prayer was come and it was wellnigh time for the exhortation.[fn# ] when he had done, i said to him, 'take the meat and drink and carry them to thy friends. i will await thy return.' for i thought it best to dissemble with the accursed fellow and feign compliance with his wishes, so haply he might go away and leave me. quoth he, 'thou art deceiving me and wilt go alone and cast thyself into some peril, from which there will be no escape for thee. for god's sake, do not go till i return, that i may accompany thee and see what comes of thine affair.' 'it is well,' answered i: 'do not be long absent.' then he took all that i had given him and went out; but, instead of going home with it, the cursed fellow delivered it to a porter, to carry to his house, and hid himself in a by-street. as for me, i rose at once, for the muezzins had already chanted the salutation,[fn# ] and, dressing myself in haste, went out and hurried to the house where i had seen the young lady. i found the old woman standing at the door, awaiting me, and went up with her to the young lady's apartment. hardly had i done so, when the master of the house returned from the mosque and entering the saloon, shut the door. i looked out from the window and saw this barber (god's malison on him!) sitting over against the door, and said, 'how did this devil find me out?' at this moment, as god had decreed it for my undoing, it befell that a slave-girl belonging to the master of the house committed some offence, for which he beat her. she cried out, and a male slave came in to deliver her, whereupon the cadi beat him also, and he too cried out. the cursed barber concluded that it was i he was beating and fell to tearing his clothes and strewing dust on his head, shrieking and calling for help. so the folk came round him, and he said to them, 'my master is being murdered in the cadi's house!' then he ran, shrieking, to my house, with the folk after him, and told my people and servants: and before i knew what was forward, up they came, with torn clothes and dishevelled hair, calling out, 'alas, our master!' and the barber at their head, in a fine pickle, tearing his clothes and shouting. they made for the house in which i was, headed by the barber, crying out, 'woe is us for our murdered master!' and the cadi, hearing the uproar at his door, said to one of his servants, 'go and see what is the matter.' the man went out and came back, saying, 'o my lord, there are more than ten thousand men and women at the door, crying out, "woe is us for our murdered master!" and pointing to our house.' when the cadi heard this, he was troubled and vexed; so he went to the door and opening it, saw a great concourse of people; whereat he was amazed and said, 'o folk, what is the matter?' 'o accursed one, o dog, o hog,' replied my servants, 'thou hast killed our master!' quoth he, 'and what has your master done to me that i should kill him? behold, this my house is open to you!' 'thou didst beat him but now with rods,' answered the barber; 'for i heard his cries.' 'what has he done that i should beat him?' repeated the cadi; 'and what brings him into my house?' 'be not a vile, perverse old man!' replied the barber; 'i know the whole story. the long and the short of it is that thy daughter is in love with him and he with her; and when thou knewest that he had entered the house, thou badest thy servants beat him, and they did so. by allah, none shall judge between us and thee but the khalif! so bring us out our master, that his people may take him, before i go and fetch him forth of thy house and thou be put to shame.' when the cadi heard this, he was dumb for amazement and confusion before the people, but presently said to the barber, 'if thou speak truth, come in and fetch him out.' whereupon the barber pushed forward and entered the house. when i saw this, i looked about for a means of escape, but saw no hiding-place save a great chest that stood in the room. so i got into the chest and pulled the lid down on me and held my breath. hardly had i done this, when the barber came straight to the place where i was and catching up the chest, set it on his head and made off with it in haste. at this, my reason forsook me and i was assured that he would not let me be; so i took courage and opening the chest, threw myself to the ground. my leg was broken in the fall, and the door of the house being opened, i saw without a great crowd of people. now i had much gold in my sleeve, which i had provided against the like of this occasion; so i fell to scattering it among the people, to divert their attention from me; and whilst they were busy scrambling for it, i set off running through the by-streets of baghdad, and this cursed barber, whom nothing could divert from me, after me. wherever i went, he followed, crying out, 'they would have bereft me of my master and slain him who has been a benefactor to me and my family and friends! but praised be god who aided me against them and delivered my lord from their hands! where wilt thou go now? thou persistedst in following thine own evil devices, till thou broughtest thyself to this pass, and if god had not vouchsafed me to thee, thou hadst never won free from this strait, for they would have plunged thee into irremediable ruin. how long dost thou expect i shall live to save thee? by allah, thou hast well-nigh undone me by thy folly and thy perverseness in wishing to go by thyself! but i will not reproach thee with ignorance, for thou art little of wit and hasty.' 'does not what thou hast brought upon me suffice thee,' replied i, 'but thou must pursue me with the like of this talk through the public streets?' and i well-nigh gave up the ghost for excess of rage against him. then i took refuge in the shop of a weaver in the midst of the market and sought protection of the owner, who drove the barber away. i sat down in the back shop and said to myself, 'if i return home, i shall never be able to get rid of this accursed barber, for he will be with me night and day, and i cannot endure the sight of him.' so i sent out at once for witnesses and made a will, dividing the greater part of my money among my people, and appointed a guardian over them, to whom i committed the charge of great and small directing him to sell my house and estates. then i set out at once on my travels, that i might be free of this ruffian, and came to settle in your town, where i have lived for some time. when you invited me and i came hither the first thing i saw was this accursed pimp seated in the place of honour. how, then, can i be at my ease and how can it be pleasant to me to consort with you, in company with this fellow, who brought all this upon me and was the cause of the breaking of my leg and of my exile from my country and family?" and he refused to sit down and went away. when we heard the young man's story (continued the tailor), we were beyond measure amazed and diverted and said to the barber, "is it true that this young man says of thee?" "by allah," replied he, "i dealt thus with him of my courtesy and good sense and humanity. but for me, he had perished and none but i was the cause of his escape. well for him that it was in his leg that he suffered and not in his life! were i a man of many words or a busybody, i had not done him this kindness; but now i will tell you something that happened to me, that ye may know that i am indeed sparing of speech and no impertinent meddler, as were my six brothers; and it is this: the barber's story. i was living at baghdad, in the time of the khalif mustensir billah,[fn# ] who loved the poor and needy and companied with the learned and the pious. one day, it befell that he was wroth with a band of highway robbers, ten in number, who infested the neighbourhood, and ordered the chief of the baghdad police to bring them before him on the day of the festival. so the prefect sallied out and capturing the robbers, embarked with them in a boat. i caught sight of them, as they were embarking, and said to myself, 'these people are surely bound on some party of pleasure; methinks they mean to spend the day in eating and drinking, and none shall be their messmate but i.' so, of the greatness of my courtesy and the gravity of my understanding, i embarked in the boat and mingled with them. they rowed across to the opposite bank, where they landed, and there came up soldiers and police officers with chains, which they put round the necks of the robbers. they chained me with the rest, and, o company, is it not a proof of my courtesy and spareness of speech that i kept silence and did not choose to speak? then they took us away in chains and next morning they carried us all before the commander of the faithful, who bade strike off the heads of the ten robbers. so the herdsman came forward and made us kneel before him on the carpet of blood;[fn# ] then drawing his sword, struck off one head after another, till none was left but myself. the khalif looked at me and said to the headsman, 'what ails thee thou thou struck off but nine heads?' 'god forbid,' replied he, 'that i should behead only nine, when thou didst order me to behead ten!' quoth the khalif, 'meseems, thou hast beheaded but nine and he who is before thee is the tenth.' 'by thy munificence,' replied the headsman, 'i have beheaded ten!' so they counted the dead men, and behold, they were ten. then said the khalif to me, 'what made thee keep silence at such a time and how camest thou in company with these men of blood? thou art a man of great age, but assuredly thy wit is but little.' when i heard the khalif's words, i replied, 'know, o commander of the faithful, that i am the silent elder, and am thus called to distinguish me from my six brothers. i am a man of great learning, whilst, as for the gravity of my understanding, the excellence of my apprehension and the spareness of my speech, there is no end to them; and by craft i am a barber. i went out early yesterday morning and saw these ten men making for a boat, and thinking they were bound on a party of pleasure, joined myself to them and embarked with them. after awhile, there came up the officers, who put chains round their necks and round mine amongst the rest, but in the excess of my courtesy, i kept silence and did not speak, nor was this other than generosity on my part. then they brought us before thee and thou didst order the ten robbers' heads to be stricken off; yet did i not make myself known to thee, purely of my great generosity and courtesy, which led me to share with them in their death. but all my life have i dealt thus nobly with the folk, and they still requite me after the foulest fashion.' when the khalif heard what i said and knew that i was a man of exceeding generosity and few words and no meddler (as this young man would have it, whom i rescued from horrors and who has so scurvily repaid me), he laughed so immoderately that he fell backward. then said he to me, 'o silent man, are thy six brothers like thee distinguished for wisdom and knowledge and spareness of speech?' 'never were they like me,' answered i; 'thou dost me injustice, o commander of the faithful, and it becomes thee not to even my brothers with me: for, of the abundance of their speech and their lack of conduct and courtesy, each one of them has gotten some bodily defect. one is blind of an eye, another paralysed, a third blind, a fourth cropped of the ears and nose, a fifth crop-lipped and a sixth hunchbacked and a cripple. thou must not think, o commander of the faithful, that i am a man of many words; but i must needs explain to thee that i am a man of greater worth and of fewer words than they. by each one of my brothers hangs a tale of how he came by his defect, [fn# ] and these i will relate to thee. know then, o commander of the faithful that story of the barber's first brother. my first brother, the hunchback, was a tailor in baghdad, and plied his craft in a shop, which he hired of a very rich man, who dwelt over against him and had a mill in the lower part of the house. one day, as my brother the hunchback was sitting in his shop, sewing, he chanced to raise his head and saw, at the bay-window of his landlord's house, a lady like the rising full moon, engaged in looking at the passers-by. his heart was taken with love of her and he passed the day gazing at her and neglecting his business, till the evening. next day, he opened his shop and sat down to sew: but as often as he made a stitch, he looked at the bay-window and saw her as before; and his passion and infatuation for her redoubled. on the third day, as he was sitting in his usual place, gazing on her, she caught sight of him, and perceiving that he had fallen a captive to her love, smiled in his face, and he smiled back at her. then she withdrew and sent her slave-girl to him with a parcel of red flowered silk. the girl accosted him and said to him, "my lady salutes thee and would have thee cut out for her, with a skilful hand, a shift of this stuff and sew it handsomely." "i hear and obey," answered he; and cut out the shift and made an end of sewing it the same day. next morning early, the girl came back and said to him, "my mistress salutes thee and would fain know how thou hast passed the night; for she has not tasted sleep by reason of her heart being taken up with thee." then she laid before him a piece of yellow satin and said to him, "my mistress bids thee cut her two pairs of trousers of this stuff and sew them this day." "i hear and obey," answered he; "salute her for me with abundant salutation and say to her, 'thy slave is obedient to thy commands so order him as thou wilt.'" then he applied himself to cut out the trousers and used all diligence in sewing them. presently the lady appeared at the window and saluted him by signs, now casting down her eyes and now smiling in his face, so that he made sure of getting his will of her. she did not let him budge till he had finished the two pairs of trousers, when she withdrew and sent the slave-girl, to whom he delivered them, and she took them and went away. when it was night, he threw himself on his bed and tossed from side to side, till morning, when he rose and sat down in his shop. by-and-by, the slave-girl came to him and said, "my master calls for thee." when he heard this, he was afraid; but the girl, seeing his alarm, to him, "fear not: nought but good shall befall thee. my lady would have thee make acquaintance with my master." so my brother rejoiced greatly and went out with her. when he came into his landlord's presence he kissed the earth before him, and the latter returned his salute; then gave him a great piece of linen, saying, "make this into shirts for me." "i hear and obey," replied my brother, and fell to work at once and cut out twenty shirts by nightfall, without stopping to taste food. then said the husband "what is thy hire for this?" "twenty dirhems," answered my brother. so the man cried out to the slave-girl to give him twenty dirhems; but the lady signed to my brother not to take them, and he said, "by allah, i will take nothing from thee!" and took his work and went away, though he was sorely in want of money. then he applied himself to do their work, eating and drinking but little for three days, in his great diligence. at the end of this time, the slave-girl came to him and said, "what hast thou done?" quoth he, "they are finished;" and carried the shirts to his landlord, who would have paid him his hire; but he said, "i will take nothing," for fear of the lady, and returning to his shop, passed the night without sleep for hunger. now the lady had told her husband how the case stood, and they had agreed to take advantage of his infatuation to make him sew for them for nothing and laugh at him. next morning, as he sat in his shop, the servant came to him and said, "my master would speak with thee." so he accompanied her to the husband, who said to him, "i wish thee to make me five cassocks." so he cut them out and took the stuff and went away. then he sewed them and carried them to the man, who praised his work and offered him a purse of money. he put out his hand to take it, but the lady signed to him from behind her husband not to do so, and he replied, "o my lord, there is no hurry: by-and-by." then he went out, more abject than an ass, for verily five things at once were sore upon him, love and beggary and hunger and nakedness and toil; nevertheless, he heartened himself with the hope of gaining the lady's favours. when he had made an end of all their work, they put a cheat upon him and married him to their slave-girl. but when he thought to go in to her, they said to him, "lie this night in the mill; and to-morrow all will be well." my brother concluded that there was some good reason for this and passed the night alone in the mill. now the husband had set on the miller to make my brother turn the mill; so in the middle of the night, the miller came in and began to say, "this ox is lazy and stands still and will not turn, and there is much wheat to be ground. so i will yoke him and make him finish grinding it this night, for the folk are impatient for their flour." then he filled the hoppers with grain and going up to my brother, with a rope in his hand, bound him to the yoke and said to him, "come, turn the mill! thou thinkest of nothing but eating and voiding." then he took a whip and laid on to my brother, who began to weep and cry out; but none came to his aid, and he was forced to grind the wheat till near daylight, when the husband came in and seeing him yoked to the shaft and the miller flogging him, went away. at daybreak the miller went away and left him still yoked and well nigh dead; and soon after in came the slave-girl, who unbound him and said to him, "i am grieved for what has befallen thee, and both i and my lady are full of concern for thee." but he had no tongue wherewith to answer her, for excess of beating and toil. then he returned to his lodging, and presently the notary who had drawn up the marriage contract came to him and saluted him, saying, "god give thee long life! may thy marriage be blessed! thou hast doubtless passed the night clipping and kissing and dalliance from dusk to dawn." "may god curse thee for a liar, thousandfold cuckold that thou art!" replied my brother. "by allah, i did nothing but turn the mill in the place of the ox all night!" quoth the notary, "tell me thy story." so my brother told him what had happened, and he said, "thy star agrees not with hers: but if thou wilt, i can alter the contract for thee." and my brother answered, "see if thou have another device." then the notary left him and he sat down in his shop, till some one should bring him work by which he might earn his day's bread. presently the slave-girl came to him and said, "my mistress would speak with thee." "go, my good girl," replied he; "i will have no more to do with thy mistress." so the girl returned to her mistress and told her what my brother had said, and presently she put her head out of the window, weeping and saying, "o my beloved, why wilt thou have no more to do with me?" but he made her no answer. then she swore to him that all that had befallen him in the mill was without her sanction and that she was guiltless of the whole affair. when he saw her beauty and grace and heard the sweetness of her speech, he forgot what had befallen him and accepted her excuse and rejoiced in her sight. so he saluted her and talked with her and sat at his sewing awhile, after which the servant came to him and said, "my mistress salutes thee and would have thee to know that her husband purposes to lie this night abroad with some intimate friends of his; so when he is gone, do thou come to us and pass the night with her in all delight till the morning." now the man had said to his wile, "how shall we do to turn him away from thee?" quoth she, "let me play him another trick and make him a byword in the city." but my brother knew nothing of the malice of women. as soon as it was night, the servant came to him and carried him to the house; and when the lady saw him, she said to him, "by allah, o my lord, i have been longing for thee!" "by allah," replied he, "make haste and give me a kiss first of all." hardly had he spoken, when the master of the house came in from an inner room and seized him, saying, "by allah, i will not let thee go, till i deliver thee to the chief of the police." my brother humbled himself to him; but he would not listen to him and carried him to the prefect, who gave him a hundred lashes with a whip and mounting him on a camel, paraded him about the city, whilst the folk proclaimed aloud, "this is the punishment of those who violate people's harems!" moreover, he fell off the camel and broke his leg and so became lame. then the prefect banished him from the city and he went forth, not knowing whither to turn; but i heard of his mishap and going out after him, brought him back and took him to live with me.' the khalif laughed at my story and said, 'thou hast done well, o silent one, o man of few words!' and bade me take a present and go away. but i said, 'i will take nothing except i tell thee what befell my other brothers: and do not think me a man of many words. know, o commander of the faithful, that story of the barber's second brother. my second brother's name was becbac and he was the paralytic. one day, as he was going about his business, an old woman accosted him and said to him, "harkye, stop a little, that i may tell thee of somewhat, which, if it please thee, thou shalt do for me." my brother stopped and she went on, "i will put thee in the way of a certain thing, so thy words be not many." "say on," replied my brother; and she, "what sayest thou to a handsome house and a pleasant garden, with running waters and fruits and wine and a fair-faced one to hold in thine arms from dark till dawn?" "and is all this in the world?" asked my brother. "yes," answered she; "and it shall be thine, so thou be reasonable and leave impertinent curiosity and many words and do as i bid thee." "i will well, o my lady," rejoined my brother; "but what made thee choose me of all men for this affair and what is it pleases thee in me?" quoth she, "did i not bid thee be sparing of speech? hold thy peace and follow me. thou must know that the young lady, to whom i shall carry thee, loves to have her own way and hates to be crossed, so if thou fall in with her humour, thou shalt come to thy desire of her." and my brother said, "i will not thwart her in aught." then she went on and he followed her, eager to enjoy what she had promised him, till she brought him to a fine large house, richly furnished and full of servants, and carried him to an upper story. when the people of the house saw him, they said to him, "what dost thou here?" but the old woman bade them, "let him be and trouble him not; for he is a workman and we have occasion for him." then she brought him into a fine great gallery, with a fair garden in its midst, and made him sit down upon a handsome couch. he had not sat long, before he heard a great noise and in came a troop of damsels, with a lady in their midst, as she were the moon on the night of its full. when he saw her, he rose and made an obeisance to her; whereupon she bade him welcome and ordered him to be seated. so he sat down and she said to him. "god advance thee! is all well with thee?" "o my lady," replied my brother, "all is well." then she called for food, and they brought her a table richly served. so she sat down to eat, making a show of affection to my brother and jesting with him, though all the while she could not keep from laughing: but as often as he looked at her, she signed towards the waiting-maids, as if she laughed at them. my ass of a brother understood nothing, but concluded, in the blindness of his doting, that the lady was in love with him and would admit him to his desire. when they had finished eating, they set on wine, and there came in ten damsels like moons, with strung lutes in their hands, and fell a singing right melodiously; whereupon delight got hold upon him and he took the cup from the lady's hands and drank it off. then she drank a cup of wine, and he rose and bowed to her, saying, "health to thee!" she filled him another cup and he drank it off, and she gave him a cuff on the nape of his neck; whereupon he rose and went out in a rage; but the old woman followed him and winked to him to return. so he came back and the lady bade him sit, and he sat down without speaking. then she dealt him a second cuff, and nothing would serve her but she must make all her maids cuff him also. quoth he to the old woman, "never saw i aught finer than this!" and she kept saying, "enough, enough, i conjure thee, o my lady!" the women cuffed him till he was well-nigh senseless, and he rose and went out again in a rage; but the old woman followed him and said, "wait a little, and thou shalt come to what thou wishest." "how much longer must i wait?" asked he. "indeed i am faint with cuffing." "as soon as she is warm with wine," answered she, "thou shalt have thy desire." so he returned to his place and sat down, whereupon all the damsels rose and the lady bade them fumigate him and sprinkle rose-water on his face. then said she to him, "god advance thee! thou hast entered my house and submitted to my conditions; for whoso thwarts me, i turn him away, but he who is patient has his desire." "o my lady," replied he, "i am thy slave and in the hollow of thy hand." "know then," continued she, "that god has made me passionately fond of frolic, and whoso falls in with my humour comes by what he wishes." then she ordered the damsels to sing with loud voices, and they sang, till the whole company was in ecstasy: after which she said to one of the maids, "take thy lord and do what is wanting to him and bring him back to me forthright." so the damsel took my brother, who knew not what she would do with him; but the old woman came up to him and said, "be patient; there remains but little to do." at this his face cleared and he said, "tell me what she would have the maid do with me." "nothing but good," replied she, as i am thy ransom. she only wishes to dye thine eyebrows and pluck out thy moustaches." quoth he, "as for the dyeing of my eyebrows, that will come off with washing, but the plucking out of my moustaches will be irksome." "beware of crossing her," said the old woman; "for her heart is set on thee." so my brother suffered them to dye his eyebrows and pluck out his moustaches, after which the damsel returned to her mistress and told her. quoth she, "there is one thing more to be done; thou must shave his chin, that he may be beardless." so the maid went back and told my brother what her mistress bade her do, whereupon cried my fool of a brother, "how can i do what will dishonour me among the folk?" but the old woman said, "she only wishes to do thus with thee, that thou mayst be as a beardless youth and that no hair may be left on thy face to prick her; for she is passionately in love with thee. be patient and thou shalt attain thy desire." so he submitted to have his beard shaved off and his face rouged, after which they carried him back to the lady. when she saw him with his eyebrows dyed, his whiskers and moustaches plucked out, his beard shaved off and his face rouged, she was affrighted at him, then laughed till she fell backward and said, "o my lord, thou hast won my heart with thy good nature!" then she conjured him, by her life, to rise and dance; so he began to dance, and there was not a cushion in the place but she threw it at him, whilst the damsels pelted him with oranges and limes and citrons, till he fell down senseless. when he came to himself, the old woman said to him, "now thou hast attained thy desire. there is no more beating for thee and there remains but one thing more. it is her wont, when she is heated with wine, to let no one have to do with her till she put off her clothes and remain stark naked. then she will bid thee strip, in like manner, and run before thee from place to place, as if she fled from thee, and thou after her, till thy yard be in good point, when she will stop and give herself up to thee. so now rise and put off thy clothes." so he rose, well-nigh beside himself, and stripped himself stark naked; whereupon the lady stripped also and saying to my brother, "follow me, if thou desire aught," set off running in at one place and out at another and he after her, transported for desire, till his yard rose, as he were mad. presently she entered a dark passage, and in following her, he trod upon a soft place, which gave way with him, and before he knew where he was, he found himself in the midst of the market of the fell-mongers, who were calling skins for sale and buying and selling. when they saw him in this plight, naked, with yard on end, shaven face, dyed eyebrows and rouged cheeks, they cried out and clapped their hands at him and flogged him with skins upon his naked body, till he swooned away; when they set him on an ass and carried him to the chief of the police, who said, "what is this?" quoth they, "this fellow came out upon us from the vizier's house, in this plight." so the prefect gave him a hundred lashes and banished him from baghdad. however, i went out after him and brought him back privily into the city and made him an allowance for his living, though, but for my generous disposition, i had not put up with such a fellow. story of the barber's third brother the name of my third brother was fekic and he was blind. one day, chance and destiny led him to a great house and he knocked at the door, desiring speech of the owner, that he might beg of him somewhat. quoth the master of the house, "who is at the door?" but my brother was silent and heard him repeat, in a loud voice, "who is there?" still he made no answer and presently heard the master come to the door and open it and say, "what dost thou want?" "charity," replied my brother, "for the love of god the most high!" "art thou blind?" asked the man; and my brother said, "yes." quoth the other, "give me thy hand." so my brother put out his hand, thinking that he would give him something; but he took it and drawing him into the house, carried him up, from stair to stair, till they reached the housetop, my brother thinking the while that he would surely give him food or money. then said he to my brother, "what dost thou want, o blind man?" "charity, for the love of god!" repeated my brother. "god succour thee!"[fn# ] answered the master of the house. "o man," answered my brother, "why couldst thou not tell me this downstairs?" "o loser," answered he, "why didst thou not answer me, when i asked who was at the door?" quoth my brother, "what wilt thou with me now?" and the other replied, "i have nothing to give thee." "then take me down again," said my brother. but he answered, "the way lies before thee." so my brother rose and made his way down the stairs, till he came within twenty steps of the door, when his foot slipped and he rolled to the bottom and broke his head. then he went out, knowing not whither to turn, and presently fell in with other two blind men, comrades of his, who enquired how he had fared that day. he told them what had passed and said to them, "o my brothers, i wish to take some of the money in my hands and provide my self with it." now the master of the house had followed him and heard what they said, but neither my brother nor his fellows knew of this. so my brother went on to his lodging and sat down to await his comrades, and the owner of the house entered after him without his knowledge. when the other blind men arrived, my brother said to them, "shut the door and search the house, lest any stranger have followed us." the intruder, hearing this, caught hold of a rope that hung from the ceiling and clung to it, whilst the blind men searched the whole place, but found nothing. so they came back and sitting down beside my brother, brought out their money, which they counted, and lo, it was twelve thousand dirhems. each took what he wanted and the rest they buried in a corner of the room. then they set on food and sat down to eat. presently my brother heard a strange pair of jaws wagging at his side; so he said to his comrades, "there is a stranger amongst us;" and putting out his hand, caught hold of that of the intruder. therewith they all fell on him and beat him, crying out, "o muslims, a thief is come in to us, seeking to take our property!" so much people flocked to them, whereupon the owner of the house caught hold of the blind men and shutting his eyes, feigned to be blind like unto them, so that none doubted of it. then he complained of them, even as they of him, crying out, "o muslims, i appeal to god and the sultan and the chief of the police! i have a grave matter to make known to the chief of the police." at this moment, up came the watch and seizing them all, dragged them before the chief of the police, who enquired what was the matter. quoth the spy, "see here; thou shalt come at nought except by torture: so begin by beating me, and after me, beat this my captain." and he pointed to my brother. so they threw the man down and gave him four hundred strokes on the backside. the beating pained him, and he opened one eye; and as they redoubled their blows, he opened the other. when the chief of the police saw this, he said to him, "what is this, o accursed one?" "give me the seal-ring of pardon!" replied he. "we are four who feign ourselves blind and impose upon people, that we may enter houses and gaze upon women and contrive for their corruption. in this way, we have gotten much money, even twelve thousand dirhems. so i said to my comrades, 'give me my share, three thousand dirhems.' but they fell on me and beat me and took away my money, and i appeal to god and thee for protection; better thou have my share than they. so, an thou wouldst know the truth of my words, beat each of the others more than thou hast beaten me and he will surely open his eyes." the prefect bade begin with my brother: so they bound him to the whipping-post,[fn# ] and the prefect said, "o rascals, do ye abjure the gracious gifts of god and pretend to be blind?" "allah! allah!" cried my brother, "by allah, there is not one amongst us who can see!" then they beat him, till he fainted and the prefect said, "leave him till he revives and then beat him again." and he caused each of the others to be beaten with more than three hundred blows, whilst the sham blind man stood by, saying to them, "open your eyes, or you will be beaten anew." then he said to the prefect, "send some one with me to fetch the money, for these fellows will not open their eyes, lest they be put to shame before the folk." so the prefect sent to fetch the money and gave the impostor three thousand dirhems to his pretended share. the rest he took for himself and banished the three blind men from the city. but, o commander of the faithful, i went out and overtaking my brother, questioned him of his case; whereupon he told me what i have told thee. so i carried him back privily into the city and appointed him in secret wherewithal to eat and drink.' the khalif laughed at my story and said, 'give him a present and let him go.' by allah,' rejoined i, 'i will take nothing till i have made known to the commander of the faithful what happened to my other brothers, for i am a man of few words.' then i went on as follows story of the barber's fourth brother. 'my fourth brother, the one-eyed, was a butcher at baghdad, who sold meat and reared rams; and the notables and men of wealth used to buy meat of him, so that he amassed much wealth and got him cattle and houses. he fared thus a long while' till one day, as he was sitting in his shop, there came up to him an old man with a long beard, who laid down some money and said, "give me meat for this." so he gave him his money's worth of meat, and the old man went away. my brother looked at the money he had paid him, and seeing that it was brilliantly white, laid it aside by itself. the old man continued to pay him frequent visits for five months, and my brother threw the money he received from him into a chest by itself. at the end of this time, he thought to take out the money to buy sheep; so he opened the chest, but found in it nothing but white paper, cut round. when he saw this, he buffeted his face and cried out, till the folk came round him and he told them his story, at which they wondered. then he rose, as of his wont, and slaughtering a ram, hung it up within the shop; after which he cut off some of the meat and hung it up outside, saying the while, "would god that pestilent old man would come!" and surely before long up came the old man, with his money in his hand; whereupon my brother rose and caught hold of him, crying out, "come to my help, o muslims, and hear what befell me with this scoundrel!" when the old man heard this, he said to him, "an thou loose me not, i will expose thee before the folk!" "in what wilt thou expose me?" asked my brother, and the other replied, "in that thou sellest man's flesh for mutton." "thou liest, o accursed one!" cried my brother: and the old man said, "he is the accursed one who has a man hanging up in his shop." "if it be as thou sayest," rejoined my brother, "i give thee leave to take my property and my life." then said the old man, "ho, people of the city! an ye would prove the truth of my words, enter this man's shop." so they rushed into the shop, when they saw the ram was become a dead man hanging up and seized on my brother, crying out, "o infidel! o villain!" and his best friends fell to beating him and saying, "dost thou give us man's flesh to eat?" moreover, the old man struck him on the eye and put it out. then they carried the carcase to the chief of the police, to whom said the old man, "o amir, this fellow slaughters men and sells their flesh for mutton, and we have brought him to thee; so arise and execute the justice of god, to whom belong might and majesty!" my brother would have defended himself, but the prefect refused to hear him and sentenced him to receive five hundred blows with a stick and to forfeit all his property. and indeed, but for his wealth, they had put him to death. then he banished him from the city and my brother fared forth at a venture, till he came to a great city, where he thought well to set up as a cobbler. so he opened a shop and fell to working for his living. one day, as he went on an occasion, he heard the tramp of horse, and enquiring the cause, was told that the king was going out to hunt and stopped to look on his state. it chanced that the king's eye met his, whereupon he bowed his head, saying, "i take refuge with god from the evil of this day!" and drawing bridle, rode back to his palace, followed by his retinue. then he gave an order to his guards, who seized my brother and beat him grievously, till he was well-nigh dead, without telling him the reason: after which he returned to his shop, in a sorry plight, and told one of the king's household, who laughed till he fell backward and said to him, "o my brother, know that the king cannot endure the sight of a one-eyed man; especially if he be blind of the left eye, in which case, he does not let him go without killing him." when my brother heard this, he resolved to fly that city, so went forth and repaired to another country, where he was known of none. here he abode a long while, till one day, being heavy at heart for what had befallen him, he went out to divert himself. as he was walking along, he heard the tramp of horse behind him; whereupon he exclaimed, "the judgment of god is upon me!" and looked out for a hiding-place, but found none. at last he saw a closed door, and pushing against it, it yielded and he found himself in a long corridor, in which he took refuge. hardly had he done so, when two men laid hold of him, exclaiming, "praise be to god, who hath delivered thee into our hands, o enemy of allah! these three nights thou hast bereft us of sleep and given us no peace and made us taste the agonies of death!" "o folk," said my brother, "what ails you?" and they answered, "thou givest us the change and goest about to dishonour us and to murder the master of the house! is it not enough that thou hast brought him to beggary, thou and thy comrades? but give us up the knife, wherewith thou threatenest us every night." then they searched him and found in his girdle the knife he used to cut leather; and he said, "o folk, have the fear of god before your eyes and maltreat me not, for know that my story is a strange one." "what is thy story?" asked they. so he told them what had befallen him, hoping that they would let him go; however, they paid no heed to what he said, but beat him and tore off his clothes, and finding on his sides the marks of beating with rods, said, "o accursed one, these scars bear witness to thy guilt!" then they carried him to the chief of the police, whilst he said to himself, "i am undone for my sins and none can save me but god the most high!" the prefect said to him, "o villain, what made thee enter their house with murderous intent?" "o amir," replied my brother, "i conjure thee by allah, hear my words and hasten not to condemn me!" but the two men said to the prefect, "wilt thou listen to a robber, who beggars the folk and has the scars of beating on his back?" when the amir saw the scars on my brother's sides, he said to him, "they had not done this to thee, save for some great crime." and he sentenced him to receive a hundred lashes. so they flogged him and mounting him on a camel, paraded him about the city, crying out, "this is the reward and the least of the reward of those who break into people's houses!" then they thrust him forth the city, and he wandered at random, till i heard what had befallen him and going in search of him, questioned him of his case. so he told me all that passed and i carried him back privily to baghdad, where i made him an allowance for his living. story of the barber's fifth brother. my fifth brother, he of the cropt ears, o commander of the faithful, was a poor man, who used to ask alms by night and live by day on what he got thus. now, our father, who was an old man, far advanced in years, fell sick and died, leaving us seven hundred dirhems. so we took each of us a hundred; but when my brother received his share, he was at a loss to know what to do with it, till he bethought him to buy glass of all sorts and sell it at a profit. so he bought a hundred dirhems' worth of glass and putting it in a great basket, sat down, to sell it, on a raised bench, at the foot of a wall, against which he leant his back. as he sat, with the basket before him: he fell to musing in himself and said, "i have laid out a hundred dirhems on this glass and i will sell it for two hundred, with which i will buy other glass and sell it for four hundred; nor will i cease to buy and sell thus, till i have gotten much wealth. with this i will buy all kinds of merchandise and jewels and perfumes and gain great profit on them, till, god willing, i will make my capital a hundred thousand dirhems. then i will buy a handsome house, together with slaves and horses and trappings of gold, and eat and drink, nor will i leave a singing-man or woman in the city but i will have them to sing to me. as soon as i have amassed a hundred thousand dirhems,[fn# ] i will send out marriage-brokers to demand for me in marriage the daughters of kings and viziers; and i will seek the hand of the vizier's daughter, for i hear that she is perfect in beauty and of surpassing grace. i will give her a dowry of a thousand dinars, and if her father consent, well; if not, i will take her by force, in spite of him. when i return home, i will buy ten little eunuchs and clothes for myself such as are worn by kings and sultans and get me a saddle of gold, set thick with jewels of price. then i will mount and parade the city, with slaves before and behind me, whilst the folk salute me and call down blessings upon me: after which i will repair to the vizier, the girl's father, with slaves behind and before me, as well as on my either hand. when he sees me, he will rise and seating me in his own place, sit down below me, for that i am his son-in-law. now i will have with me two eunuchs with purses, in each a thousand dinars, and i will deliver him the thousand dinars of the dowry and make him a present of other thousand, that he may have cause to know my nobility and generosity and greatness of mind and the littleness of the world in my eyes; and for ten words he proffers me, i will answer him two. then i will return to my house, and if one come to me on the bride's part, i will make him a present of money and clothe him in a robe of honour; but if he bring me a present, i will return it to him and will not accept it, that they may know that i am great of soul. then i will command them to bring her to me in state and will order my house fittingly in the meantime. when the time of the unveiling is come, i will don my richest clothes and sit down on a couch of brocaded silk, leaning on a cushion and turning neither to the right nor to the left, for the haughtiness of my mind and the gravity of my understanding. my wife shall stand before me like the full moon, in her robes and ornaments, and i, of my pride and my disdain, will not look at her, till all who are present shall say to me, 'o my lord, thy wife and thy handmaid stands before thee: deign to look upon her! for standing is irksome to her.' and they will kiss the earth before me many times, whereupon i will lift my eyes and give one glance at her, then bend down my head again. then they will carry her to the bride-chamber, and meanwhile i will rise and change my clothes for a richer suit. when they bring in the bride for the second time, i will not look at her till they have implored me several times, when i will glance at her and bow down my head; nor will i leave to do thus, till they have made an end of displaying her, when i will order one of my eunuchs to fetch a purse of five hundred dinars and giving it to the tire-women, command them to lead me to the bride-chamber. when they leave me alone with the bride, i will not look at her or speak to her, but will lie by her with averted face, that she may say i am high of soul. presently her mother will come to me and kiss my head and hands and say to me, 'o my lord, look on thy handmaid, for she longs for thy favour, and heal her spirit. but i will give her no answer; and when she sees this, she will come and kiss my feet repeatedly and say, 'o my lord, verily my daughter is a beautiful girl, who has never seen man; and if thou show her this aversion, her heart will break; so do thou incline to her and speak to her.' then she will rise and fetch a cup of wine, and her daughter will take it and come to me; but i will leave her standing before me, whilst i recline upon a cushion of cloth of gold, and will not look at her for the haughtiness of my heart, so that she will think me to be a sultan of exceeding dignity and will say to me, 'o my lord, for god's sake, do not refuse to take the cup from thy servant's hand, for indeed i am thy handmaid.' but i will not speak to her, and she will press me, saying, 'needs must thou drink it,' and put it to my lips. then i will shake my fist in her face and spurn her with my foot thus." so saying, he gave a kick with his foot and knocked over the basket of glass, which fell to the ground, and all that was in it was broken. "all this comes of my pride!" cried he, and fell to buffeting his face and tearing his clothes and weeping. the folk who were going to the friday prayers saw him, and some of them looked at him and pitied him, whilst others paid no heed to him, and in this way my brother lost both capital and profit. presently there came up a beautiful lady, on her way to the friday prayers, riding on a mule with a saddle of gold and attended by a number of servants and filling the air with the scent of musk, as she passed along. when she saw the broken glass and my brother weeping, she was moved to pity for him; so she asked what ailed him and was told that he had a basket full of glass, by the sale of which he thought to make his living, but it was broken, and this was the cause of his distress. so she called one of her attendants and said to him, "give this poor man what is with thee." and he gave my brother a purse in which he found five hundred dinars, whereupon he was like to die for excess of joy and called down blessings on her. then he returned to his house, a rich man; and as he sat considering, some one knocked at the door. so he rose and opened and saw an old woman whom he knew not. "o my son," said she, "the time of prayer is at hand, and i have not yet made the ablution; so i beg thee to let me do so in thy house." "i hear and obey," replied he, and bade her come in. so she entered and he brought her an ewer, wherewith to wash, and sat down, beside himself for joy in the dinars when she had made an end of her ablutions, she came up to where he sat and prayed a two-bow prayer, after which she offered up a goodly prayer my brother, who thanked her and putting his hand to the bag of money, gave her two dinars, saying in himself, "this is an alms from me." "glory to god!" exclaimed she. "why dost thou look on one, who loves thee, as if she were a beggar? put up thy money! i have no need of it; or if thou want it not, return it to her who gave it thee, when thy glass was broken." "o my mother," asked he, "how shall i do to come at her?" "o my son," replied she, "she hath an inclination for thee, but she is the wife of a wealthy man of the city; so take all thy money with thee and follow me, that i may guide thee to thy desire: and when thou art in company with her, spare neither fair words nor persuasion, and thou shalt enjoy her beauty and her wealth to thy heart's content." so my brother took all his money and rose and followed the old woman, hardly believing in his good fortune. she led him on till they came to the door of a great house, at which she knocked, and a greek slave-girl came out and opened to them. then the old woman took my brother and brought him into a great saloon, spread with magnificent carpets and hung with curtains, where he sat down, with his money before him and his turban on his knee. presently in came a young lady richly dressed, never saw eyes handsomer than she; whereupon my brother rose to his feet, but she smiled upon him and welcoming him, signed to him to be seated. then she bade shut the door and taking my brother by the hand, led him to a private chamber, furnished with various kinds of brocaded silk. here he sat down and she seated herself by his side and toyed with him awhile; after which she rose and saying, "do not stir till i come back," went away. after awhile, in came a great black slave, with a drawn sword in his hand, who said to him, "woe to thee! who brought thee hither and what dost thou want?" my brother could make no answer, being tongue-tied for fear; so the black seized him and stripping him of his clothes, beat him with the flat of his sword till he swooned away. then the pestilent black concluded that he was dead, and my brother heard him say, "where is the salt-wench?" whereupon in came a slave-girl, with a great dish of salt, and the black strewed salt upon my brother's wounds; but he did not stir, lest he should know that he was alive and finish him. then the salt-girl went away and the black cried out, "where is the cellaress?" with this in came the old woman, and taking my brother by the feet, dragged him to an underground vault, where she threw him down upon a heap of dead bodies. there he remained two whole days, but god made the salt the means of saving his life, for it stayed the flow of blood. presently, he found himself strong enough to move; so he rose and opening the trap-door, crept out fearfully; and god protected him, so that he went on in the darkness and hid himself in the vestibule till the morning, when he saw the cursed old woman sally forth in quest of other prey. so he went out after her, without her knowledge, and made for his own house, where he dressed his wounds and tended himself till he was whole. meanwhile he kept a watch upon the old woman and saw her accost one man after another and carry them to the house. however, he said nothing; but as soon as he regained health and strength, he took a piece of stuff and made it into a bag, which he filled with broken glass and tied to his middle. then he disguised himself in the habit of a foreigner, that none might know him, and hid a sword under his clothes. then he went out and presently falling in with the old woman, accosted her and said to her, with a foreign accent, "o dame, i am a stranger, but this day arrived here, and know no one. hast thou a pair of scales wherein i may weigh nine hundred dinars? i will give thee somewhat of the money for thy pains." "i have a son, a moneychanger," replied she, "who has all kinds of scales; so come with me to him, before he goes out, and he will weigh thy gold for thee." and he said, "lead the way." so she led him to the house and knocked at the door; and the young lady herself came out and opened it; whereupon the old woman smiled in her face, saying, "i bring thee fat meat to-day." then the damsel took him by the hand and carrying him to the same chamber as before, sat with him awhile, then rose and went out, bidding him stir not till she came back. ere long in came the villainous black, with his sword drawn, and said to my brother, "rise, o accursed one!" so he rose and as the slave went on before him, he drew the sword from under his clothes and smiting him with it, made his head fly from his body; after which he dragged the corpse by the feet to the vault and cried out, "where is the salt-wench?" up came the girl with the dish of salt, and seeing my brother sword in hand, turned to fly; but he followed her and smote her and struck off her head. then he called out, "where is the cellaress?" and in came the old woman, to whom said he, "dost thou know me, o pestilent old woman?" "no, my lord," replied she; and he said, "i am he of the five hundred dinars, to whose house thou camest to make the ablution and pray, and whom thou didst after lure hither." "fear god and spare me!" exclaimed she. but he paid no heed to her and striking her with the sword, cut her in four. then he went in search of the young lady; and when she saw him, her reason fled and she called out for mercy. so he spared her and said to her, "how camest thou to consort with this black?" quoth she, "i was slave to a certain merchant and the old woman used to visit me, till i became familiar with her. one day she said to me, 'we have to-day a wedding at our house, the like of which was never beheld, and i wish thee to see it.' 'i hear and obey,' answered i, and rising, donned my handsomest clothes and jewellery and took with me a purse containing a hundred dinars. then she brought me hither, and hardly had i entered the house, when the black seized on me, and i have remained in this case these three years, through the perfidy of the accursed old woman." then said my brother, "is there aught of his in the house?" "he had great store of wealth," replied she: "and if thou canst carry it away, do so, and may god prosper it to thee!" then she opened to him several chests full of purses, at which he was confounded, and said to him, "go now and leave me here and fetch men to carry off the money." so he went out and hired ten men, but, when he returned, he found the door open and the damsel gone, and nothing left but a little of the money and the household stuff. by this, he knew that she had cheated him; so he opened the closets and took what was in them, together with the rest of the money, leaving nothing in the house, and passed the night in all content. when he arose in the morning, he found at the door a score of troopers, who seized him, saying, "the chief of the police seeks for thee." my brother implored them to let him return to his house, but they would grant him no delay, though he offered them a large sum of money, and binding him fast with cords, carried him off. on the way, there met them a friend of my brother, who clung to his skirts and implored him to stop and help to deliver him from their hands. so he stopped and enquired what was the matter; to which they replied, "the chief of the police has ordered us to bring this man before him, and we are doing so." the man interceded with them and offered them five hundred dinars to let my brother go, saying, "tell the magistrate that ye could not find him." but they refused and dragged him before the prefect, who said to him, "whence hadst thou these stuffs and money?" quoth my brother, "grant me indemnity." so the magistrate gave him the handkerchief of pardon, and he told him all that had befallen him, from first to last, including the flight of the damsel, adding, "take what thou wilt, so thou leave me enough to live on." but the prefect took the whole of the stuff and money for himself and fearing lest the affair should reach the sultan's ears, said to my brother, "depart from this city, or i will hang thee." "i hear and obey," replied my brother, and set out for another town. on the way thieves fell on him and stripped him and beat him and cut off his ears. but i heard of his misfortunes and went out after him, taking him clothes, and brought him back privily to the city, where i made him an allowance for meat and drink. story of the barber's sixth brother my sixth brother, he of the cropt lips, o commander of the faithful, was once rich, but after became poor. one day he went out to seek somewhat to keep life in him and came presently to a handsome house, with a wide and lofty portico and servants and others at the door, ordering and forbidding. my brother enquired of one of those standing there and he told him that the house belonged to one of the barmecide family. so he accosted the door-keepers and begged an alms of them. "enter," said they, "and thou shalt get what thou seekest of our master." accordingly, he entered and passing through the vestibule, found himself in a mansion of the utmost beauty and elegance, paved with marble and hung with curtains and having in the midst a garden whose like he had never seen. he stood awhile perplexed, knowing not whither to direct his steps: then seeing the door of a sitting-chamber, he entered and saw at the upper end a man of comely presence and goodly beard. when the latter saw my brother, he rose and welcomed him and enquired how he did; to which he replied that he was in need of charity. whereupon the other showed great concern and putting his hand to his clothes, rent them, exclaiming, "art thou hungry in a city of which i am an inhabitant? i cannot endure this!" and promised him all manner of good. then said he, "thou must eat with me." "o my lord," replied my brother, "i can wait no longer; for i am sore an hungred." so, the barmecide cried out, "ho, boy! bring the ewer and the basin!" and said to my brother, "o my guest, come forward and wash thy hands." my brother rose to do so, but saw neither ewer nor basin. however, the host made as if he were washing his hands and cried out, "bring the table." but my brother saw nothing. then said the barmecide, "honour me by eating of this food and be not ashamed." and he made as if he ate, saying the while, "thou eatest but little: do not stint thyself, for i know thou art famished." so my brother began to make as if he ate, whilst the other said to him, "eat and note the excellence of this bread and its whiteness." my brother could see nothing and said to himself, "this man loves to jest with the folk." so he replied, "o my lord, never in my life have i seen whiter or more delicious bread." and the host said, "i gave five hundred dinars for the slave-girl who bakes it for me." then he called out, "ho, boy! bring the frumenty first and do not spare butter on it." and turning to my brother, "o my guest," said he, "sawst thou ever aught better than this frumenty? eat, i conjure thee, and be not ashamed!" then he cried out again, "ho, boy! bring in the pasty with the fatted grouse in it." and he said to my brother, "eat, o my guest, for thou art hungry and needest it." so my brother began to move his jaws and make as if he chewed; whilst the other ceased not to call for dish after dish and press my brother to eat, though not a thing appeared. presently, he cried out, "ho, boy i bring us the chickens stuffed with pistachio-kernels!" and said to my brother, "these chickens have been fattened on pistachio-nuts; eat, for thou hast never tasted the like of them." "o my lord," replied my brother, "they are indeed excellent." then the host feigned to put his hand to my brother's mouth, as if to feed him, and ceased not to name various dishes and expatiate upon their excellence. meanwhile my brother was starving, and hunger was so sore on him that his soul lusted for a cake of barley bread. quoth the barmecide, "didst thou ever taste aught more delicious than the seasoning of these dishes?" "never, o my lord," replied my brother. "eat heartily and be not ashamed," repeated the host. "o my lord," said my brother, "i have had enough of meat." so the barmecide cried out, "take away and bring the sweetmeats." then he said, "eat of this almond conserve, for it is excellent, and of these fritters. my life on thee, take this one before the syrup runs out of it!" "may i never be bereaved of thee, o my lord!" replied my brother, and asked him of the abundance of musk in the fritters. "it is my custom," said the other, "to have three pennyweights of musk and half that quantity of ambergris put into each fritter." all this time my brother was wagging his jaws and moving his head and mouth, till the host said, "enough of this! bring us the dessert." then said he to him, "eat of these almonds and walnuts and raisins and of this and that," naming different kinds of dried fruits, "and be not ashamed." "o my lord," answered my brother, "indeed i am full: i can eat no more." "o my guest," repeated the other, "if thou have a mind to eat more, for god's sake do not remain hungry!" "o my lord," replied my brother, "how should one who has eaten of all these dishes be hungry?" then he considered and said to himself "i will do that which shall make him repent of having acted thus." presently the host called out, "bring me the wine," and making as if it had come, feigned to give my brother to drink, saying, "take this cup, and if it please thee, let me know." "o my lord," replied he, "it has a pleasant smell, but i am used to drink old wine twenty years of age." "then knock at this door,"[fn# ] said his host; "for thou canst not drink of aught better." "o my lord, this is of thy bounty!" replied my brother and made as if he drank. "health and pleasure to thee!" exclaimed the host, and feigned, in like wise, to fill a cup and drink it off and hand a second cup to my brother, who pretended to drink and made as if he were drunken. then he took the barmecide unawares and raising his arm, till the whiteness of his arm-pit appeared, dealt him such a buffet on the neck that the place rang to it. then he gave him a second cuff and the host exclaimed, "what is this, o vile fellow?" "o my lord," replied my brother "thou hast graciously admitted thy slave into thine abode and fed him with thy victual and plied him with old wine, till he became drunk and dealt unmannerly by thee; but thou art too noble not to bear with his ignorance and pardon his offence." when the barmecide heard my brother's words, he laughed heartily and exclaimed, "long have i used to make mock of men and play the fool with those who are apt at jesting and horse-play; but never have i come across any, who had patience and wit to enter into all my humours, but thee; so i pardon thee, and now thou shalt be my boon companion, in very deed, and never leave me." then he bade his servants lay the table in good earnest, and they set on all the dishes of which he had spoken, and he and my brother ate till they were satisfied, after which they removed to the drinking-chamber, where they found damsels like moons, who sang all manner of songs and played on all kinds of musical instruments. there they remained, drinking, till drunkenness overcame them, and the host used my brother as a familiar friend, so that he became as it were his brother, and bestowed on him a dress of honour and loved him with an exceeding love. next morning, they fell again to feasting and carousing, and ceased not to lead this life for twenty years, at the end of which time the barmecide died and the sultan laid hands on all his property and squeezed my brother, till he stripped him of all he had. so he left the city and fled forth at random, but the arabs fell on him midway and taking him prisoner, carried him to their camp, where the bedouin, his captor, tortured him, saying, "ransom thyself with money, or i will kill thee." my brother fell a-weeping and replied, "by allah, i have nought! i am thy prisoner; do with me as thou wilt." thereupon the bedouin took out a knife and cut off my brother's lips, still urging his demand. now this bedouin had a handsome wife, who used to make advances to my brother, in her husband's absence, and offer him her favours, but he held off from her. one day, she began to tempt him as usual, and he toyed with her and took her on his knee, when lo, in came the bedouin, and seeing this, cried out, "woe to thee, thou villain! wouldst thou debauch my wife?" then he took out a knife and cut off my brother's yard, after which he set him on a camel and carried him to a mountain, where he threw him down and left him. here he was found by some travellers, who recognized him and gave him meat and drink and acquainted me with his plight, whereupon i went forth to him and brought him back to baghdad, where i provided him with enough to live on. this then, o commander of the faithful, is the history of my brothers, and i was unwilling to go away without relating it to thee, that i might disabuse thee of thine error in confounding me with them. and now thou knowest that i have six brothers and support them all.' when the khalif heard my words, he laughed and said, 'thou sayst sooth, o silent one! thou art neither a man of many words nor an impertinent meddler; but now go out from this city and settle in another.' and he banished me from the city; so i left baghdad and travelled in foreign countries, till i heard of his death and the coming of another to the khalifate. then i returned to baghdad, where i found my brothers dead and fell in with this young man, to whom i rendered the best of services, for without me he had been killed. indeed he accuses me of what is foreign to my nature and what he relates of my impertinence is false; for verily i left baghdad on his account and wandered in many countries, till i came to this city and happened on him with you; and was not this, o good people, of the generosity of my nature?" when we heard the barber's story (continued the tailor) and saw the abundance of his speech and the way in which he had oppressed the young man, we laid hands on him and shut him up, after which we sat down in peace and ate and drank till the time of the call to afternoon-prayer, when i left the company and returned home. my wife was sulky and said to me, "thou hast taken thy pleasure all day, whilst i have been moping at home. so now, except thou carry me abroad and amuse me for the rest of the day, it will be the cause of my separation from thee." so i took her out and we amused ourselves till nightfall, when we returned home and met the hunchback, brimming over with drunkenness and repeating the following verses: the glass is pellucid, and so is the wine: so bring them together and see them combine: tis a puzzle; one moment, all wine and no cup; at another, in turn, 'tis all cup and no wine. so i invited him to pass the evening with us and went out to buy fried fish, after which we sat down to eat. presently my wife took a piece of bread and fish and crammed them into his mouth, and he choked and died. then i took him up and made shift to throw him into the house of the jewish physician. he in his turn let him down into the house of the controller, who threw him in the way of the christian broker. this, then, is my story. is it not more wonderful than that of the hunchback?' when the king heard the tailor's story, he shook his head for delight and showed astonishment, saying, 'this that passed between the young man and the meddlesome barber is indeed more pleasant and more wonderful than the story of that knave of a hunchback.' then he bade the tailor take one of the chamberlains and fetch the barber out of his duresse, saying, 'bring him to me, that i may hear his talk, and it shall be the means of the release of all of you. then we will bury the hunchback, for he is dead since yesterday, and set up a tomb over him.' so the chamberlain and the tailor went away and presently returned with the barber. the king looked at him and behold, he was a very old man, more than ninety years of age, of a swarthy complexion and white beard and eyebrows, flap-eared, long-nosed and simple and conceited of aspect. the king laughed at his appearance and said to him, 'o silent man, i desire thee to tell me somewhat of thy history.' 'o king of the age,' replied the barber, 'why are all these men and this dead hunchback before thee?' said the king, 'why dost thou ask?' 'i ask this,' rejoined the barber, 'that your majesty may know that i am no impertinent meddler and that i am guiltless of that they lay to my charge of overmuch talk; for i am called the silent, and indeed i am the man of my name, as says the poet: thine eyes shall seldom see a man that doth a nickname bear, but, if thou search, thou'lt find the name his nature doth declare. so the king said, 'explain the hunchback's case to him and repeat to him the stories told by the physician, the controller, the broker and the tailor.' they did as he commanded, and the barber shook his head and exclaimed, 'by allah, this is indeed a wonder of wonders!' then said he, 'uncover the hunchback's body, that i may see it.' they did so, and he sat down and taking the hunchback's head in his lap, looked at his face and laughed till he fell backward. then said he, 'to every death there is a cause; but the story of this hunchback deserves to be recorded in letters of gold!' the bystanders were astounded at his words and the king wondered and said to him, 'o silent man, explain thy words to us.' 'o king of the age,' replied the barber, 'by thy munificence, there is yet life in this hunchback.' then he pulled out from his girdle a barber's budget, whence he took a pot of ointment and anointed therewith the neck of the hunchback and its veins. then he took out a pair of tweezers and thrusting them down the hunchback's throat, drew out the piece of fish and its bone, soaked in blood. thereupon the hunchback sneezed and sat up, and passing his hand over his face, exclaimed, 'i testify that there is no god but god and that mohammed is his apostle!' at this all present wondered and the king laughed, till he fainted, and so did the others. then said the king, 'by allah, this is the most wonderful thing i ever saw! o muslims, o soldiers all, did you ever in your lives see a man die and come to life again? for verily, had not god vouchsafed him this barber to be the cause of his preservation, he had been dead!' 'by allah,' said they, 'this is a wonder of wonders!' then the king caused the whole history to be recorded and laid up in the royal treasury; after which he bestowed splendid dresses of honour on the jew, the broker and the controller and sent them away. then he gave the tailor a costly dress of honour and appointed him his own tailor, with a suitable stipend, and made peace between him and the hunchback, on whom he also bestowed a rich and fair dress of honour and made him his boon-companion, appointing him due allowances. as for the barber, he made him a like present and appointed him state barber and one of his boon-companions, assigning him regular allowances and a fixed salary. and they all ceased not from the enjoyment of all the delights and comforts of life, till there overtook them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of companies. noureddin ali and the damsel enis el jelis. there was once a king in bassora who cherished the poor and needy and loved his subjects and bestowed of his wealth on those who believed in mohammed (whom god bless and preserve!) and he was even as the poet hath described him: a king who, when the hostile hosts assault him in the field, smites them and hews them, limb from limb, with trenchant sword and spear full many a character of red he writes upon the breasts what time the mailed horsemen break before his wild career. his name was king mohammed ben suleiman ez zeini, and he had two viziers, one called muin ben sawa and the other fezl ben khacan. fezl was the most generous man of his time; noble and upright of life, all hearts concurred in loving him, and the wise complied with his counsel, whilst all the people wished him long life; for that he was a compend of good qualities, encouraging good and preventing evil and mischief. the vizier muin, on the contrary, was a hater of mankind and loved not good, being indeed altogether evil; even as says of him the poet: look thou consort with the generous, sons of the gen'rous; for lo! the generous, sons of the gen'rous, beget the gen'rous, i trow. and let the mean-minded men, sons of the mean-minded, go, for the mean-minded, sons of the mean, beget none other than so. and as much as the people loved fezl, so much did they hate muin. it befell one day, that the king, being seated on his throne, with his officers of state about him, called his vizier fezl and said to him, 'i wish to have a slave-girl of unsurpassed beauty, perfect in grace and symmetry and endowed with all praiseworthy qualities.' said the courtiers, 'such a girl is not to be had for less than ten thousand dinars!' whereupon the king cried out to his treasurer and bade him carry ten thousand dinars to fezl's house. the treasurer did so, and the vizier went away, after the king had charged him to go to the market every day and employ brokers and had given orders that no girl worth more than a thousand dinars should be sold, without being first shown to the vizier. accordingly, the brokers brought him all the girls that came into their hands, but none pleased him, till one day a broker came to his house and found him mounting his horse, to go to the palace; so he caught hold of his stirrup and repeated the following verses: o thou whose bounties have restored the uses of the state, o vizier helped of heaven, whose acts are ever fortunate! thou hast revived the virtues all were dead among the folk. may god's acceptance evermore on thine endeavours wait! then said he, 'o my lord, she for whom the august mandate was issued is here.' 'bring her to me,' replied the vizier. so he went away and returned in a little with a damsel of elegant shape, swelling-breasted, with melting black eyes and smooth cheeks, slender-waisted and heavy-hipped, clad in the richest of clothes. the dew of her lips was sweeter than syrup, her shape more symmetrical than the bending branch and her speech softer than the morning zephyr, even as says one of those who have described her: a wonder of beauty! her face full moon of the palace sky; of a tribe of gazelles and wild cows the dearest and most high! the lord of the empyrean hath given her pride and state, elegance, charm and a shape that with the branch may vie; she hath in the heaven of her face a cluster of seven stars, that keep the ward of her cheek to guard it from every spy. so if one think to steal a look, the imps of her glance consume him straight with a star, that shoots from her gleaming eye. when the vizier saw her she pleased him exceedingly, so he turned to the broker and said to him, 'what is the price of this damsel?' 'her price is ten thousand dinars,' replied he, 'and her owner swears that this sum will not cover the cost of the chickens she hath eaten, the wine she hath drunk and the dresses of honour bestowed on her teachers; for she hath learnt penmanship and grammar and lexicology and the exposition of the koran and the rudiments of law and theology, medicine and the calendar, as well as the art of playing on instruments of music.' then said the vizier, 'bring me her master.' so the broker brought him at once, and behold, he was a foreigner, who had lived so long that time had worn him to bones and skin. quoth the vizier to him, 'art thou content to sell this damsel to the sultan for ten thousand dinars?' 'by allah,' replied the merchant, 'if i made him a present of her, it were but my duty!' so the vizier sent for the money and gave it to the slave-dealer, who said, 'by the leave of our lord the vizier, i have something to say.' 'speak,' said the vizier: and the slave-dealer said, 'if thou wilt be ruled by me, thou wilt not carry the damsel to the king to-day, for she is newly off a journey; the change of air has affected her and the journey has fretted her. but let her abide in thy palace ten days, that she may recover her good looks. then send her to the bath and dress her in the richest of clothes and go up with her to the sultan, and this will be more to thy profit.' the vizier considered the man's advice and approved it; so he took her to his palace, where he appointed her a separate lodging and a daily allowance of meat and drink and so forth, and she abode thus awhile. now the vizier fezl had a son like the rising full moon, with shining visage, red cheeks covered with a tender down and a mole like a grain of ambergris; as says of him the poet and therein errs not: a moon,[fn# ] whose glances slay the folk, on whom he turns his eye; a branch, whose graces break all hearts, as he goes stately by slack as the night his browlocks are, his face the hue of gold; fair is his person, and his shape the spear-shaft doth outvie. ah me, how hard his heart, how soft and slender is his waist! why is the softness not transferred from this to that, ah why? were but the softness of his sides made over to his heart, he'd ne'er to lovers be unjust nor leave them thus to sigh. o thou that blam'st my love of thee, excuse me rather thou, nor chide me, if my body pine for languor like to die. the fault, indeed, lies not with me, but with my heart and eye; so chide me not, but let me be in this my misery. now he knew not the affair of the damsel, and his father had lessoned her, saying, 'know, o my daughter, that i have bought thee for the bed of the king mohammed ben suleiman ez zeini, and i have a son who leaves no girl in the quarter but he has to do with her; so be on thy guard against him and beware of letting him see thy face or hear thy voice.' 'i hear and obey,' replied she; and the vizier left her and went away. some days after this it chanced, as fate would have it, that the damsel went to the bath in the house, where some of the serving-women washed her, after which she arrayed herself in rich apparel, and her beauty and grace redoubled. then she went in to the vizier's wife and kissed her hand; and the lady said to her, 'may it profit thee, o enis el jelis! how didst thou find the bath?' 'o my lady,' answered she, 'i lacked but thy presence there.' thereupon said the mistress to her waiting-women, 'come with me to the bath, for it is some days since i went thither.' 'we hear and obey,' answered they; and rose and accompanied her to the bath, after enis el jelis had retired to her own chamber and the lady had set two little slave-girls to keep the door, charging them to let none go in to the damsel. presently, as enis el jelis sat resting after the bath, in came the vizier's son, whose name was noureddin ali, and asked after his mother and her women, to which the two little slaves replied that they had gone to the bath. the damsel heard noureddin's voice and said to herself, 'i wonder what like is this youth, of whom his father says that there is not a girl in the quarter but he has had to do with her. by allah, i long to see him!' so she rose, fresh as she was from the bath, and going to the door, looked at noureddin and saw that he was like the moon at its full. the sight cost her a thousand sighs, and noureddin, chancing to look that way, caught a glance of her that caused him also a thousand regrets, and each fell into the snare of the other's love. then he went up to the two little slaves and cried out at them, whereupon they fled before him and stood afar off to see what he would do. and behold, he went up to the door of the damsel's chamber and entering, said to her, 'art thou she whom my father bought for me?' 'yes,' answered she: whereupon noureddin, who was heated with wine, went up to her and embraced her, whilst she wreathed her arms about his neck and met him with kisses and sighs and amorous gestures. then he sucked her tongue and she his, and he did away her maidenhead. when the two little slaves saw their young master go in to the damsel, they cried out and shrieked. so, as soon as he had done his desire, he rose and fled, fearing the issue of his conduct. when the vizier's wife heard the slaves' cries, she sprang up and came out of the bath, with the sweat dripping from her, saying, 'what is this clamour in the house?' then she came up to the two little slaves, and said to them, 'out on you! what is the matter?' 'our lord noureddin came in and beat us,' answered they: 'so we fled and he went in to the damsel and embraced her, and we know not what he did after this: but when we cried out to thee, he fled.' thereupon, the mistress went in to enis el jelis and enquired what had happened. 'o my lady,' answered she, 'as i was sitting here, there came in a handsome young man, who said to me, "art thou she whom my father bought for me?" i answered, "yes;" (for by allah, o my lady, i believed that he spoke the truth!) and with this he came up to me and embraced me.' 'did he nought else with thee?' asked the lady. 'yes,' replied enis el jelis: 'he took of me three kisses.' 'he did not leave thee without deflowering thee!' cried the vizier's wife, and fell to weeping and buffeting her face, she and her women, fearing that noureddin's father would kill him. whilst they were thus, in came the vizier and asked what was the matter, and his wife said to him, 'swear that thou wilt hearken to what i say.' 'it is well,' replied he. so she told him what his son had done, and he was greatly afflicted and tore his clothes and buffeted his face and plucked out his beard. 'do not kill thyself,' said his wife: 'i will give thee the ten thousand dinars, her price, of my own money.' but he raised his head and said to her, 'out on thee! i have no need of her price, but i fear to lose both life and goods.' 'how so?' asked his wife, and he said, 'dost thou not know that yonder is our enemy muin ben sawa, who, when he hears of this affair, will go up to the sultan and say to him, "thy vizier, who thou wilt have it loves thee, had of thee ten thousand dinars and bought therewith a slave-girl, whose like was never seen; but when he saw her, she pleased him and he said to his son, 'take her: thou art worthier of her than the sultan.' so he took her and did away her maidenhead, and she is now with him." the king will say, "thou liest!" to which muin will reply, "with thy leave, i will fall on him at unawares and bring her to thee." the king will order him to do this, and he will come down upon the house and take the damsel and bring her before the king, who will question her and she will not be able to deny what has passed. then muin will say, "o my lord, thou knowest that i give thee true counsel, but i am not in favour with thee." thereupon the sultan will make an example of me, and i shall be a gazing-stock to all the people and my life will be lost.' quoth his wife, 'tell none of this thing, which has happened privily, but commit thy case to god and trust in him to deliver thee from this strait.' with this the vizier's heart was set at rest, and his wrath and chagrin subsided. meanwhile, noureddin, fearing the issue of the affair, spent the whole day in the gardens and came back by night to his mother's apartment, where he slept and rising before day, returned to the gardens. he lived thus for a whole month, not showing his face to his father, till at last his mother said to the vizier, 'o my lord, shall we lose our own son as well as the damsel? if things continue thus for long, the lad will flee forth from us.' 'what is to be done?' said he: and she answered, 'do thou watch this night, and when he comes, seize on him and frighten him. i will rescue him from thee and do thou then make peace with him and give him the girl, for she loves him and he her; and i will pay thee her price.' so the vizier watched that night and when his son came, he seized him and throwing him down, knelt on his breast and made as if he would cut his throat; but his mother came to his succour and said to her husband, 'what wilt thou do with him?' quoth he, 'i mean to kill him.' and noureddin said to his father 'am i of so little account with thee?' whereupon the vizier's eyes filled with tears and he replied, 'o my son, is the loss of my goods and my life of so little account in thine eyes?' quoth noureddin, 'hear, o my father, what the poet says: pardon me: true, i have sinned: yet the sagacious man ceases never to pardon freely the erring wight. surely, therefore, thy foe may hope for pardon from thee, since he is in the abyss and thou on honour's height!' then the vizier rose from off his breast, saying, 'o my son, i forgive thee!' for his heart was softened. noureddin rose and kissed the hand of his father, who said to him, 'if i knew that thou wouldst deal fairly by enis el jelis, i would give her to thee.' 'o my father,' replied noureddin, 'how should i not deal fairly by her?' quoth the vizier, 'o my son, i charge thee not to take another wife nor concubine to share with her nor sell her.' 'o my father,' answered noureddin, 'i swear to thee that i will do none of these things.' then he went in to the damsel and abode with her a whole year, whilst god caused the king to forget the affair. the matter, indeed, came to muin's ears, but he dared not speak of it, by reason of the favour in which the vizier fezl stood with the sultan. at the end of the year, the vizier fezl went one day to the bath and coming out, whilst still in a sweat, the air smote him and he caught cold and took to his bed. his malady gained upon him and sleeplessness was long upon him; so he called his son noureddin and said to him, 'o my son, know that fortune is lotted out and the term of life fixed, and needs must every soul drain the cup of death.' and he repeated the following verses: i'm dead: yet glory be to him that dieth not; for that i needs must die, indeed, full well i wot, he is no king, who dies with kingship in his hand, for sovranty belongs to him that dieth not. then he continued, 'o my son, i have no charge to lay on thee, except that thou fear god and look to the issue of thine actions and cherish the damsel enis el jelis.' 'o my father,' said noureddin, 'who is like unto thee? indeed thou art renowned for the practice of virtue and the praying of the preachers for thee in the pulpits.' quoth fezl, 'o my son, i hope for acceptance from god the most high.' then he pronounced the two professions of the faith and was numbered among the blessed. the palace was filled with crying and lamentation, and the news of his death reached the king and the people of the city, and even the children in the schools wept for fezi ben khacan. then his son noureddin arose and took order for his funeral, and the amirs and viziers and grandees were present, amongst them the vizier muin ben sawa; and as the funeral train came forth of the palace, one of the mourners recited the following verses: the fifth day i departed and left my friends alone: they laid me out and washed me upon a slab of stone; then stripped me of the raiment that on my body was, that they might put upon me clothes other than my own on four men's necks they bore me unto the place of prayer and prayed a prayer above me by no prostration known. then in a vaulted dwelling they laid me. though the years shall waste, its door will never be open to them thrown. when they had laid him in the earth, noureddin returned with the folk; and he lamented with groans and tears and the tongue of the case repeated the following verses: on the fifth day they departed in the eventide, and i took of them the last leave-taking, when they went and left me here. when they turned away and left me, lo! the soul with them did go. and i said, "return." it answered, "where, alas! should i recur; shall i come back to a body whence the life and blood are flown? nothing now but bones are left it, rattling in the sepulchre. lo! my eyes, excess of weeping hath put out their sight, i trow, and a deafness eke is fallen on my ears: i cannot hear." he abode a long while in great grief for his father, till one day, as he sat in his house, there came a knocking at the door; so he rose and opening the door, found there a man who had been one of his father's friends and boon-companions. he entered and kissing noureddin's hand, said to him, 'o my lord, he who has left the like of thee is not dead; and to this pass (death) came even the lord of the first and the last.[fn# ] o my lord, take comfort and leave mourning!' thereupon noureddin rose and going to the guest-chamber, transported thither all that he needed. then his friends gathered together to him and he took his slave-girl again and collecting round him ten of the sons of the merchants, began to eat meat and drink wine, giving entertainment after entertainment and dispensing gifts and favours with a lavish hand, till one day his steward came to him and said, 'o my lord noureddin, hast thou not heard the saying, "he who spends and does not reckon, becomes poor without knowing it?"' and he repeated the following verses: i'll hold my money fast, knowing, as well as i know, that 'tis my sword and shield against my every foe. if i should lavish it on those who love me not, my luck among the folk would change to grief and woe. so i will eat and drink my wealth for my own good nor upon any man a single doit bestow. i will preserve with care my money from all those by nature base and true to none. 'tis better so than that i e'er should say unto the mean of soul, "lend me so much i'll pay to-morrow five-fold mo," and see my friend avert his face and turn away, leaving my soul cast down, as 'twere a dog's, i trow! o what a sorry lot is his, who hath no pelf, e'en though his virtues bright like to the sun should show! 'o my lord,' continued the steward, 'this lavish expense and prodigal giving waste away wealth.' when noureddin heard his steward's words, he looked at him and said, 'i will not hearken to one word of all thou hast said, for i have heard the following saying of the poet: if i be blessed with wealth and be not liberal with it, may my hand wither and my foot eke paralysed remain! show me the niggard who hath won glory by avarice! show me the liberal man his own munificence hath slain! and he said, 'know, o steward, it is my desire that so long as there remains in thy hands enough for my morning meal, thou trouble me not with taking care for my evening meal.' therewith the steward went away and noureddin continued his extravagant way of living; and if any of his boon-companions chanced to say to him, 'this thing is handsome,' he would answer, 'it is thine as a gift;' or if another said, 'o my lord, such and such a house is handsome,' he would say, 'take it: it is thine.' in this manner he continued to live for a whole year, giving his friends a banquet in the morning and another in the evening, till one day as they were sitting together, the damsel enis el jelis repeated the following verses: thou madest fair thy thought of fate, when that the days were fair, and fearedst not the unknown ills that they to thee might bring: the nights were fair and calm to thee; thou wert deceived by them, for in the peace of night is born full many a troublous thing. just as she had finished, there came a knocking at the door; so noureddin rose to open it, and one of his companions followed him without his knowledge. at the door he found his steward and said to him, 'what is the matter?' 'omylord,' replied he, 'what i feared for thee has come to pass!' 'how so?' asked noureddin; and the steward said, 'know that there remains not a dirhem's worth, less nor more, in my hands. here are registers containing an account of the original state of thy property and the way in which thou hast spent it.' at this, noureddin bowed his head and exclaimed, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god!' when the man who had followed him secretly to spy on him heard what the steward said, he returned to his companions and said to them, 'look what ye do; for noureddin ali is bankrupt.' when noureddin returned, they read trouble in his face; so one of them rose and said to him, 'o my lord, maybe thou wilt give me leave to retire?' 'why wilt thou go away to-day?' said he. 'my wife is brought to bed,' replied the other; 'and i cannot be absent from her; i wish to return and see how she does.' so noureddin gave him leave, whereupon another rose and said, 'o my lord, i wish to go to my brother, for he circumcises his son to-day.' and each made some excuse to retire, till they were all gone and noureddin remained alone. then he called his slave-girl and said to her, 'o enis el jelis, hast thou seen what has befallen me?' and he related to her what the steward had told him. 'o my lord,' replied she, 'some nights ago i had it in my mind to speak with thee of this matter; but i heard thee reciting the following verses: if fortune be lavish to thee, look thou be lavish with it unto all classes of men, ere it escapes from thy hand! munificence will not undo it, whilst it is constant to thee, nor, when it turneth away, will avarice force it to stand. when i heard thee speak thus, i held my peace and cared not to say aught to thee.' 'o enis el jelis,' said noureddin, 'thou knowest that i have not expended my substance but on my friends, who have beggared me, and i think they will not leave me without help.' 'by allah,' replied she, 'they will not profit thee in aught.' said he, 'i will rise at once and go to them and knock at their doors: maybe i shall get of them somewhat with which i may trade and leave pleasure and merry-making.' so he rose and repaired to a certain street, where all his ten comrades lived. he went up to the first door and knocked, whereupon a maid came out and said, 'who art thou?' 'tell thy master,' replied he, 'that noureddin ali stands at the door and says to him, "thy slave kisses thy hands and awaits thy bounty."' the girl went in and told her master, who cried out at her, saying, 'go back and tell him that i am not at home.' so she returned and said to noureddin, 'o my lord, my master is from home.' with this, he went away, saying to himself, 'though this fellow be a whoreson knave and deny himself, another may not be so.' then he came to the second door and sent in a like message to the master of the house, who denied himself as the first had done, whereupon noureddin repeated the following verse: they're gone who, if before their door thou didst arrest thy feet, would on thy poverty bestow both flesh and roasted meat. and said 'by allah, i must try them all: there may be one amongst them who will stand me in the stead of the rest.' so he went round to all the ten, but not one of them opened his door to him or showed himself to him or broke a cake of bread in his face; whereupon he repeated the following verses: a man in time of affluence is like unto a tree, round which the folk collect, as long as fruit thereon they see, till, when its burden it hath cast, they turn from it away, leave it to suffer heat and dust and all inclemency. out on the people of this age! perdition to them all! since not a single one of ten is faithful found to be. then he returned to his slave-girl, and indeed his concern was doubled, and she said to him, 'o my lord, did i not tell thee that they would not profit thee aught?' 'by allah,' replied he, 'not one of them would show me his face or take any notice of me!' 'o my lord! said she, 'sell some of the furniture and household stuff, little by little, and live on the proceed, against god the most high provide.' so he sold all that was in the house, till there was nothing left, when he turned to her and said, 'what is to be done now?' 'o my lord,' replied she, 'it is my advice that thou rise and take me down to the market and sell me. thou knowest that thy father bought me for ten thousand dinars; perhaps god may help thee to near that price, and if it be his will that we be reunited, we shall meet again.' 'o enis el jelis,' replied noureddin, 'by allah, i cannot endure to be parted from thee for a single hour!' 'by allah, o my lord,' rejoined she, 'nor is it easy to me; but necessity compels, as says the poet: necessity in life oft drives one into ways that to the courteous mind are foreign and abhorred. we do not trust our weight unto a rope, unless it be to do some thing adapted to the cord.' with this, he rose to his feet and took her, whilst the tears streamed down his cheeks like rain and he recited with the tongue of the case what follows: stay and vouchsafe me one more look before our parting hour, to soothe the anguish of a heart well-nigh for reverence slain! yet, if it irk thee anywise to grant my last request, far rather let me die of love than cause thee aught of pain! then he went down to the market and delivered the damsel to a broker, to whom he said, 'o hajj[fn# ] hassan, i would have thee note the value of her thou hast to offer for sale!' 'o my lord noureddin,' replied the broker, 'i have not forgotten my business.[fn# ] is not this enis el jelis, whom thy father bought of me for ten thousand dinars?' 'yes,' said noureddin. then the broker went round to the merchants, but found they were not all assembled; so he waited till the rest had arrived and the market was full of all kinds of female slaves, turks and franks and circassians and abyssinians and nubians and egyptians and tartars and greeks and georgians and others; when he came forward and said, 'o merchants! o men of wealth! every round thing is not a walnut nor every long thing a banana; every thing red is not meat nor everything white fat. o merchants, i have here this unique pearl, this unvalued jewel! what price shall i set on her?' 'say four thousand five hundred dinars,' cried one. so the broker opened the biddings for her at that sum and as he was yet calling, behold, the vizier muin ben sawa passed through the market and seeing noureddin standing in a corner, said to himself, 'what doth the son of khacan here? has this gallows-bird aught left to buy girls withal?' then he looked round and seeing the broker crying out and the merchants round him, said to himself, 'doubtless he is ruined and has brought the damsel enis el jelis hither to sell her! what a solace to my heart!' then he called the crier, who came up and kissed the ground before him, and he said to him, 'show me the girl thou art crying for sale.' the broker dared not cross him, so he answered, 'o my lord, in the name of god!' and brought the damsel and showed her to him. she pleased him and he said, 'o hassan, what is bidden for this damsel?' 'four thousand five hundred dinars,' replied the broker, 'as an upset price.' quoth the vizier, 'i take that bid on myself.' when the merchants heard this, they hung back and dared not bid another dirhem, knowing what they did of the vizier's tyranny. then muin looked at the broker and said to him, 'what ails thee to stand still? go and offer four thousand dinars for her, and the five hundred shall be for thyself.' so the broker went to noureddin and said to him, 'o my lord, thy slave is gone for nothing!' 'how so?' said he. the broker answered, 'we had opened the biddings for her at four thousand five hundred dinars, when that tyrant muin ben sawa passed through the market and when he saw the damsel, she pleased him and he said to me, "call me the buyer for four thousand dinars, and thou shalt have five hundred for thyself." i doubt not but he knows she belongs to thee, and if he would pay thee down her price at once, it were well; but i know, of his avarice and upright, he will give thee a written order on some of his agents and will send after thee to say to them, "give him nothing." so as often as thou shalt go to seek the money, they will say, "we will pay thee presently," and so they will put thee off day after day, for all thy high spirit, till at last, when they are tired of thine importunity, they will say, "show us the bill." then, as soon as they get hold of it, they will tear it up, and so thou wilt lose the girl's price.' when noureddin heard this, he looked at the broker and said to him, 'what is to be done?' 'i will give thee a counsel,' answered he, 'which if thou follow, it will be greatly to thine advantage.' 'what is that?' asked noureddin. 'do thou come to me presently,' said the broker, 'when i am standing in the midst of the market and taking the girl from my hand, give her a cuff and say to her, "o baggage, i have kept my vow and brought thee down to the market, because i swore that i would put thee up for sale and make the brokers cry thee." if thou do this, it may be the device will impose upon the vizier and the folk, and they will believe that thou broughtest her not to the market but for the quittance of thine oath.' 'this is a good counsel,' said noureddin. then the broker left him and returning to the midst of the market, took the damsel by the hand; then beckoned to muin and said to him, 'o my lord, here comes her owner.' with this up came noureddin and snatching the girl from the broker, gave her a cuff and said to her, 'out on thee, thou baggage! i have brought thee down to the market for the quittance of my oath; so now begone home and look that thou cross me not again. out on thee! do i need thy price, that i should sell thee? the furniture of my house would fetch many times thy value, if i sold it.' when muin saw this, he said to noureddin, 'out on thee! hast thou aught left to sell?' and he made to lay violent hands on him; but the merchants interposed, for they all loved noureddin, and the latter said to them, 'behold, i am in your hands, and ye all know his tyranny!' 'by allah,' exclaimed the vizier, 'but for you, i would have killed him!' then all the merchants signed to noureddin with their eyes as who should say, 'work thy will of him; not one of us will come betwixt him and thee.' whereupon noureddin, who was a stout-hearted fellow, went up to the vizier and dragging him from his saddle, threw him to the ground. now there was in that place a mortar-pit, into the midst of which he fell, and noureddin fell to cuffing and pummelling him, and one of the blows smote his teeth, dyeing his beard with his blood. there were with the vizier ten armed slaves, who, seeing their master thus evil entreated, clapped their hands to their swords and would have drawn them and fallen on noureddin, to kill him; but the bystanders said to them, 'this is a vizier and that a vizier's son; it may be they will make peace with one another anon, in which case you will have gotten the hatred of both of them. or a blow may fall on your lord, and you will all die the foulest of deaths; so you would do wisely not to interfere.' so they held aloof and when noureddin had made an end of beating the vizier, he took his slave-girl and went home; and muin rose, with his white clothes dyed of three colours with black mud, red blood and ashes. when he saw himself in this plight, he put a halter round his neck and taking a bundle of coarse grass in either hand, went up to the palace and standing under the king's windows, cried out, 'o king of the age, i am a man aggrieved!' so they brought him before the sultan, who looked at him and knowing him for his chief vizier, asked who had entreated him thus. whereupon he wept and sobbed and repeated the following verses: shall fortune oppress me, and that in thy day, o king? shall wolves devour me, whilst thou art a lion proud? shall all that are thirsty drink of thy water-tanks and shall i thirst in thy courts, whilst thou art a rain-fraught cloud? 'o my lord,' continued he, 'thus fare all who love and serve thee.' 'make haste,' said the sultan, 'and tell me how this happened and who hath dealt thus with thee, whose honour is a part of my own honour.' 'know then, o my lord,' replied the vizier, 'that i went out this day to the slave-market to buy me a cook-maid, when i saw in the bazaar a damsel, whose like for beauty i never beheld. she pleased me and i thought to buy her for our lord the sultan; so i asked the broker of her and her owner, and he replied, "she belongs to noureddin ali son of fezl ben khacan." now our lord the sultan aforetime gave his father ten thousand dinars to buy him a handsome slave-girl, and he bought therewith this damsel, who pleased him, so that he grudged her to our lord the sultan and gave her to his own son. when fezl died, his son sold all that he possessed of houses and gardens and household stuff and squandered the price, till he became penniless. then he brought the girl down to the market, to sell her, and handed her to the broker, who cried her and the merchants bid for her, till her price reached four thousand dinars; whereupon i said to myself, "i will buy her for our lord the sultan, for it was his money that paid for her." so i said to noureddin, "o my son, sell her to me for four thousand dinars." he looked at me and replied, "o pestilent old man, i will sell her to a jew or a christian rather than to thee!" "i do not buy her for myself," said i, "but for our lord and benefactor the sultan." when he heard my words, he flew into a passion and dragging me off my horse, for all i am an old man, beat me till he left me as thou seest; and all this has befallen me but because i thought to buy the girl for thee.' then the vizier threw himself on the ground and lay there, weeping and trembling. when the sultan saw his condition and heard his story, the vein of anger started out between his eyes, and he turned to his guards, who stood before him, forty swordsmen, and said to them, 'go down at once to the house of noureddin ben fezl, and sack it and raze it; then take him and the damsel and drag them hither with their hands bound behind them.' 'we hear and obey,' answered they: and arming themselves, set out for noureddin's house. now there was with the sultan a man called ilmeddin senjer, who had aforetime been servant to noureddin's father fezl ben khacan, but had left his service for that of the sultan, who had advanced him to be one of his chamberlains. when he heard the sultan's order and saw the enemies intent upon killing his master's son, it was grievous to him; so he went out from before the sultan and mounting his steed, rode to noureddin's house and knocked at the door. noureddin came out and knowing him, would have saluted him: but he said, 'o my lord, this is no time for greeting or converse.' 'o ilmeddin,' asked noureddin, 'what is the matter?' 'arise and flee for your lives, thou and the damsel,' replied he: 'for muin ben sawa hath laid a snare for you; and if you fall into his hands, he will kill you. the sultan hath despatched forty swordsmen against you and i counsel you flee ere evil overtake you.' then senjer put his hand to his pouch and finding there forty dinars, took them and gave them to noureddin, saying, 'o my lord, take these and journey with them. if i had more, i would give them to thee; but this is no time to take exception.' so noureddin went in to the damsel and told her what had happened, at which she wrung her hands. then they went out at once from the city, and god let down the veil of his protection over them, so that they reached the river-bank, where they found a ship about to sail. her captain stood in the waist, saying, 'whoso has aught to do, whether in the way of victualling or taking leave of his friends, or who has forgotten any necessary thing, let him do it at once and return, for we are about to sail.' and every one said, 'o captain, we have nothing left to do.' whereupon he cried out to his crew, saying, 'ho, there! cast off the moorings and pull up the pickets!' quoth noureddin, 'whither bound, o captain?' 'to the abode of peace, baghdad,' replied he. so noureddin and the damsel embarked with him, and they launched out and spread the sails, and the ship sped forth, as she were a bird in full flight, even as says right well the poet: look at a ship, how ravishing a sight she is and fair! in her swift course she doth outstrip the breezes of the air. she seems as 'twere a scudding bird that, lighting from the sky, doth on the surface of the stream with outspread pinions fare. meanwhile the king's officers came to noureddin's house and breaking open the doors, entered and searched the whole place, but could find no trace of him and the damsel; so they demolished the house and returning to the sultan, told him what they had done; whereupon he said, 'make search for them, wherever they are!' and they answered, 'we hear and obey.' then he bestowed upon the vizier muin a dress of honour and said to him, 'none shall avenge thee but myself.' so muin's heart was comforted and he wished the king long life and returned to his own house. then the sultan caused proclamation to be made in the town, saying, 'o all ye people! it is the will of our lord the sultan that whoso happens on noureddin ali ben khacan and brings him to the sultan shall receive a dress of honour and a thousand dinars, and he who conceals him or knows his abiding-place and informs not thereof, deserves the exemplary punishment that shall befall him.' so search was made for noureddin, but they could find neither trace nor news of him; and meantime he and the damsel sailed on with a fair wind, till they arrived safely at baghdad and the captain said to them, 'this is baghdad, and it is a city of safety: the winter hath departed from it, with its cold, and the season of the spring is come, with its roses; its trees are in blossom and its streams flowing.' so noureddin landed, he and the damsel, and giving the captain five dinars, walked on awhile, till chance brought them among the gardens and they came to a place swept and sprinkled, with long benches on either hand and hanging pots full of water. overhead was a trelliswork of canes shading the whole length of the alley, and at the further end was the door of a garden; but this was shut. 'by allah,' said noureddin to the damsel, 'this is a pleasant place!' and she answered, 'o my lord, let us sit down on these benches and rest awhile.' so they mounted and sat down on the benches, after having washed their faces and hands; and the air smote on them and they fell asleep, glory be to him who never sleeps! now the garden in question was called the garden of delight and therein stood a pavilion called the pavilion of pictures, belonging to the khalif haroun er reshid, who used, when sad at heart, to repair thither and there sit. in this pavilion were fourscore windows and fourscore hanging lamps and in the midst a great chandelier of gold. when the khalif entered, he was wont to have all the windows opened and to order his boon-companion isaac ben ibrahim and the slave-girls to sing, till his care left him and his heart was lightened. now the keeper of the garden was an old man by name gaffer ibrahim, and he had found, from time to time, on going out on his occasions, idlers taking their case with courtezans in the alley leading to the door of the garden, at which he was sore enraged; so he complained to the khalif, who said, 'whomsoever thou findest at the door of the garden, do with him as thou wilt.' as chance would have it, he had occasion to go abroad that very day and found these two sleeping at the gate, covered with one veil; whereupon, 'by allah,' said he, 'this is fine! these two know not that the khalif has given me leave to kill any one whom i may catch at the door of the garden: but i will give them a sound drubbing, that none may come near the gate in future.' so he cut a green palm-stick and went out to them and raising his arm, till the whiteness of his armpit appeared, was about to lay on to them, when he bethought himself and said, 'o ibrahim, wilt thou beat them, knowing not their case? maybe they are strangers or wayfarers, and destiny hath led them hither. i will uncover their faces and look on them.' so he lifted up the veil from their faces and said, 'they are a handsome pair! it were not fitting that i should beat them.' then he covered their faces again, and going to noureddin's feet, began to rub them, whereupon the young man awoke, and seeing an old man of venerable appearance rubbing his feet, was abashed and drawing them in, sat up; then took ibrahim's hand and kissed it. quoth the old man, 'o my son, whence art thou?' 'o my lord,' replied noureddin, 'we are strangers.' and the tears started to his eyes. 'o my son,' said ibrahim, 'know that the prophet (whom god bless and preserve!) hath charged us to be hospitable to strangers. wilt thou not rise, o my son, and pass into the garden and take thy pleasure therein and gladden thy heart?' 'o my lord,' said noureddin, 'to whom does the garden belong?' and he replied, 'o my son, i inherited it from my family.' now his object in saying this was to put them at their ease and induce them to enter the garden. so noureddin thanked him and rose, he and the damsel, and followed him into the garden. they entered through a gateway, vaulted like a gallery and overhung with vines bearing grapes of various colours, the red like rubies and the black like ebony, and passing under a bower of trellised boughs, found themselves in a garden, and what a garden! there were fruit-trees growing singly and in clusters and birds warbling melodiously on the branches, whilst the thousand-voiced nightingale repeated the various strains: the turtle-dove filled the place with her cooing, and there sang the blackbird, with its warble like a human voice, and the ring-dove, with her notes like a drinker exhilarated with wine. the trees were laden with all manner of ripe fruits, two of each: the apricot in its various kinds, camphor and almond and that of khorassan, the plum, whose colour is as that of fair women, the cherry, that does away discoloration of the teeth, and the fig of three colours, red and white and green. there bloomed the flower of the bitter orange, as it were pearls and coral, the rose whose redness puts to shame the cheeks of the fair, the violet, like sulphur on fire by night, the myrtle, the gillyflower, the lavender, the peony and the blood-red anemone. the leaves were jewelled with the tears of the clouds; the camomile smiled with her white petals like a lady's teeth, and the narcissus looked at the rose with her negro's eyes: the citrons shone like cups and the limes like balls of gold, and the earth was carpeted with flowers of all colours; for the spring was come and the place beamed with its brightness; whilst the birds sang and the stream rippled and the breeze blew softly, for the attemperance of the air. ibrahim carried them up into the pavilion, and they gazed on its beauty and on the lamps aforesaid in the windows; and noureddin called to mind his banquetings of time past and said, 'by allah, this is a charming place!' then they sat down and the gardener set food before them; and they ate their fill and washed their hands; after which noureddin went up to one of the windows and calling the damsel, fell to gazing on the trees laden with all manner of fruits. then he turned to the gardener and said to him, 'o gaffer ibrahim, hast thou no drink here, for folk use to drink after eating?' the old man brought him some fresh sweet cold water, but he said, 'this is not the kind of drink i want.' 'belike,' said ibrahim, 'thou wishest for wine?' 'i do,' replied noureddin. 'god preserve me from it!' said the old man. 'it is thirteen years since i did this thing, for the prophet (whom god bless and preserve!) cursed its drinker, its presser, its seller and its carrier.' 'hear two words from me,' said noureddin. 'say on,' replied ibrahim. 'if,' said noureddin, 'that unlucky ass there be cursed, will any part of the curse fall on thee?' 'not so,' replied the old man. 'then,' said noureddin, 'take this dinar and these two dirhems and mount the ass and stop at a distance (from the wineshop); then call the first man thou seest buying, and say to him, "take these two dirhems and buy me this dinar's worth of wine and set it on the ass." thus thou wilt be neither the purchaser nor the carrier of the wine and no part of the curse will fall on thee.' at this the gardener laughed and said, 'o my son, never have i seen one readier-witted than thou nor heard aught sweeter than thy speech.' so he did as noureddin had said, and the latter thanked him, saying, 'we are dependent on thee, and it is only fitting that thou comply with our wishes; so bring us what we require.' 'o my son,' replied he, 'there is my buttery before thee.' (now this was the store-room provided for the commander of the faithful.) enter and take what thou wilt; there is more there than thou needest.' so noureddin entered the pantry and found therein vessels of gold and silver and crystal, incrusted with all kinds of jewels, and was amazed and delighted at what he saw. then he took what he wanted and set it on and poured the wine into flagons and decanters, whilst ibrahim brought them fruits and flowers and withdrew and sat down at a distance. so they drank and made merry, till the wine got the mastery of them, so that their cheeks flushed and their eyes sparkled and their hair became dishevelled. then said ibrahim to himself, 'what ails me to sit apart? why should i not sit with them? when shall i find myself in company with the like of these two, who are like two moons?' so he came and sat down at the corner of the dais, and noureddin said to him, 'o my lord, my life on thee, come and sit with us!' so he came and sat by them, and noureddin filled a cup and said to him, 'drink, that thou mayst know the flavour of it.' 'god forbid!' replied he. 'i have not done such a thing these thirteen years.' noureddin did not press him, but drank off the cup, and throwing himself on the ground, feigned to be overcome with drunkenness. then said the damsel, 'o gaffer ibrahim, see how he serves me!' 'o my lady,' replied he, 'what ails him?' 'this is how he always treats me,' said she; 'he drinks awhile, then falls asleep and leaves me alone, with none to bear me company over my cup nor to whom i may sing whilst he drinks.' 'by allah,' said he (and indeed her words touched his heart and made his soul incline to her), 'this is not well!' then she looked at him and filling a cup said to him, 'i conjure thee, on my life, not to refuse me, but take this cup and drink it off and solace my heart.' so he took it and drank it off and she filled a second cup and set it on the chandelier, saying, 'o my lord, there is still this one left for thee.' 'by allah, i cannot take it,' answered he; 'that which i have drunk suffices me.' 'by allah,' said she, 'thou must indeed drink it.' so he took the cup and drank; and she filled him a third cup, which he took and was about to drink, when behold, noureddin opened his eyes and sitting up, exclaimed, 'hello, gaffer ibrahim, what is this? did i not adjure thee just now, and thou refusedst, saying, "i have not done such a thing these thirteen years"?' 'by allah,' replied he (and indeed he was abashed), 'it is her fault, not mine.' noureddin laughed and they sat down again to carouse, but the damsel turned to noureddin and whispered to him, 'o my lord, drink and do not press him, and i will show thee some sport with him.' then she began to fill her master's cup and he to fill to her, and so they did time after time, till at last ibrahim looked at them and said, 'what manner of good fellowship is this? god's malison on the glutton who keeps the cup to himself! why dost thou not give me to drink, o my brother? what manners are these, o blessed one!' at this they laughed till they fell backward; then they drank and gave him to drink and ceased not to carouse thus, till a third part of the night was past. then said the damsel, 'o gaffer ibrahim, with thy leave, i will light one of these candles.' 'do so,' said he; 'but light no more then one.' so she rose and beginning with one candle, lighted fourscore and sat down again. presently noureddin said, 'o gaffer ibrahim, how stands my favour with thee? may i not light one of these lamps ?' 'light one,' replied he, 'and plague me no more.' so noureddin rose and lighted one lamp after another, till he had lighted the whole eighty and the palace seemed to dance with light. quoth ibrahim (and indeed intoxication had mastered him), 'ye are more active than i.' then he rose and opened all the windows and sat down again; and they fell to carousing and reciting verses, till the place rang with their mirth. now as god the all-powerful, who appointeth a cause to everything, had decreed, the khalif was at that moment seated at one of the windows of his palace, overlooking the tigris, in the light of the moon. he saw the lustre of the candles and lamps reflected in the river and lifting his eyes, perceived that it came from the garden-palace, which was in a blaze with light. so he called jaafer the barmecide and said to him, 'o dog of a vizier, has the city of baghdad been taken from me and thou hast not told me?' 'what words are these?' said jaafer. 'if baghdad were not taken from me,' rejoined the khalif, 'the pavilion of pictures would not be illuminated with lamps and candles, nor would its windows be open. out on thee! who would dare to do this except the khalifate were taken from me?' quoth jaafer (and indeed he trembled in every limb), 'who told thee that the pavilion was illuminated and the windows open?' 'come hither and look,' replied the khalif. so jaafer came to the window and looking towards the garden, saw the pavilion flaming with light, in the darkness of the night, and thinking that this might be by the leave of the keeper, for some good reason of his own, was minded to make an excuse for him. so he said, 'o commander of the faithful, gaffer ibrahim said to me last week, "o my lord jaafer, i desire to circumcise my sons during thy life and that of the commander of the faithful." "what dost thou want?" asked i; and he said, "get me leave from the khalif to hold the festival in the pavilion." so i said to him, "go, circumcise them, and i will see the khalif and tell him." so he went away and i forgot to tell thee.' 'o jaafer,' said the khalif, 'thou hast committed two offences against me, first, in that thou didst not tell me, secondly, in that thou didst not give the old man what he sought; for he only came and told thee this, by way of hinting a request for some small matter of money, to help him out with the expenses; and thou gavest him nothing nor toldest me.' 'o commander of the faithful,' replied jaafer, 'i forgot.' 'by the virtue of my forefathers,' rejoined the khalif, 'i will not pass the rest of the night but with him, for he is a pious man, who consorts with the elders of the faith and the fakirs: doubtless they are now assembled with him and it may be that the prayer of one of them may profit us both in this world and the next. besides, my presence will advantage him and he will be pleased.' 'o commander of the faithful,' objected jaafer, 'the night is far spent, and they will now be about to break up.' 'it matters not,' replied the khalif; 'i must and will go to them.' and jaafer was silent, being perplexed and knowing not what to do. then the khalif rose to his feet and taking with him jaafer and mesrour the eunuch, they all three disguised themselves as merchants and leaving the palace, walked on through the by-streets till they came to the garden. the khalif went up to the gate and finding it open, was surprised and said to the vizier, 'look, jaafer, how gaffer ibrahim has left the gate open to this hour, contrary to his wont!' they entered and walked on till they came under the pavilion, when the khalif said, 'o jaafer, i wish to look in upon them privily before i join them, that i may see what they are about, for up to now i hear no sound nor any fakir naming[fn# ] god.' then he looked about and seeing a tall walnut-tree, said to jaafer, 'i will climb this tree, for its branches come near the windows, and so look in upon them.' so he mounted the tree and climbed from branch to branch, till he reached a bough that came up to one of the windows. on this he seated himself and looking in at the window, saw a young lady and a young man as they were two moons (glory be to him who created them and fashioned them!), and by them gaffer ibrahim seated, with a cup in his hand, saying, 'o princess of fair ones, drink without music is nothing worth; indeed i have heard a poet say: pass round the wine in the great and the small cup too, and take the bowl from the hands of the shining moon.[fn# ] but without music, i charge you, forbear to drink, for sure i see even horses drink to a whistled tune.' when the khalif saw this, the vein of anger started out between his eyes and he descended and said to the vizier, 'o jaafer, never saw i men of piety in such a case! do thou mount this tree and look upon them, lest the benisons of the devout escape thee.' so jaafer climbed up, perplexed at these words, and looking in, saw noureddin and the damsel and gaffer ibrahim with a cup in his hand. at this sight, he made sure of ruin and descending, stood before the commander of the faithful, who said to him, 'o jaafer, praised be god who hath made us of those who observe the external forms of the divine ordinances!' jaafer could make no answer for excess of confusion, and the khalif continued, 'i wonder how these people came hither and who admitted them into my pavilion! but the like of the beauty of this youth and this girl my eyes never beheld!' 'thou art right, o commander of the faithful,' replied jaafer, hoping to propitiate him. then said the khalif, 'o jaafer, let us both mount the branch that overlooks the window, that we may amuse ourselves with looking at them.' so they both climbed the tree and looking in, heard ibrahim say, 'o my lady, i have laid aside gravity in drinking wine, but this is not thoroughly delectable without the melodious sound of the strings. 'by allah,' replied enis el jelis, 'if we had but some musical instrument, our joy would be complete!' when the old man heard what she said, he rose to his feet, and the khalif said to jaafer, 'i wonder what he is going to do.' 'i know not,' replied jaafer. then ibrahim went out and returned with a lute; and the khalif looked at it and knew it for that of isaac the boon-companion. 'by allah,' said he, 'if this damsel sing ill, i will crucify you, all of you; but if she sing well, i will pardon them and crucify thee.' 'god grant she may sing ill!' said jaafer 'why so?' asked the khalif. 'because,' replied jaafer 'if thou crucify us all together, we shall keep each other company.' the khalif laughed at his speech; then the damsel took the lute and tuning it, played a measure which made all hearts yearn to her, then sang the following verses: o ye that to help unhappy lovers are fain! we burn with the fire of love and longing in vain. whatever ye do, we merit it: see, we cast ourselves on your ruth! do not exult in our pain. for we are children of sadness and low estate. do with us what you will; we will not complain. what were your glory to slay us within your courts? our fear is but lest you sin in working us bane. 'by allah,' said the khalif, 'it is good, o jaafer! never in my life have i heard so enchanting a voice!' 'belike,' said jaafer, 'the khalif's wrath hath departed from him.' 'yes,' said the khalif, 'it is gone.' then they descended from the tree, and the khalif said to jaafer, 'i wish to go in and sit with them and hear the damsel sing before me.' 'o commander of the faithful,' replied jaafer, 'if thou go in to them, they will most like be troubled and gaffer ibrahim will assuredly die of fright.' 'o jaafer,' said the khalif, 'thou must teach me some device, whereby i may foregather with them, without being known of them.' so they walked on towards the tigris, considering of this affair, and presently came upon a fisher man standing fishing under the windows of the pavilion. now some time before this, the khalif (being in the pavilion) had called to gaffer ibrahim and said to him, 'what is this noise i hear under the windows?' 'it is the voices of the fishermen, fishing,' answered he; and the khalif commanded him to go down and forbid them to resort thither; so the fishermen were forbidden to fish there. however, that night a fisherman named kerim, happening to pass by and seeing the garden gate open, said to himself, 'this is a time of negligence: i will take advantage of it to fish.' so he went in, but had hardly cast his net, when the khalif came up alone and standing behind him, knew him and called out to him, saying, 'ho, kerim!' the fisherman, hearing himself called by his name, turned round, and seeing the khalif, trembled in every limb and exclaimed, 'o commander of the faithful, i did it not in mockery of the edict; but poverty and distress drove me to what thou seest.' quoth the khalif, 'make a cast in my name.' at this the fisherman was glad and going to the bank, cast his net, then waiting till it had spread out to the utmost and settled down, pulled it up and found in it various kinds of fish. the khalif was pleased and said, 'o kerim, put off thy clothes.' so he put off a gown of coarse woollen stuff, patched in a hundred places and full of disgusting vermin, and a turban that had not been unwound for three years, but to which he had sewn every rag he came across. the khalif pulled off his cassock and mantle and two vests of alexandria and baalbec silk and saying to the fisherman, 'take these and put them on,' donned the latter's gown and turban and tied a chin band [fn# ] round the lower part of his face. then said he to the fisherman, 'go about thy business.' so he kissed the khalif's feet and thanked him and recited the following verses: thou hast heaped benefits on me, past all that i could crave! my tongue suffices not to praise thy goodness to thy slave. so i will thank thee whilst i live; and when i come to die, my very bones shall never cease to thank thee in the grave. hardly had he finished, when the lice began to crawl over the skin of the khalif, who fell to snatching them with either hand from his neck and throwing them down, exclaiming, 'out on thee, o fisherman, this gown is swarming with vermin!' 'o my lord,' replied the fisherman, 'they torment thee just now, but before a week has passed, thou wilt not feel them nor think of them.' the khalif laughed and said, 'out on thee! dost thou think i mean to leave this gown on my body?' 'o my lord,' said the fisherman, 'i desire to say one word to thee.' 'say on,' answered the khalif. 'it occurs to me, o commander of the faithful,' said the fisherman, 'that if thou wish to learn hunting, so thou mayst have an useful trade ready to thy hand, this gown will be the very thing for thee.' the khalif laughed, and the fisherman went his way. then the khalif took up the basket of fish, and laying a little grass over it, carried it to jaafer and stood before him. jaafer, concluding that it was kerim the fisherman, was alarmed for him and said, 'o kerim, what brings thee hither? flee for thy life, for the khalif is in the garden to-night, and if he see thee, thou wilt lose thy head.' at this the khalif laughed, and jaafer knew him and said, 'surely thou art our lord the khalif?' 'yes, o jaafer,' replied he. 'and thou art my vizier and i came hither with thee; yet thou knewest me not; so how should gaffer ibrahim know me, and he drunk? stay here, till i come back.' 'i hear and obey,' answered jaafer. then the khalif went up to the door of the pavilion and knocked softly, whereupon said noureddin, 'o gaffer ibrahim, some one knocks at the door.' 'who is at the door?' cried the old man; and the khalif replied, 'it is i, o gaffer ibrahim!' 'who art thou?' asked the gardener. 'i, kerim the fisherman,' rejoined the khalif. 'i hear thou hast company, so have brought thee some fine fish.' when noureddin heard the mention of fish, he was glad, he and the damsel, and they both said to ibrahim, 'o my lord, open the door and let him bring the fish in to us.' so he opened the door, and the khalif entered, in his fisherman's disguise, and began by saluting them. quoth ibrahim, 'welcome to the brigand, the robber, the gambler! let us see thy fish.' so the khalif showed them the fish and behold, they were still alive and moving, whereupon the damsel exclaimed, 'o my lord, these are indeed fine fish! would that they were fried!' 'by allah, o my mistress,' replied ibrahim, 'thou art right.' then said he to the khalif, 'o fisherman, why didst thou not bring us the fish ready fried? go now and fry them and bring them to us.' 'it shall be done at once,' answered he. said they, 'be quick about it.' so he went out, running, and coming up to jaafer, cried out, 'hallo, jaafer!' 'here am i, o commander of the faithful!' replied he. 'they want the fish fried,' said the khalif. 'o commander of the faithful,' answered jaafer, 'give it to me and i will fry it for them.' 'by the tombs of my forefathers,' said the khalif, 'none shall fry it but i, with my own hand!' so he repaired to the keeper's hut, where he searched and found all that he required, even to salt and saffron and marjoram and so forth. then he laid the fish on the frying-pan and setting it on the brazier, fried them handsomely. when they were done, he laid them on a banana-leaf, and gathering some lemons from the garden, carried the dish to the pavilion and set it before them. so noureddin and the damsel and ibrahim came forward and ate, after which they washed their hands and noureddin said to the khalif, 'o fisherman, thou hast done us a right welcome service this night!' then he put his hand to his pouch and taking out three of the dinars that senjer had given him, said, 'o fisherman, excuse me. by allah, had i known thee before that which has lately befallen me, i had done away the bitterness of poverty from thy heart; but take this as an earnest of my good will!' then he threw the dinars to the khalif, who took them and kissed them and put them up. now the khalif's sole desire in all this was to hear the damsel sing; so he said to noureddin, 'o my lord, thou hast rewarded me munificently, but i beg of thy great bounty that thou wilt let this damsel sing an air, that i may hear her.' so noureddin said, 'o enis el jelis!' 'yes,' replied she. and he said, 'my life on thee, sing us something for the sake of this fisherman, for he wishes to hear thee.' so she took the lute and struck the strings, after she had tuned them, and sang the following verses: the fingers of the lovely maid went wandering o'er the lute, and many a soul to ravishment its music did compel. she sang, and lo, her singing cured the deaf man of his ill, and he that erst was dumb exclaimed, "thou hast indeed done well!" then she played again, so admirably that she ravished their wits, and sang the following verses: thou honour'dst us, when thou didst in our land alight; thy lustre hath dispelled the moonless midnight gloom! wherefore with camphor white and rose-water and musk it e'en behoveth us our dwelling to perfume. at this the khalif was agitated and so overcome with emotion that he was not master of himself for excess of delight, and he exclaimed, 'by allah, it is good! by allah, it is good! by allah, it is good!' quoth noureddin, 'o fisherman, doth this damsel please thee?' 'ay, by allah!' replied he. whereupon said noureddin, 'i make thee a present of her, the present of a generous man who does not go back on his giving nor will revoke his gift.' then he sprang to his feet and taking a mantle, threw it over the pretended fisherman and bade him take the damsel and begone. but she looked at him and said, 'o my lord, art thou going away without bidding me adieu? if it must be so, at least, stay whilst i bid thee farewell and make known my case.' and she repeated the following verses: i am filled full of longing pain and memory and dole, till i for languor am become a body without soul. say not to me, beloved one, "thou'lt grow consoled for me;" when such affliction holds the heart, what is there can console? if that a creature in his tears could swim as in a sea, i to do this of all that breathe were surely first and sole. o thou, the love of whom doth fill my heart and overflow, even when wine, with water mixed, fills up the brimming bowl, o thou for whom desire torments my body and my spright! this severance is the thing i feared was writ on fortune's scroll. o thou, whose love from out my heart shall nevermore depart, o son of khacan, thou my wish, my hope unshared and whole, on my account thou didst transgress against our lord and king and left'st thy native land for me, to seek a foreign goal. thou givest me unto kerim,[fn# ] may he for aye be praised! and may th' almighty for my loss my dearest lord console! when she had finished, noureddin answered her by repeating the following: she bade me adieu on the day of our parting and said, whilst for anguish she wept and she sighed, "ah, what wilt thou do, when from me thou art severed?" "ask that of the man who'll survive," i replied. when the khalif heard what she said in her verses, 'thou hast given me to kerim,' his interest in her redoubled and it was grievous to him to separate them; so he said to noureddin, 'o my lord, verily the damsel said in her verses that thou hadst transgressed against her master and him who possessed her; so tell me, against whom didst thou transgress and who is it that has a claim on thee?' 'by allah, o fisherman,' replied noureddin 'there hangs a rare story by me and this damsel, a story, which, were it graven with needles on the corners of the eye, would serve as a lesson to him who can profit by example.' said the khalif, 'wilt thou not tell us thy story and acquaint us with thy case? peradventure it may bring thee relief, for the help of god is near at hand.' 'o fisher man,' said noureddin, 'wilt thou hear our story in prose or verse?' 'prose is but words,' replied the khalif, 'but verse is strung pearls.' then noureddin bowed his head and spoke the following verses. o my friend, i have bidden farewell to repose, and the anguish of exile has doubled my woes i once had a father, who loved me right dear, but left me, to dwell in the tombs, where all goes. there fell on me after him hardship and pain and fate broke in pieces my heart with its blows. he bought me a slave-girl, the fairest of maids; her shape shamed the branch and her colour the rose. i wasted the substance he left me, alas! and lavished it freely on these and on those, till for need i was minded to sell the fair maid, though sorely i grudged at the parting, god knows! but lo! when the crier 'gan call her for sale, a scurvy old skin-flint to bid for her chose. at this i was angered beyond all control and snatched her away ere the crier could close; whereupon the old rancorous curmudgeon flamed up with despite and beset me with insults and blows. in my passion i smote him with right hand and left, till my wrath was assuaged; after which i arose and returning, betook me in haste to my house, where i hid me for feat of the wrath of my foes. then the king of the city decreed my arrest: but a kind-hearted chamberlain pitied my woes and warned me to flee from the city forthright, ere my enemies' springes my life should enclose. so we fled from our house in the dead of the night and came to baghdad for a place of repose. i have nothing of value, nor treasures nor gold, or i'd handsel thee, fisherman, freely with those! but i give thee, instead, the beloved of my soul, and in her thou hast gotten my heart's blood, god knows! when he had finished, the khalif said to him, 'o my lord noureddin, explain to me thy case more fully!' so he told him the whole story from beginning to end, and the khalif said to him, 'whither dost thou now intend?' 'god's world is wide!' replied he. quoth the khalif, 'i will write thee a letter to carry to the sultan mohammed ben suleiman ez zeini, which when he reads, he will do thee no hurt.' 'who ever heard of a fisherman writing to kings?' said noureddin. 'such a thing can never be.' 'true,' replied the khalif; 'but i will tell thee the reason. know that he and i learnt in the same school, under one master, and that i was his monitor. since that time, fortune has betided him and he is become a sultan, whilst god hath abased me and made me a fisherman: yet i never send to him to seek aught, but he does my desire; nay, though i should ask of him a thousand favours a day, he would comply.' when noureddin heard this, he said, 'good: write that i may see.' so the khalif took pen and inkhorn and wrote as follows: 'in the name of god, the compassionate, the merciful! this letter is from haroun er reshid son of el mehdi to his highness mohammed ben suleiman ez zeini, whom i have compassed about with my favour and made governor for me in certain of my dominions. the bearer of these presents is noureddin son of felz ben khacan the vizier. as soon as they come to thy hand, do thou put off thy kingly dignity and invest him therewith, and look thou oppose not my commandment, so peace be on thee.' then he gave the letter to noureddin, who took it and kissed it, then put it in his turban and set out at once on his journey. as soon as he was gone, gaffer ibrahim fumed to the khalif and said to him, 'o vilest of fishermen, thou hast brought us a couple of fish, worth a score of paras, and hast gotten three dinars for them; and thinkest thou to take the damsel also?' when the khalif heard this, he cried out at him and made a sign to mesrour, who discovered himself and rushed upon him. now jaafer had sent one of the gardeners to the doorkeeper of the palace for a suit of the royal raiment for the commander of the faithful; so he went and returning with the suit, kissed the earth before the khalif and gave it to him. then he threw off the clothes he had on and dressed himself in those which the gardener had brought, to the great amazement of gaffer ibrahim, who bit his nails in bewilderment and exclaimed, 'am i asleep or awake?' 'o gaffer ibrahim,' said the khalif, 'what state is this in which i see thee?' with this, he recovered from his drunkenness and throwing himself on the ground, repeated the following verses: forgive the error into which my straying feet did fall, for the slave sues for clemency from him to whom he's thrall! lo, by confessing i have done what the offence requires! where then is that for which good grace and generous mercy call? the khalif forgave him and bade carry the damsel to the palace, where he assigned her a separate lodging and servants to wait upon her, saying to her, 'know that we have sent thy master to be sultan in bassora, and god willing, we will despatch him a dress of honour and thee with it.' meanwhile, noureddin fared on, till he reached bassora, when he repaired to the sultan's palace and gave a loud cry. the sultan heard him and sent for him; and when he came into his presence, he kissed the earth before him and pulling out the letter, gave it to him. the sultan, seeing that the superscription was in the handwriting of the khalif, rose to his feet and kissed the letter three times, then read it and said, 'i hear and obey god and the commander of the faithful!' then he summoned the four cadis and the amirs and was about to divest himself of the kingly office, when in came the vizier muin ben sawa. the sultan gave him the khalif's letter, and he read it, then tore it in pieces and putting it in his mouth, chewed it and threw it away. 'out on thee!' exclaimed the sultan (and indeed he was angry); 'what made thee do that?' 'by thy life, o our lord the sultan,' replied muin, 'this fellow hath never seen the khalif nor his vizier: but he is a gallows-bird, a crafty imp who, happening upon a blank[fn# ] sheet in the khalif's handwriting, hath written his own desire in it. the khalif would surely not have sent him to take the sultanate from thee, without a royal mandate and a patent appended thereto, nor would he have omitted to send with him a chamberlain or a vizier. but he is alone and hath never come from the khalif, never! never!' 'what is to be done?' said the sultan. 'leave him to me,' replied the vizier: 'i will send him in charge of a chamberlain to the city of baghdad. if what he says be true, they will bring us back royal letters-patent and a diploma of investiture; and if not, i will pay him what i owe him.' when the sultan heard the vizier's words, he said, 'take him.' so muin carried noureddin to his own house and cried out to his servants, who threw him down and beat him, till he swooned away. then he caused heavy shackles to be put on his feet and carried him to the prison, where he called the gaoler, whose name was cuteyt, and said to him, 'o cuteyt, take this fellow and throw him into one of the underground cells in the prison and torture him night and day.' 'i hear and obey,' replied he, and taking noureddin into the prison, locked the door on him. then he bade sweep a bench behind the door and laying thereon a mattress and a leather rug, made noureddin sit down. moreover, he loosed his fetters and treated him kindly. the vizier sent every day to the gaoler, charging him to beat him, but he abstained from this, and things abode thus forty days' time. on the forty-first day, there came a present from the khalif: which when the sultan saw, it pleased him and he took counsel about it with his viziers, one of whom said, 'mayhap this present was intended for the new sultan.' quoth muin, 'we should have done well to put him to death at his first coming;' and the sultan said, 'by allah, thou remindest me of him! go down to the prison and fetch him, and i will strike off his head.' 'i hear end obey,' replied muin. 'with thy leave i will have proclamation made in the city, "whoso hath a mind to look upon the beheading of noureddin ali ben khacan, let him repair to the palace!" so, great and small will come out to gaze on him and i shall heal my heart and mortify those that envy me.' 'as thou wilt,' said the sultan; whereupon the vizier went out, rejoicing, and commanded the chief of the police to make the aforesaid proclamation. when the folk heard the crier, they all mourned and wept, even to the little ones in the schools and the tradersin the shops, and some hastened to get them places to see the sight, whilst others repaired to the prison thinking to accompany him thence. presently, the vizier came to the prison, attended by ten armed slaves, and the gaoler said to him, 'what seekest thou, o our lord the vizier?' 'bring me that gallows-bird,' replied the vizier; and the gaoler said, 'he is in the sorriest of plights for the much beating i have given him.' then cuteyt went into the prison, where he found noureddin repeating the following verses: who shall avail me against the woes that my life enwind? indeed my disease is sore and the remedy hard to find. exile hath worn my heart and my spirit with languishment, and evil fortune hath turned my very lovers unkind. o folk, is there none of you all will answer my bitter cry! is there never a merciful friend will help me of all mankind? yet death and the pains of death are a little thing to me; i have put off the hope of life and left its sweets behind. o thou that sentest the guide, the chosen prophet to men, the prince of the intercessors, gifted to loose and bind, i prithee, deliver me and pardon me my default, and put the troubles to flight that crush me, body and mind i the gaoler took off his clean clothes and clothing him in two filthy garments, carried him to the vizier. noureddin looked at him, and knowing him for his enemy who still sought to compass his death, wept and said to him, 'art thou then secure against fate? hast thou not heard the saying of the poet? where are now the old chosroes, tyrants of a bygone day? wealth they gathered; but their treasures and themselves have passed away! o vizier,' continued he, 'know that god (blessed and exalted be he!) doth whatever he will!' 'o ali,' replied the vizier, 'dost thou think to fright me with this talk? know that i mean this day to strike off thy head in despite of the people of bassora, and let the days do what they will, i care not; nor will i take thought to thy warning, but rather to what the poet says: let the days do what they will, without debate, and brace thy spirit against the doings of fate. and also how well says another: he who lives a day after his foe hath compassed his wishes, i trow! then he ordered his attendants to set noureddin on the back of a mule, and they said to the youth (for indeed it was grievous to them), 'let us stone him and cut him in pieces, though it cost us our lives.' 'do it not,' replied noureddin. 'have ye not heard what the poet says? a term's decreed for me, which i must needs fulfil, and when its days are spent, i die, do what i will. though to their forest dens the lions should me drag, whilst but an hour remains, they have no power to kill.' then they proceeded to proclaim before noureddin, 'this is the least of the punishment of those who impose upon kings with forgery!' and they paraded him round about bassora, till they came beneath the windows of the palace, where they made him kneel down on the carpet of blood and the headsman came up to him and said, 'o my lord, i am but a slave commanded in this matter: if thou hast any desire, let me know, that i may fulfil it; for now there remains of thy life but till the sultan shall put his head out of the window.' so noureddin looked in all directions and repeated the following verses: i see the headsman and the sword, i see the carpet spread, and cry "alas, my sorry plight! alas, my humbled head!" how is't i have no pitying friend to help me in my need? will no one answer my complaint or heed the tears i shed? my time of life is past away and death draws nigh to me: will no one earn the grace of god by standing me in stead? will none take pity on my state and succour my despair with but a cup of water cold, to ease my torments dread? the people fell to weeping for him, and the headsman rose and brought him a draught of water; but the vizier smote the gugglet with his hand and broke it: then he cried out at the executioner and bade him strike off noureddin's head. so he proceeded to bind the latter's eyes; whilst the people cried out against the vizier and there befell a great tumult and dispute amongst them. at this moment there arose a great cloud of dust and filled the air and the plain; and when the sultan, who was sitting in the palace, saw this, he said to his attendants, 'go and see what is the meaning of that cloud of dust.' 'when we have cut off this fellow's head,' replied muin; but the sultan said, 'wait till we see what this means.' now the cloud of dust in question was raised by jaafer the barmecide, vizier to the khalif, and his retinue; and the reason of his coming was as follows. the khalif passed thirty days without calling to mind the affair of noureddin ali ben khacan, and none reminded him of it, till one night, as he passed by the apartment of enis el jelis, he heard her weeping and reciting the following verse, in a low and sweet voice: thine image is ever before me, though thou art far away, nor doth my tongue give over the naming of thee aye! and her weeping redoubled; when lo, the khalif opened the door and entering the chamber, found her in tears. when she saw him, she fell to the earth and kissing his feet three times, repeated the following verses: o thou pure of royal lineage and exalted in thy birth! o thou tree of fruitful branches, thou the all unstained of race! i recall to thee the promise that thy noble bounty made: god forbid thou shouldst forget it or withhold the gifted grace! quoth the khalif, 'who art thou?' and she answered, 'i am she whom thou hadst as a present from noureddin ali ben khacan, and i crave the fulfilment of thy promise to send me to him with the dress of honour; for i have now been here thirty days, without tasting sleep.' thereupon the khalif sent for jaafer and said to him, 'o jaafer, it is thirty days since we had news of noureddin ali ben khacan, and i doubt me the sultan has killed him; but by the life of my head and the tombs of my forefathers, if aught of ill have befallen him, i will make an end of him who was the cause of it, though he be the dearest of all men to myself! so it is my wish that thou set out at once for bassora and bring me news of my cousin mohammed ben suleiman ez zeini and how he hath dealt with noureddin; and do thou tell my cousin the young man's history and how i sent him to him with my letter, and if thou find that the king hath done otherwise than after my commandment, lay hands on him and his vizier muin ben sawa and bring them to us, as thou shalt find them. nor do thou tarry longer on the road than shall suffice for the journey, or i will strike off thy head.' 'i hear and obey,' replied jaafer, and made ready at once and set out for bassora, where he arrived in due course. when he came up and saw the crowd and turmoil, he enquired what was the matter and was told how it stood with noureddin ali, whereupon he hastened to go in to the sultan and saluting him, acquainted him with his errand and the khalif's determination, in case of any foul play having befallen noureddin, to destroy whosoever should have been the cause of it. then he seized upon the sultan and his vizier and laid them in ward, and commanding noureddin to be released, seated him on the throne in the place of mohammed ben suleiman. after this jaafer abode three days at bassora, the usual guest-time, and on the morning of the fourth day, noureddin turned to him and said, 'i long for the sight of the commander of the faithful.' then said jaafer to mohammed ben suleiman, 'make ready, for we will pray the morning-prayer and take horse for baghdad.' and he answered, 'i hear and obey.' so they prayed the morning-prayer and set out, all of them, taking with them the vizier muin ben sawa, who began to repent of what he had done. noureddin rode by jaafer's side and they fared on without ceasing, till they arrived in due course at the abode of peace, baghdad, and going in to the khalif's presence, told him how they had found noureddin nigh upon death. the khalif said to noureddin, 'take this sword and strike off thine enemy's head.' so he took the sword and went up to muin ben sawa, but the latter looked at him and said, 'i did according to my nature; do thou according to thine.' so noureddin threw the sword from his hand and said to the khalif, 'o commander of the faithful, he hath beguiled me with his speech,' and he repeated the following verse: lo, with the cunning of his speech my heart he hath beguiled, for generous minds are ever moved by artful words and mild! 'leave him, thou,' said the khalif, and turning to mesrour, commanded him to behead muin. so mesrour drew his sword and smote off the vizier's head. then said the khalif to noureddin, 'ask a boon of me.' 'o my lord,' answered he, 'i have no need of the sovereignty of bassora: all my desire is to have the honour of serving thee and looking on thy face.' 'with all my heart,' replied the khalif. then he sent for enis el jelis and bestowed plentiful favours upon them both, assigning them a palace at baghdad and regular allowances. moreover, he made noureddin one of his boon-companions, and the latter abode with him in the enjoyment of the most delectable life, till death overtook him. ghanim ben eyoub the slave of love. there lived once at damascus, in the days of the khalif haroun er reshid, a wealthy merchant, who had a son like the moon at its full and withal sweet of speech, called ghanim ben eyoub, and a daughter called fitneh, unique in her beauty and grace. their father died and left them abundant wealth and amongst other things a hundred loads of silk and brocade and bladders of musk, on each of which was written, 'this is of the loads intended for baghdad,' he having been about to make the journey thither, when god the most high took him to himself. after awhile, his son took the loads and bidding farewell to his mother and kindred and townsfolk, set out for baghdad with a company of merchants, committing himself to god the most high, who decreed him safety, so that he arrived without hindrance at that city. here he hired a handsome house, which he furnished with carpets and cushions and hangings, and stored his goods therein and put up his mules and camels. then he abode awhile, resting, whilst the merchants and notables of baghdad came and saluted him; after which he took a parcel containing ten pieces of costly stuffs, with the prices written on them, and carried it to the bazaar, where the merchants received him with honour and made him sit down in the shop of the chief of the market, to whom he delivered the parcel of stuffs. he opened it and taking out the stuffs, sold them for him at a profit of two dinars on every one of prime cost. at this ghanim rejoiced and went on to sell his stuffs, little by little, for a whole year. on the first day of the following year, he repaired, as usual, to the bazaar in the market-place, but found the gate shut and enquiring the reason, was told that one of the merchants was dead and that all the others had gone to wail in his funeral and was asked if he were minded to gain the favour of god by going with them. he assented and enquired where the funeral was to be held, whereupon they directed him to the place. so he made the ablution and repaired with the other merchants to the place of prayer, where they prayed over the dead, then went before the bier to the burial-place without the city and passed among the tombs till they came to the grave. here they found that the dead man's people had pitched a tent over the tomb and brought thither lamps and candles. so they buried the dead and sat down to listen to the reading of the koran over the tomb. ghanim sat with them, being overcome with bashfulness and saying to himself, 'i cannot well go away till they do.' they sat listening to the recitation till nightfall, when the servants set the evening meal and sweetmeats before them and they ate till they were satisfied, then sat down again, after having washed their hands. but ghanim was troubled for his house and property being in fear of thieves, and said to himself, 'i am a stranger here and thought to be rich, and if i pass the night abroad, the thieves will steal the money and the goods.' so he arose and left the company, having first asked leave to go about a necessary business, and following the beaten track, came to the gate of the city, but found it shut and saw none going or coming nor heard aught but the dogs barking and the wolves howling, for it was now the middle of the night. at this he exclaimed, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god! i was in fear for my property and came back on its account, but now i find the gate shut and am become in fear for my life!' and he retraced his steps, seeking a place where he might pass the night, till he found a tomb enclosed by four walls, with a palm-tree in its midst and a gate of granite. the gate stood open; so he entered and lay down, but sleep came not to him and fright and oppression beset him, for that he was alone among the tombs. so he rose to his feet and opening the door, looked out and saw, in the distance, a light making for the tomb from the direction of the city-gate. at this he was afraid and hastening to shut the gate, climbed up into the palm-tree and hid himself among the branches. the light came nearer and nearer, till he could see three black slaves, two carrying a chest and a third a lantern, an adze and a basket of plaster. when they came to the tomb, one of those who were carrying the chest cried out to the other, 'hello, sewab!' 'what ails thee, o kafour?' said the other. 'were we not here at nightfall,' asked the first, 'and did we not leave the gate open?' 'true,' replied sewab. 'see,' said the other, 'it is now shut and barred.' 'how small is your wit!' broke in the bearer of the lantern, whose name was bekhit. 'do ye not know that the owners of the gardens use to come out of baghdad to tend them, and when the night overtakes them, they enter this place and shut the gate, for fear the blacks like ourselves should catch them and roast them and eat them?' 'thou art right,' replied the others; 'but, by allah, none of us is less of wit than thou!' 'if you do not believe me,' said bekhit, 'let us go into the tomb and i will unearth the rat for you; i doubt not but that, when he saw the light and us making for the tomb, he took refuge in the palm-tree, for fear of us.' when ghanim heard this, he said to himself, 'o most damnable of slaves, may god not have thee in his keeping for this thy craft and quickness of wit! there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme! how shall i escape from these blacks?' then said the two bearers to him of the lantern, 'climb over the wall and open the door to us, o bekhit, for we are tired of carrying the chest on our shoulders; and thou shalt have one of those that we seize inside, and we will fry him for thee so featly that not a drop of his fat shall be lost.' but he said, 'i am afraid of somewhat that my little sense has suggested to me; we should do better to throw the chest over the wall; for it is our treasure.' 'if we throw it over, it will break,' replied they. and he said, 'i fear lest there be brigands within who kill four and steal their goods; for they are wont when night falls on them, to enter these places and divide their spoil.' 'o thou of little wit!' rejoined they, 'how could they get in here?' then they set down the chest and climbing the wall, got down and opened the gate, whilst bekhit held the light for them, after which they shut the door and sat down. then said one of them, 'o my brothers, we are tired with walking and carrying the chest, and it is now the middle of the night, and we have no breath left to open the tomb and bury the chest: so let us rest two or three hours, then rise and do what we have to do. meanwhile each of us shall tell how he came to be an eunuch and all that befell him from first to last, to pass away the time, whilst we rest ourselves.' 'good,' answered the others; and bekhit said, 'o my brothers, i will begin.' 'say on,' replied they. so he began as follows, 'know, o my brothers, that story of the eunuch bekhit. i was brought from my native country, when i was five years old, by a slave-merchant, who sold me to one of the royal messengers. my master had a three-year-old daughter, with whom i was reared, and they used to make sport of me, letting me play with the girl and dance and sing to her, till i reached the age of twelve and she that of ten; and even then they did not forbid me from her. one day, i went in to her and found her sitting in an inner room, perfumed with essences and scented woods, and her face shone like the round of the moon on its fourteenth night, as if she had just come out of the bath that was in the house. she began to sport with me, and i with her. now i had just reached the age of puberty, and my yard rose on end, as it were a great bolt. then she threw me down and mounting my breast, pulled me hither and thither, till my yard became uncovered. when she saw this, and it in point, she seized it in her hand and fell to rubbing it against the lips of her kaze, outside her trousers. at this, heat stirred in me and i put my arms round her, whilst she wreathed hers about my neck and strained me to her with all her might, till, before i knew what i did, my yard thrust through her trousers, and entering her kaze, did away her maidenhead. when i saw what i had done, i fled and took refuge with one of my comrades. presently, her mother came in to her, and seeing her in this state, was lost to the world. however, she smoothed the matter over and hid the girl's condition from her father, of the love they bore me, nor did they cease to call to me and coax me, till they took me from where i was. after two months had passed by, her mother married her to a young man, a barber, who used to shave her father, and portioned and fitted her out of her own monies, whilst her father knew nothing of what had passed. then they took me unawares and gelded me: and when they brought her to her husband, they made me her eunuch, to go before her, wherever she went, whether to the bath or to her father's house. on the wedding-night, they slaughtered a young pigeon and sprinkled the blood on her shift;[fn# ] and i abode with her a long while, enjoying her beauty and grace, by way of kissing and clipping and clicketing, till she died and her husband and father and mother died also; when they seized me for the treasury and i found my way hither, where i became your comrade. this then, o my brothers, is my story and how i came to be docked of my cullions; and peace be on you.' then said the second eunuch, 'know, o my brothers, that story of the eunuch kafour. from the time when i was eight years old, i was wont to tell the slave-merchants one lie every year, so that they fell out with one another, till at last my master lost patience with me and carrying me down to the market, delivered me to a broker and bade him cry me for sale, saying, "who will buy this slave with his fault?" he did so, and it was asked him, "what is his fault?" quoth he, "he tells one lie every year." then came up one of the merchants and said to the broker, "how much have they bidden for this slave, with his fault?" "six hundred dirhems," replied the broker. "and twenty dirhems for thyself," said the merchant. so he brought him to the slave-dealer, who took the money, and the broker carried me to my master's house and went away, after having received his brokerage. the merchant clothed me as befitted my condition, and i bode in his service the rest of the year, until the new year came in with good omen. it was a blessed season, rich in herbage and the fruits of the earth, and the merchants began to give entertainments every day, each bearing the cost in turn, till it came to my master's turn to entertain them in a garden without the city. so he and the other merchants repaired to the garden, taking with them all that they required of food and so forth, and sat, eating and drinking and carousing, till noon, when my master, having need of something from the house, said to me, "o slave, mount the mule and go to the house and get such and such a thing from thy mistress and return quickly." i did as he bade me and started for the house, but as i drew near, i began to cry out and weep copiously, whereupon all the people of the quarter collected, great and small; and my master's wife and daughters, hearing the noise i was making, opened the door and asked me what was the matter. quoth i, "my master and his friends were sitting beneath an old wall, and it fell on them: and when i saw what had befallen them, i mounted the mule and came hither, in haste, to tell you." when my master's wife and daughters heard this, they shrieked aloud and tore their clothes and buffeted their faces, whilst the neighbours came round them. then my mistress overturned the furniture of the house, pell-mell, tore down the shelves, broke up the casements and the lattices and smeared the walls with mud and indigo. presently she said to me, "out on thee, o kafour! come and help me tear down these cupboards and break up these vessels and porcelain!" so i went to her and helped her break up all the shelves in the house, with everything on them, after which i went round about the roofs and every part of the house, demolishing all i could and leaving not a single piece of china or the like in the house unbroken, till i had laid waste the whole place, crying out the while, "alas, my master!" then my mistress sallied forth, with her face uncovered and only her kerchief on, accompanied by her sons and daughters, and said to me, "go thou before us and show us the place where thy master lies dead under the wall, that we may take him out from the ruins and lay him on a bier and carry him to the house and give him a goodly funeral." so i went on before them, crying out, "alas, my master!" and they after me, bareheaded, crying out, "alas! alas for the man!" and there was not a man nor a woman nor a boy nor an old woman in the quarter but followed us, buffeting their faces and weeping sore. on this wise, i traversed the city with them, and the folk asked what was the matter, whereupon they told them what they had heard from me, and they exclaimed, "there is no power and no virtue but in god!" then said one of them, "he was a man of consideration; so let us go to the chief of the police and tell him what has happened." so they repaired to the magistrate and told him, whereupon he mounted and taking with him workmen with spades and baskets, set out for the scene of the accident, following my track, with all the people after him. i ran on before them, buffeting my face and throwing dust on my head and crying out, followed by my mistress and her children, shrieking aloud. but i outran them and reached the garden before them, and when my master saw me in this state and heard me crying out, "alas, my mistress! alas! alas! who is left to take pity on me, now that my mistress is dead? would god i had died instead of her!" he was confounded and his colour paled. then said he to me, "what ails thee, o kafour? what is the matter?" "o my lord," replied i, "when thou sentest me to the house, i found that the wall of the saloon had given way and the whole of it had fallen in upon my mistress and her children." "and did not thy mistress escape?" "no, by allah, o my master!" answered i. "not one of them was saved, and the first to die was my mistress, thine elder daughter." "did not my younger daughter escape?" asked he. "no," replied i; and he said, "what became of the mule i use to ride? was she saved?" "no, by allah," answered i; "the walls of the house and of the stable fell in on all that were in the dwelling, even to the sheep and geese and fowls, so that they all became a heap of flesh and the dogs ate them: not one of them is saved." "not even thy master, my elder son?" asked he. "no, by allah!" repeated i. "not one of them was saved, and now there remains neither house nor inhabitants nor any trace of them: and as for the sheep and geese and fowls, the dogs and cats have eaten them." when my master heard this, the light in his eyes became darkness and he lost command of his senses and his reason, so that he could not stand upon his feet, for he was as one taken with the rickets and his back was broken. then he rent his clothes and plucked out his beard and casting his turban from his head, buffeted his face, till the blood streamed down, crying out, "alas, my children! alas, my wife! alas, what a misfortune! to whom did there ever happen the like of what hath befallen me?" the other merchants, his companions, joined in his tears and lamentations and rent their clothes, being moved to pity of his case; and my master went out of the garden' buffeting his face and staggering like a drunken man, for stress of what had befallen him and the much beating he had given his face. as he came forth of the garden-gate, followed by the other merchants, behold, they saw a great cloud of dust and heard a great noise of crying and lamentation. they looked, and behold, it was the chief of the police with his officers and the townspeople who had come out to look on, and my master's family in front of them, weeping sore and shrieking and lamenting. the first to accost my master were his wife and children; and when he saw them, he was confounded and laughed and said to them, "how is it with you all and what befell you in the house?" when they saw him, they exclaimed, "praised be god for thy safety!" and threw themselves upon him, and his children clung to him, crying, "alas, our father! praised be god for thy preservation, o our father!" then said his wife, "thou art well, praised be god who hath shown us thy face in safety!" and indeed she was confounded and her reason fled, when she saw him, and she said, "o my lord, how did you escape, thou and thy friends the merchants?" "and how fared it with thee in the house?" asked he. "we were all in good health and case," answered they; "nor has aught befallen us in the house, save that thy slave kafour came to us, bareheaded, with his clothes torn and crying out, 'alas, my master! alas, my master!' so we asked what was the matter, and he said, 'the wall of the garden has fallen on my master and his friends, and they are all dead.'" "by allah," said my master, "he came to me but now, crying out, 'alas, my mistress! alas, her children!' and said, 'my mistress and her children are all dead.'" then he looked round and seeing me with my torn turban hanging down my neck, shrieking and weeping violently and strewing earth on my head, cried out at me. so i came to him and he said, "woe to thee, o pestilent slave, o whore-son knave, o accurst of race! what mischiefs hast thou wrought! but i will strip thy skin from thy flesh and cut thy flesh off thy bones!" "by allah," replied i, "thou canst do nothing with me, for thou boughtest me with my fault, with witnesses to testify against thee that thou didst so and that thou knewest of my fault, which is that i tell one lie every year. this is but half a lie, but by the end of the year, i will tell the other half, and it will then be a whole lie." "o dog, son of a dog," exclaimed my master, "o most accursed of slaves, is this but a half lie? indeed, it is a great calamity! go out from me; thou art free before god!" "by allah," rejoined i, "if thou free me, i will not free thee, till i have completed my year and told the other half lie. when that is done, take me down to the market and sell me, as thou boughtest me, to whosoever will buy me with my fault: but free me not, for i have no handicraft to get my living by: and this my demand is according to the law, as laid down by the doctors in the chapter of manumission." whilst we were talking, up came the people of the quarter and others, men and women, together with the chief of the police and his suite. so my master and the other merchants went up to him and told him the story and how this was but half a lie, at which the people wondered and deemed the lie an enormous one. and they cursed me and reviled me, whilst i stood laughing and saying, "how can my master kill me, when he bought me with this fault?" then my master returned home and found his house in ruins, and it was i who had laid waste the most part of it, having destroyed things worth much money, as had also done his wife, who said to him, "it was kafour who broke the vessels and the china." thereupon his rage redoubled and he beat hand upon hand, exclaiming, "by allah, never in my life did i see such a son of shame as this slave; and he says this is only half a lie! how if he had told a whole one? he would have laid waste a city or two!" then in his rage he went to the chief of the police, who made me eat stick till i fainted: and whilst i was yet senseless, they fetched a barber, who gelded me and cauterized the parts. when i revived, i found myself an eunuch, and my master said to me, "even as thou hast made my heart bleed for the most precious things i had, so will i grieve thy heart for that of thy members by which thou settest most store." then he took me and sold me at a profit, for that i was become an eunuch, and i ceased not to make trouble, wherever i came, and was shifted from amir to amir and notable to notable, being bought and sold, till i entered the palace of the commander of the faithful, and now my spirit is broken and i have abjured my tricks, having lost my manhood.' when the others heard his story, they laughed and said, 'verily, thou art dung, the son of dung! thou liedst most abominably!' then said they to the third slave, 'tell us thy story.' 'o my cousins,' replied he, 'all that ye have said is idle: i will tell you how i came to lose my cullions, and indeed, i deserved more than this, for i swived my mistress and my master's son: but my story is a long one and this is no time to tell it, for the dawn is near, and if the day surprise us with this chest yet unburied, we shall be blown upon and lose our lives. so let us fall to work at once, and when we get back to the palace, i will tell you my story and how i became an eunuch.' so they set down the lantern and dug a hole between four tombs, the length and breadth of the chest, kafour plying the spade and sewab clearing away the earth by basketsful, till they had reached a depth of half a fathom, when they laid the chest in the hole and threw back the earth over it: then went out and shutting the door, disappeared from ghanim's sight. when he was sure that they were indeed gone and that he was alone in the place, his heart was concerned to know what was in the chest and he said to himself; 'i wonder what was in the chest!' however, he waited till break of day, when he came down from the palm-tree and scraped away the earth with his hands, till he laid bare the chest and lifted it out of the hole. then he took a large stone and hammered at the lock, till he broke it and raising the cover, beheld a beautiful young lady, richly dressed and decked with jewels of gold and necklaces of precious stones, worth a kingdom, no money could pay their price. she was asleep and her breath rose and fell, as if she had been drugged. when ghanim saw her, he knew that some one had plotted against her and drugged her; so he pulled her out of the chest and laid her on the ground on her back. as soon as she scented the breeze and the air entered her nostrils and lungs, she sneezed and choked and coughed, when there fell from her mouth a pastille of cretan henbane, enough to make an elephant sleep from night to night, if he but smelt it. then she opened her eyes and looking round, exclaimed in a sweet and melodious voice, 'out on thee, o breeze! there is in thee neither drink for the thirsty nor solace for him whose thirst is quenched! where is zehr el bustan?' but no one answered her; so she turned and cried out, 'ho, sebiheh, shejeret ed durr, nour el huda, nejmet es subh, shehweh, nuzheh, hulweh, zerifeh![fn# ] out on ye, speak!' but no one answered her; and she looked about her and said, 'woe is me! they have buried me among the tombs! o thou who knowest what is in the breasts and who wilt requite at the day of resurrection, who hath brought me out from among the screens and curtains of the harem and laid me between four tombs?' all this while ghanim was standing by: then he said to her, 'o my lady, here are neither screens nor curtains nor palaces; only thy bond slave ghanim ben eyoub, whom he who knoweth the hidden things hath brought hither, that he night save thee from these perils and accomplish for thee all that thou desirest.' and he was silent. when she saw how the case stood, she exclaimed, 'i testify that there is no god but god and that mohammed is the apostle of god!' then she put her hands to her face and turning to ghanim, said in a sweet voice, 'o blessed youth, who brought me hither! see, i am now come to myself.' 'o my lady,' replied he, 'three black eunuchs came hither, bearing this chest;' and told her all that had happened and how his being belated had proved the means of her preservation from death by suffocation. then he asked her who she was and what was her story. 'o youth,' said she, 'praised be god who hath thrown me into the hands of the like of thee! but now put me back into the chest and go out into the road and hire the first muleteer or horse-letter thou meetest, to carry it to thy house. when i am there, all will be well and i will tell thee my story and who am i, and good shall betide thee on my account.' at this he rejoiced and went out into the road. it was now broad day and the folk began to go about the ways: so he hired a muleteer and bringing him to the tomb, lifted up the chest, in which he had already replaced the young lady, and set it on the mule. then he fared homeward, rejoicing, for that she was a damsel worth ten thousand dinars and adorned with jewels and apparel of great value, and love for her had fallen on his heart. as soon as he came to the house, he carried in the chest and opening it, took out the young lady, who looked about her, and seeing that the place was handsome, spread with carpets and decked with gay colours, and noting the stuffs tied up and the bales of goods and what not, knew that he was a considerable merchant and a man of wealth. so she uncovered her face and looking at him, saw that he was a handsome young man and loved him. then said she to him, 'o my lord, bring us something to eat.' 'on my head and eyes,' replied he, and going to the market, bought a roasted lamb, a dish of sweetmeats, dried fruits and wax candles, besides wine and drinking gear and perfumes. with these he returned to the house, and when the damsel saw him, she laughed and kissed and embraced him. then she fell to caressing him, so that love for her redoubled on him and got the mastery of his heart. they ate and drank, each in love with the other, for indeed they were alike in age and beauty, till nightfall, when ghanim rose and lit the lamps and candles, till the place blazed with light; after which he brought the wine-service and set on the banquet. then they sat down again and began to fill and give each other to drink; and they toyed and laughed and recited verses, whilst joy grew on them and each was engrossed with love of the other, glory be to him, who uniteth hearts! they ceased not to carouse thus till near upon daybreak, when drowsiness overcame them and they slept where they were till the morning. then ghanim arose and going to the market, bought all that they required in the way of meat and drink and vegetables and what not, with which he returned to the house; and they both sat down and ate till they were satisfied, when he set on wine. they drank and toyed with each other, till their cheeks flushed and their eyes sparkled and ghanim's soul yearned to kiss the girl and lie with her. so he said to her, 'o my lady, grant me a kiss of thy mouth; maybe it will quench the fire of my heart.' 'o ghanim,' replied she, 'wait till i am drunk: then steal a kiss from me, so that i may not know thou hast kissed me.' then she rose and taking off her upper clothes, sat in a shift of fine linen and a silken kerchief. at this, desire stirred in ghanim and he said to her, 'o my mistress, wilt thou not vouchsafe me what i asked of thee!' 'by allah,' replied she, 'this may not be, for there is a stubborn saying written on the ribbon of my trousers.' thereupon ghanim's heart sank and passion grew on him the more that what he sought was hard to get; and he recited the following verses: i sought of her who caused my pain a kiss to ease me of my woe. "no, no!" she answered; "hope it not!" and i, "yes, yes! it shall be so!" then said she, smiling, "take it then, with my consent, before i know." and i, "by force!" "not so," said she: "i freely it on thee bestow." so do not question what befell, but seek god's grace and ask no mo; think what thou wilt of us; for love is with suspect made sweet, i trow. nor do i reck if, after this, avowed or secret be the foe. then love increased on him, and the fires were loosed in his heart, while she defended herself from him, saying, 'i can never be thine.' they ceased not to make love and carouse, whilst ghanim was drowned in the sea of passion and distraction and she redoubled in cruelty and coyness, till the night brought in the darkness and let fall on them the skirts of sleep, when ghanim rose and lit the lamps and candles and renewed the banquet and the flowers; then took her feet and kissed them, and finding them like fresh cream, pressed his face on them and said to her, 'o my lady, have pity on the captive of thy love and the slain of thine eyes; for indeed i were whole of heart but for thee!' and he wept awhile. 'o my lord and light of my eyes,' replied she, 'by allah, i love thee and trust in thee, but i know that i cannot be thine.' 'and what is there to hinder?' asked he. quoth she, 'tonight, i will tell thee my story, that thou mayst accept my excuse.' then she threw herself upon him and twining her arms about his neck, kissed him and wheedled him, promising him her favours; and they continued to toy and laugh till love got complete possession of them. they abode thus for a whole month, sleeping nightly on one couch, but whenever he sought to enjoy her, she put him off, whilst mutual love increased upon them, till they could hardly abstain from one another. one night as they lay, side by side, both heated with wine, he put his hand to her breast and stroked it, then passed it down over her stomach to her navel. she awoke and sitting up, put her hand to her trousers and finding them fast, fell asleep again. presently, he put out his hand a second time and stroked her and sliding down to the ribbon of her trousers, began to pull at it, whereupon she awoke and sat up. ghanim also sat up beside her and she said to him, 'what dost thou want?' 'i want to lie with thee,' answered he, 'and that we may deal frankly one with the other.' quoth she, 'i must now expound my case to thee, that thou mayst know my condition and my secret and that my excuse may be manifest to thee.' 'it is well,' replied he. then she opened the skirt of her shift, and taking up the ribbon of her trousers, said to him, 'o my lord, read what is on this ribbon.' so he took it and saw, wrought in letters of gold, the following words, 'i am thine, and thou art mine, o descendant of the prophet's uncle!' when he read this, he dropped his hand and said to her, 'tell me who thou art.' 'it is well,' answered she; 'know that i am one of the favourites of the commander of the faithful and my name is cout el culoub. i was reared in his palace, and when i grew up, he looked on me, and noting my qualities and the beauty and grace that god had bestowed on me, conceived a great love for me; so he took me and assigned me a separate lodging and gave me ten female slaves to wait on me and all this jewellery thou seest on me. one day he went on a journey to one of his provinces and the lady zubeideh came to one of my waiting-women and said to her, "i have somewhat to ask of thee." "what is it, o my lady?" asked she. "when thy mistress cout el culoub is asleep," said zubeideh, "put this piece of henbane up her nostrils or in her drink, and thou shalt have of me as much money as will content thee." "with all my heart," replied the woman, and took the henbane, being glad because of the money and because she had aforetime been in zubeideh's service. so she put the henbane in my drink, and when it was night, i drank, and the drug had no sooner reached my stomach than i fell to the ground, with my head touching my feet, and knew not but that i was in another world. when zubeideh saw that her plot had succeeded, she put me in this chest and summoning the slaves, bribed them and the doorkeepers, and sent the former to do with me as thou sawest. so my delivery was at thy hands, and thou broughtest me hither and hast used me with the utmost kindness. this is my story, and i know not what is come of the khalif in my absence. know then my condition, and divulge not my affair.' when ghanim heard her words and knew that she was the favourite of the commander of the faithful, he drew back, being smitten with fear of the khalif, and sat apart from her in one of the corners of the place, blaming himself and brooding over his case and schooling his heart to patience, bewildered for love of one who might not be his. then he wept, for excess of longing, and bemoaned the injustice and hostility of fortune (glory be to him who occupies hearts with love!) reciting the following verses: the heart of the lover's racked with weariness and care, for his reason ravished is for one who is passing fair. it was asked me, "what is the taste of love?" i answer made, "love is sweet water, wherein are torment and despair." thereupon cout el culoub arose and pressed him to her bosom and kissed him, for love of him mastered her heart, so that she discovered to him her secret and the passion that possessed her and throwing her arms about his neck, embraced him; but he held off from her, for fear of the khalif. then they talked awhile (and indeed they were both drowned in the sea of mutual love) till day, when ghanim rose and going to the market as usual, took what was needful and returned home. he found her in tears; but when she saw him, she ceased weeping and smiled and said, 'thou hast made me desolate, o beloved of my heart! by allah, the hour that thou hast been absent from me has been to me as a year! i have let thee see how it is with me for the excess of my passion for thee; so come now, leave what has been and take thy will of me.' 'god forbid that this should be!' replied he. 'how shall the dog sit in the lion's place? verily, that which is the master's is forbidden to the slave.' and he withdrew from her and sat down on a corner of the mat. her passion increased with his refusal; so she sat down beside him and caroused and sported with him, till they were both warm with wine, and she was mad for dishonour with him. then she sang the following verses: the heart of the slave of passion is all but broken in twain: how long shall this rigour last and this coldness of disdain? o thou that turnest away from me, in default of sin, rather to turn towards than away should gazelles be fain! aversion and distance eternal and rigour and disdain; how can youthful lover these hardships all sustain? thereupon ghanim wept and she wept because he did, and they ceased not to drink till nightfall, when he rose and spread two beds, each in its place. 'for whom is the second bed?' asked she. 'one is for me and the other for thee,' answered he. 'henceforth we must lie apart, for that which is the master's is forbidden to the slave.' 'o my lord,' exclaimed she, 'let us leave this, for all things happen according to fate and predestination.' but he refused, and the fire was loosed in her heart and she clung to him and said, 'by allah, we will not sleep but together!' 'god forbid!' answered he, and he prevailed against her and lay apart till the morning, whilst love and longing and distraction redoubled on her. they abode thus three whole months, and whenever she made advances to him, he held aloof from her, saying, 'whatever belongs to the master is forbidden to the slave.' then, when this was prolonged upon her and affliction and anguish grew on her, for the weariness of her heart she recited the following verses: o marvel of beauty, how long this disdain? and who hath provoked thee to turn from my pain? all manner of elegance in thee is found and all fashions of fairness thy form doth contain. the hearts of all mortals thou stir'st with desire and on everyone's lids thou mak'st sleeplessness reign. i know that the branch has been plucked before thee; so, o capparis-branch, thou dost wrong, it is plain. i used erst to capture myself the wild deer. how comes it the chase doth the hunter enchain? but the strangest of all that is told of thee is, i was snared, and thou heard'st not the voice of my pain. yet grant not my prayer. if i'm jealous for thee of thyself how much more of myself? nor again, as long as life lasteth in me, will i say, "o marvel of beauty, how long this disdain?"' meanwhile, the lady zubeideh, when, in the absence of the khalif, she had done this thing with cout el culoub, abode perplexed and said to herself, 'what answer shall i make the khalif, when he comes back and asks for her?' then she called an old woman, who was with her, and discovered her secret to her, saying, 'what shall i do, seeing that cout el culoub is no more?' 'o my lady,' replied the old woman, 'the time of the khalif's return is at hand; but do thou send for a carpenter and bid him make a figure of wood in the shape of a corpse. we will dig a grave for it and bury it in the middle of the palace: then do thou build an oratory over it and set therein lighted lamps and candles and command all in the palace to put on mourning. moreover, do thou bid thy slave-girls and eunuchs, as soon as they know of the khalif's approach, spread straw in the vestibules, and when the khalif enters and asks what is the matter, let them say, "cout el culoub is dead, may god abundantly replace her to thee! and for the honour in which she was held of our mistress, she hath buried her in her own palace." when the khalif hears this, it will be grievous to him and he will weep: then will he cause recitations of the koran to be made over her and will watch by night over her tomb. if he should say to himself, "my cousin zubeideh has compassed the death of cout el culoub out of jealousy," or if love-longing should master him and he order to take her forth of the tomb, fear thou not; for when they dig and come to the figure, he will see it as it were a human body, shrouded in costly grave-clothes; and if he desire to take off the swathings, do thou forbid him and say to him, "it is unlawful to look upon her nakedness." the fear of the world to come will restrain him and he will believe that she is dead and will cause the image to be restored to its place and thank thee for what thou hast done: and so, if it please god, thou shalt be delivered from this strait.' her advice commended itself to zubeideh, who bestowed on her a dress of honour and a sum of money, bidding her do as she had said. so she at once ordered a carpenter to make the aforesaid figure, and as soon as it was finished, she brought it to zubeideh, who shrouded it and buried it and built a pavilion over it, in which she set lighted lamps and candles and spread carpets round the tomb. moreover, she put on black and ordered her household to do the same, and the news was spread abroad in the palace that cout el culoub was dead. after awhile, the khalif returned from his journey and entered the palace, thinking only of cout el culoub. he saw all the pages and damsels and eunuchs in mourning, at which his heart quaked; and when he went in to the lady zubeideh, he found her also clad in black. so he asked the cause of this and was told that cout el culoub was dead, whereupon he fell down in a swoon. as soon as he came to himself, he enquired of her tomb, and zubeideh said to him, 'know, o commander of the faithful, that for the honour in which i held her, i have buried her in my own palace.' then he repaired to her tomb, in his travelling dress, and found the place spread with carpets and lit with lamps. when he saw this, he thanked zubeldeh for what she had done and abode perplexed, halting between belief and distrust, till at last suspicion got the better of him and he ordered the grave to be opened and the body exhumed. when he saw the figure and would have taken off the swathings to look upon the body, the fear of god the most high restrained him, and the old woman (taking advantage of his hesitation) said, 'restore her to her place.' then he sent at once for readers and doctors of the law and caused recitations of the koran to be made over her grave and sat by it, weeping, till he lost his senses. he continued to frequent the tomb for a whole month, at the end of which time, he chanced one day, after the divan had broken up and his amirs and viziers had gone away to their houses, to enter the harem, where he laid down and slept awhile, whilst one damsel sat at his head, fanning him, and another at his feet, rubbing them. presently he awoke and opening his eyes, shut them again and heard the damsel at his head say to her at his feet, 'hist, kheizuran!' 'well, kezib el ban?' answered the other. 'verily,' said the first, 'our lord knows not what has passed and watches over a tomb in which there is only a carved wooden figure, of the carpenter's handiwork.' 'then what is become of cout el culoub?' enquired the other. 'know,' replied kezib el ban. 'that the lady zubeideh bribed one of her waiting-women to drug her with henbane and laying her in a chest, commanded sewab and kafour to take it and bury it among the tombs.' quoth kheizuran, 'and is not the lady cout el culoub dead?' 'no,' replied the other; 'god preserve her youth from death! but i have heard the lady zubeideh say that she is with a young merchant of damascus, by name ghanim ben eyoub, and has been with him these four months, whilst this our lord is weeping and watching anights over an empty tomb.' when the khalif heard the girls' talk and knew that the tomb was a trick and a fraud and that cout el culoub had been with ghanim ben eyoub for four months, he was sore enraged and rising up, summoned his officers of state, whereupon the vizier jaafer the barmecide came up and kissed the earth before him, and the khalif said to him, 'o jaafer, take a company of men with thee and fall upon the house of ghanim ben eyoub and bring him to me, with my slave-girl cout el culoub, for i will assuredly punish him!' 'i hear and obey,' answered jaafer, and setting out with his guards and the chief of the police, repaired to ghanim's house. now the latter had brought home a pot of meat and was about to put forth his hand to eat of it, he and cout d culoub, when the damsel, happening to look out, found the house beset on all sides by the vizier and the chief of the police and their officers and attendants, with drawn swords in their hands, encompassing the place, as the white of the eye encompasses the black. at this sight, she knew that news of her had reached the khalif, her master, and made sure of ruin, and her colour paled and her beauty changed. then she turned to ghanim and said to him, 'o my love, fly for thy life!' 'what shall i do?' said he; 'and whither shall i go, seeing that my substance and fortune are in this house?' 'delay not,' answered she, 'lest thou lose both life and goods.' 'o my beloved and light of my eyes,' rejoined he, 'how shall i do to get away, when they have surrounded the house?' 'fear not,' said she: and taking off his clothes, made him put on old and ragged ones, after which she took the empty pot and put in it a piece of bread and a saucer of meat, and placing the whole in a basket, set it on his head and said, 'go out in this guise and fear not for me, for i know how to deal with the khalif.' so he went out amongst them, carrying the basket and its contents, and god covered him with his protection and he escaped the snares and perils that beset him, thanks to the purity of his intent. meanwhile, jaafer alighted and entering the house, saw cout el culoub, who had dressed and decked herself after the richest fashion and filled a chest with gold and jewellery and precious stones and rarities and what else was light of carriage and great of value. when she saw jaafer, she rose and kissing the earth before him, said, 'o my lord, the pen[fn# ] hath written from of old that which god hath decreed.' 'by allah, o my lady,' rejoined jaafer, 'i am commanded to seize ghanim ben eyoub.' 'o my lord,' replied she, 'he made ready merchandise and set out therewith for damascus and i know nothing more of him; but i desire thee to take charge of this chest and deliver it to me in the palace of the commander of the faithful.' 'i hear and obey,' said jaafer, and bade his men carry the chest to the palace, together with cout el culoub, commanding them to use her with honour and consideration. and they did his bidding, after they had plundered ghanim's house. then jaafer went in to the khalif and told him what had happened, and he bade lodge cout el culoub in a dark chamber and appointed an old woman to serve her, thinking no otherwise than that ghanim had certainly debauched her and lain with her. then he wrote a letter to the amir mohammed ben suleiman ez zeini, the viceroy of damascus, to the following purport, 'as soon as this letter reaches thee, lay hands on ghanim ben eyoub and send him to me.' when the letter came to the viceroy, he kissed it and laid it on his head, then caused proclamation to be made in the streets of damascus, 'whoso is minded to plunder, let him betake himself to the house of ghanim ben eyoub!' so they repaired to the house, where they found that ghanim's mother and sister had made him a tomb midmost the house and sat by it, weeping for him, whereupon they seized them, without telling them the cause, and carried them before the sultan, after having plundered the house. the viceroy questioned them of ghanim, and they replied, 'this year or more we have had no news of him.' so they restored them to their place. meanwhile ghanim, finding himself despoiled of his wealth and considering his case, wept till his heart was well-nigh broken. then he fared on at random, till the end of the day, and hunger was sore on him and he was worn out with fatigue. coming to a village, he entered a mosque, where he sat down on a mat, leaning his back against the wall, and presently sank to the ground, in extremity for hunger and weariness, and lay there till morning, his heart fluttering for want of food. by reason of his sweating, vermin coursed over his skin, his breath grew fetid and he became in sorry case. when the people of the town came to pray the morning-prayer, they found him lying there, sick and weak with hunger, yet showing signs of gentle breeding. as soon as they had done their devotions, they came up to him and finding him cold and starving, threw over him an old mantle with ragged sleeves and said to him, 'o stranger, whence art thou and what ails thee?' he opened his eyes and wept, but made them no answer; whereupon, one of them, seeing that he was starving, brought him a saucerful of honey and two cakes of bread. so he ate a little and they sat with him till sunrise, when they went about their occupations. he abode with them in this state for a month, whilst sickness and infirmity increased upon him, and they wept for him and pitying his condition, took counsel together of his case and agreed to send him to the hospital at baghdad. meanwhile, there came into the mosque two beggar women, who were none other than ghanim's mother and sister; and when he saw them, he gave them the bread that was at his head and they slept by his side that night, but he knew them not. next day the villagers fetched a camel and said to the driver, 'put this sick man on thy camel and carry him to baghdad and set him down at the door of the hospital, so haply he may be medicined and recover his health, and god will reward thee.' 'i hear and obey,' said the camel-driver. so they brought ghanim, who was asleep, out of the mosque and laid him, mat and all, on the back of the camel; and his mother and sister came out with the rest of the people to look on him, but knew him not. however, after considering him, they said, 'verily, he favours our ghanim! can this sick man be he?' presently, he awoke and finding himself bound with ropes on the back of a camel, began to weep and complain, and the people of the village saw his mother and sister weeping over him, though they knew him not. then they set out for baghdad, whither the camel-driver forewent them and setting ghanim down at the door of the hospital, went away. he lay there till morning, and when the people began to go about the ways, they saw him and stood gazing on him, for indeed he was become as thin as a skewer, till the syndic of the market came up and drove them away, saying, 'i will gain paradise through this poor fellow; for if they take him into the hospital, they will kill him in one day.' then he made his servants carry him to his own house, where he spread him a new bed, with a new pillow, and said to his wife, 'tend him faithfully.' 'good,' answered she; 'on my head be it!' then she tucked up her sleeves and heating some water, washed his hands and feet and body, after which she clothed him in a gown belonging to one of her slave-girls and gave him a cup of wine to drink and sprinkled rose-water over him. so he revived and moaned, as he thought of his beloved cout el culoub! and sorrows were sore upon him. meanwhile, cout el culoub abode in duresse fourscore days, at the end of which time, the khalif chancing one day to pass the place in which she was, heard her repeating verses and saying, 'o my beloved, o ghanim, how great is thy goodness and how chaste is thy nature! thou didst good to him who hath injured thee, thou guardedst his honour who hath violated thine, and didst protect the harem of him who hath despoiled thee and thine! but thou wilt surely stand, with the commander of the faithful, before the just judge and be justified of him on the day when the judge shall be the lord of all (to whom belong might and majesty) and the witnesses the angels!' when the khalif heard her complaint, he knew that she had been wrongfully entreated and returning to his palace sent mesrour the eunuch for her. she came before him, with bowed head, tearful-eyed and mournful-hearted, and he said to her, 'o cout el culoub, i find thou taxest me with injustice and tyranny and avouchest that i have wronged him who did me good. who is this that hath guarded my honour and whose honour i have violated, and who hath protected my harem, whilst i have enslaved his?' 'ghanim ben eyoub,' replied she; 'for by thy munificence, o commander of the faithful, he never approached me by way of lewdness nor with evil intent!' then said the khalif, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god! ask what thou wilt of me, o cout el culoub, and it shall be granted to thee.' 'o commander of the faithful,' said she, 'i ask of thee my beloved ghanim ben eyoub.' the khalif granted her prayer, and she said, 'o commander of the faithful, if i bring him to thee, wilt thou bestow me on him?' 'if he come,' replied the khalif, 'i will bestow thee on him, the gift of a generous man who does not go back on his giving.' 'o commander of the faithful,' said she, 'suffer me to go in quest of him: it may be god will unite me with him.' 'do what seemeth good to thee,' answered he. so she rejoiced and taking with her a thousand dinars, went out and visited the elders of the various religious orders and gave alms for ghanim's sake. next day she went to the merchants' bazaar and told the chief of the market what she sought and gave him money, saying, 'bestow this in alms on strangers.' the following week she took other thousand dinars and going to the market of the goldsmiths and jewellers, called the syndic and gave him the money, saying, 'bestow this in alms on strangers.' the syndic, who was none other than ghanim's benefactor, looked at her and said, 'o my lady, wilt thou go to my house and look upon a strange youth i have there and see how goodly and elegant he is?' (now this stranger was ghanim, but the syndic had no knowledge of him and thought him to be some unfortunate debtor, who had been despoiled of his property, or a lover parted from his beloved.) when she heard his words, her heart fluttered and her bowels yearned, and she said to him, 'send with me some one who shall bring me to thy house.' so he sent a little boy, who led her thither and she thanked him for this. when she reached the house, she went in and saluted the syndic's wife, who rose and kissed the ground before her, knowing her. then said cout el culoub, 'where is the sick man who is with thee?' 'o my lady,' replied she, weeping, 'here he is, lying on this bed. by allah, he is a man of condition and bears traces of gentle breeding!' so cout el culoub turned and looked at him, but he was as if disguised in her eyes, being worn and wasted till he was become as thin as a skewer, so that his case was doubtful to her and she was not certain that it was he. nevertheless, she was moved to compassion for him and wept, saying, 'verily, strangers are unhappy, though they be princes in their own land!' and his case was grievous to her and her heart ached for him, though she knew him not to be ghanim. then she appointed him wine and medicines and sat by his head awhile, after which she mounted and returned to her palace and continued to make the round of the bazaars in search of ghanim. meanwhile ghanim's mother and sister arrived at baghdad and fell in with the charitable syndic, who carried them to cout el culoub and said to her, 'o princess of benevolent ladies, there be come to our city this day a woman and her daughter, who are fair of face and the marks of gentle breeding and fortune are manifest upon them, though they are clad in hair garments and have each a wallet hanging to her neck; and they are tearful-eyed and sorrowful-hearted. so i have brought them to thee, that thou mayest shelter them and rescue them from beggary, for they are not fit to ask alms, and if god will, we shall enter paradise through them.' 'o my lord,' exclaimed she, 'thou makest me long to see them! where are they? bring them to me.' so he bade the eunuch bring them in; and when she looked on them and saw that they were both possessed of beauty, she wept for them and said, 'by allah, they are people of condition and show signs of former fortune.' 'o my lady,' said the syndic's wife, 'we love the poor and destitute, because of the recompense that god hath promised to such as succour them: as for these, belike the oppressors have done them violence and robbed them of their fortune and laid waste their dwelling-place.' then ghanim's mother and sister wept sore, recalling their former prosperity and contrasting it with their present destitute and miserable condition and thinking of ghanim, whilst cout el culoub wept because they did. and they exclaimed, 'we beseech god to reunite us with him whom we desire, and he is none other than our son ghanim ben eyoub!' when cout el culoub heard this, she knew them to be the mother and sister of her beloved and wept till she lost her senses. when she revived, she turned to them and said, 'have no care and grieve not, for this day is the first of your prosperity and the last of your adversity.' then she bade the syndic take them to his own house and let his wife carry them to the bath and clothe them handsomely. and she charged him to take care of them and treat them with all honour, and gave him a sum of money. next day, she mounted and riding to his house, went in to his wife, who rose and kissed her hands and thanked her for her goodness. there she saw ghanim's mother and sister, whom the syndic's wife had taken to the bath and clothed afresh, so that the traces of their former condition were now plainly apparent. she sat awhile, conversing with them, after which she enquired for the sick youth, and the syndic's wife replied, 'he is in the same state.' then said cout el culoub, 'come, let us go and visit him.' so they all went into the room where he lay and sat down by him. presently, ghanim heard them mention the name of cout el culoub, whereupon his life came back to him, wasted and shrunken as he was, and he raised his head from the pillow and cried out, 'o cout el culoub!' 'yes, o friend!' answered she. 'draw near to me,' said he. so she looked at him earnestly and knew him and said to him, 'surely thou art ghanim ben eyoub?' 'i am indeed he,' replied he. at this, she fell down in a swoon, and when ghanim's mother and sister heard their words, they both cried out, 'o joy!' and swooned away. when they recovered, cout el culoub exclaimed, 'praised be god who hath brought us together again and hath reunited thee with thy mother and sister!' then she told him all that had befallen her with the khalif and said, 'i have made known the truth to the commander of the faithful, who believed me and approved of thee; and now he wishes to see thee.' then she told him how the khalif had bestowed her on him, at which he was beyond measure rejoiced, and she returned to the palace at once, charging them not to stir till she came back. there she opened the chest that she had brought from ghanim's house, and taking out some of the money, carried it to the syndic and bade him buy them each four suits of the best stuffs and twenty handkerchiefs and what else they needed; after which she carried them all three to the bath and commanded to wash them and made ready for them broths and galingale and apple-water against their coming out. when they left the bath, they put on new clothes, and she abode with them three days, feeding them with fowls and broths and sherbet of sugar-candy, till their strength returned to them. after this, she carried them to the bath a second time, and when they came out and had changed their clothes, she took them back to the syndic's house and left them there, whilst she returned to the palace and craving an audience of the khalif, told him the whole story and how her lord ghanim and his mother and sister were now in baghdad. when the khalif heard this, he turned to his attendants and said, 'bring hither to me ghanim.' so jaafer went to fetch him: but cout el culoub forewent him to the syndic's house and told ghanim that the khalif had sent for him and enjoined him to eloquence and self-possession and pleasant speech. then she clad him in a rich habit and gave him much money, bidding him be lavish of largesse to the household of the khalif, when he went in to him. presently, jaafer arrived, riding on his nubian mule, and ghanim met him and kissed the ground before him, wishing him long life. now was the star of his good fortune risen and shone, and jaafer took him and brought him to the khalif. when he entered, he looked at the viziers and amirs and chamberlains and deputies and grandees and captains, turks and medes and arabs and persians, and then at the khalif. then he made sweet his speech and his eloquence and bowing his head, spoke the following verses: long life unto a king, the greatest of the great, still following on good works and bounties without date! glowering with high resolves, a fountain of largesse, for ever full; 'tis said, of fire and flood and fate, that they none else would have for monarch of the world, for sovran of the time and king in kisra's gate.[fn# ] kings, salutation-wise, upon his threshold's earth, for his acceptance lay the jewels of their state; and when their eyes behold the glory of his might, upon the earth, in awe, themselves they do prostrate. this humbleness it is that profits them with thee and wins them wealth and power and rank and high estate. upon old saturn's heights pitch thy pavilion, since for thy countless hosts the world is grown too strait, and teach the stars to know thine own magnificence, in kindness to the prince who rules the starry state. may god with his consent for ever favour thee! for steadfastness of soul and sense upon thee wait: thy justice overspreads the surface of the earth, till far and near for it their difference abate. the khalif was charmed with his eloquence and the sweetness of his speech and said to him, 'draw near to me.' so he drew near and the khalif said, 'tell me thy story and expound to me thy case.' so ghanim sat down and related to him all that had befallen him, from beginning to end. the khalif was assured that he spoke the truth; so he invested him with a dress of honour and took him into favour. then he said to him, 'acquit me of the wrong i have done thee.' and ghanim did so, saying, 'o commander of the faithful, the slave and all that is his belong to his lord.' the khalif was pleased with this and bade set apart a palace for ghanim, on whom he bestowed great store of gifts and assigned him bountiful stipends and allowances, sending his mother and sister to live with him; after which, hearing that his sister fitneh was indeed a seduction[fn# ] for beauty, he demanded her in marriage of ghanim, who replied, 'she is thy handmaid and i am thy servant.' the khalif thanked him and gave him a hundred thousand dinars; then summoned the cadi and the witnesses, who drew up the contracts of marriage between the khalif and fitneh on the one hand and ghanim and cout el culoub on the other; and the two marriages were consummated in one and the same night. on the morrow, the khalif ordered the history of ghanim to be recorded and laid up in the royal treasury, that those who came after him might read it and wonder at the dealings of destiny and put their trust in him who created the night and the day. end of vol. footnotes to volume . [fn# ] the visible and the invisible. some authorities make it three worlds (those of men, of the angels and of the jinn or genii), and ethers more. [fn# ] the arabic word for island (jezireh) signifies also "peninsula," and doubtless here used in the latter sense. the double meaning of the word should be borne in mind, as it explains many apparent discrepancies in oriental tales. [fn# ] a powerful species of genie. the name is generally (but not invariably) applied to an evil spirit. [fn# ] god on thee! abbreviated form of "i conjure thee (or call on thee) by god!" [fn# ] lit. bull [fn# ] epithet of the ass and the cock. the best equivalent would be the french "père l'eveillé." [fn# ] i.e. stupid. [fn# ] the arabic word for garden (bustan) applies to any cultivated or fertile spot, abounding in trees. an european would call such a place as that mentioned in the tale an oasis. [fn# ] in preparation for death. [fn# ] jinn, plural of genie. [fn# ] a dinar (lat. denarius) is a gold coin worth about s. [fn# ] i.e. i have nothing to give thee. [fn# ] a dirhem (gr. drachma) is a silver coin worth about d. [fn# ] afriteh, a female afrit. afrit means strictly an evil spirit; but the term is not unfrequently applied to benevolent jinn, as will appear in the course of these stories. [fn# ] for his impatience. [fn# ] a marid is a genie of the most powerful class. the name generally, though not invariably, denotes an evil spirit. [fn# ] of islam, which is fabled by the muslims to have existed before mohammed, under the headship, first of abraham and afterwards of solomon. [fn# ] from this point i omit the invariable formula which introduces each night, as its constant repetition is only calculated to annoy the reader and content myself with noting the various nights in the margin. {which will not be included in this electronic version} [fn# ] probably the skin of some animal supposed to be a defence against poison. [fn# ] literally, "eyes adorned with kohl:" but this expression is evidently used tropically to denote a natural beauty of the eye, giving it that liquid appearance which it is the object of the use of the cosmetic in question to produce. [fn# ] a fabulous tribe of giants mentioned in the koran. [fn# ] the word here translated "eye" may also be rendered "understanding." the exact meaning of the phrase (one of frequent recurrence in these stories) is doubtful. [fn# ] a fabulous range of mountains which, according to muslim cosmography, encompasses the world. [fn# ] the prophet mohammed. [fn# ] various kinds of cakes and sweetmeats. [fn# ] the appearance of which is the signal for the commencement of the fast. all eyes being on the watch, it naturally follows that the new moon of this month is generally seen at an earlier stage than are those of the other months of the year, and its crescent is therefore apparently more slender. hence the comparison. [fn# ] caravanserai or public lodging-place. [fn# ] a kind of religious mendicant. [fn# ] one condition of which is that no violation of the ceremonial law (which prohibits the use of intoxicating liquors) be committed by the pilgrim, from the time of his assuming the pilgrim's habit to that of his putting it off; and this is construed by the stricter professors to take effect from the actual formation of the intent to make the pilgrimage. haroun er reshid, though a voluptuary, was (at all events, from time to time) a rigid observer of muslim ritual. [fn# ] it is a frequent practice, in the east, gently to rub and knead the feet, for the purpose of inducing sleep or gradually arousing a sleeper. [fn# ] an expression frequent in oriental works, meaning "the situations suggested such and such words or thoughts." [fn# ] religious mendicants. [fn# ] referring, of course, to the wine, which it appears to have been customary to drink warm or boiled (vinum coctum) as among several ancient nations and in japan and china at the present day. [fn# ] or chapter or formula. [fn# ] a play upon words is here intended turning upon the double meaning ("aloes" and "patience") of the arabic word sebr. [fn# ] see note on p. . {vol. , fn# } [fn# ] dar es selam. [fn# ] a certain fixed succession of prayers and acts of adoration is called a rekah (or bow) from the inclination of the body that occurs in it. the ordained prayers, occurring five times a day, consist of a certain number of rekahs. [fn# ] i.e. "there is no god but god", etc. [fn# ] or sinister conjunction of the planets. [fn# ] menkeleh, a game played with a board and draughtmen, partaking of the character of backgammon, draughts and fox-and-geese. [fn# ] a common oriental substitute for soap. [fn# ] i.e. newly dug over. [fn# ] lit. rukh. [fn# ] a sweet-scented, variegated wood. [fn# ] the arabs consider a slight division of the two middle teeth a beauty. [fn# ] the egyptian privet; a plant whose flowers have a very delicious fragrance. [fn# ] a kind of mocking-bird. [fn# ] of providence. [fn# ] literally, "o my eyes!" [fn# ] a niche in the wall, which indicates the position the worshipper must assume, in order to face mecca, in accordance with the ritual of prayer. [fn# ] cf. germ. zuckerpuppchen. [fn# ] i.e., moles, which are considered a great beauty in the east. [fn# ] a female genie. [fn# ] the unveiling or displaying of the bride before her husband is the culminating ceremony of a muslim wedding of the better class. the bride is always displayed in the richest clothes and ornament that can be mustered or borrowed for the occasion. [fn# ] moles? [fn# ] there is a play upon words in this line, founded upon the double meaning of the word shirk, sharing (or partnership) and polytheism or the attributing partners or equals to god (as in the trinity), the one unpardonable sin of the muslim religious code. [fn# ] both afterwards khalifs. [fn# ] i.e. god. [fn# ] lit "though lying save, yet truth saves and saves." [fn# ] on which she sits to be displayed. [fn# ] placed there for the purpose of the ablution prescribed by the ceremonial law. [fn# ] speaking, of course, ironically and supposing bedreddin to be the hunchback. [fn# ] bedreddin. [fn# ] mosul is a town of mesopotamia, some two hundred miles n.e. of baghdad. it is celebrated for its silk and muslin manufactories. the mosulis doubtless set the fashion in turbans to the inhabitants of baghdad and bassora, and it would appear from the vizier's remark that this fashion was notably different from that followed at cairo. [fn# ] eye-powder. the application of kohl to an infant's eyes is supposed to be beneficial. [fn# ] the north wind holds the same place in oriental metaphor and poetry as does the west wind in those of europe. [fn# ] or kernel. [fn# ] lit. puppet or lay figure. [fn# ] mole. [fn# ] a well-known legist and cadi of cufa in the seventh century. [fn# ] the sun. [fn# ] the word melik 'king,' by changing the second (unwritten) vowel to e becomes melek 'angel'. [fn# ] a measure of about five bushels. [fn# ] the left hand is considered unclean, being used for certain ablutions, and it is therefore a breach of good manners to use it in eating. [fn# ] between the two palaces. [fn# ] apparently said in jest. [fn# ] i.e. do not forget me. [fn# ] a kind of edible arum. [fn# ] this is apparently some proverbial saying. the meaning appears to be, "let every man be judge of his own case." [fn# ] that none might stare at or jostle her. [fn# ] about a hundred and twenty-five pounds. [fn# ] about five hundred pounds. [fn# ] i.e. of prime cost. [fn# ] the face of a mistress. [fn# ] it is a common oriental figure to liken a languishing eye to a dying narcissus. [fn# ] one of the companions of mohammed. [fn# ] prater. [fn# ] babbler. [fn# ] gabbler. [fn# ] the stone mug. [fn# ] the braggart. [fn# ] noisy. [fn# ] silent. [fn# ] mohammed. [fn# ] or attendant on the people in the bath. [fn# ] i.e. a stoker or man who keeps up the fire in the baths. [fn# ] a sort of sermon, which immediately follows, the noontide call to prayer on fridays. [fn# ] preliminary to the call to prayer. [fn# ] a.h. - . [fn# ] a leather rug on which they make criminals kneel to be beheaded. [fn# ] it will be seen that the stories told by the barber do not account for the infirmities of all his brothers, as this would imply. [fn# ] a formula of refusal. [fn# ] lit. ladder; a sort of frame, like the triangles to which they bound criminals sentenced to be flogged. [fn# ] dinars; , dirhems would be only five thousand dinars and it will be seen from the sequel that el feshar proposed to spend half that amount upon the dowry and presents to the tire-women alone. [fn# ] i.e. try this. [fn# ] the moon is masculine in arabic. [fn# ] mohammed. [fn# ] or hajji, pilgrim; title given to those who have made the pilgrimage to mecca. [fn# ] lit. the fundamentals are remembered. [fn# ] i.e. chanting the ninety-nine names of god or repeating the words "there is no god but god." [fn# ] i.e. a fair faced cup bearer. [fn# ] generally, the floating ends of the turban. this was for the purpose of concealment and is a common practice with the bedouins. [fn# ] the name kerim means "generous." [fn# ] or perhaps "cancelled." [fn# ] to simulate the customary evidence of virginity. [fn# ] names of her waiting women. [fn# ] of providence. [fn# ] i.e. monarch of persia, the realm of the ancient kisras or chosroes. [fn# ] fitneh. copyright (c) by lidija rangelovska. please see the corresponding rtf file for this ebook. rtf is rich text format, and is readable in nearly any modern word processing program. this ebook was produced by jc byers. text scanned by jc byers and proofread by jc byers, sally gellert, renate preuss, and christine sturrock. the "aldine" edition of the arabian nights entertainments illustrated by s. l. wood from the text of dr. jonathan scott in four volumes volume london pickering and chatto contents of volume iii. the story of beder, prince of persia, and jehaunara, prince of samandal, or summunder the history of prince zeyn alasnam and the sultan of the genii the history of codadad, and his brothers the history of the princess of deryabar the story of abu hassan, or the sleeper awakened the story of alla ad deen; or, the wonderful lamp adventure of the caliph haroon al rusheed the story of baba abdoollah the story of syed naomaun the story of khaujeh hassan al hubbaul the story of ali aba and the forty robbers destroyed by a slave the story of ali khujeh, a merchand of bagdad the story of beder, prince of persia, and jehaun-ara, princess of samandal, or summunder. persia was an empire of such vast extent, that its ancient monarchs, not without reason, assumed the haughty title of king of kings. for not to mention those subdued by their arms, there were kingdoms and provinces whose kings were not only tributary, but also in as great subjection as governors in other nations are to the monarchs. one of these kings, who in the beginning of his reign had signalized himself by many glorious and successful conquests, enjoyed so profound a peace and tranquillity, as rendered him the happiest of princes. the only point in which he thought himself unfortunate was, that amongst all his wives, not one had brought him a son; and being now far advanced in years, he was desirous of an heir. he had above a hundred ladies, all lodged in separate apartments, with women-slaves to wait upon and eunuchs to guard them; yet, notwithstanding all his endeavours to please their taste, and anticipate their wishes, there was not one that answered his expectation. he had women frequently brought him from the most remote countries; and if they pleased him, he not only gave the merchants their full price, but loaded them with honours and benedictions, in hopes that at last he might be so happy as to meet with one by whom he might have a son. there was scarcely an act of charity but he performed, to prevail with heaven. he gave immense sums to the poor, besides large donations to the religious; building for their use many noble colleges richly endowed, in hopes of obtaining by their prayers what he so earnestly desired. one day, according to the custom of his royal predecessors, during their residence in their capital, he held an assembly of his courtiers, at which all the ambassadors and strangers of quality about the court were present; and where they not only entertained one another with news and politics, but also by conversing on the sciences, history, poetry, literature, and whatever else was capable of diverting the mind. on that day a eunuch came to acquaint him with the arrival of a certain merchant from a distant country, who, having brought a slave with him, desired leave to shew her to his majesty. "give him admittance instantly," said the king, "and after the assembly is over i will talk with him." the merchant was introduced, and seated in a convenient place, from whence he might easily have a full view of the king, and hear him talk familiarly to those that stood near his person. the king observed this rule to all strangers, in order that by degrees they might grow acquainted with him; so that, when they saw with what freedom and civility he addressed himself to all, they might be encouraged to talk to him in the same manner, without being abashed at the pomp and splendour of his appearance, which was enough to deprive those of their power of speech who were not used to it. he treated the ambassadors also after the same manner. he ate with them, and during the repast asked them several questions concerning their health, their journey, and the peculiarities of their country. after they had been thus encouraged, he gave them audience. when the assembly was over, and all the company had retired, the merchant, who was the only person left, fell prostrate before the king's throne, with his face to the earth, wishing his majesty an accomplishment of all his desires as soon as he arose, the king asked him if the report of his having brought a slave for him was true, and whether she were handsome. "sire," replied the merchant, "i doubt not but your majesty has many very beautiful women, since you search every corner of the earth for them; but i may boldly affirm, without overvaluing my merchandise, that you never yet saw a woman that could stand in competition with her for shape and beauty, agreeable qualifications, and all the perfections that she is mistress of." "where is she?" demanded the king; "bring her to me instantly." "sire," replied the merchant, "i have delivered her into the hands of one of your chief eunuchs; and your majesty may send for her at your pleasure." the fair slave was immediately brought in; and no sooner had the king cast his eyes on her, but he was charmed with her beautiful and easy shape. he went directly into a closet, and was followed by the merchant and a few eunuchs. the fair slave wore, over her face, a red satin veil striped with gold; and when the merchant had taken it off, the king of persia beheld a female that surpassed in beauty, not only his present ladies, but all that he had ever had before. he immediately fell passionately in love with her, and desired the merchant to name his price. "sire," said he, "i gave a thousand pieces of gold to the person of whom i bought her; and in my three years' journey to your court, i reckon i have spent as much more: but i shall forbear setting any price to so great a monarch; and therefore, if your majesty likes her, i humbly beg you would accept of her as a present." "i am highly obliged to you," replied the king; "but it is never my custom to treat merchants, who come hither for my pleasure, in so ungenerous a manner; i am going to order thee ten thousand pieces of gold; will that be sufficient?" "sire," answered the merchant, "i should have esteemed myself happy in your majesty's acceptance of her; yet i dare not refuse so generous an offer. i will not fail to publish your liberality in my own country, and in every place through which i may pass." the money was paid; and before he departed, the king made him put on a rich suit of cloth of gold. the king caused the fair slave to be lodged in the apartment next his own, and gave particular orders to the matrons, and the female slaves appointed to attend her, that after bathing they should dress her in the richest habit they could find, and carry her the finest pearl necklaces, the brightest diamonds, and other richest precious stones, that she might choose those she liked best. the officious matrons, whose only care was to please the king, were astonished at her beauty; and being good judges, they told his majesty, that if he would allow them but three days, they would engage to make her so much handsomer than she was at present, that he would scarcely know her again. the king could hardly prevail with himself to delay so long the pleasure of seeing her, but at last he consented. the king of persia's capital was situated in an island; and his palace, which was very magnificent, was built on the shore: his apartment looked on the water; the fair slave's, which was near it, had also the same prospect, and was the more agreeable, on account of the sea's beating almost against the walls. at the three days' end, the fair slave, magnificently dressed, was alone in her chamber, sitting on a sofa, and leaning against one of the windows that faced the sea, when the king, being informed that he might visit her, came in. the slave, hearing somebody walk in the room with an air quite different from that of the female slaves, who had hitherto attended her, immediately turned her head about to see who it was. she knew him to be the king, but without discovering the least surprise, or so much as rising from her seat to salute or receive him, as if he had been the most indifferent person in the world, she put herself in the same posture again. the king of persia was extremely surprised to see a slave of so beauteous a form so ignorant of the world. he attributed this to the narrowness of her education, and the little care that had been taken to instruct her in the first rules of civility. he went to her at the window, where, notwithstanding the coldness and indifference with which she had received him, she suffered herself to be admired, caressed, and embraced, as much as he pleased. in the midst of these amorous embraces and tender endearments, the king paused awhile, to gaze upon, or rather to devour her with his eyes. "my lovely fair one! my charmer!" exclaimed he; "whence came you, and where do those happy parents live who brought into the world so surprising a masterpiece of nature? how do i love thee, and shall always continue to do. never did i feel for a woman what i now feel for you; and though i have seen, and every day behold a vast number of beauties, yet never did my eyes contemplate so many charms in one person--charms which have so transported me, that i shall entirely devote myself to you. my dearest life," continued he, "you neither answer, nor by any visible token give me the least reason to believe that you are sensible of the demonstrations i have given you of the ardour of my passion; neither will you turn your eyes on me, to afford mine the pleasure of meeting them, and to convince you that it is impossible to love in a higher degree than i do you. why will you still preserve this obstinate silence, which chills me, and whence proceeds the seriousness, or rather sorrow, that torments me to the soul? do you mourn for your country, your friends or your relations? alas! is not the king of persia, who loves and adores you, capable of comforting you, and making you amends for every loss?" notwithstanding all the protestations of love the king of persia made the fair slave, and all he could say to induce her to speak to him, she remained unaltered; and keeping her eyes still fixed upon the ground, would neither look at him, nor utter a word. the king of persia, delighted with the purchase he had made of a slave that pleased him so well, pressed her no farther, in hopes that by treating her kindly he might prevail upon her to change her behaviour. he clapped his hands; and the women who waited in an outward room entered: he commanded them to bring in supper. when it was arranged, "my love," said he to the slave, "come hither and sup with me." she rose from her seat; and being seated opposite the king, his majesty helped her, before he began eating himself; and did so of every dish during supper. the slave ate as well as the king, but still with downcast eyes, and without speaking a word; though he often asked her how she liked the entertainment, and whether it was dressed according to her taste. the king, willing to change the conversation, asked her what her name was, how she liked the clothes and the jewels she had on, what she thought of her apartment and the rich furniture, and whether the prospect of the sea was not very agreeable? but to all these questions she made no reply; so that the king was at a loss what to think of her silence. he imagined at first, that she might perhaps be dumb: "but then," said he to himself, "can it be possible that heaven should forge a creature so beautiful, so perfect, and so accomplished, and at the same time with so great an imperfection? were it however so, i could not love her with less passion than i do." when the king of persia rose, he washed his hands on one side, while the fair slave washed hers on the other. he took that opportunity to ask the woman who held the basin and napkin, if ever they had heard her speak. one of them replied, "sire, we have neither seen her open her lips, nor heard her speak any more than your majesty has; we have rendered her our services in the bath; we have dressed her head, put on her clothes, and waited upon her in her chamber; but she has never opened her lips, so much as to say, that is well, or i like this. we have often asked her, "madam, do you want anything? is there anything you wish for? do but ask, and command us," but we have never been able to draw a word from her. we cannot tell whether her sorrow proceeds from pride, sorrow, stupidity, or dumbness." the king was more astonished at hearing this than he had been before: however, believing the slave might have some cause of sorrow, he was willing to endeavour to divert and amuse her. accordingly he appointed a very splendid assembly, which all the ladies of the court attended; and those who were skilful in playing upon musical instruments performed their parts, while others sung or danced, or did both together: they played at all sorts of games, which much diverted the king. the fair slave was the only person who took no pleasure in these attempts to amuse her; she never moved from her place, but remained with her eyes fixed on the ground with so much indifference, that all the ladies were not less surprised than the king. after the assembly was over, every one retired to her apartment; and the king was left alone with the fair slave. the next morning the king of persia rose more pleased than he had been with all the women he had seen before, and more enamoured with the fair slave than ever. indeed, he soon made it appear, by resolving henceforth to attach himself to her alone; and performed his resolution. on the same day he dismissed all his other women, giving every one of them their jewels, and other valuables, besides a considerable fortune, with free leave to marry whom they thought fit; and only kept the matrons and a few other elderly women to wait upon the fair slave. however, for a whole year together, she never afforded him the pleasure of one single word; yet the king continued his assiduities to please her, and to give her the most signal proofs of sincere love. after the expiration of the year, the king sitting one day by his mistress, protested to her that his love, instead of being diminished, grew every day more violent. "my queen," said he, "i cannot divine what your thoughts are; but nothing is more true, and i swear to you, that having the happiness of possessing you, there remains nothing for me to desire. i esteem my kingdom, great as it is, less than an atom, when i have the pleasure of beholding you, and of telling you a thousand times that i adore you. i desire not that my words alone should oblige you to believe me. surely you can no longer doubt of my devotion to you after the sacrifice which i have made to your beauty of so many women, whom i before kept in my palace. you may remember it is about a year since i sent them all away; and i as little repent of it now, as i did the moment of their departure; and i never shall repent. nothing would be wanting to complete my happiness and crown my joy, would you but speak one single word to me, by which i might be assured that you thought yourself at all obliged. but how can you speak to me if you are dumb? and alas! i feel but too apprehensive that this is the case. how can i doubt, since you still torment me with silence, after having for a whole year in vain supplicated you to speak? if it is possible for me to obtain of you that consolation, may heaven at least grant me the blessing of a son by you, to succeed me. i every day find myself growing old, and i begin already to want one to assist me in bearing the weight of my crown. still i cannot conceal the desire i have of hearing you speak; for something within me tells me you are not dumb: and i beseech, i conjure you, dear madam, to break through this long silence, and speak but one word to me; after that i care not how soon i die." at this discourse the fair slave, who, according to her usual custom, had hearkened to the king with downcast eyes, and had given him cause to believe not only that she was dumb, but that she had never laughed, began to smile. the king of persia perceived it with a surprise that made him break forth into an exclamation of joy; and no longer doubting but that she was going to speak, he waited for that happy moment with an eagerness and attention that cannot easily be expressed at last the fair slave thus addressed herself to the king: "sire, i have so many things to say to your majesty, that, having once broken silence, i know not where to begin. however, in the first place, i think myself bound to thank you for all the favours and honours you have been pleased to confer upon me, and to implore heaven to bless and prosper you, to prevent the wicked designs of your enemies, and not suffer you to die after hearing me speak, but to grant you a long life. after this, sire, i cannot give you greater satisfaction than by acquainting you that i am with child; and i wish, as you do, it may be a son. had it never been my fortune to be pregnant, i was resolved (i beg your majesty to pardon the sincerity of my intention) never to have loved you, and to have kept an eternal silence; but now i love you as i ought to do." the king of persia, ravished to hear the fair slave not only speak, but tell him tidings in which he was so nearly concerned, embraced her tenderly. "staining light of my eyes," said he, "it is impossible for me to receive greater delight than you have now given me: you have spoken to me, and you have declared your being with child, which i did not expect. after these two occasions of joy i am transported out of myself." the king of persia, in the transport of his feelings, said no more to the fair slave. he left her, but in such a manner as made her perceive his intention was speedily to return: and being willing that the occasion of his joys should be made public, he declared it to his officers, and sent for the grand vizier. as soon as he came, he ordered him to distribute a thousand pieces of gold among the holy men of his religion, who made vows of poverty; as also among the hospitals and the poor, by way of returning thanks to heaven: and his will was obeyed by the direction of that minister. after the king of persia had given this order, he returned to the fair slave again. "madam," said he, "pardon me for leaving you so abruptly, since you have been the occasion of it; but i hope you will indulge me with some conversation, since i am desirous to know of you several things of much greater consequence. tell me, my dearest soul, what were the powerful reasons that induced you to persist in that obstinate silence for a whole year together, though every day you saw me, heard me talk to you, ate and drank with me, and every night slept with me? i shall pass by your not speaking; but how you could carry yourself so as that i could never discover whether you were sensible of what i said to you or no, i confess, surpasses my understanding; and i cannot yet comprehend how you could contain yourself so long; therefore i must conclude the occasion of it to be very extraordinary." "to satisfy the king of persia's curiosity," replied the lady, "think whether or no to be a slave, far from my own country, without any hopes of ever seeing it again, to have a heart torn with grief, at being separated forever from my mother, my brother, my friends, and my acquaintance, are not these sufficient reasons for the silence your majesty has thought so strange and unaccountable? the love of our native country is as natural to us as that of our parents; and the loss of liberty is insupportable to everyone who is not wholly destitute of common sense, and knows how to set a value on it. the body indeed may be enslaved, and under the subjection of a master, who has the power and authority in his hands; the will can never be conquered, but remains free and unconfined, depending on itself alone, as your majesty has found in my case; and it is a wonder that i have not followed the example of many unfortunate wretches, whom the loss of liberty has reduced to the melancholy resolution of procuring their own deaths in a thousand ways, by a liberty which cannot be taken from them." "madam," replied the king, "i am convinced of the truth of what you say; but till this moment i was of opinion, that a person beautiful, of good understanding, like yourself, whom her evil destiny had condemned to be a slave, ought to think herself very happy in meeting with a king for her master." "sire," replied the lady, "whatever the slave be, as i have already observed to your majesty, there is no king on earth can tyrannize over her will. when indeed you speak of a slave mistress of charms sufficient to captivate a monarch, and induce him to love her; if she be of a rank infinitely below him, i am of your opinion, she ought to think herself happy in her misfortunes: still what happiness can it be, when she considers herself only as a slave, torn from a parent's arms, and perhaps from those of a lover, her passion for whom death only can extinguish; but when this very slave is in nothing inferior to the king who has purchased her, your majesty shall judge yourself of the rigour of her destiny, her misery and her sorrow, and to what desperate attempts the anguish of despair may drive her." the king of persia, astonished at this discourse, "madam," said he, "can it be possible that you are of royal blood, as by your words you seem to intimate? explain the whole secret to me, i beseech you, and no longer augment my impatience. let me instantly know who are the happy parents of so great a prodigy of beauty; who are your brothers, your sisters, and your relations; but, above all, tell me your name?" "sire," said the fair slave, "my name is gulnare of the sea: and my father, who is dead, was one of the most potent monarchs of the ocean. when he died, he left his kingdom to a brother of mine, named saleh, and to the queen, my mother, who is also a princess, the daughter of another puissant monarch of the sea. we enjoyed profound peace and tranquillity through the whole kingdom, till a neighbouring prince, envious of our happiness, invaded our dominions with a mighty army; and penetrating as far as our capital, made himself master of it; and we had but just time to save ourselves in an impenetrable and inaccessible place, with a few trusty officers, who did not forsake us in our distress. "in this retreat my brother was not negligent in contriving means to drive the unjust invaders from our dominions. one day taking me into his closet, 'sister,' said he, 'the events of the smallest undertakings are always dubious. for my own part, i may fail in the attempt i design to make to recover my kingdom; and i shall be less concerned for my own disgrace than what may possibly happen to you. to secure you from all accident, i would fain see you married. but in the present miserable condition of our affairs, i see no probability of matching you to any of the princes of the sea; and therefore i should be glad if you would concur in my opinion, and think of marrying one of the princes of the earth. i am ready to contribute all that lies in my power towards accomplishing this; and am certain there is not one of them, however powerful, but, considering your beauty, would be proud of sharing his crown with you.' "at this discourse of my brother's, i fell into a violent passion. 'brother,' said i, 'you know that i am descended, as well as you, from the kings and queens of the sea, without any mixture of alliance with those of the earth; therefore i do not design to marry below myself, and i have taken an oath to that effect. the condition to which we are reduced shall never oblige me to alter my resolution; and if you perish in the execution of your design, i am prepared to fall with you, rather than follow the advice i so little expected from you.' "my brother, who was still earnest for my marriage, however improper for me, endeavoured to make me believe that there were kings of the earth who were no ways inferior to those of the sea. this put me into a more violent passion, which occasioned him to say several bitter reflecting things, that nettled me to the quick. he left me, as much dissatisfied with myself as he could possibly be with me; and in this peevish mood i gave a spring from the bottom of the sea up to the island of the moon. "notwithstanding the violent discontent that made me cast myself upon that island, i lived content in retirement. but in spite of all my precautions, a person of distinction, attended by his servants, surprised me sleeping, and carried me to his own house. he expressed much love to me, and omitted nothing which he thought might induce me to return his passion. when he saw that fair means would not prevail upon me, he attempted to use force: but i soon made him repent of his insolence. he resolved to sell me, which he did to the merchant who brought me hither, and sold me to your majesty. he was a prudent, courteous, humane man; and during the whole of the long journey, never gave me the least reason to complain. "as for your majesty," continued the princess gulnare, "if you had not shown me all the respect you have hitherto done (for which i am extremely obliged to your goodness), and given me such undeniable marks of your affection, that i can no longer doubt of it; if you had not immediately sent away your women; i hesitate not to tell you, that i should not have remained with you. i would have thrown myself into the sea out of this window, where you accosted me when you first came into this apartment; and have gone in search of my mother, my brother, and the rest of my relations. i should have persisted in that design, and would have put it in execution, if after a certain time i had found myself deceived in the hopes of being with child; but in the condition i am in, all i could say to my mother or my brother would never convince them that i have been a slave to a king like your majesty. they would never believe it, but would for ever upbraid me with the crime i have voluntarily committed against my honour. however, sire, be it a prince or princess that i may bring into the world, it will be a pledge to engage me never to be parted from your majesty; and therefore i hope you will no longer regard me as a slave, but as a princess worthy your alliance." in this manner the princess gulnare discovered herself to the king of persia, and finished her story. "my charming, my adorable princess," cried he, "what wonders have i heard! and what ample matter for my curiosity, to ask a thousand questions concerning those strange and unheard of things which you have related! but first, i ought to thank you for your goodness and patience in making trial of the truth and constancy of my passion. i thought it impossible for me to love you more than i did; but since i know you to be a princess, i love you a thousand times more. princess! did i say, madam? you are no longer so; but you are my queen, the queen of persia; and by that title you shall soon be proclaimed throughout the whole kingdom. to-morrow the ceremony shall be performed in my capital with a pomp and magnificence never yet beheld; which will plainly shew that you are my queen and my lawful wife. this should long ago have been done, had you sooner convinced me of my error: for from the first moment of my seeing you, i have been of the same opinion as now, to love you always, and never to place my affections on any other. "but that i may satisfy myself, and pay you all the respect that is your due, i beseech you, madam, to inform me more particularly of the kingdom and people of the sea, who are altogether unknown to me. i have heard much talk, indeed, of the inhabitants of the sea, but i always looked upon such accounts merely as tales or fables; by what you have told me, i am convinced there is nothing more true; and i have a proof of it in your own person, who are one of them, and are pleased to condescend to be my wife; which is an honour no other inhabitant on the earth can boast. there is one point however which yet perplexes me; therefore i must beg the favour of you to explain it; that is, i cannot comprehend how it is possible for you to live or move in water without being drowned. there are few amongst us who have the art of staying under water; and they would surely perish, if, after a certain time, according to their activity and strength, they did not come up again." "sire," replied the queen gulnare, "i shall with pleasure satisfy the king of persia. we can walk at the bottom of the sea with as much ease as you can upon land; and we can breathe in the water as you do in the air; so that instead of suffocating us, as it does you, it absolutely contributes to the preservation of our lives. what is yet more remarkable is, that it never wets our clothes; so that when we wish to visit the earth, we have no occasion to dry them. our language is the same with that of the writing engraved upon the seal of the great prophet solomon the son of david. "i must not forget to inform you further, that the water does not in the least hinder us from seeing: for we can open our eyes without any inconvenience: and as we have quick, piercing sight, we can discern any objects as clearly in the deepest part of the sea as upon land. we have also there a succession of day and night; the moon affords us her light; and even the planets and the stars appear visible to us. i have already spoken of our kingdoms; but as the sea is much more spacious than the earth, so there are a great number of them, and of great extent. they are divided into provinces; and in each province are several great cities well peopled. in short there is an infinite number of nations differing in manners and customs, as they do on the earth. "the palaces of the kings and princes are sumptuous and magnificent. some of them are constructed of marble of various colours; others of rock-crystal, with which the sea abounds, mother of pearl, coral, and of other materials more valuable; gold, silver, and all sorts of precious stones are more plentiful there than on earth. i say nothing of the pearls, since the largest that ever were seen upon earth would not be valued amongst us; and none but the very lowest rank of citizens would wear them. "as we have a marvellous and incredible agility to transport ourselves whither we please in the twinkling of an eye, we have no occasion for carriages or horses; not but the king has his stables and his stud of sea horses; but they are seldom used, except upon public feasts or rejoicing days. some, after they have trained them, take delight in riding and shewing their skill and dexterity in races; others put them to chariots of mother of pearl, adorned with an infinite number of shells of all sorts, of the liveliest colours. these chariots are open; and in the middle is a throne on which the king sits, and shows himself to the public view of his subjects. the horses are trained to draw by themselves; so that there is no occasion for a charioteer to guide them. i pass over a thousand other curious particulars relating to these submarine countries, which would be very entertaining to your majesty; but you must permit me to defer them to a future opportunity, to speak of something of much greater consequence, which is, that the method of delivering, and the way of managing the women of the sea in their lying-in, is very different from those of the women of the earth; and i am afraid to trust myself in the hands of the midwives of this country: therefore, since my safe delivery equally concerns us both, with your majesty's permission, i think it proper, for greater security, to send for my mother and my cousins, to assist at my labour; at the same time to desire the king my brother's company, to whom i have a great desire to be reconciled. they will be glad to see me again, when they understand i am wife to the mighty king of persia. i beseech your majesty to give me leave to send for them. i am sure they will be happy to pay their respects to you; and i venture to say you will be pleased to see them." "madam," replied the king of persia, "you are mistress; do whatever you please; i will endeavour to receive them with all the honours they deserve. but i would fain know how you will acquaint them with what you desire, and when they will arrive, that i may give orders to make preparation for their reception, and go myself in person to meet them." "sire," replied the queen gulnare, "there is no need of these ceremonies; they will be here in a moment; and if your majesty will but step into the closet, and look through the lattice, you shall see the manner of their arrival." as soon as the king of persia was in the closet, queen gulnare ordered one of her women to bring her a fire-pan with a little fire. after that she bade her retire, and shut the door. when she was alone, she took a piece of aloes-wood out of a box, and put it into the fire-pan. as soon as she saw the smoke rise, she repeated some words unknown to the king of persia, who observed with great attention all that she did. she had no sooner ended, than the sea began to be disturbed. the closet the king was in was so contrived, that looking through the lattice on the same side with the windows that faced the sea, he could plainly perceive it. at length the sea opened at some distance; and presently there arose out of it a tall, handsome young man, with whiskers of a sea-green colour; a little behind him, a lady, advanced in years, but of a majestic air, attended by five young ladies, nothing inferior in beauty to the queen gulnare. queen gulnare immediately came to one of the windows, and saw the king her brother, the queen her mother, and the rest of her relations, who at the same time perceived her also. the company advanced, supported, as it were, upon the waves. when they came to the edge, they nimbly, one after another, sprung in at the window. king saleh, the queen her mother, and the rest of her relations, embraced her tenderly on their first entrance, with tears in their eyes. after queen gulnare had received them with all imaginable honour, and made them sit down upon a sofa, the queen her mother addressed herself to her: "daughter," said she, "i am overjoyed to see you again after so long an absence; and i am confident that your brother and your relations are no less so. your leaving us without acquainting any one with your intention, involved us in inexpressible concern; and it is impossible to tell you how many tears we have shed on your account. we know of no reason that could induce you to take such a resolution, but what your brother related to us respecting the conversation that passed between him and you. the advice he gave you seemed to him at that time advantageous for settling you in the world, and suitable to the then posture of our affairs. if you had not approved of his proposal, you ought not to have been so much alarmed; and give me leave to tell you, you took his advice in a different light from what you ought to have done. but no more of this; it serves only to renew the occasion of our sorrow and complaint, which we and you ought to bury forever in oblivion; give us now an account of all that has happened to you since we saw you last, and of your present situation, but especially let us know if you are married." gulnare immediately threw herself at her mother's feet, and kissing her hand, "madam," said she, "i own i have been guilty of a fault, and i am indebted to your goodness for the pardon which you are pleased to grant me. what i am going to say, in obedience to your commands, will soon convince you, that it is often in vain for us to have an aversion for certain measures; i have myself experienced that the only thing i had an abhorrence to, is that to which my destiny has led me." she then related the whole of what had befallen her since she quitted the sea for the earth. as scon as she had concluded, and acquainted them with her having been sold to the king of persia, in whose palace she was at present; "sister," said the king her brother, "you have been wrong to suffer so many indignities, but you can properly blame nobody but yourself; you have it in your power now to free yourself, and i cannot but admire your patience, that you could endure so long a slavery. rise, and return with us into my kingdom, which i have reconquered from the proud usurper who had made himself master of it." the king of persia, who heard these words from the closet where he stood, was in the utmost alarm; "ah!" said he to himself, "i am ruined, and if my queen, my gulnare, hearken to this advice, and leave me, i shall surely die, for it is impossible for me to live without her." queen gulnare soon put him out of his fears. "brother," said she smiling, "what i have just heard gives me a greater proof than ever of the sincerity of your affection; i could not brook your proposing to me a match with a prince of the earth: now i can scarcely forbear being angry with you for advising me to break the engagement i have made with the most puissant and most renowned monarch in the world. i do not speak here of an engagement between a slave and her master; it would be easy to return the ten thousand pieces of gold he gave for me; but i speak now of a contract between a wife and a husband--and a wife who has not the least reason to complain. he is a religious, wise, and temperate king, and has given me the most essential demonstrations of his love. what can be a greater proof of the sincerity of his passion, than sending away all his women (of which he had a great number) immediately upon my arrival, and confining himself to me alone? i am now his wife, and he has lately declared me queen of persia, to share with him in his councils; besides, i am pregnant, and if heaven permit me to give him a son, that will be another motive to engage my affections to him the more." "so that, brother," continued the queen gulnare, "instead of following your advice, you see i have all the reason in the world, not only to love the king of persia as passionately as he loves me, but also to live and die with him, more out of gratitude than duty. i hope then neither my mother, nor you, nor any of my cousins, will disapprove of the resolution or the alliance i have made, which will do equal honour to the kings of the sea and earth. excuse me for giving you the trouble of coming hither from the bottom of the deep, to communicate it to you; and to enjoy the pleasure of seeing you after so long a separation." "sister," replied king saleh, "the proposal i made you of going back with us into my kingdom, upon the recital of your adventures (which i could not hear without concern), was only to let you see how much we all love you, and how much i in particular honour you, and that nothing is so dear to me as your happiness. upon the same account then, for my own part, i cannot condemn a resolution so reasonable and so worthy of yourself, after what you have told us of the king of persia your husband, and the great obligations you owe him; and i am persuaded that the queen our mother will be of the same opinion." the queen confirmed what her son had spoken, and addressing herself to gulnare, said, "i am glad to hear you are pleased; and i have nothing to add to what your brother has said. i should have been the first to condemn you, had you not expressed all the gratitude you owe to a monarch. that loves you so passionately." as the king of persia had been extremely concerned under the apprehension of losing his beloved queen, so now he was transported with joy at her resolution never to forsake him; and having no room to doubt of her love after so open a declaration, he resolved to evince his gratitude in every possible way. while the king was indulging incredible pleasure, queen gulnare clapped her hands, and immediately some of her slaves entered, whom she had ordered to bring in a collation: as soon as it was served up, she invited the queen her mother, the king her brother, and her cousins to partake. they began to reflect that they were in the palace of a mighty king, who had never seen or heard of them, and that it would be rudeness to eat at his table without him. this reflection raised a blush in their faces, and in their emotion, their eyes glowing like fire, they breathed flames at their mouths and nostrils. this unexpected sight put the king of persia, who was totally ignorant of the cause of it, into a dreadful consternation. queen gulnare, suspecting this, and understanding the intention of her relations, rose from her seat, and told them she would be back in a moment. she went directly to the closet, and by her presence recovered the king of persia from his surprise; "sir," said she, "i doubt not but that your majesty is well pleased with the acknowledgment i have made of the many favours for which i am indebted to you. i might have complied with the wishes of my relations, and gone back with them into their dominions; but i am not capable of such ingratitude, for which i should have been the first to condemn myself." "ah! my queen,"cried the king of persia, "speak no more of your obligations to me; you have none; i am under so many to you, that i shall never be able to repay them. i never thought it possible you could have loved me so tenderly as you do, and as you have made appear to me in the most endearing manner." "ah! sir," replied gulnare "could i do less? i fear i have not done enough, considering all the honours that your majesty has heaped upon me; and it is impossible for me to remain insensible of your love, after so many convincing proofs as you have given me." "but, sir," continued gulnare, "let us drop this subject, and give me leave to assure you of the sincere friendship the queen my mother and the king my brother are pleased to honour you with; they earnestly desire to see you, and tell you so themselves: i intended to have had some conversation with them by ordering a banquet for them, before i introduced them to your majesty; but they are impatient to pay their respects to you; and therefore i beseech your majesty to be pleased to honour them with your presence." "madam," said the king of persia, "i should be glad to salute persons who have the honour to be so nearly related to you, but i am afraid of the flames they breathe at their mouths and nostrils." "sir," replied the queen laughing, "you need not in the least fear those flames, which are nothing but a sign of their unwillingness to eat in your palace, without your honouring them with your presence, and eating with them." the king of persia, encouraged by these words, rose and went into the apartment with his queen gulnare she presented him to the queen her mother, to the king her brother, and to her other relations; who instantly threw themselves at his feet, with their faces to the ground. the king of persia ran to them, and lifting them up, embraced them one after another. after they were all seated, king saleh began: "sir;" said he to the king of persia, "we are at a loss for words to express our joy, to think that the queen my sister, in her disgrace, should have the happiness of falling under the protection of so powerful a monarch. we can assure you, she is not unworthy of the high rank to which you have been pleased to raise her; and we have always had so much love and tenderness for her, that we could never think or parting with her to any of the puissant princes of the sea, who have often demanded her in marriage before she came of age. heaven has reserved her for you, and we have no better way of testifying our gratitude for the favour it has done her, than beseeching it to grant your majesty a long and happy life with her, and to crown you with prosperity and satisfaction. "certainly," replied the king of persia, "heaven reserved her for me, as you observe. i love her with so tender and ardent a passion, that i am satisfied i never loved any woman till i saw her. i cannot sufficiently thank either the queen her mother or you, prince, or your whole family, for the generosity with which you have consented to receive me into an alliance so glorious to me as yours." so saying he invited them to take part of the collation, and he and his queen sat down with them. after the collation, the king of persia conversed with them till it was very late; and when they thought it convenient to retire, he waited upon them himself to the several apartments he had ordered to be prepared for them. the king of persia treated his illustrious guests with continual feasts; in which he omitted nothing that might shew his grandeur and magnificence, and insensibly prevailed with them to stay with him till the queen was brought to bed. when the time of her lying-in drew near, he gave particular orders that nothing should be wanting proper for such an occasion. at length she was brought to bed of a son, to the great joy of the queen her mother, who assisted at the labour, and presented him to the king. the king of persia received this present with a joy easier to be imagined than expressed. the young prince being of a beautiful countenance, he thought no name so proper for him as that of beder, which in the arabian language signifies the full moon. to return thanks to heaven, he was very liberal in his alms to the poor, caused the prison doors to be set open, and gave all his slaves of both sexes their liberty. he distributed vast sums among the ministers and holy men of his religion. he also gave large donations to his courtiers, besides a considerable sum that was thrown amongst the people; and by proclamation, ordered rejoicings to be kept for several days through the whole city. one day, after the queen was recovered, as the king of persia, gulnare, the queen her mother, king saleh her brother, and the princesses their relations, were discoursing together in her majesty's bed-chamber, the nurse came in with the young prince beder in her arms. king saleh as soon as he saw him, ran to embrace him, and taking him in his arms, kissed and caressed him with the greatest demonstrations of tenderness. he took several turns with him about the room, dancing and tossing him about, when all of a sudden, through a transport of joy, the window being open, he sprung out, and plunged with him into the sea. the king of persia, who expected no such sight, believing he should either see the prince his son no more, or else that he should see him drowned, was overwhelmed in affliction. "sir," said queen gulnare (with a quiet and undisturbed countenance, the better to comfort him), "let your majesty fear nothing; the young prince is my son as well as yours, and i do not love him less than yourself. you see i am not alarmed; neither in truth ought i to be. he runs no risk, and you will soon see the king his uncle appear with him again, and bring him back safe. although he be born of your blood, he is equally of mine, and will have the same advantage his uncle and i possess, of living equally in the sea, and upon the land." the queen his mother and the princesses his relations affirmed the same thing; yet all they said had no effect on the king, who could not recover from his alarm till he again saw prince beder. the sea at length became troubled, when immediately king saleh arose with the young prince in his arms, and holding him up in the air, reentered at the window from which he had leaped. the king of persia being overjoyed to see prince beder again, and astonished that he was as calm as before he lost sight of him; king saleh said, "sir, was not your majesty in alarm, when you first saw me plunge into the sea with the prince my nephew?" "alas prince," answered the king of persia, "i cannot express my concern. i thought him lost from that very moment, and you now restore life to me by bringing him again." "i thought as much," replied king saleh, "though you had not the least reason to apprehend danger; for before i plunged into the sea, i pronounced over him certain mysterious words, which were engraved on the seal of the great solomon the son of david. we practise the like in relation to all those children that are born in the regions at the bottom of the sea, by virtue whereof they receive the same privileges as we have over those people who inhabit the earth. from what your majesty has observed, you may easily see what advantage your son prince beder has acquired by his birth on the part of his mother gulnare my sister: for as long as he lives, and as often as he pleases, he will be at liberty to plunge into the sea, and traverse the vast empires it contains in its bosom." having so spoken, king saleh, who had restored prince beder to his nurse's arms, opened a box he had fetched from his palace in the little time he had disappeared, which was filled with three hundred diamonds, as large as pigeons' eggs; a like number of rubies of extraordinary size; as many emerald wands, each half a foot long, and thirty strings or necklaces of pearl consisting each of ten feet. "sir," said he to the king of persia, presenting him with this box, "when i was first summoned by the queen my sister, i knew not what part of the earth she was in, or that she had the honour to be married to so great a monarch. this made us come without a present. as we cannot express how much we have been obliged to your majesty, i beg you to accept this small token of gratitude in acknowledgment of the many favours you have been pleased to shew her, wherein we take equal interest." it is impossible to express how greatly the king of persia was surprised at the sight of so much riches, enclosed in so little compass. "what! prince," cried he, "do you call so inestimable a present a small token of your gratitude, when you never have been indebted to me? i declare once more you have never been in the least obliged to me, neither the queen your mother nor you. i esteem myself but too happy in the consent you have given to the alliance i have contracted with you. madam," continued he, turning to gulnare, "the king your brother has put me into the greatest confusion; and i would beg of him to permit me to refuse his present, were i not afraid of disobliging him: do you therefore endeavour to obtain his leave that i may be excused accepting it." "sir," replied king saleh, "i am not at all surprised that your majesty thinks this present so extraordinary. i know you are not accustomed upon earth to see precious stones of this quality and number: but if you knew, as i do, the mines whence these jewels were taken, and that it is in my power to form a treasure greater than those of all the kings of the earth, you would wonder we should have the boldness to make you so small a present. i beseech you therefore not to regard its trifling value, but consider the sincere friendship which obliges us to offer it to you, and not give us the mortification of refusing it." these engaging expressions obliged the king of persia to accept the present, for which he returned many thanks both to king saleh and the queen his mother. a few days after, king saleh gave the king of persia to understand, that the queen his mother, the princesses his relations, and himself, could have no greater pleasure than to spend their whole lives at his court; but that having been so long absent from their own kingdom, where their presence was absolutely necessary, they begged of him to excuse them if they took leave of him and queen gulnare. the king of persia assured them, he was sorry it was not in his power to return their visit in their own dominions; but added, "as i am persuaded you will not forget gulnare, i hope i shall have the honour to see you again more than once." many tears were shed on both sides upon their separation. king saleh departed first; but the queen his mother and the princesses his relations were obliged to force themselves from the embraces of gulnare, who could not prevail with herself to let them go. this royal company were no sooner out of sight, than the king of persia said to gulnare, "madam, i should have looked upon the person who had pretended to pass those upon me for true wonders, of which i myself have been eye-witness from the time i have been honoured with your illustrious family at my court, as one who would have abused my credulity. but i cannot refuse to believe my senses; and shall remember them while i live, and never cease to bless heaven for directing you to me, in preference to any other prince." beder was brought up and educated in the palace under the care of the king and queen of persia, who both saw him grow and increase in beauty to their great satisfaction. he gave them yet greater pleasure as he advanced in years, by his continual sprightliness, his agreeable manners, and the justness and vivacity of his wit; and this satisfaction was the more sensible, because king saleh his uncle, the queen his grandmother, and the princesses his relations, came from time to time to partake of it. he was easily taught to read and write, and was instructed with the same facility in all the sciences that became a prince of his rank. when he arrived at the age of fifteen, he acquitted himself in all his exercises with infinitely better address and grace than his masters. he was withal wise and prudent. the king, who had almost from his cradle discovered in him virtues so necessary for a monarch, and who moreover began to perceive the infirmities of old age coming upon himself every day, would not stay till death gave him possession of his throne, but purposed to resign it to him. he had no great difficulty to make his council consent to this arrangement: and the people heard his resolution with so much the more joy, as they conceived prince beder worthy to govern them. in a word, as the king had not for a long time appeared in public, they had the opportunity of observing that he had not that disdainful, proud, and distant air, which most princes have, who look upon all below them with scorn and contempt. they saw, on the contrary, that he treated all mankind with that goodness which invited them to approach him; that he heard favourably all who had anything to say to him; that he answered everybody with a goodness that was peculiar to him; and that he refused nobody any thing that had the least appearance of justice. the day for the ceremony was appointed, when in the midst of the whole assembly, which was then more numerous than ordinary, the king of persia came down from his throne, took the crown from his head, put it on that of prince beder, and having seated him in his place, kissed his hand as a token that he resigned his authority to him. after which he took his place among the crowd of viziers and emirs below the throne. hereupon the viziers, emirs, and other principal officers, came immediately and threw themselves at the new king's feet, taking each the oath of fidelity according to their rank. then the grand vizier made a report of divers important matters, on which the young king gave judgment with that admirable prudence and sagacity that surprised all the council. he next turned out several governors convicted of mal-administration, and put others in their room, with such wonderful and just discernment, as exalted the acclamations of every body, which were so much the more honourable, as flattery had no share in them. he at length left the council, accompanied by his father, and went to wait on his mother queen gulnare at her apartment. the queen no sooner saw him coming with his crown upon his head, than she ran to him and embraced him with tenderness, wishing him a long and prosperous reign. the first year of his reign king beder acquitted himself of all his royal functions with great assiduity. above all, he took care to inform himself of the state of his affairs, and all that might any way contribute towards the happiness of his people. next year, having left the administration to his council, under the direction of his father, he left his capital, under pretence of diverting himself with hunting; but his real intention was to visit all the provinces of his kingdom, that he might reform abuses, establish good order, and deprive all ill-minded princes, his neighbours, of any opportunities of attempting anything against the security and tranquillity of his subjects, by shewing himself on his frontiers. it required no less than a whole year for the young monarch to execute a design so worthy of him. soon after his return, the old king his father fell so dangerously ill, that he knew at once he should never recover. he waited for his last moment with great tranquillity, and his only care was to recommend to the ministers and other lords of his son's court, to persevere in the fidelity they had sworn to him: and there was not one but willingly renewed his oath as freely as at first. he died at length, to the great grief of king beder and queen gulnare, who caused his corpse to be borne to a stately mausoleum, worthy of his rank and dignity. the funeral obsequies ended, king beder found no difficulty to comply with that ancient custom in persia to mourn for the dead a whole month and not to be seen by anybody during that time. he had mourned the death of his father his whole life, had he yielded to his excessive affliction, and had it been right for a great prince thus to abandon himself to sorrow. during this interval the queen gulnare's mother, and king saleh, together with the princesses their relations, arrived at the persian court to condole with their relations. when the month was expired, the king could not refuse admittance to the grand vizier and the other lords of his court, who besought him to lay aside his mourning, to shew himself to his subjects, and take upon him the administration of affairs as before. he shewed so much reluctance to comply with their request, that the grand vizier was forced to take upon himself to say; "sir, it were needless to represent to your majesty, that it belongs only to women to persist in perpetual mourning. we doubt not but you are fully convinced of this, and that it is not your intention to follow their example. neither our tears nor yours are capable of restoring life to the good king your father, though we should lament him all our days. he has submitted to the common law of all men, which subjects them to pay the indispensable tribute of death. yet we cannot say absolutely that he is dead, since we see in him your sacred person. he did not himself doubt, when he was dying, but he should revive in you, and to your majesty it belongs to show that he was not deceived." king beder could no longer oppose such pressing instances; he laid aside his mourning; and after he had resumed the royal habit and ornaments, began to provide for the necessities of his kingdom and subjects with the same assiduity as before his father's death. he acquitted himself with universal approbation: and as he was exact in maintaining the ordinances of his predecessor, the people did not perceive they had changed their sovereign. king saleh, who was returned to his dominions in the sea with the queen his mother and the princesses, no sooner saw that king beder had resumed the government, but he at the end of the year came alone to visit him; and king beder and queen gulnare were overjoyed to see him. one evening, talking of various matters, king saleh fell insensibly on the praises of the king his nephew, and expressed to the queen his sister how glad he was to see him govern so prudently, as to acquire such high reputation, not only among his neighbours, but more remote princes. king beder, who could not bear to hear himself so well spoken of, and not being willing, through good manners, to interrupt the king his uncle, turned on one side, and feigned to be asleep, leaning his head against a cushion that was behind him. from these commendations, which regarded only the conduct and genius of beder, king saleh came to speak of the perfections of his person, which he extolled as prodigies, having nothing equal to them upon earth, or in all the kingdoms under the waters, with which he was acquainted. "sister," said he, "i wonder you have not thought of marrying him: if i mistake not, he is in his twentieth year; and, at that age, no prince ought to be suffered to be without a wife. i will think of a match for him myself, since you will not, and marry him to some princess of our lower world that may be worthy of him." "brother," replied queen gulnare, "you call to my attention what i must own has never occurred to me. as he discovered no inclination for marriage, i never thought of mentioning it to him. i like your proposal of one of our princesses; and i desire you to name one so beautiful and accomplished that the king my son may be obliged to love her." "i know one," replied king saleh, softly; "but before i tell you who she is, let us see if the king my nephew be asleep, and i will tell you afterwards why it is necessary we should take that precaution." queen gulnare turned about and looked at her son, and thought she had no reason to doubt but he was in a profound sleep. king beder, nevertheless, far from sleeping, redoubled his attention, unwilling to lose any thing the king his uncle said with so much secrecy. "there is no necessity for your speaking so low," said the queen to the king her brother; "you may speak out with freedom, without fear of being heard." "it is by no means proper," replied king saleh, "that the king my nephew should as yet have any knowledge of what i am going to say. love, you know, sometimes enters at the ear, and it is not necessary he should thus conceive a passion for the lady i am about to name. indeed i see many difficulties to be surmounted, not on the lady's part, as i hope, but on that of her father. i need only mention to you the princess jehaun-ara, daughter of the king of samandal." "how! brother," replied queen gulnare, "is not the princess yet married? i remember to have seen her before i left your palace; she was then about eighteen months old, surprisingly beautiful, and must needs be the wonder of the world, if her charms have increased with her years. the few years she is older than the king my son ought not to prevent us from doing our utmost to effect the match. let me but know the difficulties in the way, and we will surmount them." "sister," replied king saleh, "the greatest difficulty is, that the king of samandal is insupportably vain, looking upon all others as his inferiors: it is not likely we shall easily get him to enter into this alliance. i will however go to him in person, and demand of him the princess his daughter; and, in case he refuses her, we will address ourselves elsewhere, where we shall be more favourably heard. for this reason, as you may perceive," added he, "it is as well for the king my nephew not to know any thing of our design, till we have the consent of the king of samandal." they discoursed a little longer upon this point and, before they parted, agreed that king saleh should forthwith return to his own dominions, and demand the princess for the king of persia his nephew. this done, queen gulnare and king saleh, who believed king beder asleep, agreed to awake him before they retired; and he dissembled so well that he seemed to awake from a profound sleep. he had heard every word, and the character they gave of the princess had inflamed his heart with a new passion. he had conceived such an idea of her beauty, that the desire of possessing her made him pass the night very uneasy without closing his eyes. next day king saleh proposed taking leave of gulnare and the king his nephew. the young king, who knew his uncle would not have de- parted so soon but to go and promote without loss of time his happiness, changed colour when he heard him mention his departure. his passion was become so violent, it would not suffer him to wait so long for the sight of his mistress as would be required to accomplish the marriage. he more than once resolved to desire his uncle to bring her away with him: but as he did not wish to let the queen his mother understand he knew anything of what had passed, he desired him only to stay with him one day more, that they might hunt together, intending to take that opportunity to discover his mind to him. the day for hunting was fixed, and king beder had many opportunities of being alone with his uncle; but he had not courage to acquaint him with his design. in the heat of the chase, when king saleh was separated from him, and not one of his officers or attendants was near him, he alighted by a rivulet; and having tied his horse to a tree, which, with several others growing along the banks, afforded a very pleasing shade, he laid himself on the grass, and gave free course to his tears, which flowed in great abundance, accompanied with many sighs. he remained a good while in this condition, absorbed in thought, without speaking a word. king saleh, in the meantime, missing the king his nephew, began to be much concerned to know what was become of him; but could meet no one who could give any tidings of him. he therefore left his company to seek for him, and at length perceived him at a distance. he had observed the day before, and more plainly that day, that he was not so lively as he used to be; and that, if he was asked a question, he either answered not at all, or nothing to the purpose; but never in the least suspected the cause. as soon as he saw him dying in that disconsolate posture, he immediately guessed he had not only heard what had passed between him and queen gulnare, but was become passionately in love. he alighted at some distance from him, and having tied his horse to a tree, came upon him so softly, that he heard him pronounce the following words: "amiable princess of the kingdom of samandal, i have no doubt had but an imperfect sketch of your incomparable beauty; i hold you to be still more beautiful in preference to all the princesses in the world, and to excel them as much as the sun does the moon and stars. i would this moment go and offer you my heart, if i knew where to find you; it belongs to you, and no princess shall be possessor of it but yourself!" king saleh would hear no more; he advanced immediately, and discovered himself to beder. "from what i see, nephew," said he, "you heard what the queen your mother and i said the other day of the princess jehaun-ara. it was not our intention you should have known any thing respecting her, and we thought you were asleep." "my dear uncle," replied king beder, "i heard every word, and have sufficiently experienced the effect you foretold; which it was not in your power to prevent. i detained you on purpose to acquaint you with my love before your departure; but the shame of disclosing my weakness, if it be any to love a princess so worthy of my affection, sealed up my mouth. i beseech you then, by the friendship you profess for a prince who has the honour to be so nearly allied to you, that you would pity me, and not wait to procure me the consent of the divine jehaun-ara, till you have gained that of the king of samandal that i may marry his daughter, unless you had rather see me die with love, before i behold her." these words of the king of persia greatly embarrassed king saleh. he represented to him how difficult it was to give him the satisfaction he desired, and that he could not do it without carrying him along with him; which might be of dangerous consequence, since his presence was so absolutely necessary in his kingdom. he conjured him, therefore, to moderate his passion, till such time as he had put things into a train to satisfy him, assuring him he would use his utmost diligence, and would come to acquaint him in a few days. but these reasons were not sufficient to satisfy the king of persia. "cruel uncle," said he. "i find you do not love me so much as you pretended, and that you had rather see me die than grant the first request i ever made." "i am ready to convince your majesty," replied king saleh, "that i would do any thing to serve you; but as for carrying you along with me, i cannot do that till i have spoken to the queen your mother. what would she say of you and me? if she consents, i am ready to do all you would have me, and will join my entreaties to yours." "you cannot be ignorant," replied the king of persia, "that the queen my mother would never willingly part with me; and therefore this excuse does but farther convince me of your unkindness. if you really love me, as you would have me believe, you must return to your kingdom immediately, and take me with you." king saleh, finding himself obliged to yield to his nephew's importunity, drew from his finger a ring, on which were engraved the same mysterious names of god that were upon solomon's seal, which had wrought so many wonders by their virtue. "here, take this ring," said he, "put it on your finger, and fear neither the waters of the sea, nor their depth." the king of persia took the ring, and when he had put it on his finger, king saleh said to him, "do as i do." at the same time they both mounted lightly up into the air, and made towards the sea, which was not far distant, and they both plunged into it. the sea-king was not long in arriving at his palace, with the king of persia, whom he immediately carried to the queen's apartments, and presented to her. the king of persia kissed the queen his grandmother's hands, and she embraced him with great demonstrations of joy. "i do not ask you how you do," said she, "i see you are very well, and am rejoiced at it; but i desire to know how my daughter your mother queen gulnare does." the king of persia took great care not to let her know that he had come away with out taking leave of her; on the contrary he told her, the queen his mother was in perfect health, and had enjoined him to pay her duty to her. the queen then presented him to the princesses; and while he was in conversation with them, she left him, and went with king saleh into a closet, who told her how the king of persia was fallen in love with the princess jehaun-ara, upon the bare relation of her beauty, and contrary to his intention; that he had, against his own wishes, brought him along with him, and that he was going to concert measures to procure the princess for him in marriage. although king saleh was, to do him justice, perfectly innocent of the king of persia's passion, yet the queen could hardly forgive his indiscretion in mentioning the princess jehaun- ara before him, "your imprudence is not to be forgiven," said she; "can you think that the king of samandal, whose character is so well known, will have greater consideration for you, than the many other kings to whom he has refused his daughter, with such evident contempt? would you have him send you away with the same confusion? "madam," replied king saleh, "i have already told you it was contrary to my intention that the king my nephew heard what i related of the beauty of the princess to the queen my sister. the fault is committed, and we must consider what a violent passion he has for this princess, and that he will die with grief and affliction, if we do not speedily obtain her for him. for my part, i shall omit nothing that can contribute to effect their union: since i was, though innocently, the cause of the malady, i will do all i can to remedy it. i hope, madam, you will approve of my resolution, to go myself and wait on the king of samandal, with a rich present of precious stones, and demand the princess his daughter of him for the king of persia. i have some reason to believe he will not refuse, but will be pleased with an alliance with one of the greatest potentates of the earth." "it were to have been wished," replied the queen, "that we had not been under a necessity of making this demand, since the success of our attempt is not so certain as we could desire; but since my grandson's peace and content depend upon it, i freely give my consent. but, above all, i charge you, since you well know the humour of the king of samandal, that you take care to speak to him with due respect, and in a manner that cannot possibly offend him." the queen prepared the present herself, composing it of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and strings of pearl, all which she put into a rich box. next morning king saleh took leave of her majesty and the king of persia, and departed with a chosen and small troop of officers, and attendants. he soon arrived at the kingdom, and the palace of the king of samandal, who delayed not to give him audience. he rose from his throne as soon as he perceived him; and king saleh, forgetting his character for some moments, knowing whom he had to deal with, prostrated himself at his feet, wishing him the accomplishment of all his desires. the king of samandal stooped to raise him, and after he had placed him on his left hand, told him he was welcome, and asked him if there was any thing he could do to serve him. "sir," answered king saleh, "though i should have no other motive than that of paying my respects to the most potent, most prudent, and most valiant prince in the world, feeble would be my language to express how much i honour your majesty. could you penetrate into my inmost soul, you would be convinced of the great veneration i have for you, and of my ardent desire to testify my attachment." having spoke these words, he took the box of jewels from one of his servants, and having opened it, presented it to the king, imploring him to accept of it for his sake. "prince," replied the king of samandal, "you would not make me such a present unless you had a request proportionable to it to propose. if there be any thing in my power to grant, you may freely command me, and i shall feel the greatest pleasure in complying with your wishes. speak, and tell me frankly, wherein i can serve you?" "i must own ingenuously," replied king saleh, "i have a boon to ask of your majesty; and i shall take care to ask nothing but what is in your power to bestow. the thing depends so absolutely on yourself, that it would be to no purpose to ask it of any one else. i ask it then with all possible earnestness, and i beg of you not to refuse me." "if it be so," replied the king of samandal, "you have nothing to do but acquaint me what it is, and you shall see after what manner i can oblige when it is in my power." "sir," said king saleh, "after the confidence with which your majesty has been pleased to inspire me, i will not dissemble any longer, that i came to beg of you to honour our house with your alliance by the marriage of your daughter, and to strengthen the good understanding that has so long subsisted between our two crowns." at these words the king of samandal burst into a loud laugh, falling back in his throne against a cushion that supported him, and with an imperious and scornful air, said, "king saleh, i have always hitherto thought you a prince of great wisdom, and prudence; but what you say convinces me i was mistaken. tell me, i beseech you, where was your wit or discretion, when you formed to yourself such a chimera as you have proposed to me? could you conceive a thought of aspiring in marriage to a princess, the daughter of so powerful a monarch as myself? you ought to have considered the great distance between us, and not run the risk of losing in a moment the esteem i always had for you." king saleh was hurt at this affronting answer, and could scarcely restrain his resentment; however he replied with all possible moderation, "god reward your majesty as you deserve! i have the honour to inform you, i do not demand the princess your daughter in marriage for myself; had i done even that, your majesty and the princess, so far from being offended, should have thought it an honour done to both. your majesty well knows i am one of the kings of the sea as well as yourself; that my ancestors yield not in antiquity to any royal house; and that the kingdom i inherit is no less potent and flourishing than your own. if your majesty had not interrupted me, you had soon understood that the favour i asked was not for myself, but for the young king of persia my nephew, whose power and grandeur, no less than his personal good qualities, cannot be unknown to you. everybody acknowledges the princess jehaun-ara to be the most beautiful under ocean: but it is no less true, that the king of persia is the handsomest and most accomplished prince on earth. thus the favour that is asked being likely to redound to the honour both of your majesty and the princess your daughter, you ought not to doubt that your consent to an alliance so equal will be unanimously approved in all the kingdoms of the sea. the princess is worthy of the king of persia, and the king of persia is no less worthy of her." the king of samandal had not permitted king saleh to speak so long, but that rage deprived him of all power of speech. at length, however, he broke out into outrageous and insulting expressions, unworthy of a great king. "dog," cried he, "dare you talk to me after this manner, and so much as mention my daughter's name in my presence can you think the son of your sister gulnare worthy to come in competition with my daughter? who are you? who was your father? who is your sister? and who your nephew? was not his father a dog, and the son of a dog, like you? guards, seize the insolent wretch, and strike off his head." the few officers who were about the king of samandal were immediately going to obey his orders, when king saleh, who was in the flower of his age, nimble and vigorous, got from them, before they could draw their sabres; and having reached the palace-gate, found there a thousand men of his relations and friends, well armed and equipped, who were just arrived. the queen his mother having considered the small number of attendants he had taken with him, and foreseeing the reception he would probably meet from the king of samandal, had sent these troops to protect and defend him in case of danger, ordering them to make haste. those of his relations who were at the head of this troop had reason to rejoice at their seasonable arrival, when they beheld him and his attendants running in great disorder, and pursued. "sire," cried his friends, the moment he joined them, "who has insulted you? we are ready to revenge you: you need only command us." king saleh related his case to them in few words, and putting himself at the head of a troop, while some seized the gates, he re-entered the palace. the few officers and guards who had pursued him, being soon dispersed, he forced the king of samandal's apartment, who, being abandoned by his attendants, was soon seized. king saleh left sufficient guards to secure his person, and then went from apartment to apartment, to search after the princess jehaun-ara. but she, on the first alarm, had, together with her women, sprung up to the surface of the sea, and escaped to a desert island. while this passed in the palace of the king of samandal, those of king saleh's attendants who had fled at the first menaces of that king, put the queen mother into terrible consternation, on relating the danger of her son. king beder, who was present at the time, was the more concerned, as he looked upon himself as the principal author of the mischief that might ensue: therefore, not caring to abide the queen's presence any longer, whilst she was giving the orders necessary at that conjuncture, he darted up from the bottom of the sea; and not knowing how to find his way to the kingdom of persia, happened to land on the island where the princess jehaun-ara had saved herself. the prince, not a little disturbed in mind, seated himself under the shade of a large tree, surrounded by others. whilst he was endeavouring to recover himself, he heard somebody talking, but was too far off to understand what was said. he arose, and advanced softly towards the place whence the sound proceeded, where, among the branches, he perceived a beauty that dazzled him. "doubtless," said he, within himself, stopping and considering her with great attention, "this must be the princess jehaun-ara, whom fear has obliged to abandon her father's palace; or if it be not, she no less deserves my love." this said, he came forward, and discovering himself, approached the princess with profound reverence. "madam," said he, "i can never sufficiently thank heaven for the favour it has done me in presenting to my eyes so much beauty. a greater happiness could not have befallen me than this opportunity to offer you my services. i beseech you, therefore, madam, to accept them, it being impossible that a lady in this solitude should not want assistance." "true, my lord," replied jehaun-ara, sorrowfully; "it is not a little extraordinary for a lady of my quality to be in this situation. i am a princess, daughter of the king of samandal, and my name is jehaun-ara. i was at ease in my father's palace, in my apartment, when suddenly i heard a dreadful noise: news was immediately brought me, that king saleh, i know not for what reason, had forced the palace, seized the king my father, and murdered all the guards who made any resistance. i had only time to save myself, and escape hither from his violence." at these words king beder began to be concerned that he had quitted his grandmother so hastily, without staying to hear from her an explanation of the news that had been brought. but he was, on the other hand, overjoyed to find that the king his uncle had rendered himself master of the king of samandal's person, not doubting but he would consent to give up the princess for his liberty. "adorable princess," continued he, "your concern is most just, but it is easy to put an end both to that and your father's captivity. you will agree with me, when i shall tell you that i am beder, king of persia, and king saleh is my uncle: i assure you, madam, he has no design to seize the king your father's dominions; his only intention is to obtain your father's consent, that i may have the honour and happiness of being his son-in- law. i had already given my heart to you, upon the bare relation of your beauty and charms; and now, far from repenting, i beg of you to accept it, and to be assured that i will love you as long as i live. i dare flatter myself you will not refuse this favour, but be ready to acknowledge that a king, who quitted his dominions purely on your account, deserves some acknowledgment. permit me then, beauteous princess! to have the honour to present you to the king my uncle; and the king your father shall no sooner have consented to our marriage, than king saleh will leave him sovereign of his dominions as before." this declaration of king beder did not produce the effect he expected. it is true, the princess no sooner saw him, than his person, air, and the grace wherewith he accosted her, led her to regard him as one who would not have been disagreeable to her; but when she heard that he had been the occasion of all the ill treatment her father had suffered, of the grief and fright she had endured, and especially the necessity she was reduced to of flying her country; she looked upon him as an enemy with whom she ought to have no connection. whatever inclination she might have to agree to the marriage which he desired, she determined never to consent, reflecting that one of the reasons her father might have against this match might be, that king beder was son of a king of the earth. she would not, however, let king beder know her resentment; but sought an occasion to deliver herself dexterously out of his hands; and seeming in the meantime to have a great kindness for him, "are you then," said she, with all possible civility, "son of the queen gulnare, so famous for her wit and beauty? i am glad of it, and rejoice that you are the son of so worthy a mother. the king my father was much in the wrong so strongly to oppose our union: had he but seen you, he must have consented to make us happy." saying so, she reached forth her hand to him as a token of friendship. king beder, believing himself arrived at the very pinnacle of happiness, held forth his hand, and taking that of the princess, stooped down to kiss it, when she, pushing him back, and spitting in his face for want of water to throw at him, said, "wretch, quit the form of a man, and take that of a white bird, with a red bill and feet." upon her pronouncing these words, king beder was immediately changed into a bird of that description, to his great surprise and mortification. "take him," said she to one of her women, "and carry him to the dry island." this island was only one frightful rock, where not a drop of water was to be had. the waiting-woman took the bird, but in executing her princess's orders, had compassion on king beder's misfortune. "it would be great pity," said she to herself, "to let a prince so worthy to live die of hunger and thirst. the princess, who is good and gentle, will, it may be, repent of this cruel order, when she comes to herself; it were better that i carried him to a place where he may die a natural death." she accordingly carried him to a well-frequented island, and left him in a charming plain, planted with all sorts of fruit- trees, and watered by divers rivulets. let us return to king saleh. after he had sought for the princess jehaun-ara to no purpose, he caused the king of samandal to be shut up in his own palace, under a strong guard; and having given the necessary orders for governing the kingdom in his absence, returned to give the queen his mother an account of what he had done. the first question he asked on his arrival was, "where was the king his nephew?" and he learned with great surprise and vexation that he could not be found. "news being brought me," said the queen, "of the danger you were in at the palace of the king of samandal, whilst i was giving orders to send you other troops to avenge you, he disappeared. he must have been alarmed at hearing of your being in such great danger, and did not think himself in sufficient security with us." this news exceedingly afflicted king saleh, who now repented being so easily wrought upon by king beder as to carry him away with him without his mother's consent. he sent everywhere to seek for him, but could hear no tidings of him; and instead of the joy he felt at having carried on so far the marriage, which he looked upon as his own work, his grief for this accident was more mortifying. whilst he was under this suspense about his nephew, he left his kingdom under the administration of his mother, and went to govern that of the king of samandal, whom he continued to keep with great vigilance, though with all due respect to his character. the same day that king saleh returned to the kingdom of samandal, queen gulnare arrived at the court of the queen her mother. the princess was not at all surprised to find her son did not return the same day he set out: it being not uncommon for him to go farther than he proposed in the heat of the chase; but when she saw he neither returned the next day, nor the day after, she began to be alarmed, as may easily be imagined from her affection for him. this alarm was augmented, when the officers, who had accompanied the king, and were obliged to return after they had for a long time sought in vain both for him and his uncle, came and told her majesty they must of necessity have come to some harm, or must be together in some place which they could not guess; since, notwithstanding all the diligence they had used, they could hear no tidings of them. their horses indeed they had found, but as for their persons, they knew not where to look for them. the queen hearing this, had resolved to dissemble and conceal her affliction, bidding the officers to search once more with their utmost diligence; but in the meantime she plunged into the sea, to satisfy herself as to the suspicion she had entertained that king saleh must have carried his nephew with him. this great queen would have been more affectionately received by her mother, had she not, on first seeing her, guessed the occasion of her coming. "daughter," said she, "i plainly perceive you are not come hither to visit me; you come to inquire after the king your son; and the only news i can tell you will augment both your grief and mine. i no sooner saw him arrive in our territories, than i rejoiced; yet when i came to understand he had come away without your knowledge, i began to participate with you the concern you must needs suffer." then she related to her with what zeal king saleh went to demand the princess jehaun-ara in marriage for king beder, and what had happened, till her son disappeared. "i have sought diligently after him," added she, "and the king my son, who is but just gone to govern the kingdom of samandal, has done all that lay in his power. all our endeavours have hitherto proved unsuccessful, but we must hope nevertheless to see him again, perhaps when we least expect it." queen gulnare was not satisfied with this hope: she looked upon the king her son as lost, and lamented him bitterly, laying all the blame on the king his uncle. the queen her mother made her consider the necessity of not yielding too much to grief. "the king your brother," said she, "ought not, it is true, to have talked to you so inconsiderately about that marriage, nor ever have consented to carry away the king my grandson, without acquainting you; yet, since it is not certain that the king of persia is absolutely lost, you ought to neglect nothing to preserve his kingdom for him: lose then no more time, but return to your capital; your presence there will be necessary, and it will not be difficult for you to preserve the public peace, by causing it to be published, that the king of persia was gone to visit his grandmother." this was sufficient to oblige queen gulnare to yield. she took leave of the queen her mother, and returned to the palace of the capital of persia before she had been missed. she immediately despatched persons to recall the officers she had sent after the king, to tell them that she knew where his majesty was, and that they should soon see him again. she also caused the same report to be spread throughout the city, and governed, in concert with the prime minister and council, with the same tranquillity as if the king had been present. to return to king beder, whom the princess jehaun-ara's waiting-woman had left in the island before mentioned; that monarch was not a little surprised when he found himself alone, and under the form of a bird. he esteemed himself yet more unhappy, in that he knew not where he was, or in what part of the world the kingdom of persia lay. but if he had known, and had tried the force of his wings, to hazard the traversing so many extensive watery regions, and had reached it, what could he have gained, but the mortification to continue still in the same form, and not to be accounted even a man, much less acknowledged king of persia? he was forced to remain where he was, live upon such food as birds of his kind were wont to have, and to pass the night on a tree. a few days afterwards, a peasant, skilled in taking birds with nets, chanced to come to the place where he was; when perceiving so fine a bird, the like of which he had never seen, though he had followed that employment for a long while, he began greatly to rejoice. he employed all his art to ensnare him; and at length succeeded and took him. overjoyed at so great a prize, which he looked upon to be of more worth than all the other birds he commonly took, he shut it up in a cage, and carried it to the city. as soon as he was come into the market, a citizen stops him, and asked how much he would have for his bird? instead of answering, the peasant demanded of the citizen what he would do with him in case he should buy him? "what wouldst thou have me to do with him," answered the citizen, "but roast and eat him?" "if that be the case," replied the peasant, "i suppose you would think me very well paid, if you should give me the smallest piece of silver for him. i set a much higher value upon him, and you should not have him for a piece of gold. although i am advanced in years, i never saw such a bird in my life. i intend to make a present of him to the king; he will know its value better than you." without staying any longer in the market, the peasant went directly to the palace, and placed himself exactly before the king's apartment. his majesty, being at a window where he could see all that passed in the court, no sooner cast his eyes on this beautiful bird, than he sent an officer of his eunuchs to buy it for him. the officer going to the peasant, demanded of him how much he would have for the bird? "if it be for his majesty," answered the. peasant, "i humbly beg of him to accept it of me as a present, and i desire you to carry it to him." the officer took the bird to the king, who found it so great a rarity, that he ordered the same officer to take ten pieces of gold, and carry them to the peasant, who departed very well satisfied. the king ordered the bird to be put into a magnificent cage, and gave it corn and water in rich vessels. the king being then ready to mount on horseback to go a hunting, had not time to consider the bird, therefore had it brought to him as soon as he returned. the officer brought the cage, and the king, that he might the better view the bird, took it out himself; and perched it upon his hand. looking earnestly upon it, he demanded of the officer, if he had seen it eat. "sir," replied the officer, "your majesty may observe the vessel with his food is still full, and i have not observed that he has touched any of it." then the king ordered him meat of divers sorts, that he might take what he liked best. the table being spread, and dinner served up just as the king had given these orders, as soon as the dishes were placed, the bird, clapping his wings, leaped off the king's hand, flew upon the table, where he began to peck the bread and victuals, sometimes on one plate and sometimes on another. the king was so surprised that he immediately sent the officer of the eunuchs to desire the queen to come and see this wonder. the officer related it to her majesty, and she came forthwith; but she no sooner saw the bird, than she covered her face with her veil, and would have retired. the king, surprised at her proceeding, as there was none present in the chamber but the eunuchs and the women who attended her, asked the reason of her conduct. "sir," answered the queen, "your majesty will no longer be surprised, when you understand, that this is not as you suppose a bird, but a man." "madam," said the king, more astonished than before, "you mean to banter me; but you shall never persuade me that a bird can be a man." "sir," replied the queen, "far be it from me to banter your majesty; nothing is more certain than what i have had the honour to tell you. i can assure your majesty, it is the king of persia, named beder, son of the celebrated gulnare, princess of one of the largest kingdoms of the sea, nephew of saleh, king of that kingdom, and grandson of queen farasche, mother of gulnare and saleh; and it was the princess jehaun-ara, daughter of the king of samandal, who thus metamorphosed him into a bird." that the king might no longer doubt of what she affirmed, she told him the whole story, and stated that the princess jehaun-ara had thus revenged herself for the ill treatment which king saleh had used towards the king of samandal her father. the king had the less difficulty to believe this assertion of the queen, as he knew her to be a skilful magician. and as she knew everything which passed in every part of the world, he was always by her means timely informed of the designs of the kings his neighbours against him, and prevented them. his majesty had compassion on the king of persia, and earnestly besought his queen to break the enchantment, that he might return to his own form. the queen consented with great willingness. "sir," said she to the king, "be pleased to take the bird into your closet, and i will shew you a king worthy of the consideration you have for him." the bird, which had ceased eating, and attended to what the king and queen said, would not give his majesty the trouble to take him, but hopped into the closet before him; and the queen came in soon after, with a vessel full of water in her hand. she pronounced over the vessel some words unknown to the king, till the water began to boil; when she took some of it in her hand, and sprinkling a little upon the bird, said, "by virtue of those holy and mysterious words i have just pronounced, and in the name of the creator of heaven and earth, who raises the dead, and supports the universe, quit the form of a bird, and re-assume that received from thy creator." the words were scarcely out of the queen's mouth, when, instead of a bird, the king saw a young prince of good shape, air, and mien. king beder immediately fell on his knees, and thanked god for the favour that had been bestowed upon him. he then took the king's hand, who helped him up, and kissed it in token of gratitude; but the king embraced him with great joy, and testified to him the satisfaction he had to see him. he would then have made his acknowledgments to the queen, but she was already retired to her apartment. the king made him sit at the table with him, and prayed him to relate how the princess jehaun-ara could have the inhumanity to transform into a bird so amiable a prince; and the king of persia immediately satisfied him. when he had ended, the king, provoked at the proceeding of the princess, could not help blaming her. "it was commendable," said he, "in the princess of samandal not to be insensible of the king her father's ill treatment; but to carry her vengeance so far, and especially against a prince who was not culpable, was what she could never be able to ,justify herself for. but let us have done with this subject, and tell me, i beseech you, in what i can farther serve you." "sir," answered king beder, "my obligation to your majesty is so great, that i ought to remain with you all my life to testify my gratitude; but since your majesty sets no limits to your generosity, i entreat you to grant me one of your ships to transport me to persia, where i fear my absence, which has been but too long, may have occasioned some disorder, and that the queen my mother, from whom i concealed my departure, may be distracted under the uncertainty whether i am alive or dead." the king readily granted what he desired, and immediately gave orders for equipping one of his largest ships, and the best sailors in his numerous fleet. the ship was soon furnished with all its complement of men, provisions, and ammunition; and as soon as the wind became fair, king beder embarked, after having taken leave of the king, and thanked him for all his favours. the ship sailed before the wind for ten days together, but on the eleventh the wind changed, and there followed a furious tempest. the ship was not only driven out of its course, but so violently tossed, that all its masts were brought by the board; and driving along at the pleasure of the wind, it at length struck against a rock and bulged. the greatest part of the people were instantly drowned. some few were saved by swimming, and others by getting on pieces of the wreck. king beder was among the latter, when, after having been tossed about for some time by the waves and torrents, under great uncertainty of his fate, he at length perceived himself near the shore, and not far from a city that seemed of great extent. he exerted his remaining strength to reach the land, and was at length so fortunate as to be able to touch the ground with his feet. he immediately abandoned his piece of wood, which had been of such great service to him; but when he came pretty near the shore, was greatly surprised to see horses, camels, mules, asses, oxen, cows, bulls, and other animals crowding to the shore, and putting themselves in a posture to oppose his landing. he had the utmost difficulty to conquer their obstinacy and force his way, but at length he succeeded, and sheltered himself among the rocks till he had recovered his breath, and dried his clothes in the sun. when the prince advanced to enter the city, he met with the same opposition from these animals, who seemed to intend to make him forego his design, and give him to understand it was dangerous to proceed. king beder, however, entered the city, and saw many fair and spacious streets, but was surprised to find no human beings. this made him think it was not without cause that so many animals had opposed his passage. going forward, nevertheless, he observed divers shops open, which gave him reason to believe the place was not so destitute of inhabitants as he imagined. he approached one of these shops, where several sorts of fruits were exposed for sale, and saluted very courteously an old man who was sitting within. the old man, who was busy about something, lifted up his head, and seeing a youth who had an appearance of grandeur in his air, started, asked him whence he came, and what business had brought him there? king beder satisfied him in a few words; and the old man farther asked him if he had met anybody on the road? "you are the first person i have seen," answered the king, "and i cannot comprehend how so fine and large a city comes to be without inhabitants." "come in, sir; stay no longer upon the threshold," replied the old man, "or peradventure some misfortune may happen to you. i will satisfy your curiosity at leisure, and give you a reason why it is necessary you should take this precaution." king beder entered the shop, and sat down by the old man. the latter, who had received from him an account of his misfortunes, knew he must want nourishment, therefore immediately presented him what was necessary to recover his strength; and although king beder was very earnest to know why he had taken the precaution to make him enter the shop, he would nevertheless not be prevailed upon to tell him anything till he had done eating, for fear the sad things he had to relate might spoil his appetite. when he found he ate no longer, he said to him, "you have great reason to thank god that you got hither without any accident." "alas! why?" demanded king beder, much surprised and alarmed. "because," answered he, "this city is the city of enchantments, and is governed by a queen, who is not only one of the finest of her sex, but likewise a notorious and dangerous sorceress. you will be convinced of this," added he, "when you know that these horses, mules, and other animals which you have seen, are so many men, like ourselves, whom she has transformed by her diabolical art. and when young men, like you, enter the city, she has persons planted to stop and bring them, either by fair means or force, before her. she receives them in the most obliging manner; caresses them, regales them, lodges them magnificently, and gives them so many reasons to believe that she loves them, that she never fails of success. but she does not suffer them long to enjoy this happiness. there is not one of them but she has transformed into some animal or bird at the end of forty days. you told me all these animals presented themselves to oppose your landing, and hinder you entering the city. this was the only way in which they could make you comprehend the danger you were going to expose yourself to, and they did all in their power to prevent you." this account exceedingly afflicted the young king of persia: "alas!" cried he, "to what extremities has my ill fortune reduced me! i am hardly freed from one enchantment, which i look back upon with horror, but i find myself exposed to another much more terrible." this gave him occasion to relate his story to the old man more at length, and to acquaint him of his birth, quality, his passion for the princess of samandal, .and her cruelty in changing him into a bird the very moment he had seen her and declared his love to her. when the prince came to speak of his good fortune in finding a queen who broke the enchantment, the old man to encourage him said, "notwithstanding all i have told you of the magic queen is true, that ought not to give you the least disquiet, since i am generally beloved throughout the city, and am not unknown to the queen herself, who has much respect for me; therefore it was your peculiar good fortune which led you to address yourself to me rather than to anyone else. you are secure in my house, where i advise you to continue, if you think fit; and, provided you .do not stray from hence, i dare assure you, you will have no just cause to complain of my insincerity." king beder thanked the old man for his kind reception, and the protection he was pleased so readily to afford him. he sat down at the entrance of the shop, where he no sooner appeared, but his youth and good person attracted the eyes of all who passed that way. many stopped and complimented the old man on his having acquired so fine a slave, as they imagined the king to be; and they were the more surprised as they could not comprehend how so beautiful a youth could escape the queen's knowledge. "believe not," said the old man, "this is a slave: you all know that i am not rich enough nor of rank to have one of this consequence. he is my nephew, son of a brother of mine who is dead; and as i had no children of my own, i sent for him to keep me company." they congratulated his good fortune in having so fine a young man for his relation; but could not help telling him they feared the queen would take him from him. "you know her well," said they to him, "and you cannot be ignorant of the danger to which you are exposed, after all the examples you have seen. how grieved would you be if she should serve him as she has done so many others whom we knew." "i am obliged to you," replied the old man, "for your good will towards me, and i heartily thank you for the care you seem to take of my interest; but i shall never entertain the least thought that the queen will do me any injury, after all the kindness she has professed for me. in case she happens to hear of this young man, and speaks to me about him, i doubt not she will cease to think of him, as soon as she comes to know he is my nephew." the old man was exceedingly glad to hear the commendations they bestowed on the young king of persia. he was as much affected with them as if he had been his own son, and he conceived a kindness for him, which augmented every day during the stay he made with him. they had lived about a month together, when, as king beder was sitting at the shop-door, after his ordinary manner, queen labe (so was this magic queen named) happened to come by with great pomp. the young king no sooner perceived the guards advancing before her, than he arose, and going into the shop, asked the old man what all that show meant. "the queen is coming by," answered he, "but stand still and fear nothing." the queen's guards, clothed in purple uniform, and well armed and mounted, marched to the number of a thousand in four files, with their sabres drawn, and every one of their officers, as they passed by the shop, saluted the old man. then followed a like number of eunuchs, habited in brocaded silk, and better mounted, whose officers did the old man the like honour. next came as many young ladies on foot, equally beautiful, richly dressed, and ornamented with precious stones. they marched gravely, with half pikes in their hands; and in the midst of them appeared queen labe, on a horse glittering with diamonds, with a golden saddle, and a housing of inestimable value. all the young ladies saluted the old man as they passed him; and the queen, struck with the good mien of king beder, stopped as soon as she came before the shop. "abdallah," (so was the old man named) said she to him, "tell me, i beseech thee, does that beautiful and charming slave belong to thee? and hast thou long been in possession of him?" abdallah, before he answered the queen, threw himself on the ground, and rising again, said, "madam, he is my nephew, son of a brother, who has not long been dead. having no children, i look upon him as my son, and sent for him to come and comfort me, intending to leave him what i have when i die." queen labe, who had never yet seen any one to compare with king beder, began to conceive a passion for him, and thought immediately of getting the old man to abandon him to her. "father," said she, "will you not oblige me so far as to make me a present of this young man? do not refuse me, i conjure you; and i swear by the fire and the light, i will make him so great and powerful, that no individual in the world ever arrived at such good fortune. although my purpose be to do evil to all mankind, he shall be an exception. i trust you will grant me what i desire, more on account of the friendship i am assured you have for me, than for the esteem you know i always had, and shall ever have for you." "madam," replied the good abdallah, "i am infinitely obliged to your majesty for all the kind- ness you have for me, and the honours you propose to do my nephew. he is not worthy to approach so great a queen, and i humbly beseech your majesty to excuse him." "abdallah," replied the queen, "i all along flattered myself you loved me, and i could never have thought you would have shewn me so much disrespect as to slight my request. but i here swear once more by the fire and light, and even by whatsoever is most sacred in my religion, that i will pass on no farther till i have conquered your obstinacy. i understand well what raises your apprehensions; but i promise, you shall never have any occasion to repent having obliged me in so sensible a manner." old abdallah was exceeding grieved, both on his own account and king beder's, at being in a manner forced to obey the queen. "madam," replied he, "i would not willingly have your majesty entertain an ill opinion of the respect i have for you, and my zeal always to contribute whatever i can to oblige you. i put entire confidence in your royal word, and i do not in the least doubt you will keep it. i only beg of your majesty, to delay doing this great honour to my nephew till you shall again pass this way." "that shall be to-morrow," said the queen; who inclined her head, as a token of her being pleased, and so went forward towards her palace. when queen labe and all her attendants were out of sight, the good abdallah said to king beder, "son" (for so he was wont to call him, for fear of some time or other discovering him when he spoke of him in public), "it has not been in my power, as you may have observed, to refuse the queen what she demanded of me with so much earnestness, to the end i might not force her to employ her magic against both you and myself openly or secretly, and treat you as much from resentment to you as to me with more signal cruelty than all those she has had in her power, as i have already told you. but i have some reason to believe she will use you well, as she promised me, on account of that particular esteem she professes for me. this you may have seen by the respect shewn, and the honours paid, me by all her court. she would be a vile creature indeed, if she should deceive me; but she shall not deceive me unpunished, for i know how to revenge myself." these assurances, which appeared very doubtful, were not sufficient to support king beder's spirits. "after all you have told me of this queen's wickedness," replied he, "you cannot wonder if i am somewhat fearful to approach her: i should, it may be, slight all you could tell me of her, and suffer myself to be dazzled by the lustre of grandeur that surrounds her, did i not know by experience what it is to be at the mercy of a sorceress. the condition i was in, through the enchantment of the princess jehaun-ara, and from which i was delivered only to fall almost immediately into the power of another, has made me look upon such a fate with horror." his tears hindered him from going on, and sufficiently shewed with what repugnance he beheld himself under the fatal necessity of being delivered to queen labe. "son," replied old abdallah, "do not afflict yourself; for though i must own, there is no great stress to be laid upon the promises and oaths of so perfidious a queen, yet i must withal acquaint you, her power extends not to me. she knows this full well; and that is the reason, and no other, why she pays me so much respect. i can quickly hinder her from doing you the least harm, if she should be perfidious enough to attempt it. you may depend upon me, and, provided you follow exactly the advice i shall give you, before i abandon you to her, she shall have no more power over you than she has over myself." the magic queen did not fail to pass by the old man's shop the next day, with the same pomp as the preceding, and abdallah waited for her with great respect. "father," cried she, "you may judge of my impatience to have your nephew with me, by my punctually coming to remind you of your promise. i know you are a man of your word, and i cannot think you will break it with me." abdallah, who fell on his face as soon as he saw the queen approaching, rose up when she had done speaking; and as he would have no one hear what he had to say to her, he advanced with great respect as far as her horse's head, and then said softly, "puissant queen! i am persuaded your majesty will not be offended at my seeming unwillingness to trust my nephew with you yesterday, since you cannot be ignorant of the reasons i had for it; but i conjure you to lay aside the secrets of that art which you possess in so wonderful a degree. i regard my nephew as my own son; and your majesty would reduce me to despair, if you should deal with him as you have done with others." "i promise you i will not," replied the queen; "and i once more repeat the oath i made yesterday, that neither you nor your nephew shall have any cause to be offended at me. i see plainly," added she, "you are not yet well enough acquainted with me; you never saw me yet but through my veil; but as i find your nephew deserving of my friendship, i will shew you i am not any ways unworthy of his." with that she threw off her veil, and discovered to king beder, who came near her with abdallah, an incomparable beauty. but king beder was little charmed: "it is not enough," said he within himself, "to be beautiful; one's actions ought to correspond in regularity with one's features." whilst king beder was making these reflections with his eyes fixed on queen labe, the old man turned towards him, and taking him by the arm, presented him to her: "madam," said he, "i beg of your majesty once more to remember he is my nephew, and to let him come and see me sometimes." the queen promised he should; and to give a further mark of her gratitude, she caused a bag of a thousand pieces of gold to be given him. he excused himself at first from receiving them, but she insisted absolutely upon it, and he could not refuse. she had caused a horse to be brought as richly caparisoned as her own, for the king of persia. whilst he was mounting, "i forgot," said the queen to abdallah, "to ask you your nephew's name; pray how is he called?" he answering his name was beder (the full moon), her majesty replied, "surely your ancestors were mistaken, they ought to have given you the name of shems (the sun)." when king beder was mounted, he would have taken his station behind the queen, but she would not suffer him, and made him ride on her left hand. she looked at abdallah, and after having made him an inclination with her head, departed. instead of observing a satisfaction in the people's faces, at the sight of their sovereign, king beder took notice that they looked at her with contempt, and even cursed her. "the sorceress," said some, "has got a new subject to exercise her wickedness upon; will heaven never deliver the world from her tyranny?" "poor stranger!" exclaimed others, "thou art much deceived, if thou thinkest thy happiness will last long. it is only to render thy fall more terrible, that thou art raised so high." these exclamations gave king beder to understand abdallah had told him nothing but the truth of queen labe; but as it now depended no longer on himself to escape the mischief, he committed himself to the will of heaven. the magic queen arrived at her palace, immediately alighted, and giving her hand to king beder, entered with him, accompanied by her women and the officers of her eunuchs. she herself shewed him all her apartments, where there was nothing to be seen but massive gold, precious stones, and furniture of wonderful magnificence. when she had carried him into her closet, she led him out into a balcony, from whence he observed a garden of surprising beauty. king beder commended all he saw, but nevertheless so that he might not be discovered to be any other than old abdallah's nephew. they discoursed of indifferent matters, till the queen was informed that dinner was served. the queen and king beder arose, and went to place themselves at the table, which was of massive gold, and the dishes of the same metal. they began to eat, but drank hardly at all till the dessert came, when the queen caused a cup to be filled for her with excellent wine. she took it and drank to king beder's health; then without putting it out of her hand, caused it to be filled again, and presented it to him. king beder received it with profound respect, and by a very low bow signified to her majesty that he in return drank to her health. at the same time, ten of queen labe's women entered with musical instruments, with which and their voices they made an agreeable concert, while they continued drinking till late at night. at length both began so to be heated with wine; that king beder insensibly forgot he had to do with a magic queen, and looked upon her only as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. as soon as the queen perceived she had wrought him to the pitch she desired, she made a sign to her eunuchs and women to retire. next morning the queen and king beder went to the bath; the women who had served the king there, presented him with fine linen and a magnificent habit. the queen likewise, who was more splendidly dressed than the day before, came to receive him, and they went together to her apartments, where they had a repast brought them, and spent the remainder of the day in walking in the garden and in various other amusements. queen labe treated king beder after this manner for forty days, as she had been accustomed to do all her lovers. the fortieth night, as they were in bed together, she, believing he was really asleep, arose without making any noise; but he was awake, and perceiving she had some design upon him watched all her motions. being up, she opened a chest, from whence she took a little box full of a yellow powder; taking some of the powder, she iaid a train of it across the chamber, and it immediately flowed in a rivulet of water, to the great astonishment of king beder. he trembled with fear, but still pretended to sleep. queen labe next took up some of the water in a vessel, poured it into a basin that contained some flour; with which she made a paste, and kneaded it for a long time: then she mixed with it certain drugs which she took from different boxes, and made a cake, which she put into a covered baking-pan. as she had taken care first of all to make a good fire, she took some of the coals, and set the pan upon them; and while the cake was baking, she put up the vessels and boxes in their places again; and on her pronouncing certain words, the rivulet disappeared. when the cake was baked, she took it off the coals, carried it into her closet, and afterwards returned to king beder, who dissembled so well, that she had not the least suspicion of his having seen what she had done. king beder, whom the pleasures and amusements of a court had made to forget his good host abdallah, began now to think of him again, and believed he had more than ordinary occasion for his advice, after all he had seen the queen do that night. as soon as he was up, therefore, he expressed a great desire to go and see his uncle, and begged of her majesty to permit him. "what! my dear beder," cried the queen, "are you then already tired, i will not say with living in so superb a palace as mine is, where you must find so many pleasures, but with the company of a queen, who loves you so passionately as i do, and has given you so many marks of affection?" "great queen!" answered king beder, "how can i be tired of so many favours and graces as your majesty perpetually heaps upon me? so far from it, i desire this permission, madam, purely to go and give my uncle an account of the mighty obligations i have to your majesty. i must own, likewise, that my uncle loving me so tenderly, as i well know he does, having been absent from him now forty days, i would not give him reason to think, that i consent to remain longer without seeing him." "go," said the queen, "you have my consent; but you will not be long before you return, if you consider i cannot possibly live without you." this said, she ordered him a horse richly caparisoned, and he departed. old abdallah was overjoyed to see king beder. without regard to his quality, he embraced him tenderly, and king beder returned his embrace, that nobody might doubt but that he was his nephew. as soon as they were sat down, "well," said abdallah to the king, "and how have you passed your time with that abominable sorceress" "hitherto," answered king beder, "i must needs own she has been extraordinarily kind to me, and has done all she could to persuade me that she loves me faithfully; but i observed something last night, which gives me just reason to suspect that all her kindness was but dissimulation. whilst she thought me asleep, although i was really awake, she stole from me with a great deal of precaution, which made me suspect her intention, and therefore i resolved to watch her, still feigning myself asleep." he then related to abdallah in what manner he had seen her make the cake; and then added, "hitherto," said he, "i must needs confess, i had almost forgotten, not only you, but all the advice you gave me concerning the wickedness of this queen; but this last action of hers gives me reason to fear she intends to observe none of her promises or solemn oaths .to you. i thought of you immediately, and i esteem myself happy that i have obtained permission to come to you." "you are not mistaken," replied old abdallah with a smile, which showed he did not himself believe she would have acted otherwise; "nothing is capable of obliging a perfidious woman to amend. but fear nothing. i know how to make the mischief she intends you fall upon herself. you are alarmed in time; and you could not have done better than to have recourse to me. it is her ordinary practice to keep her lovers only forty days; and after that time, instead of seeding them home, to turn them into animals, to stock her forests and parks; but i thought of measures yesterday to prevent her doing you the same harm. the earth has borne this monster long enough, and it is now high time she should be treated as she deserves." so saying, abdallah put two cakes into king beder's hands, bidding him keep them to be used as he should direct. "you told me," continued he, "the sorceress made a cake last night; it was for you to eat; but do not touch it. nevertheless, do not refuse to receive it, when she offers it you; but instead of tasting it, break off part of one of the two i shall give you, unobserved, and eat that. as soon as she thinks you have swallowed it, she will not fail to attempt transforming you into some animal, but she shall not succeed; when she sees that she has failed, she will immediately turn her proceeding into pleasantry, as if what she had done was only out of joke to frighten you; but she will conceal a mortal grief in her heart, and think she has omitted something in the composition of her cake. as for the other cake, you shall make a present of it to her, and press her to eat it; which she will not refuse to do, were it only to convince you she does not mistrust you, though she has given you so much reason to mistrust her. when she has eaten of it, take a little water in the hollow of your hand, and throwing it in her face, say, "quit that form you now wear, and take that of such or such animal," as you shall think fit; which done, come to me with the animal, and i will tell you what you shall do afterwards." king beder expressed to abdallah, in the warmest terms, his great obligations to him, for his endeavours to defend him from the power of a pestilent sorceress; and after some further conversation took his leave of him, and returned to the palace. upon his arrival, he understood that the queen waited for him with great impatience in the garden. he went to her, and she no sooner perceived him, than she came in great haste to meet him. "my dear beder!" exclaimed she, "it is said, with a great deal of reason, that nothing more forcibly shews the excess of love than absence from the object beloved. i have had no quiet since i saw you, and it seems ages since i have been separated from you. if you had stayed ever so little longer, i was preparing to come and fetch you once more to my arms." "madam," replied king beder, "i can assure your majesty, i was no less impatient to rejoin you; but i could not refuse to stay with an uncle who loves me, and had not seen me for so long a time. he would have kept me still longer, but i tore myself away from him, to come where love calls me. of all the collations he prepared for me, i have only brought away this cake, which i desire your majesty to accept." king beder, having wrapped up one of the two cakes in a handkerchief, took it out, and presented it to the queen, saying, "i beg your majesty to accept of it." "i do accept it with all my heart," replied the queen, receiving it, "and will eat it with pleasure for yours and your good uncle's sake; but before i taste of it, i desire you will, for my sake, eat a piece of this, which i have made for you during your absence." "fair queen," answered king beder, receiving it with great respect, "such hands as your majesty's can never make anything but what is excellent, and i cannot sufficiently acknowledge the favour you do me." king beder then artfully substituted in the place of the queen's cake the other which old abdallah had given him, and having broken off a piece, he put it in his mouth, and cried, while he was eating, "ah! queen, i never tasted anything so excellent in my life." they being near a cascade, the sorceress seeing him swallow one bit of the cake, and ready to eat another, took a little water in the palm of her hand, and throwing it in the king's face, said, "wretch! quit that form ofa man, and take that of a vile horse, blind and lame." these words not having the desired effect, the sorceress was strangely surprised to find king beder still in the same form, and that he only started for fear. her cheeks reddened; and as she saw that she had missed her aim, "dear beder," cried she, "this is nothing; recover yourself. i did not intend you any harm; i only did it to see what you would say. i should be the most miserable and most execrable of women, should i attempt so black a deed; not only on account of all the oaths i have sworn, but also of the many testimonies of love i have given you." "puissant queen," replied king beder, "persuaded as i am, that what your majesty did was only to divert yourself, i could not help being surprised. what could hinder me from being a little moved at the pronouncing of so strange a transformation? but, madam," continued he, "let us drop this discourse; and since i have eaten of your cake, would you do me the favour to taste mine?" queen labe, who could not better justify herself than by showing this mark of confidence in the king of persia, broke off a piece of his cake and ate it. she had no sooner swallowed it than she appeared much troubled, and remained as it were motionless. king beder lost no time, but took water out of the same basin, and throwing it in her face, cried, "abominable sorceress ! quit the form of woman, and be turned instantly into a mare." the same moment, queen labe was transformed into a very beautiful mare; and her confusion was so great to find herself in that condition, that she shed tears in great abundance. she bowed her head to the feet of king beder, thinking to move him to compassion; but though he could have been so moved, it was absolutely out of his power to repair the mischief he had done. he led her into the stable belonging to the palace, and put her into the hands of a groom, to bridle and saddle; but of all the bridles which the groom tried upon her, not one would fit. this made him cause two horses to be saddled, one for the groom and the other for himself; and the groom led the mare after him to old abdallah's. abdallah seeing at a distance king beder coming with the mare, doubted not but he had done what he had advised him. "cursed sorceress!" said he immediately to himself in a transport of joy, "heaven has at length punished thee as thou deservest." king beder alighted at abdallah's door and entered with him into the shop, embracing and thanking him for all the signal services he had done him. he related to him the whole matter, with all its circumstances, and moreover told him, he could find no bridle fit for the mare. abdallah bridled the mare himself, and as soon as king beder had sent back the groom with the two horses, he said to him, "my lord, you have no reason to stay any longer in this city: mount the mare, and return to your kingdom. i have but one thing more to recommend to you; and that is, if you should ever happen to part with the mare, be sure not to give up the bridle." king beder promised to remember this; and having taken leave of the good old man, he departed. the young king of persia had no sooner got out of the city, than he began to reflect with joy on his deliverance, and that he had the sorceress in his power, who had given him so much cause to tremble. three days after he arrived at a great city, where, entering the suburbs, he met a venerable old man, walking towards a pleasure- house. "sir," said the old man, stopping him, "may i presume to ask from what part of the world you come?" the king halted to satisfy him, and as they were conversing together, an old woman came up; who, stopping likewise, wept and sighed heavily at the sight of the mare. king beder and the old man left off discoursing, to look at the old woman, whom the king asked, what cause she had to be so much afflicted? "alas ! sir," replied she, "it is because your mare resembles so perfectly one my son had, and which i still mourn the loss of on his account, and should think yours were the same, did i not know she was dead. sell her to me, i beseech you; i will give you more than she is worth and thank you too.' "good woman," replied king beder, "i am heartily sorry i cannot comply with your request: my mare is not to be sold." "alas! sir," continued the old woman, "do not refuse me this favour for the love of god. my son and i shall certainly die with grief, if you do not grant it." "good mother," replied the king, "i would grant it with all my heart, if i were disposed to part with so good a beast; but if i were so disposed, i believe you would hardly give a thousand pieces of gold for her, and i could not sell her for less." "why should i not give so much?" replied the old woman: "if that be the lowest price, you need only say you will take it, and i will fetch you the money." king beder, seeing the old woman so poorly dressed, could not imagine she could find such a sum; and said, to try her, "go, fetch me the money, and the mare is yours." the old woman immediately unloosed a purse she carried fastened to her girdle, and desiring him to alight, bade him tell over the money, and in case he found it came short of the sum demanded, she said her house was not far off; and she could quickly fetch the rest. the surprise of king beder, at the sight of the purse, was not small. "good woman," said he, "do you not perceive i have bantered you all this while? i assure you my mare is not to be sold." the old man, who had been witness to all that had passed, now began to speak. "son," said he to king beder, "it is necessary you should know one thing, which i find you are ignorant of; and that is, that in this city it is not permitted to any one to tell a lie, on any account whatsoever, on pain of death. you cannot refuse taking this good woman's money, and delivering your mare, when she gives you the sum according to the agreement; and this you had better do without any noise, than expose yourself to what may ensue." king beder, mortified to find himself thus trapped by his rash proffer, alighted with great regret. the old woman stood ready to seize the reins, immediately unbridled the mare, and taking some water in her hand, from a stream that ran in the middle of the street, threw it in the mare's face, uttering these words, "daughter, quit that strange shape, and re-assume thy own." the transformation was effected in a moment, and king beder, who swooned as soon as he saw queen labe appear, would have fallen to the ground, if the old man had not hindered him. the old woman, who was the mother of queen labe, and had instructed her in all her magic secrets, had no sooner embraced her daughter, than to shew her fury, she in an instant by whistling, caused to rise a genie of a gigantic form and stature. this genie immediately took king beder on one shoulder, and the old woman with the magic queen on the other, and transported them in a few minutes to the palace of queen labe in the city of enchantments. the magic queen immediately fell upon king beder, reproaching him violently. "is it thus," said she, "ungrateful wretch! that thy unworthy uncle and thou repay me for all the kindnesses i have done you? i shall soon make you both feel what you deserve." she said no more, but taking water in her hand, threw it in his face with these words, "quit the form of man, and take that of an owl." these words were soon followed by the effect, and immediately she commanded one of her women to shut up the owl in a cage, and give him neither meat nor drink. the woman took the cage, but without regarding what the queen had ordered, gave him both meat and drink; and being old abdallah's friend, sent him word privately how the queen had treated his nephew, and apprised him of her design to destroy both him and king beder, that he might take measures to prevent her intentions, and secure himself. abdallah knew no common means would do with queen labe: he therefore whistled in a peculiar manner, and there immediately arose a giant, with four wings, who presenting himself before him, asked what he would have?" lightning," said abdallah to him (for so was the genie called), "i command you to preserve the life of king beder, son of queen gulnare. go to the palace of the magic queen, and transport immediately to the capital of persia the compassionate woman who has the cage in custody, to the end she may inform queen gulnare of the danger the king her son is in, and the occasion he has for her assistance. take care not to frighten her when you come before her, and acquaint her from me what she ought to do." lightning immediately disappeared, and in an instant reached the palace of the magic queen. he instructed the woman, lifted her up into the air, and transported her to the capital of persia, where he placed her on the terrace of gulnare's palace. she descended into her apartment, and there found queen gulnare and queen farasche her mother lamenting their mutual misfortunes. she made them a profound reverence, and by the relation she gave them, they soon understood the great need king beder had of their assistance. queen gulnare was so overjoyed at the news, that rising from her seat, she went and embraced the good woman, telling her how much she was obliged to her for the service she had done her. then going immediately out, she commanded the trumpets to sound, and the drums to beat, to acquaint the city, that the king of persia would suddenly return safe to his kingdom. she then went, and found king saleh her brother, whom farasche had caused to come speedily thither by a certain fumigation. "brother," said she to him, "the king your nephew, my dear son, is in the city of enchantments, under the power of queen labe. both you and i must go to deliver him, for there is no time to be lost." king saleh forthwith assembled a puissant body of his marine troops, who soon rose out of the sea. he also called to his assistance the genii his allies, who appeared with a much more numerous army than his own. as soon as the two armies were joined, he put himself at the head of them, with queen farasche, queen gulnare, and the princesses, who would all have their share in this enterprize. they then ascended into the air, and soon poured down on the palace and city of enchantments, where the magic queen, her mother, and all the adorers of fire, were destroyed in an instant. queen gulnare had ordered the woman who brought the account of queen labe's transforming and imprisoning her son, to follow her close, and bade her, in the confusion, go and seize the cage, and bring it to her. this order was executed as she wished, and queen gulnare was no sooner in possession of the cage, than she opened it, and took out the owl, saying, as she sprinkled a little water upon him, "my dear son, quit that strange form, and resume thy natural one of a man." in a moment queen gulnare, instead of the hideous owl, beheld king beder her son. she immediately embraced him with an excess of joy, her tears supplying more forcibly the place of words. she could not let him go; and queen farasche was obliged to force him from her in her turn. after her, he was likewise embraced by the king his uncle and his relations. queen gulnare's first care was to look out for old abdallah, to whom she had been obliged for the recovery of the king of persia; and who being brought to her, she said to him, "my obligations to you have been so great, that there is nothing within my power but i would freely do for you, as a token of my acknowledgment. do but inform me in what i can serve you." "great queen," replied abdallah, "if the lady whom i sent to your majesty will but consent to the marriage i offer her, and the king of persia will give me leave to reside at his court, i will spend the remainder of my days in his service." the queen then turned to the lady who was present, and finding by her modest shame that she was not averse to the match proposed, she caused them to join hands, and the king of persia and she took care of their fortune. this marriage occasioned the king of persia to speak thus to the queen: "madam," said he, "i am heartily glad of this match which your majesty has just made. there remains one more, which i desire you to think of." queen gulnare did not at first comprehend what marriage he meant; but after a little considering, she said, "of yours, you mean, son. i consent to it with all my heart." then turning, and looking at her brother's sea attendants, and the genii who were still present, "go," said she, "and traverse both sea and land, to seek the most lovely and amiable princess, worthy of the king my son, and when you have found her, come and tell us." "madam," replied king beder, "it is to no purpose for them to take all that trouble. you have no doubt heard that i have already given my heart to the princess of samandal upon the bare relation of her beauty. i have seen her, and do not repent of the present i then made her. in a word, neither earth nor sea, in my opinion, can furnish a princess like her. it is true upon my declaring my love, she treated me in a way that would have extinguished any flame less strong than mine. but i hold her excused; she could not treat me with less rigour, after your imprisoning the king her father, of which i was the innocent cause. but the king of samandal may, perhaps, have changed his resolution; and his daughter the princess may consent to love me, when she sees her father has agreed to it." "son," replied queen gulnare, "if only the princess jehaun-ara can make you happy, it is not my design to oppose you. the king your uncle need only have the king of samandal brought, and we shall see whether he be still of the same untractable temper." strictly as the king of samandal had been kept during his captivity by king saleh's orders, yet he always had great respect shewn him. king saleh caused a chafing-dish of coals to be brought, into which he threw a certain composition, uttering at the same time some mysterious words. as soon as the smoke began to arise, the palace shook, and immediately the king of samandal, with king saleh's officers, appeared. the king of persia cast himself at the king of samandal's feet, and, kneeling, said, "it is no longer king saleh that demands of your majesty the honour of your alliance for the king of persia; it is the king of persia himself that humbly begs that boon; and i persuade myself your majesty will not persist in being the cause of the death of a king, who can no longer live if he does not share life with the amiable princess jehaun-ara." the king of samandal did not long suffer the king of persia to remain at his feet. he embraced him, and obliging him to rise, said, "i shall be sorry to have contributed in the least to the death of a monarch who is so worthy to live. if it be true that so precious a life cannot be preserved without the possession of my daughter, live, sir, she is yours. she has always been obedient to my will, and i cannot think she will now oppose it." speaking these words, he ordered one of his officers, whom king saleh had permitted to attend him, to go for the princess, and bring her to him immediately. the princess continued where the king of persia had left her. the officer perceived her, and brought her soon with her women. the king of samandal embraced her, and said, "daughter, i have provided a husband for you; it is the king of persia, the most accomplished monarch at present in the universe. the preference he has given you over all other princesses obliges us both to express our gratitude." "sir," replied the princess jehaun-ara, "your majesty well knows i never have presumed to disobey your will: i shall always be ready to obey you; and i hope the king of persia will forget my ill treatment of him, and consider it was duty, not inclination, that forced me to it." the nuptials were celebrated in the palace of the city of enchantments, with the greatest solemnity, as all the lovers of the magic queen, who had resumed their pristine forms as soon as she ceased to live, assisted at them, and came to return their thanks to the king of persia, queen gulnare, and king saleh. they were all sons of kings, princes, or persons of high rank. king saleh conducted the king of samandal to his dominions, and put him again in possession of his throne. the king of persia, at the height of his wishes, returned to his capital with queen gulnare, queen farasche, and the princesses; the queen farasche and the princesses continued there till king saleh came to reconduct them to his kingdom under the waves of the sea. the history of prince zeyn alasnam and the sultan of the genii. a sultan of bussorah, who possessed great wealth, and was well beloved by his subjects, had no children, which occasioned him great affliction; and therefore he made presents to all the holy persons in his dominions, to engage them to beg a son for him of heaven: and their prayers being effectual, the queen proved with child, and was happily delivered of a prince who was named zeyn alasnam, which signifies ornament of the statues. the sultan caused all the astrologers in his kingdom to be assembled, and ordered them to calculate the infant's nativity. they found by their observations that he would live long, and be very brave; but that all his courage would be little enough to carry him through the misfortunes that threatened him. the sultan was not daunted at this prediction: "my son," said he, "is not to be pitied, since he will be brave: it is fit that princes should have a taste of misfortunes; for adversity tries virtue, and they are the better qualified to reign." he rewarded the astrologers, and dismissed them; and caused zeyn to be educated with the greatest care, appointing him able masters as soon as he was of age to receive their instructions. in short, he proposed to make him an accomplished prince, when on a sudden this good sultan fell sick of a disorder, which all the skill of his physicians could not cure. perceiving his disease was mortal, he sent for his son, and among other things advised him rather to endeavour to be loved, than to be feared by his people; not to give ear to flatterers; to be as slow in rewarding as in punishing, because it often happens that monarchs misled by false appearances, load wicked men with favours, and oppress the innocent. as soon as the sultan was dead, prince zeyn went into mourning, which he wore seven days, and on the eighth he ascended the throne, taking his father's seal off the royal treasury, and putting on his own, beginning thus to taste the sweets of ruling, the pleasure of seeing all his courtiers bow down before him, and make it their whole study to shew their zeal and obedience. in a word, the sovereign power was too agreeable to him. he only regarded what his subjects owed to him, without considering what was his duty towards them, and consequently took little care to govern them well. he revelled in all sorts of debauchery among the voluptuous youth, on whom he conferred the prime employments in the kingdom. he lost all command of his power. being naturally prodigal, he set no bounds to his grants, so that his women and his favourites insensibly drained his treasury. the queen his mother was still living, a discreet, wise princess. she had several times unsuccessfully tried to check her son's prodigality and debauchery, giving him to understand, that, if he did not soon take another course, he would not only squander his wealth, but also alienate the minds of his people, and occasion some revolution, which perhaps might cost him his crown and his life. what she had predicted had nearly happened: the people began to murmur against the government, and their murmurs had certainly been followed by a general revolt, had not the queen had the address to prevent it. that princess being acquainted with the ill posture of affairs, informed the sultan, who at last suffered himself to be prevailed upon. he committed the government to discreet aged men, who knew how to keep the people within the bounds of duty. zeyn, seeing all his wealth consumed, repented that he had made no better use of it. he fell into a profound melancholy, and nothing could comfort him. one night he saw in a dream a venerable old man coming towards him, who with a smiling countenance said, "know, zeyn, that there is no sorrow but what is followed by mirth, no misfortune but what in the end brings some happiness. if you desire to see the end of your affliction, set out for egypt, go to grand cairo, where great prosperity awaits you." the young sultan was struck with his dream, and spoke of it very seriously to his mother, who only laughed at it. "my son," said she to him, "would you go into egypt on the faith of an illusive dream?" "why not, madam," answered zeyn, "do you imagine all dreams are chimerical? no, no, some of them are mysterious. my preceptors have told me a thousand incidents, which will not permit me to doubt of it. besides, though i were not otherwise convinced, i could not forbear giving some credit to my dreams. the old man who appeared to me had something supernatural, he was not one of those men whom nothing but age makes venerable; there appeared a divine air about his person. in short, he was such a one as our great prophet is represented; and if you will have me tell you what i think, i believe it was he, who, pitying my affliction, designs to relieve it. i rely on the confidence he has inspired me with. i am full of his promises, and have resolved to follow his advice." the queen endeavoured to dissuade him, but in vain. the sultan committed to her the government of the kingdom, set out one night very privately from his palace, and took the road to cairo, without suffering any person to attend him. after much trouble and fatigue, he arrived at that famous city, like which there are few in the world, either for extent or beauty. he alighted at the gate of a mosque, where, being spent with weariness, he lay down. no sooner was he fallen asleep, than he saw the same old man, who said to him, "i am pleased with you, my son, you have given credit to my words. you are come hither, without being deterred by the length or the difficulties of the way: but know i have not put you upon undertaking such a long journey, with any other design than to try you. i find you have courage and resolution. you deserve i should make you the richest and happiest prince in the world. return to bussorah, and you shall find immense wealth in your palace. no king ever possessed so rich a treasure." the sultan was not pleased with this dream. "alas!" thought he to himself, when he awoke, "how much was i mistaken? that old man, whom i took for our prophet, is no other than the production of my disturbed imagination. my fancy was so full of him, that it is no wonder i have seen him again. i had best return to bussorah; what should i do here any longer? it is fortunate that i told none but my mother the motive of my journey: i should become a jest to my people, if they knew it." accordingly, he set out again for his kingdom, and as soon as he arrived there, the queen asked him, whether he returned well pleased? he told her all that had happened, and was so much concerned for having been so credulous, that the queen, instead of adding to his vexation, by reproving or laughing at him, comforted him. "forbear afflicting yourself, my son," said she; "if god has appointed you riches, you will have them without any trouble. be contented; all that i recommend to you is, to be virtuous; renounce the delights of dancing, music, and wine: shun all these pleasures, they have already almost ruined you; apply yourself to make your subjects happy; by securing their happiness, you will establish your own." sultan zeyn vowed that he would for the future follow his mother's advice, and be directed by the wise viziers she had chosen to assist him in supporting the weight of government. but the very night after he returned to his palace, he saw the old man the third time in a dream, who said to him, "the time of your prosperity is come, brave zeyn: to-morrow morning, as soon as you are up, take a little pick-axe, and dig in the late sultan's closet; you will there find a rich treasure." as soon as the sultan awoke, he got up, ran to the queen's apartment, and with much eagerness told her the new dream of that night. "really, my son," said the queen smiling, "this is a very positive old man; he is not satisfied with having deceived you twice: have you a mind to believe him again?" "no, madam," answered zeyn, "i give no credit to what he has said; but i will, for my own satisfaction, search my father's closet." "i really fancied so," cried the queen, laughing heartily: "go, my son, satisfy yourself; my comfort is, that work is not so fatiguing as the journey to egypt." "well madam," answered the sultan, "i must own, that this third dream has restored my confidence, for it is connected with the two others; let us examine the old man's words. he first directed me to go into egypt; there he told me, he had put me upon taking that journey, only to try me. 'return to bussorah,' said he, 'that is the place where you are to find treasures;' this night he has exactly pointed out to me the place where they are: these three dreams in my opinion, are connected. after all, they may be chimerical: but i would rather search in vain, than blame myself as long as i live, for having perhaps missed great riches, by being unseasonably incredulous." having spoken thus, he left the queen's apartment, caused a pick-axe to be brought him, and went alone into the late sultan's closet. he immediately began to break up the ground, and took up above half the square stones it was paved with, but yet saw not the least appearance of what he sought. he ceased working to take a little rest, thinking within himself, "i am much afraid my mother had cause enough to laugh at me." however, he took heart, and went on with his labour, nor had he cause to repent; for on a sudden he discovered a white slab, which he took up, and under it found a door, made fast with a steel padlock, which he broke with the pick-axe, and opened the door, which covered a staircase of white marble. he immediately lighted a lamp, and went down the stairs into a room, the floor whereof was laid with tiles of chinaware, and the roof and walls were of crystal; but he particularly fixed his eyes on four shelves, a little raised above the rest of the floor, on each of which were ten urns of porphyry. he fancied they were full of wine: "well," said he, "that wine must be very old, i do not question but it is excellent." he went up to one of the urns, took off the cover, and with no less joy than surprise perceived it was full of pieces of gold. he searched all the forty, one after another, and found them full of the same coin, took out a handful, and carried it to the queen. the princess, it may be imagined, was amazed, when the sultan gave her an account of what he had discovered. "o! my son," said she, "take heed you do not lavish away all this wealth foolishly, as you have already done the royal treasure. let not your enemies have so much occasion to rejoice." "no, madam," answered zeyn, "i will from henceforward live in such a manner as shall be pleasing to you." the queen desired her son to conduct her to the wonderful subterraneous place, which the late sultan her husband had made with such secrecy, that she had never heard of it. zeyn led her to the closet, down the marble stairs, and into the chamber where the urns were. she observed every thing with the eye of curiosity, and in a corner spied a little urn of the same sort of stone as the others. the prince had not before taken notice of it, but opening, found in it a golden key. "my son," said the queen, "this key certainly belongs to some other treasure; let us search well, perhaps we may discover the use it is designed for." they examined the chamber with the utmost exactness, and at length found a key-hole in one of the panels of the wall. the sultan immediately tried, and as readily opened the door, which led into a chamber, in the midst of which were nine pedestals of massive gold, on eight of which stood as many statues, each of them made of a single diamond, and from them darted such a brightness, that the whole room was perfectly light. "o heavens!" cried zeyn, in astonishment, "where could my father find such rarities?" the ninth pedestal redoubled this amazement, for it was covered with a piece of white satin, on which were written these words, "dear son, it cost me much toil to procure these eight statues; but though they are extraordinarily beautiful, you must understand that there is a ninth in the world, which surpasses them all: that alone is worth more than a thousand such as these: if you desire to be master of it, go to the city of cairo in egypt; one of my old slaves, whose name is mobarec, lives there, you will easily find him; the first person you meet will shew you his house; visit him, and tell him all that has befallen you: he will know you to be my son, and conduct you to the place where that wonderful statue is, which you will obtain with safety." the young sultan having read these words, said to the queen, "i should be sorry to be without that ninth statue; it must certainly be a very rare piece, since all these together are not of so much value. i will set out for grand cairo; nor do i believe, madam, that you will now oppose my design." "no, my son," answered the queen, "i am not against it: you are certainly under the special protection of our great prophet, he will not suffer you to perish in this journey. set out when you think fit: your viziers and i will take care of the government during your absence." the prince made ready his equipage, but would take only a small number of slaves with him. nothing remarkable befell him by the way, but arriving at cairo, he inquired for mobarec. the people told him he was one of the wealthiest inhabitants of the city; that he lived like a great lord, and that his house was open, especially for strangers. zeyn was conducted thither, knocked at the gate, which a slave opened, and demanded, "what is it you want, and who are you?" "i am a stranger," answered the prince, "and having heard much of the lord mobarec's generosity, am come to take up my lodging with him." the slave desired zeyn to wait while he went to acquaint his master, who ordered him to request the stranger to walk in. the slave returned to the gate, and told the prince he was welcome. zeyn went in, crossed a large court, and entered a hall magnificently furnished, where mobarec expected him, and received him very courteously, returning thanks for the honour he did him in accepting a lodging in his house. the prince, having answered his compliment, said to mobarec, "i am the son of the late sultan of bussorah, and my name is zeyn alasnam." "that sovereign," said mobarec, "was formerly my master; but, my lord, i never knew of any children he had: what is your age?" "i am twenty years old," answered the sultan. "how long is it since you left my father's court?" "almost two-and-twenty years," replied mobarec; "but how can you convince me that you are his son?" "my father," rejoined zeyn, "had a subterraneous place under his closet, in which i have found forty porphyry urns full of gold." "and what more is there?" said mobarec. "there are," answered the prince, "nine pedestals of massive gold: on eight whereof are as many diamond statues; and on the ninth a piece of white satin, on which my father has written what i am to do to procure another statue, more valuable than all those together. you know where that statue is; for it is mentioned on the satin, that you will conduct me to it." as soon as he had spoke these words, mobarec fell down at his feet, and kissing one of his hands several times, said, "i bless god for having brought you hither: i know you to be the sultan of bussorah's son. if you will go to the place where the wonderful statue is, i will conduct you; but you must first rest here a few days. this day i treat the great men of the court; we were at table when word was brought me of your being at the door. will you vouchsafe to come and be merry with us?" "i shall be very glad," replied zeyn, "to be admitted to your feast." mobarec immediately led him under a dome where the company was, seated him at the table, and served him on the knee. the nobles of cairo were surprised, and whispered to one another, "who is this stranger, to whom mobarec pays so much respect?" when they had dined, mobarec directing his discourse to the company, said, "nobles of cairo, do not think much to see me serve this young stranger in this manner: know that he is the son of the sultan of bussorah, my master. his father purchased me, and died without making me free; so that i am still a slave, and consequently all i have of right belongs to this young prince, his sole heir." here zeyn interrupted him: "mobarec," said he, "i declare, before all these lords, that i make you free from this moment, and that i renounce all right to your person, and all you possess. consider what you would have me do more for you." mobarec kissed the ground, and returned the prince most hearty thanks. wine was then brought in, they drank all day, and towards evening presents were distributed among the guests, who departed. the next day zeyn said to mobarec, "i have taken rest enough. i came not to cairo to take my pleasure; my design is to obtain the ninth statue; it is time for us to set out in search of it." "sir," said mobarec, "i am ready to comply with your desires; but you know not what dangers you must encounter to make this precious acquisition." "whatsoever the danger may be," answered the prince, "i have resolved to make the attempt; i will either perish or succeed. all that happens in this world is by god's direction. do you but bear me company, and let your resolution be equal to mine." mobarec, finding him determined to set out, called his servants, and ordered them to make ready his equipage. the prince and he then performed the ablution, and the prayer enjoined, which is called farz; and that done, they set out. on their way they took notice of abundance of strange and wonderful things, and travelled many days, at length, being come to a delightful spot, they alighted from their horses. mobarec then said to all the servants that attended them, "do you remain in this place, and take care of our equipage till we return." then he said to zeyn, "now, sir, let us advance by ourselves. we are near the dreadful place, where the ninth statue is kept. you will stand in need of all your courage." they soon came to a vast lake: mobarec set down on the brink of it, saying to the prince, "we must cross this sea." "how can we," answered zeyn, "when we have no boat?" "you will see one appear in a moment," replied mobarec; "the enchanted boat of the sultan of the genii will come for us. but do not forget what i am going to say to you: you must observe a profound silence: do not speak to the boatman, though his figure seem strange to you: whatever extraordinary circumstance you observe, say nothing; for i tell you beforehand, that if you utter one word when we are embarked, the boat will sink." "i shall take care to hold my peace," said the prince; "you need only tell me what i am to do, and i will strictly comply." whilst they were talking, he spied on a sudden a boat in the lake, made of red sandal wood. it had a mast of fine amber, and a blue satin flag: there was only one boatman in it, whose head was like an elephant's, and his body like that of a tiger. when the boat was come up to the prince and mobarec, the monstrous boatman took them up one after another with his trunk, put them into his boat, and carried them over the lake in a moment. he then again took them up with his trunk, set them ashore, and immediately vanished with his boat. "now we may talk," said mobarec: "the island we are in belongs to the sultan of the genii. look round you, prince; can there be a more delightful spot? it is certainly a lively representation of the charming place god has appointed for the faithful observers of our law. behold the fields adorned with all sorts of flowers and odoriferous plants: admire those beautiful trees whose delicious fruit makes the branches bend down to the ground; enjoy the pleasure of those harmonious songs formed in the air by a thousand birds of as many various sorts, unknown in other countries." zeyn could not sufficiently admire the beauties with which he was surrounded, and still found something new, as he advanced farther into the island. at length they came before a palace built of emeralds, encompassed by a wide moat, on the banks whereof, at certain distances, were planted such tall trees, that they shaded the whole palace. before the gate, which was of massive gold, was a bridge, formed of one single shell of a fish, though it was at least six fathoms long, and three in breadth. at the head of the bridge stood a company of genii, of a prodigious height, who guarded the entrance into the castle with great clubs of china steel. "let us at present proceed no farther," said mobarec, "these genii will destroy us: and in order to prevent their coming to us, we must perform a magical ceremony." he then drew out of a purse which he had under his garment, four long slips of yellow taffety; one he put about his middle, and laid the other on his back, giving the other two to the prince, who did the like. then mobarec laid on the ground two large table-cloths, on the edges whereof he scattered some precious stones, musk, and amber. afterwards he sat down on one of the cloths, and zeyn on the other; and mobarec said to the prince, "i shall now, sir, conjure the sultan of the genii, who lives in the palace that is before us; may he come in a peaceable mood to us! i confess i am not without apprehension about the reception he may give us. if our coming into this island is displeasing to him, he will appear in the shape of a dreadful monster; but if he approves of your design, he will shew himself in the shape of a handsome man. as soon as he appears before us, you must rise and salute him, without going off your cloth; for you would certainly perish, should you stir from it. you must say to him, 'sovereign lord of the genii, my father, who was your servant, has been taken away by the angel of death; i wish your majesty may protect me, as you always protected my father.' if the sultan of the genii," added mobarec, "ask you what favour you desire of him, you must answer, 'i most humbly beg of you to give me the ninth statue.'" mobarec, having thus instructed prince zeyn, began his conjuration. immediately their eyes were dazzled by a long flash of lightning, which was followed by a clap of thunder. the whole island was covered with a thick darkness, a furious storm of wind blew, a dreadful cry was heard, the island felt a shock, and there was such an earthquake, as that which asrayel is to cause on the day of judgment. zeyn was startled, and began to regard these concussions of the elements as a very ill omen, when mobarec, who knew better than he what to judge, began to smile, and said, "take courage, my prince, all goes well." in short, that very moment, the sultan of the genii appeared in the shape of a very handsome man, yet there was something of a sternness in his air. as soon as sultan zeyn had made him the compliment he had been taught by mobarec, the sultan of the genii smiling, answered, "my son, i loved your father, and every time he came to pay me his respects, i presented him with a statue, which he carried away with him. i have no less kindness for you. i obliged your father, some days before he died, to write that which you read on the piece of white satin. i promised him to receive you under my protection, and to give you the ninth statue, which in beauty surpasses those you have already. i had begun to perform my promise to him. it was i whom you saw in a dream in the shape of an old man; i caused you to open the subterraneous place, where the urns and the statues are deposited: i have a great share in all that has befallen you, or rather am the occasion of all. i know the motive that brought you hither; you shall obtain what you desire. though i had not promised your father to give it, i would willingly grant it to you: but you must first swear to me by all that is sacred, that you will return to this island, and that you will bring me a maid who is in her fifteenth year, has never loved, nor desired to. she must also be perfectly beautiful: and you so much a master of yourself, as not even to desire her as you are conducting her hither." sultan zeyn took the rash oath demanded of him. "but, my lord," said he, "suppose i should be so fortunate as to meet with such a maid as you require, how shall i know that i have found her?" "i own," answered the sultan of the genii, smiling, "that you might be mistaken in her appearance: that knowledge is above the sons of adam, and therefore i do not mean to depend upon your judgment in that particular: i will give you a looking-glass which will be more certain than your conjectures. when you shall have seen a maiden fifteen years of age, perfectly beautiful, you need only look into the glass in which you shall see her figure. if she be chaste, the glass will remain clean and unsullied; but if, on the contrary, it sullies, that will be a certain sign that she has not always been prudent, or at least that she has desired to cease to be so. do not forget the oath you have taken: keep it like a man of honour; otherwise i will take away your life, notwithstanding the kindness i have for you." zeyn alasnam protested again that he would faithfully keep his word. the sultan of the genii then delivered to him a looking-glass, saying, "my son, you may return when you please, there is the glass you are to use." zeyn and mobarec took leave of the sultan of the genii, and went towards the lake. the boatman with the elephant's head brought the boat, and ferried them over the lake as he had done before. they joined their servants, and returned with them again to cairo. the young sultan rested a few days at mobarec's house, and then said to him, "let us go to bagdad, to seek a maiden for the sovereign of the genii." "why, are we not at grand cairo?" said mobarec: "shall we not there find beautiful maidens?" "you are in the right," answered the prince; "but how shall we explore where they are?" "do not trouble yourself about that," answered mobarec; "i know a very shrewd old woman, whom i will entrust with the affair, and she will acquit herself well." accordingly the old woman found means to shew the sultan a considerable number of beautiful maidens of fifteen years of age; but when he had viewed them, and came to consult his looking-glass, the fatal touchstone of their virtue, the glass always appeared sullied. all the maidens in the court and city, who were in their fifteenth year, underwent the trial one after another, but the glass never remained bright and clear. when they saw there were no chaste maidens to be found in cairo, they went to bagdad, where they hired a magnificent palace in one of the chief quarters of the city, and began to live splendidly. they kept open house; and after all people had eaten in the palace, the fragments were carried to the dervises, who by that means had comfortable subsistence. there lived in that quarter a pedant, whose name was boubekir muezin, a vain, haughty, and envious person: he hated the rich, only because he was poor, his misery making him angry at his neighbour's prosperity. he heard talk of zeyn alasnam, and of the plenty his house afforded. this was enough for him to take an aversion to that prince; and it proceeded so far, that one day after the evening prayer in the mosque, he said to the people, "brethren, i have been told there is come to live in our ward a stranger, who every day gives away immense sums. how do we know but that this unknown person is some villain, who has committed a robbery in his own country, and comes hither to enjoy himself? let us take care, brethren; if the caliph should be informed that such a man is in our ward, it is to be feared he will punish us for not acquainting him with it. i declare for my part i wash my hands of the affair, and if any thing should happen amiss, it shall not lie at my door." the multitude, who are easily led away, with one voice cried to boubekir, "it is your business, do you acquaint the council with it." the muezin went home well pleased, and drew up a memorial, resolving to present it to the caliph next day. but mobarec, who had been at prayers, and heard all that was said by the muezin, put five hundred pieces of gold into a handkerchief, made up with a parcel of several silks, and went to boubekir's house. the muezin asked him in a harsh tone what he wanted. "holy father," answered mobarec with an obliging air, and at the same time putting into his hand the gold and the silk, "i am your neighbour and your servant: i come from prince zeyn, who lives in this ward: he has heard of your worth, and has ordered me to come and tell you, that he desires to be acquainted with you, and in the mean time desires you to accept of this small present." boubekir was transported with joy, and answered mobarec thus: "be pleased, sir, to beg the prince's pardon for me: i am ashamed i have not yet been to see him, but i will atone for my fault, and wait on him to-morrow." accordingly the next day after morning prayer he said to the people, "you must know from your own experience, brethren, that no man is without some enemies: envy pursues those chiefly who are very rich. the stranger i spoke to you about yesterday in the evening is no bad man, as some ill-designing persons would have persuaded me: he is a young prince, endowed with every virtue. it behoves us to take care how we give any injurious report of him to the caliph." boubekir having thus wiped off the impression he had the day before given the people concerning zeyn, returned home, put on his best apparel and went to visit the young prince, who gave him a courteous reception. after several compliments had passed on both sides, boubekir said to the prince, "sir, do you design to stay long at bagdad?" "i shall stay," answered zeyn, "till i can find a maid fifteen years of age, perfectly beautiful, and so chaste, that she has not only never loved a man, but even never desired to do so." "you seek after a great rarity," replied the muezin; "and i should be apt to fear your search would prove unsuccessful, did i not know where there is a maid of that character. her father was formerly vizier; but has left the court, and lived a long time in a lone house, where he applies himself solely to the education of his daughter. if you please, i will ask her of him for you: i do not question but he will be overjoyed to have a son-in-law of your quality." "not so fast," said the prince, "i shall not marry the maid before i know whether i like her. as for her beauty, i can depend on you; but what assurance can you give me in relation to her virtue?" "what assurance do you require?" said boubekir. "i must see her face," answered zeyn; "that is enough to determine my resolution." "you are skilled then in physiognomy?" replied the muezin, smiling. "well, come along with me to her father's: i will desire him to let you see her one moment in his presence." the muezin conducted the prince to the vizier's; who, as soon as he was acquainted with the prince's birth and design, called his daughter, and made her take off her veil. never had the young sultan of bussorah beheld such a perfect and striking beauty. he stood amazed; and since he could then try whether the maid was as chaste as fair, he pulled out his glass, which remained bright and unsullied. when he perceived he had at length found such a person as he desired, he entreated the vizier to grant her to him. immediately the cauzee was sent for, the contract signed, and the marriage prayer said. after this ceremony, zeyn conducted the vizier to his house, where he treated him magnificently, and gave him considerable presents. next day he sent a prodigious quantity of jewels by mobarec, who conducted the bride home, where the wedding was kept with all the pomp that became zeyn's quality. when all the company was dismissed mobarec said to his master, "let us begone, sir, let us not stay any longer at bagdad, but return to cairo: remember the promise you made the sultan of the genii." "let us go," answered the prince; "i must take care to perform it exactly; yet i must confess, my dear mobarec, that, if i obey the sultan of the genii, it is not without reluctance. the damsel i have married is so charming, that i am tempted to carry her to bussorah, and place her on the throne." "alas! sir," answered mobarec, "take heed how you give way to your inclination: make yourself master of your passions, and whatever it costs you, be as good as your word to the sultan of the genii." "well, then, mobarec," said the prince, "do you take care to conceal the lovely maid from me; let her never appear in my sight; perhaps i have already seen too much of her." mobarec made all ready for their departure; they returned to cairo, and thence set out for the island of the sultan of the genii. when they were arrived, the maid who had performed the journey in a horse-litter, and whom the prince had never seen since his wedding-day, said to mobarec, "where are we? shall we be soon in the dominions of the prince my husband?" "madam," answered mobarec, "it is time to undeceive you. prince zeyn married you only in order to get you from your father: he did not engage his faith to make you sovereign of bussorah, but to deliver you to the sultan of the genii, who has asked of him a virgin of your character." at these words, she began to weep bitterly, which moved the prince and mobarec. "take pity on me," said she; "i am a stranger, you will be accountable to god for your treachery towards me." her tears and complaints were of no effect, for she was presented to the sultan of the genii, who having gazed on her with attention, said to zeyn, "prince, i am satisfied with your behaviour; the virgin you have brought me is beautiful and chaste, and i am pleased with the restraint you have put upon yourself to be as good as your promise to me. return to your dominions, and when you shall enter the subterraneous room, where the eight statues are, you shall find the ninth which i promised you. i will make my genii carry it thither." zeyn thanked the sultan, and returned to cairo with mobarec, but did not stay long in egypt, for his impatience to see the ninth statue made him hasten his departure. however, he could not but often think regretfully of the young virgin he had married; and blaming himself for having deceived her, he looked upon himself as the cause and instrument of her misfortune. "alas!" said he to himself, "i have taken her from a tender father, to sacrifice her to a genie. o incomparable beauty! you deserve a better fate." sultan zeyn, disturbed with these thoughts, at length reached bussorah, where his subjects made extraordinary rejoicings for his return. he went directly to give an account of his journey to his mother, who was in a rapture to hear that he had obtained the ninth statue. "let us go, my son," said she, "let us go and see it, for it is certainly in the subterraneous chamber, since the sultan of the genii told you you should find it there." the young sultan and his mother, being both impatient to see the wonderful statue, went down into the room of the statues; but how great was their surprise, when, instead of a statue of diamonds, they beheld on the ninth pedestal a most beautiful virgin, whom the prince knew to be the same whom he had conducted into the island of the genii! "prince," said the young maid, "you are surprised to see me here; you expected to have found something more precious than me, and i question not but that you now repent having taken so much trouble: you expected a better reward." "madam," answered zeyn, "heaven is my witness, that i more than once had nearly broken my word with the sultan of the genii, to keep you to myself. whatever be the value of a diamond statue, is it worth the satisfaction of having you mine? i love you above all the diamonds and wealth in the world." just as he had done speaking, a clap of thunder was heard, which shook the subterranean place. zeyn's mother was alarmed, but the sultan of the genii immediately appearing, dispelled her fear. "madam," said he to her, "i protect and love your son: i had a mind to try, whether, at his age, he could subdue his passions. i know the charms of this young lady have wrought on him, and that he did not punctually keep the promise he had made me, not to desire her; but i am well acquainted with the frailty of human nature. this is the ninth statue i designed for him; it is more rare and precious than the others. "live," said he (directing his discourse to the young prince), "live happy, zeyn, with this young lady, who is your wife; and if you would have her true and constant to you, love her always, and love her only. give her no rival, and i will answer for her fidelity." having spoken these words, the sultan of the genii vanished, and zeyn, enchanted with the young lady, the same day caused her to be proclaimed queen of bussorah, over which they reigned in mutual happiness to an advanced age. the history of codadad, and his brothers. those who have written the history of diarbekir inform us that there formerly reigned in the city of harran a most magnificent and potent sultan, who loved his subjects, and was equally beloved by them. he was endued with all virtues, and wanted nothing to complete his happiness but an heir. though he had the finest women in the world in his seraglio, yet was he destitute of children. he continually prayed to heaven for them; and one night in his sleep, a comely person, or rather a prophet, appeared to him, and said, "your prayers are heard; you have obtained what you have desired; rise as soon as you awake, go to your prayers, and make two genuflexions, then walk into the garden of your palace, call your gardener, and bid him bring you a pomegranate, eat as many of the seeds as you please, and your wishes shall be accomplished." the sultan calling to mind his dream when he awoke, returned thanks to heaven, got up, prayed, made two genuflexions, and then went into his garden, where he took fifty pomegranate seeds, which he counted, and ate. he had fifty wives who shared his bed; they all proved with child; but there was one called pirouzè, who did not appear to be pregnant. he took an aversion to this lady, and would have her put to death. "her barrenness," said he, "is a certain token that heaven does not judge pirouzè worthy to bear a prince; it is my duty to deliver the world from an object that is odious to the lord." he would have executed his cruel purpose had not his vizier prevented him; representing to him that all women were not of the same constitution, and that it was not impossible but that pirouzè might be with child, though it did not yet appear. "well," answered the sultan, "let her live; but let her depart my court; for i cannot endure her." "your majesty," replied the vizier, "may send her to sultan samer, your cousin." the sultan approved of this advice; he sent pirouzè to samaria, with a letter, in which he ordered his cousin to treat her well, and, in case she proved with child, to give him notice of her being brought to bed. no sooner was pirouzè arrived in that country, than it appeared that she was pregnant, and at length she was delivered of a most beautiful prince. the prince of samaria wrote immediately to the sultan of harran, to acquaint him with the birth of a son, and to congratulate him on the occasion. the sultan was much rejoiced at this intelligence, and answered prince samer as follows: "cousin, all my other wives have each been delivered of a prince. i desire you to educate that of pirouzè, to give him the name of codadad, and to send him to me when i may apply for him." the prince of samaria spared nothing that might improve the education of his nephew. he taught him to ride, draw the bow, and all other accomplishments becoming the son of a sovereign; so that codadad, at eighteen years of age, was looked upon as a prodigy. the young prince, being inspired with a courage worthy of his birth, said one day to his mother, "madam, i begin to grow weary of samaria; i feel a passion for glory; give me leave to seek it amidst the perils of war. my father, the sultan of harran, has many enemies. why does he not call me to his assistance? why does he leave me here so long in obscurity? must i spend my life in sloth, when all my brothers have the happiness to be fighting by his side?" "my son," answered pirouzè, "i am no less impatient to have your name become famous; i could wish you had already signalized yourself against your father's enemies; but we must wait till he requires it." "no, madam," replied codadad, "i have already waited but too long. i burn to see the sultan, and am tempted to offer him my service, as a young stranger: no doubt but he will accept of it, and i will not discover myself, till i have performed some glorious actions: i desire to merit his esteem before he knows who i am." pirouzè approved of his generous resolutions, and codadad departed from samaria, as if he had been going to the chase, without acquainting prince samer, lest he should thwart his design. he was mounted on a white charger, who had a bit and shoes of gold, his housing was of blue satin embroidered with pearls; the hilt of his scimitar was of one single diamond, and the scabbard of sandal-wood, adorned with emeralds and rubies, and on his shoulder he carried his bow and quiver. in this equipage, which greatly set off his handsome person, he arrived at the city of harran, and soon found means to offer his service to the sultan; who being charmed with his beauty and promising appearance, and perhaps indeed by natural sympathy, gave him a favourable reception, and asked his name and quality. "sir," answered codadad, "i am son to an emir of grand cairo; an inclination to travel has made me quit my country, and understanding, in my passage through your dominions, that you were engaged in war, i am come to your court to offer your majesty my service." the sultan shewed him extraordinary kindness, and gave him a command in his army. the young prince soon signalized his bravery. he gained the esteem of the officers, and was admired by the soldiers. having no less wit than courage, he so far advanced himself in the sultan's esteem, as to become his favourite. all the ministers and other courtiers daily resorted to codadad, and were so eager to purchase his friendship, that they neglected the sultan's sons. the princes could not but resent this conduct, and imputing it to the stranger, all conceived an implacable hatred against him; but the sultan's affection daily increasing, he was never weary of giving him fresh testimonies of his regard. he always would have him near his person; admired his conversation, ever full of wit and discretion; and to shew his high opinion of his wisdom and prudence, committed to his care the other princes, though he was of the same age as they; so that codadad was made governor of his brothers. this only served to heighten their hatred. "is it come to this," said they, "that the sultan, not satisfied with loving a stranger more than us, will have him to be our governor, and not allow us to act without his leave? this is not to be endured. we must rid ourselves of this foreigner." "let us go together," said one of them, "and dispatch him." "no, no," answered another; "we had better be cautious how we sacrifice ourselves. his death would render us odious to the sultan, who in return would declare us all unworthy to reign. let us destroy him by some stratagem. we will ask his permission to hunt, and when at a distance from the palace, proceed to some other city, and stay there some time. the sultan will wonder at our absence, and perceiving we do not return, perhaps put the stranger to death, or at least will banish him from court, for suffering us to leave the palace." all the princes applauded this artifice. they went together to codadad, and desired him to allow them to take the diversion of hunting, promising to return the same day. pirouzè's son was taken in the snare, and granted the permission his brothers desired. they set out, but never returned. they had been three days absent, when the sultan asked codadad where the princes were, for it was long since he had seen them. "sir," answered codadad, after making a profound reverence, "they have been hunting these three days, but they promised me they would return sooner." the sultan grew uneasy, and his uneasiness increased when he perceived the princes did not return the next day. he could not check his anger: "indiscreet stranger," said he to codadad, "why did you let my sons go without bearing them company? is it thus you discharge the trust i have reposed in you? go, seek them immediately, and bring them to me, or your life shall be forfeited." these words chilled with alarm pirouzè's unfortunate son. he armed himself, departed from the city, and like a shepherd, who had lost his flock, searched the country for his brothers, inquiring at every village whether they had been seen: but hearing no news of them, abandoned himself to the most lively grief. "alas! my brothers," said he, "what is become of you? are you fallen into the hands of our enemies? am i come to the court of harran to be the occasion of giving the sultan so much anxiety?" he was inconsolable for having given the princes permission to hunt, or for not having borne them company. after some days spent in fruitless search, he came to a plain of prodigious extent, in the midst whereof was a palace built of black marble. he drew near, and at one of the windows beheld a most beautiful lady; but set off with no other ornament than her own charms; for her hair was dishevelled, her garments torn, and on her countenance appeared all the marks of the greatest affliction. as soon as she saw codadad, and judged he might hear her, she directed her discourse to him, saying, "young man, depart from this fatal place, or you will soon fall into the hands of the monster that inhabits it: a black, who feeds only on human blood, resides in this palace; he seizes all persons whom their ill-fate conducts to this plain, and shuts them up in his dark dungeons, whence they are never released, but to be devoured by him." "madam," answered codadad, "tell me who you are, and be not concerned for myself." "i am a young woman of quality of grand cairo," replied the lady; "i was passing by this castle yesterday, in my way to bagdad, and met with the black, who killed all my attendants, and brought me hither; i wish i had nothing but death to fear, but to add to my calamity, this monster would persuade me to love him, and, in case i do not yield to-morrow to his brutality, i must expect the last violence. once more," added she, "make your escape: the black will soon return; he is gone out to pursue some travellers he espied at a distance on the plain. lose no time; i know not whether you can escape him by a speedy flight." she had scarcely done speaking before the black appeared. he was of monstrous bulk, and of a dreadful aspect, mounted on a large tartar horse, and bore such a heavy scimitar, that none but himself could wield. the prince seeing him, was amazed at his gigantic stature, directed his prayers to heaven to assist him, then drew his scimitar, and firmly awaited his approach. the monster, despising so inconsiderable an enemy, called to him to submit without fighting. codadad by his conduct shewed that he was resolved to defend his life; for rushing upon him, he wounded him on the knee. the black, feeling himself wounded, uttered such a dreadful yell as made all the plain resound. he grew furious and foamed with rage, and raising himself on his stirrups, made at codadad with his dreadful scimitar. the blow was so violent, that it would have put an end to the young prince, had not he avoided it by a sudden spring. the scimitar made a horrible hissing in the air: but, before the black could have time to make a second blow, codadad struck him on his right arm, with such force, that he cut it off. the dreadful scimitar fell with the hand that held it, and the black yielding under the violence of the stroke, lost his stirrups, and made the earth shake with the weight of his fall. the prince alighted at the same time, and cut off his enemy's head. just then, the lady, who had been a spectator of the combat, and was still offering up her earnest prayers to heaven for the young hero, whom she admired, uttered a shriek of joy, and said to codadad, "prince (for the dangerous victory you have obtained, as well as your noble air, convinces me that you are of no common rank), finish the work you have begun; the black has the keys of this castle, take them and deliver me out of prison." the prince searched the wretch as he lay stretched on the ground, and found several keys. he opened the first door, and entered a court, where he saw the lady coming to meet him; she would have cast herself at his feet, the better to express her gratitude, but he would not permit her. she commended his valour, and extolled him above all the heroes in the world. he returned her compliments; and she appeared still more lovely to him near, than she had done at a distance. i know not whether she felt more joy at being delivered from the desperate danger she had been in, than he for having done so considerable a service to so beautiful a person. their conversation was interrupted by dismal cries and groans. "what do i hear?" said codadad: "whence come these miserable lamentations, which pierce my ears?" "my lord," said the lady to him, pointing to a little door in the court, "they come from thence. there are i know not how many wretched persons whom fate has thrown into the hands of the black. they are all chained, and the monster drew out one every day to devour." "it is an addition to my joy," answered the young prince, "to understand that my victory will save the lives of those unfortunate beings. come along with me, madam, to partake in the satisfaction of giving them their liberty. you may judge by your own feelings how welcome we shall be to them." having so said, they advanced towards the door of the dungeon, and the nearer they drew, the more distinctly they heard the lamentations of the prisoners. codadad pitying them, and impatient to put an end to their sufferings, presently put one of the keys into the lock. the noise made all the unfortunate captives, who concluded it was the black coming, according to custom, to seize one of them to devour, redouble their cries and groans. lamentable voices were heard, which seemed to come from the centre of the earth. in the mean time, the prince had opened the door; he went down a very steep staircase into a large and deep vault, which received some feeble light from a little window, and in which there were above a hundred persons, bound to stakes, and their hands tied. "unfortunate travellers," said he to them, "wretched victims, who only expected the moment of an approaching cruel death, give thanks to heaven, which has this day delivered you by my means. i have slain the black by whom you were to be devoured, and am come to knock off your chains." the prisoners hearing these words, gave a shout of mingled joy and surprise. codadad and the lady began to unbind them; and as soon as any of them were loose, they helped to take off the fetters from the rest; so that in a short time they were all at liberty. they then kneeled down, and having returned thanks to codadad for what he had done for them, went out of the dungeon; but when they were come into the court, how was the prince surprised to see among the prisoners, those he was in search of, and almost without hopes to find! "princes," cried he, "am i not deceived? is it you whom i behold? may i flatter myself that it may be in my power to restore you to the sultan your father, who is inconsolable for the loss of you? but will he not have some one to lament? are you all here alive? alas! the death of one of you will suffice to damp the joy i feel for having delivered you!" the forty-nine princes all made themselves known to codadad, who embraced them one after another, and told them how uneasy their father was on account of their absence. they gave their deliverer all the commendations he deserved, as did the other prisoners, who could not find words expressive enough to declare their gratitude. codadad, with them, searched the whole castle, where was immense wealth; curious silks, gold brocades, persian carpets, china satins, and an infinite quantity of other goods, which the black had taken from the caravans he had plundered, a considerable part whereof belonged to the prisoners codadad had then liberated. every man knew and claimed his property. the prince restored them their own, and divided the rest of the merchandise among them. then he said to them, "how will you carry away your goods? we are here in a desert place, and there is no likelihood of your getting horses." "my lord," answered one of the prisoners, "the black robbed us of our camels as well as our goods, and perhaps they may be in the stables of this castle." "this is not unlikely," replied codadad; "let us examine." accordingly they went to the stables, where they not only found the camels, but also the horses belonging to the sultan of harran's sons. there were some black slaves in the stables, who seeing all the prisoners released, and guessing thereby that their master had been killed, fled through by-ways well known to them. nobody minded to pursue them. all the merchants, overjoyed that they had recovered their goods and camels, together with their liberty, thought of nothing but prosecuting their journey; but first repeated their thanks to their deliverer. when they were gone, codadad, directing his discourse to the lady, said, "what place, madam, do you desire to go to? whither were you bound when you were seized by the black? i intend to bear you company to the place you shall choose for your retreat, and i question not but that all these princes will do the same." the sultan of harran's sons protested to the lady, that they would not leave her till she was restored to her friends. "princes," said she, "i am of a country too remote from hence; and, besides that, it would be abusing your generosity to oblige you to travel so far. i must confess that i have left my native country for ever. i told you that i was a lady of grand cairo; but since you have shewn me so much favour, and i am so highly obliged to you," added she, looking upon codadad, "i should be much in the wrong in concealing the truth from you; i am a sultan's daughter. an usurper has possessed himself of my father's throne, after having murdered him, and i have been forced to fly to save my life." codadad and his brothers requested the princess to tell them her story, assuring her they felt a particular interest in her misfortunes, and were determined to spare nothing that might contribute to render her more happy. after thanking them for their repeated protestations of readiness to serve her, she could not refuse to satisfy their curiosity, and began the recital of her adventures in the following manner. the history of the princess of deryabar. there was in a certain island a great city called deryabar, governed by a potent, magnificent, and virtuous sultan, who had no children, which was the only blessing wanting to make him happy. he continually addressed his prayers to heaven, but heaven only partially granted his requests, for the queen his wife, after a long expectation, brought forth a daughter. i am the unfortunate princess; my father was rather grieved than pleased at my birth; but he submitted to the will of god, and caused me to be educated with all possible care, being resolved, since he had no son, to teach me the art of ruling, that i might supply his place after his death. one day when he was taking the diversion of hunting, he espied a wild ass, which he chased, lost his company, and was carried away so far by his eagerness as to ride on till night. he then alighted, and sat down at the entrance of a wood, in which the ass had sheltered. no sooner was the day shut in than he discovered among the trees a light, which made him conclude that he was not far from some village; he rejoiced at this, hoping that he might pass the night there, and find some person to send to his followers and acquaint them where he was; accordingly he rose and walked towards the light, which served to guide him. he soon found he had been deceived, the light being no other than a fire blazing in a hut; however, he drew near, and, with amazement, beheld a black man, or rather a giant, sitting on a sofa. before the monster was a great pitcher of wine, and he was roasting an ox he had newly killed. sometimes he drank out of the pitcher, and sometimes cut slices off the ox and greedily devoured them. but what most attracted my father's attention was a beautiful woman whom he saw in the hut. she seemed overwhelmed with grief; her hands were bound, and at her feet was a little child about two or three years old, who, as if he was sensible of his mother's misfortunes, wept without ceasing, and rent the air with his cries. my father, moved with this pitiable object, thought at first to enter the hut and attack the giant; but considering how unequal the combat would be, he stopped, and resolved, since he had not strength enough to prevail by open force, to use art. in the mean time, the giant having emptied the pitcher, and devoured above half the ox, turned to the woman and said, "beautiful princess, why do you oblige me by your obstinacy to treat you with severity? it is in your own power to be happy. you need only resolve to love, and be true to me, and i shall treat you with more mildness." "thou hideous satyr," answered the lady, "never expect that time should wear away my abhorrence of thee. thou wilt ever be a monster in my eyes." to these words she added so many reproaches, that the giant grew enraged. "this is too much," cried he, in a furious tone; "my love despised is turned into rage. your hatred has at last excited mine; i find it triumphs over my desires, and that i now wish your death more ardently than your enjoyment." having spoken these words, he took the wretched lady by the hair, held her up with one hand in the air, and drawing his scimitar with the other, was just going to strike off her head, when the sultan my father let fly an arrow which pierced the giant's breast, so that he staggered, and dropped down dead. my father entered the hut, unbound the lady's hands, inquired who she was, and how she came thither. "my lord," said she, "there are along the sea-coast some families of saracens, who live under a prince who is my husband; this giant you have killed was one of his principal officers. the wretch fell desperately in love with me, but took care to conceal his passion, till he could put in execution the design he had formed of forcing me from home. fortune oftener favours wicked designs than virtuous resolutions. the giant one day surprised me and my child in a by-place. he seized us both, and to disappoint the search he well knew my husband would cause to be made for me, removed from the country inhabited by those saracens, and brought us into this wood, where he has kept me some days. deplorable as my condition is, it is still a great satisfaction to me to think that the giant, though so brutal, never used force to obtain what i always refused to his entreaties. not but that he has a hundred times threatened that he would have recourse to the worst of extremities, in case he could not otherwise prevail upon me; and i must confess to you, that awhile ago, when i provoked his anger by my words, i was less concerned for my life than for my honour. "this, my lord," said the prince of the saracens' wife, "is the faithful account of my misfortunes, and i question not but you will think me worthy of your compassion, and that you will not repent having so generously relieved me." "madam," answered my father, "be assured your troubles have affected me, and i will do all in my power to make you happy. to-morrow, as soon as day appears, we will quit this wood, and endeavour to fall into the road which leads to the great city of deryabar, of which i am sovereign; and if you think fit, you shall be lodged in my palace, till the prince your husband comes to claim you." the saracen lady accepted the offer, and the next day followed the sultan my father, who found all his retinue upon the skirts of the wood, they having spent the night in searching for him, and being very uneasy because they could not find him. they were no less rejoiced to meet with, than amazed to see him with a lady, whose beauty surprised them. he told them how he had found her, and the risk he had run in approaching the hut, where he must certainly have lost his life had the giant discovered him. one of his servants took up the lady behind him, and another carried the child. thus they arrived at the palace of my father, who assigned the beautiful saracen lady an apartment, and caused her child to be carefully educated. the lady was not insensible of the sultan's goodness to her, and expressed as much gratitude as he could desire. she had at first appeared very uneasy and impatient that her husband did not claim her; but by degrees she lost that uneasiness. the respect my father paid her dispelled her impatience; and i am of opinion she would at last have blamed fortune more for restoring her to her kindred, than she did for removing her from them. in the mean time the lady's son grew up; he was very handsome, and not wanting ability, found means to please the sultan my father, who conceived a great friendship for him. all the courtiers perceived it, and guessed that the young man might in the end be my husband. in this idea, and looking on him already as heir to the crown, they made their court to him, and every one endeavoured to gain his favour. he soon saw into their designs, grew conceited of himself, and forgetting the distance there was between our conditions, flattered himself with the hopes that my father was fond enough of him, to prefer him before all the princes in the world. he went farther; for the sultan not offering me to him as soon as he could have wished, he had the boldness to ask me of him. whatever punishment his insolence deserved, my father was satisfied with telling him he had other thoughts in relation to me, and shewed him no further resentment. the youth was incensed at this refusal; he resented the contempt, as if he had asked some maid of ordinary extraction, or as if his birth had been equal to mine. nor did he stop here, but resolved to be revenged on the sultan, and with unparalleled ingratitude conspired against him. in short, he murdered him, and caused himself to be proclaimed sovereign of deryabar. the first thing he did after the murder of my father was to come into my apartment, at the head of a party of the conspirators. his design was either to take my life or oblige me to marry him. the grand vizier, however, who had been always loyal to his master, while the usurper was butchering my father, came to carry me away from the palace, and secured me in a friend's house, till a vessel he had provided was ready to sail. i then left the island, attended only by a governess and that generous minister, who chose rather to follow his master's daughter, and share her misfortunes, than to submit to a tyrant. the grand vizier designed to carry me to the courts of the neighbouring sultans, to implore their assistance, and excite them to revenge my father's death; but heaven did not concur in a resolution we thought so just. when we had been but a few days at sea, there arose such a furious storm, that, in spite of all the mariners' art, our vessel, carried away by the violence of the winds and waves, was dashed in pieces against a rock. i will not spend time in describing our shipwreck. i can but faintly represent to you how my governess, the grand vizier, and all that attended me, were swallowed up by the sea. the dread i was seized with did not permit me to observe all the horror of our condition. i lost my senses; and whether i was thrown upon the coast upon any part of the wreck, or whether heaven, which reserved me for other misfortunes, wrought a miracle for my deliverance, i found myself on shore when my senses returned. misfortunes very often make us forget our duty. instead of returning thanks to god for so singular a favour shewn me, i only lifted up my eyes to heaven, to complain because i had been preserved. i was so far from bewailing the vizier and my governess, that i envied their fate, and dreadful imaginations by degrees prevailing over my reason, i resolved to cast myself into the sea; i was on the point of doing so, when i heard behind me a great noise of men and horses. i looked about to see what it might be, and espied several armed horsemen, among whom was one mounted on an arabian horse. he had on a garment embroidered with silver, a girdle set with precious stones, and a crown of gold on his head. though his habit had not convinced me that he was chief of the company, i should have judged it by the air of grandeur which appeared in his person. he was a young man extraordinarily well shaped, and perfectly beautiful. surprised to see a young lady alone in that place, he sent some of his officers to ask who i was. i answered only by weeping. the shore being covered with the wreck of our ship, they concluded that i was certainly some person who had escaped from the vessel. this conjecture, and my inconsolable condition, excited the curiosity of the officers, who began to ask me a thousand questions, with assurances, that their master was a generous prince, and that i should receive protection at his court. the sultan, impatient to know who i was, grew weary of waiting the return of his officers, and drew near to me. he gazed on me very earnestly, and observing that i did not cease weeping and afflicting myself, without being able to return an answer to their questions, he forbad them troubling me any more; and directing his discourse to me, "madam," said he, "i conjure you to moderate your excessive affliction. though heaven in its dispensations has laid this calamity upon you, it does not behove you to despair. i beseech you shew more resolution. fortune, which has hitherto persecuted you, is inconstant, and may soon change. i dare assure you, that, if your misfortunes are capable of receiving any relief, you shall find it in my dominions. my palace is at your service. you shall live with the queen my mother, who will endeavour by her kindness to ease your affliction. i know not yet who you are; but i find i already take an interest in your welfare." i thanked the young sultan for his goodness to me, accepted his obliging offers; and to convince him that i was not unworthy of them, told him my condition. i described to him the insolence of the young saracen, and found it was enough to recount my misfortunes, to excite compassion in him and all his officers, who heard me. when i had done speaking, the prince began again, assuring me that he was deeply concerned at my misfortunes. he then conducted me to his palace, and presented me to the queen his mother, to whom i was obliged again to repeat my misfortunes and to renew my tears. the queen seemed very sensible of my trouble, and conceived extreme affection for me. on the other hand, the sultan her son fell desperately in love with me, and soon offered me his person and his crown. i was so taken up with the thoughts of my calamities, that the prince, though so lovely a person, did not make so great an impression on me as he might have done at another time. however, gratitude prevailing, i did not refuse to make him happy, and our nuptials were concluded with all imaginable splendour. while the people were taken up with the celebration of their sovereign's nuptials, a neighbouring prince, his enemy, made a descent by night on the island with a great number of troops. that formidable enemy was the king of zanguebar. he surprised and cut to pieces my husband's subjects. he was very near taking us both. we escaped very narrowly, for he had already entered the palace with some of his followers, but we found means to slip away, and to get to the seacoast, where we threw ourselves into a fishing boat which we had the good fortune to meet with. two days we were driven about by the winds, without knowing what would become of us. the third day we espied a vessel making towards us under sail. we rejoiced at first, believing it had been a merchant ship which might take us aboard; but what was our consternation, when, as it drew near, we saw ten or twelve armed pirates appear on the deck. having boarded, five or six of them leaped into our boat, seized us, bound the prince, and conveyed us into their ship, where they immediately took off my veil. my youth and features touched them, and they all declared how much they were charmed at the sight of me. instead of casting lots, each of them claimed the preference, and me as his right. the dispute grew warm, they came to blows, and fought like madmen. the deck was soon covered with dead bodies, and they were all killed but one, who being left sole possessor of me, said, "you are mine. i will carry you to grand cairo, to deliver you to a friend of mine, to whom i have promised a beautiful slave. but who," added he, looking upon the sultan my husband, "is that man? what relation does he bear to you? are you allied by blood or love?" "sir," answered i, "he is my husband." "if so," replied the pirate, "in pity i must rid myself of him: it would be too great an affliction to him to see you in my friend's arms." having spoken these words, he took up the unhappy prince, who was bound, and threw him into the sea, notwithstanding all my endeavours to prevent him. i shrieked in a dreadful manner at the sight of what he had done, and had certainly cast myself headlong into the sea, but that the pirate held me. he saw my design, and therefore bound me with cords to the main-mast, then hoisting sail, made towards the land, and got ashore. he unbound me and led me to a little town, where he bought camels, tents, and slaves, and then set out for grand cairo, designing, as he still said, to present me to his friend, according to his promise. we had been several days upon the road, when, as we were crossing this plain yesterday, we descried the black who inhabited this castle. at a distance we took him for a tower, and when near us, could scarcely believe him to be a man. he drew his huge scimitar, and summoned the pirate to yield himself prisoner, with all his slaves, and the lady he was conducting. the pirate was daring; and being seconded by his slaves, who promised to stand by him, he attacked the black. the combat lasted a considerable time; but at length the pirate fell under his enemy's deadly blows, as did all his slaves, who chose rather to die than forsake him. the black then conducted me to the castle, whither he also brought the pirate's body, which he devoured that night. after his inhuman repast, perceiving that i ceased not weeping, he said to me, "young lady, prepare to love me, rather than continue thus to afflict yourself. make a virtue of necessity, and comply. i will give you till to-morrow to consider. let me then find you comforted for all your misfortunes, and overjoyed at having been reserved for me." having spoken these words, he conducted me to a chamber, and withdrew to his own, after locking up the castle gates. he opened them this morning, and presently locked them after him again, to pursue some travellers he perceived at a distance; but it is likely they made their escape, since he was returning alone, and without any booty, when you attacked him. as soon as the princess had finished the recital of her adventures, codadad declared to her that he was deeply concerned at her misfortunes. "but, madam," added he, "it shall be your own fault if you do not live at ease for the future. the sultan of harran's sons offer you a safe retreat in the court of their father; be pleased to accept of it. you will be there cherished by that sovereign, and respected by all; and if you do not disdain the affection of your deliverer, permit me to assure you of it, and to espouse you before all these princes; let them be witnesses to our contract." the princess consented, and the marriage was concluded that very day in the castle, where they found all sorts of provisions. the kitchens were full of flesh and other eatables the black used to feed on, when he was weary of feeding on human bodies. there was also a variety of fruits, excellent in their kinds; and, to complete their pleasure, abundance of delicious wine and other liquors. they all sat down at table; and after having eaten and drunk plentifully, took with them the rest of the provisions, and set out for the sultan of harran's court: they travelled several days, encamping in the pleasantest places they could find, and were within one day's journey of harran, when having halted and drunk all their wine, being under no longer concern to make it hold out, codadad directing his discourse to all his company, said "princes, i have too long concealed from you who i am. behold your brother codadad! i have received my being, as well as you, from the sultan of harran, the prince of samaria brought me up, and the princess pirouzè is my mother. madam," added he, addressing himself to the princess of deryabar, "do you also forgive me for having concealed my birth from you? perhaps, by discovering it sooner, i might have prevented some disagreeable reflections, which may have been occasioned by a match you may have thought unequal." "no, sir," answered the princess, "the opinion i at first conceived of you heightened every moment, and you did not stand in need of the extraction you now discover to make me happy." the princes congratulated codadad on his birth, and expressed much satisfaction at being made acquainted with it. but in reality, instead of rejoicing, their hatred of so amiable a brother was increased. they met together at night, whilst codadad and the princess his wife lay asleep in their tent. those ungrateful, those envious brothers, forgetting that had it not been for the brave son of pirouzè they must have been devoured by the black, agreed among themselves to murder him. "we have no other course to choose," said one of them, "for the moment our father shall come to understand that this stranger of whom he is already so fond, is our brother, and that he alone has been able to destroy a giant, whom we could not all of us together conquer, he will declare him his heir, to the prejudice of all his brothers, who will be obliged to obey and fall down before him." he added much more, which made such an impression on their envious and unnatural minds, that they immediately repaired to codadad, then asleep, stabbed him repeatedly, and leaving him for dead in the arms of the princess of deryabar, proceeded on their journey for the city of harran, where they arrived the next day. the sultan their father conceived the greater joy at their return, because he had despaired of ever seeing them again: he asked what had been the occasion of their stay? but they took care not to acquaint him with it, making no mention either of the black or of codadad; and only said, that, being curious to see different countries, they had spent some time in the neighbouring cities. in the mean time codadad lay in his tent weltering in his blood, and little differing from a dead man, with the princess his wife, who seemed to be in not much better condition than himself. she rent the air with her dismal shrieks, tore her hair, and bathing her husband's body with her tears, "alas! codadad, my dear codadad," cried she, "is it you whom i behold just departing this life? what cruel hands have put you into this condition? can i believe these are your brothers who have treated you so unmercifully, those brothers whom thy valour had saved? no, they are rather devils, who under characters so dear came to murder you. o barbarous wretches! how could you make so ungrateful a return for the service he has done you? but why should i complain of your brothers, unfortunate codadad! i alone am to blame for your death. you would join your fate with mine, and all the ill fortune that has attended me since i left my father's palace has fallen upon you. o heaven! which has condemned me to lead a life of calamities, if you will not permit me to have a consort, why did you permit me to find one? behold you have now robbed me of two, just as i began to be attached to them." by these and other moving expressions, the afflicted princess of deryabar vented her sorrow, fixing her eyes on the unfortunate codadad, who could not hear her; but he was not dead, and his consort observing that he still breathed, ran to a large town she espied in the plain, to inquire for a surgeon. she was directed to one, who went immediately with her; but when they came to the tent, they could not find codadad, which made them conclude he had been dragged away by some wild beast to be devoured. the princess renewed her complaints and lamentations in a most affecting manner. the surgeon was moved and being unwilling to leave her in so distressed a condition, proposed to her to return to the town offering her his house and service. she suffered herself to be prevailed on. the surgeon conducted her to his house, and without knowing, as yet, who she was, treated her with all imaginable courtesy and respect. he used all his endeavours to comfort her, but it was vain to think of removing her sorrow, which was rather heightened than diminished. "madam," said he to her one day, "be pleased to recount to me your misfortunes; tell me your country and your condition. perhaps i may give you some good advice, when i am acquainted with all the circumstances of your calamity. you do nothing but afflict yourself, without considering that remedies may be found for the most desperate diseases." the surgeon's words were so efficacious, that they wrought on the princess, who recounted to him all her adventures: and when she had done, the surgeon directed his discourse to her; "madam," said he, "you ought not thus to give way to your sorrow; you ought rather to arm yourself with resolution, and perform what the name and the duty of a wife require of you. you are bound to avenge your husband. if you please, i will wait on you as your attendant. let us go to the sultan of harran's court; he is a good and a just prince. you need only represent to him in lively colours, how prince codadad has been treated by his brothers. i am persuaded he will do you justice." "i submit to your reasons," answered the princess; "it is my duty to endeavour to avenge codadad; and since you are so generous as to offer to attend me, i am ready to set out." no sooner had she fixed this resolution, than the surgeon ordered two camels to be made ready, on which the princess and he mounted, and repaired to harran. they alighted at the first caravanserai they found, and inquired of the host the news at court. "it is," said he, "in very great perplexity. the sultan had a son, who lived long with him as a stranger, and none can tell what is become of the young prince. one of the sultan's wives, named pirouzè, is his mother; she has made all possible inquiry, but to no purpose. all are concerned at the loss of this prince, because he had great merit. the sultan has forty-nine other sons, all by different mothers, but not one of them has virtue enough to comfort him for the death of codadad; i say, his death, because it is impossible he should be still alive, since no intelligence has been heard of him, notwithstanding so much search has been made." the surgeon having heard this account from the host, concluded that the best course the princess of deryabar could take was to wait upon pirouzè; but that step was not without some danger, and required much precaution: for it was to be feared, that if the sultan of harran's sons should happen to hear of the arrival of their sister-in-law, and her design, they might cause her to be conveyed away before she could discover herself to codadad's mother. the surgeon weighed all these circumstances, considered what risk he might run himself, and therefore, that he might manage matters with discretion, desired the princess to remain in the caravanserai, whilst he repaired to the palace, to observe which might be the safest way to conduct her to pirouzè. he went accordingly into the city, and was walking towards the palace, like one led only by curiosity to see the court, when he beheld a lady mounted on a mule richly accoutred. she was followed by several ladies mounted also on mules, with a great number of guards and black slaves. all the people formed a lane to see her pass along, and saluted her by prostrating themselves on the ground. the surgeon paid her the same respect, and then asked a calender, who happened to stand by him, "whether that lady was one of the sultan's wives?" "yes, brother," answered the calender, "she is, and the most honoured and beloved by the people, because she is the mother of prince codadad, of whom you must have heard." the surgeon asked no more questions, but followed pirouzè to a mosque, into which she went to distribute alms, and assist at the public prayers which the sultan had ordered to be offered up for the safe return of codadad. the people, who were highly concerned for that young prince, ran in crowds to join their vows to the prayers of the priests, so that the mosque was quite full. the surgeon broke through the throng, and advanced to pirouzè's guards. he waited the conclusion of the prayers, and when the princess went out, stepped up to one of her slaves, and whispered him in the ear, "brother, i have a secret of moment to impart to the princess pirouzè; may not i, by your means, be introduced into her apartment?" "if that secret," answered the slave, "relate to prince codadad, i dare promise you shall have audience of her this very day; but if it concern not him, it is needless for you to endeavour to be introduced; for her thoughts are all engrossed by her son, and she will not hear of any other subject." "it is only about that dear son," replied the surgeon, "that i wish to speak to her." "if so," said the slave, "you need only follow us to the palace, and you shall soon have the opportunity." accordingly, as soon as pirouzè was returned to her apartment, the slave acquainted her that a person unknown had some important information to communicate to her, and that it related to prince codadad. no sooner had he uttered these words, than pirouzè expressed her impatience to see the stranger. the slave immediately conducted him into the princess's closet, who ordered all her women to withdraw, except two, from whom she concealed nothing. as soon as she saw the surgeon, she asked him eagerly, what news he had to tell her of codadad? "madam," answered the surgeon, after having prostrated himself on the ground, "i have a long account to give you, and such as will surprise you." he then related all the particulars of what had passed between codadad and his brothers, which she listened to with eager attention; but when he came to speak of the murder, the tender mother fainted away on her sofa, as if she had herself been stabbed like her son. her two women used proper means, and soon brought her to herself. the surgeon continued his relation; and when he had concluded, pirouzè said to him, "go back to the princess of deryabar, and assure her from me that the sultan shall soon own her for his daughter-in-law; and as for yourself, be satisfied, that your services shall be rewarded as liberally as they deserve." when the surgeon was gone, pirouzè remained on the sofa, in such a state of affliction as may easily be imagined; and yielding to her tenderness at the recollection of codadad, "o my son," said she, "i must never then expect to see you more! alas! when i gave you leave to depart from samaria, and you took leave of me, i did not imagine that so unfortunate a death awaited you at such a distance from me. unfortunate codadad! why did you leave me? you would not, it is true, have acquired so much renown, but you had been still alive, and not have cost your mother so many tears." while she uttered these words, she wept bitterly, and her two attendants moved by her grief, mingled their tears with hers. whilst they were all three in this manner vying in affliction, the sultan came into the closet, and seeing them in this condition, asked pirouzè whether she had received any bad news concerning codadad? "alas! sir," said she, "all is over, my son has lost his life, and to add to my sorrow, i cannot pay him the funeral rites; for, in all probability, wild beasts have devoured him." she then told him all she had heard from the surgeon, and did not fail to enlarge on the inhuman manner in which codadad had been murdered by his brothers. the sultan did not give pirouzè time to finish her relation, but transported with anger, and giving way to his passion, "madam," said he to the princess, "those perfidious wretches who cause you to shed these tears, and are the occasion of mortal grief to their father, shall soon feel the punishment due to their guilt." the sultan having spoken these words, with indignation in his countenance, went directly to the presence-chamber where all his courtiers attended, and such of the people as had petitions to present to him. they were alarmed to see him in passion, and thought his anger had been kindled against his people. their hearts were chilled with fear. he ascended the throne, and causing his grand vizier to approach, "hassan," said he, "go immediately, take a thousand of my guards, and seize all the princes, my sons; shut them up in the tower used as a prison for murderers, and let this be done in a moment." all who were present trembled at this extraordinary command; and the grand vizier, without uttering a word, laid his hand on his head, to express his obedience, and hastened from the hall to execute his orders. in the mean time the sultan dismissed those who attended for audience, and declared he would not hear of any business for a month to come. he was still in the hall when the vizier returned. "are all my sons," demanded he, "in the tower?" "they are, sir," answered the vizier, "i have obeyed your orders." "this is not all," replied the sultan, "i have further commands for you;" and so saying he went out of the hall of audience, and returned to pirouzè's apartment, the vizier following him. he asked the princess where codadad's widow had taken up her lodging? pirouzè's women told him, for the surgeon had not forgotten that in his relation. the sultan then turning to his minister, "go," said he, "to this caravanserai, and conduct a young princess who lodges there, with all the respect due to her quality, to my palace." the vizier was not long in performing what he was ordered. he mounted on horseback with all the emirs and courtiers, and repaired to the caravanserai, where the princess of deryabar was lodged, whom he acquainted with his orders; and presented her, from the sultan, a fine white mule, whose saddle and bridle were adorned with gold, rubies, and diamonds. she mounted, and proceeded to the palace. the surgeon attended her, mounted on a beautiful tartar horse which the vizier had provided for him. all the people were at their windows, or in the streets, to see the cavalcade; and it being given out that the princess, whom they conducted in such state to court, was codadad's wife, the city resounded with acclamations, the air rung with shouts of joy, which would have been turned into lamentations had that prince's fatal adventure been known; so much was he beloved by all. the princess of deryabar found the sultan at the palace-gate, waiting to receive her: he took her by the hand, and led her to pirouzè's apartment, where a very moving scene took place. codadad's wife found her affliction redouble at the sight of her husband's father and mother; as, on the other hand, those parents could not look on their son's wife without being much affected. she cast herself at the sultan's feet, and having bathed them with tears, was so overcome with grief, that she was not able to speak. pirouzè was in no better state. and the sultan, moved by these affecting objects, gave way to his own feelings, and wept. all three, mingling their tears and sighs, for some time observed a silence, equally tender and pitiful. at length the princess of deryabar, being somewhat recovered, recounted the adventure of the castle, and codadad's disaster. then she demanded justice for the treachery of the princes. "yes, madam," said the sultan, "those ungrateful wretches shall perish; but codadad's death must be first made public, that the punishment of his brothers may not cause my subjects to rebel; and though we have not my son's body, we will not omit paying him the last duties." this said, he directed his discourse to the vizier, and ordered him to cause to be erected a dome of white marble, in a delightful plain, in the midst of which the city of harran stands. then he appointed the princess of deryabar a suitable apartment in his palace, acknowledging her for his daughter-in-law. hassan caused the work to be carried on with such diligence, and employed so many workmen, that the dome was soon finished. within it was erected a tomb, which was covered with gold brocade. when all was completed, the sultan ordered prayers to be said, and appointed a day for the obsequies of his son. on that day all the inhabitants of the city went out upon the plain to see the ceremony performed, which was after the following manner. the sultan, attended by his vizier and the principal lords of the court, proceeded towards the dome, and being come to it, he went in and sat down with them on carpets of black satin embroidered with gold flowers. a great body of horse-guards hanging their heads, drew up close about the dome, and marched round it twice, observing a profound silence; but at the third round they halted before the door, and all of them with a loud voice pronounced these words: "o prince! son to the sultan, could we by dint of sword, and human valour, repair your misfortune, we would bring you back to life; but the king of kings has commanded, and the angel of death has obeyed." having uttered these words, they drew off, to make way for a hundred old men, all of them mounted on black mules, and having long grey beards. these were anchorites, who had lived all their days concealed in caves. they never appeared in sight of the world, but when they were to assist at the obsequies of the sultans of harran, and of the princes of their family. each of these venerable persons carried on his head a book, which he held with one hand. they took three turns round the dome without uttering a word; then stopping before the door, one of them said, "o prince! what can we do for thee? if thou couldst be restored to life by prayer or learning, we would rub our grey beards at thy feet, and recite prayers; but the king of the universe has taken thee away for ever." this said, the old men moved to a distance from the dome, and immediately fifty beautiful young maidens drew near to it; each of them mounted on a little white horse; they wore no veils, and carried gold baskets full of all sorts of precious stones. they also rode thrice round the dome, and halting at the same place as the others had done, the youngest of them spoke in the name of all, as follows: "o prince! once so beautiful, what relief can you expect from us? if we could restore you to life by our charms, we would become your slaves. but you are no longer sensible to beauty, and have no more occasion for us." when the young maids were withdrawn, the sultan and his courtiers arose, and having walked thrice around the tomb, the sultan spoke as follows: "o my dear son, light of my eyes, i have then lost thee for ever!" he accompanied these words with sighs, and watered the tomb with his tears; his courtiers weeping with him. the gate of the dome was then closed, and all the people returned to the city. next day there were public prayers in all the mosques, and the same was continued for eight days successively. on the ninth the king resolved to cause the princes his sons to be beheaded. the people incensed at their cruelty towards codadad, impatiently expected to see them executed. the scaffolds were erecting, but the execution was respited, because, on a sudden, intelligence was brought that the neighbouring princes, who had before made war on the sultan of harran, were advancing with more numerous forces than on the first invasion, and were then not far from the city. it had been long known that they were preparing for war, but their preparations caused no alarm. this news occasioned general consternation, and gave new cause to lament the loss of codadad, who had signalized himself in the former war against the same enemies. "alas!" said they, "were the brave codadad alive, we should little regard those princes who are coming to surprise us." the sultan, nothing dismayed, raised men with all possible speed, formed a considerable army, and being too brave to await the enemy's coming to attack him within his walls, marched out to meet them. they, on their side, being informed by their advanced parties that the sultan of harran was marching to engage them, halted in the plain, and formed their army. as soon as the sultan discovered them, he also drew up his forces, and ranged them in order of battle. the signal was given and he attacked them with extraordinary vigour; nor was the opposition inferior. much blood was shed on both sides, and the victory remained long dubious; but at length it seemed to incline to the sultan of harran's enemies, who, being more numerous, were upon the point of surrounding him, when a great body of cavalry appeared on the plain, and approached the two armies. the sight of this fresh party daunted both sides, neither knowing what to think of them: but their doubts were soon cleared; for they fell upon the flank of the sultan of harran's enemies with such a furious charge, that they soon broke and routed them. nor did they stop here; they pursued them, and cut most of them in pieces. the sultan of harran, who had attentively observed all that passed, admired the bravery of this strange body of cavalry, whose unexpected arrival had given the victory to his army. but, above all, he was charmed with their chief, whom he had seen fighting with a more than ordinary valour. he longed to know the name of the generous hero. impatient to see and thank him, he advanced towards him, but perceived he was coming to prevent him. the two princes drew near, and the sultan of harran discovering codadad in the brave warrior who had just assisted him, or rather defeated his enemies, became motionless with joy and surprise. "father," said codadad to him, "you have sufficient cause to be astonished at the sudden appearance before your majesty of a man, whom perhaps you concluded to be dead. i should have been so had not heaven preserved me still to serve you against your enemies." "o my son!" cried the sultan, "is it possible that you are restored to me? alas! i despaired of seeing you more." so saying he stretched out his arms to the young prince, who flew to such a tender embrace. "i know all, my son," said the sultan again, after having long held him in his arms. "i know what return your brothers have made you for delivering them out of the hands of the black; but you shall be revenged to-morrow. let us now go to the palace where your mother, who has shed so many tears on your account, expects me to rejoice with us for the defeat of our enemies. what a joy will it be to her to be informed, that my victory is your work!" "sir," said codadad, "give me leave to ask how you could know the adventure of the castle? have any of my brothers, repenting, owned it to you?" "no," answered the sultan; "the princess of deryabar has given us an account of every thing, for she is in my palace and came thither to demand justice against your brothers." codadad was transported with joy, to learn that the princess his wife was at the court. "let us go, sir," cried he to his father in rapture, "let us go to my mother, who waits for us. i am impatient to dry up her tears, as well as those of the princess of deryabar." the sultan immediately returned to the city with his army, and re-entered his palace victorious, amidst the acclamations of the people, who followed him in crowds, praying to heaven to prolong his life, and extolling codadad to the skies. they found pirouzè and her daughter-in-law waiting to congratulate the sultan; but words cannot express the transports of joy they felt, when they saw the young prince with him: their embraces were mingled with tears of a very different kind from those they had before shed for him. when they had sufficiently yielded to all the emotions that the ties of blood and love inspired, they asked codadad by what miracle he came to be still alive? he answered, that a peasant mounted on a mule happening accidentally to come into the tent, where he lay senseless, and perceiving him alone, and stabbed in several places, had made him fast on his mule, and carried him to his house, where he applied to his wounds certain herbs chewed, which recovered him. "when i found myself well," added he, "i returned thanks to the peasant, and gave him all the diamonds i had. i then made for the city of harran; but being informed by the way, that some neighbouring princes had gathered forces, and were on their march against the sultan's subjects, i made myself known to the villagers, and stirred them up to undertake his defence. i armed a great number of young men, and heading them, happened to arrive at the time when the two armies were engaged." when he had done speaking, the sultan said, "let us return thanks to god for having preserved codadad; but it is requisite that the traitors, who would have destroyed him, should perish." "sir," answered the generous prince, "though they are wicked and ungrateful, consider they are your own flesh and blood: they are my brothers; i forgive their offence, and beg you to pardon them." this generosity drew tears from the sultan, who caused the people to be assembled and declared codadad his heir. he then ordered the princes, who were prisoners, to be brought out loaded with irons. pirouzè's son struck off their chains, and embraced them all successively, with as much sincerity and affection as he had done in the court of the black's castle. the people were charmed with codadad's generosity, and loaded him with applause. the surgeon was next nobly rewarded in requital of the services he had done the princess of deryabar. the story of abou hassan, or the sleeper awakened. in the reign of the caliph haroon al rusheed, there lived at bagdad a very rich merchant, who, having married a woman advanced in years, had but one son, whom he named abou hassan, and educated with great restraint: when his son was thirty years old, the merchant dying, left him his sole heir, and master of great riches, amassed together by much frugality and close application to business. abou hassan, whose views and inclinations were very different from those of his father, determined to make another use of his wealth; for as his father had never allowed him any money but what was just necessary for subsistence, and he had always envied those young persons of his age who wanted for nothing, and who debarred themselves from none of those pleasures to which youth are so much addicted, he resolved in his turn to distinguish himself by extravagancies proportionable to his fortune. to this end he divided his riches into two parts; with one half he bought houses in town, and land in the country, with a resolution never to touch the income of his real estate, which was considerable enough to live upon .very handsomely, but lay it all by as he received it. with the other half, which consisted of ready money, he designed to make himself amends for the time he had lost by the severe restraint in which his father had always kept him. with this intent, abou hassan formed a society with youths of his own age and condition, who thought of nothing but how to make their time pass agreeably. every day he gave them splendid entertainments, at which the most delicate viands were served up, and the most exquisite wines flowed in profusion, while concerts of the best vocal and instrumental music by performers of both sexes heightened their pleasures, and this young band of debauchees with the glasses in their hands, joined their songs with the music. these feasts were accompanied by ballets, for which the best dancers of both sexes were engaged. these entertainments, renewed every day, were so expensive to abou hassan, that he could not support the extravagance above a year: and the great sum which he had appropriated to this prodigality and the year ended together. as soon as he discontinued keeping this table, his friends forsook him; whenever they saw him they avoided him, and if by chance he met any of them, and went to stop them, they always excused themselves on some presence or other. abou hassan was more affected by this behaviour of his friends, who had forsaken him so basely and ungratefully, after all the protestations they had made him, of inviolable attachment, than by the loss of all the money he had so foolishly squandered. he went melancholy and thoughtful, his countenance expressive of deep vexation, into his mother's apartment, and sat down on the end of a sofa at a distance from her. "what is the matter with you, son?" said his mother, seeing him thus depressed. "why are you so altered, so dejected, and so different from yourself? you could not certainly be more concerned, if you had lost all you had. i know you have lived very extravagantly, and believe all your money is spent; you have still, however, a good estate; and the reason that i did not so much oppose your irregular way of living was, that i knew the wise precaution you had taken to preserve half your property. i do not, therefore, see why you should plunge yourself into this deep melancholy." at these words abou hassan melted into tears; and in the midst of his sighs exclaimed, "ah! mother, i see at last how insupportable poverty must be; i am sensible that it deprives us of joy, as the setting of the sun does of light. as poverty makes us forget all the commendations passed upon us before our fall, it makes us endeavour to conceal ourselves, and spend our nights in tears and sorrow. in short, a poor man is looked upon, both by friends and relations, as a stranger. you know, mother, how i have treated my friends for this year past; i have entertained them with all imaginable generosity, till i have spent all my money, and now they have left me, when they suppose i can treat them no longer. for my real estate, i thank heaven for having given me grace to keep the oath i made not to encroach upon that. i shall now know how to use what is left. but i will, however, try how far my friends, who deserve not that i should call them so, will carry their ingratitude. i will go to them one after another, and when i have represented to them what i have done on their account, ask them to make up a sum of money, to relieve me, merely to try if i can find any sentiment of gratitude remaining in them." "i do not pretend, son," said abou hassan's mother, "to dissuade you from your design; but i can tell you beforehand, that you have no ground for hope. believe me, you will kind no relief but from the estate you have reserved. i see you do not, but will soon, know those people, who, among persons of your sort, are generally called friends, and i wish to heaven you may know it in the manner i desire, for your own good." "mother," replied abou hassan, "i am persuaded of the truth of what you say, but shall be more certain of a fact which concerns me so nearly, when i shall have informed myself fully of their baseness and insensibility." abou hassan went immediately to his friends, whom he found at home; represented to them the great need he was in, and begged of them to assist him. he promised to give bonds to pay them the money they might lend him; giving them to understand at the same time, that it was, in a great measure, on their account that he was so distressed. that he might the more powerfully excite their generosity, he forgot not to allure them with the hopes of being once again entertained in the same manner as before. not one of his companions was affected with the arguments which the afflicted abou hassan used to persuade them; and he had the mortification to find, that many of them told him plainly they did not know him. he returned home full of indignation; and going into his mother's apartment, said, "ah! madam, you were right; instead of friends, i have found none but perfidious ungrateful wretches, who deserve not my friendship; i renounce them, and promise you i will never see them more." he resolved to be as good as his word, and took every precaution to avoid falling again into the inconvenience which his former prodigality had occasioned; taking an oath never to give an inhabitant of bagdad any entertainment while he lived. he drew the strong box into which he had put the rents received from his estates from the recess where he had placed it in reserve, put it in the room of that he had emptied, and resolved to take out every day no more than was sufficient to defray the expense of a single person to sup with him, who, according to the oath he had taken, was not of bagdad, but a stranger arrived in the city the same day, and who must take his leave of him the following morning. conformably to this plan, abou hassan took care every morning to provide whatever was necessary, and towards the close of the evening, went and sat at the end of bagdad bridge; and as soon as he saw a stranger, accosted him civilly invited him to sup and lodge with him that night, and after having informed him of the law he had imposed upon himself, conducted him to his house. the repast with which abou hassan regaled his guests was not costly, but well dressed, with plenty of good wine, and generally lasted till the night was pretty far advanced; instead of entertaining his guests with the affairs of state, his family, or business, as is too frequent, he conversed on different agreeable subjects. he was naturally of so gay and pleasant a temper, that he could give the most agreeable turns to every subject, and make the most melancholy persons merry. when he sent away his guest the next morning, he always said, "god preserve you from all sorrow wherever you go; when i invited you yesterday to come and sup with me, i informed you of the law i have imposed on myself; therefore do not take it ill if i tell you that we must never see one another again, nor drink together, either at home or any where else, for reasons best known to myself: so god conduct you." abou hassan was very exact in the observance of this oath, and never looked upon or spoke to the strangers he had once entertained; if he met them afterwards in the streets, the squares, or any public assemblies, he affected not to see them, and turned away to avoid them, that they might not speak to him, or he have any communication with them. he had acted for a long time in this manner, when, one afternoon, a little before sunset, as he sat upon the bridge according to custom, the caliph haroon al rusheed came by, but so disguised that it was impossible to know him; for that monarch, though his chief ministers and officers of justice acquitted themselves of their duty very punctually, would nevertheless inform himself of every thing, and for that purpose often disguised himself in different ways, and walked through the city and suburbs of bagdad, sometimes one way and sometimes another. that day, being the first of the month, he was dressed like a merchant of moussul, and was followed by a tall stout slave. as the caliph had in his disguise a grave and respectable appearance, abou hassan, who thought him to be a moussul merchant, rose up, and after having saluted him with a graceful air, said to him, "sir, i congratulate you on your happy arrival in bagdad, i beg you to do me the honour to sup with me, and repose yourself at my house for this night, after the fatigue of your journey." he then told him his custom of entertaining the first stranger he met with. the caliph found something so odd and singular in abou hassan's whim, that he was very desirous to know the cause; and told him that he could not better merit a civility, which he did not expect as a stranger, than by accepting the obliging offer made him; that he had only to lead the way, and he was ready to follow him. abou hassan treated the caliph as his equal, conducted him home, and led him into a room very neatly furnished, where he set him on a sofa, in the most honourable place. supper was ready, and the cloth laid. abou hassan's mother, who took upon herself the care of the kitchen, sent up three dishes; the first contained a capon and four large pullets, which was set in the middle; and the second and third, placed on each side, contained, one a fat roasted goose, and the other broiled pigeons. this was all; but they were good of the kind and well flavoured, with proper sauces. abou hassan sat down opposite his guest, and he and the caliph began to eat heartily of what they liked best, without speaking or drinking, according to the custom of the country. when they had done eating, the caliph's slave brought them water to wash their hands: and in the mean time abou hassan's mother cleared the table, and brought up a dessert of all the various sorts or fruits then in season; as grapes, peaches, apples, pears, and various pastes of dried almonds, &c. as soon as it grew dark, wax candles were lighted, and abou hassan, after requesting his mother to take care of the caliph's slave, set on bottles and glasses. abou hassan sitting down with the pretended moussul merchant again, filled out a glass of wine before he touched the fruit; and holding it in his hand, said to the caliph, "you know, sir, that the cock never drinks before he calls to his hens to come and drink with him; i invite you to follow my example. i do not know what you may think; but, for my part, i cannot reckon him a wise man who does not love wine. let us leave that sort of people to their dull melancholy humours, and seek for mirth, which is only to be found in a bumper." while abou hassan was drinking' the caliph taking the glass that was set for him, said, "you are an honest fellow; i like your pleasant temper, and expect you will fill me as much." abou hassan, as soon as he had drunk, filled the caliph's glass, and giving it to him, "taste this wine, sir," said he, "i will warrant it good." "i am well persuaded of that," replied the caliph, laughing, "you know how to choose the best." "o," replied abou hassan, while the caliph was drinking his glass, "one need only look in your face to be assured that you have seen the world, and know what good living is. if," added he in arabic verse, "my house could think and express its joy, how happy would it be to possess you, and, bowing before you, would exclaim, â��how overjoyed am i to see myself honoured with the company of so accomplished and polite a personage, and for meeting with a man of your merit.'" the caliph, naturally fond of merriment, was highly diverted with these sallies of abou hassan, and artfully promoted drinking, often asking for wine, thinking that when it began to operate, he might from his talkativeness satisfy his curiosity. he asked him his name, his business, and how he spent his life. "my name, sir," replied he, "is abou hassan. i lost my father, who was a merchant of bagdad, and though not the richest, yet lived very comfortably. when he died, he left me money enough to live free from business; but as he always kept a very strict hand over me, i was willing, when he was gone, to make up for the time i thought i had lost. notwithstanding this," continued abou hassan, "i was more prudent than most young people who give themselves up to debauchery, without any thought, pursue it till they reduce themselves to the utmost poverty, and are forced to do penance during the rest of their lives. to avoid this misfortune, i divided what i had left me into two parts, landed estate and ready money. i destined the ready money to supply the expenses of entertaining my acquaintance. i meditated, and took a fixed resolution not to touch my rents. i associated with young people of my own age, and with my ready money, which i spent profusely, treated them splendidly every day; and in short, spared for no sort of pleasure. but this course did not last long; for by the time the year was out, i had got to the bottom of my box, and then all my table-friends vanished. i made a visit to every one of them successively, and represented to them the miserable condition i was in, but none of them offered to relieve me. upon this i renounced their friendship, and retrenched so far, as to live within the compass of my income, bound myself to keep company with none but the first stranger i might meet with coming every day into bagdad, and to entertain him but one day and one night. i have told you the rest before; and i thank my good fortune this day for having met with a stranger of so much worth." the caliph was well satisfied with this information, and said to abou hassan, "i cannot enough commend the measures you have taken, and the prudence with which you have acted, by forsaking your debauchery; a conduct rarely to be met with in young persons; and i esteem you the more for being steady to your resolution. it was a slippery path you trod in, and i cannot but admire your self-command, that, after having seen the end of your ready money, you could so far refrain as not to enter upon your rents, or even your estate. in short, i must own, i envy your situation. you are the happiest man in the world, to enjoy every day the company of some one with whom you can discourse freely and agreeably, and to whom you give an opportunity to declare, wherever he goes, how handsome he was received by you. but we talk too long without drinking; come, drink, and pour out a glass for me." in this manner the caliph and abou hassan conversed together, drinking and talking of indifferent subjects, till the night was pretty far advanced; when the caliph, pretending to be fatigued after his journey, told his host he stood in need of a little rest. "but," added he, "as i would not deprive you of yours on my account, before we part (because to-morrow i may be gone before you are stirring), i should be glad to shew you how sensible i am of your civility, and the good cheer and hospitality you have strewn me. the only thing that troubles me is, that i know not which way to make you any acknowledgment. i beg of you, therefore, to let me understand how i may do it' and you shall see i will not be ungrateful; for it is impossible but a man like you must have some business, some want, or wish for something agreeable to you. speak freely, and open your mind; for though i am but a merchant, it may be in my power to oblige you myself, or by some friend." to these offers of the caliph, abou hassan, taking him still for a moussul merchant, replied, "i am very well persuaded, sir, that it is not out of compliment that you make me these generous tenders; but upon the word of an honest man, i assure you, i have nothing that troubles me, no business, nor desires, and i ask nothing of any body. i have not the least ambition, as i told you before; and am satisfied with my condition: therefore, i can only thank you for your obliging proffers, and the honour you have done me in condescending to partake of my frugal fare. yet i must tell you," pursued abou hassan, "there is one thing gives me uneasiness, without, however, disturbing my rest. you must know the town of bagdad is divided into quarters, in each of which there is a mosque with an imaum to perform service at certain hours, at the head of the quarter which assembles there. the imaum of the division i live in is a surly curmudgeon, of an austere countenance, and the greatest hypocrite in the world. four old men of this neighbourhood, who are people of the same stamp, meet regularly every day at this imaum's house. there they vent their slander, calumny, and malice against me and the whole quarter, to the disturbance of the peace of the neighbourhood, and the promotion of dissension. some they threaten, others they frighten; and, in short, would be lords paramount, and have every one govern himself according to their caprice, though they know not how to govern themselves. indeed, i am sorry to see that they meddle with any thing but their koraun, and will not let the world live quietly." "well, i suppose," said the caliph, "you wish to have a stop put to this disorder?" "you have guessed right," answered abou hassan; "and the only thing i should pray for, would be to be caliph but for one day, in the stead of our sovereign lord and master haroon al rusheed, commander of the faithful." "what would you do if you were?" said the caliph. "i would make examples of them," answered abou hassan, "to the satisfaction of all honest men. i would punish the four old men with each a hundred bastinadoes on the soles of their feet, and the imaum with four hundred, to teach them not to disturb and abuse their neighbours in future." the caliph was extremely pleased with this thought of abou hassan's; and as he loved adventures, resolved to make this a very singular one. "indeed," said he, "i approve much of your wish, which proceeds from an upright heart, that cannot bear the malice of such officious hypocrites; i could like to see it realized, and it is not so impossible as you may imagine. i am persuaded that the caliph would willingly put his authority for twenty-four hours into your hands if he knew your intentions, and the good use you would make of it. though a foreign merchant, i have credit enough to contribute in some degree to the execution of this plan." "i see," said abou hassan, "you laugh at my foolish fancy, and the caliph himself would laugh at my extravagance if he knew it: yet it would be a means of informing him of the behaviour of the imaum and his companions, and induce him to chastise them." "heaven forbid," replied the caliph, "that i, who have been so handsomely entertained by you, should laugh at you; neither do i believe, as much a stranger as i am to you, that the caliph would be displeased: but let us leave off talking; it is almost midnight, and time to go to bed." "with all my heart," said abou hassan; "i would not be any hindrance to your going to rest; but there is still some wine in the bottle, and if you please we will drink it off first, and then retire. the only thing that i have to recommend to you is, that when you go out in the morning, if i am not up, you will not leave the door open, but give yourself the trouble of shutting it after you." this the caliph promised to do: and while abou hassan was talking, took the bottle and two glasses, filled his own first, saying, "here is a cup of thanks to you," and then filling the other, put into it artfully a little opiate powder, which he had about him and giving it to abou hassan, said, "you have taken the pains to fill for me all night, and it is the least i can do to save you the trouble once: i beg you to take this glass; drink it off for my sake." abou hassan took the glass, and to shew his guest with how much pleasure he received the honour, drank it off at once; but had scarcely set the glass upon the table, when the powder began to operate; he fell into so sound a sleep, and his head knocked against his knees so suddenly, that the caliph could not help laughing. the caliph commanded the slave he had brought with him, who entered the room as soon as he had supped, and had waited to receive orders, to take abou hassan upon his back, and follow him; but to be sure to observe the house, that he might know it again. in this manner the caliph, followed by the slave with his sleeping load, went out of the house, but without shutting the door after him as he had been desired, went directly to his palace, and by a private door into his own apartment, where the officers of his chamber were in waiting, whom he ordered to undress abou hassan, and put him into his bed, which they immediately performed. the caliph then sent for all the officers and ladies of the palace, and said to them, "i would have all those whose business it is to attend my levee wait to-morrow morning upon the man who lies in my bed, pay the same respect to him as to myself, and obey him in whatever he may command; let him be refused nothing that he asks, and be addressed and answered as if he were the commander of the faithful. in short, i expect that you attend to him as the true caliph, without regarding me; and disobey him not in the least circumstance." the officers and ladies, who understood that the caliph meant to divert himself, answered by low bows, and then withdrew, every one preparing to contribute to the best of their power to perform their respective parts adroitly. the caliph next sent for the grand vizier: "jaaffier," said he, "i have sent for you to instruct you, and to prevent your being surprised to-morrow when you come to audience, at seeing this man seated on my throne in the royal robes: accost him with the same reverence and respect as you pay to myself: observe and punctually execute whatever he bids you do, the same as if i commanded you. he will exercise great liberality, and commission you with the distribution of it. do all he commands; even if his liberality should extend so far as to empty all the coffers in my treasury; and remember to acquaint all my emirs, and the officers without the palace, to pay him the same honour at audience as to myself, and to carry on the matter so well, that he may not perceive the least thing that may interrupt the diversion which i design myself." after the grand vizier had retired, the caliph went to bed in another apartment, and gave mesrour, the chief of his eunuchs, the orders which he was to execute, that every thing should succeed as he intended, so that he might see how abou hassan would use the power and authority of the caliph for the short time he had desired to have it. above all, he charged him not to fail to awaken him at the usual hour, before he awakened abou hassan, because he wished to be present when he arose. mesrour failed not to do as the caliph had commanded, and as soon as the caliph went into the room where abou hassan lay, he placed himself in a little raised closet, from whence he could see all that passed. all the officers and ladies, who were to attend abou hassan's levee, went in at the same time, and took their posts according to their rank, ready to acquit themselves of their respective duties, as if the caliph himself had been going to rise. as it was just day-break, and time to prepare for the morning prayer before sun rise, the officer who stood nearest to the head of the bed put a sponge steeped in vinegar to abou hassan's nose, who immediately turning his head about, without opening his eyes, discharged a kind of phlegm, which was received in a little golden basin before it fell on the carpet. this was the usual effect of the caliph's powder, the sleep lasting longer or shorter, in proportion to the dose. when abou hassan laid down his head on the bolster, he opened his eyes; and by the dawning light that appeared, found himself in a large room, magnificently furnished, the ceiling of which was finely painted in arabesque, adorned with vases of gold and silver, and the floor covered with a rich silk tapestry. he saw himself surrounded by many young and handsome ladies, many of them having instruments of music in their hands, and black eunuchs richly clothed, all standing with great modesty and respect. after casting his eyes on the covering of the bed, he perceived it was cloth of gold richly embossed with pearl and diamonds; and near the bed lay, on a cushion, a habit of tissue embroidered with jewels, with a caliph's turban. at the sight of these glittering objects, abou hassan was in the most inexpressible amazement, and looked upon all he saw as a dream; yet a dream he wished it not to be. "so," said he to himself, "i am caliph; but," added he, recollecting himself, "it is only a dream, the effect of the wish i entertained my guest with last night ;" and then he turned himself about and shut his eyes to sleep. at the same time the eunuch said very respectfully, "commander of the faithful, it is time for your majesty to rise to prayers, the morning begins to advance." these words very much surprised abou hassan. "am i awake, or do i sleep?" said he to himself. "ah, certainly i am asleep!" continued he, keeping his eyes shut; "there is no reason to doubt of it." immediately the eunuch, who saw he had no inclination to get up, said again, "your majesty must permit me to repeat once more that it is time to rise to morning prayer, unless you choose to let it pass; the sun is just rising, and you never neglect this duty." "i am mistaken," said abou hassan immediately, "i am not asleep, but awake; for those who sleep do not hear, and i hear somebody speak to me;" then opening his eyes again, he saw plainly by broad day-light, what he had seen but indistinctly before; and started up, with a smiling countenance, like a man overjoyed at sudden promotion. the caliph, from his recess, penetrated his thoughts with great delight. the young ladies of the palace now prostrated themselves with their faces to the ground before abou hassan, and those who had instruments of music in their hands wished him a good morrow, by a concert of soft flutes, hautboys, theorboes, and other harmonious instruments, with which he was enchanted, and in such an ecstacy, that he knew not whether he was himself; but reverting to his first idea, he still doubted whether what he saw and heard was a dream or reality. he clapped his hands before his eyes, and lowering his head, said to himself, "what means all this? where am i? and to whom does this palace belong? what can these eunuchs, handsome well-dressed officers, beautiful ladies, and musicians mean: how is it possible for me to distinguish whether i am in my right senses or in a dream?" when he took his hands from his eyes, opened them, and lifted up his head, the sun shone full in at the chamber window; and at that instant mesrour, the chief of the eunuchs, came in, prostrated himself before abou hassan, and said, "commander of the faithful, your majesty will excuse me for representing to you, that you used not to rise so late, and that the time of prayer is over. if your majesty has not had a bad night, it is time to ascend your throne and hold a council as usual; all your generals, governors, and other great officers of state, wait your presence in the council-hall." at this discourse, abou hassan was persuaded that he was neither asleep nor in a dream; but at the same time was not less embarrassed and confused under his uncertainty what steps to take: at last, looking earnestly at mesrour, he said to him in a serious tone, "whom is it you speak to, and call the commander of the faithful? i do not know you, and you must mistake me for somebody else." any person but mesrour would have been puzzled at these questions of abou hassan; but he had been so well instructed by the caliph, that he played his part admirably. "my imperial lord and master," said he, "your majesty only speaks thus to try me. is not your majesty the commander of the faithful, monarch of the world from east to west, and vicar on earth to the prophet sent of god? mesrour, your poor slave, has not forgotten you, after so many years that he has had the honour and happiness to serve and pay his respects to your majesty. he would think himself the most unhappy of men, if he has incurred your displeasure, and begs of you most humbly to remove his fears; but had rather suppose that you have been disturbed by some troublesome dream." abou hassan burst out laughing at these words, and fell backwards upon the bolster, which pleased the caliph so much that he would have laughed as loud himself, if he had not been afraid of putting a stop too soon to the pleasant scene he had promised himself. abou hassan, when he had tired himself with laughing, sat up again, and speaking to a little eunuch that stood by him, black as mesrour, said, "hark ye, tell me whom i am?" "sir," answered the little boy, modestly, "your majesty is the commander of the believers, and god's vicar on earth." "you are a little liar, black face," said abou hassan. then he called the lady that stood nearest to him; "come hither, fair one," said he, holding out his hand, "bite the end of my finger, that i may feel whether i am asleep or awake." the lady, who knew the caliph saw all that passed, was overjoyed to have an opportunity of strewing her power of diverting him, went with a grave countenance, and putting his finger between her teeth, bit it so hard that she put him to violent pain. snatching his hand quickly back again, he said, "i find i am awake and not asleep. but by what miracle am i become caliph in a night's time! this is certainly the most strange and surprising event in the world!" then addressing himself to the same lady, he said, "i conjure you, by the protection of god, in whom you trust as well as i, not to hide the truth from me; am i really the commander of the faithful?" "it is so true," answered the lady, "that we who are your slaves are amazed to find that you will not believe yourself to be so." "you are a deceiver," replied abou hassan: "i know very well who i am." as the chief of the eunuchs perceived that abou hassan now wished to rise, he offered him his hand, and helped him to get out of bed. no sooner were his feet set on the floor, than the chamber rang with the repeated acclamations of the officers and ladies, who cried out all together, "commander of the faithful, god give your majesty a good day." "o heaven!" cried abou hassan, "what a strange thing this is! last night i was abou hassan, and this morning i am the commander of the believers! i cannot comprehend this sudden and surprising change." presently some of the officers began to dress him; and when they had done, mesrour led him through all the eunuchs and ladies, who were ranged on both sides, quite to the council chamber door, which was opened by one of the officers. mesrour walked before him to the foot of the throne, where he stopped, and putting one hand under one arm, while another officer who followed did the same by the other, they helped him to ascend the throne. abou hassan sat down amidst the acclamations of the officers, who wished him all happiness and prosperity, and turning to the right and left he saw the officers of the guards ranged in order, and making a fine appearance. the caliph in the mean time came out of the closet, and went into another, which looked into the hall, from whence he could see and hear all that passed in council, where his grand vizier presided in his place. what pleased him highly, was to see abou hassan fill his throne with almost as much gravity as himself. as soon as abou hassan had seated himself, the grand vizier prostrated himself at the foot of the throne, and rising, said, "commander of the faithful, god shower down blessings on your majesty in this life, receive you into his paradise in the other world, and confound your enemies." abou hassan, after all that had happened that morning, at these words of the grand vizier, never doubted but that he was caliph, as he wished to be; and without examining any farther, how or by what adventure, or sudden change of fortune, he had become so, immediately began to exercise his power, and looking very gravely at the vizier, asked him what he had to say? "commander of the faithful," replied the grand vizier, "the emirs, vizier, and other officers of your council, wait without till your majesty gives them leave to pay their accustomed respects." abou hassan ordered the door to be opened, and the grand vizier addressing himself to the officers in waiting, said, "chief of the door- keepers, the commander of the faithful orders you to do your duty." when the door was opened, the viziers, emirs, and principal officers of the court, all dressed magnificently in their habits of ceremony, went in their order to the foot of the throne, paid their respects to abou hassan; and bowing their heads down to the carpet, saluted him with the title of commander of the faithful, according to the instructions of the grand vizier, and afterwards took their seats. when this ceremony was over, and they were all placed, there was a profound silence. the grand vizier always standing before the throne, began according to the order of papers in his hand to make his report of affairs, which at that time were of very little consequence. nevertheless, the caliph could not but admire how abou hassan acquitted himself in his exalted station without the least hesitation or embarrassment, and decided well in all matters, as his own good sense suggested. but before the grand vizier had finished his report, abou hassan perceived the judge of the police, whom he knew by sight, sitting in his place. "stop," said he, to the grand vizier, interrupting him; "i have an order of consequence to give to the judge of the police." the judge of the police perceiving that abou hassan looked at him, and hearing his name mentioned, arose from his seat, and went gravely to the foot of the throne, where he prostrated himself with his face to the ground. "judge of the police," said abou hassan, "go immediately to such a quarter, where you will find a mosque, seize the imaum and four old grey beards, give each of the old men a hundred bastinadoes, and the imaum four hundred. after that, mount them all five, clothed in rags, on camels, with their faces to the tails, and lead them through the whole city, with a crier before them, who shall proclaim with a loud voice, â��this is the punishment of all those who trouble their heads with other people's affairs, make it their business to create disturbances and misunderstandings in families in their neighbourhood, and do them all the mischief in their power.' my intention is also, that you enjoin them to leave that quarter, and never to set foot in it more: and while your lieutenant is conducting them through the town, return, and give me an account of the execution of my orders." the judge of the police laid his hand upon his head, to shew his obedience, and prostrating himself a second time retired to execute the mandate. the caliph was highly pleased at the firmness with which this order was given, and perceived that abou hassan was resolved not to lose the opportunity of punishing the imaum and the other four old hypocrites of his quarter. in the mean time the grand vizier went on with his report, and had just finished, when the judge of the police came back from executing his commission. he approached the throne with the usual ceremony, and said, "commander of the faithful, i found the imaum and his four companions in the mosque, which your majesty pointed out; and as a proof that i have punctually obeyed your commands, i have brought an instrument signed by the principal inhabitants of the ward." at the same time he pulled a paper out of his bosom, and presented it to the pretended caliph. abou hassan took the paper, and reading it over cautiously with the names of the witnesses, who were all people he knew, said to the judge of the police, smiling, "it is well; i am satisfied; return to your seat." "these old hypocrites," said he to himself, with an air of satisfaction "who thought fit to censure my actions, and find fault with my entertaining honest people, deserved this punishment." the caliph all the time penetrated his thoughts, and felt inconceivable delight at his frolic. abou hassan, then addressing himself to the grand vizier, said, "go to the high treasurer for a purse of a thousand pieces of gold, and carry it to the mother of one abou hassan, who is known by the name of the debauchee; she lives in the same quarter to which i sent the judge of the police. go, and return immediately." the grand vizier, after laying his hand upon his head, and prostrating himself before the throne, went to the high treasurer, who gave him the money, which he ordered a slave to take, and to follow him to abou hassan's mother, to whom he gave it, saying only, "the caliph makes you this present." she received it with the greatest surprise imaginable. during the grand vizier's absence, the judge of the police made the usual report of his office, which lasted till the vizier returned. as soon as he came into the council-chamber, and had assured abou hassan that he had executed his orders, mesrour, the chief of the eunuchs, made a sign to the viziers, the emirs, and other officers, that the council was over, and that they might all retire; which they did, by making the same prostration at the foot of the throne as when they entered. abou hassan descended from the caliph's throne, and mesrour went before him, to shew him the way into an inner apartment, where there was a table spread; several eunuchs ran to tell the musicians that the sham caliph was coming, when they immediately began a concert of vocal and instrumental music, with which abou hassan was so charmed and transported, that he could not tell what to think of all he saw and heard. "if this is a dream," said he, "it is a long one. but certainly," continued he, "it is no dream; for i can see and feel, walk and hear, and argue reasonably; whatever it is, i trust in god; i cannot but believe that i am the commander of the faithful, for no other person could live in this splendour. the honour and respect that has been strewn me, and the obedience paid to my commands, are sufficient proofs of my exaltation." in short, abou hassan took it for granted that he was the commander of the faithful; but was still more convinced of it when he entered a magnificent and spacious hall, which was finely painted with the brightest colours intermixed with gold. seven bands of female musicians, more beautiful than the others, were placed round the hall, and as many gold chandeliers hung from the ceiling, which was painted with blue and gold, intermixed with wonderful effect. in the middle of the hall was spread a table covered with massive gold plates and dishes, which scented the apartment with the spices and amber wherewith the meat was seasoned; and seven young and most beautiful ladies, dressed in the richest habits of the most vivid colours, stood round this table, each with a fan in her hand, to fan abou hassan when at dinner. if ever mortal was charmed, abou hassan was when he entered this stately hall. at every step he took, he could not help stopping to contemplate at leisure all the wonders that regaled his eyes, and turned first to one side, and then to the other; which gave the caliph, who viewed him with attention, very great pleasure. at last he sat down at the table, and presently all the ladies began to fan the new caliph. he looked first at one, then at another, and admired the grace with which they acquitted themselves. he told them with a smile, that he believed one of them was enough to give him all the air he wanted, and would have six of the ladies sit at table with him, three on his right hand, and three on his left; and he placed them so, that as the table was round, which way soever he turned, his eyes might be saluted with agreeable objects. the six ladies obeyed; and abou hassan taking notice, that out of respect they did not eat, helped them himself, and invited them to eat in the most pressing and obliging terms. afterwards he asked their names, which they told him were alabaster neck, coral lips, moon face, sunshine, eye's delight, heart's delight, and she who fanned him was sugar cane. the many soft things he said upon their names shewed him to be a man of sprightly wit, and it is not to be conceived how much it increased the esteem which the caliph (who saw every thing) had already conceived for him. when the ladies observed that abou hassan had done eating, one of them said to the eunuchs who waited, "the commander of the faithful will go into the hall where the dessert is laid; bring some water;" upon which they all rose from the table, and taking from the eunuch, one a gold basin, another an ewer of the same metal, and a third a towel, kneeled before abou hassan, and presented them to him to wash his hands. as soon as he had done, he got up, and after an eunuch had opened the door, went, preceded by mesrour, who never left him, into another hall, as large as the former, adorned with paintings by the best masters, and furnished with gold and silver vessels, carpets, and other rich furniture. there seven different bands of music began a concert as soon as abou hassan appeared. in this hall there were seven large lustres, a table in the middle covered with dried sweetmeats, the choicest and most exquisite fruits of the season, raised in pyramids, in seven gold basins; and seven ladies more beautiful than the others standing round it, each with a fan in her hand. these new objects raised still greater admiration in abou hassan; who, after he had made a full stop, and given the most sensible marks of surprise and astonishment, went directly to the table, where sitting down, he gazed a considerable time at the seven ladies, with an embarrassment that plainly shewed he knew not to which to give the preference. at last he ordered them all to lay aside their fans and sit down, and eat with him, telling them that it was not so hot, but he could spare them that trouble. when the ladies were all placed about him, the first thing he did was to ask their names, which were different from the other seven, and expressed some perfection of mind or body, which distinguished them from one another: upon which he took an opportunity, when he presented them with fruit, &c., to say something gallant. "eat this fig for my sake," said he to chain of hearts, who sat on his right hand; "and render the fetters, with which you loaded me the first moment i saw you, more supportable." then, presenting a bunch of grapes to soul's torment, "take this cluster of grapes," said he, "on condition you instantly abate the torments which i suffer for your sake;" and so on to the rest. by these sallies abou hassan more and more amused the caliph, who was delighted with his words and actions, and pleased to think he had found in him a man who diverted him so agreeably. after abou hassan had tasted all the fruits in the basin, he got up and followed mesrour into a third hall, much more magnificently furnished than the other two; where he was received by the same number of musicians and ladies, who stood round a table covered with all manner of wet sweetmeats. after he had looked about him with new wonder, he advanced to the table, the music playing all the time till he sat down. the seven ladies, by his order, sat down with him, helped themselves, as he desired, to what they liked best; and he afterwards informed himself of their names, which pleased him as much as the others had done, and led him to say as many soft things to them, to the great diversion of the caliph, who lost not a word. by this time the day beginning to close, abou hassan was conducted into a fourth hall, much more superb and magnificently furnished, lighted with wax in seven gold lustres, which gave a splendid light. abou hassan found the same number of musicians here as he had done in the three other halls, performing in concert in the most agreeable manner, and seeming to inspire greater joy; and he saw as many ladies standing round a table covered with seven gold basins filled with cakes, dried sweetmeats, and all such relishes as were calculated to promote drinking. there he saw, which he had not observed in any of the other halls, a sideboard set out with seven large silver flagons full of the choicest wines, and by them seven crystal glasses of the finest workmanship. hitherto, in the three first halls, abou hassan had drunk nothing but water, according to the custom observed at bagdad, from the highest to the lowest and at the caliph's court, never to drink wine till the evening; all who transgress this rule being accounted debauchees, who dare not shew themselves in the day- time. this custom is the more laudable, as it requires a clear head to apply to business in the course of the day; and as no wine is drunk till evening, no drunken people are seen in the streets in open day creating disturbance in the city. as soon as abou hassan entered the fourth hall, he went to the table, sat down, and was a long time in a kind of ecstasy at the sight of the seven ladies who surrounded him, and were much more beautiful than any he had beheld in the other halls. he was very desirous to know their names; but as the music played so loud, and particularly the tambour, that he could not hear them speak, he clapped his hands for the musicians to cease, when a profound silence ensued. taking by the hand the lady who stood on the right next to him, he made her sit down by him, and presenting her with a cake, asked her name. "commander of the faithful," said the lady, "i am called cluster of pearls." "no name," replied abou hassan, "could have more properly expressed your worth; and indeed your teeth exceed the finest pearls. cluster of pearls," added he, "since that is your name, oblige me with a glass of wine from your fair hand." the lady went to the sideboard and brought him a glass of wine, which she presented to him with a pleasant air. abou hassan took the glass with a smile, and looking passionately at her, said, "cluster of pearls, i drink your health; i desire you to fill out as much for yourself, and pledge me." she ran to the sideboard, and returned with a glass in her hand; but before she drank, she sung a song, which charmed him as much by the sweetness of her voice as by its novelty. after abou hassan had drunk, he made another lady sit down by him, and presenting her with what she chose in the basins, asked her name, which she told him was morning star. "your bright eyes," said he, "shine with greater lustre than that star whose name you bear. do me the pleasure to bring me some wine," which she did with the best grace in the world. then turning to the third lady, whose name was day-light, he ordered her to do the same, and so on to the seventh, to the extreme satisfaction of the caliph. when they had all filled him a glass round, cluster of pearls, whom he had just addressed, went to the sideboard, poured out a glass of wine, and putting in a pinch of the same powder the caliph had used the night before, presented it to abou hassan; "commander of the faithful," said she, "il beg of your majesty to take this glass of wine, and before you drink it, do me the favour to hear a song i have composed to-day, and which i flatter myself will not displease you. i never sung it before." "with all my heart," said abou hassan, taking the glass, "and, as commander of the faithful, i command you to sing it; for i am persuaded that so beautiful a lady cannot compose a song which does not abound with wit and pleasantry." the lady took a lute, and tuning it to her voice, sung with so much justness, grace, and expression, that abou hassan was in perfect ecstasy all the time, and was so much delighted, that he ordered her to sing it again, and was as much charmed with it as at first. when the lady had concluded, abou hassan drank off his glass, and turned his head towards her to give her those praises which he thought she merited, but was prevented by the opiate, which operated so suddenly, that his mouth was instantly wide open, and his eyes close shut, and dropping his head on the cushions, he slept as profoundly as the day before when the caliph had given him the powder. one of the ladies stood ready to catch the glass, which fell out of his hand; and then the caliph, who enjoyed greater satisfaction in this scene than he had promised himself, and was all along a spectator of what had passed, came into the hall to them, overjoyed at the success of his plan. he ordered abou hassan to be dressed in his own clothes, and carried back to his house by the slave who had brought him, charging him to lay him on a sofa in the same room, without making any noise, and to leave the door open when he came away. the slave took abou hassan upon his shoulders, carried him home by a back door of the palace, placed him in his own house as he was ordered, and returned with speed, to acquaint the caliph. "well," said the caliph, "abou hassan wished only to be caliph for one day, to punish the imaum of the mosque of his quarter, and the four old men who had displeased him: i have procured him the means of doing this, and he ought to be content." in the mean time, abou hassan, who was laid upon his sofa by the slave, slept till very late the next morning. when the powder was worked off, he awoke, opened his eyes, and finding himself at home, was in the utmost surprise. "cluster of pearls! morning star! coral lips! moon face!" cried he, calling the ladies of the palace by their names, as he remembered them; "where are you? come hither." abou hassan called so loud, that his mother, who was in her own apartment, heard him, and running to him upon the noise he made, said "what ails you, son? what has happened to you?" at these words abou hassan lifted up his head, and looking haughtily at his mother, said, "good woman! who is it you call son?" "why you," answered his mother very mildly; "are not you abou hassan my son? it is strange that you have forgotten yourself so soon." "i your son! old bull!" replied abou hassan; "you are a liar, and know not what you say! i am not abou hassan, i tell you, but the commander of the faithful!" "hold your tongue, son," answered the mother "one would think you are a fool, to hear you talk thus." "you are an old fool yourself," replied abou hassan; "i tell you once more i am the commander of the faithful, and god's vicar on earth!" "ah! child," cried the mother, "is it possible that i should hear you utter such words that shew you are distracted! what evil genius possesses you, to make you talk at this rate? god bless you, and preserve you from the power of satan. you are my son abou hassan, and i am your mother." after she had used all the arguments she could think of to bring him to himself, and to shew how great an error he was in, she said, "do not you see that the room you are now in is your own, and is not like a chamber in a palace fit for the commander of the believers? and that you have never left it since you were born, but lived quietly at home with me. think seriously of what i say, and do not fancy things that are not, nor ever can be. once more, my son, think seriously of it." abou hassan heard all these remonstrances of his mother very patiently, holding down his eyes, and clapping his hands under his chin, like a man recollecting himself, to examine the truth of what he saw and heard. at last, he said to his mother, just as if he was awaking out of a deep sleep, and with his hand in the same posture, "i believe you are right, methinks i am abou hassan, you are my mother, and i am in my own room." then looking at her again, and at every object before him, he added, "i am abou hassan, there is no doubt of it, and i cannot comprehend how this fancy came into my head." the mother really believed that her son was cured of the disorder of his mind, which she ascribed to a dream, began to laugh with him, and ask him questions about it; when suddenly he started up, and looking crossly at his mother, said, "old sorceress, you know not what you say. i am not your son, nor you my mother. you deceive yourself and would deceive me. i tell you i am the commander of the faithful, and you shall never persuade me to the contrary!" "for heaven's sake, son," said the mother, "let us leave off this discourse; recommend yourself to god, for fear some misfortune should happen to us; let us talk of something else. i will tell you what happened yesterday in our quarter to the imaum of the mosque, and the four scheiks our neighbours: the judge of the police came and seized them, and gave each of them i know not how many strokes with a bastinado, while a crier proclaimed, â��that such was the punishment of all those who troubled themselves about other people's business, and employed themselves in setting their neighbours at variance:' he afterwards led them through all the streets, and ordered them never to come into our quarter again." abou hassan's mother little thought her son had any share in this adventure, and therefore had turned the discourse on purpose to put him out of the conceit of being the commander of the faithful; but instead of effacing that idea, she recalled it, and impressed the more deeply in his mind, that it was not imaginary but real. abou hassan no sooner heard this relation, but he cried out, "i am neither thy son, nor abou hassan, but certainly the commander of the believers. i cannot doubt after what you have told me. know then that it was by my order the imaum and the four scheiks were punished, and i tell you i am certainly the commander of the faithful: therefore say no more of its being a dream. i was not asleep, but as much awake as i am now. you do me much pleasure to confirm what the judge of the police told me he had executed punctually according to my order; i am overjoyed that the imaum and the four scheiks, those great hypocrites, were so chastised, and i should be glad to know how i came here. god be praised for all things! i am certainly commander of the faithful, and all thy arguments shall not convince me of the contrary." the mother, who could not imagine why her son so strenuously and positively maintained himself to be caliph, no longer doubted but that he had lost his senses, when she found he insisted so much on a thing that was so incredible; and in this thought said, "i pray god, son, to have mercy upon you! pray do not talk so madly. beseech god to forgive you, and give you grace to talk more reasonably. what would the world say to hear you rave in this manner? do you not know that â��walls have ears?'" these remonstrances only enraged abou hassan the more; and he was so provoked at his mother, that he said, "old woman, i have desired you once already to hold your tongue. if you do not, i shall rise and give you cause to repent all your lifetime. i am the caliph and the commander of the believers; and you ought to credit me when i say so." the good woman supposing that he was more distracted than ever, abandoned herself to tears, and beating her face and breast, expressed the utmost grief and astonishment to see her son in such a state. abou hassan, instead of being appeased or moved by his mother's tears, lost all the respect due from a son to his mother. getting up hastily, and laying hold of a switch, he ran to his mother in great fury, and in a threatening manner that would have frightened any one but a mother so partial to him, said, "tell me directly, wicked woman, who i am." "i do not believe, son," replied she, looking at him tenderly, and without fear, "that you are so abandoned by god as not to know your mother, who brought you into the world, and to mistake yourself. you are indeed my son abou hassan, and are much in the wrong to arrogate to yourself the title which belongs only to our sovereign lord the caliph haroon al rusheed, especially after the noble and generous present the monarch made us yesterday. i forgot to tell you, that the grand vizier jaaffier came to me yesterday, and putting a purse of a thousand pieces of gold into my hands, bade me pray for the commander of the faithful, who had sent me that present; and does not this liberality concern you more than me, who have but a short time to live?" at these words abou hassan grew quite mad. the circumstance of the caliph's liberality persuaded him more than ever that he was caliph, remembering that he had sent the vizier. "well, old hag," cried he, "will you be convinced when i tell you that i sent you those thousand pieces of gold by my grand vizier jaaffier, who obeyed my commands, as i was commander of the faithful? but instead of believing me, you endeavour to distract me by your contradictions, and maintain with obstinacy that i am your son; but you shall not go long unpunished." after these words, he was so unnatural, in the height of his frenzy, as to beat her cruelly with his cane. the poor mother, who could not have thought that her son would have come so soon from words to blows, called out for help so loud, that the neighbours ran in to her assistance. abou hassan continued to beat her, at every stroke asking her if he was the commander of the faithful? to which she always answered tenderly, that he was her son. by the time the neighbours came in abou hassan's rage began to abate. the first who entered the room got between him and his mother, and taking the switch out of his hand, said to him, "what are you doing, abou hassan? have you lost all fear of god and your reason? did ever a son so well brought up as you dare to strike his mother? are you not ashamed so to treat yours, who loves you so tenderly?" abou hassan, still full of fury, looked at him who spoke without returning an answer; and then staring on all the rest of his neighbours who had followed, said, "who is that abou hassan you speak of? is it me you call by that name?" this question disconcerted the neighbours. "how!" said he who spoke first, "do not you know your mother who brought you up, and with whom you have always lived?" "be gone, you are impertinent vagabonds," replied abou hassan; "i neither knew her nor you, and will not know her. i am not abou hassan; i am the commander of the faithful, and will make you feel it to your cost." at this speech the neighbours no longer doubted that he was mad: and to prevent his repeating his outrages, seized him, notwithstanding his resistance, and bound him hand and foot, but though apparently disabled from doing any mischief, they did not choose to leave him alone with his mother. two of them ran for the keeper of the hospital for insane persons, who came presently with chains, handcuffs, a bastinado, and many attendants. when they entered the room, abou hassan, who little expected such treatment, struggled to unloose himself; but after his keeper had given him two or three smart strokes upon the shoulders, he lay so quiet, that the keeper and his people did what they pleased with him. as soon as they had bound and manacled him, they took him with them to the hospital. when he was got out of the house into the street, the people crowded round him, one buffeted him, another boxed him, and others called him fool and madman. to all this treatment he replied, "there is no greatness and power but in god most high and almighty. i am treated as a fool, though i am in my right senses. i suffer all these injuries and indignities for the love of god." he was conducted to the hospital, where he was lodged in a grated cell; but before he was shut up, the keeper, who was hardened to such terrible execution, regaled him without pity with fifty strokes of the bastinado on his shoulders, which he repeated every day for three weeks, bidding him remember that he was not the commander of the faithful. "i am not mad," said abou hassan, "but if i wanted your assistance, nothing would so effectually make me mad as your cruel treatment. i want not your advice." abou hassan's mother went every day to visit her son, and could not forbear weeping at beholding him fall away, and sigh and complain at the hardships he endured. in short, his shoulders, back, and sides were so black and bruised, that he could not turn himself. his mother would willingly have talked with him, to comfort him, and to sound him whether he still retained the notion of being caliph; but whenever she opened her mouth, he stopped her with so much fury, that she was forced to leave him, and return home inconsolable at his obstinacy. by degrees, however, those strong and lively ideas, which abou hassan had entertained, of having been clothed in the caliph's habit, having exercised his authority, and been punctually obeyed and treated like the true caliph, the assurance of which had persuaded him that he was so, began to wear away. sometimes he would say to himself, "if i was the caliph and commander of the believers, how came i, when i awoke, to find myself at home dressed in my own apparel? why should i not have been attended by eunuchs, and their chief, and a crowd of beautiful ladies? why should the grand vizier, and all those emirs and governors of provinces, who prostrated themselves at my feet, forsake me? undoubtedly if i had any authority over them, they would have delivered me long ago out of the miserable condition i am in; certainly i ought to look upon all as a dream. it is true, however, that i commanded the judge of the police to punish the imaum, and the four old men his companions; i ordered the grand vizier to carry my mother a thousand pieces of gold; and my commands were executed. all these points are obstacles to my believing it a dream; but there are so many things that i cannot comprehend, nor ever shall, that i will put my trust in god, who knows all things." abou hassan was taken up with these thoughts and reflections when his mother came to see him. she found him so much altered and emaciated that she shed a torrent of tears; in the midst of which she saluted him as she used to do, and he returned her salutation, which he had never done before since he had been in the hospital. this she looked upon to be a good sign. "well, my son," said she, wiping her tears, "how do you do, and how do you find yourself? have you renounced all those whims and fancies which the devil had put into your head?" "indeed, mother," replied abou hassan, very rationally and calmly, and in a tone expressive of his grief for the excesses he had been transported to against her, "i acknowledge my error, and beg of you to forgive the execrable crime which i have been guilty of towards you, and which i detest. i ask pardon also of my neighbours whom i have abused. i have been deceived by a dream; but by so extraordinary a one, and so like to truth, that i venture to affirm any other person, to whom such a thing might have happened, would have been guilty of as great or greater extravagancies; and i am this instant so much perplexed about it, that while i am speaking i can hardly persuade myself but that what befell me was matter of fact, so like was it to what happens to people who are broad awake. but whatever it was, i do, and shall always regard it as a dream and an illusion. i am convinced that i am not that shadow of a caliph and commander of the faithful, but abou hassan your son, the son of a person whom i always honoured till that fatal day, the remembrance of which will cover me with confusion, and whom in future i shall honour and respect all my life as i ought." at this rational declaration, the tears of sorrow and affliction which the mother of abou hassan had so long shed were changed into those of joy. "my son!" cried she, transported with pleasure, "my satisfaction and comfort to hear you talk so reasonably is inexpressible: and it gives me as much joy as if i had brought you into the world a second time; but i must tell you my opinion of this adventure, and observe one thing which you may not have noticed; the stranger whom you brought home the evening before your illness to sup with you went away without shutting your chamber-door after him, as you desired; which i believe gave the devil an opportunity to enter, and throw you into the horrible illusion you have been in: therefore, my son, you ought to return god thanks for your deliverance, and beseech him to keep you from falling again into the snares of the evil spirit." "you have found out the source of our misfortunes," answered abou hassan. "it was that very night i had this dream which turned my brain. i bade the merchant expressly to shut the door after him; and now i find he did not do it. i am persuaded, as well as you, the devil finding it open came in, and filled my head full of these fancies. the people of moussul, from whence this merchant came, may not know how we at bagdad are convinced from experience that the devil is the cause of troublesome dreams when we leave our chamber-doors open. but since, mother, you see i am, by the grace of god, so well recovered, for god's sake get me out of this horrible place, which will infallibly shorten my days if i stay here any longer." the mother, glad to hear her son was so well cured of his foolish imagination of being caliph, went immediately to the keeper, and assuring him that he was very sensible and well, he came, examined, and released him in her presence. when abou hassan came home, he stayed within doors some days to recover his health by better living than he had found at the hospital. but when he had recovered his strength, and felt no longer the effect of the harsh treatment he had suffered in his confinement, he began to be weary of spending his evenings alone. he accordingly entered again upon the same plan as he had before pursued; which was, to provide enough every day to regale a stranger at night. the day on which abou hassan renewed his custom of going about sun-set to the end of bagdad bridge to stop the first stranger thee offered, and invite him to do him the honour of supping with him, happened to be the first day of the month, that which the caliph always set apart to go in disguise out of some one of the gates to observe what was committed contrary to the good government of the city, as established and regulated at the beginning of his reign. abou hassan had not been long arrived at the bridge, when, looking about him, he perceived the moussul merchant, followed by the same slave. persuaded that all his misfortunes were owing to the merchant's having left his door open, he shuddered at the sight of him. "god preserve me," said he to himself; "if i am not deceived, there is again the magician who enchanted me!" he trembled with agitation, and looked over the side railing into the river, that he might not see him till he was past. the caliph, who wished to renew the diversion he had received, had taken care to inform himself of all that had happened to abou hassan, and enjoyed much pleasure at the relation given him, especially at his being sent to a mad-house. but as this monarch was both just and generous, and had taken a great liking to abou hassan, as capable of contributing further to his amusement, and had doubted whether, after renouncing his frenzied character of a caliph, he would return to his usual manner of living; with a view therefore to bring him to his palace, he disguised himself again like a merchant of moussul, the better to execute his plan. he perceived abou hassan at the same time that he saw him, and presently guessed by his action that he was angry, and wished to shun him. this made him walk close to the side railing; and when he came nigh him, he put his head over to look him in the face. "ho, brother abou hassan," said he, "is it you? i greet you! give me leave to embrace you?" "not i," replied abou hassan, pettishly, without looking at the pretended moussul merchant; "i do not greet you; i will have neither your greeting nor your embraces. go along!" "what!" answered the caliph, "do you not know me? do you not remember the evening we spent together at your house this day month, where you did me the honour to treat me very generously?" "no," replied abou hassan in the same tone, "i do not know you, nor what you talk about; go, i say again, about your business." the caliph was not to be diverted from his purpose by this rude behaviour. he well knew the law abou hassan had imposed on himself, never to have commerce again with a stranger he had once entertained; but pretended to be ignorant of it. "i cannot believe," said he, "but you must know me again; it is not possible that you should have forgotten me in so short a time. certainly some misfortune has befallen you, which inspires you with this aversion for me. however, you ought to remember, that i shewed my gratitude by my good wishes, and that i offered you my interest, which is not to be slighted, in an affair which you had much at heart." "i do not know," replied abou hassan, "what your interest may be, and i have no desire to make use of it: but i am sensible the utmost of your good wishes ended in making me mad. in god's name, i say once more, go your way, and trouble me no more." "ah! brother abou hassan," replied the caliph, embracing him, "i do not intend to part with you thus, since i have had the good fortune to meet with you a second time; you must exercise the same hospitality towards me again that you shewed me a month ago, when i had the honour to drink with you." "i have protested against this," said abou hassan, "and have so much power over myself, as to decline receiving a second time as my guest, a man like you who carries misfortunes with him. you know the proverb, â��take up your drum and begone.' make the application to yourself. how often must i repeat my refusal. god be with you! you have been the cause of my sufferings, and i will not trust myself with you again." "my good friend abou hassan," said the caliph, embracing him, "you treat me in a way i little expected. i beg of you not to speak to me thus harshly, but be persuaded of my friendship. do me the favour to tell me what has happened to you; for i assure you i wished you well, and still do so; and would be glad of an opportunity to make you any amends for the trouble i have caused you, if it has been really my fault." abou hassan yielded to the solicitations of the caliph. "your incredulity and importunity," said he, "have tired my patience; and what i am going to relate will shew you that i do not accuse you wrongfully." the caliph seated himself by abou hassan, while he told him all that had happened to him, from his waking in the palace to his waking again in his own house, all which he described as a mere dream, and recounted all the circumstances, which the caliph knew as well as himself, and which renewed his pleasure. he enlarged afterwards on the impression which the dream of being caliph and commander of the faithful had made upon him, which, he said, threw him into such extravagancies, that his neighbours were obliged to carry him to a mad-house, where he was treated in a manner which he deemed most barbarous and inhuman. "but," said he, "what will surprise you, and what you little think of, is, that it was altogether your fault that these things happened to me; for, if you remember, i desired you to shut the door after you, which you neglected, and the devil, finding it open, entered and put this dream into my head, which, though it was very agreeable, was the cause of the misfortune i complain of: you therefore, for your negligence, are answerable for the horrid and detestable crime i have committed in lifting my hand against my mother, whom i might have killed (i blush for shame when i think of it), because she said i was her son, and would not acknowledge me for commander of the faithful, as i thought and positively insisted on to her that i was. you are the cause of the offence i have given my neighbours, when, running in at the cries of my poor mother, they surprised me in the horrid act of felling her at my feet; which would never have happened, if you had taken care to shut my door when you went away, as i desired you. they would not have come into my house without my leave; and, what troubles me most of all, they would not have been witnesses of my folly. i should not have been obliged to strike them in my own defence, and they would not have bound and fettered me, to carry and shut me up in the hospital for madmen, where i assure you every day that i remained confined in that hell, i received a score of strokes with a bastinado." abou hassan recounted his complaints with great warmth and vehemence to the caliph, who knew as well as himself what had passed, and was delighted to find that he had succeeded so well in his plan to throw him into the vagaries from which he still was not entirely free. he could not help laughing at the simplicity wherewith he related them. abou hassan, who thought that his story should rather have moved compassion, and that every one ought to be as much concerned at it as himself, warmly resented the pretended moussul merchant's laughter. "what!" said he, "do you make a jest of me and laugh in my face, or do you believe i laugh at you when i speak seriously? if you want proof of what i advance, look yourself and see whether or no i tell you the truth ;" with that, stooping down and baring his shoulders, he shewed the caliph the scars and weals which the bastinado had left. the caliph could not behold these marks of cruelty without horror. he pitied abou hassan, and felt sorry he had carried the jest so far. "come, rise, dear brother," said he to him eagerly, and embracing abou hassan heartily in his arms; "let me go to your house, and enjoy the happiness of being merry with you to- night; and to-morrow, if it please god, all things will go well." abou hassan, notwithstanding his resolution never to admit the same stranger a second time, could not resist the caresses of the caliph, whom he still took for a merchant of moussul. "i will consent," said he, "if you will swear to shut my door after you, that the devil may not come in to distract my brain again." the caliph promised that he would; upon which they both arose, walked towards the city, and, followed by the caliph's slave, reached abou hassan's house by the time it was dark. the caliph, the more to blind abou hassan, said to him, "place confidence in me; i promise you on my honour i will not break my word. you need not hesitate to trust a person who wishes you all happiness and prosperity, of which confidence you will see the effects." "i desire not that," said abou hassan, stopping him short. "i yield to your importunity; but i dispense with your good wishes, and beg you in god's name to form none for me. all the mischief that has hitherto befallen me arose from those you expressed for me, and from your leaving the door open." "well," replied the caliph, still laughing at the misguided imagination of abou hassan, "since you will have it so, i promise you i will form none." "you give me pleasure by speaking so," said abou hassan; "i desire no more; i shall be more than satisfied provided you keep your word, and i shall forgive you all the rest." as soon as abou hassan entered his house, he called for his mother and for candles, desired his guest to sit down upon a sofa, and then placed himself by him. a little time after, supper was brought up, and they both began to eat without ceremony. when they had done, abou hassan's mother cleared the table, set on a small dessert of fruit, wine, and glasses by her son, then withdrew, and appeared no more. abou hassan first filled out his own glass, and then the caliph's: and after they had drunk some time, and talked of indifferent matters, the caliph, perceiving that his host grew warm with liquor, began to talk of love, and asked him if he had ever felt that passion. "brother," replied abou hassan, familiarly thinking his guest was his equal, "i never looked upon love or marriage but as a slavery, to which i was always unwilling to submit; and must own to you, that i never loved any thing but good cheer and good wine; in short, to divert and entertain myself agreeably with my friends. yet i do not tell you that i am indifferent to marriage, or incapable of attachment, if i could meet with a woman of such beauty and sweetness of temper as her i saw in my dream that fatal night in which i first received you into my house, and you, to my misfortune, left my door open, who would pass the whole night with me drinking, singing, and playing on some instrument, and in agreeable conversation, and who would study to please and divert me: i believe, on the contrary, i should change all my indifference into a perfect attachment to such a person, and, i think, should live very happily with her. but where is such a woman to be found except in the caliph's palace, or in those of the grand vizier or some great lords of the court, who want not money to provide them? i choose therefore to stick to my bottle, which is a much cheaper pleasure, and which i can enjoy as well as the greatest." saying these words, he filled out his own and the caliph's glass, and said, "come, take your glass, and let us pursue this charming pleasure." when they had drunk off their wine, "it is great pity," said the caliph, "that so gallant a man as you, who owns himself not insensible of love, should lead so solitary a life." "i prefer the easy quiet life i live," replied abou hassan, "before the company of a wife, whose beauty might not please me, and who, besides, might create me a great deal of trouble by her imperfections and ill-humour." the conversation lasted a long time, and the caliph seeing abou hassan had drunk to the pitch he desired, said, "let me alone, since you have the same good taste as every other honest man, i warrant you i will find you a wife that shall please you." then taking abou hassan's glass, and putting a pinch of the same powder into it, filled him up a bumper, and presenting it to him, said, "come, let us drink beforehand the fair lady's health, who is to make you happy. i am sure you will like her." abou hassan took the glass laughing, and shaking his head, said, "be it so; since you desire it, i cannot be guilty of so great a piece of incivility, nor disoblige a guest of so much merit in such a trifling matter. i will drink the health of the lady you promise me, though i am very well contented as i am, and do not rely on your keeping your word." no sooner had abou hassan drank off his bumper, than he was seized with as deep a sleep as before; and the caliph ordered the same slave to take him and carry him to the palace. the slave obeyed, and the caliph, who did not intend to send back abou hassan as before, shut the door after him, as he had promised, and followed. when they arrived at the palace, the caliph ordered abou hassan to be laid on a sofa, in the fourth hall, from whence he had been carried home fast asleep a month before; but first he bade the attendants to put him on the same habit in which he had acted the caliph, which was done. he then charged all the eunuchs, officers, ladies, and musicians who were in the hall, when he drank the last glass of wine which had put him to sleep, to be there by daybreak, and to take care to act their parts well when he should awake. he then retired to rest, charging mesrour to awake him before they went into the hall, that he might conceal himself in the closet as before. mesrour, at the hour appointed, awakened the caliph, who immediately rose, and went to the hall where abou hassan lay still asleep, and when he had placed himself in his closet, mesrour and the other officers, ladies, and musicians, who waited for him, went in, and placed themselves about the sofa, so as not to hinder the caliph from seeing what passed, and noticing all his actions. things being thus disposed, and the caliph's powder having had its effect, abou hassan began to awake without opening his eyes, and threw off the phlegm, which was received in a gold basin as before. at that instant, the seven bands of singers joined their voices to the sound of hautboys, fifes, flutes, and other instruments, forming a very agreeable concert. abou hassan was in great surprise to hear the delightful harmony; but when he opened his eyes, and saw the ladies and officers about him, whom he thought he recognized, his amazement increased. the hall that he was in seemed to be the same he had seen in his first dream, and he observed the same lustres, and the same furniture and ornaments. the concert ceased, to give the caliph an opportunity of attending to the countenance of his guest, and all that he might say in his surprise. the ladies, mesrour, and all the officers of the chamber, waited in profound and respectful silence. abou hassan bit his finger, and cried loud enough for the caliph to hear him, "alas! i am fallen again into the same dream and illusion that happened to me a month ago, and must expect again the bastinado and grated cell at the mad-house. almighty god," added he, "i commit myself into the hands of thy divine providence. he was a wicked man that i entertained at my house last night, who has been the cause of this illusion, and the hardships i must again undergo. the base wretch swore to shut the door after him, but did not, and the devil came in and has turned my brain with this wicked dream of being commander of the faithful, and other phantoms which bewitch my eyes. god confound thee, satan? and crush thee under some mountain of stones." after these words, abou hassan closed his eyes, and remained some time thoughtful and much perplexed; then opening them again, and looking about him, cried out a second time with less surprise, and smiling at the various objects before him, "great god! i commit myself into the hands of thy providence, preserve me from the temptation of satan." then shutting them again, he said, "i will go to sleep until satan leaves me, and returns as he came, were i to wait till noon." they did not give him time to go to sleep again as he promised himself; for strength of hearts, one of the ladies whom he had seen before, approached, and sitting down on the sofa by him, said to him respectfully, "commander of the faithful, i entreat your majesty to forgive me for taking the liberty to tell you not to go to sleep; day appears, and it is time to rise." "begone, satan!" answered abou hassan, raising his voice; but looking at the lady, he said, "is it me you call the commander of the faithful? certainly you take me for somebody else." "it is to your majesty i give that title," replied the lady, "to whom it belongs, as you are sovereign of the world, and i am your most humble slave. undoubtedly," added she, "your majesty means to divert yourself by pretending to have forgotten yourself, or this is the effect of some troublesome dream; but if you would but open your eyes, the mists which disturb your imagination would soon be dispelled, and you would find yourself in your own palace, surrounded by your officers and slaves, who all wait your commands: and that your majesty may not be surprised to find yourself in this hall, and not in bed, i beg leave to inform you, that you fell so suddenly asleep last night, that we were unwilling to awake you, to conduit you to your chamber, but laid you carefully upon this sofa." in short, she said to him so many things which appeared probable, that at last he sat up, opened his eyes, and recollected her and all the ladies again. they all approached him, and she who spoke first, resuming the discourse, said, "commander of the faithful, and vicar of the prophet on earth, be not displeased if i acquaint your majesty once more that it is time to rise, for day appears." "you are very troublesome and importunate," replied abou hassan, rubbing his eyes; "i am not the commander of the faithful, but abou hassan; i know it well, and you shall not persuade me otherwise." "we do not know that abou hassan you majesty speaks of, nor desire to know him," answered the lady; "but we know you to be the commander of the believers, and you cannot persuade us to the contrary." abou hassan looking about, and finding himself in the same hall, attributed all he saw and heard to such a dream as he had had before, and greatly feared the dreadful consequences. "allah have mercy on me!" said he, lifting up his hands and eyes, like a man who knew not where he was; "i commit myself into his hands. i cannot doubt, after what i have seen, but that the devil, who came into my chamber, possesses me, and fills my imagination full of all these visions." the caliph, who saw him all the time, and heard these exclamations, began to shake so heartily, that he had much difficulty to forbear bursting into loud laughter. abou hassan laying himself down again, and shutting his eyes, the same lady said, "commander of the faithful, since your majesty does not rise, after we have, according to our duty, informed you it is day, and the dispatch of business requires your presence, we shall use the liberty you give us in such cases." then taking him by one arm, and calling to one of the other ladies to do the same by the other, they lifted him up, and carried him into the middle of the hall, where they seated him, and all taking hands, danced and skipped round him while the music played and sounded loudly in his ears. abou hassan was in inexpressible perplexity, and exclaimed, "what! am i indeed caliph, and commander of the faithful!" and in his uncertainty, would have said more, but the music was so loud, that he could not be heard. at last he made a sign to string of pearls and morning star, two of the ladies who were dancing, that he wanted to speak with them; upon which they forbore, and went to him. "do not lie now," said he, "but tell me truly who i am?" "commander of the faithful," replied morning star, "your majesty means either to surprise us, by asking this question, as if you did not know that you are commander of the faithful, and vicar on earth of the prophet of god, master of both worlds, that whereon we now are and that to come after death, or else you must have had some extraordinary dream that has made you forget who you are; which may well be, considering that your majesty has slept longer than ordinary; however, if you will give me leave, i will refresh your memory with what passed yesterday." she then told him how he went to council, punished the imaum, and the four old men, and had sent a present by his grand vizier of a thousand pieces of gold to the mother of one abou hassan; what he did in the inner part of the palace, and what passed at the three meals which he took in the three halls, adding, "in the fourth your majesty did us the honour to make us sit down by you, to hear our songs, and received wine from our hands, until your majesty fell asleep, as strength of hearts has told you. from that time your majesty has continued, contrary to custom, in a sound sleep until now. strength of hearts, all your other slaves, and the officers present, can confirm what i say, and it is now time you should go to prayers." "very well," replied abou hassan, shaking his head, "you would have me believe all this; but i tell you, you are all fools, or mad, and that is great pity, for you are very handsome. since i saw you i have been at home, where i used my mother so ill that they sent me to a mad-house, and kept me there three weeks against my will, beat me unmercifully every day, and yet you would make me believe all this to be a dream." "commander of the faithful," answered morning star, "you are mistaken, we are ready to swear by all your majesty holds most dear, that all you relate can be only a dream. you have never stirred out of this hall since yesterday, but slept here all night." the confidence with which the lady assured abou hassan that all she said was truth, and that he had never been out of the hall since that time, bewildered his senses so that he was at a loss what to believe. "o heaven!" said he to himself, "am i abou hassan, or the commander of the faithful! almighty god, enlighten my understanding, and inform me of the truth, that i may know what to trust." he then uncovered his shoulders, and shewed the ladies the livid weals of the blows he had received. "look," said he, "judge whether these strokes could come to me in a dream, or when i was asleep. for my part, i can affirm, that they were real blows; i feel the smart of them yet, and that is a testimonial there is no room to doubt. now if i received these strokes in my sleep, it is the most extraordinary thing in the world, and surpasses my comprehension." in this uncertainty abou hassan called to one of the officers that stood near him: "come hither," said he, "and bite the tip of my ear, that i may know whether i am asleep or awake." the officer obeyed, and bit so hard, that he made him cry out loudly with the pain; the music struck up at the same time, and the officers and ladies all began to sing, dance, and skip about abou hassan, and made such a noise, that he was in a perfect ecstasy, and played a thousand ridiculous pranks. he threw off his caliph's habit, and his turban, jumped up in his shirt and drawers, and taking hold of two of the ladies' hands, began singing, jumping and cutting capers, so that the caliph could not contain himself, but burst into such violent laughter, that he fell backwards, and was heard above the noise of all the musicians. he was so long before he could check himself, that it had like to have been fatal. at last he got up, opened the lattice, and putting out his head, cried "abou hassan, abou hassan, have you a mind to kill me with laughing?" as soon as the caliph's voice was heard, every body was silent, and abou hassan, among the rest, who, turning his head to see from whence the voice came, knew the caliph, and in him recognised the moussul merchant, but was not in the least daunted; on the contrary he became convinced that he was awake, and that all that had happened to him had been real, and not a dream. he entered into the caliph's pleasantry. "ha! ha!" said he, looking at him with good assurance, "you are a merchant of moussul, and complain that i would kill you; you have been the occasion of my using my mother so ill, and of my being sent to a mad-house. it was you who treated the imaum and the four scheiks in the manner they were used, and not me; i wash my hands of it. it is you who have been the cause of all my disorders and sufferings: in short, you are the aggressor, and i the injured person." "indeed, you are in the right, abou hassan," answered the caliph, laughing all the while; "but to comfort you, and make you amends for all your troubles, i call heaven to witness, i am ready and willing to make you what reparation you please to ask." after these words, he came out of the closet into the hall, ordered one of his most magnificent habits to be brought, commanded the ladies to dress abou hassan in it, and when they had done, he said, embracing him, "thou art my brother; ask what thou wilt, and thou shalt have it." "commander of the faithful," replied abou hassan, "i beg of your majesty to do me the favour to tell me what you did to disturb my brain in this manner, and what was your design; for it is a thing of the greatest importance for me to know, that i may perfectly recover my senses." the caliph was ready to give him this satisfaction, and said, "first, you are to know, that i often disguise myself, and particularly at night, to observe if all goes right in bagdad; and as i wish to know what passes in its environs, i set apart the first day of every month to make an excursion, sometimes on one side, sometimes on another, and always return by the bridge. the evening that you invited me to supper, i was beginning my rounds, and in our conversation you told me, that the only thing you wished for was to be caliph for four-and-twenty hours, to punish the imaum of your mosque and his four counsellors. i fancied that this desire of yours would afford me diversion, and thought immediately how i might procure you the satisfaction you wished. i had about me a certain powder, which immediately throws the person who takes it into a sound sleep for a certain time. i put a dose of it, without being perceived by you, into the last glass i presented to you, upon which you fell fast asleep, and i ordered my slave to carry you to my palace, and came away without shutting the door. i have no occasion to repeat what happened when you awoke, nor during the whole day till evening, but after you had been regaled by my orders, one of the ladies put another dose of the same powder into a glass she gave you; you fell asleep as before, and the same slave carried you home, and left the door open. you have told me all that happened to you afterwards. i never imagined that you could have suffered so much as you have done. but as i have a great regard for you, i will do every thing to comfort you, and make you forget all your sufferings; think of what i can do to serve you, and ask me boldly what you wish." "commander of the faithful," replied abou hassan, "how great soever my tortures may have been, they are all blotted out of my remembrance, since i understand my sovereign lord and master had a share in them. i doubt not in the least of your majesty's bounty; but as interest never governed me, and you give me liberty to ask a favour, i beg that it may be that of having access to your person, to enjoy the happiness of admiring, all my lifetime, your virtues." this proof of disinterestedness in abou hassan confirmed the esteem the caliph had entertained for him. "i am pleased with your request," said he, "and grant you free access to my person at all times and all hours." at the same time he assigned him an apartment in the palace, and, in regard to his pension, told him, that he would not have him apply to his treasurer, but come always to him for an order upon him, and immediately commanded his private treasurer to give him a purse containing a thousand pieces of gold. abou hassan made a low prostration, and the caliph left him to go to council. abou hassan took this opportunity to go and inform his mother of his good fortune, and that what had happened was not a dream; for that he had actually been caliph, had acted as such, and received all the honours; and that she had no reason to doubt of it, since he had this confirmed by the caliph himself. it was not long before this story of abou hassan was spread throughout bagdad, and carried into all the provinces both far and near, without the omission of a single circumstance. the new favourite abou hassan was always with the caliph; for, as he was a man of a pleasent temper, and created mirth wherever he went by his wit and drollery, the caliph formed no party of diversion without him, and sometimes carried him to visit his consort zobeide, to whom he had related his story. zobeide, who observed that every time he came with the caliph, he had his eyes always fixed upon one of her slaves, called nouzhatoul-aouadat, resolved to tell the caliph of it. "commander of the faithful," said she one day, "you do not observe that every time abou hassan attends you in your visits to me, he never keeps his eyes off nouzhatoul-aouadat, and makes her blush, which is almost a certain sign that she entertains no aversion for him. if you approve of it, we will make a match between them." "madam," replied the caliph, "you remind me of what i ought to have done before. i know abou hassan's opinion respecting marriage from himself, and have always promised him a wife that should please him. i am glad you mentioned the circumstance; for i know not how i came to forget it. but it is better that abou hassan should follow his own inclination, and choose for himself. if nouzhatoul-aouadat is not averse to it, we ought not to hesitate upon their marriage; and since they are both present, they have only to say that they consent." abou hassan threw himself at the caliph's and zobeide's feet, to shew the sense he had of their goodness; and rising up, said, "i cannot receive a wife from better hands, but dare not hope that nouzhatoul-aouadat will give me her hand as readily as i give her mine." at these words he looked at the princess's slave, who shewed by her respectful silence, and the sudden blush that arose in her cheeks, that she was disposed to obey the caliph and her mistress zobeide. the marriage was solemnized, and the nuptials celebrated in the palace, with great rejoicings, which lasted several days. zobeide made her slave considerable presents, and the caliph did the same to abou hassan. the bride was conducted to the apartment the caliph had assigned abou hassan, who waited for her with all the impatience of a bridegroom, and received her with the sound of all sorts of instruments, and musicians of both sexes, who made the air echo with their concert. after these feasts and rejoicings, which lasted several days, the newly-married couple were left to pursue their loves in peace. abou hassan and his spouse were charmed with each other, lived together in perfect union, and seldom were asunder, but when either he paid his respects to the caliph, or she hers to zobeide. indeed, nouzhatoul-aouadat was endued with every qualification capable of gaining abou hassan's love and attachment, was just such a wife as he had described to the caliph, and fit to sit at the head of his table. with these dispositions they could not fail to pass their lives agreeably. they kept a good table covered with the nicest and choicest rarities in season, by an excellent cook, who took upon him to provide every thing. their sideboard was always stored with exquisite wines placed within their reach when at table, where they enjoyed themselves in agreeable conversation, and afterwards entertained each other with some pleasantry or other, which made them laugh more or less, as they had in the day met with something to divert them; and in the evenings, which they consecrated to mirth, they had generally some slight repast of dried sweetmeats, choice fruits, and cakes, and at each glass invited each other by new songs to drink, and sometimes accompanied their voices with a lute, or other instruments which they could both touch. abou hassan and nouzhatoul-aouadat led this pleasant life unattentive to expense, until at length the caterer, who had disbursed all his and their money for these expenses, brought them in a long bill in hope of having an advance of cash. they found the amount to be so considerable, that all the presents which the caliph and zobeide had given them at their marriage were but just enough to pay him. this made them reflect seriously on what was passed, which, however, was no remedy for the present evil. but they agreed to pay the caterer; and having sent for him, gave him all they owed him, without considering the difficulty they should be in immediately after. the caterer went away highly pleased at receiving so large a sum, though abou hassan and his wife were not so well satisfied with seeing the bottom of their purse, but remained a long time silent, and very much embarrassed, to find themselves reduced to poverty the very first year of their marriage. abou hassan remembered that the caliph, when he took him into the palace, had promised never to let him want. but when he considered how prodigal he had been of his money, was unwilling to expose himself to the shame of letting the caliph know the ill use he had made of his bounty, and that he wanted a supply. besides, he had made over his patrimony to his mother, when the caliph had received him near his person, and was afraid to apply to her, lest she should discover that he had returned to the same extravagance he had been guilty of after his father's death. his wife, on the other hand, regarded zobeide's generosity, and the liberty she had given her to marry, as more than a sufficient recompense for her service, and thought she had no right to ask more. abou hassan at last broke silence, and looking at his wife, said, "i see you are in the same embarrassment as myself, and thinking what we must do in this unhappy juncture, when our money fails us so unexpectedly. i do not know what your sentiments may be; but mine are, let what will happen, not to retrench our expenses in the least; and i believe you will come into my opinion. the point is, how to support them without stooping to ask the caliph or zobeide: and i think i have fallen on the means; but we must assist each other." this discourse of abou hassan very much pleased his wife, and gave her some hopes. "i was thinking so as well as you," said she; "but durst not explain my thoughts, because i do not know how we can help ourselves; and must confess, that what you tell me gives me a revival of pleasure. since you say you have found out a resource, and my assistance is necessary, you need but tell me in what way, and i will do all that lies in my power." "i was sure," replied abou hassan, "that you would not fail me in a business which concerns us both; and therefore i must tell you, this want of money has made me think of a plan which will supply us, at least for a time. it consists in a little trick we must put, i upon the caliph and you upon zobeide, and at which, as i am sure they will both be diverted, it will answer advantageously for us. you and i will both die." "not i indeed," interrupted nouzhatoul-aouadat; "you may die by yourself, if you please, but i am not so weary of this life; and whether you are pleased or not, will not die so soon. if you have nothing else to propose, you may die by yourself; for i assure you i shall not join you." "you are a woman of such vivacity and wonderful quickness," replied abou hassan, "that you scarcely give me time to explain my design. have but a little patience, and you shall find that you will be ready enough to die such a death as i intend; for surely you could not think i meant a real death?" "well," said his wife, "if it is but a sham death you design, i am at your service, and you may depend on my zeal to second you in this manner of dying; but i must tell you truly, i am very unwilling to die, as i apprehended you at first." "be but silent a little," said abou hassan, "and i will tell you what i promise. i will feign myself dead, and you shall lay me out in the middle of my chamber, with my turban upon my face, my feet towards mecca, as if ready to be carried out to burial. when you have done this, you must lament, and weep bitterly, as is usual in such cases, tear your clothes and hair, or pretend to do it, and go all in tears, with your locks dishevelled, to zobeide. the princess will of course inquire the cause of your grief; and when you have told her, with words intermixed with sobs, she will pity you, give you money to defray the expense of my funeral, and a piece of good brocade to cover my body, that my interment may be the more magnificent, and to make you a new dress in the room of that you will have torn. as soon as you return with the money and the brocade, i will rise, lay you in my place, and go and act the same part with the caliph, who i dare say will be as generous to me as zobeide will have been to you." nouzhatoul-aouadat highly approved the project, and said to abou hassan, "come, lose no time; strip to your shirt and drawers, while i prepare a winding sheet. i know how to bury as well as any body; for while i was in zobeide's service, when any of my fellow-slaves died, i had the conducting of the funeral." abou hassan did as his wife mentioned, and laid himself on the sheet which she had spread on the carpet in the middle of the room. as soon as he had crossed his arms, his wife wrapped him up, turned his feet towards mecca, and put a piece of fine muslin and his turban upon his face, so that nothing seemed wanting but to carry him out to be buried. after this she pulled off her head-dress, and with tears in her eyes, her hair dishevelled, and seeming to tear it off, with a dismal cry and lamentation, beating her face and breast with all the marks of the most lively grief, ran across the court to zobeide's apartments, who, hearing the voice of a person crying very loud, commanded some of her women to see who it was; they returned and told her that it was nouzhatoul- aouadat, who was approaching in a deplorable condition. the princess, impatient to know what had happened to her, rose up immediately, and went to meet her at the door of her ante- chamber. nouzhatoul-aouadat played her part to perfection. as soon as she saw zobeide, who held the door open, she redoubled her cries, tore her hair off by handfuls, beat her face and breast, and threw herself at her feet, bathing them with her tears. zobeide, amazed to see her slave in such extraordinary affliction, asked what had happened; but, instead of answering, she continued her sobs; and at last feigning to strive to check them, said, with words interrupted with sighs, "alas! my most honoured lady and mistress, what greater misfortune could have befallen me than this, which obliges me to throw myself at your highness's feet)' god prolong your days, my most respectable princess, in perfect health, and grant you many happy years! abou hassan! poor abou hassan! whom you honoured with your esteem, and gave me for a husband, is no more!" at these words nouzhatoul-aouadat redoubled her tears and sighs, and threw herself again at the princess's feet. zobeide was extremely concerned at this news. "abou hassan dead!" cried she; "that agreeable, pleasant man! i did not expect his death so soon; he seemed to promise a long life, and well deserved to enjoy it!" she then also burst into tears, as did all her women, who had been often witnesses of abou hassan's pleasantries when the caliph brought him to amuse the princess zobeide, and all together continued for some time bewailing his loss. at length the princess zobeide broke silence: "wicked woman!" cried she, addressing herself to the false widow, "perhaps you may have occasioned his death. your ill temper has given him so much vexation, that you have at last brought him to his grave." nouzhatoul-aouadat seemed much hurt at the reproaches of zobeide: "ah, madam," cried she, "i do not think i ever gave your majesty, while i was your slave, reason to entertain so disadvantageous an opinion of my conduct to a husband who was so dear to me. i should think myself the most wretched of women if you were persuaded of this. i behaved to abou hassan as a wife should do to a husband for whom she has a sincere affection; and i may say, without vanity, that i had for him the same regard he had for me. i am persuaded he would, were he alive, justify me fully to your majesty; but, madam," added she, renewing her tears, "his time was come, and that was the only cause of his death." zobeide, as she had really observed in her slave a uniformly equal temper, mildness, great docility and zeal for her service, which shewed she was rather actuated by inclination than duty, hesitated not to believe her on her word, and ordered her treasurer to fetch a hundred pieces of gold and a piece of rich brocade. the slave soon returned with the purse and piece of brocade, which, by zobeide's order, she delivered to nouzhatoul-aouadat, who threw herself again at the princess's feet, and thanked her with great self-satisfaction at finding she had succeeded so well. "go," said zobeide, "use that brocade to cover the corpse of your husband, and with the money bury him handsomely, as he deserves. moderate the transport of your afflictions: i will take care of you." as soon as nouzhatoul-aouadat got out of the princess's presence, she dried up her tears, and returned with joy to abou hassan, to give him an account of her good success. when she came home she burst out a laughing on seeing her husband still stretched out in the middle of the floor; she ran to him, bade him rise and see the fruits of his stratagem. he arose, and rejoiced with his wife at the sight of the purse and brocade. unable to contain herself at the success of her artifice, "come, husband," said she, laughing, "let me act the dead part, and see if you can manage the caliph as well as i have done zobeide." "that is the temper of all women," replied abou hassan, "who, we may well say, have always the vanity to believe they can do things better than men, though at the same time what good they do is by their advice. it would be odd indeed, if i, who laid this plot myself, could not carry it on as well as you. but let us lose no time in idle discourse; lie down in my place, and witness if i do not come off with as much applause." abou hassan wrapped up his wife as she had done him, and with his turban unrolled, like a man in the greatest affliction, ran to the caliph, who was holding a private council with jaaffier and other confidential viziers. he presented himself at the door, and the officer, knowing he had free access, opened it. he entered holding with one hand his handkerchief before his eyes, to hide the feigned tears, which trickled down his cheeks, and striking his breast with the other, with exclamations expressing extraordinary grief. the caliph, always used to see abou hassan with a merry countenance, was very much surprised to behold him in so much distress. he interrupted the business of the council to inquire the cause of his grief. "commander of the faithful," answered abou hassan, with repeated sighs and sobs, "god preserve your majesty on the throne, which you fill so gloriously! a greater calamity could not have befallen me than what i now lament. alas! nouzhatoul-aouadat whom you in your bounty gave me for a wife to gladden my existence, alas!" at this exclamation abou hassan pretended to have his heart so full, that he could not utter more, but poured forth a flood of tears. the caliph, who now understood that abou hassan came to tell him of the death of his wife, seemed much concerned, and said to him with an air which shewed how much he regretted her loss, "god be merciful to her: she was a good slave, and we gave her to you with an intention to make you happy: she deserved a longer life." the tears then ran down his face, so that he was obliged to pull out his handkerchief to wipe them off. the grief of abou hassan, and the tears of the caliph, excited those of jaaffier and the other viziers. they bewailed the death of nouzhatoul- aouadat, who, on her part, was only impatient to hear how abou hassan succeeded. the caliph had the same suspicion of the husband that zobeide had of the wife, and imagined that he had occasioned her death. "wretch!" said he, in a tone of indignation, "have not you been the cause of your wife's death by your ill treatment of her? you ought at least to have had some regard for the princess my consort, who loved her more than the rest of her slaves, yet consented to give her to you. what a return for her kindness!" "commander of the faithful," replied abou hassan, affecting to weep more bitterly than before, "can your majesty for a moment suppose that abou hassan, whom you have loaded with your favours and kindness, and on whom you have conferred honours he could never have aspired to, can have been capable of such ingratitude? i loved nouzhatoul-aouadat my wife as much on these accounts, as for the many good qualities she possessed, and which drew from me all the attachment, tenderness, and love she deserved. but, my lord," added he, "she was to die, and god would no longer suffer me to enjoy a happiness for which i was indebted to your majesty and your beloved consort." abou hassan dissembled so well, that the caliph, who had never heard how extravagantly he and his wife had lived, no longer doubting his sincerity, ordered his treasurer, who was present, to give abou hassan a purse of a hundred pieces of gold and a piece of brocade. abou hassan immediately cast himself at the caliph's feet, and thanked him for his present. "follow the treasurer," said the monarch; "throw the brocade over the corpse, and with the money shew the last testimony of thy love for thy wife." abou hassan made no reply to these obliging words of the caliph, but retiring with a low prostration, followed the treasurer; and as soon as he had got the purse and piece of brocade, went home, well pleased with having found out so quick and easy a way of supplying the necessity which had given him so much uneasiness. nouzhatoul-aouadat, weary with lying so long in one posture, waited not till abou hassan bade her rise; but as soon as she heard the door open, sprang up, ran to her husband, and asked him if he had imposed on the caliph as cleverly as she had done on zobeide. "you see," said he, shewing her the stuff, and shaking the purse, "that i can act a sorrowful husband for a living wife, as well as you can a weeping widow for a husband not dead." abou hassan, however, was not without his fears that this double plot might be attended with some ill consequences. he thought it would not be amiss to put his wife on her guard as to what might happen, that they might aft in concert. "for," added he, "the better we succeed in embarrassing the caliph and zobeide, the more they will be pleased at last, and perhaps may shew their satisfaction by greater liberality." this last consideration induced them to carry on their stratagem farther. the caliph, though he had important affairs to decide, was so impatient to condole with the princess on the death of her slave, that he rose up as soon as abou hassan was gone, and put off the council to another day. "follow me," said he to mesrour, who always attended him wherever he went, and was in all his councils, "let us go and share with the princess the grief which the death of her slave nouzhatoul-aouadat must have occasioned." accordingly they went to zobeide's apartment, whom the caliph found sitting on a sofa, much afflicted, and still in tears. "madam," said the caliph, going up to her, "it is unnecessary to tell you how much i partake with you in your affliction; since you must be sensible that what gives you pleasure or trouble, has the same effect on me. but we are all mortal, and must surrender up to god that life he has given us, when he requires it. nouzhatoul-aouadat, your faithful slave, was endued with qualifications that deserved your esteem, and i cannot but approve your expressing it after her death; but consider all your grief will not restore her to life. therefore, madam, if you love me, and will take my advice, be comforted for this loss, take care of a life which you know is precious to me, and constitutes all the happiness of mine. " if the princess was charmed with these tender sentiments which the caliph expressed in his compliments, she was amazed to hear of nouzhatoulaouadat's death. this news threw her into such astonishment, that she was not able to return an answer for some time. at last recovering, she replied with an air expressive of surprise, "commander of the faithful, i am very sensible of all your tender sentiments; but give me leave to say, i cannot comprehend the news you tell me of the death of my slave, who is in perfect health. my affliction is for the death of abou hassan, her husband, your favourite, whom i esteemed, as much for the regard you had for him, as his having so often diverted me agreeably, and for whom i had as great a value as yourself. but the little concern you shew for his death, and your so soon forgetting a man in whose company you have so often told me you took so much pleasure, surprises me; and this insensibility seems the greater, from the deception you would put upon me in changing his death for that of my slave." the caliph, who thought that he was perfectly well informed of the death of the slave, and had just reason to believe so, because he had both seen and heard abou hassan, laughed, and shrugged up his shoulders, to hear zobeide talk in this manner. "mesrour," said he, to the eunuch, "what do you think of the princess's discourse? do not women sometimes lose their senses; for you have heard and seen all as well as myself?" then turning to zobeide, "madam," said he, "shed no more tears for abou hassan, for i can assure you he is well; but rather bewail the death of your dear slave. it is not many moments since her husband came in the most inexpressible affliction, to tell me of the death of his wife. i gave him a purse of a hundred pieces of gold and a piece of brocade, to comfort him, and bury her; and mesrour, who was present, can tell you the same." the princess took this discourse of the caliph's to be all a jest, and thought he had a mind to impose upon her. "commander of the faithful," replied she, "though you are used to banter, i must tell you, this is not a proper time for pleasantry. what i tell you is very serious; i do not talk of my slave's death, but of abou hassan's, her husband, whose fate i bewail, and so ought you too." "madam," said the caliph, putting on a grave countenance, "i tell you without raillery that you are deceived; nouzhatoul-aouadat is dead, and abou hassan is alive, and in perfect health." zobeide was much piqued at this dry answer of the caliph. "commander of the faithful," replied she smartly, "god preserve you from continuing longer in this mistake, surely you would make me think your mind is not as usual. give me leave to repeat to you once more, that it is abou hassan who is dead, and that my slave nouzhatoul-aouadat, his widow, is living. it is not an hour since she went from hence. she came here in so disconsolate a state, that the sight of her was enough to have drawn tears from my eyes, if she had not told me her affliction. all my women, who wept with me, can bear me witness, and tell you also that i made her a present of a hundred pieces of gold and a piece of brocade; the grief which you found me in, was on account of the death of her husband; and just at the instant you entered, i was going to send you a compliment of condolence." at these words of zobeide, the caliph cried out in a fit of laughter, "this, madam, is a strange piece of obstinacy; but," continued he seriously, "you may depend upon nouzhatoul-aouadat's being dead." "i tell you no, sir," replied zobeide sharply; "it is abou hassan that is dead, and you shall never make me believe otherwise." upon this the caliph's anger rose in his countenance. he seated himself on the sofa at some distance from the princess, and speaking to mesrour, said, "go immediately, see which it is, and bring me word; for though i am certain that it is nouzhatoul- aouadat, i would rather take this method than be any longer obstinately positive about the matter, though of its certainty i am perfectly satisfied." no sooner had the caliph commanded than mesrour was gone. "you will see," continued he, addressing himself to zobeide, "in a moment, which of us is right." "for my part," replied zobeide, "i know very well that i am in the right, and you will find it to be abou hassan." "and for myself," returned the caliph, "i am so sure that it is nouzhatoul-aouadat, that i will lay you what wager you please that abou hassan is well." "do not think to come off so," said zobeide; "i accept your wager, and i am so well persuaded of his death, that i would willingly lay the thing dearest to me in the world against what you will, though it were of less value. you know what i have in my disposal, and what i value most; propose the bet, and i will stand to it." "since it is so," said the caliph, "i will lay my garden of pleasures against your palace of paintings, though the one is worth much more than the other." "is the question at present," replied zobeide, "if your garden is more valuable than my palace? that is not the point. you have made choice of what you thought fit belonging to me, as an equivalent against what you lay; i accept the wager, and that i will abide by it, i take god to witness." the caliph took the same oath, and both waited mesrour's return. while the caliph and zobeide were disputing so earnestly, and with so much warmth, abou hassan, who foresaw their difference, was very attentive to whatever might happen. as soon as he perceived mesrour through a window, at which he sat talking with his wife, and observed that he was coming directly to their apartment, he guessed his commission, and bade his wife make haste to act the dead part once more, as they had agreed, without loss of time; but they were so pressed, that abou hassan had much ado to wrap up his wife, and lay the piece of brocade which the caliph had given him upon her, before mesrour reached the house. this done, he opened the door of his apartment, and with a melancholy, dejected countenance, and his handkerchief before his eyes, went and sat down at the head of the pretended deceased. by the time he was seated, mesrour came into the room. the dismal sight which met his eyes, gave him a secret joy on account of the errand the caliph had sent him on. abou hassan rose up to meet him, and kissing his hand out of respect, said, sighing and sobbing, "you see me under the greatest calamity that ever could have befallen me the death of my dear wife, nouzhatoul-aouadat, whom you honoured with your favours." mesrour, affected by this discourse, could not refuse some tears to the memory of the deceased. he lifted up the cloth a little at the head, and peeping under it, let it down again, and said, with a deep sigh, "there is no other god but allah, we must all submit to his will, and every creature must return to him. nouzhatoul- aouadat, my good sister," added he, sighing, "thy days have been few: god have mercy on thee." then turning to abou hassan, who was all the time in tears, "we may well say," added he, "that women sometimes have whims, and lose their senses in a most unpardonable manner; for zobeide, good mistress as she is, is in that situation at present; she will maintain to the caliph that you are dead, and not your wife; and whatever the caliph can say to the contrary, he cannot persuade her otherwise. he called me to witness and confirm this truth; for you know i was present when you came and told him the sorrowful news: but all signifies nothing. they are both positive; and the caliph, to convince zobeide, has sent me to know the truth, but i fear i shall not be believed; for when women once take up a thing, they are not to be beaten out of it." "god keep the commander of the faithful in the possession and right use of his senses," replied abou hassan, still sighing and weeping; "you see how it is, and that i have not imposed upon his majesty. and i wish to heaven," continued he, to dissemble the better, "that i had no occasion to have told him the melancholy and afflicting news. alas! i cannot enough express my irreparable loss!" "that is true," replied mesrour, "and i can assure you i take a great share in your affliction; but you must be comforted, and not abandon yourself to your grief. i leave you with reluctance, to return to the caliph; but i beg the favour of you not to bury the corpse till i come again; for i will assist at the interment, and accompany it with my prayers." mesrour went to give an account of his visit. abou hassan attended him to the door, told him he did not deserve the honour he intended him: and for fear mesrour should return to say something else, followed him with his eyes for some time, and when he saw him at a distance, returned to his wife and released her. "this is already," said he, "a new scene of mirth, but i fancy it will not be the last; for certainly the princess zobeide will not believe mesrour, but will laugh at him, since she has too substantial a reason to the contrary; therefore we must expect some new event." while abou hassan was talking thus, nouzhatoul-aouadat had time to put on her clothes again, and both went and sat down on a sofa opposite to the window, where they could see all that passed. in the mean time, mesrour reached zobeide's apartment, and going into her closet laughing, clapped his hands like one who had something very agreeable to tell. the caliph, naturally impatient, and piqued a little at the princess's contradiction, as soon as he saw mesrour, "vile slave," said he, "is this a time to laugh? why do not you tell me which is dead, the husband or the wife?" "commander of the faithful," answered mesrour, putting on a serious countenance, "it is nouzhatoul-aouadat who is dead, for the loss of whom about hassan is as much afflicted as when he appeared before your majesty." the caliph not giving him time to pursue his story, interrupted him, and cried out, laughing heartily, "good news! zobeide, your mistress, was a moment ago possessed of the palace of paintings, and now it is mine. she staked it against my garden of pleasures, since you went; therefore you could not have done me greater pleasure. i will take care to reward you: but give me a true account of what you saw." "commander of the faithful," said mesrour, "when i came to abou hassan's apartment, i found the door open, and he was bewailing the death of his wife. he sat at the head of the deceased, who was laid out in the middle of the room, with her feet towards mecca, and was covered with the piece of brocade which your majesty presented to abou hassan. after i had expressed the share i took in his grief, i went and lifted up the pall at the head, and knew nouzhatoul-aouadat, though hr face was much swelled and changed. i exhorted abou hassan in the best manner i could to be comforted; and when i came away, told him i would attend at his wife's funeral, and desired him not to remove the corpse till i came. this is all i can tell your majesty." "i ask no more," said the caliph, laughing heartily, "and i am well satisfied with your exactness." then addressing himself to zobeide, "well, madam," said he, "have you yet any thing to say against so certain a truth? will you still believe that nouzhatoul-aouadat is alive, and that abou hassan is dead? and will you not own that you have lost your wager?" "how, sir," replied zobeide, who would not believe one word mesrour said, "do you think that i regard that impertinent fellow of a slave, who knows not what he says? i am not blind or mad. with these eyes i saw nouzhatoul-aouadat in the greatest affliction; i spoke to her myself, and she told me that her husband was dead." "madam," replied mesrour, "i swear to you by your own life, and that of the commander of the faithful, which are both dear to me, that nouzhatoul-aouadat is dead, and abou hassan is living." "thou liest, base despicable slave," said zobeide in a rage, "and i will confound thee immediately." clapping her hands together, she called her women, who all approached. "come hither," said the princess to them, "and speak the truth. who was that who came and spoke with me a little before the caliph entered?" the women all answered that it was poor afflicted nouzhatoul-aouadat. "and what," added she, addressing herself to her treasurer, "did i order you to give her?" "madam," answered the treasurer, "i gave nouzhatoul-aouadat, by your orders, a purse of a hundred pieces of gold and a piece of brocade, which she carried away with her." "well, then, sorry slave," said zobeide to mesrour, in passion, "what have you to say to all this? whom do you think now i ought to believe, you or my treasurer, my women, and myself?" mesrour did not want for arguments to contradict the princess; but, as he was afraid of provoking her too much, chose rather to be silent, though he was satisfied that the wife was dead, and not the husband. during the whole of this dispute between zobeide and mesrour, the caliph, who heard the evidence on both sides, and was persuaded of the contrary of what the princess asserted, because he had himself seen and spoken to abou hassan, and from what mesrour had told him, laughed heartily to see zobeide so exasperated. "madam," said he to her, "once more i repeat that i know not who was the author of that saying, that â��women sometimes lose their wits,' but i am sure you make it good. mesrour has just come from abou hassan's, and tells you that he saw nouzhatoul-aouadat lying dead in the middle of the room, abou hassan alive, and sitting by her; and yet you will not believe this evidence, which nobody can reasonably refuse; i cannot comprehend this conduit." zobeide would not hear the caliph. "pardon me, commander of the faithful," replied she, "if i suspect you: i see that you have contrived with mesrour to vex me, and to try my patience. and as i perceive that this report was concerted between you, i beg leave to send a person to abou hassan's, to know whether or not i am in the wrong." the caliph consented, and the princess charged with this important commission an old nurse, who had lived with her from her infancy. "hark you nurse," said she, "you see my dispute with the commander of the faithful, and mesrour; i need tell you no more. go to abou hassan's or rather to nouzhatoul-aouadat's, for abou hassan is dead, and clear up this matter for me. if you bring me good news, a handsome present is your reward: make haste, and return immediately." the nurse set out, to the great joy of the caliph, who was delighted to see zobeide in this embarrassment; but mesrour, extremely mortified to find the princess so angry with him, did all he could to appease her, and to make her and the caliph both satisfied with him. he was overjoyed when zobeide sent the nurse; because he was persuaded that the report she must make would agree with his, justify him, and restore him to her favour. in the mean time abou hassan, who watched at the window, perceived the nurse at a distance, and guessing that she was sent by zobeide, called his wife, and told her that the princess's nurse was coming to know the truth. "therefore," said he, "make haste and lay me out." accordingly nouzhatoul-aouadat covered him with the brocade zobeide had given her, and put his turban upon his face. the nurse, eager to acquit herself of her commission, hobbled as fast as age would allow her, and entering the room, perceived nouzhatoul-aouadat in tears, her hair dishevelled, and seated at the head of her husband, beating her breast, with all the expressions of violent grief. the good old nurse went directly to the false widow. "my dear nouzhatoul-aouadat," said she, with a sorrowful countenance, "i come not to interrupt your grief and tears for a husband whom you loved so tenderly." "ah! good mother," replied the counterfeit widow, "you see my misfortune, and how unhappy i am from the loss of my beloved abou hassan. abou hassan, my dear husband!" cried she, "what have i done that you should leave me so soon? have i not always preferred your will to my own? alas! what will become of poor nouzhatoul-aouadat?" "this black-faced mesrour," cried the nurse, lifting up her hands, "deserves to be punished for having caused so great a difference between my good mistress and the commander of the faithful, by the falsehood he has told them. daughter," continued she, "that villain mesrour has asserted, with inconceivable impudence, before our good mistress, that you were dead, and abou hassan was alive." "alas! my good mother," cried nouzhatoul-aouadat, "i wish to heaven that it was true! i should not be in this sorrowful state, nor bewail a husband so dear to me!" at these words she wept afresh, and with redoubled tears and cries feigned the deepest sorrow. the nurse was so much moved by her tears, that she sat down by her, and cried too. then gently lifting up the turban and cloth, looked at the face of the corpse. "ah! poor abou hassan," she cried, covering his face again, "god have mercy upon thee. adieu, child," said she to nouzhatoul-aouadat: "if i could stay longer with you, i would with all my heart; but i am obliged to return immediately, to deliver my mistress from the uneasiness that black villain has occasioned her, by his impudent lie, assuring her with an oath that you were dead." as soon as the nurse was gone, nouzhatoul-aouadat wiped her eyes and released abou hassan; they both went and sat down on a sofa against the window, expecting what would be the end of this stratagem, and to be ready to act according as circumstances might require. the nurse, in the mean time, made all the haste she could to zobeide. the pleasure of carrying the princess news favourable to her wager, but still more the hopes of a good reward, added wings to her feet, and running into the princess's closet quite out of breath, she gave her a true account of all she had seen. zobeide hearkened to the old woman's relation with a most sensible pleasure; and when she had done, said, with a tone which shewed triumph at having, as she supposed, won her wager: "repeat it once more before the caliph, who looks upon us all to be fools, would make us believe we have no sense of religion, nor fear of god; and tell your story to that wicked black slave, who had the insolence to assert a wilful falsehood." mesrour, who expected the nurse's report would prove favourable on his side, was much mortified to find it so much the contrary, and so vexed at the anger zobeide expressed against him, for a thing which he thought himself surer of than any body, that he was glad of an opportunity of speaking his mind freely to the old women, which he durst not do to the princess. "old toothless," said he to the nurse, "you are a liar, and there is no truth in what you say; for i saw with my own eyes nouzhatoul-aouadat laid out in the middle of the room." "you are a notorious liar yourself," replied the nurse, with an insulting air, "to dare maintain so great a falsity before my face, who am just come from seeing abou hassan dead, laid out, and have left his wife alive." "i am not an impostor," replied mesrour; "it is you who endeavour to lead us all into error." "what impudence," said the nurse, "to dare tell me i lie in the presence of their majesties, when i saw just now with my own eyes what i have had the honour to tell them." "indeed, nurse," answered mesrour again, "you had better hold your tongue, for you certainly doat." zobeide, who could no longer endure this want of respect in mesrour, who, without any regard to her, treated her nurse so injuriously in her presence, without giving the old lady time to reply to so gross an affront, said to the caliph, "commander of the faithful, i demand justice for this insolence to us both." she was so enraged she could say no more, but burst into tears. the caliph, who had heard all the dispute, thought it very intricate. he mused some time, and could not tell what to think of so many contradictions. the princess on her part, as well as mesrour, the nurse, and all the women slaves, who were present, were as much puzzled, and remained silent. at last the caliph, addressing himself to zobeide, said, "i see we are all liars; myself first, then you, mesrour, and you, nurse; or at least it seems not one can be believed more than the other; therefore let us go ourselves to examine the truth, for i can see no other way to clear up these doubts." so saying, the caliph arose, the princess followed him, and mesrour went before to open the doors. "commander of the faithful," said he, "i am overjoyed that your majesty has taken this course; and shall be much more, when i shall make it plainly appear to the nurse, not that she doats, since the expression is unfortunately displeasing to my good mistress, but that her report is not true." the nurse wanted not a reply; "hold your tongue, black face," said she; "you doat yourself." zobeide, who was much provoked at mesrour, could not bear to hear him attack her nurse again without taking her part: "vile slave," said she, "say what you will, i maintain my nurse speaks the truth, and look upon you as a mere liar." "madam," replied mesrour, "if nurse is so very certain that nouzhatoul-aouadat is alive, and abou hassan dead, i will lay her what she dares of it." the nurse was as ready as he; "i dare," said she, "take you at your word: let us see if you dare unsay it." mesrour stood to his word; and they laid a piece of gold brocade with silver flowers before the caliph and the princess. the apartment from which the caliph and zobeide set out, though distant from abou hassan's, was nevertheless just opposite, so that he perceived them coming, and told his wife that he was much mistaken if the caliph and zobeide, preceded by mesrour, and followed by a great number of women, were not about to do them the honour of a visit. she looked through a lattice and saw them, seemed frightened, and cried out, "what shall we do? we are ruined." "fear nothing," replied abou hassan. "have you forgotten already what we agreed on? we will both feign ourselves dead, and you shall see all will go well. at the slow rate they are coming, we shall be ready before they reach the door." accordingly, abou hassan and his wife wrapped up and covered themselves with the pieces of brocade, and waited patiently for their visitors. mesrour, who came first, opened the door, and the caliph and zobeide, followed by their attendants, entered the room; but were struck with horror, and stood motionless, at the spectacle which presented itself to their view, not knowing what to think. at length zobeide breaking silence, said to the caliph, "alas! they are both dead! you have done much," continued she, looking at the caliph and mesrour, "to endeavour to make me believe that my dear slave was dead, and i find it is true: grief at the loss of her husband has certainly killed her." "say rather, madam," answered the caliph, prepossessed to the contrary, that nouzhatoul-aoudat died first, "the afflicted abou hassan sunk under his grief, and could not survive his dear wife; you ought, therefore, to confess that you have lost your wager, and that your palace of paintings is mine." "hold there," answered zobeide, warmed at being contradicted by the caliph; "i will maintain you have lost your garden of pleasures. abou hassan died first; since my nurse told you, as well as me, that she saw her alive, and weeping for the death of her husband." the dispute of the caliph and zobeide brought on another between mesrour and the nurse, who had wagered as well as they; each affirmed to have won, and at length they proceeded to abuse each other very grossly. at last the caliph, reflecting on what had passed, began to think that zobeide had as much reason as himself to maintain that she had won. in this embarrassment of not being able to find out the truth, he advanced towards the corpses, and sat down at the head, searching for some expedient that might gain him the victory over zobeide. "i swear," cried he presently after, "by the holy name of god, that i will give a thousand pieces of gold to him who can tell me which of these two died first." no sooner were these words out of the caliph's mouth, than he heard a voice under abou hassan's piece of brocade say, "commander of the faithful, i died first, give me the thousand pieces of gold." at the same instant abou hassan threw off the piece of brocade, and springing up, prostrated himself at his feet, while his wife did the same to zobeide, keeping on her piece of brocade out of decency. the princess at first shrieked out, but recovering herself, expressed great joy to see her dear slave rise again, just when she was almost inconsolable at having seen her dead. "ah! wicked nouzhatoul-aouadat," cried she, "what have i suffered for your sake? however, i forgive you from my heart, since you are not dead." the caliph was not so much surprised, when he heard abou hassan's voice: but thought he should have died with laughing at this unravelling of the mystery, and to hear abou hassan ask so seriously for the thousand pieces of gold. "what, abou hassan," said he, continuing to laugh aloud, "hast thou conspired against my life, to kill me a second time with laughing? how came this thought into your head, to surprise zobeide and me thus, when we least thought of such a trick?" "commander of the faithful," replied abou hassan, "i will declare to your majesty the whole truth, without the least reserve. your majesty knows that i always loved to eat and drink well' and the wife you gave me rather increased than restrained this propensity. with these dispositions your majesty may easily suppose we might spend a good estate; and to make short of my story, we were not sparing of what your majesty so generously gave us. this morning, accounting with our caterer, who took care to provide every thing for us, and paying what we owed him, we found we had nothing left. then, reflections on what was past, and resolutions to manage better for the future, crowded into our thoughts; we formed a thousand projects, all of which we rejected. at last, the shame of seeing ourselves reduced to so low a condition, and not daring to tell your majesty, made us contrive this stratagem to relieve our necessities, and to divert you, which we hope your majesty will be pleased to pardon." the caliph was satisfied with abou hassan's sincerity, and zobeide, who had till now been very serious, began to laugh at the thought of abou hassan's scheme. the caliph, who had not ceased laughing at the singularity of the adventure, rising, said to abou hassan and his wife, "follow me; i will give you the thousand pieces of gold i promised, for joy to find you are not dead." zobeide desired him to let her make her slave a present of the same sum, for the same reason. by this means abou hassan and his wife nouzhatoul-aouadat preserved the favour of the caliph haroon al rusheed and the princess zobeide, and by their liberalities were enabled to pursue their pleasures. the story of alla ad deen; or, the wonderful lamp. in the capital of one of the large and rich provinces of the kingdom of china, the name of which i do not recollect, there lived a tailor, named mustapha, who was so poor, that he could hardly, by his daily labour, maintain himself and his family, which consisted of a wife and son. his son, who was called alla ad deen, had been brought up in a very careless and idle manner, and by that means had contracted many vicious habits. he was wicked, obstinate, and disobedient to his father and mother, who, when he grew up, could not keep him within doors. he was in the habit of going out early in the morning, and would stay out all day, playing in the streets and public places with idle children of his own age. when he was old enough to learn a trade, his father not being able to put him out to any other, took him into his own shop, and taught him how to use his needle: but neither fair words nor the fear of chastisement were capable of fixing his lively genius. all his father's endeavours to keep him to his work were in vain; for no sooner was his back turned, than he was gone for that day. mustapha chastised him, but alla ad deen was incorrigible, and his father, to his great grief, was forced to abandon him to his idleness: and was so much troubled at not being able to reclaim him, that it threw him into a fit of sickness, of which he died in a few months. the mother, finding that her son would not follow his father's business, shut up the shop, sold off the implements of trade, and with the money she received for them, and what she could get by spinning cotton, thought to maintain herself and her son. alla ad deen, who was now no longer restrained by the fear of a father, and who cared so little for his mother, that whenever she chid him, he would abuse her, gave himself entirely over to his idle habits, and was never out of the streets from his companions. this course he followed till he was fifteen years old, without giving his mind to any useful pursuit, or the least reflection on what would become of him. in this situation, as he was one day playing according to custom in the street, with his vagabond associates, a stranger passing by stood to observe him. this stranger was a sorcerer, called by the writer of this story, the african magician; he was a native of africa, and had been but two days arrived from thence. the african magician, who was a good physiognomist, observing in alla ad deen's countenance something absolutely necessary for the execution of the design he was engaged in, inquired artfully about his family, who he was, and what were his inclinations; and when he had learned all he desired to know, went up to him, and taking him aside from his comrades, said, "child, was not your father called mustapha the tailor?" "yes, sir," answered the boy; "but he has been dead a long time." at these words, the african magician threw his arms about alla ad deen's neck, and kissed him several times with tears in his eyes. alla ad deen, who observed his tears, asked him what made him weep. "alas! my son," cried the african magician with a sigh, "how can i forbear? "i am your uncle; your worthy father was my own brother. i have been many years abroad, and now i am come home with the hopes of seeing him, you tell me he is dead. i assure you it is a sensible grief to me to be deprived of the comfort i expected. but it is some relief to my affliction, that as far as i can remember him, i knew you at first sight, you are so like him; and i see i am not deceived." then he asked alla ad deen, putting his hand into his purse, where his mother lived; and as soon as he had informed him, gave him a handful of small money, saying, "go, my son, to your mother, give my love to her, and tell her that i will visit her to-morrow, if i have time, that i may have the satisfaction of seeing where my good brother lived so long, and ended his days." as soon as the african magician left his newly-adopted nephew, alla ad deen ran to his mother, overjoyed at the money his uncle had given him. "mother," said he, "have i an uncle?" "no, child," replied his mother, "you have no uncle by your father's side, or mine." "i am just now come," said alla ad deen, "from a man who says he is my uncle by my father's side, assuring me that he is his brother. he cried and kissed me when i told him my father was dead; and to shew you that what i tell you is truth," added he, pulling out the money, "see what he has given me. he charged me to give his love to you, and to tell you, if he has any time to- morrow, he will come and pay you a visit, that he may see the house my father lived and died in." "indeed, child," replied the mother, "your father had a brother, but he has been dead a long time, and i never heard of another." the mother and son talked no more then of the african magician; but the next day alla ad deen's uncle found him playing in another part of the town with other children, and embracing him as before, put two pieces of gold into his hand, and said to him, "carry this, child, to your mother, tell her that i will come and see her tonight, and bid her get us something for supper; but first shew me the house where you live." after alla ad deen had shewed the african magician the house, he carried the two pieces of gold to his mother, and when he had told her of his uncle's intention, she went out and bought provisions; and considering she wanted various utensils, borrowed them of her neighbours. she spent the whole day in preparing the supper; and at night when it was ready, said to her son, "perhaps your uncle knows not how to find our house; go and bring him if you meet with him." though alla ad deen had shewed the magician the house, he was ready to go, when somebody knocked at the door, which he immediately opened: and the magician came in loaded with wine, and all sorts of fruits, which he brought for a dessert. after the african magician had given what he brought into alla ad deen's hands, he saluted his mother, and desired her to shew him the place where his brother mustapha used to sit on the sofa; and when she had so done, he fell down and kissed it several times, crying out with tears in his eyes, "my poor brother! how unhappy am i, not to have come soon enough to give you one last embrace." alla ad deen's mother desired him to sit down in the same place, but he declined. "no," said he, "i shall take care how i do that; but give me leave to sit opposite to it, that although i am deprived of the satisfaction of seeing the master of a family so dear to me, i may at least have the pleasure of beholding the place where he used to sit." the widow pressed him no farther, but left him at liberty to sit where he pleased. when the magician had made choice of a place, and sat down, he began to enter into discourse with alla ad deen's mother. "my good sister," said he, "do not be surprised at your never having seen me all the time you have been married to my brother mustapha of happy memory. i have been forty years absent from this country, which is my native place, as well as my late brother's; and during that time have travelled into the indies, persia, arabia, syria, and egypt, have resided in the finest towns of those countries; and afterwards crossed over into africa, where i made a longer stay. at last, as it is natural for a man, how distant soever it may be, to remember his native country, relations, and acquaintance, i was desirous to see mine again, and to embrace my dear brother; and finding i had strength enough to undertake so long a journey, i immediately made the necessary preparations, and set out. i will not tell you the length of time it took me, all the obstacles i met with, and what fatigues i have endured, to come hither; but nothing ever mortified and afflicted me so much, as hearing of my brother's death, for whom i always had a brotherly love and friendship. i observed his features in the face of my nephew, your son, and distinguished him among a number of children with whom he was at play; he can tell you how i received the most melancholy news that ever reached my ears. but god be praised for all things! it is a comfort for me to find, as it were, my brother in a son, who has his most remarkable features." the african magician perceiving that the widow began to weep at the remembrance of her husband, changed the conversation, and turning towards her son, asked him his name. "i am called alla ad deen," said he. "well, alla ad deen," replied the magician, "what business do you follow? are you of any trade?" at this question the youth hung down his head, and was not a little abashed when his mother answered, "alla ad deen is an idle fellow; his father, when alive, strove all he could to teach him his trade, but could not succeed; and since his death, notwithstanding all i can say to him, he does nothing but idle away his time in the streets, as you saw him, without considering he is no longer a child; and if you do not make him ashamed of it, i despair of his ever coming to any good. he knows that his father left him no fortune, and sees me endeavour to get bread by spinning cotton; for my part, i am resolved one of these days to turn him out of doors, and let him provide for himself." after these words, alla ad deen's mother burst into tears; and the magician said, "this is not well, nephew; you must think of helping yourself, and getting your livelihood. there are many sorts of trades, consider if you have not an inclination to some of them; perhaps you did not like your father's, and would prefer another: come, do not disguise your sentiments from me; i will endeavour to help you." but finding that alla ad deen returned no answer, "if you have no mind," continued he, "to learn any handicraft, i will take a shop for you, furnish it with all sorts of fine stuffs and linens; and with the money you make of them lay in fresh goods, and then you will live in an honourable way. consult your inclination, and tell me freely what you think of my proposal: you shall always find me ready to keep my word." this plan greatly flattered alla ad deen, who hated work, but had sense enough to know that such shops were much frequented, and the owners respected. he told the magician he had a greater inclination to that business than to any other, and that he should be much obliged to him for his kindness. "since this profession is agreeable to you," said the african magician, "i will carry you with me to-morrow, clothe you as handsomely as the best merchants in the city, and afterwards we will think of opening a shop as i mentioned." the widow, who never till then could believe that the magician was her husband's brother, no longer doubted after his promises of kindness to her son. she thanked him for his good intentions; and after having exhorted alla ad deen to render himself worthy of his uncle's favour by good behaviour, served up supper, at which they talked of several indifferent matters; and then the magician, who saw that the night was pretty far advanced, took his leave, and retired. he came again the next day, as he had promised, and took alla ad deen with him to a merchant, who sold all sorts of clothes for different ages and ranks ready made, and a variety of fine stuffs. he asked to see some that suited alla ad deen in size; and after choosing a suit for himself which he liked best, and rejecting others which he did not think handsome enough, he bade alla ad deen choose those he preferred. alla ad deen, charmed with the liberality of his new uncle, made choice of one, and the magician immediately paid for it. when alla ad deen found himself so handsomely equipped, he returned his uncle thanks; who promised never to forsake him, but always to take him along with him; which he did to the most frequented places in the city, and particularly where the principal merchants kept their shops. when he brought him into the street where they sold the richest stuffs, and finest linens, he said to alla ad deen, "as you are soon to be a merchant, it is proper you should frequent these shops, and be acquainted with them." he then shewed him the largest and finest mosques, carried him to the khans or inns where the merchants and travellers lodged, and afterwards to the sultan's palace, where he had free access; and at last brought him to his own khan, where meeting with some merchants he had become acquainted with since his arrival, he gave them a treat, to bring them and his pretended nephew acquainted. this entertainment lasted till night, when alla ad deen would have taken leave of his uncle to go home; the magician would not let him go by himself, but conducted him to his mother, who, as soon as she saw him so well dressed, was transported with joy, and bestowed a thousand blessings upon the magician, for being at so great an expense upon her child. "generous relation!" said she, "i know not how to thank you for your liberality! i know that my son is not deserving of your favours; and were he ever so grateful, and answered your good intentions, he would be unworthy of them. i thank you with all my soul, and wish you may live long enough to witness my son's gratitude, which he cannot better shew than by regulating his conduct by your good advice." "alla ad deen," replied the magician, "is a good boy, and i believe we shall do very well; but i am sorry for one thing, which is, that i cannot perform to-morrow what i promised, because, as it is friday, the shops will be shut up, and therefore we cannot hire or furnish one, but must wait till saturday. i will, however, call on him to-morrow and take him to walk in the gardens, where people of the best fashion generally resort. perhaps he has never seen these amusements, he has only hitherto been among children; but now he must see men." the african magician took his leave of the mother and the son, and retired. alla ad deen, who was overjoyed to be so well clothed, anticipated the pleasure of walking in the gardens. he had never been out of the town, nor seen the environs, which were very beautiful and pleasant. alla ad deen rose early the next morning, dressed himself, to be ready when his uncle called on him; and after he had waited some time, began to be impatient, and stood watching at the door; but as soon as he perceived him coming, he told his mother, took his leave of her, and ran to meet him. the magician caressed alla ad deen, and said, "come, my dear child, and i will shew you fine things." he then led him out at one of the gates of the city, to some magnificent houses, or rather palaces, to each of which belonged beautiful gardens, into which anybody might enter. at every building he came to, he asked alla ad deen if he did not think it fine; and the youth was ready to answer when any one presented itself, crying out, "here is a finer house, uncle, than any we have seen yet." by this artifice, the cunning magician led alla ad deen some way into the country; and as he meant to carry him farther, to execute his design, he took an opportunity to sit down in one of the gardens on the brink of a fountain of clear water, which discharged itself by a lion's mouth of bronze into a basin, pretending to be tired. "come, nephew," said he, "you must be weary as well as i; let us rest ourselves, and we shall be better able to pursue our walk." after they had sat down, the magician pulled from his girdle a handkerchief with cakes and fruit, which he had provided, and laid them on the edge of the basin. he broke a cake in two, gave one half to alla ad deen, and ate the other himself; and in regard to the fruit, left him at liberty to take which sort he liked best. during this short repast, he exhorted his nephew to leave off keeping company with vagabonds, and seek that of wise and prudent men, to improve by their conversation. "for," said he, "you will soon be at man's estate, and you cannot too early begin to imitate their example." when they had eaten as much as they liked, they got up, and pursued their walk through gardens separated from one another only by small ditches, which marked out the limits without interrupting the communication; so great was the confidence the inhabitants reposed in each other. by this means, the african magician drew alla ad deen insensibly beyond the gardens, and crossed the country, till they nearly reached the mountains. alla ad deen, who had never been so far before, began to find himself much tired with so long a walk, and said to the magician, "where are we going, uncle? we have left the gardens a great way behind us, and i see nothing but mountains; if we go much further, i do not know whether i shall be able to reach the town again?" "never fear, nephew," said the false uncle; "i will shew you another garden which surpasses all we have yet seen; it is not far off; and when we come there, you will say that you would have been sorry to have been so nigh, and not seen it." alla ad deen was soon persuaded; and the magician, to make the way seem shorter and less fatiguing, told him a great many stories. at last they arrived between two mountains of moderate height, and equal size, divided by a narrow valley, which was the place where the magician intended to execute the design that had brought him from africa to china. "we will go no farther now," said he to alla ad deen: "i will shew you here some extraordinary things, which, when you have seen, you will thank me for: but while i strike a light, gather up all the loose dry sticks you can see, to kindle a fire with." alla ad deen found so many dried sticks, that before the magician had made a light, he had collected a great heap. the magician presently set them on fire, and when they were in a blaze, threw in some incense which raised a cloud of smoke. this he dispersed on each side, by pronouncing several magical words which alla ad deen did not understand. at the same time the earth trembling, opened just before the magician, and uncovered a stone, laid horizontally, with a brass ring fixed into the middle. alla ad deen was so frightened at what he saw, that he would have run away; but the magician caught hold of him, abused him, and gave him such a box on the ear, that he knocked him down. alla ad deen got up trembling, and with tears in his eyes, said to the magician, "what have i done, uncle, to be treated in this severe manner?" "i have my reasons," answered the magician: "i am your uncle, i supply the place of your father, and you ought to make no reply. but, child," added he, softening, "do not be afraid; for i shall not ask any thing of you, but that you obey me punctually, if you would reap the advantages which i intend you." these fair promises calmed alla ad deen's fears and resentment; and when the magician saw that he was appeased, he said to him, "you see what i have done by virtue of my incense, and the words i pronounced. know then, that under this stone there is hidden a treasure, destined to be yours, and which will make you richer than the greatest monarch in the world: no person but yourself is permitted to lift this stone, or enter the cave; so you must punctually execute what i may command, for it is a matter of great consequence both to you and me." alla ad deen, amazed at all he saw and heard the magician say of the treasure which was to make him happy, forgot what was past, and rising, said, "well, uncle, what is to be done? command me, i am ready to obey." "i am overjoyed, child," said the african magician, embracing him; "take hold of the ring, and lift up that stone." "indeed, uncle," replied alla ad deen, "i am not strong enough, you must help me." "you have no occasion for my assistance," answered the magician; "if i help you, we shall be able to do nothing; take hold of the ring, pronounce the names of your father and grandfather, then lift it up, and you will find it will come easily." alla ad deen did as the magician bade him, raised the stone with ease, and laid it on one side. when the stone was pulled up, there appeared a cavity of about three or four feet deep, with a little door, and steps to go down lower. "observe, my son," said the african magician, "what i direct. descend into the cave, and when you are at the bottom of those steps you will find a door open, which will lead you into a spacious vault, divided into three great halls, in each of which you will see four large brass cisterns placed on each side, full of gold and silver; but take care you do not meddle with them. before you enter the first hall, be sure to tuck up your vest, wrap it about you, and then pass through the second into the third without stopping. above all things, have a care that you do not touch the walls, so much as with your clothes; for if you do, you will die instantly. at the end of the third hall, you will find a door which opens into a garden planted with fine trees loaded with fruit; walk directly across the garden by a path which will lead you to five steps that will bring you upon a terrace, where you will see a niche before you, and in that niche a lighted lamp. take the lamp down, and extinguish it: when you have thrown away the wick, and poured out the liquor, put it in your vestband and bring it to me. do not be afraid that the liquor will spoil your clothes, for it is not oil; and the lamp will be dry as soon as it is thrown out. if you should wish for any of the fruit of the garden, you may gather as much as you please." after these words, the magician drew a ring off his finger, and put it on one of alla ad deen's, telling him that it was a preservative against all evil, while he should observe what he had prescribed to him. after this instruction he said, "go down boldly, child, and we shall both be rich all our lives." alla ad deen jumped into the cave, descended the steps, and found the three halls just as the african magician had described. he went through them with all the precaution the fear of death could inspire; crossed the garden without stopping, took down the lamp from the niche, threw out the wick and the liquor, and, as the magician had desired, put it in his vestband. but as he came down from the terrace, seeing it was perfectly dry, he stopped in the garden to observe the fruit, which he only had a glimpse of in crossing it. all the trees were loaded with extraordinary fruit, of different colours on each tree. some bore fruit entirely white, and some clear and transparent as crystal; some pale red, and others deeper; some green, blue, and purple, and others yellow: in short, there was fruit of all colours. the white were pearls; the clear and transparent, diamonds; the deep red, rubies; the paler, rubies; the green, emeralds; the blue, turquoises; the purple, amethysts; and those that were of yellow cast, sapphires. alla ad deen was altogether ignorant of their worth, and would have preferred figs and grapes, or any other fruits. but though he took them only for coloured glass of little value, yet he was so pleased with the variety of the colours, and the beauty and extraordinary size of the seeming fruit, that he resolved to gather some of every sort; and accordingly filled the two new purses his uncle had bought for him with his clothes. some he wrapped up in the skirts of his vest, which was of silk, large and wrapping, and crammed his bosom as full as it could hold. alla ad deen, having thus loaded himself with riches he knew not the value of, returned through the three halls with the same precaution, made all the haste he could, that he might not make his uncle wait, and soon arrived at the mouth of the cave, where the african magician expected him with the utmost impatience. as soon as alla ad deen saw him, he cried out, "pray, uncle, lend me your hand, to help me out." "give me the lamp first," replied the magician; "it will be troublesome to you." "indeed, uncle," answered alla ad deen, "i cannot now; it is not troublesome to me: but i will as soon as i am up." the african magician was so obstinate, that he would have the lamp before he would help him up; and alla ad deen, who had encumbered himself so much with his fruit that he could not well get at it, refused to give it to him till he was out of the cave. the african magician, provoked at this obstinate refusal, flew into a passion, threw a little of his incense into the fire, which he had taken care to keep in, and no sooner pronounced two magical words, than the stone which had closed the mouth of the cave moved into its place, with the earth over it in the same manner as it lay at the arrival of the magician and alla ad deen. this action of the african magician's plainly shewed him to be neither alla ad deen's uncle, nor mustapha the tailor's brother; but a true african. africa is a country whose inhabitants delight most in magic of any in the whole world, and he had applied himself to it from his youth. after forty years' experience in enchantments, geomancy, fumigations, and reading of magic books, he had found out that there was in the world a wonderful lamp, the possession of which would render him more powerful than any monarch; and by a late operation of geomancy, he had discovered that this lamp lay concealed in a subterraneous place in the midst of china, in the situation already described. fully persuaded of the truth of this discovery, he set out from the farthest part of africa; and after a long and fatiguing journey, came to the town nearest to this treasure. but though he had a certain knowledge of the place where the lamp was, he was not permitted to take it himself, nor to enter the .subterraneous place, but must receive it from the hands of another person. for this reason he had addressed himself to alla ad deen, whom he looked upon as a young lad whose life was of no consequence, and fit to serve his purpose, resolving, as soon as he should get the lamp into his hands, to sacrifice him to his avarice and wickedness, by making the fumigation mentioned before, and repeating two magical words, the effect of which would remove the stone into its place, so that no witness would remain of the transaction. the blow he had given alla ad deen was intended to make him obey the more readily, and give him the lamp as soon as he should ask for it. but his too great precipitation, and his fear lest somebody should come that way during their dispute, and discover what he wished to keep secret, produced an effect quite contrary to what he had proposed to himself. when the african magician saw that all his hopes were frustrated forever, he returned the same day for africa; but went quite round the town, and at some distance from it, lest some persons who had observed him walk out with the boy, on seeing him come back without him, should entertain any suspicions, and stop him. according to all appearances, there was no prospects of alla ad deen being any more heard of. but the magician, when he had contrived his death, forgot the ring he had put upon his finger, which preserved him, though he knew not its virtue. it may seem astonishing that the loss of that, together with the lamp, did not drive the magician to despair; but magicians are so much used to misfortunes, and events contrary to their wishes, that they do not lay them to heart, but still feed themselves, to the end of life, with unsubstantial notions and chimeras. the surprise of alla ad deen, who had never suspected this treachery from his pretended uncle, after all his caresses and what he had done for him, is more easily to be imagined than expressed. when he found himself buried alive, he cried, and called out to his uncle, to tell him he was ready to give him the lamp; but in vain, since his cries could not be heard. he descended to the bottom of the steps, with a design to get into the garden, but the door, which was opened before by enchantment, was now shut by the same means. he then redoubled his cries and tears, sat down on the steps, without any hopes of ever seeing light again, and in a melancholy certainty of passing from the present darkness into that of a speedy death. alla ad deen remained in this state two days, without eating or drinking, and on the third looked upon death as inevitable. clasping his hands with an entire resignation to the will of god, he said, "there is no strength or power but in the great and high god." in this action of joining his hands he rubbed the ring which the magician had put on his finger, and of which he knew not yet the virtue. immediately a genie of enormous size and frightful aspect rose out of the earth, his head reaching the roof of the vault, and said to him, "what wouldst thou have? i am ready to obey thee as thy slave, and the slave of all who may possess the ring on thy finger; i, and the other slaves of that ring." at another time, alla ad deen, who had not been used to such appearances, would have been so frightened at the sight of so extraordinary a figure that he would not have been able to speak; but the danger he was in made him answer without hesitation, "whoever thou art, deliver me from this place, if thou art able." he had no sooner spoken these words, than he found himself on the very spot where the magician had caused the earth to open. it was some time before his eyes could bear the light, after being so long in total darkness: but after he had endeavoured by degrees to support it, and began to look about him, he was much surprised not to find the earth open, and could not comprehend how he had got so soon out of its bowels. there was nothing to be seen but the place where the fire had been, by which he could nearly judge the situation of the cave. then turning himself towards the town, he perceived it at a distance in the midst of the gardens that surrounded it, and saw the way by which the magician had brought him. returning god thanks to find himself once more in the world, he made the best of his way home. when he got within his mother's door, the joy to see her and his weakness for want of sustenance for three days made him faint, and he remained for a long time as dead. his mother, who had given him over for lost, seeing him in this condition, omitted nothing to bring him to himself. as soon as he recovered, the first words he spoke, were, "pray, mother, give me something to eat, for i have not put a morsel of anything into my mouth these three days." his mother brought what she had, and set it before him. "my son," said she, "be not too eager, for it is dangerous; eat but little at a time, and take care of yourself. besides, i would not have you talk; you will have time enough to tell me what has happened to you when you are recovered. it is a great comfort to me to see you again, after the affliction i have been in since friday, and the pains i have taken to learn what was become of you." alla ad deen took his mother's advice, and ate and drank moderately. when he had done, "mother," said he to her, "i cannot help complaining of you, for abandoning me so easily to the discretion of a man who had a design to kill me. and who at this very moment thinks my death certain. you believed he was my uncle, as well as i; and what other thoughts could we entertain of a man who was so kind to me, and made such advantageous proffers? but i must tell you, mother, he is a rogue and a cheat, and only made me those promises to accomplish my death; but for what reason neither you nor i can guess. for my part, i can assure you, i never gave him any cause to justify the least ill treatment from him. you shall judge yourself, when you have heard all that passed from the time i left you, till he came to the execution of his wicked design." alla ad deen then related to his mother all that had happened to him from the friday, when the magician took him to see the palaces and gardens about the town, and what fell out in the way, till they came to the place between the two mountains where the great prodigy was to be performed; how, with incense which the magician threw into the fire, and some magical words which he pronounced, the earth opened, and discovered a cave, which led to an inestimable treasure. he forgot not the blow the magician had given him, in what manner he softened again, and engaged him by great promises, and putting a ring to his finger, to go down into the cave. he did not omit the least circumstance of what he saw in crossing the three halls and the garden, and his taking the lamp, which he pulled out of his bosom and shewed to his mother, as well as the transparent fruit of different colours, which he had gathered in the garden as he returned. but, though these fruits were precious stones, brilliant as the sun, and the reflection of a lamp which then lighted the room might have led them to think they were of great value, she was as ignorant of their worth as her son, and cared nothing for them. she had been bred in a low rank of life, and her husband's poverty prevented his being possessed of jewels, nor had she, her relations, or neighbours, ever seen any; so that we must not wonder that she regarded them as things of no value, and only pleasing to the eye by the variety of their colours. alla ad deen put them behind one of the cushions of the sofa, and continued his story, telling his mother, that when he returned to the mouth of the cave, upon his refusal to give the magician the lamp till he should get out, the stone, by his throwing some incense into the fire, and using two or three magical words, shut him in, and the earth closed. he could not help bursting into tears at the representation of the miserable condition he was in, at finding himself buried alive in a dismal cave, till by the touching of his ring, the virtue of which he was till then an entire stranger to, he, properly speaking, came to life again. when he had finished his story, he said to his mother, "i need say no more, you know the rest. this is my adventure, and the danger i have been exposed to since you saw me." alla ad deen's mother heard with so much patience as not to interrupt him this surprising and wonderful relation, notwithstanding it could be no small affliction to a mother, who loved her son tenderly: but yet in the most moving part which discovered the perfidy of the african magician, she could not help shewing, by marks of the greatest indignation, how much she detested him; and when her son had finished his story, she broke out into a thousand reproaches against that vile impostor. she called him perfidious traitor, barbarian, assassin, deceiver, magician, and an enemy and destroyer of mankind. "without doubt, child," added she, "he is a magician, and they are plagues to the world, and by their enchantments and sorceries have commerce with the devil. bless god for preserving you from his wicked designs; for your death would have been inevitable, if you had not called upon him, and implored his assistance." she said a great deal more against the magician's treachery; but finding that whilst she talked, alla ad deen, who had not slept for three days and nights, began to doze, she left him to his repose and retired. alla ad deen, who had not closed his eyes while he was in the subterraneous abode, slept very soundly till late the next morning; when the first thing he said to his mother was that he wanted something to eat, and that she could not do him a greater kindness than to give him his breakfast. "alas! child," said she, "i have not a bit of bread to give you, you ate up all the provisions i had in the house yesterday; but have a little patience, and it shall not be long before i will bring you some: i have a little cotton, which i have spun; i will go and sell it, buy bread, and something for our dinner." "mother," replied alla ad deen, "keep your cotton for another time, and give me the lamp i brought home with me yesterday; i will go and sell it, and the money i shall get for it will serve both for breakfast and dinner, and perhaps supper too." alla ad deen's mother took the lamp, and said to her son, "here it is, but it is very dirty; if it was a little cleaner i believe it would bring something more." she took some fine sand and water to clean it; but had no sooner begun to rub it, than in an instant a hideous genie of gigantic size appeared before her, and said to her in a voice like thunder, "what wouldst thou have? i am ready to obey thee as thy slave, and the slave of all those who have that lamp in their hands; i and the other slaves of the lamp." alla ad deen's mother, terrified at the sight of the genie, fainted; when alla ad deen, who had seen such a phantom in the cavern, snatched the lamp out of his mother's hand, and said to the genie boldly, "i am hungry, bring me something to eat." the genie disappeared immediately, and in an instant returned with a large silver tray, holding twelve covered dishes of the same metal, which contained the most delicious viands; six large white bread cakes on two plates, two flagons of wine, and two silver cups. all these he placed upon a carpet, and disappeared; this was done before alla ad deen's mother recovered from her swoon. alla ad deen had fetched some water, and sprinkled it in her face, to recover her: whether that or the smell of the meat brought her to life again, it was not long before she came to herself. "mother," said alla ad deen, "do not mind this; get up, and come and eat; here is what will put you in heart, and at the same time satisfy my extreme hunger: do not let such delicious meat get cold." his mother was much surprised to see the great tray, twelve dishes, six loaves, the two flagons and cups, and to smell the savoury odour which exhaled from the dishes. "child," said she, "to whom are we obliged for this great plenty and liberality? has the sultan been made acquainted with our poverty, and had compassion on us?" "it is no matter, mother," said alla ad deen, "let us sit down and eat; for you have almost as much need of a good breakfast as myself; when we have done, i will tell you." accordingly both mother and son sat down, and ate with the better relish as the table was so well furnished. but all the time alla ad deen's mother could not forbear looking at and admiring the tray and dishes, though she could not judge whether they were silver or any other metal, and the novelty more than the value attracted her attention. the mother and son sat at breakfast till it was dinner-time, and then they thought it would be best to put the two meals together; yet after this they found they should have enough left for supper, and two meals for the next day. when alla ad deen's mother had taken away and set by what was left, she went and sat down by her son on the sofa, saying, "i expect now that you should satisfy my impatience, and tell me exactly what passed between the genie and you while i was in a swoon;" which he readily complied with. she was in as great amazement at what her son told her, as at the appearance of the genie; and said to him, "but, son, what have we to do with genii? i never heard that any of my acquaintance had ever seen one. how came that vile genie to address himself to me, and not to you, to whom he had appeared before in the cave?" "mother," answered alla ad deen, "the genie you saw is not the one who appeared to me, though he resembles him in size; no, they had quite different persons and habits; they belong to different masters. if you remember, he that i first saw, called himself the slave of the ring on my finger; and this you saw, called himself the slave of the lamp you had in your hand: but i believe you did not hear him, for i think you fainted as soon as he began to speak." "what!" cried the mother, "was your lamp then the occasion of that cursed genie addressing himself rather to me than to you?" ah my son, take it out of my sight, and put it where you please. i will never touch it. i had rather you would sell it, than run the hazard of being frightened to death again by touching it: and if you would take my advice, you would part also with the ring, and not have any thing to do with genii, who, as our prophet has told us, are only devils." "with your leave, mother," replied alla ad deen, "i shall now take care how i sell a lamp, which may be so serviceable both to you and me. have not you been an eye-witness of what it has procured us? and it shall still continue to furnish us with subsistence and maintenance. you may suppose as i do, that my false and wicked uncle would not have taken so much pains, and undertaken so long and tedious a journey, if it had not been to get into his possession this wonderful lamp, which he preferred before all the gold and silver which he knew was in the halls, and which i have seen with my own eyes. he knew too well the worth of this lamp, not to prefer it to so great a treasure; and since chance hath discovered the virtue of it to us, let us make a profitable use of it, without making any great shew, and exciting the envy and jealousy of our neighbours. however, since the genii frighten you so much, i will take it out of your sight, and put it where i may find it when i want it. the ring i cannot resolve to part with; for without that you had never seen me again; and though i am alive now, perhaps, if it was gone, i might not be so some moments hence; therefore i hope you will give me leave to keep it, and to wear it always on my finger. who knows what dangers you and i may be exposed to, which neither of us can foresee, and from which it may deliver us." as alla ad deen's arguments were just, his mother had nothing to say against them; she only replied, that he might do what he pleased, for her part, she would have nothing to do with genii, but would wash her hands of them, and never say anything more about them. by the next night they had eaten all the provisions the genie had brought; and the next day alla ad deen, who could not bear the thoughts of hunger, putting one of the silver dishes under his vest, went out early to sell it, and addressing himself to a jew whom he met in the streets, took him aside, and pulling out the plate, asked him if he would buy it. the cunning jew took the dish, examined it, and as soon as he found that it was good silver, asked alla ad deen at how much he valued it. alla ad deen, who knew not its value, and never had been used to such traffic, told him he would trust to his judgment and honour. the jew was somewhat confounded at this plain dealing; and doubting whether alla ad deen understood the material or the full value of what he offered to sell, took a piece of gold out of his purse and gave it him, though it was but the sixtieth part of the worth of the plate. alla ad deen, taking the money very eagerly, retired with so much haste, that the jew, not content with the exorbitancy of his profit, was vexed he had not penetrated into his ignorance, and was going to run after him, to endeavour to get some change out of the piece of gold; but he ran so fast, and had got so far, that it would have been impossible for him to overtake him. before alla ad deen went home, he called at a baker's, bought some cakes of bread, changed his money, and on his return gave the rest to his mother, who went and purchased provisions enough to last them some time. after this manner they lived, till alla ad deen had sold the twelve dishes singly, as necessity pressed, to the jew, for the same money; who, after the first time, durst not offer him less, for fear of losing so good a bargain. when he had sold the last dish, he had recourse to the tray, which weighed ten times as much as the dishes, and would have carried it to his old purchaser, but that it was too large and cumbersome; therefore he was obliged to bring him home with him to his mother's, where, after the jew had examined the weight of the tray, he laid down ten pieces of gold, with which alla ad deen was very well satisfied. they lived on these ten pieces in a frugal manner, and alla ad deen, though used to an idle life, had left off playing with young lads of his own age ever since his adventure with the african magician. he spent his time in walking about, and conversing with decent people, with whom he gradually got acquainted. sometimes he would stop at the principal merchants' shops, where people of distinction met, and listen to their discourse, by which he gained some little knowledge of the world. when all the money was spent, a]la ad deen had recourse again to the lamp. he took it in his hand, looked for the part where his mother had rubbed it with the sand, rubbed it also, when the genie immediately appeared, and said, "what wouldst thou have?" i am ready to obey thee as thy slave, and the slave of all those who have that lamp in their hands; i, and the other slaves of the lamp." "i am hungry," said alla ad deen, "bring me something to eat." the genie disappeared, and presently returned with a tray, the same number of covered dishes as before, set them down, and vanished. alla ad deen's mother, knowing what her son was going to do, went out about some business, on purpose to avoid being in the way when the genie came; and when she returned, was almost as much surprised as before at the prodigious effect of the lamp. however, she sat down with her son, and when they had eaten as much as they liked, she set enough by to last them two or three days. as soon as alla ad deen found that their provisions were expended, he took one of the dishes, and went to look for his jew chapman; but passing by a goldsmith's shop, who had the character of a very fair and honest man, the goldsmith perceiving him, called to him, and said, "my lad, i have often observed you go by, loaded as you are at present, and talk with such a jew, and then come back again empty handed. i imagine that you carry something which you sell to him; but perhaps you do not know that he is the greatest rogue even among the jews, and is so well known, that nobody of prudence will have anything to do with him. what i tell you is for your own good. if you will shew me what you now carry, and it is to be sold, i will give you the full worth of it; or i will direct you to other merchants who will not cheat you." the hopes of getting more money for his plate induced alla ad deen to pull it from under his vest, and shew it to the goldsmith, who at first sight saw that it was made of the finest silver, asked him if he had sold such as that to the jew, when alla ad deen told him that he had sold him twelve such, for a piece of gold each. "what a villain!" cried the goldsmith; "but," added he, "my son, what is passed cannot be recalled. by shewing you the value of this plate, which is of the finest silver we use in our shops, i will let you see how much the jew has cheated you." the goldsmith took a pair of scales, weighed the dish, and after he had mentioned how much an ounce of fine silver cost, assured him that his plate would fetch by weight sixty pieces of gold, which he offered to pay down immediately. "if you dispute my honesty," said he, "you may go to any other of our trade, and if he gives you more, i will be bound to forfeit twice as much; for we gain only the fashion of the plate we buy, and that the fairest dealing jews are not contented with." alla ad deen thanked him for his fair dealing, so greatly to his advantage, took the gold, and never after went to any other person, but sold him all his dishes and the tray, and had as much for them as the weight came to. though alla ad deen and his mother had an inexhaustible treasure in their lamp, and might have had whatever they wished for, yet they lived with the same frugality as before, except that alla ad deen dressed better; as for his mother, she wore no clothes but what she earned by spinning cotton. after their manner of living, it may easily be supposed, that the money for which alla ad deen had sold the dishes and tray was sufficient to maintain them some time. during this interval, alla ad deen frequented the shops of the principal merchants, where they sold cloth of gold and silver, linens, silk stuffs, and jewellery, and oftentimes joining in their conversation, acquired a knowledge of the world, and respectable demeanour. by his acquaintance among the jewellers, he came to know that the fruits which he had gathered when he took the lamp were, instead of coloured glass, stones of inestimable value; but he had the prudence not to mention this to any one, not even to his mother. one day as alla ad deen was walking about the town, he heard an order proclaimed, commanding the people to shut up their shops and houses, and keep within doors, while the princess buddir al buddoor, the sultan's daughter, went to the baths and returned. this proclamation inspired alla ad deen with eager curiosity to see the princess's face, which he could not do without admission into the house of some acquaintance, and then only through a window; which did not satisfy him, when he considered that the princess, when she went to the baths, would be closely veiled; but to gratify his curiosity, he presently thought of a scheme, which succeeded; it was to place himself behind the door of the bath, which was so situated that he could not fail of seeing her face. alla ad deen had not waited long before the princess came, and he could see her plainly through a chink of the door without being discovered. she was attended by a great crowd of ladies, slaves and eunuchs, who walked on each side, and behind her. when she came within three or four paces of the door of the baths, she took off her veil, and gave alla ad deen an opportunity of a full view. as soon as alla ad deen had seen the princess, his heart could not withstand those inclinations so charming an object always inspires. the princess was the most beautiful brunette in the world; her eyes were large, lively, and sparkling; her looks sweet and modest; her nose was of a just proportion and without a fault, her mouth small, her lips of a vermilion red and charmingly agreeable symmetry; in a word, all the features of her face were perfectly regular. it is not therefore surprising that alla ad deen, who had never before seen such a blaze of charms, was dazzled, and his senses ravished by such an assemblage. with all these perfections the princess had so fine a form, and so majestic an air, that the sight of her was sufficient to inspire love and admiration. after the princess had passed by, and entered the baths, alla ad deen remained some time astonished, and in a kind of ecstacy, retracing and imprinting the idea of so charming an object deeply in his mind. but at last, considering that the princess was gone past him, and that when she returned from the bath her back would be towards him, and then veiled, he resolved to quit his hiding place and go home. he could not so far conceal his uneasiness but that his mother perceived it, was surprised to see him so much more thoughtful and melancholy than usual; and asked what had happened to make him so, or if he was ill? he returned her no answer, but sat carelessly down on the sofa, and remained silent, musing on the image of the charming buddir al buddoor. his mother, who was dressing supper, pressed him no more. when it was ready, she served it up, and perceiving that he gave no attention to it, urged him to eat, but had much ado to persuade him to change his place; which when he did, he ate much less than usual, all the time cast down his eyes, and observed so profound a silence, that she could not obtain a word in answer to all the questions she put, in order to find the reason of so extraordinary an alteration. after supper, she asked him again why he was so melancholy, but could get no information, and he determined to go to bed rather than give her the least satisfaction. without examining how he passed the night, his mind full as it was with the charms of the princess, i shall only observe that as he sat next day on the sofa, opposite his mother, as she was spinning cotton, he spoke to her in these words: "i perceive, mother, that my silence yesterday has much troubled you; i was not, nor am i sick, as i fancy you believed; but i assure you, that what i felt then, and now endure, is worse than any disease. i cannot explain what ails me; but doubt not what i am going to relate will inform you. "it was not proclaimed in this quarter of the town, and therefore you could know nothing of it, that the sultan's daughter was yesterday to go to the baths. i heard this as i walked about the town, and an order was issued that all the shops should be shut up in her way thither, and everybody keep within doors, to leave the streets free for her and her attendants. as i was not then far from the bath, i had a great curiosity to see the princess's face; and as it occurred to me that the princess, when she came nigh the door of the bath, would pull her veil off, i resolved to conceal myself behind the door. you know the situation of the door, and may imagine that i must have had a full view of her. the princess threw off her veil, and i had the happiness of seeing her lovely face with the greatest security. this, mother, was the cause of my melancholy and silence yesterday; i love the princess with more violence than i can express; and as my passion increases every moment, i cannot live without the possession of the amiable buddir al buddoor, and am resolved to ask her in marriage of the sultan her father." alla ad deen's mother listened with surprise to what her son told her; but when he talked of asking the princess in marriage, she could not help bursting out into a loud laugh. alla ad deen would have gone on with his rhapsody, but she interrupted him. "alas! child," said she, "what are you thinking of? you must be mad to talk thus." "i assure you, mother," replied alla ad deen, "that i am not mad, but in my right senses; i foresaw that you would reproach me with folly and extravagance; but i must tell you once more that i am resolved to demand the princess of the sultan in marriage, and your remonstrances shall not prevent me." "indeed, son," replied the mother seriously, "i cannot help telling you that you have forgotten yourself; and if you would put this resolution of yours in execution, i do not see whom you can prevail upon to venture to make the proposal for you." "you yourself," replied he immediately. "i go to the sultan!" answered the mother, amazed and surprised. "i shall be cautious how i engage in such an errand. why, who are you, son," continued she, "that you can have the assurance to think of your sultan's daughter? have you forgotten that your father was one of the poorest tailors in the capital, and that i am of no better extraction; and do not you know that sultans never marry their daughters but to princes, sons of sovereigns like themselves?" "mother," answered alla ad deen, "i have already told you that i foresaw all that you have said, or can say: and tell you again, that neither your discourse nor your remonstrances shall make me change my mind. i have told you that you must ask the princess in marriage for me: it is a favour i desire of you, and i beg of you not to refuse, unless you would rather see me in my grave, than by your compliance give me new life." the good old woman was much embarrassed, when she found alla ad deen obstinately persisting in so wild a design. "my son," said she again, "i am your mother, who brought you into the world, and there is nothing that is reasonable but i would readily do for you. if i were to go and treat about your marriage with some neighbour's daughter, whose circumstances were equal with yours, i would do it with all my heart; and even then they would expect you should have some little estate or fortune, or be of some trade. when such poor folks as we are wish to marry, the first thing they ought to think of, is how to live. but without reflecting on the meanness of your birth, and the little merit and fortune you have to recommend you, you aim at the highest pitch of exaltation; and your pretensions are no less than to demand in marriage the daughter of your sovereign, who with one single word can crush you to pieces. i say nothing of what respects yourself. i leave you to reflect on what you have to do, if you have ever so little thought. i come now to consider what concerns myself. how could so extraordinary a thought come into your head, as that i should go to the sultan and make a proposal to him to give his daughter in marriage to you? suppose i had, not to say the boldness, but the impudence to present myself before the sultan, and make so extravagant a request, to whom should i address myself to be introduced to his majesty? do you not think the first person i should speak to would take me for a mad woman, and chastise me as i should deserve? suppose, however, that there is no difficulty in presenting myself for an audience of the sultan, and i know there is none to those who go to petition for justice, which he distributes equally among his subjects; i know too that to those who ask a favour he grants it with pleasure when he sees it is deserved, and the persons are worthy of it. but is that your case? do you think you have merited the honour you would have me ask for you? are you worthy of it? what have you done to claim such a favour, either for your prince or country? how have you distinguished yourself? if you have done nothing to merit so high a distinction, nor are worthy of it, with what face shall i ask it? how can i open my mouth to make the proposal to the sultan? his majestic presence and the lustre of his court would absolutely confound me, who used even to tremble before my dear husband your father, when i asked him for any thing. there is another reason, my son, which you do not think of, which is that nobody ever goes to ask a favour of the sultan without a present. but what presents have you to make? and if you had any that were worthy of the least attention of so great a monarch, what proportion could they bear to the favour you would ask? therefore, reflect well on what you are about, and consider, that you aspire to an object which it is impossible for you to obtain." alla ad deen heard very calmly all that his mother could say to dissuade him from his design, and after he had weighed her representations in all points, replied: "i own, mother, it is great rashness in me to presume to carry my pretensions so far; and a great want of consideration to ask you with so much heat and precipitancy to go and make the proposal to the sultan, without first taking proper measures to procure a favourable reception, and therefore beg your pardon. but be not surprised that through the violence of my passion i did not at first see every measure necessary to procure me the happiness i seek. i love the princess, or rather i adore her, and shall always persevere in my design of marrying her. i am obliged to you for the hint you have given me, and look upon it as the first step i ought to take to procure the happy issue i promise myself. "you say it is not customary to go to the sultan without a present, and that i have nothing worthy of his acceptance. as to the necessity of a present, i agree with you, and own that i never thought of it; but as to what you say that i have nothing fit to offer, do not you think, mother, that what i brought home with me the day on which i was delivered from an inevitable death, may be an acceptable present? i mean what you and i both took for coloured glass: but now i am undeceived, and can tell you that they are jewels of inestimable value, and fit for the greatest monarchs. i know the worth of them by frequenting the shops; and you may take my word that all the precious stones which i saw in the most capital jewellers' possessions were not to be compared to those we have, either for size or beauty, and yet they value theirs at an excessive price. in short, neither you nor i know the value of ours; but be it as it may, by the little experience i have, i am persuaded that they will be received very favourably by the sultan: you have a large porcelain dish fit to hold them; fetch it, and let us see how they will look, when we have arranged them according to their different colours." alla ad deen's mother brought the china dish, when he took the jewels out of the two purses in which he had kept them, and placed them in order according to his fancy. but the brightness and lustre they emitted in the day-time, and the variety of the colours, so dazzled the eyes both of mother and son, that they were astonished beyond measure; for they had only seen them by the light of a lamp; and though the latter had beheld them pendant on the trees like fruit beautiful to the eye, yet as he was then but a boy, he looked on them only as glittering playthings. after they had admired the beauty of the jewels some time, alla ad deen said to his mother, "now you cannot excuse yourself from going to the sultan, under pretext of not having a present to make him, since here is one which will gain you a favourable reception." though the good widow, notwithstanding the beauty and lustre of the precious stones, did not believe them so valuable as her son estimated them, she thought such a present might nevertheless be agreeable to the sultan, but still she hesitated at the request. "my son," said she, "i cannot conceive that your present will have its desired effect, or that the sultan will look upon me with a favourable eye; i am sure, that if i attempt to deliver your strange message, i shall have no power to open my mouth; therefore i shall not only lose my labour, but the present, which you say is so invaluable, and shall return home again in confusion, to tell you that your hopes are frustrated. i have represented the consequence, and you ought to believe me; but," added she, "i will exert my best endeavour to please you, and wish i may have power to ask the sultan as you would have me; but certainly he will either laugh at me, send me back like a fool, or be in so great a rage, as to make us both the victims of his fury." she used many other arguments to endeavour to make him change his mind; but the charms of the princess had made too great an impression on his heart for him to be dissuaded from his design. he persisted in importuning his mother to execute his resolution, and she, as much out of tenderness as for fear he should be guilty of greater extravagance, complied with his request. as it was now late, and the time for admission to the palace was passed, it was put off till the next day. the mother and son talked of different matters the remaining part of the day; and alla ad deen strove to encourage her in the task she had undertaken; while she, notwithstanding all his arguments, could not persuade herself she should succeed; and it must be confessed she had reason enough to doubt. "child," said she to alla ad deen, "if the sultan should receive me as favourably as i wish for your sake, should even hear my proposal with calmness, and after this scarcely-to-be-expected reception should think of asking me where lie your riches and your estate (for he will sooner inquire after these than your person), if, i say, he should ask me these questions, what answer would you have me return him?" "let us not be uneasy, mother," replied alla ad deen, "about what may never happen. first, let us see how the sultan receives, and what answer he gives you. if it should so fall out, that he desires to be informed of what you mention, i have thought of an answer, and am confident that the lamp which hath supported us so long will not fail me in time of need." the tailor's widow could not say any thing against what her son then proposed; but reflected that the lamp might be capable of doing greater wonders than just providing victuals for them. this consideration satisfied her, and at the same time removed all the difficulties which might have prevented her from undertaking the service she had promised her son with the sultan. alla ad deen, who penetrated into his mother's thoughts, said to her, "above all things, mother, be sure to keep secret our possession of the lamp, for thereon depends the success we have to expect;" and after this caution, alla ad deen and his mother parted to go to rest. but violent love, and the great prospect of so immense a fortune, had so much possessed the son's thoughts, that he could not repose himself so well as he could have wished. he rose before day-break, awakened his mother, pressing her to get herself dressed to go to the sultan's palace, and to get admittance, if possible, before the grand vizier, the other viziers, and the great officers of state went in to take their seats in the divan, where the sultan always assisted in person. alla ad deen's mother took the china dish, in which they had put the jewels the day before, wrapped in two napkins, one finer than the other, which was tied at the four corners for more easy carriage, and set forward for the sultan's palace. when she came to the gates, the grand vizier, the other viziers and most distinguished lords of the court, were just gone in; but, notwithstanding the crowd of people who had business was great, she got into the divan, a spacious hall, the entrance into which was very magnificent. she placed herself just before the sultan, grand vizier, and the great lords, who sat in council, on his right and left hand. several causes were called, according to their order, pleaded and adjudged, until the time the divan generally broke up, when the sultan rising, returned to his apartment, attended by the grand vizier; the other viziers and ministers of state then retired, as also did those whose business had called them thither; some pleased with gaining their causes, others dissatisfied at the sentences pronounced against them, and some in expectation of theirs being heard the next sitting. alla ad deen's mother, seeing the sultan retire, and all the people depart, judged rightly that he would not sit again that day, and resolved to go home. when alla ad deen saw her return with the present designed for the sultan, he knew not what to think of her success, and in his fear lest she should bring him some ill news, had not courage to ask her any questions; but she, who had never set foot in the sultan's palace before, and knew not what was every day practised there, freed him from his embarrassment, and said to him, with a great deal of simplicity, "son, i have seen the sultan, and am very well persuaded he has seen me too; for i placed myself just before him; but he was so much taken up with those who attended on all sides of him, that i pitied him, and wondered at his patience. at last i believe he was heartily tired, for he rose up suddenly, and would not hear a great many who were ready prepared to speak to him, but went away, at which i was well pleased, for indeed i began to lose all patience, and was extremely fatigued with staying so long. but there is no harm done; i will go again to-morrow; perhaps the sultan may not be so busy." though his passion was very violent, alla ad deen was forced to be satisfied with this delay, and to fortify himself with patience. he had at least the satisfaction to find that his mother had got over the greatest difficulty, which was to procure access to the sultan, and hoped that the example of those she saw speak to him would embolden her to acquit herself better of her commission when a favourable opportunity might offer to speak to him. the next morning she repaired to the sultan's palace with the present, as early as the day before, but when she came there, she found the gates of the divan shut, and understood that the council sat but every other day, therefore she must come again the next. this news she carried to her son, whose only relief was to guard himself with patience. she went six times afterwards on the days appointed, placed herself always directly before the sultan, but with as little success as the first morning, and might have perhaps come a thousand times to as little purpose, if luckily the sultan himself had not taken particular notice of her: for only those who came with petitions approached the sultan, when each pleaded their cause in its turn, and alla ad deen's mother was not one of them. on the sixth day, however, after the divan was broken up, when the sultan returned to his own apartment, he said to his grand vizier, "i have for some time observed a certain woman, who attends constantly every day that i give audience, with something wrapped up in a napkin: she always stands up from the beginning to the breaking up of the audience, and affects to place herself just before me. do you know what she wants?" "sir," replied the grand vizier, who knew no more than the sultan what she wanted, but did not wish to seem uninformed, "your majesty knows that women often make complaints on trifles; perhaps she may come to complain to your majesty that somebody has sold her some bad flour, or some such trifling matter." the sultan was not satisfied with this answer, but replied, "if this woman comes to our next audience, do not fail to call her, that i may hear what she has to say." the grand vizier made answer by lowering his hand, and then lifting it up above his head, signifying his willingness to lose it if he failed. by this time, the tailor's widow was so much used to go to audience, and stand before the sultan, that she did not think it any trouble, if she could but satisfy her son that she neglected nothing that lay in her power to please him: the next audience day she went to the divan, placed herself in front of the sultan as usual; and before the grand vizier had made his report of business, the sultan perceived her, and compassionating her for having waited so long, said to the vizier, "before you enter upon any business, remember the woman i spoke to you about; bid her come near, and let us hear and dispatch her business first." the grand vizier immediately called the chief of the mace-bearers who stood ready to obey his commands; and pointing to her, bade him go to that woman, and tell her to come before the sultan. the chief of the officers went to alla ad deen's mother, and at a sign he gave her, she followed him to the foot of the sultan's throne, where he left her, and retired to his place by the grand vizier. the old woman, after the example of others whom she saw salute the sultan, bowed her head down to the carpet, which covered the platform of the throne, and remained in that posture till the sultan bade her rise, which she had no sooner done, than he said to her, "good woman, i have observed you to stand a long time, from the beginning to the rising of the divan; what business brings you here?" after these words, alla ad deen's mother prostrated herself a second time; and when she arose, said, "monarch of monarchs, before i tell your majesty the extraordinary and almost incredible business which brings me before your high throne, i beg of you to pardon the boldness or rather impudence of the demand i am going to make, which is so uncommon, that i tremble, and am ashamed to propose it to my sovereign." in order to give her the more freedom to explain herself, the sultan ordered all to quit the divan but the grand vizier, and then told her she might speak without restraint. alla ad deen's mother, not content with this favour of the sultan's to save her the trouble and confusion of speaking before so many people, was notwithstanding for securing herself against his anger, which, from the proposal she was going to make, she was not a little apprehensive of; therefore resuming her discourse, she said, "i beg of your majesty, if you should think my demand the least injurious or offensive, to assure me first of your pardon and forgiveness." "well," replied the sultan, "i will forgive you, be it what it may, and no hurt shall come to you: speak boldly." when alla ad deen's mother had taken all these precautions, for fear of the sultan's anger, she told him faithfully how alla ad deen had seen the princess buddir al buddoor, the violent love that fatal sight had inspired him with, the declaration he had made to her of it when he came home, and what representations she had made "to dissuade him from a passion no less disrespectful," said she, "to your majesty, as sultan, than to the princess your daughter. but," continued she, "my son, instead of taking my advice and reflecting on his presumption, was so obstinate as to persevere, and to threaten me with some desperate act, if i refused to come and ask the princess in marriage of your majesty; and it was not without the greatest reluctance that i was led to accede to his request, for which i beg your majesty once more to pardon not only me, but also alla ad deen my son, for entertaining so rash a project as to aspire to so high an alliance." the sultan hearkened to this discourse with mildness, and without shewing the least anger; but before he gave her any answer, asked her what she had brought tied up in the napkin. she took the china dish, which she had set down at the foot of the throne, before she prostrated herself before him; untied it, and presented it to the sultan. the sultan's amazement and surprise were inexpressible, when he saw so many large, beautiful, and valuable jewels collected in the dish. he remained for some time motionless with admiration. at last, when he had recovered himself, he received the present from alla ad deen's mother's hand, crying out in a transport of joy, "how rich, how beautiful!" after he had admired and handled all the jewels, one after another, he turned to his grand vizier, and shewing him the dish, said, "behold, admire, wonder, and confess that your eyes never beheld jewels so rich and beautiful before." the vizier was charmed. "well," continued the sultan, "what sayst thou to such a present? is it not worthy of the princess my daughter? and ought i not to bestow her on one who values her at so great price?" these words put the grand vizier into extreme agitation. the sultan had some time before signified to him his intention of bestowing the princess on a son of his; therefore he was afraid, and not without grounds, that the sultan, dazzled by so rich and extraordinary a present, might change his mind. therefore going to him, and whispering him in the ear, he said, "i cannot but own that the present is worthy of the princess; but i beg of your majesty to grant me three months before you come to a final resolution. i hope, before that time, my son, on whom you have had the goodness to look with a favourable eye, will be able to make a nobler present than alla ad deen, who is an entire stranger to your majesty." the sultan, though he was fully persuaded that it was not possible for the vizier to provide so considerable a present for his son to make the princess, yet as he had given him hopes, hearkened to him, and granted his request. turning therefore to the old widow, he said to her, "good woman, go home, and tell your son that i agree to the proposal you have made me; but i cannot marry the princess my daughter, till the paraphernalia i design for her be got ready, which cannot be finished these three months; but at the expiration of that time come again." alla ad deen's mother returned home much more gratified than she had expected, since she had met with a favourable answer, instead of the refusal and confusion she had dreaded. from two circumstances alla ad deen, when he saw his mother returning, judged that she brought him good news; the one was, that she returned sooner than ordinary; and the other, the gaiety of her countenance. "well, mother," said he, "may i entertain any hopes, or must i die with despair?" when she had pulled off her veil, and had seated herself on the sofa by him, she said to him, "not to keep you long in suspense, son, i will begin by telling you, that instead of thinking of dying, you have every reason to be well satisfied." then pursuing her discourse, she told him, that she had an audience before everybody else which made her come home so soon; the precautions she had taken lest she should have displeased the sultan, by making the proposal of marriage between him and the princess buddir al buddoor, and the condescending answer she had received from the sultan's own mouth; and that as far as she could judge, the present had wrought a powerful effect. "but when i least expected it," said she, "and he was going to give me an answer, and i fancied a favourable one, the grand vizier whispered him in the ear, and i was afraid might be some obstacle to his good intentions towards us, and so it happened, for the sultan desired me to come to audience again this day three months." alla ad deen thought himself the most happy of all men at hearing this news, and thanked his mother for the pains she had taken in the affair, the good success of which was of so great importance to his peace. though from his impatience to obtain the object of his passion, three months seemed an age, yet he disposed himself to wait with patience, relying on the sultan's word, which he looked upon to be irrevocable. but all that time he not only counted the hours, days, and weeks, but every moment. when two of the three months were past, his mother one evening going to light the lamp, and finding no oil in the house, went out to buy some, and when she came into the city, found a general rejoicing. the shops, instead of being shut up, were open, dressed with foliage, silks, and carpeting, every one striving to show their zeal in the most distinguished manner according to his ability. the streets were crowded with officers in habits of ceremony, mounted on horses richly caparisoned, each attended by a great many footmen. alla ad deen's mother asked the oil-merchant what was the meaning of all this preparation of public festivity." whence came you, good woman," said he, "that you don't know that the grand vizier's son is to marry the princess buddir al buddoor, the sultan's daughter, to-night? she will presently return from the baths; and these officers whom you see are to assist at the cavalcade to the palace, where the ceremony is to be solemnized." this was news enough for alla ad deen's mother. she ran till she was quite out of breath home to her son, who little suspected any such event. "child," cried she, "you are undone! you depend upon the sultan's fine promises, but they will come to nothing." alla ad deen was alarmed at these words. "mother," replied he, "how do you know the sultan has been guilty of a breach of promise?" "this night," answered the mother, "the grand vizier's son is to marry the princess buddir al buddoor." she then related how she had heard it; so that from all circumstances, he had no reason to doubt the truth of what she said. at this account, alla ad deen was thunder-struck. any other man would have sunk under the shock; but a sudden hope of disappointing his rival soon roused his spirits, and he bethought himself of the lamp, which had on every emergence been so useful to him; and without venting his rage in empty words against the sultan, the vizier, or his son, he only said, "perhaps, mother, the vizier's son may not be so happy to-night as he promises himself: while i go into my chamber a moment, do you get supper ready." she accordingly went about it, but guessed that her son was going to make use of the lamp, to prevent, if possible, the consummation of the marriage. when alla ad deen had got into his chamber, he took the lamp, rubbed it in the same place as before, when immediately the genie appeared, and said to him, "what wouldst thou have? i am ready to obey thee as thy slave, and the slave of all those who have that lamp in their possession; i and the other slaves of the lamp." "hear me," said alla ad deen; "thou hast hitherto brought me whatever i wanted as to provisions; but now i have business of the greatest importance for thee to execute. i have demanded the princess buddir al buddoor in marriage of the sultan her father; he promised her to me, only requiring three months delay; but instead of keeping that promise, has this night married her to the grand vizier's son. what i ask of you is, that as soon as the bride and bridegroom are retired, you bring them both hither in their bed." "master," replied the genie, "i will obey you. have you any other commands?" "none at present," answered alla ad deen; the genie then disappeared. alla ad deen having left his chamber, supped with his mother, with the same tranquillity of mind as usual; and after supper talked of the princess's marriage as of an affair wherein he had not the least concern'; he then retired to his own chamber again, and left his mother to go to bed; but sat up waiting the execution of his orders to the genie. in the meantime, everything was prepared with the greatest magnificence in the sultan's palace to celebrate the princess's nuptials; and the evening was spent with all the usual ceremonies and great rejoicings till midnight, when the grand vizier's son, on a signal given him by the chief of the princess's eunuchs, slipped away from the company, and was introduced by that officer into the princess's apartment, where the nuptial bed was prepared. he went to bed first, and in a little time after, the sultaness, accompanied by her own women, and those of the princess, brought the bride, who, according to the custom of new- married ladies, made great resistance. the sultaness herself helped to undress her, put her into bed by a kind of violence: and after having kissed her, and wished her good night, retired with the women to her own apartments. no sooner was the door shut, than the genie, as the faithful slave of the lamp, and punctual in executing the command of those who possessed it, without giving the bridegroom the least time to caress his bride, to the great amazement of them both, took up the bed, and transported it in an instant into alla ad deen's chamber, where he set it down. alla ad deen, who had waited impatiently for this moment, did not suffer the vizier's son to remain long in bed with the princess. "take this new-married man," said he to the genie, "shut him up in the out-house, and come again tomorrow morning before day- break." the genie instantly forced the vizier's son out of bed, carried him whither alla ad deen had commanded him; and after he had breathed upon him, which prevented him stirring, left him there. passionate as was alla ad deen's love for the princess, he did not talk much to her when they were alone; but only said with a respectful air, "fear nothing, adorable princess, you are here in safety; for, notwithstanding the violence of my passion, which your charms have kindled, it shall never exceed the bounds of the profound adoration i owe you. if i have been forced to come to this extremity, it is not with any intention of affronting you, but to prevent an unjust rival's possessing you, contrary to the sultan your father's promise in favour of myself." the princess, who knew nothing of these particulars, gave very little attention to what alla ad deen could say. the fright and amazement of so surprising and unexpected an adventure had alarmed her so much that he could not get one word from her. however, he undressed himself, took the bridegroom's place, but lay with his back to the princess, putting a sabre between himself and her, to shew that he deserved to be put to death, if he attempted anything against her honour. alla ad deen, satisfied with having thus deprived his rival of the happiness he had flattered himself with, slept very soundly, though the princess buddir al buddoor never passed a night so ill in her life; and if we consider the condition in which the genie left the grand vizier's son, we may imagine that the new bridegroom spent it much worse. alla ad deen had no occasion the next morning to rub the lamp to call the genie; who appeared at the hour appointed, just when he had done dressing himself, and said to him, "i am here, master, what are your commands?" "go," said alla ad deen, "fetch the vizier's son out of the place where you left him, put him into his bed again, and carry it to the sultan's palace, from whence you brought it." the genie presently returned with the vizier's son. alla ad deen took up his sabre, the bridegroom was laid by the princess, and in an instant the nuptial-bed was transported into the same chamber of the palace from whence it had been brought. but we must observe, that all this time the genie never was visible either to the princess or the grand vizier's son. his hideous form would have made them die with fear. neither did they hear any thing of the discourse between alla ad deen and him; they only perceived the motion of the bed, and their transportation from one place to another; which we may well imagine was enough to alarm them. as soon as the genie had set down the nuptial bed in its proper place, the sultan tapped at the door to wish her good morning. the grand vizier's son, who was almost perished with cold, by standing in his thin under garment all night, and had not had time to warm himself in bed, no sooner heard the knocking at the door than he got out of bed, and ran into the robing-chamber, where he had undressed himself the night before. the sultan having opened the door, went to the bed-side, kissed the princess between the eyes, according to custom, wishing her a good morrow, but was extremely surprised to see her so melancholy. she only cast at him a sorrowful look, expressive of great affliction or great dissatisfaction. he said a few words to her; but finding that he could not get a word from her, attributed it to her modesty, and retired. nevertheless, he suspected that there was something extraordinary in this silence, and thereupon went immediately to the sultaness's apartment, told her in what a state he had found the princess, and how she had received him. "sir," said the sultaness, "your majesty ought not to be surprised at this behaviour; new-married people have naturally a reserve about them; two or three days hence she will receive the sultan her father as she ought: but i will go and see her," added she; "i am much deceived if she receives me in the same manner." as soon as the sultaness was dressed, she went to the princess's apartment, who was still in bed. she undrew the curtain, wished her good morrow, and kissed her. but how great was her surprise when she returned no answer; and looking more attentively at her, she perceived her to be much dejected, which made her judge that something had happened, which she did not understand "how comes it, child," said the sultaness, "that you do not return my caresses? ought you to treat your mother after this manner? i am induced to believe something extraordinary has happened; come, tell me freely, and leave me no longer in a painful suspense." at last the princess broke silence with a deep sigh, and said, "alas! most honoured mother, forgive me if i have failed in the respect i owe you. my mind is so full of the extraordinary circumstances which have befallen me this night, that i have not yet recovered my amazement and alarm." she then told her, how the instant after she and her husband were together, the bed was transported into a dark dirty room, where he was taken from her and carried away, but where she knew not; and that she was left alone with a young man, who, after he had said something to her, which her fright did not suffer her to hear, laid himself in her husband's place, but first put his sabre between them; and in the morning her husband was brought to her again, when the bed was transported back to her own chamber in an instant. "all this," said she, "was but just done, when the sultan my father came into my chamber. i was so overwhelmed with grief, that i had not power to speak, and am afraid that he is offended at the manner in which i received the honour he did me; but i hope he will forgive me, when he knows my melancholy adventure, and the miserable state i am in at present." the sultaness heard all the princess told her very patiently, but would not believe it. "you did well, child," said she, "not to speak of this to your father: take care not to mention it to anybody; for you will certainly be thought mad if you talk in this manner." "madam," replied the princess, "i can assure you i am in my right senses; ask my husband, and he will tell you the same circumstances." "i will," said the sultaness, "but if he should talk in the same manner, i shall not be better persuaded of the truth. come, rise, and throw off this idle fancy; it will be a strange event, if all the feasts and rejoicings in the kingdom should be interrupted by such a vision. do not you hear the trumpets of congratulation, and concerts of the finest music? cannot these inspire you with joy and pleasure, and make you forget the fancies of an imagination disturbed by what can have been only a dream?" at the same time the sultaness called the princess's women, and after she had seen her get up, and begin dressing, went to the sultan's apartment, told him that her daughter had got some odd notions in her head, but that there was nothing in them but idle phantasy. she then sent for the vizier's son, to know of him something of what the princess had told her; but he, thinking himself highly honoured to be allied to the sultan, and not willing to lose the princess, denied what had happened. "that is enough," answered the sultaness, "i ask no more, i see you are wiser than my daughter." the rejoicings lasted all that day in the palace, and the sultaness, who never left the princess, forgot nothing to divert her, and induce her to take part in the various diversions and shows; but she was so struck with the idea of what had happened to her in the night, that it was easy to see her thoughts were entirely taken up with it. neither was the grand vizier's son in less tribulation, though his ambition made him disguise his feelings so well, that nobody doubted of his being a happy bridegroom. alla ad deen, who was well acquainted with what passed in the palace, was sure the new-married couple were to sleep together again, notwithstanding the troublesome adventure of the night before; and therefore, having as great an inclination to disturb them, had recourse to his lamp, and when the genie appeared, and offered his service, he said to him, "the grand vizier's son and the princess buddir al buddoor are to sleep together again to- night: go, and as soon as they are in bed, bring the bed hither, as thou didst yesterday." the genie obeyed as faithfully and exactly as the day before; the grand vizier's son passed the night as coldly and disagreeably, and the princess had the mortification again to have alla ad deen for her bed-fellow, with the sabre between them. the genie, according to orders, came the next morning, brought the bridegroom, laid him by his bride, and then carried the bed and new-married couple back again to the palace. the sultan, after the reception the princess had given him, was very anxious to know how she had passed the second night, and therefore went into her chamber as early as the morning before. the grand vizier's son, more ashamed and mortified with the ill success of this last night, no sooner heard him coming, than he jumped out of bed, and ran hastily into the robing-chamber. the sultan went to the princess's bed-side, and after the same caresses he had given her the former morning, bade her good morrow. "well daughter," said he, "are you in a better humour than yesterday?" still the princess was silent, and the sultan perceiving her to be more troubled, and in greater confusion than before, doubted not that something very extraordinary was the cause; but provoked that his daughter should conceal it, he said to her in a rage, with his sabre in his hand, "daughter, tell me what is the matter, or i will cut off your head immediately." the princess, more frightened at the menaces and tone of the enraged sultan than at the sight of the drawn sabre, at last broke silence, and said with tears in her eyes, "my dear father and sultan, i ask your majesty's pardon if i have offended you, and hope, that out of your goodness and clemency you will have compassion on me, when i shall have told you in what a miserable condition i have spent this last night, as well as the preceding." after this preamble, which appeased and affected the sultan, she told him what had happened to her in so moving a manner, that he, who loved her tenderly, was most sensibly grieved. she added, "if your majesty doubts the truth of this account, you may inform yourself from my husband, who, i am persuaded, will tell you the same thing." the sultan immediately felt all the extreme uneasiness so surprising an adventure must have given the princess. "daughter," said he, "you are much to blame for not telling me this yesterday, since it concerns me as much as yourself. i did not marry you with an intention to make you miserable, but that you might enjoy all the happiness you deserve and might hope for from a husband who to me seemed agreeable to you. efface all these troublesome ideas from your memory; i will take care that you shall have no more disagreeable and insupportable nights." as soon as the sultan had returned to his own apartment, he sent for the grand vizier: "vizier," said he, "have you seen your son, and has he told you anything?" the vizier replied, "no." the sultan related all the circumstances of which the princess had informed him, and afterwards said, "i do not doubt but that my daughter has told me the truth; but nevertheless i should be glad to have it confirmed by your son, therefore go and ask him how it was." the grand vizier went immediately to his son, communicated what the sultan had told him, and enjoined him to conceal nothing, but to relate the whole truth. "i will disguise nothing from you, father," replied the son, "for indeed all that the princess has stated is true; but what relates particularly to myself she knows nothing of. since my marriage, i have passed two nights beyond imagination or expression disagreeable, not to mention the fright i was in at finding my bed lifted four times, transported from one place to another, without being able to guess how it was done. you may judge of the miserable condition i was in, passing two whole nights in nothing but my under vestments, standing in a kind of closet, unable to stir out of the place or to make the least movement, though i could not perceive any obstacle to prevent me. yet i must tell you, that all this ill usage does not in the least lessen those sentiments of love, respect, and gratitude i entertain for the princess, and of which she is so deserving; but i must confess, that notwithstanding all the honour and splendour that attends marrying my sovereign's daughter, i would much rather die, than continue in so exalted an alliance if i must undergo nightly much longer what i have already endured. i do not doubt but that the princess entertains the same sentiments, and that she will readily agree to a separation, which is so necessary both for her repose and mine. therefore, father, i beg, by the same tenderness which led you to procure me so great an honour, to obtain the sultan's consent that our marriage may be declared null and void." notwithstanding the grand vizier's ambition to have his son allied to the sultan, the firm resolution he saw he had formed to be separated from the princess made him not think it proper to propose to him to have patience for a few days, to see if this disappointment would not have an end; but he left him to give an account of what he had related to him, and without waiting till the sultan himself, whom he found disposed to it, spoke of setting aside the marriage, he begged of him to give his son leave to retire from the palace, alleging it was not just that the princess should be a moment longer exposed to so terrible a persecution upon his son's account. the grand vizier found no great difficulty to obtain what he asked, as the sultan had determined already; orders were given to put a stop to all rejoicings in the palace and town, and expresses dispatched to all parts of his dominions to countermand them; and, in a short time, all rejoicings ceased. this sudden and unexpected change gave rise both in the city and kingdom to various speculations and inquiries; but no other account could be given of it, except that both the vizier and his son went out of the palace very much dejected. nobody but alla ad deen knew the secret. he rejoiced within himself at the happy success procured by his lamp, which now he had no more occasion to rub, to produce the genie to prevent the consummation of the marriage, as he had certain information it was broken off, and that his rival had left the palace. neither the sultan nor the grand vizier, who had forgotten alla ad deen and his request, had the least thought that he had any concern in the enchantment which caused the dissolution of the marriage. alla ad deen waited till the three months were completed, which the sultan had appointed for the consummation of the marriage between the princess buddir al buddoor and himself; and the next day sent his mother to the palace, to remind the sultan of his promise. alla ad deen's mother went to the palace, and stood in the same place as before in the hall of audience. the sultan no sooner cast his eyes upon her than he knew her again, remembered her business, and how long he had put her off: therefore when the grand vizier was beginning to make his report, the sultan interrupted him, and said, "vizier, i see the good woman who made me the present of jewels some months ago; forbear your report, till i have heard what she has to say." the vizier looking about the divan, perceived the tailor's widow, and sent the chief of the mace-bearers to conduct her to the sultan. alla ad deen's mother came to the foot of the throne, prostrated herself as usual, and when she rose, the sultan asked her what she would have. sir," said she, "i come to represent to your majesty, in the name of my son alla ad deen, that the three months, at the end of which you ordered me to come again, are expired; and to beg you to remember your promise." the sultan, when he had fixed a time to answer the request of this good woman, little thought of hearing any more of a marriage, which he imagined must be very disagreeable to the princess, when he considered the meanness and poverty of her dress and appearance; but this summons for him to fulfill his promise was somewhat embarrassing; he declined giving an answer till he had consulted his vizier, and signified to trim the little inclination he had to conclude a match for his daughter with a stranger, whose rank he supposed to be very mean. the grand vizier freely told the sultan his thoughts, and said to him, "in my opinion, sir, there is an infallible way for your majesty to avoid a match so disproportionable, without giving alla ad deen, were he known to your majesty, any cause of complaint; which is, to set so high a price upon the princess, that, however rich he may be, he cannot comply with. this is the only evasion to make him desist from so bold, not to say rash, an undertaking, which he never weighed before he engaged in it." the sultan, approving of the grand vizier's advice, turned to the tailor's widow, and said to her, "good woman, it is true sultans ought to abide by their word, and i am ready to keep mine, by making your son happy in marriage with the princess my daughter. but as i cannot marry her without some further valuable consideration from your son, you may tell him, i will fulfill my promise as soon as he shall send me forty trays of massive gold, full of the same sort of jewels you have already made me a present of, and carried by the like number of black slaves, who shall be led by as many young and handsome white slaves, all dressed magnificently. on these conditions i am ready to bestow the princess my daughter upon him; therefore, good woman, go and tell him so, and i will wait till you bring me his answer." alla ad deen's mother prostrated herself a second time before the sultan's throne, and retired. in her way home, she laughed within herself at her son's foolish imagination. "where," says she, "can he get so many large gold trays, and such precious stones to fill them? must he go again to that subterraneous abode, the entrance into which is stopped up, and gather them off the trees? but where will he get so many such slaves as the sultan requires? it is altogether out of his power, and i believe he will not be much pleased with my embassy this time." when she came home, full of these thoughts, she said to her son, "indeed, child, i would not have you think any farther of your marriage with the princess. the sultan received me very kindly, and i believe he was well inclined to you; but if i am not much deceived the grand vizier has made him change his mind, as you will guess from what i have to tell you. after i had represented to his majesty that the three months were expired, and begged of him to remember his promise, i observed that he whispered with his grand vizier before he gave me his answer." she then gave her son an exact account of what the sultan had said to her, and the conditions on which he consented to the match. afterwards she said to him, "the sultan expects your answer immediately; but," continued she, laughing, "i believe he may wait long enough." "not so long, mother, as you imagine," replied alla ad deen: "the sultan is mistaken, if he thinks by this exorbitant demand to prevent my entertaining thoughts of the princess. i expected greater difficulties, and that he would have set a higher price upon her incomparable charms. i am very well pleased; his demand is but a trifle to what i could have done for her. but while i think of satisfying his request, go and get something for our dinner, and leave the rest to me." as soon as his mother was gone out to market, alla ad deen took the lamp, and rubbing it, the genie appeared, and offered his service as usual. "the sultan," said alla ad deen to him, "gives me the princess his daughter in marriage; but demands first forty large trays of massive gold, full of the fruits of the garden from whence i took this lamp; and these he expects to have carried by as many black slaves, each preceded by a young handsome white slave, richly clothed. go, and fetch me this present as soon as possible, that i may send it to him before the divan breaks up." the genie told him his command should be immediately obeyed, and disappeared. in a little time afterwards the genie returned with forty black slaves, each bearing on his head a heavy tray of pure gold, full of pearls, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and every sort of precious stones, all larger and more beautiful than those presented to the sultan. each tray was covered with silver tissue, embroidered with flowers of gold; these, together with the white slaves, quite filled the house, which was but a small one, the little court before it, and a small garden behind. the genie asked if he had any other commands, and alla ad deen telling him that he wanted nothing farther, he disappeared. when alla ad deen's mother came from market, she was much surprised to see so many people and such vast riches. as soon as she had laid down her provisions, she was going to pull off her veil; but he prevented her, and said, "mother, let us lose no time; before the sultan and the divan rise, i would have you return to the palace with this present as the dowry demanded for the princess, that he may judge by my diligence and exactness of the ardent and sincere desire i have to procure myself the honour of this alliance." without waiting for his mother's reply, alla ad deen opened the street-door, and made the slaves walk out; each white slave followed by a black with a tray upon his head. when they were all out, the mother followed the last black slave; he shut the door, and then retired to his chamber, full of hopes that the sultan, after this present, which was such as he required, would receive him as his son-in-law. the first white slave who went out made all the people who were going by stop; and before they were all clear of the house, the streets were crowded with spectators, who ran to see so extraordinary and magnificent a procession. the dress of each slave was so rich, both for the stuff and the jewels, that those who were dealers in them valued each at no less than a million of money; besides the neatness and propriety of the dress, the noble air, fine shape and proportion of each slave were unparalleled; their grave walk at an equal distance from each other, the lustre of the jewels curiously set in their girdles of gold, in beautiful symmetry, and the egrets of precious stones in their turbans, which were of an unusual but elegant taste, put the spectators into such great admiration, that they could not avoid gazing at them, and following them with their eyes as far as possible; but the streets were so crowded with people, that none could move out of the spot they stood on. as they had to pass through several streets to the palace, a great part of the city had an opportunity of seeing them. as soon as the first of these slaves arrived at the palace gate, the porters formed themselves into order, taking him for a prince from the richness and magnificence of his habit, and were going to kiss the hem of his garment; but the slave, who was instructed by the genie, prevented them, and said, "we are only slaves, our master will appear at a proper time." the first slave, followed by the rest, advanced into the second court, which was very spacious, and in which the sultan's household was ranged during the sitting of the divan. the magnificence of the officers, who stood at the head of their troops, was considerably eclipsed by the slaves who bore alla ad deen's present, of which they themselves made a part. nothing was ever seen so beautiful and brilliant in the sultan's palace; and all the lustre of the lords of his court was not to be compared to them. as the sultan, who had been informed of their march, and approach to the palace, had given orders for them to be admitted, they met with no obstacle, but went into the divan in regular order, one part filing to the right, and the other to the left. after they were all entered, and had formed a semicircle before the sultan's throne, the black slaves laid the golden trays on the carpet, prostrated themselves, touching the carpet with their foreheads, and at the same time the white slaves did the same. when they rose, the black slaves uncovered the trays, and then all stood with their arms crossed over their breasts. in the meantime alla ad deen's mother advanced to the foot of the throne, and having paid her respects, said to the sultan, "sir, my son is sensible this present, which he has sent your majesty, is much below the princess buddir al buddoor's worth; but hopes, nevertheless, that your majesty will accept of it, and make it agreeable to the princess, and with the greater confidence since he has endeavoured to conform to the conditions you were pleased to impose." the sultan was not able to give the least attention to this compliment. the moment he cast his eyes on the forty trays, full of the most precious, brilliant, and beautiful jewels he had ever seen, and the fourscore slaves, who appeared by the elegance of their persons, and the richness and magnificence of their dress, like so many princes, he was so struck, that he could not recover from his admiration. instead of answering the compliment of alla ad deen's mother, he addressed himself to the grand vizier, who could not any more than the sultan comprehend from whence such a profusion of richness could come. "well, vizier," said he aloud, "who do you think it can be that has sent me so extraordinary a present, and neither of us know? do you think him worthy of the princess buddir al buddoor, my daughter?" the vizier, notwithstanding his envy and grief to see a stranger preferred to be the sultan's son-in-law before his son, durst not disguise his sentiments. it was too visible that alla ad deen's present was more than sufficient to merit his being received into royal alliance; therefore, consulting his master's feelings, he returned this answer: "i am so far from having any thoughts that the person who has made your majesty so noble a present is unworthy of the honour you would do him, that i should say he deserved much more, if i was not persuaded that the greatest treasure in the world ought not to be put in competition with the princess your majesty's daughter." this speech was applauded by all the lords who were then in council. the sultan made no longer hesitation, nor thought of informing himself whether alla ad deen was endowed with all the qualifications requisite in one who aspired to be his son-in-law. the sight alone of such immense riches, and alla ad deen's quickness in satisfying his demand, without starting the least difficulty at the exorbitant conditions he had imposed, easily persuaded him, that he could want nothing to render him accomplished, and such as he desired. therefore, to send alla ad deen's mother back with all the satisfaction she could desire, he said to her, "my good lady, go and tell your son that i wait with open arms to embrace him, and the more haste he makes to come and receive the princess my daughter from my hands, the greater pleasure he will do me." as soon as the tailor's widow had retired, overjoyed as a woman in her condition must have been, to see her son raised beyond all expectations to such exalted fortune, the sultan put an end to the audience; and rising from his throne, ordered that the princess's eunuchs should come and carry the trays into their mistress's apartment, whither he went himself to examine them with her at his leisure. the fourscore slaves were conducted in to the palace; and the sultan, telling the princess of their magnificent appearance, ordered them to be brought before her apartment, that she might see through the lattices he had not exaggerated in his account of them. in the meantime alla ad deen's mother got home, and shewed in her air and countenance the good news she brought her son "my son," said she to him, "you have now all the reason in the world to be pleased: you are, contrary to my expectations, arrived at the height of your desires. not to keep you too long in suspense, the sultan, with the approbation of the whole court, has declared that you are worthy to possess the princess buddir al buddoor, waits to embrace you and conclude your marriage; therefore, you must think of making some preparations for your interview, which may answer the high opinion he has formed of your person; and after the wonders i have seen you do, i am persuaded nothing can be wanting. but i must not forget to tell you the sultan waits for you with great impatience, therefore lose no time in paying your respects." alla ad deen, enraptured with this news, and full of the object which possessed his soul, made his mother very little reply, but retired to his chamber. there, after he had rubbed his lamp, which had never failed him in whatever he wished for, the obedient genie appeared. "genie," said alla ad deen, "i want to bathe immediately, and you must afterwards provide me the richest and most magnificent habit ever worn by a monarch." no sooner were the words out of his mouth than the genie rendered him, as well as himself, invisible, and transported him into a hummum of the finest marble of all sorts of colours; where he was undressed, without seeing by whom, in a magnificent and spacious hall. from the hall he was led to the bath, which was of a moderate heat, and he was there rubbed and washed with various scented waters. after he had passed through several degrees of heat, he came out, quite a different man from what he was before. his skin was clear white and red, his body lightsome and free; and when he returned into the hall, he found, instead of his own, a suit, the magnificence of which astonished him. the genie helped him to dress, and when he had done, transported him back to his own chamber, where he asked him if he had any other commands. "yes," answered alla ad deen, "i expect you to bring me as soon as possible a charger, that surpasses in beauty and goodness the best in the sultan's stables, with a saddle, bridle, and other caparisons worth a million of money. i want also twenty slaves, as richly clothed as those who carried the present to the sultan, to walk by my side and follow me, and twenty more to go before me in two ranks. besides these, bring my mother six women slaves to attend her, as richly dressed at least as any of the princess buddir al buddoor's, each carrying a complete dress fit for any sultaness. i want also ten thousand pieces of gold in ten purses; go, and make haste." as soon as alla ad deen had given these orders, the genie disappeared, but presently returned with the horse, the forty slaves, ten of whom carried each a purse containing ten thousand pieces of gold, and six women slaves, each carrying on her head a different dress for alla ad deen's mother, wrapped up in a piece of silver tissue, and presented them all to alla ad deen. of the ten purses alla ad deen took four, which he gave to his mother, telling her, those were to supply her with necessaries; the other six he left in the hands of the slaves who brought them, with an order to throw them by handfuls among the people as they went to the sultan's palace. the six slaves who carried the purses he ordered likewise to march before him, three on the right hand and three on the left. afterwards he presented the six women slaves to his mother, telling her they were her slaves, and that the dresses they had brought were for her use. when alla ad deen had thus settled matters, he told the genie he would call for him when he wanted him, and thereupon the genie disappeared. alla ad deen's thoughts now were only upon answering, as soon as possible, the desire the sultan had shown to see him. he dispatched one of the forty slaves to the palace, with an order to address himself to the chief of the porters, to know when he might have the honour to come and throw himself at the sultan's feet. the slave soon acquitted himself of his commission, and brought for answer, that the sultan waited for him with impatience. alla ad deen immediately mounted his charger, and began his march, in the order we have already described; and though he never was on horseback before, appeared with such extraordinary grace, that the most experienced horseman would not have taken him for a novice. the streets through which he was to pass were almost instantly filled with an innumerable concourse of people, who made the air echo with acclamations, especially every time the six slaves who carried the purses threw handfuls of gold among the populace. neither did these acclamations and shouts of joy come from those alone who scrambled for the money, but from a superior rank of people, who could not forbear applauding alla ad deen's generosity. not only those who knew him when he played in the streets like a vagabond did not recollect him, but those who saw him but a little while before hardly recognised him, so much were his features altered: such were the effects of the lamp, as to procure by degrees to those who possessed it perfections suitable to the rank to which the right use of it advanced them. much more attention was paid to alla ad deen's person than to the pomp and magnificence of his attendants, as a similar show had been seen the day before when the slaves walked in procession with the present to the sultan. nevertheless the horse was much admired by good judges, who knew how to discern his beauties, without being dazzled by the jewels and richness of the furniture. when the report was everywhere spread, that the sultan was going to give the princess in marriage to alla ad deen, nobody regarded his birth, nor envied his good fortune, so worthy he seemed of it in the public opinion. when he arrived at the palace, everything was prepared for his reception; and when he came to the gate of the second court, he would have alighted from his horse, agreeably to the custom observed by the grand vizier, the commander in chief of the empire, and governors of provinces of the first rank; but the chief of the mace-bearers who waited on him by the sultan's order prevented him, and attended him to the grand hall of audience, where he helped him to dismount; though alla ad deen endeavoured to prevent him, but could not prevail. the officers formed themselves into two ranks at the entrance of the hall. the chief put alla ad deen on his right hand, and through the midst of them led him to the sultan's throne. as soon as the sultan perceived alla ad deen, he was no less surprised to see him more richly and magnificently habited than ever he had been himself, than struck at his good mien, fine shape, and a certain air of unexpected dignity, very different from the meanness of his mother's late appearance. but, notwithstanding, his amazement and surprise did not hinder him from rising off his throne, and descending two or three steps, quick enough to prevent alla ad deen's throwing himself at his feet. he embraced him with all the demonstrations of joy at his arrival. after this civility alla ad deen would have thrown himself at his feet again; but he held him fast by the hand, and obliged him to sit close to the throne. alla ad deen then addressed the sultan, saying, "i receive the honour which your majesty out of your great condescension is pleased to confer; but permit me to assure you, that i have not forgotten that i am your slave; that i know the greatness of your power, and that i am not in sensible how much my birth is below the splendour and lustre of the high rank to which i am raised. if any way," continued he, "i could have merited so favourable a reception, i confess i owe it merely to the boldness which chance inspired in me to raise my eyes, thoughts, and desires to the divine princess, who is the object of my wishes. i ask your majesty's pardon for my rashness, but i cannot dissemble, that i should die with grief were i to lose my hopes of seeing them accomplished." "my son," answered the sultan, embracing him a second time, "you would wrong me to doubt for a moment of my sincerity: your life from this moment is too dear to me not to preserve it, by presenting you with the remedy which is at my disposal. i prefer the pleasure of seeing and hearing you before all your treasure added to my own." after these words, the sultan gave a signal, and immediately the air echoed with the sound of trumpets, hautboys, and other musical instruments: and at the same time the sultan led alla ad deen into a magnificent hall, where was laid out a most splendid collation. the sultan and alla ad deen ate by themselves, while the grand vizier and the great lords of the court, according to their dignity and rank, sat at different tables. the conversation turned on different subjects; but all the while the sultan took so much pleasure in looking at his intended son-in-law, that he hardly ever took his eyes off him; and throughout the whole of their conversation alla ad deen showed so much good sense, as confirmed the sultan in the high opinion he had formed of him. after the feast, the sultan sent for the chief judge of his capital, and ordered him to draw up immediately a contract of marriage between the princess buddir al buddoor his daughter and alla ad deen. in the mean time the sultan and he entered into another conversation on various subjects, in the presence of the grand vizier and the lords of the court, who all admired the solidity of his wit, the great ease and freedom wherewith he delivered himself, the justness of his remarks, and his energy in expressing them. when the judge had drawn up the contract in all the requisite forms, the sultan asked alla ad deen if he would stay in the palace, and solemnize the ceremonies of marriage that day. to which he answered, "sir, though great is my impatience to enjoy your majesty's goodness, yet i beg of you to give me leave to defer it till i have built a palace fit to receive the princess; therefore i petition you to grant me a convenient spot of ground near your palace, that i may the more frequently pay my respects, and i will take care to have it finished with all diligence." "son," said the sultan, "take what ground you think proper, there is space enough on every quarter round my palace; but consider, i cannot see you too soon united with my daughter, which alone is wanting to complete my happiness." after these words he embraced alla ad deen again, who took his leave with as much politeness as if he had been bred up and had always lived at court. alla ad deen returned home in the order he had come, amidst the acclamations of the people, who wished him all happiness and prosperity. as soon as he dismounted, he retired to his own chamber, took the lamp, and called the genie as before, who in the usual manner made him a tender of his service. "genie," said alla ad deen, "i have every reason to commend your exactness in executing hitherto punctually whatever i have demanded; but now if you have any regard for the lamp your protector, you must show, if possible, more zeal and diligence than ever. i would have you build me, as soon as you can, a palace opposite, but at a proper distance from the sultan's, fit to receive my spouse the princess buddir al buddoor. i leave the choice of the materials to you, that is to say, porphyry, jasper, agate, lapis lazuli, or the finest marble of various colours, and also the architecture of the building. but i expect that on the terraced roof of this palace you will build me a large hall crowned with a dome, and having four equal fronts; and that instead of layers of bricks, the walls be formed of massive gold and silver, laid alternately; that each front shall contain six windows, the lattices of all which, except one, which must be left unfinished, shall be so enriched in the most tasteful workmanship, with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, that they shall exceed every thing of the kind ever seen in the world. i would have an inner and outer court in front of the palace, and a spacious garden; but above all things, take care that there be laid in a place which you shall point out to me a treasure of gold and silver coin. besides, the edifice must be well provided with kitchens and offices, storehouses, and rooms to keep choice furniture in, for every season of the year. i must have stables full of the finest horses, with their equerries and grooms, and hunting equipage. there must be officers to attend the kitchens and offices, and women slaves to wait on the princess. you understand what i mean; therefore go about it, and come and tell me when all is finished." by the time alla ad deen had instructed the genie resetting the building of his palace, the sun was set. the next morning, before break of day, our bridegroom, whose love for the princess would not let him sleep, was up, when the genie presented himself, and said, "sir, your palace is finished, come and see how you like it." alla ad deen had no sooner signified his consent, than the genie transported him thither in an instant, and he found it so much beyond his expectation, that he could not enough admire it. the genie led him through all the apartments, where he met with nothing but what was rich and magnificent, with officers and slaves, all habited according to their rank and the services to which they were appointed. the genie then showed him the treasury, which was opened by a treasurer, where alla ad deen saw heaps of purses, of different sizes, piled up to the top of the ceiling, and disposed in most excellent order. the genie assured him of the treasurer's fidelity, and thence led him to the stables, where he showed him some of the finest horses in the world, and the grooms busy in dressing them; from thence they went to the store-houses, which were filled with all things necessary, both for food and ornament. when alla ad deen had examined the palace from top to bottom, and particularly the hall with the four-and-twenty windows, and found it much beyond whatever he could have imagined, he said, "genie, no one can be better satisfied than i am; and indeed i should be much to blame if i found any fault. there is only one thing wanting which i forgot to mention; that is, to lay from the sultan's palace to the door of the apartment designed for the princess, a carpet of fine velvet for her to walk upon." the genie immediately disappeared, and alla ad deen saw what he desired executed in an instant. the genie then returned, and carried him home before the gates of the sultan's palace were opened. when the porters, who had always been used to an open prospect, came to open the gates, they were amazed to find it obstructed, and to see a carpet of velvet spread from the grand entrance. they did not immediately look how far it extended; but when they could discern alla ad deen's palace distinctly, their surprise was increased. the news of so extraordinary a wonder was presently spread through the palace. the grand vizier, who arrived soon after the gates were open, being no less amazed than others at this novelty, ran and acquainted the sultan, but endeavoured to make him believe it to be all enchantment. "vizier," replied the sultan, "why will you have it to be enchantment? you know as well as i that it must be alla ad deen's palace, which i gave him leave to build, for the reception of my daughter. after the proof we have had of his riches, can we think it strange, that he should raise a palace in so short a time? he wished to surprise us, and let us see what wonders are to be done with money in only one night. confess sincerely that the enchantment you talk of proceeds from a little envy on account of your son's disappointment." the hour of going to council put an end to the conversation. when alla ad deen had been conveyed home, and had dismissed the genie, he found his mother up, and dressing herself in one of those suits which had been brought her. by the time the sultan rose from the council, alla ad deen had prepared his mother to go to the palace with her slaves, and desired her, if she saw the sultan, to tell him she should do herself the honour to attend the princess towards evening to her palace. accordingly she went; but though she and the women slaves who followed her were all dressed like sultanesses, yet the crowd was not near so great as the preceding day, because they were all veiled, and had each an upper garment on agreeable to the richness and magnificence of their habits. alla ad deen mounted his horse, and took leave of his paternal house forever, taking care not to forget his wonderful lamp, by the assistance of which he had reaped such advantages, and arrived at the utmost height of his wishes, and went to the palace in the same pomp as the day before. as soon as the porters of the sultan's palace saw alla ad deen's mother, they went and informed the sultan, who immediately ordered the bands of trumpets, cymbals, drums, fifes and hautboys, placed in different parts of the palace, to play, so that the air resounded with concerts which inspired the whole city with joy: the merchants began to adorn their shops and houses with fine carpets and silks, and to prepare illuminations against night. the artisans of every description left their work, and the populace repaired to the great space between the royal palace and that of alla ad deen; which last drew all their attention, not only because it was new to them, but because there was no comparison between the two buildings. but their amazement was to comprehend by what unheard-of miracle so magnificent a palace could have been so soon erected, it being apparent to all that there were no prepared materials, or any foundations laid the day before. alla ad deen's mother was received in the palace with honour, and introduced into the princess buddir al buddoor's apartment by the chief of the eunuchs. as soon as the princess saw her, she rose, saluted, and desired her to sit down on a sofa; and while her women finished dressing and adorning her with the jewels which alla ad deen had presented to her, a collation was served up. at the same time the sultan, who wished to be as much with his daughter as possible before he parted with her, came in and paid the old lady great respect. alla ad deen's mother had talked to the sultan in public, but he had never seen her with her veil off, as she was then; and though she was somewhat advanced in years, she had the remains of a good face, which showed what she had been in her youth. the sultan, who had always seen her dressed very meanly, not to say poorly, was surprised to find her as richly and magnificently attired as the princess his daughter. this made him think alla ad deen equally prudent and wise in whatever he undertook. when it was night, the princess took her leave of the sultan her father: their adieus were tender, and accompanied with tears. they embraced each other several times, and at last the princess left her own apartment for alla ad deen's palace, with his mother on her left hand carried in a superb litter, followed by a hundred women slaves, dressed with surprising magnificence. all the bands of music, which had played from the time alla ad deen's mother arrived, being joined together, led the procession, followed by a hundred state ushers, and the like number of black eunuchs, in two files, with their officers at their head. four hundred of the sultan's young pages carried flambeaux on each side, which, together with the illuminations of the sultan's and alla ad deen's palaces, made it as light as day. in this order the princess proceeded in her litter on the carpet, which was spread from the sultan's palace, preceded by bands of musicians, who, as they advanced, joining with those on the terraces of alla ad deen's palace, formed a concert, which increased the joyful sensations not only of the crowd assembled in the great square, but of the metropolis and its environs. at length the princess arrived at the new palace. alla ad deen ran with all imaginable joy to receive her at the grand entrance. his mother had taken care to point him out to the princess, in the midst of the officers who surrounded him, and she was charmed with his person. "adorable princess," said alla ad deen, accosting her, and saluting her respectfully, as soon as she had entered her apartment, "if i have the misfortune to have displeased you by my boldness in aspiring to the possession of so lovely a princess, and my sultan's daughter, i must tell you, that you ought to blame your bright eyes and charms, not me." "prince (as i may now call you)," answered the princess, "i am obedient to the will of my father; and it is enough for me to have seen you to tell you that i obey without reluctance." alla ad deen, charmed with so agreeable and satisfactory an answer, would not keep the princess standing; but took her by the hand, which he kissed with the greatest demonstration of joy, and led her into a large hall, illuminated with an infinite number of wax candles, where, by the care of the genie, a noble feast was served up. the dishes were of massive gold, and contained the most delicate viands. the vases, basins, and goblets, were gold also, and of exquisite workmanship, and all the other ornaments and embellishments of the hall were answerable to this display. the princess, dazzled to see so much riches collected in one place, said to alla ad deen, "i thought, prince, that nothing in the world was so beautiful as the sultan my father's palace, but the sight of this hall alone is sufficient to show i was deceived." alla ad deen led the princess to the place appointed for her, and as soon as she and his mother were seated, a band of the most harmonious instruments, accompanied with the voices of beautiful ladies, began a concert, which lasted without intermission to the end of the repast. the princess was so charmed, that she declared she had never heard anything like it in the sultan her father's court; but she knew not that these musicians were fairies chosen by the genie, the slave of the lamp. when the supper was ended, there entered a company of female dancers, who performed, according to the custom of the country, several figure dances, singing at the same time verses in praise of the bride and bridegroom. about midnight alla ad deen's mother conducted the bride to the nuptial apartment, and he soon after retired. the next morning when alla ad deen left the bridal chamber, his attendants presented themselves to dress him, and brought him another habit as rich and magnificent as that worn the day before. he then ordered one of the horses appointed for his use to be got ready, mounted him, and went in the midst of a large troop of slaves to the sultan's palace. the sultan received him with the same honours as before, embraced him, placed him on the throne near him, and ordered a collation. alla ad deen said, "i beg your majesty will dispense with my eating with you to-day; i came to entreat you to take a repast in the princess's palace, attended by your grand vizier, and all the lords of your court." the sultan consented with pleasure, rose up immediately, and, preceded by the principal officers of his palace, and followed by all the great lords of his court, accompanied alla ad deen. the nearer the sultan approached alla ad deen's palace, the more he was struck with its beauty, but was much more amazed when he entered it; and could not forbear breaking out into exclamations of approbation. but when he came into the hall, and cast his eyes on the windows, enriched with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, all large perfect stones, he was so much surprised, that he remained some time motionless. after he recovered himself, he said to his vizier, "is it possible that there should be such a stately palace so near my own, and i be an utter stranger to it till now?" "sir," replied the grand vizier, "your majesty may remember that the day before yesterday you gave alla ad deen, whom you accepted for your son-in-law, leave to build a palace opposite your own, and that very day at sunset there was no palace on this spot, but yesterday i had the honour first to tell you that the palace was built and finished." "i remember," replied the sultan, "but never imagined that the palace was one of the wonders of the world; for where in all the world besides shall we find walls built of massive gold and silver, instead of brick, stone, or marble; and diamonds, rubies, and emeralds composing the windows!" the sultan would examine and admire the beauty of all the windows, and counting them, found that there were but three-and- twenty so richly adorned, and he was greatly astonished that the twenty-fourth was left imperfect. "vizier," said he, for that minister made a point of never leaving him, "i am surprised that a hall of this magnificence should be left thus imperfect." "sir," replied the grand vizier, "without doubt alla ad deen only wanted time to finish this window like the rest; for it is not to be supposed but that he has sufficient jewels for the purpose, or that he will not complete it the first opportunity." alla ad deen, who had left the sultan to go and give some orders, returned just as the vizier had finished his remark. "son," said the sultan to him, "this hall is the most worthy of admiration of any in the world; there is only one thing that surprises me, which is to find one of the windows unfinished. is it from the forgetfulness or negligence of the workmen, or want of time, that they have not put the finishing stroke to so beautiful a piece of architecture?" "sir," answered alla ad deen, "it was for none of these reasons that your majesty sees it in this state. the omission was by design, it was by my orders that the workmen left it thus, since i wished that your majesty should have the glory of finishing this hall, and of course the palace." "if you did it with this intention," replied the sultan, "i take it kindly, and will give orders about it immediately." he accordingly sent for the most considerable jewellers and goldsmiths in his capital. alla ad deen then conducted the sultan into the saloon where he had regaled his bride the preceding night. the princess entered immediately afterwards, and received the sultan her father with an air that showed how happy she was with her marriage. two tables were immediately spread with the most delicious meats, all served up in gold dishes. the sultan, princess, alla ad deen, his mother, and the grand vizier, sat down at the first, and all the lords of the court at the second, which was very long. the sultan was much pleased with the cookery, and owned he had never eaten anything more excellent. he said the same of the wines, which were delicious; but what he most of all admired, were four large sideboards, profusely furnished with large flagons, basins, and cups, all of massive gold, set with jewels. he was besides charmed with several bands of music, which were ranged along the hall, and formed most agreeable concerts. when the sultan rose from table, he was informed that the jewellers and goldsmiths attended; upon which he returned to the hall, and showed them the window which was unfinished. "i sent for you," said he, "to fit up this window in as great perfection as the rest; examine them well and make all the dispatch you can." the jewellers and goldsmiths examined the three-and-twenty windows with great attention, and after they had consulted together, to know what each could furnish, they returned, and presented themselves before the sultan, whose principal jeweller, undertaking to speak for the rest, said, "sir, we are all willing to exert our utmost care and industry to obey your majesty; but among us all we cannot furnish jewels enough for so great a work." "i have more than are necessary," said the sultan; "come to my palace, and you shall choose what may answer your purpose." when the sultan returned to his palace, he ordered his jewels to be brought out, and the jewellers took a great quantity, particularly those alla ad deen had made him a present of, which they soon used, without making any greet advance in their work. they came again several times for more, and in a month's time had not finished half their work. in short, they used all the jewels the sultan had, and borrowed of the vizier, but yet the work was not half done. a]]a ad deen, who knew that all the sultan's endeavours to make this window like the rest were in vain, sent for the jewellers and goldsmiths, and not only commanded them to desist from their work, but ordered them to undo what they had begun, and to carry all their jewels back to the sultan and to the vizier. they undid in a few hours what they had been six weeks about, and retired, leaving alla ad deen alone in the hall. he took the lamp which he carried about him, rubbed it, and presently the genie appeared. "genie," said alla ad deen, "i ordered thee to leave one of the four-and-twenty windows of this hall imperfect, and thus hast executed my commands punctually; now i would have thee make it like the rest." the genie immediately disappeared. alla ad deen went out of the hall, and returning soon after, found the window, as he wished it to be, like the others. in the meantime, the jewellers and goldsmiths repaired to the palace, and were introduced into the sultan's presence; where the chief jeweller, presenting the precious stones which he had brought back, said, in the name of all the rest, "your majesty knows how long we have been upon the work you were pleased to set us about, in which we used all imaginable industry. it was far advanced, when prince alla ad deen commanded us not only to leave off, but to undo what we had already begun, and bring your majesty your jewels back." the sultan asked them if alla ad deen had given them any reason for so doing, and they answering that he had given them none, he ordered a horse to be brought, which he mounted, and rode to his son-in law's palace, with some few attendants on foot. when he came there, he alighted at the stair- case, which led up to the hall with the twenty-four windows, and went directly up to it, without giving previous notice to alla ad deen; but it happened that at that very juncture alla ad deen was opportunely there, and had just time to receive him at the door. the sultan, without giving alla ad deen time to complain obligingly of his not having given notice, that he might have acquitted himself with the more becoming respect, said to him, "son, i come myself to know the reason why you commanded the jewellers to desist from work, and take to pieces what they had done." alla ad deen disguised the true reason, which was, that the sultan was not rich enough in jewels to be at so great an expense, but said, "i beg of you now to see if any thing is wanting." the sultan went directly to the window which was left imperfect, and when he found it like the rest, fancied that he was mistaken, examined the two windows on each side, and afterwards all the four-and-twenty; but when he was convinced that the window which several workmen had been so long about was finished in so short a time, he embraced alla ad deen, and kissed him between his eyes. "my son," said he, "what a man you are to do such surprising things always in the twinkling of an eye; there is not your fellow in the world; the more i know, the more i admire you." alla ad deen received these praises from the sultan with modesty, and replied in these words: "sir, it is a great honour to me to deserve your majesty's good-will and approbation, and i assure you, i shall study to deserve them more." the sultan returned to his palace, but would not let alla ad deen attend him. when he came there, he found his grand vizier waiting, to whom he related the wonder he had witnessed, with the utmost admiration, and in such terms as left the minister no room to doubt but that the facet was as the sultan related it; though he was the more confirmed in his belief, that alla ad deen's palace was the effect of enchantment, as he had told the sultan the first moment he saw it. he was going to repeat the observation, but the sultan interrupted him, and said, "you told me so once before; i see, vizier, you have not forgotten your son's espousals to my daughter." the frank vizier plainly saw how much the sultan was prepossessed, therefore avoided disputes and let him remain in his own opinion. the sultan as soon as he rose every morning went into the closet, to look at alla ad deen's palace, and would go many times in a day to contemplate and admire it. alla ad deen did not confine himself in his palace; but took care to shew himself once or twice a week in the town, by going sometimes to one mosque, and sometimes to another, to prayers, or to visit the grand vizier, who affected to pay his court to him on certain days, or to do the principal lords of the court the honour to return their visits after he had regaled them at his palace. every time he went out, he caused two slaves, who walked by the side of his horse, to throw handfuls of money among the people as he passed through the streets and squares, which were generally on those occasions crowded. besides, no one came to his palace gates to ask alms, but returned satisfied with his liberality. in short, he so divided his time, that not a week passed but he went either once or twice a hunting, sometimes in the environs of the city, sometimes farther off; at which time the villages through which he passed felt the effects of his generosity, which gained him the love and blessings of the people: and it was common for them to swear by his head. thus, without giving the ]east umbrage to the sultan, to whom he paid all imaginable respect, alla ad deen, by his affable behaviour and liberality, had won the affections of the people, and was more beloved than the sultan himself. with all these good qualities he shewed a courage and a zeal for the public good which could not be sufficiently applauded. he gave sufficient proofs of both in a revolt on the borders of the kingdom; for he no sooner understood that the sultan was levying an army to disperse the rebels than he begged the command of it, which he found not difficult to obtain. as soon as he was empowered, he marched with so much expedition, that the sultan heard of the defeat of the rebels before he had received an account of his arrival in the army. and though this action rendered his name famous throughout the kingdom, it made no alteration in his disposition; but he was as affable after his victory as before. alla ad deen had conducted himself in this manner several years, when the african magician, who undesignedly had been the instrument of raising him to so high a pitch of prosperity, recalled him to his recollection in africa, whither, after his expedition, he had returned. and though he was almost persuaded that alla ad deen must have died miserably in the subterraneous abode where he had left him, yet he had the curiosity to inform himself about his end with certainty; and as he was a great geomancer, he took out of a cupboard a square covered box, which he used in his geomantic observations: then sat himself down on the sofa, set it before him, and uncovered it. after he had prepared and levelled the sand which was in it, with an intention to discover whether or no alla ad deen had died in the subterraneous abode, he cast the points, drew the figures, and formed a horoscope, by which, when he came to examine it, he found that alla ad deen, instead of dying in the cave, had made his escape, lived splendidly, was in possession of the wonderful lamp, had married a princess, and was much honoured and respected. the magician no sooner understood by the rules of his diabolical art, that alla ad deen had arrived to this height of good fortune, than his face became inflamed with anger, and he cried out in a rage, "this sorry tailor's son has discovered the secret and virtue of the lamp! i believed his death to be certain; but find that he enjoys the fruit of my labour and study! i will, however, prevent his enjoying it long, or perish in the attempt." he was not a great while deliberating on what he should do, but the next morning mounted a barb, set forwards, and never stopped but to refresh himself and horse, till he arrived at the capital of china. he alighted, took up his lodging in a khan, and stayed there the remainder of the day and the night, to refresh himself after so long a journey. the next day, his first object was to inquire what people said of alla ad deen; and, taking a walk through the town, he went to the most public and frequented places, where persons of the best distinction met to drink a certain warm liquor, which he had drunk often during his former visit. as soon as he had seated himself, he was presented with a cup of it, which he took; but listening at the same time to the discourse of the company on each side of him, he heard them talking of alla ad deen's palace. when he had drunk off his liquor, he joined them, and taking this opportunity, inquired particularly of what palace they spoke with so much commendation. "from whence come you?" said the person to whom he addressed himself; "you must certainly be a stranger not to have seen or heard talk of prince alla ad deen's palace" (for he was called so after his marriage with the princess). "i do not say," continued the man, "that it is one of the wonders of the world, but that it is the only wonder of the world; since nothing so grand, rich, and magnificent was ever beheld. certainly you must have come from a great distance, or some obscure corner, not to have heard of it, for it must have been talked of all over the world. go and see it, and then judge whether i have told you more than the truth." "forgive my ignorance," replied the african magician; "i arrived here but yesterday, and came from the farthest part of africa, where the fame of this palace had not reached when i came away. the business which brought me hither was so urgent, that my sole objets was to arrive as soon as i could, without stopping anywhere, or making any acquaintance. but i will not fail to go and see it; my impatience is so great, i will go immediately and satisfy my curiosity, if you will do me the favour to shew me the way thither." the person to whom the african magician addressed himself took a pleasure in shewing him the way to alla ad deen's palace, and he got up and went thither instantly. when he came to the palace, and had examined it on all sides, he doubted not but that alla ad deen had made use of the lamp to build it. without attending to the inability of a poor tailor's son, he knew that none but the genii, the slaves of the lamp, the attaining of which he had missed, could have performed such wonders; and piqued to the quick at alla ad deen's happiness and splendour, he returned to the khan where he lodged. the next point was to ascertain where the lamp was; whether alla ad deen carried it about with him, or where he kept it; and this he was to discover by an operation of geomancy. as soon as he entered his lodging, he took his square box of sand, which he always carried with him when he travelled, and after he had performed some operations, he found that the lamp was in alla ad deen's palace, and so great was his joy at the discovery that he could hardly contain himself. "well," said he, "i shall have the lamp, and defy alla ad deen's preventing my carrying it off, and making him sink to his original meanness, from which he has taken so high a flight." it was alla ad deen's misfortune at that time to be absent in the chase for eight days, and only three were expired, which the magician came to know by this means. after he had performed the magical operation, which gave him so much joy, he went to the superintendent of the khan, entered into conversation with him on indifferent subjects, and among the rest, told him he had been to see alla ad deen's palace; and after exaggerating on all that he had seen most worthy of observation, added, "but my curiosity leads me farther, and i shall not be satisfied till i have seen the person to whom this wonderful edifice belongs." "that will be no difficult matter," replied the master of the khan, "there is not a day passes but he gives an opportunity when he is in town, but at present he is not at the palace, and has been gone these three days on a hunting-match, which will last eight. the magician wanted to know no more; he took his leave of the superintendent of the khan, and returning to his own chamber, said to himself, "this is an opportunity i ought by no means to neglect, but must make the best use of it." to that end, he went to a coppersmith, and asked for a dozen copper lamps: the master of the shop told him he had not so many by him, but if he would have patience till the next day, he would have them ready. the magician appointed his time, and desired him to take care that they should be handsome and well polished. after promising to pay him well, he returned to his inn. the next day the magician called for the twelve lamps, paid the man his full price, put them into a basket which he bought on purpose, and with the basket hanging on his arm, went directly to alla ad deen's palace: as he approached he began crying, "who will change old lamps for new ones?" as he went along, a crowd of children collected, who hooted, and thought him, as did all who chanced to be passing by, a madman or a fool, to offer to change new lamps for old ones. the african magician regarded not their scoffs, hootings, or all they could say to him, but still continued crying, "who will change old lamps for new?" he repeated this so often, walking backwards and forwards in front of the palace, that the princess, who was then in the hall with the four-and-twenty windows, hearing a man cry something, and not being able to distinguish his words, owing to the hooting of the children and increasing mob about him, sent one of her women slaves to know what he cried. the slave was not long before she returned, and ran into the hall, laughing so heartily, that the princess could not forbear herself. "well, giggler," said the princess, "will you tell me what you laugh at?" "madam," answered the slave, laughing still, "who can forbear laughing, to see a fool with a basket on his arm, full of fine new lamps, ask to change them for old ones; the children and mob, crowding about him so that he can hardly stir, make all the noise they can in derision of him." another female slave hearing this, said, "now you speak of lamps, i know not whether the princess may have observed it, but there is an old one upon a shelf of the prince's robing-room, and whoever owns it will not be sorry to find a new one in its stead. if the princess chooses, she may have the pleasure of trying if this fool is so silly as to give a new lamp for an old one, without taking any thing for the exchange." the lamp this slave spoke of was the wonderful lamp, which alla ad deen had laid upon the shelf before he departed for the chase; this he had done several times before; but neither the princess, the slaves, nor the eunuchs, had ever taken notice of it. at all other times except when hunting he carried it about his person. the princess, who knew not the value of this lamp, and the interest that alla ad deen, not to mention herself, had to keep it safe, entered into the pleasantry, and commanded a eunuch to take it, and make the exchange. the eunuch obeyed, went out of the hall, and no sooner got to the palace gates than he saw the african magician, called to him, and shewing him the old lamp, said, "give me a new lamp for this." the magician never doubted but this was the lamp he wanted. there could be no other such in this palace, where every utensil was gold or silver. he snatched it eagerly out of the eunuch's hand, and thrusting it as far as he could into his breast, offered him his basket, and bade him choose which he liked best. the eunuch picked out one, and carried it to the princess; but the exchange was no sooner made than the place rung with the shouts of the children, deriding the magician's folly. the african magician gave everybody leave to laugh as much as they pleased; he stayed not long near the palace, but made the best of his way, without crying any longer, "new lamps for old ones." his end was answered, and by his silence he got rid of the children and the mob. as soon as he was out of the square between the two palaces, he hastened down the streets which were the least frequented; and having no more occasion for his lamps or basket, set all down in an alley where nobody saw him: then going down another street or two, he walked till he came to one of the city gates, and pursuing his way through the suburbs, which were very extensive, at length reached a lonely spot, where he stopped for a time to execute the design he had in contemplation, never caring for his horse which he had left at the khan, but thinking himself perfectly compensated by the treasure he had acquired. in this place the african magician passed the remainder of the day, till the darkest time of night, when he pulled the lamp out of his breast and rubbed it. at that summons the genie appeared, and said, "what wouldst thou have? i am ready to obey thee as thy slave, and the slave of all those who have that lamp in their hands; both i and the other slaves of the lamp." "i command thee," replied the magician, "to transport me immediately and the palace which thou and the other slaves of the lamp have built in this city, with all the people in it, to africa." the genie made no reply, but with the assistance of the other genii, the slaves of the lamp immediately transported him and the palace entire, to the spot whither he was desired to convey it. as soon as the sultan rose the next morning, according to custom, he went into his closet, to have the pleasure of contemplating and admiring alla ad deen's palace; but when he first looked that way, and instead of a palace saw an empty space such as it was before the palace was built, he thought he was mistaken, and rubbed his eyes; but when he looked again, he still saw nothing more the second time than the first, though the weather was fine, the sky clear, and the dawn advancing had made all objects very distinct. he looked again in front, to the right and left, but beheld nothing more than he had formerly been used to see from his window. his amazement was so great, that he stood for some time turning his eyes to the spot where the palace had stood, but where it was no longer to be seen. he could not comprehend how so large a palace as alla ad deen's, which he had seen plainly every day for some years, and but the day before, should vanish so soon, and not leave the least remains behind. "certainly," said he to himself, "i am not mistaken; it stood there: if it had fallen, the materials would have lain in heaps; and if it had been swallowed up by an earthquake, there would be some mark left." at last, though he was convinced that no palace stood now opposite his own, he could not help staying some time at his window, to see whether he might not be mistaken. at last he retired to his apartment, not without looking behind him before he quitted the spot ordered the grand vizier to be sent for with expedition, and in the meantime sat down, his mind agitated by so many different conjectures that he knew not what to resolve. the grand vizier did not make the sultan wait long for him, but came with so much precipitation, that neither he nor his attendants, as they passed, missed alla ad deen's palace; neither did the porters, when they opened the palace gates observe any alteration. when he came into the sultan's presence, he said to him, â��"the haste in which your majesty sent for me makes me believe something extraordinary has happened, since you know that this is a day of public audience, and i should not have failed of attending at the usual time." "indeed," said the sultan, "it is something very extraordinary, as you say, and you will allow it to be so: tell me what is become of alla ad deen's palace?" "his palace!" replied the grand vizier, in amazement, "i thought as i passed it stood in its usual place; such substantial buildings are not so easily removed." "go into my closet," said the sultan, "and tell me if you can see it." the grand vizier went into the closet, where he was struck with no less amazement than the sultan had been. when he was well assured that there was not the least appearance of this palace, he returned to the sultan. "well," said the sultan, :have you seen alla ad deen's palace?" "no," answered the vizier; "but your majesty may remember that i had the honour to tell you, that palace, which was the subject of your admiration, with all its immense riches, was only the work of magic and a magician; but your majesty would not pay the least attention to what i said." the sultan, who could not deny what the grand vizier had represented to him, flew into the greater passion: "where is that impostor, that wicked wretch," said he, "that i may have his head taken off immediately?" "sir," replied the grand vizier, "it is some days since he came to take his leave of your majesty, on pretence of hunting; he ought to be sent for, to know what is become of his palace, since he cannot be ignorant of what has been transacted." "that is too great an indulgence," replied the sultan: "command a detachment of horse to bring him to me loaded with chains." the grand vizier gave orders for a detachment, and instructed the officer who commanded them how they were to act, that alla ad deen might not escape. the detachment pursued their orders; and about five or six leagues from the town met him returning from the chase. the officer advanced respectfully, and informed him the sultan was so impatient to see him, that he had sent his party to accompany him home. alla ad deen had not the least suspicion of the true reason of their meeting him; but when he came within half a league of the city, the detachment surrounded him, when the officer addressed himself to him, and said, "prince, it is with great regret that i declare to you the sultan's order to arrest you, and to carry you before him as a criminal: i beg of you not to take it ill that we acquit ourselves of our duty, and to forgive us." alla ad deen, who felt himself innocent, was much surprised at this declaration, and asked the officer if he knew what crime he was accused of; who replied, he did not. then alla ad deen, finding that his retinue was much interior to this detachment, alighted off his horse, and said to the officers, "execute your orders; i am not conscious that i have committed any offence against the sultan's person or government." a heavy chain was immediately put about his neck, and fastened round his body, so that both his arms were pinioned down; the officer then put himself at the head of the detachment, and one of the troopers taking hold of the end of the chain and proceeding after the officer, led alla ad deen, who was obliged to follow him on foot, into the city. when this detachment entered the suburbs, the people, who saw alla ad deen thus led as a state criminal, never doubted but that his head was to be cut off; and as he was generally beloved, some took sabres and other arms; and those who had none gathered stones, and followed the escort. the last division faced about to disperse them; but their numbers presently increased so much, that the soldiery began to think it would be well if they could get into the sultan's palace before alla ad deen was rescued; to prevent which, according to the different extent of the streets, they took care to cover the ground by extending or closing. in this manner they with much difficulty arrived at the palace square, and there drew up in a line, till their officer and troopers with alla ad deen had got within the gates, which were immediately shut. alla ad deen was carried before the sultan, who waited for him, attended by the grand vizier, in a balcony; and as soon as he saw him, he ordered the executioner, who waited there for the purpose, to strike off his head without hearing him or giving him leave to clear himself. as soon as the executioner had taken off the chain that was fastened about alla ad deen's neck and body, and laid down a skin stained with the blood of the many he had executed, he made the supposed criminal kneel down, and tied a bandage over his eyes. then drawing his sabre, took his aim by flourishing it three times in the air, waiting for the sultan's giving the signal to strike. at that instant the grand vizier perceiving that the populace had forced the guard of horse, crowded the great square before the palace, and were scaling the walls in several places, and beginning to pull them down to force their way in; he said to the sultan, before he gave the signal, "i beg of your majesty to consider what you are going to do, since you will hazard your palace being destroyed; and who knows what fatal consequence may follow?" "my palace forced!" replied the sultan; "who can have that audacity?" "sir," answered the grand vizier, "if your majesty will but cast your eyes towards the great square, and on the palace walls, you will perceive the truth of what i say." the sultan was so much alarmed when he saw so great a crowd, and how enraged they were, that he ordered the executioner to put his sabre ;immediately into the scabbard, to unbind alla ad deen, and at the same time commanded the porters to declare to the people that the sultan had pardoned him, and that they might retire. those who had already got upon the walls, and were witnesses of what had passed, abandoned their design and got quickly down, overjoyed that they had saved the life of a man they dearly loved, and published the news amongst the rest, which was presently confirmed by the mace-bearers from the top of the terraces. the justice which the sultan had done to alla ad deen soon disarmed the populace of their rage; the tumult abated, and the mob dispersed. when alla ad deen found himself at liberty, he turned towards the balcony, and perceiving the sultan, raised his voice, and said to him in a moving manner, "i beg of your majesty to add one favour more to that which i have already received, which is, to let me know my crime?" "your crime," answered the sultan; "perfidious wretch! do you not know it? come hither, and i will shew it you." alla ad deen went up, when the sultan, going before him without looking at him, said, "follow me;" and then led him into his closet. when he came to the door, he said, "go in; you ought to know whereabouts your palace stood: look round and tell me what is become of it?" alla ad deen looked, but saw nothing. he perceived the spot upon which his palace had stood; but not being able to divine how it had disappeared, was thrown into such great confusion and amazement, that he could not return one word of answer. the sultan growing impatient, demanded of him again, "where is your palace, and what is become of my daughter?" alla ad deen, breaking silence, replied, "sir, i perceive and own that the palace which i have built is not in its place, but is vanished; neither can i tell your majesty where it may be, but can assure you i had no concern in its removal." "i am not so much concerned about your palace," replied the sultan, "i value my daughter ten thousand times more, and would have you find her out, otherwise i will cause your head to be struck off, and no consideration shall divert me from my purpose." "i beg of your majesty," answered alla ad deen, "to grant me forty days to make my inquiries; and if in that time i have not the success i wish, i will offer my head at the foot of your throne, to be disposed of at your pleasure." "i give you the forty days you ask," said the sultan; "but think not to abuse the favour i shew you, by imagining you shall escape my resentment; for i will find you out in whatsoever part of the world you may conceal yourself." alla ad deen went out of the sultan's presence with great humiliation, and in a condition worthy of pity. he crossed the courts of the palace, hanging down his head, and in such great confusion, that he durst not lift up his eyes. the principal officers of the court, who had all professed themselves his friends, and whom he had never disobliged, instead of going up to him to comfort him, and offer him a retreat in their houses, turned their backs to avoid seeing him. but had they accosted him with a word of comfort or offer of service, they would have no more known alla ad deen. he did not know himself, and was no longer in his senses, as plainly appeared by his asking everybody he met, and at every house, if they had seen his palace, or could tell him any news of it. these questions made the generality believe that alla ad deen was mad. some laughed at him, but people of sense and humanity, particularly those who had had any connection of business or friendship with him, really pitied him. for three days he rambled about the city in this manner, without coming to any resolution, or eating anything but what some compassionate people forced him to take out of charity. at last, as he could no longer in his unhappy condition stay in a city where he had lately been next to the sultan, he took the road to the country; and after he had traversed several fields in wild uncertainty, at the approach of night came to the bank of a river. there, possessed by his despair, he said to himself, "where shall i seek my palace? in what province, country, or part of the world, shall i find that and my dear princess, whom the sultan expects from me? i shall never succeed; i had better free myself at once from fruitless endeavours, and such bitter grief as preys upon me." he was just going to throw himself into the river, but, as a good moosulmaun, true to his religion, he thought he should not do it without first saying his prayers. going to prepare himself, he went to the river's brink, in order to perform the usual ablutions. the place being steep and slippery, from the water beating against it, he slid down, and had certainly fallen into the river, but for a little rock which projected about two feet out of the earth. happily also for him he still had on the ring which the african magician had put on his finger before he went down into the subterraneous abode to fetch the precious lamp. in slipping down the bank he rubbed the ring so hard by holding on the rock, that immediately the same genie appeared whom he had seen in the cave where the magician had left him. "what wouldst thou have?" said the genie. "i am ready to obey thee as thy slave, and the slave of all those that have that ring on their finger; both i and the other slaves of the ring." alla ad deen, agreeably surprised at an apparition he so little expected in his present calamity, replied, "save my life, genie, a second time, either by shewing me to the place where the palace i caused to be built now stands, or immediately transporting it back where it first stood." "what you command me," answered the genie, "is not wholly in my power; i am only the slave of the ring; you must address yourself to the slave of the lamp." "if that be the case," replied alla ad deen, "i command thee, by the power of the ring, to transport me to the spot where my palace stands, in what part of the world soever it may be, and set me down under the window of the princess buddir al buddoor." these words were no sooner out of his mouth, than the genie transported him into africa, to the midst of a large plain, where his palace stood, at no great distance from a city, and placing him exactly under the window of the princess's apartment, left him. all this was done almost in an instant. alla ad deen, notwithstanding the darkness of the night, knew his palace and the princess buddir al buddoor's apartment again; but as the night was far advanced, and all was quiet in the palace, he retired to some distance, and sat down at the foot of a large tree. there, full of hopes, and reflecting on his happiness, for which he was indebted to chance, he found himself in a much more comfortable situation than when he was arrested and carried before the sultan; being now delivered from the immediate danger of losing his life. he amused himself for some time with these agreeable thoughts; but not having slept for two days, was not able to resist the drowsiness which came upon him, but fell fast asleep. the next morning, as soon as day appeared, alla ad deen was agreeably awakened by the singing not only of the birds which had roosted in the tree under which he had passed the night, but also of those which frequented the thick groves of the palace garden. when he cast his eyes on that wonderful edifice, he felt inexpressible joy at thinking he might possibly soon be master of it again, and once more possess his dear princess buddir al buddoor. pleased with these hopes, he immediately arose, went towards the princess's apartment, and walked some time under her window in expectation of her rising, that he might see her. during this expectation, he began to consider with himself whence the cause of his misfortune had proceeded; and after mature reflection, no longer doubted that it was owing to having trusted the lamp out of his sight. he accused himself of negligence in letting it be a moment away from him. but what puzzled him most was, that he could not imagine who had been so envious of his happiness. he would soon have guessed this, if he had known that both he and his palace were in africa, the very name of which would soon have made him remember the magician his declared enemy; but the genie, the slave of the ring, had not made the least mention of the name of the country, nor had alla ad deen inquired. the princess rose earlier that morning than she had done since her transportation into africa by the magician, whose presence she was forced to support once a day, because he was master of the palace; but she had always treated him so harshly that he dared not reside in it. as she was dressing, one of the women looking through the window, perceived alla ad deen, and instantly told her mistress. the princess, who could not believe the joyful tidings, hastened herself to the window, and seeing alla ad deen, immediately opened it. the noise of opening the window made alla ad deen turn his head that way, and perceiving the princess he saluted her with an air that expressed his joy. "to lose no time," said she to him, "i have sent to have the private door opened for you; enter, and come up." the private door, which was just under the princess's apartment, was soon opened, and alla ad deen conducted up into the chamber. it is impossible to express the joy of both at seeing each other, after so cruel a separation. after embracing and shedding tears of joy, they sat down, and alla ad deen said, "i beg of you, princess, in god's name, before we talk of anything else, to tell me, both for your own sake, the sultan your father's, and mine, what is become of an old lamp which i left upon a shelf in my robing-chamber, when i departed for the chase." "alas! dear husband," answered the princess, "i was afraid our misfortune might be owing to that lamp: and what grieves me most is, that i have been the cause of it." "princess," replied alla ad deen, "do not blame yourself, since it was entirely my fault, for i ought to have taken more care of it. but let us now think only of repairing the loss; tell me what has happened, and into whose hands it has fallen." the princess then related how she had changed the old lamp for a new one, which she ordered to be fetched, that he might see it, and how the next morning she found herself in the unknown country they were then in, which she was told was africa, by the traitor, who had transported her thither by his magic art. "princess," said alla ad deen, interrupting her, "you have informed me who the traitor is, by telling me we are in africa. he is the most perfidious of men; but this is neither a time nor place to give you a full account of his villanies. i desire you only to tell me what he has done with the lamp, and where he has put it?" "he carries it carefully wrapped up in his bosom," said the princess; "and this i can assure you, because he pulled it out before me, and shewed it to me in triumph." "princess," said alla ad deen, "do not be displeased that i trouble you with so many questions, since they are equally important to us both. but to come to what most particularly concerns me; tell me, i conjure you, how so wicked and perfidious a man treats you?" "since i have been here," replied the princess, "he repairs once every day to see me; and i am persuaded the little satisfaction he receives from his visits makes him come no oftener. all his addresses tend to persuade me to break that faith i have pledged to you, and to take him for my husband; giving me to understand, i need not entertain hopes of ever seeing you again, for that you were dead, having had your head struck off by the sultan my father's order. he added, to justify himself, that you were an ungrateful wretch; that your good fortune was owing to him, and a great many other things of that nature which i forbear to repeat: but as he received no other answer from me but grievous complaints and tears, he was always forced to retire with as little satisfaction as he came. i doubt not his intention is to allow me time to overcome my grief, in hopes that afterwards i may change my sentiments; and if i persevere in an obstinate refusal, to use violence. but my dear husband's presence removes all my apprehensions." "i am confident my attempts to punish the magician will not be in vain," replied alla ad deen, "since my princess's fears are removed, and i think i have found the means to deliver you from both your enemy and mine; to execute this design, it is necessary for me to go to the town. i shall return by noon, will then communicate my design, and what must be done by you to ensure success. but that you may not be surprised, i think it proper to acquaint you, that i shall change my apparel, and beg of you to give orders that i may not wait long at the private door, but that it may be opened at the first knock;" all which the princess promised to observe. when alla ad deen was out of the palace, he looked round him on all sides, and perceiving a peasant going into the country, hastened after him; and when he had overtaken him, made a proposal to him to change habits, which the man agreed to. when they had made the exchange, the countryman went about his business, and alla ad deen to the city. after traversing several streets, he came to that part of the town where all descriptions of merchants and artisans had their particular streets, according to their trades. he went into that of the druggists; and going into one of the largest and best furnished shops, asked the druggist if he had a certain powder which he named. the druggist, judging alla ad deen by his habit to be very poor, and that he had not money enough to pay for it, told him he had it, but that it was very dear; upon which alla ad deen penetrated his thoughts, pulled out his purse, and shewing him some gold, asked for half a dram of the powder; which the druggist weighed, wrapped up in paper, and gave him, telling him the price was a piece of gold. alla ad deen put the money into his hand, and staying no longer in the town than just to get a little refreshment, returned to the palace, where he waited not long at the private door. when he came into the princess's apartment, he said to her, "princess, perhaps the aversion you tell me you have for your ravisher may be an objection to your executing what i am going to propose; but permit me to say it is proper that you should at this juncture dissemble a little, and do violence to your inclinations, if you would deliver yourself from him, and give my lord the sultan your father the satisfaction of seeing you again. "if you will take my advice," continued he, "dress yourself this moment in one of your richest habits, and when the african magician comes, make no difficulty to give him the best reception; receive him with a cheerful countenance, so that he may imagine time has removed your affliction and disgust at his addresses. in your conversation, let him understand that you strive to forget me; and that he may be the more fully convinced of your sincerity, invite him to sup with you, and tell him you should be glad to taste of some of the best wines of his country. he will presently go to fetch you some. during his absence, put into one of the cups you are accustomed to drink out of this powder, and setting it by, charge the slave you may order that night to attend you, on a signal you shall agree upon, to bring that cup to you. when the magician and you have eaten and drunk as much as you choose, let her bring you the cup, and then change cups with him. he will esteem it so great a favour that he will not refuse, but eagerly quaff it off; but no sooner will he have drunk, than you will see him fall backwards. if you have any reluctance to drink out of his cup, you may pretend only to do it, without fear of being discovered; for the effect of the powder is so quick, that he will not have time to know whether you drink or not." when alla ad deen had finished, "i own," answered the princess, "i shall do myself great violence in consenting to make the magician such advances as i see are absolutely necessary; but what cannot one resolve to do against a cruel enemy? i will therefore follow your advice, since both my repose and yours depend upon it. "after the princess had agreed to the measures proposed by alla ad deen, he took his leave, and went and spent the rest of the day in the neighbourhood of the palace till it was night, and he might safely return to the private door. the princess, who had remained inconsolable at being separated not only from her husband, whom she had loved from the first moment, and still continued to love more out of inclination than duty, but also from the sultan her father, who had always showed the most tender and paternal affection for her, had, ever since their cruel separation, lived in great neglect of her person. she had almost forgotten the neatness so becoming persons of her sex and quality, particularly after the first time the magician paid her a visit; and she had understood by some of the women, who knew him again, that it was he who had taken the old lamp in exchange for a new one, which rendered the sight of him more abhorred. however, the opportunity of taking the revenge he deserved made her resolve to gratify alla ad deen. as soon, therefore, as he was gone, she sat down to dress, and was attired by her women to the best advantage in the richest habit of her wardrobe. her girdle was of the finest and largest diamonds set in gold, her necklace of pearls, six on a side, so well proportioned to that in the middle, which was the largest ever seen, and invaluable, that the greatest sultanesses would have been proud to have been adorned with only two of the smallest. her bracelets, which were of diamonds and rubies intermixed, corresponded admirably to the richness of the girdle and necklace. when the princess buddir al buddoor was completely dressed, she consulted her glass and women upon her adjustment; and when she found she wanted no charms to flatter the foolish passion of the african magician, she sat down on a sofa expecting his arrival. the magician came at the usual hour, and as soon as he entered the great hall where the princess waited to receive him, she rose with an enchanting grace and smile, and pointed with her hand to the most honourable place, waiting till he sat down, that she might sit at the same time which was a civility she had never shown him before. the african magician, dazzled more with the lustre of the princess's eyes than the glittering of the jewels with which she was adorned, was much surprised. the smiling and graceful air with which she received him, so opposite to her former behaviour, quite fascinated his heart. when he was seated, the princess, to free him from his embarrassment, broke silence first, locking at him all the time in such a manner as to make him believe that he was not so odious to her as she had given him to understand hitherto and said, "you are doubtless amazed to find me so much altered to-day; but your surprise will not be so great when i acquaint you, that i am naturally of a disposition so opposite to melancholy and grief, sorrow and uneasiness, that i always strive to put them as far away as possible when i find the subject of them is past. i have reflected on what you told me of alla ad deen's fate, and know my father's temper so well, that i am persuaded with you he could not escape the terrible effects of the sultan's rage; therefore, should i continue to lament him all my life, my tears cannot recall him. for this reason, since i have paid all the duties decency requires of me to his memory, now he is in the grave i think i ought to endeavour to comfort myself. these are the motives of the change you see in me; i am resolved to banish melancholy entirely; and, persuaded that you will bear me company tonight, i have ordered a supper to be prepared; but as i have no wines but those of china, i have a great desire to taste of the produce of africa, and doubt not your procuring some of the best." the african magician, who had looked upon the happiness of getting so soon and so easily into the princess buddir al buddoor's good graces as impossible, could not think of words expressive enough to testify how sensible he was of her favours: but to put an end the sooner to a conversation which would have embarrassed him, if he had engaged farther in it, he turned it upon the wines of africa, and said, "of all the advantages africa can boast, that of producing the most excellent wines is one of the principal. i have a vessel of seven years old, which has never been broached; and it is indeed not praising it too much to say it is the finest wine in the world. if my princess," added he, "will give me leave, i will go and fetch two bottles, and return again immediately." "i should be sorry to give you that trouble," replied the princess; "you had better send for them." "it is necessary i should go myself," answered the african magician; "for nobody but myself knows where the key of the cellar is laid, or has the secret to unlock the door." "if it be so," said the princess, "make haste back; for the longer you stay, the greater will be my impatience, and we shall sit down to supper as soon as you return." the african magician, full of hopes of his expected happiness, rather flew than ran, and returned quickly with the wine. the princess, not doubting but he would make haste, put with her own hand the powder alla ad deen had given her into the cup set apart for that purpose. they sat down at the table opposite to each other, the magician's back towards the sideboard. the princess presented him with the best at the table, and said to him, "if you please, i will entertain you with a concert of vocal and instrumental music; but, as we are only two, i think conversation maybe more agreeable." this the magician took as a new favour. after they had eaten some time, the princess called for some wine, drank the magician's health, and afterwards said to him, "indeed you had a full right to commend your wine, since i never tasted any so delicious." "charming princess," said he, holding in his hand the cup which had been presented to him," my wine becomes more exquisite by your approbation." "then drink my health," replied the princess; "you will find i understand wines." he drank the princess's health, and returning the cup, said, "i think myself fortunate, princess, that i reserved this wine for so happy an occasion; and own i never before drank any in every respect so excellent." when they had each drunk two or three cups more, the princess, who had completely charmed the african magician by her civility and obliging behaviour, gave the signal to the slave who served them with wine, bidding her bring the cup which had been filled for her, and at the same time bring the magician a full goblet. when they both had their cups in their hands, she said to him, "i know not how you express your loves in these parts when drinking together? with us in china the lover and his mistress reciprocally exchange cups, and drink each other's health." at the same time she presented to him the cup which was in her hand, and held out her hand to receive his. he hastened to make the exchange with the more pleasure, because he looked upon this favour as the most certain token of an entire conquest over the princess, which raised his rapture to the highest pitch. before he drank, he said to her, with the cup in his hand, "indeed, princess, we africans are not so refined in the art of love as you chinese: and your instructing me in a lesson i was ignorant of, informs me how sensible i ought to be of the favour done me. i shall never, lovely princess, forget my recovering, by drinking out of your cup, that life, which your cruelty, had it continued, must have made me despair of." the princess, who began to be tired with this impertinent declaration of the african magician, interrupted him, and said, "let us drink first, and then say what you will afterwards;" at the same time she set the cup to her lips, while the african magician, who was eager to get his wine off first, drank up the very last drop. in finishing it, he had reclined his head back to shew his eagerness, and remained some time in that state. the princess kept the cup at her lips, till she saw his eyes turn in his head, when he fell backwards lifeless on the sofa. the princess had no occasion to order the private door to be opened to alla ad deen; for her women were so disposed from the great hall to the foot of the staircase, that the word was no sooner given that the african magician was fallen backwards, than the door was immediately opened. as soon as alla ad deen entered the hall, he saw the magician stretched backwards on the sofa. the princess rose from her seat, and ran overjoyed to embrace him; but he stopped her, and said, "princess, it is not yet time; oblige me by retiring to your apartment; and let me be left alone a moment, while i endeavour to transport you back to china as speedily as you were brought from thence." when the princess, her women and eunuchs, were gone out of the hall, alla ad deen shut the door, and going directly to the dead body of the magician, opened his vest, took out the lamp, which was carefully wrapped up, as the princess had told him, and unfolding and rubbing it, the genie immediately appeared. "genie," said alla ad deen, "i have called to command thee, on the part of thy good mistress this lamp, to transport this palace instantly into china, to the place from whence it was brought hither." the genie bowed his head in token of obedience, and disappeared. immediately the palace was transported into china, and its removal was only felt by two little shocks, the one when it was lifted up, the other when it was set down, and both in a very short interval of time. alla ad deen went to the princess's apartment, and embracing her, said, "i can assure you, princess, that your joy and mine will be complete tomorrow morning." the princess, guessing that alla ad deen must be hungry, ordered the dishes, served up in the great hall, to be brought down. the princess and alla ad deen ate as much as they thought fit, and drank of the african magician's old wine; during which time their conversation could not be otherwise than satisfactory, and then they retired to their own chamber. >from the time of the transportation of alla ad deen's palace, the princess's father had been inconsolable for the loss of her. he could take no rest, and instead of avoiding what might continue his affliction, he indulged it without restraint. before the disaster he used to go every morning into his closet to please himself with viewing the palace, he went now many times in the day to renew his tears, and plunge himself into the deepest melancholy, by the idea of no more seeing that which once gave him so much pleasure, and reflecting how he had lost what was most dear to him in this world. the very morning of the return of alla ad deen's palace, the sultan went, by break of day, into his closet to indulge his sorrows. absorbed in himself, and in a pensive mood, he cast his eyes towards the spot, expecting only to see an open space; but perceiving the vacancy filled up, he at first imagined the appearance to be the effect of a fog; looking more attentively, he was convinced beyond the power of doubt it was his son-in- law's palace. joy and gladness succeeded to sorrow and grief. he returned immediately into his apartment, and ordered a horse to be saddled and brought to him without delay, which he mounted that instant, thinking he could not make haste enough to the palace. alla ad deen, who foresaw what would happen, rose that morning by day-break, put on one of the most magnificent habits his wardrobe afforded, and went up into the hall of twenty-four windows, from whence he perceived the sultan approaching, and got down soon enough to receive him at the foot of the great staircase, and to help him to dismount. "alla ad deen," said the sultan, "i cannot speak to you till i have seen and embraced my daughter." he led the sultan into the princess's apartment. the happy father embraced her with his face bathed in tears of joy; and the princess, on her side, shewed him all the testimonies of the extreme pleasure the sight of him afforded her. the sultan was some time before he could open his lips, so great was his surprise and joy to find his daughter again, after he had given her up for lost; and the princess, upon seeing her father, let fall tears of rapture and affection. at last the sultan broke silence, and said, "i would believe, daughter, your joy to see me makes you seem as little changed as if no misfortune had befallen you; yet i cannot be persuaded but that you have suffered much alarm; for a large palace cannot be so suddenly transported as yours has been, without causing great fright and apprehension i would have you tell me all that has happened, and conceal nothing from me." the princess, who took great pleasure in giving the sultan the satisfaction he demanded, said, "if i appear so little altered, i beg of your majesty to consider that i received new life yesterday morning by the presence of my dear husband and deliverer alla ad deen, whom i looked upon and bewailed as lost to me; and the happiness of seeing and embracing of whom has almost recovered me to my former state of health. my greatest suffering was only to find myself forced from your majesty and my dear husband; not only from the love i bore my husband, but from the uneasiness i laboured under through fear that he, though innocent, might feel the effects of your anger, to which i knew he was left exposed. i suffered but little from the insolence of the wretch who had carried me off; for having secured the ascendant over him, i always put a stop to his disagreeable overtures, and was as little constrained as i am at present. "as to what relates to my transportation, alla ad deen had no concern in it; i was myself the innocent cause of it." to persuade the sultan of the truth of what she said, she gave him a full account of how the african magician had disguised himself, and offered to change new lamps for old ones; how she had amused herself in making that exchange, being entirely ignorant of the secret and importance of the wonderful lamp; how the palace and herself were carried away and transported into africa, with the african magician, who was recognised by two of her women and the eunuch who made the exchange of the lamp, when he had the audacity, after the success of his daring enterprise, to propose himself for her husband; how he persecuted her till alla ad deen's arrival; how they had concerted measures to get the lamp from him again, and the success they had fortunately met with by her dissimulation in inviting him to supper, and giving him the cup with the powder prepared for him. "for the rest," added she, "i leave it to alla ad deen to recount." alla ad deen had not much to tell the sultan, but only said, "when the private door was opened i went up into the great hall, where i found the magician lying dead on the sofa, and as i thought it not proper for the princess to stay there any longer, i desired her to go down into her own apartment, with her women and eunuchs. as soon as i was alone, and had taken the lamp out of the magician's breast, i made use of the same secret he had done, to remove the palace, and carry off the princess; and by that means the palace was re-conveyed to the place where it stood before; and i have the happiness to restore the princess to your majesty, as you commanded me. but that your majesty may not think that i impose upon you, if you will give yourself the trouble to go up into the hall, you may see the magician punished as he deserved." the sultan, to be assured of the truth, rose instantly, and went into the hall, where, when he saw the african magician dead, and his face already livid by the strength of the poison, he embraced alla ad deen with great tenderness, and said, "my son, be not displeased at my proceedings against you; they arose from my paternal love; and therefore you ought to forgive the excesses to which it hurried me." "sir," replied alla ad deen, "i have not the least reason to complain of your majesty's conduct, since you did nothing but what your duty required. this infamous magician, the basest of men, was the sole cause of my misfortune. when your majesty has leisure, i will give you an account of another villanous action he was guilty of towards me, which was no less black and base than this, from which i was preserved by the providence of god in a very miraculous way." "i will take an opportunity, and that very shortly," replied the sultan, "to hear it; but in the mean time let us think only of rejoicing, and the removal of this odious object." alla ad deen ordered the magician's corpse to be removed and thrown upon a dunghill, for birds and beasts to prey upon. in the mean time, the sultan commanded the drums, trumpets, cymbals, and other instruments of music to announce his joy to the public, and a festival of ten days to be proclaimed for the return of the princess and alla ad deen. thus alla ad deen escaped once more the almost inevitable danger of losing his life; but this was not the last, since he ran as great a hazard a third time. the african magician had a younger brother, who was equally skilful as a necromancer, and even surpassed him in villany and pernicious designs. as they did not live together, or in the same city, but oftentimes when one was in the east, the other was in the west, they failed not every year to inform themselves, by their art, each where the other resided, and whether they stood in need of one another's assistance. some time after the african magician had failed in his enterprise against alla ad deen, his younger brother, who had heard no tidings of him, and was not in africa, but in a distant country, had the wish to know in what part of the world he sojourned, the state of his health, and what he was doing; and as he, as well as his brother, always carried a geomantic square instrument about him, he prepared the sand, cast the points, and drew the figures. on examining the planetary mansions, he found that his brother was no longer living, but had been poisoned; and by another observation, that he was in the capital of the kingdom of china; also that the person who had poisoned him was of mean birth, though married to a princess, a sultan's daughter. when the magician had informed himself of his brother's fate, he lost no time in useless regret, which could not restore him to life; but resolving immediately to revenge his death, departed for china; where, after crossing plains, rivers, mountains, deserts, and a long tract of country without delay, he arrived after incredible fatigues. when he came to the capital of china, he took a lodging. the next day he walked through the town, not so much to observe the beauties, which were indifferent to him, as to take proper measures to execute his pernicious designs. he introduced himself into the most frequented places, where he listened to everybody's discourse. in a place where people resort to divert themselves with games of various kinds, and where some were conversing, while others played, he heard some persons talk of the virtue and piety of a woman called fatima, who was retired from the world, and of the miracles she wrought. as he fancied that this woman might be serviceable to him in the project he had conceived, he took one of the company aside, and requested to be informed more particularly who that holy woman was, and what sort of miracles she performed. "what!" said the person whom he addressed, "have you never seen or heard of her? she is the admiration of the whole town, for her fasting, her austerities, and her exemplary life. except mondays and fridays, she never stirs out of her little cell; and on those days on which she comes into the town she does an infinite deal of good; for there is not a person that has the headache but is cured by her laying her hand upon them." the magician wanted no further information. he only asked the person in what part of the town this holy woman's cell was situated. after he had informed himself on this head, he determined on the detestable design of murdering her and assuming her character. with this view he watched all her steps the first day she went out after he had made this inquiry, without losing sight of her till evening, when he saw her re-enter her cell. when he had fully observed the place, he went to one of those houses where they sell a certain hot liquor, and where any person may pass the night, particularly in the great heats, when the people of that country prefer lying on a mat to a bed. about midnight, after the magician had satisfied the master of the house for what little he had called for, he went out, and proceeded directly to the cell of fatima. he had no difficulty to open the door, which was only fastened with a latch, and he shut it again after he had entered, without any noise. when he entered the cell, he perceived fatima by moonlight lying in the air on a sofa covered only by an old mat, with her head leaning against the wall. he awakened her, and clapped a dagger to her breast. the pious fatima opening her eyes, was much surprised to see a man with a dagger at her breast ready to stab her, and who said to her, "if you cry out, or make the least noise, i will kill you; but get up, and do as i shall direct you." fatima, who had lain down in her habit, got up, trembling with fear. "do not be so much frightened," said the magician; "i only want your habit, give it me and take mine." accordingly fatima and he changed clothes. he then said to her, "colour my face, that i may be like you;" but perceiving that the poor creature could not help trembling, to encourage her he said, "i tell you again you need not fear anything: i swear by the name of god i will not take away your life." fatima lighted her lamp, led him into the cell, and dipping a soft brush in a certain liquor, rubbed it over his face, assured him the colour would not change, and that his face was of the same hue as her own: after which, she put her own head-dress on his head, also a veil, with which she shewed him how to hide his face as he passed through the town. after this, she put a long string of beads about his neck, which hung down to the middle of his body, and giving him the stick she used to walk with in his hand, brought him a looking- glass, and bade him look if he was not as like her as possible. the magician found himself disguised as he wished to be; but he did not keep the oath he so solemnly swore to the good fatima; but instead of stabbing her, for fear the blood might discover him, he strangled her; and when he found she was dead, threw her body into a cistern just by the cell. the magician, thus disguised like the holy woman fatima, spent the remainder of the night in the cell. the next morning, two hours after sunrise, though it was not a day the holy woman used to go out on, he crept out of the cell, being well persuaded that nobody would ask him any questions; or, if they should, he had an answer ready for them. as one of the first things he did after his arrival was to find out alla ad deen's palace, where he was to complete his designs, he went directly thither. as soon as the people saw the holy woman, as they imagined him to be, they presently gathered about him in a great crowd. some begged his blessing, others kissed his hand, and others, more reserved, only the hem of his garment; while others, whether their heads ached, or they wished to be preserved against that disorder, stooped for him to lay his hands upon them; which he did, muttering some words in form of prayer; and, in short, counterfeited so well, that everybody took him for the holy woman. after frequently stopping to satisfy people of this description, who received neither good nor harm from this imposition of hands, he came at last to the square before alla ad deen's palace. the crowd was so great that the eagerness to get at him increased in proportion. those who were the most zealous and strong forced their way through the crowd. there were such quarrels, and so great a noise, that the princess, who was in the hall of four- and-twenty windows, heard it, and asked what was the matter; but nobody being able to give her an answer, she ordered them to inquire and inform her. one of her women looked out of a window, and then told her it was a great crowd of people collected about the holy woman to be cured of the headache by the imposition of her hands. the princess, who had long heard of this holy woman, but had never seen her, was very desirous to have some conversation with her, which the chief of the eunuchs perceiving, told her it was an easy matter to bring her to her, if she desired and commanded it; and the princess expressing her wishes, he immediately sent four eunuchs for the pretended holy woman. as soon as the crowd saw the eunuchs, they made way, and the magician perceiving also that they were coming for him, advanced to meet them, overjoyed to find his plot proceeded so well. "holy woman," said one of the eunuchs, "the princess wants to see you, and has sent us for you." "the princess does me too great an honour," replied the false fatima; "i am ready to obey her command," and at the same time followed the eunuchs to the palace. when the magician, who under a holy garment disguised a wicked heart, was introduced into the great hall, and perceived the princess, he began a prayer, which contained a long enumeration of vows and good wishes for the princess's health and prosperity, and that she might have every thing she desired. he then displayed all his hypocritical rhetoric, to insinuate himself into the princess's favour under the cloak of piety, which it was no hard matter for him to do; for as the princess herself was naturally good, she was easily persuaded that all the world were like her, especially those who made profession of serving god in solitude. when the pretended fatima had finished his long harangue, the princess said to him, "i thank you, good mother, for your prayers: i have great confidence in them, and hope god will hear them. come, and sit by me." the false fatima sat down with affected modesty: the princess then resuming her discourse, said, "my good mother, i have one thing to request, which you must not refuse me; it is to stay with me, that you may edify me with your way of living; and that i may learn from your good example how to serve god." "princess," said the counterfeit fatima, "i beg of you not to ask what i cannot consent to, without neglecting my prayers and devotion." "that shall be no hinderance to you," answered the princess; "i have a great many apartments unoccupied; you shall choose which you like best, and have as much liberty to perform your devotions as if you were in your own cell." the magician, who desired nothing more than to introduce himself into the palace, where it would be a much easier matter for him to execute his designs, under the favour and protection of the princess, than if he had been forced to come and go from the cell to the palace, did not urge much to excuse himself from accepting the obliging offer which the princess made him. "princess," said he, "whatever resolution a poor wretched woman as i am may have made me renounce the pomp and grandeur of this world, i dare not presume to oppose the will and commands of so pious and charitable a princess." upon this the princess, rising up, said, "come with me, i will shew you what vacant apartments i have, that you may make choice of that you like best." the magician followed the princess, and of all the apartments she shewed him, made choice of that which was the worst furnished, saying it was too good for him, and that he only accepted of it to please her. afterwards the princess would have brought him back again into the great hall to make him dine with her; but he considering that he should then be obliged to shew his face, which he had always taken care to conceal; and fearing that the princess should find out that he was not fatima, he begged of her earnestly to excuse him, telling her that he never ate anything but bread and dried fruits, and desiring to eat that slight repast in his own apartment. the princess granted his request, saying, "you may be as free here, good mother, as if you were in your own cell: i will order you a dinner, but remember i expect you as soon as you have finished your repast." after the princess had dined, and the false fatima had been informed by one of the eunuchs that she was risen from table, he failed not to wait upon her. "my good mother," said the princess, "i am overjoyed to have the company of so holy a woman as yourself, who will confer a blessing upon this palace. but now i am speaking of the palace, pray how do you like it? and before i shew it all to you, tell me first what you think of this hall." upon this question, the counterfeit fatima, who, to act his part the better, affected to hang down his head, without so much as ever once lifting it, at last looked up, and surveyed the hall from one end to the other. when he had examined it well, he said to the princess, "as far as such a solitary being as i am, who am unacquainted with what the world calls beautiful, can judge, this hall is truly admirable and most beautiful; there wants but one thing." "what is that, good mother?" demanded the princess; "tell me, i conjure you. for my part, i always believed, and have heard say, it wanted nothing; but if it does, it shall be supplied." "princess," said the false fatima, with great dissimulation, "forgive me the liberty i have taken; but my opinion is, if it can be of any importance, that if a roe's egg were hung up in the middle of the dome, this hall would have no parallel in the four quarters of the world, and your palace would be the wonder of the unit verse." "my good mother," said the princess, "what bird is a roe, and where may one get an egg?" "princess," replied the pretended fatima, "it is a bird of prodigious size, which inhabits the summit of mount caucasus; the architect who built your palace can get you one." after the princess had thanked the false fatima for what she believed her good advice, she conversed with her upon other matters; but could not forget the roe's egg, which she resolved to request of alla ad deen when he returned from hunting. he had been gone six days, which the magician knew, and therefore took advantage of his absence; but he returned that evening after the false fatima had taken leave of the princess, and retired to his apartment. as soon as he arrived, he went directly to the princess's apartment, saluted and embraced her, but she seemed to receive him coldly. "my princess," said he, "i think you are not so cheerful as you used to be; has any thing happened during my absence, which has displeased you, or given you any trouble or dissatisfaction in the name of god, do not conceal it from me; i will leave nothing undone that is in my power to please you." "it is a trifling matter," replied the princess, "which gives me so little concern that i could not have thought you could have perceived it in my countenance; but since you have unexpectedly discovered some alteration, i will no longer disguise a matter of so little consequence from you." "i always believed," continued the princess," that our palace was the most superb, magnificent, and complete in the world: but i will tell you now what i find fault with, upon examining the hall of four-and-twenty windows. do not you think with me, that it would be complete if a roe's egg were hung up in the midst of the dome?" "princess," replied alla ad deen, "it is enough that you think there wants such an ornament; you shall see by the diligence used to supply that deficiency, that there is nothing which i would not do for your sake." alla ad deen left the princess buddir al buddoor that moment, and went up into the hall of four-and-twenty windows, where pulling out of his bosom the lamp, which, after the danger he had been exposed to, he always carried about him, he rubbed it; upon which the genie immediately appeared. "genie," said alla ad deen, "there wants a roe's egg to be hung up in the midst of the dome; i command thee, in the name of this lamp, to repair the deficiency." alla ad deen had no sooner pronounced these words, than the genie gave so loud and terrible a cry, that the hall shook, and alla ad deen could scarcely stand upright. "what! wretch," said the genie, in a voice that would have made the most undaunted man tremble, "is it not enough that i and my companions have done every thing for you, but you, by an unheard-of ingratitude, must command me to bring my master, and hang him up in the midst of this dome? this attempt deserves that you, your wife, and your palace, should be immediately reduced to ashes: but you are happy that this request does not come from yourself. know then, that the true author is the brother of the african magician, your enemy, whom you have destroyed as he deserved. he is now in your palace, disguised in the habit of the holy woman fatima, whom he has murdered; and it is he who has suggested to your wife to make this pernicious demand. his design is to kill you, therefore take care of yourself." after these words, the genie disappeared. alla ad deen lost not a word of what the genie had said. he had heard talk of the holy woman fatima, and how she pretended to cure the headache. he returned to the princess's apartment, and without mentioning a word of what had happened, sat down, and complained of a great pain which had suddenly seized his head; upon which the princess ordered the holy woman to be called, and then told him how she had invited her to the palace, and that she had appointed her an apartment. when the pretended fatima came, alla ad deen said, "come hither, good mother; i am glad to see you here at so fortunate a time; i am tormented with a violent pain in my head, and request your assistance, by the confidence i have in your good prayers, and hope you will not refuse me that favour which you do to so many persons afflicted with this complaint." so saying, he arose, but held down his head. the counterfeit fatima advanced towards him, with his hand all the time on a dagger concealed in his girdle under his gown; which alla ad deen observing, he seized his hand before he had drawn it, pierced him to the heart with his own dagger, and then pushed him down on the floor. "my dear husband, what have you done?" cried the princess in surprise. "you have killed the holy woman." "no, my princess," answered alla ad deen, with emotion, "i have not killed fatima, but a villain, who would have assassinated me, if i had not prevented him. this wicked wretch," added he, uncovering his face, "has strangled fatima, whom you accuse me of killing, and disguised himself in her clothes with intent to murder me: but that you may know him better, he is brother to the african magician." alla ad deen then informed her how he came to know these particulars, and afterwards ordered the dead body to be taken away. thus was alla ad deen delivered from the persecution of two brothers, who were magicians. within a few years afterwards, the sultan died in a good old age, and as he left no male children, the princess buddir al buddoor, as lawful heir of the throne, succeeded him, and communicating the power to alla ad deen, they reigned together many years, and left a numerous and illustrious posterity. adventure of the caliph haroon al rusheed. the caliph haroon al rusheed was one day suffering from depression of spirits, when his faithful and favourite grand vizier jaaffier came to him. this minister finding him alone, which was seldom the case, and perceiving as he approached that he was in a very melancholy humour, and never lifted up his eyes, stopped till he should vouchsafe to look at him. at last the caliph turned his eyes towards him, but presently withdrew them again, and remained in the same posture motionless as before. the grand vizier, observing nothing in the caliph's eyes which regarded him personally, took the liberty to speak to him, and said, "commander of the faithful, will your majesty give me leave to ask whence proceeds this melancholy, of which you always seemed to me so little susceptible?" "indeed, vizier," answered the caliph, brightening up his countenance, "i am very little subject to it, and had not perceived it but for you, but i will remain no longer in this hippish mood. if no new affair brought you hither, you will gratify me by inventing something to dispel it." "commander of the faithful," replied the grand vizier, "my duty obliged me to wait on you, and i take the liberty to remind your majesty, that this is the day which you have appointed to inform yourself of the good government of your capital and its environs; and this occasion very opportunely presents itself to dispel those clouds which obscure your natural gaiety." "you do well to remind me," replied the caliph, "for i had entirely forgotten it; go and change your dress, while i do the same." they each put on the habit of a foreign merchant, and under that disguise went out by a private door of the palace-garden, which led into the country. after they had gone round part of the city to the banks of the euphrates, at some distance from the walls, without having observed anything disorderly, they crossed the river in the first boat they met, and making a tour on the other side, crossed the bridge, which formed the communication betwixt the two parts of the town. at the foot of this bridge they met an old blind man, who asked alms of them; the caliph turned about, and put a piece of gold into his hand. the blind man instantly caught hold of his hand, and stopped him; "charitable person," said he, "whoever you are, whom god hath inspired to bestow alms on me, do not refuse the favour i ask of you, to give me a box on the ear, for i deserve that, and a greater punishment." having thus spoken, he let the caliph's hand go, that he might strike, but for fear he should pass on without doing it, held him fast by his clothes. the caliph, surprised both at the words and action of the blind man, said, "i cannot comply with your request. i will not lessen the merit of my charity, by treating you as you would have me." after these words, he endeavoured to get away from the blind man. the blind man, who expected this reluctance of his benefactor, exerted himself to detain him. "sir," said he, "forgive my boldness and importunity; i desire you would either give me a box on the ear, or take your alms back again, for i cannot receive it but on that condition, without breaking a solemn oath, which i have sworn to god; and if you knew the reason, you would agree with me that the punishment is very slight." the caliph, unwilling to be detained any longer, yielded to the importunity of the blind man, and gave him a very slight blow: whereupon he immediately let him go, thanked and blessed him. when the caliph and vizier had got so me small distance from the blind man, the caliph said to jaaffier, "this blind man must certainly have some very uncommon reasons, which make him behave himself in this manner to all who give him alms. i should be glad to know them; therefore return, tell him who i am, and bid him not fail to come to my palace about prayer-time in the afternoon of to-morrow, that i may have some conversation with him." the grand vizier returned, bestowed his alms on the blind man, and after he had given him a box on the ear, told him the caliph's order, and then returned to the caliph. when they came into the town, they found in a square a great crowd of spectators, looking at a handsome well-shaped young man, who was mounted on a mare, which he drove and urged full speed round the place, spurring and whipping the poor creature so barbarously, that she was all over sweat and blood. the caliph, amazed at the inhumanity of the rider, stopped to ask the people if they knew why he used the mare so ill; but could learn nothing, except that for some time past he had every day, at the same hour, treated her in the same manner. at they went along, the caliph bade the grand vizier take particular notice of the place, and not fail to order the young man to attend the next day at the hour appointed to the blind man. but before the caliph got to his palace, he observed in a street, which he had not passed through a long time before, an edifice newly built, which seemed to him to be the palace of some one of the great lords of the court. he asked the grand vizier if he knew to whom it belonged; who answered he did not, but would inquire; and thereupon asked a neighbour, who told him that the house was that of one khaujeh hassan, surnamed al hubbaul, on account of his original trade of rope-making, which he had seen him work at himself, when poor; that without knowing how fortune had favoured him, he supposed he must have acquired great wealth, as he defrayed honourably and splendidly the expenses he had been at in building. the grand vizier rejoined the caliph, and gave him a full account of what he had heard. "i must see this fortunate rope-maker," said the caliph, "therefore go and tell him to come to my palace at the same hour you have ordered the other two." accordingly the vizier obeyed. the next day, after afternoon prayers, the caliph retired to his own apartment, when the grand vizier introduced the three persons we have been speaking of, and presented them to the caliph. they all three prostrated themselves before the throne, and when they rose up, the caliph asked the blind man his name, who answered, it was baba abdoollah. "baba abdoollah," replied the caliph, "your manner of asking alms seemed so strange to me yesterday, that if it had not been for some private considerations i should not have complied with your request, but should have prevented you from giving any more offence to the public. i ordered you to come hither, to know from yourself what could have induced you to make the indiscreet oath you told me of, that i may judge whether you have done well, and if i ought to suffer you to continue a practice that appears to me to set so ill an example. tell me freely how so extravagant a thought came into your head, and do not disguise any thing from me, for i will absolutely know the truth." baba abdoollah, intimidated by this reprimand, cast himself a second time at the foot of the caliph's throne, with his face to the ground, and when he rose up, said, "commander of the faithful, i most humbly ask your majesty's pardon for my presumption, in daring to have required, and almost forced you to do a thing which indeed appears so contrary to reason. i acknowledge my offence, but as i did not then know your majesty, i implore your clemency, and hope you will consider my ignorance. "as to the extravagance of my action, i own it, and own also that it must seem strange to mankind; but in the eye of god it is a slight penance i have enjoined myself for an enormous crime of which i have been guilty, and for which, if all the people in the world were each to give me a box on the ear, it would not be a sufficient atonement. your majesty will judge of this yourself, when, in telling my story, in obedience to your commands i shall inform you what that heinous crime was." the story of baba abdoollah. commander of the faithful, i was born at bagdad, had a moderate fortune left me by my father and mother, who died within a few days of each other. though i was then but young, i did not squander away my fortune as most young men do, in idle expenses and debauchery; on the contrary, i neglected no opportunity to increase it by my industry. at last i became rich enough to purchase fourscore camels, which i let out to merchants for caravans, who paid me well for every journey i went with them throughout the extent of your majesty's dominions. in the midst of this prosperity, and with an ardent desire of growing much richer, as i was returning one day with my camels unloaded from bussorah, whither i had carried some bales that were to be embarked for the indies, i met with good pasturage, at some distance from any habitation; made a halt, and let my beasts graze for some time. while i was seated, a dervish, who was walking to bussorah, came and sat down by me to rest himself: i asked him whence he came, and where he was going; he put the same questions to me: and when we had satisfied each other's curiosity, we produced our provisions and ate together. during our repast, after we had talked on many indifferent subjects, the dervish told me that he knew of a spot a small distance from thence, where there were such immense riches, that if all my fourscore camels were loaded with the gold and jewels that might be taken from it, they would not be missed. this intelligence surprised and charmed me; and i was so overjoyed, that i could scarcely contain myself. i could not believe that the dervish was capable of telling me a falsehood; therefore i fell upon his neck, and said, "good dervish, i know you value not the riches of this world, therefore of what service can the knowledge of this treasure be to you? you are alone, and cannot carry much of it away; shew me where it is, i will load all my camels, and as an acknowledgment of the favour done me, will present you with one of them." indeed i offered very little, but after he had communicated the secret to me, my desire of riches was become so violent, that i thought it a great deal, and looked upon the seventy-nine camel loads which i reserved for myself as nothing in comparison of what i allowed him. the dervish, though he saw my avarice, was not however angry at the unreasonable return i proposed to make him, but replied without the least concern, "you are sensible, brother, that what you offer me is not proportionable to the valuable favour you ask of me. i might have chosen whether i would communicate my secret to you or not, and have kept the treasure to myself: but what i have told you is sufficient to shew my good intentions; it is in my power to oblige you, and make both our fortunes. i have, however, another proposition more just and equitable to make to you; it lies in your own breast whether or no you will agree to it. "you say," continued the dervish, "that you have fourscore camels: i am ready to conduct you to the place where the treasure lies, and we will load them with as much jewels and gold as they can carry, on condition that when they are so loaded you will let me have one half, and you be contented with the other; after which we will separate, and take our camels where we may think fit. you see there is nothing but what is strictly equitable in this division; for if you give me forty camels, you will procure by my means wherewithal to purchase thousands." i could not but agree there was a great deal of justice in what the dervish said: but without considering what riches i should gain in accepting of the condition he proposed, i could not without reluctance think of parting with my forty camels, especially when i reflected that the dervish would then be as rich as myself. avarice made me unmindful that i was beforehand making an ungrateful return for a favour, purely gratuitous. but there was no time to hesitate; i must either accept of the proposal, or resolve to repent all my lifetime of losing, by my own fault, an opportunity of obtaining an immense fortune. that instant i collected all my camels, and after we had travelled some time, we came into a valley, the pass into which was so narrow, that two camels could not go a-breast. the two mountains which bounded this valley formed nearly a circle, but were so high, craggy, and steep, that there was no fear of our being seen by any body. when we came between these two mountains, the dervish said to me, "stop your camels, make them kneel that we may load them the easier, and i will proceed to discover the treasure." i did as the dervish directed; and going to him soon after, found him with a match in one hand, gathering sticks to light a fire; which he had no sooner done, than he cast some incense into it, and pronouncing certain words which i did not understand, there presently arose a thick cloud. he divided this cloud, when the rock, though of a prodigious perpendicular height, opened like two folding doors, and exposed to view a magnificent palace in the hollow of the mountain, which i supposed to be rather the workmanship of genii than of men; for man could hardly have attempted such a bold and surprising work. but this, i must tell your majesty, was an afterthought which did not occur to me at the moment; so eager was i for the treasures which displayed themselves to my view, that i did not even stop to admire the magnificent columns and arcades which i saw on all sides; and, without attention to the regularity with which the treasures were ranged, like an eagle seizing her prey, i fell upon the first heap of golden coin that was near me. my sacks were all large, and with my good will i would have filled them all; but i was obliged to proportion my burden to the strength of my camels. the dervish did the same; but i perceived he paid more attention to the jewels, and when he told me the reason, i followed his example, so that we took away much more jewels than gold. when we had filled our sacks, and loaded our camels, we had nothing left to do but to shut up the treasure and go our way. but before we parted, the dervish went again into the treasury, where there were a great many wrought vessels of gold of different forms. i observed that he took out of one of these vessels a little box of a certain wood, which i knew not, and put it into his breast; but first shewed me that it contained only a kind of glutinous ointment. the dervish used the same incantations to shut the treasury as he had done to open it; and after he pronounced certain words, the doors closed, and the rock seemed as solid and entire as before. we now divided our camels. i put myself at the head of the forty which i had reserved for myself, and the dervish placed himself at the head of the rest which i had given him. we came out of the valley by the way we had entered, and travelled together till we came to the great road, where we were to part; the dervish to go to bussorah, and i to bagdad. to thank him for so great a kindness, i made use of the most expressive terms, testifying my gratitude for the preference he had given me before all other men in letting me have a share of such riches. we embraced each other with great joy, and taking our leave, pursued our different routes. i had not gone far, following my camels, which paced quietly on in the track i had put them into, before the demon of ingratitude and envy took possession of my heart, and i deplored the loss of my other forty, but much more the riches wherewith they were loaded. "the dervish," said i to myself, "has no occasion for all this wealth, since he is master of the treasure, and may have as much as he pleases;" so i gave myself up to the blackest ingratitude, and determined immediately to take the camels with their loading from him. to execute this design, i first stopped my own camels, then ran after the dervish, and called to him as loud as i could, giving him to understand that i had something material to say to him, and made a sign to him to stop, which he accordingly did. when i came up to him, i said, "brother, i had no sooner parted from you, but a thought came into my head, which neither of us had reflected on before. you are a recluse dervish, used to live in tranquillity, disengaged from all the cares of the world, and intent only upon serving god. you know not, perhaps, what trouble you have taken upon yourself, to take care of so many camels. if you would take my advice, you would keep but thirty; you will find them sufficiently troublesome to manage. take my word; i have had experience." "i believe you are right," replied the dervish, who found he was not able to contend with me;" i own i never thought of this. i begin already to be uneasy at what you have stated. choose which ten you please, and take them, and go on in god's keeping." i set ten apart, and after i had driven them off, i put them in the road to follow my others. i could not have imagined that the dervish would be so easily persuaded to part with his camels, which increased my covetousness, and made me flatter myself, that it would be no hard matter to get ten more: wherefore, instead of thanking him for his present, i said to him again; "brother, the interest i take in your repose is so great, that i cannot resolve to part from you without desiring you to consider once more how difficult a thing it is to govern thirty loaded camels, especially for you who are not used to such work: you will find it much better to return me as many more back as you have done already. what i tell you is not for my own sake and interest, but to do you the greater kindness. ease yourself then of the camels, and leave them to me, who can manage a hundred as well as one." my discourse had the desired effect upon the dervish, who gave me, without any hesitation, the other ten camels; so that he had but twenty left and i was master of sixty, and might boast of greater riches than any sovereign princes. any one would have thought i should now have been content; but as a person afflicted with a dropsy, the more he drinks the more thirsty he is, so i became more greedy and desirous of the other twenty camels. i redoubled my solicitations and importunities, to make the dervish condescend to grant me ten of the twenty, which he did with a good grace: and as to the other ten he had left, i embraced him, kissed his feet, and caressed him, conjuring him not to refuse me, but to complete the obligation i should ever have to him, so that at length he crowned my joy, by giving me them also. "make a good use of them, brother," said the dervish, "and remember that god can take away riches as well as give them, if we do not assist the poor, whom he suffers to be in want, on purpose that the rich may merit by their charity a recompense in the other world." my infatuation was so great that i could not profit by such wholesome advice. i was not content, though i had my forty camels again, and knew they were loaded with an inestimable treasure. but a thought came into my head, that the little box of ointment which the dervish shewed me had something in it more precious than all the riches which i was obliged to him for: the place from whence the dervish took it, said i to myself, and his care to secure it, makes me believe there is something mysterious in it. this determined me to obtain it. i had just embraced him and bade him adieu; but as i turned about from him, i said, "what will you do with that little box of ointment? it seems such a trifle, it is not worth your carrying away. i entreat you to make me a present of it; for what occasion has a dervish, as you are, who has renounced the vanities of the world, for perfumes, or scented ointments?" would to heaven he had refused me that box; but if he had, i was stronger than he, and resolved to have taken it from him by force; that for my complete satisfaction it might not be said he had carried away the smallest part of the treasure. the dervish, far from denying me, readily pulled it out of his bosom, and presenting it to me with the best grace in the world, said, "here, take it, brother, and be content; if i could do more for you, you needed but to have asked me; i should have been ready to satisfy you." when i had the box in my hand, i opened it, and looking at the ointment, said to him, "since you are so good, i am sure you will not refuse me the favour to tell me the particular use of this ointment." "the use is very surprising and wonderful," replied the dervish: "if you apply a little of it round the left eye, and upon the lid, you will see at once all the treasures contained in the bosom of the earth; but if you apply it to the right eye, it will make you blind." "i would make the experiment myself. take the box," said i to the dervish, "and apply some to my left eye. you understand how to do it better than i, and i long to experience what seems so incredible." accordingly i shut my left eye, and the dervish took the trouble to apply the unguent; i opened my eye, and was convinced he had told me truth. i saw immense treasures, and such prodigious riches, so diversified, that it is impossible for me to give an account of them; but as i was obliged to keep my right eye shut with my hand, and that tired me, i desired the dervish to apply some of the pomatum to that eye. "i am ready to do it," said the dervish; "but you must remember what i told you, that if you put any of it upon your right eye, you would immediately be blind; such is the virtue of the ointment." far from being persuaded of the truth of what the dervish said, i imagined, on the contrary, that there was some new mystery, which he meant to hide from me. "brother," replied i, smiling, "i see plainly you wish to mislead me; it is not natural that this ointment should have two such contrary effects." "the matter is as i tell you," replied the dervish, taking the name of god to bear witness; "you ought to believe me, for i cannot disguise the truth." i would not believe the dervish, who spoke like an honest man. my insurmountable desire of seeing at my will all the treasures in the world and perhaps of enjoying those treasures to the extent i coveted, had such an effect upon me, that i could not hearken to his remonstrances, nor be persuaded of what was however but too true, as to my lasting misfortune i soon experienced. i persuaded myself that if the ointment, by being applied to the left eye, had the virtue of shewing me all the treasures of the earth, by being applied to the right, it might have the power of putting them in my disposal. possessed with this thought, i obstinately pressed the dervish to apply the ointment to my right eye; but he as positively refused. "brother," said he, "after l have done you so much service, i cannot resolve to do you so great an injury; consider with yourself what a misfortune it is to be deprived of one's eye-sight: do not reduce me to the hard necessity of obliging you in a thing which you will repent of all your life." i persisted in my obstinacy, and said to him in strong terms, "brother, i earnestly desire you to lay aside all your difficulties. you have granted me most generously all that i have asked of you hitherto, and would you have me go away dissatisfied with you at last about a thing of so little consequence? for god's sake grant me this last favour; whatever happens i will not lay the blame on you, but take it upon myself alone." the dervish made all the resistance possible, but seeing that i was able to force him to do it, he said, "since you will absolutely have it so, i will satisfy you;" and thereupon he took a little of the fatal ointment, and applied it to my right eye, which i kept shut; but alas! when i came to open it, i could distinguish nothing with either eye but thick darkness, and became blind as you see me now. "ah! dervish," i exclaimed in agony, "what you forewarned me of has proved but too true. fatal curiosity," added i, "insatiable desire of riches, into what an abyss of miseries have they cast me! i am now sensible what a misfortune i have brought upon myself; but you, dear brother," cried i, addressing myself to the dervish, "who are so charitable and good, among the many wonderful secrets you are acquainted with, have you not one to restore to me my sight again?" "miserable wretch!" answered the dervish, "if you would have been advised by me, you would have avoided this misfortune, but you have your deserts; the blindness of your mind was the cause of the loss of your eyes. it is true i have secrets, some of which, during the short time we have been together, you have by my liberality witnessed; but i have none to restore to you your sight. pray to god, therefore, if you believe there is one; it is he alone that can restore it to you. he gave you riches, of which you were unworthy, on that account takes them from you again, and will by my hands give them to men not so ungrateful as yourself." the dervish said no more, and i had nothing to reply. he left me to myself overwhelmed with confusion, and plunged in inexpressible grief. after he had collected my camels, he drove them away, and pursued the road to bussorah. i cried out loudly as he was departing, and entreated him not to leave me in that miserable condition, but to conduct me at least to the first caravanserai; but he was deaf to my prayers and entreaties. thus deprived of sight and all i had in the world, i should have died with affliction and hunger, if the next day a caravan returning from bussorah had not received me charitably, and brought me back to bagdad. after this manner was i reduced without remedy from a condition worthy the envy of princes for riches and magnificence, though not for power, to beggary without resource. i had no other way to subsist but by asking charity, which i have done till now. but to expiate my offence against god, i enjoined myself, by way of penance, a box on the ear from every charitable person who should commiserate my condition. "this, commander of the faithful, is the motive which seemed so strange to your majesty yesterday, and for which i ought to incur your indignation. i ask your pardon once more as your slave, and submit to receive the chastisement i deserve. and if you vouchsafe to pronounce any thing beyond the penance i have imposed upon myself, i am ready to undergo it, since i am persuaded you must think it too slight and much too little for my crime." the blind man having concluded his story, the caliph said, "baba abdoollah, your sin has been great; but god be praised, you feel the enormity of your guilt, and your penance proves your repentance. you must continue it, not ceasing to ask of god pardon in every prayer your religion obliges you to say daily: but that you may not be prevented from your devotions by the care of getting your living, i will settle a charity on you during your life, of four silver dirhems a day, which my grand vizier shall give you daily with the penance, therefore do not go away, but wait till he has executed my orders." at these words, baba abdoollah prostrated himself before the caliph's throne, returned him thanks, and wished him all happiness and prosperity. the caliph, very well satisfied with the story of baba abdoollah and the dervish, addressed himself to the young man who used his mare so ill, and asked him his name; to which he replied, it was syed naomaun. "syed naomaun," resumed the caliph, "i have seen horses exercised all my life, and have often exercised them myself, but never in so barbarous a manner as you yesterday treated your mare in the full square, to the great offence of all the spectators, who murmured loudly at your conduct. i myself was not less displeased, and had nearly, contrary to my intention, discovered who i was, to have punished your cruelty. by your air and behaviour you do not seem to be a barbarous or cruel man; and therefore i would fain believe that you had reason for what you did, since i am informed that this was not the first time, but that you practise the same treatment every day. i would know what is the cause, and sent for you for that purpose, that you should tell me the truth, and disguise nothing from me." syed naomaun understood what the caliph demanded of him. the relation was painful to him. he changed colour several times, and could not help shewing how greatly he was embarrassed. however, he must resolve to tell his story; but before he spoke, he prostrated himself before the caliph's throne, and after he rose up, endeavoured to speak to satisfy the caliph, but was so confounded, not so much at the presence of the caliph, as by the nature of his relation, that he was speechless. the caliph, notwithstanding his natural impatience to be obeyed, shewed not the least anger at syed naomaun's silence: he saw plainly, that he either had not assurance to speak before him, or was intimidated by the tone of his voice; or, in short, that there was something to be concealed in his story. "syed naomaun," said the caliph, to encourage him, "recollect yourself, but tell your story as if you were speaking not to me, but to your most familiar friend. if there is any thing in your relation which troubles you, and you think i may be offended at it, i pardon you beforehand: therefore be not uneasy, but speak boldly and freely, and disguise nothing." syed naomaun, encouraged by these words, said, "commander of the faithful, whatever apprehensions a man may be under at your majesty's presence, i am sensible those respectful sensations would not deprive me of the use of my speech, so as to fail in my obedience, in giving you satisfaction in any other matter but this you now ask of me. i dare not say i am the most perfect of men; yet i am not wicked enough to have committed, or to have had an intention of committing any thing against the laws to fear their severity; and yet i cannot say i am exempt from sin through ignorance. in this case i do not say that i depend upon your majesty's pardon, but will submit myself to your justice, and receive the punishment i deserve. i own, that the manner in which i have for some time treated my mare, and which your majesty has witnessed, is strange, and sets an ill example: but i hope you will think the motive well grounded, and that i am more worthy of compassion than chastisement: but not to keep your majesty any longer in suspense by a long preamble, i will tell you my story." the story of syed naomaun. i shall not trouble your majesty with my birth, which is not illustrious enough to merit your attention. for my situation, my parents, by their good economy, left me enough to live on like an honest man, free from ambition, or being burdensome to any one. with these advantages, the only blessing i wanted to render my happiness complete was an amiable wife, who might share them with me; but that was a blessing it did not please god to grant me: on the contrary, it was my misfortune to have one, who, the very next day after our wedding, began to exercise my patience in a manner not to be conceived by any one who has not had the same trial. as it is the custom for us to marry without seeing or knowing whom we are to espouse, your majesty is sensible that a husband has no reason to complain, when he finds that the wife who has been chosen for him is not horribly ugly and deformed, and that her carriage, wit, and behaviour make amends for any slight bodily imperfections. the first time i saw my wife with her face uncovered, after she was brought home with the usual ceremonies to my house, i rejoiced to find that i had not been imposed upon in the description of her person, which pleased me, and she was perfectly agreeable to my inclination. the next day after our wedding, when our dinner was served up, which consisted of several dishes, i went into the room where the cloth was ]aid, and not finding my wife there, ordered her to be called. after making me wait a long time, she came. i dissembled my impatience, we sat down, and i began with the rice, which i took up as usual. on the other hand, my wife, instead of using her hand as everybody does, pulled a little case out of her pocket, and took out of it a kind of bodkin, with which she picked up the rice, and put it into her mouth, grain by grain. surprised at this manner of eating, i said to her, "ameeneh," (which was her name,) "are you used to eat rice so in your family, or do you do it because you are a little eater, or would you count the grains, that you may not eat more at one time than another? if you do it out of frugality, or to teach me not to be extravagant, you have no reason to fear, as i can assure you we shall not ruin ourselves that way. we have, god be thanked! enough to live at our ease, without depriving ourselves of necessaries. do not restrain yourself, my dear ameeneh, but eat as you see me eat." the kind manner in which i made these remonstrances might have produced some obliging answer; but she, without saying a word, continued to eat as she had begun. at last, to make me the more uneasy, she ate a grain of rice at intervals only; and instead of eating any of the other meats with me, she only now and then put some crumbs of bread into her mouth, but not so much as a sparrow would have pecked. i was much provoked at her obstinacy; but yet, to indulge and excuse her, i imagined that she had not been used to eat with men, before whom she might perhaps have been taught to restrain herself; but at the same time thought she carried it too far out of pure simplicity. i fancied again that she might have breakfasted late, or that she might have a wish to eat alone, and more at liberty. these considerations prevented me from saying more to her then, to ruffle her temper, by shewing any sign of dissatisfaction. after dinner i left her, but not with an air that shewed any displeasure. at supper, and the next day, and every time we ate together, she behaved herself in the same manner. i knew it was impossible for a woman to live on so little food as she took, and that there must be some mystery in her conduct, which i did not understand. this made me resolve to dissemble; i appeared to take no notice of her actions, in hopes that time would bring her to live with me as i desired she should. but my hopes were in vain, and it was not long before i was convinced they were so. one night, when ameeneh thought me fast asleep, she got out of bed softly, dressed herself with great precaution, not to make a noise for fear of awaking me. i could not comprehend her design, but curiosity made me feign a sound sleep. as soon as she had dressed herself, she went softly out of the room. when she was gone, i arose, threw my cloak over my shoulders, and had time enough to see from a window that looked into my court- yard, that she opened the street-door and went out. i immediately ran down to the door, which she had left half open, and followed her by moonlight, till i saw her enter a burying- ground just by our house. i got to the end of the wall, taking care not to be seen, and looking over, saw ameeneh with a ghoul. your majesty knows that the ghouls of both sexes are wandering demons, which generally infest old buildings; from whence they rush out, by surprise, on people that pass by, kill them, and eat their flesh; and for want of such prey, will sometimes go in the night into burying-grounds, and feed on dead bodies which they dig up. i was struck with astonishment and horror to see my wife with this ghoul. they dug up a dead body which had been buried but that day, and the ghoul cut off pieces of the flesh, which they ate together by the grave-side, conversing during their shocking and inhuman repast. but i was too far off to hear their discourse, which must have been as strange as their meal, the remembrance of which still makes me shudder. when they had finished this horrible feast, they threw the remains of the dead body into the grave again, and filled it up with the earth which they had dug out. i left them at their work, made haste home, and leaving the door half open as i had found it, went into my chamber, and to bed again, where i pretended to be fast asleep. soon afterwards ameeneh returned without the least noise, undressed herself, and came to bed, rejoicing, as i imagined, that she had succeeded so well without being discovered. my mind was so full of the idea of such an abominable action as i had witnessed, that i felt great reluctance to lie by a person who could have had any share in the guilt of it, and was a long time before i could fall asleep. however, i got a short nap; but waked at the first call to public prayers at day-break, got up, dressed myself, and went to the mosque. after prayers i went out of the town, spent the morning in walking in the gardens, and thinking what i should do to oblige my wife to change her mode of living. i rejected all the violent measures that suggested themselves to my thoughts, and resolved to use gentle means to cure her unhappy and depraved inclination. in this state of reverie i insensibly reached home by dinner- time. as soon as ameeneh saw me enter the house, she ordered dinner to be served up; and as i observed she continued to eat her rice in the same manner, by single grains, i said to her, with all the mildness possible, "you know, ameeneh, what reason i had to be surprised, when the day after our marriage i saw you eat rice in so small a quantity, and in a manner which would have offended any other husband but myself: you know also, i contented myself with telling you that i was uneasy at it, and desired you to eat of the other meats, which i had ordered to be dressed several ways to endeavour to suit your taste, and i am sure my table did not want for variety: but all my remonstrances have had no effect, and you persist in your sullen abstemiousness. i have said nothing, because i would not constrain you, and should be sorry that any thing i now say should make you uneasy; but tell me, ameeneh, i conjure you, are not the meats served up at my table better than the flesh of a human corpse?" i had no sooner pronounced these words than ameeneh, who perceived that i had discovered her last night's horrid voraciousness with the ghoul, flew into a rage beyond imagination. her face became as red as scarlet, her eyes ready to start out of her head, and she foamed with passion. the terrible state in which she appeared alarmed me so much, that i stood motionless, and was not able to defend myself against the horrible wickedness she meditated against me, and which will surprise your majesty. in the violence of her passion, she dipped her hand into a basin of water, which stood by her, and muttering between her teeth some words, which i could not hear, she threw some water in my face, and exclaimed, in a furious tone, "wretch, receive the punishment of thy prying curiosity, and become a dog!" ameeneh, whom i did not before know to be a sorceress, had no sooner pronounced these diabolical words, than i was immediately transformed into a dog. my amazement and surprise at so sudden and unexpected a metamorphosis prevented my thinking at first of providing for my safety. availing herself of this suspense, she took up a great stick, with which she laid on me such heavy blows, that i wonder they did not kill me. i thought to have escaped her rage, by running into the yard; but she pursued me with the same fury, and notwithstanding all my activity i could not avoid her blows. at last, when she was tired of running after and beating me, and enraged that she had not killed me, as she desired, she thought of another method to effect her purpose: she half opened the street-door, that she might endeavour to squeeze me to death, as i ran out to preserve my life. dog as i was, i instantly perceived her pernicious design; and as present danger inspires a presence of mind, to elude her vigilance i watched her face and motions so well, that i took my opportunity, and passed through quick enough to save myself and escape her malice, though she pinched the end of my tail. the pain i felt made me cry out and howl as i ran along the streets, which collected all the dogs about me, and i got bit by several of them; but to avoid their pursuit, i ran into the shop of a man who sold boiled sheep's heads, tongues, and feet, where i saved myself. the man at first took my part with much compassion, by driving away the dogs that followed me, and would have run into his house. my first care was to creep into a corner to hide myself; but i found not the sanctuary and protection i hoped for. my host was one of those extravagantly superstitious persons who think dogs unclean creatures, and if by chance one happens to touch them in the streets, cannot use soap and water enough to wash their garments clean. after the dogs who chased me were all dispersed and gone, he did all he could to drive me out of his house, but i was concealed out of his reach, and spent that night in his shop in spite of him; and indeed i had need of rest to recover from ameeneh's ill-treatment. not to weary your majesty with trifling circumstances, i shall not particularize the melancholy reflections i made on my metamorphosis; but only tell you, that my host having gone out the next morning to lay in a stock of sheep's heads, tongues, and trotters, when he returned, he opened his shop, and while he was laying out his goods, i crept from my corner, and got among some other dogs of the neighbourhood, who had followed my host by the scent of his meat, and surrounded the shop, in expectation of having some offal thrown to them. i joined them, and put myself among them in a begging posture. my host observing me, and considering that i had eaten nothing while i lay in the shop, distinguished me from the rest, by throwing me larger pieces of meat, and oftener than the other dogs. after he had given me as much as he thought fit, i looked at him earnestly, and wagged my tail, to shew him i begged he would repeat his favours. but he was inflexible, and opposed my entrance with a stick in his hand, and with so stern a look, that i felt myself obliged to seek a new habitation. i stopped at the shop of a baker in the neighbourhood, who was of a lively gay temper, quite the reverse of the offal butcher. he was then at breakfast, and though i made no sign that i wanted any thing, threw me a piece of bread. instead of catching it up greedily, as dogs usually do, i looked at him, moving my head and wagging my tail, to shew my gratitude; at which he was pleased, and smiled. though i was not hungry, i ate the piece of bread to please him, and i ate slowly to shew him that it was out of respect to him. he observed this, and permitted me to continue near the shop. i sat down and turned myself to the street, to shew him i then only wanted his protection; which he not only granted, but by his caresses encouraged me to come into the house. this i did in a way that shewed it was with his leave. he was pleased, and pointed me out a place where to lie, of which i took possession, and kept while i lived with him. i was always well treated; and whenever he breakfasted, dined, or supped, i had my share of provisions; and, in return, i loved him, and was faithful, as gratitude required of me. i always had my eyes upon him, and he scarcely stirred out of doors, or went into the city on business, but i was at his heels. i was the more exact, because i perceived my attention pleased him; for whenever he went out, without giving me time to see him, he would call chance, which was the name he gave me. at this name i used to spring from my place, jump, caper, run before the door, and never cease fawning on him, till he went out; and then i always either followed him, or ran before him, continually looking at him to shew my joy. i had lived some time with this baker, when a woman came one day into the shop to buy some bread, who gave my master a piece of bad money among some good, which he returned, and requested her to exchange. the woman refused to take it again, and affirmed it to be good. the baker maintained the contrary, and in the dispute told the woman, he was sure that the piece of money was so visibly bad, that his dog could distinguish it; upon which he called me by name. i immediately jumped on the counter, and the baker throwing the money down before me, said, "see, and tell me which of these pieces is bad?" i looked over all the pieces of money, and then set my paw upon that which was bad, separated it from the rest, looking in my master's face, to shew it him. the baker, who had only called me to banter the woman, was much surprised to see me so immediately pitch upon the bad money. the woman thus convicted had nothing to say for herself, but was obliged to give another piece instead of the bad one. as soon as she was gone, my master called in some neighbours, and enlarged very much on my capacity, telling them what had happened. the neighbours desired to make the experiment, and of all the bad money they shewed me, mixed with good, there was not one which i did not set my paw upon, and separate from the rest. the woman also failed not to tell everybody she met what had happened; so that the fame of my skill in distinguishing good money from bad was not only spread throughout the neighbourhood, but over all that part of the town, and insensibly through the whole city. i had business enough every day; for i was obliged to shew my skill to all customers who came to buy bread of my master. in short, my reputation procured my master more business than he could manage, and brought him customers from the most distant parts of the town; this run of business lasted so long, that he owned to his friends and neighbours, that i was a treasure to him. my little knowledge made many people envy my master's good fortune, and lay snares to steal me away, which obliged him always to keep me in his sight. one day a woman came like the rest out of curiosity to buy some bread, and seeing me sit upon the counter, threw down before me six pieces of money, among which was one that was bad. i separated it presently from the others, and setting my paw upon it, looked in the woman's face, as much as to say, "is it not so?" the woman looking at me replied, "yes, you are in the right, it is bad:" and staying some time in the shop, to look at and admire me, at last paid my master for his bread, but when she went out of the shop, made a sign, unknown to him, for me to follow her. i was always attentive to any means likely to deliver me out of so strange a metamorphosis, and had observed that the woman examined me with an extraordinary attention. i imagined that she might know something of my misfortune, and the melancholy condition i was reduced to: however, i let her go, and contented myself with looking at her. after walking two or three steps, she turned about, and seeing that i only looked at her, without stirring from my place, made me another sign to follow her. without deliberating any longer, and observing that my master was busy cleaning his oven, and did not mind me, i jumped off the counter, and followed the woman, who seemed overjoyed. after we had gone some way, she stopped at a house, opened the door, and called to me to come in, saying, "you will not repent following me." when i had entered, she shut the door, and conduded me to her chamber, where i saw a beautiful young lady working embroidery. this lady, who was daughter to the charitable woman who had brought me from the baker's, was a very skilful enchantress, as i found afterwards. "daughter," said the mother, "i have brought you the much-talked- of baker's dog, that can tell good money from bad. you know i gave you my opinion respecting him when i first heard of him, and told you, i fancied he was a man changed into a dog by some wicked magician. to-day i determined to go to that baker for some bread, and was myself a witness of the wonders performed by this dog, who has made such a noise in bagdad. what say you, daughter, am i deceived in my conjecture?" "mother, you are not," answered the daughter, "and i will disenchant him immediately." the young lady arose from her sofa, put her hand into a basin of water, and throwing some upon me, said, "if thou wert born a dog, remain so, but if thou wert born a man, resume thy former shape, by the virtue of this water." at that instant the enchantment was broken, and i became restored to my natural form. penetrated with the greatness of this kindness, i threw myself at my deliverer's feet; and after i had kissed the hem of her garment, said, "my dear deliverer, i am so sensible of your unparalleled humanity towards a stranger, as i am, that i beg of you to tell me yourself what i can do to shew my gratitude; or rather dispose of me as a slave, to whom you have a just right, since i am no more my own, but entirely yours: and that you may know who i am, i will tell you my story in as few words as possible." after i had informed her who i was, i gave her an account of my marriage with ameeneh, of the complaisance i had shewn her, my patience in bearing with her humour, her extraordinary behaviour, and the savage inhumanity with which she had treated me out of her inconceivable wickedness, and finished my story with my transformation, and thanking her mother for the inexpressible happiness she had procured me. "syed naomaun," said the daughter to me, "let us not talk of the obligation you say you owe me; it is enough for me that i have done any service to so honest a man. but let us talk of ameeneh your wife. i was acquainted with her before your marriage; and as i know her to be a sorceress, she also is sensible that i have some of the same kind of knowledge as herself, since we both learnt it of the same mistress. we often meet at the baths, but as our tempers are different, i avoid all opportunities of contracting an intimacy with her, which is no difficult matter, as she does the same by me. i am not at all surprised at her wickedness: but what i have already done for you is not sufficient; i must complete what i have begun. it is not enough to have broken the enchantment by which she has so long excluded you from the society of men. you must punish her as she deserves, by going home again, and assuming the authority which belongs to you. i will give you the proper means. converse a little with my mother till i return to you." my deliveress went into a closet, and while she was absent, i repeated my obligations to the mother as well as the daughter. she said to me, "you see my daughter has as much skill in the magic art as the wicked ameeneh; but makes such use of it, that you would be surprised to know the good she has done, and daily does, by exercising her science. this induces me to let her practise it; for i should not permit her, if i perceived she made an improper application of it in the smallest instance." the mother then related some of the wonders she had seen her perform: by this time the daughter returned with a little bottle in her hand. "syed naomaun," said she, "my books which i have been consulting tell me that ameeneh is now abroad, but will be at home presently. they also inform me that she pretended before your servants to be very uneasy at your absence, and made them believe, that at dinner you recollected some business which obliged you to go out immediately; that as you went, you left the door open, and a dog running into the hall where she was at dinner, she had beaten him out with a great stick. "take this little bottle, go home immediately, and wait in your own chamber till ameeneh comes in, which she will do shortly. as soon as she returns, run down into the court, and meet her face to face. in her surprise at seeing you so unexpectedly, she will turn her back to run away; have the bottle ready, and throw some of the liquor it contains upon her, pronouncing at the same time these words: â��receive the chastisement of thy wickedness.' i will tell you no more; you will see the effect." after these instructions i took leave of my benefactress, and her mother, with all the testimonies of the most perfect gratitude, and a sincere protestation never to forget my obligation to them; and then went home. all things happened as the beautiful and humane enchantress had foretold. ameeneh was not long before she came home. as she entered the court, i met her with the bottle in my hand. upon seeing me, she shrieked; and as she turned to run towards the door, i threw the liquor upon her, pronouncing the words which the young lady had taught me, when she was instantly transformed into the mare which your majesty saw me upon yesterday. at that instant, owing to the surprise she was in, i easily seized her by the mane, and notwithstanding her resistance, led her into the stable, where i put a halter upon her head, and when i had tied her to the rack, reproaching her with her baseness, i chastised her with a whip till i was tired, and have punished her every day since in the manner which your majesty has witnessed. "i hope, commander of the faithful," concluded syed naomaun, "your majesty will not disapprove of my conduct, but will rather think i have shewn so wicked and pernicious a woman more indulgence than she deserved." when the caliph found that syed naomaun had ended his story, he said to him, "your adventure is very singular, and the wickedness of your wife inexcusable; therefore i do not condemn the chastisement you have hitherto given her; but i would have you consider how great a punishment it is to be reduced to the condition of beasts, and wish you would be content with the chastisement you have already inflicted. i would order you to go and address yourself to the young enchantress, to end the metamorphosis she has inflicted, but that i know the obstinacy and incorrigible cruelty of magicians of both sexes, who abuse their art; which makes me apprehensive that a second effect of your wife's revenge might be more fatal than the first." the caliph, who was naturally mild and compassionate to all criminals, after he had declared his mind to syed naomaun, addressed himself to the third person the grand vizier had summoned to attend him. "khaujeh hassan," said he, "passing yesterday by your house, it seemed so magnificent that i felt a curiosity to know to whom it belonged, and was told that you, whose trade is so mean that a man can scarcely get his bread by it, have built this house after you had followed this trade some years. i was likewise informed that you make a good use of the riches god has blessed you with, and your neighbours speak well of you. "all this pleases me well," added the caliph, "but i am persuaded that the means by which providence has been pleased to bestow these gifts on you must have been very extraordinary. i am curious to know the particulars from your own mouth, and sent for you on purpose to have that satisfaction. speak truly, that when i know your story, i may rejoice in your good fortune. "but that you may not suspect my curiosity, and believe i have any other interest than what i tell you, i declare, that far from having any pretensions, i give you my word you shall enjoy freely all you possess." on these assurances of the caliph, khaujeh hassan prostrated himself before the throne, with his forehead down to the carpet, and when he rose up, said, "commander of the faithful, some persons might have been alarmed at having been summoned to appear before your majesty; but knowing that my conscience was clear, and that i had committed nothing against the laws or your majesty, but, on the contrary, had always the most respectful sentiments and the profoundest veneration for your person, my only fear was, that i should not be able to support the splendour of your presence. but nevertheless on the public report of your majesty's receiving favourably, and hearing the meanest of your subjects, i took courage, and never doubted but i should have confidence enough to give you all the satisfaction you might require of me. besides, your majesty has given me a proof of your goodness, by granting me your protection before you know whether i deserve it. i hope, however, you will retain the favourable sentiments you have conceived of me, when, in obedience to your command, i shall have related my adventures." after this compliment to conciliate the caliph's good-will and attention, and after some moments' recollection, khaujeh hassan related his story in the following manner: the story of khaujeh hassan al hubbaul. commander of the faithful, that your majesty may the better understand by what means i arrived at the happiness i now enjoy, i must acquaint you, there are two intimate friends, citizens of bagdad, who can testify the truth of what i shall relate, and to whom, after god, the author of all good, i owe my prosperity. these two friends are called, the one saadi, the other saad. saadi, who is very rich, was always of opinion that no man could be happy in this world without wealth, to live independent of every one. saad was of a different opinion; he agreed that riches were necessary to comfort, but maintained that the happiness of a man's life consisted in virtue, without any farther eagerness after worldly goods than what was requisite for decent subsistence, and benevolent purposes. saad himself is one of this number, and lives very happily and contentedly in his station: but though saadi is infinitely more opulent, their friendship is very sincere, and the richest sets no more value on himself than the other. they never had any dispute but on this point; in all other things their union of opinion has been very strict. one day as they were talking upon this subject, as i have since been informed by them both, saadi affirmed, that poverty proceeded from men's being born poor, or spending their fortunes in luxury and debauchery, or by some of those unforeseen fatalities which do not often occur. "my opinion," said he, "is, that most people's poverty is owing to their wanting at first a sufficient sum of money to raise them above want, by employing their industry to improve it; for," continued he, "if they once had such a sum, and made a right use of it, they would not only live well, but would in time infallibly grow rich." saad could not agree in this sentiment: "the way," said he, "which you propose to make a poor man rich, is not so certain as you imagine. your plan is very hazardous, and i can bring many good arguments against your opinion, but that they would carry us too far into dispute, i believe, with as much probability, that a poor man may become rich by other means as well as by money: and there are people who have raised as large and surprising fortunes by mere chance, as others have done by money, with all their good economy and management to increase it by the best conducted trade." "saad," replied saadi, "i see we shall not come to any determination by my persisting to oppose my opinion against yours. i will make an experiment to convince you, by giving, for example, a sum of money to some artisan, whose ancestors from father to son have always been poor, lived only from day to day, and died as indigent as they were born. if i have not the success i expect, you shall try if you will have better by the means you shall employ." some days after this dispute, the two friends happened to walk out together, and passing through the street where i was at work at my trade of rope-making, which i learnt of my father, who learnt of his, and he of his ancestors; and by my dress and appearance, it was no hard matter for them to guess my poverty. saad, remembering saadi's engagement, said, "if you have not forgotten what you said to me, there is a man," pointing to me, "whom i can remember a long time working at his trade of rope- making, and in the same poverty: he is a worthy subject for your liberality, and a proper person to make your experiment upon." "i so well remember the conversation," replied saadi, "that i have ever since carried a sufficient sum about me for the purpose, but only waited for an opportunity of our being together, that you might be witness of the fact. let us go to him, and know if he is really necessitous." the two friends came to me, and i, seeing that they wished to speak to me, left off work: they both accosted me with the common salutation, and saadi, wishing me peace, asked me my name. i returned their salutation, and answered saadi's question, saying to him, "sir, my name is hassan; but by reason of my trade, i am commonly known by the name of hassan al hubbaul." "hassan," replied saadi, "as there is no occupation but what a man may live by, i doubt not but yours produces enough for you to live well upon; and i am amazed, that during the long time you have worked at your trade, you have not saved enough to lay in a good stock of hemp to extend your manufacture and employ more hands, by the profit of whose work you would soon increase your income." "sir," replied i, "you will be no longer amazed that i have not saved money and taken the way you mention to become rich, when you come to know that, let me work as hard as i may from morning till night, i can hardly get enough to keep my family in bread and pulse. i have a wife and five children, not one of whom is old enough to be of the least assistance to me. i must feed and clothe them, and in our poor way of living, they still want many necessaries, which they can ill do without and though hemp is not very dear, i must have money to buy it. this is the first thing i do with any money i receive for my work; otherwise i and my family must starve. "now judge, sir," added i, "if it be possible that i should save any thing for myself and family: it is enough that we are content with the little god sends us, and that we have not the knowledge or desire of more than we want, but can live as we have been always bred up, and are not reduced to beg." when i had given saadi this account, he said to me, "hassan, i am not so much surprised as i was, for i comprehend what obliges you to be content in your station. but if i should make you a present of a purse of two hundred pieces of gold, would not you make a good use of it? and do not you believe, that with such a sum you could become soon as rich as the principal of your occupation?" "sir," replied i, "you seem to be so good a gentleman, that i am persuaded you would not banter me, but that the offer you make me is serious; and i dare say, without presuming too much upon myself, that a considerably less sum would be sufficient to make me not only as rich as the first of our trade, but that in time i should be richer than all of them in this city together, though bagdad is so large and populous." the generous saadi showed me immediately that in what he said he was serious. he pulled a purse out of his bosom, and putting it into my hands, said, "here, take this purse; you will find it contains two hundred pieces of gold: i pray god bless you with them, and give you grace to make the good use of them i desire; and believe me, my friend saad, whom you see here, and i shall both take great pleasure in finding they may contribute towards making you more happy than you now are." when i had got the purse, the first thing i did was to put it into my bosom; but the transport of my joy was so great, and i was so much penetrated with gratitude, that my speech failed me and i could give my benefactor no other tokens of my feelings than by laying hold of the hem of his garment and kissing it; but he drew it from me hastily, and he and his friend pursued their walk. as soon as they were gone, i returned to my work, and my first thought was, what i should do with my purse to keep it safe. i had in my poor house neither box nor cupboard to lock it up in, nor any other place where i could be sure it would not be discovered if i concealed it. in this perplexity, as i had been used, like many poor people of my condition, to put the little money i had in the folds of my turban, i left my work, and went into the house, under pretence of wrapping my turban up anew. i took such precautions that neither my wife nor children saw what i was doing. but first i laid aside ten pieces of gold for present necessaries, and wrapped the rest up in the folds of the linen which went about my cap. the principal expense i was at that day was to lay in a good stock of hemp, and afterwards, as my family had eaten no flesh meat a long time, i went to the shambles, and bought something for supper. as i was carrying home the meat i had bought, a famished vulture flew upon me, and would have taken it away, if i had not held it very fast; but, alas! i had better have parted with it than lost my money; the faster i held my meat, the more the bird struggled to get it, drawing me sometimes on one side, and sometimes on another, but would not quit the prize; till unfortunately in my efforts my turban fell on the ground. the vulture immediately let go his hold, but seizing my turban, flew away with it. i cried out so loud, that i alarmed all the men, women, and children in the neighbourhood, who joined their shouts and cries to make the vulture quit his hold; for by such means these voracious birds are often frightened so as to quit their prey. but our cries did not avail; he carried off my turban, and we soon lost sight of him, and it would have been in vain for me to fatigue myself with running after him. i went home very melancholy at the loss of my money. i was obliged to buy a new turban, which diminished the small remainder of the ten pieces; for i had laid out several in hemp. the little that was left was not sufficient to give me reason to indulge the great hopes i had conceived. but what troubled me most, was the little satisfaction i should be able to give my benefactor for his ineffectual generosity, when he should come to hear what a misfortune i had met with, which he would perhaps regard as incredible, and consequently an idle excuse. while the remainder of the ten pieces lasted, my little family and i lived better than usual; but i soon relapsed into the same poverty, and the same inability to extricate myself from wretchedness. however, i never murmured nor repined; "god," said i, "was pleased to give me riches when i least expelled them; he has thought fit to take them from me again almost at the same time, because it so pleased him, and they were at his disposal; yet i will praise his name for all the benefits i have received, as it was his good pleasure, and submit myself, as i have ever done hitherto, to his will." these were my sentiments, while my wife, from whom i could not keep secret the loss i had sustained, was inconsolable. in my trouble i had told my neighbours, that when i lost my turban i lost a hundred and ninety pieces of gold; but as they knew my poverty, and could not comprehend how i should have got so great a sum by my work, they only laughed at me. about six months after this misfortune, which i have related to your majesty, the two friends walking through that part of the town where i lived, the neighbourhood brought me to saad's recollection. "we are now," said he to saadi, "not far from the street where hassan the ropemaker lives; let us call and see what use he has made of the two hundred pieces of gold you gave him, and whether they have enabled him to take any steps towards bettering his fortune." "with all my heart," replied saadi; "i have been thinking of him some days, and it will be a great pleasure and satisfaction to me to have you with me, as a witness of the proof of my argument. you will see undoubtedly a great alteration. i expect we shall hardly know him again." just as saadi said this, the two friends turned the corner of the street, and saad, who perceived me first at a distance, said to his friend, "i believe you reckon without your host. i see hassan, but can discern no change in his person, for he is as shabbily dressed as when we saw him before; the only difference that i can perceive is, that his turban looks something better. observe him yourself, and see whether i am in the wrong." as they drew nearer to me, saadi saw me too, and found saad was in the right, but could not tell to what he should attribute the little alteration he saw in my person; and was so much amazed, that he could not speak when he came up to me. "well, hassan," said saad, "we do not ask you how affairs go since we saw you last; without doubt they are in a better train." "gentlemen," replied i, addressing myself to them both, "i have the great mortification to tell you, that your desires, wishes, and hopes, as well as mine, have not had the success you had reason to expect, and i had promised myself; you will scarcely believe the extraordinary adventure that has befallen me. i assure you nevertheless, on the word of an honest man, and you ought to believe me, for nothing is more true than what i am going to tell you." i then related to them my adventure, with the same circumstances i had the honour to tell your majesty. saadi rejected my assertion, and said, "hassan, you joke, and would deceive me; for what you say is a thing incredible. what have vultures to do with turbans? they only search for something to satisfy their hunger. you have done as all such people as yourself generally do. if they have made any extraordinary gain, or any good fortune happens to them, which they never expected, they throw aside their work, take their pleasure, make merry, while the money lasts; and when they have eaten and drunk it all out, are reduced to the same necessity and want as before. you would not be so miserable, but because you deserve it, and render yourself unworthy of any service done to you." "sir," i replied, "i bear all these reproaches, and am ready to bear as many more, if they were more severe, and all with the greater patience because i do not think i deserve them. the thing is so publicly known in this part of the town, that there is nobody but can satisfy you of the truth of my assertions. if you inquire, you will find that i do not impose upon you. i own, i never heard of vultures flying away with turbans; but this has actually happened to me, like many other things, which do not fall out every day, and yet have actually happened." saad took my part, and told saadi a great many as surprising stories of vultures, some of which he affirmed he knew to be true, insomuch that at last he pulled his purse out of his vestband, and counted out two hundred pieces of gold into my hand, which i put into my bosom for want of a purse. when saadi had presented me with this sum, he said, "hassan, i make you a present of these two hundred pieces; but take care to put them in a safer place, that you may not lose them so unfortunately as you have done the others, and employ them in such a manner that they may procure you the advantages which the others would have done." i told him that the obligation of this his second kindness was much greater than i deserved, after what had happened, and that i should be sure to make good use of his advice. i would have said a great deal more, but he did not give me time, for he went away, and continued his walk with his friend. as soon as they were gone, i left off work, and went home, but finding neither my wife nor children within, i pulled out my money, put ten pieces by, and wrapped up the rest in a clean linen cloth, tying it fast with a knot; but then i was to consider where i should hide this linen cloth that it might be safe. after i had considered some time, i resolved to put it in the bottom of an earthen vessel full of bran, which stood in a corner, which i imagined neither my wife nor children would look into. my wife came home soon after, and as i had but little hemp in the house, i told her i should go out to buy some, without saying any thing to her about the two friends. while i was absent, a sandman, who sells scouring earth for the hair and body, which women use in the baths, passed through our street, and called, "cleansing, ho!" my wife, who wanted some, beckoned to him: but as she had no money, asked him if he would make an exchange of some earth for some bran. the sandman asked to see the bran. my wife shewed him the pot; the bargain was made; she had the cleansing earth, with which she filled a dust hole i had made to the house, and the sandman took the pot and bran along with him. not long after i came home with as much hemp as i could carry, and followed by five porters loaded also with hemp. after i had satisfied them for their trouble, i sat down to rest myself; and looking about me, could not see the pot of bran. it is impossible for me to express to your majesty my surprise and the effect it had on me at the moment. i asked my wife hastily what was become of it; when she told me the bargain she had made with the sandman, which she thought to be a very good one. "ah! unfortunate woman!" cried i, "you know not the injury you have done me, yourself, and our children, by making that bargain, which has ruined us for ever. you thought you only sold the bran, but with the bran you have enriched the sandman with a hundred and ninety pieces of gold, which saadi with his friend came and made me a second present of." my wife was like one distracted, when she knew what a fault she had committed through ignorance. she cried, beat her breast, and tore her hair and clothes. "unhappy wretch that i am," cried she, "am i fit to live after so dreadful a mistake! where shall i find this sandman? i know him not, i never saw him in our street before. oh! husband," added she, "you were much to blame to be so reserved in a matter of such importance this had never happened, if you had communicated the secret to me." in short, i should never finish my story were i to tell your majesty what her grief made her say. you are not ignorant how eloquent women often are in their afflictions. "wife," said i, "moderate your grief: by your weeping and howling you will alarm the neighbourhood, and there is no reason they should be informed of our misfortunes. they will only laugh at, instead of pitying us. we had best bear our loss patiently, and submit ourselves to the will of god, and bless him, for that out of two hundred pieces of gold which he had given us, he has taken back but a hundred and ninety, and left us ten, which, by the use i shall make of them will be a great relief to us." my wife at first did not relish my arguments; but as time softens the greatest misfortunes, and makes them more supportable, she at last grew easy, and had almost forgotten them. "it is true," said i to her, "we live but poorly; but what have the rich which we have not? do not we breathe the same air, enjoy the same light and the same warmth of the sun? therefore what conveniences have they more than we, that we should envy their happiness? they die as well as we. in short, while we live in the fear of god, as we should always do, the advantage they have over us is so very inconsiderable, that we ought not to covet it." i will not tire your majesty any longer with my moral reflections. my wife and i comforted ourselves, and i pursued my trade with as much alacrity as before these two mortifying losses, which followed one another so quickly. the only thing that troubled me sometimes was, how i should look saadi in the face when he should come and ask me how i had improved his two hundred pieces of gold, and advanced my fortune by means of his liberality. i saw no remedy but to resolve to submit to the confusion i should feel, though it was by no fault of mine this time, any more than before, that our misfortune had happened. the two friends stayed away longer this time than the former, though saad had often spoken to saadi, who always put it off; for, said he, "the longer we stay away, the richer hassan will be, and i shall have the greater satisfaction." saad, who had not the same opinion of the effect of his friend's generosity, replied, "you fancy then that your last present will have been turned to a better account than the former. i would advise you not to flatter yourself too much, for fear you may be more sensibly mortified if it should prove otherwise." "why," replied saadi, "vultures do not fly away with turbans every day; and hassan will have been more cautious this time." "i do not doubt it," replied saad; "but," added he, "there are other accidents that neither you nor i can think of; therefore, i say again, moderate your expectations, and do not depend too much on hassan's success; for to tell you what i think, and what i always thought (whether you like to hear it or not), i have a secret presentiment that you will not have accomplished your purpose, and that i shall succeed better in proving that a poor man may sooner become rich by other means than money." one day, when saad and saadi were disputing upon this subject, saad observed that enough had been said; "i am resolved," continued he, "to inform myself this very day what has passed; it is a pleasing time for walking, let us not lose it, but go and see which of us has lost the wager." i saw them at a distance, was overcome with confusion, and was just going to leave my work, to run and hide myself. however i refrained, appeared very earnest at work, made as if i had not seen them, and never lifted up my eyes till they were close to me and had saluted me, and then i could not help myself. i hung down my head, told them my last misfortune, with all the circumstances, and that i was as poor as when they first saw me. "after that," i added, "you may say that i ought to have hidden my money in another place than in a pot of bran, which was carried out of my house the same day: but that pot had stood there many years, and had never been removed, whenever my wife parted with the bran. could i guess that a sandman should come by that very day, my wife have no money, and would make such an exchange? you may indeed allege, that i ought to have told my wife of it; but i will never believe that such prudent persons, as i am persuaded you are, would have given me that advice; and if i had put my money anywhere else, what certainty could i have had that it would be more secure?" "i see, sir," said i, addressing myself to saadi, "that it has pleased god, whose ways are secret and impenetrable, that i should not be enriched by your liberality, but that i must remain poor: however, the obligation is the same as if it had wrought the desired effect." after these words i was silent; and saadi replied, "though i would persuade myself, hassan, that all you tell us is true, and not owing to your debauchery or ill management, yet i must not be extravagant, and ruin myself for the sake of an experiment. i do not regret in the least the four hundred pieces of gold i gave you to raise you in the world. i did it in duty to god, without expecting any recompense but the pleasure of doing good. if any thing makes me repent, it is, that i did not address myself to another, who might have made a better use of my charity." then turning about to his friend, "saad," continued he, "you may know by what i have said that i do not entirely give up the cause. you may now make your experiment, and let me see that there are ways, besides giving money, to make a poor man's fortune. let hassan be the man. i dare say, whatever you may give him he will not be richer than he was with four hundred pieces of gold." saad had a piece of lead in his hand, which he shewed saadi. "you saw me," said he, "take up this piece of lead, which i found on the ground; i will give it hassan, and you shall see what it is worth." saadi, burst out laughing at saad. "what is that bit of lead worth," said he, "a farthing? what can hassan do with that?" saad presented it to me, and said, "take it, hassan; let saadi laugh, you will tell us some news of the good luck it has brought you one time or another." i thought saad was in jest, and had a mind to divert himself: however i took the lead, and thanked him. the two friends pursued their walk, and i fell to work again. at night when i pulled off my clothes to go to bed, the piece of lead, which i had never thought of from the time he gave it me, tumbled out of my pocket. i took it up, and laid it on the place that was nearest me. the same night it happened that a fisherman, a neighbour, mending his nets, found a piece of lead wanting; and it being too late to buy any, as the shops were shut, and he must either fish that night, or his family go without bread the next day, he called to his wife and bade her inquire among the neighbours for a piece. she went from door to door on both sides of the street, but could not get any, and returned to tell her husband her ill success. he asked her if she had been to several of their neighbours, naming them, and among the rest my house. "no indeed," said the wife, "i have not been there; that was too far off, and if i had gone, do you think i should have found any? i know by experience they never have any thing when one wants it." "no matter," said the fisherman, "you are an idle hussy; you must go there; for though you have been there a hundred times before without getting any thing, you may chance to obtain what we want now. you must go." the fisherman's wife went out grumbling, came and knocked at my door, and waked me out of a sound sleep. i asked her what she wanted. "hassan," said she, as loud as she could bawl, "my husband wants a bit of lead to load his nets with; and if you have a piece, desires you to give it him." the piece of lead which saad had given me was so fresh in my memory, and had so lately dropped out of my clothes, that i could not forget it. i told my neighbour i had some; and if she would stay a moment my wife should give it to her. accordingly, my wife, who was wakened by the noise as well as myself, got up, and groping about where i directed her, found the lead, opened the door, and gave it to the fisherman's wife, who was so overjoyed that she promised my wife, that in return for the kindness she did her and her husband, she would answer for him we should have the first cast of the nets. the fisherman was so much rejoiced to see the lead, which he so little expected, that he much approved his wife's promise. he finished mending his nets, and went a-fishing two hours before day, according to custom. at the first throw he caught but one fish, about a yard long, and proportionable in thickness; but afterwards had a great many successful casts; though of all the fish he took none equalled the first in size. when the fisherman had done fishing, he went home, where his first care was to think of me. i was extremely surprised, when at my work, to see him come to me with a large fish in his hand. "neighbour," said he, "my wife promised you last night, in return for your kindness, whatever fish i should catch at my first throw; and i approved her promise. it pleased god to send me no more than this one for you, which, such as it is, i desire you to accept. i wish it had been better. had he sent me my net full, they should all have been yours." "neighbour," said i, "the bit of lead which i sent you was such a trifle, that it ought not to be valued at so high a rate: neighbours should assist each other in their little wants. i have done no more for you than i should have expected from you had i been in your situation; therefore i would refuse your present, if i were not persuaded you gave it me freely, and that i should offend you; and since you will have it so, i take it, and return you my hearty thanks." after these civilities, i took the fish, and carried it home to my wife. "here," said i, "take this fish, which the fisherman our neighbour has made me a present of, in return for the bit of lead he sent to us for last night: i believe it is all we can expect from the present saad made me yesterday, promising me that it would bring me good luck;" and then i told her what had passed between the two friends. my wife was much startled to see so large a fish. "what would you have me do with it?" said she. "our gridiron is only fit to broil small fish; and we have not a pot big enough to boil it." "that is your business," answered i; "dress it as you will, i shall like it either way." i then went to my work again. in gutting the fish, my wife found a large diamond, which, when she washed it, she took for a piece of glass: indeed she had heard talk of diamonds, but if she had ever seen or handled any she would not have known how to distinguish them. she gave it to the youngest of our children for a plaything, and his brothers and sisters handed it about from one to another, to admire its brightness and beauty. at night when the lamp was lighted, and the children were still playing with the diamond, they perceived that it gave a light, when my wife, who was getting them their supper, stood between them and the lamp; upon which they snatched it from one another to try it; and the younger children fell a-crying, that the elder would not let them have it long enough. but as a little matter amuses children, and makes them squabble and fall out, my wife and i took no notice of their noise, which presently ceased, when the bigger ones supped with us, and my wife had given the younger each their share. after supper the children got together again, and began to make the same noise. i then called to the eldest to know what was the matter, who told me it was about a piece of glass, which gave a light when his back was to the lamp. i bade him bring it to me, made the experiment myself, and it appeared so extraordinary, that i asked my wife what it was. she told me it was a piece of glass, which she had found in gutting the fish. i thought no more than herself but that it was a bit of glass, but i was resolved to make a farther experiment of it; and therefore bade my wife put the lamp in the chimney, which she did, and still found that the supposed piece of glass gave so great a light, that we might see to go to bed without the lamp. so i put it out, and placed the bit of glass upon the chimney to light us. "look," said i, "this is another advantage that saad's piece of lead procures us: it will spare us the expense of oil." when the children saw the lamp was put out, and the bit of glass supplied the place, they cried out so loud, and made so great a noise from astonishment, that it was enough to alarm the neighbourhood; and before my wife and i could quiet them we were forced to make a greater noise, nor could we silence them till we had put them to bed; where after talking a long while in their way about the wonderful light of a bit of glass, they fell asleep. after they were asleep, my wife and i went to bed by them; and next morning, without thinking any more of the glass, i went to my work as usual; which ought not to seem strange for such a man as i, who had never seen any diamonds, or if i had, never attended to their value. but before i proceed, i must tell your majesty that there was but a very slight partition-wall between my house and my next neighbour's, who was a very rich jew, and a jeweller; and the chamber that he and his wife lay in joined to ours. they were both in bed, and the noise my children made awakened them. the next morning the jeweller's wife came to mine to complain of being disturbed out of their first sleep. "good neighbour rachel," (which was the jew's wife's name,) said my wife, "i am very sorry for what happened, and hope you will excuse it: you know it was caused by the children, and they will laugh and cry for a trifle. come in, and i will shew you what was the occasion of the noise." the jewess went in with her, and my wife taking the diamond (for such it really was, and a very extraordinary one) out of the chimney, put it into her hands. "see here," said she, "it was this piece of glass that caused all the noise;" and while the jewess, who understood all sorts of precious stones, was examining the diamond with admiration, my wife told her how she found it in the fish's belly, and what happened. "indeed, ayesha," (which was my wife's name,) said the jeweller's wife, giving her the diamond again, "i believe as you do it is a piece of glass; but as it is more beautiful than common glass, and i have just such another piece at home, i will buy it, if you will sell it." the children, who heard them talking of selling their plaything, presently interrupted their conversation, crying and begging their mother not to part with it, who, to quiet them, promised she would not. the jewess being thus prevented in her intended swindling bargain by my children, went away, but first whispered my wife, who followed her to the door, if she had a mind to sell it, not to shew it to anybody without acquainting her. the jew went out early in the morning to his shop in that part of the town where the jewellers sell their goods. thither his wife followed, and told him the discovery she had made. she gave him an account of the size and weight of the diamond as nearly as she could guess, also of its beauty, water, and lustre, and particularly of the light which it gave in the night according to my wife's account, which was the more credible as she was uninformed. the jew sent his wife immediately to treat, to offer her a trifle at first, as she should think fit, and then to raise her price by degrees; but be sure to bring it, cost what it would. accordingly his wife came again to mine privately, and asked her if she would take twenty pieces of gold for the piece of glass she had shown her. my wife, thinking the sum too considerable for a mere piece of glass as she had thought it, would not make any bargain; but told her, she could not part with it till she had spoken to me. in the mean time i came from my work to dinner. as they were talking at the door, my wife stopped me, and asked if i would sell the piece of glass she had found in the fish's belly for twenty pieces of gold, which our neighbour offered her. i returned no answer; but reflected immediately on the assurance with which saad, in giving me the piece of lead, told me it would make my fortune. the jewess, fancying that the low price she had offered was the reason i made no reply, said, "i will give you fifty, neighbour, if that will do." as soon as i found that she rose so suddenly from twenty to fifty, i told her that i expected a great deal more. "well, neighbour," said she, "i will give you a hundred, and that is so much, i know not whether my husband will approve my offering it." at this new advance, i told her i would have a hundred thousand pieces of gold for it; that i saw plainly that the diamond, for such i now guessed it must be, was worth a great deal more, but to oblige her and her husband, as they were neighbours, i would limit myself to that price, which i was determined to have; and if they refused to give it, other jewellers should have it, who would give a great deal more. the jewess confirmed me in this resolution, by her eagerness to conclude a bargain; and by coming up at several biddings to fifty thousand pieces, which i refused. "i can offer you no more," said she, "without my husband's consent. he will be at home at night; and i would beg the favour of you to let him see it, which i promised." at night when the jew came home, his wife told him what she had done; that she had got no forwarder with my wife or me; that she offered, and i had refused, fifty thousand pieces of gold; but that i had promised to stay till night at her request. he observed the time when i left off work, and came to me. "neighbour hassan", said he, "i desire you would shew me the diamond your wife shewed to mine." i brought him in, and shewed it to him. as it was very dark, and my lamp was not lighted, he knew instantly, by the light the diamond gave, and by the lustre it cast in my hand, that his wife had given him a true account of it. he looked at and admired it a long time. "well, neighbour," said he, "my wife tells me she offered you fifty thousand pieces of gold: i will give you twenty thousand more." "neighbour," said i, "your wife can tell you that i valued my diamond at a hundred thousand pieces, and i will take nothing less." he haggled a long time with me, in hopes that i would make some abatement: but finding at last that i was positive, and for fear that i should shew it to other jewellers, as i certainly should have done, he would not leave me till the bargain was concluded on my own terms. he told me that he had not so much money at home, but would pay it all to me on the morrow, that very instant fetched two bags of a thousand pieces each, as an earnest; and the next day, though i do not know how he raised the money, whether he borrowed it of his friends, or let some other jewellers into partnership with him, he brought me the sum we had agreed for at the time appointed, and i delivered to him the diamond. having thus sold my diamond, and being rich, infinitely beyond my hopes, i thanked god for his bounty; and would have gone and thrown myself at saad's feet to express my gratitude, if i had known where he lived; as also at saadi's, to whom i was first obliged, though his good intention had not the same success. afterwards i thought of the use i ought to make of so considerable a sum. my wife, with the vanity natural to her sex, proposed immediately to buy rich clothes for herself and children; to purchase a house, and furnish it handsomely. i told her we ought not to begin with such expenses; "for," said i, "money should only be spent, so that it may produce a fund from which we may draw without its failing. this i intend, and shall begin to-morrow." i spent all that day and the next in going to the people of my own trade, who worked as hard every day for their bread as i had done; and giving them money beforehand, engaged them to work for me in different sorts of rope-making, according to their skill and ability, with a promise not to make them wait for their money, but to pay them as soon as their work was done. by this means i engrossed almost all the business of bagdad, and everybody was pleased with my exactness and punctual payment. as so great a number of workmen produced, as your majesty may judge, a large quantity of work, i hired warehouses in several parts of the town to hold my goods, and appointed over each a clerk, to sell both wholesale and retail; and by this economy received considerable profit and income. afterwards, to unite my concerns in one spot, i bought a large house, which stood on a great deal of ground, but was ruinous, pulled it down, and built that your majesty saw yesterday, which, though it makes so great an appearance, consists, for the most part, of warehouses for my business, with apartments absolutely necessary for myself and family. some time after i had left my old mean habitation, and removed to this, saad and saadi, who had scarcely thought of me from the last time they had been with me, as they were one day walking together, and passing by our street, resolved to call upon me: but great was their surprise when they did not see me at work. they asked what was become of me, and if i was alive or dead. their amazement was redoubled, when they were told i was become a great manufacturer, and was no longer called plain hassan, but khaujeh hassan al hubbaul, and that i had built in a street, which was named to them, a house like a palace. the two friends went directly to the street, and in the way, as saadi could not imagine that the bit of lead which saad had given me could have been the raising of my fortune, he said to him, "i am overjoyed to have made hassan's fortune: but i cannot forgive the two lies he told me, to get four hundred pieces instead of two; for i cannot attribute it to the piece of lead you gave him." "so you think," replied saad: "but so do not i. i do not see why you should do khaujeh hassan so much injustice as to take him for a liar. you must give me leave to believe that he told us the truth, disguised nothing from us, that the piece of lead which i gave him is the cause of his prosperity: and you will find he will presently tell us so." during their discourse the two friends came into the street where i lived, asked whereabouts my house stood; and being shewn it, could hardly believe it to be mine. they knocked at the door, and my porter opened it; when saadi, fearing to be guilty of rudeness in taking the house of a nobleman for that he was inquiring after, said to the porter, "we are informed that this is the house of khaujeh hassan al hubbaul: tell us if we are mistaken." "you are very right, sir," said the porter, opening the door wider; "it is the same; come in; he is in the hall, and any of the slaves will point him out to you." i had no sooner set my eyes upon the two friends, than i knew them. i rose from my seat, ran to them, and would have kissed the hem of their garments; but they would not suffer it, and embraced me. i invited them to a sofa made to hold four persons, which was placed full in view of my garden. i desired them to sit down, and they would have me take the place of honour. i assured them i had not forgotten that i was poor hassan the ropemaker, nor the obligations i had to them; but were this not the case, i knew the respect due to them, and begged them not to expose me. they sat down in the proper place, and i seated myself opposite to them. then saadi, addressing himself to me, said, "khaujeh hassan, i cannot express my joy to see you in the condition i wished you, when i twice made you a present of two hundred pieces of gold, for i mean not to upbraid you; though i am persuaded that those four hundred pieces have made this wonderful change in your fortune, which i behold with pleasure. one thing only vexes me, which is, that you should twice disguise the truth from me, pretending that your losses were the effect of misfortunes which now seem to me more than ever incredible. was it not because, when we were together the last time, you had so little advanced your small income with the four hundred pieces of gold, that you were ashamed to own it? i am willing to believe this, and wait to be confirmed in my opinion." saad heard this speech of saadi's with impatience, not to say indignation, which he shewed by casting down his eyes and shaking his head: he did not, however, interrupt him. when he had done, he said to him, "forgive me, saadi, if i anticipate khaujeh hassan, before he answers you, to tell you, that i am vexed at your prepossession against his sincerity, and that you still persist in not believing the assurances he has already given you. i have told you before, and i repeat it once more, that i believe those two accidents which befell him, upon his bare assertion; and whatever you may say, i am persuaded they are true; but let him speak himself, and say which of us does him justice." after this discourse of the two friends, i said, addressing myself to them both, "gentlemen, i should condemn myself to perpetual silence, on the explanation you ask of me, if i were not certain the dispute you have had on my account cannot break that friendship which subsists between you; therefore i will declare to you the truth, since you require it; and with the same sincerity as before." i then told them every circumstance your majesty has heard, without forgetting the least. all my protestations had no effect on saadi, to cure him of his prejudice. "khaujeh hassan," replied he, "the adventure of the fish, and diamond found in his belly, appears to me as incredible as the vulture's flying away with your turban, and the exchange of the scouring earth. be it as it may, i am equally convinced that you are no longer poor, but rich as i intended you should be, by my means; and i rejoice sincerely." as it grew late, they arose up to depart; when i stopped them, and said, "gentlemen, there is one favour i have to ask; i beg of you not to refuse to do me the honour to stay and take a slight supper with me, also a bed to-night, and to-morrow i will carry you by water to a small country-house, which i bought for the sake of the air, and we will return the same day on my horses." "if saad has no business that calls him elsewhere," said saadi, "i consent." saad told him that nothing should prevent his enjoying his company. we have only to send a slave to my house, that we may not be waited for. i provided a slave; and while they were giving him their orders, i went and ordered supper. while it was getting ready, i shewed my benefactors my house, and all my offices, which they thought very extensive considering my fortune: i call them both benefactors without distinction, because without saadi, saad would never have given me the piece of lead; and without saad, saadi would not have given me the four hundred pieces of gold. then i brought them back again into the hall, where they asked me several questions about my concerns; and i gave them such answers as satisfied them. during this conversation, my servants came to tell me that supper was served up. i led them into another hall, where they admired the manner in which it was lighted, the furniture, and the entertainment i had provided. i regaled them also with a concert of vocal and instrumental music during the repast, and afterwards with a company of dancers, and other entertainments, endeavouring as much as possible to shew them my gratitude. the next morning, as we had agreed to set out early to enjoy the fresh air, we repaired to the river-side by sun-rise, and went on board a pleasure-boat well carpeted that waited for us; and in less than an hour and a half, with six good rowers, and the stream, we arrived at my country house. when we went ashore, the two friends stopped to observe the beauty of the architecture of my house, and to admire its advantageous situation for prospects, which were neither too much limited nor too extensive, but such as made it very agreeable. i then conducted them into all the apartments, and shewed them the out-houses and conveniences; with all which they were very well pleased afterwards we walked in the gardens, where what they were most struck with was a grove of orange and lemon trees, loaded with fruit and flowers, which were planted at equal distances, and watered by channels cut from a neighbouring stream. the close shade, the fragrant smell which perfumed the air, the soft murmurings of the water, the harmonious notes of an infinite number of birds, and many other agreeable circumstances, struck them in such a manner, that they frequently stopped to express how much they were obliged to me for bringing them to so delightful a place, and to congratulate me on my great acquisitions, with other compliments. i led them to the end of the grove, which was very long and broad, where i shewed them a wood of large trees, which terminated my garden, and afterwards a summer-house, open on all sides, shaded by a clump of palm-trees, but not so as to injure the prospect; i then invited them to walk in, and repose themselves on a sofa covered with carpets and cushions. two of my boys, whom i had sent into the country, with a tutor, for the air, had gone just then into the wood, and seeing a nest which was built in the branches of a lofty tree, they attempted to get at it; but as they had neither strength nor skill to accomplish their object, they shewed it to the slave who waited on them, and bade him climb the tree for it. the slave, when he came to it, was much surprised to find it composed of a turban: however he took it, brought it down, and shewed it to my children; and as he thought that i might like to see a nest that was so uncommon, he gave it to the eldest boy to bring to me. i saw the children at a distance, coming back to us, overjoyed to have procured a nest. "father," said the eldest, "we have found a nest in a turban." the two friends and i were very much surprised at the novelty; but i much more, when i recognized the turban to be that which the vulture had flown away with. after i had examined it well, and turned it about, i said to my guests, "gentlemen, have you memories good enough to remember the turban i had on the day you did me the honour first to speak to me?" "i do not think," said saad, "that either my friend or i gave any attention to it; but if the hundred and ninety pieces of gold are in it, we cannot doubt of it." "sir," replied i, "there is no doubt but it is the same turban; for besides that i know it perfectly well, i feel by the weight it is too heavy to be any other, and you will perceive this if you give yourself the trouble to take it in your hand." then after taking out the birds, and giving them to the children, i put it into his hands, and he gave it to saadi. "indeed," said saadi, "i believe it to be your turban; which i shall, however, be better convinced of when i see the hundred and ninety pieces of gold." "now, sir," added i, taking the turban again, "observe well before i unwrap it, that it is of no very fresh date in the tree; and the state in which you see it, and the nest so neatly made in it, without having been touched by the hand of man, are sufficient proofs that the vulture drops or laid it in the tree upon the day it was seized; and that the branches hindered it from falling to the ground. excuse my making this remark, since it concerns me so much to remove all suspicions of fraud." saad backed me in what i urged; and said, "saadi, this regards you and not me, for i am verily persuaded that khaujeh hassan does not impose upon us." while saad was talking, i pulled off the linen cloth which was wrapped about the cap of the turban, and took out the purse, which saadi knew to be the same he had given me. i emptied it on the carpet before them, and said, "there, gentlemen, there is the money, count it, and see if it be right;" which saad did, and found it to be one hundred and ninety pieces of gold. then saadi, who could not deny so manifest a truth, addressing himself to me said, "i agree, khaujeh hassan, that this money could not serve to enrich you; but the other hundred and ninety pieces, which you would make me believe you hid in a pot of bran, might." "sir," answered i, "i have told you the truth in regard to both sums: you would not have me retract, to make myself a liar." "khaujeh hassan," said saad, "leave saadi to his own opinion; i consent with all my heart that he believes you are obliged to him for one part of your good fortune, by means of the last sum he gave you, provided he will agree that i contributed to the other half by the bit of lead, and will not pretend to dispute the valuable diamond found in the fish's belly." "i agree to it," answered saadi, "but still you must give me liberty to believe that money is not to be amassed without money." "what," replied saad, "if chance should throw a diamond in my way worth fifty thousand pieces of gold, and i should have that sum given me for it, can it be said i got that sum by money?" they disputed no farther at this time; we rose, and went into the house, just as dinner was serving up. after dinner, i left my guests together, to pass away the heat of the day more at their liberty, and with great composure, while i went to give orders to my housekeeper and gardener, afterwards i returned to them again, and we talked of indifferent matters till it grew a little cooler; when we returned into the garden for fresh air, and stayed till sun-set. we then mounted on horseback, and got to bagdad by moonlight, two hours after, followed by one of my slaves. it happened, i know not by what negligence of my servants, that we were then out of grain for the horses, and the storehouses were all shut up; when one of my slaves seeking about the neighbourhood for some, met with a pot of bran in a shop; bought the bran, and brought the pot along with him, promising to carry it back again the next day. the slave emptied the bran, and dividing it with his hands among the horses, felt a linen cloth tied up, and very heavy; he brought the cloth to me in the condition that he found it, and presented it to me, telling me, that it might perhaps be the cloth he had often heard me talk of among my friends. overjoyed, i said to my two benefactors, "gentlemen, it has pleased god that you should not part from me without being fully convinced of the truth of what i have assured you. there are the other hundred and ninety pieces of gold which you gave me," continued i, addressing myself to saadi; "i know it well by the cloth, which i tied up with my own hands;" and then i told out the money before them. i ordered the pot to be brought to me, knew it to be the same; and sent to my wife to ask if she recognized it, ordering them to say nothing to her of what had happened. she knew it immediately, and sent me word that it was the same pot she had exchanged full of bran for the scouring- earth. saadi readily submitted, renounced his incredulity; and said to saad, "i yield to you, and acknowledge that money is not always the means of becoming rich." when saadi had spoken, i said to him, "i dare not propose to return you the three hundred and eighty pieces of gold which it hath pleased god should be found, to undeceive you as to the opinion of my honesty. i am persuaded that you did not give them to me with an intention that i should return them; but as i ought to be content with what providence has sent me from other quarters, and i do not design to make use of them; if you approve of my proposal, to-morrow i will give them to the poor, that god may bless us both." the two friends lay at my house that night also; and next day, after embracing me, returned home, well pleased with the reception i had given them, and to find i did not make an improper use of the riches heaven had blessed me with. i thanked them both, and regarded the permission they gave me to cultivate their friendship, and to visit them, as a great honour. the caliph was so attentive to khaujeh hassan's story, that he had not perceived the end of it, but by his silence. "khaujeh hassan," said he, "i have not for a long time heard any thing that has given me so much pleasure, as having been informed of the wonderful ways by which god gave thee thy riches to make thee happy in this world. thou oughtest to continue to return him thanks by the good use thou makest of his blessings. i am glad i can tell thee, that the same diamond which made thy fortune is now in my treasury; and i am happy to learn how it came there: but because there may remain in saadi some doubts on the singularity of this diamond, which i esteem the most precious and valuable jewel i possess, i would have you carry him with saad to my treasurer, who shall shew it them, to remove saadi's unbelief, and to let him see that money is not the only means of making a poor man rich in a short time, without labour. i would also have you tell the keeper of my treasury this story, that he may have it put into writing, and that it may be kept with the diamond." after these words the caliph signified to khaujeh hassan, syed naomaun, and baba abdoollah, by bowing of his head, that he was satisfied with them; they all took their leaves, by prostrating themselves at the throne, and then retired. the story of ali baba and the forty robbers destroyed by a slave. in a town in persia, there lived two brothers, one named cassim, the other ali baba. their father left them scarcely any thing; but as he had divided his little property equally between them, it should seem their fortune ought to have been equal; but chance determined otherwise. cassim married a wife who soon after became heiress to a large sum, and a warehouse full of rich goods; so that he all at once became one of the richest and most considerable merchants, and lived at his ease. ali baba on the other hand, who had married a woman as poor as himself, lived in a very wretched habitation, and had no other means to maintain his wife and children but his daily labour of cutting wood, and bringing it upon three asses, which were his whole substance, to town to sell. one day, when ali baba was in the forest, and had just cut wood enough to load his asses, he saw at a distance a great cloud of dust, which seemed to be driven towards him: he observed it very attentively, and distinguished soon after a body of horse. though there had been no rumour of robbers in that country, ali baba began to think that they might prove such, and without considering what might become of his asses, was resolved to save himself. he climbed up a large, thick tree, whose branches, at a little distance from the ground, were so close to one another that there was but little space between them. he placed himself in the middle, from whence he could see all that passed without being discovered; and the tree stood at the base of a single rock, so steep and craggy that nobody could climb up it. the troop, who were all well mounted and armed, came to the foot of this rock, and there dismounted. ali baba counted forty of them, and, from their looks and equipage, was assured that they were robbers. nor was he mistaken in his opinion: for they were a troop of banditti, who, without doing any harm to the neighbourhood, robbed at a distance, and made that place their rendezvous; but what confirmed him in his opinion was, that every man unbridled his horse, tied him to some shrub, and hung about his neck a bag of corn which they brought behind them. then each of them took his saddle wallet, which seemed to ali baba to be full of gold and silver from its weight. one, who was the most personable amongst them, and whom he took to be their captain, came with his wallet on his back under the tree in which ali baba was concealed, and making his way through some shrubs, pronounced these words so distinctly, "open, sesame," that ali baba heard him. as soon as the captain of the robbers had uttered these words, a door opened in the rock; and after he had made all his troop enter before him, he followed them, when the door shut again of itself. the robbers stayed some time within the rock, and ali baba, who feared that some one, or all of them together, might come out and catch him, if he should endeavour to make his escape, was obliged to sit patiently in the tree. he was nevertheless tempted to get down, mount one of their horses, and lead another, driving his asses before him with all the haste he could to town; but the uncertainty of the event made him choose the safest course. at last the door opened again, and the forty robbers came out. as the captain went in last, he came out first, and stood to see them all pass by him; when ali baba heard him make the door close by pronouncing these words, "shut, sesame." every man went and bridled his horse, fastened his wallet, and mounted again; and when the captain saw them all ready, he put himself at their head, and they returned the way they had come. ali baba did not immediately quit his tree; for, said he to himself, they may have forgotten something and may come back again, and then i shall be taken. he followed them with his eyes as far as he could see them; and afterwards stayed a considerable time before he descended. remembering the words the captain of the robbers used to cause the door to open and shut, he had the curiosity to try if his pronouncing them would have the same effect. accordingly, he went among the shrubs, and perceiving the door concealed behind them, stood before it, and said, "open, sesame." the door instantly flew wide open. ali baba, who expected a dark dismal cavern, was surprised to see it well lighted and spacious, in form of a vault, which received the light from an opening at the top of the rock. he saw all sorts of provisions, rich bales of silk, stuff, brocade, and valuable carpeting, piled upon one another; gold and silver ingots in great heaps, and money in bags. the sight of all these riches made him suppose that this cave must have been occupied for ages by robbers, who had succeeded one another. ali baba did not stand long to consider what he should do, but went immediately into the cave, and as soon as he had entered, the door shut of itself. but this did not disturb him, because he knew the secret to open it again. he never regarded the silver, but made the best use of his time in carrying out as much of the gold coin, which was in bags, at several times, as he thought his three asses could carry. he collected his asses, which were dispersed, and when he had loaded them with the bags, laid wood over in such a manner that they could not be seen. when he had done he stood before the door, and pronouncing the words, "shut, sesame," the door closed after him, for it had shut of itself while he was within, but remained open while he was out. he then made the best of his way to town. when ali baba got home, he drove his asses into a little yard, shut the gates very carefully, threw off the wood that covered the bags, carried them into his house, and ranged them in order before his wife, who sat on a sofa. his wife handled the bags, and finding them full of money, suspected that her husband had been robbing, insomuch that she could not help saying, "ali baba, have you been so unhappy as to______." "be quiet, wife," interrupted ali baba, "do not frighten yourself, i am no robber, unless he may be one who steals from robbers. you will no longer entertain an ill opinion of me, when i shall tell you my good fortune." he then emptied the bags, which raised such a great heap of gold, as dazzled his wife's eyes; and when he had done, told her the whole adventure from beginning to end; and, above all, recommended her to keep it secret. the wife, cured of her fears, rejoiced with her husband at their good fortune, and would count all the gold, piece by piece. "wife," replied ali baba, "you do not know what you undertake, when you pretend to count the money; you will never have done. i will dig a hole, and bury it; there is no time to be lost". "you are in the right, husband," replied she; "but let us know, as nigh as possible, how much we have. i will borrow a small measure in the neighbourhood, and measure it, while you dig the hole." "what you are going to do is to no purpose, wife," said ali baba; "if you would take my advice, you had better let it alone, but keep the secret, and do what you please." away the wife ran to her brother-in-law cassim, who lived just by, but was not then at home; and addressing herself to his wife, desired her to lend her a measure for a little while. her sister- in-law asked her, whether she would have a great or a small one? the other asked for a small one. she bade her stay a little, and she would readily fetch one. the sister-in-law did so, but as she knew ali baba's poverty, she was curious to know what sort of grain his wife wanted to measure, and artfully putting some suet at the bottom of the measure, brought it to her with an excuse, that she was sorry that she had made her stay so long, but that she could not find it sooner. ali baba's wife went home, set the measure upon the heap of gold, filled it and emptied it often upon the sofa, till she had done: when she was very well satisfied to find the number of measures amounted to so many as they did, and went to tell her husband, who had almost finished digging the hole. while ali baba was burying the gold, his wife, to shew her exactness and diligence to her sister-in-law, carried the measure back again, but without taking notice that a piece of gold had stuck to the bottom. "sister," said she, giving it to her again, "you see that i have not kept your measure long; i am obliged to you for it, and return it with thanks." as soon as ali baba's wife was gone, cassim's looked at the bottom of the measure, and was in inexpressible surprise to find a piece of gold stuck to it. envy immediately possessed her breast. "what!" said she, "has ali baba gold so plentiful as to measure it? where has that poor wretch got all this wealth? "cassim, her husband, was not at home, but at his counting-house, which he left always in the evening. his wife waited for him, and thought the time an age; so great was her impatience to tell him the circumstance, at which she guessed he would be as much surprised as herself. when cassim came home, his wife said to him, "cassim, i know you think yourself rich, but you are much mistaken; ali baba is infinitely richer than you; he does not count his money but measures it." cassim desired her to explain the riddle, which she did, by telling him the stratagem she had used to make the discovery, and shewed him the piece of money, which was so old that they could not tell in what prince's reign it was coined. cassim, instead of being pleased, conceived a base envy at his brother's prosperity; he could not sleep all that night, and went to him in the morning before sun-rise. cassim, after he had married the rich widow, had never treated ali baba as a brother, but neglected him. "all baba," said he, accosting him, "you are very reserved in your affairs; you pretend to be miserably poor, and yet you measure gold." "how, brother?" replied ali baba; "i do not know what you mean: explain yourself." "do not pretend ignorance," replied cassim, shewing him the piece of gold his wife had given him. "how many of these pieces," added he, "have you? my wife found this at the bottom of the measure you borrowed yesterday." by this discourse, ali baba perceived that cassim and his wife, through his own wife's folly, knew what they had so much reason to conceal; but what was done could not be recalled; therefore, without shewing the least surprise or trouble, he confessed all, told his brother by what chance he had discovered this retreat of the thieves, in what place it was; and offered him part of his treasure to keep the secret. "i expect as much," replied cassim haughtily; "but i must know exactly where this treasure is, and how i may visit it myself when i choose; otherwise i will go and inform against you, and then you will not only get no more, but will lose all you have, and i shall have a share for my information." ali baba, more out of his natural good temper, than frightened by the insulting menaces of his unnatural brother, told him all he desired, and even the very words he was to use to gain admission into the cave. cassim, who wanted no more of ali baba, left him, resolving to be beforehand with him, and hoping to get all the treasure to himself. he rose the next morning, long before the sun, and set out for the forest with ten mules bearing great chests, which he designed to fill; and followed the road which ali baba had pointed out to him. he was not long before he reached the rock, and found out the place by the tree, and other marks which his brother had given him. when he reached the entrance of the cavern, he pronounced the words, "open, sesame," the door immediately opened, and when he was in, closed upon him. in examining the cave, he was in great admiration to find much more riches than he had apprehended from ali baba's relation. he was so covetous, and greedy of wealth, that he could have spent the whole day in feasting his eyes with so much treasure, if the thought that he came to carry some away had not hindered him. he laid as many bags of gold as he could carry at the door of the cavern, but his thoughts were so full of the great riches he should possess, that he could not think of the necessary word to make it open, but instead of sesame, said "open, barley," and was much amazed to find that the door remained fast shut. he named several sorts of grain, but still the door would not open. cassim had never expected such an incident, and was so alarmed at the danger he was in, that the more he endeavoured to remember the word sesame, the more his memory was confounded, and he had as much forgotten it as if he had never heard it mentioned. he threw down the bags he had loaded himself with, and walked distractedly up and down the cave, without having the least regard to the riches that were round him. about noon the robbers chanced to visit their cave, and at some distance from it saw cassim's mules straggling about the rock, with great chests on their backs. alarmed at this novelty, they galloped full speed to the cave. they drove away the mules, which cassim had neglected to fasten, and they strayed through the forest so far, that they were soon out of sight. the robbers never gave themselves the trouble to pursue them, being more concerned to know who they belonged to. and while some of them searched about the rock, the captain and the rest went directly to the door, with their naked sabres in their hands, and pronouncing the proper words, it opened. cassim, who heard the noise of the horses' feet from the middle of the cave, never doubted of the arrival of the robbers, and his approaching death; but was resolved to make one effort to escape from them. to this end he rushed to the door, and no sooner heard the word sesame, which he had forgotten, and saw the door open, than he ran out and threw the leader down, but could not escape the other robbers, who with their sabres soon deprived him of life. the first care of the robbers after this was to examine the cave. they found all the bags which cassim had brought to the door, to be ready to load his mules, and carried them again to their places, without missing what ali baba had taken away before. then holding a council, and deliberating upon this occurrence, they guessed that cassim, when he was in, could not get out again; but could not imagine how he had entered. it came into their heads that he might have got down by the top of the cave; but the aperture by which it received light was so high, and the rock so inaccessible without, besides that nothing shewed that he had done so, that they gave up this conjecture. that he came in at the door they could not believe however, unless he had the secret of making it open. in short, none of them could imagine which way he had entered; for they were all persuaded nobody knew their secret, little imagining that ali baba had watched them. it was a matter of the greatest importance to them to secure their riches. they agreed therefore to cut cassim's body into four quarters, to hang two on one side and two on the other, within the door of the cave, to terrify any person who should attempt the same thing, determining not to return to the cave till the stench of the body was completely exhaled. they had no sooner taken this resolution than they put it in execution, and when they had nothing more to detain them, left the place of their hoards well closed. they mounted their horses, went to beat the roads again, and to attack the caravans they might meet. in the mean time, cassim's wife was very uneasy when night came, and her husband was not returned. she ran to ali baba in alarm, and said, "i believe, brother-in-law, that you know cassim, your brother, is gone to the forest, and upon what account; it is now night, and he is not returned; i am afraid some misfortune has happened to him." ali baba, who had expected that his brother, after what he had said, would go to the forest, had declined going himself that day, for fear of giving him any umbrage; therefore told her, without any reflection upon her husband's unhandsome behaviour, that she need not frighten herself, for that certainly cassim would not think it proper to come into the town till the night should be pretty far advanced. cassim's wife, considering how much it concerned her husband to keep the business secret, was the more easily persuaded to believe her brother-in-law. she went home again, and waited patiently till midnight. then her fear redoubled, and her grief was the more sensible because she was forced to keep it to herself. she repented of her foolish curiosity, and cursed her desire of penetrating into the affairs of her brother and sister- in-law. she spent all the night in weeping; and as soon as it was day, went to them, telling them, by her tears, the cause of her coming. ali baba did not wait for his sister-in-law to desire him to go to see what was become of cassim, but departed immediately with his three asses, begging of her first to moderate her affliction. he went to the forest, and when he came near the rock, having seen neither his brother nor the mules in his way, was seriously alarmed at finding some blood spilt near the door, which he took for an ill omen; but when he had pronounced the word, and the door had opened, he was struck with horror at the dismal sight of his brother's quarters. he was not long in determining how he should pay the last dues to his brother, but without adverting to the little fraternal affection he had shown for him, went into the cave, to find something to enshroud his remains, and having loaded one of his asses with them, covered them over with wood. the other two asses he loaded with bags of gold, covering them with wood also as before; and then bidding the door shut, came away; but was so cautious as to stop some time at the end of the forest, that he might not go into the town before night. when he came home, he drove the two asses loaded with gold into his little yard, and left the care of unloading them to his wife, while he led the other to his sister-in-law's house. ali baba knocked at the door, which was opened by morgiana, an intelligent slave, fruitful in inventions to insure success in the most difficult undertakings: and ali baba knew her to be such. when he came into the court, he unloaded the ass, and taking morgiana aside, said to her, "the first thing i ask of you is an inviolable secrecy, which you will find is necessary both for your mistress's sake and mine. your master's body is contained in these two bundles, and our business is, to bury him as if he had died a natural death. go, tell your mistress i want to speak with her; and mind what i have said to you." morgiana went to her mistress, and ali baba followed her. "well, brother," said she, with great impatience, "what news do you bring me of my husband? i perceive no comfort in your countenance." "sister," answered ali baba, "i cannot satisfy your inquiries unless you hear my story from the beginning to the end, without speaking a word; for it is of as great importance to you as to me to keep what has happened secret." "alas!" said she, "this preamble lets me know that my husband is not to be found; but at the same time i know the necessity of the secrecy you require, and i must constrain myself: say on, i will hear you." ali baba then detailed the incidents of his journey, till he came to the finding of cassim's body. "now," said he, "sister, i have something to relate which will afflict you the more, because it is perhaps what you so little expect; but it cannot now be remedied; if my endeavours can comfort you, i offer to put that which god hath sent me to what you have, and marry you: assuring you that my wife will not be jealous, and that we shall live happily together. if this proposal is agreeable to you, we mast think of acting so as that my brother should appear to have died a natural death. i think you may leave the management of the business to morgiana, and i will contribute all that lies in my power to your consolation." what could cassim's widow do better than accept of this proposal? for though her first husband had left behind him a plentiful substance, his brother was now much richer, and by the discovery of this treasure might be still more so. instead, therefore, of rejecting the offer, she regarded it as the sure means of comfort; and drying up her tears, which had begun to flow abundantly, and suppressing the outcries usual with women who have lost their husbands, shewed ali baba that she approved of his proposal. ali baba left the widow, recommended to morgiana to act her part well, and then returned home with his ass. morgiana went out at the same time to an apothecary, and asked for a sort of lozenges, which he prepared, and were very efficacious in the most dangerous disorders. the apothecary inquired who was ill at her master's? she replied with a sigh, "her good master cassim himself: that they knew not what his disorder was, but that he could neither eat nor speak." after these words, morgiana carried the lozenges home with her, and the next morning went to the same apothecary's again, and with tears in her eyes, asked for an essence which they used to give to sick people only when at the last extremity. "alas!" said she, taking it from the apothecary, "i am afraid that this remedy will have no better effect than the lozenges; and that i shall lose my good master." on the other hand, as ali baba and his wife were often seen to go between cassim's and their own house all that day, and to seem melancholy, nobody was surprised in the evening to hear the lamentable shrieks and cries of cassim's wife and morgiana, who gave out every where that her master was dead. the next morning, soon after day appeared, morgiana, who knew a certain old cobbler that opened his stall early, before other people, went to him, and bidding him good morrow, put a piece of gold into his hand. "well," said baba mustapha, which was his name, and who was a merry old fellow, looking at the gold, though it was hardly day-light, and seeing what it was, "this is good hansel: what must i do for it? i am ready." "baba mustapha," said morgiana, "you must take with you your sewing tackle, and go with me; but i must tell you, i shall blindfold you when you come to such a place." baba mustapha seemed to hesitate a little at these words. "oh! oh!" replied he, "you would have me do something against my conscience, or against my honour?" "god forbid!" said morgiana, putting another piece of gold into his hand, "that i should ask any thing that is contrary to your honour; only come along with me, and fear nothing." baba mustapha went with morgiana, who, after she had bound his eyes with a handkerchief at the place she had mentioned, conveyed him to her deceased master's house, and never unloosed his eyes till he had entered the room where she had put the corpse together. "baba mustapha," said she, "you must make haste and sew these quarters together; and when you have done, i will give you another piece of gold." after baba mustapha had finished his task, she blindfolded him again, gave him the third piece of gold as she had promised, and recommending secrecy to him, carried him back to the place where she first bound his eyes, pulled off the bandage, and let him go home, but watched him that he returned towards his stall, till he was quite out of sight, for fear he should have the curiosity to return and dodge her; she then went home. by the time morgiana had warmed some water to wash the body, ali baba came with incense to embalm it, after which it was sewn up in a winding sheet. not long after, the joiner, according to ali baba's orders, brought the bier, which morgiana received at the door, and helped ali baba to put the body into it; when she went to the mosque to inform the imaum that they were ready. the people of the mosque, whose business it was to wash the dead, offered to perform their duty, but she told them that it was done already. morgiana had scarcely got home before the imaum and the other ministers of the mosque arrived. four neighbours carried the corpse on their shoulders to the burying-ground, following the imaum, who recited some prayers. morgiana, as a slave to the deceased, followed the corpse, weeping, beating her breast, and tearing her hair: and ali baba came after with some neighbours, who often relieved the others in carrying the corpse to the burying-ground. cassim's wife stayed at home mourning, uttering lamentable cries with the women of the neighbourhood, who came according to custom during the funeral, and joining their lamentations with hers, filled the quarter far and near with sorrow. in this manner cassim's melancholy death was concealed, and hushed up between ali baba, his wife, cassim's widow, and morgiana, with so much contrivance, that nobody in the city had the least knowledge or suspicion of the cause of it. three or four days after the funeral, ali baba removed his few goods openly to the widow's house; but the money he had taken from the robbers he conveyed thither by night; soon after the marriage with his sister-in-law was published, and as these marriages are common, nobody was surprised. as for cassim's warehouse, ali baba gave it to his own eldest son, promising that if he managed it well, he would soon give him a fortune to marry very advantageously according to his situation. let us now leave ali baba to enjoy the beginning of his good fortune, and return to the forty robbers. they came again at the appointed time to visit their retreat in the forest; but great was their surprise to find cassim's body taken away, with some of their bags of gold. "we are certainly discovered," said the captain, "and if we do not speedily apply some remedy, shall gradually lose all the riches which our ancestors and ourselves have, with so much pains and danger, been so many years amassing together. all that we can think of the loss which we have sustained is, that the thief whom we surprised had the secret of opening the door, and we came luckily as he was coming out: but his body being removed, and with it some of our money, plainly shews that he had an accomplice; and as it is likely that there were but two who had discovered our secret, and one has been caught, we must look narrowly after the other. what say you, my lads?" all the robbers thought the captain's proposal so advisable, that they unanimously approved of it, and agreed that they must lay all other enterprises aside, to follow this closely, and not give it up till they had succeeded. "i expected no less," said the captain, "from your fidelity to our cause: but, first of all, one of you who is bold, artful, and enterprising, must go into the town, disguised as a traveller and a stranger, to try if he can hear any talk of the strange death of the man whom we have killed, as he deserved; and endeavour to find out who he was, and where he lived. this is a matter of the first importance for us to ascertain, that we may do nothing which we may have reason to repent of, by discovering ourselves in a country where we have lived so long unknown, and where we have so much reason to continue: but to warn him who shall take upon himself this commission, and to prevent our being deceived by his giving us a false report, which may be the cause of our ruin; i ask you all, if you do not think that in case of treachery, or even error of judgment, he should suffer death?" without waiting for the suffrages of his companions, one of the robbers started up, and said, "i submit to this condition, and think it an honour to expose my life, by taking the commission upon me; but remember, at least, if i do not succeed, that i neither wanted courage nor good will to serve the troop." after this robber had received great commendations from the captain and his comrades, he disguised himself so that nobody would take him for what he was; and taking his leave of the troop that night, went into the town just at day-break; and walked up and down, till accidentally he came to baba mustapha's stall, which was always open before any of the shops. baba mustapha was seated with an awl in his hand, just going to work. the robber saluted him, bidding him good morrow; and perceiving that he was old, said, "honest man, you begin to work very early: is it possible that one of your age can see so well? i question, even if it were somewhat lighter, whether you could see to stitch." "certainly," replied baba mustapha," you must be a stranger, and do not know me; for old as i am, i have extraordinary good eyes; and you will not doubt it when i tell you that i sewed a dead body together in a place where i had not so much light as i have now." the robber was overjoyed to think that he had addressed himself, at his first coming into the town, to a man who in all probability could give him the intelligence he wanted. "a dead body!" replied he with affected amazement, to make him explain himself. "what could you sew up a dead body for? you mean, you sewed up his winding sheet." "no, no," answered baba mustapha, "i perceive your meaning; you want to have me speak out, but you shall know no more." the robber wanted no farther assurance to be persuaded that he had discovered what he sought. he pulled out a piece of gold, and putting it into baba mustapha's hand, said to him, "i do not want to learn your secret, though i can assure you i would not divulge it, if you trusted me with it. the only thing which i desire of you is, to do me the favour to shew me the house where you stitched up the dead body." "if i were disposed to do you that favour," replied baba mustapha, holding the money in his hand, ready to return it, "i assure you i cannot; and you may believe me, on my word. i was taken to a certain place, where i was blinded, i was then led to the house, and afterwards brought back again in the same manner; you see, therefore, the impossibility of my doing what you desire." "well," replied the robber, "you may, however, remember a little of the way that you were led blindfolded. come, let me blind your eyes at the same place. we will walk together; perhaps you may recognize some part; and as every body ought to be paid for their trouble, there is another piece of gold for you; gratify me in what i ask you." so saying, he put another piece of gold into his hand. the two pieces of gold were great temptations to baba mustapha. he looked at them a long time in his hand, without saying a word, thinking with himself what he should do; but at last he pulled out his purse, and put them in. "i cannot assure you," said he to the robber, "that i can remember the way exactly; but since you desire, i will try what i can do." at these words baba mustapha rose up, to the great joy of the robber, and without shutting his shop, where he had nothing valuable to lose, he led the robber to the place where morgiana had bound his eyes. "it was here," said baba mustapha, "i was blindfolded; and i turned as you see me." the robber, who had his handkerchief ready, tied it over his eyes, walked by him till he stopped, partly leading, and partly guided by him. "i think," said baba mustapha, "i went no farther," and he had now stopped directly at cassim's house, where ali baba then lived. the thief, before he pulled off the band, marked the door with a piece of chalk, which he had ready in his hand; and then asked him if he knew whose house that was? to which baba mustapha replied, that as he did not live in that neighbourhood he could not tell. the robber, finding he could discover no more from baba mustapha, thanked him for the trouble he had taken, and left him to go back to his stall, while he returned to the forest, persuaded that he should be very well received. a little after the robber and baba mustapha had parted, morgiana went out of ali baba's house upon some errand, and upon her return, seeing the mark the robber had made, stopped to observe it. "what can be the meaning of this mark?" said she to herself; "somebody intends my master no good: however, with whatever intention it was done, it is advisable to guard against the worst." accordingly, she fetched a piece of chalk, and marked two or three doors on each side, in the same manner, without saying a word to her master or mistress. in the mean time the thief rejoined his troop in the forest, and recounted to them his success; expatiating upon his good fortune, in meeting so soon with the only person who could inform him of what he wanted to know. all the robbers listened to him with the utmost satisfaction; when the captain, after commending his diligence, addressing himself to them all, said, "comrades, we have no time to lose: let us set off well armed, without its appearing who we are; but that we may not excite any suspicion, let only one or two go into the town together, and join at our rendezvous, which shall be the great square. in the mean time our comrade, who brought us the good news, and i, will go and find out the house, that we may consult what had best be done." this speech and plan were approved of by all, and they were soon ready. they filed off in parties of two each, after some interval of time, and got into the town without being in the least suspected. the captain and he who had visited the town in the morning as spy, came in the last. he led the captain into the street where he had marked ali baba's residence; and when they came to the first of the houses which morgiana had marked, he pointed it out. but the captain observed that the next door was chalked in the same manner, and in the same place; and shewing it to his guide, asked him which house it was, that, or the first? the guide was so confounded, that he knew not what answer to make; but still more puzzled, when he and the captain saw five or six houses similarly marked. he assured the captain, with an oath, that he had marked but one, and could not tell who had chalked the rest, so that he could not distinguish the house which the cobbler had stopped at. the captain, finding that their design had proved abortive, went directly to the place of rendezvous, and told the first of his troops whom he met that they had lost their labour, and must return to their cave. he himself set them the example, and they all returned as they had come. when the troop was all got together, the captain told them the reason of their returning; and presently the conductor was declared by all worthy of death. he condemned himself, acknowledging that he ought to have taken better precaution, and prepared to receive the stroke from him who was appointed to cut off his head. but as the safety of the troop required that an injury should not go unpunished, another of the gang, who promised himself that he should succeed better, presented himself, and his offer being accepted, he went and corrupted baba mustapha, as the other had done; and being shewn the house, marked it in a place more remote from sight, with red chalk. not long after morgiana, whose eyes nothing could escape, went out, and seeing the red chalk, and arguing with herself as she had done before, marked the other neighbours' houses in the same place and manner. the robber, at his return to his company, valued himself much on the precaution he had taken, which he looked upon as an infallible way of distinguishing ali baba's house from the others; and the captain and all of them thought it must succeed. they conveyed themselves into the town with the same precaution as before; but when the robber and his captain came to the street, they found the same difficulty; at which the captain was enraged, and the robber in as great confusion as his predecessor. thus the captain and his troop were forced to retire a second time, and much more dissatisfied; while the robber, who had been the author of the mistake, underwent the same punishment; which he willingly submitted to. the captain, having lost two brave fellows of his troop, was afraid of diminishing it too much by pursuing this plan to get information of the residence of their plunderer. he found by their example that their heads were not so good as their hands on such occasions; and therefore resolved to take upon himself the important commission. accordingly he went and addressed himself to baba mustapha, who did him the same service he had done to the other robbers. he did not set any particular mark on the house, but examined and observed it so carefully, by passing often by it, that it was impossible for him to mistake it. the captain, well satisfied with his attempt, and informed of what he wanted to know, returned to the forest; and when he came into the cave, where the troop waited for him, said, "now, comrades, nothing can prevent our full revenge, as i am certain of the house, and in my way hither i have thought how to put it into execution, but if any one can form a better expedient, let him communicate it." he then told them his contrivance; and as they approved of it, ordered them to go into the villages about, and buy nineteen mules, with thirty-eight large leather jars, one full of oil, and the others empty. in two or three days' time the robbers had purchased the mules and jars, and as the mouths of the jars were rather too narrow for his purpose, the captain caused them to be widened; and after having put one of his men into each, with the weapons which he thought fit, leaving open the seam which had been undone to leave them room to breathe, he rubbed the jars on the outside with oil from the full vessel. things being thus prepared, when the nineteen mules were loaded with thirty-seven robbers in jars, and the jar of oil, the captain, as their driver, set out with them, and reached the town by the dusk of the evening, as he had intended. he led them through the streets till he came to ali baba's, at whose door he designed to have knocked; but was prevented by his sitting there after supper to take a little fresh air. he stopped his mules, addressed himself to him, and said, "i have brought some oil a great way, to sell at to-morrow's market; and it is now so late that i do not know where to lodge. if i should not be troublesome to you, do me the favour to let me pass the night with you, and i shall be very much obliged by your hospitality." though ali baba had seen the captain of the robbers in the forest, and had heard him speak, it was impossible to know him in the disguise of an oil-merchant. he told him he should be welcome, and immediately opened his gates for the mules to go into the yard. at the same time he called to a slave, and ordered him, when the mules were unloaded, not only to put them into the stable, but to give them fodder; and then went to morgiana, to bid her get a good supper for his guest. he did more. to make his guest as welcome as possible, when he saw the captain had unloaded his mules, and that they were put into the stables as he had ordered, and he was looking for a place to pass the night in the air, he brought him into the hall where he received his company, telling him he would not suffer him to be in the court. the captain excused himself on pretence of not being troublesome; but really to have room to execute his design, and it was not till after the most pressing importunity that he yielded. ali baba, not content to keep company with the man who had a design on his life till supper was ready, continued talking with him till it was ended, and repeating his offer of service. the captain rose up at the same time with his host; and while ali baba went to speak to morgiana he withdrew into the yard, under pretence of looking at his mules. ali baba, after charging morgiana afresh to take care of his guest, said to her, "to- morrow morning i design to go to the bath before day; take care my bathing-linen be ready, give them to abdoollah," which was the slave's name, "and make me some good broth against i return." after this he went to bed. in the mean time the captain of the robbers went from the stable to give his people orders what to do; and beginning at the first jar, and so on to the last, said to each man: "as soon as i throw some stones out of the chamber window where i lie, do not fail to cut the jar open with the knife you have about you for the purpose, and come out, and i will immediately join you." after this he returned into the house, when morgiana taking up a light, conducted him to his chamber, where she left him; and he, to avoid any suspicion, put the light out soon after, and laid himself down in his clothes, that he might be the more ready to rise. morgiana, remembering ali baba's orders, got his bathing-linen ready, and ordered abdoollah to set on the pot for the broth; but while she was preparing it, the lamp went out, and there was no more oil in the house, nor any candles. what to do she did not know, for the broth must be made. abdoollah seeing her very uneasy, said, "do not fret and teaze yourself, but go into the yard, and take some oil out of one of the jars." morgiana thanked abdoollah for his advice, took the oil-pot, and went into the yard; when as she came nigh the first jar, the robber within said softly, "is it time?" though the robber spoke low, morgiana was struck with the voice the more, because the captain, when he unloaded the mules, had taken the lids off this and all the other jars to give air to his men, who were ill enough at their ease, almost wanting room to breathe. as much surprised as morgiana naturally was at finding a man in a jar instead of the oil she wanted, many would have made such a noise as to have given an alarm, which would have been attended with fatal consequences; whereas morgiana comprehending immediately the importance of keeping silence, from the danger ali baba, his family, and herself were in, and the necessity of applying a speedy remedy without noise, conceived at once the means, and collecting herself without shewing the least emotions, answered, "not yet, but presently." she went in this manner to all the jars, giving the same answer, till she came to the jar of oil. by this means, morgiana found that her master ali baba, who thought that he had entertained an oil merchant, had admitted thirty-eight robbers into his house, regarding this pretended merchant as their captain. she made what haste she could to fill her oil-pot, and returned into her kitchen; where, as soon as she had lighted her lamp, she took a great kettle, went again to the oil-jar, filled the kettle, set it on a large wood-fire, and as soon as it boiled went and poured enough into every jar to stifle and destroy the robber within. when this action, worthy of the courage of morgiana, was executed without any noise, as she had projected, she returned into the kitchen with the empty kettle; and having put out the great fire she had made to boil the oil, and leaving just enough to make the broth, put out the lamp also, and remained silent; resolving not to go to rest till she had observed what might follow through a window of the kitchen, which opened into the yard. she had not waited long before the captain of the robbers got up, opened the window, and finding no light, and hearing no noise, or any one stirring in the house, gave the appointed signal, by throwing little stones, several of which hit the jars, as he doubted not by the sound they gave. he then listened, but not hearing or perceiving any thing, whereby he could judge that his companions stirred, he began to grow very uneasy, threw stones again a second and also a third time, and could not comprehend the reason that none of them should answer his signal. much alarmed, he went softly down into the yard, and going to the first jar, whilst asking the robber whom he thought alive if he was in readiness, smelt the hot boiled oil, which sent forth a steam out of the jar. hence he suspected that his plot to murder ali baba and plunder his house was discovered. examining all the jars one after another, he found that all his gang were dead; and by the oil he missed out of the last jar guessed the means and manner of their death. enraged to despair at having failed in his design, he forced the lock of a door that led from the yard to the garden, and climbing over the walls, made his escape. when morgiana heard no noise, and found, after waiting some time, that the captain did not return, she concluded that he had chosen rather to make his escape by the garden than the street-door, which was double locked. satisfied and pleased to have succeeded so well, in saving her master and family, she went to bed. ali baba rose before day, and, followed by his slave, went to the baths, entirely ignorant of the important event which had happened at home; for morgiana had not thought it safe to wake him before, for fear of losing her opportunity; and after her successful exploit she thought it needless to disturb him. when he returned from the baths, the sun was risen; he was very much surprised to see the oil-jars, and that the merchant was not gone with the mules. he asked morgiana, who opened the door, and had let all things stand as they were, that he might see them, the reason of it? "my good master," answered she, "god preserve you and all your family; you will be better informed of what you wish to know when you have seen what i have to shew you, if you will but give yourself the trouble to follow me." as soon as morgiana had shut the door, ali baba followed her; when she requested him to look into the first jar and see if there was any oil. ali baba did so, and seeing a man, started back in alarm, and cried out. "do not be afraid," said morgiana, "the man you see there can neither do you nor any body else any harm. he is dead." "ah, morgiana!" said ali baba, "what is it you shew me? explain yourself." "i will," replied morgiana; "moderate your astonishment, and do not excite the curiosity of your neighbours; for it is of great importance to keep this affair secret. look into all the other jars." ali baba examined all the other jars, one after another: and when he came to that which had the oil in, found it prodigiously sunk, and stood for some time motionless, sometimes looking at the jars, and sometimes at morgiana, without saying a word, so great was his surprise: at last, when he had recovered himself, he said, "and what is become of the merchant?" "merchant!" answered she, "he is as much one as i am; i will tell you who he is, and what is become of him; but you had better hear the story in your own chamber; for it is time for your health that you had your broth after your bathing." while ali baba retired to his chamber, morgiana went into the kitchen to fetch the broth, but before he would drink it, he first entreated her to satisfy his impatience, and tell him what had happened, with all the circumstances; and she obeyed him. "last night, sir," said she, "when you were gone to bed, i got your bathing- linens ready, and gave them to abdoollah; afterwards i set on the pot for the broth, but as i was preparing the materials, the lamp, for want of oil, went out; and as there was not a drop more in the house, i looked for a candle, but could not find one: abdoollah seeing me vexed, put me in mind of the jars of oil which stood in the yard. i took the oil-pot, went directly to the jar which stood nearest to me; and when i came to it, heard a voice within, saying, â��is it time?' without being dismayed, and comprehending immediately the malicious intention of the pretended oil-merchant, i answered, â��not yet, but presently.' i then went to the next, when another voice asked me the same question, and i returned the same answer; and so on, till i came to the last, which i found full of oil; with which i filled my pot. "when i considered that there were thirty seven robbers in the yard, who only waited for a signal to be given by the captain, whom you took to be an oil-merchant, and entertained so handsomely, i thought there was no time to be lost; i carried my pot of oil into the kitchen, lighted the lamp, afterwards took the biggest kettle i had, went and filled it full of oil, set it on the fire to boil, and then poured as much into each jar as was sufficient to prevent them from executing the pernicious design they had meditated: after this i retired into the kitchen, and put out the lamp; but before i went to bed, waited at the window to know what measures the pretended merchant would take. "after i had watched some time for the signal, he threw some stones out of the window against the jars, but neither hearing nor perceiving any body stirring, after throwing three times, he came down, when i saw him go to every jar, after which, through the darkness of the night, i lost sight of him. i waited some time longer, and finding that he did not return, doubted not but that, seeing he had missed his aim, he had made his escape over the walls of the garden. persuaded that the house was now safe, i went to bed. "this," said morgiana, "is the account you asked of me; and i am convinced it is the consequence of what i observed some days ago, but did not think fit to acquaint you with: for when i came in one morning early, i found our street door marked with white chalk, and the next morning with red; upon which, both times, without knowing what was the intention of those chalks, i marked two or three neighbours' doors on each side in the same manner. if you reflect on this, and what has since happened, you will find it to be a plot of the robbers of the forest, of whose gang there are two wanting, and now they are reduced to three: all this shews that they had sworn your destruction, and it is proper you should be upon your guard, while there is one of them alive: for my part i shall neglect nothing necessary to your preservation, as i am in duty bound." when morgiana had left off speaking, ali baba was so sensible of the great service she had done him, that he said to her, "i will not die without rewarding you as you deserve: i owe my life to you, and for the first token of my acknowledgment, give you your liberty from this moment, till i can complete your recompense as i intend. i am persuaded with you, that the forty robbers have laid snares for my destruction. god, by your means, has delivered me from them as yet, and i hope will continue to preserve me from their wicked designs, and by averting the danger which threatened me, will deliver the world from their persecution and their cursed race. all that we have to do is to bury the bodies of these pests of mankind immediately, and with all the secrecy imaginable, that nobody may suspect what is become of them. but that labour abdoollah and i will undertake." ali baba's garden was very long, and shaded at the farther end by a great number of large trees. under these he and the slave dug a trench, long and wide enough to hold all the robbers, and as the earth was light, they were not long in doing it. afterwards they lifted the bodies out of the jars, took away their weapons, carried them to the end of the garden, laid them in the trench, and levelled the ground again. when this was done, ali baba hid the jars and weapons; and as he had no occasion for the mules, he sent them at different times to be sold in the market by his slave. while ali baba took these measures to prevent the public from knowing how he came by his riches in so short a time, the captain of the forty robbers returned to the forest with inconceivable mortification; and in his agitation, or rather confusion, at his ill success, so contrary to what he had promised himself, entered the cave, not being able, all the way from the town, to come to any resolution how to revenge himself of ali baba. the loneliness of the gloomy cavern became frightful to him. "where are you, my brave lads," cried he, "old companions of my watchings, inroads, and labour? what can i do without you? did i collect you only to lose you by so base a fate, and so unworthy of your courage! had you died with your sabres in your hands, like brave men, my regret had been less! when shall i enlist so gallant a troop again? and if i could, can i undertake it without exposing so much gold and treasure to him who hath already enriched himself out of it? i cannot, i ought not to think of it, before i have taken away his life. i will undertake that alone which i could not accomplish with your powerful assistance; and when i have taken measures to secure this treasure from being pillaged, i will provide for it new masters and successors after me, who shall preserve and augment it to all posterity." this resolution being taken, he was not at a loss how to execute his purpose; but easy in his mind, and full of hopes, slept all that night very quietly. when he awoke early next morning, he dressed himself, agreeably to the project he had formed, went to the town, and took a lodging in a khan. as he expected what had happened at ali baba's might make a great noise, he asked his host what news there was in the city? upon which the inn-keeper told him a great many circumstances, which did not concern him in the least. he judged by this, that the reason why ali baba kept his affairs so secret, was for fear people should know where the treasure lay; and because he knew his life would be sought on account of it. this urged him the more to neglect nothing to rid himself of so cautious an enemy. the captain now assumed the character of a merchant, and conveyed gradually a great many sorts of rich stuffs and fine linen to his lodging from the cavern, but with all the necessary precautions imaginable to conceal the place whence he brought them. in order to dispose of the merchandizes, when he had amassed them together, he took a warehouse, which happened to be opposite to cassim's, which ali baba's son had occupied since the death of his uncle. he took the name of khaujeh houssain, and as a new-comer, was, according to custom, extremely civil and complaisant to all the merchants his neighbours. ali baba's son was from his vicinity one of the first to converse with khaujeh houssain, who strove to cultivate his friendship more particularly, when, two or three days after he was settled, he recognized ali baba, who came to see his son, and stopped to talk with him as he was accustomed to do. when he was gone, the impostor learnt from his son who he was. he increased his assiduities, caressed him in the most engaging manner, made him some small presents, and often asked him to dine and sup with him; when he treated him very handsomely. ali baba's son did not choose to lie under such obligation to khaujeh houssain, without making the like return; but was so much straitened for want of room in his house, that he could not entertain him so well as he wished; he therefore acquainted his father ali baba with his intention, and told him that it did not look well for him to receive such favours from khaujeh houssain, without inviting him in return. ali baba, with great pleasure, took the treat upon himself. "son," said he, "to-morrow being friday, which is a day that the shops of such great merchants as khaujeh houssain and yourself are shut, get him to take a walk with you, and as you come back, pass by my door, and call in. it will look better to have it happen accidentally, than if you gave him a formal invitation. i will go and order morgiana to provide a supper." the next day ali baba's son and khaujeh houssain met by appointment, took their walk, and as they returned, ali baba's son led khaujeh houssain through the street where his father lived; and when they came to the house, stopped and knocked at the door. "this, sir," said he, "is my father's house; who, from the account i have given him of your friendship, charged me to procure him the honour of your acquaintance; and i desire you to add this pleasure to those for which i am already indebted to you." though it was the sole aim of khaujeh houssain to introduce himself into ali baba's house, that he might kill him without hazarding his own life or making any noise; yet he excused himself, and offered to take his leave. but a slave having opened the door, ali baba's son took him obligingly by the hand, and in a manner forced him in. ali baba received khaujeh houssain with a smiling countenance, and in the most obliging manner he could wish. he thanked him for all the favours he had done his son; adding withal, the obligation was the greater, as he was a young man not much acquainted with the world, and that he might contribute to his information. khaujeh houssain returned the compliment, by assuring ali baba, that though his son might not have acquired the experience of older men, he had good sense equal to the experience of many others. after a little more conversation on different subjects, he offered again to take his leave; when ali baba, stopping him, said, "where are you going, sir, in so much haste? i beg you would do me the honour to sup with me, though what i have to give you is not worth your acceptance; but such as it is, i hope you will accept it as heartily as i give it." "sir," replied khaujeh houssain, "i am thoroughly persuaded of your good-will; and if i ask the favour of you not to take it ill that i do not accept your obliging invitation, i beg of you to believe that it does not proceed from any slight or intention to affront, but from a reason which you would approve if you knew it." "and what may that reason be, sir," replied ali baba, "if i may be so bold as to ask you?" "it is," answered khaujeh houssain, "that i can eat no victuals that have any salt in them; therefore judge how i should feel at your table." "if that is the only reason," said ali baba, "it ought not to deprive me of the honour of your company at supper; for, in the first place, there is no salt ever put into my bread, and as to the meat we shall have to- night, i promise you there shall be none in that. therefore you must do me the favour to stay. i will return immediately." ali baba went into the kitchen, and ordered morgiana to put no salt to the meat that was to be dressed that night; and to make quickly two or three ragouts besides what he had ordered, but be sure to put no salt in them. morgiana, who was always ready to obey her master, could not help, this time, seeming somewhat dissatisfied at his strange order. "who is this difficult man," said she, "who eats no salt with his meat? your supper will be spoiled, if i keep it back so long." "do not be angry, morgiana," replied ali baba: "he is an honest man; therefore do as i bid you." morgiana obeyed, though with no little reluctance, and had a curiosity to see this man who ate no salt. to this end, when she had finished what she had to do in the kitchen, she helped abdoollah to carry up the dishes; and looking at khaujeh houssain, knew him at first sight, notwithstanding his disguise, to be the captain of the robbers, and examining him very carefully, perceived that he had a dagger under his garment. "i am not in the least amazed," said she to herself, "that this wicked wretch, who is my master's greatest enemy, would eat no salt with him, since he intends to assassinate him; but i will prevent him". morgiana, while they were eating, made the necessary preparations for executing one of the boldest acts ever meditated, and had just determined, when abdoollah came for the dessert of fruit, which she carried up, and as soon as abdoollah had taken the meat away, set it upon the table; after that, she placed three glasses by ali baba, and going out, took abdoollah with her to sup, and to give ali baba the more liberty of conversation with his guest. khaujeh houssain, or rather the captain of the robbers, thought he had now a favourable opportunity of being revenged on ali baba. "i will," said he to himself, "make the father and son both drunk: the son, whose life i intend to spare, will not be able to prevent my stabbing his father to the heart; and while the slaves are at supper, or asleep in the kitchen, i can make my escape over the gardens as before." instead of going to supper, morgiana, who had penetrated the intentions of the counterfeit khaujeh houssain, would not give him time to put his villanous design into execution, but dressed herself neatly with a suitable head-dress like a dancer, girded her waist with a silver-gilt girdle, to which there hung a poniard with a hilt and guard of the same metal, and put a handsome mask on her face. when she had thus disguised herself, she said to abdoollah, "take your tabor, and let us go and divert our master and his son's guest, as we do sometimes when he is alone." abdoollah took his tabor and played all the way into the hall before morgiana, who, when she came to the door, made a low obeisance, with a deliberate air, in order to draw attention, and by way of asking leave to exhibit her skill. abdoollah, seeing that his master had a mind to say something, left off playing. "come in, morgiana," said ali baba, "and let khaujeh houssain see what you can do, that he may tell us what he thinks of you." "but, sir," said he, turning towards his guest, "do not think that i put myself to any expense to give you this diversion, since these are my slave and my cook and housekeeper; and i hope you will not find the entertainment they give us disagreeable." khaujeh houssain, who did not expect this diversion after supper, began to fear he should not be able to improve the opportunity he thought he had found; but hoped, if he now missed his aim, to secure it another time, by keeping up a friendly correspondence with the father and son; therefore, though he could have wished ali baba would have declined the dance, he pretended to be obliged to him for it, and had the complaisance to express his satisfaction at what he saw pleased his host. as soon as abdoollah saw that ali baba and khaujeh houssain had done talking, he began to play on the tabor, and accompanied it with an air; to which morgiana, who was an excellent performer, danced in such a manner as would have created admiration in any other company besides that before which she now exhibited, among whom, perhaps, none but the false khaujeh houssain was in the least attentive to her, the rest having seen her so frequently. after she had danced several dances with equal propriety and grace, she drew the poniard, and holding it in her hand, began a dance, in which she outdid herself, by the many different figures, light movements, and the surprising leaps and wonderful exertions with which she accompanied it. sometimes she presented the poniard to one's breast, sometimes to another's, and oftentimes seeming to strike her own. at last, as if she was out of breath, she snatched the tabor from abdoollah with her left hand, and holding the dagger in her right, presented the other side of the tabor, after the manner of those who get a livelihood by dancing, and solicit the liberality of the spectators. ali baba put a piece of gold into the tabor, as did also his son; and khaujeh houssain seeing that she was coming to him, had pulled his purse out of his bosom to make her a present; but while he was putting his hand into it, morgiana, with a courage and resolution worthy of herself, plunged the poniard into his heart. ali baba and his son, shocked at this action, cried out aloud. "unhappy wretch!" exclaimed ali baba, "what have you done to ruin me and my family?" "it was to preserve, not to ruin you," answered morgiana; "for see here," continued she (opening the pretended khaujeh houssain's garment, and shewing the dagger), "what an enemy you had entertained! look well at him, and you will find him to be both the fictitious oil-merchant, and the captain of the gang of forty robbers. remember, too, that he would eat no salt with you; and what would you have more to persuade you of his wicked design? before i saw him i suspected him as soon as you told me you had such a guest. i knew him, and you now find that my suspicion was not groundless." ali baba, who immediately felt the new obligation he had to morgiana for saving his life a second time, embraced her: "morgiana," said he, "i gave you your liberty, and then promised you that my gratitude should not stop there, but that i would soon give you higher proofs of its sincerity, which i now do by making you my daughter-in-law." then addressing himself to his son, he said, "i believe you, son, to be so dutiful a child, that you will not refuse morgiana for your wife. you see that khaujeh houssain sought your friendship with a treacherous design to take away my life; and, if he had succeeded, there is no doubt but he would have sacrificed you also to his revenge. consider, that by marrying morgiana you marry the preserver of my family and your own." the son, far from shewing any dislike, readily consented to the marriage; not only because he would not disobey his father, but also because it was agreeable to his inclination. after this, they thought of burying the captain of the robbers with his comrades, and did it so privately that nobody discovered their bones till many years after, when no one had any concern in the publication of this remarkable history. a few days afterwards, ali baba celebrated the nuptials of his son and morgiana with great solemnity, a sumptuous feast, and the usual dancing and spectacles; and had the satisfaction to see that his friends and neighbours, whom he invited, had no knowledge of the true motives of the marriage; but that those who were not unacquainted with morgiana's good qualities commended his generosity and goodness of heart. ali baba forbore, after this marriage, from going again to the robbers' cave, as he had done from the time he had brought away his brother cassim's mangled remains, for fear of being surprised. he kept away after the death of the thirty-seven robbers and their captain, supposing the other two, whom he could get no account of, might be alive. at the year's end, when he found they had not made any attempt to disturb him, he had the curiosity to make another journey, taking the necessary precautions for his safety. he mounted his horse, and when he came to the cave, and saw no footsteps of men or horses, looked upon it as a good sign. he alighted, tied his horse to a tree, then approaching the entrance, and pronouncing the words, open, sesame, the door opened. he entered the cavern, and by the condition he found things in, judged that nobody had been there since the false khaujeh houssain, when he had fetched the goods for his shop, that the gang of forty robbers was completely destroyed, and no longer doubted that he was the only person in the world who had the secret of opening the cave, so that all the treasure was at his sole disposal. having brought with him a wallet, he put into it as much gold as his horse would carry, and returned to town. afterwards ali baba carried his son to the cave, taught him the secret, which they handed down to their posterity, who, using their good fortune with moderation, lived in great honour and splendour. the story of ali khaujeh, a merchant of bagdad. in the reign of the caliph haroon al rusheed, there lived at bagdad a merchant whose name was ali khaujeh, who was neither one of the richest nor poorest of his line. he was a bachelor, and lived in the house which had been his father's, independent and content with the profit he made by his trade. but happening to dream for three successive nights that a venerable old man came to him, and, with a severe look, reprimanded him for not having made a pilgrimage to mecca, he was much troubled. as a good mussulmaun, he knew he was obliged to undertake a pilgrimage; but as he had a house, shop, and goods, he had always believed that they might stand for a sufficient reason to excuse him, endeavouring by his charity, and other good works, to atone for that neglect. after this dream, however, his conscience was so much pricked, that the fear lest any misfortune should befall him made him resolve not to defer it any longer; and to be able to go that year, he sold off his household goods, his shop, and with it the greatest part of his merchandize, reserving only some articles, which he thought might turn to a better account at mecca; and meeting with a tenant for his house, let that also. his affairs being thus disposed, he was ready to depart when the bagdad caravan set out for mecca: the only thing he had to do was to lodge in some place of security a sum of a thousand pieces of gold, which would have been troublesome to carry with him, with the money he had set apart to defray his expenses on the road, and for other purposes. to this end, he made choice of a jar of a suitable size, put the thousand pieces of gold into it, and covered them over with olives. when he had closed the mouth of the jar, he carried it to a merchant, a particular friend of his, and said to him, "you know, brother, that in a few days i mean to depart with the caravan, on my pilgrimage to mecca. i beg the favour of you to take charge of a jar of olives, and keep it for me till i return." the merchant promised him he would, and in an obliging manner said, "here, take the key of my warehouse, and set your jar where you please. i promise you shall find it there when you return." on the day the caravan was to set out ali khaujeh joined it, with a camel loaded with what goods he had thought fit to carry, which also served him to ride on. he arrived safe at mecca, where he visited, with other pilgrims, the temple so much celebrated and frequented by the faithful of all nations every year, who came from all parts of the world, and observed religiously the ceremonies prescribed them. when he had acquitted himself of the duties of his pilgrimage, he exposed the merchandize he had brought with him for sale or barter, as might be most profitable. two merchants passing by, and seeing ali khaujeh's goods, thought them so choice, that they stopped some time to look at, though they had no occasion for them; and when they had satisfied their curiosity, one of them said to the other, as they were going away, "if this merchant knew to what profit these goods would turn at cairo he would carry them thither, and not sell them here, though this is a good mart." ali khaujeh heard these words; and as he had often heard talk of the beauties of egypt, he was resolved to take the opportunity of seeing them, by performing a journey thither. therefore, after having packed up his goods again, instead of returning to bagdad, he set out for egypt, with the caravan of cairo. when he came thither, he found his account in his journey, and in a few days sold all his goods to a greater advantage than he had hoped for. with the money he bought others, with an intent to go to damascus: and while he waited for the opportunity of a caravan, which was to depart in six weeks, visited all the curiosities of cairo, as also the pyramids, and sailing up the nile, viewed the famous towns on each side of that river. as the damascus caravan took jerusalem in their way, our bagdad merchant had the opportunity of visiting the temple, regarded by the mussulmauns to be the most holy, after that of mecca, whence this city takes its name of biel al mukkuddus, or most sacred mansion. ali khaujeh found damascus so delicious a place, being environed by verdant meadows, pleasantly watered, and delightful gardens, that it exceeded the descriptions given of it in the journals of travellers. here he made a long abode, but, nevertheless, did not forget his native bagdad: for which place he at length set out, and arrived at aleppo, where he made some stay; and from thence, after having passed the euphrates, he bent his course to moussoul, with an intention, in his return, to come by a shorter way down the tigris. when ali khaujeh came to moussoul, some persian merchants, with whom he had travelled from aleppo, and with whom he had contracted a great friendship, had obtained so great an influence over him by their civilities and agreeable conversation, that they easily persuaded him not to leave them till he should have visited sheerauz, from whence he might easily return to bagdad with a considerable profit. they led him through the towns of sultania, rei, coam, caschan, ispahan, and from thence to sheerauz; from whence he had the complaisance to bear them company to hindoostan, and then returned with them again to sheerauz; insomuch, that including the stay made in every town, he was seven years absent from bagdad, whither he then resolved to return. all this time his friend, with whom he had left his jar of olives, neither thought of him nor them; but at the time when he was on the road with a caravan from sheerauz, one evening as this merchant was supping with his family, the discourse happened to fall upon olives, and his wife was desirous to eat some, saying, she had not tasted any for a long while. "now you speak of olives," said the merchant, "you put me in mind of a jar which ali khaujeh left with me seven years ago, when he went to mecca; and put it himself in my warehouse to be kept for him against he returned. what is become of him i know not; though, when the caravan came back, they told me he was gone for egypt. certainly he must be dead, since he has not returned in all this time; and we may eat the olives, if they prove good. give me a plate and a candle, i will go and fetch some of them, and we will taste them." "for god's sake, husband," said the wife, "do not commit so base an action; you know that nothing is more sacred than what is committed to one's care and trust. you say ali khaujeh has left mecca, and is not returned; but you have been told that he is gone into egypt; and how do you know but that he may be gone farther? as you have no intelligence of his death, he may return to-morrow for any thing you can tell: and what a disgrace would it be to you and your family if he should come, and you not restore him his jar in the same condition he left it? i declare i have no desire for the olives, and will not taste them, for when i mentioned them it was only by way of conversation; besides, do you think that they can be good, after they have been kept so long? they most be all mouldy, and spoiled; and if ali khaujeh should return, as i have a strong persuasion he will, and should find they had been opened, what will he think of your honour? i beg of you to let them alone." the wife had not argued so long with her husband, but that she read his obstinacy in his face. in short, he never regarded what she said, but got up, took a candle and a plate, and went into the warehouse. "well, husband," said the wife again, "remember i have no hand in this business; and that you cannot lay any thing to my charge, if you should have cause to repent of your conduit." the merchant's ears were deaf to these remonstrances of his wife, and he persisted in his design. when he came into the warehouse, he opened the jar, and found the olives mouldy; but to see if they were all so to the bottom, he turned some of them upon the plate; and by shaking the jar, some of the gold tumbled out. at the sight of the gold, the merchant, who was naturally covetous, looked into the jar, perceived that he had shaken out almost all the olives, and what remained was gold coin. he immediately put the olives into the jar again, covered it up, and returned to his wife. "indeed, wife," said he, "you were in the right to say that the olives were all mouldy; for i found them so, and have made up the jar just as ali khaujeh left it; so that he will not perceive that they have been touched, if he should return." "you had better have taken my advice," said the wife, "and not have meddled with them. god grant no mischief happens in consequence!" the merchant was not more affected with his wife's last words than he had been by her former, but spent almost the whole night in thinking how he might appropriate ali khaujeh's gold to his own use, and keep possession of it in case he should return and ask him for the jar. the next morning he went and bought some olives of that year, took out the old with the gold, and filled the jar with the new, covered it up, and put it in the place where ali khaujeh had left it. about a month after the merchant had committed this unworthy action, ali khaujeh arrived at bagdad; and as he had let his house, alighted at a khan, choosing to stay there till he had announced his arrival to his tenant, and given him time to provide himself with another residence. the next morning ali khaujeh went to pay a visit to the merchant his friend, who received him in the most obliging manner; and expressed great joy at his return, after so many years absence; telling him, that he had begun to lose all hopes of ever seeing him again. after the usual compliments on both sides on such a meeting, ali khaujeh desired the merchant to return him the jar of olives which he had left. with him, and to excuse the liberty he had taken in giving him so much trouble. "my dear friend," replied the merchant, "you are to blame to make these apologies, your vessel has been no inconvenience to me; on such an occasion i should have made as free with you: there is the key of my warehouse, go and fetch your jar ; you will find it in the place where you deft it." ali khaujeh went into the merchant's warehouse, took his jar; and after having returned him the key with thanks for the favour he had done: him, returned with it to the khan where he lodged; but on opening the jar, and putting his hand down as low as the pieces of gold had lain, was greatly surprised to find none. at first he thought he might perhaps be mistaken; and, to discover the truth, poured out all the olives into his travelling kitchen-utensils, but without so much as finding one single piece of money. his astonishment was so great, that he stood for some time motionless; then lifting up his hands and eyes to heaven, he exclaimed, "is it possible that a man, whom i took for my friend, should be guilty of such baseness?" ali khaujeh, alarmed at the apprehension of so considerable a loss, returned immediately to the merchant. "my good friend," said he, "be not surprised to see me come back so soon. i own the jar of olives to be the same i placed in your warehouse; but with the olives i put into it a thousand pieces of gold, which i do not find. perhaps you might have occasion for them, and have employed them in trade: if so they are at your service till it may be convenient for you to return them; only put me out of my pain, and give me an acknowledgment, after which you may pay me at your own convenience." the merchant, who had expected that ali khaujeh would come with such a complaint, had meditated an answer. "friend ali khaujeh," said he, "when you brought your jar to me did i touch it? did not i give you the key of my warehouse, did not you carry it there yourself, and did not you find it in the same place, covered in the same manner as when you left it? and if you had put gold in it, you must have found it. you told me it contained olives, and i believed you. this is all i know of the matter: you may disbelieve me if you please; but i never touched them." ali khaujeh used all the mild methods he could think of to oblige the merchant to restore his property. "i love peace and quietness," said he to him, "and shall be sorry to come to those extremities which will bring the greatest disgrace upon you; consider, that merchants, as we are, ought to abandon all interest to preserve a good reputation. once again i tell you, i shall be greatly concerned if your obstinacy oblige me to force you to do me justice; for i would rather almost lose what is my right than have recourse to law." "ali khaujeh," replied the merchant, "you agree that you left a jar of olives with me; and now you have taken it away, you come and ask me for a thousand pieces of gold. did you ever tell me that such a sum was in the jar? i did not even know that they were olives, for you never showed them to me. i wonder you do not ask me for diamonds and pearls instead of gold; be gone about your business, and do not raise a mob about my warehouse;" for some persons had already collected. these words were pronounced in such great heat and passion, as not only made those who stood about the warehouse already stay longer, and create a greater mob, but the neighbouring merchants came out of their shops to learn what the dispute was between ali khaujeh and the merchant, and endeavoured to reconcile them; but when ali khaujeh had informed them of his grievance, they asked the merchant what he had to say. the merchant owned that he had kept the jar for ali khaujeh in his warehouse, but denied that ever he had meddled with it; swore that he knew it contained olives, only because ali khaujeh told him so, and requested them all to bear witness of the insult and affront offered him. "you bring it upon yourself," said ali khaujeh taking him by the arm; "but since you use me so basely, i cite you to the law of god: let us see whether you will have the assurance to say the same thing before the cauzee." the merchant could not refuse the summons, which every mussulmaun is bound to observe, or be declared a rebel against religion; but said, "with all my heart; we shall soon see who is in the wrong." ali khaujeh carried the merchant before the magistrate, where he accused him of having, by breach of trust, defrauded him of a thousand pieces of gold, which he had left with him. the cauzee demanded if he had any witnesses; to which he replied, that he had not taken that precaution, because he had believed the person he trusted his money with to be his friend, and always took him for an honest man. the merchant made the same defence he had done before the merchants his neighbours, offering to make oath that he never had the money he was accused of, and that he did not so much as know there was such a sum; upon which the cauzee took his oath, and dismissed him acquitted for want of evidence. ali khaujeh, extremely mortified to find that he must sit down with so considerable a loss, protested against the sentence, declaring to the cauzee that he would appeal to the caliph, who would do him justice; which protestation the magistrate regarded as the effect of the common resentment of those who lose their cause; and thought he had done his duty in acquitting a person who had been accused without witnesses. while the merchant returned home triumphing over ali khaujeh and overjoyed at his good fortune, the latter went and drew up a petition; and the next day observing the time when the caliph came from noon tide prayers, placed himself in the street he was to pass through; and holding out his hand with the petition, an officer appointed for that purpose, who always goes before the caliph, came and took it to present it. as ali khaujeh knew that it was the caliph's custom to read the petitions at his return to the palace, he went into the court, and waited till the officer who had taken the petition came out of the caliph's apartment, who told him that the caliph had appointed an hour to hear him next day; and then asking him where the merchant lived, he sent to notify to him to attend at the same time. that same evening, the caliph, accompanied by the grand vizier jaaffier, and mesrour the chief of the eunuchs, went disguised through the town, as it was his custom occasionally to do; when, on passing through a street, the caliph heard a noise, and mending his pace, came to a gateway, which led into a little court, in which he perceived ten or twelve children playing by moonlight. the caliph, who was curious to know at what play the children were engaged, sat down on a stone bench just by; and heard one of the liveliest of the children say, "let us play at the cauzee i will be the magistrate; bring ali khaujeh and the merchant who cheated him of the thousand pieces of gold before me." these words of the child put the caliph in mind of the petition ali khaujeh had given him that day, and made him redouble his attention to see the issue of the trial. as the affair of ali khaujeh and the merchant had made a great noise in bagdad, it had not escaped the children, who all accepted the proposition with joy, and agreed on the part each was to act: not one of them refused him who made the proposal to be cauzee: and when he had taken his seat, which he did with all the seeming gravity of a judge, another, as an officer of the court, presented two boys before him; one as ali khaujeh, and the other as the merchant against whom he complained. the pretended cauzee then directing his discourse to the feigned ali khaujeh, asked him what he had to lay to that merchant's charge? ali khaujeh after a low obeisance, informed the young cauzee of the fact, related every particular, and afterwards begged that he would use his authority, that he might not lose so considerable a sum of money. the feigned cauzee, turning about to the merchant, then asked him why he did not return the money which ali khaujeh demanded of him? the feigned merchant alleged the same reasons as the real merchant had done before the cauzee himself, and offered to confirm by oath that what he had said was truth. "not so fast," replied the pretended cauzee; "before you come to your oath, i should be glad to see the jar of olives. ali khaujeh," said he, addressing himself to the boy who acted that part, "have you brought the jar?" "no," replied he. "then go and fetch it immediately," said the other. the pretended ali khaujeh went immediately, and returning, feigned to set a jar before the cauzee, telling him that it was the same he had left with the accused person, and received from him again. but to omit no part of the formality, the supposed cauzee asked the merchant if it was the same; and as by his silence he seemed not to deny it, he ordered it to be opened. he that represented ali khaujeh seemed to take off the cover, and the pretended cauzee made as if he looked into it. "they are fine olives," said he, "let me taste them;" and then pretending to eat some, added, "they are excellent: but," continued he, "i cannot think that olives will keep seven years, and be so good, therefore send for some olive-merchants, and let me hear what is their opinion." two boys, as olive-merchants, then presented themselves. "are you olive-merchants?" said the sham cauzee. "tell me how long olives will keep fit to eat." "sir," replied the two merchants, "let us take what care we can, they will hardly be worth any thing the third year; for then they have neither taste nor colour." "if it be so," answered the cauzee, "look into that jar, and tell me how long it is since those olives were put into it?" the two merchants pretended to examine and to taste the olives, and told the cauzee they were new and good. "you are mistaken," said the young cauzee; "ali khaujeh says he put them into the jar seven years ago." "sir," replied the merchants, "we can assure you they are of this year's growth: and we will maintain there is not a merchant in bagdad but will say the same." the feigned merchant who was accused would have objected against the evidence of the olive-merchants; but the pretended cauzee would not suffer him. "hold your tongue," said he, "you are a rogue; let him be impaled." the children then concluded their play, clapping their hands with great joy, and seizing the feigned criminal to carry him to execution. words cannot express how much the caliph haroon al rusheed admired the sagacity and sense of the boy who had passed so just a sentence, in an affair which was to be pleaded before himself the next day. he withdrew, and rising off the bench, asked the grand vizier, who heard all that had passed, what he thought of it. "indeed, commander of the true believers," answered the grand vizier jaaffier, "i am surprised to find so much sagacity in one so young." "but," answered the caliph, "do you know one thing? i am to pronounce sentence in this very cause to-morrow; the true ali khaujeh presented his petition to me to-day; and do you think," continued he, "that i can give a better sentence?" "i think not," answered the vizier, " if the case is as the children represented it." "take notice then of this house," said the caliph, "and bring the boy to me to-morrow, that he may try this cause in my presence; and also order the cauzee, who acquitted the merchant, to attend to learn his duty from a child. take care likewise to bid ali khaujeh bring his jar of olives with him, and let two olive-merchants attend." after this charge he pursued his rounds, without meeting with any thing worth his attention. the next day the vizier went to the house where the caliph had been a witness of the children's play, and asked for the master; but he being abroad, his wife appeared thickly veiled. he asked her if she had any children. to which she answered, she had three; and called them. "my brave boys," said the vizier, "which of you was the cauzee when you played together last night?" the eldest made answer, it was he: but, not knowing why he asked the question, coloured. "come along with me, my lad," said the grand vizier; "the commander of the faithful wants to see you." the mother was alarmed when she saw the grand vizier would take her son with him, and asked, upon what account the caliph wanted him? the grand vizier encouraged her, and promised that he should return again in less than an hour's time, when she would know it from himself. "if it be so, sir," said the mother, "give me leave to dress him first, that he may be fit to appear before the commander of the faithful:" which the vizier readily complied with. as soon as the child was dressed, the vizier carried him away and presented him to the caliph, at the time he had appointed to hear ali khaujeh and the merchant. the caliph, who saw that the boy was much abashed, in order to encourage him, said, "come to me, child, and tell me if it was you that determined the affair between ali khaujeh and the merchant who had cheated him of his money? i saw and heard the decision, and am very well pleased with you." the boy answered modestly, that it was he. "well, my son," replied the caliph, "come and sit down by me, and you shall see the true ali khaujeh, and the true merchant." the caliph then took him by the hand, seated him on the throne by him, and asked for the two parties. when they were introduced, they prostrated themselves before the throne, bowing their heads quite down to the carpet that covered it. afterwards the caliph said to them, "plead each of you your causes before this child, who will hear and do you justice: and if he should be at a loss i will assist him." ali khaujeh and the merchant pleaded one after the other; but when the merchant proposed his oath as before, the child said, "it is too soon; it is proper that we should see the jar of olives." at these words ali khaujeh presented the jar, placed it at the caliph's feet, and opened it. the caliph looked at the olives, took one and tasted it, giving another to the boy. afterwards the merchants were called, who examined the olives, and reported that they were good, and of that year. the boy told them, that ali khaujeh affirmed that it was seven years since he had put them up; when they returned the same answer as the children, who had represented them the night before. though the wretch who was accused saw plainly that these merchants' opinion must convict him, yet he would say something in his own justification. but the child, instead of ordering him to be impaled, looked at the caliph, and said "commander of the faithful, this is no jesting matter; it is your majesty that must condemn him to death, and not i, though i did it yesterday in play." the caliph, fully satisfied of the merchant's villany, delivered him into the hands of the ministers of justice to be impaled. the sentence was executed upon him, after he had confessed where he had concealed the thousand pieces of gold, which were restored to ali khaujeh. the monarch, most just and equitable, then turning to the cauzee, bade him learn of that child to acquit himself more exactly of his duty; and embracing the boy, sent him home with a purse of a hundred pieces of gold as a token of his liberality and admiration of his acuteness. end of volume . notes: volume of this work can be found in project gutenberg's library. see http://www.gutenberg.net/etext/ a few original typesetter's errors (inconsistent spelling, superfluous quotation marks, and the like) have been corrected in the interests of producing a smooth-reading text. the reader will also occasionally find a line of asterisks between sections. these are found in the original and they indicate a missing section. it is not clear why the translator skipped these sections. reference to another, complete, translation of the gulistan shows no appreciable differences, in length or subject, between the sections included and those excluded. persian literature comprising the shÁh nÁmeh, the rubÁiyÁt the divan, and the gulistan revised edition, volume with a special introduction by richard j. h. gottheil, ph.d. professor of rabbinical literature and the semitic languages at columbia university contents the gulistan introduction chapter i. of the customs of kings ii. of the morals of dervishes iii. on the preciousness of contentment iv. on the benefit of being silent v. on love and youth vi. of imbecility and old age vii. of the impressions of education viii. of the duties of society the gulistan by sa'di [translation by james ross] introduction the persian poet sa'di, generally known in literary history as muslih-al-din, belongs to the great group of writers known as the shirazis, or singers of shiraz. his "gulistan," or "rose garden," is the mature work of his life-time, and he lived to the age of one hundred and eight. the rose garden was an actual thing, and was part of the little hermitage, to which he retired, after the vicissitudes and travels of his earlier life, to spend his days in religious contemplation, and the embodiment of his experience in reminiscences, which took the form of anecdotes, sage and pious reflections, _bon-mots_, and exquisite lyrics. when a friend visited him in his cell and had filled a basket with nosegays from the garden of the poet with roses, hyacinths, spikenards, and sweet-basils, sa'di told him of the book he was writing, and added:--"what can a nosegay of flowers avail thee? pluck but one leaf from my rose garden; the rose from yonder bush lasts but a few days, but this rose must bloom to all eternity." sa'di has been proved quite correct in this estimate of his own work. the book is indeed a sweet garden of unfading freshness. if we compare sa'di with hafiz, we find that both of them based their theory of life upon the same sufic pantheism. both of them were profoundly religious men. like the strong and life-giving soil out of whose bosom sprang the rose-tree, wherein the nightingales sang, was the fixed religious confidence, which formed the support of each poet's mind, amid all the vagaries of fancy, and the luxuriant growth of fruit and flower which their genius gave to the world. hafiz is the persian anacreon. as he raises his voice of thrilling and unvarying sweetness, his steps reel, he waves the thyrsus, and his flushed cheek shows the inspiration of the vine. to him the supreme being has much in common with the indian or thracian dionysus, the god of perennial youth, joyous revel, and exhilaration. hafiz can never be the guide, though he may be the cheerer of mortals, adding more to the gayety than to the wisdom of life. but both in the western and in the eastern world sa'di must always be looked upon as the guide and enlightener of those who taste life, and love poetry. it has been said by a wise man that poetry is the great instructor of mature minds. many a man turning away in weariness from the controversies, the insincerities, and the pretentiousness of the intellectualists around him, has exclaimed, "give me my horace." but horace with all his _bonhommie_, his common sense, and his acuteness, is but the representative of a narrow roman coterie of the augustan age. how thin, flimsy, and unspiritual does he appear in comparison with the marvellous depth, the spiritual insight, the tenderness and power of expression which characterized sa'di. sa'di had begun his life as a student of the koran and became early imbued with the quietism of islam. the cheerfulness and exuberant joy which characterize the poems he wrote before he reached his fortieth year, had bubbled up under the repressions of severe discipline and austerity. but the religion of mohammed was soon exchanged by him, under the guidance of a famous teacher, for the wider and more transcendental system of sufism. within the area of this magnificent scheme, the boldest ever formulated under the name of religion, he found the liberty which his soul desired. early discipline had made him a morally sound man, and it is the goodness of sa'di that lends such a warm and endearing charm to his works. the last finish was given to his intellectual training by the travels which he took after the tartar invasion desolated persia, in the thirteenth century. india, arabia, syria, were in turn visited. he found damascus a congenial halting-place, and lived there for some time, with an increasing reputation as a sage and poet. he preached at baalbec on the fugitiveness of human life, on faith, love, and rest in god. he wandered, like jerome, in the wilderness about jerusalem, and worked as a slave in africa in the trenches of tripoli: he travelled the length and breadth of asia minor. when he arrived back at shiraz, he had passed the limit of three-score years and ten, and there he remained in his hermitage and his garden, to arrange the result of all his studies, his experiences, and his sufferings, in that consummate work which he has named the "rose garden," after the little cultivated plot in which he spent his declining days and drew his last breath. the "gulistan" is divided into eight chapters, each dealing with a specific subject and partaking of the nature of an essay: although these chapters are composed of disjointed paragraphs, generally beginning with an aphorism or an anecdote and closing with an original poem of a few lines. sometimes these paragraphs are altogether lyrical. we are struck, first of all, by the personal character of these paragraphs; many of them relate the experience of the poet in some part of his travels, expressing his comment upon what he had seen and heard. his comments generally take the form of practical wisdom, or religious suggestion. he gives us the impression that he knows life and the human heart thoroughly. it may be said of him, as arnold said of sophocles, he was one "who saw life steadily, and saw it whole." on the other hand, there is not the slightest trace of cynical acerbity in his writings. he has passed through the world in the independence of a self-possessed soul, and has found it all good, saving for the folly of fools and the wretchedness and degradation of the depraved. there is no bitter fountain in the "rose garden," and the old man's heart is as fresh as when he left shiraz, thirty years before; the sprightliness of his poetry has only been ripened and tempered to a more exquisite flavor, by the increase of wisdom and the perfecting of art. above all, we find in sa'di the science of life, as comprising morality and religion, set forth in a most suggestive and a most attractive form. in some way or other the "rose garden" may remind us of the "essays" of bacon, which were published in their complete form the year before the great english philosopher died. both works cover a large area of thought and experience; but the englishman is clear, cold, and sometimes cynical, while the persian is more spiritual, though not less acute, and has the fervor of the poet which bacon lacks, and the religious devotion which the "essays" altogether miss. the "rose garden" has maxims which are not unworthy of being cherished amid the highest christian civilization, while the serenity of mind, the poetic fire, the transparent sincerity of sa'di, make his writings one of those books which men may safely take as the guide and inspirer of their inmost life. sa'di died at shiraz about the year at the reputed age of one hundred and ten. e.w. chapter i of the customs of kings i i have heard of a king who made the sign to put a captive to death. the poor wretch, in that state of desperation, began to abuse the king in the dialect which he spoke, and to revile him with asperity, as has been said; whoever shall wash his hands of life will utter whatever he may harbor in his heart:--"_when a man is desperate he will give a latitude to his tongue, like as a cat at bay will fly at a dog_"--"at the moment of compulsion when it is impossible to fly, the hand will grasp the sharp edge of a sword." the king asked, saying, "what does he say?" one of the vizirs (or nobles in attendance), and a well-disposed man, made answer, "o my lord! he is expressing himself and saying, _(paradise is for such) as are restraining their anger and forgiving their fellow-creatures; and god will befriend the benevolent_." the king felt compassion for him, and desisted from shedding his blood. another nobleman, and the rival of that former, said, "it is indecorous for such peers, as we are, to use any language but that of truth in the presence of kings; this man abused his majesty, and spoke what was unworthy of him." the king turned away indignant at this remark, and replied, "i was better pleased with his falsehood than with this truth that you have told; for that bore the face of good policy, and this was founded in malignity; and the intelligent have said, 'a peace-mingling falsehood is preferable to a mischief-stirring truth':--whatever prince may do that which he (his counsellor) will recommend, it must be a subject of regret if he shall advise aught but good." they had written over the portico of king feridún's palace:--"this world, o brother! abides with none. set thy heart upon its maker, and let him suffice thee. rest not thy pillow and support on a worldly domain which has fostered and slain many such as thou art. since the precious soul must resolve on going, what matters it whether it departs from a throne or the ground." ii one of the kings of khorasan saw, in a dream, sultan mahmud, the son of saboktagin, an hundred years after his death, when his body was decayed and fallen into dust, all but his eyes, which as heretofore were moving in their sockets and looking about them. all the learned were at a stand for its interpretation, excepting one dervish, who made his obeisance, and said:--"he is still looking about him, because his kingdom and wealth are possessed by others!--many are the heroes whom they have buried under ground, of whose existence above it not one vestige is left; and of that old carcase which they committed to the earth, the earth has so consumed it that not one bone is left. though many ages are gone since nushirowan was in being, yet in the remembrance of his munificence is his fair renown left. be generous, o my friend! and avail thyself of life, before they proclaim it as an event that such a person is not left." iii i have heard of a king's son who was short and mean, and his other brothers were lofty in stature and handsome. on one occasion the king, his father, looked at him with disparagement and scorn. the son, in his sagacity, understood him and said, "o father! a short wise man is preferable to a tall blockhead; it is not everything that is mightier in stature that is superior in value:--_a sheep's flesh is wholesome, that of an elephant carrion_.--_of the mountains of this earth sinai is one of the least, yet is it most mighty before god in state and dignity_.--heardst thou not what an intelligent lean man said one day to a sleek fat dolt? an arab horse, notwithstanding his slim make, is more prized thus than a herd of asses." the father smiled; the pillars of the state, or courtiers, nodded their assent, and the other brothers were mortified to the quick. till a man has declared his mind, his virtue and vice may have lain hidden; do not conclude that the thicket is unoccupied, peradventure the tiger is gone asleep! i have heard that about that time a formidable antagonist appeared against the king. now that an army was levied in each side, the first person that mounted his horse and sallied upon the plain was that son, and he exclaimed: "i cannot be that man whose back thou mayest see on the day of battle, but am him thou mayest descry amidst the thick of it, with my head covered with dust and blood; for he that engages in the contest sports with his own blood, but he who flees from it sports with the blood of an army on the day of fight." he so spoke, assaulting the enemy's cavalry, and overthrew some renowned warriors. when he came before the king he kissed the earth of obeisance, and said, "o thou, who didst view my body with scorn, whilst not aware of valor's rough exterior, it is the lean steed that will prove of service, and not the fatted ox, on the day of battle." they have reported that the enemy's cavalry was immense, and those of the king few in number; a body of them was inclined to fly, when the youth called aloud, and said, "be resolute, my brave men, that you may not have to wear the apparel of women!" the troops were more courageous on this speech, and attacked altogether. i have heard that on that day they obtained a complete victory over the enemy. the king kissed his face and eyes, and folded him in his arms, and became daily more attached to him, till he declared him heir-apparent to the throne. the brothers bore him a grudge, and put poison into his food. his sister saw this from a window, and closed the shutter; and the boy understood the sign, and withdrew his hand from the dish, and said, "it is hard that the virtuous should perish and that the vicious should occupy their places." were the homayi, or phoenix, to be extinct in the world, none would take refuge under the shadow of an owl. they informed the father of this event; he sent for the brothers and rebuked them, as they deserved. then he made a division of his domains, and gave a suitable portion to each, that discontent might cease; but the ferment was increased, as they have said: ten dervishes can sleep on one rug, but two kings cannot be accommodated in a whole kingdom. when a man after god's heart can eat the moiety of his loaf, the other moiety he will give in alms to the poor. a king may acquire the sovereignty of one climate or empire; and he will in like manner covet the possession of another. iv a horde of arab robbers had possessed themselves of the fastness of a mountain, and waylaid the track of the caravan. the yeomanry of the villages were frightened at their stratagems, and the king's troops alarmed, inasmuch as they had secured an impregnable fortress on the summit of the mountain, and made this stronghold their retreat and dwelling. the superintendents of the adjacent districts consulted together about obviating their mischief, saying: if they are in this way left to improve their fortune, any opposition to them may prove impracticable. the tree that has just taken root, the strength of one man may be able to extract; but leave it to remain thus for a time, and the machinery of a purchase may fail to eradicate it: the leak at the dam-head might have been stopped with a plug, while, now it has a vent, we cannot ford its current on an elephant. finally it was determined that they should set a spy over them, and watch an opportunity when they had made a sally upon another tribe, and left their citadel unguarded. some companies of able warriors and experienced troops were sent, that they might conceal themselves in the recesses of the mountain. at night, when the robbers were returned, jaded with their march and laden with spoil, and had stripped themselves of their armor, and deposited their plunder, the foremost enemy they had to encounter was sleep. now that the first watch of night was gone:--"the disc of the sun was withdrawn into a shade, and jonas had stepped into the fish's mouth "--the bold-hearted warriors sprang from their ambush and secured the robbers by pinioning them one after another. in the morning they presented them at the royal tribunal, and the king gave an order to put the whole to death. there happened to be among them a stripling, the fruit of whose early spring was ripening in its bloom, and the flower-garden of his cheek shooting into blossom. one of the vizirs kissed the foot of the imperial throne, and laid the face of intercession on the ground, and said, "this boy has not yet tasted the fruit of the garden of life, nor enjoyed the fragrance of the flowers of youth: such is my confidence in the generous disposition of his majesty that it will favor a devoted servant by sparing his blood." the king turned his face away from this speech; as it did not accord with his lofty way of thinking, he replied:--"the rays of the virtuous cannot illuminate such as are radically vicious; to give education to the worthless is like throwing walnuts upon a dome:--it were wiser to eradicate the tree of their wickedness, and annihilate their tribe; for to put out a fire and leave the embers, and to kill a viper and foster its young, would not be the acts of rational beings. though the clouds pour down the water of vegetation, thou canst never gather fruit from a willow twig. exalt not the fortune of the abject, for thou canst never extract sugar from a mat or common cane." the vizir listened to this speech; willingly or not he approved of it, and applauded the good sense of the king, and said:--"what his majesty, whose dominion is eternal, is pleased to remark is the mirror of probity and essence of good policy, for had he been brought up in the society of those vagabonds, and confined to their service, he would have followed their vicious courses. your servant, however, trusts that he may be instructed to associate with the virtuous, and take to the habits of the prudent; for he is still a child, and the lawless and refractory principles of that gang cannot have yet tainted his mind; and it is in tradition that--_whatever child is born, and he is verily born after the right way of orthodoxy, namely islamism, afterwards his father and his mother bring him up as a jew, christian, or guebre_.--the wife of lot associated with the wicked, and her posterity failed in the gift of prophecy; the dog of the seven sleepers (at ephesus) for some time took the path of the righteous, and became a rational being." he said this, and a body of the courtiers joined him in intercession, till the king acceded to the youth's pardon, and answered: "i gave him up, though i saw not the good of it.--knowest thou what zal said to the heroic rustem: 'thou must not consider thy foe as abject and helpless. i have often found a small stream at the fountain-head, which, when followed up, carried away the camel and its load.'" in short, the vizir took the boy home, and educated him with kindness and liberality. and he appointed him masters and tutors, who taught him the graces of logic and rhetoric, and all manner of courtier accomplishments, so that he met general approbation. on one occasion the vizir was detailing some instances of his proficiency and talents in the royal presence, and saying: "the instruction of the wise has made an impression upon him, and his former savageness is obliterated from his mind." the king smiled at this speech, and replied:--"the whelp of a wolf must prove a wolf at last, notwithstanding he may be brought up by a man." two years after this a gang of city vagabonds got about him, and joined in league, till on an opportunity he murdered the vizir and his two sons; and, carrying off an immense booty, he took up the station of his father in the den of thieves, and became a hardened villain. the king was apprised of this event; and, seizing the hand of amazement with the teeth of regret, said:--"how can any person manufacture a tempered sabre from base iron; nor can a base-born man, o wiseacre, be made a gentleman by any education! rain, in the purity of whose nature there is no anomaly, cherishes the tulip in the garden and common weed in the salt-marsh. waste not thy labor in scattered seed upon a briny soil, for it can never be made to yield spikenard; to confer a favor on the wicked is of a like import, as if thou didst an injury to the good." v at the gate of oghlamish patan, king of delhi, i (namely sa'di) saw an officer's son, who, in his wit and learning, wisdom and understanding, surpassed all manner of encomium. in the prime of youth, he at the same time bore on his forehead the traces of ripe age, and exhibited on his cheek the features of good fortune:--"above his head, from his prudent conduct, the star of superiority shone conspicuous." in short, it was noticed with approbation by the king that he possessed bodily accomplishments and mental endowments. and sages have remarked that worth rests not on riches, but on talents; and the discretion of age, not in years, but on good sense. his comrades envied his good fortune, charged him with disaffection, and vainly attempted to have him put to death:--"but what can the rival effect so long as the charmer is our friend?" the king asked, saying, "why do they show such a disinclination to do you justice?" he replied: "under the shadow of his majesty's good fortune i have pleased everybody, excepting the envious man, who is not to be satisfied but with a decline of my success; and let the prosperity and dominion of my lord the king be perpetual!" i can so manage as to give umbrage to no man's heart; but what can i do with the envious man, who harbors within himself the cause of his own chagrin? die, o ye envious, that ye may get a deliverance; for this is such an evil that you can get rid of it only by death. men soured by misfortune anxiously desire that the state and fortune of the prosperous may decline; if the eye of the bat is not suited for seeing by day, how can the fountain of the sun be to blame? dost thou require the truth? it were better a thousand such eyes should suffer, rather than that the light of the sun were obscured. vi they tell a story of a persian king who had stretched forth the arm of oppression over the subjects' property, and commenced a system of violence and rapacity to such a degree that the people emigrated to avoid the vexatiousness of his tyranny, and took the road of exile to escape the annoyance of his extortions. now that the population was diminished and the resources of the state had failed, the treasury remained empty, and enemies gathered strength on all sides. whoever may expect a comforter on the day of adversity, say, let him practise humanity during the season of prosperity; if not treated cordially, thy devoted slave will forsake thee; show him kindness and affection, and the stranger may become the slave of thy devotion. one day they were reading, in his presence, from the sháh námeh, of the tyrant zohák's declining dominion and the succession of feridún. the vizir asked the king, saying: "can you so far comprehend that feridún had no revenue, domain, or army, and how the kingdom came to be confirmed with him?" he answered: "as you have heard, a body of people collected about him from attachment, and gave their assistance till he acquired a kingdom." the vizir said: "since, o sire, a gathering of the people is the means of forming a kingdom, how come you in fact to cause their dispersion unless it be that you covet not a sovereignty? so far were good that thou wouldst patronize the army with all thy heart, for a king with an army constitutes a principality." the king asked: "what are the best means of collecting an army and yeomanry?" he replied: "munificence is the duty of a king, that the people may assemble around him, and clemency, that they may rest secure under the asylum of his dominion and fortune, neither of which you have. a tyrant cannot govern a kingdom, for the duty of a shepherd is not expected from the wolf. a king that can anyhow be accessory to tyranny will undermine the wall of his own sovereignty." the advice of the prudent minister did not accord with the disposition of the king. he ordered him to be confined, and immured him in a dungeon. it soon came to pass that the sons of the king's uncle rose in opposition, levied an army in support of their pretensions, and claimed the sovereignty of their father. a host of the people, who had cruelly suffered under the arm of his extortion and were dispersed, gathered around and succored them till they dispossessed him of his kingdom and established them in his stead. that king who can approve of tyrannizing over the weak will find his friend a bitter foe in the day of hardship. deal fairly with thy subjects, and rest easy about the warfare of thine enemies, for with an upright prince his yeomanry is an army. * * * * * viii they asked hormuz, son of nushirowan, "what fault did you find with your father's ministers that you ordered them into confinement?" he replied: "i saw no fault that might deserve imprisonment; yet i perceived that any reverence for me makes a slight impression on their minds, and that they put no implicit reliance on my promise. i feared lest from an apprehension of their own safety they might conspire my ruin; therefore, put in practice that maxim of philosophers who have told us: 'stand in awe, o wise man, of him who stands in awe of thee, notwithstanding thou canst cope with a hundred such as he. therefore will the snake bite the herdsman's foot, because it fears that he will bruise its head with a stone. seest thou not that now that the cat is desperate it will tear out the tiger's eyes with its claws.'" ix in his old age an arab king was grievously sick, and had no hopes of recovery, when, lo! a messenger on horseback presented himself at the palace-gate, and joyfully announced, saying: "under his majesty's good fortune we have taken such a stronghold, made the enemy prisoners of war, and reduced all the landholders and vassals of that quarter to obedience as subjects." on hearing this news the king fetched a cold sigh, and answered: "these glad tidings are not intended for me but for my rivals, namely, the heirs of the sovereignty. my precious life has, alas! been wasted in the hope that what my heart chiefly coveted might enter at my gate. my bounden hope was gratified; yet what do i benefit by that? there is no hope that my passed life can return. the hand of death beats the drum of departure. yes, my two eyes, you must bid adieu to my head. yes, palm of my hand, wrist, and arm, all of you say farewell, and each take leave of the other. death has overtaken me to the gratification of my foes; and you, o my friends, must at last be going. my days were blazed away in folly; what i did not do let you take warning (and do)." x at the metropolitan mosque of damascus i was one year fervent in prayer over the tomb of yahiya, or john the baptist and prophet, on whom be god's blessing, when one of the arab princes, who was notorious for his injustice, chanced to arrive on a pilgrimage, and he put up his supplication, asked a benediction, and craved his wants.--the rich and poor are equally the devoted slaves of this shrine, and the richer they are the more they stand in need of succor. then he spoke to me, saying: "in conformity with the generous resolution of dervishes and their sincere zeal, you will, i trust, unite with me in prayer, for i have much to fear from a powerful enemy." i answered him, "have compassion on your own weak subjects, that you may not see disquiet from a strong foe. with a mighty arm and heavy hand it is dastardly to wrench the wrists of poor and helpless. is he not afraid who is hardhearted with the fallen that if he slip his foot nobody will take him by the hand?--whoever sowed the seed of vice and expected a virtuous produce, pampered a vain brain and encouraged an idle whim. take the cotton from thy ear and do mankind justice, for if thou refusest them justice there is a day of retribution. the sons of adam are members one of another, for in their creation they have a common origin. if the vicissitudes of fortune involve one member in pain, all the other members will feel a sympathy. thou, who art indifferent to other men's affliction, if they call thee a man art unworthy of the name." xi a dervish, whose prayers had a ready acceptance (with god), made his appearance at bagdad. hojaj yusuf (a great tyrant) sent for him and said: "put up a good prayer for me." he prayed, "o god! take from him his life!" hojaj said, "for god's sake, what manner of prayer is this?" he answered: "it is a salutary prayer for you, and for the whole sect of mussulmans.--o mighty sir, thou oppressor of the feeble, how long can this violence remain marketable? for what purpose came the sovereignty to thee? thy death were preferable to thy tyrannizing over mankind." xii an unjust king asked a holy man, saying, "what is more excellent than prayers?" he answered: "for you to remain asleep till mid-day, that for this one interval you might not afflict mankind."--i saw a tyrant lying dormant at noon, and said, "this is mischief, and is best lulled to sleep. it were better that such a reprobate were dead whose state of sleep is preferable to his being awake." xiii i have heard of a king who had turned night into day in the midst of conviviality, and in the gayety of intoxication was exclaiming--"i never was in this life happier than at this present moment, for i have no thought of evil or good, and care for nobody!"--a naked dervish, who had taken up his rest in the cold outside, answered--"o thou, who in good fortune hast not thy equal in the world, i admit that thou hast no cause of care for thyself, but hast thou none for us?"--the king was pleased at this speech. he put a purse of a thousand dinars out at the window, and said: "o dervish! hold up your skirt." he replied, "where can i find a skirt, who have not a garment." the king was still more touched at the hardship of his condition, and adding an honorary dress to that donation, sent them out to him. the dervish squandered all that ready cash within a few days, and falling again into distress, returned.--"money makes no stay in the hand of a religious independent; neither does patience in a lover's heart, nor water in a sieve."--at a time when the king had no thought about him, they obtruded his case, and he took offence and turned away his face. and it is on such an occasion that men of prudence and experience have remarked that it behooves us to guard against the wrath and fury of kings, whose noble thoughts are chiefly occupied with important affairs of state, and cannot endure the importunate clamors of the vulgar.--the bounty of the sovereign is forbid to him who does not watch a proper opportunity. till thou canst perceive a convenient time for obtruding an opinion, undermine not thy consequence by idle talk.--the king said, "let this impudent beggar and spendthrift be beaten and driven away, who in a short time dissipated such a sum of money, for the treasury of the beat-al-mal, or charity fund, is intended to afford mouthfuls to the poor, and not bellyfuls to the imps of the devil.--that fool who can illuminate the day with a camphorated taper must soon feel a want of oil for his lamp at night." one of his discreet ministers said: "o king, it were expedient to supply such people with their means of subsistence by instalments, that they may not squander their absolute necessaries; but, with respect to what your majesty commanded as to coercion and prohibition, though it be correct, a party might impute it to parsimony. nor does it moreover accord with the principles of the generous to encourage a man to hope for kindness and then overwhelm him with heartbreaking distrust:--thou must not open upon thyself the door of covetousness; and when opened, thou must not shut it with harshness.--nobody will see the thirsty pilgrims crowding towards the shore of the briny ocean; but men, birds, and reptiles will flock together wherever they can meet a fresh water fountain." xiv one of the ancient kings was easy with the yeomanry in collecting his revenue, but hard on the soldiery in his issue of pay; and when a formidable enemy showed its face, these all turned their backs.--whenever the king is remiss in paying his troops, the troops will relax in handling their arms. what bravery can he display in the ranks of battle whose hand is destitute of the means of living? one of those who had excused themselves was in some sort my intimate. i reproached him and said, "he is base and ungrateful, mean and disreputable who, on a trifling change of circumstances, can desert his old master and forget his obligation of many years' employment." he replied: "were i to speak out, i swear by generosity you would excuse me. peradventure, my horse was without corn, and the housings of his saddle in pawn.--and the prince who, through parsimony, withholds his army's pay cannot expect it to enter heartily upon his service."--give money to the gallant soldier that he may be zealous in thy cause, for if he is stinted of his due he will go abroad for service.--_so long as a warrior is replenished with food he will fight valiantly, and when his belly is empty he will run away sturdily_. xv one of the vizirs was displaced, and withdrew into a fraternity of dervishes, whose blessed society made its impression upon him and afforded consolation to his mind. the king was again favorably disposed towards him, and offered his reinstatement in office; but he consented not, and said, "with the wise it is deemed preferable to be out of office than to remain in place.--such as sat within the cell of retirement blunted the teeth of dogs, and shut the mouths of mankind; they destroyed their writings, and broke their writing reeds, and escaped the lash and venom of the critics."--the king answered: "at all events i require a prudent and able man, who is capable of managing the state affairs of my kingdom." the ex-minister said: "the criterion, o sire, of a wise and competent man is that he will not meddle with such like matters.--the homayi, or phoenix, is honored above all other birds because it feeds on bones, and injures no living creature." a tamsil, or application in point.--they asked a siyah-gosh, or lion-provider, "why do you choose the service of the lion?" he answered: "because i subsist on the leavings of his prey, and am secure from the ill-will of my enemies under the asylum of his valor." they said: "now you have got within the shadow of his protection and admit a grateful sense of his bounty, why do you not approach more closely, that he may include you within the circle of select courtiers and number you among his chosen servants?" he replied, "i should not thus be safe from his violence."--though a guebre may keep his fire alight for a hundred years, if he fall once within its flame it will burn him.--_procul à jove, procul à fulmine_. it on one occasion may chance that the courtier of the king's presence shall pick up a purse of gold, and the next that he shall lie shorter by the head. and philosophers have remarked, saying, "it is incumbent on us to be constantly aware of the fickle dispositions of kings, who will one moment take offence at a salutation, and at another make an honorary dress the return for an act of rudeness; and they have said, that to be over much facetious is the accomplishment of courtiers and blemish of the wise.--be wary, and preserve the state of thine own character, and leave sport and buffoonery to jesters and courtiers." xvi one of my associates brought me a complaint of his perverse fortune, saying, "i have small means and a large family, and cannot bear up with my load of poverty. often has a thought crossed my mind, suggesting, let me remove into another country, that in whatever way i can manage a livelihood none may be informed of my good or bad luck."--(often he went asleep hungry, and nobody was aware, saying, "who is he?" often did his life hang upon his lip, and none lamented over him.)--"on the other hand, i reflect on the exultation of my rivals, saying, they will scoffingly sneer behind my back, and impute my zeal in behalf of my family to a want of humanity.--do but behold that graceless vagabond who can never witness the face of good fortune. he will consult the ease of his own person and abandon to distress his wife and children.--and, as is known, i have some small skill in the science of accounts. if, through your respected interest, any office can be obtained that may be the means of quieting my mind, i shall not, during the remainder of life, be able to express my sense of its gratitude." i replied, "o brother, the service of kings offers a twofold prospect--a hope of maintenance and a fear for existence; and it accords not with the counsel of the wise, under that expectation, to incur this risk.--no tax-gatherer will enter the dervish's abode, saying, pay me the rent of a field and orchard; either put up with trouble and chagrin, or give thy heartstrings to the crows to pluck." he said, "this speech is not made as applicable to my case, nor have you given me a categorical answer. have you not heard what has been remarked, 'his hand will tremble on rendering his account who has been accessory to a dishonest act.--righteousness will insure the divine favor; i never met him going astray who took the righteous path.'--and philosophers have said, 'four orders of people are mortally afraid of four others--the revenue embezzler, of the king; the thief, of the watchman; the fornicator, of the eavesdropper; and the adulteress, of the censor.' but what has he to fear from the comptroller who has a fair set of account-books?--'be not extravagant and corrupt while in office if thou wishest that the malice of thy rival may be circumscribed on settling thy accounts. be undefiled, o brother, in thy integrity, and fear nobody; washermen will beat only dirty clothes against a stone.'" i replied, "the story of that fox suits your case, which they saw running away, stumbling and getting up. somebody asked him, 'what calamity has happened to put you in such a state of trepidation?' he said, 'i have heard that they are putting a camel in requisition.' the other answered, 'o silly animal! what connection has a camel with you, or what resemblance is there between you and it?' he said, 'be silent; for were the envious from malevolence to insist that this is a camel, and i should be seized for one, who would be so solicitous about me as to inquire into my case?' and before they can bring the antidote from irac the person bitten by the snake may be dead. in like manner, you possess knowledge and integrity, discrimination and probity, yet spies lie in ambush, and informers lurk in corners, who, notwithstanding your moral rectitude, will note down the opposite; and should you anyhow stand arraigned before the king, and occupy the place of his reprehension, who in that state would step forward in your defence? accordingly, i would advise that you should secure the kingdom of contentment, and give up all thoughts of preferment. as the wise have said:--'the benefits of a sea voyage are innumerable; but if thou seekest for safety, it is to be found only on shore.'" my friend listened to this speech; he got into a passion, cavilled at my fable, and began to question it with warmth and asperity, saying, "what wisdom or propriety, good sense or morality, is there in this? here is verified that maxim of the sage, which tells us they are friends alone that can serve us in a jail, for all our enemies may pretend friendship at our own table.--'esteem him not a friend who during thy prosperity will brag of his love and brotherly affection.' i account him a friend who will take his friend by the hand when struggling with despair, and overwhelmed with misfortune." i perceived within myself, saying, "he is disturbed, and listens to my advice with impatience;" and, having called the sahib diwan, or lord high treasurer, in virtue of a former intimacy that subsisted between us, i stated his case and spoke so fully upon his skill and merits, that he put him in nomination for a trifling office. after some time, having adverted to his kindly disposition and approved of his good management, his promotion was in train, and he got confirmed in a much higher station. thus was the star of his good fortune in ascension, till it rose into the zenith of ambition; and he became the favorite of his majesty the king, towards whom all turned for counsel, and upon whom all eyes rested their hopes! i rejoiced at this prosperous change of his affairs, and said:--"repine not at thy bankrupt circumstances, nor let thy heart despond, for the fountain of immortality has its source of chaos.--_take heed, o brother in affliction! and be not disheartened, for god has in store many hidden mercies_.--sit not down soured at the revolutions of the times, for patience is bitter, yet it will yield sweet fruit." at that juncture i happened to accompany a party of friends on a journey to hijaz, or arabia petraea. on my return from the pilgrimage to mecca, he came out two stages to meet me. i perceived that his outward plight was wretched, and his garb that of dervishes. i asked, "how is this?" he replied, "just as you said, a faction bore me a grudge and charged me with malpractices; and the king, be his reign eternal, would not investigate the truth of that charge, and my old and best friends stood aloof from my defence, and overlooked my claims on our former acquaintance.--when, through an act of god, a man has fallen, the whole world will put their feet upon his neck; when they see that fortune has taken him by the hand, they will put their hands upon their breasts, and be loud in his praise.--in short, i underwent all manner of persecution till within this week, that the tidings of the safe return of the pilgrims reached us, when i got a release from my heavy durance and a confiscation of my hereditary tenements." i said, "at that time you did not listen to my admonition, when i warned you that the service of princes is, like a voyage at sea, profitable but hazardous: you either get a treasure or perish miserably.--the merchant gains the shore with gold in both his hands, or a wave will one day leave him dead on its beach."--not deeming it generous any further to irritate a poor man's wound with the asperity of reproach, or to sprinkle his sore with the salt of harsh words, i made a summary conclusion in these two verses, and said:--"wert thou not aware that thou shouldst find fetters on thy feet when thou wouldst not listen to the generous man's counsel? thrust not again thy finger into a scorpion's hole till thou canst endure the pain of its sting." xvii i was the companion of a holy fraternity, whose manners were correct from piety, and minds disciplined from probity. an eminent prince entertained a high and respectful opinion of the worth of this brotherhood, and had assigned it an endowment. perhaps one of them committed an act unworthy of the character of dervishes; for the good opinion of that personage was forfeited, and the market of their support shut. i wished that i could by any means re-establish the maintenance of my friends, and attempted to wait on the great man; but his porter opposed my entrance, and turned me away with rudeness. i excused him conformably with what the witty have said:--"till thou canst take an introduction along with thee approach not the gate of a prince, vizir, or lord; for the dog and the doorkeeper, on espying a beggar, will the one seize his skirt and the other his collar." when the favorite attendants of that great man were aware of my situation, they ushered me into his presence with respect, and offered me the highest seat; but in humility i took the lowest, and said: "permit that i, the slave of the abject, should seat myself on a level with servants."--the great man answered, "my god, my god! what room is there for this speech? wert thou to seat thyself upon the pupil of mine eye, i would court thy dalliance, for thou art lovely." in short, i took my seat, and entered upon a variety of topics, till the indiscretion of my friends was brought upon the carpet, when i said: "what fault did the lord of past munificence remark, that his servant should seem so contemptible in his sight? individually with god is the perfection of majesty and goodness, who can discern our failings and continue to us his support." when the prince heard this sentiment he subscribed to its omnipotence; and, with regard to the stipendiary allowance of my friends, he ordered its continuance as heretofore, and a faithful discharge of all arrears. i thanked him for his generosity, kissed the dust of obeisance, apologized for my boldness, and at the moment of taking my leave, added: "when the fane of the caabah, at mecca, became their object from a far distant land, pilgrims would hurry on to visit it for many farsangs. it behooves thee to put up with such as we are, for nobody will throw a stone at a tree that bears no fruit." xviii a prince inherited immense riches by succeeding to his father. he opened the hand of liberality, displayed his munificence, and bestowed innumerable gifts upon his troops and people. "the brain will not be perfumed by a censer of green aloes-wood; place it over the fire that it may diffuse fragrance like ambergris. if ambitious of a great name, make a practice of munificence, for the crop will not shoot till thou shalt sow the seed." a narrow-minded courtier began to admonish him, saying, "verily, former sovereigns have collected this wealth with scrupulosity and stored it advisedly. check your hand in this waste, for accidents wait ahead, and foes lurk behind. god forbid that you should want it on a day of need.--wert thou to distribute the contents of a granary among the people, every master of a family might receive a grain of rice; why not exact a grain of silver from each, that thou mightest daily hoard a chamber full of treasure?" the prince turned his face aside from this speech, so contrary to his own lofty sentiments, and harshly reprimanded him, saying, "a great and glorious god made me sovereign of this property, that i might enjoy and spend it; and posted me not a sentinel, to hoard and watch over it.--carown perished, who possessed forty magazines of treasure; nushirowan died not, who left behind him a fair reputation." xix they have related that at a hunting seat they were roasting some game for nushirowan, and as there was no salt they were despatching a servant to the village to fetch some. nushirowan called to him, saying, "take it at its fair price, and not by force, lest a bad precedent be established and the village desolated." they asked, "what damage can ensue from this trifle?" he answered, "originally, the basis of oppression in this world was small, and every newcomer added to it, till it reached to its present extent:--let the monarch eat but one apple from a peasant's orchard, and his guards, or slaves, will pull up the tree by its root. from the plunder of five eggs, that the king shall sanction, his troops will stick a thousand fowls on their spits." xx i have heard of a revenue-collector who would distrain the huts of the peasantry, that he might enrich the treasury of the sovereign, regardless of that maxim of the wise, who have said, "whoever can offend the most high, that he may gain the heart of a fellow-creature, god on high will instigate that creature against him, till he dig out the foundation of his fortune:--that crackling in the flame is not caused by burning rue, but it is the sigh of the afflicted that occasions it." they say, of all animals the lion is the chief; and of beasts the ass is the meanest; yet, with the concurrence of the wise, the burden-bearing ass is preferable to the man-devouring lion. "the poor ass, though devoid of understanding, will be held precious when carrying a burden; oxen and asses that carry loads are preferable to men that injure their fellow-creatures." the king had reported to him a part of his nefarious conduct. he put him to the rack, and tortured him to death. "thou canst not obtain the sovereign's approbation till thou make sure of the good-will of his people. wishest thou that god shall be bountiful to thee, be thou good thyself to the creatures of god." one who had suffered from his oppression passed him at the time of his execution, and said: "it is not every man that may have the strong arm of high station, that can in his government take an immoderate freedom with the subjects' property. it is possible to cram a bone down the throat, but when it sticks at the navel it will burst open the belly." xxi they tell a story of an evil-disposed person who struck a pious good man on the head with a stone. having no power of revenge, the dervish was keeping the stone by him till an occasion when the sovereign let loose the army of his wrath, and cast him into a dungeon. the poor man went up and flung that stone at his head. the person spoke to him, saying, "who are you, and why did you throw this stone at my head?" he answered, "i am that poor man, and this is the same stone that you on a certain occasion flung at my head." he said, "where have you been all this time?" the poor man answered, "i stood in awe of your high station, but now that i find you in a dungeon, i avail myself of the opportunity, as they have said--'whilst they saw the worthless man in prosperity, the wise thought proper to show him respect. now thou hast not sharp and tearing nails, it is prudent for thee to defer to engage with the wicked. whoever grappled with a steel-armed wrist exposed his own silver arm to torture. wait till fortune can manacle his hands, then beat out his brains to the satisfaction of thy friends.'" * * * * * xxiii one of king umraw-layas's slaves had absconded, and people that went after him brought him back. the vizir, who had a dislike to him, used his interest to have him put to death, that the other slaves (as he pretended) might not commit the same offence. the poor slave fell at umraw-layas's feet, and said: "whatever may befall me, if thou approve of it, it is so far proper. what plea can a vassal offer against his lord and master's decree?--nevertheless, inasmuch as i am the nurtured gift of this house, i could not wish that on the last day's reckoning my blood should stand charged to your account. if, at all events, you are resolved to put this your slave to death, let it be done with a plea of legality, that you may not be censured at the day of resurrection." the king asked, "how can i set up a legal plea?" he replied, "issue your command that i may kill the vizir, then give an order to put me to death in retaliation for him, that you may kill me according to law!" the king smiled and asked the vizir, "what is your advice in this case?" the vizir said, "o sovereign of the world! i beg, for the sake of god, that you will manumit this audacious fellow as a propitiation at the tomb of your forefathers, lest he also involve me in calamity. the fault was on my side, in not doing justice to the saying of the wise, who have warned us:--'when thou didst enter the lists with a practised slinger, in thy want of skill thou exposest thine own head to be broken. when thou didst discharge thine arrow at thy antagonist's face thou shouldst have been upon thy guard, for thou hadst become his butt.'" xxiv king zuzan had a minister of a generous spirit and kindly disposition, who was polite to all persons while present, and spoke well of them when absent. one of his acts happened to displease the king, who put him under stoppages, and in rigorous confinement. the officers of the crown were sensible of his former benefits, and pledged to show their gratitude of them. accordingly, whilst under their charge, they treated him with courtesy and benevolence, and would not use any coercion or violence:--"if thou desirest to remain at peace with a rival, whenever he slanders thee behind thy back speak well of him to his face. the perverse man cavils for the last word; unless thou preferest his bitter remarks, make his mouth sweet." of the charge against him at the king's exchequer, part had been adjusted according to its settlement, and he remained in durance for the balance. a bordering prince sent him underhand a letter, stating, "the sovereign of that quarter has not appreciated such worth, nay, has dishonored it, and with us it bore a heavy price. if the precious mind of a certain personage, may god facilitate his deliverance, will incline favorably towards us, every possible exertion shall be made to conciliate his good-will, and the cabinet ministers of this kingdom are exulting in the prospect of seeing him, and anxious for the answer of this letter." the minister made himself master of the contents. he pondered on the danger, wrote such a brief answer as seemed discreet upon the back of the letter, and returned it. one of the hangers-on at court had notice of this circumstance. he apprised the king, saying, "a certain person whom you have put in confinement is corresponding with a neighboring prince." the king was wroth, and ordered an investigation of this intelligence. the messenger was seized, and letter read. on the back of it he had written, stating, "the good opinion of his majesty exceeds the merits of this slave; but the honored approbation he has bestowed upon a servant cannot possibly have his consent, for he is the fostered gift of this house, and he cannot, on a trifling change of affection, betray his ancient benefactor and patron.--though once in his life he may grate thee with harshness, excuse him who on every occasion else has soothed thee with kindness." the king commended his fidelity, bestowed on him an honorary dress and largess, and made his excuses, saying, "i was to blame, that could do you an injury." he replied, "in this instance, my lord, your servant sees no blame that attaches to you; but such was the ordination of god, whose name was glorified, that this your devoted slave should verily be overtaken with a calamity. accordingly, it is more tolerable at the hand of you, who possess the rights of past good, and have claims of gratitude on this servant:--be not offended with mankind should any mischief assail thee, for neither pleasure nor pain originate with thy fellow-being. know that the contrariety of foe and friend proceeds from god, and that the hearts of both are at his disposal. though the arrow may seem to issue from the bow, the intelligent can see that the archer gave it its aim." xxv i have heard that one of the kings of arabia directed the officers of his treasury, saying, "you will double a certain person's salary, whatever it may be, for he is constant in attendance and ready for orders, while the other courtiers are diverted by play, and negligent of their duty." a good and holy man overheard this, and heaved a sigh and groan from the bottom of his bosom. they asked, saying, "what vision did you see?" he replied, "the exalted mansions of his devoted servants will be after this manner portioned out at the judgment-seat of a most high and mighty deity!--if for two mornings a person is assiduous about the person of the king, on the third he will in some shape regard him with affection. the sincerely devout exist in the hope that they shall not depart disappointed from god's threshold. the rank of a prince is the reward of obedience. disobedience to command is a proof of rejection. whoever has the aspect of the upright and good will lay the face of duty at this threshold." xxvi they tell a story of a tyrant who bought fire-wood from the poor at a low price, and sold it to the rich at an advance. a good and holy man went up to him and said, "thou art a snake, who bitest everybody thou seest; or an owl, who diggest up and makest a ruin of the place where thou sittest:--although thy injustice may pass unpunished among us, it cannot escape god, the knower of secrets. be not unjust with the people of this earth, that their complaints may not rise up to heaven." they say the unjust man was offended at his words, turned aside his face, and showed him no civility, as they have expressed it (in the koran):--_he, the glorified god, overtook him amidst his sins_:--till one night, when the fire of his kitchen fell upon the stack of wood, consumed all his property, and laid him from the bed of voluptuousness upon the ashes of hell torments. that good and holy man happened to be passing and observed that he was remarking to his friends, "i cannot fancy whence this fire fell upon my dwelling." he said, "from the smoke of the hearts of the poor!--guard against the smoke of the sore-afflicted heart, for an inside sore will at last gather into a head. give nobody's heart pain so long as thou canst avoid it, for one sigh may set a whole world into a flame." they have related that these verses were inscribed in golden letters upon kai-khosráu's crown:--"how many years, and what a continuance of ages, that mankind shall on this earth walk over my head. as the kingdom came to me from hand to hand, so it shall pass into the hands of others." xxvii a person had become a master in the art of wrestling; he knew three hundred and sixty sleights in this art, and could exhibit a fresh trick for every day throughout the year. perhaps owing to a liking that a corner of his heart took for the handsome person of one of his scholars, he taught him three hundred and fifty-nine of those feats, but he was putting off the instruction of one, and under some pretence deferring it. in short the youth became such a proficient in the art and talent of wrestling that none of his contemporaries had ability to cope with him, till he at length had one day boasted before the reigning sovereign, saying, "to any superiority my master possesses over me, he is beholden to my reverence of his seniority, and in virtue of his tutorage; otherwise i am not inferior in power, and am his equal in skill." this want of respect displeased the king. he ordered a wrestling match to be held, and a spacious field to be fenced in for the occasion. the ministers of state, nobles of the court, and gallant men of the realm were assembled, and the ceremonials of the combat marshalled. like a huge and lusty elephant, the youth rushed into the ring with such a crash that had a brazen mountain opposed him he would have moved it from its base. the master being aware that the youth was his superior in strength, engaged him in that strange feat of which he had kept him ignorant. the youth was unacquainted with its guard. advancing, nevertheless, the master seized him with both hands, and, lifting him bodily from the ground, raised him above his head and flung him on the earth. the crowd set up a shout. the king ordered them to give the master an honorary dress and handsome largess, and the youth he addressed with reproach and asperity, saying, "you played the traitor with your own patron, and failed in your presumption of opposing him." he replied, "o sire! my master did not overcome me by strength and ability, but one cunning trick in the art of wrestling was left which he was reserved in teaching me, and by that little feat had to-day the upper hand of me." the master said, "i reserved myself for such a day as this. as the wise have told us, 'put it not so much into a friend's power that, if hostilely disposed, he can do you an injury.' have you not heard what that man said who was treacherously dealt with by his own pupil:--'either in fact there was no good faith in this world, or nobody has perhaps practised it in our days. no person learned the art of archery from me who did not in the end make me his butt.'" xxviii a solitary dervish had taken up his station at the corner of a desert. a king was passing by him. inasmuch as contentment is the enjoyment of a kingdom, the dervish did not raise his head, nor show him the least mark of attention; and, inasmuch as sovereignty is regal pomp, the king took offence, and said, "the tribe of ragged mendicants resemble brute beasts, and have neither grace nor good manners." the vizir stepped up to him, and said: "o generous man! the sovereign of the universe has passed by you; why did you not do him homage, and discharge the duty of obeisance?" he answered and said, "speak to your sovereign, saying: expect service from that person who will court your favor; let him moreover know that kings are meant for the protection of the people, and not the people for the subjects of kings.--though it be for their benefit that his glory is exalted, yet is the king but the shepherd of the poor. the sheep are not intended for the service of the shepherd, but the shepherd is appointed to tend the sheep.--to-day thou mayest observe one man proud from prosperity, another with a heart sore from adversity; have patience for a few days till the dust of the grave can consume the brain of that vain and foolish head. when the record of destiny came to take effect, the distinction of liege and subject disappeared. were a person to turn up the dust of the defunct, he could not distinguish that of the rich man from the poor." these sayings made a strong impression upon the king; he said: "ask me for something." he replied: "what i desire is, that you will not trouble me again!" the king said, "favor me with a piece of advice." he answered: "attend to them now that the good things of this life are in thy hands; for wealth and dominion are passing from one hand into another." * * * * * xxx a king ordered an innocent person to be put to death. the man said, "seek not your own hurt by venting any anger you may entertain against me." the king asked, "how?" he replied, "the pain of this punishment will continue with me for a moment, but the sin of it will endure with you forever.--the period of this life passes by like the wind of the desert. joy and sorrow, beauty and deformity, equally pass away. the tyrant vainly thought that he did me an injury, but round his neck it clung and passed over me." the king profited by this advice, spared his life, and asked his forgiveness. xxxi the cabinet ministers of nushirowan were debating an important affair of state, and each delivered his opinion according to the best of his judgment. in like manner the king also delivered his sentiments, and abu-zarchamahr, the prime minister, accorded in opinion with him. the other ministers whispered him, saying, "what did you see superior in the king's opinion that you preferred it to the judgment of so many wise heads?" he replied: "because the event is doubtful, and the opinion of all rests in the pleasure of the most high god whether it shall be right or wrong. accordingly it is safer to conform with the judgment of the king, because if that shall prove wrong, our obsequiousness to his will shall secure us from his displeasure.--to sport an opinion contrary to the judgment of the king were to wash our hands in our own blood. were he verily to say this day is night, it would behoove us to reply: lo! there are the moon and seven stars." xxxii an impostor plaited his hair and spake, saying, "i am a descendant of ali;" and he entered the city along with the caravan from hijaz, saying, "i come a pilgrim from mecca;" and he presented a casidah or elegy to the king, saying, "i have composed it!" the king gave him money, treated him with respect, and ordered him to be shown much flattering attention; till one of the courtiers, who had that day returned from a voyage at sea, said, "i saw him on the eeduzha, or anniversary of sacrifice at busrah; how then can he be a haji, or pilgrim?" another said, "now i recollect him, his father was a christian at malatiyah (malta); how then can he be a descendant of ali?" and they discovered his verses in the divan of anwari. the king ordered that they should beat and drive him away, saying, "how came you to utter so many falsehoods?" he replied, "o sovereign of the universe! i will utter one speech more, and if that may not prove true, i shall deserve whatever punishment you may command." the king asked, "what may that be?" he said: "if a peasant bring thee a cup of junket, two measures of it will be water and one spoonful of it buttermilk. if thy slave spake idly be not offended, for great travellers deal most in the marvellous!" the king smiled and replied, "you never in your life spake a truer word." he directed them to gratify his expectations, and he departed happy and content. xxxiii they have related that one of the vizirs would compassionate the weak and meditate the good of everybody. he happened to fall under the royal displeasure, and they all strove to obtain his release. such as had him in custody were indulgent in their restraint, and his fellow-grandees were loud in proclaiming his virtues, till the king pardoned his fault. a good and holy man was apprised of these events, and said:--"in order to conciliate the good-will of friends, it were better to sell our patrimonial garden; in order to boil the pot of well-wishers, it were good to convert our household furniture into fire-wood. do good even to the wicked; it is as well to shut a dog's mouth with a crumb." xxxiv one of harun-al-rashid's children went up to his father in a passion, saying, "a certain officer's son has abused me in my mother's name." harun asked his ministers, "what ought to be such a person's punishment?" one made a sign to have him put to death; another to have his tongue cut out; and a third, to have him fined and banished. harun said: "o my child! it were generous to forgive him; but if you have not resolution to do that, do you abuse his mother in return, yet not to such a degree as to exceed the bounds of retaliation, for in that case the injury would be on our part, and the complaint on that of the antagonist.--in the opinion of the prudent he is no hero that can dare to combat a furious elephant; but that man is in truth a hero who, when provoked to anger, will not speak intemperately. a cross-grained fellow abused a certain person; he bore it patiently, and said, o well-disposed man! i am still more wicked than thou art calling me; for i know my defects better than thou canst know them." xxxv i was seated in a vessel, along with some persons of distinction, when a boat sunk astern of us and two brothers were drawn into the whirlpool. one of our gentlemen called to the pilot, saying, "save those two drowning men and i will give you a hundred dinars." the pilot went and rescued one of them, but the other perished. i observed, "that man's time was come, therefore you were tardy in assisting him, and alert in saving this other." the pilot smiled, and replied, "what you say is the essence of inevitable necessity; yet was my zeal more hearty in rescuing this one, because on an occasion when i was tired in the desert he set me on a camel; whereas, when a boy, i had received a horsewhipping from that other."--_god almighty was all justice and equity: whoever labored unto good experienced good in himself; and he who toiled unto evil experienced evil_.--so long as thou art able grate nobody's heart, for in this path there must be thorns. expedite the concerns of the poor and needy; for thy own concerns may need to be expedited. * * * * * xxxvii a person announced to nushirowan the just, saying, "i have heard that god, glorious and great, has removed from this world a certain man who was your enemy." he said, "have you had any intelligence that he has overlooked me? in the death of a rival i have no room for exultation, since my life also is not to last forever." xxxviii at the court of kisra, or nushirowan, a cabinet council was debating some state affair. abu-zarchamahr, who sat as president, was silent. they asked him, "why do you not join us in this discussion?" he replied, "such ministers of state are like physicians, and a physician will prescribe a medicine only to a sick man; accordingly, so long as i see that your opinions are judicious, it were ill-judged in me to obtrude a word.--while business can proceed without my interference, it does not behoove me to speak on the subject; but were i to see a blind man walking into a pit, i would be much to blame if i remained silent." xxxix when he reduced the kingdom of misr, or egypt, to obedience, harun-al-rashid said, "in contempt of that impious rebel (pharaoh), who, in his pride of the sovereignty of egypt, boasted a divinity, i will bestow its government only on the vilest of my slaves." he had a negro bondsman, called khosayib, preciously stupid, and him he appointed to rule over egypt. they tell us that his judgment and understanding were such, that when a body of farmers complained to him, saying, "we had planted some cotton shrubs on the banks of the nile, and the rains came unseasonably, and swept them all away;"--he replied, "you ought to sow wool, that it might not be swept away!" a good and holy man heard this, and said: "were our fortune to be increased in proportion to our knowledge, none could be scantier than the share of the fool; but fortune will bestow such wealth upon the ignorant as shall astonish a hundred of the learned. power and fortune depend not on knowledge, they are obtained only through the aid of heaven; for it has often happened in this world that the illiterate are honored, and the wise held in scorn. the fool in his idleness found a treasure under a ruin; the chemist, or projector, fell the victim of disappointment and chagrin." chapter ii of the morals of dervishes i a person of distinction asked a parsa, or devout and holy man, saying, "what do you offer in justification of a certain abid, another species of mohammedan monk, whose character others have been so ready to question?" he replied: "in his outward behavior i see nothing to blame, and with the secrets of his heart i claim no acquaintance.--whomsoever thou seest in a parsa's habit, consider him a parsa, or holy, and esteem him as a good man; and if thou knowest not what is passing in his mind, what business has the mohtasib, or censor, with the inside of the house?" ii i saw a dervish who, having laid his head at the fane of the cabah of mecca, was complaining and saying, "o gracious, o merciful god! thou knowest what can proceed from the sinful and ignorant that may be worthy of thy acceptance!--i brought my excuse of imperfect performance, for i have no claim on the score of obedience. the wicked repent them of their sins; such as know god confess a deficiency of worship." abids, or the pious, seek a reward of their devotion, merchants a profit on their traffic. i, a devoted servant, have brought hope, not obedience, and have come as a beggar, and not for lucre!--_do unto me what is worthy of thyself; but deal not with me as i myself have deserved_.--whether thou wilt slay me or pardon my offence, my head and face are prostrate at thy threshold. thy servant has no will of his own; whatever thou commandest, that he will perform. at the door of the cabah i saw a petitioner, who was praying and weeping bitterly. i ask not, saying, "approve of my obedience, but draw the pen of forgiveness across my sins." iii within the sanctuary of the cabah, at mecca, i saw abd-u'l-cadur the gilani, who having laid his face upon the hasa, or black stone, was saying, "spare and pardon me, o god! and if, at all events, i am doomed to punishment, raise me up at the day of resurrection blindfolded, that i may not be put to shame in the eyes of the righteous." every morning when the day begins to dawn, with my face in the dust of humility, i am saying, "o thou, whom i never can forget, dost thou ever bestow a thought on thy servant?" iv a thief got into a holy man's cell; but, however much he searched, he could find nothing to steal, and was going away disappointed. the good soul was aware of what was passing, and taking up the rug on which he had slept, he put it in his way that he might not miss his object.--i have heard that the heroes on the path of god will not distress the hearts of their enemies. how canst thou attain this dignified station who art at strife and warfare with thy friends? the loving kindness of the righteous, whether before your face or behind your back, is not such that they will censure you when absent, and offer to die for you when present.--face to face meek as a lamb, behind your back like a man-devouring wolf. whoever brings you, and sums up the faults of others, will doubtless expose your defects to them. v some travelling mendicants had agreed to club in a body and participate in the cares and comforts of society. i expressed a wish that i might be one of the party, but they refused to admit me. i said: "it is rare and inconsistent with the generous dispositions of dervishes to turn their faces from a good-fellowship with the poor, and to deny them its benefits, for on my part i feel such a zeal and good-will, that in the service of the liberal i am likely to prove rather an active associate than a grievous load.--_though not one of those who are mounted on the camels, i will do my best, that i may carry their saddle-cloths_." one of them answered and said: "be not offended at what you have heard, for some days back a thief joined us in the garb of a dervish, and strung himself upon the cord of our acquaintance.--how can people know what he is that wears that dress? the writer can alone tell the contents of the letter." in consequence of that reverence in which the dervish character is held, they did not think of his profligacy and admitted him into their society. the outward character of the holy is a patched cloak; this much is sufficient, that it has a threadbare hood. be industrious in thy calling, and wear whatever dress thou choosest. put a diadem on thy head, and bear a standard on thy shoulder. holiness does not consist in a coarse frock. let a zahid, or holy man, be truly pious, and he may dress in satin. sanctity is not merely a change of dress; it is an abandonment of the world, its pomp and vanity. it requires a hero to wear a coat of mail, for what would it profit to dress an hermaphrodite, or coward, in a suit of armor? in short we had one day travelled till dark, and at night composed ourselves for sleep under the wall of a castle. that graceless thief took up his neighbor's ewer, saying, "i am going to my ablutions;" and he was setting out for plunder. behold a religious man, who threw a patched cloak over his shoulders; he made the covering of the cabah the housing of an ass. so soon as he got out of the sight of the dervishes, he scaled a bastion of the fort and stole a casket. before break of day that gloomy-minded robber had got a great way off, and left his innocent companions asleep. in the morning they were all carried into the citadel, and thrown into a dungeon. from that time we have declined any addition to our party, and kept apart to ourselves, _for there is safety in unity, but danger in duality or a multitude_.--when an individual of a sect committed an act of folly, the high and the low sunk in their dignity. dost thou not see that one ox in a pasturage will cast a slur upon all the oxen of the village? i said: "let there be thanksgiving to a deity of majesty and glory that i am not forbid the benefits of dervishes, notwithstanding i am in appearance excluded from their society; and i am instructed by this narration, and others like me may profit by its moral during their remaining lives.--from one indiscreet person in an assembly a host of the prudent may get hurt. if they fill a cistern to the brim with rose-water, and let a dog fall into it, the whole will be contaminated." vi a zahid was the guest of a king. when he sat down at table he ate more sparingly from that than his appetite inclined him, and when he stood up at prayers he continued longer at them than it was his custom; that they might form a high opinion of his sanctity.--i fear, o arab! that thou wilt not reach the caabah; for the road that thou art taking leads to turkistan, or the region of infidels. when he returned home he ordered the table to be spread that he might eat. his son was a youth of a shrewd understanding. he said: "o father, perhaps you ate little or nothing at the feast of the king?" he answered, "in his presence i ate scarce anything that could answer its purpose!" then retorted the boy, "repeat also your prayers, that nothing be omitted that can serve a purpose." yes, thy virtues thou hast exposed in the palm of thy hand, thy vices thou hast hid under thy arm-pit. take heed, o hypocrite, what thou wilt be able to purchase with this base money on the day of need or day of judgment. vii i remember that in my early youth i was overmuch religious and vigilant, and scrupulously pious and abstinent. one night i sat up in attendance on my father, on whom be god's mercy, never once closed my eyes during the whole night, and held the precious koran open on my lap, while the company around us were fast asleep. i said to my father: "not an individual of these will raise his head that he may perform his genuflections, or ritual of prayer; but they are all so sound asleep, that you might conclude they were dead." he replied: "o emanation of your father, you had also better have slept than that you should thus calumniate the failings of mankind.--the braggart can discern only his own precious person; he will draw the veil of conceit all around him. were fortune to bestow upon him god's all-searching eye, he would find nobody weaker than himself." * * * * * x on one occasion, at the metropolitan mosque of balbek, i was holding forth, by way of admonition to a congregation cold and dead at heart, and not to be moved from the materialism of this world into the paths of mysticism. i perceived that the spirit of my discourse was making no impression, nor were the sparks of my enthusiasm likely to strike fire into their humid wood. i grew weary of instructing brutes, and of holding up a mirror to an assembly of the blind; but the door of exposition was thrown open, and the chain of argument extended; and in explanation of this text in the koran--_we are nearer to him_ (god) _than the vein of his neck_.--i had reached that passage of my sermon where i thus express myself:--"such a mistress as is closer to me in her affection than i am to myself, but this is marvellous that i am estranged from her. what shall i say, and to whom can i tell it, that she lies on my bosom and i am alienated from her." the intoxicating spirit of this discourse ran into my head, and the dregs of the cup still rested in my hand, when a traveller, as passing by, entered the outer circle of the congregation, and its expiring undulation lit upon him. he sent forth such a groan that the others in sympathy with him joined in lamentation, and the rawest of the assembly bubbled in unison. i exclaimed, "praise be to god! those far off are present in their knowledge, and those near by are distant from their ignorance. if the hearer has not the faculty of comprehending the sermon, expect not the vigor of genius in the preacher. give a scope to the field of inclination, that the orator may have room to strike the ball of eloquence over it." xi one night in the desert of mecca, from an excess of drowsiness, i had not a foot to enable me to proceed; and, laying my head on the earth, i gave myself up for lost, and desired the camel-driver to leave me to my fate.--how could the foot of the poor jaded pedestrian go on, now that the bactrian dromedary got impatient of its burden? while the body of a fat man is getting lean, a lean man must fall the victim of a hardship. the camel-driver replied: "o brother, holy mecca is ahead, and the profane robber behind; if you come forward you escape, but if you stay here you die!" during the night journey of the caravan, and in the track of the desert, it is fascinating to dose under the acacia-thorn tree; but, on this indulgence, we must resign all thoughts of surviving it. xii i saw on the sea-shore a holy man who had been torn by a tiger, and could get no salve to heal his wound. for a length of time he suffered much pain, and was all along offering thanks to the most high. they asked him, saying, "why are you so grateful?" he answered, "god be praised that i am overtaken with misfortune and not with sin! were that beloved friend, god, to give me over to death, take heed, and think not that i should be solicitous about life. i would ask, what hast thou seen amiss in thy poor servant that thy heart should take offence at me? for that could alone give me a moment's uneasiness." xiii having some pressing occasion, a dervish stole a rug from the hut of a friend. the judge ordered that they should cut off his hand. the owner of the rug made intercession for him, saying, "i have forgiven him." the judge replied, "at your instance i cannot relax the extreme sentence of the law." he said: "in what you ordered you spoke justly. nevertheless, whoever steals a portion of any property dedicated to alms must not suffer the forfeiture of his hand, for a _religious mendicant is not the proprietor of anything_; and whatever appertains to dervishes is devoted to the necessitous." the judge withdrew his hand from punishing him, and by way of reprimand asked, "had the world become so circumscribed that you could not commit a theft but in the dwelling of such a friend?" he answered, "have you not heard what they have said, 'sweep everything away from the houses of your friends, but knock not at the doors of your enemies.' when overwhelmed with calamity let not thy body pine in misery. strip thy foes of their skins, and thy friends of their jackets." xiv a king said to a holy man, "are you ever thinking of me?" "yes," replied he, "at such time as i am forgetting god almighty! he will wander all around whom god shall drive from his gate; and he will not let him go to another door whom he shall direct into his own." xv one of the righteous in a dream saw a king in paradise, and a parsa, or holy man, in hell. he questioned himself, saying, "what is the cause of the exaltation of this, and the degradation of that, for we have fancied their converse?" a voice came from above, answering, "this king is in heaven because of his affection for the holy, and that parsa is in hell because of his connection with the kingly."--what can a coarse frock, rosary, and patched cloak avail? abstain from such evil works as may defile thee. there is no occasion to put a felt cowl upon thy head. be a dervish in thy actions, and wear a tartarian coronet. xvi a pedestrian, naked from head to foot, left cufah with the caravan of pilgrims for hijaz, or mecca, and came along with us. i looked at and saw him destitute of every necessary for the journey; yet he was cheerfully pushing on, and bravely remarking:--"i am neither mounted on a camel nor a mule under a burden. i am neither the lord of vassals nor the vassal of a lord. i think not of present sorrows or past vanities, but breathe the breath of ease and live the life of freedom!" a gentleman mounted on a camel said to him, "o dervish, whither are you going? return, or you must perish miserably." he did not heed what he said, but entered the desert on foot and proceeded. on our reaching the palm plantation of mahmud, fate overtook the rich man, and he died. the dervish went up to his bier and said, "i did not perish amidst hardship on foot, and you expired on a camel's back." a person sat all night weeping by the side of a sick friend. next day he died, and the invalid recovered!--yes! many a fleet horse perished by the way, and that lame ass reached the end of the journey. how many of the vigorous and hale did they put underground, and that wounded man recovered! * * * * * xviii in the territory of the greeks a caravan was attacked by robbers, and plundered of much property. the merchants set up a lamentation and complaint, and besought the intercession of god and the prophet; but all to no purpose.--when the gloomy-minded robber is flushed with victory, what will he feel for the traveller's despair. lucman, the fabulist and philosopher, happened to be among them. one of the travellers spoke to him, saying, "direct some maxims of wisdom and admonition to them; perhaps they may restore a part of our goods; for it were a pity that articles of such value should be cast away." he answered: "it were a pity to cast away the admonitions of wisdom upon them!" from that iron which the rust has corroded thou canst not eradicate the canker with a file. what purpose will it answer to preach to the gloomy-minded infidel? a nail of iron cannot penetrate into a piece of flint. perhaps the fault has been on our part (in not being charitable), as they have said:--"on the day of thy prosperity remember the bankrupt and needy, for by visiting the hearts of the poor with charity thou shalt divert calamity. when the beggar solicits alms from thee, bestow it with a good grace; otherwise the tyrant may come and take it by force." * * * * * xx they asked lucman, the fabulist, "from whom did you learn manners?" he answered, "from the unmannerly, for i was careful to avoid whatever part of their behavior seemed to me bad." they will not speak a word in joke from which the wise cannot derive instruction; let them read a hundred chapters of wisdom to a fool, and they will all seem but a jest to him. xxi they tell a story of an abid, who in the course of a night would eat ten mans, or pounds, of food, and in his devotions repeat the whole koran before morning. a good and holy man heard this, and said, "had he eaten half a loaf of bread, and gone to sleep, he would have done a more meritorious act." keep thy inside unencumbered with victuals, that the light of good works may shine within thee; but thou art void of wisdom and knowledge, because thou art filled up to the nose with food. xxii the divine favor had placed the lamp of grace in the path of a wanderer in forbidden ways, till it directed him into the circle of the righteous, and the blessed society of dervishes, and their spiritual co-operation enabled him to convert his wicked propensities into praiseworthy deeds, and to restrain himself in sensual indulgences; yet were the tongues of calumniators questioning his sincerity, and saying, he retains his original habits, and there is no trusting to his piety and goodness.--by the means of repentance thou mayest get delivered from the wrath of god, but there is no escape from the slanderous tongue of man.--he was unable to put up with the virulence of their remarks, and took his complaint to his ghostly father, saying, "i am much troubled by the tongues of mankind." the holy man wept, and answered, "how can you be sufficiently grateful for this blessing, that you are better than they represent you?--how often wilt thou call aloud saying, the malignant and envious are calumniating wretched me, that they rise up to shed my blood, and that they sit down to devise me mischief. be thou good thyself, and let people speak evil of thee; it is better than to be wicked, and that they should consider thee as good."--but, on the other hand, behold me, of whose perfectness all entertain the best opinion, while i am the mirror of imperfection.--had i done what they have said, i should have been a pious and moral man.--_verily, i may conceal myself from the sight of my neighbor, but god knows what is secret and what is open_.--there is a shut door between me and mankind, that they may not pry into my sins; but what, o omniscience! can a closed door avail against thee, who art equally informed of what is manifest or concealed? xxiii i lodged a complaint with one of our reverend shaikhs, saying: "a certain person has borne testimony against my character on the score of lasciviousness." he answered, "shame him by your continence.--be thou virtuously disposed, that the detractor may not have it in his power to indulge his malignity. so long as the harp is in tune, how can it have its ear pulled (or suffer correction by being put in tune) by the minstrel?" xxiv they asked one of the shaikhs of sham, or syria, saying: "what is the condition of the sufi sect?" he answered, "formerly they were in this world a fraternity dispersed in the flesh, but united in the spirit; but now they are a body well clothed carnally, and ragged in divine mystery." whilst thy heart will be every moment wandering into a different place, in thy recluse state thou canst not see purity; but though thou possessest rank and wealth, lands and chattels, if thy heart be fixed on god, thou art a hermit. xxv on one occasion we had marched, i recollect, all the night along with the caravan, and halted towards morning on the skirts of the wilderness. one mystically distracted, who accompanied us on that journey, set up a loud lamentation at dawn, went a-wandering into the desert, and did not take a moment's rest. next day i said to him, "what condition was that?" he replied, "i remarked the nightingales that they had come to carol in the groves, the pheasants to prattle on the mountains, the frogs to croak in the pools, and the wild beasts to roar in the forests, and thought with myself, saying, it cannot be generous that all are awake in god's praise and i am wrapt up in the sleep of forgetfulness!--last night a bird was carolling towards the morning; it stole my patience and reason, my fortitude and understanding. my lamentation had perhaps reached the ear of one of my dearly-beloved friends. he said, 'i did not believe that the singing of a bird could so distract thee!' i answered, this is not the duty of the human species, that the birds are singing god's praise and that i am silent." xxvi once, on a pilgrimage to hijaz, i was the fellow-traveller of some piously-disposed young men, and on a footing of familiarity and intimacy with them. from time to time we were humming a tune and chanting a spiritual hymn, and an abid, who bore us company, kept disparaging the morals of the dervishes, and was callous to their sufferings, till we reached the palm plantation of the tribe of hulal, when a boy of a tawny complexion issued from the arab horde and sung such a plaintive melody as would arrest the bird in its flight through the air. i remarked the abid's camel that it kicked up and pranced, and, throwing the abid, danced into the wilderness. i said: "o reverend shaikh! that spiritual strain threw a brute into an ecstasy, and it is not in like manner working a change in you!--knowest thou what that nightingale of the dawn whispered to me? what sort of man art thou, indeed, who art ignorant of love?--the camel is in an ecstasy of delight from the arab's song. if thou hast no taste to relish this, thou art a cross-grained brute.--now that the camel is elated with rapture and delight, if a man is insensible to these he is an ass.--_the zephyr, gliding through the verdure on the earth, shakes the twig of the ban-tree, but moves not the solid rock_.--whatever thou beholdest is loud in extolling him. that heart which has an ear is full of the divine mystery. it is not the nightingale that alone serenades his rose; for every thorn on the rose-bush is a tongue in his or god's praise!" xxvii a king had reached the end of his days and had no heir to succeed him. he made his will, stating, "you will place the crown of sovereignty upon the head of whatever person first enters the city gate in the morning, and commit the kingdom to his charge." it happened that the first man that presented himself at the city gate was a beggar, who had passed his whole life in scraping broken meat and in patching rags. the ministers of state and nobles of the court fulfilled the conditions of the king's will, and laid the keys of the treasury and citadel at his feet. for a time the dervish governed the kingdom, till some of the chiefs of the empire swerved from their allegiance, and the princes of the territories on every side rose in opposition to him, and levied armies for the contest. in short, his troops and subjects were routed and subdued, and several of his provinces taken from him. the dervish was hurt to the soul at these events, when one of his old friends, who had been the companion of his state of poverty, returned from a journey and found him in such dignity. he exclaimed: "thanksgiving be to a deity of majesty and glory that lofty fortune succored you and prosperity was your guide, till roses issued from your thorns and the thorns were extracted from your feet, and till you arrived at this elevated rank!--_along with hardship there is ease; or, to sorrow succeeds joy_.--the plant is at one season in flower and at another withered; the tree is at one time naked and at another clothed with leaves." he said: "o, my dear friend, offer me condolence, for here is no place for congratulation. when you last saw me i had to think of getting a crumb of bread; now i have the cares of a whole kingdom on my head. if the world be adverse, we are the victims of pain; if prosperous, the fettered slaves of affection for it. amidst this life no calamity is more afflicting than that, whether fortunate or not, the mind is equally disquieted. if thou covetest riches, ask not but for contentment, which is an immense treasure. should a rich man throw money into thy lap, take heed, and do not look upon it as a benefit; for i have often heard from the great and good that the patience of the poor is more meritorious than the gift of the rich. were king bahram ghor to distribute a whole roasted elk, it would not be equal to the gift of a locust's leg from an ant." xxviii a person had a friend who was holding the office of king's divan, or prime minister, and it happened that he had not seen him for some time. somebody remarked, saying, "it is some time since you saw such a gentleman." he answered, "i am no ways anxious about seeing him." one of the divan's people chanced to be present. he asked, "what has happened amiss that you should dislike to visit him?" he replied, "there is no dislike; but my friend, the divan, can be seen at a time when he is out of office, and my idle intrusion might not come amiss." amidst the state patronage and authority of office they might take umbrage at their acquaintance; but on the day of vexation and loss of place they would impart their mental disquietudes to their friends. xxix abu-horairah was making a daily visit to the prophet mustafa mohammed, on whom be god's blessing and peace. he said: "_o abu-horairah! let me alone every other day, that so affection may increase_; that is, come not every day, that we may get more loving!" they said to a good and holy man, "notwithstanding all these charms which the sun commands, we have never heard of anybody that has fallen in love with him!" he answered, "it is because he is seen every day, unless during the winter, when he is veiled (in the clouds), and thus much coveted and loved."--to visit mankind has no blame in it, but not to such a degree as to let them say, enough of it. if we see occasion to interrogate ourselves, we need not listen to the reprehension of others. xxx having taken offence with the society of my friends at damascus, i retired into the wilderness of the holy land, or jerusalem, and sought the company of brutes till such time as i was made a prisoner by the franks, and employed by them, along with some jews, in digging earth in the ditches of tripoli. at length one of the chiefs of aleppo, between whom and me an intimacy had of old subsisted, happening to pass that way, recognized me, and said, "how is this? and how came you to be thus occupied?" i replied: "what can i say?--i was flying from mankind into the forests and mountains, for my resource was in god and in none else. fancy to thyself what my condition must now be, when forced to associate with a tribe scarcely human?--to be linked in a chain with a company of acquaintance were pleasanter than to walk in a garden with strangers." he took pity on my situation; and, having for ten dinars redeemed me from captivity with the franks, carried me along with him to aleppo. here he had a daughter, and her he gave me in marriage, with a dower of a hundred dinars. soon after this damsel turned out a termagant and vixen, and discovered such a perverse spirit and virulent tongue as quite unhinged all my domestic comfort.--a scolding wife in the dwelling of a peaceful man is his hell, even in this world. protect and guard us against a wicked inmate. save us, o lord, and preserve us from the fiery, or hell, torture. having on one occasion given a liberty to the tongue of reproach, she was saying, "are you not the fellow whom my father redeemed from the captivity of the franks for ten dinars?" i replied, "yes, i am that same he delivered from captivity for ten dinars, and enslaved me with you for a hundred!" i have heard that a reverend and mighty man released a sheep from the paws and jaws of a wolf. that same night he was sticking a knife into its throat, when the spirit of the sheep reproached him, saying, "thou didst deliver me from the clutches of a wolf, when i at length saw that thou didst prove a wolf to me thyself." * * * * * xxxiii one of the holy men of syria had passed many years of devotion in the wilderness, and was feeding on the leaves of trees. the king of that country, in the way of a pilgrimage, visited him, and said, "if you can see the propriety of removing into my capital i will prepare an abode, where you may perform your devotions more at ease than in this place, and others may benefit by the blessing of your spiritual communion, and be edified by the example of your pious labors." the hermit was adverse to this advice, and turned away his face. one of the king's ministers spoke to him, saying: "for the satisfaction of his majesty, it were proper that you would for a few days remove into the city, and ascertain the nature of the place; when, if it should prove that your purity might be tarnished by coming in contact with the wicked, you have still the option left of moving back." it is reported that they prevailed on the hermit to accompany them into the city; and, in a garden near the sacred residence of the king, prepared for him a dwelling, which, like the mansions of paradise, was rejoicing the heart, and exhilarating the soul.--its damask roses were blooming as the cheeks of the lovely, and its tufted spikenard like the ringlets of our mistresses. it had as much to fear from the angry blasts of winter as the babe who has not yet tasted its nurse's milk: _boughs of trees on which hung crimson flowers, that gleamed like a flame amidst their dusky foliage_. forthwith the king sent him a moon-faced damsel.--such was this delicate crescent of the moon, and fascination of the holy, this form of an angel, and decoration of a peacock, that let them once behold her, and continence must cease to exist in the constitutions of the chaste. and, in like manner, there followed her a youth of such rare beauty and exquisite symmetry, that the powerful grasp of his charms had broken the wrists of the pious, and tied up behind their backs the arms of the upright.--mankind stand around him _parched with thirst, whilst he, who seems thy cup-bearer, will give thee no drink_.--the eye could not be satiated by beholding him, like the dropsical man with water by looking at the river euphrates. the hermit began to relish dainty food, and to wear sumptuous apparel; to regale himself with fruits, perfumes, and sweetmeats; and to behold with delight the charms of the handmaid and bondsman. and the wise have said, "the ringlets of the lovely are a chain on the feet of reason, and a snare for the bird of wisdom."--to the mystery of thy service i devoted my heart, religion, and all my mental faculties; verily, i am now the bird of reason, and thou art the lure and bait. in short, the good fortune of his many years of sanctity ran to waste, as has been said:--"whatever he had laid up from theologician, sage, or saint, or of recondite knowledge from the eloquent and pure of spirit, now that he had stooped to mix with a vile world, like the feet of a fly he got entangled in its honey." the king had the curiosity of making him another visit, and found the hermit much altered from what he first saw of him. his face had become fair and ruddy, and his body plump and jolly; and he was reclining at his ease on cushions of brocade, and had the houri-like damsel lolling by his side, and the fairy-formed youth holding a fly-flap of peacock's feathers in his hand, and standing by him in attendance. the king congratulated him upon his portly appearance, and they entered together upon a variety of topics, till his majesty concluded by observing, "in this world i have an affection for these two orders of mankind, the learned and the recluse." a philosophic vizir, and man of much worldly experience, happened to be present. he said: "o sire! such is the canon of affection that you should confer a benefit on each. give money to the learned man, that he may teach others; and give nothing to the hermit, that he may remain an anchorite.--a zahid, or hermit, stands in need of neither diram nor dinar; when an anchorite takes either, look out for another.--whoever is virtuously disposed, and holds a mystical communication with god, is sufficient of a hermit without requiring the bread of charity, or the crumbs of mendicity. the tapering finger of the lovely, and her soul-deluding ear-lobe, are decoration enough without a turquoise ring or ear-jewel. tell that piously-disposed and serene-minded dervish that he needs not the bread of consecration or scraping of beggary; tell that handsome and fair-faced matron that she does not require paint, coloring, or jewelry.--when i have of my own, and covet what is another's, if they esteem me not a hermit they treat me as i merit." xxxiv conformably with the above apologue, a king had a business of importance in hand. he said: "if this affair prosper to my wish i will distribute among the recluses a certain sum in dirams." now his object was accomplished, and mind made easy, he thought it incumbent to fulfil the condition of his eleemosynary vow, and gave a bag of dinars to a favorite servant, that he might distribute them among the anchorites. this was a discreet and considerate young man. he wandered about for the whole day; and, returning in the evening, kissed the bag of money, and laid it before the king, saying, "however much i sought after, i have met with no recluses!" the king answered, "what a story is this? for i myself know four hundred recluses within this city." he said, "o sovereign of the universe! such as are recluses do not take money; and such as take money are not anchorites!" the king smiled, and observed to his courtiers, "however much i reverence and favor this tribe of god's worshippers, this saucy fellow expresses for them a spite and ill-will; and, if you desire the truth, he has justice on his side. instead of that hermit who took dirams and dinars, get hold of one who is more an anchorite." xxxv they asked a profoundly-learned man, saying, "what is your opinion of consecrated bread, or almstaking?" he answered, "if with the view of composing their minds, and promoting their devotions, it is lawful to take it; but if monks collect for the sake of an endowment, it is forbidden. good and holy men have received the bread of consecration for the sake of religious retirement; and are not recluses, that they may receive such bread." xxxvi a dervish came to put up at a place where the master of the house was a gentleman of an hospitable disposition. he had as his guests an assembly of learned and witty men, each of whom was repeating such a jest, or anecdote, as is usual with the facetious. having travelled across a desert, the dervish was much fatigued, and well-nigh famished. one of the company observed, in the way of pleasantry, "you must also repeat something." the dervish answered, "i am not, like the others, overstocked with learning and wit, nor am i much read in books; and you must be satisfied with my reciting one distich." one and all eagerly cried, "let us hear it." he said, "hungry as i am, i sit by a table spread with food, like a bachelor at the entrance of a bath full of women!" they applauded what he said, and ordered the tray to be placed before him. the lord of the feast said, "stay your appetite, my friend! till my handmaids can prepare for you some forced meat." he raised his head from the tray, and answered, "say there is no need for forced meat on my tray, for a crust of plain bread is sufficient for one baked as i have been in the desert." xxxvii a disciple complained to his ghostly father, saying, "what can i do, for i am much annoyed by the people, who are interrupting me with their frequent visits, and break in upon my precious hours with their impertinent intrusions." he replied, "to such of them as are poor lend money, and from such as are rich ask some in loan; and neither of them will trouble you again." let a beggar be the harbinger of an army of islam, or the orthodox, and the infidel will fly his importunity as far as the wall of china. * * * * * xxxix a drunken fellow had lain down to sleep on the highway, and was quite overcome with the fumes of intoxication. an abid was passing close by, and looking at him with scorn. the youth raised his head, and said, "_whenever they pass anything shameful they pass it with compassion.--whenever thou beholdest a sinner, hide and bear with his transgressions: thou, who art aware of them, why not overlook my sins with pity_?--turn not away, o reverend sir! from a sinner; but look upon him with compassion. though in my actions i am not a hero, do thou pass by as the heroic would pass me." xl a gang of dissolute vagabonds broke in upon a dervish, used opprobrious language, and beat and ill-used him. in his helplessness he carried his complaint before his ghostly father, and said, "thus it has befallen me." he replied: "o my son! the patched cloak of dervishes is the garment of resignation; whosoever wears this garb, and cannot bear with disappointment, is a hypocrite, and to him our cloth is forbidden.--a vast and deep river is not rendered turbid by throwing into it a stone. that religious man who can be vexed at an injury is as yet a shallow brook.--if thou art subjected to trouble, bear with it; for by forgiveness thou art purified from sin. seeing, o brother! that we are ultimately to become dust, be humble as the dust, before thou moulderest into dust." xli hear what occurred once at bagdad in a dispute that took place between a roll-up curtain and standard. covered with the road-dust, and jaded with a march, the standard, in reproach, observed to the curtain: "thou and i are gentlemen in livery; we are fellow-servants at the court of his majesty. i never enjoy a moment's relief from duty; early and late i am equally marching. thou hast never experienced any peril or a siege, the heavy sand of the desert or dust of a whirlwind; my foot is most forward in any enterprise. then why art thou my superior in dignity? thou art cared for by youths with faces splendid as the moon, and handled by damsels scenting like jasmine; while i am fallen into the hands of raw recruits, am rolled up on our march, and turned upside down." the curtain answered: "i lay my head humble at the threshold, and hold it not up like thine, flaring in the face of heaven! whoever is thus vainly rearing his crest exalts himself only to be humbled." xlii a good and holy man saw a huge and strong fellow, who, having got much enraged, was storming with passion and foaming at the mouth. he asked, "what has happened to this man?" somebody answered, "such a one has given him bad names!" he said, "this paltry wretch is able to carry a thousand-weight of stone, and cannot bear with one light word! cease to boast of thy strong arm and pretended manhood, infirm as thou art in mind, and mean in spirit. what difference is there between such a man and a woman? though thou art strong of arm, let thy mouth utter sweet words; it is no proof of courage to thrust thy fist into another man's face:--though thou art able to tear the scalp off an elephant, if deficient in humanity, thou art no hero. the sons of adam are formed from dust; if not humble as the dust, they fall short of being men." * * * * * xliv a facetious old gentleman of bagdad gave his daughter in marriage to a shoemaker. the flint-hearted fellow bit so deeply into the damsel's lip that the blood trickled from the wound. next morning the father found her in this plight; he went up to his son-in-law, and asked him, saying: "lowborn wretch! what sort of teeth are these that thou shouldst chew her lips as if they were a piece of leather? i speak not in play what i have to say. lay jesting aside, and take with her thy legal enjoyment.--when once a vicious disposition has taken root in the habit, the hand of death can only eradicate it." xlv a doctor of laws had a daughter preciously ugly, and she had reached the age of womanhood; but, notwithstanding her dowry and fortune, nobody seemed inclined to ask her in marriage:--damask or brocade but add to her deformity when put upon a bride void of symmetry. in short, they were under the necessity of uniting her in the bonds of wedlock to a blind man. they add, that soon after there arrived from sirandip, or ceylon, a physician that could restore sight to the blind. they spoke to the law doctor, saying, "why do you not get him to prescribe for your son-in-law?" he answered: "because i am afraid he may recover his sight, and repudiate my daughter; for--'the husband of an ugly woman should be blind.'" * * * * * xlviii they asked a wise man which was preferable, munificence or courage? he answered, "whoever has munificence has no need of courage." on the tombstone of bahram-gor was inscribed: "the hand of liberality is stronger than the arm of power.--hatim tayi remains not, yet will his exalted name live renowned for generosity to all eternity. distribute the tithe of thy wealth in alms, for the more the gardener prunes his vine the more he adds to his crop of grapes." chapter iii on the preciousness of contentment i a mendicant from the west of africa had taken his station amidst a group of shopkeepers at aleppo, and was saying: "o lords of plenty! had ye a just sense of equity, and we of contentment, all manner of importunity would cease in this world!" o contentment! do thou make me rich, for without thee there is no wealth. the treasure of patience was the choice of lucman. whoever has no patience has no wisdom. ii there dwelt in egypt two youths of noble birth, one of whom applied himself to study knowledge, and the other to accumulate wealth. in process of time that became the wisest man of his age, and this king of egypt. then was the rich man casting an eye of scorn upon his philosophic brother, and saying, "i have reached a sovereignty, and you remain thus in a state of poverty." he replied: "o brother! i am all the more grateful for the bounty of a most high god, whose name was glorified, that i have found the heritage of the prophets--namely, wisdom; and you have got the estate of pharaoh and haman--that is, the kingdom of egypt. i am an emmet, that mankind shall tread under foot; not a hornet, that they shall complain of my sting. how can i sufficiently express my grateful sense of this blessing, that i possess not the means of injuring my fellow-creatures?" iii i heard of a dervish who was consuming in the flame of want, tacking patch after patch upon his ragged garment, and solacing his mind with this couplet:--"i can rest content with a dry crust of bread and a coarse woollen frock, for the burden of my own exertion bears lighter than laying myself under obligation to another."--somebody observed to him, "why do you sit quiet, while a certain gentleman of this city is so nobly disposed and universally benevolent, that he has girt up his loins in the service of the religious independents, and seated himself by the door of their hearts? were he apprised of your condition, he would esteem himself obliged, and be happy in the opportunity of relieving it." he said: "be silent; for it is better to die of want than to expose our necessities before another, as they have remarked:--'patching a tattered cloak, and the consequent treasure of content, are more commendable than petitioning the great for every new garment.'" by my troth, i swear it were equal to the torments of hell to enter into paradise through the interest of a neighbor. iv one of the persian kings sent a skilful physician to attend mohammed mustafa, on whom be salutation. he remained some years in the territory of the arabs; but nobody went to try his skill, or asked him for any medicine. one day he presented himself before the blessed prince of prophets, and complained, saying, "the king had sent me to dispense medicine to your companions; but, till this moment, nobody has been so good as to enable me to practise any skill that this your servant may possess." the blessed messenger of god was pleased to answer, saying, "it is a rule with this tribe never to eat till hard pressed by hunger, and to discontinue their repast while they have yet an appetite." the physician said, "this accounts for their health." then he kissed the earth of respect and took his leave. the physician will then begin to inculcate temperance, or to extend the finger of indulgence, when from silence his patient might suffer by excess, or his life be endangered by abstinence:--of course, the skill of the physician is advice, and the patient's regimen and diet yield the fruits of health! v a certain person would be making vows of abstinence and breaking them. at last a reverend gentleman observed to him, "so i understand that you make a practice of eating to excess; and that any restraint on your appetite, namely, this vow, is weaker than a hair, and this voraciousness, as you indulge it, would break an iron chain; but the day must come when it will destroy you." a man was rearing the whelp of a wolf; when full grown it tore its patron and master. vi in the annals of ardishir babagan it is recorded that he asked an arabian physician, saying, "what quantity of food ought to be eaten daily?" he replied, "a hundred dirams' weight were sufficient." the king said, "what strength can a man derive from so small a quantity?" the physician replied: "_so much can support you; but in whatever you exceed that you must support it_.--eating is for the purpose of living, and speaking in praise of god; but thou believest that we live only to eat." vii two dervishes of khorasan were fellow-companions on a journey. one was so spare and moderate that he would break his fast only every other night, and the other so robust and intemperate that he ate three meals a day. it happened that they were taken up at the gate of a city on suspicion of being spies, and both together put into a place, the entrance of which was built up with mud. after a fortnight it was discovered that they were innocent, when, on breaking open the door, they found the strong man dead, and the weak one alive and well. they were astonished at this circumstance. a wise man said, "the contrary of this had been strange, for this one was a voracious eater, and not having strength to support a want of food, perished; and that other was abstemious, and being patient, according to his habitual practice, survived it.--when a person is habitually temperate, and a hardship shall cross him, he will get over it with ease; but if he has pampered his body and lived in luxury, and shall get into straitened circumstances, he must perish." viii a certain philosopher admonished his son against eating to an excess, because repletion made a man sick. the boy answered, "o father, hunger will kill. have you not heard what the wits have remarked, to die of a surfeit were better than to bear with a craving appetite?" the father said, "study moderation, for the most high god has told us in the koran:--'_eat ye and drink ye, but not to an excess_:'--eat not so voraciously that the food shall be regorged from thy mouth, nor so abstemiously that from depletion life shall desert thee:--though food be the means of preserving breath in the body. yet, if taken to excess, it will prove noxious. if conserve of roses be frequently indulged in it will cause a surfeit, whereas a crust of bread, eaten after a long interval, will relish like conserve of roses." xi in a battle with the tartars, a gallant young man was grievously wounded. somebody said to him, "a certain merchant has a stock of the mummy antidote; if you would ask him, he might perhaps accommodate you with a portion of it." they say that merchant was so notorious for his stinginess, that--"if, in the place of his loaf of bread, the orb of the sun had been in his wallet, nobody would have seen daylight in the world till the day of judgment." the spirited youth replied: "were i to ask him for this antidote, he might give it, or he might not; and if he did it might cure me, or it might not; at any rate, to ask such a man were itself a deadly poison!" whatever thou wouldst ask of the mean, in obligation, might add to the body, but would take from the soul.--and philosophers have observed, that were the water of immortality, for example, to be sold at the price of the reputation, a wise man would not buy it, for an honorable death is preferable to a life of infamy.--wert thou to eat colocynth from the hand of the kind-hearted, it would relish better than a sweetmeat from that of the crabbed. xii one of the learned had a large family and small means. he stated his case to a great man, who entertained a favorable opinion of his character. this one turned away from his solicitation, and viewed this prostitution of begging as discreditable with a gentleman of education. if soured by misfortune, present not thyself before a dear friend, for thou may'st also imbitter his pleasure. when thou bringest forward a distress, do it with a cheerful and smiling face, for an openness of countenance can never retard business.--they have related that he rose a little in the pension, but sunk much in the estimation of the great man. after some days, when he perceived this falling off in his affection, he said:--"_miserable is that supply of food which thou obtainest in the hour of need; the pot is put to boil, but my reputation is bubbled into vapor_.--he added to my means of subsistence, but took from my reputation; absolute starving were better than the disgrace of begging." xiii a dervish had a pressing call for money. somebody told him a certain person is inconceivably rich; were he made aware of your want, he would somehow manage to accommodate it. he said, "i do not know him." the other answered, "i will introduce you;" and having taken his hand, he brought him to that person's dwelling. the dervish beheld a man with a hanging lip, and sitting in sullen discontent. he said nothing, and returned home. his friend asked, "what have you done?" he replied, "his gift i gave in exchange for his look:--lay not thy words before a man with a sour face, otherwise thou may'st be ruffled by his ill-nature. if thou tellest the sorrows of thy heart let it be to him in whose countenance thou may'st be assured of prompt consolation." * * * * * xv they asked hatim tayi: "have you ever met, or heard of, a person of a more independent spirit than yourself?" he answered: "yes, one day i had made a sacrifice of forty camels, and invited the chief of every arab tribe to a feast. then i repaired to the border of the desert, where i met a wood-cutter, who had tied up his fagot to carry it into the city. i said, why do you not go to the feast of hatim, where a crowd have assembled round his carpet? he replied:--'whoever can eat the bread of his own industry will not lay himself under obligation to hatim tayi.'--and in him i met my superior in spirit and independence." xvi the prophet moses, on whom be peace, saw a dervish who had buried his body, in his want of clothes to cover it, in the sand. he said: "o moses, put up a prayer, that the most high god would bestow a subsistence upon me, for i am perishing in distress." the blessed moses prayed accordingly, that god on high would succor him. some days afterwards, as he was returning from a conference with god on mount sinai, he met that dervish in the hands of justice, and a mob following him. he asked: "what has befallen this man?" they answered: "he had drunk wine and got into a quarrel, and having killed somebody, they are now going to exact retaliation."--the god who set forth the seven climates of this world assigned to every creature its appropriate lot. had that wretched cat been gifted with wings, she would not have left one sparrow's egg on the earth. it might happen that were a weak man to get the ability, he would rise and domineer over his weak brethren. the blessed moses acknowledged the wisdom of the creator of the universe, and, confessing his own presumption, repeated this verse of the koran:--"_were god to spread abroad his stores of subsistence to servants, verily they would rebel all over the earth._" what happened, o vain man! that thou didst precipitate thyself into destruction? would that the ant might not have the means of flying!--a mean person, when he has got rank and wealth, will bring a storm of blows upon his head. was not this at last the adage of a philosopher, 'that ant is best disposed of that has no wings.'--the father is a man of much sweetness of disposition, but the son is full of heat and passions:--that being, god, who would not make thee rich, must have known thy good better than thou couldst thyself know it. xvii i saw an arab, who was standing amidst a circle of jewellers at busrah, and saying: "on one occasion i had missed my way in the desert, and having no road-provision left, i had given myself up for lost, when all at once i found a bag of pearls. never shall i forget that relish and delight, so long as i mistook them for parched wheat; nor that bitterness and disappointment, when i discovered that they were real pearls." in the mouth of the thirsty traveller, amidst parched deserts and moving sands, pearl, or mother-of-pearl, were equally distasteful. to a man without provision, and knocked up in the desert, a piece of stone or of gold, in his scrip, is all one. xviii an arab, suffering under all the extremity of thirst in the desert, was saying:--"_would to god that yet, before i perish, i could but for one day gratify my wish: that a stream of water might dash against my knees, and i could fill my leathern flask or stomach with it_." in like manner a traveller had got bewildered in the great desert, and had neither provisions nor strength left, yet a few dirams remained with him in his scrip. he kept wandering about, but could not find the path, and sunk under his fatigue. a party of travellers arrived where his body lay; they saw the dirams spread before him, and these verses written in the sand:--"were he possessed of all the gold of jafier (a famous gold refiner), a man without food could not satisfy his appetite. to a wretched mendicant, parched in the desert, a boiled turnip would relish better than an ingot of virgin silver." xix i had never complained of the vicissitudes of fortune, nor murmured at the ordinances of heaven, excepting on one occasion, that my feet were bare, and i had not wherewithal to shoe them. in this desponding state i entered the metropolitan mosque at cufah, and there i beheld a man that had no feet. i offered up praise and thanksgiving for god's goodness to myself, and submitted with patience to my want of shoes.--in the eye of one satiated with meat a roast fowl is less esteemed at his table than a salad; but to him who is stinted of food a boiled turnip will relish like a roast fowl. xx a king, attended by a select retinue, had, on a sporting excursion during the winter, got at a distance from any of his hunting seats, and the evening was closing fast, when they espied from afar a peasant's cottage. the king said: "let us repair thither for the night, that we may shelter ourselves from the inclemency of the weather." one of the courtiers replied: "it would not become the dignity of the sovereign to take refuge in the cottage of a low peasant; we can pitch a tent here and kindle a fire." the peasant saw what was passing; he came forward with what refreshments he had at hand, and, laying them before the king, kissed the earth of subserviency, and said: "the lofty dignity of the king would not be lowered by this condescension; but these gentlemen did not choose that the condition of a peasant should be exalted." the king was pleased with this speech; and they passed the night at his cottage. in the morning he bestowed an honorary dress and handsome largess upon him. i have heard that the peasant was resting his hand for some paces upon the king's stirrup, and saying: "the state and pomp of the sovereign suffered no degradation by his condescension in becoming a guest at the cottage of a peasant; but the corner of the peasant's cap rose to a level with the sun when the shadow of such a monarch as thou art fell upon his head." xxi they tell a story of an importunate mendicant who had amassed much riches. a certain king said: "it seems that you possess immense wealth, and i have a business of some consequence in hand. if you will assist me with a little of it, by way of a loan, when the public revenue is realized i will repay it and thank you to the bargain." he replied: "o sire, it would ill become the sublime majesty of the sovereign of the universe to soil the hand of lofty enterprise with the property of such a mendicant as i am, which i have scraped together grain by grain." he said: "there is no occasion to vex yourself, for i mean it for the tartars, as impurities are suiting for the impure:--_they said, 'the compost of a dunghill is unclean.' we replied, 'that with it we will fill up the chinks of a necessary_.'--if the water of a christian's well is defiled, and we wash a jew's corpse in it, there is no sin." i have heard that he disobeyed the royal command, questioned its justice, and resisted it with insolence. the king ordered that the exchequer stipulations should be put in force with rigidness and violence. when a business cannot be settled with fair words, we must of necessity make use of foul. when a man will not contribute of his own free will, if another enforces him he meets his desert. xxii i knew a merchant who had a hundred and fifty camels of burden and forty bondsmen and servants in his train. one night he entertained me at his lodgings in the island of keish, in the persian gulf, and continued for the whole night talking idly, and saying: "such a store of goods i have in turkestan, and such an assortment of merchandise in hindustan; this is the mortgage-deed of a certain estate, and this the security-bond of a certain individual's concern." then he would say: "i have a mind to visit alexandria, the air of which is salubrious; but that cannot be, for the mediterranean sea is boisterous. o sa'di! i have one more journey in view, and, that once accomplished, i will pass my remaining life in retirement and leave off trade." i asked: "what journey is that?" he replied: "i will carry the sulphur of persia to chin, where, i have heard, it will fetch a high price; thence i will take china porcelain to greece; the brocade of greece or venice i will carry to india; and indian steel i will bring to aleppo; the glassware of aleppo i will take to yamin; and with the bardimani, or striped stuffs, of yamin i will return to persia. after that i will give up foreign commerce and settle myself in a warehouse." he went on in this melancholy strain till he was quite exhausted with speaking. he said: "o sa'di! do you too relate what you have seen and heard." i replied:--"hast thou not heard that in the desert of ghor as the body of a chief merchant fell exhausted from his camel, he said, 'either contentment or the dust of the grave will fill the stingy eye of the worldly-minded.'" * * * * * xxiv a weak fisherman got a strong fish into his net, but not having the power of mastering it, the fish got the better of him, and, dragging the net from his hand, escaped:--a bondsman went that he might take water from the brook; the brook came to rise and carried off the bondsman. on most occasions the net would bring out the fish; on this occasion the fish escaped, and took away the net. the other fishermen expressed their vexation, and reproached him, saying, "such a fish came into your net, and you were not able to master it." he replied: "alas! my brethren, what could be done? it was not my day of fortune, and the fish had in this way another day left it. and they have said: 'unless it be his lot, the fisherman cannot catch a fish in the tigris; and, except it be its fate, the fish will not die on the dry shore.'" xxv a person without hands or feet killed a milleped. a good and holy man passed by him at the time, and said: "glory be to god! notwithstanding the thousand feet he had when his destiny overtook him, he was unable to escape from one destitute of hand or foot."--when the life-plundering foe comes up behind, fate arrests the speed of the swift-going warrior. at the moment when the enemy might approach step by step it were useless to bend the kayani, or parthian bow. xxvi i met a fat blockhead decked in rich apparel, and mounted on an arab horse, with a turban of fine egyptian linen on his head. a person said: "o sa'di, how comes it that you see these garments of the learned on this ignorant beast?" i replied: "it is a vile epistle which has been written in golden letters:--'_verily this ass, with the resemblance of a man, has the carcase of a calf, and the voice or bleating of a calf_.'--thou canst not say that this brute appears like a man, unless in his garments, turban, and outward form. examine into all the ways and means of his existence, and thou shalt find nothing lawful but the shedding of his blood:--though a man of noble birth be reduced to poverty, imagine not that his lofty dignity can be lowered; and though he may secure his silver threshold with a hasp of gold, conclude not that a jew can be thereby ennobled." xxvii a thief said to a mendicant: "are you not ashamed when you hold forth your hand to every mean fellow for a barleycorn of silver?" he replied: "it is better to hold forth the hand for one grain of silver than to have it cut off for one and a half dang." * * * * * xxix i saw a dervish who had withdrawn into a cave, shut the door of communication between the world and himself, and with his lofty and independent eye viewed emperors and kings without awe or reverence:--whoever opens to himself the door of mendicity, must continue a beggar till the day of his death. put covetousness aside, and be independent as a prince; the neck of contentment can raise its head erect. one of the sovereigns of those parts sent a message to him, stating: "so far i can rely on the generous disposition of his reverence, that he will one day favor me by partaking of my bread and salt, by becoming my guest." the shaikh, or holy man, consented; for the acceptance of such an invitation accorded with the sunnat, or law and tradition of the prophet. next day the king went to apologize for the trouble he had caused him. the abid rose from his place, took the king in his arms, showed him much kindness, and was full of his compliments. after he was gone, one of the shaikh's companions asked him, saying: "was not such condescending kindness as you this day showed the king contrary to what is usual; what does this mean?" he answered: "have you not heard what they have said:--'it is proper to stand up and administer to him whom thou hast seated on thy carpet, or made thy guest.'" he could so manage that, during his whole life, his ear should not indulge in the music of the tabor, cymbal, and pipe. he could restrain his eyes from enjoying the garden, and gratify his sense of smell without the rose or narcissus. though he had not a pillow stuffed with down, he could compose himself to rest with a stone under his head; though he had no heart-solacer as the partner of his bed, he could hug himself to sleep with his arms across his breast. if he could not ride an ambling nag, he was content to take his walk on foot; only this grumbling and vile belly he could not keep under, without stuffing it with food. chapter iv on the benefit of being silent i i spoke to one of my friends, saying: "a prudent restraint on my words is on that account advisable, because in conversation there on most occasions occur good and bad; and the eyes of rivals only note what is bad." he replied: "o brother! that is our best rival who does not, or will not, see our good!--_the malignant brotherhood pass not by the virtuous man without imputing to him what is infamous_:--to the eye of enmity, virtue appears the ugliest blemish; it is a rose, o sa'di! which to the eyes of our rivals seems a thorn. the world-illuminating brilliancy of the fountain of the sun, in like manner, appears dim to the eye of the purblind mole." ii a merchant happened to lose a thousand dinars. he said to his son: "it will be prudent not to mention this loss to anybody." the son answered: "o father, it is your orders, and i shall not mention it; but communicate the benefit so far, as what the policy may be in keeping it a secret." he said: "that i may not suffer two evils: one, the loss of my money; another, the reproach of my neighbor;--impart not thy grievances to rivals, for they are glad at heart, while praying, _god preserve us_; or _there is neither strength nor power, unless it be from god!_" iii a sensible youth made vast progress in the arts and sciences, and was of a docile disposition; but however much he frequented the societies of the learned, they never could get him to utter a word. on one occasion his father said: "o my son, why do not you also say what you know on this subject?" he replied: "i am afraid lest they question me upon what i know not, and put me to shame:--hast thou not heard of a sufi who was hammering some nails into the sole of his sandal. an officer of cavalry took him by the sleeve, saying, 'come along, and shoe my horse.'--so long as thou art silent and quiet, nobody will meddle with thy business; but once thou divulgest it, be ready with thy proofs." iv a man, respectable for his learning, got into a discussion with an atheist; but, failing to convince him, he threw down his shield and fled. a person asked him, "with all your wisdom and address, learning and science, how came you not to controvert an infidel?" he replied: "my learning is the koran, and the traditions and sayings of our holy fathers; but he puts no faith in the articles of our belief, and what good could it do to listen to his blasphemy?" to him whom thou canst not convince by revelation or tradition, the best answer is that thou shalt not answer him. * * * * * vi they have esteemed sahban wabil as unrivalled in eloquence, insomuch that he could speak for a year before an assembly, and would not use the same word twice; or should he chance to repeat it, he would give it a different signification; and this is one of the special accomplishments of a courtier:--though a speech be captivating and sweet, worthy of belief, and meriting applause, yet what thou hast once delivered thou must not repeat, for if they eat a sweetmeat once they find that enough. vii i overheard a sage, who was remarking: "never has anybody acknowledged his own ignorance, excepting that person who, while another may be talking, and has not finished what he has to say, will begin speaking:--a speech, o wiseacre! has a beginning and an end; bring not one speech into the middle of another. a man of judgment, discretion, and prudence, delivers not his speech till he find an interval of silence." viii some of the courtiers of sultan mahmud asked husan maimandi, saying: "what did the king whisper to you to-day on a certain state affair?" he said: "you are also acquainted with it." they replied: "you are the prime minister; what the king tells you, he does not think proper to communicate to such as we are." he replied: "he communicates with me in the confidence that i will not divulge to anybody; then why do you ask me?" a man of sense blabs not, whatever he may come to know; he should not make his own head the forfeit of the king's secret. ix i was hesitating about the purchase of a dwelling-house. a jew said: "i am an old housekeeper in this street: ask the character of this house from me and buy it, for it has no fault." i replied: "true! only that you are its neighbor:--any such house as has thee for its neighbor could scarce be worth ten dirams of silver; yet it should behoove us to hope that after thy death it may fetch a thousand." x a certain poet presented himself before the chief of a gang of robbers, and recited a casidah, or elegy, in his praise. he ordered that they should strip off his clothes, and thrust him from the village. the naked wretch was going away shivering in the cold, and the village dogs were barking at his heels. he stooped to pick up a stone, in order to shy at the dogs, but found the earth frost-bound, and was disappointed. he exclaimed: "what rogues these villagers are, for they let loose their dogs, and tie up their stones!" the chief robber saw and overheard him from a window. he smiled at his wit, and, calling him near said: "o learned sir! ask me for a boon." he replied, "i ask for my own garments, if you will vouchsafe to give them:--_i shall have enough of boons in your suffering me to depart_.--mankind expects charity from others; i expect no charity from thee, only do me no injury." the chief robber felt compassion for him. he ordered his clothes to be restored, and added to them a robe of fur and sum of money. * * * * * xii a preacher of a harsh tone of voice fancied himself a fine-spoken man, and would hold forth at the mosque to a very idle purpose. you might say that the croaking of the raven of the desert was the burden of his chant, and this text of the koran expressive of his manner:--_the most abominable of noises is the braying of an ass:--"whenever this ass of a preacher sets up a braying, his voice will make the city of istakhar, or persepolis, shake to its base_." in reverence of his rank his townsmen indulged this defect, and would not distress him by remarking on it, till another preacher of those parts, actuated by a private pique, came on one occasion to tantalize him, and said, "i have seen you in a dream; may it prove fortunate!" he asked: "what have you seen?" he replied: "so it seemed in my vision that your voice had become harmonious, and mankind were charmed with your melodious cadences." for a while the preacher bowed his head in thought, then raised it, and said: "what a fortunate vision is it that you had, that has made me sensible of my weakness! i am now aware that i have an unpleasant voice, and that the people are distressed at my delivery. i have vowed that i will henceforth preach only in a soft tone of voice." i am distressed with the society of friends who extol my vices into virtues, my blemishes they view as excellences and perfections, my thorns they regard as roses and jasmines. where is that rude and bold rival who will expose all my deformities? xiii at a mosque in the city of sanjar, the capital of khorasan, a person was volunteering to chant forth the call to prayers with so discordant a note as to drive all that heard him away in disgust. the intendant of that mosque was a just and well-disposed gentleman, who was averse to giving offence to anybody. he said: "o generous youth, there belong to this mosque some mowuzzins, or criers, of long standing, to each of whom i allow a monthly stipend of five dinars; now i will give you ten to go elsewhere." to this he agreed, and took himself off. after a while he came to the nobleman, and said: "o my lord! you did me an injury when for ten dinars you prevailed upon me to quit this station, for where i went they offered me twenty to remove to another place, but i would not consent." the nobleman smiled and replied: "take heed, and do not accept them, for they may be content to give you fifty!--no person can with a mattock scrape off the clay from the face of a hard rock in so grating a manner as thy harsh voice is harrowing up my soul." xiv a person with a harsh voice was reciting the koran in a loud tone. a good and holy man went up to him, and asked: "what is your monthly stipend?" he answered, "nothing." "then," added he, "why give yourself so much trouble?" he said: "i am reading for the sake of god." the good and holy man replied: "for god's sake do not read:--for if thou chantest the koran after this manner, thou must cast a shade over the glory of islamism or mussulman orthodoxy." chapter v on love and youth i they asked husan maimandi: "how comes it that sultan mahmud, who has so many handsome bondswomen, each of whom is the wonder of the world and most select of the age, entertains not such fondness and affection for any of them as he does for ayaz, who can boast of no superiority of charms?" he replied: "whatever makes an impression on the heart seems lovely in the eye. that person of whom the sultan makes choice must be altogether good, though a compendium of vice; but where he is estranged from the favor of the king none of the household will think of courting him." were a person to view it with a fastidious eye, the form of a joseph might seem a deformity; but let him look with desire on a demon, and he will appear like an angel and cherub. * * * * * iii i saw a parsa, or holy man, so enamoured of a lovely person that he had neither fortitude to bear with, nor resolution to declare, his passion: and, however much he was the object of remark and censure, he would not forego this infatuation, and was saying:--"i quit not my hold on the skirt of thy garment, though thou may'st verily smite me with a sharp sword. besides thee i have neither asylum nor defence; if i am to flee, i must take refuge with thee." on one occasion i reproached him, and said: "what is become of your precious reason, that a vile passion should thus master you?" he made a short pause, and replied:--"wherever the king of love came, he left no room for the strong arm of chastity. how can that wretch live undefiled who has fallen in a quagmire up to the neck?" iv a certain person had lost his heart and abandoned himself to despair. the object of his desire was not such a dainty that he could gratify his palate with it, or a bird that he could lure it into his net, but a frightful precipice and overwhelming whirlpool:--when thy gold attracts not the charmer's eye, dust or gold is of equal value with thee. his friends admonished him, saying: "put aside this vain fancy, for multitudes are in the durance and chains of this same passion which you are cherishing." he sighed aloud, and replied: "say to my friends, do not admonish me, for my eye is fixed on the wish of her. with strength of wrist and power of shoulders warriors overwhelm their antagonists and charmers their lovers." nor can it be consistent with the condition of love that any thought of life should divert the heart from affection for its mistress:--thou, who art the slave of thine own precious self, playest false in the affairs of love. if thou canst not make good a passage to thy mistress, it is the duty of a lover to perish in the attempt.--i persist when policy is no longer left me, though the enemy may cover me all over with the wounds of swords and arrows. if i can reach her i will seize her sleeve, or at all events proceed and die at her threshold. his kindred, whose business it was to watch over his concerns, and to pity his misfortunes, gave him advice, and put upon him restraints, but all to no good purpose:--the physician is, alas! prescribing bitter-aloes, and his depraved appetite is craving sweetmeats!--heardest thou what a charmer was saying in a whisper to one who had lost his heart to her: "so long as thou maintainest thine own dignity, of what value can my dignity appear in thine eye?" they informed the princess who was the object of his infatuation, saying: "a youth of an amiable disposition and sweet flow of tongue is frequent in his attendance at the top of this plain; and we hear him delivering brilliant speeches and wonderful sallies of wit; it would seem that he has a mystery in his head and a flame in his heart, for he appears to be distractedly in love." the princess was aware that she had become the object of his attachment, and that this whirlwind of calamity was raised by himself, and spurred her horse toward him. now that the youth saw that it was the princess' intention to approach him, he wept, and said:--"that personage who inflicted upon me a mortal wound again presented herself before me; perhaps she took compassion upon her own victim." however, kindly she spoke, and asked, saying: "who are you, and whence come you? what is your name, and what your calling?" the youth was so entirely overwhelmed in the ocean of love and passion that he absolutely could not utter a word:--"couldst thou in fact repeat the seven saba, or whole koran by heart, if distracted with love, thou wouldst forget the alphabet":--the princess continued: "why do you not answer me? for i too am one of the sect of dervishes, nay, i am their most devoted slave." on the strength of this sympathizing encouragement of his beloved, the youth raised his head amidst the buffeting waves of tempestuous passion, and answered:--"it is strange that with thee present i should remain in existence; that after thou camest to talk, i should have speech left me."--this he said, and, uttering a loud groan, surrendered his soul up to god:--no wonder if he died by the door of his beloved's tent; the wonder was, if alive, how he could have brought his life back in safety. v a boy at school possessed much loveliness of person and sweetness of conversation; and the master, from the frailty of human nature, was enamoured of his blooming skin. like his other scholars, he would not admonish and correct him, but when he found him in a corner he would whisper in his ear:--"i am not, o celestial creature! so occupied with thee, that i am harboring in my mind a thought of myself. were i to perceive an arrow coming right into it, i could not shut my eye from contemplating thee." on one occasion the boy said: "in like manner, as you inspect my duties, also animadvert on my tendency to vice, in order that if you discern any immorality in my behavior, which has met my own approbation, you can warn me against it, that i may correct it." he replied: "o my child! propose this task to somebody else; for the light in which i view you reflects nothing but virtue." that malignant eye, let it be plucked out in whose sight his virtue can seem vice. hadst thou but one perfection and seventy faults, the lover could discern only that one perfection. * * * * * vii a person who had not seen his friend for a length of time, said to him: "where were you? for i have been very solicitous about you." he replied, "it is better to be sought after than loathed." thou hast come late, o intoxicating idol! i shall not in a hurry quit my hold on thy skirt:--that mistress whom they see but seldom is at last more desired than she is whom they are cloyed with seeing. the charmer that can bring companions along with her has come to quarrel; for she cannot be void of jealousy and discontent:--_whenever thou contest to visit me attended with comrades or rivals, though thou comest in peace yet thy object is hostile_:--for one single moment that my mistress associated with a rival, it went well-nigh to slay me with jealousy. smiling, she replied: "o sa'di! i am the torch of the assembly; what is it to me if the moth consume itself?" viii in former times, i recollect, a friend and i were associating together like two kernels within one almond shell. i happened unexpectedly to go on a journey. after some time, when i was returned, he began to chide me, saying: "during this long interval you never sent me a messenger." i replied: "it vexed me to think that the eyes of a courier should be enlightened by your countenance, whilst i was debarred that happiness:--tell my old charmer not to impose a vow upon me with her tongue; for i would not repent, were she to attempt it with a sword. envy stings me to the quick, lest another should be satiated with beholding thee, till i recollect myself, and say: nobody can have a satiety of that!" ix i saw a learned gentleman the captive of attachment for a certain person, and the victim of his reproach; and he would suffer much violence, and bear it with great patience. on one occasion i said, by way of admonition: "i know that in your attachment for this person you have no bad object, and that this friendship rests not on any criminal design; yet, under this interpretation, it accords not with the dignity of the learned to expose yourself to calumny, and put up with the rudeness of the rabble." he replied: "o my friend, withdraw the hand of reproach from the skirt of my fatality, for i have frequently reflected on this advice which you offer me, and find it easier to suffer contumely on his account than to forego his company; and philosophers have said: 'it is less arduous to persist in the labor of courting than to restrain the eye from contemplating a beloved object':--whoever devotes his heart to a soul deluder puts his beard or reputation into the hands of another. that person, without whom thou canst not exist, if he do thee a violence, thou must bear with it. the antelope, that is led by a string, cannot bound from this side to that. one day i asked a compact of my mistress; how often have i since that day craved her forgiveness! a lover exacts not terms of his charmer; i relinquished my heart to whatever she desired me, whether to call me up to her with kindness, or drive me from her with harshness she knows best, or it is her pleasure." x in my early youth such an event (as you know) will come to pass. i held a mystery and intercourse with a young person, because he had a pipe of exquisite melody, and a form silver bright as the full moon:--"he is sipping the fountain of immortality, who may taste the down of his cheek; and he is eating a sweetmeat, who can fancy the sugar of his lips." it happened that something in his behavior having displeased me, i withdrew the skirt of communication, and removed the seal of my affection from him, and said: "go, and take what course best suits thee; thou regardest not my counsel, follow thine own." i overheard him as he was going, and saying:--"if the bat does not relish the company of the sun, the all-current brilliancy of that luminary can suffer no diminution." he so expressed himself and departed, and his vagabond condition much distressed me:--_the opportunity of enjoyment was lost, and a man is insensible to the relish of prosperity till he_ _has tasted adversity_:--return and slay me, for to die before thy face were far more pleasant than to survive in thy absence. but, thanksgiving and praise to the almighty, he did not return till after some interval, when that melodious pipe of david was cracked, and that handsome form of joseph in its wane; when that apple his chin was overgrown with hair, like a quince, and the all-current lustre of his charms tarnished. he expected me to fold him in my arms; but i took myself aside and said: "when the down of loveliness flourished on thy cheek, thou drovest the lord of thy attractions from thy sight; now thou hast come to court his peace when thy face is thick set with fathahs and zammahs, or the bristles of a beard:--the verdant foliage of thy spring is turned yellow; place not thy kettle on my grate, for its fire is cooled. how long wilt thou display this pomp and vanity; hopest thou to regain thy former dominion? make thy court to such as desire thee, sport thy airs on such as will hire thee:--the verdure of the garden, they have told us, is charming; that person (sa'di) knows it who is relating that story; or, in other words, that the fresh-shooting down on their charmers' cheeks is what the hearts of their admirers chiefly covet:--thy garden is like a bed of chives: the more thou croppest it, the more it will shoot:--last year thou didst depart smooth as an antelope, to-day thou art returned bearded like a pard. sa'di admires the fresh-shooting down, not when each hair is stiff as a packing-needle:--whether thou hast patience with thy beard, or weed it from thy face, this happy season of youth must come to a conclusion. had i the same command of life as thou hast of beard, it should not escape me till doomsday." i asked him and said: "what has become of the beauty of thy countenance, that a beard has sprung up round the orb of the moon?" he answered: "i know not what has befallen my face, unless it has put on black to mourn its departed charms." * * * * * xii they shut up a parrot in the same cage with a crow. the parrot was affronted at his ugly look, and said: "what an odious visage is this, a hideous figure; what an accursed appearance, and ungracious demeanor!--_would to god, o raven of the desert! we were wide apart as the east is from the west_:--the serenity of his peaceful day would change into the gloom of night, who on issuing forth in the morning might cross thy aspect. an ill-conditioned wretch like thyself should be thy companion; but where could we find such another in the world?" but what is more strange, the crow was also out of all patience, and vexed to the soul at the society of the parrot. bewailing his misfortune, he was railing at the revolutions of the skies; and, wringing the hands of chagrin, was lamenting his condition, and saying: "what an unpropitious fate is this; what ill-luck, and untoward fortune! could they any way suit the dignity of me, who would in my day strut with my fellow-crows along the wall of a garden:--it were durance sufficient for a good and holy man that he should be made the companion of the wicked:--what sin have i committed that my stars in retribution of it have linked me in the chain of companionship, and immured me in the dungeon of calamity, with a conceited blockhead, and good-for-nothing babbler:--nobody will approach the foot of a wall on which they have painted thy portrait; wert thou to get a residence in paradise, others would go in preference to hell." i have introduced this parable to show that however much learned men despise the ignorant, these are a hundredfold more scornful of the learned:--a zahid, or holy man, fell in company with some wandering minstrels. one of them, a charmer of balkh, said to him: "if thou art displeased with us, do not look sour, for thou art already sufficiently offensive.--an assemblage is formed of roses and tulips, and thou art stuck up amidst them like a withered stalk; like an opposing storm, and a chilling winter blast; like a ball of snow, or lump of ice." xiii i had an associate, who was for years the companion of my travels, partook of the same bread and salt, and enjoyed the many rights of a confirmed friendship. at last, on some trifling advantage, he gave me cause of umbrage, and our intimacy ceased. and notwithstanding all this, there was a hankering of good-will on both sides; in consequence of which i heard that he was one day reciting in a certain assembly these two couplets of my writings:--"when my idol, or mistress, is approaching me with her tantalizing smiles, she is sprinkling more salt upon my smarting sores. how fortunate were the tips of her ringlets to come into my hand, like the sleeve of the generous in the hands of dervishes." this society of his friends bore testimony, and gave applause, not to the beauty of this sentiment, but to the liberality of his own disposition in quoting it; while he had himself been extravagant in his encomiums, regretted the demise of our former attachment, and confessed how much he was to blame. i was made aware that he too was desirous of a reconciliation; and, having sent him these couplets, made my peace:--"was there not a treaty of good faith between us, and didst not thou commence hostilities, and violate the compact? i relinquished all manner of society, and plighted my heart to thee; for i did not suspect that thou wouldst have so readily changed. if it still be thy wish to renew our peace, return, and be more dear to me than ever." xiv a man had a beautiful wife, who died; but the mother, a decrepit old dotard, remained a fixture in his house, because of the dowry. he was teased to death by her company; but, from the circumstance of the dower, he had no remedy. in the meantime some of his friends having come to comfort him, one of them asked: "how is it with you, since the loss of that dear friend?" he answered: "the absence of my wife is not so intolerable as the presence of her mother:--they plucked the rose, and left me the thorn; they plundered the treasure, and let the snake remain. to have our eye pierced with a spear were more tolerable than to see the face of an enemy. it were better to break with a thousand friends than to put up with one rival." xv in my youth i recollect i was passing through a street, and caught a glimpse of a moon-like charmer during the dog-days, when their heat was drying up the moisture of the mouth, and the samurn, or desert hot-wind, melting the marrow of the bones. from the weakness of human nature i was unable to withstand the darting rays of a noon-tide sun, and took refuge under the shadow of a wall, hopeful that somebody would relieve me from the oppressive heat of summer, and quench the fire of my thirst with a draught of water. all at once i beheld a luminary in the shadowed portico of a mansion, so splendid an object that the tongue of eloquence falls short in summing up its loveliness; such as the day dawning upon a dark night, or the fountain of immortality issuing from chaos. she held in her hand a goblet of snow-cooled water, into which she dropped some sugar, and tempered it with spirit of wine; but i know not whether she scented it with attar, or sprinkled it with a few blossoms from her own rosy cheek. in short, i received the beverage from her idol-fair hand; and, having drunk it off, found myself restored to a new life. "_such is not my parching thirst that it is to be quenched with the limpid element of water, were i to swallow it in oceans_:--joy to that happy aspect whose eye can every morning contemplate such a countenance as thine. a person intoxicated with wine lies giddy and awake half the night; but if intoxicated with the cup-bearer (god), the day of judgment must be his dawn or morning." xvi in the year that sultan mohammed khowarazm-shah had for some political reason chosen to make peace with the king of khota, i entered the metropolitan mosque at kashghar, and met a youth incomparably lovely, and exquisitely handsome; such as they have mentioned in resemblance of him:--"thy master instructed thee in every bold and captivating grace; he taught thee coquetry and confidence, tyranny and violence." i have seen no mortal with such a form and temper, stateliness and manner; perhaps he learned these fascinating ways from an angel. he held the introduction of the zamakhshari arabic grammar in his hand, and was repeating:--"zaraba zaidun amranwa--zaid beat amru and is the assailant of amru." i said: "o my son! the khowarazm and khatayi sovereigns have made peace, and does war thus subsist between zaid and amru?" he smiled, and asked me the place of my nativity. i answered: "the territory of shiraz." he said: "do you recollect any of sa'di's compositions?" i replied: "_i am enamoured with the reader of the syntax, who, taking offence, assails me in like manner as zaid does amru. and zaid, when read zaidin, cannot raise his head; and how canst thou give a zammah to a word accented with a kasrah_?" he reflected a little within himself, and said: "in these parts we have much of sa'di's compositions in the persian language; if you will speak in that dialect we shall more readily comprehend you, for _you should address mankind according to their capacities_." i replied: "whilst thy passion was that of studying grammar, all trace of reason was erased from our hearts. yes! the lover's heart is fallen a prey to thy snare: we are occupied about thee, and thou art taken up with amru and zaid." on the morrow, which had been fixed on as the period of our stay, some of my fellow-travellers had perhaps told him such a one is sa'di; for i saw that he came running up, and expressed his affection and regret, saying: "why did you not during all this time tell us that a certain person is sa'di, that i might have shown my gratitude by offering my service to your reverence." i answered: "in thy presence i cannot even say that i am i!"--he said: "how good it were if you would tarry here for a few days, that we might devote ourselves to your service." i replied: "that cannot be, as this adventure will explain to you:--in the hilly region i saw a great and holy man, who was content in living retired from the world in a cavern. i said: 'why dost thou not come into the city, that thy heart might be relieved from a load of servitude?' he replied: 'in it there dwell some wonderful and angel-faced charmers, and where the path is miry, elephants may find it slippery.'--having delivered this speech, we kissed each other's head and face, and took our leaves:--what profits it to kiss our mistress's cheek, and with the same breath to bid her adieu. thou mightest say that the apple had taken leave of its friends by having this cheek red and that cheek yellow:--_were i not to die of grief on that day i say farewell, thou wouldst charge me with being insincere in my attachments_." xvii a ragged dervish accompanied us along with the caravan for hijaz, and a certain arab prince presented him with a hundred dinars for the support of his family. suddenly a gang of khafachah robbers attacked the caravan, and completely stripped it. the merchants set up a weeping and wailing, and made much useless lamentation and complaint:--"whether thou supplicatest them, or whether thou complainest, the robbers will not return thee their plunder":--all but that ragged wretch, who stood collected within himself, and unmoved by this adventure. i said: "perhaps they did not plunder you of that money?" he replied: "yes, they took it; but i was not so fond of my pet as to break my heart at parting with it. we should not fix our heart so on any thing or being as to find any difficulty in removing it." i said: "what you have remarked corresponds precisely with what once befell myself; for in my juvenile days i took a liking to a young man, and so sincere was my attachment that the cabah, or fane, of my eye was his perfect beauty, and the profit of this life's traffic his much-coveted society:--perhaps the angels might in paradise, otherwise no living form can on this earth display such a loveliness of person. by friendship i swear that after his demise all loving intercourse is forbidden; for no human emanation can stand a comparison with him. "all at once the foot of his existence stumbled at the grave of annihilation; and the sigh of separation burst from the dwelling of his family. for many days i sat a fixture at his tomb, and, of the many dirges i composed upon his demise, this is one:--'on that day, when thy foot was pierced with the thorn of death, would to god the hand of fate had cloven my head with the sword of destruction, that my eyes might not this day have witnessed the world without thee. such am i, seated at the head of thy dust, as the ashes are seated on my own:--whoever could not take his rest and sleep till they first had spread a bed of roses and narcissuses for him: the whirlwind of the sky has scattered the roses of his cheek, and brambles and thorns are shooting from his grave.' "after my separation from him i came to a steady and firm determination, that during my remaining life i would fold up the carpet of enjoyment, and never re-enter the gay circle of society:--were it not for the dread of its waves, much would be the profits of a voyage at sea; were it not for the vexation of the thorn, charming might be the society of the rose. yesterday i was walking stately as a peacock in the garden of enjoyment; to-day i am writhing like a snake from the absence of my mistress." xviii. to a certain king of arabia they were relating the story of laila and mujnun, and his insane state, saying: "notwithstanding his knowledge and wisdom, he has turned his face towards the desert, and abandoned himself to distraction." the king ordered that they bring him into his presence; and he reproved him, and spoke, saying: "what have you seen unworthy in the noble nature of man that you should assume the manners of a brute, and forsake the enjoyment of human society?" mujnun wept and answered:--"_many of my friends reproach me for my love of her, namely laila. alas! that they could one day see her, that my excuse might be manifest for me!_--would to god that such as blame me could behold thy face, o thou ravisher of hearts! that at the sight of thee they might, from inadvertency, cut their own fingers instead of the orange in their hands:--then might the truth of the reality bear testimony against the semblance of fiction, _what manner of person that was for whose sake you were upbraiding me_." the king resolved within himself, on viewing in person the charms of laila, that he might be able to judge what her form could be which had caused all this misery, and ordered her to be produced in his presence. having searched through the arab tribes, they discovered and presented her before the king in the courtyard of his seraglio. he viewed her figure, and beheld a person of a tawny complexion and feeble frame of body. she appeared to him in a contemptible light, inasmuch as the lowest menial in his harem, or seraglio, surpassed her in beauty and excelled her in elegance. mujnun, in his sagacity, penetrated what was passing in the royal mind, and said: "it would behoove you, o king, to contemplate the charms of laila through the wicket of a mujnun's eye, in order that the miracle of such a spectacle might be illustrated to you. thou canst have no fellow-feeling for my disorder; a companion to suit me must have the self-same malady, that i may sit by him the livelong day repeating my tale; for by rubbing two pieces of dry fire-wood one upon another they will burn all the brighter:--_had that grove of verdant reeds heard the murmurings of love which in detail of my mistress's story have passed through my ear, it would somehow have sympathised in my pain. tell it, o my friends, to such as are ignorant of love; would ye could be aware of what wrings me to the soul_:--the anguish of a wound is not known to the hale and sound; we must detail our aches only to a fellow-sufferer. it were idle to talk of a hornet to him who has never during his life smarted from its sting. till thy condition may in some sort resemble mine, my state will seem to thee an idle fable. compare not my pain with that of another man; he holds salt in his hand, but i hold it on a wounded limb." * * * * * xx there was a handsome and well-disposed young man, who was embarked in a vessel with a lovely damsel. i have read that, sailing on the mighty deep, they fell together into a whirlpool. when the pilot came to offer him assistance, saying: "god forbid that he should perish in that distress," he was answering from the midst of that overwhelming vortex: "leave me, and take the hand of my beloved!" the whole world admired him for this speech which, as he was expiring, he was heard to make. learn not the tale of love from that faithless wretch who can neglect his beloved when exposed to danger. in this manner ended the lives of those lovers. listen to what has happened, that you may understand; for sa'di knows the ways and forms of courtship as well as the tazi, or modern arabic, is understood at bagdad. devote your whole heart to the heart-consoler you have chosen (namely, god), and let your eyes be shut to the whole world beside. were laila and mujnun to return into life, they might read the history of love in this chapter. chapter vi of imbecility and old age i in the metropolitan mosque at damascus i was engaged in a disputation with some learned men, when a youth suddenly entered the door, and said: "does any of you understand the persian language?" they directed him to me, and i answered: "it is true." he continued: "an old man of a hundred and fifty years of age is in the agonies of death, and is uttering something in the persian language, which we do not understand. if you will have the goodness to go to him you may get rewarded; for he possibly may be dictating his will." when i sat down by his bedside i heard him reciting:--"i said, i will enjoy myself for a few moments. alas! that my soul took the path of departure. alas! at the variegated table of life i partook a few mouthfuls, and the fates said, enough!" i explained the signification of these lines in arabic to the syrians. they were astonished that, at his advanced time of life, he should express himself so solicitous about a worldly existence. i asked him: "how do you now find yourself?" he replied: "what shall i say?--hast thou never witnessed what torture that man suffers from whose jaw they are extracting a tooth? fancy to thyself how excruciating is his pain from whose precious body they are tearing an existence!" i said: "banish all thoughts of death from your mind, and let not doubt undermine your constitution; for the greek philosophers have remarked that although our temperaments are vigorous, that is no proof of a long life; and that although our sickness is dangerous, that is no positive sign of immediate dissolution. if you will give me leave, i will call in a physician to prescribe some medicine that may cure you." he replied: "alas! alas! the landlord thinks of refreshing the paintings of his hall, and the house is tottering to its foundation. the physician smites the hands of despair when he sees the aged fallen in pieces like a potsherd; the old man bemoans himself in the agony of death while the old attendant nurse is anointing him with sandal-wood. when the equipoise of the temperament is overset, neither amulets nor medicaments can do any good." * * * * * iii in the territory of diarbekr, or mesopotamia, i was the guest of an old man, who was very rich, and had a handsome son. one night he told a story, saying: "during my whole life i never had any child but this boy. and in this valley a certain tree is a place of pilgrimage, where people go to supplicate their wants; and many was the night that i have besought god at the foot of that tree before he would bestow upon me this boy." i have heard that the son was also whispering his companions, and saying: "how happy i should be if i could discover the site of that tree, in order that i might pray for the death of my father." the gentleman was rejoicing and saying: "what a sensible youth is my son!" and the boy was complaining and crying: "what a tedious old dotard is my father!" many years are passing over thy head, during which thou didst not visit thy father's tomb. what pious oblation didst thou make to the manes of a parent that thou shouldst expect so much from thy son? iv urged one day by the pride of youthful vanity, i had made a forced march, and in the evening found myself exhausted at the bottom of an acclivity. a feeble old man, who had deliberately followed the pace of the caravan, came up to me and said: "how come you to lie down here? get up, this is no fit place for rest." i replied: "how can i proceed, who have not a foot to stand on?" he said: "have you not heard what the prudent have remarked? 'going on, and halting, is better than running ahead and breaking down!' ye who wish to reach the end of your journey, hurry not on; practise my advice, and learn deliberation. the arab horse makes a few stretches at full speed, and is broken down; while the camel, at its deliberate pace, travels on night and day, and gets to the end of his journey." v an active, merry, cheerful, and sweet-spoken youth was for a length of time in the circle of my society, whose heart had never known sorrow, nor his lip ceased from being on a smile. an age had passed, during which we had not chanced to meet. when i next saw him he had taken to himself a wife, and got a family; and the root of his enjoyment was torn up, and the rose of his mirth blasted. i asked him: "how is this?" he replied: "since i became a father of children, i ceased to play the child:--now thou art old, relinquish childishness, and leave it to the young to indulge in play and merriment. expect not the sprightliness of youth from the aged; for the stream that ran by can never return. now that the corn is ripe for the sickle, it rears not its head as when green and shooting. the season of youth has slipt through my hands; alas! when i think on those heart-exhilarating days! the lion has lost the sturdy grasp of his paw: i must now put up, like a lynx, with a bit of cheese. an old woman had stained her gray locks black. i said to her: o, my antiquated dame! thy hair i admit thou canst turn dark by art, but thou never canst make thy crooked back straight." vi one day, in the perverseness of youth, i spoke with asperity to my mother. vexed at heart, she sat down in a corner, and with tears in her eyes was saying: "you have perhaps forgot the days of infancy, that you are speaking to me thus harshly.--how well did an old woman observe to her own son, when she saw him powerful as a tiger, and formidable as an elephant: 'couldst thou call to mind those days of thy infancy when helpless thou wouldst cling to this my bosom, thou wouldst not thus assail me with savage fury, now thou art a lion-like hero, and i am a poor old woman.'" vii a rich miser had a son who was grievously sick. his well-wishers and friends spoke to him, saying: "it were proper that you either read the koran throughout or offer an animal in sacrifice, in order that the most high god may restore him to health." after a short reflection within himself he answered, "it is better to read the koran, which is ready at hand; and my herds are at a distance." a good and holy man heard this and remarked: "he makes choice of the reading part because the koran slips glibly over the tongue, but his money is to be wrung from the soul of him. fie upon that readiness to bow the head in prayer; would that the hand of charity could accompany it! in bestowing a dinar he will stickle like an ass in the mire; but ask him to read the al-hamdi, or first chapter of the koran, and he will recite it a hundred times." chapter vii of the impressions of education i a certain nobleman had a dunce of a son. he sent him to a learned man, saying: "verily you will give instruction to this youth, peradventure he may become a rational being." he continued to give him lessons for some time, but they made no impression upon him, when he sent a message to the father, saying: "this son is not getting wise, and he has well-nigh made me a fool!" where the innate capacity is good, education may make an impression upon it; but no furbisher knows how to give a polish to iron which is of a bad temper. wash a dog seven times in the ocean, and so long as he is wet he is all the filthier. were they to take the ass of jesus to mecca, on his return from that pilgrimage he would still be an ass. ii a philosopher was exhorting his children and saying: "o emanations of my soul, acquire knowledge, as no reliance can be placed on worldly riches and possessions, for once you leave home rank is of no use, and gold and silver on a journey are exposed to the risk either of thieves plundering them at once, or of the owner wasting them by degrees; but knowledge is a perennial spring and ever-during fortune. were a professional man to lose his fortune, he need not feel regret, for his knowledge is of itself a mine of wealth. wherever he may sojourn the learned man will meet respect, and be ushered into the upper seat, whilst the ignorant man must put up with offal and suffer want:--if thou covet the paternal heritage, acquire thy father's knowledge, for this thy father's wealth thou may'st squander in ten days. after having been in authority, it is hard to obey; after having been fondled with caresses, to put up with men's violence:--there once occurred an insurrection in syria, and everybody forsook his former peaceful abode. the sons of peasants, who were men of learning, came to be employed as the ministers of kings; and the children of noblemen, of bankrupt understandings, went a begging from village to village." iii a certain learned man was superintending the education of a king's son; and he was chastising him without mercy, and reproving him with asperity. the boy, out of all patience, complained to the king his father, and laid bare before him his much-bruised body. the king was much offended, and sending for the master, said: "you do not treat the children of my meanest subject with the harshness and cruelty you do my boy; what do you mean by this?" he replied: "to think before they speak, and to deliberate before they act, are duties incumbent upon all mankind, and more immediately upon kings; because whatever may drop from their hands and tongue, the special deed or word will somehow become the subject of public animadversion; whereas any act or remark of the commonalty attracts not such notice:--let a dervish, or poor man, commit a hundred indiscretions, and his companions will not notice one out of the hundred; and let a king but utter one foolish word, and it will be echoed from kingdom to kingdom:--therefore in forming the morals of young princes, more pains are to be taken than with the sons of the vulgar. whoever was not taught good manners in his boyhood, fortune will forsake him when he becomes a man. thou may'st bend the green bough as thou likest; but let it once get dry, and it will require heat to straighten it:--'_verily thou may'st bend the tender branch, but it were labor lost to attempt making straight a crooked billet_.'" the king greatly approved of this ingenious detail, and the wholesome course of discipline of the learned doctor; and, bestowing upon him a dress and largess, raised him one step in his rank as a nobleman! iv in the west of africa i saw a schoolmaster of a sour aspect and bitter speech, crabbed, misanthropic, beggarly, and intemperate, insomuch that the sight of him would derange the ecstasies of the orthodox; and his manner of reading the koran cast a gloom over the minds of the pious. a number of handsome boys and lovely virgins were subject to his despotic sway, who had neither the permission of a smile nor the option of a word, for this moment he would smite the silver cheek of one of them with his hand, and the next put the crystalline legs of another in the stocks. in short their parents, i heard, were made aware of a part of his disloyal violence, and beat and drove him from his charge. and they made over his school to a peaceable creature, so pious, meek, simple, and good-natured that he never spoke till forced to do so, nor would he utter a word that could offend anybody. the children forgot that awe in which they had held their first master, and remarking the angelic disposition of their second master, they became one after another as wicked as devils; and relying on his clemency, they would so neglect their studies as to pass most part of their time at play, and break the tablets of their unfinished tasks over each other's heads:--"when the schoolmaster relaxes in his discipline, the children will stop to play at marbles in the market-place." a fortnight after i passed by the gate of that mosque and saw the first schoolmaster, with whom they had been obliged to make friends, and to restore him to his place. i was in truth offended, and calling on god to witness, asked, saying: "why have they again made a devil the preceptor of angels?" a facetious old gentleman, who had seen much of life, listened to me and replied: "have you not heard what they have said:--a king sent his son to school, and hung a tablet of silver round his neck. on the face of that tablet he had written in golden letters: 'the severity of the master is more useful than the indulgence of the father.'" * * * * * vi a king gave his son into the charge of a preceptor, and said: "this is your child, educate him as you would one of your own." for some years he labored in teaching him, but to no good purpose; whilst the sons of the preceptor excelled in eloquence and knowledge. the king blamed the learned man, and remonstrated with him, saying: "you have violated your trust, and infringed the terms of your engagement." he replied: "o king, the education is the same, but their capacities are different!" though silver and gold are extracted from stones, yet it is not in every stone that gold and silver are found. the sohail, or star canopus, is shedding his rays all over the globe. in one place he produces common leather, in another, or in yamin, that called adim, or perfumed. vii i heard a certain learned senior observing to a disciple:--"if the sons of adam were as solicitous after providence, or god, as they are after their means of sustenance, their places in paradise would surpass those of the angels." god did not overlook thee in that state when thou wert a senseless embryo in thy mother's womb. he bestowed upon thee a soul, reason, temper, intellect, symmetry, speech, judgment, understanding, and reflection. he accommodated thy hands with ten fingers, and suspended two arms from thy shoulders. canst thou now suppose, o good-for-nothing wretch, that he will forget to provide thy daily bread? viii i observed an arab who was informing his son:--"_o my child, god will ask thee on the day of judgment: what hast thou done in this life? but he will not inquire of thee: whence didst thou derive thy origin?_" that is, they (or god) will ask, saying: "what are your works?" but he will not question you, saying: "who is your father?" the covering of the caabah at mecca, which the pilgrims kiss from devotion, is not prized from its being the fabric of a silk-worm; for a while it associated with a venerable friend, and became, in consequence, venerable like him. ix they have related in the books of philosophers that scorpions are not brought forth according to the common course of nature, as other animals are, but that they eat their way through their mother's wombs, tear open their bellies, and thus make themselves a passage into the world; and that the fragments of skin which we find in scorpions' holes corroborate this fact. on one occasion i was stating this strange event to a good and great man, when he answered: "my heart is bearing testimony to the truth of this remark; nor can it be otherwise, for as they have thus behaved towards their parents in their youth, so they are approved and beloved in their riper years." on his death-bed a father exhorted his son, saying: "o generous youth, keep in mind this maxim: 'whoever is ungrateful to his own kindred cannot hope that fortune shall befriend him.'" x they asked a scorpion: "why do you not make your appearance during the winter?" it answered: "what is my character in the summer that i should come abroad also in the winter?" * * * * * xiii one year a dissension arose among the foot-travellers on a pilgrimage to mecca, and the author (sa'di) was also a pedestrian among them. in truth, we fell head and ears together, and accusation and recrimination were bandied from all sides. i overheard a kajawah, or gentleman, riding on one side of a camel-litter, observing to his adil, or opposite companion: "how strange that the ivory piyadah, or pawns, on reaching the top of the shatranj, or chess-board, become fazzin, or queens; that is, they get rank, or become better than they were; and the piyadah, or pawns, of the pilgrimage--that is, our foot-pilgrims--have crossed the desert and become worse." say from me to that haji, or pilgrim, the pest of his fellow-pilgrims, that he lacerates the skin of mankind by his contention. thou art not a real pilgrim, but that meek camel is one who is feeding on thorns and patient under its burden. xiv a hindu, or indian, was teaching the art of playing off fireworks. a philosopher observed to him: "this is an unfit sport for you, whose dwelling is made of straw." utter not a word till thou knowest that it is the mirror of what is correct; and do not put a question where thou knowest that the answer must be unfavorable. xv a fellow had a complaint in his eyes, and went to a horse-doctor, saying: "prescribe something for me." the doctor of horses applied to his eyes what he was in the habit of applying to the eyes of quadrupeds, and the man got blind. they carried their complaint before the hakim, or judge. he decreed: "this man has no redress, for had he not been an ass he would not have applied to a horse or ass doctor!" the moral of this apologue is, that whoever doth employ an inexperienced person on an affair of importance, besides being brought to shame, he will incur from the wise the imputation of a weak mind. a prudent man, with an enlightened understanding, entrusts not affairs of consequence to one of mean capacity. the plaiter of mats, notwithstanding he be a weaver, they would not employ in a silk manufactory. xvi a certain great imaam had a worthy son, and he died. they asked him, saying: "what shall we inscribe upon the urn at his tomb." he replied: "verses of the holy koran are of such superior reverence and dignity that they should not be written in places where time might efface, mankind tread upon, or dogs defile them; yet, if an epitaph be necessary, let these two couplets suffice:--i said: 'alas! how grateful it was proving to my heart, so long as the verdure of thy existence might flourish in the garden.' he replied: 'o my friend, have patience till the return of the spring, and thou may'st again see roses blossoming on my bosom, or shooting from my dust.'" xvii a holy man was passing by a wealthy personage's mansion, and saw him with a slave tied up by the hands and feet, and giving him chastisement. he said: "o my son! god almighty has made a creature like yourself subject to your command, and has given you a superiority over him. render thanksgiving to the most high judge, and deal not with him so savagely; lest hereafter, on the day of judgment, he may prove the more worthy of the two, and you be put to shame:--be not so enraged with thy bondsman; torture not his body, nor harrow up his heart. thou mightest buy him for ten dinars, but hadst not after all the power of creating him:--to what length will this authority, pride, and insolence hurry thee; there is a master mightier than thou art. yes, thou art a lord of slaves and vassals, but do not forget thine own lord paramount--namely, god!" there is a tradition of the prophet mohammed, on whom be blessing, announcing:--on the day of resurrection, that will be the most mortifying event when the good slave will be taken up to heaven, and the wicked master sent down to hell:--"upon the bondsman, who is subservient to thy command, wreak not thy rage and boundless displeasure. for it must be disgraceful on the day of reckoning to find the slave at liberty and the master in bondage." xviii one year i was on a journey with some syrians from balkh, and the road was infested with robbers. one of our escort was a youth expert at wielding his shield and brandishing his spear, mighty as an elephant, and cased in armor, so strong that ten of the most powerful of us could not string his bow, or the ablest wrestler on the face of the earth throw him on his back. yet, as you must know, he had been brought up in luxury and reared in a shade, was inexperienced of the world, and had never travelled. the thunder of the great war-drum had never rattled in his ears, nor had the lightning of the trooper's scimitar ever flashed across his eyes:--he had never fallen a captive into the hands of an enemy, nor been overwhelmed amidst a shower of their arrows. it happened that this young man and i kept running on together; and any venerable ruin that might come in our way he would overthrow with the strength of his shoulder; and any huge tree that we might see he would wrench from its root with his lion-seizing wrist, and boastfully cry:--"where is the elephant, that he may behold the shoulder and arm of warriors? where the lion, that he may feel the wrist and grip of heroes?" such was our situation when two hindus darted from behind a rock and prepared to cut us off, one of them holding a bludgeon in his hand, and the other having a mallet under his arm. i called to the young man, "why do you stop?--display whatever strength and courage thou hast, for the foe came on his own feet up to his grave":--i perceived that the youth's bow and arrows had dropped from his hands, and that a tremor had fallen upon his limbs:--it is not he that can split a hair with a coat-of-mail cleaving arrow that is able to withstand an assault from the formidable:--no alternative was left us but that of surrendering our arms, accoutrements, and clothes, and escaping with our lives. on an affair of importance employ a man experienced in business who can bring the fierce lion within the noose of his halter; though the youth be strong of arm and has the body of an elephant, in his encounter with a foe every limb will quake with fear. a man of experience is best qualified to explore a field of battle, as one of the learned is to expound a point of law. xix i saw a rich man's son seated by his father's tomb, and in a disputation with that of a dervish holding forth and saying: "my father's mausoleum is built of granite, the epitaph inscribed with letters of gold, the pavement and lining marble, and tessellated with slabs of turquoise; and what is there left of your father's tomb but two or three bricks cemented together with a few handfuls of mortar?" the poor man's son heard this, and answered: "i pray you peace! for before your father can stir himself under this heavy load of stone mine shall have risen up to heaven!" and there is a tradition of the prophet, that _death to the poor is a state of rest_. that ass proceeds all the lighter on his journey on whom they load the lightest burden:--the poor dervish, who suffers under a load of indigence, will in like sort enter the gates of death with an easy burden; but with him who luxuriates in peace, plenty, and affluence, it must be a real hardship to die amidst all these comforts. at all events consider the prisoner, who is released from his thraldom, as better off than the prince who is just fallen a captive. * * * * * xxi i saw a certain person in the garb of dervishes, but not with their meekness, seated in a company, and full of his abuse. having opened the volume of reproach, and begun to calumniate the rich, his discourse had reached this place, stating: "the hand of the poor man's ability is tied up, and the foot of the rich man's inclination crippled:--men of liberality have no command of money, nor have the opulent and worldly-minded a spirit of liberality." owing, as i am, my support to the bounty of the great, i considered this animadversion as unmerited, and replied: "o my friend! the rich are the treasury of the indigent, the granary of the hermit, the fane of the pilgrim, resting-place of the traveller, and the carriers of heavy burdens for the relief of their fellow-creatures. they put forth their hand to eat when their servants and dependants are ready to partake with them; and the bounteous fragments of their tables they distribute among widows and the aged, their neighbors and kindred:--the rich have their consecrated foundations, charitable endowments and rites of hospitality; their alms, oblations, manumissions, peace-offerings, and sacrifices. how shalt thou rise to this pomp of fortune who canst perform only these two genuflexions, and them after manifold difficulties?--whether it respect their moral dignity or religious duty, the rich are at ease within themselves; for their property is sanctified by giving tithes, and their apparel hallowed by cleanliness, their reputations unblemished, and minds content. the intelligent are aware that the zeal of devotion is warmed by good fare, and the sincerity of piety rendered more serene in a nicety of vesture; for it is evident what ardor there can be in a hungry stomach; what generosity in squalid penury; what ability of travelling with a bare foot; and what alacrity at bestowing from an empty hand:--uneasy must be the night-slumbers of him whose provision for to-morrow is not forthcoming: the ant is laying by a store in summer that she may enjoy an abundance in winter. it is clear that indigence and tranquillity can never go together, nor have fruition and want the same aspect: the one had composed himself for prayer, and the other sat anxious, and thinking on his supper; how then could this ever come in competition with that? the lord of plenty has his mind fixed on god; when a man's fortune is bankrupt, so is his heart:--accordingly, the devotion of the rich is more acceptable at the temple of god, because their thoughts are present and collected, and their minds not absent and distracted; for they have laid up the conveniences of good living, and digested at their leisure their scriptural quotations (for prayer). the arabs say: '_god preserve us from overwhelming poverty; and from the company of him whom he loves not, namely, the infidel_':--and there is a tradition of the prophet--that '_poverty has a gloomy aspect in this world and in the next_!'" my antagonist said: "have you not heard what the blessed prophet has declared?--'_poverty is my glory!_'" i replied: "be silent, for the allusion of the lord of both worlds applies to such as are heroes in the field of resignation, and the devoted victims of their fate, and not to those who put on the garb of piety, that they may entitle themselves to the bread of charity. o noisy drum! thou art nothing but an empty sound; unprovided with the means, what canst thou effect on the last day of account? if thou art a man of spirit, turn thy face away from begging charity from thy fellow-creature; and keep not repeating thy rosary of a thousand beads. being without divine knowledge, a dervish, or poor man, rests not till his poverty settles into infidelity; for _he that is poor is well-nigh being an infidel_:--nor is it practicable, unless through the agency of wealth, to clothe the naked, and to liberate the prisoner from jail: how then can such mendicants as we are aspire to their dignity; or what comparison is there between the arm of the lofty and the hand of the abject? do you not perceive that the glorious and great god announces, in the holy book of the koran, xxviii, the enjoyments of the blessed in paradise?--that '_to this community, namely, the orthodox mussulmans, a provision is allotted_';--in order that you may understand that such as are solely occupied in looking after their daily subsistence are excluded from this portion of the blessed; and that the property of present enjoyment is sanctioned under the seal of providence:--to the thirsty it will seem in their dreams as if the face of the earth were wholly a fountain. you may everywhere observe that, instigated by his appetites, a person who has suffered hardship and tasted bitterness will engage in dangerous enterprises; and, indifferent to the consequences, and unawed by future punishments, he will not discriminate between what is lawful and what is forbid:--should a clod of earth be thrown at the head of a dog, he would jump up in joy, and take it for a bone; or were two people carrying a corpse on a bier, a greedy man would fancy it a tray of victuals. whereas the worldly opulent are regarded with the benevolent eye of providence, and in their enjoyments of what is lawful are preserved from things illegal. having thus detailed my arguments and adduced my proofs, i rely on your justice for an equitable decree; whether you ever saw a felon with his arms pinioned; a bankrupt immured in a jail; the veil of innocency rent, or the arm mutilated for theft, unless in consequence of poverty: for lion-like heroes, instigated by want, have been caught undermining walls, and breaking into houses, and have got themselves suspended by the heels. it is, moreover, possible that a poor man, urged to it by an inordinate appetite, may feel desirous of gratifying his lust; and he may fall the victim of some accursed sin. and of the manifold means of mental tranquillity and corporeal enjoyment which are the special lots of the opulent, one is that every night they can command a fresh mistress, and every day possess a new charmer, such as must excite the envy of the glorious dawn, and stick the foot of the stately cypress in the mire of shame:--'she had dipped her hands in the blood of her lovers, and tinged the tips of her fingers with jujubes':--so that it were impossible, with such lovely objects before their eyes, for them to desire what is forbidden or to wish to commit sin:--why should such a heart as the houris, or nymphs of paradise, have captivated and plundered, show any way partial to the idols of yaghma (a city in turkestan famous for its beauties)?--_he who has in both his hands such dates as he can relish, will not think of throwing stones at the bunches of dates on their trees_. in common, such as are in indigent circumstances will contaminate the skirt of innocency with sin; and such as are suffering from hunger will steal bread:--when a ravenous dog has found a piece of meat, he asks not, saying: is this the flesh of the prophet salah's camel or antichrist's ass? many are the chaste who, because of their poverty, have fallen into the sink of wickedness, and given their fair reputations to the blast of infamy:--the virtue of temperance remains not with a state of being famished; and bankrupt circumstances will snatch the rein from the hand of abstemiousness." the moment i had finished this speech, the dervish, my antagonist, let the rein of forbearance drop from the hand of moderation; unsheathed the sabre of his tongue; set the steed of eloquence at full speed over the plain of arrogance; and, galloping up to me, said: "you have so exaggerated in their praise, and amplified with such extravagance, that we might fancy them an antidote to the poison of poverty and a key to the store-house of providence; yet they are a proud, self-conceited, fastidious, and overbearing set, insatiate after wealth and property, and ambitious of rank and dignity; who exchange not a word but to express insolence, or deign a look but to show contempt. men of science they call beggars, and the indigent they reproach for their wretched raggedness. proud of the property they possess, and vain of the rank they claim, they take the upper hand of all, and deem themselves everybody's superior. nor do they ever condescend to return any person's salutation, unmindful of the maxim of the wise: that whoever is inferior to others in humility, and is their superior in opulence, though in appearance he be rich, yet in reality he is a beggar:--if a worthless fellow, because of his wealth, treats a learned man with insolence, reckon him an ass, although he be the ambergris ox." i replied: "do not calumniate the rich, for they are the lords of munificence." he said: "you mistake them, for they are the slaves of dinars and dirams, or their gold and silver coins. for example, what profits it though they be the clouds of the spring, if they may not send us rain; or the fountain of the sun, and shine upon no one; or though they be mounted on the steed of capability, and advance not towards anybody? they will not move a step for the sake of god, nor bestow their charity without laying you under obligation and thanks. they hoard their money with solicitude, watch it while they live with sordid meanness, and leave it behind them with deadening regret, verifying the saying of the wise: 'that the money of the miser is coming out of the earth when he is himself going into it:'--one man hoards a treasure with pain and tribulation, another comes and spends it without tribulation or pain." i replied: "you could have ascertained the parsimony of the wealthy only through the medium of your own beggary; otherwise to him who lays covetousness aside the generous man and miser seem all one. the touchstone can prove which is pure gold, and the beggar can say which is the niggard." he said: "i speak of them from experience; for they station dependants by their doors, and plant surly porters at their gates, to deny admittance to the worthy, and to lay violent hands upon the collars of the elect, and say: 'there is nobody at home'; and verily they tell what is true:--when the master has not reason or judgment, understanding or discernment, the porter reported right of him, saying: 'there is nobody in the house.'" i replied: "they are excusable, inasmuch as they are worried out of their lives by importunate memorialists, and jaded to their hearts by indigent solicitors; and it might be reasonably doubted whether it would satisfy the eye of the covetous if the sands of the desert could be turned into pearls:--the eye of the greedy is not to be filled with worldly riches, any more than a well can be replenished from the dew of night. and had hatim tayi, who dwelt in the desert, come to live in a city, he would have been overwhelmed with the importunities of mendicants, and they would have torn the clothes from his back:--look not towards me, lest thou should draw the eyes of others, for at the mendicant's hand no good can be expected." he said: "i pity their condition." i replied: "not so; but you envy them their property." we were thus warm in argument, and both of us close engaged. whatever chess pawn he might advance i would set one in opposition to it; and whenever he put my king in check, i would relieve him with my queen; till he had exhausted all the coin in the purse of his resolution, and expended all the arrows of the quiver of his argument. "take heed and retreat not from the orator's attack, for nothing is left him but metaphor and hyperbole. wield thy polemics and law citations, for the wordy rhetorician made a show of arms over his gate, but has not a soldier within his fort":--at length, having no syllogism left, i made him crouch in mental submission. he stretched forth the arm of violence, and began with vain abuse. as is the case with the ignorant, when beaten by their antagonist in fair argument, they shake the chain of rancor; like azor, the idol-maker, when he could no longer contend with his son abraham in words he fell upon him with blows, as god has said in the koran--"_if thou wilt not yield this point, i will overwhelm thee with stones_:"--he gave me abuse, and i retorted upon him with asperity; he tore my collar, and i plucked his beard:--he had fallen upon me and i upon him, and a crowd had gathered round us enjoying the sport. a whole world gnawed the finger of astonishment when it heard and understood what had taken place between us. in short, we referred our dispute to the cazi, and agreed to abide by his equitable decree: that the judge of the mussulmans, or faithful, might bring about a peace, and discriminate for us between the poor and rich. after having noted our physiognomies, and listened to our statements, the cazi rested his chin on the breast of deliberation; and, after due consideration, raised it, and said: "be it known to you, who were lavish in your praise of the rich, and spoke disparagingly of the poor, that there is no rose without its thorn; intoxication from wine is followed by a qualm; hidden treasure has its guardian dragon; where the imperial pearl is found, there swims the man-devouring shark; the honey of worldly enjoyment has the sting of death in its rear; and between us and the felicity of paradise stands a frightful demon, namely, satan. so long as the charmer slew not her admirer, what could the rival's malice avail him? the rose and thorn, the treasure and dragon, joy and sorrow, all mingle into one.--do you not observe that in the garden there are the sweet-scented willows and the withered trunks; so among the classes of the rich some are grateful and some thankless; and among the orders of the poor some are resigned and some impatient:--were every drop of dew to turn into a pearl, in the market pearls would be as common as shells. near by the throne of a great and glorious judge are the rich meek in spirit, and the poor rich in resolution. and the chief of the opulent is he who sympathizes with the sorrows of the indigent; and the most virtuous of the indigent is he who covets not the society of the opulent:--_god is all-sufficient for him who trusts in god_." then the cazi turned the face of animadversion from me towards the dervish, and said: "o you who have charged the rich with being active in sin, and intoxicated with things forbidden, verily there is such a tribe as you have described them, illiberal in their bigotry, and stingy of god's bounty; who are collecting and hoarding money, but will neither use nor bestow it. if, for example, there was a drought, or if the whole earth was deluged with a flood, confident of their own abundance, they would not inquire after the poor man's distress, and, fearless of the divine wrath, exclaim:--if, in his want of everything, another person be annihilated, i have plenty; and what does a goose care for a deluge? _such as are lolling in their litters, and indulging in the easy pace of a female camel, feel not for the foot-traveller perishing amidst overwhelming sands:_--the mean-spirited, when they could escape with their own rugs, would cry: 'what care we should the whole world die.' "such as you have stated them, there is a tribe of rich men; but there is another class, who, having spread the table of abundance, and made a public declaration of their munificence, and smoothed the brow of their humility, are solicitous of a reputation and forgiveness, and desirous of enjoying this world and the next; like unto the servants of his majesty the sovereign of the universe, just, confirmed, victorious, lord paramount and conqueror of nations, defender of the stronghold of islamism, successor of solomon, most equitable of contemporary kings. mozuffar-ud-din atabak-abubakr-saad, may god give him a long life, and grant victory to his standards!--a father could never show such benevolence to his son as thy liberal hand has bestowed upon the race of adam. the deity was desirous of conferring a kindness upon man, and in his special mercy made thee sovereign of the world." now that the cazi had carried his harangue to this extreme, and had galloped the steed of metaphor beyond our expectation, we of necessity acquiesced in the absolute decree of being satisfied, and apologized for what had passed between us; and after altercation we returned into the path of reconciliation, laid the heads of reparation at each other's feet, mutually kissed and embraced, and, letting mischief fall asleep, and war lull itself into peace, concluded the whole in these two verses:--"o poor man! complain not of the revolutions of fortune, for gloomy might be thy lot wert thou to die in such sentiments. and now, o rich man! that thy hand and heart administer to thy pleasures, spend and give away, that thou may'st enjoy this world and the next." chapter viii of the duties of society i riches are intended for the comfort of life, and not life for the purpose of hoarding riches. i asked a wise man, saying: "who is the fortunate man, and who is the unfortunate?" he said: "that man was fortunate who spent and gave away, and that man unfortunate who died and left behind:--pray not for that good-for-nothing man who did nothing, for he passed his life in hoarding riches, and did not spend them." ii the prophet moses, on whom be peace, _admonished carum, saying: "be bounteous in like manner as god has been bounteous to thee_":--but he listened not, and you have heard the end of him. whoever did not an act of charity with his silver and gold, sacrificed his future prospects on his hoard of gold and silver. if desirous that thou shouldst benefit by the wealth of this world, be generous with thy fellow-creature, as god has been generous with thee. the arabs say:--"_show thy generosity, but make it not obligatory, that the benefit of it may redound to thee_":--that is, bestow and make presents, but do not exact an obligation that the profit of that act may be returned to you. wherever the tree of generosity strikes root it sends forth its boughs, and they shoot above the skies. if thou cherishest a hope of enjoying its fruit, by gratitude i entreat of thee not to lay a saw upon its trunk. render thanks to god, that thou wert found worthy of his divine grace, that he has not excluded thee from the riches of his bounty. esteem it no obligation that thou art serving the king, but show thy gratitude to him, namely god, who has placed thee in this service. iii two persons labored to a vain, and studied to an unprofitable end: he who hoarded wealth and did not spend it, and he who acquired science and did not practise it:--however much thou art read in theory, if thou hast no practice thou art ignorant. he is neither a sage philosopher nor an acute divine, but a beast of burden with a load of books. how can that brainless head know or comprehend whether he carries on his back a library or bundle of fagots? iv learning is intended to fortify religious practice, and not to gratify worldly traffic:--whoever prostituted his temperance, piety, and science, gathered his harvest into a heap and set fire to it. v an intemperate man of learning is like a blind link-boy:--_he shows the road to others, but sees it not himself_:--whoever ventured his life on an unproductive hazard gained nothing by the risk, and lost his own stake. vi a kingdom is embellished by the wise, and religion rendered illustrious by the pious. kings stand more in need of the company of the intelligent than the intelligent do of the society of kings:--if, o king! thou wilt listen to my advice, in all thy archives thou canst not find a wiser maxim than this: entrust thy concerns only to the learned, notwithstanding business is not a learned man's concern. vii three things have no durability without their concomitants: property without trade, knowledge without debate, or a sovereignty without government. viii to compassionate the wicked is to tyrannize over the good; and to pardon the oppressor is to deal harshly with the oppressed:--when thou patronizest and succorest the base-born man, he looks to be made the partner of thy fortune. ix no reliance can be placed on the friendship of kings, nor vain hope put in the melodious voice of boys; for that passes away like a vision, and this vanishes like a dream:--bestow not thy affections upon a mistress who has a thousand lovers; or, if thou bestowest them upon her, be prepared for a separation. x reveal not every secret you have to a friend, for how can you tell but that friend may hereafter become an enemy? and bring not all the mischief you are able to do upon an enemy, for he may one day become your friend. and any private affair that you wish to keep secret, do not divulge to anybody; for, though such a person has your confidence, none can be so true to your secret as yourself:--silence is safer than to communicate the thought of thy mind to anybody, and to warn him, saying: do not divulge it, o silly man! confine the water at the dam-head, for once it has a vent thou canst not stop it. thou shouldst not utter a word in secret which thou wouldst not have spoken in the face of the public. xi a reduced foe, who offers his submission and courts your amity, can only have in view to become a strong enemy, as they have said: "you cannot trust the sincerity of friends, then what are you to expect from the cajoling of foes?" whoever despises a weak enemy resembles him who neglects a spark of fire:--to-day that thou canst quench it, put it out; for let fire rise into a flame, and it may consume a whole world. now that thou canst transfix him with thy arrow, permit not thy antagonist to string his bow. xiii whoever is making a league with their enemies has it in his mind to do his friends an ill turn:--"o wise man! wash thy hands of that friend who is in confederacy with thy foes." xiv when irresolute in the despatch of business, incline to that side which is the least offensive:--answer not with harshness a mild-spoken man, nor force him into war who knocks at the gate of peace. xv so long as money can answer, it were wrong in any business to put the life in danger:--as the arabs say:--"_let the sword decide after stratagem has failed_":--when the hand is balked in every crafty endeavor, it is lawful to lay it upon the hilt of the sabre. xvi show no mercy to a subdued foe, for if he recover himself he will show you no mercy:--when thou seest thy antagonist in a reduced state, curl not thy whiskers at him in contempt, for in every bone there is marrow, and within every jacket there is a man. xvii whoever puts a wicked man to death delivers mankind from his mischief, and the wretch himself from god's vengeance:--beneficence is praiseworthy; yet thou shouldst not administer a balsam to the wound of the wicked. knew he not who took compassion on a snake, that it is the pest of the sons of adam. xviii it is wrong to follow the advice of an adversary; nevertheless it is right to hear it, that you may do the contrary; and this is the essence of good policy:--sedulously shun whatever thy foe may recommend, otherwise thou may'st wring the hands of repentance on thy knees. should he show thee to the right a path straight as an arrow, turn aside from that, and take the path to the left. * * * * * xx two orders of mankind are the enemies of church and state: the king without clemency, and the holy man without learning:--let not that prince have rule over the state who is not himself obedient to the will of god. xxi it behooves a king so to regulate his anger towards his enemies as not to alarm the confidence of his friends; for the fire of passion falls first on the angry man; afterwards its sparks will dart forth towards the foe, and him they may reach, or they may not. it ill becomes the children of adam, formed of dust, to harbor in their head such pride, arrogance, and passion. i cannot fancy all this thy warmth and obstinacy to be created from earth, but from fire. i went to a holy man in the land of bailcan, and said: "cleanse me of ignorance by thy instruction?" he replied: "o fakir, or theologician! go and bear things patiently like the earth; or whatever thou hast read let it all be buried under the earth." xxii an evil-disposed man is a captive in the hands of an enemy (namely, himself); for wherever he may go he cannot escape from the grasp of that enemy's vengeance:--let a wicked man ascend up to heaven, that he may escape from the grasp of calamity; even thither would the hand of his own evil heart follow him with misfortune. xxiii when you see discord raging among the troops of your enemy, be on your side quiet; but if you see them united, think of your own dispersed state:--when thou beholdest war among thy foes, go and enjoy peace with thy friends; but if thou findest them of one soul and mind, string thy bow, and range stones around thy battlements. * * * * * xxvi keep to yourself any intelligence that may prove unpleasant, till some person else has disclosed it:--bring, o nightingale! the glad tidings of the spring, and leave to the owl to be the harbinger of evil. * * * * * xxviii whoever is counselling a self-sufficient man stands himself in need of a counsellor. xxix swallow not the wheedling of a rival, nor pay for the sycophancy of a parasite; for that has laid the snare of treachery, and this whetted the palate of gluttony. the fool is puffed up with his own praise, like a dead body, which on being stretched upon a bier shows a momentary corpulency:--take heed and listen not to the sycophant's blandishments, who expects in return some small compensation; for shouldst thou any day disappoint his object he would in like style sum up two hundred of thy defects. xxx till some person may show its defects, the speech of the orator will fail of correctness:--be not vain of the eloquence of thy discourse because it has the fool's good opinion, and thine own approbation. xxxi every person thinks his own intellect perfect, and his own child handsome:--a mussulman and a jew were warm in argument to such a degree that i smiled at their subject. the mussulman said in wrath: "if this deed of conveyance be not authentic may i, o god, die a jew!" the jew replied: "on the pentateuch i swear, if what i say be false, i am a mussulman like you!" were intellect to be annihilated from the face of the earth, nobody could be brought to say: "i am ignorant." xxxii ten people will partake of the same joint of meat, and two dogs will snarl over a whole carcase. the greedy man is incontinent with a whole world set before him; the temperate man is content with his crust of bread:--a loaf of brown bread may fill an empty stomach, but the produce of the whole globe cannot satisfy a greedy eye:--my father, when the sun of his life was going down, gave me this sage advice, and it set for good, saying: "lust is a fire; refrain from indulging it, and do not involve thyself in the flames of hell. since thou hast not the strength of burning in those flames (as a punishment in the next world), pour in this world the water of continence upon this fire--namely, lust." xxxiii whoever does not do good, when he has the means of doing it, will suffer hardship when he has not the means:--none is more unlucky than the misanthrope, for on the day of adversity he has not a single friend. xxxiv life stands on the verge of a single breath; and this world is an existence between two nonentities. such as truck their deen, or religious practice, for worldly pelf are asses. they sold joseph, and what got they by their bargain?--"_did i not covenant with you, o ye sons of adam, that you should not serve satan; for verily he is your avowed enemy_":--by the advice of a foe you broke your faith with a friend; behold from whom you separated, and with whom you united yourselves. * * * * * xxxvi whatever is produced in haste goes hastily to waste:--i have heard that, after a process of forty years, they convert the clay of the east into a china porcelain cup. at bagdad they can make an hundred cups in a day, and thou may'st of course conceive their respective value. a chicken walks forth from its shell, and goes in quest of its food; the young of man possesses not that instinct of prudence and discrimination. that which was at once something comes to nothing; and this surpasses all creatures in dignity and wisdom. a piece of crystal or glass is found everywhere, and held of no value; a ruby is obtained with difficulty, and therefore inestimable. xxxvii patience accomplishes its object, while hurry speeds to its ruin:--with my own eyes i saw in the desert that the deliberate man outstripped him that had hurried on. the wing-footed steed is broken down in his speed, whilst the camel-driver jogs on with his beast to the end of his journey. xxxviii nothing is so good for an ignorant man as silence, and if he knew this he would no longer be ignorant:--when unadorned with the grace of eloquence it is wise to keep watch over the tongue in the mouth. the tongue, by abuse, renders a man contemptible; levity in a nut is a sign of its being empty. a fool was undertaking the instruction of an ass, and had devoted his whole time to this occupation. a wise man said to him: "what art thou endeavoring to do? in this vain attempt dread the reproof of the censorious! a brute can never learn speech from thee; do thou learn silence from him." that man who reflects not before he speaks will only make all the more improper answer. either like a man arrange thy speech with judgment, or like a brute sit silent. xxxix whoever shall argue with one more learned than himself that others may take him for a wise man, only confirms them in his being a fool:--"when a person superior to what thou art engages thee in conversation do not contradict him, though thou may'st know better." xl he can see no good who will associate with the wicked:--were an angel from heaven to associate with a demon, he would learn his brutality, perfidy, and hypocrisy. virtue thou never canst learn of the vicious; it is not the wolf's occupation to mend skins, but to tear them. xli expose not the secret failings of mankind, otherwise you must verily bring scandal upon them and distrust upon yourself. xlii whoever acquires knowledge and does not practise it resembles him who ploughs his land and leaves it unsown. * * * * * xlvi it is not every man that has a handsome physical exterior that has a good moral character; for the faculty of business or virtue resides in the heart and not in the skin. thou canst in one day ascertain the intellectual faculties of a man, and what proficiency he has made in his degrees of knowledge; but be not secure of his mind, nor foolishly sure, for it may take years to detect the innate baseness of the heart. xlvii whoever contends with the great sheds his own blood:--thou contemplatest thyself as a mighty great man; and they have truly remarked that the squinter sees double. thou who canst in play butt with a ram must soon find thyself with a broken pate. xlviii to grapple with a lion, or to box against a naked scimitar, are not the acts of the prudent:--brave not the furious with war and opposition before their arms of strength cross thy hands of submission. xlix a weak man who tries his courage against the strong leagues with the foe to his own destruction:--nurtured in a shade, what strength can he have that he should engage with the warlike in battle; impotent of arm, he was falling the victim of folly when he set his wrist in opposition to a wrist of iron. l whoever will not listen to admonition harbors the fancy of hearing reprehension:--when advice gains not an admission into the ear, if i give thee reproof, hear it in silence. li the idle cannot endure the industrious any more than the curs of the market-place, who, on meeting dogs employed for sporting, will snarl at and prevent them passing. lii a mean wretch that cannot vie with another in virtue will assail him with malignity:--the narrow-minded envier will somehow manage to revile thee, who in thy presence might have the tongue of his utterance struck dumb. * * * * * lv to hold counsel with women is bad, and to deal generously with prodigals a fault:--showing mercy upon the sharp-fanged pard must prove an injustice to the harmless sheep. lvi whoever has his foe at his mercy, and does not kill him, is his own enemy:--with a stone in his hand, and the snake's head convenient, a wise man hesitates not in crushing it. certain people have seen this maxim in an opposite point of view, saying: "it were wiser to delay the execution of captives, inasmuch as the option is left so that you can slay, or you can release them; but if you shall have heedlessly put them to death, the policy is defunct, for the opportunity of repairing it is lost":--there is no great difficulty to separate the soul from the body, but it is not so easy to restore life to the dead: prudence dictates patience in giving the arrow flight, for let it quit the bow and it never can be recalled. lvii a learned man who has got into an argument with the ignorant can have no hopes of supporting his own dignity; and if an ignoramus by his loquacity gets the upper hand it should not surprise us, for he is a stone and can bruise a gem:--no wonder if his spirit flag; the nightingale is cooped up in the same cage with the crow:--if the man of sense is coarsely treated by the vulgar, let it not excite our wrath and indignation; if a piece of worthless stone can bruise a cup of gold, its worth is not increased, nor that of the gold diminished. * * * * * lx genius without education is the subject of our regret, and education without genius is labor lost. although embers have a lofty origin (fire being of a noble nature), yet, as having no intrinsic worth, they fall upon a level with common dust; on the other hand, sugar does not derive its value from the cane, but from its own innate quality:--inasmuch as the disposition of canaan was bad, his descent from the prophet noah stood him in no stead. pride thyself on what virtue thou hast, and not on thy parentage; the rose springs from a thorn-bush, and abraham from azor (neither his father's name, or fire). lxi that is musk which discloses itself by its smell, and not what the perfumers impose upon us:--if a man be expert in any art he needs not tell it, for his own skill will show it. lxii a wise man is, like a vase in a druggist's shop, silent, but full of virtues; and the ignorant man resembles the drum of the warrior, being full of noise, and an empty babbler:--the sincerely devout have remarked that a learned man beset by the illiterate is like one of the lovely in a circle of the blind, or the holy koran in the dwelling of the infidel. lxiii a friend whom they take an age to conciliate, it were wrong all at once to alienate:--in a series of years a stone changes into a ruby; take heed, and destroy it not at once by dashing it against another stone. lxiv reason is in like manner enthralled by passion, as an uxorious man is in the hands of an artful woman. thou may'st shut the door of joy upon that dwelling where thou hearest resounding the scolding voice of a woman. lxv intellect, without firmness, is craft and chicanery; and firmness, without intellect, perverseness and obstinacy:--first, prudence, good sense, and discrimination, and then dominion; for the dominion and good fortune of the ignorant are the armor of rebellion against god. lxvi the sinner who spends and gives away is better than the devotee who begs and lays by. lxvii whoever foregoes carnal indulgence in order to get the good opinion of mankind, has forsaken a lawful passion and involved himself in what is forbidden:--what, wretched creature! can that hermit see in his own tarnished mirror, or heart, who retires to a cell, but not for the sake of god? lxix a wise man should not through clemency overlook the insolence of the vulgar, otherwise both sustain a loss, for their respect for him is lessened and their own brutality confirmed:--when thou addressest the low with urbanity and kindness, it only adds to their pride and arrogance. * * * * * lxxiv in a season of drought and scarcity ask not the distressed dervish, saying: "how are you?" unless on the condition that you apply a balm to his wound, and supply him with the means of subsistence:--the ass which thou seest stuck in the slough with his rider, compassionate from thy heart, otherwise do not go near him. now that thou went and asked him how he fell, like a sturdy fellow bind up thy loins, and take his ass by the tail. lxxv two things are repugnant to reason: to expend more than what providence has allotted for us, and to die before our ordained time:--whether offered up in gratitude, or uttered in complaint, destiny cannot be altered by a thousand sighs and lamentations. the angel who presides over the store-house of the winds feels no compunction, though he extinguish the old woman's lamp. lxxvi o you that are going in quest of food, sit down, that you may have to eat. and, o you that death is in quest of, go not on, for you cannot carry life along with you:--in search of thy daily bread, whether thou exertest thyself, or whether thou dost not, the god of majesty and glory will equally provide it. wert thou to walk into the mouth of a tiger or lion, he could not devour thee, unless by the ordinance of thy destiny. lxxvii whatever was not designed, the hand cannot reach; and whatever was ordained, it can attain in any situation:--thou hast heard that alexander got as far as chaos; but after all this toil he drank not the water of immortality. lxxviii the fisherman, unless it be his lot, catches no fish in the tigris; and the fish, unless it be its fate, does not die on the dry land:--the wretched miser is prowling all over the world, he in quest of pelf, and death in quest of him. * * * * * lxxxi the envious man is niggard of the gifts of providence, and an enemy of the innocent:--i met a dry-brained fellow of this sort, tricked forth in the robe of a dignified person. i said: "o sir! if thou art unfortunate in having this disposition, in what have the fortunate been to blame?--take heed, and wish not misfortune to the misanthrope, for his own ill-conditioned lot is calamity sufficient. what need is there of showing ill-will to him, who has such an enemy close at his heels." lxxxii a scholar without diligence is a lover without money; a traveller without knowledge is a bird without wings; a theorist without practice is a tree without fruit; and a devotee without learning is a house without an entrance. lxxxiii the object of sending the koran down from heaven was that mankind might make it a manual of morals, and not that they should recite it by sections. lxxxiv the sincere publican has proceeded on foot; the slothful pharisee is mounted and gone asleep. lxxxv the sinner who humbles himself in prayer is more acceptable than the devotee who is puffed up with pride:--the courteous and kind-hearted soldier of fortune is better than the misanthropic and learned divine. lxxxvi a learned man without works is a bee without honey:--tell that harsh and ungenerous hornet: as thou yieldest no honey, wound not with thy sting. * * * * * lxxxix though a dress presented by the sovereign be honorable, yet is our own tattered garment preferable; and though the viands at a great man's table be delicate, yet is our own homely fare more sweet:--a salad and vinegar, the produce of our own industry, are sweeter than the lamb and bread sauce at the table of our village chief. xc it is contrary to sound judgment, and repugnant to the maxims of the prudent, to take a medicine on conjecture, or to follow a road but in the track of the caravan. xci they asked imaam mursheed mohammed-bin-mohammed ghazali, on whom be god's mercy, how he had reached such a pitch of knowledge. he replied: "whatever i was ignorant of myself, i felt no shame in asking of others":--thy prospect of health conforms with reason, when thy pulse is in charge of a skilled physician. ask whatever thou knowest not; for the condescension of inquiring is a guide on thy road in the excellence of learning. xcii anything you foresee that you may somehow come to know, be not hasty in questioning, lest your consequence and respectability may suffer:--when lucman perceived that in the hands of david iron was miraculously moulded like wax, he asked him not, how didst thou do it? for he was aware that he should know it, through his own wisdom, without asking. xciii it is one of the laws of good breeding that you should forego an engagement, or accommodate yourself to the master of the entertainment:--if thou knowest that the inclination is reciprocal, accommodate thy story to the temper of the hearer. any discreet man that was in mujnun's company would entertain him only with encomiums on laila. * * * * * xcvi whoever interrupts the conversation of others to make a display of his fund of knowledge makes notorious his own stock of ignorance. philosophers have said:--a prudent man will not obtrude his answer till he has the question stated to him in form. notwithstanding the proposition may have its right demonstration, the cavil of the fastidious will construe it wrong. * * * * * xcviii to tell a falsehood is like the cut of a sabre; for though the wound may heal, the scar of it will remain. in like manner as the brothers of the blessed joseph, who, being notorious for a lie, had no credit afterwards when they spoke the truth:--god on high has said--jacob is supposed to speak--(koran xii. sale ii. ):--"_nay, but rather ye have contrived this to gratify your own passion; yet it behooves me to be patient_":--if a man who is in the habit of speaking truth lets a mistake escape him, we can overlook it; but if he be notorious for uttering falsehoods, and tell a truth, thou wilt call it a lie. xcix the noblest of creatures is man, and the vilest of animals is no doubt a dog; yet, in the concurring opinion of the wise, a dog, thankful for his food, is more worthy than a human being who is void of gratitude:--a dog will never forget the crumb thou gavest him, though thou may'st afterwards throw a hundred stones at his head; but foster with thy kindness a low man for an age, and on the smallest provocation he will be up against thee in arms. * * * * * ci it is written in the injeel, or gospel, stating: "o son of man, if i bestow riches upon you, you will be more intent upon your property than upon me, and if i leave you in poverty you will sit down dejected; how then can you feel a relish to praise, or a zeal to worship me?"--(proverbs xxx. , , .) in the day of plenty thou art proud and negligent; in the time of want, full of sorrow and dejected; since in prosperity and adversity such is thy condition, it were difficult to state when thou wouldst voluntarily do thy duty. cii the pleasure of him, or god, who has no equal hurls one man from a throne of sovereignty, and another he preserves in a fish's belly:--happy proceeds his time who is enraptured with thy praise, though, like jonah, he even may pass it in the belly of a fish! ciii were the almighty to unsheath the sword of his wrath, prophets and patriarchs would draw in their heads; and were he to deign a glimpse of his benevolence, it would reach the wicked along with the good:--were he on the day of judgment to call us to a strict account, even the prophets would have no room for excuse. say, withdraw the veil from the face of thy compassion, that sinners may entertain hopes of pardon. civ whoever is not to be brought into the path of righteousness by the punishments of this life shall be overtaken with the punishments of that to come:--"_verily, i will cause them to taste the lesser punishment over and above the greater punishment":_--(koran xxxii. sale ii. .) princes, in chastising, admonish, and then confine; when they admonish, and thou listenest not, they throw thee into prison. cv men of auspicious fortune would rather take warning from the precepts and examples of their predecessors than that the rising generation should take warning from their acts:--the bird will not approach the grain that is spread about, where it sees another bird a captive in the snare. take warning by the mischance of others, that others may not take warning by thine. cvi how can he help himself who was born deaf, if he cannot hear; and what can he do whose thread of fortune is dragging him on that he may not proceed:--the dark night of such as are beloved of god is serene and light as the bright day; but this good fortune results not from thine own strength of arm, till god in his mercy deign to bestow it. to whom shall i complain of thee? for there is no judge else, nor is any arm mightier than thine. him whom thou directest none can lead astray, and him whom thou bewilderest none can direct upon his way. cvii the beggar whose end is good is better off than the king whose end is evil:--that sorrow which is the harbinger of joy is preferable to the joy which is followed by sorrow. cviii the sky enriches the earth with rain, and the earth gives it dust in return. as the arabs say: "_what the vessels have, that they give_."--if my moral character strike thee as improper, do not renounce thine own good character. cix the most high god discerns and hides what is improper; my neighbor sees not, and is loud in his clamor:--god preserve us! if man knew what is hidden, none could be safe from the animadversion of his neighbor. cx gold is got from the mine by digging into the earth; and from the grasp of the miser by taking away his life:--misers spend not, but watch with solicitude: expectation, they say, is preferable to waste. next day observe to the joy of their enemies, the gold remains, and they are dead without the enjoyment of that hope. cxi such as deal hard with the weak will suffer from the extortion of the strong:--it is not every arm in which there is strength that can wrench the hand of a weak man. bring not affliction upon the hearts of the feeble, lest thou may'st fall under the lash of the strong. cxii a wise man, where he meets opposition, labors to get through it, and where he finds quiet he drops his anchor, for there safety is on one side, and here enjoyment in the middle of it. cxiii the gamester wants three sixes, but he throws only three aces:--the pasture meadow is a thousand times richer than the common, but the horse has not his tether at command. cxiv the dervish in his prayer is saying: "o god, have compassion on the wicked, for to the good thou hast been abundantly kind, inasmuch as thou hast made them virtuous." cxv jemshid was the first person who put an edging round his garment, and a ring upon his finger. they asked him: "why did you bestow all the decoration and ornament on the left hand, whilst the right is the superior?" he answered: "sufficient for the right is the ornament of being right." feridún commanded the gilders of china that they would inscribe upon the front of his palace: "strive, o wise man, to make the wicked good, for the good are of themselves great and fortunate." cxvi they said to a great and holy man: "notwithstanding the superiority that the right hand commands, who do they wear the ring on the left hand?" he replied: "are you not aware that the best are most neglected! he who casts our horoscope, provision, and fortune, bestows upon us either good luck or wisdom." cxvii it is proper for him to offer counsel to kings who dreads not to lose his head, nor looks for a reward:--whether thou strewest heaps of gold at his feet, or brandishest an indian sword over the unitarian's head, to hope or fear he is alike indifferent; and in this the divine unity alone he is resolved and firm. cxviii it belongs to the king to displace extortioners, to the superintendent of the police to guard against murderers, and to the cazi to decide in quarrels and disputes. no two complainants ever referred to the cazi content to abide by justice:--when thou knowest that in right the claim is just, better pay with a grace than by distress and force. if a man is refractory in discharging his revenue, the collector must necessarily coerce him to pay it. cxix every man's teeth are blunted by acids excepting the cazi's, and they require sweets:--that cazi, or judge, that can accept of five cucumbers as a bribe, will confirm thee in a right to ten fields of melons. * * * * * cxxi they asked a wise man, saying: "of the many celebrated trees which the most high god has created lofty and umbrageous, they call none azad, or free, excepting the cypress, which bears no fruit; what mystery is there in this?" he replied: "each has its appropriate produce and appointed season, during the continuance of which it is fresh and blooming, and during their absence dry and withered; to neither of which states is the cypress exposed, being always flourishing; and of this nature are the azads, or religious independents. fix not thy heart on what is transitory; for the dijlah, or tigris, will continue to flow through bagdad after the race of khalifs is extinct. if thy hand has plenty, be liberal as the date-tree; but if it affords nothing to give away, be an azad, or free man, like the cypress." cxxii two orders of mankind died, and carried with them regret: such as had and did not spend, and such as knew and did not practise:--none can see that wretched mortal a miser who will not endeavor to point out his faults; but were the generous man to have a hundred defects, his liberality would cover all his blemishes. the conclusion of the book the book of the "gulistan, or flower-garden," was completed through the assistance and grace of god. throughout the whole of this work i have not followed the custom of writers by inserting verses of poetry borrowed from former authors:--"it is more decorous to wear our own patched and old cloak than to ask in loan another man's garment." most of sa'di's sayings have a dash of hilarity and an odor of gayety about them, in consequence of which short-sighted critics extend the tongue of animadversion, saying: it is not the occupation of sensible men to solicit marrow from a shrivelled brain, or to digest the smoke of a profitless lamp. nevertheless it cannot be concealed from the enlightened judgment of the holy and good, to whom these discourses are specially addressed, that the pearls of salutary admonition are threaded on the cord of an elegance of language, and the bitter potion of instruction sweetened with the honey of facetiousness, that the taste of the reader may not take disgust, and himself be debarred from the pleasure of approving of them: "on our part we offered some good advice, and spent an age in bringing it to perfection. if that should not meet the ear of anybody's good-will, prophets deliver their messages, or warn mankind; and that is enough." "_o thou who perusest this book, ask the mercy of god on the author of it: his forgiveness on the transcriber. petition for whatever charitable gift thou mayst require for thyself, and implore pardon on the owner_." may i crave thy prayer on the english translator? _the book is finished through the favor of the lord god paramount and the bestower of all good_! egyptian tales translated from the papyri second series xviiith to xixth dynasty edited by w. m. flinders petrie, hon. d.c.l., ll.d. edwards professor of egyptology, university college, london illustrated by tristram ellis second edition _first published . . . september second edition . . . february _ preface as the scope of the first series of these tales seems to have been somewhat overlooked, a few words of introduction may not be out of place before this second volume. it seems that any simple form of fiction is supposed to be a "fairy tale:" which implies that it has to do with an impossible world of imaginary beings. now the egyptian tales are exactly the opposite of this, they relate the doings and the thoughts of men and women who are human--sometimes "very human," as mr. balfour said. whatever there is of supernatural elements is a very part of the beliefs and motives of the people whose lives are here pictured. but most of what is here might happen in some corner of our own country to-day, where ancient beliefs may have a home. so far, then, from being fairy tales there is not a single being that could be termed a fairy in the whole of them. another notion that seems to be about is that the only possible object of reading any form of fiction is for pure amusement, to fill an idle hour and be forgotten and if these tales are not as amusing as some jester of to-day, then the idler says, away with them as a failure! for such a person, who only looks to have the tedium of a vacuous mind relieved, these tales are not in the least intended. but the real and genuine charm of all fiction is that of enabling the reader to place himself in the mental position of, another, to see with the eyes, to feel with the thoughts, to reason with the mind, of a wholly different being. all the greatest work has this charm. it may be to place the reader in new mental positions, or in a different level of the society that he already knows, either higher or lower; or it may be to make alive to him a society of a different land or age. whether he read "treasure island" or "plain tales from the hills," "the scarlet letter," "old mortality," or "hypatia," it is the transplanting of the reader into a new life, the doubling of his mental experience, that is the very power of fiction. the same interest attaches to these tales. in place of regarding egyptians only as the builders of pyramids and the makers of mummies, we here see the men and women as they lived, their passions, their foibles, their beliefs, and their follies. the old refugee sanehat craving to be buried with his ancestors in the blessed land, the enterprise and success of the doomed prince, the sweetness of bata, the misfortunes of ahura, these all live before us, and we can for a brief half hour share the feelings and see with the eyes of those who ruled the world when it was young. this is the real value of these tales, and the power which still belongs to the oldest literature in the world. erratum in first edition, st series. page , line from below, _for_ no it _read_ not i. contents the taking of joppa remarks the doomed prince remarks anpu and bata remarks setna and the magic book remarks index xviiith dynasty the taking of joppa there was once in the time of king men-kheper-ra a revolt of the servants of his majesty who were in joppa; and his majesty said, "let tahutia go with his footmen and destroy this wicked foe in joppa." and he called one of his followers, and said moreover, "hide thou my great cane, which works wonders, in the baggage of tahutia that my power may go with him." now when tahutia came near to joppa, with all the footmen of pharaoh, he sent unto the foe in joppa, and said, "behold now his majesty, king men-kheper-ra, has sent all this great army against thee; but what is that if my heart is as thy heart? do thou come, and let us talk in the field, and see each other face to face." so tahutia came with certain of his men; and the foe in joppa came likewise, but his charioteer that was with him was true of heart unto the king of egypt. and they spoke with one another in his great tent, which tahutia had placed far off from the soldiers. but tahutia had made ready two hundred sacks, with cords and fetters, and had made a great sack of skins with bronze fetters, and many baskets: and they were in his tent, the sacks and the baskets, and he had placed them as the forage for the horses is put in baskets. for whilst the foe in joppa drank with tahutia, the people who were with him drank with the footmen of pharaoh, and made merry with them. and when their bout of drinking was past, tahutia said to the foe in joppa, "if it please thee, while i remain with the women and children of thy own city, let one bring of my people with their horses, that they may give them provender, or let one of the apuro run to fetch them." so they came, and hobbled their horses, and gave them provender, and one found the great cane of men-kheper-ra (tahutmes iii.), and came to tell of it to tahutia. and thereupon the foe in joppa said to tahutia, "my heart is set on examining the great cane of men-kheper-ra, which is named '. . . tautnefer.' by the _ka_ of the king men-kheper-ra it will be in thy hands to-day; now do thou well and bring thou it to me." and tahutia did thus, and he brought the cane of king men-kheper-ra. and he laid hold on the foe in joppa by his garment, and he arose and stood up, and said, "look on me, o foe in joppa; here is the great cane of king men-kheper-ra, the terrible lion, the son of sekhet, to whom amen his father gives power and strength." and he raised his hand and struck the forehead of the foe in joppa, and he fell helpless before him. he put him in the sack of skins and he bound with gyves the hands of the foe in joppa, and put on his feet the fetters with four rings. and he made them bring the two hundred sacks which he had cleaned, and made to enter into them two hundred soldiers, and filled the hollows with cords and fetters of wood, he sealed them with a seal, and added to them their rope-nets and the poles to bear them. and he put every strong footman to bear them, in all six hundred men, and said to them, "when you come into the town you shall open your burdens, you shall seize on all the inhabitants of the town, and you shall quickly put fetters upon them." then one went out and said unto the charioteer of the foe in joppa, "thy master is fallen; go, say to thy mistress, 'a pleasant message! for sutekh has given tahutia to us, with his wife and his children; behold the beginning of their tribute,' that she may comprehend the two hundred sacks, which are full of men and cords and fetters." so he went before them to please the heart of his mistress, saying, "we have laid hands on tahutia." then the gates of the city were opened before the footmen: they entered the city, they opened their burdens, they laid hands on them of the city, both small and great, they put on them the cords and fetters quickly; the power of pharaoh seized upon that city. after he had rested tahutia sent a message to egypt to the king men-kheper-ra his lord, saying, "be pleased, for amen thy good father has given to thee the foe in joppa, together with all his people, likewise also his city. send, therefore, people to take them as captives that thou mayest fill the house of thy father amen ra, king of the gods, with men-servants and maid-servants, and that they may be overthrown beneath thy feet for ever and ever." remarks this tale of the taking of joppa appears to be probably on an historical basis. tahutia was a well-known officer of tahutmes iii.; and the splendid embossed dish of weighty gold which the king presented to him is one of the principal treasures of the louvre museum. it is ornamented with groups of fish in the flat bottom, and a long inscription around the side. unfortunately the earlier part of this tale has been lost; but in order to render it intelligible i have restored an opening to it, without introducing any details but what are alluded to, or necessitated, by the existing story. the original text begins at the star. it is evident that the basis of the tale is the stratagem of the egyptian general, offering to make friends with the rebel of joppa, while he sought to trap him. to a western soldier such an unblushing offer of being treacherous to his master the king would be enough to make the good faith of his proposals to the enemy very doubtful. but in the east offers of wholesale desertion are not rare. in greek history it was quite an open question whether athens or persia would retain a general's service; in byzantine history a commander might be in favour with the khalif one year and with the autokrator the next; and in the present century the entire transfer of the turkish fleet to mohammed ali in is a grand instance of such a case. the scheme of taking a fortress by means of smuggling in soldiers hidden in packages has often recurred in history; but this taking of joppa is the oldest tale of the kind yet known. following this we have the wooden horse of troy. then comes in mediaeval times the arab scheme for taking edessa, in a.d., by a train of five hundred camels bearing presents for the autokrator at constantinople. the governor of edessa declined to admit such travellers, and a bystander, hearing some talking in the baskets slung on the camels, soon gave the alarm, which led to the destruction of the whole party; the chief alone, less hands, ears, and nose, being left to take the tale back to bagdad. and in fiction there are the stories of a lady avenging her husband by introducing men hidden in skins, and the best known version of all in the "arabian nights," of ali baba and the thieves. it appears from the tale that the conference of tahutia with the rebel took place between the town and the egyptian army, but near the town. then tahutia proposes to go into the town as a pledge of his sincerity, while the men of the town were to supply his troops with fodder. but he appears to have remained talking with the rebel in the tent, until the lucky chance of the stick turned up. this cleared the way for a neater management of his plan, by enabling him to quietly make away with the chief, without exciting his suspicions beforehand. the name of the cane of the king is partly illegible; but we know how many actual sticks and personal objects have their own names inscribed on them. nothing had a real entity to the egyptian mind without an individual name belonging to it. the message sent by the charioteer presupposes that he was in the secret; and he must therefore have been an egyptian who had not heartily joined in the rebellion. from the conclusion we see that the captives taken as slaves to egypt were by no means only prisoners of war, but were the ordinary civil inhabitants of the conquered cities, "them of the city, both small and great." the gold dish which the king gave to the tomb of tahuti is so splendid that it deserves some notice, especially as it has never been published in england. it is circular, about seven inches across, with vertical sides an inch high. the inside of the bottom bears a boss and rosette in the centre, a line of swimming fish around that, and beyond all a chain of lotus flowers. on the upright edge is an incised inscription, "given in praise by the king of upper and lower egypt, _ra-men-kheper,_ to the hereditary chief, the divine father, the beloved by god, filling the heart of the king in all foreign lands and in the isles in the midst of the great sea, filling stores with lazuli, electrum, and gold, keeper of all foreign lands, keeper of the troops, praised by the good gold lord of both lands and his _ka,--_the royal scribe tahuti deceased." this splendid piece of gold work was therefore given in honour of tahuti at his funeral, to be placed in his tomb for the use of his _ka._ the weight of it is very nearly a troy pound, being , grains or four utens. the allusion on it to the mediterranean wars of tahuti, "satisfying the king in all foreign lands and in the isles in the midst of the great sea," is just in accord with this tale of the conquest of joppa. beside this golden bowl there are many other objects from tahuti's tomb which must have been very rich, and have escaped plundering until this century. a silver dish, broken, and a canopic jar of alabaster, are in paris; another canopic jar, a palette, a kohl vase, and a heart scarab set in gold, are in leyden; while in darmstadt is the dagger of this great general. this piece of a popular tale founded on an incident of his syrian wars has curiously survived, while the more solid official records of his conquests has perished in the wreck of history. his tomb even is unknown, although it has been plundered; perhaps his active life of foreign service did not give him that leisure to carve and decorate it, which was so laboriously spent by the home-living dignitaries of thebes. close of the xviiith dynasty the doomed prince there once was a king to whom no son was born; and his heart was grieved, and he prayed for himself unto the gods around him for a child. they decreed that one should be born to him. and his wife, after her time was fulfilled, brought forth a son. then came the hathors to decree for him a destiny; they said, "his death is to be by the crocodile, or by the serpent, or by the dog." then the people who stood by heard this, and they went to tell it to his majesty. then his majesty's heart sickened very greatly. and his majesty caused a house to be built upon the desert; it was furnished with people and with all good things of the royal house, that the child should not go abroad. and when the child was grown, he went up upon the roof, and he saw a dog; it was following a man who was walking on the road. he spoke to his page, who was with him, "what is this that walks behind the man who is coming along the road?" he answered him, "this is a dog." the child said to him, "let there be brought to me one like it." the page went to repeat it to his majesty. and his majesty said, "let there be brought to him a little pet dog, lest his heart be sad." and behold they brought to him the dog. then when the days increased after this, and when the child became grown in all his limbs, he sent a message to his father saying, "come, wherefore am i kept here? inasmuch as i am fated to three evil fates, let me follow my desire. let god do what is in his heart." they agreed to all he said, and gave him all sorts of arms, and also his dog to follow him, and they took him to the east country, and said to him, "behold, go thou whither thou wilt." his dog was with him, and he went northward, following his heart in the desert, while he lived on all the best of the game of the desert. he went to the chief of naha-raina. and behold there had not been any born to the chief of naharaina, except one daughter. behold, there had been built for her a house; its seventy windows were seventy cubits from the ground. and the chief caused to be brought all the sons of the chiefs of the land of khalu, and said to them, "he who reaches the window of my daughter, she shall be to him for a wife." and many days after these things, as they were in their daily task, the youth rode by the place where they were. they took the youth to their house, they bathed him, they gave provender to his horses, they brought all kinds of things for the youth, they perfumed him, they anointed his feet, they gave him portions of their own food; and they spake to him, "whence comest thou, goodly youth?" he said to them, "i am son of an officer of the land of egypt; my mother is dead, and my father has taken another wife. and when she bore children, she grew to hate me, and i have come as a fugitive from before her." and they embraced him, and kissed him. and after many days were passed, he said to the youths, "what is it that ye do here?" and they said to him, "we spend our time in this: we climb up, and he who shall reach the window of the daughter of the chief of naharaina, to him will he given her to wife." he said to them, "if it please you, let me behold the matter, that i may come to climb with you." they went to climb, as was their daily wont: and the youth stood afar off to behold; and the face of the daughter of the chief of naharaina was turned to them. and another day the sons came to climb, and the youth came to climb with the sons of the chiefs. he climbed, and he reached the window of the daughter of the chief of naharaina. she kissed him, she embraced him in all his limbs. and one went to rejoice the heart of her father, and said to him, "one of the people has reached the window of thy daughter." and the prince inquired of the messenger, saying, "the son of which of the princes is it?" and he replied to him, "it is the son of an officer, who has come as a fugitive from the land of egypt, fleeing from before his stepmother when she had children." then the chief of naharaina was exceeding angry; and he said, "shall i indeed give my daughter to the egyptian fugitive? let him go back whence he came." and one came to tell the youth, "go back to the place thou earnest from." but the maiden seized his hand; she swore an oath by god, saying, "by the being of ra harakhti, if one takes him from me, i will not eat, i will not drink, i shall die in that same hour." the messenger went to tell unto her father all that she said. then the prince sent men to slay the youth, while he was in his house. but the maiden said, "by the being of ra, if one slay him i shall be dead ere the sun goeth down. i will not pass an hour of life if i am parted from him." and one went to tell her father. then the prince made them bring the youth with the maiden. the youth was seized with fear when he came before the prince. but he embraced him, he kissed him all over, and said, "oh! tell me who thou art; behold, thou art to me as a son." he said to him, "i am a son of an officer of the land of egypt; my mother died, my father took to him a second wife; she came to hate me, and i fled a fugitive from before her." he then gave to him his daughter to wife; he gave also to him a house, and serfs, and fields, also cattle and all manner of good things. but after the days of these things were passed, the youth said to his wife, "i am doomed to three fates--a crocodile, a serpent, and a dog." she said to him, "let one kill the dog which belongs to thee." he replied to her, "i am not going to kill my dog, which i have brought up from when it was small." and she feared greatly for her husband, and would not let him go alone abroad. and one went with the youth toward the land of egypt, to travel in that country. behold the crocodile of the river, he came out by the town in which the youth was. and in that town was a mighty man. and the mighty man would not suffer the crocodile to escape. and when the crocodile was bound, the mighty man went out and walked abroad. and when the sun rose the mighty man went back to the house; and he did so every day, during two months of days. now when the days passed after this, the youth sat making a good day in his house. and when the evening came he lay down on his bed, sleep seized upon his limbs; and his wife filled a bowl of milk, and placed it by his side. then came out a serpent from his hole, to bite the youth; behold his wife was sitting by him, she lay not down. thereupon the servants gave milk to the serpent, and he drank, and was drunk, and lay upside down. then his wife made it to perish with the blows of her dagger. and they woke her husband, who was astonished; and she said unto him, "behold thy god has given one of thy dooms into thy hand; he will also give thee the others." and he sacrificed to god, adoring him, and praising his spirits from day to day. and when the days were passed after these things, the youth went to walk in the fields of his domain. he went not alone, behold his dog was following him. and his dog ran aside after the wild game, and he followed the dog. he came to the river, and entered the river behind his dog. then came out the crocodile, and took him to the place where the mighty man was. and the crocodile said to the youth, "i am thy doom, following after thee. ..." [here the papyrus breaks off.] remarks this tale is preserved in one of the harris papyri (no. ) in the british museum. it has been translated by goodwin, chabas, maspero, and ebers. the present version is adapted from that of maspero, with frequent reference by mr. griffith to the original. the marvellous parentage of a fated or gifted hero is familiar in eastern tales, and he is often described as a divine reward to a long-childless king. this element of fate or destiny is, however, not seen before this age in egyptian ideas; nor, indeed, would it seem at all in place with the simple, easygoing, joyous life of the early days. it belongs to an age when ideals possess the mind, when man struggles against his circumstances, when he wills to be different from what he is. dedi or the shipwrecked sailor think nothing about fate, but live day by day as life comes to them. there is here, then, a new element, that of striving and of unrest, quite foreign to the old egyptian mind. the age of this tale is shown plainly in the incidents. the prince goes to the chief of naharaina, a land probably unknown to the egyptians until the asiatic conquests of the xviiith dynasty had led them to the upper waters of the euphrates. in earlier days sanehat fled to the frontier at the wady tumilat, and was quite lost to egypt when he settled in the south of palestine. but when the doomed prince goes out of egypt he goes to the chief of naharaina, as the frontier state. this stamps the tale as subsequent to the wars of the tahutimes family, and reflects rather the peaceful intercourse of the great monarch amenhotep the third. if it belonged to the ramessides we should not hear of naharaina, which was quite lost to them, but rather of dapur (tabor) and kadesh, and of the hittites as the familiar frontier power. the hathors here appear as the fates, instead of the goddesses isis, nebhat, mes-khent, and hakt, of the old tale in the ivth dynasty (see first series, p. ); and we find in the next tale of anpu and bata, in the xixth dynasty, that the seven hathors decree the fate of the wife of bata. that hathor should be a name given to seven deities is not strange when we see that hathor was a generic name for a goddess. there was the hathor of foreign lands, such as punt or sinai; there was the hathor of home towns, as dendera or atfih; and hathor was as widely known, and yet as local, as the madonna. in short, to one of the races which composed the egyptian people hathor was the term for any goddess, or for a universal goddess to whom all others were assimilated. why and how this title "house of horus" should be so general is not obvious. the variety of fate here predicted is like the vagueness of the fate of bata's wife, by "a sharp death." it points to the hathors predicting as seers, rather than to their having the control of the future. it bears the stamp of the oracle of delphi, rather than that of a divine decree. in this these goddesses differ greatly from the parcae, whose ordinances not even zeus could withstand, as lucian lets us know in one of the most audacious and philosophical of the dialogues. the hathors seem rather to deal with what we should call luck than with fate: they see the nature of the close of life from its beginning, without either knowing or controlling its details. in this tale we meet for the first time the idea of inaccessible and mysterious buildings; and from the resort to this element or curiosity in describing both the prince and the princess, it appears as if it were then a new motive in story-telling, and had not lost its power. to modern ears it is, of course, done to death since the "castle of otranto"; though as a minor element it can still be gently used by the poet and novelist in a moated grange, a house in a marsh or a maze. another point of wonder, so well known in later times, is the large and mystic number of windows, like the windows attributed to great buildings of the present age. it would not be difficult from these papyrus tales to start an historical dictionary of the elements of fiction: a kind of analysis that should be the death of much of the venerable stock-in-trade. we see coming in here, more strongly than before, the use of emotions and the force of character. the generous friendship of the sons of the syrian chiefs; then the burst of passionate love from the chiefs daughter, which saves the prince's life twice over from her father, and guards him afterwards from his fates; again, the devotion of the prince to his favourite dog, in spite of all warnings--these show a reliance on personal emotion and feeling in creating the interest of the tale, quite different from the mere interest of incident which was employed earlier. the reason which the prince alleges for his leaving egypt is also a touch of nature, the wish of a mother to oust her stepson in order to make way for her own children, one of the deepest and most elemental feelings of feminine nature. the mighty man and the crocodile are difficult to understand, the more so as the tale breaks off in the midst of that part. it appears also as if there had been some inversion of the paragraphs; for, first, we read that the wife would not let the prince go alone, and one goes with him toward egypt, and the crocodile of the nile (apparently) is mentioned; then he is said to be sitting in his house with his wife; then he goes in the fields of his domain and meets the crocodile. it may be that a passage has dropped out, describing his wife's accompanying him to settle in egypt. but the mighty man--that is another puzzle. he binds a crocodile, and goes out while he is bound, but by night. the point of this is not clear. it may have been, however, that the mighty man went back to the house when the sun was high, that he might not lose his shadow. in arabia there was a belief that a hyena could deprive a man of speech and motion by stepping on his shadow--analogous to the belief in many other lands of the importance of preserving the shadow, and avoiding the shadowless hour of high noon (frazer, "golden bough," p. ). hence the strength of the mighty man, and his magic power over the crocodile, would perhaps depend on his not allowing his shadow to disappear. and though egypt is not quite tropical, yet shadows do practically vanish in the summer, the shadow of the thin branches of a tall palm appearing to radiate round its root without the stem casting any shade. the use of milk to entice serpents is still well known in egypt; and when a serpent appeared in some of my excavations in a pit, the men proposed to me to let down a saucer of milk to entice it out, that they might kill it. the close of the tale would have explained much that is now lost to us. the crocodile boasts of being the fate of the prince; but his dog is with him, and one can hardly doubt that the dog attacks the crocodile. there is also the mighty man to come in and manage the crocodile. then the dog is left to bring about the catastrophe. or does the faithful wife rescue him from all the fates? hardly so, as the prediction of the hathors comes strictly to pass in the tale of anpu and bata. let us hope that another copy may be found to give us the clue to the working of the egyptian mind in this situation. xixth dynasty anpu and bata. once there were two brethren, of one mother and one father; anpu was the name of the elder, and bata was the name of the younger. now, as for anpu he had a house, and he had a wife. but his little brother was to him as it were a son; he it was who made for him his clothes; he it was who followed behind his oxen to the fields; he it was who did the ploughing; he it was who harvested the corn; he it was who did for him all the matters that were in the field. behold, his younger brother grew to be an excellent worker, there was not his equal in the whole land; behold, the spirit of a god was in him. now after this the younger brother followed his oxen in his daily manner; and every evening he turned again to the house, laden with all the herbs of the field, with milk and with wood, and with all things of the field. and he put them down before his elder brother, who was sitting with his wife; and he drank and ate, and he lay down in his stable with the cattle. and at the dawn of day he took bread which he had baked, and laid it before his elder brother; and he took with him his bread to the field, and he drave his cattle to pasture in the fields. and as he walked behind his cattle, they said to him, "good is the herbage which is in that place;" and he listened to all that they said, and he took them to the good place which they desired. and the cattle which were before him became exceeding excellent, and they multiplied greatly. now at the time of ploughing his elder brother said unto him, "let us make ready for ourselves a goodly yoke of oxen for ploughing, for the land has come out from the water, it is fit for ploughing. moreover, do thou come to the field with corn, for we will begin the ploughing in the morrow morning." thus said he to him; and his younger brother did all things as his elder brother had spoken unto him to do them. and when the morn was come, they went to the fields with their things; and their hearts were pleased exceedingly with their task in the beginning of their work. and it came to pass after this that as they were in the field they stopped for corn, and he sent his younger brother, saying, "haste thou, bring to us corn from the farm." and the younger brother found the wife of his elder brother, as she was sitting tiring her hair. he said to her, "get up, and give to me corn, that i may run to the field, for my elder brother hastened me; do not delay." she said to him, "go, open the bin, and thou shalt take to thyself according to thy will, that i may not drop my locks of hair while i dress them." the youth went into the stable; he took a large measure, for he desired to take much corn; he loaded it with wheat and barley; and he went out carrying it. she said to him, "how much of the corn that is wanted, is that which is on thy shoulder?" he said to her, "three bushels of barley, and two of wheat, in all five; these are what are upon my shoulder:" thus said he to her. and she conversed with him, saying, "there is great strength in thee, for i see thy might every day." and her heart knew him with the knowledge of youth. and she arose and came to him, and conversed with him, saying, "come, stay with me, and it shall be well for thee, and i will make for thee beautiful garments." then the youth became like a panther of the south with fury at the evil speech which she had made to him; and she feared greatly. and he spake unto her, saying, "behold thou art to me as a mother, thy husband is to me as a father, for he who is elder than i has brought me up. what is this wickedness that thou hast said to me? say it not to me again. for i will not tell it to any man, for i will not let it be uttered by the mouth of any man." he lifted up his burden, and he went to the field and came to his elder brother; and they took up their work, to labour at their task. now afterward, at eventime, his elder brother was returning to his house; and the younger brother was following after his oxen, and he loaded himself with all the things of the field; and he brought his oxen before him, to make them lie down in their stable which was in the farm. and behold the wife of the elder brother was afraid for the words which she had said. she took a parcel of fat, she became like one who is evilly beaten, desiring to say to her husband, "it is thy younger brother who has done this wrong." her husband returned in the even, as was his wont of every day; he came unto his house; he found his wife ill of violence; she did not give him water upon his hands as he used to have, she did not make a light before him, his house was in darkness, and she was lying very sick. her husband said to her, "who has spoken with thee?" behold she said, "no one has spoken with me except thy younger brother. when he came to take for thee corn he found me sitting alone; he said to me, 'come, let us stay together, tie up thy hair:' thus spake he to me. i did not listen to him, but thus spake i to him: 'behold, am i not thy mother, is not thy elder brother to thee as a father?' and he feared, and he beat me to stop me from making report to thee, and if thou lettest him live i shall die. now behold he is coming in the evening; and i complain of these wicked words, for he would have done this even in daylight." and the elder brother became as a panther of the south; he sharpened his knife; he took it in his hand; he stood behind the door of his stable to slay his younger brother as he came in the evening to bring his cattle into the stable. now the sun went down, and he loaded himself with herbs in his daily manner. he came, and his foremost cow entered the stable, and she said to her keeper, "behold thou thy elder brother standing before thee with his knife to slay thee; flee from before him." he heard what his first cow had said; and the next entering, she also said likewise. he looked beneath the door of the stable; he saw the feet of his elder brother; he was standing behind the door, and his knife was in his hand. he cast down his load to the ground, and betook himself to flee swiftly; and his elder brother pursued after him with his knife. then the younger brother cried out unto ra harakhti, saying, "my good lord! thou art he who divides the evil from the good." and ra stood and heard all his cry; and ra made a wide water between him and his elder brother, and it was full of crocodiles; and the one brother was on one bank, and the other on the other bank; and the elder brother smote twice on his hands at not slaying him. thus did he. and the younger brother called to the elder on the bank, saying, "stand still until the dawn of day; and when ra ariseth, i shall judge with thee before him, and he discerneth between the good and the evil. for i shall not be with thee any more for ever; i shall not be in the place in which thou art; i shall go to the valley of the acacia." now when the land was lightened, and the next day appeared, ra harakhti arose, and one looked unto the other. and the youth spake with his elder brother, saying, "wherefore earnest thou after me to slay me in craftiness, when thou didst not hear the words of my mouth? for i am thy brother in truth, and thou art to me as a father, and thy wife even as a mother: is it not so? verily, when i was sent to bring for us corn, thy wife said to me, 'come, stay with me;' for behold this has been turned over unto thee into another wise." and he caused him to understand of all that happened with him and his wife. and he swore an oath by ra har-akhti, saying, "thy coming to slay me by deceit with thy knife was an abomination." then the youth took a knife, and cut off of his flesh, and cast it into the water, and the fish swallowed it. he failed; he became faint; and his elder brother cursed his own heart greatly; he stood weeping for him afar off; he knew not how to pass over to where his younger brother was, because of the crocodiles. and the younger brother called unto him, saying, "whereas thou hast devised an evil thing, wilt thou not also devise a good thing, even like that which i would do unto thee? when thou goest to thy house thou must look to thy cattle, for i shall not stay in the place where thou art; i am going to the valley of the acacia. and now as to what thou shalt do for me; it is even that thou shalt come to seek after me, if thou perceivest a matter, namely, that there are things happening unto me. and this is what shall come to pass, that i shall draw out my soul, and i shall put it upon the top of the flowers of the acacia, and when the acacia is cut down, and it falls to the ground, and thou comest to seek for it, if thou searchest for it seven years do not let thy heart be wearied. for thou wilt find it, and thou must put it in a cup of cold water, and expect that i shall live again, that i may make answer to what has been done wrong.. and thou shalt know of this, that is to say, that things are happening to me, when one shall give to thee a cup of beer in thy hand, and it shall be troubled; stay not then, for verily it shall come to pass with thee." and the youth went to the valley of the acacia; and his elder brother went unto his house; his hand was laid on his head, and he cast dust on his head; he came to his house, and he slew his wife, he cast her to the dogs, and he sat in mourning for his younger brother. now many days after these things, the younger brother was in the valley of the acacia; there was none with him; he spent his time in hunting the beasts of the desert, and he came back in the even to lie down under the acacia, which bore his soul upon the topmost flower. and after this he built himself a tower with his own hands, in the valley of the acacia; it was full of all good things, that he might provide for himself a home. and he went out from his tower, and he met the nine gods, who were walking forth to look upon the whole land. the nine gods talked one with another, and they said unto him, "ho! bata, bull of the nine gods, art thou remaining alone? thou hast left thy village for the wife of anpu, thy elder brother. behold his wife is slain. thou hast given him an answer to all that was transgressed against thee." and their hearts were vexed for him exceedingly. and ra harakhti said to khnumu, "behold, frame thou a woman for bata, that he may not remain alive alone." and khnumu made for him a mate to dwell with him. she was more beautiful in her limbs than any woman who is in the whole land. the essence of every god was in her. the seven hathors came to see her: they said with one mouth, "she will die a sharp death." and bata loved her very exceedingly, and she dwelt in his house; he passed his time in hunting the beasts of the desert, and brought and laid them before her. he said, "go not outside, lest the sea seize thee; for i cannot rescue thee from it, for i am a woman like thee; my soul is placed on the head of the flower of the acacia; and if another find it, i must fight with him." and he opened unto her his heart in all its nature. now after these things bata went to hunt in his daily manner. and the young girl went to walk under the acacia which was by the side of her house. then the sea saw her, and cast its waves up after her. she betook herself to flee from before it. she entered her house. and the sea called unto the acacia, saying, "oh, would that i could seize her!" and the acacia brought a lock from her hair, and the sea carried it to egypt, and dropped it in the place of the fullers of pharaoh's linen. the smell of the lock of hair entered into the clothes of pharaoh; and they were wroth with the fullers of pharaoh, saying, "the smell of ointment is in the clothes of pharaoh." and the people were rebuked every day, they knew not what they should do. and the chief fuller of pharaoh walked by the bank, and his heart was very evil within him after the daily quarrel with him. he stood still, he stood upon the sand opposite to the lock of hair, which was in the water, and he made one enter into the water and bring it to him; and there was found in it a smell, exceeding sweet. he took it to pharaoh; and they brought the scribes and the wise men, and they said unto pharaoh, "this lock of hair belongs to a daughter of ra harakhti: the essence of every god is in her, and it is a tribute to thee from another land. let messengers go to every strange land to seek her: and as for the messenger who shall go to the valley of the acacia, let many men go with him to bring her." then said his majesty, "excellent exceedingly is what has been said to us;" and they sent them. and many days after these things the people who were sent to strange lands came to give report unto the king: but there came not those who went to the valley of the acacia, for bata had slain them, but let one of them return to give a report to the king. his majesty sent many men and soldiers, as well as horsemen, to bring her back. and there was a woman amongst them, and to her had been given in her hand beautiful ornaments of a woman. and the girl came back with her, and they rejoiced over her in the whole land. and his majesty loved her exceedingly, and raised her to high estate; and he spake unto her that she should tell him concerning her husband. and she said, "let the acacia be cut down, and let one chop it up." and they sent men and soldiers with their weapons to cut down the acacia; and they came to the acacia, and they cut the flower upon which was the soul of bata, and he fell dead suddenly. and when the next day came, and the earth was lightened, the acacia was cut down. and anpu, the elder brother of bata, entered his house, and washed his hands; and one gave him a cup of beer, and it became troubled; and one gave him another of wine, and the smell of it was evil. then he took his staff, and his sandals, and likewise his clothes, with his weapons of war; and he betook himself forth to the valley of the acacia. he entered the tower of his younger brother, and he found him lying upon his mat; he was dead. and he wept when he saw his younger brother verily lying dead. and he went out to seek the soul of his younger brother under the acacia tree, under which his younger brother lay in the evening. he spent three years in seeking for it, but found it not. and when he began the fourth year, he desired in his heart to return into egypt; he said "i will go to-morrow morn:" thus spake he in his heart. now when the land lightened, and the next day appeared, he was walking under the acacia; he was spending his time in seeking it. and he returned in the evening, and laboured at seeking it again. he found a seed. he returned with it. behold this was the soul of his younger brother. he brought a cup of cold water, and he cast the seed into it: and he sat down, as he was wont. now when the night came his soul sucked up the water; bata shuddered in all his limbs, and he looked on his elder brother; his soul was in the cup. then anpu took the cup of cold water, in which the soul of his younger brother was; bata drank it, his soul stood again in its place, and he became as he had been. they embraced each other, and they conversed together. and bata said to his elder brother, "behold i am to become as a great bull, which bears every good mark; no one knoweth its history, and thou must sit upon my back. when the sun arises i shall be in the place where my wife is, that i may return answer to her; and thou must take me to the place where the king is. for all good things shall be done for thee; for one shall lade thee with silver and gold, because thou bringest me to pharaoh, for i become a great marvel, and they shall rejoice for me in all the land. and thou shalt go to thy village." and when the land was lightened, and the next day appeared, bata became in the form which he had told to his elder brother. and anpu sat upon his back until the dawn. he came to the place where the king was, and they made his majesty to know of him; he saw him, and he was exceeding joyful with him. he made for him great offerings, saying, "this is a great wonder which has come to pass." there were rejoicings over him in the whole land. they presented unto him silver and gold for his elder brother, who went and stayed in his village. they gave to the bull many men and many things, and pharaoh loved him exceedingly above all that is in this land. and after many days after these things, the bull entered the purified place; he stood in the place where the princess was; he began to speak with her, saying, "behold, i am alive indeed." and she said to him, "and, pray, who art thou?" he said to her, "i am bata. i perceived when thou causedst that they should destroy the acacia of pharaoh, which was my abode, that i might not be suffered to live. behold, i am alive indeed, i am as an ox." then the princess feared exceedingly for the words that her husband had spoken to her. and he went out from the purified place. and his majesty was sitting, making a good day with her: she was at the table of his majesty, and the king was exceeding pleased with her. and she said to his majesty, "swear to me by god, saying, 'what thou shalt say, i will obey it for thy sake.'" he hearkened unto all that she said, even this. "let me eat of the liver of the ox, because he is fit for nought:" thus spake she to him. and the king was exceeding sad at her words, the heart of pharaoh grieved him greatly. and after the land was lightened, and the next day appeared, they proclaimed a great feast with offerings to the ox. and the king sent one of the chief butchers of his majesty, to cause the ox to be sacrificed. and when he was sacrificed, as he was upon the shoulders of the people, he shook his neck, and he threw two drops of blood over against the two doors of his majesty. the one fell upon the one side, on the great door of pharaoh, and the other upon the other door. they grew as two great persea trees, and each of them was excellent. and one went to tell unto his majesty, "two great persea trees have grown, as a great marvel of his majesty, in the night by the side of the great gate of his majesty." and there was rejoicing for them in all the land, and there were offerings made to them. and when the days were multiplied after these things, his majesty was adorned with the blue crown, with garlands of flowers on his neck, and he was upon the chariot of pale gold, and he went out from the palace to behold the persea trees: the princess also was going out with horses behind his majesty. and his majesty sat beneath one of the persea trees, and it spake thus with his wife: "oh thou deceitful one, i am bata, i am alive, though i have been evilly entreated. i knew who caused the acacia to be cut down by pharaoh at my dwelling. i then became an ox, and thou causedst that i should be killed." and many days after these things the princess stood at the table of pharaoh, and the king was pleased with her. and she said to his majesty, "swear to me by god, saying, 'that which the princess shall say to me i will obey it for her.'" and he hearkened unto all she said. and he commanded, "let these two persea trees be cut down, and let them be made into goodly planks." and he hearkened unto all she said. and after this his majesty sent skilful craftsmen, and they cut down the persea trees of pharaoh; and the princess, the royal wife, was standing looking on, and they did all that was in her heart unto the trees. but a chip flew up, and it entered into the mouth of the princess; she swallowed it, and after many days she bore a son. and one went to tell his majesty, "there is born to thee a son." and they brought him, and gave to him a nurse and servants; and there were rejoicings in the whole land. and the king sat making a merry day, as they were about the naming of him, and his majesty loved him exceedingly at that moment, and the king raised him to be the royal son of kush. now after the days had multiplied after these things, his majesty made him heir of all the land. and many days after that, when he had fulfilled many years as heir, his majesty flew up to heaven. and the heir said, "let my great nobles of his majesty be brought before me, that i may make them to know all that has happened to me." and they brought also before him his wife, and he judged with her before him, and they agreed with him. they brought to him his elder brother; he made him hereditary prince in all his land. he was thirty years king of egypt, and he died, and his elder brother stood in his place on the day of burial. _excellently finished in peace, for the_ ka _of the scribe of the treasury kagabu, of the treasury of pharaoh, and for the scribe hora, and the scribe meremapt. written by the scribe anena, the owner of this roll. he who speaks against this roll, may tahuti smite him._ remarks this tale, which is perhaps, of all this series, the best known in modern times, has often been published. it exists only in one papyrus, that of madame d'orbiney, purchased by the british museum in . the papyrus had belonged to sety ii. when crown prince, and hence is of the xixth dynasty. most of the great scholars of this age have worked at it: __de rouge, goodwin, renouf, chabas, brugsch, ebers, maspero, and groff have all made original studies on it. the present translation is, however, a fresh one made by mr. griffith word for word, and shaped as little as possible by myself in editing it. the copy followed is the publication by birch in "select papyri," part ii. pls. ix. to xix. before considering the details of the story, we should notice an important question about its age and composition. that it is as old as the xixth dynasty in its present form is certain from the papyrus; but probably parts of it are older. the idyllic beauty of the opening of it, with the simplicity and directness of the ideas, and the absence of any impossible or marvellous feature, is in the strongest opposition to the latter part, where marvel is piled on marvel in pointless profusion. in the first few pages there is not a word superfluous or an idea out of place in drawing the picture. that we have to do with an older story lengthened out by some inartistic compiler, seems only too probable. and this is borne out by the colophon. in the tales of the shipwrecked sailor, and of sanehat, the colophon runs--"this is finished from beginning to end, even as it was found in the writing," and the earlier of these two tales follows this with a blessing on the transcriber. but, apparently conscious of his meddling, the author of anpu and bata ends with a curse: "written by the scribe anena, the owner of this roll. he who speaks against this roll, may tahuti smite him." this points to a part of it at least being newly composed in ramesside times; while the delicate beauty of the opening is not only far better than the latter part, but is out of harmony with the forced and artificial taste of the xixth dynasty. at the same time, the careful drawing of character is hardly akin to the simple, matter-of-fact style of sanehat, and seems more in keeping with the emotional style of the doomed prince. if we attribute the earlier part to the opening of the xviiith dynasty--the age of the pastoral scenes of the tombs of el kab, which are the latest instances of such sculptures in egypt--we shall probably be nearest to the truth. the description of bata is one of the most beautiful character-drawings in the past. the self-denial and sweet innocence of the lad, his sympathy with his cattle, "listening to all that they said," and allowing them their natural wishes and ways, is touchingly expressed. and those who know egypt will know that bata still lives there--several batas i have known myself. his sweetness of manner, his devotion, his untiringly earnest work, his modesty, his quietness, makes bata to be one of the most charming friends. bata i have met in many places, bata i have loved as one of the flowers of human nature, and bata i hope often to meet again in divers forms and varied incarnations among the _fellah_ lads of egypt. the touches of description of bata are slight, and yet so pointed. his growing to be an excellent worker; his return at evening laden with all the produce, just as may be seen now any evening as the lads come in bearing on their backs large bundles of vegetables for the house, and of fodder for the home-driven cattle; his sleeping with his cattle in the stable; his zeal in rising before dawn to make the daily bread for his brother, ready to give him when he arose; and then his driving out the cattle to pasture--all contrasts with his elder brother's life of ease. the making of the bread was rightly the duty of anpu's wife; she ought to have risen to grind the corn long before dawn, as the millstones may now be heard grinding in the dark, morning by morning; she ought to have baked the bread ready for the toiler who spent his whole day in the field. but it was the ever-willing bata who did the work of the house as well as the work of the farm. "behold the spirit of a god was in him." the driving in of the cattle at night is still a particular feature of egyptian life. about an hour before sunset the tether ropes are drawn in the fields, and the cattle file off, with a little child for a leader--if any; the master gathers up the produce that is required, some buffalo is laden with a heap of clover, or a lad carries it on his back, for the evening feed of the cattle, and all troop along the path through the fields and by the canal. for two or three miles the road becomes more and more crowded with the flocks driven into it from every field, a long haze of dust lies glowing in the crimson glory of sunset over the stream of cows and buffaloes, sheep and goats, that pour into the village. each beast well knows his master and his crib, and turns in at the familiar gate to the stable under the house, or by the side of the hut; and there all spend the night. not a hoof is left out in the field; the last belated stragglers come in while the gleam of amber still edges the night-blue sky behind the black horizon. then the silent fields lie under the brightening moon, glittering with dew, untrodden and deserted. it is not cold or climate that leads men to this custom, but the unsafety of a country bordered by unseen deserts, whence untold men may suddenly appear and ravage all the plain. the ploughing scene next follows, on "the land coming out from the water"; as the inundation goes down the well-known banks and ridges appear, "the back-bones of the land," as they were so naturally called; and when the surface is firm enough to walk on--with many a pool and ditch still full--the ploughing begins on the soft dark clay. the catastrophe of the story--the black gulf of deceit that suddenly opens under bata's feet--has always been seen to be strikingly like the story of joseph. and--as we have noticed--there is good reason for the early part of this tale belonging to about the beginning of the xviiith dynasty, so it is very closely allied in time as well as character to the account of joseph. in this part again is one of those pointed touches, which show the power of the poet--for a poem in prose this is--"her heart knew him with the knowledge of youth." on reaching the mistaken revenge of anpu, we see the sympathy of bata with his cattle, and his way of reading their feelings, returned to him most fittingly by the cows perceiving the presence of the treachery. "he heard what his first cow had said; and the next entering she also said likewise." after this we find a change; instead of the simple and natural narrative, full of human feeling, and without a touch of impossibility, every subsequent episode involves the supernatural; ra creating a wide water, the extraction of the soul of bata, his miraculous wife, and all the transformations--these have nothing in common with the style or ideas of the earlier tale. whence this later tangle came, and how much of it is drawn from other sources, we can hardly hope to explain from the fragments of literature that we have. but strangely there is a parallel which is close enough to suggest that the patchwork is due to popular mythology. in the myths of phrygia we meet with atys or attis, of whom varying legends are told. among these we glean that he was a shepherd, beautiful and chaste; that he fled from corruption; that he mutilated himself; lastly he died under a tree, and afterwards was revived. all this is a duplicate of the story of bata. and looking further, we see parallels to the three subsequent transformations. drops of blood were shed from the atys-priest; and bata, in his first transformation as a bull, sprinkles two drops of blood by the doors of the palace. again, atys is identified with a tree, which was cut down and taken into a sanctuary; and bata in his second transformation is a persea tree which is cut down and used in building. lastly, the mother of atys is said to have been a virgin, who bore him from placing in her bosom a ripe almond or pomegranate; and in his third transformation bata is born from a chip of a tree being swallowed by the princess. these resemblances in nearly all the main points are too close and continuous to be a mere chance, especially as such incidents are not found in any other egyptian tale, nor in few--if any--other classical myths. it is not impossible that the names even may have been the same; for bata, as we write it, was pronounced vata (or vatiu or vitiou, as others would vocalise it), and the digamma would disappear in the later greek form in which we have atys. the most likely course seems to have been that, starting with a simple egyptian tale, the resemblance to the shepherd of the asiatic myth, led to a ramesside author improving the story by tacking on the branches of the myth one after another, and borrowing the name. if this be granted, we have here in bata the earliest indications of the elements of the atys mysteries, a thousand years before the greek versions. returning now from the general structure to the separate incidents, we note the expression of annoyance where the elder brother "smote twice on his hands." this gesture is very common in egypt now, the two hands being rapidly slid one past the other, palm to palm, vertically, grating the fingers of one hand over the other; the right hand moving downwards, and the left a little up. this implies that there is nothing, that a thing is worthless, that a desired result has not been attained, or annoyance at want of success; but the latter meanings are now rare, and more latent than otherwise, and this tale points to the gesture being originally one of positive anger, though it has been transferred gradually to express mere negative results. the valley of the acacia would appear from the indications to have been by the sea, and probably in syria; perhaps one of the half-desert wadis toward gaza was in the writer's mind. the idea of bata taking out his heart, and placing it on the flower of a tree, has seemed hopelessly unintelligible. but it depends on what we are to understand by the heart in egyptian. two words are well known for it, _hati_ and _ah;_ and as it is unlikely that these should be mere synonyms, we have a presumption that one of them does not mean the physical heart, but rather the mental heart. we are accustomed to the same mixture of thought; and far the more common usage in english is not to employ the name to express the physical heart, but for the will, as when we say "good-hearted";--for the spring of action, "broken-hearted ";--for the feelings, "hard-hearted";--for the passions, "an affair of the heart";--or for the vigour, as when a man in nature or in act is "hearty" the egyptian, with his metaphysical mind, took two different words where we only use one; and when we read of placing the heart _(hati)_ out of a man, we are led at once by the analogy of beliefs in other races to understand this as the vitality or soul. in the "golden bough" mr. frazer has explained this part of natural metaphysics; and in this, and the following points, i freely quote from that work as a convenient text-book. the soul or vitality of a man is thought of as separable from the body at will, and therefore communicable to other objects or positions. in those positions it cannot be harmed by what happens to the body, which is therefore deathless for the time. but if the external seat of the soul be attacked or destroyed, the man immediately dies. this is illustrated from the norse, saxons, celts, italians, greeks, kabyles, arabs, hindus, malays, mongolians, tartars, magyars, and slavonians. it may well, then, be considered as a piece of inherent psychology: and following this interpretation, i have rendered "heart" in this sense "soul" in the translation. the nine gods who meet bata are one of the great cycles of divinities, which were differently reckoned in various places. khnumu is always the formative god, who makes man upon the potter's wheel, as in the scene in the temple of luqsor. and even in natural birth it was khnumu who "gave strength to the limbs," as in the earlier "tales of the magicians." the character of the wife of bata is a very curious study. the total absence of the affections in her was probably designed as in accord with her non-natural formation, as she could not inherit aught from human parents. ambition appears as the only emotion of this being; her attacks on the transformations of bata are not due to dislike, but only to fear that he should claim her removal from her high station; she "feared exceedingly for the words that her husband had spoken to her." her lilith nature is incapable of any craving but that for power. the action here of the seven hathors we have noticed in the remarks on the previous tale of the doomed prince. the episode of the sea is very strange; and if we need find some rationalising account of it, we might suppose it to be a mythical form of a raid of pirates, who, not catching the woman, carried off something of hers, which proved an object of contention in egypt. but such renderings are unlikely, and we may the rather expect to find some explanation in a mythological parallel. the carrying of the lock of hair to pharaoh, and his proclaiming a search for the owner, is plainly an early form of the story of the little slipper, whose owner is sought by the king. the point that she could not be caught except by setting another woman to tempt her with ornaments, anticipates the modern novelist's saying, "set a woman to catch a woman." the sudden death of bata, so soon as the depository of his soul was destroyed, is a usual feature in such tales about souls. but it is only in the indian forms quoted by mr. frazer that there is any revival of the dead; and in no case is there any transformation like that of bata. perhaps none but an egyptian or a chinese would have credited anpu with wandering up and down for four years seeking the lost soul. but the idea of returning the soul in water to the man is found as a magic process in north america ("golden bough," i. ). the first transformation of bata, into a bull, is clearly drawn from the apis bull of memphis. the rejoicings at discovering a real successor of apis are here, the rejoicings over bata, who is the apis bull, distinguished as he says by "bearing every good mark." these marks on the back and other parts were the tokens of the true apis, who was sought for anxiously through the country on the death of the sacred animal who had lived in the sanctuary. the man who, like anpu, brought up a true apis to the temple would receive great rewards and honours. the scene where the princess demands the grant of a favour is repeated over again by esther at her banquet, and by the daughter of herodias. it is the oriental way of doing business. but the curious incongruity of making a great feast with offerings to the ox before sacrificing it, appears inexplicable until we note the habits of other peoples in slaying their sacred animals at certain intervals. this tale shows us what is stated by greek authors, that the egyptians slew the sacred apis at stated times, or when a new one was discovered with the right marks. the annual sacrifice of a sacred ram at thebes shows that the egyptians were familiar with such an idea. and though it was considered by the writer of this tale as a monstrous act, yet the offerings and festivity which accompanied it are in accordance with the strange fact found by mariette, that in the three undisturbed apis burials which he discovered there were only fragments of bone, and in one case a head, carefully embalmed with bitumen and magnificent offerings of jewellery. the divine apis was eaten as a sacred feast. the reason that the princess desires the liver is strangely explained by a present belief on the upper nile. the darfuris think that the liver is the seat of the soul ("golden bough," ii. ); and hence if she ate the liver she would destroy the soul of bata, or prevent it entering any other incarnation. the next detail is also curiously significant. if a bull was being sacrificed we should naturally suppose the blood would flow, and that a few drops would not be noticed. here, however, two drops are said to fall, and this was when the bull "was upon the shoulders of the people." now it is a very general idea that blood must not be allowed to fall upon the ground; the eastern and southern africans will not shed the blood of cattle ("golden bough," i. ); and strangely the australians avoid the falling of blood to the ground by placing the bleeding persons upon the shoulders of other men. this parallel is so close to the egyptian tale that it seems as if the bull was borne "on the shoulders of the people," that his blood should not fall to the ground; yet in spite of this precaution "he shook his neck, and he threw two drops of blood over against the doors of his majesty." in these drops of blood was the soul of bata, in spite of the princess having eaten his liver; and we know how among jews, arabs, and other peoples, the blood is regarded as the vehicle of the soul or life. the evidence of tree worship is plainer here than perhaps in any other passage of egyptian literature. the people rejoice for the two persea trees, "and there were offerings made to them." the blue crown worn by the king was the war cap of leather covered with scales of copper: it is often found made in dark blue glaze for statuettes, and it seems probable that the copper was superficially sulphurised to tint it. such head-dress was usually worn by kings when riding in their chariots. the pale gold or electrum here mentioned was the general material for decorating the royal chariot. the miraculous birth of bata in his third transformation is, as we have noticed, closely paralleled by the birth of atys from the almond. the idea at the root of this is that of self-creation or self-existence, as in the usual egyptian phrase, "bull of his mother." the king flying up to heaven is a regular expression for his death: "the hawk has soared," "the follower of the god has met his maker," so sanehat describes it (see ist series, pp. , ). this hawk-form of the king may be connected with the hawk bearing the double crown which is perched on the top of the _ka_ name of each king. that hawk is not horus, nor even the king deified as horus, because the emblem of life is given to it by other gods (as by set on a lintel of xviiith dynasty from nubt), and therefore the hawk is the human king who could perish, and not an immortal divinity. further, this hawk-king is always perched on the top of the drawing of the doorway to the sepulchre which bears the _ka_ name of the king; and when we see the drawings of the _ba_ bird or soul flying down the well to the sepulchre, it appears as if the hawk were the royal _ba_ bird (ordinary men having a _ba_ bird with a human head); and that the well-known first title of each king represents the royal soul or _ba_ bird perched on the door of the sepulchre, resting on his way to and from the visit to the corpse below. the soul or _ba_ of the king at his death thus flew away as a hawk to meet the sun. the veil drawn over the fate of the inhuman princess is well conceived. that she should die a sharp death has been foretold; but how bata should slay the divine creation--his wife--his mother--is a matter that the scribe reserves in silence; we only read that "he judged with her before him, and the great nobles agreed with him." that judgment is best left among the things unwritten. the strange manner in which we can see incident after incident in the latter part of the tale, each to refer to some ceremony or belief, even imperfect as our knowledge of such must be, and the evidence that the whole being of bata is a transference of the myth of atys, must lead us to look on this, the marvellous portion, as woven out of a group of myths, ceremonies, and beliefs which were joined and explained by the formation of such a tale. how far it is due to purely egyptian ideas, indicated by the apis bull and the analogies in present african beliefs, and how far it is asiatic and belonging to atys, it would be premature to decide. but from the weird confusion and mystery of these transformations, we turn back with renewed pleasure to the simple and sweet picture of peasant life, and the beauty of bata, and we see how true a poet the egyptian was in feeling and in expression. xixth dynasty, ptolemaic writing setna and the magic book the mighty king user-maat-ra (ra-meses the great) had a son named setna kha-em-uast who was a great scribe, and very learned in all the ancient writings. and he heard that the magic book of thoth, by which a man may enchant heaven and earth, and know the language of all birds and beasts, was buried in the cemetery of memphis. and he went to search for it with his brother an-he-hor-eru; and when they found the tomb of the king's son, na-nefer-ka-ptah, son of the king of upper and lower egypt, mer-neb-ptah, setna opened it and went in. now in the tomb was na-nefer-ka-ptah, and with him was the _ka_ of his wife ahura; for though she was buried at koptos, her _ka_ dwelt at memphis with her husband, whom she loved. and setna saw them seated before their offerings, and the book lay between them. and na-nefer-ka-ptah said to setna, "who are you that break into my tomb in this way?" he said, "i am setna, son of the great king user-maat-ra, living for ever, and i come for that book which i see between you." and na-nefer-ka-ptah said, "it cannot be given to you." then said setna, "but i will carry it away by force." then ahura said to setna, "do not take this book; for it will bring trouble on you, as it has upon us. listen to what we have suffered for it." "we were the two children of the king mer-neb-ptah, and he loved us very much, for he had no others; and na-nefer-ka-ptah was in his palace as heir over all the land. and when we were grown, the king said to the queen, 'i will marry na-nefer-ka-ptah to the daughter of a general, and ahura to the son of another general.' and the queen said, 'no, he is the heir, let him marry his sister, like the heir of a king, none other is fit for him.' and the king said, 'that is not fair; they had better be married to the children of the general.' "and the queen said, 'it is you who are not dealing rightly with me.' and the king answered, 'if i have no more than these two children, is it right that they should marry one another? i will marry na-nefer-ka-ptah to the daughter of an officer, and ahura to the son of another officer. it has often been done so in our family.' "and at a time when there was a great feast before the king, they came to fetch me to the feast. and i was very troubled, and did not behave as i used to do. and the king said to me, 'ahura, have you sent some one to me about this sorry matter, saying, "let me be married to my elder brother"? 'i said to him, 'well, let me marry the son of an officer, and he marry the daughter of another officer, as it often happens so in our family.' i laughed, and the king laughed. and the king told the steward of the palace, 'let them take ahura to the house of na-nefer-ka-ptah to-night, and all kinds of good things with her.' so they brought me as a wife to the house of na-nefer-ka-ptah; and the king ordered them to give me presents of silver and gold, and things from the palace. "and na-nefer-ka-ptah passed a happy time with me, and received all the presents from the palace; and we loved one another. and when i expected a child, they told the king, and he was most heartily glad; and he sent me many things, and a present of the best silver and gold and linen. and when the time came, i bore this little child that is before you. and they gave him the name of mer-ab, and registered him in the book of the 'house of life.' "and when my brother na-nefer-ka-ptah went to the cemetery of memphis, he did nothing on earth but read the writings that are in the catacombs of the kings, and the tablets of the 'house of life,' and the inscriptions that are seen on the monuments, and he worked hard on the writings. and there was a priest there called nesi-ptah; and as na-nefer-ka-ptah went into a temple to pray, it happened that he went behind this priest, and was reading the inscriptions that were on the chapels of the gods. and the priest mocked him and laughed. so na-nefer-ka-ptah said to him, 'why are you laughing at me?' and he replied, 'i was not laughing at you, or if i happened to do so, it was at your reading writings that are worthless. if you wish so much to read writings, come to me, and i will bring you to the place where the book is which thoth himself wrote with his own hand, and which will bring you to the gods. when you read but two pages in this you will enchant the heaven, the earth, the abyss, the mountains, and the sea; you shall know what the birds of the sky and the crawling things are saying; you shall see the fishes of the deep, for a divine power is there to bring them up out of the depth. and when you read the second page, if you are in the world of ghosts, you will become again in the shape you were in on earth. you will see the sun shining in the sky, with all the gods, and the full moon.' "and na-nefer-ka-ptah said, 'by the life of the king! tell me of anything you want done and i'll do it for you, if you will only send me where this book is.' and the priest answered na-nefer-ka-ptah, 'if you want to go to the place where the book is, you must give me a hundred pieces of silver for my funeral, and provide that they shall bury me as a rich priest.' so na-nefer-ka-ptah called his lad and told him to give the priest a hundred pieces of silver; and he made them do as he wished, even everything that he asked for. then the priest said to na-nefer-ka-ptah, 'this book is in the middle of the river at koptos, in an iron box; in the iron box is a bronze box; in the bronze box is a sycamore box; in the sycamore box is an ivory and ebony box; in the ivory and ebony box is a silver box; in the silver box is a golden box, and in that is the book. it is twisted all round with snakes and scorpions and all the other crawling things around the box in which the book is; and there is a deathless snake by the box.' and when the priest told na-nefer-ka-ptah, he did not know where on earth he was, he was so much delighted. "and when he came from the temple he told me all that had happened to him. and he said, 'i shall go to koptos, for i must fetch this book; i will not stay any longer in the north.' and i said, 'let me dissuade you, for you prepare sorrow and you will bring me into trouble in the thebaid.' and i laid my hand on na-nefer-ka-ptah, to keep him from going to koptos, but he would not listen to me; and he went to the king, and told the king all that the priest had said. the king asked him, 'what is it that you want?' and he replied, 'let them give me the royal boat with its belongings, for i will go to the south with ahura and her little boy mer-ab, and fetch this book without delay.' so they gave him the royal boat with its belongings, and we went with him to the haven, and sailed from there up to koptos. "then the priests of isis of koptos, and the high priest of isis, came down to us without waiting, to meet na-nefer-ka-ptah, and their wives also came to me. we went into the temple of isis and harpokrates; and na-nefer-ka-ptah brought an ox, a goose, and some wine, and made a burnt-offering and a drink-offering before isis of koptos and harpokrates. they brought us to a very fine house, with all good things; and na-nefer-ka-ptah spent four days there and feasted with the priests of isis of koptos, and the wives of the priests of isis also made holiday with me. "and the morning of the fifth day came; and na-nefer-ka-ptah called a priest to him, and made a magic cabin that was full of men and tackle. he put the spell upon it, and put life in it, and gave them breath, and sank it in the water. he filled the royal boat with sand, and took leave of me, and sailed from the haven: and i sat by the river at koptos that i might see what would become of him. and he said, 'workmen, work for me, even at the place where the book is.' and they toiled by night and by day; and when they had reached it in three days, he threw the sand out, and made a shoal in the river. and then he found on it entwined serpents and scorpions and all kinds of crawling things around the box in which the book was; and by it he found a deathless snake around the box. and he laid the spell upon the entwined serpents and scorpions and all kinds of crawling things which were around the box, that they should not come out. and he went to the deathless snake, and fought with him, and killed him; but he came to life again, and took a new form. he then fought again with him a second time; but he came to life again, and took a third form. he then cut him in two parts, and put sand between the parts, that he should not appear again. "na-nefer-ka-ptah then went to the place where he found the box. he uncovered a box of iron, and opened it; he found then a box of bronze, and opened that; then he found a box of sycamore wood, and opened that; again, he found a box of ivory and ebony, and opened that; yet, he found a box of silver, and opened that; and then he found a box of gold; he opened that, and found the book in it. he took the book from the golden box, and read a page of spells from it. he enchanted the heaven and the earth, the abyss, the mountains, and the sea; he knew what the birds of the sky, the fish of the deep, and the beasts of the hills all said. he read another page of the spells, and saw the sun shining in the sky, with all the gods, the full moon, and the stars in their shapes; he saw the fishes of the deep, for a divine power was present that brought them up from the water. he then read the spell upon the workmen that he had made, and taken from the haven, and said to them, 'work for me, back to the place from which i came.' and they toiled night and day, and so he came back to the place where i sat by the river of koptos; i had not drunk nor eaten anything, and had done nothing on earth, but sat like one who is gone to the grave. "i then told na-nefer-ka-ptah that i wished to see this book, for which we had taken so much trouble. he gave the book into my hands; and when i read a page of the spells in it i also enchanted heaven and earth, the abyss, the mountains, and the sea; i also knew what the birds of the sky, the fishes of the deep, and the beasts of the hills all said. i read another page of the spells, and i saw the sun shining in the sky with all the gods, the full moon, and the stars in their shapes; i saw the fishes of the deep, for a divine power was present that brought them up from the water. as i could not write, i asked na-nefer-ka-ptah, who was a good writer, and a very learned one; he called for a new piece of papyrus, and wrote on it all that was in the book before him. he dipped it in beer, and washed it off in the liquid; for he knew that if it were washed off, and he drank it, he would know all that there was in the writing. "we returned back to koptos the same day, and made a feast before isis of koptos and harpokrates. we then went to the haven and sailed, and went northward of koptos. and as we went on thoth discovered all that na-nefer-ka-ptah had done with the book; and thoth hastened to tell ra, and said, 'now know that my book and my revelation are with na-nefer-ka-ptah, son of the king mer-neb-ptah. he has forced himself into my place, and robbed it, and seized my box with the writings, and killed my guards who protected it.' and ra replied to him, 'he is before you, take him and all his kin.'he sent a power from heaven with the command, 'do not let na-nefer-ka-ptah return safe to memphis with all his kin.' and after this hour, the little boy mer-ab, going out from the awning of the royal boat, fell into the river: he called on ra, and everybody who was on the bank raised a cry. na-nefer-ka-ptah went out of the cabin, and read the spell over him; he brought his body up because a divine power brought him to the surface. he read another spell over him, and made him tell of all what happened to him, and of what thoth had said before ra. "we turned back with him to koptos. we brought him to the good house, we fetched the people to him, and made one embalm him; and we buried him in his coffin in the cemetery of koptos like a great and noble person. "and na-nefer-ka-ptah, my brother, said, 'let us go down, let us not delay, for the king has not yet heard of what has happened to him, and his heart will be sad about it.' so we went to the haven, we sailed, and did not stay to the north of koptos. when we were come to the place where the little boy mer-ab had fallen in the water, i went out from the awning of the royal boat, and i fell into the river. they called na-nefer-ka-ptah, and he came out from the cabin of the royal boat; he read a spell over me, and brought my body up, because a divine power brought me to the surface. he drew me out, and read the spell over me, and made me tell him of all that had happened to me, and of what thoth had said before ra. then he turned back with me to koptos, he brought me to the good house, he fetched the people to me, and made one embalm me, as great and noble people are buried, and laid me in the tomb where mer-ab my young child was. "he turned to the haven, and sailed down, and delayed not in the north of koptos. when he was come to the place where we fell into the river, he said to his heart, 'shall i not better turn back again to koptos, that i may lie by them? for, if not, when i go down to memphis, and the king asks after his children, what shall i say to him? can i tell him, "i have taken your children to the thebaid, and killed them, while i remained alive, and i have come to memphis still alive"?' then he made them bring him a linen cloth of striped byssus; he made a band, and bound the book firmly, and tied it upon him. na-nefer-ka-ptah then went out of the awning of the royal boat and fell into the river. he cried on ra; and all those who were on the bank made an outcry, saying, 'great woe! sad woe! is he lost, that good scribe and able man that has no equal?' "the royal boat went on, without any one on earth knowing where na-nefer-ka-ptah was. it went on to memphis, and they told all this to the king. then the king went down to the royal boat in mourning, and all the soldiers and high priests and priests of ptah were in mourning, and all the officials and courtiers. and when he saw na-nefer-ka-ptah, who was in the inner cabin of the royal boat--from his rank of high scribe--he lifted him up. and they saw the book by him; and the king said, 'let one hide this book that is with him.' and the officers of the king, the priests of ptah, and the high priest of ptah, said to the king, 'our lord, may the king live as long as the sun! na-nefer-ka-ptah was a good scribe, and a very skilful man.' and the king had him laid in his good house to the sixteenth day, and then had him wrapped to the thirty-fifth day, and laid him out to the seventieth day, and then had him put in his grave in his resting-place. "i have now told you the sorrow which has come upon us because of this book for which you ask, saying, 'let it be given to me.' you have no claim to it; and, indeed, for the sake of it, we have given up our life on earth." and setna said to ahura, "give me the book which i see between you and na-nefer-ka-ptah; for if you do not i will take it by force." then na-nefer-ka-ptah rose from his seat and said, "are you setna, to whom my wife has told of all these blows of fate, which you have not suffered? can you take this book by your skill as a good scribe? if, indeed, you can play games with me, let us play a game, then, of points." and setna said, "i am ready," and the board and its pieces were put before him. and na-nefer-ka-ptah won a game from setna; and he put the spell upon him, and defended himself with the game board that was before him, and sunk him into the ground above his feet. he did the same at the second game, and won it from setna, and sunk him into the ground to his waist. he did the same at the third game, and made him sink into the ground up to his ears. then setna struck na-nefer-ka-ptah a great blow with his hand. and setna called his brother an-he-hor-eru and said to him. "make haste and go up upon earth, and tell the king all that has happened to me, and bring me the talisman of my father ptah, and my magic books." and he hurried up upon earth, and told the king all that had happened to setna. the king said, "bring him the talisman of his father ptah, and his magic books." and an-he-hor-eru hurried down into the tomb; he laid the talisman on setna, and he sprang up again immediately. and then setna reached out his hand for the book, and took it. then--as setna went out from the tomb--there went a light before him, and darkness behind him. and ahura wept at him, and she said, "glory to the king of darkness! hail to the king of light! all power is gone from the tomb." but na-nefer-ka-ptah said to ahura, "do not let your heart be sad; i will make him bring back this book, with a forked stick in his hand, and a fire-pan on his head." and setna went out from the tomb, and it closed behind him as it was before. then setna went to the king, and told him everything that had happened to him with the book. and the king said to setna, "take back the book to the grave of na-nefer-ka-ptah, like a prudent man, or else he will make you bring it with a forked stick in your hand, and a fire-pan on your head." but setna would not listen to him; and when setna had unrolled the book he did nothing on earth but read it to everybody. [here follows a story of how setna, walking in the court of the temple of ptah, met tabubua, a fascinating girl, daughter of a priest of bast, of ankhtaui; how she repelled his advances, until she had beguiled him into giving up all his possessions, and slaying his children. at the last she gives a fearful cry and vanishes, leaving setna bereft of even his clothes. this would seem to be merely a dream, by the disappearance of tabubua, and by setna finding his children alive after it all; but on the other hand he comes to his senses in an unknown place, and is so terrified as to be quite ready to make restitution to na-nefer-ka-ptah. the episode, which is not creditable to egyptian society, seems to be intended for one of the vivid dreams which the credulous readily accept as half realities.] so setna went to memphis, and embraced his children for that they were alive. and the king said to him, "were you not drunk to do so?" then setna told all things that had happened with tabubua and na-nefer-ka-ptah. and the king said, "setna, i have already lifted up my hand against you before, and said, 'he will kill you if you do not take back the book to the place you took it from.' but you have never listened to me till this hour. now, then, take the book to na-nefer-ka-ptah, with a forked stick in your hand, and a fire-pan on your head." so setna went out from before the king, with a forked stick in his hand, and a fire-pan on his head. he went down to the tomb in which was na-nefer-ka-ptah. and ahura said to him, "it is ptah, the great god, that has brought you back safe." na-nefer-ka-ptah laughed, and he said, "this is the business that i told you before." and when setna had praised na-nefer-ka-ptah, he found it as the proverb says, "the sun was in the whole tomb." and ahura and na-nefer-ka-ptah besought setna greatly. and setna said, "na-nefer-ka-ptah, is it aught disgraceful (that you lay on me to do)?" and na-nefer-ka-ptah said, "setna, you know this, that ahura and mer-ab, her child, behold! they are in koptos; bring them here into this tomb, by the skill of a good scribe. let it be impressed upon you to take pains, and to go to koptos to bring them here." setna then went out from the tomb to the king, and told the king all that na-nefer-ka-ptah had told him. the king said, "setna, go to koptos and bring back ahura and mer-ab." he answered the king, "let one give me the royal boat and its belongings." and they gave him the royal boat and its belongings, and he left the haven, and sailed without stopping till he came to koptos. and they made this known to the priests of isis at koptos and to the high priest of isis; and behold they came down to him, and gave him their hand to the shore. he went up with them and entered into the temple of isis of koptos and of harpo-krates. he ordered one to offer for him an ox, a goose, and some wine, and he made a burnt-offering and a drink-offering before isis of koptos and harpokrates. he went to the cemetery of koptos with the priests of isis and the high priest of isis. they dug about for three days and three nights, for they searched even in all the catacombs which were in the cemetery of koptos; they turned over the steles of the scribes of the "double house of life," and read the inscriptions that they found on them. but they could not find the resting-place of ahura and mer-ab. now na-nefer-ka-ptah perceived that they could not find the resting-place of ahura and her child mer-ab. so he raised himself up as a venerable, very old, ancient, and came before setna. and setna saw him, and setna said to the ancient, "you look like a very old man, do you know where is the resting-place of ahura and her child mer-ab?" the ancient said to setna, "it was told by the father of the father of my father to the father of my father, and the father of my father has told it to my father; the resting-place of ahura and of her child mer-ab is in a mound south of the town of pehemato (?)" and setna said to the ancient, "perhaps we may do damage to pehemato, and you are ready to lead one to the town for the sake of that." the ancient replied to setna, "if one listens to me, shall he therefore destroy the town of pehemato! if they do not find ahura and her child mer-ab under the south corner of their town may i be disgraced." they attended to the ancient, and found the resting-place of ahura and her child mer-ab under the south corner of the town of pehemato. setna laid them in the royal boat to bring them as honoured persons, and restored the town of pehemato as it originally was. and na-nefer-ka-ptah made setna to know that it was he who had come to koptos, to enable them to find out where the resting-place was of ahura and her child mer-ab. so setna left the haven in the royal boat, and sailed without stopping, and reached memphis with all the soldiers who were with him. and when they told the king he came down to the royal boat. he took them as honoured persons escorted to the catacombs, in which na-nefer-ka-ptah was, and smoothed down the ground over them. _this is the completed writing of the tale of setna kha-em-uast, and na-nefer-ka-ptah, and his wife ahura, and their mid mer-ab. it was written in the th year, the month tybi._ remarks this tale of setna only exists in one copy, a demotic papyrus in the ghizeh museum. the demotic was published in facsimile by mariette in , among "les papyrus du musee de boulaq;" and it has been translated by brugsch, revillout, maspero, and hess. the last version--"der demotische roman von stne ha-m-us, von j. j. hess"--being a full study of the text with discussion and glossary, has been followed here; while the interpretation of maspero has also been kept in view in the rendering of obscure passages. unhappily the opening of this tale is lost, and i have therefore restored it by a recital of the circumstances which are referred to in what remains. nothing has been introduced which is not necessarily involved or stated in the existing text. the limit of this restoration is marked by ]; the papyrus beginning with the words, "it is you who are not dealing rightly with me." the construction is complicated by the mixture of times and persons; and we must remember that it was written in the ptolemaic period concerning an age long past. it stood to the author much as tennyson's "harold" stands to us, referring to an historical age, without too strict a tie to facts and details. five different acts, as we may call them, succeed one another. in the first act--which is entirely lost, and here only outlined--the circumstances which led setna of the xixth dynasty to search for the magic book must have been related. in the second act ahura recites the long history of herself and family, to deter setna from his purpose. this act is a complete tale by itself, and belongs to a time some generations before setna; it is here supposed to belong to the time of amenhotep iii., in the details of costume adopted for illustration. the third act is setna's struggle as a rival magician to na-nefer-ka-ptah, from which he finally comes off victorious by his brother's use of a talisman, and so secures possession of the coveted magic book. the fourth act--which i have here only summarised--shows how na-nefer-ka-ptah resorts to a bewitchment of setna by a sprite, by subjection to whom he loses his magic power. the fifth act shows setna as subjected to na-nefer-ka-ptah, and ordered by him to bring the bodies of his wife and child to memphis into his tomb. while, therefore, the sentimental climax of the tale--the restoration of the unity of the family in one tomb--belongs to persons of the xviiith dynasty, the action of the tale is entirely of the xixth dynasty, for what happened in the xviiith dynasty (second act) is all related in the xixth. and the actual composition of it belongs to ptolemaic times, not only on the evidence of the manuscript, but also of the language; this being certified by the importance of isis and horus at koptos, which is essentially a late worship there. turning now to the details, we may note that the statement that setna kha-em-uast was a son of user-maat-ra (or ramessu ii.) occurs in the fourth act which is here only summarised. among the sons of ramessu historically known, the prince kha-em-uast (or "glory-in-thebes") was the most important; he appears to have been the eldest son, exercising the highest offices during his father's life. that the succession fell on the thirteenth son, mer-en-ptah, was doubtless due to the elder sons having died during the preternaturally long reign of ramessu. the other main personage here is na-nefer-ka-ptah (or "excellent is the _ka_ of ptah"), who is said to be the son of a king mer-neb-ptah. no such name is known among historical kings; and it is probably a popular corruption or abbreviation. it was pronounced minibptah, the r being dropped in early times. it would seem most like mine-ptah or mer-en-ptah, the son and successor of ramessu ii.; but as the date of mer-neb-ptah is supposed to be some generations before that, such a supposition would involve a great confusion on the scribes' part. another possibility is that it represents amenhotep iii., neb-maat-ra-mer-ptah, pronounced as nimu-rimiptah, which might be shortened to neb-mer-ptah or mer-neb-ptah. such a time would well suit the tale, and that reign has been adopted here in fixing the style of the dress of ahura and her family. this tale shows how far the _ka_ or double might wander from its body or tomb. here ahura and her child lie buried at koptos, while her husband's tomb is at memphis. but that does not separate them in death; her _ka_ left her tomb and went down to memphis to live with the _ka_ of her husband in his tomb. thus, when setna forces the tomb of na-nefer-ka-ptah, he finds ahura seated by him with the precious magic roll between them and the child mer-ab; and the voluble ahura recounts all their history, and weeps when the roll is carried away by setna. yet all the time her body is at koptos, and the penalty imposed on setna is that of bringing her body to the tomb where her _ka_ already was dwelling. if a _ka_ could thus wander so many hundred miles from its body to gratify its affections, it would doubtless run some risks of starving, or having to put up with impure food; or might even lose its way, and rather than intrude on the wrong tomb, have to roam as a vagabond _ka._ it was to guard against these misfortunes that a supply of formulas were provided for it, by which it should obtain a guarantee against such misfortunes--a kind of spiritual directory or guide to the unprotected; and such formulas, when once accepted as valid, were copied, repeated, enlarged, and added to, until they became the complex and elaborate work--the book of the dead, perhaps nothing else gives such a view of the action of the _ka_ as this tale of setna. there is here also an insight into the arrangement of marriages in egypt. it does not seem that anything was determined about a marriage during childhood; it is only when the children are full-grown that a dispute arises between the king and queen as to their disposal. but the parents decide the whole question. it is, of course, well known that the egyptians had no laws against consanguinity in marriages; on the contrary, it was with them, as with the persians, essential for a king to marry in the royal family, and also usual for private persons to marry in their family. even to the present day in egypt, although sister-marriage has disappeared, yet it is the duty of a man to marry his first cousin or some one in the family. the very idea of relationship being any possible impediment to marriage was un-thought of by the egyptian; his favourite concrete expression for a self-existent or self-created being--"husband of his mother "--shows this unmistakably. the objection made by the king to the marriage of na-nefer-ka-ptah and ahura turns on the point that he has only these two children, and hence, if they marry the children of the generals, there will be two families instead of only one to ensure future posterity. the queen, however, talks the king over on the matter. the cause of ahura's being troubled at the feast is not certain, but the king evidently supposes that she has been pleading to be allowed to marry her beloved brother, and when taxed with it she only expresses her willingness to give way to his exogamic views. the brief sentence, "i laughed and the king laughed," seems to mean that she pleased and amused her father so that he gave way, and immediately told the steward to arrange for her marriage as she desired. i have here abbreviated a few needlessly precise details. we also learn, by the way, that there was a regular registry of births, in which mer-ab was entered. it appears that the court was considered to be at memphis, and not at thebes. this would not have been so arranged had this been written in the ramesside times, but under the ptolemies memphis was the seat of the court--when not at alexandria. the name of the priest, nesi-ptah, also shows another anachronism. such a name was not usual till some time after the xixth dynasty. another touch of late times is in the antiquarian curiosity of na-nefer-ka-ptah about ancient writings, "he did nothing on earth but read the writings that are in the catacombs of the kings, and the tablets of the house of life." in the xixth dynasty there is no sign of interest in such records, but in the renascence ancient things came into fashion, all the old titles were revived, the old style was copied, and very long genealogies were worked up and carved in the inscriptions. in such an age many a _dilettante_ rich young man would amuse himself, as in this tale, with reading inscriptions and hunting up his family genealogy from the tombstones and the registers. the firm belief in magic which underlies all this tale might perhaps be thought to be inappropriate to the enlightenment of greek times. we have seen how in the earliest tales magic is a mainspring of the action, and it is at first sight surprising that its sway should last through so many thousands of years. but there may well have been a recrudescence of such beliefs, along with the revival of interest in the earlier history. the enormous spread and popularity of gnosticism--the belief in the efficacy of words and formulas to control spirits and their actions--in the centuries immediately after this, shows how ingrained magic ideas were, and how ready to sprout up when the counterbalancing interests of the old mythology were gone, and their place taken by the intangible spirituality of platonism and the early christian atmosphere. a most egyptian turn is given where the priest bargains for a large payment for his funeral, and to be buried as a rich priest. the enclosing of the magic roll in a series of boxes has many parallels. in an indian tale we read: "round the tree are tigers and bears and scorpions and snakes; on the top of the tree is a very fat great snake; on his head is a little cage; in the cage is a bird; and my soul is in that bird" ("golden bough," ii. ). in celtic tales the series-idea also occurs. the soul of a giant is in an egg, the egg is in a dove, the dove is in a hare, the hare is in a wolf, and the wolf is in an iron chest at the bottom of the sea ("golden bough," ii. ). the tartars have stories of a golden casket containing the soul, inside a copper or silver casket ("golden bough," ii. ). and the arabs tell of a soul put in the crop of a sparrow, and the sparrow in a little box, and this in another small box, and this put into seven other boxes, and these in seven chests, and the chest in a coffer of marble ("golden bough," ii. ). the notion, therefore, of a series of boxes, one enclosing another, and the whole guarded by dangerous animals, is well known as an element in tales. the late date is here shown by the largest and least precious of the boxes being of iron, which was rarely, if ever, used in ramesside times, and was not common till the greek age. the magic engineering of na-nefer-ka-ptah is very curious. the cabin or air-chamber of men in model, who are let down to work for him, suggests that egyptians may have used the principle of a diving-bell or air-chamber for reaching parts under water. certainly the device of raising things by dropping down sand to be put under them is still practised. an immense sarcophagus at gizeh was raised from a deep well by natives who thrust sand under it rammed tight by a stick, and by this simple kind of hydraulic press raised it a hundred feet to the surface. in this way the magic men of na-nefer-ka-ptah raised up the chest when they had discovered it by means of the sand which he poured over from the boat. there is some picturesqueness in this tale, though it has not the charm of the earlier compositions. the scene of ahura sitting for three days and nights, during the combat, watching by the side of the river, where she "had not drunk or eaten anything, and had done nothing on earth but sat like one who is gone to the grave," is a touching detail. the light on the education of women is curious. ahura can read the roll, but she cannot write. we are so accustomed to regard reading and writing as all one subject that the distinction is rare; but with a writing comprising so many hundred signs as the egyptian, the art of writing or draw-ing all the forms, and knowing which to use, is far more complex than that of reading. there are now ten students who can read an inscription for one who could compose it correctly. here a woman of the highest rank is supposed to be able to read, but not to write; that is reserved for the skill of "a good writer, and a very learned one." the writing of spells and then washing the ink off and drinking it is a familiar idea in the east. modern egyptian bowls have charms engraved on them to be imparted to the drink, and ancient babylonian bowls are inscribed with the like purpose. an insight into the powers of the gods is here given us. the egyptian did not attribute to them omniscience. thoth only discovered what na-nefer-ka-ptah had done as they were sailing away, some days after the seizure of the book. and even ra is informed by the complaint of thoth. if ra were the physical sun it would be obvious that he would see all that was being done on earth; it would rather be he who would inform thoth. the conception of the gods must therefore have been not pantheistic or materialist, but solely as spiritual powers who needed to obtain information, and who only could act through intermediaries. further, nothing can be done without the consent of ra; thoth is powerless over men, and can only ask ra, as a sort of universal magistrate, to take notice of the offence. neither god acts directly, but by means of a power or angel, who takes the commission to work on men. how far this police-court conception of the gods is due to greek or foreign influence can hardly be estimated yet. it certainly does not seem in accord with the earlier appeals to ra, and direct action of ra, in "anpu and bata." the power of spells is limited, as we have just seen the abilities of the gods were limited. the most powerful of spells, the magic book of thoth himself, cannot restore life to a person just drowned. all that na-nefer-ka-ptah can do with the spell is to cause the body to float and to speak, but it remains so truly dead that it is buried as if no spell had been used. now it was recognised that the _ka_ could move about and speak to living persons, as ahura does to setna. hence all that the spells do is not to alter the course of nature, but only to put the person into touch and communication with the ever-present supernatural, to enable him to know what the birds, the fishes, and the beasts all said, and to see the unseen. modern conceptions of the spiritual are so bound up with the sense of omnipresence and omniscience that we are apt to read those ideas into the gods and the magic of the ancients. here we have to deal with gods who have to obtain information, and who order powers to act for them, with spells which extend the senses to the unseen, but which do not affect natural results and changes. the inexorable fate in this tale which brings one after another of the family to die in the same spot is not due to greek influence, though it seems akin to that. in the irrepressible transmigrations of bata, and the successive risks of the doomed prince, the same ideas are seen working in the egyptian mind. the remorse of na-nefer-ka-ptah is a stronger touch of conscience and of shame than is seen in early times. there is an unexplained point in the action as to how na-nefer-ka-ptah, with the book upon him, comes up from the water, after he is drowned, into the cabin of the royal boat. the narrator had a difficulty to account for the recovery of the body without the use of the magic book, and so that stage is left unnoticed. the successive stages of embalming and mourning are detailed. the sixteen days in the good house is probably the period of treatment of the body, the time up to the thirty-fifth day that of wrapping and decoration of the mummy cartonnage, and then the thirty-five days more of lying in state until the burial. we now reach the third act, of setna's struggle to get the magic roll. here the strange episode comes in of the rival magicians gambling; it recalls the old tale of rampsinitus descending into hades and playing at dice with ceres, and the frequent presence of draught-boards in the tombs, shows how much the _ka_ was supposed to relish such pleasures. the regular egyptian game-board had three rows of ten squares, or thirty in all. such are found from the xiith dynasty down to greek times; but this form has now entirely disappeared, and the _man-galah_ of two rows of six holes, or the _tab_ of four rows of nine holes, have taken its place. both of these are side games, where different sides belong to opposite players. the commoner _siga_ is a square game, five rows of five, or seven rows of seven holes, and has no personal sides. the ancient game was played with two, or perhaps three, different kinds of men, and the squares were counted from one end along the outer edge; but what the rules were, or how a game of fifty-two points was managed, has not yet been explained. the strange scene of setna being sunk into the ground portion by portion, as he loses successive games, is parallel to a mysterious story among the dervishes in palestine. they tell how the three holy shekhs of the dervish orders, bedawi, erfa'i, and desuki, went in succession to baghdad to ask for a jar of water of paradise from the derwisha bint bari, who seems to be a sky-genius, controlling the meteors. the last applicant, desuki, was refused like the others; so he said, "earth! swallow her," and the earth swallowed her to her knees; still she gave not the water, so he commanded the earth, and she was swallowed to her waist; a third time she refused, and she was swallowed to her breasts; she then asked him to marry her, which he would not; a fourth time she refused the water and was swallowed to her neck. she then ordered a servant to bring the water ("palestine exploration statement, ," p. ). the resemblance is most remarkable in two tales two thousand years apart; and the incident of bint bari asking the dervish to marry her has its connection with this tale. had the dervish done so he would--according to eastern beliefs--have lost his magic power over her, just as setna loses his magic power by his alliance with tabubua, to which he is tempted by na-nefer-ka-ptah, in order to subdue him. the talisman here is a means of subduing magic powers, and is of more force than that of thoth, as ptah is greater than he. the fourth act recounts the overcoming of the power of setna by na-nefer-ka-ptah, who causes tabubua to lead to the loss of his superior magic, and thus to subdue him to the magic of his rival. ankhtaui, here named as the place of tabubua, was a quarter of memphis, which is also named as the place of the wife of uba-aner in the first tale. the fifth act describes the victory of na-nefer-ka-ptah, and his requiring setna to reunite the family in his tomb at memphis. the contrast between ahura's pious ascription to ptah, and her husband's chuckle at seeing his magic successful, is remarkable. setna at once takes the position of an inferior by addressing praises to na-nefer-ka-ptah: after which the tomb became bright as it was before he took away the magic roll. setna then having made restitution, is required to give some compensation as well. the search for the tomb of ahura and mer-ab is a most tantalising passage. the great cemetery of koptos is the scene, and the search occupies three days and nights in the catacombs and on the steles. further, the tomb was at the south corner of the town of pehemato, as maspero doubtfully reads it. yet this cemetery is now quite unknown, and in spite of all the searching of the native dealers, and the examination which i have made on the desert of both sides of the nile, it is a mystery where the cemetery can be. the statement that the tomb was at the south corner of a town pretty well excludes it from the desert, which runs north and south there. and it seems as if it might have been in some raised land in the plain, like the spur or shoal on which the town of koptos was built. if so it would have been covered by the ten to twenty feet rise of the nile deposits since the time of its former use. the appearance of the ancient to guide setna gives some idea of the time that elapsed between then and the death of ahura. the ancient, who must be allowed to represent two or three generations, says that his great-grandfather knew of the burial, which would take it back to five or six generations. this would place the death of ahura about years before the latter part of the reign of ramessu ii., say b.c.: thus, being taken back to about b.c., would make her belong to the generation after amenhotep iii., agreeing well with mer-neb-ptah, being a corruption of the name of that king. no argument could be founded on so slight a basis; but at least there is no contradiction in the slight indications which we can glean. the fear of setna is that this apparition may have come to bring him into trouble by leading him to attack some property in this town; and setna is particularly said to have restored the ground as it was before, after removing the bodies. the colophon at the end is unhappily rather illegible. but the thirty-fifth year precludes its belonging to the reign of any ptolemy, except the iind or the viiith; and by the writing maspero attributes it to the earlier of these reigns. editorial note: project gutenberg also has the translation of this work by richard f. burton in volumes. the book of the thousand nights and one night: now first completely done into english prose and verse, from the original arabic, by john payne (author of "the masque of shadows," "intaglios: sonnets," "songs of life and death," "lautrec," "the poems of master francis villon of paris," "new poems," etc, etc.). in nine volumes: volume the second. delhi edition contents of the second volume. . the history of king omar ben ennuman and his sons sherkan and zoulmekan a. story of taj el mulouk and the princess dunya aa. story of aziz and azizeh b. bakoun's story of the hashish-eater c. hemmand the bedouin's story the book of the thousand nights and one night the history of king omar ben ennuman and his sons sherkan and zoulmekan. there reigned once in the city of peace, (baghdad), before the khalifate of abdulmelik ben merwan,[fn# ] a king called omar ben ennuman, who was of the mighty giants and had subdued the kings of persia and the emperors of the east, for none could warm himself at his fire[fn# ] nor cope with him in battle, and when he was angry, there came sparks out of his nostrils. he had gotten him the dominion over all countries, and god had subjected unto him all creatures; his commands were obeyed in all the great cities and his armies penetrated the most distant lands: the east and west came under his rule, with the regions between them, hind and sind and china and hejaz and yemen and the islands of india and china, syria and mesopotamia and the land of the blacks and the islands of the ocean and all the famous rivers of the earth, jaxartes and bactrus, nile and euphrates. he sent his ambassadors to the farthest parts of the earth, to fetch him true report, and they returned with tidings of justice and peace, bringing him assurance of loyalty and obedience and invocations of blessings on his head; for he was a right noble king and there came to him gifts and tribute from all parts of the world. he had a son called sherkan, who was one of the prodigies of the age and the likest of all men to his father, who loved him with an exceeding love and had appointed him to be king after him. the prince grew up till he reached man's estate and was twenty years old, and god subjected all men to him, for he was gifted with great might and prowess in battle, humbling the champions and destroying all who made head against him. so, before long, this sherkan became famous in all quarters of the world and his father rejoiced in him: and his might waxed, till he passed all bounds and magnified himself, taking by storm the citadels and strong places. now king omar had four lawful wives, but god had vouchsafed him no son by them, except sherkan, whom he had gotten of one of them, and the rest were barren. moreover he had three hundred and threescore concubines, after the number of the days of the coptic year, who were of all nations, and he had lodged them all within his palace. for he had built twelve pavilions, after the number of the months of the year, in each thirty chambers, and appointed to each of his concubines a night, which he lay with her and came not to her again for a full year. as providence would have it, one of them conceived and her pregnancy was made known, whereupon the king rejoiced with an exceeding joy, saying, "mayhap it will be a son, in which case all my offspring will be males." then he recorded the date of her conception and made much of her. but when the news came to sherkan, he was troubled and it was grievous to him, for he said, "verily, there cometh one who shall dispute the kingdom with me." so he said to himself, "if this damsel bear a male child, i will kill it." but he kept this his intent secret in his heart. now the damsel in question was a greek girl, by name sufiyeh,[fn# ] whom the king of roum,[fn# ] lord of caesarea, had sent to king omar as a present, together with great store of rarities. she was the fairest of face and most graceful of all his women and the most careful of his honour and was gifted with abounding wit and surpassing loveliness. she had served the king on the night of his lying with her, saying to him, "o king, i desire of the god of the heavens that he grant thee of me a male child, so i may rear him well and do my utmost endeavour to educate him and preserve him from harm." and her words pleased the king. she passed the time of her pregnancy in devout exercises, praying fervently to god to grant her a goodly male child and make his birth easy to her, till her months were accomplished and she sat down on the stool of delivery. now the king had given an eunuch charge to let him know if the child she should bring forth were male or female; and in like manner his son sherkan had sent one to bring him news of this. in due time, sufiyeh was delivered of a child, which the midwives took and found to be a girl with a face more radiant than the moon. so they announced this to the bystanders, whereupon the eunuch carried the news to the king and sherkan's messenger did the like with his master, who rejoiced with exceeding joy; but after these two had departed, sufiyeh said to the midwives, "wait with me awhile, for i feel there is yet somewhat in my entrails." then she moaned and the pains of labour took her again but god made it easy to her and she gave birth to a second child. the midwives looked at it and found it a boy like the full moon, with flower-white forehead and rose-red cheeks; whereupon the damsel and her eunuchs and attendants rejoiced and she was delivered of the afterbirth, whilst all who were in the palace set up cries of joy. the other damsels heard of this and envied her; and the news came to omar, who was glad and rejoiced. then he rose and went to her and kissed her head, after which he looked at the boy and bending down to it, kissed it, whilst the damsels smote the tabrets and played on instruments of music; and he commanded that the boy should be named zoulmekan and the girl nuzbet ez zeman, which was done accordingly. then he appointed nurses, wet and dry, and eunuchs and attendants to serve them and assigned them rations of sugar and liquors and oil and other necessaries, such as the tongue fails to set out. moreover the people of baghdad heard of the children that god had vouchsafed to the king; so they decorated the city and made proclamation of the good news. then came the amirs and viziers and grandees and wished the king joy of his son and daughter, wherefore he thanked them and bestowed dresses of honour and favours and largesse on them and on all who were present, gentle and simple. then he bade carry great store of jewellery and apparel and money to sufiyeh and charged her to rear the children carefully and educate them well. after this wise, four years passed by, during which time the king sent every few days to seek news of sufiyeh and her children; but all this while, his son sherkan knew not that a male child had been born to his father, having news only of the birth of his daughter nuzhet ez zeman, and they hid the thing from him, until years and days had passed by, whilst he was busied in contending with the men of war and tilting against the cavaliers. one day, as the king was sitting on his throne, there came in to him his chamberlains, who kissed the earth before him and said, "o king, there be come ambassadors from the king of the greeks, lord of constantinople the mighty, and they desire to be admitted to pay their respects to thee: so if the king give them leave to enter, we will admit them, and if not, there is no appeal from his decree." he bade admit them, and when they entered, he turned to them and asked them how they did and the reason of their coming. they kissed the earth before him and replied, "o illustrious king and lord of the long arm,[fn# ] know that king afridoun, lord of the lands of the greeks and of the nazarene armies, holding the empire of constantinople, hath sent us to make known to thee that he is now waging grievous war with a fierce rebel, the lord of caesarea; and the cause of this war is as follows. one of the kings of the arabs, awhile since, chanced, in one of his conquests, upon a treasure of the time of alexander, from which he carried away countless riches and amongst other things, three round jewels, of the bigness of an ostrich's egg, from a mine of pure white jewels, never was seen the like. upon each of these jewels were graven talismans in the greek character, and they had many properties and virtues, amongst the rest that if one of them were hung round the neck of a new-born child, no ailment would hurt him nor would he moan or be fevered, so long as it was about his neck. when they came to the hands of the arabian king and he knew their virtues, he sent the three jewels, together with other presents and rarities, as a gift to king afridoun, and to that end fitted out two ships, one bearing the treasure and presents and the other men to guard them against whoso should offer them hindrance on the sea, being nevertheless assured that none would dare waylay them, for that he was king of the arabs, more by token that their way lay through the sea in the dominions of the king of constantinople and they were bound to him, nor were there on the shores of that sea any but subjects of the most mighty king afridoun. the ships set out and sailed till they drew near our city, when there sallied out on them certain corsairs of the country and amongst them troops of the king of caesarea, who took all the treasures and rarities in the ships, together with the three jewels, and slew the men. when the news came to our king, he sent an army against them, but they defeated it; then he sent another army, stronger than the first, but they put this also to the rout; whereupon the king was wroth and swore that he would go out against them in person at the head of his whole army and not turn back from them, till he had left caesarea in ruins and laid waste all the lands and cities over which its king held sway. so he craves of the lord of the age and the time, the king of baghdad and khorassan, that he succour us with an army, to the end that glory may redound to him; and he has sent by us somewhat of various kinds of presents and begs the king to favour him by accepting them and accord us his aid." then they kissed the earth before king omar and brought out the presents, which were fifty slave-girls of the choicest of the land of the greeks, and fifty white male slaves in tunics of brocade, rich girdles of gold and silver and in their ears pendants of gold and fine pearls, worth a thousand dinars each. the damsels were adorned after the same fashion and clad in stuffs worth much money. when the king saw them, he rejoiced in them and accepted them. then he commanded that the ambassadors should be honourably entreated and summoning his viziers, took counsel with them of what he should do. accordingly, one of them, an old man named dendan, arose and kissing the earth before king omar, said, "o king, thou wouldst do well to equip numerous army and set over it thy son sherkan, with us as his lieutenants; and to my mind it behoves thee to do thus, for two reasons: first, that the king of the greeks hath appealed to thee for aid and hath sent thee presents, and thou hast accepted them; and secondly, that no enemy dares attack our country, and that if thy host succour the king of the greeks and his foe be put to the rout, the glory will fall to thee and the news of it will be noised abroad in all cities and countries; and especially, when the tidings reach the islands of the ocean and the people of western africa, they will send thee presents and tribute." when the king heard the vizier's speech, it pleased him and he approved his counsel: so he bestowed on him dress of honour and said to him, "it is with such as thee that kings take counsel and it befits that thou command the van of the army and my son sherkan the main battle." then he sent for sherkan and expounded the matter to him, telling him what the ambassadors and the vizier had said, and enjoined him to take arms and prepare to set out, charging him not to cross the vizier dendan in aught that he should do. then he bade him choose from among his troops ten thousand horsemen armed cap-a-pie and inured to war and hardship. accordingly, sherkan rose at once and chose out ten thousand horsemen, in obedience to his father's commandment, after which he entered his palace and mustered his troops and distributed money to them, saying, "ye have three days to make ready." they kissed the earth before him and proceeded at once to make their preparations for the campaign; whilst sherkan repaired to the armouries and provided himself with all the arms and armour that he needed, and thence to the stables, whence he took horses of choice breeds and others. when the three days were ended, the troops marched out of baghdad, and king omar came forth to take leave of his son, who kissed the earth before him, and he gave him seven thousand purses.[fn# ] then he turned to the vizier dendan and commended to his care his son sherkan's army and charged the latter to consult the vizier in all things, to which they both promised obedience. after this, the king returned to baghdad and sherkan commanded the officers to draw out the troops in battle array. so they mustered them and the number of the army was ten thousand horsemen, besides footmen and followers. then they loaded the beasts and beat the drums and blew the clarions and unfurled the banners and the standards, whilst sherkan mounted, with the vizier dendan by his side and the standards waving over them, and the army set out and fared on, with the ambassadors in the van, till the day departed and the night came, when they halted and encamped for the night. on the morrow, as soon as god brought in the day, they took horse and continued their march, nor did they cease to press onward, guided by the ambassadors, for the space of twenty days. on the twenty-first day, at nightfall, they came to a wide and fertile valley, whose sides were thickly wooded and covered with grass, and there sherkan called a three days' halt. so they dismounted and pitched their tents, dispersing right and left in the valley, whilst the vizier dendan and the ambassadors alighted in the midst. as for sherkan, when he had seen the tents pitched and the troops dispersed on either side and had commanded his officers and attendants to camp beside the vizier dendan, he gave reins to his horse, being minded to explore the valley and himself mount guard over the army, having regard to his father's injunctions and to the fact that they had reached the frontier of the land of roum and were now in the enemy's country. so he rode on alone along the valley, till a fourth part of the night was passed, when he grew weary and sleep overcame him, so that he could no longer spur his horse. now he was used to sleep on horseback; so when drowsiness got the better of him, he fell asleep and the horse paced on with him half the night and entered a forest; but sherkan awoke not, till the steed smote the earth with his hoof. then he started from sleep and found himself among trees; and the moon arose and lighted up the two horizons. he was troubled at finding himself alone in this place and spoke the words, which whoso says shall never be confounded, that is to say, "there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme!" but as he rode on, in fear of the wild beasts, behold, the trees thinned and the moon shone out upon a meadow as it were one of the meads of paradise and he heard therein a noise of talk and pleasant laughter such as ravishes the wit of men. so king sherkan dismounted and tying his horse to a tree, fared on a little way, till he espied a stream of running water and heard a woman talking and saying in arabic, "by the virtue of the messiah, this is not handsome of you! but whoso speaks a word, i will throw her down and bind her with her girdle." he followed in the direction of the voice and saw gazelles frisking and wild cattle pasturing and birds in their various voices expressing joy and gladness: and the earth was embroidered with all manner of flowers and green herbs, even as says of it the poet in the following verses: earth has no fairer sight to show than this its blossom-time, with all the gently running streams that wander o'er its face. it is indeed the handiwork of god omnipotent, the lord of every noble gift and giver of all grace! midmost the meadow stood a monastery, and within the enclosure was a citadel that rose high into the air in the light of the moon. the stream passed through the midst of the monastery and therenigh sat ten damsels like moons, high-bosomed maids, clad in dresses and ornaments that dazzled the eyes, as says of them the poet: the meadow glitters with the troops of lovely ones that wander there. its grace and beauty doubled are by these that are so passing fair. virgins that, with their swimming gait, the hearts of all that see ensnare; along whose necks, like trails of grapes, stream down the tresses of their hair: proudly they walk, with eyes that dart the shafts and arrows of despair, and all the champions of the world are slain by their seductive air. sherkan looked at the ten girls and saw in their midst a lady like the moon at its full, with ringleted hair and shining forehead, great black eyes and curling brow-locks, perfect in person and attributes, as says the poet: her beauty beamed on me with glances wonder-bright: the slender syrian spears are not so straight and slight: she laid her veil aside, and lo, her cheeks rose-red! all manner lovelyness was in their sweetest sight. the locks, that o'er her brow fell down, were like the night, from out of which there shines a morning of delight. then sherkan heard her say to the girls, "come on, that i may wrestle with you, ere the moon set and the dawn come." so they came up to her, one after another, and she overthrew them, one by one, and bound their hands behind them with their girdles. when she had thrown them all, there turned to her an old woman, who was before her, and said, as if she were wroth with her, "o wanton, dost thou glory in overthrowing these girls? behold, i am an old woman, yet have i thrown them forty times! so what hast thou to boast of? but if thou have strength to wrestle with me, stand up that i may grip thee and put thy head between thy feet." the young lady smiled at her words, although her heart was full of anger against her, and said, "o my lady dhat ed dewahi, wilt indeed wrestle with me, or dost thou jest with me?" "i mean to wrestle with thee in very deed," replied she. "stand up to me then," said the damsel, "if thou have strength to do so." when the old woman heard this, she was sore enraged and the hair of her body stood on end, like that of a hedge-hog. then she sprang up, whilst the damsel confronted her, and said, "by the virtue of the messiah, i will not wrestle with thee, except i be naked." "o baggage!" so she loosed her trousers and putting her hand under her clothes, tore them off her body; then, taking a handkerchief of silk, she bound it about her middle and became as she were a bald afriteh or a pied snake. then she turned to the young lady and said to her, "do as i have done." all this time, sherkan was watching them and laughing at the loathly favour of the old woman. so the damsel took a sash of yemen stuff and doubled it about her waist, then tucked up her trousers and showed legs of alabaster and above them a hummock of crystal, soft and swelling, and a belly that exhaled musk from its dimples, as it were a bed of blood-red anemones, and breasts like double pomegranates. then the old woman bent to her and they took hold of one another, whilst sherkan raised his eyes to heaven and prayed to god that the damsel might conquer the old hag. presently, the former bored in under the latter, and gripping her by the breech with the left hand and by the gullet with the right, hoisted her off the ground; whereupon the old woman strove to free herself and in the struggle wriggled out of the girl's hands and fell on her back. up went her legs and showed her hairy tout in the moonlight, and she let fly two great cracks of wind, one of which smote the earth, whilst the other smoked up to the skies. at this sherkan laughed, till he fell to the ground, and said, "he lied not who dubbed thee lady of calamities![fn# ] verily, thou sawest her prowess against the others." then he arose and looked right and left, but saw none save the old woman thrown down on her back. so he drew near to hear what should pass between them; and behold, the young lady came up to the old one and throwing over her a veil of fine silk, helped her to dress herself, making excuses to her and saying, "o my lady dhat ed dewahi, i did not mean to throw thee so roughly, but thou wriggledst out of my hands; so praised be god for safety!" she returned her no answer, but rose in her confusion and walked away out of sight, leaving the young lady standing alone, by the other girls thrown down and bound. then said sherkan to himself, "to every fortune there is a cause. sleep fell not on me nor did the steed bear me hither but for my good fortune; for of a surety this damsel and what is with her shall be my prize." so he turned back and mounted and drew his scimitar; then he gave his horse the spur and he started off with him, like an arrow from a bow, whilst he brandished his naked blade and cried out, "god is most great!" when the damsel saw him, she sprang to her feet and running to the bank of the river, which was there six cubits wide, made a spring and landed on the other side, where she turned and standing, cried out in a loud voice, "who art thou, sirrah, that breakest in on our pastime, and that with thy whinger bared, as thou wert charging an army? whence comest thou and whither art thou bound? speak the truth, and it shall profit thee, and do not lie, for lying is of the loser's fashion. doubtless thou hast strayed this night from thy road, that thou hast happened on this place. so tell me what thou seekest: if thou wouldst have us set thee in the right road, we will do so, or if thou seek help, we will help thee." when sherkan heard her words, he replied, "i am a stranger of the muslims, who am come out by myself in quest of booty, and i have found no fairer purchase this moonlit night than these ten damsels; so i will take them and rejoin my comrades with them." quoth she, "i would have thee to know that thou hast not yet come at the booty: and as for these ten damsels, by allah, they are no purchase for thee! indeed, the fairest purchase thou canst look for is to win free of this place; for thou art now in a mead, where, if we gave one cry, there would be with us anon four thousand knights. did i not tell thee that lying is shameful?" and he said, "the fortunate man is he to whom god sufficeth and who hath no need of other than him." "by the virtue of the messiah," replied she, "did i not fear to have thy death at my hand, i would give a cry that would fill the meadow on thee with horse and foot; but i have pity on the stranger: so if thou seek booty, i require of thee that thou dismount from thy horse and swear to me, by thy faith, that thou wilt not approach me with aught of arms, and we will wrestle, i and thou. if thou throw me, lay me on thy horse and take all of us to thy booty; and if i throw thee, thou shalt be at my commandment. swear this to me, for i fear thy perfidy, since experience has it that, as long as perfidy is in men's natures, to trust in every one is weakness. but if thou wilt swear, i will come over to thee." quoth sherkan (and indeed he lusted after her and said to himself, "she does not know that i am a champion of the champions."), "impose on me whatever oath thou deemest binding, and i will swear not to draw near thee till thou hast made thy preparations and sayest, 'come and wrestle with me.' if thou throw me, i have wealth wherewith to ransom myself, and if i throw thee, i shall get fine purchase." then said she, "swear to me by him who hath lodged the soul in the body and given laws to mankind, that thou wilt not beset me with aught of violence, but by way of wrestling; else mayst thou die out of the pale of islam." "by allah," exclaimed sherkan, "if a cadi should swear me, though he were cadi of the cadis, he would not impose on me the like of this oath!" then he took the oath she required and tied his horse to a tree, sunken in the sea of reverie and saying in himself, "glory to him who fashioned her of vile water!"[fn# ] then he girt himself and made ready for wrestling and said to her, "cross the stream to me." quoth she, "it is not for me to come to thee: if thou wilt, do thou cross over to me." "i cannot do that," replied he, and she said, "o boy, i will come to thee." so she gathered her skirts and making a spring, landed on the other side of the river by him; whereupon he drew near to her, wondering at her beauty and grace, and saw a form that the hand of omnipotence had tanned with the leaves of the jinn and which had been fostered by divine solicitude, a form on which the zephyrs of fair fortune had blown and over whose creation favourable planets had presided. then she called out to him, saying, "o muslim, come and wrestle before the day break!" and tucked up her sleeves, showing a fore-arm like fresh curd; the whole place was lighted up by its whiteness and sherkan was dazzled by it. then he bent forward and clapped his hands and she did the like, and they took hold and gripped each other. he laid his hands on her slender waist, so that the tips of his fingers sank into the folds of her belly, and his limbs relaxed and he stood in the stead of desire, for there was displayed to him a body, in which was languishment of hearts, and he fell a-trembling like the persian reed in the hurricane. so she lifted him up and throwing him to the ground, sat down on his breast with buttocks like a hill of sand, for he was not master of his reason. then she said to him, "o muslim, it is lawful among you to kill christians; what sayst thou to my killing thee?" "o my lady," replied he, "as for killing me, it is unlawful; for our prophet (whom god bless and preserve!) hath forbidden the slaying of women and children and old men and monks." "since this was revealed unto your prophet," rejoined she, "it behoves us to be even with him therein; so rise: i give thee thy life, for beneficence is not lost upon men." then she got off his breast and he rose and brushed the earth from his head, and she said to him, "be not abashed; but, indeed, one who enters the land of the greeks in quest of booty and to succour kings against kings, how comes it that there is no strength in him to defend himself against a woman?" "it was not lack of strength in me," replied he; "nor was it thy strength that overthrew me, but thy beauty: so if thou wilt grant me another bout, it will be of thy favour." she laughed and said, "i grant thee this: but these damsels have been long bound and their arms and shoulders are weary, and it were fitting i should loose them, since this next bout may peradventure be a long one." then she went up to the girls and unbinding them, said to them in the greek tongue, "go and put yourselves in safety, till i have brought to nought this muslim's craving for you." so they went away, whilst sherkan looked at them and they gazed at him and the young lady. then she and he drew near again and set breast against breast; but, when he felt her belly against his, his strength failed him, and she feeling this, lifted him in her hands, swiftlier than the blinding lightning, and threw him to the ground. he fell on his back, and she said to him, "rise, i give thee thy life a second time. i spared thee before for the sake of thy prophet, for that he forbade the killing of women, and i do so this second time because of thy weakness and tender age and strangerhood; but i charge thee, if there be, in the army sent by king omar ben ennuman to the succour of the king of constantinople, a stronger than thou, send him hither and tell him of me, for in wrestling there are divers kinds of strokes and tricks, such as feinting and the fore-tripe and the back-tripe and the leg-crick and the thigh-twist and the jostle and the cross-buttock." "by allah, o my lady," replied sherkan, (and indeed he was greatly incensed against her), "were i the chief es sefedi or mohammed caimal or ibn es seddi,[fn# ] i had not observed the fashion thou namest; for, by allah, it was not by thy strength that thou overthrewest me, but by filling me with the desire of thy buttocks, because we people of chaldaea love great thighs, so that nor wit nor foresight was left in me. but now if thou have a mind to try another fall with me, with my wits about me, i have a right to this one bout more, by the rules of the game, for my presence of mind has now returned to me." "hast thou not had enough of wrestling, o conquered one?" rejoined she. "however, come, if thou wilt; but know that this bout must be the last." then they took hold of each other and he set to in earnest and warded himself against being thrown down: so they strained awhile, and the damsel found in him strength such as she had not before observed and said to him, "o muslim, thou art on thy guard!" "yes," replied he; "thou knowest that there remaineth but this bout, and after each of us will go his own way." she laughed and he laughed too: then she seized the opportunity to bore in upon him unawares, and gripping him by the thigh, threw him to the ground, so that he fell on his back. she laughed at him and said, "thou art surely an eater of bran; for thou art like a bedouin bonnet, that falls at a touch, or a child's toy, that a puff of air overturns. out on thee, thou poor creature! go back to the army of the muslims and send us other than thyself, for thou lackest thews, and cry us among the arabs and persians and turks and medes, 'whoso has might in him, let him come to us.'" then she made a spring and landed on the other side of the stream and said to sherkan, laughing, "it goes to my heart to part with thee; get thee to thy friends, o my lord, before the morning, lest the knights come upon thee and take thee on the points of their lances. thou hast not strength enough to defend thee against women; so how couldst thou make head against men and cavaliers?" and she turned to go back to the monastery. sherkan was confounded and called out to her, saying, "o my lady, wilt thou go away and leave the wretched stranger, the broken-hearted slave of love?" so she turned to him, laughing, and said, "what wouldst thou? i grant thy prayer." "have i set foot in thy country and tasted the sweetness of thy favours," replied sherkan, "and shall i return without eating of thy victual and tasting thy hospitality? indeed i am become one of thy servitors." quoth she, "none but the base refuses hospitality; on my head and eyes be it! do me the favour to mount and ride along the bank of the stream, abreast of me, for thou art my guest." at this sherkan rejoiced and hastening back to his horse, mounted and rode along the river-bank, keeping abreast of her, till he came to a drawbridge, that hung by pulleys and chains of steel, made fast with hooks and padlocks. here stood the ten damsels awaiting the lady, who spoke to one of them in the greek tongue and said to her, "go to him and take his horse's rein and bring him over to the monastery." so she went up to sherkan and led him over the bridge to the other side and he followed her, amazed at what he saw and saying in himself, "would the vizier dendan were with me, to look on these fair faces with his own eyes." then he turned to the young lady and said to her, "o wonder of beauty, now art thou doubly bound to me, firstly, by the bond of comradeship, and secondly for that thou carriest me to thy house and i accept of thy hospitality and am at thy disposal and under thy protection. so do me the favour to go with me to the land of islam, where thou shalt look upon many a lion-hearted prince and know who i am." his speech angered her and she said to him, "by the virtue of the messiah, thou art keen of wit with me! but i see now what depravity is in thy heart and how thou allowest thyself to say a thing that proves thee a traitor. how should i do what thou sayest, when i know that, if i came to thy king omar ben ennuman, i should never win free of him? for he has not the like of me among his women nor in his palace, all lord of baghdad and khorassan as he is, with his twelve palaces, in number as the months of the year, and his concubines therein, in number as the days thereof; and if i come to him, he will not respect me, for that ye hold it lawful to take possession of the like of me, as it is said in your scripture, 'that which your right hand possesses.'[fn# ] so how canst thou speak thus to me? as for thy saying, 'thou shalt look upon the champions of the muslims,' by the messiah, thou sayst that which is not true; for i saw your army, when it reached our country, these two days ago, and i did not see that your ordinance was that of kings, but beheld you only as a rabble of men collected together. and as for thy saying, 'thou shalt know who i am,' i did not show thee courtesy of any intent to honour thee, but out of pride in myself; and the like of thee should not say this to the like of me, even though thou be sherkan himself, king omar ben ennuman's son, who is renowned in these days." "and dost thou know sherkan?" asked he. "yes," replied she; "and i know of his coming with an army of ten thousand horse, for that he was sent by his father with these troops to the succour of the king of constantinople." "o my lady," rejoined sherkan, "i conjure thee, as thou believest in thy religion, tell me the cause of all this, that i may know truth from falsehood and with whom the fault lies." "by the virtue of thy faith," replied she, "were it not that i fear lest the news of me be bruited abroad that i am of the daughters of the greeks, i would adventure myself and sally forth against the ten thousand horse and kill their chief, the vizier dendan, and take their champion sherkan. nor would there be any reproach to me in this, for i have read books and know the arabic language and have studied good breeding and polite letters. but i have no need to vaunt my own prowess to thee, for thou hast tasted of my quality and proved my strength and skill and pre-eminence in wrestling; nor if sherkan himself had been in thy place to-night and it had been said to him, 'leap this river,' could he have done so. and i could wish well that the messiah would throw him into my hands here in this monastery, that i might go forth to him in the habit of a man and pull him from his saddle and take him prisoner and lay him in fetters." when sherkan heard this, pride and heat and warlike jealousy overcame him and he was minded to discover himself and lay violent hands on her but her beauty held him back from her, and he repeated the following verse: their charms, whatever fault the fair commit, a thousand intercessors bring for it. so she went up, and he after her; whilst he looked at her back and saw her buttocks smiting against each other, like the billows in the troubled sea; and he recited the following verses: in her face an advocate harbours, who blots out her every fault from the hearts of mankind, for he is mighty to intercede. whenas i look at her face, i cry in my wonder aloud, "the moon of the skies in the night of her full is risen indeed!" if the afrit of belkis[fn# ] himself should wrestle a fall with her, her charms would throw him forthright, for all his strength and speed. they went on till they reached a vaulted gate, arched over with marble. this she opened and entered with sherkan into a long vestibule, vaulted with ten arches from each of which hung a lamp of crystal, shining like the rays of the sun. the damsels met her at the end of the vestibule, bearing perfumed flambeaux and having on their heads kerchiefs embroidered with all manner jewels and went on before her, till they came to the inward of the monastery, where sherkan saw couches set up all around, facing one another and overhung with curtains spangled with gold. the floor was paved with all kinds of variegated marbles, and in the midst was a basin of water, with four-and-twenty spouts of gold around it, from which issued water like liquid silver; whilst at the upper end stood a throne covered with silks of royal purple. then said the damsel, "o my lord, mount this throne." so he seated himself on it, and she withdrew: and when she had been absent awhile, he asked the servants of her, and they said, "she hath gone to her sleeping-chamber; but we will serve thee as thou shalt order." so they set before him rare meats and he ate till he was satisfied, when they brought him a basin of gold and an ewer of silver, and he washed his hands. then his mind reverted to his troops, and he was troubled, knowing not what had befallen them in his absence and thinking how he had forgotten his father's injunctions, so that he abode oppressed with anxiety and repenting of what he had done, till the dawn broke and the day appeared, when he lamented and sighed and became drowned in the sea of melancholy, repeating the following verses: i lack not of prudence and yet in this case i've been fooled; so what shift shall avail unto me? if any could ease me of love and its stress, of my might and my virtue i'd set myself free. but alas! my heart's lost in the maze of desire, and no helper save god in my strait can i see. hardly had he finished, when up came more than twenty damsels like moons, encompassing the young lady, who appeared amongst them as the full moon among stars. she was clad in royal brocade and girt with a woven girdle set with various kinds of jewels, that straitly clasped her waist and made her buttocks stand out as they were a hill of crystal upholding a wand of silver; and her breasts were like double pomegranates. on her head she wore a network of pearls, gemmed with various kinds of jewels, and she moved with a coquettish swimming gait, swaying wonder-gracefully, whilst the damsels held up her skirts. when sherkan saw her beauty and grace, he was transported for joy and forgot his army and the vizier dendan end springing to his feet, cried out, "beware, beware of that girdle rare!" and repeated the following verses: heavy of buttocks, languorous of gait, with limber shape and breasts right delicate, she hides what passion in her bosom burns; yet cannot i my heat dissimulate. her maidens, like strung pearls, behind her fare, now all dispersed now knit in ordered state. she fixed her eyes on him and considered him awhile, till she was assured of him, when she came up to him and said, "indeed the place is honoured and illumined by thy presence, o sherkan! how didst thou pass the night, o hero, after we went away and left thee? verily lying is a defect and a reproach in kings, especially in great kings; and thou art sherkan, son of king omar ben ennuman; so henceforth tell me nought but truth and strive not to keep the secret of thy condition, for falsehood engenders hatred and enmity. the arrow of destiny hath fallen on thee, and it behoves thee to show resignation and submission." when sherkan heard what she said, he saw nothing for it but to tell her the truth so he said, "i am indeed sherkan, son of omar ben ennuman, whom fortune hath afflicted and cast into this place: so now do whatsoever thou wilt." she bowed her head a long while, then turned to him and said, "reassure thyself and be of good cheer; for thou art my guest, and bread and salt have passed between us; so art thou in my safeguard and under my protection. have no fear; by the virtue of the messiah, if all the people of the earth sought to harm thee, they should not come at thee till the breath had left my body for thy sake; for thou art under my protection and that of the messiah." then she sat down by his side and began to sport with him, till his alarm subsided and he knew that, had she been minded to kill him, she would have done so on the past night. after awhile, she spoke in the greek tongue to one of her serving-women, who went away and returned in a little with a goblet and a tray of food; but sherkan abstained from eating, saying in himself, "maybe she hath put somewhat in this meat." she knew what was in his thought; so she turned to him and said, "by the virtue of the messiah, the case is not as thou deemest, nor is there aught in this food of what thou suspectest! were i minded to kill thee, i had done so before now." then she came to the table and ate a mouthful of every dish, whereupon sherkan came forward and fell to. she was pleased at this, and they both ate till they were satisfied, after which she let bring perfumes and sweet-smelling herbs and wines of all colours and kinds, in vessels of gold and silver and crystal. she filled a first cup and drank it off, before offering it to sherkan, even as she had done with the food. then she filled a second time and gave the cup to him. he drank and she said to him, "see, o muslim, how thou art in the utmost delight and pleasure of life!" and she ceased not to drink and to ply him with drink, till he took leave of his wits, for the wine and the intoxication of love for her. presently she said to the serving-maid, "o merjaneh, bring us some instruments of music." "i hear and obey," replied merjaneh, and going out, returned immediately with a lute, a persian harp, a tartar flute and an egyptian dulcimer. the young lady took the lute and tuning it, sang to it in a dulcet voice, softer than the zephyr and sweeter than the waters of tesnim,[fn# ] the following verses: may allah assoilzie thine eyes! how much is the blood they have shed! how great is the tale of the shafts thy pitiless glances have sped! i honour the mistress, indeed, that harshly her suitor entreats; 'tis sin in the loved to relent or pity a lover misled. fair fortune and grace to the eyes that watch the night, sleepless, for thee, and hail to the heart of thy slave, by day that is heavy as lead! 'tis thine to condemn me to death, for thou art my king and my lord. with my life i will ransom the judge, who heapeth unright on my head. then each of the damsels rose and taking an instrument played and sang to it in the greek language. the lady their mistress, sang also, to sherkan's delight. then she said to him, "o muslim, dost thou understand what i say?" "no," replied he; "it was the beauty of thy finger-tips that threw me into ecstasies." she laughed and said, "if i sang to thee in arabic, what wouldst thou do?" "i should lose the mastery of my reason," replied he. so she took an instrument and changing the measure, sang the following verses: parting must ever bitter be; how shall one bear it patiently? three things are heavy on my heart, absence, estrangement, cruelty. i love a fair to whom i'm thrall, and severance bitter is to me. then she looked at sherkan and found he had lost his senses for delight: and he lay amongst them insensible awhile, after which he revived and recalling the singing inclined to mirth. then they fell again to drinking and ceased not from sport and merriment till the day departed with the evening and the night let fall her wings. thereupon she rose and retired to her chamber. sherkan enquired after her and being told that she was gone to her bedchamber, said, "i commend her to the safe-keeping of god and to his protection!" as soon as it was day, a waiting-woman came to him and said, "my mistress bids thee to her." so he rose and followed her, and as he drew near her lodging, the damsels received him with smitten tabrets and songs of greeting and escorted him to a great door of ivory set with pearls and jewels. here they entered and he found himself in a spacious saloon, at the upper end of which was a great estrade, carpeted with various kinds of silk, and round it open lattices giving upon trees and streams. about the place were figures, so fashioned that the air entered them and set in motion instruments of music within them, and it seemed to the beholder as if they spoke. here sat the young lady, looking on the figures; but when she saw sherkan, she sprang to her feet and taking him by the hand, made him sit down by her and asked him how he had passed the night. he blessed her and they sat talking awhile, till she said to him, "knowest thou aught touching lovers and slaves of passion?" "yes," replied he; "i know some verses on the subject." "let me hear them," said she. so he repeated the following verses: pleasure and health, o azzeh, and good digestion to thee! how with our goods and our names and our honours thou makest free! by allah, whene'er i blow hot, she of a sudden blows cold, and no sooner do i draw near, than off at a tangent flies she! indeed, as i dote upon azzeh, as soon as i've cleared me of all that stands between us and our loves, she turns and abandons me; as a traveller that trusts in the shade of a cloud for his noontide rest, but as soon as he halts, the shade flits and the cloud in the distance cloth flee. when she heard this, she said, "verily kutheiyir[fn# ] was a poet of renown and a master of chaste eloquence and attained rare perfection in praise of azzeh, especially when he says: 'if azzeh should before a judge the sun of morning cite, needs must the umpire doom to her the meed of beauty bright; and women all, who come to me, at her to rail and flite, god make your cheeks the sandal-soles whereon her feet alight!' "and indeed it is reported," added she, "that azzeh was endowed with the extreme of beauty and grace." then she said to sherkan, "o king's son, dost thou know aught of jemil's[fn# ] verses to butheineh?" "yes," replied he; "none knows jemil's verses better than i." and he repeated the following: "up and away to the holy war, jemil!" they say; and i, "what have i to do with waging war except among the fair?" for deed and saying with them alike are full of ease and cheer, and he's a martyr[fn# ] who tilts with them and falleth fighting there. if i say to butheineh, "what is this love, that eateth my life away?" she answers, "tis rooted fast in thy heart and will increase fore'er." or if i beg her to give me back some scantling of my wit, wherewith to deal with the folk and live, she answereth, "hope it ne'er!" thou willst my death, ah, woe is me! thou willst nought else but that; yet i, i can see no goal but thee, towards which my wishes fare. "thou hast done well, o king's son," said she, "and jemil also did excellently well. but what would butheineh have done with him that he says, 'thou wishest to kill me and nought else?'" "o my lady," replied he, "she sought to do with him what thou seekest to do with me, and even that will not content thee." she laughed at his answer, and they ceased not to carouse till the day departed and the night came with the darkness. then she rose and went to her sleeping-chamber, and sherkan slept in his place till the morning. as soon as he awoke, the damsels came to him with tambourines and other instruments of music, according to their wont, and kissing the earth before him, said to him, "in the name of god, deign to follow us; for our mistress bids thee to her." so he rose and accompanied the girls, who escorted him, smiting on tabrets and other instruments of music, to another saloon, bigger than the first and decorated with pictures and figures of birds and beasts, passing description. sherkan wondered at the fashion of the place and repeated the following verses: my rival plucks, of the fruits of the necklets branching wide, pearls of the breasts in gold enchased and beautified with running fountains of liquid silver in streams and cheeks of rose and beryl, side by side. it seemeth, indeed, as if the violet's colour vied with the sombre blue of the eyes, with antimony dyed.[fn# ] when the lady saw sherkan, she came to meet him, and taking him by the hand, said to him, "o son of king omar ben ennuman, hast thou any skill in the game of chess?" "yes," replied he; "but do not thou be as says the poet." and he repeated the following verses: i speak, and passion, the while, folds and unfolds me aye; but a draught of the honey of love my spirits thirst could stay. i sit at the chess with her i love, and she plays with me, with white and with black; but this contenteth me no way. meseemeth as if the king were set in the place of the rook and sought with the rival queens a bout of the game to play. and if i looked in her eyes, to spy the drift of her moves, the amorous grace of her glance would doom me to death straightaway. then she brought the chess-board and played with him; but instead of looking at her moves, he looked at her face and set the knight in the place of the elephant[fn# ] and the elephant in the place of the knight. she laughed and said to him, "if this be thy play, thou knowest nothing of the game." "this is only the first bout," replied he; "take no count of it." she beat him, and he replaced the pieces and played again with her; but she beat him a second time and a third and a fourth and a fifth. so she fumed to him and said, "thou art beaten in everything." "o my lady," answered he, "how should one not be beaten, who plays with the like of thee?" then she called for food, and they ate and washed their hands, after which the maids brought wine, and they drank. presently, the lady took the dulcimer, for she was skilled to play thereon, and sang to it the following verses: fortune is still on the shift, now gladness and now woe; i liken it to the tide, in its ceaseless ebb and flow. so drink, if thou have the power, whilst it is yet serene, lest it at unawares depart, and thou not know. they gave not over carousing till nightfall, and this day was pleasanter than the first. when the night came, the lady went to her sleeping-chamber, leaving sherkan with the damsels. so he threw himself on the ground and slept till the morning, when the damsels came to him with tambourines and other musical instruments, according to their wont. when he saw them, he sat up; and they took him and carried him to their mistress, who came to meet him and taking him by the hand, made him sit down by her side. then she asked him how he had passed the night, to which he replied by wishing her long life; and she took the lute and sang the following verses: incline not to parting, i pray, for bitter its taste is alway. the sun at his setting grows pale, to think he must part from the day. hardly had she made an end of singing, when there arose of a sudden a great clamour, and a crowd of men and knights rushed into the place, with naked swords gleaming in their hands, crying out in the greek tongue, "thou hast fallen into our hands, o sherkan! be sure of death!" when he heard this, he said to himself, "by allah, she hath laid a trap for me and held me in play, till her men should come! these are the knights with whom she threatened me: but it is i who have thrown myself into this peril." then he turned to the lady to reproach her, but saw that she had changed colour; and she sprang to her feet and said to the new-comers, "who are ye?" "o noble princess and unpeered pearl," replied the knight their chief, "dost thou know who is this man with thee?" "not i," answered she. "who is he?" quoth the knight, "he is the despoiler of cities and prince of cavaliers, sherkan, son of king omar ben ennuman. this is he who captures the citadels and masters the most impregnable strengths. the news of him reached king herdoub, thy father, by the report of the old princess dhat ed dewahi; and thou hast done good service to the army of the greeks by helping them to lay hands on this pestilent lion." when she heard this, she looked at the knight and said to him, "what is thy name?" and he answered, "my name is masoureh son of thy slave mousoureh ben kasherdeh, chief of the nobles." quoth she, "and how camest thou in to me without my leave?" "o our lady," replied he, "when i came to the gate, neither chamberlain nor porter offered me any hindrance; but all the gate-keepers rose and forewent me as of wont; though, when others come, they leave them standing at the gate, whilst they ask leave for them to enter. but this is no time for long talk, for the king awaits our return to him with this prince, who is the mainstay of the army of islam, that he may kill him and that his troops may depart whence they came, without our having the toil of fighting them." "thou sayest an ill thing," rejoined the princess. "verily, the lady dhat ed dewahi lied; and she hath avouched a vain thing, of which she knows not the truth; for by the virtue of the messiah, this man who is with me is not sherkan, nor is he a captive, but a stranger, who came to us, seeking hospitality, and we received him as a guest. so, even were we assured that this was sherkan and did we know that it was he beyond doubt, it would suit ill with my honour that i should deliver into your hands one who hath come under my safeguard. betray me not, therefore, in the person of my guest, neither bring me into ill repute among men; but return to the king my father and kiss the earth before him and tell him that the case is not according to the report of the lady dhat ed dewahi." "o abrizeh," replied the knight masoureh, "i cannot go back to the king without his enemy." quoth she (and indeed she was angry), "out on thee! return to him with the answer, and no blame shall fall on thee." but he said, "i will not return without him." at this her colour changed and she exclaimed, "a truce to talk and idle words; for of a verity this man would not have come in to us, except he were assured that he could of himself make head against a hundred horse; and if i said to him, 'art thou sherkan, son of king omar ben ennuman?' he would answer, 'yes.' nathless, it is not in your power to hinder him; for if ye beset him, he will not turn back from you, till he have slain all that are in the place. behold, he is with me and i will bring him before you, with his sword and buckler in his hands." "if i be safe from thy wrath," replied masoureh, "i am not safe from that of thy father, and when i see him, i shall sign to the knights to take him prisoner, and we will carry him, bound and abject, to the king." when she heard this, she said, "the thing shall not pass thus, for it would be a disgrace. this man is but one and ye are a hundred. so, an ye be minded to attack him, come out against him, one after one, that it may appear to the king which is the valiant amongst you." "by the messiah," rejoined masoureh, "thou sayest sooth, and none but i shall go out against him first!" then she said, "wait till i go to him and tell him and hear what he says. if he consent, it is well but if he refuse, ye shall not anywise come at him, for i and my damsels and all that are in the house will be his ransom." so she went to sherkan and told him the case, whereat he smiled and knew that she had not betrayed him, but that the matter had been bruited abroad, till it came to the king, against her wish. so he laid all the blame on himself, saying, "how came i to venture myself in the country of the greeks?" then he said to her, "indeed, to let them tilt against me, one by one, were to lay on them a burden more than they can bear. will they not come out against me, ten by ten?" "that were knavery and oppression," replied she. "one man is a match for another." when he heard this, he sprang to his feet and made towards them, with his sword and battle-gear; and masoureh also sprang up and rushed on him. sherkan met him like a lion and smote him with his sword upon the shoulder, that the blade came out gleaming from his back and vitals. when the princess saw this, sherkan's prowess was magnified in her eyes and she knew that she had not overthrown him by her strength, but by her beauty and grace. so she turned to the knights and said to them, "avenge your chief!" thereupon out came the slain man's brother, a fierce warrior, and rushed upon sherkan, who delayed not, but smote him on the shoulders, and the sword came out, gleaming, from his vitals. then cried the princess, "o servants of the messiah, avenge your comrades!" so they ceased not to come out against him, one by one, and he plied them with the sword, till he had slain fifty knights, whilst the princess looked on. and god cast terror into the hearts of those who were left, so that they held back and dared not meet him in single combat, but rushed on him all at once; and he drove at them with a heart firmer than a rock and smote them as the thresher smiteth the corn, till he had driven sense and life forth of them. then the princess cried out to her damsels, saying, "who is left in the monastery?" "none but the porters," replied they; whereupon she went up to sherkan and embraced him, and he returned with her to the saloon, after he had made an end of the mellay. now there remained a few of the knights hidden in the cells of the convent, and when abrizeh saw this, she rose and going away, returned, clad in a strait-ringed coat of mail and holding in her hand a scimitar of indian steel. and she said, "by the virtue of the messiah, i will not be grudging of myself for my guest nor will i abandon him, though for this i abide a reproach in the land of the greeks!" then she counted the dead and found that he had slain fourscore of the knights and other twenty had taken flight. when she saw how he had dealt with them, she said to him, "god bless thee, o sherkan! the cavaliers may well glory in the like of thee!" then he rose and wiping his sword of the blood of the slain, repeated the following verses: how often in battle i've cleft the array and given the champions to wild beasts a prey! ask all men what happened to me and to them, when i drove through the ranks on the sword-smiting day. i left ail their lions of war overthrown: on the sun-scorched sands of those countries they lay. when he had finished, the princess came up to him and kissed his hand; then she put off her coat of mail, and he said to her, "o my lady, wherefore didst thou don that coat of mail and bare thy sabre?" "it was of my care for thee against yonder wretches," replied she. then she called the porters and said to them, "how came you to let the king's men enter my house, without my leave!" "o princess," replied they, "we have not used to need to ask leave for the king's messengers, and especially for the chief of the knights." quoth she, "i think you were minded to dishonour me and slay my guest." and she bade sherkan strike off their heads. he did so and she said to the rest of her servants, "indeed, they deserved more than that." then turning to sherkan, she said to him, "now that there hath become manifest to thee what was hidden, i will tell thee my story. know, then, that i am the daughter of herdoub, king of roum; my name is abrizeh and the old woman called dhat ed dewahi is my grandmother, my father's mother. she it was who told my father of thee, and she will certainly cast about to ruin me, especially as thou hast slain my father's men and it is noised abroad that i have made common cause with the muslims. wherefore it were wiser that i should leave dwelling here, what while dhat ed dewahi is behind me; but i claim of thee the like kindness and courtesy i have shown thee, for my father and i are now become at odds on thine account. so do not thou omit to do aught that i shall say to thee, for indeed all this hath fallen out through thee." at this, sherkan was transported for joy and his breast dilated, and he said, "by allah, none shall come at thee, whilst my life lasts in my body! but canst thou endure the parting from thy father and thy folk?" "yes," answered she. so sherkan swore to her and they made a covenant of this. then said she, "now my heart is at ease; but there is one other condition i must exact of thee." "what is that?" asked sherkan. "it is," replied she, "that thou return with thy troops to thine own country." "o my lady," said he, "my father, king omar ben ennuman, sent me to make war upon thy father, on account of the treasure he took from the king of constantinople, and amongst the rest three great jewels, rich in happy properties." "reassure thyself," answered she; "i will tell thee the truth of the matter and the cause of the feud between us and the king of constantinople. know that we have a festival called the festival of the monastery, for which each year the kings' daughters of various countries and the wives and daughters of the notables and merchants resort to a certain monastery and abide there seven days. i was wont to resort thither with the rest; but when there befell hostility between us, my father forbade me to be present at the festival for the space of seven years. one year, it chanced that amongst the young ladies who resorted to the festival as of wont, there came the king's daughter of constantinople, a handsome girl called sufiyeh. they tarried at the monastery six days, and on the seventh, the folk went away; but sufiyeh said, 'i will not return to constantinople, but by sea.' so they fitted her out a ship, in which she embarked, she and her suite, and put out to sea; but as they sailed, a contrary wind caught them and drove the ship from her course, till, as fate and providence would have it, she fell in with a ship of the christians from the island of camphor, with a crew of five hundred armed franks, who had been cruising about for some time. when they sighted the sails of the ship in which were sufiyeh and her maidens, they gave chase in all haste and coming up with her before long, threw grapnels on board and made fast to her. then they made all sail for their own island and were but a little distant from it, when the wind veered and rent their sails and cast them on to a reef on our coast. thereupon we sallied forth on them, and looking on them as booty driven to us by fate, slew the men and made prize of the ships, in which we found the treasures and rarities in question and forty damsels, amongst whom was sufiyeh. we carried the damsels to my father, not knowing that the king's daughter of constantinople was among them, and he chose out ten of them, including sufiyeh, for himself, and divided the rest among his courtiers. then he set apart sufiyeh and four other girls and sent them to thy father, king omar ben ennuman, together with other presents, such as cloth and stuffs of wool and grecian silks. thy father accepted them and chose out from amongst the five girls the princess sufiyeh, daughter of king afridoun; nor did we hear aught more of the matter till the beginning of this year, when king afridoun wrote to my father in terms which it befits not to repeat, reproaching and menacing him and saying to him, 'two years ago, there fell into thy hands a ship of ours, that had been seized by a company of frankish corsairs and in which was my daughter sufiyeh, attended by near threescore damsels. yet thou sentest none to tell me of this and i could not make the case public, lest disgrace fall on my repute among the kings, by reason of my daughter's dishonour. so i kept the affair secret till this year, when i communicated with certain of the frankish pirates and sought news of my daughter from the kings of the islands. they replied, "by allah, we carried her not forth of thy realm, but we have heard that king herdoub took her from certain pirates." and they told me all that had befallen her. so now, except thou wish to be at feud with me and design to disgrace me and dishonour my daughter, thou wilt forthright, as soon as this letter reaches thee, send my daughter back to me. but if thou pay no heed to my letter and disobey my commandment, i will assuredly requite thee thy foul dealing and the baseness of thine acts.' when my father read this letter, it was grievous to him and he regretted not having known that sufiyeh, king afridoun's daughter, was amongst the captured damsels, that he might have sent her back to her father; and he was perplexed about the affair, for that, after the lapse of so long a time, he could not send to king omar ben ennuman and demand her back from him, the more that he had lately heard that god had vouchsafed him children by this very sufiyeh. so when we considered the matter, we knew that this letter was none other than a great calamity; and nothing would serve but that my father must write an answer to it, making his excuses to king afridoun and swearing to him that he knew not that his daughter was among the girls in the ship and setting forth how he had sent her to king omar ben ennuman and god had vouchsafed him children by her. when my father's reply reached king afridoun, he rose and sat down and roared and foamed at the mouth, exclaiming, 'what! shall he make prize of my daughter and she become a slave-girl and be passed from hand to hand and sent for a gift to kings, and they lie with her without a contract? by the virtue of the messiah and the true faith, i will not desist till i have taken my revenge for this and wiped out my disgrace, and indeed i will do a deed that the chroniclers shall chronicle after me.' so he took patience till he had devised a plot and laid great snares, when he sent an embassy to thy father king omar, to tell him that which thou hast heard so that thy father equipped thee and an army with thee and sent thee to him, afridoun's object being to lay hold of thee and thine army with thee. as for the three jewels of which he told thy father, he spoke not the truth of them; for they were with sufiyeh and my father took them from her, when she fell into his hands, she and her maidens, and gave them to me, and they are now with me. so go thou to thy troops and turn them back, ere they fare farther into the land of the franks and the country of the greeks; for as soon as you are come far enough into the inward of the country, they will stop the roads upon you, and there will be no escape for you from their hands till the day of rewards and punishments. i know that thy troops are still where thou leftest them, because thou didst order them to halt there three days; and they have missed thee all this time and know not what to do." when sherkan heard her words, he was absent awhile in thought then he kissed abrizeh's hand and said, "praise be to god who hath bestowed thee on me and appointed thee to be the cause of my salvation and that of those who are with me! but it is grievous to me to part from thee and i know not what will become of thee after my departure." quoth she, "go now to thy troops and lead them back, whilst ye are yet near your own country. if the ambassadors are still with them, lay hands on them, that the case may be made manifest to thee, and after three days i will rejoin thee and we will all enter baghdad together; but forget thou not the compact between us." then she rose to bid him farewell and assuage the fire of longing; so she took leave of him and embraced him and wept sore; whereupon passion and desire were sore upon him and he also wept and repeated the following verses: i bade her farewell, whilst my right hand was wiping my eyes, and still with my left, the while, i held her in close embrace. then, "fearest thou not disgrace?" quoth she; and i answered, "no. sure, on the parting-day, for lovers there's no disgrace!" then sherkan left her and went without the monastery, where they brought him his horse and he mounted and rode down the bank of the stream, till he came to the bridge, and crossing it, entered the forest. as soon as he was clear of the trees and came to the open country, he was aware of three horsemen pricking towards him. so he drew his sword and rode on cautiously: but as they drew near he recognized them and behold, it was the vizier dendan and two of his officers. when they saw him and knew him, they dismounted and saluting him, asked the reason of his absence, whereupon he told them all that had passed between him and the princess abrizeh from first to last. the vizier returned thanks to god the most high for his safety and said, "let us at once depart hence, for the ambassadors that were with us are gone to inform their king of our arrival, and belike he will hasten to fall on us and seize us." so they rode on in haste, till they came to the camp, when sherkan commanded to depart forthright, and the army set out and journeyed by forced marches for five days, at the end of which time they alighted in a thickly wooded valley, where they rested awhile. then they set out again and fared on till they came to the frontiers of their own country. here they felt themselves in safety and halted to rest; and the country people came out to them with guest-gifts and victual and fodder for the cattle. they lay there and rested two days; after which sherkan bade the vizier dendan fare forward to baghdad with his troops, and he did so. but sherkan himself abode behind with a hundred horse, till the rest of the army had been gone a day, when he mounted, he and his men, and fared on two parasangs' space, till they came to a narrow pass between two mountains and behold, there arose a great cloud of dust in their front. so they halted their horses awhile, till the dust lifted and discovered a hundred cavaliers, as they were fierce lions, cased in complete steel as soon as they came within earshot of sherkan and his men, they cried out to them, saying, "by john and mary, we have gotten what we hoped! we have been following you by forced marches, night and day, till we forewent you in this place. so alight and lay down your arms and yield yourselves, that we may grant you your lives." when sherkan heard this, his eyes rolled and his cheeks flushed and he said, "o dogs of nazarenes, how dare ye enter our country and set foot on our earth? and doth not this suffice you, but ye must adventure yourselves and give us such words as these? do ye think to escape out of our hands and return to your country?" then he cried out to his hundred horse, saying, "up and at these dogs, for they are even as you in number!" so saying, he drew his sword and drove at them, without further parley, he and his hundred men. the franks received them with hearts stouter than stone, and they met, man to man. then fell champion upon champion and there befell a sore strife and great was the terror and the roar of the battle; nor did they leave jousting and foining and smiting with swords, till the day departed and the night came with the darkness; when they drew apart, and sherkan mustered his men and found them all unhurt, save four who were slightly wounded. then said he to them, "by allah, all my life i have waded in the surging sea of war and battle, but never saw i any so firm and stout in sword-play and shock of men as these warriors!" "know, o king," replied they, "that there is among them a frank cavalier, who is their leader, and indeed he is a man of valour and his strokes are terrible: but, by allah, he spares us, great and small; for whoso falls into his hands, he lets him go and forbears to slay him. by allah, an he would, he could kill us all!" when sherkan heard this, he was confounded and said, "to-morrow, we will draw out and defy them to single combat, for we are a hundred to their hundred; and we will seek help against them from the lord of the heavens." meanwhile, the franks came to their leader and said to him, "of a truth, we have not come by our desire of these this day." "to-morrow," quoth he, "we will draw out and joust against them, one by one." so they passed the night in this mind, and both camps kept watch till the morning. as soon as god the most high brought on the day, king sherkan mounted, with his hundred horse, and they betook themselves to the field, where they found the franks ranged in battle array, and sherkan said to his men, "verily, our enemies are of the same mind as we; so up and at them briskly." then came forth a herald of the franks and cried out, saying, "let there be no fighting betwixt us to-day, except by way of single combat, a champion of yours against one of ours!" thereupon one of sherkan's men came out from the ranks and spurring between the two parties, cried out, "who is for jousting? who is for fighting? let no laggard nor weakling come out against me to-day!" hardly had he made an end of speaking, when there sallied forth to him a frankish horseman, armed cap-a-pie and clad in cloth of gold, riding on a gray horse, and he had no hair on his cheeks. he drove his horse into the midst of the field and the two champions fell to cutting and thrusting, nor was it long before the frank smote the muslim with his lance and unhorsing him, took him prisoner and bore him off in triumph. at this, his comrades rejoiced and forbidding him to go out again, sent forth another to the field, to whom sallied out a second muslim, the brother of the first. the two drove at each other and fought for a little, till the frank ran at the muslim and throwing him off his guard by a feint, smote him with the butt-end of his spear and unhorsed him and took him prisoner. after this fashion, the muslims ceased not to come forth and the franks to unhorse them and take them prisoner, till the day departed and the night came with the darkness. now they had captured twenty cavaliers of the muslims, and when sherkan saw this, it was grievous to him, and he mustered his men and said to them, "what is this thing that hath befallen us? to-morrow morning, i myself will go out into the field and seek to joust with their chief and learn his reason for entering our country and warn him against fighting. if he persist, we will do battle with him, and if he proffer peace, we will make peace with him." they passed the night thus, and when god brought on the day, both parties mounted and drew out in battle array. then sherkan was about to sally forth, when behold, more than half of the franks dismounted and marched on foot, before one of them, who was mounted, to the midst of the field. sherkan looked at this cavalier and behold, he was their chief. he was clad in a tunic of blue satin and a close-ringed shirt of mail; his face was as the full moon at its rising and he had no hair on his cheeks. in his hand he held a sword of indian steel, and he was mounted on a black horse with a white star, like a dirhem, on his forehead. he spurred into the midst of the field and signing to the muslims, cried out with fluent speech in the arabic tongue, saying, "ho, sherkan! ho, son of omar ben ennuman, thou that stormest the citadels and layest waste the lands, up and out to joust and battle with him who halves the field with thee! thou art prince of thy people and i am prince of mine; and whoso hath the upper hand, the other's men shall come under his sway." hardly had he made an end of speaking, when out came sherkan, with a heart full of wrath, and spurring his horse into the midst of the field, drove like an angry lion at the frank, who awaited him with calm and steadfastness and met him as a champion should. then they fell to cutting and thrusting, nor did they cease to wheel and turn and give and take, as they were two mountains clashing together or two seas breaking one against the other, till the day departed and the night brought on the darkness, when they drew apart and returned, each to his people. as soon as sherkan reached his comrades, he said to them, "never in my life saw i the like of this cavalier; and he has one fashion i never yet beheld in any. it is that, when he has a chance of dealing his adversary a deadly blow, he reverses his lance and smites him with the butt. of a truth, i know not what will be the issue between him and me; but i would we had in our army his like and the like of his men." then he passed the night in sleep, and when it was morning, the frank spurred out to the mid-field, where sherkan met him, and they fell to fighting and circling one about the other, whilst all necks were stretched out to look at them; nor did they cease from battle and swordplay and thrusting with spears, till the day departed and the night came with the darkness, when they drew asunder and returned each to his own camp. then each related to his comrades what had befallen him with his adversary, and the frank said to his men, "to-morrow shall decide the matter." so they both passed the night in sleep, and as soon as it was day, they mounted and drove at each other and ceased not to fight till the middle of the day. then the frank made a shift, first spurring his horse and then checking him with the bridle, so that he stumbled and threw him; whereupon sherkan fell on him and was about to smite him with his sword and make an end of the long strife, when the frank cried out, "o sherkan, this is not the fashion of champions! it is only the beaten[fn# ] who deal thus with women." when sherkan heard this, he raised his eyes to the frank's face and looking straitly at him, knew him for none other than the princess abrizeh, whereupon he threw the sword from his hand and kissing the earth before her, said to her, "what moved thee to do this thing?" quoth she, "i was minded to prove thee in the field and try thy stoutness in battle. these that are with me are all of them my women, and they are all maids; yet have they overcome thy horsemen in fair fight; and had not my horse stumbled with me, thou shouldst have seen my strength and prowess." sherkan smiled at her speech and said, "praised be god for safety and for my reunion with thee, o queen of the age!" then she cried out to her damsels to loose the prisoners and dismount. they did as she bade and came and kissed the earth before her and sherkan, who said to them, "it is the like of you that kings treasure up against the hour of need." then he signed to his comrades to salute the princess; so they dismounted all and kissed the earth before her, for they knew the story. after this, the whole two hundred mounted and rode day and night for six days' space, till they drew near to baghdad when they halted and sherkan made abrizeh and her companions put off their male attire and don the dress of the women of the greeks. then he despatched a company of his men to baghdad to acquaint his father with his arrival in company with the princess abrizeh, daughter of king herdoub, to the intent that he might send some one to meet her. they passed the night in that place, and when god the most high brought on the day, sherkan and his company took horse and fared on towards the city. on the way, they met the vizier dendan, who had come out with a thousand horse, by commandment of king omar, to do honour to the princess abrizeh and to sherkan. when they drew near, the vizier and his company dismounted and kissed the earth before the prince and princess, then mounted again and escorted them, till they reached the city and came to the palace. sherkan went in to his father, who rose and embraced him and questioned him of what had happened. so he told him all that had befallen him, including what the princess abrizeh had told him and what had passed between them and how she had left her father and her kingdom and had chosen to depart and take up her abode with them. and he said to his father, "indeed, the king of constantinople had plotted to do us a mischief, because of his daughter sufiyeh, for that the king of caesarea had made known to him her history and the manner of her being made a gift to thee, he not knowing her to be king afridoun's daughter; else would he have restored her to her father. and of a verity, we were only saved from these perils by the lady abrizeh, and never saw i a more valiant than she!" and he went on to tell his father of the wrestling and the jousting from beginning to end. when king omar heard his son's story, abrizeh was exalted in his eyes, and he longed to see her and sent sherkan to fetch her. so sherkan went out to her and said, "the king calls for thee." she replied, "i hear and obey;" and he took her and brought her in to his father, who was seated on his throne, attended only by the eunuchs, having dismissed his courtiers and officers. the princess entered and kissing the ground before him, saluted him in choice terms. he was amazed at her fluent speech and thanked her for her dealing with his son sherkan and bade her be seated. so she sat down and uncovered her face, which when the king saw, his reason fled and he made her draw near and showed her especial favour, appointing her a palace for herself and her damsels and assigning them due allowances. then he asked her of the three jewels aforesaid, and she replied, "o king of the age, they are with me." so saying, she rose and going to her lodging, opened her baggage and brought out a box, from which she took a casket of gold. she opened the casket and taking out the three jewels, kissed them and gave them to the king and went away, taking his heart with her. then the king sent for his son sherkan and gave him one of the three jewels. sherkan enquired of the other two, and the king replied, "o my son, i mean to give one to thy brother zoulmekan and the other to thy sister nuzhet ez zeman." when sherkan heard that he had a brother (for up to that time he had only known of his sister) he turned to his father and said to him, "o king, hast thou a son other than myself?" "yes," answered omar, "and he is now six years old." and he told him that his name was zoulmekan and that he and nuzhet ez zeman were twins, born at a birth. this news was grievous to sherkan, but he hid his chagrin and said, "the blessing of god the most high be upon them!" and he threw the jewel from his hand and shook the dust off his clothes. quoth his father, "what made thee change colour, when i told thee of this, seeing that the kingdom is assured to thee after me? for, verily, the troops have sworn to thee and the amirs and grandees have taken the oath of succession to thee; and this one of the three jewels is thine." at this, sherkan bowed his head and was ashamed to bandy words with his father: so he accepted the jewel and went away, knowing not what to do for excess of anger, and stayed not till he reached the princess abrizeh's palace. when she saw him, she rose to meet him and thanked him for what he had done and called down blessings on him and his father. then she sat down and made him sit by her side. after awhile, she saw anger in his face and questioned him, whereupon he told her that god had vouchsafed his father two children, a boy and a girl, by sufiyeh, and that he had named the boy zoulmekan and the girl nuzhet ez zeman. "he has given me one of the jewels," continued he, "and kept the other two for them. i knew not of zoulmekan's birth till this day, and he is now six years old. so when i learnt this, wrath possessed me and i threw down the jewel: and i tell thee the reason of my anger and hide nothing from thee. but i fear lest the king take thee to wife, for he loves thee and i saw in him signs of desire for thee: so what wilt thou say, if he wish this?" "know, o sherkan," replied the princess, "that thy father has no dominion over me, nor can he take me without my consent; and if he take me by force, i will kill myself. as for the three jewels, it was not my intent that he should give them to either of his children and i had no thought but that he would lay them up with his things of price in his treasury; but now i desire of thy favour that thou make me a present of the jewel that he gave thee, if thou hast accepted it." "i hear and obey," replied sherkan and gave her the jewel. then said she, "fear nothing," and talked with him awhile. presently she said, "i fear lest my father hear that i am with you and sit not down with my loss, but do his endeavour to come at me; and to that end he may ally himself with king afridoun and both come on thee with armies and so there befall a great turmoil." "o my lady," replied sherkan, "if it please thee to sojourn with us, take no thought of them, though all that be in the earth and in the ocean gather themselves together against us!" "it is well," rejoined she; "if ye entreat me well, i will tarry with you, and if ye deal evilly by me, i will depart from you." then she bade her maidens bring food; so they set the tables, and sherkan ate a little and went away to his own house, anxious and troubled. meanwhile, king omar betook himself to the lodging of the lady sufiyeh, who rose to her feet, when she saw him, and stood till he was seated. presently, his two children, zoulmekan and nuzbet ez zeman, came to him, and he kissed them and hung a jewel round each one's neck, at which they rejoiced and kissed his hands. then they went to their mother, who rejoiced in them and wished the king long life; and he said to her, "why hast thou not told me, all this time, that thou art king afridoun's daughter, that i might have advanced thee and enlarged thee in dignity and used thee with increase of honour and consideration?" "o king," replied sufiyeh, "what could i desire greater or more exalted than this my standing with thee, overwhelmed as i am with thy favours and thy goodness? and god to boot hath blessed me by thee with two children, a son and a daughter." her answer pleased the king and he set apart for her and her children a splendid palace. moreover, he appointed for their service eunuchs and attendants and doctors and sages and astrologers and physicians and surgeons and in every way redoubled in favour and munificence towards them. nevertheless, he was greatly occupied with love of the princess abrizeh and burnt with desire of her night and day; and every night, he would go in to her, and talk with her and pay his court to her, but she gave him no answer, saying only, "o king of the age, i have no desire for men at this present." when he saw that she repelled him, his passion and longing increased till, at last, when he was weary of this, he called his vizier dendan and opening his heart to him, told him how love for the princess abrizeh was killing him and how she refused to yield to his wishes and he could get nothing of her. quoth the vizier, "as soon as it is dark night, do thou take a piece of henbane, the bigness of a diner, and go in to her and drink wine with her. when the hour of leave-taking draws near, fill a last cup and dropping the henbane in it, give it to her to drink, and she will not reach her sleeping chamber, ere the drug take effect on her. then do thou go in to her and take thy will of her." "thy counsel is good," said the king, and going to his treasury, took thence a piece of concentrated henbane, which if an elephant smelt, he would sleep from year to year. he put it in his bosom and waited till some little of the night was past, when he betook himself to the palace of the princess, who rose to receive him; but he bade her sit down. so she sat down, and he by her, and he began to talk with her of drinking, whereupon she brought the table of wine and set it before him. then she set on the drinking-vessels, and lighted the candles and called for fruits and confections and sweetmeats and all that pertains to drinking. so they fell to drinking and ceased not to carouse, till drunkenness crept into the princess's head. when the king saw this, he took out the piece of henbane and holding it between his fingers, filled a cup and drank it off; then filled another cup, into which he dropped the henbane, unseen of abrizeh, and saying, "thy health!" presented it to her. she took it and drank it off; then rose and went to her sleeping-chamber. he waited awhile, till he was assured that the drug had taken effect on her and gotten the mastery of her senses, when he went in to her and found her lying on her back, with a lighted candle at her head and another at her feet. she had put off her trousers, and the air raised the skirt of her shift and discovered what was between her thighs. when the king saw this, he took leave of his senses for desire and satan tempted him and he could not master himself, but put off his trousers and fell upon her and did away her maidenhead. then he went out and said to one of her women, by name merjaneh, "go in to thy mistress, for she calls for thee." so she went in to the princess and found her lying on her back, with the blood running down her thighs; whereupon she took a handkerchief and wiped away the blood and tended her mistress and lay by her that night. as soon as it was day, she washed the princess's hands and feet and bathed her face and mouth with rose-water, whereupon she sneezed and yawned and cast up the henbane. then she revived and washed her hands and mouth and said to merjaneh, "tell me what has befallen me." so she told her what had passed and how she had found her, lying on her back, with the blood running down her thighs, wherefore she knew that the king had played the traitor with her and had undone her and taken his will of her. at this she was afflicted and shut herself up, saying to her damsels, "let no one come in to me and say to all that i am ill, till i see what god will do with me." the news of her illness came to the king, and he sent her cordials and sherbet of sugar and confections. some months passed thus, during which time the king's flame subsided and his desire for her cooled, so that he abstained from her. now she had conceived by him, and in due time, her pregnancy appeared and her belly swelled, wherefore the world was straitened upon her and she said to her maid merjaneh, "know that it is not the folk who have wronged me, but i who sinned against myself in that i left my father and mother and country. indeed, i abhor life, for my heart is broken and i have neither courage nor strength left. i used, when i mounted my horse, to have the mastery of him, but now i have no strength to ride. if i be brought to bed in this place, i shall be dishonoured among my women, and every one in the palace will know that he has taken my maidenhead in the way of shame; and if i return to my father, with what face shall i meet him or have recourse to him? how well says the poet: wherewith shall i be comforted, that am of all bereft, to whom nor folk nor home nor friend nor dwelling-place is left?" quoth merjaneh, "it is for thee to command; i will obey." and abrizeh said, "i would fain leave this place privily, so that none shall know of me but thou, and return to my father and mother; for when flesh stinketh, there is nought for it but its own folk, and god shall do with me as he will." "it is well, o princess," replied merjaneh. so she made ready in secret and waited awhile, till the king went out to hunt and sherkan betook himself to certain of the fortresses to sojourn there awhile. then she said to merjaneh, "i wish to set out to-night, but how shall i do? for already i feel the pangs of labour, and if i abide other four or five days, i shall be brought to bed here, and how then can i go to my country? but this is what was written on my forehead." then she considered awhile and said, "look us out a man who will go with us and serve us by the way, for i have no strength to bear arms." "by allah, o my lady," replied merjaneh, "i know none but a black slave called ghezban, who is one of the slaves of king omar ben ennuman; he is a stout fellow and keeps guard at the gate of our palace. the king appointed him to attend us, and indeed we have overwhelmed him with favours. i will go out and speak with him of the matter and promise him money and tell him that, if he have a mind to tarry with us, we will marry him to whom he will. he told me before to-day that he had been a highwayman; so if he consent, we shall have our desire and come to our own country." "call him, that i may talk with him," said the princess. so merjaneh went out and said to the slave, "o ghezban, god prosper thee, do thou fall in with what my lady says to thee." then she took him by the hand and brought him to abrizeh. he kissed the princess's hands and when she saw him, her heart took fright at him, but she said to herself, "necessity is imperious," and to him, "o ghezban, wilt thou help us against the perfidies of fortune and keep my secret, if i discover it to thee?" when the slave saw her, his heart was taken by storm and he fell in love with her forthright, and could not choose but answer, "o my mistress, whatsoever thou biddest me do, i will not depart from it." quoth she, "i would have thee take me and this my maid and saddle us two camels and two of the king's horses and set on each horse a saddle-bag of stuff and somewhat of victual, and go with us to our own country; where, if thou desire to abide with us, i will marry thee to her thou shalt choose of my damsels; or if thou prefer to return to thine own country, we will send thee thither, with as much money as will content thee." when ghezban heard this, he rejoiced greatly and replied, "o my lady, i will serve thee faithfully and will go at once and saddle the horses." then he went away, rejoicing and saying in himself, "i shall get my will of them; and if they will not yield to me, i will kill them and take their riches." but this his intent he kept to himself and presently returned, mounted on one horse and leading other two and two camels. he brought the horses to the princess, who mounted one and made merjaneh mount the other, albeit she was suffering from the pains of labour and could scarce possess herself for anguish. then they set out and journeyed night and day through the passes of the mountains, till there remained but a day's journey between them and their own country, when the pangs of travail came upon abrizeh and she could no longer sit her horse. so she said to ghezban, "set me down, for the pains of labour are upon me," and cried to merjaneh, saying, "do thou alight and sit down by me and deliver me." they both drew rein and dismounting from their horses, helped the princess to alight, and she aswoon for stress of pain. when ghezban saw her on the ground, satan entered into him and he drew his sabre and brandishing it in her face, said, "o my lady, vouchsafe me thy favours." with this, she turned to him and said, "it were a fine thing that i should yield to black slaves, after having i refused kings and princes!" and she was wroth with him and said, "what words are these? out on thee! do not talk thus in my presence and know that i will never consent to what thou sayst, though i drink the cup of death. wait till i have cast my burden and am delivered of the after-birth, and after, if thou be able thereto, do with me as thou wilt; but, an thou leave not lewd talk at this time, i will slay myself and leave the world and be at peace from all this." and she recited the following verses: o ghezban, unhand me and let me go freer sure, fortune is heavy enough upon me. my lord hath forbidden me whoredom. "the fire shall be the transgressor's last dwelling," quoth he: so look not on me with the eye of desire, for surely to lewdness i may not agree; and if thou respect not mine honour and god nor put away filthy behaviour from thee, i will call with my might on the men of my tribe and draw them ail hither from upland and lea. were i hewn, limb from limb, with the yemani sword, yet never a lecher my visage should see of the freeborn and mighty; so how then should i let a whoreson black slave have possession of me? when ghezban heard this, he was exceeding angry; his eyes grew bloodshot and his face became of the colour of dust; his nostrils swelled, his lips protruded and the terrors of his aspect redoubled. and he repeated the following verses: abrizeh, have mercy nor leave me to sigh, who am slain by the glance of thy yemani eye![fn# ] my body is wasted, my patience at end, and my heart for thy cruelty racked like to die. thy glances with sorcery ravish all hearts; my reason is distant and passion is nigh. though thou drewst to thy succour the world full of troops, i'd not stir till my purpose accomplished had i. thereupon abrizeh wept sore and said to him, "out on thee, o ghezban! how darest thou demand this of me, o son of shame and nursling of lewdness? dost thou think all folk are alike!" when the pestilent slave heard this, he was enraged and his eyes reddened: and he came up to her and smote her with the sword on her neck and killed her. then he made off into the mountains, driving her horse before him with the treasure. in the agonies of death, she gave birth to a son, like the moon, and merjaneh took him and laid him by her side, after doing him the necessary offices; and behold, the child fastened to its mother's breast, and she dead. when merjaneh saw this, she cried out grievously and rent her clothes and cast dust on her head and buffeted her cheeks, till the blood came, saying, "alas, my mistress! alas, the pity of it! thou art dead by the hand of a worthless black slave, after all thy prowess!" as she sat weeping, there arose a great cloud of dust and darkened the plain; but, after awhile, it lifted and discovered a numerous army. now this was the army of king herdoub, the princess abrizeh's father, who, hearing that his daughter had fled to baghdad, she and her maidens, and that they were with king omar ben ennuman, had come out with his troops to seek tidings of her from travellers who might have seen her with king omar at baghdad. when he had gone a day's journey from his capital, he espied three horsemen afar off and made towards them, thinking to ask whence they came and seek news of his daughter. now these three were his daughter and merjaneh and ghezban; and when the latter saw the troops drawing near, he feared for himself; so he killed abrizeh and fled. when they came up and king herdoub saw his daughter lying dead and merjaneh weeping over her, he threw himself from his horse and fell down in a swoon. so all his company dismounted and pitching the tents, set up a great pavilion for the king, without which stood the grandees of the kingdom. at the sight of her lord the king, merjaneh's tears redoubled, and when he came to himself, he questioned her and she told him all that had passed, how he that had slain his daughter was a black slave, belonging to king omar ben ennuman, and how the latter had dealt with the princess. when king herdoub heard this, the world grew black in his sight and he wept sore. then he called for a litter and laying his dead daughter therein, returned to caesarea and carried her into the palace. then he went in to his mother dhat ed dewahi and said to her, "shall the muslims deal thus with my daughter? king omar ben ennuman despoiled her by force of her honour and after this, one of his black slaves slew her. by the messiah, i will assuredly be revenged for her and clear away the stain from my honour! else i shall kill myself with my own hand." and he wept passing sore. quoth his mother, "it was none other than merjaneh killed her, for she hated her in secret. but do not thou fret for taking revenge for thy daughter, for, by the virtue of the messiah, i will not turn back from king omar ben ennuman, till i have slain him and his sons; and i will assuredly do a deed, passing the power of wise men and champions, of which the chroniclers shall tell in all countries and places: but needs must thou obey me in all i shall direct, for he who is firmly set on aught shall surely compass his desire." "by the virtue of the messiah," replied he, "i will not cross thee in aught that thou shalt say!" then said she, "bring me a number of damsels, high-bosomed maids, and summon the wise men of the time and let them teach them philosophy and the art of conversation and making verses and the rules of behaviour before kings, and let them talk with them of all manner of science and edifying knowledge. the sages must be muslims, that they may teach the damsels the language and traditions of the arabs, together with the history of the khalifs and the pedigree of the kings of islam; and if we persevere in this for the space of four years, we shall attain our end. so possess thy soul in patience and wait; for, as one of the arabs says, 'it is a little thing to wait forty years for one's revenge.' when we have taught the girls these things, we shall be able to do our will with our enemy, for he is a doting lover of women and has three hundred and threescore concubines, to which are now added a hundred of the flower of thy damsels, that were with thy late daughter. so, as soon as we have made an end of their education, i will take them and set out with them." when the king heard his mother's words, he rejoiced and came up to her and kissed her head. then he rose at once and despatched messengers and couriers to the ends of the earth, to fetch him muslim sages. so they betook them to distant lands and brought him thence the sages and doctors whom he sought. when they were before him, he made much of them and bestowed on them dresses of honour, appointing them stipends and allowances and promising them much money, whenas they should have taught the damsels. then he committed the latter to their charge, enjoining them to instruct them in all manner of knowledge, sacred and profane, and all polite accomplishments; and they set themselves to do his bidding. as for king omar ben ennuman, when he returned from hunting, he sought the princess abrizeh, but found her not nor could any give him news of her. this was grievous to him and he said, "how did she leave the palace, unknown of any? had my kingdom been at stake in this, it were in a parlous case! never again will i go a-hunting till i have sent to the gates those who shall keep good guard over them!" and he was sore vexed and heavy at heart for the loss of the princess abrizeh. presently, his son sherkan returned from his journey; and he told him what had happened and how the princess had fled, whilst he was absent a-hunting, whereat he was greatly concerned. then king omar took to visiting his children every day and making much of them and brought them wise men and doctors, to teach them, appointing them stipends and allowances. when sherkan saw this, he was exceeding wroth and jealous of his brother and sister, so that the signs of chagrin appeared in his face and he ceased not to languish by reason of this, till one day his father said to him, "what ails thee, that i see thee grown weak in body and pale of face?" "o my father," replied sherkan, "every time i see thee fondle my brother and sister and make much of them, jealousy seizes on me, and i fear lest it grow on me, till i slay them and thou slay me in return. this is the reason of my weakness of body and change of colour. but now i crave of thy favour that thou give me one of thine outlying fortresses, that i may abide there the rest of my life, for as the byword says, 'it is better and fitter for me to be at a distance from my friend; for when the eye seeth not, the heart doth not grieve.'" and he bowed his head. when the king heard sherkan's words and knew the cause of his ailment, he soothed him and said to him, "o my son, i grant thee this. i have not in my realm a greater than the fortress of damascus, and the government of it is thine from this time." so saying, he called his secretaries of state and bade them make out sherkan's patent of investiture to the viceroyalty of damascus of syria. then he equipped sherkan and formally invested him with the office and gave him his final instructions, enjoining him to policy and good government; and the prince took leave of his father and the grandees and officers of state and set out for his government, taking with him the vizier dendan. when he arrived at damascus, the townspeople beat the drums and blew the trumpets and decorated the city and came out to meet him in great state, whilst all the notables and grandees walked in procession, each according to his rank. soon after sherkan's departure, the governors of king omar's children presented themselves before him and said to him, "o our lord, thy children's education is now complete and they are versed in all polite accomplishments and in the rules of manners and etiquette." at this the king rejoiced with an exceeding joy and conferred bountiful largesse upon the wise men, seeing zoulmekan grown up and flourishing and skilled in horsemanship. the prince had now reached the age of fourteen and occupied himself with piety and devout exercises, loving the poor and wise men and the students of the koran, so that all the people of baghdad loved him, men and women. one day, the procession of the mehmil[fn# ] of irak passed round baghdad, previously to the departure of the pilgrimage to the holy places[fn# ] and tomb of the prophet.[fn# ] when zoulmekan saw the procession, he was seized with longing to go on the pilgrimage; so he went in to his father and said to him, "i come to ask thy leave to make the pilgrimage." but his father forbade him, saying, "wait till next year, and i will go with thee." when zoulmekan saw that the fulfilment of his desire was postponed, he betook himself to his sister nuzhet ez zeman, whom he found standing at prayer. as soon as she had made an end of her devotions, he said to her, "i am dying of desire to see the holy house of god at mecca and to visit the prophet's tomb. i asked my father's leave, but he forbade me: so i mean to take somewhat of money and set out privily on the pilgrimage, without his knowledge." "i conjure thee by allah," exclaimed she, "to take me with thee and that thou forbid me not to visit the tomb of the prophet, whom god bless and preserve!" and he answered, "as soon as it is dark night, do thou leave this place, without telling any, and come to me." accordingly, she waited till the middle of the night, when she donned a man's habit and went to the gate of the palace, where she found zoulmekan with camels ready harnessed. so they mounted and riding after the caravan, mingled with the irak pilgrims, and god decreed them a prosperous journey, so that they entered mecca the holy in safety, standing upon arafat and performing the various rites of the pilgrimage. then they paid a visit to the tomb of the prophet (whom god bless and preserve) and thought to return with the pilgrims to their native land; but zoulmekan said to his sister, "o my sister, it is in my mind to visit jerusalem and the tomb of abraham the friend of god (on whom be peace)." "i also desire to do this," replied she. so they agreed upon this, and he went out and took passage for himself and her and they made ready and set out with a company of pilgrims bound for jerusalem. that very night she fell sick of an ague and was grievously ill, but presently recovered, after which her brother also sickened. she tended him during the journey, but the fever increased on him and he grew weaker and weaker, till they arrived at jerusalem, where they alighted at a khan and hired a lodging there. here they abode some time, whilst zoulmekan's weakness increased on him, till he was wasted with sickness and became delirious. at this, his sister was greatly afflicted and exclaimed, "there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme! it is he who hath decreed this." they sojourned there awhile, his sickness ever increasing and she tending him, till all their money was spent and she had not so much as a dirhem left. then she sent a servant of the khan to the market, to sell some of her clothes, and spent the price upon her brother; and so she sold all she had, piece by piece, till she had nothing left but an old rug; whereupon she wept and exclaimed, "god is the orderer of the past and the future!" presently, her brother said to her, "o my sister, i feel recovery drawing near and i long for a little roast meat." "o my brother," replied she, "i am ashamed to beg; but tomorrow i will enter some rich man's house and serve him and earn somewhat for our living." then she bethought herself awhile and said, "it is hard to me to leave thee and thou in this state, but i must perforce go." "god forbid!" rejoined he. "thou wilt be put to shame; but there is no power and no virtue but in god!" and he wept and she wept too. then she said, "o my brother, we are strangers and this whole year have we dwelt here; yet none hath knocked at our door. shall we then die of hunger? i know no resource but that i go out and earn somewhat to keep us alive, till thou recover from thy sickness; when we will return to our native land." she sat weeping with him awhile, after which she rose and veiling her head with a camel-cloth, which the owner had forgotten with them, embraced her brother and went forth, weeping and knowing not whither she should go. zoulmekan abode, awaiting her return, till the evening; but she came not, and the night passed and the morning came, but still she returned not; and so two days went by. at this he was greatly troubled and his heart fluttered for her, and hunger was sore upon him. at last he left the chamber and calling the servant of the inn, bade him carry him to the bazaar. so he carried him to the market and laid him down there; and the people of jerusalem came round him and were moved to tears at his condition. he signed to them for somewhat to eat; so they took money from some of the merchants and bought food and fed him therewith; after which they carried him to a shop, where they laid him on a mat of palm-leaves and set a vessel of water at his head. at nightfall, they all went away, sore concerned for him, and in the middle of the night, he called to mind his sister, and his sickness redoubled on him, so that he abstained from eating and drinking and became insensible. when the people of the market saw him thus, they took thirty dirhems for him from the merchants and hiring a camel, said to the driver, "carry this sick man to damascus and leave him at the hospital; peradventure he may be cured and recover his health." "on my head be it!" replied he; but he said to himself, "how shall i take this sick man to damascus, and he nigh upon death?" so he carried him away and hid with him till the night, when he threw him down on the fuel-heap in the stoke-hole of a bath and went his way. in the morning, the stoker of the bath came to his work and finding zoulmekan cast on his back on the fuel-heap, exclaimed, "could they find no other place in which to throw this dead man?" so saying, he gave him a push with his foot, and he moved, whereupon quoth the stoker, "this is some one who has eaten hashish and thrown himself down at hazard." then he looked at him and saw that he had no hair on his face and was endowed with grace and comeliness; so he took pity on him and knew that he was sick and a stranger. "there is no power and no virtue but in god!" said he "i have sinned against this youth; for indeed the prophet (whom god bless and preserve!) enjoins hospitality to strangers." then he lifted him up and carrying him to his own house, committed him to his wife and bade her tend him. so she spread him a bed and laid a cushion under his head, then heated water and washed his hands and feet and face. meanwhile, the stoker went to the market and buying rose-water and sherbet of sugar, sprinkled zoulmekan's face with the one and gave him to drink of the other. then he fetched a clean shirt and put it on him. with this, zoulmekan scented the breeze of recovery and life returned to him; and he sat up and leant against the pillow. at this the stoker rejoiced and exclaimed, "o my god, i beseech thee, by thy hidden mysteries, make the salvation of this youth to be at my hands!" and he nursed him assiduously for three days, giving him to drink of sherbet of sugar and willow-flower water and rose-water and doing him all manner of service and kindness, till health began to return to his body and he opened his eyes and sat up. presently the stoker came in and seeing him sitting up and showing signs of amendment, said to him, "how dost thou now, o my son?" "thanks be to god," replied zoulmekan, "i am well and like to recover, if so he please." the stoker praised the lord of all for this and going to the market, bought ten chickens, which he carried to his wife and said to her, "kill two of these for him every day, one in the morning and the other at nightfall." so she rose and killed a fowl, then boiling it, brought it to him and fed him with the flesh and gave him the broth to drink. when he had done eating, she brought hot water and he washed his hands and lay back upon the pillow; whereupon she covered him up and he slept till the time of afternoon-prayer. then she killed another fowl and boiled it; after which she cut it up and bringing it to zoulmekan, said, "eat, o my son!" presently, her husband entered and seeing her feeding him, sat down at his head and said to him, "how is it with thee now, o my son?" "thanks be to god for recovery!" replied he. "may he requite thee thy goodness to me!" at this the stoker rejoiced and going out, bought sherbet of violets and rose-water and made him drink it. now his day's earnings at the bath were five dirhems, of which he spent every day two dirhems for zoulmekan, one for sweet waters and sherbets and another for fowls; and he ceased not to entreat him thus kindly for a whole month, till the trace of illness ceased from him and he was quite recovered whereupon the stoker and his wife rejoiced and the former said to him, "o my son, wilt thou go with me to the bath?" "willingly," replied he. so the stoker went to the market and fetched an ass, on which he mounted zoulmekan and supported him in the saddle, till they came to the bath then he made him alight and sit down, whilst he repaired to the market and bought lote-leaves and lupin-meal,[fn# ] with which he returned to the bath and said to zoulmekan, "o my son, in the name of god, enter, and i will wash thy body." so they both entered the inner room of the bath, and the stoker fell to rubbing zoulmekan's legs and was going on to wash his body with the lote-leaves and powder, when there came to them a bathman, whom the keeper of the bath had sent to zoulmekan, and seeing the stoker rubbing and washing the latter, said to him, "this is trespassing on the keeper's rights." "by allah," replied the stoker, "the master overwhelms us with his favours!" then the bathman proceeded to shave zoulmekan's head, after which he and the stoker washed and returned to the latter's house, where he clad zoulmekan in a shirt of fine stuff and a tunic of his own and gave him a handsome turban and girdle and wound a silken kerchief about his neck. meanwhile the stoker's wife had killed two chickens and cooked them for him; so, as soon as zoulmekan entered and seated himself on the couch, the stoker arose and dissolving sugar in willow-flower water, made him drink it. then he brought the tray of food and cutting up the chickens, fed him with the meat and broth, till he was satisfied, when he washed his hands and praised god for recovery, saying to the stoker, "it is to thee, under god the most high, that i owe my life!" "leave this talk," replied the stoker, "and tell us the manner of thy coming to this city and whence thou art; for i see signs of gentle breeding in thy face." "tell me first how thou camest to fall in with me," said zoulmekan; "and after i will tell thee my story." "as for that," rejoined the stoker, "i found thee lying on the rubbish-heap, by the door of the stoke-house, as i went to my work, near the morning, and knew not who had thrown thee down there. so i carried thee home with me; and this all i have to tell." quoth zoulmekan, "glory to him who quickens the bones, though they be rotten! indeed, o my brother, thou hast not done good to one who is unworthy, and thou shalt reap the reward of this. but where am i now?" "in the city of jerusalem," replied the stoker; whereupon zoulmekan called to mind his strangerhood and his separation from his sister and wept. then he discovered his secret to the stoker and told him his story, repeating the following verses: they heaped up passion on my soul, beyond my strength to bear, and for their sake my heart is racked with weariness and care. ah, be ye pitiful to me, o cruel that ye are, for e'en my foes do pity me, since you away did fare! grudge not to grant unto mine eyes a passing glimpse of you, to ease the longing of my soul and lighten my despair. i begged my heart to arm itself with patience for your loss. "patience was never of my wont," it answered; "so forbear." then he redoubled his weeping, and the stoker said to him, "weep not, but rather praise god for safety and recovery." quoth zoulmekan, "how far is it hence to damascus?" "six days' journey," answered the stoker "wilt thou send me thither?" asked zoulmekan. "o my lord," replied the stoker, "how can i let thee go alone, and thou a young lad and a stranger? if thou be minded to make the journey to damascus, i will go with thee; and if my wife will listen to me and accompany me, i will take up my abode there; for it goes to my heart to part with thee." then said he to his wife, "wilt thou go with me to damascus or wilt thou abide here, whilst i bring this my lord thither and return to thee? for he is bent upon, going to damascus, and by allah, it is hard to me to part with him, and i fear for him from the highway robbers." quoth she, "i will go with you." and he said, "praised be god for accord!" then he rose and selling all his own and his wife's gear, bought a camel and hired an ass for zoulmekan; and they set out and reached damascus at nightfall after six days' journey. they alighted there, and the stoker went to the market and bought meat and drink. they had dwelt but five days in damascus, when his wife sickened and after a few days' illness, was translated to the mercy of god. the stoker mourned for her with an exceeding grief, and her death was no light matter to zoulmekan, for she had tended him assiduously and he was grown used to her. presently, he turned to the stoker and finding him mourning, said to him, "do not grieve, for we must all go in at this gate."[fn# ] "god requite thee with good, o my son!" replied the stoker. "surely he will compensate us with his bounties and cause our mourning to cease. what sayst thou, o my son? shall we walk abroad to view damascus and cheer our spirits?" "thy will is mine," replied zoulmekan. so the stoker took him by the hand, and they sallied forth and walked on, till they came to the stables of the viceroy of damascus, where they found camels laden with chests and carpets and brocaded stuffs and saddle-horses and bactrian camels and slaves, white and black, and folk running to and fro and a great bustle. quoth zoulmekan, "i wonder to whom all these camels and stuffs and servants belong!" so he asked one of the slaves, and he replied, "these are presents that the viceroy of damascus is sending to king omar ben ennuman, with the tribute of syria." when zoulmekan heard his father's name, his eyes filled with tears and he repeated the following verses: ye that are far removed from my desireful sight, ye that within my heart are sojourners for aye, your comeliness is gone and life no more for me is sweet, nor will the pains of longing pass away. if god one day decree reunion of our loves, how long a tale of woes my tongue will have to say! then he wept and the stoker said to him, "o my son, thou art hardly yet recovered; so take heart and do not weep, for i fear a relapse for thee." and he applied himself to comfort him and cheer him, whilst zoulmekan sighed and bemoaned his strangerhood and separation from his sister and his family and repeated the following verses, with tears streaming from his eyes: provide thee for the world to come, for needs must thou be gone; or soon or late, for every one the lot of death is drawn. thy fortune in this world is but delusion and regret; thy life in it but vanity and empty chaff and awn. the world, indeed, is but as 'twere a traveller's halting-place, who makes his camels kneel at eve and fares on with the dawn. and he continued to weep and lament, whilst the stoker wept too for the loss of his wife, yet ceased not to comfort zoulmekan till the morning. when the sun rose, he said to him, "meseems thou yearnest for thy native land?" "even so," replied zoulmekan, "and i may not tarry here; so i will commend thee to god's care and set out with these people and journey with them, little by little, till i come to my country." "and i with thee," said the stoker; "for i cannot bear to part with thee. i have done thee service, and i mean to complete it by tending thee on the way." at this, zoulmekan rejoiced and said, "may god abundantly requite thee for me!" then the stoker went out and selling the camel, bought another ass, which he brought to zoulmekan, saying, "this is for thee to ride by the way; and when thou art weary of riding, thou canst dismount and walk." "may god bless thee and help me to requite thee!" said zoulmekan. "indeed, thou hast dealt with me more lovingly than one with his brother." then the stoker provided himself with victual for the journey, and they waited till it was dark night, when they laid their provisions and baggage on the ass and set out on their journey. to return to nuzhet ez zeman, when she left her brother in the khan and went out to seek service with some one, that she might earn wherewith to buy him the roast meat he longed for, she fared on, weeping and knowing not whither to go, whilst her mind was occupied with concern for her brother and with thoughts of her family and her native land. and she implored god the most high to do away these afflictions from them and repeated the following verses: the shadows darken and passion stirs up my sickness amain, and longing rouses within me the old desireful pain. the anguish of parting hath taken its sojourn in my breast, and love and longing and sorrow have maddened heart and brain. passion hath made me restless and longing consumes my soul and tears discover the secret that else concealed had lain. i know of no way to ease me of sickness and care and woe, nor can my weak endeavour reknit love's severed skein. the fire of my heart with yearnings and longing grief is fed and for its heat, the lover to live in hell is fain. o thou that thinkest to blame me for what betides me, enough; god knows i suffer with patience whate'er he doth ordain. i swear i shall ne'er find solace nor be consoled for love, the oath of the children of passion, whose oaths are ne'er in vain! bear tidings of me, i prithee, o night, to the bards of love and that in thee i sleep not be witness yet again! she walked on, weeping and turning right and left, as she went, till there espied her an old man who had come into the town from the desert with other five bedouins. he took note of her and seeing that she was charming, but had nothing on her head but a piece of camel-cloth, marvelled at her beauty and said in himself, "this girl is pretty enough to dazzle the wit, but it is clear she is in poor case, and whether she be of the people of the city or a stranger, i must have her." so he followed her, little by little, till presently he came in front of her and stopping the way before her in a narrow lane, called out to her, saying, "harkye, daughterling, art thou a freewoman or a slave?" when she heard this, she said to him, "by thy life, do not add to my troubles! "quoth he, "god blessed me with six daughters, but five of them died and only one is left me, the youngest of them all; and i came to ask thee if thou wert of the people of this city or a stranger, that i might take thee and carry thee to her, to bear her company and divert her from mourning for her sisters, if thou hast no parents, i will use thee as one of them, and thou and she shall be as my two children." when she heard what he said, she bowed her head for bashfulness and said to herself, "surely i may trust myself to this old man." then she said to him, "o uncle, i am a girl of the arabs (of irak) and a stranger, and i have a sick brother; but i will go with thee to thy daughter on one condition; that is, that i may spend the day only with her and go to my brother at night. i am a stranger and was high in honour among my people, yet am i become cast down and abject. i came with my brother from the land of hejaz and i fear lest he know not where i am." when the bedouin heard this, he said to himself, "by allah, i have gotten what i sought!" then he turned to her and said, "there shall none be dearer to me than thou; i only wish thee to bear my daughter company by day, and thou shalt go to thy brother at nightfall. or, if thou wilt, bring him to dwell with us." and he ceased not to give her fair words and coax her, till she trusted in him and agreed to serve him. then he went on before her and she followed him, whilst he winked to his men to go on in advance and harness the camels and load them with food and water, ready for setting out as soon as he should come up. now this bedouin was a base-born wretch, a highway-robber and a brigand, a traitor to his friend and a past master in craft and roguery. he had no daughter and no son, and was but a wayfarer in jerusalem, when, by the decree of god, he fell in with this unhappy girl. he held her in converse till they came without the city, where he joined his companions and found they had made ready the camels. so he mounted a camel, taking nuzhet ez zeman up behind him, and they rode on all night, making for the mountains, for fear any should see them. by this, she knew that the bedouin's proposal was a snare and that he had tricked her; and she gave not over weeping and crying out the whole night long. a little before the dawn, they halted and the bedouin came up to nuzhet ez zeman and said to her, "o wretch, what is this weeping! by allah, an thou hold not thy peace, i will beat thee to death, city faggot that thou art!" when she heard this, she abhorred life and longed for death; so she turned to him and said, "o accursed old man, o greybeard of hell, did i trust in thee and hast thou played me false, and now thou wouldst torture me?" when he heard her words, he cried out, "o insolent wretch, dost thou dare to bandy words with me?" and he came up to her and beat her with a whip, saying, "an thou hold not thy peace, i will kill thee." so she was silent awhile, but she called to mind her brother and her former happy estate and wept in secret. next day, she turned to the bedouin and said to him, "how couldst thou deal thus perfidiously with me and lure me into these desert mountains, and what wilt thou do with me?" when he heard her words, he hardened his heart and said to her, "o pestilent baggage, wilt thou bandy words with me?" so saying, he took the whip and brought it down on her back, till she well-nigh fainted. then she bowed down and kissed his feet; and he left beating her and began to revile her, saying, "by my bonnet, if i see or hear thee weeping, i will cut out thy tongue and thrust it up thy kaze, city strumpet that thou art!" so she was silent and made him no reply, for the beating irked her; but sat down, with her arms round her knees and bowing her head, fell a-musing on her case. then she bethought her of her former ease and affluence and her present abasement, and called to mind her brother and his sickness and forlorn condition and how they were both strangers in a foreign land; whereat the tears coursed down her cheeks and she wept silently and repeated the following verses: the tides of fate 'twixt good and ill shift ever to and fro, and no estate of life for men endureth evermo'. all things that to the world belong have each their destined end and to all men a term is set, which none may overgo. how long must i oppression bear and peril and distress! ah, how i loathe this life of mine, that nought but these can show! may god not prosper them, these days, wherein i am oppressed of fate, these cruel days that add abjection to my woe! my purposes are brought to nought, my loves are reft in twain by exile's rigour, and my hopes are one and all laid low. o ye, who pass the dwelling by, wherein my dear ones are, bear them the news of me and say, my tears for ever flow. when she had finished, the bedouin came up to her and taking compassion on her, bespoke her kindly and wiped away her tears. then he gave her a cake of barley-bread and said to her, "i do not love to be answered, when i am angry: so henceforth give me no more of these insolent words, and i will sell thee to an honest fellow like myself, who will use thee well, even as i have done." "it is well," answered she; and when the night was long upon her and hunger gnawed her, she ate a little of the barley-cake. in the middle of the night, the bedouin gave the signal for departure; so they loaded the camels and he mounted one of them, taking nuzhet ez zeman up behind him. then they set out and journeyed, without stopping, for three days, till they reached the city of damascus, where they alighted at the sultan's khan, hard by the viceroy's gate. now she had lost her colour and her charms were changed by grief and the fatigue of the journey, and she ceased not to weep. so the bedouin came up to her and said, "hark ye, city wench! by my bonnet, an thou leave not this weeping, i will sell thee to a jew!" then he took her by the hand and carried her to a chamber, where he left her and went to the bazaar. here he went round to the merchants who dealt in slave-girls and began to parley with them, saying, "i have with me a slave-girl, whose brother fell ill, and i sent him to my people at jerusalem, that they might tend him till he was cured. the separation from him was grievous to her, and since then, she does nothing but weep. now i purpose to sell her, and i would fain have whoso is minded to buy her of me speak softly to her and say to her, 'thy brother is with me in jerusalem, ill;' and i will be easy with him about her price." quoth one of the merchants, "how old is she?" "she is a virgin, just come to the age of puberty," replied the bedouin, "and is endowed with sense and breeding and wit and beauty and grace. but from the day i sent her brother to jerusalem, she has done nothing but grieve for him, so that her beauty is fallen away and her value lessened." when the merchant heard this, he said, "o chief of the arabs, i will go with thee and buy this girl of thee, if she be as thou sayest for wit and beauty and accomplishments; but it must be upon conditions, which if thou accept, i will pay thee her price, and if not, i will return her to thee." "if thou wilt," said the bedouin, "take her up to prince sherkan, son of king omar ben ennuman, lord of baghdad and of the land of khorassan, and i will agree to whatever conditions thou mayst impose on me; for when he sees her, she will surely please him, and he will pay thee her price and a good profit to boot for thyself." "it happens," rejoined the merchant, "that i have just now occasion to go to him, that i may get him to sign me patent, exempting me from customs-dues, and i desire of him also a letter of recommendation to his father king omar. so, if he take the girl, i will pay thee down her price at once." "i agree to this," answered the bedouin. so they returned together to the khan, where the bedouin stood at the door of the girl's chamber and called out, saying, "ho, najiyeh!" which was the name he had given her. when she heard him, she wept and made no answer. then he turned to the merchant and said to him, "there she sits. do thou go up to her and look at her and speak kindly to her, as i enjoined thee." so he went up to her courteously and saw that she was wonder-lovely and graceful especially as she was acquainted with the arabic tongue; and he said to the bedouin, "verily she is even as thou saidst, and i shall get of the sultan what i will for her." then he said to her, "peace be on thee, o daughterling! how dost thou?" she turned to him and replied, "this was written in the book of destiny." then she looked at him and seeing him to be a man of reverend appearance, with a handsome face, said to herself, "i believe this man comes to buy me. if i hold aloof from him, i shall abide with this tyrant, and he will beat me to death. in any case, this man is comely of face and makes me hope for better treatment from him than from this brute of a bedouin. mayhap he only comes to hear me talk; so i will give him a fair answer." all this while, she had kept her eyes fixed on the ground; then she raised them to him and said in a sweet voice, "and upon thee be peace, o my lord, and the mercy of god and his blessing! this is what is commanded of the prophet, whom god bless and preserve! as for thine enquiry how i do, if thou wouldst know my condition, it is such as thou wouldst not wish but to thine enemies." and she was silent. when the merchant heard what she said, he was beside himself for delight in her and turning to the bedouin, said to him, "what is her price, for indeed she is illustrious!" at this the bedouin was angry and said, "thou wilt turn me the girl's head with this talk! why dost thou say that she is illustrious,[fn# ] for all she is of the scum of slave-girls and of the refuse of the people? i will not sell her to thee." when the merchant heard this, he knew he was dull-witted and said to him, "calm thyself, for i will buy her of thee, notwithstanding the defects thou mentionest." "and how much wilt thou give me for her?" asked the bedouin "none should name the child but its father," replied the merchant. "name thy price for her." "not so," rejoined the bedouin; "do thou say what thou wilt give." quoth the merchant in himself, "this bedouin is an addle-pated churl. by allah, i cannot tell her price, for she has mastered my heart with her sweet speech and her beauty: and if she can read and write, it will be the finishing touch to her good fortune and that of her purchaser. but this bedouin does not know her value." then he turned to the latter and said to him, "o elder of the arabs, i will give thee two hundred dinars for her, in cash, clear of the tax and the sultan's dues." when the bedouin heard this, he flew into a violent passion and cried out at the merchant, saying, "begone about thy business! by allah, wert thou to offer me two hundred dinars for the piece of camel-cloth on her head, i would not sell it to thee! i will not sell her, but will keep her by me, to pasture the camels and grind corn." and he cried out to her, saying, "come, thou stinkard, i will not sell thee." then he turned to the merchant and said to him, "i thought thee a man of judgment; but, by my bonnet, if thou begone not from me, i will let thee hear what will not please thee!" "verily," said the merchant to himself, "this bedouin is mad and knows not the girl's value, and i will say no more to him about her price for the present; for by allah, were he a man of sense, he would not say, 'by my bonnet!' by allah, she is worth the kingdom of the chosroes and i will give him what he will, though it be all i have." then he said to him, "o elder of the arabs, calm thyself and take patience and tell me what clothes she has with thee." "clothes!" cried the bedouin; "what should the baggage want with clothes? the camel-cloth in which she is wrapped is ample for her." "with thy leave," said the merchant, "i will lift her veil and examine her as folk examine girls whom they think of buying." "up and do what thou wilt," replied the other, "and god keep thy youth! examine her, inside and out, and if thou wilt, take off her clothes and look at her naked." "god forbid!" said the merchant; "i will but look at her face." then he went up to her, confounded at her beauty and grace, and seating himself by her side, said to her, "o my mistress, what is thy name?" "dost thou ask what is my name now," said she, "or what it was formerly?" "hast thou then two names?" asked the merchant. "yes," replied she, "my whilom name was nuzhet ez zeman;[fn# ] but my name at this present is ghusset ez zeman."[fn# ] when the merchant heard this, his eyes filled with tears, and he said to her, "hast thou not a sick brother?" "indeed, my lord, i have," answered she; "but fortune hath parted us, and he lies sick in jerusalem." the merchant's heart was confounded at the sweetness of her speech, and he said to himself, "verily, the bedouin spoke the truth of her." then she called to mind her brother and how he lay sick in a strange land, whilst she was parted from him and knew not what was become of him; and she thought of all that had befallen her with the bedouin and of her severance from her father and mother and native land; and the tears ran down her cheeks and she repeated the following verses: may god keep watch o'er thee, belov'd, where'er thou art, thou that, though far away, yet dwellest in my heart! where'er thy footsteps lead, may he be ever near, to guard thee from time's shifts and evil fortune's dart! thou'rt absent, and my eyes long ever for thy sight, and at thy thought the tears for aye unbidden start. would that i knew alas! what country holds thee now, in what abode thou dwell'st, unfriended and apart! if thou, in the green o the rose, still drink o' the water of life, my drink is nought but tears, since that thou didst depart. if sleep e'er visit thee, live coals of my unrest, strewn betwixt couch and side, for aye my slumbers thwart all but thy loss to me were but a little thing, but that and that alone is sore to me, sweetheart. when the merchant heard her verses, he wept and put out his hand to wipe away her tears; but she let down her veil, saying, "god forbid, o my master!" the bedouin, who was sitting at a little distance, watching them, saw her cover her face and concluded that she would have hindered him from handling her: so he rose and running to her, dealt her such a blow on the shoulders with a camel's halter he had in his hand, that she fell to the ground on her face. her eyebrow smote against a stone, which cut it open, and the blood streamed down her face; whereupon she gave a loud scream and fainted away. the merchant was moved to tears for her and said in himself, "i must and will buy this damsel, though i pay down her weight in gold, and deliver her from this tyrant." and he began to reproach the bedouin, whilst nuzhet ez zeman lay insensible. when she came to herself, she wiped away her tears and bound up her head: then, raising her eyes to heaven, she sought her lord with a sorrowful heart and repeated the following verses: have ruth on one who once was rich and great, whom villainy hath brought to low estate. she weeps with never-ceasing tears and says, "there's no recourse against the laws of fate." then she turned to the merchant and said to him, in a low voice, "by allah, do not leave me with this tyrant, who knows not god the most high! if i pass this night with him, i shall kill myself with my own hand: save me from him, and god will save thee from hell-fire." so the merchant said to the bedouin, "o chief of the arabs, this girl is none of thine affair; so do thou sell her to me for what thou wilt." "take her," said the bedouin, "and pay me down her price, or i will carry her back to the camp and set her to feed the camels and gather their droppings."[fn# ] quoth the merchant, "i will give thee fifty thousand dinars for her." "god will open,"[fn# ] replied the bedouin. "seventy thousand," said the merchant. "god will open," repeated the other; "she hath cost me more than that, for she hath eaten barley-bread with me to the value of ninety thousand dinars." quoth the merchant, "thou and all thy people and thy whole tribe in all your lives have not eaten a thousand dinars' worth of barley: but i will make thee one offer, which if thou accept not, i will set the viceroy of damascus on thee, and he will take her from thee by force." "say on," rejoined the bedouin. "a hundred thousand," said the merchant. "i will sell her to thee at that price," answered the bedouin; "i shall be able to buy salt with that." the merchant laughed and going to his house, returned with the money and gave it to the bedouin, who took it and made off, saying, "i must go to jerusalem: it may be i shall happen on her brother, and i will bring him here and sell him." so he mounted and journeyed to jerusalem, where he went to the khan and enquired for zoulmekan, but could not find him. meanwhile, the merchant threw his gaberdine over nuzhet ez zeman and carried her to his house, where he dressed her in the richest clothes he could buy. then he carried her to the bazaar, where he bought her what jewellery she chose and put it in a bag of satin, which he laid before her, saying, "this is all for thee, and i ask nothing of thee in return but that, when thou comest to the viceroy of damascus, thou tell him what i gave for thee and that it was little compared with thy value: and if he buy thee, tell him how i have dealt with thee and ask of him for me a royal patent, with a recommendation to his father king omar ben ennuman, lord of baghdad, to the intent that he may forbid the taking toll on my stuffs or other goods in which i traffic." when she heard his words, she wept and sobbed, and the merchant said to her, "o my mistress, i note that, every time i mention baghdad, thine eyes fill with tears: is there any one there whom thou lovest? if it be a merchant or the like, tell me; for i know all the merchants and so forth there; and an thou wouldst send him a message, i will carry it for thee." "by allah," replied she, "i have no acquaintance among merchants and the like! i know none there but king omar ben ennuman." when the merchant heard this, he laughed and was greatly rejoiced and said in himself, "by allah, i have gotten my desire!" then he said to her, "hast thou then been shown to him?" "no," answered she; "but i was brought up with his daughter and he holds me dear and i have much credit with him; so if thou wouldst have him grant thee a patent of exemption, give me ink-horn and paper, and i will write thee a letter, which, when thou reachest baghdad, do thou deliver into the king's own hand and say to him, 'thy handmaid nuzhet ez zeman salutes thee and would have thee to know that the changing chances of the nights and days have smitten her, so that she has been sold from place to place and is now with the viceroy of damascus.'" the merchant wondered at her eloquence and his affection for her increased and he said to her, "i cannot think but that men have abused thine understanding and sold thee for money. tell me, dost thou know the koran?" "i do," answered she; "and i am also acquainted with philosophy and medicine and the prolegomena and the commentaries of galen the physician on the canons of hippocrates, and i have commented him, as well as the simples of ibn beltar, and have studied the works of avicenna, according to the canon of mecca, as well as other treatises. i can solve enigmas and establish parallels[fn# ] and discourse upon geometry and am skilled in anatomy. i have read the books of the shafiyi[fn# ] sect and the traditions of the prophet, i am well read in grammar and can argue with the learned and discourse of all manner of sciences. moreover i am skilled in logic and rhetoric and mathematics and the making of talismans and calendars and the cabala, and i understand all these branches of knowledge thoroughly. but bring me ink-horn and paper, and i will write thee a letter that will profit thee at baghdad and enable thee to dispense with passports." when the merchant heard this, he cried out, "excellent! excellent! happy he in whose palace thou shalt be!" then he brought her ink-horn and paper and a pen of brass and kissed the earth before her, to do her honour. she took the pen and wrote the following verses: "what ails me that sleep hath forsaken my eyes and gone astray? have you then taught them to waken, after our parting day! how comes it your memory maketh the fire in my heart to rage? is't thus with each lover remembers a dear one far away? how sweet was the cloud of the summer, that watered our days of yore! 'tis flitted, before of its pleasance my longing i could stay. i sue to the wind and beg it to favour the slave of love, the wind that unto the lover doth news of you convey. a lover to you complaineth, whose every helper fails. indeed, in parting are sorrows would rend the rock in sway. "these words are from her whom melancholy destroys and whom watching hath wasted; in her darkness there are no lights found, and she knows not night from day. she tosses from side to side on the couch of separation and her eyes are blackened with the pencils of sleeplessness; she watches the stars and strains her sight into the darkness: verily, sadness and emaciation have consumed her and the setting forth of her case would be long. no helper hath she but tears and she reciteth the following verses: "no turtle warbles on the branch, before the break of morn, but stirs in me a killing grief, a sadness all forlorn. no lover, longing for his loves, complaineth of desire, but with a doubled stress of woe my heart is overborne. of passion i complain to one who hath no ruth on me. how soul and body by desire are, one from other, torn!" then her eyes brimmed over with tears, and she wrote these verses also: "love-longing, the day of our parting, my body with mourning smote, and severance from my eyelids hath made sleep far remote. i am so wasted for yearning and worn for sickness and woe, that, were it not for my speaking, thou'dst scarce my presence note." then she wept and wrote at the foot of the scroll, "this is from her who is far from her people and her native land, the sorrowful-hearted nuzhet ez zeman." she folded the letter and gave it to the merchant, who took it and reading what was written in it, rejoiced and exclaimed, "glory to him who fashioned thee!" then he redoubled in kindness and attention to her all that day; and at nightfall, he sallied out to the market and bought food, wherewith he fed her; after which he carried her to the bath and said to the tire-woman, "as soon as thou hast made an end of washing her head, clothe her and send and let me know.' meanwhile he fetched food and fruit and wax candles and set them on the dais in the outer room of the bath; and when the tire-woman had done washing her, she sent to tell the merchant, and nuzhet ez zeman went out to the outer room, where she found the tray spread with food and fruit. so she ate, and the tire-woman with her, and gave what was left to the people and keeper of the bath. then she slept till the morning, and the merchant lay the night in a place apart. when he awoke, he came to her and waking her, presented her with a shift of fine silk, a kerchief worth a thousand dinars, a suit of turkish brocade and boots embroidered with red gold and set with pearls and jewels. moreover, he hung in each of her ears a circlet of gold, with a fine pearl therein, worth a thousand dinars, and threw round her neck a collar of gold, with bosses of garnet and a chain of amber beads, that hung down between her breasts to her middle. now this chain was garnished with ten balls and nine crescents and each crescent had in its midst a beazel of ruby and each ball a beazel of balass ruby. the worth of the chain was three thousand dinars and each of the balls was worth twenty thousand dirhems, so that her dress in all was worth a great sum of money. when she had put these on, the merchant bade her make her toilet, and she adorned herself to the utmost advantage. then he bade her follow him and walked on before her through the streets, whilst the people wondered at her beauty and exclaimed, "blessed be god, the most excellent creator! o fortunate man to whom she shall belong!" till they reached the sultan's palace; when he sought an audience of sherkan and kissing the earth before him, said, "o august king, i have brought thee a rare gift, unmatched in this time and richly covered with beauty and good qualities." "let me see it," said sherkan. so the merchant went out and returning with nuzhet ez zeman, made her stand before sherkan. when the latter beheld her, blood drew to blood, though he had never seen her, having only heard that he had a sister called nuzhet ez zeman and a brother called zoulmekan and not having made acquaintance with them, in his jealousy of them, because of the succession. then said the merchant, "o king, not only is she without peer in her time for perfection of beauty and grace, but she is versed to boot in all learning, sacred and profane, besides the art of government and the abstract sciences." quoth sherkan, "take her price, according to what thou gavest for her, and go thy ways." "i hear and obey," replied the merchant; "but first i would have thee write me a patent, exempting me for ever from paying tithe on my merchandise." "i will do this," said sherkan; "but first tell me what you paid for her." quoth the merchant, "i bought her for a hundred thousand dinars, and her clothes cost me as much more." when the sultan heard this, he said, "i will give thee more than this for her," and calling his treasurer, said to him, "give this merchant three hundred and twenty thousand dinars; so will he have a hundred and twenty thousand dinars profit." then he summoned the four cadis and paid him the money in their presence; after which he said to them, "i call you to witness that i free this my slave-girl and purpose to marry her." so the cadis drew up the act of enfranchisement, and the sultan scattered much gold on the heads of those present, which was picked up by the pages and eunuchs. then they drew up the contract of marriage between sherkan and nuzhet ez zeman, after which he bade write the merchant a perpetual patent, exempting him from tax and tithe upon his merchandise and forbidding all and several to do him let or hindrance in all his government, and bestowed on him a splendid dress of honour. then all who were present retired, and there remained but the cadis and the merchant; whereupon quoth sherkan to the former, "i wish you to hear such discourse from this damsel as may prove her knowledge and accomplishment in all that this merchant avouches of her, that we may be certified of the truth of his pretensions." "good," answered they; and he commanded the curtains to be drawn before nuzhet ez zeman and her attendants, who began to wish her joy and kiss her hands and feet, for that she was become the viceroy's wife. then they came round her and easing her of the weight of her clothes and ornaments, began to look upon her beauty and grace. presently the wives of the amirs and viziers heard that king sherkan had bought a damsel unmatched for beauty and accomplishments and versed in all branches of knowledge, at the price of three hundred and twenty thousand dinars, and that he had set her free and married her and summoned the four cadis to examine her. so they asked leave of their husbands and repaired to the palace. when they came in to her, she rose and received them with courtesy, welcoming them and promising them all good. moreover, she smiled in their faces and made them sit down in their proper stations, as if she had been brought up with them, so that their hearts were taken with her and they all wondered at her good sense and fine manners, as well as at her beauty and grace, and said to each other, "this damsel is none other than a queen, the daughter of a king." then they sat down, magnifying her, and said to her, "o our lady, our city is illumined by thy presence, and our country and kingdom are honoured by thee. the kingdom indeed is thine and the palace is thy palace, and we all are thy handmaids; so do not thou shut us out from thy favours and the sight of thy beauty." and she thanked them for this. all this while the curtains were drawn between nuzhet ez zeman and the women with her, on the one side, and king sherkan and the cadis and merchant seated by him, on the other. presently, sherkan called to her and said, "o queen, the glory of thine age, this merchant describes thee as being learned and accomplished and asserts that thou art skilled in all branches of knowledge, even to astrology: so let us hear something of all this and give us a taste of thy quality." "o king," replied she, "i hear and obey. the first subject of which i will treat is the art of government and the duties of kings and what behoves governors of lawful commandments and what is incumbent on them in respect of pleasing manners. know then, o king, that all men's works tend either to religion or to worldly life, for none attains to religion save through this world, because it is indeed the road to the next world. now the world is ordered by the doings of its people, and the doings of men are divided into four categories, government (or the exercise of authority), commerce, husbandry (or agriculture) and craftsmanship. to government are requisite perfect (knowledge of the science of) administration and just judgment; for government is the centre (or pivot) of the edifice of the world, which is the road to the future life since that god the most high hath made the world to be to his servants even as victual to the traveller for the attainment of the goal: and it is needful that each man receive of it such measure as shall bring him to god, and that he follow not in this his own mind and desire. if the folk would take of the goods of the world with moderation and equity, there would be an end of contentions; but they take thereof with violence and iniquity and persist in following their own inclinations; and their licentiousness and evil behaviour in this give birth to strife and contention. so they have need of the sultan, that he may do justice between them and order their affairs prudently, and if he restrain not the folk from one another, the strong will get the mastery over the weak. ardeshir says that religion and the kingship are twin; religion is a treasure and the king its keeper; and the divine ordinances and men's own judgment indicate that it behoves the folk to adopt a ruler to hold the oppressor back from the oppressed and do the weak justice against the strong and to restrain the violence of the proud and the unjust. for know, o king, that according to the measure of the ruler's good morals, even so will be the time; as says the apostle of god (on whom be peace and salvation), 'there are two classes, who if they be virtuous, the people will be virtuous, and if they be depraved, the people also will be depraved: even princes and men of learning.' and it is said by a certain sage, 'there are three kinds of kings, the king of the faith, the king who watches over and protects those things that are entitled to respect and honour, and the king of his own inclinations. the king of the faith constrains his subjects to follow the laws of their faith, and it behoves that he be the most pious of them all, for it is by him that they take pattern in the things of the faith; and the folk shall do obedience to him in what he commands in accordance with the divine ordinances; but he shall hold the discontented in the same esteem as the contented, because of submission to the divine decrees. as for the king of the second order, he upholds the things of the faith and of the world and compels the folk to follow the law of god and to observe the precepts of humanity; and it behoves him to conjoin the sword and the pen; for whoso goeth astray from what the pen hath written, his feet slip, and the king shall rectify his error with the edge of the sword and pour forth his justice upon all men. as for the third kind of king, he hath no religion but the following his own lusts and fears not the wrath of his lord, who set him on the throne; so his kingdom inclines to ruin, and the end of his arrogance is in the house of perdition.' and another sage says, 'the king has need of many people, but the folk have need of but one king; wherefore it behoves that he be well acquainted with their natures, to the end that he may reduce their difference to concord, that he may encompass them one and all with his justice and overwhelm them with his bounties.' and know, o king, that ardeshir, styled jemr shedid, third of the kings of persia, conquered the whole world and divided it into four parts and let make for himself four seal-rings, one for each division of his realm. the first seal was that of the sea and the police and of prohibition, and on it was written, 'alternatives.' the second was the seal of revenue and of the receipt of monies, and on it was written, 'culture.' the third was the seal of the commissariat, and on it was written, 'plenty.' the fourth was the seal of (the court of enquiry into) abuses, and on it was written, 'justice.' and these remained in use in persia until the revelation of islam. king chosroes also, wrote to his son, who was with the army, 'be not over-lavish to thy troops, or they will come to have no need of thee; neither be niggardly with them, or they will murmur against thee. do thy giving soberly and confer thy favours advisedly; be liberal to them in time of affluence and stint them not in time of stress.' it is said that an arab of the desert came once to the khalif mensour[fn# ] and said to him, 'starve thy dog and he will follow thee.' when the khalif heard his words, he was enraged, but aboulabbas et tousi said to him, 'i fear that, if some other than thou should show him a cake of bread, the dog would follow him and leave thee.' thereupon the khalif's wrath subsided and he knew that the bedouin had meant no offence and ordered him a present. and know, o king, that abdulmelik ben merwan wrote to his brother abdulaziz, when he sent him to egypt, as follows: 'pay heed to thy secretaries and thy chamberlains, for the first will acquaint thee with necessary matters and the second with matters of etiquette and ceremonial observance, whilst the tribute that goes out from thee will make thy troops known to thee.' omar ben el khettab[fn# ] (whom god accept) was in the habit, when he engaged a servant, of laying four conditions on him, the first that he should not ride the baggage-beasts, the second that he should not wear fine clothes, the third that he should not eat of the spoil and the fourth that he should not delay to pray after the proper time. it is said that there is no wealth better than understanding and no understanding like common sense and prudence and no prudence like the fear of god; that there is no offering like good morals and no measure like good breeding and no profit like earning the divine favour;[fn# ] that there is no piety like the observance of the limits of the law and no science like that of meditation, no devotion like the performance of the divine precepts, no safeguard like modesty, no calculation like humility and no nobility like knowledge. so guard the head and what it contains and the body and what it comprises and remember death and calamity. says ali[fn# ], (whose face god honour!), 'beware of the wickedness of women and be on thy guard against them. consult them not in aught, but be not grudging of complaisance to them, lest they be tempted to have recourse to intrigue.' and also, 'he who leaves the path of moderation and sobriety, his wits become perplexed.' and omar (whom god accept) says, 'there are three kinds of women, first, the true-believing, god-fearing woman, loving and fruitful, helping her husband against fate, not helping fate against her husband; secondly, she who loves and tenders her children, but no more; and thirdly, the woman who is as a shackle that god puts on the neck of whom he will. men also are three: the first, who is wise, when he exercises his judgment; the second, wiser than he, who, when there falls on him somewhat of which he knows not the issue, seeks folk of good counsel and acts by their advice; and the third, who is addle-headed, knowing not the right way nor heeding those who would instruct him.' justice is indispensable in all things; even slave-girls have need of justice; and highway robbers, who live by violence, bear witness of this, for did they not deal equitably among themselves and observe fairness in their divisions, their order would fall to pieces. for the rest, the chief of noble qualities is generosity and benevolence. how well says the poet: 'by largesse and mildness the youth chief of his tribe became, and it were easy for thee to follow and do the same.' and quoth another: 'in mildness stability lies and clemency wins us respect, and safety in soothfastness is for him who is soothfast and frank; and he who would get himself praise and renown for his wealth from the folk, in the racecourse of glory must be, for munificence, first in the rank.'" and nuzhet ez zeman discoursed upon the policy and behaviour of kings, till the bystanders said, "never heard we one reason of the duties of kings like this damsel! mayhap she will favour us with discourse upon some subject other than this." when she heard this, she said, "as for the chapter of good breeding,[fn# ] it is wide of scope, for it is a compend of perfections. there came in one day to the khalif muawiyeh[fn# ] one of his boon-companions, who spoke of the people of irak and the goodness of their wit; and the khalif's wife meisoun, mother of yezid, heard him. so, when he was gone, she said to the khalif, 'o commander of the faithful, prithee let some of the people of irak come in to thee and talk with them, that i may hear their discourse.' so the khalif said to his attendants, 'who is at the door?' and they answered, 'the benou temim.' 'let them come in,' said he. so they came in and with them ahnaf ben cais.[fn# ] now muawiyeh had drawn a curtain between himself and meisoun, that she might hear what they said without being seen herself; and he said to ahnaf, 'o abou behr,[fn# ] pray, near and tell me what counsel thou hast for me.' quoth ahnaf, 'part thy hair and trim thy moustache and clip thy nails and pluck out the hair of thine armpits and shave thy pubes and be constant in the use of the toothstick, for therein are two-and-seventy virtues, and make the friday (complete) ablution as an expiation for what is between the two fridays.' 'what is thy counsel to thyself?' asked muawiyeh. 'to plant my feet firmly on the ground,' replied ahnaf, 'to move them with deliberation and keep watch over them with my eyes.' 'how,' asked the khalif, 'dost thou carry thyself, when thou goest in to the common folk of thy tribe?' 'i lower my eyes modestly,' replied ahnaf, 'and salute them first, abstaining from what does not concern me and being sparing of words.' 'and how, when thou goest in to thine equals?' asked muawiyeh. 'i give ear to them, when they speak,' answered the other, 'and do not assail them, when they err.' 'and how dost thou,' said the khalif, 'when thou goest in to thy chiefs?' 'i salute without making any sign,' answered ahnaf, 'and await the response: if they bid me draw near, i do so, and if they bid me stand aloof, i withdraw.' 'how dost thou with thy wife?' asked the khalif. 'excuse me from answering this, o commander of the faithful!' replied he; but muawiyeh said, 'i conjure thee to answer.' then said ahnaf, 'i entreat her kindly and show her pleasant familiarity and am large in expenditure, for women were created of a crooked rib.' 'and how,' asked the khalif, 'dost thou when thou hast a mind to lie with her?' 'i speak to her to perfume herself,' answered the other, 'and kiss her till she is moved to desire; then, if it be as thou knowest, i throw her on her back. if the seed abide in her womb, i say, "o my god, make it blessed and let it not be a castaway, but fashion it into a goodly shape!" then i rise from her and betake myself to the ablution, first pouring water over my hands and then over my body and returning thanks to god for the delight he hath given me.' 'thou hast answered excellently well,' said muawiyeh; 'and now tell me what thou wouldst have.' quoth ahnaf, 'i would have thee rule thy subjects in the fear of god and do equal justice amongst them.' so saying, he withdrew from the khalif's presence, and when he had gone, meisoun said, 'were there but this man in irak, he would suffice to it.' this (continued nuzhet ez zeman) is a small fraction of the chapter of good breeding. know o king, that muyekib was intendant of the treasury during the khalifate of omar ben khettab. 'one day (quoth he) the khalif's son came to me and i gave him a dirhem from the treasury. then i returned to my own house, and presently, as i was sitting, there came to me a messenger, bidding me to the khalif. so i was afraid and went to him, and when i came into his presence, i saw in his hand the dirhem i had given his son. "harkye, muyekib," said he, "i have found somewhat concerning thy soul." "what is it, o commander of the faithful?" asked i; and he answered, "it is that thou wilt have to render an account of this dirhem to the people of mohammed (on whom be peace and salvation) on the day of resurrection."' this same omar wrote a letter to abou mousa el ashari,[fn# ] to the following purport, 'when these presents reach thee, give the people what is theirs and send the rest to me.' and he did so. when othman succeeded to the khalifate, he wrote a like letter to abou mousa, who did his bidding and sent him the tribute accordingly, and with it came ziad[fn# ] when the latter laid the tribute before othman, the khalif's son came in and took a dirhem, whereupon ziad fell a-weeping. 'why dost thou weep?' asked othman. quoth ziad, 'i once brought omar ben khettab the like of this, and his son took a dirhem, whereupon omar bade snatch it from his hand. now thy son hath taken of the tribute, yet have i seen none rebuke him nor take the money from him.' and othman said, 'where wilt thou find the like of omar?' again, zeid ben aslam relates of his father that he said, 'i went out one night with omar, and we walked on till we espied a blazing fire in the distance. quoth omar, "this must be travellers, who are suffering from the cold: let us join them." so we made for the fire, and when we came to it, we found a woman who had lighted a fire under a cauldron, and by her side were two children, crying. "peace on you, o folk of the light!" said omar, for he misliked to say, "folk of the fire;"[fn# ] "what ails you?" quoth she, "the cold and the night irk us." "what ails these children that they weep?" asked he. "they are hungry," replied she. "and what is in this cauldron?" asked omar. "it is what i quiet them with," answered she, "and god will question omar ben khettab of them, on the day of resurrection." "and what," rejoined the khalif, "should omar know of their case?" "why then," said she, "should he undertake the governance of the people's affairs and yet be unmindful of them?" then omar turned to me and said, "come with me." so we both set off running till we reached the treasury, where he took out a sack of flour and a pot of fat and said to me, "put these on my back." "o commander of the faithful," said i, "i will carry them for thee." "wilt thou bear my burden for me on the day of resurrection?" replied he. so i put the things on his back, and we set off, running, till we came to the woman, when he threw down the sack. then he took out some of the flour and put it in the cauldron and saying to the woman, "leave it to me," fell to blowing the fire; now he had a great beard and i saw the smoke issuing from the interstices thereof, till the flour was cooked, when he threw in some of the fat and said to the woman, "do thou feed the boys whilst i cool the food for them." so they ate their fill and he left the rest with her. then he turned to me and said, "o aslam, i see it was indeed hunger made them weep; and i am glad i did not go away without finding out the reason of the light i saw."' it is said that omar passed, one day, by a flock of sheep, kept by a slave, and asked the latter to sell him a sheep. 'they are not mine,' replied the shepherd. 'thou art the man i sought,' said omar and buying him of his master, set him free, whereupon the slave exclaimed, 'o my god, thou hast bestowed on me the lesser emancipation; vouchsafe me now the greater!'[fn# ] they say also, that omar ben khettab was wont to give his servants sweet milk and eat coarse fare himself and to clothe them softly and wear himself coarse garments. he gave all men their due and exceeded in his giving to them. he once gave a man four thousand dirhems and added thereto yet a thousand, wherefore it was said to him, 'why dost thou not favour thy son as thou favourest this man?' he answered, 'this man's father stood firm in fight on the day of uhud.'[fn# ] el hassan relates that omar once came (back from an expedition) with much money and that hefseh[fn# ] came to him and said, 'o commander of the faithful, be mindful of the due of kinship!' 'o hefseh,' replied he, 'god hath indeed enjoined us to satisfy the dues of kinship, but of our own monies, not those of the true believers. indeed, thou pleasest thy family, but angerest thy father.' and she went away, dragging her skirts. says omar's son, 'i implored god one year (after omar's death) to show me my father, till at last i saw him wiping the sweat from his brow and said to him, "how is it with thee, o my father?" "but for god's mercy," answered he, "thy father had perished." then said nuzhet ez zeman, "hear, o august king, the second division of the first chapter of the instances of the followers of the prophet and other pious men. says el hassan of bassora,[fn# ] 'not a soul of the sons of adam goes forth of the world, without grieving for three things, failure to enjoy what he has amassed, failure to compass what he hoped and failure to provide himself with sufficient provision for that to which he goes.[fn# ]' it was said to sufyan,[fn# ] 'can a man be devout and yet possess wealth?' 'yes,' replied he, 'so he be patient under affliction and return thanks, when god giveth to him.' when abdallah ben sheddad was on his death-bed, he sent for his son mohammed and admonished him, saying, 'o my son, i see the messenger of death calling me and so i charge thee to cherish the fear of god, both in public and private. praise god and be true in thy speech, for the praise of god brings increase of prosperity, and piety in itself is the best of provision,[fn# ] even as says one of the poets: i see not that bliss lies in filling one's chest; the god-fearing man can alone be called blest. for piety aye winneth increase of god; so of all men's provision 'tis surely the best. when omar ben abdulaziz[fn# ] succeeded to the khalifate, he went to his own house and laying hands on all that his family and household possessed, put it into the public treasury. so the ommiades[fn# ] betook themselves for aid to his father's sister, fatimeh, daughter of merwan, and she sent to omar, saying, 'i must needs speak with thee.' so she came to him by night, and when he had made her alight from her beast and sit down, he said to her, 'o aunt, it is for thee to speak first, since it is at thine instance that we meet; tell me, therefore, what thou wouldst with me.' 'o commander of the faithful,' replied she, 'it is thine to speak first, for thy judgment perceives that which is hidden from the senses.' then said the khalif, 'of a verity god sent mohammed as a mercy to some and a punishment to others; and he chose out for him what was with him and withdrew him to himself, leaving the people a river, whereof the thirsty of them might drink. after him he made abou bekr the truth-teller khalif and he left the river in its pristine state, doing what was pleasing to god. then arose omar and worked a work and furnished forth a strife, of which none might do the like when othman came, he diverted a stream from the river, and muawiyeh in his turn sundered several streams from it. in like manner, yezid and the sons of merwan, abdulmelik and welid and suleiman[fn# ], ceased not to take from the river and dry up the main stream, till the commandment devolved upon me, and now i am minded to restore the river to its normal condition.' when fatimeh heard this, she said, 'i came, wishing only to speak and confer with thee, but if this be thy word, i have nothing to say to thee.' then she returned to the ommiades and said to them, 'see what you have brought on you by allying yourselves with omar ben khettab.' [fn# ] when omar was on his deathbed, he gathered his children round him, and meslemeh[fn# ] ben abdulmelik said to him, 'o commander of the faithful, wilt thou leave thy children beggars and thou their protector? none can hinder thee from giving them in thy lifetime what will suffice them out of the treasury; and this indeed were better than leaving it to revert to him who shall come after thee.' omar gave him a look of wrath and wonder and replied, 'o meslemeh, i have defended them all the days of my life, and shall i make them miserable after my death? my sons are like other men, either obedient to god the most high or disobedient: if the former, god will prosper them, and if the latter, i will not help them in their disobedience. know, o meslemeh, that i was present, even as thou, when such an one of the sons of merwan was buried, and i fell asleep by him and saw him in a dream given over to one of the punishments of god, to whom belong might and majesty. this terrified me and made me tremble, and i vowed to god that, if ever i came to the throne, i would not do as the dead man had done. this vow i have striven to fulfil all the days of my life, and i hope to be received into the mercy of my lord.' quoth meslemeh, 'a certain man died and i was present at his funeral. i fell asleep and meseemed i saw him, as in a dream, clad in white clothes and walking in a garden full of running waters. he came up to me and said, "o meslemeh, it is for the like of this that governors (or men who bear rule) should work."' many are the instances of this kind, and quoth one of the men of authority, 'i used to milk the ewes in the khalifate of omar ben abdulaziz, and one day, i met a shepherd, among whose sheep were wolves. i thought them to be dogs, for i had never before seen wolves; so i said to the shepherd, "what dost thou with these dogs?" "they are not dogs, but wolves," replied he. quoth i, "can wolves be with sheep and not hurt them?" "when the head is whole," replied he, "the body is whole also."' omar ben abdulaziz preached once from a mud pulpit, and after praising and glorifying god the most high, said three words and spoke as follows, 'o folk, make clean your hearts, that your outward lives may be clean to your brethren, and abstain from the things of the world. know that from adam to this present, there is no one man alive among the dead. dead are abdulmelik and those who forewent him, and omar also will die, and those who come after him.' quoth meslemeh (to this same omar, when he was dying), 'o commander of the faithful, shall we set a pillow behind thee, that thou mayest lean on it a little?' but omar answered, 'i fear lest it be a fault about my neck on the day of resurrection.' then he gasped for breath and fell back in a swoon; whereupon fatimeh cried out, saying, 'ho, meryem! ho, muzahim! ho, such an one! look to this man!' and she began to pour water on him, weeping, till he revived, and seeing her in tears, said to her, 'o fatimeh, why dost thou weep?' 'o commander of the faithful,' replied she, 'i saw thee lying prostrate before us and thought of thy prostration before god the most high in death and of thy departure from the world and separation from us. this is what made me weep.' 'enough, o fatimeh,' answered he; 'indeed thou exceedest.' then he would have risen, but fell down, and fatimeh strained him to her, saying, 'thou art to me as my father and my mother, o commander of the faithful! we cannot speak to thee, all of us.'[fn# ] again (continued nuzhet ez zeman), omar ben abdulaziz wrote to the people of the festival at mecca, as follows, 'i call god to witness, in the holy month, in the holy city and on the day of the great pilgrimage, that i am innocent of your oppression and of the wickedness of him that doth you wrong, in that i have neither commanded this nor purposed it, neither hath any report of aught thereof reached me (till now) nor have i had knowledge of it; and i trust therefore that god will pardon it to me. none hath authority from me to do oppression, for i shall assuredly be questioned (at the last day) concerning every one who hath been wrongfully entreated. so if any one of my officers swerve from the right and act without law or authority,[fn# ] ye owe him no obedience, till he return to the right way.' he said also (may god accept of him), 'i do not wish to be relieved from death, for that it is the supreme thing for which the true believer is rewarded.' quoth one of authority, 'i went one day to the commander of the faithful, omar ben abdulaziz, who was then khalif, and saw before him twelve dirhems, which he bade take to the treasury. so i said to him, "o commander of the faithful, thou impoverishest thy children and reducest them to beggary, leaving nothing for them. thou wouldst do well to appoint somewhat by will to them and to those who are poor of the people of thy house." "draw near to me," answered he. so i drew near to him and he said, "as for thy saying, 'thou beggarest thy children; provide for them and for the poor of thy household,' it is without reason, for god will replace me to my children and to those who are poor of the people of my house, and he will be their guardian. verily, they are like other men; he who fears god, god will provide him a happy issue, and he that is addicted to sin, i will not uphold him in his disobedience." then he called his sons before him, and they were twelve in number. when he beheld them, his eyes filled with tears and he said to them, "your father is between two things; either ye will be rich and he will enter the fire, or ye will be poor and he enter paradise; and your father's entry into paradise is liefer to him than that ye should be rich. so go, god be your helper, for to him i commit your affair."' quoth khalid ben sefwan,[fn# ] 'yusuf ben omar[fn# ] accompanied me to hisham ben abdulmelik,[fn# ] and i met him as he came forth with his kinsmen and attendants. he alighted and a tent was pitched for him. when the people had taken their seats, i came up to the side of the carpet (on which the khalif was reclining) and waiting till my eyes met his, bespoke him thus, "may god fulfil his bounty to thee, o commander of the faithful, and direct into the right way the affairs he hath committed to thy charge, and may no harm mingle with thy cheer! o commander of the faithful, i have an admonition for thee, which i have gleaned from the history of the kings of time past!" at this, he sat up and said to me, "o son of sefwan, say what is in thy mind." "o commander of the faithful," quoth i, "one of the kings before thee went forth, in a time before thy time, to this very country and said to his companions, 'saw ye ever any in the like of my state or to whom hath been given even as it hath been given unto me?' now there was with him one of those who survive to bear testimony to the faith and are upholders of the truth and walkers in its highway, and he said, 'o king, thou askest of a grave matter. wilt thou give me leave to answer?' 'yes,' replied the king, and the other said, 'dost thou judge thy present state to be temporary or enduring?' 'it is a temporary thing,' replied the king. 'why then,' asked the man, 'do i see thee exult in that which thou wilt enjoy but a little while and whereof thou wilt be questioned at length and for the rendering an account whereof thou wilt be as a pledge?' 'whither shall i flee,' asked the king, 'and where is that i must seek?' 'abide in thy kingship,' replied the other, 'and apply thyself to obey the commandments of god the most high; or else don thy worn-out clothes and devote thyself to the service of thy lord, till thine appointed hour come to thee.' then he left him, saying, 'i will come to thee again at daybreak.' so he knocked at his door at dawn and found that the king had put off his crown and resolved to become an anchorite, for the stress of his exhortation." when hisham heard this, he wept till his beard was drenched and putting off his rich apparel, shut himself up in his palace. then the grandees and courtiers came to me and said, "what is this thou hast done with the commander of the faithful? thou hast marred his cheer and troubled his life!"' "but (continued nuzhet ez zeman, addressing herself to sherkan) how many admonitory instances are there not that bear upon this branch of the subject! indeed, it is beyond my power to report all that pertains to this head in one sitting; but, with length of days, o king of the age, all will be well." then said the cadis, "o king, of a truth this damsel is the wonder of the time and the unique pearl of the age! never in all our lives heard we the like." and they called down blessings on sherkan and went away. then said he to his attendants, "prepare the wedding festivities and make ready food of all kinds." so they addressed themselves to do his bidding, and he bade the wives of the amirs and viziers and grandees depart not until the time of the wedding banquet and of the unveiling of the bride. hardly was the time of afternoon-prayer come, when the tables were spread with roast meats and geese and fowls and all that the heart can desire or that can delight the eye; and all the people ate till they were satisfied. moreover, the king had sent for all the singing-women of damascus and they were present, together with all the slave-girls of the king and the notables who knew how to sing. when the evening came and it grew dark, they lighted flambeaux, right and left, from the gate of the citadel to that of the palace, and the amirs and viziers and grandees defiled before king sherkan, whilst the singers and the tire-women took nuzhet ez zeman, to dress and adorn her, but found she needed no adorning. meantime king sherkan went to the bath and coming out, sat down on his bed of estate, whilst they unveiled the bride before him in seven different dresses; after which they eased her of the weight of her dresses and ornaments and gave such injunctions as are usually given to girls on their wedding-night. then sherkan went in to her and took her maidenhead; and she at once conceived by him, whereat he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and commanded the sages to record the date of her conception. on the morrow, he went forth and seated himself on his throne, and the grandees came in to him and gave him joy. then he called his private secretary and bade him write to his father, king omar ben ennuman, a letter to the following effect: "know that i have bought me a damsel, who excels in learning and accomplishment and is mistress of all kinds of knowledge. i have set her free and married her and she has conceived by me. and needs must i send her to baghdad to visit my brother zoulmekan and my sister nuzhet ez zeman." and he went on to praise her wit and salute his brother and sister, together with the vizier dendan and all the amirs. then he sealed the letter and despatched it to his father by a courier, who was absent a whole month, after which time he returned with the old king's answer. sherkan took it and read as follows, after the usual preamble, "in the name of god," etc., "this is from the afflicted and distraught, him who hath lost his children and is (as it were) an exile from his native land, king omar ben ennuman, to his son sherkan. know that, since thy departure from me, the place is become contracted upon me, so that i can no longer have patience nor keep my secret: and the reason of this is as follows. it chanced that zoulmekan sought my leave to go on the pilgrimage, but i, fearing for him the shifts of fortune, forbade him therefrom until the next year or the year after. soon after this, i went out to hunt and was absent a whole month. when i returned, i found that thy brother and sister had taken somewhat of money and set out by stealth with the caravan of pilgrims. when i knew this, the wide world became strait on me, o my son; but i awaited the return of the caravan, hoping that they would return with it. accordingly, when the caravan came back, i questioned the pilgrims of them, but they could give me no news of them; so i put on mourning apparel for them, being heavy at heart and sleepless and drowned in the tears of my eyes." then followed these verses: their image is never absent a breathing-while from my breast, i have made it within my bosom the place of the honoured guest, but that i look for their coming, i would not live for an hour, and but that i see them in dreams, i ne'er should lie down to rest. the letter went on (after the usual salutations to sherkan and those of his court), "do not thou therefore neglect to seek news of them, for indeed this is a dishonour to us." when sherkan read the letter, he mourned for his father, but rejoiced in the loss of his brother and sister. now nuzhet ez zeman knew not that he was her brother nor he that she was his sister, although he paid her frequent visits, both by day and by night, till the months of her pregnancy were accomplished and she sat down on the stool of delivery. god made the delivery easy to her and she gave birth to a daughter, whereupon she sent for sherkan and said to him, "this is thy daughter: name her as thou wilt." quoth he, "folk use to name their children on the seventh day." then he bent down to kiss the child and saw, hung about her neck, a jewel, which he knew at once for one of those that the princess abrizeh had brought from the land of the greeks. at this sight, his senses fled, his eyes rolled and wrath seized on him, and he looked at nuzhet ez zeman and said to her, "o damsel, whence hadst thou this jewel?" when she heard this, she replied, "i am thy lady and the lady of all in thy palace. art thou not ashamed to say to me, 'o damsel'?[fn# ] indeed, i am a queen, the daughter of a king; and now concealment shall cease and the truth be made known. i am nuzhet ez zeman, daughter of king omar ben ennuman." when sherkan heard this, he was seized with trembling and bowed his head towards the earth, whilst his heart throbbed and his colour paled, for he knew that she was his sister by the same father. then he lost his senses; and when he revived, he abode in amazement, but did not discover himself to her and said to her, "o my lady, art thou indeed the daughter of king omar ben ennuman?" "yes," replied she; and he said, "tell me how thou camest to leave thy father and be sold for a slave." so she told him all that had befallen her, from first to last, how she had left her brother sick in jerusalem and how the bedouin had lured her away and sold her to the merchant. when sherkan heard this all was certified that she was indeed his sister, he said to himself, "how can i have my sister to wife? by allah, i must marry her to one of my chamberlains; and if the thing get wind, i will avouch that i divorced her before consummation and married her to my chief chamberlain." then he raised his head and said, "o nuzhet ez zeman, thou art my very sister; for i am sherkan, son of king omar ben ennuman, and may god forgive us the sin into which we have fallen!" she looked at him and seeing that he spoke the truth, became as one bereft of reason and wept and buffeted her face, exclaiming, "there is no power and no virtue but in god! verily we have fallen into grievous sin! what shall i do and what answer shall i make my father and my mother, when they say to me, 'whence hadst thou thy daughter'?" quoth sherkan, "i purpose to marry thee to my chief chamberlain and let thee bring up my daughter in his house, that none may know thee to be my sister. this that hath befallen us was ordained of god for a purpose of his own, and there is no way to cover ourselves but by thy marriage with the chamberlain, ere any know." then he fell to comforting her and kissing her head, and she said to him, "what wilt thou call the child?" "call her kuzia fekan,"[fn# ] replied he. then he gave her in marriage to the chief chamberlain, and they reared the child in his house, on the laps of the slave-girls, till, one day, there came to king sherkan a courier from his father, with a letter to the following purport, "in the name of god, etc. know, o puissant king, that i am sore afflicted for the loss of my children: sleep fails me and wakefulness is ever present with me. i send thee this letter that thou mayst make ready the tribute of syria and send it to us, together with the damsel whom thou hast bought and taken to wife; for i long to see her and hear her discourse; because there has come to us from the land of the greeks a devout old woman, with five damsels, high-bosomed maids, endowed with knowledge and accomplishments and all fashions of learning that befit mortals; and indeed the tongue fails to describe this old woman and her companions. as soon as i saw the damsels, i loved them and wished to have them in my palace and at my commandment, for none of the kings possesses the like of them; so i asked the old woman their price, and she replied, 'i will not sell them but for the tribute of damascus.' and by allah, this is but little for them, for each one of them is worth the whole price. so i agreed to this and took them into my palace, and they remain in my possession. wherefore do thou expedite the tribute to us, that the old woman may return to her own country; and send us the damsel, that she may strive with them before the doctors; and if she overcome them, i will send her back to thee with the year's revenue of baghdad." when sherkan read this letter, he went in to his brother-in-law and said to him, "call the damsel to whom i married thee." so she came, and he showed her the letter and said to her, "o my sister, what answer wouldst thou have me make to this letter?" "it is for thee to judge," replied she. then she recalled her people and her native land and yearned after them; so she said to him, "send me and my husband the chamberlain to baghdad, that i may tell my father how the bedouin seized me and sold me to the merchant, and how thou boughtest me of him and gavest me in marriage to the chamberlain, after setting me free." "be it so," replied sherkan. then he made ready the tribute in haste and gave it to the chamberlain, bidding him make ready for baghdad, and furnished him with camels and mules and two travelling litters, one for himself and the other for the princess. moreover, he wrote a letter to his father and committed it to the chamberlain. then he took leave of his sister, after he had taken the jewel from her and hung it round his daughter's neck by a chain of fine gold; and she and her husband set out for baghdad the same night. now their caravan was the very one to which zoulmekan and his friend the stoker had joined themselves, as before related, having waited till the chamberlain passed them, riding on a dromedary, with his footmen around him. then zoulmekan mounted the stoker's ass and said to the latter, "do thou mount with me." but he said, "not so: i will be thy servant." quoth zoulmekan, "needs must thou ride awhile." "it is well," replied the stoker; "i will ride when i grow tired." then said zoulmekan, "o my brother, thou shalt see how i will do with thee, when i come to my own people." so they journeyed on till the sun rose, and when it was the hour of the noonday rest, the chamberlain called a halt, and they alighted and rested and watered their camels. then he gave the signal for departure and they journeyed for five days, till they came to the city of hemah, where they made a three days' halt; then set out again and fared on, till they reached the province of diarbekir. here there blew on them the breezes of baghdad, and zoulmekan bethought him of his father and mother and his native land and how he was returning to his father without his sister: so he wept and sighed and complained, and his regrets increased on him, and he repeated the following verses: how long wilt thou delay from me, beloved one? i wait: and yet there comes no messenger with tidings of thy fate. alack, the time of love-delight and peace was brief indeed! ah, that the days of parting thus would of their length abate! take thou my hand and put aside my mantle and thou'lt find my body wasted sore; and yet i hide my sad estate. and if thou bid me be consoled for thee, "by god," i say, "i'll ne'er forget thee till the day that calls up small and great!" "leave this weeping and lamenting," said the stoker, "for we are near the chamberlain's tent." quoth zoulmekan, "needs must i recite somewhat of verse, so haply it may allay the fire of my heart." "god on thee," cried the stoker, "leave this lamentation, till thou come to thine own country; then do what thou wilt, and i will be with thee, wherever thou art." "by allah," replied zoulmekan, "i cannot forbear from this!" then he set his face towards baghdad and began to repeat verses. now the moon was shining brightly and shedding her light on the place, and nuzhet ez zeman could not sleep that night, but was wakeful and called to mind her brother and wept. presently, she heard zoulmekan weeping and repeating the following verses: the southern lightning gleams in the air and rouses in me the old despair, the grief for a dear one, loved and lost, who filled me the cup of joy whilere. it minds me of her who fled away and left me friendless and sick and bare. o soft-shining lightnings, tell me true, are the days of happiness past fore'er? chide not, o blamer of me, for god hath cursed me with two things hard to bear, a friend who left me to pine alone, and a fortune whose smile was but a snare. the sweet of my life was gone for aye, when fortune against me did declare; she brimmed me a cup of grief unmixed, and i must drink it and never spare. or ever our meeting 'tide, sweetheart, methinks i shall die of sheer despair, i prithee, fortune, bring back the days when we were a happy childish pair; the days, when we from the shafts of fate, that since have pierced us, in safety were! ah, who shall succour the exiled wretch, who passes the night in dread and care, and the day in mourning for her whose name, delight of the age[fn# ], bespoke her fair? the hands of the baseborn sons of shame have doomed us the wede of woe to wear. then he cried out and fell down in a swoon, and when nuzhet ez zeman heard his voice in the night, her heart was solaced and she rose and called the chief eunuch, who said to her, "what is thy will?" quoth she, "go and fetch me him who recited verses but now." "i did not hear him," replied he; "the people are all asleep." and she said, "whomsoever thou findest awake, he is the man." so he went out and sought, but found none awake but the stoker; for zoulmekan was still insensible, and, nuzhet ez zeman, going up to the former, said to him, "art thou he who recited verses but now, and my lady heard him?" the stoker concluded that the lady was wroth and was afraid and replied, "by allah, 'twas not i!" "who then was it?" rejoined the eunuch. "point him out to me. thou must know who it was, seeing that thou art awake." the stoker feared for zoulmekan and said in himself, "maybe the eunuch will do him some hurt." so he answered, "i know not who it was." "by allah," said the eunuch, "thou liest, for there is none awake here but thou! so needs must thou know him." "by allah," replied the stoker, "i tell thee the truth! it must have been some passer-by who recited the verses and disturbed me and aroused me, may god requite him!" quoth the eunuch, "if thou happen upon him, point him out to me and i will lay hands on him and bring him to the door of my lady's litter; or do thou take him with thine own hand." "go back," said the stoker, "and i will bring him to thee." so the eunuch went back to his mistress and said to her, "none knows who it was; it must have been some passer-by." and she was silent. meanwhile, zoulmekan came to himself and saw that the moon had reached the zenith and felt the breath of the breeze that goes before the dawn; whereupon his heart was moved to longing and sadness, and he cleared his throat and was about to recite verses, when the stoker said to him, "what wilt thou do?" "i have a mind to repeat somewhat of verse," answered zoulmekan, "that i may allay therewith the fire of my heart." quoth the other, "thou knowest not what befell me, whilst thou wert aswoon, and how i only escaped death by beguiling the eunuch." "tell me what happened," said zoulrnekan. "whilst thou wert aswoon," replied the stoker, "there came up to me but now an eunuch, with a long staff of almond-tree wood in his hand, who looked in all the people's faces, as they lay asleep, and finding none awake but myself, asked me who it was recited the verses. i told him it was some passer-by; so he went away and god delivered me from him; else had he killed me. but first he said to me, 'if thou hear him again, bring him to us.'" when zoulmekan heard this, he wept and said, "who is it would forbid me to recite? i will surely do so, come what may; for i am near my own country and care for no one." "dost thou wish to destroy thyself?" asked the stoker; and zoulmekan answered, "i cannot help reciting verses." "verily," said the stoker, "i see this will bring about a parting between us here though i had promised myself not to leave thee, till i had brought thee to thy native city and re-united thee with thy mother and father. thou hast now been with me a year and a half, and i have never baulked thee or harmed thee in aught. what ails thee then, that thou must needs recite, seeing that we are exceeding weary with travel and watching and all the folk are asleep, for they need sleep to rest them of their fatigue." but zoulmekan answered, "i will not be turned from my purpose." then grief moved him and he threw off disguise and began to repeat the following verses: halt by the camp and hail the ruined steads by the brake, and call on her name aloud; mayhap she will answer make. and if for her absence the night of sadness darken on thee, light in its gloom a fire with longings for her sake. though the snake of the sand-hills hiss, small matter is it to me if it sting me, so i the fair with the lips of crimson take. o paradise, left perforce of the spirit, but that i hope for ease in the mansions of bliss, my heart would surely break! and these also: time was when fortune was to us even as a servant is, and in the loveliest of lands our happy lives did kiss. ah, who shall give me back the abode of my belov'd, wherein the age's joy[fn# ] and place's light[fn# ] erst dwelt in peace and bliss? then he cried out three times and fell down senseless, and the stoker rose and covered him. when nuzhet ez zeman heard the first verses, she called to mind her mother and father and brother; and when she heard the second, mentioning the names of herself and her brother and their sometime home, she wept and calling the eunuch, said to him, "out on thee! but now i heard him who recited the first time do so again, and that hard by. so, by allah, an thou fetch him not to me, i will rouse the chamberlain on thee, and he shall beat thee and turn thee away. but take these hundred dinars and give them to him and do him no hurt, but bring him to me gently. if he refuse, give him this purse of a thousand dinars and leave him and return to me and tell me, after thou hast informed thyself of his place and condition and what countryman he is. return quickly and do not linger, and beware lest thou come back and say, 'i could not find him.'" so the eunuch went out and fell to examining the people and treading amongst them, but found none awake, for the folk were all asleep for weariness, till he came to the stoker and saw him sitting up, with his head uncovered. so he drew near him and seizing him by the hand, said to him, "it was thou didst recite the verses!" the stoker was affrighted and replied, "no, by allah, o chief of the people, it was not i!" but the eunuch said, "i will not leave thee till thou show me who it was; for i fear to return to my lady without him." thereupon the stoker feared for zoulmekan and wept sore and said to the eunuch, "by allah, it was not i, nor do i know who it was. i only heard some passer-by recite verses: so do not thou commit sin on me, for i am a stranger and come from jerusalem, and abraham the friend of god be with thee!" "come thou with me," rejoined the eunuch, "and tell my lady this with thine own mouth, for i see none awake but thee." quoth the stoker, "hast thou not seen me sitting here and dost thou not know my station? thou knowest none can stir from his place, except the guards seize him. so go thou to thy mistress and if thou hear any one reciting again, whether it be near or far, it will be i or some one whom i shall know, and thou shalt not know of him but by me." then he kissed the eunuch's head and spoke him fair, till he went away; but he made a circuit and returning secretly, came and hid himself behind the stoker, fearing to go back to his mistress empty-handed. as soon as he was gone, the stoker aroused zoulmekan and said to him, "awake and sit up, that i may tell thee what has happened." so zoulmekan sat up, and the stoker told him what had passed, and he answered, "let me alone; i will take no heed of this and i care for none, for i am near my own country." quoth the stoker, "why wilt thou obey thine own inclinations and the promptings of the devil? if thou fearest no one, i fear for thee and myself; so god on thee, recite no more verses, till thou come to thine own country! indeed, i had not thought thee so self-willed. dost thou not know that this lady is the wife of the chamberlain and is minded to chide thee for disturbing her. belike, she is ill or restless for fatigue, and this is the second time she hath sent the eunuch to look for thee." however, zoulmekan paid no heed to him, but cried out a third time and repeated the following verses: the carping tribe i needs must flee; their railing chafes my misery. they blame and chide at me nor know they do but fan the flame in me. "she is consoled," they say. and i, "can one consoled for country be?" quoth they, "how beautiful she is!" and i, "how dear-belov'd is she!" "how high her rank!" say they; and i, "how base is my humility!" now god forfend i leave to love, deep though i drink of agony! nor will i heed the railing race, who carp at me for loving thee. hardly had he made an end of these verses when the eunuch, who had heard him from his hiding, came up to him; whereupon the stoker fled and stood afar off, to see what passed between them. then said the eunuch to zoulmekan, "peace be on thee, o my lord!" "and on thee be peace," replied zoulmekan, "and the mercy of god and his blessing!" "o my lord," continued the eunuch, "this is the third time i have sought thee this night, for my mistress bids thee to her." quoth zoulmekan, "whence comes this bitch that seeks for me? may god curse her and her husband too!" and he began to revile the eunuch, who could make him no answer, because his mistress had charged him to do zoulmekan no violence nor bring him, save of his free will, and if he would not come, to give him the thousand dinars. so he began to speak him fair and say to him, "o my lord, take this (purse) and go with me. we will do thee no unright nor wrong thee in aught; but we would have thee bend thy gracious steps with me to my mistress, to speak with her and return in peace and safety; and thou shalt have a handsome present." when zoulmekan heard this, he arose and went with the eunuch, stepping over the sleeping folk, whilst the stoker followed them at a distance, saying to himself, "alas, the pity of his youth! to-morrow they will hang him. how base it will be of him, if he say it was i who bade him recite the verses!" and he drew near to them and stood, watching them, without their knowledge, till they came to nuzhet ez zeman's tent, when the eunuch went in to her and said, "o my lady, i have brought thee him whom thou soughtest, and he is a youth, fair of face and bearing the marks of gentle breeding." when she heard this, her heart fluttered and she said, "let him recite some verses, that i may hear him near at hand, and after ask him his name and extraction." so the eunuch went out to zoulmekan and said to him, "recite what verses thou knowest, for my lady is here hard by, listening to thee, and after i will ask thee of thy name and extraction and condition." "willingly," replied he; "but as for my name, it is blotted out and my trace among men is passed away and my body wasted. i have a story, the beginning of which is not known nor can the end of it be described, and behold, i am even as one who hath exceeded in drinking wine, till he hath lost the mastery of himself and is afflicted with distempers and wanders from his right mind, being perplexed about his case and drowned in the sea of melancholy." when nuzhet ez zeman heard this, she broke out into loud weeping and sobbing and said to the eunuch, "ask him if he have lost a beloved one, such as his father or mother." the eunuch did as she bade him, and zoulmekan replied, "yes, i have lost all whom i loved: but the dearest of all to me was my sister, from whom fate hath parted me." when nuzhet ez zeman heard this, she exclaimed, "may god the most high reunite him with those he loves!" then said she to the eunuch, "tell him to let me hear somewhat on the subject of his separation from his people and his country." the eunuch did so, and zoulmekan sighed heavily and repeated the following verses: ah, would that i knew they were ware of the worth of the heart they have won! would i knew through what passes they fare, from what quarter they look on the sun! are they living, i wonder, or dead? can it be that their life's race is run? ah, the lover is ever distraught and his life for misgivings undone! and also these: i vow, if e'er the place shall bless my longing sight, wherein my sister dwells, the age's dear delight,[fn# ] i'll take my fill of life and all the sweets of peace, midst trees and flowing streams: and maidens fair and bright the lute's enchanting tones shall soothe me to repose, what while i quaff full cups of wine like living light and honeyed dews of love suck from the deep-red lips of lovelings sleepy-eyed, with tresses black as night. when he had finished, nuzhet ez zeman lifted up a corner of the curtain of the litter and looked at him. as soon as her eyes fell on him, she knew him for certain and cried out, "o my brother! o zoulmekan!" he looked at her and knew her and cried out, "o my sister! o nuzhet ez zeman!" then she threw herself upon him, and he received her in his arms, and they both fell down in a swoon. when the eunuch saw this, he wondered and throwing over them somewhat to cover them, waited till they should recover. after awhile, they came to themselves, and nuzhet ez zeman rejoiced exceedingly. grief and anxiety left her and joys flocked upon her and she repeated the following verses: fate swore 'twould never cease to plague my life and make me rue. thou hast not kept thine oath, o fate; so look thou penance do. gladness is come and my belov'd is here to succour me; so rise unto the summoner of joys, and quickly too. i had no faith in paradise of olden time, until i won the nectar of its streams from lips of damask hue. when zoulmekan heard this, he pressed his sister to his breast, whilst, for the excess of his joy, the tears streamed from his eyes and he repeated the following verses: long time have i bewailed the severance of our loves, with tears that from my lids streamed down like burning rain, and vowed that, if the days should reunite us two, my lips should never speak of severance again. joy hath o'erwhelmed me so, that, for the very stress of that which gladdens me, to weeping i am fain. tears are become to you a habit, o my eyes, so that ye weep alike for gladness and for pain. they sat awhile at the door of the litter, conversing, till she said to him, "come with me into the litter and tell me all that has befallen thee, and i will do the like." so they entered and zoulmekan said, "do thou begin." accordingly, she told him all that had happened to her since their separation and said, "praised be god who hath vouchsafed thee to me and ordained that, even as we left our father together, so we shall return to him together! now tell me how it has fared with thee since i left thee." so he told her all that had befallen him and how god had sent the stoker to him, and how he had journeyed with him and spent his money on him and tended him night and day. she praised the stoker for this, and zoulmekan added, "indeed, o my sister, the man hath dealt with me in such benevolent wise as would not a lover with his mistress or a father with his son, for that he fasted and gave me to eat, and went afoot, whilst he made me ride; and i owe my life to him." "god willing," said she, "we will requite him for all this, according to our power." then she called the eunuch, who came and kissed zoulmekan's hand, and she said, "take thy reward for glad tidings, o face of good omen! it was thy hand reunited me with my brother; so the purse i gave thee and its contents are thine. but now go to thy master and bring him quickly to me." the eunuch rejoiced and going to the chamberlain, summoned him to his mistress. accordingly, he came in to his wife and finding zoulmekan with her, asked who he was. so she told him all that had befallen them, first and last, and added, "know, o chamberlain, that thou hast gotten no slave-girl to wife: but the daughter of king omar ben ennuman: for i am nuzhet ez zeman, and this is my brother zoulmekan." when the chamberlain heard her story, he knew it for the manifest truth and was certified that he was become king omar ben ennuman's son-in-law and said to himself, "i shall surely be made governor of some province." then he went up to zoulmekan and gave him joy of his safety and re-union with his sister, and bade his servants forthwith make him ready a tent and one of the best of his own horses to ride. then said nuzhet ez zeman, "we are now near my country and i would fain be alone with my brother, that we may enjoy one another's company and take our fill of each other, before we reach baghdad; for we have been long parted." "be it as thou wilt," replied the chamberlain and going forth, sent them wax candles and various kinds of sweetmeats, together with three costly suits of clothes for zoulmekan. then he returned to the litter, and nuzhet ez zeman said to him, "bid the eunuch find the stoker and give him a horse to ride and provide him a tray of food morning and evening, and let him be forbidden to leave us." the chamberlain called the eunuch and charged him accordingly; so he took his pages with him and went out in search of the stoker, whom he found at the tail of the caravan, saddling his ass and preparing for flight. the tears were running down his cheeks, out of fear for himself and grief for his separation from zoulmekan, and he was saying to himself, "indeed, i warned him for the love of god, but he would not listen to me. o that i knew what is become of him!" before he had done speaking, the eunuch came up and stood behind him, whilst the pages surrounded him. the stoker turned and seeing the eunuch and the pages round him, changed colour and trembled in every nerve for affright, exclaiming, "verily, he knows not the value of the good offices i have done him! i believe he has denounced me to the eunuch and made me an accomplice in his offence." then the eunuch cried out at him, saying, "who was it recited the verses? liar that thou art, why didst thou tell me that thou knewest not who it was, when it was thy companion? but now i will not leave thee till we come to baghdad, and what betides thy comrade shall betide thee." quoth the stoker, "verily, what i feared has fallen on me." and he repeated the following verse: 'tis e'en as i feared it would be: we are god's and to him return we. then said the eunuch to the pages, "take him off the ass." so they took him off the ass and setting him on a horse, carried him along with the caravan, surrounded by the pages, to whom said the eunuch, "if a hair of him be missing, it shall be the worse for you." but he bade them privily treat him with consideration and not humiliate him. when the stoker saw himself in this case, he gave himself up for lost and turning to the eunuch, said to him, "o chief, i am neither this youth's brother nor anywise akin to him; but i was a stoker in a bath and found him lying asleep on the fuel-heap." then the caravan fared on and the stoker wept and imagined a thousand things in himself, whilst the eunuch walked by his side and told him nothing, but said to him, "you disturbed our mistress by reciting verses, thou and the lad: but have no fear for thyself." this he said, laughing at him the while in himself. when the caravan halted, they brought them food, and he and the eunuch ate from one dish. then the eunuch let bring a gugglet of sherbet of sugar and after drinking himself, gave it to the stoker, who drank; but all the while his tears ceased not flowing, out of fear for himself and grief for his separation from zoulmekan and for what had befallen them in their strangerhood. so they travelled on with the caravan, whilst the chamberlain now rode by the door of his wife's litter, in attendance on zoulmekan and the princess, and now gave an eye to the stoker, and nuzhet ez zeman and her brother occupied themselves with converse and mutual condolence; and so they did till they came within three days' journey of baghdad. here they alighted at eventide and rested till the morning, when they woke and were about to load the beasts, when behold, there appeared afar off a great cloud of dust, that obscured the air, till it became as dark as night. thereupon the chamberlain cried out to them to stay their preparations for departure, and mounting with his officers rode forward in the direction of the dust-cloud. when they drew near it, they perceived under it a numerous army, like the full flowing sea, with drums and flags and standards and horsemen and footmen. the chamberlain marvelled at this: and when the troops saw him, there came forth from amongst them a troop of five hundred horse, who fell upon him and his suite and surrounded them, five for one; whereupon said he to them, "what is the matter and what are these troops, that ye use us thus?" "who art thou?" asked they. "whence comest thou and whither art thou bound?" and he answered, "i am the chamberlain of the viceroy of damascus, king sherkan, son of king omar ben ennuman, lord of baghdad and of the land of khorassan, and i bring tribute and presents from him to his father in baghdad." when the horsemen heard speak of king omar, they let their kerchiefs fall over their faces and wept, saying, "alas! king omar is dead, and he died poisoned. but fare ye on, no harm shall befall you, and join his grand vizier dendan." when the chamberlain heard this, he wept sore and exclaimed, "alas, our disappointment in this our journey!" then he and his suite rode on, weeping, till they reached the main body of the army and sought access to the vizier dendan, who called a halt and causing his pavilion to be pitched, sat down on a couch therein and commanded to admit the chamberlain. then he bade him be seated and questioned him; and he replied that he was the viceroy's chamberlain of damascus and was bound to king omar with presents and the tribute of syria. the vizier wept at the mention of king omar's name and said, "king omar is dead by poison, and the folk fell out amongst themselves as to whom they should make king after him, so that they were like to come to blows on this account; but the notables and grandees interposed and restored peace, and the people agreed to refer the matter to the decision of the four cadis, who adjudged that we should go to damascus and fetch thence the late king's son sherkan and make him king over his father's realm. some of them would have chosen his second son zoulmekan, were it not that he and his sister nuzhet ez zeman set out five years ago for mecca, and none knows what is become of them." when the chamberlain heard this, he knew that his wife had told him the truth and grieved sore for the death of king omar, what while he was greatly rejoiced, especially at the arrival of zoulmekan, for that he would now become king of baghdad in his father's room. so he turned to the vizier and said to him, "verily, your affair is a wonder of wonders! know, o chief vizier, that here, where you have encountered me, god giveth you rest from fatigue and bringeth you that you desire after the easiest of fashions, in that he restoreth to you zoulmekan and his sister nuzhet ez zeman, whereby the matter is settled and made easy." when the vizier heard this, he rejoiced greatly and said, "o chamberlain, tell me their story and the reason of their having been so long absent." so he repeated to him the whole story and told him that nuzhet ez zeman was his wife. as soon as he had made an end of his tale, the vizier sent for the amirs and viziers and grandees and acquainted them with the matter; whereat they rejoiced greatly and wondered at the happy chance. then they went in to the chamberlain and did their service to him, kissing the earth before him; and the vizier dendan also rose and stood before him, in token of respect. after this the chamberlain held a great council, and he and the vizier sat upon a throne, whilst all the amirs and officers of state took their places before them, according to their several ranks. then they dissolved sugar in rose-water and drank, after which the amirs sat down to hold council and bade the rest mount and ride forward leisurely, till they should make an end of their deliberations and overtake them. so the officers kissed the earth before them and mounting, rode onward, preceded by the standards of war. when the amirs had finished their conference, they mounted and rejoined the troops; and the chamberlain said to the vizier dendan, "i think it well to ride on before you, that i may notify zoulmekan of your coming and choice of him as sultan over the head of his brother sherkan, and that i may make him ready a place befitting his dignity." "it is well thought," answered the vizier. then the chamberlain rose and dendan also rose, to do him honour, and brought him presents, which he conjured him to accept. on like wise did all the amirs and officers of state, calling down blessings on him and saying to him, "mayhap thou will make mention of our case to king zoulmekan and speak to him to continue us in our dignities." the chamberlain promised what they asked and the vizier dendan sent with him tents and bade the tent-pitchers set them up at a days journey from the city. then the chamberlain mounted and rode forward, full of joy and saying in himself, "how blessed is this journey!" and indeed his wife was exalted in his eyes, she and her brother zoulmekan. they made all haste, till they reached a place distant a day's journey from baghdad, where he called a halt and bade his men alight and make ready a sitting place for the sultan zoulmekan, whilst he rode forward with his pages and alighting at a distance from nuzhet ez zeman's litter, commanded the eunuchs to ask the princess's leave to admit him. they did so and she gave leave; whereupon he went in to her and her brother and told them of the death of their father, king omar ben ennuman, and how the heads of the people had made zoulmekan king over them in his stead; and he gave them joy of the kingdom. when they heard this, they both wept for their father and asked the manner of his death. "the news rests with the vizier dendan," replied the chamberlain, "who will be here to-morrow with all the troops; and it only remains for thee, o prince, to do what they counsel, since they have chosen thee king; for if thou do not this, they will crown another, and thou canst not be sure of thyself with another king. haply he will kill thee, or discord may befall between you and the kingdom pass out of your hands." zoulmekan bowed his head awhile, then raised it and said, "i accept;" for indeed he saw that the chamberlain had counselled him rightly and that there was no refusing; "but, o uncle, how shall i do with my brother sherkan?" "o my son," replied the chamberlain, "thy brother will be sultan of damascus, and thou sultan of baghdad; so gird up thy resolution and prepare to do what befits thy case." then he presented him with a suit of royal raiment and a dagger of state, that the vizier dendan had brought with him, and leaving him, returned to the tent-pitchers and bade them choose out a spot of rising ground and pitch thereon a spacious and splendid pavilion, wherein the sultan might sit to receive the amirs and grandees. then he ordered the cooks to make ready rich food and serve it up and the water-carriers to set up the water-troughs. they did as he bade them and presently there arose a cloud of dust and spread till it obscured the horizon. after awhile, the breeze dispersed it, and there appeared under it the army of baghdad and khorassan, led by the vizier dendan, all rejoicing in the accession of zoulmekan. now zoulmekan had donned the royal robes and girt himself with the sword of state: so the chamberlain brought him a steed and he mounted, surrounded by the rest of the company on foot, and rode between the tents, till he came to the royal pavilion, where he entered and sat down, with the royal dagger across his thighs, whilst the chamberlain stood in attendance on him and his servants stationed themselves in the vestibule of the pavilion, with drawn swords in their hands. presently, up came the troops and sought admission to the king's presence; so the chamberlain went in to zoulmekan and asked his leave, whereupon he bade admit them, ten by ten. accordingly, the chamberlain went out to them and acquainted them with the king's orders, to which they replied, "we hear and obey." then he took ten of them and carried them, through the vestibule, into the presence of the sultan, whom when they saw, they were awed; but he received them with the utmost kindness and promised them all good. so they gave him joy of his safe return and invoked god's blessing upon him, after which they took the oath of fealty to him, and kissing the earth before him, withdrew. then other ten entered and he received them in the same manner; and they ceased not to enter, ten by ten, till none was left but the vizier dendan. so he went in and kissed the earth before zoulmekan, who rose to meet him, saying, "welcome, o noble vizier and father! verily, thine acts are those of a precious counsellor, and judgment and foresight are in the hands of the subtle, the all wise." then he commanded the chamberlain to go out and cause the tables to be spread at once and bid the troops thereto. so they came and ate and drank. moreover, he bade dendan call a ten days' halt of the army, that he might be private with him and learn from him the manner of his father's death. accordingly, the vizier went forth and transmitted the king's wishes to the troops, who received his commands with submission and wished him eternity of glory. moreover, he gave them leave to divert themselves and ordered that none of the lords in waiting should go in to the king for his service for the space of three days. then zoulmekan waited till nightfall, when he went in to his sister nuzhet ez zeman and said to her, "dost thou know the fashion of my father's death or not?" "i have no knowledge of it," replied she, and drew a silken curtain before herself, whilst zoulmekan seated himself without the curtain and sending for the vizier, bade him relate to him in detail the manner of king omar's death. "know then, o king," replied dendan, "that king omar ben ennuman, when he returned to baghdad from his hunting excursion, enquired for thee and thy sister, but could not find you and knew that you had gone on the pilgrimage, whereat he was greatly concerned and angered, and his breast was contracted. he abode thus a whole year, seeking news of you from all who came and went, but none could give him any tidings of you. at the end of this time, as we were one day in attendance upon him, there came to us an old woman, as she were a devotee, accompanied by five damsels, high-bosomed maids, like moons, endowed with such beauty and grace as the tongue fails to describe; and to crown their perfections, they knew the koran by heart and were versed in various kinds of learning and in the histories of bygone peoples. the old woman sought an audience of the king, and he bade admit her; whereupon she entered and kissed the ground before him. now i was then sitting by his side, and he, seeing in her the signs of devoutness and asceticism, made her draw near and sit down by him. so she sat down and said to him, 'know, o king, that with me are five damsels, whose like no king possesses, for they are endowed with beauty and grace and wit. they know the koran and the traditions and are skilled in all manner of learning and in the history of bygone peoples. they are here before thee, at thy disposal; for it is by proof that folk are prized or disdained.' thy late father looked at the damsels and their favour pleased him; so he said to them, 'let each of you tell me something of what she knows of the history of bygone folk and peoples of times past.' thereupon one of them came forward and kissing the earth before him, spoke as follows, 'know, o king, that it behoves the man of good breeding to eschew impertinence and adorn himself with excellencies, observing the divine precepts and shunning mortal sins; and to this he should apply himself with the assiduity of one who, if he stray therefrom, is lost; for the foundation of good breeding is virtuous behaviour. know that the chief reason of existence is the endeavour after life everlasting and the right way thereto is the service of god: so it behoves thee to deal righteously with the people; and swerve not from this rubrick, for the mightier folk are in dignity, the more need they have of prudence and foresight; and indeed kings need this more than common folk, for the general cast themselves into affairs, without taking thought to the issue of them. be thou prodigal both of thyself and thy treasure in the way of god and know that, if an enemy dispute with thee, thou mayst litigate with him and refute him with proof and ward thyself against him; but as for thy friend, there is none can judge between thee and him but righteousness and fair-dealing. wherefore, choose thy friend for thyself, after thou hast proved him. if he be a man of religion, let him be zealous in observing the external letter of the law and versed in its inner meaning, as far as may be: and if he be a man of the world, let him be free-born, sincere, neither ignorant nor perverse, for the ignorant man is such that even his parents might well flee from him, and a liar cannot be a true friend, for the word "friend"[fn# ] is derived from "truth,"[fn# ] that emanates from the bottom of the heart; and how can this be the case, when falsehood is manifest upon the tongue? know, therefore, that the observance of the law profits him who practices it: so love thy brother, if he be after this fashion, and do not cast him off, even if thou see in him that which thou mislikest; for a friend is not like a wife whom one can divorce and take again; but his heart is like glass; once broken, it cannot be mended. and god bless him who says: be careful not to hurt men's hearts nor work them aught of dole, for hard it is to bring again a once estranged soul; and hearts, indeed, whose loves in twain by discord have been rent are like a broken glass, whose breach may never be made whole. the wise say (continued she), "the best of friends is he who is the most assiduous in good counsel, the best of actions is that which is fairest in its result, and the best of praise is (not) that which is in the mouths of men." it is said also, "it behoves not the believer to neglect to thank god, especially for two favours, health and reason." again, "he who honoureth himself, his lust is a light matter to him, and he who makes much of small troubles, god afflicts him with great ones: he who obeys his own inclination neglects his duties and he who listens to the slanderer loses the true friend. he who thinks well of thee, do thou fulfil his thought of thee. he who exceeds in contention sins, and he who does not beware of upright is not safe from the sword." now will i tell thee somewhat of the duties of judges. know, o king, that no judgment serves the cause of justice except it be given after deliberation, and it behoves the judge to treat all people alike, to the intent that the rich and noble may not be encouraged to oppression nor the poor and weak despair of justice. he should extract proof from him who complains and impose an oath upon him who denies; and compromise is lawful between muslims, except it be a compromise sanctioning an unlawful or forbidding a lawful thing. if he have done aught during the day, of which he is doubtful, the judge should reconsider it and apply his discernment to elucidating it, that (if he have erred) he may revert to the right, for to do justice is a religious obligation and to return to that which is right is better than perseverance in error. then he should study the precedents and the law of the case and do equal justice between the suitors, fixing his eye upon the truth and committing his affair to god, to whom belong might and majesty. let him require proof of the complainant, and if he adduce it, let him put the defendant to his oath; for this is the ordinance of god. he should receive the testimony of competent muslim witnesses, one against another, for god the most high hath commanded judges to judge by externals, he himself taking charge of the secret things. it behoves the judge also to avoid giving judgment, whilst suffering from stress of pain or hunger, and that in his decisions between the folk he seek to please god, for he whose intent is pure and who is at peace with his conscience, god shall guarantee him against what is between him and the people. quoth ez zuhri,[fn# ] "there are three things, which if they be found in a cadi, he should be deposed; namely, if he honour the base, love praise and fear dismissal." it is related that omar ben abdulaziz once deposed a cadi, who asked him why he had done so. "it has come to my knowledge," replied omar, "that thy speech is greater than thy condition." it is said also that iskender[fn# ] said to his cadi, "i have invested thee with this function and committed to thee in it my soul and my honour and manhood; so do thou guard it with thy soul and thine understanding." to his cook he said, "thou art the governor of my body; so look thou tender it." to his secretary he said, "thou art the controller of my wit: so do thou watch over me in what thou writest for me."' with this the first damsel retired and a second one came forward and kissing the earth seven times before the king thy father, spoke as follows: 'the sage lucman[fn# ] said to his son, "there are three men whom thou shalt not know, but in three several cases; thou shalt not know the merciful man but in time of anger, nor the brave man but in time of war nor thy friend but when thou hast need of him." it is said that the oppressor shall repent, though the people praise him, and that the oppressed is safe, though the people blame him. quoth god the most high, "[fn# ] think not that those who rejoice in their deeds and love to be praised for that which they have not done, shall escape punishment; indeed there is reserved for them a grievous punishment." quoth mohammed (on whom be peace and salvation), "works are according to intentions, and to each man is attributed that which he intends." he saith also, "there is a part of the human body, which being whole, all the rest is whole, and which being corrupt, the whole body is corrupt; it is the heart. and indeed the heart is the most marvellous part of man, since it is that which ordereth his whole affair; if covetise stir in it, desire destroys him, and if affliction master it, anguish slays him: if anger rage in it, danger is sore upon him, and if it be blest with contentment, he is safe from discontent; if fear overtake it, he is filled with mourning, and if calamity smite it, affliction betideth him. if a man gain wealth, his heart is peradventure diverted thereby from the remembrance of his lord, and if poverty afflict him, his heart is distracted by care, or if disquietude waste his heart, weakness reduces him to impotence. so, in any case, there is nothing will profit him but that he be mindful of god and occupy himself with gaining his living and securing his place in paradise." it was asked of a certain wise man, "who is the most ill-conditioned of men?" "he," replied the sage, "whose lusts master his manhood and whose mind exceeds in the pursuit of objects of high emprise, so that his knowledge increases and his excuse diminishes; and how excellent is what the poet says: the freest of all men from need of the arrogant meddler am i, the fool who's unguided of god and judges the folk all awry; for wealth and good gifts are a loan and each man at last shall be clad as it were in a mantle, with that which hid in his bosom doth lie. if thou enter on aught by a door that is other than right, thou wilt err; but the right door will dead thee aright, for sure, if thou enter there by." as for anecdotes of devotees (continued the maiden), quoth hisham ben besher, "i said to omar ben ubeid, 'what is true devoutness?' and he answered, 'the prophet (whom god bless and preserve) hath expounded it, when he says, "the devout is he who takes thought to death and calamity and prefers that which is eternal to that which passes away, who counts not the morrow as of his days, but reckons himself among the dead."'" and it is related that abou dherr[fn# ] used to say, "poverty is dearer to me than riches and sickness than health." quoth one of the listeners, "may god have mercy on abou dherr! for my part, i say, 'he who puts his trust in the goodness of the election of god the most high should be content with that condition of which the almighty hath made choice for him.'" quoth one of the companions (of the prophet), "ibn ali aqfa[fn# ] prayed with us the morning-prayer one day. when he had done, he read the seventy-fourth chapter (of the koran), beginning, 'o thou that coverest thyself!' till he came to where god says, 'when the trumpet is blown,' and fell down dead." it is said that thabit el benani wept till he well nigh lost his eyes. they brought him a man to tend him, who said to him, "i will cure thee, provided thou do my bidding." "in what respect?" asked thabit. "in that thou leave weeping," replied the physician. "what is the use of my eyes," rejoined thabit, "if they do not weep?" said a man to mohammed ibn abdallah, "exhort me." "i exhort thee," replied he, "to be an abstinent possessor in this world and a greedy slave in the next." "how so?" asked the other; and mohammed said, "the abstinent man in this world possesses both this world and the world to come." quoth ghauth ben abdallah, "there were two brothers among the people of israel, one of whom said to the other, 'what is the worst thing thou hast done?' 'one day,' answered the other, 'i came upon a nest of young birds; so i took out one and threw it back into the nest; but the others drew apart from it. this is the worst thing i ever did; so now tell me what is the worst thing thou hast ever done.' 'when i betake myself to prayer,' rejoined the first, 'i am fearful to have done so only for the sake of the reward. this is the worst thing i have done.' now their father heard what they said and exclaimed, 'o my god, if they speak the truth, take them to thyself!' quoth one of the wise men, 'verily these were of the most virtuous of children.'" quoth said ben jubeir,[fn# ] "i was once in company with fuzaleh ibn ubeid and said to him, 'give me some good counsel.' 'bear in mind these two things,' replied he. 'attribute no partner to god, and do no hurt to any of his creatures.' and he repeated the following verses: be as thou wilt and banish dread and care, for god is bountiful and debonair; so of two things, the doing hurt to men and giving god a partner, thou beware." and how well saith the poet: if thou neglect with pious works for death to furnish thee and after meet with one equipped with store of piety, thou wilt, when all too late, repent that thou wert not like him and didst not for the other world make ready as did he.' then the second damsel withdrew and a third came forward and spoke as follows. 'indeed, the chapter of piety is a very wide one; but i will mention what occurs to me thereof, concerning pious men of old time. quoth a certain holy man, "i rejoice in death, though i am not assured of ease therein, save that i know death interposes between a man and his works; so i hope for multiplication of good works and cessation of evil ones." itaa es selemi, when he had made an end of an exhortation, was wont to tremble and weep sore. it was asked him why he did this and he replied, "i purpose (or am about) to enter upon a grave matter, and it is the standing up before god the most high, to do in accordance with my exhortation." in like manner zein el aabidin[fn# ] was wont to tremble when he rose to pray. being asked the reason of this, he replied, "do ye not know before whom i stand and to whom i address myself?" it is said that there lived near sufyan eth thauri[fn# ] a blind man who, when the month of ramazan came, went out with the folk to pray, but remained silent and hung back (in repeating the prayers). said sufyan, "on the day of resurrection, he shall come with the people of the koran[fn# ] and they will be distinguished from their fellows by excess of honour." quoth sufyan, "were the soul stablished in the heart as it befits, it would fly away, for joy and longing for paradise and grief and fear of hell-fire." it is related also of sufyan that he said, "to look upon the face of a tyrant is a sin."' then the third damsel retired and a fourth came forward, who said, 'i will treat of sundry traditions of pious men. it is related that bishr el hafi[fn# ] said, "i once heard khalid say, 'beware of secret hypocrisy.' quoth i, 'what is secret hypocrisy?' he answered, 'when one of you, in praying, prolongs his inclinations and prostrations till a cause of impurity[fn# ] come upon him.'" quoth one of the sages, "the doing of good works expiates evil deeds." quoth ibrahim ben adhem[fn# ], "i sought assiduously of bishr el hafi that he should acquaint me with some of the theological mysteries; but he said, 'o my son, it behoves us not to teach this knowledge to every one; of every hundred, five, even as the poor-rate upon money.' i thought his answer excellent, and when i went to pray, i saw bishr praying: so i stood behind him, inclining myself in prayer, till the muezzin made his call. then rose a man of poor appearance and said, 'o folk, beware of truth, when it is hurtful, for there is no harm in beneficial falsehood, and in compulsion is no choice: speech profits not in the absence of good qualities nor is there any hurt in silence, when they exist.' presently i saw bishr drop a danic[fn# ] so i picked it up and exchanged it for a dirhem, which i gave him. 'i will not take it,' said he. quoth i, 'it is a fair exchange;' but he answered, 'i cannot barter the riches of the world to come for those of this world.'" it is reported also that bishr's sister once went to ahmed ben hembel[fn# ] and said to him, "o imam of the faith, we are a family that work for our living by day and spin thread by night; and oftentimes, the cressets of the watch of baghdad pass by and we on the roof spinning by their light. is this forbidden to us?" "who art thou?" asked ahmed. "i am the sister of bishr el hafi," replied she. "o household of bishr," rejoined the imam, "i shall never cease to quafl full draughts of piety and continence from your hearts." quoth one of the learned, "when god wills well to any man, he opens upon him the gate of action." malik ibn dinar,[fn# ] when he passed through the bazaar and saw aught that he wished for, was wont to say, "o soul, take patience, for i will not accord to thee what thou desirest." he said also (may god accept of him), "the salvation of the soul lies in resistance to its desires and its ruin in submission to them." quoth mensour ben ammar,[fn# ] "i set out one year on the pilgrimage and was making for mecca by way of cufa, when, one overcast night, i heard a voice crying out from the womb of the night and saying, 'o my god, by thy power and thy glory, i meant not by my disobedience to transgress against thee, for indeed i am not ignorant of thee; but my fault is one thou didst foreordain to me from all eternity; so do thou pardon me my sin, for indeed i disobeyed thee of my ignorance!' when he had made an end of his prayer, he recited aloud the verse, 'o ye who believe, keep yourselves and your households from the fire whose fuel is men and stones!"[fn# ] then i heard a fall, but knew not what it was and passed on. on the morrow, as we went our way, we fell in with a funeral train, followed by an old woman, whose strength had left her. i questioned her of the dead, and she replied, 'this is the funeral of a man who passed by us yesterday, whilst my son was standing at prayer. the latter recited a verse from the book of god the most high, when behold the man's gall-bladder burst and he fell dead.'" therewith the fourth damsel retired and the fifth, coming forward, spoke as follows: 'i also will repeat what occurs to me in the way of devotional anecdotes. meslemeh ben dinar used to say, "the making sound the secret thoughts covers sins, both great and small, and when the believer is resolved to leave sinning, help comes to him." also, "every piece of good fortune, that does not draw one nearer to god, is a calamity, for a little of this world distracts from a great deal of the world to come and a great deal of the first makes thee forget the whole of the latter." it was asked of abou hazim,[fn# ] "who is the most fortunate of men?" "he who spends his life in the service of god," replied he. "and who is the most foolish of mankind?" asked the other. "he who sells his part in the world to come for the worldly goods of others," answered abou hazim. it is reported that moses (on whom be peace), when he came to the waters of midian, exclaimed, "o my lord, indeed i am in need of that which thou sendest down to me of good!" and he asked of his lord and not of his folk. there came two damsels and he drew water for them and gave not precedence to the shepherds. when they returned to their father jethro (on whom be peace!) they told him, and he said to one of them, "haply, he is hungry: go back to him and bid him hither." so she covered her face and returning to moses, said to him, "my father bids thee to him, that he may reward thee for having drawn water for us." moses was averse to this and unwilling to follow her. now she was a woman large in the buttocks, and the wind blowing upon her gown, discovered this; which when moses saw, he lowered his eyes and said to her, "do thou walk behind me." so she followed him, till he came to jethro's house, where the evening meal was ready. "o moses," said jethro, "i desire to reward thee for having drawn water for them." but he answered, "i am of a people who sell nothing of the fashion of the next world for earthly gold and silver." "o youth," rejoined jethro, "nevertheless thou art my guest, and it is my wont and that of my fathers to do honour to the guest by setting food before him." so moses sat down and ate. then jethro hired moses for eight pilgrimages, that is to say, eight years, and appointed to him for hire the hand of his daughter, and moses' service to him was to stand for her dowry. as says the holy writ of him (quoth jethro), "i am minded to marry thee to one of these my daughters, on condition that thou serve me eight years, and if thou serve out the ten, it will be of thine own will, for i do not wish to press hardly on thee."[fn# ] a certain man once said to one of his friends, "thou hast made me desolate, for that i have not seen thee this long while." quoth the other, "i have been distracted from thee by ibn shihab; dost thou know him?" "yes," replied the first; "he hath been my neighbour these thirty years, but i have never spoken to him." "indeed," rejoined his friend, "thou forgettest god in forgetting thy neighbour! if thou lovedst god, thou wouldst love thy neighbour. knowst thou not that a neighbour has a claim upon his neighbour, even as the right of kindred?" quoth hudheifeh, "we entered mecca with ibrahim ben adhem,[fn# ] and whilst making the prescribed circuits about the kaabeh, we met with shekic the balkhi. quoth ibrahim to shekic, 'what is your fashion in your country?' 'when we are vouchsafed [food],' replied he, 'we eat, and when we suffer hunger, we take patience.' 'this is the fashion of the dogs of balkh,' rejoined ibrahim. 'but we, when we are blest with plenty, we do honour to god, and when we suffer famine, we praise him.' and shekic seated himself before ibrahim and said to him, 'thou art my master.'" quoth mohammed ben amran, "a man once asked of hatim el asemm[fn# ], 'what maketh thee to trust in god?' 'two things,' replied he, 'i know that what god has appointed for my daily bread shall be eaten by none but myself; so my heart is at rest as to that; and i know that i was not created without god's knowledge and am abashed before him.'" then the fifth damsel retired and the old woman came forward and kissing the earth before thy father nine times, spoke as follows: 'thou hast heard, o king, what these all have said on the subject of piety; and i will follow their example in relating what i have heard of the famous men of times past. it is said that the imam es shafi[fn# ] divided the night into three portions, the first for study, the second for sleep and the third for prayer. the imam abou henifeh[fn# ] was wont also to pass half the night in prayer. one day a man pointed him out to another, as he passed, and said, "yonder man watches the whole night." quoth abou henifeh, "when i heard this, i was abashed before god, to hear myself praised for what was not in me; so, after this, i used to watch the whole night." er rebya relates that es shafi used to recite the whole koran seventy times over during the month of ramazan, and that in prayer. quoth es shafi (may god accept of him!), "for ten years i never ate my fill of barley-bread, for satiety hardens the heart and deadens the wit and induces sleep and enfeebles one from standing up (to pray)." it is reported of abdallah ben mohammed es sekra that he said, "i was once talking with omar, and he said to me, 'never saw i a more god-fearing or eloquent man than mohammed ben idris es shafi. i went out one day with el harith ben lebib es suffar, who was a disciple of el muzeni[fn# ] and had a fine voice, and he read the saying or the most high, 'on that day, they shall not speak nor shall it be permitted to them to excuse themselves.'[fn# ] i saw es shafi's colour change; his skin shuddered, and he was violently moved and fell down senseless. when he revived, he said, 'i seek refuge with god from the stead of the liars and the fate of the negligent! o my god, the hearts of the wise abase themselves before thee. o my god, of thy goodness, accord to me the remission of my sins, adorn me with thy protection and pardon me my shortcomings, by the magnanimity of thine essence!' then i rose and went away." quoth one of the pious, "when i entered baghdad, es shafi was there. i sat down on the river-bank, to make the ablution before prayer; and as i was thus occupied, there came up one who said to me, 'o youth, make thine ablution well and god will make it well for thee in this world and the world to come.' i turned and saw a man, with a company of people after him. so i hastened to finish my ablutions and followed him. presently, he turned and said to me, 'dost thou want aught?' 'yes,' answered i; 'i desire that thou teach me somewhat of that which god the most high hath taught thee.' 'know, then,' said he, 'that he who believes in god the most high shall be saved and he who is jealous of his faith shall be delivered from destruction, and he who practices abstinence in this world, his eyes shall be solaced on the morrow (of death). shall i tell thee any more?' 'assuredly,' replied i. 'abstain from the things of this world,' continued he, 'and be greedy of the good of the world to come. be sincere and faithful in all thy dealings, and thou shalt be saved with the elect.' then he went on and i asked about him and was told that he was the imam es shafi. es shafi was wont to say, "i would have the folk profit by this wisdom (of mine), on condition that none of it be attributed to me." also, "i never disputed with any one, but i would that god the most high should give him the knowledge of the truth and aid him to expound it; nor did i ever dispute with any, but for the showing forth of the truth, and i recked not whether god should manifest it by my lips or his." he said also (may god accept of him!), "if thou fear to grow conceited of thy learning, bethink thee whose grace thou seekest and what good it is thou yearnest after and what punishment thou dreadest." it was told to abou henifeh that the commander of the faithful abou jaafer el mensour had named him cadi and ordered him a present of ten thousand dirhems; but he would not accept of this; and when the day came on which the money was to be paid, he prayed the morning-prayer, then covered his head with his cloak and spoke not. when the khalif's messenger came with the money, he went in to the imam and accosted him, but he would not speak to him. quoth the messenger, "this money is lawfully thine." "i know that it is lawfully mine," replied the imam; "but i abhor that the love of tyrants should take hold upon my heart." "canst thou not go in to them and guard thyself from loving them?" asked the other. "can i look to enter the sea, without wetting my clothes?" answered abou henifeh. another of es shafi's sayings is as follows: o soul, if thou be fain to do as i shall say, thou shalt be free from need and great of grace for aye. put far away from thee ambitions and desires, for lo, how oft a wish to death hath led the way! among the sayings of sufyan eth thauri, with which he admonished ali ben el hassan es selemi was the following, "look that thou practice sincerity and beware of falsehood and treachery and hypocrisy and presumption for god annuls good works with either of these things. borrow not but of him who is merciful to his debtors and let thy comrade be one who will cause thee to abstain from the world. let the thought of death be ever present with thee and be constant in asking pardon of god and beseeching of him peace for what remains of thy life. give loyal counsel to every true-believer, when he asks thee concerning the things of his faith, and beware of betraying a believer, for he who betrays a believer betrays god and his apostle. avoid dissension and litigation and leave that which awakens doubt in thee, betaking;, thyself rather to those things that will not disquiet thee; so shalt thou be at peace. enjoin that which is just and forbid that which is evil, so shalt thou be beloved of god. make fair thine inner man, and god shall make fair thine outer man. accept the excuse of him who excuses himself to thee and hate none of the true-believers. draw near unto those that reject thee and forgive those that oppress thee; so shalt thou be the companion of the prophets. commit thine affair to god, both in public and in private, and fear him with the fear of one who knows that he must die and be raised again to stand before the almighty, remembering that thou art destined for one of two dwellings, either paradise the glorious or the flaming fire."' having spoken thus, the old woman sat down beside the damsels. when the late king thy father heard their discourse, he knew that they were the most accomplished of the people of their time and seeing their beauty and grace and the greatness of their learning, he showed them all favour. moreover, he turned to the old woman and entreated her with honour, setting apart for her and her damsels the palace that had been the lodging of the princess abrizeh, to which he let carry all that they needed of the best. here they abode ten days, and whenever the king visited them, he found the old woman absorbed in prayer, watching by night and fasting by day; wherefore love of her took hold upon his heart and he said to me, 'o vizier, verily this old woman is a pious soul, and reverence for her is strong in my heart.' on the eleventh day, the king visited her, that he might pay her the price of the five damsels; but she said to him, 'o king, know that the price of these passes the competence of men, for i seek for them neither gold nor silver nor jewels, be it little or much.' the king wondered at this and said, 'o my lady, what is their price?' 'i will not sell them to thee,' replied she, 'save on condition that thou fast a whole month, watching by night and fasting by day for the love of god the most high: but if thou wilt do this, they are thine, to use as thou pleasest.' the king wondered at the perfectness of her piety and devotion and abnegation and she was magnified in his eyes, and he said, 'may god make this pious old woman to profit us!' so he agreed to her proposal, and she said to him, 'i will help thee with my prayers.' then she called for a gugglet of water and muttered over it words in an unknown language and abode awhile, speaking over it things that we understood not. then she covered it with a cloth and sealing it up, gave it to the king, saying, 'when thou has fasted ten days, break thy fast on the eleventh night with what is in this cup, for it will root out the love of the world from thy heart and fill it with light and faith. as for me, i purpose to go out to-morrow to visit my brethren of the invisible world, for i yearn after them, and i will return to thee when the ten days are past.' so the king took the gugglet and setting it apart in a closet of his palace, locked the door and put the key in his pocket. next day, the old woman departed and the king entered upon his fast. when he had accomplished the first ten days thereof, he opened the gugglet and drank what was therein and found it cordial to his stomach. within the next ten days, the old woman returned, bringing sweetmeats wrapped in a green leaf, like no leaf of a tree. she went in to the king and saluted him; and when he saw her he rose to meet her, saying, 'welcome, o pious lady!' 'o king,' said she, 'the spirits salute thee, for i told them of thee, and they rejoiced in thee and have sent thee this cake, which is of the sweetmeats of the other world. do thou break thy fast on it at the end of the day.' the king rejoiced greatly at this and exclaimed, 'praised be god who hath given me brethren of the invisible world!' and he thanked the old woman and kissed her hands and entreated her and the damsels with exceeding honour. then he fasted till twenty days were past, at the end of which time the old woman came to him and said, 'know, o king, that i told the spirits of the love that is between thee and me and how i had left the damsels with thee, and they were glad that the damsels should belong to a king like thee; for they were wont, when they saw them, to be strenuous in offering up effectual prayer on their behalf. so i would fain carry them to the spirits, that they may benefit by their favours, and they shall surely not return to thee without some treasure of the treasures of the earth, that thou, after the completion of thy fast, mayst occupy thyself with their dress and help thyself to the fulfilment of thy wishes with that which they shall bring thee.' the king thanked her and said, 'but that i fear to cross thee, i would not accept the treasure or aught else: but when wilt thou set out with them?' 'on the seven-and-twentieth night,' replied she; 'and i will bring them back to thee at the end of the month, by which time thou wilt have accomplished thy fast and they will have had their courses and be free from impurity. then they shall become thine and be at thy disposal. by allah, each one of them is worth many times thy kingdom!' 'i know it, o pious lady,' replied the king. then said the old woman, 'if there be any one in thy palace who is dear to thee, thou wouldst do well to send her with me, that she may find solace and seek a blessing of the spirits.' quoth the king, 'i have a greek slave called sufiyeh, by whom god hath vouchsafed me two children, a son and a daughter: but they were lost years ago. take her with thee, that she may get the spirits' blessing: it may be they will pray god for her, that her children may be restored to her.' 'it is well,' replied the old woman; for indeed this was what she most desired. the king gave not over fasting till the seven-and-twentieth night, when the old woman said to him, 'o my son, i am about to go to the spirits; so bring me sufiyeh.' accordingly, he sent for her and delivered her to the old woman, who placed her with the other damsels. then she went in to her chamber and bringing out a sealed cup, presented it to the king, saying, 'on the thirtieth day, do thou go to the bath and when thou comest out, enter one of the closets in thy palace and drink the liquor that is in this cup. then sleep, and thou shalt attain what thou seekest, and peace be on thee!' the king was glad and thanked her and kissed her hands. quoth she, 'i commend thee to god;' and he said, 'when shall i see thee again, o pious lady? indeed i love not to part with thee.' then she called down blessings on him and departed with the five damsels and the princess sufiyeh; whilst the king fasted other three days, till the end of the month, when he went to the bath and coming out, shut himself up in a closet, commanding that none should go in to him. then he drank what was in the cup and lay down to sleep. we sat awaiting him till the end of the day, but he did not come out and we said, 'belike he is tired with the bath and with watching by night and fasting by day, and sleepeth.' so we waited till next day; but still he did not come out. then we stood at the closet-door and cried aloud, so haply he might awake and ask what was the matter. but nothing came of this: so at last we lifted the door off its hinges and going in, found the king dead, with his flesh torn into strips and his bones broken in pieces. when we saw him in this case, it was grievous to us, and we took up the cup and found in its cover a piece of paper, on which was written the following, 'he who does evil leaves no regrets behind him. this is the reward of him who plays the traitor with kings' daughters and debauches them: and we make known to all who happen upon this scroll that sherkan, when he came to our country, debauched our princess abrizeh; nor did this suffice him, but he must take her from us and bring her to you. then he (omar ben ennuman) (debauched her and) sent her away, in company of a black slave, who slew her and we found her lying dead in the desert. this is none of kings' fashion, and he who did this is requited with nought but his deserts. so do ye suspect none of having killed him, for none slew him but the cunning witch, whose name is dhat ed dewahi. and behold, i have taken the king's wife sufiyeh and have carried her to her father king afridoun of constantinople. moreover, we will assuredly make war upon you and kill you and take your land from you, and ye shall be cut off even to the last man, nor shall there be left of you a living soul, no, nor a blower of the fire, except he serve the cross and the girdle.' when we read this, we knew that the old woman had cheated us and carried out her plot against us: so we cried out and buffeted our faces and wept sore. however, weeping availed us nothing and the troops fell out as to whom they should make sultan. some would have thee and others thy brother sherkan; and we ceased not to wrangle about this for the space of a month, at the end of which time certain of us drew together and agreed to repair to thy brother sherkan. so we set out and journeyed on till we fell in with thee: and this is the manner of the death of king omar ben ennuman.' when the vizier had made an end of his story, zoulmekan and his sister wept, and the chamberlain wept also. then said the latter to zoulmekan, "o king, weeping will profit thee nothing; nor will aught avail thee but that thou fortify thy heart and strengthen thy resolution and stablish thy power; for verily he is not dead who leaves the like of thee behind him." so zoulmekan gave over weeping and causing his throne to be set up without the pavilion, commanded the army to pass in review before him. then he sat down on the throne, with the chamberlain by his side and all the arm-bearers behind him, whilst the vizier dendan and the rest of the amirs and grandees stood before him, each in his several room. then said zoulmekan to dendan, "acquaint me with the particulars of my father's treasures." dendan answered, "i hear and obey," and gave him to know the amount and nature of the late king's treasure and what was in the treasury of money and jewels and other precious things. so zoulmekan gave largesse to the army and bestowed a sumptuous dress of honour on the vizier dendan, saying, "i confirm thee in thine office." whereupon dendan kissed the earth before him and wished him long life. then he bestowed dresses of honour on the amirs, after which he turned to the chamberlain and said, "bring out before us the tribute of damascus, that is with thee." so he laid before him the chests of money and jewels and rarities, and he took them and divided them all amongst the troops, till there was nothing left. and the amirs kissed the ground before him and wished him long life, saying, "never saw we a king, who gave the like of these gifts." then they all went away to their own tents, and when it was morning, zoulmekan gave orders for departure. so they set out and journeyed for three days, till on the fourth day they drew near to baghdad. when they entered the city, they found it decorated, and king zoulmekan went up to his father's palace and sat down on the throne, whilst the amirs of the army and the vizier dendan and the chamberlain of damascus stood before him. then he bade his private secretary write a letter to his brother sherkan, acquainting him with all that had passed and adding, "as soon as thou hast read this letter, make ready thine affair and join us with thine army, that we may make war upon the infidels and take vengeance on them for our father and wipe out the stain upon our honour." then he folded the letter and sealed it and said to dendan, "none shall carry this letter but thou; and i would have thee speak my brother fair and say to him, 'if thou have a mind to thy father's kingdom, it is thine, and thy brother shall be viceroy for thee in damascus; for to this effect am i instructed by him."' so the vizier went out from before him and proceeded to make ready for his journey. then zoulmekan set apart a magnificent house for the stoker and furnished it with sumptuous furniture and lodged him therein. one day, he went out a-hunting and as he was returning to baghdad, one of the amirs presented him with horses of fine breeds and damsels whose beauty beggars description. one of the damsels pleased him: so he went in to her and lay with her, and she conceived by him forthright. after awhile, the vizier dendan returned from damascus, bringing him news of his brother sherkan and that he was then on his way to him, and said to him, "thou wouldst do well to go out to meet him." zoulmekan replied, "i hear and obey;" and riding forth with his grandees a day's journey from baghdad, pitched his tents and halted to await the coming of his brother. next morning, the army of syria appeared, with king sherkan in its midst, a bold cavalier, a fierce lion and a warrior against whom none might make head. as the squadrons drew nigh and the dust-clouds neared and the troops came up with banners flying, zoulmekan and his attendants rode forward to meet sherkan; and when the king saw his brother, he would have dismounted, but sherkan conjured him not to do so and himself set foot to the ground and walked towards him. as soon as he reached zoulmekan, the latter threw himself upon him, and they embraced and wept and condoled with one another. then they mounted and rode onward, they and their troops, till they reached baghdad, where they alighted and went up to the royal palace and passed the night there. next morning, zoulmekan went forth and bade proclaim a holy war and summon the troops from all parts. they abode a whole month, awaiting the coming of the levies, whilst the folk poured in from all parts of the kingdom, and every one who came they entreated with honour and munificence and promised him all manner of good. then sherkan said to zoulmekan, "o my brother, tell me thy history." so he told him all that had befallen him, first and last, including the benevolent dealing of the stoker with him. "hast thou requited him his kindness to thee?" asked sherkan. "not yet," replied zoulmekan, "but, god willing, i will surely do so, as soon as i return from this expedition and am at leisure to attend to him." therewith, sherkan was certified that his sister nuzhet ez zeman had told him the truth; but he concealed what had passed between them and contented himself with sending his salutation to her by her husband the chamberlain. she returned his greeting in the same fashion, calling down blessings on him and enquiring after her daughter kuzia fekan, to which he replied that the child was well and in all health and safety. then he went to his brother to take counsel with him for departure; and zoulmekan said, "o my brother, we will set out as soon as the army is complete and the arabs have come in from all parts." so he bade make ready the wheat and other provisions and munitions of war and went in to his wife, who was now five months gone with child; and he put under her hand mathematicians and astrologers, to whom he appointed stipends and allowances. then, three months after the arrival of the army of syria, as soon as the troops were all assembled and the arabs had come in, he set out, at the head of his troops, with his brother sherkan on his right and his brother-in-law the chamberlain on his left hand. the name of the general of the army of the medes was rustem and that of the general of the army of the turks behram. so the squadrons broke up and marched forward and the companies and battalions filed past in battle array, till the whole army was in motion. they ceased not to fare on for the space of a month; halting three days a week to rest, by reason of the greatness of the host, till they came to the country of the greeks; and as they drew near, the people of the villages and hamlets took fright at them and fled to constantinople. to return to dhat ed dewahi. as soon as she reached her own country and felt herself in safety, she said to her son, king herdoub, "be consoled; for i have avenged thy daughter abrizeh and killed king omar ben ennuman and brought back the princess sufiyeh. so now let us go to the king of constantinople and carry him back his daughter and tell him what has happened, that he may be on his guard and prepare his forces and that we may do the like; for i know that the muslims will not delay to attack us." "let us wait till they draw near our country," replied herdoub, "that we may make us ready meantime and assemble our power." accordingly they fell to levying their forces and preparing for war, so that by the time the news of the muslims' advance reached them, they were ready for defence. then king herdoub and his mother set out for constantinople, and king afridoun, hearing of the arrival of the king of the greeks, came forth to meet him and asked how it was with him and the cause of his visit. so herdoub acquainted him with the doing; of his mother dhat ed dewahi, how she had slain the muslim king and recovered the princess sufiyeh and that the muslims had assembled their forces and were on their way to attack them, wherefore it behoved that they two should join powers and meet them. king afridoun rejoiced in the recovery of his daughter and the death of king omar and sent to all countries, to seek succour and acquaint the folk with the reason of the slaying of king omar. so the christian troops flocked to him from all quarters, and before three months were past, the army of the greeks was complete, besides which there joined themselves to him the french and germans and ragusans and genoese and venetians and all the hosts of the pale faces and warriors from all the lands of the franks, and the earth was straitened on them by reason of their multitude. then afridoun the great king commanded to depart; so they set out from constantinople and ceased not to defile through the city for the space of ten days. they fared on till they reached a spacious valley, hard by the salt sea, where they halted three days; and on the fourth day, they were about to set out again, when news came to them of the approach of the army of islam and the defenders of the faith of the best of men.[fn# ] so they halted other three days, and on the seventh day, they espied a great cloud of dust which spread till it covered the whole country; nor was an hour of the day past before the dust lifted and melted away into the air, and its darkness was pierced and dispersed by the starry sheen of lance-points and spear-heads and the flashing of sword-blades. presently, there appeared the banners of islam and the mohammedan ensigns and the mailed horsemen surged forward, like the letting loose of the billows of the sea, clad in cuirasses as they were clouds girdled about moons. thereupon the christian horsemen rode forward and the two hosts met, like two seas clashing together, and eyes fell upon eyes. the first to spur into the fight was the vizier dendan, with the army of syria, thirty thousand cavaliers, followed by rustem, the general of the medes, and behram, the general of the turks, with other twenty thousand horse, behind whom came the men of the sea-coast, sheathed in glittering mail as they were full moons passing through a night of clouds. then the christian host called upon jesus and mary and the defiled cross, and fell upon the vizier dendan and the army of syria. now this was in pursuance of a stratagem devised by dhat ed dewahi; for, before his departure, king afridoun had gone in to her and said, "it is thou hast brought this great stress on us; so do thou advise me how i shall do and what plan i shall follow." "o great king and mighty priest," replied she, "i will teach thee a shift, which would baffle iblis himself, though he should call to his aid against it all his grisly hosts. it is that you send fifty thousand men in ships to the mountain of smoke and there let them land and stir not till the standards of islam come upon you, when do you up and at them. then let the troops from the seaward sally out upon the muslims and take them in rear, whilst you confront them from the landward. so not one of them shall escape, and our stress shall cease and abiding peace enure to us." her counsel commended itself to king afridoun and he replied, "it is well; thy counsel shall be followed, o princess of cunning old women and recourse of kings warring for their blood-revenge!" so when the army of islam came upon them in that valley, of a sudden the flames began to run among the tents and the swords to play upon men's bodies. then came up the army of baghdad and khorassan, six score thousand horse, with zoulmekan at their head. when the host of the infidels that lay by the sea saw them, they came out and followed in their steps, and zoulmekan, seeing this, cried out to his men, saying, "turn back to the infidels, o people of the chosen prophet, and fall upon those who deny and transgress the authority of the compassionate, the merciful!" so they turned and fought with the christians, and sherkan came up with another wing of the muslim army, near six score thousand men, whilst the infidels numbered nigh upon sixteen hundred thousand. when the muslims mingled in the mellay, their hearts were strengthened and they cried out, saying, "god hath promised to succour us and abandon the infidels!" and they clashed together with swords and spears. as for sherkan, he made himself a passage through the ranks and raged among the masses of the foe, fighting so fierce a battle that it would have made children grow grey for fear; nor did he leave to tourney among the infidels and work havoc upon them with the keen-edged scimitar, shouting, "god is most great!" till he drove them back to the brink of the sea. then the strength of the foe failed and god gave the victory to the faith of submission,[fn# ] and they fought, drunken without wine, till they slew of the infidels forty and five thousand in that encounter, whilst of the muslims but three thousand and five hundred fell. moreover, the lion of the faith, king sherkan, and his brother zoulmekan slept not that night, but occupied themselves with looking to the wounded and heartening their men with assurance of victory and salvation and promise of a recompense in the world to come. meanwhile king afridoun assembled the captains of his host and said to them, "verily, we had accomplished our intent and had solaced our hearts, but for our over-confidence in our numbers: it was that which undid us." but dhat ed dewahi said to them, "assuredly nought shall profit you, except ye seek the favour of the messiah and put your trust in the true faith; for by the virtue of the messiah, the whole strength of the muslims lies in that devil, king sherkan!" "to-morrow," said afridoun, "i will draw out in battle array and send out against them the famous cavalier, luca ben shemlout; for if king sherkan come out to joust with him, he will slay him and the other champions of the muslims, till not one is left; and i purpose this night to sacre you all by fumigation with the holy incense." when the amirs heard this, they kissed the earth before him. now the incense in question was the excrement of the chief patriarch, which was sought for with such instance and so highly valued, that the high priests of the greeks used to mix it with musk and ambergris and send it to all the countries of the christians in silken sachets; and kings would pay a thousand dinars for every drachm of it, for they sought it to perfume brides withal and the chief of them were wont to use a little of it in ointment for the eyes and as a remedy in sickness and colic. but the priests used to mix their own excrement with it, for that the excrement of the chief patriarch could not suffice for half a score countries. so, as soon as the day broke and the morning appeared with its lights and shone, the horsemen ran to arms, and king afridoun summoned the chief of his knights and nobles and invested them with dresses of honour. then he made the sign of the cross on their foreheads and incensed them with the incense aforesaid; after which he called for luca ben shemlout, surnamed the sword of the messiah, and after incensing him and rubbing his palate with the holy excrement, daubed and smeared his cheeks and anointed his moustaches with the remainder. now there was no stouter champion in the land of the greeks than this accursed luca, nor any doughtier at bowshot or smiting with swords or thrusting with spears in the mellay; but he was foul of favour, for his face was as the face of a jackass, his shape that of an ape and his look as the look of a malignant serpent, and the being near unto him was more grievous than parting from the beloved. moreover, he was black as night and his breath was fetid as that of the lion; he was crooked as a bow and grim-visaged as the pard, and he was branded with the mark of the infidels. he kissed afridoun's feet and the king said to him, "it is my wish that thou go out against sherkan, king of damascus, and hasten to deliver us from this affliction." quoth luca, "i hear and obey." and the king made the sign of the cross on his forehead and felt assured of speedy help from heaven, whilst luca went out and mounted a sorrel horse. now he was clad in a red tunic and a hauberk of gold set with jewels and bore a three-barbed spear, as he were iblis the accursed on the day of marshalling his hosts to battle. then he rode forward, he and his troop of infidels, as they were driving to the fire, preceded by a herald, crying aloud in the arabic tongue and saying, "ho, followers of mohammed, let none of you come out to-day but your champion sherkan, the sword of islam, lord of damascus of syria!" hardly had he made an end of speaking, when there arose a mighty tumult in the plain, all the people heard its voice, that called to mind the day of weeping. the cowards trembled and all necks turned towards the sound, and behold, it was king sherkan. for, when zoulmekan saw that accursed infidel spur out into the plain, he turned to sherkan and said to him, "of a surety they seek for thee." "should it be so," replied sherkan, "it were pleasing to me." so when they heard the herald, they knew luca to be the champion of the greeks. now he was one of the greatest of villains, one who made hearts to ache, and had sworn to clear the land of the muslims; and indeed the medes and turks and kurds feared his mischief. so sherkan drove at him like an angry lion, mounted on a courser like a wild gazelle, and coming nigh to him, shook his javelin in his hand, as it were a darting viper, and recited the following verses: i have a sorrel horse, right swift and eath to guide, shall give thee of its might what thou mayst ill abide. ay, and a limber spear i have, full keen of point, as 'twere the dam of deaths upon its shaft did ride; and eke a trenchant sword of ind, which when i draw, thou'dst deem that levins flashed and darted far and wide, luca understood not what he said nor did he apprehend the vehemence of the verse; but he smote his forehead with his hand, in honour of the cross drawn thereon, and kissed it, then ran at sherkan with lance pointed at him. when he came within spear-shot, he threw the javelin into the air, till it was lost to sight, and catching it with the other hand, as do the jugglers, hurled it at sherkan. it sped from his hand, like a shooting star, and the people clamoured and feared for sherkan: but as it drew near him, he put out his hand and caught it in full flight, to the amazement of the beholders. then he shook it, till it was well-nigh broken, and hurled it up into the air, till it disappeared from sight. as it descended, he caught it again, in less than the twinkling of an eye, and cried out from the bottom of his heart, saying, "by the virtue of him who created the seven heavens, i will make this accursed fellow the byword of the world!" then he hurled the javelin at luca ben shemlout, who thought to do as sherkan had done and catch it in mid-flight; but sherkan made haste and sped another dart at him, which smote him on the forehead amiddleward the sign of the cross, and god hurried his soul to the fire and the ill stead.[fn# ] when the infidels saw luca fall dead, they buffeted their faces, crying, "alas!" and "woe worth the day!" and called for aid upon the priests of the monasteries, saying, "where are the crosses?" so the monks offered up prayers and the christians all drew together against sherkan and brandishing their swords and lances, rushed forward to the attack. army met army and men's breasts fell under the hoofs of the horses, whilst the sword and the spear ruled and arms and wrists grew weak and it was as if the horses had been made without legs; nor did the herald of war cease to call to battle, till all arms were weary and the day departed and the night came with the darkness. so the two hosts drew apart whilst every warrior staggered like a drunken man, for stress of war and much thrusting and smiting, and the ground was hidden with the slain; sore were the wounds and the hurt knew not by whom he died. then sherkan joined his brother and the chamberlain and the vizier dendan and said to them, "verily god hath opened a door for the destruction of the infidels, praised be the lord of the two worlds!" "let us never cease to praise god," replied zoulmekan, "for that he hath dispelled trouble from the arabs and the persians. indeed the folk, generation after generation, shall tell of thy prowess against the accursed luca, the falsifier of the evangel,[fn# ] of thy catching the javelin in mid-flight and smiting the enemy of god among men; and thy report shall endure until the end of time." then said sherkan, "harkye, o grand chamberlain and doughty captain!" "at thy service," answered he. quoth sherkan, "take the vizier dendan and twenty thousand men and lead them, by a forced march, seven parasangs towards the sea, till ye come near the shore, at two parasangs' distance from the foe. then hide in the hollows of the ground, till ye hear the tumult of the infidels disembarking from the ships; and when the swords have begun to play between us and them and ye see our troops falling back, as if defeated, and all the infidels following them, as well those in front as those from the sea-ward and the tents, do ye lie in wait for them: and as soon as ye see the standard with the words, 'there is no god but god, and mohammed is his apostle!' up with the green banner and fall on their rear, shouting, 'god is most great!' and do your endeavour, that they may not interpose between the retreating army and the sea." the chamberlain agreed to this, and he and the vizier dendan took twenty thousand men and set out at once, even as sherkan had commanded. as soon as it was morning the troops donned their armour and drawing their swords, set their spears in rest and sprang to horse. then the christians drew out in battle array upon the hills and plains and the priests cried out and all heads were uncovered. moreover, those who were in the ships hoisted the cross at their mast-heads and making from all sides towards the shore, landed their horses and addressed them to the fray, whilst the swords glittered and the javelins glanced like levies against the cuirasses. so they all joined battle and the mill-wheels of death rushed round over footmen and horsemen: heads flew from bodies and tongues grew mute and eyes dim; gall-bladders burst and skulls were cloven in sunder and wrists shorn in twain; whilst the horses plashed in pools of blood and men gripped each other by the beards. the host of islam called out, "peace and blessing on the prince of mankind and glory and praise in the highest to the compassionate one!" whilst the infidels shouted, "glory to the cross and the girdle and the vine-juice and the presser and the priests and the monks and the festival of palms and the metropolitan!" presently, zoulmekan and sherkan held back and their troops gave way and feigned to retreat before the infidels, who pursued them, deeming them routed, and made ready to cut and thrust. then the host of the muslims began to chant the first verses of the chapter of the cow,[fn# ] whilst the slain were trampled under the hoofs of the horses and the heralds of the greeks cried out, "ho, servants of the messiah! ho, people of the true faith! ho, followers of the pope! verily the divine grace shines upon you, for see, the hosts of islam incline to tree! so turn ye not your backs to them, but let your swords bite on their necks and hold not your hands from them, else are ye outcasts from the messiah, son of mary, who spoke even in the cradle!" thereupon afridoun thought that the infidels were victorious, knowing not that this was but a stratagem of the muslims, and sent to king herdoub, to give him the glad tidings of success, adding, "it was nought but the excrement of the arch-patriarch that availed us, in that the fragrance of it exhaled from the beards and moustaches of the servants of the cross near and far; and i swear, by the miracles of the messiah and by the waters of baptism, that i will not leave upon the earth a single defender of islam!"[fn# ] so the messenger betook himself to king herdoub whilst the infidels called to each other saying, "let us take our wreak for luca!" and king herdoub cried out, "vengeance for abrizeh!" with this, king zoulmekan cried out to his men, saying, "ho, servants of the requiting king. up and smite the children of blasphemy and disobedience with the white of the sword and the brown of the spear!" so the muslims turned upon the infidels and plied them with the keen-edged scimitar, whilst their herald cried aloud, "up, ye lovers of the chosen prophet and at the enemies of the faith! now is the time for those, who hope for salvation on the day of fear, to win the favour of the bountiful, the forgiving one, for verily paradise is under the shadow of swords!" so sherkan and his men fell upon the infidels and cut off their retreat and tourneyed among the ranks, when lo, a cavalier of goodly presence opened a passage through the army of the greeks and circled hither and thither amongst them, cutting and thrusting and covering the ground with heads and bodies, so that the infidels feared him and their necks bent under his blows. he was girt with two swords, that of his glances and a scimitar, and armed with two lances, one of cane and the other the straightness of his shape; over his shoulders flowed down his hair, whose beauty might have stood him in stead of many warriors, even as says the poet: flowing hair, as i deem, is not fair to the sight, except it be spread, on the day of the fight, o'er a youth with a spear that he giveth to drink of the blood of full many a beard-bearing knight. or as says another: i turned to him, what while he girt his faulchion on, and said, "surely, the sabres of thy looks should stand thee in sword's stead." quoth he, "the sabres of my looks i keep for those who love, my sword for those who have no wit of passion's goodlihead." when sherkan. saw him, he said to him, "ho, champion of the champions! i conjure thee, by the koran and the attributes of the compassionate one, tell me who thou art: for verily by thy deeds this day thou hast pleased the requiting king, whom one thing distracts not from another, in that thou hast discomfited the children of impiety and disbelief." quoth the horseman, "thou art he who sworest brotherhood to me but yesterday: how quickly thou hast forgotten me!" then he uncovered his face, so that what was hidden of his beauty was disclosed, and lo, it was none other than zoulmekan! when sherkan knew his brother, he rejoiced in him, except that he feared for him from the throng of adversaries and the onslaught of the champions; and this for two reasons, the first, his tender age and exposure to the evil eye, and the second, that his life was the mainstay of the empire. so he said to him, "o king, thou adventurest thy life, and indeed i am in fear for thee from the foe; so join thy horse to mine, and thou wouldst do well not to hazard thyself forth of these squadrons, that we may shoot at the enemy with thine unerring shaft." quoth zoulmekan, "i wish to equal thee in battle and i will not spare myself before thee in fight." then the host of islam rushed upon the infidels and encompassing them on all sides, waged a right holy war on them and broke the power of the children of impiety and pride and corruption. king herdoub sighed when he saw the evil case that had fallen on the greeks, and they turned their backs and addressed themselves to flight, making for the ships, when lo, there came out upon them from the sea shore a new army, led by the vizier dendan, him who was wont to make the champions bite the dust, and the chamberlain of syria, with twenty thousand doughty cavaliers, and fell upon their rear with sword and spear, whilst the army of islam pressed them in front and flank. then some of the muslims turned against those that were in the ships and rained perditions on them, till they threw themselves into the sea, and they slew of them much people, more than a hundred thousand knights, nor did one of their champions escape, great or small. moreover, they took their ships, with all the baggage and treasure therein, and the muslims got that day booty, the like of which was never gotten of time past; nor did ever ear hear of such a battle. but twenty of the ships escaped, and amongst the booty were fifty thousand horses, besides treasure and spoil past count or reckoning, whereat the muslims rejoiced with an exceeding joy and thanked god for the aid and protection he had vouchsafed them. meanwhile, the news reached constantinople that king afridoun had gotten the victory over the muslims, and dhat ed dewahi said, "i know that my son king herdoub is no runagate and that he has nought to fear from the hosts of islam, but will bring the whole world to the nazarene faith." then she commanded the city to be decorated, and the people held high festival and drank wines, knowing not what god had decreed to them. whilst they were in the midst of their rejoicings, behold, the raven of affliction croaked against them and up came the twenty ships of fugitives, amongst them the king of caesarea. king afridoun met them on the sea-shore, and they told him all that had befallen them, weeping sore and lamenting, whereupon rejoicing was turned into dismay, and king afridoun was filled with consternation and knew that there was no repairing their mischance. the women gathered together to make moan and lament: and the city was filled with mourning; all hearts failed, whilst the hired mourners cried aloud and weeping and wailing arose on all sides. when king herdoub met king afridoun, he told him the truth of the case and how the flight of the muslims was but a stratagem and said to him, "look not to see any of the troops, save those that have already reached thee." when afridoun heard this, he fell down in a swoon with his nose under his feet; and as soon as he revived he exclaimed, "surely the messiah was wroth with the army, that he delivered them thus into the hands of the muslims!" then came the arch-patriarch sadly to king afridoun who said to him, "o our father, destruction hath overtaken our army and the messiah hath punished us." "grieve not nor be concerned," replied the patriarch; "for it cannot be but that one of you has sinned against the messiah, and all have been punished for his sin; but now we will read prayers for you in the churches, that the mohammedan hosts may be repelled from you." after this, dhat ed dewahi came to afridoun and said to him, "o king, verily the muslims are many, and we shall never prevail against them, save by wile: wherefore i purpose to work upon them by stratagem and repair to the army of islam; haply i may be able to carry out my intent against their leader and slay their champion, even as i slew his father. if i succeed, not one of them shall return to his native land, for all their strength lies in him; but i wish to have some christians of syria, such as go out from time to time to sell their goods, to help me in carrying out my plan." "be it so, whenas thou wilt," replied the king. so she bade fetch a hundred men, natives of nejran in syria, and said to them, "ye have heard what has befallen the christians with the muslims?" "yes," replied they; and the king said, "this woman has devoted herself to the messiah and purposes to go forth with you, disguised as mohammedans, to work out a device, which shall profit us and hinder the muslim host from us: so if ye also are willing to devote yourselves to christ, i will give you a quintal of gold. those of you who escape shall have the money, and those of you who are slain christ will reward." "o king," replied they, "we devote ourselves to the messiah, and we will be thy sacrifice." then the old woman took drugs and simples and boiled them in water, till the black essence of them was extracted. she waited till it was cold, then dipped the end of a handkerchief therein and coloured her face therewith.. moreover she put on, over her clothes, a long gaberdine with an embroidered border and taking in her hand a rosary, went in to king afridoun, who knew her not nor did any of his companions know her, till she discovered herself to them, when they all praised her for her cunning and her son rejoiced and said, "may the messiah never fail thee!" then she took with her the syrian christians, and set out for the army of baghdad. now this accursed old woman was a witch of the witches, past mistress in sorcery and deception, knavish, crafty, debauched and perfidious, with foul breath, red eyelids, sallow cheeks, pale face, bleared eyes, mangy body, grizzled hair, humped back, withered complexion and running nostrils. she had studied the scriptures of islam and made the pilgrimage to the holy house of god,[fn# ] to come to the knowledge of the mohammedan ordinances and the doctrines of the koran; and she had professed judaism in jerusalem two years' space, that she might perfect herself in the magical arts of men and jinn; so that she was a plague of plagues and a calamity of calamities, utterly depraved and having no religion. now the chief reason of her sojourn with her son, king herdoub, was on account of the maidens at his court: for she was given to tribadism and could not exist without it: so if any damsel pleased her, she was wont to teach her the art and rub saffron on her, till she fainted away for excess of pleasure. whoso obeyed her, she used to favour and spake interest for her with her son; and whoso repelled her, she would contrive to destroy. this was known to merjaneh and rihaneh and utriyeh, the handmaids of abrizeh, and the princess loathed the old woman and abhorred to lie with her because of the ill smell from her armpits and the stench of her wind, more fetid than carrion, and the roughness of her body, coarser than palm fibre. she was wont to bribe those who served her desires with jewels and instruction; but abrizeh held aloof from her and sought refuge with the all-wise, the omniscient; for well does the poet say: o thou that abasest thyself to those that are rich and great and lordest it with disdain o'er those of low estate, thou that thinkest to gild thy baseness by gathering gold, the scenting of aught that's foul skills not its stench to abate! to continue. as soon as dhat ed dewahi had departed, her son went in to afridoun and said to him, "o king, we have no need of the chief patriarch nor of his prayers, but will act according to my mother's counsel and await what she will do of her craft without end with the muslim host, for they are on the march hither with all their strength and will quickly be with us." when king afridoun heard this, terror took hold upon his heart and he wrote letters forthright to all the countries of the christians, saying, "it behoves none of the followers of the messiah or soldiers of the cross to hold back, especially the folk of the citadels and strong places: but let them all come to us foot and horse and women and children, for the muslim hosts already tread our soil. so hasten, hasten, ere what we fear come to pass." now dhat ed dewahi had clad her companions in the habit of muslim merchants and had provided herself with a hundred mules laden with stuffs of antioch, such as gold woven satin and royal brocade and so forth, and with a letter from king afridoun to the following effect: "these are merchants from the land of syria, who have been with us: so it behoves none to do them let or hindrance nor take tithe of them, till they reach their own country and the place of their security, for by merchants a country flourishes and grows rich, and these are no men of war nor evil-doers." so, as soon as she came without the city, she said to them, "o folk, i wish to work out a plot for the destruction of the muslims." "o princess," replied they, "command us what thou wilt; we are at thy disposal, and may the messiah prosper thy dealing!" then she donned a gown of fine white wool and rubbing her forehead, till she made a great mark (as of a scar), anointed it with an ointment of her own fashion, so that it shone greatly. now she was lean-bodied and hollow-eyed, and she bound her legs tightly round with cords just above her feet, till she drew near the muslim camp, when she unwound them, leaving the marks of the cords deeply embedded in the flesh. then she anointed the weals with dragon's blood and bade her companions beat her severely and lay her in a chest. "how can we beat thee," replied they, "who art our sovereign lady and mother of the supreme king?" quoth she, "we blame not nor reproach him who goeth to the jakes, and in time of necessity, forbidden things become lawful. when ye have laid me in the chest, set it on the back of one of the mules and pass on with it and the other goods through the muslim camp, crying aloud the profession of the faith of unity.[fn# ] if any hinder you, give up the mules and their lading and betake yourself to their king zoulmekan and cast yourselves on his protection, saying, 'we were in the country of the infidels and they took nothing from us, but wrote us a passport, that none should hinder us: so why do ye seize upon our goods? see, here is the letter of the king of the greeks, commanding that none shall do us let or hindrance.' if he say to you, 'what profit had ye of your commerce in the land of the greeks?' answer him, 'we profited in that it was given us to accomplish the deliverance of a pious man, who had lain nigh fifteen years in a dungeon under the earth, crying out for help, yet none helped him. on the contrary, the infidels tortured him night and day. we knew not of this: but after we had sojourned awhile in constantinople, having sold our goods and bought others in their stead, we made ready to set out and return to our native land. we spent the night before our departure, conversing about our journey, and when the day broke, we saw a figure painted upon the wall; and behold, as we drew nigh it, it moved and said, "o muslims, is there amongst you one who is minded to gain the favour of the lord of the two worlds?" "how so?" asked we. "know," replied the figure, "that god hath made me speak to you, to the intent that your belief may be fortified and that your faith may inspire you and that you may go forth of the country of the infidels and repair to the camp of the muslims. where ye shall find the sword of the compassionate one, the champion of the age, king sherkan, him by whom he shall conquer constantinople and destroy the followers of the christian heresy. on the third day of your journey, you will come to [a town, in which stands] a hermitage known as the hermitage of metronhena. make for it with a pure intent and do your utmost endeavour to come into the hermitage, for therein is a true believer from jerusalem, by name abdallah, one of the holiest of men, whom god hath blessed with supernatural powers, such as dispel doubts and obscurity. him certain of the monks seized by fraud and shut in an underground dungeon, where he has lain many a year. so, if ye desire to gain the favour of the lord of the faithful, ye cannot accomplish a more acceptable work than the deliverance of this holy man." when we heard what the figure said, we knew that this holy man was indeed of the chiefest of the devotees and heart-whole servants of god; so we set out and after three days' journey, came in sight of the town, and making for it, passed the day in buying and selling, as is the wont of merchants. as soon as the day had departed and the night was come with the darkness, we repaired to the hermitage, wherein was the dungeon, and presently heard the holy man chant some verses of the koran and repeat the following lines: i strive with my heart, for anguish that's well-nigh cleft in twain, and there ebbs and flows in my bosom a flooding sea of pain. indeed, there is no deliverance, and death is near at hand; yet death than long affliction were kinder and more fain. o lightning, if thou visit my native land and folk, if for the fair ones' lustre thine own red brilliance wane carry my salutation to those i love and say, i lie in a far greek dungeon and cry for help in vain. how can i win to join them, since that the ways with wars are blocked and the gate of succour is barred with many a chain?' when once ye have brought me into the muslim camp," added the old woman, "i know how i will make shift to beguile them and slay them all, even to the last man." when the christians heard what she said, they kissed her hands and laid her in a chest, after they had beaten her grievously, in obedience to her commands, seeing it to be incumbent on them to do her bidding in this, then made for the muslim camp. meanwhile, the muslims sat down to converse with each other, after they had made an end of the battle and the pillage, and zoulmekan said to his brother, "verily, god hath given us the victory, because of our just dealing and concord amongst ourselves; wherefore, o sherkan, do thou continue to obey my commandment, in submission to god (to whom belong might and majesty), for i mean to slay ten kings and fifty thousand of the greeks, in revenge for my father, and enter constantinople." "my life be thy ransom against death!" replied sherkan. "needs must i follow forth the holy war, though i tarry many a year in the infidels' country. but, o my brother, i have in damascus a daughter called kuzia fekan, who is one of the marvels of the time, and i love her heartily." "and i also," said zoulmekan, "have left my wife with child and near her time, nor do i know what god will vouchsafe me by her. but, o my brother, promise me that, if she bring me a son, thou wilt grant me thy daughter for my son and pledge me thy faith thereon." "with all my heart," replied sherkan and put out his hand to his brother, saying, "if thou be blessed with a son, i will give him my daughter kuzia fekan to wife." at this zoulmekan rejoiced, and they fell to giving each other joy of the victory, whilst the vizier dendan also congratulated them and said to them "know, o kings, that god hath given us the victory, for that we have devoted ourselves to him (to whom belong might and majesty) and have left our homes and families: and it is my counsel that we follow up the foe and press upon them and harass them; it may be god shall bring us to our desire and we shall destroy our enemies. if it please you, do ye embark in the ships and sail upon the sea, whilst we fare forward by land and bear the brunt of the battle." and he ceased not to urge them to action, repeating the following verses: the goodliest of delights it is one's foes to slay and on the backs of steeds the spoil to bear away. oft comes a messenger with promise of a friend, and the friend comes himself without a trysting-day. and these also: as i live, i will make of war my mother and the spear my brother and the sword my father, and for fere i will take each shag-haired warrior that meets death with a smile, as if to die in battle were e'en his wish most dear! "glory be to god," continued he, "who hath vouchsafed us his almighty aid and hath given us spoil of silver and fine gold!" then zoulmekan commanded to depart; and the army set out and fared on, by forced marches, toward constantinople, till they came to a wide and blooming champaign, full of all things fair, with wild cattle frisking and gazelles passing to and fro. now they had traversed great deserts and had been six days cut off from water, when they drew near this meadow and saw therein waters welling and trees laden with ripe fruits and the land as it were paradise; it had donned its adornments and decked itself.[fn# ] the branches of its trees swayed gently to and fro, drunken with the new wine of the dew, and therein were conjoined the fresh sweetness of the fountains of paradise and the soft breathings of the zephyr. mind and eye were confounded with its beauty, even as says the poet: look on the verdant smiling mead, with flowers and herbs beseen, as 'twere the spring thereon had spread a mantle all of green. if thou behold it with the eye of sense alone, thou'lt see nought but as 'twere a lake wherein the water waves, i ween: but with thy mind's eye look; thou'lt see a glory in the trees and lo' amidst the boughs above, the waving banners' sheen! or as another says: the river's a cheek that the sun has rosy made; for ringlets it borrows the cassia's creeping shade. the water makes anklets of silver about the legs of the boughs, and the flowers for crowns o'er all are laid. when zoulmekan saw this champaign, with its thick-leaved trees and its blooming flowers and warbling birds, he turned to his brother sherkan and said to him, "o my brother, verily damascus hath not in it the like of this place. we will abide here three days, that we may rest ourselves and that the troops may regain strength and their souls be fortified to encounter the accursed infidels." so they halted and pitched their camp there. presently, they heard a noise of voices afar, and zoulmekan enquiring the cause thereof, was told that a caravan of syrian merchants had halted there to rest and that the muslim troops had come on them and had haply seized some of their goods, that they had brought from the country of the infidels. after awhile, up came the merchants, crying out and appealing to the king for redress. so zoulmekan bade bring them before him, and they said to him, "o king, we have been in the country of the infidels and they spoiled us of nothing: why then do our brothers the muslims despoil us of our goods, and that in their own country? when we saw your troops, we went up to them, thinking no evil, and they robbed us of what we had with us." then they brought out to him the letter of the king of constantinople, and sherkan took it and reading it, said to them, "we will restore you what has been taken from you; but it behoved you not to carry merchandise to the country of the infidels." "o our lord," replied they, "of a truth, god moved us to go thither, that we might win what never champion won the like of, no, not even thou in ail thy battles." "what was it that ye won?" asked sherkan. "o king," replied they, "we will not tell thee, except in private; for if this thing be noised among the folk, it may come to the ears of the king of constantinople, and this will be the cause of our ruin and of the ruin of all muslims that resort to the land of the greeks." (now they had hidden the chest wherein was dhat ed dewahi.) so zoulmekan and his brother brought them to a private place, where they repeated to him the story of the devotee, even as the old woman had lessoned them, and wept till they made the two kings weep. there withal sherkan's heart yearned to the devotee and he was moved to pity for him and zeal for the service of god the most high. so he said to the syrians, "did ye rescue the holy man or is he still in the hermitage?" quoth they, "we delivered him and slew the hermit, fearing for ourselves; after which we made haste to fly, for fear of death; but a trusty man told us that in this hermitage are quintals of gold and silver and jewels." then they fetched the chest and brought out the accursed old woman, as she were a cassia[fn# ] pod, for excess of blackness and leanness, and laden with fetters and shackles. when zoulmekan and the bystanders saw her, they took her for a man of the dower of god's servants and the most excellent of devotees, more by token of the shining of her forehead for the ointment with which she had anointed it. so zoulmekan and sherkan wept sore and kissed her hands and feet, sobbing aloud: but she signed to them and said, "give over weeping and hear my words." so they left weeping, in obedience to her, and she said, "know that i was content to accept what my lord did unto me, knowing that the affliction that befell me was a trial from him (to whom belong might and majesty); since that for him who is not patient under trial and affliction there is no coming to the delights of paradise. i had indeed besought him that i might return to my native land, yet not for impatience of the sufferings decreed to me, but that i might die under the hoofs of the horses of the warriors of the faith, who, being slain in battle, live again without suffering death,"[fn# ]; and she repeated the following couplets: the fortress[fn# ] is sinai's self and the fire of war burns free, and thou art moses and this the time appointed to thee. throw down thy rod, for lo, it shall swallow up all they make! and fear not; i trow the ropes of the folk no serpents be.[fn# ] read thou the lines of the foe for chapters,[fn# ] the day of the fight, and let thy sword mark on their necks the verses, what while they flee. then her eyes ran over with tears and her forehead shone like gleaming light, and sherkan rose and kissed her hand and caused food to be set before her: but she refused it, saying, "i have not broken my fast (till sunset) for fifteen years; and how should i do so now, whenas my lord hath been bountiful to me in delivering me from the captivity of the infidels and doing away from me that which was more grievous than the fiery torment? i will wait till sun down." so at nightfall sherkan and zoulmekan came to her with food and said, "eat, o pious man." but she said, "this is no time for eating; it is the hour for doing my service to the requiting king." then she took up her station in the prayer-niche and stood praying till the night was spent; and she ceased not to do thus for three days and nights, sitting not but at the time of salutation.[fn# ] when zoulmekan saw this her behaviour, belief in her took firm hold upon his heart and he said to sherkan, "cause a tent of perfumed leather to be pitched for this holy man and appoint a servant to wait upon him." on the fourth day, she called for food; so they brought her all kinds of meats that could allure the sense or delight the eye; but of all this she ate but one cake of bread with salt. then she turned again to her fast, and when the night came, she rose anew to pray: and sherkan said to zoulmekan, "verily, this man carries renunciation of the world to the utmost extreme, and were it not for this holy war, i would join myself to him and worship god in his service, till i came before his presence. and now i would fain enter his tent and talk with him awhile." "and i also," said zoulmekan. "to-morrow we sally forth against constantinople, and we shall find no time like the present." "and i also," said the vizier dendan, "desire to see this holy man; haply he will pray for me that i may find my death in this holy war and come to the presence of my lord, for i am weary of the world." so as soon as night had darkened on them, they repaired to the tent of the witch dhat et dewahi and finding her standing praying, fell a-weeping, for pity of her: but she paid no heed to them till the night was half spent, when she ended her devotions by pronouncing the salutation (to the guardian angels). then she turned to them and greeted them, saying, "wherefore come ye?" "o holy man," said they, "didst thou not hear us weeping round thee?" "to him who stands before god," replied she, "there remains nor sight nor hearing for the things of this world." quoth they, "we would have thee tell us the manner of thy captivity and offer up prayer for us this night, for that will profit us more than the possession of constantinople." "by allah," answered she, "were ye not the leaders of the muslims, i would not tell you aught of this; for i complain not but to god alone. however, to you i will relate the circumstance of my captivity. know, then, that i was in jerusalem with certain saints and ecstatics, and did not magnify myself among them, for that god had endowed me with humility and abnegation, till one night i chanced to go down to the lake and walked upon the water. there withal there entered into me pride, whence i know not, and i said to myself, 'who can walk upon the water, like unto me?' and from that time my heart became hardened and god afflicted me with the love of travel. so i journeyed to the land of the greeks and visited it in every part during a whole year, leaving no place but i worshipped god therein. when i came to the place (where the syrians found me) i ascended the mountain and saw there a hermitage, inhabited by a monk called metrouhena. when he saw me, he came out to me and kissed my hands and feet, saying, 'verily, i have seen thee, since thou camest into the land of the greeks, and thou hast filled me with longing for the land of islam.' then he took my hand and carrying me into the hermitage, brought me to a dark place, where he took me unawares and locking the door on me, left me there forty days, without meat or drink; for it was his intent to kill me by starvation. one day it chanced that a knight called decianus came to the hermitage, accompanied by ten squires and his daughter temathil, a girl of incomparable beauty. the monk told them of me, and decianus said, 'bring him out, for surely there is not a bird's meal of flesh left on him.' so they opened the door of the dungeon and found me standing erect in the niche, praying and reciting the koran and glorifying god and humbling myself to him. when they saw this, the monk exclaimed, 'this man is indeed a sorcerer of the sorcerers!' then they all came in on me, and decianus and his company beat me grievously, till i desired death and reproached myself, saying, 'this is the reward of him who glorifies himself and takes credit for that which god hath bestowed upon him, beyond his own competence! for, indeed, my soul, pride and arrogance have crept into thee. dost thou not know that pride angers the lord and hardens the heart and brings men to the fire?' then they laid me in fetters and returned me to my place, which was a dungeon under the earth. every three days, they threw me down a cake of barley-bread and a draught of water; and every month or two, came decianus to the hermitage, with his daughter temathil, who is now grown up, for when i first saw her, she was nine years old, and i abode fifteen years in the dungeon, so that she must be now four-and twenty years of age. there is not in our land nor in the land of the greeks a fairer than she, and her father feared lest the king (of constantinople) should take her from him; for she had vowed herself to the service of the messiah and rode with decianus in the habit of a cavalier, so that none who saw her knew her for a woman. in this hermitage her father had laid up his treasures, for all who had aught of price were wont to deposit it there, and i saw there all manner of gold and silver and jewels and precious vessels and rarities, none may keep count of them save god the most high. ye are more worthy of these riches than the infidels; so do ye lay hands on that which is in the hermitage and divide it among the muslims, and especially among those who wage the holy war. when these merchants came to constantinople and sold their merchandise, the image on the wall spoke to them, by god's special grace to me; so they made for the hermitage and tortured metrouhena, after the most grievous fashion, and dragged him by the beard, till he showed them where i was, when they took me and fled for fear of death. to-morrow, temathil will visit the hermitage as of wont, and her father and his squires will come after her, to protect her: so, an ye would be witness of these things, take me with you and i will deliver to you the treasure and the riches of the knight decianus, that are stored up in that mountain; for i saw them bring out vessels of gold and silver to drink in and heard a damsel of their company sing to them in arabic. alas, that so sweet a voice should not be busied in reciting the koran! so, an ye will, i will bring you to the hermitage and ye shall hide there, against the coming of decianus and his daughter. then take her, for she is only fit for the king of the age, sherkan, or for king zoulmekan." when they heard her words, they all rejoiced, with the exception of the vizier dendan, who put no faith in her story, for her words took no hold on his reason and he was confounded at her discourse and signs of doubt and disbelief appeared in his face; but he feared to speak with her, for awe of the king. then she said, "i fear lest decianus come and seeing the troops encamped here, be afraid to enter the hermitage." so zoulmekan resolved to despatch the army towards constantinople and said, "i mean to take a hundred horse and many mules and make for the mountain, where we will load the mules with the treasure." then he sent for the chamberlain and for the captains of the turks and medes and said to them, 'as soon as it is day, do ye strike camp and set out for constantinople. thou, o chamberlain, shall fill my place in council and command, and thou, o rustem, shalt be my brother's deputy in battle. let none know that we are not with you, and after three days we will rejoin you." then he chose out a hundred of the stoutest cavaliers, and he and sherkan and dendan set out for the hermitage, with mules and chests for the transport of the treasure. as soon as it was morning, the chamberlain gave the signal for departure, and the troops set out, thinking that the two kings and the vizier were with them. now the syrians that were with dhat ed dewahi had taken their departure privily, after they had gone in to her and kissed her hands and feet and gotten her leave and taken her orders. then she waited till it was dark night and going in to zoulmekan and his companions, said to them, "come, let us set out for the mountain, and take with you a few men." they obeyed her and left five horsemen at the foot of the mountain, whilst the rest rode on before dhat ed dewahi, to whom new strength seemed given for excess of joy, so that zoulmekan said to his companions, "glory be to god who sustains this holy man, whose like we never saw!" now she had written a letter to the king of constantinople and despatched it by a carrier-pigeon, acquainting him with what had passed and adding, "do thou send me ten thousand horsemen of the stoutest of the greeks and let them come stealthily along the foot of the mountains, lest the muslim host get sight of them, to the hermitage and hide themselves there, till i come to them with the muslim king and his brother, for i have inveigled them and will bring them thither, together with the vizier dendan and a hundred horse, no more, that i may deliver to them the crosses that are in the hermitage. i am resolved to slay the monk metrouhena, since my scheme cannot be carried out but at the cost of his life. if my plot work well, not one of the muslims shall return to his own country, no, not a living soul nor a blower of the fire; and metrouhena shall be a sacrifice for the followers of the christian faith and the servants of the cross, and praise be to the messiah, first and last!" when this letter reached constantinople, the keeper of the pigeons carried it to king afridoun, who read it and forthwith equipped ten thousand cavaliers with horses and dromedaries and mules and victual and bade them repair to the hermitage and hide there; and they did as he commanded them. meanwhile. when zoulmekan and his companions reached the hermitage, they entered and met the monk metrouhena, who came out to see who they were; whereupon quoth dhat ed dewahi, "slay this accursed fellow.' so they fell on him with their swords and made him drink the cup of death. then the accursed old woman carried them to the place of offerings[fn# ] and brought out to them treasures and precious things, more than she had promised them, which they laid in chests and loaded the mules therewith. as for temathil and her father, they came not, for fear of the muslims, and zoulmekan tarried there, awaiting her, the whole of that day and two more, till sherkan said to him, "by allah, i am troubled at heart for the army of islam, for i know not what is come of them." "and i also am concerned for them," replied zoulmekan. "we have come by a great treasure and i do not believe that temathil or any one else will come to the hermitage, after that which has befallen the host of the christians. so we should do well to content ourselves with what god has given us and depart; and haply he will help us break open constantinople." so they came down from the mountain, for dhat ed dewahi dared not gainsay them, for fear of betraying herself, and rode on till they reached the head of a defile, in which the old woman had laid an ambush for them with the ten thousand horse. as soon as the latter saw them, they made at them from all sides, couching their lances and baring their sabres, whilst they shouted the watchword of their infidel faith and set the arrows of their mischief to the strings. when zoulmekan saw them, he was ware that they were a mighty host and said, "who can have given these troops advice of us?" "o my brother," replied sherkan, "this is no time for talking, but for smiting with swords and shooting with arrows; so gird up your courage and strengthen your hearts, for this pass is like a street with two gates: though, by the virtue of the lord of the arabs and the persians, were not the place so strait, i would bring them to nought, though they were a hundred thousand men!" "had we known this," said zoulmekan, "we would have brought with us five thousand horse." "if we had ten thousand," rejoined the vizier, "they would avail ail us nothing in this narrow place: but god will succour us against them. i know this defile and its straitness, and there are many places of refuge in it; for i have been here on an expedition with king omar ben ennuman, what while we laid siege to constantinople. we camped in this place, and there is here water colder than snow. so come, let us win? out of this pass ere the infidels increase on us and get the start of us to the mountain-top, that they may hurl down rocks upon us and we be powerless to come at them." so they hurried on, to get out of the defile: but dhat ed dewahi looked at them and said, "what is it ye fear, ye who have vowed yourselves to god the most high, to work his will? by allah, i was imprisoned underground for fifteen years, yet never gainsaid i god in aught he did with me! fight ye in the way of god; whoso of ye is killed, paradise shall be his abode, and whoso kills, his endeavour shall be for his glory." when they heard her words, their concern and anxiety ceased from them and they stood firm, awaiting the onset of the infidels, who fell on them from all sides, whilst the swords played upon their necks and the cup of death went round amongst them. the muslims fought right valiantly for the service of god and wrought upon his enemies with stroke of sword and push of pike; whilst zoulmekan smote upon the men and made the champions bite the dust and their heads fly from their bodies, five by five and ten by ten, till he had done to death a number of them past count. presently, he looked at the old woman and saw her waving her sword and heartening them, and all who feared fled to her for shelter; but (in secret) she was beckoning to the infidels to kill sherkan. so troop after troop rushed on him to slay him: but each troop he charged and drove back, with the sword in their loins; and indeed he thought it was the holy man's blessing that gave him the victory over them and said in himself, "verily god looks on this holy man with eyes of favour and strengthens my prowess against the infidels with the purity of his intent: for i see that they fear me and cannot stand against me, but every one who attacks me turns tail and flees." so they battled the rest of the day, and when the night fell, the muslims took refuge in a cave, being hard pressed and weary with stress of battle; and five-and-forty of them were slain that day by rocks that the infidels rolled down on them. when they were gathered together, they sought the devotee, but could find no trace of him. this was grievous to them and they said, "belike, he hath died a martyr." quoth sherkan "i saw him heartening the men with divine instances and sacring them with verses of the koran." whilst they were talking, behold, the accursed old woman stood before them, with the head of the captain of the ten thousand horse, a noble knight, a fierce champion and an obstinate devil, in her hand. now one of the turks had slain him with an arrow, and god hurried his soul to the fire: and when the infidels saw what the muslim had done with their leader, they all fell on him and hewed him in pieces with their swords, and god hastened with his soul to paradise. then the old woman cut off the knight's head and carrying it to sherkan and zoulmekan and the vizier, threw it at their feet; whereupon sherkan exclaimed, "praised be god that we see thee in safety, o holy man and devout champion of the faith!" "o my son," replied she, "i have sought a martyr's death this day, throwing myself midmost the host of the infidels, but they feared me. when ye separated, a holy jealousy seized me for you; so i rushed on the knight their captain, though he was reckoned a match for a thousand horse, and smote him and severed his head from his body. not one of the infidels could come near me, so i took his head and have brought it to you, that you may be heartened in the holy strife and work out the will of the lord of the faithful with your swords. and now i will leave you to strive against the infidels, whilst i go to your army, though they be at the gates of constantinople, and return with twenty thousand horse to destroy these unbelievers." quoth sherkan, "how wilt thou win to them, o holy man, seeing that the valley is blocked up by the infidels on all sides?" "god will veil me from their eyes," replied she, "and they shall not see me; nor if any saw me, would he dare to attack me, for i shall be absorbed in god and he will fend off his enemies from me." "thou sayst sooth, o holy man," rejoined sherkan, "for indeed i have been witness of this; so, if thou canst set out at the first of the night, it will be the better for us." "i will set out forthright," replied she; "and, an thou wilt, thou shalt go with me, and none shall see thee. if thy brother also have a mind to go, we will take him, but none else; for the shadow of a saint can cover but two." "as for me," said sherkan, "i will not leave my comrades; but, if my brother please, he will do well to go with thee and win free of this strait; for he is the stronghold of the muslims and the sword of the lord of the two worlds; and if it be his pleasure, let him take with him the vizier dendan, or whom else he may choose, and send us ten thousand horse to succour us against these villains." so they agreed to this and dhat ed dewahi said, "wait till i go on before you and look if the infidels be asleep or awake." quoth they, "we will go with thee and trust our affair to god." "if i do your bidding," replied she, "do not blame me, but blame yourselves; for it is my counsel that you wait till i have spied you out the state of the case." then said sherkan, "go and return quickly, for we shall be awaiting thee." so she went out and sherkan turned to his brother and said, "were not this holy man a miracle-worker, he had never slain yonder doughty knight. this is a sufficient measure of his power, and indeed the strength of the infidels is broken by the slaying of their leader, for he was a fierce warrior and a stubborn devil." whilst they were thus devising of the power of the devotee, behold, the cursed old woman returned and promised them victory over the unbelievers; whereupon they thanked her, and she said, "where is the king of the age zoulmekan?" "here am i," replied he. "take thy vizier," said she, "and follow me, that we may win out to constantinople." now she had acquainted the infidels with the cheat she had put on the muslims, and they rejoiced mightily and said, "we shall not be content till we have slain their king in return for the death of our general; for we had no stouter cavalier than he; but when thou bringest him to us, we will carry him to king afridoun." then she went out with zoulmekan and dendan and walked on before them, saying, "fare on with the blessing of the most high god!" they did as she bade them, for the arrow of fate and destiny had fallen on them, and she led them on, through the midst of the christian camp, till they came to the narrow pass aforesaid. whilst the enemy watched them, but did them no hindrance; for the old woman had enjoined this on them. when zoulmekan and dendan saw that the infidels did them no hindrance, the vizier exclaimed, "by allah, this is one of the holy man's miracles! without doubt he is of the elect." "by allah," said zoulmekan, "i think the infidels must be blind, for we see them, and they see us not." whilst they were thus praising the holy man and recounting his virtues, behold, the infidels fell upon them from all sides and seized them, saying, "is there any one else with you, that we may seize upon him?" quoth dendan, "see ye not yon other man that is before us?" "by the messiah and the monks and the primate and the metropolitan," replied they, "we see none but you!" and zoulmekan said, "by allah, this is a chastisement decreed to us by god!" then the christians laid shackles on their feet and set men to guard them during the night, whilst dhat ed dewahi fared on and disappeared from their sight. so they fell to lamenting and said, "verily, the gainsaying of pious men leads to greater stress than this, and we are punished by the strait into which we have fallen." meanwhile, sherkan passed the night in the cavern with his companions, and when the day broke, he arose and prayed the morning-prayer. then he and his men made ready to do battle with the infidels, and he encouraged them and promised them all good. then they sallied out against the christians, who cried out to them from afar as soon as they saw them, saying, "o muslims, we have taken your sultan and your vizier that has the ordering of your affairs; and except ye leave fighting us, we will slay you to the last man, but if ye yield to us, we will take you to our king, who will make peace with you, on condition that you leave our country and return to your own land and do us no harm, and we will do you no harm. if you accept, it will be well for you; but if you refuse, you have nothing to hope for but death. so now we have told you, and this is our last word to you." when sherkan heard this and was certified of the captivity of his brother and the vizier dendan, he was greatly troubled and wept; his strength failed him and he made sure of death, saying inwardly, "i wonder what was the cause of their capture? did they fail of respect to the holy man or disobey him, or what?" then they rushed upon the unbelievers and slew great plenty of them. the valiant, that day, was known from the faint-hearted, and the swords and spears were dyed with blood; for the infidels flocked on them from all sides, as flies flock to wine; but sherkan and his men ceased not to wage the fight of those who fear not death nor let it hinder them from the pursuit of victory, till the valley ran with blood and the earth was full of the slain. so fought they on till nightfall, when the two parties separated, each to his own place, and the muslims returned to the grotto, where both victory and loss were manifest to them, and there was no dependence for them but on god and the sword. that day there had been slain of them five-and-thirty men of the chief amirs, and they had put to the sword thousands of the infidels, both horse and foot. when sherkan saw this, the case was grievous to him, and he said to his comrades, "what shall we do?" "that which god wills," replied they. on the morning of the second day, sherkan said to the remnant of his troop, "if ye go forth to fight, not one of you will remain alive and we have but little food and water left; so meseems ye would do better to draw your swords and stand at the door of the cavern, to hinder any from entering. peradventure the holy man may have traversed the christian host, without being seen of the unbelievers, and may win to constantinople and return with ten thousand horse, to succour us against the infidels." "this is the better course," replied they, "and there is no doubt of its expediency." so they went out and held the opening of the grotto, standing in its sides; and every one of the infidels who sought to come in, they slew. thus did they fend off the enemy from the door of the cavern and make head against all their assaults, till the day departed and the night came with the shadows, by which time king sherkan had but five-and-twenty men left. then said the christians to each other, "when shall these battles have an end? we are weary of fighting the muslims." and one of them said, "up and let us fall on them, for there be but five-and-twenty and of them left. if we cannot prevail on them to fight, let us light a fire upon them; and if they submit and yield themselves up, we will take them prisoners: else we will leave them to serve as fuel to the fire, so that they shall become a warning to men of understanding. may the messiah not have mercy on their fathers and may the sojourn of the christians be no abiding-place for them!" so they repaired to the cavern and heaping up faggots in the door-way, set fire to them. thereupon, sherkan and his companions made sure of death and yielded themselves up. the unbelievers thought to kill them, but the knight their captain said to those who counselled this, "it is for none but king afridoun to kill them, that he may quench thereby his thirst for vengeance; wherefore it behoves us to keep them prisoners till the morrow, when we will journey with them to constantinople and deliver them to king afridoun, who shall deal with them as he pleases." "this is the right course," replied they; and he commanded to pinion the prisoners and set guards over them. then, as soon as it was dark, the infidels gave themselves up to feasting and merry-making and called for wine and drank, till they all fell backward. presently, sherkan turned to his brother zoulmekan and said to him "my brother, how shall we get free?" "by allah," replied zoulmekan, "i know not; for we are here like birds in a cage." at this sherkan was angry and sighed for excess of wrath and stretched himself, till his bonds broke; whereupon he went up to the captain of the guard and taking from his bosom the keys of the fetters, freed zoulmekan and dendan and the rest of the prisoners. then said he, "let us slay three of these infidels and don their clothes, we three; so shall we be disguised as greeks and pass through them without their knowing us, and win out to our army." "this is no safe counsel," replied zoulmekan "for if we kill them, i fear some of their comrades may hear their groans and the enemy he roused upon us and kill us. it were better to make our way out of the pass." so they agreed upon this and set out. when they had left the head of the defile a little way behind, they saw horses picketed and their riders sleeping by them: and sherkan said to his brother, "let us each take one of these steeds." so they took five-and-twenty horses, one for each man, and mounted and rode on till they were out of reach, whilst god sent sleep upon the infidels for a secret purpose of his own. meanwhile, sherkan gathered as many swords and spears as he could from the sleepers and faring on after his comrades, found them awaiting him, on coals of fire on his account, and said to them, "have no fear, since god protects us. i have that to propose, which meseems will advantage us." "what is it?" asked they, and he said, "it is that we all climb to the mountain-top and cry out with one voice, 'god is most great! the army of islam is upon you! god is most great!' if we do this, their company will surely be dissolved, for they are too drunken to find out the trick, but will think that the muslim troops have encompassed them on all sides and have become mingled with them; so they will fall on one another with their swords, in the confusion of drunkenness and sleep, and we will cleave them asunder with their own brands and the sword will go round amongst them till the morning." "this plan is not good," replied zoulmekan. "we should do better to make our way to our army and keep silence; for, if we cry out, 'god is most great!' they will wake and fall on us, and not one of us will escape." "by allah," rejoined sherkan, "though they be roused on us, i desire urgently that ye fall in with my plan, for nothing but good can come of it." so they agreed and ascending the mountain, shouted out, "god is most great!" and the hills and trees and stones cried out with them, "god is most great!" for the fear of the almighty. when the unbelievers heard this, they started up from sleep and did on their armour, crying out to one another and saying, "by the messiah, the enemy is upon us." then they fell on each other and slew of their own men more than any knows save god the most high. as soon as it was day, they sought for the captives, but found them not, and their captains said, "it was the prisoners who did this; so up and hasten after them, till ye overtake them, when we will make them quaff the cup of punishment; and let not trouble nor panic possess you." so they sprang to horse and rode after the fugitives, nor was it long before they overtook them and surrounded them. wheu zoulmekan saw this, he was seized with terror and said to his brother, "what i feared is come upon us, and now it only remains for us to fight for the faith." but sherkan held his peace. then zoulmekan and his companions rushed down from the hill-top, crying out, "god is most great!" and addressed themselves to fight and sell their lives in the service of the lord of the faithful, when, behold, they heard many voices crying out, "there is no god but god! god is most great! peace and salvation upon the bringer of glad tidings, the admonisher of mankind!"[fn# ] so they turned towards the sound and saw a company of muslims pricking towards them, whereupon their courage revived and sherkan ran at the christians, crying out, "there is no god but god! god is most great!" so that the earth shook as with an earthquake and the unbelievers broke asunder and fled into the mountains, whither the muslims followed them with sword and spear and made their heads fly from their bodies, till the day departed and the night came with the darkness. then the muslims drew together and passed the night rejoicing; and when the day broke and the morning arose with its light and shone, they saw behram, the captain of the medes, and rustem, the captain of the turks, advancing to join them, with twenty thousand cavaliers, as they were fierce lions. as soon as they saw zoulmekan, the chiefs dismounted and saluting him, kissed the earth before him; and he said to them, "rejoice ye in the glad news of the victory of the muslims and the discomfiture of the unbelievers!" then they gave each other joy of their deliverance and of the greatness of the reward that awaited them in the world to come. now the manner of the coming of the succours was as follows. when behram and rustem and the chamberlain came in sight of constantinople, with the muslim army, they saw that the christians had manned the walls and towers and set all their strengths in order of defence, for that they knew of the approach of the host of islam, through the craft and perfidy of the old woman dhat ed dewahi. so, when they heard the clash of arms and tramp of horse-hoofs and saw the mohammedan standards and the ensigns of the faith of the unity of god emerging from the dust-clouds and heard the voices of the muslims chanting the koran aloud and glorifying the compassionate one, and the army of islam drew near, as it were the swollen sea, for the multitude of footmen and horsemen and women and children, they poured forth like a flight of locusts or the streaming of water from the rain-clouds; and the captain of the turks said to the captain of the medes, "o amir, of a truth, we are in jeopardy from the multitude of the foe on the walls. look at yonder forts and at the folk like the tempestuous sea with its clashing billows. indeed the infidels out-number us a hundred times and we cannot be sure but that some spy may inform them that we are without a leader. verily, we are in peril from these enemies, whose number may not be told and whose extent is limitless, especially in the absence of king zoulmekan and his brother sherkan and the illustrious vizier dendan. if they know of this, they will be emboldened to attack us in their absence and will cut off us to the last man; not one of us will escape alive. so it is my counsel that we each take ten thousand horse and repair to the hermitage of metrouhena and the meadow of meloukhna in quest of our brothers and our chiefs. if thou follow my counsel, it may be we shall be the cause of their deliverance, in case they be hard pressed by the infidels; and if not, no blame will rest on me. but, if we go, it were well that we return quickly, for suspicion is part of prudence." the other fell in with his counsel; so they chose twenty thousand horse and set out for the hermitage by cross roads. to return to dhat ed dewahi. as soon as she had delivered zoulmekan and his companions into the hands of the infidels, she mounted a swift horse, saying to the christians, "i mean to rejoin the muslim army before constantinople and contrive for their destruction; for i will tell them that their chiefs are dead, and when they hear this, their alliance will be dissolved and their confederation broken up and their host dispersed. then will i go to king afridoun and my son king herdoub, and they will sally forth on them with their troops and destroy them, nor leave one of them alive." so she mounted and fared on across country all that night, and at daybreak, she sighted the army of behram and rustem advancing towards her. so she turned aside into a wayside copse and alighting there, hid her horse among the trees, saying to herself, "belike they are returning, routed, from the assault of constantinople." however, as she drew near, she saw that their standards were not reversed and knew that they were not retreating because of defeat, but that they feared for their king and their chiefs. when she was assured of this, she hastened up to them, running at the top of her speed, like a stubborn satan as she was, and cried out, "hasten, o soldiers of the merciful one, hasten to the holy war against the hosts of satan!" when behram saw her, he dismounted and kissing the earth before her, said, "what is behind thee, o friend of god?"[fn# ] "do not ask of evil case and sore disasters," answered she. "know that, when our comrades had taken the treasure from the hermitage and were on their way back to constantinople, there came out on them a great host and a fierce of unbelievers." and she repeated to them the story, in such wise as to fill them with trouble and terror, and added, "the most of them are dead, and there are but five-and-twenty left." "o holy man," said behram, "when didst thou leave them?" "but last night," replied she. "glory be to god," exclaimed he, "who hath rolled up the distance for thee like a carpet, so that thou hast sped thus, walking upon thy feet and leant upon a palm-tree staff! but thou art one of the friends of god, that fly like birds, when possessed by the stress of his commandment!" then he mounted his horse, perplexed and confounded for that which he had heard from the lying old beldam and saying, "there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high! verily our labour is lost and our hearts are heavy within us, for our king is a prisoner and those who are with him!" then they fared on in haste and stayed not the whole of that day and night, till at daybreak they reached the head of the pass and heard zoulmekan and sherkan shouting, "there is no god but god! god is most great!" whereupon they drove at the unbelievers and overwhelmed them, as the torrent overwhelms the plains, shouting out their war-cries, till the stoutest champions were affrighted and the mountains were cloven by the noise. on the morrow, they foregathered with zoulmekan, and each recognised the other as has been before set out. then they kissed the earth before the king and his brother sherkan, and the latter told them all that had befallen him and his men in the grotto, whereat they marvelled and said, "hasten back with us to constantinople, for we left our companions there, and our hearts are with them." so they made haste to depart, commending themselves to the subtle, the all-wise; and zoulmekan exhorted the muslims to steadfastness, reciting the following verses: to thee be the praise, o thou that meritest thanks and praise! and mayest thou never cease to succour me all my days! i grew up in exile, but thou, my god, wast ever my friend. 'twas thou didst decree me success and broughtest me forth of the maze. thou hast given me lordship and wealth and fortune and girded my midst with the falchion of valour and wreathed my forehead with victory's bays. thou hast shadowed me under thy wings and made me to prosper amain and hast graced me with favours untold, of thy bounties abounding always: thou hast saved me from all that i feared, by the counsel of him whom i trust, the vizier and chief of the chiefs, the hero and pride of our days. by thy favour we fell on the greeks and smote them with sword and with spear; but again to the fight they returned, in garments blood-red for affrays. so i feigned to be routed and flee and give back from the fight; then i turned on the toe, as the fierce lion turns on the hunters, that find him at gaze. i left them laid low on the plain, as 'twere they were drunken with wine, not the wine that is pressed from the grape, but that of death's cup of amaze; whilst their ships all fell under our hand and ours was the empery grown: from the east to the west, sea and shore, we were lords of the lands and the ways. then there came to our camp the recluse, the saint, whose miraculous power is blazoned in desert and town, wherever the sun sheds its rays. he joined us, his vengeance to wreak on all that believe not in god. indeed, it is known to the folk what came of our strife and our frays. they slew of us some, but they woke on the morrow in paradise, each lodged in a palace on high, whereunder a river strays. when zoulmekan had made an end of reciting these verses, his brother sherkan gave him joy of his safety and praise for that he had done; after which they set out by forced marches to rejoin their army. meanwhile, dhat ed dewahi, after she had spoken with rustem and behram, returned to the coppice, where she took her horse and mounting, sped on, till she drew near the host of the muslims that lay leaguer before constantinople, when she lighted down from her steed and led it to the chamberlain's pavilion. when he saw her, he signed to her with his hand and said, "welcome, o pious recluse!" then he questioned her of what had befallen, and she repeated to him her disquieting and deluding report, saying, "indeed i fear for the amirs rustem and behram, for that i met them on the way and sent them and their following to the king and his companions. they are but twenty thousand horse, and the unbelievers are more in number than they; so i would now have thee send of the rest of thy troops in haste to their succour, lest they be slain to the last man." and she said to them "hasten! hasten!" when the chamberlain and the muslims heard these her words, their hearts sank within them and they wept; but she said to them, "ask aid of god and be patient under this affliction, taking example by those that have been before you of the people of islam, for god hath prepared paradise, with its palaces, for those who die martyrs; and needs must all die, but death is most praiseworthy, when it comes in fighting for the faith." when the chamberlain heard this speech of the accursed old woman, he called for the amir behram's brother, a cavalier named terkash, and choosing out for him ten thousand intrepid veterans, bade him set out at once. so he departed forthright and marched all that day and the next night, till he neared the muslims. when the day dawned, sherkan saw the dust of them and feared for his companions, saying, "if these troops that are nearing us be muslims, our victory is assured; but if they be christians, there is no gainsaying the decrees of fate." then he turned to his brother zoulmekan and said to him, "fear not, for i will ransom thee with my life from destruction. if these be muslim troops then were it an increase of god's favours; but if they be our foes, there is nothing for it but to fight them. yet do i long to see the holy man once again before i die, so he may pray for me that i may not die except a martyr." whilst he was thus speaking, behold, there appeared the banners with the words, "there is no god but god and mohammed is his apostle" inscribed on them, and he cried out to the new-comers, saying, "how is it with the muslims?" "they are in weal and safety," replied they; "and we come not hither but out of concern for you." then the chief of the succours dismounted and kissing the earth before sherkan, said, "o my lord, the sultan and the vizier dendan and rustem and my brother behram, are they all in safety?" "they are all well," answered the prince; "but who brought thee tidings of us?" "it was the holy man," said terkash. "he told us that he had met my brother behram and rustem and had sent them to you and also that the infidels had encompassed you and were more in number than you; yet meseems the case is the contrary of this and that you are victorious." "and how did the holy man reach you?" asked sherkan. "walking on his feet," replied the amir; "and he had compassed, in the space of a single day and night, ten days' journey for a diligent horseman." "verily, he is a friend of god," said sherkan; "but where is he now?" quoth terkash, "we left him with our troops, the people of faith, encouraging them to do battle with the infidels and rebels." therewith sherkan was glad and thanked god for their own deliverance and that of the holy man and commended the dead to the mercy of god saying, "this was written in the book of fate." then they set out for constantinople by forced marches, and whilst they were on the road thither, behold, a cloud of dust arose before them and spread till the prospect was hidden and the day darkened by it. sherkan looked at it and said, "verily, i fear lest this be the infidels who have routed the army of islam, for that this dust covers the country and blots out the two horizons." presently there appeared midmost the dust a pillar of darkness and came towards them, blacker than the blackness of (evil) fortune and more dreadful than the terrors of the day of judgment. horse and foot hastened up to look at it and know its meaning, when, behold, they saw it to be the recluse aforesaid; so they crowded round him to kiss his hands, and he cried out, "o people of the best of men[fn# ], the lamp of the darkness, the infidels have overcome the muslims by craft, for they fell upon them in their tents, whilst they deemed themselves in safety, and made a sore slaughter of them; so hasten to the aid of the believers in the unity of god and deliver them from those that deny him!" when sherkan heard this, his heart was sore troubled and he alighted from his horse, in amazement, and kissed the recluse's hands and feet. in like wise did his brother zoulmekan and the rest of the troops, except the vizier dendan, who dismounted not, but said, "by allah, my heart revolts from this devotee, for i never knew aught but evil come of these that make a show of devotion to religion. leave him and hasten to rejoin your comrades for this fellow is of those that are outcast from the gate of mercy of the lord of the two worlds! how often have i come out to war with king omar ben ennuman and trodden the earth of these lands!" "put away from thee this foul thought," said sherkan. "hast thou not seen this holy man excite the faithful to battle, recking nought of spears and swords? wherefore, slander him not, for slander is blameworthy and the flesh of pious folk is poisoned. look how he encourages us to battle, and did not god love him, he had not rolled up the distance for him (like a carpet), after he had aforetime cast him into grievous torment?" then sherkan let bring a nubian mule for her riding and said to her, "mount, pious man, god-fearing and holy!" but she refused, feigning self-denial, that she might attain her end: and they knew not that the pretended devotee was such an one as he of whom the poet says: he prayeth and fasteth amain for an end that he hath in view. when once he has gained his end, fasting and prayer, adieu! so she walked among the horsemen and the footmen, like a crafty fox meditating an assault, and began to uplift her voice, chanting the koran aloud and celebrating the praises of the compassionate one. then they pressed forward till they reached the mohammedan camp, where sherkan found the muslims in a state of confusion and the chamberlain upon the brink of retreat, whilst the sword wrought havoc among the faithful, good and bad. now the cause of this weakness among the muslims was that the accursed old woman dhat ed dewahi, when she saw that behram and rustem had set forward with their troops to join sherkan and zoulmekan, repaired to the camp or the muslims before constantinople and wrought upon the chamberlain to despatch the amir terkash, as hath been before set out, to the further succour of the princes, purposing in this to divide the muslim forces and weaken them. then she left them and going to the walls of constantinople, called with a loud voice on the knights of the greeks, saying, "throw me down a cord that i may tie thereto this letter, which do ye carry to king afridoun and my son king herdoub, that they may read it and do as is written therein." so they let down a string and she tied thereto a letter, to the following purport, "from the chiefest of calamities and the greatest of afflictions, dhat ed dewahi, to king afridoun. know that i have contrived a device for the destruction of the muslims, so rest you quiet. i made their sultan and the vizier dendan prisoners and returned to their camp and acquainted them therewith, whereupon their power was broken and their strength weakened. moreover, i have wrought on them to send ten thousand men under the amir terkash to the succour of the captives, and there be now but few men left with the besiegers. wherefore, it is my counsel that ye sally forth, with all your power, whilst it is yet day, and fall on them in their tents and slay them to the last man for the messiah looks down upon you and the virgin favours you; and i hope that the messiah will not forget this that i have done." when this letter came to king afridoun, he rejoiced greatly and sending at once for king herdoub, read the letter to him, whereat he was exceeding glad and said, "see the craft of my mother; verily it dispenses with swords, and her aspect stands in stead of the terrors of the day of fear." "may the messiah not bereave us of her," rejoined afridoun, "nor deprive her of her craft and knavery[fn# ]." then he gave orders for the sally, and the news was noised abroad in the city. so the christian troops and soldiers of the cross drew their keen sabres and sallied forth of the city, shouting out their impious war-cries and blaspheming the lord of all creatures. when the chamberlain saw them, he said, "behold, the christians are upon us, whilst the most part of our troops are gone to the succour of king zoulmekan! they surely know of the absence of our sultan and most like they will attack us." therewith he waxed angry and cried out, "ho, soldiers of islam and defenders of the true faith, if you flee, you are lost, and if you stand fast, you will conquer! know that courage lies in endurance and that no case is so desperate but that god is able to bring about its relief. may he bless you and look upon you with eyes of compassion! "then the muslims cried out, "god is most great!" and the believers in the divine unity shouted the profession of the faith and the two hosts joined battle. the mill-wheels of war whirled round, with cutting and thrusting; the swords and spears played and the plains and valleys were filled with blood. the priests and monks prayed aloud, girding on their girdles and uplifting the crosses, whilst the muslims shouted out the praises of the requiting king and chanted verses of the koran. the hosts of the compassionate god fought against the legions of satan and heads flew from bodies, what while the good angels hovered above the people of the chosen prophet, nor did the sword cease to play, till the day departed and the night came with the shadows. now the unbelievers had encompassed the muslims and made sure of overcoming the host of the true faith with the dawn, deeming not that they could escape destruction. as soon as it was light, the chamberlain mounted, he and his men, trusting that god would help them, and the two armies came together and joined battle. the fight raged all along the line and heads flew from bodies, whilst the brave stood fast and the faint-hearted turned their backs and fled; and the judge of death judged and gave sentence, so that the champions fell from their saddles and the meadows were heaped with the slain. then the muslims began to give back and the greeks took possession of some of their tents; whereupon the muslims were about to break and retreat, when behold, up came sherkan, with the rest of their troops and the standards of the believers in the unity of god, and fell upon the infidels, followed by zoulmekan and the vizier dendan and the amirs behram and rustem and terkash. when the christians saw this, they lost their senses and their reason fled, and the dust clouds rose till they covered the country, whilst the true believers joined their pious comrades. then sherkan accosted the chamberlain and praised him for his steadfastness, and he in turn gave him joy of his timely succour. therewith the muslims rejoiced and their hearts were fortified; so they rushed upon the foe and devoted themselves to god, in the battle for the faith. when the infidels saw the mohammedan standards and read thereon the words proclaiming the unity of god, they shrieked aloud and said, "woe!" and "ruin!" and besought succour of the priests and monks. moreover they fell to calling upon jesus and mary and the abhorrent cross and stayed their hands from the battle, whilst king afridoun went up to king herdoub (to consult with him), for the two kings stood one at the head of each wing. now there was with them also a famous cavalier named lawiya, who was in command of the centre, and the infidels drew out in battle-array; but indeed they were full of alarm and disquiet. meanwhile, the muslims arrayed their forces and sherkan came to his brother zoulmekan and said to him, "o king of the age, doubtless they mean to joust? and that is also what we desire; but it is my wish to set in our van-ward battle the stoutest-hearted of our men: for wise ordering is the half of life." "as thou wilt, o man of good counsel," replied the sultan. "it is my wish," added sherkan, "to be myself in the centre of the line, with the vizier dendan on my left and thee on my right, whilst behram and rustem command the right and left wing; and thou, o mighty king, shalt be under the standards and the ensigns, for that thou art our stay and upon thee, after god, is our dependence, and we will all be thy ransom from aught that can harm thee." zoulmekan thanked him and the battle-cries arose and the sabres were drawn, when, behold, there came forth a cavalier from the grecian ranks; and as he drew near, they saw that he was mounted on a slow-paced mule, fleeing with her master from the shock of swords. her housings were of white silk, surmounted by a carpet of cashmere stuff, and on her back sat a gray-bearded old man of comely and reverend aspect, clad in a gown of white wool. he spurred her on till he came to the muslims, to whom said he, "i am an ambassador to you, and all an ambassador has to do is to deliver his message; so give me a safe conduct and the right of speech, that i may do my errand to you." "thou art in safety," replied sherkan; "fear neither stroke of sword nor thrust of lance." thereupon the old man dismounted and taking the cross from his neck, (laid it) before the sultan and carried himself humbly to him, after the fashion of one who hopes for fair treatment. then said the muslims to him, "what is thy news?" he answered, "i am an ambassador from king afridoun, whom i counselled to avert the destruction of all these manly bodies and images of the compassionate; and it seemed good to him to stop the shedding of blood and limit the strife to the encounter of two horsemen in battle; so he agreed to this and says to you, 'verily, i will ransom my troops with my life; so let the muslim king do likewise and ransom his army with his life. if he kill me, there will be no stability left in the army of the greeks, and if i kill him, it will be the like with the muslims.'" when sherkan heard this, he said, "o monk, we agree to this, for it is just; and behold i will joust: with him, for i am champion of the muslims, even as he of the christians; and if he slay me, he will have gained the victory and there will remain for the muslim army nothing but flight. so return to him, o monk, and tell him that the combat shall be for to-morrow, seeing that to-day we are weary with our journey; but after rest there shall be neither reproach nor blame." so the monk returned, rejoicing, to king afridoun and king herdoub and told them what sherkan had said, whereat afridoun was exceeding glad and lightened of anxiety and trouble and said in himself, "no doubt but this sherkan is the hardest hitter of them with the sword and the dourest at push of pike; and when i have slain him, their hearts will fail them and their strength will be broken." now dhat ed dewahi had written to king afridoun of this and told him that sherkan was a cavalier of cavaliers and a champion of champions and had warned him against him; but afridoun was a stalwart cavalier, who fought in many a fashion; he could hurl stones and javelins and smite with the iron mace and feared not the doughtiest of prowess in the dint of war. so when he heard from the monk that sherkan agreed to joust, he well-nigh lost his reason for stress of joy, for that he had confidence in himself and deemed that none could stand against him. then the infidels passed the night in joy and merry-making and wine-drinking, and as soon as it was day, the two armies drew out in battle array, with their brown spears and white swords. presently, they saw a cavalier prick out into the plain, mounted on a stout and swift charger equipped for war: he was of great stature and was clad in a cuirass of steel made for stress of battle. on his breast he wore a jewelled mirror and in his hand he bore a keen scimitar and a lance of khelenj wood[fn# ] of curious frankish workmanship. he uncovered his face and cried out, saying, "whoso knoweth me hath enough of me, and whoso knoweth me not shall see who i am. i am afridoun he who is overborne by the blessing of shewahi dhat ed dewahi." before he had made an end of speaking, sherkan, the champion of the muslims, spurred out to meet him, mounted on a sorrel horse worth a thousand [dinars] of red gold, with housings embroidered in pearls and jewels, and girt with a sword of watered indian steel, that shore through necks and made hard ventures easy. he drove his charger between the two armies, whilst the horsemen all gazed on him, and cried out to afridoun, saying, "out on thee, o accursed one, dost thou think me as one of the horsemen thou hast met, that cannot stand against thee in the mellay?" then they rushed upon one another and came together like two mountains crashing or two seas breaking each against each. so they advanced and retreated and drew together and parted and ceased not to joust and battle with stroke of sword and thrust of spear, whilst the two armies looked on. some said, "afridoun will conquer," and other some, "sherkan;" and they stayed not their hands from the battle, till the clamour of the bystanders subsided and the dust-clouds rose and the day waned and the sun began to grow pale. then king afridoun cried out to sherkan, saying, "by the virtue of the messiah and the true faith, thou art a doughty horseman and a stalwart fighting man, but thou art guileful and thy nature is not that of the freeborn and meseemeth thy fashion is other than praiseworthy nor is thy fighting that of a prince; for see, thy people even thee with slaves[fn# ] and bring thee out a charger other than thine, that thou mayst (mount him and) return to the battle. but by the virtue of the messiah, thy fighting fatigues me and i am weary of cutting and thrusting with thee; and if thou wert purposed to do battle with me tonight thou wouldst not change aught of thy harness nor thy horse till thou hadst shown the cavaliers thy valour and skill in fight." when sherkan heard him say that his own folk evened him with slaves, he was angry and turned towards his men, meaning to sign to them and bid them not prepare him change of armour or horse, when, behold, afridoun shook his javelin in the air and hurled it at sherkan. now, when the latter turned, he found none behind him and knew that this was a trick of the accursed infidel; so he wheeled round in haste and seeing the javelin coming at him, swerved from it, till his head was level with the pommel of his saddle. the javelin grazed his breast and pierced the skin, for sherkan was high-bosomed: so he gave one cry and swooned away. then the accursed afridoun was glad, thinking that he had slain him, and called to the christians to rejoice, whereat the infidels were encouraged and the true believers wept. when zoulmekan saw his brother reeling from side to side in his saddle, so that he had well-nigh fallen, he sent cavaliers to his succour; whereupon the infidels drove at the muslims and the two hosts joined battle, whilst the keen yemen blades played among them. the first to reach sherkan were dendan and rustem and behram, who found him on the point of falling off his horse; so they stayed him in his saddle and carried him to zoulmekan; then giving him in charge to his servants, returned to the battle. then the strife redoubled and the weapons clashed, and there was nought to be heard but the roar of the battle nor to be seen but blood flowing and necks bending beneath the blows; nor did the swords cease to play on men's necks nor the strife to rage more and more, till the most part of the night was past and the two hosts were weary of battle. so they called a truce and each army returned to its tents, whilst all the infidels repaired to king afridoun and kissed the earth before him, and the priests and monks wished him joy of his victory over sherkan. then he went up into constantinople and sat down upon his throne; and king herdoub came to him and said, "may the messiah strengthen thine arm and cease never to be thy helper and hearken to the prayers of my pious mother on thy behalf! know that the muslims can make no stand, now they have lost sherkan." "to-morrow," replied afridoun, "shall end the war, for i will seek out zoulmekan and slay him, and their army shall turn tail and take to flight." meanwhile, zoulmekan returned to his tent thinking of nothing but his brother, and going in to the latter's pavilion, found him in evil plight; whereat he was sore troubled and sent for the vizier dendan and the amirs behram and rustem, that he might take counsel with them. when they entered, they were all of accord to summon the physicians to treat sherkan, and they wept and said, "the age will not lightly afford his like!" they watched by him all that night, and towards morning there came to them the pretended recluse, weeping. when zoulmekan saw her, he rose to receive her; and she stroked sherkan's wound with her hand, chanting somewhat of the koran and repeating some of the signs of the compassionate one. then she kept watch over him till the day, when he came to himself and opening his eyes, moved his tongue in his mouth and spoke. at this zoulmekan rejoiced, saying, "verily the blessing of the holy man hath taken effect on him!" and sherkan said, "praised be god for recovery; indeed, i am well now. yonder accursed one played me false, and but that i swerved aside quicklier than lightning, the javelin had pierced me through and through. so praised be god for my safety! how is it with the muslims?" "they weep for thee," answered zoulmekan. quoth sherkan, "i am well and in good case; but where is the holy man?" now she was sitting by him and said, "at thy head." so he turned to her and kissed her hand; and she said, "o my son, it behoves thee to arm thyself with patience, and god shall make great thy reward; for the guerdon is measured by that which has been endured." quoth sherkan, "pray for me," and she did so. as soon as it was morning and the day arose and shone, the muslims sallied out into the field, and the christians made ready to cut and thrust. then the host of the muslims advanced and offered battle; and zoulmekan and afridoun made ready to tilt at one another. but when zoulmekan sallied out into the field, there came with him dendan and behram and the chamberlain, saying, "we will be thy sacrifice." "by the holy house and the well zemzem and the stead of abraham,"[fn# ] exclaimed he, "i will not be hindered from going forth against these barbarians!" so he rode out into the field and played with sword and spear, till both armies wondered; then he rushed upon the right wing of the greek army and slew two knights and in like manner dealt he with the left wing. then he stayed his steed in the midst of the field and cried out, "where is afridoun, that i may make him drink the cup of humiliation?" but king herdoub conjured afridoun not to budge from the field, saying, "o king, it was thy turn yesterday: to-day it is mine. i reck not of his prowess." so he pricked out towards zoulmekan, with a sabre in his hand and under him a jet black horse, swift as he were abjer, he that was antar's horse, even as says the poet: he vies with the glance of the eye on a swift-footed steed, that fares as it had a mind to outstrip fate. the hue of his hide is the blackest of all things black, like night, when the shadows shroud it in sable state. the sound of his neighing troubles the hearts of men, as it were thunder that echoes in heaven's gate. if he run a race with the wind, he leads the way, nor can the lightning outstrip him, early or late. then each rushed upon the other, guarding himself from his blows and showing the rare qualities that were in him and the wonders of his prowess; and they fell to advancing and retreating and ceased not to flee and return to the attack and wheel hither and thither, till the breasts of the bystanders were straitened (for anxiety) and they were weary of waiting for the event. at last, zoulmekan cried out and rushing upon herdoub, king of caesarea, dealt him such a blow that he shore his head from his body and made an end of him. when the infidels saw this, they all rushed at zoulmekan, who met them in mid-field, and they fell to cutting and thrusting, till the blood ran in streams. then the muslims cried out, "god is most great;" and "there is no god but god;" and invoked blessings on the giver of good tidings, the admonisher of mankind,[fn# ] and there befell a great battle. but god sent help to the faithful and confusion to the infidels. the vizier dendan shouted, "avenge king omar ben ennuman and his son sherkan!" and baring his head, cried out to the turks. now there were beside him more than twenty thousand horse, who all charged with him as one man, and the unbelievers found nothing for it but flight. so they turned their backs to flee, whilst the keen sabres wrought havoc amongst them and the muslims slew of them that day more than fifty thousand cavaliers and took more than that: and much people also were slain at the going in of the gates by reason of the greatness of the crowd, whilst the christians mounted the walls, fearing an assault. then the muslims returned to their tents, fortified and victorious, and king zoulmekan went in to his brother, whom he found in the most joyous case. so he returned thanks to the bountiful, the exalted one and gave sherkan joy of his deliverance. "verily," answered he, "we are all under the benediction of this holy and god-fearing man, nor would you have been victorious, but for his effectual prayers; for all day he hath never ceased to invoke victory on the muslims. i found strength return to me, when i heard you cry, 'god is most great!' for then i knew you had gotten the better of your enemies. but now tell me, o my brother, what befell thee." so he told him all that had passed, how he had slain the accursed herdoub and he had gone to the malediction of god; and sherkan praised his prowess. when dhat ed dewahi heard tell of her son's death, the blood fled from her face and her eyes ran over with streaming tears; however, she kept her counsel and feigned to the muslims that she was glad and wept for excess of joy: but she said in herself, "by the virtue of the messiah, there remains no profit of my life, if i make not his heart bleed for his brother sherkan, even as he has made mine bleed for king herdoub, the mainstay of the christian faith and the hosts of the cross!" the vizier dendan and zoulmekan and the chamberlain abode with sherkan, till they had dressed his wound and anointed it; after which they gave him medicines and he began to recover his strength; whereat they were exceeding glad and told the troops, who rejoiced greatly, saying, "to-morrow he will ride with us and take part in the siege." then said sherkan to them, "you have fought all day and are weary, and it behoves that you return to your tents and sleep and not watch." so they went away all to their tents and there remained none with sherkan but dhat ed dewahi and a few servants. he talked with her awhile, then lay down to rest, he and his servants, and soon sleep overcame them all and they were as dead men. but the old woman abode awake and looking at sherkan, saw that he was drowned in sleep. so she sprang to her feet, as she were a bald she-bear or a speckled snake, and drew from her girdle a poisoned knife, that would have melted a rock if laid thereon; then going up to sherkan, she drew the knife across his throat and cut off his head. after this, she went up to the sleeping servants and cut off their heads also, lest they should awake. then she left the tent and made for the sultan's pavilion, but finding the guards awake, turned to that of the vizier. he was reading the koran and seeing her, said, "welcome, o holy man!" when she heard this, her heart trembled and she said, "the reason of my coming hither at this time is that i heard the voice of a friend of god and am going to him." then she went away, but the vizier said to himself, "by allah, i will follow the holy man to-night!" so he rose and went after her: but the accursed old woman heard his footsteps and knew that he was following her: wherefore she feared discovery and said in herself, "except i put him off with some trick, he will discover me." so she turned and said to him from afar, "harkye, vizier, i am going after this saint, that i may know who he is; and after i will ask his leave for thee to join him. then i will come back and tell thee; for i fear to let thee accompany me, without his leave, lest he take umbrage at seeing thee with me." when the vizier heard this, he was abashed and knew not what to answer; so he left her and returning to his tent, would have slept; but sleep was not favourable to him and the world was straitened upon him. so he rose and went out, saying in himself, "i will go talk with sherkan till the morning." but when he came to sherkan's tent, he found the blood running like a rivulet and saw the servants lying dead. at this he gave a cry that aroused all who were asleep, and they hastened to him and seeing the blood streaming, set up a clamour of weeping and lamentation. the noise awoke the sultan, who enquired what was the matter, and they said to him, "sherkan and his servants are murdered." so he rose in haste and entering the tent, saw his brother's headless trunk and the vizier by it shrieking aloud. at this sight, he swooned away and all the troops stood round him, weeping and crying aloud, till he came to himself, when he looked at sherkan and wept sore, whilst all who were present did the like. then said zoulmekan, "know ye who did this, and how is it i see not the recluse, him who hath put away the things of the world?" quoth the vizier, "and who should have been the cause of this our affliction, save that devotee of satan? by allah, my heart shrank from him from the first, because i know that all who profess to be absorbed in the things of the faith are corrupt and treacherous!" and he told the king how he would have followed the devotee, but he forbade him; whereupon the folk broke out into weeping and lamentation and besought him who is ever near at hand, him who answereth prayer, to cause the false recluse, who denied his evidences, to fall into their hands. then they laid sherkan out and buried him in the mountain aforesaid, mourning over his renowned virtues, after which they looked for the opening of the city-gate; but it opened not and none appeared to them on the walls; whereat they wondered exceedingly, and king zoulmekan said, "by allah, i will not turn back from them, though i tarry here years and years, till i take my wreak of my brother sherkan and lay constantinople in ruins and slay the king of the nazarenes, even if death overcome me and i be at rest from this sorry world!" then he brought out the treasure he had taken from the hermitage of metrouhena and mustering the troops, divided it amongst them, nor was there one of them but he gave him what contented him. moreover, he called together three hundred horse of every division and said to them, "do ye send succours to your family, for i am resolved to camp here, till i have taken my revenge for my brother sherkan, even if i die in this place." then he summoned couriers and gave them letters and charged them to do the soldiers' errands to their families and let them know that they were safe and in good heart, but that they were encamped before constantinople, resolved either to destroy it or perish, and that, though they should abide there months and years, they would not depart thence till they had taken the city. moreover, he bade dendan write to his sister nuzhet ez zeman, acquainting her with what had befallen them and with their situation and commending his child to her care, since that, when he went out to war, his wife was near her delivery and must needs by that time have been brought to bed; and if she had given birth to a son, he charged the messengers to hasten their return and bring him the news. then he gave them money and they set out at once, and all the people came out to take leave of them and entrust them with the money and the messages they wished to send to their families. after they had departed, zoulmekan turned to the vizier and commanded him to push forward with the army against the city walls. so the troops advanced, but found none on the walls, whereat they marvelled and zoulmekan was troubled. to return to dhat ed dewahi. as soon as she had slain sherkan, she hastened to the walls of constantinople and called out in the greek tongue to the guards, to throw her down a rope. quoth they, "who art thou?" and she said, "i am the princess dhat ed dewahi." they knew her and threw her down a rope, to which she tied herself, and they drew her up into the city. then she went in to king afridoun and said to him, "what is this i hear from the muslims? they say that my son king herdoub is slain." he answered, "it is true;" and when she heard this, she shrieked out and wept so grievously, that she made afridoun and all who were present weep also. then she told the king how she had slain sherkan and thirty of his servants, whereat he rejoiced and thanked her and kissed her hands and exhorted her to resignation for the loss of her son. "by the messiah," said she, "i will not rest content with killing one of the muslim dogs in revenge for my son, a king of the kings of the age! but i will assuredly make shift to kill the sultan zoulmekan and the vizier dendan and the chamberlain and rustem and behram and ten thousand cavaliers of the army of islam to boot; for it shall never be that my son's head be paid with the blood-wit of sherkan's head only." then said she to afridoun, "it is my wish that mourning be made for my son herdoub and that the girdle be cut and the crosses broken." "do what thou wilt," replied afridoun; "i will not gainsay thee in aught. and if thou prolong thy mourning, it were a little thing; for though the muslims beleaguer us years and years, they will never compass their will of us nor get aught of us but trouble and weariness." then she took ink-horn and paper and wrote the following letter: "shewaha dhat ed dewahi to the host of the muslims. know that i entered your country and duped your nobles and slew your king omar ben ennuman in the midst of his palace. moreover, i slew, in the battle of the mountain pass and of the grotto, many of your men, and the last i killed were sherkan and his servants. and if fortune favour me and satan obey me, i will assuredly kill your sultan and the vizier dendan, for i am she who came to you in the disguise of a recluse and ye were the dupes of my tricks and devices. wherefore, if you be minded to be in safety, depart at once; and if you covet your own destruction, abide where you are; for though ye abide here years and years, ye shall not come by your desire of us; and so peace be on you." then she devoted three days to mourning for her son king herdoub, and on the fourth day, she called a knight and bade him make the letter fast to an arrow and shoot it into the muslim camp; after which she entered the church and gave herself up to weeping and lamentation for the loss of her son, saying to him who took the kingship after him, "nothing will serve me but i must kill zoulmekan and all the princes of islam." meanwhile, the muslims passed three days in concern and anxiety, and on the fourth day, they saw a knight on the wall, holding a bow and about to shoot an arrow to which was fastened a letter. so they waited till he had shot, and the king bade the vizier dendan take the letter and read it. he did so, and when zoulmekan heard its purport, his eyes filled with tears and he shrieked for anguish at the old woman's perfidy, and dendan said, "by allah, my heart shrank from her!" "how could this traitress impose upon us twice?" exclaimed zoulmekan. "by allah, i will not depart hence till i fill her kaze with molten lead and set her in a cage, as men do birds, then bind her with her hair and crucify her at the gate of constantinople." then he addressed himself again to the leaguer of the city, promising his men that, if it should be taken, he would divide its treasures equally among them. after this, he bethought him of his brother and wept sore; and his tears ceased not to flow, till his body was wasted with grief, as it were a bodkin. but the vizier dendan came in to him and said, "take comfort and be consoled; thy brother died not but because his hour was come, and there is no profit in this mourning. how well says the poet: that which is not to be shall by no means be brought to pass, and that which is to be shall come, unsought, even at the time ordained: but he that knoweth not the truth is still deceived and finds his hopes grown nought. wherefore do thou leave this weeping and lamentation and strengthen thy heart to bear arms." "o vizier," replied zoulmekan, "my heart is heavy for the death of my brother and father and our absence from our native land, and my mind is concerned for my subjects." thereupon the vizier and the bystanders wept; but they ceased not from the leaguer of constantinople, till, after awhile, news arrived from baghdad, by one of the amirs, that the sultan's wife had given birth to a son and that the princess nuzhet ez zeman had named him kanmakan. moreover, his sister wrote to him that the boy bid fair to be a prodigy and that she had commanded the priests and preachers to pray for them from the pulpits; also, that they were all well and had been blessed with abundant rains and that his comrade the stoker was in the enjoyment of all prosperity, with slaves and servants to attend upon him; but that he was still ignorant of what had befallen him. zoulmekan rejoiced greatly at this news and said to the vizier dendan, "now is my hope fulfilled and my back strengthened, in that i have been vouchsafed a son. wherefore i am minded to leave mourning and let make recitations of the koran over my brother's tomb and do almsdeeds on his account." quoth the vizier, "it is well." then he caused tents to be pitched over his brother's tomb and they gathered together such of the troops as could repeat the koran. some fell to reciting the koran, whilst others chanted the litanies of the praise of god, and thus they did till the morning, when zoulmekan went up to the tomb of his brother sherkan and shedding copious tears, repeated the following verses: they bore him forth, whilst all who went behind him wept and cried such cries as moses gave, when god broke down the mountain side, till to a tomb they came, whose grave seemed dug in all men's hearts by whom the unity of god is held and glorified. i had not thought, or ere they bore thee forth upon the bier, to see my joy upon the hands of men uplifted ride; nor, till they laid thee in the grave, could i have ever deemed that stars could leave their place in heaven and in the dark earth hide. is the indweller of the tomb the hostage of a pit, in which, for that his face is there, splendour and light abide? lo, praise has ta'en upon itself to bring him back to life; now that his body's hid, his fame's shown forth and magnified. when he had made an end of reciting these verses, he wept and all the troops wept with him; then he threw himself on the tomb, wild with grief, and the vizier repeated the words of the poet: that which fleets past thou hast left and won what endureth for aye, and even as thou are the folk, that were and have passed away; and yet it was not of thy will that thou quittedst this house of the world; for here hadst thou joy and delight of all that befell in thy day. how oft hast thou proven thyself a succour and shield from the foe, when the arrows and javelins of war flew thick in the midst of the fray! i see that this world's but a cheat and a vanity after all, and ever to seek out the truth all creatures desire and essay! the lord of the empyrean vouchsafe thee in heaven to dwell and the guide assign thee therein a goodly sojourn, i pray! i bid thee adieu with a sigh and i see, for the loss of thee, the east and the west o'ershadowed with mourning and dismay. when the vizier had finished, he wept sore, and the tears fell from his eyes, like a network of pearls. then came forward one of sherkan's boon-companions, weeping till his eyes resembled rivers, and recalled the dead man's noble qualities, reciting the following cinquains: where be thy giving, alas! and the hand of thy bounty fled? they lie in the earth, and my body is wasted for drearihead. o guide of the camel-litters,[fn# ] (may god still gladden thy stead!) my tears on my cheeks have written, in characters of red, that which would both rejoice thee and fill thee with pain and dread! by allah, 'twixt me and my heart, not a word of thee is said nor doth the thought of thy grace and thy glory pass through my head, but that mine eyes are wounded by dint of the tears i shed! yea, if to rest on another my glance be ever led, may my lids be drawn in slumber by longing for the dead! then zoulmekan and dendan wept sore and the whole army lamented aloud; after which they all withdrew to their tents, and zoulmekan turned to dendan and took counsel with him concerning the conduct of the war. on this wise they passed days and nights, what while zoulmekan was weighed down with grief and concern, till at last he said to the vizier, "i have a mind to hear stories of adventures and chronicles of kings and tales of folk oppressed of love, so haply god may make this to solace the heavy anxiety that is on my heart and do away from me weeping and lamentation." "o king," replied dendan, "if nought but hearing pleasant tales of bygone kings and peoples and stories of folk oppressed of love and so forth can dispel thy trouble, the thing is easy, for i had no other business, in the lifetime of thy late father, than to tell him stories and repeat verses to him; so, this very night, i will tell thee a story of a lover and his beloved, which shall lighten thy heart." when zoulmekan heard this, his heart yearned after that which the vizier promised him and he did nothing but watch for the coming of the night, that he might hear what he had to tell. so, no sooner had the night closed in, than he bade light the lamps and the candles and bring all that was needful of meat and drink and perfumes and what not and sending for dendan, rustem, behram, terkash and the grand chamberlain, turned to the vizier and said, "o vizier, behold, the night is come and hath let down its veils over us, and we desire that thou tell us that which thou didst promise us." "with all my heart," replied the vizier "know, o august king, that i have heard tell a story of a lover and a loved one and of the discourse between them and of the rare and pleasant things that befell them, a story such as does away care from the heart and dispels sorrow like unto that of the patriarch jacob: and it is as follows: story of taj el mulouk and the princess dunya. there stood once, behind the mountains of ispahan, a town called the green city, in which dwelt a king named suleiman shah, a man of virtue and beneficence, just, generous and loyal, to whom travellers resorted from all parts, for his renown was noised abroad in all cities and countries; and he reigned over the country for many years, in all honour and prosperity, save that he had neither wife nor child. now he had a vizier who was akin to him in goodness and generosity, and one day, he sent for him and said to him, 'o my vizier, my heart is heavy and my patience at end and my strength fails me, for that i have neither wife nor child. this is not of the fashion of kings that rule over all, princes and beggars; for they rejoice in leaving behind them children, who shall succeed them and by whom both their number and strength are multiplied. quoth the prophet (whom god bless and preserve), "marry and engender and multiply, that i may boast myself of you over the peoples on the day of resurrection." so what is thy counsel, o vizier? advise me what is fitting to be done.' when the vizier heard this, the tears streamed from his eyes and he replied, 'god forbid, o king of the age, that i should speak on that which is of the pertinence of the compassionate one! wilt thou have me cast into the fire by the wrath of the all-powerful king? buy a concubine.' 'know, o vizier,' rejoined the king, 'that when a prince buys a female slave, he knows neither her condition nor her lineage and thus cannot tell if she be of mean extraction, that he may abstain from her, or of gentle blood, that he may be intimate with her. so if he have commerce with her, belike she will conceive by him and her son be a hypocrite, a tyrant and a shedder of blood. indeed such a woman may be likened to a salt soil, which, if one till it, yields only worthless crops; for it may be the son in question will be obnoxious to the wrath of his lord, doing not that which he commandeth him neither abstaining from that which he forbiddeth him. wherefore i will never risk being the cause of this, through the purchase of a concubine; and it is my will, therefore, that thou demand for me in marriage the daughter of some one of the kings, whose lineage is known and whose beauty is renowned. if thou canst direct me to some king's daughter of the muslims, who is a woman of good birth and piety, i will seek her hand and marry her before witnesses, that the favour of the lord of all creatures may accrue to me thereby.' 'o king,' said the vizier, 'god hath fulfilled thy need and hath brought thee to thy desire; for it hath come to my knowledge that king zehr shah, lord of the white country, hath a daughter of surpassing beauty, whom report fails to describe; she hath not her equal in this age, being perfect in beauty and symmetry, with melting black eyes and long hair, slender-waisted and heavy-hipped. when she draws nigh, she seduces, and when she turns her back, she slays, ravishing heart and sight, even as says of her the poet: a slender one, her shape confounds the branch of the cassia tree; nor sun nor moon can with her face for brightness evened be. meseems, the water of her mouth is honey blent with wine; ay, and her teeth are finer pearls than any in the sea. the purest white and deepest black meet in her glittering glance and shapelier than the black-eyed maids of paradise is she. how many a man her eyes have slain, who perished in despair; the love of her's a way wherein are fear and misery. if i would live, behold, she's death! i may not think of her, lest i should die; for, lacking her, life's nothing worth to me. so it is my counsel, o king, that thou despatch to her father a sagacious and experienced ambassador, versed in the conduct of affairs, who shall with courteous and persuasive speech demand her in marriage for thee; for she hath not her equal in the world, far or near. so shalt thou enjoy her beauty in the way of right and the lord of glory be content with thee; for it is reported of the prophet (whom god bless and preserve) that he said, "there is no monkery in islam." at this the king was transported to the perfection of delight; his heart was lightened and his breast dilated and care and anxiety ceased from him; and he said to the vizier, 'none shall go about this business but thou, by reason of thy consummate wit and good breeding; wherefore do thou make ready by the morrow and depart and demand me this girl in marriage, with whom thou hast made my heart to be engrossed; nor do thou return to me but with her.' 'i hear and obey,' replied the vizier, and withdrawing to his own house, made ready a present such as befits kings, of jewels and other precious things, light of carriage but heavy of worth, besides arabian horses and coats of mail, fine-wrought as those which david made,[fn# ] and chests of treasure, such as speech &fails to describe. these all he loaded upon camels and mules and set out, with flags and banners flying before him and attended by a hundred white slaves and the like number of black and a hundred slave-girls. the king charged him to return to him speedily; so he set out, leaving suleiman shah on coals of fire, engrossed night and day with desire for the princess, and fared on, without ceasing, night and day, across plains and deserts, till there remained but a day's journey between him and the city to which he was bound. here he halted on the banks of a river, and calling one of his chief officers, bade him hasten forward to king zehr shah and announce his approach. accordingly, the messenger rode on in haste to the city and was about to enter it, when the king, who chanced to be seated in one of his pleasaunces before the gate, espied him and knowing him for a stranger, bade bring him before him. so when the messenger came into his presence, he informed him of the approach of the vizier of the mighty king suleiman shah, lord of the green country and of the mountains of ispahan; whereat king zehr shah rejoiced and bade him welcome. then he carried him to his palace and said to him, 'where didst thou leave the vizier?' 'i left him,' replied the messenger, 'at the first of the day, on the banks of such a river, and he will be with thee to-morrow, may god continue his favours to thee and have mercy upon thy parents!' whereupon the king commanded one of his viziers to take the better part of his nobles and chamberlains and officers and grandees and go out to meet the ambassador, in honour of king suleiman shah, for that his dominion extended over the country. meanwhile, king suleiman's vizier abode in his stead, till the night was half spent, when he set out for the city; but hardly had the day appeared and the sun risen upon the hills and plains, when he saw king zehr shah's vizier approaching with his retinue and the two parties joined company at some parasangs' distance from the city. at this the vizier made sure of the success of his errand and saluted the new-comers, who escorted him to the king's palace and forewent him to the seventh vestibule, where none might enter on horseback, for it was near the presence chamber of the king. so the vizier alighted and walked on till he came to a lofty hall, at the upper end whereof stood a couch of alabaster, set with pearls end jewels and having four elephants' tusks for feet. it was covered with a mattress of green satin, embroidered with red gold, and surmounted by a canopy adorned with pearls and jewels, and on it sat king zehr shah, whilst his officers of state stood in attendance on him. when the vizier stood before him, he composed himself and loosing his tongue, displayed such skill of speech as befits viziers and saluted the king in eloquent and complimentary language, reciting the following verses in his honour: he cometh, bending gracefully in his robes and shedding dew of bounty over the thirsting land and the folk to him that sue. indeed, he charmeth; nor amulets nor spells nor magic may avail to ward off the faithful glance of those his eyes from you. say to the censurers, "blame me not: whilst life abide in me, i'll never swerve from the love of him nor turn to love anew." lo, slumber surely is tired of me and fallen in love with him, and even my heart hath played me false and but to him is true! o heart, thou art not the only one that loves and tenders him, so get thee gone and bide with him and leave me here to rue! except the praise of the king zehr shah it be that folk acclaim, there's nought rejoices mine ears, in sooth, to hearken thereunto. a king, the sight of whose glorious face would well thy pains repay; though thou shouldst lavish thy heart's best blood, so great a grace to woo. if thou be minded to offer up a pious prayer for him, thou'lt find but true believer, and sharers the whole world through. o folk of this realm, if any forswear his governance and look for another, i hold him none of the faithful few when the vizier had made an end of his speech, the king bade him draw near and showed him the utmost honour then seating him by his own side, he smiled in his face and made him a gracious reply. they conversed till the time of the morning-meal, when the attendants brought in the tables of food and they all ate till they were satisfied, after which the tables were removed and all who were present withdrew, with the exception of the chief officers; which when the vizier saw, he rose to his feet, and after complimenting the king a second time and kissing the earth before him, spoke as follows: 'o mighty king and august prince, i have travelled hither and am come to thee upon an errand, wherein is profit and good and prosperity for thee; and it is that i come as ambassador to thee, seeking the hand of thy noble and illustrious daughter, from the most just, loyal and excellent king suleiman shah, lord of the green country and of the mountains of ispahan, who sends thee many and rare presents and gifts of price, ardently desiring thine alliance. art thou, then, minded to him as he to thee?' and he was silent, awaiting a reply. when the king heard his words he sprang to his feet and kissed the earth respectfully before the vizier, to the amazement of the bystanders, whose minds were confounded at his condescension to the ambassador. then he praised him who is the lord of glory and honour and replied, still standing, 'o mighty vizier and illustrious lord, hear what i say. verily we are of the subjects of king suleiman shah and are ennobled by his alliance and aspire ardently thereto. my daughter is one of his handmaids, and it is my dearest wish that he may become my stay and my support in time of need.' then he summoned the cadis and the witnesses, who took act that king suleiman had deputed his vizier his proxy to conclude the marriage, and king zehr shah joyfully consented on behalf of his daughter. so the cadis drew up the marriage contract and offered up prayers for the happiness and prosperity of the contracting parties; after which the vizier arose and fetching the gifts and rarities and precious things that he had brought with him, laid them all before the king, who betook himself to the equipment of his daughter, honourably entreating the vizier and feasting great and small; and they held high festival for two months, omitting nought that could gladden heart and eye. when all was ready that was needful for the bride, the king caused the tents to be pitched without the city and they packed the bride's clothes and jewels in chests and loaded them on mules and camels. now he had provided his daughter with greek handmaids and turkish slave-girls and great store of jewels and precious things, and had let make for her a litter of red gold inlaid with pearls and jewels, which within was as one of the chambers of a palace and without as one of the pavilions of paradise, whilst its mistress seemed as she were of the lovely hours. moreover, he furnished her also with twenty mules for the journey and brought her three parasangs forward on her road, after which he bade her and the vizier farewell and returned to his own city in peace and gladness. meanwhile, the vizier and his company fared on by forced marches, traversing plains and deserts and staying not day or night, till they came within three days' journey of king suleiman's capital, when the vizier despatched a messenger to acquaint the king with their arrival. the messenger hastened forward till he reached the king's presence and announced to him the coming of the bride, whereat he rejoiced and bestowed on him a dress of honour. then he bade his troops don their richest apparel and sally forth in grand procession, with banners flying, to meet the princess and her company and do them honour, and let cry throughout the city that neither cloistered damsel nor honoured lady nor infirm old woman should fail to go forth to meet the bride. so they all went out to meet her and the chiefest of them vied in doing her service, meaning to bring her to the king's palace by night. moreover, the grandees agreed to decorate the road and stand on either side, whilst the bride should pass by, clad in the robes her father had given her and preceded by her eunuchs and serving-women. so at the appointed time, she made her appearance, surrounded by the troops, these on her right hand and those on her left, and the litter ceased not going with her, till they drew near the palace; nor was there any one but came forth to gaze upon the show. the drums beat and the lances were brandished, the trumpets blared and the banners fluttered and the horses pranced, whilst fragrant odours breathed around, till they reached the gate of the palace and the pages entered with the litter through the private gate. the place shone with its splendours and the walls glittered for the lustre of its ornaments. when the night came, the eunuchs threw open the doors of the bride-chamber and stood on either hand; whereupon the bride entered, among her damsels, like the moon among stars or a pearl of matchless beauty in a string of lesser pearls, and seated herself upon a couch of alabaster inlaid with pearls and jewels, that had been set for her there. then came the king in to her and god filled his heart with love of her; so he did away her maidenhead, and his trouble and disquiet ceased from him. she conceived by him the first night, and he abode with her well-nigh a month, at the end of which time he went forth and seating himself on his throne of state, dispensed justice to his subjects, till the months of her pregnancy were accomplished. towards daybreak on the last night of the ninth month, the queen was seized with the pangs of labour; so she sat down on the stool of delivery and god made the travail easy to her, so that she gave birth to a male child, on whom appeared the signs of happy fortune. when the king heard of this, he rejoiced with an exceeding joy and rewarded the bearer of the good tidings with much treasure. then, of his gladness, he went in to the child and kissed him between the eyes, wondering at his brilliant beauty; for in him was the saying of the poet made truth: god hath a lion given in him unto the forts of fame and in the heaven of high estate hath set another star. lo, at his birth, the spears shake all and all the wild deer start and all the chieftains of the folk and all the men of war! so mount him not upon the breasts, for he shall surely deem that horses' backs for such as he the softer sitting are; and wean ye him from sucking milk, for he eftsoon shall find the blood of foemen in the field the sweeter drink by far. the midwives took the new-born child and cut the cord of his navel, after which they anointed his eyes with kohl and named him taj el mulouk kharan. he was suckled at the breast of delight and reared in the lap of favouring fortune, and the days ran on and the years passed by, till he reached the age of seven. then the king his father summoned the doctors and learned men and bade them teach his son writing and science and polite letters. this they did for some years, till he had learnt all that was needful, when the king took him out of the professors' hands and committed him to a master, who taught him horsemanship and the use of arms, till the boy attained the age of fourteen and became proficient in martial exercises. moreover, he outshone all the people of his time for the excess of his beauty; so that, whenever he went abroad on any occasion, all who saw him were ravished with him and made verses in his honour, and even the virtuous were seduced by his brilliant loveliness. quoth the poet of him: a tender branch, that from the breeze hath ta'en its nourishment! i clipped him and straightway became drunk with his sweetest scent; not drunken with the drunkenness of one who drinketh wine, but with the honey of his mouth fulfilled of languishment. all loveliness comprised is within his perfect form, so that o'er all the hearts of men he reigns omnipotent. by god, forgetfulness of him shall never cross my mind. what while i wear the chains of life, nor even when they're rent! lo, if i live, in love of him i'll live; and, if i die of love-longing for him, i'll say, "o rare! o excellent!" when he reached his eighteenth year, the tender down began to invade the table of his rosy cheeks, which were adorned by a black mole like a grain of ambergris, and he captivated the minds and eyes of all who looked on him, even as says of him the poet in the following verses: he is become the khalif of beauty in joseph's place; the hearts of all lovers dread him, whenas they see his grace. pause thou with me and fasten thy gaze on him! thou'lt see the sign of the khalifate set in sable[fn# ] on his face. and as says another: thine eyes have never looked upon a fairer sight, of all the things that are to see beneath the sky, than yonder mole of brown, that nestles on his face, midmost the rosy cheek, beneath the coal-black eye. and a third: i marvel at yon mole that serves the fire eternal, upon his cheek, yet is not burned, all kafir[fn# ] though it be; and eke i marvel that he's sent or god, with every glance to work true miracles; and yet a sorcerer is he! the many gall-bladders that burst for him it is that make the shining fringes of his cheek so black and bright to see. and yet a fourth: i wonder to hear the folk ask of the water of life and question in which of the lands its magical fountain flows whenas i see it well from the damask lips of a fawn, under his tender moustache and his cheek's perennial rose. and eke 'tis a wonder of wonders that moses,[fn# ] finding it there flowing, yet took no patience nor laid him down to repose. when he came to man's estate, his beauty increased and he had many comrades and friends; and every one who drew near to him hoped that he would become sultan after his father's death and that he himself might be one of his officers. he had a passion for hunting and would hardly leave the chase a single hour. his father would have restrained him, fearing for him the perils of the desert: and the wild beasts; but he paid no heed to him. one day, he bade his attendants take ten days' provender and setting out for the chase, rode on into the desert four days long, at the end of which time he came to a verdant champaign, full of wild beasts pasturing and trees laden with ripe fruit and springs welling forth. then he said to his followers, 'set up the nets in a wide circle and let our general rendezvous be at the mouth of the ring, in such a spot.' so they staked out a wide circle with the nets; and there gathered together a multitude of all kinds of wild beasts and gazelles, which cried out for fear of them and threw themselves in terror right in the face of the horses. then they loosed the dogs and sakers and hunting lynxes on them and smote them with arrows in the vitals; so, by the time they came to the closed end of the ring of nets, they took a great number of the wild beasts, and the rest fled. then the prince sat down by the water-side and letting spread the game before himself, apportioned it among his men, after he had set apart the choicest thereof for his father king suleiman and despatched it to him; and other part he divided among the officers of his court. he passed the night in that place, and when it was morning, there came up a caravan of merchants, with their slaves and servants, and halted by the water and the verdure. when taj el mulouk saw this, he said to one of his companions, 'go, bring me news of yonder folk and ask them why they have halted here.' so the man went up to them and said, 'tell me who ye are, and answer quickly.' 'we are merchants,' replied they, 'and have halted here to rest, for that the next station is distant and we have confidence in king suleiman shah and his son taj el mulouk, knowing that all who alight in their dominions are in peace and safety; and we have with us precious stuffs, that we have brought for the prince.' the messenger returned with this news to the prince, who said, i will not depart hence till i see what they have brought for me. then he mounted and rode to the caravan, followed by his servants. the merchants rose to receive him and invoked on him the aid and favour of god, with continuance of glory and virtues; after which they pitched him a pavilion of red satin, emblazoned with pearls and jewels, in which they spread him a royal divan, upon a silken carpet embroidered at the upper end with emeralds. the prince seated himself on the divan, whilst his servants stood in attendance upon him, and bade the merchants bring out all that they had with them. accordingly, they produced all their merchandise, and he viewed it and took of it what liked him, paying them the price. then he remounted and was about to ride onward, when his eyes fell on a handsome young man, well dressed and elegantly made, with flower-white forehead and face brilliant as the moon, save that his beauty was wasted and that pallor had invaded his cheeks by reason of separation from those he loved: sighing and lamentation were grievous upon him and the tears streamed from his eyelids, as he repeated the following verses: absence is long and care and fear are heavy on my soul, whilst from mine eyes the tears, o friend, without cessation roll. alas, i left my heart behind upon the parting day, and now sans heart, sans hope, abide all lonely in my dole. pause with me, o my friend, what while i take my leave of one by whose sweet speech diseases all and sorrows are made whole. having said this, he wept awhile and fell down in a swoon, whilst taj el mulouk looked at him wonderingly then coming to himself, he stared fixedly before him, with distracted air, and repeated these other verses: i rede thee beware of her glance, for, lo, 'tis a wizard, i ween! none 'scapeth unscathed of the shafts of her eyes, that has gazed on their sheen. for, trust me, black eyes, that are armed with the grace of a languorous look, are swifter and sharper to wound than scimitars, tempered and keen. and let not thy mind be beguiled by the sweet and the soft of her words; for the fever that springs from her speech o'ermasters the senses, demesne. soft-sided, were silk but to press on her skin, it would cause it to bleed, so delicate-bodied she is and so nesh, as forsooth thou hast seen. right chary she is of the charms 'twixt her neck and her anklets that lie, and what is the sweetest of scents to the fragrance that breathes from my queen! then he gave a sob and swooned away a second time. when taj el mulouk saw him thus, he was perplexed about his case and went up to him. so when he came to himself and saw the prince standing by him, he sprang to his feet and kissed the earth before him; and taj el mulouk said to him, 'why didst thou not show us thy merchandise?' 'o my lord,' answered the young merchant, 'there is nought among my stock worthy of thine august highness.' 'it matters not,' said the prince, 'thou must show me what thou hast and acquaint me with thy case; for i see thee weeping-eyed and mournful-hearted. if thou hast been wronged, we will do away thine oppression, and if thou be in debt, we will discharge thy debt; for my heart aches for thee, since i first set eyes on thee.' then he called for seats and they set him a chair of ebony and ivory, netted with gold and silk, and spread him a silken carpet. so he sat down on the chair and bidding the young merchant seat himself on the carpet, again commanded him to show him his merchandise. 'o my lord,' said he, 'do not name this to me; for i have nought worthy of thee.' 'i will have it so,' rejoined taj el mulouk and bade some of the servants fetch the goods. so they brought them in spite of the merchant; and when he saw this, the tears streamed from his eyes and he wept and sighed and lamented; sobs rose from his bosom and he repeated the following verses: by the witching amorous sweetness and the blackness of thine eyes, by the tender flexile softness in thy slender waist that lies, by the graces and the languor of thy body and thy shape, by the fount of wine and honey from thy coral lips that rise, o my hope, to see thine image in my dreams were sweeter far than were safety to the fearful, languishing in woful wise! then he opened his bales and displayed their contents to taj el mulouk, piece by piece, till he came to a mantle of satin brocaded with gold, worth two thousand dinars from which, when he opened it, there fell a piece of linen. as soon as he saw this, he caught up the piece of linen in haste and hid it under his thigh; and indeed he seemed as though he had lost his reason, and he repeated the following verses: when shall my sad tormented heart be healed, alas, of thee? the pleiades were nearer far than is thy grace to me. distance estrangement, longing pain and fire of love laid waste, procrastination and delay, in these my life doth flee. for no attainment bids me live nor exile slays me quite, travel no nigher doth me bring, nor wilt thou nearer be. there is no justice to be had of thee nor any ruth in thee; no winning to thy grace and yet no breaking free. alack, for love of thee, the ways are straitened all on me; so that i know not where i go nor any issue see! the prince wondered greatly at his behaviour, and said to him, 'what is that piece of linen?' 'o my lord,' replied the merchant, 'thou hast no concern with it.' 'show it me,' said the prince; and the merchant answered, 'o my lord, it was on account of this piece of linen that i refused to show thee my goods; for i cannot let thee look on it.' but taj el mulouk rejoined, 'i must and will see it;' and insisted and became angry. so he drew it out from under his thigh, weeping and lamenting and redoubling his sighs and groans, and repeated the following verses: blame ye the lover not, for blame but irketh him to hear; indeed, i spoke him truth, but he to me would lend no ear. god have her in his care, my moon that rises far away, down in the valley, midst the camp, from out the collars' sphere![fn# ] i left her; would to god my love had left me peace of life! so had i never parted been from her that held me dear. o how she pleaded for my sake upon our parting day, what while adown her cheeks and mine tear followed upon tear! may god belie me not! the wede of my excuse from me was all to rent for loss of her; but i will mend my cheer. no bed is easy to my side, nor is her resting-place ayemore reposeful unto her, now i'm no longer near. for fate with an ill-omened hand hath wrought upon our loves and hindered me from my delight and her from hers, yfere. indeed, what time it filled the cup, whereof she drank what i e'en made her drink, it poured us out grief, all unmixed and sheer. quoth taj el mulouk, 'thy conduct perplexes me; tell me why thou weepest at the sight of this piece of linen.' when the young merchant heard speak of the piece of linen, he sighed and answered, 'o my lord, my story is a strange and eventful one, with regard to this piece of linen and her from whom i had it and her who wrought the figures and emblems that be thereon.' so saying, he unfolded the piece of linen, and behold, thereon were the figures of two gazelles, facing one another, one wrought in silk and gold and the other in silver with a ring of red gold and three bugles of chrysolite about its neck. when taj el mulouk saw the figures and the beauty of their fashion, he exclaimed, 'glory be to god who teacheth man that which he knoweth not!' and his heart was filled with longing to hear the merchant's story; so he said to him, 'tell me thy story with her who gave thee these gazelles.' 'know, o my lord,' replied the young man, 'that story of aziz and azizeh. my father was one of the chief merchants (of my native town) and god had vouchsafed him no other child than myself; but i had a cousin, the daughter of my father's brother, who was brought up with me in our house; for her father was dead and before his death, he had agreed with my father that i should marry her. so when i reached man's estate and she became a woman, they did not separate us, and we ceased not to sleep on the same couch, knowing no evil, albeit she was more thoughtful, more intelligent and quicker-witted than i, till at last, my father spoke to my mother and said, "this very year we will draw up the contract of marriage between aziz and azizeh." so they agreed upon this, and he betook himself to preparing victual for the marriage festivities. when he had made an end of his preparations and there remained nought but to draw up the contract and consummate the marriage, he appointed the wedding for a certain friday, after the congregational prayers, and going round to his friends among the merchants and others, acquainted them with this, whilst my mother invited her female friends and kindred. when the day came, they cleaned the guest-chamber and washed the marble floor, then spread carpets about the house and set out thereon what was needful, after they had hung the walls with cloth of gold. now the folk had agreed to come to our house after the friday-prayers; so my father went and let make cates and dishes of sweetmeats, and there remained nothing to do but to draw up the contract. then my mother sent me to the bath and sent after me a suit of new clothes of the richest kind which i put on, when i came out. the clothes were perfumed, and as i went along, there exhaled from them a delicious fragrance, that scented the way. i was about to repair to the mosque, when i bethought me of one of my friends and was minded to go in quest of him that he might be present at the drawing up of the contract, saying in myself, "this will occupy me till near the time of prayer." so i turned back and came to a by-street, that i had never before entered. now i was in a profuse perspiration, from the effects of the bath and the new clothes on my body, and the sweat streamed from me, whilst the perfume of my clothes was wafted abroad: so i sat down to rest on a stone bench at the upper end of the street, spreading under me an embroidered handkerchief i had with me. the heat redoubled on me, so that my forehead sweated and the drops ran down on to my cheeks; but i could not wipe my face with my handkerchief, because i lay upon it. so i was about to take the skirt of my gaberdine and wipe my cheeks with it, when suddenly there fell on me from above a white handkerchief, softer to the feel than the zephyr and pleasanter to the sight than recovery to the sick. i seized on it and looking up to see whence it came, my eyes met those of the lady who gave me these gazelles. she was looking out of a wicket in a lattice of brass and never saw my eyes a fairer than she; my tongue fails to picture her beauty. when she saw me looking at her, she put her forefinger to her mouth, then joined her middle and index fingers and laid them on her bosom, between her breasts; after which she drew in her head and shut the wicket. with this, fire broke out and raged in my heart; the glance i had of her cost me a thousand sighs and i abode perplexed, having heard no word from her and understanding not the meaning of her signs. i looked again at the window, but found it shut and waited till sundown but heard no sound and saw no one. when i despaired of seeing her again, i rose and taking up the handkerchief, opened it, whereupon there exhaled from it a scent of musk, which caused me such ease that meseemed i was in paradise. then i spread it out before me and there dropped from it a little scroll of paper. i opened the scroll, which was scented with a delicious perfume, and found written therein the following verses: i sent my love a scroll, complaining of desire writ in a fine, small hand; for writings vary still. "why is thy writing thus," my lover said to me, "attenuate and small, uneath to read and ill?" quoth i, "because i too am wasted, ay, and thin. thus should their writing be, who weary at love's will." then, casting my eyes on the beauty of the handkerchief, i saw embroidered on one of its borders the following verses: the down of his whiskers writes (good luck to it for a scribe!) two lines, in the basil[fn# ] hand, on the table of his face. o the wilderment of the moon at him, when he appears! and o the shame of the branch at sight of his flexile grace! and on the opposite border were the following verses: the whiskers write upon his cheeks, with ambergris on pearl, two lines, as 'twere with jet upon an apple, line for line. death harbours in his languid eyes and slays with every glance; and in his cheeks is drunkenness, and not in any wine. when i read what was written on the handkerchief, the flames of love raged in my heart, and longing and trouble redoubled on me. so i took the handkerchief and the scroll and went home, knowing no means to compass my desire, for that i was inexperienced in love affairs and unskilled in the interpretation of the language of signs used therein. the night was far spent before i reached my house, and when i entered, i found my cousin sitting weeping. as soon as she saw me, she wiped away her tears and coming up to me, took off my (outer) clothes and asked me the reason of my absence, saying, "all the folk, amirs and notables and merchants and others, assembled here, and the cadi and the witnesses came also at the appointed time. they ate and sat awhile, awaiting thy coming for the drawing up of the contract, till they despaired of thee, when they dispersed and went their ways. and indeed," added she, "thy father was exceeding wroth, by reason of this, and swore that he would not celebrate our marriage till next year, for that he hath spent much money on this occasion. what hath befallen thee to make thee tarry till now?" "o my cousin," replied i, "do not ask me what hath befallen me." then i told her all that had passed and showed her the handkerchief and the scroll. she took them and read what was written therein; whereupon the tears ran down her cheeks and she repeated the following verses: who says to thee, the first of love is free, tell him, not so; but, on the contrary, 'tis all constraint, wherein no blame can be. history indeed attests this verity; it does not style the good coin falsified. say, if thou wilt, the taste of pain is sweet, or to be spurned by fortune's flying feet; of need or vengeance, fortune or defeat, with joy or dole it makes the heart to beat: 'twixt phrase and counterphrase i'm stupefied. but as for him whose happy days are light, fair maids, whose lips with smiles are ever bright, borne on the fragrant gales of their delight, who hath his will, unhindered of despite, 'tis not with him a craven heart may bide. then she asked me what she said and what signs she made to me. "she spoke not," answered i; "but put her index finger to her mouth, then joining it to her middle finger, laid them both on her bosom and pointed in the ground, after which she drew in her head and shut the wicket and i saw her no more. she took my heart with her and i sat till sundown, expecting her to appear again at the window; but she came not: so, when i despaired of her, i rose and went home. this is my story, and i beg thee to help me in this my affliction." with this, she raised her face to me and said, "o my cousin, if thou soughtest my eye, i would tear it from its socket for thee, and i cannot choose but help thee to thy desire and her also to hers; for she is passionately enamoured of thee, even as thou of her." "and what is the meaning of her signs?" asked i. "as for the putting her finger to her mouth," replied azizeh, "it meant that thou art to her as her soul to her body and that she would bite upon union with thee with her wisdom-teeth. the handkerchief is the token of greeting from lover to beloved and the scroll is a sign that her heart is bound up in thee. as for the laying her two fingers between her breasts, it is as if she said to thee, 'return hither after two days, that the sight of thy countenance may dispel my anguish.' for know, o my cousin, that she loves thee and trusts in thee. this is my reading of her signs, and could i come and go at will, i would quickly bring you and her together and cover you both with my skirt." i thanked her and said to myself, "i will wait two days." so i abode two days in the house, without going out, and ate not nor drank, but lay with my head in my cousin's lap, whilst she comforted me and bade me take heart and be of good cheer. when the two days were past, she said to me, "take courage and dress thyself and go to her, according to the tryst." then she rose and changed my clothes and perfumed me with incense. so i took heart and went out and walked on till i came to the by-street, where i sat down on the bench. after awhile, the wicket opened and i looked up and seeing the lady, fell down in a swoon. when i revived, i took courage to look again at her and again became insensible. then i came to myself and looking at her, saw that she had a mirror and a red handkerchief in her hand. when she saw me, she bared her forearms and smote her breast with her palm and five fingers; after which she raised her hands and holding the mirror forth of the wicket, took the red handkerchief and retired with it, but immediately returned and putting out her hand with the handkerchief, lowered it towards the ground and raised it again three several times. then she wrung it out and folded it in her hands, bowing her head the while; after which she drew in her head and shutting the window, went away, without saying a word, leaving me confounded and knowing not what she meant. i sat there till the evening and did not return home till near midnight, when i found my cousin sitting, weeping bitterly and repeating the following verses: ah me, what ails the censurer, that he at thee should flite? how shall i be consoled for thee, and thou a sapling slight? o thou, the splendour of whose sight has ta'en my heart by storm, whose supple bending grace compels to passion's utmost height,[fn# ] whose eyes, with turkish languor caught, work havoc in the breast and leave such wounds as ne'er were made by falchion in the fight! thou layst on me a heavy load of passion and desire, on me that am too weak to bear a shift upon me dight. ay, tears of blood i weep, for that my censors say to me, "a sudden sword, from out his lids thou lovest, shall thee smite." ah, would my heart were like to thine, even as my body is like to thy waist, all thin and frail and dwindled for despite! thou, that my prince in beauty art, a steward[fn# ] hast, whose rule aggrieves me and a chamberlain[fn# ] that doth me foul upright. he lies who says, "all loveliness in joseph was comprised." how many josephs are there not within thy beauty bright! i force myself to turn from thee, for fear of spying eyes, though sore it irks me to forswear the solace of thy sight. at this, trouble and grief redoubled on me and i fell down in a corner; whereupon she sprang up and coming to me, lifted me up and took off my outer clothes and wiped my face with her sleeve. then she asked me how i had fared, and i told her all that had happened. "o my cousin," said she, "as for her sign to thee with her palm and five fingers, it meant, 'return after five days;' and her gestures with the mirror and the putting forth of her head and the lowering and raising of the red handkerchief meant, 'sit in the dyer's shop, till my messenger come to thee.'" when i heard this, fire flamed up in my heart and i exclaimed, "o my cousin, by allah, thou sayst sooth in this thine interpretation; for i saw the shop of a jewish dyer in the street." then i wept, and she said, "o my cousin, summon up resolution and be steadfast of heart: others are occupied with love for years and are constant to endure the ardour of passion, whilst thou hast but a week[fn# ] to wait; so why art thou thus impatient?" then she went on to cheer me with comfortable talk and brought me food: so i took a mouthful, but could not eat and abstained from meat and drink and knew not the solace of sleep, till my colour paled and i lost my good looks; for i had never before been in love nor tasted the ardour of passion. so i fell sick and my cousin also sickened on my account; but every night she would divert me with stories of love and lovers, till i fell asleep; and whenever i awoke, i used to find her wakeful for my sake, with the tears running down her cheeks. thus we did till the five days were past, when she rose and heating water, bathed me with it. then she dressed me and said to me, "go to her and may god fulfil your wish and bring thee to thy desire of thy beloved!" so i went out and walked on, till i came to the by-street. i found the dyer's shop shut, for it was saturday, and sat before it, till i heard the call to afternoon-prayer. then the sun turned pale, the muezzins chanted the call to the prayer of sunset and the night came; but i saw no sign nor heard aught of her. with this, i feared for myself, sitting there alone; so i rose and went home, staggering like a drunken man. when i reached the house, i found my cousin azizeh standing, with one hand grasping a peg driven into the wall and the other on her breast; and she was sighing heavily and repeating the following verses: the longing of a bedouin maid, whose folk are far away, who yearns after the willow of the hejaz and the hay,[fn# ] whose tears, when she on travellers lights, might for their water serve and eke her passion, with its heat, their bivouac-fire purvey, is not more fierce nor ardent than my longing for my love, who deems that i commit a crime in loving him alway. when she had finished, she turned and seeing me, wiped away her tears and mine with her sleeve. then she smiled in my face and said, "o my cousin, god grant thee joy of that which he hath given thee! why didst thou not pass the night with thy beloved and why hast thou not fulfilled thy desire of her?" when i heard what she said, i gave her a kick in the breast and she fell over on to the edge of the estrade and struck her forehead against a peg there. i looked at her and saw that her forehead was cut open and the blood running; but she was silent and did not utter a syllable. she made some tinder of rags and staunching the wound with it, bound her forehead with a bandage; after which she wiped up the blood that had fallen on the carpet, and it was as if nothing had happened. then she came up to me and smiling in my face, said, with gentle speech, "by allah, o my cousin, i had it not in my thought to mock at thee or at her! i was troubled with a pain in my head and thought to be let blood, but now thou hast eased my head and brow; so tell me what has befallen thee to-day." so i told her what had passed and she wept and said, "o my cousin, rejoice in the near fulfilment of thy desire and the attainment of thy hopes. verily, this is a sign of acceptance; she only stayed away, because she wished to try thee and know if thou wert patient and sincere in thy love for her or not. to-morrow, do thou go to her at the old place and note what signs she makes to thee; for indeed thy gladness is near and the end of thy grief is at hand." and she went on to comfort me; but my trouble and affliction ceased not to increase on me. presently, she brought me food, but i kicked the dishes away, so that their contents were scattered in all directions, and said, "every lover is a madman; he inclines not to food neither enjoys sleep." "by allah, o my cousin," answered she, "these are indeed the signs of love!" and the tears streamed down her cheeks, whilst she gathered the fragments of the dishes and wiped up the food; then she sat down by me and talked to me, whilst i prayed god to hasten the coming of the day. when, at last, the morning arose with its light and shone, i went out and hastening to the by-street in question, sat down on the bench, when behold, the wicket opened and she put out her head, laughing. then she went in and returned with a mirror, a bag, a pot of flowering plants and a lamp. first, she took the mirror and putting it into the bag, tied it up and threw it back into the room; after which she let down her hair over her face and set the lamp an instant on the pot of flowers; then took up all the things and shutting the window, went away, without saying a word. my heart was tortured by her obscure signs and mysterious gestures, and passion and distraction redoubled on me. so i retraced my steps, tearful-eyed and mournful-hearted, and returning home, found azizeh sitting, with her face to the wall; for her heart was on fire for grief and anxiety and jealousy; albeit the love she bore me forbade her to acquaint me with what she suffered, by reason of what she saw of the excess of my passion and distraction (for another). i looked at her and saw that she had two bandages on her head, one on account of the wound on her forehead, and the other over her eye, which pained her for excess of weeping; and she was in very sorry plight, weeping and repeating the following verses: i count the nights, night after night, the weary nights and slow; yet would i, once upon a time, unreckoned let them go. i have no knowledge, o my friend, of that which god ordains of leila or what he decrees to me, but this i know he to another her adjudged and cursed me with her love: so hath he not afflicted me with other than her woe. when she had finished, she looked round and seeing me through her tears, wiped them away and came up to me, but could not speak for excess of emotion. so she was silent awhile, then said to me, "o my cousin, tell me what befell thee with her this time." so i told her all that had passed, and she said, "be patient, for the time of thy delight is come, and thou hast won to the attainment of thy hopes. as for her sign with the mirror and the bag, it was as if she said to thee, 'when the sun is set;' and the letting down of her hair over her face signified, when the night is come and hath let fall the blackness of the dark and overmastered the daylight, come hither.' as for her gesture with the flower-pot and the lamp, it meant, 'when thou comest, enter the garden behind the street, and where as thou seest the lamp burning, go thither and seat thyself beneath it and wait for me; for the love of thee is killing me.'" when i heard this, i cried out for excess of passion and said, "how long wilt thou deceive me with promises and i go to her, but get not my will nor find any truth in thine interpreting?" at this, she laughed and replied, "thou needest but have patience for the rest of the day, till the light depart and the night come with the darkness, and thou shalt enjoy fruition and accomplish thy hopes. and indeed this is true without leasing." and she repeated the following verses: let the days pass, as they list, and fare, and enter thou not the house of despair. full oft when the quest of a thing is hard, the next hour brings us the end of our care. then she came to me and began to comfort me with soothing words, but dared not offer me food, fearing my wrath and seeking to make me incline to her: so she only took off my upper garment and said to me, "sit, o my cousin, that i may entertain thee with talk, till the end of the day; and god willing, thou shalt be with thy beloved as soon as it is night." but i paid no heed to her and gave not over looking for the coming of the night, saying, "o lord, hasten the coming of the night!" till the hour of the evening-prayer, when she wept sore and giving me a grain of pure musk, said to me, "o my cousin, put this in thy mouth, and when thou foregatherest with thy beloved and hast taken thy will of her and she hath granted thee thy desire, repeat to her this verse: tell me, o lovers, for god's sake, i do entreat of you, when love is sore upon a maid, alack! what shall she do?" and she kissed me and made me swear not to repeat this to my mistress, till i should be about to leave her. then i went out and walked on till i came to the garden. i found the door open; so i entered, and seeing a light in the distance, made towards it and came to a great pavilion, vaulted over with a dome of ivory and ebony, from the midst of which hung the lamp. the floor was spread with silken carpets, embroidered in gold and silver, and under the lamp stood a great candle, burning in a stand of gold. midmost the pavilion was a fountain, adorned with all manner of figures; and by it stood a table of food, covered with a silken napkin, and a great porcelain vase full of wine, with a goblet of crystal, sprayed with gold. near these was a great covered dish of silver, which i uncovered and found therein fruits of all kinds, figs and pomegranates and grapes and oranges and citrons and shaddocks, together with all manner sweet-scented flowers, such as roses and jasmine and myrtle and eglantine and narcissus and all kinds of sweet-smelling herbs; but i saw there not a living soul, no, not even a slave, male or female, to guard these things. i was transported with delight at what i saw, and my grief and anxiety ceased from me. so i sat down to await the coming of the beloved of my heart: but the first hour of the night passed by, and the second and the third, and still she came not. then i grew sore an hungred, for that it was long since i had tasted food by reason of the violence of my passion: but when i found the garden even as my cousin had told me and saw the truth of her interpretation of my mistress's signs, my mind was set at rest and i made sure of attaining my desire, so that nature resumed its sway and i felt the pangs of hunger. moreover the odour of the viands on the table excited in me a longing to eat: so i went up to the table, and lifting the cover, found in the middle a porcelain dish, containing four fricasseed fowls, seasoned with spices, round which were four smaller dishes, one containing sweetmeats, another conserve of pomegranate-seeds, a third almond patties and a fourth honey fritters, and the contents of these dishes were part sweet and part acid. so i ate of the fritters and a piece of meat, then went on to the almond patties and ate what i would of them; after which i attacked the sweetmeats, of which i ate a spoonful or two or three or four, ending with part of a fowl and a mouthful of bread. with this my stomach became full and my limbs heavy and i grew drowsy; so i laid my head on a cushion, after having washed my hands, and sleep overcame me; and i knew not what happened to me after this nor did i awake till the sun's heat burnt me, for that i had not tasted sleep for days. when i awoke, i found myself lying on the naked marble, with a piece of salt and another of charcoal on my stomach; so i stood up and shook my clothes and turned right and left, but could see no one. at this i was perplexed and afflicted; the tears ran down my cheeks and i mourned grievously for myself. then i returned home, and when i entered, i found my cousin beating her bosom and weeping like the rain-clouds, as she repeated the following verses: from out my loved one's land a breeze blows cool and sweet: the fragrance of its wafts stirs up the ancient heat. blow, zephyr of the east! each lover hath his lot, his heaven-appointed doom of fortune or defeat. lo, if we might, we would embrace thee for desire, even as a lover clips his mistress, when they meet. whenas my cousin's face is absent, god forbids all pleasance [unto me] and all life has of sweet. ah, would i knew his heart was even as is mine, all wasted and consumed by passion's flaming feet! when she saw me, she rose in haste and wiping away her tears, accosted me with her soft speech, saying, "o my cousin, verily god hath been gracious to thee in thy love, in that she whom thou lovest loves thee, whilst i pass my time in weeping and lamenting my separation from thee that blamest and chidest me; but may god not reproach thee for my sake!" then she smiled in my face, a sad smile, and caressed me; then taking off my outer clothes, she spread them out and said, "by allah, this is not the scent of one who hath enjoyed his mistress! tell me what has befallen thee, o my cousin." so i told her all that had passed, and she smiled again, a sad smile, and said, "verily, my heart is full of pain; but may he not live who would hurt thy heart! indeed, this woman makes herself extravagantly difficult to thee, and by allah, i fear for thee from her. know that the meaning of the salt is that thou wert drowned in sleep and she likens thee to insipid food, at which the soul sickens; and it is as if she said to thee, 'it behoves that thou be salted, lest nature reject thee. thou professest to be of the true lovers, but sleep is forbidden to a lover; therefore, thy love is false.' but it is her love for thee that is false; for she saw thee asleep, yet awoke thee not, and were her love for thee sincere, she had aroused thee. as for the charcoal, it means, 'god blacken thy face, for that thou makest a lying presence of love, whereas thou art but a child and hast no concern but to eat and drink and sleep!' this is the interpretation of her signs, and may god the most high deliver thee from her!" when i heard my cousin's words, i beat my breast with my hand and cried out, "by allah, this is the truth, for i slept and lovers sleep not! indeed, i have sinned against myself, for nought could have done me more hurt than eating and sleeping. what shall i do!" then i wept sore and said to her, "have compassion on me and tell me what to do, so may god have compassion on thee: else i shall die." now my cousin loved me very dearly; so she replied, "on my head and eyes. but, o my cousin, as i have told thee often, could i go in and out at will, i would very soon bring you together and cover you both with my skirt: nor would i do this but hoping to win thy favour. god willing, i will do my utmost endeavour to bring about your union; but hearken thou to me and do as i bid thee. go to the garden at nightfall and sit down in the same place and look thou eat not, for eating induces sleep; and beware of sleeping, for she will not come to thee, till a fourth part of the night be passed. and may god save thee from her mischief!" when i heard this, i rejoiced and besought god to hasten the night. as soon as it was dark, i rose to go, and my cousin said to me, "if thou foregather with her, repeat to her the verse i taught thee, at the time of leave-taking." "on my head and eyes," replied i, and going out, repaired to the garden, where i found all as on the previous night, with meat and drink spread ready, and dessert and flowers and so forth. i went up into the pavilion and smelt the odour of the viands and my soul lusted after them; but i forbore awhile, till at last i could no longer restrain my appetite. so i went up to the table, and raising the cover, found a dish of fowls, surrounded by four smaller dishes, containing various meats. i ate a mouthful of each dish and a piece of meat and as much as i would of the sweetmeat: then i tasted a dish of rice dressed with honey and saffron and liking it, supped of it by the spoonful, till i was satisfied and my belly was full. with this, my eyelids became heavy; so i took a cushion and put it under my head, saying, "surely i can recline upon it, without going to sleep." then i closed my eyes and slept, nor did i wake till the sun had risen, when i found myself lying on the bare marble, with a die of bone, a play-stick,[fn# ] a green date-stone[fn# ] and a carob-bean on my stomach. there was no furniture nor aught else in the place, and it was as if there had been nothing there yesterday. so i rose and shaking all these things off me, went out in a rage, and going home, found my cousin sighing and repeating the following verses: wasted body and heart a-bleeding for despair and tears that down my cheeks stream on and on for e'er, and a beloved one persistent in disdain; yet all a fair one does must needs be right and fair. o cousin mine, thou'st filled my heart with longing pain and wounded are mine eyes with tears that never spare. i chid her and reviled her, at which she wept; then wiping away her tears, she came up to me and kissed me and pressed me to her bosom, whilst i held back from her and blamed myself. then she said to me, "o my cousin, meseems thou didst sleep again last night?" "yes," replied i; "and when i awoke, i found on my stomach a die of bone, a play-stick, a green date-stone and a carob-bean, and i know not why she did this." then i wept and said to her, "expound to me her meaning in this and tell me what i shall do and help me in this my strait." "on my head and eyes," answered she. "know then that, by the figure of the die and the play-stick, she says to thee, 'thy body is present, but thy heart absent. love is not thus: so do not reckon thyself among lovers.' as for the date-stone, it is as if she said to thee, 'if thou wert in love, thy heart would be on fire with passion and thou wouldst not taste the delight of sleep; for the sweet of love is like a green date and kindles a fire in the entrails.' as for the carob-bean, it signifies, 'the lover's heart is wearied; so be thou patient under our separation, even as job was patient.'" when i heard this, fires raged in my entrails and grief redoubled upon my heart and i cried out, saying, "god ordained sleep to me, of my ill-fortune!" then i said to her, "o my cousin, i conjure thee by my life, contrive me some device whereby i may win to her!" she wept and answered, "o aziz, o my cousin, verily my heart is full of melancholy thought and i cannot speak: but go thou again to-night to the same place and look that thou sleep not, and thou shalt surely attain thy desire. this is my counsel and peace be on thee." "god willing," said i, "i will not sleep, but will do as thou biddest me." then she rose and set food before me, saying, "eat now what may suffice thee, that thy heart may be free." so i ate my fill, and when the night came, my cousin rose and bringing me a sumptuous suit of clothes, clad me therein. then she made me promise to repeat the verse aforesaid to my mistress and bade me beware of sleeping. so i left her and repairing to the garden, went up into the pavilion, where i occupied myself with gazing on the garden, holding my eyes open with my fingers and wagging my head from side to side, as the night darkened on me. presently i grew hungry with watching, and the smell of the meats, being wafted towards me, increased my hunger: so i went up to the table and taking off the cover, ate a piece of meat and a mouthful of every dish; after which i turned to the vessel of wine, saying in myself, "i will drink one cup." so i drank one cup and a second and a third, till i had drunk full half a score, when the air smote me and i fell to the earth like a dead man. i lay thus till day, when i awoke and found myself without the garden, with a large sharp knife and an iron dirhem[fn# ] on my stomach. i arose trembling and taking the knife and the dirhem, went home where i found my cousin saying, "verily, i am in this house wretched and sorrowful, having no helper but weeping." when i entered, i fell down at full length and fainted, throwing the knife and the dirhem from my hand. as soon as i came to myself, i told her what had passed and said, "indeed, i shall never enjoy my desire." the sight of my tears and my passion redoubled her distress on my account, and she said, "verily, i can no more. i warned thee against sleeping; but thou wouldst not listen to my counsel, and my words profited thee nothing." "by allah," cried i, "i conjure thee to explain to me the meaning of the knife and the dirhem." "by the dirhem," replied she, "she alludes to her right eye, and it is as if she said to thee, 'i swear, by the lord of all creatures and by my right eye, that, if thou come here again and sleep, i will slay thee with this knife!' and indeed, o my cousin, i fear for thee from her malice; my heart is full of anguish for thee and i cannot speak. nevertheless, if thou canst be sure of thyself not to sleep, return to her and thou shalt attain thy desire; but if thou sleep, according to thy wont, she will surely slay thee." "o my cousin," said i, "what shall i do? i conjure thee, by allah, to help me in this my affliction!" "on my head and eyes," replied she. "if thou wilt hearken to me and do as i say, thou shalt have thy will." quoth i, "i will indeed hearken to thee and do thy bidding." and she said, "when it is time for thee to go, i will tell thee." then she pressed me to her bosom and laying me on the bed, rubbed my feet, till drowsiness overcame me and i was drowned in sleep; when she took a fan and seating herself at my head, ceased not to fan my face till the end of the day. then she awoke me, and i found her sitting at my head weeping, with the fan in her hand and her clothes wet with tears. when she saw that i was awake, she wiped away her tears and fetching food, set it before me. i refused it, but she said to me, "didst thou not promise to do my bidding? eat." so i ate and did not cross her, and she proceeded to put the food into my mouth and i to eat, till i was full. then she made me drink sherbet of jujube-fruit and sugar and washed my hands and dried them with a napkin; after which she sprinkled me with rose-water, and i sat with her awhile, restored to health and spirits. when the night had closed in, she dressed me and said to me, "o my cousin, watch all night and sleep not; for she will not come to thee this time till the last of the night, and god willing, thou shalt foregather with her this night: but do not forget my charge." then she wept, and my heart was sore for her by reason of her much weeping, and i said to her, "what is the charge thou gavest me?" "when thou art about to take leave of her," replied she, "repeat to her the verse i taught thee." so i left her, full of gladness, and repairing to the garden, entered the pavilion, where i sat down satiated with food, and watched till a fourth part of the night was past. the night was tedious to me as it were a year: but i remained awake, till it was three quarters spent and the cocks cried out and i became sore an hungred for long watching. so i went up to the table and ate my fill, whereupon my head grew heavy and i was on the point of falling asleep, when i espied a light making towards me from afar. so i sprang up and washed my hands and mouth and roused myself; and before long, up came the lady, accompanied by ten damsels, in whose midst she shone, like the full moon among the stars. she was clad in a dress of green satin, embroidered with red gold, and she was as says the poet: she lords it over her lovers in garments all of green, with open vest and collars and flowing hair beseen. "what is thy name?" i asked her, and she replied, "i'm she who burns the hearts of lovers on coals of love and teen." i made my moan unto her of passion and desire; "upon a rock," she answered, "thy plaints are wasted clean." "even if thy heart," i told her, "be rock in very deed, yet hath god made fair water well from the rock, i ween." when she saw me, she laughed and said, "how is it that thou art awake and that sleep hath not overcome thee. now that thou hast passed the night without sleep, i know that thou art in love, for it is the mark of a lover to watch the night for stress of longing." then she signed to her women and they went away, whereupon she came up to me and strained me to her bosom and kissed me and sucked my upper lip, whilst i kissed her and sucked her lower lip. i put my hand to her waist and pressed it and we came to the ground at the same moment. then she undid her trousers and they fell down to her anklets and we fell to clipping and toying and cricketing and speaking softly and biting and intertwining of legs and going round about the house and the corners thereof,[fn# ] till her senses failed her for delight and she swooned away. and indeed that night was heart-gladdening and eye-refreshing, even as says the poet: the sweetest of all the nights that ever the world can show! the cup in it stinted never from hand to hand to go. therein i did dissever mine eyes from sleep and made the ear-drop[fn# ] and the anklet[fn# ] foregather evermo'. we lay together till the morning, when i would have gone away, but she stopped me, saying, "stay, till i tell thee somewhat and give thee a charge." so i waited, whilst she undid a handkerchief and taking out this piece of linen, spread it out before me. i saw worked on it these two figures of gazelles and admired it exceedingly; and she said to me, "keep this carefully, for it is my sister's work." "what is thy sister's name?" asked i, and she answered, "nour el huda." then i took the piece of linen and went away, joyful, after we had agreed that i should visit her every night in the garden; but in my joy i forgot to repeat to her the verse my cousin had taught me. when i reached home, i found azizeh lying down; but, as soon as she saw me, she rose, with the tears running from her eyes, and coming up to me, kissed me on the breast and said, "didst thou repeat the verse to her, as i enjoined thee?" "i forgot it," answered i; "and here is what made me forget it." and i threw the piece of linen down before her. she rose and sat down again, but was unable to contain herself and her eyes ran over with tears, whilst she repeated the following verses: o thou that seekest severance, forbear; let not the fair delude thee with their sleight. softly, for fortune's nature is deceit and parting is the end of love-delight. then she said, "o my cousin, give me this piece of linen." so i gave it to her, and she took it and unfolding it, saw what was therein. when the time came for my going to my mistress, she said to me, "go and peace be with thee; and when thou art about to leave her, repeat to her the verse i taught thee and which thou forgottest." quoth i, "repeat it to me." so she repeated it. then i went to the garden and entered the pavilion, where i found the lady awaiting me. when she saw me, she rose and kissed me and made me sit in her lap; and we ate and drank and did our desire as on the previous night. in the morning, i repeated to her my cousin's verse: tell me, o lovers, for god's sake i do entreat of you, when love is sore upon a maid, alack! what shall she do? when she heard this, her eyes filled with tears and she answered with the following verse: against her passion she must strive and hide her case from view and humble and submissive be, whatever may ensue. this i committed to memory and returned home, rejoiced at having done my cousin's errand. when i entered the house, i found azizeh lying on the bed and my mother at her head, weeping over her condition. when the latter saw me, she said to me, "out on thee for a cousin! how couldst thou leave the daughter of thine uncle in ill case and not ask what ailed her?" azizeh, seeing me, raised her head and sat up and said, "o aziz, didst thou repeat the verse to her?" "yes," replied i; "and she wept and recited, in answer, another verse, which i remember." "tell it me," said azizeh. i did so; and she wept and repeated the following verses: how shall she temper her desire, it doth her fire undo, and still with each recurring day her heart is cleft in two. indeed, she strives for patience fair, but findeth nought in her except a heart too weak to bear the love that makes her rue. "when thou goest to thy mistress as of wont," added she, "repeat to her these verses also." "i hear and obey," answered i and betook myself, at the wonted time, to the garden, where there passed between my mistress and myself what the tongue fails to describe. as i was about to leave her, i repeated to her my cousin's verses; whereupon the tears streamed from her eyes and she replied: if she her secret cannot hide and lack of patience due, i see no help for her but death, of all things old and new. then i returned home, where i found azizeh fallen of a swoon and my mother sitting at her head. when she heard my voice, she opened her eyes and said, "o aziz, didst thou repeat the verses to her?" "yes," answered i; "and she replied with this verse." and i repeated it; whereupon my cousin swooned again, and when she came to herself, she recited the following verses: "i hearken, i obey, i die; yet bear to one who slew my hopes of union and delight, my greeting and adieu. fair fall the happy of their joy, alack! and fair befall the wretched lover of the cup that's set her lips unto." when it was night, i repaired, as of wont, to the garden, where i found my mistress awaiting me. we sat down and ate and drank, after which we did our need and slept till the morning; and as i was going away, i repeated to her azizeh's verses. when she heard them, she gave a loud cry and was greatly moved and exclaimed, "alas! alas! she who said these words is dead!" then she wept and said to me, "out on thee! what kin is she, who spoke thus, to thee?" "she is the daughter of my father's brother," replied i. "thou liest," rejoined she. "by allah, were she thy cousin, thou wouldst have loved her even as she loved thee! it is thou who hast killed her, and may god in like manner kill thee! by allah, hadst thou told me thou hadst a cousin, i would not have admitted thee to my favours!" quoth i, "indeed, she is my cousin, and it was she who interpreted to me thy signs and taught me how to come at thee and how i should deal with thee; and but for her, i had never won to thee." "did she then know of us?" asked she. "yes," answered i; and she exclaimed, "god give thee sorrow of thy youth, even as thou hast wasted hers!" then she said to me, "go and see after her." so i went away, troubled at heart, and when i reached our street, i heard a sound of wailing, and asking about it, was answered, "we found azizeh dead behind the door." i entered the house, and when my mother saw me, she said to me, "her death lies at thy door, and may god not acquit thee of her blood! out on thee for a cousin!" then came my father, and we laid her out and did her the last offices and buried her. moreover, we let make recitations of the koran over her tomb and abode there three days, after which we returned home, grieving for her. when i entered the house, my mother came to me and said, "i would fain know what thou didst to her, to break her heart, for, o my son, i questioned her many times of the cause of her malady, but she would tell me nothing. so, god on thee, tell me what thou didst to her, that she died." quoth i, "i did nothing." "may god avenge her on thee!" rejoined my mother. "she told me nothing, but kept her secret till she died, of her affection for thee. but when she died, i was with her, and she opened her eyes and said to me, 'o wife of my uncle, may god hold thy son guiltless of my blood and punish him not for that he hath done with me! and now he transporteth me from this transitory house of the world to the other and eternal dwelling-place.' 'o my daughter,' said i, 'god preserve thee and preserve thy youth!' and i questioned her of the cause of her illness; but she made me no answer. then she smiled and said, 'o wife of my uncle, when my cousin is about to repair to the place whither he goes every day, bid him repeat these two words at his going away: "faith is fair and perfidy foul." for this is of my tenderness over him, that i am solicitous for him in my lifetime and after my death.' then she gave me somewhat for thee and made me swear that i would not give it to thee, till i should see thee weeping for her and lamenting her death. the thing is with me, and when i see thee as i have said, i will give it to thee." "show it me," quoth i: but she would not. then i gave myself up to my pleasures and thought no more of my cousin's death; for i was light-witted and would fain have been with my beloved day and night. so hardly had the night fallen, when i betook myself to the garden, where i found the lady sitting on coals of fire, for much waiting. as soon as she saw me, she ran to me and throwing her arms about my neck, enquired of my cousin. "she is dead," replied i; "and we have caused litanies and recitations of the koran to be performed for her; and it is now four nights since she died." when she heard this, she shrieked aloud and wept, saying, "did i not tell thee that thou hadst slain her? hadst thou let me know of her before her death, i would have requited her the kindness she did me, in that she served me and brought thee to me; for but for her, we had never come together; and i fear lest some calamity befall thee by reason of thy sin against her." quoth i, "she acquitted me before she died." and i repeated to her what my mother had told me. "god on thee," rejoined she, "when thou returnest to thy mother, learn what it is she hath for thee." quoth i, "my mother also said to me, 'before thy cousin died, she laid a charge upon me, saying, "when thy son is about to go whither of wont, teach him these two words, 'faith is fair and perfidy foul.'" when my mistress heard this, she exclaimed, "the mercy of god the most high be upon her! indeed, she hath delivered thee from me, for i had it in mind to do thee a mischief, but now i will not hurt thee nor trouble thee." i wondered at this and said to her, "what then didst thou purpose to do with me, and we lovers?" quoth she, "thou art infatuated with me; for thou art young and witless; thy heart is free from guile and thou knowest not our perfidy and malice. were she yet alive, she would protect thee, for she is the cause of thy preservation and hath delivered thee from destruction. and now i charge thee that thou speak not with neither accost any of our sex, young or old, for thou art young and simple and knowest not the wiles of women and their malice, and she who explained the signs to thee is dead. and indeed i fear for thee, lest thou fall into some calamity and find none to deliver thee from it, now that thy cousin is dead. alas, the pity of her! would god i had known her before her death, that i might have visited her and requited her the fair service she did me! the mercy of the most high be upon her, for she kept her secret and revealed not what she suffered, and but for her, thou hadst never won to me! but there is one thing i desire of thee." "what is it?" said i. "it is," answered she, "that thou bring me to her grave, that i may visit her in the tomb wherein she is and write some verses thereon." "to-morrow," replied i, "if it be the will of god." then i lay with her that night, and she ceased not, from time to time, to say, "would thou hadst told me of thy cousin, before her death!" and i said to her, "what is the meaning of the two words she taught me?" but she made me no answer. as soon as it was day, she rose and taking a purse of dinars, said to me, "come, show me her tomb, that i may visit it and grave some verses thereon and build a dome over it and commend her to the mercy of god and bestow these dinars in alms for her soul." "i hear and obey," replied i and went on before her, whilst she followed me, giving alms by the way and saying to all to whom she gave, "this is an alms for the soul of azizeh, who kept her counsel, till she drank the cup of death, and discovered not the secret of her passion." and she stinted not thus to give alms and say, "for azizeh's soul," till the purse was empty and we came to the burial-place. when she saw the tomb, she wept and threw herself upon it; then pulling out a graver of steel and a light mallet, she graved the following verses, in fine characters, upon the stone at the head of the tomb: i passed by a ruined tomb, in the midst of a garden-way, upon whose letterless stone seven blood-red anemones lay. "who sleeps in this unmarked grave?" i said; and the earth, "bend low; for a lover lies here and waits for the resurrection day." "god help thee, o victim of love," i cried, "and bring thee to dwell in the highest of all the heavens of paradise, i pray! how wretched are lovers all, even in the sepulchre, when their very graves are covered with ruin and decay! lo, if i might, i would plant thee a garden round about and with my streaming tears the thirst of its flowers allay!" then she returned to the garden, weeping, and i with her, and she said to me, "by allah, thou shalt never leave me!" "i hear and obey," answered i. then i devoted myself wholly to her and paid her frequent visits, and she was good and generous to me. as often as i passed the night with her, she would make much of me and ask me of the two words my cousin told my mother, and i would repeat them to her. i abode thus a whole year, till, what with eating and drinking and dalliance and wearing change of rich raiment, i waxed stout and fat, so that i lost all thought of sorrow and anxiety and forgot my cousin azizeh. at the end of this time, i went one day to the bath, where i refreshed myself and put on a rich suit of clothes, scented with various perfumes; then, coming out i drank a cup of wine and smelt the fragrance of my new clothes, whereupon my breast dilated, for i knew not the perfidy of fortune nor the calamities of events. when the hour of evening-prayer came, i thought to repair to my mistress; but being heated with wine, i knew not where i went, so that, on the way, my drunkenness turned me into a by-street called en nekib, where, as i was going along, i met an old woman with a lighted flambeau in one hand and a folded letter in the other; and she was weeping and repeating the following verses: o welcome, bearer of glad news, thrice welcome to my sight; how sweet and solaceful to me thy tidings of delight! thou that the loved one's greeting bringst unto my longing soul, god's peace, what while the zephyr blows, dwell with thee day and night! when she saw me, she said to me, "o my son, canst thou read?" and i, of my officiousness, answered, "yes, o old aunt." "then, take this letter," rejoined she, "and read it to me." so i took the letter, and unfolding it, read it to her. now it contained the greetings of an absent man to his friends; and when she heard its purport, she rejoiced and was glad and called down blessings on me, saying, "may god dispel thine anxiety, as thou hast dispelled mine!" then she took the letter and walked on. meanwhile, i was seized with a pressing need and squatted down on my heels to make water. when i had finished, i stood up and cleansed myself with pebbles, then shaking down my clothes, was about to go my way, when the old woman came up to me again and bending down to kiss my hand, said, "o my lord, god give thee joy of thy youth! i entreat thee to go with me to yonder door, for i told them what thou readest to me of the letter, and they believe me not: so come with me two steps and read them the letter from behind the door and accept my devout prayers." "what is the history of this letter?" asked i; and she answered, "o my son, it is from my son, who hath been absent from us these ten years. he set out with merchandise and tarried long in foreign parts, till we lost hope of him, supposing him to be dead. now comes this letter from him, and he has a sister, who weeps for him day and night; so i said to her, 'he is in good health and case.' but she will not believe and says, 'thou must needs bring me one who will read the letter in my presence, that my heart may be set at rest and my mind eased.' thou knowest, o my son, that those who love are prone to imagine evil: so do me the favour to go with me and read the letter, standing without the door, whilst i call his sister to listen behind the curtain, so shalt thou dispel our anxiety and fulfil our need. quoth the prophet (whom god bless and preserve), 'he who eases an afflicted one of one of the troubles of this world, god will ease him of a hundred troubles;' and according to another tradition, 'whoso relieves his brother of one of the troubles of this world, god will relieve him of two-and-seventy troubles of the day of resurrection.' and i have betaken myself to thee; so do not disappoint me." "i hear and obey," replied i. "do thou go before me." so she went on and i followed her a little way, till she came to the gate of a large handsome house, whose door was plated with copper. i stood without the door, whilst the old woman cried out in persian, and before i could think, a damsel ran up, with a nimble and agile step. she had tucked up her trousers to her knees, so that i saw a pair of legs that confounded mind and eye, for they were like columns of alabaster, adorned with anklets of gold, set with jewels. as says the poet, describing her: o thou who barest thy leg for lovers to look upon, that by the sight of the leg the rest they may infer, who passest the cup around midst thy gallants, brisk and free, nought seduces the folk but the cup[fn# ] and the cup-bearer.[fn# ] she had seemingly been engaged in work of some kind, for she had tucked the end of her shift within the ribbon of her trousers and thrown the skirt of her robe over her arm. her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, so that i could see her white wrists and forearms, on which were two pairs of bracelets, with clasps of great pearls and round her neck was a collar of precious stones. her ears were adorned with pendants of pearls and on her head she wore a kerchief of brocade, embroidered with jewels of price. when i saw her i was confounded at her beauty, for she was like the shining sun. then she said, with clear and dulcet speech, never heard i sweeter, "o my mother, is this he who cometh to read the letter?" "it is," replied the old woman; and she put out her hand to me with the letter. now she was standing about half a rod within the door; so i stretched out my hand and put my head and shoulders within the door, thinking to draw near her and read the letter, when behold, before i knew what she would be at, the old woman thrust her head into my back and pushed me forward, with the letter in my hand, so that before i could think, i found myself in the vestibule. then she entered, swiftlier than the blinding lightning, and had but to shut the door. when the damsel saw me in the vestibule, she came up to me and straining me to her bosom, threw me to the floor, then knelt upon my breast and kneaded my belly with her hands, till i lost my senses. then she took me by the hand and led me unable to resist, for the violence of her pressure, through seven vestibules, whilst the old woman went before us with the lighted candle, till we came to a great saloon, with four daises, in which a horseman might play at ball. here she released me, saying, "open thine eyes." so i opened them, still giddy for the excess of her pressing and pummelling, and saw that the whole place was built of the finest alabaster and hung and carpeted with stuffs of silk and brocade, with cushions and divans of the same. therein also were two benches of brass and a couch of red gold set with pearls and jewels, befitting none save kings like unto thee. then said she, "o aziz, which wouldst thou rather, life or death?" "life," answered i; and she said, "if life be liefer to thee, thou must marry me." quoth i, "it were odious to me to marry the like of thee." "if thou marry me," rejoined she, "thou wilt at least be safe from the daughter of delileh the crafty." "and who is she?" asked i. she laughed and replied, "how comes it that thou knowest her not, seeing that to-day thou hast companied with her a year and four months, may god the most high destroy her and afflict her with one worse than herself! by allah, there lives not a more perfidious than she! how many hath she not slain before thee and what deeds hath she not done! nor can i understand how thou hast been so long in her company, yet hath she not killed thee nor done thee any hurt." when i heard this, i marvelled exceedingly and said, "who made thee to know of her, o my lady?" "i know of her," said she, "as the age knows of its calamities: but now i would fain have thee tell me all that has passed between you, that i may know the cause of thy deliverance from her." so i told her all that had happened, including the story of my cousin azizeh. when she heard of the latter's death, her eyes ran over with tears and she smote hand upon hand and cried out, "god have mercy on her, for she lost her youth in his service, and may he replace her to thee! by allah, o aziz, it was she who was the cause of thy preservation from the daughter of delileh and but for her, thou hadst been lost! now she is dead and i fear for thee from the other's perfidy and mischief; but my heart is full and i cannot speak." "by allah," quoth i, "all this happened, even as thou sayest!" and she shook her head and said, "there lives not this day the like of azizeh." "and when she was dying," continued i, "she bade me repeat to my mistress these two words, 'faith is fair and perfidy foul.'" when she heard this, she exclaimed, "by allah, o aziz, it was this that saved thee from dying by her hand: and now my heart is at ease for thee from her for she will never slay thee and thy cousin preserved thee, both in her lifetime and after her death. by allah, i have desired thee this many a day, but could not get at thee till now and except by a trick, which succeeded with thee for thou art inexperienced and knowest not the malice of women nor the wiles of old women." "no, by allah!" rejoined i. then said she to me, "be of good cheer and take comfort; the dead is in the mercy of god and the living shall be fairly entreated. thou art a handsome youth, and i do not desire thee but according to the ordinance of god and of his prophet, on whom be peace and salvation! whatever thou desirest of money and stuff, thou shalt have without stint, and i will not impose any toil on thee, for there is with me always bread baked and water in the pitcher. all i ask of thee is that thou do with me even as the cock does." "and what is it the cock does?" asked i. at this she laughed and clapped her hands and fell over on her back for excess of laughter: then she sat up and said, "o light of my eyes, dost thou not know what the cock's business is?" "no, by allah!" replied i; and she said, "the cock's business is to eat and drink and tread." i was abashed at her words and said, "is that the cock's business?" "yes," answered she; "and all i ask of thee now is to gird thy loins and strengthen thy resolution and swive thy best." then she clapped her hands and cried out, saying, "o my mother, bring hither those who are with thee." whereupon in came the old woman, carrying a veil of silk and accompanied by four lawful witnesses, who saluted me and sat down. then she lighted four candles, whilst the young lady covered herself with the veil and deputed one of the witnesses to execute the contract on her behalf. so they drew up the marriage contract and she acknowledged to have received the whole of her dowry, both precedent and contingent, and to be indebted to me in the sum of ten thousand dirhems. then he gave the witnesses their fee and they withdrew whence they came; whereupon she put off her clothes and abode in a shift of fine silk, laced with gold, after which she took me by the hand and carried me up to the couch, saying, "there is no blame in what is lawful." she lay down on her back and drawing me on to her breast, heaved a sigh and followed it up with an amorous gesture. then she pulled up the shift above her breasts, and when i saw her thus, i could not choose but thrust into her, after i had sucked her lips, whilst she moaned and made a show of bashfulness and wept without tears. and indeed the case reminded me of the saying of the poet: when i drew up her shift and discovered the terrace-roof of her kaze, i found it as strait as my humour or eke my worldly ways. so i drove it incontinent in, halfway; and she heaved a sigh. "for what dost thou sigh?" quoth i. "for the rest of it, sure," she says. then said she, "o my beloved, to it and do thy best, for i am thine handmaid. my life on thee, give it me, all of it, that i may take it in my hand and thrust it into my entrails!" and she ceased not to excite me with sobs and sighs and amorous gestures, in the intervals of kissing and clipping, till we attained the supreme felicity and the term of our desires. we lay together till the morning, when i would have gone out; but she came up to me, laughing, and said, "thinkest thou that going out of the bath is the same as going in?[fn# ] verily, i believe thou deemest me to be the like of the daughter of delileh. beware of such a thought, for thou art my husband by contract and according to law. if thou be drunken, return to thy right mind and know that this house is opened but one day in every year. go down and look at the great door." so i went down and found the door locked and nailed up and returned and told her so. "know, o aziz," said she, "that we have in this house flour and grain and fruits and pomegranates and sugar and meat and sheep and fowls and so forth, enough to serve us for many years; and henceforth, the door will not be opened till after the lapse of a whole year, nor shalt thou find thyself without till then." quoth i, "there is no power and no virtue but in god!" "and what can this irk thee," rejoined she, "seeing thou knowest the cock's craft, of which i told thee?" then she laughed and i laughed too, and i conformed to what she said and abode with her, plying the cock's craft, eating and drinking and cricketing, twelve whole months, during which time she conceived by me and brought me a son. at the end of the year, i heard the door opened and men came in with manchets and flour and sugar. thereupon, i would have gone out, but my wife said, "wait till nightfall and go out as thou camest in." so i waited till the hour of evening-prayer, and was about to go forth in fear and trembling, when she stopped me, saying, "by allah, i will not let thee go, except thou swear to return this night before the closing of the door." i agreed to this, and she made me take a solemn oath by sword and koran and the oath of divorce to boot that i would return to her. then i left her and going straight to the garden, found the door open as usual; whereat i was angry and said to myself, "i have been absent a whole year and come here at unawares and find the place open as of wont! i wonder, is the damsel still in her old case? algates i must enter and see, before i go to my mother, more by token that it is now nightfall." so i entered and making for the pavilion, found the daughter of delileh sitting there with her head on her knee and her hand to her cheek. her colour was changed and her eyes sunken; but when she saw me, she exclaimed, "praised be god for thy safety!" and would have risen, but fell down for joy. i was abashed before her and hung my head; but presently went up to her, and kissing her, said, "how knewest thou that i should come to thee to-night?" "i knew it not," replied she. "by allah, this whole year past i have not tasted sleep, but have watched every night, expecting thee, from the day thou wentest out from me and i gave thee the new suit of clothes, and thou didst promise me to go to the bath and come back! so i abode awaiting thee that night and a second and a third; but thou camest not till now, and i ever expecting thy coming, for this is the way of lovers. and now i would have thee tell me what has been the cause of thine absence this year long." so i told her all that had happened: and when she knew that i was married, her colour paled. "i have come to thee to-night," added i; "but i must leave thee before day." quoth she, "doth it not suffice her to have tricked thee into marrying her and kept thee prisoner with her a whole year, but she must make thee take the oath of divorce to return to her before morning and not allow thee to divert thyself with thy mother or me nor suffer thee to pass one night with either of us, away from her? how, then, must it be with one from whom thou hast been absent a whole year, and i knew thee before she did? but may god have compassion on thy cousin azizeh, for there befell her what never befell any and she endured what never any endured else and died, oppressed and rejected of thee; yet was it she protected thee against me. indeed, i thought thou didst love me, so let thee take thine own way; else had i not let thee go safe and sound, when i had it in my power to hold thee in duresse and destroy thee." then she wept and waxed wroth and shuddered in my face and looked at me with angry eyes. when i saw this, i was terrified at her and trembled in every nerve, for she was like a dreadful ghoul and i like a bean over the fire. then said she, "thou art of no use to me, now thou art married and hast a child, nor art thou any longer fit for my company. i care only for bachelors and not for married men; for they profit us nothing. thou hast sold me for yonder stinking nosegay; but by allah, i will make the baggage's heart ache for thee, for thou shalt not live either for me or for her!" then she gave a loud cry, and ere i could think, up came ten damsels and threw me on the ground; whereupon she rose and taking a knife, said, "i will slaughter thee like a he-goat; and that will be less than thy desert, for thy behaviour to me and to thy cousin before me." when i found myself at the mercy of her women, with my cheeks stained with dust, and saw her sharpen the knife, i made sure of death and cried out to her for mercy. but she only redoubled in inhumanity and ordered the maids to bind my hands behind me, which they did, and throwing me on my back, sat down on my stomach and held my head. then two of them sat on my shins, whilst other two held my hands, and she bade a third pair beat me. so they beat me till i lost my senses and my voice failed. when i revived, i said to myself, "it were easier and better for me to have my throat cut than to be beaten thus!" and i remembered how my cousin used to say to me, "god keep thee from her mischief!" and cried out and wept, till my voice failed and i remained without breath or motion. then she sharpened the knife and said to the girls, "uncover him." with this god inspired me to repeat to her the two words my cousin had bequeathed me, and i said, "o my lady, dost thou not know that faith is fair and perfidy foul?" when she heard this, she cried out and said, "god pity thee, azizeh, and give thee paradise in exchange for thy wasted youth! verily, she served thee in her lifetime and after her death, and now she has saved thee alive out of my hands with these two words. nevertheless, i cannot leave thee thus, but i must e'en set my mark on thee, to spite yonder shameless baggage, who has kept thee from me." then she called out to the damsels and bade them bind my feet with cords and sit on me. they did her bidding, whilst i lay insensible, and she fetched a pan of copper and setting it on a brazier, poured into it oil of sesame, in which she fried cheese.[fn# ] then she came up to me and unfastening my trousers, tied a cord round my cullions and giving it to two of her women, bade them pull at it. they did so, and i swooned away and was for excess of pain in a world other than this. then she came with a steel scalpel and cut off my yard, so that i remained like a woman: after which she seared the wound with the boiling oil and rubbed it with a powder, and i the while unconscious. when i came to myself, the blood had ceased to flow; so she bade the damsels unbind me and gave me a cup of wine to drink. then said she to me, "go now to her whom thou hast married and who grudged me a single night, and the mercy of god be on thy cousin azizeh, who discovered not her secret! indeed she was the cause of thy preservation, for hadst thou not repeated those words to me, i had surely slain thee. rise and go to whom thou wilt, for thou hadst nothing of mine, save what i have cut off, and now i have no part in thee, nor have i any further care or occasion for thee: so begone about thy business and bless thy cousin's memory!" with that, she gave me a push with her foot, and i rose, hardly able to walk, and went little by little, till i came to the door of my wife's house i found it open, so i threw myself within it and fell down in a swoon; whereupon my wife came out and lifting me up, carried me into the saloon and found that i was like unto a woman. then i fell into a deep sleep; but when i awoke, i found myself thrown down at the gate of the garden. i rose, groaning for pain and misery, and made my way to my mother's house, where i found her weeping for me and saying, "o my son, would i knew where thou art!" so i drew near and threw myself upon her, and when she saw me, she knew that i was ill, for my face was at once pale and livid. then i called to mind my cousin and all the kind offices she had been wont to do me and knew that she had indeed loved me; so i wept for her and my mother wept also. presently, she said to me, "o my son, thy father is dead." at this my anguish redoubled, and i wept till i lost my senses. when i came to myself, i looked at the place where azizeh had been used to sit and wept anew, till i all but fainted for excess of grief; and i ceased not to weep and lament thus till midnight, when my mother said to me, "thy father has been dead these ten days." "i shall never think of any one but my cousin azizeh," answered i; "and indeed i deserve all that hath befallen me, in that i abandoned her who loved me so dear." "what hath befallen thee?" asked my mother. so i told her all that had happened, and she wept awhile, then rose and set meat and drink before me. i ate a little and drank, after which i repeated my story to her, and she exclaimed, "praised be god that she did but this to thee and forbore to slay thee!" then she tended me and medicined me till i regained my health: and when my recovery was complete, she said to me, "o my son, i will now bring out to thee that which thy cousin committed to me in trust for thee; for it is thine. she made me swear not to give it thee, till i should see thee recalling her to mind and weeping over her and thine affections severed from other than her; and now i see these conditions fulfilled in thee." so she arose and opening a chest, took out the piece of linen, with the figures of gazelles worked thereon, which i had given azizeh; and i opened it and found written therein the following verses: who moved thee, fairest one, to use this rigour of disdain and slay, with stress of love, the souls that sigh for thee in vain? if thou recall me not to mind beyond our parting-day, god knows the thought of thee with me for ever shall remain! thou smitest me with cruel words, that yet are sweet to me: wilt thou one day, though but in dreams, to look upon me deign? i had not thought the ways of love were languishment and woe and stress of soul until, alas! to love thee i was fain. i knew not weariness till i the captive of thine eyes became and all my soul was bound in passion's fatal chain. even my foes have ruth on me and pity my distress: but thou, o heart of steel, wilt ne'er have mercy on my pain. by god, although i die, i'll ne'er forget thee, o my hope, nor comfort take, though life itself for love should waste and wane! when i read these verses, i wept sore and buffeted my face; then i unfolded the scroll, and there fell from it another. i opened it and found these words written therein: "know, o my cousin, that i acquit thee of my blood and i beseech god to make accord between thee and her whom thou lovest: but if aught befall thee through the daughter of delileh the crafty, return thou not to her neither resort to any other woman and bear thine affliction patiently, for were not the ordained term of thy life a long one, thou hadst perished long ago: but praised be god, who hath appointed my last day before thine! my peace be upon thee; preserve the cloth with the gazelles figured thereon and let it not leave thee, for it used to keep me company, whenas thou wert absent from me; but i conjure thee, by allah, if thou chance to fall in with her who wrought these gazelles and it be in thy power to foregather with her, hold aloof from her and do not let her approach thee nor marry her; and if thou happen not on her and find no way to her, look thou company not with any other of her sex. know that she who wrought these gazelles is the daughter of the king of the camphor islands and every year she works a like cloth and despatches it to far countries, that her report and the beauty of her broidery, which none in the world can match, may be bruited abroad, as for thy beloved, the daughter of delileh, this cloth came to her hand, and she used to ensnare folk with it, showing it to them and saying, 'i have a sister who wrought this.' but she lied in this saying, may god bring her to shame! this, then, is my parting counsel to thee, and i have not charged thee thus, but because i know that, after my death, the world will be straitened on thee and belike, by reason of this, thou wilt leave thy native land and wander in foreign countries, and hearing of her who wrought these figures, be minded to foregather with her. then wilt thou remember me and it shall not avail thee nor wilt thou know my value till after my death." when i had read the scroll and understood what was written therein, i fell again to weeping, and my mother wept because i did; and i ceased not to gaze upon it and weep till nightfall. i abode thus a whole year, at the end of which time the merchants, with whom i am in this caravan, prepared to set out from my native town, and my mother counselled me to equip myself and journey with them, so haply i might find forgetfulness and my sorrow cease from me, saying, "take comfort and put away from thee this mourning and travel for a year or two or three, till the caravan returns, when peradventure thy breast may be dilated and thy heart lightened." she ceased not to persuade me thus, till i provided myself with merchandise and set out with the caravan. but all the time of my journey, my tears have never ceased flowing; and at every station where we halt, i open this piece of linen and look on these gazelles and call to mind my cousin azizeh and weep for her as thou hast seen, for indeed she loved me very dearly and died, oppressed and rejected of me; i did her nought but ill and she did me nought but good. when these merchants return from their journey, i shall return with them, by which time i shall have been a whole year absent; yet is my sorrow greater than ever and my grief and affliction were but increased by my visit to the islands of camphor and the castle of crystal. the islands in question are seven in number and are ruled by a king, shehriman by name, who hath a daughter called dunya; and i was told that it was she who wrought these gazelles and that this thou seest was of her broidery. when i knew this, yearning redoubled on me and i became a prey to consuming languor and drowned in the sea of melancholy thought; and i wept over myself, for that i was become even as a woman, without manly gear like other men, and that there was no recourse for me. from the day of my departure from the camphor islands, i have been tearful-eyed and sorrowful-hearted, and i know not whether it will be given me to return to my native land and die by my mother or not, for i am weary of the world.' when the young merchant had made an end of telling his story, he wept and groaned and complained and gazed upon the figures wrought on the piece of linen, whilst the tears streamed down his cheeks and he repeated the following verses: 'needs must thy sorrow have an end,' quoth many an one 'and cease and i, needs must your chiding end and let me be at peace.' 'after awhile,' say they; and i, 'who will ensure me life, o fools, until the hands of grief their grip of me release?' and also these: god knows that, since my severance from thee, full sore i've wept, so sore that needs my eyes must run for very tears in debt! 'have patience,' quoth my censurers, 'and thou shalt win them yet.' and i, 'o thou that blamest me, whence should i patience get?' then said he, 'this, o prince, is my story: hast thou ever heard a stranger one?' taj el mulouk marvelled greatly at the young merchant's tale and said to him, 'by allah, thou hast suffered that which never befell any but thyself, but thou hast life appointed to thee, which thou must needs fulfil; and now i would fain have thee tell me how thou sawest the lady who wrought these gazelles.' 'o my lord,' answered aziz, 'i got me access to her by a stratagem, and it was this. when i entered her city with the caravan, i went forth and wandered about the gardens [till i came to one walled in and] abounding in trees, whose keeper was a venerable old man of advanced age. i asked him to whom the garden belonged, and he replied, "to the lady dunya, the king's daughter. we are now beneath her palace," added he; "and when she is minded to divert herself, she opens the private door and walks in the garden and breathes the fragrance of the flowers." so i said to him, "favour me by allowing me to sit in the garden till she comes; haply i may be fortunate enough to catch a sight of her as she passes." "there can be no harm in that," answered he. so i gave him money and said to him, "buy us something to eat." he took the money joyfully and opening the door, admitted me into the garden and carried me to a pleasant spot, where he bade me sit down and await his return. then he brought me fruit and leaving me, returned after awhile with a roasted lamb, of which we ate till we had enough, my heart yearning the while for a sight of the princess. presently, as we sat, the postern opened and the keeper said to me, "rise and hide thyself." i did so; and behold a black eunuch put out his head through the wicket and said, "o elder, is there any one with thee?" "no," answered he; and the eunuch said, "shut the garden gate." so the keeper shut the gate, and the lady dunya came in by the private door. when i saw her, methought the moon had risen above the horizon and was shining; so i looked at her a long while and longed for her, as a man athirst longs for water. after a time she withdrew and shut the door; whereupon i left the garden and sought my lodging, knowing that i could not win to her and that i was no mate for her, more by token that i was become like unto a woman, having no manly gear, and she was a king's daughter and i but a merchant; so how could i have access to the like of her or to any other woman? accordingly, when my companions made ready for departure, i too made ready and set out with them, and we journeyed till we arrived at this place, where we met with thee. this then is my story, and peace be on thee!' when taj el mulouk heard the young merchant's account of the princess dunya and her beauty, fires raged in his bosom and his heart and thought were occupied with love for her; passion and longing were sore upon him and he knew not what to do. then he mounted his horse and taking aziz with him, returned to his father's capital, where he assigned the merchant a house and supplied him with all that he needed in the way of meat and drink and clothing. then he left him and returned to his palace, with the tears running down his cheeks, for report [whiles] stands in stead of sight and very knowledge. he abode thus till his father came in to him and finding him pale-faced, lean of body and tearful eyed, knew that some chagrin had betided him and said to him, 'o my son, acquaint me with thy case and tell me what hath befallen thee, that thy colour is changed and thy body wasted.' so he told him all that had passed and how he had heard from aziz of the princess dunya and had fallen in love with her on hearsay, without having set eyes on her. 'o my son,' said the king, 'she is the daughter of a king whose country is far distant from ours: so put away this thought from thee and go into thy mother's palace. there are five hundred damsels like moons, and whichsoever of them pleaseth thee, take her; or else we will seek thee in marriage some one of the kings' daughters, fairer than the lady dunya.' 'o my father,' answered taj el mulouk, 'i desire none other, for she it is who wrought the gazelles that i saw, and i must have her; else i will flee into the deserts and waste places and slay myself for her sake.' then said his father, 'o my son, have patience with me, till i send to her father and demand her hand in marriage, as i did with thy mother. it may be that god will bring thee to thy desire; and if her father will not consent, i will shake his kingdom under him with an army, whose van shall be upon him, whilst the rear is yet with me.' then he sent for aziz and said to him, 'o my son, dost thou know the way to the camphor islands?' 'yes,' answered he; and the king said, 'it is my wish that thou accompany my vizier thither.' 'i hear and obey, o king of the age,' replied aziz; whereupon the king summoned his vizier and said to him, 'devise me some plan, whereby my son's affair may be rightly managed, and go to the king of the camphor islands and demand his daughter in marriage for tej el mulouk.' 'i hear and obey,' answered the vizier. then taj el mulouk returned to his dwelling place and his longing redoubled and impatience and unease were sore upon him; and when the night darkened upon him, he wept and sighed and complained and repeated the following verses: the shadows darken and my tears flow aye without avail, whilst in my heart the fires of love rage on and never fail. question the nights of me, and they will testify to thee that i in all their endless hours do nought but weep and wait. wakeful for love-longing and grief, i lie and watch the stars all night, what while upon my cheeks the tears fall down like hail. lowly and helpless i abide, for such as lovers be have, as it were, nor kith nor kin to help them in their bale. then he swooned away and did not recover his senses till the morning, when there came to him one of his father's servants and standing at his head, summoned him to the king's presence. so he went with him, and his father seeing that his pallor had increased, exhorted him to patience and promised him union with her he loved. then he equipped aziz and the vizier for the journey and gave them presents for the princess's father; and they set out and fared on night and day, till they drew near the camphor islands, when the vizier called a halt on the banks of a stream and despatched a messenger to acquaint the king of his arrival. the messenger had not long been gone, when they saw, advancing towards them, the king's chamberlains and amirs, who met them at a parasang's distance from the city and escorted them to the royal presence. they laid before the king the gifts with which they were charged and enjoyed his hospitality three days. on the fourth day the vizier rose and going in to the king, stood before him and acquainted him with the object of his visit; whereat he was perplexed and knew not what answer to make him, for that his daughter was averse from men and did not desire to marry. so he bowed his head awhile, then raised it and calling one of his eunuchs, said to him, 'go to thy mistress, the princess dunya, and repeat to her what thou hast heard and tell her this vizier's errand.' so the eunuch went out and returning after a while, said to the king, 'o king of the age, when i went to the lady dunya and told her what i had heard, she was exceeding wroth and made at me with a staff, meaning to break my head; whereupon i fled from her, and she said to me, 'if my father force me to marry, him whom i wed i will kill.' then said the king to the vizier and aziz, 'salute the king your master and tell him what ye have heard and that my daughter is averse from men and hath no mind to marry.' so they returned, without having accomplished the object of their journey, and fared on till they rejoined the king and told him what had passed; whereupon he commanded the chief to summon the troops for war. but the vizier said to him, 'o king, do not this, for the king is not at fault, seeing that, when his daughter learnt our business, she sent to say that, if her father forced her to marry, she would kill her husband and herself after him: so the refusal comes from her.' when the king heard this, he feared for taj el mulouk and said, 'if i make war on the king of the camphor islands and carry off his daughter, she will kill herself and it will profit me nothing.' so he told his son how the case stood, and he said, 'o my father, i cannot live without her; so i will go to her and cast about to get me access to her, though i die in the attempt.' 'how wilt thou go to her?' asked his father; and he answered, 'in the disguise of a merchant.' then said the king, 'if thou must go and there is no help for it, take with thee aziz and the vizier.' he agreed to this, and the king took money from his treasuries and made ready for him merchandise, to the value of a hundred thousand dinars; and when the night came taj el mulouk went to aziz's lodging and passed the night there, heart-smitten and taking no delight in food nor sleep; for melancholy was heavy upon him and he was agitated with longing for his beloved. so he besought the creator to unite him with her and wept and groaned and complained, repeating the following verses: shall union after estrangement betide us, perchance, some day? shall i ever make moan of my passion to thee, i wonder, and say, 'how oft have i called thee to mind, whilst the night in its trances slept! thou hast made me waken, whilst all but i in oblivion lay. then he wept sore and aziz wept with him, for that he remembered his cousin; and they both ceased not to do thus till the morning, when taj el mulouk rose and went in to his mother in his travelling dress. she asked him of his case, and he told her what was to do; so she gave him fifty thousand dinars and bade him farewell, offering up prayers for his safety and for his union with his beloved. then he left her and betaking himself to his father, asked his leave to depart. the king granted him leave and presenting him with other fifty thousand dinars, let pitch a tent for him without the city, in which they abode two days, then set out on their journey. and taj el mulouk delighted in aziz's company and said to him, 'o my brother, i can never bear to be parted from thee.' 'nor i from thee,' replied aziz; 'and fain would i die at thy feet: but, o my brother, my heart is concerned for my mother.' 'when we have attained our wish,' said the prince, 'all will be well.' as for the vizier, he exhorted taj el mulouk to patience, whilst aziz entertained him with talk and recited verses to him and diverted him with stories and anecdotes; and so they fared on day and night for two whole months, till the way became tedious to the prince and the fires of passion redoubled on him. so he repeated the following verses: long is the road and restlessness and grief redouble aye, whilst in my breast the fires of love rage ever night and day o thou, the goal of all my hopes, sole object of my wish, i swear by him, the most high god, who moulded man from clay, for love of thee i bear a load of longing and desire, such as the mountains of es shumm might ne'er withal away! indeed, o lady of my world,[fn# ] love slayeth me outright; no breath of life in me is left, my fainting spright to stay but for the hope of union with thee, that lures me on, my weary body had no strength to furnish forth the way. when he had finished, he wept and aziz wept with him, from a lacerated heart, till the vizier was moved to pity by their weeping and said to the prince, 'o my lord, take courage and be of good cheer; all will yet be well.' 'o vizier,' said taj el mulouk, 'indeed i am weary of the length of the way. tell me how far we are distant yet from the city.' 'but a little way,' replied aziz. then they continued their journey, traversing valleys and plains and hills and stony wastes, till one night, as taj el mulouk was asleep, he dreamt that his beloved was with him and that he embraced her and pressed her to his bosom; and he awoke, trembling and delirious with emotion, and repeated the following verses: my heart is maddened for love and my tears for ever flow, and longing is ever upon me and unrelenting woe. my plaint is, for tears, as the mourning of women bereft of young, and i moan, when the darkness gathers, as the turtles, sad and low. yet, if the breezes flutter from the land where thou dost dwell, their wafts o'er the earth, sun-weaned, a grateful coolness throw. peace be on thee, my beloved, as long as the cushat flies, as long as the turtles warble, as long as the zephyrs blow! when he had finished, the vizier came to him and said, 'rejoice; this is a good sign: so comfort thyself and be of good cheer, for thou shalt surely compass thy desire.' and aziz also came to him and exhorted him to patience and applied himself to divert him, talking with him and telling him stories. so they pressed on, night and day, other two months, till, one day, at sunrise, there appeared to them some white thing in the distance and taj el mulouk said to aziz, 'what is yonder whiteness?' 'o my lord,' answered he, 'that is the fortress of crystal and the city that thou seekest.' at this the prince rejoiced, and they fared forward till they drew near the city, to the exceeding joy of taj el mulouk, whose grief and anxiety ceased from him. they entered, in the guise of merchants, the king's son being habited as a merchant of importance, and repaired to a great khan, known as the merchants' lodging. quoth taj el mulouk to aziz, 'is this the resort of the merchants?' 'yes,' replied he; 'it is the khan in which i lodged when i was here before.' so they alighted there and making their beasts kneel down, unloaded them and laid up their goods in the warehouses. they abode four days, resting; at the end of which time, the vizier proposed that they should hire a large house. to this they assented and hired a spacious house, fitted up for festivities, where they took up their abode, and the vizier and aziz studied to devise some plan of conduct for taj el mulouk, whilst the latter remained in a state of perplexity, knowing not what to do. the vizier could think of nothing but that he should set up as a merchant in the stuff-market; so he turned to the prince and aziz and said to them, 'if we tarry thus, we shall not compass our desire nor attain our aim; but i have bethought me of somewhat, in which, if it please god, we shall find our advantage.' 'do what seemeth good to thee,' replied taj el mulouk; 'indeed there is a blessing on the aged, more by token that thou art versed in the conduct of affairs: so tell me what is in thy mind.' 'it is my counsel,' rejoined the vizier, 'that we hire thee a shop in the stuff-bazaar, where thou mayst sit to sell and buy. every one, great and small, hath need of silken and other stuffs; so if thou be patient and abide in thy shop, thine affairs will prosper, if it please god, especially as thou art comely of aspect. moreover, i would have thee make aziz thy factor and set him within the shop, to hand thee the pieces of stuffs and silks.' when taj el mulouk heard this, he said, 'this is a good counsel.' so he took out a handsome suit of merchant's clothes, and putting it on, set out for the bazaar, followed by his servants, to one of whom he had given a thousand dinars, wherewith to fit up the shop. when they came to the stuff-market and the merchants saw taj el mulouk's beauty and grace, they were confounded and some said, 'sure rizwan hath opened the gates of paradise and left them unguarded, so that this passing lovely youth hath come out.' and others, 'belike this is one of the angels.' they asked for the shop of the overseer of the market, and the merchants directed them to it. so they repaired thither and saluted him, and he and those who were with him rose to them and seated them and made much of them because of the vizier, whom they saw to be a man of age and reverend aspect; and seeing aziz and taj el mulouk in his company, they said to one another, 'doubtless this old man is the father of these two youths.' then said the vizier, 'which of you is the overseer of the market?' 'this is he,' answered they; whereupon he came forward and the vizier, observing him, saw him to be an old man of grave and dignified carriage, with slaves and servants, white and black. he greeted them in the friendliest manner and was lavish in his attentions to them: then he made them sit by his side and said to them, 'have you any business which we may have the pleasure of transacting?' 'yes,' answered the vizier. 'i am an old man, stricken in years, and have with me these two youths, with whom i have travelled through many towns and countries, tarrying a whole year in every city (of importance) on our way, that they might take their pleasure in viewing it and come to know its people. now i have chosen to make a stay in this your town; so i would fain have thee allot me a handsome shop in the best situation, wherein i may establish them, that they may traffic and learn to buy and sell and give and take, whilst they divert themselves with the sight of the place and acquire the uses of its people.' 'good,' said the overseer, and looking at the two youths, rejoiced in them and conceived a great affection for them. now he was a great lover of bewitching glances, preferring the commerce of boys to that of girls and inclining to their love. so he said in himself, 'these be fine purchase; glory to him who created and fashioned them out of vile water!'[fn# ] and rising, stood before them like a servant, to do them honour. then he went out and made ready for them a shop in the midst of the market, than which there was no larger nor better in the bazaar, for it was spacious and handsomely decorated and fitted with shelves of ebony and ivory; after which he delivered the keys to the vizier, who was dressed as an old merchant, saying, 'take them, o my lord, and may god make it a blessed abiding-place to thy sons!' the vizier took the keys, and they returned to the khan and caused their servants to transport to the shop all their goods and stuffs and valuables, of which they had great plenty, worth treasures of money. next morning, the vizier carried the two young men to the bath, where they washed and put on rich clothes and perfumed themselves to the utmost therein. now each of them was passing fair to look upon, and the bath enhanced their charms to the utmost, even as says the poet: good luck to him who in the bath doth serve him as his squire, handling a body 'gotten sure 'twixt water and the fire! with skilful hands he showeth forth the marvels of his craft, in that he gathers very musk[fn# ] from what is like camphire. when the overseer heard that they had gone to the bath, he sat down to await them, and presently they came up to him, like two gazelles, with red cheeks and black eyes and shining faces, as they were two lustrous moons or two fruit-laden saplings. when he saw them, he rose and said to them, 'may your bath profit you ever!' whereupon taj el mulouk replied, with the sweetest of speech, 'may god be bountiful to thee, o my father! why didst thou not come with us and bathe in our company?' then they both bent over his hands and kissing them, walked before him to the shop, to do him honour and show their respect for him, for that he was chief of the merchants and the market, as well as their sense of his kindness in giving them the shop. when he saw their hips quivering, emotion and longing redoubled on him and he could not contain himself, but puffed and snorted and devoured them with his eyes, repeating the following verses: the heart in them studies the chapter of worship unshared sheer no proofs of more gods to worship than one it readeth here. no wonder it is they tremble by reason of their weight; how much is there not of motion in that revolving sphere! and also these: two fair ones walking on the earth mine eyes did late espy; two that i needs must love although they walked upon mine eye. when they heard this, they begged him to enter the bath with them a second time. he could hardly believe his ears and hastening thither, went in with them. the vizier had not yet left the bath; so when he heard of the overseer's coming, he came out and meeting him in the outer room of the bath, invited him to enter. he refused, but taj el mulouk took him by one hand and aziz by the other and carried him into a cabinet, the impure old man submitting to them, whilst his emotion increased on him. then taj el mulouk swore that none but he should wash him and aziz that none but he should pour water on him. he would have refused, albeit this was what he desired; but the vizier said to him, 'they are thy sons; let them wash thee and bathe thee.' 'god preserve them to thee!' exclaimed the overseer. 'by allah, thy coming and theirs hath brought blessing and fortune upon our city!' and he repeated the following verses: thou cam'st, and the mountains about us grew green and glittered, with flowers for the bridegroom beseen; whilst earth and her creatures cried, 'welcome to thee, thrice welcome, that comest in glory and sheen!' they thanked him for this, and taj el mulouk proceeded to wash him, whilst aziz poured water over him and he thought himself in paradise. when they had made an end of his service, he called down blessings on them and sat talking with the vizier, gazing the while on the youths. presently, the servants brought them towels, and they dried themselves and donned their clothes. then they went out, and the vizier said to the overseer, 'o my lord, verily the bath is the paradise of this world.' 'may god vouchsafe it[fn# ] to thee,' replied the overseer, 'and health to thy sons and guard them from the evil eye! do you remember aught that the poets have said in praise of the bath?' 'yes,' said taj el mulouk and repeated the following verses: the life of the bath is the pleasantest part of life, except that the time of our sojourn there is slight. a heaven, wherein 'tis irksome to us to bide: a hell, into which we enter with delight. 'and i also,' said aziz, 'remember some verses in praise of the bath.' quoth the overseer, 'let us hear them.' so he repeated the following: i know a house, wherein flowers from the sheer stone blow; most goodly, when the flames about it rage and glow. thou deem'st it hell, and yet, in truth, 'tis paradise and most that be therein are sun and moons, i trow. his verses pleased the overseer and he wondered at their grace and eloquence and said, 'by allah, ye possess both beauty and eloquence! but now listen to me.' and he chanted the following verses: o pleasaunce of hell-fire and paradise of pain! bodies and souls therein indeed are born again. i marvel at a house, whose pleasantness for aye doth flourish, though the flames beneath it rage amain. a sojourn of delight to those who visit it it is; the pools on them their tears in torrents rain. then he fed his eyes on the gardens of their beauty and repeated the following verses: i went to the bath-keeper's house and entered his dwelling-place and found no door-keeper there but met me with smiling face. i sojourned awhile in his heaven[fn# ] and visited eke his hell[fn# ] and thanked both malik[fn# ] and rizwan[fn# ] for solace and kindly grace. they were charmed with these verses, and the overseer invited them to his house; but they declined and resumed to their own lodging, to rest from the great heat of the bath. they took their ease there and ate and drank and passed the night in the greatest comfort and delight, till morning, when they arose from sleep and making their ablutions, prayed the morning-prayer and drank the morning-draught. as soon as the sun had risen and the markets and shops were open, they went out to the bazaar and opened their shop, which their servants had already furnished, after the handsomest fashion, with prayer-rugs and silken carpets and a pair of divans, each worth a hundred dinars. on each divan they had spread a rug, garded with gold and fit for a king, and in the midst of the shop stood a third seat of still greater elegance, even as the case required. taj el mulouk sat down on one couch and aziz on another, whilst the vizier seated himself on that in the centre, and the servants stood before them. the people of the city heard of them and crowded to them, so that they sold some of their goods and the report of taj el mulouk's beauty and grace spread throughout the place. some days passed thus, and every day the people flocked to them more and more, till the vizier, after exhorting the prince to keep his secret, commended him to aziz's care and went home, that he might be alone and cast about for some device that might profit them. meanwhile, the two young men sat talking and the prince said to aziz, 'it may be some one will come from the princess dunya.' so he abode in expectation of this days and nights, whilst his heart was troubled and he knew neither sleep nor rest: for desire had gotten the mastery of him and passion and longing were sore upon him, so that he forewent the solace of sleep and abstained from meat and drink; yet ceased he not to be like the full moon. one day, as he sat in the shop, there came up an old woman, followed by two slave-girls. she stopped before taj el mulouk and observing his grace and elegance and symmetry, marvelled at his beauty and sweated in her clothes, exclaiming, 'glory to him who created thee out of vile water and made thee a ravishment to all who look upon thee!' and she fixed her eyes on him and said, 'this is sure no mortal, but a noble angel.' then she drew near and saluted him, whereupon he returned her salute and (being prompted thereto by aziz) rose to his feet to receive her and smiled in her face after which he made her sit down by his side and fanned her, till she was rested and refreshed, when she turned to him and said, 'o my son, o thou that art perfect in graces and charms, art thou of this country?' 'by allah, o my lady,' answered he in the sweetest and pleasantest of voices, 'i was never in this country in my life till now, nor do i sojourn here save for my diversion.' 'may all honour and prosperity attend thee!' rejoined she. 'what stuffs has thou brought with thee? show me something handsome; for the fair should bring nothing but what is fair.' when he heard her words, his heart fluttered and he knew not what she meant; but aziz made a sign to him, and he replied, 'i have everything thou canst desire, and amongst the rest goods that befit none but kings and kings' daughters; so tell me for whom thou seekest the stuff, that i may show thee what will befit her.' this he said, that he might learn the meaning of her words; and she rejoined, 'i want a stuff fit for the princess dunya, daughter of king shehriman.' when the prince heard the name of his beloved, he rejoiced greatly and said to aziz, 'give me such a bale.' so aziz brought it and opened it before taj el mulouk, who said to the old woman, 'choose what will suit her; for these are goods only to be found with me.' so she chose goods worth a thousand dinars and said, 'how much is this?' and ceased not the while to talk with him and rub the inside of her thighs with the palm of her hand. 'shall i haggle with the like of thee about this paltry price?' answered he. 'praised be god who hath brought me acquainted with thee!' 'the name of god be upon thee!' exclaimed she. 'i commend thy fair face to the protection of the lord of the daybreak! fair face and pleasant speech! happy the woman who lies in thy bosom and clasps thy waist in her arms and enjoys thy youth, especially if she be fair and graceful like unto thee!' at this, taj el mulouk laughed till he fell backward and said (in himself), 'o thou who fulfillest desires by means of dissolute old women! they are indeed the accomplishers of desires!' then said she, 'o my son, what is thy name?' and he answered, 'my name is taj el mulouk.'[fn# ] 'this is a name of kings and kings' sons,' rejoined she; 'and thou art clad in a merchant's habit.' quoth aziz, 'for the love his parents and family bore him and the value they set on him, they named him thus.' 'thou sayst sooth,' replied the old woman. 'may god guard you both from the evil eye and the malice of the enemy and the envious, though hearts be broken by your charms!' then she took the stuff and went away, amazed at the prince's beauty and grace and symmetry, and going in to the princess dunya, said to her, 'o my lady, i have brought thee some handsome stuff.' 'show it me,' said the princess. 'here it is,' answered the old woman; 'turn it over, o my treasure, and examine it.' so the princess looked at the stuff and was amazed at its beauty and said, 'o my nurse, this is indeed handsome stuff! i have never seen its like in our city.' 'o my lady,' replied the nurse, 'he who sold it me is handsomer still. it would seem as if rizwan had left the gates of paradise open and this youth had come out. i would he might sleep this night with thee and lie between thy breasts! he hath come hither with these stuffs for amusement's sake, and he is a ravishment to all who set eyes on him.' the princess laughed at her words and said, 'allah afflict thee, o pernicious old woman! thou dotest and there is no sense left in thee. give me the stuff, that i may look at it anew.' so she gave it her, and she examined it again and seeing that though small, it was of great value, was moved to admiration, for she had never in her life seen its like, and exclaimed, 'by allah, this is a handsome stuff.' 'o my lady,' said the old woman, 'if thou sawest him who sold it to me, thou wouldst know him for the handsomest of all that be upon the face of the earth.' quoth the princess, 'didst thou ask him if he had any need, that we might satisfy it?' the nurse shook her head and answered, 'god keep thy sagacity! assuredly he has a want, may thy skill not fail thee. what man is free from wants?' 'go back to him,' rejoined the princess; 'salute him for me, and say to him, "our land and town are honoured by thy visit, and if thou hast any need, we will fulfil it to thee, on our head and eyes."' so the old woman returned to taj el mulouk, and when he saw her, his heart leapt for joy and he rose to his feet and taking her hand, seated her by his side. as soon as she was rested she told him what the princess had said, whereat he rejoiced exceedingly; his breast dilated and gladness entered his heart, and he said in himself, 'verily, i have gotten my desire.' then said he to the old woman, 'belike thou wilt take her a message from me and bring me her answer.' 'i hear and obey,' replied she. so he said to aziz, 'bring me inkhorn and paper and a pen of brass.' aziz brought him what he sought, and he took the pen and wrote the following verses: i send thee, o my hope, a letter, to complain of all my soul endures for parting and its pain. six lines it hath; the first, 'a fire is in my heart;' the next line setteth forth my passion all in vain; the third, 'my patience fails and eke my life doth waste;' the fourth, 'all love with me for ever shall remain.' the fifth, 'when shall mine eyes behold thee? and the sixth, 'when shall the day betide of meeting for us twain? and by way of subscription he wrote these words, 'this letter is from the captive of desire, prisoned in the hold of longing, from which there is no deliverance but in union and intercourse with her whom he loveth, after absence and separation: for he suffereth grievous torment by reason of his severance from his beloved.' then his tears rushed out and he wrote the following verses: i write to thee, my love, and the tears run down as i write; for the tears of my eyes, alack i cease never day or night. yet do i not despair; mayhap, of god his grace, the day shall dawn for us of union and delight. then he folded the letter and sealed it and gave it to the old woman, saying, 'carry it to the lady dunya.' 'i hear and obey,' answered she; whereupon he gave her a thousand dinars and said to her, 'o my mother, accept this, as a token of my affection.' she took the letter and the money, calling down blessings on him, and returned to the princess. when the latter saw her, she said to her, 'o my nurse, what is it he asks, that we may fulfil his wish to him?' 'o my lady,' replied the old woman, 'he sends thee this letter by me, and i know not what is in it.' the princess took the letter and reading it, exclaimed, 'who and what is this merchant that he should dare to write to me thus?' and she buffeted her face, saying, 'what have we done that we should come in converse with shopkeepers? alas! alas! by allah, but that i fear god the most high, i would put him to death and crucify him before his shop!' 'what is in the letter,' asked the old woman, 'to trouble thy heart and move thine anger thus? doth it contain a complaint of oppression or demand for the price of the stuff?' 'out on thee!' answered the princess. 'there is none of this in it, nought but words of love and gallantry. this is all through thee: else how should this devil know me?' 'o my lady,' rejoined the old woman, 'thou sittest in thy high palace and none may win to thee, no, not even the birds of the air. god keep thee and keep thy youth from blame and reproach! thou art a princess, the daughter of a king, and needest not reck of the barking of dogs. blame me not that i brought thee this letter, knowing not what was in it; but it is my counsel that thou send him an answer, threatening him with death and forbidding him from this idle talk. surely he will abstain and return not to the like of this.' 'i fear,' said the princess, 'that, if i write to him, he will conceive hopes of me.' quoth the old woman, 'when he reads thy threats and menace of punishment, he will desist.' so the princess called for inkhorn and paper and pen of brass and wrote the following verses: o thou who feignest thee the prey of love and wakefulness and plainst of that thou dost endure for passion and distress thinkst thou, deluded one, to win thy wishes of the moon? did ever any of a moon get union and liesse? i rede thee put away the thought of this thou seekst from thee, for that therein but peril is for thee and weariness. if thou to this thy speech return, a grievous punishment shall surely fall on thee from me and ruin past redress. by him, the almighty god, i swear, who moulded man from clay, him who gave fire unto the sun and lit the moon no less if thou offend anew, for sure, upon a cross of tree i'll have thee crucified for all thy wealth and goodliness! then she folded the letter and giving it to the old woman, said, 'carry this to him and bid him desist from this talk.' 'i hear and obey,' replied she, and taking the letter, returned, rejoicing, to her own house, where she passed the night and in the morning betook herself to the shop of taj el mulouk, whom she found expecting her. at sight of her, he well-nigh lost his reason for delight, and when she came up to him, he rose to his feet and seated her by his side. then she brought out the letter and gave it to him, saying, 'read this. when the princess read thy letter, she was angry; but i coaxed her and jested with her till i made her laugh, and she had pity on thee and has returned thee an answer.' he thanked her and bade aziz give her a thousand dinars: then he read her letter and fell to weeping sore, so that the old woman's heart was moved to pity for him and his tears and complaints grieved her. so she said to him, 'o my son, what is there in this scroll, that makes thee weep?' 'she threatens me with death and crucifixion,' replied he, 'and forbids me to write to her: but if i write not, my death were better than my life. so take thou my answer to her letter and let her do what she will.' 'by the life of thy youth,' rejoined the old woman, 'needs must i venture my life for thee, that i may bring thee to thy desire and help thee to win that thou hast at heart!' and he said, 'whatever thou dost, i will requite thee therefor, and do thou determine of it; for thou art versed in affairs and skilled in all fashions of intrigue: difficult matters are easy to thee: and god can do all things.' then he took a scroll and wrote therein the following verses: my love with slaughter threatens me, woe's me for my distress! but death is foreordained; to me, indeed, 'twere happiness; better death end a lover's woes than that a weary life he live, rejected and forlorn, forbidden from liesse. visit a lover, for god's sake, whose every helper fails, and with thy sight thy captive slave and bondman deign to bless! have ruth upon me, lady mine, for loving thee; for all, who love the noble, stand excused for very passion's stress. then he sighed heavily and wept, till the old woman wept also and taking the letter, said to him, 'take heart and be of good cheer, for it shall go hard but i bring thee to thy desire.' then she rose and leaving him on coals of fire, returned to the princess, whom she found still pale with rage at taj el mulouk's first letter. the nurse gave her his second letter, whereupon her anger redoubled and she said, 'did i not say he would conceive hopes of us?' 'what is this dog,' replied the old woman, 'that he should conceive hopes of thee?' quoth the princess, 'go back to him and tell him that, if he write to me again, i will have his head cut off.' 'write this in a letter,' answered the nurse, 'and i will take it to him, that his fear may be the greater.' so she took a scroll and wrote thereon the following verses: harkye thou that letst the lessons of the past unheeded lie, thou that lookst aloft, yet lackest power to win thy goal on high, thinkest thou to reach es suha,[fn# ] o deluded one, although even the moon's too far to come at, shining in the middle sky? how then dar'st thou hope my favours and aspire to twinned delight and my spear-straight shape and slender in thine arms to girdle sigh? leave this purpose, lest mine anger fall on thee some day of wrath, such as e'en the parting-places shall with white for terror dye. then she folded the letter and gave it to the old woman, who took it and returned to taj el mulouk. when he saw her, he rose to his feet and exclaimed, 'may god not bereave me of the blessing of thy coming!' quoth she, 'take the answer to thy letter.' he took it and reading it, wept sore and said, 'would some one would slay me now, for indeed death were easier to me than this my state!' then he took pen and inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: o my hope, have done with rigour; lay disdain and anger by, visit one who, drowned in passion, doth for love and longing sigh. think not, under thine estrangement, that my life i will endure. lo, my soul, for very severance from thy sight, is like to die. then he folded the letter and gave it to the old woman, saying, 'grudge it not to me, though i have wearied thee to no purpose.' and he bade aziz give her other thousand dinars, saying, 'o my mother, needs must this letter result in perfect union or complete separation.' 'o my son,' replied she, 'by allah, i desire nought but thy weal; and it is my wish that she be thine, for indeed thou art the resplendent moon and she the rising sun. if i do not bring you together, there is no profit in my life: these ninety years have i lived in the practice of wile and intrigue; so how should i fail to unite two lovers, though in defiance of law?' then she took leave of him, after comforting his heart, and returned to the palace. now she had hidden the letter in her hair: so she sat down by the princess and rubbing her head, said, 'o my lady, maybe thou wilt comb out my hair: for it is long since i went to the bath.' the princess bared her arms to the elbow and letting down the old woman's hair, began to comb it, when out dropped the letter and dunya seeing it, asked what it was. quoth the nurse, 'this paper must have stuck to me, as i sat in the merchant's shop: give it me, that i may return it to him; belike it contains some reckoning of which he hath need.' but the princess opened it, and reading it, cried out, 'this is one of thy tricks, and hadst thou not reared me, i would lay violent hands on thee forthright! verily god hath afflicted me with this merchant: but all that hath befallen me with him is of thy contrivance. i know not whence this fellow can have come: none but he would venture to affront me thus, and i fear lest this my case get wind, the more that it concerns one who is neither of my rank nor of my peers.' 'none would dare speak of this,' rejoined the old woman, 'for fear of thine anger and awe of thy father; so there can be no harm in sending him an answer.' 'o my nurse,' said the princess, 'verily this fellow is a devil. how can he dare to use such language to me and not dread the sultan's wrath? indeed, i am perplexed about his case: if i order him to be put to death, it were unjust; and if i leave him, his presumption will increase.' 'write him a letter,' rejoined the old woman; 'it may be he will desist.' so she called for pen and ink and paper and wrote the following verses: again and again i chide thee, yet folly ever again lures thee: how long, with my writing, in verse shall i bid thee refrain, whilst thou but growest in boldness for all forbidding? but i no grace save to keep thy secret, unto thy prayers may deign. conceal thy passion nor ever reveal it; for, an thou speak, i will surely show thee no mercy nor yet my wrath contain. if to thy foolish daring thou turn thee anew, for sure, the raven of evil omen shall croak for thee death and bane; and slaughter shall come upon thee ere long, and under the earth to seek for a place of abiding, god wot, thou shalt be fain. thy people, o self-deluder, thou'lt leave in mourning for thee; ay, all their lives they shall sorrow for thee, fordone and slain. then she folded the letter and committed it to the old woman, who took it and returning to taj el mulouk, gave it to him. when he read it, he knew that the princess was hard-hearted and that he should not win to her; so he complained to the vizier and besought his advice. quoth he, 'nothing will profit thee save that thou write to her and invoke the wrath of god upon her.' and he said to aziz, 'o my brother, do thou write to her in my name, according to thy knowledge.' so aziz took a scroll and wrote the following verses: o lord, by the five elders, deliver me, i pray, and her, for whom i suffer, in like affliction lay! thou knowest that i weary in raging flames of love; whilst she i love is cruel and saith me ever nay. how long shall i be tender to her, despite my pain? how long shall she ride roughshod o'er my weakness night and day? in agonies i wander of never-ceasing death and find nor friend nor helper, o lord, to be my stay. full fain would i forget her; but how can i forget, when for desire my patience is wasted all away? thou that forbidst my passion the sweets of happy love, art thou then safe from fortune, that shifts and changes aye? art thou not glad and easeful and blest with happy life, whilst i, for thee, an exile from folk and country stray? then he folded the letter and gave it to taj el mulouk, who read the verses and was pleased with them. so he handed the letter to the old woman, who took it and carried it to the princess. when she read it, she was greatly enraged and said, 'all that has befallen me comes from this pernicious old woman!' then she cried out to the damsels and eunuchs, saying, 'seize this accursed old trickstress and beat her with your slippers!' so they beat her till she swooned away; and when she revived, the princess said to her, 'by allah, o wicked old woman, did i not fear god the most high, i would kill thee!' then she bade them beat her again, and they did so, till she fainted a second time, whereupon the princess ordered them to drag her forth and throw her without the palace. so they dragged her along on her face and threw her down before the gate. when she came to herself, she rose and made the best of her way home, walking and resting by turns. she passed the night in her own house and in the morning, she went to taj el mulouk and told him what had passed, at which he was distressed and said, 'o my mother, this that has befallen thee is grievous to us; but all things are according to fate and destiny.' 'take comfort and be of good cheer,' replied she; 'for i will not give over striving, till i have brought thee and her together and made thee to enjoy the vile baggage who hath tortured me with beating.' quoth the prince, 'tell me the reason of her aversion to men.' 'it arose from what she saw in a dream,' answered the old woman. 'and what was this dream?' asked the prince. 'one night,' replied she, 'as she lay asleep, she saw a fowler spread his net upon the ground and scatter grain round it. then he sat down hard by, and all the birds in the neighbourhood flocked to the net. amongst the rest she saw a pair of pigeons, male and female; and whilst she was watching the net, the male bird's foot caught in it and he began to struggle, whereupon all the other birds took fright and flew away. but presently his mate came back and hovered over him, then alighted on the net, unobserved by the fowler, and fell to picking and pulling at the mesh in which the male bird's foot was entangled with her beak, till she released him and they flew away together. then the fowler came up and mended his net and seated himself afar off. after awhile, the birds came back and the female pigeon was caught in the net, whereupon all the other birds took fright and flew away; and the male pigeon flew away with the rest and did not return to his mate. then came the fowler and took the female pigeon and killed her. so the princess awoke, troubled by her dream, and said, "all males are worthless, like this pigeon: and men in general are wanting in goodness to women."' when the old woman had made an end of her story, the prince said to her, 'o my mother, i desire to have one look at her, though it be my death; so do thou contrive me some means of seeing her.' 'know then,' answered she, 'that she hath under her palace windows a pleasure-garden, to which she resorts once in every month by the private door. in ten days, the time of her thus going forth will arrive; so when she is about to visit the garden, i will come and tell thee, that thou mayst go thither and meet her. and look thou quit not the garden, for haply, if she sees thy beauty and grace, her heart will be taken with love of thee, and love is the most potent means of union.' 'i hear and obey,' replied taj el mulouk. then he and aziz left the shop, and taking the old woman with them, showed her where they lodged. then said the prince to aziz, 'i have no further need of the shop, having fulfilled my purpose of it; so i give it to thee with all that is in it; for that thou hast come abroad with me and hast left thy country for my sake.' aziz accepted his gift and they sat conversing awhile, the prince questioning the young merchant of the strange passages of his life and the latter acquainting him with the particulars thereof. presently, they went to the vizier and acquainting him with taj el mulouk's purpose, asked him what they should do. 'let us go to the garden,' answered he. so they donned their richest clothes and went forth, followed by three white slaves, to the garden, which they found thick with trees and abounding in rills. at the gate, they saw the keeper sitting; so they saluted him and he returned their salute. then the vizier gave him a hundred dinars, saying, 'prithee, take this spending-money and fetch us something to eat; for we are strangers and i have with me these two lads, whom i wish to divert.' the gardener took the money and said to them, 'enter and take your pleasure in the garden, for it is all yours; and sit down till i bring you what you require.' so he went to the market, and the vizier and his companions entered the garden. in a little while, the gardener returned with a roasted lamb and bread as white as cotton, which he placed before them, and they ate and drank; after which he set on sweetmeats, and they ate of them, then washed their hands and sat talking. presently the vizier said to the gardener, 'tell me about this garden: is it thine or dost thou rent it?' 'it does not belong to me,' replied he, 'but to the princess dunya, the king's daughter.' 'what is thy wage?' asked the vizier, and the gardener answered, 'one dinar every month and no more.' then the vizier looked round about the garden and seeing in its midst a pavilion, lofty but old and dilapidated, said to the keeper, 'o elder, i am minded to do here a good work, by which thou shalt remember me.' 'o my lord,' rejoined the other, 'what is that?' 'take these three hundred dinars,' answered the vizier. when the keeper heard speak of the dinars, he said, 'o my lord, do what thou wilt.' so the vizier gave him the money, saying, 'god willing, we will work a good work in this place.' then they left the garden and returned to their lodging, where they passed the night. next day, the vizier sent for a plasterer and a painter and a skilful goldsmith, and furnishing them with all the tools and materials that they required, carried them to the garden, where he bade them plaster the walls of the pavilion and decorate it with various kinds of paintings. then he sent for gold and ultramarine and said to the painter, 'paint me on the wall, at the upper end of the saloon, a fowler, with his nets spread and birds lighted round them and a female pigeon fallen into the net and entangled therein by the bill. let this fill one compartment of the wall, and on the other paint the fowler seizing the pigeon and setting the knife to her throat, whilst the third compartment of the picture must show a great hawk seizing the male pigeon, her mate, and digging his talons into him.' the painter did as the vizier bade him, and when he and the other workmen had finished, they took their hire and went away. then the vizier and his companions took leave of the gardener and returned to their lodging, where they sat down to converse. and taj el mulouk said to aziz, 'o my brother, recite me some verses: haply it may dilate my breast and dispel my sad thoughts and assuage the fire of my heart.' so aziz chanted the following verses: all that they fable lovers feel of anguish and despite, i in myself comprise, and so my strength is crushed outright; and if thou seekst a watering-place, see, from my streaming eyes, rivers of tears for those who thirst run ever day and night. or, if thou fain wouldst look upon the ruin passion's hands can wreak on lovers, let thy gaze upon my body light. and his eyes ran over with tears and he repeated these verses also: who loves not the necks and the eyes of the fair and pretends, forsooth, to know the delight of the world, god wot, he speaks not the truth for in love is a secret meaning that none may win to know save he who has loved indeed and known its wrath and ruth. may god not lighten my heart of passion for her i love nor ease my eyelids, for love, of wakefulness in my youth! then he sang the following: avicenna pretends, in his writings renowned, that the lover's best medicine is song and sweet sound and dalliance with one of his sex like his love and drinking, with waters and fruits all around. i took me another, to heal me for thee, and fate was propitious and grace did abound yet i knew love a mortal disease, against which avicenna his remedy idle i found. taj el mulouk was pleased with his verses and wondered at his eloquence and the excellence of his recitation, saying, 'indeed thou hast done away from me somewhat of my concern.' then said the vizier, 'of a truth there occurred to those of times past what astounds those who hear it.' 'if thou canst recall any fine verse of this kind,' quoth the prince, 'i prithee let us hear it and keep the talk in vogue.' so the vizier chanted the following verses: methought thy favours might be bought and thou to give consent to union won by gifts of gold and grace and blandishment: and eke, for ignorance, i deemed thy love an easy thing, thy love in which the noblest souls for languor are forspent; until i saw thee choose one out and gratify that one with sweet and subtle favours. then, to me 'twas evident thy graces never might be won by any artifice; so underneath my wing my head i hid incontinent and in the nest of passion made my heart's abiding-place, wherein my morning and my night for evermore are pent. meanwhile the old woman remained shut up in her house till it befell that the princess was taken with a desire to divert herself in the garden. now this she had been wont to do only in company with her nurse; so she sent for her and spoke her fair and made her peace with her, saying, 'i wish to go forth to the garden, that i may divert myself with the sight of its trees and fruits and gladden my heart with its flowers.' 'i hear and obey,' replied the old woman; 'but let me first go to my house and change my dress, and i will be with thee anon.' 'go,' said the princess; 'but be not long absent from me.' so the old woman left her and repairing to taj el mulouk, said to him, 'don thy richest clothes and go to the gardener and salute him and make shift to hide thyself in the garden.' 'i hear and obey,' answered he; and she agreed with him upon a signal to be made by her to him and returned to the princess. as soon as she was gone, the vizier and aziz rose and dressed taj el mulouk in a right costly suit of kings' raiment, worth five thousand dinars, and girt his middle with a girdle of gold set with jewels. then he repaired to the garden and found the keeper seated at the gate. as soon as the latter saw him, he sprang to his feet and received him with all respect and consideration and opening the gate, said, 'enter and take thy pleasure in the garden.' now the gardener knew not that the princess was to visit the garden that day: but taj el mulouk had been there but a little while, when he heard a noise and ere he could think, out came the eunuchs and damsels by the private door. when the gardener saw this, he came up to the prince and said to him, 'o my lord, what is to be done? the princess dunya, the king's daughter, is here.' 'fear not,' replied the prince; 'no harm shall befall thee: for i will conceal myself somewhere about the garden.' so the gardener exhorted him to the utmost prudence and went away. presently, the princess entered the garden, attended by her damsels and the old woman, who said to herself, 'if these eunuchs abide with us, we shall not attain our object.' so she said to the princess, 'o my lady, i have somewhat to say to thee that will be for thy heart's ease.' 'say on,' replied the princess. 'o my lady,' said the old woman, 'thou hast no present need of these eunuchs; send them away, for thou wilt not be able to divert thyself at thine ease, whilst they are with us.' 'thou art right,' rejoined the princess. so she dismissed the eunuchs and began to walk about, whilst taj el mulouk fed his eyes on her beauty and grace, without her knowledge, and fainted every time he looked at her, by reason of her surpassing loveliness. the old woman held her in converse and drew her on till they reached the pavilion, which the vizier had caused to be decorated afresh, when the princess entered and looking round, perceived the picture of the fowler and the birds; whereupon she exclaimed, 'glory be to god! this is the very presentment of what i saw in my dream.' she continued to gaze at the painting, full of admiration, and presently she said, 'o my nurse, i have been wont to blame and dislike men, by reason of my having seen in my dream the female pigeon abandoned by her mate; but now see how the male pigeon was minded to return and set her free; but the hawk met him and tore him in pieces.' the old woman, however, feigned ignorance and ceased not to hold her in converse, till they drew near the place where the prince lay hidden, whereupon she signed to him to come out and walk under the windows of the pavilion. he did so: and presently the princess, chancing to look out, saw him and noting his beauty and symmetry, said to the old woman, 'o my nurse, whence comes yonder handsome youth?' 'i know nothing of him,' replied the old woman, 'except that i think he must be some great king's son, for he attains the utmost extreme of beauty and grace.' the princess fell passionately in love with him; the spells that bound her were dissolved and her reason was overcome by his beauty and elegance. so she said to the old woman, 'o my nurse this is indeed a handsome youth.' 'thou art in the right o my lady!' replied the nurse and signed to taj el mulouk to go home. so he went away, not daring to cross her though desire flamed in him and he was distraught for love and longing, and taking leave of the gardener, returned to his lodging, where he told the vizier and aziz all that had passed. they exhorted him to patience, saying, 'did not the old woman know that there was an object to be gained by thy departure, she had not signed to thee to return home.' meanwhile, desire and passion redoubled upon the princess, and she was overcome with love-longing and said to the old woman, 'i know not how i shall foregather with this youth, but through thee.' 'god be my refuge from satan the accursed!' exclaimed the old woman. 'thou that art averse from men! how comes it that thou art thus afflicted with love of this young man? though, by allah, none is worthy of thy youth but he!' 'o my nurse,' said the princess, 'help me to foregather with him, and thou shalt have of me a thousand dinars and a dress worth as much more: but if thou aid me not to come at him, i shall assuredly die.' 'go to thy palace,' replied the nurse, 'and leave me to devise means for bringing you together. i will risk my life to content you both.' so the princess returned to her palace, and the old woman betook herself to taj el mulouk, who rose to receive her and entreated her with respect and honour, making her sit by his side. then said she, 'the device hath succeeded,' and told him all that had passed between the princess and herself. 'when is our meeting to be?' asked he. 'to-morrow,' replied the old woman. so he gave her a thousand dinars and a dress of equal value, and she took them and returned to the princess, who said to her, as soon as she saw her, 'o my nurse, what news of my beloved?' 'i have discovered where he lives,' replied she, 'and will bring him to thee to-morrow.' at this the princess was glad and gave her a thousand dinars and a dress worth as much more, with which she returned to her own house, where she passed the night. next morning, she went to taj el mulouk and dressing him in women's clothes, said to him, 'follow me and sway from side to side, as thou goest, and do not hasten in thy walk nor take heed of any that speaks to thee.' then she went out and walked on, followed by the prince, whom she continued to lesson and hearten by the way, that he might not be afraid, till they came to the palace gate. she entered and the prince after her, and she led him through doors and vestibules, till they had passed six doors. as they approached the seventh door, she said to him, 'take courage and when i call out to thee and say, "pass, o damsel!" do not hesitate, but hasten on. when thou art in the vestibule, thou wilt see on thy left a gallery, with doors along it: count five doors and enter the sixth, for therein is thy desire.' 'and whither wilt thou go?' asked the prince. 'nowhere,' answered she; 'except that i may drop behind thee and the chief eunuch may detain me, whilst i talk with him.' then they went up to the door, where the chief eunuch was stationed, and he, seeing taj el mulouk with her, dressed as a slave-girl, said to the old woman, 'what girl is this with thee?' quoth she, 'this is a slave-girl of whom the princess dunya has heard that she is skilled in different arts, and she hath a mind to buy her.' 'i know no slave-girl,' rejoined the eunuch, 'nor any one else; and none shall enter here without being searched by me, according to the king's orders.' at this the old woman feigned to be angry and said, 'i thought thee a man of sense and good breeding: but, if thou be changed, i will let the princess know of it and how thou hinderest her slave-girl.' then she cried out to taj el mulouk, saying, 'pass on, o damsel!' so he passed on into the vestibule, whilst the eunuch was silent and said nothing. then the prince counted five doors and entered the sixth, where he found the princess dunya standing awaiting him. as soon as she saw him, she knew him and pressed him to her bosom, and he returned her embrace. then the old woman came in to them, having made a pretext to dismiss the princess's attendants for fear of discovery, and the princess said to her, 'do thou keep the door.' so she and taj el mulouk abode alone together and passed the night in kissing and embracing and twining leg with leg. when the day drew near, she left him and shutting the door upon him, passed in to another apartment, where she sat down according to her wont, whilst her women came in to her, and she attended to their affairs and conversed with them awhile. then she said to them, 'leave me now, for i wish to be alone.' so they withdrew and she betook herself to taj el mulouk, and the old woman brought them food, of which they ate and after fell again to amorous dalliance, till the dawn. then the princess left him, and locked the door as before; and they ceased not to do thus for a whole month. meanwhile, the vizier and aziz, when they found that the prince did not return from the princess's palace all this while, gave him up for lost and aziz said to the vizier, 'o my father, what shall we do?' 'o my son,' answered he, 'this is a difficult matter, and except we return to his father and tell him, he will blame us.' so they made ready at once and setting out, journeyed night and day along the valleys, in the direction of the green country, till they reached king suleiman's capital and presenting themselves before him, acquainted him with what had befallen his son and how they had heard no news of him, since he entered the princess's palace. at this the king was greatly troubled and regret was sore upon him, and he let call a holy war throughout his realm. then he encamped without the town with his troops and took up his abode in his pavilion, whilst the levies came from all parts of the kingdom; for his subjects loved him by reason of his much justice and beneficence. as soon as his forces were assembled, he took horse, with an army covering the country as far as the eye could reach, and departed in quest of his son taj el mulouk. meanwhile, the latter sojourned with the princess half a year's time, whilst every day they redoubled in mutual affection and distraction and passion and love-longing and desire so pressed upon taj el mulouk, that at last he opened his mind to the princess and said to her, 'know, o beloved of my heart and entrails, that the longer i abide with thee, the more longing and passion and desire increase on me, for that i have not yet fulfilled the whole of my desire.' 'what then wouldst thou have, o light of my eyes and fruit of my entrails?' asked she. 'if thou desire aught beside kissing and embracing and entwining of legs, do what pleases thee; for, by allah, none hath any part in us.' 'it is not that i desire,' rejoined he; 'but i would fain acquaint thee with my true history. i am no merchant, but a king, the son of a king, and my father is the supreme king suleiman shah, who sent his vizier ambassador to thy father, to demand thy hand for me in marriage, but thou wouldst not consent.' then he told her his story from first to last, nor is there any profit in repeating it, and added, 'and now i wish to return to my father, that he may send an ambassador to thy father, to demand thy hand for me, so we may be at ease.' when she heard this, she rejoiced greatly, because it fell in with her own wishes, and they passed the night on this understanding. but by the decree of fate, it befell that sleep overcame them that night above all nights and they slept till the sun had risen. now at this hour, king shehriman was sitting on his chair of estate, with his amirs and grandees before him, when the chief of the goldsmiths presented himself before him carrying a large box, which he opened and brought out therefrom a small casket worth a hundred thousand dinars, for that which was therein of rubies and emeralds and other jewels, beyond the competence of any king. when the king saw this, he marveled at its beauty and turning to the chief eunuch (him with whom the old woman had had to do, as before related), said to him, 'o kafour, take this casket to the princess dunya.' the eunuch took the casket and repairing to the princess's apartment, found the door shut and the old woman lying asleep on the threshold; whereupon said he, 'asleep at this hour?' his voice aroused the old woman, who was terrified and said to him, 'wait till i fetch the key.' then she went out and fled for her life; but the eunuch, having his suspicions of her, lifted the door off its hinges and entering, found the princess and taj el mulouk lying asleep in each other's arms. at this sight he was confounded and was about to return to the king, when the princess awoke, and seeing him, was terrified and changed colour and said to him, 'o kafour, veil thou what god hath veiled.' but he replied, 'i cannot conceal aught from the king;' and locking the door on them, returned to shehriman, who said to him, 'hast thou given the casket to the princess?' 'here is the casket,' answered the eunuch. 'take it, for i cannot conceal aught from thee. know that i found a handsome young man in the princess's arms, and they asleep in one bed.' the king commanded them to be fetched and said to them, 'what manner of thing is this!' and being violently enraged, seized a dagger and was about to strike taj el mulouk with it, when the princess threw herself upon him and said to her father, 'slay me before him.' the king reviled her and commanded her to be taken back to her chamber: then he turned to taj el mulouk and said to him, 'woe to thee! whence art thou? who is thy father and what hath emboldened thee to debauch my daughter?' 'know, o king,' replied the prince, 'that if thou put me to death, thou wilt repent it, for it will be thy ruin and that of all in thy dominions.' 'how so?' asked the king. 'know,' answered taj el mulouk, 'that i am the son of king suleiman shah, and before thou knowest it, he will be upon thee with his horse and foot.' when king shehriman heard this, he would have forborne to kill taj el mulouk and put him in prison, till he should know the truth of his words; but his vizier said to him, 'o king of the age, it is my counsel that thou make haste to slay this gallows-bird, that dares debauch kings' daughters.' so the king said to the headsman, 'strike off his head; for he is a traitor.' accordingly, the headsman took him and binding him fast, raised his hand to the amirs, as if to consult them, a first and a second time, thinking to gain time; but the king said to him, 'how long wilt thou consult the amirs? if thou do so again, i will strike off thine own head.' so the headsman raised his hand, till the hair of his armpit appeared, and was about to smite off taj el mulouk's head, when suddenly loud cries arose and the people closed their strops; whereupon the king said to him, 'wait awhile,' and despatched one to learn the news. presently, the messenger returned and said, 'i see an army like the stormy sea with its clashing billows; the earth trembles with the tramp of their horses, and i know not the reason of their coming.' when the king heard this, he was confounded and feared lest his realm should be torn from him; so he turned to his vizier and said, 'have not any of our troops gone forth to meet this army?' but before he had done speaking, his chamberlains entered with messengers from the approaching host, and amongst them the vizier who had accompanied taj el mulouk. they saluted the king, who rose to receive them and bidding them draw near, enquired the reason of their coming; whereupon the vizier came forward and said, 'know that he who hath invaded thy realm is no king like unto the kings and sultans of time past.' 'who is he?' asked shehriman, and the vizier replied, 'he is the lord of justice and loyalty, the report of whose magnanimity the caravans have blazed abroad, the sultan suleiman shah, lord of the green country and the two columns and the mountains of ispahan, he who loves justice and equity and abhors iniquity and oppression. he saith to thee that his son, the darling of his heart and the fruit of his loins, is with thee and in this thy city; and if he find him in safety, his aim is won and thou shalt have praise and thanks; but if he have disappeared from thy dominions or if aught have befallen him, look thou for ruin and the laying waste of thy realm; for this thy city shall become a desert, in which the raven shall croak. thus have i done my errand to thee and peace be on thee!' when king shehriman heard these words, his heart was troubled and he feared for his kingdom: so he cried out for his grandees and viziers and chamberlains and officers; and when they appeared, he said to them, 'out on you! go down and search for the young man!' now the prince was still under the headsman's hands, but he was changed by the fright he had undergone. presently, the vizier, chancing to look aside, saw the prince on the carpet of blood and knew him; so he threw himself upon him, as did the other envoys. then they loosed his bonds and kissed his hands and feet, whereupon he opened his eyes and recognizing his father's vizier and his friend aziz, fell down in a swoon, for excess of delight in them. when king shehriman saw that the coming of the army was indeed on this youth's account, he was confounded and feared greatly; so he went up to taj el mulouk and kissing his head, said to him, with streaming eyes, 'o my son, bear me not malice neither blame the sinner for his evil-doing: but have compassion on my gray hairs and do not lay waste my kingdom.' but taj el mulouk drew near unto him and kissing his hand, replied, 'fear not: no harm shall come to thee, for indeed thou art to me as my father; but look that nought befall my beloved, the lady dunya.' 'o my lord,' replied the king, 'fear not for her; nought but joy shall betide her.' and he went on to excuse himself to him and made his peace with king suleiman's vizier, to whom he promised much money, if he would conceal from the king what he had seen. then he bade his officers carry the prince to the bath and clothe him in one of the best of his own suits and bring him back speedily. so they carried him to the bath and brought him back to the presence-chamber, after having clad him in the suit that the king had set apart for him. when he entered, the king rose to receive him and made all his grandees stand in attendance on him. then he sat down to converse with aziz and the vizier and acquainted them with what had befallen him; after which they told him how they had returned to his father and given him to know of his son's perilous plight and added, 'and indeed our coming hath brought thee relief and us gladness.' quoth he, 'good fortune hath attended your every action, first and last.' meanwhile, king shehriman went in to his daughter, the princess dunya, and found her weeping and lamenting for taj el mulouk. moreover, she had taken a sword and fixed the hilt in the earth, with the point to her heart between her breasts; and she bent over it, saying, 'needs must i kill myself and not live after my beloved.' when her father entered and saw her in this case, he cried out, 'o princess of kings' daughters, hold thy hand and have compassion on thy father and the people of thy realm!' then he came up to her and said, 'god forbid that an ill thing should befall thy father for thy sake!' and he told her that her lover was the son of king suleiman shah and sought her to wife and that the marriage waited only for her consent; whereat she smiled and said, 'did i not tell thee that he was a king's son? by allah, i must let him crucify thee on a piece of wood worth two dirhems!' 'o my daughter,' answered the king, 'have mercy on me, so may god have mercy on thee!' 'harkye,' rejoined she, 'make haste and bring him to me without delay.' the king replied, 'on my head and eyes be it,' and returning in haste to taj el mulouk, repeated her words in his ear. so he arose and accompanied the king to the princess, who caught hold of him and embraced him in her father's presence and kissed him, saying, 'thou hast made me a weary woman!' then she turned to her father and said to him, 'sawst thou ever any do hurt to the like of this fair creature, more by token that he is a king, the son of a king, and of the free-bon, guarded against abominations?' therewith shehriman went out and shutting the door on them with his own hand, returned to the vizier and the other envoys and bade them report to their king that his son was in health and gladness and enjoying all delight of life with his beloved. so they returned to king suleiman and acquainted him with this, whereat he rejoiced and exclaimed, 'praised be god who hath brought my son to his desire!' meanwhile, king shehriman despatched largesse of money and victual to king suleiman's troops, and choosing out a hundred coursers and a hundred dromedaries and a hundred white slaves and a hundred concubines and a hundred black slaves and a hundred female slaves, sent them all to the king as a present. then he took horse, with his grandees and chief officers, and rode out of the city in the direction of king suleiman's camp. as soon as the latter knew of his approach, he rose and advancing some paces to meet him, took him in his arms and made him sit down beside himself on the royal couch, where they conversed awhile frankly and cheerfully. then food was set before them, followed by sweetmeats and fruits, and they ate till they were satisfied. presently, they were joined by taj el mulouk, richly dressed and adorned, and when his father saw him, he rose and embraced him and kissed him. then the two kings seated him between them, whilst all who were present rose to do him honour; and they sat conversing awhile, after which quoth king suleiman to king shehriman, 'i wish to have the contract between my son and thy daughter drawn up in the presence of witnesses, that the marriage may be made public, as of wont.' 'i hear and obey,' answered king shehriman and summoned the cadi and the witnesses, who came and drew up the marriage contract between the prince and princess. then they gave largesse of money and sweetmeats and burnt perfumes and sprinkled essences. and indeed it was a day of joy and festivity, and the grandees and soldiers rejoiced therein. then king shehriman proceeded to equip his daughter; and taj el mulouk said to his father, 'of a truth, this young man aziz is a man of great worth and generosity and hath done me right noble service, having wearied for me and travelled with me till he brought me to my desire. indeed, he ceased never to have patience with me and exhort me to patience, till i accomplished my intent; and he has now companied with us two whole years, cut off from his native land. so now i purpose to equip him with merchandise, that he may depart with a light heart; for his country is near at hand.' 'it is well seen,' replied his father: so they made ready a hundred loads of the richest and most costly stuffs, which taj el mulouk presented to aziz, saying, 'o my brother and my true friend, take these loads and accept them from me, as a gift and token of affection, and go in peace to thine own country.' aziz accepted the presents and kissing the earth before the prince and his father, bade them farewell. moreover, taj el mulouk mounted and brought him three miles on his homeward way, after which aziz conjured him to turn back, saying, 'by allah, o my lord, were it not for my mother, i would never part from thee! but leave me not without news of thee.' 'so be it,' replied taj el mulouk. then the prince returned to the city, and aziz journeyed on, till he came to his native town and repairing to his mother's house, found that she had built him a monument in the midst of the courtyard and used to visit it continually. when he entered, he found her, with her hair dishevelled and spread over the tomb, weeping and repeating the following verses: indeed, i'm very patient 'gainst all that can betide; yet do i lack of patience thine absence to abide. who is there can have patience after his friend and who bows not the head to parting, that comes with rapid stride? then sobs burst up out of her breast, and she repeated these verses also: what ails me? i pass by the graveyard, saluting the tomb of my son, and yet no greeting he gives me and answer comes there none. "how shall i give thee an answer, who lie in the grip of the grave, the hostage of earth and corruption," replies the beloved one. "the dust hath eaten my beauties and i have forgotten thee, shut in from kindred and lovers and stars and moon and sun." then aziz came in to her, and when she saw him, she fell down in a swoon for joy. he sprinkled water on her, till she revived and rising, took him in her arms and strained him to her bosom, whilst he in like manner embraced her. then they exchanged greetings, and she asked the reason of his long absence, whereupon he told her all that had befallen him from first to last and how taj el mulouk had given him a hundred loads of wealth and stuffs. at this she rejoiced, and aziz abode with his mother in his native town, weeping for what had befallen him with the daughter of delileh the crafty, even her who had gelded him. meanwhile, taj el mulouk went in to his beloved, the princess dunya, and did away her maidenhead. then king shehriman proceeded to equip his daughter for her journey with her husband and father-in-law and let bring them victual and gifts and rarities. so they loaded their beasts and set forth, whilst shehriman brought them three days' journey on their way, till king suleiman begged him to return. so he took leave of them and turned back, and taj el mulouk and his wife and father journeyed on, night and day, with their troops, till they drew near the capital of the green country. as soon as the news of their coming became known, the folk decorated the city; so in they entered, and the king sitting down on his chair of estate, with his son by his side, gave alms and largesse and loosed those who were in bonds. then he held a second bridal for his son, and the sound of the singing-women and players upon instruments of music ceased not for a whole month, during which time the tire-women stinted not to adorn the bride and display her in various dresses; and she tired not of the unveiling nor did they weary of gazing on her. then taj el mulouk, after having companied awhile with his father and mother, took up his sojourn with his wife, and they abode in all delight of life and fair fortune, till there came to them the destroyer of delights." when the vizier had made an end of the story of taj el mulouk and the princess dunya, zoulmekan said to him, "of a truth, it is the like of thee who lighten the mourning heart and are worthy to be the companions of kings and to guide their policy in the right way." meanwhile, they ceased not from the leaguer of constantinople; and there they lay four whole years, till they yearned after their native land and the troops murmured, being weary of siege and vigil and stress of war by night and by day. then king zoulmekan summoned rustem and behram and terkash and bespoke them thus, "know that all these years we have lain here and have not come by our intent and have gotten us but increase of trouble and concern; for indeed we came, thinking to take our wreak for king omar ben ennuman and behold, my brother sherkan was slain; so is our sorrow grown two sorrows and our affliction two afflictions. all this came of the old woman dhat ed dewahi, for it was she who slew the sultan in his kingdom and carried off his wife, the princess sufiyeh; nor did this suffice her, but she must put another cheat on us and slay my brother sherkan: and indeed i have bound myself and sworn by the most solemn oaths to avenge them of her. what say ye? ponder my words and answer me." with this, they bowed their heads and answered, "it is for the vizier dendan to decide." so the vizier came forward and said, "o king of the age, it avails us nothing to tarry here, and it is my counsel that we strike camp and return to our own country, there to abide awhile and after return and fall upon the worshippers of idols." "this is a good counsel," replied the king; "for indeed the folk weary for a sight of their families, and i also am troubled with yearning after my son kanmakan and my brother's daughter kuzia fekan, for she is in damascus and i know not how it is with her." so he bade the herald call the retreat after three days, whereupon the troops rejoiced and blessed the vizier dendan. then they fell to preparing for the homeward march and on the fourth day, they beat the drums and unfurled the banners and the army set forth, the vizier in the van and the king riding in the mid-battle, with the great chamberlain by his side, and journeyed night and day, till they reached baghdad. the folk rejoiced in their return, and care and hardship ceased from them, whilst those who had stayed at home came forth to meet those who had been so long absent and each amir betook him to his own house. as for zoulmekan, he went up to the palace and went into his son kanmakan, who had now reached the age of seven and used to go down [into the tilting-ground] and ride. as soon as the king was rested of his journey, he entered the bath with his son, and returning, seated himself on his chair of estate, whilst the vizier dendan took up his station before him and the amirs and grandees of the realm entered and stood in attendance upon him. then he called for his comrade the stoker, who had befriended him in his strangerhood; and when he came, the king rose to do him honour and made him sit by his own side. now he had acquainted the vizier with all the kindness and fair service that the stoker had done him; so the vizier and all the amirs made much of him. the stoker had waxed fat and burly with rest and good living, so that his neck was like an elephant's neck and his face like a porpoise's belly. moreover, he was grown dull of wit, for that he had never stirred from his place; so at the first he knew not the king by his aspect. but zoulmekan came up to him smilingly and saluted him after the friendliest fashion, saying, "how hast thou made haste to forget me!" so the stoker roused himself and looking steadfastly on zoulmekan knew him: whereupon he sprang to his feet and exclaimed. "o my friend, who hath made thee sultan?" zoulmekan laughed at him and the vizier, coming up to him, expounded the whole story to him and said, "he was thy brother and thy friend; and now he is king of the land and needs must thou get great good of him. so i counsel thee, if he say to thee, 'ask a boon of me,' ask not but for some great thing; for thou art very dear to him." quoth the stoker, "i fear lest, if i ask of him aught, he may not choose to grant it or may not be able thereto." "have no care," answered the vizier; "whatsoever thou asketh, he will give thee." "by allah," rejoined the stoker, "i must ask of him a thing that is in my thought! every night i dream of it and implore god to vouchsafe it to me." "take heart," said the vizier. "by allah, if thou askedst of him the government of damascus, in the room of his brother he would surely give it thee." with this, the stoker rose to his feet and zoulmekan signed to him to sit; but he refused, saying, "god forfend! the days are gone by of my sitting in thy presence." "not so," answered the sultan; "they endure even now. thou wert the cause that i am now alive, and by allah, what thing soever thou askest of me, i will give it to thee! but ask thou first of god, and then of me." "o my lord," said the stoker, "i fear...," "fear not," quoth the sultan. "i fear," continued he, "to ask aught and that thou shouldst refuse it to me." at this the king laughed and replied, "if thou askedst of me the half of my kingdom, i would share it with thee: so ask what thou wilt and leave talking." "i fear...," repeated the stoker. "do not fear," said the king. "i fear," went on the stoker, "lest i ask a thing and thou be not able thereto." with this, the sultan waxed wroth and said, "ask what thou wilt." then said the stoker, "i ask, first of god and then of thee, that thou write me a patent of mastership over all the stokers in jerusalem." the sultan and all who were present laughed and zoulmekan said, "ask somewhat other than this." "o my lord," replied the stoker, "said i not i feared thou wouldst not choose to grant me what i should ask or be not able thereto?" therewith the vizier nudged him once and twice and thrice, and every time he began, "i ask of thee..." quoth the sultan, "ask and be speedy." so he said, "i beseech thee to make me captain of the scavengers in jerusalem or damascus." then all those who were present laughed, till they fell backward, and the vizier beat him. so he turned to the vizier and said to him, "what art thou that thou shouldst beat me? it is no fault of mine: didst thou not bid me ask some considerable thing? let me go to my own country." with this, the sultan knew that he was jesting and took patience with him awhile; then turned to him and said, "o my brother, ask of me some considerable thing, befitting our dignity." so the stoker said, "o king of the age, i ask first of god and then of thee, that thou make me viceroy of damascus in the room of thy brother." "god granteth thee this," answered the king. so the stoker kissed the ground before him, and he bade set him a chair in his rank and put on him a viceroy's habit. then he wrote him a patent of investiture and sealing it with his own seal, said to the vizier, "none shall go with him but thou; and when thou returnest, do thou bring with thee my brother's daughter, kuzia fekan." "i hear and obey," answered the vizier and taking the stoker, went down with him and made ready for the journey. then the king appointed the stoker servants and officers and gave him a new litter and princely equipage and said to the amirs, "whoso loves me, let him honour this man and give him a handsome present." so they brought him every one his gift, according to his competence; and the king named him ziblcan, [fn# ] and conferred on him the surname of honour of el mujahid.[fn# ] as soon as the new viceroy's gear was ready, he went up with the vizier to the king, to take leave of him and ask his permission to depart. the king rose to him and embracing him, exhorted him to do justice among his subjects and deal fairly with them and bade him make ready for war against the infidels after two years then they took leave of each other and king ziblcan, surnamed el mujahid, set out on his journey, after the amirs had brought him slaves and servants, even to five thousand in number, who rode after him. the grand chamberlain also took horse, as did behram, captain of the medes, and rustem, captain of the persians, and terkash, captain of the arabs, and rode with him three days' journey, to do him honour and take their leaves of him. then they returned to baghdad and the sultan ziblcan and the vizier dendan fared on, with their company, till they drew near damascus. now news was come upon the wings of birds, to the notables of damascus that king zoulmekan had made sultan over damascus a sultan called ziblcan el mujahid; so when he reached the city, he found it decorated in his honour, and all the folk came out to gaze on him. he entered damascus in great state and went up to the citadel, where he sat down upon his chair of estate, whilst the vizier dendan stood in attendance on him, to acquaint him with the ranks and stations of the amirs. then the grandees came in to him and kissed hands and called down blessings on him. he received them graciously and bestowed on them gifts and dresses of honour; after which he opened the treasuries and gave largesse to the troops, great and small. then he governed and did justice and proceeded to equip the lady kuzia fekan, daughter of king sherkan, appointing her a litter of silken stuff. moreover, he furnished the vizier dendan also for the return journey and would have made him a gift of money, but he refused, saying, "thou art near the time of the tryst with the king, and haply thou wilt have need of money, or we may send to seek of thee funds for the holy war or what not." when the vizier was ready, the viceroy brought kuzia fekan to him and made her mount the litter, giving her ten damsels to do her service. moreover, he mounted, to bid the vizier farewell, and they set forward, whilst ziblcan returned to damascus and busied himself in ordering the affairs of his government and making ready his harness of war, against such time as king zoulmekan should send to him there for. meanwhile the vizier and his company fared forward by easy stages, till they came, after a month's travel, to ruhbeh[fn# ] and thence pushed on, till they drew near baghdad. then he despatched messengers, to inform king zoulmekan of his arrival; and he, when he heard this, took horse and rode out to meet him. the vizier would have dismounted to receive him, but the king conjured him not to do so and spurred his steed, till he came up to him. then he questioned him of ziblcan, whereto the vizier replied that he was well and that he had brought with him his brother's daughter, kuzia fekan. at this the king rejoiced and said to dendan, "go thou and rest thee of the fatigue of the journey, and after three days come to me again." "with all my heart," replied the vizier and betook himself to his own house, whilst the king went up to his palace and went in to his brother's daughter, who was then a girl of eight years old. when he saw her, he rejoiced in her and sorrowed sore for her father. then he let make for her clothes and gave her splendid jewels and ornaments and bade lodge her with his son kanmakan in one place. so they both grew up, the brightest and bravest of the people of their time; but kuzia fekan grew up possessed of good sense and understanding and knowledge of the issues of events, whilst kanmakan grew up generous and freehanded, taking no thought to the issue of aught. now kuzia fekan used to ride a-horseback and fare forth with her cousin into the open plain and range at large with him in the desert; and they both learnt to smite with swords and thrust with spears. so they grew up, till each of them attained the age of twelve, when king zoulmekan, having completed his preparations and provisions for the holy war, summoned the vizier dendan and said to him, "know that i am minded to do a thing, which i will discover to thee, and do thou with speed return me an answer thereon." "what is that, o king of the age?" asked the vizier. "i am resolved," said the king, "to make my son kanmakan king and rejoice in him in my lifetime and do battle before him, till death overcome me. what deemest thou of this?" the vizier kissed the earth before the king and replied, "o king and sultan, lord of the age and the time, this that is in thy mind is indeed good, save that it is now no time to carry it out, for two reasons: the first, that thy son kanmakan is yet of tender age; and the second, that it is of wont that he who makes his son king in his lifetime, lives but a little thereafterward." "know, o vizier," rejoined the king, "that we will make the grand chamberlain guardian over him, for he is art and part of us and he married my sister, so that he is to me as a brother." quoth the vizier, "do what seemeth good to thee: we will obey thine orders." then the king sent for the grand chamberlain and the grandees of the kingdom and said to them, "ye know that this my son kanmakan is the first cavalier of the age and that he hath no peer in jousting and martial exercises; and now i appoint him to be sultan over you in my stead and i make his uncle, the grand chamberlain, guardian over him." "o king of the age," replied the chamberlain, "i am but an offset of thy bounty." and the king said, "o chamberlain, verily this my son kanmakan and my niece kuzia fekan are brothers' children; so i marry them one to the other and i call those present to witness thereof." then he made over to his son such treasures as beggar description and going in to his sister nuzhet ez zeman told her what he had done, whereat she rejoiced greatly and said, "verily, they are both my children. may god preserve thee to them many a year!" "o my sister," replied he, "i have accomplished that which was in my heart of the world and i have no fear for my son: yet it were well that thou shouldst have a watchful eye to him and to his mother." and he went on to commend to the chamberlain and nuzhet ez zeman his son and niece and wife. thus did he nights and days till he [fell sick and] deeming surely that he should drink the cup of death, took to his bed and abode thus a whole year, whilst the chamberlain took upon himself the ordering of the people and the realm. at the end of this time, the king summoned his son kanmakan and the vizier dendan and said to the former, "o my son, this vizier shall be thy father, when i am dead; for know that i am about to leave this transitory house of life for that which is eternal. and indeed i have fulfilled my lust of this world; yet there remaineth in my heart one regret, which may god dispel at thy hands!" "what regret is that, o my father?" asked his son. "o my son," answered zoulmekan, "it is that i die without having avenged thy grandfather omar ben ennuman and thine uncle sherkan on an old woman whom they call dhat ed dewahi; but, so god grant thee aid, do not thou fail to take thy wreak on her and to wipe out the disgrace we have suffered at the hands of the infidels. beware of the old woman's craft and do as the vizier shall counsel thee; for that he from of old time hath been the pillar of our realm." and his son assented to what he said. then the king's eyes ran over with tears and his sickness redoubled on him, nor did it leave to press sore upon him four whole years, during which time his brother-in-law the chamberlain held sway over the country, judging and commanding and forbidding, to the contentment of the people and the nobles, and all the land prayed for him[fn# ] what while zoulmekan was occupied with his malady. as for kanmakan, he had no thought but of riding and tilting with spears and shooting with arrows, and thus also did his cousin kuzia fekan; for they were wont to go forth at the first of the day and return at nightfall, when she would go in to her mother and he to his, to find her sitting weeping by his father's bed. then he would tend his father till daybreak, when he would go forth again with his cousin, according to their wont. now zoulmekan's sufferings were long upon him and he wept and recited these verses: my strength is past away, my tale of days is told and i, alas! am left even as thou dost behold. in honour's day, the first amongst my folk was i, and in the race for fame the foremost and most bold. would that before my death i might but see my son the empery in my stead over the people hold and rush upon his foes and take on them his wreak, at push of sword and pike, in fury uncontrolled. lo, i'm a man fordone, in this world and the next, except my spright of god be solaced and consoled! when he had made an end of repeating these verses he laid his head on his pillow and his eyes closed and he slept. in his sleep he saw one who said to him, "rejoice for thy son shall fill the lands with justice and have the mastery over them and men shall obey him." then he awoke gladdened by this happy omen that he had seen, and after a few days, death smote him, whereat great grief fell on the people of baghdad, and gentle and simple mourned for him. but time passed over him, as if he had never been, and kanmakan's estate was changed; for the people of baghdad set him aside and put him and his family in a place apart. when his mother saw this, she fell into the sorriest of plights and said, "needs must i go to the grand chamberlain, and i hope for the favour of the subtle, the all-wise one!" then she betook herself to the house of the chamberlain, who was now become sultan, and found him sitting upon his couch. so she went in to his wife nuzhet ez zeman and wept sore and said, "verily, the dead have no friends. may god never bring you to need and may you cease not to rule justly over rich and poor many days and years! thine ears have heard and thine eyes have seen all that was ours aforetime of kingship and honour and dignity and wealth and goodliness of life and condition; and now fortune hath turned upon us, and fate and the time have played us false and wrought hostilely with us; wherefore i come to thee, craving thy bounties, i that have been used to confer favours; for when a man dies, women and girls are brought low after him." and she repeated the following verses: let it suffice thee that death is the worker of wonders and know that the lives which are gone from our sight will never return to us mo'. the days of the life of mankind are nothing but journeys, i wot, whose watering-places for aye are mixed with misfortune and woe. yet nothing afflicteth my heart like the loss of the good and the great, whom the stresses of adverse events have compassed about and laid low. when nuzhet ez zeman heard this, she remembered her brother zoulmekan and his son kanmakan and making her draw near to her, said to her, "by allah, i am now rich and thou poor, and by allah, we did not leave to seek thee out, but that we feared to wound thy heart, lest thou shouldst deem our gifts to thee an alms. of a truth, all the good that we now enjoy is from thee and thy husband: so our house is thy house and our place thy place, and all that we have of wealth and goods is thine." then she clad her richly and appointed her a lodging in the palace, adjoining her own; and she and her son abode therein in all delight of life. him also did nuzhet ez zeman clothe in kings' raiment and gave them handmaids to do them service. after a little, she told her husband of her brother's widow, whereat his eyes filled with tears and he said, "wouldst thou see the world after thee, look upon the world after another than thyself. entertain her honourably and enrich her poverty." meanwhile, kanmakan and kuzia fekan grew up and flourished, like unto two fruit-laden saplings or two shining moons, till they reached the age of fifteen. as for the girl, she was indeed the fairest of the cloistered maids, with lovely face and smooth cheeks, slender waist, heavy hips and arrowy shape, lips sweeter than old wine and spittle as it were the fountain selsebil of paradise, even as saith the poet, describing her: from her mouth's honeyed dew, meseems, the first-pressed wine is drawn and on her sweetest lips the grapes, from which it's crushed, are grown; and when thou makest her to bend, its vines sway in her shape. blessed be he who fashioned her and may not be made known! for indeed god had united in her every attribute of beauty: her shape put to shame the willow-wand and the rose sought grace before her cheeks; the water of her mouth made mock of clear wine, and she gladdened heart and eyes, even as saith of her the poet: goodly and glorious she is, and perfect in every charm. her eyelashes put to shame kohl and the users of kohl. even as a sword in the hand of ali, the vicar of god, so is the glance of her eye to a lover's heart and soul. as for kanmakan, he was no less accomplished in grace and excelling in perfection; there was none could match with him in beauty and qualities, and valour shone from between his liquid black eyes, testifying for him and not against him. the hardest hearts inclined to him; and when the tender down of his lips and cheeks began to sprout, many were the poems made in his honour: as for example quoth one: unshown was my excuse, till on his cheek the hair grew and the darkness crept, bewildered, here and there. a fawn, when eyes of men are fixed upon his charms, his glances straight on them a trenchant poniard bare. and another: his lovers' souls have woven upon his cheek, i ween, a net the blood has painted with all its ruddy sheen. oh, how at them i marvel! they're martyrs; yet they dwell in fire, and for their raiment, they're clad in sendal green.[fn# ] it chanced, one festival day, that kuzia fekan went out, surrounded by her handmaids, to visit certain kindred of the court; and indeed beauty encompassed her; the rose of her cheek vied with the mole thereon, her teeth flashed from her smiling lips, like the petals of the camomile flower, and she was as the resplendent moon. her cousin kanmakan began to turn about her and devour her with his eyes. then he took courage and giving loose to his tongue, repeated the following verses: when shall the mourning heart be healed of anger and disdain? when, rigour ceasing, shall the lips of union smile again? would god i knew if i shall lie, some night, within the arms of a beloved, in whose heart is somewhat of my pain! when she heard this, she was angry and putting on a haughty air, said to him, "hast thou a mind to shame me among the folk, that thou speakest thus of me in thy verse? by allah, except thou leave this talk, i will assuredly complain of thee to the grand chamberlain, sultan of baghdad and khorassan and lord of justice and equity, whereby disgrace and punishment will fall on thee?" to this kanmakan made no reply, but returned to baghdad: and kuzia fekan also returned home and complained of her cousin to her mother, who said to her, "o my daughter, belike he meant thee no ill, and is he not an orphan? indeed, he said nought that implied reproach to thee; so look thou tell none of this, lest it come to the sultan's ears and he cut short his life and blot out his name and make it even as yesterday, whose remembrance hath passed away." how ever, kanmakan's case was not hidden from the people, and his love for kuzia fekan became known in baghdad, so that the women talked of it. moreover, his heart became contracted and his patience waned and he knew not what to do. then longed he to give vent to the anguish he endured, by reason of the pangs of separation; but he feared her anger and her rebuke: so he recited the following verses: what though i be fearful, anon, of her wrath, whose humour serene is grown troubled and dour, i bear it with patience, as he who is sick endureth a caut'ry in hopes of a cure. his verses came one day to the knowledge of king sasan (for so had they named the grand chamberlain, on his assumption of the sultanate), as he sat on his throne, and he was told of the love the prince bore to kuzia fekan; whereat he was sore vexed, and going in to his wife nuzhet ez zeman, said to her, "verily, to bring together fire and dry grass is of the greatest of risks; and men may not be trusted with women, so long as eyes cast furtive glances and eyelids quiver. now thy nephew kanmakan is come to man's estate and it behoves us to forbid him access to the harem; nor is it less needful that thy daughter be kept from the company of men, for the like of her should be cloistered." "thou sayest sooth, o wise king," answered she. next day came kanmakan, according to his wont, and going in to his aunt, saluted her. she returned his greeting and said to him, "o my son, i have somewhat to say to thee, that i would fain leave unsaid; yet must i tell it thee, in my own despite." "speak," said he. "know then," rejoined she, "that thine uncle the chamberlain, the father of kuzia fekan, has heard of thy love for her and the verses thou madest of her and has ordered that she be kept from thee; wherefore, if thou have occasion for aught from us, i will send it to thee from behind the door, and thou shalt not look upon kuzia fekan nor return hither from day forth." when he heard this, he withdrew, without speaking a word, and betook himself to his mother, to whom he related what his aunt had said to him. quoth she, "this all comes of thy much talk. thou knowest that the news of thy passion for kuzia fekan is noised abroad everywhere and how thou eatest their victual and makest love to their daughter." "and who should have her but i?" replied the prince. "she is the daughter of my father's brother and i have the best of rights to her." "these are idle words," rejoined his mother. "be silent, lest thy talk come to king sasan's ears and it prove the cause of thy losing her and of thy ruin and increase of affliction. they have not sent us the evening meal to-night and we shall die of want; and were we in any land other than this, we were already dead of the pangs of hunger or the humiliation of begging our bread." when kanmakan heard his mother's words, his anguish redoubled; his eyes ran over with tears and he sobbed and complained and repeated the following verses: give o'er this unrelenting blame, that never lets me be! my heart loves her to whom it's thrall and may not struggle free. look not to me for any jot of patience, for i swear by god his house, my patience all is clean divorced from me! blamers to prudence me exhort; i heed them not, for i in my avouchment am sincere of love and constancy. they hinder me by very force from visiting my dear, though, by the merciful, nor rogue am i nor debauchee! indeed, my bones, whenas they hear the mention of her name, do quake and tremble even as birds from sparrow-hawks that flee. o daughter of my uncle, say to him who chides at love, that i, by allah, am distraught with love-longing for thee. and he said to his mother, "i can dwell no longer in my aunt's house nor among these people, but will go forth and abide in the corners of the city." so he and his mother left the palace and took up their abode in one of the quarters of the poorer sort: and she used to go from time to time to king sasan's palace and take thence food for her own and her son's subsistence. one day, kuzia fekan took her aside and said to her, "alas, my aunt, how is it with thy son?" "o my daughter," replied she, "sooth to say, he is tearful-eyed and mournful-hearted, being fallen into the snare of thy love." and she repeated to her the verses he had made; whereupon kuzia fekan wept and said, "by allah, i rebuked not him for his words of ill-will or dislike to him, but because i feared the malice of enemies for him. indeed, my passion for him is double that he feels for me; words fail to set out my yearning for him; and were it not for the extravagances of his tongue and the wanderings of his wit, my father had not cut off his favours from him nor decreed unto him exclusion and prohibition. however, man's fortune is nought but change, and patience in every case is most becoming; peradventure he who ordained our severance will vouchsafe us reunion!" and she repeated the following: o son of mine uncle, the like of thine anguish i suffer, the like of thy passion i feel; yet hide i from men what i suffer for longing, and shouldst thou not also thy passion conceal? when his mother heard this, she thanked her and blessed her: then she left her and returning to her son, told him what his mistress had said; whereupon his desire for her increased. but he took heart, being eased of his despair, and the turmoil of his spirits was quelled. and he said, "by allah, i desire none but her!" and he repeated the following verses: give over thy chiding; i'll hearken no whit to the flouts of my foes: indeed i've discovered my secret that nought should have made me disclose; and she, whose enjoyment i hoped for, alack! is far distant from me; mine eyes watch the hours of the dark, whilst she passes the night in repose. so the days and nights went by, whilst kanmakan lay tossing upon coals of fire, till he reached the age of seventeen: and indeed his beauty was now come to perfection and his wit had ripened. one night, as he lay awake, he communed with himself and said, "why should i keep silence, till i consume away, and see not my love? my only fault is poverty: so, by allah, i will go out from this land and wander afar in the plains and valleys; for my condition in this city is one of misery and i have no friend nor lover in it to comfort me; wherefore i will distract myself by absence from my native land, till i die and am at peace from abasement and tribulation." and he repeated the following verses: though my soul weary for distress and flutter fast for woe, yet of its nature was it ne'er to buckle to a foe. excuse me; for indeed my heart is like a book, whereof the superscription's nought but tears, that aye unceasing flow. behold my cousin, how she seems a maid of paradise, a houri come, by rizwan's grace, to visit us below! who seeks the glances of her eyes and dares the scathing stroke of their bright swords, shall hardly 'scape their swift and deadly blow. lo, i will wander o'er the world, to free my heart from bale and compensation for its loss upon my soul bestow! yea, i will range the fields of war and tilt against the brave and o'er the champions will i ride roughshod and lay them low. then will i come back, glad at heart and rich in goods and store, driving the herds and flocks as spoil before me, as i go. so he went out in the darkness of the night, barefoot, wearing a short-sleeved tunic and a skull-cap of felt seven years old and carrying a cake of dry bread, three days stale, and betook himself to the gate el arij of baghdad. here he waited till the gate opened, when he was the first to go forth; and he went out at random and wandered in the deserts day and night. when the night came, his mother sought him, but found him not, whereupon the world, for all its wideness, was straitened upon her and she took no delight in aught of its good. she looked for him a first day and a second and a third, till ten days were past, but no news of him reached her. then her breast became contracted and she shrieked and lamented, saying, "o my son, o my delight, thou hast revived my sorrows! did not what i endured suffice, but thou must depart from the place of my abiding? after thee, i care not for food nor delight in sleep, and but tears and mourning are left me. o my son, from what land shall i call thee? what country hath given thee refuge?" and her sobs burst up, and she repeated the following verses: we know that, since you went away, by grief and pain we're tried. the bows of severance on us full many a shaft have plied. they girt their saddles on and gainst the agonies of death left me to strive alone, whilst they across the sand-wastes tried. deep in the darkness of the night a ring-dove called to me, complaining of her case; but i, "give o'er thy plaint," replied. for, by thy life, an if her heart were full of dole, like mine, she had not put a collar on nor yet her feet had dyed. my cherished friend is gone and i for lack of him endure all manner sorrows which with me for ever will abide. then she abstained from food and drink and gave herself up to weeping and lamentation. her grief became known and all the people of the town and country wept with her and said, "where is thine eye, o zoulmekan?" and they bewailed the rigour of fate, saying, "what can have befallen him, that he left his native town and fled from the place where his father used to fill the hungry and do justice and mercy?" and his mother redoubled her tears and lamentations, till the news of kanmakan's departure came to king sasan through the chief amirs, who said to him, "verily, he is the son of our (late) king and the grandson of king omar ben ennuman and we hear that he hath exiled himself from the country." when king sasan heard these words, he was wroth with them and ordered one of them to be hanged, whereat the fear of him fell upon the hearts of the rest and they dared not speak one word. then he called to mind all the kindness that zoulmekan had done him and how he had commended his son to his care; wherefore he grieved for kanmakan and said "needs must i have search made for him in all countries." so he summoned terkash and bade him choose a hundred horse and go in quest of the prince. accordingly he went out and was absent ten days, after which he returned and said, "i can learn no tidings of him and have come on no trace of him, nor can any tell me aught of him." with this, king sasan repented him of that which he had done with kanmakan; whilst his mother abode without peace or comfort, nor would patience come at her call: and thus twenty heavy days passed over her. to return to kanmakan. when he left baghdad, he went forth, perplexed about his case and knowing not whither he should go: so he fared on alone into the desert for the space of three days and saw neither footman nor horseman. sleep deserted him and his wakefulness redoubled, for he pined for his people and his country. so he wandered on, eating of the herbs of the earth and drinking of its waters and resting under its trees at the hour of the noontide heats, till he came to another road, into which he turned and following it other three days, came to a land of green fields and smiling valleys, abounding in the fruits of the earth. it had drunken of the beakers of the clouds, to the sound of the voices of the turtle and the ring-dove, till its hill-sides were enamelled with verdure and its fields were fragrant. at this sight, kanmakan recalled his father's city baghdad, and for excess of emotion repeated the following verses: i wander on, in hope i may return some day, yet know not when that day shall be. what drove me forth was that i found no means to fend awe, the ills that pressed on me. then he wept, but presently wiped away his tears and ate of the fruits of the earth. then he made his ablutions and prayed the ordained prayers that he had neglected all this time; after which he sat in that place, resting, the whole day. when the night came, he lay down and slept till midnight, when he awoke and heard a man's voice repeating the following verses: life unto me is worthless, except i see the shine of the flashing teeth of my mistress and eke her face divine. the bishops in the convents pray for her day and night and in the mosques the imams fall prone before her shrine. death's easier than the rigours of a beloved one, whose image never cheers me, whenas i lie and pine. o joy of boon-companions, when they together be and lover and beloved in one embrace entwine! still more so in the season of spring, with all its flowers, what time the world is fragrant with blossoms sweet and fine. up, drinker of the vine-juice, and forth, for seest thou not earth gilt with blooms and waters all welling forth like wine? when kanmakan heard this, it revived his sorrows; his tears ran down his cheeks like rivers and flames of fire raged in his heart. he rose to see who it was that spoke, but saw none, for the thickness of the dark; whereupon passion increased on him and he was alarmed and restlessness possessed him. so he descended to the bottom of the valley and followed the banks of the stream, till he heard one sighing heavily, and the same voice recited the followed verses: though thou have used to dissemble the love in thy heart for fear, give on the day of parting, free course to sob and tear. 'twixt me and my beloved were vows of love and troth; so cease i for her never to long and wish her near. my heart is full of longing; the zephyr, when it blows, to many a thought of passion stirs up my heavy cheer. doth she o' the anklets hold me in mind, whilst far away, though between me and saada were solemn vows and dear? shall the nights e'er unite us, the nights of dear delight, and shall we tell our suff'rings, each in the other's ear? "thou seduced by passion for us," quoth she, and i, "god keep thy lovers all! how many have fallen to thy spear?" if mine eyes taste the pleasance of sleep, while she's afar, may god deny their vision her beauties many a year! o the wound in mine entrails! i see no cure for it save love-delight and kisses from crimson lips and clear. when kanmakan heard this, yet saw no one, he knew that the speaker was a lover like unto himself, debarred the company of her whom he loved; and he said to himself; "it were fitting that this man should lay his head to mine and become my comrade in this my strangerhood." then he hailed the speaker and cried out to him, saying "o thou that goest in the sombre night, draw near to me and tell me thy history. haply thou shalt find in me one who will succour thee in shine affliction." "o thou that answerest my complaint and wouldst know my history," rejoined the other, "who art thou amongst the cavaliers? art thou a man or a genie? answer me speedily ere thy death draw near, for these twenty days have i wandered in this desert and have seen no one nor heard any voice but thine." when kanmakan heard this, he said to himself, "his case is like unto mine, for i also have wandered twenty days in the desert and have seen none nor heard any voice: but i will make him no answer till the day." so he was silent and the other called out to him, saying, "o thou that callest, if thou be of the jinn, go in peace, and if thou be a man, stay awhile, till the day break and the night flee with the dark." so they abode each in his own place, reciting verses and weeping with abundant tears, till the light of day appeared and the night departed with the darkness. then kanmakan looked at the other and found him a youth of the bedouin arabs, clad in worn clothes and girt-with a rusty sword, and the signs of passion were apparent on him. so he went up to him and accosting him, saluted him. the bedouin returned the salute and greeted him courteously, but made little account of him, for what he saw of his tender years and his condition, which was that of a poor man. so he said to him, "o youth, of what tribe art thou and to whom art thou kin among the arabs? what is thy history and wherefore goest thou by night, after the fashion of champions? indeed, thou spokest to me in the night words such as are spoken of none but magnanimous cavaliers and lionhearted warriors; and now thy life is in my hand. but i have compassion on thee by reason of thy tender age; so i will make thee my companion, and thou shalt go with me, to do me service." when kanmakan heard him speak thus unseemly, after what he had shown him of skill in verse, he knew that he despised him and thought to presume with him; so he answered him with soft and dulcet speech, saying, "o chief of the arabs, leave my tenderness of age and tell me thy story and why thou wanderest by night in the desert, reciting verses. thou talkest of my serving thee; who then art thou and what moved thee to speak thus?" "harkye, boy!" answered the bedouin, "i am subbah, son of remmah ben hummam. my people are of the arabs of syria, and i have a cousin called nejmeh, who brings delight to all that look on her. my father died, and i was brought up in the house of my uncle, the father of nejmeh; but when i grew up and my cousin became a woman, they excluded her from me and me from her, seeing that i was poor and of little estate. however, the chiefs of the arabs and the heads of the tribes went in to her father and rebuked him, and he was abashed before them and consented to give me his daughter, but upon condition that i should bring him as her dower fifty head of horses and fifty dromedaries and fifty camels laden with wheat and a like number laden with barley, together with ten male and ten female slaves. the dowry he imposed upon me was beyond my competence; for he exacted more than the due marriage portion. so now i am travelling from syria to irak, having passed twenty days without seeing other than thyself, and i mean to go to baghdad, that i may note what rich and considerable merchants start thence. then i will go out in their track and seize their goods, for i will kill their men and drive off their camels with their loads. but what manner of man art thou?" "thy case is like unto mine," replied kanmakan; "save that my complaint is more grievous than thine; for my cousin is a king's daughter, and the dowry of which thou hast spoken would not content her family, nor would they be satisfied with the like of that from me." "surely," said subbah, "thou art mad or light-headed for excess of passion! how can thy cousin be a king's daughter? thou hast no sign of princely rank on thee, for thou art but a mendicant." "o chief of the arabs," rejoined kanmakan, "marvel not at my case, for it is due to the shifts of fortune; and if thou desire proof of me, behold, i am kanmakan, son of king zoulmekan, son of king omar ben ennuman, lord of baghdad and khorassan, and fortune hath played the tyrant with me; for my father died and (my uncle) king sasan took the sultanate. so i fled forth from baghdad, secretly, lest any should see me, and have wandered twenty days, without seeing any but thyself. so now i have discovered to thee my case, and my history is as thy history and my need as thy need." when subbah heard this, he cried out and said, "o joy! i have attained my desire! i will have no booty this day but thyself; for, since thou art of the lineage of kings and hast come out in the habit of a beggar, it cannot be but thy people will seek thee, and if they find thee in any one's hand, they will ransom thee with much treasure. so put thy hands behind thee, o my lad, and walk before me." "softly, o brother of the arabs," answered kanmakan; "my people will not ransom me with silver nor with gold, no, not with a brass dirhem; and i am a poor man, having with me neither much nor little: so leave this behaviour with me and take me to comrade. let us go forth of the land of irak and wander over the world, so haply we may win dower and marriage-portion and enjoy our cousins' embraces." when subbah heard this, he was angry; his arrogance and heat redoubled and he said, "out on thee, o vilest of dogs! dost thou bandy words with me? turn thy back, or i will chastise thee." at this kanmakan smiled and answered, "why should i turn my back for thee? is there no equity in thee? dost thou not fear to bring reproach upon the arabs by driving a man like myself captive, in dishonour and humiliation, before thou hast proved him in the field, to know if he be a warrior or a coward?" the bedouin laughed and replied, "by allah, i wonder at thee! thou art a boy in years, but old in talk. these words should come from none but a doughty champion: what wantest thou of equity? "if thou wilt have me be thy captive, to serve thee," said kanmakan, "throw down thine arms and put off thine upper clothes and wrestle with me; and whichever of us throws the other shall have his will of him and make him his servant." the other laughed and said, "i think thy much talk denotes the nearness of thy death." then he threw down his sword and tucking up his skirt, drew near unto kanmakan, and they gripped each other. but the bedouin found that kanmakan had the better of him and outweighed him, as the quintal outweighs the dinar; and he looked at his legs and saw that they were as firmly planted as two well-builded minarets or two tent-poles driven into the ground or two immovable mountains. so he knew that he himself was not able to cope with him and repented of having come to wrestle with him, saying in himself, "would i had fallen on him with my weapons!" then kanmakan took hold of him and mastering him shook him, till he thought his guts would burst in his belly and roared out, "hold thy hand, o boy!" he heeded him not, but shook him again, and lifting him from the ground, made with him towards the stream, that he might throw him therein: whereupon the bedouin cried out, saying, "o valiant man, what wilt thou do with me?" quoth kanmakan, "i mean to throw thee into this stream: it will carry thee to the tigris. the tigris will bring thee to the river isa and the isa to the euphrates, and the euphrates will bear thee to thine own country; so thy people will see thee and know thy manlihead and the sincerity of thy passion." when subbah heard this, he cried out and said, "o champion of the desert, do not with me the deed of the wicked, but let me go, by the life of thy cousin, the jewel of the fair!" with this, kanmakan set him down; and when he found himself at liberty, he ran to his sword and buckler and taking them up, stood plotting in himself treachery and a sudden attack on kanmakan. the latter read his intent in his eye and said to him, "i know what is in thy mind, now thou hast hold of thy sword and buckler. thou hast neither strength nor skill for wrestling, but thou thinkest that, wert thou on horseback and couldst wheel about and ply me with thy sword, i had been slain long ago. but i will give thee thy will, so there may be no despite left in thy heart. give me the buckler and fall on me with thy sword; either i shall kill thee or thou me." "here it is," answered subbah and throwing him the shield, drew his sword and rushed at him. kanmakan took the buckler in his right hand and began to fend himself with it, whilst subbah struck at him with the sword, saying at each stroke, "this is the finishing one!" but kanmakan received all his blows on his buckler and they fell harmless, though he did not strike back again, having no weapon of offence; and subbah ceased not to smite at him, till his arm was weary. when the prince saw this, he rushed at him and seizing him in his arms, shook him and threw him to the ground. then he turned him over on his face and binding his arms behind him with the hangers of his sword, began to drag him by the feet towards the river: whereupon cried subbah, "what wilt thou do with me, o youth and cavalier of the age and hero of the field?" "did i not tell thee," answered kanmakan, "that it was my intent to send thee by the river to thy people and thy tribe, lest their hearts be troubled for thee and thou miss thy cousin's bride-feast?" at this, subbah shrieked aloud and wept and said, "do not thus, o champion of the time! let me go and make me one of thy servants." and he wept and wailed and recited the following verses: an outcast from my folk (how long my exile lasts!) am i. would god i knew if i in this my strangerhood shall die! i perish, and my folk know not the place where i am slain; i fall in exile, far away from her for whom i sigh. kanmakan had compassion on him and said to him, "make a covenant with me and swear to be a true comrade to me and to bear me company whithersoever i may go." "it is well," replied subbah and took the required oath. so kanmakan loosed him, and he rose and would have kissed the prince's hand; but he forbade him. then the bedouin opened his wallet and taking out three barley-cakes, laid them before kanmakan, and they both sat down on the bank of the stream to eat. when they had done eating, they made the ablution and prayed, after which they sat talking of what had befallen each of them from his people and the shifts of fortune. then said kanmakan, "whither dost thou now intend?" "i purpose," replied subbah, "to repair to baghdad, thy native town, and abide there, till god vouchsafe me the marriage-portion." "up then," rejoined the other, "and to the road! i abide here." so the bedouin took leave of him and set out for baghdad, whilst kanmakan remained behind, saying to himself, "o my soul, how shall i return poor and needy? by allah, i will not go back empty-handed, and if god please, i will assuredly work my deliverance!" then he went to the stream and made his ablutions and prayed to his lord, laying his brow in the dust and saying, "o my god, thou that makest the dew to fall and feedest the worm in the rock, vouchsafe me, i beseech thee, my livelihood, of thy power and the graciousness of thy compassion!" then he pronounced the salutation that closes prayer and sat, turning right and left and knowing not which way to take. presently, he saw, making towards him, a horseman whose back was bowed and who let the reins droop. he sat still and after awhile the horseman came up to him, when, behold, he was at the last gasp and made sure of death, for he was grievously wounded. the tears streamed down his cheeks, like water from the mouths of skins, and he said to kanmakan, "o chief of the arabs, take me to friend, whilst i live, for thou wilt not find my like, and give me a little water, harmful though the drinking of water be to a wounded man, especially whilst the blood is flowing and the life with it. if i live, i will give thee what shall heal thy distress and thy poverty; and if i die, mayst thou be blessed for thy good intent!" now this horseman had under him a stallion of the most generous breed, with legs like shafts of marble, the tongue fails to describe it; and when kanmakan looked at it, he was seized with longing admiration and said in himself, "verily, the like of this stallion is not to be found in our time." then he helped the rider to alight and entreated him friendly and gave him a little water to drink; after which he waited till he was rested and said to him, "who has dealt thus with thee?" "i will tell thee the truth of the case," answered the wounded man. "i am a horse-thief and all my life i have occupied myself with stealing and snatching horses, night and day, and my name is ghessan, surnamed the plague of all stables and horses. i heard tell of this stallion, that he was with king afridoun in the land of the greeks, where they had named him el catoul and surnamed him el mejnoun. so i journeyed to constantinople on his account, and whilst i was watching my opportunity to get at him, there came out an old woman, much considered among the greeks and whose word is law with them, a past mistress in all manner of trickery, by name shewahi dhat ed dewahi. she had with her this stallion and ten slaves, no more, to attend on her and it, and was bound for baghdad, there to sue for peace and pardon from king sasan. so i went out in their track, thinking to get the horse, and ceased not to follow them, but was unable to get at the stallion, by reason of the strict guard kept by the slaves, till they reached this country and i feared lest they should enter the city of baghdad. as i was casting about to steal the horse, behold, a great cloud of dust arose and covered the prospect. presently it opened and disclosed fifty horsemen, banded together to waylay merchants and led by a captain by name kehrdash, like a raging lion, yea, in battle a lion that lays heroes flat even as a carpet. they bore down on the old woman and her company, shouting and surrounding them, nor was it long before they bound her and the ten slaves and made off with their captives and the horse, rejoicing. when i saw this, i said to myself, 'my toil is wasted and i have not attained my desire.' however, i waited to see how the affair would result, and when the old woman found herself a captive, she wept and said to kehrdash, 'o doughty champion and invincible warrior, what wilt thou do with an old woman and slaves, now thou hast thy will of the horse?' and she beguiled him with soft words and promises that she would send him horses and cattle, till he released her and her slaves. then he went his way, he and his comrades, and i followed them to this country, watching my opportunity, till at last i succeeded in stealing the horse, whereupon i mounted him and drawing a whip from my wallet, struck him with it. when the robbers heard this, they came out on me and surrounded me on all sides and shot arrows and cast spears at me, whilst i stuck fast on the horse's back and he defended me with his hoofs, till at last he shot out with me from amongst them, like an arrow from the bow or a shooting star, after i had gotten a grievous wound in the press of the battle. since that time, i have passed three days in the saddle, without tasting food or sleep, so that my strength is wasted and the world is become of no account to me. but thou hast dealt kindly with me and hast had pity on me: and i see thee naked of body and sorrowful of aspect; yet are the marks of gentle breeding manifest on thee. so tell me, what and whence art thou and whither art thou bound?" "my name is kanmakan," answered the prince, "son of king zoulmekan, son of king omar ben ennuman. my father died, and a base man seized the throne after his death and became king over great and small." then he told him all his story from first to last; and the thief said to him, (and indeed he had compassion on him), "by allah, thou art a man of great account and exceeding nobility and thou shalt surely win to high estate and become the first cavalier of thy time! if thou canst lift me into the saddle and mount behind me and bring me to my country, thou shalt have honour in this world and a reward on the day of calling of men one to another;[fn# ] for i have no strength left to hold myself in the saddle; and if i die by the way, the steed is thine; for thou art worthier of it than any other." "by allah," said kanmakan, "if i could carry thee on my shoulders or share my life with thee, i would do so, without the horse! for i am of those that love to do good and succour the afflicted. so make ready to set out and put thy trust in the subtle, the all-wise." and he would have lifted him on to the horse and set forward, trusting in god the succourable. but the robber said, "wait for me a little." then he closed his eyes and opening his hands, said, "i testify that there is no god but god and that mohammed is the apostle of god! o glorious one, pardon me my mortal sin, for none can pardon mortal sins save thou!" and he made ready for death and recited the following verses: i've ranged through all countries, oppressing mankind, and in drinking of wine i have wasted my days. i've waded through torrents, the horses to steal and i've used with my guile the high places to raze. my case is right grievous and great is my guilt, and catoul, alas! is the end of my ways. i hoped of this horse i should get my desire; but vain was my journey and vain my essays. all my life i have stolen the steeds, and my death was decreed of the lord of all power and all praise. so, in fine, for the good of the stranger, the poor, the orphan, i've wearied in toils and affrays. when he had finished, he closed his eyes and opened his mouth; then giving one sob, he departed this life. kanmakan rose and dug a grave and laid him in the earth. then he went up to the stallion and kissed it and wiped its face and rejoiced with an exceeding joy, saying, "none has the like of this horse, no, not even king sasan." so much for kanmakan. meanwhile, news came to king sasan that the vizier dendan and half the army had thrown off their allegiance to him and sworn that they would have no king but kanmakan and the vizier had bound the troops by a solemn covenant and had gone with them to the islands of india and ethiopia, where he had gathered together a host like the swollen sea, none could tell its van from its rear. moreover, he was resolved to make for baghdad and possess himself of the kingdom and slay all who should let him, having sworn not to return the sword of war to its sheath, till he had set kanmakan on the throne. when this news came to sasan, he was drowned in the sea of melancholy, knowing that the whole state had furled against him, great and small, and trouble and anxiety were sore on him. so he opened his treasuries and distributed that which was therein among his officers and prayed for kanmakan's return, that he might draw his heart to him with fair usage and bounty and make him commander of those troops that remained faithful to him, hoping thus to prop his [falling] power. the news of this reached kanmakan by the merchants; so he returned in haste to baghdad, riding on the aforesaid stallion, and the news of his coming reached king sasan, as he sat perplexed upon his throne; whereupon he despatched all the troops and head-men of baghdad to meet him. so all who were in baghdad went out to meet the prince and escorted him to the palace and kissed the threshold, whilst the damsels and eunuchs went in to his mother and gave her the good tidings of his return. she came to him and kissed him between the eyes, but he said to her, "o my mother, let me go to my uncle king sasan, who hath overwhelmed us with favours and benefits." then he repaired to the palace, whilst all the people marvelled at the beauty of the stallion and said, "no king is like unto this man." so he went in to king sasan, who rose to receive him; and kanmakan saluted him and kissing his hands, offered him the horse as a present. the king bade him welcome, saying, "welcome and fair welcome to my son kanmakan! by allah, the world hath been straitened on me by reason of thine absence, but praised be god for thy safety!" and kanmakan called down blessings on him. then the king looked at the stallion and knowing it for the very horse, catoul by name, that he had seen in such and such a year, whilst at the leaguer of constantinople with king zoulmekan, said to kanmakan, "i! thy father could have come by this horse, he would have bought him with a thousand chargers of price: but now let the honour return to thee who deservest it. we accept the steed and return it to thee as a gift, for thou hast more right to it than any man alive, being the prince of cavaliers." then he bade bring forth for him dresses of honour and led horses and appointed him the chief lodging in the palace, giving him much money and showing him the utmost honour, for that he feared the issue of the vizier dendan's doings. at this kanmakan rejoiced and despondency and humiliation ceased from him. then he went to his house and said to his mother, "o my mother, how is it with my cousin?" "by allah, o my son," answered she, "my concern for thine absence hath distracted me from any other, even to thy beloved; especially as she was the cause of thine exile and separation from me." then he complained to her of his sufferings, saying, "o my mother, go to her and speak with her; haply she will favour me with a sight of her and dispel my anguish." "o my son," replied his mother, "idle desires abase the necks of men; so put away from thee this thought that will but lead to vexation; for i will not go to her nor carry her such a message." thereupon he told her what he had heard from the horse-thief concerning dhat ed dewahi, how she was then in their land, on her way to baghdad, and added, "it was she who slew my uncle and grandfather, and needs must i avenge them and wipe out our reproach." then he left her and repaired to an old woman, by name saadaneh, a cunning, perfidious and pernicious beldam, past mistress in all kinds of trickery and deceit to her he complained of what he suffered for love of his cousin kuzia fekan and begged her to go to her and implore her favour for him. "i hear and obey," answered the old woman and betaking herself to kuzia fekan's palace, interceded with her in his favour. then she returned to him and said, "thy cousin salutes thee and will visit thee this night at the middle hour." at this he rejoiced and sat down to await the fulfilment of his cousin's promise. at the appointed hour she came to him, wrapped in a veil of black silk, and aroused him from sleep, saying, "how canst thou pretend to love me, when thou art sleeping, heart-free, after the goodliest fashion?" so he awoke and said, "o desire of my heart, by allah, i slept not but hoping that thine image might visit me in dreams!" then she chid him tenderly and repeated the following verses: wert thou indeed a lover true and leal, thou hadst not suffered slumber on thee creep. o thou who feign'st to walk the ways of love, the watch of passion and desire to keep, son of my uncle, sure the eyes of those who're love-distraught know not the taste of sleep. when he heard his cousin's words, he was abashed before her and rose and excused himself. then they embraced and complained to each other of the anguish of separation; and thus they did, till the dawn broke and the day flowered forth over the lands; when she rose to depart. at this, kanmakan wept and sighed and repeated the following verses: she came to me, after her pride had driven me to despair, she in whose lips the teeth as the pearls of her necklace were. i kissed her a thousand times and clipped her close in my arms and lay all night with my cheek pressed close to the cheek of the fair; till the day, that must sever our loves, as 'twere the blade of a sword that flashes forth of its sheath, gleamed out on us unaware. then she took leave of him and returned to her palace. now she let certain of her damsels into her secret, and one of them told the king, who went in to kuzia fekan and drawing his sabre upon her, would have slain her: but her mother nuzhet ez zeman entered and said to him, 'by allah, do her no hurt, lest it be noised among the folk and thou become a reproach among the kings of the age! thou knowest that kanmakan is no base-born wretch, but a man of honour and nobility, who would not do aught that could shame him, and she was reared with him. so take patience and be not hasty; for verily the report is spread abroad, among the people of the palace and all the folk of the city, how the vizier dendan hath levied troops from all countries and is on his way hither to make kanmakan king." "by allah," said the king, "needs must i cast him into a calamity, such that neither earth shall bear him nor sky shadow him! i did but speak him fair and entreat him with favour, because of my subjects and officers, lest they should turn to him; but thou shalt see what will betide." then he left her and went out to order the affairs of the kingdom. next day, kanmakan came in to his mother and said to her, "o my mother, i am resolved to go forth a-raiding in quest of booty. i will waylay caravans and seize horses and flocks and slaves black and white, and as soon as my store is waxed great and my case is bettered, i will demand my cousin kuzia fekan in marriage of my uncle." "o my son," replied she, "of a truth the goods of men are not as a wastril camel, ready to thy hand; but between thee and them are sword-strokes and lance-thrusts and men that eat wild beasts and lay waste countries and snare lions and trap lynxes." quoth he, "god forbid that i should turn from my purpose, till i have attained my desire!" then he despatched the old woman to kuzia fekan, to tell her that he was about to set out in quest of a dowry befitting her, saying, "thou must without fail bring me an answer from her." "i hear and obey," repled the old woman and going forth, presently returned with kuzia fekan's answer, which was that she would come to him at midnight. so he abode awake till one half of the night was past, when disquietude got hold on him, and before he was aware, she came in to him, saying, "my life be thy ransom from wakefulness!" and he sprang up to receive her, exclaiming, "o desire of my heart, my life be thy ransom from all things evil!" then he acquainted her with his intent, and she wept; but he said, "weep not, o my cousin; for i beseech him who decreed our separation to vouchsafe us reunion and felicity." then kanmakan went in to his mother and took leave of her, after which he girt on his sword and donned turban and chin-band and mounting his horse catoul, rode through the streets of baghdad, till he reached the gate of the city. here he found his comrade subbah ben remmah going out, who, seeing him, ran to his stirrup and saluted him. he returned his greeting, and subbah said to him, "o my brother, how camest thou by this steed and sword and clothes, whilst i up to now have gotten nothing but my sword and target?" quoth kanmakan, "the hunter returns not but with game after the measure of his intent. a little after thy departure, fortune came to me: so now wilt thou go with me and work thine intent in my company and journey with me in this desert?" "by the lord of the kaabeh," replied subbah, "from this time forth i will call thee nought but 'my lord!'" then he ran on before the horse with his sword hanging from his neck and his budget between his shoulder-blades, and they pushed on into the desert four days' space, eating of the gazelles they caught and drinking of the water of the springs. on the fifth day, they came in sight of a high hill, at whose foot was a spring encampment and a running stream. the knolls and hollows were filled with camels and oxen and sheep and horses, and little children played about the cattle-folds. when kanmakan saw this, he was right glad and his breast was filled with joy; so he addressed himself to battle, that he might take the camels and the cattle, and said to subbah, "come, let us fall upon this good, whose owners have left it unguarded, and do battle for it with near and far, so haply it may fall to our lot and we will share it between us." "o my lord," replied subbah, "verily they to whom these herds belong are much people, and among them are doughty horsemen and footmen. if we cast ourselves into this great danger, neither of us will return to his people; but we shall both be cut off utterly and leave our cousins desolate." when kanmakan heard this, he laughed and knew that he was a coward: so he left him and rode down the hill, intent on rapine, shouting and chanting aloud the following verses: o the house of en numan is mickle of might! we're the champions with swords on the squadrons that smite! when the fury of battle flames high in our hearts, we're aye to be found in the front of the fight. the poor man amongst us may slumber secure nor see the foul favour of want or upright. i hope for the succour of him in whose hand is the kingdom, the maker of body and spright. then he rushed upon the cattle, like a camel in heat, and drove them all, oxen and sheep and horses and camels, before him. therewith the slaves ran at him with their bright swords and their long lances; and at their head was a turkish horseman, a stout champion, doughty in battle and onset and skilled to wield the tawny spear and the white sabre. he drove at kanmakan, saying, "out on thee! knewest thou to whom these cattle belong, thou hadst not done this thing! know that they are the good of the greek band, the champions of the sea and the circassian troop, and they are a hundred cavaliers, all stern warriors, who have forsworn the commandment of all kings. there has been stolen from them a steed of great price, and they have vowed not to return hence, but with it." when kanmakan heard these words, he cried out, saying, "o losers, this that i bestride is the steed itself, after which ye seek and for whose sake ye would do battle with me! so come out against me, all of you at once, and do your dourest!" so saying, he cried out between catoul's ears and he ran at them, as he were a ghoul. then kanmakan drove at the turk and smote him and overthrew him and let out his life; after which he turned upon a second and a third and a fourth and bereft them also of life. when the slaves saw this, they were afraid of him, and he cried out and said to them, "ho, sons of whores, drive out the cattle and the horses, or i will dye my spear in your blood!" so they untethered the cattle and began to drive them out, and subbah came down to kanmakan, crying out with a loud voice and rejoicing greatly; when, behold, there arose a cloud of dust and grew till it covered the prospect, and there appeared under it a hundred cavaliers, like fierce lions. with this subbah fled up on to the hill, that he might gaze upon the fight in safety, saying, "i am no warrior but in sport and jest." then the hundred cavaliers made towards kanmakan from all sides, and one of them accosted him, saying, "whither goest thou with this good?" "i have made prize of them," replied he, "and am carrying them away; and i forbid you from them, for know that he who is before you is a terrible lion and an illustrious champion and a sword that cuts wherever it turns!" when the horseman heard this, he looked at kanmakan and saw that he was a cavalier as he were a strong lion, whilst his face was as the full moon rising on its fourteenth night, and valour shone from between his eyes. now this horseman was the chief of the hundred horse, and his name was kehrdash; and what he saw in kanmakan of the perfection of martial grace, together with surpassing beauty and comeliness, reminded him of a mistress of his, by name fatin. now this fatin was one of the fairest of women in face, for god had given her beauty and grace and charms and noble qualities of all kinds, such as the tongue fails to describe. moreover, the cavaliers of the tribe feared her prowess and the champions of the land stood in awe of her, and she had sworn that she would not marry nor give any possession of her, except he should conquer her, saying to her father, "none shall approach me, except he master me in the field and the stead of war." kehrdash was one of her suitors, and when the news reached him of the vow she had taken, he thought scorn to fight with a girl, fearing reproach; and one of his friends said to him, "thou art accomplished in beauty and manly qualities; so if thou contend with her, even though she be stronger than thou, thou must needs overcome her, for when she sees thy beauty and grace, she will be discomfited before thee, seeing that women by nature incline unto men, as is not unknown to thee." nevertheless he refused and would not contend with her, albeit indeed she loved him, for what she had heard of his beauty and velour: and he ceased not to abstain from her thus, till he met with kanmakan, as hath been set down. now he took the prince for his beloved fatin and was afraid; so he went up to him and said, "out on thee, o fatin! thou comest to show me thy prowess; but now alight from thy steed, that i may talk with thee, for i have driven off these cattle and waylaid horsemen and champions, all for the sake of thy beauty and grace, which are without peer. so now thou shalt marry me, that kings' daughters may wait on thee, and thou shalt become queen of these countries." when kanmakan heard this, the fires of wrath flamed up in him and he cried out, saying, "out on thee, o dog of the barbarians! leave thy raving of fatin and come to cutting and thrusting, for eftsoon thou shalt lie in the dust." so saying, he began to wheel about him and offer battle. then kehrdash observed him more closely and saw that he was indeed a doughty knight and a stalwart champion; and the error of his thought was manifest to him, whenas he saw the tender down that adorned his cheeks, as it were myrtles springing from the heart of a red rose. and he feared his onslaught and said to those that were with him, "out on you! let one of you attack him and show him the keen sword and the quivering spear; for know that for a company to do battle with one man is foul shame, even though he be a doughty man of war and an invincible champion." with this, there ran at kanmakan a lion-like horseman, mounted on a black horse with white feet and a star on his forehead, the bigness of a dirhem, astounding sight and wit, as he were abjer, that was antar's steed: even as saith of him the poet: see, where the stallion yonder comes, that with a fierce delight drives to the battle, mingling earth with heaven in his might. meseems, the morning smote his brow and to avenge himself thereon, he plunges straight and deep into its heart of light. he rushed upon kanmakan, who met him in mid-career, and they wheeled about awhile in the dint of battle, exchanging blows such as confound the wit and dim the sight, till kanmakan took the other at vantage and smote him a swashing blow, that shore through turban and iron skull-cap and reached his head, and he fell from his saddle, as a camel falls, when he rolls over. then a second came out to him and a third and a fourth and a fifth, and he did with them all as he had done with the first. thereupon the rest rushed upon him, all at once, for indeed they were wild with rage and concern; but it was not long before he had transfixed them all with the point of his lance. when kehrdash saw his feats of arms, he knew that he was stout of heart and concluded that he was the phoenix of the champions and heroes of the age: so he feared death and said to kanmakan, "i give thee thy life and pardon thee the blood of my comrades, for i have compassion on thee by reason of thy fair youth. so take what thou wilt of the cattle and go thy ways, for life is better for thee [than death]." "thou lackest not of the generosity of the noble,"[fn# ] replied kanmakan; "but leave this talk and flee for thy life and reck not of blame nor think to get back the booty; but take the straight path for thine own safety." when kehrdash heard this, he waxed exceeding wroth and his anger moved him to that which was the cause of his death; so he said to kanmakan, "out on thee! knewest thou who i am, thou wouldst not talk thus in the open field. i am the doughty lion known as kehrdash, he who despoils great kings and waylays all the travellers and seizes the merchants' goods. yonder steed under thee is what i am seeking and i call upon thee to tell me how thou camest by it." "know," replied kanmakan, "that this steed was being carried to my uncle king sasan in the company of a certain old woman, attended by ten slaves, when thou fellest upon her and tookest the horse from her; and i have a debt of blood against this old woman for the sake of my grandfather king omar ben ennuman and my uncle king sherkan." "out on thee!" said kehrdash. "who is thy father, o thou that hast no (known) mother?" "know," answered the prince, "that i am kanmakan, son of zoulmekan, son of omar ben ennuman." quoth kehrdash, "thy perfection cannot be denied, nor yet the union in thee of martial virtue and comeliness: but go in peace, for thy father showed us favour and bounty." "by allah, o vile wretch," rejoined kanmakan, "i will not so far honour thee as to overcome thee in the open field!" at this the bedouin was wroth and they drove at one another, shouting aloud, whilst their horses pricked up their ears and raised their tails. they clashed together with such a dint, that it seemed to each as if the heavens were split in sunder, and strove like two butting rams, smiting one another with thick-coming spear-strokes. presently, kehrdash aimed a blow at kanmakan; but he evaded it and turning upon the brigand, smote him in the breast, that the head of the spear issued from his back. then he collected the horses and cattle and cried out to the slaves, saying, "up and drive them off briskly!" with this down came subbah and accosting kanmakan, said to him, "thou hast quitted thee right well, o hero of the age! i prayed god for thee and he heard my prayer." then he cut off kehrdash's head and kanmakan laughed and said, "out on thee, subbah! i thought thee a man of valour." quoth the bedouin, "forget not thy slave in the division of the spoil, so haply i may win therewith to marry my cousin nejmeh." "thou shalt surely have a share in it," answered kanmakan, "but now keep watch over the booty and the slaves." then they set out and journeyed night and day till they drew near baghdad, and all the troops heard of kanmakan and saw the booty and the brigand's head on the point of subbah's spear. moreover, the merchants knew kehrdash's head and rejoiced, for he was a noted highwayman, saying, "allah hath rid mankind of him!" and they marvelled at his death and called down blessings on his slayer. then all the people of baghdad came to kanmakan, seeking to know what had befallen him, and he told them what had passed, whereupon they were taken with awe of him and all the champions and men of war feared him. after this, he drove his spoil to the palace and planting the spear, on which was kehrdash's head, before the gate, gave largesse to the people of camels and horses so that they loved him and all hearts inclined to him. then he took subbah and lodged him in a spacious dwelling, giving him part of the booty; after which he went in to his mother and told her all that had befallen him. meanwhile the news of him reached the king, who rose and shutting himself up with his chief officers, said to them, "i wish to reveal to you my secret and acquaint you with the truth of my case. know that kanmakan will be the cause of our expulsion from the kingdom; for he has slain kehrdash, albeit he had with him the tribes of the turks and the kurds, and our affair with him will assuredly result in our destruction, seeing that the most part of our troops are his kinsmen and ye know what the vizier dendan hath done; how he refuses to recognize me, after all the favours i have done him, and is become a traitor to his faith. indeed, it has come to my knowledge that he hath levied an army in the provinces and goeth about to make kanmakan king, for that the kingdom was his father's and his grandfather's before him, and he will surely slay me without mercy." when they heard this, they replied, "o king, verily he[fn# ] is unequal to this, and did we not know him to have been reared by thee, not one of us would take thought to him. we are at thy commandment; if thou wilt have us slay him, we will do so, and if thou wilt have him kept at a distance, we will chase him away." when king sasan heard this, he said, "verily, it were wise to slay him: but needs must ye take an oath of it." so they all pledged themselves to kill him, to the intent that, when the vizier dendan came and heard of his death, his might should be weakened and fail of that which he designed to do. when they had made this compact with him, the king bestowed great gifts upon them and dismissing them, retired to his own apartments. now the troops refused their service, awaiting what should befall, for they saw that the most part of the army was with the vizier dendan. presently, the news of these things came to kuzia fekan and caused her much concern; so that she sent for the old woman, who was wont to carry messages between her and her cousin, and bade her go to him and warn him of the plot against his life. accordingly, she repaired to kanmakan and gave him the princess's message, to which he replied, "bear my cousin my salutation and say to her, 'the earth is god's (to whom belong might and majesty), and he maketh whom he willeth of his servants to inherit it. how excellent is the saying of the poet: the kingship is god's alone, and him who would fain fulfil his wishes he driveth away and maketh him rue for his ill. had i or another than i a handsbreadth of earth to my own, the godship were sundered in twain and two were the power and the will.'" the old woman returned to kuzia fekan with kanmakan's reply and told her that he abode in the city. meanwhile, king sasan awaited his going forth from baghdad, that he might send after him and kill him; till, one day, it befell that kanmakan went out to hunt, accompanied by subbah, who would not leave him day or night. he caught ten gazelles and among them one that had soft black eyes and turned right and left; so he let her go, and subbah said to him, "why didst thou let her go?" kanmakan laughed and set the others free also, saying, "it behoves us, of humanity, to release gazelles that have young, and this one only turned from side to side, to look for her young ones: so i let her go and released the others in her honour." quoth subbah, "do thou release me, that i may go to my people." at this kanmakan laughed and smote him on the breast with the butt of his spear, and he fell to the ground, writhing like a serpent. whilst they were thus occupied, they saw cloud of dust and heard the tramp of horse; and presently there appeared a troop of armed cavaliers. now king sasan had heard of kanmakan's going out and sending for an amir of the medes, called jami, and twenty men, had given them money and bidden them slay kanmakan. so, when they drew near the prince, they rushed at him and he met them in mid-career and killed them all, to the last man. meanwhile the king took horse and riding out to meet his men, found them all slain, whereat he wondered and turned back; but the people of the city laid hands on him and bound him straitly. as for kanmakan, he left that place behind him and rode onward with subbah. as he went, he saw a youth sitting at the door of a house in his road and saluted him. the youth returned his greeting and going into the house, brought out two platters, one full of milk and the other of brewis swimming in (clarified) butter, which he set before kanmakan, saying, "favour me by eating of my victual." but he refused and the young man said to him, "what ails thee, o man, that thou wilt not eat?" "i have a vow upon me," replied the prince. "what is the cause of thy vow?" asked the youth, and kanmakan answered, "know that king sasan seized upon my kingdom wrongfully and oppressively, albeit it was my father's and my grandfather's before me; yet he laid hands upon the throne by force, after my father's death, and took no count of me, for that i was of tender years. so i have bound myself by a vow to eat no man's victual, till i have eased my heart of my enemy." "rejoice," rejoined the youth, "for god hath fulfilled thy vow. know that he is in prison and methinks he will soon die." "in what house is he imprisoned?" asked kanmakan. "in yonder high pavilion," answered the other. the prince looked and saw the folk entering and buffeting sasan, who was suffering the agonies of death. so he went up to the pavilion and noted what was therein; after which he returned to his place and sitting down to meat, ate what sufficed him and put the rest in his budget. then he waited till it was dark night. and the youth, whose guest he was, slept; when he rose and repaired to the pavilion in which sasan was confined. now about it were dogs, guarding it, and one of them ran at him; so he took out of his wallet a piece of meat and threw it to him. he ceased not to do thus, till he came to the pavilion and making his way to the place where sasan was, laid his hand upon his head; whereupon he said in a loud voice, "who art thou?" "i am kanmakan," replied the prince, "whom thou wentest about to kill; but god made thee fall into the evil thyself hadst devised. did it not suffice thee to take my kingdom and that of my father, but thou must go about to kill me?" and sasan swore a vain oath that he had not plotted his death and that the report was untrue. so kanmakan forgave him and said to him, "follow me." quoth he, "i cannot walk a single step for weakness." "if the case be thus," replied kanmakan, "we will get us two horses and ride forth and seek the open country." so they took horse and rode till daybreak, when they prayed the morning-prayer and fared on till they came to a garden, where they sat down and talked awhile. then kanmakan rose and said to sasan, "is there aught of bitterness left in thy heart against me?" "no, by allah!" replied sasan. so they agreed to return to baghdad and subbah the bedouin said, "i will go on before you, to give the folk notice of your coming." then he rode on in advance, acquainting men and women with the news; so all the people came out to meet kanmakan with tabrets and flutes; and kuzia fekan also came out, like the full moon shining in all her splendour in the thick darkness of the night. kanmakan met her, and their hearts yearned each to each and their bodies longed one for the other. there was no talk among the people of the time but of kanmakan; for the cavaliers bore witness of him that he was the most valiant of the folk of the age and said, "it is not just that other than he should be king over us; but the throne of his grandfather shall revert to him as it was." meanwhile king sasan went in to his wife nuzhet ez zeman, who said to him, "i hear that the folk talk of nothing but kanmakan and attribute to him such qualities as beggar description." "hearing is not like seeing," replied the king; "i have seen him, but have noted in him not one of the attributes of perfection. not all that is heard is said; but the folk ape one another in extolling and cherishing him, and god makes his praise to run on the lips of men, so that there incline to him the hearts of the people of baghdad and of the perfidious traitor the vizier dendan, who has levied troops from all countries and arrogates to himself the right of naming a king of the country and chooses that it shall be under the hand of a worthless orphan." "what then dost thou purpose to do?" asked nuzhet ez zeman. "i mean to kill him," replied the king, "that the vizier may be baulked of his intent and return to his allegiance to me, seeing nothing for it but my service." quoth she, "perfidy is a foul thing with strangers, and how much more with kinsfolk? thou wouldst do better to marry him to thy daughter kuzia fekan and give heed to what was said of old time: if fate set over thee a man, though thou than he be worthier and this be grievous unto thee, yield him the honour due to his estate; thou'lt find he will advantage thee, though near or far thou be. speak not thy thought of him; else wilt thou be of those who of their own accord the way of weal do flee. many in the harem oft are brighter than the bride; but time is on her side, and opportunity." when sasan heard this, he rose in anger and said to her, "were it not that to kill thee would bring disgrace and reproach on me, i would take off thy head with my sword and make an end of thee." quoth she, "i did but jest with thee." and rose and kissed his head and hands, saying, "thou art right, and we will cast about for some means to kill him." when he heard this, he was glad and said, "make haste and contrive some device to relieve me of my affliction; for i am at my wit's end." said she, "i will make shift to do away his life for thee." "how so?" asked he; and she answered, "by means of our female slave bakoun." now this bakoun was past mistress in all kinds of knavery and was one of the most pernicious of old women, in whose religion it was not lawful to abstain from wickedness; she had brought up kanmakan and kuzia fekan, and the former had her in so great affection, that he was wont to sleep at her feet. so when king sasan heard his wife name her, he said, "this is a good counsel," and sending for the old woman, told her what had passed and bade go about to kill kanmakan, promising her all good. "o my lord," replied she, "thy commandment shall be done: but i would have thee give me a dagger that has been tempered in water of dearth,[fn# ] that i may despatch him the quicklier for thee." "so be it," said sasan and gave her a knife that would well-nigh forego destiny. now this woman had heard stories and verses and committed to memory great store of witty traits and anecdotes: so she took the dagger and went out, considering how she should compass kanmakan's destruction. then she repaired to the prince, whom she found sitting awaiting [the coming of a messenger with] his cousin's tryst; so that night his thought was taken up with kuzia fekan and the fires of love for her raged in his heart. bakoun went in to him, saying, "the time of union is at hand and the days of separation are over and gone." when he heard this, he said, "how is it with kuzia fekan?" and she answered, "know that she is distraught for love of thee." at this he rose and taking off his [upper] clothes, put them on her and promised her all good. then said she, "know that i mean to pass this night with thee, that i may repeat to thee what talk i have heard and divert thee with tales of many a slave of love, whom passion hath made sick." quoth he, "tell me a story, that will gladden my heart and dispel my cares." "with all my heart," answered she and sitting down beside him, with the dagger under her clothes, began thus, "the pleasantest thing i ever heard was as follows: bakoun's story of the hashish-eater. a certain man loved the fair and spent his substance on them, till he became a beggar and used to go about the streets and markets, seeking his bread. one day, as he went along, a splinter of iron pierced his finger and made it bleed; so he sat down and wiping away the blood, bound up his finger. then he went on, crying out, till he came to a bath, and entering found it clean (and empty). so he took off his clothes and sitting down by the basin, fell to pouring water on his head, till he was tired, when he went out to the room in which was the tank of cold water. finding none there, he shut himself up [in a cabinet] and taking out a piece of hashish, swallowed it. the fumes of the drug spread through his brain and he rolled over on to the marble floor. then the hashish made it appear to him as if a great lord were kneading him and as if two slaves stood at his head, one bearing a bowl and the other washing gear and all the requisites of the bath. when he saw this, he said to himself, 'meseems these are mistaken in me; or else they are of the company of us hashish-eaters.' then he stretched out his legs and it seemed to him that the bathman said to him, 'o my lord, the time of thy going forth draws near and it is to-day thy turn of service (at the palace).' at this he laughed and said, 'as god wills, o hashish!' then he sat and said nothing, whilst the bathman took him by the hand and raising him up, girt his middle with a waist-cloth of black silk, after which the two slaves followed him, with the bowls and implements, till they brought him into a cabinet, wherein they set perfumes burning. he found the place full of various kinds of fruits and sweet-scented flowers, and they cut him a melon and seated him on a stool of ebony, whilst the bathman stood to wash him and the slaves poured water on him; after which they rubbed him down well and said, 'o our lord the vizier, may the bath profit thee and mayst thou come to delight everlasting!' then they went out and shut the door on him; and he took up the waist-cloth and laughed till he well-nigh lost his senses. he gave not over laughing for some time and saying to himself, 'what ails them to bespeak me as if i were a vizier and style me "master" and "our lord"? surely they are dreaming now; but presently they will know me and say, "this fellow is a beggar," and take their fill of cuffing me on the nape of the neck.' presently, he felt hot and opened the door, whereupon it seemed to him that a little white slave and an eunuch entered, carrying a parcel. the slave opened the parcel and brought out three kerchiefs of silk, one of which he threw over his head, a second over his shoulders, and a third he tied round his waist. moreover, the eunuch gave him a pair of bath-clogs, and he put them on; after which in came eunuchs and slaves and supported him, laughing the while, to the outer hall, which he found hung and spread with magnificent furniture, such as beseems none but kings; and the pages hastened up to him and seated him on the divan. then they fell to kneading him, till sleep overcame him and he dreamt that he had a girl in his arms. so he kissed her and set her between his thighs; then, clipping her as a man clips a woman, took his yard in his hand and was about to have at her, when he heard one saying to him, 'awake, thou good-for-nought! the hour of noon is come and thou art still asleep.' he opened his eyes and found himself lying on the merge of the cold-water tank, with a crowd of people about him, laughing at him; for the napkin was fallen from his middle and discovered his yard in point. so he knew that all this was but an imbroglio of dreams and an illusion of hashish and was vexed and said to him who had aroused him, 'would thou hadst waited till i had put it in!' then said the folk, 'art thou not ashamed, o hashish-eater, and thou lying asleep and naked, with thy yard on end?' and they cuffed him, till the nape of his neck was red. now he was starving, yet had he tasted the savour of delight in sleep." when kanmakan heard this story, he laughed till he fell backward and said to bakoun, "o my nurse, this is indeed a rare story; i never heard its like. hast thou any more?" "yes," answered she and went on to tell him diverting stories and laughable anecdotes, till sleep overcame him. then she sat by him till the most part of the night was past, when she said to herself, "it is time to profit by the occasion." so she unsheathed the dagger and drawing near to kanmakan, was about to slaughter him, when, behold, in came his mother. when bakoun saw her, she rose to meet her, and fear got hold on her and she fell a-trembling, as if she had the ague. the princess mother marvelled to see her thus and aroused her son, who awoke and found her sitting at his head. now the reason of her coming was that kuzia fekan heard of the plot to kill kanmakan and said to his mother, "o wife of my uncle, go to thy son, ere that wicked baggage bakoun kill him." and she told her what had passed, from beginning to end. so she rose at once and stayed not for aught, till she came to her son's lodgings, just as bakoun was about to slay him. when he awoke, he said to his mother, "o my mother, indeed thou comest at a good time, for my nurse bakoun has been with me this night." then he turned to bakoun and said to her, "my life on thee, knowest thou any story better than those thou hast told me?" "what i have told thee," answered she, "is nothing to what i will tell thee; but that must be for another time." then she rose to go, hardly believing that she should escape with her life, for she perceived of her cunning that his mother knew what was toward; and he said, "go in peace." so she went her way, and his mother said to him, "o my son, blessed be this night, wherein god the most high hath delivered thee from this accursed woman!" "how so?" asked he, and she told him the whole story. "o my mother," said he, "whoso is fated to live finds no slayer; nor, though he be slain, will he die; but now it were wise that we depart from amongst these enemies and let god do what he will." so, as soon as it was day, he left the city and joined the vizier dendan, and certain things befell between king sasan and nuzhet ez zeman, which caused her also to leave the city and join herself to kanmakan and dendan, as did likewise such of the king's officers as inclined to their party. then they took counsel together what they should do and agreed to make an expedition into the land of the greeks and take their revenge for the death of king omar ben ennuman and his son sherkan. so they set out with this intent and after adventures which it were tedious to set out, but the drift of which will appear from what follows, they fell into the hands of rumzan, king of the greeks. next morning, king rumzan caused dendan and kanmakan and their company to be brought before him and seating them at his side, bade spread the tables of food. so they ate and drank and took heart of grace, after having made sure of death, for that, when they were summoned to the king's presence, they said to one another, "he has not sent for us but to put us to death." then said the king, "i have had a dream, which i related to the monks and they said, 'none can expound it to thee but the vizier dendan.'" "and what didst thou see in thy dream, o king of the age?" asked dendan. "i dreamt," answered the king, "that i was in a pit, as it were a black well, where meseemed folk were tormenting me; and i would have risen, but fell on my feet and could not get out of the pit. then i turned and saw on the ground a girdle of gold and put out my hand to take it; but when i raised it from the ground, i saw it was two girdles. so i girt my middle with them, and behold, they became one girdle; and this, o vizier, is my dream and what i saw in sleep." "o our lord the sultan," said dendan, "this thy dream denotes that thou hast a brother or a brother's son or an uncle's son or other near kinsman of thy flesh and blood [of whom thou knowest not]." when the king heard this, he looked at kanmakan and dendan and nuzhet ez zeman and kuzia fekan and the rest of the captives and said in himself, "if i cut off these people's heads, their troops will lose heart for the loss of their chiefs and i shall be able to return speedily to my realm, lest the kingdom pass out of my hands." so he called the headsman and bade him strike off kanmakan's head, when behold, up came rumzan's nurse and said to him, "o august king, what wilt thou do?" quoth he, "i mean to put these captives to death and throw their heads among their troops; after which i will fall upon them, i and all my men, and kill all we may and put the rest to the rout; so will this be the end of the war and i shall return speedily to my kingdom, ere aught befall among my subjects." when the nurse heard this, she came up to him and said in the frank tongue, "how canst thou slay thine own brother's son and thy sister and thy sister's daughter?" when he heard this, he was exceeding angry and said to her, "o accursed woman, didst thou not tell me that my mother was murdered and that my father died by poison? didst thou not give me a jewel and say to me, 'this jewel was thy father's'? why didst thou not tell me the truth?" "all that i told thee is true," replied she: "but thy case and my own are wonderful and thine and my history extraordinary. my name is merjaneh and thy mother's name was abrizeh. she was gifted with such beauty and grace and valour that proverbs were made of her, and her prowess was renowned among men of war. thy father was king omar ben ennuman, lord of baghdad and khorassan. he sent his son sherkan on an expedition, in company with this very vizier dendan; and sherkan thy brother separated himself from the troops and fell in with thy mother queen abrizeh, in a privy garden of her palace, whither we had resorted to wrestle, she and i and her other damsels. he came on us by chance and wrestled with thy mother, who overcame him by the splendour of her beauty and her valour. then she entertained him five days in her palace, till the news of this came to her father, by the old woman shewahi, surnamed dhat ed dewahi, whereupon she embraced islam at sherkan's hands and he carried her by stealth to baghdad, and with her myself and rihaneh and other twenty damsels. when we came to thy father's presence, he fell in love with thy mother and going in to her one night, foregathered with her, and she became with child by him of thee. now thy mother had three jewels, which she gave to thy father, and he gave one of them to his daughter nuzhet ez zeman, another to thy brother zoulmekan and the third to thy brother sherkan. this last thy mother took from sherkan, and i kept it for thee. when the time of the princess's delivery drew near, she yearned after her own people and discovered her secret to me; so i went privily to a black slave called ghezban and telling him our case, bribed him to go with us. accordingly, he took us and fled forth the city with us by stealth towards the land of the greeks, till we came to a desert place on the borders of our own country. here the pangs of labour came upon thy mother, and the slave, being moved by lust, sought of her a shameful thing; whereat she cried out loudly and was sore affrighted at him. in the excess of her alarm, she gave birth to thee at once, and at this moment there arose, in the direction of our country, a cloud of dust which spread till it covered the plain. at this sight, the slave feared for his life; so, in his rage, he smote queen abrizeh with his sword and slew her, then, mounting his horse, went his way. presently, the dust lifted and discovered thy grandfather, king herdoub, who, seeing thy mother his daughter dead on the ground, was sorely troubled and questioned me of the manner of her death and why she had left her father's kingdom. so i told him all that had happened, first and last; and this is the cause of the feud between the people of the land of the greeks and the people of baghdad. then we took up thy dead mother and buried her; and i took thee and reared thee, and hung this jewel about thy neck. but, when thou camest to man's estate, i dared not acquaint thee with the truth of the matter, lest it should stir up a war of revenge between you. moreover, thy grandfather had enjoined me to secrecy, and i could not gainsay the commandment of thy mother's father, herdoub, king of the greeks. this, then, is why i forbore to tell thee that thy father was king omar ben ennuman; but, when thou camest to the throne, i told thee [what thou knowest]; and the rest i could not reveal to thee till this moment. so now, o king of the age, i have discovered to thee my secret and have acquainted thee with all that i know of the matter; and thou knowest best what is in thy mind." when nuzhet ez zeman heard what the king's nurse said, she cried out, saying, "this king rumzan is my brother by my father king omar ben ennuman, and his mother was the princess abrizeh, daughter of herdoub, king of the greeks; and i know this damsel merjaneh right well." with this, trouble and perplexity got hold upon rumzan and he caused nuzhet ez zeman to be brought up to him forthright. when he looked upon her, blood drew to blood and he questioned her of his history. so she told me all she knew, and her story tallied with that of his nurse; whereupon he was assured that he was indeed of the people of irak and that king omar ben ennuman was his father. so he caused his sister to be unbound, and she came up to him and kissed his hands, whilst her eyes ran over with tears. he wept also to see her weeping, and brotherly love entered into him and his heart yearned to his brother's son kanmakan. so he sprang to his feet and taking the sword from the headsman's hands, bade bring the captives up to him. at this, they made sure of death; but he cut their bonds with the sword and said to merjaneh, "explain the matter to them, even as thou hast explained it to me." "o king," replied she, "know that this old man is the vizier dendan and he is the best of witnesses to my story, seeing that he knows the truth of the case." then she turned to the captives and repeated the whole story to them and to the princes of the greeks and the franks who were present with them, and they all confirmed her words. when she had finished, chancing to look at kanmakan, she saw on his neck the fellow jewel to that which she had hung round king rumzan's neck, whereupon she gave such a cry, that the whole palace rang again, and said to the king, "know, o my son, that now my certainty is still more assured, for the jewel that is about the neck of yonder captive is the fellow to that i hung to thy neck, and this is indeed thy brother's son kanmakan." then she turned to kanmakan and said to him, "o king of the age, let me see that jewel." so he took it from his neck and gave it to her. then she asked nuzhet ez zeman of the third jewel and she gave it to her, whereupon she delivered the two to king rumzan, and the truth of the matter was made manifest to him and he was assured that he was indeed prince kanmakan's uncle and that his father was king omar ben ennuman. so he rose at once and going up to the vizier dendan, embraced him; then he embraced prince kanmakan, and they cried aloud for very gladness. the joyful news was blazed abroad and they beat the drums and cymbals, whilst the flutes sounded and the people held high festival. the army of irak and syria heard the clamour of rejoicing among the greeks; so they mounted, all of them, and king ziblcan also took horse, saying in himself, "what can be the cause of this clamour and rejoicing in the army of the franks?" then the muslim troops made ready for fight and advancing into the field, drew out in battle array. presently, king rumzan turned and seeing the army deployed in battalia, enquired the reason and was told the state of the case; so he bade kuzia fekan return at once to the muslim troops and acquaint them with the accord that had betided and how it was come to light that he was kanmakan's uncle. so she set out, putting away from her sorrows and troubles, and stayed not till she came to king ziblcan, whom she found tearful-eyed, fearing for the captive chiefs and princes. she saluted him and told him all that had passed, whereat the muslims' grief was turned to gladness. then he and all his officers took horse and followed the princess to the pavilion of king rumzan, whom they found sitting with his nephew, prince kanmakan. now they had taken counsel with the vizier dendan concerning king ziblcan and had agreed to commit to his charge the city of damascus of syria and leave him king over it as before, whilst themselves entered irak. accordingly, they confirmed him in the viceroyalty of damascus and bade him set out at once for his government, so he departed with his troops and they rode with him a part of the way, to bid him farewell. then they returned and gave orders for departure, whereupon the two armies united and king rumzan and his nephew set out, surrounded by their nobles and grandees. and indeed kanmakan rejoiced in his uncle king rumzan and called down blessings on the nurse merjaneh, who had made them known to each other; but the two kings said to one another, "our hearts will never be at rest nor our wrath appeased, till we have taken our wreak of the old woman shewahi, surnamed dhat ed dewahi, and wiped out the blot upon our honour." so they fared on till they drew near baghdad, and sasan, hearing of their approach, came out to meet them and kissed the hand of the king of the greeks, who bestowed on him a dress of honour. then king rumzan sat down on the throne and seated his nephew at his side, who said to him, "o my uncle, this kingdom befits none but thee." "god forbid," replied rumzan, "that i should supplant thee in thy kingdom!" so the vizier dendan counselled them to share the throne between them, ruling each one day in turn, and they agreed to this. then they made feasts and offered sacrifices and held high festival, whilst king kanmakan spent his nights with his cousin kuzia fekan; and they abode thus awhile. one day, as the two kings sat, rejoicing in the happy ending of their troubles, they saw a cloud of dust arise and up came a merchant, who ran to them, shrieking and crying out for succour. "o kings of the age," said he, "how comes it that i was in safety in the country of the infidels and am plundered in your realm, what though it be a land of peace and justice?" king rumzan questioned him of his case, and he replied, "i am a merchant, who have been nigh a score of years absent from my native land, travelling in far countries; and i have a patent of exemption from damascus, which the late viceroy king sherkan wrote me, for that i had made him gift of a slave-girl. now i was returning to irak, having with me a hundred loads of rarities of ind; but, as i drew near baghdad, the seat of your sovereignty and the abiding-place of your peace and your justice, there came out upon me bedouins and kurds banded together from all parts, who slew my men and robbed me of all my goods. this is what hath befallen me." then he wept and bemoaned himself before the two kings, who took compassion on him and swore that they would sally out upon the thieves. so they set out with a hundred horse, each reckoned worth thousands of men, and the merchant went before them, to guide them in the right way. they fared on all that day and the following night till daybreak, when they came to a valley abounding in streams and trees. here they found the bandits dispersed about the valley, having divided the treasure between them; but there was yet some of it left. so they fell upon them and surrounded them on all sides, nor was it long before they made prize of them all, to the number of near three hundred horsemen, banded together of the scourings of the arabs. they bound them all, and taking what they could find of the merchant's goods, returned to baghdad, where the two kings sat down upon one throne and passing the prisoners in review before them, questioned them of their condition and their chiefs. so they pointed out to them three men and said, "these are our only chiefs, and it was they who gathered us together from all parts and countries." the kings bade lay on these three and set the rest free, after taking from them all the goods in their possession and giving them to the merchant, who examined them and found that a fourth of his stock was missing. the two kings engaged to make good his loss, whereupon he pulled out two letters, one in the handwriting of sherkan and the other in that of nuzhet ez zeman; for this was the very merchant who had bought nuzhet ez zeman of the bedouin, as hath been before set forth. kanmakan examined the letters and recognized the handwriting of his uncle sherkan and his aunt nuzhet ez zeman; then (for that he knew the latter's history) he went in to her with that which she had written and told her the merchant's story. she knew her own handwriting and recognizing the merchant, despatched to him guest-gifts (of victual and what not) and commended him to her brother and nephew, who ordered him gifts of money and slaves and servants to wait on him, besides which the princess sent him a hundred thousand dirhems in money and fifty loads of merchandise, together with other rich presents. then she sent for him and made herself known to him, whereat he rejoiced greatly and kissed her hands, giving her joy of her safety and union with her brother and thanking her for her bounty: and he said to her, "by allah, a good deed is not lost upon thee!" then she withdrew to her own apartment and the merchant sojourned with them three days, after which he took leave of them and set out to return to damascus. after this, the two kings sent for the three robber-chiefs and questioned them of their condition, whereupon one of them came forward and said, "know that i am a bedouin, who use to lie in wait, by the way, to steal children and virgin girls and sell them to merchants; and this i did for many a year until these latter days, when satan incited me to join these two gallows-birds in gathering together all the riff-raff of the arabs and other peoples, that we might waylay merchants and plunder caravans." said the two kings, "tell us the rarest of the adventures that have befallen thee in kidnapping children and girls." "o kings of the age," replied he, "the strangest thing that ever happened to me was as follows. two-and-twenty years ago, being at jerusalem, i saw a girl come out of the khan, who was possessed of beauty and grace, albeit she was but a servant and was clad in worn clothes, with a piece of camel-cloth on her head; so i entrapped her by guile and setting her on a camel, made off with her into the desert, thinking to carry her to my own people and there set her to pasture the camels and collect their dung (for fuel); but she wept so sore, that after beating her soundly, i carried her to damascus, where a merchant saw her and being astounded at her beauty and accomplishments, bid me more and more for her, till at last i sold her to him for a hundred thousand dinars. i heard after that he clothed her handsomely and presented her to the viceroy of damascus, who gave him for her her price thrice told; and this, by my life, was but little for such a damsel! this, o kings of the age, is the strangest thing that ever befell me." the two kings wondered at his story; but, when nuzhet ez zeman heard it, the light in her face became darkness, and she cried out and said to her brother, "sure, this is the very bedouin who kidnapped me in jerusalem!" and she told them all that she had endured from him in her strangerhood of hardship and blows and hunger and humiliation, adding, "and now it is lawful to me to slay him." so saying, she seized a sword and made at him; but he cried out and said, "o kings of the age, let her not kill me, till i have told you the rare adventures that have betided me." and kanmakan said to her, "o my aunt, let him tell his story, and after do with him as thou wilt." so she held her hand and the kings said to him, "now let us hear thy story." "o kings of the age," said he, "if i tell you a rare story, will you pardon me?" "yes," answered they. then said the bedouin, "know that hemmad the bedouin's story. awhile ago, i was sore wakeful one night and thought the dawn would never break: so, as soon as it was day, i rose and girding on my sword, mounted my steed and set my lance in rest. then i rode out to hunt, and as i went along, a company of men accosted me and asked me whither i went. i told them, and they said, 'we will bear thee company.' so we all fared on together, and presently we saw an ostrich and gave chase; but it evaded us and spreading its wings, fled before us and drew us on after it, till it brought us to a desert, wherein there was neither grass nor water, nor was aught to be heard there save the hissing of serpents, the wailing of jinn and the howling of ghouls. here we lost sight of the ostrich, nor could we tell whether it had flown up into the sky or sunk into the ground. then we turned our horses' heads and thought to go back; but found that our return would be toilsome and dangerous at that time of exceeding heat; for the heat was grievous to us, so that we were sore athirst and our horses stood still. so we made sure of death; but as we were in this case, we espied a spacious meadow afar off, wherein were gazelles frisking. there was a tent pitched and by the tent-side a horse tethered and a spear stuck in the earth, whose head glittered in the sun. when we saw this, our hearts revived, after we had despaired, and we turned our horses' heads towards the meadow and rode on, till we came to a spring, where we alighted and drank and watered our beasts. then i was seized with a frenzy of curiosity and went up to the door of the tent, where i saw a young man like the new moon, without hair on his cheeks, and on his right hand a slender damsel, as she were a willow wand. no sooner did i set eyes on the girl, than love of her got hold upon my heart and i saluted the young man, who returned my greeting. then said i to him, 'o brother of the arabs, tell me who thou art and what is this damsel to thee?' with this, he bent down his head awhile, then raised it and replied, 'tell me first who thou art and what are these horsemen with thee.' 'i am hemmad, son of el fezari,' answered i, 'the renowned cavalier, who is reckoned as five hundred horse among the arabs. we went forth this morning to hunt and were overcome by thirst; so i came to the door of this tent, thinking to get of thee a draught of water.' when he heard this, he turned to the fair maiden and said to her, 'bring this man water and what there is of food.' so she went in, trailing her skirts, whilst her feet stumbled in her long hair and the golden bangles tinkled on her ankles, and returned after a little, bearing in her right hand a silver vessel of cold water and in her left a bowl full of milk and dates and flesh of wild cattle. but, of the excess of my passion for her, i could take of her nor meat nor drink, and i recited to her the following verses, applying them to her: the dye of the henna upon her hand doth show, as 'twere a raven new lighted on fresh-fall'n snow; and see the full moon and the sun beside her face, this dim and the other fearful for shame and woe. then, after i had eaten and drunk, i said to the youth, 'o chief of the arabs, i have told thee truly who and what i am, and now i would fain have thee do the like by me and tell me the truth of thy case.' 'as for this damsel,' replied he, 'she is my sister.' quoth i, 'it is my desire that thou give her to me to wife of free will: else will i slay thee and take her by force.' with this, he bowed his head awhile, then raised his eyes to me and answered, 'thou sayest sooth in avouching thyself a renowned cavalier and a famous champion and the lion of the desert; but if ye all attack me treacherously and slay me and take my sister by force, it will be a stain upon your honour. if ye be, as thou sayest, cavaliers that are counted among the champions and fear not the shock of battle, give me time to don my armour and gird on my sword and set my lance in rest and mount my horse. then will we go forth into the field and fight; and if i conquer you, i will kill you, every man of you; and if you overcome me and slay me, this damsel my sister is thine.' 'this is but just,' answered i, 'and we oppose it not.' then i turned my horse's head, mad for love of the damsel, and rode back to my companions, to whom i set forth her beauty and grace, as also the comeliness of the young man and his valour and strength of soul and how he avouched himself a match for a thousand horse. moreover, i described to them the tent and all the riches and rarities it contained and said to them, 'be sure that this youth would not have taken up his abode alone in this desert place, were he not a man of great prowess: so i propose that whoso slays him shall take his sister.' and they agreed to this. then we armed ourselves and mounting, rode to the tent, where we found the young man armed and mounted; but his sister ran up to him, with her veil drenched with tears, and laying hold of his stirrup, cried out, saying, 'alas!' and 'woe worth the day!' in her fear for her brother, and recited the following verses: to god above i make my moan of sorrow and affright. mayhap, the empyrean's lord will smite them with dismay. they fain would kill thee, brother mine, with malice aforethought, though never cause of anger was nor fault forewent the fray. yet for a champion art thou known among the men of war, the doughtiest knight that east or west goes camping by the way. thou wilt thy sister's honour guard, whose might is small, for thou her brother art and she for thee unto the lord doth pray let not the foe possess my soul nor seize on me perforce and work their cruel will on me, without my yea or nay. by god his truth, i'll never live in any land where thou art not albeit all the goods of plenty it display! but i will slay myself for love and yearning for thy sake and in the darksome tomb i'll make my bed upon the clay. when he heard her words, he wept sore and turning his horse's head towards her, made answer with the following verses: stand by and see the wondrous deeds that i will do this day, whenas we meet and i on them rain blows in the mellay. e'en though the lion of the war, the captain of the host, the stoutest champion of them all, spur out into the fray, i'll deal a thaalebiyan[fn# ] blow at him and in his heart i'll let my spear, even to the shaft, its thirst for blood allay. if i defend thee not from all that seek thee, sister mine, may i be slaughtered and my corse given to the birds of prey! ay, i will battle for thy sake, with all the might i may, and books shall story after me the marvels of this day. then said he, 'o my sister, give ear to what i shall enjoin on thee.' and she answered, 'i hear and obey.' quoth he, 'if i fall, let none possess thee;' and she buffeted her face and said, 'god forbid, o my brother, that i should see thee laid low and yield myself to thine enemies!' with this he put out his hand to her and drew aside her veil, whereupon her face shone forth, like the sun from out clouds. then he kissed her between the eyes and bade her farewell; after which he turned to us and said, 'ho, cavaliers! come ye as guests or are you minded to cut and thrust? if ye come as guests, rejoice in hospitality; and if ye covet the shining moon,[fn# ] come out against me, one by one, and fight.' then came out to him a sturdy horseman, and the young man said to him, 'tell me thy name and thy father's name, for i have sworn to fight with none whose name and whose father's name tally with mine and my father's, and if it be thus with thee, i will give thee up the girl.' 'my name is bilal,'[fn# ] answered the other; and the young man repeated the following verses: thou liest when thou talkest of "benefits"; for lo, thou comest with mischief and malice and woe! so, an thou be doughty, heed well what i say: i'm he who the braver in the battle lays low with a keen-cutting sword, like the horn of the moon; so look (and beware) for a hill-shaking blow! then they ran at one another, and the youth smote his adversary in the breast, that the lance-head issued from his back. with this, another came out, and the youth repeated the following verses: o dog, that art noisome of stench and of sight, what is there of worth that to come by is light? 'tis only the lion, of race and of might right noble, recks little of life in the fight. nor was it long before he left him also drowned in his blood and cried out, 'who will come out to me?' so a third horseman pricked out, reciting the following verses: i come to thee, with a fire in my breast that blazes free, and call on my comrades all to the fight to follow me. though thou hast slain the chiefs of the arabs, yet, perdie, thou shalt not 'scape this day from those that follow thee! when the youth heard this, he answered him, saying: thou com'st, like theright evil fiend that thou art, with a lie on thy lips and a fraud at thy heart; this day shalt thou taste of a death-dealing dart and a spear that shall rid thee of life with its smart. then he smote him on the breast, that the spear-point issued from his back, and cried out, saying, 'will another come out?' so a fourth came out and the youth asked him his name. he replied, 'my name is hilal.'[fn# ] and the youth repeated these verses: thou err'st, that wouldst plunge in my sea of affray and thinkest to daunt me with lies and dismay. lo, i, to whose chant thou hast hearkened this day, thy soul, ere thou know'st it, will ravish away! then they drove at one another and exchanged blows; but the youth's stroke forewent that of his adversary and slew him: and thus he went on to kill all who sallied out against him. when i saw my comrades slain, i said in myself, 'if i fight with him, i shall not be able to withstand him, and if i flee, i shall become a byword among the arabs.' however, the youth gave me no time to think, but ran at me and laying hold of me, dragged me from my saddle. i swooned away and he raised his sword to cut off my head; but i clung to his skirts and he lifted me in his hand, as i were a sparrow [in the clutches of a hawk]. when the maiden saw this, she rejoiced in her brother's prowess and coming up to him, kissed him between the eyes. then he delivered me to her, saying, 'take him and entreat him well, for he is come under our rule.' so she took hold of the collars of my coat-of-arms and led me away by them as one would lead a dog. then she did off her brother's armour and clad him in a robe, after which she brought him a stool of ivory, on which he sat down, and said to him, 'may god whiten thine honour and make thee to be as a provision against the shifts of fortune!' and he answered her with the following verses: my sister said, (who saw my lustrous forehead blaze midmost the war, as shine the sun's meridian rays) "god bless thee for a brave, to whom, when he falls on, the desert lions bow in terror and amaze!" "question the men of war," i answered her, "of me, whenas the champions flee before my flashing gaze. i am the world-renowned for fortune and for might, whose prowess i uplift to what a height of praise! o hemmad, thou hast roused a lion, who shall show thee death that comes as swift as vipers in the ways." when i heard what he said, i was perplexed about my affair, and considering my condition and how i was become a captive, i was lessened in my own esteem. then i looked at the damsel and said to myself, 'it is she who is the cause of all this trouble;' and i fell a-marvelling at her beauty and grace, till the tears streamed from my eyes and i recited the following verses: reproach me not, o friend, nor chide me for the past, for i will pay no heed to chiding and dispraise. lo, i am clean distraught for one, whom when i saw, fate in my breast forthright the love of her did raise. her brother was my foe and rival in her love, a man of mickle might and dreadful in affrays. then the maiden set food before her brother, and he bade me eat with him, whereat i rejoiced and felt assured of my life. when he had made an end of eating, she brought him a flagon of wine and he drank, till the fumes of the wine mounted to his head and his face flushed. then he turned to me and said, 'harkye, hemmad, dost thou know me?' 'by thy life,' answered i, 'i am rich in nought but ignorance!' said he, 'i am ibad ben temim ben thaalebeh, and indeed god giveth thee thy liberty and spareth thee confusion.' then he drank to my health and gave me a cup of wine and i drank it off. then he filled me a second and a third and a fourth, and i drank them all; and he made merry with me and took an oath of me that i would never betray him. so i swore to him a thousand oaths that i would never deal perfidiously with him, but would be a friend and a helper to him. then he bade his sister bring me ten dresses of silk; so she brought them and laid them on me, and this gown i have on my body is one of them. moreover, he made her bring one of the best of the riding camels, laden with stuffs and victual, and a sorrel horse, and gave the whole to me. i abode with them three days, eating and drinking, and what he gave me is with me to this day. at the end of this time, he said to me, 'o hemmad, o my brother, i would fain sleep awhile and rest myself. i trust myself to thee; but if thou see horsemen making hither, fear not, for they are of the beni thaalebeh, seeking to wage war on me.' then he laid his sword under his head and slept; and when he was drowned in slumber, the devil prompted me to kill him; so i rose, and drawing the sword from under his head, dealt him a blow that severed his head from his body. his sister heard what i had done, and rushing out from within the tent, threw herself on his body, tearing her clothes and repeating the following verses: carry the tidings to the folk, the saddest news can be; but man from god his ordinance no whither hath to flee. now art thou slaughtered, brother mine, laid prostrate on the earth, thou whose bright face was as the round of the full moon to see. indeed, an evil day it was, the day thou mettest them, and after many a fight, thy spear is shivered, woe is me! no rider, now that thou art dead, in horses shall delight nor evermore shall woman bear a male to match with thee. hemmad this day hath played thee false and foully done to death; unto his oath and plighted faith a traitor base is he. he deemeth thus to have his will and compass his desire; but satan lieth to his dupes in all he doth decree. when she had ended, she turned to me and said, 'o man of accursed lineage, wherefore didst thou play my brother false and slay him, whenas he purposed to send thee back to thy country with gifts and victual and it was his intent also to marry thee to me at the first of the month?' then she drew a sword she had with her, and planting it in the ground, with the point set to her breast, threw herself thereon and pressed upon it, till the blade issued from her back and she fell to the ground, dead. i mourned for her and wept and repented when repentance availed me nothing. then i went in haste to the tent and taking whatever was light of carriage and great of worth, went my way: but in my haste and fear, i took no heed of my (dead) comrades, nor did i bury the maiden and the youth. this, then, is my story, and it is still more extraordinary than that of the serving-maid i kidnapped in jerusalem." when nuzet ez zeman heard these words of the bedouin, the light in her eyes was changed to darkness, and she rose and drawing the sword, smote him amiddleward the shoulder-blades, that the point issued from his throat. the bystanders said to her, "why hast thou made haste to slay him?" and she answered, "praised be god who hath granted me to avenge myself with my own hand!" and she bade the slaves drag the body out by the feet and cast it to the dogs. then they turned to the second prisoner, who was a black slave, and said to him, "what is thy name? tell us the truth of thy case." "my name is ghezban," answered he and told them what had passed between himself and the princess abrizeh and how he had slain her and fled. hardly had he made an end of his story, when king rumzan struck off his head with his sabre, saying, "praised be god that gave me life! i have avenged my mother with my own hand." then he repeated to them what his nurse merjaneh had told him of this same ghezban; after which they turned to the third prisoner and said to him, "tell us who thou art and speak the truth." now this was the very camel-driver, whom the people of jerusalem hired to carry zoulmekan to the hospital at damascus; but he threw him down on the fuel-heap and went his way. so he told them how he had dealt with zoulmekan, whereupon kanmakan took his sword forthright and cut off his head, saying, "praised be god who hath given me life, that i might requite this traitor what he did with my father, for i have heard this very story from king zoulmekan himself!" then they said to each other "it remains only for us to take our wreak of the old woman shewahi, yclept dhat ed dewahi, for that she is the prime cause of all these troubles. who will deliver her into our hands, that we may avenge ourselves upon her and wipe out our dishonour?" and king rumzan said, "needs must we bring her hither." so he wrote a letter to his grandmother, the aforesaid old woman, giving her to know that he had subdued the kingdoms of damascus and mosul and irak and had broken up the host of the muslims and captured their princes and adding, "i desire thee of all urgency to come to me without delay, bringing with thee the princess sufiyeh, daughter of king afridoun, and whom thou wilt of the nazarene chiefs, but no troops; for the country is quiet and under our hand." and he despatched the letter to her, which when she read, she rejoiced greatly and forthwith equipping herself and sufiyeh, set out with their attendants and journeyed, without stopping, till they drew near baghdad. then she sent a messenger to acquaint the king of her arrival, whereupon quoth rumzan, "we should do well to don the habit of the franks and go out to meet the old woman, to the intent that we may be assured against her craft and perfidy." so they clad themselves in frankish apparel, and when kuzia fekan saw them, she exclaimed, "by the lord of worship, did i not know you, i should take you to be indeed franks!" then they sallied forth, with a thousand horse, to meet the old woman, and king rumzan rode on before them. as soon as his eyes met hers, he dismounted and walked towards her, and she, recognizing him, dismounted also and embraced him; but he pressed her ribs with his hands, till he well-nigh broke them. quoth she, "what is this, o my son?" but before she had done speaking, up came kanmakan and dendan, and the horsemen with them cried out at the women and slaves and took them all prisoners. then the two kings returned to baghdad, with their captives, and rumzan bade decorate the city three days long, at the end of which time they brought out the old woman, with a tall red bonnet of palm-leaves on her head, diademed with asses' dung, and preceded by a herald, proclaiming aloud, "this is the reward of those who presume to lay hands on kings and kings' sons!" then they crucified her on one of the gates of baghdad; and her companions, seeing what befell her, all embraced the faith of islam. as for kanmakan and his uncle rumzan and his aunt nuzhet ez zeman, they marvelled at the wonderful events that had betided them and bade the scribes set them down orderly in books, that those who came after might read. then they all abode in the enjoyment of all the delights and comforts of life, till there overtook them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of companies; and this is all that hath come down to us of the dealings of fortune with king omar ben ennuman and his sons sherkan and zoulmekan and his son's son kanmakan and his daughter nuzhet ez zeman and her daughter kuzia fekan. end of vol. ii. notes to volume . [fn# ] a.h. - . [fn# ] i.e. none could approach him in the heat of fight. [fn# ] sophia. [fn# ] apparently palestine (in this case). [fn# ] i.e. man of might and munificence. [fn# ] about £ , . [fn# ] dhai ed dewahi. [fn# ] i.e. sperma hominis. [fn# ] apparently the names of noted wrestlers. [fn# ] a phrase of frequent occurrence in the koran, meaning "your female slaves" or "the women ye have captured in war." [fn# ] quoth he (solomon), "o chiefs, which of you will bring me her throne?" (i.e. that of belkis, queen of sheba) ......."i," said an afrit of the jinn, "will bring it thee, ere thou canst rise from thy stead, for i am able thereto and faithful!"--koran xxvii. , . [fn# ] one of the fountains of paradise. [fn# ] kutheiyir ibn ali juma, a well-known poet of the seventh and eighth centuries at medina. he was celebrated for his love of azzeh, in whose honour most of his poems were written. the writer (or copyist) of this tale has committed an anachronism in introducing these verses, as kutheiyir was a contemporary of the khalif abdulmelik ben merwan before whose time sherkan and his father (both imaginary characters) are stated( see supra, p. {vol. , fn# }) to have lived; but the whole narrative is full of the grossest anachronisms, too numerous, indeed, to notice. [fn# ] jemil ben mamer, another celebrated arabian poet and lover, a friend and contemporary of kutheiyir. [fn# ] a person who dies for love is esteemed a martyr by the arabs. [fn# ] i suspect these verses to have been introduced in error by some copyist. they appear utterly meaningless in this context. [fn# ] the bishop. [fn# ] apparently referring in jest to her speech to him see supra, p. {see text, vol. , after fn# }, "thou art beaten in everything." [fn# ] he likens the glance of her eye to the blade of a yemen sword,--a comparison of frequent occurrence in arabic poetry. [fn# ] mehmil. a decorated framework or litter borne by a camel, sent as an emblem of royalty with the caravan of pilgrims to mecca, by way of honour to the occasion and to the sacred object of the pilgrimage, much as great people send their empty carriages to attend the funeral of a person for whose memory they wish to show their respect. the introduction of the mehmil here is another of the many anachronisms of the story, as the custom is said not to here come into use till a much later period. [fn# ] mecca. [fn# ] medina. [fn# ] oriental substitutes for soap. [fn# ] i.e., death. [fn# ] apparently the bedouin was angry with the merchant for praising the girl to her face and perhaps also alarmed at finding that he had kidnapped a young lady of consequence, where he only thought to have made prize of a pretty wench of humble condition and friendless. [fn# ] delight of the age. [fn# ] affliction (or wrath) of the age. [fn# ] for fuel. [fn# ] "god will open on me another gate (or means) of making my living." a common formula, meaning, "it is not enough." [fn# ] or state problems. [fn# ] one of the four great muslim sects or schools of theology, taking its name from the imam es shafi (see post, p. , note). {see vol. fn# } [fn# ] second of the abbasside khalifs, a.h. - . [fn# ] the second khalif after mohammed (a.h. - ) and the most renowned for piety and just government of all the borders of the office, except perhaps his descendant omar ben abdulaziz (a.h. - ). [fn# ] as a reward (in the next world) for good deeds. [fn# ] the fourth khalif. [fn# ] the word rendered "good breeding" may also be translated "polite accomplishments" or "mental discipline" and has a great number of other meanings. [fn# ] sixth khalif and founder of the ommiade dynasty (a.h. ). [fn# ] one of the most notable men of the day, chief of the great tribe of the benou temim. he was a contemporary of the prophet and was held in much esteem by muawiyeh. [fn# ] surname of ahnaf. [fn# ] governor of bassora and other places under the first four khalifs. [fn# ] ziad teen abou sufyan, illegitimate brother of the khalif muawiyeh, afterwards governor of bassora cufa and the hejaz. [fn# ] because it might have been taken to mean, "inhabitants of hell." [fn# ] i.e. death. [fn# ] a battle fought near medina, a.d. , in which mohammed was defeated by the meccans under abou sufyan. [fn# ] one of mohammed's widows and omar's own daughter. [fn# ] a well-known man of letters and theologian of the seventh and eighth centuries. [fn# ] i.e. to prepare himself by good works, etc., for the world to come. [fn# ] a celebrated cufan theologian of the eighth century. [fn# ] i.e. for the next world. [fn# ] the eighth khalif of the ommiade dynasty, a rival in piety and single-mindedness of omar ben khettab. [fn# ] the descendants of umeyyeh and kinsmen of the reigning house. [fn# ] the second, fifth, sixth and seventh khalifs of the ommiade dynasty. [fn# ] the mother of omar ben abdulaziz was a granddaughter of omar ben khettab. [fn# ] brother of omar's successor, yezid ii. [fn# ] this passage apparently belongs to the previous account of omar's death-bed; but i have left it as it stands in the text, as it would be a hopeless task to endeavour to restore this chaos of insipid anecdote and devotional commonplace to anything like symmetry. [fn# ] lit. with (or by) neither book (i.e. koran) nor sunneh (i.e. the traditions of the prophet). [fn# ] chief of the tribe of temim and one of the most elegant orators of the eighth century. [fn# ] surnamed eth thekefi, governor of yemen and irak: also a well known orator, but a most cruel and fantastic tyrant. [fn# ] tenth khalif of the ommiade dynasty (a.d. - ). [fn# ] i.e. slave-girl. [fn# ] i.e. it was decreed, so it was. [fn# ] nuzhet ez zeman. [fn# ] nuzhet ez zeman. [fn# ] zoulmekan. [fn# ] nuzhet ez zeman. [fn# ] sedic. [fn# ] sidc. [fn# ] mohammed ibn shihab ez zuhri, a celebrated traditionist and jurisconsult of medina in the seventh and eighth centuries. [fn# ] alexander. [fn# ] the celebrated fabulist, said to have been a black slave of the time of david, but supposed by some to be identical with aesop. [fn# ] koran iii. . [fn# ] one of the companions of the prophet. [fn# ] one of the contemporaries of mohammed and a noted traditionist (or repeater of the sayings of the prophet) at cufa in the seventh century. [fn# ] a noted traditionist and expounder of the koran in the first century of the muslim era. he was a black and a native of cufa. [fn# ] son of the martyr hussein and grandson of the khalif ali. [fn# ] a very eminent doctor of the law and traditionist of the eighth century. he was a native of cufa and was regarded as one of the great exemplars of the true believers. [fn# ] i.e. those who love and obey the precepts of the koran. [fn# ] i.e. barefoot. a native of merv and a famous ascetic of the eighth and ninth centuries. [fn# ] necessitating a fresh ablution, before the prayer can be ended. [fn# ] another noted ascetic of the time. [fn# ] about a penny. [fn# ] a well-known legist and devotee of the eighth and ninth centuries at baghdad, sounder of one of the four great orthodox muslim schools. [fn# ] a famous theologian and devotee of the eighth century at bassora. [fn# ] a noted preacher and traditionist of khorassan in the ninth, century. [fn# ] koran .xvi. . [fn# ] a traditionist of medina. who flourished in the eighth century. [fn# ] this paragraph is part extract from and part paraphrase of the koran xxviii - . [fn# ] a well-known pietist of the eighth century. [fn# ] abou hatim el asemm (the deaf), a famous balkhi theologian of the ninth century. [fn# ] one of two of the most famous theologians of the second century of the hegira and the founders of two of the four great mohammedan schools. [fn# ] one of two of the most famous theologians of the second century of the hegira and the founders of two of the four great mohammedan schools. [fn# ] ismail ibn yehya el muzeni, a famous egyptian doctor of the law pupil of es shafi and imam of the shafiyite school in the ninth century. [fn# ] koran lxxvii. , . [fn# ] mohammed. [fn# ] islam. [fn# ] "in hell shall they (the unbelievers) burn, and ill shall be (their) stead."--koran, xiv. . [fn# ] mohammed pretended that his coming had been foretold in the gospels and that the christians had falsified the passage (john xvi. ) promising the advent of the comforter (<greek> ) by substituting the latter word for <greek> , glorious, renowned, praised, i.e. mohammed. [fn# ] the second chapter of the koran, beginning, "this is the book, etc." [fn# ] it appears by what follows that afridoun, supposing the victory to be gained, returned to constantinople immediately after sending this message and left the command of the army to king herdoub. [fn# ] at mecca. [fn# ] i.e. there is no god but god. [fn# ] koran, x. . [fn# ] cassia fistularis, a kind of carob. [fn# ] "say not of those who are slain in the way (service) of god that they are dead; nay, they are living." koran, ii . [fn# ] apparently constantinople. [fn# ] this verse alludes to the garbled version of the miracle of aaron's rod given in the koran, which attributes the act to moses and makes the egyptian sorcerers throw down ropes, to which by their art they give the appearance of serpents. [fn# ] i.e., of the koran. [fn# ] a certain formula, invoking peace on the prophet and all men recurring at the end of the five daily prayers and pronounced sitting. [fn# ] ex voto. [fn# ] i.e. mohammed. [fn# ] "what news bringest thou, o saint?" [fn# ] i.e. mohammed. [fn# ] these epithets are often applied by the arabs, in a complimentary sense, to anyone who works great havoc among his enemies by his prowess and cunning. [fn# ] see vol. i. p. , note. {vol. , fn# } [fn# ] i.e. deal with thee as if thou wert slave-born and therefore not used to knightly fashions nor able to endure stress of battle. [fn# ] a chapel so called in the temple at mecca. [fn# ] mohammed. [fn# ] protector of the women that ride therein. [fn# ] the mohammedans have a legend that god gave david extraordinary skill in working iron and making chain mail, that he might earn his living without drawing upon the public treasury. "and we gave david a grace from us and softened for him iron (saying), 'make thou coats of mail and adjust the rings duly and deal rightly, for i look upon what ye do."' --koran, xxxiv. . [fn# ] this appears to be an allusion to the colours of the house of abbas, which were black. [fn# ] kafir means "black" as well as "infidel." [fn# ] one of the mohammedan legends represents moses as seeking the water of life. [fn# ] the allusion here is to the face of a beloved one, which is likened to a moon rising out of her dress. [fn# ] an ornamental hand, said to be so called from the resemblance of the pen with which it is written to the leaf of the sweet basil. [fn# ] lit. "the love of the beni udhra," an arabian tribe, famous for the passion and devotion with which love was practiced among them. [fn# ] syn. eye (nazir). [fn# ] syn. eyebrow (hajib). [fn# ] i.e. including the two days that had already elapsed. [fn# ] i.e. a graceful youth of the province in which mecca is situate. [fn# ] a small piece of wood used in a children's out-door game called tab. [fn# ] the stone of the beleh or "green" date, not allowed to ripen. [fn# ] or drachm-weight. [fn# ] an audacious parody of the consecrated expression used to describe the ceremonious circumambulation of the kaabeh at mecca. [fn# ] subaudiantur autem utriusque sexûs pudenda. [fn# ] subaudiantur autem utriusque sexûs pudenda. [fn# ] subaudiatur vas muliebre. [fn# ] the word sac (leg), when used in the oblique case, as it would necessarily be here, makes saki, i.e. cup-bearer. a play upon the double meaning is evidently intended. [fn# ] in the east, bathers pay on leaving the bath. [fn# ] as a styptic. [fn# ] dunya. [fn# ] semen hominis. [fn# ] i.e. the rolls of dirt that come off under the bathman's hands. [fn# ] paradise. [fn# ] the cold room of the bath. [fn# ] the hot room. [fn# ] the door-keeper of hell. [fn# ] the door-keeper of paradise. [fn# ] i.e. crown of kings. [fn# ] an obscure star in the great bear. [fn# ] zibl means "dung" or "sweepings." can (khan) means "chief." [fn# ] i.e., him who fights for the faith. [fn# ] a town on the euphrates, on the borders of syria and mesopotamia. [fn# ] i.e. recognized him as king by naming him in the public prayers. [fn# ] i.e. the silky whiskers, which it is common, in poetry, to call green likening them to newly-sprouted herbage. [fn# ] i.e. the day of judgment. [fn# ] ironical. [fn# ] i.e. kanmakan. [fn# ] meaning, apparently, poisoned. [fn# ] i.e. with a blow worthy of the members of the family of thaalebeb to which (see post, p. {see ...said he, 'i am ibad ben temin ben thaalebh, and indeed...}) he belonged. [fn# ] i.e. his sister. [fn# ] i.e. benefits. [fn# ] i.e. new moon. the babylonian story of the deluge as told by assyrian tablets from nineveh. by e. a. wallis budge. the discovery of the tablets at nineveh by layard, rassam and smith. in - and again in - mr. (later sir) a. h. layard carried out a series of excavations among the ruins of the ancient city of nineveh, "that great city, wherein are more than sixteen thousand persons that cannot discern between their right hand and their left; and also much cattle" (jonah iv, ii). its ruins lie on the left or east bank of the tigris, exactly opposite the town of al-mawsil, or môsul, which was founded by the sassanians and marks the site of western nineveh. at first layard thought that these ruins were not those of nineveh, which he placed at nimrûd, about miles downstream, but of one of the other cities that were builded by asshur (see gen. x, , ). thanks, however, to christian, roman and muhammadan tradition, there is no room for doubt about it, and the site of nineveh has always been known. the fortress which the arabs built there in the seventh century was known as "kal'at-nînawî, i.e., "nineveh castle," for many centuries, and all the arab geographers agree in saying that tile mounds opposite môsul contain the ruins of the palaces and walls of nineveh. and few of them fail to mention that close by them is "tall nabi yûnis," i.e., the hill from which the prophet jonah preached repentance to the inhabitants of nineveh, that "exceeding great city of three days' journey" (jonah iii, ). local tradition also declares that the prophet was buried in the hill, and his supposed tomb is shown there to this day. the walls and palaces of nineveh. the situation of the ruins of the palaces of nineveh is well shown by the accompanying reproduction of the plan of the city made by commander felix jones, i.n. the remains of the older palaces built by sargon ii (b.c. - ), sennacherib (b.c. - ), and esarhaddon (b.c. - ) lie under the hill called nabi yûnis, and those of the palaces and other buildings of ashur-bani-pal (b.c. - ) under the mound which is known locally as "tall al-'armûshîyah," i.e., "the hill of 'armûsh," and "kuyûnjik." the latter name is said to be derived from two turkish words meaning "many sheep," in allusion to the large flocks of sheep that find their pasture on and about the mound in the early spring. these two great mounds lie close to the remains of the great west wall of nineveh, which in the time of the last assyrian empire was washed by the waters of the river tigris. at some unknown period the course of the river changed, and it is now more than a mile distant from the city wall. the river khausur, or khoser, divides the area of nineveh into two parts, and passing close to the southern end of kuyûnjik empties itself into the tigris. the ruins of the wails of nineveh show that the east wall was , feet long, the north wall , feet long, the west wall , feet, and the south wall , feet; its circuit was about , yards or / miles. discovery of the library of the temple of nebo at nineveh. in the spring of layard, assisted by h. rassam, continued the excavation of the "south west palace" at kuyûnjik. in one part of the building he found two small chambers, opening into each other, which he called the "chamber of records," or "the house of the rolls." he gave them this name because "to the height of a foot or more from the floor they were entirely filled" with inscribed baked clay tablets and fragments of tablets. some tablets were complete, but by far the larger number of them had been broken up into many fragments, probably by the falling in of the roof and upper parts of the walls of the buildings when the city was pillaged and set on fire by the medes and babylonians. the tablets that were kept in these chambers numbered many thousands. besides those that were found in them by layard, large numbers have been dug out all along the corridor which passed the chambers and led to the river, and a considerable number were kicked on to the river front by the feet of the terrified fugitives from the palace when it was set on fire. the tablets found by layard were of different sizes; the largest were rectangular, flat on one side and convex on the other, and measured about ins. by / ins., and the smallest were about an inch square. the importance of this "find" was not sufficiently recognized at the time, for the tablets, which were thought to be decorated pottery, were thrown into baskets and sent down the river loose on rafts to basrah, whence they were despatched to england on a british man o' war. during their transport from nineveh to england they suffered more damage from want of packing than they had suffered from the wrath of the medes. among the complete tablets that were found in the two chambers several had colophons inscribed or scratched upon them, and when these were deciphered by rawlinson, hincks and oppert a few years later, it became evident that they had formed part of the library of the temple of nebo at nineveh. nebo and his library at nineveh. nothing is known of the early history of the library [ ] of the temple of nebo at nineveh. there is little doubt that it was in existence in the reign of sargon ii, and it was probably founded at the instance of the priests of nebo who were settled at nimrûd (the calah of gen. x, ), about miles downstream of nineveh. authorities differ in their estimate of the attributes that were assigned to nebo ( nabu) in pre-babylonian times, and cannot decide whether he was a water-god, or a fire-god, or a corn-god, but he was undoubtedly associated with marduk, either as his son or as a fellow-god. it is certain that as early as b.c. he was regarded as one of the "great gods" of babylonia, and about , years later his cult was general in assyria. he had a temple at nimrûd in the ninth century b.c., and king adad-nirari (b.c. - ) set up six statues in it to the honour of the god; two of these statues are now in the british museum. under the last assyrian empire he was believed to possess the wisdom of all the gods, and to be the "all-wise" and "all-knowing." he was the inventor of all the arts and sciences, and the source of inspiration in wise and learned men, and he was the divine scribe and past master of all the mysteries connected with literature and the art of writing (, duppu sharrute). ashur-bani-pal addresses him as "nebo, the beneficent son, the director of the hosts of heaven and of earth, holder of the tablet of knowledge, bearer of the writing-reed of destiny, lengthener of days, vivifier of the dead, stablisher of light for the men who are troubled" (see tablet r.m. ) in the reign of sargon ii the temple library of nebo was probably housed in some building at or near nabi yûnis, or, as george smith thought, near kuyûnjik, or at kuyûnjik itself. as layard found the remains of nebo's library in the south west palace, it is probable that ashur-bani-pal built a new temple to nebo there and had the library transferred to it. nebo's temple at nineveh bore the same name as his very ancient temple at borsippa (the modern birs-i-nimrûd), viz., "e-zida." discovery of the palace library of ashur-bani-pal. in the spring of layard was obliged to close his excavations for want of funds, and he returned to england with rassam, leaving all the northern half of the great mound of kuyûnjik unexcavated. he resigned his position as director of excavations to the trustees of the british museum, and colonel (later sir) h. c. rawlinson, consul-general of baghdâd, undertook to direct any further excavations that might be possible to carry out later on. during the summer the trustees received a further grant from parliament for excavations in assyria, and they dispatched rassam to finish the exploration of kuyûnjik, knowing that the lease of the mound of kuyûnjik for excavation purposes which he had obtained from its owner had several years to run. when rassam arrived at môsul in , and was collecting his men for work, he discovered that rawlinson, who knew nothing about the lease of the mound which rassam held, had given the french consul, m. place, permission to excavate the northern half of the mound, i.e., that part of it which he was most anxious to excavate for the british museum. he protested, but in vain, and, finding that m. place intended to hold rawlinson to his word, devoted himself to clearing out part of the south west palace which layard had attacked in . meanwhile m. place was busily occupied with the french excavations at khorsabad, a mound which contained the ruins of the great palace of sargon ii, and had no time to open up excavations at kuyûnjik. in this way a year passed, and as m. place made no sign that he was going to excavate at kuyûnjik and rassam's time for returning to england was drawing near, the owner of the mound, who was anxious to get the excavations finished so that he might again graze his flocks on the mound, urged rassam to get to work in spite of rawlinson's agreement with m. place. he and rassam made arrangements to excavate the northern part of the mound clandestinely and by night, and on th december, , the work began. on the first night nothing of importance was found; on the second night the men uncovered a portion of a large bas-relief; and on the third night a huge mass of earth collapsed revealing a very fine bas-relief, sculptured with a scene representing ashur-bani-pal standing in his chariot. the news of the discovery was quickly carried to all parts of the neighbourhood, and as it was impossible to keep the diggings secret any longer, the work was continued openly and by day. the last-mentioned bas-relief was one of the series that lined the chamber, which was feet long and feet wide, and illustrated a royal lion hunt. [ ] this series, that is to say, all of it that the fire which destroyed the palace had spared, is now in the british museum (see the gallery of the assyrian saloon). whilst the workmen were clearing out the chamber of the lion hunt they came across several heaps of inscribed baked clay tablets of "all shapes and sizes," which resembled in general appearance the tablets that layard had found in the south west palace the year before. there were no remains with them, or near them, that suggested they had been arranged systematically and stored in the chamber of the lion hunt, and it seems as if they had been brought there from another place and thrown down hastily, for nearly all of them were broken into small pieces. as some of them bore traces of having been exposed to great heat they must have been in that chamber during the burning of the palace. when the tablets were brought to england and were examined by rawlinson, it was found from the information supplied by the colophons that they formed a part of the great private library of ashur-bani-pal, which that king kept in his palace. the tablets found by layard in and by rassam in form the unique and magnificent collection of cuneiform tablets in the british museum, which is now commonly known as the "kuyûnjik collection." the approximate number of the inscribed baked clay tablets and fragments that have come from kuyûnjik and are now in the british museum is , . it is impossible to over-estimate their importance and value from religious, historical and literary points of view; besides this, they have supplied the material for the decipherment of cuneiform inscriptions in the assyrian, babylonian and sumerian languages, and form the foundation of the science of assyriology which has been built up with such conspicuous success during the last years. ashur-bani-pal, book-collector and patron of learning. ashur-bani-pal (the asnapper of ezra iv, ) succeeded his father esarhaddon b.c. , and at a comparatively early period of his reign he seems to have devoted himself to the study of the history of his country, and to the making of a great private library. the tablets that have come down to us prove not only that he was as great a benefactor of the library of the temple of nebo as any of his predecessors, but that he was himself an educated man, a lover of learning, and a patron of the literary folk of his day. in the introduction to his annals as found inscribed on his great ten-sided cylinder in the british museum he tells us how he took up his abode in the chambers of the palace from which sennacherib and esarhaddon had ruled the assyrian empire, and in describing his own education he says: "i, ashur-bani-pal, within it (i.e., the palace) understood the wisdom of nebo, all the art of writing of every craftsman, of every kind, i made myself master of them all (i.e., of the various kinds of writing)." [ ] these words suggest that ashur-bani-pal could not only read cuneiform texts, but could write like a skilled scribe, and that he also understood all the details connected with the craft of making and baking tablets. having determined to form a library in his palace he set to work in a systematic manner to collect literary works. he sent scribes to ancient seats of learning, e.g., ashur, babylon, cuthah, nippur, akkad, erech, to make copies of the ancient works that were preserved there, and when the copies came to nineveh he either made transcripts of them himself, or caused his scribes to do so for the palace library. in any case he collated the texts himself and revised them before placing them in his library. the appearance of the tablets from his library suggests that he established a factory in which the clay was cleaned and kneaded and made into homogeneous, well-shaped tablets, and a kiln in which they were baked, after they had been inscribed. the uniformity of the script upon them is very remarkable, and texts with mistakes in them are rarely found. how the tablets were arranged in the library is not known, but certainly groups were catalogued, and some tablets were labelled. [ ] groups of tablets were arranged in numbered series, with "catch lines," the first tablet of the series giving the first line of the second tablet, the second tablet giving the first line of the third tablet, and so on. ashur-bani-pal was greatly interested in the literature of the sumerians, i.e., the non-semitic people who occupied lower babylonia about b.c. and later. he and his scribes made bilingual lists of signs and words and objects of all classes and kinds, all of which are of priceless value to the modern student of the sumerian and assyrian languages. annexed is an extract from a list of signs with sumerian and assyrian values. the signs of which the meanings are given are in the middle column; the sumerian values are given in the column to the left, and their meanings in assyrian in the column to the right. to many of his copies of sumerian hymns, incantations, magical formulas, etc., ashur-bani-pal caused interlinear translations to be added in assyrian, and of such bilingual documents the following extract from a text relating to the seven evil spirits will serve as a specimen. the st, rd, th, etc., lines are written in sumerian, and the nd, th, th, etc., lines in assyrian. the tablets that belonged to ashur-bani-pal's private library and those of the temple of nebo can be distinguished by the colophons, when these exist. two forms of colophon for each class of the two great collections of tablets are known, one short and one long. the short colophon on the tablets of the king's library reads:--"palace of ashur-bani-pal, king of hosts, king of the country of assyria" and that on the tablets of the library of nebo reads:--"[country of ?] ashur-bani-pal, king of hosts, king of the country of assyria." see on the tablet of astrological omens, p. . the longer colophons are of considerable interest and renderings of two typical examples are here appended:-- i. colophon of the tablets of the palace library. (k. .) . palace of ashur-bani-pal, king of hosts, king of the country of assyria, . who trusteth in the god ashur and the goddess bêlit, . on whom the god nebo (nabû) and the goddess tasmetu . have bestowed all-hearing ears . and his possession of eyes that are clearsighted, . and the finest results of the art of writing . which, among the kings who have gone before, . no one ever acquired that craft. . the wisdom of nebo [as expressed in] writing, of every kind, . on tablets i wrote, collated and revised, . [and] for examination and reading . in my palace i placed--[i] . the prince who knoweth the light of the king of the gods, ashur. . whosoever shall carry [them] off, or his name side by side with mine . shall write may ashur and bêlit wrathfully . sweep away, and his name and his seed destroy in the land. . colophon of the tablets of the library of nebo. (rm. .) . to nebo, beneficent son, director of the hosts of heaven and of earth, . holder of the tablet of knowledge, he who hath grasped the writing reed of destinies, . lengthener of days, vivifier of the dead, stablisher of light for the men who are perplexed, . [from] the great lord, the noble ashur-bani-pal, the lord, the approved of the gods ashur, bêl and nebo, . the shepherd, the maintainer of the holy places of the great gods, stablisher of their revenues, . son of esarhaddon, king of hosts, king of assyria, . grandson of sennacherib, king of hosts, king of assyria, . for the life of his souls, length of his days, [and] well-being of his posterity, . to make permanent the foundation of his royal throne, to hear his supplications, . to receive his petitions, to deliver into his hands the rebellious. . the wisdom of ea, the precious priesthood, the leadership, . what is composed for the contentment of the heart of the great gods, . i wrote upon tablets, i collated, i revised . literally according to all the tablets of the lands of ashur and akkad, . and i placed in the library of e-zida, the temple of nebo my lord, which is in nineveh. . o nebo, lord of the hosts of heaven and of earth, look upon that library joyfully for years (i.e., for ever). . of ashur-bani-pal, the chief, the worshipper of thy divinity, daily the reward of the offering-- . his life decree, so that he may exalt thy great godhead. the tablets from both libraries when unbroken vary in size from inches by / inches to inch by / inch, and they are usually about inch thick. in shape they are rectangular, the obverse being flat and tile reverse slightly convex. contract tablets, letter tablets and "case" tablets are very much smaller, and resemble small pillows in shape. the principal subjects dealt with in the tablets are history, annalistic or summaries, letters, despatches, reports, oracles, prayers, contracts, deeds of sale of land, produce, cattle, slaves, agreements, dowries, bonds for interest (with impressions of seals, and fingernails, or nail marks), chronography, chronology, canons of eponyms, astrology (forecasts, omens, divinations, charms, spells, incantations), mythology, legends, grammar, law, geography, etc. [ ] george smith's discovery of the epic of gilgamish and the story of the deluge. the mass of tablets which had been discovered by layard and rassam at nineveh came to the british museum in - , and their examination by rawlinson and norris began very soon after. mr. bowler, a skilful draughtsman and copyist of tablets, whom rawlinson employed in making transfers of copies of cuneiform texts for publication by lithography, rejoined a considerable number of fragments of bilingual lists, syllabaries, etc., which were published in the second volume of the cuneiform inscriptions of western asia, in . in that year the trustees of the british museum employed george smith to assist rawlinson in sorting, classifying and rejoining fragments, and a comprehensive examination of the collection by him began. his personal interest in assyriology was centred upon historical texts, especially those which threw any light on the bible narrative. but in the course of his search for stories of the campaigns of sargon ii, sennacherib, esarhaddon and ashur-bani-pal, he discovered among other important documents ( ) a series of portions of tablets which give the adventures of gilgamish, an ancient king of erech; ( ) an account of the deluge, which is supplied by the eleventh tablet of the legend of gilgamish (in more than one version); ( ) a detailed description of the creation; ( ) the legend of the descent of ishtar into hades in quest of tammuz. the general meaning of the texts was quite clear, but there were many gaps in them, and it was not until december, , that george smith published his description of the legend of gilgamish, and a translation of the "chaldean account of the deluge." the interest which his paper evoked was universal, and the proprietors of the "daily telegraph" advocated that smith should be at once dispatched to nineveh to search for the missing fragments of tablets which would fill up the gaps in his texts, and generously offered to contribute , guineas towards the cost of the excavations. the trustees accepted the offer and gave six months' leave of absence to smith, who left london in january, and arrived in môsul in march, . in the following may he recovered from kuyûnjik a fragment that contained "the greater portion of seventeen lines of inscription belonging to the first column of the chaldean account of the deluge, and fitting into the only place where there was a serious blank in the story." [ ] during the excavations which smith carried out at kuyûnjik in and he recovered many fragments of tablets, the texts of which enabled him to complete his description of the contents of the twelve tablets of the legend of gilgamish which included his translation of the story of the deluge. unfortunately smith died of hunger and sickness near aleppo in , and he was unable to revise his early work, and to supplement it with the information which he had acquired during his latest travels in assyria and babylonia. thanks to the excavations which were carried on at kuyûnjik by the trustees of the british museum after his untimely death, several hundreds of tablets and fragments have been recovered, and many of these have been rejoined to the tablets of the older collection. by the careful study and investigation of the old and new material assyriologists have, during the last forty years, been enabled to restore and complete many passages in the legends of gilgamish and the flood. it is now clear that the legend of the flood had not originally any connection with the legend of gilgamish, and that it was introduced into it by a late editor or redactor of the legend, probably in order to complete the number of the twelve tablets on which it was written in the time of ashur-bani-pal. the legend of the deluge in babylonia. in the introduction to his paper on the "chaldean account of the deluge," which smith read in december, , and published in , he stated that the assyrian text which he had found on ashur-bani-pal's tablets was copied from an archetype at erech in lower babylonia. this archetype was, he thought, "either written in, or translated into semitic babylonian, at a very early period," and although he could not assign a date to it, he adduced a number of convincing proofs in support of his opinion. the language in which he assumed the legend to have been originally composed was known to him under the name of "accadian," or "akkadian," but is now called "sumerian." recent research has shown that his view on this point was correct on the whole. but there is satisfactory proof available to show that versions or recensions of the legend of the deluge and of the epic of gilgamish existed both in sumerian and babylonian, as early as b.c. . the discovery has been made of a fragment of a tablet with a small portion of the babylonian version of the legend of the deluge inscribed upon it, and dated in a year which is the equivalent of the th year of ammisaduga, i.e. about b.c. . [ ] and in the museum at philadelphia [ ] is preserved half of a tablet which when whole contained a complete copy of the sumerian version of the legend, and must have been written about the same date. the fragment of the tablet written in the reign of ammisaduga is of special importance because the colophon shows that the tablet to which it belonged was the second of a series, and that this series was not that of the epic of gilgamish, and from this we learn that in b.c. the legend of the deluge did not form the xith tablet of the epic of gilgamish, as it did in the reign of ashur-bani-pal, or earlier. the sumerian version is equally important, though from another point of view, for the contents and position of the portion of it that remains on the half of the tablet mentioned above make it certain that already at this early period there were several versions of the legend of the deluge current in the sumerian language. the fact is that the legend of the deluge was then already so old in mesopotamia that the scribes added to or abbreviated the text at will, and treated the incidents recorded in it according to local or popular taste, tradition and prejudice. there seems to be no evidence that proves conclusively that the sumerian version is older than the semitic, or that the latter was translated direct from the former version. it is probable that both the sumerians and the semites, each in their own way, attempted to commemorate an appalling disaster of unparalleled magnitude, the knowledge of which, through tradition, was common to both peoples. it is, at all events, clear that the sumerians regarded the deluge as an historic event, which they were, practically, able to date, for some of their tablets contain lists of kings who reigned before the deluge, though it must be confessed that the lengths assigned to their reigns are incredible. it is not too much to assume that the original event commemorated in the legend of the deluge was a serious and prolonged inundation or flood in lower babylonia, which was accompanied by great loss of life and destruction of property. the babylonian versions state that this inundation or flood was caused by rain, but passages in some of them suggest that the effects of the rainstorm were intensified by other physical happenings connected with the earth, of a most destructive character. the hebrews also, as we may see from the bible, had alternative views as to the cause of the deluge. according to one, rain fell upon the earth for forty days and forty nights (gen. vii, ), and according to the other the deluge came because "all the fountains of the "great deep" were broken up, and "the flood-gates of heaven were opened" (gen. vii, ). the latter view suggests that the rain flood was joined by the waters of the sea. later tradition, based partly on babylonian and partly on hebrew sources, asserts in the "cave of treasures" [ ] that when noah had entered the ark and the door was shut, "the sluices of heaven were opened, and the deeps were rent asunder," and "that the ocean, that great sea that surroundeth the whole world, vomited its waters, and the sluices of heaven being opened, and the deeps of the earth being rent asunder, the storehouses of the winds were opened, and the whirlwinds broke loose, and the ocean roared and poured out its waters in floods." the ark was steered over the waters by an angel who acted as pilot, and when that had come to rest on the mountains of kardô (armenia) "god commanded the waters and they separated from each other. the waters that had been above ascended to their place above the heavens, whence they had come; and the waters that had come up from under the earth returned to the lower deep; and the waters that were from the ocean returned into it" (brit. mus. ms. orient. no. , , fol. b, col. and fol. a, cols. and ). many authorities seeking to find a foundation of fact for the legend of the deluge in mesopotamia have assumed that the rain flood was accompanied either by an earthquake or a tidal wave, or by both. there is no doubt that the cities of lower babylonia were nearer the sea in the sumerian period than they are at the present time, and it is a generally accepted view that the head of the persian gulf lay further to the north at that time. a cyclone coupled with a tidal wave is a sufficient base for any of the forms of the legend now known. a comparison of the contents of the various sumerian and babylonian versions of the deluge that have come down to us shows us that they are incomplete. and as none of them tells so connected and full a narrative of the prehistoric shipbuilder as berosus, a priest of bêl, the great god of babylon, it seems that the mesopotamian scribes were content to copy the legend in an abbreviated form. berosus, it is true, is not a very ancient authority, for he was not born until the reign of alexander the great, but he was a learned man and was well acquainted with the babylonian language, and with the ancient literature of his country, and he wrote a history of babylonia, some fragments of which have been preserved to us in the works of alexander polyhistor, eusebius, and others. the following is a version of the fragment which describes the flood that took place in the days of xisuthrus, the tenth king of the chaldeans, and is of importance for comparison with the rendering of the legend of the deluge, as found on the ninevite tablets, which follows immediately after. the legend of the deluge according to berosus. "after the death of ardates, his son xisuthrus reigned eighteen sari. in his time happened a great deluge; the history of which is thus described. the deity, cronus, appeared to him in a vision, and warned him that upon the th day of the month daesius there would be a flood, by which mankind would be destroyed. he therefore enjoined him to write a history of the beginning, procedure and conclusion of all things; and to bury it in the city of the sun at sippara; and to build a vessel, and take with him into it his friends and relations; and to convey on board everything necessary to sustain life, together with all the different animals, both birds and quadrupeds, and trust himself fearlessly to the deep. having asked the deity, whither he was to sail? he was answered, 'to the gods': upon which he offered up a prayer for the good of mankind. he then obeyed the divine admonition; and built a vessel stadia in length, and in breadth. into this he put everything which he had prepared; and last of all conveyed into it his wife, his children, and his friends. after the flood had been upon the earth, and was in time abated, xisuthrus sent out birds from the vessel; which, not finding any food nor any place whereupon they might rest their feet, returned to him again. after an interval of some days, he sent them forth a second time; and they now returned with their feet tinged with mud. he made a trial a third time with these birds; but they returned to him no more: from whence he judged that the surface of the earth had appeared above the waters. he therefore made an opening in the vessel, and upon looking out found that it was stranded upon the side of some mountain; upon which he immediately quitted it with his wife, his daughter, and the pilot. xisuthrus then paid his adoration to the earth, and, having constructed an altar, offered sacrifices to the gods, and, with those who had come out of the vessel with him, disappeared. they, who remained within, finding that their companions did not return, quitted the vessel with many lamentations, and called continually on the name of xisuthrus. him they saw no more; but they could distinguish his voice in the air, and could hear him admonish them to pay due regard to religion; and likewise informed them that it was upon account of his piety that he was translated to live with the gods; that his wife and daughter, and the pilot, had obtained the same honour. to this he added that they should return to babylonia; and, it was ordained, search for the writings at sippara, which they were to make known to mankind: moreover that the place, wherein they then were, was the land of armenia. the rest having heard these words, offered sacrifices to the gods; and taking a circuit journeyed towards babylonia." (cory, ancient fragments, london, , p. ff.) the babylonian legend of the deluge as told to the hero gilgamish by his ancestor uta-napishtim, who had been made immortal by the gods. the form of the legend of the deluge given below is that which is found on the eleventh of the series of twelve tablets in the library of nebo at nineveh, which described the life and exploits of gilgamish (), an early king of the city of erech. as we have seen above, the legend of the deluge has in reality no connection with the epic of gilgamish, but was introduced into it by the editors of the epic at a comparatively late period, perhaps even during the reign of ashur-bani-pal (b.c. - ). a summary of the contents of the other tablets of the gilgamish series is given in the following section of this short monograph. it is therefore only necessary to state here that gilgamish, who was horrified and almost beside himself when his bosom friend and companion enkidu (eabâni) died, meditated deeply how he could escape death himself. he knew that his ancestor uta-napishtim had become immortal, therefore he determined to set out for the place where uta-napishtim lived so that he might obtain from him the secret of immortality. guided by a dream in which he saw the direction of the place where uta-napishtim lived, gilgamish set out for the mountain of the sunset, and, after great toil and many difficulties, came to the shore of a vast sea. here he met ur-shanabi, the boatman of uta-napishtim, who was persuaded to carry him in his boat over the "waters of death," and at length he landed on the shore of the country of uta-napishtim. the immortal came down to the shore and asked the newcomer the object of his visit, and gilgamish told him of the death of his great friend enkidu, and of his desire to escape from death and to find immortality. uta-napishtim having made to gilgamish some remarks which seem to indicate that in his opinion death was inevitable, . gilgamish [ ] said unto uta-napishtim, to uta-napishtim the remote: . "i am looking at thee, uta-napishtim. . thy person is not altered; even as am i so art thou. . verily, nothing about thee is changed; even as am i so art thou. . [moved is my] heart to do battle, . but thou art at leisure and dost lie upon thy back. . how then wast thou able to enter the company of the gods and see life?" thereupon uta-napishtim related to gilgamish the story of the deluge, and the eleventh tablet continues thus:-- . uta-napishtim said unto him, to gilgamish: . "i will reveal unto thee, o gilgamish, a hidden mystery, . and a secret matter of the gods i will declare unto thee. . shurippak, [ ] a city which thou thyself knowest, . on [the bank] of the river puratti (euphrates) is situated, . that city was old and the gods [dwelling] within it-- . their hearts induced the great gods to make a wind-storm (a-bu-bi), [ ] . their father anu, . their counsellor, the warrior enlil, . their messenger en-urta [and] . their prince ennugi. . nin-igi-azag, ea, was with them [in council] and . reported their word to the house of reeds. [first speech of ea to uta-napishtim who is sleeping in a reed hut.] . o house of reeds, o house of reeds! o wall, o wall! . o house of reeds, hear! o wall, understand! . o man of shurippak, son of ubara-tutu. . throw down the house, build a ship, . forsake wealth, seek after life, . abandon possessions, save thy life, . carry grain of every kind into the ship. . the ship which thou shalt build, . the dimensions thereof shall be measured, . the breadth and the length thereof shall be the same. . ... the ocean, provide it with a roof." [uta-napishtim's answer to ea.] . "i understood and i said unto ea, my lord: . [i comprehend] my lord, that which thou hast ordered, . i will regard it with great reverence, and will perform it. . but what shall i say to the town, to the multitude, and to the elders?" [second speech of ea.] . "ea opened his mouth and spake . and said unto his servant, myself, . ... thus shalt thou say unto them: . ill-will hath the god enlil formed against me, . therefore i can no longer dwell in your city, . and never more will i turn my countenance upon the soil of enlil. . i will descend into the ocean to dwell with my lord ea. . but upon you he will rain riches: . a catch of birds, a catch of fish . ... an [abundant] harvest, . ... the prince (?) of the darkness . ... shall make a violent cyclone [to fall upon you]." [the building of the ship.] . as soon as [the dawn] broke... [lines - broken away.] . the weak [man] ... brought bitumen, . the strong [man] ... brought what was needed. . on the fifth day i decided upon its plan. . according to the plan its walls were gar (i.e. cubits) high, . and the circuit of the roof thereof was equally gar. . i measured out the hull thereof and marked it out (?) . i covered (?) it six times. . its exterior i divided into seven, . its interior i divided into nine, . water bolts i drove into the middle of it. . i provided a steering pole, and fixed what was needful for it, . six sar of bitumen i poured over the inside wall, . three sar of pitch i poured into the inside. . the men who bear loads brought three sar of oil, . besides a sar of oil which the offering consumed, . and two sar of oil which the boatman hid. . i slaughtered oxen for the [work]people, . i slew sheep every day. . beer, sesame wine, oil and wine . i made the people drink as if they were water from the river. . i celebrated a feast-day as if it had been new year's day. . i opened [a box of ointment], i laid my hands in unguent. . before the sunset the ship was finished. . [since] ... was difficult. . the shipbuilders brought the ... of the ship, above and below, . ... two-thirds of it. [the loading of the ship.] . with everything that i possessed i loaded it (i.e. the ship). . with everything that i possessed of silver i loaded it. . with everything that i possessed of gold i loaded it. . with all that i possessed of living grain i loaded it. . i made to go up into the ship all my family and kinsfolk, . the cattle of the field, the beasts of the field, all handicraftsmen i made them go up into it. . the god shamash had appointed me a time (saying) . the power of darkness will at eventide make a rain-flood to fall; . then enter into the ship and shut thy door. . the appointed time drew nigh; . the power of darkness made a rain-flood to fall at eventide. . i watched the coming of the [approaching] storm, . "when i saw it terror possessed me, . i went into the ship and shut my door. . to the pilot of the ship, puzur-bêl (or puzur-amurri) the sailor . i committed the great house (i.e. ship), together with the contents thereof. [the abubu (cyclone) and its effects described.] . as soon as the gleam of dawn shone in the sky . a black cloud from the foundation of heaven came up. . inside it the god adad (rammânu) thundered, . the gods nabû and sharru (i.e. marduk) went before, . marching as messengers over high land and plain, . irragal (nergal) tore out the post of the ship, . en-urta (ninib) went on, he made the storm to descend. . the anunnaki [ ] brandished their torches, . with their glare they lighted up the land. . the whirlwind (or, cyclone) of adad swept up to heaven. . every gleam of light was turned into darkness. . ...... the land ...... as if ...... had laid it waste. . a whole day long [the flood descended] ... . swiftly it mounted up ..... [the water] reached to the mountains . [the water] attacked the people like a battle. . brother saw not brother. . men could not be known (or, recognized) in heaven. . the gods were terrified at the cyclone. . they betook themselves to flight and went up into the heaven of anu. . the gods crouched like a dog and cowered by the wall. . the goddess ishtar cried out like a woman in travail. . the lady of the gods lamented with a loud voice [saying]: [ishtar's lament.] . "verily the former dispensation is turned into mud, . because i commanded evil among the company of the gods. . when i commanded evil among the company of the gods, . i commanded battle for the destruction of my people. . did i of myself bring forth my people . that they might fill the sea like little fishes?" [uta-napishtim's story continued.] . the gods of the anunnaki wailed with her. . the gods bowed themselves, and sat down, and wept. . their lips were shut tight (in distress) ... . for six days and nights . the storm raged, and the cyclone overwhelmed the land. [the abating of the storm.] . when the seventh day approached the cyclone and the raging flood ceased: . --now it had fought like an army. . the sea became quiet and went down, and the cyclone and the rain-storm ceased. . i looked over the sea and a calm had come, . and all mankind were turned into mud, . the land had been laid flat like a terrace. . i opened the air-hole and the light fell upon my face, . i bowed myself, i sat down, i cried, . my tears poured down over my cheeks. . i looked over the quarters of the world--open sea! . after twelve days an island appeared. . the ship took its course to the land of nisir. . the mountain of nisir held the ship, it let it not move. . the first day, the second day, the mountain of nisir held the ship and let it not move. . the third day, the fourth day, the mountain of nisir held the ship and let it not move. . the fifth day, the sixth day, the mountain of nisir held the ship and let it not move. . when the seventh day had come . i brought out a dove and let her go free. . the dove flew away and [then] came back; . because she had no place to alight on she came back. . i brought out a swallow and let her go free. . the swallow flew away and [then] came back; . because she had no place to alight on she came back. . i brought out a raven and let her go free. . the raven flew away, she saw the sinking waters. . she ate, she pecked in the ground, she croaked, she came not back. [uta-napishtim leaves the ship.] . then i brought out everything to the four winds and offered up a sacrifice; . i poured out a libation on the peak of the mountain. . seven by seven i set out the vessels, . under them i piled reeds, cedarwood and myrtle (?). . the gods smelt the savour, . the gods smelt the sweet savour. . the gods gathered together like flies over him that sacrificed. [speech of ishtar, lady of the gods.] . now when the lady of the gods came nigh, . she lifted up the priceless jewels which anu had made according to her desire, [saying] . "o ye gods here present, as i shall never forget the lapis-lazuli jewels of my neck . so shall i ever think about these days, and shall forget them nevermore! . let the gods come to the offering, . but let not enlil come to the offering, . because he would not accept counsel and made the cyclone, o. and delivered my people over to destruction." [the anger of enlil (bêl).] . now when enlil came nigh . he saw the ship; then was enlil wroth . and he was filled with anger against the gods, the igigi [saying]: [ ] . "what kind of a being hath escaped with his life? . he shall not remain alive, a man among the destruction!" [speech of en-urta.] . then en-urta opened his mouth and spake . and said unto the warrior enlil (bêl): . who besides the god ea can make a plan? . the god ea knoweth everything. . he opened his mouth and spake . and said unto the warrior enlil (bêl), . o prince among the gods, thou warrior, . how couldst thou, not accepting counsel, make a cyclone? . he who is sinful, on him lay his sin, . he who transgresseth, on him lay his transgression. . but be merciful that [everything] be not destroyed; be long-suffering that [man be not blotted out]. . instead of thy making a cyclone, . would that a lion had come and diminished mankind. . instead of thy making a cyclone o. would that a wolf had come and diminished mankind. . instead of thy making a cyclone . would that a famine had arisen and [laid waste] the land. . instead of thy making a cyclone . would that urra (the plague god) had risen up and [laid waste] the land. . as for me i have not revealed the secret of the great gods. . i made atra-hasis to see a vision, and thus he heard the secret of the gods. . now therefore counsel him with counsel." [ea deifies uta-napishtim and his wife.] . "then the god ea went up into the ship, . he seized me by the hand and brought me forth. . he brought forth my wife and made her to kneel by my side. o . he turned our faces towards each other, he stood between us, he blessed us [saying], . formerly uta-napishtim was a man merely, . but now let uta-napishtiin and his wife be like unto the gods, ourselves. . uta-napishtim shall dwell afar off, at the mouth of the rivers." [uta-napishtim ends his story of the deluge.] . "and they took me away to a place afar off, and made me to dwell at the mouth of the rivers." the contents of the remainder of the text on the eleventh tablet of the gilgamish series are described on p. . the epic of gilgamish. [ ] the narrative of the life, exploits and travels of gilgamish, king of erech, filled twelve tablets which formed the series called from the first three words of the first tablet, sha nagbu imuru, i.e., "he who hath seen all things." the exact period of the reign of this king is unknown, but there is no doubt that he lived and ruled at erech before the conquest of mesopotamia by the semites. according to a tablet from niffar he was the fifth of a line of sumerian rulers at erech, and he reigned years; his name is said to mean "the fire-god is a commander." [ ] the principal authorities for the epic are the numerous fragments of the tablets that were found in the ruins of the library of nebo and the royal library of ashur-bani-pal at nineveh, and are now in the british museum. [ ] the contents of the twelve tablets may be briefly described thus: the first tablet. the opening lines describe the great knowledge and wisdom of gilgamish, who saw everything, learned everything, understood everything, who probed to the bottom the hidden mysteries of wisdom, and who knew the history of everything that happened before the deluge. he travelled far over sea and land, and performed mighty deeds, and then he cut upon a tablet of stone an account of all that he had done and suffered. he built the wall of erech, founded the holy temple of e-anna, and carried out other great architectural works. he was a semi-divine being, for his body was formed of the "flesh of the gods," and "two-thirds of him were god, and one-third was man" (l. ). the description of his person is lost. as shepherd (i.e., king) of erech he forced the people to toil overmuch, and his demands reduced them to such a state of misery that they cried out to the gods and begged them to create some king who should control gilgamish and give them deliverance from him. the gods hearkened to the prayer of the men of erech, and they commanded the goddess aruru to create a rival to gilgamish. the goddess agreed to do their bidding, and having planned in her mind what manner of being she intended to make, she washed her hands, took a piece of clay and spat upon it, and made a male creature like the god anu. his body was covered all over with hair. the hair of his head was long like that of a woman, and he wore clothing like that of gira (or, sumuggan), a goddess of vegetation, i.e., he appeared to be clothed with leaves. he was different in every way from the people of the country, and his name was enkidu (eabani). he lived in the forests on the hills, ate herbs like the gazelle, drank with the wild cattle, and herded with the beasts of the field. he was mighty in stature, invincible in strength, and obtained complete mastery over all the creatures of the forests in which he lived. one day a certain hunter went out to snare game, and he dug pit-traps and laid nets, and made his usual preparations for roping in his prey. but after doing this for three days he found that his pits were filled up and his nets smashed, and he saw enkidu releasing the beasts that had been snared. the hunter was terrified at the sight of enkidu, and went home hastily and told his father what he had seen and how badly he had fared. by his father's advice he went to erech, and reported to gilgamish what had happened. when gilgamish heard his story he advised him to act upon a suggestion which the hunter's father had already made, namely that he should hire a harlot and take her out to the forest, so that enkidu might be ensnared by the sight of her beauty, and take up his abode with her. the hunter accepted this advice, and having found a harlot to help him in removing enkidu from the forests (thus enabling him to gain a living), he set out from erech with her and in due course arrived at the forest where enkidu lived, and sat down by the place where the beasts came to drink. on the second day when the beasts came to drink and enkidu was with them, the woman carried out the instructions which the hunter had given her, and when enkidu saw her cast aside her veil, he left his beasts and came to her, and remained with her for six days and seven nights. at the end of this period he returned to the beasts with which he had lived on friendly terms, but as soon as the gazelle winded him they took to flight, and the wild cattle disappeared into the woods. when enkidu saw the beasts forsake him his knees gave way, and he swooned from sheer shame; but when he came to himself he returned to the harlot. she spoke to him flattering words, and asked him why he wandered with the wild beasts in the desert, and then told him she wished to take him back with her to erech, where anu and ishtar lived, and where the mighty gilgamish reigned. enkidu hearkened and finally went back with her to her city, where she described the wisdom, power and might of gilgamish, and took steps to make enkidu known to him. but before enkidu arrived, gilgamish had been warned of his existence and coming in two dreams which he related to his mother ninsunna, and when he and enkidu learned to know each other subsequently, these two mighty heroes became great friends. the second tablet. when enkidu came to erech the habits of the people of the city were strange to him, but under the tuition of the harlot he learned to eat bread and to drink beer, and to wear clothes, and he anointed his body with unguents. he went out into the forests with his hunting implements and snared the gazelle and slew the panther, and obtained animals for sacrifice, and gained reputation as a mighty hunter and as a good shepherd. in due course he attracted the notice of gilgamish, who did not, however, like his uncouth appearance and ways, but after a time, when the citizens of erech praised him and admired his strong and vigorous stature, he made friends with him and rejoiced in him, and planned an expedition with him. before they set out, gilgamish wished to pay a visit to the goddess ishkhara, but enkidu, fearing that the influence of the goddess would have a bad effect upon his friend, urged him to abandon the visit. this gilgamish refused to do, and when enkidu declared that by force he would prevent him going to the goddess, a violent quarrel broke out between the two heroes, and they appealed to arms. after a fierce fight enkidu conquered gilgamish, who apparently abandoned his visit to the goddess. the text of the second tablet is very much mutilated, and the authorities on the subject are not agreed as to the exact placing of the fragments. the above details are derived from a tablet at philadelphia. [ ] the third tablet. the correct order of the fragments of this tablet has not yet been ascertained, but among the contents of the first part of its text a lament by enkidu that he was associated with the harlot seems to have had a place. whether he had left the city of erech and gone back to his native forest is not clear, but the god shamash, having heard his cursing of the harlot, cried to him from heaven, saying, "why, o enkidu, dost thou curse the temple woman? she gave thee food to eat which was meet only for a god, she gave thee wine to drink which was meet only for a king, she arrayed thee in splendid apparel, and made thee to possess as thy friend the noble gilgamish. and at present gilgamish is thy bosom friend. he maketh thee to lie down on a large couch, and to sleep in a good, well-decked bed, and to occupy the chair of peace, the chair on the left-hand side. the princes of the earth kiss thy feet. he maketh the people of erech to sigh for thee, and many folk to cry out for thee, and to serve thee. and for thy sake he putteth on coarse attire and arrayeth himself in the skin of the lion, and pursueth thee over the plain." when enkidu heard these words his anxious heart had peace. to the third tablet probably belongs the fragment in which enkidu relates to gilgamish a horrifying dream which he had had. in his dream it seemed to him that there were thunderings in heaven and quaking upon earth, and a being with an awful visage, and nails like all eagle's talons, gripped him and carried him off and forced him to go down into the dark abyss of the dread goddess, irkalla. from this abode he who once "went in never came out, and he who travelled along that road never returned, he who dwelleth there is without light, the beings therein eat dust and feed upon mud; they are clad in feathers and have wings like birds, they see no light, and they live in the darkness of night." here enkidu saw in his dream creatures who had been kings when they lived upon the earth, and shadowy beings offering roasted meat to anu and enlil, and cool drinks poured out from waterskins. in this house of dust dwelt high priests, ministrants, the magician and the prophet, and the deities etana, sumukan, eresh-kigal, queen of the earth, and bêlitsêri, who registered the deeds done upon the earth. when gilgamish heard this dream, he brought out a table, and setting on it honey and butter placed it before shamash. the fourth tablet. gilgamish then turned to enkidu and invited him to go with him to the temple of nin-makh to see the servant of his mother, ninsunna, in order to consult her as to the meaning of the dream. they went there, and enkidu told his dream, and the wise woman offered up incense and asked shamash why he had given to her son a heart which could never keep still. she next referred to the perilous expedition against the mighty king khumbaba, which he had decided to undertake with enkidu, and apparently hoped that the god would prevent her son from leaving erech. but gilgamish was determined to march against khumbaba, and he and enkidu set out without delay for the mountains where grew the cedars. the fifth tablet. in due course the two heroes reached the forest of cedars, and they contemplated with awe their great height and their dense foliage. the cedars were under the special protection of bêl, who had appointed to be their keeper khumbaba, a being whose voice was like the roar of a storm, whose mouth was like that of the gods, and whose breath was like a gale of wind. when enkidu saw how dense was the forest and how threatening, he tried to make gilgamish turn back, but all his entreaties were in vain. as they were going through the forest to attack khumbaba, enkidu dreamed two or three dreams, and when he related them to gilgamish, this hero interpreted them as auguries of their success and the slaughter of khumbaba. the fragmentary character of the text here makes it very difficult to find out exactly what steps the two heroes took to overcome khumbaba, but there is no doubt that they did overcome him, and that they returned to erech in triumph. the sixth tablet on his return to erech, gilgamish . washed his armour, cleaned his weapons, . dressed his hair and let it fall down on his back. . he cast off his dirty garments and put on clean ones . he arrayed himself in the [royal head-cloth], he bound on the fillet, . he put on his crown, he bound on the fillet. . then the eyes of the majesty of the goddess ishtar lighted on the goodliness of gilgamish [and she said], . "go to, gilgamish, thou shalt be my lover. . give me thy [love]-fruit, give to me, i say. . thou shalt be my man, i will be thy woman. . i will make to be harnessed for thee a chariot of lapis-lazuli and gold. . the wheels thereof shall be of gold and the horns of precious stones. . thou shalt harness daily to it mighty horses. . come into our house with the perfume of the cedar upon thee. . when thou enterest into our house . those who sit upon thrones shall kiss thy feet. . kings, lords and nobles shall bow their backs before thee. . the gifts of mountain and land they shall bring as tribute to thee. . thy ... and thy sheep shall bring forth twins. . baggage animals shall come laden with tribute. . the [horse] in thy chariot shall prance proudly, . there shall be none like unto the beast that is under thy yoke." in answer to ishtar's invitation gilgamish makes a long speech, in which he reviews the calamities and misfortunes of those who have been unfortunate enough to become the lovers of the goddess. her love is like a door that lets in wind and storm, a fortress that destroys the warriors inside it, an elephant that smashes his howdah, etc. he says, "what lover didst thou love for long? which of thy shepherds flourished? come now, i will describe the calamity [that goeth with thee]." he refers to tammuz, the lover of her youth, for whom year by year she arranges wailing commemorations. every creature that falls under her sway suffers mutilation or death, the bird's wings are broken, the lion is destroyed, the horse is driven to death with whip and spur; and his speech concludes with the words: "dost thou love me, and wouldst thou treat me as thou didst them?" when ishtar heard these words she was filled with rage, and she went up to heaven and complained to anu, her father, and antu, her mother, that gilgamish had cursed her and revealed all her iniquitous deeds and actions. she followed up her complaint with the request that anu should create a mighty bull of heaven to destroy gilgamish, and she threatened her father that if he did not grant her request she would do works of destruction, presumably in the world. anu created the fire-breathing (?) bull of heaven and sent him to the city of erech, where he destroyed large numbers of the people. at length enkidu and gilgamish determined to go forth and slay the bull. when they came to the place where he was, enkidu seized him by the tail, and gilgamish delivered deadly blows between his neck and his horns, and together they killed, him. as soon as ishtar heard of the death of the bull she rushed out on the battlements of the walls of erech and cursed gilgamish for destroying her bull. when enkidu heard what ishtar said, he went and tore off a portion of the bull's flesh from his right side, and threw it at the goddess, saying, "could i but fight with thee i would serve thee as i have served him! i would twine his entrails about thee." then ishtar gathered together all her temple women and harlots, and with them made lamentation over the portion of the bull which enkidu had thrown at her. and gilgamish called together the artisans of erech who came and marvelled at the size of the bull's horns, for their bulk was equal to minas of lapis-lazuli, and their thickness to the length of two fingers, and they could contain six kur measures of oil. then gilgamish took them to the temple of the god lugalbanda and hung them up there on the throne of his majesty, and having made his offering he and enkidu went to the euphrates and washed their hands, and walked back to the market-place of erech. as they went through the streets of the city the people thronged about them to get a sight of their faces. when gilgamish asked: "who is splendid among men? who is glorious among heroes?" these questions were answered by the women of the palace who cried: "gilgamish is splendid among men. gilgamish is glorious among heroes." when gilgamish entered his palace he ordered a great festival to be kept, and his guests were provided by him with beds to sleep on. on the night of the festival enkidu had a dream, and he rose up and related it to gilgamish. the seventh tablet. about the contents of the seventh tablet there is considerable doubt, and the authorities differ in their opinions about them. a large number of lines of text are wanting at the beginning of the tablet, but it is very probable that they contained a description of enkidu's dream. this may have been followed by an interpretation of the dream, either by gilgamish or some one else, but whether this be so or not, it seems tolerably certain that the dream portended disaster for enkidu. a fragment, which seems to belong to this tablet beyond doubt, describes the sickness and death of enkidu. the cause of his sickness is unknown, and the fragment merely states that he took to his bed and lay there for ten days, when his illness took a turn for the worse, and on the twelfth day he died. he may have died of wounds received in some fight, but it is more probable that he succumbed to an attack of mesopotamian fever. when gilgamish was told that his brave friend and companion in many fights was dead, he could not believe it, and he thought that he must be asleep, but when he found that death had really carried off enkidu, he broke out into the lament which formed the beginning of the text of the next tablet. the eighth tablet. in this lament he calls enkidu his brave friend and the "panther of the desert," and refers to their hunts in the mountains, and to their slaughter of the bull of heaven, and to the overthrow of khumbaba in the forest of cedar, and then he asks him: "what kind of sleep is this which hath laid hold upon thee? "thou starest out blankly (?) and hearest me not!" but enkidu moved not, and when gilgamish touched his breast his heart was still. then laying a covering over him as carefully as if he had been his bride, he turned away from the dead body and in his grief roared like a raging lion and like a lioness robbed of her whelps. the ninth tablet. in bitter grief gilgamish wandered about the country uttering lamentations for his beloved companion, enkidu. as he went about he thought to himself, "i myself shall die, and shall not i then be as enkidu? "sorrow hath entered into my soul, "because of the fear of death which hath got hold of me do i wander over the country." his fervent desire was to escape from death, and remembering that his ancestor uta-napishtim, the son of ubara-tutu, had become deified and immortal, gilgamish determined to set out for the place where he lived in order to obtain from him the secret of immortality. where uta-napishtim lived was unknown to gilgamish, but he seems to have made up his mind that he would have to face danger in reaching the place, for he says, "i will set out and travel quickly. i shall reach the defiles in the mountains by night, and if i see lions, and am terrified at them, i shall lift up my head and appeal to the goddess sin, and to ishtar, the lady of the gods, who is wont to hearken to my prayers." after gilgamish set out to go to the west he was attacked either by men or animals, but he overcame them and went on until he arrived at mount mashu, where it would seem the sun was thought both to rise and to set. the approach to this mountain was guarded by scorpion-men, whose aspect was so terrible that the mere sight of it was sufficient to kill the mortal who beheld them; even the mountains collapsed under the glance of their eyes. when gilgamish saw the scorpion-men he was smitten with fear, and under the influence of his terror the colour of his face changed; but he plucked up courage and bowed to them humbly. then a scorpion-man cried out to his wife, saying, "the body of him that cometh to us is the flesh of the gods," and she replied, "two-thirds of him is god, and the other third is man." the scorpion-man then received gilgamish kindly, and warned him that the way which he was about to travel was full of danger and difficulty. gilgamish told him that he was in search of his ancestor, uta-napishtim, who had been deified and made immortal by the gods, and that it was his intention to go to him to learn the secret of immortality. the scorpion-man in answer told him that it was impossible for him to continue his journey through that country, for no man had ever succeeded in passing through the dark region of that mountain, which required twelve double-hours to traverse. nothing dismayed, gilgamish set out on the road through the mountains, and the darkness increased in density every hour, but he struggled on, and at the end of the twelfth hour he arrived at a region where there was bright daylight, and he entered a lovely garden, filled with trees loaded with luscious fruits, and he saw the "tree of the gods." the tenth tablet. in the region to which gilgamish had come stood the palace or fortress of the goddess siduri-sabîtu, and to this he directed his steps with the view of obtaining help to continue his journey. the goddess wore a girdle and sat upon a throne by the side of the sea, and when she saw him coming towards her palace, travel-stained and clad in the ragged skin of some animal, she thought that he might prove an undesirable visitor and so ordered the door of her palace to be closed against him. but gilgamish managed to obtain speech with her, and having asked her what ailed her, and why she had closed her door, he threatened to smash the bolt and break down the door. in answer siduri-sabitu said to him:-- . "why are thy cheeks wasted? thy face is bowed down, . "thine heart is sad, thy form is dejected. . "why is there lamentation in thy heart?" and she went on to tell him that he had the appearance of one who had travelled far, that he was a painful sight to look upon, that his face was burnt, and finally seems to have suggested that he was a runaway trying to escape trom the country. to this gilgamish replied: . "why should not my cheeks be wasted, my face bowed down, . "my heart sad, my form dejected?" and then he told the goddess that his ill-looks and miserable appearance were due to the fact that death had carried off his dear friend enkidu, the "panther of the desert," who had traversed the mountains with him and had helped him to overcome khumbaba in the cedar forest, and to slay the bull of heaven, enkidu his dear friend who had fought with lions and killed them, and who had been with him in all his difficulties; and, he added, "i wept over him for six days and nights ... before i would let him be buried." continuing his narrative, gilgamish said to sabîtu-siduri: . "i was horribly afraid.... . "i was afraid of death, and therefore i fled through the country. the fate of my friend lieth heavily upon me, . "therefore am i travelling on a long journey through the country. "the fate of my friend lieth heavily upon me, . "therefore am i travelling on a long journey through the country. . "how is it possible for me to keep silence about it? how is it possible for me to cry out [the story of] it? . "my friend whom i loved hath become like the dust. "enkidu, my friend whom i loved hath become like the dust. . "shall not i myself also be obliged to lay me down . "and never again rise up to all eternity?" . gilgamish [continued] to speak unto sabîtu [saying]: . "[o] sabîtu, which is the way to uta-napishtim? . "what is the description thereof? give me, give me the description thereof. . "if it be possible i will cross the sea, . "if it be impossible i will travel by land." . then sabîtu answered and said unto gilgamish: . "there is no passage most assuredly, o gilgamish. . "and no one, from the earliest times, hath been able to cross the sea. . "the hero shamash (the sun-god) hath indeed crossed the sea, but who besides him could do so? . "the passage is hard, and the way is difficult. . "and the waters of death which block the other end of it are deep. . "how then, gilgamish, wilt thou be able to cross the sea? . "when thou arrivest at the waters of death what wilt thou do?" sabîtu then told gilgamish that ur-shanabi, the boatman of uta-napishtim, was in the place, and that he should see him, and added: . "if it be possible cross with him, and if it be impossible come back." gilgamish left the goddess and succeeded in finding ur-shanabi, the boatman, who addressed to him words similar to those of sabîtu quoted above. gilgamish answered him as he had answered sabîtu, and then asked him for news about the road to uta-napishtim. in reply ur-shanabi told him to take his axe and to go down into the forest and cut a number of poles cubits long; gilgamish did so, and when he returned with them he went up into the boat with ur-shanabi, and they made a voyage of one month and fifteen days; on the third day they reached the [limit of the] waters of death, which ur-shanabi told gilgamish not to touch with his hand. meanwhile, uta-napishtim had seen the boat coming and, as something in its appearance seemed strange to him, he went down to the shore to see who the newcomers were. when he saw gilgamish he asked him the same questions that sabîtu and ur-shanabi had asked him, and gilgamish answered as he had answered them, and then went on to tell him the reason for his coming. he said that he had determined to go to visit uta-napishtim, the remote, and had therefore journeyed far and that in the course of his travels he had passed over difficult mountains and crossed the sea. he had not succeeded in entering the house of sabîtu, for she had caused him to be driven from her door on account of his dirty, ragged, and travel-stained apparel. he had eaten birds and beasts of many kinds, the lion, the panther, the jackal, the antelope, mountain goat, etc., and, apparently, had dressed himself in their skins. a break in the text makes it impossible to give the opening lines of uta-napishtim's reply, but he mentions the father and mother of gilgamish, and in the last twenty lines of the tenth tablet he warns gilgamish that on earth there is nothing permanent, that mammitum, the arranger of destinies, has settled the question of the death and life of man with the anunnaki, and that none may find out the day of his death or escape from death. the eleventh tablet. the story of the deluge as told by uta-napishtim to gilgamish has already been given on pp. - , and we therefore pass on to the remaining contents of this tablet. when uta-napishtim had finished the story of the deluge, he said to gilgamish, "now as touching thyself; which of the gods will gather thee to himself so that thou mayest find the life which thou seekest? come now, do not lay thyself down to sleep for six days and seven nights." but in spite of this admonition as soon as gilgamish had sat down, drowsiness overpowered him and he fell fast asleep. uta-napishtim, seeing that even the mighty hero gilgamish could not resist falling asleep, with some amusement drew the attention of his wife to the fact, but she felt sorry for the tired man, and suggested that he should take steps to help him to return to his home. in reply uta-napishtim told her to bake bread for him and she did so, and each day for six days she carried a loaf to the ship and laid it on the deck where gilgamish lay sleeping. on the seventh day when she took the loaf uta-napishtim touched gilgamish, and the hero woke up with a start, and admitted that he had been overcome with sleep, and made incapable of movement thereby. still vexed with the thought of death and filled with anxiety to escape from it, gilgamish asked his host what he should do and where he should go to effect his object. by uta-napishtim's advice, he made an agreement with ur-shanabi the boatman, and prepared to re-cross the sea on his way home. but before he set out on his way uta-napishtim told him of the existence of a plant which grew at the bottom of the sea, and apparently led gilgamish to believe that the possession of it would confer upon him immortality. thereupon gilgamish tied heavy stones [to his feet], and let himself down into the sea through an opening in the floor of the boat. when he reached the bottom of the sea, he saw the plant and plucked it, and ascended into the boat with it. showing it to ur-shanabi, he told him that it was a most marvellous plant, and that it would enable a man to obtain his heart's desire. its name was "shîbu issahir amelu," i.e., "the old man becometh young [again]," and gilgamish declared that he would "eat of it in order to recover his lost youth," and that he would take it home to his fortified city of erech. misfortune, however, dogged his steps, and the plant never reached erech, for whilst gilgamish and ur-shanabi were on their way back to erech they passed a pool the water of which was very cold, and gilgamish dived into it and took a bath. whilst there a serpent discovered the whereabouts of the plant through its smell and swallowed it. when gilgamish saw what had happened he cursed aloud, and sat down and wept, and the tears coursed down his cheeks as he lamented over the waste of his toil, and the vain expenditure of his heart's blood, and his failure to do any good for himself. disheartened and weary he struggled on his way with his friend, and at length they arrived at the fortified city of erech. [ ] then gilgamish told ur-shanabi to jump up on the wall and examine the bricks from the foundations to the battlements, and see if the plans which he had made concerning them had been carried out during his absence. the twelfth tablet. the text of the twelfth tablet is very fragmentary, and contains large gaps, but it seems certain that gilgamish did not abandon his hope of finding the secret of immortality. he had failed to find it upon earth, and he made arrangements with the view of trying to find it in the kingdom of the dead. the priests whom he consulted described to him the conditions under which he might hope to enter the underworld, but he was unable to fulfil the obligations which they laid upon him, and he could not go there. gilgamish then thought that if he could have a conversation with enkidu, his dead friend, he might learn from him what he wanted to know. he appealed to bêl and asked him to raise up the spirit of enkidu for him, but bêl made no answer; he then appealed to sin, and this god also made no answer. he next appealed to ea, who, taking pity on him, ordered the warrior god nergal to produce the spirit of enkidu, and this god opened a hole in the ground through which the spirit of enkidu passed up into this world "like a breath of wind." gilgamish began to ask the spirit of enkidu questions, but gained very little information or satisfaction. the last lines of the tablet seem to say that the spirit of the unburied man reposeth not in the earth, and that the spirit of the friendless man wandereth about the streets eating the remains of food which are cast out from the cooking pots. e. a. wallis budge. department of egyptian and assyrian antiquities, british museum, july th, . note. the trustees of the british museum have published large selections of cuneiform texts from the cylinders, tablets, etc., that were found in the ruins of nineveh by layard, rassam, smith and others, in the following works:-- cuneiform inscriptions of western asia. vol. i. . fol. il. (out of print.) ---- vol. ii. . fol. il. (out of print.) ---- vol. iii. . fol. il. ---- vol. iv. second edition. . fol. il. (out of print.) ---- vol. v. plates i.-xxxv. . fol. s. d. (out of print.) ---- vol. v. plates xxxvi-lxx. . fol. s. d. (out of print.) ---- vol. v. plates i.-lxx. lithographed reprint. . fol. il. s. inscriptions from assyrian monuments. . fol. i . s. cuneiform texts from babylonian tablets, &c., in the british museum. parts i.-v., vii.-xxiii., xxv., xxvii.-xxxiv. plates each. - . s. d. each. ---- part vi. plates. . s. d. ---- part xxiv. plates. . fol. s. ---- part xxvi. plates. . fol. s. annals of the kings of assyria. cuneiform texts with transliterations and translations. vol. i. . to. l. catalogue of the cuneiform tablets in the kouyunjik collection. vol. i. vo. . s. ---- vol. ii. . s. ---- vol. iii. . s. ---- vol. iv. . l. ---- vol. v. . l. s. ---- supplement. vo. i . l. footnotes [ ] a group of sumerian words for "library" are (girginakku), and these seem to mean "collection of writings." [ ] these bas-reliefs show that lions were kept in cages in nineveh and let out to be killed by the king with his own hand. there seems to be an allusion to the caged lions by nahum (ii. ) who says, "where is the dwelling of the lions, and the feeding place of the young lions, where the lion, even the old lion, walked, and the lion's whelp, and none made them afraid?" [ ] (brit. mus., no. , , col. , ll. - ). [ ] k. is a good specimen of a catalogue (see p. ); k. and k. are labels (see p. ). [ ] for a full description of the general contents of the two great libraries of nineveh, see bezold, catalogue of the cuneiform tablets of the kouyûnjik. collection, vol. v., london, , p. xviiiff.; and king, supplement, london, , p. xviiiff. [ ] smith, assyrian discoveries, london, , p. . [ ] published by scheil in maspero's recueil, vol. xx, p. ff. [ ] the text is published by a. poebel with transcription, commentary, etc., in historical texts, philadelphia, , and historical and grammatical texts, philadelphia, . [ ] a famous work composed by members of the college of edessa in the fifth or sixth century a.d. [ ] a transcript of the cuneiform text by george smith, who was the first to translate it, will be found in rawlinson, cuneiform inscriptions of western asia, vol. iv., plates and ; and a transcript, with transliteration and translation by the late prof. l. w. king, is given in his first steps in assyrian, london, , p. ff. [ ] the site of this very ancient city is marked by the mounds of fârah, near the shatt al-kâr, which is probably the old bed of the river euphrates; many antiquities belonging to the earliest period of the rule of the sumerians have been found there. [ ] like the habûb of modern times, a sort of cyclone. [ ] the star-gods of the southern sky. [ ] the star-gods of the northern heaven. [ ] the name of gilgamish was formerly read "izdubar," "gizdubar," or "gishdubar." he is probably referred to as [gr: gilgamos] in aelian, de natura animalium, xii, (ed. didot, paris, , p. ). [ ] langdon, epic of gilgamish, pp. , . [ ] the greater number of these have been collected, grouped and published by haupt, das babylonische nimrodepos, leipzig, and ; and see his work on the twelfth tablet in beiträge zur assyriologie, vol. i, p. ff. [ ] see langdon, the epic of gilgamesh, philadelphia, . [ ] the city of erech was the second of the four cities which, according to genesis x, , were founded by nimrod, the son of cush, the "mighty hunter before the lord. and the beginning of his kingdom was babel, and erech and accad, and calneh, in the land of shinar." the sumerians and babylonians called the city "uruk ki" ; the first sign means "dwelling" or "habitation," and the second "land, country," etc., and we may regard it as the "inhabited country," par excellence, of lower babylonia at a very early period. the site of erech is well-known, and is marked by the vast ruins which the arabs call "warkah," or al-warkah. these lie in º ' n. lat. and º ' e. long., and are about four miles from the euphrates, on the left or east bank of the river. sir w. k. loftus carried out excavations on the site in - , and says that the external walls of sun-dried brick enclosing the main portion of the ruins form an irregular circle five and a half miles in circumference; in places they are from to feet in height, and they seem to have been about feet thick. the turrets on the wall were semi-oval in shape, and about feet apart. the principal ruin is that of the ziggurat, or temple tower, which in was feet high and feet square. loftus calls it "buwáríya," i.e., "reed mats," because reed mats were used in its construction, but bûrîyah, "rush mat," is a persian not arabic word, and the name is more probably connected with the arabic "bawâr," i.e., "ruin" "place of death," etc. this tower stood in a courtyard which was feet long and feet wide. the next large ruin is that which is called "waswas" (plur. "wasâwis"), i.e., "large stone" the "waswas" referred to was probably the block of columnar basalt which loftus and mr. t. k. lynch found projecting through the soil; on it was sculptured the figure of a warrior, and the stone itself was regarded as a talisman by the natives. this ruin is feet long, feet wide and feet high. on three sides of it are terraces of different elevations, but the south-west side presents a perpendicular façade, at one place feet in height. for further details see loftus, chaldea and susiana, london, , p. ff. portions of the ruins of warkah were excavated by the german archaeologists in , and large "finds" of tablets and other antiquities are said to have been made. songs of labor and other poems by morris rosenfeld _translated from the yiddish by rose pastor stokes and helena frank_ contents in the factory my boy the nightingale to the workman what is the world? despair whither? from dawn to dawn the candle seller the pale operator the beggar family a millionaire september melodies depression the canary want and i the phantom vessel to my misery o long the way to the fortune seeker my youth in the wilderness i've often laughed again i sing my songs liberty a tree in the ghetto the cemetery nightingale the creation of man journalism pen and shears for hire a fellow slave the jewish may the feast of lights chanukah thoughts sfere measuring the graves the first bath of ablution atonement evening prayer exit holiday songs of labor and other poems in the factory oh, here in the shop the machines roar so wildly, that oft, unaware that i am, or have been, i sink and am lost in the terrible tumult; and void is my soul... i am but a machine. i work and i work and i work, never ceasing; create and create things from morning till e'en; for what?--and for whom--oh, i know not! oh, ask not! who ever has heard of a conscious machine? no, here is no feeling, no thought and no reason; this life-crushing labor has ever supprest the noblest and finest, the truest and richest, the deepest, the highest and humanly best. the seconds, the minutes, they pass out forever, they vanish, swift fleeting like straws in a gale. i drive the wheel madly as tho' to o'ertake them,-- give chase without wisdom, or wit, or avail. the clock in the workshop,--it rests not a moment; it points on, and ticks on: eternity--time; and once someone told me the clock had a meaning,-- its pointing and ticking had reason and rhyme. and this too he told me,--or had i been dreaming,-- the clock wakened life in one, forces unseen, and something besides;... i forget what; oh, ask not! i know not, i know not, i am a machine. at times, when i listen, i hear the clock plainly;-- the reason of old--the old meaning--is gone! the maddening pendulum urges me forward to labor and labor and still labor on. the tick of the clock is the boss in his anger! the face of the clock has the eyes of a foe; the clock--oh, i shudder--dost hear how it drives me? it calls me "machine!" and it cries to me "sew!" at noon, when about me the wild tumult ceases, and gone is the master, and i sit apart, and dawn in my brain is beginning to glimmer, the wound comes agape at the core of my heart; and tears, bitter tears flow; ay, tears that are scalding; they moisten my dinner--my dry crust of bread; they choke me,--i cannot eat;--no, no, i cannot! oh, horrible toil i born of need and of dread. the sweatshop at mid-day--i'll draw you the picture: a battlefield bloody; the conflict at rest; around and about me the corpses are lying; the blood cries aloud from the earth's gory breast. a moment... and hark! the loud signal is sounded, the dead rise again and renewed is the fight... they struggle, these corpses; for strangers, for strangers! they struggle, they fall, and they sink into night. i gaze on the battle in bitterest anger, and pain, hellish pain wakes the rebel in me! the clock--now i hear it aright!--it is crying: "an end to this bondage! an end there must be!" it quickens my reason, each feeling within me; it shows me how precious the moments that fly. oh, worthless my life if i longer am silent, and lost to the world if in silence i die. the man in me sleeping begins to awaken; the thing that was slave into slumber has passed: now; up with the man in me! up and be doing! no misery more! here is freedom at last! when sudden: a whistle!--the boss--an alarum!-- i sink in the slime of the stagnant routine;-- there's tumult, they struggle, oh, lost is my ego;-- i know not, i care not, i am a machine!... my boy i have a little boy at home, a pretty little son; i think sometimes the world is mine in him, my only one. but seldom, seldom do i see my child in heaven's light; i find him always fast asleep... i see him but at night. ere dawn my labor drives me forth; 'tis night when i am free; a stranger am i to my child; and strange my child to me. i come in darkness to my home, with weariness and--pay; my pallid wife, she waits to tell the things he learned to say. how plain and prettily he asked: "dear mamma, when's 'tonight'? o when will come my dear papa and bring a penny bright?" i hear her words--i hasten out-- this moment must it be!-- the father-love flames in my breast: my child must look at me! i stand beside the tiny cot, and look, and list, and--ah! a dream-thought moves the baby-lips: "o, where is my papa!" i kiss and kiss the shut blue eyes; i kiss them not in vain. they open,--o they see me then! and straightway close again. "here's your papa, my precious one;-- a penny for you!"--ah! a dream still moves the baby-lips: "o, where is my papa!" and i--i think in bitterness and disappointment sore; "some day you will awake, my child, to find me nevermore." the nightingale to the workman fair summer is here, glad summer is here! o hark! 'tis to you i am singing: the sun is all gold in a heaven of blue, the birds in the forest are trilling for you, the flies 'mid the grasses are winging; the little brook babbles--its secret is sweet. the loveliest flowers would circle your feet,-- and you to your work ever clinging!... come forth! nature loves you. come forth! do not fear! fair summer is here, glad summer is here, full measure of happiness bringing. all creatures drink deep; and they pour wine anew in the old cup of life, and they wonder at you. your portion is waiting since summer began; then take it, oh, take it, you laboring man! 'tis summer today; ay, summer today! the butterflies light on the flowers. delightfully glistens the silvery rain, the mountains are covered with greenness again, and perfumed and cool are the bowers. the sheep frisk about in the flowery vale, the shepherd and shepherdess pause in the dale, and these are the holiest hours!... delay not, delay not, life passes away! 'tis summer today, sweet summer today! come, throttle your wheel's grinding power!... your worktime is bitter and endless in length; and have you not foolishly lavished your strength? o think not the world is with bitterness rife, but drink of the wine from the goblet of life. o, summer is here, sweet summer is here! i cannot forever be trilling; i flee on the morrow. then, you, have a care! the crow, from the perch i am leaving, the air with ominous cries will be filling. o, while i am singing to you from my tree of love, and of life, and of joy yet to be, arouse you!--o why so unwilling!... the heavens remain not so blue and so clear;-- now summer is here! come, summer is here! reach out for the joys that are thrilling! for like you who fade at your wheel, day by day, soon all things will fade and be carried away. our lives are but moments; and sometimes the cost of a moment o'erlooked is eternity lost. what is the world? well, say you the world is a chamber of sleep, and life but a sleeping and dreaming? then i too would dream: and would joyously reap the blooms of harmonious seeming; the dream-flow'rs of hope and of freedom, perchance, the rich are so merrily reaping;-- in love's eyes i'd fancy the joy of romance; no more would i dream love is weeping. or say you the world is a banquet, a ball, where everyone goes who is able? i too wish to sit like a lord in the hall with savory share at the table. i too can enjoy what is wholesome and good, a morsel both dainty and healthy; i have in my body the same sort of blood that flows in the veins of the wealthy. a garden you say is the world, where abound the sweetest and loveliest roses? then would i, no leave asking, saunter around and gather me handfuls of posies. of thorns i am sure i would make me no wreath; (of flowers i am very much fonder). and with my beloved the bowers beneath i'd wander, and wander, and wander. but ah! if the world is a battlefield wild, where struggle the weak with the stronger, then heed i no storm and no wife and no child!-- i stand in abeyance no longer;-- rush into the fire of the battle nor yield, and fight for my perishing brother; well, if i am struck--i can die on the field; die gladly as well as another.... despair no rest--not one day in the seven for me? not one, from the maddening yoke to be free? not one to escape from the boss on the prowl, his sinister glance and his furious growl, the cry of the foreman, the smell of the shop,-- to feel for one moment the manacles drop? --_'tis rest then you want, and you fain would forget? to rest and oblivion they'll carry you yet._ the flow'rs and the trees will have withered ere long, the last bird already is ending his song; and soon will be leafless and shadeless the bow'rs... i long, oh i long for the perfume of flow'rs! to feel for a moment ere stripped are the trees, in meadow lands open, the breath of the breeze. --_you long for the meadow lands breezy and fair? o, soon enough others will carry you there._ the rivulet sparkles with heavenly light, the wavelets they glisten, with diamonds bedight. oh, but for a moment to leap in the stream, and play in the waters that ripple and gleam! my body is weakened with terrible toil.-- the bath would refresh me, renew me the while. --_you dream of a bath in the shimmering stream? 'twill come--when forever is ended your dream._ the sweatshop is smoky and gloomy and mean-- i strive--oh, how vainly i strive to be clean! all day i am covered with grime and with dirt. you'd laugh,--but i long for a spotless white shirt! for life that is noble, 'tis needful, i ween, to work as a man should; and still be as clean. --_so now 'tis your wish all in white to be dressed? in white they will robe you, and lay you to rest._ the woods they are cool, and the woods they are free;-- to dream and to wander, how sweet it would be! the birds their eternal glad holiday keep; with song that enchants you and lulls you to sleep. 'tis hot here,--and close! and the din will not cease. i long for the forest, its coolth and its peace. --_ay, cool you will soon be; and not only cool, but cold as no forest can make you, o fool!_ i long for a friend who will comfort and cheer, and fill me with courage when sorrow is near; a comrade, of treasures the rarest and best, who gives to existence its crown and its crest; and i am an orphan--and i am alone; no friend or companion to call me his own. --_companions a-plenty--they're numberless too; they're swarming already and waiting for you._ whither? (to a young girl) say whither, whither, pretty one? the hour is young at present! how hushed is all the world around! ere dawn--the streets hold not a sound. o whither, whither do you run? sleep at this hour is pleasant. the flowers are dreaming, dewy-wet; the bird-nests they are silent yet. where to, before the rising sun the world her light is giving? "to earn a living." o whither, whither, pretty child, so late at night a-strolling? alone--with darkness round you curled? all rests!--and sleeping is the world. where drives you now the wind so wild? the midnight bells are tolling! day hath not warmed you with her light; what aid can'st hope then from the night? night's deaf and blind!--oh whither, child, light-minded fancies weaving? "to earn a living." from dawn to dawn i bend o'er the wheel at my sewing; i'm spent; and i'm hungry for rest; no curse on the master bestowing,-- no hell-fires within me are glowing,-- tho' pain flares its fires in my breast. i mar the new cloth with my weeping, and struggle to hold back the tears; a fever comes over me, sweeping my veins; and all through me goes creeping a host of black terrors and fears. the wounds of the old years ache newly; the gloom of the shop hems me in; but six o'clock signals come duly: o, freedom seems mine again, truly... unhindered i haste from the din. * * * * * now home again, ailing and shaking, with tears that are blinding my eyes, with bones that are creaking and breaking, unjoyful of rest... merely taking a seat; hoping never to rise. i gaze round me: none for a greeting! by life for the moment unpressed, my poor wife lies sleeping--and beating a lip-tune in dream false and fleeting, my child mumbles close to her breast. i look on them, weeping in sorrow, and think: "when the reaper has come-- when finds me no longer the morrow-- what aid then?--from whom will they borrow the crust of dry bread and the home? "what harbors that morrow," i wonder, "for them when the breadwinner's gone? when sudden and swift as the thunder the bread-bond is broken asunder, and friend in the world there is none." a numbness my brain is o'ertaking... to sleep for a moment i drop: then start!... in the east light is breaking!-- i drag myself, ailing and aching, again to the gloom of the shop. the candle seller in hester street, hard by a telegraph post, there sits a poor woman as wan as a ghost. her pale face is shrunk, like the face of the dead, and yet you can tell that her cheeks once were red. but love, ease and friendship and glory, i ween, may hardly the cause of their fading have been. poor soul, she has wept so, she scarcely can see. a skeleton infant she holds on her knee. it tugs at her breast, and it whimpers and sleeps, but soon at her cry it awakens and weeps-- "two cents, my good woman, three candles will buy, as bright as their flame be my star in the sky!" tho' few are her wares, and her basket is small, she earns her own living by these, when at all. she's there with her baby in wind and in rain, in frost and in snow-fall, in weakness and pain. she trades and she trades, through the good times and slack-- no home and no food, and no cloak to her back. she's kithless and kinless--one friend at the most, and that one is silent: the telegraph post! she asks for no alms, the poor jewess, but still, altho' she is wretched, forsaken and ill, she cries sabbath candles to those that come nigh, and all that she pleads is, that people will buy. to honor the sweet, holy sabbath, each one with joy in his heart to the market has gone. to shops and to pushcarts they hurriedly fare; but who for the poor, wretched woman will care? a few of her candles you think they will take?-- they seek the meat patties, the fish and the cake. she holds forth a hand with the pitiful cry: "two cents, my good women, three candles will buy!" but no one has listened, and no one has heard: her voice is so weak, that it fails at each word. perchance the poor mite in her lap understood, she hears mother's crying--but where is the good i pray you, how long will she sit there and cry her candles so feebly to all that pass by? how long will it be, do you think, ere her breath gives out in the horrible struggle with death? how long will this frail one in mother-love strong, give suck to the babe at her breast? oh, how long? the child mother's tears used to swallow before, but mother's eyes, nowadays, shed them no more. oh, dry are the eyes now, and empty the brain, the heart well-nigh broken, the breath drawn with pain. yet ever, tho' faintly, she calls out anew: "oh buy but two candles, good women, but two!" in hester street stands on the pavement of stone a small, orphaned basket, forsaken, alone. beside it is sitting a corpse, cold and stark: the seller of candles--will nobody mark? no, none of the passers have noticed her yet. the rich ones, on feasting are busily set, and such as are pious, you well may believe, have no time to spare on the gay sabbath eve. so no one has noticed and no one has seen. and now comes the nightfall, and with it, serene, the princess, the sabbath, from heaven descends, and all the gay throng to the synagogue wends. within, where they pray, all is cleanly and bright, the cantor sings sweetly, they list with delight. but why in a dream stands the tall chandelier, as dim as the candles that gleam round a bier? the candles belonged to the woman, you know, who died in the street but a short time ago. the rich and the pious have brought them tonight, for mother and child they have set them alight. the rich and the pious their duty have done: her tapers are lighted who died all alone. the rich and the pious are nobly behaved: a body--what matters? but souls must be saved! o synagogue lights, be ye witnesses bold that mother and child died of hunger and cold where millions are squandered in idle display; that men, all unheeded, must starve by the way. then hold back your flame, blessed lights, hold it fast! the great day of judgment will come at the last. before the white throne, where imposture is vain, ye lights for the soul, ye'll be lighted again! and upward your flame there shall mount as on wings, and damn the existing false order of things! the pale operator if but with my pen i could draw him, with terror you'd look in his face; for he, since the first day i saw him, has sat there and sewed in his place. years pass in procession unending, and ever the pale one is seen, as over his work he sits bending, and fights with the soulless machine. i feel, as i gaze at each feature, perspiring and grimy and wan, it is not the strength of the creature,-- the will only, urges him on. and ever the sweat-drops are flowing, they fall o'er his thin cheek in streams, they water the stuff he is sewing, and soak themselves into the seams. how long shall the wheel yet, i pray you, be chased by the pale artisan? and what shall the ending be, say you? resolve the dark riddle who can! i know that it cannot be reckoned,-- but one thing the future will show: when this man has vanished, a second will sit in his place there and sew. the beggar family within the court, before the judge, there stand six wretched creatures, they're lame and weary, one and all, with pinched and pallid features. the father is a broken man, the mother weak and ailing, the little children, skin and bone, with fear and hunger wailing. their sins are very great, and call aloud for retribution, for their's (maybe you guess!) the crime of hopeless destitution. they look upon the judge's face, they know what judges ponder, they know the punishment that waits on those that beg and wander. for months from justice they have fled along the streets and highways, from farm to farm, from town to town, along the lanes and byways. they've slept full oftentimes in jail, they're known in many places; yet still they live, for all the woe that's stamped upon their faces. the woman's chill with fear. the man implores the judge: "oh tell us, what will you? with our children small relentlessly expel us? oh let us be! we'll sleep at night in corners dark; the city has room for all! and some kind soul will give a crust in pity. "for wife and children i will toil: it cannot be much longer (for god almighty is and good!) ere i for work am stronger. oh let us here with men remain, nor drive us any further! oh why our curses will you have, and not our blessings rather!" and now the sick man quails before the judge's piercing glances: "no, only two of you shall go this time and take your chances. your wife and you! the children four you'll leave, my man, behind you, for them, within the orphan's home, free places i will find you." the father's dumb--the mother shrieks: "my babes and me you'd sever? if god there be, such cruel act shall find forgiveness never! but first, oh judge, must you condemn to death their wretched mother-- i cannot leave my children dear with you or any other! "i bore and nursed them, struggling still to shelter and to shield them, oh judge, i'll beg from door to door, my very life-blood yield them! i know you do not mean it, judge, with us poor folk you're jesting. give back my babes, and further yet we'll wander unprotesting." the judge, alas! has turned away, the paper dread unrolled, and useless all the mother's grief, the wild and uncontrolled. more cruel can a sentence be than that which now is given? oh cursed the system 'neath whose sway the human heart is riven! a millionaire no, not from tuning-forks of gold take i my key for singing; from upper seats no order bold can set my music ringing; but groans the slave through sense of wrong, and naught my voice can smother; as flame leaps up, so leaps my song for my oppressed brother. and thus the end comes swift and sure... thus life itself must leave me; for what can these my brothers poor in compensation give me, save tears for ev'ry tear and sigh?-- (for they are rich in anguish). a millionaire of tears am i, and mid my millions languish. september melodies i the summer is over! 'tis windy and chilly. the flowers are dead in the dale. all beauty has faded, the rose and the lily in death-sleep lie withered and pale. now hurries the stormwind a mournful procession of leaves and dead flowers along, now murmurs the forest its dying confession, and hushed is the holiest song. their "prayers of departure" the wild birds are singing, they fly to the wide stormy main. oh tell me, ye loved ones, whereto are ye winging? oh answer: when come ye again? oh hark to the wailing for joys that have vanished! the answer is heavy with pain: alas! we know only that hence we are banished-- but god knows of coming again! ii the tkiyes*-man has blown his horn, and swift the days' declining; the leaves drop off, in fields forlorn are tender grasses pining. the earth will soon be cold and bare, her robe of glory falling; already to the mourner's prayer the last wild bird is calling. he sings so sweetly and so sad a song of friends who parted, that even if it find you glad, it leaves you broken hearted. the copses shudder in the breeze, some dream-known terror fearing. awake! o great and little trees! the judgment-day is nearing! o men! o trees in copses cold! beware the rising weather! or late or soon, both young and old shall strew the ground together.... [*tkiye: first blast of the ram's horn.] depression all the striving, all the failing, to the silent nothing sailing. swiftly, swiftly passing by! for the land of shadows leaving, where a wistful hand is weaving thy still woof, eternity! gloomy thoughts in me awaken, and with fear my breast is shaken, thinking: o thou black abyss; all the toil and thrift of life, all the struggle and the strife, shall it come at last to this? with the grave shall be requited good and evil, and united ne'er to separate again? what the light hath parted purely, shall the darkness join more surely?-- was the vict'ry won in vain? o mute and infinite extension, o time beyond our comprehension, shall thought and deed ungarnered fall? ev'rything dost take and slay, ev'rything dost bear away, silent nothing, silent all!... the canary the free canary warbles in leafy forest dell: who feels what rapture thrills her, and who her joy can tell? the sweet canary warbles where wealth and splendor dwell: who knows what sorrow moves her, and who her pain can tell? want and i who's there? who's there? who was it tried to force the entrance i've denied? an 'twere a friend, i'd gladly borne it, but no--'twas want! i could have sworn it. i heard thy voice, old witch, i know thee! avaunt, thou evil hag, beshrew thee! god's curse! why seekest thou to find me? away to all black years behind me! to torture me was thine endeavor, my body from my soul to sever, of pride and courage to deprive me, and into beggary to drive me. begone, where thousand devils burn-- begone, nor evermore return! begone, most wretched thou of creatures, and hide for aye thine hateful features! --beloved, ope the door in pity! no friend have i in all the city save thee, then open to my call! the night is bleak, the snowflakes fall. thine own, old want am i, believe me! ah, what delight, wilt thou receive me? i found, when i from thee had parted, no friend but he was fickle-hearted! away, old hag! thou liest, lo, thou harbinger of pain and woe! away--am i thine only friend? thy lovers pale, they have no end! thou vile one, may the devil take thee! begone and no more visits make me! for--yiddish writers not to mention-- men hold thee no such rare invention. --'tis true! yet those must wait my leisure. to be with thee is now my pleasure. i love thy black and curling hair, i love thy wounded heart's despair, i love thy sighs, i love to swallow thy tears and all thy songs to follow. oh great indeed, might i but show it, my love for thee, my pale-faced poet! away, i've heard all that before, and am a writer, mark, no more. instead of verses, wares i tell, and candy and tobacco sell. my life is sweet, my life is bitter. i'm ready and a prompt acquitter. oh, smarter traders there are many, yet live i well and turn a penny. --a dealer then wilt thou remain, forever from the pen abstain? good resolutions time disperses: thou yet shalt hunger o'er thy verses, but vainly seeking to excuse thee because thou dost, tonight, refuse me. then open, fool, i tell thee plain, that we perforce shall meet again. begone the way that i direct thee! i've millionaires now to protect me; no need to beg, no need to borrow, nor fear a penniless tomorrow, nor walk with face of blackest omen to thrill the hearts of stupid foemen, who fain my pride to earth would bring, because, forsooth, i sweetly sing! --ho ho! ere thou art grown much older, thy millionaires will all grow colder. thou soon shalt be forgotten by them-- they've other things to occupy them! just now with thee they're playing kindly, but fortune's wheel is turning blindly to grind thy pleasures ere thou know it-- and thou art left to me, my poet! the phantom vessel now the last, long rays of sunset to the tree-tops are ascending, and the ash-gray evening shadows weave themselves around the earth. on the crest of yonder mountain, now are seen from out the distance slowly fading crimson traces; footprints of the dying day. blood-stained banners, torn and tattered, hanging in the western corner, dip their parched and burning edges in the cooling ocean wave. smoothly roll the crystal wavelets through the dusky veils of twilight, that are trembling down from heaven o'er the bosom of the sea. soft a little wind is blowing o'er the gently rippling waters-- what they whisper, what they murmur, who is wise enough to say? broad her snow-white sails outspreading 'gainst the quiet sky of evening, flies a ship without a sailor, flies--and whither, who can tell? as by magic moves the rudder; borne upon her snowy pinions flies the ship--as tho' a spirit drove her onward at its will! empty is she, and deserted, only close beside the mainmast stands a lonely child, heartbroken, sobbing loud and bitterly. long and golden curls are falling down his neck and o'er his shoulders; now he glances backward sighing, and the silent ship flies on! with a little, shining kerchief, fluttering upon the breezes, unto me he sends a greeting, from afar he waves farewell. and my heart is throbbing wildly, i am weeping--tell me wherefore? god! that lovely child, i know him! 'tis my youth that flies from me! to my misery o misery of mine, no other in faithfulness can match with thee, thou more than friend, and more than brother, the only thing that cares for me! where'er i turn, are unkind faces, and hate and treachery and guile, thou, mis'ry, in all times and places, dost greet me with thy pallid smile. at birth i found thee waiting for me, i knew thee in my cradle first, the same small eyes and dim watched o'er me, the same dry, bony fingers nursed. and day by day when morning lightened, to school thou led'st me--home did'st bring, and thine were all the blooms that brightened the chilly landscape of my spring. and, thou my match and marriage monger, the marriage deed by thee was read; the hands foretelling need and hunger were laid in blessing on my head. thy love for me shall last unshaken, no further proof i ask, for when my hopes for aye were from me taken, my mis'ry, thou wert with me then; and still, while sorrow's storm is breaking above me, and my head i bow-- the kindly and the unforsaking, oh mis'ry, thou art with me now. ay, still from out fate's gloomy towers i see thee come to me again, with wreaths of everlasting flowers, and songs funereal in thy train. and when life's curses rock me nightly, and hushed i lie in slumber's hold, thy sable form comes treading lightly to wrap me in its garments fold. thy brother let me be, and wholly repay thee all i owe, tho' late: my aching heart, my melancholy, my songs to thee i dedicate. o long the way o long the way and short the day, no light in tower or town, the waters roar and far the shore-- my ship, my ship goes down! 'tis all in vain to strive again, my cry the billows drown, the fight is done, the wind has won-- my ship, my ship goes down! bright sun, adieu! thou'lt shine anew when skies no longer frown, but i--the deafening billows crash-- my ship, my ship goes down! to the fortune seeker a little more, a little less!-- o shadow-hunters pitiless, why then so eager, say! what'er you leave the grave will take, and all you gain and all you make, it will not last a day! full soon will come the reaper black, cut thorns and flowers mark his track across life's meadow blithe. oppose him, meet him as you will, old time's behests he harkens still, unsparing wields his scythe. a horrid mutiny by stealth breaks out,--of power, fame and wealth deserted you shall be! the foam upon your lip is rife; the last enigma now of life shall death resolve for thee. you call for help--'tis all in vain! what have you for your toil and pain, what have you at the last? poor luckless hunter, are you dumb? this way the cold pall-bearers come: a beggar's soul has passed! a little less, a little more !-- look forth, look forth! without the door there stands a robber old. he'll force your ev'ry lock and spring, and all your goods he'll take and fling on stygian waters cold. my youth come, beneath yon verdant branches, come, my own, with me! come, and there my soul will open secret doors to thee. yonder shalt thou learn the secrets deep within my breast, where my love upsprings eternal; come! with pain opprest, yonder all the truth i'll tell thee, tell it thee with tears... (ah, so long have we been parted, years of youth, sweet years!) see'st thou the dancers floating on a stream of sound? there alone, the soul entrancing, happiness is found! magic music, hark! it calls us, ringing wild and sweet! one, two, three!--beloved, haste thee, point thy dainty feet! now at last i feel that living is no foolish jest... (o sweet years of youth departed, vanished with the rest!) fiddler, play a little longer! why this hurry, say? i'm but half-way through a measure-- yet a little play! smiling in her wreath of flowers is my love not fair? see us in the charmed circle, flitting light as air! haste thee, loved one, for the music shall be hushed anon... (o sweet years of youth departed, whither are ye gone?) gracious youth of mine, so quickly hath it come to this? lo, where flowed the golden river, yawns the black abyss! where, oh where is my beloved, where the wreath of flowers? where, oh where the merry fiddler, where those happy hours? shall i never hear the echoes of those songs again? oh, on what hills are they ringing, o'er what sunny plain? may not i from out the distance cast one backward glance on that fair and lost existence, youth's sweet dalliance? foolish dreamer! time hath snatched it, and, tho' man implore, joys that _he_ hath reaped and garnered bloom again no more! in the wilderness alone in desert dreary, a bird with folded wings beholds the waste about her, and sweetly, sweetly sings. so heaven-sweet her singing, so clear the bird notes flow, 'twould seem the rocks must waken, the desert vibrant grow. dead rocks and silent mountains would'st waken with thy strain,-- but dumb are still the mountains, and dead the rocks remain. for whom, o heavenly singer, thy song so clear and free? who hears or sees or heeds thee, who feels or cares for thee? thou may'st outpour in music thy very soul... 'twere vain! in stone thou canst not waken a throb of joy or pain. thy song shall soon be silenced; i feel it... for i know thy heart is near to bursting with loneliness and woe. ah, vain is thine endeavor; it naught availeth--nay; for lonely as thou camest, so shalt thou pass away. i've often laughed i've often laughed and oftener still have wept, a sighing always through my laughter crept, tears were not far away... what is there to say? i've spoken much and oftener held by tongue, for still the most was neither said nor sung. could i but tell it so... what is there to know? i've hated much and loved, oh so much more! fierce contrasts at my very heartstrings tore... i tried to fight them--well... what is there to tell? again i sing my songs once again my songs i sing thee, now the spell is broken; brothers, yet again i bring thee songs of love the token. of my joy and of my sorrow gladly, sadly bringing;-- summer not a song would borrow-- winter sets me singing. o when life turns sad and lonely, when our joys are dead; when are heard the ravens only in the trees o'erhead; when the stormwind on the bowers wreaks its wicked will, when the frost paints lying flowers, how should i be still? when the clouds are low descending, and the sun is drowned; when the winter knows no ending, and the cold is crowned; when with evil gloom oppressed lie the ruins bare; when a sigh escapes the breast, takes us unaware; when the snow-wrapped mountain dreams of its summer gladness, when the wood is stripped and seems full of care and sadness; when the songs are growing still as in death's repose, and the heart is growing chill, and the eyelids close; then, o then i can but sing for i dream her coming-- may, sweet may! i see her bring buds and wild-bee humming! through the silence heart-appalling, as i stand and listen, i can hear her song-birds calling, see her green leaves glisten! thus again my songs i sing thee, now the spell is broken; brothers, yet again i bring thee of my love the token. of my joy and of my sorrow gladly, sadly bringing,-- summer not a song would borrow!-- winter sets me singing. liberty when night and silence deep hold all the world in sleep, as tho' death claimed the hour, by some strange witchery appears her form to me, as tho' magic were her dow'r. her beauty heaven's light! her bosom snowy white! but pale her cheek appears. her shoulders firm and fair; a mass of gold her hair. her eyes--the home of tears. she looks at me nor speaks. her arms are raised; she seeks her fettered hands to show. on both white wrists a chain!-- she cries and pleads in pain: "unbind me!--let me go!" i burn with bitter ire, i leap in wild desire the cruel bonds to break; but god! around the chain is coiled and coiled again a long and loathsome snake. i shout, i cry, i chide; my voice goes far and wide, a ringing call to men: "oh come, let in the light! arise! ye have the might! set freedom free again!" they sleep. but i strive on. they sleep!... can'st wake a stone?... that one might stir! but one! call i, or hold my peace, none comes to her release; and hope for her is none. but who may see her plight and not go mad outright!... "now: up! for freedom's sake!" i spring to take her part:-- "fool!" cries a voice. i start... in anguish i awake. a tree in the ghetto there stands in th' leafless ghetto one spare-leaved, ancient tree; above the ghetto noises it moans eternally. in wonderment it muses, and murmurs with a sigh: "alas! how god-forsaken and desolate am i! "alas, the stony alleys, and noises loud and bold! where are ye, birds of summer? where are ye, woods of old? "and where, ye breezes balmy that wandered vagrant here? and where, oh sweep of heavens so deep and blue and clear? "where are ye, mighty giants? ye come not riding by upon your fiery horses, a-whistling merrily. "of other days my dreaming, of other days, ah me! when sturdy hero-races lived wild and glad and free! "the old sun shone, how brightly! the old lark sang, what song! o'er earth desire and gladness reigned happily and long "but see! what are these ant-hills?-- these ants that creep and crawl?... bereft of man and nature, my life is stripped of all! "and i, an ancient orphan, what do i here alone? my friends have all departed, my youth and glory gone. "oh, tear me, root and branches! no longer let me be a living head-stone, brooding o'er the grave of liberty." the cemetery nightingale in the hills' embraces holden, in a valley filled with glooms, lies a cemetery olden, strewn with countless mould'ring tombs. ancient graves o'erhung with mosses, crumbling stones, effaced and green,-- venturesome is he who crosses, night or day, the lonely scene. blasted trees and willow streamers, 'midst the terror round them spread, seem like awe-bound, silent dreamers in this garden of the dead. one bird, anguish stricken, lingers in the shadow of the vale, first and best of feathered singers,-- 'tis the churchyard nightingale. as from bough to bough he flutters, sweetest songs of woe and wail through his gift divine he utters for the dreamers in the vale. listen how his trills awaken echoes from each mossy stone! of all places he has taken god's still acre for his own. * * * * * not on spring or summer glory, not on god or angel story loyal poet-fancy dwells! not on streams for rich men flowing, not on fields for rich men's mowing,-- graves he sees, of graves he tells. pain, oppression, woe eternal, open heart-wounds deep, diurnal, nothing comforts or allays; o'er god's acre in each nation sings he songs of tribulation tunes his golden harp and plays. the creation of man when the world was first created by th' all-wise eternal one, asked he none for help or counsel,-- simply spake, and it was done! made it for his own good pleasure, shaped it on his own design, spent a long day's work upon it, formed it fair and very fine. soon he thought on man's creation,-- then perplexities arose, so the lord his winged senate called, the question to propose: hear, my great ones, why i called ye, hear and help me ye who can, hear and tell me how i further shall proceed in making man. ponder well before ye answer, and consider, children dear;-- in our image i would make him, free from stain, from blemish clear. of my holy fire i'd give him, crowned monarch shall he be, ruling with a sway unquestioned over earth and air and sea. birds across the blue sky winging swift shall fly before his face,-- silver fishes in the ocean, savage lion in the chase. --how? this toy of froth and vapor, thought the senate, filled with fear, if so wide his kingdom stretches, shortly he will break in here! so the lord they answered, saying:-- mind and strength thy creature give, form him in our very image, lord, but wingless let him live! lest he shame the soaring eagle let no wings to man be giv'n, bid him o'er the earth be ruler, lord, but keep him out of heav'n! wisely said, the lord made answer, lo, your counsel fair i take! yet, my senate, one exception-- one alone, i will to make. one exception! for the poet, for the singer, shall have wings; he the gates of heav'n shall enter, highest of created things. one i single from among ye, one to watch the ages long, promptly to admit the poet when he hears his holy song. journalism written today, and read today, and stale the news tomorrow!-- upon the sands i build... i _play!_ i play, and weep in sorrow: "ah god, dear god! to find cessation from this soul-crushing occupation! if but one year ere thou dost call me thither, lord, at this blighting task let me not wither." pen and shears my tailor's shears i scorned then; i strove for something higher: to edit news--live by the pen-- the pen that shall not tire! the pen, that was my humble slave, has now enslaved its master; and fast as flows its midas-wave, my rebel tears flow faster. the world i clad once, tailor-hired, whilst i in tatters quaked, today, you see me well attired, who lets the world go naked. what human soul, how'er oppressed, can feel my chained soul's yearning! a monster woe lies in my breast, in voiceless anguish burning. oh, swing ajar the shop door, do! i'll bear as ne'er i bore it. my blood!... you sweatshop leeches, you!... now less i'll blame you for it. i'll stitch as ne'er in former years; i'll drive the mad wheel faster; slave will i be but to the shears; the pen shall know its master! for hire work with might and main, or with hand and heart, work with soul and brain, or with holy art, thread, or genius' fire-- make a vest, or verse-- if 'tis done for hire, it is done the worse. a fellow slave pale-faced is he, as in the door he stands and trembles visibly,-- with diffidence approaches me, and says: "dear editor, "since write you must, in prose or rhyme, expose my master's knavery, condemn, i pray, the slavery that dominates our time. "i labor for a wicked man who holds o'er all my being sway,-- who keeps me harnessed night and day. since work i first began. "no leisure moments do i store, yet harsh words only will he speak; my days are his, from week to week, but still he cries for more. "oh print, i beg you, all i've said, and ask the world if this be right: to give the worker wage so slight that he must want for bread. "see, i have sinews powerful, and i've endurance, subtle skill,-- yet may not use them at my will, but live a master's tool. "but oh, without avail do i lay bare the woes of workingmen! who earns his living by the pen, feels not our misery." the pallid slave yet paler grew, and ended here his bitter cry... and thus to him i made reply: "my friend, you judge untrue. "my strength and skill, like yours, are gain for others... sold!... you understand? your master--well--he owns your hand, and mine--he owns my brain." the jewish may may has come from out the showers, sun and splendor in her train. all the grasses and the flowers waken up to life again. once again the leaves do show, and the meadow blossoms blow, once again through hills and dales rise the songs of nightingales. wheresoe'er on field or hillside with her paint-brush spring is seen,-- in the valley, by the rillside, all the earth is decked with green. once again the sun beguiles moves the drowsy world to smiles. see! the sun, with mother-kiss wakes her child to joy and bliss. now each human feeling presses flow'r like, upward to the sun, softly, through the heart's recesses, steal sweet fancies, one by one. golden dreams, their wings outshaking, now are making realms celestial, all of azure, new life waking, bringing treasure out of measure for the soul's delight and pleasure. who then, tell me, old and sad, nears us with a heavy tread? on the sward in verdure clad, lonely is the strange newcomer, wearily he walks and slow,-- his sweet springtime and his summer faded long and long ago! say, who is it yonder walks past the hedgerows decked anew, while a fearful spectre stalks by his side the woodland through? 'tis our ancient friend the jew! no sweet fancies hover round him, naught but terror and distress. wounds unhealed where lie revealed ghosts of former recollections, corpses, corpses, old affections, buried youth and happiness. brier and blossom bow to meet him in derision round his path; gloomily the hemlocks greet him and the crow screams out in wrath. strange the birds and strange the flowers, strange the sunshine seems and dim, folk on earth and heav'nly powers!-- lo, the may is strange to him! little flowers, it were meeter if ye made not quite so bold: sweet ye are, but oh, far sweeter knew he in the days of old! oranges by thousands glowing filled his groves on either hand,-- all the plants were god's own sowing in his happy, far-off land! ask the cedars on the mountain! ask them, for they know him well! myrtles green by sharon's fountain, in whose shade he loved to dwell! ask the mount of olives beauteous,-- ev'ry tree by ev'ry stream!-- one and all will answer duteous for the fair and ancient dream.... o'er the desert and the pleasance gales of eden softly blew, and the lord his loving presence evermore declared anew. angel children at their leisure played in thousands round his tent, countless thoughts of joy and pleasure god to his beloved sent. there in bygone days and olden, from a wond'rous harp and golden charmed he music spirit-haunting, holy, chaste and soul-enchanting. never with the ancient sweetness, never in its old completeness shall it sound: his dream is ended, on a willow-bough suspended. gone that dream so fair and fleeting! yet behold: thou dreamst anew! hark! a _new_ may gives thee greeting from afar. dost hear it, jew? weep no more, altho' with sorrows bow'd e'en to the grave: i see happier years and brighter morrows, dawning, israel, for thee! hear'st thou not the promise ring where, like doves on silver wing, thronging cherubs sweetly sing newmade songs of what shall be? hark! your olives shall be shaken, and your citrons and your limes filled with fragrance. god shall waken. lead you as in olden times. in the pastures by the river ye once more your flocks shall tend. ye shall live, and live forever happy lives that know no end. no more wandering, no more sadness: peace shall be your lot, and still hero hearts shall throb with gladness 'neath moriah's silent hill. nevermore of dread afflictions or oppression need ye tell: filled with joy and benedictions in the old home shall ye dwell. to the fatherland returning, following the homeward path, ye shall find the embers burning still upon the ruined hearth! the feast of lights little candles glistening, telling those are listening legends manifold, many a little story, tales of blood and glory of the days of old. as i watch you flicker, as i list you bicker, speak the ancient dreams: --you have battled, jew, one time, you have conquer'd too, one time. (god, how strange it seems!) in your midst was order once, and within your border once strangers took no part. jew, you had a land one time, and an armed hand, one time. (how it moves the heart!) glisten, candles, glisten! as i stand and listen all the grief in me, all the woe is stirred again, and the question heard again: what the end shall be? chanukah thoughts not always as you see us now, have we been used to weep and sigh, we too have grasped the sword, i trow, and seen astonished foemen fly! we too have rushed into the fray, for our belief the battle braved, and through the spears have fought our way, and high the flag of vict'ry waved. but generations go and come, and suns arise and set in tears, and we are weakened now and dumb, foregone the might of ancient years. in exile where the wicked reign, our courage and our pride expired, but e'en today each throbbing vein with asmonean blood is fired. tho' cruel hands with mighty flail have threshed us, yet we have not blenched: the sea of blood could naught prevail, that fire is burning, still unquenched. our fall is great, our fall is real, (you need but look on us to tell!) yet in us lives the old ideal which all the nations shall not quell. sfere i asked of my muse, had she any objection to laughing with me,--not a word for reply! you see, it is sfere, our time for dejection,-- and can a jew laugh when the rule is to cry? you laughed then, you say? 'tis a sound to affright one! in jewish delight, what is worthy the name? the laugh of a jew! it is never a right one, for laughing and groaning with him are the same. you thought there was zest in a jewish existence? you deemd that the star of a jew could be kind? the spring calls and beckons with gracious insistence,-- jew,--sit down in sackcloth and weep yourself blind! the garden is green and the woodland rejoices: how cool are the breezes, with fragrance how blent! but spring calls not _you_ with her thousand sweet voices!-- with you it is sfere,--sit still and lament! the beautiful summer, this life's consolation, in moaning and sighing glides quickly away. what hope can it offer to one of my nation? what joy can he find in the splendors of may? bewildered and homeless, of whom whoso passes may fearlessly stop to make sport at his ease,-- say, is it for him to seek flowers and grasses, for him to be thinking on meadows and trees? and if for a moment, forgetting to ponder on grief and oppression, song breaks out anew, i hear in his lay only: "wander and wander!" and ev'ry note tells me the singer's a jew. a skilful musician, and one who is versed in metre and measure, whenever he hears the pitiful song of the jewish dispersed, it touches his heart and it moves him to tears. the blast of the ram's-horn that quavers and trembles,-- on this, now, alone jewish fancy is bent. to grief and contrition its host it assembles, and causes the stoniest heart to relent. the wail that went up when the temple was shattered,-- the song of atonement, the suppliant's psalm,-- these only he loves, since they took him--and scattered,-- away from the land of the balsam and balm. of all the sweet instruments, shiver'd and broken, that once in the temple delighted his ear, the ram's-horn alone has he kept, as a token, and sobs out his soul on it once in the year. instead of the harp and the viol and cymbal, instead of the lyre, the guitar and the flute, he has but the dry, wither'd ram's-horn, the symbol of gloom and despondence; the rest all are mute. he laughs, or he breaks into song, but soon after, tho' fain would he take in man's gladness a part, one hears, low resounding athwart the gay laughter, the suppliant's psalm, and it pierces the heart. i asked of my muse, had she any objection to laughing with me,--not a word for reply! you see, it is sfere, our time for dejection,-- and can a jew laugh when the rule is to cry? measuring the graves first old minna, bent and lowly, eyes with weeping nearly blind; pessyeh-tsvaitel, slowly, slowly, with the yarn creeps on behind. on the holy book of minna fall the tear-drops--scarce a word (for the heart is moved within her) of her praying can be heard. "mighty lord, whose sovereign pleasure made all worlds and men of dust, i, thy humble handmaid, measure, god, the dwellings of the just. "speechless here the ground they cumber, where the pious, gracious god, where thy heart's beloved slumber underneath the quiet sod. "they who sing in jubilation, lord, before thy holy seat, each one from his habitation, through the dream for ever sweet. "from the yarn with which i measure, pessyeh-tsvaitel, filled with awe, wicks will make, to search the treasure, nightly, of thy holy law. praying still, by faith sustained: 'thou with whom the holy dwell, scorn not jacob's prayer unfeigned, mark the tears of israel!'" the first bath of ablution the wind is keen, the frost is dread, toward the icy water, by aunt and mother forth is led the fisher's lovely daughter. "dive in, dive in, my child, with haste! there's naught whereon to ponder, the time, dear heart, we must not waste: the sun has set out yonder. "god's mercy, child, is great and sure: fear not but he will show it! leap in,--leap out! and you are pure,-- 'tis over ere you know it!" the frost and cold with cruel knife the tender form assail. ah, would you be a jewish wife, you must not weep and quail! and in--and out,--she leaps. once more! poor girl, it has not served you. no purer are you than before: a gentile has observed you! and into th' icy flood again, in terror wild she leaps! the white limbs shudder... all in vain! the christian still he peeps. the frost and cold, they burn and bite, the women rub their fingers, the lovely child grows white and white, as on the bank she lingers. "the law, my child, we must fulfill, the scoundrel see depart! yet once! 'tis but a moment's chill, 'tis but a trifling smart!" the white-faced child the law has kept, the covenant unstained, for in the waters deep she leapt, and there below remained. atonement evening prayer atonement day--evening pray'r--sadness profound. the soul-lights, so clear once, are dying around. the reader is spent, and he barely can speak; the people are faint, e'en the basso is weak. the choristers pine for the hour of repose. just one--two chants more, and the pray'r book we close! and now ev'ry jew's supplication is ended, and nilah* approaching, and twilight descended. the blast of the new year is blown on the horn, all go; by the ark i am standing forlorn, and thinking: "how shall it be with us anon, when closed is the temple, and ev'ryone gone!" [* ne'ilah, (hebrew) conclusion, concluding prayer.] exit holiday farewell to the feast-day! the pray'r book is stained with tears; of the booth scarce a trace has remained; the lime branch is withered, the osiers are dying, and pale as a corpse the fair palm-frond is lying; the boughs of grey willow are trodden and broken-- friend, these are your hopes and your longings unspoken! lo, there lie your dreamings all dimm'd and rejected, and there lie the joys were so surely expected! and there is the happiness blighted and perished, and all that aforetime your soul knew and cherished, the loved and the longed for, the striven for vainly-- your whole life before you lies pictured how plainly! the branches are sapless, the leaves will decay, an end is upon us, and whence, who shall say? the broom of the beadle outside now has hustled the lime and the palm that so pleasantly rustled. there blew a cold gust, from our sight all is banished-- the shaft from a cross-bow less swiftly had vanished! soulard, and coralee sheehan editorial note: project gutenberg also has the translation of this work by richard f. burton in volumes. the book of the thousand nights and one night: now first completely done into english prose and verse, from the original arabic, by john payne (author of "the masque of shadows," "intaglios: sonnets," "songs of life and death," "lautrec," "the poems of master francis villon of paris," "new poems," etc, etc.). in nine volumes: volume the third. london printed for subscribers only delhi edition contents of the third volume. . the birds and beasts and the son of adam . the hermits . the water-foul and the tortoise . the wolf and the fox a. the hawk and the partridge . the mouse and the weasel . the cat and the crow . the fox and the crow a. the mouse and the flea b. the falcon and the birds c. the sparrow and the eagle . the hedgehog and the pigeons a. the merchant and the two sharpers . the thief and his monkey a. the foolish weaver . the sparrow and the peacock . ali ben bekkar and shemsennehar . kemeezzeman and boudour a. nimeh ben er rebya and num his slave girl . alaeddin abou esh shamat . hatim et yai: his generosity after death . maan ben zaideh and the three girls . maan ben zaideh and the bedouin . the city of lebtait . the khalif hisham and the arab youth . ibrahim ben el mehdi and the barber-surgeon . the city of irem . isaac of mosul's story of khedijeh and the khalif mamoun . the scavenger and the noble lady of baghdad . the mock khalif . ali the persian and the kurd sharper the book of the thousand nights and one night when shehrzad had made an end of the history of king omar teen ennuman and his sons, shehriyar said to her, "i desire that thou tell me some story about birds;" and dunyazad, hearing this, said to her sister, "all this while i have never seen the sultan light at heart till this night; and this gives me hope that the issue may be a happy one for thee with him." then drowsiness overcame the sultan; so he slept and shehrzad, perceiving the approach of day, was silent. when it was the hundred and forty-sixth night, shehrzad began as follows: "i have heard tell, o august king, that story of the birds and beasts and the son of adam. a peacock once abode with his mate on the sea-shore, in a place that abounded in trees and streams, but was infested with lions and all manner other wild beasts, and for fear of these latter, the two birds were wont to roost by night upon a tree, going forth by day in quest of food. they abode thus awhile, till, their fear increasing on them, they cast about for some other place wherein to dwell, and in the course of their search, they happened on an island abounding in trees and streams. so they alighted there and ate of its fruits and drank of its waters. whilst they were thus engaged, up came a duck, in a state of great affright, and stayed not till she reached the tree on which the two peacocks were perched, when she seemed reassured. the peacock doubted not but that she had some rare story; so he asked her of her case and the cause of her alarm, to which she replied, 'i am sick for sorrow and my fear of the son of adam: beware, o beware of the sons of adam!' 'fear not,' rejoined the peacock, 'now that thou hast won to us.' 'praised be god,' cried the duck, 'who hath done away my trouble and my concern with your neigbourhood! for indeed i come, desiring your friendship.' thereupon the peahen came down to her and said, 'welcome and fair welcome! no harm shall befall thee: how can the son of adam come at us and we in this island midmost the sea? from the land he cannot win to us, neither can he come up to us out of the sea. so be of good cheer and tell us what hath betided thee from him. 'know then, o peahen,' answered the duck, 'that i have dwelt all my life in this island in peace and safety and have seen no disquieting thing, till one night, as i was asleep, i saw in a dream the semblance of a son of adam, who talked with me and i with him. then i heard one say to me, "o duck, beware of the son of adam and be not beguiled by his words nor by that he may suggest to thee; for he aboundeth in wiles and deceit; so beware with all wariness of his perfidy, for he is crafty and guileful, even as saith of him the poet: he giveth thee honeyed words with the tip of his tongue, galore. but sure he will cozen thee, as the fox cloth, evermore. for know that the son of adam beguileth the fish and draweth them forth of the waters and shooteth the birds with a pellet of clay and entrappeth the elephant with his craft. none is safe from his mischief, and neither beast nor bird escapeth him. thus have i told thee what i have heard concerning the son of adam." i awoke, fearful and trembling (continued the duck), and from that time to this my heart hath not known gladness, for fear of the son of adam, lest he take me unawares by his craft or trap me in his snares. by the time the end of the day overtook me, i was grown weak and my strength and courage failed me; so, desiring to eat and drink, i went forth, troubled in spirit and with a heart ill at ease. i walked on, till i reached yonder mountain, where i saw a tawny lion-whelp at the door of a cave. when he saw me, he rejoiced greatly in me, for my colour pleased him and my elegant shape: so he cried out to me, saying "draw nigh unto me." so i went up to him and he said to me, "what is thy name and thy kind?" quoth i, "my name is 'duck,' and i am of the bird-kind; but thou, why tarriest thou in this place till now?" "my father the lion," answered he, "has bidden me many a day beware of the son of adam, and it befell this night that i saw in my sleep the semblance of a son of adam." and he went on to tell me the like of that i have told you. when i heard this, i said to him, "o lion, i resort to thee, that thou mayst kill the son of adam and steadfastly address thy thought to his slaughter; for i am greatly in fear for myself of him, and fear is added to my fear, for that thou also fearest the son of adam, and thou the sultan of the beasts. then, o my sister, i ceased not to bid him beware of the son of adam and urge him to slay him, till he rose of a sudden from his stead and went out, lashing his flanks with his tail. he fared on, and i after him, till we came to a place, where several roads met, and saw cloud of dust arise, which, presently clearing away, discovered a naked runaway ass, and now running and galloping and now rolling in the dust. when the lion saw the ass, he cried out to him, and he came up to him submissively. then said the lion, "harkye, crack-brain! what is thy kind and what brings thee hither?" "o, son of the sultan," answered the ass, "i am by kind an ass, and the cause of my coming hither is that i am fleeing from the son of adam." "dost thou fear then that he will kill thee?" asked the lion-whelp. "not so, o son of the sultan," replied the ass; "but i fear lest he put a cheat on me; for he hath a thing called the pad, that he sets on my back, and a thing called the girth, that he binds about my belly, and a thing called the crupper, that he puts under my tail, and a thing called the bit, that he places in my mouth; and he fashions me a goad and goads me with it and makes me run more than my strength. if i stumble, he curses me, and if i bray, he reviles me; and when i grow old and can no longer run, he puts a wooden pannel on me and delivers me to the water-carriers, who load my back with water from the river, in skins and other vessels, such as jars, and i wear out my life in misery and abasement and fatigue till i die, when they cast me on the rubbish-heaps to the dogs. so what misery can surpass this, and what calamities can be greater than these?" when, o peahen, i heard the ass's words, my skin shuddered at the son of adam and i said to the lion-whelp, "of a verity, o my lord, the ass hath excuse, and his words add terror to my terror." then said the lion to the ass, "whither goest thou?" "before the rising of the sun" answered he, "i espied the son of adam afar off and fled from him, and now i am minded to flee forth and run without ceasing, for the greatness of my fear of him, so haply i may find a place to shelter me from the perfidious son of adam." whilst he was thus discoursing, seeking the while to take leave of us and go away, behold, another cloud of dust arose, at sight of which the ass brayed and cried out and let fly a great crack of wind. presently, the dust lifted and discovered a handsome black horse of elegant shape, with white feet and fine legs and a brow-star like a dirhem, which made towards us, neighing, and stayed not till he stood before the whelp, the son of the lion, who, when he saw him, marvelled at his beauty and said to him, "what is thy kind, o noble wild beast, and wherefore fleest thou into this vast and wide desert?" "o lord of the beasts," answered he, "i am of the horse-kind, and i am fleeing from the son of adam." the whelp wondered at the horse's words and said to him, "say not thus; for it is shame for thee, seeing that thou art tall and stout. how comes it that thou fearest the son of adam, thou, with thy bulk of body and thy swiftness of running, when i, for all my littleness of body, am resolved to find out the son of adam, and rushing on him, eat his flesh, that i may allay the affright of this poor duck and make her to dwell in peace in her own place. but now thou hast wrung my heart with thy talk and turned me back from what i had resolved to do, in that, for all thy bulk, the son of adam hath mastered thee and feared neither thy height nor thy breadth, though, wert thou to kick him with thy foot, thou wouldst kill him, nor could he prevail against thee, but thou wouldst make him drink the cup of death." the horse laughed, when he heard the whelp's words, and replied, "far, far is it from my power to overcome him, o king's son! let not my length and my breadth nor yet my bulk delude thee, with respect to the son of adam; for he, of the excess of his guile and his cunning, fashions for me a thing called a hobble and hobbles my four legs with ropes of palm-fibres, bound with felt, and makes me fast by the head to a high picket, so that i remain standing and can neither sit nor lie down, being tied up. when he hath a mind to ride me, he binds on his feet a thing of iron called a stirrup and lays on my back another thing called a saddle, which he fastens by two girths, passed under my armpits. then he sets in my mouth a thing of iron he calls a bit, to which he ties a thing of leather called a rein; and when he mounts on the saddle on my back, he takes the rein in his hand and guides me with it, goading my flanks the while with the stirrups[fn# ], till he makes them bleed: so do not ask, o king's son, what i endure from the son of adam. when i grow old and lean and can no longer run swiftly, he sells me to the miller, who makes me turn in the mill, and i cease not from turning night and day, till i grow decrepit. then he in turn sells me to the knacker, who slaughters me and flays off my hide, after which he plucks out my tail, which he sells to the sieve-makers, and melts down my fat for tallow." at this, the young lion's anger and vexation redoubled, and he said to the horse, "when didst thou leave the son of adam?" "at mid-day," replied the horse; "and he is now on my track." whilst the whelp was thus conversing with the horse, there arose a cloud of dust and presently subsiding, discovered a furious camel, which made toward us, braying and pawing the earth with his feet. when the whelp saw how great and lusty he was, he took him to be the son of adam and was about to spring at him, when i said to him, "o king's son, this is not the son of adam, but a camel, and me seems he is fleeing from the son of adam." as i spoke, o my sister, the camel came up and saluted the lion-whelp, who returned his greeting and said to him, "what brings thee hither?" quoth he, "i am fleeing from the son of adam." "and thou," said the whelp, "with thy huge frame and length and breadth, how comes it that thou fearest the son of adam, seeing that one kick of thy foot would kill him?" "o son of the sultan," answered the camel, "know that the son of adam has wiles, which none can withstand, nor can any but death prevail against him; for he puts in my nostrils a twine of goat's-hair he calls a nose-ring and over my head a thing he calls a halter; then he delivers me to the least of his children, and the youngling draws me along by the nose-ring, for all my size and strength. then they load me with the heaviest of burdens and go long journeys with me and put me to hard labours all hours of the day and night. when i grow old and feeble, my master keeps me not with him, but sells me to the knacker, who slaughters me and sells my hide to the tanners and my flesh to the cooks: so do not ask what i suffer from the son of adam." "when didst thou leave the son of adam?" asked the young lion. "at sundown," replied the camel; "and i doubt not but that, having missed me, he is now in search of me: wherefore, o son of the sultan, let me go, that i may flee into the deserts and the wilds." "wait awhile, o camel," said the whelp, "till thou see how i will rend him in pieces and give thee to eat of his flesh, whilst i crunch his bones and drink his blood." "o king's son," rejoined the camel, "i fear for thee from the son of adam, for he is wily and perfidious." and he repeated the following verse: whenas on any land the oppressor cloth alight, there's nothing left for those, that dwell therein, but flight. whilst the camel was speaking, there arose a cloud of dust, which opened and showed a short thin old man, with a basket of carpenters' tools on his shoulder and a branch of a tree and eight planks on his head. he had little children in his hand, and came on at a brisk pace, till he drew near us. when i saw him, o my sister, i fell down for excess of affright; but the young lion rose and went to meet the carpenter, who smiled in his face and said to him, with a glib tongue, "o illustrious king and lord of the long arm, may god prosper shine evening and shine endeavour and increase thy velour and strengthen thee! protect me from that which hath betided me and smitten me with its mischief, for i have found no helper save only thee." and he stood before him, weeping and groaning and lamenting. when the whelp heard his weeping and wailing, he said, "i will succour thee from that thou fearest. who hath done thee wrong and what art thou, o wild beast, whose like i never saw in my life nor saw i ever one goodlier of form or more eloquent of tongue than thou? what is thy case?" "o lord of the beasts," answered the man, "i am a carpenter; he who hath wronged me is a son of adam, and by break of dawn he will be with thee in this place." when the lion heard this, the light in his face was changed to darkness and he roared and snorted and his eyes cast forth sparks. then he said, "by allah, i will watch this night till the dawn, nor will i return to my father till i have compassed my intent. but thou," continued he, addressing the carpenter, "i see thou art short of step, and i would not wound thy feelings, for that i am generous of heart; yet do i deem thee unable to keep pace with the wild beasts: tell me then whither thou goest." "know," answered the carpenter, "that i am on my way to thy father's vizier, the lynx; for when he heard that the son of adam had set foot in this country, he feared greatly for himself and sent one of the beasts for me, to make him a house, wherein he should dwell, that it might shelter him and hold his enemy from him, so not one of the sons of adam should come at him." when the young lion heard this, he envied the lynx and said to the carpenter, "by my life, thou must make me a house with these planks, ere thou make one for the lynx! when thou hast done my work, go to the lynx and make him what he wishes." "o lord of the beasts," answered the carpenter, "i cannot make thee aught, till i have made the lynx what he desires: then will i return to thy service and make thee a house, to ward thee from shine enemy." "by allah," exclaimed the whelp, "i will not let thee go hence, till thou make me a house of these planks!" so saying, he sprang upon the carpenter, thinking to jest with him, and gave him a cuff with his paw. the blow knocked the basket off the man's shoulder and he fell down in a swoon, whereupon the young lion laughed at him and said, "out on thee, o carpenter! of a truth thou art weak and hast no strength; so it is excusable in thee to fear the son of adam." now the carpenter was exceeding wroth; but he dissembled his anger, for fear of the whelp, and sat up and smiled in his face, saying, "well, i will make thee the house." with this, he took the planks, and nailing them together, made a house in the form of a chest, after the measure of the young lion. in this he cut a large opening, to which he made a stout cover and bored many holes therein, leaving the door open. then he took out some nails of wrought iron and a hammer and said to the young lion, "enter this opening, that i may fit it to thy measure." the whelp was glad and went up to the opening, but saw that it was strait; and the carpenter said to him, "crouch down and so enter." so the whelp crouched down and entered the chest, but his tail remained outside. then he would have drawn back and come out; but the carpenter said to him, "wait till i see if there be room for thy tail with thee." so saying, he twisted up the young lion's tail, and stuffing it into the chest, whipped the lid on to the opening and nailed it down; whereat the whelp cried out and said, "o carpenter, what is this narrow house thou hast made me? let me out." but the carpenter laughed and answered, "god forbid! repentance avails nothing for what is passed, and indeed thou shalt not come out of this place. verily thou art fallen into the trap and there is no escape for thee from duresse, o vilest of wild beasts!" "o my brother," rejoined the whelp, "what manner of words are these?" "know, o dog of the desert," answered the man, "that thou hast fallen into that which thou fearedst; fate hath overthrown thee, nor did thought-taking profit thee." when the whelp heard these words, he knew that this was indeed the very son of adam, against whom he had been warned by his father on wake and by the mysterious voice in sleep; and i also, o my sister, was certified that this was indeed he without doubt; wherefore there took me great fear of him for myself and i withdrew a little apart and waited to see what he would do with the young lion. then i saw the son of adam dig a pit hard by the chest and throwing the latter therein, heap brushwood upon it and burn the young lion with fire. at this sight, my fear of the son of adam redoubled, and in my affright i have been these two days fleeing from him.'" when the peahen heard the duck's story, she wondered exceedingly and said to her, 'o my sister, thou art safe here from the son of adam, for we are in one of the islands of the sea, whither there is no way for him; so do thou take up shine abode with us, till god make easy shine and our affair.' quoth the duck, 'i fear lest some calamity come upon me by night, for no runaway can rid him of fate.' 'abide with us,' rejoined the peahen, 'and be even as we;' and ceased not to persuade her, till she yielded, saying, 'o my sister, thou knowest how little is my fortitude: had i not seen thee here, i had not remained.' 'that which is written on our foreheads,' said the peahen, 'we must indeed fulfil, and when our appointed day draws near, who shall deliver us? but not a soul passes away except it have accomplished its predestined term and fortune.' as they talked, a cloud of dust appeared, at sight of which the duck shrieked aloud and ran down into the sea, crying out, 'beware, beware, albeit there is no fleeing from fate and fortune!' after awhile, the dust subsided and discovered an antelope; whereat the duck and the peahen were reassured and the latter said to her companion, 'o my sister, this thou seest and wouldst have me beware of is an antelope, and he is making for us. he will do us no hurt, for the antelope feeds upon the herbs of the earth, and even as thou art of the bird-kind, so is he of the beast-kind. so be of good cheer and leave care-taking; for care-taking wasteth the body.' hardly had the peahen done speaking, when the antelope came up to them, thinking to shelter under the shade of the tree, and seeing the two birds, saluted them and said, 'i came to this island to-day, and i have seen none richer in herbage nor more pleasant of habitance.' then he besought them of company and amity, and they, seeing his friendly behaviour to them, welcomed him and gladly accepted his offer. so they swore friendship one to another and abode in the island in peace and safety, eating and drinking and sleeping in common, till one day there came thither a ship, that had strayed from its course in the sea. it cast anchor near them, and the crew landing, dispersed about the island. they soon caught sight of the three animals and made for them, whereupon the peahen flew up into the tree and the antelope fled into the desert, but the duck abode paralysed (by fear). so they chased her, till they caught her and carried her with them to the ship, whilst she cried out and said, 'caution availed me nothing against fate and destiny!' when the peahen saw what had betided the duck, she came down from the tree, saying, 'i see that misfortunes lie in wait for all. but for yonder ship, parting had not befallen between me and this duck, for she was one of the best of friends. then she flew off and rejoined the antelope, who saluted her and gave her joy of her safety and enquired for the duck, to which she replied, 'the enemy hath taken her, and i loathe the sojourn of this island after her.' then she wept for the loss of the duck and repeated the following verses: the day of severance broke my heart in tway. god do the like unto the severance-day! and also these: i pray that we may yet foregather once again. that i may tell her all that parting wrought of pain. the antelope was greatly moved at hearing of their comrade's fate, but dissuaded the peahen from her resolve to leave the island. so they abode there together, eating and drinking in peace and safety, save that they ceased not to mourn for the loss of the duck, and the antelope said to the peahen, 'thou seest, o my sister, how the folk who came forth of the ship were the means of our severance from the duck and of her destruction; so do thou beware of them and guard thyself from them and from the craft of the son of adam and his perfidy.' but the peahen replied, 'i am assured that nought caused her death but her neglect to celebrate the praises of god, and indeed i said to her, "verily i fear for thee, because thou art not careful to praise god; for all things that he hath made do glorify him, and if any neglect to do so, it leadeth to their destruction."' when the antelope heard the peahen's words, he exclaimed, 'may god make fair thy face!' and betook himself to the celebration of the praises of the almighty, never after slackening therefrom. and it is said that his form of adoration was as follows: 'glory be to the requiter of good and evil, the lord of glory and dominion!' the hermits. there was once a hermit, who served god on a certain mountain, whither resorted a pair of pigeons; and he was wont to make two parts of his daily bread, eating one half himself and giving the other to the pigeons. he prayed also for them, that they might be blest with increase; so they increased and multiplied greatly. now they resorted only to that mountain, and the reason of their foregathering with the holy man was their assiduity in celebrating the praises of god; for it is said that the pigeons' formula of praise is, 'glory be to the creator of all things, who appointeth to every one his daily bread, who builded the heavens and spread out the earth like a carpet!' they dwelt thus together, in the happiest of life, they and their brood, till the holy man died, when the company of the pigeons was broken up, and they all dispersed among the towns and villages and mountains. now in a certain other mountain there dwelt a shepherd, a man of piety and chastity and understanding; and he had flocks of sheep, which he tended, and made his living by their milk and wool. the mountain aforesaid abounded in trees and pasturage and wild beasts, but the latter had no power over the peasant nor over his flocks; so he continued to dwell therein, in security, taking no thought to the things of the world, by reason of his happiness and assiduity in prayer and devotion, till god ordained that he should fall exceeding sick. so he betook himself to a cavern in the mountain, and his sheep used to go out in the morning to the pasturage and take refuge at night in the cave. now god was minded to try him and prove his obedience and constancy; so he sent him one of his angels, who came in to him in the semblance of a fair woman and sat down before him. when the shepherd saw the woman seated before him, his flesh shuddered with horror of her and he said to her, 'o woman, what brings thee hither? i have no need of thee, nor is there aught betwixt thee and me that calls for thy coming in to me.' 'o man,' answered she, 'dost thou not note my beauty and grace and the fragrance of my breath and knowest thou not the need women have of men and men of women? behold, i have chosen to be near thee and desire to enjoy thy company; so who shall forbid thee from me? indeed, i come to thee willingly and do not withhold myself from thee: there is none with us whom we need fear; and i wish to abide with thee as long as thou sojournest in this mountain and be thy companion. i offer myself to thee, for thou needest the service of women; and if thou know me, thy sickness will leave thee and health return to thee and thou wilt repent thee of having forsworn the company of women during thy past life. indeed, i give thee good advice: so give ear to my counsel and draw near unto me.' quoth he, 'go out from me, o deceitful and perfidious woman! i will not incline to thee nor approach thee. i want not thy company; he who coveteth thee renounceth the future life, and he who coveteth the future life renounceth thee, for thou seduces the first and the last. god the most high lieth in wait for his servants and woe unto him who is afflicted with thy company!' 'o thou that errest from the truth and wanderest from the path of reason,' answered she, 'turn thy face to me and look upon my charms and profit by my nearness, as did the wise who have gone before thee. indeed, they were richer than thou in experience and greater of wit; yet they rejected not the society of women, as thou dost, but took their pleasure of them and their company, and it did them no hurt, in body or in soul. wherefore do thou turn from thy resolve and thou shalt praise the issue of shine affair.' 'all thou sayest i deny and abhor,' rejoined the shepherd, 'and reject all thou offerest; for thou art cunning and perfidious and there is no faith in thee, neither honour. how much foulness cost thou hide under thy beauty and how many a pious man hast thou seduced, whose end was repentance and perdition! avaunt from me, o thou who devotes thyself to corrupt others!' so saying, he threw his goat's-hair cloak over his eyes, that he might not see her face, and betook himself to calling upon the name of his lord. when the angel saw the excellence of his obedience (to god), he went out from him and ascended to heaven. now hard by the mountain was a village wherein dwelt a pious man, who knew not the other's stead, till one night he saw in a dream one who said to him, 'in such a place near to thee is a pious man: go to him and be at his command.' so when it was day, he set out afoot to go thither, and at the time when the heat was grievous upon him, he came to a tree, which grew beside a spring of running water. he sat down to rest in the shadow of the tree, and birds and beasts came to the spring to drink; but when they saw him, they took fright and fled. then said he, 'there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high! i am resting here, to the hurt of the beasts and fowls.' so he rose and went on, blaming himself and saying, 'my tarrying here hath wronged these beasts and birds, and what excuse have i towards my creator and the creator of these creatures, for that i was the cause of their flight from their watering-place and their pasture? alas, my confusion before my lord on the day when he shall avenge the sheep of the goats!' and he wept and repeated the following verses: by allah, if men knew for what they are create, they would not go and sleep, unheeding of their fate! soon cometh death, then wake and resurrection come; then judgment and reproof and terrors passing great. obey me or command, the most of us are like. the dwellers in the cave, [fn# ] asleep early and late. then he fared on, weeping for that he had driven the birds and beasts from the spring by sitting down under the tree, till he came to the shepherd's dwelling and going in, saluted him. the shepherd returned his greeting and embraced him, weeping and saying, 'what brings thee hither, where no man hath ever come in to me?' quoth the other, 'i saw in my sleep one who described to me this thy stead and bade me repair to thee and salute thee: so i came, in obedience to the commandment.' the shepherd welcomed him, rejoicing in his company, and they both abode in the cavern, doing fair service to their lord and living upon the flesh and milk of their sheep, having put away from them wealth and children and other the goods of this world, till there came to them death, the certain, the inevitable. and this is the end of their story." "o shehrzad," said king shehriyar, "thou puttest me out of conceit with my kingdom and makest me repent of having slain so many women and maidens. hast thou any stories of birds?" "yes," answered she, and began as follows: the water-fowl and the tortoise "a water-fowl flew high up into the air and alighted on rock in the midst of a running water. as it sat, behold, the water floated up a carcase, that was swollen and rose high out of the water, and lodged it against the rock. the bird drew near and examining it, found that it was the dead body of a man and saw in it spear and sword wounds. so he said in himself, 'belike, this was some evil-doer, and a company of men joined themselves together against him and slew him and were at peace from him and his mischief.' whilst he was marvelling at this, vultures and eagles came down upon the carcase from all sides; which when the water-fowl saw, he was sore affrighted and said, 'i cannot endure to abide here longer.' so he flew away in quest of a place where he might harbour, till the carcase should come to an end and the birds of prey leave it, and stayed not in his flight, till he came to a river with a tree in its midst. he alighted on the tree, troubled and distraught and grieved for his separation from his native place, and said to himself, 'verily grief and vexation cease not to follow me: i was at my ease, when i saw the carcase, and rejoiced therein exceedingly, saying, "this is a gift of god to me;" but my joy became sorrow and my gladness mourning, for the lions of the birds[fn# ] took it and made prize of it and came between it and me. how can i trust in this world or hope to be secure from misfortune therein? indeed, the proverb says, "the world is the dwelling of him who hath no dwelling: he who hath no understanding is deceived by it and trusteth in it with his wealth and his child and his family and his folk; nor doth he who is deluded by it leave to rely upon it, walking proudly upon the earth, till he is laid under it and the dust is cast over him by him who was dearest and nearest to him of all men; but nought is better for the noble than patience under its cares and miseries." i have left my native place, and it is abhorrent to me to quit my brethren and friends and loved ones.' whilst he was thus devising with himself, behold, a tortoise descended into the water and approaching the bird, saluted him, saying, 'o my lord, what hath exiled thee and driven thee afar from thy place?' 'the descent of enemies thereon,' replied the water-fowl; 'for the understanding cannot brook the neighbourhood of his enemy; even as well says the poet: whenas on any land the oppressor doth alight, there's nothing left for those, that dwell therein, but flight.' quoth the tortoise, 'if the case be as thou sayest, i will not leave thee nor cease to be before thee, that i may do thy need and fulfil thy service; for it is said that there is no sorer desolation than that of him who is an exile, cut off from friends and country; and also that no calamity equals that of severance from virtuous folk; but the best solace for the understanding is to seek companionship in his strangerhood and be patient under adversity. wherefore i hope that thou wilt find thine account in my company, for i will be to thee a servant and a helper.' 'verily, thou art right in what thou sayest,' answered the water-fowl; 'for, by my life, i have found grief and pain in separation, what while i have been absent from my stead and sundered from my friends and brethren, seeing that in severance is an admonition to him who will be admonished and matter of thought for him who will take thought. if one find not a companion to console him, good is cut off from him for ever and evil stablished with him eternally; and there is nothing for the wise but to solace himself in every event with brethren and be instant in patience and constancy; for indeed these two are praiseworthy qualities, that uphold one under calamities and shifts of fortune and ward off affliction and consternation, come what will.' 'beware of sorrow,' rejoined the tortoise, 'for it will corrupt thy life to thee and do away thy fortitude.' and they gave not over converse, till the bird said, 'never shall i leave to fear the strokes of fortune and the vicissitudes of events.' when the tortoise heard this, he came up to him and kissing him between the eyes, said to him, 'never may the company of the birds cease to be blest in thee and find good in thy counsel! how shalt thou be burdened with inquietude and harm?' and he went on to comfort the water-fowl and soothe his disquiet, till he became reassured. then he flew to the place, where the carcase was, and found the birds of prey gone and nothing left of the body but bones; whereupon he returned to the tortoise and acquainted him with this, saying, 'i wish to return to my stead and enjoy the society of my friends; for the wise cannot endure separation from his native place.' so they both went thither and found nought to affright them; whereupon the water-fowl repeated the following verses: full many a sorry chance doth light upon a man and fill his life with trouble, yet with god the issue bideth still. his case is sore on him, but when its meshes straitened are to att'rest, they relax, although he deem they never will. so they abode there in peace and gladness, till one day fate led thither a hungry hawk, which drove its talons into the bird's belly and killed him, nor did caution stand him in stead seeing that his hour was come. now the cause of his death was that he neglected to praise god, and it is said that his form of adoration was as follows, 'glory be to our lord in that he ordereth and ordaineth, and glory be to our lord in that he maketh rich and maketh poor!'" "o shehrzad," said the sultan, "verily, thou overwhelmest me with admonitions and salutary instances! hast thou any stories of beasts?" "yes," answered she. "know, o king, that the wolf and the fox. a fox and a wolf once dwelt in the same den, harbouring therein together day and night; but the wolf was cruel and oppressive to the fox. they abode thus awhile, till one day the fox exhorted the wolf to use gentle dealing and leave evil-doing, saying, 'if thou persist in thine arrogance, belike god will give the son of adam power over thee, for he is past master in guile and craft and knavery. by his devices he brings down the birds from the air and draws the fish forth of the waters and sunders mountains in twain and transports them from place to place. all this is of his craft and wiliness; wherefore do thou betake thyself to equity and fair dealing and leave evil and tyranny; and thou shalt fare the better for it.' but the wolf rejected his counsel and answered him roughly, saying, 'thou hast no call to speak of matters of weight and stress.' and he dealt the fox a buffet that laid him senseless; but, when he revived, he smiled in the wolf's face and excused himself for his unseemly speech, repeating the following verses: if i have sinned in aught that's worthy of reproach or if i've made default against the love of you, lo, i repent my fault; so let thy clemency the sinner comprehend, that doth for pardon sue. the wolf accepted his excuse and held his hand from him, saying, 'speak not of that which concerns thee not, or thou shalt hear what will not please thee.' 'i hear and obey,' answered the fox; 'henceforth i will abstain from what pleaseth thee not; for the sage says, "speak thou not of that whereof thou art not asked; answer not, when thou art not called upon; leave that which concerns thee not for that which does concern thee and lavish not good counsel on the wicked, for they will repay thee therefor with evil."' and he smiled in the wolf's face, but in his heart he meditated treachery against him and said in himself, 'needs must i compass the destruction of this wolf.' so he bore with his ill usage, saying in himself, 'verily arrogance and falsehood lead to perdition and cast into confusion, and it is said, "he who is arrogant suffers and he who is ignorant repents and he who fears is safe: fair dealing is a characteristic of the noble, and gentle manners are the noblest of gains." it behoves me to dissemble with this tyrant, and needs must he be cast down.' then said he to the wolf, 'verily, the lord pardons his erring servant and relents towards him, if he confess his sins; and i am a weak slave and have sinned in presuming to counsel thee. if thou knewest the pain that befell me by thy buffet, thou wouldst see that an elephant could not stand against it nor endure it: but i complain not of the pain of the blow, because of the contentment that hath betided me through it; for though it was exceeding grievous to me, yet its issue was gladness. as saith the sage, "the blow of the teacher is at first exceeding grievous, but the end of it is sweeter than clarified honey."' quoth the wolf, 'i pardon thine offence and pass over thy fault; but be thou ware of my strength and avow thyself my slave; for thou knowest how rigorously i deal with those that transgress against me.' thereupon the fox prostrated himself to the wolf, saying, 'may god prolong thy life and mayst thou cease never to subdue thine enemies!' and he abode in fear of the wolf and ceased not to wheedle him and dissemble with him. one day, the fox came to a vineyard and saw a breach in its wall; but he mistrusted it and said in himself, 'verily, there must be some reason for this breach and the adage says, "he who sees a cleft in the earth and doth not shun it or be wary in going up to it, is self-deluded and exposes himself to destruction." indeed, it is well known that some folk make a semblant of a fox in their vineyards, even to setting before it grapes in dishes, that foxes may see it and come to it and fall into destruction. meseems, this breach is a snare and the proverb says, "prudence is the half of cleverness." now prudence requires that i examine this breach and see if there be ought therein that may lead to perdition; and covetise shall not make me cast myself into destruction.' so he went up to the breach and examining it warily, discovered a deep pit, lightly covered (with boughs and earth), which the owner of the vineyard had dug, thinking to trap therein the wild beasts that laid waste his vines. then he drew back from it, saying in himself, 'i have found it as i expected. praised be god that i was wary of it! i hope that my enemy the wolf, who makes my life miserable, will fall into it; so will the vineyard be left to me and i shall enjoy it alone and dwell therein in peace.' so saying, he shook his head and laughed aloud, repeating the following verses: would god i might see, even now, a wolf fallen into yon pit, that this long time hath tortured my heart and made me quaff bitters, god wit! god grant i may live and be spared and eke of the wolf be made quit! so the vineyard of him shall be rid and i find my purchase in it. then he returned in haste to the wolf and said to him, 'god hath made plain the way for thee into the vineyard, without toil. this is of thy good luck; so mayst thou enjoy the easy booty and the plentiful provant that god hath opened up to thee without trouble!' 'what proof hast thou of what thou sayest?' asked the wolf; and the fox answered, 'i went up to the vineyard and found that the owner was dead, having been devoured by wolves: so i entered and saw the fruit shining on the trees.' the wolf misdoubted not of the fox's report and gluttony got hold on him; so he rose and repaired to the breach, blinded by greed; whilst the fox stopped short and lay as one dead, applying to the case the following verse: lustest after leila's favours? look thou rather bear in mind that 'tis covetise plays havoc with the necks of human kind. then said he to the wolf, 'enter the vineyard: thou art spared the trouble of climbing, for the wall is broken down, and with god be the rest of the benefit.' so the wolf went on, thinking to enter the vineyard; but when he came to the middle of the covering (of the pit), he fell in; whereupon the fox shook for delight and gladness; his care and concern left him and he sang out for joy and recited the following verses: fortune hath taken ruth on my case; yea, she hath pitied the length of my pain, doing away from me that which i feared and granting me that whereto i was fain. so i will pardon her all the sins she sinned against me once and again; since for the wolf there is no escape from certain ruin and bitter bane, and now the vineyard is all my own and no fool sharer in my domain. then he looked into the pit, and seeing the wolf weeping for sorrow and repentance over himself, wept with him; whereupon the wolf raised his head to him and said, 'is it of pity for me thou weepest, o aboulhussein?' [fn# ] 'not so,' answered the fox, 'by him who cast thee into the pit! i weep for the length of thy past life and for regret that thou didst not sooner fall into the pit; for hadst thou done so before i met with thee, i had been at peace: but thou wast spared till the fulfilment of thine allotted term.' the wolf thought he was jesting and said, 'o sinner, go to my mother and tell her what has befallen me, so haply she may make shift for my release.' 'verily,' answered the fox, 'the excess of thy gluttony and thy much greed have brought thee to destruction, since thou art fallen into a pit whence thou wilt never escape. o witless wolf, knowest thou not the proverb, "he who taketh no thought to results, fate is no friend to him, nor shall he be safe from perils?"' 'o aboulhussein,' said the wolf, 'thou wast wont to show me affection and covet my friendship and fear the greatness of my strength. bear me not malice for that i did with thee, for he who hath power and forgiveth, his reward is with god; even as saith the poet: sow benefits aye, though in other than fitting soil. a benefit's never lost, wherever it may be sown; and though time tarry full long to bring it to harvest-tide, yet no man reapeth its fruit, save he who sowed it alone.' 'o most witless of beasts of prey and stupidest of the wildings of the earth,' rejoined the fox, 'hast thou forgotten thine arrogance and pride and tyranny and how thou disregardedst the due of comradeship and wouldst not take counsel by what the poet says: do no oppression, whilst the power thereto is in thine hand, for still in danger of revenge the sad oppressor goes. thine eyes will sleep anon, what while the opprest, on wake, call down curses upon thee, and god's eye shuts never in repose.' 'o aboulhussein,' replied the wolf, 'reproach me not for past offences; for forgiveness is expected of the noble, and the practice of kindness is the best of treasures. how well says the poet: hasten to do good works, whenever thou hast the power, for thou art not able thereto at every season and hour.' and he went on to humble himself to the fox and say to him, 'haply, thou canst do somewhat to deliver me from destruction.' 'o witless, deluded, perfidious, crafty wolf,' answered the fox, 'hope not for deliverance, for this is but the just reward of thy foul dealing.' then he laughed from ear to ear and repeated the following verses: a truce to thy strife to beguile me! for nothing of me shalt thou gain. thy prayers are but idle; thou sowedst vexation; so reap it amain. 'o gentlest of beasts of prey,' said the wolf, 'i deem thee too faithful to leave me in this pit.' then he wept and sighed and recited the following verses, whilst the tears streamed from his eyes: o thou, whose kindnesses to me are more than one, i trow, whose bounties unto me vouchsafed are countless as the sand, no shift of fortune in my time has ever fall'n on me, but i have found thee ready still to take me by the hand. 'o stupid enemy,' said the fox, 'how art thou reduced to humility and obsequiousness and abjection and submission, after disdain and pride and tyranny and arrogance! verily, i companied with thee and cajoled thee but for fear of thy violence and not in hope of fair treatment from thee: but now trembling is come upon thee and vengeance hath overtaken thee.' and he repeated the following verses: o thou that for aye on beguiling art bent, thou'rt fall'n in the snare of thine evil intent. so taste of the anguish that knows no relent and be with the rest of the wolven forspent! 'o clement one,' replied the wolf, 'speak not with the tongue of despite nor look with its eyes; but fulfil the covenant of fellowship with me, ere the time for action pass away. rise, make shift to get me a rope and tie one end of it to a tree; then let the other end down to me, that i may lay hold of it, so haply i may escape from this my strait, and i will give thee all my hand possesseth of treasures.' quoth the fox, 'thou persistest in talk of that wherein thy deliverance is not. hope not for this, for thou shalt not get of me wherewithal to save thyself; but call to mind thy past ill deeds and the craft and perfidy thou didst imagine against me and bethink thee how near thou art to being stoned to death. for know that thy soul is about to leave the world and cease and depart from it; so shalt thou come to destruction and evil is the abiding-place to which thou goest!' 'o aboulhussein,' rejoined the wolf, 'hasten to return to friendliness and persist not in this rancour. know that he, who saves a soul from perdition, is as if he had restored it to life, and he, who saves a soul alive, is as if he had saved all mankind. do not ensue wickedness, for the wise forbid it: and it were indeed the most manifest wickedness to leave me in this pit to drink the agony of death and look upon destruction, whenas it lies in thy power to deliver me from my strait. wherefore go thou about to release me and deal benevolently with me.' 'o thou barbarous wretch,' answered the fox, 'i liken thee, because of the fairness of thy professions and the foulness of thine intent and thy practice, to the hawk with the partridge.' 'how so ?' asked the wolf; and the fox said, the hawk and the partridge. 'i entered a vineyard one day and saw a hawk stoop upon a partridge and seize it: but the partridge escaped from him and entering its nest, hid itself there. the hawk followed and called out to it, saying, "o wittol, i saw thee in the desert, hungry, and took pity on thee; so i gathered grain for thee and took hold of thee that thou mightest eat; but thou fledst, wherefore i know not, except it were to slight me. so come out and take the grain i have brought thee to eat, and much good may it do thee!" the partridge believed what he said and came out, whereupon the hawk stuck his talons into him and seized him. "is this that which thou saidst thou hadst brought me from the desert," cried the partridge, "and of which thou badest me eat, saying, 'much good may it do thee?' thou hast lied to me and may god make what thou eatest of my flesh to be a deadly poison in thy maw!" so when the hawk had eaten the partridge, his feathers fell off and his strength failed and he died on the spot. know, then, o wolf, that he, who digs a pit for his brother, soon falls into it himself, and thou first dealtest perfidiously with me.' 'spare me this talk and these moral instances,' said the wolf, 'and remind me not of my former ill deeds, for the sorry plight i am in suffices me, seeing that i am fallen into a place, in which even my enemy would pity me, to say nothing of my friend. so make thou some shift to deliver me and be thou thereby my saviour. if this cause thee aught of hardship, think that a true friend will endure the sorest travail for his friend's sake and risk his life to deliver him from perdition; and indeed it hath been said, "a tender friend is better than an own brother." so if thou bestir thyself and help me and deliver me, i will gather thee such store of gear, as shall be a provision for thee against the time of want, and teach thee rare tricks to gain access to fruitful vineyards and strip the fruit-laden trees.' 'how excellent,' rejoined the fox, laughing, 'is what the learned say of those who are past measure ignorant, like unto thee!' 'what do they say?' asked the wolf; and the fox answered, 'they say that the gross of body are gross of nature, far from understanding and nigh unto ignorance. as for thy saying, o perfidious, stupid self-deceiver, that a friend should suffer hardship to succour his friend, it is true, as thou sayest: but tell me, of thine ignorance and poverty of wit, how can i be a true friend to thee, considering thy treachery? dost thou count me thy friend? behold, i am thine enemy, that exulteth in thy misfortune; and couldst thou understand it, this word were sorer to thee than slaughter and arrow-shot. as for thy promise to provide me a store against the time of want and teach me tricks to enter vineyards and spoil fruit-trees, how comes it, o crafty traitor, that thou knowest not a trick to save thyself from destruction? how far art thou from profiting thyself and how far am i from lending ear to thy speech! if thou have any tricks, make shift for thyself to save thee from this peril, wherefrom i pray god to make thine escape distant! so look, o idiot, if there be any trick with thee and save thyself from death therewith, before thou lavish instruction on others. but thou art like a certain sick man, who went to another, suffering from the same disease, and said to him, "shall i heal thee of thy disease?" "why dost thou not begin by healing thyself?" answered the other; so he left him and went his way. and thou, o ignorant wolf, art like this; so stay where thou art and be patient under what hath befallen thee.' when the wolf heard what the fox said, he knew he had no hope from him; so he wept for himself, saying, 'verily, i have been heedless of mine affair; but if god deliver me from this scrape, i will assuredly repent of my arrogance towards those who are weaker than i and will put on wool and go upon the mountains, celebrating the praises of god the most high and fearing his wrath. yea, i will sunder myself from all the other wild beasts and feed the poor and those who fight for the faith.' then he wept and lamented, till the heart of the fox was softened and he took pity on him, whenas he heard his humble words and his professions of repentance for his past arrogance and tyranny. so he sprang up joyfully and going to the brink of the pit, sat down on his hind quarters and let his tail fall therein; whereupon the wolf arose and putting out his paw, pulled the fox's tail, so that he fell down into the pit with him. then said the wolf, 'o fox of little ruth, why didst thou exult over me, thou that wast my companion and under my dominion? now thou art fallen into the pit with me and retribution hath soon overtaken thee. verily, the wise have said, "if one of you reproach his brother with sucking the teats of a bitch, he also shall suck her," and how well saith the poet: when fortune's blows on some fall hard and heavily, with others of our kind as friend encampeth she. so say to those who joy in our distress, "awake; for those who mock our woes shall suffer even as we." and death in company is the best of things; wherefore i will make haste to kill thee, ere thou see me killed.' 'alas! alas!' said the fox in himself. 'i am fallen in with this tyrant, and my case calls for the use of craft and cunning; for indeed it is said that a woman fashions her ornaments for the festival day, and quoth the proverb, "i have kept thee, o my tear, against the time of my distress!" except i make shift to circumvent this overbearing beast, i am lost without recourse; and how well says the poet: provide thee by craft, for thou liv'st in a time whose folk are as lions that lurk in a wood, and set thou the mill-stream of knavery abroach, that the mill of subsistence may grind for thy food, and pluck the fruits boldly; but if they escape from thy grasp, then content thee with hay to thy food.' then said he to the wolf, 'hasten not to slay me, for that is not my desert and thou wouldst repent it, o valiant beast, lord of might and exceeding prowess! if thou hold thy hand and consider what i shall tell thee, thou wilt know that which i purpose; but if thou hasten to kill me, it will profit thee nothing and we shall both die here.' 'o wily deceiver,' answered the wolf, 'how hopest thou to work my deliverance and thine own, that thou wouldst have me grant thee time? speak and let me know thy purpose.' 'as for my purpose,' replied the fox, 'it was such as deserves that thou reward me handsomely for it; for when i heard thy promises and thy confession of thy past ill conduct and regrets for not having earlier repented and done good and thy vows, shouldst thou escape from this thy stress, to leave harming thy fellows and others and forswear eating grapes and other fruits and devote thyself to humility and cut thy claws and break thy teeth and don wool and offer thyself as a sacrifice to god the most high,--when (i say), i heard thy repentance and vows of amendment, compassion took me for thee, though before i was anxious for thy destruction, and i felt bound to save thee from this thy present plight. so i let down my tail, that thou mightest grasp it and make thine escape. yet wouldst thou not put off thy wonted violence and brutality nor soughtest to save thyself by fair means, but gavest me such a tug that i thought my soul would depart my body, so that thou and i are become involved in the same stead of ruin and death. there is but one thing can deliver us, to which if thou agree, we shall both escape; and after it behoves thee to keep the vows thou hast made, and i will be thy friend.' 'what is it thou hast to propose?' asked the wolf. 'it is,' answered the fox, 'that thou stand up, and i will climb up on to thy head and so bring myself nigh on a level with the surface of the earth. then will i give a spring and as soon as i reach the ground, i will fetch thee what thou mayst lay hold of and make thine escape.' 'i have no faith in thy word,' rejoined the wolf, 'for the wise have said, "he who practices trust in the place of hate, errs," and "he who trusts in the faithless is a dupe; he who tries those that have been [already] tried (and found wanting) shall reap repentance and his days shall pass away without profit; and he who cannot distinguish between cases, giving each its due part, his good fortune will be small and his afflictions many." how well saith the poet: be thy thought ever ill and of all men beware; suspicion of good parts the helpfullest was e'er. for nothing brings a man to peril and distress as doth the doing good (to men) and thinking fair. and another: be constant ever in suspect; 'twill save thee aye anew; for he who lives a wakeful life, his troubles are but few. meet thou the foeman in thy way with open, smiling face; but in thy heart set up a host shall battle with him do. and yet another: thy worst of foes is thy nearest friend, in whom thou puttest trust; so look thou be on thy guard with men and use them warily aye. 'tis weakness to augur well of fate; think rather ill of it. and be in fear of its shifts and tricks, lest it should thee bewray.' 'verily,' said the fox, 'distrust is not to be commended in every case; on the contrary, a confiding disposition is the characteristic of a noble nature and its issue is freedom from terrors. now it behoves thee, o wolf, to put in practice some device for thy deliverance from this thou art in and the escape of us both will be better than our death: so leave thy distrust and rancour; for if thou trust in me, one of two things will happen; either i shall bring thee whereof to lay hold and escape, or i shall play thee false and save myself and leave thee; and this latter may not be, for i am not safe from falling into some such strait as this thou art in, which would be fitting punishment of perfidy. indeed the adage saith, "faith is fair and perfidy foul." it behoves thee, therefore, to trust in me, for i am not ignorant of the vicissitudes of fortune: so delay not to contrive some device for our deliverance, for the case is too urgent for further talk.' 'to tell thee the truth,' replied the wolf, 'for all my want of confidence in thy fidelity, i knew what was in thy mind and that thou wast minded to deliver me, whenas thou heardest my repentance, and i said in myself, "if what he asserts be true, he will have repaired the ill he did: and if false, it rests with god to requite him." so, behold, i accept thy proposal, and if thou betray me, may thy perfidy be the cause of thy destruction!' then he stood upright in the pit and taking the fox upon his shoulders, raised him to the level of the ground, whereupon the latter gave a spring and lighted on the surface of the earth. when he found himself in safety, he fell down senseless, and the wolf said to him, 'o my friend, neglect not my case and delay not to deliver me.' the fox laughed derisively and replied, 'o dupe, it was but my laughing at thee and making mock of thee that threw me into thy hands: for when i heard thee profess repentance, mirth and gladness seized me and i frisked about and danced and made merry, so that my tail fell down into the pit and thou caughtest hold of it and draggedst me down with thee. why should i be other than a helper in thy destruction, seeing that thou art of the host of the devil! i dreamt yesterday that i danced at thy wedding and related my dream to an interpreter, who told me that i should fall into a great danger and escape from it. so now i know that my falling into thy hand and my escape are the fulfilment of my dream, and thou, o ignorant dupe, knowest me for thine enemy; so how canst thou, of thine ignorance and lack of wit, hope for deliverance at my hands, after all thou hast heard of harsh words from me, and wherefore should i endeavour for thy deliverance, whenas the wise have said, "in the death of the wicked is peace for mankind and purgation for the earth?" yet, but that i fear to reap more affliction by keeping faith with thee than could follow perfidy, i would do my endeavour to save thee.' when the wolf heard this, he bit his paws for despite and was at his wit's end what to do. then he gave the fox fair words, but this availed nought; so he said to him softly, 'verily, you foxes are the most pleasant spoken of folk and the subtlest in jest, and this is but a jest of thine; but all times are not good for sport and jesting.' 'o dolt,' answered the fox, 'jesting hath a limit, that the jester overpasses not, and deem not that god will again give thee power over me, after having once delivered me from thee.' quoth the wolf, 'it behoves thee to endeavour for my release, by reason of our brotherhood and fellowship, and if thou deliver me, i will assuredly make fair thy reward.' 'the wise say,' rejoined the fox,' "fraternize not with the ignorant and wicked, for he will shame thee and not adorn thee,--nor with the liar, for if thou do good, he will hide it, and if evil, he will publish it;" and again, "there is help for everything but death: all may be mended, save natural depravity, and everything may be warded off, except fate." as for the reward thou promisest me, i liken thee therein to the serpent that fled from the charmer. a man saw her affrighted and said to her, "what ails thee, o serpent?" quoth she, "i am fleeing from the serpent-charmer, who is in chase of me, and if thou wilt save me and hide me with thee, i will make fair thy recompense and do thee all manner of kindness." so he took her, moved both by desire of the promised recompense and a wish to find favour with god, and hid her in his bosom. when the charmer had passed and gone his way and the serpent had no longer any reason to fear, he said to her, "where is the recompense thou didst promise me? behold, i have saved thee from that thou dreadest." "tell me where i shall bite thee," replied she, "for thou knowest we overpass not that recompense." so saying, she gave him a bite, of which he died. and i liken thee, o dullard, to the serpent in her dealings with the man. hast thou not heard what the poet says? trust not in one in whose heart thou hast made wrath to abide and thinkest his anger at last is over and pacified. verily vipers, though smooth and soft to the feel and the eye and graceful of movements they be, yet death-dealing venom they hide.' 'o glib-tongue, lord of the fair face,' said the wolf, 'thou art not ignorant of my case and of men's fear of me and knowest how i assault the strong places and root up the vines. wherefore, do as i bid thee and bear thyself to me as a servant to his lord.' 'o stupid dullard,' answered the fox, 'that seekest a vain thing, i marvel at thy stupidity and effrontery, in that thou biddest me serve thee and order myself towards thee as i were a slave bought with thy money; but thou shalt see what is in store for thee, in the way of breaking thy head with stones and knocking out thy traitor's teeth.' so saying, he went up to a hill that gave upon the vineyard and standing there, called out to the people of the place, nor did he give over crying, till he woke them and they, seeing him, came up to him in haste. he held his ground till they drew near him and near the pit, when he turned and fled. so they looked into the pit and spying the wolf, fell to pelting him with heavy stones, nor did they leave smiting him with sticks and stones and piercing him with lances, till they killed him and went away; whereupon the fox returned to the pit and looking down, saw the wolf dead: so he wagged his head for excess of joy and chanted the following verses: fate took the soul o' the wolf and snatched it far away; foul fall it for a soul that's lost and perished aye! how oft, o gaffer grim, my ruin hast thou sought! but unrelenting bale is fallen on thee this day. thou fellst into a pit, wherein there's none may fall except the blasts of death blow on him for a prey. then he abode alone in the vineyard, secure and fearing no hurt. the mouse and the weasel. a mouse and a weasel once dwelt in the house of a poor peasant, one of whose friends fell sick and the doctor prescribed him husked sesame. so he sought of one of his comrades sesame and gave the peasant a measure thereof to husk for him; and he carried it home to his wife and bade her dress it. so she steeped it and husked it and spread it out to dry. when the weasel saw the grain, he came up to it and fell to carrying it away to his hole, nor stinted all day, till he had borne off the most of it. presently, in came the peasant's wife, and seeing great part of the sesame gone, stood awhile wondering; after which she sat down to watch and find out the cause. after awhile, out came the weasel to carry off more of the grain, but spying the woman seated there, knew that she was on the watch for him and said to himself, 'verily, this affair is like to end ill. i fear me this woman is on the watch for me and fortune is no friend to those who look not to the issues: so i must do a fair deed, whereby i may manifest my innocence and wash out all the ill i have done.' so saying, he began to take of the sesame in his hole and carry it out and lay it back upon the rest. the woman stood by and seeing the weasel do thus, said in herself, 'verily, this is not the thief, for he brings it back from the hole of him that stole it and returns it to its place. indeed, he hath done us a kindness in restoring us the sesame and the reward of those that do us good is that we do them the like. it is clear that this is not he who stole the grain. but i will not leave watching till i find out who is the thief.' the weasel guessed what was in her mind, so he went to the mouse and said to her, 'o my sister, there is no good in him who does not observe the claims of neighbourship and shows no constancy in friendship.' 'true, o my friend,' answered the mouse, 'and i delight in thee and in thy neighbourhood; but what is the motive of thy speech?' quoth the weasel, 'the master of the house has brought home sesame and has eaten his fill of it, he and his family, and left much; every living soul has eaten of it, and if thou take of it in thy turn, thou art worthier thereof than any other.' this pleased the mouse and she chirped and danced and frisked her ears and tail, and greed for the grain deluded her; so she rose at once and issuing forth of her hole, saw the sesame peeled and dry, shining with whiteness, and the woman sitting watching, armed with a stick. the mouse could not contain herself, but taking no thought to the issue of the affair, ran up to the sesame and fell to messing it and eating of it; whereupon the woman smote her with the stick and cleft her head in twain: so her greed and heedlessness of the issue of her actions led to her destruction." "by allah," said the sultan to shehrzad, "this is a goodly story! hast thou any story bearing upon the beauty of true friendship and the observance of its obligations in time of distress and rescuing from destruction?" "yes, answered she; "it hath teached me that the cat and the crow. a crow and a cat once lived in brotherhood. one day, as they were together under a tree, they spied a leopard making towards them, of which they had not been ware, till he was close upon them. the crow at once flew up to the top of the tree; but the cat abode confounded and said to the crow, 'o my friend, hast thou no device to save me? all my hope is in thee.' 'indeed,' answered the crow, 'it behoveth brethren, in case of need, to cast about for a device, whenas any peril overtakes them, and right well saith the poet: he is a right true friend who is with thee indeed and will himself undo, to help thee in thy need, who, when love's severance is by evil fate decreed, to join your sundered lives will risk his own and bleed.' now hard by the tree were shepherds with their dogs; so the crow flew towards them and smote the face of the earth with his wings, cawing and crying out, to draw their attention. then he went up to one of the dogs and flapped his wings in his eyes and flew up a little way, whilst the dog ran after him, thinking to catch him. presently, one of the shepherds raised his head and saw the bird flying near the ground and lighting now and then; so he followed him, and the crow gave not over flying just out of the dogs' reach and tempting them to pursue and snap at him: but as soon as they came near him, he would fly up a little; and so he brought them to the tree. when they saw the leopard, they rushed upon it, and it turned and fled. now the leopard thought to eat the cat, but the latter was saved by the craft of its friend the crow. this story, o king, shows that the friendship of the virtuous saves and delivers from difficulties and dangers. the fox and the crow. a fox once dwelt in a cave of a certain mountain, and as often as a cub was born to him and grew stout, he would eat it, for, except he did so, he had died of hunger; and this was grievous to him. now on the top of the same mountain a crow had made his nest, and the fox said to himself, 'i have a mind to strike up a friendship with this crow and make a comrade of him, that he may help me to my day's meat, for he can do what i cannot.' so he made for the crow's stead, and when he came within earshot, he saluted him, saying, 'o my neighbour, verily a true-believer hath two claims upon his true-believing neighbour, that of neighbourliness and that of community of faith; and know, o my friend, that thou art my neighbour and hast a claim upon me, which it behoves me to observe, the more that i have been long thy neighbour. moreover, god hath set in my breast a store of love to thee, that bids me speak thee fair and solicit thy friendship. what sayst thou?' 'verily,' answered the crow, 'the best speech is that which is soothest, and most like thou speakest with thy tongue that which is not in thy heart. i fear lest thy friendship be but of the tongue, outward, and shine enmity of the heart, inward; for that thou art the eater and i the eaten, and to hold aloof one from the other were more apt to us than friendship and fellowship. what, then, maketh thee seek that thou mayst not come at and desire what may not be, seeing that thou art of the beast and i of the bird kind? verily, this brotherhood [thou profferest] may not be, neither were it seemly.' he who knoweth the abiding-place of excellent things,' rejoined the fox, 'betters choice in what he chooses therefrom, so haply he may win to advantage his brethren; and indeed i should love to be near thee and i have chosen thy companionship, to the end that we may help one another to our several desires; and success shall surely wait upon our loves. i have store of tales of the goodliness of friendship, which, an it like thee, i will relate to thee.' 'thou hast my leave,' answered the crow; 'let me hear thy story and weigh it and judge of thine intent thereby.' 'hear then, o my friend,' rejoined the fox, 'that which is told of a mouse and a flea and which bears out what i have said to thee.' 'how so?' asked the crow. 'it is said,' answered the fox, 'that the mouse and the flea. a mouse once dwelt in the house of a rich and busy merchant. one night, a flea took shelter in the merchant's bed and finding his body soft and being athirst, drank of his blood. the smart of the bite awoke the merchant, who sat up and called to his serving men and maids. so they hastened to him and tucking up their sleeves, fell to searching for the flea. as soon as the latter was ware of the search, he turned to flee and happening on the mouse's hole, entered it. when the mouse saw him, she said to him, "what brings thee in to me, seeing that thou art not of my kind and canst not therefore be assured of safety from violence or ill-usage?" "verily," answered the flea, "i took refuge in thy dwelling from slaughter and come to thee, seeking thy protection and not anywise coveting thy house, nor shall aught of mischief betide thee from me nor aught to make thee leave it. nay, i hope to repay thy favours to me with all good, and thou shalt assuredly see and praise the issue of my words." "if the case be as thou sayest," answered the mouse, "be at thine ease here; for nought shall betide thee, save what may pleasure thee; there shall fall on thee rain of peace alone nor shall aught befall thee, but what befalls me. i will give thee my love without stint and do not thou regret thy loss of the merchant's blood nor lament for thy subsistence from him, but be content with what little of sufficient sustenance thou canst lightly come by; for indeed this is the safer for thee, and i have heard that one of the moral poets saith as follows: i have trodden the road of content and retirement and lived out my life with whatever betided; with a morsel of bread and a draught of cold water, coarse salt and patched garments content i abided. if god willed it, he made my life easy of living; else, i was contented with what he provided." "o my sister," rejoined the flea, "i hearken to thine injunction and submit myself to yield thee obedience, nor have i power to gainsay thee, till life be fulfilled, in this fair intent." "purity of intent suffices to sincere affection," replied the mouse. so love befell and was contracted between them and after this, the flea used (by night) to go to the merchant's bed and not exceed moderation (in sucking his blood) and harbour with the mouse by day in the latter's hole. one night, the merchant brought home great store of dinars and began to turn them over. when the mouse heard the chink of the coin, she put her head out of her hole and gazed at it, till the merchant laid it under his pillow and went to sleep, when she said to the flea, "seest thou not the favourable opportunity and the great good fortune! hast thou any device to bring us to our desire of yonder dinars?" "verily," answered the flea, "it is not good for one to strive for aught, but if he be able to compass his desire; for if he lack of ableness thereto, he falls into that of which he should be ware and attains not his wish for weakness, though he use all possible cunning, like the sparrow that picks up grain and falls into the net and is caught by the fowler. thou hast no strength to take the dinars and carry them into thy hole, nor can i do this; on the contrary, i could not lift a single dinar; so what hast thou to do with them?" quoth the mouse, "i have made me these seventy openings, whence i may go out, and set apart a place for things of price, strong and safe; and if thou canst contrive to get the merchant out of the house, i doubt not of success, so fate aid me." "i will engage to get him out of the house for thee," answered the flea and going to the merchant's bed, gave him a terrible bite, such as he had never before felt, then fled to a place of safety. the merchant awoke and sought for the flea, but finding it not, lay down again on his other side. then came the flea and bit him again, more sharply than before. so he lost patience and leaving his bed, went out and lay down on the bench before the door and slept there and awoke not till the morning. meanwhile the mouse came out and fell to carrying the dinars into her hole, till not one was left; and when it was day, the merchant began to accuse the folk and imagine all manner of things. and know, o wise, clear-sighted and experienced crow (continued the fox), that i only tell thee this to the intent that thou mayst reap the recompense of thy goodness to me, even as the mouse reaped the reward of her kindness to the flea; for see how he repaid her and requited her with the goodliest of requitals.' quoth the crow, 'it lies with the benefactor to show benevolence or not; nor is it incumbent on us to behave kindly to whoso seeks an impossible connection. if i show thee favour, who art by nature my enemy, i am the cause of my own destruction, and thou, o fox, art full of craft and cunning. now those, whose characteristics these are, are not to be trusted upon oath, and he who is not to be trusted upon oath, there is no good faith in him. i heard but late of thy perfidious dealing with thy comrade the wolf and how thou leddest him into destruction by thy perfidy and guile, and this though he was of thine own kind and thou hadst long companied with him; yet didst thou not spare him; and if thou didst thus with thy fellow, that was of thine own kind, how can i have confidence in thy fidelity and what would be thy dealing with thine enemy of other than thy kind? nor can i liken thee and me but to the falcon and the birds.' 'how so?' asked the fox. 'they say,' answered the crow, 'that the falcon and the birds. there was once a falcon who was a cruel tyrant in the days of his youth, so that the beasts of prey of the air and of the earth feared him and none was safe from his mischief; and many were the instances of his tyranny, for he did nothing but oppress and injure all the other birds. as the years passed over him, he grew weak and his strength failed, so that he was oppressed with hunger; but his cunning increased with the waning of his strength and he redoubled in his endeavour and determined to go to the general rendezvous of the birds, that he might eat their leavings, and in this manner he gained his living by cunning, whenas he could do so no longer by strength and violence. and thou, o fox, art like this: if thy strength fail thee, thy cunning fails not; and i doubt not that thy seeking my friendship is a device to get thy subsistence; but i am none of those who put themselves at thy mercy, for god hath given me strength in my wings and caution in my heart and sight in my eyes, and i know that he who apeth a stronger than he, wearieth himself and is often destroyed, wherefore i fear for thee lest, if thou ape a stronger than thou, there befall thee what befell the sparrow.' 'what befell the sparrow?' asked the fox. 'i conjure thee, by allah, to tell me his story.' 'i have heard,' replied the crow, 'that the sparrow and the eagle. a sparrow was once hovering over a sheep-fold, when he saw a great eagle swoop down upon a lamb and carry it off in his claws. thereupon the sparrow clapped his wings and said, "i will do even as the eagle hath done;" and he conceited himself and aped a greater than he. so he flew down forthright and lighted on the back of a fat ram, with a thick fleece that was become matted, by his lying in his dung and stale, till it was like felt. as soon as the sparrow lighted on the sheep's back, he clapped his wings and would have flown away, but his feet became tangled in the wool and he could not win free. all this while the shepherd was looking on, having seen as well what happened with the eagle as with the sparrow; so he came up to the latter in a rage and seized him. then he plucked out his wing-feathers and tying his feet with a twine, carried him to his children and threw him to them. "what is this?" asked they and he answered, "this is one that aped a greater than himself and came to grief." now thou, o fox,' continued the crow, 'art like this and i would have thee beware of aping a greater than thou, lest thou perish. this is all i have to say to thee; so go from me in peace.' when the fox despaired of the crow's friendship, he turned away, groaning and gnashing his teeth for sorrow and disappointment, which when the crow heard, he said to him, 'o fox, why dost thou gnash thy teeth?' 'because i find thee wilier than myself,' answered the fox and made off to his den." "o shehrzad," said the sultan, "how excellent and delightful are these thy stories! hast thou more of the like edifying tales?" "it is said," answered she, "that the hedgehog and the pigeons. a hedgehog once took up his abode under a palm-tree, on which roosted a pair of wood-pigeons, that had made their nest there and lived an easy life, and he said to himself, 'these pigeons eat of the fruit of the palm-tree, and i have no means of getting at it; but needs must i go about with them.' so he dug a hole at the foot of the palm-tree and took up his lodging there, he and his wife. moreover, he made a place of prayer beside the hole, in which he shut himself and made a show of piety and abstinence and renunciation of the world. the male pigeon saw him praying and worshipping and inclined to him for his much devoutness and said to him, 'how long hast thou been thus?' 'thirty years,' replied the hedgehog. 'what is thy food?' asked the bird and the other answered, 'what falls from the palm-tree.' 'and what is thy clothing?' asked the pigeon. 'prickles,' replied the hedgehog; 'i profit by their roughness.' 'and why,' continued the bird, 'hast thou chosen this place rather than another?' 'i chose it,' answered the hedgehog, 'that i might guide the erring into the right way and teach the ignorant.' 'i had thought thee other-guise than this,' rejoined the pigeon; but now i feel a yearning for that which is with thee.' quoth the hedgehog, 'i fear lest thy deed belie thy speech and thou be even as the husbandman, who neglected to sow in season, saying, "i fear lest the days bring me not to my desire, and i shall only waste my substance by making haste to sow." when the time of harvest came and he saw the folk gathering in their crops, he repented him of what he had lost by his tardiness and died of chagrin and vexation.' 'what then shall i do,' asked the pigeon, 'that i may be freed from the bonds of the world and give myself up altogether to the service of my lord?' 'betake thee to preparing for the next world,' answered the hedgehog, 'and content thyself with a pittance of food.' 'how can i do this,' said the pigeon, 'i that am a bird and may not go beyond the palm-tree whereon is my food? nor, could i do so, do i know another place, wherein i may abide.' quoth the hedgehog, 'thou canst shake down of the fruit of the palm what shall suffice thee and thy wife for a year's victual; then do ye take up your abode in a nest under the tree, that ye may seek to be guided in the right way, and do ye turn to what ye have shaken down and store it up against the time of need; and when the fruits are spent and the time is long upon you, address yourselves to abstinence from food.' 'may god requite thee with good,' exclaimed the pigeon, 'for the fair intent with which thou hast reminded me of the world to come and hast directed me into the right way!' then he and his wife busied themselves in knocking down the dates, till nothing was left on the palm-tree, whilst the hedgehog, finding whereof to eat, rejoiced and filled his den with the dates, storing them up for his subsistence and saying in himself, 'when the pigeon and his wife have need of their provant, they will seek it of me, trusting in my devoutness and abstinence; and from what they have heard of my pious counsels and admonitions, they will draw near unto me. then will i seize them and eat them, after which i shall have the place and all that drops from the palm-tree, to suffice me.' presently the pigeon and his wife came down and finding that the hedgehog had carried off all the dates, said to him, 'o pious and devout-spoken hedgehog of good counsel, we can find no sign of the dates and know not on what else we shall feed.' 'belike,' replied the hedgehog, 'the winds have carried them away; but the turning from the provision to the provider is of the essence of prosperity, and he who cut the corners of the mouth will not leave it without victual.' and he gave not over preaching to them thus and making a show of piety and cozening them with fine words, till they put faith in him and entered his den, without suspicion, where-upon he sprang to the door and gnashed his tusks, and the pigeon, seeing his perfidy manifested, said to him, 'what has to-night to do with yester-night? knowest thou not that there is a helper for the oppressed? beware of treachery and craft, lest there befall thee what befell the sharpers who plotted against the merchant.' 'what was that?' asked the hedgehog. 'i have heard tell,' answered the pigeon, 'that the merchant and the two sharpers. there was once in a city called sendeh a very wealthy merchant, who made ready merchandise and set out with it for such a city, thinking to sell it there. there followed him two sharpers, who had made up into bales what goods they could get and giving out to him that they also were merchants, companied with him by the way. at the first halting-place, they agreed to play him false and take his goods; but, at the same time, each purposed inwardly foul play to the other, saying in himself, "if i can cheat my comrade, it will be well for me and i shall have all to myself." so each took food and putting therein poison, brought it to his fellow; and they both ate of the poisoned mess and died. now they had been sitting talking with the merchant; so when they left him and were long absent from him, he sought for them and found them both dead; whereby he knew that they were sharpers, who had plotted to play him foul, but their treachery had recoiled upon themselves; so the merchant was preserved and took what they had.'" "o shehrzad," said the sultan, "verily thou hast aroused me to all whereof i was negligent! continue to edify me with these fables." quoth she, "it has come to my knowledge, o king, that the thief and his monkey. a certain man had a monkey and was a thief, who never entered one of the markets of the city in which he dwelt, but he made off with great purchase. one day, he saw a man offering for sale worn clothes, and he went calling them in the market, but none bid for them, and all to whom he showed them refused to buy of him. presently, the thief saw him put the clothes in a wrapper and sit down to rest for weariness; so he made the ape sport before him, and whilst he was busy gazing at it, stole the parcel from him. then he took the ape and made off to a lonely place, where he opened the wrapper and taking out the old clothes, wrapped them in a piece of costly stuff. this he carried to another market and exposed it for sale with what was therein, making it a condition that it should not be opened and tempting the folk with the lowness of the price he set on it. a certain man saw the wrapper and it pleased him; so he bought the parcel on these terms and carried it home, doubting not but he had gotten a prize. when his wife saw it, she said, 'what is this?' and he answered, 'it is precious stuff, that i have bought below its worth, meaning to sell it again and take the profit.' 'o dupe,' rejoined she, 'would this stuff be sold under its value, except it were stolen? dost thou not know that he who buys a ware, without examining it, erreth? and indeed he is like unto the weaver.' 'what is the story of the weaver?' asked he; and she said, 'i have heard tell that the foolish weaver. there was once in a certain village a weaver who could not earn his living save by excessive toil. one day, it chanced that a rich man of the neighbourhood made a feast and bade the folk thereto. the weaver was present and saw such as were richly clad served with delicate meats and made much of by the master of the house, for what he saw of their gallant array. so he said in himself, "if i change this my craft for another, easier and better considered and paid, i shall amass store of wealth and buy rich clothes, that so i may rise in rank and be exalted in men's eyes and become like unto these." presently, one of the mountebanks there climbed up to the top of a steep and lofty wall and threw himself down, alighting on his feet; which when the weaver saw, he said to himself, "needs must i do as this fellow hath done, for surely i shall not fail of it." so he climbed up on to the wall and casting himself down to the ground, broke his neck and died forthright. i tell thee this (continued the woman) that thou mayst get thy living by that fashion thou knowest and throughly understandest, lest greed enter into thee and thou lust after what is not of thy competence.' quoth he, 'not every wise man is saved by his wisdom nor is every fool lost by his folly. i have seen a skilful charmer versed in the ways of serpents, bitten by a snake and killed, and i have known others prevail over serpents, who had no skill in them and no knowledge of their ways.' and he hearkened not to his wife, but went on buying stolen goods below their value, till he fell under suspicion and perished. the sparrow and the peacock. there was once a sparrow, that used every day to visit a certain king of the birds and was the first to go in to him and the last to leave him. one day, a company of birds assembled on a high mountain, and one of them said to another, 'verily, we are waxed many and many are the differences between us, and needs must we have a king to order our affairs, so shall we be at one and our differences will cease.' thereupon up came the sparrow and counselled them to make the peacock,--that is, the prince he used to visit,--king over them. so they chose the peacock to their king and he bestowed largesse on them and made the sparrow his secretary and vizier. now the sparrow was wont bytimes to leave his assiduity [in the personal service of the king] and look into affairs [in general]. one day, he came not at the usual time, whereat the peacock was sore troubled; but presently, he returned and the peacock said to him, 'what hath delayed thee, that art the nearest to me of all my servants and the dearest?' quoth the sparrow, 'i have seen a thing that is doubtful to me and at which i am affrighted.' 'what was it thou sawest?' asked the king; and the sparrow answered, 'i saw a man set up a net, hard by my nest, and drive its pegs fast into the ground. then he strewed grain in its midst and withdrew afar off. as i sat watching what he would do, behold, fate and destiny drove thither a crane and his wife, which fell into the midst of the net and began to cry out; whereupon the fowler came up and took them. this troubled me, and this is the reason of my absence from thee, o king of the age; but never again will i abide in that nest, for fear of the net.' 'depart not thy dwelling,' rejoined the peacock; 'for precaution will avail thee nothing against destiny.' and the sparrow obeyed his commandment, saying, 'i will take patience and not depart, in obedience to the king.' so he continued to visit the king and carry him food and water, taking care for himself, till one day he saw two sparrows fighting on the ground and said in himself, 'how can i, who am the king's vizier, look on and see sparrows fighting in my neighbourhood? by allah, i must make peace between them!' so he flew down to them, to reconcile them; but the fowler cast the net over them and taking the sparrow in question, gave him to his fellow, saying, 'take care of him, for he is the fattest and finest i ever saw.' but the sparrow said in himself, 'i have fallen into that which i feared and it was none but the peacock that inspired me with a false security. it availed me nothing to beware of the stroke of fate, since for him who taketh precaution there is no fleeing from destiny; and how well says the poet: that which is not to be shall by no means be brought to pass, and that which is to be shall come, unsought, even at the time ordained; but he that knoweth not the truth is still deceived and finds his hopes grown nought.' story of ali ben bekkar and shemsennehar. there lived once [at baghdad] in the days of the khalif haroun er reshid a merchant named aboulhusn ali ben tahir, who was great of goods and grace, handsome and pleasant-mannered, beloved of all. he used to enter the royal palace without asking leave, for all the khalif's concubines and slave-girls loved him, and he was wont to company with er reshid and recite verses to him and tell him witty stories. withal he sold and bought in the merchants' bazaar, and there used to sit in his shop a youth named ali ben bekkar, a descendant of the ancient kings of persia, who was fair of face and elegant of shape, with rosy cheeks and joined eyebrows, sweet of speech and laughing-lipped, a lover of mirth and gaiety. it chanced one day, as they sat laughing and talking, there came up ten damsels like moons, every one of them accomplished in beauty and symmetry, and amongst them a young lady riding on a mule with housings of brocade and golden stirrups. she was swathed in a veil of fine stuff, with a girdle of gold-embroidered silk, and was even as says the poet: she hath a skin like very silk and a soft speech and sweet; gracious to all, her words are nor too many nor too few. two eyes she hath, quoth god most high, "be," and forthright they were; they work as wine upon the hearts of those whom they ensue. add to my passion, love of her, each night; and, solacement of loves, the resurrection be thy day of rendezvous! the lady alighted at aboulhusn's shop and sitting down there, saluted him, and he returned her salute. when ali ben bekkar saw her, she ravished his understanding and he rose to go away; but she said to him, 'sit in thy place. we came to thee and thou goest away: this is not fair.' 'o my lady,' answered he, 'by allah, i flee from what i see; for the tongue of the case saith: she's the sun and her dwelling's in heaven on high; look, then, to thine heart thou fair patience commend. thou mayst not climb up to her place in the sky, nor may she to thee from her heaven descend.' when she heard this, she smiled and said to aboulhusn, 'what is the name of this young man?' 'he is a stranger,' answered he. 'what countryman is he?' asked she, and the merchant replied, 'he is a descendant of the (ancient) kings of persia; his name is ali ben bekkar, and indeed it behoves us to use strangers with honour.' 'when my damsel comes to thee,' rejoined she, 'come thou at once to us and bring him with thee, that we may entertain him in our abode, lest he blame us and say, "there is no hospitality in the people of baghdad:" for niggardliness is the worst fault that a man can have. thou hearest what i say to thee and if thou disobey me, thou wilt incur my displeasure and i will never again visit thee or salute thee.' 'on my head and eyes,' answered aboulhusn; 'god preserve me from thy displeasure, fair lady!' then she rose and went away, leaving ali ben bekkar in a state of bewilderment. presently, the damsel came and said to the merchant, 'o my lord aboulhusn, my lady shemsennehar, the favourite of the commander of the faithful haroun er reshid, bids thee to her, thee and thy friend, my lord ali ben bekkar.' so he rose and taking ali with him, followed the girl to the khalif's palace, where she carried them into a chamber and made them sit down. they talked together awhile, till she set trays of food before them, and they ate and washed their hands. then she brought them wine, and they drank and made merry; after which she bade them rise and carried them into another chamber, vaulted upon four columns and adorned and furnished after the goodliest fashion with various kinds of furniture and decorations, as it were one of the pavilions of paradise. they were amazed at the rarities they saw and as they were gazing at these marvels, up came ten damsels, like moons, with a proud and graceful gait, dazzling the sight and confounding the wit, and ranged themselves in two ranks, as they were of the houris of paradise. after awhile, in came ten other damsels, with lutes and other instruments of mirth and music in their hands, who saluted the two guests and sitting down, fell to tuning their instruments. then they rose and standing before them, played and sang and recited verses: and indeed each one of them was a seduction to the faithful. whilst they were thus occupied, there entered other ten damsels like unto them, high-bosomed and of an equal age, with black eyes and rosy cheeks, joined eyebrows and languorous looks, a seduction to the faithful and a delight to all who looked upon them, clad in various kinds of coloured silks, with ornaments that amazed the wit. they took up their station at the door, and there succeeded them yet other ten damsels, fairer than they, clad in gorgeous apparel, such as defies description; and they also stationed themselves by the door. then in came a band of twenty damsels and amongst them the lady shemsennehar, as she were the moon among the stars, scarved with the luxuriance of her hair and dressed in a blue robe and a veil of silk, embroidered with gold and jewels. about her middle she wore a girdle set with various kinds of precious stones, and she advanced with a graceful and coquettish gait, till she came to the couch that stood at the upper end of the chamber and seated herself thereon. when ali ben bekkar saw her, he repeated the following couplets: yes, this is she indeed, the source of all my ill, for whom with long desire i languish at love's will. near her, i feel my soul on fire and bones worn waste for yearning after her that doth my heart fulfih then said he to aboulhusn, 'thou hadst dealt more kindly with me to have forewarned me of these things; that i might have prepared my mind and taken patience to support what hath befallen me ;' and he wept and groaned and complained. 'o my brother,' replied aboulhusn, 'i meant thee nought but good; but i feared to tell thee of this, lest such transport should overcome thee as might hinder thee from foregathering with her and intervene between thee and her: but take courage and be of good heart, for she is well disposed to thee and inclineth to favour thee.' 'what is the lady's name?' asked ali ben bekkar. 'she is called shemsennehar,' answered aboulhusn 'she is one of the favourites of the commander of the faithful haroun er reshid and this is the palace of the khalifate.' then shemsennehar sat gazing upon ali ben bekkar's charms and he upon hers, till each was engrossed with love of the other. presently, she commanded the damsels to sit; so they sat down, each in her place, on a couch before one of the windows, and she bade them sing; whereupon one of them took a lute and sang the following verses: twice be the message to my love made known, and take the answer from his lips alone. to thee, o monarch of the fair, i come and stand, of this my case to make my moan. o thou my sovereign, dear my heart and life, that in my inmost bosom hast thy throne, prithee, bestow a kiss upon thy slave; if not as gift, then even as a loan. i will repay it, (mayst thou never fail!) even as i took it, not a little gone. or, if thou wish for more than thou didst lend, take and content thee; it is all thine own. may health's fair garment ever gladden thee, thee that o'er me the wede of woe hast thrown! her singing charmed ali ben bekkar, and he said to her, 'sing me more of the like of these verses.' so she struck the strings and sang as follows: by excess of estrangement, beloved mine, thou hast taught long weeping unto my eyne. o joy of my sight and its desire, o goal of my hopes, my worship's shrine, have pity on one, whose eyes are drowned in the sorrowful lover's tears of brine! when she had finished, shemsennehar said to another damsel, 'sing us somewhat, thou.' so she played a lively measure and sang the following verses: his looks 'twas made me drunken, in sooth, and not his wine; and the grace of his gait has banished sleep from these eyes of mine. 'twas not the wine-cup dazed me, but e'en his glossy curls; his charms it was that raised me and not the juice o' the vine. his winding browlocks have routed my patience, and my wit is done away by the beauties his garments do enshrine.[fn# ] when shemsennehar heard this, she sighed heavily, and the song pleased her. then she bade another damsel sing; so she took the lute and chanted the following: a face that vies, indeed, with heaven's lamp, the sun; the welling of youth's springs upon him scarce begun. his curling whiskers write letters wherein the sense of love in the extreme is writ for every one. beauty proclaimed of him, whenas with him it met, "a stuff in god's best loom was fashioned forth and done!" when she had finished, ali ben bekkar. said to the damsel nearest him, 'sing us somewhat, thou.' so she took the lute and sang these verses: the time of union's all too slight for coquetry and prudish flight. not thus the noble are. how long this deadly distance and despite? ah, profit by the auspicious time, to sip the sweets of love-delight. ali ben bekkar followed up her song with plentiful tears; and when shemsennehar saw him weeping and groaning and lamenting, she burned with love-longing and desire and passion and transport consumed her. so she rose from the couch and came to the door of the alcove, where ali met her and they embraced and fell down a-swoon in the doorway; whereupon the damsels came to them and carrying them into the alcove, sprinkled rose-water upon them. when they revived, they missed aboulhusn, who had hidden himself behind a couch, and the young lady said, 'where is aboulhusn?' so he showed himself to her from beside the couch, and she saluted him, saying, 'i pray god to give me the means of requiting thee thy kindness!' then she turned to ali ben bekkar and said to him, 'o my lord, passion has not reached this pass with thee, without doing the like with me; but there is nothing for it but to bear patiently what hath befallen us.' 'by allah, o my lady,' rejoined he, 'converse with thee may not content me nor gazing upon thee assuage the fire of my heart, nor will the love of thee, that hath mastered my soul, leave me, but with the passing away of my life.' so saying, he wept and the tears ran down upon his cheeks, like unstrung pearls. when shemsennehar saw him weep, she wept for his weeping; and aboulhusn exclaimed, 'by allah, i wonder at your plight and am confounded at your behaviour; of a truth, your affair is amazing and your case marvellous. if ye weep thus, what while ye are yet together, how will it be when ye are parted? indeed, this is no time for weeping and wailing, but for foregathering and gladness; rejoice, therefore, and make merry and weep no more.' then shemsennehar signed to a damsel, who went out and returned with handmaids bearing a table, whereon were silver dishes, full of all manner rich meats. they set the table before them, and shemsennehar began to eat and to feed ali ben bekkar, till they were satisfied, when the table was removed and they washed their hands. presently the waiting-women brought censors and casting bottles and sprinkled them with rose-water and incensed them with aloes and ambergris and other perfumes; after which they set on dishes of graven gold, containing all manner of sherbets, besides fruits and confections, all that the heart can desire or the eye delight in, and one brought a flagon of carnelian, full of wine. then shemsennehar chose out ten handmaids and ten singing-women to attend on them and dismissing the rest to their apartments, bade some of those who remained smite the lute. they did as she bade them and one of them sang the following verses: my soul be a ransom for him who returned my salute with a smile and revived in my breast the longing for union after despair! the hands of passion have brought my secret thoughts to the light and that which is in my bosom unto my censors laid bare. the very tears of my eyes press betwixt me and him, as though they, even as i, enamoured of him were. when she had finished, shemsennehar rose and filling a. cup, drank it off, then filled it again and gave it to ali ben bekkar; after which she bade another damsel sing; and she sang the following verses: my tears, as they flow, are alike to my wine, as i brim it up! for my eyes pour forth of their lids the like of what froths in my cup.[fn# ] by allah, i know not, for sure, whether my eyelids it is run over with wine or else of my tears it is that i sup! then ali ben bekkar drank off his cup and returned it to shemsennehar. she filled it again and gave it to aboulhusn, who drank it off. then she took the lute, saying, 'none shall sing over my cup but myself.' so she tuned the strings and sang these verses: the hurrying tears upon his cheeks course down from either eye' for very passion, and love's fires within his heart flame high. he weeps whilst near to those he loves, for fear lest they depart: so, whether near or far they be, his tears are never dry. and again: our lives for thee, o cupbearer, o thou whom beauty's self from the bright parting of thy hair doth to the feet army! the full moon[fn# ] from thy collar-folds rises, the pleiades[fn# ] shine from thy mouth and in thine hands there beams the sun of day.[fn# ] i trow, the goblets wherewithal thou mak'st us drunk are those thou pourest to us from thine eyes, that lead the wit astray. is it no wonder that thou art a moon for ever full and that thy lovers 'tis, not thou, that wane and waste away? art thou a god, that thou, indeed, by favouring whom thou wilt and slighting others, canst at once bring back to life and slay? gcod moulded beauty from thy form and eke perfumed the breeze with the sheer sweetness of the scent that cleaves to thee alway. none of the people of this world, an angel sure thou art, whom thy creator hath sent down, to hearten our dismay. when ali and aboulhusn and the bystanders heard shemsennehar's song, they were transported and laughed and sported; but while they were thus engaged, up came a damsel, trembling for fear, and said, 'o my lady, afif and mesrour and merjan and others of the commander of the faithful's eunuchs, whom i know not, are at the door.' when they heard this they were like to die of fright, but shemsennehar laughed and said, 'have no fear.' then said she to the damsel, 'hold them in parley, whilst we remove hence.' and she caused shut the doors of the alcove upon ali and aboulhusn and drew the curtains over them; after which she shut the door of the saloon and went out by the privy gate into the garden, where she seated herself on a couch she had there and bade one of the damsels rub her feet. then she dismissed the rest of her women and bade the portress admit those who were at the door; whereupon mesrour entered, he and his company, twenty men with drawn swords, and saluted her. quoth she, 'wherefore come-ye?' and they answered, 'the commander of the faithful salutes thee. he wearies for thy sight and would have thee to know that this with him is a day of great joy and gladness and he is minded to seal his gladness with thy present company: wilt thou then go to him or shall he come to thee?' at this she rose, and kissing the earth, said, 'i hear and obey the commandment of the commander of the faithful.' then she summoned the chief (female) officers of her household and other damsels and made a show of complying with the khalif's orders and commanding them to make preparations for his reception, albeit all was in readiness; and she said to the eunuchs, 'go to the commander of the faithful and tell him that i await him after a little space, that i may make ready for him a place with carpets and so forth.' so they returned in haste to the khalif, whilst shemsennehar, doffing her (outer) clothing, repaired to her beloved ali ben bekkar and strained him to her bosom and bade him farewell, whereat he wept sore and said, 'o my lady, this leave-taking will lead to the ruin of my soul and the loss of my life; but i pray god to grant me patience to bear this my love, wherewith he hath smitten me!' 'by allah, answered she, 'none will suffer perdition but i; for thou wilt go out to the market and company with those that will divert thee, and thine honour will be in safety and thy passion concealed; whilst i shall fall into trouble and weariness nor find any to console me, more by token that i have given the khalif a rendezvous, wherein haply great peril shall betide me, by reason of my love and longing passion for thee and my grief at being parted from thee. for with what voice shall i sing and with what heart shall i present me before the khalif and with what speech shall i entertain the commander of the faithful and with what eyes shall i look upon a place where thou art not and take part in a banquet at which thou art not present and with what taste shall i drink wine of which thou partakest not?' 'be not troubled,' said aboulhusn 'but take patience and be not remiss in entertaining the commander of the faithful this night, neither show him any neglect, but be of good courage.' at this juncture, up came a damsel, who said to shemsennehar, 'o my lady, the khalif's pages are come.' so she rose to her feet and said to the maid, 'take aboulhusn and his friend and carry them to the upper gallery giving upon the garden and there leave them, till it be dark; when do thou make shift to carry them forth.' accordingly, the girl carried them up to the gallery and locking the door upon them, went away. as they sat looking on the garden, the khalif appeared, preceded by near a hundred eunuchs with drawn swords and compassed about with a score of damsels, as they were moons, holding each a lighted flambeau. they were clad in the richest of raiment and on each one's head was a crown set with diamonds and rubies. the khalif walked in their midst with a majestic gait, whilst mesrour and afif and wesif went before him and shemsennehar and all her damsels rose to receive him and meeting him at the garden door, kissed the earth before him; nor did they cease to go before him, till they brought him to the couch, whereon he sat down, whilst all the waiting-women and eunuchs stood before him and there came fair maids and slave-girls with lighted flambeaux and perfumes and essences and instruments of music. then he bade the singers sit down, each in her room, and shemsennehar came up and seating herself on a stool by the khalif's side, began to converse with him, whilst ali and the jeweller looked on and listened, unseen of the prince. the khalif fell to jesting and toying with shemsennehar and bade throw open the (garden) pavilion. so they opened the doors and windows and lighted the flambeaux till the place shone in the season of darkness even as the day. the eunuchs removed thither the wine-service and (quoth aboulhusn), 'i saw drinking-vessels and rarities, whose like mine eyes never beheld, vases of gold and silver and all manner precious stones and jewels, such as beggar description, till indeed meseemed i was dreaming, for excess of amazement at what i saw!' but as for ali ben bekkar, from the moment shemsennehar left him, he lay prostrate on the ground for excess of passion and desire and when he revived, he fell to gazing upon these things that had not their like, and saying to aboulhusn, 'o my brother, i fear lest the khalif see us or come to know of us; but the most of my fear is for thee. for myself, i know that i am surely lost past recourse, and the cause of my destruction is nought but excess of passion and love-longing and desire and separation from my beloved, after union with her; but i beseech god to deliver us from this predicament.' then they continued to look on, till the banquet was spread before the khalif, when he turned to one of the damsels and said to her, 'o gheram, let us hear some of thine enchanting songs.' so she tool: the lute and tuning it, sang as follows: the longing of a bedouin maid, whose folk are far away, who yearns after the willow of the hejaz and the bay,-- whose tears, when she on travellers lights, might for their water serve and eke her passion, with its heat, their bivouac-fire purvey,-- is not more fierce nor ardent than my longing for my love, who deem: that i commit a crime in loving him alway. when shemsennehar heard this, she slipped off the stool on which she sat and fell to the earth insensible; where upon the damsels came and lifted her up. when ali ben bekkar saw this from the gallery, he also fell down senseless, and aboulhusn said, 'verily fate hath apportioned passion equally between you!' as he spoke, in came the damsel who had brought them thither and said to him, 'o aboulhusn, arise and come down, thou and thy friend, for of a truth the world is grown strait upon us and i fear lest our case be discovered or the khalif become aware of you: so, except you descend at once, we are dead folk. 'how shall this youth descend,' replied he, 'seeing that he hath not strength to rise?' with this she fell to sprinkling rose-water on ali ben bekkar, till he came to himself, when aboulhusn lifted him up and the damsel stayed him. so they went down from the gallery and walked on awhile, till they came to a little iron door, which the damsel opened, and they found themselves on the tigris' bank. here they sat down on a stone bench, whilst the girl clapped her hands and there came up a man with a little boat, to whom said she, 'carry these two young men to the other bank.' so they all three entered the boat and the man put off with them; and as they launched out into the stream, ali ben bekkar looked back towards the khalif's palace and the pavilion and the garden and bade them farewell with these verses: i stretch forth a feeble hand to bid farewell to thee, with the other upon my burning breast, beneath the heart of me. but be not this the last of the love betwixt us twain and let not this the last of my soul's refreshment be. the damsel said to the boatman, 'make haste with them.' so he plied his oars swiftly till they reached the opposite bank, where they landed, and she took lease of them, saying, 'it were my wish not to leave you, but i can go no farther than this.' then she turned back, whilst ali ben bekkar lay on the ground before aboulhusn and could not rise, till the latter said to him, 'this place is not sure and i am in fear of our lives, by reason of the thieves and highwaymen and men of lawlessness.' with this ali arose and essayed to walk a little, but could not. now aboulhusn had friends in that quarter, so he made for the house of one of them, in whom he trusted and who was of his intimates, and knocked at the door. the man came out quickly and seeing them, bade them welcome and brought them into his house, where he made them sit down and talked with them and asked them whence they came. quoth aboulhusn 'we came out but now, being moved thereto by a man with whom i had dealings and who hath in his hands monies of mine. it was told me that he was minded to flee into foreign countries with my money; so i came out to-night in quest of him, taking with me this my friend ali ben bekkar for company but he hid from us and we could get no speech of him so we turned back, empty-handed, and knew not whither to go, for it were irksome to us to return home at this hour of the night; wherefore we came to thee, knowing thy wonted courtesy and kindness.' 'ye are right welcome,' answered the host, and studied to do them honour. they abode with him the rest of the night, and as soon as it was day, they left him and made their way back to the city. when they came to aboulhusn's house, the latter conjured his friend to enter; so they went in and lying down on the bed, slept awhile. when they awoke, aboulhusn bade his servants spread the house with rich carpets saying in himself, 'needs must i divert this youth and distract him from thoughts of his affliction, for i know his case better than another.' then he called for water for ali ben bekkar, and the latter rose and making his ablutions, prayed the obligatory prayers that he had omitted for the past day and night; after which he sat down and began to solace himself with talk with his friend. when aboulhusn saw this, he turned to him and said, 'o my lord, it were better for thy case that thou abide with me this night, so thy heart may be lightened and the anguish of love-longing that is upon thee be dispelled and thou make merry with us and haply the fire of thy heart be allayed.' 'o my brother,' answered ali, 'do what seemeth good to thee; for i may not anywise escape from what hath befallen me.' accordingly, aboulhusn arose and bade his servants summon some of the choicest of his friends and sent for singers and musicians. meanwhile he made ready meat and drink for them, and they came and sat eating and drinking and making merry till nightfall then they lit the candles, and the cups of friendship and good fellowship went round amongst them, and the time passed pleasantly with them. presently, a singing-woman took the lute and sang the following verses: fate launched at me a dart, the arrow of an eye; it pierced me and cut off from those i love am i. fortune hath mauled me sore and patience fails me now; but long have i forebode misfortune drawing nigh. when ali ben bekkar heard this, he fell to the earth in a swoon and abode thus till daybreak, and aboulhusn despaired of him. but, with the dawning, he came to himself and sought to go home; nor could aboulhusn deny him, for fear of the issue of his affair. so he made his servants bring a mule and mounting ali thereon, carried him to his lodging, he and one of his men. when he was safe at home, the merchant thanked god for his deliverance from that peril and sat awhile with him, comforting him; but ali could not contain himself, for the violence of his passion and love-longing. presently aboulhusn rose to take leave of him and ali said, 'o my brother, leave me not without news.' 'i hear and obey, answered aboulhusn, and repairing to his shop, opened it and sat there all day, expecting news of shemsennehar; but none came. he passed the night in his own house and when it was day, he went to ali ben bekkar's lodging and found him laid on his bed, with his friends about him and physicians feeling his pulse and prescribing this or that. when he saw aboulhusn, he smiled, and the latter saluting him, enquired how he did and sat with him till the folk withdrew, when he said to him, 'what plight is this?' quoth ali, 'it was noised abroad that i was ill and i have no strength to rise and walk, so as to give the lie to the report of my sickness, but continue lying here as thou seest. so my friends heard of me and came to visit me. but, o my brother, hast thou seen the damsel or heard any news of her?' 'i have not seen her,' answered aboulhusn, 'since we parted from her on the tigris' bank; but, o my brother, beware of scandal and leave this weeping.' 'o my brother,' rejoined ali, 'indeed, i have no control over myself ;' and he sighed and recited the following verses: she giveth unto her hand that whereof mine doth fail, a dye on the wrist, wherewith she doth my patience assail she standeth in fear for her hand of the arrows she shoots from her eyes; so, for protection, she's fain to clothe it in armour of mail.[fn# ] the doctor in ignorance felt my pulse, and i said to him, "leave thou my hand alone; my heart it is that doth ail." quoth she to the dream of the night, that visited me and fled, "by allah, describe him to me and bate me no jot of the tale!" it answered, "i put him away, though he perish of thirst, and said, 'stand off from the watering-place!' so he could not to drink avail." she poured forth the pearls of her tears from her eyes' narcissus and gave the rose of her cheeks to drink and bit upon jujubes[fn# ] with hail.[fn# ] then he said, 'o aboulhusn, i am smitten with an affliction, from which i deemed myself in surety, and there is no greater ease for me than death.' 'be patient,' answered his friend: 'peradventure god will heal thee.' then he went out from him and repairing to his shop, opened it, nor had he sat long, when up came shemsennehar's hand-maid, who saluted him. he returned her salute and looking at her, saw that her heart was palpitating and that she was troubled and bore the traces of affliction: so he said to her, 'thou art welcome. how is it with shemsennehar?' 'i will tell thee,' answered she; 'but first tell me how doth ali ben bekkar.' so he told her all that had passed, whereat she was grieved and sighed and lamented and marvelled at his case. then said she, 'my lady's case is still stranger than this; for when you went away, i turned back, troubled at heart for you and hardly crediting your escape, and found her lying prostrate in the pavilion, speaking not nor answering any, whilst the commander of the faithful sat by her head, unknowing what aided her and finding none who could give him news of her. she ceased not from her swoon till midnight, when she revived and the khalif said to her, "what ails thee, o shemsennehar, and what has behllen thee this night?" "may god make me thy ransom, o commander of the faithful!" answered she. "verily, bile rose in me and lighted a fire in my body, so that i lost my senses for excess of pain, and i know no more." "what hast thou eaten to-day?" asked the khalif. quoth she, "i broke my fast on something i had never before eaten." then she feigned to be recovered and calling for wine, drank it and begged the khalif to resume his diversion. so he sat down again on his couch in the pavilion and made her sit as before. when she saw me, she asked me how you fared; so i told her what i had done with you and repeated to her the verses that ali ben belkar had recited at parting, whereat she wept secretly, but presently stinted. after awhile, the khalif ordered a damsel to sing, and she chanted the following verses: life, as i live, has not been sweet since i did part from thee; would god i knew but how it fared with thee too after me! if thou be weeping tears of brine for sev'rance of our loves, ah, then, indeed, 'twere meet my tears of very blood should be. when my lady heard this, she fell back on the sofa in a swoon, and i seized her hand and sprinkled rose-water on her face, till she revived, when i said to her, "o my lady, do not bring ruin on thyself and on all thy house-hold, but be patient, by the life of thy beloved!" "can aught befall me worse than death?" answered she. "that, indeed, i long for, for, by allah, my ease is therein." whilst we were talking, another damsel sang the following words of the poet: "patience shall peradventure lead to solacement," quoth they; and i, "where's patience to be had, now he is gone away?" he made a binding covenant with me to cut the cords of patience, when we two embraced upon the parting day. when shemsennehar heard this, she swooned away once more, which when the khalif saw, he came to her in haste and commanded the wine-service to be removed and each damsel to return to her chamber. he abode with her the rest of the night, and when it was day, he sent for physicians and men of art and bade them medicine her, knowing not that her sickness arose from passion and love-longing. he tarried with her till he deemed her in a way of recovery, when he returned to his palace, sore concerned for her illness, and she bade me go to thee and bring her news of ali ben bekkar. so i came, leaving with her a number of her bodywomen; and this is what has delayed me from thee.' when aboulhusn heard her story, he marvelled and said, 'by allah, i have acquainted thee with his whole case; so now return to thy mistress; salute her for me and exhort her to patience and secrecy and tell her that i know it to be a hard matter and one that calls for prudent ordering.' she thanked him and taking leave of him, returned to her mistress, whilst he abode in his place till the end of the day, when he shut the shop and betaking himself to ali ben bekkar's house, knocked at the door. one of the servants came out and admitted him; and when ali saw him, he smiled and re-joiced in his coming, saying, 'o aboulhusn, thou hast made a weary man of me by thine absence from me this day; for indeed my soul is pledged to thee for the rest of my days.' 'leave this talk,' answered the other. 'were thy healing at the price of my hand, i would cut it off, ere thou couldst ask me; and could i ransom thee with my life, i had already laid it down for thee. this very day, shemsennehar's handmaid has been with me and told me that what hindered her from coming before this was the khalif's sojourn with her mistress;' and he went on to repeat to him all that the girl had told him of shemsennehar; at which ali lamented sore and wept and said to him, 'o my brother, i conjure thee by god to help me in this mine affliction and teach me how i shall do! moreover, i beg thee of thy grace to abide with me this night, that i may have the solace of thy company.' aboulhusn agreed to this; so they talked together till the night darkened, when ali groaned aloud and lamented and wept copious tears, reciting the following verses: my eye holds thine image ever; thy name in my mouth is aye and still in my heart is thy sojourn; so how canst thou absent be? how sore is my lamentation for life that passes away nor is there, alas! in union a part for thee and me! and also these: she cleft with the sword of her glance the helm of my courage in two and the mail of my patience she pierced with the spear of her shape through and through. she unveiled to us, under the musk of the mole that is set on her cheek, carnphor-whlte dawning a-break through a night of the ambergris' hue.[fn# ] her spirit was stirred to chagrin and she bit on cornelian[fn# ] with pearls,[fn# ] whose unions unvalued abide in a lakelet of sugary dew. she sighed for impatience and smote with her palm on the snows of her breast. her hand left a scar; so i saw what never before met my view; pens fashioned of coral (her nails), that, dinting the book of her breast five lines, scored in ambergris ink, on a table of crystal drew, o ye that go girded with steel, o swordsmen, i rede you beware of the stroke of her death-dealing eyes, that never looked yet but they slew! and guard yourselves, ye of the spears, and fence off her thrust from your hearts, if she tilt with the quivering lance of her shape straight and slender at you. then he gave a great cry and fell down in a swoon. aboulhusn thought that his soul had departed his body and he ceased not from his swoon till daybreak, when he came to himself and talked with his friend, who sat with him till the forenoon. then he left him and repaired to his shop. hardly had he opened it, when the damsel came and stood before him. as soon as he saw her, she made a sign of salutation to him, which he returned; and she greeted him for her mistress, saying, 'how doth ali ben belkar?' 'o good damsel,' replied he, 'ask me not how he doth nor what he suffers for excess of passion; for he sleeps not by night neither rests by day; wakefulness wasteth him and affliction hath gotten the mastery of him and his case is distressful to his friend.' quoth she, 'my lady salutes thee and him, and indeed she is in worse case than he. she hath written him a letter and here it is. when she gave it me, she said to me, "do not return save with the answer." so wilt thou go with me to him and get his reply?' 'i hear and obey,' answered aboulhusn, and shutting his shop, carried her, by a different way to that by which he came, to ali ben bekkar's house, where he left her standing at the door and entered. when ali saw him, he rejoiced, and aboulhusn said to him, 'the reason of my coming is that such an one hath sent his handmaid to thee with a letter, containing his greeting to thee and excusing himself for that he hath tarried by reason of a certain matter that hath betided him. the girl stands even now at the door: shall she have leave to enter?' and he signed to him that it was shemsennehar's slave-girl. ali understood his sign and answered, 'bring her in.' so she entered and when he saw her, he shook for joy and signed to her, as who should say, 'how doth thy lord, may god grant him health and recovery!' 'he is well,' answered she and pulling out the letter, gave it to him. he took it and kissing it, opened and read it; after which he handed it to aboulhusn, who found written therein what follows: the messenger of me will give thee news aright; so let his true report suffice thee for my sight. a lover hast thou left, for love of thee distraught; her eyes cease never-more from watching, day or night. i brace myself to bear affliction, for to foil the buffets of ill-fate is given to no wight. but be thou of good cheer; for never shall my heart forget thee nor thy thought be absent from my spright. look on thy wasted frame and what is fallen thereon and thence infer of me and argue of my plight. to proceed: i have written thee a letter without fingers and speak to thee without tongue; to tell thee my whole state, i have an eye from which sleeplessness is never absent and a heart whence sorrowful thought stirs not. it is with me as i had never known health nor let sadness, neither beheld a fair face nor spent an hour of pleasant life; but it is as i were made up of love-longing and of the pain of passion and chagrin. sickness is unceasing upon me and my yearning redoubles ever; desire increases still and longing rages in my heart. i pray god to hasten our union and dispel the trouble of my mind: and i would fain have thee write me some words, that i may solace myself withal. moreover, i would have thee put on a becoming patience, till god give relief; and peace be on thee.' when ali ben bekkar had read this letter, he said, 'with what hand shall i write and with what tongue shall i make moan and lament? indeed she addeth sickness to my sickness and draweth death upon my death!' then he sat up and taking inkhorn and paper, wrote the following reply: 'in the name of god, the compassionate, the merciful. o my lady, thy letter hath reached me and hath given ease to a mind worn out with passion and desire and brought healing to a wounded heart, cankered with languishment and sickness; for indeed i am become even as saith the poet: bosom contracted and grievous thought dilated, eyes ever wakeful and body wearied aye; patience cut off and separation ever present, reason disordered and heart all stolen away. know that complaining quenches not the fire of calamity; but it eases him whom love-longing consumes and separation destroys; and so i comfort myself with the mention of the word "union;" for how well saith the poet: if love had not pain and pleasure, satisfaction and despite, where of messengers and letters were for lovers the delight?' when he had made an end of this letter, he gave it to aboulhusn, saying, 'read it and give it to the damsel.' so he took it and read it and its words stirred his soul and its meaning wounded his vitals. then he gave it to the girl, and ali said to her, 'salute thy lady for me and tell her of my passion and longing and how love is blent with my flesh and my bones; and say to her that i need one who shall deliver me from the sea of destruction and save me from this dilemma; for of a truth fortune oppresseth me with its vicissitudes; and is there any helper to free me from its defilements?' so saying, he wept and the damsel wept for his weeping. then she took leave of him and aboulhusn went out with her and bade her farewell. so she went her way and he returned to his shop, which he opened, and sat down there, according to his wont; but as he sat, he found his bosom straitened and his heart oppressed and was troubled about his case. he ceased not from melancholy thought the rest of that day and night, and on the morrow he betook himself to ali ben bekkar, with whom he sat till the folk withdrew, when he asked him how he did. ali began to complain of passion and descant upon the longing and distraction that possessed him, ending by repeating the following words of the poet: folk have made moan of passion before me of past years, and live and dead for absence have suffered pains and fears; but what within my bosom i harbour, with mine eyes i've never seen the like of nor heard it with mine ears. and also these: i've suffered for thy love what caïs, that madman[fn# ] hight, did never undergo for love of leila bright. yet chase i not the beasts o' the desert, as did he; for madness hath its kinds for this and th' other wight. quoth aboulhusn, 'never did i see or hear of one like unto thee in thy love! if thou sufferest all this transport and sickness and trouble, being enamoured of one who returns thy passion, how would it be with thee, if she whom thou lovest were contrary and perfidious? meseems, thy case will be discovered, if thou abide thus.' his words pleased ali ben bekkar and he trusted in him and thanked him. now aboulhusn had a friend, to whom he had discovered his affair and that of ali ben bekkar and who knew that they were close friends; but none other than he was acquainted with what was betwixt them. he was wont to come to him and enquire how ali did and after a little, he began to ask about the damsel; but aboulhusn put him off, saying, 'she invited him to her and there was between him and her what passeth words, and this is the end of their affair; but i have devised me a plan which i would fain submit to thy judgment.' 'and what is that?' asked his friend. 'o my brother,' answered aboulhusn, 'i am a man well known, having much dealing among the notables, both men and women, and i fear lest the affair of these twain get wind and this lead to my death and the seizure of my goods and the ruin of my repute and that of my family. wherefore i purpose to get together my property and make ready forthright and repair to the city of bassora and abide there, till i see what comes of their affair, that none may know of me, for passion hath mastered them and letters pass between them. their go-between and confidant at this present is a slave-girl, who hath till now kept their counsel, but i fear lest haply she be vexed with them or anxiety get the better of her and she discover their case to some one and the matter be noised abroad and prove the cause of my ruin; for i have no excuse before god or man.' 'thou acquaintest me with a perilous matter,' rejoined his friend, 'and one from the like of which the wise and understanding will shrink in affright. may god preserve thee and avert from thee the evil thou dreadest! assuredly, thy resolve is a wise one.' so aboulhusn returned home and betook himself to setting his affairs in order and preparing for his journey; nor had three days elapsed ere he made an end of his business and departed for bassora. three days after, his friend came to visit him, but finding him not, asked the neighbours of him; and they answered, 'he set out three days ago for bassora, for he had dealings with merchants there and is gone thither to collect his debts; but he will soon return.' the man was confounded at the news and knew not whither to go; and he said in himself, 'would i had not parted with aboulhusn!' then he bethought him how he should gain access to ali ben bekkar and repairing to the latter's lodging, said to one of his servants, 'ask leave for me of thy master that i may go in and salute him.' so the servant went in and told his master and presently returning, invited the man to enter. so he went in and found ali ben bekkar lying back on the pillow and saluted him. ali returned his greeting and bade him welcome; whereupon the other began to excuse himself for having held aloof from him all this while and added, 'o my lord, there was a close friendship between aboulhusn and myself, so that i used to trust him with my secrets and could not brook to be severed from him an hour. it chanced but now that i was absent three days' space on certain business with a company of my friends, and when i came back, i found his shop shut; so i asked the neighbours of him and they replied, "he is gone to bassora." now i know he had no surer friend than thou; so i conjure thee, by allah, to tell me what thou knowest of him.' when ali heard this, his colour changed and he was troubled and answered, 'i never heard of his departure till this day, and if it be as thou sayest, weariness is come upon me.' and he repeated the following verses: whilom i wept for what was past of joy and pleasant cheer, whilst yet the objects of my love were unremoved and near; but now my sad and sorry fate hath sundered me and them and i to-day must weep for those that were to me most dear. then he bent his head awhile in thought and presently raising it, said to one of his servants, 'go to aboulhusn'' house and enquire whether he be at home or gone on a journey. if they say, "he is abroad;" ask whither.' the servant went out and presently returning, said to his master, 'when i asked after aboulhusn, his people told me that he was gone on a journey to bassora; but i saw a damsel standing at the door, who knew me, though i knew her not, and said to me, "art thou not servant to ali ben bekkar?" "yes," answered i. and she said, "i have a message for him from one who is the dearest of all folk to him." so she came with me and is now at the door.' quoth ali, 'bring her in.' so the servant went out and brought her in, and the man who was with ali ben bekkar looked at her and found her comely. she came up to ali and saluting him, talked with him privily; and he from time to time exclaimed with an oath and swore that he had not done as she avouched. then she took leave of him and went away. when she was gone, aboulhusn's friend, who was a jeweller, took occasion to speak and said to ali ben bekkar, 'doubtless, the women of the palace have some claim upon thee or thou hast dealings with the khalif's household?' 'who told thee of this?' asked ali. 'i know it by yonder damsel,' replied the jeweller, 'who is shemsennehar's slave-girl; for she came to me awhile since with a written order for a necklace of jewels; and i sent her a costly one.' when ali heard this, he was greatly troubled, so that the jeweller feared for his life, but after awhile he recovered himself and said, 'o my brother, i conjure thee by allah to tell me truly how thou knowest her.' 'do not press me as to this,' replied the other; and ali said, 'indeed, i will not desist from thee till thou tell me the truth.' 'then,' said the jeweller, 'i will tell thee all, that thou mayst not distrust me nor be alarmed at what i said, nor will i conceal aught from thee, but will discover to thee the truth of the matter, on condition that thou possess me with the true state of thy case and the cause of thy sickness.' then he told him all that had passed between aboulhusn and himself, adding that he had acted thus only out of friendship for him and of his desire to serve him and assuring him that he would keep his secret and venture life and goods in his service. so ali in turn told him his story and added, 'by allah, o my brother, nought moved me to keep my case secret from thee and others but my fear lest the folk should lift the veils of protection from certain persons.' 'and i,' rejoined the jeweller, 'desired not to foregather with thee but of the great affection i bear thee and my zeal for thee in every case and my compassion for the anguish thy heart endureth for severance. haply, i may be a comforter to thee in the room of my friend aboulhusn, during his absence. so take heart and be of good cheer.' ali thanked him and repeated the following verses: if, 'i am patient,' i say, since forth from me he went, my tears give me the lie and the stress of my lament. and how shall i hide the tears, that flow in streams adown the table of my cheek for his evanishment? then he was silent awhile, and presently said to the jeweller, 'knowest thou what the girl whispered to me?' 'not i, by allah, o my lord,' answered he. quoth ali, 'she would have it that i had counselled aboulhusn to go to bassora and that i had used this device to put a stop to our correspondence and intercourse. i swore to her that this was not so: but she would not credit me and went away to her mistress, persisting in her injurious suspicions; and indeed i know not what i shall do without aboulhusn, for she inclined to him and gave ear to his word.' 'o my brother,' answered the jeweller, 'i guessed as much from her manner; but, if it please god the most high, i will help thee to thy desire.' 'who can help me,' rejoined ali, 'and how wilt thou do with her, when she takes umbrage like a wilding of the desert?' 'by allah,' exclaimed the jeweller, 'needs must i do my utmost endeavour to help thee and contrive to make her acquaintance, without exposure or mischief!' then he asked leave to depart, and ali said, 'o my brother, see thou keep my counsel' and he looked at him and wept. the jeweller bade him farewell and went away, knowing not what he should do to further his wishes; but as he went along pondering the matter, he spied a letter lying in the road, and taking it up, found that it bore the following superscription, 'from the least worthy of lovers to the most excellent of beloved ones.' he opened it and found these words written therein: 'the messenger brought me a promise of union and delight; but yet that he had mistaken 'twas constant in my spright. wherefore i joyed not: but sorrow was added unto me, for that i knew my envoy had read thee not aright. to proceed: know, o my lord, that i am ignorant of the cause of the breaking off of the correspondence between thee and me: but if it arise from cruelty on thy part, i will meet it with fidelity, and if love have departed from thee, i will remain constant to my love in absence for i am with thee even as says the poet: be haughty and i will be patient; capricious, i'll bear; turn away, i'll draw near thee; be harsh, i'll be abject; command, i'll give ear and obey. as he was reading, up came the slave-girl, looking right and left, and seeing the letter in the jeweller's hand, said to him, 'o my lord, this letter is one i let fall.' he made her no answer, but walked on, and she followed him, till he came to his house, when he entered and she after him, saying, 'o my lord, give me back the letter, for it fell from me.' he turned to her and said, 'o good slave-girl, fear not, neither grieve, for verily god the protector loves to protect [his creatures]; but tell me the truth of thy case, for i am one who keepeth counsel. i conjure thee by an oath to hide from me nothing of thy lady's affair; for haply god shall help me to further her wishes and make easy what is hard by my hand' 'o my lord,' answered she, 'indeed a secret is not lost whereof thou art the keeper; nor shall any affair come to nought for which thou strivest. know that my heart inclines to thee, and do thou give me the letter.' then she told him the whole story, adding, 'god is witness to what i say.' 'thou hast spoken truly,' said the jeweller, 'for i am acquainted with the root of the matter.' then he told her how he had come by ali ben bekkar's secret and related to her all that had passed, whereat she rejoiced; and they agreed that she should carry the letter to ali and return and tell the jeweller all that passed. accordingly he gave her the letter and she took it and sealed it up as it was before, saying, 'my mistress shemsennehar gave it to me sealed; and when he hath read it and given me the reply, i will bring it to thee.' then she repaired to ali ben bekkar, whom she found waiting, and gave him the letter. he read it and writing an answer, gave it to the damsel. she carried it to the jeweller, who broke the seal and read what was written therein, as follows: 'neglected are our messages, for lo, our go-between, that wont to keep our counsel erst, is wroth with us, i ween. so choose us out a messenger, a true and trusty wight, yea, one of whom fidelity, not falsehood, is well seen. to proceed: verily, i have not entered upon perfidy nor left fidelity; i have not used cruelty, neither have i put off loyalty nor broken faith. i have not ceased from affection nor severed myself from grief; neither have i found aught after separation but misery and ruin. i know nothing of that thou avouchest nor do i love aught but that which thou lovest. by him who knoweth the secret of the hidden things, i have no desire but to be united with her whom i love and my one business is the concealment of my passion, though sickness consume me. this is the exposition of my case and peace be on thee.' when the jeweller read this letter, he wept sore and the girl said to him, 'leave not this place, till i return to thee; for he suspects me of such and such things, in which he is excusable; so it is my desire to bring thee in company with my mistress shemsennehar, howsoever i may contrive it. i left her prostrate, awaiting my return with the answer.' then she went away and the jeweller passed the night in a state of agitation. on the morrow he prayed the morning prayer and sat awaiting the girl's coming. presently she came in to him, rejoicing, and he said to her, 'what news, o damsel?' quoth she, 'i gave my mistress ali ben bekkar's reply, and when she read it, she was troubled in her mind; but i said to her, "o my lady, have no fear of the hindrance of your affair by reason of aboulhusn's absence, for i have found one to take his place, better than he and more of worth and apt to keep secrets." then i told her what was between aboulhusn and thyself and how thou camest by his confidence and that of ali ben bekkar and how i met with thee and showed her how matters stood betwixt thee and me. now she is minded to have speech of thee, that she may be assured by thy words of the covenants between thee and him; so do thou make ready to go with me to her forthwith. when the jeweller heard the girl's words, he saw that what she proposed was a grave matter and a great peril, not lightly to be undertaken or entered upon, and said to her, 'o my stster, verily, i am of the common people and not like unto aboulhusn; for he was of high rank and repute and was wont to frequent the khalif's household, because of their need of his wares. as for me, he used to talk with me, and i trembled before him the while. so, if thy mistress would have speech of me, it must be in some place other than the khalif's palace and far from the abode of the commander of the faithful; for my reason will not let me do what thou proposest.' accordingly, he refused to go with her, and she went on to assure him of impunity, saying, 'fear not,' and pressed him, till he consented to accompany her; but, when he would have risen, his legs bent under him and his hands trembled and he exclaimed, 'god forbid that i should go with thee! indeed, i cannot do this.' 'reassure thyself,' answered she; 'if it irk thee to go to the khalif's palace and thou canst not muster up courage to accompany me, i will make her come to thee; so stir not from thy place till i return to thee with her.' then she went away and returning after a little, said to the jeweller, 'look that there be with thee neither slave-girl nor man-slave nor any other.' quoth he, 'i have but an old negress-slave, who waits on me.' so she locked the door between the jeweller and his negress and sent his man-servants out of the house, after which she went out and presently returned, followed by a lady, who filled the house with the sweet scent of her perfumes. when the jeweller saw her, he sprang to his feet and set her a couch and a cushion, and she sat down. he seated himself before her and she abode awhile without speaking, till she was rested, when she unveiled her face and it seemed to the jeweller as if the sun had risen in his house. then said she to her slave-girl, 'is this the man of whom thou spakest to me?' 'yes,' answered she; whereupon the lady turned to the jeweller and said to him, 'how is it with thee?' 'well,' replied he. 'may god preserve thy life and that of the commander of the faithful!' quoth she, 'thou hast moved us to come to thee and possess thee with our secret.' then she questioned him of his household and family; and he discovered to her all his circumstance and said to her, 'i have another house, which i have set apart for entertaining my friends and brethren, and there is none there save the old negress, of whom i spoke to thy handmaid.' she asked him how he came first to know of the matter and what had made aboulhusn absent himself, so he told her all and she bewailed the loss of aboulhusn and said to the jeweller, 'know that the minds of men are at one in desires, and however they may differ in estate, men are still men and have need one of the other: an affair is not accomplished without speech nor is a wish fulfilled save by endeavour: ease comes not but after weariness nor is succour compassed save by the help of the generous. now i have trusted my secret to thee and it is in thy power to expose or shield us; i say no more, because of thy generosity of nature. thou knowest that this my hand-maid keeps my counsel and is therefore in high favour with me and i have chosen her to transact my affairs of importance. so let none be worthier in thy sight than she and acquaint her with thine affair. be of good cheer, for thou art safe from what thou fearest on our account, and there is no shut place but she shall open it to thee. she shall bring thee messages from me to ali ben bekkar, and thou shalt be our go-between.' so saying, she rose, scarcely able to stand, and the jeweller forewent her to the door of the house, after which he returned and sat down again in his place, having seen of her beauty what dazzled him and heard of her speech what confounded his wit and witnessed of her grace and courtesy what bewitched him. he sat musing on her perfections till his trouble subsided, when he called for food and ate enough to stay his stomach. then he changed his clothes and repairing to ali ben bekkar's house, knocked at the door. the servants hastened to admit him and brought him to their master, whom he found laid upon his bed. when he saw the jeweller, he said to him, 'thou hast tarried long from me and hast added concern to my concern.' then he dismissed his servants and bade shut the doors, after which he said to the jeweller, 'by allah, o my brother, i have not closed my eyes since i saw thee last; for the slave-girl came to me yesterday with a sealed letter from her mistress shemsennehar;' and went on to tell him all that had passed, adding, 'indeed, i am perplexed concerning mine affair and my patience fails me: for aboulhusn was of comfort to me, because he knew the girl.' when the jeweller heard this, he laughed and ali said, 'why dost thou laugh at my words, thou in whom i rejoiced and to whom i looked for succour against the shifts of fortune?' then he sighed and wept and repeated the following verses: many an one laughs at my weeping, whenas he looks on my pain. had he but suffered as i have, he, also, to weep would be fain. no one hath ruth on the smitten, for that he is doomed to endure but he who alike is afflicted and long in affliction hath lain my passion, my yearning, my sighing, my care and distraction end woe are all for a loved one, whose dwelling is in my heart's innermost fane. he made his abode in my bosom and never will leave it again; and yet with my love to foregather i weary and travail in vain. i know of no friend i can choose me to stand in his stead unto me, nor ever, save him, a companion, to cherish and love have i ta'en.[fn# ] when the jeweller heard this, he wept also and told him all that had passed betwixt himself and the slave-girl and her mistress, since he left him, whilst ali gave ear to his speech, and at every fresh word his colour shifted 'twixt white and red and his body grew now stronger and now weaker, till he came to the end of his tale, when ali wept and said to him, 'o my brother, i am a lost man in any event. would my end were near, that i might be at rest from ail this! but i beg thee, of thy favour, to be my helper and comforter in all my affairs, till god accomplish his will; and i will not gainsay thee in aught.' quoth the jeweller, 'nothing will quench the fire of thy passion save union with her whom thou lovest: and this must not be in this perilous place, but in a house of mine other than in which the girl and her mistress came to me. this place she chose for herself, to the intent that ye may there foregather and complain one to the other of what you have suffered from the pangs of love.' 'o my lord,' answered ali ben bekkar, 'do as thou wilt and may god requite thee for me! what thou deemest fit will be right: but be not long about it, lest i die of this anguish.' so i abode with him (quoth the jeweller) that night, entertaining him with converse, till daybreak, when i prayed the morning prayers and going out from him, returned to my house. hardly had i done so, when the damsel came up and saluted me. i returned her greeting and told her what had passed between ali ben bekkar and myself; and she said, 'know that the khalif has left us and there is none in our lodging, and it is safer for us and better.' 'true,' replied i; 'yet it is not like my house yonder, which is both surer and fitter for us.' 'be it as thou wilt,' rejoined she. 'i will go to my lady and tell her what thou sayest.' so she went away and presently returned and said to me, 'it is to be as thou sayest: so make us ready the place and expect us.' then she took out a purse of diners and said to me, 'my lady salutes thee and bids thee take this and provide therewith what the case calls for.' but i swore that i would have nought of it; so she took the purse and returning to her mistress, said to her, 'he would not take the money, but gave it back to me.' 'no matter,' answered shemsennehar. as soon as she was gone, i betook myself to my other house and transported thither all that was needful, by way of furniture and utensils and rich carpets and vessels of china and glass and gold and silver, and made ready meat and drink for the occasion. when the damsel came and saw what i had done, it pleased her and she bade me fetch ali ben bekkar; but i said, 'none shall fetch him but thou.' accordingly she went to him and brought him back, dressed to perfection and looking his best. i met him and welcomed him and making him sit down on a couch befitting his condition, set before him sweet-scented flowers in vases of china and crystal of various colours. then i set on a tray of vari-coloured meats, of such as rejoice the heart with their sight, and sat talking with him and diverting him, whi'st the girl went away and was absent till after sundown, when she returned with shemsennehar, attended by two maids and no more. when ali saw her, he rose and embraced her and they both fell down in a swoon. they lay awhile insensible, then, coming to themselves, began to complain to each other of the pains of separation. they sat awhile, conversing with eloquence and tenderness, after which they perfumed themselves and fell to thanking me for what i had done. said i, 'have ye a mind for food?' 'yes,' answered they. so i set food before them, and they ate till they were satisfied and washed their hands, after which i carried them to another room and brought them wine. so they drank and grew merry with wine and inclined to one another, and shemsennehar said to me, 'o my lord, complete thy kindness by bringing us a lute or other instrument of music that the measure of our joy may be filled.' 'on my head and eyes,' answered i and rising, brought her a lute. she took it and tuned it, then laying it in her lap, made masterly music, at once exciting to sorrowful thoughts and cheering the afflicted; after which she sang the following verses: i wake and i watch till it seemeth as i were in love with unrest and i waste and i languish, as sickness, meseemeth, were born in my breast. the tides of my tears, ever flowing, have burnt up my cheeks with their heat: would i knew if our loves, after sev'rance, with union again will be blest! she went on to sing song after song, choice words set to various airs, till our minds were bewitched and it seemed as if the very room would dance with excess of pleasure for the marvel of her sweet singing and there was nor thought nor reason left in us. when we had sat awhile and the cup had gone round amongst us, the damsel took the lute and sang the following verses to a lively measure: my love a visit promised me and did fulfil his plight one night that i shall reckon aye for many and many a night. o night of raptures that the fates vouchsafed unto us twain; unheeded of the railing tribe and in the spies' despite! my loved one lay the night with me and i of my content clipped him with my left hand, while he embraced me with his right. i strained him to my breast and drank his lips' sweet wine, what while i of the honey and of him who sells it had delight. whilst we were thus drowned in the sea of gladness, in came a little maid, trembling, and said, 'o my lady, look how you may go away, for the folk are upon us and have surrounded the house, and we know not the cause of this.' when i heard this, i arose in affright, and behold, in came a slave-girl, who said, 'calamity hath overtaken you!' at the same moment, the door was burst open and there rushed in upon us half a score masked men, with poniards in their hands and swords by their sides, and as many more behind them. when i saw this, the world, for all its wideness, was straitened on me and i looked to the door, but saw no way out; so i sprang (from the roof) into the house of one of my neighbours and hid myself there. thence i heard a great uproar in my house and concluded that the khalif had gotten wind of us and sent the chief of the police to seize us and bring us before him. so i abode confounded and remained in my place, without daring to move, till midnight, when the master of the house became aware of me and being greatly affrighted, made at me with a drawn sword in his hand, saying, 'who is this in my house?' quoth i, 'i am thy neighbour, the jeweller;' and he knew me and held his hand. then he fetched a light and coming up to me, said, 'o my brother, indeed that which hath befallen thee this night is grievous to me.' 'o my brother,' answered i, 'tell me who it was entered my house and broke in the door, for i fled to thee, not knowing what was the matter.' quoth he, 'the robbers, who visited our neighbours yesterday and slew such an one and took his goods, saw thee yesterday bringing hither furniture and what not; so they broke in upon thee and stole thy goods and slew thy guests.' then we arose, he and i, and repaired to my house, which i found empty and stripped of everything, whereat i was confounded and said to myself, 'i care not for the loss of the gear, though indeed i borrowed part thereof of my friends; yet is there no harm in that, for they know my excuse in the loss of my goods and the pillage of my house; but as for ali ben bekkar and the khalif's favourite, i fear lest their case get wind and this cause the loss of my life.' so i turned to my neighbour and said to him, 'thou art my brother and my neighbour and wilt cover my nakedness; what dost thou counsel me to do?' 'i counsel thee to wait,' answered he; 'for they who entered thy house and stole thy goods have murdered the better part of a company from the khalif's palace, besides some of the police, and the khalif's officers are now in quest of them on every side. haply they will chance on them and so thy wish will come about without effort of thine.' then i returned to my other house, that in which i dwelt, saying to myself, 'this that hath befallen me is what aboulhusn feared and from which he fled to bassora.' presently the pillage of my pleasure-house was noised abroad among the folk, and they came to me from all sides, some rejoicing in my misfortune and others excusing me and condoling with me, whilst i bewailed myself to them and ate not neither drank for grief. as i sat, repenting me of what i had done, one of my servants came in to me and said, 'there is a man at the door, who asks for thee; and i know him not.' so i went out and found at the door a man whom i knew not. i saluted him, and he said to me, 'i have somewhat to say to thee privily.' so i brought him in and said to him, 'what hast thou to say to me?' quoth he, 'come with me to thine other house.' 'doss thou then know my other house,' asked i. 'i know all about thee,' replied he, 'and i know that also wherewith god will dispel thy concern.' so i said to myself, 'i will go with him whither he will;' and we went out and walked on till we came to my other house, which when he saw, he said to me, 'it is without door or doorkeeper, and we cannot sit in it; so come thou with me to another house.' accordingly, he went on from place to place and i with him, till the night overtook us. yet i put no question to him and we ceased not to walk on, till we reached the open country. he kept saying, 'follow me,' and quickened his pace, whilst i hurried after him, heartening myself to go on. presently; we came to the river-bank, where he took boat with me, and the boatman rowed us over to the other side. here my guide landed and i after him and he took my hand and led me to a street i had never before entered, nor do i know in what quarter it is. presently he stopped at the door of a house, and opening, entered and made me enter with him; after which he bolted the door with a bolt of iron and carried me along the vestibule, till he brought me in presence of ten men, brothers, as they were one and the same man. we saluted them and they returned our greeting and bade us be seated; so we sat down. now i was like to die for very weariness; so they brought rose-water and sprinkled it on my face, after which they gave me to drink and set food before me, of which some of them ate with me. quoth i to myself, 'were there aught of harm in the food, they would not eat with me.' so i ate, and when we had washed our hands, each of us returned to his place. then said they to me, 'dost thou know us?' 'i never in my life saw you nor this your abode,' answered i; 'nay, i know not even him who brought me hither.' said they, 'tell us thy case and lie not in aught.' 'know then,' rejoined i, 'that my case is strange and my affair marvellous: but do you know aught of me?' 'yes,' answered they; 'it was we took thy goods yesternight and carried off thy friend and her who was singing to him.' 'may god let down the veil of his protection over you!' said i. 'but where is my friend and she who was singing to him?' they pointed to two doors and replied, 'they are yonder, each in a room apart; but, by allah, o our brother, the secret of their case is known to none but thee, for from the time we brought them hither, we have not seen them nor questioned them of their condition, seeing them to be persons of rank and dignity. this it was that hindered us from putting them to death: so tell us the truth of their case and be assured of their safety and thine own.' when i heard this, i was like to die of fright and said to them, 'o my brethren, if generosity were lost, it would not be found save with you and had i a secret, which i feared to divulge, your breasts alone should have the keeping of it.' and i went on to expatiate to them in this sense, till i saw that frankness would profit me more than concealment; so i told them the whole story. when they heard it, they said, 'and is this young man ali ben bekkar and this damsel shemsennehar?' 'yes,' answered i. this was grievous to them and they rose and made their excuses to the two lovers. then they said to me, 'part of what we took from thy house is spent, but here is what is left of it.' so saying, they gave me back the most part of my goods and engaged to return them to my house and restore me the rest. so my heart was set at ease, and some of them abode with me, whilst the rest fetched ali ben bekkar and shemsennehar, who were well-nigh dead for excess of fear. then they all sallied forth with us and i went up to the two lovers and saluting them, said to them, 'what became of the damsel and the two maids?' 'we know nothing of them,' answered they. then we walked on till we came to the river-bank, where we all embarked in the boat that had brought me over before, and the boatman rowed us to the other side; but hardly had we landed and sat down on the bank to rest, when a troop of horse swooped down on us like eagles and surrounded us on all sides, whereupon the robbers with us sprang up in haste and the boatman, putting back for them, took them in and pushed off into mid-stream, leaving us on the bank, unable to move or abide still. the horseman said to us, 'whence come ye?' and we were perplexed for an answer; but i said, 'those ye saw with us are rogues: we know them not. as for us, we are singers, whom they would have taken to sing to them, nor could we win free of them, save by subtlety and fair words, and they have but now left us.' they looked at ali and shemsennehar and said to me, 'thou hast not spoken sooth; but if thy tale be true, tell us who you are and whence you come and in what quarter you dwell.' i knew not what to answer, but shemsennehar sprang up and approaching the captain of the troop, spoke with him privily, whereupon he dismounted and setting her on his steed, began to lead it along by the bridle. two of his men did the like with ali ben bekkar and myself, and they fared on with us, till they reached a certain part of the river-bank, when the captain sang out in jargon and there came to us a number of men with two boats. the captain embarked with shemsennehar in one boat and went his way, whilst the rest of his men put off in the other, with ali ben bekkar and myself, and rowed on with us, we the while enduring the agonies of death for excess of fear, till they came to a place whence there was a way to our quarter. here we landed and walked on, escorted by some of the horsemen, till we came to ali ben bekkar's house, where they took leave of us and went their way. we entered the house and abode there, unable to stir and knowing not night from day, till nightfall of the next day, when i came to myself and saw ali ben bekkar stretched out without sense or motion, and the men and women of his household weeping over him. when they saw that i had recovered my senses, some of them came to me and helping me sit up, said to me, 'tell us what hath befallen our son and how he came in this plight.' 'o folk,' answered i, 'hearken to me and importune me not; but be patient and he will come to himself and tell you his story for himself.' and i was round with them and made them afraid of a scandal between us; but as we were thus, behold, ali ben bekkar moved in his bed, whereat his friends rejoiced and the [most part of the] folk withdrew from him; but his people forbade me to go away. then they sprinkled rose-water on his face, and he presently revived and breathed the air, whereupon they questioned him of his case. he essayed to answer them, but could not speak forthright and signed to them to let me go home. so they let me go, and i returned to my own house, supported by two men and hardly crediting my escape. when my people saw me thus, they fell a-shrieking and buffeting their faces; but i signed to them to hold their peace, and they were silent. then the two men went their way and i threw myself down on my bed, where i lay the rest of the night and awoke not till the forenoon, when i found my people collected round me and they said, 'what hath befallen thee and what (evil) hath smitten thee with its mischief?' quoth i, 'bring me to drink.' so they brought me wine, and i drank what i would and said to them, 'wine got the better of me and it was this caused the state in which ye saw me' then they went away, and i made my excuses to my friends and asked if any of the goods that had been stolen from my other house had been returned.' 'yes,' answered they. 'some of them have come back: and the manner of their coming was that a man came and threw them down in the doorway and we saw him not.' so i comforted myself and abode two days, unable to rise, at the end of which time i began to regain strength and went to the bath, for i was worn out with fatigue and troubled at heart for ali ben bekkar and shemsennehar, because i had no news of them all this time and could neither get to ali's house nor rest in my own, out of fear for myself. and i repented to god the most high of what i had done and praised him for my safety. then i bethought me to go to such and such a place and see the folk and divert myself; so i went to the stuff-market and sat awhile with a friend of mine there. when i rose to go, i saw a woman standing in my road; so i looked at her, and behold it was shemsennehar's slave-girl. when i saw her, the world grew dark in my eyes and i hurried on. she followed me, but i was afraid and fled from her, trembling whenever i looked at her, whilst she pursued me, saying, 'stop, that i may tell thee somewhat.' but i heeded her not and went on, till i reached a mosque in an unfrequented spot, and she said to me, 'enter the mosque, that i may say a word to thee, and fear nothing.' and she conjured me: so i entered the mosque, and she after me. i prayed a two-bow prayer, after which i turned to her, sighing, and said, 'what dost thou want?' she asked me how i did, and i told her all that had befallen myself and ali ben bekkar and asked her for news of herself. 'know,' answered she, 'that when i and the two maids saw the robbers break open thy door, we doubted not but they were the khalif's officers and would seize us and our mistress and we perish forthright: so we fled over the roofs and casting ourselves down from a high place, took refuge with some people, who harboured us and brought us to the palace, where we arrived in the sorriest of plights. we concealed our case and abode on coals of fire till nightfall, when i opened the river-gate and calling the boatman who had carried us the night before, said to him, "i know not what is come of my mistress; so take me in thy boat, that we may seek her on the river: it may be i shall chance on some news of her." so he took me into the boat and rowed about with me till midnight, when i spied a boat making towards the water-gate, with one man rowing and another standing up and a woman lying prostrate between them. when they reached the shore and the woman landed, i looked at her, and behold, it was shemsennehar. so i landed and joined her, dazed for joy, after having lost hope of her. when i came up to her, she bade me give the man who had brought her thither a thousand diners, and i and the two maids carried her in and laid her on her bed, and she at death's door. she abode thus all that day and the next day and i forbade the eunuchs and women to go in to her; but on the third day, she revived and i found her as she had come out of the grave. so i sprinkled rose-water upon her face and changed her clothes and washed her hands and feet, nor did i cease to persuade her, till i brought her to eat a little and drink some wine, though she had no mind to it. as soon as she had breathed the air and strength began to return to her, i fell to upbraiding her, saying, "consider, o my lady, and have pity on thyself; thou seest what has betided us surely, enough of evil hath befallen thee and thou hast been nigh upon death." "by allah, o good damsel," replied she, "death were easier to me than what hath befallen me; for i had renounced all hope of deliverance and gave myself up for lost. when the robbers took us from the jeweller's house, they asked me who i was; i replied, 'i am a singing-girl,' and they believed me. then they said to ali ben bekkar, 'and who art thou and what is thy condition?' and he answered, 'i am of the common people.' so they carried us to their abode, and we hurried on with them for fear; but when they had us with them in the house, they looked at me and seeing the clothes i wore and my necklaces and jewellery, believed me not and said to me, 'no singing-girl ever had such jewels as these; tell us the truth of thy case.' i returned them no answer, saying in myself, 'now will they kill me for my clothes and ornaments;' and i spoke not a word. then they turned to ali ben bekkar and said to him, 'and thou, who and whence art thou? for thy favour is not as that of the common folk.' but he was silent and we ceased not to keep our counsel and weep, till god inclined the rogues' hearts towards us and they said to us, 'who is the owner of the house in which you were?' 'such an one, the jeweller,' answered we; whereupon quoth one of them, 'i know him well and where he lives, and i will engage to bring him to you forthright.' then they agreed to set me in a place by myself and ali ben bekkar in a place by himself, and said to us, 'be at rest and fear not lest your secret be divulged; ye are safe from us.' meanwhile their comrade went away and returned with the jeweller, who made known to them our case, and we joined company with him; after which one of the band fetched a boat, in which they embarked us all three and rowing us over the river, landed us on the opposite bank and went away; whereupon up came a horse-patrol and asked us who we were. so i spoke with the captain and said to him, 'i am shemsennehar, the khalif's favourite; i had drunken wine and went out to visit certain of my acquaintance of the wives of the viziers, when yonder rogues laid hold of me and brought me hither; but when they saw you, they fled. i met these men with them; so do thou escort me and them to a place of safety and i will requite thee.' when the captain heard my speech, he knew me and alighting, mounted me on his horse; and in like manner did two of his men with ali and the jeweller. and now my heart is on fire on their account, especially for ali's friend the jeweller: so do thou go to him and salute him and ask him for news of ali ben bekkar." i spoke to her and blamed her and bade her beware, saying' "o my lady, have a care for thyself and give up this intrigue." but she was angered at my words and cried out at me. so i came forth in quest of thee, but found thee not and dared not go to ali's house; so stood watching for thee, that i might ask thee of him and know how it is with him. and i beg thee, of thy favour, to take some money of me, for belike thou borrowedst of thy friends some of the goods, and as they are lost, it behoves thee to make them compensation.' 'i hear and obey,' answered i. 'go on.' and i walked with her till we drew near my house, when she said to me, 'wait till i return to thee.' so she went away and presently returned with a bag of money, which she handed to me, saying, 'o my lord, where shall we meet?' quoth i, 'i will go to my house at once and suffer hardship for thy sake and contrive how thou mayst win to him, for access to him is difficult at this present.' 'let me know where i shall come to thee,' said she, and i answered, 'in my other house; i will go thither forthright and have the doors repaired and the place made secure again, and henceforth we will meet there.' then she took leave of me and went her way, whilst i carried the money home, and counting it, found it five thousand diners. i gave my people some of it and made good their loss to all who had lent me aught, after which i took my servants and repaired to my other house, with builders and carpenters, who restored it to its former state. moreover, i placed my negress-slave there and forgot what had befallen me. then i repaired to ali ben bekkar's house, where his servants accosted me, saying, 'our lord calls for thee day and night and hath promised his freedom to whichever of us brings thee to him; so we have been in quest of thee everywhere, but knew not where to find thee. our master is by way of recovery, but he has frequent relapses, and when he revives, he names thee and says, "needs must ye bring him to me, though but for an instant," and sinks back into his torpor.' so i went in to ali ben bekkar and finding him unable to speak, sat down at his head, whereupon he opened his eyes and seeing me, wept and said, 'welcome and fair welcome!' i raised him and making him sit up, strained him to my bosom, and he said, 'know, o my brother, that, since i took to my bed, i have not sat up till now: praised be god that i see thee again!' presently, little by little, i made him stand up and walk a few steps, after which i changed his clothes and he drank some wine. all this he did to please me. then, seeing him to be somewhat restored, i told him what had befallen me with the slave-girl, none else hearing me, and said to him, 'i know what thou sufferest; but take heart and be of good courage; for henceforth nought shall betide thee, but what shall rejoice thee and ease thine heart.' he smiled and called for food, which being brought, he signed to his servants, and they withdrew. then said he to me, 'o my brother, thou seest what hath befallen me;' and he made his excuses to me and enquired how i had fared all that while. i told him all that had befallen me, from first to last, at which he wondered and calling his servants, said, 'bring me such and such things.' accordingly, they brought in rich carpets and hangings and utensils of gold and silver, more than i had lost, and he gave them all to me; so i sent them to my house and abode with him that night. when the day began to break, he said to me, 'to everything there is an end, and the end of love is death or enjoyment. i am nearer unto death, would i had died ere this befell! for, had not god favoured us, we had been discovered and put to shame. and now i know not what shall deliver me from this my strait, and were it not that i fear god, i would hasten my own death; for know, o my brother, that i am like the bird in the cage and that my life is of a surety perished, by reason of the distresses that have befallen me; yet hath it a fixed period and an appointed term.' and he wept and groaned and repeated the following verses: indeed, it sufficeth the lover the time that his tears have run; as for affliction, of patience it hath him all fordone. he who concealeth the secrets conjoined us heretofore and now his hand hath severed that which himself made one. when he had finished, i said to him, 'o my lord, i would fain return to my house; it may be the damsel will come back to me with news.' 'it is well,' answered he; 'go and return to me speedily with news, for thou seest my condition.' so i took leave of him and went home. hardly had i sat down, when up came the damsel, choked with her tears. 'what is the matter?' asked i, and she said, 'o my lord, what we feared has fallen on us; for, when i returned yesterday to my lady, i found her enraged with one of the two maids who were with us the other night, and she ordered her to be beaten. the girl took fright and ran away; but one of the gate-keepers stopped her and would have sent her back to her mistress. however, she let fall some hints, which excited his curiosity; so he coaxed her and led her on to talk, and she acquainted him with our case. this came to the ears of the khalif, who bade remove my mistress and all her gear to his own palace and set over her a guard of twenty eunuchs. since then he has not visited her nor given her to know the cause of his action, but i suspect this to be the cause; wherefore i am in fear for myself and am perplexed, o my lord, knowing not what i shall do nor how i shall order my affair and hers, for she had none more trusted nor trustier than myself. so do thou go quickly to ali ben bekkar and acquaint him with this, that he may be on his guard; and if the affair be discovered, we will cast about for a means of saving ourselves.' at this, i was sore troubled and the world grew dark in my sight for the girl's words. then she turned to go, and i said to her, 'what is to be done?' quoth she, 'my counsel is that thou hasten to ali ben bekkar, if thou be indeed his friend and desire his escape; thine be it to carry him the news forthright, and be it mine to watch for further news.' then she took her leave of me and went away. i followed her out and betaking myself to ali ben bekkar, found him flattering himself with hopes of speedy enjoyment and staying himself with vain expectations. when he saw me, he said, 'i see thou hast come back to me forthwith' 'summon up all thy patience,' answered i, 'and put away thy vain doting and shake off thy preoccupation, for there hath befallen that which may bring about the loss of thy life and goods.' when he heard this, he was troubled and his colour changed and he said to me, 'o my brother, tell me what hath happened.' 'o my lord,' replied i, 'such and such things have happened and thou art lost without recourse, if thou abide in this thy house till the end of the day.' at this he was confounded and his soul well-nigh departed his body, but he recovered himself and said to me, 'what shall i do, o my brother, and what is thine advice?' 'my advice,' answered i, 'is that thou take what thou canst of thy property and whom of thy servants thou trustest and flee with me to a land other than this, ere the day come to an end.' and he said, 'i hear and obey.' so he rose, giddy and dazed, now walking and now falling down and took what came under his hand. then he made an excuse to his household and gave them his last injunctions, after which he loaded three camels and mounted his hackney. i did the like and we went forth privily in disguise and fared on all day and night, till nigh upon morning, when we unloaded and hobbling our camels, lay down to sleep; but, being worn with fatigue, we neglected to keep watch, so that there fell on us robbers, who stripped us of all we had and slew our servants, when they would have defended us, after which they made off with their booty, leaving us naked and in the sorriest of plights. as soon as they were gone, we arose and walked on till morning, when we came to a village and took refuge in its mosque. we sat in a corner of the mosque all that day and the next night, without meat or drink; and at daybreak, we prayed the morning prayer and sat down again. presently, a man entered and saluting us, prayed a two-bow prayer, after which he turned to us and said, 'o folk, are ye strangers?' 'yes,' answered we, 'robbers waylaid us and stripped us, and we came to this town, but know none here with whom we may shelter.' quoth he, 'what say you? will you come home with me?' and i said to ali ben bekkar, 'let us go with him, and we shall escape two evils; first, our fear lest some one who knows us enter the mosque and so we be discovered; and secondly, that we are strangers and have no place to lodge in.' 'as thou wilt,' answered he. then the man said to us again, 'o poor folk, give ear unto me and come with me to my house.' 'we hear and obey,' answered i; whereupon he pulled off a part of his own clothes and covered us therewith and made his excuses to us and spoke kindly to us. then we accompanied him to his house and he knocked at the door, whereupon a little servant came out and opened to us. we entered after our host, who called for a parcel of clothes and muslin for turbans, and gave us each a suit of clothes and a piece of muslin; so we made us turbans and sat down. presently, in came a damsel with a tray of food and set it before us, saying, 'eat.' we ate a little and she took away the tray; after which we abode with our host till nightfall, when ali ben bekkar sighed and said to me, 'know, o my brother, that i am a dead man and i have a charge to give thee: it is that, when thou seest me dead, thou go to my mother and tell her and bid her come hither, that she may be present at the washing of my body and take order for my funeral; and do thou exhort her to bear my loss with patience.' then he fell down in a swoon and when he revived, he heard a damsel singing afar off and addressed himself to give ear to her and hearken to her voice; and now he was absent from the world and now came to himself, and anon he wept for grief and mourning at what had befallen him. presently, he heard the damsel sing the following verses: parting hath wrought in haste our union to undo after the straitest loves and concord 'twixt us two. the shifts of night and day have torn our lives apart. when shall we meet again? ah, would to god i knew! after conjoined delight, how bitter sev'rance is! would god it had no power to baffle lovers true! death's anguish hath its hour, then endeth; but the pain of sev'rance from the loved at heart is ever new. could we but find a way to come at parting's self, we'd surely make it taste of parting's cup of rue. when he heard this, he gave one sob and his soul quitted his body. as soon as i saw that he was dead, i committed his body to the care of the master of the house and said to him, 'i go to baghdad, to tell his mother and kinsfolk, that they may come hither and take order for his burial' so i betook myself to baghdad and going to my house, changed my clothes, after which i repaired to ali ben bekkar's lodging. when his servants saw me, they came to me and questioned me of him, and i bade them ask leave for me to go in to his mother. she bade admit me; so i entered and saluting her, said, 'verily god orders the lives of all creatures by his commandment and when he decreeth aught, there is no escaping its fulfilment, nor can any soul depart but by his leave, according to the writ which prescribeth the appointed terms.' she guessed by these words that her son was dead and wept sore, then she said to me, 'i conjure thee by allah, tell me, is my son dead?' i could not answer her for tears and much grief, and when she saw me thus, she was choked with weeping and fell down in a swoon. as soon as she came to herself, she said to me, 'tell me how my son died.' 'may god abundantly requite thee for him!' answered i and told her all that had befallen him, from first to last. 'did he give thee any charge?' asked she. 'yes,' answered i and told her what he had said, adding, 'hasten to take order for his funeral.' when she heard this, she swooned away again; and when she recovered, she addressed herself to do as i bade her. then i returned to my house; and as i went along, musing sadly upon his fair youth, a woman caught hold of my hand. i looked at her and behold, it was shemsennehar's slave-girl, broken for grief. when we knew each other, we both wept and gave not over weeping till we reached my house, and i said to her, 'knowest thou the news of ali ben bekkar?' 'no, by allah,' replied she; so i told her the manner of his death and all that had passed, whilst we both wept; after which i said to her, 'and how is it with thy mistress?' quoth she, 'the khalif would not hear a word against her, but saw all her actions in a favourable light, of the great love he bore her, and said to her, "o shemsennehar, thou art dear to me and i will bear with thee and cherish thee, despite thine enemies." then he bade furnish her a saloon decorated with gold and a handsome sleeping-chamber, and she abode with him in all ease of life and high favour. one day, as he sat at wine, according to his wont, with his favourites before him, he bade them be seated in their places and made shemsennehar sit by his side. (now her patience was exhausted and her disorder redoubled upon her.) then he bade one of the damsels sing: so she took a lute and tuning it, preluded and sang the following verses: one sought me of lore and i yielded and gave him that which he sought. and my tears write the tale of my transport in furrows upon my cheek. meseemeth as if the teardrops were ware, indeed, of our case and hide what i'd fain discover and tell what to hide i seek. how can i hope to be secret and hide the love that i feel, whenas the stress of my longing my passion for thee doth speak? death, since the loss of my loved ones, is sweet to me: would i knew what unto them is pleasant, now that they've lost me eke! when shemsennehar heard these verses, she could not keep her seat, but fell down in a swoon, whereupon the khalif threw the cup from his hand and drew her to him, crying out. the damsels clamoured and he turned her over and shook her, and behold, she was dead. the khalif grieved sore for her death and bade break all the vessels and lutes and other instruments of mirth and music in the place; then carrying her body to his closet, he abode with her the rest of the night. when the day broke, he laid her out and commanded to wash her and shroud her and bury her. and he mourned very sore for her and questioned not of her case nor what ailed her. and i beg thee in god's name,' continued the damsel, 'to let me know the day of the coming of ali ben bekkar's funeral train, that i may be present at his burial.' quoth i, 'for myself, thou canst find me where thou wilt; but thou, who can come at thee where thou art?' 'on the day of shemsennehar's death,' answered she, 'the commander of the faithful freed all her women, myself among the rest; and we are now abiding at the tomb in such a place.' so i accompanied her to the burial-ground and visited shemennehar's tomb;[fn# ] after which i went my way and awaited the coming of ali ben bekkar's funeral. when it arrived, the people of baghdad went forth to meet it and i with them; and i saw the damsel among the women and she the loudest of them in lamentation, crying out and wailing with a voice that rent the vitals and made the heart ache. never was seen in baghdad a greater funeral than his and we ceased not to follow in crowds, till we reached the cemetery and buried him to the mercy of god the most high; nor from that time to this have i ceased to visit his tomb and that of shemsennehar." this, then, is their story, and may god the most high have mercy upon them! kemerezzeman and budour. there was once, of old time, a king called shehriman, who was lord of many troops and guards and officers and reigned over certain islands, known as the khalidan islands, on the borders of the land of the persians; but he was grown old and decrepit, without having been blessed with a son, albeit he had four wives, daughters of kings, and threescore concubines, with each of whom he was wont to lie one night in turn. this preyed upon his mind and disquieted him, so that he complained thereof to one of his viziers, saying, 'i fear lest my kingdom be lost, when i die, for that i have no son to take it after me.' 'o king,' answered the vizier, 'peradventure god shall yet provide for this; do thou put thy trust in him and be constant in supplication to him.' so the king rose and making his ablutions, prayed a two-bow prayer with a believing heart; after which he called one of his wives to bed and lay with her forthright. by god's grace, she conceived by him and when her months were accomplished, she bore a male child, like the moon on the night of its full. the king named him kemerezzeman and rejoiced in him with exceeding joy and bade decorate the city in his honour. so they decorated the city seven days, whilst the drums beat and the messengers bore the glad tidings abroad. meanwhile nurses and attendants were provided for the boy and he was reared in splendour and delight, until he reached the age of fifteen. he grew up of surpassing beauty and symmetry, and his father loved him very dear, so that he could not brook to be parted from him day or night. one day, he complained to one of his viziers of the excess of his love for his son, saying, 'o vizier, of a truth i fear the shifts and accidents of fortune for my son kemerezzeman and fain would i marry him in my lifetime.' 'o king,' answered the vizier, 'marriage is one of the most honourable of actions, and thou wouldst indeed do well to marry thy son in thy lifetime, ere thou make him king.' quoth the king, 'fetch me my son;' so kemerezzeman came and bowed his head before his father, out of modesty. 'o kemerezzeman,' said the king, 'i desire to marry thee and rejoice in thee in my lifetime.' 'o my father,' answered the prince, 'know that i have no wish to marry, nor doth my soul incline to women; for that i have read many books and heard much talk concerning their craft and perfidy, even as saith the poet: if ye would know of women and question of their case, lo, i am versed in their fashions and skilled all else above. when a man's head grows grizzled or for the nonce his wealth falls from his hand, then, trust me, he hath no part in their love. and again: gainsay women; he obeyeth allah best who saith them nay, and he prospers not who giveth them his bridle-rein to sway; for they'll hinder him from winning to perfection in his gifts, though a thousand years he study, seeking after wisdom's way. wherefore (continued kemerezzeman) marriage is a thing to which i will never consent; no, not though i drink the cup of death.' when the king heard this, the light in his sight became darkness and he was excessively chagrined at his son's lack of obedience to his wishes; yet, for the great love he bore him, he forbore to press him and was not wroth with him, but caressed him and spoke him fair and showed him all manner of kindness such as tends to cultivate affection. he took patience with him a whole year, during which time kemerezzeman increased daily in beauty and elegance and amorous grace, till he became perfect in eloquence and loveliness. all men were ravished with his beauty and every breeze that blew carried the tidings of his charms; he was a seduction to lovers and a garden of delight to longing hearts, for he was sweet of speech and his face put the full moon to shame. accomplished in symmetry as in elegance and engaging manners, his shape was slender and graceful as the willow-wand or the flowering cane and his cheeks might pass for roses or blood-red anemones. he was, in fine, charming in all respects, even as the poet hath said of him: he comes and "blest be god!" say all men, high and base. "glory to him who shaped and fashioned forth his face!" he's monarch of the fair, wherever they may be; for, lo, they're all become the liegemen of his grace. the water of his mouth is liquid honey-dew and 'twixt his lips for teeth fine pearls do interlace. perfect in every trait of beauty and unique, his witching loveliness distracts the human race. beauty itself hath writ these words upon his cheek, "except this youth there's none that's fair in any place." when the year came to an end, the king called his son to him and said, 'o my son, wilt thou not hearken to me?' whereupon kemerezzeman fell down for respect and shame before his father and replied, 'o my father, how should i not hearken to thee, seeing that god commandeth me to obey thee and not gainsay thee?' 'o my son,' said king shehriman, 'know that i desire to marry thee and rejoice in thee, whilst yet i live, and make thee king over my realm, before my death.' when the prince heard this, he bowed his head awhile, then raised it and said, 'o my father, this is a thing that i will never do, though i drink the cup of death. i know of a surety that god the most high enjoins on me obedience to thee; but in his name i conjure thee, press me not in this matter of marriage, neither think that i will ever marry my life long; for that i have read the books both of the ancients and the moderns and have come to know all the troubles and calamities that have befallen them through women and the disasters that have sprung from their craft without end. how well says the poet: he, whom the baggages entrap, deliverance shall never know, although a thousand forts he build, plated with lead;--'gainst such a foe it shall not profit him to build nor citadels avail, i trow. women are traitresses to all, both near and far and high and low. with fingers dyed and flowing hair plaited with tresses, sweet of show, and eyelids beautified with kohl, they make one drink of bale and woe. and no less excellently saith another: women, for all to chastity they're bidden, everywhere are carrion tossed about of all the vultures of the air. to-night their converse, ay, and all their secret charms are thine, but on the morn their leg and wrist fall to another's share; like to an inn in which thou lodg'st, departing with the dawn, and one thou know'st not, after thee, lights down and lodges there. when king shehriman heard these his son's words, he made him no answer, of his great love for him, but redoubled in favour and kindness to him. as soon as the audience was over, he called his vizier and taking him apart, said to him, 'o vizier, tell me how i shall do with my son in this matter of his marriage. i took counsel with thee thereon and thou didst counsel me to marry him, before making him king. i have spoken with him once and again of marriage, and he still gainsaid me; so do thou now counsel me what to do.' 'o king,' answered the vizier, 'wait another year, and if after that thou be minded to speak to him on the matter of marriage, do it not privily, but on a day of state, when all the viziers and amirs are present and all the troops standing before thee. then send for thy son and broach to him the matter of marriage before the viziers and grandees and officers of state and captains; for he will surely be daunted by their presence and will not dare to oppose thy will.' the king rejoiced exceedingly in his vizier's advice, deeming it excellent, and bestowed on him a splendid robe of honour. then he took patience with his son another year, whilst, with every day that passed over him, kemerezzeman increased in grace and beauty and elegance and perfection, till he was nigh twenty years old. indeed, god had clad him in the habit of beauty and crowned him with the crown of perfection: his eyes were more ensorcelling than harout and marout[fn# ] and the play of his glances more misleading than taghout.[fn# ] his cheeks shone with redness and his eyelashes outvied the keen-edged sword: the whiteness of his forehead resembled the shining moon and the blackness of his hair was as the murky night. his waist was more slender than the gossamer and his buttocks heavier than two hills of sand, troubling the heart with their softness; but his waist complained of their weight. in fine, his charms ravished all mankind, even as saith the poet: by his cheeks' unfading damask and his smiling teeth i swear, by the arrows that he feathers with the witchery of his air, by his sides so soft and tender and his glances bright and keen, by the whiteness of his forehead and the blackness of his hair, by his arched imperious eyebrows, chasing slumber from mine eyes, with their yeas and noes that hold me 'twixt rejoicing and despair, by the scorpious[fn# ] that he launches from his ringlet-clustered brows, seeking ever in their meshes hapless lovers to ensnare, by the myrtle of his whiskers and the roses of his cheeks, by his lips' incarnate rubies and his teeth's fine pearls and rare, by his breath's delicious fragrance and the waters of his mouth, that defy old wine and choicest with their sweetness to compare, by his heavy hips that tremble, both in motion and repose, and the slender waist above them, all too slight their weight to bear, by his hand's perennial bounty and his true and trusty speech, by the stars that smile upon him, favouring and debonair, lo, the scent of musk none other than his very perfume is, and the ambergris's fragrance breathes about him everywhere. yea, the sun in all his splendour cannot with his brightness vie, and the crescent moon's a fragment that he from his nail doth pare. the king, accordingly, waited till a day of state, when the audience hall was filled with his amirs and viziers and grandees and officers of state and captains. as soon as they were all assembled, he sent for his son kemerezzeman, who came and kissing the earth three times, stood before him, with his hands clasped behind his back. then said the king to him, 'know, o my son, that i have sent for thee and summoned thee to appear before this assembly and all these officers of state that i may lay a commandment on thee, wherein do thou not gainsay me. it is that thou marry, for i am minded to wed thee to a king's daughter and rejoice in thee ere i die.' when the prince heard these his father's words, he bowed his head awhile, then raising it, replied, being moved thereto by youthful folly and boyish ignorance, 'never will i marry, no, not though i drink the cup of death! as for thee, thou art great in years and little of wit: hast thou not, twice before this, questioned me of the matter of marriage, and i refused thee? indeed, thou dotest and art not fit to govern a flock of sheep!' so saying, he unclasped his hands from behind his back and rolled up his sleeves, in his rage; moreover, he added many words to his father, knowing not what he said, in the trouble of his spirit. the king was confounded and ashamed, for that this befell in the presence of his grandees and officers assembled on an occasion of state; but presently the energy of kingship took him and he cried out upon his son and made him tremble. then he called to his guards and bade them seize him and bind his hands behind his back. so they laid hands on kemerezzeman and binding him, brought him before his father, full of shame and confusion, with his head bowed down for fear and inquietude and his brow and face beaded with sweat. the king loaded him with reproaches, saying, 'out on thee, thou whoreson and nursling of abomination! dost thou dare to answer me thus before my captains and officers? but hitherto none hath corrected thee. knowest thou not that this thou hast done were disgraceful in the meanest of my subjects?' and he commanded his guards to loose his bonds and imprison him in one of the turrets of the citadel. so they carried the prince into an old tower, wherein there was a dilapidated saloon, after having first swept it and cleansed its floor and set him a couch in its midst, on which they laid a mattress, a leathern rug and a cushion. then they brought him a great lantern and a candle, for the place was dark, even by day, and posting an eunuch at the door, left him to himself. kemerezzeman threw himself on the couch, broken-spirited and mournful-hearted, blaming himself and repenting of his unseemly behaviour to his father, when repentance availed him nothing, and saying, 'may god curse marriage and girls and women, the traitresses! would i had hearkened to my father and married! it were better for me than this prison.' meanwhile, king shehriman abode on his throne till sundown, when he took the vizier apart and said to him, 'o vizier, thine advice is the cause of all this that hath befallen between me and my son. what doth thou counsel me to do now?' 'o king,' answered he, 'leave thy son in prison for the space of fifteen days; then send for him and command him to marry, and he will not again gainsay thee.' the king accepted the vizier's counsel and lay down to sleep, troubled at heart concerning kemerezzeman, for he loved him very dearly, having no other child, and it was his wont not to sleep, save with his arm about his son's neck. so he passed the night in trouble and unease, tossing from side to side, as he were laid on coals of tamarisk-wood; for he was overcome with inquietude and sleep visited him not all that night; but his eyes ran over with tears and he repeated the following verses: the night, whilst the slanderers sleep, is tedious unto me; suffice thee a heart that aches for parting's agony! i cry, whilst my night for care grows long and longer aye, "o light of the morning, say, is there no returning for thee?" and these also: when the pleïads i saw leave to shine in their stead and over the pole-star a lethargy shed and the maids of the bier[fn# ] in black raiment unveiled, i knew that the lamp of the morning was dead. to return to kemerezzeman. when the night came on, the eunuch set the lantern before him and lighting a candle, placed it in the candlestick; then brought him food. the prince ate a little and reproached himself for his ill-behaviour to his father, saying to himself, 'o my soul, knowst thou not that a son of adam is the hostage of his tongue and that a man's tongue is what casts him into perils?' then his eyes ran over with tears and he bewailed that which he had done, from an anguished heart and an aching bosom, repenting him with an exceeding repentance of the wrong he had done his father repeating the following verses: for the sheer stumble of his tongue the youth must death aby, though for the stumble of his foot the grown man shall not die. thus doth the slipping of his mouth smite off his head, i ween, what while the slipping of his foot is healed, as time goes by. when he had made an end of eating, he called the eunuch, who washed his hands. then he made his ablutions and prayed the prayers of sundown and nightfall, after which he sat down on the couch, to read[fn# ] the koran. he read the chapters called 'the cow,' 'the family of imran,' 'ya-sin,' 'the compassionate,' 'blessed be the king,' 'unity' and 'the two amulets,' and concluded with blessing and supplication, seeking refuge with god from satan the accursed. then he put off his trousers and the rest of his clothes and lay down, in a shirt of fine waxed cloth and a coif of blue stuff of merv, upon a mattress of satin, embroidered on both sides with gold and quilted with irak silk, having under his head a pillow stuffed with ostrich-down. in this guise, he was like the full moon, when it rises on its fourteenth night. then, drawing over himself a coverlet of silk, he fell asleep with the lantern burning at his feet and the candle at his head, and woke not for a third part of the night, being ignorant of that which lurked for him in the secret purpose of god and what he who knoweth the hidden things had appointed unto him. now, as chance and destiny would have it, the tower in question was old and had been many years deserted; and there was therein a roman well, inhabited by an afriteh of the lineage of iblis the accursed, by name maimouneh, daughter of ed dimiryat, a renowned king of the jinn. in the middle of the night, maimouneh came up out of the well and made for heaven, thinking to listen by stealth to the discourse of the angels; but, when she reached the mouth of the well, she saw a light shining in the tower, contrary to wont; whereat she was mightily amazed, having dwelt there many years and never seen the like, and said to herself, 'needs must there be some cause for this.' so she made for the light and found that it came from the saloon, at whose door she found the eunuch sleeping. she entered and saw a man iying asleep upon the couch, with the lantern burning at his feet and the candle at his head; at which she wondered and going softly up to him, folded her wings and drawing back the coverlid, discovered his face. the lustre of his visage outshone that of the candle, and the afriteh abode awhile, astounded at his beauty and grace; for his face beamed with light, his cheeks were rose-red and his eyelids languorous; his brows were arched like bows and his whole person exhaled a scent of musk, even as saith of him the poet: i kissed him and his cheeks forthwith grew red, and black and bright the pupils grew that are my soul's seduction and delight. o heart, if slanderers avouch that there exists his like for goodliness, say thou to them, "produce him to my sight." when maimouneh saw him, she glorified god and said, 'blessed be allah, the best of creators!' for she was of the true-believing jinn. she stood awhile, gazing on his face, proclaiming the unity of god and envying the youth his beauty and grace. and she said in herself, 'by allah, i will do him no hurt nor let any harm him, but will ransom him from all ill, for this fair face deserves not but that folk should look upon it and glorify god. but how could his family find it in their hearts to leave him in this desert place, where if one of our marids came upon him at this hour, he would kill him?' then she bent over him and kissing him between the eyes, folded back the coverlet over his face; after which she spread her wings and soaring into the air, flew upward till she drew near the lowest heaven, when she heard the noise of wings beating the air and making for the sound, found that it came from an afrit called dehnesh. so she swooped down on him like a sparrow-hawk; and when he was ware of her and knew her to be maimouneh, daughter of the king of the jinn, he feared her and his nerves trembled; and he implored her forbearance, saying, 'i conjure thee by the most great and august name and by the most noble talisman graven upon the seal of solomon, entreat me kindly and harm me not!' when she heard this, her heart inclined to him and she said, 'verily, thou conjurest me with a mighty conjuration, o accursed one! nevertheless, i will not let thee go, till thou tell me whence thou comest at this hour.' 'o princess,' answered he, 'know that i come from the uttermost end of the land of cathay and from among the islands, and i will tell thee of a wonderful thing i have seen this night. if thou find my words true, let me go my way and write me a patent under thy hand that i am thy freedman, so none of the jinn, whether of the air or the earth, divers or flyers,[fn# ] may do me let or hindrance.' 'and what is it thou hast seen this night, o liar, o accursed one?' rejoined maimouneh. 'tell me without leasing and think not to escape from my hand with lies, for i swear to thee by the inscription on the beazel of the ring of solomon son of david (on whom be peace,) except thy speech be true, i will pluck out thy feathers with mine own hand and strip off thy skin and break thy bones.' 'i accept this condition, o my lady,' answered dehnesh, son of shemhourish the flyer. 'know that i come to-night from the islands of the inland sea in the parts of cathay, which are the dominions of king ghaïour, lord of the islands and the seas and the seven palaces. there i saw a daughter of his, than whom god hath made none fairer in her time,--i cannot picture her to thee, for my tongue would fail to describe her aright; but i will name to thee somewhat of her charms, by way of approximation. her hair is like the nights of estrangement and separation and her face like the days of union; and the poet hath well described her when he says: she took up three locks of her hair and spread them out one night and straight four nights discovered at once unto my sight. then did she turn her visage up to the moon of the sky and showed me two moons at one season, both burning clear and bright. she hath a nose like the point of the burnished sword and cheeks like purple wine or blood-red anemones: her lips are like coral and cornelian and the water of her mouth is sweeter than old wine, its taste would allay the torments of hell. her tongue is moved by abounding wit and ready repartee: her breast is a temptation to all that see it, glory be to him who created it and finished it: and joined thereto are two smooth round arms. as says of her the poet el welhan: she hath two wrists, which, were they not by bracelets held, i trow, would flow out of their sleeves as brooks of liquid silver flow. she has breasts like two globes of ivory, the moons borrow from their brightness, and a belly dimpled as it were a brocaded cloth of the finest egyptian linen, with creases like folded scrolls, leading to a waist slender past conception, over buttocks like a hill of sand, that force her to sit, when she would fain stand, and awaken her, when she would sleep, even as saith of her the poet: her slender waist a pair of buttocks overlies, the which both over her and me do tyrannize. for they confound my wit, whenas i think on them, and eke enforce her sit, whenas she fain would rise. they are upborne by smooth round thighs and legs like columns of pearl, and all this rests upon two slender feet, pointed like spear-blades, the handiwork of god, the protector and requiter, i wonder how, of their littleness, they can sustain what is above them. but i cut short my description of her charms, lest i be tedious. the father of this young lady is a powerful king, a fierce cavalier, immersed night and day in wars and battles, fearless of death and dreading not ruin, for that he is a masterful tyrant and an irresistible conqueror, lord of troops and armies, continents and islands, cities and villages, and his name is king ghaïour, lord of the islands and the seas and of the seven palaces. he loves his daughter, the young lady whom i have described to thee, very dearly, and for love of her, he gathered together the treasures of all the kings and built her therewith seven palaces, each of a different fashion; the first of crystal, the second of marble, the third of china steel, the fourth of precious stones, the fifth of porcelain and vari-coloured onyx, the sixth of silver and the seventh of gold. he filled the seven palaces with rich silken carpets and hangings and vessels of gold and silver and all manner of gear befitting kings and commanded his daughter, whose name is the princess budour, to abide in each by turns for a certain season of the year. when her beauty became known and her fame was noised abroad in the neighbouring countries, all the kings sent to her father, to demand her in marriage, and he consulted her on the matter, but she misliked it and said, "o my father, i have no mind to marry; for i am a sovereign lady and a princess ruling over men, and i have no desire for a man who shall rule over me." the more she refused, the more the eagerness of her suitors increased and all the kings of the islands of the inland sea sent gifts and offerings to her father, with letters asking her in marriage. so he pressed her again and again to make choice of a husband, despite her refusals, till at last she turned upon him angrily and said to him, "o my father, if thou name marriage to me again, i will go into my chamber and take a sword and fixing its hilt in the ground, set its point to my breast; then will i lean upon it, till it come forth from my back, and so kill myself." when the king heard this, the light became darkness in his sight and his heart was torn with anxiety and perplexity concerning her affair; for he feared lest she should kill herself and knew not how to deal with the kings who sought her hand. so he said to her, "if thou be irrevocably determined not to marry, abstain from going in and out." then he shut her up in her chamber, appointing ten old body-women to guard her, and made as though he were wroth with her, forbidding her to go forth to the seven palaces; moreover, he sent letters to all the kings, giving them to know that she had been stricken with madness. it is now a year (continued dehnesh) since she has been thus cloistered, and every night i go to her, whilst she is asleep, and take my fill of gazing on her face and kiss her between the eyes: yet, of my love to her, i do her no hurt neither swive her, for that her youth is fair and her loveliness surpassing; every one who sees is jealous for her of himself. i conjure thee, therefore, o my lady, to go back with me and look on her beauty and symmetry; and after, if thou wilt, chastise me or enslave me: for it is thine to command and to forbid.' so saying, he bowed his head towards the earth and drooped his wings; but maimouneh laughed at his words and spitting in his face, answered, 'what is this girl of whom thou pratest but a potsherd to cleanse the privities withal? faugh! faugh! by allah, o accursed one, i thought thou hadst some rare story to tell me or some marvel to make known to me! how would it be if thou sawest my beloved? verily this night i have seen a young man whom if thou sawest though but in sleep, thou wouldst be palsied with admiration and thy mouth would water.' 'and who and what is this youth?' asked the afrit. 'know, o dehnesh,' answered she, 'that there hath befallen him the like of what befell thy mistress; for his father pressed him again and again to marry, but he refused, till at length his father waxed wroth and imprisoned him in the tower where i dwell: and i came up to-night and saw him.' 'o my lady,' said dehnesh, 'show me the youth, that i may see if he be indeed handsomer than my mistress, the princess budour, or not; for i cannot believe that there lives her equal.' 'thou liest, o accursed one!' rejoined maimouneh. 'o most ill-omened of marids and vilest of satans! sure am i that there is not in this world the like of my beloved. art thou mad to even thy beloved with mine?' 'i conjure thee by allah, o my lady,' said dehnesh, 'to go back with me and see my mistress, and after i will return with thee and look upon thy beloved.' 'it must needs be so, o accursed one!' answered she. 'yet, for that thou art a knavish devil, i will not go with thee nor shalt thou come with me, save upon surety and condition of pledge. if thy beloved prove handsomer than mine, the pledge shall be thine against me; but if my beloved prove the fairer, the pledge shall be mine against thee.' 'o my lady,' said dehnesh, 'i accept this thy condition; so come with me to the islands.' 'not so,' replied maimouneh; 'for the abode of my beloved is nearer than that of thine: here it is under us; so come down with me and see my beloved, and after we will go look upon thy mistress.' 'i hear and obey,' said dehnesh. so they descended and alighting on the tower, entered the saloon, where maimouneh stationed dehnesh beside the bed and putting out her hand, drew back the silken coverlet, whereupon kemerezzeman's face shone out like the sun. she looked at him a moment, then turning to dehnesh, said, ''look, o accursed one, and be not the vilest of madmen; i am a maiden and am ravished with him.' so dehnesh looked at the prince and gazed steadfastly on him awhile, then, shaking his head, said to maimouneh, 'by allah, o my lady, thou art excusable; but there is another thing to be considered, and that is that the female estate differs from the male. by the virtue of god, this thy beloved is the likest of all created things to my mistress in beauty and loveliness and grace and it is as though they were both cast alike in the mould of perfection!' when maimouneh heard these words, the light in her sight became darkness and she dealt him so fierce a buffet on the head with her wing as well-nigh made an end of him. then, 'i conjure thee,' said she, 'by the light of his glorious countenance, go at once, o accursed one, and bring hither thy mistress in haste that we may lay them together and look on them both, as they lie asleep side by side; so will it appear to us whether is the goodlier and more beautiful of the two. except thou obey me forthright, i will dart my sparks at thee and consume thee with my fire; yea, i will rend thee in pieces and cast thee into the deserts, as an example to stay-at-home and wayfarer.' 'o my lady,' answered the afrit, 'i will do thy bidding, for i know that my mistress is the fairer and sweeter.' so saying, he flew away and maimouneh flew with him, to guard him. they were absent awhile and presently returned, bearing the young lady, who was clad in a shift of fine venetian silk, laced with gold and wrought with the most exquisite broidery and having the following verses worked upon the ends of the sleeves: three things for ever hinder her to visit us, for fear of the intriguing spy and eke the rancorous envier; her forehead's lustre and the sound of all her ornaments and the sweet scent her creases hold of ambergris and myrrh. grant with the border of her sleeve she hide her brows and doff her ornaments, how shall she do her scent away from her? they carried her into the saloon and laying her beside kemerezzeman, uncovered both their faces, and behold, they were the likest of all folk, one to the other, as they were twins or an only brother and sister; and indeed they were a temptation to the pious, even as says of them the poet el mubin: be not thy love, o heart, to one alone confined, lest, for that one, amaze and doting thee enwind; but love thou rather all the fair, and thou shalt find, if one contrarious prove, another will be kind. and quoth another: two fair ones lying on the earth i did of late espy; two that i needs must love, although they lay upon mine eye. dehnesh and maimouneh gazed on them awhile, and the former said, 'by allah, o my lady, it is good! my mistress is assuredly the fairer.' 'not so,' answered she, 'my beloved is the fairer. out on thee, o dehnesh! thou art blind of eye and heart and distinguishest not between good and bad.[fn# ] wilt thou hide the truth? dost thou not see his beauty and grace and symmetry? out on thee, hear what i purpose to say in praise of my beloved, and do thou the like for her thou lovest, an thou be a true lover.' then she kissed kemerezzeman again and again between the eyes and repeated the following ode: ah me, what ails the censurer that he at thee should flite? how shall i be consoled for thee, and thou a sapling slight? thou of the black and languorous eye, that casteth far and wide charms, whose sheer witchery compels to passion's utmost height, whose looks, with turkish languor fraught, work havoc in the breast, leaving such wounds as ne'er were made of falchion in the fight, thou layst on me a heavy load of passion and desire, on me that am too weak to bear a shift upon me dight. my love for thee, as well thou know'st, my very nature is, and that for others which i feign dissembling but and sleight. an if my heart were like to thine, i'd not refuse; alack! 'tis but my body's like thy waist, worn thin and wasted quite. out on him for a moon that's famed for beauty far and near, that for th' exemplar of all grace men everywhere do cite! the railers say, "who's this for love of whom thou art distressed?" and i reply, "an if ye can, describe the lovely wight." o learn to yield, hard heart of his, take pattern by his shape! so haply yet he may relent and put away despite. thou, that my prince in beauty art, a steward[fn# ] hast, whose rule aggrieves me and a chamberlain[fn# ] that doth me foul upright. he lies who says, "all loveliness in joseph was comprised." how many a joseph is there not within thy beauty bright! the jinn do fear me, whenas i confront them face to face; but when i meet with thee, my heart doth tremble for affright. i feign aversion unto thee, for fear of slanderous tongues; the more i feign, the more my love to madness i excite. black hair and smooth and glistening brows, eyes languorous and soft, as of the maids of paradise, and slender shape and slight! when dehnesh heard this, he shook for delight and was filled with admiration and said, 'thou hast indeed done well in praise of him whom thou lovest! needs must i do my endeavour, in my turn, to celebrate my mistress, to the best of my power, and recite somewhat in her honour.' then he went up to the lady budour and kissing her between the eyes, looked at her and at maimouneh and recited the following verses, for all he had no skill in poetry: they chide my passion for my fair in harsh and cruel guise; but, of their ignorance, forsooth, they're neither just nor wise. vouchsafe thy favours to the slave of love, for, an he taste of thine estrangement and disdain, assuredly he dies. indeed, for very stress of love, i'm drenched with streaming tears, that, like a rivulet of blood, run ever from mine eyes. no wonder 'tis what i for love endure; the wonder is that any, since the loss of thee, my body recognize. forbidden be thy sight to me, if i've a thought of doubt or if my heart of passion tire or feign or use disguise! and also the following: i feed mine eyes on the places where we met long ago; far distant now is the valley and i'm forslain for woe. i'm drunk with the wine of passion and the teardrops in mine eyes dance to the song of the leader of the camels, as we go. i cease not from mine endeavour to win to fortune fair; yet in budour, suada,[fn# ] all fortune is, i know. three things i reckon, i know not of which to most complain; give ear whilst i recount them and be you judge, i trow. firstly, her eyes, the sworders; second, the spearman, her shape, and thirdly, her ringlets that clothe her in armour,[fn# ] row upon row. quoth she (and indeed i question, for tidings of her i love, all whom i meet, or townsman or bedouin, high or low) quoth she unto me, "my dwelling is in thy heart; look there and thou shalt see me." i answer, "and where is my heart? heigho!" when maimouneh heard this, she said, 'thou hast done well, o dehnesh! but tell me, which of the two is the handsomer?' and he answered, 'my mistress budour is certainly handsomer than thy beloved.' 'thou liest, o accursed one!' cried maimouneh. 'nay, my beloved is more beautiful than thine!' and they ceased not to gainsay each other, till maimouneh cried out at dehnesh and would have laid violent hands on him; but he humbled himself to her and softening his speech, said to her, 'let us leave talking, for we do but contradict each other, and rather seek one who shall judge fairly between us, whether of the two is fairer, and let us abide by his sentence.' 'i agree to this,' answered she and smote the earth with her foot, whereupon there came up a one-eyed afrit, hump-backed and scurvy, with eyes slit endlong in his face. on his head were seven horns and four locks of hair falling to his heels; his hands were like pitchforks, his legs like masts and he had claws like a lion and hoofs like those of the wild ass. when he saw maimouneh, he kissed the earth before her and standing with his hands clasped behind him, said, 'what is thy will, o king's daughter?' 'o keshkesh,' answered she, 'i would have thee judge between me and this accursed dehnesh.' and she made known to him the whole matter, whereupon he looked at the prince and princess and saw them lying asleep, embraced, each with an arm about the other's neck, alike in beauty and grace and equal in goodliness. the marid gazed long and fixedly upon them, marvelling at their beauty, and repeated the following verses: cleave fast to her thou lov'st and let the envious rail amain, for calumny and envy ne'er to favour love were fain. lo, the compassionate hath made no fairer thing to see than when one couch in its embrace enfoldeth lovers twain, each to the other's bosom clasped, clad in their own delight, whilst hand with hand and arm with arm about their necks enchain. if in thy time thou find but one to love thee and be true, i rede thee cast the world away and with that one remain. lo, when two hearts are straitly knit in passion and desire, but on cold iron smite the folk that chide at them in vain. thou that for loving censures the votaries of love, canst thou assain a heart diseased or heal a cankered brain? o lord, o thou compassionate, i prithee, ere we die, though only for a single day, unite us two again! then he turned to maimouneh and dehnesh and said to them, 'by allah, if you will have the truth, they are equal in beauty and grace and perfection, nor is there any difference between them but that of sex. but i have another idea, and it is that we wake each of them in turn, without the other's knowledge, and whichever is more enamoured of the other shall be held the lesser in beauty and grace.' 'this is a good counsel,' answered maimouneh, and dehnesh said, 'i consent to this.' then dehnesh changed himself to a flea and bit kemerezzeman on the neck, whereupon the prince awoke with a start and rubbed the place of the bite, because of the smart. then turning sideways, he found lying by him something, whose breath was more fragrant than musk, and whose body was softer than cream. at this he marvelled greatly and sitting up, looked at this that lay beside him and saw it to be a young lady like the moon, as she were a splendid pearl, or a shining sun, five feet high, with a shape like the letter i, high-bosomed and rosy-checked; even as saith of her the poet: four things there are, which ne'er unite, except it be to shed my heart's best blood and take my soul by storm. and these are night-black locks and brow as bright as day, cheeks ruddy as the rose and straight and slender form. and also quoth another: she shineth forth, a moon, and bends, a willow-wand, and breathes, pure ambergris, and gazes, a gazelle. it seems as if grief loved my heart and when from her estrangement i endure, possession to it fell. she was clad in a shift of venetian silk, without drawers, and wore on her head a kerchief embroidered with gold and jewels; her ears were hung with earrings, that shone like stars, and round her neck was a collar of great pearls, past the competence of any king. when he saw this, his reason was confounded and natural heat began to stir in him; god awoke in him the desire of coition and he said, 'what god wills, shall be, and what he will not, shall not be!' so saying, he put out his hand and turning her over, loosed the collar of her shift, laying bare her bosom, with its breasts like globes of ivory; whereat his inclination for her redoubled and he desired her with an exceeding desire. then he shook her and moved her, essaying to waken her and saying, 'o my beloved, awake and look on me; i am kemerezzeman.' but she awoke not, neither moved her head, for dehnesh made her sleep heavy. with this, he considered awhile and said to himself, 'if i guess aright, this is she to whom my father would have married me and i have refused these three years past; but, god willing, as soon as it is day, i will say to him, "marry me to her that i may enjoy her," nor will i let half the day pass ere i possess her and take my fill of her beauty and grace.' then he bent over budour, to kiss her, whereat maimouneh trembled and was confounded and dehnesh was like to fly for joy. but, as kemerezzeman was about to kiss her, he was ashamed before god and turned away his head, saying to his heart, 'have patience.' then he considered awhile and said, 'i will be patient, lest my father have brought this young lady and made her lie by my side, to try me with her, charging her not to be lightly awakened, whenas i would fain arouse her, and bidding her tell him all that i do to her. belike, he is hidden somewhere whence he can see all i do with this young lady, himself unseen; and to-morrow he will flout me and say, "how comes it that thou feignest to have no mind to marry and yet didst kiss and clip yonder damsel?" so i will forbear her, lest i be shamed before my father; and it were well that i look not on her nor touch her at this present, except to take from her somewhat to serve as a sign of remembrance and a token between us.' then he lifted her hand and took from her little finger a ring worth much money, for that its beazel was of precious jewels and around it were graven the following verses: think not that i have forgotten thy sometime promises, though long thou hast protracted thy cruelty, ywis. be generous, o my master, vouchsafe me of thy grace, so it to me be given thy lips and cheeks to kiss. never, by allah, never will i abandon thee, though thou transgress thy limits in love and go amiss! then he put the ring on his own little finger, and turning his back to her, went to sleep. when maimouneh saw this, she was glad and said, 'saw ye how my beloved kemerezzeman forbore this young lady? verily, this was of the perfection of his excellences; for see how he looked on her and noted her beauty and grace, yet clipped her not neither kissed her nor put his hand to her, but turned his back to her and slept.' 'it is well,' answered they; 'we saw how perfectly he bore himself.' then maimouneh changed herself into a flea and entering budour's clothes, crept up her leg and bit her four finger-breadths below the navel; whereupon she opened her eyes and sitting up in bed, saw a youth lying beside her and breathing heavily in his sleep, the loveliest of god's creatures, with eyes that put to shame the fair maids of paradise, mouth like solomon's seal, whose water was sweeter to the taste and more efficacious than triacle,[fn# ] lips the colour of coral and cheeks like blood-red anemones, even as saith one, describing him: from zeyneb[fn# ] and newar[fn# ] my mind is drawn away by the rose of a cheek, whereo'er a whisker's myrtles stray. i'm fallen in love with a fawn, a youngling tunic-clad, and joy no more in love of bracelet-wearing may. my mate in banquet-hall and closet's all unlike to her with whom within my harem's close i play: o thou that blames me, because i flee from hind[fn# ] and zeyneb, my excuse is clear as break of day. would'st have me be a slave, the bondsman of a slave, one cloistered and confined behind a wall alway?[fn# ] when the princess saw him, a transport of passion and longing seized her and she said to herself, 'alas my shame! this is a strange youth and i know him not. how comes he lying in one bed with me?' then she looked at him again and noting his beauty and grace, said, 'by allah, he is a comely youth and my heart is well-nigh torn in sunder with longing for him. but alas, how am i shamed by him! by allah, had i known it was he who sought my hand of my father, i had not rejected him, but had married him and enjoyed his loveliness!' then she gazed in his face and said, 'o my lord and light of mine eyes, awake from sleep and enjoy my beauty and grace.' and she moved him with her hand; but maimouneh let down sleep upon him (as it were a curtain) and pressed on his head with her wings, so that he awoke not. the princess went on to shake him and say, 'my life on thee, give ear unto me! awake and look on the narcissus and the tender green and enjoy my body and my secret charms and dally with me and touzle me from now till break of day! i conjure thee by allah, o my lord, sit up and lean against the pillow and sleep not!' still he made her no answer, but breathed heavily in his sleep. 'alas! alas!' continued she. 'thou art proud in thy beauty and grace and lovely looks! but if thou art handsome, so am i; what then is this thou dost? have they lessoned thee to flout me or has the wretched old man, my father, made thee swear not to speak to me to-night?' but he opened not his mouth neither awoke, whereat her passion redoubled and god inflamed her heart with love of him. she stole one glance at him that cost her a thousand sighs: her heart fluttered and her entrails yearned and she exclaimed, 'speak to me, o my lord! o my friend, my beloved, answer me and tell me thy name, for indeed thou hast ravished my wit!' still he abode drowned in sleep and answered her not a word, and she sighed and said, 'alas! alas! why art thou so self-satisfied?' then she shook him and turning his hand over, saw her ring on his little finger, whereat she cried out and said, with a sigh of passion, 'alack! alack! by allah, thou art my beloved and lovest me! yet meseems thou turnest away from me out of coquetry, for all thou camest to me whilst i was asleep and knew not what thou didst, and tookest my ring. but i will not pull it off thy finger.' so saying, she opened the bosom of his shirt and kissed him and put her hand to him, seeking somewhat that she might take as a token, but found nothing. then she put her hand into his breast, and for the smoothness of his body, it slipped down to his navel and thence to his yard, whereupon her heart ached and her entrails quivered and desire was sore upon her, for that women's lust is fiercer than that of men, and she was confounded. then she took his ring from his finger and put it on her own and kissed his mouth and hands, nor did she leave any part of him unkissed; after which she took him to her breast and laying one of her hands under his neck and the other under his armpit, fell asleep by his side. then said maimouneh to dehnesh, 'o accursed one, sawst thou how prudishly and coquettishly my beloved bore himself and what ardour of passion thy mistress showed to him? there can be no doubt that my beloved is handsomer than thine; nevertheless i pardon thee.' then she wrote him a patent of manumission and said to keshkesh, 'help dehnesh to take up his mistress and carry her back to her own place, for the night wanes apace and there is but little left of it.' 'i hear and obey,' answered keshkesh. so the two afrits lifted up the princess budour and flying away with her, carried her back to her own place and laid her on her bed, whilst maimouneh abode alone with kemerezzeman, gazing upon him as he slept, till the night was all but spent, when she went her way. at break of day, the prince awoke from sleep and turned right and left, but found not the young lady by him and said in himself, 'what is this? it would seem as if my father would fain incline me to marriage with the young lady, that was with me, and have now taken her away by stealth, to the intent that my desire for marriage may redouble.' then he called out to the eunuch who slept at the door, saying, 'out on thee, o accursed one, arise forthright!' so the eunuch arose, dazed with sleep, and brought him basin and ewer, whereupon kemerezzeman entered the draught-house and did his need; then, coming out, made his ablutions and prayed the morning-prayer, after which he sat telling his beads. then he looked up, and seeing the eunuch standing waiting upon him, said to him, 'out on thee, o sewab! who was it came hither and took away the young lady from beside me, whilst i slept?' 'o my lord, what young lady?' asked the eunuch. 'she that lay with me last night,' replied kemerezzeman. the eunuch was troubled at his words and said to him, 'by allah, there has been with thee neither young lady nor other! how should she have come in to thee, when the door was locked and i asleep before it? by allah, o my lord, neither man nor woman has come in to thee!' 'thou liest, o pestilent slave!' exclaimed the prince. 'dost thou also presume to hoodwink me and wilt thou not tell me what is come of the young lady who lay with me last night and who took her away?' the eunuch was affrighted at him and answered, 'by allah, o my lord, i have seen neither girl nor boy!' his words only angered kemerezzeman and he said to him, 'o accursed one, my father hath taught thee deceit! come hither.' so the eunuch came up to him, and the prince seized him by the collar and threw him to the ground. he let fly a crack of wind, and kemerezzeman, kneeling upon him, kicked him and throttled him, till he fainted away. then he tied him to the well-rope, and lowering him into the well, plunged him into the water, then drew him up and plunged him in again. now it was hard winter weather, and kemerezzeman ceased not to lower the eunuch into the water and pull him up again, whilst he screamed and called for help. quoth the prince, 'by allah, o accursed one, i will not draw thee up out of the well, till thou tell me the story of the young lady and who it was took her away, whilst i slept.' 'o my lord,' answered the eunuch, seeing death staring him in the face, 'let me go and i will tell thee the truth.' so kemerezzeman pulled him up out of the well, all but dead for cold and wet and torture and beating and fear of drowning. his teeth chattered and he shook like the reed in the hurricane and his clothes were drenched and his body befouled and torn by the rough slimy sides of the well. when kemerezzeman saw him in this sorry plight, he relented towards him; and as soon as the eunuch found himself on dry land, he said to him, 'o my lord, let me go and put off my clothes and wring them out and spread them in the sun to dry and don others; after which i will return to thee forthwith and tell thee the truth of the matter.' 'o wretched slave,' answered the prince, 'hadst thou not seen death face to face, thou hadst never confessed; but go now and do thy will, and after return speedily and tell me the truth.' so the eunuch went out, hardly crediting his escape, and gave not over running and stumbling, in his haste, till he came in to king shehriman, whom he found sitting talking with his vizier of kemerezzeman's case and saying, 'i slept not last night, for anxiety concerning my son kemerezzeman, and indeed i fear lest some harm befall him in that old tower. what good was there in imprisoning him?' 'have no care for him,' answered the vizier. 'by allah, no hurt will befall him! leave him in prison for a month, till his humour yield and his spirit be broken and he return to his senses.' as he spoke, in came the eunuch, in the aforesaid plight, and said to the king, who was troubled at sight of him, 'o our lord the sultan, thy son's wits are fled and he has gone mad; he has dealt with me thus and thus, so that i am become as thou seest, and says, "a young lady lay with me this night and stole away whilst i slept. where is she?" and insists on my telling him where she is and who took her away. but i have seen neither girl nor boy; the door was locked all night, for i slept before it, with the key under my head, and opened to him in the morning with my own hand.' when the king heard this, he cried out, saying, 'alas, my son!' and he was sore enraged against the vizier, who had been the cause of all this, and said to him, 'go, bring me news of my son and see what hath befallen his wit.' so the vizier rose and hastened with the slave to the tower, tumbling over his skirts, in his fear of the king's anger. the sun had now risen and when he came in to kemerezzeman, he found him sitting on the couch, reading the koran; so he saluted him and sitting down by his side, said to him, 'o my lord, this wretched slave brought us news that disquieted and alarmed us and incensed the king.' 'and what,' asked kemerezzeman, 'hath he told you of me, to trouble my father? in good sooth, he hath troubled none but me.' 'he came to us in a sorry plight,' answered the vizier, 'and told us of thee a thing which god forfend and a lie which it befits not to repeat, may god preserve thy youth and sound wit and eloquent tongue and forbid aught of foul to come from thee!' 'o vizier,' said the prince, 'what did this pestilent slave say of me?' 'he told us,' replied the vizier, 'thou hadst taken leave of thy wits and would have it that a young lady lay with thee last night and wast instant with him to tell thee whither she had gone and didst torture him to that end.' when kemerezzeman heard this, he was sore enraged and said to the vizier, 'it is manifest to me that you taught the eunuch to do as he did and forbade him to tell me what became of the young lady. but thou, o vizier, art more reasonable than the eunuch; so do thou tell me forthright whither went the young lady that lay in my bosom last night; for it was you who sent her and bade her sleep in my arms, and we lay together till day; but when i awoke, i found her not. so where is she now?' 'o my lord kemerezzeman,' said the vizier, 'the name of god encompass thee! by allah, we sent none to thee last night, but thou layest alone, with the door locked on thee and the eunuch sleeping before it, nor did there come to thee a young lady or any other. stablish thy reason, o my lord, and return to thy senses and occupy thy mind no longer [with vain imaginations].' 'o vizier,' rejoined kemerezzeman, incensed at his words, 'the young lady in question is my beloved, the fair one with the black eyes and red cheeks, whom i held in my arms all last night.' the vizier wondered at his words and said to him, 'didst thou see this damsel with thine eyes and on wake, or in sleep?' 'o wretched old man,' answered kemerezzeman, 'thinkest thou i saw her with my ears? indeed, i saw her with my very eyes and on wake and touched her with my hand and watched by her half the night, gazing my fill on her beauty and grace and elegance and lovely looks. but thou hadst schooled her and charged her to speak no word to me; so she feigned sleep and i lay by her side till morning, when i awoke and found her gone.' 'o my lord kemerezzeman,' rejoined the vizier, 'surely thou sawest this in thy sleep; it must have been a delusion of dreams or a hallucination caused by eating various kinds of food or a suggestion of the accursed devils.' 'o pestilent old man,' cried the prince, 'wilt thou too make a mock of me and tell me this was an illusion of dreams, when this eunuch confessed to the young lady, saying, "i will return to thee forthwith and tell thee all about her?"' so saying, he sprang up and laying hold of the vizier's long beard, twisted his hand in it and tugging him off the couch, threw him on the floor. it seemed to the vizier as though his soul departed his body for the violent plucking at his beard, and kemerezzeman fell to kicking him and pummelling his breast and sides and cuffing him on the nape, till he had well-nigh made an end of him. then said the vizier in himself, 'i must save myself from this madman by telling him a lie, even as did the eunuch; else he will kill me, for he is mad beyond a doubt.' so he said to kemerezzeman, 'o my lord, bear me not malice, for indeed thy father charged me to conceal from thee this affair of the young lady; but now i am weak and weary and sore with beating; for i am an old man and lack strength to endure blows. so have a little patience with me and i will tell thee all.' when the prince heard this, he left beating him and said, 'why couldst thou not tell me without blows and humiliation? rise now, unlucky old man that thou art, and tell me her story.' quoth the vizier, 'dost thou ask of the young lady with the fair face and perfect shape?' 'yes,' answered kemerezzeman. 'tell me who it was laid her by my side and took her away by night, and let me know whither she is gone, that i may go to her. if my father did this to try me, with a view to our marriage, i consent to marry her and be quit of this trouble; for he only dealt thus with me, because i refused to marry. i say again, i consent to marry: so tell this to my father, o vizier, and advise him to marry me to her, for i will have none other and my heart loveth her alone. go now to my father and counsel him to hasten our marriage and bring me his answer forthright.' 'it is well,' rejoined the vizier, and went out from him, hardly crediting his escape. then he set off running and stumbling as he went, for excess of affright and agitation, till he came in to the king, who said to him, 'o vizier, what has befallen thee and who has maltreated thee and how comes it that i see thee thus confounded and terrified?' 'o king,' answered the vizier, 'i bring thee news.' 'what is it?' asked shehriman, and the vizier said, 'know that thy son kemerezzeman's wits are gone and that madness hath betided him.' when the king heard this, the light in his face became darkness and he said, 'expound to me the nature of my son's madness.' 'o my lord,' answered the vizier, 'i hear and obey.' then he told him all that had passed and the king said to him, 'o most ill-omened of viziers and filthiest of amirs, know that the reward i will give thee in return for this thy news of my son's madness shall be the cutting off of thy bead and the forfeiture of thy goods; for thou hast caused my son's disorder by the wicked and sinister counsel thou hast given me first and last. by allah, if aught of mischief or madness have befallen him, i will nail thee upon the dome [of the palace] and make thee taste the bitterness of death!' then rising, he betook himself with the vizier to the tower, and when kemerezzeman saw him, he came down to him in haste from the couch on which he sat and kissing his hands, drew back and stood before him awhile, with his eyes cast down and his hands clasped behind him. then he raised his head and repeated the following verses, whilst the tears streamed down his cheeks: if i have borne myself blameworthily to you or if i've made default in that which is your due, i do repent my fault; so let your clemency th' offender comprehend, who doth for pardon sue. when the king heard this, he embraced his son and kissing him between the eyes, made him sit by his side on the couch; then turned to the vizier and looking on him with angry eyes, said to him, 'o dog of a vizier, why didst thou tell me that my son was mad and make my heart quake for him?' then he turned to the prince and said to him, 'o my son, what is to-day called?' 'o my father,' answered he, 'to-day is saturday and to-morrow sunday: then come monday, tuesday, wednesday, thursday and friday.' 'o my son, o kemerezzeman,' exclaimed the king, 'praised be god for the preservation of thy reason! what is this present month called in arabic?' 'dhoulcaadeh,' answered kemerezzeman, 'and it is followed by dhoulhejjeh; then comes muherrem, then sefer, then rebia the first and rebia the second, the two jumadas, rejeb, shaaban, ramazan and shewwal.' at this the king rejoiced exceedingly and spat in the vizier's face, saying, 'o wicked old man, how canst thou pretend that my son is mad? none is mad but thou.' the vizier shook his head and would have spoken, but bethought himself to wait awhile and see what befell. then the king said to kemerezzeman, 'o my son, what is this thou sayest to the eunuch and the vizier of a fair damsel that lay with thee last night? what damsel is this of whom thou speakest?' kemerezzeman laughed at his father's words and replied, 'o my father, i can bear no more jesting; so mock me not with another word, for my humour is soured by that you have done with me. let it suffice thee to know that i consent to marry, but on condition that thou give me to wife her with whom i lay yesternight; for i am assured that it was thou sentest her to me and madest me in love with her, then tookest her away from beside me before the dawn.' 'o my son,' rejoined the king, 'the name of god encompass thee and preserve thy wit from madness! what young lady is this of whom thou talkest? by allah, o my son, i know nothing of the affair, and i conjure thee, tell me if it be a delusion of sleep or a hallucination caused by food? doubtless, thou layest down to sleep last night, with thy mind occupied with marriage and troubled with the thought of it (may god curse marriage and the hour in which it occurred to me and him who counselled it!) and dreamtest that a handsome young lady embraced thee and didst fancy thou sawst her on wake; but all this, o my son, is but an illusion of dreams.' 'leave this talk,' replied kemerezzeman, 'and swear to me by god, the all-wise creator, the humbler of the mighty and the destroyer of the chosroës, that thou knowest nothing of the young lady nor of her abiding-place.' 'by the virtue of the most high god,' said the king, 'the god of moses and abraham, i know nothing of all this and it is assuredly but an illusion of dreams that thou hast seen in sleep.' quoth the prince, 'i will give thee a proof that it was not a dream. come, let me put a case to thee: did it ever happen to any to dream that he was fighting a sore battle and after to awake and find in his hand a sword besmeared with blood?' 'no, by allah, o my son,' answered the king, 'this hath never been.' 'i will tell thee what happened to me,' rejoined kemerezzeman. 'meseemed i awoke from sleep in the middle of the past night and found a young lady lying by my side, whose shape and favour were as mine. i embraced her and turned her about with my hand and took her ring, which i put on my finger, and she pulled off my ring and put it on her finger. then i went to sleep by her side, but refrained from her and was ashamed to kiss her on the mouth, deeming that thou hadst sent her to me, with intent to tempt me with her and incline me to marriage, and misdoubting thee to be hidden somewhere whence thou couldst see what i did with her. at point of day, i awoke and found no trace of her, nor could i come at any news of her, and there befell me what thou knowest of with the eunuch and the vizier. how then can this have been a dream and a delusion, seeing that the ring is a reality? i should indeed have deemed it a dream but for her ring on my finger. here it is: look at it, o king, and see what is its worth.' so saying, he handed the ring to his father, who examined it and turned it over, then said to his son, 'verily, there hangs some mighty mystery by this ring and some strange secret. what befell thee last night is indeed a mysterious affair and i know not how this intruder came in upon us. none is the cause of all this trouble save the vizier; but i conjure thee, o my son, to take patience, so haply god may do away this affliction from thee and bring thee complete relief: as quoth one of the poets: it may be fate at last shall draw its bridle-rein and bring us happy chance; for fortune changes still; and things shall happen yet, despite the things fordone, to further forth my hopes and bring me to my will. and now, o my son,' added he, 'i am certified that thou art not mad; but thy case is a strange one, none can unravel it for thee but god the most high.' 'by allah, o my father,' cried the prince, 'deal kindly with me and seek out this damsel and hasten her coming to me; else i shall die of grief.' and he repeated the following verses, in a voice that betrayed the ardour of his passion: an if thy very promise of union prove untrue, let but in sleep thy favours the longing lover cheer. "how can the phantom visit a lover's eyes," quoth they, "from which the grace of slumber is banned and banished sheer?" and he sighed and wept and groaned aloud from a wounded heart, whilst the tears streamed from his eyes. then turning to his father, with submission and despondency, he said to him, 'by allah, o my father, i cannot endure to be parted from her even for an hour.' the king smote hand upon hand and exclaimed, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god, the most high, the sublime! there is no device can profit us in this affair!' then he took his son by the hand and carried him to the palace, where kemerezzeman lay down on the bed of languor and the king sat at his head, weeping and mourning over him and leaving him not night or day, till at last the vizier came in to him and said, 'o king of the age and the time, how long wilt thou remain shut up with thy son and deny thyself to thy troops? verily, the order of thy realm is like to be deranged, by reason of thine absence from thy grandees and officers of state. it behoves the man of understanding, if he have various wounds in his body, to apply him (first) to heal the most dangerous; so it is my counsel to thee that thou transport the prince to the pavilion overlooking the sea and shut thyself up with him there, setting apart monday and thursday in every week for state receptions and the transaction of public business. on these days let thine amirs and viziers and chamberlains and deputies and captains and grandees and the rest of the troops and subjects have access to thee and submit their affairs to thee, and do thou their needs and judge between them and give and take with them and command and forbid. the rest of the week thou shalt pass with thy son kemerezzeman, and thus do till god vouchsafe you both relief. think not, o king, that thou art exempt from the shifts of fortune and the strokes of calamity; for the wise man is still on his guard, as well saith the poet: thou madest fair thy thought of fate, whenas the days were fair, and fearedst not the unknown ills that they to thee might bring. the nights were fair and calm to thee; thou wast deceived by them, for in the peace of night is born full many a troublous thing. o all ye children of mankind, to whom the fates are kind, let caution ever have a part in all your reckoning.' the king was struck with the vizier's words and deemed his counsel wise and timely, fearing lest the order of the state be deranged; so he rose at once and bade carry his son to the pavilion in question, which was built (upon a rock) midmost the water and was approached by a causeway, twenty cubits wide. it had windows on all sides, overlooking the sea; its floor was of variegated marble and its roof was painted in the richest colours and decorated with gold and lapis-lazuli. they furnished it for kemerezzeman with embroidered rugs and carpets of the richest silk and hung the walls with choice brocades and curtains bespangled with jewels. in the midst they set him a couch of juniper-wood, inlaid with pearls and jewels, and he sat down thereon, like a man that had been sick twenty years; for the excess of his concern and passion for the young lady had wasted his charms and emaciated his body, and he could neither eat nor drink nor sleep. his father seated himself at his head, mourning sore for him, and every monday and thursday he gave his viziers and amirs and grandees and officers and the rest of his subjects leave to come in to him in the pavilion. so they entered and did their several service and abode with him till the end of the day, when they went their ways and he returned to his son, whom he left not night nor day; and on this wise did he many days and nights. to return to the princess budour. when the two afrits carried her back to her palace and laid her on her bed, she slept on till daybreak, when she awoke and sitting up, looked right and left, but saw not the youth who had lain in her bosom. at this, her heart was troubled, her reason fled and she gave a great cry, whereupon all her damsels and nurses and serving-women awoke and came in to her; and the chief of them said to her, 'what ails thee, o my lady?' 'o wretched old woman,' answered the princess, 'where is my beloved, the handsome youth that lay last night in my bosom? tell me where he is gone.' when the old woman heard this, the light in her eyes became darkness and she was sore in fear of her mischief and said to her, 'o my lady budour, what unseemly words are these?' 'out on thee, pestilent crone that thou art!' cried the princess. 'where is my beloved, the goodly youth with the shining face and the slender shape, the black eyes and the joined eyebrows, who lay with me last night from dusk until near daybreak?' 'by allah, o my lady,' replied the old woman, 'i have seen no young man nor any other; but i conjure thee, leave this unseemly jesting, lest we be all undone. belike, it may come to thy father's ears and who shall deliver us from his hand?' 'i tell thee,' rejoined budour, 'there lay a youth with me last night, one of the fairest-faced of men.' 'god preserve thy reason!' exclaimed the nurse. 'indeed, no one lay with thee last night.' the princess looked at her hand and seeing her own ring gone and kemerezzeman's ring on her finger in its stead, said to the nurse, 'out on thee, thou accursed traitress, wilt thou lie to me and tell me that none lay with me last night and forswear thyself to me?' 'by allah,' replied the nurse, 'i do not lie to thee nor have i sworn falsely!' her words incensed the princess and drawing a sword she had by her, she smote the old woman with it and slew her; whereupon the eunuch and the waiting-women cried out at her and running to her father, acquainted him with her case. so he went to her forthright and said to her, 'o my daughter, what ails thee?' 'o my father,' answered she, 'where is the young man that lay with me last night?' then her reason left her and she cast her eyes right and left and rent her dress even to the skirt. when the king saw this, he bade the women lay hands on her; so they seized and bound her, then putting a chain of iron about her neck, made her fast to the window and there left her. as for her father, the world was straitened upon him, when he saw what had befallen her, for that he loved her and her case was not a little thing to him. so he summoned the doctors and astrologers and magicians and said to them, 'whoso cureth my daughter of her disorder, i will marry him to her and give him half my kingdom; but whoso cometh to her and cureth her not, i will strike off his head and hang it over her palace-gate.' accordingly, all who went in to her, but failed to cure her, he beheaded and hung their heads over her palace-gate, till he had beheaded forty physicians and crucified as many astrologers on her account; wherefore all the folk held aloof from her, for all the physicians failed to cure her malady and her case was a puzzle to the men of science and the magicians. and as her longing and passion redoubled and love and distraction were sore upon her, she poured forth tears and repeated the following verses: my longing after thee, my moon, my foeman is; the thought of thee by night doth comrade with me dwell. i pass the darksome hours, and in my bosom flames a fire, for heat that's like the very fire of hell. i'm smitten with excess of ardour and desire; by which my pain is grown an anguish fierce and fell. then she sighed and repeated these also: my peace on the belovéd ones, where'er they light them down! i weary for the neighbourhood of those i love, full sore. my salutation unto you,--not that of taking leave, but greetings of abundant peace, increasing evermore! for, of a truth, i love you dear and love your land no less; but woe is me! i'm far away from that i weary for. then she wept till her eyes grew weak and her cheeks pale and withered: and thus she abode three years. now she had a foster-brother, by name merzewan, who was absent from her all this time, travelling in far countries. he loved her with an exceeding love, passing that of brothers; so when he came back, he went in to his mother and asked for his foster-sister the princess budour. 'alas, my son,' answered she, 'thy sister has been smitten with madness and has passed these three years, with an iron chain about her neck; and all the physicians and men of science have failed of curing her.' when he heard this, he said, 'i must needs go in to her; peradventure i may discover what ails her, and be able to cure her.' 'so be it,' replied his mother; 'but wait till to-morrow, that i may make shift for thee.' then she went to the princess's palace and accosting the eunuch in charge of the door, made him a present and said to him, 'i have a married daughter, who was brought up with thy mistress and is sore concerned for what has befallen her, and i desire of thy favour that my daughter may go in to her and look on her awhile, then return whence she came, and none shall know it.' 'this may not be, except by night,' replied the eunuch, 'after the king has visited the princess and gone away; then come thou and thy daughter.' she kissed the eunuch's hand and returning home, waited till the morrow at nightfall, when she dressed her son in woman's apparel and taking him by the hand, carried him to the palace. when the eunuch saw her, he said, 'enter, but do not tarry long.' so they went in and when merzewan saw the princess in the aforesaid plight, he saluted her, after his mother had taken off his woman's attire: then pulling out the books he had brought with him and lighting a candle, he began to recite certain conjurations. the princess looked at him and knowing him, said to him, 'o my brother, thou hast been absent on thy travels and we have been cut off from news of thee.' 'true,' answered he; 'but god has brought me back in safety and i am now minded to set out again; nor has aught delayed me but the sad news i hear of thee; wherefore my heart ached for thee and i came to thee, so haply i may rid thee of thy malady.' 'o my brother,' rejoined she, 'thinkest thou it is madness ails me?' 'yes,' answered he, and she said, 'not so, by allah! it is even as says the poet: quoth they, "thou'rt surely mad for him thou lov'st;" and i replied, "indeed the sweets of life belong unto the raving race. lo, those who love have not, for that, the upper hand of fate; only the madman 'tis, i trow, o'ercometh time and space. yes, i am mad; so bring me him for whom ye say i'm mad; and if he heal my madness, spare to blame me for my case."' then she told him that she was in love, and he said, 'tell me thy story and what befell thee: peradventure god may discover to me a means of deliverance for thee.' 'know then,' said she, 'that one night i awoke from sleep, in the last watch of the night, and sitting up, saw by my side the handsomest of youths, as he were a willow-wand or an indian cane, the tongue fails to describe him. me-thought this was my father's doing to try me, for that he had consulted me, when the kings sought me of him in marriage, and i had refused. it was this idea that withheld me from arousing him, for i thought that if i did aught or embraced him, he would most like tell my father. when i awoke in the morning, i found his ring on my finger in place of my own, which he had taken; and, o my brother, my heart was taken with him at first sight; and for the violence of my passion and longing, i have never since known the taste of sleep and have no occupation save weeping and repeating verses night and day. this, then, o my brother, is the story of the cause of my (pretended) madness.' then she poured forth tears and repeated the following verses: love has banished afar my delight; they are fled with a fawn that hath hearts for a pasturing-stead. to him lovers' blood is a trifle, for whom my soul is a-wasting for passion and dread. i'm jealous for him of my sight and my thought; my heart is a spy on my eyes and my head. his eyelashes dart at us death-dealing shafts; the hearts that they light on are ruined and dead. whilst yet there is left me a share in the world, shall i see him, i wonder, or ever i'm sped? i fain would conceal what i suffer for him; 'tis shown to the spy by the tears that i shed. when near, his enjoyment is distant from me: but his image is near, when afar he doth tread. 'see then, o my brother,' added she, 'how thou mayest aid me in this my affliction.' merzewan bowed his head awhile, marvelling and knowing not what to do, then raised it and said to her, 'i believe all thou hast said to be true, though the case of the young man passes my imagination: but i will go round about all countries and seek for what may heal thee; peradventure god shall appoint thy deliverance to be at my hand. meanwhile, take patience and be not disquieted.' so saying, he took leave of her, after he had prayed that she might be vouchsafed constancy, and left her repeating the following verses: thine image in my thoughts fares as a pilgrim aye, for all thy stead and mine are distant many a day. the wishes of my heart do bring thee near to me for 'gainst the speed of thought what is the levin's ray? depart thou not, that art the lustre of mine eyes; yea, when thou'rt far removed, all void of light are they. he returned to his mother's house, where he passed the night, and on the morrow, after furnishing himself for his journey, he set out and travelled from city to city and from island to island for a whole month. everywhere he heard talk of the princess budour's madness, till he came to a city named teyreb and seeking news of the townsfolk, so haply he might light on a cure for his foster-sister's malady, heard that kemerezzeman, son of king shehriman, was fallen sick and afflicted with melancholy madness. he enquired the name of this prince's capital and was told that it stood on the islands of khalidan and was distant thence a whole month's journey by sea and six by land. so he took passage in a ship that was bound thither, and they sailed with a favouring breeze for a whole month, till they came in sight of the city and there remained for them but to enter the harbour; when there came out on them a tempestuous wind which carried away the masts and rent the canvas, so that the sails fell into the sea and the ship foundered, with all on board. each looked to himself, and as for merzewan, the current carried him under the king's palace, wherein was kemerezzeman. as fate would have it, it was the day on which the king gave audience to his grandees and officers, and he was sitting, with his son's head in his lap, whilst an eunuch whisked away the flies. the prince had not spoken, neither had he eaten nor drunk for two days, and he was grown thinner than a spindle. now the vizier was standing near the window giving on the sea and raising his eyes, saw merzewan at the last gasp for struggling with the waves; whereupon his heart was moved to pity for him and he drew near to the king and said to him, 'o king, i crave thy leave to go down to the court of the pavilion and open the water-gate, that i may rescue a man who is at the point of drowning in the sea and bring him forth of peril into deliverance; peradventure, on this account, god may ease thy son of his affliction.' 'o vizier,' replied shehriman, enough is that which has befallen my son through thee and on thine account. belike, if thou rescue this drowning man, he will look on my son and come to know our affairs and exult over me; but i swear by allah, that, if he come hither and see my son and after go out and speak of our secrets to any, i will assuredly strike off thy head before his; for thou art the cause of all that hath befallen us, first and last. now do as thou wilt.' the vizier rose and opening the postern, descended to the causeway; then walked on twenty steps and came to the sea, where he saw merzewan nigh unto death. so he put out his hand to him and catching him by the hair of his head, drew him ashore, in a state of unconsciousness, with belly full of water and eyes starting from his head. the vizier waited till he came to himself, when he pulled off his wet clothes and clad him in a fresh suit, covering his head with one of his servants' turbans; after which he said to him, 'i have been the means of saving thee from drowning: do not thou requite me by causing my death and thine own.' 'how so?' asked merzewan; and the vizier answered, 'thou art now about to go up and pass among amirs and viziers, all silent and speaking not, because of kemerezzeman, the king's son.' when merzewan heard the name of kemerezzeman, he knew that this was he of whom he came in search, but he feigned ignorance and said to the vizier, 'and who is kemerezzeman?' quoth the vizier, 'he is the king's son and lies sick on his couch, restless, eating not nor drinking neither sleeping night nor day; indeed he is nigh upon death and we have lost hope of his recovery. beware lest thou look too long on him or on any place other than that where thou settest thy feet: else thou art a lost man and i also.' 'o vizier,' said merzewan, 'i conjure thee by allah, tell me of thy favour, the cause of this youth's malady.' 'i know none,' answered the vizier, 'save that, three years ago, his father pressed him to marry, but he refused; whereat the king was wroth and imprisoned him. on the morrow, he would have it that he had had, for a bedfellow, the night before, a young lady of surpassing beauty, beggaring description, with whom he had exchanged rings; but we know not the meaning of all this. so by allah, o my son, when thou comest up into the palace, look not on the prince, but go thy way; for the king's heart is full of anger against me.' 'by allah,' said merzewan in himself, 'this is he whom i sought!' then he followed the vizier up to the palace, where the latter seated himself at the prince's feet; but merzewan must needs go up to kemerezzeman and stand before him, gazing on him. at this, the vizier was like to die of affright and signed to merzewan to go his way; but he feigned not to see him and gave not over gazing upon kemerezzeman, till he was assured that it was indeed he of whom he was in search. then, 'glory be to god,' cried he, 'who hath made his shape even as her shape and his complexion as her complexion and his cheek as her cheek!' at this kemerezzeman opened his eyes and gave ear to his speech; and when merzewan saw him listening, he repeated the following verses: i see thee full of song and plaint and ecstasy amain, and to the setting forth in words of charms i find thee fain. can it be love hath wounded thee or art thou shot with shafts? for sure these fashions but belong unto a smitten swain. ho, pour me out full cups of wine and sing me eke, in praise of tenam, suleyma, rebäb,[fn# ] a glad and lovesome strain! yea, let the grape-vine's sun[fn# ] go round, whose mansion is its jar, whose east the cupbearer and west my thirsty mouth i feign. i'm jealous of the very clothes she dights upon her side, for that upon her body soft and delicate they've lain; and eke i'm envious of the cups that touch her dainty lips, when to the kissing-place she sets them ever and again. think not that i in anywise with sword am done to death; 'tis by the arrows of a glance, alack! that i am slain. whenas we met again, i found her fingers dyed with red, as 'twere the juice of tragacanth had steeped them in its stain. said i to her, "thou'st dyed thy palms,[fn# ] whilst i was far away. this then is how the slave of love is 'quited for his pain." quoth she (and cast into my heart the flaming fires of love, speaking as one who hath no care love's secret to contain), "no, by thy life, this is no dye i've used! so haste thou not to heap accusings on my head and slander me in vain. for, when i saw thee get thee gone upon our parting day, my eyes, for very dreariment, with tears of blood did rain. i wiped them with my hand, and so my fingers with my blood were all to-reddened and do yet their ruddy tint retain." had i for very passion wept, or e'er my mistress did, i should, before repentance came, have solaced heart and brain; but she before my weeping wept; her tears drew mine and so quoth i, "unto the precedent the merit doth pertain." chide not at me for loving her, for by love's self i swear, my heart with anguish for her sake is well-nigh cleft in twain. i weep for one whose face is decked by beauty's self; there's none, arab or foreigner, to match with her, in hill or plain. the lore of locman[fn# ] hath my love and mary's chastity, with joseph's loveliness to boot and david's songful vein; whilst jacob's grief to me belongs and jonah's dreariment, ay, and job's torment and despite and adam's plight of bane. slay ye her not, although i die for love of her, but ask, how came it lawful unto her to shed my blood in vain. when kemerezzeman heard these verses, they brought refreshment and healing to his heart, and he sighed and turning his tongue in his mouth, said to the king, 'o my father, let this young man come and sit by my side.' the king, hearing these words from his son, rejoiced exceedingly, though at the first he had been wroth with merzewan and thought in himself to have stricken off his head: but when he heard kemerezzeman speak, his anger left him and he arose and drawing merzewan to him, made him sit down by his son and said to him, 'praised be god for thy safety!' 'may god bless thee,' answered merzewan, 'and preserve thy son to thee!' then said the king, 'from what country comest thou?' 'from the islands of the inland sea,' replied he, 'the kingdom of king ghaïour, lord of the islands and the seas and the seven palaces.' quoth the king, 'maybe thy coming shall be blessed to my son and god vouchsafe to heal him of his malady.' 'god willing,' rejoined merzewan, 'all shall yet be well.' then turning to kemerezzeman, he said to him in his ear, unheard of the king and his court, 'be of good cheer, o my lord, and take heart and courage. as for her for whose sake thou art thus, ask not of her condition on thine account. thou keptest thy secret and fellest sick, but she discovered hers and they said she was mad; and she is now in prison, with an iron chain about her neck, in most piteous case; but, god willing, the healing of both of you shall be at my hand.' when kemerezzeman heard this, his life returned to him and he took heart and courage and signed to his father to help him sit up; at which the king was like to lose his reason for joy and lifting him up, set two pillows for him to lean upon. then, of his fear for his son, he shook the handkerchief of dismissal and all the amirs and viziers withdrew; after which he bade perfume the palace with saffron and decorate the city, saying to merzewan, 'by allah, o my son, thou hast a lucky and a blessed aspect!' and he made much of him and called for food, which when they brought, merzewan said to the prince, 'come, eat with me.' so he obeyed him and ate with him, while the king called down blessings on merzewan and said, 'how auspicious is thy coming, o my son!' when he saw kemerezzeman eat, his joy redoubled and he went out and told the prince's mother and the people of the palace. then he let call abroad the good news of the prince's recovery and proclaimed the decoration of the city: so the people rejoiced and decorated the city and it was a day of high festival. merzewan passed the night with kemerezzeman, and the king also slept with them, in the excess of his joy for his son's recovery. next morning, when the king had gone away and the two young men were left alone, kemerezzeman told merzewan his story from first to last and the latter said to him, 'i know her with whom thou didst foregather; her name is the princess budour and she is daughter to king ghaïour.' then he told him all that had befallen the princess and acquainted him with the excessive love she bore him, saying, 'all that befell thee with thy father hath befallen her with hers, and thou art without doubt her beloved, even as she is thine; so brace up thy resolution and take heart, for i will bring thee to her and unite you both anon and deal with you even as saith the poet: though to the lover adverse be the fair and drive him with her rigours to despair, yet will i soon unite them, even as i the pivot of a pair of scissors were. and he went on to comfort and hearten kemerezzeman and urged him to eat and drink, cheering him and diverting him with talk and song and stories, till he ate food and drank wine and life and strength returned to him. in good time he became free of his disorder and stood up and sought to go to the bath. so merzewan took him by the hand and carried him to the bath, where they washed their bodies and made them clean. when his father heard of this, in his joy he freed the prisoners and gave alms to the poor; moreover he bestowed splendid dresses of honour upon his grandees and let decorate the city seven days. then said merzewan to kemerezzeman, 'know, o my lord, that the sole object of my journey hither was to deliver the princess budour from her present strait; and it remains but for us to devise how we may get to her, since thy father cannot brook the thought of parting with thee. so it is my counsel that tomorrow thou ask his leave to go a-hunting, saying, "i have a mind to divert myself with hunting in the desert and to see the open country and pass the night there." then do thou take with thee a pair of saddle-bags full of gold and mount a swift hackney and i will do the like; and we will take each a spare horse. suffer not any servant to follow us, for as soon as we reach the open country, we will go our ways.' kemerezzeman rejoiced mightily in this plan and said, 'it is good.' then he took heart and going in to his father, sought his leave to go out to hunt, saying as merzewan had taught him. the king consented and said, 'o my son, a thousandfold blessed be the day that restores thee to health! i will not gainsay thee in this; but pass not more than one night in the desert and return to me on the morrow; for thou knowest that life is not good to me without thee, and indeed i can hardly as yet credit thy recovery, because thou art to me as he of whom quoth the poet: though solomon his carpet were mine both day and night, though the choeroës' empire, yea, and the world were mine, all were to me in value less than a midge's wing, except mine eyes still rested upon that face of thine.' then he equipped the prince and merzewan for the excursion, bidding make them ready four horses, together with a dromedary to carry the money and a camel for the water and victuals; and kemerezzeman forbade any of his attendants to follow him. his father bade him farewell and pressed him to his breast and kissed him, saying, 'i conjure thee by allah, be not absent from me more than one night, wherein sleep will be denied me, for i am even as saith the poet: thy presence with me is my heaven of delight and my hell of affliction the loss of thy sight. my soul be thy ransom! if love be my crime for thee, my offence, of a truth, is not light. doth passion blaze up in thy heart like to mine? i suffer the torments of hell day and night.' 'o my father,' answered kemerezzeman, 'god willing, i will lie but one night abroad.' then he took leave of him, and he and merzewan mounted and taking with them the dromedary and camel, rode out into the open country. they drew not bridle from the first of the day till nightfall, when they halted and ate and drank and fed their beasts and rested awhile; after which they again took horse and fared on three days, till they came to a spacious wooded tract. here they alighted and merzewan, taking the camel and one of the horses, slaughtered them and cut the flesh off their bones. then he took from kemerezzeman his shirt and trousers and cassock and tearing them in shreds, smeared them with the horse's blood and cast them down in the fork of the road. then they ate and drank and taking horse set forward again. 'o my brother,' said kemerezzeman, 'what is this thou hast done and how will it profit us?' 'know,' answered merzewan, 'that thy father, when he finds that we have outstayed the night for which we had his leave, will mount and follow in our track till he comes hither; and when he sees the blood and thy clothes torn and bloodied, he will deem thee to have been slain of highway robbers or wild beasts; so he will give up hope of thee and return to his city, and by this devise we shall gain our end.' 'by allah,' said kemerezzeman, 'this is indeed a rare device! thou hast done well.' then they fared on days and nights and kemerezzeman did nought but weep and complain, till they drew near their journey's end, when he rejoiced and repeated the following verses: wilt thou be harsh to a lover, who's never unmindful of thee, and wilt thou now cast him away to whom thou wast fain heretofore? may i forfeit the favour of god, if i ever was false to thy love! abandonment punish my crime, if i've broken the vows that i swore! but no, i've committed no crime, that calleth for rigour from thee; or, if in good sooth i'm at fault, i bring thee repentance therefor. of the marvels of fortune it is that thou shouldst abandon me thus; but fortune to bring to the light fresh marvels will never give o'er. when he had made an end of these verses, merzewan said to him, 'see, yonder are king ghaïour's islands.' whereat kemerezzeman rejoiced with an exceeding joy and thanked him for what he had done and strained him to his bosom and kissed him between the eyes. they entered the city and took up their lodging at a khan, where they rested three days from the fatigues of the journey; after which merzewan carried kemerezzeman to the bath and clothing him in a merchant's habit, provided him with a geomantic tablet of gold, a set of astrological instruments and an astrolabe of silver, plated with gold. then he said to him, 'go, o my lord, stand before the king's palace and cry out, "i am the mathematician, i am the scribe, i am he that knows the sought and the seeker, i am the skilled physician, i am the accomplished astrologer. where then is he that seeketh?" when the king hears this, he will send after thee and carry thee in to his daughter the princess budour, thy mistress: but do thou say to him, "grant me three days' delay, and if she recover, give her to me to wife, and if not, deal with me as with those who came before me." if he agree to this, as soon as thou art alone with her, discover thyself to her; and when she knows thee, her madness will cease from her and she will be made whole in one night. then do thou give her to eat and drink, and her father, rejoicing in her recovery, will marry thee to her and share his kingdom with thee, according to the condition he hath imposed on himself: and so peace be on thee.' 'may i never lack thine excellence!' replied kemerezzeman, and taking the instruments aforesaid, sallied forth of the khan and took up his station before king ghaïour's palace, where he began to cry out, saying, 'i am the scribe, i am the mathematician, he that knows the sought and the seeker, i am he who makes calculations for marriage contracts, who draws horoscopes, interprets dreams and traces the magical characters by which hidden treasures are discovered! where then is the seeker?' when the people of the city heard this, they flocked to him, for it was long since they had seen a scribe or an astrologer, and stood round him, wondering at his beauty and grace and perfect symmetry. presently one of them accosted him and said, 'god on thee, o fair youth with the eloquent tongue, cast not thyself into perdition, in thy desire to marry the princess budour! do but look on yonder heads hung up; they are all those of men who have lost their lives in this same venture.' he paid no heed to them, but cried out at the top of his voice, saying, 'i am the doctor, the scribe! i am the astrologer, the mathematician!' and all the townsfolk forbade him from this, but he heeded them not, saying in himself, 'none knoweth desire save he who suffereth it.' then he began again to cry his loudest, saying, 'i am the scribe, i am the mathematician, i am the astrologer!' till all the townsfolk were wroth with him and said to him, 'thou art but a silly self-willed boy! have pity on thine own youth and tender years and beauty and grace.' but he cried all the more, 'i am the astrologer, i am the mathematician! is there any one that seeketh?' as he was thus crying and the people remonstrating with him, king ghaïour heard his voice and the clamour of the folk and said to his vizier, 'go down and bring me yon astrologer.' so the vizier went down and taking kemerezzeman from the midst of the crowd, carried him up to the king, before whom he kissed the earth, repeating the following verses: eight elements of high renown are all comprised in thee; by them may fortune never cease thy bounder slave to be! munificence and knowledge sure, glory and piety, fair fluent speech and eloquence and might and victory. when the king saw him, he made him sit down by his side and said to him, 'by allah, o my son, an thou be not an astrologer, venture not thy life nor submit thyself to my condition; for i have bound myself to strike off the head of whoso goeth in to my daughter and healeth her not of her disorder; but him who healeth her i will marry to her. so let not thy beauty and grace delude thee; for, by allah, if thou cure her not, i will assuredly cut off thy head!' 'i knew of this condition before i came hither,' answered kemerezzeman, 'and am ready to abide by it.' then king ghaïour took the cadis to witness against him and delivered him to an eunuch, saying, 'carry this fellow to the lady budour.' so the eunuch took him by the hand and led him along the gallery; but kemerezzeman out-went him and pushed on before, whilst the eunuch ran after him, saying, 'out on thee! hasten not to destroy thyself. by allah, never yet saw i astrologer so eager for his own destruction: thou knowest not the calamities that await thee.' but kemerezzeman turned away his face and repeated the following verses: a learnéd man, i'm ignorant before thy beauties bright; indeed, i know not what i say, confounded at thy sight. if i compare thee to the sun, thou passest not away, whilst the sun setteth from the sky and fails anon of light. perfect, indeed, thy beauties are; they stupefy the wise nor ev'n the eloquent avail to praise thy charms aright. the eunuch stationed kemerezzeman behind the curtain of the princess's door and the prince said to him, 'whether of the two wilt thou liefer have me do, cure thy lady from here or go in and cure her within the curtain?' the eunuch marvelled at his words and answered, 'it were more to thine honour to cure her from here.' so kemerezzeman sat down behind the curtain and taking out pen and inkhorn and paper, wrote the following: 'this is the letter of one whom passion torments and whom desire consumes and sorrow and misery destroy; one who despairs of life and looks for nothing but death, whose mourning heart has neither comforter nor helper, whose sleepless eyes have none to succour them against affliction, whose day is passed in fire and his night in torment, whose body is wasted for much emaciation and there comes to him no messenger from his beloved: i write with a heart devoted to thee and the thought of thee and an eyelid, wounded for weeping tears of the blood of me. and a body that love and affliction and passion and long desire have clad with the garment of leanness and wasted utterly. i plain me to thee of passion, for sore hath it baffled me nor is there a corner left me where patience yet may be. wherefore, have mercy, i prithee, show favour unto me, for my heart, my heart is breaking for love and agony. the cure of hearts is union with the beloved and whom his love maltreateth, god is his physician. if either of us have broken faith, may the false one fail of his desire! there is nought goodlier than a lover who is faithful to a cruel beloved one.' then, for a subscription, he wrote, 'from the distracted and despairing lover, him whom love and longing disquiet, from the captive of passion and transport, kemerezzeman, son of shehriman, to the peerless beauty, the pearl of the fair houris, the lady budour, daughter of king ghaïour. know that by night i am wakeful and by day distraught, consumed with ever-increasing wasting and sickness and longing and love, abounding in sighs, rich in floods of tears, the prisoner of passion, the slain of desire, the debtor of longing, the boon-companion of sickness, he whose heart absence hath seared. i am the sleepless one, whose eyes close not, the slave of love, whose tears run never dry, for the fire of my heart is still unquenched and the flaming of my longing is never hidden.' then in the margin he wrote this admired verse: peace from the stores of the grace of my lord be rife on her in whose hand are my heart and soul and life! and also these: vouchsafe thy converse unto me some little, so, perchance, thou mayst have ruth on me or else my heart be set at ease. yea, for the transport of my love and longing after thee, of all i've suffered i make light and all my miseries. god guard a folk whose dwelling-place is far removed from mine, the secret of whose love i've kept in many lands and seas! but fate, at last, hath turned on me a favourable face and on my loved one's threshold-earth hath cast me on my knees. budour beside me in the bed i saw and straight my moon, lit by her sun, shone bright and blithe upon my destinies.[fn# ] then by way of subscription, he wrote the following verses: ask of my letter what my pen hath written, and the scroll will tell the passion and the pain that harbour in my soul. my hand, what while my tears rain down, writes and desire makes moan unto the paper by the pen of all my weary dole. my tears roll ever down my cheeks and overflow the page; nay, i'd ensue them with my blood, if they should cease to roll. and at the end he added this other verse: i send thee back herewith the ring i took whilere of thee, whenas we companied; so send me that thou hadst of me. then he folded up budour's ring inside the letter and sealing it, gave it to the eunuch, who went in with it to the princess. she took it from him and opening it, found in it her own ring. then she read the letter and when she understood its purport and knew that her beloved stood behind the curtain, her reason fled and her breast dilated for joy; and she repeated the following verses: long, long have i bewailed the sev'rance of our loves, with tears that from my lids streamed down like burning rain, and vowed that, if the days should reunite us two, my lips should never speak of severance again. joy hath o'erwhelmed me so that, for the very stress of that which gladdens me, to weeping i am fain. tears are become to you a habit, o my eyes, so that ye weep as well for gladness as for pain. then she rose and setting her feet to the wall, strained with all her might upon the iron collar, till she broke it from her neck and snapped the chains; then going forth, she threw herself on kemerezzeman and kissed him on the mouth, like a pigeon billing. and she embraced him with all the stress of her love and longing and said to him, 'o my lord, do i wake or sleep and has god indeed vouchsafed us reunion after separation? praised be he who hath reknit our loves, after despair!' when the eunuch saw this, he ran to king ghaïour and kissing the earth before him, said, 'o my lord, know that this is indeed the prince and paragon of astrologers; for he hath cured thy daughter from behind the curtain, without going in to her.' 'look to it well,' said the king; 'is this news true?' 'o my lord,' answered the eunuch, 'come and see for thyself how she hath found strength to break the iron chains and is come forth to the astrologer, kissing and embracing him.' so the king arose and went in to his daughter, who, when she saw him, rose and covered her face, reciting the following verses: i love not the toothstick; 'tis hateful to me, for i, when i name it, say, "other than thee."[fn# ] but i love, notwithstanding, the capparis-tree, for, whenas i name it i say, "thee i see."[fn# ] the king was transported for joy at her recovery and kissed her between the eyes, for he loved her very dearly; then turning to kemerezzeman, he asked him who he was and whence he came. the prince told him his name and rank and that he was the son of king shehriman, and related to him the whole story from beginning to end; whereat ghaïour marvelled and said, 'verily, your story deserves to be recorded in books and read after you, generation after generation.' then he summoned cadis and witnesses forthright and married the two lovers; after which he bade decorate the city seven days long. so they decorated the city and held high festival, and all the troops donned their richest clothes, whilst the drums beat and the criers announced the glad tidings. then they spread the tables with all manner meats and unveiled the princess before kemerezzeman, and behold, each was like unto the other in beauty and elegance and amorous grace. so the king rejoiced in the issue of her affair and in her marriage and praised god for that he had made her to fall in love with a goodly youth of the sons of the kings. then kemerezzeman went in to her and lay with her that night and took his will of her, whilst she in like manner fufilled her desire of him and enjoyed his beauty and grace; and they clipped each other till the morning. on the morrow, the king made a banquet and spreading the tables with the richest meats, kept open house a whole month to all comers from the islands of the inner and the outer seas. now, when kemerezzeman had thus attained his desire and had tarried awhile with the princess budour, he bethought him of his father and saw him in a dream, saying, 'o my son, is it thus thou dealest with me?' and reciting the following verses: the moon o' the dark by his neglect my spirit doth appal and to the watching of his stars hath made my eyelids thrall. but soft, my heart! it may be yet he will return to thee; and patience, soul, beneath the pain he's smitten thee withal! kemerezzeman awoke in the morning, afflicted and troubled at what he had seen, whereupon the princess questioned him and he told her his dream. then they both went in to king ghaïour and telling him what had passed, besought his leave to depart. he gave the prince the leave he sought; but the princess said, 'o my father, i cannot endure to be parted from him.' quoth ghaïour, 'then go thou with him,' and gave her leave to be absent a whole year, charging her to visit him once in every year thereafterward. so she kissed his hand and kemerezzeman did the like; after which he proceeded to equip them for the journey, furnishing them with horses and dromedaries of choice and a litter for his daughter, besides mules and camels laden with victual and all manner of travelling gear. moreover, he gave them slaves and eunuchs to serve them and bestowed on kemerezzeman ten splendid suits of cloth of gold, embroidered with jewels, together with a treasury[fn# ] of money and ten riding horses and as many she-camels. when the day of departure arrived, the king accompanied them to the farthest limits of his islands, where, going in to his daughter budour in the litter, he kissed her and strained her to his bosom, weeping and repeating the following verses: o thou that seekest parting, stay thy feet, for sure embraces are a lover's right. softly, for fortune's nature is deceit and parting is the end of love-delight. then, leaving her, he kissed her husband and commended his daughter to his care; after which he bade him farewell and giving the signal for departure, returned to his capital with his troops. the prince and princess and their suite fared on without stopping a whole month, at the end of which time they came to a spacious champaign, abounding in pasturage, where they alighted and pitched their tents. they ate and drank and rested, and the princess budour lay down to sleep. presently, kemerezzeman went in to her and found her lying asleep, in a shift of apricot-coloured silk, that showed all it should have covered, and a coif of cloth of gold embroidered with pearls and jewels. the breeze raised her shift and showed her breasts and navel and a belly whiter than snow, each one of whose dimples contained an ounce of benzoin ointment.[fn# ] at this sight, his love and passion for her redoubled, and he recited the following verses: if, whilst within my entrails the fires of hell did stir and flames raged high about me, 'twere spoken in my ear, "which wilt thou have the rather, a draught of water cold or sight of her thou lovest?" i'd say, "the sight of her." then he put his hand to the ribbon of her trousers and drew it and loosed it, for that his soul lusted after her, when he saw a jewel, red as dragon's blood,[fn# ] made fast to the band. he untied and examined it and seeing two lines of writing graven thereon, in a character not to be read, marvelled and said in himself, 'except she set great store by this, she had not tied it to the ribbon of her trousers nor hidden it in the most private place about her person, that she might not be parted from it. i wonder what she doth with it and what is the secret that is in it.' so saying, he took it and went without the tent to look at it in the light; but as he was examining it, a bird swooped down on him and snatching it from his hand, flew off with it and lighted on the ground at a little distance. fearing to lose the talisman, he ran after the bird; but it flew on before him, keeping just out of his reach, and drew him on from place to place and from hill to hill, till the night came on and the air grew dark, when it roosted on a high tree. kemerezzeman stopped under the tree, confounded and faint for hunger and weariness, and giving himself up for lost, would have turned back, but knew not the way, for the darkness had overtaken him. so he exclaimed, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme!' and lying down under the tree, slept till the morning, when he awoke and saw the bird also awake and fly away. he arose and walked after it, and it flew on little by little before him, after the measure of his going; at which he smiled and said, 'by allah, this is a strange thing! yesterday, the bird flew before me as fast as i could run; and to-day, knowing that i am tired and cannot run, it flieth after the measure of my walking. by allah, this is wonderful! but, whether it lead me to my death or to my life, i must needs follow it, wherever it goeth, for it will surely not abide save in some inhabited land. so he followed the bird, eating of the fruits of the earth and drinking of its waters, for ten days' space, and every night the bird roosted on a tree. at the end of this time, he came in sight of an inhabited city, whereupon the bird darted off like the glance of the eye and entering the town, was lost to view: and kemerezzeman marvelled at this and exclaimed, 'praised be god, who hath brought me hither in safety!' then he sat down by a stream and washed his hands and feet and face and rested awhile: and recalling his late easy and pleasant life of union with his beloved and contrasting it with his present plight of trouble and weariness and hunger and strangerhood and severance, the tears streamed from his eyes and he repeated the following cinquains: i strove to hide the load that love on me did lay; in vain, and sleep for me is changed to wake alway. whenas wanhope doth press my heart both night and day, i cry aloud, "o fate, hold back thy hand, i pray. for all my soul is sick with dolour and dismay!" if but the lord of love were just indeed to me, sleep had not fled mine eyes by his unkind decree. have pity, sweet, on one that is for love of thee worn out and wasted sore; once rich and great was he, now beggared and cast down by love from his array. the railers chide at thee full sore; i heed not, i, but stop my ears to them and give them back the lie. "thou lov'st a slender one," say they; and i reply, "i've chosen her and left all else beneath the sky." enough; when fate descends, the eyes are blinded aye. as soon as he was rested, he rose and walked on, little by little, till he came to the city-gate and entered, knowing not whither he should go. he traversed the city from end to end, without meeting any of the townsfolk, entering by the land-gate and faring on till he came out at the sea-gate, for the city stood on the sea-shore. presently, he found himself among the orchards and gardens of the place and passed among the trees, till he came to a garden-gate and stopped before it, whereupon the keeper came out to him and saluted him. the prince returned his greeting and the other bade him welcome, saying, 'praised be god that thou hast come off safe from the people of the city! quick, come into the garden, ere any of the townsfolk see thee.' so kemerezzeman entered the garden, amazed, and said to the keeper, 'who and what then are the people of this city?' 'know,' answered the other,' that the people of this city are all magians: but, god on thee, tell me how and why thou camest hither.' accordingly, kemerezzeman told him all that had befallen him, at which the gardener marvelled greatly and said, 'know, o my son, that from this place to the cities of islam is four months' journey by sea and a whole year by land. we have a ship that sails yearly hence with merchandise to the ebony islands, which are the nearest muslim country, and thence to the khalidan islands, the dominions of king shehriman.' kemerezzeman considered awhile and concluding that he could not do better than abide with the gardener and become his assistant, said to him, 'wilt thou take me into thy service, to help thee in this garden?' 'willingly,' answered the gardener and clothing him in a short blue gown, that reached to his knees, taught him to lead the water to the roots of the trees. so kemerezzeman abode with him, watering the trees and hoeing up the weeds and weeping floods of tears; for he had no rest day or night, by reason of his strangerhood and separation from his beloved, and he ceased not to repeat verses upon her, amongst others the following: ye made us a promise of yore; will ye not to your promise be true? ye spoke us a word aforetime; as ye spoke to us, will ye not do? we waken, whilst ye are asleep, according to passion's decree; so have ye the vantage of us, for watchers and sleepers are two. we vowed to each other, whilere, that we would keep secret our loves; but the breedbate possessed you to speak, and you spoke and revealed what none knew. belovéd in pleasure and pain, chagrin and contentment alike, whate'er may betide, ye alone are the goal that my wishes ensue. there's one that still holdeth a heart, a heart sore tormented of mine; ah, would she'd have ruth on my plight and pity the soul that she slew! not every one's eye is as mine, worn wounded and cankered with tears, and hearts that are, even as mine, the bondslaves of passion, are few. ye acted the tyrant with me, saying, "love is a tyrant, i trow." indeed, ye were right, and the case has proved what ye said to be true. alack! they've forgotten outright a passion-distraught one, whose faith time 'minisheth not, though the fires in his entrails rage ever anew. if my foeman in love be my judge, to whom shall i make my complaint? to whom of injustice complain, to whom for redress shall i sue? were it not for my needing of love and the ardour that burns in my breast, i had not a heart love-enslaved and a soul that for passion must rue. to return to the princess budour. when she awoke, she sought her husband and found him not: then she saw the ribbon of her trousers undone and the talisman missing and said to herself, 'by allah, this is strange! where is my husband? it would seem as if he had taken the talisman and gone away, knowing not the secret that is in it. whither can he have gone? it must have been some extraordinary matter that drew him away, for he cannot brook to leave me an hour. may god curse the talisman and its hour!' then she considered awhile and said in herself, 'if i go out and tell the servants that my husband is lost, they will covet me: i must use stratagem.' so she rose and donned some of her husband's clothes and boots and spurs and a turban like his, drawing the loose end across her face for a chin-band. then setting a slave-girl in her litter, she went forth the tent and called to the servants, who brought her kemerezzeman's horse; and she mounted and bade load the beasts and set forward. so they bound on the burdens and departed, none doubting but she was kemerezzeman, for she resembled him in face and form; nor did they leave journeying, days and nights, till they came in sight of a city overlooking the sea, when they halted to rest and pitched their tents without the walls. the princess asked the name of the place and was told, 'it is called the city of ebony: its king is named armanous, and he hath a daughter called heyat en nufous.' presently, the king sent to learn who it was that had encamped without his city; so the messenger, coming to the tents, enquired of budour's servants and was told that she was a king's son, bound for the khalidan islands, who had strayed from his road; whereupon he returned and told the king, who straightway took horse and rode out, with his nobles, to meet the strange prince. as he drew near the tents, the princess came to meet him on foot, whereupon the king alighted and they saluted each other. then he carried her into the city and bringing her to the palace, let spread a banquet and bade transport her company and baggage to the guest-house, where they abode three days; at the end of which time the king came in to budour (now she had that day gone to the bath and her face shone as the moon at its full, enchanting all beholders, and she was clad in robes of silk, embroidered with gold and jewels) and said to her, 'know, o my son, that i am a very old man and am grown unable for the conduct of the state. now god has blessed me with no child save one daughter, who resembles thee in beauty and grace; so, o my son, if this my country please thee and thou be willing to make thine abode here, i will marry thee to my daughter and give thee my kingdom and so be at rest.' when budour heard this, she bowed her head and her forehead sweated for shame, and she said to herself, 'how shall i do, and i a woman? if i refuse and depart, i cannot be safe but that he may send after me troops to kill me; and if i consent, belike i shall be put to shame. i have lost my beloved kemerezzeman and know not what is come of him; wherefore i see nothing for it but to hold my peace and consent and abide here, till god accomplish what is to be.' so she raised her head and made submission to king armanous, saying, 'i hear and obey,' whereat he rejoiced and bade make proclamation, throughout the ebony islands, to hold high festival and decorate the houses. then he assembled his chamberlains and amirs and viziers and other officers of state and the cadis of the city, and putting off the kingship, invested budour therewith and clad her in the royal robes. moreover, the amirs and grandees went in to her and did her homage, nothing doubting but that she was a young man, and all who looked on her berayed their hose for the excess of her beauty and grace; then, after the lady budour had been made sultan and the drums had been beaten, in announcement of the joyful event, armanous proceeded to equip his daughter for marriage, and in a few days, they brought budour in to her, when they seemed as it were two moons risen at one time or two suns foregathering. so they entered the bridal-chamber and the doors were shut and the curtains let down upon them, after the attendants had lighted the candles and spread the bed for them. when budour found herself alone with the princess heyat en nufous, she called to mind her beloved kemerezzeman and grief was sore upon her. so she wept for his loss and absence and repeated the following verses: o ye who went and left my heart to pine alone fore'er, no spark of life remains in me, since ye away did fare! i have an eye that doth complain of sleeplessness alway; tears have consumed it; would to god that sleeplessness would spare! when ye departed, after you the lover did abide; but question of him what of pain in absence he doth bear. but for the ceaseless flood of tears my eyes pour forth, the world would at my burning all catch fire, yea, seas and lands and air. to god most high i make my moan of dear ones loved and lost, that on my passion have no ruth nor pity my despair. i never did them wrong, except my love for them were such; but into blest and curst in love men aye divided were. when she had finished, she sat down beside the princess heyat en nufous and kissed her on the mouth. then, rising abruptly, she made the ablution and betook herself to her devotions, nor did she leave praying till heyat en nufous was asleep, when she slipt into bed and lay with her back to her till morning; then rose and went out. presently, the old king and queen came in to their daughter and asked her how she did, whereupon she told them what had passed and repeated to them the verses she had heard. meanwhile, budour seated herself upon the throne and all the amirs and captains and officers of state came in to her and wished her joy of the kingship, kissing the earth before her and calling down blessings upon her. she smiled on them and clad them in robes of honour, augmenting the fiefs of the amirs and giving largesse to the troops; wherefore all the people loved her and offered up prayers for the continuance of her reign, doubting not but that she was a man. she sat all day in the hall of audience, ordering and forbidding and dispensing justice, releasing those who were in prison and remitting the customs dues, till nightfall, when she withdrew to the apartment prepared for her. here she found heyat en nufous seated; so she sat down by her and clapping her on the back, caressed her and kissed her between the eyes, repeating the following verses: the secret that i cherished my tears have public made; the wasting of my body my passion hath bewrayed. i hid my love and longing; but on the parting-day my plight, alas! revealed it to spies; 'twas open laid. o ye who have departed the camp, ye've left behind my body worn with languor and spirit all decayed. within my heart's recesses ye have your dwelling-place; my tears are ever running and lids with blood berayed. for ever will i ransom the absent with my soul; indeed, for them my yearnings are patent and displayed. i have an eye, whose pupil, for love of them, rejects sleep and whose tears flow ever, unceasing and unstayed. my foes would have me patient for him; but god forbid that ever of my hearing should heed to them be paid! i baulked their expectation. of kemerezzeman sometime i did accomplish the joys for which i prayed. he doth, as none before him, perfections all unite; no king of bygone ages was in the like arrayed. his clemency and bounty ben zaïdeh's[fn# ] largesse and muawiyeh's[fn# ] mildness have cast into the shade. but that it would be tedious and verse sufficeth not to picture forth his beauties, i'd leave no rhyme unmade. then she wiped away her tears and making the ablution, stood up to pray; nor did she give over praying, till drowsiness overcame heyat en nufous and she slept, whereupon budour came and lay beside her till the morning. at daybreak, she arose and prayed the morning-prayer; then, going forth, seated herself on the throne and passed the day in ordering and forbidding and administering justice. meanwhile, king armanous went in to his daughter and asked her how she did; so she told him all that had passed and repeated to him the verses that budour had recited, adding, 'o my father, never saw i one more abounding in sense and modesty than my husband, save that he doth nothing but weep and sigh.' 'o my daughter,' answered her father, 'have patience with him yet this third night, and if he go not in to thee and do away thy maidenhead, we will take order with him and oust him from the throne and banish him the country.' when the night came, the princess budour rose from the throne and betaking herself to the bride-chamber, found the candles lighted and the princess heyat en nufous sitting awaiting her; whereupon she bethought her of her husband and recalling the early severance of their loves, wept and sighed and groaned groan upon groan, repeating the following verses: i swear the tidings of my woes fills all the country-side, like the sun shining on the hills of nejed far and wide. his gesture speaks, but hard to tell the meaning of it is, and thus my yearning without end is ever magnified. i hate fair patience since the hour i fell in love with thee. hast seen a lover hating love at any time or tide? one, in whose glances sickness lies, hath smitten me to death, for looks are deadliest of the things, wherein doth sickness bide. he shook his clustered ringlets down and laid his chin-band by, and beauty thus in him, at once both black and white, i spied. sickness and cure are in his hands; for, to the sick of love, by him alone who caused their dole can healing be applied. the softness of his waist hath made his girdle mad for love and of his hips, for jealousy, to rise he is denied. his forehead, covered with his curls, is as a mirky night; unveiled, 'tis as a shining moon that thrusts the dark aside. when she had finished, she would have risen to pray, but heyat en nufous caught her by the skirt, saying, 'o my lord, art thou not ashamed to neglect me thus, after all the favour my father hath done thee?' when budour heard this, she sat down again and said, 'o my beloved, what is this thou sayest?' 'what i say,' answered heyat en nufous, 'is that i never saw any so self-satisfied as thou. is every fair one so disdainful? i say not this to incline thee to me, but only of my fear for thee from king armanous; for he purposes, an thou go not in to me to-night and do away my maidenhead, to strip thee of the kingship on the morrow and banish thee the realm; and belike his much anger may lead him to kill thee. but i, o my lord, have compassion on thee and give thee fair warning; and it is thine to decide.' at this, budour bowed her head in perplexity and said in herself, 'if i refuse, i am lost, and if i obey, i am shamed. i am now queen of all the ebony islands and they are under my rule and i shall never again foregather with kemerezzeman except it be in this place; for there is no way for him to his native land but through the ebony islands. verily, i know not what to do, for i am no man that i should arise and open this virgin girl; but i commit my case to god, who orders all for the best.' then she said to heyat en nufous, 'o my beloved, it is in my own despite that i have neglected thee and abstained from thee.' and she discovered herself to her and told her her whole story, saying, 'i conjure thee by allah to keep my counsel, till god reunite me with my beloved kemerezzeman, and then let what will happen.' her story moved heyat en nufous to wonder and pity, and she prayed god to reunite her with her beloved, saying, 'fear nothing, o my sister, but have patience till god accomplish that which is to be.' and she repeated the following verses: none keepeth counsel saving those who're trusty and discreet. a secret's ever safely placed with honest folk and leal; and secrets trusted unto me are in a locked-up house, whose keys are lost and on whose door is set the cadi's seal. 'o my sister,' continued she, 'the breasts of the noble are the graves of secrets, and i will not discover thine.' then they toyed and embraced and kissed and slept till near the call to morning-prayer, when heyat en nufous arose and slaughtering a young pigeon, besmeared herself and besprinkled her shift with its blood. then she put off her trousers and cried out, whereupon her waiting-women hastened to her and raised cries of joy. presently, her mother came in to her aad asked her how she did and tended her and abode with her till evening; whilst the lady budour repaired to the bath and after washing herself, proceeded to the hall of audience, where she sat down on her throne and dispensed justice among the folk. when king armanous heard the cries, he asked what was the matter and was informed of the consummation of his daughter's marriage; whereat he rejoiced and his breast dilated and he made a great banquet. to return to king shehriman. when kemerezzeman and merzewan returned not at the appointed time, he passed the night without sleep, restless and consumed with anxiety. the night was long upon him and he thought the day would never dawn. he passed the forenoon of the ensuing day in expectation of his son's coming, but he came not; whereat his heart forebode separation and he was distraught with fears for kemerezzeman. he wept till his clothes were drenched, crying out, 'alas, my son!' and repeating the following verses from an aching heart: unto the votaries of love i still was contrary, till of its bitter and its sweet myself perforce must taste. i quaffed its cup of rigours out, yea, even to the dregs, and to its freemen and its slaves myself therein abased. fortune aforetime made a vow to separate our loves; now hath she kept her vow, alack! and made my life a waste. then he wiped away his tears and bade his troops make ready for a long journey. so they all mounted and set forth, headed by the sultan, whose heart burnt with grief and anxiety for his son. he divided the troops into six bodies, whom he despatched in as many directions, giving them rendezvous for the morrow at the cross-roads. accordingly they scoured the country diligently all that day and night, till at noon of the ensuing day they joined company at the cross-roads. here four roads met and they knew not which the prince had followed, till they came to the torn clothes and found shreds of flesh and blood scattered by the way on all sides. when the king saw this, he cried out from his inmost heart, saying, 'alas, my son!' and buffeted his face and tore his beard and rent his clothes, doubting not but his son was dead. then he gave himself up to weeping and wailing, and the troops also wept for his weeping, being assured that the prince had perished. they wept and lamented and threw dust on their heads till they were nigh upon death, and the night surprised them whilst they were thus engaged. then the king repeated the following verses, with a heart on fire for the torment of his despair: blame not the mourner for the grief to which he is a prey, for yearning sure sufficeth him, with all its drear dismay. he weeps for dreariment and grief and stress of longing pain, and eke his transport doth the fires, that rage in him, bewray. alas, his fortune who's love's slave, whom languishment hath bound never to let his eyelids stint from weeping night and day! he mourns the loss of one was like a bright and brilliant moon, that shone out over all his peers in glorious array. but death did proffer to his lips a brimming cup to drink, what time he left his native land, and now he's far away. he left his home and went from us unto calamity; nor to his brethren was it given to him farewell to say. indeed, his loss hath stricken me with anguish and with woe; yea, for estrangement from his sight my wits are gone astray. whenas the lord of all vouchsafed to him his paradise, upon his journey forth he fared and passed from us for aye. then he returned with the troops to his capital, giving up his son for lost and deeming that wild beasts or highwaymen had set on him and torn him in pieces, and made proclamation that all in the khalidan islands should don black in mourning for him. moreover, he built a pavilion in his memory, naming it house of lamentations, and here he was wont to spend his days, (with the exception of mondays and thursdays, which he devoted to the business of the state), mourning for his son and bewailing him with verses, of which the following are some: my day of bliss is that whereon thou drawest near to me, and that, whereon thou turn'st away, my day of death and fear. what though i tremble all the night and go in dread of death, yet thine embraces are to me than safety far more dear. and again: my soul redeem the absent, whose going cast a blight on hearts and did afflict them with anguish and affright! let gladness then accomplish its purification-time,[fn# ] for, by a triple divorcement,[fn# ] i've put away delight. meanwhile, the princess budour abode in the ebony islands, whilst the folk would point to her and say, 'yonder is king armanous's son-in-law;' and every night she lay with heyat en nufous, to whom she made moan of her longing for her husband kemerezzeman, weeping and describing to her his beauty and grace and yearning to enjoy him, though but in a dream. and bytimes she would repeat these verses: god knows that, since my severance from thee, full sore i've wept, so sore that needs my eyes must run for very tears in debt. "have patience," quoth my censurer, "and thou shalt win them yet," and i, "o thou that blamest me, whence should i patience get?" all this time, kemerezzeman abode with the gardener, weeping and repeating verses night and day, bewailing the seasons of enjoyment and the nights of delight, whilst the gardener comforted him with the assurance that the ship would set sail for the land of the muslims at the end of the year. one day, he saw the folk crowding together and wondered at this; but the gardener came in to him and said, 'o my son, give over work for to-day neither water the trees; for it is a festival day, on which the folk visit one another. so rest and only keep thine eye on the garden, whilst i go look after the ship for thee; for yet but a little while and i send thee to the land of the muslims.' so saying, he went out, leaving kemerezzeman alone in the garden, who fell to musing upon his condition, till his courage gave way and the tears streamed from his eyes. he wept till he swooned away, and when he recovered, he rose and walked about the garden pondering what fate had done with him and bewailing his long estrangement from those he loved. as he went thus, absorbed in melancholy thought, his foot stumbled and he fell on his face, striking his forehead against the stump of a tree. the blow cut it open and his blood ran down and blent with his tears. he rose and wiping away the blood, dried his tears and bound his forehead with a piece of rag; then continued his melancholy walk about the garden. presently, he saw two birds quarrelling on a tree, and one of them smote the other on the neck with its beak and cut off its head, with which it flew away, whilst the slain bird's body fell to the ground before kemerezzeman. as it lay, two great birds flew down and alighting, one at the head and the other at the tail of the dead bird, drooped their wings over it and bowing their heads towards it, wept; and when kemerezzeman saw them thus bewail their mate, he called to mind his wife and father and wept also. then he saw them dig a grave and bury the dead bird; after which they flew away, but presently returned with the murderer and alighting on the grave, stamped on him till they killed him. then they rent his belly and tearing out his entrails, poured the blood on the grave. moreover, they stripped off his skin and tearing his flesh in pieces, scattered it hither and thither. all this while kemerezzeman was watching them and wondering; but presently, chancing to look at the dead bird's crop, he saw therein something gleaming. so he opened it and found the talisman that had been the cause of his separation from his wife. at this sight, he fell down in a swoon for joy; and when he revived, he said, 'praised be god! this is a good omen and a presage of reunion with my beloved.' then he examined the jewel and passed it over his eyes; after which he bound it to his arm, rejoicing in coming good, and walked about, awaiting the gardener's return, till nightfall; when, as he came not, he lay down and slept in his wonted place. at daybreak he rose and girding himself with a cord of palm-fibre, took hoe and basket and went out to his work in the garden. presently, he came to a carob-tree and struck the hoe into its roots. the blow resounded [as if it had fallen on metal]; so he cleared away the earth and discovered a trap-door of brass. he raised the trap and found a winding stair, which he descended and came to an ancient vault of the time of aad and themoud,[fn# ] hewn out of the rock. round the vault stood many brazen vessels of the bigness of a great oil-jar, into one of which he put his hand and found it full of red and shining gold; whereupon he said to himself, 'verily, the days of weariness are past and joy and solace are come!' then he returned to the garden and replacing the trap-door, busied himself in tending the trees till nightfall, when the gardener came back and said to him, 'o my son, rejoice in a speedy return to thy native land, for the merchants are ready for the voyage and in three days' time the ship will set sail for the city of ebony, which is the first of the cities of the muslims; and thence thou must travel by land six months' journey till thou come to the islands of khalidan, the dominions of king shehriman.' at this kemerezzeman rejoiced and repeated the following verses: forsake not a lover unused aversion from thee, nor punish the guiltless with rigour and cruelty. another, when absence was long, had forgotten thee and changed from his faith and his case; not so with me. then he kissed the gardener's hand, saying, 'o my father, even as thou hast brought me glad tidings, so i also have great good news for thee,' and told him of his discovery in the garden; whereat the gardener rejoiced and said, 'o my son, fourscore years have i dwelt in this garden and have never chanced on aught; whilst thou, who hast not sojourned with me a year, hast discovered this thing; wherefore it is god's gift to thee, for the cesser of thine ill fortune, and will aid thee to rejoin thy folk and foregather with her thou lovest.' 'not so,' answered kemerezzeman, 'it must be shared between us.' then he carried him to the underground chamber and showed him the gold, which was in twenty jars. so he took ten and the gardener ten, and the latter said to him, 'o my son, fill thyself jars with the olives that grow in the garden, for they are not found but in our land and are sought after; the merchants carry them to all parts and they are called asafiri[fn# ] olives. lay the gold in the jars and cover it with olives: then stop them and cover them and take them with thee in the ship.' so kemerezzeman took fifty jars and laying in each somewhat of the gold, filled it up with olives. at the bottom of one of the jars he laid the talisman, then stopped and covered the jars and sat down to talk with the gardener, making sure of speedy reunion with his own people and saying in himself, 'when i come to the ebony islands, i will journey thence to my father's country and enquire for my beloved budour. i wonder whether she turned back to her own land or journeyed on to my father's country or whether there befell her any accident by the way.' and he repeated the following verses: love in my breast they lit and passed away forthright: far distant is the land that holds my soul's delight. far, far from me the camp and those that dwell therein; no visitation-place again shall us unite. patience and reason fled from me, when they fared forth; sleep failed me and despair o'ercame me, like a blight. they left me, and with them departed all my joy; tranquillity and peace with them have taken flight. they made mine eyes run down with tears of love laid waste; my lids for lack of them brim over day and night. whenas my sad soul longs to see them once again and waiting and desire are heavy on my spright, midmost my heart of hearts their images i trace, love and desireful pain and yearning for their sight. then he told the gardener what he had seen pass between the birds, whereat he wondered; and they both lay down and slept till the morning. the gardener awoke sick and abode thus two days; but on the third day, his sickness increased on him, till they despaired of his life and kemerezzeman grieved sore for him. meanwhile, the captain and sailors came and enquired for the gardener. kemerezzeman told them that he was sick, and they said, 'where is the young man that is minded to go with us to the ebony islands?' 'he is your servant,' answered the prince and bade them carry the jars of olives to the ship. so they transported them to the ship, saying, 'make haste, for the wind is fair;' and he answered, 'i hear and obey.' then he carried his victual on board and returning, to bid the gardener farewell, found him in the agonies of death. so he sat down at his head and closed his eyes, and his soul departed his body; whereupon he laid him out and committed him to the earth to the mercy of god the most high. then he went down to the port, to embark, but found that the ship had already weighed anchor and set sail; nor did she cease to cleave the waters, till she disappeared from his sight. so he returned to the garden, sorrowful and heavy-hearted, and sitting down, threw dust on his head and buffeted his face. then he rented the garden of its owner and hired a man to help him tend the trees. moreover, he went down to the underground chamber and bringing up the rest of the gold, stowed it in other fifty jars, which he filled up with olives. then he enquired of the ship and was told that it sailed but once a year; at which his affliction redoubled and he mourned sore for that which had befallen him, above all for the loss of the princess budour's talisman, and spent his nights and days weeping and repeating verses. meanwhile, the ship sailed with a favouring wind, till it reached the ebony islands. as fate would have it, the princess budour was sitting at a window overlooking the sea and saw the ship cast anchor in the port. at this sight, her heart throbbed and she mounted and riding down to the port, with her officers, halted by the ship, whilst the sailors broke out the cargo and transported the goods to the storehouses; after which she called the captain and asked what he had with him. 'o king,' answered he, 'i have with me drugs and cosmetics and powders and ointments and plasters and rich stuffs and yemen rugs and other costly merchandise, not to be borne of mule or camel, and all manner essences and spices and perfumes, civet and ambergris and camphor and sumatra aloes-wood, and tamarinds and asafiri olives to boot, such as are rare to find in this country.' when she heard talk of asafiri olives, her heart yearned for them and she said to the captain, 'how much olives hast thou?' 'fifty jars full,' answered he. 'their owner is not with us, but the king shall take what he will of them.' quoth she, 'bring them ashore, that i may see them.' so he called to the sailors, who brought her the fifty jars; and she opened one and looking at the olives, said to the captain, 'i will take the whole fifty and pay you their value, whatever it may be.' 'by allah, o my lord,' answered he, 'they have no value in our country and the fifty jars may be worth some hundred dirhems; but their owner tarried behind us, and he is a poor man.' 'and what are they worth here?' asked she. 'a thousand dirhems,' replied he. 'i will take them at that price,' quoth she and bade carry the fifty jars to the palace. when it was night, she called for a jar of olives and opened it, there being none present but herself and the princess heyat en nufous. then, taking a dish, she turned into it the contents of the jar, when behold there fell out into the dish with the olives a heap of red gold and she said to heyat en nufous, 'this is nought but gold!' so she sent for the rest of the jars and found each one full of gold and scarce enough olives in the whole fifty to fill one jar. moreover, she sought among the gold and found the talisman, which she took and examined and knew for that which kemerezzeman had taken from off the riband of her trousers; whereupon she cried out for joy and fell down in a swoon. when she revived, she said in herself, 'verily, this talisman was the cause of my separation from my beloved kemerezzeman; but now it is an omen of good.' then she showed it to heyat en nufous and said to her, 'this was the cause of separation and now, please god, it shall be the cause of reunion.' as soon as it was day, she seated herself on her throne and sent for the captain, who came and kissed the ground before her. quoth she, 'where didst thou leave the owner of these olives?' 'o king of the age,' answered he, 'we left him in the land of the magians and he is a gardener there.' 'except thou bring him to me,' said she, 'thou knowest not the harm that awaits thee and thy ship.' then she bade seal up the merchants' storehouses and said to them, 'the owner of these olives is my debtor; and an ye bring him not to me, i will without fail put you all to death and confiscate your goods.' so they all went to the captain and promised him the hire of the ship, if he would go and return a second time, saying, 'deliver us from this masterful tyrant.' accordingly, the captain set sail and god decreed him a prosperous voyage, till he came to the city of the magians, and landing by night, went up to the garden. now the night was long upon kemerezzeman, and he sat, bethinking him of his beloved and weeping over what had befallen him and repeating the following verses: full many a night i've passed, whose stars their course did stay, a night that seemed of those that will not pass away, that was, as 'twere, for length the resurrection-morn, to him that watched therein and waited for the day! at this moment, the captain knocked at the garden-gate, and kemerezzeman opened and went out to him, whereupon the sailors seized him and carrying him on board the ship, weighed anchor forthright. they sailed on without ceasing days and nights, whilst kemerezzeman knew not why they dealt thus with him; but when he questioned them, they replied, 'thou hast offended against the lord of the ebony islands, the son-in-law of king armanous, and hast stolen his good, unhappy wretch that thou art!' 'by allah,' said he, 'i know not the country nor was i ever there in all my life!' however, they fared on with him, till they made the ebony islands and landing, carried him up to the princess budour, who knew him at sight and said, 'leave him with the eunuchs, that they may take him to the bath.' then she relieved the merchant of the embargo and gave the captain a dress of honour and ten thousand dinars; after which, she went in that night to the princess heyat en nufous and told her what had passed, saying, 'keep thou my counsel, till i accomplish my purpose and do a thing that shall be recorded and told to kings and commoners after us.' meanwhile, they carried kemerezzeman to the bath and clad him in a royal habit, so that, when he came forth, he resembled a willow-wand or a star whose aspect put to shame both sun and moon, and his life returned to him. then he went in to the princess budour, who, when she saw him, schooled her heart to patience, till she should have accomplished her purpose, and bestowed on him slaves and servants, black and white, and camels and mules. moreover, she gave him a treasury of money and advanced him from dignity to dignity, till she made him treasurer and committed to his charge all the treasures of the state; nor did she leave day by day to increase his allowances and afford him fresh marks of her favour. as for kemerezzeman, he was at a loss for the reason of all the honour and favour she showed him and gave gifts and largesse out of the abundance of the wealth he owed to her munificence, devoting himself in particular to the service of king armanous, so that he and all the amirs and people, great and small, loved him and were wont to swear by his life. nevertheless, he ceased not to marvel at the favour shown him by budour and said in himself, 'by allah, there must be a reason for this affection! peradventure, this king favours me thus excessively with some ill purpose and needs must i therefore crave leave of him to depart his realm.' so he went in to budour and said to her, 'o king, thou hast overwhelmed me with favours, but it will fulfil the measure of thy bounties if thou wilt take from me all thou hast given and let me depart.' she smiled and said, 'what makes thee seek to depart and plunge into new perils, whenas thou art in the enjoyment of the greatest favour and prosperity?' 'o king,' answered kemerezzeman, 'this favour, if there be no reason for it, is indeed a wonder of wonders, more by token that thou hast advanced me to dignities such as befit graybeards, albeit i am but a child.' 'the reason is,' answered she, 'that i love thee for thine exceeding grace and thy surpassing beauty; and so thou wilt but grant me my desire of thee, i will advance thee yet further in honour and favour and largesse and make thee vizier, for all thy tender age, even as the folk made me sultan and i no older than thou; so that nowadays there is nothing strange in the headship of children, and gifted of god was he who said: our time is, meseems, of the lineage of lot; it craves the advancement of younglings, god wot.' when kemerezzeman heard this, he was confounded and his cheeks flushed till they seemed on fire; and he said, 'i reck not of favours that involve the commission of sin; i will live poor in wealth but rich in virtue and honour.' quoth she, 'i am not the dupe of thy scruples, arising from prudery and coquetry: and god bless him who says: i mentioned to him the pact of fruition, and he, "how long with vexatious discourse wilt thou set upon me?" i showed him a dinar and straightway he sang out and said, "o whither shall one from fate irresistible flee!" 'o king,' replied kemerezzeman, 'i have not the wont of these doings, nor have i strength, who am but of tender years, to bear these heavy burdens, for which elder than i have proved unable.' she smiled and rejoined, 'indeed, it is wonderful how error springs from the disorder of the wit. since thou art but a boy, why standest thou in fear of sin or the doing of forbidden things, seeing that thou art not yet come to years of discretion and the offences of a child incur neither punishment nor reproof? verily, thou committest thyself to an argument advanced but for the sake of contention, and it behoves thee to bow to the ordinance of fruition, which has been given against thee. wherefore, henceforward, give over denial and coyness, for the commandment of god is a foreordained decree:[fn# ] indeed, i have more reason than thou to fear falling into error; and well-inspired was he who said: my pintle is big and the little one said unto me, "tilt boldly therewith at my inwards and quit thee thy need." quoth i, "'tis unlawful;" but he, "it is lawful with me;" so to it i fell, supporting myself by his rede.' when kemerezzeman heard these words, the light in his eyes became darkness and he said, 'o king, thou hast in thy palace women and female slaves, that have not their like in this age: may not these suffice thee without me? do thy will with them and leave me.' 'thou speakest truth,' answered she; 'but it is not with them that one who loves thee can heal himself of torment and fever; for when tastes and inclinations are corrupted, they hearken to other than good counsel. so leave arguing and hear what the poet says: seest not the fruits of the market, how of two kinds they be? some are for figs,[fn# ] but more for the fruit of the sycamore-tree.[fn# ] and what another says: full many an one, whose ankle-rings are dumb, her girdle sounds; so this one is content and that a tale of need must tell. thou'dst have me, foolwise, in her charms forget thee. god forfend i, that a true believer am, should turn an infidel! no, by a whisker that makes mock of all her curls, i swear, nor maid nor strumpet from thy side shall me by guile compel! and a third: o pearl of loveliness, to love thee is my faith; yea, and my choice of all the faiths that have been aye. women i have forsworn, indeed, for thy sweet sake, so that the folk avouch i'm grown a monk to-day and a fourth: compare not a wench with a boy and to the spy, who says to thee, "this is wrong," pay thou no heed. 'twixt a woman whose feet one's lips kiss and a smooth-faced fawn, who kisses the earth, the diff'rence is great indeed. and a fifth: my soul be thy ransom! indeed, i've chosen thee out with intent, because thou layest no eggs and dost not menstruate. for, an i inclined to foregather with harlots, upon my faith, the wide, wide world for the brats i should get would prove too strait. and a sixth: quoth she to me,--and sore enraged for wounded pride was she, for she in sooth had bidden me to that which might not be,-- "an if thou swive me not forthright, as one should swive his wife, if thou be made a cuckold straight, reproach it not to me. meseems thy yard is made of wax, for very flaccidness; for, when i rub it with my hand, it softens instantly." and a seventh: quoth she (for i to lie with her would not consent), "o fool, that followest on thy folly to the extent, if thou reject my kaze for kibleh[fn# ] to thy yard, we'll show thee one wherewith thou shalt be sure content." and an eighth: she proffered me a tender kaze; but i, "i will not swive," replied. she drew back, saying, "from the truth needs must he turn who's turned aside;[fn# ] and swiving frontwise in our day is all abandoned and decried;" then turned and showed me, as it were a lump of silver, her backside. "well done, o mistress mine! no more am i in pain for thee," i cried, "whose poke of all god's openings[fn# ] is sure the amplest and most wide!" and a ninth: men crave forgiveness with uplifted hands; but women pray with lifted legs, i trow.[fn# ] out on it for a pious piece of work! god shall exalt it to the deeps below.[fn# ] when kemerezzeman heard these verses and was certified that there was no escaping compliance with her will, he said, 'o king, if thou must needs have it so, swear to me that thou wilt use me thus but once, though it avail not to stay thy debauched appetite; and that thou wilt never again require me of this to the end of time; so it may be god will purge me of the sin.' 'i promise thee that,' replied she, 'hoping that god of his favour will relent towards us and blot out our mortal sins; for the compass of the divine forgiveness is not indeed so strait, but it may altogether embrace us and absolve us of the excess of our transgressions and bring us to the light of righteousness out of the darkness of error. as most excellent well saith the poet: the folk imagine of us twain an evil thing, i ween, and with their hearts and souls, indeed, they do persist therein. come, let us justify their thought and free them thus from guilt, this once, 'gainst us; and then will we repent us of our sin.' then she swore to him a solemn oath, by him whose existence is unconditioned, that this thing should befall betwixt them but once and never again for all time, and vowed to him that the desire of him was driving her to death and perdition. so he went with her, on this condition, to her privy closet, that she might quench the fire of her passion, saying, 'there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the supreme! this is the ordinance of the all-powerful, the all-wise!' and did off his trousers, in the utmost confusion, with the tears running from his eyes for stress of affright; whereat she smiled and carrying him on to a couch, said to him, 'after this night, thou shalt see nought that will displease thee.' then she turned to him, kissing and clipping him and twining leg with leg, and said to him, 'put thy hand, between my thighs, to that thou wottest of, so haply it may be won to stand up after prostration.' he wept and said, 'i am not good at aught of this.' but she said, 'as i live, an thou do as i bid thee, it shall profit thee!' so he put out his hand, with a heart on fire for confusion, and found her thighs fresher than cream and softer than silk. the touching of them pleasured him and he moved his hand hither and thither, till he came to a dome abounding in benedictions and movements and said in himself, 'belike this king is a hermaphrodite, nor male nor female.' so he said to her, 'o king, i cannot find that thou hast any manly gear, even as other men; what then moved thee to do thus?' when the princess heard this, she laughed till she fell backward, and said, 'o my beloved, how quickly thou hast forgotten the nights we have lain together!' then she made herself known to him and he knew her for his wife, the lady budour, daughter of king ghaïour. so he embraced her and she embraced him and they kissed each other; then they lay down on the bed of delight, repeating the words of the poet: whenas the softness of a shape did bid him to my arms, that, as it were a trailing vine with twinings did him ply and on the hardness of his heart its very softness shed, he yielded, though at first he feigned reluctance to comply, and came, provided with a stock of caution safe and sure, fearing lest, when he did appear, the railers should him spy. his waist of buttocks maketh moan, that lay upon his feet a very camel's load, what time he would a-walking hie. girt with his glances' trenchant swords and cuirassed with the mail of his bright locks, as 'twere the dusk new fallen from the sky, his fragrance brought me from afar the news of his approach, and forth, as bird let out from cage, to meet my love fled i. i laid my cheek within his way, beneath his sandal-soles, and lo, their dust's collyrium healed the ailment of mine eye! with an embrace i hoisted up the flag of loves new linked and loosed the knot of my delight, that made as 'twould deny. then let i call high festival, and gladness, all unmixed with any thought of troublousness, came flocking in reply. the full moon handselled with the stars the teeth, like grains of pearl, that on the laughing face of wine now dance, now stirless lie. so in the niche of their delight i gave me up to joys, the veriest sinner would repent if he their like might try. the morning-glories of his face be pledge i'll ne'er, in him, forget the writ that biddeth us one only glorify![fn# ] then they told one another all that had befallen them since their separation, after which he began to upbraid her, saying, 'what moved thee to deal with me as thou hast done this night?' 'do not reproach me,' replied she; 'for i did this but by way of jest and for increase of pleasure and gladness.' when it was morning and the day arose with its light and shone, she sent to king armanous and acquainted him with the truth of the case and that she was wife to kemerezzeman. moreover, she told him their story and the manner of their separation and how his daughter heyat en nufous was yet a maid. he marvelled greatly at their story and bade record it in letters of gold. then he turned to kemerezzeman and said, 'o king's son, art thou minded to marry my daughter and become my son-in-law?' 'i must consult the princess budour,' answered he; 'for i owe her favour without stint.' so he took counsel with her and she said, 'this is well seen; marry her and i will be her handmaid, for i am her debtor for kindness and favour and good offices, more by token that we are here in her place and that the king her father has loaded us with benefits.' when he saw that she inclined to this and was not jealous of heyat en nufous, he agreed with her thereupon and told king armanous what she had said, whereat he rejoiced greatly. then he went out and seating himself in his chair of estate, assembled all the viziers and amirs and chamberlains and grandees, to whom he related the whole story and acquainted them with his desire to marry his daughter to kemerezzeman and make him king in the stead of the princess budour. whereupon said they all, 'since he is the husband of the princess budour, who hath been our sultan till now, whilst we deemed her king armanous's son-in-law, we are all content to have him to sultan over us and will be his servants, nor will we swerve from his allegiance.' at this armanous rejoiced and summoning cadis and witnesses and the chief officers of state, let draw up the contract of marriage between kemerezzeman and his daughter, the princess heyat en nufous. then he held high festival, giving sumptuous banquets and bestowing costly dresses of honour upon the amirs and captains; moreover, he gave alms to the poor and needy and freed the prisoners. all the folk rejoiced in the coming of kemerezzeman to the throne, wishing him abiding glory and prosperity and happiness and renown, and as soon as he became king, he remitted the customs-dues and released all that remained in prison. thus he abode a long while, ordering himself worthily towards his subjects, and lived with his wives in peace and happiness and content, lying the night with each of them in turn. and indeed all his troubles and afflictions were blotted out from him and he forgot his father king shehriman and his former estate of honour and worship with him. after awhile, god the most high blessed him with two sons, as they were two shining moons, the elder, whose name was prince amjed, by queen budour, and the younger, whose name was prince asaad and who was comelier than his brother, by queen heyat en nufous. they were reared in splendour and delight and were instructed in penmanship and science and the arts of government and horsemanship and other polite arts and accomplishments, till they attained the extreme of perfection and the utmost limit of beauty and grace, and both men and women were ravished by their charms. they grew up together, till they reached the age of seventeen, and loved one another so dear that they were never apart, eating and drinking together and sleeping in one bed; and all the people envied them their beauty and concord. when they came to man's estate and were endowed with every perfection, their father was wont, as often as he went on a journey, to make them sit in his stead by turns in the place of judgment, and each did justice among the folk one day at a time. now, as unalterable fate and foreordained destiny would have it, queen budour fell in love with asaad, son of queen heyat en nufous, and the latter became enamoured of amjed; and each of them used to sport and play with the other's son, kissing him and straining him to her bosom, whilst each thought that the other's behaviour arose but from motherly affection. on this wise, passion got the mastery of the two women's hearts and they became madly enamoured of the two youths, so that when the other's son came in to either of them, she would press him to her bosom and long for him never to be parted from her; till, at last, when waiting grew tedious to them and they found no way to enjoyment, they refused meat and drink and forewent the solace of sleep. presently, the king went out to hunt, bidding his sons sit to do justice in his stead, each one day in turn, according to their wont. so prince amjed sat on the throne the first day, ordering and forbidding, appointing and deposing, giving and denying; and queen heyat en nufous took a scroll and wrote to him the following letter, suing for his favour and discovering to him her passion, in fine, altogether putting off the mask and giving him to know that she desired to enjoy him. 'from the wretched lover, the sorrowful severed one, whose youth is wasted in the love of thee and whose torment for thee is prolonged. were i to recount to thee the extent of my affliction and what i suffer for sadness, the passion that is in my breast and all that i endure for weeping and groaning and the rending of my sorrowful heart, my unremitting cares and my ceaseless griefs and all my suffering for severance and sadness and the ardour of desire, no letter could contain it nor calculation compass it. indeed, earth and heaven are straitened upon me, and i have no hope and no trust but in thee. i am come nigh upon death and suffer the horrors of dissolution; burning is sore upon me, and the pangs of separation and estrangement. were i to set out the yearnings that possess me, no scrolls would suffice thereto: and of the excess of my affliction and wasting away, i have made the following verses: were i to set down all i feel of heart-consuming dole and all the transport and unease that harbour in my soul, nor ink nor pen in all the world thereafter would remain, nor aught from east to west were left of paper or of scroll.' then she folded up the silken tresses of her hair, whose cost swallowed up treasures, in the letter, and wrapping it in a piece of rich silk, scented with musk and ambergris, laid it in a handkerchief; after which she gave it to an eunuch and bade him carry it to prince amjed. the eunuch took it, knowing not what the future hid for him, (for he who knoweth the hidden things ordereth events according to his will,) and going in to the prince, kissed the earth before him and gave him the letter. he opened it and reading it, was ware that his father's wife was in intent an adulteress and a traitress to her husband; whereat he was exceeding wroth and railed at women and their works, saying, 'may god curse women, the traitresses, that lack reason and religion!' then he drew his sword and said to the eunuch, 'out on thee, thou wicked slave! dost thou carry adulterous messages for thy lord's wife? by allah, there is no good in thee, o black of hue and heart, o foul of face and nature!' so saying, he smote him on the neck and severed his head from his body; then, folding the letter in the handkerchief, he thrust it into his pocket and went in to his own mother and told her what had passed, reviling and reproaching her and saying, 'each one of you is worse than the other; and by god the great, did i not fear to transgress against the rights of my father and my brother asaad, i would assuredly go in to her and cut off her head, even as i cut off that of her eunuch!' then he went out in a great rage; and when the news reached queen heyat en nufous of what he had done with her messenger, she reviled him and cursed him and plotted perfidy against him. he passed the night, sick with anger and disgust and concern, nor was meat nor drink nor sleep sweet to him. next morning, prince asaad went out in his turn to rule the folk in his father's stead and sat in the audience-chamber, judging and administering justice, appointing and deposing, ordering and forbidding, giving and bestowing, till near the time of afternoon-prayer, when queen budour sent for a crafty old woman and discovering to her what was in her heart, wrote a letter to prince asaad, complaining of the excess of her love and longing for him, as follows: 'from her who perisheth for passion and love-longing to the goodliest of mankind in form and nature, him who is conceited of his own loveliness and glories in his amorous grace, who turneth away from those that seek to enjoy him and refuseth to show favour unto the lowly and the self-abasing, him who is cruel and disdainful; from the despairing lover to prince asaad, lord of surpassing beauty and excelling grace, of the moon-bright face and the flower-white brow and dazzling splendour. this is my letter to him whose love consumes my body and rends my skin and my bones. know that my patience fails me and i am at a loss what to do: longing and wakefulness weary me and sleep and patience deny themselves to me; but mourning and watching stick fast to me and desire and passion torment me, and the extremes of languor and sickness. yet may my life be thy ransom, though it be thy pleasure to slay her who loveth thee, and may god prolong thy life and preserve thee from every ill!' after this, she wrote the following verses: fate hath so ordered it that i must needs thy lover be, o thou whose charms shine as the moon, when at the full is she! all beauty and all eloquence thou dost in thee contain and over all the world of men thou'rt bright and brave to see. that thou my torturer shouldst be, i am indeed content, so but thou wilt one glance bestow, as almous-deed, on me. happy, thrice happy is her lot who dieth for thy love! no good is there in any one that doth not cherish thee. and these also: to thee, o asaad, of the pangs of passion i complain; have pity on a slave of love, that burns for longing pain. how long, i wonder, shall the hands of passion sport with me and love and dole and sleeplessness consume me, heart and brain? whiles do i plain me of a sea within my heart and whiles of flaming; surely, this is strange, o thou my wish and bane! give o'er thy railing, censor mine, and set thyself to flee from love that maketh eyes for aye with burning tears to rain. how oft, for absence and desire, i cry, "alas, my grief!" but all my crying and lament in this my case are vain. thou hast with rigours made me sick, that passed my power to bear: thou'rt the physician; do thou me with what befits assain. o thou my censurer, forbear to chide me for my case, lest, of love's cruel malady, perdition thee attain. then she scented the letter with odoriferous musk and winding it in the tresses of her hair, which were of irak silk, with tassels of oblong emeralds, set with pearls and jewels, delivered it to the old woman, bidding her carry it to prince asaad. she undertook the errand, to pleasure her, and going in straightway to the prince, found him in his closet and delivered him the letter; after which she stood waiting for the answer. when asaad had read the letter and knew its purport, he wrapped it up again in the tresses and put it in his pocket, cursing false women; then, for he was beyond measure wroth, he sprang up and drawing his sword, smote the old woman on the neck and cut off her head. then he went in to his mother, queen heyat en nufous, whom he found lying on her bed, sick for that which had betided her with prince amjed, and railed at her and cursed her; after which he left her and betook himself to his brother, to whom he related what had befallen him with queen budour, adding, 'by allah, o my brother, but that i feared to grieve thee, i had gone in to her forthright and smitten her head off her shoulders!' 'by allah, o my brother,' replied amjed, 'the like of what hath befallen thee befell me also yesterday with thy mother queen heyat en nufous.' and he told him what had passed, adding, 'by allah, o my brother, nought but respect for thee withheld me from going in to her and dealing with her even as i dealt with the eunuch!' they passed the rest of the night in trouble and affliction, conversing and cursing false women, and agreed to keep the matter secret, lest their father should hear of it and kill the two women. on the morrow, the king returned with his suite from hunting and sat awhile in his chair of estate; after which he dismissed the amirs and went up to his harem, where he found his two wives lying on the bed, exceeding sick. now they had made a plot against the two princes and concerted to do away their lives, for that they had exposed themselves before them and feared to be at their mercy. when kemerezzeman saw them on this wise, he said to them, 'what ails you?' whereupon they rose and kissing his hands, answered, perverting the case and saying, 'know, o king, that thy sons, who have been reared in thy bounty, have played thee false and outraged thee in the persons of thy wives.' when he heard this, the light in his eyes became darkness and his reason fled for the excess of his rage; then said he to them, 'expound this thing to me.' 'o king of the age,' answered budour, 'know that these many days past thy son asaad has been wont to send me letters and messages to solicit me to lewdness, and i still forbade him from this, but he would not be forbidden. when thou wentest forth to hunt, he rushed in on me, drunk and with a drawn sword in his hand, and smiting my eunuch, slew him. then he mounted on my breast, still holding the sword, and i feared lest he should slay me even as he had slain my eunuch, if i gainsaid him; so he took his will of me by force; and now an thou do me not justice on him, o king, i will slay myself with my own hand, for i reck not of life in the world after this foul deed.' queen heyat en nufous, choking with tears, told him a like story respecting prince amjed, after which she fell a- weeping and wailing and said, 'except thou avenge me on him, i will tell my father, king armanous.' then they both wept sore before king kemerezzeman, who, when he saw their tears and heard their words, concluded that their story was true and waxing beyond measure wroth, went out, thinking to fall upon his two sons and put them to death. on his way he met his father-in-law king armanous, who hearing of his return from the chase, had come to salute him and seeing him with the naked sword in his hand and the blood dripping from his nostrils, for excess of rage, enquired what ailed him. kemerezzeman told him what his sons amjed and asaad had done and added, 'i am now going in to them, to slay them on the foulest wise and make of them the most shameful of examples.' 'o my son,' said king armanous, (and indeed he too was wroth with them,) 'thou dost well, and may god not bless them nor any sons that offend thus against their father's honour! but, o my son, the proverb says, "whoso looks not to the issues, fortune is no friend to him." in any case, they are thy sons, and it befits not that thou put them to death with thine own hand, lest thou drink of their agony and after repent of having slain them, whenas repentance will avail thee nothing. rather do thou send one of thine officers with them into the desert and let him kill them there, out of thy sight, for, as says the adage, "when the eye sees not, the heart grieves not."' kemerezzeman saw his father-in-law's words to be just, so he sheathed his sword and turning back, sat down upon his throne and called his treasurer, a very old man, versed in affairs and in the shifts of fortune, to whom he said, 'go in to my sons amjed and asaad; bind fast their hands behind them and lay them in two chests and set them on a mule. then take horse and carry them into the mid-desert, where do thou put them to death and fill two vials with their blood and bring them to me in haste.' 'i hear and obey,' answered the treasurer and went out forthright to do his bidding. on his way, he met the princes coming out of the palace-vestibule, for they had donned their richest clothes and were on their way to salute their father and give him joy of his safe return from the chase. when he saw them, he laid hands on them, saying, 'o my sons, know that i am but a slave commanded and that your father hath laid a commandment on me: will ye obey his commandment?' 'yes,' answered they; whereupon he bound their hands and laying them in the chests, set the latter on the back of a mule, with which he left the city and rode into the open country, till near midday, when he halted in a waste and desert spot and dismounting, set down the two chests. he opened them and took out amjed and asaad; whom when he saw, he wept sore for their beauty and grace; then drawing his sword, he said to them, 'o my lords, indeed it irks me to deal so foully by you; but i am to be excused in this, being but a slave commanded, for that your father king kemerezzeman hath bidden me strike off your heads.' 'o amir,' answered they, 'do the king's bidding, for we submit with patience to that which god (to whom be ascribed might and majesty) hath decreed to us; and thou art quit of our blood.' then they embraced and bade each other farewell, and asaad said to the treasurer, 'god on thee, o uncle, spare me the sight of my brother's agony and make me not drink of his anguish, but kill me first, that it may be the easier for me.' amjed said the like and entreated the treasurer to kill him before asaad, saying, 'my brother is younger than i; so make me not taste of his anguish.' and they both wept sore, whilst the treasurer wept for their weeping, and they said to each other, 'all this comes of the malice of those traitresses, our mothers; and this is the reward of our forbearance towards them. but there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme! verily, we are his and unto him we return.' and asaad embraced his brother, sobbing and repeating the following verses: o thou to whom the sad complain, to whom the fearful flee, thou that art evermore prepared for all that is to be, lord, there is left me no resource but at thy door to knock; yea, at whose portal shall i knock, if thou be deaf to me? o thou, the treasures of whose grace are in the one word "be," be favourable, i beseech, for all good is with thee! when amjed heard his brother's weeping, he wept also and pressed him to his bosom, repeating the following verses: o thou, whose bounties unto me are more than one, i trow, whose favours lavished on my head are countless as the sand, no blow of all the blows of fate has ever fall'n on me, but i have found thee ready still to take me by the hand. then said he to the treasurer, 'i conjure thee by the one god the omnipotent king and protector, kill me before my brother asaad and allay the fire of my heart!' but asaad wept and exclaimed, 'not so: i will die first;' whereupon said amjed, 'it were best that we embrace each other, so the sword may fall upon us and kill us both at one stroke.' so they embraced, face to face, and clipped each other straitly, whilst the treasurer bound them fast with cords, weeping the while. then he drew his sword and said to them, 'by allah, o my lords, it is indeed hard to me to kill you! but have ye no last wishes or injunctions that i may fulfil or message that i may carry?' 'we have no wish,' replied amjed, 'and my only injunction to thee is that thou set my brother undermost, that the blow may fall on me first; and when thou hast slain us and returnest to the king and he asks thee, "what said they before their death?" do thou answer, "thy sons salute thee and say to thee, 'thou knewest not if we were innocent or guilty, yet hast thou put us to death and hast not certified thyself of our guilt nor looked into our case.'" then do thou repeat to him these verses: women are very devils, made to work us dole and death; refuge i seek with god most high from all their craft and scaith. prime source are they of all the ills that fall upon mankind, both in the fortunes of this world and matters of the faith. 'we desire of thee nought but this,' continued amjed, 'except that thou have patience with us, whilst i repeat other two lines to my brother.' then he wept sore and recited the following verses: examples many, thou and i, we have in kings of days gone by, how many, alack, have trod this road, of great and small and low and high! at this the treasurer wept, till his beard was wet, whilst asaad's eyes filled with tears and he in turn repeated these verses: fate, when the thing itself is past, afflicteth with the trace, and weeping is not, of a truth, for body or form or face.[fn# ] what ails the nights?[fn# ] may god blot out our error from the nights and may the hand of change bewray and bring them to disgrace! they wreaked their malice to the full on ibn ez zubeir[fn# ] erst, and on the house and sacred stone[fn# ] his safeguard did embrace. would god, since kharijeh[fn# ] they took for amrou's sacrifice, they'd ransomed ali with whome'er they would of all our race! then, with cheeks stained with thick-coming tears, he recited these also: the days and nights are fashioned for treachery and despite; yea, they are full of perfidy and knavish craft and sleight. the mirage is their lustre of teeth, and to their eyes the horror of all darkness the kohl that keeps them bright. my crime against them (hateful their nature is!) is but the sword's crime, when the sworder sets on into the fight. then he sobbed and said: o thou that seeketh the worthless world, give ear to me and know the very net of ruin it is and quarry of dole and woe; a stead, whom it maketh laugh to-day, to-morrow it maketh weep: out on it then for a dwelling-place, since it is even so! its raids and its onsets are never done, nor can its bondsman win to free himself from its iron clutch by dint of stress and throe. how many an one in its vanities hath gloried and taken pride, till froward and arrogant thus he grew and did all bounds o'ergo! then did she[fn# ] turn him the buckler's back and give him to drink therein full measure and set her to take her wreak of the favours she did show. for know that her blows fall sudden and swift and unawares, though long the time of forbearance be and halt the coming of fate and slow. so look to thyself, lest life in the world pass idle and profitless by, and see that thou fail not of taking thought to the end of all below. cast loose from the chains of the love and the wish of the world and thou shalt find guidance and help unto righteousness and peace of heart, i trow. when he had made an end of these verses, he clipped his brother in his arms, till they seemed as it were one body, and the treasurer, raising his sword, was about to strike them, when, behold, his horse took fright at the wind of his upraised hand and breaking its tether, fled into the desert. now the horse was worth a thousand dinars and on his back was a splendid saddle, worth much money: so the treasurer threw down his sword, in great concern, and ran after him, to catch him. the horse galloped on, snorting and neighing and pawing the earth in his fright, till he raised a cloud of dust, and presently coming to a wood, fled into the midst of it, whither the treasurer followed him. now there was in this wood a terrible lion, foul of face, with eyes that cast forth sparks; his look was grim and his aspect struck terror into men's souls. he heard the noise made by the horse and came out to see what was to do. presently the treasurer turned and saw the lion making towards him; but found no way of escape, nor had he his sword with him. so he said in himself, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme! this stress is come upon me because of amjed and asaad; and indeed this journey was unblest from the first!' meanwhile amjed and asaad were grievously oppressed by the heat and grew sore athirst, so that their tongues hung out and they cried for succour; but none came to their relief and they said, 'would god we were dead and at peace from this torment! but we know not whither the treasurer's horse hath fled, that he has gone and left us bound. if he would but come back and kill us, it were easier to us than to suffer this torture.' 'o my brother,' said asaad, 'be patient and the relief of god (blessed and exalted be he) will surely come to us; for the horse ran not away save of his favour towards us, and nought irks us but this thirst.' so saying, he stretched himself and strained right and left, till he burst his bonds; then he unbound his brother and taking up the amir's sword, said, 'by allah, we will not go hence, till we know what is come of him!' so they followed the track, till it led them to the wood and they said to one another, 'of a surety, the horse and the treasurer have not overgone this wood.' quoth asaad, 'stay thou here, whilst i enter the wood and search it.' 'i will not let thee go in alone,' answered amjed. 'we will both go in; so if we escape, we shall escape together, and if we perish, we shall perish together.' so they entered both and found the lion standing over the treasurer, who lay like a sparrow in his grip, calling upon god for help and lifting his hands to heaven. when amjed saw this, he took the sword and running to the lion, smote him between the eyes and laid him dead on the ground. the amir arose, marvelling at this, and seeing amjed and asaad his lord's sons, standing there, cast himself at their feet and exclaimed, 'by allah, o my lords, it were foul wrong in me to put you to death! may the man never be who would kill you! indeed, i will ransom you with my life.' then he rose and embracing them, enquired how they had loosed their bonds and come thither, whereupon they told him how the bonds of one of them had fallen loose and he had unbound the other, that they might quit their intent, and how they had followed his track till they came upon him. he thanked them for their deed and went with them forth of the wood, where they said to him, 'o uncle, do our father's bidding.' 'god forbid,' answered he, 'that i should draw near to you with hurt! i mean to take your clothes and clothe you with mine; then will i fill two vials with the lion's blood and go back to the king and tell him i have put you to death. but as for you, fare ye forth into the lands, for god's earth is wide; and know, o my lords, that it irks me to part from you.' at this, they all fell a-weeping; then the two youths put off their clothes and the treasurer covered them with his own. moreover, he filled two vials with the lion's blood and making two parcels of the princes' clothes, set them before him on his horse's back. then he took leave of them and making his way back to the city, went in to king kemerezzeman and kissed the earth before him. the king saw him pale and troubled and deeming this came of the slaughter of the two princes (though in truth it came of his adventure with the lion) rejoiced and said to him, 'hast thou done the business?' 'yes, o our lord,' answered the treasurer and gave him the two parcels of clothes and the two vials of blood. 'how bore they themselves,' asked the king, 'and did they give thee any charge?' 'i found them patient and resigned to their fate,' answered the treasurer; 'and they said to me, "verily, our father is excusable; bear him our salutation and say to him, 'thou art quit of our blood;' and repeat to him the following verses: women are very devils, made to work us dole and death; refuge i seek with god most high from all their craft and scaith. prime source are they of all the ills that fall upon mankind, both in the fortunes of this world and matters of the faith."' when the king heard this, he bowed his head a long while and knew this to mean that they had wrongfully been put to death. then he bethought himself of the perfidy of women and the calamities brought about by them, and opening the two parcels fell to turning over his sons' clothes and weeping. presently, he found in the pocket of his son asaad's clothes a letter in queen budour's hand, enclosing the tresses of her hair, and reading it, knew that the prince had been falsely accused. then he searched amjed's clothes and found in his pocket a letter in the handwriting of queen heyat en nufous, enclosing the tresses of her hair; so he opened and read it and knew that amjed also had been wronged; whereupon he beat hand upon hand and exclaimed, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god! i have slain my sons unjustly.' and he buffeted his face, crying out, 'alas, my sons! alas, my long grief!' then he bade build two tombs in one house, which he styled 'house of lamentations,' and let grave thereon his sons' names; and he threw himself on amjed's tomb, weeping and groaning and lamenting, and repeated these verses: o moon, that hast set beneath the earth for aye, for whose loss weep the shining stars of the sky, o wand, after whom no more shall the flexile grace of the willow-like bending shape enchant the eye, my sight i've bereft of thee, of my jealousy, and ne'er shall i see thee again, till i come to die. i'm drowned in the sea of my tears, for sheer unrest; indeed, for sleepless sorrow in hell am i. then he threw himself on asaad's tomb and recited the following verses, whilst the tears poured from his eyes: fain had i shared with thee, dear heart, in death and ill; but god, that ordereth all, willed other than my will. all that i see, my dole makes black, whilst from my eyes all black i've blotted out with weeping all my fill.[fn# ] i weep and never stint; mine eyes run never dry; my entrails ulcered are and blood and tears distil. sore, sore it irketh me to see thee in a place[fn# ] where slaves and kings alike foregather, will or nill. then he forsook his friends and intimates, and denying himself to his women and his family, shut himself up in the house of lamentations, where he passed his time in weeping for his sons. meanwhile, amjed and asaad fared on into the desert a whole month's journey, eating of the fruits of the earth and drinking of the rain-pools, till their travel brought them to a mountain of black stone, where the road divided in two, one skirting the foot of the mountain and the other leading to its summit. they took the former way, for fear of thirst, and followed it five days, but saw no end to it and were overcome with weariness, being unused to walking in mountains or elsewhere. at last, despairing of coming to the end of the road, they retraced their steps and taking the other, that led over the mountain, followed it all that day, till nightfall, when asaad, weary with much travel, said to amjed, 'o my brother, i can go no farther, for i am exceeding weak.' 'courage,' replied amjed; 'may be god will send us relief.' so they walked on part of the night, till the darkness closed in upon them, when asaad became beyond measure weary and saying, 'o my brother, i am worn out and spent with walking,' threw himself on the ground and wept. amjed took him in his arms and fared on with him, halting bytimes to rest, till break of day, when they came to the mountain-top and found there a stream of running water and by it a pomegranate-tree and a prayer-niche. they could hardly believe their eyes, but, sitting down by the spring, drank of its water and ate of the fruit of the tree; after which they lay down and slept till sunrise, when they washed in the spring and eating of the pomegranates, slept again till the time of afternoon-prayer. then they thought to continue their journey, but asaad could not walk, for his feet were swollen. so they abode there three days, till they were rested, after which they set out again and fared on over the mountain days and nights, well-nigh perished for thirst, till they came in sight of a city afar off, at which they rejoiced and made towards it. when they drew near it, they thanked god the most high and amjed said to asaad, 'o my brother, sit here, whilst i go to yonder city and see what and whose it is and where we are in god's wide world, that we may know through what lands we have passed in crossing this mountain, whose skirts if we had followed, we had not reached this city in a whole year: so praised be god for safety!' 'by allah,' replied asaad, 'none shall go but myself, and may i be thy ransom! if thou leave me, i shall imagine a thousand things and suffer tortures of anxiety on thine account, for i cannot brook thine absence from me.' 'go then,' rejoined amjed, 'and do not tarry.' so asaad took money and leaving his brother awaiting him, descended the mountain and fared on, till he entered the city. as he passed through the streets, he met an old man, with a beard that flowed down upon his breast and was parted in twain; he bore a walking-staff in his hand and was richly clad, with a great red turban on his head. when asaad saw him, he wondered at his mien and habit; nevertheless, he went up to him and saluting him, enquired the way to the market. the old man smiled in his face and said, 'o my son, meseems thou art a stranger?' 'yes,' answered asaad; 'i am a stranger.' 'o my son,' rejoined the other, 'verily, thou gladdenest our country with thy presence and makest thine own land desolate by reason of thine absence. what wantest thou of the market?' 'o uncle,' replied asaad, 'i have an elder brother, with whom i have journeyed these three months, for we come from a far country. when we sighted this city, i left my brother in the mountain and came hither, purposing to buy food and what else and return therewith to him, that we might feed thereon.' 'rejoice in all good, o my son!' said the old man. 'know that to-day i give a marriage-feast, to which i have bidden many guests, and i have made ready great plenty of the best and most delicious meats that the heart can desire. so, if thou wilt come home with me, i will give thee freely all thou lackest, without price. moreover, i will teach thee the ways of the city; and praised be god, o my son, that thou hast fallen in with me and none other!' 'as thou wilt,' answered asaad; 'but make haste, for my brother awaits me and his whole heart is with me.' so the old man took asaad by the hand, smiling in his face and saying, 'glory be to him who hath delivered thee from the people of this city!' then he carried him to a narrow lane and entering a spacious house, brought him into a saloon, wherein were forty old men, seated in a circle about a lighted fire, to which they were doing worship and prostrating themselves. when asaad saw this he was confounded and his flesh quaked, though he knew not what they were; and the old man said to them, 'o elders of the fire, how blessed is this day!' then he cried out, saying, 'ho, ghezban!' whereupon there came out to him a tall black slave of forbidding aspect, grim-visaged and flat-nosed. the old man made a sign to him, and he bound asaad straitly; after which the old man said to him, 'bear him to the dungeon under the earth and bid my slave-girl kewam torture him day and night and give him a cake of bread to eat morning and evening, against the time come of the voyage to the blue sea and the mountain of fire, when we will slaughter him on the mountain as a sacrifice.' so the black carried him out at another door and raising a flag in the floor, discovered a flight of twenty steps leading to a chamber under the earth, into which he descended with him and laying his feet in irons, committed him to the slave-girl and went away. meanwhile, the old men said to one another, 'when the day of the festival of the fire comes, we will sacrifice him on the mountain, as a propitiatory offering to the fire.' presently the damsel went down to him and beat him grievously, till the blood streamed from his sides and he fainted away; after which she set at his head a cake of bread and a cruse of brackish water and went away and left him. in the middle of the night, he revived and found himself bound and sore with beating: so he wept bitterly and recalling his former estate of ease and honour and lordship and dominion, groaned and lamented and repeated the following verses: halt by the ruins of the house and question of our fate nor think we sojourn in the land, as in our first estate. fortune, the sunderer, hath wrought the severance of our loves; yet doth our enemies' despite against us nought abate. a filthy cockatrice is set to torture me with whips, whose breast against me is fulfilled with rancour and with hate. but haply god shall yet reknit our severed loves again and turn our enemies from us with vengeance stern and strait. then he put out his hand and finding the bread and water at his head, ate enough to keep life in him and drank a little water, but could get no sleep for the swarms of bugs and lice. as soon as it was day, the slave-girl came down to him and changed his clothes, which were drenched with blood and stuck to him, so that his skin came off with the shirt; wherefore he shrieked aloud and cried, 'alas!' and said, 'o my god, if this be thy pleasure, increase it upon me! o lord, verily thou art not unmindful of him that oppresses me: do thou then avenge me upon him!' and he groaned and repeated the following verses: lord, i submit myself to that thou dost decree, contented to endure, if but it pleasure thee; to suffer at thy will with patience nor complain, though i be cast to burn on coals of tamarisk-tree.[fn# ] mine enemies oppress and torture me; but thou with benefits belike shall 'quite and comfort me. far be 't from thee to let th' oppressor go unscathed; thou art my hope and stay, o lord of destiny! and what another says: avert thy face from thought-taking and care and trust to fate to order thine affair; for many a weary and a troublous thing is, in its issue, solaceful and fair. that which was strait is oftentimes made wide and straitened that, which easy was whilere. god orders all, according to his will; gainsay him not in what he doth prepare, but trust in happy fortune near at hand, wherein thou shalt forget the woes that were. then the slave-girl beat him till he fainted away and throwing him a cake of bread and a cruse of brackish water, went away and left him sad and lonely, bound in chains of iron, with the blood streaming from his sides and far from those he loved. so he called to mind his brother and his former high estate and repeated the following verses, shedding floods of tears the while: how long wilt thou wage war on me, o fate, and bear away my brethren from me? hold thy hand and spare awhile, i pray! is it not time, o thou whose heart is as the rock, that thou my long estrangement and my dole shouldst pity and allay? ill hast thou wrought to those i love and made my foes exult with all that thou hast wreaked on me of ruin and dismay. yea, for the pains he sees me brook of exile and desire and loneliness, my foeman's heart is solaceful and gay. thou'rt not content with what is fallen on me of bitter dole, of loss of friends and swollen eyes, affliction and affray. but i must lie and rot, to boot, in prison strait and dour, where nought but gnawing of my hands i have for help and stay, and tears that shower in torrents down, as from the rain-charged clouds, and fire of yearning, never quenched, that rages night and day, and memory and longing pain and melancholy thought and sobs and sighs and groans and cries of "woe!" and "wellaway!" passion and soul-destroying grief i suffer, and unto desire, that knoweth not relent nor end, am fallen a prey. no kindly soul is found to have compassion on my case and with his visits and his grace my misery allay. lives there a true and tender friend, who doth compassionate my sickness and my long unrest, that unto him i may make moan of all that i endure for dole and drearihead and of my sleepless eyes, oppressed of wakefulness alway? my night in torments is prolonged; i burn, without reprieve, in flames of heart-consuming care that rage in me for aye. the bug and flea do drink my blood, even as one drinks of wine, poured by the hand of damask-lipped and slender-waisted may. the body of me, amongst the lice, is as an orphan's good, that in an unjust cadi's hands doth dwindle and decay. my dwelling-place is in a tomb, three scanty cubits wide, wherein in shackles and in bonds i languish night and day. my tears my wine are and my chains my music: my dessert woeworthy thought and cares the bed whereon myself i lay. meanwhile his brother abode, awaiting him, till mid-day, but he returned not: whereupon amjed's heart fluttered and the tears welled from his eyes. the pangs of severance were sore upon him and he wept sore, exclaiming, 'alas, my brother! alas, my companion! alas, my grief! i fear me we are separated!' then he descended the mountain, with the tears running down his cheeks, and entering the city, made for the market. he asked the folk the name of the city and of its people, and they said, 'this is called the city of the magians, and its people serve the fire, not the omnipotent king.' then he enquired of the city of ebony and they answered, 'it is a year's journey thither by land and six months' by sea: it was governed erst by a king called armanous, but he took to son-in-law a prince called kemerezzeman, distinguished for justice and loyalty, munificence and benevolence, and made him king in his stead.' when amjed heard tell of his father, he groaned and wept and lamented and knew not whither to go. however, he bought food and carried it with him, till he came to a retired spot, where he sat down, thinking to eat: but, recalling his brother, he fell a-weeping and ate but a morsel to stay his stomach, and that against his will. then he rose and walked about the city, seeking news of his brother, till he saw a muslim, a tailor, sitting in his shop; so he sat down by him and told him his story; whereupon quoth the tailor, 'if he have fallen into the hands of any of the magians, thou shalt hardly see him again: yet it may be god will reunite you. but thou, o my brother,' added he, 'wilt thou lodge with me?' 'yes,' answered amjed, and the tailor rejoiced at this. so amjed abode with him many days, what while the tailor comforted him and exhorted him to patience and taught him his craft, till he became expert. one day, he went forth to the sea-shore and washed his clothes; after which he entered the bath and put on clean raiment. then he walked about the streets, to divert himself, and presently fell in with a woman of surpassing beauty and symmetry, unequalled for grace and loveliness. when she saw him, she raised her face-veil and winked to him and ogled him, reciting the following verses: afar, i saw thee coming and cast mine eyes down straight, as if, loveling slender, thou wert the very sun. indeed, thou art the fairest of all beholden; yea, even than thyself thou'rt fairer, since yesterday was done. were beauty but allotted, to every one his due, one-fifth of it were joseph's or but a part of one, and all the rest were surely thine own and only thine; may all men be thy ransom, yea, every mother's son! when he heard this, his heart inclined to her and the hands of love sported with him: so he winked to her in answer and repeated the following verses: over the rose of the cheek, the thorns of the eyelashes rise; so who shall adventure himself to gather the flowery prize? lift not your hands to the rose, for long have the lashes waged war and poured on us battle, because we lifted to it-ward our eyes. tell her the tyrant who plays and yet is temptation itself, (though still more seductive she'd be, if she dealt but in loyaller wise), i see that, for beauty like thine, exposure's the surest of guards, for the veiling thy face but augments its seductions and adds to our sighs; like the sun, on whose visage undimmed the eye still refuses to look, and yet we may gaze at our ease, when the thinnest of clouds o'er it lies. the honey's protected, forsooth, by the sting of the bees of the hive: so question the guards of the camp why they stay us in this our emprise. if my slaughter be what they desire, let them put off their rancours and stand from between us and leave her to deal with me and my life at her guise; for, i wot, not so deadly are they, when they set on a foe with their swords, as the eyes of the fair with the mole, when her glances upon us she plies. at this she sighed deeply and signing to him again, repeated the following verses: 'tis thou that hast trodden the road of aversion and coyness; not i vouchsafe me the promised delight, for the time of fulfilment draws nigh. o thou that mak'st morning to dawn with the lustre and light of thy brows and eke, with thy brow-locks unloosed, the night to sink down from the sky, thou hast, with an idol's aspéct, seduced me and made me thy slave and hast stirred me up troubles galore in many a season past by. and yet it is just that my heart with the ardour of passion should burn, for the fire is their due who adore aught other than god the most high. thou sellest the like of myself for nothing, yea, free, without price; if needs thou must sell, and no help, take a price, then, of those that would buy. when he heard this, he said to her, 'wilt thou come to my lodging or shall i go with thee to thine?' at this, she hung her head bashfully and repeated the words of the most high, 'men shall have precedence over women, for that god hath preferred these over those.'[fn# ] by this, amjed understood that she wished to go with him and felt himself bounden to find a place wherein to receive her, but was ashamed to carry her to the house of his host, the tailor. so he walked on and she followed him from street to street, till she was tired and said to him, 'o my lord, where is thy house?' 'but a little way before us,' answered he. then he turned aside into a handsome street, followed by the young lady, and walked on, till he came to the end, when he found it had no issue and exclaimed, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme!' then, raising his eyes, he saw, at the upper end of the street, a great door, with two stone benches; but it was locked. so he sat down on one of the benches and the lady on the other; and she said to him, 'o my lord, wherefore waitest thou?' he bowed his head awhile, then raised it and answered, 'i am waiting for my servant, who has the key: for i bade him make me ready meat and drink and flowers for the wine-service against my return from the bath.' but he said in himself, 'belike she will grow tired of waiting and go about her business, leaving me here, when i will go my own way.' however, when she was weary of waiting, she said, 'o my lord, thy servant tarries long; and here are we waiting in the street.' and she took a stone and went up to the lock. 'be not in haste,' said amjed; 'but have patience till the servant comes.' however, she hearkened not to him, but smote the lock with the stone and broke it in half, whereupon the door opened. quoth he, 'what possessed thee to do this?' 'pooh, pooh, my lord!' answered she. 'what matters it? is not the house thine?' 'yes,' said he; 'but there was no need to break the lock.' then she entered, leaving amjed confounded and knowing not what to do for fear of the people of the house; but she said to him, 'why dost thou not enter, o light of mine eyes and darling of my heart?' 'i hear and obey,' answered he; 'but my servant tarries long upon me and i know not if he have done aught of what i bade him or not.' so saying, he entered, sore in fear of the people of the house, and found himself in a handsome saloon, full of buffets and niches and settles, furnished with stuffs of silk and brocade. it had four raised recesses, each facing other, and in the midst was a fountain of costly fashion, on whose margin stood a covered tray (of meats), with a leather table-cloth hanging up and dishes set with jewels, full of fruits and sweet-scented flowers. hard by stood drinking vessels and a candlestick with a candle therein. the place was full of precious stuffs, and therein were chests and stools set, on each of which latter lay a parcel of clothes and a purse full of gold and silver. the floor was paved with marble and the house bore witness in every part to its owner's fortune. when amjed saw all this, he was confounded and said in himself, 'i am a lost man! verily, we are god's and to god we return!' as for the lady, she was transported at what she saw and said to him, 'by allah, o my lord, thy servant has not failed of his duty; for see, he has swept the place and cooked the meat and set on the fruit; and indeed i come at the best of times.' but he paid no heed to her, his heart being taken up with fear of the people of the house; and she said, 'fie, o my lord, o my heart! what ails thee to stand thus?' then she sighed and giving him a kiss, that sounded like the cracking of a walnut, said, 'o my lord, and thou have bidden other than me, i will gird my middle and serve her and thee.' amjed laughed from an angerful heart and sat down, panting and saying in himself, 'alack, how i shall smart for it, when the owner of the house returns!' she seated herself by him and fell to jesting and laughing, whilst he sat careful and frowning, thinking a thousand thoughts and saying in himself, 'the master of the house will surely come and what shall i say to him? he will assuredly kill me without mercy.' presently, she rose and tucking up her sleeves, took a table, on which she laid the cloth and the tray of food; then set it before amjed and began to eat, saying, 'eat, o my lord.' so he came forward and ate; but the food was not pleasant to him and he ceased not to look towards the door, till the lady had eaten her fill, when she took away the meats and setting on the dessert, fell to eating of the dried fruits. then she brought the wine-service and opening the jar, filled a cup and gave it to amjed, who took it, saying in himself, 'alas! what will become of me, when the master of the house comes and sees me!' presently, as he sat, with the cup in his hand and his eyes fixed on the vestibule, in came the master of the house, who was one of the chief men of the city, being master of the horse to the king. he had fitted up this house for his privy pleasures, that he might make merry therein and be private with whom he would, and had that day bidden one whom he loved and had made this entertainment for him. when, therefore, this man (whose name was behadir and who was a kindly, liberal and open- handed man) came thither and found the door open and the lock broken, he entered softly and putting in his head at the door of the saloon, saw amjed and the lady sitting, with the dish of fruit and the wine-jar before them. amjed at that moment had the cup in his hand and his face turned to the door; and when his eyes met behadir's, he turned pale and trembled in every nerve. behadir, seeing his trouble, signed to him, with his finger on his lips, as who should say, 'be silent and come hither to me.' so he set down the cup and rose, whereupon quoth the lady, 'whither away?' he shook his head and signing to her that he wished to make water, went out into the corridor, barefoot. when he saw behadir, he knew him for the master of the house; so he hastened to him and kissing his hands, said to him, 'god on thee, o my lord, before thou do me any hurt, hear what i have to say.' then he told him who he was and what caused him leave his native land and royal state, and how he had not entered his house of his free will, but that it was the lady who had broken the lock and done all this. when behadir heard his story and knew that he was a king's son, he inclined to him and taking compassion on him, said to him, 'o amjed, hearken to me and do what i bid thee, and i will ensure thee safety from that thou fearest; but, if thou cross me, i will kill thee.' 'command me as thou wilt,' answered amjed. 'i will not gainsay thee in aught, for i am the freedman of thy bounty.' 'then go back forthright into the saloon,' rejoined behadir, 'and sit down in thy place and take thine ease. i will presently come in to thee, and when thou seest me (now my name is behadir) do thou revile me and rail at me, saying, "why hast thou tarried till now?" and accept no excuse from me, but rise and beat me; and if thou spare me, i will do away thy life. enter now and make merry and whatsoever thou seekest of me, i will bring thee forthwith. so pass the night as thou wilt and on the morrow go thy way. this in honour of thy strangerhood, for i love strangers and hold myself bounden to do them honour.' so amjed kissed his hand and returning to the saloon, with his face clad in its native white and red, said to the lady, 'o my mistress, the place is gladdened by thy presence, and this is indeed a blessed night.' 'verily,' said she, 'this is a wonderful change in thee, that thou now welcomest me so cordially!' 'by allah, o my lady,' answered he, 'methought my servant behadir had robbed me of some necklaces of jewels, worth ten thousand dinars each; however, when i went out but now, in concern for this, i sought for them and found them in their place. i know not why the knave tarries thus, and needs must i punish him for it.' she was satisfied with his answer, and they drank and sported and made merry, till near upon sundown, when behadir came in to them, having changed his clothes and girt his middle and put on shoes, such as are worn of servants. he saluted and kissed the earth, then clasped his hands behind him and stood, with his head hanging down, as one who confesses to a fault. amjed looked at him with angry eyes and said, 'why hast thou tarried till now, o most pestilent of slaves?' 'o my lord,' answered behadir, 'i was busy washing my clothes and knew not of thy being here; for thou hadst appointed me for nightfall and not for the daytime.' but amjed cried out at him, saying, 'thou liest, o vilest of slaves! by allah, i must beat thee!' so he rose and laying behadir on the ground, took a stick and beat him gingerly: but the lady sprang up and snatching the stick from his hand, laid on to behadir so lustily, that the tears ran from his eyes and he ground his teeth together and called out for succour; whilst amjed cried out to the lady to hold her hand and she answered, 'let me stay my anger on him;' till at last he snatched the stick from her hand and pushed her away. behadir arose and wiping away his tears, waited upon them awhile; after which he swept the hall and lighted the lamps; but, as often as he went in and out, the lady railed at him and cursed him, till amjed was wroth with her and said, 'for god's sake, leave my servant; he is not used to this.' then they sat eating and drinking, whilst behadir waited upon them, till midnight, when the latter, weary with service and beating, fell asleep in the midst of the hall and snored and snorted; whereupon the lady, who was heated with wine, said to amjed, 'arise, take the sword that hangs yonder and cut off this slave's head, or i will be the death of thee.' 'what possesses thee to kill my slave?' asked amjed; and she answered, 'our delight will not be fulfilled but by his death. if thou wilt not kill him, i will do it myself.' 'for god's sake,' cried amjed, 'do not this thing!' 'it must be,' replied she and taking down the sword, drew it and made at behadir to kill him; but amjed said in himself, 'this man hath entreated us courteously and sheltered us and done us kindness and made himself my servant: and shall we requite him by killing him? this shall never be. then he said to the lady, 'if my slave must be killed, better i should do it than thou.' so saying, he took the sword from her and raising his hand, smote her on the neck and made her head fly from her body. it fell upon behadir, who awoke and sitting up, saw amjed standing by him, with the bloodstained sword in his hand, and the damsel lying dead. he enquired what had passed, and amjed told him what she had said, adding, 'nothing would serve her but she must kill thee; and this is her reward.' behadir rose and kissing the prince's hand, said to him, 'would god thou hadst spared her! but now there is nothing for it but to rid us of her forthright, before the day break.' so saying, he wrapped the body in a mantle and laying it in a basket, said to amjed, 'thou art a stranger here and knowest no one: so sit thou here and await my return. if i come back, i will assuredly do thee great good service and use my endeavour to have news of thy brother; but if i return not by sunrise, know that all is over with me; in which case the house and all it contains are thine, and peace be on thee.' then he shouldered the basket and going forth, made for the sea, thinking to throw it therein: but as he drew near the shore, he turned and found himself surrounded by the chief of the police and his officers. they knew him and wondered and opened the basket, in which they found the slain woman. so they seized him and laid him in irons till the morning, when they carried him and the basket to the king and acquainted the latter with the case. the king was sore enraged and said to behadir, 'out on thee! this is not the first time thou hast slain folk and cast them into the sea and taken their goods. how many murders hast thou done ere this?' behadir hung his head, and the king cried out at him, saying, 'woe to thee! who killed this young lady?' 'o my lord,' answered behadir, 'i killed her, and there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme!' at this the king's anger redoubled and he commanded to hang him. so the hangman and the chief of the police went down with him, by the king's commandment, and paraded him through the streets and markets of the town, whilst a crier forewent them, bidding all the folk to the execution of behadir, the king's master of the horse. meanwhile, amjed awaited his host's return till the day broke and the sun rose, and when he saw that he came not, he exclaimed, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme! i wonder what is come of him?' as he sat musing, he heard the crier proclaiming aloud behadir's sentence and bidding the people to his hanging at midday; whereat he wept and exclaimed, 'verily, we are god's and to him we return! he means to sacrifice himself unjustly for my sake, when it was i killed her. by allah, this shall never be!' then he went out and shutting the door after him, hurried through the streets, till he overtook behadir, when he accosted the chief of the police and said to him, 'o my lord, put not behadir to death, for he is innocent. by allah, none killed her but i.' when the master of the police heard this, he took them both and carrying them before the king, told him what amjed had said; whereupon he looked at the prince and said to him, 'didst thou kill the young lady?' 'yes,' answered he, and the king said, 'tell me why thou killedst her, and speak the truth.' 'o king,' replied amjed, 'indeed, it is a rare event and a strange matter that hath befallen me: were it graven with needles on the corners of the eye, it would serve as a lesson to whoso can profit by admonition.' then he told him his whole story and all that had befallen him and his brother, first and last; whereat the king wondered greatly and said to him, 'o youth, i know thee now to be excusable. wilt thou be my vizier?' 'i hear and obey,' answered amjed; whereupon the king bestowed magnificent dresses of honour on him and behadir and gave him a handsome house, with servants and officers and all things needful, appointing him stipends and allowances and bidding him make search for his brother asaad. so amjed sat down in the seat of office and governed and did justice and invested and deposed and gave and took. moreover, he sent out a crier to cry his brother throughout the city, and he made proclamation in the streets and markets many days, but heard no news of asaad nor happened on any trace of him. meanwhile, the magians ceased not to torture asaad, night and day, for a whole year's space, till the day of their festival drew near, when the old man (whose name was behram) made ready for the voyage and fitted out a ship for himself. when all was ready, he laid asaad in a chest and locking it, transported it to the ship. as fate would have it, amjed was at that very time standing looking upon the sea; and when he saw the men carrying the chest and other gear on board the ship, his heart throbbed and he called to his servants to bring him his horse. then, mounting with a company of his officers, he rode down to the port and halted before the magian's ship, which he commanded his men to search. so they boarded the vessel and searched it in every part, but found nothing and returned and told amjed, who mounted again and rode back to his palace, with a troubled mind. as he entered, he cast his eyes on the wall and saw written thereon the following verses, which when he read, he called to mind his brother and wept: belovéd ones, for all you're absent from my sight, yet in my heart and thought you have your sojourn still. you leave me here to pine and languish for desire; you rob mine eyes of sleep and sleep yourselves your fill. meanwhile, behram embarked and shouted to his crew to make sail in all haste. so they loosed the sails and departing, fared on without ceasing many days and nights; and every other day, behram took out asaad and gave him a little bread and water, till they drew near the mountain of fire, when there came out on them a contrary wind and the sea rose against them, so that they were driven out of their course into strange waters and came in sight of a city builded upon the shore, with a citadel whose windows overlooked the sea. now the ruler of this city was a queen called merjaneh, and the captain said to behram, 'o my lord, we have strayed from our course and come to the island of queen merjaneh, who is a devout muslim; and if she know that we are magians, she will take our ship and slay us to the last man. yet needs must we put in here to rest [and refit].' quoth behram, 'let us clothe this muslim we have with us in a slave's habit and carry him ashore with us, so that, when the queen sees him, she will think and say, "this is a slave." as for me, i will tell her that i am a dealer in white slaves and that i had with me many, but have sold all but this one, whom i have retained to keep my accounts, for he can read and write.' and the captain said, 'this device should serve well.' presently they reached the city and slackening sail, cast anchor; when, behold, queen merjaneh came down to them, attended by her guards, and halting before the ship, called out to the captain, who landed and kissed the earth before her. quoth she, 'what is the lading of thy ship and whom hast thou with thee?' 'o queen of the age,' answered he, 'i have with me a merchant who deals in slaves.' and she said, 'bring him to me;' whereupon behram came ashore to her, followed by asaad in a slave's habit, and kissed the earth before her. 'what is thy condition?' asked the queen; and behram answered, 'i am a slave-dealer.' then she looked at asaad and taking him for a slave, said to him, 'what is thy name?' quoth he, 'dost thou ask my present or my former name?' 'hast thou then two names?' asked she, and he answered (and indeed his voice was choked with tears), 'yes; my name aforetime was asaad,[fn# ] but now it is muterr.'[fn# ] her heart inclined to him and she said, 'canst thou write?' 'yes,' answered he; and she gave him inkhorn and pen and paper and said to him, 'write somewhat, that i may see it.' so he wrote the following verses: harkye, o thou that judgest, what can a mortal do, when fate, in all conditions, doth him to death ensue? it casts him in the ocean, bound hand and foot, and says, "beware lest with the water you wet yourself, look you!" when she read this, she had compassion upon him and said to behram, 'sell me this slave.' 'o my lady,' answered he, 'i cannot sell him, for he is the only slave i have left.' quoth she, 'i must have him of thee, either by purchase or as a gift.' but behram said, 'i will neither sell him nor give him.' whereat she was wroth and taking asaad by the hand, carried him up to the palace and sent to behram, saying, 'except thou set sail and depart our city this very night, i will seize all thy goods and break up thy ship.' when the message reached the magian, he was sore troubled and said, 'verily, this voyage is every way unfortunate.' then he made ready and took all he needed and awaited the coming of the night, to resume his voyage, saying to the sailors, 'provide yourselves and fill the waterskins, that we may set sail at the last of the night.' so the sailors did their occasions and awaited the coming of the night. to return to queen merjaneh. when she had brought asaad into the palace, she opened the windows overlooking the sea and bade her handmaids bring food. accordingly, they set food before asaad and herself, and they ate, after which the queen called for wine and fell to drinking with him. now god (may he be exalted and glorified!) filled her heart with love for asaad and she plied him with wine, till his reason fled and presently he rose and left the hall, to do an occasion. seeing a door open, he went out and walked on, till he came to a vast garden full of all manner fruits and flowers and sitting down under a tree, did his occasion. then he went up to a fountain in the garden and made the ablution and washed his hands and face, after which he would have risen to go away; but the air smote him and he fell back, with his clothes undone, and slept, and night overcame him thus. meanwhile, behram, the night being come, cried out to the sailors to spread sail and depart. 'we hear and obey,' answered they; 'but give us time to fill our water-skins.' then they landed with their water-skins and coasting the palace, found nothing but walls: so they climbed over into the garden and followed the track of feet, that led them to the fountain, where they found asaad lying on his back, asleep. they knew him and taking him up, climbed the wall again with him, after they had filled their skins, and carried him back in haste to behram, to whom said they, 'beat thy drums and sound thy pipes; for we have found thy prisoner, whom queen merjaneh took from thee by force, and have brought him back to thee.' and they threw asaad down before him. when behram saw him, his heart leapt for joy and his breast dilated with gladness. then he bestowed largesse on the sailors and bade them weigh anchor in haste. so they set sail forthright, intending for the mountain of fire, and stayed not their course till the morning. as for queen merjaneh, she abode awhile, awaiting asaad's return; and when she saw that he came not, she rose and sought him, but found no trace of him. then she bade her women light flambeaux and search for him, whilst she herself went forth and seeing the garden-door open, knew that he had gone thither. so she went out and finding his slippers lying by the fountain, searched the garden in every part, but found no sign of him. nevertheless, she gave not over the search till morning, when she enquired for the magian's ship and was told that it had set sail in the first watch of the night; wherefore she knew that they had taken asaad with them and this was grievous to her and she was angry. so she bade equip ten great ships forthwith and arming herself, embarked in one of them, with her guards and women and troops, richly accoutred and armed for war. they spread the sails and she said to the captain, 'if you overtake the magian's ship, ye shall have of me dresses of honour and largesse; but if ye let it escape, i will kill you all.' whereat fear and great hope fell upon the seamen, and they sailed three days and nights, till, on the fourth day, they sighted behram's ship. ere ended day, they came up with it and surrounded it on all sides, even as behram had taken asaad forth of the chest and was beating and torturing him, whilst the prince cried out for succour and relief, but found neither helper nor deliverer; and indeed he was sorely tormented with much beating. presently behram chanced to look up and seeing himself encompassed by the queen's ships, as the white of the eye encompasses the black, gave himself up for lost and groaned and said to asaad, 'out on thee, o asaad! this is all thy doing; but, by allah, i will kill thee ere i die myself.' then he bade the sailors throw him overboard; so they took him by the hands and feet and cast him into the sea and he sank. but god (may he be exalted and glorified!) willed that his life should be saved and that his last day should be deferred; so he caused him to rise again and he struck out with his hands and feet, till the almighty gave him ease and relief and the waves bore him far from the magian's ship and threw him ashore. he landed, scarce crediting his escape, and putting off his clothes, wrung them and spread them out to dry, whilst he sat, naked and weeping over his misfortunes and desolate and forlorn condition and repeating the following verses: my fortitude fails me for travail and pain; my patience is spent, my endeavour in vain; my sinews are sundered; o lord of all lords, to whom but his lord shall the wretched complain? then, rising, he donned his clothes and set out at a venture, knowing not whither he went. he fared on day and night, eating of the herbs of the earth and the fruits of the trees and drinking of the streams, till he came in sight of a city; whereupon he rejoiced and hurried on; but before he reached it, the night overtook him and the gates were shut. now, as chance would have it, this was the very city in which he had been a prisoner and to whose king his brother amjed was vizier. when he saw the gate was shut, he turned back and made for the burial-ground, where finding a tomb without a door, he entered and lay down and fell asleep, with his face in his sleeve. meanwhile, queen merjaneh, coming up with behram's ship, questioned him of asaad; but he swore to her that he was not with him and that he knew nothing of him. she searched the ship, but found no trace of asaad, so took behram and carrying him back to her castle, would have put him to death; but he ransomed himself from her with all his good and his ship and she released him and his men. they went forth from her, hardly believing in their escape, and fared on ten days' journey, till they came to their own city and found the gate shut, it being eventide. so they made for the burial-ground, thinking to lie the night there, and going round about the tombs, as fate would have it, saw that, in which asaad lay, open; whereat behram marvelled and said,' i must look into this tomb.' then he entered and found asaad lying asleep, with his head on his sleeve; so he raised his head and looking in his face, knew him for him on whose account he had lost his goods and his ship, and said, 'art thou yet alive?' then he bound him and gagged him, without further parley, and carried him to his house, where he clapped heavy shackles on his feet and lowered him into the underground dungeon aforesaid, affected to the tormenting of muslims, bidding a daughter of his, by name bustan, torture him night and day, till the next year, when they would again visit the mountain of fire and offer him up as a sacrifice there. then he beat him grievously and locking the dungeon door upon him, gave the keys to his daughter. by and by, she opened the door and went down to beat him, but finding him a comely sweet-faced youth, with arched brows and melting black eyes, fell in love with him and said to him, 'what is thy name?' 'my name is assad,'[fn# ] answered he. 'mayst thou indeed be happy,' exclaimed she, 'and happy be thy days! thou deservest not torture and blows, and i see thou hast been unjustly entreated.' and she comforted him with kind words and loosed his bonds. then she questioned him of the faith of islam, and he told her that it was the true and orthodox faith and that our lord mohammed had approved himself by surpassing miracles and manifest signs and that the [worship of] fire was not profitable, but harmful; and he went on to expound to her the tenets of islam, till she was persuaded and the love of the true faith entered her heart. then (for god the most high had filled her with love of asaad), she made profession of the faith and became of the people of felicity. after this, she brought him meat and drink and talked with him and they prayed together: moreover, she made him chicken-broths and fed him therewith, till he regained strength and his sickness left him and he was restored to health. one day, as she stood at the door of the house, she heard the crier proclaiming aloud and saying, 'whoso hath with him a handsome young man, whose favour is thus and thus, and bringeth him forth, shall have all he seeketh of wealth; but if any have him and discover it not, he shall be hanged over his own door and his goods shall be confiscated and his blood go for nought.' now asaad had acquainted her with his whole history: so, when she heard the crier, she knew that it was he who was sought for and going down to him, told him the news. then she went forth with him to the palace of the vizier, whom when asaad saw, he exclaimed, 'by allah, this is my brother amjed!' and threw himself upon him; whereupon amjed also knew him and they embraced each other and lay awhile insensible, whilst the vizier's officers stood round them. when they came to themselves, amjed took his brother and carried him to the sultan, to whom he related the whole story, and the sultan charged him to plunder behram's house and take himself. so amjed despatched thither a company of men, who sacked the house and took behram and brought his daughter to the vizier, who received her with all honour, for asaad had told his brother all the torments he had suffered and the kindness that she had done him. moreover, amjed, in his turn, related to asaad all that had passed between the lady and himself and how he had escaped hanging and become vizier; and they made moan, each to the other, of the anguish they had suffered for separation. then the sultan sent for behram and bade strike off his head; but he said, 'o most mighty king, art thou indeed resolved to put me to death?' 'yes,' replied the king, 'except thou save thyself by becoming a muslim.' and behram said, 'o king, have patience with me a little.' then he bowed his head awhile and presently raising it again, made profession of the faith and avowed himself a muslim at the hands of the sultan. they all rejoiced at his conversion and amjed and asaad told him all that had befallen them, whereat he wondered and said, 'o my lords, make ready for the journey and i will depart with you and carry you back to your father's court in a ship.' at this they rejoiced and wept sore; but he said, 'o my lords, weep not for your departure, for ye shall be re-united [with those you love], even as were nimeh and num.' 'and what befell nimeh and num?' asked they. 'it is told,' replied behram, '(but god alone is all-knowing), that story of nimeh ben er rebya and num his slave-girl there lived once in the city of cufa a man called er rebya ben hatim, who was one of the chief men of the town, rich in goods and prosperous, and god had vouchsafed him a son, whom he named nimet allah.[fn# ] one day, being in the slave-dealers' mart, he saw a female slave exposed for sale, with a little girl of wonderful beauty and grace in her hand. so he beckoned to the broker and said to him, "what is the price of this woman and her child?" "fifty dinars," answered he. "write the contract of sale," said er rebya, "and take the money and give it to her owner." then he gave the broker the price and his brokerage and taking the woman and her child, carried them to his house. when his wife saw the slave, she said to her husband (who was the son of her father's brother), "o my cousin, what is this damsel?" quoth he, "i bought her for the sake of the little one on her arm, for know that, when she grows up, there will not be her like for beauty, either in the land of the arabs or elsewhere." "it was well seen of thee," answered his wife. then said she to the woman, "what is thy name?" "o my lady," replied she, "my name is taufic." "and what is thy daughter's name?" asked she. "saad,"[fn# ] answered the slave. "thou sayst sooth," rejoined her mistress. "thou art indeed happy, and happy is he who hath bought thee." then said she to her husband, "o my cousin, what wilt thou call her?" "what thou choosest," answered he. "then let us call her num,"[fn# ] quoth she, and he said, "good." the little num was reared with er rebya's son nimeh in one cradle and each grew up handsomer than the other. they were wont to call each other brother and sister, till they came to the age of ten, when er rebya said to nimeh, "o my son, num is not thy sister, but thy slave. i bought her in thy name, whilst thou wast yet in the cradle; so call her no more 'sister' from this day forth." "if that be so," quoth nimeh, "i will take her to wife." then he went to his mother and told her of this, and she said to him, "o my son, she is thy handmaid." so he went in to num and loved her and two years passed over them, whilst num grew up, nor was there in all cufa a fairer or sweeter or more graceful girl than she. she learnt the koran and all manner of knowledge and excelled in music and singing and playing upon all kinds of instruments, so that she surpassed all the folk of her time. one day, as she sat with her husband in the wine-chamber, she took the lute and tuning it, sang the following verses: since thou'rt my lord, by whose good grace i live in fair estate, a sword wherewith i smite in twain the neck of adverse fate, no need is mine to have recourse to amr[fn# ] or to zeid,[fn# ] nor any but thyself, an if the ways on me grow strait. nimeh was charmed with these verses and said to her, "i conjure thee, by my life, o num, sing to us with the tambourine and other instruments!" so she sang the following verses to a lively air: by him whose hand possesses the reins of my affair, on passion's score, i swear it, my enviers i'll dare. yea, i will vex my censors and thee alone obey and sleep and ease and solace, for thy sweet sake, forswear and dig midmost my entrails, to hold the love of thee, a grave, of which not even my heart shall be aware. and nimeh exclaimed, "gifted of god art thou, o num!" but whilst they led thus the most delightsome life, el hejjaj, [fn# ] [the governor of cufa, heard of num and] said in himself, "needs must i make shift to take this girl num and send her to the commander of the faithful abdulmelik ben merwan, for he hath not in his palace her like for beauty and sweet singing." then, calling an old woman, one of his body-servants, he said to her, "go to er rebya's house and foregather with the girl num and cast about to steal her away, for her like is not to be found on the face of the earth." she promised to do his bidding; so next morning she donned clothes of wool[fn# ] and threw round her neck a rosary of thousands of beads; then, taking in her hand a staff and water-bottle of yemen make, went forth, exclaiming, "glory be to god! praised be god! there is no god but god! god is most great! there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme!" nor did she leave making devout ejaculations, whilst her heart was full of craft and fraud, till she came to nimeh's house, at the hour of noonday-prayer, and knocked at the door. the doorkeeper opened and said to her, "what dost thou want?" quoth she, "i am a poor pious woman, whom the time of noonday-prayer hath overtaken, and i would fain pray in this blessed place." "o old woman," answered the porter, "this is no mosque nor oratory, but the house of nimeh ben er rebya." "i know there is neither mosque nor oratory like the house of nimeh ben er rebya," rejoined she. "i am a chamberwoman of the palace of the commander of the faithful and am come out upon a pilgrimage of devotion." but the porter replied, "thou canst not enter;" and many words passed between them, till at last she caught hold of him, saying, "shall the like of me, who have free access to the houses of amirs and grandees, be denied admission to the house of nimeh ben er rebya?" presently, out came nimeh and hearing their dispute, laughed and bade the old woman enter. so she followed him into the presence of num, whom she saluted after the goodliest fashion; and when she looked on her, she was confounded at her exceeding beauty and said to her, "o my lady, i commend thee to the safeguard of god, who made thee and thy lord to accord in beauty and grace!" then she stood up in the prayer-niche and betook herself to inclination and prostration and prayer, till the day departed and the night came with the darkness, when num said to her, "o my mother, rest thy feet awhile." "o my lady," answered the old woman, "whoso seeketh the world to come must weary himself in this world, and whoso wearieth not himself in this world shall not attain the dwellings of the just in the world to come." then num brought her food and said to her, "o my mother, eat of my victual and pray that god may relent towards me and have mercy on me." but she replied, "o my lady, i am fasting. as for thee, thou art but a girl and it befits thee to eat and drink and make merry. may god be indulgent to thee! quoth the most high, '(none shall be saved) except those that repent and believe and work the works of righteousness.'"[fn# ] num sat awhile, conversing with the old woman, and presently said to nimeh, "o my lord, conjure this old woman to sojourn with us awhile, for piety is imprinted on her face." quoth he, "set apart for her a chamber, where she may do her devotions, and let none go in to her: peradventure god (glorified and exalted be he!) shall prosper us by the blessing of her presence and part us not." the old woman passed the night in prayer and recitation,[fn# ] till daybreak, when she went in to nimeh and num and giving them good morning, said to them, "i pray god to have you in his holy keeping!" "whither away, o my mother?" said num. "my lord hath bidden me set apart for thee a chamber, where thou mayst retire for thy devotions." "god give him long life," replied the old woman, "and continue his favour to you both! i would have you charge the doorkeeper not to stay my coming in to you, and (god willing) i will go the round of the holy places and pray for you at the end of my devotions every day and night." then she went out (whilst num wept for parting with her, knowing not the purpose of her coming) and returned to el hejjaj, who said to her, "what news?" she answered, "i have seen the girl, and indeed never bore woman of her day a lovelier than she." and el hejjaj said to her, "so thou do my bidding, thou shalt have of me abundant good." quoth she, "i ask of thee a month's time." and he replied, "it is well." then she fell to paying frequent visits to nimeh and num, who redoubled in honour and kindness to her, and she used to go in to them morning and evening, and all in the house welcomed her, till, one day, being alone with num, she said to her, "by allah, o my lady, when i go to the holy places, i will pray for thee; but i should love thee to go thither with me, that thou mightest look on the elders of the faith that resort thither, and they should pray for thee, according to thy desire." "o my mother," said num, "i conjure thee by allah, take me with thee!" "ask leave of thy mother-in-law," replied the old woman, "and i will take thee." so num said to her mother-in-law, "o my lady, ask my master to let us go, thee and me, one day, with this my old mother, to pray and worship with the fakirs in the holy places." presently, nimeh came in and sat down, whereupon the old woman went up to him and would have kissed his hand, but he forbade her; so she called down blessings on him and left the house. next day, she came again, in the absence of nimeh, and said to num, "we prayed for thee yesterday; but arise now and divert thyself and return ere thy lord come home." so num said to her mother-in-law, "i beseech thee, for god's sake, let me go with this pious woman, that i may look upon the friends of god in the holy places and return speedily, ere my lord come." quoth nimeh's mother, "i fear lest thy lord know." "by allah," said the old woman, "i will not let her sit down; but she shall look, standing on her feet, and not tarry." so on this wise she took the damsel by guile and carrying her to el hejjaj's palace, bestowed her in a privy chamber and told him of her coming; whereupon he went in to her and looking upon her, saw her to be the loveliest of the people of the day, never had he beheld her like. when num saw him, she veiled her face from him; but he left her not till he had called his chamberlain, whom he commanded to take fifty horsemen and mounting the damsel on a swift dromedary, carry her to damascus and there deliver her to the commander of the faithful, abdulmelik ben merwan. moreover, he gave him a letter for the khalif, saying, "bear him this letter and bring me his answer in all haste." so the chamberlain took the damsel, all tearful for separation from her lord, and setting out with her for syria, gave not over journeying till he reached damascus and sought an audience of the commander of the faithful, to whom he delivered the damsel and the letter. the khalif appointed her a separate apartment and going into his harem, said to his wife, "el hejjaj has bought me a female slave of the daughters (descendants) of the (ancient) kings of cufa, for ten thousand dinars, and has sent her to me with this letter." "may god increase thee of his favour!" answered she. then the khalif's sister went into num and when she saw her, she said, "by allah, happy the man who hath thee in his house, were thy cost a hundred thousand dinars!" "o fair-faced one," said num, "what king's palace is this?" "this is the city of damascus," answered the princess, "and the palace of my brother, the commander of the faithful, abdulmelik ben merwan. didst thou not know this?" "by allah, o my lady," said num, "i had no knowledge of this!" "and he who sold thee and took thy price," asked the princess, "did he not tell thee that the khalif had bought thee?" when num heard this, she wept and said in herself, "i have been cozened; but, if i speak, none will credit me; so i will hold my peace and take patience, knowing that the relief of god is near." then she bent her head for shame, and indeed her cheeks were tanned with the journey and the sun. so the khalif's sister left her that day and returned to her on the morrow with clothes and necklaces of jewels and dressed her; after which the khalif came in to her and sat down by her side, and his sister said to him, "look on this damsel, in whom god hath united every perfection of beauty and grace." so he said to num, "draw back the veil from thy face;" but she would not unveil, and he beheld not her face. however, he saw her wrists and love of her entered his heart; and he said to his sister, "i will not go in to her for three days, till she be cheered by thy converse." then he left her, but num ceased not to brood over her case and sigh for her separation from nimeh, till, at eventide, she fell sick of a fever and ate not nor drank; and her face grew pale and her charms faded. they told the khalif of this, and it grieved him; so he visited her with physicians and men of skill, but none could come at a cure for her. as for nimeh, when he returned home, he sat down on his bed and cried, "ho, num!" but she answered not; so he rose in haste and called out, but none came to him, for all the women in the house had hidden themselves, for fear of him. then he went in to his mother, whom he found sitting with her cheek on her hand, and said to her, "o my mother, where is num?" "o my son," answered she, "she is with one who is worthier than i to be trusted with her, namely, the devout old woman; she went forth with her to visit the fakirs and return." "since when has this been her wont," asked nimeh, "and at what hour went she forth?" quoth his mother, "she went out early in the morning." "and how camest thou to give her leave for this?" said he, and she replied, "o my son, it was she persuaded me." "there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme!" exclaimed nimeh and going forth, in a state of distraction, repaired to the chief of the police, to whom said he, "dost thou practice on me and steal my slave-girl away from me? i will assuredly complain of thee to the commander of the faithful." "who has taken her?" asked the chief of the police, and nimeh answered, "an old woman of such and such a favour, clad in woollen raiment and carrying a rosary of thousands of beads." "find me the old woman," rejoined the other, "and i will get thee back thy slave-girl." "who knows the old woman?" said nimeh. "and who knows the hidden things save god, may he be glorified and exalted?" replied the official, who knew her for el hejjaj's agent. quoth nimeh, "i look to thee for my slave-girl, and el hejjaj shall judge between thee and me." and the master of police answered, "go to whom thou wilt." now nimeh's father was one of the chief men of cufa; so he went to the palace of the governor, whose chamberlain went in to him and told him what was to do. el hejjaj bade admit him and enquired his business. quoth nimeh, "such and such things have befallen me." and the governor said, "bring me the chief of the police, and we will bid him seek for the old woman." now he knew that the chief of the police knew her; so, when he came, he said to him, "i wish thee to make search for the slave-girl of nimeh ben er rebya." and he answered, "none knoweth the hidden things save god the most high." "thou must send out horsemen," rejoined el hejjaj, "and look for the damsel in all the roads and towns." then he turned to nimeh and said to him, "an thy slave-girl return not, i will give thee ten slave-girls from my house and ten from that of the chief of the police." and he said to the latter, "go and seek for the girl." so he went out and nimeh returned home, full of trouble and despairing of life. he had now reached the age of fourteen and there was yet no hair on his cheeks. he shut himself up from his household and ceased not to weep and lament, he and his mother, till the morning, when his father came in to him and said, "o my son, el hejjaj hath put a cheat on the damsel and stolen her away; but from hour to hour god giveth relief." but grief redoubled on nimeh, so that he knew not what he said nor who came in to him, and indeed his charms were changed and he was in sorry case. in this plight he abode three months, till his father despaired of him, and the physicians visited him and said, "there is no cure for him but the damsel." one day, er rebya heard tell of a skilful persian physician, whom the folk gave out for accomplished in medicine and astrology and geomancy. so he sent for him and seating him by his side, entreated him with honour and said to him, "look into my son's case." so he said to nimeh, "give me thy hand." accordingly, the young man gave him his hand and he felt his pulse and his joints and looked in his face; then he laughed and turning to er rebya, said, "thy son's only ailment is in his heart." "thou sayst sooth, o sage," answered er rebya; "but apply thy skill to the consideration of his state and case and acquaint me with the whole thereof and hide nought from me." quoth the persian, "he is enamoured of a girl, who is either in bassora or damascus; and there is no cure for him but reunion with her." "an thou bring them together," said er rebya, "thou shalt have of me what will rejoice thee and shalt live all thy life in wealth and delight." "this is an easy matter," answered the persian, "and soon brought about;" and he turned to nimeh and said to him, "fear not; no hurt shall befall thee; so take heart and be of good cheer." then said he to er rebya, "give me four thousand dinars of your money." so he gave them to him, and he said, "i wish to carry thy son with me to damascus, and god willing, we will not return thence but with the damsel." then said he to the youth, "what is thy name?" and he answered, "nimeh." "o nimeh," said the persian, "sit up and be of good heart, for god will reunite thee with the damsel. so put thy trust in him and eat and drink and be cheerful and fortify thyself for travel, for we set out for damascus this very day." so he sat up whilst the persian made his preparations and took of er rebya, in all, the sum of ten thousand dinars, together with horses and camels and beasts of burden such as he needed for the journey. then nimeh took leave of his father and mother and journeyed with the physician to aleppo. they could get no news of num there, so fared on to damascus, where they abode three days, after which the persian took a shop and adorned its shelves with gilding and stuffs of price and stocked them with vessels of costly porcelain, with covers of silver. moreover, he set before himself vases and flagons of glass full of all manner ointments and syrups, surrounded by cups of crystal, and donning a physician's habit, took his seat in the shop, with his astrolabe and geomantic tablet before him. then he clad nimeh in a shirt and gown of silk and girding his middle with a silken kerchief embroidered with gold, made him sit before himself, saying to him, "o nimeh, henceforth thou art my son; so call me nought but father and i will call thee son." and he replied, "i hear and obey." the people of damascus flocked to gaze on the youth's goodliness and the beauty of the shop and its contents, whilst the physician spoke to nimeh in persian and he answered him in the same tongue, for he knew the language, after the wont of the sons of the notables. the persian soon became known among the townsfolk and they began to resort to him and acquaint him with their ailments, for which he prescribed. moreover, they brought him the water of the sick in phials, and he would examine it and say, "he, whose water this is, is suffering from such and such a disease." and the patient would say, "verily, this physician says sooth." so he continued to do the occasions of the folk and they to flock to him, till his fame spread throughout the city and into the houses of the great. one day, as he sat in his shop, there came up an old woman riding on an ass with housings of brocade, embroidered with jewels, and drawing bridle before his shop, beckoned to him, saying, "take my hand." so he took her hand, and she alighted and said to him, "art thou the persian physician from irak?" "yes," answered he, and she said, "know that i have a sick daughter." then she brought out to him a phial and he looked at it and said to her, "tell me thy daughter's name, that i may calculate her horoscope and learn the hour in which it will befit her to take medicine." "o brother of the persians," answered she, "her name is num." when he heard this, he fell to calculating and writing on his hand and presently said to her, "o my lady, i cannot prescribe for the girl, till i know what countrywoman she is, because of the difference of climate: so tell me where she was brought up and what is her age." "she is fourteen years old," replied the old woman, "and was brought up in cufa of irak." "and how long," asked he, "has she sojourned in this country?" "but a few months," answered she. when nimeh heard the old woman's words and the name of his slave-girl, his heart fluttered and he was like to swoon. then said the persian to the old woman, "such and such medicines will suit her case;" and she rejoined, "then make them up and give them to me, with the blessing of god the most high!" so saying, she threw him ten dinars, and he bade nimeh prepare the necessary drugs; whereupon she looked at the youth and exclaimed, "god have thee in his holy keeping, o my son! verily, she is like thee in age and favour." then said she to the physician, "o brother of the persians, is this thy slave or thy son?" "he is my son," answered he. so nimeh made up the medicine and laying it in a little box, took a piece of paper and wrote thereon the following verses: so num but vouchsafe me a glance, to gladden my heart and my mind, let suada unfavouring prove and juml, an't please her, unkind.[fn# ] "forget her," quoth they unto me, "and thou shalt have twenty like her." i will not forget her, i swear, for never her like should i find. he put the paper in the box and sealing it up, wrote on the cover the following words in the cufic character, "i am nimeh ben er rebya of cufa." then he gave it to the old woman, who bade them farewell and returning to the khalif's palace, went in to num, to whom she delivered the box, saying, "o my lady, know that there is lately come to our town a persian physician, than whom i never saw a more skilful nor a better versed in matters of sickness. i showed him the phial and told him thy name, and he knew thine ailment and prescribed a remedy. then, by his order, his son made thee up this medicine; and there is not in damascus a comelier or more elegant youth than this son of his nor hath any the like of his shop." num took the box and seeing the names of her lord and his father written thereon, changed colour and said to herself, "doubtless, the owner of this shop is come in search of me." so she said to the old woman, "describe this youth to me." "his name is nimeh," answered the old woman; "he is richly clad and perfectly handsome and has a mole on his right eyebrow." "give me the medicine," cried num, "and may the blessing and help of god the most high attend it!" so she drank off the potion and said, laughing, "indeed, it is a blessed medicine." then she sought in the box and finding the paper, read it and knew that this was indeed her lord, whereat her heart was solaced and she rejoiced. when the old woman saw her laughing, she exclaimed, "this is indeed a blessed day!" and num said, "o nurse, i have a mind to eat and drink." so the old woman said to the serving-women, "bring a tray of dainty viands for your mistress;" whereupon they set food before her and she sat down to eat. presently, in came the khalif and seeing her sitting eating, rejoiced; and the old woman said to him, "o commander of the faithful, i give thee joy of thy slave's recovery! know that there is lately come to our city a physician, than whom i never saw a better versed in diseases and their cure. i fetched her medicine from him and she has taken of it but once and is restored to health." quoth he, "take a thousand dinars and provide for her treatment, till she be completely recovered." and he went away, rejoicing in the damsel's recovery, whilst the old woman betook herself to the physician, to whom she delivered the thousand dinars and a letter that num had written, giving him to know that she was become the khalif's slave. he gave the letter to nimeh, who knew her hand and fell down in a swoon. when he came to himself, he opened the letter and found these words written therein: "from the slave despoiled of her delight,[fn# ] her whose reason hath been beguiled and who is separated from the beloved of her heart. thy letter hath reached me and hath dilated my bosom and rejoiced my heart, even as saith the poet: the letter reached me, never may the fingers fail thee aught, that traced its characters, until with sweetest scent they're fraught! 'twas as unto his mother's arms when moses was restored or as to blind old jacob's hands when joseph's coat was brought."[fn# ] when he read these verses, his eyes ran over with tears and the old woman said to him, "what ails thee to weep, o my son? may god never make thine eye to shed tears!" "o my lady," answered the persian, "how should my son not weep, seeing that this is his slave-girl and he her lord nimeh ben er rebya of cufa? indeed, her recovery depends on her seeing him, for nought ails her but the love of him. so, o my lady, take these thousand dinars to thyself (and thou shalt have of me yet more than this) and look on us with eyes of compassion; for we know not how to bring this affair to a happy issue but through thee." then she said to nimeh, "art thou indeed her lord?" "yes," answered he, and she, "thou sayst truly; for she ceases not to name thee." then he told her all that had passed from first to last, and she said, "o youth, thou shalt owe thy reunion with her to none but me." so she mounted at once and returning to num, looked in her face and smiled, saying, "o my daughter, it is just that thou weep and fall sick for thy separation from thy master nimeh ben er rebya of cufa." quoth num, "verily, the veil has been withdrawn for thee and the truth revealed to thee." "be of good cheer," rejoined the old woman, "and take heart, for i will surely bring you together, though it cost me my life." then she returned to nimeh and said to him, "i have seen thy slave-girl and find that she longs for thee yet more than thou for her; for the commander of the faithful is minded to foregather with her, but she refuses herself to him. but if thou be stout of heart and firm of courage, i will bring you together and venture myself for you and make shift to bring thee to her in the khalif's palace; for she cannot come forth." and nimeh answered, "god requite thee with good!" then she went back to num and said to her, "thy lord is indeed dying of love for thee and would fain see thee and foregather with thee. what sayst thou?" "and i also," answered num, "am dying for his sight." so the old woman took a parcel of women's clothes and ornaments and repairing to nimeh, said to him, "come apart with me into a privy place." so he brought her into the room behind the shop, where she painted him and decked his wrists and plaited his hair, after which she clad him in a slave-girl's habit and adorned him after the fairest fashion of woman's adornment, till he was as one of the houris of paradise; and when she saw him thus, she exclaimed, "blessed be god, the most excellent creator! by allah, thou art handsomer than the damsel! now, walk with thy left shoulder forward and swing thy buttocks." so he walked before her, as she bade him; and when she saw he had caught the trick of women's gait, she said to him, "expect me to-morrow night, when, god willing, i will come and carry thee to the palace. when thou seest the chamberlains and the eunuchs, fear not, but bow thy head and speak not with any, for i will ward thee from their speech; and with god is success." accordingly, on the morrow she returned at the appointed hour and carrying him to the palace, entered and he after her. the chamberlain would have stayed him, but the old woman said to him, "o most ill-omened of slaves, this is the handmaid of num, the khalif's favourite. how darest thou stay her?" then said she, "enter, o damsel!" and they went on, till they drew near the door leading to the inner court of the palace, when the old woman said to him, "o nimeh, take courage and enter and turn to the left. count five doors and enter the sixth, for it is that of the place prepared for thee. fear nothing, and if any speak to thee, answer not neither stop." then she went up with him to the door, and the chamberlain on guard hailed her, saying, "what damsel is that?" quoth the old woman, "our lady hath a mind to buy her." and he said, "none may enter save by leave of the commander of the faithful; so go thou back with her. i cannot let her pass, for thus am i commanded." "o chief chamberlain," replied the old woman, "use thy reason. thou knowest that num, the khalif's slave-girl, of whom he is enamoured, is but now restored to health and the commander of the faithful hardly yet credits her recovery. now she is minded to buy this girl; so oppose thou not her entrance, lest it come to num's knowledge and she be wroth with thee and suffer a relapse and this bring thy head to be cut off." then said she to nimeh, "enter, o damsel; pay no heed to what he says and tell not the princess that he opposed thine entrance." so nimeh bowed his head and entered, but mistook and turned to his right, instead of his left, and meaning to count five doors and enter the sixth, counted six and entering the seventh, found himself in a place carpeted with brocade and hung with curtains of gold-embroidered silk. here and there stood censers of aloes-wood and ambergris and sweet-scented musk, and at the upper end was a couch covered with brocade, on which he seated himself, marvelling at the exceeding magnificence of the place and knowing not what was appointed to him in the secret purpose of god. as he sat musing on his case, the khalif's sister entered, followed by her handmaid, and seeing him seated there took him for a slave-girl and said to him, "what art thou, o damsel, and who brought thee hither?" he made no reply and she continued, "if thou be one of my brother's favourites and he be wroth with thee, i will intercede with him for thee." but he answered her not a word; so she said to her maid, "stand at the door and let none enter." then she went up to nimeh and looking at him, was amazed at his beauty and said to him, "o lady, tell me who thou art and how thou camest here; for i have never seen thee in the palace." still he answered not, whereat she was angered and putting her hand to his bosom, found no breasts and would have unveiled him, that she might know who he was; but he said to her, "o my lady, i am thy slave and cast myself on thy protection; do thou protect me." "no harm shall come to thee," said she; "but tell me who thou art and who brought thee into this my lodging." "o princess," answered he, "i am known as nimeh ben er rebya of cufa, and i have ventured my life for my slave-girl num, whom el hejjaj took by sleight and sent hither." "fear not," rejoined the princess; "no harm shall befall thee." then, calling her maid, she said to her, "go to num's chamber and bid her to me." meanwhile, the old woman went to num's bed-chamber and said to her, "has thy lord come to thee?" "no, by allah!" answered num, and the other said, "belike he hath gone astray and entered some chamber other than thine." "there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme!" exclaimed num. "our last hour is come and we are all lost." as they sat, pondering, in came the princess's maid and saluting num, said to her, "my lady bids thee to her entertainment." "i hear and obey," answered the damsel, and the old woman said, "belike thy lord is with the khalif's sister and the veil has been done away." so num rose and betook herself to the princess, who said to her, "here is thy lord sitting with me; it seems he has gone astray; but, please god, neither thou nor he has any cause for fear." when num heard this, she took heart and went up to nimeh, who rose to meet her, and they embraced and fell down in a swoon. as soon as they came to themselves, the princess said to them, "sit down and let us take counsel for your deliverance from this your strait." and they answered, "o our lady, we hear and obey: it is thine to command." "by allah," quoth she, "no harm shall befall you from us!" then she called for meat and drink, and they sat down and ate till they had enough, after which they sat drinking. the cup went round amongst them and their cares ceased from them; but nimeh said, "would i knew how this will end!" "o nimeh," quoth the princess, "dost thou love thy slave num?" "o my lady," answered he, "it is my passion for her that has brought me thus in peril of my life." then she said to the damsel, "o num, dost thou love thy lord nimeh?" and she replied, "o my lady, it is the love of him that has wasted my body and brought me to evil case." "by allah," rejoined the princess, "since ye love each other thus, may he not live who would sunder you! take heart and be of good cheer." at this they both rejoiced, and num, calling for a lute, tuned it and preluded enchantingly, then sang the following verses: whenas, content with nothing less, the spies our sev'rance sought, allbe no debt of blood they had 'gainst me or thee in aught, whenas they poured upon our ears the hurtling din of war, whilst helpers and protectors failed and succour came there nought, i fought the railers with my tears, my spirit and thine eyes; yea, with the torrent, fire and sword, to fend them off i wrought. then she gave the lute to nimeh, saying, "sing thou to us." so he took it and playing a lively measure, sang these verses: the moon were like thee at its full, were it of freckles free, and did it never brook eclipse, the sun would favour thee. indeed, i marvel, (but in love how many a marvel is! therein are passion and desire and cares and ecstasy,) short seems the distance, when i fare towards my love's abode; but when i journey from her sight, the way is long to me. when he had made an end of his song, num filled the cup and gave it to him, and he drank it off; then she filled again and gave the cup to the princess, who took it and emptied it; after which she in her turn took the lute and sang as follows: mourning and grief possess my heart and in my breast the ardour of desire abideth as a guest. the wasting of my frame, alas! is manifest and all my soul is sick with passion and unrest. then she filled the cup and gave it to num, who drank it off and taking the lute, sang the following verses: o thou, upon whom i bestowed my soul and thou rack'dst it to death and i would have ta'en it again, but could not release it i' faith, relent to a lover forlorn; vouchsafe him, i pray, ere he die, what may from perdition redeem, for this is the last of his breath. they ceased not to sing and make merry and drink to the sweet sound of the strings, full of mirth and joyance and good cheer, till, behold, in came the commander of the faithful. when they saw him, they rose and kissed the ground before him; and he, seeing num with the lute in her hand, said to her, "o num, praised be god who hath done away from thee pain and affliction!" then he looked at nimeh (who was still disguised as a woman) and said to the princess, "o my sister, what damsel is this by num's side?" "o commander of the faithful," answered she, "she is one of thy slave-girls and the bosom friend of num, who will neither eat nor drink without her." and she repeated the words of the poet: two opposites, dissevered still in charms and straitly knit, and each one's beauty brightlier shows against its opposite. "by the great god," said the khalif, "she is as handsome as num, and to-morrow, i will appoint her a separate chamber beside that of num and send her furniture and linen and all that befits her, in honour of num." then, the princess called for food and set it before her brother, who ate and filling a cup, signed to num to sing. so she took the lute, after drinking two cups, and sang the following verses: whenas my cup-companion hath poured me out of wine three foaming cups, brimmed over with nectar from the vine, i trail my skirts in glory all night, as if o'er thee, commander of the faithful, the empery were mine. the khalif was delighted and filling another cup, gave it to num and bade her sing again. so she drank off the cup, and sweeping the strings of the lute, sang as follows: o thou, the noblest man of men that live in this our day, whose equal none may boast himself in power and mightiness, o all unpeered in pride of place, to whom munificence is as a birthright, lord and king, whom all in all confess, thou, that dost lord it, sovran-wise, o'er all the kings of earth and without grudging or reproach, giv'st bountiful largesse, god have thee ever in his guard, despite thine every foe, and be thy fortune ever bright with victory and success! when the khalif heard this, he exclaimed, "by allah, it is good! by allah, it is excellent! verily, god hath been good to thee, o num! how sweet is thy voice and how clear thy speech!" they passed the time thus in mirth and good cheer, till midnight, when the khalif's sister said to him, "o commander of the faithful, give ear to a tale i have read in books of a certain man of rank." "and what is this tale?" asked he. "know," said she, "that there lived once in the city of cufa, a youth called nimeh ben er rebya, and he had a slave-girl whom he loved and who loved him. they had been reared in one bed; but when they grew up and mutual love took possession of them, fate smote them with its calamities and decreed separation unto them. for designing folk enticed her by sleight forth of his house and stealing her away from him, sold her to one of the kings for ten thousand dinars. now the girl loved her lord even as he loved her; so he left house and home and fortune and setting out in quest of her, made shift, at the peril of his life, to gain access to her; but they had not been long in company, when in came the king, who had bought her of her ravisher, and hastily bade put them to death, without waiting to enquire into the matter, as was just. what sayest thou, o commander of the faithful, of this king's conduct?" "this was indeed a strange thing," answered the khalif; "it behoved the king to use his power with clemency, and he should have considered three things in their favour; first, that they loved one another; secondly, that they were in his house and under his hand; and thirdly, that it behoves a king to be deliberate in judging between the folk, and how much more so when he himself is concerned! wherefore the king in this did unkingly." then said his sister, "o my brother by the lord of heaven and earth, i conjure thee, bid num sing and give ear to that she shall sing!" and he said, "o num, sing to me." so she played a lively measure and sang the following verses: fortune hath played the traitor; indeed, 'twas ever so, transpiercing hearts and bosoms and kindling care and woe and parting friends in sunder, that were in union knit, so down their cheeks thou seest the tears in torrents flow. they were, and i was with them, in all delight of life, and fortune did unite us full straitly whiles ago. so gouts of blood, commingled with tears, both night and day i'll weep, my sore affliction for loss of thee to show. when he heard this, he was moved to great delight, and his sister said to him, "o my brother, he who decideth in aught against himself, it behoveth him to abide by it and do according to his word; and thou hast by this judgment decided against thyself." then said she, "o nimeh, stand up, and do thou likewise, o num!" so they stood up and she continued, "o commander of the faithful, she who stands before thee is num, whom el hejjaj ben yousuf eth thekefi stole and sent to thee, falsely pretending in his letter to thee that he had bought her for ten thousand dinars. this other is her lord, nimeh ben er rebya; and i beseech thee, by the honour of thy pious forefathers and by hemzeh and akil and abbes,[fn# ] to pardon them and bestow them one on the other, that thou mayst earn the recompense in the next world of thy just dealing with them; for they are under thy hand and have eaten of thy meat and drunken of thy drink; and behold, i make intercession for them and beg of thee the boon of their lives." "thou sayst sooth," replied the khalif, "i did indeed give judgment as thou sayst, and i use not to go back on my word." then said he, "o num, is this thy lord?" and she answered, "yes, o commander of the faithful." "no harm shall befall you," said he; "i give you to one another." then he said to the young man, "o nimeh, who told thee where she was and taught thee how to get at her?" "o commander of the faithful," replied he, "give ear to my story; for by the virtue of thy pious forefathers, i will hide nothing from thee!" and he told him all that had passed between himself and the persian physician and the old woman and how she had brought him into the palace and he had mistaken one door for another; whereat the khalif wondered exceedingly and said, "fetch me the persian." so they fetched him and he made him one of his chief officers. moreover, he bestowed on him robes of honour and ordered him a handsome present, saying, "him, who has shown such good sense and skill in his ordinance, it behoves us to make one of our chief officers." he also loaded nimeh and num with gifts and honours and rewarded the old woman; and they abode with him in joy and content and all delight of life seven days; at the end of which time nimeh craved leave to return to cufa with his slave-girl. the khalif gave leave and they departed accordingly and arrived in due course at cufa, where nimeh foregathered with his father and mother, and they abode in the enjoyment of all the delights and comforts of life, till there came to them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of companies.' * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * the princes wondered mightily at behram's story and said, 'by allah, this is indeed a rare story!' they passed the night thus, and next morning, amjed and asaad mounted and riding to the palace, sought an audience of the king, who received them with honour. as they sat talking, of a sudden they heard the townsfolk crying aloud and shouting to one another and calling for help, and the chamberlain came in to the king and said to him, 'some king hath encamped before the city, he and his army, with arms displayed, and we know not who they are nor what they seek.' the king took counsel with his vizier and asaad, and amjed said, 'i will go out to him and learn the cause of his coming.' so he took horse and riding forth the city, repaired to the stranger's camp, where he found the king and with him many soldiers and mounted officers. when the guards saw him, they knew him for an ambassador from the king of the city; so they took him and brought him to their king. amjed kissed the ground before him; but lo, the king was a queen, who wore a chin-band over her face, and she said to amjed, 'know that i have no design on your city and am only come hither in quest of a beardless slave of mine, whom if i find with you, i will do you no hurt; but if i find him not, then shall there befall sore battle between you and me.' 'o queen,' asked amjed, 'what is thy slave's name and what like is he?' said she, 'his name is asaad and he is of such and such a favour. my name is merjaneh, and this slave came to my town in company of behram, a magian, who refused to sell him to me; so i took him by force, but the magian fell upon him by night and took him away by stealth.' when amjed heard this he knew that it was his brother asaad whom she sought and said to her, 'o queen of the age, praised be god who hath brought us relief! know that he whom thou seekest is my brother.' then he told her their story and all that had befallen them in the land of exile, and acquainted her with the cause of their departure from the islands of ebony, whereat she marvelled and rejoiced to have found asaad. so she bestowed a dress of honour upon amjed, and he returned to the king and told him what had passed, at which they all rejoiced and the king and the two princes went forth to meet queen merjaneh. they were admitted to her presence and sat down to converse with her, but as they were thus engaged, behold, a cloud of dust arose and grew, till it covered the landscape. presently, it lifted and discovered an army, in numbers like the swollen sea, armed cap-a-pie, who, making for the city with naked swords, encompassed it as the ring encompasses the little finger. when amjed and asaad saw this, they exclaimed, 'we are god's and to him we return. what is this great army? doubtless, these are enemies; and except we agree with this queen merjaneh to resist them, they will take the town from us and slay us. there is nothing for us but to go out to them and see who they are.' so amjed mounted and passing through queen merjaneh's camp, came to the approaching army and was admitted to the presence of their king, to whom he delivered his message, after kissing the earth before him. quoth the king, 'i am called king ghaïour, lord of the islands and the seas and the seven castles, and am come out in quest of my daughter budour, of whom fortune hath bereft me; for she left me and returned not to me, nor have i heard any news of her or her husband kemerezzeman. have ye any tidings of them?' when amjed heard this, he knew that this king was none other than his grandfather, his mother's father, and kissing the earth before him, told him that he was the son of his daughter budour; whereupon ghaïour threw himself upon him and they both fell a-weeping. then said ghaïour, 'praised be god, o my son, for safety, since i have foregathered with thee!' and amjed told him that his daughter budour and her husband kemerezzeman were well and abode in a city called the city of ebony. moreover, he related to him how his father, being wroth with him and his brother, had commanded his treasurer to put them to death, but that the latter had taken pity on them and let them go with their lives. quoth king ghaïour, 'i will go back with thee and thy brother to your father and make your peace with him.' amjed kissed the ground before him and the king bestowed a dress of honour upon him, after which he returned, smiling, to the king of the city of the magians and told him what he had learnt, at which he wondered exceedingly. then he despatched guest-gifts of sheep and horses and camels and provender and so forth to king ghaïour and the like to queen merjaneh and told her what had chanced, whereupon quoth she, 'i too will accompany you with my troops and will do my endeavour to make peace [between the princes and their father.]' at this moment, there arose another cloud of dust and spread, till it covered the prospect and darkened the day; and under it, they heard shouts and cries and neighing of horses and saw the sheen of swords and the glint of lance-points. when this new host drew near the city and saw the two other armies, they beat their drums and the king of the magians exclaimed, 'this is indeed a blessed day! praised be god who hath made us of accord with these two armies! if it be his will, he will give us peace with yon other also.' then said he to amjed and asaad, 'go forth and bring us news of them, for they are a mighty host, never saw i a mightier.' so they opened the city gates, which the king had shut for fear of the surrounding troops, and amjed and asaad went forth and coming to the new host, found that it was the army of the king of the ebony islands, led by their father, king kemerezzeman in person. when they came before him, they kissed the earth and wept; but, when he saw them, he threw himself upon them, weeping sore, and strained them long to his breast. then he excused himself to them and told them how sore desolation he had suffered for their loss; and they acquainted him with king ghaïour's arrival, whereupon he mounted with his chief officers and proceeded to the king of china's camp, he and his sons. as they drew near, one of the princes rode forward and informed king ghaïour of kemerezzeman's coming, whereupon he came out to meet him and they joined company, marvelling at these things and how fortune had ordered their encounter in that place. then the townsfolk made them banquets of all manner of meats and confections and brought them sheep and horses and camels and fodder and other guest-gifts and all that the troops needed. presently, behold, yet another cloud of dust arose and spread till it covered the landscape, whilst the earth shook with the tramp of horse and the drums sounded like the storm-winds. after awhile, the dust lifted and discovered an army clad in black and armed cap-a-pie, and in their midst rode a very old man clad also in black, whose beard flowed down over his breast. when the king of the city saw this great host, he said to the other kings, 'praised be god the most high, by whose leave ye are met here, all in one day, and proved all known one to the other! but what vast army is this that covers the country?' 'have no fear of them,' answered they; 'we are here three kings, each with a great army, and if they be enemies, we will join thee in doing battle with them, were three times their number added to them.' as they were talking, up came an envoy from the approaching host, making for the city. they brought him before the four kings and he kissed the earth and said, 'the king my master comes from the land of the persians; many years ago he lost his son and is seeking him in all countries. if he find him with you, well and good; but if he find him not, there will be war between him and you, and he will lay waste your city.' 'that shall he not,' rejoined kemerezzeman; 'but how is thy master called in the land of the persians?' 'he is called king shehriman, lord of the khalidan islands,' answered the envoy; 'and he hath levied these troops in the lands traversed by him, whilst seeking his son.' when kemerezzeman heard his father's name, he gave a great cry and fell down in a swoon; then, presently coming to himself, he wept sore and said to amjed and asaad, 'go, o my sons, with the messenger: salute your grandfather, king shehriman, and give him glad tidings of me, for he mourns my loss and even now wears black for my sake.' then he told the other kings all that had befallen him in his youth, at which they all wondered and mounting with him, repaired to his father, whom he saluted, and they embraced and fell down in a swoon, for excess of joy. when they revived, kemerezzeman acquainted his father with all his adventures, and the other kings saluted shehriman. then they married merjaneh to asaad and sent her back to her kingdom, charging her not to leave them without news of her. moreover, amjed took bustan, behram's daughter, to wife, and they all set out for the city of ebony. when they arrived there, kemerezzeman went in to his father-in-law, king armanous, and told him all that had befallen him and how he had found his sons; whereat armanous rejoiced and gave him joy of his safe return. then king ghaïour went in to his daughter, queen budour, and satisfied his longing for her company, and they all abode a month's space in the city of ebony; after which the king of china and his daughter returned to their own country with their company, taking prince amjed with them, whom, as soon as ghaïour was settled again in his kingdom, he made king in his stead. moreover, kemerezzeman made asaad king in his room over the ebony islands, with the consent of his grandfather, king armanous, and set out himself, with his father, king shehriman, for the islands of khalidan. the people of the capital decorated the city in their honour and they ceased not to beat the drums for glad tidings a whole month; nor did kemerezzeman leave to govern in his father's room, till there overtook them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of companies." "o shehrzad," said king shehriyar, "this is indeed a right wonderful story!" "o king," answered she, "it is not more wonderful than that of alaeddin abou esh shamat." "what is that?" asked he, and she said, "i have heard tell, o august king, that alaeddin abou esh shamat. there lived once in cairo, of old time, a merchant named shemseddin, who was of the best and truest-spoken of the traders of the city and had great store of money and goods and slaves and servants, white and black and male and female. moreover, he was provost of the merchants of cairo and had a wife, whom he loved and who loved him; but he had lived with her forty years, yet had not been blessed with son or daughter by her. one friday, as he sat in his shop, he noted that each of the merchants had a son or two or more, sitting in shops like their fathers. presently, he entered the bath and made the friday ablution; after which he came out and took the barber's glass, saying, 'i testify that there is no god but god and that mohammed is his apostle!' then he looked at his beard and seeing that the white hairs in it outnumbered the black, bethought himself that hoariness is the harbinger of death. now his wife knew the time of his coming and had washed and made ready for him; so when he came in to her, she said, 'good even;' but he replied, 'i see no good.' then she called for the evening meal and said to her husband, 'eat, o my lord.' quoth he, 'i will eat nothing,' and pushing the table away with his foot, turned his back to her. 'why dost thou thus?' said she. 'what has vexed thee?' and he answered, 'thou art the cause of my vexation.' 'how so?' asked she. 'this morning,' replied he, 'when i opened my shop, i saw that each of the other merchants had a son or two or more, and i said to myself, "he who took thy father will not spare thee." now the night i wedded thee, thou madest me swear that i would never take a second wife nor a concubine, abyssinian or greek or other, nor would lie a night from thee: and behold, thou art barren, and swiving thee is like boring into the rock.' 'god is my witness,' rejoined she, 'that the fault lies with thee, for that thy seed is thin.' 'and how is it with him whose seed is thin?' asked he, and she, 'he cannot get women with child nor beget children.' 'what thickens seed?' asked he. 'tell me and i will try it: haply, it will thicken mine.' quoth she, 'enquire for it of the druggists.' they slept that night and arose on the morrow, repenting each of having spoken angrily to the other. then he went to the market and accosting a druggist, said to him, 'hast thou wherewithal to thicken the seed?' 'i had it, but am spent of it,' answered the druggist; 'ask my neighbour.' so shemseddin made the round of the bazaar, till he had asked every one; but they all laughed at him and he returned to his shop and sat down, troubled. now there was in the market a man called sheikh mohammed semsem, who was syndic of the brokers and was given to the use of opium and bang and hashish. he was poor and used to wish shemseddin good morrow every day; so he came to him according to his wont and saluted him. the merchant returned his salute, and the other, seeing him vexed, said to him, 'o my lord, what hath crossed thee?' quoth shemseddin, 'these forty years have i been married to my wife, yet hath she borne me neither son nor daughter; and i am told that the cause of my failure to get her with child is the thinness of my seed; so i have been seeking wherewithal to thicken it, but found it not.' 'i have a thickener,' said sheikh mohammed; 'but what wilt thou say to him who makes thy wife conceive by thee, after forty years' barrenness? 'an thou do this,' answered the merchant, 'i will largely reward thee.' 'then give me a dinar,' rejoined the broker, and shemseddin said, 'take these two dinars.' he took them and said, 'give me also yonder bowl of porcelain.' so he gave it him, and the broker betook himself to a hashish-seller, of whom he bought two ounces of concentrated turkish opium and equal parts of chinese cubebs, cinnamon, cloves, cardamoms, white pepper, ginger and mountain lizard[fn# ] and pounding them all together, boiled them in sweet oil; after which he added three ounces of frankincense and a cupful or coriander-seed and macerating the whole, made it into a paste with greek honey. then he put the electuary in the bowl and carried it to the merchant, to whom he delivered it, saying, 'this is the seed-thickener, and the manner of using it is this. make the evening-meal of mutton and house-pigeon, plentifully seasoned and spiced; then take of this electuary with a spoon and wash it down with a draught of boiled date-wine.' so the merchant bought mutton and pigeons and sent them to his wife, bidding her dress them well and lay up the electuary till he should call for it. she did as he bade her and he ate the evening-meal, after which he called for the bowl and ate of the electuary. it liked him well, so he ate the rest and lay with his wife. that very night she conceived by him and after three months, her courses ceased and she knew that she was with child. when the days of her pregnancy were accomplished, the pangs of labour took her and they raised cries of joy. the midwife delivered her with difficulty [of a son], then, taking the new- born child, she pronounced over him the names of mohammed and ali and said, 'god is most great!' moreover, she called in his ear the call to prayer; then swathed him and gave him to his mother, who took him and put him to her breast; and he sucked his full and slept. the midwife abode with them three days, till they had made the mothering-cakes and sweetmeats; and they distributed them on the seventh day. then they sprinkled salt[fn# ] and the merchant, going in to his wife, gave her joy of her safe delivery and said, 'where is the gift of god?' so they brought him a babe of surpassing beauty, the handiwork of the ever-present orderer of all things, whoever saw him would have deemed him a yearling child, though he was but seven days old. shemseddin looked on his face and seeing it like a shining full moon, with moles on both cheeks, said to his wife, 'what hast thou named him?' 'if it were a girl,' answered she, 'i had named her; but it is a boy, so none shall name him but thou.' now the people of that time used to name their children by omens; and whilst the merchant and his wife were taking counsel of the name, they heard one say to his friend, 'harkye, my lord alaeddin!' so the merchant said, 'we will call him alaeddin abou esh shamat.'[fn# ] then he committed the child to the nurses, and he drank milk two years, after which they weaned him and he grew up and throve and walked upon the earth. when he came to seven years old, they put him in a chamber under the earth, for fear of the evil eye, and his father said, 'he shall not come out, till his beard grows.' and he gave him in charge to a slave-girl and a black slave; the former dressed him his meals and the latter carried them to him. then his father circumcised him and made him a great feast; after which he brought him a doctor of the law, who taught him to write and repeat the koran and other parts of knowledge, till he became an accomplished scholar. one day, the slave, after bringing him the tray of food, went away and forgot to shut the trap-door after him: so alaeddin came forth and went in to his mother, with whom was a company of women of rank. as they sat talking, in came he upon them, as he were a drunken white slave,[fn# ] for the excess of his beauty; and when they saw him, they veiled their faces and said to his mother, 'god requite thee, o such an one! how canst thou let this strange slave in upon us? knowest thou not that modesty is a point of the faith?' 'pronounce the name of god,'[fn# ] answered she. 'this is my son, the darling of my heart and the son of the provost shemseddin.' quoth they, 'we never knew that thou hadst a son:' and she, 'his father feared the evil eye for him and shut him up in a chamber under the earth, nor did we mean that he should come out, before his beard was grown; but it would seem as if the slave had unawares left the door open, and he hath come out.' the women gave her joy of him, and he went out from them into the courtyard, where he seated himself in the verandah.[fn# ] presently, in came the slaves with his father's mule, and he said to them, 'whence comes this mule?' quoth they, 'thy father rode her to the shop, and we have brought her back.' 'and what is my father's trade?' asked he. and they replied, 'he is provost of the merchants of cairo and sultan of the sons of the arabs.' then he went in to his mother and said to her, 'o my mother, what is my father's trade?' said she, 'he is a merchant and provost of the merchants of cairo and sultan of the sons of the arabs. his slaves consult him not in selling aught whose price is less than a thousand dinars, but sell it at their own discretion; nor doth any merchandise, little or much, enter or leave cairo, without passing through his hands; for, o my son, god the most great hath given thy father wealth past count.' 'praised be god,' exclaimed he, 'that i am son of the sultan of the sons of the arabs and that my father is provost of the merchants! but why, o my mother, did you put me in the underground chamber and leave me prisoner there?' 'o my son,' answered she, 'we did this for fear of (men's) eyes, for it is true that the evil eye hath power to harm and the most part of the sojourners in the tombs are of its victims.' 'o my mother,' rejoined he, 'where is a place of refuge against destiny? verily, taking care estoppeth not fate nor is there any escape from that which is written. he who took my grandfather will not spare myself nor my father; for, though he live to-day, he shall not live to-morrow. and when my father dies and i come forth and say, "i am alaeddin, son of shemseddin the merchant," none of the people will believe me, but the aged will say, "never in our lives saw we a son or a daughter of shemseddin." then the treasury will come down and take my father's estate; and may allah have mercy on him who saith, "the noble dies and his wealth passes away and the meanest of men take his women." so do thou, o my mother, speak to my father, that he take me with him to the market and set me up in a shop with merchandise and teach me to buy and sell and give and take.' 'o my son,' answered his mother, 'when thy father returns, i will tell him this.' so when the merchant came home, he found his son sitting with his mother and said to her, 'why hast thou brought him forth of the underground chamber?' 'o my cousin,' answered she, 'it was not i that brought him out; but the servants forgot to shut the door and left it open; so he came forth and came in to me, as i sat with a company of women of rank.' and she went on to repeat to him what the boy had said; and shemseddin said to the latter, 'o my son, to- morrow, god willing, i will take thee with me to the market; but i would have thee know that the commerce of the markets and the shops demands good manners and an accomplished carriage in all conditions.' so alaeddin passed the night, rejoicing in his father's promise; and on the morrow the merchant carried him to the bath and clad him in a suit worth much money. as soon as they had broken their fast and drunken sherbets, shemseddin mounted his mule and rode to the market, followed by his son; but when the market-folk saw their provost making towards them, followed by a youth as he were a piece of the moon on its fourteenth night, they said, one to another, 'see yonder boy behind the provost of the merchants. verily, we thought well of him; but he is like the leek, grayheaded and green at the heart.' and sheikh mohammed semsem before mentioned, the deputy of the market, said, 'o merchants, never will we accept the like of him for our chief.' now it was the custom, when the provost came from his house and sat down in his shop of a morning, for the deputy of the market and the rest of the merchants to go in a body to his ship and recite to him the opening chapter of the koran, after which they wished him good morrow and went away, each to his shop. shemseddin seated himself in his shop as usual, but the merchants come not to him as of wont; so he called the deputy and said to him, 'why come not the merchants together as usual?' 'i know not how to tell thee,' answered mohammed semsem; 'for they have agreed to depose thee from the headship of the market and to recite the first chapter to thee no more.' 'and why so?' asked shemseddin. 'what boy is this that sits beside thee,' asked the deputy, 'and thou a man of years and chief of the merchants? is he a slave or akin to thy wife? verily, i think thou lovest him and inclinest [unlawfully] to the boy.' with this, the provost cried out at him, saying, 'god confound thee, hold thy peace! this is my son.' 'never knew we that thou hadst a son,' rejoined the deputy; and shemseddin answered, 'when thou gavest me the seed-thickener, my wife conceived and bore this youth, whom i reared in a chamber under the earth, for fear of the evil eye, nor was it my purpose that he should come forth, till he could take his beard in his hand. however, his mother would not agree to this, and he would have me bring him to the market and stock him a shop and teach him to sell and buy.' so the deputy returned to the other merchants and acquainted them with the truth of the case, whereupon they all arose and going in a body to shemseddin's shop, stood before him and recited the first chapter of the koran to him; after which they gave him joy of his son and said to him, 'god prosper root and branch! but even the poorest of us, when son or daughter is born to him, needs must he make a pot of custard and bid his friends and acquaintances; yet thou hast not done this.' quoth he, 'this is your due from me; be our rendezvous in the garden.' so next morning, he sent the carpet- layer to the pavilion in the garden and bade him furnish it. moreover, he sent thither all that was needful for cooking, such as sheep and butter and so forth, and spread two tables, one in the saloon and another in the upper chamber. then he and his son girded themselves, and he said to the latter, 'o my son, when a graybeard enters, i will meet him and carry him into the upper chamber and seat him at the table; and do thou, in like manner, receive the beardless youths and seat them at the table in the saloon.' 'o my father,' asked alaeddin, 'why dost thou spread two tables, one for men and another for youths?' 'o my son,' answered shemseddin, 'the beardless boy is ashamed to eat with men.' and his son was content with this answer. so when the merchants arrived, shemseddin received the men and seated them in the upper chamber, whilst alaeddin received the youths and seated them in the saloon. then the servants set on food and the guests ate and drank and made merry, whilst the attendants served them with sherbets and perfumed them with the fragrant smoke of scented woods; and the elders fell to conversing of matters of science and tradition. now there was amongst them a merchant called mehmoud of balkh, a muslim by profession but at heart a magian, a man of lewd life, who had a passion for boys. he used to buy stuffs and merchandise of alaeddin's father; and when he saw the boy, one look at his face cost him a thousand sighs and satan dangled the jewel before his eyes, so that he was taken with desire and mad passion for him and his heart was filled with love of him. so he arose and made for the youths, who rose to receive him. at this moment, alaeddin, being taken with an urgent occasion, withdrew to make water; whereupon mehmoud turned to the other youths and said to them, 'if ye will incline alaeddin's mind to journeying with me, i will give each of you a dress worth much money.' then he returned to the men's party; and when alaeddin came back, the youths rose to receive him and seated him in the place of honour. presently, one of them said to his neighbour, 'o my lord hassan, tell me how thou camest by the capital on which thou tradest.' 'when i came to man's estate,' answered hassan, 'i said to my father, "o my father, give me merchandise." "o my son," answered he, "i have none by me: but go thou to some merchant and take of him money and traffic with it and learn to buy and sell and give and take." so i went to one of the merchants and borrowed of him a thousand dinars, with which i bought stuffs and carrying them to damascus, sold them there at a profit of two for one. then i bought syrian stuffs and carrying them to aleppo, disposed of them there at a like profit; after which i bought stuffs of aleppo and repaired with them to baghdad, where i sold them with the same result; nor did i cease to buy and sell, till i was worth nigh ten thousand dinars.' each of the others told a like tale, till it came to alaeddin's turn, when they said to him, 'and thou, o my lord alaeddin?' quoth he, 'i was brought up in a chamber underground and came forth from it but this week and i do but go to the shop and return home.' 'thou art used to abide at home,' rejoined they, 'and knowest not the delight of travel, for travel is for men only.' 'i reck not of travel,' answered he, 'and value ease above all things.' whereupon quoth one to the other, 'this youth is like the fish: when he leaves the water he dies.' then they said to him, 'o alaeddin, the glory of the sons of the merchants is not but in travel for the sake of gain.' their talk angered him and he left them, weeping-eyed and mourning-hearted, and mounting his mule, returned home. when his mother saw him thus, she said to him, 'what ails thee to weep, o my son?' and he answered, 'all the sons of the merchants made mock of me and said to me, "there is no glory for a merchant's son save in travel for gain."' 'o my son,' rejoined she, 'hast thou a mind for travel?' 'yes,' said he. 'and whither wilt thou go?' asked she. 'to the city of baghdad,' answered he; 'for there folk make a profit of two to one on their goods.' 'o my son,' said she, 'thy father is a very rich man, and if he provide thee not with merchandise, i will do so of my own monies.' quoth he, 'the best of favours is that which is quickly bestowed; if it is to be, now is the time for it.' so she called the servants and sent them for packers; then opening a store-house, brought out ten loads of stuffs, which the packers made up into bales for him. meanwhile shemseddin missed his son and enquiring after him, was told that he had mounted and gone home; so he too mounted and followed him. when he entered the house, he saw the bales packed ready and asked what they were; whereupon his wife told him what had passed between alaeddin and the young merchants and he said, 'o my son, may god curse foreign travel! verily, the prophet (whom god bless and preserve) hath said, "it is of a man's good fortune that he have his livelihood in his own land;" and it was said of the ancients, "leave travel, though but for a mile."' then he said to his son, 'art thou indeed resolved to travel and wilt thou not turn back from it?' 'needs must i journey to baghdad with merchandise,' answered alaeddin, 'else will i put off my clothes and don a dervish's habit and go a-wandering over the world.' quoth shemseddin, 'i am no lackgood, but have great plenty of wealth and with me are stuffs and merchandise befitting every country in the world.' then he showed him his goods and amongst the rest, forth bales ready packed, with the price, a thousand dinars, written on each, and said to him, 'take these forty loads, together with those thy mother gave thee, and set out under the safeguard of god the most high. but, o my son, i fear for thee a certain wood in thy way, called the lion's copse, and a valley called the valley of dogs, for there lives are lost without mercy.' 'how so?' asked alaeddin. 'because of a bedouin highwayman, hight ajlan,' answered his father, 'who harbours there.' quoth alaeddin, 'fortune is with god; if any part in it be mine, no harm will befall me.' then they rode to the cattle market, where a muleteer alighted from his mule and kissing the provost's hand, said to him, 'o my lord, by allah, it is long since thou hast employed me to carry merchandise for thee!' 'every time hath its fortune and its men,' answered shemseddin; 'and may god have mercy on him who said: an old man went walking the ways of the world, so bowed and so bent that his beard swept his knee. "what makes thee go doubled this fashion?" quoth i. he answered (and spread out his hands unto me), "my youth hath escaped me; 'tis lost in the dust, and i bend me to seek it, where'er it may be." o captain,'[fn# ] added he, 'it is not i, but this my son that is minded to travel.' 'god preserve his to thee!' said the muleteer. then shemseddin made a contract between alaeddin and the muleteer, appointing that the former should be to the latter as a son, and gave him into his charge, saying, 'take these hundred dinars for thy men.' moreover, he bought his son threescore mules and a lamp and covering of honour for the tomb of sheikh abdulcadir el jilani[fn# ] and said to him, 'o my son, i am leaving thee, and this is thy father in my stead: whatsoever he biddeth thee, do thou obey him.' so saying, he returned home with the mules and servants and they made recitations of the koran and held a festival that night in honour of the sheikh abdulcadir. on the morrow, shemseddin gave his son ten thousand dinars, saying, 'o my son, when thou comest to baghdad, if thou find stuffs brisk of sale, sell them; but if they be dull, spend of these dinars.' then they loaded the mules and taking leave of their friends, set out on their journey. now mehmoud of balkh had made ready his own venture for baghdad and set up his tents without the city, saying in himself, 'i shall not enjoy this youth but in the desert, where there is neither spy not spoil-sport to trouble me.' it chanced that he had in hand a thousand dinars of shemseddin's monies, the balance of a dealing between them; so he went to the provost and bade him farewell; and he said to him, 'give the thousand dinars to my son alaeddin,' and commended the latter to his care, saying, 'he is as it were thy son.' accordingly, alaeddin joined company with mehmoud, who charged the youth's cook to dress nothing for him, but himself provided him and his company with meat and drink. now he had four houses, one at cairo, another at damascus, a third at aleppo and a fourth at baghdad. so they set out and journeyed over deserts and plains, till they drew near damascus, when mehmoud sent his servant to alaeddin, whom he found reading. he went up to him and kissed his hands, and alaeddin asked him what he sought. 'my master salutes thee,' answered the slave, 'and craves thy company to a banquet in his house.' quoth the youth, 'i must consult my father kemaleddin, the captain of the caravan.' so he consulted the muleteer, who said, 'do not go.' then they left damascus and journeyed on till they came to aleppo, where mehmoud made a second entertainment and sent to bid alaeddin; but the muleteer again forbade him. then they departed aleppo and fared on, till they came within a day's journey of baghdad. here mehmoud repeated his invitation a third time and kemaleddin once more forbade alaeddin to accept it; but the latter said, 'i must needs go.' so he rose and girding on a sword under his clothes, repaired to the tent of mehmoud of balkh, who came to meet him and saluted him. then he set a sumptuous repast before him, and they ate and drank and washed their hands. presently, mehmoud bent towards alaeddin, to kiss him, but the youth received the kiss on his hand and said to him, 'what wilt thou do?' quoth mehmoud, 'i brought thee hither that i might do delight with thee in this jousting-ground, and we will comment the words of him who saith: can't be thou wilt with us a momentling alight, like to an ewekin's milk or what not else of white, and cat what liketh thee of dainty wastel-bread and take what thou mayst get of silver small and bright and bear off what thou wilt, sans grudging or constraint, spanling or full-told span or fistling filled outright?' then he would have laid hands on alaeddin; but he rose and drawing his sword, said to him, 'shame on thy gray hairs! hast thou no fear of god, and he of exceeding great might?[fn# ] may he have mercy on him who saith: look thou thy hoariness preserve from aught that may it stain, for whiteness still to take attaint is passing quick and fain. this merchandise,' added he, 'is a trust from god and may not be sold. if i sold it to other than thee for gold, i would sell it thee for silver: but, by allah, o filthy one, i will never again company with thee!' then he returned to kemaleddin and said to him, 'yonder man is a lewd fellow and i will no longer consort with him nor suffer his company by the way.' 'o my son,' replied the muleteer, 'did i not forbid thee to go with him? but if we part company with him, i fear destruction for ourselves; so let us still make one caravan.' but alaeddin said, 'it may not be: i will never again travel with him.' so he loaded his beasts and journeyed onward, he and his company, till they came to a valley, where alaeddin would have halted, but the muleteer said to him, 'do not halt here; rather let us fare forward and quicken our pace, so haply we may reach baghdad before the gates are closed, for they open and shut them with the sun, for fear the schismatics should take the city and throw the books of learning into the tigris.' 'o my father,' replied alaeddin, 'i came not to baghdad with this merchandise, for the sake of traffic, but to divert myself with the sight of foreign lands.' and kemaleddin rejoined, 'o my son, we fear for thee and for thy goods from the wild arabs.' but he answered, 'harkye, sirrah, art thou master or servant? i will not enter baghdad till the morning, that the townsfolk may see my merchandise and know me.' 'do as thou wilt,' said the muleteer; 'i have given thee good counsel, and thou must judge for thyself.' then alaeddin bade them unload the mules and pitch the tent; so they did his bidding and abode there till the middle of the night, when the youth went out to do an occasion and seeing something gleaming afar off, said to kemaleddin, 'o captain, what is yonder glittering?' the muleteer sat up and considering it straitly, knew it for the glint of spear-heads and bedouin swords and harness. now this was a troop of bedouins under a chief called ajlan abou naib, sheikh of the arabs, and when the neared the camp and saw the baggage, they said, one to another, 'o night of booty!' quoth kemaleddin, 'avaunt, o meanest of arabs!' but abou naib smote him with his javelin in the breast, that the point came out gleaming from his back, and he fell down dead at the tent-door. then cried the water-carrier, 'avaunt, o foulest of arabs!' and one of them smote him with a sword upon the shoulder, that it issued shining from the tendons of the throat and he also fell slain. then the bedouins fell upon the caravan from all sides and slew the whole company except alaeddin, after which they loaded the mules with the spoil and made off. quoth alaeddin to himself, 'thy dress and mule will be the death of thee.' so he put off his cassock and threw it over the back of a mule, remaining in his shirt and drawers alone; after which he went to the door of the tent and finding there a pool of blood from the slain, rolled himself in it, till he was as a slain man, drowned in his blood. meanwhile ajlan said to his men, 'o arabs, was this caravan bound from egypt for baghdad or from baghdad for egypt?' 'it was bound from egypt for baghdad,' answered they. 'then,' said he, 'return to the slain, for methinks the owner of the caravan is not dead.' so they turned back and fell to larding the slain with lance and sword-thrusts, [lest any life were left in them,] till they came to alaeddin, who had laid himself among the dead bodies. quoth they, 'thou dost but feign thyself dead, but we will make an end of thee.' so one of the bedouins drew his javelin and should have plunged it into his breast. but he cried out, 'save me, o my lord abdulcadir!' and behold, he saw a hand turn the lance away from his breast to that of the muleteer, so that it pierced the latter and spared himself. then the bedouins made off; and when alaeddin saw that the birds were flown with their purchase, he rose and set off running; but abou naib looked back and said, 'o arabs, i see somewhat moving.' so one of the bedouins turned back and spying alaeddin running, called out to him, saying, 'flight shall not avail thee, and we after thee;' and he smote his mare with his fist and pricked after him. then alaeddin, seeing before him a watering tank and a cistern beside it, climbed up into a niche in the cistern and stretching himself along, feigned sleep and said, 'o gracious protector, cover me with the veil of thy protection, that may not be torn away!' presently, the bedouin came up to the cistern and standing in his stirrups put out one hand to lay hold of alaeddin; but he said 'save me, o my lady nefiseh![fn# ] now is thy time!' and behold, a scorpion stung the bedouin in the palm and he cried out, saying, 'help, o arabs! i am stung;' and fell off his mare. his comrades came up to him and set him on horseback again, saying, 'what hath befallen thee?' quoth he, 'a scorpion stung me.' and they departed, leaving alaeddin in the niche. meanwhile, mehmoud of balkh loaded his beasts and fared on till he came to the valley of dogs, where he found alaeddin's men lying slain. at this he rejoiced and went on till he reached the reservoir. now his mule was athirst and turned aside to drink, but took fright at alaeddin's shadow in the water and started; whereupon mehmoud raised his eyes and seeing alaeddin lying in the niche, stripped to his shirt and trousers, said to him, 'who hath dealt thus with thee and left thee in this ill plight?' 'the bedouins,' answered alaeddin, and mehmoud said, 'o my son, the mules and the baggage were thy ransom; so do thou comfort thyself with the saying of the poet: so but a man may win to save his soul alive from death, but as the paring of his nail his wealth he reckoneth. but now, o my son,' continued he, 'come down and fear no hurt.' so he came down from the niche and mehmoud mounted him on a mule and fared on with him, till they reached baghdad, where he brought him to his own house and bade his servants carry him to the bath, saying to him, 'o my son, the goods and money were the ransom of thy life; but, if thou wilt harken to me, i will give thee the worth of that thou hast lost, twice told.' when he came out of the bath, mehmoud carried him into a saloon with four estrades, decorated with gold, and let bring a tray of all manner meats. so they ate and drank and mehmoud turned to alaeddin and would have taken a kiss of him; but he received it upon his hand and said, 'dost thou persist in thy evil designs upon me? did i not tell thee that, were i wont to sell this merchandise to other than thee for gold, i would sell it thee for silver?' quoth mehmoud, 'i will give thee neither mule nor clothes nor merchandise save at this price; for i am mad for love of thee, and god bless him who said: abou bilal his saw of an object of love, which from one of his elders himself did derive "the lover's not healed of the pangs of desire by clips nor by kisses, excepting he swive." 'this may never be,' replied alaeddin. 'take back thy dress and thy mule and open the door, that i may go out.' so he opened the door, and alaeddin went forth and walked on, with the dogs yelping at his heels, till he saw the door of a mosque open and going in, took shelter in the vestibule. presently, he espied a light approaching and examining it, saw that it came from a pair of lanterns borne by two slaves before two merchants, an old man of comely aspect and a youth. he heard the latter say to the other, 'o my uncle, i conjure thee by allah, give me back my wife!' the old man replied, 'did i not warn thee, many a time, when the oath of divorce was always in thy mouth, as it were thy koran?' then he turned and seeing alaeddin, as he were a piece of the moon, said to him, 'who art thou, o my son?' quoth he, 'i am alaeddin, son of shemseddin, provost of the merchants at cairo. i besought my father for merchandise; so he packed me fifty loads of goods and gave me ten thousand dinars, wherewith i set out for baghdad; but when i came to the lion's copse, the bedouins fell upon me and took all i had. so i entered this city, knowing not where to pass the night, and seeing this place, i took shelter here.' 'o my son,' said the old man, 'what sayst thou to a thousand dinars and a suit of clothes and a mule worth other two thousand?' 'to what end wilt thou give me this?' asked alaeddin, and the other answered, 'this young man, whom thou seest, is the only son of my brother and i have an only daughter called zubeideh the lutanist, who is endowed with beauty and grace. i married her to him and he loves her, but she hates him. now he took an oath of triple divorcement and broke it.[fn# ] as soon as she heard of this, she left him, and he egged on all the folk to intercede with me to restore her to him; but i told him that this could not lawfully be done but by an intermediate marriage, and we have agreed to make some stranger the intermediary, so none may taunt him with this affair. so, as thou art a stranger, come with us and we will marry thee to her; thou shalt lie with her to-night and on the morrow divorce her, and we will give thee what i said.' 'by allah,' quoth alaeddin to himself, 'it were better to pass the night with a bride on a bed in a house, than in the streets and vestibules!' so he went with them to the cadi, who, as soon as he saw alaeddin, was moved to love of him and said to the old man, 'what is your will?' quoth he, 'we wish to marry this young man to my daughter, as an intermediary, and the contract is to be for ten thousand dinars, dowry precedent, for which he shall give us a bond. if he divorce her in the morning, we will give him a thousand dinars and a mule and dress worth other two thousand; but if he divorce her not, he shall pay down the ten thousand dinars, according to the bond.' the cadi drew up the marriage contract to this effect and the lady's father took a bond for the dowry. then he took alaeddin and clothing him anew, carried him to his daughter's house, where he left him at the door, whilst he himself went in to the young lady and gave her the bond, saying, 'take the bond of thy dowry, for i have married thee to a handsome youth by name alaeddin abou esh shamat; so do thou use him with all consideration.' then he left her and went to his own lodging. now the lady's cousin had an old waiting- woman, to whom he had done many a kindness and who used to visit zubeideh; so he said to her, 'o my mother, if my cousin zubeideh see this handsome young man, she will never after accept of me; so i would fain have thee contrive to keep them apart.' 'by thy youth,' answered she, 'i will not suffer him to approach her!' then she went to alaeddin and said to him, 'o my son, i have a warning to give thee, for the love of god the most high, and do thou follow my advice, for i fear for thee from this damsel: let her lie alone and handle her not nor draw near to her.' 'why so?' asked he, and she answered, 'because her body is full of elephantiasis and i fear lest she infect thy fair youth.' quoth he, 'i have no need of her.' moreover, she went to the lady and said the like to her of alaeddin; and she replied, 'i have no need of him, but will let him lie alone, and on the morrow he shall go his way.' then she called a slave-girl and said to her, 'take him the tray of food, that he may sup.' so the maid carried him the tray of food and set it before him, and he ate his fill; after which he sat down and fell to reciting the chapter called ya-sin[fn# ] in a sweet voice. the lady listened to him and found his voice as melodious as the psalms of david, which when she heard, she exclaimed, 'beshrew the old hag that told me that he was affected with leprosy! surely, that is a lie against him, for this is not the voice of one who hath such a disease.' then she took a lute of indian workmanship and tuning it, sang the following verses, in a voice, whose music would stay the birds in mid-heaven: i am enamoured of a fawn with black and languorous eyes; the willow-branches, as he goes, are jealous of him still. me he rejects and others 'joy his favours in my stead. this is indeed the grace of god he gives to whom he will. as soon as he had finished his recitation, he sang the following verse in reply: my salutation to the shape that through the wede doth show and to the roses in the cheeks' full-flowering meads that blow! when she heard this, her inclination for him redoubled and she rose and lifted the curtain; and alaeddin, seeing her, repeated these verses: she shineth forth, a moon, and bends, a willow-wand, and breathes out ambergris and gazes, a gazelle. meseems as if grief loved my heart and when from her estrangement i abide, possession to it fell. thereupon she came forward, swinging her hips and swaying gracefully from side to side with a shape the handiwork of him whose bounties are hidden, and each of them stole a glance at the other, that cost them a thousand regrets. then, for that the arrows of her glances overcame his heart, he repeated the following verses: the moon of the heavens she spied and called to my thought the nights of our loves in the meadows under her shine. yea, each of us saw a moon, but, sooth to say, it was her eyes[fn# ] that i saw and she saw mine.[fn# ] then she drew near him, and when there remained but two paces between them, he repeated these verses: she took up three locks of her hair and spread them out one night and straight three nights discovered at once unto my sight. then did she turn her visage up to the moon of the sky and showed me two moons at one season, both burning clear and bright. then said he to her, 'keep off from me, lest thou infect me.' whereupon she uncovered her wrist to him, and he saw that it was cleft [like a peach] and its whiteness was as the whiteness of silver. then said she, 'hold off from me, thou, for thou art stricken with leprosy, and belike thou wilt infect me.' 'who told thee i was a leper?' asked he, and she said, 'the old woman.' quoth he, 'it was she told me that thou wast afflicted with elephantiasis.' so saying, he bared his arms and showed her that his skin was like virgin silver, whereupon she pressed him to her bosom and they clipped one another. then she took him and lying down on her back, did off her trousers, whereupon that which his father had left him rose up [in rebellion] against him and he said, 'to it, o elder of yards, o father of nerves!' and putting his hands to her flanks, set the nerve of sweetness to the mouth of the cleft and thrust on to the wicket-gate. his passage was by the gate of victories [or openings] and after this he entered the monday market and those of tuesday and wednesday and thursday and finding the carpet after the measure of the estrade, he plied [or turned] the box within its sheath [or cover] till he came to [the end of] it.[fn# ] when it was morning, he exclaimed, 'alas for delight that is not fulfilled! the raven[fn# ] takes it and flies away!' 'what means this saying?' asked she, and he answered, 'o my lady, i have but this hour to abide with thee.' quoth she, 'who saith so?' and he, 'thy father made me give him a bond to pay ten thousand dinars to thy dowry; and except i pay it this very day, they will lay me in prison therefor in the cadi's house; and now my hand lacketh one para of the sum.' 'o my lord,' said she, 'is the marriage bond in thy hand or in theirs?' 'in mine,' answered he, 'but i have nothing.' quoth she, 'the matter is easy; fear nothing. take these hundred dinars; if i had more, i would give thee what thou lackest; but my father, for his love of my cousin, hath transported all his good, even to my trinkets, from my lodging to his. but when they send thee a serjeant of the court and the cadi and my father bid thee divorce, answer thou, "by what code is it right that i should marry at nightfall and divorce in the morning?" then kiss the cadi's hand and give him a present, and in like manner kiss the assessors' hands and give each of them half a score dinars. so they will all speak with thee and if they say to thee, "why dost thou not divorce her and take the thousand dinars and the mule and suit of clothes, according to contract?" do thou answer, "every hair of her head is worth a thousand dinars to me and i will never put her away, neither will i take a suit of clothes nor aught else." if the cadi say to thee, "then pay down the dowry," do thou reply, "i am straitened at this present;" whereupon he and the assessors will deal friendly with thee and allow thee time to pay.' whilst they were talking, the cadi's officer knocked at the door; so alaeddin went down and the man said to him, 'the cadi cites thee to answer thy father-in-law's summons.' alaeddin gave him five dinars and said to him, 'o serjeant, by what code am i bound to marry at night and divorce next morning?' 'by none of ours,' answered the serjeant; 'and if thou be ignorant of the law, i will act as thine advocate.' then they went to the court and the cadi said to alaeddin, 'why dost thou not divorce the woman and take what falls to thee by the contract?' with this he went up to the cadi and kissing his hand, put in it fifty dinars and said, 'o our lord the cadi, by what code is it right that i should marry at night and divorce in the morning in my own despite?' 'divorce on compulsion,' replied the cadi, 'is sanctioned by no school of the muslims.' then said the lady's father, 'if thou wilt not divorce, pay me the ten thousand dinars, her dowry.' quoth alaeddin, 'give me three days' time.' but the cadi said, 'three days is not enough; he shall give thee ten.' so they agreed to this and bound him to pay the dowry or divorce after ten days. then he left them and taking meat and rice and butter and what else of food he needed, returned to his wife and told her what had passed; whereupon she said, 'between night and day, wonders may happen: and god bless him who saith: be mild what time thou'rt ta'en with anger and despite and patient, if there fall misfortune on thy head. indeed, the nights are quick and great with child by time and of all wond'rous things are hourly brought to bed. then she rose and made ready food and brought the tray, and they ate and drank and made merry awhile. presently, alaeddin besought her to let him hear some music; so she took the lute and played a measure, that would have made the very rock dance for delight, and the strings cried out, in ecstasy, 'o loving one!'[fn# ] after which she passed into a livelier measure. as they were thus passing the time in mirth and delight, there came a knocking at the door and zubeideh said to alaeddin, 'go and see who is at the door.' so he went down and finding four dervishes standing without, said to them, 'what do you want?' 'o my lord,' answered they, 'we are foreign dervishes, the food of whose souls is music and dainty verse, and we would fain take our pleasure with thee this night. on the morrow we will go our way, and with god the most high be thy reward; for we adore music and there is not one of us but hath store of odes and songs and ballads.' 'i must consult [my wife],' answered he and returned and told zubeideh, who said, 'open the door to them.' so he went down again and bringing them up, made them sit down and welcomed them. then he brought them food, but they would not eat and said, 'o my lord, our victual is to magnify god with out hearts and hear music with our ears: and god bless him who saith: we come for your company only, and not for your feasts; for eating for eating's sake is nought but a fashion of beasts. just now,' added they, 'we heard pleasant music here; but when we knocked, it ceased; and we would fain know whether the player was a slave-girl, white of black, or a lady.' 'it was this my wife,' answered he and told them all that had befallen him, adding, 'my father-in-law hath bound me to pay a dowry of ten thousand dinars for her and they have given me ten days' time.' 'have no care and think nought but good,' said one of the dervishes; 'for i am head of the convent and have forty dervishes under my hand. i will gather thee from them the ten thousand dinars and thou shalt pay thy father-in-law the dowry. but now bid thy wife make us music, that we may be heartened and solaced, for to some music is food, to others medicine and to others refreshment.'[fn# ] now these four dervishes were none other than the khalif haroun er reshid and his vizier jaafer the barmecide and abou nuwas ben hani[fn# ] and mesrour the headsman; and the reason of their coming thither was that the khalif, being heavy at heart, had called his vizier and signified to him his wish to go forth and walk about the city, to divert himself. so they all four donned dervish habits and went out and walked about, till they came to zubeideh's house and hearing music, were minded to know the cause. they spent the night in mirth and harmony and discourse, till the morning, when the khalif laid a hundred dinars under the prayer-carpet and taking leave of alaeddin, went his way, he and his companions. presently, zubeideh lifted the carpet and finding the hundred dinars, gave them to her husband, saying, 'take these hundred dinars that i have found under the prayer-carpet; the dervishes must have laid them there, without our knowledge.' so he took the money and repairing to the market, bought meat and rice and butter and so forth. when it was night, he lighted the candled and said to zubeideh, 'the dervishes have not brought the ten thousand dinars that they promised me: but indeed they are poor men.' as they were talking, the dervishes knocked at the door and she said, 'go down and open to them.' so he went down and bringing them up, said to them, 'have you brought me the ten thousand dinars?' 'we have not been able to get aught thereof as yet,' answered they, 'but fear nothing: to-morrow, god willing, we will make an alchymic operation for thee. but now bid thy wife play her best to us and gladden our hearts, for we love music.' so she made them music, that would have caused the very rocks to dance; and they passed the night in mirth and converse and good cheer, till the morning appeared with its light and shone, when they took leave of alaeddin and went their way, after laying other hundred dinars under the carpet. they continued to visit him thus every night for nine nights, and each morning the khalif put a hundred dinars under the prayer-carpet, till the tenth night, when they came not. now the reason for their failure to come was that the khalif had sent to a great merchant, saying to him, 'bring me fifty loads of stuffs, such as come from cairo, each worth a thousand dinars, and write on each bale its price; and bring me also a male abyssinian slave.' the merchant did the bidding of the khalif, who write a letter to alaeddin, as from his father shemseddin, and committed it to the slave, together with the fifty loads and a basin and ewer of gold and other presents, saying to him, 'take these bales and what else and go to such and such a quarter and enquire for alaeddin abou esh shamat, at the house of the provost of the merchants.' so the slave took the letter and the goods and went out on his errand. meanwhile the lady's first husband went to her father and said to him, 'come, let us go to alaeddin and make him divorce my cousin.' so they set out, and when they came to the street in which zubeideh's house stood, they found fifty mules, laden with stuffs, and a black slave riding on a she-mule. so they said to him, 'whose goods are these?' 'they belong to my lord alaeddin abou esh shamat,' answered he. 'his father equipped him with merchandise and sent him on a journey to baghdad; but the bedouins fell on him and took all he had. so when the news of his despoilment reached his father, he despatched me to him with these fifty loads, in place of those he had lost, besides a mule laden with fifth thousand dinars and a parcel of clothes worth much money and a cloak of sables and a basin and ewer of gold.' when the old merchant heard this, he said, 'he whom thou seekest is my son-in-law and i will show thee his house.' now alaeddin was sitting in great concern, when one knocked at the door, and he said, 'o zubeideh, god is all-knowing! thy father hath surely sent me an officer from the cadi or the chief of the police.' 'go down,' said she, 'and see what it is.' so he went down and opening the door, found his father-in-law, with an abyssinian slave, dusky-hued and pleasant of favour, riding on a mule. when the slave saw him, he alighted and kissed his hands: and alaeddin said, 'what dost thou want?' quoth he, 'i am the slave of my load alaeddin abou esh shamat, son of shemseddin, provost of the merchants of cairo, who has sent me to him with this charge.' then he gave him the letter and alaeddin, opening it, read what follows: harkye, my letter, when my beloved sees thee, kiss thou the earth before him and his shoes. look thou go softly and hasten not nor hurry, for in his hands are my life and my repose. then after the usual salutations from shemseddin to his son, the letter proceeded thus: 'know, o my son, that news hath reached me of the slaughter of thy men and the plunder of thy baggage; so i send thee herewith fifty loads of egyptian stuffs, together with a suit of clothes and a cloak of sables and an ewer and basin of gold. fear no evil and be not anywise troubled, for, o my son, the goods thou hast lost were the ransom of thy life. thy mother and the people of the house are well and in good case and send thee many greetings. moreover, o my son, i hear that they have married thee, by way of intermediation, to the lady zubeideh the lutanist and have imposed on thee a dowry of ten thousand dinars; wherefore i send thee also fifty thousand dinars by thy slave selim, the bearer of these presents, whereout thou mayest pay the dowry and provide thyself with the rest.' when alaeddin had made an end of reading the letter, he took possession of the goods and turning to the old merchant, said to him, 'o my father-in-law, take the ten thousand dinars, thy daughter's dowry, and take also the loads of goods and dispose of them, and thine be the profit; only return me the cost-price.' 'nay, by allah,' answered he, 'i will take nothing; and as for thy wife's dowry, do thou settle it with her.' then they went in to zubeideh, after the goods had been brought in, and she said to her father, 'o my father, whose goods are these?' 'they belong to thy husband alaeddin,' answered he; 'his father hath sent them to him in place of those of which the bedouins spoiled him. moreover, he hath sent him fifty thousand dinars and a parcel of clothes and a cloak of sables and a riding mule and an ewer and basin of gold. as for the dower, that is thine affair.' thereupon alaeddin rose and opening the chest [of money] gave her her dowry. then said the lady's cousin, 'o my uncle, let him divorce to me my wife;' but the old man replied, 'this may never be now, for the marriage-tie is in his hand.' with this the young man went out, sore afflicted, and returning home, fell sick, for he had received his death-blow; so he took to his bed and presently died. but as for alaeddin, he went to the market and buying what victual he needed, made a banquet as usual against the night, saying to zubeideh, 'see these lying dervishes; they promised us and broke their promise.' quoth she, 'thou art the son of a provost of the merchants yet did thy hand lack of a para; how then should it be with poor dervishes?' 'god the most high hath enabled us to do without them,' answered alaeddin; 'but never again will i open the door to them.' 'why so,' asked she, 'seeing that their coming brought us good luck, and moreover, they put a hundred dinars under the prayer-carpet for us every night? so needs must thou open to them, if they come.' so when the day departed with its light and the night came, they lighted the candles and he said to her, 'come, zubeideh, make us music.' at this moment some one knocked at the door, and she said, 'go and see who is at the door.' so he went down and opened it and seeing the dervishes, said, 'welcome to the liars! come up.' accordingly, they went up with him, and he made them sit down and brought them the tray of food. so they ate and drank and made merry and presently said to him, 'o my lord, our hearts have been troubled for thee: what hath passed between thee and thy father-in-law?' 'god hath compensated us beyond our desire,' answered he. 'by allah,' rejoined they, 'we were in fear for thee and nought kept us from thee but our lack of money.' quoth he, 'my lord hath vouchsafed me speedy relief; for my father hath sent me fifty thousand dinars and fifty loads of stuffs, each worth a thousand dinars, besides an abyssinian slave and a riding mule and a suit of clothes and a basin and an ewer of gold. moreover, i have made my peace with my father-in- law and my wife is confirmed to me; so praised be god for this!' presently the khalif rose to do an occasion; whereupon jaafer turned to alaeddin and said to him, 'look to thy manners, for thou art in the presence of the commander of the faithful.' 'how have i failed in good breeding before the commander of the faithful,' asked he, 'and which of you is he?' quoth jaafer, 'he who went out but now is the commander of the faithful and i am the vizier jaafer: this is mesrour the headsman, and this other is abou nuwas ben hani. and now, o alaeddin, use thy reason and bethink thee how many days' journey it is from cairo hither.' 'five-and-forty days' journey,' answered he, and jaafer rejoined, 'thy baggage was stolen but ten days ago; so how could the news have reached thy father, and how could he pack thee up other goods and send them to thee five-and-forty days' journey in ten days' time?' 'o my lord,' said alaeddin, 'and whence then came they?' 'from the commander of the faithful,' replied jaafer, 'of his much affection for thee.' as he spoke, the khalif entered and alaeddin, rising, kissed the ground before him and said, 'god keep thee, o commander of the faithful, and give thee long life, so the folk may not lack thy bounty and beneficence!' 'o alaeddin,' replied the khalif, 'let zubeideh play us an air, by way of thank-offering for thy deliverance.' so she played him the rarest of measures on the lute, till the very stones shook for delight and the strings cried out for ecstasy, 'o loving one!'[fn# ] they spent the night after the merriest fashion, and in the morning, the khalif said to alaeddin, 'come to the divan to-morrow.' 'i hear and obey, o commander of the faithful,' answered he, 'so it please god and thou be well and in good case.' so on the morrow he took ten trays and putting a costly present on each, went up with them to the palace. as the khalif was sitting on the throne, alaeddin appeared at the door of the divan, repeating the following verses: good fortune and glory still wait on thy days and rubbed in the dust be thine envier's nose! may the days never stint to be white unto thee and black with despite be the days of thy foes! 'welcome, o alaeddin!' sad the khalif, and he replied, 'o commander of the faithful, the prophet (whom god bless and preserve) accepted presents; and these ten trays, with what is on them, are my present to thee.' the khalif accepted his gift and ordering him a robe of honour, made him provost of the merchants and gave him a seat in the divan. presently, his father-in-law came in, and seeing alaeddin seated in his place and clad in a robe of honour, said to the khalif, 'o king of the age, why is this man sitting in my place and wearing this robe of honour?' quoth the khalif, 'i have made him provost of the merchants, and thou art deposed; for offices are by investiture and not in perpetuity.' 'thou hast done well, o commander of the faithful,' answered the merchant; 'for he is art and part of us. may god make the best of us the orderers of our affairs! how many a little one hath become great!' then the khalif wrote alaeddin a patent [of investiture] and gave it to the master of police, who gave it to the crier and the latter made proclamation in the divan, saying, 'none is provost of the merchants but alaeddin abou esh shamat, and it behoves all to give heed to his words and pay him respect and honour and consideration!' moreover, when the divan broke up, the master of the police took alaeddin and carried him through the thoroughfares of baghdad, whilst the crier went before him, making proclamation of his dignity. next day, alaeddin opened a shop for his slave selim and set him therein, to buy and sell, whilst he himself rode to the palace and took his place in the khalif's divan. one day, as he sat in his place, one said to the khalif, 'o commander of the faithful, may thy head survive such an one the boon-companion! he is gone to the mercy of god the most high, but may thy life be prolonged!' quoth the khalif, 'where is alaeddin abou esh shamat?' so he went up to the commander of the faithful, who clad him in a splendid dress of honour and made him his boon- companion in the dead man's room, appointing him a monthly wage of a thousand dinars. he continued to fill his new office till, one day, as he sat in the divan, according to his wont, an amir came up with a sword and shield in his hand and said, 'o commander of the faithful, mayst thou outlive the chief of the sixty, for he is this day dead;' whereupon the khalif ordered alaeddin a dress of honour and made him chief of the sixty, in place of the dead man, who had neither wife nor child. so alaeddin laid hands on his estate, and the khalif said to him, 'bury him in the earth and take all he hath left of wealth and slaves, male and female.' then he shook the handkerchief and dismissed the divan, whereupon alaeddin went forth, attended by ahmed ed denef, captain of the right hand, and hassan shouman, captain of the left hand troop of the khalif's guard, riding at his either stirrup, each with his forty men. presently, he turned to hassan shouman and his men and said to them, 'plead ye for me with captain ahmed ed denef, that he accept me as his son before god.' and ahmed ed denef assented, saying, 'i and my forty men will go before thee to the divan every day.' after this, alaeddin abode in the khalif's service many days; till one day it chanced that he left the divan and returning home, dismissed ahmed ed denef and his men and sat down with his wife, who lighted the candles and went out of the room upon an occasion. presently, he heard a great cry and running in haste to see what was the matter, found that it was his wife who had cried out. she was lying prone on the groudn and when he put his hand to her breast, he found her dead. now her father's house faced that of alaeddin, and he, hearing her cry out, came in and said, 'what is the matter, o my lord alaeddin?' 'o my father,' answered he, 'may thy head outlive thy daughter zubeideh! but the honour we owe the dead is to bury them.' so, on the morrow, they buried her in the earth and her husband and father condoled with each other. moreover, alaeddin put on mourning apparel and absented himself from the divan, abiding tearful-eyed and sorrowful- hearted. after awhile, the khalif said to jaafer, 'o vizier, what is the cause of alaeddin's absence from the divan?' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered jaafer, 'he is in mourning for his wife zubeideh;' and the khalif said, 'it behoves us to pay him a visit of condolence.' 'i hear and obey,' replied jaafer. so they took horse and riding to alaeddin's house, came in upon him with their attendants, as he sat at home; whereupon he rose to receive them and kissed the earth before the khalif, who said to him, 'may god abundantly make good thy loss to thee!' 'may he preserve thee to us, o commander of the faithful!' answered alaeddin. then said the khalif, 'o alaeddin, why hast thou absented thyself from the divan?' and he replied, 'because of my mourning for my wife zubeideh, o commander of the faithful.' 'put away grief from thee,' rejoined the prince. 'she is dead and gone to the mercy of god the most high, and mourning will avail thee nothing.' but alaeddin said, 'o commander of the faithful, i shall never leave mourning for her till i die and they bury me by her side.' quoth haroun, 'with god is compensation for every loss, and neither wealth nor device can deliver from death. god bless him who said: every son of woman, how long soe'er his life be, must one day be carried upon the bulging bier. how shall he have pleasure in life or hold it goodly, he unto whose cheeks the dust must soon adhere?' then, when he had made an end of condoling with him, he charged him not to absent himself from the divan and returned to his palace. on the morrow, alaeddin mounted and riding to the court, kissed the ground before the khalif, who rose from the throne, to greet and welcome him, and bade him take his appointed place in the divan saying, 'o alaeddin, thou art my guest to-night.' so presently he carried him into his seraglio and calling a slave- girl named cout el culoub, said to her, 'alaeddin had a wife called zubeideh, who used to sing to him and solace him of care and trouble; but she is gone to the mercy of god the most high, and now i desire that thou play him an air of thy rarest fashion on the lute, that he may be diverted from his grief and mourning.' so she rose and made rare music; and the khalif said to alaeddin, 'what sayst thou of this damsel's voice?' 'o commander of the faithful', answered he, 'zubeideh's voice was the finer; but she is rarely skilled in touching the lute, and her playing would make a rock dance.' 'doth she please thee?' asked the khalif. 'yes, o commander of the faithful,' answered alaeddin, and haroun said, 'by the life of my head and the tombs of my forefathers, she is a gift from me to thee, she and her waiting-women!' alaeddin thought that the khalif was jesting with him; but, on the morrow, he went in to cout el culoub and said to her, 'i have given thee to alaeddin;' whereat she rejoiced, for she had seen and loved him. then the khalif returned to the divan and calling porters, said to them, 'set cout el culoub and her waiting-women in a litter and carry them, together with her goods, to alaeddin's house.' so they did as he bade them and left her in the upper chamber of alaeddin's house, whilst the khalif sat in the hall of audience till the close of the day, when the divan broke up and he retired to his harem. meanwhile, cout el culoub, having taken up her lodging in alaeddin's house, with her women, forty in all, besides eunuchs, called two of the latter and said to them, 'sit ye on stools, one on the right and another on the left hand of the door; and when alaeddin comes home, kiss his hands and say to him, "our mistress cout el culoub bids thee to her in the upper chamber, for the khalif hath given her to thee, her and her women."' 'we hear and obey,' answered they and did as she bade them. so, when alaeddin returned, he found two of the khalif's eunuchs sitting at the door and was amazed and said to himself, 'surely, this is not my own house; or else what can have happened?' when the eunuchs saw him, they rose and kissing his hands, said to him, 'we are of the khalif's household and servants to cout el culoub, who salutes thee, giving thee to know that the khalif hath bestowed her on thee, her and her women, and craves thy company.' quoth alaeddin, 'say ye to her, "thou art welcome; but so long as thou abidest with me, i will not enter thy lodging, for it befits not that what was the master's should become the servant's;" and ask her also what was the sum of her day's expense in the khalif's palace.' so they went in to her and did his errand to her, and she replied, 'a hundred dinars a day;' whereupon quoth he in himself, 'there was no need for the khalif to give me cout el culoub, that i should be put to such an expense for her; but there is no help for it.' so she abode with him awhile and he assigned her daily a hundred dinars for her maintenance, till, one day, he absented himself from the divan and the khalif said to jaafer, 'o vizier, i gave cout el culoub unto alaeddin, that she might console him for his wife; but why doth he still hold aloof from us?' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered jaafer, 'he spoke sooth who said, "whoso findeth his beloved, forgetteth his friends."' 'belike he hath excuse for his absence,' rejoined the khalif; 'but we will pay him a visit.' (now some days before this, alaeddin had said to jaafer, 'i complained to the khalif of my grief for the loss of my wife zubeideh, and he gave me cout el culoub.' and jaafer replied, 'except he loved thee, he had not given her to thee.' hast thou gone in to her?' 'no, by allah! answered alaeddin. 'i know not her length from her breadth.' 'and why?' asked jaafer. 'o vizier,' replied alaeddin, 'what befits the master befits not the servant.') then the khalif and jaafer disguised themselves and went privily to visit alaeddin; but he knew them and rising to them, kissed the hands of the khalif, who looked at him and read trouble in his face. so he said to him, 'o alaeddin, whence cometh this trouble in which i see thee? hast thou gone in to cout el culoub?' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered he, 'what befits the master befits not the servant. no, i have not gone in to her nor do i know her length from her breadth; so do thou quit me of her.' quoth the khalif, 'i would fain see her and question her of her case.' and alaeddin replied, 'i hear and obey, o commander of the faithful.' so the khalif went in to cout el culoub, who rose and kissed the ground before him, and said to her, 'hath alaeddin gone in to thee?' 'no, o commander of the faithful,' answered she; 'i sent to bid him to me, but he would not come.' so he bade carry her back to the harem and saying to alaeddin, 'do not absent thyself from us,' returned to his palace. accordingly, next morning, alaeddin mounted and rode to the divan, where he took his seat as chief of the sixty. presently the khalif bade his treasurer give the vizier jaafer ten thousand dinars and said to the latter, 'i charge thee to go down to the slave-market and buy alaeddin a slave-girl with this sum.' so jaafer took alaeddin and went down with him to the bazaar. as change would have it, that very day, the amir khalid, chief of the baghdad police, had gone down to the market to buy a slave-girl for his son hebezlem bezazeh. now this son he had by his wife khatoun, and he was foul of favour and had reached the age of twenty, without learning to ride, albeit his father was a valiant cavalier and a doughty champion and delighted in battle and adventure. one night, he had a dream of dalliance in sleep and told his mother, who rejoiced and told his father, saying, 'fain would i find him a wife, for he is now apt for marriage.' quoth khalid, 'he is so foul of favour and withal so evil of odour, so sordid and churlish, that no woman would accept of him.' and she answered, 'we will buy him a slave- girl.' so it befell, for the accomplishment of that which god the most high had decreed, that the amir and his son went down, on the same day as jaafer and alaeddin, to the market, where they saw a beautiful girl, full of grace and symmetry, in the hands of a broker, and the vizier said to the latter, 'o broker, ask her owner if he will take a thousand dinars for her.' the broker passed by the amir and his son with the slave and hebezlem took one look of her, that cost him a thousand sighs; and he fell passionately in love with her and said, 'o my father, buy me yonder slave-girl.' so the amir called the broker, who brought the girl to him, and asked her her name. 'my name is jessamine,' replied she; and he said to hebezlem, 'o my son, an she please thee, bid for her.' then he asked the broker what had been bidden for her and he replied, 'a thousand dinars.' 'she is mine for a thousand and one,' said hebezlem, and the broker passed on to alaeddin, who bid two thousand dinars for her; and as often as hebezlem bid another dinar, alaeddin bid a thousand. the amir's son was vexed at this and said to the broker, 'who is it that bids against me for the slave-girl?' 'it is the vizier jaafer,' answered the broker, 'who is minded to buy her for alaeddin abou esh shamat.' alaeddin continued to bid for her till he brought her price up to ten thousand dinars, and her owner sold her to him for that sum. so he took the girl and said to her, 'i give thee thy freedom for the love of god the most high.' then he married her and carried her to his house. when the broker returned, after having delivered the girl and received his brokerage, hebezlem called him and said to him, 'where is the girl?' quoth he, 'she was bought for ten thousand dinars by alaeddin, who hath set her free and married her.' at this the young man was greatly cast down and heaving many a sigh, returned home, sick for love of the damsel. he threw himself on his bed and refused food, and passion and love-longing were sore upon him. when his mother saw him in this plight, she said to him, 'god keep thee, o my son! what ails thee?' and he answered, 'buy me jessamine, o my mother.' 'when the flower-seller passes,' said she, 'i will buy thee a basketful of jessamine.' quoth he, 'it is not the jessamine one smells i want, but a slave girl named jessamine, whom my father would not buy for me.' so she said to her husband, 'why didst thou not buy him the girl?' and he replied, 'what is fit for the master is not fit for the servant, and i have no power to take her; for no less a man bought her than alaeddin, chief of the sixty.' then the youth's weakness redoubled upon him, till he could neither sleep nor eat, and his mother bound her head with the fillets of mourning. presently, as she sat at home, lamenting over her son, there came in to her an old woman, known as the mother of ahmed kemakim the arch-thief, a knave who would bore through the stoutest wall and scale the highest and steal the very kohl from the eye. from his earliest years he had been given to these foul practices, till they made him captain of the watch, when he committed a robbery and the chief of the police, taking him in the act, carried him to the khalif, who bade put him to death. but he sought protection of the vizier, whose intercession the khalif never rejected; so he pleaded for him with the commander of the faithful, who said, 'how canst thou intercede for a wretch who is the pest of the human race?' 'o commander of the faithful,' replied jaafer, 'do thou imprison him; he who built the [first] prison was a sage, seeing that a prison is the sepulchre of the live and a cause for their enemies to exult.' so the khalif bade lay him in chains and write thereon, 'appointed to remain until death and not to be loosed but on the bench of the washer of the dead.' and they fettered him and cast him into prison. now his mother was a frequent visitor to the house of the master of the police and used to go in to her son in prison and say to him, 'did i not warn thee to turn from thy wicked ways?' 'god decreed this to me,' would he answer; 'but, o my mother, when thou visitest the amir's wife, make her intercede for me with her husband.' so when the old woman came in to the lady khatoun, she found her bound with the fillets of mourning and said to her, 'wherefore dost thou mourn?' 'for my son hebezlem bezazeh,' answered she, and the old woman exclaimed, 'god keep thy son! what hath befallen him?' so khatoun told her the whole story, and she said, 'what wouldst thou say of him who should find means to save thy son?' 'and what wilt thou do?' asked the lady. quoth the old woman, 'i have a son called ahmed kemakim the arch-thief, who lies chained in prison, and on his fetters is written, "appointed to remain till death." so do thou don thy richest clothes and trinkets and present thyself to thy husband with an open and smiling favour; and when he seeks of thee what men use to seek of women, put him off and say, "by allah, it is a strange thing! when a man desires aught of his wife, he importunes her till she satisfies him; but if a wife desire aught of her husband, he will not grant it to her." then he will say, "what dost thou want?" and do thou answer, "first swear to grant my request." if he swear to thee by his head or by allah, say to him, "swear to me the oath of divorce," and so not yield to him, except he do this. then, if he swear to thee the oath of divorce, say to him, "thou hast in prison a man called ahmed kemakim, and he has a poor mother, who is instant with me to urge thee to intercede for him with the khalif, that he may relent towards him and thou earn a reward from god."' 'i hear and obey,' answered khatoun. so when her husband came in to her, she did as the old woman had taught her and extorted the required oath from him, before she would yield to his wishes. he lay with her that night and on the morrow, after he had made his ablutions and prayed the morning prayers, he repaired to the prison and said to ahmed kemakim, 'harkye, o arch-thief, dost thou repent of thy ill deeds?' 'i do indeed repent and turn to god,' answered he, 'and say with heart and tongue, "i ask pardon of allah."' so he carried him, still chained, to the divan and kissed the earth before the khalif, who said to him, 'o amir khalid, what seekest thou?' then he brought forward ahmed kemakim, shuffling in his fetters, and the khalif said to him, 'o kemakim, art thou yet alive?' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered he, 'the wretched are long-lived.' then said the khalif to the amir, 'why have thou brought him hither?' and he replied, 'o commander of the faithful, he hath a poor, desolate mother, who hath none but him, and she hath had recourse to thy slave, imploring him to intercede with thee to set him free and make him captain of the watch as before; for he repenteth of his evil courses.' quoth the khalif to ahmed, 'dost thou repent of thy sins?' 'i do indeed repent to god, o commander of the faithful,' answered he; whereupon the khalif called for the blacksmith and made him strike off his irons on the bench of the washer of the dead. moreover, he restored him to his former office and charged him to walk in the way of good and righteousness. so he kissed the khalif's hands and donning the captain's habit, went forth, whilst they made proclamation of his appointment. he abode awhile in the exercise of his office, till, one day, his mother went in to the wife of the chief of the police, who said to her, 'praised be god who hath delivered thy son from prison and restored him to health and safety! but why dost thou not bid him cast about to get the girl jessamine for my son hebezlem bezazeh?' 'that will i,' answered she and going out from her, repaired to her son. she found him drunken and said to him, 'o my son, none was the cause of thy release from prison but the wife of the master of police, and she would have thee go about to kill alaeddin abou esh shamat and get his slave-girl jessamine for her son hebezlem bezazeh.' 'that will be the easiest of things,' answered he, 'and i will set about it this very night.' now this was the first night of the new month, and it was the khalif's wont to pass that night with the princess zubeideh, for the setting free of a male or female slave or what not else of the like. on this occasion, he used to doff his royal habit and lay it upon a chair in the sitting-chamber, together with his rosary and dagger and royal signet and a golden lantern, adorned with three jewels strung on a wire of gold, by which he set great store, committing all these things to the charge of the eunuchs, whilst he sent into the lady zubeideh's apartment. so ahmed kemakim waited till midnight, when canopus shone and all creatures slept, whilst the creator covered them with the curtain [of the dark]. then he took his naked sword in one hand and his grappling iron in the other, and repairing to the khalif's pavilion, cast his grapnel on to the roof. it caught there and he fixed his rope-ladder and climbed up to the roof; then, raising the trap-door, let himself down into the saloon, where he found the eunuchs asleep. so he drugged them with henbane and taking the khalif's dress and dagger and rosary and handkerchief and signet-ring and lantern, returned whence he came and betook himself to the house of alaeddin, who had that night celebrated his wedding festivities with jessamine and had gone in to her and gotten her with child. ahmed climbed over into his saloon and raising one of the marble slabs of the floor, dug a hole under it and laid the stolen things therein, all save the lantern, which he kept, saying in himself, 'i will set it before me, when i sit at wine, and drink by its light.' then he plastered down the marble slab, as it was, and returning whence he came, went back to his own house. as soon as it was day, the khalif went out into the sitting-chamber, and finding the eunuchs drugged with henbane, aroused them. then he put his hand to the chair and found neither dress nor signet nor rosary nor dagger nor lantern; whereat he was exceeding wroth and donning the habit of anger, which was red, sat down in the divan. so the vizier jaafer came forward and kissing the earth before him, said, 'may god avert the wrath of the commander of the faithful!' 'o vizier,' answered the khalif, 'i am exceeding wroth!'[fn# ] 'what has happened?' asked jaafer; so he told him what had happened and when the chief of the police appeared, with ahmed kemakim at his stirrup, he said to him, 'o amir khalid, how goes baghdad?' and he answered, 'it is safe and quiet.' 'thou liest!' rejoined the khalif. 'how so, o commander of the faithful?' asked the amir. so he told him the case and added, 'i charge thee to bring me back all the stolen things.' 'o commander of the faithful', replied the amir, 'the vinegar-worm is of and in the vinegar, and no stranger can get at this place.'[fn# ] but the khalif said, 'except thou bring me these things, i will put thee to death.' quoth khalid, 'ere thou slay me, slay ahmed kemakim, for none should know the robber and the traitor but the captain of the watch.' then came forward ahmed kemakim and said to the khalif, 'accept my intercession for the master of police, and i will be responsible to thee for the thief and will follow his track till i find him; but give me two cadis and two assessors, for he who did this thing feareth thee not, nor doth he fear the chief of the police nor any other.' 'thou shalt have what thou seekest,' answered the khalif; 'but let search be made first in my palace and then in those of the vizier and the chief of the sixty.' 'thou sayst well, o commander of the faithful,' rejoined ahmed; 'most like the thief is one who had been reared in thy household or that of one of thy chief officers.' 'as my head liveth,' said haroun, 'whosoever shall appear to have done the deed, i will put him to death, be it my very own son!' then ahmed kemakim received a written warrant to enter and search the houses and taking in his hand a [divining] rod made of equal parts of bronze, copper, iron and steel, went forth, attended by the cadis and assessors and the chief of the police. he first searched the palace of the khalif, then that of the vizier jaafer; after which he went the round of the houses of the chamberlains and officers, till he came to that of alaeddin. when the latter heard the clamour before his house, he left his wife and opening the door, found the master of police without, with a crowd of people. so he said, 'what is the matter, o amir khalid?' the chief of the police told him the case and alaeddin said, 'enter my house and search it.' 'pardon, o my lord,' replied the amir; 'thou art a man in authority,[fn# ] and god forbid that such should be guilty of treason!' quoth alaeddin, 'needs must my house be searched. so they entered, and ahmed kemakim went straight to the saloon and let the rod fall upon the slab, under which he had buried the stolen goods, with such force that the marble broke in sunder and discovered something that glistened underneath. then said he, 'in the name of god! what he willeth! thanks to our coming, we have lit upon a treasure. let us go down into this hiding-place and see what is therein.' so the cadis and assessors looked down into the hole and finding there the stolen goods, drew up a statement of how they had discovered them in alaeddin's house, to which they set their seals. then they bade seize upon alaeddin and took his turban from his head, and making an inventory of all his property and effects, [sealed them up]. meanwhile, ahmed kemakim laid hands on jessamine, who was with child by alaeddin, and committed her to his mother, saying, 'deliver her to the lady khatoun.' so the old woman took her and carried her to the wife of the master of police. as soon as hebezlem saw her, health and strength returned to him and he arose forthright, rejoicing greatly, and would have drawn near her: but she pulled a dagger from her girdle and said, 'keep off from me, or i will kill thee and myself after.' 'o strumpet,' exclaimed his mother, 'let my son have his will of thee!' but jessamine answered, 'o bitch, by what code is it lawful for a woman to marry two husbands, and how shall the dog take the lion's place?' with this hebezlem's passion redoubled and he sickened for unfulfilled desire and refusing food, took to his bed again. then said his mother to her, 'o harlot, how canst thou make me thus to sorrow for my son? needs must i punish thee, and as for alaeddin, he will assuredly be hanged.' 'and i will die for love of him,' answered jessamine. then khatoun stripped her of her jewels and silken raiment and clothing her in sackcloth drawers and a shift of hair-cloth, sent her down into the kitchen and made her a scullery-wench, saying, 'thy punishment shall be to split wood and peel onions and set fire under the cooking pots.' quoth she, 'i am willing to brook all manner of hardship and servitude, but not thy son's sight.' but god inclined the hearts of the slave-girls to her and they used to do her service in the kitchen. meanwhile, they carried alaeddin to the divan and brought him, together with the stolen goods, before the khalif, who said, 'where did ye find them?' 'amiddleward alaeddin's house,' answered they; whereat the khalif was filled with wrath and took the things, but found not the lantern among them, and said to alaeddin, 'where is the lantern?' 'i know nought of it,' answered he; 'it was not i that stole it.' 'o traitor,' said the khalif, 'how comes it that i brought thee near unto me and thou hast cast me out, and i trusted in thee and thou hast betrayed me?' and he commanded to hang him. so the chief of the police took him and went down with him into the city, whilst the crier forewent them, proclaiming aloud and saying, 'this is the reward and the least of the reward of him who doth treason against the orthodox khalifs!' and the folk flocked to the gallows. meanwhile, ahmed ed denef, alaeddin's adopted father, was sitting, making merry with his followers in a garden, when in came one of the water-carriers of the divan and kissing ahmed's hand, said to him, 'o captain, thou sittest at thine ease, with water running at thy feet, and knowest not what has happened.' 'what is to do?' asked ahmed, and the other answered, 'they have gone down with thine adopted son, alaeddin, to the gallows.' 'o hassan shouman,' said ahmed, 'what sayst thou of this?' 'assuredly, alaeddin is innocent' replied his lieutenant; 'and this is some enemy's practice against him.' quoth ahmed, 'what counsellest thou?' and hassan said, 'god willing, we must rescue him.' then he went to the prison and said to the gaoler, 'give us some one deserving of death.' so he gave him one that was likest to alaeddin and they covered his head and carried him to the place of execution between ahmed ed denef and ali ez zibec of cairo. now they had brought alaeddin to the gibbet, to hang him, but ahmed ed denef came forward and set his foot on that of the hangman, who said, 'give me room to do my office.' 'o accursed one,' replied ahmed, 'take this man and hang him in alaeddin's stead; for he is innocent and we will ransom him with this fellow, even as abraham ransomed ishmael[fn# ] with the ram.' so the hangman took the man and hanged him in alaeddin's room. then ahmed and ali took alaeddin and carried him to the house of the former, to whom said he, 'o my father, may god abundantly requite thee!' 'o alaeddin,' said ahmed, 'what is this thou hast done? god's mercy on him who said, "whoso trusteth in thee, betray him not, though thou be a traitor." now the khalif set thee in high place about him and styled thee "trusty" and "faithful;" how then couldst thou deal thus with him and steal his goods?' 'by the most great name, o my father,' replied alaeddin, 'i had no hand in this, nor do i know who did it.' quoth ahmed, 'of a surety none did this but a manifest enemy and whoso doth aught shall be requited for his deed; but, o alaeddin, thou canst tarry no longer in baghdad, for kings, o my son, may not be bought off and longsome is his travail whom they pursue.' 'whither shall i go, o my father?' asked alaeddin. 'o my son,' answered ahmed, 'i will bring thee to alexandria, for it is a blessed place; its environs are green and its sojourn pleasant.' and alaeddin said, 'i hear and obey, o my father.' so ahmed said to hassan shouman, 'be mindful and when the khalif asks for me, say i am gone on a circuit of the provinces.' then, taking alaeddin, he went forth of baghdad and stayed not till they came to the vineyards and gardens, where they met two jews of the khalif's tax-gatherers, riding on mules, and ahmed said to them, 'give me the guard-money.'[fn# ] 'why should we give thee guard-money?' asked they. 'because,' answered he, 'i am the patrol of this valley.' so they gave him each a hundred dinars, after which he slew them and took their mules, one of which he mounted, whilst alaeddin bestrode the other. then they rode on, till they came to the city of ayas[fn# ] and put up for the night at an inn. next morning, alaeddin sold his own mule and committed that of ahmed to the charge of the doorkeeper of the inn, after which they took ship from the port of ayas and sailed to alexandria. here they landed and proceeded to the bazaar, where they found a broker crying a shop and a chamber behind it for sale. the last bidding for the premises (which belonged to the treasury) was nine hundred and fifty dirhems;[fn# ] so alaeddin bid a thousand and his offer being accepted, took the keys and opened the shop and room, which latter he found furnished with carpets and cushions. moreover, he found there a storehouse full of sails and masts and ropes and chests and bags of beads and shells and stirrups and axes and maces and knives and scissors and what not else, for the last owner of the shop had been a dealer in second-hand goods. so he took his seat in the shop and ahmed ed denef said to him, 'o my son, the shop and room and that which is therein are become thine; so abide thou here and buy and sell and grudge not, neither repine; for god the most high blesseth trade.' after this he abode with him three days and on the fourth he took leave of him, saying, 'o my son, abide here till i bring thee the khalif's pardon and learn who hath played thee this trick.' then he took ship for ayas, where he took the mule from the inn and returning to baghdad, foregathered with hassan shouman, to whom said he, 'has the khalif asked for me?' 'no,' answered hassan, 'nor hath thou come to his thought.' so he resumed his service about the khalif's person and set himself to seek news of alaeddin's case, till one day he heard the khalif say to the vizier, 'see, o jaafer, how alaeddin dealt with me!' 'o commander of the faithful,' replied jaafer, 'thou hast requited him with hanging, and it was what he deserved.' quoth haroun, 'i have a mind to go down and see him hanging.' and the vizier answered, 'as thou wilt, o commander of the faithful.' so the khalif and jaafer went down to the place of execution, and the former, raising his eyes, saw the hanged man to be other than alaeddin and said to the vizier, 'this is not alaeddin.' 'how knowest thou that it is not he?' asked the vizier, and the khalif answered, 'alaeddin was short and this fellow is tall.' quoth jaafer, 'hanging stretches a man.' 'but,' rejoined the khalif, 'alaeddin was fair and this man's face is black.' 'knowest thou not, o commander of the faithful,' replied jaafer, 'that death (by hanging) causes blackness?' then the khalif bade take down the body and they found the names of he first two khalifs, abou bekr and omar, written on his heels; whereupon quoth the khalif, 'o vizier, alaeddin was a sunnite, and this fellow is a shiyaite.'[fn# ] 'glory be to god who knowest the hidden things!' answered jaafer. 'we know not whether this was he or another.' then the khalif bade bury the body and alaeddin became altogether forgotten. as for hebezlem bezazeh, the amir khalid's son, he ceased not to languish for passion and desire, till he died and they buried him; whilst jessamine accomplished the months of her pregnancy and being taken with the pains of labour, gave birth to a male child like the moon. the serving-women said to her, 'what wilt thou name him?' and she answered, 'were his father alive, he had named him; but now i will name him aslan.' she gave him suck two years, then weaned him, and he crawled and walked. one day, whilst his mother was busied with the service of the kitchen, the child went out and seeing the stairs, mounted to the guest- chamber,[fn# ] where the amir khalid was sitting. when the latter saw him, he took him in his lap and glorified his lord for that which he had created and fashioned forth; then eyeing him straitly, he saw that he was the likest of all creatures to alaeddin abou esh shamat; and god informed his heart with love of the boy. presently, his mother jessamine sought for him and finding him not, mounted to the guest-chamber, where she saw the amir seated, with the child playing in his lap. the latter, spying his mother, would have thrown himself upon her: but the amir held him back and said to jessamine, 'come hither, o damsel.' so she came to him, and he said to her, 'whose son is this?' quoth she, 'he is my son and the darling of my heart.' 'who is his father?' asked the amir; and she answered, 'his father was alaeddin abou esh shamat, but now he is become thy son.' quoth khalid, 'alaeddin was a traitor.' 'god deliver him from treason!' replied she. 'god forbid that the faithful should be a traitor!' then said he, 'when the boy grows up and says to thee, "who is my father?" say thou to him, "thou art the son of the amir khalid, chief of the police."' and she answered, 'i hear and obey.' then he circumcised the boy and reared him after the goodliest fashion, bringing him a tutor, who taught him to read and write; so he read (and commented) the koran twice and learnt it by heart and grew up, calling the amir father. moreover, the latter used to go down with him to the tilting-ground and assemble horsemen and teach the lad warlike exercises and the use of arms, so that, by the time he was fourteen years old, he became a valiant and accomplished cavalier and gained the rank of amir.[fn# ] it chanced one day that he fell in with ahmed kemakim and clapping up an acquaintance with him, accompanied him to the tavern, where ahmed took out the lantern he had stolen from the khalif and fell to plying the wine-cup by its light, till he became drunken. presently aslan said to him, 'o captain, give me yonder lantern;' but he replied, 'i cannot give it thee.' 'why not?' asked aslan. 'because,' answered ahmed, 'lives have been lost for it.' 'whose life?' asked aslan; and ahmed said, 'there came hither a man named alaeddin abou est shamat, who was made captain of the sixty and lost his life through this lantern.' quoth aslan, 'and how was that?' 'know,' replied ahmed kemakim, 'that thou hadst an elder brother by name hebezlem bezazeh, for whom, when he became apt for marriage, thy father would have bought a slave-girl named jessamine.' and he went on to tell him the whole story of hebezlem's illness and what befell alaeddin, undeserved. when aslan heard this, he said in himself, 'most like this slave-girl was my mother jessamine and my father was no other than alaeddin abou esh shamat.' so he went out from him, sorrowful, and met ahmed ed denef, who exclaimed at sight of him, 'glory be to him to whom none is like!' 'at what dost thou marvel, o my chief?' asked hassan shouman. 'at the make of yonder boy aslan,' replied ed denef; 'for he is the likest of all creatures to alaeddin abou esh shamat.' then he called aslan and said to him, 'what is thy mother's name?' 'she is called the damsel jessamine,' answered aslan; and ed denef said, 'harkye, aslan, take heart and be of good cheer, for thy father was none other than alaeddin abou esh shamat: but, o my son, go thou in to thy mother and question her of thy father.' 'i hear and obey,' answered he, and going in to his mother, said to her, 'who is my father?' quoth she, 'the amir khalid is thy father.' 'not so,' rejoined he, 'my father was none other than alaeddin abou esh shamat.' at this, she wept and said, 'who told thee this?' 'ahmed ed denef, the captain of the guard,' answered he; so she told him the whole story, saying, 'o my son, the truth can no longer be hidden: know that alaeddin was indeed thy father, but it was the amir khalid who reared thee and adopted thee as his son. and now, o my son, when thou seest ahmed ed denef, so thou say to him, "i conjure thee, by allah, o my chief, avenge me on the murderer of my father alaeddin abou esh shamat!"' so he went out from her and betaking himself to ahmed ed denef, kissed his hand. quoth ed denef, 'what ails thee, o aslan?' and he answered, 'i know now for certain that i am the son of alaeddin abou esh shamat and i would have thee avenge me of my father's murderer.' 'and who was thy father's murderer?' asked ed denef. 'ahmed kemakim the arch- thief,' replied aslan. 'who told thee this?' said ed denef, and aslan answered, 'i saw in his hand the lantern hung with jewels, that was lost with the rest of the khalif's gear, and asked him to give it me; but he refused, saying, "lives have been lost on account of this," and told me how it was he who had broken into the palace and stolen the goods and hidden them in my father's house.' then said ed denef, 'when thou seest the amir khalid don his harness of war, beg him to equip thee like himself and take thee with him. then do thou some feat of prowess before the khalif and he will say to thee, "ask a boon of me, o aslan." and do thou answer, "i ask of thee that thou avenge me of my father's murderer." if he say, "thy father is alive and is the amir khalid, the chief of the police," answer thou, "my father was alaeddin abou esh shamat, and the amir khalid is only my father by right of fosterage and adoption." then tell him all that passed between thee and ahmed kemakim and say, "o commander of the faithful, order him to be searched and i will bring the lantern forth of his bosom."' 'i hear and obey,' answered aslan and returning to the amir khalid, found him making ready to repair to the divan and said to him, 'i would fain have thee arm and harness me like thyself and carry me to the divan.' so he equipped him and carried him to the divan, with ahmed kemakim at his stirrup. then the khalif sallied forth of baghdad with his retinue and let pitch tents and pavilions without the city; whereupon the troops divided into two parties and fell to playing at ball and striking it with the mall from one to the other. now there was among the troops a spy, who had been hired to kill the khalif; so he took the ball and smiting it with the mall, drove it straight at the khalif's face; but aslan interposed and catching it in mid-volley, drove it back at him who smote it, so that it struck him between the shoulders and he fell to the ground. the khalif exclaimed, 'god bless thee, o aslan!' and they all dismounted and sat on chairs. then the khalif bade bring the smiter of the ball before him and said to him, 'who moved thee to do this thing and art thou friend or foe?' quoth he, 'i am a foe and it was my purpose to kill thee.' 'and wherefore?' asked the khalif. 'art thou not an (orthodox) muslim?' 'no,' replied the spy; 'i am a shiyaite.' so the khalif bade put him to death and said to aslan, 'ask a boon of me.' quoth he, 'i ask of thee that thou avenge me of my father's murderer.' 'thy father is alive,' answered the khalif; 'and there he stands.' 'and who is he?' asked aslan. the khalif replied, 'he is the amir khalid, chief of the police.' 'o commander of the faithful,' rejoined aslan, 'he is no father of mine, save by right of fosterage; my father was none other than alaeddin abou esh shamat.' 'then thy father was a traitor,' said the khalif. 'god forbid, o commander of the faithful,' replied aslan, 'that the faithful should be a traitor! but how did he wrong thee?' quoth the khalif, 'he stole my royal habit and what was therewith.' 'o commander of the faithful,' rejoined aslan, 'god forfend that my father should be a traitor! but, o my lord, didst thou ever recover the lantern that was stolen from thee?' 'no,' answered the khalif, 'we never got it back.' and aslan said, 'i saw it in the hands of ahmed kemakim and begged it of him; but he refused to give it me, saying, "lives have been lost on account of this." then he told me of the sickness of hebezlem bezazeh, son of the amir khalid, by reason of his passion for the damsel jessamine, and how he himself was released from prison and that it was he who stole the lamp and robe and so forth. do thou then, o commander of the faithful, avenge me of my father on him who murdered him.' so the khalif caused ahmed kemakim to be brought before him and sending for ahmed ed denef, bade him search him; whereupon he put his hand into the thief's bosom and pulled out the lamp. 'harkye, traitor,' said the khalif, 'whence hadst thou this lantern?' and kemakim replied, 'i bought it, o commander of the faithful!' 'where didst thou buy it?' said the khalif, 'and who could come by its like to sell it to thee?' then they beat him, till he confessed that he had stolen the lantern and the rest, and the khalif said, 'o traitor, what moved thee to do this thing and ruin alaeddin abou esh shamat, the trusty and well-beloved?' then he bade lay hands on him and on the chief of the police, but the latter said, 'o commander of the faithful, indeed i am unjustly entreated; thou badest me hang him, and i had no knowledge of this plot, for the thing was contrived between ahmed kemakim and his mother and my wife. i crave thine intercession, o aslan.' so aslan interceded for him with the khalif, who said, 'what hath god done with this lad's mother?' 'she is with me,' answered khalid, and the khalif said, 'i command thee to bid thy wife dress her in her own clothes and ornaments and restore her to her former rank; and do thou remove the seals from alaeddin's house and give his son possession of his estate.' 'i hear and obey,' answered khalid, and going forth, carried the khalif's order to his wife, who clad jessamine in her own apparel; whilst he himself removed the seals from alaeddin's house and gave aslan the keys. then said the khalif to aslan, 'ask a boon of me;' and he replied, 'i beseech thee to unite me with my father.' whereat the khalif wept and said, 'most like it was thy father that was hanged and is dead; but by the life of my forefathers, whoso bringeth me the glad news that he is yet in the bonds of life, i will give him all he seeketh!' then came forward ahmed ed denef and kissing the earth before the khalif, said, 'grant me indemnity, o commander of the faithful!' 'thou hast it,' answered the khalif; and ed denef said, 'i give thee the good news that alaeddin is alive and well.' quo the khalif, 'what is this thou sayest?' 'as thy head liveth,' answered ed denef, 'i speak sooth; for i ransomed him with another, of those who deserved death, and carried him to alexandria, where i set him up as a dealer in second-hand goods.' then said er reshid, 'i charge thee fetch him to me;' and ed denef replied, 'i hear and obey;' whereupon the khalif bade give him ten thousand dinars and he set out for alexandria. meanwhile alaeddin sold all that was in his shop, till he had but a few things let and amongst the rest a bag. so he shook the bag and there fell out a jewel, big enough to fill the palm of the hand, hanging to a chain of gold and having five faces, whereon were names and talismanic characters, as they were ant-tracks. 'god is all-knowing!' quoth he. 'belike this is a talisman.' so he rubbed each face; but nothing came of it and he said to himself, 'doubtless it is a piece of [naturally] variegated onyx,' and hung it up in the shop. presently, a frank passed along the street and seeing the jewel hanging up, seated himself before the shop and said to alaeddin, 'o my lord, is yonder jewel for sale?' 'all i have is for sale,' answered alaeddin; and the frank said, 'wilt thou sell it me for fourscore thousand dinars?' 'may god open!'[fn# ] replied alaeddin. 'wilt thou sell it for a hundred thousand dinars?' asked the frank, and he answered, 'i sell it to thee for a hundred thousand dinars; pay me down the money.' quoth the frank, 'i cannot carry such a sum about me, for there are thieves and sharpers in alexandria; but come with me to my ship and i will pay thee the money and give thee to boot a bale of angora wool, a bale of satin, a bale of velvet and a bale of broadcloth.' so alaeddin rose and giving the jewel to the frank, locked up his shop and committed the keys to his neighbour, saying, 'keep these keys for me, whilst i go with this frank to his ship and take the price of my jewel. if i be long absent and there come to thee captain ahmed ed denef,--he who set me up in this shop,--give him the keys and tell him where i am.' then he went with the frank to his ship, where the latter set him a stool and making him sit down, said [to his men], 'bring the money.' so [they brought it and] he paid him the price of the jewel and gave him the four bales he had promised him; after which he said to him, 'o my lord, honour me by taking a morsel or a draught of water.' and alaeddin answered, 'if thou have any water, give me to drink.' so the frank called for drink, and they brought sherbets, drugged with henbane, of which no sooner had alaeddin drunk, than he fell over on his back; whereupon they weighed anchor and shoving off, shipped the poles and made sail. the wind blew fair and they sailed till they lost sight of land, when the frank bade bring alaeddin up out of the hold and made him smell to the counter-drug, whereupon he opened his eyes and said, 'where am i?' 'thou art bound and in my power,' answered the frank; 'and if thou hadst refused to take a hundred thousand dinars for the jewel, i would have bidden thee more.' 'what art thou?' asked alaeddin, and the other replied, 'i am a sea- captain and mean to carry thee to my mistress.' as they were talking, a ship hove in sight, with forty muslim merchants on board; so the frank captain gave chase and coming up with the vessel, made fast to it with grappling-irons. then he boarded it with his men and took it and plundered it; after which he sailed on with his prize, till he reached the city of genoa, where he repaired to the gate of a palace, that gave upon the sea, and there came forth to him a veiled damsel, who said, 'hast thou brought the jewel and its owner?' 'i have brought them both,' answered he; and she said, 'then give me the jewel.' so he gave it to her and returning to the port, fired guns to announce his safe return; whereupon the king of the city, being notified of his arrival, came down to receive him and said to him, 'what manner of voyage hast thou had?' 'a right prosperous one,' answered the captain, 'and i have made prize of a ship with one- and-forty muslim merchants.' being them ashore,' said the king. so he landed the merchants in irons, and alaeddin among the rest; and the king and the captain mounted and made the captives walk before them, till they reached the palace, where the king sat down in the audience-chamber and making the prisoners pass before him, one by one, said to the first, 'o muslim, whence comest thou?' 'from alexandria,' answered he; whereupon the king said, 'o headsman, put him to death.' so the headsman smote him with the sword and cut off his head: and thus it fared with the second and the third, till forty were dead and there remained but alaeddin, who drank the cup of his comrades' anguish and said to himself, 'god have mercy on thee, o alaeddin! thou art a dead man.' then said the king to him, 'and thou, what countryman art thou?' 'i am of alexandria,' answered alaeddin, and the king said, 'o headsman, strike off his head.' so the headsman raised his arm and was about to strike, when an old woman of venerable aspect presented herself before the king, who rose to do her honour, and said to him, 'o king, did i not bid thee remember, when the captain came back with captives, to keep one or two for the convent, to serve in the church?' 'o my mother, answered the king, 'would thou hadst come a while earlier! but take this one that is left.' so she turned to alaeddin and said to him, 'wilt thou serve in the church, or shall i let the king kill thee?' quoth he, 'i will serve in the church.' so she took him and carried him forth of the palace to the church, where he said to her, 'what service must i do?' and she answered, 'thou must arise in the morning and take five mules and go with them into the forest and there cut dry firewood and split it and bring it to the convent-kitchen. then must thou take up the carpets and sweep and wipe the stone and marble pavements and lay the carpets down again, as they were; after which thou must take two bushels and a half of wheat and sift it and grind it and knead it and make it into cracknels for the convent; and thou must take also a bushel of lentils and sift and crush and cook them. then must thou fetch water in barrels and fill the four fountains; after which thou must take three hundred and threescore and six wooden platters and crumble the cracknels therein and pour of the lentil pottage over each and carry every monk and patriarch his platter.' 'take me back to the king and let him kill me,' said alaeddin; 'it were easier to me than this service.' 'if thou do the service that is due from thee,' replied the old woman, 'thou shalt escape death; but, if thou do it not, i will let the king kill thee.' then she went away, leaving alaeddin heavy at heart. now there were in the church ten blind cripples, and one of them said to him, 'bring me a pot.' so he brought it him and he did his occasion therein and said, 'throw away the ordure.' he did do, and the blind man said, 'the messiah's blessing be upon thee, o servant of the church!' presently, the old woman came in and said to him, 'why hast thou not done thy service?' 'how many hands have i,' answered he, 'that i should suffice for all this work?' 'thou fool!' rejoined she.' 'i brought thee not hither but to work. but,' added she, giving him a wand of brass with a cross at the top, 'take this rod and go forth into the highway, and whomsoever thou meetest, were he governor of the ciy, say to him, "i summon thee to the service of the church, in the name of the messiah." and he will not refuse thee. then make him sift the wheat and grind it and bolt it and knead it and bake it into cracknels; and if any gainsay thee, beat him and fear none.' 'i hear and obey,' answered he and did as she said, pressing great and small into his service; nor did he leave to do thus for the space of seventeen years, till, one day, the old woman came to him, as he sat in the church, and said to him, 'go forth of the convent.' 'whither shall i go?' asked he, and she said, 'thou canst pass the night in a tavern or with one of thy friends.' quoth he, 'why dost thou send me forth of the church?' and she replied, 'the princess husn meryem, daughter of youhenna, king of the city, purposes this night to pay a visit to the church, and it befits not that any abide in her way.' so he rose and made a show of obeying her and of leaving the church; but he said in himself, 'i wonder whether the princess is like our women or fairer than they! algates, i will not go till i have had a sight of her.' so he hid himself in a closet[fn# ] with a window looking into the church, and as he watched, in came the king's daughter. he cast one glance at her, that cost him a thousand sighs, for she was like the full moon, when it emerges from the clouds; and with her was a damsel, to whom he heard her say, 'o zubeideh, thy company is grateful to me.' so he looked straitly at the damsel and found her to be none other than his wife, zubeideh the lutanist, whom he thought dead. then the princess said to zubeideh, 'play us an air on the lute.' but she answered, 'i will make no music for thee, till thou grant my wish and fulfil thy promise to me.' 'and what did i promise thee?' asked the princess. 'that thou wouldst reunite me with my husband alaeddin abou esh shamat,' said zubeideh. 'o zubeideh,' rejoined the princess, 'be of good cheer and play us an air, as a thank-offering for reunion with thy husband.' 'where is he?' asked zubeideh, and meryem replied, 'he is in yonder closet, listening to us.' so zubeideh played a measure on the lute, that would have made a rock dance; which when alaeddin heard, his entrails were troubled and he came forth and throwing himself upon his wife, strained her to his bosom. she also knew him and they embraced and fell down in a swoon. then came the princess and sprinkled rose-water on them, till they revived, when she said to them, 'god hath reunited you.' 'by thy kind offices, o my lady,' replied alaeddin and turning to his wife, said to her, 'o zubeideh, thou didst surely die and we buried thee: how then camest thou to life and to this place?' 'o my lord,' answered she, 'i did not die; but a marid of the jinn snatched me up and flew with me hither. she whom thou buriedst was a jinniyeh, who took my shape and feigned herself dead, but presently broke open the tomb and returned to the service of this her mistress, the princess husn meryem. as for me, i was in a trance, and when i opened my eyes, i found myself with the princess; so i said to her, "why hast thou bought me hither?" "o zubeideh," answered she, "know that i am predestined to marry thy husband alaeddin abou esh shamat: wilt thou then accept of me to fellow-wife, a night for me and a night for thee?" "i hear and obey, o my lady," rejoined i; "but where is my husband?" quoth she, "upon his forehead is written what god hath decreed to him; as soon as what is there written is fulfilled to him he must needs come hither, and we will beguile the time of our separation from him with songs and smiting upon instruments of music, till it please god to unite us with him." so i abode with her till god brought us together in this church.' then the princess turned to him and said, 'o my lord alaeddin, wilt thou accept of me to wife?' 'o my lady,' replied he, 'i am a muslim and thou art a nazarene; so how can i marry thee?' 'god forbid,' rejoined she, 'that i should be an infidel! nay, i am a muslim; these eighteen years have i held fast the faith of submission and i am pure of any faith other than that of islam.' then said he, 'o my lady, i would fain return to my native land.' and she answered, 'know that i see written on thy forehead things that thou must needs fulfil and thou shalt come to thy desire. moreover, i give thee the glad tidings, o alaeddin, that there hath been born to thee a son named aslan, who is now eighteen years old and sitteth in thy place with the khalif. know also that god hath shown forth the truth and done away the false by withdrawing the curtain of secrecy from him who stole the khalif's goods, that is, ahmed kemakim the arch-thief and traitor; and he now lies bound and in prison. it was i who caused the jewel to be put in the bag where thou foundest it and who sent the captain to thee; for thou must know that he is enamoured of me and seeketh my favours, but i refused to yield to his wishes, till he should being me the jewel and its owner. so i gave him a hundred purses[fn# ] and despatched him to thee, in the habit of a merchant; and it was i also who sent the old woman to save thee from being put to death with the other captives.' 'may god requite thee for us with all good!' said he. 'indeed, thou hast done well.' then she renewed her profession of the mohammedan faith at his hands, and when he was assured of the truth of her speech, he said to her, 'o my lady, tell me what are the virtues of the jewel and whence cometh it?' 'it came from an enchanted treasure,' answered she, 'and has five virtues, that will profit us in time of need. the princess my grandmother, my father's mother, was an enchantress and skilled in solving mysteries and winning at hidden treasures, and from one of the latter came the jewel into her hands. when i grew up and reached the age of fourteen, i read the evangel and other books and found the name of mohammed (whom god bless and preserve) in four books, the evangel, the pentateuch, the psalms[fn# ] and the koran; so i believed in mohammed and became a muslim, being assured that none is worship-worth save god the most high and that to the lord of all creatures no faith is acceptable save that of submission. when my grandmother fell sick, she gave me the jewel and taught me its virtues. moreover, before she died, my father said to her, 'draw me a geomantic figure and see the issue of my affair and what will befall me.' and she foretold him that he should die by the hand of a captive from alexandria. so he swore to kill every captive from that place and told the captain of this, saying, "do thou fall on the ships of the muslims and seize them and whomsoever thou findest of alexandria, kill him or bring him to me." the captain did his bidding and he slew as many in number as the hairs of his head. then my grandmother died and i took a geomantic tablet, being minded to now who i should marry, and drawing a figure, found that none should be my husband save one called alaeddin abou esh shamat, the trusty and well-beloved. at this i marvelled and waited till the times were accomplished and i foregathered with thee.' so alaeddin took her to wife and said to her, 'i desire to return to my own country.' 'if it be so,' replied she, 'come with me.' then she carried him into the palace and hiding him in a closet there, went in to her father, who said to her, 'o my daughter, my heart is exceeding heavy to-day; let us sit down and make merry with wine, thou and i.' so he called for a table of wine, and she sat down with him and plied him with wine, till he lost his wits, when she drugged a cup with henbane, and he drank it off and fell backward. then she brought alaeddin out of the closet and said to him, 'come; thine enemy is laid prostrate, for i made him drunk and drugged him; so do thou with him as thou wilt.' accordingly alaeddin went to the king and finding him lying drugged and helpless, bound him fast, hand and foot. then he gave him the counter-drug and he came to himself and finding his daughter and alaeddin sitting on his breast, said to her, 'o my daughter, dost thou deal thus with me?' 'if i be indeed thy daughter,' answered she, 'become a muslim, even as i have done; for the truth was shown to me, and i embraced it, and the false, and i renounced it. i have submitted myself unto god, the lord of all creatures, and am pure of all faiths contrary to that of islam in this world and the next. wherefore, if thou wilt become a muslim, well and good; if not, thy death were better than thy life.' alaeddin also exhorted him to embrace the true faith; but he refused and was obstinate: so alaeddin took a dagger and cut his throat from ear to ear. then he wrote a scroll, setting forth what had happened and laid it on the dead man's forehead, after which they took what was light of weight and heavy of worth and returned to the church. here the princess took out the jewel and rubbed the face whereon was figured a couch, whereupon a couch appeared before her and she mounted upon it with alaeddin and zubeideh, saying, 'o couch, i conjure thee by the virtue of the names and talismans and characters of art engraven on this jewel, rise up with us!' and it rose with them into the air and flew, till i came to a desert valley, when the princess turned the face on which the couch was figured towards the earth, and it sank with them to the ground. then she turned up the face whereon was figured a pavilion and tapping it, said, 'let a pavilion be pitched in this valley.' and immediately there appeared a pavilion, in which they seated themselves. now this valley was a desert waste, without grass or water; so she turned a third face of the jewel towards the sky and said, 'by the virtue of the names of god, let trees spring up here and a river run beside them!' and immediately trees sprang up and a river ran rippling and splashing beside them. they made their ablutions and prayed and drank of the stream; after which the princess turned up a fourth face of the jewel, on which was figured a table of food, and said, 'by the virtue of the names of god, let the table be spread!' and immediately there appeared before them a table, spread with all manner rich meats, and they ate and drank and made merry. meanwhile, the king's son went in to waken his father, but found him slain and seeing the scroll, took it and read. then he sought his sister and finding her not, betook himself to the old woman in the church, of whom he enquired of her, but she said, 'i have not seen her since yesterday.' so he returned to the troops and cried out, saying, 'to horse, cavaliers!' then he told them what had happened, and they mounted and rode after the fugitives, till they drew near the pavilion. presently, husn meryem looked up and saw a cloud of dust, which spread till it covered the prospect, then lifted and discovered her brother and his troops, crying aloud and saying, 'whither will ye fly, and we on your track!' then said she to alaeddin, 'art thou steadfast in battle?' 'even as the stake in bran,' answered he; 'i know not war nor battle, neither swords nor spears.' so she pulled out the jewel and rubbed the fifth face, that on which were depictured a horse and his rider, and straightway a horseman appear out of the desert and driving at the pursuing host, ceased not to do battle with them and smite them with the sword, till he routed them and put them to flight. then said the princess to alaeddin, 'wilt thou go to cairo or to alexandria?' and he answered, 'to alexandria.' so they mounted the couch and she pronounced over it the conjuration, whereupon it set off with them and brought them to alexandria in the twinkling of an eye. they alighted without the city and alaeddin hid the women in a cavern, whilst he went into alexandria and fetched them veils and outer clothing, wherewith he covered them. then he carried them to his ship and leaving them in the room behind it, went forth to fetch them the morning meal, when he met ahmed ed denef coming from baghdad. he saw him in the street and received him with open arms, embracing him and welcoming him. ed denef gave him the good news of his son aslan and how he was now come to the age of twenty; and alaeddin, in his turn, told the captain of the guard all that had befallen him, whereat he marvelled exceedingly. then he brought him to his lodging, where they passed the night; and next day he sold his shop and laid its price with his other monies. now ed denef had told him that the khalif sought him; but he said, 'i am bound first for cairo, to salute my father and mother and the people of my house.' so they all mounted the couch and it carried them to cairo the happy, where they alighted in the street called yellow, where stood shemseddin's house. alaeddin knocked at the door, and his mother said, 'who is at the door, now that we have lost our beloved?' 'it is i, alaeddin,' replied he; whereupon they came down and embraced him. then he sent his wives and baggage into the house and entering himself with ahmed ed denef, rested there three days, after which he was minded to set out for baghdad and his father said, 'o my son, abide with me.' but he answered, 'i cannot brook to be parted from my son aslan.' so he took his father and mother and set out for baghdad. when they came thither, ahmed ed denef went in to the khalif and gave him the glad tidings of alaeddin's arrival and told him his story; whereupon the prince went forth to meet him, accompanied by his son aslan, and they met and embraced each other. then the khalif sent for ahmed kemakim and said to alaeddin, 'up and avenge thee of thine enemy!' so he drew his sword and smote off ahmed's head. then the khalif held festival for alaeddin and summoning the cadis and the witnesses, married him to the princess husn meryem; and he went in to her and found her an unpierced pearl. moreover, the khalif made aslan chief of the sixty and bestowed upon him and his father sumptuous dresses of honour; and they abode in the enjoyment of all the comforts and pleasures of life, till there came to them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of companies. hatim et taÃ�: his generosity after death. it is told of hatim et taï[fn# ], that when he died, they buried him on the top of a mountain and set over his grave two boughs hewn out of two rocks and stone figures of women with dishevelled hair. at the foot of the hill was a stream of running water, and when wayfarers camped there, they heard loud crying in the night, from dark till daybreak; but when they arose in the morning, they found nothing but the girls carved in stone. now when dhoulkeraa, king of himyer, going forth of his tribe, came to the valley, he halted to pass the night there and drawing near the mountain, heard the crying and said, 'what lamenting is that on yonder hill?' they answered him, saying, 'this is the tomb of hatim et taï, over which are two troughs of stone and stone figures of girls with dishevelled hair; and all who camp in this place by night hear this crying and lamenting.' so he said jestingly, 'o hatim et taï, we are thy guests this night, and we are lank with hunger.' then sleep overcame him, but presently he awoke in affright and cried out, saying, 'help, o arabs! look at my beast!' so they came to him and finding his she-camel struggling in the death-agony, slaughtered it and roasted its flesh and ate. then they asked him what had happened and he said, 'when i closed my eyes, i saw in my sleep hatim et taï, who came to me with a sword in his hand and said to me, "thou comest to us and we have nothing by us." then he smote my she-camel with his sword, and she would have died, though ye had not come to her and cut her throat.' next morning the prince mounted the beast of one of his companions and taking the latter up behind him, set out and fared on till midday, when they saw a man coming towards them, mounted on a camel and leading another, and said to him, 'who art thou?' 'i am adi, son of hatim et taï,' answered he. 'where is dhoulkeraa, prince of himyer?' 'this is he,' replied they, and he said to the prince, 'take this camel in place of thine own, which my father slaughtered for thee.' 'who told thee of this?' asked dhoulkeraa, and adi answered, 'my father appeared to me in a dream last night and said to me, "harkye, adi; dhoulkeraa, king of himyer, sought hospitality of me and i, having nought to give him, slaughtered him his she-camel, that he might eat: so do thou carry him a she-camel to ride, for i have nothing."' and dhoulkeraa took her, marvelling at the generosity of hatim et taï, alive and dead. maan ben zaÃ�deh and the three girls. it is told of maan ben zaïdeh[fn# ] that, being out one day a-hunting, he became athirst and would have drunk, but his men had no water with them. presently, he met three damsels, bearing three skins of water; so he begged drink of them, and they gave him to drink. then he sought of his men somewhat to give the damsels; but they had no money; so he gave each girl ten golden-headed arrows from his quiver. whereupon quoth one of them to her mates, 'harkye! these fashions pertain to none but maan ben zaïdeh; so let each of us recite somewhat of verse in his praise.' then said the first: he heads his shafts with gold and shooting at his foes, dispenses thus largesse and bounties far and wide, giving the wounded man wherewith to get him cure and grave-clothes unto him must in the tombs abide. and the second: a warrior, for the great excess of his magnificence, both friends and foes enjoy the goods his liberal hands dispense. his arrowheads are forged of gold, that so his very wars may not estop his generous soul from its munificence. and the third: with arrows he shoots at his foes, of his generosity, whose heads are fashioned and forged of virgin gold, in steel's room; that those whom he wounds may spend the price of the gold for their cure and those that are slain of his shafts may buy them the wede of the tomb. maan ben zaÃ�deh and the bedouin. it is told also of maan ben zaïdeh that he went forth one day to the chase with his company, and they came upon a herd of gazelles. so they separated in pursuit of them and maan was left alone in chase of one of the gazelles. when he had made prize of it, he alighted and slaughtered it; and as he was thus engaged, he espied a man coming towards him on an ass. so he remounted and riding up to the new-comer, saluted him and asked him whence he came. quoth he, 'i come from the land of cuzaäh, where we have had a two years' dearth; but this year it was a season of plenty and i sowed cucumbers. they came up before their time, so i gathered the best of them and set out to carry them to the amir maan ben zaïdeh, because of his well-known generosity and notorious munificence.' 'how much cost thou hope to get of him?' asked maan, and the bedouin answered, 'a thousand diners.' 'what if he say, "this is too much"?' quoth maan. 'then i will ask five hundred diners,' said the bedouin. 'and if he say, "too much"?' said maan. 'then three hundred,' replied the other. 'and if he say yet, "too much"?' 'then two hundred.' 'and yet, "too much"?' 'then one hundred.' 'and yet, "too much"?' 'then fifty.' 'and yet, "too much"?' 'then thirty.' 'and if he still say, "too much"?' said maan ben zaïdeh. 'then,' answered the bedouin, 'i will make my ass set his feet in his sanctuary[fn# ] and return to my people, disappointed and empty-handed.' maan laughed at him and spurring his horse, rode on till he came up with his suite and returned home, when he said to his chamberlain, 'if there come a man with cucumbers, riding on an ass, admit him.' presently up came the bedouin and was admitted to maan's presence, but knew him not for the man he had met in the desert, by reason of the gravity and majesty of his aspect and the multitude of his servants and attendants, for he was seated on his chair of estate, with his officers about him. so he saluted him and maan said to him, 'o brother of the arabs, what brings thee?' 'i hoped in the amir,' answered the bedouin, 'and have brought him cucumbers out of season.' 'and how much cost thou expect of us?' asked maan. 'a thousand diners,' answered the bedouin. 'too much,' said maan. quoth the bedouin, 'five hundred;' but maan repeated, 'too much.' 'then three hundred,' said the bedouin. 'too much,' said maan. 'two hundred.' 'too much' 'one hundred.' 'too much' 'fifty.' 'too much.' at last the bedouin came down to thirty diners; but maan still replied, 'too much.' 'by allah,' cried the bedouin, 'the man i met in the desert brought me ill luck! but i will not go lower than thirty diners.' the amir laughed and said nothing; whereupon the bedouin knew that it was he whom he had met and said, 'o my lord, except thou bring the thirty diners, there is the ass tied ready at the door and here sits maan.' at this, maan laughed, till he fell backward, and calling his steward, said to him, 'give him a thousand diners and five hundred and three hundred and two hundred and one hundred and fifty and thirty and leave the ass where he is.' so the bedouin, to his amazement, received two thousand and nine score diners, and may god have mercy on them both! the city of lebtait. there was once a city in the land of the franks, called the city of lebtait.[fn# ] it was a royal city and in it stood a tower which was always shut. whenever a king died and another king of the franks took the kingship after him, he set a new and strong lock on the tower, till there were four-and-twenty locks upon the gate. after this time, there came to the throne a man who was not of the old royal house, and he had a mind to open the locks, that he might see what was within the tower. the grandees of his kingdom forbade him from this and were instant with him to desist, offering him all that their hands possessed of riches and things of price, if he would but forego his desire; but he would not be baulked and said, 'needs must i open this tower.' so he did off the locks and entering, found within figures of arabs on their horses and camels, covered with turbans with hanging ends, girt with swords and bearing long lances in their hands. he found there also a scroll, with these words written therein: 'whenas this door is opened, a people of the arabs, after the likeness of the figures here depictured, will conquer this country; wherefore beware, beware of opening it.' now this city was in spain, and that very year tarik ibn ziyad conquered it, in the khalifate of welid ben abdulmelik[fn# ] of the sons of umeyyeh, slaying this king after the sorriest fashion and sacking the city and making prisoners of the women and boys therein. moreover, he found there immense treasures; amongst the rest more than a hundred and seventy crowns of pearls and rubies and other gems, and a saloon, in which horsemen might tilt with spears, full of vessels of gold and silver, such as no description can comprise. moreover, he found there also the table of food of the prophet of god, solomon son of david (on whom be peace), which is extant even now in a city of the greeks; it is told that it was of green emerald, with vessels of gold and platters of chrysolite; likewise, the psalms written in the [ancient] greek character, on leaves of gold set with jewels, together with a book setting forth the properties of stones and herbs and minerals, as well as the use of charms and talismans and the canons of the art of alchemy, and another that treated of the art of cutting and setting rubies and other [precious] stones and of the preparation of poisons and antidotes. there found he also a representation of the configuration of the earth and the seas and the different towns and countries and villages of the world and a great hall full of hermetic powder, one drachm of which would turn a thousand drachms of silver into fine gold; likewise a marvellous great round mirror of mixed metals, made for solomon son of david (on whom be peace), wherein whoso looked might see the very image and presentment of the seven divisions of the world, and a chamber full of carbuncles, such as no words can suffice to set forth, many camel-loads. so he despatched all these things to welid ben abdulmelik, and the arabs spread all over the cities of spain, which is one of the finest of lands. this is the end of the story of the city of lebtait. the khalif hisham and the arab youth. the khalif hisham ben abdulmelik ben merwan was hunting one day, when he sighted an antelope and pursued it with his dogs. as he was following the chase, he saw an arab youth pasturing sheep and said to him, 'ho, boy, up and stop yonder antelope, for it escapeth me!' the youth raised his head and replied, 'o ignorant of the worth of the worthy,[fn# ] thou lookest on me with disdain and speakest to me with contempt; thy speech is that of a tyrant and thy conduct that of an ass.' 'out on thee,' cried hisham. 'dost thou not know me?' 'verily,' rejoined the youth, 'thine unmannerliness hath made thee known to me, in that thou spokest to me, without beginning by the salutation."[fn# ] 'out on thee!' repeated the khalif. 'i am hisham ben abdulmelik.' 'may god not favour thy dwellings,' replied the arab, 'nor guard thine abiding-place! how many are thy words and how few thy generosities!' hardly had he spoken, when up came the troops from all sides and surrounded him, saying, 'peace be on thee, o commander of the faithful!' quoth hisham, 'leave this talk and seize me yonder boy.' so they laid hands on him; and when he saw the multitude of chamberlains and viziers and officers of state, he was in nowise concerned and questioned not of them, but let his chin fall on his breast and looked where his feet fell, till they brought him to the khalif,[fn# ] when he stood before him, with head bowed down, and saluted him not neither spoke. so one of the attendants said to him, 'o dog of the arabs, what ails thee that thou salutest not the commander of the faithful?' the youth turned to him angrily and replied, 'o packsaddle of an ass, the length of the way it was that hindered me from this and the steepness of the steps and sweat.' then said hisham (and indeed he was exceeding wroth), 'o boy, thou art come to thy last hour; thy hope is gone from thee and thy life is past.' 'by allah, o hisham,' answered the arab, 'if the time[fn# ] be prolonged and its cutting short be not ordained of destiny, thy words irk me not, be they much or little.' then said the (chief) chamberlain to him, 'o vilest of the arabs, what art thou to bandy words with the commander of the faithful?' he answered promptly, 'mayest thou meet with adversity and may woe and mourning never depart from thee! hast thou not heard the saying of god the most high? "one day, every soul shall come to give an account of itself."'[fn# ] "at this, hisham rose, in great wrath, and said, 'o headsman, bring me his head; for indeed he multiplies talk, such as passes conception, and fears not reproach.' so the headsman took him and making him kneel on the carpet of blood, drew his sword and said to the khalif, 'o commander of the faithful, shall i smite off the head of this thy misguided slave, who is on the way to his grave, and be quit of his blood?' 'yes,' replied hisham. he repeated his question and the khalif again replied in the affirmative. then he asked leave a third time, and the youth, knowing that, if the khalif assented yet once more, it would be the signal of his death, laughed till his wang-teeth appeared; at which hisham's wrath redoubled and he said to him, 'o boy, meseems thou art mad; seest thou not that thou art about to depart the world? why then dost thou laugh in mockery of thyself?' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered the young arab, 'if my life is to be prolonged, none can hurt me, great or small; but i have bethought me of some verses, which do thou hear, for my death cannot escape thee.' 'say on and be brief,' replied hisham; so the arab repeated the following verses: a hawk once seized a sparrow, so have i heard men say, a sparrow of the desert, that fate to him did throw; and as the hawk was flying to nestward with his prize, the sparrow in his clutches did thus bespeak his foe: "there's nought in me the stomach of such as thou to stay; indeed, i'm all too paltry to fill thy maw, i trow." the hawk was pleased and flattered with pride and self conceit; he smiled for self-contentment and let the sparrow go. at this hisham smiled and said, 'by my kinship to the prophet (whom god bless and preserve), had he spoken thus at first, i had given him all he asked, except the khalifate!' then he bade his servants stuff his mouth with jewels and entreat him courteously; so they did as he bade them and the arab went his way. ibrahim ben el mehdi and the barber-surgeon. when the khalifate fell to el mamoun the son of haroun er reshid, the latter's brother ibrahim, son of el mehdi, refused to acknowledge his nephew and betook himself to er rei,[fn# ] where he proclaimed himself khalif and abode thus a year and eleven months and twelve days. meanwhile mamoun remained awaiting his return to allegiance, till, at last, despairing of this, he mounted with his horsemen and footmen and repaired to er rei in quest of him. when the news came to ibrahim, he found nothing for it but to flee to baghdad and hide there, fearing for his life; and mamoun set a price of a hundred thousand dinars upon his head. (quoth ibrahim) 'now when i heard of this price being set upon my head, i feared for myself and knew not what to do: so i disguised myself and went forth of my house at midday, knowing not whither i should go. presently, i entered a street that had no issue and said in myself, "verily, we are god's and to him we return! i have exposed myself to destruction. if i retrace my steps, i shall arouse suspicion." then i espied, at the upper end of the street, a negro standing at his door; so i went up to him and said to him, "hast thou a place where i may abide awhile of the day?" "yes," answered he, and opening the door, admitted me into a decent house, furnished with carpets and mats and cushions of leather. then he shut the door on me and went away; and i misdoubted me he had heard of the reward offered for me and said in myself, "he has gone to inform against me." but, as i sat pondering my case and boiling like the pot over the fire, my host came back, followed by a porter loaded with meat and bread and new cooking-pots and goblets and a new jar and other needful gear. he took them from the porter and dismissing him, said to me, "i make myself thy ransom! i am a barber-surgeon, and i know it would mislike thee to eat with me, because of the way in which i get my living; so do thou shift for thyself with these things whereon no hand hath fallen." now i was anhungred; so i cooked me a pot of meat, whose like i mind me not ever to have eaten; and when i had done my desire, he said to me, "o my lord, god make me thy ransom! art thou for wine? indeed, it gladdens the soul and does away care." "i have no objection," replied i, being desirous of his company; so he brought me new flagons of glass, that no hand had touched, and a jar of excellent wine, and said to me, "mix for thyself, to thy liking." so i cleared the wine and mixed myself a most pleasant draught. then he brought me a new cup and fruits and flowers in new vessels of earthenware; after which he said to me, "wilt thou give me leave to sit apart and drink of wine of my own by myself, of my joy in thee and for thee?" "do so." answered i. so we drank, he and i, till the wine began to take effect upon us, when he rose and going to a closet, took out a lute of polished wood and said to me, "o my lord, it is not for the like of me to ask thee to sing, but it behoves thine exceeding generosity to render my respect its due; so, an thou see fit to honour thy slave, thine is the august decision." quoth i (and indeed i thought not that he knew me), "how knowest thou that i excel in song?" "glory be to god!" answered he. "our lord is too well renowned for that![fn# ] thou art my lord ibrahim, son of el mehdi, our khalif of yesterday, he on whose head mamoun hath set a price of a hundred thousand dinars: but thou art in safety with me." when i heard him say this, he was magnified in my eyes and his loyalty was certified to me; so i complied with his wish and took the lute and tuned it. then i bethought me of my severance from my children and my family and sang the following verses: it may be that he, who restored his folk to joseph of old and raised him to high estate from the prison where in bonds he lay, will hear our prayer and unite us; for allah, the lord of the worlds, all-powerful is, and his puissance knows neither let nor stay. when the barber heard this, exceeding delight took possession of him and he was of great good cheer; (for it is said that when ibrahim's neighbours heard him [but] say, "ho, boy, saddle the mule!" they were filled with delight). then, being overborne by mirth, he said to me (continues ibrahim), "o my lord, wilt thou give me leave to say what is come to my mind, for all i am not of the folk of the craft?" "do so," answered i; "this is of thy great courtesy and kindness." so he took the lute and sang the following verses: unto our loved ones we made our moan of our nights so long and drear; and lo, "how short is the night with us!" quoth they we hold so dear. this is because quick-coming sleep closes their happy eyes, but slumber comes not to close our lids, that burn with many a tear. when the night approaches, the night so dread and drear to those that love, we are oppressed with grief; but they rejoice, when the night draws near. had they but drunken our bitter cup and suffered of our dole, then were their nights as ours, as long and full of heavy cheer. "thou hast acquitted thee rarely, o my friend," said i, "and hast done away from me the pangs of sorrow. let me hear more trifles of thy fashion." so he sang these verses: so a man's honour be unstained and free of all impair, lo, every garment that he dights on him is fit and fair. she taunted me, because, forsooth, our numbers were but few; but i "the noble," answer made, "are ever few and rare." it irks us nought that we are few and eke our neighbour great, for all the neighbours of most folk are scant and mean elsewhere; for we're a folk, that deem not death an evil nor reproach, albeit aamir and seloul so deem, of their despair. the love of death that is in us brings near our ends to us, but theirs, who loathe and rail at it, are long and far to fare. we, an it like us, give the lie to others of their speech; but, when we speak, no man on earth to gainsay us doth dare. when i heard this, i was filled with delight and marvelled exceedingly. then i slept and awoke not till past nightfall, when i washed my face, with a mind full of the high worth of this barber-surgeon; after which i aroused him and taking out a purse i had with me, containing a considerable sum of money, threw it to him, saying, "i commend thee to god, for i am about to go forth from thee, and beg thee to spend what is in this purse on thine occasions; and thou shalt have an abounding reward of me, when i am quit of my fear." but he returned it to me, saying, "o my lord, poor wretches like myself are of no value in thine eyes; but how, for mine own dignity's sake, can i take a price for the boon which fortune hath vouchsafed me of thy favour and company? by allah, if thou repeat thy words and throw the purse to me again, i will kill myself." so i put the purse in my sleeve (and indeed its weight was irksome to me) and would have gone away; but when i came to the door of the house, he said to me, "o my lord, this is a safer hiding-place for thee than another, and thy keep is no burden to me; so do thou abide with me, till god grant thee relief." so i turned back, saying, "on condition that thou spend of the money in this purse." he let me believe that he consented to this, and i abode with him some days in the utmost comfort; but, perceiving that he spent none of the contents of the purse, i revolted at the idea of abiding at his charge and thought shame to be a burden on him; so i disguised myself in women's apparel, donning walking-boots and veil, and left his house. when i found myself in the street, i was seized with excessive fear, and going to pass the bridge, came to a place sprinkled with water, where a trooper, who had been in my service, saw me and knowing me, cried out, saying, "this is he whom mamoun seeks!" then he laid hold of me, but the love of life lent me strength and i gave him a push, which threw him and his horse down in that slippery place, so that he became an example to those who will take warning and the folk hastened to him. meanwhile, i hurried on over the bridge and entered a street, where i saw the door of a house open and a woman standing in the vestibule. so i said to her, "o my lady, have pity on me and save my life; for i am a man in fear." quoth she, "enter and welcome;" and carried me into an upper chamber, where she spread me a bed and brought me food, saying, "calm thy fear, for not a soul shall know of thee." as she spoke, there came a loud knocking at the door; so she went and opened, and lo, it was my friend whom i had thrown down on the bridge, with his head bound up, the blood running down upon his clothes and without his horse. "o so and so," said she, "what hath befallen thee?" quoth he, "i made prize of the man [whom the khalif seeks] and he escaped from me." and told her the whole story. so she brought out tinder and applying it to his head, bound it up with a piece of rag; after which she spread him a bed and he lay sick. then she came up to me and said, "methinks thou art the man in question?" "i am," answered i, and she said, "fear not: no harm shall befall thee," and redoubled in kindness to me. i abode with her three days, at the end of which time she said to me, "i am in fear for thee, lest yonder man happen upon thee and betray thee to what thou dreadest; so save thyself by flight." i besought her to let me tarry till nightfall, and she said, "there is no harm in that." so, when the night came, i put on my woman's attire and taking leave of her, betook me to the house of a freed woman, who had once been mine. when she saw me, she wept and made a show of affliction and praised god the most high for my safety. then she went forth, as if she would go to the market, in the interests of hospitality, and i thought no harm; but, ere long, i espied ibrahim el mausili[fn# ] making for the house, with his servants and troopers, led by a woman whom i knew for the mistress of the house. she brought them to my hiding-place and delivered me into their hands, and i saw death face to face. they carried me, in my woman's attire, to mamoun, who called a general council and let bring me before him. when i entered i saluted him by the title of khalif, saying, "peace be on thee, o commander of the faithful!" and he replied, "may god neither give thee peace nor bless thee!" "at thy leisure, o commander of the faithful!" rejoined i. "it is for him in whose hand is revenge[fn# ] to decree retaliation or forgiveness; but forgiveness is nigher to the fear of god, and god hath set thy forgiveness above all other, even as he hath made my sin to excel all other sin. so, if thou punish, it is of thy right, and if thou pardon, it is of thy bounty." and i repeated the following verses: great is my sin, in sooth, 'gainst thee, but thou art greater still, perdie. so take thy due of me, or else remit it of thy clemency. if of the noble i've not been indeed, yet do thou of them be. at this he raised his head to me and i hastened to add these verses: indeed, i've offended full sore, but thou art disposed to forgive. 'twere justice to punish my crime and grace to allow me to live. then he bowed his head and repeated the following verses: whenas a friend against me doth grievously offend and maketh me with anger to choke, yet in the end, i pardon his offending and take him back again into my favour, fearing to live without a friend. when i heard this, i scented the odour of mercy, knowing his disposition to clemency. then he turned to his son el abbas and his brother abou ishac and other his chief officers there present and said to them, "what deem ye of his case!" they all counselled him to slay me, but differed as to the manner of my death. then said he to ahmed ibn ali khalid,[fn# ] "and what sayst thou, o ahmed?" "o commander of the faithful," answered he, "if thou put him to death, we find thy like who hath slain the like of him; but, if thou pardon him, we find not the like of thee that hath pardoned the like of him." at this mamoun bowed his head and repeated the following verse: the people of my tribe, they have my brother slain; but, an i shoot, my shaft reverts to me again. and also these: use not thy brother with despite, although he mingle wrong with right, and still be kind to him, all be with thanklessness he thee requite; and if he go astray and err one day, revile thou not the wight. seest not that loved and loathed at once in every way of life unite? that by the annoy of hoary hairs embittered is long life's delight, and that the bristling thorns beset the branch with pleasant fruits bedight? who is it doth good deeds alone and who hath never wrought unright? prove but the age's sons, thou'lt find the most have fallen from the light. when i heard this, i uncovered my head and cried out, saying, "god is most great! by allah, the commander of the faithful pardons me!" quoth he, "no harm shall come to thee, o uncle." and i, "o commander of the faithful, my offence is too great for me to attempt to extenuate it and thy pardon is too great for me to speak a word of thanks for it." and i chanted the following verses: sure, he, who made the virtues all, stored them in adam's loins for his high-priest, the seventh prince of abbas' royal seed! the hearts of all the folk are filled with reverence for thee, and thou, with meek and humble heart, dost keep them all and lead. error-deluded as i was, against thee i rebelled, intent on covetise alone and base ambitious greed; yet hast thou pardon giv'n to one, the like of whom before was never pardoned, though for him no one with thee did plead, and on a mother's bleeding heart hadst ruth and little ones, like to the desert-grouse's young, didst pity in their need. quoth mamoun, "i say, like our lord joseph (on whom and on our prophet be peace and blessing), 'there shall be no reproach on thee this day. god will forgive thee, for he is the most merciful of the merciful ones.'[fn# ] indeed, i pardon thee, o uncle, and restore thee thy goods and lands, and no harm shall befall thee." so i offered up devout prayers for him and repeated the following verses: my wealth thou hast given me again and hast not begrudged it to me; yea, and to boot, before this, my life and my blood thou didst spare. so if, thine approval to win, i lavish my blood and my wealth and e'en to the shoe off my foot, in thy service, i strip myself bare, 'twere but the restoring to thee of the loans that i owe to thy grace which none might reproach thee nor blame, i trow, hadst thou chos'n to forbear. ungrateful henceforth if i prove for the favours vouchsafed me by thee, still worthier of blame than thyself of honour and reverence i were. then mamoun showed me honour and favour and said to me, "o uncle, abou ishac and abbas counselled me to put thee to death." "and they counselled thee right loyally, o commander of the faithful," answered i; "but thou hast done after thine own nature and hast put away what i feared with what i hoped." "o uncle," rejoined he, "thou didst extinguish my rancour with the humbleness of thine excuse, and i pardon thee without making thee drink the bitterness of obligation to intercessors." then he prostrated himself in prayer a long while, after which he raised his head and said to me, "o uncle, knowest thou why i prostrated myself?" "haply," answered i, "thou didst this in thanksgiving to god, for that he hath given thee the mastery over thine enemy." "not so," rejoined he, "but to thank him for having inspired me to pardon thee and purified my mind towards thee. now tell me thy story." so i told him all that had befallen me and he sent for the freed-woman, who was in her house, expecting the reward. when she came, he said to her, "what moved thee to deal thus with thy lord?" and she answered, "lust of money." "hast thou a child or a husband?" asked the khalif; and she said, "no." so he bade give her a hundred blows with a whip and imprisoned her for life. then he sent for the soldier and his wife and the barber-surgeon and asked the former what had moved him to do thus. "lust of money," answered he; whereupon quoth the khalif, "it befits that thou be a barber-surgeon,"[fn# ] and committed him to one whom he charged to place him in a barber's shop, where he might learn the craft. but his wife he entreated with honour and lodged in his palace, saying, "this is a woman of sense and apt for matters of moment." then said he to the barber-surgeon, "verily, what has come to light of thy worth and generosity calls for extraordinary honour." so he commanded the trooper's house and all that was therein to be given him and bestowed on him a dress of honour and fifteen thousand dinars.' the city of irem. it is related that abdallah ben abou kilabeh went forth in quest of a camel that had strayed from him; and as he was wandering in the deserts of yemen and sebaa, he came upon a great city in whose midst was a vast citadel compassed about with pavilions, that rose high into the air. he made for the place, thinking to find there inhabitants, of whom he might enquire concerning his camel; but, when he reached it, he found it deserted, without a living soul in it. so (quoth abdallah), 'i alighted and hobbling my she-camel, took courage and entered the city. when i came to the citadel, i found it had two vast gates, never in the world was seen their like for size and loftiness, inlaid with all manner jewels and jacinths, white and red and yellow and green. at this i marvelled greatly and entering the citadel, trembling and dazed with wonder and affright, found it long and wide, as it were a city[fn# ] for bigness; and therein were lofty storied pavilions, builded of gold and silver and inlaid with many- coloured jewels and jacinths and chrysolites and pearls. the leaves of their doors were even as those of the citadel for beauty and their floors strewn with great pearls and balls, as they were hazel-nuts, of musk and ambergris and saffron. when i came within the city and saw no human being therein, i had nigh- well swooned and died for fear. moreover, i looked down from the summit of the towers and balconies and saw rivers running under them; in the streets were fruit-laden trees and tall palms, and the manner of the building of the city was one brick of gold and one of silver. so i said to myself, "doubtless this is the paradise promised for the world to come." then i took of the jewels of its gravel and the musk of its dust as much as i could bear and returned to my own country, where i told the folk what i had seen. after awhile, the news reached muawiyeh ben abou sufyan, who was then khalif in the hejaz; so he wrote to his lieutenant in senaa of yemen to send for the teller of the story and question him of the truth of the case. accordingly the lieutenant sent for me and questioned me, and i told him what i had seen; whereupon he despatched me to muawiyeh, to whom i repeated my story; but he would not credit it. so i brought out to him some of the pearls and balls of musk and ambergris and saffron, in which latter there was still some sweet smell; but the pearls were grown yellow and discoloured. the khalif wondered at this and sending for kaab el ahbar,[fn# ], said to him, "o kaab el ahbar, i have sent for thee to learn the truth of a certain matter and hope that thou wilt be able to certify me thereanent." "what is it, o commander of the faithful?" asked kaab, and muawiyeh said, "wottest thou of a city builded of gold and silver, the pillars whereof are of rubies and chrysolites and its gravel pearls and balls of musk and ambergris and saffron?" "yes, o commander of the faithful," answered kaab. "it is irem of the columns, the like of which was never made in the lands,'[fn# ] and it was sheddad son of aad the great that built it." quoth the khalif, "tell us of its history," and kaab said, "aad the great had two sons, shedid and sheddad. when their father died, they ruled in his stead, and there was no king of the kings of the earth but was subject to them. after awhile shedid died and his brother sheddad reigned over the earth alone. now he was fond of reading in old books, and happening upon the description of the world to come and of paradise, with its pavilions and galleries and trees and fruits and so forth, his soul moved him to build the like thereof in this world, after the fashion aforesaid.[fn# ] now under his hand were a hundred thousand kings, each ruling over a hundred thousand captains, commanding each a hundred thousand warriors; so he called these all before him and said to them, 'i find in old books and histories a description of paradise, as it is to be in the next world, and i desire to build its like in this world. go ye forth therefore to the goodliest and most spacious tract in the world and build me there a city of gold and silver, whose gravel shall be rubies and chrysolites and pearls and the columns of its vaults beryl. fill it with palaces, whereon ye shall set galleries and balconies, and plant its lanes and thoroughfares with all manner of trees bearing ripe fruits and make rivers to run through it in channels of gold and silver.' 'how can we avail to do this thing,' answered they, 'and whence shall we get the chrysolites and rubies and pearls whereof thou speakest?' quoth he, 'know ye not that all the kings of the word are under my hand and that none that is therein dare gainsay my commandment?' 'yes,' answered they; 'we know that.' 'get ye then,' rejoined he, 'to the mines of chrysolites and rubies and gold and silver and to the pearl-fisheries and gather together all that is in the world of jewels and metals of price and leave nought; and take also for me such of these things as be in men's hands and let nothing escape you: be diligent and beware of disobedience.' then he wrote letters to all the [chief] kings of the world (now the number of kings then reigning [in chief] over the earth was three hundred and threescore kings) and bade them gather together all of these things that were in their subjects' hands and get them to the mines of precious stones and metals and bring forth all that was therein, even from the abysses of the seas. this they accomplished in the space of twenty years, and sheddad then assembled from all lands and countries builders and men of art and labourers and handicraftsmen, who dispersed over the world and explored all the wastes and deserts thereof, till they came to a vast and fair open plain, clear of hills and mountains, with springs welling and rivers running, and said, 'this is even such a place as the king commanded us to find.' so they busied themselves in building the city even as sheddad, king of the whole earth in its length and breadth, had commanded them, laying the foundations and leading the rivers therethrough in channels after the prescribed fashion. moreover, all the kings of the earth sent thither jewels and precious stones and pearls large and small and cornelian and gold and silver upon camels by land and in great ships over the waters, and there came to the builders' hands of all these things so great a quantity as may neither be told or imagined. they laboured at the work three hundred years; and when they had wrought it to end, they went to king sheddad and acquainted him therewith. then said he, 'depart and make thereto an impregnable citadel, rising high into the air, and round it a thousand pavilions, each builded on a thousand columns of chrysolite and ruby and vaulted with gold, that in each pavilion may dwell a vizier.' so they returned and did this in other twenty years; after which they again presented themselves before the king and informed him of the accomplishment of his will. then he commanded his viziers, who were a thousand in number, and his chief officers and such of his troops and others as he put trust in, to prepare for departure and removal to many-columned irem, at the stirrup of sheddad son of aad, king of the world; and he bade also such as he would of his women and of his female slaves and eunuchs make them ready for the journey. they spent twenty years preparing for departure, at the end of which time sheddad set out with his host, rejoicing in the attainment of his wish, and fared forward till there remained but one day's journey between him and item. then god sent down on him and on the stubborn unbelievers with him a thunderblast from the heavens of his power, which destroyed them all with a mighty clamour, and neither he nor any of his company set eyes on the city. moreover, god blotted out the road that led to the city, and it stands unchanged, in its stead, until the resurrection day." muawiyeh wondered greatly ad kaab's story and said to him, "hath any mortal ever made his way to the city?" "yes," answered kaab; "one of the companions of mohammed (on whom be peace and salvation) reached it, doubtless after the same fashion as this man who sits here." and (quoth es shaabi) it is related, on the authority of learned men of himyer of yemen, that sheddad was succeeded in his kingship by his son sheddad the less, whom he left his viceregent in hezremout and sebaa, when he set out for irem. when he heard of his father's death on the road, he caused his body to be brought back to hezremout and let hew him out a sepulchre in a cavern, where he laid the body on a throne of gold and threw over it threescore and ten robes of cloth of gold, embroidered with precious stones; and at his head he set up a tablet of gold, on which were graven the following verses: take warning, thou that by long life art duped and thinkst to live alway. i'm sheddad son of aad, a high and mighty monarch in my day; lord of the columned citadel, great was my prowess in the fray. all the world's peoples feared my might and did my ordinance obey; yes, and i held the east and west and ruled them with an iron sway. one[fn# ] came to us with god's command and summoned us to the right way "is there no 'scaping from this thing?" quoth we and did his word gainsay. then on us fell a thunderblast from out the heaven far away, and like the sheaves in reaping-time midmost a field, o'erthrown we lay. and now beneath the storied plains of earth we wait the appointed day. (quoth eth thaalibi also) it chanced that two men once entered this cavern and found at its upper end a stair; so they descended and came to an underground chamber, a hundred cubits long by forth wide and a hundred high. in the midst stood a throne of gold, whereon lay a man of gigantic stature, filling the whole length and breadth of the throne. he was covered with jewelry and raiment gold and silver wrought, and at his head was a tablet of gold, bearing an inscription. so they took the tablet and bore it off, together with as many bars of gold and silver and so forth as they could away with. isaac of mosul's story of the lady khedijeh and the khalif mamoun (quoth isaac of mosul[fn# ]) 'i went out one night from mamoun's presence, on my way to my house, and being taken with a need to make water, i turned aside into a by-street and stood up against a wall, fearing lest something might hurt me, if i squatted down. presently, i espied something hanging down from one of the houses and feeling it, found that it was a great four- handled basket, covered with brocade. "there must be some reason for this," said i to myself and knew not what to think, then drunkenness led me to seat myself in the basket, whereupon the people of the house pulled me up, supposing me to be he whom they expected. when i came to the top of the wall, i found four damsels, who said to me, "descend and welcome!" then one of them went before me with a flambeau and brought me down into a mansion, wherein were furnished sitting-chambers, whose like i had never seen, save in the khalif's palace. so i sat down and after awhile, the curtains were drawn from one side of the room and in came damsels bearing lighted flambeaux and censers full of sumatran aloes-wood, and amongst them a young lady as she were the rising full moon. i rose and she said, "welcome to thee for a visitor!" then she made me sit down again and asked how i came thither. quoth i, "i was returning home from a friend's house and went astray in the dark; then, being taken with an urgent occasion, i turned aside into this street, where i found a basket let down. the wine which i had drunk led me to seat myself in it and it was drawn up with me into this house." "no harm shall befall thee," rejoined she, "and i hope thou wilt have cause to praise the issue of thine adventure. but what is thy condition?" "i am a merchant in the baghdad bazaar," replied i, and she, "canst thou repeat any verses?" "some small matter," answered i. "then," said she, "let us hear some of them." but i said, "a visitor is [naturally] bashful; do thou begin." "true," answered she and recited some of the choicest verses of the poets, past and present, so that i knew not whether more to marvel at her beauty and grace or at the charm of her diction. then said she, "is thy bashfulness gone?" "yes, by allah!" answered i. "then, if thou wilt," rejoined she, "recite us somewhat." so i repeated to her a number of poems by old writers, and she applauded, saying, "by allah i did not look to find such culture among the trader folk!" then she called for food and fell to taking of it and setting it before me; and the place was full of all manner sweet-scented flowers and rare fruits, such as are found only in kings' houses. presently, she called for wine and drank a cup, after which she filled another and gave it to me, saying, "now is the time for converse and story-telling." so i bethought myself and related to her a number of pleasing stories and anecdotes, with which she was delighted and said, "it is wonderful that a merchant should have such store of tales like unto these, for they are fit for kings." quoth i, "i have a neighbour who uses to consort with kings and bear them company at table; so, when he is at leisure, i visit his house and he often tells me what he has heard." "by my life," exclaimed she, "thou hast a good memory!" we continued to converse thus, and as often as i was silent, she would begin, till the most part of the night was spent, whilst the burning aloes-wood diffused its fragrance and i was in such case as, if the khalif had suspected it, would have made him wild with longing for it. then said she to me, "verily, thou art one of the most pleasant and accomplished of men and passing well- bred; but there lacks one thing." "what is that?" asked i, and she said, "if but thou knewest how to sing verses to the lute!" i answered, "i was once passionately fond of this art, but finding i had no gift for it, i abandoned it, thou reluctantly. indeed, i should love to sing somewhat well at this present and fulfil my night's enjoyment." "meseemeth thou hintest a wish for the lute to be brought?" said she, and i, "it is thine to decide, if thou wilt so far favour me, and to thee be the thanks." so she called for a lute and sang a song, in a manner whose like i never heard, both for sweetness of voice and perfection of style and skill in playing, in short, for general excellence. then said she, "knowest thou who made the air and words of this song?" "no," answered i; and she said, "the words are so and so's and the air is isaac's." "and hath isaac then (may i be thy ransom!) such a talent?" asked i. "glory be to isaac!" replied she. "indeed he excels in this art." "glory be to allah," exclaimed i, "who hath given this man what he hath vouchsafed unto none other!" and she said, "how would it be, if thou heardest this song from himself?" thus did we till break of day, when there came to her an old woman, as she were her nurse, and said to her, "the time is come." so she rose and said to me, "keep what hath passed between us to thyself; for meetings of this kind are in confidence." "may i be thy ransom!" answered i. "i needed no enjoinder of this." then i took leave of her and she sent a damsel to open the door to me; so i went forth and retuned to my own house, where i prayed the morning prayer and slept. presently, there came to me a messenger from the khalif; so i went to him and passed the day in his company. when the night came, i called to mind my yesternight's pleasure, a thing from which none but a fool could be content to abstain, and betook myself to the street, where i found the basket, and seating myself therein, was drawn up to the place in which i had passed the previous night. when the lady saw me, she said, "indeed, thou art assiduous," and i answered, "meseems rather that i am neglectful." then we fell to conversing and passed the night as before in talking and reciting verses and telling rare stories, each in turn, till daybreak, when i returned home. i prayed the morning prayer and slept, and there came to me a messenger from mamoun. so i went to him and spent the day with him till nightfall, when he said to me, "i conjure thee to sit here, whilst i go on an occasion and come back." as soon as he was gone, my thoughts turned to the lady and calling to mind my late delight, i recked little what might befall me from the commander of the faithful. so i sprang up and going out, ran to the street aforesaid, where i sat down in the basket and was drawn up as before. when the lady saw me, she said, "verily, thou art a sincere friend to us." "yea, by allah!" answered i; and she said, "hath thou made our house thine abiding-place?" "may i be thy ransom!" replied i. "a guest hath a right to three days' entertainment, and if i return after this, ye are free to shed my blood." then we passed the night as before; and when the time of departure drew near, i bethought me that mamoun would certainly question me nor be content save with a full explanation: so i said to her, "i see thee to be of those who delight in singing. now i have a cousin who is handsomer than i and higher of station and more accomplished; and he is the most intimate of all god's creatures with isaac." "art thou a spunger?" asked she. "verily, thou art importunate." quoth i, "it is for thee to decide;" and she, "if thy cousin be as thou sayst, it would not displease me to make his acquaintance." then i left her and returned to my house, but hardly had i reached it, when the khalif's messengers came down on me and carried me before him by main force. i found him seated on a chair, wroth with me, and he said to me, "o isaac, art thou a traitor to thine allegiance?" "no, by allah, o commander of the faithful!" answered i. "what hast thou then to say?" asked he. "tell me the truth." and i replied, "i will well; but in private." so he signed to his attendants, who withdrew to a distance, and i told him the case, adding, "i promised to bring thee to visit her." and he said, "thou didst well." then we spent the day in our usual pleasures, but mamoun's heart was taken with the lady, and hardly was the appointed time come, when we set out. as we went along, i cautioned him, "look that thou call me not by my name before her; but do thou sing and i will accompany thee." he assented to this, and we fared on till we came to the house, where we found two baskets hanging ready. so we sat down in them and were drawn up to the usual place, where the damsel came forward and saluted us. when mamoun saw her, he was amazed at her beauty and grace; and she began to entertain him with stories and verses. presently, she called for wine and we fell to drinking, she paying him especial attention and delighting in him and he repaying her in kind. then he took the lute and sang an air, after which she said to me, "and is thy cousin also a merchant?" "yes," answered i, and she said, "indeed, ye resemble one another nearly." but when mamoun had drunk three pints, he grew merry with wine and called out saying, "ho, isaac!" "at thy service, o commander of the faithful," answered i. quoth he, "sing me such an air." as soon as the lady knew that he was the khalif, she withdrew to another place, and when i had made an end of my song, mamoun said to me, "see who is the master of this house;" whereupon an old woman hastened to make answer, saying, "it belongs to hassan ben sehl."[fn# ] "fetch him to me," said the khalif. so she went away and after awhile in came hassan, to whom said mamoun, "hath thou a daughter?" "yes," answered he; "her name is khedijeh." "is she married?" asked the khalif. "no, by allah!" replied hassan. "then," said mamoun, "i ask her of thee in marriage." "o commander of the faithful," replied hassan, "she is thy handmaiden and at thy commandment." quoth mamoun, "i take her to wife at a present dower of thirty thousand dinars, which thou shalt receive this very morning; and do thou being her to us this next night." and hassan answered, "i hear and obey." 'then he went out, and the khalif said to me, "o isaac, tell this story to no one." so i kept it secret till mamoun's death. surely never was man's life to fulfilled with delights as was mine these four days' time, whenan i companied with mamoun by day and with khedijeh by night; and by allah, never saw i among men the like of mamoun, neither among women have i ever set eyes on the like of khedijeh, no, nor on any that came near her in wit and understanding and pleasant speech!' the scavenger and the noble lady of baghdad. at mecca, one day, in the season of pilgrimage, whilst the people were making the enjoined circuits about the holy house and the place of compassing was crowded, a man laid hold of the covering of the kaabeh and cried out, from the bottom of his heart, saying, 'i beseech thee, o god, that she may once again be wroth with her husband and that i may lie with her!' a company of the pilgrims heard him and falling on him, loaded him with blows and carried him to the governor of the pilgrims, to whom said they, 'o amir, we found this man in the holy places, saying thus and thus.' the governor commanded to hang him; but he said, 'o amir, i conjure thee, by the virtue of the prophet (whom god bless and preserve), hear my story and after do with me as thou wilt.' 'say on,' quoth the amir. 'know then, o amir,' said the man, 'that i am a scavenger, who works in the sheep-slaughterhouses and carries off the blood and the offal to the rubbish-heaps.[fn# ] one day, as i went along with my ass loaded, i saw the people running away and one of them said to me, "enter this alley, lest they kill thee." quoth i, "what ails the folk to run away?" and he answered, "it is the eunuchs in attendance on the wife of one of the notables, who drive the people out of her way and beat them all, without distinction." so i turned aside with the ass and stood, awaiting the dispersal of the crowd. presently up came a number of eunuchs with staves in their hands, followed by nigh thirty women, and amongst them a lady as she were a willow-wand or a thirsty gazelle, perfect in beauty and elegance and amorous grace. when she came to the mouth of the passage where i stood, she turned right and left and calling one of the eunuchs, whispered in his ear; whereupon he came up to me and laying hold of me, bound me with a rope and haled me along after him, whilst another eunuch took my ass and made off with it. i knew not what was to do and the people followed us, crying out, "this is not allowed of god! what has this poor scavenger done that he should be bound with ropes?" and saying to the eunuchs, "have pity on him and let him go, so god have pity on you!" and i the while said in myself, "doubtless the eunuch seized me, because his mistress smelt the offal and it sickened her. belike she is with child or ailing; but there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the supreme!" so i walked on behind them, till they stopped at the door of a great house and entering, brought me into a great hall, i know not how i shall describe its goodliness, furnished with magnificent furniture. the women withdrew to the harem, leaving me bound with the eunuch and saying in myself, "doubtless they will torture me here till i die, and none know of my death." however, after a while, they carried me into an elegant bathroom, adjoining the hall; and as i sat there, in came three damsels, who seated themselves round me and said to me, "strip off thy rags." so i pulled off my threadbare clothes, and one of them fell a-rubbing my feet, whilst another washed my head and the third scrubbed my body. when they had made an end of washing me, they brought me a parcel of clothes and said to me, "put these on." "by allah," answered i, "i know not how!" so they came up to me and dressed me, laughing at me the while; after which they brought casting- bottles, full of rose-water, and sprinkled me therewith. then i went out with them into another saloon, by allah, i know not how to set out its goodliness, for the much paintings and furniture therein; and here i found the lady seated on a couch of indian cane with ivory feet and before her a number of damsels. when she saw me, she rose and called to me; so i went up to her and she made me sit by her side. then she called for food, and the damsels brought all manner rich meats, such as i never saw in all my life; i do not even know the names of the dishes. so i ate my fill and when the dishes had been taken away and we had washed our hands, she called for fruits and bade me eat of them; after which she bade one of the waiting-women bring the wine-service. so they set on flagons of divers kinds of wine and burned perfumes in all the censers, what while a damsel like the moon rose and served us with wine, to the sound of the smitten strings. we sat and drank, the lady and i, till we were warm with wine, whilst i doubted not but that all this was an illusion of sleep. presently, she signed to one of the damsels to spread us a bed in such a place, which being done, she took me by the hand and led me thither. so i lay with her till the morning, and as often as i pressed her in my arms, i smelt the delicious fragrance of musk and other perfumes that exhaled from her and could think no otherwise but that i was in paradise or in the mazes of a dream. when it was day, she asked me where i lodged and i told her, "in such a place;" whereupon she gave me a handkerchief gold and silver wrought, with somewhat tied in it, and bade me depart, saying, "go to the bath with this." so i rejoiced and said to myself, "if there be but five farthings here, it will buy me the morning meal." then i left her, as i were leaving paradise, and returned to my lodging, where i opened the handkerchief and found in it fifty dinars of gold. i buried them in the ground and buying two farthings' worth of bread and meat, sat down at the door and breakfasted; after which i sat pondering my case till the time of afternoon-prayer, when a slave-girl accosted me, saying, "my mistress calls for thee." so i followed her to the house aforesaid and she carried me in to the lady, before whom i kissed the earth, and she bade me sit and called for meat and wine as on the previous day; after which i again lay with her all night. on the morrow, she gave me a second handkerchief, with other fifty dinars therein, and i took it and going home, buried this also. thus did i eight days running, going in to her at the hour of afternoon-prayer and leaving her at daybreak; but, on the eighth night, as i lay with her, one of her maids came running in and said to me, "arise, go up into yonder closet." so i rose and went into the closet, which was over the gate and had a window giving upon the street in front of the house. presently, i heard a great clamour and tramp of horse, and looking out of the window, saw a young man, as he were the rising moon on the night of her full, come riding up, attended by a number of servants and soldiers. he alighted at the door and entering, found the lady seated on the couch in the saloon. so he kissed the earth before her, then came up to her and kissed her hands; but she would not speak to him. however, he ceased not to soothe her and speak her fair, till he made his peace with her, and they lay together that night. next morning, the soldiers came for him and he mounted and rode away; whereupon she came in to me and said, "sawst thou yonder man?" "yes," answered i; and she said, "he is my husband, and i will tell thee what befell me with him. "it chanced one day that we were sitting, he and i, in the garden within the house, when he rose from my side and was absent a long while, till i grew tired of waiting and said to myself, 'most like, he is in the wardrobe.' so i went thither, but not finding him there, went down to the kitchen, where i saw a slave-girl, of whom i enquired for him, and she showed him to me lying with one of the cook-maids. when i saw this, i swore a great oath that i would do adultery with the foulest and filthiest man in baghdad; and the day the eunuch laid hands on thee, i had been four days going round about the town in quest of one who should answer this description, but found none fouler nor more filthy than thee. so i took thee and there passed between us that which god fore- ordained to us; and now i am quit of my oath. but," added she, "if my husband return yet again to the cook-maid and lie with her, i will restore thee to thy late place in my favours." when (continued the scavenger) i heard these words from her lips, what while she transfixed my heart with the arrows of her glances, my tears streamed forth, till my eyelids were sore with weeping, and i repeated the saying of the poet: vouchsafe me the kiss of thy left hand, i prithee, and know that it's worthier far than thy right; for 'tis but a little while since it was washing sir reverence away from the stead of delight. then she gave me other fifty dinars (making in all four hundred dinars i had of her) and bade me depart. so i went out from her and came hither, that i might pray god (blessed and exalted be he!) to make her husband return to the cook-maid, so haply i might be again admitted to her favours.' when the governor of the pilgrims heard the man's story, he set him free and said to the bystanders, 'god on you, pray for him, for indeed he is excusable.' the mock khalif. it is related that the khalif haroun er reshid, being one night troubled with a persistent restlessness, summoned his vizier jaafer the barmecide and said to him, 'my heart is straitened and i have a mind to divert myself tonight by walking about the streets of baghdad and looking into the affairs of the folk; but we will disguise ourselves as merchants, that none may know us.' 'i hear and obey,' answered jaafer. so they rose at once and putting off the rich clothes they wore, donned merchants' habits and sallied forth, the khalif and jaafer and mesrour the headsman. they walked from place to place, till they came to the tigris and saw an old man sitting in a boat; so they went up to him and saluting him, said, 'o old man, we desire thee of thy favour to carry us a-pleasuring down the river, in this thy boat, and take this dinar to thy hire.' 'who may go a-pleasuring on the tigris?' replied the boatman. 'seeing that the khalif every night comes down the stream in his barge, and with him one crying aloud, "ho, all ye people, great and small, gentle and simple, men and boys, whoso is found in a boat on the tigris [by night], i will strike off his head or hang him to the mast of his boat!" and ye had well-nigh met him; for here comes his barge.' but the khalif and jaafer said, 'o old man, take these two dinars, and when thou seest the khalif's barge approaching, run us under one of the arches, that we may hide there till he have passed. 'hand over the money,' replied the boatman; 'and on god the most high be our dependence!' so they gave him the two dinars and embarked in the boat; and he put off and rowed about with them awhile, till they saw the barge coming down the river in mid-stream, with lighted flambeaux and cressets therein. quoth the boatman, 'did i not tell you that the khalif passed every night? o protector, remove not the veils of thy protection!' so saying, he ran the boat under an arch and threw a piece of black cloth over the khalif and his companions, who looked out from under the covering and saw, in the bows of the barge, a man holding a cresset of red gold and clad in a tunic of red satin, with a muslin turban on his head. over one of his shoulders hung a cloak of yellow brocade, and on the other was a green silk bag full of sumatran aloes-wood, with which he fed the cresset by way of firewood. in the stern stood another man, clad like the first and bearing a like cresset, and in the barge were two hundred white slaves, standing right and left about a throne of red gold, on which sat a handsome young man, like the moon, clad in a dress of black, embroidered with yellow gold. before him they saw a man, as he were the vizier jaafer, and at his head stood an eunuch, as he were mesrour, with a drawn sword in his hand, besides a score of boon-companions. when the khalif saw this, he turned to jaafer and said to him, 'belike this is one of my sons, el amin or el mamoun.' then he examined the young man that sat on the throne, and finding him accomplished in beauty and grace and symmetry, said to jaafer, 'verily, this young man abates no jot of the state of the khalifate! see, there stands before him one as he were thyself, o jaafer; yonder eunuch is as he were mesrour and those boon-companions as they were my own. by allah, o jaafer, my reason is confounded and i am filled with amazement at this thing!' 'and i also, by allah, o commander of the faithful,' replied jaafer. then the barge passed on and disappeared from sight; whereupon the boatman pushed out again into the stream, saying, 'praised be god for safety, since none hath fallen in with us!' 'o old man,' said er reshid, 'doth the khalif come down the river every night?' 'yes, o my lord,' answered the boatman; 'he hath done so every night this year past.' 'o old man,' rejoined er reshid, 'we wish thee of thy favour to await us here to-morrow night, and we will give thee five dinars, for we are strangers, lodging at el khendek, and we have a mind to divert ourselves.' 'with all my heart,' replied the boatman. then the khalif and jaafer and mesrour returned to the palace, where they put off their merchants' habits and donning their apparel of state, sat down each in his several room. then came the amirs and viziers and chamberlains and officers, and the divan assembled as of wont. when the night came and all the folk had dispersed and gone each his own way, the khalif said to his vizier, 'come, o jaafer, let us go and amuse ourselves by looking on the other khalif.' at this, jaafer and mesrour laughed, and the three, donning merchants' habits, went out at the privy gate and made their way through the city, in great glee, till they came to the tigris, where they found the boatman sitting, waiting for them. they embarked with him in the boat and had not sat long, before up came the mock khalif's barge, with the cresset-bearers crying aloud as of wont, and in it two hundred white slaves other than those of the previous night. 'o vizier,' exclaimed the khalif, 'had i heard tell of this, i had not believed it; but i have seen it with my own eyes.' then said he to the boatman, 'take these ten dinars and row us along abreast of them, for they are in the light and we in the shade, and we can see them and divert ourselves by looking on them, but they cannot see us.' so he took the money and pushing off, followed in the shadow of the barge, till they came among the gardens and the barge cast anchor before a postern door, where they saw servants standing with a mule saddled and bridled. here the mock khalif landed and mounting the mule, rode away with his boon-companions, attended by his suite and preceded by the cresset-bearers crying aloud. then haroun and jaafer and mesrour landed also and making their way through the press of servants, walked on before them. presently, the cresset- bearers espied them and seeing three strangers in merchants' habits, misdoubted of them; so they pointed them out and caused bring them before the mock khalif, who looked at them and said, 'how come ye here at this hour?' 'o our lord,' answered they, 'we are foreign merchants, who arrived here this day and were out a- walking to-night, when ye came up and these men laid hands on us and brought us before thee.' quoth the mock khalif, 'since you are strangers, no harm shall befall you; but had ye been of baghdad, i had struck off your heads.' then he turned to his vizier and said to him, 'take these men with thee; for they are our guests this night.' 'i hear and obey, o our lord,' answered he; and they followed him, till they came to a lofty and splendid palace of curious ordinance, such as no king possesses, rising from the dust and laying hold upon the marges of the clouds. its door was of teak, inlaid with glittering gold, and by it one passed into a saloon, amiddleward which was a basin of water, with an artificial fountain rising from its midst. it was furnished with carpets and cushions and divans of brocade and tables and other gear such as amazed the wit and defied description. there, also, was a curtain drawn, and upon the door were written these two verses: a palace, upon it be blessing and greeting and grace! fair fortune hath put off her beauty to brighten the place. therein are all manner of marvels and rarities found; the penmen are puzzled in story its charms to retrace. the mock khalif entered with his company and sat down on a throne of gold, set with jewels and covered with a prayer-carpet of yellow silk; whilst the boon-companions took their seats and the sword-bearer stood before him. then the servants laid the tables and they ate and washed their hands, after which the dishes were removed and the wine-service set on, with cups and flagons in due order. the cup went round till it came to er reshid, who refused it, and the mock khalif said to jaafer, 'what ails thy friend that he drinks not?' 'o our lord,' replied the vizier, 'this long while he hath drunk no wine.' quoth the mock khalif, 'i have drink other than this, a kind of apple-wine, that will suit him.' so he let bring apple-sherbet and said to haroun, 'drink thou of this, as often as it comes to thy turn.' then they continued to drink and make merry, till the wine rose to their heads and mastered their wits; and haroun said to jaafer, 'o jaafer, by allah, we have no such vessels as these. would god i knew what manner of man this is!' presently, the young man glanced at them and seeing them talking privily, said, 'it is unmannerly to whisper.' 'no rudeness was meant,' answered jaafer. 'my friend did but say to me, "verily, i have travelled in most countries and have caroused and companied with the greatest of kings and captains; yet never saw i a goodlier ordinance than this nor passed a more delightful night; save that the people of baghdad say, 'drink without music often leaves headache.'"' when the mock khalif heard this, he smiled merrily and struck a gong[fn# ] with a rod he had in his hand; whereupon a door opened and out came an eunuch, bearing a stool of ivory, inlaid with glittering gold, and followed by a damsel of surpassing beauty and symmetry. he set down the stool and the damsel seated herself on it, as she were the sun shining in the cloudless sky. in her hand she had a lute of indian make, which she laid in her lap and bending over it as a mother bends over her child, preluded in four-and-twenty modes, amazing all wits. then she returned to the first mode and sang the following verses to a lively measure: the tongue of passion in my heart bespeaketh thee of me and giveth thee to know that i enamoured am of thee. the burning of an anguished heart is witness to my pain and ulcerated eyes and tears that flow incessantly. i had no knowledge what love was, before the love of thee; but god's forewritten ordinance o'ertaketh all that be. when the mock khalif heard this, he gave a great cry and rent his robe to the skirt, whereupon they let down a curtain over him and brought him a fresh robe, handsomer than the first. he put it on and sat as before, till the cup came round to him, when he struck the gong a second time and behold, a door opened and out came an eunuch with a chair of gold, followed by a damsel handsomer than the first, bearing a lute, such as mortified the heart of the envious. she sat down on the chair and sang to the lute these verses: ah, how can i be patient, when longing in my soul flames high and from mine eyelids the tears in torrents roll? life hath no sweet, by allah, wherein i may rejoice. how shall a heart be joyous, that's all fulfilled of dole? no sooner did the youth hear this than he gave a great cry and rent his clothes to the skirt; whereupon they let down the curtain over him and brought him another dress. he put it on and sitting up as before, fell again to cheerful talk, till the cup came round to him, when he smote once more upon the gong and out came an eunuch with a chair, followed by a damsel fairer than she who had foregone her. so she sat down on the chair, with a lute in her hand, and sang thereto the following verses: have done with your disdain and leave to make me rue; for, by your life, my heart to you was ever true! have ruth on one distraught, the bondslave of your love, sorry and sick and full of longings ever new. sickness, for passion's stress, hath wasted him to nought, and still for your consent to allah he doth sue. o ye full moons, whose place of sojourn is my heart, amongst the human race whom can i choose but you? at this the young man gave a great cry and rent his clothes, whereupon they let fall the curtain over him and brought him other clothes. then he returned to his former case with his boon- companions and the cup went round as before, till it came to him, when he struck the gong a fourth time and the door opening, out came a boy, bearing a chair and followed by a damsel. he set the chair for her and she sat down upon it and taking the lute, tuned it and sang to it these verses: when, when will separation and hatred pass away and what is past of joyance come back to make me gay? but yesterday, in gladness, one dwelling held us both; we saw the enviers napping, all heedless of their prey. but fortune played the traitor with us and sundered us, and left our dwelling-places even as the desert grey. wilt have me, o my censor, be solaced for my loves? alas, my heart the censor, i see, will not obey! so make an end of chiding and leave me to my love; for of my loved one's converse my heart is full alway. fair lords, though you've been fickle and broken faith and troth, deem not my heart for absence forgets you night or day. when the mock khalif heard the girl's song, he gave a great cry and tearing his clothes as before, fell down in a swoon; whereupon they would have let down the curtain over him, as of wont; but the cords stuck fast and er reshid, chancing to look at him, saw on his body the marks of beating with palm-rods and said to jaafer, 'by allah, he is a handsome youth, but a foul thief!' 'whence knowest thou that, o commander of the faithful?' asked jaafer, and the khalif answered, 'sawst thou not the marks of whips on his sides?' then they let fall the curtain over him and brought him a fresh dress, which he put on and sat up as before with his courtiers. presently, he saw the khalif and jaafer whispering together and said to them, 'what is the matter, gentlemen?' 'nothing, my lord,' replied jaafer, 'save that my friend here, who (as is not unknown to thee) is of the merchants and hath visited all the great cities and countries of the world and foregathered with kings and men of worth, saith to me, "verily, that which our lord the khalif hath done this night is beyond measure extravagant, never saw i any do the like of his fashion in any country; for he hath rent four dresses, each worth a thousand dinars, and this is surely excessive extravagance."' 'o man,' replied the youth, 'the money is my money and the stuff my stuff and this is by way of largesse to my servants and followers; for each suit that is rent belongeth to one of my boon-companions here present and i appoint him, in exchange therefor, [if it so like him,] the sum of five hundred dinars.' 'well is that thou dost, o our lord!' answered jaafer and recited the following verses: the virtues sure have built themselves a dwelling in thy palm; thou hast thy wealth to all mankind made common property. an if the virtues' doors were shut on us one luckless day, thy hand unto their locks, indeed, were even as a key. when the young man heard these verses, he ordered jaafer a thousand dinars and a dress of honour. then the cup went round among them and the wine was pleasant to them; but, after awhile, the khalif said to jaafer, 'ask him of the marks on his ribs, that we may see what he will say.' 'softly, o my lord,' replied jaafer; 'be not hasty, for patience is more becoming.' 'by the life of my head and by the tomb of el abbas,'[fn# ] rejoined the khalif, 'except thou ask him, i will assuredly make an end of thee!' with this the young man turned towards jaafer and said to him, 'what ails thee and thy friend to be whispering together? tell me what is to do with you.' 'it is nothing,' replied jaafer; but the mock khalif rejoined, 'i conjure thee, by allah, tell me what ails you and hide from me nothing of your case.' 'o my lord,' answered the vizier, 'my companion here saw on thy sides the marks of beating with whips and rods and marvelled thereat exceedingly, saying, "how came the khalif to be beaten?" and he would fain know the cause of this.' when the youth heard this, he smiled and said, 'know that my story is wonderful and my case extraordinary; were it graven with needles on the corners of the eye, it would serve as an admonition to him who can profit by admonition.' and he sighed and repeated the following verses: strange is my story and outdoes all marvels that can be. by love itself i swear, my ways are straitened upon me! an ye would know my case, give ear and hearken to my tale and all be dumb, on every side, in this our company. take heed unto my speech, for lo! therein a warning is; ay, and my words no leasing are, but naked verity. i am a man of passion slain, the victim of desire, and she who slew me fairer is than all the stars to see. a bright black eye she hath, whose glance is as an indian sword, and from her eyebrows' bended bows full many a shaft shoots she. my heart forebodes me that 'mongst you the khalif of the age, our imam[fn# ] is, of high descent and noble pedigree, and that the second of you he, that's known as jaafer, is, his vizier and a vizier's son, a lord of high degree. yea, and the third of you mesrour the eunuch is, i ween, the swordsman of his vengeance. so, if true my saying be, i have of this my case attained to all for which i hoped and hearts' content from every side is come, indeed, to me. when they heard this, jaafer swore to him a dissembling oath that they were not those he named; whereupon he laughed and said, 'know, o my lords, that i am not the commander of the faithful and that i do but style myself thus, to get my will of the people of the city. my real name is mohammed ali son of ali the jeweller and my father was one of the chief men [of the city]. when he died, he left me great store of gold and silver and pearls and coral and rubies and chrysolites and other jewels, besides houses and lands and baths and gardens and orchards and shops and brickfields and slaves, male and female. one day, as i sat in my shop, surrounded by my slaves and servants, there came up a young lady, riding on a mule and attended by three damsels like moons. she alighted at my shop and seating herself by me, said to me, "art thou mohammed the jeweller?" "yes," answered i, "i am he, at thy service." "hast thou a necklace of jewels fit for me?" asked she, and i replied, "o my lady, i will show thee what i have; and if any please thee, it will be of thy slave's good luck; if not, of his ill-fortune." i had by me a hundred necklaces and showed them all to her; but none of them pleased her and she said, "i want a better than those i have seen." now i had a small necklace, that my father had bought for a hundred thousand dinars and the like whereof was not to be found with any of the great kings; so i said to her, "o my lady, i have yet one necklace of fine stones, whose like none possesseth, great or small." "show it me," said she. so i showed it her and she said, "this is what i sought and what i have wished for all my life. what is its price?" quoth i, "it cost my father a hundred thousand dinars;" and she said, "i will give thee five thousand dinars to thy profit." "o my lady," answered i, "the necklace and its owner are at thy service and i cannot gainsay thee [in aught]." "not so," rejoined she; "needs must thou have the profit, and i am still much beholden to thee." then she rose and mounting the mule in haste, said to me, "o my lord, in god's name, favour us with thy company, to receive the money; for this thy day is a milk-white day[fn# ] with us." so i shut the shop and accompanied her, in all security, till we came to a house, on which were manifest the signs of fortune. its door was wrought with gold and silver and lapis lazuli, and thereon were written these verses: nay mourning never enter thee, i pray, o house, nor fortune e'er thy lord bewray! a goodly sojourn art thou to the guest, when strait on him is every place and way. she dismounted and entered the house, bidding me sit down on the stone bench at the door, till the money-changer should come. so i sat awhile, till presently a damsel came out to me and said, "q my lord, enter the vestibule; for it is not seemly that thou shouldst sit at the door." accordingly, i entered the vestibule and sat down on the settle there. as i sat, another damsel came out and said to me, "o my lord, my mistress bids thee enter and sit down at the door of the saloon, to receive thy money." so i entered and sat down, nor had i sat a moment, before a curtain of silk was drawn aside and i saw the lady seated on a throne of gold, with the necklace about her neck, unveiled and showing a face as it were the round of the moon. at this sight, my wit was troubled and my mind confounded, by reason of her exceeding beauty and grace; but, when she saw me, she rose and coming up to me, said, "o light of mine eyes, is every handsome one like thee pitiless to his mistress?" "o my lady," answered i, "beauty, all of it, is in thee and is one of thine attributes." "o jeweller," rejoined she, "know that i love thee and can hardly credit that i have brought thee hither." then she bent to me and i kissed her, and she kissed me, and drawing me towards her, pressed me to her bosom. she knew by my case that i had a mind to enjoy her; so she said to me, "o my lord, dost thou think to foregather with me unlawfully? by allah, may he not live who would do the like of this sin and who takes pleasure in foul talk! i am a clean virgin, whom no man hath approached, nor am i unknown in the city. knowest thou who i am?" "no, by allah, o my lady!" replied i. quoth she, "i am the lady dunya, daughter of yehya ben khalid the barmecide and sister of jaafer, the khalif's vizier." when i heard this, i drew back from her, saying, "o my lady, it is no fault of mine if i have been over-bold with thee; it was thou didst encourage me to aspire to thy love, by giving me access to thee." "no harm shall befall thee," answered she; "and needs must thou attain thy desire in the way that is pleasing to god. i am my own mistress and the cadi shall act as my guardian, in consenting to the marriage-contract; for it is my will that i be thy wife and thou my husband." then she sent for the cadi and the witnesses and busied herself with the necessary preparations. when they came, she said to them, "mohammed ali ben ali the jeweller seeks me in marriage and hath given me the necklace to my dowry; and i accept and consent." so they drew up the contract of marriage between us; after which the servants brought the wine-service and the cups passed round, after the goodliest ordinance: and when the wine mounted to our heads, she ordered a damsel, a lute-player, to sing. so she took the lute and sang thereto the following verses: he comes and shows me, all in one, fawn, moon and sapling slight: foul fall the heart for thought of him that watches not the night! a fair one, allah had a mind t' extinguish from his cheek one ravishment, and straight, instead, another sprang to light. whenas my censors speak of him, i cavil at their word, feigning as if i did mislike the mention of the wight; yea, and i hearken, when they speak of other than of him, though for the thought of him, nathelesse, i am consumed outright. prophet of beauty, all in him 's a very miracle of grace, and greatest of them all his face's splendid sight. the sable mole upon his cheek hath taken up its stead, against the troubles of this life to ward his forehead bright. the censors, of their ignorance, bid me forget; but i from true- believer cannot turn an infidel forthright. we were ravished by the sweet music she made and the beauty of the verses she sang and the other damsels went on to sing, one after another, till ten had done so; when the lady dunya took the lute and playing a lively measure, sang these verses: by the softness of thy graceful-gaited shape i swear, for estrangement from thy presence the pangs of hell i bear. have pity on a heart that burns i' the hell-fire of thy love, o full moon in the darkness of the night that shinest fair! vouchsafe to me thy favours, and by the wine-cup's light to blazon forth thy beauties, henceforth, i'll never spare. a rose hath ta'en me captive, whose colours varied are, whose charms outvie the myrtle and make its thorns despair. when she had finished, i took the lute and playing a quaint prelude, sang the following verses: glory to him who gave thee all beauty in earth and skies so i'm become of thy bondsmen for ever and thy prize. thou that art gifted with glances that make mankind thy slaves, pray we may come off scathless from the sorcery of thine eyes. two opposites, fire, incarnate in shining splendour of flame, and water, thy cheek uniteth, conjoined in wondrous wise. how dulcet and yet how bitter thou art to my heart, alack! to which thou at once and ever art hell and paradise! when she heard this, she rejoiced with an exceeding joy; then, dismissing her women, she brought me to a most goodly place, where they had spread us a bed of various colours. she did off her clothes and i had a lover's privacy of her and found her an unpierced pearl and a filly no man had ridden. so i rejoiced in her and repeated the following verses: stay with us, night, i prithee! i want no morning white; the face of my beloved sufficeth me for light. i gave my love, for chin-band, my palm spread open wide and eke for ringdove's collar, my arms about him dight. this is indeed th' attainment of fortune's topmost height! we clip and clip and care not to stir from our delight. never in my life knew i a more delightful night than this, and i abode with her a whole month, forsaking shop and home and family, till one day she said to me, "o light of my eyes, o my lord mohammed, i have a mind to go to the bath to-day; so sit thou on this couch and budge not from thy place, till i return to thee." "i hear and obey," answered i, and she made me swear to this; after which she took her women and went off to the bath. but, by allah, o my brothers, she had not reached the end of the street, when the door opened and in came an old woman, who said to me, "o my lord mohammed, the lady zubeideh bids thee to her, for she hath heard of thine elegance and accomplishments and skill in singing." "by allah," answered i, "i will not rise from my place, till the lady dunya come back." "o my lord," rejoined the old woman, "do not anger the lady zubeideh with thee and make an enemy of her. come, speak with her and return to thy place." so i rose and followed her into the presence of the princess, who said to me, "o light of the eye, art thou the lady dunya's beloved?" "at thy service," answered i. quoth she, "he spoke sooth who reported thee possessed of grace and beauty and good breeding and all good qualities; indeed, thou surpassest report; but now sing to me, that i may hear thee." "i hear and obey," answered i. so she brought me a lute, and i sang the following verses: the heart of the lover is weary with loving and striving in vain, and even as a spoil is his body in the hands of sickness and pain. who should there be, 'mongst the riders on camels with haltered head, save a lover whose dear-beloved the camel-litters contain! a moon, in your tents that rises, to allah i commend, one my heart loves and tenders, shut in from the sight of her swain. anon she is kind, anon angry: how goodly her coquetry is! for all that is done of a loved one must needs to her lover be fain. when i had finished, she said to me, "god assain thy body and sweeten thy voice! verily, thou art perfect in beauty and good breeding and singing. but now rise and return to thy place, ere the lady dunya come back, lest she find thee not and be wroth with thee." so i kissed the earth before her and the old woman forewent me to the door whence i came. i entered and going up to the couch, found that my wife had come back and was lying asleep there. so i sat down at her feet and rubbed them; whereupon she opened her eyes and seeing me, drew up her feet and gave me a kick that threw me off the couch, saying, "o traitor, thou hast been false to thine oath and hast perjured thyself. thou sworest to me that thou wouldst not stir from thy place; yet didst thou break thy promise and go to the lady zubeideh. by allah, but that i fear scandal, i would pull down the palace over her head!" then said she to her black slave, "harkye, sewab, arise and strike off this lying traitor's head, for we have no further need of him." so the slave came up to me and tearing a strip from his skirt, bound my eyes with it and would have cut off my head; but all her women, great and small, came up to her and said to her, "o our lady, this is not the first who hath erred: indeed, he knew not thy humour and hath done nothing deserving of death." "by allah," replied she, "i must needs set my mark on him." and she bade beat me; so they beat me on my sides, and the marks ye saw are the scars of that beating. then she bade them put me out, and they carried me to a distance from the house and cast me down. i rose and dragged myself little by little to my own house, where i sent for a surgeon, who dressed my wounds and comforted me. as soon as i was recovered and my pains and sickness had left me, i went to the bath and thence betaking myself to my shop, sold all that was therein. with the proceeds, i bought four hundred white slaves, such as no king ever got together, and caused two hundred of them ride out with me every day. then i made me yonder barge, on which i spent five thousand dinars, and styled myself khalif and appointed each of my servants to the charge and clad him in the habit of some one of the khalif's officers. moreover, i let cry abroad, "whoso goeth a-pleasuring on the tigris [by night], i will strike off his head without mercy;" and on this wise have i done this whole year past, during which time i have heard no news of the lady neither happened upon any trace of her.' and he wept copiously and repeated the following verses: by allah, i will never all my life long forget her, my dear; and those only will i tender, who shall bring her to me to draw near. now glory to her maker and creator be given evermore! as the full moon in the heavens, in her aspect and her gait she doth appear. she, indeed, hath made me weariful and wakeful, full of sorrow, sick for love; yea, my heart is all confounded at her beauty, dazed for trouble and for fear. when er reshid heard the young man's story and knew the passion and transport and love-longing that afflicted him, he was moved to compassion and wonder and said, 'glory be to god who hath appointed to every thing a cause!' than they craved the young man's leave to depart; which being granted, they took leave of him, the khalif purposing to do him justice and entreat him with the utmost munificence, and returned to the palace of the khalifate, where they changed their clothes for others befitting their station and sat down, whilst mesrour stood before them. after awhile, the khalif said to jaafer, 'o vizier, bring me the young man with whom we were last night.' 'i hear and obey,' answered jaafer, and going to the youth, saluted him, saying, 'the commander of the faithful calls for thee.' so he returned with him to the palace, in great concern by reason of the summons, and going in to the khalif, kissed the earth before him. then said he, 'peace be on thee, o commander of the faithful and protector of the people of the faith!' and offered up a prayer for the endurance of his glory and prosperity, for the accomplishment of his desires and the continuance of his bounty and the cessation of evil and punishment, ordering his speech as best he might and ending by repeating the following verses: still may thy threshold as a place of adoration[fn# ] be sought and on men's brows its dust bespeak prostration, that so in every land be made this proclamation, "thou, thou art abraham and this his very station."[fn# ] the khalif smiled in his face and returned his salute, looking on him with the eye of favour. then he bade him draw near and sit down before him and said to him, 'o mohammed ali, i wish thee to tell me what befell thee last night, for it was rare and passing strange.' 'pardon, o commander of the faithful!' replied the youth. 'give me the handkerchief of immunity, that my trouble may be appeased and my heart set at rest.' quoth the khalif, 'thou art safe from fear and trouble.' so the young man told him his story from first to last, whereby the khalif knew him to be a lover and severed from his beloved and said to him, 'wilt thou that i restore her to thee?' 'this were of the bounty of the commander of the faithful,' answered the youth and repeated the following verses: kiss thou his finger-tips, for no mere fingers they, but keys to all the goods by god to men assigned; and praise his deeds no less, for no mere deeds are they, but jewels to adorn the necks of humankind. thereupon the khalif turned to jaafer and said to him, 'bring me thy sister the lady dunya.' 'i hear and obey,' answered he and fetched her forthright. when she stood before the khalif, he said to her, 'dost thou know who this is?' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered she, 'how should women have knowledge of men?' the khalif smiled and said, 'o dunya, this is thy beloved, mohammed ben ali the jeweller. we are acquainted with his case, for we have heard the whole story, from beginning to end, and apprehended its inward and its outward; and it is no more hidden, for all it was kept secret.' 'o commander of the faithful,' rejoined she, 'this was written in the book of destiny. i crave the forgiveness of the most high god for that which i have done and beseech thee to pardon me of thy favour.' at this the khalif laughed and summoning the cadi and the witnesses, renewed the marriage-contract between dunya and her husband, whereby there betided them the utmost of felicity and those who envied them were mortified. moreover, he made mohammed ali one of his boon- companions, and they abode in joy and cheer and gladness, till there came to them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of companies. ali the persian's story of the kurd sharper the khalif haroun er reshid, being more than commonly restless one night, sent for his vizier and said to him, 'o jaafer, i am sore wakeful and heavy at heart to-night, and i desire of thee what may cheer my spirit and ease me of my oppression.' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered jaafer, 'i have a friend, by name ali the persian, who hath store of tales and pleasant stories, such as lighten the heart and do away care.' 'fetch him to me,' said the khalif. 'i hear and obey,' replied jaafer and going out from before him, sent for ali the persian and said to him, 'the commander of the faithful calls for thee.' 'i hear and obey,' answered ali and followed the vizier into the presence of the khalif, who bade him be seated and said to him, 'o ali, my heart is heavy within me this night and i hear that thou hast great store of tales and anecdotes; so i desire of thee that thou let me hear what will relieve my oppression and gladden my melancholy.' 'o commander of the faithful,' said he, 'shall i tell thee what i have seen with my eyes or what i have heard with my ears?' 'an thou have seen aught [worth telling],' replied the khalif, 'let me hear that.' 'know then, o commander of the faithful,' said ali, 'that some years ago i left this my native city of baghdad on a journey, having with me a boy who carried a light wallet. presently, we came to a certain city, where, as i was buying and selling, a rascally thief of a kurd fell on me and seized my wallet, saying, "this is my bag, and all that is in it is my property." thereupon, "ho, muslims all," cried i, "deliver me from the hand of the vilest of oppressors!" but they all said, "come, both of you, to the cadi and submit yourselves to his judgement." i agreed to this and we both presented ourselves before the cadi, who said, "what brings you hither and what is your case?" quoth i, "we are men at difference, who appeal to thee and submit ourselves to thy judgement." "which of you is the complainant?" asked the cadi. so the kurd came forward and said, "god preserve our lord the cadi! verily, this bag is my bag and all that is in it is my property. it was lost from me and i found it with this man." "when didst thou lose it?" asked the cadi. "but yesterday," replied the kurd; "and i passed a sleepless night by reason of its loss." "if it be thy bag," said the cadi, "tell me what is in it." quoth the kurd, "there were in my bag two silver styles and eye-powders and a handkerchief, and i had laid therein two gilt cups and two candlesticks. moreover it contained two tents and two platters and two hooks and a cushion and two leather rugs and two ewers and a brass tray and two basins and a cooking-pot and two water-jars and a ladle and a sacking-needle and a she-cat and two bitches[fn# ] and a wooden trencher and two sacks and two saddles and a gown and two fur pelisses and a cow and two calves and a she-goat and two sheep and an ewe and two lambs and two green pavilions and a camel and two she-camels and a she-buffalo and two bulls and a lioness and two lions and a she-bear and two foxes and a mattress and two couches and an upper chamber and two saloons and a portico and two ante-rooms and a kitchen with two doors and a company of kurds who will testify that the bag is mine." then said the cadi to me, "and thou, what sayst thou?" so i came forward, o commander of the faithful (and indeed the kurd's speech had bewildered me) and said, "god advance our lord the cadi! there was nothing in this my wallet, save a little ruined house and another without a door and a dog-kennel and a boys' school and youths playing dice and tents and tent-poles and the cities of bassora and baghdad and the palace of sheddad ben aad[fn# ] and a smith's forge and a fishing net and cudgels and pickets and girls and boys and a thousand pimps, who will testify that the bag is my bag." when the kurd heard my words, he wept and wailed and said, "o my lord the cadi, my bag is known and what is in it is renowned; therein are castles and citadels and cranes and beasts of prey and men playing chess and draughts. moreover, in this my bag is a brood-mare and two colts and a stallion and two blood-horses and two long lances and a lion and two hares and a city and two villages and a courtezan and two sharking pimps and a catamite and two gallows-birds and a blind man and two dogs and a cripple and two lameters and a priest and two deacons and a patriarch and two monks and a cadi and two assessors, who will testify that the bag is my bag." quoth the cadi to me, "and what sayst thou, o ali?" so, o commander of the faithful, being filled with rage, i came forward and said, "god keep our lord the cadi! i had in this my wallet a coat of mail and a broadsword and armouries and a thousand fighting rams and a sheep-fold and a thousand barking dogs and gardens and vines and flowers and sweet herbs and figs and apples and pictures and statues and flagons and goblets and fair-faced slave-girls and singing-women and marriage-feasts and tumult and clamour and great tracts of land and brothers of success[fn# ] and a company of daybreak-riders, with swords and spears and bows and arrows, and true friends and dear ones and intimates and comrades and men imprisoned for punishment and cup-companions and a drum and flutes and flags and banners and boys and girls and brides, in all their wedding bravery, and singing-girls and five abyssinian women and three hindi and four women of medina and a score of greek girls and half a hundred turkish and threescore and ten persian girls and fourscore kurd and fourscore and ten georgian women and tigris and euphrates and a fowling net and a flint and steel and many- columned irem[fn# ] and a thousand rogues and pimps and horse- courses and stables and mosques and baths and a builder and a carpenter and a plank and a nail and a black slave, with a pair of recorders, and a captain and a caravan-leader and towns and cities and a hundred thousand dinars and cufa and ambar[fn# ] and twenty chests full of stuffs and twenty store-houses for victual and gaza and askalon and from damietta to essouan and the palace of kisra anoushirwan[fn# ] and the kingdom of solomon and from wadi numan[fn# ] to the land of khorassan and balkh and ispahan and from india to the soudan. therein also (may god prolong the life of our lord the cadi!) are doublets and cloths and a thousand sharp razors to shave the cadi's chin, except he fear my resentment and adjudge the bag to be mine." when the cadi heard what i and the kurd avouched, he was confounded and said, "i see ye are none other than two pestilent atheistical fellows, who make sport of cadis and magistrates and stand not in fear of reproach. never did any tell or hear tell of aught more extraordinary than that which ye pretend. by allah, from china to shejreh umm ghailan[fn# ] nor from fars to the soudan, nor from wadi numan to khorassan, ever was heard or credited the like of what ye avouch! is this bag a bottomless sea or the day of resurrection, that shall gather together the just and unjust?" then he bade open the bag; so i opened it and behold, there was in it bread and a lemon and cheese and olives. so i threw it down before the kurd and went away.' when the khalif heard ali's story, he laughed till he fell backward and made him a handsome present. end of vol. iii. notes to volume [fn# ] it need hardly be remarked that eastern stirrups are made so to do duty as spurs. [fn# ] i.e. the seven sleepers. [fn# ] i.e. the birds of prey. [fn# ] "o thou of the little stronghold." a sobriquet popularly bestowed on the fox, even as we call him "reynard." [fn# ] these verses are full of plays upon words, which it is impossible to render in a translation. [fn# ] i.e. blood, like wine in colour. [fn# ] the face. [fn# ] the teeth. [fn# ] the wine-cup. [fn# ] alluding to the eastern practice of dying the hands with henna in concentric bands. [fn# ] the lips, likened to the plum of the jujube-tree. [fn# ] the teeth. [fn# ] a well-known metaphor for the brilliant whiteness of the face shining through the black hair. [fn# ] the lips. [fn# ] the teeth. [fn# ] mejnoun, the well-known lover of eastern romance. [fn# ] these verses apparently relate to aboulhusn, but it is possible that they may be meant to refer to shemsennehar, as the masculine is constantly used for the feminine in oriental love- poetry. [fn# ] as that of a martyr. see vol. ii. p. , note . {vol. , fn# } [fn# ] two fallen angels appointed to tempt men by teaching them the art of magic. [fn# ] an idol or idols of the arabs before mohammed. [fn# ] the browlocks, from their shape, are commonly likened by eastern poets to scorpions. [fn# ] three stars so called in the great bear. [fn# ] or recite. [fn# ] there are three orders of jinn: the upper or inhabitants of the air, the lower or inhabitants of the earth and the divers or inhabitants of the waters. [fn# ] lit. lean and fat. [fn# ] syn. eye (nazir). [fn# ] syn. eyebrow (hajib). [fn# ] a play upon words turning upon the literal meaning ("auspicious full moons") of the two names of women budour and suad. [fn# ] ring-mail. [fn# ] i.e. orvietan or venice treacle, the well-known universal remedy of the middle ages, alluded to by chaucer in the words, "and christ that is unto all ills triacle." [fn# ] names of women. [fn# ] women's name. [fn# ] women's name. [fn# ] i.e. a woman. [fn# ] women's names. [fn# ] wine. [fn# ] i.e. by way of ornament. [fn# ] the well-known semi-legendary sage and fabulist. [fn# ] playing upon his own name, kemerezzeman, which means, "moon of the time or of fortune." budour means "full moons." [fn# ] siwaka, a toothstick, (acc.) means also "other than thee." [fn# ] araka, a capparis-tree, (acc.) means also, "i see thee." toothsticks are made of the wood of this tree. [fn# ] a treasury of money is a thousand purses or about £ , . [fn# ] this expression is of course metaphorical. cf. solomon's song passim. [fn# ] i.e. gum tragacanth. [fn# ] see post p. . {see vol. . maan ben zaideh and the three girls, fn# .} [fn# ] the mansuetude of the khalif muawiyeh, the founder of the ommiade dynasty, is a proverb among the arabs, though hardly to be reconciled with the accredited records of his life and actions. [fn# ] alluding, for the sake of metaphor, to the months of purification which, according to the muslim ceremonial law, must be accomplished by a divorced woman, before she can marry again. [fn# ] a divorce three times pronounced cannot be revoked. [fn# ] fabulous peoples mentioned in the koran. [fn# ] said to be so called, because they attract sparrows (asafir), but it seems to me more probable that the name denotes the colour of the fruit and is derived from usfur, safflower. [fn# ] koran, xxxiii. . [fn# ] met. anus. [fn# ] met. cunnus. [fn# ] kibleh, the point of the compass to which one turns in prayer. mecca is the kibleh of the muslims, even as jerusalem that of the jews and christians. the meaning of the text is obvious. [fn# ] i.e. of god.--koran, li. . [fn# ] the word (futouh) translated "openings" may also be rendered "victories" or "benefits." [fn# ] cf. aristophanes, lysistrata and ecclesiazusæ passim. [fn# ] an audacious parody of the koran, applied ironically, "and the pious work god shall raise up."--koran, xxxv. . [fn# ] lit. the chapter of clearing (oneself from belief in any but god), or unity, koran, cxii. it ends with the words, "there is none like unto him." [fn# ] i.e. but for the soul that animated them. [fn# ] the word "nights" (more commonly "days," sometimes also "days and nights," as in the verses immediately following) is constantly used in the sense of "fortune" or "fate" by the poets of the east. [fn# ] abdallah ibn ez zubeir revolted (a.d. ) against yezid (second khalif of the ommiade dynasty) and was proclaimed khalif at mecca, where he maintained himself till a.d. , when he was killed in the siege of that town by the famous hejjaj, general of abdulmelik, the fifth ommiade khalif. [fn# ] the allusion here appears to be to the burning of part of mecca, including the temple and kaabeh, during the (unsuccessful) siege by hussein, a.d. . [fn# ] three muslim sectaries (kharejites), considering the khalif ali (mohammed's son-in-law), muawiyeh (founder of the ommiade dynasty) and amr (or amrou), the conqueror of egypt, as the chief authors of the intestine discords which then (a.d. ) ravaged islam, conspired to assassinate them; but only succeeded in killing ali, muawiyeh escaping with a wound and the fanatic charged with the murder of amr slaying kharijeh, the chief of the police at cairo, by mistake, in his stead. the above verses are part of a famous but very obscure elegy on the downfall of one of the muslim dynasties in spain, composed in the twelfth century by ibn abdoun el andalousi, one of the most celebrated of the spanish arabic poets. [fn# ] i.e. fortune. the word dunya (world) is constantly used in poetry to signify "fortune" or "the fortune of this world." [fn# ] this line is a characteristic example of the antithetical conceits so common in oriental poetry. the meaning is, "my grief makes all i behold seem black to me, whilst my tears have washed out all the colour from my eyes." [fn# ] i.e. the tomb. [fn# ] the wood of which makes a peculiarly fierce and lasting fire. [fn# ] koran iv. . [fn# ] most happy. [fn# ] wretched. [fn# ] most happy. [fn# ] the gift of god. the h in nimeh becomes t before a vowel. [fn# ] i.e. happiness. [fn# ] num is synonymous with saad. the purpose of the change of name was to make the little one's name correspond with that of nimeh, which is derived from the same root. [fn# ] i.e. to any one, as we should say, "to tom, dick or harry." [fn# ] i.e. to any one, as we should say, "to tom, dick or harry." [fn# ] el hejjaj ben yousuf eth thekefi, a famous statesman and soldier of the seventh and eighth centuries. he was governor of chaldæa under the fifth and sixth ommiade khalifs and was renowned for his cruelty; but appears nevertheless to have been a prudent and capable administrator, who probably used no more rigour than was necessary to restrain the proverbially turbulent populations of bassora and cufa. most of the anecdotes of his brutality and tyranny, some of which will be found in this collection, are, in all probability, apocryphal. [fn# ] wool is the distinctive wear of oriental devotees. [fn# ] koran xxv. . [fn# ] of the koran. [fn# ] this verse contains a series of jeux-de-mots, founded upon the collocation of the three proper names, num, suada and juml, with the third person feminine singular, preterite-present, fourth conjugation, of their respective verb-roots, i.e. idka anamet num, if num vouchsafe, etc., etc. [fn# ] nimeh. [fn# ] "and he (jacob) turned from them, saying, 'woe is me for joseph!' and his eyes grew white for grief ... (quoth joseph to his brethren) 'take this my shirt and throw it over my father's face and he will recover his sight' ... so, when the messenger of glad tidings came (to jacob), he threw it (the shirt) over his face and he was restored to sight."--koran xii. , , . [fn# ] hemzeh and abbas were uncles of mohammed. the akil here alluded to is apparently a son of the khalif ali, who deserted his father and joined the usurper muawiyeh, the founder of the ommiade dynasty. [fn# ] one of the numerous quack aphrodisiacs current in the middle ages, as with us cock's cullions and other grotesque prescriptions. [fn# ] to conjure the evil eye. [fn# ] i.e. him of the moles. [fn# ] alluding to the redness of his cheeks, as if they had been flushed with wine. the passage may be construed, "as he were a white slave, with cheeks reddened by wine." the turkish and other white slaves were celebrated for their beauty. [fn# ] as a protection against the evil eye. we may perhaps, however, read, "ask pardon of god!", i.e. for your unjust reproach. [fn# ] see note, post, p. . {see vol. , fn# } [fn# ] i.e. of the caravan. [fn# ] a famous muslim saint of the twelfth century and founder of the four great orders of dervishes. he is buried at baghdad. [fn# ] koran xiii. . [fn# ] another well-known saint. [fn# ] i.e. he engaged to do somewhat, undertaking upon oath in case of default to divorce his wife by pronouncing the triple formula of divorcement, and she therefore became divorced, by operation of law, on his failure to keep his engagement. [fn# ] the th chapter of the koran. [fn# ] or "herself." [fn# ] or "myself." [fn# ] this passage is full of double-entendres, the meaning of most of which is obvious, but others are so obscure and farfetched as to defy explanation. [fn# ] the raven is the symbol of separation. [fn# ] one of the names of god (breslau. the two other editions have it, "o david!"). it is the custom of the arabs, as will appear in others of these tales, to represent inarticulate music (such as that of birds and instruments) as celebrating the praises of god. [fn# ] lit. a fan. [fn# ] one of the most celebrated, as well as the most witty and licentious, of arab poets. he was one of haroun er reshid's boon-companions and died early in the ninth century. [fn# ] see note, p. .{see vol. , fn# } [fn# ] the above appears to be the meaning of this somewhat obscure passage; but we may perhaps translate it as follows: "may god preserve (us) from the mischief of he commander of the faithful!" "o vizier," answered the khalif, "the mischief is passing great." [fn# ] meaning that the robbery must have been committed by some inmate of the palace. [fn# ] amir. thus the breslau edition; the two others give amin, i.e. one who is trusted or in a position of trust. [fn# ] according to mohammedan tradition, it was ishmael, not isaac, whom abraham was commanded to sacrifice. [fn# ] apparently a sort of blackmail levied upon merchants and others by the soldiers who protected them against the bedouins. [fn# ] a village on the gulf of scanderoon. [fn# ] or perhaps dinars, the coin not being specified. [fn# ] or sectary of ali. the shiyaites did not acknowledge the first three khalifs abou bekr, omar, and othman, and were wont to write their names upon their heels, in token of contempt. the sunnites are the orthodox muslims, who accept the actual order of things. [fn# ] an open-fronted reception-room, generally on the first floor and giving on the interior court of the house. [fn# ] instead of "rank of amir," we should perhaps read "knighthood." [fn# ] i.e. it is not enough. see vol. ii, p. , note. {see vol. , fn# } [fn# ] confessional? [fn# ] £ . [fn# ] the mohammedans accuse the jews, as well as the christians, of falsifying their sacred books, so as to suppress the mention of mohammed. [fn# ] a very famous arab chieftain of the latter part of the sixth century, especially renowned for the extravagance with which he practiced the patriarchal virtues of generosity and hospitality. he died a few years after mohammed's birth. [fn# ] another famous oriental type of generosity. he was a celebrated soldier and statesman of the eighth century and stood in high favour with the ommiade khalifs, as also (after the change of dynasty) with those of the house of abbas. [fn# ] apparently meaning the upper part of the carpet whereon the amir's chair was set. it is the place of honour and has a peculiar sanctity among the arabs, it being a breach of good manners to tread upon it (or indeed upon any part of the carpet) with shodden feet. [fn# ] apparently toledo. [fn# ] sixth khalif of the ommiade dynasty, a.d. - . [fn# ] or perhaps "of that which is due to men of worth." [fn# ] it is the invariable custom (and indeed the duty) of every muslim to salute his co-religionist with the words "peace be on thee!" upon first accosting him. [fn# ] he having then returned to his palace. [fn# ] i.e. of life. [fn# ] lit. to dispute about or defend itself, koran xvi . [fn# ] the rages of the apocrypha; a great city of persia, formerly its capital, but now a mere heap of ruins in the neighbourhood of teheran. [fn# ] ibrahim ben el mehdi was one of the most celebrated musicians and wits of his day. "he was a man of great merit and a perfect scholar, possessed of an open heart and a generous hand; his like had never before been seen among the sons of the khalifs, none of whom spoke with more propriety and elegance or composed verses with greater ability." (ibn khellikan.) [fn# ] ibrahim of mosul, the greatest musician of the time, a boon-companion and special favourite of haroun er reshid and his son. [fn# ] lit. the lord of the blood-revenge, i.e. the person entitled to exact the blood-wit. [fn# ] his vizier. [fn# ] joseph to his brethren, koran xii. . [fn# ] playing upon the literal meaning, "blood-sucker," of the word kejjam, cupper or barber-surgeon. [fn# ] the arabic word is el medineh, lit. the city. perhaps the narrator meant to compare the citadel to the actual city of medina. [fn# ] a well-known theologian. [fn# ] koran lxxxix. , . [fn# ] according to the breslau edition, it was the prophet hond who, being sent of god to exhort sheddad and his people to embrace the true faith, promised them paradise in the next world, as a reward, describing it as above. quoth sheddad, on hearing this description, "i will build me in this world the like of this paradise and i have no need of that thou promisest me." [fn# ] i.e. the prophet houd (heber). [fn# ] son of ibrahim el mausili and still more famous as a musician. he was also an excellent poet and a great favourite with the khalif mamoun. [fn# ] mamoun's own vizier, a man of great wealth and munificence. [fn# ] witout the town. [fn# ] medewwerek, lit. "something round." this word generally means a small round cushion; but, in the present instance, a gong is evidently referred to. [fn# ] the prophet's uncle, from whom the abbaside khalifs were descended. [fn# ] lit. "fugleman," i.e. "leader of the people at prayer," a title bestowed upon the khalifs, in recognition of their spiritual headship. [fn# ] dies albo lapide notanda. [fn# ] lit. kaabeh. [fn# ] referring to the station in the temple of mecca, known as the mecam or standing-place of abraham. the wish inferred is that the khalif's court may be as favourite a place of reverent resort as the station in question. [fn# ] or (quaere) a pair of forceps. [fn# ] see ante, p. . {see vol. , fn# } [fn# ] i.e. thieves. [fn# ] see ante, p. . {...to many-columned irem, at the ...} [fn# ] a city on the euphrates, about miles west of baghdad. [fn# ] the famous king of persia. [fn# ] in arabia. [fn# ] lit. "a thorn-acacia tree." quaere, the name of a town in egypt? produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google print project.) stories and pictures by isaac loeb perez translated from the yiddish by helena frank [illustration: colophon] philadelphia the jewish publication society of america copyright, , by the jewish publication society of america preface my heartfelt thanks are due to all those who, directly or indirectly, have helped in the preparation of this book of translations; among the former, to professor israel abrahams, for invaluable help and advice at various junctures; and to mr. b. b., for his detailed and scholarly explanations of difficult passages--explanations to which, fearing to overload a story-book with notes, i have done scant justice. the sympathetic reader who wishes for information concerning the author of these tales will find it in professor wiener's "history of yiddish literature in the nineteenth century," together with much that will help him to a better appreciation of their drift. to fully understand any one of them, we should need to know intimately the life of the russian jews who figure in their pages, and to be familiar with the lore of the talmud and the kabbalah, which colors their talk as the superstitions of slav or celtic lands color the talk of their respective peasants. a yiddish writer once told me, he feared these tales would be too _tief-jüdisch_ (intensely jewish) for gentile readers; and even in the case of the jewish english-reading public, the "east (of europe) is east, and west is west." perez, however, is a distinctly modern writer, and his views and sympathies are of the widest. he was born in , and these stories were all written, quite broadly speaking, between and . they were all published in russia, under the censorship--a fact to be borne in mind when reading such pages as "travel-pictures" (which, by the way, is not a story at all), "in the post-chaise," and others. we may hope that conditions of life such as are depicted in "the dead town" will soon belong entirely to history. it is for those who have seen to tell us whether or not the picture is correct. the future of yiddish in a free russia is hard to tell. there are some who consider its early disappearance by no means a certainty. however that may be, it is at present the only language by which the masses of the russian jews can be reached, and perez's words of , in which he urges the educated writers to remember this fact, have lost none of their interest: "nowadays everyone must work for his own, must plough and sow his own particular plot of land, although, or rather _because_ we believe that the future will represent one universal store, whither shall be carried all the corn of all the harvests.... "we do not wish to desert the flag of universal humanity. "we do not wish to sow the weeds of chauvinism, the thorns of fanaticism, the tares of scholastic philosophy. "we want to pull up the weeds by the roots, to cut down the briars, to burn the tares, and to sow the pure grain of human ideas, human feelings, and knowledge. "we will break up our bit of land, and plough and sow, because we firmly believe that some day there will be a great common store, out of which all the hungry will be fed alike. "we believe that storm and wind and rain will have an end, that a day is coming when earth shall yield her increase, and heaven give warmth and light! "and we do not wish _our_ people, in the day of harvest, to stand apart, weeping for misspent years, while the rest make holiday, forced to beg, with shame, for bread that was earned by the sweat and toil of others. "we want to bring a few sheaves to the store as well as they; we want to be husbandmen also." whenever, in the course of translation, i have come across a yiddish proverb or idiomatic expression of which i knew an english equivalent, i have used the latter without hesitation. to avoid tiresome circumlocutions, some of the more important yiddish words (most of them hebrew) have been preserved in the translation. a list of them with brief explanations will be found on page . nevertheless footnotes had to be resorted to in particular cases. to conclude: i have frequently, in this preface, used the words "was" and "were," because i do not know what kaleidoscopic changes may not have taken place in russo-jewish life since these tales were written. but they are all, with exception of the legend "the image," tales of the middle or the end of the nineteenth century, and chiefly the latter. helena frank january, contents page preface i. if not higher ii. domestic happiness iii. in the post-chaise iv. the new tune v. married vi. the seventh candle of blessing vii. the widow viii. the messenger ix. what is the soul? x. in time of pestilence xi. bontzye shweig xii. the dead town xiii. t<sub>he</sub> days of the messiah xiv. kabbalists xv. travel-pictures preface trust only go! what should a jewess need? no. the maskil the rabbi of tishewitz tales that are told a little boy the yartseff rabbi lyashtzof the first attempt the second attempt at the shochet's the rebbitzin of skul insured the fire the emigrant the madman misery the lÀmed wÒfnik the informer xvi. the outcast xvii. a chat xviii. the pike xix. the fast xx. the woman mistress hannah xxi. in the pond xxii. the chanukah light xxiii. the poor little boy xxiv. underground xxv. between two mountains xxvi. the image glossary i if not higher and the rebbe of nemirov, every friday morning early at sliches-time, disappeared, melted into thin air! he was not to be found anywhere, either in the synagogue or in the two houses-of-study, or worshipping in some minyan, and most certainly not at home. his door stood open, people went in and out as they pleased--no one ever stole anything from the rebbe--but there was not a soul in the house. where can the rebbe be? where _should_ he be, if not in heaven? is it likely a rebbe should have no affairs on hand with the solemn days so near? jews (no evil eye!) need a livelihood, peace, health, successful match-makings, they wish to be good and pious and their sins are great, and satan with his thousand eyes spies out the world from one end to the other, and he sees, and accuses, and tells tales--and who shall help if not the rebbe? so thought the people. once, however, there came a lithuanian--and he laughed! you know the lithuanian jews--they rather despise books of devotion, but stuff themselves with the talmud and the codes. well, the lithuanian points out a special bit of the gemoreh--and hopes it is plain enough: even moses our teacher could not ascend into heaven, but remained suspended thirty inches below it--and who, i ask you, is going to argue with a lithuanian? what becomes of the rebbe? "i don't know, and i don't care," says he, shrugging his shoulders, and all the while (what it is to be a lithuanian!) determined to find out. * * * * * the very same evening, soon after prayers, the lithuanian steals into the rebbe's room, lays himself down under the rebbe's bed, and lies low. he intends to stay there all night to find out where the rebbe goes, and what he does at sliches-time. another in his place would have dozed and slept the time away. not so a lithuanian--he learned a whole treatise of the talmud by heart! day has not broken when he hears the call to prayer. the rebbe has been awake some time. the lithuanian has heard him sighing and groaning for a whole hour. whoever has heard the groaning of the nemirover rebbe knows what sorrow for all-israel, what distress of mind, found voice in every groan. the soul that heard was dissolved in grief. but the heart of a lithuanian is of cast-iron. the lithuanian hears and lies still. the rebbe lies still, too--the rebbe, long life to him, _upon_ the bed and the lithuanian _under_ the bed! * * * * * after that the lithuanian hears the beds in the house squeak--the people jump out of them--a jewish word is spoken now and again--water is poured on the fingers--a door is opened here and there. then the people leave the house, once more it is quiet and dark, only a very little moonlight comes in through the shutter. he confessed afterwards, did the lithuanian, that when he found himself alone with the rebbe terror took hold of him. he grew cold all over, and the roots of his ear-locks pricked his temples like needles. an excellent joke, to be left alone with the rebbe at sliches-time before dawn! but a lithuanian is dogged. he quivers and quakes like a fish--but he does not budge. at last the rebbe, long life to him, rises in his turn. first he does what beseems a jew. then he goes to the wardrobe and takes out a packet--which proves to be the dress of a peasant: linen trousers, high boots, a pelisse, a wide felt hat, and a long and broad leather belt studded with brass nails. the rebbe puts them on. out of the pockets of the pelisse dangles the end of a thick cord, a peasant's cord. on his way out the rebbe steps aside into the kitchen, stoops, takes a hatchet from under a bed, puts it into his belt, and leaves the house. the lithuanian trembles, but he persists. * * * * * a fearful, solemn-day hush broods over the dark streets, broken not unfrequently by a cry of supplication from some little minyan, or the moan of some sick person behind a window. the rebbe keeps to the street side, and walks in the shadow of the houses. he glides from one to the other, the lithuanian after him. and the lithuanian hears the sound of his own heart-beats mingle with the heavy footfall of the rebbe; but he follows on, and together they emerge from the town. * * * * * behind the town stands a little wood. the rebbe, long life to him, enters it. he walks on thirty or forty paces, and then he stops beside a small tree. and the lithuanian, with amaze, sees the rebbe take his hatchet and strike the tree. he sees the rebbe strike blow after blow, he hears the tree creak and snap. and the little tree falls, and the rebbe splits it up into logs, and the logs into splinters. then he makes a bundle, binds it round with the cord, throws it on his shoulder, replaces the hatchet in his belt, leaves the wood, and goes back into the town. in one of the back streets he stops beside a poor, tumbledown little house, and taps at the window. "who is there?" cries a frightened voice within. the lithuanian knows it to be the voice of a jewess, a sick jewess. "i," answers the rebbe in the peasant tongue. "who is i?" inquires the voice further. and the rebbe answers again in the little-russian speech: "vassil." "which vassil? and what do you want, vassil?" "i have wood to sell," says the sham peasant, "very cheap, for next to nothing." and without further ado he goes in. the lithuanian steals in behind him, and sees, in the gray light of dawn, a poor room with poor, broken furniture. in the bed lies a sick jewess huddled up in rags, who says bitterly: "wood to sell--and where am i, a poor widow, to get the money from to buy it?" "i will give you a six-groschen worth on credit." "and how am i ever to repay you?" groans the poor woman. "foolish creature!" the rebbe upbraids her. "see here: you are a poor sick jewess, and i am willing to trust you with the little bundle of wood; i believe that in time you will repay me. and you, you have such a great and mighty god, and you do not trust him! not even to the amount of a miserable six-groschen for a little bundle of wood!" "and who is to light the stove?" groans the widow. "do _i_ look like getting up to do it? and my son away at work!" "i will also light the stove for you," said the rebbe. * * * * * and the rebbe, while he laid the wood in the stove, repeated groaning the first part of sliches. then, when the stove was alight, and the wood crackled cheerily, he repeated, more gaily, the second part of sliches. he repeated the third part when the fire had burnt itself out, and he shut the stove doors.... * * * * * the lithuanian who saw all this remained with the rebbe, as one of his followers. and later, when anyone told how the rebbe early every morning at sliches-time raised himself and flew up into heaven, the lithuanian, instead of laughing, added quietly: "if not higher." ii domestic happiness chaïm is a street porter. when he goes through the town stooping beneath his case of wares, one can hardly make him out--it looks as if the box were walking along on two feet of its own. listen to the heavy breathing! one can hear it quite a long way off. but now he lays down his load, and is given a few pence. he straightens himself, wipes the sweat off his face, draws a deep breath, goes to the fountain and takes a drink of water, and then runs into the court. he stands close to the wall, and lifts his huge head till the point of his chin and the tip of his nose and the brim of his hat are all on a level. "hannah," he calls. a little window opens just below the eaves, and a small female head in a white kerchief answers, "chaïm!" the two look at each other very contentedly. the neighbors say they are "lovering." chaïm tosses up his earnings wrapped in a piece of paper, and hannah catches them in the air--not for the first time in her life, either! "you're a wonder!" says chaïm, and shows no disposition to go away. "off with you, chaïm!" she says, smiling. "i daren't take my eyes off the sick child. i have stood the cradle near the fire-place, and i skim with one hand and rock with the other." "how is it, poor little thing?" "better." "god be praised! where is henne?" "with the sempstress, learning to sew." "and yössele?" "in choder." chaïm lowers his chin and goes away. hannah follows him with her eyes till he disappears. thursday and friday it lasts longer. "how much have you got there in the paper?" inquires hannah. "twenty-two groschen." "i am afraid it is not enough!" "why, what do you want, hannah?" "a sechser's worth of ointment for the baby, a few farthing dips--a sabbath loaf i have--oh! meat--a pound and a half--let me see--and brandy for the kiddush, and a few splinters." "those i can get for you. there are sure to be some in the market." "and then i want," and she makes a calculation of all she needs for sabbath, and it comes to this: that one can say the kiddush quite well over a loaf, and that there are heaps of things one can do without. the two important ones are: the candles to say the blessing over and the salve for the child. and if only the children, god helping, are well, and the metal candle-sticks not in pawn, and supposing there is even a pudding, they spend a cheerful sabbath. hannah _is_ wonderful at puddings! she is always short of something, either meal or eggs or suet, and the end of it all is a sweet, succulent, altogether ravishing pudding--it melts away into the very limbs! "an angel's handiwork!" says hannah, smiling delightedly. "an angel's is it?" chaïm laughs. "you think you are a little angel, do you, because you put up with me and the children? well, they worry you enough, goodness knows! and i'm a regular crosspatch, _i_ am, at times--and never a curse do i get--you're not like other women. and what a comfort i must be to you, too! i'm no good at kiddush or havdoleh either--i can't even sing the hymns properly!" "you're a good husband and a good father," persists hannah. "i ask no better for myself or anyone else. god grant that we may grow old together, you and i!" and they gaze into each other's eyes so kindly and so affectionately as it were from the very heart. it looks for all the world as if they were newly married, and the party at table grows more and more festive. but directly after his nap, chaïm repairs to the little synagogue to hear the law--a teacher expounds alshech[ ] there to simple folk like himself. the faces still look sleepy. one is finishing his doze, another yawns loudly. but all of a sudden, when it comes to the right moment, when there is talk of the other world, of gehenna, where the wicked are scourged with iron rods, of the lightsome garden of eden, where the just sit with golden crowns on their heads and study the torah, then they come to life again! the mouths open, the cheeks flush, they listen breathlessly to be told what the next world will be like. chaïm usually stands near the stove. his eyes are full of tears, he trembles all over, he is all there, in the other world! he suffers together with the wicked; he is immersed in the molten pitch, he is flung away into hell; he gathers chips and splinters in gloomy woods.... he goes through it all himself, and is covered with a cold sweat. but then, later on, he also shares the bliss of the righteous. the garden of eden, the angels, leviathan, behemoth, and all good things present themselves so vividly to his imagination that when the reader kisses the book previously to closing it, chaïm starts as it were out of a dream, like one called back from the other world! "_ach!_" he gasps, for wonder has held him breathless. "o lord, just a tiny bit, just a scrap, just a morsel of the world to come--for me, for my wife, and for my little children!" and then he grows sad, wondering: after all, because of what? as a reward for what? once, when the reading was over, he went up to the teacher: "rabbi," he said, and his voice shook, "advise me! what must i do to gain the world to come?" "study the law, my son!" answered the teacher. "i can't." "study mishnayes, or some "eye of jacob," or even perek." "i can't." "recite the psalms!" "i haven't time!" "pray with devotion!" "i don't know what the prayers mean!" the teacher looks at him with compassion: "what are you?" he asks. "a street porter." "well, then, do some service for the scholars." "i beg pardon?" "for instance, carry a few cans of water every day toward evening into the house-of-study, so that the students may have something to drink." "rabbi," he inquired further, "and my wife?" "when a man sits on a chair in paradise, his wife is his footstool." * * * * * when chaïm went home to say havdoleh, hannah was sitting there reciting "god of abraham." and when he saw her he felt a tug at his heart. "no, hannah," he flung his arms around her, "i won't have you be my footstool! i shall bend down to you and raise you and make you sit beside me. we shall sit both on one chair, just as we are doing now. we are so happy like that! do you hear, hannah? you and i, we are going to sit in a chair together ... the almighty will _have_ to allow it!" iii in the post-chaise he told me everything at once, in one breath. i learned in little over a minute that he was chaïm, yoneh krubishever's son-in-law, beril konskivoler's son, and that the rich meerenstein in lublin was a relation on his mother's side, peace be upon her! but this relation lived almost like a gentile; whether or not they ate forbidden food, he could not tell, but that they ate with unwashed hands ... so much he had seen with his own eyes. they had other queer ways beside: long colored cloths were lying on their stairs; before going in, one rang a bell; figured table-covers were spread about the rooms where people sat as if in jail ... stole across them like thieves ... altogether it was like being in a company of deaf-mutes. his wife has a family of a kind in warsaw. but he never goes near them; they are as poor as himself, so what is the good of them to him, _ha?_ in the house of the lublin relation things are not as they should be, but, at least, he is rich, and whoso rubs against fat meat gets shiny himself; where they chop wood, there are splinters; where there is a meal, one may chance to lick a bone--but those others--paupers! he even counts on the lublin relation's obtaining a place for him. business, he says, is bad; just now he is dealing in eggs, buys them, in the villages, and sends them to lublin, whence they are despatched to london. there, it is said, people put them into lime-ovens and hatch chickens out of them. it must be lies. the english just happen to _like_ eggs! however that may be, the business, for the present, is in a bad way. still, it is better than dealing in produce--produce is knocked on the head. he became a produce dealer soon after his marriage; he had everything to learn, and his partner was an old dealer who simply turned his pockets inside out. * * * * * it was dark in the post-chaise--i could not see chaïm's face, and i don't know to this day how he recognized a fellow-jew in me. when he got in, i was sitting in a corner dozing, and was only awakened by his voice. i don't talk in my sleep--perhaps i gave a jewish groan. perhaps he felt that _my_ groan and _his_ groan were _one_ groan? he even told me that his wife was from warsaw and did not fancy konskivòlye. that is, she was born in krubisheff, but she was brought up in warsaw by that miserable family of hers--lost her parents. there she learned to know about _other_ things. she could talk polish and read german addresses fluently. she even says that she can play, not on a fiddle, but on some other instrument. "and who are you?" and he seized me by the hand. sleep was out of the question, and he had begun to interest me. it was like a story. a young man from a small provincial town; a wife brought up in warsaw--she is impatient of the small town. something might be made of it, i reflect; one must know exactly how it all is, then add a little to it, and it will make a novel. i will put in a villain, a convict, a bankruptcy or two, and rush in a dragon--i, too, will be interesting! i lean toward my neighbor, and tell him who i am. "so it's you," he said, "is it? you yourself! tell me, i beg of you, how do you find the time and attention required for inventing stories?" "well, you see...." "how can i see? you must have inherited a large fortune, and you are living on the interest?" "heaven forbid! my parents are alive." "then you won in the lottery?" "wrong again!" "then, what?" i really did not know how to answer. "do you make a living by _that_?" i gave a genuinely jewish reply--_bê!_ "and that is your whole parnosseh, without anything additional?" "for the present." "o _wa_! how much does it bring in?" "very little." "a bad business, too?" "knocked on the head!" "bad times!" sighed my neighbor. a few minutes' silence, but he could not be quiet long. "tell me, i beg of you, what is the good of the stories you write? i don't mean to _you_," he amended himself. "heaven forbid! a jew must earn a living, if he has to suck it out of the wall--that is not what i mean--what will a jew not do for a living? i am riding in the post-chaise, and not in an 'opportunity,'[ ] because i could not hear of one. heaven knows whether i'm not sitting on shatnez.[ ] i mean the people--what is the good of the stories to _them?_ what is the object of them? what do they put into story books?" then, answering himself: "i guess it's just a question of women's fashions, like crinolines!" "and you," i ask, "have never dipped into a story-book?" "i can tell _you_: i do know a _little_ about them, as much as that." and he measured off a small piece of his finger, but it was dark in the chaise. "did they interest you?" "_me?_ heaven forbid! it was all through my wife! this, you see, is how it happened: it must be five or six years ago--six--a year after the wedding, we were still boarding with my father--when my wife grew poorly. not that she was ill; she went about as usual, but she was not up to the mark. "one day i asked her what was wrong. "but, really--" he caught himself up. "i don't know why i should bother you with all this." "please, go on!" my neighbor laughed. "is straw wanted in egypt? do you want _my_ stories, when you can invent your own?" "do, please, go on!" "apparently, you write fiction for other people and want truth for yourself?" it does not occur to him that one might wish to write the truth. "well," he said, "so be it!" * * * * * "well," repeated my neighbor, "there's nothing to be ashamed of. we had a room to ourselves, i was a young man then, more given to that sort of thing--and i asked her what was the matter. she burst out crying! "i felt very sorry for her. besides being my wife, she was an orphan, away from her home, and altogether much to be pitied." "why so much to be pitied?" i wonder. "you see, my mother, peace be upon her, died about two years before the marriage, and my father, peace be upon him, did not marry again. "my mother, may her merits protect us, was a good woman, and my father could not forget her. well, a woman alone in the house! my father, peace be upon him, had no time to spare--he was away nearly the whole week in the villages--he traded in all sorts of things, whatever you please--eggs, butter, rags, hogs' bristles, linen." "and you?" "i sat in the house-of-study and learned. well, i reflected, a woman gets frightened all by herself; but why cry? no, she said, she was dull. dull? what was that? "i saw that she went about like one half asleep. sometimes she did not hear when spoken to, or she seemed absent-minded, and sat staring at the wall--stared and stared--or else, her lips moved and never a sound to be heard. but as to being dull--all a woman's fancy. an unaccountable folk, women! a jew, a man, is never dull. a jew has no time to be dull, a jew is either hungry or full; either he has business on hand, or he is in the house-of-study, or asleep; if one has _heaps_ of time one smokes a pipe; but dull!----" "remember," i put in, "a woman has no torah, no kohol affairs, no six hundred and thirteen religious obligations." "that's just where it is! i soon came to the conclusion that being dull meant having nothing to do--a sort of emptiness calculated to drive one mad. our sages saw that long ago. do you know the saying, 'idleness leads the mind to wander?' according to the law, no woman may be idle. i said to her: do something! she said, she wanted to 'read'! "'to read,' sounded very queer to me, too. i knew that people who know how to write call 'learning' lehavdîl, reading books and newspapers, but i did _not_ know then that she was so learned.... she spoke less to me than i to her. she was a tall woman; but she kept her head down and her lips closed as though she could not count two. she was quiet altogether--quiet as a lamb; and there was always a look in her face as if a whole ship full of sour milk had foundered at sea. she wanted to read, she said. and what? polish, german, even yiddish--anything to read. "in all konskivòlye there wasn't a book to be found. i was very sorry--i couldn't refuse her. i told her i would get her some books when i went to see my relative in lublin. "'and _you_ have nothing?' she asked. "'_i?_ preserve us!' "'but what do you do all day in the house-of-study?' "'i learn.' "'i want to learn, too,' says she. "i explained to her that the gemoreh is not a story-book, that it is not meant for women, that it had been said women should not study it, that it is hebrew.... "i gave her to understand that if the konskivòlye people heard of such a thing, they would stone me, and quite right, too! i won't keep you in suspense, but tell you at once that she begged so hard of me, cried, fainted, made such a to-do that she had her way. i sat down every evening and translated a page of the gemoreh for her benefit; but i knew what the end of it would be." "and what was it?" "you need not ask. i translated a page about goring oxen, ditches, setting on fire,[ ] commentaries and all. i held forth, and she went to sleep over it night after night. that sort of thing was not intended for women. by good fortune, however, it happened that, during the great gale that blew that year, a certain book-peddler wandered out of his way into konskivòlye, and i brought her home forty pounds' weight of story-books. now it was the other way about--_she_ read to _me_, and--_i_ went to sleep. "and to this day," he wound up, "i don't know what is the use of story-books. at any rate, for men. perhaps you write for women?" * * * * * meanwhile it began to dawn; my neighbor's long, thin, yellow face became visible--with a pair of black-ringed, tired-looking red eyes. he was apparently anxious to recite his prayers, and began to polish the window-pane, but i interrupted him. "tell me, my friend, don't take it amiss. is your wife content _now_?" "how, content?" "she is no longer dull?" "she has a stall with salt and herrings; one child at the breast and two to wash and comb. she has a day's work blowing their noses." again he rubs the pane, and again i question: "tell me, friend, what is your wife like?" my neighbor sat up, threw a side-glance at me, looked me down from head to foot, and asked severely: "then you know my wife? from warsaw, eh?" "not in the least," i answered; "i only mean, in case i am ever in konskivòlye, so that i may recognize her." "so that you may recognize her?" he smiles, reassured. "i'll give you a sign: she has a mole on the left side of her nose." * * * * * the jew got down from the chaise, giving me a cold and distant farewell as he stood on the step. he evidently still suspected me of knowing his wife and of belonging to her miserable family in warsaw. i was left alone in the chaise, but it was useless to think of sleep. the cool morning had taken hold of me. my literary overcoat blew out in the wind, and i felt chilly all over. i shrank together in the corner. the sun began to shine outside. it may be that i was riding through beautiful country; the early rays may have kissed hill-tops and green trees, and slid down a glassy river; but i hadn't the courage to open the little window. a jewish author fears the cold! i began, as the jew put it, to "think out" a story. but other thoughts came in between. two different worlds, a man's world and a woman's world--a world with talmudical treatises on goring oxen, and ditches, and incendiary fires, and the damages to be paid for them, and a world with story-books that are sold by weight! if _he_ reads, _she_ goes to sleep; if _she_ reads, _he_ goes to sleep! as if we were not divided enough, as if we had not already "french noses," "english sticks," "dutch georges," "lithuanian pigs," "polish beggars," "palestinian tramps;" as though every part of our body were not lying in a different place and had not a resounding nickname; as though every part, again, had not fallen into smaller ones: chassidîm, misnagdîm, "germans;" as though all this were not, we must needs divide ourselves into men and women--and every single, narrow, damp, and dirty jewish room must contain these two worlds within itself. these two at least ought to be united. to strive after their unification is a debt every yiddish writer owes his public. only, the writers have too many private debts beside--one requires at least one additional parnosseh, as he said. * * * * * my reflections about an additional parnosseh were broken in upon by a few sharp notes on the postillion's horn. but i did not leave the chaise. i was just feeling a little warmer, and the sun had begun to pour in his beams. i got a new neighbor and, thanks to the bright daylight, i saw his face plainly and even recognized him. it was an old acquaintance, we had skated together as children, played at bakers--we were almost comrades--then _i_ went to the dingy, dirty cheder, and he, to the free, lightsome "gymnasium."[ ] when _i_ did not know the lesson, i was beaten; when i answered right, they pinched my cheek--it hurt either way. _he_ was sometimes kept in and sometimes he got "fives;"[ ] _i_ broke my head over the talmud; he broke his over greek and latin. but we stuck together. we lived on neighborly terms; he taught me to read in secret, lent me books, and in after years we turned the world upside down as we lay on the green grass beside the river. i wanted to invent a kind of gunpowder that should shoot at great distances, say one hundred miles; he, a balloon in which to mount to the stars and bring the people "up there" to a sense of order and enlightenment. we were dreadfully sorry for the poor world, she was stuck in the mud--and how to get her out? ungreased wheels, lazy horses, and the driver--asleep! then i married, and he went to a university. we never corresponded. i heard later that he had failed, and, instead of a doctor, had become an apothecary somewhere in a small country town.... i all but cried for joy when my new neighbor entered the chaise, and my heart grew warm; my hands stretched themselves out; my whole body leaned toward him, but i held myself back--i held myself back with all my strength. there you are! i thought. it is yanek polnivski, our late sequestrator's son. he was my playfellow, he had a large embrace and wanted to put his arms round the whole world and kiss its every limb, except the ugly growths which should be cut away. only--there you are again! present-day times. perhaps he is an anti-semite, breathing death and destruction in the newspapers; perhaps now we jews are the excrescences that need removing from europe's shapely nose. he will measure me with a cold glance, or he may embrace me, but tell me, at the same time, that i am not as other jews. but i was mistaken. polnivski recognized me, fell upon my neck, nor had i spoken a word before he asked me how i liked "this vile anti-semitism." "it is," he said to me, of course in polish, "a kind of cholera--an epidemic." "some say it is political." "i don't believe it," said polnivski. "politicians invent nothing new, they create no _facts_. they only use those which exist, suppress some, and make the most of others. they can fan the flame of hell-fire, but not a spark can they kindle for themselves. it is human nature, not the politician, that weaves the thread of history. the politicians plait it, twist it, knot it, and entangle it. "anti-semitism is a disease. the politician stands by the patient's bedside like a dishonest doctor who tries to spin out the sickness. "the politician makes use of anti-semitism--a stone flies through the air and bismarck's assistant directs it through the window of the shool; otherwise _other_ panes would be smashed. does anyone raise a protesting fist? immediately a thin, shrinking jewish shoulder is thrust beneath it, otherwise _other_ bones would crack. "but the stone, the fist, the hatred, and the detestation, these exist of themselves. "who die of a physical epidemic? children, old people, and invalids. who fall victims to a moral pestilence? the populace, the decadent aristocrat, and a few lunatics who caper round and lead the dance. only the healthy brains resist." "how many healthy brains have we?" i asked. "how many? unhappily, very few," replied polnivski. there was a short, sad silence. "i do not know what my neighbor's thoughts may have been; it seemed to _me_ that the strongest and best-balanced brains had not escaped infection. there are two different phases in history: one in which the best and cleverest man leads the mass, and one in which the mass carries the best and cleverest along with it. the popular leader is a columbus in search of new happiness, a new america for mankind; but no sooner is there scarcity of bread and water on board than the men mutiny, and _they_ lead. the first thing is to kill somebody, the next, to taste meat, and still their hatred." * * * * * "and don't suppose," said polnivski, "that i am fishing for compliments, that i consider myself an _esprit fort_, who runs no danger of infection, an oak-tree no gale can dislodge. "no, brother," he went on, "i am no hero. i might have been like the rest; i also might have been torn like a decayed leaf from the tree of knowledge, and whirled about in the air. i might have tried to think, with the rest of the dead leaves, that it was a ball, and we were dancing for our enjoyment; that the wind was our hired musician who played to us on his flute. "i was saved by an accident; i learned to know a jewish woman. listen!" i leaned toward my neighbor. his face had grown graver, darker; he rested his elbows on his knees and supported his head with his hands. "but don't suppose," he said again, "that i discovered the heroine of a romance, a strong character that breaks through bolt and bar, and goes proudly on its way. don't suppose that she was an 'exception,' an educated woman full of the new ideas, or, in fact, any 'ideal' at all. no; i learned to know a simple jewish woman--one of the best, but one of the best of those who are most to be pitied. i learned to love her, and i'll tell you the truth: whenever i read anything against jews in general, she comes hack to my mind with her soft, sad eyes; stands before me and begs: 'do not believe it. i am not like that.'" he is lost in thought. "the story is a simple one," he rouses himself and begins afresh. "we have not written to one another the whole time, and you don't know what has happened to me, so i'll tell you--briefly. i am only going as far as lukave. "on leaving the gymnasium i entered the university and studied medicine. i did _not_ finish the course; it was partly my comrades' fault, partly the teachers', and most of all my own. i had to leave and become an apothecary, had to marry, take my marriage portion, and set up a shop full of cod-liver oil in a little out-of-the-way town. but i was fortunate in many ways. i had a good father-in-law, who was prompt in fulfilling the contract, a pretty wife--it was a little bit of a town. "my wife's name was maria--i see her before me now, turning round helplessly from the looking-glass. her golden curls refuse to submit to the comb, they fly merrily in all directions; they will not be twisted into the wreath which was just then the fashion. "slender--and such good, laughing, sky-blue eyes. "we were not much disturbed by my professional duties. the town was too poor and an apothecary shop where there is no doctor isn't worth much. there was little doing, but we lived in a paradise, and we were always on the veranda--it was summer-time--side by side, hand in hand. "and what should have claimed our interest? we had enough to live on, and as for going out, where were we to go? the veranda overlooked nearly the whole town--the low, sagging houses, broad, black, wooden booths that leaned, as though in pity, over the roll and apple sellers at their wretched stalls before the house-doors, as though they wanted to protect the old, withered, wrinkled faces from the sun. "the town had once been rich, the booths full of all kinds of produce and fruits, the market full of carts, peasants, and brokers; sometimes even a great nobleman would be seen among the white peasant coats and the gray kaftans (at least so they assured me in the town), but the _chaussée_ and the railroad had thrown everything out. the streets were empty, the booths filled with decayed onions and pieces of cheese--all that was left of the good times. "poor as poor can be. ten traders threw themselves on every cart-load of corn brought in by the peasants, raised the price, then came to an agreement, promised cession money, and bought it in common; but not one of the ten could find in his pockets the wherewith to pay, and they borrowed money on interest. there were one hundred tailors to a pair of trousers; fifty cobblers to put in one patch. in all my born days i never saw such poverty. "we kept away from the town as much as possible--the happy are selfish. "but somehow we could not help noticing a young housewife opposite, not more than eighteen or twenty at most, and we could neither of us take our eyes off her, and she, apparently, couldn't take hers off us. it was an unusual sight. imagine a beauty, a perfect picture, set in a frame as dirty as only a jewish window in a small town can be, beneath a dreadfully bent roof. imagine a pair of sad, soft, dreamy eyes in an alabaster white face and under a hair-band. "she made a terribly sad impression on us. "for hours together she would stand leaning in the window, her fingers twisted together, staring at us, or else at the stars, and swallowing her tears. we saw that she was always alone (your men never have any time to spare), always unhappy and wistful. her face spoke for her. she is a stranger here, we decided; she has come from a larger house, less shut in, and she longs to be far away; her heart yearns after a freer life. she also wanted to live, to live and to be loved. no, you may say what you like, but you _do_ sometimes sell your daughters. it is true that after a while they forget. they are pious and good and patient, but who shall count the tears that fall over their saddened faces till the store is exhausted? or note what the heart suffers till it resigns itself to its living death? and why should it be so? just because they are good and pious? you should have seen the husband--yellow, shrunk together. i saw him twice a day--go out in the morning and come home at night. "a shame!" you will believe that i had no answer ready. we were both silent for a time, and then polnivski went on: "once we missed her. she did not appear at the window all day. "she must be ill, we thought. "that evening the husband came in--the yellow creature--and asked for a remedy. "'what sort?' "'i don't know,' he said; 'a remedy.' "'for whom?' "'you want to know that, too? for my wife.' "'what is wrong with her?' "'i'm sure i don't know. she says, her heart hurts her.' "and that," said polnivski, "was the occasion of our becoming acquainted. i won't be long about it. i am a bit of a doctor, too, and i went back with him." polnivski had begun to talk in broken sentences; he looked for cigarettes; at last he broke off altogether, opened his travelling-bag and commenced to hunt for matches. meantime i was tormented by suspicions. i now looked at polnivski with other eyes; his story had begun to pain me. who can read a man? who knows all that is in him? i began to think that i might have before me a christian weasel who stole into jewish hen-houses. he is too indignant about the fate of jewish daughters; he is too long looking for matches; he is ashamed of something. why will he "not be long about it?" why won't he tell me the whole story in detail? who knows what part he played in it, if not the old part of the serpent in paradise? why won't his conscience let him speak out? there it is again--a jewess--then, why not? at one time it was a merit to christen her; now the approved thing is to incite her to rebel against her god, her parents, her husband, her whole life! it is called liberalism, entering a prison and letting in a breath of fresh air, a few rays of sunlight; awaking the prisoner, giving him a few gingerbreads and then going--not seeing the prisoner grind his teeth as the rusty key turns in the lock, or how his face darkens, how convulsively he breathes, how he tears his hair; or else, if he still _can_ weep, how he waters with bitter tears the mouldy bread at which the mice have been gnawing while he slept. to waken the dark, slumbering, and oppressed heart of a jewish woman strikes a romantic chord; to fan the flame of unknown or smouldering feelings; to kiss and then--good-bye! bolt the door! she must make the best of it! we have been slaked for so long with bitterness, gall, and hatred, that now, when we are offered bread and salt, we feel sure it must be poisoned--even though the hand that holds it out to us shakes with pity; even though there are tears in the eyes, and words of comfort on the lips. it is so hard to believe in it all. for we also are infected; we also have succumbed to the plague. meanwhile polnivski had found his matches, and i unwillingly accepted a cigarette. we smoked. the chaise was filled with blue, smoky rings. i watched them, followed them with my eyes, and thought: thus vanish both good and evil. * * * * * "we made each other's acquaintance," said my christian neighbor, "but nothing came of it in the way of closer friendship." "why not?" i asked, astonished. "we went on looking at each other like the best of friends, but _she_ could not come to us, nor we, to her. "she had but to try it! it was a most orthodox town, where everyone but the feldscher and the ladies' tailor wore kaftans. and there was something besides, i don't know what, that kept us back. "then the worst misfortune befell me that can befall a man. "the apothecary's shop brought in next to nothing, and my wife began to fail in health. "i saw more clearly every day that she was declining, and there was no hope of saving her. she needed italy, and i could not even provide her with enough to eat; and, you know, when people are in that state of health, they are full of hope and do not believe in their illness. "the whole pain, the whole anguish has to be suppressed, buried deep in the heart; and no matter how the heart is aching, _you_ have to smile and wear a smooth brow. it dies within you every second, and yet you must help to make plans for this time next year, settle about enlarging the house, buying a piano." his voice changed. "i am not equal to describing, to living through those times again; but _my_ sorrow and _her_ sorrow brought us nearer together." lukave appeared in the distance. "i will tell you, in the few minutes i have left, that anyone so unhappy as that woman, and at the same time so full of sympathy and compassion for others, i never saw; and all so simple, so natural, without any exaggeration. "she never left maria's bedside; she got round her husband to lend me money at a lower rate of interest. she was our watcher, our housekeeper, our cook, our most devoted friend, and when maria died, it was almost harder to comfort her than me. "then it was i became convinced that hatred between nations is _not_ natural. there's just a lot of trouble in the world, and the more passionate would protest, only the false scribe, the political advocate, drafts instead a denunciation of the jews. "i saw clearly that the jews are not inimical to us--that we _can_ live in peace." lukave draws nearer and nearer to us--or we to it--and still i am afraid of the end. i interrupt him and ask: "and what became of the woman?" "how should i know? i buried my wife, sold the apothecary's shop, cried when i said good-bye to my neighbor, and--that's all. now i live in lukave. i am not doing well there, either." "and what was the name of the little town you lived in before?" "konska-vola."[ ] "your neighbor was tall and pale?" "yes." "thin?" "yes--you know her?" he asked, looking pleased. "she has a mole on the left side of her nose?" "a mole?" laughed yanek. "what an idea!" i think i must have made a mistake and say: "perhaps on the right side?" "my dear fellow, what are you talking about?" "perhaps you did not notice--and her husband is yellow-skinned?" "yes." "called chaïm?" "i think not, and yet--perhaps---- devil may care!" "but _her_ name is hannah?" "_ach_, nonsense! sarah! i remember i called her sòruchna. i shouldn't have forgotten her name." _i_ was the fool. are there so few jewish women leading similar lives? iv the new tune the end of the day of atonement. a blast on the shofar, and the congregation stirred noisily: "next year in jerusalem!" the boys made a dash at the candle-wax on the table, a week-day reader was already at the desk, and the week-day evening prayer was being recited to a week-day tune. full tilt they recited the prayers and full tilt they took off robes and prayer-scarfs and began to put on their boots--who has time to spare? nobody--not even to remark the pale young man walking round and round among the people, dragging after him a still paler child. it is his third round; but nobody notices him. one is under a seat looking for his boots, another finds somebody has taken his goloshes by mistake or dropped candle-grease on his hat, and all are hungry. he looks vainly into their faces; he cannot catch a single glance. "father, let us go home," begs the child. "we will go round once more," he answers, "and look for uncle." meantime the congregation is preparing to leave. the last kaddish is said, the last amen! the congregation make a rush for the door, carrying along with them the young man and the child. in the court of the shool the men begin to recite the blessing on the moon. the women walk away down both sides of the street, forming two white fillets. on the way home, there is time to count how many women really fainted; how many nearly fainted; and to discuss the reader, who grew hoarser this year than he had ever done before. at every house-door two or three people say good-bye to the rest and go in, while the majority are still in the court of the shool, gesticulating toward the moon. the pale young man and the pale child still circulate among them. the crowd lessens, and his face darkens; now the last has finished and gone. the young man remains. "not one; well, we must do without. i am not going to beg into a new year, just after the day of atonement,"[ ] he murmured, with quivering lips. the child thinks he is saying the moon-prayer. "enough now, father," and he took hold of the man's coat. "come home!" his voice was full of tears. "silly child, why are you in such a hurry?" "i want to eat; i'm hungry." "i should think so! of course, you are hungry, you rogue; you needn't tell me that. was i likely to think that you wouldn't be, after fasting through a whole day of atonement?" "come home!" begs the child again. "look here, david'l, there's nothing to eat at home, either." "just a bit of bread!" "there isn't a scrap!" the child stands still in alarm. "david'l," say the father, "you know what day this has been?" the child only sobs quietly. "to-day, david'l, was the day of atonement--a yôm kodesh.[ ] do you know what that means?" yes, the child just nodded. "well, tell me, david'l, what have we done all day?" "prayed," wept the child. "right! and he whose name is blessed, what has _he_ done?" "forgiven us!" (sobbing). "well, do you know, david'l, if god, blessed be he, has forgiven us, i think we ought to be cheerful, don't you?" the child makes no reply. "you remember, david'l, last year, when mother was alive, how we sang after supper, to a new tune? do you remember the tune? "no." "i will sing it to remind you, only you must join in." and the young man began to sing in a weak, hoarse voice. it was not a "sinni" and not a "wallach" tune, but it was a gruesome tune that went to one's heart. the child joined in and sang through his tears. v married (told by a woman) i remember myself at the time when i played marbles and made mud cakes in the yard; in winter i sat all day indoors and rocked a little brother who was born sickly, and who lingered on into his seventh year, when he died of a decline. in summer, whenever it was sunny, the poor little creature sat in the yard, warmed itself in the sun, and watched me playing marbles. in winter it never left its cradle, and i told it stories and sang to it. the other boys all went to cheder. mother was always busy, she had at least ten parnossehs. poor mother! she peddled, she baked gingerbread, she helped at circumcisions and weddings, she was a tikerin, a grave-measurer,[ ] recited prayers, and bought in provisions for better-class households. father earned three rubles a week keeping accounts for reb zeinwill terkelbaum in the forest. and those were the good times; teachers were paid, and the rent, too--almost on rent-day,--and we never had to eat our bread dry. sometimes mother would bake a cake for supper; then there was quite a feast. but that happened seldom. mother usually came home late and tired; often with red eyes and in a bitter mood. she would complain that the well-to-do ladies owed her money. they would get her to lay out her money for them, and then tell her to come for the money to-morrow, the day after; meantime more purchases were made, and when it came to a reckoning, the house-mistress could not remember if she hadn't already paid for the day before yesterday's quarter of a pound of butter--and she "put it aside" to ask her husband about it, who was there at the time--he has a tenacious memory, and will certainly remember how it was. next morning it turns out the husband came home too late from the house-of-study, and she forgot to ask him. on the third day she says, with a pleased expression, that she asked her husband about it, and he was angry with her for bothering him, "as if he had nothing better to do than attend to the affairs of a couple of women;" and it is settled that she, the madam, shall try to remember herself. presently she begins to feel sure the butter was included in the account after all; a little later, she is ready to build on it; and when poor mother reminded her of the butter again, she was called a pert hussy, who was trying to get an extra gulden by trickery--and she was assured that if they heard any more about the butter, she need never show herself there again. mother, who was herself the daughter of well-to-do parents, and would have been a lady herself, were it not for the nobleman who took her dowry, could not accept this meekly. she frequently came home with swollen eyelids, threw herself on the bed with a burst of tears, and lay there weeping bitterly till her heart was eased, when she stood up and cooked us kliskelech[ ] with beans. at other times she vented her anger on us; that is, on me; she never scolded the sick beril, and the other boys only very seldom--they, poor things, used to come home from cheder with their cheeks pinched brown and blue and with swollen under-lids; i, on the other hand, came in for many an undeserved tweak to my hair or else a slap. "you were not so sick all this time, but you could have laid the fire, put on a kettleful of water, were you?" and if i _had_ done it, i caught it worse: "look at my fine lady! goes and makes a fire and lets the wood burn away for nothing and nobody--never a thought of me toiling all day! shell be the ruin of us!" sometimes when father was at work in the woods, mother would sit down on the bed with her face to the window and complain, as she stared before her: "what does he care! there he sits out in the woods like a lord, breathes fresh air, lies about on the grass, eats sour milk, perhaps even cream, how do i know? and here am i, skin and bone!" and with all that, those were good days. we never knew want, and after a week of little worries came a cheerful, or at all events a peaceful, sabbath. father often came home for it, and mother was busy all about the house and smiled to herself in secret. friday evening, just before blessing the candles, she would often kiss me on the head. i knew what that meant. because if it so happened that father did _not_ come home, then i was an idle hussy. even when mother pulled out half my hair while combing it, and gave me a few slaps on the shoulders besides, i didn't cry. my childish heart felt that it was not _me_ she meant, but her unhappy fate. when the wood was all cut down, my father stayed at home, and then food began to grow scarce. it was my father, my mother, and myself, really, who hadn't enough; the other children knew very little about it. beril wanted next to nothing--took a cup of porridge when it was given him, and stared all the time at the ceiling. the other poor children had to go to cheder, "they _must_ have something hot," but i often went hungry. father and mother were always recalling by-gone days with tears in their eyes. i, on the contrary, was happier in the bad times than i had been in the good. now that bread was often lacking in the house, i received a double portion of my mother's love; she never pulled a hair out of my head when combing it, or hit my thin bones; my father would stroke my head at supper and play with me, so that i should not observe the smallness of my share of food; and i was quite proud whenever there came a fast, because i fasted with my parents, like a grown-up girl. it was about that time that beril died. it happened this way: mother woke up one morning and said to father across the bed: "do you know, beril must be better; he has slept the whole night through." i heard it--i have always been a light sleeper--sprang joyfully from my bed on the chest, and ran to look at my "pet of a brother" (that is how i called him--i was so fond of him). i hoped to see a smile on the wan little face, such as came over it once a year--but it was a dead face i saw. there was a week's mourning. after that my father's health failed, and the röfeh began to come to the house. so long as there was money to pay his fee, the old röfeh came in person; later on, when all the bed-clothes and the hanging-lamp, with father's book-case, which for a while my mother wouldn't touch, had gone in medicines, the röfeh began to send his "boy," the assistant. the "boy" displeased my mother dreadfully; he had merely a suspicion of pointed whiskers, was dressed like a gentile, and was continually introducing polish words into his speech. _i_ was afraid of him, to this day i don't know why. but when i knew he was to come, i ran and hid in the yard, and waited there till he had gone. one day a neighbor fell ill, also a poor man, and one whose furniture had apparently gone, too, and the "boy" (to this day i don't know what his name was) went to him straight from our house. crossing the yard, he found me sitting on a log. i looked down. aware of his approach, i felt a chill run through me, and my heart began to beat faster. he came up to me, took me by the chin, lifted my face and said: "a pretty girl like you ought not to have untidy hair! and she ought not to be ashamed before any lad in the world." he let me go, and i ran into the house. i felt that all the blood had rushed into my face at once. i squeezed into the darkest corner behind the stove, under pretense of counting the soiled linen. that was on a wednesday. on friday, for the first time, i reminded my mother of my own accord that my head needed washing, that it was frowzy. "more shame to me!" exclaimed my mother, wringing her hands. "i haven't combed her hair these three weeks." suddenly she grew angry: "lazy thing!" she cried; "a great girl like you and not able to comb her own hair! another at your age would have washed the other children." "sarah'le, don't scream," begged father; but her anger only grew more violent. "lazy girl, you _shall_ comb your own hair, and this minute. do you hear?" but i was afraid to go to the fire-place, where the hot water stood, because i had to pass mother, who would have given me a slap. father saved me, as usual. "sarah'le," he moaned, "don't scream, my head does ache so." that was enough. my mother's anger vanished. i ran freely across the room to the hot water. as i awkwardly combed my hair, i saw my mother go up to my father and point at me with a heavy sigh: "lord of the world, the poor child grows taller every day," she whispered to my father, but my ears caught every word. "fine as gold--and what's to be done with her?" father answered with a still heavier sigh. the röfeh assured us several times that father had nothing serious the matter with him. worry of mind had gone to his liver, and this had swollen and pressed against the heart; nothing worse. he was to drink milk and not trouble any more, walk out into the street, talk with his friends, and find something to do; but father said his feet refused to carry him. why, i only knew later. early one summer morning i was awakened by the following conversation between my parents: "did you knock yourself up in the woods?" asked my mother. "looks like it," answered my father. "they were cutting down in twenty places at once. you see, the wood is the nobleman's, but the peasants have certain privileges;[ ] they get the twigs that fall and lie about on the ground, and the wood of any tree that is struck by lightning. well, when the trees are cut down they lose their privileges, and have to buy wood for building and for heating purposes. so, of course, they wanted to stop it and bring down a commissioner. but they set about it too late. reb zeinwill no sooner saw them scratching their heads than he gave orders to put on forty axes. it was a gehenna! they were felling in perhaps twenty different places, and one had to be everywhere. well, what could you expect? my feet swelled like toadstools." "sinner that i am," sighed my mother. "and there was i fancying you had nothing to do." "nothing at all," my father smiled sadly; "i was only on my feet from dawn to dark." "and three rubles a week wages," added my mother, angrily. "he consented to raise them; meanwhile, you know, the timber raft was sunk, and he told me he was a poor man." "and you believe it?" "it may be." "he is always saying that" (angrily), "and yet the fortune goes on increasing." "with god's help," sighed father. there was silence for a while. "do you know what he is doing now?" asked father, who had scarcely left the house for a year. "what should he? he trades in flax and eggs; he has a public-house." "and she?" "sick, poor thing." "a pity; she was a good woman." "a jewel. the only lady who was not allowed to put up a groschen's worth of preserves! _she_ would have paid me regularly, but she hadn't much to say in the matter." "i fancy she is his third wife," said my father. "she is," my mother agreed. "well, sarah, here we have a rich jew, one who might live comfortably, and, lo and behold, he has no luck with his wives--we all have our troubles." "such a young woman, too," said my mother; "not more than two or three and twenty." "there's no accounting for these things; he must be seventy, and he's solid as iron." "you don't say so." "and no spectacles." "and when he walks, he shakes the planks." "and here am i in bed." these last words gave me a pang. "god will help," mother consoled him. "only she--she--," sighed my mother, and glanced toward my box, "she is growing taller and taller, do you see?" "of course, i see!" "and a face--bright as the sun." there is a silence. "sarah'le, we are not doing our duty." "in what respect?" "in respect to her. how old were you when you married?" "i was younger than she is." "well?" "well--what?" at that moment there were two raps at the shutter. mother sprang out of bed; in one minute she had torn down the string by which the shutter was held to, and thrown open the window, which had long been without a fastening. "what is it?" she called into the street. "rebekah zeinwill is dead!" mother left the window. "blessed be the righteous judge!" said my father. "to die is nothing." "blessed be the righteous judge!" said my mother. "we were just talking about her." * * * * * i was very restless in those days. i don't know myself what ailed me. sometimes i would lie awake all night. hammers beat in my temples, and my heart pained me as though filled with fear, or else with a longing after something for which it had no name. at other times it grew so warm and tender, i could have taken everything and everyone round me in my arms and kissed them and hugged them. only whom? the little brothers wouldn't let me--even the five-year old yochanan butted and screamed; he wouldn't play with a girl. my mother, besides my being afraid of her, was always cross and overdriven; my father--growing from bad to worse. in a short time he was as gray as a pigeon, his face shrivelled like parchment, and his eyes had such a helpless, pleading stare, it needed only one glance at them to send me out of the room crying. then i used to think of beril. i could have told him everything, i could have hugged and kissed him. now he lay in the cold earth, and i cried more bitterly than ever. indeed, the tears often came without any reason at all. sometimes i would be looking out of the window into the yard and see the moon swimming nearer and nearer to the whitewashed fence opposite, and not able to swim over it. and i would be seized with pity for the moon and feel a sudden contraction of the heart, and the tears flowed and flowed. other days i was listless. i hung round with no energy and a pale face with drooping eyelids. there was a rushing in my ears, my head was heavy, and life seemed so little worth living, it would be best to die. at these times i envied beril his lot. he lay in the earth, where it is quiet. and i often dreamt that i was dead; that i lay in the grave, or else that i was flying about in heaven in a shift with my hair loose, and that i looked down to see what people were about on the earth. just about then i lost all the companions with whom i used to play at marbles in days gone by, and they were not replaced. one of them already went out on sabbath with a satin skirt and a watch and chain. it was soon to be her wedding. others were "kallah-mädlich";[ ] match-makers and future fathers-in-law were "breaking in the doors," and there was combing and washing and dressing, when _i_ was still going barefoot, in an old bodice and a short skirt and a faded cotton waist, which had burst in several places right in front, and which i had patched with calico of a different color. the "kallah-mädlich" avoided me, and i was ashamed to play with younger children; besides, marbles amused me no longer. so i never showed myself in the street by day. mother never sent me out on errands, and one day when i intended to go somewhere, she prevented me. i often used to slip out after dark, and walk about behind the house near the barns, or else sit down beside the river. in summer time, i sat there till quite late at night. some evenings, mother would come out after me. she never came up to me, but would stand in the gateway, look round--and i could almost hear the sigh she gave as she watched me in the distance. that also came to an end in time; i would sit by myself there for hours, listening to the noise of the little mill stream, watching the frogs jump out of the grass into the water, or following a cloud through the sky. at times i would fall half asleep with my eyes open. one evening i heard a melancholy song. the voice was young and fresh, and yet the song thrilled me with emotion; it was a jewish song. "that is the röfeh-boy singing," i said to myself. "another would have sung hymns, not a song." i also said to myself that one should go indoors, so as not to hear it or meet the röfeh-boy, and yet i remained sitting; i was in a dreamy state, with no energy to move, and i sat on, though my heart was beating anxiously. the song drew nearer; it was coming from the opposite bank--across the bridge. already i hear steps in the sand, i want to run away, but my limbs are disobedient, and i remain sitting. at last he comes to the spot where i am. "is it you, leah?" i do not answer. the noise in my ears is louder than ever, the hammering in my temples, busier, and it seems to me the kindest and sweetest voice i ever heard. my not answering matters little to him, he sits down beside me on the log, and looks me straight in the face. i do not _see_ his look, because i dare not raise my eyes, but i feel how it is scorching me. "you are a pretty girl, leah," he says, "it's a pity to hide yourself." a dreadful crying fit seizes hold of me, and i run away. the next evening i stayed at home, and the one after. on the third, friday night, my heart was so heavy, i _had_ to go out--i felt i should suffocate indoors. he was apparently waiting for me in the shadow round a corner of the house, for hardly had i sat down in my accustomed place when he stood before me as though he had grown out of the ground. "don't run away from me, leah," he begged gently. "believe me, i will do you no harm." his gentle, earnest voice touched me. then he began to sing a low, sad song, and again the tears came into my eyes. i could not keep them back, and began to cry quietly. "why are you crying, leah," he broke off, and took my hand. "you sing so sadly," i answered, and withdrew my hand from his. "i am an orphan," he said, "unhappy--among strangers." someone appeared in the street and we fled in different directions. i learned the song and used to hum it softly over to myself in bed; i went to sleep with it, and i rose with it next morning. and yet i frequently had remorse, and cried because i had made acquaintance with a röfeh-boy who dressed german fashion and shaved his chin. had he dressed like the old röfeh, had he at least been pious! i knew that if my father heard of it, the grief would kill him; my mother would do herself a mischief, and the secret lay on my heart like a stone. i go up to my father's bed to hand him something, and my mother comes in from the street, and my sin overwhelms me, so that hands and feet shake, and all the color goes from my face. and yet every night i consented to come out again the next, and i felt no desire to run away from him now. he never took my hand again and told me i was a pretty girl. he only talked with me, taught me songs; but one day he brought me a bit of st. john's bread. "eat it, leah." i wouldn't take it. "why not?" he asked sadly. "why will you not take anything from me?" i blurted out that i would rather have a piece of bread. * * * * * how long our sitting together and singing lasted, i don't know. but one day he came sadder than usual; i saw it in his face and asked him what was the matter. "i have to go." "where to?" i asked faintly. "to the recruiting station." i caught hold of his hand. "you are going into the army?" "no," he replied, and pressed my fingers, "i am not strong. i suffer from the heart. i shall not be taken for a soldier, but i must present myself." "shall you come back?" "of course!" we are both silent. "it will only be for a few weeks," he said. i was silent, and he looked at me pleadingly. "shall you miss me?" "yes." i scarcely heard my own reply. another silence. "let us say good-bye." my hand still lay in his. "go in health," i said in a trembling voice. he leaned over, kissed me, and vanished. i stood there a long time like one tipsy. "leah!" it was mother's voice, but the old, gentle, almost singing voice of the days when father was well. "leah'she!" i had not been called that for a long time. one more quiver, and i ran indoors with lips still burning from his kiss. i scarcely recognized the room. on the table stood two strange candle-sticks with lighted candles, and beside them, brandy and gingerbread. father was sitting on a chair propped up with cushions, joy smiling out of every wrinkle in his face. and round the table were strange chairs with strange people--and mother caught me in her arms and kissed me. "good luck to you, daughter, my little daughter, leah'she! good luck to you!" i don't understand, but i am frightened, and my heart beats wildly. when my mother let me loose, my father called me. i had no strength to stand, and i dropped on my knees beside him, and laid my head in his lap. he stroked my head, curled my hair with his fingers. "my child you will never suffer want and hunger again, you will never go barefoot--you will be a lady--you will be rich--you will pay for the teaching of your little brothers--so that they shall not be turned out of the cheder--you will help _us_, too--i-shall get well." "and do you know who the suitor is?" asked mother, excitedly. "reb zeinwill! fancy, reb zeinwill! he sent the match-maker himself." * * * * * i don't know what happened to me, but i woke to find myself on my bed in broad daylight. "god be praised!" cried my mother. "praised be his dear name!" said my father. and they continued to embrace and kiss me. they even offered me preserves.... would i like syrup in water?... perhaps a sip of wine? i shut my eyes again, and was choked with a terrible fit of crying. "never mind, never mind," said my mother, joyfully. "poor child, let her have her cry out. it is our fault for telling her the good news all at once, so suddenly. she might have burst a vein, which heaven forbid. but god be praised! yes, cry your heart out. may all sorrow swim away with the tears, and a new life begin for you--a new life." man has two angels, a good and a bad, and i felt convinced that the good angel bade me forget my röfeh-boy, eat reb zeinwill's preserves, drink his syrup in water, and dress at his expense, while the bad angel urged me to tell my parents, once and for all, that i would not consent, that on no account would i consent. i did not know reb zeinwill, unless i had seen him once and then forgotten--or else not known who it was--but i disliked him. the second night i dreamed that i stood under the wedding canopy. the bridegroom is reb zeinwill, and they lead me round him seven times, but my feet are as if paralyzed, and they carry me in their hands. then i am taken home. my mother comes to meet me with a cake, and they are bringing the golden broth.[ ] i am afraid to raise my eyes. i feel sure i shall see before me a blind man, both eyes gone, with a dreadfully long nose--a cold shudder runs through me--but someone whispers in my ear: "leah, what a pretty girl you are!" and the voice is not that of an old man; it is _his_ voice. i open my eyes a little way; it is _his_ face: "sst!" he whispers; "don't tell! i enticed reb zeinwill into the wood, put him into a sack, tied it up, and threw it into the river (this was out of a story my mother once told me), and i am here in his place!" i woke trembling. pale moonshine was lighting the whole room through a chink in the shutter, and i noticed, for the first time, that the lamp was once more hanging from the ceiling, and that my parents were sleeping in bed-clothes. father smiled in his sleep; mother breathed quietly, and the good angel said to me: "if you are obedient and pious, your father will recover his health; your mother will not have to toil into her old age, and your little brothers will become learned men--rabbis, authorities in the law, great, great jews. their school fees will be paid." "only," put in the bad angel, "reb zeinwill will kiss you with his damp whiskers, and clasp you in his bony arms; and he will torment you as he did the other wives, and send you to an early grave, and _he_ will come back and grieve, and he will teach you no more songs, or sit with you evening after evening--you will be sitting with reb zeinwill!" no! not if the heavens should fall about the earth! tear up the contract! i did not sleep again till morning. my mother was the first to wake. i wanted to talk with her, but i was accustomed to go for help to my father. there, he wakes. "do you know, sarah'le," are his first words, "i feel so well to-day. you will see, i shall go out." "praise to his dear name! it is all owing to our daughter's good fortune, all thanks to her merit." "and the röfeh was quite right: the milk agrees very well with me." they are silent, and the good angel repeats: "if you are good and pious, your father will get well, while if your lips let fall wicked words, he will decline and die." "listen, sarah'le," continued my father, "you are not to go about peddling any more." "what do you mean?" "what i say! i will go to-day to reb zeinwill; he will take me into a business, or lend me a few rubles, and we will have a little shop; i will serve a bit, and you a bit--and later i will deal in produce." "god grant it." "he _will_ grant it. if you want a dress for the wedding, buy it--even _two_ dresses. why not? he said we were to get what we wanted. you are not going in your old clothes?" "go along with you! the thing is to have something made for the children. reuben has been going barefoot--last week he got a splinter in his sole, and he is limping now. winter is coming on, too, they want coats and shirts and warm cloaks." "buy, buy!" "you hear?" said the good angel. "if you speak out, your mother will have no new dress, and you know the old one is falling to bits; the little brothers will run barefoot to cheder in the sharpest frost, and in summer they will get splinters in their soles." "i tell you what it is," said my mother, "everything ought to be talked over and settled in detail, because he is not a _very_ good man. whatever settlement he intends to make on her ought to be put down in writing. there will be any quantity to inherit. even if it isn't a deed, let him give a written promise, because how long is such a one likely to live? another year or so!" "one can live a long time in comfort!" sighed my father. "a long time! remember, he's seventy, and sometimes he looks dead behind his ears." and the bad angel whispered: "if you keep silence, you will marry a dead man; you will live with a corpse; they will lead you to the bridal chamber with a lifeless body." mother sighed. "everything is in god's hands," said my father. mother sighed again, and father said: "and what could we do? anything better? if i only could have gotten well, and earned something, and we had had at least dry bread in the house----" he broke off; i had a feeling that something wept within him. "if she had been a year or two younger, i would have risked it all--perhaps even bought lottery tickets." and i said nothing. * * * * * my seventy-year-old bridegroom gave my father a few hundred gulden for clothes for the wedding, and me a check for one hundred and fifty gulden. people said, "a fine match." i recovered my companions. the one with the satin skirt and the watch and chain came two or three times a day. she was the happiest creature in the world, because i had caught her up, and we were to be married in the same month. i had others, but this one stuck to me like a leech. the others were "common girls, there was no saying how long they wouldn't have to wait!" rivkah's _fiancé_ was a stranger, but she was to board at home for two or three years. during that time we would be close friends; she would run in to me for chicory-coffee; i to her on sabbath, after the mid-day rest, for chicken-broth and pear cider. "and when i am expecting a baby," said rivkah once, and her face shone, "you will come and sit by me?" i made no reply. "well," exclaimed rivkah, "why so sad? there's no saying but you, too.... cheer up!" she went on, "if god will, one can fire off a broom. besides, how long do you suppose it will last? no one can live forever. my word, what a young widow you will make, to be sure. won't you be run after!" rivkah wished reb zeinwill no harm. "to be sure, he's a wretch; he tormented that other woman; but she was sickly, and you are sound as a nut. he will treat _you_ well enough." * * * * * he came back! my father was better, but he fancied a little dry-cupping--he was afraid, otherwise, of going out. he felt that after lying down so long, and then sitting for so many weeks on end, the blood had all settled in one place, and should be stirred. also his shoulders ached, and dry-cupping is the sovereign remedy for that. i shook as with ague. when there was dry-cupping to be done, the "boy" came, not the röfeh himself. "will you go and fetch the röfeh?" asked my father. "the idea!" exclaimed my mother. "a kallah-mädel!" she went herself. "why have you grown so pale?" asked my father, in alarm. "nothing." "it's some days now," he persisted. "you imagine it, tate."[ ] "your mother says the same." "_eh!_" "to-day"--father wanted to cheer me up--"they are coming to measure you for the wedding dress." i was silent. "aren't you pleased?" he asked. "why shouldn't i be?" "you don't even know _what_ they are making you!" "but they've measured me once already." hereupon my mother came in with the röfeh himself. i felt relieved, and yet all the time something mourned within me: "perhaps you will never see him again." "what a world it is!" thus the röfeh coming in panting and groaning. "reb zeinwill marries a young girl, and the treasurer's leezerl has turned ascetic and run away from his wife." "leezerl!" cried mother, in astonishment. "as i tell you; and here am i at sixty about early and late, and my assistant goes to bed." i began to tremble again. "don't keep such a gentile!" said my mother. "a gentile?" said the röfeh. "why a gentile?" "what's all that to me?" interrupted father, impatiently. "you'd better set to work." father was naturally good-tempered; he always seemed to me incapable of hurting a fly, and yet his tone was so full of contempt for the röfeh. when he lay sick in bed, he was always glad if anyone came in to have a chat with him, but he could never get on with the röfeh; he always interrupted him and told him to see to his own business, but this was the first time he had spoken so strongly. it pained me, because how much rougher would he not have been with the other, who was lying ill? what is wrong with him? he had said his heart was weak. what that meant exactly, i did not know; it must be something for which one had to go to bed, and yet _my_ heart told me that i had something to answer for in the matter. that night i cried in my sleep; my mother woke me, and sat down beside me on my bed. "hush, my child," she said, "don't let us wake father." and our conversation was whispered into each other's ears. i noticed that mother was greatly disturbed; she looked at me inquiringly, as though determined to get at the truth, and i resolved to say nothing, at all events so long as my father slept. "my child, why have you been crying?" "i don't know, mother." "do you feel well?" "yes, mamishe; only sometimes my head aches." she sat on my bed, leaning half way over, and i drew nearer her and laid my head on her breast. "mother," i asked, "why does your heart beat so loud?" "for fear, tochter'she." "are _you_ afraid at night, too?" "night and day; i am afraid all the time." "what for are you afraid?" "i am afraid for you." "for me?" no reply, but i felt a warm tear fall on my face. "mother, _you_ are crying now." the tears fell faster. i won't say! my resolve strengthened. suddenly she asked: "has rivkah been telling you anything?" "what about, mother?" "about your intended?" "how should _she_ know him?" "if she really knew him, she would hold her tongue. i only mean, did she repeat any gossip? out of jealousy--when a rich man marries a young girl in his old age, people always talk. i don't know--has no one told you that his last wife died because of the life he led her?" i answered coolly that i had heard something like it, but that i had forgotten from whom. "i'm sure it was rivkah--i wish her mouth were in the back of her head!" (angrily). "then why was it," i inquired, "that she died no suddenly?" "why? she had a weak heart." "but--do people die of a weak heart?" "certainly.".... something seemed to snap inside my brain. * * * * * i became a "silken child," my praise was in everyone's mouth. parents could not understand it--neither could the tailor: i asked for nothing; mother chose everything--material, color, and cut, just as she fancied. rivkah used to come in and pinch her own red cheeks. "who would trust a mother in matters of dress? an old-fashioned jewess? you won't dare to show yourself on sabbath either in shool or in the street or anywhere else! "you've done for yourself," she wound up. it occurred to me that i had done for myself a long time, and i waited indifferently for the sabbath of consolation, when reb zeinwill was to be invited to supper. then there would follow the "calling up,"[ ] and then the wedding. father was really better, he sometimes went out and began to inquire about produce. he thought it too soon to speak to reb zeinwill about anything further; he intended to ask him on sabbath to come again for the "third meal," and to put in a word for himself after that. all being so well, it was time to dismiss the röfeh; there was no difficulty now about credit--he never reminded us of what was owing him, never sent the "boy," but came himself. still, it was time this should end. i don't know how much they sent him, but the messenger was my brother avremele, who was to leave the money on his way to cheder. but the "boy" appeared a few days later. "how, wasn't it enough?" said my father, on seeing him. "yes, reb yehùdah; i have come to say good-bye." "to me?" asked my father in surprise. i had dropped down, when he came in, on the nearest chair, but at these words i stood up; it had flashed across me that i must protect him, not let him be insulted. he hadn't come for that. "i used to come to see you at one time," he said, with his gentle, melancholy voice, which was like sweet oil to my heart, "now i am leaving for good, so i thought--" "well, well, certainly," replied father, quite politely. "take a seat, young man. it was very nice of you to think of it, very nice, indeed." "daughter," he called to me, "we must offer him some refreshment." he sprang up, pale, with quivering lips and burning eyes, but the next instant his face had taken on its old melancholy expression. "no, reb yehùdah, i want nothing, thank you. farewell!" he put out his hand to no one, and barely gave me a glance. and yet, in that one glance, i read that he reproached me, that he would never forgive me. for what? i hardly knew myself. and again i fainted. "the third time," i hear my mother say to my father. "it is of no consequence--at her age it often happens--but heaven forbid that reb zeinwill should hear of it. he would break off the match. he had enough of that with the last one--the invalid." i was not an invalid. and i only fainted once more--on the wedding-day, when i saw reb zeinwill for the first time. never again. yesterday even, when the röfeh, who cuts my reb zeinwill's nails every month (otherwise they grow into his fingers), asked me, as he left, if i remembered his "boy," because he had died in a hospital in warsaw--even then i didn't faint; i only shed one tear. and i was not aware of _that_, only it seemed to please the röfeh. "you are a kind soul," he said, and then i felt it on my cheek. nothing more. i am healthy; i have lived with reb zeinwill five years. _how?_ perhaps i shall tell another time. vi the seventh candle of blessing the thirteen-year-old brow is puckered with anguish, the child-face pale with dread, tear after tear falls from the innocent eyes. only last friday, just a week ago, she was so happy, so full of glee. it was the "short friday."[ ] grandmother had woke her a little earlier than usual, she had spent the day in preparation for the sabbath. in the late afternoon she had washed herself, plaited her long hair, singing and dancing the while, dressed, and gone with grandmother to the synagogue--and they had lighted each her candles. bashe's first candle--god bless grandmother! her second--god bless tatishe,[ ] and let him find lots of work and make heaps of money, and not sigh any more and say that the times are bad. her third--god bless mamishe, and make her strong. and then--for the little sisters and the little brothers, a candle each. it lasted till people began to come in for the prayers. how she loves the synagogue! how she loves candle-blessing. she has lived with grandmother two whole years. she does not want to go home (there is no candle-blessing there, it is not the custom), unless it were just to see her mother, to clasp her father once round the neck and play awhile with his black, silky beard, and to have a game with the little ones. grandmother must not be left alone. she is always so good to her; she has taught her to bless the candles. bashe loves grandmother, and blessing the candles, too. she longs for it the whole week through, she counts the days. but this is a miserable friday. in the morning everything was the same as usual. she had "made sabbath"; grandmother had sat there and watched her happily. they had dressed themselves, and grandmother had taken her stick. then, as ill-luck would have it, there came the postman. grandmother read the letter, threw herself on the bed, and there she has lain for two hours with her face to the wall. she is black as a coal, her eyes are shut; one hand holds the letter; she foams at the mouth. no one is to come near her; no one is to be sent for. bashe is pushed away, and whenever she tries to open the door, grandmother hears and screams "no!" bashe stands by the bed and cannot make it out. her heart beats wildly. god only knows what they have written from home. perhaps--perhaps.... she cannot think what has happened. she drops on to her knees and clutches convulsively at grandmother's hand: "granny, granny, what is it? speak to me! tell me--what is it? granny, i think i shall die of fright!" she spoke involuntarily. grandmother has turned toward her; she moves her lips, opens her eyes, gives her one look, and "die!" she says in a hard voice, and turns her face once more to the wall. "and there wasn't his like!" she adds. "die, bashe, die!" bashe is silent. a blackness passes before her eyes, and her head falls on grandmother's feet. within her all is dark and cold. she has ceased to puzzle herself, she is nearly unconscious. and in this way another half-hour goes by. she hears her grandmother's voice: "get up!" bashe obeys. grandmother has risen to her feet and taken up the stick which she previously had flung away. "how many candles have you?" she asks. "why, eight," is the trembling reply. "leave one out!" bashe does not move. "put one away!" screams grandmother, angrily. bashe trembles like a leaf, but does not move. the old woman has gone to the table herself, undone the packet of candles, taken out one, and tied the rest together again. she pushes them into bashe's hands: "come along!" bashe follows her automatically; neither has thought to fasten the door behind her. bashe does not know herself how she reached the platform with her candles. "light them one at a time, for whom i shall tell you. repeat my words. say: god bless mamishe and grant her long life!" bashe shakes as with ague: the first candle has always been father's. "repeat!" screams grandmother. bashe does so. "the second: god make chaïmle a good jew!" little bashe shakes more and more--her limbs are giving way beneath her--she does not hear her father's name. her heart thumps, her temples throb, her eyes burn. grandmother has no pity on her--she screams louder every time: "repeat, repeat what i say!" bashe is lighting the last candle. "say: god bless sarah!" commands grandmother. no--she will not say that--where is father? no, she cannot say it--her whole being is in revolt against her wicked grandmother--no, no, no! "repeat, repeat!" screams grandmother with increasing violence. bashe refuses to obey--the last light _must_ be father's. she begins: "god bless fa--" "hush!" in a terrible voice. "hush, hush! your father is no longer a jew. he has become an official!"[ ] vii the widow the gray, swirling mists have rolled themselves together into one black cloud. it is warm and stifling; it is going to pour with rain; a few drops are falling already. the little house stands just under the hill. the low, thatched roof is full of holes--there is no one to mend it. the clouds have hidden the sun, and the remaining light is intercepted by the hill. inside the hut it is nearly dark; it is late--night is falling. in the corner, on the chimney-shelf, stands a little empty lamp, with a cracked globe; the naphthaline is exhausted, there is no one to go and buy more. it is closer indoors than out. the fire-place is not empty, it boasts two or three broken earthenware pots, a handful of ashes, a fragment of polished slate, a little iron stand on legs, but not a spark of fire. outside the door lies a log of rotten wood; there is no one to chop it. the owner of the hut lay sick for a whole year, and with every day of it their little hoard of money grew less. he had saved for a child's sake, "scraped together one hundred rubles, to be lent on interest." god gave a little girl: "it shall be her marriage portion!" but there came the illness. the little hoard dwindled and dwindled, and the man's strength likewise. the household goods were disposed of one after another; the last to go was the sewing-machine, and with the last penny out of the bag the soul departed out of the body. the soiled shred of linen that held the money hangs across a glass of water beside the soul-light.[ ] a small, tin trunk stands near the door; it belongs to the servant-girl, who has just gone out to look for another situation. the dismantled room is now all but dark; a few scattered wisps of straw shimmer on the floor; a nail-head stares here and there out of the four walls. on the wall used to hang a looking-glass (it is not wanted now. if the widow were to see her reflection, she would be terrified). a chanukah lamp (for whom should it be lighted?) and clothes used to hang there, too. they came and took each his own before he died. in one corner stands a cradle; in the cradle lies a child, asleep. on the floor beside the cradle sits the newly-made widow. the thin hands hang helpless, the heavy head rests on the cradle; the eyes, which look as if they had wept themselves out, stare fixedly at the ceiling. you might suppose she was dead, that she neither felt nor remembered any longer. her heart scarcely beats, her strength has left her. and yet one thought is revolving ceaselessly in her brain; no other seems able to drive it away--it is not to be dislodged. "hannah," he had once said to her, "hand me the scissors." he had no use for them just then, and he had given a little artful smile. what had he really wanted? did he wish me to go near to him? i was peeling potatoes. did i give him the scissors? no; just then someone came in--but who? she cannot recollect, and goes puzzling herself--who? the child sleeps on, and smiles; it is dreaming. viii the messenger he is on the road, and his beard and coat-tails flutter in the wind. every few minutes he presses a hand to his left side--he feels a pang; but he will not confess to it--he tries to think he is only making sure of his leather letter-bag. "if only i don't lose the contract-paper and the money!" that is what he is so afraid of. "and if it _does_ hurt me, it means nothing. thank god, i've got strength enough for an errand like this and to spare! another at my years wouldn't be able to do a verst,[ ] while i, thanks to his dear name, owe no one a farthing and earn my own living. god be praised, they trust me with money. "if what they trust me with were my own, i shouldn't be running errands at more than seventy years old; but if the almighty wills it so--so be it." it begins to snow in thick flakes; he is continually wiping his face. "i haven't more than half a mile[ ] to go now," he thinks. _"o wa!_ what is that to me? it is much nearer than further." he turns his head. "one doesn't even see the town-clock from here, or the convent, or the barracks; on with you, shemaiah, my lad." and shemaiah tramps on through the wet snow; the old feet welter in and out. "thank god, there is not much wind." much wind, apparently, meant a gale; the wind was strong enough and blew right into his face, taking his breath away with every gust; it forced the tears out of his old eyes, and they hurt him like pins; but then he always suffered from his eyes. it occurred to him that he would spend his next earnings on road-spectacles--large, round ones that would cover his eyes completely. "if god will," he thought, "i shall manage it. if i only had an errand to go every day, a long, long one. thank god, i can walk any distance, and i should soon save up enough for the spectacles." he is also in want of a fur coat of some sort, it would ease the oppression on his chest; but he considers that, meanwhile, he has a warm cloak. "if only it does not tear, it is an excellent one." he smiles to himself. "no new-fangled spider-web for you. all good, old-fashioned sateen--it will outlast me yet. and it has no slit--that's a great point. it doesn't blow out like the cloaks they make nowadays, and it folds over ever so far in front. "of course," he thinks on, "a fur coat is better; it's warm--beautifully warm. but spectacles come first. a fur is only good for winter, and spectacles are wanted all the year round, because in summer, when there's a wind and it blows the dust into your eyes, it's worse than in winter." and so it was settled; first spectacles and then a fur coat. please god, he would help to carry corn--that would mean four gulden. and he tramped on, and the wet snow was blown into his face, the wind grew stronger, and his side pained him more than ever. "if only the wind would change! and yet perhaps it's better so, because coming back i shall feel more tired, and i shall have the wind in my back. then it will be quite different. everything will be done; i shall have nothing on my mind." he was obliged to stop a minute and draw breath; this rather frightened him. "what is the matter with me? a cantonist[ ] ought to know something of the cold," he thought sadly. and he recalls his time of service under nicholas, twenty-five years' active service with the musket, beside his childhood as a cantonist. he has walked enough in his life, marching over hill and dale, in snow and frost and every sort of wind. and what snows, what frosts! the trees would split, the little birds fall dead to the ground, and the russian soldier marched briskly forward, and even sang a song, a _trepak_, a _komarinski_, and beat time with his feet. the thought of having endured those thirty-five years of service, of having lived through all those hardships, all those snows, all those winds, all the mud, hunger, thirst, and privation, and having come home in health--the thought fills him with pride. he holds up his head and feels his strength renewed. "ha, ha, what is a bit of a frost like this to me? in russia, well, yes, there it was something like." he walks on, the wind has lessened a little, it grows darker, night is falling. "call that a day," he said to himself. "well, i never," and he began to hurry, not to be overtaken by the night. not in vain has he been so regularly to study in the shool of a sabbath afternoon--he knows that one should go out and come home again before the sun goes down. he feels rather hungry. he has this peculiarity--that being hungry makes him cheerful. he knows appetite is a good sign; "his" traders, the ones who send him on errands, are continually lamenting their lack of it. he, blessed be his name, has a good appetite; except when he is not up to the mark, as yesterday, when the bread tasted sour to him. why should it have been sour? soldiers' bread? once, perhaps, yes; but now? phonye[ ] bakes bread that any jewish baker might be proud of, and he had bought a new loaf which it was a pleasure to cut; but he was not up to the mark, a chill was going through his bones. but, praised be he whose name he is not worthy to mention, that happens to him but seldom. now he is hungry, and not only that, but he has in his pocket a piece of bread and cheese; the cheese was given him by the trader's wife, may she live and be well. she is a charitable woman--she has a jewish heart. if only she would not scold so, he thinks, she would be really nice. he recalls to mind his dead wife. "there was my shprintze niepritshkes; she also had a good heart and was given to scolding. every time i sent one of the children out into the world she wept like a beaver, although at home she left them no peace with her scolding tongue. and when a death happened in the family!" he went on remembering. "why, she used to throw herself about on the floor whole days like a snake and bang her head with her fists." "one day she wanted to throw a stone at heaven. "we see," he thought, "how little notice god takes of a woman's foolishness. but with her there was no taking away the bier and the corpse. she slapped the women and tore the beards of the men. "she was a fine woman, was shprintze. looked like a fly, and was strong, so strong. yet she was a good woman--she didn't dislike _me_ even, although she never gave me a kind word. "she wanted a divorce--a divorce. otherwise she would run away. only, when was that?" he remembers and smiles. it was a long, long time ago; at that time the excise regulations were still in force, and he was a night watchman, and went about all night with an iron staff, so that no brandy should be smuggled into the town. he knew what service was! to serve with phonye was good discipline; he had had good teachers. it was a winter's morning before daybreak, he went to have his watch relieved by chaïm yoneh--he is in the world of truth now--and then went home, half-frozen and stiff. he knocked at the door and shprintze called out from her bed: "into the ground with you! i thought your dead body would come home some time!" oho! she is angry still, because of yesterday. he cannot remember what happened, but so it must be. "shut your mouth and open the door!" he shouts. "i'll open your head for you!" is the swift reply. "let me in!" "go into the ground, i tell you!" and he turned away and went into the house-of-study, where he lay down to sleep under the stove. as ill-luck would have it, it was a charcoal stove, and he was suffocated and brought home like a dead man. then shprintze was in a way! he could hear, after a while, how she was carrying on. they told her it was nothing--only the charcoal. no! she must have a doctor. she threatened to faint, to throw herself into the water, and went on screaming: "my husband! my treasure!" he pulled himself together, sat up, and asked quietly: "shprintze, do you want a divorce?" "may you be--" she never finished the curse, and burst into tears. "shemaiah, do you think god will punish me for my cursing and my bad temper?" but no sooner was he well again, there was the old shprintze back. a mouth on wheels, a tongue on screws, and strong as iron--she scratched like a cat--ha, ha! a pity she died; and she did not even live to have pleasure in her children. "they must be doing well in the world--all artisans--a trade won't let a man die of hunger. all healthy--they took after me. they don't write, but what of that? they can't do it themselves, and just _you_ go and ask someone to do it for you! besides, what's the good of a letter of that kind? it's like watered soup. and then young boys, in a long time they forget. they _must_ be doing well. "but shprintze is dead and buried. poor shprintze! "soon after the excise offices were abolished, she died. that was before i had got used to going errands and saying to the gentle folk 'your lordship,' instead of 'your high nobility';[ ] before they trusted me with contracts and money--and we used to want for bread. "i, of course, a man and an ex-cantonist, could easily go a day without food, but for her, as i said, it was a matter of life and death. a foolish woman soon loses her strength; she couldn't even scold any more; all the monkey was out of her; she did nothing but cry. "i lost all pleasure in life--she grew somehow afraid to eat, lest i shouldn't have enough. "seeing she was afraid, i grew bold, _i_ screamed, _i_ scolded. for instance: 'why don't you go and eat?' now and then i went into a fury and nearly hit her, but how are you to hit a woman who sits crying with her hands folded and doesn't stir? i run at her with a clenched fist and spit at it, and she only says: 'you go and eat first--and then _i_ will,' and i had to eat some of the bread first and leave her the rest. "once she fooled me out into the street: 'i _will_ eat, only _you_ go into the street--perhaps you will earn something,' and she smiled and patted me. "i go and i come again, and find the loaf much as i left it. she told me she couldn't eat dry bread--she must have porridge." he lets his head drop as though beneath a heavy weight, and the sad thoughts chase one another: "and what a wailing she set up when i wanted to pawn my sabbath cloak--the one i'm wearing now. she moved heaven and earth, and went and pawned the metal candle-sticks, and said the blessing over candles stuck into potatoes to the day of her death. before dying she confessed to me that she had never really wanted a divorce; it was only her evil tongue. "'my tongue, my tongue,' she cried, 'god forgive me my tongue!' and she really died in terror lest in the other world they should hang her by the tongue. "'god,' she said to me, 'will never forgive me; i've been too great a sinner. but when _you_ come--not soon, heaven forbid, but in over a hundred and twenty years[ ]--when you _do_ come, then remember and take me down from the gallows, and tell the heavenly council that _you_ forgave me.' "she began to wander soon after that, and was continually calling the children. she fancied they were there in the room, that she was talking to them, and she asked their pardon. "silly woman, who wouldn't have forgiven her! "how old was she altogether? perhaps fifty. to die so young! it was worse than a person taking his own life, because every time a thing went out at the door, to the pawn-shop, a bit of her health and strength went with it. "she grew thinner and yellower day by day, and said she felt the marrow drying up in her bones; she knew that she would die. "how she loved the room and all its furniture! whatever had to go, whether it were a chair or a bit of crockery or anything else, she washed it with her tears, and parted from it as a mother from her child; put her arms around it and nearly kissed it. 'oho!' she would say, 'when i come to die, you won't be there in the room.' "well, there; every woman is a fool. at one moment she's a cossack in petticoats, and the next weaker than a child; because, really, whether you die with a chair or without a chair, what does it matter? "_phê_," he interrupted himself, "what shall i think of next? fancy letting one's thoughts wander like that, and my pace has slackened, too, thanks to the rubbish! "come, soldier's feet, on with you!" he commanded. he looks round--snow on every hand; above, a gray sky with black patches--just like my under-coat, he thought, stuff patched with black sateen. lord of the world, is it for want of "credit" up there, too? meanwhile it is freezing. his beard and whiskers are ice. his body is fairly comfortable and his head is warm, he even feels the drops of sweat on his forehead; only his feet grow colder and weaker. he has not walked so very far, and yet he would like to rest, and he feels ashamed of himself. it is the first time he ever wanted to rest on an errand of two miles. he will not confess to himself that he is a man of nearly eighty, and his weariness not at all surprising. no, he must walk on--just walk on--for so long as one walks, one is walking, one gets on; the moment one gives way to temptation and rests, it's all over with one. one might easily get a chill, he says to frighten himself, and does all he can to shake off the craving for rest. "it isn't far now to the village; there i shall have time to sit down. "that's what i'll do. i won't go straight to the nobleman--one has to wait there for an hour outside; i'll go first to the jew. "it's a good thing," he reflected, "that i am not afraid of the nobleman's dog. when they let him loose at night, it's dreadful. i've got my supper with me, and he likes cheese. it will be better to go first and get rested. i will go to the jew and warm myself, and wash, and eat something." his mouth waters at the thought; he has had nothing to eat since early this morning; but that's nothing, he doesn't mind if he _is_ hungry; it is a proof that one is alive. only his feet! now he has only two versts more to walk, he can see the nobleman's great straw-covered shed, only his _feet_ cannot see it, and they want to rest. "on the other hand," he mused, "supposing i rested a little after all? one minute, half a minute? why not? let us try. my feet have obeyed me so long, for once i'll obey them." and shemaiah sits down by the road-side on a little heap of snow. now for the first time he becomes aware that his heart is beating like a hammer and his whole head perspiring. he is alarmed. is he going to be ill? and he has other people's money on him. he might faint! then he comforts himself: "god be praised, there is no one coming, and if anyone came, it would never occur to him that i have money with me--that i am trusted with money. just a minute, and then on we go." but his lids are heavy as lead. "no, get up, shemaiah, _vstavai_!"[ ] he commands. he can still give a command, but he cannot carry it out; he cannot move. yet he imagines he is walking, and that he is walking quicker and quicker. now he sees all the little houses--that is antek's, yonder, basili's, he knows them all, he hires conveyances of them. it is still a long way to the jew's. yet, best to go there first--he may find mezumen,[ ] and it seems to him that he approaches the jew's house; but it moves further and further on--he supposes that so it must be. there is a good fire in the chimney, the whole window is cheery and red; the stout mir'l is probably skimming a large potful of potatoes, and she always gives him one. what so nice as a hot potato? and on he trudges, or--so he thinks, for in reality he has not left his place. the frost has lessened its grip, and the snow is falling in broad, thick flakes. he seems to be warmer, too, in his cloak of snow, and he fancies that he is now inside the jew's house. mir'l is straining the potatoes, he hears the water pouring away--_ziùch, ziùch, ziùch_--and so it drips, indeed, off his sateen cloak. yoneh walks round and hums in his beard; it is a habit of his to sing after evening prayer, because then he is hungry and says frequently: "well, mir'l!" but mir'l never hurries--"more haste, worse speed." "am i asleep and is it a dream?" he is seized with joyful surprise. he thinks he sees the door open and let in his eldest son. chonoh, chonoh! oh, he knows him well enough. what is he doing here? but chonoh does not recognize _him_, and shemaiah keeps quiet. ha, ha, ha; he is telling yoneh that he is on his way to see his father; he inquires after him; he has not forgotten; and yoneh, sly dog, never tells him that his father is sitting there on the sleeping-bench. mir'l is busy; she is taken up with the potatoes; she won't stop in her work; she only smiles and mashes the potatoes with the great wooden spoon--and smiles. _ach!_ chonoh must be rich, very rich! everything he has on is whole, and he wears a chain--perhaps it is pinchbeck? no, it is real gold! chonoh wouldn't wear a pinchbeck chain. ha, ha, ha! he glances at the stove.[ ] ha, ha, ha! he nearly splits with laughter. yainkil, beril, zecharyah--all three--ha, ha, ha! they were hidden on the stove. the thieves! what a pity shprintze is not there! what a pity! she would have been so pleased. meantime chonoh is ordering two geese. "chonoh! chonoh! don't you know me? i am he!" and he fancies they embrace him. "look you, chonoh; what a pity your mother cannot see you! yainkil, beril, zecharyah, come down from the stove! i knew you at once! make haste! i knew you would come! look, i have brought you some cheese, real sheep's milk cheese. don't you like soldier's bread? what? perhaps not? yes, it is a pity about the mother." and he fancies that all the four children have put their arms round him and hold him and kiss and press him to them. "gently, children, gently; don't squeeze me too hard! i am no young man--i am eighty years old! gently, you are suffocating me; gently, children! old bones! gently, there is money in the bag. praise god, they trust me with money! enough, children, enough!" and it was enough. he sat there suffocated, with his hand pressed to the bag in his bosom. ix what is the soul? i remember, as in a dream, that there used to be about the house a little, thin jew, with a pointed beard, who often put his arms round me and kissed me. then i remember how the same man lay ill in bed; he groaned a great deal, and my mother stood and beat her head with her hands. one night i woke up and saw the room full of people. outside there was a grievous noise; i was very frightened, and i began to scream. one of the people came up to me, dressed me, and led me away to sleep at a neighbor's. when i saw our room next morning, i did not know it again. straw lay scattered on the floor, the glass on the wall was covered over, the hanging-lamp wrapped in a table cover, and my mother sat on a low stool in her socks. she began to weep loudly at sight of me and cried: "the orphan! the orphan!" an oil-lamp burned in the window; beside it were a glass of water and a piece of linen. they told me that my father had died, that his soul washed itself in the glass and dried itself with the linen; that when once i began to say the kaddish it would fly straight up into heaven. and i fancied the soul was a bird. one evening the "helper" was leading me home from cheder. a few birds flew past me, quite low. "neshome'lech fliehen, neshome'lech fliehen!"[ ] i sang to myself. the "helper" turned round upon me: "you silly!" he said, "those are birds, ordinary birds." afterwards i asked my mother how one could tell the difference between an ordinary bird and a soul. at fourteen years old, i was studying gemoreh with the commentaries, and, as luck would have it, under zerach kneip. to this day i don't know if that was his real name, or whether the boys gave it him because he used to pinch (_kneipen_) without mercy. and he did not wait till one had deserved a pinch; he gave it in advance. "remind me," he would say, "and by and by we shall settle up our accounts." he was a mohel, and had one pointed, uncut finger nail, and every pinch went to the heart. and he used to say: "don't cry; don't cry about nothing! i only pinch your body! what is it to you if the worms have less to eat when you are in your grave?" "the body," said zerach kneip, "is dust. rub one palm against the other, and you will see." and we tried, and saw for ourselves that the body is dust and ashes. "and what is the soul?" i asked. "a spirit," answered the rabbi. zerach kneip hated his wife like poison; but his daughter shprintze was the apple of his eye. _we_ hated shprintze, because she told on us, and--we loved the rebbitzin, who sold us beans and peas on credit, and saved us more than once from the rabbi's hands. i was her special favorite. i was given the largest portions, and when the rabbi had hold of me, she would cry: "murderer! what are you after, treating an orphan like that? his father's soul will be revenged on you!" the rabbi would let go of me, and the rebbitzin got what was left. i remember that one winter's evening i came home from cheder so pinched by the rabbi and so penetrated by the frost that my skin was quite parched. and i lifted my eyes to heaven and cried piteously and prayed: "tatishe, do be revenged on zerach kneip! lord of the world, what does he want of my soul?" i forgot that he only pinched the body. but a man is to be excused for what he says in his distress. on a school holiday, when zerach kneip shut the gemoreh and began to tell stories, he was a different person. he took off his cap and sat in his bushy locks (the skull-cap was hidden by them); he unbuttoned his kaftan, smoothed out his forehead. his lips smiled, and even his voice was different. he taught us in the hard, gruff, angry voice in which he spoke to the rebbitzin; he told us stories in the gentle, small, kind voice in which he addressed shprintze, his dear soul. and we used to implore him as though he were a brigand to tell us a story. we were unaware of the fact that zerach kneip knew only one chapter of the talmud, with which his course for little boys began and ended, and that he _had_ to fill up the time with stories, specially in winter when there are no religious holidays. we little fools used to buy stories of him with peas and beans, and once even we saved up to buy shprintze a red flannel spencer. for the said spencer, reb zerach told us how the almighty takes a soul out of his treasure-house and blows it into a body. and i pictured to myself the souls laid out in the almighty's store-room like the goods in my mother's shop, in boxes, red, green, white, yellow, and blue, and tied with string. "when god," said the rabbi, "has chosen a soul and decided that it is to go down into the sinful world, it trembles and cries. "in the nine months before birth an angel teaches it the whole torah; then he gives it a fillip under the nose, and the soul forgets everything it has learned. "that," added the rabbi, "is why all jewish children have cloven upper lips." that same evening i was skating on the ice outside the town, and i observed that the gentile boys, yantek, voitek, and yashek, had cloven upper lips just like ours. "yashek," i risked my life and asked, "_ti tàkshé màyesh dùshé_?"[ ] "what does it matter to you, soul of a dog?" was the distinct reply. beside going to the rabbi, i had a teacher for writing. this teacher was supposed by the town to be a great heretic, and the neighbors wouldn't borrow his dishes.[ ] he was a widower, and people never believed that gütele, his daughter, a girl about my age, knew how to make meat kosher. but he was exceedingly accomplished, and my mother was determined that her only son should learn to write. "i beg of you, reb teacher," she said to him, "not to teach him anything heretical, nothing out of the bible, but teach him how to write a jewish letter, just a 'greeting to any friend' letter." but i don't know if he kept his word. when i gave him the poser about the cleft lips, he went into a fury; he jumped up from his chair, overturned it with his foot, and began to caper about the room, crying out: "blockheads! murderers! bats!" by degrees he grew calm, sat down again, wiped his spectacles, and drew me to him: "my child," he said, "never believe such rubbish. you took a good look at the gentile boys who were skating? what are their names?" i told him. "well," he continued, "had any one of them a different kind of eye from yours; different hands or feet or limbs? don't they laugh just as you do? and if they cry, do they shed another sort of tears? why should they not have a real soul as well as we? all men are alike, children of one family, one god is their father, one earth their home. it is true that at present the nations hate each other, and each one persuades itself that _it_ is the crown of creation, and occupies all god's thoughts; but _we_ hope for a better day, better and brighter, when humanity will acknowledge one god and one law, when the words of our holy prophets will come true, when there shall be an end to all wars and jealousy and hatred; when all will serve one creator, and it will be as the verse says: 'for out of zion shall go forth the law and the word of the lord from jerusalem.'" i knew that verse from the paragraph, "and it came to pass, when the ark set forward," in the prayer-book.[ ] the teacher went on talking for some time, but i understood little of what he said; i could not believe that "a gentile has brains, too," that all men were equal. i knew that the teacher held heretical opinions; he did not even believe in the transmigration of souls, as i saw for myself after the death of fradel mifkeres (the heretic), when a black dog appeared on the roof of the house where she had lived. then he pared his nails in order, and never cut a "witness"[ ] to throw out of the window. i should very soon have run away from him; i should have told my mother of the way he talked, only-- i am sure you guess what and whom i mean. this alone remained fixed in my head, that there would be a time when the other nations would come to us to learn torah, and that it might be to-morrow. times with us just then were quite messianic; strong hints of it were discovered in the book of daniel, and the word that stood for the current year indicated it; besides, there was a passage in the zohar, and in the midrash ha-néelom, and it was whispered from ear to ear that the rebbe of kozenitz had stopped reciting the supplications; and there was reliable news from palestine that no fox had been seen near the "western wall" all that year. and people looked every day for messiah the son of joseph; kohol gave bribes to escape paying taxes; when messiah came, who would trouble about little things like that? the women came off worst. a few years previously the steps of their bath had fallen in. goodness knows, it took asking enough before the money was granted for new ones. and now the wood was there, ready and waiting, only it seemed a pity, all the same, to hire a workman and spend those few rubles. and i firmly believed that in a short time yashek, who pushed me when i was skating, just as i was doing a "cobbler," so that, thanks to him, i all but broke my neck; that voitek, who always made a pig's ear at me, and yantek, who counted us--_raz, dva, tshi_--that all three, i say, would come and humbly ask me to explain a ritual question, for instance, concerning things improper for the touch, as a stone on sabbath. and i, "merciful and a son of the merciful," would not remember against them what they had done to me, but would tell them. i would be a friend to them and explain to them the mystery of the iron and the paper bridge; tell them not to venture on to the iron bridge--indeed, that it would be best to keep away altogether, if they wished to save their souls. on the eve of new year i completed the course with zerach kneip, and felt as it were the relief of the exodus out of egypt. i had been told that my new teacher, reb yozel, never pinched; never even hit you for nothing. i had been used to see reb yozel at prayers. he was a tall jew, with huge eyebrows, so that his eyes were quite hidden. he wore his kaftan open, and the "little prayer-scarf" appeared on each side of his long, pointed beard. he walked softly and talked softly, as though of secrets. and while he talked, he nodded his head slowly, lifted his brows, drew his forehead together, thrust out his lips and whiskers, and slid both hands into his girdle; it seemed as though every word he spoke were of the greatest importance. reb yozel had been "messenger" for a time to one of the great wonder-workers, and he had even now a certain amount of oils, coins, amulets, salves, etc.,[ ] to sell on commission; he was reckoned the first exorcist in the town, and if the rabbi were poorly, he would preach instead of him on the great sabbath and the new year, and deliver memorial addresses. the rabbi was a weak old man, and reb yozel looked to filling his place when he had accomplished his one hundred and twenty years. beside this, reb yozel was a celebrated blower of the shofar, and when he repeated the blessing before blowing--how goes the saying?--fish trembled in the water. and i was filled with pride at the thought of being his pupil. we had not reached the day of atonement before i had an opportunity of questioning reb yozel about the soul. the soul, with me, had become a sort of _idée fixe_; it was never out of my thoughts. the first thing reb yozel did was to empty my head of the notion of other people being our equals, and to fill it up again with "thou hast chosen us." "not in vain," said he, "do we suffer exile, scorn, and other plagues not mentioned in the denunciations of the pentateuch. were we like to other nations, we should have _this_ world the same as they have it; 'the child whom the father loveth, he correcteth,' so that it may study and enter the gates of knowledge. "but even with us jews," went on reb yozel, "souls are not all alike; there are coarse, ordinary souls, like zerach kneip's, for instance; your teacher, the heretic, has a soul like korah; there are also very great souls, some of which come from out the space under the throne of glory; these belong to the category of _kémach sòlet_."[ ] i understood little, especially about the space under the throne of glory; i only knew the meaning of _kémach sòlet_, and supposed the difference between soul and soul was like that between rye-flour, corn-flour, wheat-flour, and the flour which was used for the sabbath loaf. the greatest of all the souls must be mixed with saffron and raisins. "the great thing," said reb yozel, "is to suffer. "no soul will be lost; they must all return to the state in which they were previous to their stay on earth. and the souls can be cleansed only by suffering. the creator, in his great mercy, sends us suffering so that we may remember we are but flesh and blood, a broken potsherd, mere nothings, who fall into dust and ashes at his look; but in the other world also the souls undergo purification." and he told me all that was done to the poor souls in the seven torture-chambers of gehenna. about the holiday times i had more leisure for looking round at home. just before tabernacles, we had a great wash. one night i dreamt that i was in the next world. i saw how the angels stretched out their hands from heaven and caught hold of the souls who were returning thither. the angels sifted them; those that were clean and white as snow, flew up like doves out of their hands as though into paradise. the dirty ones were thrown into a heap, and the heap was thrown into the sea of ice, beside which stood black angels with their sleeves rolled up, who washed them. after that they were boiled in a black pot over hell-fire. and when the dirt was squeezed out of them and they were ironed, the weeping of the souls was heard from one end of the world to the other. there, in the soiled heap, i recognized the soul of my teacher; it had his long nose, his hollow cheeks, his pointed beard, and it wore his large, blue spectacles. they washed it, and it only looked the blacker. and an angel called out: "that is the soul of the heretical teacher!" then the same angel said angrily to me: "if you walk in his ways, your soul will be as black as his, and it will be washed like this every evening, till it is thrown into gehenna." "i will not walk in his ways!" i cried out in my sleep. my mother woke me and took my hand down from my breast. "what is it, my treasure?" she asked in alarm. "you are bathed in perspiration;" and she blew upon me--_fu_, _fu_, _fu!_ "mother, i have been in the other world!" early next morning my mother asked me in all seriousness if i had seen my father there. i said, "no." "what a pity! what a pity!" she lamented. "he would certainly have given you a message for me." what was to be done, if the teacher even made game of dreams? for his own sake, still more for gütele's, i wished to save him, and i described to him the whole of my dream. but he said dreams were foolish; he paid no attention to such things. he wanted to prove to me out of the bible and the talmud that dreams were rubbish, but i stopped my ears with my little fingers and would not listen. i saw clearly that he was lost; that his sentence would be a terrible one; that i ought to avoid him like the plague; that he was like to ruin my soul, my young soul. but, again, what was to be done? i made a hundred resolves to tell my mother, and never kept one of them. i had my mouth open to speak many a time, but it seemed to me that gütele stood behind her shoulders, held out her small hands to me in supplication, and spoke with her eyes: "no," she begged, "no, don't tell!" and the prayer in her eyes overcame my piety; i felt that for her i would go, not through fire and water only, but into hell itself. and yet it seemed to me a great pity, for my mother and all my teachers were sure that i had in me the making of something remarkable. i was quit of zerach kneip and his long finger-nail, but i was not so much the better off. i was sixteen years old. the match-mongers were already catching at my mother's skirts, and i preserved the childish habit of collecting wax off the shool table on the day of atonement and secretly moulding it in cheder under the table. the beadle hated me for this with a deadly hatred, and i was well served out for it besides. "what have you got there?" asks reb yozel. i am wool-gathering at the moment and lay my whole hand on the gemoreh, wax on all the five fingers. reb yozel has grown pale with anger. he opens the drawer, takes out a piece of thin string, and binds together my two thumbs, but so tight, a pang goes through me. that was only the beginning. he went to the broom and deliberately chose and pulled out a thin, flexible twig. with this twig he whipped me over my tied hands--for how long? it seemed to me forever. and strange to say, i took the pain in good part; i felt sure god had sent it me that i might repent of my sin and give up going to the teacher. when my hands were pretty well swollen and the skin had turned all colors, reb yozel put away the twig and said: "enough! now you'll let the wax alone!" i went on moulding wax all the same. it gave me the greatest satisfaction to make whatever i pleased out of it. i felt i had something to be busy about. i would mould the head of a man, and then turn it into a cat or a mouse; then i drew the sides out into wings, divided the head into two, and it became an imperial eagle. after that, out of the two heads and two wings, i made a bun in four pieces. i myself was just such another piece of wax. reb yozel, the teacher, my mother, and anybody who pleased moulded me into shape. gütele melted me. they moulded me into shapes, but it hurt. i remember very well that it hurt, but why? why must _i_ torment myself about the soul? my comrades laughed at me; they nicknamed me the "soul-boy," and i suffered as much from the name as it was foolish in itself. i am lost in thought; i wonder what my end will be; when i shall have the strength to tear myself out of satan's grasp. i call my own soul to account; i reproach it; i scold it. suddenly i receive a fillip on the nose, "soul-boy." i wish to forget my troubles and plunge into a deep problem of rabbinical dialectics; i yoke together a difficult explanation of the tossafot with a hard passage in the rambam, mix in a piece from the p'ne yehoshuah, and top it off with an argument from eibeschütz. i am in another world, forgotten are the teacher, gütele, the soul. things are fitting one into the other in my brain; i nearly "have it," the solution is at the tip of my tongue--a whistle in my ear--"soul-boy!" it rings through my head, something bursts in my brain. forgotten tossafot, forgotten rambam--i am back on the earth! i stand repeating the eighteen benedictions, my heart and my eyes are alike full of tears, "heal us, o eternal, and we shall be healed!" i say with devotion, and i mean not the body, heaven forbid, i mean the soul: "heal me, almighty; heal my poor soul!" "that's the soul-boy," says one to another, pointing at me. and it is all over with my devotion. thus i suffered day and night. gütele was held to be very clever; her father never called her anything but "my little wisdom," and the neighbors said she was as bright as the day, and that if she were as pious as she was clever, she would rejoice the heart of her mother in paradise. my mother, too, used to praise her cleverness, and, if only gütele had known more about koshering meat, she would not have wished for a better daughter-in-law. and one day, when i found the teacher out, and gütele alone, it occurred to me to ask her opinion about the soul. my knees shook, my hands twitched, my heart fluttered; my eyes were fixed on the floor, and yet i asked: "they all say, gütele, that you are so wise. tell me, please, what is the soul?" she smiled and answered: "i'm sure, i don't know." then she grew suddenly sad and tears came into her eyes: "i just remember," she said to me, "that when my mother was alive (on whom be peace), my father always said, she was his soul--they loved one another so dearly." i don't know what came over me, but that same instant i took her hand and said, trembling: "gütele, will you be my soul?" and she answered me quite softly: "yes!" x in time of pestilence the town takes fright it is coming! _öi_, it is already near! in the villages round about people are in peril of death! lord of the world, what is to be done? "thou shalt not open thy mouth for satan"--the name of the pestilence may not cross the lips, but fear descends on every heart like a stone. and every day there is worse news. in apte a water-carrier, carrying his cans, has fallen dead in the street. in ostrovtze they have made post-mortem examinations on two jews. in brotkoff there is a doctor with a student from warsaw. racheff is isolated; they let nobody out or in. radom is surrounded by a chain of cossacks; in tzoismir, heaven defend us, they say people are falling like flies. a terror! trade slackens, piousness increases. dealers in produce are afraid to leave the spot; big yossil has already sold his horse and wagon--it's a pity about the oats. the produce-brokers tighten the belt across their empty stomachs, and there is daily more room in the dwellings, because every friday something more is taken to be pawned against sabbath. a workman, sometimes even a householder, will take an extra sip of brandy, to put heart into him, but that doesn't go far to fill the innkeeper's pocket, and a peasant is seldom to be seen. to make up for this, the röfeh's wife has removed her wig and put on a hair-band;[ ] a secret maskil has burnt his "love of zion"[ ] in public and taken to reciting psalms; the bather's maid-servant has gone to the rabbi and asked him how to do penance for having been in the habit of peeping into the men's bath-house, on fridays, through a chink in the door. a certain young man, not to mention names, has been fasting a whole month and thinks of becoming an ascetic--heaven only knows for what sin. some of the tailors now return remnants, butchers are more liberal in their cuts, only yeruchem chalfen asks ten per cent. a month on a pawn ticket, and no less with a security. his heart is of flint. and faces grow yellow and livid, lips, blue-brown, eyes look large and round, and heads droop; and the street is hushed. small, scattered groups, men and women apart, stand and hold voiceless conversation; heads are shaken, hands thrown out, and eyes lifted to the leaden sky spread out over the little town. it is quiet even in the house-of-study between afternoon and evening prayers. on the other hand, the women's gallery in the shool is full. every few minutes a piteous cry comes through the grating, and the men feel their hair and nails tingle. there is kol nidrei[ ] every night, and people are bathed in tears. what is to be done? who can advise? it is said that in warsaw they have started tea-houses for the poor, and cheap kitchens; they are giving away coal, clothes, and food for nothing--all "_their_" precautions, all to imitate the nations of the world, and perhaps to please the chief of police. here other means are employed--"meïr baal-ness,"[ ] wonder-workers, and famous charms. saturday evening, as soon as it is dark, "candles of blessing" are stuck in the windows; outside the town, vassil has a mill--the stakes shall be conveyed away by night and buried in holy ground; an orphan boy shall be married to an orphan girl--and every possible thing of the kind; only--only, these charms have been from everlasting, and yet, when there was the plague of , the entire market-place was grass-grown with only a pathway or two in the middle, trodden by those who carried the dead. besides, and worse even than the plague itself, there is disinfection, isolation, and, heaven have mercy on us, post-mortems. no man can live forever, nor can he die more than once; but death and life are in the hands of the all-merciful. weeping, prayer, and confession, these help; almsgiving is a remedy; but the other things mean falling into the hands of men. they suck the marrow out of your bones, it costs you a fortune, treasure and blood--and they make post-mortems! they cut up a corpse, heaven defend us, into little pieces, and bury it without a winding-sheet, in pitch. in the hospital there is poisoning; they burn innocent bedding, or they make a ring of cossacks, and people may starve to death or devour each other as they choose. ha! one must be up and doing and not let the enemy into the town. "candles of blessing" are already in the windows, side-glances are being cast at vassil's mill, and a marriage between two orphans is under discussion. and the terror increases day by day. one had hoped that the calamity would pass away with the summer, with the great heat.... these are all over, the solemn days, too. now, thank god, it is after tabernacles. one feels the cold in one's bones; it snows a little, not unfrequently, and the pestilence creeps on and on. may god watch over us and protect us. two are not afraid and yet there are two persons in the place who are not afraid; and not only that, but they are hoping for the plague. the two persons are the young doctor, savitzki, a christian, and, lehavdîl, yössil, the beggar-student. savitzki came two years and a half ago, straight from the university; he came a good christian, a treasure, quite one of the righteous of the nations of the world; people wished the town-justice were as good. there wasn't a particle of pride in the man; he never gave himself airs; he greeted everyone he passed, even a child, even a woman. for an old person he would step aside. he loved jewish fish as life itself, and the householders treated him one and all with respect; they bowed to him and took off as much as the whole hat; they sent him sabbath cakes, and often asked him in to fish. in fact, they wished him all that is good, only--they never consulted him. who wanted a doctor? hadn't they a röfeh? and what a röfeh! he has only to give the patient one look to know what is the matter with him. so it's no wonder the apothecary is willing to make up his prescriptions. it is possible that another doctor might have got a practice quicker. for instance, if there had come an old doctor with long experience and leaving a large practice somewhere behind him, but there appears this popinjay, who cannot even twirl the down on his upper lip, with a young, pale face like a girl's, dressed like a dandy, a boy fresh from school. and just as the eggs always know more than the hen, so must he think himself better than the old röfeh, who, as the saying goes, had eaten up his teeth at the work. so must he say, that the sick take overmuch castor oil, that cupping was a mistake, especially for a woman in child-bed; leeches he wanted put on the shelf, that they might do no harm; dry-cupping he made fun of, and he had no faith in salves. did you ever hear of a doctor without salves and without blood-letting? who would consult him? an apothecary turns up his nose at such an one's prescriptions--for twenty groschen apiece. thus it went on for six months; there was open war with the röfeh and hidden war with the apothecary, and yet he was on very good terms with the householders. thus it went on, i say, till savitzki came to the last of the few gulden which he had brought with him from somewhere; after a bit he got behindhand with his rent, and was in debt to the butcher and the grocer and the tailor--he was in debt all round--and the creditors grew daily more impatient. and once, when the butcher had sent back the maid without any meat, savitzki let his wings droop, and confessed that blood-letting was necessary, and that castor oil might be taken every minute; but this did him no good at all, because, first, no one believed him, that he really meant it--it was very likely only to take people in; secondly, supposing it were so, and he had really given in to the röfeh, then what was he wanted for? * * * * * savitzki got another gulden or two from somewhere (christians often inherit things from rich uncles and aunts), and dragged on another six months, at the end of which he had an inspiration: _he became an anti-semite_, and a real bitter one. he left off saluting people, and now, if he stepped aside for a jew, it was to spit out before him. he persuaded the town-justice, even though it was winter, to drive a few jewish families off the peasants' land, and when there came a new inspector (the old ones had their hush-money), he would himself take him round the courtyards and show him where there lurked uncleanliness. he told the apothecary one day that in _his_ place he should give all the jews poison; and many, many more things of the kind. _this_ idea really proved helpful. certain of the householders began to call him in and paid him for his visits, although they would afterwards tear up his prescriptions, pour out his mixtures, throw away his ointment. the enemy of israel must have his mouth shut; that also was a kind of "hush-money"; but savitzki did not make a living by it. he had no more inspirations, and there was no hope of things bettering themselves. in addition to this he had the following misfortunes: he was unable to extract a pea out of a little boy's ear; a sick man risked his life by taking one of savitzki's prescriptions and in a week he was dead. but the worst was that he forgot himself one day and declared that fever was not in itself an illness, but a remedy, a weapon by means of which the body would rid itself of the disease. those who heard him all but split with laughter; and still more did they pant for laughing when it happened that he was called in to a woman in child-bed at the critical moment, because the "town-grandmother" was away on business in a village, and there was no help for it. the ridiculous things he did! he called for a basin of water, a piece of soap. he poured something into the basin out of a little bottle he had brought in his pocket. the people stood and watched him, and concluded he made up his medicines at home to annoy the apothecary--but heaven only knew what it was. then he just went and washed his hands; and yet his hands were as clean as clean could be, as is the way with christians. and as if that wasn't enough, he took out a knife and cleaned his nails--really, lehavdîl, he might have been a pious jewess. then he rubbed his hands and washed them anew. what more shall i say about his conjuring tricks? then to business. the woman (it was not her first) said he certainly had smaller hands than the "town-grandmother," and was quicker at it, too, except for his fads. but who could stand all that fuss? and when there's no soap to be had? it just happened to have been washing day, but otherwise? the result of all this was that savitzki went about like a wicked man in the other world, and at the end of two years and a half he saw he would not be able to hold on there; that his "inexpressibles" were getting too big for him, that he was growing daily thinner, and might fall into a decline; he was preparing to run away and leave his debts behind, and now--_it_ was near. no, this is not the time to leave a town of the kind; there are golden days coming. they have already sent an order to build a "barrack" for cholera patients and to set apart a house for their families; and although the heads of the community have forked out and bribed the town-justice and the inspectors, to set down the "expenditures" for the barrack as though it had been built, and not alarm the town, everyone felt it was on the move, that it was coming; that it meant peril of death to everyone and good luck to savitzki. he will get three to four rubles a day from the government, the sick will pay him extra, and those who are well will pay not to be put down as sick. all the jews will pay, for disinfection and no-disinfection, isolation and non-isolation, for being let in and let out, for speaking and for being silent, and above all, "burial money"--not to be made the subject of a post-mortem and be buried in pitch. savitzki revived. his heart grew light within him. he paced the streets whistling a merry air; he looked cheerily into everyone's face, peeped in at all the doors and windows. jews like to hide themselves, ah! but he will not allow it. they shall pay him for the past years--he will come into his own. then he will leave the dead-alive place and marry. whom should he find here? the apothecary's daughter--that ugly thing? the second who is not afraid yössil, the beggar-student, would also like to marry, and has equally put his hope in the pestilence; he is the one orphan lad in the town. the householders could get no other if they wished. they will _have_ to marry him off. and he wishes it very much, which is no wonder--it is in the family. his father and his grandfather at his age had already buried children, and he is eighteen years old. he is "a scorn and a derision." they call him "bachelor" and "old maid," he has no peace at the academy all day. the allusions made at his expense prick him like pins. at night, it's worse. he lies all alone in the house-of-study on the hard bench, and does not sleep whole nights--the bad dreams will not let him; he is ready to crawl up the wall. he begs and implores the neighbors to marry him. he asks mercy, and the answer is always the same: "unless it be the queen of sheba, who will look at you, scab?" that, as it happened, was something yössil had not; but he had other attractions. he had come to the place fourteen years before, with his father, a book-peddler who fell ill on his way through and who--not of you be it said!--died there. he had never known his mother, and therefore had wandered about with his father from babyhood. kohol was moved to pity, householders bought up all the books in order to bury the father, which they did almost for nothing, and even gave him a nice grave. the orphan was taken into the talmud torah and told to sleep in the house-of-study; he ate "days,"[ ] as he was still doing when my story begins. in half a year's time he went through measles in the house-of-study, and then small-pox, and got a face as pitted as a grater. the next year brought a new misfortune. in the house-of-study was an old split stove, of which yössil was the official heater. this oven was a useless old thing and gave out no heat. by day things were bearable; at night the stove went down to freezing-point. yössil's rags, given him by the householders on some holiday, were hardly enough to clothe him, never sufficient for extra covering at night. one day yössil thought the matter over, and stole the key of the wood store-room. he commenced to steal wood, and every day he heated the stove more, and sat by the fire and warmed himself. at last, as people said, god punished him for his theft: the stove suddenly burst, and a piece flew out and broke his foot. the town röfeh cured it, but it remained shorter than the other, and yössil limped from that day forward. and he was no genius, not even specially diligent. who would fix on him? whom was he likely to attract? not even a water-carrier would take him for a son-in-law. meantime, as though to spite him, his eyes would burn like hot coals, his heart beat and yearned and sickened after something. he often felt dizzy, there was a sound as of bells in his ears, and he shook as in a fever, hot and cold, hot and cold. but who troubles about an orphan? the householders feel they have done their part in giving him free meals. what sort of meals? well, what merit is there to be secured in feeding a boy like that? a boy who won't learn, sits over a book, and is all the time wool-gathering? you speak to him and he doesn't hear. and all of a sudden he starts up and jumps away from his place, leaves the book open, and runs about the house-of-study like a mad thing, upsets the reading-desks, upsets the people, like one possessed. a madcap, a scatter-brain. tendons, bones, mouldy bread, the day before yesterday's porridge--and _that's_ a waste! what's the use of him? he may thank his stars that he's an orphan. a boy of that sort in a family is apprenticed to a workman, but nobody wants to undertake a strange child. who would care to be responsible for it? besides, the father was a learned man, who recited torah in his last moments, and who died like a saint in the seventh month, after making a very clear confession of sins; and who would dare apprentice the child of such an one to a workman?[ ] who would undertake to answer for it to the dead? and so yössil grew up alone in the house-of-study; by day he was tormented by malicious observations and at night by bad dreams; it is two or three years since he had rest. but he would not let himself drift; he felt that these were bad thoughts, evil dreams; but they grew stronger and stronger, and his will grew weaker, and he began to fast, but this was of no avail; to recite psalms--no use at all; to study--when he could not read the letters? fiery wheels circled before his eyes. he saw that the seducer was stronger than he was, and he let his wings droop and ceased to oppose him. he only consoled himself with the thought that he, too, might be married some day. and he waited for the match-mongers, and then, as they did not come to him, he put shame aside and went to them. but that is not done so easily. months passed before he ventured to speak to a match-monger; first to one, then to another, then to a third, until he had been to all there were in the town. and when the last one had given him the same reply as the others, that no one would look at him but the queen of sheba, he fell into great despondency. life had become hateful to him. one night it occurred to him that it would be better to die than to live thus. he began to battle afresh with this new sinful thought, and again his strength began to fail. the first time the thought came like a lightning-flash and vanished. the following day it came again and stayed longer; on the third day he had time to consider it; he remembered that last week there had been a strong wind, a sign that some one had hanged himself. perhaps a gentile? no; there would never be a wind because of a gentile; it must have been a jew. a year ago, there was a jew drowned in the bath, chaïm the tailor. who knows, perhaps he drowned himself on purpose? what should a tailor be doing in the bath in the middle of the week? on the eve of the day of atonement everyone goes, but on a wednesday like any other?... a few days later he felt drawn to the bath as though by pincers. where is the harm? i can go if i like. he went, but he did not even undress. he felt that once in, he would never come out again, that he would remain there. he stood some time leaning over the bath, he could not tear himself away from it, but gazed at the dark water with a faint reflection of himself trembling on the surface. then it seemed to him, that was not _his_ image, but chaïm the tailor's, and that chaïm the tailor smiled and beckoned to him: "come! come! it is so quiet here, so cool--a delight!" he grew hot all over and fled in terror. it was only in the street that he collected himself again. passing a rope-maker's, he observed that the ropes lay tossed about anyhow; the rope-maker had gone away somewhere. why had he just gone away? where to? a few other such silly questions passed through yössil's mind, while his hands, acting of themselves, stole away a rope that happened to be lying on the door-step. he was not aware of the theft till he found himself back in the house-of-study. he was very much surprised--he could not think how the cord had got into his pocket. "it is god's doing," he thought, with tears in his eyes; "god himself wishes me to take my life, to hang myself!" and he felt a bitterly piteous compassion for himself in his heart. god who had created him, who had made him an orphan, who had sent him the small-pox, and had thrown the piece of the stove at him, wishes him now to hang himself. he has refused him _this_ world, and now he is to lose the other as well. why? because he had not mastered the seducer? how could he? all by himself--without parents, without companions--and the seducer is, after all, an angel, and has been under arms since the creation; and yössil feels very wretched and unhappy. god himself is unjust to him, if he wishes him to hang himself. he sees it clearly, there is no uncertainty about it. and what is the outcome? if god wills it so, what can he do, he, the worm, the orphan? he cannot withstand the seducer, then how shall he dare to think of going against god? no; he will not attempt to go against god. he takes the rope and goes up into the loft of the shool. he will not profane the house-of-study. he will not hang himself over against the ark. in the loft there is a hook, equally provided by him. how else should there be a hook up there? who knows how long the hook has been waiting for him? god may have prepared it before he, yössil, was born or thought of. thus considering, he folded the rope. something had occurred to him: and suppose the contrary? suppose it to be the work of satan? suppose the same satan who sends me the other thoughts had sent me this one, too? and he let the rope be--it is a matter for consideration. he must think it well over. to lose both this world and the world to come is no trifle. thereupon the clock struck four--dinner-time and he became suddenly aware that his stomach was cramped with hunger. and he came down from the loft and left the rope folded up. every night he feels drawn to the rope. he does what he can to save himself--he runs to the ark, puts his head in among the holy scrolls, and cries pitifully to them for help. he frequently clasps a desk, so that it may be more difficult for him to leave the spot, or he clings with all his might to the old stove. and who knows what the issue of the struggle would have been but for the pestilence? oh! now he drew a deep breath of relief. an end to hanging, an end to melancholy. they will have to give him a companion, and _not_ the queen of sheba; he is the _one_ orphan in the town. savitzki withdraws--yÖssil goes into retreat since the dread of the pestilence had so increased, the townsfolk ran a mile when they saw savitzki coming. they were afraid of him--and no wonder. after all, a man is only flesh and blood, he may suddenly become indisposed any day, and savitzki now is cock of the walk. he can have people put to bed, smeared, rubbed, can pour drugs down their throats, drive out the whole family, burn the furniture, poison people, and then make post-mortems. what an outrage! when doctors want to know the nature of an illness, they poison off the first patients and look for little worms inside them. but what is to be done? when one is in exile--one is!... a röfeh in apte having declared that the doctor there poisoned his patients, they imprisoned him for three months on bread and water. you think i mean the doctor? no, mercy on us, the röfeh! that is why, when savitzki appeared in the street, it grew suddenly empty. if he looked up at a window, a blind was drawn, or the window was filled up with a sheet, a cushion--anything. one fine morning the street where savitzki lived stood empty--all the householders and the tenants had moved away overnight. no one wished to come within his area. it was a real case of "woe to the wicked and woe to his neighbor!" savitzki has remarked it, and he is silent. more than that, he has withdrawn himself from the town for the time being--just as a cat will spring aside from a mouse--it won't run away. he sits the whole day at home, or goes for walks outside the town in the mud. he is sure of his game, then why irritate the people by prying? when the time comes, he will know; doors and windows won't keep the thing in; there will be cries as on the day of atonement. the jews have little self-control. they are a people very much afraid of death, and helpless when face to face with sickness. savitzki had lived through a typhus epidemic; he had seen the overflow of feeling, heard the cries and commotion. he seemed to be in a sea of lamentation and wailing. o no, they will never keep it to themselves. he withdrew from the street. and yössil withdrew from the street and the house-of-study as well. one wished it, the other had to do it. since there was more talk of the pestilence, yössil's whole melancholy had vanished, as though brushed away by the hand. indeed, he grew more cheerful, merrier day by day, and would often, without meaning to do so, burst out laughing. he could not help himself, it bubbled up within him; he had to laugh. it tickled him in all his limbs. the paler the householders grew, the ruddier grew he; the lower they hung their heads, the higher he carried his; the more subdued grew their voices, the clearer and fuller yössil's, and--the more the house-of-study sighed, the louder his laughter: ha-ha-ha! and it was not his fault, something in him laughed of itself. and at a time when all other eyes were dim and moist, his shone brighter and brighter; they fairly sparkled. at a time when people stood and looked at each other open-mouthed, not daring to move a limb, his feet danced beneath him; he could have kissed every desk, the stove, the walls. "is he mad?" people asked, "or what has possessed him?" "he's most certainly mad," was the reply. "certainly! he ought to be sent to the asylum." yössil was not afraid even of the asylum; he knows that kohol will not spend money on that. a few years ago a mad woman was frozen to death in the street, after running around a whole winter without clothes, and all that time it never occurred to anyone to hire a conveyance and have her taken to a refuge. people were extremely sorry for her. another in her case would have gone about the country and begged a few pence. she hadn't even the wits to do so much. the householders only sighed, and there it ended. why should he, yössil, be of more consequence? he is anxious not to make kohol angry; there is no other orphan, true, but--if kohol became angry, they might have one brought. and someone else might become an orphan! alarming thought! anyhow, kohol will have to give a wedding-present. it is well to keep on terms with people. secondly, yössil is afraid lest they should take him for a real lunatic and _have_ to get another. they would never marry a _real_ lunatic. there would be no use in that. another thing--and this is the principal one--he needs retirement. he must be alone with his thoughts, he must reflect and consider, and dream by night and by day. he finds rest now at night in the house-of-study; when the others go, and he is left alone with the desks and chairs, he runs to the window, presses his burning forehead against the cold pane; it grows cool in his brain, his ideas move in order. if it is a clear night, he thinks the moon is making signs to him, that is, that joshua, the son of nun,[ ] says to him, in pantomime, yes or no, as he thinks best. by day he saunters about by himself outside the town. he does not feel the creeping cold that makes its way in through the holes in his garments; he does not feel the wet that enters boldly his half-open boots; he makes gestures with his hand, talks to himself, to the leaden clouds, or to the pale winter sun; he has so much to think about, so much to say. he is the one orphan lad, but there are three orphan girls, and he would like to know which of them is for him. in the foreground stands devosheh, daughter of jeremiah, the shoemaker. the latter was kind to yössil before he died, and would sometimes call him in and mend his boots; once he gave him a pair of cobbler's shoes; he would spare him a piece of bread and dripping, or an onion. yössil, on these occasions, could not take his eyes off devosheh--o, he remembers her well. she stands before him now, a stout, healthy girl, red-cheeked like a simchas-torah apple, and strong as they make them. when she takes the hatchet, the splinters fly. if jeremiah had not died, yössil would have proposed the match--he liked a fine, healthy girl of the sort. when he thinks of her, his mouth waters. once--he cannot forget it--he met her on the stairs, and she attracted him like a magnet. he went close and touched her dress, and she gave him a little push which all but sent him rolling down. a good thing he caught hold of the banisters. after that it was some time before he dared show himself upstairs again; he was afraid, lest she should have told her father; and later on when he would have risked it and gone with his life in his hand, jeremiah was already ill. he lay sick for about three weeks and then died. then his wife fell into a decline and died, too. now devosheh is maid-servant at saul the money-lender's. when he goes there for his "day," he sometimes finds himself alone with her in the room; then he hasn't the courage to say a word to her; she has a look in her eyes! but if kohol wishes it, she will _never_ dare to say _no_! kohol is kohol! devosheh, he thought longingly, would be good to have; he can imagine _no_ better wife. he may possibly get a "pat on the cheek" from her, but that's nothing unusual, and he will take it kindly. he will only hug and kiss her for it. he would wash the dust off her feet and follow her about like a child. he would obey her, stroke her, fondle her, and press her tight to his heart--tighter still, though it should beat even quicker than it was beating now, though it should burst, though it should jump out of him; though his soul should escape, he would die at her feet--and he _will_ press her to himself. _ach!_ if kohol would only settle on devosheh! her little finger is worth the whole of another woman. he asks for nothing more at present than her little finger; he would take it and squeeze it with all his might, to prove to her that she wanted a husband. but kohol may think of another orphan. yonder, at the burial ground, is a second; there she is, though he does not know her name; she is only half an orphan, motherless, but she has a father; only what a father! it were better to have none! a nice person is beril, the grave-digger. he spends the day in the public houses, and leaves her alone among the graves. sometimes he even goes home tipsy and beats her; they say he even measures the graves with her, dragging her along by the hair--the whole town says it--but nobody wants to interfere, they are afraid of him; a drunkard and a strong man besides. some few years ago he gave mösheh gläser a poke in the side, just for good fellowship, and the latter has had a lung trouble ever since; he grows paler every day, and can hardly breathe. if the daughter were not as hard as nails, she wouldn't be alive; the mother went down into an early grave. and what does he want with the girl? yössil feels a pang at his heart. he saw her one day and will never forget it. he saw her at the funeral of jeremiah, the shoemaker, when he was afraid to go near to the grave lest he should find himself close to devosheh. she was crying, and her tears would have fallen on his heart like molten lead. so he turned away and walked round about the cemetery, and two or three times he passed the window of beril, the grave-digger. he saw her standing with downcast eyes peeling potatoes--a pale, ethereal figure. he could have clasped her with one hand; but she must be a good-hearted girl, she has such eyes, such a look. once she lifted her eyelids--and devosheh was nowhere. the whole funeral was nowhere--such was the gentleness that beamed in her blue eyes and the sweetness in her face. only queen esther could have looked like that, and queen esther was sallow,[ ] while she is white like alabaster. her hair is black as coal, but then, once she was married, it would not be seen any more. _aï_, how beautiful she is! how she leads the heart captive! and she has another merit in his eyes; when he sees devosheh, it excites him, but while he looked at her, it felt good, and light, and warm within him. from that day forward he attended every funeral, and glanced in at the window. yes, he wants her, too! let it rather be her; he would just as soon, in fact, it would be better so. he would treat her like a toy, play with her all day, and do everything for her. he would never let her dip a hand in cold water. he would do all the chopping, cooking, baking, and washing, indeed, everything, upon the one condition that she should stand and watch him and smile. when there was time, he would take her and carry her about like a little child. he would rise with the dawn, and, in winter time, soon have the stove lighted; in summer, soon have set the kettle on for morning tea. he would walk softly, on his toes, and quietly dust her dress and shoes; he would quietly place the clothes beside her bed; and then only go noiselessly and bend over her and look at her, and look at her, till the sun rose, and it was broad day, till the sun shone in at the window--then only wake her with a kiss. that would be a life worth the name! and a good match, too! _öi! öi!_ devosheh may have a few gulden, she is saving, but _she_ holds a parnosseh, as it were, in her hand. everyone knows that beril is being burnt up by brandy; the röfeh says he eats nothing and goes about, heaven defend us, with his inside full of holes. in a hundred and twenty years to come, yössil might take over the grave-digging--why not? at first he would feel frightened of the corpses, but one gets used to everything. with _her_ beside him he would feel at home in gehenna. it is not a nice parnosseh, but then he would be able to live outside the town, apart, no one could overlook him. that would be a life--paradise in the burial ground! but if the lot should fall on "lapei?" "lapei" is the nickname of the third orphan girl. when he remembers _her_, he grows cold in every limb. she is a town orphan, who has been one ever since he can remember--sickly, with a large head, hair that falls out, and somewhat crooked feet. she doesn't walk on her soles, but on her toes, with her heels in the air, and as she walks, she wobbles like a tipsy person. he often meets _her_ in the street; she has no home of her own, but goes from house to house, helping the servants--fetches water for one, wood for another, helps a third to chop up a little resinous fir-wood, carries a bucket, fills a tub. when she has no work, she begs. once a year she washes the floor of the house-of-study. where she spends the night, he does not know. lapei, lapei! he pictures her to himself and he shudders. he feels cold all over. she must be forty years old. she has looked so much ever since he can remember. "lord of the world!" he cries out in terror, "that would be worse than hanging!" and lifts his terrified eyes imploringly to heaven. on his pale forehead are drops of perspiration as large as peas. but he is moved to compassion in his heart. poor thing! she would certainly also like to be married, she is equally a blind sheep, equally an orphan. she has nothing, either, beyond a god in heaven. he feels inclined to weep over her lot and his together, and, on second thoughts, he places himself in god's hands. if god wills it so, it shall be she! he throws himself on god and on kohol. the one destined by god and given by kohol shall be his mate, he will honor her and be true to her, and will be to her a husband like any other, and he will forget the other two. then a fresh anxiety rises within him: if the destined one be lapei, where are they to live? where can they go? what will they do? she hasn't a penny, and goes about tattered, a draggle-tail, and sells her birthright for a handful of cold potatoes. she takes two gulden for washing the floor of the house-of-study--not enough for dry bread--and he, what can he do? of what use is he? were he not lame, he would be a messenger. he knows no trade, unless (he consoles himself) he became a teacher. all the householders will give wedding-presents, and he will hire a room with the money and start keeping school; he knows quite enough to teach, especially little children. let come what may if only he has a wife. there are jews who have uglier wives, and who are worse cripples ... but there they are! a wife is a wife! only not to live alone and eat "days!" and he may yet succeed in getting one of the other two, and once more he begins to invent a paradise. and he smiles on at the mud and the leaden clouds. hush! something has occurred to him. if he knew for certain that poor lapei was fated to die of the pestilence, he would gladly marry her. at least, poor thing, she would have had a husband before she died. if only for a month. why not? is she not a jewish daughter? it wouldn't hurt him, and it would be fair on the part of his blessed name. he does not wish her death, heaven forbid! on the contrary, he is sorry for her; he feels and knows the meaning of "misery," of being all alone, always all alone. savitzki and yÖssil together one day, as yössil, the beggar-student, was splashing through the mud, lost in thought, he suddenly felt himself caught hold of by the sleeve. he turned round in a fright and was still more alarmed on seeing before him--dr. savitzki. savitzki and yössil had often passed each other outside the town, and yössil had always taken off his torn cap and bowed low before the christian. savitzki, the first time, had spat out; the second time, he had thrown out an evil, anti-semitic look; the third time, he had only glanced into yössil's face. later he half smiled--and to-day, for the first time, he had caught him by the sleeve. they saw in each other's eyes that there was a link between them, that they had a common interest, a common hope, that something bound them together. savitzki was now quite alone in the town. at one time, he used to go in to the apothecary, but the latter had lately given him to understand, that he had done him harm; that people had grown afraid, on savitzki's account, of buying bitter-water and castor oil, the apothecary's great stand-by. the christian townspeople had also begun to avoid him; they, too, believed that doctors poison people, and savitzki was probably no better than the rest. it was rumored that in some little place or other, a set of tramps had burnt the "barrack" and stoned the doctor. there was occasionally a gleam in the eyes of the townsfolk that boded no good. yössil got on without other people, savitzki longed for someone to speak to. he wondered himself how it was that the lame _zhidlak's_[ ] pitted face seemed so pleasant to him. true, he had a little business with him; it was possible the plague was already there, only people were hiding it. one might be able to learn something from the said _zhidlak_. yössil, on being caught by the sleeve, had given a start; but he soon recovered himself, and did not even notice how quickly savitzki let go of his dirty coat; he only saw that savitzki was no longer angry, but smiling. "well," inquired savitzki, in polish, "no cholera?" yössil had once driven out with the town dayan to a mill to guard wheat for passover, and had there learned a few polish words. he understood savitzki's question; the word "cholera," in spite of the fact that it represented all his hopes, gave him a pang "in the seventh rib," his face twitched, but he composed himself and replied: "none, honored sir, none!" and without his being conscious of it, the answer rang sadly. they soon parted. the day following they met again, advancing toward one another. yössil stood aside like a soldier saluting, but without putting his hand to his cap; savitzki stopped a moment to ask: "well, not yet?" "not yet, honored sir, not yet!" was yössil's reply. the third day they met again and remained longer together. savitzki questioned him as to whether there was no talk anywhere of diarrhoea and sickness, cholereen, etc., or any other intestinal trouble. yössil could not understand everything savitzki said, but he made a good shot, concluding that he was being asked about sicknesses of a suspicious nature. "nothing, honored sir, nothing!" he kept answering. he knew that so far all was quiet in the town. "nothing yet, but it will come!" was savitzki's consoling observation as he walked away. a little time passed, and they had got into the habit, when they met, of walking a few steps together; savitzki continued to question and to receive the same reply: "nothing, sir, nothing," and still he consoled himself and yössil with: "it will come!" "it must come!" he declared with assurance, and yössil translated it into hebrew: "and although it tarry, i expect it,"[ ] and his heart expanded. he wished the town no harm. savitzki might wish for a great outbreak of the pestilence, he only desired a little one, a little tiny one. no one was to die, heaven forbid! a few householders should fall ill--nothing more would be necessary. that is all he asks. he does not wish that his greatest enemy should die. this lasted a month. savitzki even began to lose patience, and made yössil a proposal. he felt sure something must be happening, only that people kept it hid. they were afraid of making it known--jews are so nervous. so he proposed that yössil should pry, find out, and tell him of only one hidden case, tell him of anything. he would be grateful to him. * * * * * savitzki talked too quick for yössil and too "high polish," but he understood that savitzki wished to make a spy of him and have him betray the jewish sick. "no," he thought, "no, yössil is not going to turn informer!" he is resolved not to let out a word to savitzki, and yet, in spite of himself, and for politeness' sake, he nodded in affirmation, and savitzki walked away. yössil's determination not to tell tales strengthened, but there was no reason why he should not find out for himself if they were not concealing something, and he began to go in and out among the people assembled for daily prayer, to see if no one were missing; if he remarked any one's absence, he tried to discover the reason, but it came to nothing. it always turned out to be that the person had risked his life going out into a village to buy stores; or else he had quarrelled with his wife, and was ashamed to come to the house-of-study with a swollen cheek, or he had been to the röfeh to have a tooth out and they couldn't stop the bleeding; and other such trifles that had no connection with the object of his interest. and every day he was able to report honestly to savitzki: "nothing, honored sir, nothing!" every day now they waited one for the other, and every day they talked longer together. yössil endeavored with all his might to make himself intelligible to savitzki; he worked his hands and his feet, and savitzki, who had learnt to understand the gestures, had often to save himself from yössil's too energetic demonstrations. savitzki could not make out what yössil was after, why he kept at a distance from kohol, and why, as was clearly to be seen, he also wished for the pestilence--but he had no time to busy himself with the problem--to fathom the mind of a jew. it was probably a matter of business--perhaps he dealt in linen for winding-sheets. perhaps he made coffins. but when he remarked that yössil was growing depressed, that he was less sure than savitzki that it must come to-morrow, he talked to him freely, gave him courage, and made him confident once more that the community would not escape. to savitzki it was clear as daylight that it would come. it was getting nearer and nearer--was it not in all the papers? six weeks passed. the sharp frosts, for which the community was hoping, had not been, but the pestilence desired by savitzki and yössil delayed equally. even savitzki began to have his doubts, but encouraging yössil, he encouraged himself in the matter. it was simply impossible that it should not come. was there a less clean town anywhere? where else did people eat so many gherkins, so much raw fruit, and as many onions? where were they less well provided with cold water? there were perhaps two or three well-to-do people in the place with metal samovars; three to four houses where they made tea; in the rest they drank pear-drink after the sholent[ ] and old, putrid fish was sold galore. it must come! there were towns over which the pestilence had no power: aix, birmingham, and others whose names yössil could not catch; but there people ate no sholent, and tea was made with distilled water--that was different. meantime another week passed and nothing happened. on the contrary, it was reported that in apte it had decreased considerably; racheff was open again; in tzoismir they had even closed the tea-house for poor people, which had been started to please the governor. yössil began to think his sorry luck would make all his plans evaporate into thin air, that his town was also a kind of birmingham, over which the pestilence had no power. he began to have his old bad nights and felt restless even in the day-time. the brides seemed further off than ever, and, except during the half-hour spent with savitzki, he had no rest. he saw the townsfolk growing unmistakably calmer; then it was said that the villages round about had returned to their normal state. the whole town revived; the women ceased to wail in the synagogue; the younger ones gave up coming to prayers at all, except now and again on sabbath as before; the röfeh's wife began to think of putting on her wig again. the bather's maid-servant was in people's mouths, and they had even reported her to the rabbi. the maskil recommenced to write in hebrew; dealers in produce, to drive out into the country; brokers, to make money; the sunday market was crowded with peasants, the public-houses filled; salt, naphthaline, and other household wares began to sell. the town assumed its old aspect, window blinds disappeared; savitzki's street came to life again. yössil's condition grew daily worse. his former melancholy had returned in part. instead of brides, he had the rope in the loft continually before his eyes. it beckons him and calls to him: come, come! rid yourself of kohol, rid yourself of this wretched life. but he resisted: savitzki is a doctor, he must know. and savitzki holds to his opinion. one day yössil did not meet savitzki outside the town, and just the day he wanted him most. hardly had yössil awoke, early that morning--it was still dark--when the beadle burst joyfully into the house-of-study, with "do you hear, yössil? the doctor and the student have left raeheff! and last night, just at new moon, there was a hard frost, an iron frost. no fear of the pestilence now!" he cried out and ran to call people to prayers with the good news. yössil dressed quickly, that is, he threw round him the cloak he had been using as a covering, and began to move jerkily to and fro across the house-of-study, every now and then running to the window to see if it were daylight, if it were time to hasten out after savitzki. hardly had the day fairly broken, when he recited the morning prayers and ran, without having breakfasted, outside the town. he felt that without comfort from savitzki his heart would burst. he waited about, hungry, till midday; savitzki did not come, he must wait--it had happened before that savitzki did not appear till the afternoon. he is hungry, very hungry, but it never occurs to him to go and buy food; he must wait for savitzki. without having seen him and received comfort from him, he could not swallow one bite. he will have another bad night; he will be drawn to the rope. no, let him fast for once! another hour has passed, it begins to grow dark, the pallid spot of winter sun behind the clouds sinks lower and lower, and will shortly vanish behind vassil's mill. he shivers with cold; he runs to warm himself, claps his hands together, and savitzki does not come. he has never been so late before. he began to think there must have been an accident; savitzki must have been taken ill, or else (yössil grows angry) he is playing cards, the gentile! and the pale ball of sun sinks lower and lower, and in the other, clearer half of the sky appears a second pale misty spot like a sickle. that is the young moon, it is time for evening prayer. yössil loses all hope: savitzki will not come now. the tears choke him. he hurries back to the house-of-study, to be at least in time for prayers. he met scarcely anyone in the street, the men had all gone to pray, only here and there a woman's voice sounded cheerfully through the doors of the little shops and followed him to the steps of the house-of-study. his limbs shook beneath him from exhaustion; there must be some very good news to make the women laugh so loud. he could hardly climb the stairs. outside the door he stopped; he had not the courage to turn the handle; the people were not praying, but they were talking cheerily and all at once; heaven knows what the householders were all so happy about. suddenly he grew angry and flung open the door. "and savitzki," were the first words he heard, "has also, thank heaven, taken himself off." "really and truly?" someone asked. "saw it myself," said the other, "with my own eyes." yössil heard no more; his limbs gave way and his whole body was seized with trembling; he just dragged himself to a bench and sat there like one turned to stone, with great, staring eyes. the end the happy assembly did not notice it. after minchah and maariv (some few only after a page of gemoreh, or a chapter of mishnayes), they went away and left yössil alone as usual. even the householder in whose house yössil should have eaten that day's meals never thought of going up to him and asking why he had not been to breakfast, and why he was not coming back with him to supper; he just hurried home along with the rest, to tell his wife and children the good news, that savitzki had gone, that they were rid of _that_ treasure. it was not till the next day that yössil was missed; then they said, bother would _not_ have taken him, and the beadle lighted the stove himself. the oven smoked and yössil was talked about the whole day; he was the only one who could manage the stove. they began to wonder if he had gone to palestine, or else to argentina? it was true, he had nothing with which to pay his travelling expenses, but then he could always resort to begging. it was only on the sixth day, when the town was looking for the arrival of an inspector of licenses, that the first shop-keeper who climbed up into the loft to hide a piece of imported velvet found yössil hanging and already stark. xi bontzye shweig[ ] down here, in _this_ world, bontzye shweig's death made no impression at all. ask anyone you like who bontzye was, _how_ he lived, and what he died of; whether of heart failure, or whether his strength gave out, or whether his back broke under a heavy load, and they won't know. perhaps, after all, he died of hunger. if a tram-car horse had fallen dead, there would have been more excitement. it would have been mentioned in the papers, and hundreds of people would have crowded round to look at the dead animal--even the spot where the accident took place. but the tramway horse would receive less attention if there were as many horses as men--a thousand million. bontzye lived quietly and died quietly. he passed through _our_ world like a shadow. no wine was drunk at bontzye's circumcision, no healths were proposed, and he made no beautiful speech when he was confirmed. he lived like a little dun-colored grain of sand on the sea-shore, among millions of his kind; and when the wind lifted him and blew him over to the other side of the sea, nobody noticed it. when he was alive, the mud in the street preserved no impression of his feet; after his death, the wind overturned the little board on his grave. the grave-digger's wife found it a long way off from the spot, and boiled a potful of potatoes over it. three days after that, the grave-digger had forgotten where he had laid him. if bontzye had been given a tombstone, then, in a hundred years or so, an antiquarian might have found it, and the name "bontzye shweig" would have echoed once again in _our_ air. a shadow! his likeness remained photographed in nobody's brain, in nobody's heart; not a trace of him remained. "no kith, no kin!" he lived and died alone! had it not been for the human commotion, some one might have heard bontzye's spine snap under its load; had the world been less busy, some one might have remarked that bontzye (also a human being) went about with two extinguished eyes and fearfully hollow cheeks; that even when he had no load on his shoulders, his head drooped earthward as though, while yet alive, he were looking for his grave. were there as few men as tramway horses, some one might perhaps have asked: what has happened to bontzye? when they carried bontzye into the hospital, his corner in the underground lodging was soon filled--there were ten of his like waiting for it, and they put it up to auction among themselves. when they carried him from the hospital bed to the dead-house, there were twenty poor sick persons waiting for the bed. when he had been taken out of the dead-house, they brought in twenty bodies from under a building that had fallen in. who knows how long he will rest in his grave? who knows how many are waiting for the little plot of ground? a quiet birth, a quiet life, a quiet death, and a quieter burial. but it was not so in the _other_ world. _there_ bontzye's death made a great impression. the blast of the great messianic shofar sounded through all the seven heavens: bontzye shweig has left the earth! the largest angels with the broadest wings flew about and told one another: bontzye shweig is to take his seat in the heavenly academy! in paradise there was a noise and a joyful tumult: bontzye shweig! just fancy! bontzye shweig! little child-angels with sparkling eyes, gold thread-work wings, and silver slippers, ran delightedly to meet him. the rustle of the wings, the tap-tap of the little slippers, and the merry laughter of the fresh, rosy mouths, filled all the heavens and reached to the throne of glory, and god himself knew that bontzye shweig was coming. abraham, our father, stood in the gate, his right hand stretched out with a hearty greeting, and a sweet smile lit up his old face. what are they wheeling through heaven? two angels are pushing a golden arm-chair into paradise for bontzye shweig. what flashed so brightly? they were carrying past a gold crown set with precious stones--all for bontzye shweig. "before the decision of the heavenly court has been given?" ask the saints, not quite without jealousy. "o," reply the angels, "that will be a mere formality. even the prosecutor won't say a word against bontzye shweig. the case will not last five minutes." just consider: bontzye shweig! * * * * * when the little angels had met bontzye in mid-air and played him a tune; when abraham, our father, had shaken him by the hand like an old comrade; when he heard that a chair stood waiting for him in paradise, that a crown lay ready for his head; and that not a word would be lost over his case before the heavenly court--bontzye, just as in the other world, was too frightened to speak. his heart sank with terror. he is sure it is all a dream, or else simply a mistake. he is used to both. he often dreamt, in the other world, that he was picking up money off the floor--there were whole heaps of it--and then he woke to find himself as poor as ever; and more than once people had smiled at him and given him a friendly word and then turned away and spit out. "it is my luck," he used to think. and now he dared not raise his eyes, lest the dream should vanish, lest he should wake up in some cave full of snakes and lizards. he was afraid to speak, afraid to move, lest he should be recognized and flung into the pit. he trembles and does not hear the angels' compliments, does not see how they dance round him, makes no answer to the greeting of abraham, our father, and--when he is led into the presence of the heavenly court, he does not even wish it "good morning!" he is beside himself with terror, and his fright increases when he happens to notice the floor of the heavenly courthouse; it is all alabaster set with diamonds. "and my feet standing on it!" he is paralyzed. "who knows what rich man, what rabbi, what saint they take me for--he will come--and that will be the end of me!" his terror is such, he never even hears the president call out: "the case of bontzye shweig!" adding, as he hands the deeds to the advocate, "read, but make haste!" the whole hall goes round and round in bontzye's eyes, there is a rushing in his ears. and through the rushing he hears more and more clearly the voice of the advocate, speaking sweetly as a violin. "his name," he hears, "fitted him like the dress made for a slender figure by the hand of an artist-tailor." "what is he talking about?" wondered bontzye, and he heard an impatient voice break in with: "no similes, please!" "he never," continued the advocate, "was heard to complain of either god or man; there was never a flash of hatred in his eye; he never lifted it with a claim on heaven." still bontzye does not understand, and once again the hard voice interrupts: "no rhetoric, please!" "job gave way--this one was more unfortunate--" "facts, dry facts!" "when he was a week old, he was circumcised...." "we want no realism!" "the mohel who circumcised him did not know his work--" "come, come!" "and he kept silent," the advocate went on, "even when his mother died, and he was given a step-mother at thirteen years old--a serpent, a vixen." "can they mean me after all?" thought bontzye. "no insinuations against a third party!" said the president, angrily. "she grudged him every mouthful--stale, mouldy bread, tendons instead of meat--and _she_ drank coffee with cream." "keep to the subject," ordered the president. "she grudged him everything but her finger nails, and his black-and-blue body showed through the holes in his torn and fusty clothes. winter time, in the hardest frost, he had to chop wood for her, barefoot, in the yard, and his hands were too young and too weak, the logs too thick, the hatchet too blunt. more than once he nearly dislocated his wrist; more than once his feet were nearly frost-bitten, but he kept silent, even to his father." "to that drunkard?" laughs the accuser, and bontzye feels cold in every limb. "he never even complained to his father," finished up the advocate. "and always alone," he continued, "no playmates, no school, nor teaching of any kind--never a whole garment--never a free moment." "facts, please!" reminded the president. "he kept silent even later, when his father seized him by the hair in a fit of drunkenness, and flung him out into the street on a snowy winter's night. he quietly picked himself up out of the snow and ran whither his feet carried him. "he kept silent all the way--however hungry he might be, he only begged with his eyes. "it was a wild, wet night in spring time, when he reached the great town; he fell like a drop into the ocean, and yet he passed that same night under arrest. he kept silent and never asked why, for what. he was let out, and looked about for the hardest work. and he kept silent. harder than the work itself was the finding of it--and he kept silent. "bathed in a cold sweat, crushed together under heavy loads, his empty stomach convulsed with hunger--he kept silent. "bespattered with mud, spat at, driven with his load off the pavement and into the street among the cabs, carts, and tramways, looking death in the eyes every moment--he kept silent. "he never calculated how many pounds' burden go to a groschen, how many times he fell on an errand worth a dreier; how many times he nearly panted out his soul going after his pay; he never calculated the difference between other people's lot and his--he kept silent. "and he never insisted loudly on his pay; he stood in the door-way like a beggar, with a dog-like pleading in his eyes--come again later! and he went like a shadow to come again later, and beg for his wage more humbly than before. "he kept silent even when they cheated him of part, or threw in a false coin. "he took everything in silence." "they mean me after all," thought bontzye. * * * * * "once," continued the advocate, after a sip of water, "a change came into his life: there came flying along a carriage on rubber tires drawn by two runaway horses. the driver already lay some distance off on the pavement with a cracked skull. the terrified horses foamed at the mouth, sparks shot from their hoofs, their eyes shone like fiery lamps on a winter's night--and in the carriage, more dead than alive, sat a man. "and bontzye stopped the horses. and the man he had saved was a charitable jew, who was not ungrateful. "he put the dead man's whip into bontzye's hands, and bontzye became a coachman. more than that--he was provided with a wife, and more still--with a child. "and bontzye kept silent!" "me, they mean me!" bontzye assured himself again, and yet had not the courage to give a glance at the heavenly court. he listens to the advocate further: "he kept silent also when his protector became bankrupt and did not pay him his wages. "he kept silent when his wife ran away from him, leaving him a child at the breast. "he was silent also fifteen years later, when the child had grown up and was strong enough to throw him out of the house." "me, they mean me!" now he is sure of it. * * * * * "he kept silent even," began the angelic advocate once more in a still softer and sadder voice, "when the same philanthropist paid all his creditors their due but him--and even when (riding once again in a carriage with rubber tires and fiery horses) he knocked bontzye down and drove over him. "he kept silent. he did not even tell the police who had done for him." * * * * * "he kept silent even in the hospital, where one may cry out. "he kept silent when the doctor would not come to his bedside without being paid fifteen kopeks, and when the attendant demanded another five--for changing his linen. "he kept silent in the death-struggle--silent in death. "not a word against god; not a word against men! "_dixi!_" * * * * * once more bontzye trembled all over, he knew that after the advocate comes the prosecutor. who knows what _he_ will say? bontzye himself had remembered nothing of his life. even in the other world he forgot every moment what had happened in the one before. the advocate had recalled everything to his mind. who knows what the prosecutor will not remind him of? "gentlemen," begins the prosecutor, in a voice biting and acid as vinegar--but he breaks off. "gentlemen," he begins again, but his voice is milder, and a second time he breaks off. then, from out the same throat, comes in a voice that is almost gentle: "gentlemen! _he_ was silent! i will be silent, too!" there is a hush--and there sounds in front a new, soft, trembling voice: "bontzye, my child," it speaks like a harp, "my dear child bontzye!" and bontzye's heart melts within him. now he would lift up his eyes, but they are blinded with tears; he never felt such sweet emotion before. "my child!" "my bontzye!"--no one, since his mother died, had spoken to him with such words in such a voice. "my child," continued the presiding judge, "you have suffered and kept silent; there is no whole limb, no whole bone in your body, without a scar, without a wound, not a fibre of your soul that has not bled--and you kept silent. "there they did not understand. perhaps you yourself did not know that you might have cried out, and that at your cry the walls of jericho would have shaken and fallen. you yourself knew nothing of your hidden power. "in the other world your silence was not understood, but _that_ is the world of delusion; in the world of truth you will receive your reward. "the heavenly court will not judge you; the heavenly court will not pass sentence on you; they will not apportion you a reward. take what you will! everything is yours!" bontzye looks up for the first time. he is dazzled; everything shines and flashes and streams with light. "_taki?_" he asks shyly. "yes, really!" answers the presiding judge with decision; "really, i tell you, everything is yours; everything in heaven belongs to you. because all that shines and sparkles is only the reflection of your hidden goodness, a reflection of your soul. you only take of what is yours." "_taki?_" asks bontzye again, this time in a firmer voice. "_taki! taki! taki!_" they answer him from all sides. "well, if it is so," bontzye smiles, "i would like to have every day, for breakfast, a hot roll with fresh butter." the court and the angels looked down, a little ashamed; the prosecutor laughed. xii the dead town when travelling in the provinces after jewish statistics, i one day met with a jew dragging himself step by step through the heavy sand. he looks ill, can hardly walk, hardly put one foot before the other. i feel sorry for him and take him into my conveyance. he gets in, gives me a "peace be with you," and asks me every sort of question. i answer, and end by inquiring: "and you, friend, whence are you?" "from the dead town," he answers calmly. i thought he was joking. "where is it?" i ask. "behind the hills of darkness?" "where?" he smiles. "it's just in poland!" "in our country, a town like that?" "there it is!" he said; "there it is! although the nations of the world do not know of it, and have never given it a gentile name, it is a genuinely jewish town." "what do you mean?" "what i say! you know geography, and you think everything is down in it; not at all. we jews live without geography. we are not 'down,' and yet they come to us from far and near. what is the good of geography? every driver knows the way. "you don't believe me?" he asks. i am silent. "and yet it's true; our rabbi corresponds with all the geonim[ ] in the world. questions and answers concerning the most important matters come and go--everything is arranged somehow--it just depends. not long ago, for instance, an elderly grass-widow was released from the marriage-tie. well, of course, the main thing is not the grass-widow, but the dialectics!"[ ] he goes on: "all the einiklich[ ] know of our town. they come, praise god, often--and, praise god, not in vain." "it is the first time i ever heard of a dead town." "that's rather strange! i suppose you keep yourself rather aloof..... and yet it is a truly jewish town, a real jewish metropolis. it has everything a town needs, even two or three lunatics! and it has a reputation for commerce, too!" "is anything taken in or out?" "what? what do you say?" asks the jew, not quite clear as to my meaning. "are you speaking of articles of trade?" i nod my head. "certainly!" he answers. "they take away prayer-scarfs and leather belts, and bring in corfu esrogîm and earth of palestine. but that isn't the chief thing, the chief thing is the business done in the town itself! drink-shops, lodging homes for travellers, old clothes--according to custom--" "a poor town?" "what do you mean by rich and poor? there is parnosseh! the very poor go about begging either in the place or in the neighborhood--mostly in the place itself! whoever holds out a hand is given something! others try for some easy work, they do broker-business, or pick up things in the streets and earn an honest crust. the almighty is faithful! the orphans are given free meals by the householders and study in the talmud torah. the orphan girls become maid-servants, cooks, or find a living elsewhere. widows, divorced women, and grass-widows (there have been a lot of grass-widows lately[ ]) sit over charcoal braziers, and when the fumes go to their head, they dream that rolls hang on the trees ready baked. others live _quite_ decently!" "on what?" "on what? what do other people live on? a poor man hopes; a trader swallows air, and the one who digs--graves, i mean--is never out of employment--" is he joking, the dried-up, little, old jew, the bag-of-bones with the odd gleam in his deeply sunken eyes? on his bony face, covered with a skin like yellow parchment, not the trace of a smile! only his voice has something odd about it. "what sort of a town _is_ it, anyway?" i ask again. "what do you mean? it's a town like any other! there's a shool, and they say that once there were all sorts of animals painted on the walls, beasts and birds--out of perek shirah[ ]--and on the ceiling all sorts of musical instruments, such as were played upon by king david, on whom be peace. i never saw it so, but the old men tell of it." "and nowadays?" "nowadays? dust and spider-webs. there's only a wooden chain, carved out of one piece, that hangs from the beam, and falls very prettily to one side of the ark to the right of the curtain, which was itself the gift of pious women. nobody remembers who made the chain, but it was an artist, there's no doubt! such a chain! "in the shool," he continued, "you see only the common people, artisans, except tailors, who form a congregation apart, and butchers and drivers, who have hired a place of their own to pray in. the shool can hardly read hebrew! the well-to-do householders--sons of the law--assemble in the house-of-study, a large one with piles of books! the chassidîm, again, pray in rooms apart!" "and are there dissensions?" "many men, many minds! in the grave, on the other hand, there is peace; one burial ground for all; and the men's bath--the women's bath--are there for all alike." "what else have you in your town?" "what more would you have? there was a refuge for wayfarers, and it was given up; wayfarers can sleep in the house-of-study--at night it's empty--and we have a hekdesh." "a hospital, you mean?" "not a hospital at all, just a hekdesh, two rooms. at one time they were occupied by the bather, then it was arranged that the bather should content himself with one room, and that the other should be used for the hekdesh; there are not more than three sick women in it altogether: one poor thing, an old woman with paralyzed legs, who lies all of a heap; a second with all her limbs paralyzed, and beside these, a crazy grass-widow. three corners are taken up with beds, in the fourth stands a chimney-stove; in the middle there is a dead-house, in case of need!" "you are laughing at me, friend," i break in, "that is tziachnovke! tziachnovke itself with its commerce and charities and good works! why do you call it the dead town?" "because it is a dead town! i am speaking of a town which, from the day it was built, hung by a hair, and now the hair has snapt, it hangs in the air. it hangs by nothing at all. and because it hangs by nothing and floats in mid-air, it is a dead town; if you like, i will tell you about it." "by all means--most interesting!" meanwhile night is falling, one half of the sky grows blood-red and fiery, over there is the sunset. on our other hand, the moon is swimming into view out of a light mist, like the face of a bride peeping out of her white veil. the pale beams, as they spread over the earth, mix with the quivering shadows of the sad, still night. uncanny!-- we drive into a wood. the moon-rays steal in after us between the trembling leaves. on the ground, among the fallen leaves and twigs, there dance little circles of light, like silver coins. there is something magical in the illumination, in the low breathing of the wood. i glance at the wayfaring jew, his appearance has changed. it is melancholy and serious, and his expression is so simple and honest. can it all be true? _ha!_ i will listen to what he has to say. "the town hung by a hair from the first," said the narrator, "because it was started in a part where no jewish town was allowed to be! it was not till the first minyan was complete that people held a meeting and decided to reckon themselves as belonging to a town in the neighborhood. on this pretense they built a bath, a shool, and after that, a men's bath, and bought a piece of land for a burial ground. "and when all that was finished, they sent people of backstair influence to have it all endorsed." "head downward?" "isn't that always the way with us? how should it be otherwise?" "i don't know!" "however, that's how it was! and the thing was not so underhand as you suppose. "there was a jew who was very rich, and this rich jew, as is usually the case, was a little, not to say very much, in with the authorities, and everything was in his name; it was _his_ shool, _his_ bath, _his_ women's bath--even to _his_ burial ground--and nothing was said; as i tell you, he was a person of influence! "and when the paper came from high quarters, he was to transcribe it in the name of the community and stop paying sop-money to the local police." "and then the rich man said: 'to my account'?" "no, my dear sir, such rich people didn't exist in those days. 'to my account' was a thing unknown; but hear what happened, what things may come to pass! "it was not the gevir, but the envoy who caused the trouble. he made off, half-way, with the money and the papers, and left the freshly-baked community like a grass-widow with a family." "did they send another?" "not so soon as all that! before it was known that the first had absconded, or anything about it, the gevir died and left, among other things, an heir who was a minor; he couldn't sign a paper till he was twenty-one!" "so they hurried up?" "of course, as soon as he was twenty-one, they meant to send another envoy, and perhaps two." "and meanwhile it was entered in the communal records?" "that's where it is! the records remembered and the people forgot! some say the record was burnt, that the trustee took the record, said havdoleh over it, set fire to a little brandy, and--good-bye! "the community, meanwhile, was growing; jews, praise god, soon multiply. and they come in from other places; one person brings in a son-in-law, another a daughter-in-law, in a word, it grew. and the gevir's heirs disappeared as though on purpose! the widow married again and left, one son after another went to seek his fortune elsewhere, to take a look 'round. the youngest remained. kohol appointed him a guardian and married him, and gave him an experienced partner." "who led him about by the nose?" "according to the law of moses and of israel! "he had trouble with the partner and more still with the wife; and he signed a forged check and took himself off, bankrupt; townspeople and strangers collected and made a great noise, the case was heard in court, down came an inspector, no money to be seen anywhere, the wife hid the furniture, the inspector took possession of the shool and the burial ground! "the little town was thunderstruck, it was a bolt from the blue with a vengeance! because, you see, the whole thing had been kept dark to the last minute! "and all of a sudden, the community was seen hanging, as it were, by a hair! "what was to be done? they drove to lawyers. what could they advise in a case like that? the best thing would be to have an auction, the inspector would sell the things and the community buy them at any cost. the community was no community? the papers had been lost by the way? they must find another gevir, and buy in his name! the great thing was not to wait till the gevir should die or go away! "the advice seemed good, kohol was quite used to loss of money; but there was not only _one_ gevir, there were several! and heaps willing to act as diplomatic envoys. whose name should they use? who should be taken for an envoy? all were willing and might be offended. so they held a meeting and talked it over. and they talked it over till the talk became a dispute, and when _we_ have a dispute, it isn't settled in a hurry. now and again it looks like peace, the flame of discord burns low, comes a peacemaker and pours oil on it, and it blazes up again and--blazes on!" the jew wiped his pale forehead and continued: "meanwhile something happened, something not to be believed! "only," he added with a smile, "it is night and the creature who walks the sky at night (he points at the moon) is called 'truth,' and at night, specially in such a quiet one, everything is credible." "well, yes"--i allow unwillingly. "the story is a dreadful one. "the inspector put his foot on the 'holy ground,' the corpses heard and must have grown angry--the tombstones move--the corpses rise up from beneath them--you believe me?" "i am no heretic," i replied, "heaven forbid! and i believe in the immortality of the soul, only--" "only, friend, only?" "i always thought, that only the soul remained--the soul that flies into heaven; but the body that goes into the grave, the image that decays--anyhow, it cannot move without the soul--cannot rise again." "well said!" he praises me. "may i ever hear the like! "i am glad," he said, "that you are book-learned; but, my friend, you have forgotten the world of illusion! you say the soul goes to heaven, into the sky--very well--but to which part? one goes into paradise, the other into gehenna. paradise is for the souls of the righteous, gehenna for the souls of the wicked. the one, for his good deeds, receives a share of leviathan, of behemoth, wine of the ages,--the other, for his sins, boiling pitch; but that only means reward and punishment, and why reward and punishment? because so long as a man lives, he has a free choice. if he wishes to do what is good, he does it, if to do evil, he does evil, and as he makes his bed, _ha?_ so he lies. "but what is the sentence passed when a man was no man, when his life was no life, and he did nothing, neither good nor evil, because he could not do anything? he had no choice, and he slept away his life and lived in a dream. what is such a soul entitled to? gehenna? what for? it never so much as killed a fly. paradise? for what? it never dipped a hand in cold water to gain it." "what _does_ become of such a soul?" "nothing! it goes on living in a world of illusion, it does not detach itself from the body; but just as it dreamt before that it lived _on_ the earth, so it dreams now that it lives _in_ the earth! "no one in our town ever really died, because no one ever really lived! no one did either good or evil, there were no sinners and no righteous--only sleepy-heads and souls in a world of illusion. when such a sleepy-head is laid in the grave, it remains a sleepy-head--only in another lodging--that's all. "and so dying with us was a perfect comedy! because if a feather was put under the nose of a _live_ man, would he stir to brush it away? not he! and the same with a fly. they left off troubling about parnosseh--they simply left off troubling about anything at all! "so it went on.... there are many towns like it, and when it happens, as it has happened with us, that a corpse creeps out of its grave, it doesn't begin to remember that it has made its last confession of sins and drawn its last breath. no sooner have the potsherds fallen from its eyes than it goes straight to the house-of-study, to the bath, or else home to supper--it remembers nothing about having died!" i do not know if it is the moon's fault, or whether i am not quite myself, but i hear, believe, and even ask: "did all the corpses rise? all?" "who can tell? do they keep a register? there may have been a few heretics who thought it was the final resurrection and lay low; but there rose a whole community; they rose and fled before the inspector into the nearest wood!" "why into a wood?" "they couldn't go into the town, because it was daylight, and it is not the thing to appear in winding-sheets by daylight--they might have frightened the young mothers." "true. and the inspector?" "you ask about a gentile? he saw nothing. perhaps he was tipsy--nothing--he did his work, made his inventory." "and sold the things?" "nothing, there was as yet no one to buy." "and the corpses?" "ah--the corpses!" * * * * * he rests for a moment and then goes on: "hardly had night fallen, when the corpses came back into the town; each one went to his home, stole in at the door, the window, or down the chimney--went hastily to the wardrobe, took out some clothes, dressed himself, yawned, and lay down somewhere to sleep. "next morning there was a whole townfull of corpses." "and the living said nothing?" "they never remarked; they were taken up with the dispute; their heads were full of it, they were all at sixes and sevens! and really, when you come to think of it, how much difference is there between a dead-alive person and a walking corpse in winding-sheets? when a son saw his father, he spat out three times, indignant with himself: 'to think of the dream i had--i dreamt i said kaddish for my father and inherited him! may such dreams plague my enemies.' "a widow saw her husband, and gave him a hearty slap. he had deceived her, the wretch! made game of her! and she, foolish woman that she was, had made him new winding-sheets!" "and supposing she had married again?" "how should she have? in the course of the dispute some one set fire to the shool and to the house-of-study and to the wedding canopy; everything, you may say, was burnt. they accused pretty well everybody in turn--" "and after that?" "nothing; the corpses had come to life and the living began to die out, for want of room, for want of air--but specially of hunger--" "was there a famine?" "no more than anywhere else! but there _was_ one for all that. the corpses took their place at the prayer-meetings and at the table at home as well. people didn't know why, but there were suddenly not enough spoons. all ate out of one dish, and there were not enough spoons. every house-mistress knows that she has as many spoons as there are people in the house, so she thinks there has been a robbery! the pious say: witchcraft! but as they came to see the spoons were missing everywhere, and there was not food to go round, then they said: a famine! and they hungered, and they are hungering still." * * * * * "and in a short time the corpses outnumbered the living; now they are the community and the leaders of the community! they do not beget children and increase naturally--not that, but when anyone dies, they steal him away off his bed, out of the grave--and there is a fresh corpse going about the town. "and what is lacking to them? they have no cares, no fear of death--they eat for the purpose of saying grace--they don't want the food, they have no craving for it--let alone drink and lodging; a hundred corpses can sleep in one room--they don't require air! "and they have no worries, because whence do worries spring? from knowing! 'the more knowledge, the more sorrow, but the dead man does not trouble.' it's not his affair! he doesn't wish to know and he _needn't_ know--he wanders in a world of illusion. "he keeps away from living concerns; he has no questions, no anxieties, no heart-ache, no one is conscious of his liver! "who do you think is our rabbi? once it was a live man and a man of action; now he, too, is a corpse; he wanders in a world of illusion, and goes on giving decisions by rote as in a dream. "who are his assistants? people like him--half-decayed corpses. "and they solve ritual questions for the living and the dead, they know everything and do everything; they say blessings, unite in wedlock. who is it stands at the platform? a corpse! he has the face of a corpse, the voice of a corpse; if it happen that a cock crows suddenly, he runs away. "and the gevirîm, the almsgivers, the agitators, the providers, the whole lot--what are they? dead men, long dead and long buried!" * * * * * "and you, friend? what are you?" "i? i am half-dead," answers the jew. he jumps down from the conveyance and disappears among the trees. xiii the days of the messiah as in all the jewish towns in galicia, big and little, so in the one where my parents lived, there was a lunatic. and as in most cases, so in this one, the lunatic was afraid of nobody, neither of kohol, nor of the rabbi or his assistants, not even of the bather or the grave-digger, who are treated with respect by the richest men. on the other hand, the whole of the little town, kohol with all the jewish authorities and the bather and the grave-digger, trembled before the lunatic, closed door and window at his approach. and although the poor lunatic had never said an abusive word, never touched any one with his little finger, everybody called him names, many people hit him, and the street boys threw mud and stones at him. i always felt sorry for the lunatic. he attracted me, somehow, i wanted to talk to him, to console him, to give him a friendly pat; but it was impossible to approach him; i should have received part of the stones and mud with which he was bombarded by the others. i was quite a little boy, and i wore a nice suit from lemberg or cracow, and i wished to preserve my shoulders from stones and my suit from mud; so i remained at a distance. the little town in which my parents lived and where i spent my childhood, dressed in clothes made by the tailors of lemberg and cracow, was a fortress, surrounded by moats, water, earthworks, and high walls. on the walls were batteries, and these were protected by soldiers with muskets, who marched up and down, serious and silent. hardly had darkness fallen, when the iron drawbridge was raised from over the moat, all the gates were closed, and the little town was cut off from the rest of the world till early next morning. at every gate stood a watchman, fully armed. a short while ago, in the day-time, we were all free, we could go in and out without applying for leave to the major in command; one might bathe in the river outside the town, and even lie stretched out on the green bank and gaze into the sky or out into the wide world, as one chose. no one made any objection, and even if one did not return, no questions were asked. but at night all was to be quiet in the town, no one was to go out or to come in. "lucky," i used to think to myself, "that they let in the moon." and as long as i may live, i shall never forget the twilights there, the fall of night. as the shades deepened, a shudder went through the whole town, men and houses seemed suddenly to grow smaller and cower together. the bridge was raised, the iron chains grated against the huge blocks; and the rasp of the iron, the harsh, broken sounds, went through one's very bones. then gate on gate fell to. every evening it was the same thing, and yet every evening people's limbs trembled, a dull apathy overspread their faces, and their eyes were as the eyes of the dead. eye-lids fell heavy as lead; the heart seemed to stop beating, one scarcely breathed. then a patrol would march down the streets, with a clatter of trailing swords and great water-boots; the bayonets glistened, and the patrol shouted: "_wer da?_" to which one had to reply: "a citizen, an inhabitant," otherwise there was no saying what might not happen. many preferred to remain behind lock and key--they were afraid of being seen in the street. * * * * * one day i had the following adventure: i had been bathing in the river, and either i lost myself in thought, or in staring about, or i simply forgot that after day comes night. suddenly i see them raise the bridge; there is a grating in the ears, the gates swing to, and my heart goes by leaps and bounds. no help for it! i must pass the night outside the walls--and strange to say, night after night, as i lay in my warm bed at home, i had dreamt of the free world outside the fortress; and now that my dreams had come true, i was frightened. there ensued the usual dispute between head and heart. the head cried: steady! now, for once, you may enjoy the free air and the starry sky to the full! and the heart, all the while, struggled and fluttered like a caged bird. then from heart to head rose as it were a vapor, a mist, and the clear reasoning became obscured, and was swallowed up in the cloud. there was a rushing noise in my ears, a flickering before my eyes. every sound, however light, every motion of a twig or a blade of grass made me shudder, and threw me on to the ground with fright. i hid my face in the sand. whether or not i slept, and how long i lay there, i cannot tell! but i suddenly heard someone breathing close to me; i spring up and--i am not alone! two well-known, deep, black eyes are gazing at me in all candor and gentleness. it is the lunatic. "what are you doing here?" i ask in smothered tones. "i never sleep in the town!" he answers sadly, and his glance is so gentle, the voice so brotherly, that i recover myself completely and lose all fear. "once upon a time," i reflected, "lunatics were believed to be prophets--it is still so in the east--and i wonder, perhaps he is one, too! is he not persecuted like a prophet? don't they throw stones at him as at a prophet? don't his eyes shine like stars? doesn't his voice sound like the sweetest harp? does he not bear the sorrows of all, and suffer for a whole generation? perhaps he also knows what shall be hereafter!" i have a try and begin to question him, and he answers so softly and sweetly, that i think sometimes it is all a dream, the dream of a summer's night outside the fortress. "do you believe in the days of the messiah?" i ask him. "of course!" he answers gently and confidently, "he _must_ come!" "he must?!" "o, surely! all wait for him, even the heavens and the earth wait! if it were not so, no one would care to live, to dip a hand in cold water--and if people live as they do and show they _want_ to live, it is a sign they all feel that messiah is coming, that he must come, that he is already on the way." "is it true," i question further, "that first there will be dreadful wars, and false messiahs, on account of whom people will tear one another like wild beasts, till the earth be soaked with blood? is it true that rivers of blood will flow from east to west and from north to south, and all the animals and beasts drink human blood, all the fields and gardens and wild places and roads be swamped with human blood, and that in the middle of this bloody time the _true_ messiah will come--the _right_ one? is that true?" "true!" "and people will know him?" "everyone will know him. nobody will be mistaken. he will be messiah in every look, in every word, in every limb, in every glance. he will have no armies with him, he will ride on no horse, and there will be no sword at his side--" "then, what?" "he will have wings--messiah will have wings, and then everyone will have wings. it will be like this: suddenly there will be born a child with wings, and then a second, a third, and so it will go on. at first people will be frightened, by degrees they will get used to it, until there has arisen a whole generation with wings, a generation that will no longer struggle in the mud over a parnosseh-worm." he talked on like this for some time, but i had already ceased to understand him. only his voice was so sadly-sweet that i sucked it up like a sponge. the day was breaking when he ceased--they had opened the gates and were letting down the bridge. since the night spent outside the fortress, the life within it had grown more unbearable still. the old walls, the rasping iron drawbridge, the iron doors, the sentinels and patrols, the hoarsely-angry "_wer da?_" the falsely-servile: "a citizen, an inhabitant!" the eternal quivering of the putty-colored faces, the startled, half-extinguished eyes, the market with its cowering, aimlessly restless shadows of men--the whole thing weighed on me like lead--not to be able to breathe, not to feel free! and my heart grew sick with a great longing. and i resolved to go to meet the messiah. * * * * * i got into the first conveyance that presented itself. the driver turned round and asked: "where to?" "wherever you please," i answered, "only a great way--a great way off from here!" "for how long?" "for as long as the horse can go!" the driver gathered up the reins, and we set off. we drove on and on. other fields, other woods, other villages, other towns, everything different; but the difference was only on the surface, below that everything was the same. when i looked into things, i saw everywhere the same melancholy, every face wore a look of frightened cunning, speech was everywhere broken and halting--the world seemed overspread with a mournful mist that hid every gleam of light and extinguished every joy. everything shrank together and stifled. and i kept shouting: "go on!" but i depended on the driver, and the driver, on the horse--the horse wants to eat, and we are obliged to stop. i step into the inn. a large room, divided into two by means of an old curtain, reaching from one wall to the other. on my side of the curtain, three men sit round a large table. they do not remark me, and i have time to look them over. they represent three generations. the oldest is gray as a pigeon, but he sits erect and gazes with sharp eyes and without spectacles into a large book, lying before him on the table. the old face is grave, the old eyes unerring in their glance, and the old man and the book are blent into one by the white beard, whose silver points rest on the pages. at his right hand sits a younger man, who must be his son; it is the same face, only younger, less unmoved, more nervous, at times more drawn and weary. he also gazes into a book, but through glasses. the book is smaller, and he holds it nearer to his eyes, resting it against the edge of the table. he is of middle age; beard and ear-locks just silvered over. he rocks himself to and fro. it seems every time as if his body wished to tear itself away from the book, only the book draws it back. he rocks himself, and the lips move inaudibly. every now and then he glances at the old man, who does not notice it. to the old man's left sits the youngest, probably a grandson, a young man with glossy black hair and a burning, restless glance. he also is looking at a book, but the book is quite small, and he holds it close to his bright, unquiet eyes. he continually lowers it, however, and throws a glance of mingled fear and respect at the old man, another, with a half-ironic smile, at his father, and then leans over to hear what is going on, on the further side of the curtain. and from the further side of the curtain come moans as of a woman in child-birth-- i am about to cough, so that they may be aware of me. at this moment a fold of the curtain is pushed aside and there appear two women: an old one with a sharp, bony face and sharp eyes, and one of middle age with a gentle, rather flabby face and uncertain glance. they stand looking at the men, and waiting to be questioned. the oldest does not see them--his soul has melted into the soul of the book. the middle-aged man has seen them, and is wondering how best to rouse his father; the youngest starts up-- "mother! grandmother! well?" the father rises anxiously from his chair; the grandfather only pushes the book a little away from him, and lifts his eyes to the women. "how is she?" inquires the young one further, with a trembling voice. "she is over it!" "over it! over it!" stammers the young one. "mother, won't you say, good luck to you?" asks the second. the old one reflects a moment and then asks: "what has happened? even if it is a girl--" "no!"--the grandmother speaks for the first time--"it is a boy." "still-born?" "no, it lives!" answers the old woman, and yet there is no joy in her tone. "a cripple? defective?" "it has marks! on both shoulders--" "what sort of marks?" "of wings--" "of wings?" "yes, of wings, and they are growing--" the old man remains sitting in perplexity, the second is lost in wonder, the youngest fairly leaps for joy. "good, good! let them grow, may they grow into wings, big, strong ones! good, good!" "what is there to be glad about?" inquires his father. "a dreadful deformity!" sighs the old man. "why so?" asks the grandson. "wings," said the old man, sternly, "raise one into the height--when one has wings one cannot keep to the earth." "much it matters!" retorts the grandson, defiantly. "one is quit of living here and wallowing in the mud, one lives in the height. is heaven not better than earth?" the old man grows pale, and the son takes up the word: "foolish child! what is one to live on in the height? air doesn't go far. there are no inns to hire up there, no 'contracts' to sign. there's no one of whom to buy a bit of shoe-leather--in the height--" the old man interrupts him: "in the height," he says in hard tones, "there is no shool, no house-of-study, no kläus to pray and read in; in the height, there is no pathway, trodden out by past generations--in the height, one wanders and gets lost, because one does not know the road. one is a free bird, but woe to the free bird in the hour of doubt and despondency!" "what do you mean?" and the young man starts up with burning cheeks and eyes. but the grandmother is beforehand with him: "what fools men are," she exclaims, "how they talk! and the rabbi? do you suppose the rabbi is going to let him be circumcised? is he likely to allow a blessing to be spoken over a child with wings?" * * * * * i give a start. the night spent outside the town, the drive, and the child with wings were all a dream. xiv kabbalists when times are bad, even torah, "the best ware,"[ ] loses in value. in the lashewitz "academy," there remain only the head, reb yainkil, and one pupil. the head of the academy is on old, thin jew, with a long, pointed beard and old, extinguished eyes; lemech, his beloved pupil, is a young man, likewise thin, tall, and pale, with black, curling ear-locks, dark, glowing eyes, heavily-ringed, dry lips, and sharp, quivering throat; both with garments open at the breast, with _no_ shirts, and both in rags; the teacher just drags about a pair of peasant boots; the pupil's shoes drop from his sockless feet. that is all that remains of the celebrated academy! the impoverished little town sent less and less food, gave fewer and fewer free meals to the poor students, and these crept away elsewhere! but reb yainkil intends to die here, and his pupil remains to close his eyelids! and these two are often hungry. eating little means sleeping little, and whole nights without sleep or food incline one to the kabbalah! if one has to wake whole nights and hunger whole days, one may as well get something by it, if only fasting and flagellations, so long as these open the door to the world of mystery, of spirits, and of angels! and they have been studying the kabbalah for some time! now they are sitting at the one long table. with everyone else it is "after dinner," with them still "before breakfast." they are used to that. the teacher rolls his eyes and holds forth; the pupil sits with both hands supporting his head and listens. "therein," said the teacher, "are many degrees of attainment: one knows a bit of a tune, another half a one, another a whole. the rebbe of blessed memory knew a whole one with the accompaniment. i," he added sadly, "have only been found worthy of a bit like that!" he measured off a tiny piece of his bony finger and went on: "there is one kind of tune that must have words, that is a low order of tune. but there is a higher kind: a tune that sings itself, but without words--a pure melody! but _that_ melody must have a voice--and lips, through which the voice issues! and lips, you see, are material things! "and the voice itself is refined matter, certainly, but matter none the less. let us say, the voice stands mid-way between the spiritual and the material. "however that may be, the tune that finds expression through a voice and is dependent on lips is not pure, not entirely pure, not yet really spiritual! "the real tune sings itself without a voice--it sings itself inside one, in the heart, in the thoughts! "there you have the meaning of the words of king david: 'all my bones shall say,' etc. it ought to sing in the marrow of the bones, that is where the tune should be--that is the highest praise we can give to god. that is no human tone that has been _thought out_! it is a fragment of the melody to which god created the world, of the soul he breathed into it. thus sings the heavenly family, thus sang the rebbe, whose memory be blessed!" the teacher was interrupted by a shock-headed lad with a cord round his waist--a porter. he came into the house-of-study, put down on the table, beside the teacher, a dish of porridge with a piece of bread, said gruffly: "reb tebil sends the teacher some food," turned his back, and added, as he went out: "i'll come back presently for the dish." recalled by the rough tone from the divine harmonies, the teacher rose heavily, and went to the basin to wash, dragging his great boots. he continued to speak as he went, but with less assurance, and the pupil followed him with greedy ears and glowing, dreaming eyes. "but i," repeated reb yainkil, sadly, "was not even worthy of understanding to what category it belongs, of knowing under what heading it is classified. however," he added with a smile, "the initiatory mortifications and purifications, those i _do_ know, and perhaps i will teach them you to-day." the pupil's eyes seem about to start from their sockets with eagerness; he keeps his mouth open so as to catch every word. but the teacher is silent, he is washing his hands; he repeats the ritual formula, comes back to the table and says "thou who bringest forth,"[ ] with trembling lips. he lifts the dish with shaking fingers, and the warm steam rises into his face; then he puts it down, takes the spoon in his right hand, and warms the left at the dish's edge; after which he masticates the rest of the bread with some salt between his tongue and his toothless gums. having warmed his face with his hands, he wrinkles his forehead, purses his thin lips, and begins to blow the porridge. the pupil has not taken his eyes off him the whole time, and when the teacher's trembling mouth met the spoonful of porridge, something came over him, and he covered his face with both hands and withdrew within himself. a few minutes later another boy came in with a bowl of porridge and some bread: "reb yòsef sends the pupil some breakfast!" but the pupil did not remove his hands from his face. the teacher laid down his spoon and went up to the pupil. for a while he gazed at him with affectionate pride, then he wrapped his hand in the skirt of his kaftan, and touched him on the shoulder: "they have brought you something to eat," he said gently, by way of rousing him. slowly and sadly the pupil uncovered his face. it was paler than ever, and the black-ringed eyes had grown wilder. "i know, rebbe," he answered, "but i will not eat anything to-day." "the fourth fast?" asked the teacher, wondering, "and without me?" he added, with a playful pretense at being hurt. "it is another kind of fast," answered the pupil, "it is a penance." "what do you mean? _you_ and a penance?" "yes, rebbe! a penance. a minute ago, when you began to eat, i was tempted to break the commandment: 'thou shalt not covet!'" * * * * * late that night the pupil woke the teacher. they slept on the benches in the kläus, opposite to one another. "rebbe, rebbe!" he called in a weak voice. "what is it?" and the teacher started up in alarm. "just now i attained to a higher degree!" "how so?" inquired the teacher, still half asleep. "it sang within me!" the teacher sat up: "how so? how so?" "i don't know myself, rebbe," replied the pupil in his feeble tones, "i couldn't sleep, and i thought over what you told me. i wanted to get to know the tune--and i was so sorrowful, because i could not, that i began to weep--everything in me wept; all my limbs wept before the creator. "then i made the invocations you taught me--and, wonderful to say, not with my lips, but somehow inside me--with my whole self. suddenly it grew light; i shut my eyes, and still it was light to me, very light, brilliantly light." "there!" and the teacher sat bending toward him. "and i had such pleasant feelings as i lay in the light, and i seemed to weigh nothing at all, no more than if my body had been a feather, i felt as if i could fly." "you see, you see, you see!" "then i felt merry and lively, i wanted to laugh--my face never moved, nor my lips either, and yet i laughed--and so heartily." "you see, you see, you see!" "then there was a humming inside me like the beginning of a melody." the teacher sprang down from his bench, and was across the room. "well, well?" "then i heard something begin to sing within me." "what did you feel like? tell me quick!" "i felt as though all the doors of sense in me were shut, and as though something sang within me--as it ought to do--without any words, like ... like...." "how was it? how was it?" "no, i can't! i knew, before--and then the singing turned into--into--" "into what? what became of it?" "a kind of playing--as though (lehavdîl) there were a fiddle inside me--or as if yoneh, the musician, were sitting there and playing hymns, as he does at the rebbe's dinner-table. only it was better, more beautiful, more spiritual. and without a voice, without any voice at all--it was _all_ spiritual." "happy, happy, happy, are you!" "now it's all gone (sadly), the doors of sense are reopened, and i am so tired, i am so--so--_tired_, that i-- "rebbe!" he called out suddenly, clapping a hand to his heart, "rebbe, say the confession of sins with me! they have come for me! they have come for me! there is a singer wanted in the heavenly family! an angel with white wings! rebbe, rebbe! hear, o israel! hear, o is--" * * * * * the entire little town wished as one man that it might die as blessed a death; but the rebbe was not satisfied. "another fast or two," he groaned, "and he would have died beneath the divine kiss!"[ ] xv travel-pictures preface it was at the end of the good, and the beginning of the bad, years. black clouds had appeared in the sky, but it was believed that the wind[ ]--the spirit of the times, i mean--would soon disperse them, that they would pour out their heart somewhere in the wilderness. in europe's carefully-tended vineyard the bitter root was already cleaving the sod and sending out prickly, poisonous shoots, but look, look! now the gardener will see it and tear it out root and all. that was the idea. it was supposed that the nineteenth century had caught a cold, a feverish chill, in its old age. that it would end in a serious illness, a fit of insanity, never occurred to anyone. how far away america was for us in those days! not a jew troubled himself as to what a plate of porridge looked like over there, or wondered whether people wore their skull-caps on their feet. palestinian esrogîm were as seldom mentioned as barons hirsch and edward de rothschild.[ ] astronomy calculates beforehand every eclipse of the sun or moon. psychology is not so advanced. the world-soul grows suddenly dark, the body is seized with a sort of convulsion, and science cannot foretell the hour--the thing is difficult enough to believe in after it has happened--it is not to be explained. and yet people were uneasy--rumor followed rumor from every side. it was resolved, among other things, to inquire into the common, workaday jewish life, to find out what went on in the little towns, what men were hoping for, how they made a living, what they were about, what the people said. trust my first halting-place was tishewitz. i took lodgings with an acquaintance, reb bòruch. he sent for the beadle and a few householders. while i was waiting for them, i stood by the window and looked at the market-place. the market-place is a large square bounded on each side by a row of grimy, tumbledown houses, some roofed with straw, but the majority, with shingle. all are one-storied with a broad veranda supported by rotten beams. pushing out from the veranda and not far apart, one from the other, stand the huckstresses over the stalls with rolls, bread, peas, beans, and various kinds of fruit. the market-women are in a state of great commotion. i must have impressed them very much. "bad luck to you!" screams one, "don't point at him with your finger; he can see!" "hold your tongue!" the women know that i have come to take notes in writing. they confide the secret one to another so softly that i overhear every word, even inside the house. "they say it is he himself!" "it is a good thing the poor sheep have shepherds who are mindful of them. all the same, if _that_ shepherd[ ] did not help, much good it would be!" "one cannot understand why _that_ shepherd should require such messengers" (in allusion to my shaven beard and short-skirted coat). another is more liberal in her views, and helps herself out of the difficulty by means of the röfeh. "take a röfeh," she says, "he is likewise a heretic, and yet he also is permitted--" "that is another thing altogether, he is a private individual, but is it so hard to find good jews for public affairs?" "they'd better," opines another, "have sent a few hundred rubles. they might let the writing be and welcome, even though my son were _not_ made a general!"[ ] sitting at the table, i saw without being seen. i was hidden from the street, but i could see half the market-place. meantime, mine host had finished his prayers, put off tallis and tefillin, poured out a little brandy, and drunk my health in it. "long life and peace to you!" he said. i answer, "god send better times and parnosseh!" i envy my host--parnosseh is all he wants. he adds impressively: "and there will _have_ to be parnosseh! is there not a god in the world? and the 'good jews' will pray and do what they can." i interrupt him and ask why, although he has confidence in his own business, although he knows quite well "he who gives life gives food"--why he exerts himself so, and lies awake whole nights thinking: to-morrow, later, this time next year. hardly has a jew put on his wedding garments, when he begins to think how to buy others for his children--and then, when it comes to all-israel, his trust is so great that it does not seem worth while to dip one's hand in cold water for it--why is this? "that," he says, "is something quite different. all-israel is another thing. all-israel is god's affair--god is mindful of it, and then, in case there should be forgetfulness before the throne of his glory, there are those who will remind him. but as for private affairs, that's a different matter. besides, how much longer can the misery of israel last? it _must_ come to an end some time, either because the measure of guilt is full, or the measure of merit is full. but parnosseh is quite another thing!" only go! i forgot to tell you that the rabbi of the little town would neither come to see me nor allow me to visit him. he sent to tell me that it was not his business, that he was a poor, weakly creature, besides which he had been sitting now for several weeks over a knotty question of "meat in milk," and then, the principal thing, he was at loggerheads with kohol, because they would not increase his salary by two gulden a week. there came, however, three householders and two beadles. i began with mine host. he has no wife, and before i could put in a word, he excused himself for it by asking, "how long do you suppose she has been dead?" lest i should reproach him for not having found another to fill her place. well, to be brief, i set him down a widower, three sons married, one daughter married, two little boys and one little girl at home. and here he begs me at once to put down that all the sons--except the youngest, who is only four years old "and messiah will come before _he_ is liable to serve"--that all the others are defective[ ] in one way or other. with the exception of the two eldest sons, i already know the whole family. the married daughter lives in her father's house and deals in tobacco, snuff, tea, and sugar; also, in foodstuffs; also, i think, in rock-oil and grease. i had bought some sugar of her early that morning. she is about twenty-eight years old. a thin face, a long hooked nose that seems to be trying to count the black and decaying teeth in her half-opened mouth, cracked, blue-gray lips--her father's image. her sister, a young girl, is like her; but she has "kallah-chen,"[ ] her face is fresher and pinker, the teeth whiter, and altogether she is not so worn and neglected-looking. i also see the two little boys--pretty little boys--they must take after their mother: red cheeks, and shy, restless eyes; their twisted black curls are full of feathers; but they have ugly ways: they are always shrugging their little shoulders and writhing peevishly. they wear stuff cloaks, dirty, but whole. the mother cannot have died more than a short time ago, long enough for the cloaks to get dirty, not long enough for them to be torn. who is there to look after them now? the eldest sister has four children, a husband who is a scholar, and the shop--the little kallah maiden serves her father's customers at the bar; the father himself has no time. "what is your business?" i ask him. "percentage." "do you mean usury?" "well, call it usury, if you like. it doesn't amount to anything either way. do you know what?" he exclaims, "take all my rubbish and welcome, bills of exchange, deeds--everything for twenty-five per cent, only pay me in cash. i will give up the usury, even the public house! would to god i could get away to palestine--but give me the cash! take the whole concern and welcome! you imagine that we live on usury--it lives on us! people don't pay in, the debt increases. the more it increases, the less it's worth, and the poorer am i, upon my faith!" before going out to take further notes, i witness a little scene. while i was taking up all my things, paper, pencil, cigarettes, reb bòruch was buttering bread for the children to take with them to cheder. they had each two slices of bread and butter and a tiny onion as a relish. "now go!" he says; he does not want them in the public house. but the little orphan is not satisfied. he hunches his shoulders and pulls a wry face preparatory to crying. he feels a bit ashamed, however, to cry before me, and waits till i shall have gone; but he cannot tarry so long and gives vent to a wail: "another little onion," he wants. "mother always gave _me_ two!" the sister has come running into the tap-room, she has caught up another onion and gives it to him. "go!" says she also, but much more gently. the mother's voice sounded in her words. what should a jewess need? we go from house to house, from number to number. i can see for myself which houses are inhabited by jews and which by non-jews; i have only to look in the window. dingy windows are a sure sign of "thou hast chosen us," still more so broken panes replaced by cushions and sacking. on the other hand, flower-pots and curtains portray the presence of those who have no such right to poverty as the others. one meets with exceptions--here lives, _not_ a jew, but a drunkard--and here again--flowers and curtains, but they read _hazefirah_.[ ] the worst impression i receive is that made upon me by a great, weird, wooden house. it is larger, but blacker and dirtier than all the other houses. the frontage leans heavily over and looks down upon its likeness--also an old, blackened ruin--upon an old, dried up, bent and tottering jewess, who is haggling with her customer--a sallow, frowzy maid-servant--over an addition to a pound of salt. the beadle points the old woman out to me: "that is the mistress of the house." i was astonished: the jewess is too poor for such a house. "the house," explains the beadle, "is not exactly hers. she pays only one-sixth of the rent--she is a widow--but the heirs, her children, do not live here--so she is called the mistress." "how much does the house bring in?" "nothing at all." "and it's worth?" "about fifteen hundred rubles." "and nothing is made by it?" "it stands empty. who should live there?" "how do you mean, who?" "well, just who? nearly everybody here has his own house, and if any one hires a lodging, he doesn't want to have to heat a special room. the custom here is for a tenant to pay a few rubles a year for the heating of a corner. who wants such large rooms?" "why did they build such a house?" "_ba!_--once upon a time! it isn't wanted nowadays." "poor thing." "why 'poor thing?' she has a stall with salt, earns a few rubles a week. out of that she pays twenty-eight rubles a year house-tax and lives on the rest--what should a jewess need? what can she want more? she has her winding-sheet." i gave another look at the old woman, and really it seemed to me that she was not in need of anything. her wrinkled skin appeared to smile at me: what should a jewess need? no. i went from house to house in their order of number, with a note-book in my hand. but from no. the beadle led me to . "and ?" i ask. "there!" and he points to a ruin in a narrow space between and . "fallen in?" "pulled down," answers the beadle. "why?" "on account of a fire-wall." i did not understand what he meant. we were both tired with walking, and we sat down on a seat at the street side. the beadle explained: "you see--according to law, if one house is not built far enough away from another, the roofs must be separated by a fire-wall. what the distance has to be, i don't know; _their_ laws are incomprehensible; i should say, four ells or more. "a fire-wall is with them a charm against fire. well, this house was built by a very poor man, yeruchem ivànovker, a teacher, and he couldn't afford a fire-wall. "altogether, to tell the truth, he built without a foundation, and out of that, as you will hear presently, there came a lawsuit, at which his wife (peace be upon her) told the whole story, beginning after the custom of women-folk with the sixth day of creation. this is how it happened: "malkah had not spoken to her husband for about fifteen years. she was naturally a sour-tempered woman,--god forgive me for talking against the dead,--tall and thin, dark, with a pointed nose like a hook. she rarely said a word not relating to parnosseh--she was a huckstress--and nobody wanted her to do so. her look was enough to freeze you to the bone. all the other huckstresses trembled before her--there was an expression in her eye. so, you see, yeruchem was quite content that she should be silent--_he_ never said a word to _her_, either. "for all this silence, however, they were blessed with two boys and three girls. "but the desire to become householders made them conversational. the conversation was on this wise: "'malke!' (no answer.) "'malke!' (no answer.) "he malke's and she doesn't stir. "but yeruchem stands up and gives a shout: "'malke, i am going to build a house!' "malke could resist no longer, she raised an eye, and opened her mouth. "'i thought,' she said afterward, 'that he had gone mad.' "and it _was_ a madness. he had inherited the narrow strip of land you have seen from a great-grandfather, and not a farthing in money. the wife's trash, which was afterwards sold for fifty-four gulden, used to be in pawn the whole year round, except on sabbaths and holidays, when yeruchem took them out on tick. "when the desire calls the imagination to its help--who shall withstand? "no sooner has he a house, than all good things will follow. "people will place confidence in him, and he will borrow money to buy a goat, and there will be plenty in the home. he will let out one room as a drink-shop, and he, god helping, will keep it himself. above all, the children will be provided for. the little boys shall be sent one way or the other to a rabbinical college, the girls shall be given a deed as their dowry, promising them, after his death, half as much as the boys will get, and the thing's done. "'and how is the building to be paid for?' "he had an answer ready: "'i,' said he, 'am a teacher, and thou art a huckstress, so we have two parnossehs: let us live on one parnosseh, and build on the other.' "'was there ever such an idiot! we can't make both ends meet as it is!' "'god helps those who help themselves,' said he, 'here's a proof of it: the teacher, noah, our neighbor, has a sickly wife, who earns nothing, and six little children, and it seems they are well and strong--and he lives on nothing but his teaching,' "'there you are again! he is a great teacher, his pupils are the children of gentlefolk.' "'and why do you think it is so? what is the reason? can he "learn" better than i do? most certainly not. but god, blessed be his name, seeing that he has only one parnosseh, increases it to him. and then, another example: look at black brocheh! a widow with five children and nothing but a huckstress--' "'listen to him! _that_ one (would it might be said of me!) has a fortune in the business, at least thirty rubles--' "'that is not the thing,' he gives her to understand, 'the thing is that the blessing can only reach her through the apples. the creator governs the world by the laws of nature.' "and he manages also to persuade her that they can economize in many ways--one can get along-- "and so it was decided: yeruchem gave up taking snuff, and the entire household, sour milk in particular and supper in general--and they began to build. "they built for years, but when it came to the fire-wall, malkah had no wares, yeruchem had no strength left in him, the eldest son had gone begging through the country, the youngest had died, and there was a fortune wanting--forty rubles for a fire-wall. "well, what was to be done? a coin or two changed hands, and they moved into the new house without building a fire-wall." he took possession with rejoicing. he was a member of the burial society, and the community gave him a house-warming. they drank, without exaggeration, a whole barrel of beer, besides brandy and raisin-wine. it was a regular flare-up, a glorification. but the bliss was short-lived. a certain householder quarrelled with a neighbor of yeruchem, with noah the teacher. now noah the teacher had once been a distinguished householder, a very rich man. besides what he had inherited from his father, he disposed of a few tidy hundreds. he had carried on a business in honey. afterwards, when there was the quarrel relating to the lithuanian rabbi, they got his son taken for a soldier (he is serving in the regiment to this day, with a bad lung), and he himself got involved in a lawsuit for having burnt out the rabbi. well, it was a great crime. one is used to denouncing, but to heap sticks round a house on all sides and set fire to it, that's a wicked thing. whether or not he had anything to do with it, the lawsuit and the son together impoverished him completely, and he became a teacher. being so new to the work, he hadn't the knack of getting on with the parents, one of them took offense at something, removed his child, and sent him to yeruchem instead. noah was deeply wounded, but he was a man of high courage; he hung day and night about the office of the district commissioner, and used both his tongue and his pen. well, in due time, up came the matter of the fire-wall, and down came the senior inspector. noah meantime had been seized with remorse. he did all he could to prevent the affair from being carried on. a coin or two changed hands, and the affair was hushed up. all might yet have been well, but for a fresh dispute about "blue." yeruchem was a radziner,[ ] and wore blue "fringes,"[ ] and noah, a rabid belzer,[ ] called down vengeance. the dispute grew hotter, up crops the fire-wall, and the law was called in a second time. there was a judgment given in default, and the court decided that yeruchem should erect a fire-wall within a month's time, otherwise--the house was to be taken to pieces. there wasn't a dreier. this time noah had no remorse; on the contrary, the quarrel was at its height, and there was nothing to be done with him. yeruchem sent to call him before the rabbi, and he sent the beadle flying out of the house. when malkah saw that there was no redress to be had, she seized noah by the collar in the street, and dragged him to the rabbi like a murderer. there was a marketful of belzers about, but who is going to fight a woman? "he who is murdered by women," says the talmud, "has no judge and no avenger." noah's wife followed cursing, but was afraid to interfere. at the rabbi's, malkah told the whole story from beginning to end, and demanded either that noah should build the fire-wall, or else that the matter should be dropped again. our rabbi knew very well that whichever party he declared to be right, the chassidîm on the _other_ side would be at him forthwith, and he wormed himself out of the difficulty like the learned jew that he was. _he_ couldn't decide--it was a question of the impulse to do harm--_bê-mê_. there was no decision possible--the case must be laid before the rebbes.[ ] noah naturally preferred the belzer rebbe, yeruchem had no choice, and to belz they went. yeruchem, before he left, made his brother-in-law his representative, and trusted him with a few rubles which he had borrowed (people lent them out of pity). but it all turned out badly. the brother-in-law spent the money on himself, or (as he averred) lost it--malkah fell ill of worry. yeruchem, it is true, gained his fire-wall with "costs," before the rebbe, but he and noah were both caught on the frontier,[ ] and brought home with the _étape_.[ ] when yeruchem arrived, malkah was dead, and the little house pulled down. the maskil and don't imagine tishewitz to be the world's end. it has a maskil, too, and a real maskil, one of the old style, of middle age, uneducated and unread, without books, without even a newspaper, in a word a mere pretense at a maskil. he lets his beard grow. to be a maskil in tishewitz it is enough only to trim it, but they say "he attends to his hair during the ten days of penitence!" he is not dressed german fashion, and no more is the feldscher, also a jew in a long coat and ear-locks. our maskil stops at blacking his boots and wearing a black ribbon round his neck. he has only sorry remnants of ear-locks, but he wears a peaked cap. people simply say: "yeshurun waxed fat and kicked." he does well, runs a thriving trade, has, altogether, three children--what more can he want? being free of all care, he becomes a maskil. on the strength of what he is a maskil, it is hard to tell--enough that people should consider him one! the whole place knows it, and he confesses to it himself. he is chiefly celebrated for his "wörtlech," is prepared to criticise anything in heaven or on earth. as i heard later, the maskil took me for another maskil, and was sure that i should lodge with him, or, at any rate, that he would be my first entry. "for work of that kind," he said to the others, "you want people with brains. what do you suppose he could do with the like of _you_?" and as the mountain did not go to mohammed, because he had never heard of him, mohammed went to the mountain. he found me in the house of a widow. he came in with the question of the wicked child in the haggadah: "what business is this of yours?" "_mòi pànyiye!_[ ] what are you doing here?" "how here?" i ask. "very likely you think i come from under the stove? that because a person lives in tishewitz, he isn't civilized, and doesn't know what is doing in the world? you remember: "i have sojourned with laban?"[ ] i do live here, but when there's a rat about, i soon smell him." "if you can smell a rat, and know all that is going on, why do you want to ask questions?" the beadle pricked up his ears, and so did the half-dozen loungers who had followed me step by step. there was a fierce delight in their faces, and on their foreheads was written the verse: "let the young men arise"--let us see two maskilîm having it out between them! "what is the good of all this joking?" said the maskil, irritated. "my tongue is not a shoe-sole! and for whose benefit am i to speak? that of the tishewitz donkeys? look at the miserable creatures!" i feel a certain embarrassment. i cannot well take up the defense of tishewitz, because the tishewitz worthies in the window and the door-way are smiling quite pleasantly. "come, tell me, what does it all mean, taking notes?" "statistics!" "_statistic-shmistik!_ we've heard that before. what's the use of it?" i explained--not exactly to _him_, but to the community, so that they should all have an idea of what statistics meant. "ha-ha-ha!" laughs the maskil loudly and thickly, "you can get the tishewitz donkeys to believe that, but you won't get me! why do you want to put down how a person lives, with a floor, without a floor! what does it matter to you if a person lives in a room without a floor? _ha?_" it matters, i tell him, because people want to show how poor the jews are; they think-- "they think nothing of the kind," he interrupted, "but let that pass! why should they want to know exactly how many boys and how many girls a man has? and what their ages are, and all the rest of the bother?" "they suspect us of shirking military duty. the books, as of course you know, are not correct, and we want to prove--" "well, that may be so, for one thing--i'll allow that--but--about licenses! why do you note down who has them--and what they are worth?" "in order to prove that the jews--" but the maskil does not allow me to finish my sentence. "a likely story! meantime, people will know that this one and the other pays less than he ought to for his license, and he'll never hear the last of it." scarcely had he said so, when the heads in the window disappeared; the beadle in the door-way took himself off, and the maskil, who had really meant well all along, stood like one turned to stone. the population had taken fright, and in another hour or two the town was full of me. i was suspected of being commissioned by the excise. and why not, indeed? the excise knew very well that a jew would have less difficulty in getting behind other people's secrets. i was left to pace the market-square alone. the town held aloof. it is true that the maskil dogged my footsteps, but he had become antipathetic to me, and i couldn't look at him. the faces in the gass became graver and darker, and i began to think of escaping. there are too many side-glances to please me--there is too much whispering. it occurred to me to make a last effort. i remembered that the rabbi of tishewitz had once been our dayan, and would remember me, or at least witness to the fact that i was not what they took me for. "where does the rabbi live?" i inquire of the maskil. he is pleased and says: "come, i will show you!" the rabbi of tishewitz no one who has not seen the rabbi of tishewitz's dressing-gown would ever know the reason why the rebbitzin, his third wife, though hardly middle-aged, already wears a large pair of spectacles on her nose. the dressing-gown looks as if it were simply _made_ of patches. "if only," complains the rabbi, "the town would give me another two gulden a week, i could get along. _asö is gor bitter!_ but i shall get my way. their law-suits they can decide without me; when it is a question of pots and pans, any school-teacher will do; questions regarding women, of course, cannot be put off; and yet i shall get my way, i'm only waiting for the election of the elders; they can't have an election without a rabbi. imagine a town--no evil eye!--a metropolis in israel, without elders! and if that won't do it, i shall refuse to try the slaughtering-knives--i've got them fast enough!" it was no easy matter to divert the rabbi's thoughts from his own grievances, but on the maskil's promising to do his utmost to induce the community to raise his salary, he begged us to be seated, and listened to our tale. "nonsense!" he said, "i know you! tell the fools i know you." "they run away from me!" "_ett!_[ ] they run away! why should they run away? who runs away? after what? well, as you say they run away, i will go out with you myself." "in what will you go?" calls out a woman's voice from behind the stove. "give me my cloak," answers the rabbi. "give you your cloak! i've this minute taken it apart." "well," says the rabbi, "the misfortune is happily not great. we will go to-morrow." i give him to understand that it is only noon, that i should be sorry to waste the day. "_nu_, what shall i do?" answers the rabbi, and folds his hands. "the rebbitzin has just started mending my cloak." "call them in here!" "call them? it's easy enough to call them, but who will come? are they likely to listen to me? perhaps i had better go in my dressing-gown?" "it wouldn't do, rabbi!" exclaimed the maskil, 'the inspector is going about in the gass. "for my part," said the rabbi, "i would have gone, but if you say no--no!" it is settled that we shall all three call the people together from the window. but opening the window is no such easy matter. it hasn't been opened for about fifteen years. the panes are cracked with the sun, the putty dried up, the window shakes at every step on the floor. the frame is worm-eaten, and only rust keeps it fastened to the wall. it is just a chance if there are hinges. and yet we succeeded. we opened first one side and then the other without doing any damage. the rabbi stood in the centre, i and the maskil on either side of him, and we all three began to call out. the market was full of people. in a few minutes there was a crowd inside the room. "gentlemen," began the rabbi, "i know this person." "there will be no writing people down!" called out several voices together. the rabbi soon loses heart. "no use, no use," he murmurs, but the maskil has got on to the table and calls out: "donkeys! they _must_ be written down! the good of the jews at large demands it!" "the good of the jews at large," he says, and he goes on to tell them that he has gone through the whole chapter with me, that there is no question of a joke, that i have shown him letters from the chief rabbis. "from which chief rabbis?" is the cry. "from the chief rabbi in paris," bellows the maskil, "from the chief rabbi in paris (no other will do for him), from the chief rabbi in london--" "jews, let us go home!" interrupted someone, "_nisht unsere leut!_"[ ] and the crowd dispersed as quickly as it had come together. we three remained--and the beadle, who came close to me: "give me something," he said, "for the day's work." i gave him a few ten-kopek pieces, he slipped them into his pocket without counting them, and was off without saying good-bye. "what do _you_ say, rabbi?" i asked. "i don't know what to say, how should i? i am only dreadfully afraid--lest it should do me harm--" "_you?_" "whom else? _you?_ if you don't get any statistics, it will be of no great consequence, for 'he that keepeth israel will neither slumber nor sleep!' i mean the two extra gulden a week." the rebbitzin with the large spectacles has come out from behind the stove. "i told you long ago," she says, "not to interfere in the affairs of the community, but when did you ever listen to me? what has a rabbi to do with _that_ sort of thing? kohol's business!" "_nu_, hush, rebbitzin, hush!" he answers gently; "you know what i am, i have a soft heart, it touched me, but it's a pity about the two gulden a week." tales that are told sad and perplexed in spirit, i came down from the rabbi, with the maskil, and into the street. there we came across the beadle, who assured us that, in his opinion, we should be able to go on with the work to-morrow. the whole tararam[ ] had been stirred up by two impoverished householders, who were now in great misery; one, a public-house keeper, and the other, a horse-dealer. the maskil, for his part, promises to talk the matter over with the townspeople between minchah and maariv, and if he doesn't turn the place upside down, then his name is not shmeril (such a name has a maskil in tishewitz!). they may stand on their heads, he said, but the notes must be taken. "the very authorities that forbade will permit." well done! it is evident that the maskil had studied in a cheder, in the great world one meets with other maskilîm. i go back to the inn; the beadle comes, too. at my host's they still have services, the mourning for his wife not being ended. between minchah and maariv, we get on to politics; after maariv, on to the jews. the greater part are dreadfully optimistic. in the first place, it's not a question of _them_, secondly, plans will not prosper against "yainkil,"[ ] he has brains of his own; thirdly, it's like a see-saw, now it goes up and now it goes down;[ ] fourthly, god will help; fifthly, "good jews" will not allow it to happen. the old song! "believe me," exclaims one, with small, restless eyes under a low forehead, "believe me, if there were unity among all 'good jews,' if they would hold together, as one man, and stop repeating tachanun,[ ] messiah would _have_ to come!" "but the kozenitz rebbe, may his memory be blessed, _did_ stop," suggested another. "'one swallow,' replied the young man, 'does not make a summer.' who talks of their imposing a prohibition on all-israel?" there are times when one must set one's self against things--defend one's self. "if they were to issue a prohibition," says someone, ironically, and with a side-glance at me, "the heretics would take to praying, if only for the sake of saying tachanun, so that messiah should _not_ come." the company smile. "but where is the harm," asks someone else, "if the great people don't agree among themselves?" the company gave a groan. doubtless each remembered how many times he had suffered unjustly on account of the want of unity, and the surest proof of tishewitz having greatly suffered by reason of dissensions is, that no clear explanation was given as to who was at fault that the great were not at one, so fearful were they of provoking a fresh disagreement. i put forward that poverty had more to do with the differences than anything. there is nothing to trade with, people go about empty-handed, seeking quarrels to while away the time with; the proof is that in larger towns, where each goes about his own business, there is quiet. if someone, i opine, would throw into tishewitz a few thousand rubles, everything would be forgotten. "to be sure, we know wealth is everything!" exclaims somebody. "if i had only had _so_ much brains, i could put all tishewitz into my pocket to-day. it was just a toss-up--i had only to say the word." "true! true!" was heard on all sides. "it is an actual fact." the man who had only required to have _so_ much brains, or a little determination, to become rich, looked like poverty itself: lean, yellow, shrunk, "wept out," and in a cloak that had its only equal in the dressing-gown of the tishewitz rabbi. thereupon came the maskil. of course, he laughed. "reb elyeh, you must have bought the lucky number an hour before the drawing!" "listen to his cheek!" says reb elyeh. "as if he couldn't remember the story!" "may my head not ache," swears the maskil, "for so long as i have forgotten--if ever i heard the lies at all." "lies!" retorts reb elyeh, much hurt, "is that so? lies? according to you, other things are lies as well." i interfere and ask what the story may be. "you've heard of the tsaddik of vorke of blessed memory?" begins reb elyeh. of course! "naturally, _kind und keit_[ ] knew of him. and you will have heard that there came to him not only the pious men of the nations of the world, but even 'german' jews, even lithuanians, knowing fellows that they are. may i have as much money as i have seen lithuanians at his house! there is even a story about a discussion a lithuanian had with him. a lithuanian must always be showing off his acumen! he asks a question about the tossafot on _vows_. the rebbe, of blessed memory, explains a bit of the mishnah to him upside down. "'well, i never, rebbe!' exclaims the lithuanian, 'why, the tossafot on _new year_ dealing with the same subject says exactly the opposite of your words.' well, what do you say to that? it was a miracle the rebbe did not seize and strangle him on the spot. but that is not what i was driving at. the 'vorker' treated the almighty like a good comrade. "'lord of the world (and he sat down in the middle of the room)! would it not have been enough to torment the jews with persecutions? now one cannot even sit and study in peace.' "someone, it would appear, answered him from 'up there.' "'so,' he said, 'that is another thing altogether! i give in; good pay puts everything straight. but, lord of the world! a little of it here as well!' "again one could see in his face that he heard a response, and he answered: "'well, if not--not! you are solvent, we will wait!' "but that is not what i was after. his chief concern was whatever was connected with circumcision. in the matter of circumcision he was steel and iron. in that he would take no denial from the powers above. and, indeed, they waited for his word up there! scarce had he given a sign, when the thing he wanted was done and established. he said, that before going to a circumcision, when he merely began to think of the mohel-knife, the quality of _fear_[ ] straightway diffused itself through his being, and then there could be no doubt all would go as he wanted, for 'the will of those who _fear_ him he executeth.' "he was very sorry that people had become aware of this peculiarity of his. he knew that on this account he would not perform the ceremony here much longer, that he would be called to join the heavenly academy. his relations to the upper world having become known, the very stability of the world was endangered. it ought to have remained a secret. "well, people had become aware of it. i, too. and even sooner than others, because the treasurer, mösheh, was my first wife's brother-in-law, and he it was who let out the secret. for this he was deprived of his place for half a year, but his distress was so great, the rebbe had compassion on him, and restored him to his office. but that doesn't belong to the story either. "enough that i knew it. "well, 'and he kept the thing in his heart.' i waited, for i was not going to plague the rebbe about a trifle. i waited. i was living just then a mile outside vorke. my first wife was alive, and she did not fare badly, though it was difficult to make both ends meet. but i earned whatever it was by my match-making, and my wife supported us by means of her stall. and not only us, but also she provided for a married couple, my eldest daughter and her husband, who was an excellent scholar. what, then, was lacking? "and it came to pass on a day that my son-in-law was away at the ger rebbe's, there was a fair in the town, and my daughter was in child-bed. it went hard with her, a first baby. beile bashe, the midwife, was at her wit's end, and this was the third day of her pains. no cupping, no blood-letting seemed to help--things were very bad. and i hear that the rebbe is coming to a circumcision. "what do you think? 'there sprang up light for the jews!' we were all overjoyed. it put new life into us. we pray that god will preserve her another day and a half, because people were only let in an hour before the ceremony. but meanwhile things got worse and worse, she was near death. "an hour or two before the ceremony, however, she grew easier, or so it seemed to me. she came to herself, opened her eyes, urged her mother to go to the fair, and called me to her bedside. a foolish woman, they are all alike--they blame us for it. "she doesn't like shmülek, she says, she never liked him, she didn't want him from the very first. she can't stand him and had better die. she had sent her mother out on purpose, because she was afraid of her. she, peace be upon her, was a terror to the children--she wanted to slap her daughter on her wedding-day. "i, of course, gave her to understand that all women are the same, that some even make a vow never to live with their husbands again; that the sin-offering is there on that account--some even swear that--'but no one may be held responsible for what he utters in pain and grief.' but she keeps to it, she bids me farewell, she needs no vows, no oaths, she says, smiling. i am going out, she says, like a candle. "well, i listen to her and can see all the while that she is better. she is quite clear again in her mind, and it only wants half an hour to the circumcision. and she looked quite pretty again. "i sit by the bed and talk to her--even the midwife had gone to buy a cradle at the fair. i look at the clock--it is time to go. i look at her. upon my word! quite well! and yet i do not want to go and leave her all alone, and nearly alone in the town. "the fair, you see, comes once a year, and lasts three days, and it means parnosseh for the whole twelve months. so, you see, there was no one left at the rebbe's even--every soul was off to the fair. "well, i wait a bit. "but in half an hour things got suddenly worse. she snatches at my hand, falls back on the pillows, makes grimaces. bad! "she begins to moan. i call for help, no one answers. there is a great noise from the fair--nobody hears _me_. among a thousand men and women--and we might have been in a wilderness. i want to pull away my hands, go and call somebody, but she holds them tight. "two, three minutes pass, it grows late, things are bad. i tear away my hands and i run thither. the circumcision was at the further end of the town. i fly along roads, over bales of merchandise, i fly and fly! it is all too long to me. it was july and yet i shivered with cold as i ran--there, there is tsemach's house, where the ceremony has taken place." * * * * * "my heart beats as though i were a malefactor; i feel that _there_, at home, a soul is about to escape. there i am at the first window! i will not wait for the door, i will break a pane and get in that way. i run up to the window, i see the rebbe is really in the room, he is walking up and down, i am about to enter like a housebreaker. i gather my remaining strength--there is a cry in my ears: father, father! i leap." the narrator was out of breath. he takes a rest, lowers his eyes, which are full of large tears, and ends quietly with a broken voice: "but it was not to be! there was a heap of manure and stones before the window--i fell, and nearly broke my neck. i have a mark on my forehead to this day. when they brought me in to the rebbe, he motioned me away with his hand. "when i got home (_how_ i got there, i don't know), she was lying on the floor--either she fell out of bed dying, or i pulled her out tearing away my hands." the listeners were silent, a stone weighed on our hearts. the maskil soon recovered himself. "well," he said, "blessed be the righteous judge! where are the riches?" the narrator wiped his eyes with his sleeve, gave a sad smile and continued: "yes, i only wanted to show you what one means when one says, it was not to be. there came trouble after trouble--my wife died--the stall went to the bad because it was kept by a man--i was left alone with the children, and there wasn't a crust--i married again--i took an elderly woman on purpose, because i thought she would do for the stall, but i was taken in. there was a baby a year. meanwhile our fairs fell off, and for a whole twelvemonth the stall wasn't worth a pinch of powder. "i determined to make an end of it--to give up the match-making, grow rich, and sit and study. _aï_--how does one grow rich? i wrote to the brother-in-law of my first wife, to the treasurer, and asked him for god's sake to tell me when next there was a circumcision. "i got a message before the month was out, and hastened to vorke. i stop nowhere, but go straight to the rebbe." "and--a larger manure heap?" laughs the maskil. the narrator gives him a vicious look. "the vorke tsaddik," he said, "went in for ritual cleanliness, his whole religion was ritual cleanliness." "only see," remarked the maskil, "how he looks at me! rascal! when you came here first, who helped you? a vorke chossid? or perhaps your cousin the tsaddik? or was it i? _ha!_ you would have died of hunger long ago if it hadn't been for me!" and he turns to me: "and what do you suppose he is now? he teaches my children, and if i were to take them away from him, he would have no parnosseh left!... not a crust of bread...." the other stands silent with downcast eyes. the maskil disgusts me more and more, although he made a sign to me with his eyes a little while ago, to the effect that he had exerted himself on my behalf, and with his hands, that to-morrow there will be taking of notes. i turn to the other: "well, my friend?" "see for yourself," says he to the maskil, "our note-taker is more of a maskil than you, on the face of him, and _he_ doesn't make game of things ... one might say, on the contrary. rambam[ ] (lehavdîl) did not believe in magic ... but at any rate, he answers seriously ... a jew should have manners ... to make fun of things is not fair ... man, it cuts to the heart!" "well, well," says the maskil, more gently, "let us have the rest!" "i will make it short," says the poor jew. "i come in without a ticket of admission, nothing to speak for me, without even a money-offering, but that would have been no help at such a time, only his face was terrible! my feet shook under me! i stood there without opening my mouth. he, may his merits protect us, took great strides up and down. "suddenly he saw me and gave a roar like a lion. "'what do you want?' "i was more terrified than ever and scarcely answered: "'riches!' "it seemed as though the rebbe had not quite understood. "'riches?' he asked, and his voice was like thunder. "'if only ... parnosseh!' i answer in a lower tone. "'what, parnosseh!' he cried as before. "'only not to die of hunger!' "the rebbe hurried up and down, stopped suddenly and asked: "'what else?' "i thought i should drop dead! it seemed to me (i don't know, but it seemed to me) as if someone else, and not i, had control of my tongue, and it replied: "'i want yòsef to be a learned man!' "'what besides?' i hardly escaped alive, and he, may his merits protect us, died the following week. "well? what lay between me and the riches? a hair's breadth! it was my own fault. if i had stood up to him and kept to it! well!" "at least," i inquire, "is your son learned?" "he _would_ have been," he replies in a broken voice, "only he won't learn ... even a rebbe can't help that ... he _won't_ learn--what can one do?" "and the moral," interposes the maskil, "is that one shouldn't keep rubbish heaps under the window, that you can do nothing without money, and, above all, that one shouldn't be frightened of any rebbe!" in one second the livid-faced jew had flushed scarlet, his eyes shot fire, his person lengthened, and the room resounded with two slaps received by the maskil. * * * * * i fear that his first request will equally go unfulfilled: he will yet die of hunger. a little boy the innkeeper's pretty little boy, with his shrugs and pouts, and his curls full of feathers, haunts me. now he stands before me with a small onion in his hand, and he cries--he wants two; or i hear him at evening prayer, repeating the kaddish in his plaintive child-voice, so tearfully earnest that it goes to my very heart. when the chossid slapped the maskil, the child turned pale and green with fright, so that i took him by the hand and led him out of the room. "come for a walk." "a walk?" he stammers. the pale face flushes. "do you never go out for a walk?" "not now. when my mother, peace be upon her, was alive, she used to take me out walking sabbaths and holidays. my father, long life to him, says it's better to sit at one's book." we were already in the long entrance passage. a "shield of david" shone redly from a lamp some way off. i could not see his face, but the thin little hand trembled as it lay in mine. we stepped out into the street. the sky that hung over tishewitz resembled a dark blue uniform with dim steel buttons. my companion found it like a curtain[ ] sewn with silver spangles. perhaps he is dreaming of just such a blue satin "prayer-bag," with spangles, some day to be his own. in five or six years he may receive it as a gift from his bride. the little town looks quite different by night. the rubbish heaps and the tumbledown houses are hidden in the "poetical and silent lap of darkness." the windows and door-panes look like great, fiery, purple eyes. by the hearth-sides pots of boiling water must be standing ready for the potatoes or the dumplings. the statistics give an average annual expenditure of thirty-seven and a half rubles a head--about ten kopeks a day. now calculate: school fees, two sets of pots and pans, sabbaths and holidays, an illness, and a wonder-working rebbe--besides extras. you see now why there is not always a meal cooking, why the dumplings are of buck-wheat without an egg, and why the potatoes are not always eaten with dripping. many of the houses are stone-blind. in these it is a question of a bit of bread with or without a herring, and perhaps grace without meat. in one of those houses must live the widow who requires so little, beating her hollow chest through the long confession. perhaps she measures her winding-sheet, or thinks of her wedding dress of long ago with its gold braid, and from her old eyes there drops a tear, and she whispers, smiling, into the night: "after all, what does a jewess need?" my motherless companion is thinking of something else. hopping on one little foot, he lifts his face to the moon, swimming with a silly, aristocratic air in and out of the light clouds. he sighs. has he seen a star fall? no. "_Öi_," he says, "_wollt ich gewollt, meshiach soll kimmen!_" (how i do wish the messiah would come!) "what is the matter?" "i want the moon to be made bigger again. it is so dreadfully sad about her! she committed a sin, but to suffer so long! it will soon be six thousand years." altogether, two requests! one of his earthly father for a second little onion, and one of his father in heaven, for the enlargement of the moon. a wild impulse seized me to say: "let alone! your father will soon marry again, you will soon have a step-mother, become a step-child, and have to cry for a bit of bread! spare the little onion, forget about the moon ..." it was all i could do to refrain. we left tishewitz behind, the spring airs blew toward us from the green fields. he drew me to a tree, we sat down. he must have sat here, it occurs to me, with his mother. she must have pointed out to him the different things that grew in the narrow plots belonging to the townspeople. he recognizes wheat, rye, potatoes. and those are briars. nobody eats briars, do they? donkeys eat briars. "why," he asks, "did god make all creatures to eat different things?" he does not know that if they ate the same, they would be all alike. the yartseff rabbi the yartseff rabbi is a man who has all that heart desireth. he gets four rubles a week, and that is really more than enough. how? are they not an old couple without children? he used to be dayan in a larger town. there also he had four rubles a week, and nearly cut his fingers to bits over dried herring from week's end to week's end. here it's different. he goes through his daily fare for my benefit. for breakfast, what shall he say? a little milk-gruel; for dinner, sometimes, half a pound of meat; and in the evening, a glass of hot tea with stale rolls--he really cannot hold more! when one lives in the country, one must follow country customs, and they are much the best!... dinner in the large towns is a ruination and a misery!... if there should happen not to be any meat for dinner, well, he can afford to wait to eat till supper-time. sometimes, early in the day, there is a little vegetable soup with dripping--that is how one lives in yartseff and one does very well. in the large town it was often difficult to get on. not that _he_ cared! he really doesn't like meat. on week-days it is heavy food; on week-days he likes an onion with a little sour milk, he prefers sour milk even to purim herbs, it is his nature, but the rebbitzin, she wouldn't look at it (he smiles as he glances at her)--her feelings used to get hurt. it was jealousy! _how_ was that? well, the shochet's wife had sausage, and she, the dayan'te, not so much as a bone--wasn't that humiliating, _ha_? now he has done with all that; in yartseff, thank god, they all eat meat every sabbath and even mutton, and week-days all fare much alike, too. so long as the rebbitzin has no one to envy, it's all right! "to envy!" throws in the rebbitzin. "i know, i know!" laughs the rabbi's head with the tiny wrinkles, the beard with the soft end quivers, the old eyes grow moister. "i know, it was not the sinful body you were thinking of, but the honor of the law. of course, a shochet sausage and a dayan--no, that was very wrong! a dayan is distinctly greater than a shochet! well, well, anyhow, here i am quit of all that--where they don't kill for a whole week at a time." he is still better pleased with the fresh country air. in the large towns, the householders must live in large houses. the rich householders live in the middle; below, in the cellars, and above, in the attics, poor people, including paid officials of the community like himself. in summer he had felt suffocated there. it went so far that the rebbitzin stole away his snuff-box, so that he might at any rate not stuff snuff up his nose, but she had to give it him back--without snuff he was nowhere; he cannot even sit and read without it; even when not taking any, he must have the root snuff-box to finger while he studies, and even as now, when talking, he would lose the train of his thought and not find suitable words in which to express himself if he had not got it. what do you think? when he first saw yartseff with the wide, grass-grown market-place, he would have liked a band to play--and a band _played_! on that day all kohol was at home, and they came to meet him with chamber-music! and he was charmed by the little, tiny houses, like pieces of root tobacco; there is one walled in, the big one in the centre of the market-place--it is the lord's. and the stairs he got away from when he left the large town! he is naturally weak in the legs, in another year he would have been without feet! then--the restfulness of it here!... quiet!... not a dog barks, and the children (lehavdîl) don't shout. there are thirty boys and perhaps six teachers, so they're kept well in hand, not as in the large towns. at purim and chanukah, then they shout, yes! they make a fearful noise! but otherwise you don't hear a sound. above all, a blessing from his dear name, there are no quarrels! two or three chassidîm with blue fringes,[ ] but he prays for their life, because when they die, may it not be for a hundred years, there will be a to-do over their burial.[ ] meanwhile there is peace. the inhabitants of the place are all peddlers or "messengers." even the artisans do not remain at home, but go and work in the villages, even the feldscher goes about the district with the "cuppers." early on sunday you can see the whole male population coming out of the little houses. outside the town they take off their boots, hang them upon a stick across their shoulder and start off in all directions. friday evening they return. even the shochet sometimes goes away for a whole week, so when should they find time to quarrel? sabbath and holidays are the time for disputes, and every now and again they get up a discussion, start a hare ... but it is not their line! the thing halts. people are sleepy and tired. he just sits and studies. occasionally (he smiles) there is a dispute--only it is for the honor of god--between him and the shochet. you understand, it is seldom a ritual question arises. all the week the people use milk dishes, sabbath--meat dishes. they don't stand at the fire-place together. questions about the fitness of slaughtered animals happen along once a year! but on that very account, they make the most of it, turn over the whole talmud, all the codes, and there you have a quarrel. the shochet is very obstinate and pig-headed, and has a way of shifting his bundle of faults on to other people's shoulders; says, the rabbi is obstinate and pig-headed! even here he had terrible bother with two things: the yeast and the house, and all (he smiles again) through the rebbitzin. with the yeast it befell in this wise; he had agreed with kohol for four rubles a week. the previous rabbi got four rubles with the yeast, but they cheated _him_ out of the yeast--he got none! on the first great sabbath he preached a long sermon on leaven at passover. "the town was beside itself with delight. everyone knows a good thing, when he hears it, even the most ignorant. i say it is because all the souls were present at mount sinai, and there everything was revealed, even what scholars in time to come will deduce from what was explicitly given, so that even when the soul has forgotten, she recognizes whence things are ... and soon the town gave me the yeast. "just at the moment i felt a little exultation, for which his dear name quickly punished me. i had trouble with the yeast! i had disputes to settle all week between the housewives and the rebbitzin; one found her sabbath loaf too hard, another too heavy, a third said her yeast ran, and people suspected the rebbitzin watered it. what could i do? i hadn't seen her do it, and she said no! "well, it was all such nonsense! i can't pass a decision in a case between the rebbitzin and the housewives, and i arbitrate; if they come on friday, i exchange their loaf for mine, and a whole week i give a little extra yeast for kliskelech.[ ] altogether a dreadful worry! god be praised, a tailor brought some dried yeast, and there was an end of it." then as to the house: he observed the rebbitzin was saving money--let her save! was it his affair? the children are doing well, but may-be she wishes to buy a present for a grandchild--so be it! he is not much in favor of that himself, but he is not going to fight a woman. perhaps (he reflects) she means differently; he knows, many prepare for later. he doesn't. he says, blessed be his name, day by day! when they die, there will be a winding-sheet, but he does not concern himself about it. the affair of the yeast was just going on. to cut a long matter short, one day someone told him a fine tale--the rebbitzin had bought some timber. he came home, and sure enough, it was true. she had even engaged some workmen, she was beginning to build a house. what is it? she won't live in lodgings any longer. he interfered no further--let her build! and she built, she took possession, he--he just carried over his talmud. "now, i am a householder, too." but it was a long way for him to go to the house-of-study. "not of you be it said, my feet have grown weak in my old age. i have not many books of my own. they have a rule in the house-of-study not to lend out any book, not to the rabbi, not to any head of the community. when a question arose, i had nothing to lay my hand on. this gave me a deal of trouble. "but god helped me. there was a fire and several houses were burned down, mine among them. god be praised! the other householders had no great loss; they were insured. i was not, and kohol, as you see, set aside for me a little corner of the house-of-study." lyashtzof i arrived in lyashtzof on a dark summer night, between eleven and twelve o'clock. another market-place with various buildings and little, walled-in houses round about. in the middle of the market-place, a collection of large, white stones. i drive nearer--the stones move and grow horns; they become a herd of milk-white goats. the goats show more sense than the heads of the community of tishewitz: they are not frightened. one or two out of the whole lot have lifted their heads, looked at us sleepily, and once more turned their attention to the scanty grass of the gass, and to scratching one the other. happy goats! no one calumniates you, _you_ needn't be afraid of statisticians. it is true, people kill you, but what then? does not everyone die before his time? and as far as troubles go, you certainly have fewer. i recall what i was told in tishewitz: "in lyashtzof you will get on better and faster. the people are sensible, quieter; no one will run after you." kohol and the goats seem to be equally admirable; one like the other. but my host, an old friend, is not encouraging. he says it will not be so easy as people think. "what will you do?" he asks. "go from house to house?" "what else?" "i wish they may be civil." "why shouldn't they be?" "a jew hates having his money-box opened and the contents counted." "why so? won't the blessing enter in afterwards?" "no, it isn't that--the misfortune is that the credit will go out." the first attempt early in the morning, before the arrival of the beadle, there come some jews--they want to see the note-taker. my fame has preceded me. i make a beginning, and turn to one of them: "good morning, friend!" "good morning, _sholom alechem_."[ ] he gives me his hand, quite lazily. "what is your name, friend?" "levi yitzchok." "and your german name?"[ ] "why do you want to know?" "well, is it a secret?" "secret or no secret, you may as well tell me why you want to know. i'll be bound _that's_ no secret!" "then you don't know it?" "not exactly." "make a shot at it--just for fun!" "bärenpelz," he answers, a little ashamed. "a wife?" "_ett!_" "what does _ett_ mean?" "he wants a divorce!" another answers for him. "how many children?" he has to think, and counts on his fingers: "by the first wife--mine: one, two, three; hers: one, two; by the second wife...." he is tired of counting: "let us say six!" "'let us say' is no good. i must know exactly." "you see, 'exactly' is not so easy. 'exactly!' why do you want to know? _wos is?_ are you an official? do they pay you for it? will somebody follow and check your statements? 'exactly!'" "tell, blockhead, tell," the rest encourage him, "now you've begun, tell!" they want to know what the next questions will be. once again he has counted on his fingers and, heaven be praised, there are three more. "nine children, health and strength to them!" "how many sons, how many daughters?" he counts again: "four sons and five daughters." "how many sons and how many daughters married?" "you want to know that, too? look here, tell me why?" "tell him, then, tell him!" cry the rest, impatiently. "three daughters and two sons," answers someone for the questioned. _"taki?"_ says the latter. "and yisrolik?" "but he isn't married yet." "horse! they call him up next sabbath![ ] what does a week and a half matter?" i make a note and ask further: "have you served in the army?" "i bought exemption from kohol, for four hundred rubles![ ] where should i find them now?" and he groans. "and your sons?" "the eldest has a swelling below his right eye, and has besides--not of you be it said!--a rupture. he has been in three hospitals. it cost more than a wedding. they only just sent him home from the regiment! the second drew a high number.[ ] ... the third is serving his time now." "and the wife?" "at home with me, of course. need you ask?" "she might have been at _her_ father's." "a pauper!" "have you a house?" "have i a house!" "worth how much?" "if it were in samoscz, it would be worth something. here it's not worth a dreier, except that i have a place to lay my head down in." "would you sell it for one hundred rubles?" "preserve us! one's own inheritance! not for three hundred." "would you give it for five hundred?" "_mê!_ i should hire a lodging and apply myself to some business!" "and what is your business now?" "what business?" "what do you live on?" "_that's_ what you mean! one just lives." "on what?" "god's providence. when he gives something, one has it!" "but he doesn't throw things down from heaven?" "he does so! can i tell how i live? let us reckon: i need a lot of money, at least four rubles a week. the house yields, beside my own lodging, twelve rubles a year--nine go in taxes, five in repairs, leaves a hole in the pocket of two rubles a year! that's it." he puts on airs: "heaven be praised, i have no money. neither i, nor any one of the jews standing here, nor any other jews--except perhaps the 'german' ones[ ] in the big towns. we have no money. i don't know any trade, my grandfather never sewed a shoe. therefore i live as god wills, and have lived so for fifty years. and if there is a child to be married, we have a wedding, and dance in the mud." "once and for all, what are you?" "a jew." "what do you do all day?" "i study, i pray--what else should a jew do? and when i have eaten, i go to the market." "what do you do in the market?" "what do i do? whatever turns up. well, yesterday, for example, i heard, as i passed, that yoneh borik wanted to buy three rams for a gentleman. before daylight i was at the house of a second gentleman, who had once said, he had too many rams. i made an agreement with yoneh borik, and, heaven be praised, we made a ruble and a half by it." "are you, then, what is called a commission-agent?" "how should i know? sometimes it even occurs to me to buy a bit of produce." "sometimes?" "what do you mean by 'sometimes'? when i have a ruble, i buy." "and when not?" "i get one." "how?" "what do you mean by 'how'?" and it is an hour before i find out that levi yitzchock bärenpelz is a bit of a rabbinical assistant, and acts as arbiter in quarrels; a bit of a commission-agent, a fragment of a merchant, a morsel of a match-maker, and now and again, when the fancy takes him, a messenger. thanks to all these "trades," the counted and the forgotten ones, he earns his bread, although with toil and trouble, for wife and child--even for the married daughter, because her father-in-law is _but_ a pauper. the second attempt i am taken into a shop. a few packets of matches, a few boxes of cigarettes; needles, pins, hair-pins, buttons, green and yellow soap, a few pieces of home-made, fragrant soap, a few grocery wares. "who lives here?" i ask. "you can see for yourself!" answers a jewish woman, and goes on combing the hair of a little girl about ten years old, who has twitched her head from under the comb and stares with great, astonished eyes, at the goï[ ] who talks yiddish. "lay your head down again!" screams the mother. "what is the name of your husband?" i inquire. "mösheh." "and his 'german' name?" "may his name come home!" she scolds suddenly. "he has been four hours getting a dish from the neighbor's!" "stop scolding," says the beadle, "and answer when you're spoken to!" she is afraid of the beadle. he is beadle and bailiff together, and collects the taxes, besides being held in great regard by the town-justice. "who was scolding? who? what? can't i speak against my own husband?" "what is his 'german' name?" i ask again. the beadle remembers it himself, and answers, "jungfreud." "how many children have you?" "i beg of you, friend, come later on, when my husband is here; that's his affair! i've enough to do with the shop and six children. go away, for goodness' sake!" i make a note of six children, and ask how many are married. "married! i wish any of them were married, i should have fewer gray hairs." "are they all girls?" "three are boys." "what are they doing?" "what should they be doing? plaguing my life out with their open mouths!" "why not teach them a trade?" she turns up her nose, gives me a black look, and refuses to give any further answers. i have an idea: i buy a packet of cigarettes. she looks less disagreeable, and i ask: "how much does your husband earn?" "_he?_ he earn anything? what use do you suppose _he_ is, when i can't even send him to fetch a dish from a neighbor's? he's been four hours already. it won't be thanks to _him_ if we get any supper to-night!" she goes off into another fury. i have to go outside and catch the husband in the street. i knew him--he was carrying a dish! at the shochet's i am greeted by a mixture of different voices. a hero of a cock gives a proud crow, as though there were no such thing as a slaughter-knife in the world. contrariwise, a calf lows sadly--it would seem to be hungry, while between the boards under the holes in the tall roof chirp quantities of small birds. they have wings and laugh at the shochet. it is summer, the air is full of insects, men, even the poorest and stingiest, leave crumbs about. zip! zip! and zip! and zip! zip! zip! the bed in the nest is made, the "he" is decked out in bright colors, the "she" is modest and silent, and the children have had enough to eat! they are warm, and are not "down" in someone's note-book for military service or in connection with the matter of a license. but ask them what is the meaning of a "blemish in the holy offerings!" this question is being discussed by two young men, barefoot, in skull-caps, and undressed to their "little prayer-scarfs."[ ] the young men are only unfit for inspecting licenses or wares in the shop, but calves for the altar--as fast as you please! when god portioned out the world, the peasant took the soil, the fisher the river, the hunter the forest, the gardener the fruit-trees, the merchant the weights and measures, and so on; but the poet lingered in a wood. the nightingale sang to him, the trees whispered all sorts of wood-gossip into his ear, and his eyes, the poetical eyes, could not look away from the girl kneeling by the stream, from the tadpole in her hand. and he came too late for everything! the world, when he arrived, was already divided up. god had nothing left for him but clouds, rainbows, roses, and song-birds. he did not even find the young washerwoman on his way back, she had engaged herself somewhere as nurse. you have fancy! create a world for yourself, said god. and people envied the poet--his world was the best! the peasant tilled his land with sweat and toil. the fisher is not idle--breaking ice in winter time is no joke. the hunter wearies hunting and pursuing. pippins are not so easily made out of crab-apples! the merchant must bestir himself, if only about falsifying the weights and measures, else he dies of hunger. _one_ is the poet, who lies on his stomach and creates worlds! but it was a mistake. it turned out that his soul was only a camera-obscura that reflected the outside world with all its mud and pigs. so long as the pig keeps its place, it is not so bad, but when the pig gets into the foreground, the poet's world becomes as piggish as ours. the only people who remain to be envied are our two young men, the shochet's son with the shochet's son-in-law. our world with its pigs doesn't fit in with their world of "blemish in the sacrifice." there is no connection between the two, no bridge, no link whatever. and as i have come into _their_ world out of _our_ world, the gemorehs are shut, while the young faces express fear and wonder. the shochet is not at home, he has gone to a neighboring village; that is why the calf is still lowing in the house. the wife has a little draper's shop. the daughter and a daughter-in-law stand by the fire and their faces are triply red. first, from pride in their husbands with their torah; secondly, from the crackling fire, and thirdly, with confusion before a stranger, a man, and a "german" to boot. one caught a corner of her apron in her mouth, the other moved a few steps backward, as in the synagogue at the end of the kedushah. both look at me in astonishment from under low foreheads with hairbands of plaited thread. the young men, however, soon recover themselves. they have heard of the note-taker, and have guessed that i am he! the note-taking goes quickly. the shochet gets four rubles a week, besides what he earns in the villages; were it not for the meat brought in from the villages round about, he would be doing very well. the shop does not bring in much, but always something. parnosseh, thank god, they have! as for the children, they will live with the parents, and when, in god's good time, the parents shall have departed this life, they will inherit, one, the father's profession, the other, the shop; the house will be in common. they look better off than any in the town; better off than the traders, householders, workmen, better off even than the public-house keeper and the feldscher together. there will come a time--i think as i go out--when even teaching will be one of the best paid professions. it is all not so bad as people think: besides being a rabbi, a shochet, a beadle, and a teacher, there is yet another good way of getting a living. in the shochet's house there is a female lodger; she pays fifteen rubles a year. the door is locked; through the window, which looks into the street, i see quite a nice little room. two well-furnished beds with white pillows, red-painted wooden furniture; copper utensils hang on the wall by the fire-place; there is a bright hanging-lamp. the room is full of comfort and household cheer. she has silver, too, they tell me. i see a large chest with brass fittings. there must be silver candle-sticks in it, and perhaps ornaments. what do you think? they say. she has a lot of money, the whole town is in her pocket. she is a widow with three children. the door is locked all through the week, because she only comes home every sabbath, excepting shabbes chazon.[ ] she spends the whole week going round the villages in the neighborhood, begging, with all three children. the rebbitzin of skul esther the queen was sallow,[ ] but a gleam of graciousness lighted up her countenance. esther, the skul rebbitzin, was also plain-featured, but it was not a gleam, rather a sun, of kindliness that shone in her face. an old, thin woman, her head covered with a thin, wrinkled, pale pink skin, droops like a fine esrog over her red kerchief. only this esrog has two kind, serious eyes. she is a native of the place, and lives by herself; she has married all her children in various parts of the country, but nothing would induce her to live with any one of them. it is never advisable to let oneself be dependent on a son-in-law or daughter-in-law. the husband stands up for the wife--the wife for the husband (not without reason saith the holy torah: "and therefore a man shall leave his parents, etc."). she will not give them occasion to transgress the command to honor a mother, that is a real case of "thou shalt not cause the blind to stumble." "god, blessed be his name, created man so that he should not see the faults of those nearest him, otherwise the world would be as full of divorces as of marriage contracts!" secondly--as the rabbi of skul observed more than once--a widow who depends on her children is a double grass-widow, and "the words of the rabbi of skul should be framed in gold and worn about the neck as an _Öibele_." true, she says with a low sigh, _Öibeles_ are not worn nowadays, imitation pearls are considered prettier! she could not stay on in skul. since her husband the rabbi died, the place has become hateful to her. "really," she says, "'its glory has departed, its splendor, and its beauty.'" she goes there once a year, for the anniversary of his death, but she cannot remain long--"it has grown empty." she lived with the skul rabbi forty years. those that knew him say that she grew to be his second self. he, may he forgive me! was a misnagid; so she thinks nothing of "good jews!" his "service" was the torah in its plain meaning. she sits all day over the pentateuch in yiddish, or learns the shulchan aruch;[ ] she quotes the skul rabbi at every second word and it is his voice, his motions, his customs! after the skul rabbi's kiddush and havdoleh, she will listen to no other; she says her own over cake or currant wine. and _her_ kiddush is _his_ kiddush--the same low, dignified chant, the same sweetness. she eats "just kosher" and is very learned. she can answer ritual questions! forty years running she has stood by the hearth with her kind face turned to the table at which her husband sat and studied; her dove's eyes took in his every movement, her ears, half hidden under the head-kerchief, his every word, she was his true helpmeet, she hid his every thought in her brain and his goodness in her heart. a river may have lain a hundred years in another bed, and all its previous twists and bends are wrought into the rocks of its first one. the skul rabbi's life may have run more peacefully than a river, but the rebbitzin was no rock to him, rather a sponge that absorbed the whole of him. she is not satisfied with the world as it is to-day. "if it is no longer pious, the almighty must have a care; if his people behave so, it is doubtless because he wishes it. only, there is no 'purpose' in it all; the present-day stuffs are spider-webs, and people don't sew as they used to, they cut it all up into seams! "don't talk to me of the curtains before the ark, you can't make so much as a frock for a child out of them! the old-fashioned head-dresses get dearer every day, a head-kerchief ought to last forever, and even out of a bosom-kerchief you can always draw a gold or silver thread, but imitation pearls and glass spangles are good for nothing. and, believe me, it is all much uglier, in my opinion!" but she bears no one a grudge: "my husband, the skul rabbi, was a misnagid, but he never persecuted a chossid, heaven forbid!" she remembers how the householders once came crying out that the chassidîm of the place were late in reciting the shema,[ ] and she heard from his own lips the reply: "there are," he said to them, "different armies, and they have different weapons, different customs, but they all serve the same kingdom. even boots," he added with his smile, "are not all made by the same pattern." she remembers all his sayings and lives according to his ideas. he used to get very angry if a workman rose and stood before him as a sign of respect, for he was greatly in favor of people working with their hands, therefore when she came here with her few hundred rubles, she set up soap-making--sooner than live on others. she knows that even a woman is under the law bidding every one do something for his own support--it is not one of the laws bound to a certain time, from which women are exempt. when they "kept" her money, she remained dependent on the soap only. "it wouldn't be a bad business," she says, "blessed be his name! i make three to four rubles a week before a holiday. my soap, may his name be praised! has a reputation in the whole neighborhood, only--just now it's all on credit. some day the business will fail." i look round on all sides, i see no utensils, no instruments for the work. nothing extra is wanted for it, she gives me to understand: "you take some ashes from the hearth, potatoes, and other vegetables, work them together in water, let them steam and then simmer over the fire; in that way you get 'unclear' soap, and if you do the same thing over again, you get _liter_, that is, good soap!" when i leave, she asks a little troubled and ashamed: "tell me, i beg of you, when your writings come into the hands of the great people, will they not say i must take out a license?" insured a quiet summer night. over there the celebrated wood shows black on the sky-line; our forefathers engraved in its trees the names of the divisions of the talmud they completed as they went along. yonder, not far off, they halted, and the "head of the dispersion" said "pöh lîn!" (here abide!), and the land has ever since been called "pöhlin;"[ ] but the other nations cannot make out the reason. and the wood has a short cut to jerusalem. there was once a goat belonging to one of the native làmed-wòfniks, and the goat knew the road; she used to trot every morning to pasture on the temple mount, and return with three pitcherfuls of milk for the holy man. to the right of the wood, beside a river, lies the town. it is divided into two parts. one part is a long strip--a straight, paved street with walled-in houses under sheet-metal roofs, quite substantial, fastened to the earth with foundations. the inhabitants of the street know for certain that they will live and die in them; that all the winds of heaven may blow without causing them to move an inch. then comes the second part, another world, quite spiritual: flimsy "hen-houses" entirely built of straw and fir planks, with only an occasional slate-roof. a breeze blows over them, and they are gone. do their dwellers hope to find the short cut to the temple mount, like the immortal goat, or do they speculate on the fire-insurance? and how like are the houses to their inhabitants! these are narrow-chested, with darkened eyes, and crouch under crooked straw caps. cocks crow out of the huts, ducks quack, and geese cackle. from out the marsh, which licks the threshold with seventy tongues, croak well-fed, portly frogs. a jewish calf frequently contributes a bleat, and is answered out of the long street by a gentile dog. i shall begin to take notes early in the morning. i know beforehand what it will be: if not thirty-six rubles a year, it will be thirty-three or thirty-two.... i shall find "many trades and few blessings,"[ ] more soap factories, any number of empty houses.... the beadle will reckon up for me: _he_ is a messenger, _she_, a huckstress; two daughters are out in service in lublin, in samoscz.... one son is a "helper" in a cheder, the other serving his time in the army, and the daughter-in-law with three, four, five children has gone home to her father and mother.... i shall find neglected children tumbling about in the swamp with the ducks and geese; mites of babies screaming their throats out in the cradles; sick people left alone in bed; boarded-out children sitting over gemorehs; young women in furry wigs and with or without shyness; i hardly shut my eyes, before these same weary, livid, pale, twisted faces, walking sorrows, rise before me ... there is seldom one who smiles, one with a dimple ... all the men so unmanly, so mummy-like, women with running eyes, carrying a load of fruit, a sack of onions, or else an unborn child together with the onions. i know i shall come across an unlicensed third-rate public-house, two or three horse-stealers, and more than two or three receivers of stolen goods. but what about the statistics? can they answer the question, how many empty stomachs, useless teeth? how many people whose eyes are drawn out of their sockets as with pincers at the sight of a piece of dry bread? how many people who have really died of hunger? all you gain by statistics is that you find out about an unlicensed public-house, or a horse-thief, or a receiver of stolen goods. scientific medicine has invented a machine for checking heart-beats, one by one; the foolish statistics play with figures. do statistics record the anxious heart-beats that thumped in the breast of the grandson of the descendant from spanish ancestors, or the son of the author of the _tevuas shor_, before they committed their first illegality? do they measure how their hearts bled _after_ they committed it? do they count the sleepless nights before and after? can they show how many were the days of hunger? how many times the children flung themselves about in convulsions, how often hands and feet shook when the first glass was filled by the unlicensed brandy-seller? livid, ghastly, blue faces float before me in the empty air, and blue-brown, parched lips whisper: "there has been no fire in my chimney for twenty-four days." "we have eaten potato peelings for ten." "three died without a doctor or a prescription; i _had_ to save the fourth!" the hoarse voices cut me to the heart, like a blunt knife; i leave the window where i have been standing; but the room is full of ghosts. by the stove stands a red jew, well-nourished: "hee, hee!" he laughs. "steal? buy stolen things? a business like any other ... not less than a month's imprisonment ... in a month i would have lost a fortune ... all the noblemen will bear me witness ... honestly! honestly!" that voice is worse; it saws ... i throw myself on the bed, i shut my eyes, and there appears to me the good old rebbitzin of skul. "well," she says with her childlike, silvery voice, "and suppose the result of your inquiries were not favorable for the jews, shall you he able to say: 'thy people are all righteous?'" i feel as if her kind, blue, dove-like eyes rested soothingly on my hot forehead. i fell asleep beneath them, and i dreamt of the two angels, the good inclination and the evil one. i saw them flying earthward before day-break, enveloped in a thin, pink mist. the evil inclination carried, in one hand, a blue paper with a large, black eye in the top left-hand corner, evidently a deed relating to a house or some property ... expensive dresses, besides fur caps, braided kaftans, silk sashes, also a top-hat and frock-coat as if for one person; also handkerchiefs, head-kerchiefs, kerchiefs with tinsel, pearl necklaces, as well as silk and satin trains of all colors--all that in one hand, and in the other--potato peelings.... the good inclination--naked, without clothes or things to carry, as god made him.... both fly ... it seems as if the good inclination wanted to tell me something, he opens his pretty mouth ... but not his voice, a cry of alarm wakes me. fire! i spring out of bed, there is a fire just opposite! a long tongue of flame stretches out toward me and seems to say: "don't be frightened: it's insured!" the fire the fiery tongue was put out at me by reb chaïm weizensang's house. the tongue grew larger and the house smaller till it fell in, into a sea of wails and screams of terror. there was fortunately no wind at the time of the conflagration. when the sun rose from out the mist, blushing red like a beautiful and innocent maiden after the bath, she saw nothing but long, black, male heads turning over the ruins with sticks. they were looking for the remnants of weizensang's riches in the remnants of his house. groups of yellow-faced women are already standing around it. the brown shawls are held with washed fingers over their unwashed heads, and pale lips lament and bewail the house. with the morning came a fresh wind. a little sooner, and it would have played havoc. now it just shakes the remaining old chimney over the women's heads as though it were a palm. the chimney rocks and groans sadly, as though it felt deserted, and perhaps it listens to the inn-keeper telling me the tale of the destruction of the house, and affirms with a nod: "true, true!" you would sooner pick up every thread, every dust-grain of life out of which the sleep-angel has woven you a fantastic dream, than discover all the devices a jew must resort to before he hears the clink of copper coin. if i were to describe everything, you would think i had been dreaming myself.... who shall read the divine countenance when a wretched creature stands before him, lifts its head with its racked brain, extinguished eyes, and trembling voice, and pressing its empty stomach with cracked and bony hands, prays without a voice, without a language; the tongue will not move, but the blood cries: "lord of the world, i have done my part, now--thou must help! lord of the world, feed me like the ravens! in what am i more worthless than they are? lord of the world, where are _my_ crumbs? when will it be _my_ 'sabbath of song?'"[ ] and for all the body he has, he might very well be a bird; nothing is wanting but the wings, and the nest with the crumbs. and therefore the jewish parnossehs are so specialized that their like will only be in the twenty-first century, when one specialist will lift the upper eye-lid, a second press down the lower, and a third examine the sick eye. if a dish of roast veal, a rag in a paper-factory, or an exported egg had a mouth to speak with and the rabbi reb heshil's memory, they would still be unable to say how many jewish hands had taken them out and put them in, from the peasant's shed into the roasting-pan, from the manure-box into the "holländer,"[ ] from servitude into freedom.... and a jewish parnosseh is just such a ladder as jacob our father saw in a dream, the night when all stones united into one stone for his head, a ladder standing on the earth, and the top of it reaches into the sky. how deep it is chained into the earth, is known only to the worm at its foot, and how high it reaches--to the star only that shines above it. _we_ grow giddy gazing up the height; and when we peer down into the depths, our stomach turns, and we look green forever after. angels ascend and descend the ladder; men, alas, _climb_ it with their last remaining strength, and fall down it when their strength is exhausted. and even if he can thank his stars his neck is not broken, the jew has no strength left to begin climbing again. such is the ladder that was partly climbed by our "burnt-out" one. first he travelled between the villages as a "runner," on business for other people; the earth was hot to his bare feet. it was not the cry of a brother's blood this cain heard, it was the cry of wife and children for bread. heaven came to his assistance; he bought very cheaply for two or three years on end, and then he was promoted from a "runner" to a "walker." there was already provision at home for a week at a time, and he only came back fridays with the result of a week's bargaining; the brain was more composed, and had time to take in the fact that the feet were becoming swollen, that the father of six children ought always to walk and not run, if he wishes his feet to carry him till at least one of them is confirmed. and god helped further; he is now, blessed be the name, a village peddler, that is, he walks only when there is no "opportunity"[ ] to ride in from one village to another for a kopek; if the "opportunity" is there, he rides. god helped him on again; another year or two, and he has his own horse and cart! time does not stand still, and he took no rest, and god helped. the one horse turned into two, the cart into a trap, and it even came to a driver! and he is now a produce dealer; first he deals with peasants and then with gentlemen. and, god helping, he gets into favor first with the head of the dairy farm, then with the manager, after that with the bailiff, after that again with the steward, and at last with the count himself. o, by that time he is an inhabitant, settled in the place, the driver becomes a domestic servant, horse and carriage are sold, and pockets are lined with the count's receipts.... what is he now? he is like the sun round which circle the stars--smaller traders, and little stars--brokers. he shines and illumines the whole place with credit. yelenskin compared him to a spider sitting in his web, and the count to one of the flies entangled in it. after a while our "sun-spider," or "spider-sun," enlarged his house, wrote marriage contracts for his children, settled dowries on them; bought his wife pearls and himself a sealskin coat, engaged better teachers for his boys, and for the girls someone to teach them if only how to write a jewish letter. suddenly (at least, for the town), the count was declared bankrupt, and our "spider-sun," or "sun-spider," lost everything at once. if i had passed through a month earlier, i should have put down: a house, fifteen hundred rubles, a propination,[ ] a business in timber and produce, a money-lender. he has lent the count fifteen thousand rubles at ten per cent., not as a mortgage, but for "hand-receipts." now i write one word: "burnt-out." i might add: a man of eighty-two, swollen feet, a household of seventeen persons. the emigrant i open a door. a room without beds, without furniture, carpeted with hay and straw. in the middle of the room stands a barrel upside down. round the barrel, four starved-looking children, with frowzy hair, hang over a great earthenware dish of sour milk, out of which they eat, holding a greenish metal spoon in their right hand and a bit of bran-bread in their left. in one corner, on the floor, sits a pale woman, and the tears fall from her eyes on the potatoes she is about to peel. in the second corner lies "he," also on the floor, and undressed. "it was no good your coming, neighbor," he says to me, without rising, "no good at all! i don't belong here now!" but when he sees that i have no intention of going away, he raises himself slowly. "_nu_, where am i to seat you?" he asks sadly. i assure him that i can write standing. "you will get nothing out of me! i am only waiting for a boat ticket--you see, i have sold everything, even my tools...." "you are a mechanic?" i ask. "a tailor." "and what obliges you to emigrate?" "hunger." and there was hunger in _his_ face, in _her_ face, and still more in the gleaming eyes of the children round the barrel. "no work to be had?" he shrugged his shoulders as much as to say, he and work had long been strangers. "where are you going to?" "to london. i was there once already, and made money. i sent my wife ten rubles a week, and lived like a human being. the bad luck brought me home again." i wondered if the "bad luck" were his wife. "why not have sent for your family to join you?" "it drew me back! it's black as night over there. as soon as ever i closed an eye, i dreamt of the little town, the river round it, ... i felt suffocated there, and it drew me and drew me...." "this is certainly," i remark, "a beautiful bit of country." "the air costs nothing, and we have been living on air, heaven be praised, these three years. this time i am going with wife and child. i mean to put an end to it." "you will miss the wood again!" "the wood!"--he gives himself a twist with a bitter smile--"my wife went into the wood the evening before last, to gather berries, and they marched her out and treated her to the whip." "there is the river,"--i want to take him away from his sad thoughts. his pale face grew paler. "the river? in the summer it took one of my children." i hurried away from the luckless home. the madman i returned to my lodgings quite unnerved, and lay a long time on the hard sofa without closing an eye.... a noise wakes me. something is stealing in to me through the window. i see on the window ledge two long, bony, dirty hands, and there raises itself from behind them an unkempt head with two gleaming eyes in a livid face. "won't you enter _me_?" asks the head, softly. i do not know how to answer. he, meanwhile, has taken silence for consent, and stands in the middle of the room. alarmed, and still more astonished, i keep my eye on him. "write!" he says impatiently. "shall i give you the ink and a pen?" without waiting for an answer, he pushes up to my sofa the little table with the writing materials. "write, please, write!" and his voice is so soft and gentle, it finds its way into my heart, and i am no longer frightened. i sit up to write. i question him, and he answers me. "your name?" "jonah." "your surname?" "when i was a little boy, they called me jonah zieg. after my wedding, jonah drong, but since the misfortune happened to me, mad jonah." "what is your german name?" "o, you mean _that_?... directly, directly. perelmann. you see my pearls?" he points to a torn, red kerchief round his neck, and says: "real pearls, _ha_? but that's what i'm called. how can i help it?" "a wife?" "you had better _not_ put her down: she doesn't live with me. since the misfortune, she doesn't live with me ... a nice wife, too. i would gladly have given her a divorce, but the rabbi wouldn't allow it. he said i mustn't. a nice little wife!" and his eyes grew moist. "she even took the child with her. it's better off with her--what should _i_ do with it? carry it about? they throw stones at me, and would have hurt it." "one child is it you have?" "one." "what was your misfortune?" "may you know trouble as little as i know that! folk say a devil. the röfeh says, a stone fell into my head, and the soul, or, as he calls it, the life, into my belly. i don't remember the stone, but i have a bruise on my head." he takes off his hat and cap together, bends his head, and shows me a bare bump in the hair. "it may have been from a stone, but i _am_ mad--that's certain." "what is your eccentricity?" "two or three times a day i have my soul in my belly, and then i speak out of my belly, and crow like a cock. i can't stop myself, i really can't!" "what were you _before_ the misfortune?" "i hadn't got to be anything. it happened to me early in the köst.[ ] that is why i have only one child, health and strength to it!" "have you any money?" "i had a few gulden dowry. a lot of it went in remedies--on 'good jews' ... the rest i gave _her_." "what do you live on?" "on trouble. the boys throw stones at me. i daren't go about in the market-place, else i might have earned something near a stall. at one time people were sorry for me and gave me things. now times are bad--i have to go begging. i beg before dinner, while the children are still in cheder. and it's little enough i get by it! the town is small; there are two mad people in it beside me. and now they say that yesterday the 'lokshiche'[ ] threw a saucepan at her servant's head. the servant is sure to go mad, quite sure! only i don't know yet if she will crow as i do, or trumpet into her fist, like the rabbi's shlom'tzie, or be silent like hannah the tikerin." misery i shall not call the little town by its name, but if i come across another such, i, too, shall begin to crow, like the madman.... he was an excellent shoemaker, who supported wife and children (rarely less than four or five) respectably. he won a large sum of money in a lottery, took to drink, drank it all up, left his wife and children to shift for themselves, disappeared, and must have died since somewhere or other beneath a hedge. but that is not specifically jewish. take another one of us, his partner in the lottery ticket. he was a teacher, won some money, hired a mill together with the rebbe. the mill failed, now he is beadle in a chassidic meeting-house, gets nothing for it, but he sells the "bitter drop." the wife is a "buyer-in," takes round eggs and butter to the houses. she doesn't earn much, because she is lame. one son is away, the second works somewhere at a carpenter's; one is at home, scrofulous. the widow beile bashe, surname unknown, lives with a daughter-in-law, a soldier's wife. the husband disappeared in the turkish war. the daughter-in-law plucks feathers--she is a tikerin, and watches beside women in child-bed, or else by the sick. in summer, so long as the nobleman allowed it, she gathered berries in the forest; a sickly woman, she does a little bit of begging besides. zeinwill graf has only lately become a skinner. last year he was a great fisher, rented a river which the nobleman wished to let to a christian; he paid a lot of cession-money, caught only "forbidden fish" the whole summer, and is now in dire poverty. shmerke bentzies, formerly a dantzig trader ... it is twenty years since he came home empty-handed. since then he trades in currant-wine for kiddush. the wife is a sempstress, has suffered a year or two with her eyes. "they haven't _no_ children," but competition in the currant-wine trade is very keen, and they struggle. melach berils, a fine young man, only lately boarding with his father-in-law ... he was in business together with a cattle-dealer and lost his money; meantime the father-in-law died in poverty. it is uncertain what he will do. there are three little children, not more. i was also asked to put down a man (they had forgotten the name), a man with a wife, and children (nobody remembers how many, but a lot), who may arrive at any moment. the nobleman has refused to renew his lease; no one can tell what he will take to, but--"you may as well put him down!" the lÀmed-wÒfnik "we (the story is told me by a teacher of small children) once had a real làmed-wòfnik!" "he said so himself?" i ask. "well, he would have been a fine làmed-wòfnik if he had! he denied it 'stone and bone.' if he were questioned about it, he lost his temper and fired up. but, of course, people got wind of it, they knew well enough! yes, 'kith and kin,' the whole town knew it! as if there could be any doubt! people talked, it was clear as daylight! in the beginning, there were some who wouldn't believe--they came to a bad end! "for instance: yainkef-yosef weinshenker, a man of eighty and much respected, i can't quite explain, but he sort of turned up his nose at him. did he _say_ anything? heaven forbid! but there! like that.... turned up his nose as much as to say: preserve us! nothing worse! well, what do you think? not more than five or six years after, he was dead. yainkef-yosef lay in his grave. poor leah, the milkwoman! one was sorry for her. it was muddy, and she did not step off the stone causeway to make room for him. would you believe it, the milk went wrong at all her customers' for a month on end! and there was no begging off! when approached on the subject, he pretended to know nothing about it, and scolded into the bargain!" "of course,"--i wish to show off my knowledge--"though a scholar decline the honor due to him...." "a scholar? _is_ a làmed-wòfnik a scholar? and you think he knew even how to read hebrew properly? he could manage to make seven mistakes in spelling noah. besides, hebrew is nothing. hebrew doesn't count for much with us. he could not even read through the weekly portion. and his reciting the psalms made nevertheless an impression in the highest! the last rebbe, of blessed memory, said that welvil (that was his name, the làmed-wòfnik's) cleft the seventh heaven! and you think his psalm-singing was all! wait till i tell you! "hannah the tikerin's goat (not of you be it said!) fell sick, and she drove it to the gentile exorcist, who lives behind the village. the goat staggered, she was so ill. "on the way--it was heaven's doing--the goat met the làmed-wòfnik, and as she staggered along, she touched his cloak. what do you think? cured, as i live! hannah kept it to herself, only what happened afterwards was this: a disease broke out among the goats; literally, 'there was not a house in which there was not one dead;' then she told. the làmed-wòfnik was enticed into the market-place, and all the goats were driven at him." "and they all got well?" "what a question! they even gave a double quantity of milk." "the tikerin got a groschen a goat--she became quite rich!" "and he?" "he? nothing! why, he denied everything, and even got angry and scolded--and such an one _may_ not take money, he is no 'good jew'--he must not be 'discovered!'" "how did he live?" "at one time he was a shoemaker (a làmed-wòfnik has got to be a workman, if only a water-carrier, only he must support himself with his hands); he used to go to circumcisions in a pair of his own shoes, but in his old age he was no longer any good for a shoemaker, he could no longer so much as draw the thread, let alone put in a patch--his hands shook: he just took a message, carried a canful of water, sat up with the dead at night, recited psalms, was called up to the tochechoh,[ ] and in winter there was the stove to heat in the house-of-study." "he carried wood?" "carry wood? why, where were the boys? the wood was brought, laid in the stove, he gave the word, and applied the light. people say: a stove is a lifeless thing. and yet, do you know, the house-of-study stove knew him as a woman (lehavdîl) knows her husband! he applied a light and the stove burnt! the wind might be as high as you please. everywhere else it smoked, but in the house-of-study it crackled! and the stove, a split one, such an old thing as never was! and let anyone else have a try--by no means! either it wouldn't burn, or else it smoked through every crack, and the heat went up the chimney, and at night one nearly froze to death! when he died, they had to put in another stove, because nobody could do anything with the old one. "he was a terrible loss! so long as he lived there was parnosseh, now, heaven help us, one may whistle for a dreier! there was no need to call in a doctor." "and all through his psalms?" "you ask such a question? why, it was as clear as day that he delivered from death." "and no one died in his day?" "all alive? nobody died? do you suppose the death-angel has no voice in the matter? how many times, do you suppose, has the 'good jew' himself of blessed memory wished a complete recovery, and he, satan, opposed him with all his might? well, was it any good? an angel is no trifle! and the heavenly academy once in a while decides in the death-angel's favor. well, then! there was no doctor wanted; not one could get on here. now we have _two_ doctors!" "beside the exorcist?" "he was taken, too!" "_gepegert?_"[ ] "one doesn't say _gepegert_ of anyone like that--the 'other side'[ ] is no trifle, either." the informer if tomàshef had a làmed-wòfnik, it had an "informer" too! this also was told me by the primary school teacher. neither is it long since he--only i don't know how it should be expressed--departed, died, was taken. perhaps you think an ordinary informer, in the usual sense of the word; he saw a false weight, an unequal balance, and went and told? heaven forbid! not at all! it was all blackmail, all frightening people into paying him not to tell--see, there he goes, he runs, he drives, he writes, he sends! and he sucked the marrow from the bones-- "and he was badly used himself," continued the teacher. "i remember when yeruchem first brought him here! a very fine young man! only yeruchem promised 'dowry and board,' and hadn't enough for a meal for himself. and yeruchem had been badly used, too. his brother getzil (a rich miser as ever was), he had the most to answer for! "it is a tale of two brothers, one clever and good, the other foolish and bad; the good, clever one, poor, and the bad fool, a rich man. of course, the rich brother would do nothing for the poor one. "well, so long as it was only a question of food, yeruchem said nothing. but when his daughter grüne had come to be an overgrown girl of nineteen or twenty, yeruchem made a commotion. the town and the rabbi took the matter up, and getzil handed over a written promise that he would give so and so much to be paid out a year after her marriage. not any sooner; the couple might change their minds, yeruchem would spend the money, and there would be the whole thing over again. "he, getzil, wished to defer the payment until the end of three years, but they succeeded in getting him to promise to pay it in one year. when the time came, getzil said: 'not a penny! anyhow, according to _their_ law, the paper isn't worth a farthing,' and meanwhile it became impossible to settle it within the community. the old rabbi had died; the new rabbi wouldn't interfere, he was afraid of the crown-rabbi, lest he send it up to the regular courts--and there it ended! getzil wouldn't give a kopek, yeruchem disappeared either on the way to a 'good jew,' or else he went begging through the country ... and beinishe remained with grüne! "truly, the ways of the most high are past finding out! it seems ridiculous! he was a lad and she was a girl, but it was all upside down. the woman, an engine, a cossack, and the husband, a misery, a bag of bones! and what do you think! she took him in hand and made a man of him! "she was always setting him on getzil, he was to prevent the congregation from taking out the scrolls until the matter was settled, prevent getzil from being called up to the law.... it made as much impression as throwing a pea at a wall. getzil cuffed him, and after that the young fellow was ashamed to appear in the house-of-study. once, just before passover, when all devices had failed, grüne again drove beinishe to his uncle, and drove him with a broom! beinishe went again, and again the uncle turned him out. i tell you--it was a thing to happen! my second wife (to be) had just been divorced from her first husband, and she was grüne's lodger; and she saw beinishe come home with her own eyes; he was more dead than alive, and shook as if he had the fever; and my good-woman was experienced in that sort of thing (she had been the matron of the hekdesh before it was burnt down), and she saw that something serious had happened. "it was just about the time when grüne was to come home (she sold rolls) from market, and she would have knocked him down; and my good-wife advised him, out of compassion, to lie down and rest on the stove; and he, poor man, was like a dummy, tell him to do a thing and he did it; he got up on the stove. "grüne came home, my good-woman said nothing; beinishe lay and slept, or pretended to sleep, on the stove![ ] and perhaps he was not quite clear in his head, because, when getzil was turning him out of the house, he cried out that he would tell where they had hidden getzil's son, and if he had been clear in the head, he would not have said a thing like that. "however that may be, the words made a great impression on getzil's wife. may my enemies know of their life what beinishe knew of the whereabouts of jonah-getzil's! but there, a woman, a mother, an only son!... so, what do you think? she had a grocery shop, got a porter and a bag of passover-flour, and had it carried after her to grüne. "she goes in ... (such a pity, my wife isn't here! she was an eye-witness of it, and when she tells the story, it is enough to make you split with laughter); she goes in, leaves the porter outside the room. "'good morning, grüne!' grüne makes no reply, and getzil's wife begins to get frightened. "'where,' she asks, 'is beinishe?' 'the black year knows!' answers grüne, and turns to the fire-place, where she goes on skimming the soup. he must have gone to inform, she thinks. she calls in the porter, the sack of meal is put down, grüne does not see, or pretends she doesn't, devil knows which! getzil's wife begins to flush and tremble, 'grünishe, we are relatives ... one blood--call him back! why should he destroy himself and my soul with him?' "then only grüne turned round. she was no fool, and soon took in the situation. she got a few more rubles out of them, and made believe to go after beinishe.... it was soon rumored in the town that beinishe was an informer ... and grüne was glad of it ... she kept beinishe on the stove, and bullied and drew blood at every householder's where there was anything wrong." "at that rate, _she_ was the informer?" "first she, and then he himself. in his misery, he took to drink, hung about at night in the public-houses, threatened to 'inform' all on his own account. he never gave grüne a penny, and spent all he had in dissipation. it was sad--a man like that to end so!" "what happened?" "he burnt up his inside with drink. first he went mad, and ran about in the streets, or lay out somewhere for weeks under a hedge. but home to grüne--not for any money! "even when he was quite a wreck, ten men couldn't get him back into his house. he fought and bit. he had to be brought into the house-of-study (the hekdesh was no longer in existence), and there he died! they tried to save him, called in a specialist, recited psalms." "the làmed-wòfnik, too?" "certainly!" "well?" "a man with no inside--what could you expect?" xvi the outcast may had been cold and wet from beginning to end. people began to feel as if summer would never come, as if it would go on freezing and raining forever. at last, the day before pentecost, the sun shone out. "torah is light!" said my father, with proud satisfaction, and began to look for the tikun[ ] for the night of pentecost. "in honor of the holy feast-day!" exclaimed my mother, joyfully, and went back with fresh courage to her cake-making. "i am going to bake gelle challeh!"[ ] she called to us. soon the house was filled with the smell of freshly-kneaded dough, saffron, cinnamon and cloves, sugared cheese and melted butter. my younger sister hannah took no part in what was going forward. she sat by the window over a book, but she read nothing, and her eyes stared anxiously out into the street. our mother called on her several times for help, but hannah did not even answer.... the pale face wears a scornful smile ... the delicate lips open, she is about to speak! but she remains silent, and fastens her eyes upon her book. "lazy thing!" grumbles our mother, "always poring over books! working-day or holiday, it's all the same to her!" our father, who rarely interferes in household matters, having found the book and dusted it, lies down to sleep before bathing, to prepare for being up at night. our mother stops complaining, lest she should wake him. she calls me quietly to her, gives me a few pennies, and tells me to go down-stairs and buy a bit of green, and some colored paper with which to festoon the windows. heaven knows, i am unwilling enough to leave the room wherein stands a bowl of sweet cream, another of sugared cheese, and where packets of currants and raisins lie all about. at the same time, going to buy, to bargain over, and to pay for greenery and paper, was still more seductive, and away i run. and it turned out to be such a dreadful pentecost! * * * * * hannah, my sister, ran away! we had gone to prayers, and my mother had lain down to rest before blessing the lights.... it was then they gave a signal--my mother remembered afterwards hearing a terrible whistle in her sleep. and she left us, and went over to our enemies! and the time she chose was pentecost, the season of the giving of our law!... it was then she left us. * * * * * everything passes away, joy and sorrow, good and evil, and still we go forward on our way to the land where all things are forgotten--or remembered anew. everything we have lived through lies beneath our feet like stones in a beaten track, like gravestones under which we have buried our friends, good and bad. but i cannot forget hannah! * * * * * the life she had sought so eagerly spurned her from it, the vision of happiness faded into thin air, the flowers turned to sharp thorns in her grasp! there was no return possible. in her way stood the law and two graves: her father's grave and her mother's. where is she? once every year, on the eve of pentecost, she shows herself to me again. she appears in the street, she stands outside at the window, as if she were afraid, as if she had not the power to enter a jewish home. she gazes with staring eyes into the room, and sees me there alone. she looks at me with dismay, supplication, and anger. i understand her. "where are they?" she asks in dismay. "have pity on me!" she says, imploring. and then, in anger, she lays the whole blame of the disaster on us: * * * * * "what could i know of your bitter feud with _them_? _you_ knew, you learned all about it in school, _my_ books told me nothing, not a word! "living in the same house with you, i led a separate life. my story-books were like mirrors filled with the bright reflection of other women's lives, and, as i read, my own appeared there in all its dreariness! "i have betrayed something? "i have been false? to what? "i only exchanged saffron cakes for cakes of another sort, the tales in mother's books of legends for others far more vivid and entrancing--a bit of green in the window for the free, fresh green of the woods and fields--litanies for romances--the narrow, stifling routine of my daily life for sunshine and flowers, for gladness and love! i never betrayed _you_--i never knew you! "i knew nothing of your sorrow, you never spoke to me of yourselves. why did you not tell me of _your_ love, of the love which is your very being, why did you not tell me of your _beauty_--of the terrible, blood-stained beauty of israel? "the beautiful, the precious, the exalted in our religion, you hid it in yourselves, you men, you kept it from me, you kept it from us. "of me, of us, with our flesh and blood, with the strength of our youth struggling and crying out for _life_--of us you asked only butter-cake and gelle challeh! "you cast us out!" * * * * * he who is high above all peoples, who alone can see clearly through their tangled web of prejudice and hatred--_he_ shall judge her. xvii a chat it is warm, real holiday weather, and reb shachneh, a tall, thin jew, one of the last old kotzkers,[ ] and reb zerach, one of the few remaining old belzers,[ ] are taking a stroll outside the town. as young men they had been enemies, hating each other heart and soul. reb shachneh led the kotzkers against the belzers, and reb zerach, the belzers against the kotzkers. but now that they are old, and kotzkers are "not what they were," and belzers have lost their "go," they have separated themselves from their former associates, and left the meeting-rooms where less pious, but younger and stronger, men have taken the lead. they made peace in the synagogue, in winter time, beside the stove, and now, on this intermediate day of passover, on the first fine afternoon, they have come out together for a walk. the sun shines in a wide, blue sky. the little grasses are springing up through the mould, and one can distinctly see the angel who stands beside each blade, and cries: grow, grow! little birds fly about in flocks, looking for last year's nests, and reb shachneh says to reb zerach: "a kotzker, you see, i mean a real kotzker--the present ones don't count--never thought much of the haggadah."[ ] "but only of the dumplings?" smiles reb zerach. "never mind about the dumplings!" answers reb shachneh, gravely, "and don't laugh. you know the meaning of 'thou shalt not deliver up a slave to his master?'" "for me," says the belzer with humble pride, "it is enough to know the hidden meaning of the prayers!" reb shachneh pretends not to have heard, and continues: "the literal interpretation is simple enough: if a slave, or a servant, or a serf, run away, one may not, according to the law, catch him, bind him, and give him up to his master--it is evident, if a man runs away, his very life was endangered. but the hidden meaning is also quite clear: the body here below is a slave--it is the servant of the soul. the body is sinful, it sees a piece of pork, an idol, a woman, what not, and is ready to jump out of its skin. but when the soul says, thou shalt not! it must desist. "on the other hand, suppose the soul desires to perform a religious act. the body must be up and doing, however tired and harassed. the hands must work, the feet must run, the lips move--and why? the soul, the lord, commands! and therefore it is written: 'thou shalt not deliver up!' "the body may not be handed over unconditionally to the soul. the fiery soul would speedily burn it to ashes. had the creator wished for souls without bodies, he would not have made the world. "the body also has its rights. 'he who fasts much is a sinner.' the body must eat. he who would ride must feed his horse! comes a feast, a holiday--be merry, too! take a sip of brandy, rejoice, body, likewise! and the soul rejoices and the body rejoices--the soul in the benediction, and the body in the glass! "passover, the season of our deliverance--here, body, catch a dumpling! and it is inspirited and cheered, and rejoices to fulfil the commandment. "farewell, dumpling! brother, do not laugh." reb zerach opines that the matter is a deep one and worth consideration; but he himself does not eat sheruyah?[ ] "do you _enjoy_ passover cakes dry?" "for dessert?" smiles reb zerach. "and where are my teeth to eat them with?" "how then do you observe the precept: 'and thou shalt rejoice in thy feasts,' as regards the body?" "all sorts of ways. if it likes currant wine--well and good. i myself revel in the haggadah. i sit and repeat and count the plagues, and count and double them and multiply." "materialism!" "materialism? after all the misery and the hard labor--after the long exile of the divine presence? in my opinion, there ought to be a custom introduced of repeating the plagues seven times, and seven times 'pour out thy wrath!' but the great thing is the plagues! i delight in them. i wish i could open the door at the plagues--let _them_ hear! why should i be afraid? do you suppose _they_ understand hebrew?" reb shachneh is silent for a while, and then he relates the following: "listen! this is what happened one day with us. i assure you i won't exaggerate. in perhaps the tenth house from the rebbe's of blessed memory, there lived a shochet who was (may i be forgiven for saying so--he is no more of this world) a mad butcher, a butcher among butchers, one in a thousand. a neck like a bull's, eyebrows like bristles, hands like logs, and a voice, a voice! when he spoke, it sounded like distant thunder, or musketry. he must have been at one time or another a belzer." "well, well," growls reb zerach. "well, and," continues reb shachneh, coolly, "he used to pray with the most extravagant gestures, with shouts and whispers. "his 'they shall remember' reminded one of sprinkling fire with water." "let that pass!" "you can fancy the uproar when a fellow like this sat down to the haggadah. in the rebbe's chamber we could hear every word. he read, of course, like a butcher, and the laugh went round. "the rebbe of blessed memory scarcely moved his lips, and yet everyone could see that he was smiling. later, however, when the butcher began to count the plagues, so that they shot from his mouth like bullets, and brought his fist down on the table, so that the glasses rang again, the rebbe of blessed memory became melancholy." "melancholy? on a feast-day? passover? what do you mean?" "well, we asked him the reason why!" "and what did he answer?" "god himself," was his reply, "became melancholy on the occasion of the exodus." "where had he found that?" "it's a midrash![ ] when the children of israel had crossed the red sea, and the water had covered up and drowned pharaoh and all his host, then the angels began to sing songs, seraphim and ophanim flew into all the seven heavens with hymns and glad tidings, all the stars and planets danced and sang, and the celestial bodies--you can guess what rejoicings! but the creator put an end to them. a voice issued from the throne: "'my children are being drowned in the sea, and you rejoice and sing?' "because god created even pharaoh and all his host, even the devil himself, and it is written: 'his tender mercies are over all his works.'" "certainly!" sighs reb zerach. he says nothing more for a while, and then asks: "and if it _is_ a midrash, what has he added to it to deserve praise?" reb shachneh stands still, and says gravely: "first, belzer fool, no one has the duty to be original; there is no chronological order in the law--the new is old, the old is new. secondly, he showed us why we recite the haggadah, even the plagues in the haggadah, to a mournful "sinni" tune, a tune that is steeped in grief. "thirdly, he translated the precept: _al tismàch yisroel el gil ko-ammim_: materialist, rejoice not in a coarse way--you are no boor! revenge is not for jews." xviii the pike[ ] in honor of the feast-day, live fish have been bought. two large pike are lying in a great, green glass bowl filled with water, and a little further off, in one of blackened earthenware, two or three small carp. these are no sea-folk, but they come out of a fairly wide river, and they are straightened for room in the bowls. the poor little carp, in the one of black glaze, have been aware of its confines for some time past. they have lain for a good hour by the clock, wondering what sort of a prison this may be. and there is plenty of leisure for thinking. it may be long before the cook comes home from market with good things for the feast-day long enough for even a carp to have an idea. but the pike in the glass bowl have not taken in the situation yet. time after time they swim out strongly and bang their heads against the hard glass. pike have iron heads but dull wits. the two captive heroes have received each a hundred knocks from every part of the bowl, but they have not yet realized that all is closed to them. they _feel_ the walls, but the weak pike-eyes do not _see_ them. the glass is green--it is just like river water--and yet there is no getting out. "it is witchcraft!" says one pike to the other. the other agrees with him. "to-morrow there is an auction. the other bidders have bewitched us." "some crayfish or frog has done this." * * * * * it is only a short time since the net drew them out of the water. when they got into the air they had fainted, to recover consciousness inside a barrel of which the lid had been hammered down. "how the days are drawing in!" they had observed both at once. there was very little room in the barrel, scarcely sufficient to turn in, and hardly water enough for anyone to breathe. what with having fainted before, and now this difficulty in breathing, they had fallen into a doze, and had dreamt of all sorts of things, of the fair, and even of the opera and the ballet. but the dream-angel never showed them any kind of barrel. they heard nothing, not even the opening of the barrel and the hubbub of the market. neither perceived they the trembling of the scales in which they oscillated whilst the cook haggled over them with the fish-wife--or remarked the click-clack of the pointer that spoke their doom. they slept still more soundly in the cook's basket, starting into life again only in the bowl, beneath the rush of cold water. and now, after doing unwilling penance for an hour against the glass, they have only just hit upon witchcraft. "what are we to do?" says one to the other. the carp know themselves to be in prison. they, too, have had experience of a long night, and awoke in a bowl. "someone," say they, "had palmed off counterfeit bank-notes on us!" it will be proved, they are sure, if only one could get hold of someone who will take the matter up properly. they give a little leap into the air, catch sight of the pike, and fall back more dead than alive. "they are going to eat us!" they say, trembling. not until they realize that the pike are likewise in prison do they feel somewhat reassured. "they, they certainly have been passing counterfeit notes, too!" says one carp to the other. "yes, and therein lies our salvation. _they_ will not keep silence, and, with god's help, we shall all be set free together." "and they will see us, and, with god's help, will eat us up!" and the carp nestle closer against the bowl. they can just see a tub full of onions on the kitchen floor. "if we signed the contract, we might receive a golden order," observes one of the pike. "please god, we shall be decorated yet," answers the other. "it is a case of witchcraft, but--" "but what?" "there is one thing." "well?" "it sounds almost absurd--but--i wanted to tell you--we ought to _pray_," he stammers, "it is the best thing against sorcery!" "to pray? perhaps so!!" whereupon the two pike discover that it is years since they prayed last. they cannot remember a word. "ashrè,"[ ] begins one. "ashrè," repeats the other, and comes to a standstill. "oh, i want to pray!" moans the first. "so do i!" chimes in the second, "for when all is said and done, we are but fish!" a door opens in the wall, a little way, and two heads are seen in the aperture--a tipsy-looking man's head, and a woman's with curl papers. "ah," exclaims the man's head, joyously, "this is something like! pike--carp--and all the other good things." "i should hope so! and i have sent for meat besides." "my knowing little wife," chuckles the man's head. "there, there, that will do." and the heads disappear. "did you hear?" says a pike, "there are carp, too." "they have the best of it." "how is that?" "to begin with, they have made no contracts, they are free agents. secondly, they can leap." "if they would only give a _good_ leap, they would find themselves back in the river." "quite true." "and something good might come of it for us. wait a bit--let's try! carp!" the carp have suddenly swum to the surface of the water, and are poking their noses over the edge of the bowl. the pike, face to face with the carp: "bad luck, brothers?" he exclaimed. "bad," answer the carp. "bitter?" "bitter!" "very little water?" "oh, very little!" "and it smells?" "ugh!" "not fit to live in?" "not fit!" "we must get home, back to the river!" "we--must!" "we have forgotten what it was like in the river." "forgotten!" "a sin!" "a mortal sin!" "let us beat our head against the wall and do penance." the carp flatten their bellies against the bowl. the pike run their head against the glass till it rings again. "one should leap away home!" continues the pike. "one should leap!" "well--leap!" the pike commands, and the carp are out of the bowl and on the floor--lying there more dead than alive. "i never knew," says the second pike, "that you were such an orator--your lips drop honey!" the carp meanwhile are moaning. "hurry up!" orders the pike. the carp give another little spring. "oh," they moan, "we do not see any river--and our bones are breaking--and we cannot breathe." "on with you--make an effort! it is not much further--give a jump!" but the carp are past hearing. the carp lie dying on the floor, and the pike are having a dispute. both opine that any proper leap would carry one into the river, but one says that other fish are wanted, not stupid carp, who can only leap in the water, who cannot exist for an hour without food, and that what are wanted are--electric fish! and the other says: "no, carp--only, lots and lots of carp. if one hundred thousand carp were to leap, _one_ would certainly fall into the river, and if _one_ fell in, why, then--ha, ha!" xix the fast a winter's night; sarah sits by the oil-lamp, darning an old sock. she works slowly, for her fingers are half-frozen; her lips are blue and brown with cold; every now and then she lays down her work and runs up and down the room to warm her icy feet. in a bed, on a bare straw mattress, sleep four children--two little heads at each end--covered up with some old clothes. now one child and now another gives a start, a head is raised, and there is a plaintive chirp: "hungry!" "patience, dears, patience!" says sarah, soothingly. "father will be here presently, and bring you some supper. i will be sure to wake you." "and something hot?" ask the children, whimpering. "we have had nothing hot to-day yet!" "and something hot, too!" but she does not believe what she is saying. she glances round the room--perhaps, after all, there is something left that she can pawn. nothing! four bare, damp walls--split stove--everything clammy and cold--two or three broken dishes on the chimney-piece--on the stove, an old, battered chanukah lamp--over-head, in the beam, a nail--sole relic of a lamp that hung from the ceiling; two empty beds without pillows--and nothing, nothing else! the children are some time getting to sleep. sarah's heart aches as she looks at them. suddenly she turns her eyes, red with crying, to the door--she has heard footsteps, heavy footsteps, on the stairs leading down into the basement--a clatter of cans against the wall, now to the right, now to the left. a gleam of hope illumines her sunken features. she rubs one foot against the other two or three times, rises stiffly, and goes to the door. she opens it, and in comes a pale, stoop-shouldered jew, with two empty cans. "well?" she whispers. he puts away the cans, takes off his yoke, and answers, lower still: "nothing--nothing at all; nobody paid me. to-morrow! they said. everyone always says to-morrow--the day after to-morrow--on the first day of the month!" "the children have hardly had a bite all day," articulates sarah. "anyway, they're asleep--that is something. o, my poor children!" she can control herself no longer, and begins to cry quietly. "what are you crying for?" asks the man. "o, mendele, the children are so hungry." she is making desperate efforts to gulp down her tears. "and what is to become of us?" she moans. "things only get worse and worse!" "worse? no, sarah! it is a sin to speak so. we are better off than we were this time last year. i had no food to give you, and no shelter. the children were all day rolling in the gutter, and they slept in the dirty courts. now, at least, they sleep on straw, they have a roof over their head." sarah's sobs grow louder. she has been reminded of the child that was taken from her out there in the streets. it caught cold, grew hoarse, and died--and died, as it might have died in the forest, without help of any kind--no tearing open the ark[ ]--no measuring of graves--nothing said over it to exorcise the evil eye--it went out like a candle. he tries to comfort her: "don't cry, sarah; don't cry so! do not sin against god!" "oh, mendele, if only he would help us!" "sarah, for your own sake don't take things so to heart. see what a figure you have made of yourself. do you know, it is ten years to-day since we were married? well, well, who would think you were the beauty of the town!" "and you, mendele; do you remember, you were called mendele the strong--and now you are bent double, you are ill--and you don't tell me! o, my god, my god!" the cry escapes her, the children are startled out of their sleep, and begin to wail anew: "bread! hungry!" "who ever heard of such a thing! who is going to think of eating to-day!" is mendele's sudden exclamation. the children sit up in alarm. "this is a fast-day!" continues mendele with a stern face. several minutes elapse before the children take in what has been said to them. "what sort of fast is it?" they inquire tearfully. and mendele with downcast eyes tells them that in the morning, during the reading of the law, the scroll fell from the desk. "whereupon," he continues, "a fast was proclaimed, in which even sucking-children are to take part." the children are silent, and he goes on to say: "a fast like that on the day of atonement, beginning overnight." the four children tumble out of bed; bare-footed, in their little ragged shirts, they begin to caper round the room, shouting: "we are going to fast, to fast, to fast!" mendele screens the light with his shoulders, so that they shall not see their mother's tears: "there, that will do, children, that will do! fast-days were not meant for dancing. when the rejoicing of the law comes, then we will dance, please god!" the children get back into bed. their hunger is forgotten. one of them, a little girl, starts singing: "our father, our king," etc., and "on the high mountain," etc. mendele shivers from head to foot. "one does not sing, either," he says in a choked voice. the children are silent, and go off to sleep, tired out with singing and dancing. only the eldest opens his eyes once more and inquires of his father: "tate, when shall i be bar-mitzwah?"[ ] "not yet, not for a long time--in another four years. you must grow and get strong." "then you will buy me a pair of phylacteries?" "of course." "and a little bag to hold them?" "why, certainly!" "and a little, tiny prayer-book with gilt edges?" "with god's help! you must pray to god, chaïmle!" "then i shall keep all the fasts!" "yes, yes, chaïmle, all the fasts," adding, below his breath: "lord of the world, only not any like this one--not like to-day's." xx the woman mistress hannah a packet of letters two letters which hannah received from her brother menachem mendil, and one letter from her sister-in-law, eva gütel; altogether, three letters. first letter life and peace to my worthy sister, mistress hannah. i have received your letter, and i can tell you, i wept tears enough over it, and lay sighing and groaning one whole night long. but what was the good, seeing god in heaven is witness that i can do nothing to help you? and as to what you write about the inheritance, i must tell you, dear sister, there is no sense in it. according to the jewish law, you have no claim upon any part. ask your husband, he is learned, he will tell you the same thing. but you need not wait for him to tell you: a clever woman like you can open the "german pentateuch" and see for herself that zelophehad's daughters only inherited because there were no sons. as soon as there are sons, the daughters inherit nothing, and our father left no deed directing you were to inherit half as much as his male descendants. and all you say about our father, peace be upon him, not having given you the whole of your dowry, has nothing in it, because, if you come to think, who _does_ get the whole? you know _i_ did not, and yet i have no claim on anyone. besides, common sense will tell you that if our father, peace be upon him, did not keep to his engagement, neither did the other side, and so the matter rested. the two parties forgave each other, as is the custom among us jews. i would not trust my own judgment, but talked the matter over with our rabbi and his assistants, and we were all agreed that so it should be. further, as regards your contention that you boarded at home only half a year instead of a whole one--i know nothing about it. our father, peace be upon him, never told me. and you know quite well that just then i was living separated from my family and spent the whole time at the rebbe's, long life to him! and eva gütel tells me it was this way: there was a bit of a dispute between you over our mother's seat in the women's shool (peace be upon her), and you tore each other's hair, and our mother (peace be upon her) was greatly distressed. and one sabbath evening you picked up your bundle and your husband and were off to his native town. if so, what do we owe you? whom do you mean in your letter? who asked you to run away? when people want to board, they should board. but heaven forbid that i should distress you with reproaches! i only wish to show you how unjust you are. of course, right or wrong, one has to act according to law, specially in the case of a sister. only--what is the good of wishing? if one can't, one can't! you must know, dear sister, that before our father of blessed memory departed, he made a will, by which he left the large talmud to the large house-of-study and the small edition to the small house-of-study; the mishnayes and the bible were to be sent to the meeting-room where he used to recite the prayers--the funeral cost two hundred gulden, and i distributed alms to the amount of fifty gulden--what am i saying? a great deal more than fifty. i divided our father's clothes among the poor, except the silk cloak, which i am keeping, agreeably to the will, for my little mösheh, so that in a propitious hour he may walk in it to the marriage canopy, and may it be soon, even in our days, amen! what remains? nothing remains but the house. well it isn't worth insuring. even the roof, not of you be it said, has the falling-sickness--it hangs by a hair. the town-justice says, the old fire-wall must be taken down, and altogether it's in a dangerous state. you fancy, dear sister, that i am doing well for myself! when our father died and there was an end of board, i let the three little rooms to the left to grunem, the dealer, called grunem tzop (you must have known him and his wife zlate). i worry along with the money, and can only just pay the taxes and other duties that grow from day to day. meantime i try dodges, give the collector a sip of brandy--come later, come to-morrow! and so on, but the rope round my neck tightens every day, and what the end of it will be, heaven only knows! i live in the three rooms to the right, that are one with the inn and the public room. times are very bad, the villages round about have taken the pledge not to drink brandy. beside this, the land-owner has opened cheap eating shops and tea houses for the peasants--what more need i say? it's despair! one may stare one's eyes out before one sees a peasant come. you say in your letter that everyone from here tells you i am flourishing. the fact is, people see the possessions of others with bigger eyes. one has to struggle for every dreier, and meanwhile there is beile-sasha's wedding coming, and i am getting old and gray with it all! the expenses are endless; they will lend you nothing; there is still a silk over-robe wanting for the wedding outfit, and as soon as the wedding is over, my eva gütel must consult a doctor. if shmüel, the röfeh, advises her to go, you can imagine the condition she must be in. i consulted the rebbe (long life to him), and he also advised her going to warsaw. her cough gets worse every day--you would think people were chopping wood in the room. and as to your trying to frighten me by saying that if i don't behave myself, you will write to our relative in lublin, and she will go to her lawyer, and have me handed over to the gentiles--you know, my dear sister, that i am not the least afraid. first, because a pious woman like you, my sister, knows very well what a jewish court is and (lehavdîl) what a gentile court is. you wouldn't do anything so stupid! no jewish woman would do that! and, even if you wanted to, you have a husband, and he would never allow such a shameful proceeding. he would never dare to show himself to his rebbe or at the stübel again. besides that, i advise you not to throw away money on lawyers, they are incredible people; you give and give, and the moment you stop giving, they don't know who you are. and i must remind you of the tomàshef story which our father, on whom be peace, used to tell. you may have forgotten it, so i will tell it you over again. in tomàshef there died a householder, and his daughter, a divorced woman, fell upon the assessor--he was to give her a share in the inheritance, according to _their_ custom. as she stood talking with the assessor, a coal sprang out of the hearth in her room at home, the room took fire, and a child of hers (not of you or any jew be it said again) was burned. and i advise you, sister hannah, to be sorry, and do penance for what you have written. trouble, as they say, steals a man's wits--but it might, heaven forbid, be brought against you, and you ought to impose something on yourself, if only a day's fasting. i, for my part, forgive you with my whole heart, and if, please god, you come to my daughter's wedding, everything will be made up, and we shall all be happy together. only forbear, for heaven's sake, to begin again about going to law. and i am vexed on account of your husband, who says nothing to me about his health; if he is angry with me, he commits a sin; he must know what is written about the sinfulness of anger, besides which there is a rumor current that he was not once at the rebbe's during the solemn days, but prayed all the while in the house-of-study, and they also say that he intends to abandon study and take up something or other else. he says he intends to work with his hands. you can imagine the grief this is to me. because what shall become of the torah? and who shall study if not a clever head like him? he must know that our father, on whom be peace, did not agree to the marriage on _that_ condition. and especially nowadays, when the "nations-of-the-world" are taking to trade, and business decreases daily, it is for the women to do business and for the men to devote themselves to the torah, and then god may have mercy on us. it would be better for him to get a diploma as a rabbi, or let him become a shochet or a teacher--anything--only not a trader! if i were only sure that he wouldn't turn my child's heart away from _my_ rebbe, i would send him my mösheh'le for teaching and board. see to it that your husband gives up those silly notions, and do you buy a shop or a stall--and may the merits of the fathers on your side and on his be your help and stay! further, i advise you to throw off the melancholy with which your letter is penetrated, so that it is heart-breaking to read. a human being without faith is worse than a beast. he goes about the world like an orphan without a father. we have a god in heaven, blessed be he, and he will not forsake us. when a person falls into melancholy, it is a sign that he has no faith and no trust. and this leads, heaven forbid, to worse things, the very names of which shall not pass my lips. write me also, sister hannah, how peas are selling with you. our two great traders--you remember them? the lame yochanan and the blind yoneh--have raised the price, and our nobleman cannot get any for seed--one might do a little business. it may be heaven's will that i should make a trifle toward wedding expenses. of course, i don't mean you to do me a kindness for nothing. if anything comes of it, i will send you some money, so that you and your husband may come to beile-sasha's wedding--and i will give a present for you--a wedding present from the bride's family. eva gütel sends you her very friendly greetings; she does not write herself because it is fair-day; there are two produce dealers here of the samoscz gluttons, and they insist on having stuffed fish. the bride has gone to the tailor's to be measured for a dress, and i am left alone to keep an eye on the gentile cooks. try now, dear sister, for heaven's sake, not to take things to heart and to have faith. he who feeds the worm in the earth and the bird in its nest, will not forsake you. greet your husband. from me, your brother menachem mendil. second letter life and peace to my sister mistress hannah. i have received your second letter. it was soaked with tears and full of insults directed against me, my wife eva gütel, and even the bride, beile-sasha, and it has upset me very much, for why? you say, sister hannah, that i am a bandit, that i met you, heaven forbid, in a wood, and, heaven forbid, murdered you; that it was i and my wife, eva gütel, who drove you from the house; that beile-sasha, in your opinion, is a hussy, because she is ordering silk dresses--what am i to say? i must listen in silence, knowing the trouble you are in--that it is not you that speak, but your heavy heart. but it is not as you think. i am no murderer, thank heaven! and were any one to come from the street and declare that the cloak i am wearing is his, and that he is going to law about it, i should go with him to the rabbi's without a word. and if, god willing, you come to the wedding, we will go together and have it out. and see here: about the board you did not eat, you confess yourself in your letter that it came about through a quarrel between you and my wife (it's not my affair who began it), and all i see is, that your husband was a great booby--"that he followed after his wife." they say that you ran away in the evening following sabbath, and made yourselves a laughing-stock. our father was greatly distressed, and it shortened his days (he said so plainly--neighbors heard it), and you put it all on eva gütel! it's a calumny! but what is done, is done! our father lies in his grave. there can be no more question of board or anything else. and you know very well that beile-sasha, the bride, is no hussy. she, poor thing, is quite innocent in the matter. her future father-in-law, the takif,[ ] forced me to order the silk dresses. once even she cried, and said it would ruin us, but what am i to do, when the contract says "in dresses of silk and satin," and he will hear of no alteration--it's take it or leave it. and there would be no choice but to see my daughter an old maid. and you know the dowry will not be given entirely in cash. i have promised six, and given three, hundred rubles; i have mortgaged the house for two hundred rubles, and you know the house stands in our father's name, so that i had to pay extra--and now i am so short of money that may god have mercy on me. but what is the use of telling that to a woman! our sages were right when they said: "women are feather-brained," and there is the proverb: "long hair (in girls, of course) and short wits." i shall write separately to your husband; he is a man learned in the law, and he will know that one human being should not lean upon another, because, as we are told, a human being can only just support himself. one must have faith. and i am convinced that god will not forsake you. he does not forsake the weakest fly. the almighty alone can help you, you must pray to him, and i, for my part, when next i am, god willing, at _his_ house[ ] (long life to him), i shall make a special offering in your behalf. that _must_ help. as to the peas, the business is off. before there was time to turn, gabriel, the tenant, had brought several cartloads from your part of the country--he has made a fortune. he is about to marry a son and has actually given a dowry! it so pleased god that you should not be able to afford a stamp, your answer was belated, and gabriel is the winner. and as to what you write about your child being poorly, you must consult the röfeh. don't fancy it in danger. keep up your spirits. i have done my part: i got up quite early, went to the great house-of-study, dropped a coin into the collecting box of meïr baal-ness, wrote on the east wall "for complete recovery," in big letters, and as soon as we have made a little money i will send some candles to the shool. i will also tell the rebbe, and _not_ explain that your husband is no follower of _his_. and you know that i am quite a son of the house. from me, thy brother menachem mendil. my wife, eva gütel, sends you a very friendly greeting; the bride, another. one of these days, god willing, you will receive an invitation to the wedding, and may it bring us all good luck. menachem mendil, the above. third letter to my beloved sister-in-law and worthy relative, the excellent woman, mistress hannah. i beg to inform you that from this time on _i_ shall receive your letters, and not my tender-hearted husband, and _i_--i will burn them. secondly, my dear sister-in-law, between ourselves, it was great forwardness on your part to fall upon us just before the wedding, turning our days into nights, and now you wish to blight our married life with discord. you must fancy that you are still boarding with my father-in-law, a spoiled only daughter that has never learned manners; and just because you can't have the moon to play with, you are ready to scratch people's eyes out, turn the world upside down, and your cries pierce the heavens. i can hear you now, tapping with your feet, and the bang of your fist on the table, while your ninny of a husband goes into the corner, wags his sheep's head, and his ear-locks shake like lulavim; and father-in-law, may he forgive me, lets the spoiled child have her way. dear sister-in-law hannah! it is time to awaken from sleep, to forget the empty dreams, and to realize the kind of world one is in. my father-in-law of blessed memory has long lain in his grave--there is an end to boarding. you can only be spoiled by your husband now, and i--show you twice five fingers. and i have told the postman to deliver your letters to me, not to my husband, my innocent lamb. you know, dear sister-in-law, that people are scandalized at the way you go on. whoever hears of it thinks you are possessed. soril the neggidah[ ] told me plainly, she thought you deserved to be crimped like a fish. and i cannot make out what it is you want of me. it was not i, eva gütel, who wrote the torah; it was not i, eva gütel, who descended on sinai, with thunder and lightning, to deprive you of a share in the inheritance. and if my father-in-law was as great an idler as your husband is a ninny, and no document made special provision for you, am i to blame? it is not for me to advise the almighty, the keys of the gate of mercy are not in my pocket. there is a somebody whom to implore. have you no prayer-book, no supplications? pray, beg for mercy! and if your child is really ill, is there no ark to tear open--are there no graves to measure--no pious offerings to make? but the only idea you have is: eva gütel! eva gütel, and once more, eva gütel! if you haven't parnosseh, whose fault? eva gütel's, and you pour out upon her the bitterness of your heart. if the child is ill, whose fault? of course, eva gütel's, and you scream my head off. god in heaven knows the truth, i am a sick woman; i struggle for breath, and if i am vexed, i am at death's door. and when the cough seizes me, i think it's all over--that i am done for. i live, as they say, with one foot in the house and one in the grave. and if the doctors order me abroad to drink the waters, i shall be left, heaven forbid, without so much as a chemise. and who is to look after the house, and the housekeeping, and the sick children, _wos_? i think you know that the whole house depends on me, that menachem mendil has only to move to cause a disaster. of all putty-fingers! a man that's no use to heaven or earth, can't put a hand into cold water--nothing! and now, as if i hadn't troubles enough, the doctor must needs come and say my liver is enlarged, the danger great, and, in fact, that may heaven have mercy on me! and _you_ insisting that i am a rich woman who can help you! dear sister-in-law, i tell you, you have the heart of a tartar, not that of a jewish daughter; you are without compassion! it is time you left off writing those affectionate letters of yours. and, for heaven's sake, come to the wedding, which, please god, will be soon. _when_, i don't exactly know, and i will not be responsible for the day. menachem mendil shall go to the holy man and consult with him, so that it take place in a propitious hour. i will be sure to tell you. and you are not to bring presents, and if your husband, as i hope, comes with you, you will be among the privileged guests, and i will seat you at the top of the table. and the bride also begs very much that you will come to her wedding. only you must behave well, remember where you are, and not put us to shame and confusion. greet your husband and wish the child a complete recovery. from me, your sister-in-law eva gÜtel. four letters which hannah received from her husband, shmùel mösheh. first letter to my beloved wife mistress hannah: when my letter is given into your hands, i, shmùel mösheh, shall be already far away. and i beg you with my whole heart to forgive me for that same. i left you not of my own good will: i couldn't bear it any longer, i saw plainly that there was no help for it, that the trouble was not to be borne. we have eaten up the dowry, the inheritance has been swallowed by your bandit of a brother. he used the time when the letters were passing between you to have the house entered in the name of his son-in-law's father. i couldn't set up any kind of business, i hadn't the wherewithal. there was nothing left for me but to hang myself, which heaven forbid, like leezer, the tailor, or to run away to america. i chose america, so as at least not to lose the other world as well. and i shall not be idle there. with god's help and with the sweat of my brow and with my ten fingers, i will earn my bread, and perhaps god will have mercy and send a blessing into my ten fingers, and perhaps he will also bless your trade in onions, and bring us together again; either me to you or you to me. amen, thus may it seem good in his sight. and i beg of you, dear, good hannah, not to take it to heart, not to cry so much! you know, i only go away for the sake of parnosseh--a "bit of bread." you are my wife hannah, and i am your husband, shmùel mösheh, and we are both bound to the child, life and health to it. if there had only been a piece of dry bread, i wouldn't have done it. perhaps he whose name is blessed may meantime have compassion, and that, when your brother the bandit, hears that i, heaven forbid, have left you a grass-widow, he will be touched, his stony heart will soften, and he will perhaps send you a few rubles. my precious hannah, what am i to say to you? i must tell you that the idea of going away and leaving you with the child came into my head many and many a time. i saw long ago that i had no other choice. i thought it over day and night, at prayer and at study. i only waited till the child should be well. and when it got better, i hadn't the heart to tell you i wanted to go away, whither my eyes should take me. i was afraid you would say you wouldn't allow it, and that i should not be able to act against your will. so i kept everything to myself, ate my heart out in silence. but the day before yesterday, when you brought home a pound of bread, and divided it between me and the child, and said, you had eaten at our neighbor's, and i saw in your face, which turned all colors--because you cannot tell a lie--that you were fooling me, that you hadn't had a bite, then i felt how i was sinning against you. eating the bread, i felt as if it were your flesh, and afterward, drinking a glass of tea, as if it were your blood. my eyes opened, and i saw, for the first time, what a sinner in israel i was. and yet i was afraid to speak out. i ran away without your knowing. i pawned my outer cloak and prayer-scarf to yechiel the money-lender--but don't, for the love of heaven, let anyone know--and paid for my journey. and if i should be in need, jews are charitable and will not let me fall dead in the street; and i have made a vow that later on, when his name shall have had mercy, and i have earned something, to give it in charity, not only what i got, but more, too, if god so please. you must understand, my precious hannah, how hard and bitter it is for me to go away. when our dear only child was born, it never occurred to me that i should have to leave it fatherless, even for a time. the night i left i must have stood over your bed an hour by the clock. you were asleep. and i saw in the moonlight, for the first time, what you, poor thing, have come to look like; and that the child was as yellow as wax. my heart choked me for terror and pity--i nearly burst out crying, and i left the room half-dead. i knocked at the baker's and bought a loaf, stole back into the house and left it with you, and stood and looked at you a little while longer, and it was all i could do to drag myself away. what more am i to tell you? a man can go through the suffering of a hundred years in one minute. hannah krön,[ ] i know that i am a bandit, a murderer, not to have got you a divorce, or at all events a conditional divorce--but god in heaven is my witness: i hadn't the heart! i felt that if i left you a divorce, i should die of grief on the way. we are a true and faithful couple. god himself was present at our union, and i am bound to you with my whole heart, we are one soul in two bodies, and i do not know how i shall live without you and without the child, may it be well, even for a minute. and should anyone say i have left you a grass-widow, don't believe it; for i, shmùel mösheh, am your husband, and i have only done what i _had_ to do. what will misery not drive a man to? hannah'li krön, if i could lay my heart open before you, you would see what is going on there, and i should feel a little happier. as it is, dear soul, i am very wretched, the tears are pouring from my eyes so that i cannot see what i am writing, and my heart aches and my brain goes round like a mill-wheel--and my teeth chatter, and the letter-carrier, the illiterate boor, stands over me and bangs on the table and cries: "i must go! i must go!" lord of the world, have pity on me now and on my wife hannah, health to her, and on the child, so that i may have joy of it yet. from me, your dear husband, who writes in the inn on the way, shmÙel mÖsheh. second letter my precious and beloved wife: what am i to say to you? i see clearly that my idea of going away was heaven-sent, that god himself put the thought of america into my head; everything he does is for the best. my dear hannah, whenever i shut my eyes i fancy myself at home again, and the dream comes from the other end of the world. for who would have thought that an idler like me, such a nincompoop as i am, such a born fool, should ride on a railway, cross the sea in a ship, and arrive safe in america? the finger of god! "i will praise the lord"--it was god's disposing--his will alone enabled me to leave you and the child, and may we be counted worthy to rear it for the torah, the marriage canopy, and all good works. hannah'li krön, i have seen great wonders on dry land, but nothing to what i saw on the sea. while i was at sea, i forgot everything i had seen on dry land, and now, among the wonders of america, i begin to, forget about the sea. at first i was so miserable on board ship, there are no words for it. but all ended well, and i am sure it was for your sake and the child's. hannah'li, i am sure you remember leeb the reader,[ ] who came to our town once a few years ago, and recited the prayers in our shool during the solemn days. i remember that after the day of atonement you told me you had never heard such davenen[ ] in your life. i even recall the very words you used: leeb the reader "roars like a lion and weeps like a child." next morning there was something of a commotion in the town; people had forgotten leeb the reader, hadn't paid him properly, and he, poor man, went from house to house collecting money--with a little girl, you remember, whose name was genendil. she accompanied her father's singing with her childish voice. when they came to our house, you were very sorry for her, took her into your lap, kissed her on the head, and gave her something, i forget what. and you cried for compassion over the motherless child. perhaps you wonder at my remembering all this? you see, hannah'li krön, i remember all the kind things you said and all your actions, for they were full of charm. you are continually before me. i fancied sometimes, crossing the sea, that you stood beside me, and that the child had hold of your apron, and i heard your voices, and they sounded in my ears with a sweetness beyond all description. and i have come across leeb the reader, by the way. heaven forgive me, but leeb the reader has sunk very low. he paid no attention on board ship as to whether the food were kosher or not, and he drinks as is not the way with jews. i never once saw him in prayer-scarf and phylacteries the whole time, or saying grace after meat. he goes about all day without a hat--and not content with this, he leads his daughter into the same paths. the genendil of those days is now about seventeen. you should see her--a picture! and he made her sing and dance before the passengers on board ship--and she sings in different languages. the people listened and clapped their hands with delight and cried out goodness knows what. and it was all so boisterous that really--.... at first--why deny it?--i was very pleased to see them. it's always somebody from home, i thought. i won't have to hang about so lonely and wretched. but afterward i felt greatly distressed. i couldn't bear to watch his goings-on with his daughter. and now and again it cut me to the heart to hear a jew, who used to stand at the reading-desk, a messenger of israel to the almighty, talk such disgusting nonsense. and his voice is burned with brandy. and they must take me in hand and try to make me presentable. they made fun of me on board. it was always: "idler!" "fool!" he tweaked my ear-locks; she pulled the fringe off my "little prayer-scarf," and the whole ship took it up. and what ailed them at me? that i avoided forbidden food and preferred to fast rather than touch it. you know, i dislike quarrelling, so i edged away, hid in a corner, and wept my heart out in secret. but they discovered me and made a laughing-stock of me, and i thought it would be my death. it is only here, in america, that i see it was all a godsend; that god, in his great goodness, had sent leeb the reader before me into america, as he sent joseph before his brothers into egypt. because, what should i have done without them? a man without the language of the country, without a trade, not knowing at which door to knock? and leeb the reader is quite at home here, talks english fluently, and he got me straight away into a cigar-factory, and i am at work and earning something already. meanwhile we are in the same lodging, because how should i set about finding one for myself? and they behave quite differently to me now. genendil has given over quizzing me about my beard and ear-locks, and keeps at a distance, as beseems a jewish daughter. she cooks for us, and that is very important, although i eat no meat, only eggs, and i drink tea without milk.[ ] she washes for us, too. there is a lesson to be learned from this, namely, that what the lord does is for the best. and do you know _why_ it has all turned out for the best? for _your_ sake! on the boat, already, when i began to feel i could bear it no longer, i plucked up my courage and went to genendil and told her i was your husband. i recalled to her memory the time after the day of atonement when they were in our house, how good you were to her, how you took her on your knee, and so on. her manner changed at once, she had compassion on me, and her eyes filled with tears. then she ran to her father, and talked it over with him, and we made peace. they immediately asked the captain to treat me better, and he agreed to do so. i was given bread as much as i could eat, and tea as much as i could drink. the crew stopped tormenting me, and i began to breathe again. you should have seen what a favorite genendil was on board. and no wonder: first, she is a great beauty, and for a beauty people will jump into the sea; secondly, she is really good-natured, and people are simply charmed by her. and now, my precious wife, i will give you some good news: leeb the reader tells me i shall earn at least ten dollars a week. i reckon to do as follows: the half, five dollars, i will send to you, and keep five for myself. i will live on this and save up to buy a talmud. the mishnah books i brought with me. i have settled to read at least ten pages of the gemoreh a week. i won't buy a prayer-scarf, because so far i have prayed in leeb the reader's--for leeb the reader had one with him. to what end, i don't know, because, as to praying--never a word! i persuade myself, this is also heaven-sent; he was made to bring a prayer-scarf on my account. perhaps he means to pray at the reading-desk during the solemn days. who knows? they are drawing near. anything is possible in america. the world here is topsy-turvy. and the lord knows best what is good for a man. do you know what? i am not angry with your brother, the bandit, any longer. it's the same thing again: i tell you, that also was a godsend; it couldn't otherwise be possible that a man should treat his sister so. that was all brought about in order that i should run away to america, and send for you to come to me. and when, god helping, i have made some money, i will assist your brother, too. i tell you, he also is a pauper. i see now--what _we_ call a rich man is a beggar in america. i end my letter, and this time briefly, although i have heaps and heaps more to say, because i am afraid leeb the reader and genendil may come in, and i don't want them to see what i have written to you. and i beg of you very much not to show my letters to a living soul. why need a stranger know of our doings? and i hug and kiss the child, long life to it. give it ten thousand loving kisses from me--do you hear? from me, your husband shmÙel mÖsheh. third letter my beloved wife: i can remember when yoneh the shoemaker went to america, and people began to talk about it for the first time, wondering what it was like there, how things were done. they asked, whether people walked on their heads, and it is true that everything here is upside down. no sort of order, only a great shouting and noise, as in the butchers' meeting-house at home. imagine, for instance, paltiel the wadding-maker and yössil the tanner coming and saying that our rabbi is not learned; that he is not experienced enough in the application of the law, or that they are not satisfied with the head of the community--that they want another rabbi, another communal head. well, wouldn't one hold one's sides laughing? and here, in america, workmen, cigar-cutters, for instance like me, have a word to say in everything. they share in the elections, take part in the voting, and choose--a president. and what do you think that is? a president is nothing more nor less than the supreme head of the whole country. and america, so i have heard, is ten times as large as the whole of europe. you see what that means? now imagine my surprise, as i sit in my room one evening, thinking of home, and suddenly the door opens, and there come in two workmen, ordinary workmen, who stand with me at the same machine, and are _achènu benè yisroèl_.[ ] and they laid two names before me, i don't even recollect what they were, and tell me, i also am a workman, and must see to the election of a president who shall favor our class. and they told me that _one_ president was all for the rich people and trod down all those who lived by their ten fingers; while the second, the one they wanted to have elected, was a jewel; he stood for the workingman like a flint, and pursued the bloated upper classes with a fierce hatred. and more such foolishness, which i did not understand. inwardly i laughed at them. but for the sake of peace--it is not seemly to be rude to people--i did them the favor and nodded yes. all i wanted was to get rid of them, so as to sit down and write to you. but--isn't it a madness? they say, if the president is elected according to their wish, i shall earn ten dollars a week, and if not, only nine or perhaps eight. and leeb the reader says he understands politics--that there is sense in it all--and that if i remain here some time, i shall get to know something about it, too. well, perhaps so--i nod my head. and i think to myself, he has taken a drop too much and is talking nonsense. but he swore that during election-time he lived on it, and had a little money over for later. i'm sure i don't see how. but, joking apart, it's not our affair whether one or the other is president; it won't make much difference to us. the fact is, i often feel very depressed, the tears fall from my eyes on the tobacco leaves that i am cutting, and i don't sleep well at night. sometimes there is a noise in my ears, and my head aches whole days together--and there is no better remedy for all this than to take paper, pen, and ink, and write a letter to my dear hannah. my precious wife, i cannot keep anything from you. i have to tell you everything: i am still reading the mishnah--i have got no talmud yet. and do you know why? because i have had to make another outlay. you know that it is everywhere the same world. although here they cry without stopping, "liberty! liberty!" it isn't worth an onion. here, too, they dislike jews. they are, if possible, more contemptuous of their appearance. there are no dogs that bark at them in the street and tear their skirts, but there are plenty of hooligans here also. as soon as they catch sight of a "capote"[ ] there is a cry: "jew, jew!" which is the same as _zhidd_[ ] with us. and they throw stones and mud--there is no lack of mud here, either. so what could i do? i did what all the jews do here--i tucked away my ear-locks behind my ears, and i bought (to be paid for by degrees--a custom they have) "german" clothes. there was an end to the money. and you, too, hannah'li, when you come, will have to dress differently, for a custom stultifies a law--and it is their custom. and as to your writing that you don't like genendil, i cannot see why. what ails you at her? it is not for me to set other people right. besides, i am sure she only does it all for parnosseh. she is as modest by nature as any other jewish daughter. all day long, while leeb the reader and i are at the factory, she cooks and washes and sweeps out the rooms. it is only in the evening that she goes with her father to _their_ places of amusement, where she sings and plays and dances before the public. i sit by myself at home, read torah, and write to you. towards midnight they come home, we drink tea together, and we go to bed. and as to your saying, you think genendil stole the spoon which was afterwards missing--that is nonsense! genendil may not be very pious as regards the faith, but she would never think of touching other people's property. for goodness' sake, don't ever let her hear of it. she treats me like her own child, and is always asking me if i don't need a clean shirt or a glass of tea. she is really and truly a good girl. she gives all her earnings to her father, and treats him in a way he doesn't deserve, although at times he comes home very cheerful and talks nineteen to the dozen. and leeb the reader has told me that he is collecting a dowry for her, and that, as soon as he has the first thousand dollars, he will find her a bridegroom and marry her according to the law of moses and of israel, and she will not have to strain her throat for the public any more. i don't know if he really means it--but i hope so. god grant he may succeed and rid her of the ugly parnosseh. genendil was there when he said this and blushed for shame, as a jewish girl should do; so she is evidently agreed. i implore you, dearest hannah, to put away calumny and evil-speaking. that is not right, it only does for gossips in a small town. and you, hannah dear, must come to america. here the women are different--less flighty, more serious, and as occupied as the men. to return to the subject, your shmùel mösheh is no tailor or shoemaker, to throw over his wife for another woman. you mustn't imagine such a thing! it is an insult! you know that your words pierce my heart like knives, and if leeb the reader and his daughter knew of it, they would forsake me, and i should be left alone in a desert! it would be a calamity, for i don't know the language, only a few words, and i should be quite helpless. and now i beg of you, my dear hannah, i beg very much, take the child's hand and guide it across the paper, so that it may write me something--let me see at least a mark or two it has made! lord of the world, how often i get away into a corner and have a good cry! and why? because i was not found worthy to teach my child the law! and as if i were not suffering enough, there come your letters and strew salt on my wounds. look here, to-day leeb the reader asked me, and genendil, too (here she is called sophie), nodded her head, to go with them and hear her sing and see her dance, and i wouldn't. leeb the reader said, "foolish chossid!" _she_ turned up her nose. but i don't care! i shall go my own ways and not a hair's breadth will i turn aside! keep well, you and our child. such is the wish of your husband shmÙel mÖsheh. please don't let on about the clothes! not a soul in our town must know of it, or i would be ashamed to lift my eyes. s. m. fourth letter to my worthy wife mistress hannah: i have written ten letters without mentioning genendil's name. i have not even mentioned her father, leeb the reader. after a great deal of trouble, i have gone into another lodging, at a shochet's, and haven't seen her for weeks, and yet you go on writing nothing but genendil and genendil, and sophie and sophie! and what is it you want of her? what? may i be well, and may you be well, and may it be granted us to meet again in peace, with the child, as surely as i saw sophie come into the factory to see her father--and the director himself went up to her and began to talk to her and to pay her compliments; and although i did not understand what he said, i know he meant no good by it. and he wanted to stroke her cheek. well, what do you think? she gave him such a slap across the hand that i was dumbfounded! and you should have seen the way she turned away from him and went out! i was just delighted. so you see that, in spite of everything, genendil is a good girl, and that you are unjust to her. you tell me i shall be caught like a fish in a net and such-like rubbish. i swear to you, as it were by the torah on the day of atonement, that it is a lie; that for your sake i have gone away from her and avoid her as far as possible. if we do meet, i answer a hundred words with a nod. once more: upon my faith, you are unjust to her! heaven forbid, you sin before god! but that is nothing, i would have passed it over as usual, only it has led to something so dreadful, that, god help us! i would rather the earth had swallowed me up than that i had lived to endure the shame. last week i was taken poorly while at work; i grew giddy and fainted. when i came to myself, i was in bed in my own room. beside the bed stood a doctor. he said it was a fever. i was laid up for ten days. and leeb the reader never left me the whole time, and nursed me as if i had been his own child. afterward, when i had recovered full consciousness, i learnt that while i lay in the fever, sophie used to come in, too, and visit me--and it was just then there came one of your post-cards in which you pour out upon her the bitterness of your heart--they most certainly read it, because i was lying in a fever. and while you were writing your ugly words and calumnies, they, so to say, were risking their lives for me--they sent for doctors, made up my bed and re-made it, gave me medicine, and even pawned a few of their treasures, so that help should be there. they even brought me a bottle of wine. i never touched a drop, upon my word! but they meant it well. besides that they measured the height of the fever three times a day with a little glass tube--the doctors here order it to be done. and who told me all this? the butcher and his wife. had it not been for leeb the reader and sophie, you would be a widow. and at the very same time, you write such foolish things. _phê_, it is a shame! i really don't know how you are to come to america, how you are to live in america! i hope, dear hannah'li, that you will throw off this foolishness, and not darken my life with any more such letters. i often don't sleep at night. i imagine i see you plainly sitting at the table writing to me. you write and scratch out, and write and scratch out, and i see the letter, but i cannot read the words at the distance, and it grieves me very much that i cannot read the letter so far off. and you take the pen and put it into the child's hand--the child is in your lap--and guide its fingers! and you see, my dear wife, that i send you five dollars every week, that i manage with very little. and i have only three shirts altogether. i cannot ask sophie to buy me any, and the shochet's wife has given birth to a baby, and is not yet about again. the circumcision, please god, will be to-morrow. yes--but that is not to the point. what i mean is, be reasonable, for your own sake, and for the sake of me, your husband shmÙel mÖsheh. a postscript, written sideways down the whole length of the letter: i have this minute received another letter from you. and now, my hannah'li, i tell you once and for all, it is enough to make one's hair stand on end, and hardly to be believed! you write that you may as well let your hair grow and talk with gentlemen, that you also can dance and sing--and that you will go to the rebbe's and get him to send a "special death" to both of us. what do you mean? what words are these? lord of the world, what has come to you? i think and think, till i don't know _what_ to think! this is my advice: put away your evil-speaking and calumnies and curses! they are not for such as you! and i tell you simply this, that if you do not soon write the letter a good jewess ought to write, i shall send and fetch the child away without you--do you hear? otherwise--i shall throw myself into the sea. it is enough, heaven forbid, to drive one mad! your husband s. m. two letters which hannah received from her relative in lublin, and one from her brother. first letter to my friend, the excellent lady and esteemed and worthy woman, mistress hannah: dear hannah, you were a whole fool and half a prophet, when you wrote me a second letter. because the first one fell into the hands of my husband, and he put it into his pocket and forgot to give it me. such is his little way--he cares for nothing except eating and drinking. but when i got the second letter, it occurred to me to look in his pocket, and whoso seeks, finds. hannah'li krön, i felt, reading your bitter words, as if i were being struck on the head with an axe. i was stunned with grief. but i soon composed myself and thought, for instance: if my scatterbrain of a husband ran away to america--well? i should just let him run, and pay the piper into the bargain! now think: my whole parnosseh, as you know, is tar,[ ] and i don't require _his_ assistance! indeed, i can't stand his coming into the shop, with the airs he gives himself! if the customer is a woman, he won't answer her, the chossid! won't take the money from her hand, and if it's a man, likely as not he asks too little! if he takes the money, they palm off false coins on him. and if he is so kind, once in a while, as to take up a piece of chalk, and make out a bill for me, it is a bill! may they add up my sins, in the other world, as he adds up my wares! and as to your husband not having left you a divorce, i am not so very surprised; my husband has no such easy time of it, and yet he doesn't divorce me, and why should he? does he want for anything? he has a nice lodging, and when he comes home, supper is ready and the bed made at the proper time, and every sabbath he gets a clean white shirt! many's the time i've begged and prayed of him to go to all devils--not he! do you think he'd budge an inch? and when i scold him and throw things at his head, he gets into a corner, makes a pitiful face, brings crocodile tears into his eyes, and i am so foolish as to relent, i give him food and drink, and off he goes. and as to what you say about your lawsuit, you know, sister hannah, i have quite a celebrated lawyer, because, for my sins, i have a never-ending case against cooks, the hussies! i assure you, hannah'li, servants such as we have in lublin are not to be found anywhere! how shall i describe them? always swilling and stuffing--and they steal anything they can lay hands on, and run away before the quarter is out; and then they lodge a complaint against me, because i haven't paid them a quarter's wages, and in court, nowadays, they don't make a particle of difference between a servant-girl and a mistress, and i have to stand with her side by side! i mayn't open my mouth to say a word, otherwise the judge rings a bell and imposes a fine up to three rubles. so i never go into court alone, but have engaged an excellent lawyer, whose mouth drops sulphur and pitch, and he sees me through. he once told me himself that the judge had frequently wished to imprison me on some ridiculous pretext, such as tearing a girl's hair or giving her a slap! but he cannot do it, because my advocate has all the law-books in his head, knows all the laws, every single one, chooses out the best for me, and flings them in the judge's face, so that he sits there like a dummy and, willy-nilly, has to write "acquitted!" and no sooner had i read your letter, and found the first one in my husband's pocket, than i hastened to my lawyer, and he received me most politely, and asked me to be seated on the plush sofa. i told him your whole story from aleph to taw, down to every detail; and he listened attentively to it all, although the anteroom was crowded with people waiting. he listened and walked up and down the room. then he sighed and said that according to the laws a daughter had equal rights with a son and should inherit a share! so far, good! but there is the following hitch: a wife cannot summons anyone without her husband's knowledge, because she is under his jurisdiction, and must be given power of attorney by him. and when i told him that you, unhappily, were a grass-widow, that your husband had deserted you, and that, in my opinion, you were free to do as you pleased, he planted himself in front of me and shook his head--that meant: by no means! and he went to a book-case, took out one book after the other, looked in, put it down, looked in and put it down, and so on with any number of books, little and big and bigger. one, heaven forgive me, was as fat as a pig. and in this one he apparently found what he was in search of, for he stood over it a long time. and then he told me, that if, after five years from the date of your desertion, you bring him a paper from the justice of your town to certify that your husband has not once shown himself in those five years, he, the lawyer, will put in a plea for you in court, and the court will give you permission to summons your brother. this is what he said--i give it you word for word. i offered him a ruble, and he made a wry face--evidently, not enough; but he took it. send me the ruble, hannah'li krön, as soon as you can, for trade is slack, and tar is a drug in the market. to return to the matter in hand: it is what i always said and i say it again: the holy torah (and _their_ law, lehavdîl, of course, also) has handed us over to the mercy of bandits! a man, a dummy, a bolster, can divorce his wife when he likes, either in person or by proxy; and a worthy woman, like myself, for instance, cannot get rid of an idler like mine for love or money! if we go together to a family gathering, he is stuffed with fish and meat and all good things, and i--get a cup of chicory and milk! when he sits in the booth at tabernacles, one has to send him the best of everything, and i live on bones! i share the three weeks, nine days, and all the fasts, but the rejoicing of the law is _his_! he goes to a rebbe, and they give him honey with apples! and what will paradise, when it comes to that, mean for _me_? i shall be the idiot's footstool! he will sit in a grandfather's chair, and i shall be his footstool! in this world he is a feeble creature and is afraid of me, but how it will be in the other world, don't ask me! i tell you plainly, if he gives me the least shove with his foot, the almighty alone knows what will happen! to return: what would you get by a divorce? believe me, all dogs have the same face! not one of them is worth a dreier! you know my sister miriam suffered through her husband ten years before she could obtain a divorce, and then she had to leave him her money and her clothes--in a word, all she had! a nice thing, wasn't it? she married again and was out of the frying-pan into the fire: another idler to feed! she wanted a second divorce, he was satisfied, but she couldn't afford to pay for it! in short, dear hannah, our mother eve sinned and we suffer for it! and we always shall suffer! for there is no escape from a husband, even in the grave. we have been sold to be servants and slaves in the other world, too! so it was aforetime, so it is now, and so it will be in the future world! one has to suffer! for what is to be done, if the almighty wills it so? therefore, dear hannah, have faith in god, blessed is he! keep well and forget your husband, who has probably forgotten you. that is always the way when they go to america. at first they write honeyed letters and send money; then, less and less; then they write and send money once a year--then, once in seven years--they don't need their wives out there, they have other women, better, livelier! may i be forgiven for saying so, but in lublin, in the jewish quarter, there isn't a house without a grass-widow! wash your hands of him, i tell you, and forget! imagine yourself a real widow or a divorced woman! turn your attention to the onions. may his blessed name send you success in business and preserve you whichever way you turn. such is the wish of your relative. (the signature is undecipherable.) i beg of you to send me the ruble as soon as possible, because my husband, gorger and tippler that he is, is angry with me for having given it. (the same undecipherable signature.) second letter to my sister hannah: first, my dear sister, i let you know that we are all well, except my wife, eva gütel, who (not of you be it said!) is never free from cough for an instant, and who, no sooner is the wedding over, must go to warsaw to consult a doctor. i send you enclosed an invitation to the wedding. mind you come and enjoy yourself! only do not, for mercy's sake, spoil my daughter's happiness, and keep all contentions till the wedding is over. you need not feel called upon to bring any present. if, however, you are troubled about appearances, you are sure to find something in the house that will do. i shall not take it amiss. blood is thicker than water and a sister is a sister. and as to what you say about having no clothes to come in, that is nonsense. you can borrow a dress of some one or other either there or here. and as to what you say about not being able to comfort yourself for the child that has died--you know, dear sister, "he gave and he hath taken away!" children are a pledge from god, and if god wishes to take back the deposit, we must not even brood over it and try to think why. god forbid! and as to your being afraid of your husband finding out that the child is dead and breaking with you altogether, that is another useless anticipation. believe me, sister, it is quite foolish, because if it is true, as people say, that shmùel mösheh is shmùel mösheh no longer--he is treading other paths--it will be all the same, child or no child. he doesn't want you and you cannot hold to him! and if, as i trust, that is all an invention, a calumny, and if, as i firmly believe, shmùel mösheh is still shmùel mösheh, the learned and pious jew, then you have nothing to fear! on the contrary, with half the expense it will be much easier to have you out to join him, and you will live in peace and plenty. and as to your having had no news of him for so long, is it a wonder? i believe it is across the sea! how many ships, preserve us, are wrecked on the way; how many postmen lose their lives on such an errand! and perhaps the ships have to pass the spot where, as the book of the covenant says, the waters stand on an heap, and there is peril of death. thank his dear name that your shmùel mösheh crossed in safety! i consider this fleeing to lands beyond the sea a disgrace and a shame, it is a sign of want of trust, because he who trusts knows that god helps whom he will, and he shrinks from endangering both body and soul. for they say that america is as dangerous to the soul as the sea to the body. they say, people throw off their jewishness on board ship as soon as the sea gives them a toss. they soon begin to eat bread baked by gentiles, forbidden food, to dress german fashion, women wear wigs, even, it has been said, their own hair. and the proof that america is dangerous to the soul is that there is not one "good jew" in all america! and i cannot imagine how one would exist there, where one could get advice in questions of parnosseh, or if one were ill, or anything else happened to one. i tell you that the man who goes into satan's domain of his own accord is responsible for his soul, for he is like a foolish bird flying into a net. and particularly a learned jew, because the greater the man, the greater the danger, the more is the evil one set on his destruction, and decoys him with either riches or beautiful women; the evil one has tools for the work at hand. and, therefore, my advice to you is, so long as you do not know what is happening there, forget! if you earn your livelihood with the onions, well and good, and if, heaven forbid, you cannot, i can give you other advice. if you come to the wedding, i will make it all right between you and my wife. we are, after all, one family, and you know that my wife, eva gütel, is really very good-natured; she is sure to forgive you, and when all is smooth again and she goes to warsaw, after the wedding, then you will remain here and be house-mistress. and when, please god, she comes back cured, she will still find a place for you at the table and a bed in the house. times are bad, but a sister is a sister, and one cuts the herring into thinner slices. but beside all that we have a mighty god--shall he not be able to feed one of his creatures?--and that a woman! nonsense! and, for goodness' sake, come to the wedding in time, so that you may be able to lend eva gütel a hand. it is no more than one has a right to ask a sister-in-law. you would not wish, as things are nowadays, to have us hire extra help? only, be sure and let everything i have said to you about the future remain between ourselves. eva gütel is not to know what i have written to you. the thing ought to come of itself, quite of itself. you know, eva gütel does not like one to interfere in domestic concerns--and i am sure, the thing _will_ arrange itself. a woman is a woman even if she wears a top-hat. that is why i write to you when eva gütel is not at home. she has gone to engage the badchan[ ] and the musician; i shall not even tell her i sent you an invitation: let her imagine you were so good and so right-thinking as to come of your own accord! and may he whose name is blessed comfort you together with all that mourn in israel, and spread the wings of his compassion over all abandoned women. amen, may it seem good in his sight. sister hannah, whether you stay where you are or remain with us for good, come to the wedding! you simply _must_! and you shall not repent it! it will be a fine wedding! it may be that he himself, may his days and years increase, will be present. it will cost me a fortune, but it is worth it! you see that such a wedding is not to be missed? from me, your brother menachem mendil. my wife eva gütel has just come in from market and--a token that heaven wills it so--she tells me that i am not to hide my letter from her, that she bears you no grudge. she advises you to sell the onions, buy a dress, and come to the wedding looking like other people, as befits the bride's aunt. she also says that no present is necessary, and that one can trade in onions here, too. i repeat that my wife eva gütel is both kind-hearted and wise, and that, if you will only not be obstinate, everything will come right. you will see! your brother m. m. an unfinished letter from hannah to her husband. good luck to you, my dear, faithful husband, good luck to you! here's good news from us, and may i ever hear the like from you. amen, may it be his will! we are, indeed, as you say, united for all time, in this world and the other! i let you know, first, dear husband, that my brother menachem mendil and his wife eva gütel (may they live to see the days of the messiah!) forgave me everything, and sent for me in a lucky hour to their daughter's wedding--beile-sasha's wedding. it was a very fine one, fine as fine can be! praise god that i was found worthy to see it! there was every kind of meat, birds and beef; and fish--just fish, and stuffed fish--and all sorts of other dishes, beside wine and brandy--something of everything. and the whole thing was such a success--so elegant! and i myself cooked the meat, stuffed the fish, made the stew, sent up the dinner, and also saw to the marketing beforehand. i was house-mistress! i was waitress! i did not go merely to enjoy myself! i sold my stock of onions, made myself a dress of sorts, and went to my relations, agreeably to their wish, a whole week before the wedding; because there was no one to do the work; the bride was taken up with her clothes, she spent the time with the tailor, the shoemaker, and even the jeweller up to the very last minute. and poor eva gütel, my sister-in-law, has a cough. and they say her liver is not what it should be. so i was everybody--_before_ the wedding and _after_ the wedding, only not at the wedding, during which i felt very tired and done up. i sat in a corner and cried for joy, because i had been counted worthy to marry my brother's child, and--because she had such an elegant wedding! and i was not turned out in a hurry when it was over, either. directly after it, my sister-in-law, health and strength to her, started to consult a doctor in lublin as to which doctor she ought to see in warsaw. then she left for warsaw and went the round of all the celebrated doctors. thence she travelled to some other place to drink the waters--mineral waters they are called--and during the whole six months of her absence, i was mistress of the house. may the almighty remember it to them for good and reward them! there was no cook--i did the cooking. and i drank delight out of it as from a well! in the first place, i had no time for thinking and brooding, and was thereby saved from going mad, or even melancholy! and where, indeed, should i have found it? business, thank heaven, was brisk. the public-house is always full and the counter strewn with the gold and silver of jews and gentiles, lehavdîl. and my sister-in-law eva gütel's stuffed fish are celebrated for miles round, and there the people sit and eat and drink. and if ever i _began_ to think, and _wanted_ to think, beile-sasha, long life to her, soon reminded me of where i was! and she has sharp eyes, bless her, nothing escapes them! and so it went merrily on--and i was so overjoyed at being house-mistress there that once i spat blood--but only once. menachem mendil saw it, and he told me to be sure and behave as if nothing had happened, because, if people knew of it, they would avoid his house. yössil the inn-keeper over the way would soon cry: consumption! and there would be an end of it, and grass growing down our side of the street. but beile-sasha is the cleverer of the two, she soon discovered that it was not consumption, but that i had swallowed a fish-bone, and it scratched my throat, and so, that i should not suffocate, she gave me a blow between the shoulders to loosen it, and, all for love's sake, such a blow that the fish-bone went down--only _my_ bones ached a bit. but all's well that ends well--and eva gütel has come back from drinking the waters! she has come back, thank god, in the best of health and spirits--a sight for sore eyes!--and she has brought presents, the most beautiful presents, for herself, for her husband, for her daughter and her son-in-law--lovely things! but there was nothing for me; she said that i, heaven forbid, was no servant to be given presents and wages. had i not been house-mistress? had not eva gütel herself told me fifty times that i was mistress, and could do as i liked? and no sooner was eva gütel back, than she discovered that menachem mendil had not been near the rebbe the whole time, and she wrung her fingers till the bones cracked, and immediately sent me out to the market-place to hire a conveyance. menachem mendil drove to the holy man that same day. and next morning, eva gütel gave me some good advice, which was to make up my bundle and go--because she was there again and had beile-sasha to help her. i should be fifth wheel to the cart and might go mad from having nothing to do. she advised me to go back whence i came or to stay in the place and do as i thought best. she would not be responsible, either way. i had slept my last night in her house. the next one i spent walking the streets with my bundle under my arm. you see, my dear husband, that i am doing very well. you need send me no more money, as you used to do. you had better give it to leeb the reader to buy you a talmud, or to genendil-sophie to buy you some shirts. and mind she tries them on you herself, to see how they fit--is it not america? you see, my dear, good husband, i harbor no more unjust suspicions. i never say now that genendil stole either the spoon or my husband. i know it is not her fault, and i am convinced that his blessed name only meant to do us a kindness when he brought you and leeb the reader together on the ship, so that he should take care of you--it is all just as you wrote. there is only one thing that will never be as you think. you may jump out of your skin, but you will never send for the child, to take it away from me to america. because our child, for your sake and for that of your pious forefathers, has been gone this long time; it has been hidden somewhere in the burial ground, in a little room without a door, without a window. you may cry to heaven, but you shall not know where its little bones lie! no tombstone, nothing to mark it--nothing at all! go, look for the wind in the fields! askerah[ ] has taken it under her wing. and since you have such a wonderful memory, and remember everything i said and everything i did, i will tell you a story which you may recollect. it is a story about a shawl i did not know what to do with. should i put it on and run for the doctor for the child, or stop up the broken pane with it to keep the snow from blowing in, or wrap it round the child, because the poor thing was suffocating with its throat? and it was cold, bitterly cold. i ran to and fro several times, from the window to the cradle, to the door, and back from the door to the window--i tell you, i ran! i think, my dear husband, you will not forget that moment, because, as you say, we are bound one to the other, you to me and both of us to the child, and now the child is not there, we two may as well go, too. well, what will genendil say? to tell the truth, i have decided to let my hair grow and dress as they dress in america, and do you know that, beside this, i have a sweet voice and can chant all the prayers, and now, since i have been at my brother menachem mendil's, i have heard drunken peasants sing all sorts of songs--and i have learned them and i sing every whit as well as genendil, if not better; and at night, when i slept under the open sky, the queen of sheba came and taught me to dance--and a whole night long i danced with the queen of sheba in the eye of the moon. and you, my dear shmùel mösheh, have made a bad bargain, for i am better than genendil. because i remember quite well that she had two moles, one on the left ear and one on the right cheek--and rather a crooked nose. and i, you know, have a perfectly clear skin, without a mole anywhere. you thought that only genendil could sing and dance every friday night, and let her hair grow, that other people were not up to that! but i am not angry with you, heaven forbid! hold to her! it is enough for me to have the child's grave. i shall go and build myself a little house there, and sit in it through the night till the cock crows. i shall talk to the child, very low and softly, about his father shmùel mösheh, and that will delight him! and if you come yourself, or send anyone, to fetch the child, i shall scratch out his eyes with my nails, because the child is mine, not genendil's--may her name and her remembrance perish, and may you and she..... * * * * * the letter is unfinished; it was found together with the other letters in the pocket of the mad hannah. xxi in the pond once upon a time there was a pond. it had a corner to itself, and lay quite apart from the rest of the field where beasts were wont to graze and herd-boys to fling stones. a high bank, set with briars, screened it from the wind, and it had a slimy, shiny green covering, in which the breeze tore a hole once in twelve months. in the pond there dwelt (according to the order of nature) a colony of quite small worms which fed on still smaller ones. the pond was neither long nor wide, not even deep, and if the little worms could neither discover a bottom nor swim to shore, they had only the thick slime and the water-weeds and the fallen twigs to thank for it. the geography of the pond was in its infancy. conceit, on the other hand, flourished, and fancy had it all her own way beneath the green covering--and the two together sat spinning and weaving. and they wove between them a legend of the beginning of things, a truly worm-like tradition. the pond is the great sea, and the four streams of paradise flow into it. hiddekel brings gold (that is the slime in which they find their nourishment), and the other three bring flowers (the water-weeds among which they play hide-and-seek on holidays), pearls (frog-pawn), and corals (the little orange fungi on the rotting twigs). the green cover, the slimy cap on the surface of the pond, is the heaven stretched out over the ocean, a special heaven for their own particular world. fragments of egg-shell, which have fallen into it, play the part of stars, and a rotten pumpkin does duty for the sun. the chance stones flung into the pond by the herd-boys are, of course, hailstones flung by heaven at the head of sinners! and when their heaven opened, and a few beams of the real sun penetrated to a wormy brain, then they believed in hell! but life in the pond was a pleasant thing! people were satisfied with themselves and with one another. when one lives in the great sea, one is as good as a fish oneself. one worm would call another "tench," "pike;" "crocodile" and "leviathan" would be engraved on tombstones. "roach" was the greatest insult, and "haddock" not to be forgiven, even on the day of atonement. meanwhile, astronomy, poetry, and philosophy blossomed like the rose! the bits of egg-shell were counted over and over again, till everyone was convinced of the absurdity of the attempt. romantic poets harped on the heavenly academy in a thousand different keys. patriots were likened to the stars, stars to ladies' eyes, and the ladies themselves to paradise--or else to purgatory! philosophy transferred the souls of the pious to the rotten pumpkin. in short, nothing was wanting! life had all the colors of the rainbow. in due time a code of law was framed with hundreds of commentaries, they introduced a thousand rules and regulations, and if a worm had the slightest desire to make a change, he had but to remember what the world would think, blush, regret, and do penance! once, however, there was a catastrophe! it was caused by a herd of swine. dreadful feet crashed through the heaven, stamped down the slime, bruised the corals, made havoc of the flowers, and plunged the entire little "world" back into chaos. some of the worms were asleep under the slime (and worms sleep fast and long). these escaped. when they rose out of the mud, the heavens had already swum together again and united; but whole heaps of squeezed, squashed, and suffocated worms were lying about unburied, witnesses in death of the past awful event! "what has happened?" was the cry, and search was made for some living soul who should know the cause of the calamity. but such a living soul was not easy to find! it is no light thing to survive a heaven! those who were not stamped upon had died of fright, and those who were not killed by fright had died of a broken heart. the remainder committed suicide. without a heaven, what is life? one had survived, but, when he had declared to them that the heaven they now saw was a new heaven, fresh, as it were, from the shop, and that the former heaven had been trodden in of beasts; when he asserted that a worm-heaven is not eternal--that only the universal heaven is, perhaps, eternal--then they saw clearly that his mind had become deranged. he was assisted with the deepest compassion, and conveyed to an asylum for lunatics. xxii the chanukah light my top-coat was already in my hand, and yet i could not decide: to go, or not to go--to give my lesson! o, it is so unpleasant outside, such horrible weather!--a mile's trudge--and then what? "once more: pakád, pakádti"[ ]--once more: the old house-master, who has got through his sixty and odd years of life without knowing any grammar; who has been ten times to leipzig, two or three times to dantzig; who once all but landed in constantinople--and who cannot understand such waste of money: grammar, indeed? a fine bargain! then the young house-master, who allows that it is far more practical to wear ear-locks, a fur-cap, and a braided kaftan, to consult with a "good jew," and not to know any grammar ... not that he is otherwise than orthodox himself ... but he is obliged, as a merchant, to mix with men, to wear a hat and a stiff shirt; to permit his wife to visit the theatre; his daughter, to read books; and to engage a tutor for his son.... "my father, of course, knows best! but one must move with the times!" he cannot make up his mind to be left in the lurch by the times! "i only beg of you," he said to me, "don't make an unbeliever of the boy! i will give you," he said, "as much as would pay for a whole lot of grammar, if you will _not_ teach him that the earth goes round the sun!" and i promised that he should never hear it from, me, because--because this was my only lesson, and i had a sick mother at home! to go, or not to go? the whole family will be present to watch me when i give my lesson. _she_ also? she sits in the background, always deep in a book; now and again she lifts her long, silken lashes, and a little brightness is diffused through the room; but so seldom, so seldom! and what is to come of it? nothing ever _can_ come of it, except heart-ache. "listen!" my mother's weak voice from the bed recalls me to myself. "the feldscher says, if only i had a pair of warm, woollen socks, i might creep about the room a little!" that, of course, decides it. except for the lady of the house, who has gone to the play, as usual without the knowledge of her father-in-law, i find the whole family assembled round the pinchbeck samovar. the young house-master acknowledges my greeting with a negligent "a good year to you!" and goes on turning over in his palm a pack of playing cards. doubtless he expects company. the old house-master, in a peaked cap and a voluminous turkish dressing-gown, does not consider it worth while to remove from his lips the long pipe with its amber mouthpiece, or to lift his eyes from off his well-worn book of devotions. he merely gives me a nod, and once more sinks his attention in the portion appointed for chanukah. _she_ also is intent on her reading, only _her_ book, as usual, is a novel. my arrival makes a disagreeable impression on my pupil. "o, i say!" and he springs up from his seat at the table, and lowers his black-ringed, little head defiantly, "lessons to-day?" "why not?" smiles his father. "but it's chanukah!" answers the boy, tapping the floor with his foot, and pointing to the first light, which has been placed in the window, behind the curtain, and fastened to a bit of wood. "quite right!" growls the old gentleman. "well, well," says the younger one, with indifference, "you must excuse him for once!" i have an idea that _she_ has become suddenly paler, that she bends lower over her book. i wish them all good night, but the young house-master will not let me go. "you must stay to tea!" "and to 'rascals with poppy-seed!'"[ ] cries my pupil, joyfully. he is quite willing to be friends, so long as there is no question of "pakád, pakádti." i am diffident as to accepting, but the boy seizes my hand, and, with a roguish smile on his restless features, he places a chair for me opposite to his sister's. has he observed anything? on _my_ side, of course, i mean.... _she_ is always abstracted and lost in her reading. very likely she looks upon me as an idler, or even worse ... she does not know that i have a sick mother at home! "it will soon be time for you to dress!" exclaims her father, impatiently. "soon, very soon, tatishe!" she answers hastily, and her pale cheeks take a tinge of color. the young house-master abandons himself once more to his reflections; my pupil sends a top spinning across the table; the old man lays down his book, and stretches out a hand for his tea. involuntarily i glance at the chanukah light opposite to me in the window. it burns so sadly, so low, as if ashamed in the presence of the great, silvered lamp hanging over the dining-table, and lighting so brilliantly the elegant tea-service. i feel more depressed than ever, and do not observe that she is offering me a glass of tea. "with lemon?" her melancholy voice rouses me. "perhaps you prefer milk?" says her father. "look out! the milk is smoked!" cries my pupil, warningly. an exclamation escapes her: "how can you be so ...!" silence once more. nothing but a sound of sipping and a clink of spoons. suddenly my pupil is moved to inquire: "after all, teacher, what _is_ chanukah?" "ask the rabbi to-morrow in school!" says the old man, impatiently. "eh!" is the prompt reply, "i should think a tutor knew better than a rabbi!" the old man casts an angry glance at his son, as if to say: "do you see?" "_i_ want to know about chanukah, too!" she exclaims softly. "well, well," says the young house-master to me, "let us hear your version of chanukah by all means!" "it happened," i begin, "in the days when the greeks oppressed us in the land of israel. the greeks--" but the old man interrupts me with a sour look: "in the benedictions it says: 'the wicked kingdom of javan.'" "it comes to the same thing," observes his son, "what _we_ call javan, _they_ call greeks." "the greeks," i resume, "oppressed us terribly! it was our darkest hour. as a nation, we were threatened with extinction. after a few ill-starred risings, the life seemed to be crushed out of us, the last gleam of hope had faded. although in our own country, we were trodden under foot like worms." the young house-master has long ceased to pay me any attention. his ear is turned to the door; he is intent on listening for the arrival of a guest. but the old house-master fixes me with his eye, and, when i have a second time used the word "oppressed," he can no longer contain himself: "a man should be explicit! 'oppressed'--what does that convey to me? they forced us to break the sabbath; they forbade us to keep our festivals, to study the law, even to practice circumcision." "you play 'preference'?" inquires the younger gentleman, suddenly, "or perhaps even poker?" once more there is silence, and i continue: "the misfortune was aggravated by the fact that the nobility and the wealthy began to feel ashamed of their own people, and to adopt greek ways of living. they used to frequent the gymnasiums." she and the old gentleman look at me in astonishment.[ ] "in the gymnasiums of those days," i hasten to add, "there was no studying--they used to practice gymnastics, naked, men and women together--" the two pairs of eyes lower their gaze, but the young house-master raises his with a flash. "_what_ did you say?" i make no reply, but go on to speak of the theatres where men fought wild beasts and oxen, and of other greek manners and customs which must have been contrary to jewish tradition. "the greeks thought nothing of all this; they were bent on effacing every trace of independent national existence. they set up an altar in the street with an 'avodeh zoroh,'[ ] and commanded us to sacrifice to it." "what is that?" she asks in polish. i explain; and the old man adds excitedly: "and a swine, too! we were to sacrifice a swine to it!" "and there was found a jew to approach the altar with an offering. "but that same day, the old maccabeus, with his five sons, had come down from the hills, and before the greek soldiers could intervene, the miserable apostate was lying in his blood, and the altar was torn down. in one second the rebellion was ablaze. the maccabees, with a handful of men, drove out the far more numerous greek garrisons. the people were set free! "it is that victory we celebrate with our poor, little illumination, with our chanukah lights." "what?" and the old man, trembling with rage, springs out of his chair. "_that_ is the chanukah light? come here, wretched boy!" he screams to his grandson, who, instead of obeying, shrinks from him in terror. the old man brings his fist down on the table, so that the glasses ring again. "it means--when we had driven out the unclean sons of javan, there was only one little cruse of holy olive-oil left...." but a fit of coughing stops his breath, and his son hastens up, and assists him into the next room. i wish to leave, but she detains me. "you are against assimilation, then?" she asks. "to assimilate," i reply, "is to consume, to eat, to digest. we assimilate beef and bread, and others wish to assimilate _us_--to eat us up like bread and meat." she is silent for a few seconds, and then she asks anxiously: "but will there always, always be wars and dissensions between the nations?" "o no!" i answer, "one point they _must_ all agree--in the end." "and that is?" "humanity. when each is free to follow his own bent, then they will all agree." she is lost in thought, she has more to say, but there comes a tap at the door-- "mamma!" she exclaims under her breath, and escapes, after giving me her hand--for the first time! * * * * * on the next day but one, while i was still in bed, i received a letter by the postman. the envelope bore the name of her father's firm: "jacob berenholz." my heart beat like a sledge-hammer. inside there were only ten rubles--my pay for the month that was not yet complete. good-bye, lesson! xxiii the poor little boy (told by a "man" on a "committee") "give me five kopeks for a night's shelter!" "no!" i answer sharply and walk away. he runs after me with a look of canine entreaty in his burning eyes, he kisses my sleeve--in vain! "i cannot afford to give so much every day...." the poor, i reflect, as i leave the soup-kitchen, eat their fill quickly.... the first time i saw the dirty, wizened little face with the sunken eyes, darkly-burning, sorrowful, and yet intelligent eyes, it went to my heart. i had not even heard his request before an impulse seized me and a groschen flew out of my pocket into his thin little hands. i remember quite well that my hand acted of its own accord, without waiting to ask my heart for its pity, or my reason whether with a pension of forty-one rubles, sixty-six kopeks a month, i could afford to give five kopeks in charity. his entreaty was an electric spark that fired every limb in my body and every cell in every limb, and my reason was not informed of the fresh outlay till later, when the little boy, with a hop, skip, and a jump, had left the soup-kitchen. busy with my own and other people's affairs, i soon forgot the little boy. and yet not altogether. somewhere inside my head, and without my knowing anything about it, there must have been held a meeting of practical thoughts. because the very next evening, when the little boy stopped me again, the same little boy with the broken, quavering accents, and asked me once more for a night's shelter and bed, the following considerations rose up from somewhere, ready prepared, to the surface of my mind: a boy seven or eight years old ought not to beg--he ought not to hang about soup-kitchens; feeding on scraps, before the plates are collected and removed, would make a vagabond of him, a beggar--he would never come to any good if he went on like that. my hand had found its way into my pocket, but _i_ caught it there and held it fast. had i been "pious," i should have reasoned thus: "is the merit i shall acquire really worth five kopeks? should i not gain just as much by repeating the evening prayers? or by giving a hoarse groan during their recital?" not being "pious," i thought only of the boy's good: "my five kopeks will only do him harm and make a hopeless beggar of him." and i gave them to him after all! my hand forced its way out of my pocket, and this time i did not even try to hold it back. something pained me in the region of my heart, and the tears were not far from my eyes. once more the little boy ran joyfully out of the soup-kitchen, my heart grew light, and i felt a smile on my face. the third time it lasted longer--much longer. i had calculated betimes that my means will _not_ allow of my giving every day in charity. of course, it is a pleasure to see the poor little wretch jump for joy, to notice the gleam of light in his young eyes, to know that, thanks to your five kopeks, he will _not_ pass the night in the street, but in the "refuge," where he will be warm, and where, to-morrow morning, he will get a glass of tea and a roll. all that is a pleasure, certainly, but it is one that i, with my income, cannot allow myself--it is out of the question. of course, i did not say all that to the little boy, i merely gave him some good advice. i told him that if he begged he would come to a bad end--that every man (and he also must some day grow into a man) is in honor obliged to work--work is holy, and he who seeks work, finds, and such-like wise things out of books, that could not make up to the little boy for the night-refuge, that could not so much as screen him till daylight from the rain and the snow. and all the while there he stood and kissed my sleeve, and lifted his eyes to mine, on the watch for some gleam of pity to prove that his words were not as peas thrown against a wall. and i felt all the time that he was not watching in vain, that my cold reasonings were growing warmer, that his beseeching, dog-like eyes had a power i could not withstand, and that i must shortly surrender with my whole battery of reproofs and warnings. so i resolved as follows: i will give him something, and then tell him once and for all that he is not to beg any more, tell him sharply and decidedly, so that he may remember. i had not enough in coppers, so i changed a silver coin and gave him five kopeks. "there--but you are not to come begging from me again, do you hear?" whence the "from me?" as far as i knew, i had no such words in my mind, anyway i certainly did not intend to say them, and perhaps i would gladly have given a few kopeks not to have done so! i felt a sudden chill at my heart, as if i had torn away a bit of covering and left a part of it naked. but it was all over like a flash. my stern face, the hard metallic ring of my voice, my outstretched right hand and outward-pointing left foot had done their work. i had a great attraction for that little boy! he stood there as if on hot coals, he wanted to run off so as to get earlier to the lodging house, and yet he stayed on and listened, growing paler and paler, while a tear trembled on his childish lashes. "there! and now don't beg any more," i wound up, "do you hear? this is to be the very last time." the little boy drew a deep breath and ran away. to-day, to-day i have given him nothing--i will not break my word. i will know nothing of "evasions,"[ ] a given word is precious. one must be firm, otherwise there would be an end to everything. i think over again what i have just been saying, and feel quite pleased with myself. i _cannot_ afford to give five kopeks in charity every day, and yet that was not the reason. it was the boy's own good i was thinking of, indeed, the good of all! what is the use of unsystematic charity--and how can there be system without a strict rule? with the little boy i had spoken simple yiddish, with myself, somewhat more learnedly. as i left the soup-kitchen, i reflected: the worst microbe in the body of the community is begging. the man who will not work has no right to eat, and so on. i had no sooner shut the door of the soup-kitchen behind me than my feet sank deep into the mud, i ran my head against a wall, and then plunged into the dark night. there was a dreadful wind blowing, the flames of the gas lamps trembled as with cold, and their flickering shine was reflected a thousandfold in the puddles in the street, so that the eyes were dazzled. it wails plaintively, as though a thousand souls were praying for tikun,[ ] or a thousand little boys for five kopeks for a night's shelter.... bother that little boy!... it would be a sin to drive a dog into the street on such a night, and yet the poor little boy will have to sleep out of doors. but what can _i_ do? i have given him something three times--does that go for nothing? let somebody else give him five kopeks for once! i have done quite enough, coming out to the soup-kitchen in this weather, with my sick chest and a cough, and without a fur coat. were i "pious," it would have been self-interest on my part. i should have done it with a view to acquiring merit, i should have hastened home, turned into bed, and gone to sleep, so that my soul might quickly fly to heaven and enter the good deed to her account. the good deed is the "credit," and the "debit" a fat slice of leviathan. i, when i went to the soup-kitchen, had no reward in view, it was my kind nature that prompted me. as i walked and praised myself thus, my heart felt warm again. if other people had been praising me, i must needs have been ashamed, and motioned them away with my hand, but i can listen to myself without blushing, and i should perhaps have gone on praising myself and have discovered other amiable traits in my character, had i not stepped with my half-soles--heaven knows, i had worn away the other half on the road to the soup-kitchen--stepped with my half-soles right into the mud. "those who are engaged in a religious mission come to no hurt!..." but that is probably on the way out. on the way home, when the newly-created angel is hastening heavenward, one may break one's neck. my feet are wet, and i feel chilled all through. i know to a certainty that i shall catch cold, that i have caught cold already. presently i shall be coughing my heart out, and i feel a sting in my chest. a terror comes over me. it is not long since i spent four weeks in bed. "it's not a thing to do," i say to myself by way of reproach; "no, certainly not! it's all very well as far as _you_ are concerned, but what about your wife and child? what right have you to imperil their support?" if the phrase had been a printed one, and i the reader of it with my pencil in my hand, i should have known what to do--but the phrase was my own. i feel more and more chilled, and home is distant, and my goloshes are full of water, cold and heavy. the windows of a confectioner gleam brightly in front of me--it is the worst in all warsaw--their tea is shocking--but since there is no choice! i rush across the street and plunge into a warm mist. i order a glass of tea and take up a comic paper. the first illustrated joke that caught my eye was like a reflection of the state of things outside. the joke was called: "which has too much?" the weather in the picture is the weather out of doors. two persons are advancing toward each other on the pavement. from one side comes a stout, middle-aged woman, well-nourished, in a silk dress, a satin cloak, and a white hat with feathers. she must have started on her walk, or to make a visit, in fine weather, and now she has been caught by the rain. her face is one of dismay. she dreads the rain and the wind, if not for herself, at least for her hat. she hastens--drops of perspiration appear on her white forehead--she hastens, but her steps are unsteady: both her hands are taken up. in the left she holds the end of her silken train, already spattered with mud, and in the right, a tiny silk parasol that scarcely covers the feathered hat on her head. she _only_ requires a larger umbrella. to make up for that she has enough and to spare of everything else, her face is free from care, it tells only of an abundance of all good things. coming to meet her is a little girl, all skin and bone. she has perhaps long and beautiful hair, but no time to attend to it. it is matted and ruffled, and the wind tears round and round and seizes whole locks with which he whips her narrow shoulders. she wears a thin, tattered frock, and the wind clings round her, seeking a hole through which to steal into her puny body. on her feet she wears a pair of top boots--of mud. she also walks unsteadily, first, because she is meeting the wind, and, secondly, because _her_ hands, too, are taken up. in her left one she carries a pair of big boots, a man's boots (her father's most likely), taking them to be mended. i need not suppose that they are going to the inn to be pawned for a bottle of brandy, because of the split soles. her father has probably come home tired out with his work, her mother is cooking the supper, and she, the eldest daughter, has been sent out with the boots. they must be ready by to-morrow morning early--she hurries along--she knows that if her father does not get his boots by to-morrow, there will be no fire in the oven all day. she pants--the great boots are too heavy for such a little child. but the weight in her right hand is heavier, for she carries an immense journeyman's umbrella--and she carries it proudly--her father has trusted her with it! the child needs a lot of things: in winter, warmth--winter and summer, clothing, and all the year round, enough to eat. by way of compensation, there is excess in the size of her umbrella. i am sure that at this moment the rich lady with the parasol envies her. the little half-starved girl with the merry, roguish eyes, although the wind threatens to upset her every minute, smiles at me from out the picture: there, you see, we have our pleasures, too! as to that lady, i am laughing at her! on paying for my unfinished glass of tea, however, i am again reminded of my little beggar boy. he has no umbrella at all, no home awaits him, not even one with dry potatoes without butter, no little bit of a bed at the foot of father's or mother's. even the unhappy lady would not find anything to envy him for. what made me think of him again? aha, i remember! it flashed across me that for the ten kopeks which i paid for the scarcely-tasted tea, the poor little boy would have had a half-portion of soup or a piece of bread and a corner to sleep in. why did i order the tea? at home the samovar is steaming, somebody sits waiting for me with a "ready" smile, on the table there is something to eat. i was ashamed not to order tea. well, there is something in that, i say to console myself. there is an even stronger wind blowing outside than before. it tears at the roofs as if it were an anti-semite, and the roofs, jews. but the roofs are of iron, and they are at home. it descends with fury on the lamps in the street, but they remain erect like hero-sages at the time of the inquisition. it sweeps down on the pavement, but the flags are set deep in the earth, and the earth does not let go of her dwellers so easily. then he raises himself in anger up, up into the height, but the heavens are far, and the stars look down with indifference--or amusement. the passers in the street bend and bow themselves and huddle together to take up as little room as possible, turn round to catch their breath, and pursue their certain way. but the poor, helpless little boy, i think of him with terror, what will become of _him_? all my philosophy has deserted me, and all my pity is awake. if it were _my_ child? if i thought my own flesh and blood were in the grip of this wind? if _my_ child were roaming the streets to-night? if, even supposing that later on he had managed to beg a groschen, he were going, in this hurricane, toward praga[ ]--over the vistula, over the bridge? and just because he is _not_ mine, is he any the less deserving? does he feel the wind less, shiver the less with cold, because _his_ parents are lying somewhere in a grave under a tombstone? i lose all inclination to go home. i feel as if i had no right to a warm room, to the boiling samovar, to the soft bed and, above all, to the smile of those who are awaiting me. it seems to me that "murderer" or some such word must be written on my forehead, that i have no business to be seen by anyone. and once more i begin to think about "piousness." "why the devil am not i 'pious'?" i mutter. "why need i have been the worse for believing that the one who dwells high above all the stars, high above the heavens, never lets our world out of his sight for a single instant? that not for a single instant will he forget the little boy? why need he lie so heavy on my heart? why cannot i leave him frankly and freely to the great heart of the universe? he would trouble me no more, i should feel him safe under the great eye of the cosmos--the eye, which, should it withdraw itself for an instant, leaves whole worlds a prey to the devil; the eye which, so long as it is open, assures to the least worm its maintenance and its right? as it is, i, with my sick chest, and my wet feet, and in this weather, must go back to the soup-kitchen and _look_ for that little boy. it is a disgrace and a shame!" wherein the shame and the disgrace consisted, why and before whom i felt ashamed, to this day i do not know. and yet, on account of the shame and the disgrace, i did not take the shortest way back to the soup-kitchen, but i went round by several streets. at last i arrived. the first room, the dining-room, was empty. the gehenna of day-time is cooling down, the steam rises higher and higher from the damp floor, and creates a new "heaven" and a new "firmament" between the waters below (from off the feet of the poor people) and the waters above (the drops formed by the vapor). here and there the drops come raining through. thanks to a little window, i can see into the kitchen. the drowsy cook with the untidy head leans with her left hand on the great kettle and lifts the big soup-spoon lazily to her mouth. the second, the kitchen-maid, is shredding macaroni for to-morrow noon. she, too, looks sleepy. the superintendent is counting meal tickets distributed by the committee. there is no one else visible. i cast a look under the tables--no trace of the little boy. i am too late! "but at least," i think, as i leave the kitchen, "nobody saw me!" suddenly i remember that i have been walking the streets for several hours. whatever is the matter with me? i mutter, and begin to pace homeward. i am quite glad to find everyone asleep. i throw off my goloshes in the entrance, steal up to my room and into bed. but i had a bad night. tired out, chilled, and wet through, it was long before i ceased coughing and got warm--a continual shiver ran through my bones. i did not get really to sleep till late in the morning, and then my dreams began to torment me in earnest. i started out of sleep bathed in cold perspiration, sprang out of bed, and went to the window. i look out; the sky is full of stars--the stars look like diamonds set in iron--they roll on so proudly, so calmly, and so high. there is a tearing wind blowing at the back--the whole house shakes. i went back to bed, but i slept no more, i only dozed. my dreams were broken, but the little boy was the centre of them all. every time i saw him in a new place: there he lies asleep out in the street--there he crouches on some steps in an archway--once, even, devils are playing ball with him--he flies from hand to hand through the air--later on i come across him lying frozen in a rubbish-box. i held out till morning and then i flew to the soup-kitchen. he is there! had i not been ashamed, i should have washed the grime off his face with tears of thankfulness. had i not been afraid of my wife, i should have led him home as my own child. he is there--i am _not_ his murderer! well! and i held out a ten kopek piece. he takes it wondering; he does not know what a kindness he has done me. long life to him! and next day, when he begged me for another groschen, i did _not_ give it him, but this time i uttered no word of reproof--what is more, i went away ashamed, not satisfied with myself. i can really and truly not afford it, but my heart is sore: why can i not afford it? * * * * * my grandfather, on whom be peace, was not so far wrong when he used to say: "whoever is not pious, lives in sorrow of heart and dies without consolation." xxiv underground a big underground lodging room full of beds. freude, the tatterdemalion, has been asleep for some time on her chest, in her corner between the stove and the wall. to-day she went to bed early, because to-morrow is fair-day in a neighboring town, and she will have to be astir betimes in order to drive there with the grease. but she lies uneasy--there is trouble and worry in store. she had arranged with the driver to take her, freude, and the _small_ barrel, and now, just as she was going to sleep, it occurred to her that it would be better to take the big one. she tosses from side to side on her couch. "plague take a woman's tongue!" she mutters then, exclaiming against herself: "the _small_ barrel! whatever for? to please the driver? driver be blessed! can't he give his horses a few more oats for once?" grumbling thus over the stupidity of a woman's tongue, she has just managed to doze off. from beneath the counterpane appears a red kerchief that falls dangling round about her face and her pointed red and blue nose. she breathes heavily, and presses one bony hand to her old heart. who knows what she is dreaming? perhaps that the driver has broken his word, and she is left for a whole year without parnosseh. the opposite corner belongs to yoneh the water-carrier. the wife and two children sleep in one bed, and yoneh with the elder cheder boy in another. now and then a sigh issues from the beds. here also people have lain down in sorrow. the little cheder boy has been crying for money to pay the rabbi his fee. and the eldest daughter was left without a situation. she had been doing well, as servant to a couple without children. suddenly her mistress died. so she came home--she could not stay on alone with the widower. there were a few rubles owing to her in wages--they would have been just enough to pay the rabbi--but the widower says it is no concern of his, his wife never mentioned it, and he doesn't know--he never mixes himself up with the affairs of women. they quarrelled a little before going to sleep. the mother advised going to the jewish court, the daughter was in favor of writing a petition either to the _natchàlnik_[ ] or to the _mirovòi_.[ ] yoneh will not hear of doing one or the other. the widower will take his revenge, and get yoneh a bad name among the householders: "he has only to snap his fingers and there's an end of me!" how many water-carriers are there already loafing about with nothing to do since they started the new water-supply? beril, the porter, all by himself in an upper bed, is snoring away like a broken-winded horse. the two children sleep together in another place. his wife is a cook, and this evening she has a wedding supper on hand. here, too, rest is broken. beril has an ache going through his bones, one after the other, and the eldest son sighs frequently in his sleep. he works in a lime-kiln and has burnt his foot. further on lies another snorer alone in a bed: tzirel, the street-seller. in the second bed sleep all three children. her husband is a watchman. no sooner has _he_ come in than _she_ will go out, with bread and fresh rolls. we are already in the third corner, where stands another--this time an iron bedstead. a flushed, unhealthy-looking woman's head is set off by a bundle of rags that serve as pillow. her prematurely parched lips open frequently, and a heavy sigh escapes them. her husband's profession is a hard one, and he has no luck. last week, at the risk of his life, he conveyed away a copper kettle and buried it in the sand outside the town--and it was discovered. who knows what he will bring home to-night? perhaps he is already in jail. it is three weeks since she set on to boil so much as a kettleful of water--and they are clamoring for the rent. "a hard life and no luck!" sigh the parched lips. "and one has to be on one's guard against neighbors. they are always asking: 'what is your husband's trade? what keeps him out so late?'" over all the beds flickers a pale light from the centre of the room. it rises from between four canvas walls that bound the kingdom of a young married couple. treine, the young housewife, is still awake. she has only been married two months, and she is waiting for her husband, who will presently return from the house-of-study. the oil lamp is burning and throws pale patches on to the blackened ceiling. a few feeble rays come through the rents in the canvas walls and dance upon the beds with the poor, worn-out faces. in treine's kingdom all is brighter and cleaner. between the two beds, on a little white table, lies a prayer-book flanked by two little metal candle-sticks, her wedding gifts. wedding garments hang on the wall, also a tallis bag with the shield of david embroidered on it. but there are no chairs in the kingdom. treine sits on one of the beds, making a net to hold the onions which are lying beside her, scattered over the sheet. the soup for supper is keeping hot under the bed-clothes. the door of the big room opens softly. treine's cheeks flush, she lets the net fall out of her hands, and springs off the bed. but then she remains standing--it would never do before all the neighbors. one of them might wake, and she would never hear the last of it. the neighbors are bad enough as it is, especially freude. freude cannot understand a wife not beginning to scold her husband the very next day after the wedding. "just you wait," she says, the old cat, "you'll see the life he'll lead you--when it's too late." freude leaves her no peace. "a husband," she says, "who is not led by the nose is worse than a wolf. he sucks the marrow out of your bones, the blood out of your veins!" it is ten years now since freude had a husband, and she has not got her strength back yet. and freude is a clever woman, she knows a lot. "anything that he has a right to," she says, "fling it out to him as you would a bone to a dog, and--" treine has time to recollect all this, because it is some minutes before yössele manages to steal on tiptoe past all the beds. every step he takes echoes at her heart, but as to going out to meet him--not for any money. there--he nearly fell! now he is just outside the partition walls. she breathes again. "good evening!" he says in a low voice, with downcast eyes. "a good year to you!" she answers lower still. then: "are you hungry?" she asks. "are _you_? wait." he slips out between the partitions and returns with washed and dripping hands. she gives him a towel. on a corner of the table there is some bread and some salt and the now uncovered soup. he sits down on his bed, on the top of all the bed-clothes, she on hers, with the onions. they eat slowly, talking with their eyes--what about, do you think?--and with their lips about the way to earn a living. "well, how are you getting on?" "oh," he sighs, "three pupils already!" "and that is all we have to depend on?" she asks sadly. "_ma!_" he answers with gentle reproach. "god be praised!" she is consoling herself and him together. "god be praised; but that only makes one hundred and twenty rubles," he sighs. "well, why do you sigh?" "add it up," he answers; "one ruble a week rent, that's twenty-six rubles a season. and then i'm in debt--there were wedding expenses." "what do you mean?" she asks astonished. he smiles. "silly little thing! my father couldn't afford to give us anything more than his consent." "well, what do they come to altogether?" she interrupts. "altogether," he goes on, "twelve rubles. that makes thirty-eight. what remains over for food?" she calculates: "eighty-two, i suppose." "for twenty-six weeks." "well, after all," she says, "it's over three rubles a week." "and what," he asks sadly, "what about wood--and candles--sabbaths and holidays?" "_ett_, god is faithful," she tries to cheer him, "and i can do something, too. look, i have bought some onions. eggs are very cheap. i will buy some eggs, too. in a week or so, perhaps, five dozen eggs will yield a little profit." "but just calculate," he persists, "what we must spend on firing and lights." "why, next to nothing. perhaps one ruble a week. that leaves us--" "and sabbaths and holidays! child, what are you thinking of?" and the word "child" falls so softly, so kindly, from his lips, that she must needs smile. "come, say the blessing, quick!" she says, "and let other things be till to-morrow. it's time to go to sleep." then she feels ashamed, lowers her eyelids, and says as if she were excusing herself: "you come so late!" with a yawn that is half a sham. he leans toward her across the little table. "silly child," he whispers, "i come in late on purpose, so that we may eat together, do you see? for a teacher, you know, it's not the thing." "well, well, say the blessing!" she repeats, shutting her eyes tighter. he closes his, he _wants_ to say it seriously. but his eyes keep opening of themselves. he presses down his eyelids, but there remains a chink through which he sees her, in a strangely colored light, so that he cannot do otherwise than look at her. she is tired--he feels sorry for her. he sees her trying to sit further back on the bed and letting her head rest against the wall. she will go to sleep like that, he thinks. "why not take a pillow?" he would like to say, almost crossly, but he cannot--ahem, ahem-- but she doesn't hear. he hurries through the blessing, finishes it, stands up, and there remains, not knowing what to do next. "treine," he calls, but so low, it could not wake her. he goes up to her bed and bends over her. her face smiles, it looks so sweet--she must be dreaming of something pleasant--how beautifully she smiles--it would be a shame to wake her! only her little head will hurt--_öi_, what hair she must have had--he has looked at her curls, long, black hair--all shorn now[ ]--her cap is a thin embroidered one, with holes--she _is_ a beauty! he smiles, too. but she must be woke. he bends lower and feels her breath--he draws it in hastily--she attracts him like a magnet--half-unconsciously he touches her lips with his own. "i wasn't asleep at all!" she says suddenly, and opens a pair of mischievous, laughing eyes. she throws her arms round his shoulders and pulls him down to her. "never mind," she whispers into his ear, and her voice is very sweet, "never mind! god is good and will help us--was it not he who brought us together? he will not forsake us. there will be firing and lights--there will be enough to live on--it will be all right--everything will be right--won't it, yössele? yes, it will!" he makes no reply. he is trembling all over. she pushes him a little further away. "look at me, yössele!" it occurs to her to say. yössele wishes to obey, and cannot. "poor wretch," she says gently, "not accustomed to it yet--ha?" he wants to hide his head in her breast, but she will not allow him to. "why are you ashamed, wretch? you can kiss, but you won't look!" he would rather kiss her, but she will not allow him. "_please_, look at me!" yössele opens his eyes wide, but not for long. "oh, please!" she says, and her voice is softer, "silkier" than ever. he looks. this time it is _her_ lids that fall. "just tell me," she says, "only please tell me the truth, am i a pretty woman?" "yes!" he whispers, and she feels his breath hot on her cheek. "who told you?" "can't i see for myself? you are a queen--a queen!" "and tell me, yössele," she continues, "shall you be always just as--just the same?" "what do you mean by that, treine?" "i mean," her voice shakes, "just as fond of me?" "what a question!" "just as dear?" "what next?" "always?" "always!" he is confident. "shall you always eat with me?" "of course," he answers. "and--and you will never scold me?" "_never._" "never make me unhappy?" "unhappy? i? you? what do you mean? why?" "_i_ don't know, freude says...." "_wa_--the witch!" he draws nearer to her. she pushes him back. "yössele?" "what is it?" "tell me--what is my name?" "treine!" "_phê!_" the small mouth makes a motion of disgust. "treinishe," he corrects himself. she is not pleased yet. "treininyu!" "no!" "well then--treine my life, treine my crown, treine my heart--will that do?" "yes," she answers happily, "only--" "what now, my life, my delight?" "only--listen, yössele,--and--" she stammers. "and what?" "and when--if you should be out of work any time--and when i am not earning much--then perhaps, perhaps--you will scold." the tears come into her eyes. "god forbid! god forbid!" he forces his head out of her hands, and flings himself upon her parted lips. * * * * * "plague take you altogether, head and hands and feet!" a voice comes from beneath the partition. "honey-mooning, as i'm alive! there's no closing an eye--" it is the husky, acidly-spiteful voice of freude, the tatterdemalion. xxv between two mountains (between the rabbi of brisk and the rebbe of byàle) a simchas torah tale told by an old teacher i of course you have heard of the brisk rabbi and the byàle rebbe, but it is not everyone who knows that the holy man of byàle, reb nòach'ke, was at one time the brisk rabbi's pupil, that he studied a good couple of years with him, then disappeared for another two, and finally emerged from his voluntary exile as a distinguished man in byàle. and he left for this reason: they studied torah, with the brisk rabbi, only the rebbe felt that it was _dry_ torah. for instance, one learns about questions regarding women, or about "meat in milk," or else about a money matter--very well. reuben and simon come with a dispute, or there comes a maid-servant or a woman with a question of ritual, and that very moment the study becomes a delight, it is all alive and is there for a purpose. but like this, without them, the rebbe felt the torah, that is, the body of the torah, the explanation, what lies on the surface, is dry. that, he felt, is not the law of life. torah must live! the study of kabbalah books was not allowed in brisk. the brisk rabbi was a misnagid, and by nature "revengeful and relentless as a serpent;" if anyone ventured to open a zohar, a pardes, he would scold and put him under a ban. somebody was caught reading a kabbalah-book, and the rabbi had his beard shaven by gentiles! what do you think? the man became distraught, fell into a melancholy, and, what is more wonderful, no "good jew" was able to help him. the brisk rabbi was no trifle, i can tell you! and how was anyone just to get up and go away from his academy? reb nòach'ke couldn't make up his mind what to do for a long time. then he was shown a dream. he dreamed that the brisk rabbi came in to him and said: "come, nòach, i will take you into the terrestrial garden of eden." and he took his hand and led him away thither. they came into a great palace. there were no doors and no windows in this palace, except for the door by which they came in. and yet it was light, for the walls, as it seemed to the rebbe, were of crystal and gave out a glittering shine. and so they went on, further and further, and one saw no end to it. "hold on to my skirt," said the brisk rabbi, "there are halls without doors and without number, and if you let go of me, you will be lost forever." the rebbe obeyed, and they went further and further, and the whole way he saw no bench, no chair, no kind of furniture, nothing at all! "there is no resting here," explained the brisk rabbi, "one goes on and on!" and he followed, and every hall was longer and brighter than the last, and the walls shone now with this color and now with that, here with several, and there with all colors--but they did not meet with a single human being on their way. the rebbe grew weary walking. he was covered with perspiration, a cold perspiration. he grew cold in every limb, beside which his eyes began to hurt him, from the continual brilliancy. and there came over him a great longing, a longing after jews, after companions, after all-israel. it was no trifle, not meeting a single soul. "long after no one," said the brisk rabbi, "this is a palace for me and for you--you will also, some day, be rabbi of brisk." and the other was more terrified than ever, and laid his hand against the wall to help himself from falling. and the wall burnt him. only not as fire burns, but as ice burns. "rabbi!" he gave a cry, "the walls are ice, simply ice!" the brisk rabbi was silent. and the other cried again: "rabbi, take me away hence! i do not wish to stay alone with you! i wish to be with all-israel!" and hardly had he said it when the brisk rabbi disappeared, and he was left alone in the palace. he knew of no way, no in and no out; a cold terror struck him from the walls; and the longing for a jew, to see a jew, if only a cobbler or a tailor, waxed stronger and stronger. he began to weep. "lord of the world," he begged, "take me away from here. better in gehenna with all-israel than here one by himself!" and immediately there appeared before him a common jew with the red sash of a driver round him, and a long whip in his hand. the jew took him silently by the sleeve, led him out of the palace--and vanished. such was the dream that was sent him. when he woke, before daylight, when it had scarcely begun to dawn, he understood that this had been no ordinary dream. he dressed quickly, and hastened toward the house-of-study to get his dream interpreted by the learned ones who pass the night there. on his way through the market, however, he saw a covered wagon standing, and beside it--the driver with a red sash round the waist, a long whip in his hand, and altogether just such a jew as the one who had led him out of the palace in his dream. nòach (it struck him there was something behind the coincidence) went up to him and asked: "whither drives a jew?" "not _your_ way," answered the driver, very roughly. "well, tell me anyway," he continued. "perhaps i will go with you!" the driver considered a little, and then answered: "and can't a young fellow like you go on foot?" he asked. "go along with you, _your_ way!" "and whither shall i go?" "follow your nose!" answered the driver, "it's not my business." the rebbe understood, and now began his "exile." a few years later, as before said, he emerged into publicity in byàle. how it all happened i won't tell you now, although it's enough to make anyone open his mouth and ears. and about a year after this happened, a byàle householder, reb yechiel his name was, sent for me as a teacher. at first i would not accept the post of teacher in his house. you must know that reb yechiel was a rich man of the old-fashioned type, he gave his daughters a thousand gold pieces dowry, and contracted alliances with the greatest rabbis, and his latest daughter-in-law was a daughter of the rabbi of brisk. you can see for yourselves that if the brisk rabbi and the other connections were misnagdîm, reb yechiel had to be a misnagid, too--and i am a byàle chossid, well--how could i go into a house of that kind? and yet i felt drawn to byàle. you can fancy! the idea of living in the same town as the rebbe! after a good deal of see-sawing, i went. and reb yechiel himself turned out to be a very honest, pious jew, and i tell you, his heart was drawn to the rebbe as if with pincers. he was no learned man, himself, and he stared at the rabbi of brisk as a cock looks at a prayer-book.[ ] he made no objections to my holding to the byàle rebbe, only he would have nothing to do with him himself. when i told anything about the rebbe, he would pretend to yawn, and yet i could see that he pricked up his ears, but his son, the son-in-law of the brisk rabbi, would frown and look at me with mingled anger and contempt, only he never argued; he was silent by nature. and it came to pass on a day that reb yechiel's daughter-in-law, the brisk rabbi's daughter, was expecting the birth of her first child--well, there is nothing new in that, you say? but "thereby hangs a tale." it was well known that the brisk rabbi, because he had shaved a chossid, that is, caused him to be deprived of beard and ear-locks, was made to suffer by the prominent rebbes. both his sons (not of you be it said!) died within five or six years, and not one of his three daughters had a boy, beside which every child they bore nearly cost them their life. everyone saw and knew that it was a visitation of the great rebbes on the brisk rabbi, only he himself, for all his clear-sightedness, did not see it. he went on his way as before, carrying on his opposition by means of force and bans. i was really sorry for gütele (that was the name of the rabbi's daughter), really sorry. first, a jewess; secondly, a good jewess, such a good, kind soul as never was known. not a poor girl was married without her assistance--a "silken creature!" and she was to be punished for her father's outburst of anger! and therefore, as soon as i heard the midwife busy in the room, i wanted to move heaven and earth for them to send to the byàle rebbe--if only a note without a money-offering--after all, it wasn't as if _he_ needed money. the byàle rebbe never thought much of money. but whom was i to speak with? i try it on with the brisk rabbi's son-in-law--and i know very well that his soul is bound up with her soul, that he has never hid from himself that domestic happiness shone out of every corner, out of every word and deed--but he is the brisk rabbi's son-in-law, he spits, goes away, and leaves me standing with my mouth open. i go to reb yechiel himself, and he answers: "it is the brisk rabbi's daughter. i could not treat him like that, not even if there were peril of death, heaven forbid!" i try his wife--a worthy soul, but a simple one--and she answers: "if my husband told me to do so, i would send the rebbe my holiday head-kerchief and the ear-rings at once; they cost a mint of money; but without his consent, not a copper farthing--not a tassel!" "but a note--what harm could a note do you?" "without my husband's knowledge, nothing!" she answers, as a good jewess should answer, and turns away from me, and i see that she only does it to hide her tears--a mother--"the heart knows," her heart has felt the danger. but when i heard the first cry, i ran to the rebbe myself. "shemaiah," he answered me, "what can i do? i will pray!" "give me something for her, rebbe," i implore, "anything, a coin, a trifle, an amulet!" "it would only make matters worse, which heaven forbid!" he replied. "where there is no faith, such things only do harm, and she would have none." what could i do? it was the first day of tabernacles, there was nothing i could do for her, i might as well stay with the rebbe. i was like a son of the house. i thought, i will look imploringly at the rebbe every minute, perhaps he will have compassion. one heard things were not going on well--everything had been done--graves measured, hundreds of candles burnt in the synagogue, in the house-of-study, and a fortune given away in charity. what remains to be told? all the wardrobes stood open; a great heap of coins of all sorts lay on the table, and poor people came in and took away--all who wished, what they wished, as much as they wished! i felt it all deeply. "rebbe," i said, "it is written: 'almsgiving delivers from death.'" and he answered quite away from the matter: "perhaps the brisk rabbi will come!" and in that instant there walks in reb yechiel. he never spoke to the rebbe, any more than if he hadn't seen him, but: "shemaiah," he says to me, and catches hold of the flap of my coat, "there is a cart outside, go, get into it and drive to the brisk rabbi, tell him to come." and he was evidently quite aware of what was involved, for he added: "let him see for himself what it means. let him say what is to be done!" and he looked--what am i to say? a corpse is more beautiful than he was. well, i set off. and thinking, i thought to myself, if my _rebbe knows that the brisk rabbi expects to come here_, something will result. perhaps they will make peace. that is, not the brisk rabbi with the byàle rebbe, for they themselves were not at strife, but their followers. because, really, if he comes, he will see us; he has eyes in his head! but heaven, it seems, will not suffer such things to come to pass so quickly, and set hindrances in my way. hardly had i driven out of byàle when a cloud spread itself out over the sky, and what a cloud! a heavy black cloud like soot, and there came a gust of wind as though spirits were flying abroad, and it blew from all sides at once. a peasant, of course, understands these things, he crossed himself and said that the journey, might heaven defend us, would be hard, and pointed with his whip to the sky. just then came a stronger gust of wind, tore the cloud as you tear a piece of paper, and began to blow one bit of it to one side, and one to the other, as if it were parting ice-floes on a river; i had two or three piles of cloud over my head. i wasn't at all frightened at first. it was no new thing for me to be wet through, and i am not alarmed at thunder. in the first place it never thunders at tabernacles, and secondly, after the rebbe's shofar-blowing! we have a tradition that after the shofar-blowing thunder has no power to harm for a whole year. but when the rain suddenly gave a lash across the face like a whip--once, twice, thrice--my heart sank into my shoes. i saw that heaven was against me, driving me back. and the peasant, too, begged, "let us go home!" but i knew there was peril of death. i sat on the cart and heard through the storm the moans of the woman and the crack of the husband's finger-joints: he wrings his hands; and i see reb yechiel's dark face with the sunken, burning eyes: "drive on," he says, "drive on!" and we drive on. and it pours and pours, it pours from above and splashes from below, from underneath the wheels and the horse's feet, and the road is swamped, literally covered with water. the water frothed, the cart seemed to swim--what am i to tell you? besides that we lost our way--but i lived through it! i brought back the brisk rabbi by the great hosanna.[ ] ii i must tell you the truth, that no sooner had the brisk rabbi taken his seat in the cart than it grew still! the cloud broke up and the sun shone through the rift, and we drove into byàle quite dry and comfortable. even the peasant remarked it, and said in his own language: "a great rabbi! a powerful rabbi!" but the main thing was our arrival in byàle. the women who were in the house crowded to the rabbi like locusts--they nearly fell on their faces before him and wept--the daughter in the inner room was not heard, either because of the women's weeping, or else because she had no strength left to complain--reb yechiel did not see us, he was standing with his forehead pressed against a window-pane, as though his head were burning hot. the brisk rabbi's son-in-law did not turn round to greet us, either. he stood with his face against the wall, and i could see plainly how his whole body shook, and how his head knocked against the wall. i thought i should have fallen. anxiety and terror had taken such hold on me that i was cold in every limb, i felt that my soul was chilled. well, did you know the brisk rabbi? that was a man--a pillar of iron, i tell you! a tall, tall man, "from his shoulders and upward he was higher than any of the people;" he cast awe round him like a king. a long white beard, one point of it, i remember now, had tucked itself under his girdle, the other point quivered over it. his eyebrows were white, thick, and long, they seemed to cover part of his face. when he raised them--lord of the world! the women fell back as though they were thunderstruck, he had such eyes! there were daggers in them, glittering daggers! and he gave a roar like a lion: "women, be gone!" then he asked in a lower and gentler voice: "and where is my daughter?" they showed him. he went in, and i remained standing quite upset: such eyes, such a voice! it is quite another sort another world! the byàle rebbe's eyes are so kind, so quiet, they do one's heart good; he gives you a look, and it's like a shower of gold--and his voice--that sweet voice--soft as velvet--lord of the world! it goes to your heart and soothes it and comforts it--one isn't afraid of _him_, heaven forbid! the soul just melts for love of him, she desires to escape from the body and unite herself to _his_ soul--she is drawn as a butterfly (lehavdîl) to a bright flame! and here--lord of the world, fear and trembling! a gaòn, a gaòn of the old days! and he has gone in to a woman in child-bed! "he will turn her into a heap of bones!" i think in terror. i run to the byàle rebbe. and he met me in the door with a smile: "have you seen," he said to me, "the majesty of the law? the very majesty of the law?" i felt relieved. if the rebbe smiles, i thought, all will be well. * * * * * and all was well. on shemini atseres[ ] she was over it. and on simchas torah the brisk rabbi presided at table. i would have liked to be at table somewhere else, but i did not dare go away, particularly as i made up the tenth man needed to recite grace. well, what am i to tell you? how the brisk rabbi expounded the torah? if the torah is a sea, he was leviathan in the sea--with one twist of his tail he swam through ten treatises, with another he mixed together the talmud and the codes, so that it heaved and splashed and seethed and boiled, just as they say the real sea does--he made my head go round--but "the heart knoweth its own bitterness," and my heart felt no holiday happiness! and then i remembered the rebbe's dream--and i felt petrified. there was sun in the window and no want of wine at table, i could see the whole company was perspiring. and i? i was cold, cold as ice! over yonder i knew the torah was being expounded differently--there it is bright and warm--every word is penetrated and interwoven with love and rapture--one feels that angels are flying through the room, one seems to hear the rustle of the great, white wings--_aï_, lord of the world! only, there's no getting away! suddenly he stops, the brisk rabbi, and asks: "what kind of rabbi have you got here?" "a certain nòach," they reply. well, it cut me to the heart. "a certain nòach!" o, the flattery, the flattery of it! "is he a wonder-worker?" "not very much of one, one doesn't often hear about him--the women talk of him, but who listens to them?" "then he just takes money and does nothing wonderful?" they tell him the truth: that he takes little money, and gives away a great deal. the rabbi muses. "and he is a scholar?" "they say, a great one!" "whence is he, this nòach?" nobody knows, and _i_ have to answer. a conversation ensues between me and the brisk rabbi: "was he not once in brisk, this nòach?" he asks. "was not the rebbe once in brisk?" i stammered. "i think--yes!" "ah," says he, "a follower of his!" and it seems to me he looks at me as one looks at a spider. then he turns to the company: "i once had a pupil," he says, "nòach--he had a good head, but he was attracted to the other side[ ]--i spoke to him once, twice--i would have spoken to him a third time, to warn him, but he disappeared--is it not he? who knows!" and he began to describe him: thin, small, a little black beard, black, curly ear-locks, a dreamer, a quiet voice, and so on. "it may be," said the company, "that it is he; it sounds very like!" i thanked god when they began to say grace. but after grace something happened that i had never dreamt of. the brisk rabbi rises from his seat, calls me aside, and says in a low voice: "take me to _your_ rebbe and _my_ pupil! only, do you hear? no one must know!" of course, i obeyed, only on the way i asked in terror: "brisk rabbi, tell me, with what purpose are you going?" and he answered simply: "it occurred to me at grace, that i had judged by hearsay--i want to see, i want to see for myself, and perhaps," he added, after a while, "god will help me, and i will save a pupil of mine. "know, rascal," he said to me playfully, "that if your rebbe is _that_ nòach who studied with me, he may some day be a great man in israel, a veritable brisk rabbi!" then i knew that it was he, and my heart began to beat with violence. and the two mountains met--and it is a miracle from heaven that i was not crushed between them. the byàle rebbe of blessed memory used to send out his followers, at simchas torah, to walk round the town, and he himself sat in the balcony and looked on and had pleasure in what he saw. it was not the byàle of to-day: it was quite a small place then, with little, low-built houses, except for the shool and the rebbe's kläus. the rebbe's balcony was on the second floor, and you could see everything from it as if it all lay in the flat of your hand: the hills to the east and the river to the west. and the rebbe sits and looks out, sees some chassidîm walking along in silence, and throws down to them from the balcony the fragments of a tune. they catch at it and proceed on their way singing, and batches and batches of them go past and out of the town with songs and real gladness, with real rejoicing of the law--and the rebbe used not to leave the balcony. but on this occasion the rebbe must have heard other steps, for he rose and came to meet the rabbi of brisk. "peace be with you, rabbi!" he said meekly, in his sweet voice. "peace be with you, nòach!" the brisk rabbi answered. "sit, rabbi!" the brisk rabbi took a seat, and the byàle rebbe stood before him. "tell me, nòach," said the brisk rabbi, with lifted eyebrows, "why did you run away from my academy? what was wanting to you there?" "breathing-space, rabbi," answered the other, composedly. "what do you mean? what are you talking about, nòach?" "not for myself," explained the byàle rebbe in a quiet tone, "it was for my soul." "why so, nòach?" "your torah, rabbi, is all justice! it is without mercy! there is not a spark of grace in your torah! and therefore it is joyless, and cannot breathe freely--it is all chains and fetters, iron regulations, copper laws!--and all higher torah for the learned, for the select few!" the brisk rabbi is silent, and the other continues: "and tell me, rabbi, what have you for all-israel? what have you, rabbi, for the wood-cutter, for the butcher, for the artisan, for the common jew?--specially for the simple jew? rabbi, what have you for the _un_learned?" the brisk rabbi is silent, as though he did not understand what was being said to him. and still the byàle rebbe stands before him, and goes on in his sweet voice: "forgive me, rabbi, but i must tell the truth--your torah was _hard_, hard and dry, for it is only the body and not the soul of the law!" "the soul?" asks the brisk rabbi, and rubs his high forehead. "certainly, as i told you, rabbi, your torah is for the select, for the learned, not for all-israel. and the torah _must_ be for all-israel! the divine presence must rest on all-israel! because the torah is the soul of all-israel!" "and _your_ torah, nòach?" "you wish to see it, rabbi?" "torah--_see_ it?" wonders the brisk rabbi. "come, rabbi, i will show it you!--i will show you its splendor, the joy which beams forth from it upon all, upon all-israel!" the brisk rabbi does not move. "i beg of you, rabbi, come! it is not far." he led him out on to the balcony, and i went quietly after. "you may come too, shemaiah," he said to me, "to-day you will see it also--and the brisk rabbi will see--you will see the simchas torah--you will see _real_ rejoicing of the law!" and i saw what i had always seen, only i saw it differently--as if a curtain had fallen from my eyes. a great wide sky--without a limit! the sky was so blue! so blue! it was a delight to the eye. little white clouds, silvery clouds, floated across it, and when you looked at them intently, you saw how they quivered for joy, how they danced for rejoicing in the law! away behind, the town was encircled by a broad green girdle, a dark green one, only the green lived, as though something alive were flying along through the grass; every now and then it seemed as if a living being, a sweet smell, a little life, darted up shining in a different place; one could see plainly how the little flames sprang up and danced and embraced each other. and over the fields with the flames there sauntered parties and parties of chassidîm--the satin and even the satinette cloaks shine like glass, the torn ones and the whole alike--and the little flames that rose from the grass attached themselves to the shining holiday garments and seemed to dance round every chossid with delight and affection--and every company of chassidîm gazed up with wonderfully thirsty eyes at the rebbe's balcony--and i could see how that thirsty gaze of theirs sucked light from the balcony, from the rebbe's face, and the more light they sucked in, the louder they sang--louder and louder--more cheerfully, more devoutly. and every company sang to its own tune, but all the different tunes and voices blended in the air, and there floated up to the rebbe's balcony _one_ strain, _one_ melody--as though all were singing _one_ song. and everything sang--the sky, the celestial bodies, the earth beneath, the soul of the world itself--everything was singing! lord of the world! i thought i should dissolve away for sheer delight! but it was not to be. "it is time for the afternoon prayers!" said the brisk rabbi, suddenly, in a sharp tone; and it all vanished. silence ... the curtain has fallen back across my eyes; above is the usual sky, below--the usual fields, the usual chassidîm in torn cloaks--old, disconnected fragments of song--the flames are extinguished. i glance at the rebbe; his face is darkened, too. * * * * * they were not reconciled; the brisk rabbi remained a misnagid as before. but it had one result! he never persecuted again. xxvi the image great people have been known to do great wonders; witness the time when they attacked the ghetto in prague, and were about to assault the women, roast the children, and beat the remainder to death. when all means of defense were exhausted, the maharal[ ] laid down the gemoreh, stepped out into the street, went up to the first mud-heap outside the door of a school-master, and made a clay image. he blew into its nostril, and it began to move; then he whispered a name into its ear, and away went the image out of the ghetto, and the maharal sat down again to his book. the image fell upon our enemies who were besieging the ghetto, and threshed them as it were with flails--they fell before him as thick as flies. prague was filled with corpses--they say the destruction lasted all wednesday and thursday; friday, at noon, the image was still at it. "rabbi," exclaimed kohol, "the image is making a clean sweep of the city! there will be no one left to light the fires on sabbath or to take down the lamps!"[ ] a second time the maharal shut his book; he took his stand at the desk and began to chant the psalm, "a song of the sabbath day." whereupon the image ceased from work, came back to the ghetto, entered the synagogue, and approached the maharal. the maharal whispered into its ear as before, its eyes closed, the breath left it, and it became once more a clay image. and to this day the image lies aloft in the prague synagogue, covered up with cobwebs that stretch across from wall to wall, and spread over the whole arcade, so that the image shall not be seen, above all, not by the pregnant women of the "women's court." and the cobwebs may not be touched: whoever touches them, dies! no man, not the oldest there, recollects having seen the image; but the chacham zebî, the maharal's grandson, sometimes wonders, whether, for instance, such an image might not be included in one of the ten males required to form a congregation? the image, you see, is not forgotten--the image is there still. but the name with which to give it life in the day of need has fallen as it were into a deep water! and the cobwebs increase and increase, and one may not touch them. what is to be done? glossary (all words given below, unless otherwise specified, are hebrew.) chanukah feast of dedication, or feast of lights, commemorating the victory of judas maccabeus. chassidÎm _see_ chossid. cheder private religious school. chossid (pl. chassidîm). briefly, a mystic. _see_ the article hassidîm, in the jewish encyclopedia, v. dayan assistant to the rabbi of a town. dreier (ger.). a small coin. esrog (pl. esrogîm). the "fruit of the tree hadar," used with the lulav on the feast of tabernacles. _see_ lev. xxiii. . feldscher (ger.). assistant army surgeon; the successor to the celebrated röfeh of twenty or thirty years ago. gehenna the nether world; hell. gemoreh the rabbinical discussion and elaboration of the mishnah. _see_ talmud. gevir (pl. gevirîm). influential rich man. groschen (ger.). a small coin. gulden (ger.). a florin. gÜter yÜd (ger., "good jew"). chassidic wonder-worker. _see_ rebbe. havdoleh division; the ceremony ushering out the sabbath or a holiday. hekdesh free hospital. kabbalah a mystical religious philosophy, much studied by the chassidîm. kaddish sanctification; a doxology. specifically, the doxology recited by a child in memory of its parents during the first eleven months after their death, and thereafter on every anniversary of the day of their death. kedushah sanctification; an important part of the public service in the synagogue. kissush sanctification; the ceremony ushering in the sabbath or a holiday. klÄus (ger.). house of study; lit., hermitage. kohol the community; transferred to the heads of the community. kopek (russian). small russian coin, the hundredth part of a ruble. kosher ritually permitted. lÀmed-wÒfnik. one of the thirty-six hidden saints, whose merits are said to sustain the world. làmed is thirty; wòf is six; and nik is a slavic termination expressing "of the kind." lehavdÎl lit. "to distinguish." elliptical for "to distinguish between the holy and the secular." it is equivalent to "excuse the comparison"; "with due distinction"; "pardon me for mentioning the two things in the same breath"; etc. lulav (pl. lulavîm). the festal wreath used with the esrog on the feast of tabernacles. _see_ lev. xxiii. . maariv the evening service. maskil an enlightened one; an "intellectual." minchah the afternoon service. minyan a company of ten men, the minimum for a public service. mishnah a code of laws. _see_ talmud. mishnayes plural of mishnah; specifically, the volumes containing the mishnah. misnagid (pl. misnagdîm). one opposed to the mystical teaching of the chassidîm. mohel the one who performs the rite of circumcision. parnosseh means of livelihood; sustenance. rabbi teacher of the law; the religious guide and arbiter of a community; also teacher, as at a cheder. reb mr. rebbe the acknowledged leader of the chassidîm, usually a wonder-worker; called also "güter yüd." and tsaddik. rebbitzin wife of a rabbi. rÖfeh jewish physician. ruble (russian). russian coin worth about half a dollar. sechser (ger.). a small coin. shochet ritual slaughterer. shofar ram's horn, used on new year's day, etc. _see_ lev. xxiii. . shool (ger., schul'). synagogue. simchas torah. the festival of rejoicing in the law, the ninth day of the feast of tabernacles. sliches penitential prayers. applied to the week, more or less, before the new year, when these prayers are recited at the synagogue. stÜbele (ger.). chassidic meeting-house. taki (russian). really. tallis prayer-scarf. talmud the traditional lore of the jews, reduced to writing about of the present era. it consists of the mishnah and the gemoreh. talmud torah. free communal school. tefillin phylacteries. tikerin assistant at the women's bath. torah the jewish law in general, and the pentateuch in particular. tossafot an important commentary on the talmud, composed chiefly by franco-german authorities. tsaddik lit. "righteous man"; specifically, a rebbe, a wonder-worker, a "güter yüd." the lord baltimore press baltimore, md., u. s. a. * * * * * changes made in the text (not of the etext transcriber): staid longer=>stayed longer * * * * * footnotes: [ ] a bible commentator of the sixteenth century. [ ] conveyance opportunely going the same way. [ ] shatnez, mixture of wool and linen, forbidden in the pentateuch. [ ] from the talmudical treatise on damages. [ ] college. [ ] five good marks, the highest number given in the russian schools. [ ] the correct name of the town. [ ] the tenth of tishri. new year is tishri . [ ] holy day. hebrew. [ ] in desperate cases of illness, people vow to supply the synagogue with candles equal to the length of certain parts of the cemetery. [ ] small lumps of dough dropped into the soup while it is cooking. [ ] _servituty._ these are of different kinds. [ ] bride-maidens--girls of marriageable age. [ ] thick chicken soup with balls of flour. [ ] father. [ ] of the bridegroom in shool to the reading of the law. [ ] the friday nearest december . [ ] diminutive of tate = father. [ ] no unbaptized jew may become an official in the courts in russia. [ ] for the soul of the dead, to wash and dry itself. [ ] a verst is . of a mile. [ ] a lithuanian mile = . english miles. [ ] a jew taken from his home as a child, under nicholas i, estranged from his family and his faith, and made to serve in the army. [ ] jewish name for the typical russian. [ ] addressing them in polish instead of russian. [ ] "when you are a hundred and twenty years old"--the ideal age for the jew, the age reached by moses. [ ] get up! russian. [ ] three men necessary for a certain form of grace. [ ] pièkalik--built on to the stove. [ ] little souls fly, little souls fly! [ ] "you also have a soul?" polish. [ ] because he was suspected of not keeping the dietary laws. [ ] our little talmud student would not be familiar with much of the prophets' writings beyond what is contained in the prayer-book. the study of the prophets savored rather of free-thinking. [ ] a tiny bit of wood tied up and thrown away with the nails. the superstitions behind this practice are not confined to the jews. [ ] which had been invested with wonder-working powers. [ ] "fine meal," as in gen. xviii. ; used also figuratively. [ ] head-dress with broad ribbon to hide the hair of a married woman. [ ] a celebrated hebrew novel by mapu. [ ] eve of the day of atonement. [ ] pious offerings dropped into the collecting-box of "meïr baal-ness," to be found in every orthodox jewish house. the money is for the poor jews in palestine. [ ] free meals given to poor students at the tables of different householders. [ ] instead of bringing him up to the study of the law. [ ] the man in the moon is sometimes identified with joshua in jewish legend. [ ] according to the talmudical legend. [ ] little jew. [ ] adapted from the twelfth principle of the jewish faith, relating to the messiah. [ ] sabbath dish prepared the day before, and kept in a heated oven overnight. [ ] bontzye "mum." [ ] men of great learning in the law. [ ] by which the law is made applicable to an elderly woman. [ ] grandsons. a celebrated rebbe would have "sons" and "grandsons" among his adherents. the former would remain, the latter would come and go in companies and more or less respectable conveyances. [ ] owing to the emigration of the younger men to america in the "bad times." [ ] "chapter of song," a midrash, found in some editions of the prayer-book. [ ] "töre is die beste s'chöre." from a yiddish cradle-song. [ ] hebrew blessing before eating bread. [ ] according to the talmudic legend like moses and other saints. [ ] rúach, hebrew for wind and spirit both. [ ] who stand for colonization in argentina and palestine, respectively. [ ] god. [ ] they have understood that the writer's mission is connected with the matter of jewish recruits. [ ] unfit for military service. [ ] "bride"-grace, girlish charm. [ ] a hebrew newspaper [ ] followers of the rebbes of radzin and belz, respectively. [ ] to his prayer-scarf. see num. xv. . [ ] followers of the rebbes of radzin and belz, respectively. [ ] the plaintiff must take action in the place of domicile of the defendant. [ ] belz being in austrian poland. there were two famous rebbes of belz in the last century; the second died in . it has been asserted that thirty thousand jews followed him to his grave. [ ] for having no passports. [ ] sir, my lord. polish. [ ] and still jacob did not become like laban. a midrash, a rabbinical amplification of the biblical text. [ ] an exclamation corresponding to the italian _che!_ [ ] not our people! [ ] commotion. [ ] nickname for a jew, diminutive of jacob. [ ] anti-semitism. [ ] prayer of supplication. [ ] kith and kin. [ ] a kabbalistic allusion. [ ] maimonides. [ ] the curtain hung in front of the ark. [ ] to their prayer-scarfs. [ ] opponents might deny them burial in a choice place. [ ] see note p. . [ ] peace be upon you! hebrew. [ ] surname. [ ] special calling-up of a bridegroom to the reading of the law. [ ] up to the time when universal conscription was introduced in russia in , every jewish community, kohol, had to furnish a given number of recruits, the government asking no questions as to how these were obtained. [ ] which exempts him from military service. [ ] who have adopted german = western ways of life. [ ] gentile. [ ] worn beneath the outer garments. [ ] the "sabbath of the vision," preceding the ninth of ab (fast in memory of the destruction of the temple), when the lesson from the prophets is isaiah i, beginning, "the vision of isaiah." at this period there is much almsgiving. [ ] according to the talmudic legend. [ ] the standard code of laws. [ ] "hear, o israel, etc." the chassidîm are not punctilious about observing the prescribed time limits for the recitation of the shema. [ ] pölen = poland. [ ] "a sach melòches un wenig bròches." [ ] so called from moses xv. , read on the day when--it is not far from the "new year for trees"--children place food for birds in the windows. [ ] machine for making paper out of rags. [ ] see note p. . [ ] right of a land-owner to keep a distillery--which was frequently let out to a jew. [ ] boarding with the wife's parents. [ ] macaroni-seller. [ ] the rebukes and threats in lev. xxvi and deut. xxviii. [ ] used when speaking of animals. [ ] "beyond the good"--the powers of darkness. we touch here on kabbalistic lore relating to the origin of evil. [ ] see note p. . [ ] order of service. [ ] bread made with saffron. [ ] followers of the kotzk and belz rebbes, respectively. [ ] the service read in the home on the first (and the second) passover eve. [ ] passover cakes soaked in broth or other liquid. [ ] rabbinical amplification of the biblical text. [ ] this is an allegory referring to certain aspects of zionism. [ ] "happy, etc.," ps. lxxxiv. , three times dally in the prayers. [ ] when the weeping female relatives of the sick force their way through the male congregation to the ark, throw it open, and bedew the scrolls with their tears. [ ] confirmed. [ ] a man of influence. hebrew. [ ] the rebbe's. [ ] rich man's wife. hebrew. [ ] hannah my crown. [ ] chazan, the reader or reciter of the prayers in the synagogue [ ] reciting of prescribed prayers. [ ] lest the meat and milk should not be ritually permitted. [ ] our brothers, the children of israel. [ ] kind of cloak. [ ] russian term of contempt, in contradistinction to _yevrèi_ = hebrew. [ ] this was an important article of trade, required for the peasants' carts, etc. [ ] wedding jester and improvisatore. [ ] croup. [ ] he visited, i visited. hebrew. [ ] a kind of cake. [ ] gymnasium, in russia as in germany, is a college. [ ] idol. hebrew. [ ] as of those religious precepts which it is not possible to carry out literally. [ ] qualification for eternal bliss. [ ] a suburb of warsaw. [ ] russian officials. [ ] as beseemed an orthodox, married jewess. [ ] allusion to the ceremony performed on the eve of the day of atonement, when a cock or hen is twirled round the head, and a prayer is read. [ ] the seventh day of tabernacles. [ ] the eighth day of tabernacles. [ ] to the teaching of the chassidîm. [ ] "the great rabbi loeb" who lived in the sixteenth century, and who became the central figure of many a legend. [ ] no gentile to be hired for that purpose. sheehan, marryann short, and anne soulard editorial note: project gutenberg also has the translation of this work by richard f. burton in volumes. the book of the thousand nights and one night: now first completely done into english prose and verse, from the original arabic, by john payne (author of "the masque of shadows," "intaglios: sonnets," "songs of life and death," "lautrec," "the poems of master francis villon of paris," "new poems," etc, etc.). in nine volumes: volume the fourth. delhi edition contents of the fourth volume. . the imam abou yousuf with haroun er reshid and his vizier jaafer . the lover who feigned himself a thief to save his mistress's honour . jaafer the barmecide and the bean-seller . abou mohammed the lazy . yehya ben khalid and mensour . yehya ben khalid and the man who forged a letter in his name . the khalif el mamoun and the strange doctor . ali shar and zumurrud . the loves of jubeir ben umeir and the lady budour . the man of yemen and his six slave girls . haroun er reshid with the damsel and abou nuwas . the man who stole the dog's dish of gold . the sharper of alexandria and the master of police . el melik en nasir and the three masters of police a. story of the chief of the new cairo police b. story of the chief of the boulac police c. story of the chief of the old cairo police . the thief and the money-changer . the chief of the cous police and the sharper . ibrahim ben el mehdi and the merchant's sister . the woman whose hands were cut off for almsgiving . the devout israelite . abou hassan ez ziyadi and the man from khorassan . the poor man and his generous friend . the ruined man who became rich again through a dream . el mutawekkil and his favourite mehboubeh . werdan the butcher's adventure with the lady and the bear . the king's daughter and the ape . the enchanted horse . uns el eoujoud and the vizier's daughter rose-in-bud . abou nuwas with the three boys and the khalif haroun er reshid . abdallah ben maamer with the man of bassora and his slave girl . the lovers of the benou udhreh . the vizier of yemen and his young brother . loves of the boy and girl at school . el mutelemmis and his wife umeimeh . haroun er reshid and zubeideh in the bath . haroun er reshid and the three poets . musab ben ez zubeir and aaisheh his wife . aboulasweh and his squinting slave girl . haroun er reshid ad the two girls . hroun er reshid and the three girls . the miller and his wife . the simpleton and the sharper . the imam abou yousuf with haroun er reshid and zubeideh . the khalif el hakim and the merchant . king kisra anoushirwan and the village damsel . the water-carrier and the goldsmith's wife . khusrau and shirin and the fisherman . yehya ben khalid and the poor man . mohammed el amin and jaafer ben el hadi . said ben salim and the barmecides . the woman's trick against her husband . the devout woman and the two wicked elders . jaafer the barmecide and the old bedouin . omar ben khettab and the young bedouin . el mamoun and the pyramids of egypt . the thief turned merchant and the other thief . mesrour and ibn el caribi . the devout prince . the schoolmaster who fell in love by report . the foolish schoolmaster . the ignorant man who set up for a schoolmaster . the king and the virtuous wife . abdurrehman the moor's story of the roc . adi ben zeid and the princess hind . dibil el khuzai with the lady and muslim ben el welid . isaac of mosul and the merchant . the three unfortunate lovers . the lovers of the benou tai . the mad lover . the apples of paradise . the loves of abou isa and current el ain . el amin and his uncle ibrahim ben el mehdi . el feth ben khacan and el mutawekkil . the man's dispute with the learned woman of the relative excellence of the male and the female . abou suweid and the handsome old woman . ali ben tahir and the birl mounis . the woman who has a boy and the other who had a man to lover . the haunted house in baghdad . the pilgrim and the old woman who dwelt in the desert . aboulhusn and his slave girl taweddud the book of the thousand nights and one night how the imam abou yousuf extricated the khalif haroun er reshid and his vizier jaafer from a dilemma. it is said that jaafer the barmecide was one night carousing with er reshid, when the latter said to him, 'o jaafer, i hear that thou hast bought such and such a slave-girl. now i have long sought her and my heart is taken up with love of her, for she is passing fair; so do thou sell her to me.' 'o commander of the faithful,' replied jaafer, 'i will not sell her.' 'then give her to me,' rejoined the khalif. 'nor will i give her,' answered jaafer. 'be zubeideh triply divorced,' exclaimed haroun, 'if thou shalt not either sell or give her to me!' quoth jaafer, 'be my wife triply divorced, if i either sell or give her to thee!' after awhile they recovered from their intoxication and were ware that they had fallen into a grave dilemma, but knew not how to extricate themselves. then said er reshid, 'none can help us in this strait but abou yousuf.'[fn# ] so they sent for him, and this was in the middle of the night. when the messenger reached the imam, he arose in alarm, saying in himself, 'i should not be sent for at this hour, save by reason of some crisis in islam.' so he went out in haste and mounted his mule, saying to his servant, 'take the mule's nose-bag with thee; it may be she has not finished her feed; and when we come to the khalif's palace, put the bag on her, that she may eat what is left of her fodder, whilst i am with the khalif.' 'i hear and obey,' replied the man. so the imam rode to the palace and was admitted to the presence of er reshid, who made him sit down on the couch beside himself, whereas he was used to seat none but him, and said to him, 'we have sent for thee at this hour to advise us upon a grave matter, with which we know not how to deal' and he expounded to him the case. 'o commander of the faithful,' replied abou yousuf, 'this is the easiest of things.' then he turned to jaafer and said to him, 'o jaafer, sell half of her to the commander of the faithful and give him the other half; so shall ye both be quit of your oaths.' the khalif was delighted with this and they did as he prescribed. then said er reshid, 'bring me the girl at once, for i long for her exceedingly.' so they brought her and the khalif said to abou yousuf, 'i have a mind to lie with her forthright; for i cannot endure to abstain from her during the prescribed period of purification; how is this to be done?' 'bring me one of thine unenfranchised male slaves,' answered the imam, 'and give me leave to marry her to him; then let him divorce her before consummation. so shall it be lawful for thee to lie with her before purification.' this expedient pleased the khalif yet more than the first and he sent for the slave. when he came, er reshid said to the imam, 'i authorize thee to marry her to him.' so the imam proposed the marriage to the slave, who accepted it, and performed the due ceremony; after which he said to the slave, 'divorce her, and thou shalt have a hundred diners.' but he refused to do this and the imam went on to increase his offer, till he bid him a thousand diners. then said the slave to him, 'doth it rest with me to divorce her, or with thee or the commander of the faithful?' 'with thee,' answered the imam. 'then, by allah,' quoth the slave, 'i will never do it!' at this the khalif was exceeding wroth and said to the imam, 'what is to be done, o abou yousuf?' 'be not concerned, o commander of the faithful,' replied the imam; 'the thing is easy. make this slave the damsel's property.' quoth er reshid, 'i give him to her;' and the imam said to the girl, 'say, "i accept."' so she said, 'i accept:' whereupon quoth abou yousuf, 'i pronounce divorce between them, for that he hath become her property, and so the marriage is annulled.' with this, er reshid sprang to his feet and exclaimed, 'it is the like of thee that shall be cadi in my time.' then he called for sundry trays of gold and emptied them before abou yousuf, to whom he said, 'hast thou wherein to put this ?' the imam bethought him of the mule's nose-bag; so he sent for it and filling it with gold, took it and went home; and on the morrow, he said to his friends, 'there is no easier or shorter road to the goods of this world and the next, than that of learning; for, see, i have received all this money for answering two or three questions.' consider, then, o polite [reader], the pleasantness of this anecdote, for it comprises divers goodly features, amongst which are the complaisance of jaafer to er reshid and the wisdom[fn# ] of the khalif and the exceeding wisdom of abou yousuf, may god the most high have mercy on all their souls! the lover who feigned himself a thief to save his mistress's honour. there came one day to khalid ibn abdallah el kesri,[fn# ] governor of bassora, a company of men dragging a youth of exceeding beauty and lofty bearing, whose aspect expressed good breeding and dignity and abundant wit they brought him before the governor, who asked what was to do with him, and they replied, 'this fellow is a thief, whom we caught last night in our dwelling.' khalid looked at him and was struck with wonder at his well-favouredness and elegance; so he said to the others, 'loose him,' and going up to the young man, asked what he had to say for himself. 'the folk have spoken truly,' answered he; 'and the case is as they have said.' 'and what moved thee to this,' asked khalid, 'and thou so noble and comely of aspect?' 'the lust after worldly good,' replied the other, 'and the ordinance of god, glorified and exalted be he!' 'may thy mother be bereaved of thee!' rejoined khalid. 'hadst thou not, in thy fair face and sound sense and good breeding, what should restrain thee from thieving?' 'o amir,' answered the young man, 'leave this talk and proceed to what god the most high hath ordained; this is what my hands have earned, and god is no oppressor of his creatures.'[fn# ] khalid was silent awhile, considering the matter; then he said to the young man, 'verily, thy confession before witnesses perplexes me, for i cannot believe thee to be a thief. surely thou hast some story that is other than one of theft. tell it me'. 'o amir,' replied the youth, 'deem thou nought save what i have confessed; for i have no story other than that i entered these folk's house and stole what i could lay hands on, and they caught me and took the stuff from me and carried me before thee.' then khalid bade clap him in prison and commanded a crier to make proclamation throughout bassora, saying, 'ho, whoso is minded to look upon the punishment of such an one, the thief, and the cutting off of his hand, let him be present tomorrow morning at such a place!' when the youth found himself in prison, with irons on his feet, he sighed heavily and repeated the following verses, whilst the tears streamed from his eyes: khalid doth threaten me with cutting off my hand, except i do reveal to him my mistress' case. but, "god forbid," quoth i, "that i should e'er reveal that which of love for her my bosom doth embrace!" the cutting-off my hand, for that i have confessed unto, less grievous were to me than her disgrace. the warders heard him and went and told khalid, who sent for the youth after nightfall and conversed with him. he found him well-bred and intelligent and of a pleasant and vivacious wit; so he ordered him food and he ate. then said khalid, 'i know thou hast a story to tell that is no thief's; so, when the cadi comes to-morrow morning and questions thee before the folk, do thou deny the charge of theft and avouch what may avert the cutting-off of thy hand; for the prophet (whom god bless and preserve) saith, "in cases of doubt, eschew [or defer] punishment."' then he sent him back to the prison, where he passed the night. on the morrow, the folk assembled to see his hand cut off, nor was there man or woman in bassora but came forth to look upon his punishment. then khalid mounted in company of the notables of the city and others and summoning the cadi, sent for the young man, who came, hobbling in his shackles. there none saw him but wept for him, and the women lifted up their voices in lamentation. the cadi bade silence the women and said to the prisoner, 'these folk avouch that thou didst enter their dwelling and steal their goods: belike thou stolest less than a quarter dinar?'[fn# ] 'nay,' replied he, 'i stole more than that.' 'peradventure,' rejoined the cadi, 'thou art partner with them in some of the goods?' 'not so,' replied the young man; 'it was all theirs. i had no right in it.' at this khalid was wroth and rose and smote him on the face with his whip, applying this verse to his own case: man wisheth and seeketh his wish to fulfil, but allah denieth save that which he will. then he called for the executioner, who came and taking the prisoner's hand, set the knife to it and was about to cut it off, when, behold, a damsel, clad in tattered clothes, pressed through the crowd of women and cried out and threw herself on the young man. then she unveiled and showed a face like the moon; whereupon the people raised a mighty clamour and there was like to have been a riot amongst them. but she cried out her loudest, saying, 'i conjure thee, by allah, o amir, hasten not to cut off this man's hand, till thou have read what is in this scroll!' so saying, she gave him a scroll, and he took it and read therein the following verses: o khalid, this man is love-maddened, a cave of desire, transfixed by the glances that sped from the bows of my eye. the shafts of my looks 'twas that pierced him and slew him; indeed, he a bondsman of love, sick for passion and like for to die. yea, rather a crime, that he wrought not, he choose to confess than suffer on her whom he cherished dishonour to lie. have ruth on a sorrowful lover; indeed he's no thief, but the noblest and truest of mortals for passion that sigh. when he had read this, he called the girl apart and questioned her; and she told him that the young man was her lover and she his mistress. he came to the dwelling of her people, thinking to visit her, and threw a stone into the house, to warn her of his coming. her father and brothers heard the noise of the stone and sallied out on him; but he, hearing them coming, caught up all the household stuff and made as if he would have stolen it, to cover his mistress's honour. 'so they seized him,' continued she, 'saying, "a thief!" and brought him before thee, whereupon he confessed to the robbery and persisted in his confession, that he might spare me dishonour; and this he did, making himself a thief, of the exceeding nobility and generosity of his nature.' 'he is indeed worthy to have his desire,' replied khalid and calling the young man to him, kissed him between the eyes. then he sent for the girl's father and bespoke him, saying, 'o elder, we thought to punish this young man by cutting off his hand; but god (to whom belong might and majesty) hath preserved us from this! and i now adjudge him the sum of ten thousand dirhems, for that he would have sacrificed his hand for the preservation of thine honour and that of thy daughter and the sparing you both reproach. moreover, i adjudge other ten thousand dirhems to thy daughter, for that she made known to me the truth of the case; and i ask thy leave to marry him to her.' 'o amir,' rejoined the old man, 'thou hast my consent.' so khalid praised god and thanked him and offered up a goodly exhortation and prayer; after which he said to the young man, 'i give thee this damsel to wife, with her own and her father's consent; and her dowry shall be this money, to wit, ten thousand dirhems. 'i accept this marriage at thy hands,' replied the youth and khalid let carry the money on trays in procession to the young man's house, whilst the people dispersed, full of gladness. and surely [quoth he who tells the tale[fn# ]] never saw i a rarer day than this, for that its beginning was weeping and affliction and its end joy and gladness. jaafer the barmecide and the beanseller. when haroun er reshid put jaafer the barmecide to death, he commanded that all who wept or made moan for him should be crucified; so the folk abstained from this. now there was a bedouin from a distant desert, who used every year to make and bring to jaafer an ode in his honour, for which he rewarded him with a thousand diners; and the bedouin took them and returning to his own country, lived upon them, he and his family, for the rest of the year. accordingly, he came with his ode at the wonted time and finding jaafer done to death, betook himself to the place where his body was hanging, and there made his camel kneel down and wept sore and mourned grievously. then he recited his ode and fell asleep. in his sleep jaafer the barmecide appeared to him and said, 'thou hast wearied thyself to come to us and findest us as thou seest; but go to bassora and ask for such a man there of the merchants of the town and say to him, "jaafer the barmecide salutes thee and bids thee give me a thousand diners, by the token of the bean."' when the bedouin awoke, he repaired to bassora, where he sought out the merchant and repeated to him what jaafer had said in the dream; whereupon he wept sore, till he was like to depart the world. then he welcomed the bedouin and entertained him three days as an honoured guest; and when he was minded to depart, he gave him a thousand and five hundred diners, saying, 'the thousand are what is commanded to thee, and the five hundred are a gift from me to thee; and every year thou shalt have of me a thousand diners.' when the bedouin was about to take leave, he said to the merchant, 'i conjure thee, by allah, tell me the story of the bean, that i may know the origin of all this.' 'in the early part of my life,' replied the merchant, 'i was miserably poor and hawked hot boiled beans about the streets of baghdad for a living. i went out one cold, rainy day, without clothes enough on my body to protect me from the weather, now shivering for excess of cold and now stumbling into the pools of rain-water, and altogether in so piteous a plight as would make one shudder to look upon. now it chanced that jaafer was seated that day, with his officers and favourites, in an upper chamber overlooking the street, and his eye fell on me; so he took pity on my case and sending one of his servants to fetch me to him, said to me, "sell thy beans to my people." so i began to mete out the beans with a measure i had with me, and each who took a measure of beans filled the vessel with gold pieces, till the basket was empty. then i gathered together the money i had gotten, and jaafer said to me, "hast thou any beans left?" "i know not," answered i and sought in the basket, but found only one bean. this jaafer took and splitting it in twain, kept one half himself and gave the other to one of his favourites, saying, "for how much wilt thou buy this half-bean?" "for the tale of all this money twice-told," replied she; whereat i was confounded and said in myself, "this is impossible." but, as i stood wondering, she gave an order to one of her handmaids and the girl brought me the amount twice-told. then said jaafer, "and i will buy my half for twice the sum of the whole. take the price of thy bean." and he gave an order to one of his servants, who gathered together the whole of the money and laid it in my basket; and i took it and departed. then i betook myself to bassora, where i traded with the money and god prospered me, to him be the praise and the thanks! so, if i give thee a thousand diners a year of the bounty of jaafer, it will in no wise irk me.' consider then the munificence of jaafer's nature and how he was praised both alive and dead, the mercy of god the most high be upon him! abou mohammed the lazy. it is told that haroun er reshid was sitting one day on the throne of the khalifate, when there came in to him a youth of his eunuchs, bearing a crown of red gold, set with pearls and rubies and all manner other jewels, such as money might not buy, and kissing the ground before him, said, 'o commander of the faithful, the lady zubeideh kisses the earth before thee and saith to thee, thou knowest she hath let make this crown, which lacks a great jewel for its top; and she hath made search among her treasures, but cannot find a jewel to her mind.' quoth the khalif to his chamberlains and officers, 'make search for a great jewel, such as zubeideh desires.' so they sought, but found nothing befitting her and told the khalif, who was vexed thereat and exclaimed, 'am i khalif and king of the kings of the earth and lack of a jewel? out on ye! enquire of the merchants.' so they enquired of the merchants, who replied, 'our lord the khalif will not find a jewel such as he requires save with a man of bassora, by name abou mohammed the lazy.' they acquainted the khalif with this and he bade his vizier jaafer send a letter to the amir mohammed ez zubeidi, governor of bassora, commanding him to equip abou mohammed the lazy and bring him to baghdad. jaafer accordingly wrote a letter to that effect and despatched it by mesrour, who set out forthright for bassora and went in to the governor, who rejoiced in him and entreated him with the utmost honour. then mesrour read him the khalif's mandate, to which he replied, 'i hear and obey,' and forthwith despatched him, with a company of his followers, to abou mohammed's house. when they reached it, they knocked at the door, whereupon a servant came out and mesrour said to him, 'tell thy master that the commander of the faithful calls for him.' the servant went in and told his master, who came out and found mesrour, the khalif's chamberlain, and a company of the governor's men at the door. so he kissed the earth before mesrour and said, 'i hear and obey the summons of the commander of the faithful; but enter ye my house.' 'we cannot do that,' replied mesrour, 'save in haste; for the commander of the faithful awaits thy coming.' but he said, 'have patience with me a little, till i set my affairs in order.' so, after much pressure and persuasion, they entered and found the corridor hung with curtains of blue brocade, figured with gold, and abou mohammed bade one of his servants carry mesrour to the bath. now this bath was in the house and mesrour found its walls and floor of rare and precious marbles, wrought with gold and silver, and its waters mingled with rose-water. the servants served mesrour and his company on the most perfect wise and clad them, on their going forth of the bath, in robes of honour of brocade, interwoven with gold. then they went in to abou mohammed and found him seated in his upper chamber upon a couch inlaid with jewels. over his head hung curtains of gold brocade, wrought with pearls and jewels, and the place was spread with cushions, embroidered in red gold. when he saw mesrour, he rose to receive him and bidding him welcome, seated him by his side. then he called for food: so they brought the table of food, which when mesrour saw, he exclaimed, 'by allah, never saw i the like of this in the palace of the commander of the faithful!' for indeed it comprised all manner of meats, served in dishes of gilded porcelain. so they ate and drank and made merry till the end of the day, when abou mohammed gave mesrour and each of his company five thousand diners; and on the morrow he clad them in dresses of honour of green and gold and entreated them with the utmost honour. then said mesrour to him, 'we can abide no longer, for fear of the khalif's displeasure.' 'o my lord,' answered abou mohammed, 'have patience with us till to-morrow, that we may equip ourselves, and we will then depart with you.' so they tarried that day and night with him; and next morning, abou mohammed's servants saddled him a mule with housings and trappings of gold, set with all manner pearls and jewels; whereupon quoth mesrour in himself, 'i wonder if, when he presents himself in this equipage before the commander of the faithful, he will ask him how he came by all this wealth.' then they took leave of ez zubeidi and setting out from bassora, fared on, without stopping, till they reached baghdad and presented themselves before the khalif who bade abou mohammed be seated. so he sat down and addressing the khalif in courtly wise, said to him, 'o commander of the faithful, i have brought with me a present by way of homage: have i thy leave to produce it?' 'there is no harm in that,' replied the khalif; whereupon abou mohammed caused bring in a chest, from which he took a number of rarities and amongst the rest, trees of gold, with leaves of emerald and fruits of rubies and topazes and pearls. then he fetched another chest and brought out of it a pavilion of brocade, adorned with pearls and rubies and emeralds and chrysolites and other precious stones; its poles were of the finest indian aloes-wood, and its skirts were set with emeralds. thereon were depicted all manner beasts and birds and other created things, spangled with rubies and emeralds and chrysolites and balass rubies and other precious stones. when er reshid saw these things, he rejoiced exceedingly, and abou mohammed said to him, 'o commander of the faithful, deem not that i have brought these to thee, fearing aught or coveting aught; but i knew myself to be but a man of the people and that these things befitted none save the commander of the faithful. and now, with thy leave, i will show thee, for thy diversion, something of what i can do.' 'do what thou wilt,' answered er reshid, 'that we may see.' 'i hear and obey,' said abou mohammed and moving his lips, beckoned to the battlements of the palace, whereupon they inclined to him; then he made another sign to them, and they returned to their place. then he made a sign with his eye, and there appeared before him cabinets with closed doors, to which he spoke, and lo, the voices of birds answered him [from within]. the khalif marvelled exceedingly at this and said to him, 'how camest thou by all this, seeing that thou art only known as abou mohammed the lazy, and they tell me that thy father was a barber-surgeon, serving in a public bath, and left thee nothing?' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered he, 'listen to my story, for it is an extraordinary one and its particulars are wonderful; were it graven with needles upon the corners of the eye, it would serve as a lesson to him who can profit by admonition.' 'let us hear it,' said the khalif. 'know then, o commander of the faithful,' replied abou mohammed, '(may god prolong to thee glory and dominion,) that the report of the folk, that i am known as the lazy and that my father left me nothing, is true; for he was, as thou hast said, but a barber- surgeon in a bath. in my youth i was the laziest wight on the face of the earth; indeed, so great was my sluggishness that, if i lay asleep in the sultry season and the sun came round upon me, i was too lazy to rise and remove from the sun to the shade; and thus i abode till i reached my fifteenth year, when my father was admitted to the mercy of god the most high and left me nothing. however, my mother used to go out to service and feed me and give me to drink, whilst i lay on my side. one day, she came in to me, with five silver dirhems, and said to me, "o my son, i hear that the sheikh aboul muzeffer is about to go a voyage to china." (now this sheikh was a good and charitable man and loved the poor.) "so come, let us carry him these five dirhems and beg him to buy thee therewith somewhat from the land of china, so haply thou mayst make a profit of it, by the bounty of god the most high!" i was too lazy to move; but she swore by allah that, except i rose and went with her, she would neither bring me meat nor drink nor come in to me, but would leave me to die of hunger and thirst. when i heard this, o commander of the faithful, i knew she would do as she said; so i said to her, "help me to sit up." she did so, and i wept the while and said to her, "bring me my shoes." accordingly, she brought them and i said, "put them on my feet." she put them on my feet and i said, "lift me up." so she lifted me up and i said, "support me, that i may walk." so she supported me and i went along thus, still stumbling in my skirts, till we came to the river-bank, where we saluted the sheikh and i said to him, "o uncle, art thou aboul muzeffer?" "at thy service," answered he, and i said, "take these dirhems and buy me somewhat from the land of china: haply, god may vouchsafe me a profit of it." quoth the sheikh to his companions, "do ye know this youth?" "yes," replied they; "he is known as abou mohammed the lazy, and we never saw him stir from his house till now." then said he to me, "o my son, give me the dirhems and the blessing of god the most high go with them!" so he took the money, saying, "in the name of god!" and i returned home with my mother. meanwhile the sheikh set sail, with a company of merchants, and stayed not till they reached the land of china, where they bought and sold, and having done their intent, set out on their homeward voyage. when they had been three days at sea, the sheikh said to his company, "stay the ship!" and they asked him what was to do with him. "know," replied he, "that i have forgotten the commission with which abou mohammed the lazy charged me; so let us turn back, that we may buy him somewhat whereby he may profit." "we conjure thee, by god the most high," exclaimed they, "turn not back with us; for we have traversed an exceeding great distance and endured sore hardship and many perils." quoth he, "there is no help for it;" and they said "take from us double the profit of the five dirhems and turn not back with us." so he agreed to this and they collected for him a great sum of money. then they sailed on, till they came to an island, wherein was much people; so they moored thereto and the merchants went ashore, to buy thence precious metals and pearls and jewels and so forth. presently, aboul muzeffer saw a man seated, with many apes before him, and amongst them one whose hair had been plucked off. as often as the man's attention was diverted from them, the other apes fell upon the plucked one and beat him and threw him on their master; whereupon the latter rose and beat them and bound them and punished them for this; and all the apes were wroth with the plucked ape therefor and beat him the more. when aboul muzeffer saw this, he took compassion upon the plucked ape and said to his master, "wilt thou sell me yonder ape?" "buy," replied the man, and aboul muzeffer rejoined, "i have with me five dirhems, belonging to an orphan lad. wilt thou sell me the ape for that sum?" "he is thine," answered the ape-merchant. "may god give thee a blessing of him!" so the sheikh paid the money and his slaves took the ape and tied him up in the ship. then they loosed sail and made for another island, where they cast anchor; and there came down divers, who dived for pearls and corals and other jewels. so the merchants hired them for money and they dived. when the ape saw this, he did himself loose from his bonds and leaping off the ship's side, dived with them; whereupon quoth aboul muzeffer, "there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme! the ape is lost to us, by the [ill] fortune of the poor fellow for whom we bought him." and they despaired of him; but, after awhile, the company of divers rose to the surface, and with them the ape, with his hands full of jewels of price, which he threw down before aboul muzeffer, who marvelled at this and said, "there hangs some great mystery by this ape!" then they cast off and sailed till they came to a third island, called the island of the zunonj,[fn# ] who are a people of the blacks, that eat human flesh. when the blacks saw them, they boarded them in canoes and taking all in the ship, pinioned them and carried them to their king who bade slaughter certain of the merchants. so they slaughtered them and ate their flesh; and the rest passed the night in prison and sore concern. but, when it was [mid]night, the ape arose and going up to aboul muzeffer, did off his bonds. when the others saw him free, they said, "god grant that our deliverance may be at thy hands, o aboul muzeffer!" but he replied, "know that he who at delivered me, by god's leave, was none other than this ape; and i buy my release of him at a thousand dinars." "and we likewise," rejoined the merchants, "will pay him a thousand diners each, if he release us." with this, the ape went up to them and loosed their bonds, one by one, till he had freed them all, when they made for the ship and boarding her, found all safe and nothing missing. so they cast off and set sail; and presently aboul muzeffer said to them, "o merchants, fulfil your promise to the ape." "we hear and obey," answered they and paid him a thousand diners each, whilst aboul muzeffer brought out to him the like sum of his own monies, so that there was a great sum of money collected for the ape. then they fared on till they reached the city of bassora, where their friends came out to meet them; and when they had landed, the sheikh said, "where is abou mohammed the lazy?" the news reached my mother, who came to me, as i lay asleep, and said to me, "o my son, the sheikh aboul muzeffer has come back and is now in the city; so go thou to him and salute him and enquire what he hath brought thee; it may be god hath blessed thee with somewhat." "lift me from the ground," quoth i, "and prop me up, whilst i walk to the river-bank." so she lifted me up and i went out and walked on, stumbling in my skirts, till i met the sheikh, who exclaimed, at sight of me, "welcome to him whose money has been the means of my delivery and that of these merchants, by the will of god the most high! take this ape that i bought for thee and carry him home and wait till i come to thee." so i took the ape, saying in myself, "by allah, this is indeed rare merchandise!" and drove it home, where i said to my mother, "whenever i lie down to sleep, thou biddest me rise and trade; see now this merchandise with thine own eyes." then i sat down, and presently up came aboul muzeffer's slaves and said to me, "art thou abou mohammed the lazy?" "yes," answered i; and behold, aboul muzeffer appeared behind them. so i went up to him and kissed his hands; and he said to me, "come with me to my house." "i hear and obey," answered i and followed him to his house, where he bade his servants bring me the money [and what not else the ape had earned me]. so they brought it and he said to me, "o my son, god hath blessed thee with this wealth, by way of profit on thy five dirhems." then the slaves laid the treasure in chests, which they set on their heads, and aboul muzeffer gave me the keys of the chests, saying, "go before the slaves to thy house; for all this wealth is thine." so i returned to my mother, who rejoiced in this and said to me, "o my son, god hath blessed thee with this much wealth; so put off thy laziness and go down to the bazaar and sell and buy." so i shook off my sloth, and opened a shop in the bazaar, where the ape used to sit on the same divan with me, eating with me when i ate and drinking when i drank. but, every day, he was absent from daybreak till noon-day, when he came back, bringing with him a purse of a thousand diners, which he laid by my side, and sat down. thus did he a great while, till i amassed much wealth, wherewith i bought houses and lands and planted gardens and got me slaves, black and white and male and female. one day, as i sat in my shop, with the ape at my side, he began to turn right and left, and i said in myself, "what ails the beast?" then god made the ape speak with a glib tongue, and he said to me, "o abou mohammed!" when i heard him speak, i was sore afraid; but he said to me, "fear not; i will tell thee my case. know that i am a marid of the jinn and came to thee, because of thy poor estate; but to-day thou knowest not the tale of thy wealth; and now i have a need of thee, wherein it thou do my will, it shall be well for thee." "what is it?" asked i, and he said, "i have a mind to marry thee to a girl like the full moon." "how so?" quoth i. "to. morrow," replied he, "don thou thy richest clothes and mount thy mule, with the saddle of gold, and ride to the forage-market. there enquire for the shop of the sherif[fn# ] and sit down beside him and say to him, 'i come to thee a suitor for thy daughter's hand.' if he say to thee, 'thou hast neither money nor condition nor family,' pull out a thousand diners and give them to him; and if he ask more, give him more and tempt him with money." "i hear and obey," answered i; "to-morrow, if it please god, i will do thy bidding." so on the morrow i donned my richest clothes and mounting my mule with trappings of gold, rode, attended by half a score slaves, black and white, to the forage-market, where i found the sherif sitting in his shop. i alighted and saluting him, seated myself beside him. quoth he, "haply, thou hast some business with us, which we may have the pleasure of transacting?" "yes," answered i; "i have business with thee." "and what is it?" asked he. quoth i, "i come to thee as a suitor for thy daughter's hand." and he said, "thou hast neither money nor condition nor family;" whereupon i pulled out a thousand diners of red gold and said to him, "this is my rank and family; and he whom god bless and keep hath said, 'the best of ranks is wealth.' and how well saith the poet: whoso hath money, though it be but dirhems twain, his lips have learnt all manner speech and he can speak and fear no slight. his brethren and his mates draw near and hearken to his word and 'mongst the folk thou seest him walk, a glad and prideful wight. but for the money, in the which he glorieth on this wise, thou'dst find him, midst his fellow-men, in passing sorry plight. yea, whensoe'er the rich man speaks, though in his speech he err, 'thou hast not spoken a vain thing,' they say; 'indeed, thou'rt right.' but, for the poor man, an he speak, albeit he say sooth, they say, 'thou liest,' and make void his speech and hold it light for money, verily, in all the lands beneath the sun, with goodliness and dignity cloth its possessors dight. a very tongue it is for him who would be eloquent and eke a weapon to his hand who hath a mind to fight." when he heard this, he bowed his head awhile, then, raising it, said, "if it must be so, i will have of thee other three thousand diners." "i hear and obey," answered i and sent one of my servants to my house for the money. when he came back with it, i handed it to the sherif, who rose and bidding his servants shut his shop, invited his brother-merchants to the wedding; after which he carried me to his house and drew up the contract of marriage between his daughter and myself, saying to me, "after ten days, i will bring thee in to her." so i went home rejoicing and shutting myself up with the ape, told him what had passed; and he said, "thou hast done well." when the time appointed by the sherif drew near, the ape said to me, "there is a thing i would fain have thee do for me; and after, thou shalt have of me what thou wilt." "what is that?" asked i. quoth he, "at the upper end of the bridechamber stands a cabinet, on whose door is a padlock of brass and the keys under it. take the keys and open the cabinet, in which thou wilt find a coffer of iron, with four talismanic flags at its angles. in its midst is a brass basin full of money, wherein is tied a white cock with a cleft comb; and on one side of the coffer are eleven serpents and on the other a knife. take the knife and kill the cock; cut away the flags and overturn the chest; then go back to the bride and do away her maidenhead. this is what i have to ask of thee." "i hear and obey," answered i and betook myself to the sherif's house. as soon as i entered the bridechamber, i looked for the cabinet and found it even as the ape had described it. then i went in to the bride and marvelled at her beauty and grace and symmetry, for indeed they were such as no tongue can set forth. so i rejoiced in her with an exceeding joy; and in the middle of the night, when she slept, i rose and taking the keys, opened the cabinet. then i took the knife and killed the cock and threw down the flags and overturned the coffer, whereupon the girl awoke and seeing the closet open and the cock slain, exclaimed, "there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme! the marid hath gotten me!" hardly had she made an end of speaking, when the marid came down upon the house and seizing the bride, flew away with her; whereupon there arose a great clamour and in came the sherif, buffeting his face. "o abou mohammed," said he, "what is this thou hast done? is it thus thou requitest us? i made the talisman in the cabinet in my fear for my daughter from this accursed one; for these six years hath he sought to steal away the girl, but could not. but now there is no more abiding for thee with us; so go thy ways." so i went out and returned to my own house, where i made search for the ape, but could find no trace of him; whereby i knew that he was the marid, who had taken my wife and had tricked me into destroying the talisman that hindered him from taking her, and repented, rending my clothes and buffeting my face; and there was no land but was straitened upon me. so i made for the desert, knowing not whither i should go, and wandered on, absorbed in melancholy thought, till night overtook me. presently, i saw two serpents fighting, a white one and a tawny. so i took up a stone and throwing it at the tawny serpent, which was the aggressor, killed it; whereupon the white serpent made off, but returned after awhile accompanied by ten others of the same colour, which went up to the dead serpent and tore it in pieces, till but the head was left. then they went their ways and i fell prostrate for weariness on the ground where i stood; but, as i lay, pondering my case, i heard a voice repeat the following verses, though i saw no one: let destiny with slackened rein its course appointed fare and lie thou down by night to sleep with heart devoid of care. for, twixt the closing of the eyes and th' opening thereof, god hath it in his power to change a case from foul to fair. when i heard this, great concern got hold of me and i was beyond measure troubled; and i heard a voice from behind me repeat these verses also: muslim, whose guide's the koran and his due, rejoice, for succour cometh thee unto. let not the wiles of satan make thee rue, for we're a folk whose creed's the one, the true. then said i, "i conjure thee by him whom thou worshippest, let me know who thou art!" thereupon the unseen speaker appeared to me, in the likeness of a man, and said, "fear not; for the report of thy good deed hath reached us, and we are a people of the true-believing jinn. so, if thou lack aught, let us know it, that we may have the pleasure of fulfilling thy need." "indeed," answered i, "i am in sore need, for there hath befallen me a grievous calamity, whose like never yet befell man." quoth he, "surely, thou art abou mohammed the lazy?" and i answered, "yes." "o abou mohammed," rejoined the genie, "i am the brother of the white serpent, whose enemy thou slewest. we are four brothers, by one father and mother, and we are all indebted to thee for thy kindness. know that he who played this trick on thee, in the likeness of an ape, is a marid of the marids of the jinn; and had he not used this artifice, he had never been able to take the girl; for he hath loved her and had a mind to take her this long while, but could not win at her, being hindered of the talisman; and had it remained as it was, he could never have done so. however, fret not thyself for that; we will bring thee to her and kill the marid; for thy kindness is not lost upon us." then he cried out with a terrible voice, and behold, there appeared a company of jinn, of whom he enquired concerning the ape; and one of them said, "i know his abiding-place; it is in the city of brass, upon which the sun riseth not." then said the first genie to me, "o abou mohammed, take one of these our slaves, and he will carry thee on his back and teach thee how thou shalt get back the girl: but know that he is a marid and beware lest thou utter the name of god, whilst he is carrying thee; or he will flee from thee, and thou wilt fall and be destroyed." "i hear and obey," answered i and chose out one of the slaves, who bent down and said to me, "mount." so i mounted on his back, and he flew up with me into the air, till i lost sight of the earth and saw the stars as they were fixed mountains and heard the angels glorifying god in heaven, what while the marid held me in converse, diverting me and hindering me from pronouncing the name of god. but, as we flew, behold, one clad in green raiment, with streaming tresses and radiant face, holding in his hand a javelin whence issued sparks of fire, accosted me, saying, "o abou mohammed, say, 'there is no god but god and mohammed is his apostle;' or i will smite thee with this javelin." now i was already sick at heart of my [forced] abstention from calling on the name of god; so i said, "there is no god but god and mohammed is his apostle." whereupon the shining one smote the marid with his javelin and he melted away and became ashes; whilst i was precipitated from his back and fell headlong toward the earth, till i dropped into the midst of a surging sea, swollen with clashing billows. hard by where i fell was a ship and five sailors therein, who, seeing me, made for me and took me up into the boat. they began to speak to me in some tongue i knew not; but i signed to them that i understood not their speech. so they fared on till ended day, when they cast out a net and caught a great fish and roasting it, gave me to eat; after which they sailed on, till they reached their city and carried me in to their king, who understand arabic. so i kissed the ground before him, and he bestowed on me a dress of honour and made me one of his officers. i asked him the name of the city, and he replied, "it is called henad and is in the land of china." then he committed me to his vizier, bidding him show me the city, which was formerly peopled by infidels, till god the most high turned them into stones; and there i abode a month's space, diverting myself with viewing the place, nor saw i ever greater plenty of trees and fruits than there. one day, as i sat on the bank of a river, there accosted me a horseman, who said to me, "art thou not abou mohammed the lazy?" "yes," answered i; whereupon, "fear not," said he; "for the report of thy good deed hath reached us." quoth i, "who art thou?" and he answered, "i am a brother of the white serpent, and thou art hard by the place where is the damsel whom thou seekest." so saying, he took off his [outer] clothes and clad me therein, saying, "fear not; for he, that perished under thee, was one of our slaves." then he took me up behind him and rode on with me, till we came to a desert place, when he said to me, "alight now and walk on between yonder mountains till thou seest the city of brass; then halt afar off and enter it not, till i return to thee and teach thee how thou shalt do." "i hear and obey," replied i and alighting, walked on till i came to the city, the walls whereof i found of brass. i went round about it, looking for a gate, but found none; and presently, the serpent's brother rejoined me and gave me a charmed sword that should hinder any from seeing me, then went his way. he had been gone but a little while, when i heard a noise of cries and found myself in the midst of a multitude of folk whose eyes were in their breasts. quoth they, "who art thou and what brings thee hither?" so i told them my story, and they said, "the girl thou seekest is in the city with the marid; but we know not what he hath done with her. as for us, we are brethren of the white serpent. but go to yonder spring and note where the water enters, and enter thou with it; for it will bring thee into the city." i did as they bade me and followed the water-course, till it brought me to a grotto under the earth, from which i ascended and found myself in the midst of the city. here i saw the damsel seated upon a throne of gold, under a canopy of brocade, midmost a garden full of trees of gold, whose fruits were jewels of price, such as rubies and chrysolites and pearls and coral. when she saw me, she knew me and accosted me with the [obligatory] salutation, saying, "o my lord, who brought thee hither?" so i told her all that had passed and she said, "know that the accursed marid, of the greatness of his love for me, hath told me what doth him hurt and what profit and that there is here a talisman by means whereof he could, an he would, destroy this city and all that are therein. it is in the likeness of an eagle, with i know not what written on it, and whoso possesses it, the afrits will do his commandment in everything. it stands upon a column in such a place; so go thou thither and take it. then set it before thee and taking a chafing-dish, throw into it a little musk, whereupon there will arise a smoke, that will draw all the afrits to thee, and they will all present themselves before thee, nor shall one be absent; and whatsoever thou biddest them, that will they do. arise therefore and do this thing, with the blessing of god the most high." "i hear and obey," answered i and going to the column, did what she bade me, whereupon the afrits presented themselves, saying, "here are we, o our lord! whatsoever thou biddest us, that will we do." quoth i, "bind the marid that brought the damsel hither." "we hear and obey," answered they and disappearing, returned after awhile and informed me that they had done my bidding. then i dismissed them and returning to my wife, told her what had happened and said to her, "wilt thou go with me?" "yes," answered she. so i carried her forth of the city, by the underground channel, and we fared on, till we fell in with the folk who had shown me the way into the city. i besought them to teach me how i should return to my native land; so they brought us to the seashore and set us aboard a ship, which sailed on with us with a fair wind, till we reached the city of bassora. here we landed, and i carried my wife to her father's house; and when her people saw her, they rejoiced with an exceeding joy. then i fumigated the eagle with musk and the afrits flocked to me from all sides, saying, "at thy service; what wilt thou have us do?" i bade them transport all that was in the city of brass of gold and silver and jewels and precious things to my house in bassora, which they did; and i then ordered them to fetch the ape. so they brought him before me, abject and humiliated, and i said to him, "o accursed one, why hast thou dealt thus perfidiously with me?" then i commanded the afrits to shut him in a brazen vessel: so they put him in a strait vessel of brass and sealed it with lead. but i abode with my wife in joy and delight; and now, o commander of the faithful, i have under my hand such stores of precious things and rare jewels and other treasure as neither reckoning may comprise nor measure suffice unto. all this is of the bounty of god the most high, and if thou desire aught of money or what not, i will bid the jinn bring it to thee forthright.' the khalif wondered greatly at his story and bestowed on him royal gifts, in exchange for his presents, and entreated him with the favour he deserved. the generous dealing of yehya ben khalid the barmecide with mensour. it is told that haroun er reshid, in the days before he became jealous of the barmecides, sent once for one of his guards, salih by name, and said to him, 'o salih, go to mensour[fn# ] and say to him, "thou owest us a thousand thousand dirhems and we require of thee immediate payment of the amount." and i charge thee, o salih, an he pay it not before sundown, sever his head from his body and bring it to me.' 'i hear and obey,' answered salih and going to mensour, acquainted him with what the khalif had said, whereupon quoth he, 'by allah, i am a lost man; for all my estate and all my hand owns, if sold for their utmost value, would not fetch more than a hundred thousand dirhems. whence then, o salih, shall i get the other nine hundred thousand?' 'contrive how thou mayst speedily acquit thyself,' answered salih; 'else art thou a dead man; for i cannot grant thee a moment's delay after the time appointed me by the khalif, nor can i fail of aught that he hath enjoined on me. hasten, therefore, to devise some means of saving thyself ere the time expire.' 'o salih,' quoth mensour, 'i beg thee of thy favour to bring me to my house, that i may take leave of my children and family and give my kinsfolk my last injunctions.' so he carried him to his house, where he fell to bidding his family farewell, and the house was filled with a clamour of weeping and lamentation and calling on god for help. then salih said to him, 'i have bethought me that god may peradventure vouchsafe thee relief at the hands of the barmecides. come, let us go to the house of yehya ben khalid.' so they went to yehya's house, and mensour told him his case, whereat he was sore concerned and bowed his head awhile; then raising it, he called his treasurer and said to him, 'how much money have we in our treasury?' 'five thousand dirhems,' answered the treasurer, and yehya bade him bring them and sent a message to his son fezl, saying, 'i am offered for sale estates of great price, that may never be laid waste; so send me somewhat of money.' fezl sent him a thousand thousand dirhems, and he despatched a like message to his son jaafer, who also sent him a thousand thousand dirhems; nor did he leave sending to his kinsmen of the barmecides, till he had collected from them a great sum of mosey for mensour. but the latter and salih knew not of this; and mensour said to yehya, 'o my lord, i have laid hold upon thy skirt for i know not whither to look for the money but to thee; so discharge thou the rest of my debt for me, in accordance with thy wonted generosity, and make me thy freed slave.' thereupon yehya bowed his head and wept; then he said to a page, 'harkye, boy, the commander of the faithful gave our slave-girl denanir a jewel of great price: go thou to her and bid her send it us.' the page went out and presently returned with the jewel, whereupon quoth yehya, 'o mensour, i bought this jewel of the merchants for the commander of the faithful, for two hundred thousand diners, and he gave it to our slave-girl denanir the lutanist. when he sees it with thee, he will know it and spare thy life and do thee honour for our sake; and now thy money is complete.' so salih took the money and the jewel and carried them to the khalif, together with mensour; but on the way? he heard the latter repeat this verse, applying it to his own case: it was not love, indeed, my feet to them that led; nay, but because the stroke of th' arrows i did dread. when salih heard this, he marvelled at the baseness and ingratitude of mensour's nature, and turning upon him, said, 'there is none on the face of the earth better than the barmecides, nor any baser nor more depraved than thou; for they bought thee off from death and saved thee from destruction, giving thee what should deliver thee; yet thou thankest them not nor praisest them, neither acquittest thee after the manner of the noble; nay, thou requitest their benevolence with this speech.' then he went to er reshid and acquainted him with all that had passed; and he marvelled at the generosity and benevolence of yehya ben khalid and the baseness and ingratitude of mensour and bade restore the jewel to yehya, saying, 'that which we have given, it befits not that we take again.' so salih returned to yehya, and acquainted him with mensour's ill conduct; whereupon, 'o salih,' replied he, 'when a man is in distress, sick at heart and distracted with melancholy thought. he is not to be blamed for aught that falls from him; for it comes not from the heart.' and he fell to seeking excuse for mensour. but salih wept [in telling the tale] and exclaimed, 'never shall the revolving sphere bring forth into being the like of thee, o yehya! alas, that one of such noble nature and generosity should be buried beneath the earth! 'and he repeated the following verses: hasten to do the kindnesses thou hast a mind unto; for bounty is not possible at every tide and hour. how many a man denies his soul to do the generous deed, to which it's fain, till lack of means deprive him of the power! the generous dealing of yehya ben khalid with a man who forged a letter in his name. there was between yehya ben khalid and abdallah ben malik el khuzai[fn# ] a secret enmity, the reason whereof was that haroun er reshid loved the latter with an exceeding love, so that yehya and his sons were wont to say that he had bewitched the khalif; and thus they abode a long while, with rancour in their hearts, till it fell out that the khalif invested abdallah with the government of armenia and sent him thither. soon after he had established himself in his seat of government, there came to him one of the people of irak, a man of excellent parts and good breeding, who had lost his wealth and wasted his substance, and his estate was come to nought; so he forged a letter to abdallah in yehya's name and set out therewith for armenia. when he came to the governor's gate, he gave the letter to one of the chamberlains, who carried it to his master. abdallah read it and considering it attentively, knew it to be forged; so he sent for the man, who presented himself before him and called down blessings upon him and praised him and those of his court. quoth abdallah to him, 'what moved thee to weary thyself thus and bring me a forged letter? but be of good heart; for we will not disappoint thy travail.' 'god prolong the life of our lord the vizier!' replied the other. 'if my coming irk thee, cast not about for a pretext to repel me, for god's earth is wide and the divine provider liveth. indeed, the letter i bring thee from yehya ben khalid is true and no forgery.' quoth abdallah, 'i will write a letter to my agent at baghdad and bid him enquire concerning the letter. if it be true, as thou sayest, i will bestow on thee the government of one of my cities; or, if thou prefer a present, i will give thee two hundred thousand dirhems, besides horses and camels of price and a robe of honour. but, if the letter prove a forgery, i will have thee beaten with two hundred blows of a stick and thy beard shaven.' accordingly, he bade confine him in a privy chamber and furnish him therein with all he needed, till his case should be made manifest. then he despatched a letter to his agent at baghdad, to the following purport: 'there is come to me a man with a letter purporting to be from yehya ben khalid. now i have my doubts of this letter: so delay thou not, but go thyself and learn the truth of the case and let me have an answer in all speed.' when the letter reached the agent, he mounted at once and betook himself to the house of yehya ben khalid, whom he found sitting with his officers and boon-companions. so he gave him the letter and he read it and said to the agent, 'come back to me to-morrow, against i write thee an answer.' when the agent had gone away, yehya turned to his companions and said, 'what doth he deserve who forgeth a letter in my name and carrieth it to my enemy?' they all answered, saying this and that, each proposing some kind of punishment; but yehya said, 'ye err in that ye say and this your counsel is of the meanness and baseness of your spirits. ye all know the close favour of abdallah with the khalif and what is between him and us of despite and enmity; and now god the most high hath made this man an intermediary, to effect a reconciliation between us, and hath appointed him to quench the fire of hate in our hearts, which hath been growing this score years; and by his means our differences shall be accorded. wherefore it behoves me to requite him by confirming his expectation and amending his estate; so i will write him a letter to abdallah, to the intent that he may use him with increase of honour and liberality.' when his companions heard what he said, they called down blessings on him and marvelled at his generosity and the greatness of his magnanimity. then he called for paper and ink and wrote abdallah a letter in his own hand, to the following effect: 'in the name of god, the compassionate, the merciful! thy letter hath reached me (may god give thee long life!) and i have read it and rejoice in thy health and well-being. it was thy thought that yonder worthy man had forged a letter in my name and that he was not the bearer of any message from me; but the case is not so, for the letter i myself wrote, and it was no forgery; and i hope, of thy courtesy and benevolence and the nobility of thy nature, that thou wilt fulfil this generous and excellent man of his hope and wish and use him with the honour he deserves and bring him to his desire and make him the special object of thy favour and munificence. whatever thou dost with him, it is to me that thou dost it, and i am beholden to thee accordingly.' then he superscribed the letter and sealing it, delivered it to the agent, who despatched it to abdallah. when the latter read it, he was charmed with its contents and sending for the man, said to him, 'now will i give thee which thou wilt of the two things i promised thee.' 'the gift were more acceptable to me than aught else,' replied the man; whereupon abdallah ordered him two hundred thousand dirhems and ten arab horses, five with housings of silk and other five with richly ornamented saddles of state, besides twenty chests of clothes and ten mounted white slaves and a proportionate quantity of jewels of price. moreover, he bestowed on him a dress of honour and sent him to baghdad in great state. when he came thither, he repaired to yehya's house, before he went to his own folk, and sought an audience of him. so the chamberlain went in to yehya and said to him, 'o my lord, there is one at our door who craves speech of thee; and he is a man of apparent wealth and consideration, comely of aspect and attended by many servants.' yehya bade admit him; so he entered and kissed the ground before him. 'who art thou?' asked yehya; and he answered, 'o my lord, i am one who was dead from the tyranny of fortune; but thou didst raise me again from the grave of calamities and preferredst me to the paradise of [my] desires. i am he who forged a letter in thy name and carried it to abdallah ben malek el khuzai.' 'how hath he dealt with thee,' asked yehya, 'and what did he give thee?' quoth the man, 'he hath made me rich and overwhelmed me with presents and favours, thanks to thee and thy great generosity and magnanimity and to thine exceeding goodness and abounding munificence and thine all-embracing liberality. and now, behold, i have brought all that he gave me, and it is at thy door; for it is thine to command, and the decision is in thy hand.' 'thou hast done me better service than i thee,' rejoined yehya; 'and i owe thee thanks without stint and abundant largesse, for that thou hast changed the enmity that was between me and yonder man of worship into love and friendship. wherefore i will give thee the like of what abdallah gave thee.' then he ordered him money and horses and apparel, such as abdallah had given him; and thus that man's fortune was restored to him by the munificence of these two generous men. the khalif el mamoun and the strange doctor it is said that there was none, among the khalifs of the house of abbas, more accomplished in all branches of knowledge than el mamoun. on two days in each week, he was wont to preside at conferences of the learned, when the doctors and theologians met and sitting, each in his several rank and room, disputed in his presence. one day, as he sat thus, there came into the assembly a stranger, clad in worn white clothes, and sat down in an obscure place, behind the doctors of the law. then the assembled scholars began to speak and expound difficult questions, it being the custom that the various propositions should be submitted to each in turn and that whoso bethought him of some subtle addition or rare trait, should make mention of it. so the question went round till it came to the stranger, who spoke in his turn and made a goodlier answer than that of any of the doctors; and the khalif approved his speech and bade advance him to a higher room. when the second question came round to him, he made a still more admirable answer, and the khalif ordered him to be preferred to a yet higher place. when the third question reached him, he made answer more justly and appropriately than on the two previous occasions, and el mamoun bade him come up and sit near himself. when the conference broke up, water was brought and they washed their hands; after which food was set on and they ate. then the doctors arose and withdrew; but el mamoun forbade the stranger to depart with them and calling him to himself, entreated him with especial favour and promised him honour and benefits. presently, they made ready the banquet of wine; the fair-faced boon-companions came and the cup went round amongst them till it came to the stranger, who rose to his feet and said, 'if the commander of the faithful permit me, i will say one word.' 'say what thou wilt,' answered the khalif. quoth the stranger, 'verily, the exalted intelligence[fn# ] (whose eminence god increase!) knoweth that his slave was this day, in the august assembly, one of the unknown folk and of the meanest of the company, and the commander of the faithful distinguished him and brought him near to himself, little as was the wit he showed, preferring him above the rest and advancing him to a rank whereto his thought aspired not: and now he is minded to deprive him of that small portion of wit that raised him from obscurity and augmented him, after his littleness. god forfend that the commander of the faithful should envy his slave what little he hath of understanding and worth and renown! but, if his slave should drink wine, his reason would depart from him and ignorance draw near to him and steal away his good breeding; so would he revert to that low degree, whence he sprang, and become contemptible and ridiculous in the eyes of the folk. i hope, therefore, that the august intelligence, of his power and bounty and royal generosity and magnanimity, will not despoil his slave of this jewel.' when the khalif heard his speech, he praised him and thanked him and making him sit down again in his place, showed him high honour and ordered him a present of a hundred thousand diners. moreover he mounted him upon a horse and gave him rich apparel; and in every assembly he exalted him and showed him favour over all the other doctors, till he became the highest of them all in rank. ali shar and zumurrud. there lived once, of old days, in the land of khorassan, a merchant called mejdeddin, who had great wealth and many slaves and servants, black and white; but he was childless until he reached the age of threescore, when god the most high vouchsafed him a son, whom he named ali shar. the boy grew up like the moon on the night of its full, and when he came to man's estate and was endowed with all kinds of perfection, his father fell sick of a mortal malady and calling his son to him, said to him, 'o my son, the hour of my death is at hand, and i desire to give thee my last injunctions.' 'and what are they, o my father?' asked ali. 'o my son,' answered mejdeddin, 'i charge thee, be not [too] familiar with any and eschew what leads to evil and mischief. beware lest thou company with the wicked; for he is like the blacksmith; if his fire burn thee not, his smoke irks thee: and how excellent is the saying of the poet: there is no man in all the world whose love thou shouldst desire, no friend who, if fate play thee false, will true and constant be. wherefore i'd have thee live apart and lean for help on none. in this i give thee good advice; so let it profit thee. and what another saith: men are a latent malady; count not on them, i counsel thee. an if thou look into their case, they're full of guile and perfidy. and yet a third: the company of men will profit thee in nought, except to pass away the time in idle prate; so spare thou to converse with them, except it be for gain of lore and wit or mending of estate. and a fourth if a quickwitted man have made proof of mankind, i have eaten of them, where but tasted hath he, and have seen their affection but practice and nought but hypocrisy found their religion to be.' 'o my father,' said ali, 'i hear and obey: what more shall i do?' 'do good when thou art able thereto,' answered his father; 'be ever courteous and succourable to men and profit by all occasions of doing a kindness; for a design is not always easy of accomplishment; and how well saith the poet: 'tis not at every time and season that to do kind offices, indeed, is easy unto you; so, when the occasion serves, make haste to profit by't, lest by and by the power should fail thee thereunto.' 'i hear and obey,' answered ali; 'what more?' 'be mindful of god,' continued mejdeddin, 'and he will be mindful of thee. husband thy wealth and squander it not; for, if thou do, thou wilt come to have need of the least of mankind. know that the measure of a man's worth is according to what his right hand possesses: and how well saith the poet: if wealth should fail, there is no friend will bear me company, but whilst my substance yet abounds, all men are friends to me. how many a foe for money's sake hath companied with me! how many a friend for loss thereof hath turned mine enemy!' 'what more?' asked ali. 'o my son,' said mejdeddin, 'take counsel of those who are older than thou and hasten not to do thy heart's desire. have compassion on those that are below thee, so shall those that are above thee have compassion on thee; and oppress none, lest god set over thee one who shall oppress thee. how well saith the poet: add others' wit to thine and counsel still ensue; for that the course of right is not concealed from two. one mirror shows a man his face, but, if thereto another one he add, his nape thus can he view. and as saith another: be slow to move and hasten not to match thy heart's desire: be merciful to all, as thou on mercy reckonest; for no hand is there but the hand of god is over it, and no oppressor but shall be with worse than he opprest. and yet another: do no oppression, whilst the power thereto is in thine hand; for still in peril of revenge the sad oppressor goes. thine eyes will sleep anon, what while the opprest, on wake, call down curses upon thee, and god's eye shuts never in repose. beware of drinking wine, for it is the root of all evil: it does away the reason and brings him who uses it into contempt; and how well saith the poet: by allah, wine shall never invade me, whilst my soul endureth in my body and my thoughts my words control! not a day long will i turn me to the zephyr-freshened bowl, and for friend i'll choose him only who of wine-bibbing is whole. this, then,' added mejdeddin, 'is my charge to thee; keep it before thine eyes, and may god stand to thee in my stead.' then he swooned away and kept silence awhile. when he came to himself, he besought pardon of god and making the profession of the faith, was admitted to the mercy of the most high. his son wept and lamented for him and made due preparation for his burial. great and small attended him to the grave and the readers recited the koran about his bier; nor did ali shar omit aught of what was due to the dead. then they prayed over him and committed him to the earth, graving these words upon his tomb: created of the dust thou wast and cam'st to life and eloquence didst learn and spokest many a word; then to the dust again returnedst and wast dead, as 'twere from out the dust, indeed, thou'dst never stirred. his son ali shar grieved for him and mourned him after the wont of men of condition; nor did he cease therefrom till his mother died also, not long afterward, when he did with her as he had done with his father. then he sat in the shop, selling and buying and consorting with none of god's creatures, in accordance with his father's injunction. on this wise he abode for a year, at the end of which time there came in to him certain whoreson fellows by craft and companied with him, till he turned with them to lewdness and swerved from the right way, drinking wine in goblets and frequenting the fair night and day; for he said in himself, 'my father amassed this wealth for me, and if i spend it not, to whom shall i leave it? by allah, i will not do save as saith the poet: if all the days of thy life thou get and heap up treasure, to swell thy hoard, when wilt thou use it and so enjoy that thou hast gathered and gained and stored?' then he ceased not to squander his wealth all tides of the day and watches of the night, till he had made away with it all and abode in evil case and troubled at heart. so he sold his shop and lands and so forth, and after this he sold the clothes off his body, leaving himself but one suit. then drunkenness left him and thought came to him, and he fell into melancholy. one day, when he had sat from day-break to mid-afternoon without breaking his fast, he said in himself, 'i will go round to those on whom i spent my wealth: it may be one of them will feed me this day.' so he went the round of them all; but, as often as he knocked at any one's door, the man denied himself and hid from him, till he was consumed with hunger. then he betook himself to the bazaar, where he found a crowd of people, assembled in a ring round somewhat, and said in himself, 'i wonder what ails the folk to crowd together thus? by allah, i will not remove hence, till i see what is within yonder ring!' so he made his way into the ring and found that the crowd was caused by a damsel exposed for sale. she was five feet high, slender of shape, rosy-cheeked and high- bosomed and surpassed all the people of her time in beauty and grace and elegance and perfection; even as saith one, describing her: as she wished, she was created, after such a wise that lo! she in beauty's mould was fashioned, perfect, neither less no mo'. loveliness itself enamoured of her lovely aspect is; coyness decks her and upon her, pride and pudour sweetly show. in her face the full moon glitters and the branch is as her shape; musk her breath is, nor midst mortals is her equal, high or low. 'tis as if she had been moulded out of water of pure pearls; in each member of her beauty is a very moon, i trow. and her name was zumurrud. when ali shar saw her, he marvelled at her beauty and grace and said, 'by allah, i will not stir hence till i see what price this girl fetches and know who buys her!' so he stood with the rest of the merchants, and they thought he had a mind to buy her, knowing the wealth he had inherited from his parents. then the broker stood at the damsel's head and said, 'ho, merchants! ho, men of wealth! who will open the biddings for this damsel, the mistress of moons, the splendid pearl, zumurrud the curtain-maker, the aim of the seeker and the delight of the desirous? open the biddings, and on the opener be nor blame nor reproach.' so one merchant said, 'i bid five hundred dinars for her.' 'and ten,' said another. 'six hundred,' cried an old man named reshideddin, blue-eyed and foul of face. 'and ten,' quoth another. 'i bid a thousand,' rejoined reshideddin; whereupon the other merchants were silent and the broker took counsel with the girl's owner, who said, 'i have sworn not to sell her save to whom she shall choose; consult her.' so the broker went up to zumurrud and said to her, 'o mistress of moons, yonder merchant hath a mind to buy thee.' she looked as reshideddin and finding him as we have said, replied, 'i will not be sold to a grey- beard, whom decrepitude hath brought to evil plight.' 'bravo,' quoth i, 'for one who saith: i asked her for a kiss one day, but she my hoary head saw, though of wealth and worldly good i had great plentihead; so, with a proud and flouting air, her back she turned on me and, "no, by him who fashioned men from nothingness!" she said. "now, by god's truth, i never had a mind to hoary hairs, and shall my mouth be stuffed, forsooth, with cotton, ere i'm dead?" 'by allah,' quoth the broker, 'thou art excusable, and thy value is ten thousand dinars!' so he told her owner that she would not accept of reshideddin, and he said, 'ask her of another.' thereupon another man came forward and said, 'i will take her at the same price.' she looked at him and seeing that his beard was dyed, said, 'what is this lewd and shameful fashion and blackening of the face of hoariness?' and she made a great show of amazement and repeated the following verses: a sight, and what a sight, did such a one present to me! a neck, to beat with shoes, by allah, meant! and eke a beard for lie a coursing-ground that was and brows for binding on of ropes all crook'd and bent.[fn# ] thou that my cheeks and shape have ravished, with a lie thou dost disguise thyself and reck'st not, impudent; dyeing thy hoary hairs disgracefully with black[fn# ] and hiding what appears, with fraudulent intent; as of the puppet-men thou wert, with one beard go'st and with another com'st again, incontinent. and how well saith another: quoth she to me, "i see thou dy'st thy hoariness;" and i, "i do but hide it from thy sight, o thou my ear and eye!"[fn# ] she laughed out mockingly and said, "a wonder 'tis indeed! thou so aboundest in deceit that even thy hair's a lie." 'by allah,' quoth the broker, 'thou hast spoken truly!' the merchant asked what she said: so the broker repeated the verses to him, and he knew that she was in the right and desisted from buying her. then another came forward and would have bought her at the same price; but she looked at him and seeing that he had but one eye, said, 'this man is one-eyed; and it is of such as he that the poet saith: consort not with him that is one-eyed a day, and be on thy guard 'gainst his mischief and lies: for god, if in him aught of good had been found, had not curst him with blindness in one of his eyes.' then the broker brought her another bidder and said to her, 'wilt thou be sold to this man?' she looked at him and seeing that he was short of stature and had a beard that reached to his navel, said, 'this is he of whom the poet speaks, when he says: i have a friend, who has a beard, that god caused flourish without profit, till, behold. 'tis, as it were, to look upon, a night of middle winter, long and dark and cold.' 'o my lady,' said the broker, 'look who pleases thee of these that are present, and point him out, that i may sell thee to him.' so she looked round the ring of merchants, examining them one by one, till her eyes rested on ali shar. his sight cost her a thousand sighs and her heart was taken with him: for that he was passing fair of favour and more pleasant than the northern zephyr; and she said, 'o broker, i will be sold to none but my lord there, he of the handsome face and slender shape, whom the poet describes in the following verses: they showed thy lovely face and railed at her whom ravishment assailed. had they desired to keep me chaste, thy face so fair they should have veiled. none shall possess me but he,' added she; 'for his cheek is smooth and the water of his mouth sweet as selsebil;[fn# ] his sight is a cure for the sick and his charms confound poet and proser, even as saith one of him: the water of his mouth is wine, and very musk the fragrance of his breath; his teeth are camphor white. rizwan hath put him our from paradise, for fear the black-eyed girls of heaven be tempted with the wight. men blame him for his pride; but the full moon's excuse, how proud so'er it be, finds favour in our sight. him of the curling locks and rose-red cheeks and enchanting glances, of whom saith the poet: a slender loveling promised me his favours fair and free; so my heart's restless and my eye looks still his sight to see. his eyelids warranted me the keeping of his troth; but how shall they, that bankrupt[fn# ] are, fulfil their warranty? and as saith another: "the script of whiskers on his cheek," quoth they, "is plain to see: how canst thou then enamoured be of him, and whiskered he?" quoth i, "have done with blame and leave your censuring, i pray. as if it be a very script, it is a forgery. lo, in the gathering of his cheeks the meads of eden be, and more by token that his lips are kauther,[fn# ], verily." when the broker heard the verses she repeated on the charms of ali shar, he marvelled at her eloquence, no less than at the brightness of her beauty; but her owner said to him, 'marvel not at her beauty, that shames the sun of day, nor that her mind is stored with the choicest verses of the poets; for, besides this, she can repeat the glorious koran, according to the seven readings, and the august traditions, after the authentic text; and she writes the seven hands and is versed in more branches of knowledge than the most learned doctor. moreover, her hands are better than gold and silver; for she makes curtains of silk and sells them for fifty dinars each; and it takes her eight days to make a curtain.' 'happy the man,' exclaimed the broker, 'who hath her in his house and maketh her of his privy treasures!' and her owner said, 'sell her to whom she will.' so the broker went up to ali shar and kissing his hands, said to him, 'o my lord, buy thou this damsel, for she hath made choice of thee.' then he set forth to him all her charms and accomplishments, and added: 'i give thee joy, if thou buy her, for she is a gift from him who is no niggard of his giving.' ali bowed his head awhile, laughing to himself and saying inwardly, 'up to now i have not broken my fast; yet i am ashamed to own before the merchants that i have no money wherewith to buy her.' the damsel, seeing him hang down his head, said to the broker, 'take my hand and lead me to him, that i may show myself to him and tempt him to buy me; for i will not be sold to any but him.' so the broker took her hand and stationed her before ali shar, saying, 'what is thy pleasure, o my lord?' but he made him no answer, and the girl said to him, 'o my lord and darling of my heart, what ails thee that thou wilt not bid for me? buy me for what thou wilt, and i will bring thee good fortune.' ali raised his eyes to her and said, 'must i buy thee perforce? thou art dear at one thousand dinars.' 'then buy me for nine hundred,' answered she. 'nay,' rejoined he; and she said, 'then for eight hundred;' and ceased not to abate the price, till she came to a hundred dinars. quoth he, 'i have not quite a hundred dinars.' 'how much dost thou lack of a hundred?' asked she, laughing. 'by allah,' replied he, 'i have neither a hundred dinars, nor any other sum; for i own neither white money nor red, neither dinar nor dirhem. so look out for another customer.' when she knew that he had nothing, she said to him, 'take me by the hand and carry me aside into a passage, as if thou wouldst examine me privily.' he did so and she took from her bosom a purse containing a thousand dinars, which she gave him saying, 'pay down nine hundred to my price and keep the rest to provide us withal.' he did as she bade him and buying her for nine hundred dinars, paid down the price from the purse and carried her to his house, which when she entered, she found nothing but bare floors, without carpets or vessels. so she gave him other thousand dinars, saying, 'go to the bazaar and buy three hundred dinars' worth of furniture and vessels for the house and three dinars' worth of meat and drink, also a piece of silk, the size of a curtain, and gold and silver thread and [sewing] silk of seven colours.' he did her bidding, and she furnished the house and they sat down to eat and drink; after which they went to bed and took their pleasure, one of the other. and they lay the night embraced and were even as saith the poet: cleave fast to her thou lov'st and let the envious rail amain; for calumny and envy ne'er to favour love were fain. lo, whilst i slept, in dreams i saw thee lying by my side and from thy lips the sweetest, sure, of limpid springs did drain. yea, true and certain all i saw is, as i will avouch, and 'spite the envier, thereto i surely will attain. there is no goodlier sight, indeed, for eyes to look upon, than when one couch in its embrace enfoldeth lovers twain, each to the other's bosom clasped, clad in their twinned delight, whilst hand with hand and arm with arm about their necks enchain. lo, when two hearts are straitly knit in passion and desire, but on cold iron smite the folk who chide at them in vain. thou, that for loving censurest the votaries of love, canst thou assain a heart diseased or heal a cankered brain? if in thy time thou find but one to love thee and be true, i rede thee cast the world away and with that one remain. they lay together till the morning and love for the other was stablished in the heart of each of them. on the morrow, zumurrud took the curtain and embroidered it with coloured silks and gold and silver thread, depicting thereon all manner birds and beasts; nor is there in the world a beast but she wrought on the curtain the semblant thereof. moreover, she made thereto a band, with figures of birds, and wrought at it eight days, till she had made an end of it, when she trimmed it and ironed it and gave it to ali, saying, 'carry it to the bazaar and sell it to one of the merchants for fifty dinars; but beware lest thou sell it to a passer-by, for this would bring about a separation between us, because we have enemies who are not unmindful of us.' 'i hear and obey,' answered he and repairing to the bazaar, sold the curtain to a merchant, as she bade him; after which he bought stuff for another curtain and silk and gold and silver thread as before and what they needed of food, and brought all this to her, together with the rest of the money. they abode thus a whole year, and every eight days she made a curtain, which he sold for fifty dinars. at the end of the year, he went to the bazaar, as usual, with a curtain, which he gave to the broker; and there came up to him a christian, who bid him threescore dinars for the curtain; but he refused, and the christian went on to bid higher and higher, till he came to a hundred dinars and bribed the broker with ten gold pieces. so the latter returned to ali and told him of this and urged him to accept the offer, saying, 'o my lord, be not afraid of this christian, for he can do thee no hurt.' the merchants also were instant with him to accept the offer; so he sold the curtain to the christian, though his heart misgave him, and taking the price, set off to return home. presently, he found the christian walking behind him; so he said to him, 'o nazarene, why dost thou follow me?' 'o my lord,' answered the other, 'i have a need at the end of the street, may god never bring thee to need!' ali went on, but, as he came to the door of his house, the christian overtook him; so he said to him, 'o accursed one, what ails thee to follow me wherever i go?' 'o my lord,' replied the other, 'give me a draught of water, for i am athirst; and with god the most high be thy reward!' quoth ali in himself, 'verily, this man is a tributary [of the khalifate] and seeks a draught of water of me; by allah, i will not disappoint him!' so he entered the house and took a mug of water; but zumurrud saw him and said to him, 'o my love, hast thou sold the curtain?' 'yes,' answered he. 'to a merchant or a passer-by?' asked she. 'for my heart forethinketh me of separation.' 'to a merchant, of course,' replied he. but she rejoined, 'tell me the truth of the case, that i may order my affair; and what wantest thou with the mug of water?' 'to give the broker a drink,' answered he; whereupon she exclaimed, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme!' and repeated the following verses: o thou that seekest parting, stay thy feet: let clips and kisses not delude thy spright. softly, for fortune's nature is deceit and parting is the end of love-delight. then he took the mug and going out, found the christian within the vestibule and said to him, 'o dog, how darest thou enter my house without my leave?' 'o my lord,' answered he, 'there is no difference between the door and the vestibule and i will not budge hence, save to go out; and i am beholden to thee for thy kindness.' then he took the mug and emptying it, returned it to ali, who took it and waited for him to go; but he did not move. so ali said to him, 'why dost thou not rise and go thy way?' 'o my lord,' answered the christian, 'be not of those that do a kindness and after make a reproach of it, nor one of whom saith the poet: gone, gone are they who, if thou stoodst before their door of old, had, at thy seeking, handselled thee with benefits untold! and if thou stoodest at their door who follow after them, these latter would begrudge to thee a draught of water cold. o my lord,' continued he, 'i have drunk, and now i would have thee give me to eat of whatever is in the house, though it be but a crust of bread or a biscuit and an onion.' 'begone, without more talk,' replied ali; 'there is nothing in the house.' 'o my lord,' insisted the christian, 'if there be nothing in the house, take these hundred dinars and fetch us somewhat from the market, if but a cake of bread, that bread and salt may pass between us.' with this, quoth ali to himself, 'this christian is surely mad; i will take the hundred dinars and bring somewhat worth a couple of dirhems and laugh at him.' 'o my lord,' added the christian, 'i want but somewhat to stay my hunger, were it but a cake of dry bread and an onion; for the best food is that which does away hunger, not rich meats; and how well saith the poet: a cake of dry stale bread will hunger out to flight: why then are grief and care so heavy on my spright? death is, indeed, most just, since, with an equal hand, khalif and beggar-wretch, impartial, it doth smite.' then said ali, 'wait here, whilst i lock the saloon and fetch thee somewhat from the market.' 'i hear and obey,' said the christian. so ali shut up the saloon and locking the door with a padlock, put the key in his pocket: after which he repaired to the market and bought fried cheese and virgin honey and bananas and bread, with which he returned to the christian. when the latter saw this, he said, 'o my lord, this is [too] much; thou hast brought enough for half a score men and i am alone; but belike thou wilt eat with me.' 'eat by thyself,' replied ali; 'i am full.' 'o my lord,' rejoined the christian, 'the wise say, "he who eats not with his guest is a base-born churl."' when ali heard this, he sat down and ate a little with him, after which he would have held his hand: but [whilst he was not looking] the christian took a banana and peeled it, then, splitting it in twain, put into one half concentrated henbane, mixed with opium, a drachm whereof would overthrow an elephant. this half he dipped in the honey and gave to ali shar, saying, 'o my lord, i swear by thy religion that thou shalt take this.' ali was ashamed to make him forsworn; so he took the half banana and swallowed it; but hardly had it reached his stomach, when his head fell down in front of his feet and he was as though he had been a year asleep. when the nazarene saw this, he rose, as he had been a bald wolf or a baited cat, and taking the saloon key, made off at a run, leaving ali shar prostrate. now this christian was the brother of the decrepit old man who thought to buy zumurrud for a thousand dinars, but she would have none of him and flouted him in verse. he was an infidel at heart, though a muslim in outward show, and called himself reshideddin;[fn# ] and when zumurrud mocked him and would not accept of him to her lord, he complained to his brother, the aforesaid christian, bersoum by name, who said to him, 'fret not thyself about this affair; for i will make shift to get her for thee, without paying a penny.' now he was a skilful sorcerer crafty and wicked; so he watched his time and played ali shar the trick aforesaid; then, taking the key, he went to his brother and told him what had passed, whereupon reshideddin mounted his mule and repaired with his servants to ali shar's house, taking with him a purse of a thousand dinars, wherewith to bribe the master of police, should he meet him. he unlocked the saloon door, and the men who were with him rushed in upon zumurrud and seized her, threatening her with death if she spoke; but they left the house as it was and took nothing therefrom. moreover, they laid the key by ali's side and leaving him lying in the vestibule, shut the door on him and went away. the christian carried the girl to his own house and setting her amongst his women and concubines, said to her, 'o strumpet, i am the old man, whom thou did reject and lampoon; but now i have thee, without paying a penny.' 'god requite thee, o wicked old man,' replied she, with her eyes full of tears, 'for sundering my lord and me!' 'wanton doxy that thou art,' rejoined he,' thou shalt see how i will punish thee! by the virtue of the messiah and the virgin, except thou obey me and embrace my faith, i will torture thee with all manner of torture!' 'by allah,' answered she, 'though thou cut me in pieces, i will not forswear the faith of islam! it may be god the most high will bring me speedy relief, for he is all-powerful, and the wise say, "better hurt in body than in religion."' thereupon the old man called out to his eunuchs and women, saying, 'throw her down!' so they threw her down and he beat her grievously, whilst she cried in vain for help, but presently stinted and fell to saying, 'god is my sufficiency, and he is indeed sufficient!' till her breath failed her and she swooned away. when he had taken his fill of beating her, he said to the eunuchs, 'drag her forth by the feet and cast her down in the kitchen, and give her nothing to eat.' they did his bidding, and on the morrow the accursed old man sent for her and beat her again, after which he bade return her to her place. when the pain of the blows had subsided, she said, 'there is no god but god and mohammed is his apostle! god is my sufficiency and excellent is he in whom i put my trust!' and she called upon our lord mohammed (whom god bless and preserve) for succour. meanwhile, ali shar slept on till next day, when the fumes of the henbane quitted his brain and he awoke and cried out, 'o zumurrud!' but none answered him. so he entered the saloon and found 'the air empty and the place of visitation distant;'[fn# ] whereby he knew that it was the nazarene, who had played him this trick. and he wept and groaned and lamented and repeated the following verses: o fate, thou sparest not nor dost desist from me: lo, for my soul is racked with dolour and despite! have pity, o my lords, upon a slave laid low, upon the rich made poor by love and its unright. what boots the archer's skill, if, when the foe draw near, his bowstring snap and leave him helpless in the fight? and when afflictions press and multiply on man, ah, whither then shall he from destiny take flight? how straitly did i guard 'gainst severance of our loves! but, when as fate descends, it blinds the keenest sight. then he sobbed and repeated these verses also: her traces on the encampment's sands a robe of grace bestow: the mourner yearneth to the place where she dwelt whiles ago. towards her native land she turns; a camp in her doth raise longing, whose very ruins now are scattered to and fro. she stops and questions of the place; but with the case's tongue it answers her, "there is no way to union, i trow. 'tis as the lost a levin were, that glittered on the camp awhile, then vanished and to thee appeareth nevermo'." and he repented, whenas repentance availed him not, and wept and tore his clothes. then he took two stones and went round the city, beating his breast with the stones and crying out, 'o zumurrud!' whilst the children flocked round him, calling out, 'a madman! a madman!' and all who knew him wept for him, saying, 'yonder is such an one: what hath befallen him?' this he did all that day, and when night darkened on him, he lay down in one of the by-streets and slept till morning. on the morrow, he went round about the city with the stones till eventide, when he returned to his house, to pass the night. one of his neighbours, a worthy old woman, saw him and said to him, 'god keep thee, o my son! how long hast thou been mad?' and he answered her with the following verse: quoth they, "thou'rt surely mad for her thou lov'st;" and i replied, "indeed the sweets of life belong unto the raving race. my madness leave and bring me her for whom ye say i'm mad; and if she heal my madness, spare to blame me for my case." therewith she knew him for a lover who had lost his mistress and said, 'there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme! o my son, i would have thee acquaint me with the particulars of thine affliction. peradventure god may enable me to help thee against it, if it so please him.' so he told her all that had happened and she said, 'o my son, indeed thou hast excuse.' and her eyes ran over with tears and she repeated the following verses: torment, indeed, in this our world, true lovers do aby; hell shall not torture them, by god, whenas they come to die! of love they died and to the past their passions chastely hid; so are they martyrs, as, indeed, traditions[fn# ] testify. then she said, 'o my son, go now and buy me a basket, such as the jewel-hawkers carry, and stock it with rings and bracelets and ear-rings and other women's gear, and spare not money. bring all this to me and i will set it on my head and go round about, in the guise of a huckstress, and make search for her in all the houses, till i light on news of her, if it be the will of god the most high.' ali rejoiced in her words and kissed her hands, then, going out, speedily returned with all she required; whereupon she rose and donning a patched gown and a yellow veil, took a staff in her hand and set out, with the basket on her head. she ceased not to go from quarter to quarter and street to street and house to house, till god the most high led her to the house of the accursed reshideddin the nazarene. she heard groans within and knocked at the door, whereupon a slave-girl came down and opening the door to her, saluted her. quoth the old woman, 'i have these trifles for sale: is there any one with you who will buy aught of them?' 'yes,' answered the girl and carrying her indoors, made her sit down; whereupon all the women came round her and each bought something of her. she spoke to them fair and was easy with them as to price, so that they rejoiced in her, because of her pleasant speech and easiness. meanwhile, she looked about to see who it was she had heard groaning, till her eyes fell on zumurrud, when she knew her and saw that she was laid prostrate. so she wept and said to the girls, 'o my children, how comes yonder damsel in this plight?' and they told her what had passed, adding, 'indeed, the thing is not of our choice; but our master commanded us to do this, and he is now absent on a journey.' 'o my children,' said the old woman, 'i have a request to make of you, and it is that you loose this unhappy woman of her bonds, till you know of your lord's return, when do ye bind her again as she was; and you shall earn a reward from the lord of all creatures.' 'we hear and obey,' answered they and loosing zumurrud, gave her to eat and drink. then said the old woman, 'would my leg had been broken, ere i entered your house!' and she went up to zumurrud and said to her, 'o my daughter, take heart; god will surely bring thee relief.' then she told her [privily] that she came from her lord ali shar and appointed her to be on the watch that night, saying, 'thy lord will come to the bench under the gallery and whistle to thee; and when thou hearest him, do thou whistle back to him and let thyself down to him by a rope from the window, and he will take thee and go away.' zumurrud thanked the old woman, and the latter returned to ali shar and told him what she had done, saying, 'go to-night, at midnight, to such a quarter,--for the accursed fellow's house is there and its fashion is thus and thus. stand under the window of the upper chamber and whistle; whereupon she will let herself down to thee; then do thou take her and carry her whither thou wilt.' he thanked her for her good offices and repeated the following verses, with the tears running down his cheeks: let censors cease to rail and chide and leave their idle prate: my body's wasted and my heart weary and desolate; and from desertion and distress my tears, by many a chain of true traditions handed down, do trace their lineage straight. thou that art whole of heart and free from that which i endure of grief and care, cut short thy strife nor question of my state. a sweet-lipped maiden, soft of sides and moulded well of shape, with her soft speech my heart hath ta'en, ay, and her graceful gait. my heart, since thou art gone, no rest knows nor my eyes do sleep, nor can the hunger of my hopes itself with patience sate. yea, thou hast left me sorrowful, the hostage of desire, 'twixt enviers and haters dazed and all disconsolate. as for forgetting, 'tis a thing i know not nor will know; for none but thou into my thought shalt enter, soon or late. then he sighed and shed tears and repeated these also: may god be good to him who brought me news that ye were come! for never more delightful news unto my ears was borne. if he would take a worn-out wede for boon, i'd proffer him a heart that at the parting hour was all in pieces torn. he waited until the appointed time, then went to the street, where was the christian's house, and recognizing it from the old woman's description, sat down on the bench under the gallery. presently, drowsiness overcame him, for it was long since he had slept, for the violence of his passion, and he became as one drunken with sleep. glory be to him who sleepeth not! meanwhile, chance led thither a certain thief, who had come out that night to steal somewhat and prowled about the skirts of the city, till he happened on reshideddin's house. he went round about it, but found no way of climbing up into it and presently came to the bench, where he found ali shar asleep and took his turban. at that moment, zumurrud looked out and seeing the thief standing in the darkness, took him for her lord; so she whistled to him and he whistled back to her; whereupon she let herself down to him, with a pair of saddle-bags full of gold. when the robber saw this, he said to himself, 'this is a strange thing, and there must needs be some extraordinary cause to it.' then, snatching up the saddle-bags, he took zumurrud on his shoulders and made off with both like the blinding lightning. quoth she, 'the old woman told me that thou wast weak with illness on my account; and behold, thou art stronger than a horse.' he made her no reply; so she put her hand to his face and felt a beard like a bath-broom,[fn# ] as he were a hog that had swallowed feathers and they had come out at his gullet; whereat she took fright and said to him, 'what art thou?' 'o strumpet,' answered he, 'i am the sharper jewan the kurd, of the band of ahmed ed denef; we are forty sharpers, who will all tilt at thy tail this night, from dusk to dawn.' when she heard his words, she wept and buffeted her face, knowing that fate had gotten the better of her and that there was nothing for it but to put her trust in god the most high. so she took patience and submitted herself to the ordinance of god, saying, 'there is no god but god! as often as we escape from one trouble, we fall into a worse.' now the manner of jewan's coming thither was thus: he had said to ahmed ed denef, 'o captain, i have been here before and know a cavern without the town, that will hold forty souls; so i will go before you thither and set my mother therein. then will i enter the city and steal somewhat on your account and keep it till you come; so shall you be my guests this day.' 'do what thou wilt,' replied ahmed. so jewan forewent them to the cavern and left his mother there; but, as he came out, he found a trooper lying asleep, with his horse tethered beside him; so he slew him and taking his clothes and arms, hid them with his mother in the cave, where also he tied up the horse. then he betook himself to the city and prowled about, till he happened on the christian's house and did with ali shar and zumurrud as we have said. he ceased not to run, with zumurrud on his back, till he came to the cavern, where he gave her in charge of his mother, saying, 'keep watch over her till i come back to thee at point of day,' and went away. meanwhile zumurrud said to herself, 'now is the time to cast about for a means of escape. if i wait till these forty men come, they will take their turns at me, till they make me like a water- logged ship.' then she turned to the old woman and said to her, 'o my aunt, wilt thou not come without the cave, that i may louse thee in the sun?' 'ay, by allah, o my daughter!' replied the old woman. 'this long time have i been out of reach of the bath; for these hogs cease not to hale me from place to place.' so they went without the cavern, and zumurrud combed out the old woman's hair and killed the vermin in her head, till this soothed her and she fell asleep; whereupon zumurrud arose and donning the clothes of the murdered trooper, girt herself with his sword and covered her head with his turban, so that she became as she were a man. then she took the saddle-bags full of gold and mounted the horse, saying in herself, 'o kind protector, i adjure thee by the glory of mohammed, (whom god bless and preserve,) protect me! if i enter the city, belike one of the trooper's folk will see me, and no good will befall me.' so she turned her back on the city and rode forth into the desert. she fared on ten days, eating of the fruits of the earth and drinking of its waters, she and her horse; and on the eleventh day, she came in sight of a pleasant and safe city, stablished in good; the season of winter had departed from it with its cold and the spring-tide came to it with its roses and orange-blossoms; its flowers blew bright, its streams welled forth and its birds warbled. as she drew near, she saw the troops and amirs and notables of the place drawn up before the gate, at which she marvelled and said to herself, 'the people of the city are all collected at the gate: there must needs be a reason for this.' then she made towards them; but, as she drew near, the troops hastened forward to meet her and dismounting, kissed the ground before her and said, 'god aid thee, o our lord the sultan!' then the grandees ranked themselves before her, whilst the troops ranged the people in order, saying, 'god aid thee and make thy coming a blessing to the muslims, o sultan of all men! god stablish thee, o king of the age and pearl of the day and the time!' 'what ails you, o people of the city?' asked zumurrud; and the chamberlain answered, 'verily, he who is no niggard in giving hath been bountiful to thee and hath made thee sultan of this city and ruler over the necks of all that are therein; for know that it is the custom of the citizens, when their king dies, leaving no son, that the troops should sally forth of the pace and abide there three days; and whoever cometh from the quarter whence thou hast come, they make him king over them. so praised be god who hath sent us a well-favoured man of the sons of the turks; for had a lesser than thou presented himself, he had been sultan.' now zumurrud was well-advised in all she did; so she said, 'think not that i am of the common folk of the turks; nay, i am a man of condition; but i was wroth with my family, so i went forth and left them. see these saddle-bags full of gold i brought with me, that i might give alms thereof to the poor and needy by the way.' so they called down blessings upon her and rejoiced in her with an exceeding joy and she also rejoiced in them and said in herself, 'now that i have attained to this estate, it may be god will reunite me with my lord in this place, for he can do what he will.' then the troops escorted her to the city and dismounting, walked before her to the palace. here she alighted and the amirs and grandees, taking her under the armpits, carried her into the palace and seated her on the throne; after which they all kissed the ground before her. then she bade open the treasuries and gave largesse to the troops, who offered up prayers for the continuance of her reign, and all the townsfolk and the people of the kingdom accepted her rule. she abode thus awhile, ordering and forbidding, and remitted taxes and released prisoners and redressed grievances, so that all the people came to hold her in exceeding reverence and to love her, by reason of her generosity and continence; but, as often as she bethought her of her lord, she wept and besought god to reunite them; and one night, as she was thinking of him and calling to mind the days she had passed with him, her eyes ran over with tears and she repeated the following verses: my longing, 'spite of time, for thee is ever new; my weeping wounds my lids and tears on tears ensue. whenas i weep, i weep for anguish of desire; for grievous severance is a lover's heart unto. then she wiped away her tears and rising, betook herself to the harem, where she appointed to the slave-girls and concubines separate lodgings and assigned them pensions and allowances, giving out that she was minded to live apart and devote herself to works of piety. so she betook herself to fasting and praying, till the amirs said, 'verily, this sultan is exceeding devout.' nor would she suffer any attendants about her, save two little eunuchs, to serve her. she held the throne thus a whole year, during which time she heard no news of ali shar, and this was exceeding grievous to her; so, when her distress became excessive, she summoned her viziers and chamberlains and bid them fetch architects and builders and make her a tilting ground, a parasang long and the like broad, in front of the palace. they hastened to do her bidding, and when the place was competed to her liking, she went down into it and they pitched her there a great pavilion, wherein the chairs of the amirs were set in their order. then she bade spread in the tilting-ground tables with all manner rich meats and ordered the grandees to eat. so they ate and she said to them, 'it is my will that, on the first day of each month, ye do on this wise and proclaim in the city that none shall open his shop, but that all the people shall come and eat of the king's banquet, and that whoso disobeyeth shall be hanged over his own door.' they did as she bade them, and when came the first day of the next month, zumurrud went down into the tilting-ground and the crier proclaimed aloud, saying, 'ho, all ye people, great and small, whoso openeth shop or house or magazine shall straightway be hanged over his own door; for it behoves you all to come and eat of the king's banquet.' then they laid the tables and the people came in troops; so she bade them sit down at the tables and eat their fill of all the dishes. so they sat down and she sat on her chair of estate, watching them, whilst each thought she was looking at none but him. then they fell to eating and the amirs said to them, 'eat and be not ashamed; for this is pleasing to the king.' so they ate their fill and went away, blessing the king and saying, one to the other, 'never saw we a sultan that loved the poor as doth this sultan.' and they wished her length of life, whilst zumurrud returned to the palace, rejoicing in her device and saying in herself, 'if it please god the most high, i shall surely by this means happen on news of my lord ali shar.' when the first day of the second month came round, she made the banquet as before and the folk came and sat down at the tables, company by company and one by one. as she sat on her throne, at the head of the tables, watching the people eat, her eye fell on bersoum, the nazarene who had bought the curtain of ali shar; and she knew him and said in herself, 'this is the first of my solace and of the accomplishment of my desire.' bersoum came up to the table and sitting down with the rest to eat, espied a dish of sweet rice, sprinkled with sugar; but it was far from him. so he pushed up to it and putting out his hand to it, took it and set it before himself. his next neighbour said to him, 'why dost thou not eat of what is before thee? art thou not ashamed to reach over for a dish that is distant from thee?' quoth bersoum, 'i will eat of none but this dish.' 'eat then,' rejoined the other, 'and small good may it do thee!' but another man, a hashish- eater, said, 'let him eat of it, that i may eat with him.' 'o unluckiest of hashish-eaters,' replied the first speaker, 'this is no meat for thee; it is eating for amirs. let it be, that it may return to those for whom it is meant and they eat it.' but bersoum heeded him not and putting his hand to the rice, took a mouthful and put it in his mouth. he was about to take a second mouthful, when zumurrud, who was watching him, cried out to certain of her guards, saying, 'bring me yonder man with the dish of sweet rice before him and let him not eat the mouthful he hath ready, but throw it from his hand.' so four of the guards went up to bersoum and throwing the mouthful of rice from his hand, haled him forthright before zumurrud, whilst all the people left eating and said to one another, 'by allah, he did wrong in not eating of the food meant for the like of him.' 'for me,' quoth one, 'i was content with this frumenty that is before me.' and the hashish- eater said, 'praised be god who hindered me from eating of the dish of sweet rice, for i looked for it to stand before him and was only waiting for him to have stayed his hunger of it, to eat with him, when there befell him what we see.' and they said, one to another, 'wait till we see what befalls him.' then said zumurrud to bersoum, 'out on thee, o blue eyes! what is thy name and why comest thou hither?' but the accursed fellow miscalled himself, having a white turban,[fn# ] and answered, 'o king, my name is ali; i am a weaver and came hither to trade.' 'bring me a table of sand and a pen of brass,' quoth zumurrud, and they brought her what she sought. she levelled the sand and taking the pen, drew a geomantic figure, in the likeness of an ape; then, raising her head, she considered bersoum straitly and said to him, 'o dog, how darest thou lie to kings? art thou not a nazarene, bersoum by name, and comest thou not hither in quest of somewhat? speak the truth, or, by the splendour of the deity, i will strike off thy head?' at this, bersoum was confounded and the amirs and bystanders said, 'verily, the king understands geomancy: blessed be he who hath gifted him!' then zumurrud cried out upon bersoum and said, 'tell me the truth, or i will make an end of thee!' 'pardon, o king of the age,' replied bersoum; 'the table hath told thee aright; thy slave is indeed a nazarene.' whereupon all present wondered at the king's skill in geomancy, saying, 'verily, the king is a diviner, whose like there is not in the world.' then zumurrud bade flay the christian and stuff his skin with straw and hang it over the gate of the tilting-ground. moreover, she commanded to dig a pit without the city and burn his flesh and bones therein and throw over his ashes offal and rubbish. 'we hear and obey,' answered they and did with him as she bade. when the people saw what had befallen the christian, they said, 'he hath his deserts; but what an unlucky mouthful was that for him!' and another said, 'be my wife triply divorced if ever i eat of sweet rice as long as i live!' 'praised be god,' quoth the hashish-eater, 'who saved me from this fellow's fate by hindering me from eating of the rice!' then they all went out, minded thenceforth to leave sitting in the christian's place, over against the dish of sweet rice. when the first day of the third month came, they laid the tables as of wont, and queen zumurrud came down and sat on her throne, with her guards in attendance on her, fearing her danger. then the townsfolk entered, as usual, and went round about the tables, looking for the place of the dish of sweet rice, and quoth one to another, 'hark ye, hajji khelef!' 'at thy service, o hajji khalid,' answered the other. 'avoid the dish of sweet rice,' said khalid, 'and look thou eat not thereof; for if thou do, thou wilt be hanged.' then they sat down to meat; and as they were eating, zumurrud chanced to look at the gate of the tilting-ground and saw a man come running in. so she considered him and knew him for jewan the kurd. now the manner of his coming was on this wise. when he left his mother, he went to his comrades and said to them, 'i had fine purchase yesterday; for i slew a trooper and took his horse. moreover there fell to me last night a pair of saddle-bags, full of gold, and a girl worth more than the money; and i have left them all with my mother in the cave.' at this they rejoiced and repaired to the cavern at nightfall, whilst they forewent them, that he might fetch them the booty. but he found the place empty and questioned his mother, who told him what had befallen; whereupon he bit his hands for despite and exclaimed, 'by allah, i will make search for yonder harlot and take her, wherever she is, though it be in the shell of a pistachio-nut, and quench my malice on her!' so he went forth in quest of her and journeyed from place to place, till he came to queen zumurrud's city. he found the town deserted and enquiring of some women whom he saw looking from the windows, learnt that it was the sultan's custom to make a banquet for all the people on the first of each month and was directed to the tilting-ground, where the feast was spread. so he came running in and finding no place empty, save that before the dish of sweet rice, took his seat there and put out his hand to the dish; whereupon the folk cried out to him, saying, 'o brother, what wilt thou do?' quoth he, 'i mean to eat my fill of this dish.' 'if thou eat of it,' rejoined one of the people, 'thou wilt assuredly be hanged.' but jewan said, 'hold thy peace and talk not thus.' then he stretched out his hand to the dish aforesaid and drew it to him. now the hashish-eater, of whom we have before spoken, was sitting by him; but when he saw him do this, the fumes of the hashish left his head and he fled from his place and sat down afar off, saying, 'i will have nothing to do with yonder dish.' then jewan put out his hand, as it were a crow's foot, and dipping it in the dish, scooped up therewith half the dishful and drew it out, as it were a camel's hoof, and the bottom of the dish appeared. he rolled the rice in his hand, till it was like a great orange, and threw it ravenously into his mouth; and it rolled down his gullet, with a noise like thunder. 'praised by god,' quoth his neighbour, 'who hath not made me meat before thee; for thou hast emptied the dish at one mouthful.' 'let him eat,' said the hashish-eater; 'methinks he hath a gallows-face.' then, turning to jewan, 'eat,' added he, 'and small good may it do thee!' jewan put out his hand again and taking another mouthful, was rolling it in his hands like the first, when zumurrud cried out to the guards, saying, 'bring me yonder man in haste and let him not eat the mouthful in his hand.' so they ran and seizing him, as he bent over the dish, brought him to her, whilst the people exulted over him and said, one to the other, 'he hath his deserts, for we warned him, but he would not take warning. verily, this place is fated to be the death of whoso sits therein, and yonder rice is fatal to all who eat of it.' then said zumurrud to jewan, 'what is thy name and condition and why comest thou hither?' 'o our lord the sultan,' answered he, 'my name is othman; i am a gardener and am come hither in quest of somewhat i have lost.' 'bring me a table of sand,' said zumurrud. so they brought it, and she took the pen and drawing a geomantic figure, considered it awhile, then raising her head, exclaimed, 'out on thee, thou sorry knave! how darest thou lie to kings? this sand tells me that thy name is jewan the kurd and that thou art by trade a robber, taking men's goods in the way of unright and slaying those whom god hath forbidden to slay, save for just cause.' and she cried out upon him, saying, 'o hog, tell me the truth of thy case or i will cut off thy head!' when he heard this, he turned pale and his teeth chattered; then, deeming that he might save himself by telling the truth, he replied, 'o king, thou sayest sooth; but i repent at thy hands henceforth and turn to god the most high!' quoth she, 'i may not leave a pest in the way of the true-believers.' and she said to her guards, 'take him and flay him and do with him as ye did by his like last month.' and they did her commandment. when the hashish-eater saw this, he turned his back upon the dish of rice, saying, 'it is unlawful to present my face to thee.' then, when they had made an end of eating, they dispersed and zumurrud returned to her palace and dismissed her attendants. when the fourth month came round, they made the banquet, as of wont, and the folk sat awaiting leave to begin. presently zumurrud entered and sitting down on her throne, looked at the tables and saw that room for four people was left void before the dish of rice, at which she wondered. as she sat, looking around, she saw a man come running in at the gate, who stayed not till he reached the tables and finding no room, save before the dish of rice, took his seat there. she looked at him and knowing him for the accursed christian, who called himself reshideddin, said in herself, 'how blessed is this device of the food, into whose toils this infidel hath fallen!' now the manner of his coming was extraordinary, and it was on this wise. when he returned from his journey, the people of the house told him that zumurrud was missing and with her a pair of saddle-bags full of gold; whereupon he rent his clothes and buffeted his face and plucked out his beard. then he despatched his brother bersoum in quest of her, and when he was weary of awaiting news of him, he went forth himself, to seek for him and for zumurrud, and fate led him to the latter's city. he entered it on the first day of the month and finding the streets deserted and the shops shut, enquired of the women at the windows, who told him that the king made a banquet on the first of each month for the people, all of whom were bound to attend it, nor might any abide in his house or shop that day; and they directed him to the tilting-ground. so he betook himself thither and sitting down before the rice, put out his hand to eat thereof, whereupon zumurrud cried out to her guards, saying, 'bring me him who sits before the dish of rice.' so they laid hands on him and brought him before queen zumurrud, who said to him, 'out on thee! what is thy name and occupation, and what brings thee hither?' 'o king of the age,' answered he, 'my name is rustem and i have no occupation, for i am a poor dervish.' then said she to her attendants, 'bring me a table of sand and pen of brass.' so they brought her what she sought, as usual; and she took the pen and drawing a geomantic figure, considered it awhile, then raising her head to reshideddin, said, 'o dog, how darest thou lie to kings? thy name is reshideddin the nazarene; thou art outwardly a muslim, but a christian at heart, and thine occupation is to lay snares for the slave-girls of the muslims and take them. speak the truth, or i will smite off thy head.' he hesitated and stammered, then replied, 'thou sayest sooth, o king of the age!' whereupon she commanded to throw him down and give him a hundred blows on each sole and a thousand on his body; after which she bade flay him and stuff his skin with hards of flax and dig a pit without the city, wherein they should burn his body and cast dirt and rubbish on his ashes. they did as she bade them and she gave the people leave to eat. so they ate their fill and went their ways, whilst zumurrud returned to her palace, thanking god for that he had solaced her heart of those who had wronged her. then she praised the creator of heaven and earth and repeated the following verses: lo, these erst had power and used it with oppression and unright! in a little, their dominion was as it ne'er had been. had they used their power with justice, they had been repaid the like; but they wrought unright and fortune guerdoned them with dole and teen. so they perished and the moral of the case bespeaks them thus, "this is what your crimes have earnt you: fate is not to blame, i ween." then she called to mind her lord ali shar and wept, but presently recovered herself and said, 'surely god, who hath given mine enemies into my hand, will vouchsafe me speedy reunion with my beloved; for he can do what he will and is generous to his servants and mindful of their case!' then she praised god (to whom belong might and majesty) and besought forgiveness of him, submitting herself to the course of destiny, assured that to each beginning there is an end, and repeating the saying of the poet: be at thine ease, for all things' destiny is in his hands who fashioned earth and sea. nothing of him forbidden shall befall nor aught of him appointed fail to thee. and what another saith: let the days pass, as they list, and fare, and enter thou not the house of despair. full oft, when the quest of a thing is hard, the next hour brings us the end of our care. and a third: be mild what time thou'rt ta'en with anger and despite and patient, if there fall misfortune on thy head. indeed, the nights are quick and great with child by time and of all wondrous things are hourly brought to bed. and a fourth: take patience, for therein is good; an thou be learn'd in it, thou shalt be calm of soul nor drink of anguish any whit. and know that if, with a good grace, thou do not thee submit, yet must thou suffer, will or nill, that which the pen hath writ. she abode thus another whole month's space, judging the folk and commanding and forbidding by day, and by night weeping and bewailing her separation from her lord ali shar. on the first day of the fifth month, she bade spread the banquet as usual and sat down at the head of the tables, whilst the people awaited the signal to fall to, leaving the space before the dish of rice vacant. she sat with eyes fixed upon the gate of the tilting- ground, noting all who entered and saying, 'o thou that restoredst joseph to jacob and didst away the affliction of job, vouchsafe of thy power and greatness to restore me my lord ali shar; for thou canst all things! o lord of all creatures, o guide of the erring, o hearer of those that cry, o answerer of prayer, answer thou my prayer, o lord of all creatures!' hardly had she made an end of her prayer, when she saw entering the gate a young man, in shape like the willow wand, the comeliest and most accomplished of youths, save that his face was sallow and his form wasted. he came up to the tables and finding no seat vacant save before the dish of rice, sat down there; whereupon zumurrud's heart fluttered and observing him narrowly, she knew him for her lord ali shar and was like to have cried out for joy, but restrained herself, fearing disgrace before the folk. her bowels were troubled and her heart throbbed; but she concealed that which she suffered. now the manner of his coming thither was on this wise. when he awoke and found himself lying on the bench outside the christian's house, with his head bare, he knew that some one had come upon him and robbed him of his turban, whilst he slept. so he spoke the word, which whoso saith shall never be confounded, that is to say, 'verily, we are god's and to him we return!' and going back to the old woman's house, knocked at the door. she came out and he wept before her, till he swooned away. when he came to himself, he told her all that had passed, and she blamed him and chid him for his heedlessness, saying, 'thou hast but thyself to thank for thine affliction and calamity.' and she gave not over reproaching him, till the blood streamed from his nostrils and he again fainted away. when he revived, he saw her weeping over him; so he bewailed himself and repeated the following verses: how bitter is parting to friends, and how sweet reunion to lovers, for sev'rance that sigh! may god all unite them and watch over me, for i'm of their number and like for to die. the old woman mourned over him and said to him, 'sit here, whilst i go in quest of news and return to thee in haste.' 'i hear and obey,' answered he. so she left him and was absent till midday, when she returned and said to him, 'o ali, i fear me thou must die in thy grief; thou wilt never see thy beloved again save on es sirat;[fn# ] for the people of the christian's house, when they arose in the morning, found the window giving on the garden broken in and zumurrud missing, and with her a pair of saddle- bags, full of the christian's money. when i came thither, i found the master of police and his officers standing at the door, and there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the supreme!' when he heard this, the light in his eyes was changed to darkness and he despaired of life and made sure of death; nor did he leave weeping, till he lost his senses. when he recovered, love and longing were sore upon him; there befell him a grievous sickness and he kept his house a whole year; during which time the old woman ceased not to bring him doctors and ply him with diet- drinks and make him broths, till his life returned to him. then he recalled what had passed and repeated the following verses: union is parted; in its stead, of grief i am possessed: my tears flow still, my heart's on fire for yearning and unrest. longing redoubles on a wight who hath no peace, so sore of love and wakefulness and pain he's wasted and oppressed. lord, i beseech thee, if there be relief for me in aught, vouchsafe it, whilst a spark of life abideth in my breast. when the second year began, the old woman said to him, 'o my son, all this thy sadness and sorrowing will not bring thee back thy mistress. rise, therefore, take heart and seek for her in the lands: haply thou shalt light on some news of her.' and she ceased not to exhort and encourage him, till he took heart and she carried him to the bath. then she made him drink wine and eat fowls, and thus she did with him for a whole month, till he regained strength and setting out, journeyed without ceasing till he arrived at zumurrud's city, when he went to the tilting-ground and sitting down before the dish of sweet rice, put out his hand to eat of it. when the folk saw this, they were concerned for him and said to him, 'o young man, eat not of that dish, for whoso eats thereof, misfortune befalls him.' 'leave me to eat of it,' answered he, 'and let them do with me as they list, so haply i may be at rest from this weary life.' then he ate a first mouthful, and zumurrud was minded to have him brought to her; but bethought her that belike he was anhungred and said in herself, 'it were well to let him eat his fill.' so he went on eating, whilst the people looked on in astonishment, waiting to see what would befall him; and when he had done, zumurrud said to certain of her eunuchs, 'go to yonder youth that eateth of the rice and bring him to me on courteous wise, saying, 'the king would have speech of thee on some slight matter.' 'we hear and obey,' answered they and going up to ali shar, said to him, 'o my lord, the king desires the favour of a word with thee, and let thy heart be easy.' 'i hear and obey,' replied he and followed the eunuchs, who carried him before zumurrud, whilst the people said to one another, 'there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the supreme! i wonder what the king will do with him!' and others said, 'he will do him nought but good; for, were he minded to harm him, he had not suffered him to eat his fill.' when he came before zumurrud, he saluted and kissed the earth before her, whilst she returned his greeting and received him with honour. then said she to him, 'what is thy name and condition and what brought thee hither?' 'o king,' answered he, 'my name is ali shar; i am of the sons of the merchants of khorassan and the object of my coming hither is to seek for a slave-girl whom i have lost; for she was dearer to me than my sight and my hearing, and indeed my soul cleaves to her, since i lost her.' and he wept, till he swooned away. she caused sprinkle rose-water on his face, till he came to himself, when she said, 'bring me the table of sand and the pen.' so they brought them and she took the pen and drew a geomantic figure, which she considered awhile; then, 'thou hast spoken sooth,' quoth she. 'god will grant thee speedy reunion with her; so be not troubled.' then she bade her chamberlain carry him to the bath and after clothe him in a handsome suit of royal apparel, and mount him an one of the best of the king's horses and bring him to the palace at end of day. so the chamberlain took him away, whilst the folk said to one another, 'what makes the king deal thus courteously with yonder youth?' and one said, 'did i not tell you that he would do him no hurt? for he is fair of aspect; and this i knew, when the king suffered him to eat his fill.' and each said his say; after which they all dispersed and went their ways. as for zumurrud, she thought the night would never come, that she might be alone with the beloved of her heart. as soon as it was dusk, she withdrew to her sleeping-chamber and made as she were overcome with sleep; and it was her wont to suffer none to pass the night with her, save the two little eunuchs that waited upon her. after a little, she sent for ali shar and sat down upon the bed, with candles burning at her head and feet and the place lighted with hanging lamps of gold that shone like the sun. when the people heard of her sending for ali shar, they marvelled and said, 'algates, the king is enamoured of this young man, and to- morrow he will make him commander of the troops.' and each thought his thought and said his say. when they brought him in to her, he kissed the earth before her and called down blessings on her, and she said in herself, 'needs must i jest with him awhile, ere i make myself known to him.' then said she to him, 'o ali, hast thou been to the bath?' 'yes, o my lord,' answered he. 'come, eat of this fowl and meat and drink of this wine and sherbet of sugar,' said she; 'for thou art weary; and after come hither.' 'i hear and obey,' replied he and did as she bade him. when he had made an end of eating and drinking, she said to him, 'come up with me on the couch and rub my feet.' so he fell to rubbing her feet and legs and found them softer than silk. then said she, 'go higher with the rubbing;' and he, 'pardon me, o my lord, i will go no higher than the knee.' whereupon, 'wilt thou gainsay me?' quoth she. 'it shall be an ill-omened night for thee! nay, but it behoves thee to do my bidding and i will make thee my minion and appoint thee one of my amirs.' 'and in what must i do thy bidding, o king of the age?' asked ali. 'put off thy trousers,' answered she, 'and lie down on thy face.' quoth he, 'that is a thing i never in my life did; and if thou force me thereto, i will accuse thee thereof before god on the day of resurrection. take all thou hast given me and let me go to my own city.' and he wept and lamented. but she said, 'put off thy trousers and lie down on thy face, or i will strike off thy head.' so he did as she bade him and she mounted upon his back. and he felt what was softer than silk and fresher than cream and said in himself, 'of a truth, this king is better than all the women!' she abode a while on his back, then turned over on to the ground, and he said [in himself], 'praised be god! it seems his yard is not in point.' then said she, 'o ali, it is of the wont of my yard that it standeth not on end, except it be rubbed with the hand; so, some, rub it with thy hand, till it be in point, else will i kill thee.' so saying, she lay down on her back and taking his hand, set it to her kaze, and he found it a kaze softer than silk, white, plump and great, resembling for heat the hot room of the bath or the heart of a lover, whom passion hath wasted. quoth ali in himself, 'verily, this king hath a kaze. this is a wonder of wonders!' and desire got hold on him and his yard stood on end to the utmost; which when zumurrud saw, she burst out laughing and said to him, 'o my lord, all this betideth and yet thou knowest me not!' 'and who art thou, o king?' asked he; and she said, 'i am thy slave-girl zumurrud.' when he knew this and was certified that she was indeed his very slave-girl zumurrud, he threw himself upon her, as the lion upon the sheep, and kissed her and embraced her. then he thrust his yard into her poke and stinted not to play the porter at her door and the imam[fn# ] at her prayer-niche, whilst she with him ceased not from inclination and prostration and rising up and sitting down,[fn# ] accompanying her canticles of praise[fn# ] with motitations and other amorous gestures, till the [two little] eunuchs [aforesaid] heard [the noise]. so they came and peeping out from behind the curtains, saw the king lying [on his back] and ali shar upon him, thrusting and thronging amain, whilst she puffed and blew and wriggled. quoth they, 'this is no man's wriggle; belike this king is a woman.' but they concealed their affair and discovered it to none. on the morrow, zumurrud summoned all the troops and the grandees of the realm and said to them, 'i am minded to journey to this man's country; so choose a deputy, who shall rule over you, till i return to you.' and they answered, 'we hear and obey.' then she applied herself to making ready for the journey and furnished herself with victual and treasure and camels and mules and so forth; after which she set out with ali shar, and they fared on, till they arrived at his native place, where he entered his house and gave alms and largesse. god vouchsafed him children by her, and they both lived the happiest of lives, till there came to them the destroyer of delights and sunderer of companies. glory be to god, the eternal without cease, and praised be he in every case! the loves of jubeir ben umeir and the lady budour it is related the khalif haroun er reshid was restless one night and could not sleep; so that he ceased not to toss from side to side for very restlessness, till, growing weary of this, he called mesrour and said to him, 'o mesrour, look what may solace me of this my restlessness.' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered mesrour, 'wilt thou walk in the garden of the palace and divert thyself with the sight of its flowers and gaze upon the stars and note the beauty of their ordinance and the moon among them, shining on the water?' 'o mesrour,' replied the khalif, 'my heart inclines not to aught of this.' 'o my lord,' continued mesrour, 'there are in thy palace three hundred concubines, each of whom hath her separate lodging. do thou bid retire each into her own apartment and then go thou about and divert thyself with gazing on them, without their knowledge.' 'o mesrour,' answered haroun, 'the palace is mine and the girls are my property: moreover, my soul inclineth not to aught of this.' 'o my lord,' said mesrour, 'summon the doctors and sages and poets and bid them contend before thee in argument and recite verses and tell thee tales and anecdotes.' 'my soul inclines not to aught of this,' answered the khalif; and mesrour said, 'o my lord, bid the minions and wits and boon-companions attend thee and divert thee with witty sallies.' 'o mesrour,' replied the khalif, 'indeed my soul inclineth not to aught of this.' 'then, o my lord,' rejoined mesrour, 'strike off my head; maybe, that will dispel thine unease and do away the restlessness that is upon thee.' at this the khalif laughed and said, 'see which of the boon- companions is at the door.' so mesrour went out and returning, said, 'o my lord, he who sits without is ali ben mensour of damascus, the wag.' 'bring him to me,' quoth haroun; and mesrour went out and returned with ibn mensour, who said, on entering, 'peace be on thee, o commander of the faithful!' the khalif returned his salutation and said to him, 'o ibn mensour, tell us one of thy stories.' 'o commander of the faithful,' said the other, 'shall i tell thee what i have seen with my eyes or what i have only heard tell?' 'if thou have seen aught worth telling,' replied the khalif, 'let us hear it; for report is not like eye- witness.' 'o commander of the faithful,' said ibn mensour, 'lend me thine ear and thy heart.' 'o ibn mensour,' answered the khalif, 'behold, i am listening to thee with mine ears and looking at thee with mine eyes and attending to thee with my heart.' 'know then, o commander of the faithful,' began ibn mensour, 'that i receive a yearly allowance from mohammed ben suleiman el hashimi, sultan[fn# ] of bassora; so i went to him, once upon a time, as usual, and found him about to ride out a-hunting. i saluted him, and he returned my salute and would have me mount and go a-hunting with him; but i said, "o my lord, i cannot ride; so do thou stablish me in the guest-house and give thy chamberlains and officers charge over me." and he did so and departed for the chase. his officers entreated me with the utmost honour and hospitality; but i said in myself, "by allah, it is a strange thing that i should have used so long to come from baghdad to bassora, yet know no more of the town than from the palace to the garden and back again! when shall i find an occasion like this to view the different parts of bassora? i will rise at once and walk forth alone and divert myself and digest what i have eaten." so i donned my richest clothes and went out a-walking in bassora. now it is known to thee, o commander of the faithful, that it hath seventy streets, each seventy parasangs long of irak measure; and i lost myself in its by-streets and thirst overcame me. presently, as i went along, i came to a great door, on which were two rings of brass, with curtains of red brocade drawn before it. over the door was a trellis, covered with a creeping vine, that hung down and shaded the doorway; and on either side the porch was a stone bench. i stood still, to gaze upon the place, and presently heard a sorrowful voice, proceeding from a mourning heart, warbling melodiously and chanting the following verses: my body is become th' abode of sickness and dismay, by reason of a fawn, whose land and stead are far away. o zephyr of the waste, that roused my pain in me, i pray, by god your lord, to him, with whom my heart dwells, take your way and prithee chide him, so reproach may soften him, maybe. and if to you he do incline and hearken, then make fair your speech and tidings unto him of lovers, 'twixt you, bear. yea, and vouchsafe to favour me with service debonair and unto him i love make known my case and my despair, saying, "what ails thy bounden slave that, for estrangement, she should die without offence of her committed or despite or disobedience or breach of plighted faith or slight or fraud or turning of her heart to other or unright?" and if he smile, with dulcet speech bespeak ye thus the wight: "an thou thy company wouldst grant to her, 'twere well of thee; for she for love of thee's distraught, as needs must be the case; her eyes are ever void of sleep; she weeps and wails apace." if he show favour and incline to grant the wished-for grace, 'tis well and good; but, if ye still read anger in his face, dissemble then with him and say, "we know her not, not we." quoth i to myself, "verily, if the owner of this voice be fair, she unites beauty of person and eloquence and sweetness of voice." then i drew near the door, and raising the curtain little by little, beheld a damsel, white as the moon, when it rises on its fourteenth night, with joined eyebrows and languorous eyelids, breasts like twin pomegranates and dainty lips like twin corn-marigolds,[fn# ] mouth as it were solomon's seal and teeth that sported with the reason of rhymester and proser, even as saith the poet: o mouth of the beloved, who set thy pearls arow and eke with wine fulfilled thee and camomiles like show, and lent the morning-glory unto thy smile, and who hath with a padlock sealed thee of rubies sweet of show? whoso but looks upon thee is mad for joy and pride. how should it fare with him, who kisseth thee, heigho! and as saith another: o pearls of the teeth of my love, have ruth on cornelian and spare to vie with it! shall it not find you peerless and passing compare? in fine, she comprised all manner of loveliness and was a ravishment to men and women, nor could the beholder satisfy himself with the sight of her beauty; for she was as the poet hath said of her: if, face to face, she do appear, unveiled, she slays; and if she turn her back, she makes all men her lovers far and near. like the full moon and eke the sun she is, but cruelty and inhumanity belong not to her nature dear. the garden-gates of paradise are opened with her shift and the full moon revolveth still upon her neck-rings' sphere. as i looked at her through the opening of the curtains, she turned and seeing me standing at the door, said to her maid, "see who stands at the door." so the maid came up to me and said, "o old man, hast thou no shame, or do gray hairs and impudence go together?" "o my mistress," answered i, "i confess to the gray hairs, but as for unmannerliness, i think not to be guilty of it." "and what can be more unmannerly," rejoined her mistress, "than to intrude thyself upon a house other than thy house and gaze on a harem other than thy harem?" "o my lady," said i, "i have an excuse." "and what is thine excuse?" asked she. quoth i, "i am a stranger and well-nigh dead of thirst." "we accept thine excuse," answered she and calling one of her maids, said to her, "o lutf, give him to drink in the golden tankard." so she brought me a tankard of red gold, set with pearls and jewels, full of water mingled with odoriferous musk and covered with a napkin of green silk; and i addressed myself to drink and was long about it, casting stolen glances at her the while, till i could prolong it no longer. then i returned the tankard to the maid, but did not offer to go; and she said to me, "o old man, go thy way." "o my lady," replied i, "i am troubled in mind." "for what?" asked she; and i answered, "for the uncertainty of fortune and the vicissitudes of events." "well mayst thou be troubled thereanent," replied she, "for time[fn# ] is the mother of wonders. but what hast thou seen of them that thou shouldst muse upon?" quoth i, "i was thinking of the former owner of this house, for he was my good friend in his lifetime." "what was his name?" asked she. "mohammed ben ali the jeweller," answered i; "and he was a man of great wealth. did he leave any children?" "yes," said she; "he left a daughter, budour by name, who inherited all his wealth." quoth i, "meseems thou art his daughter?" "yes," answered she, laughing; then added, "o old man, thou hast talked long enough; go thy ways." "needs must i go," replied i; "but i see thou art out of health. tell me thy case; it may be god will give thee solace at my hands." "o old man," rejoined she, "if thou be a man of discretion, i will discover to thee my secret; but first tell me who thou art, that i may know whether thou art worthy of confidence or not; for the poet saith: none keepeth secrets but the man who's trusty and discreet: a secret's ever safely placed with honest fold and leal; for me, my secrets i preserve within a locked-up house, whose key is lost and on whose door is set the cadi's seal." "o my lady," answered i, "an thou wouldst know who i am, i am ali ben mensour of damascus, the wag, boon-companion to the khalif haroun er reshid." when she heard my name she came down from her seat and saluting me, said, "welcome, o ibn mensour! now will i tell thee my case and entrust thee with my secret. know that i am a lover separated from her beloved." "o my lady," rejoined i, "thou art fair and shouldst love none but the fair. whom then dost thou love?" quoth she, "i love jubeir ben umeir es sheibani, prince of the benou sheiban;"[fn# ] and she described to me a young man than whom there was none handsomer in bassora. "o my lady," asked i, "have letters or interviews passed between you?" "yes," answered she; "but his love for me was of the tongue, not of the heart; for he kept not his covenant nor was faithful to his troth." "and what was the cause of your separation?" asked i. "i was sitting one day," replied she, "whilst my maid here combed my hair. when she had made an end of combing it, she plaited my tresses, and my beauty and grace pleased her; so she bent down to me and kissed my cheek. at that moment, he came in, unawares, and seeing her kiss my cheek, turned away in anger, vowing eternal separation and repeating the following verses: if any share with me in her i love, incontinent, i'll cast her off from me and be to live alone content. a mistress, sure, is nothing worth, if, in the way of love, she wish for aught but that to which the lover doth consent. and from that time to this, o ibn mensour," continued she, "he hath neither written to me nor answered my letters." "and what thinkest thou to do?" asked i. quoth she, "i have a mind to send him a letter by thee. if thou bring me back an answer, thou shalt have of me five hundred dinars; and if not, then a hundred for thy pains." "do what seemeth good to thee," answered i. so she called for inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: whence this estrangement and despite, beloved of my soul? whither have kindliness and love between us taken flight? what makes thee with aversion turn from me? indeed, thy face is not the face i used to know, when we our troth did plight. belike, the slanderers have made a false report of me, and thou inclin'dst to them, and they redoubled in despite. if thou believedst their report, far, far it should have been from thee, that art too whole of wit at such a bait to bite! yea, i conjure thee by thy life, tell me what thou hast heard: for lo! thou knowest what was said and wilt not do unright. if aught i've said that angered thee, a speech of change admits; ay, and interpreting, i trow, may change its meaning quite, were it a word sent down from god; for even the pentateuch hath falsified and garbled been of this and th' other wight.[fn# ] whilst, as for lies, how many were of folk before us told! joseph to jacob was traduced and blackened in his sight. yea, for the slanderer and myself and thee, an awful day of standing up shall come, when god to judgment all shall cite. then she sealed the letter and gave it to me. i took it and carried it to the house of jubeir ben umeir, whom i found absent hunting. so i sat down, to wait for him, and presently he returned; and when i saw him come riding up, my wit was confounded by his beauty ands grace. as soon as he saw me sitting at the door, he dismounted and coming up to me, saluted and embraced me; and meseemed i embraced the world and all that therein is. then he carried me into his house and seating me on his own couch, called for food. so they brought a table of khelenj[fn# ] wood of khorassan, with feet of gold, whereon were all manner of meats, fried and roasted and the like. so i seated myself at the table and examining it, found the following verses engraved upon it: weep for the cranes that erst within the porringers did lie and for the stews and partridges evanished heave a sigh! mourn for the younglings of the grouse; lament unceasingly, as, for the omelettes and the fowls browned in the pan, do i. how my heart yearneth for the fish that, in its different kinds, upon a paste of wheaten flour, lay hidden in the pie! praised be god for the roast meat, as in the dish it lay, with pot-herbs, soaked in vinegar, in porringers hard by, and eke the rice with buffaloes' milk dressed and made savoury, wherein the hands were plunged and arms were buried bracelet high! o soul, i rede thee patient be, for god is bountiful: what though thy fortunes straitened be, his succour's ever nigh. then said jubeir, "put thy hand to our food and ease our heart by eating of our victual." "by allah," answered i, "i will not eat a mouthful, till thou grant me my desire." "what is thy desire?" asked he. so i brought out the letter and gave it to him; but, when he had read it, he tore it into pieces and throwing it on the floor, said to me, "o ibn mensour, i will grant thee whatever thou askest, save this that concerns the writer of this letter, for i have no answer to make to her." at this, i rose in anger; but he caught hold of my skirts, saying, "o ibn mensour, i will tell thee what she said to thee, for all i was not present with you." "and what did she say to me?" asked i. "did she not say to thee," rejoined he, "'if thou bring me back an answer, thou shalt have of me five hundred dinars; and if not, a hundred for thy pains?'" "yes," answered i; and he said, "abide with me this day and eat and drink and make merry, and thou shalt have five hundred dinars." so i sat with him and ate and drank and made merry and entertained him with converse; after which i said to him, "o my master, is there no music in thy house?" "indeed," answered he, "we have drunk this long while without music." then he called out, saying, "ho, shejeret ed durr!" whereupon a slave-girl answered him from her chamber and came in to us, with a lute of indian make, wrapped in a silken bag. she sat down and laying the lute in her lap, preluded in one-and-twenty modes, then, returning to the first, sang the following verses to a lively measure: who hath not tasted the sweet and the bitter of passion, i trow, the presence of her whom he loves from her absence he hardly shall know. so he, from the pathway of love who hath wandered and fallen astray, the smooth knoweth not from the rough of the roadway, wherein he doth go. i ceased not the votaries of love and of passion to cross and gainsay, till i too must taste of its sweet and its bitter, its gladness and woe. then i drank a full draught of the cup of its bitters, and humbled was i, and thus to the bondman of love and its freedman therein was brought low. how many a night have i passed with the loved one, carousing with him, whilst i drank from his lips what was sweeter than nectar and colder than snow! how short was the life of the nights of our pleasance! it seemed to us still, no sooner was night fallen down than the daybreak to eastward did glow. but fortune had vowed she would sever our union and sunder our loves; and now, in good sooth, she her vow hath accomplished. fate ordered it so; fate ordered it thus, and against its ordaining, appeal there is none; for who shall gainsay a supreme one's commandments or causes him forego? hardly had she made an end of these verses, when jubeir gave a great cry and fell down in a swoon; whereupon, "may god not punish thee, o old man!" exclaimed the damsel. "this long time have we drunk without music, for fear the like of this should befall our master. but go now to yon chamber and sleep there." so i went to the chamber in question and slept till the morning, when a page brought me a purse of five hundred dinars and said to me, "this is what my master promised thee; but return thou not to her who sent thee and let it be as if neither thou nor we had heard of this affair." "i hear and obey," answered i and taking the purse, went my way. however, i said in myself, "the lady will have expected me since yesterday; and by allah, i must needs return to her and tell her what passed between me and him; or she will curse me and all who come from my country." so i went to her and found her standing behind the door; and when she saw me, she said, "o ibn mensour, thou hast gotten me nought." "who told thee of this?" asked i; and she answered, "o ibn mensour, yet another thing hath been revealed to me; and it is that, when thou gavest hum the letter, he tore it in pieces and throwing it on the floor, said to thee, 'o ibn mensour, ask me anything but what relates to the writer of this letter; for i have no reply to make to her.' then didst thou rise from beside him in anger; but he laid hold of thy skirts, saying, 'abide with me to-day, for thou art my guest, and eat and drink and make merry; and thou shalt have five hundred dinars.' so thou didst sit with him, eating and drinking and making merry, and entertainedst him with converse; and a slave-girl sand such an air and such verses, whereupon he fell down in a swoon." quoth i, "wast thou then with us?" "o ibn mensour," replied she, "hast thou not heard the saying of the poet: the heart of the lover hath eyes, well i wot, that see what the eyes of beholders see not. but," added she, "day and night alternate not upon aught, but they change it." then she raised her eyes to heaven and said, "o my god and my master and my lord, like as thou hast afflicted me with love of jubeir ben umeir, even so do thou afflict him with love of me and transfer the passion from my heart to his!" then she gave me a hundred dinars for my pains and i took it and returned to the palace, when i found the sultan come back from hunting; so i took my pension of him and made my way back to baghdad. next year, i repaired to bassora, as usual, to seek my pension, and the sultan paid it to me; but as i was about to return to baghdad, i bethought me of the lady budour and said to myself, "by allah, i must needs go and see what hath befallen between her and her lover!" so i went to her house and finding the porch swept and sprinkled and slaves and servants and pages standing before the door, said to myself, "most like grief hath broken the lady's heart and she is dead, and some amir or other hath taken up his abode in her house." so i went on to jubeir's house, where i found the benches of the porch broken down and no pages at the door, as of wont, and said to myself, "belike he too is dead." then i took up my station before the door of his house and with my eyes running over with tears, bemoaned it in the following verses: lords, that are gone, but whom my heart doth evermore ensue, return; so shall my festal says return to me with you. i stand before your sometime stead, bewailing your abodes, with quivering lids, from which the tears rain down, like summer dew. weeping, i question of the house and ruins, "where is he who was the source of benefits and bounties ever new?" [they answer] "go thy ways, for those thou lov'st from the abode departed are and neath the dust are buried; so adieu!" may god not stint us of the sight [in dreams] of all their charms nor be their noble memories aye absent from men's view! as i was thus bewailing the folk of the house, there came a black slave thereout and said to me, "hold thy peace, o old man! may thy mother be bereft of thee! what ails thee to bemoan the house thus?" quoth i, "i knew it of yore, when it belonged to a good friend of mine." "what was his name?" asked the slave. and i answered, "jubeir ben umeir the sheibani." "and what hath befallen him?" rejoined he. "praised be god, he is yet in the enjoyment of wealth and rank and prosperity, except that god hath stricken him with love of a damsel called the lady budour; and he is overcome with love of her, that, for the violence of his passion and torment, he is like a great rock overthrown. if he hunger, he saith not, 'feed me;' nor, if he thirst, doth he say, 'give me to drink.'" quoth i, "ask leave me to go in to him." "o my lord," said the slave, "wilt thou go in to him who understands or to him who understands not?" "i must needs see him, whatever be his case," answered i. se he went in and presently returned with permission for me to enter, whereupon i went in to jubeir and found him like a rock overthrown, understanding neither sign nor speech. i spoke to him, but he answered me not; and one of his servants said to me, "o my lord, if thou know aught of verse, repeat it, and raise thy voice; and he will be aroused by this and speak with thee." so i recited the following verses: budour's love hast thou forgotten or art deaf still to her sighs? wak'st anights, or do thine eyelids close upon thy sleeping eyes? if thy tears flow fast and freely, night and day long, torrent- wise, know thou, then, that thou shalt sojourn evermore in paradise.[fn# ] when he heard this, he opened his eyes and said, "welcome, o ibn mensour! verily, the jest is become earnest." "o my lord," said i, "is there aught thou wouldst have me do for thee?" "yes," answered he; "i would fain write her a letter and send it to her by thee. if thou bring me back an answer, thou shalt have of me a thousand dinars; and if not, two hundred for thy pains." "do what seemeth good to thee," said i. so he called to one of his slave-girls for inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: by allah, o my lady, have ruth on me, i pray! for all my wit by passion is ravished quite away. yea, love for thee and longing have mastered me and clad with sickness and bequeathed me abjection and dismay. aforetime, o my lady, by love i set small store and deemed it light and easy to bear, until to-day; but now that love hath shown me the billows of its sea, those i excuse, repenting, who languish neath its sway. vouchsafe thy grace to grant me; or, if thou wilt me slay, at least, then, for thy victim forget thou not to pray. then he sealed the letter and gave it to me. i took it and repairing to budour's house, raised the curtain of the door, little by little, as of wont, and looking in, saw ten damsels, high-bosomed maids, like moons, and the lady budour sitting in their midst, as she were the full moon among stars or the sun, when it is clear of clouds; nor was there on her any trace of pain or care. as i looked and marvelled at her case, she turned and seeing me standing at the gate, said to me, "welcome and fair welcome to thee, o ibn mensour! come in." so i entered and saluting her, gave her the letter. she read it and laughing, said to me, "o ibn mensour, the poet lied not when he said: the love of thee i will endure with patient constancy, till such time as a messenger shall come to me from thee. o ibn mensour," added she, "i will write thee an answer that he may give thee what he promised thee." "may god requite thee with good!" answered i. so she called for inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: how comes it my vows i fulfilled and thou, thou wast false to thy plight? thou sawst me do justice and truth, and yet thou thyself didst unright. 'twas thou that begannest on me with rupture and rigour, i trow; 'twas thou that play'dst foul, and with thee began the untruth and the slight. yea, still i was true to my troth and cherished but thee among men and ceased not thine honour to guard and keep it unsullied and bright, till tidings of fashions full foul i heard, as reported of thee, and saw with mine eyes what thou didst, to harm me and work me despite. shall i then abase my estate, that thine may exalted become? by god, hadst thou generous been, the like should thy conduct requite! so now unto solace i'll turn my heart, with forgetting, from thee and washing my hands of thy thought, blot despair for thee out of my spright. "by allah, o my lady," said i, "there needs but the reading of this letter, to kill him!" so i tore it in pieces and said to her, "write him other than this." "i hear and obey," answered she and wrote the following: indeed, i am consoled and sleep is pleasant to mine eyes; for i have heard what came of prate of slanderers and spies. my heart my summons hath obeyed, thee to forget; and eke my lids to stint from wake for thee have seen it good and wise. he lies who says that severance is bitterness; for me i find its taste none otherwise than sweet; indeed he lies. i've grown to turn away from those who bring me news of thee and look upon it as a thing at which my gorge doth rise. behold, i have forgotten thee with every part of me. let then the spy and who will else this know and recognise. "by allah, o my lady," said i, "when he reads these verses, his soul will depart his body!" "o ibn mensour," quoth she, "is passion indeed come to such a pass with him as thou sayst?" "had i said more than this," replied i, "it were but the truth: but clemency is of the nature of the noble." when she heard this, her eyes filled with tears and she wrote him a letter, o commander of the faithful, there is none in thy court could avail to write the like of it; and therein were these verses: how long shall this despite continue and this pride? my enviers' spite on me thou sure hast satisfied. mayhap, i did amiss and knew it not; so tell me what thou heardst of me, that did our loves divide. even as i welcome sleep unto mine eyes and lids, so would i welcome thee, beloved, to my side. i've quaffed the cup of love for thee, unmixed and pure; so, if thou see me drunk, reproach me not nor chide. then she sealed it and gave it to me; and i said, "o my lady, this thy letter will heal the sick and ease the thirsting soul." then i took it and was going away, when she called me back and said to me, "tell me that i will be his guest this night." at this i rejoiced greatly and carried the letter to jubeir, whom i found with his eyes fixed on the door, expecting the reply. i gave him the letter and he opened and read it, then gave a great cry and fell down in a swoon. when he came to himself, he said to me, "o ibn mensour, did she indeed write this letter with her hand and touch it with her fingers?" "o my lord," answered i, "do folk write with their feet?" and by allah, o commander of the faithful, i had not done speaking, when we heard the chink of her anklets in the vestibule and she entered. when he saw her, he sprang to his feet, as thou there ailed him nought, and embraced her as the letter lam embraces alif,[fn# ] and the malady, that would not depart, ceased from him. then he sat down, but she abode standing and i said to her, "o my lady, why dost thou not sit?" quoth she, "i will not sit, o ibn mensour, save on a condition that is between us." "and what is that?" asked i. "none may know lovers' secrets," answered she and putting her mouth to jubeir's ear, whispered to him; whereupon, "i hear and obey," replied he and rising, said somewhat privily to one of his slaves, who went out and returned, in a little, with a cadi and two witnesses. then jubeir rose and taking a bag containing a hundred thousand dinars, said, "o cadi, marry me to this young lady and write this sum to her dowry." quoth the cadi to her, "say, 'i consent to this.'" "i consent to this," said she, whereupon he drew up the contract of marriage, and she opened the bag and taking out a handful of gold, gave it to the cadi and the witnesses and handed the rest to jubeir. then the cadi and the witnesses withdrew, and i sat with them, in mirth and delight, till the most part of the night was past, when i said in myself, "these are lovers and have been this long while separated. i will go now and sleep in some place afar from them and leave them to be private, one with the other." so i rose, but she laid hold of my skirts, saying, "what thinkest thou to do?" "so and so," answered i. but she rejoined, "sit still, when we would be rid of thee, we will send thee away." so i sat with them till near daybreak, when she said to me, "o ibn mensour, go to yonder chamber; for we have furnished it for thee, and it is thy sleeping-place." so i went thither and slept till morning, when a page brought me basin and ewer, and i made the ablution and prayed the morning-prayer. then i sat down and presently, jubeir and his mistress came out of the bath in the house, wringing their locks. i wished them good morning and gave them joy of their safety and reunion, saying to jubeir, "that which began with constraint hath ended in contentment." "thou sayst well," replied he; "and indeed thou deservest largesse." and he called his treasurer and bade him fetch three thousand dinars. so he brought a purse containing that sum, and jubeir gave it to me, saying, "favour us by accepting this." "i will not take it," answered i, "till thou tell me the manner of the transfer of love from her to thee, after so great an aversion." "i hear and obey," said he. "know that we have a festival, called the festival of the new year, when all the people use to take boat and go a-pleasuring on the river. so i went out, with my comrades, and saw a boat, wherein were half a score damsels like moons, and amongst them, the lady budour, with her lute in her hand. she preluded in eleven modes, then returning to the first, sang the following verses: fire is not so fierce and so hot as the fires in my heart that glow, and granite itself is less hard than the heart of my lord, i trow. indeed, when i think on his make and his fashion, i marvel to see a heart that is harder than rock in a body that's softer than snow. quoth i to her, 'repeat the verses and the air.' but she would not; so i bade the boatmen pelt her with oranges, and they pelted her till we feared her boat would sink. then she went her way, and this is how the love was transferred from her breast to mine." so i gave them joy of their reunion and taking the purse, with its contents, returned to baghdad. when the khalif heard ibn mensour's story, his heart was lightened and the restlessness and oppression from which he suffered forsook him. the man of yemen and his six slave-girls the khalif el-mamoun was sitting one day in his palace, surrounded by his grandees and officers of state, and there were present also before him all his poets and minions, amongst the rest one named mohammed of bassora. presently, the khalif turned to the latter and said to him, 'o mohammed, i wish thee to tell me something that i have never before heard.' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered mohammed, 'shall i tell thee a thing that i have heard with my ears of a thing that i have seen with my eyes?' 'tell me whichever is the rarer,' said el mamoun. 'know then, o commander of the faithful,' began mohammed, 'that there lived once a wealthy man, who was a native of yemen; but he left his native land and came to this city of baghdad, whose sojourn so pleased him that he transported hither his family and possessions. now he had six slave-girls, the first fair, the second dark, the third fat, the fourth thin, the fifth yellow and the sixth black, all fair of face and perfectly accomplished and skilled in the arts of singing and playing upon instruments of music. one day he sent for them all and called for meat and drink; and they ate and drank and made merry. then he filled the cup and taking it in his hand, said to the blonde, "o new-moon- face, let us hear somewhat pleasing." so she took the lute and tuning it, made music thereon with such melodious trills and modulations that the place danced to the rhythm; after which she played a lively measure and sang the following verses: i have a friend, whose form is mirrored in mine eye, and deep within my breast, his name doth buried lie. whenas i call him back to mind, i am all heart, and when on him i gaze, all eyes indeed am i. "forswear the love of him," my censor says; and i, "that which is not to be, how shall it be?" reply. "go forth from me," quoth i, "and leave me, censor mine: feign not that eath and light, that's grievous to aby." at this their master was moved to mirth and drinking off his cup, gave the damsels to drink, after which he said to the brunette, "o light of the brasier[fn# ] and delight of souls, let us hear thy lovely voice, wherewith all that hearken are ravished." so she took the lute and trilled upon it, till the place was moved to mirth; then, taking all hearts with her graceful bendings, she sang the following verses: as thy face liveth, none but thee i'll love nor cherish e'er, till death, nor ever to thy love will i be false, i swear. o full moon, shrouded, as it were a veil, with loveliness, all lovely ones on earth that be beneath thy banners fare. thou, that in pleasantness and grace excellest all the fair, may god, the lord of heaven and earth, be with thee everywhere! the man was pleased and drank off his cup; after which he filled again and taking the goblet in his hand, beckoned to the plump girl and bade her sing and play. so she took the lute and striking a grief-dispelling measure, sang as follows: if but thy consent be assured, o thou who art all my desire, be all the folk angered 'gainst me; i set not a whit by their ire. and if thou but show me thy face, thy brilliant and beautiful face, i reck not if all the kings of the earth from my vision retire. thy favour, o thou unto whom all beauty must needs be referred, of the goods and the sweets of the world is all that i seek and require. the man was charmed and emptying his cup, gave the girls to drink. then he beckoned to the slender girl and said to her, "o houri of paradise, feed thou our ears with sweet sounds." so she took the lute and tuning it, preluded and sang the following verses: is it not martyrdom that i for thine estrangement dree, seeing, indeed, i cannot live, if thou depart from me? is there no judge, in love its law, to judge betwixt us twain, to do me justice on thy head and take my wreak of thee? their lord rejoiced and emptying the cup, gave the girls to drink. then he signed to the yellow girl and said to her, "o sun of the day, let us hear some pleasant verses." so she took the lute and preluding after the goodliest fashion, sang as follows: i have a lover, whenas i draw him nigh, he bares upon me a sword from either eye. may god avenge me some whit of him! for lo, he doth oppress me, whose heart in 's hand doth lie. oft though, "renounce him, my heart," i say, yet it will to none other than him itself apply. he's all i ask for, of all created things; yet jealous fortune doth him to me deny. the man rejoiced and drank and gave the girls to drink; then he filled the cup and taking it in his hand, signed to the black girl, saying, "o apple of the eye, let us have a taste of thy fashion, though it be but two words." so she took the lute and preluded in various modes, then returned to the first and sang the following verses to a lively air: o eyes, be large with tears and pour them forth amain, for, lo, for very love my senses fail and wane. all manner of desire i suffer for his sake i cherish, and my foes make merry at my pain. my enviers me forbid the roses of a cheek; and yet i have a heart that is to roses fain. ay, once the cups went round with joyance and delight and to the smitten lutes, the goblets did we drain, what time my love kept troth and i was mad for him and in faith's heaven, the star of happiness did reign. but lo, he turned away from me, sans fault of mine! is there a bitterer thing than distance and disdain? upon his cheeks there bloom a pair of roses red, blown ready to be plucked; ah god, those roses twain! were't lawful to prostrate oneself to any else than god, i'd sure prostrate myself upon the swain. then rose the six girls and kissing the ground before their lord, said to him, "judge thou between us, o our lord!" he looked at their beauty and grace and the difference of their colours and praised god the most high and glorified him: then said he, "there is none of you but has read the koran and learnt to sing and is versed in the chronicles of the ancients and the doings of past peoples; so it is my desire that each of you rise and pointing to her opposite, praise herself and dispraise her rival; that is to say, let the blonde point to the black, the plump to the slender and the yellow to the brunette; and after, the latter shall, each in turn, do the like with the former; and be this illustrated with citations from the holy koran and somewhat of anecdotes and verse, so as to show forth your culture and elegance of discourse." quoth they, "we hear and obey." so the blonde rose first and pointing at the black, said to her, "out on thee, blackamoor! it is told that whiteness saith, 'i am the shining light, i am the rising full moon.' my colour is patent and my forehead is resplendent, and of my beauty quoth the poet: a blonde with smooth and polished cheeks, right delicate and fair, as if a pearl in beauty hid, as in a shell, she were. her shape a splendid alif[fn# ] is, her smile a medial mim[fn# ] and over it her eyebrows make inverted nouns,[fn# ] a pair. yes, and the glances of her eyes are arrows, and her brows a bow that therewithal is horned with death and with despair. if to her cheeks and shape thou pass, her cheeks are roses red, sweet basil, ay, and eglantine and myrtles rich and rare. 'tis of the saplings' wont, to be implanted in the meads but, in the saplings of thy shape, how many meads are there! my colour is like the wholesome day and the newly-gathered orange-blossom and the sparkling star; and indeed quoth god the most high, in his precious book, to his prophet moses (on whom be peace), 'put thy hand into thy bosom and it shall come forth white without hurt.'[fn# ] and again he saith, 'as for those whose faces are made white, they are in the mercy of god and dwell for ever therein.'[fn# ] my colour is a miracle and my grace an extreme and my beauty a term. it is in the like of me that clothes show fair and to the like of me that hearts incline. moreover, in whiteness are many excellences; for instance, the snow falls white from heaven, and it is traditional that white is the most beautiful of colours. the muslims also glory in white turbans; but i should be tedious, were i to repeat all that may be said in praise of white; little and enough is better than too much. so now i will begin with thy dispraise, o black, o colour of ink and blacksmith's dust, thou whose face is like the crow that brings about lovers' parting! verily, the poet saith in praise of white and dispraise of black: seest not that for their milky hue white pearls in price excel and charcoal for a groat a load the folk do buy and sell? and eke white faces, 'tis well known, do enter paradise, whilst faces black appointed are to fill the halls of hell. and indeed it is told in certain histories, related on the authority of devout men, that noah (on whom be peace) was sleeping one day, with his sons ham and shem seated at his head, when a wind sprang up and lifting his clothes, uncovered his nakedness; whereat ham laughed and did not cover him; but shem rose and covered him. presently, noah awoke and learning what had passed, blessed shem and cursed ham. so shem's face was whitened and from him sprang the prophets and the orthodox khalifs and kings; whilst ham's face was blackened and he fled forth to the land of ethiopia, and of his lineage came the blacks. all people are of a mind in affirming the lack of understanding of the blacks, even as saith the adage, 'how shall one find a black having understanding?'" quoth her master, "it sufficeth; sit down, thou hast been prodigal." and he signed to the negress, who rose, and pointing at the blonde, said, "doth thou not know that, in the koran sent down to his prophet and apostle, is transmitted the saying of god the most high, 'by the night, when it veileth [the world with darkness], and by the day, when it appeareth in all its glory!'[fn# ] if the night were not more illustrious than the day, why should god swear by it and give it precedence of the day? and indeed those of sense and understanding accept this. knowst now that black [hair] is the ornament of youth and that, when whiteness descends upon the head, delights pass away and the hour of death draws nigh? were not black the most illustrious of things, god had not set it in the kernel of the heart and the apple of the eye; and how excellent is the saying of the poet: an if i cherish the dusky maids, this is the reason why; they have the hue of the core of the heart and the apple of the eye and youth; nor in error i eschew the whiteness of the blondes; for 'tis the colour of hoary hair and shrouds in them shun i. and that of another: the brown, not the white, are first in my love and worthiest eke to be loved of me, for the colour of damask lips have they, whilst the white have the hue of leprosy. and of a third: black women, white of deeds, are like indeed to eyne that, though jet-black they be, with peerless splendours shine. if i go mad for her, be not amazed; for black the source of madness is, when in the feminine.[fn# ] 'tis as my colour were the middle dark of night; for all no moon it be, yet brings it light, in fine. moreover, is the companying together of lovers good but in the night? let this quality and excellence suffice thee. what protects lovers from spies and censors like the blackness of the shadows? and nought gives them cause to fear discovery like the whiteness of the dawn. so, how many claims to honour are there not in blackness and how excellent is the saying of the poet: i visit them, and the mirk of night doth help me to my will and seconds me, but the white of dawn is hostile to me still. and that of another: how many a night in joy i've passed with the beloved one, what while the darkness curtained us about with tresses dun! whenas the light of morn appeared, it struck me with affright, and i to him, 'the magians lie, who worship fire and sun.' and saith a third: he came forth to visit me, shrouding himself in the cloak of the night, and hastened his steps, as he wended, for caution and fear and affright. then rose i and laid in his pathway my cheek, as a carpet it were, for abjection, and trailed o'er my traces my skirts, to efface them from sight. but lo, the new moon rose and shone, like a nail-paring cleft from the nail, and all but discovered our loves with the gleam of her meddlesome light. and then there betided between us what i'll not discover, i' faith: so question no more of the matter and deem not of ill or unright. and a fourth: foregather with thy lover, whilst night your loves may screen; for that the sun's a telltale, the moon a go-between. and a fifth: i love not white women, with fat blown out and overlaid; the girl of all girls for me is the slender dusky maid. let others the elephant mount, if it like them; as for me, i'll ride but the fine-trained colt on the day of the cavalcade. and a sixth: my loved one came to me by night and we did clip and interlace and lay together through the dark; but, lo, the morning broke apace. to god, my lord, i pray that he will reunite us of his grace and make night last to me, what while i hold my love in my embrace. were i to set forth all the praise of blackness, i should be tedious; but little and enough is better than great plenty and too much. as for thee, o blonde, thy colour is that of leprosy and thine embrace is suffocation; and it is of report that frost and intense cold[fn# ] are in hell for the torment of the wicked. again, of black things is ink, wherewith is written the word of god; and were is not for black ambergris and black musk, there would be no perfumes to carry to kings. how many glories are there not in blackness and how well saith the poet: dost thou not see that musk, indeed, is worth its weight in gold, whilst for a dirhem and no more a load of lime is sold? black eyes cast arrows at men's hearts; but whiteness of the eyes, in man, is judged of all to be unsightly to behold." "it sufficeth," said her master. "sit down." so she sat down and he signed to the fat girl, who rose and pointing at the slim girl, uncovered her arms and legs and bared her stomach, showing its creases and the roundness of her navel. then she donned a shift of fine stuff, that showed her whole body, and said, "praised be god who created me, for that he beautified my face and made me fat and fair and likened me to branches laden with fruit and bestowed upon me abounding beauty and brightness; and praised be he no less, for that he hath given me the precedence and honoured me, when he speaks of me in his holy book! quoth the most high, 'and he brought a fat calf.'[fn# ] and indeed he hath made me like unto an orchard, full of peaches and pomegranates. verily, the townsfolk long for fat birds and eat of them and love not lean birds; so do the sons of adam desire fat meat and eat of it. how many precious attributes are there not in fatness, and how well saith the poet: take leave of thy love, for the caravan, indeed, is on the start. o man, canst thou bear to say farewell and thus from her to part? 'tis as her going were, i trow, but to her neighbour's house, the faultless gait of a fat fair maid, that never tires the heart. sawst thou ever one stop at a butcher's stall, but sought fat meat of him? the wise say, 'pleasure is in three things, eating flesh and riding on flesh and the thrusting of flesh into flesh.' as for thee, o thin one, thy legs are like sparrow's legs or pokers, and thou art like a cruciform plank or a piece of poor meat; there is nought in thee to gladden the heart; even as saith of thee the poet: now god forfend that aught enforce me take for bedfellow a woman like a foot-rasp, wrapt in palm-fibres and tow! in every limb she has a horn, that butts me in my sleep, so that at day-break, bruised and sore, i rise from her and go." "it is enough," quoth her master. "sit down." so she sat down and he signed to the slender girl, who rose, as she were a willow-wand or a bamboo-shoot or a plant of sweet basil, and said, "praised be god who created me and beautified me and made my embraces the end of all desire and likened me to the branch, to which all hearts incline. if i rise, i rise lightly; if i sit, i sit with grace; i am nimble-witted at a jest and sweeter-souled than cheerfulness [itself]. never heard i one describe his mistress, saying, 'my beloved is the bigness of an elephant or like a long wide mountain;' but rather, 'my lady hath a slender waist and a slim shape.' a little food contents me and a little water stays my thirst; my sport is nimble and my habit elegant; for i am sprightlier than the sparrow and lighter-footed than the starling. my favours are the desire of the longing and the delight of the seeker; for i am goodly of shape, sweet of smile and graceful as the willow-wand or the bamboo-cane of the basil-plant; nor is there any can compare with me in grace, even as saith one of me: thy shape unto the sapling liken i and set my hope to win thee or to die. distraught, i follow thee, and sore afraid, lest any look on thee with evil eye. it is for the like of me that lovers run mad and that the longing are distracted. if my lover be minded to draw me to him, i am drawn to him, and if he would have me incline to him, i incline to him and not against him. but as for thee, o fat of body, thine eating is as that of an elephant, and neither much not little contents thee. when thou liest with a man, he hath no ease of thee, nor can he find a way to take his pleasure of thee; for the bigness of thy belly holds him off from clipping thee and the grossness of thy thighs hinders him from coming at thy kaze. what comeliness is there in thy grossness and what pleasantness or courtesy in thy coarse nature? fat meat is fit for nought but slaughter, nor is there aught therein that calls for praise. if one joke with thee, thou art angry; if one sport with thee, thou art sulky; if thou sleep, thou snorest; if thou walk, thou pantest; if thou eat, thou art never satisfied. thou art heavier than mountains and fouler than corruption and sin. thou hast in thee nor movement nor blessing nor thinkest of aught but to eat and sleep. if thou make water, thou scatterest; if thou void, thou gruntest like a bursten wine-skin or a surly elephant. if thou go to the draught-house, thou needest one to wash out thy privy parts and pluck out the hairs; and this is the extreme of laziness and the sign of stupidity. in fine, there is no good thing in thee, and indeed the poet saith of thee: heavy and swollen with fat, like a blown-out water-skin, with thighs like the pillars of stone that buttress a mountain's head, lo, if she walk in the west, so cumbrous her corpulence is the eastern hemisphere hears the sound of her heavy tread." quoth her master, "it is enough: sit down." so she sat down and he signed to the yellow girl, who rose to her feet and praised god and magnified his name, calling down peace and blessing on the best of his creatures;[fn# ] after which she pointed at the brunette and said to her, "i am praised in the koran, and the compassionate one hath described my colour and its excellence over all others in his manifest book, where he saith, 'a yellow [heifer], pure yellow, whose colour rejoices the beholders.' [fn# ] wherefore my colour is a portent and my grace an extreme and my beauty a term; for that my colour is the colour of a dinar and of the planets and moons and of apples. my fashion is the fashion of the fair, and the colour of saffron outvies all other colours; so my fashion is rare and my colour wonderful. i am soft of body, and of great price, comprising all attributes of beauty. my colour, in that which exists, is precious as virgin gold, and how many glorious qualities are there not in me! of the like of me quoth the poet: yellow she is, as is the sun that shineth in the sky, and like to golden dinars, eke, to see, her beauties are. nor with her brightness, anywise, can saffron hold compare, and even the very moon herself her charms outvie by far. and now i will begin in thy dispraise, o brown of favour! thy colour is that of the buffalo, and all souls shudder at thy sight. if thy colour be in aught, it is blamed; if it be in food, it is poisoned; for thy colour is that of flies and is a mark of ugliness in dogs. it is, among colours, one which strikes with amazement and is of the signs of mourning. never heard i of brown gold or brown pearls or brown jewels. if thou enter the wardrobe, thy colour changes, and when thou comest out, thou addest a new ugliness to thine ugliness. thou art neither black, that thou mayst be known, nor white, that thou mayst be described; and there is no good quality in thee, even as saith of thee the poet: as a complexion unto her, the hue of soot doth serve; her mirky colour is as dust on couriers' feet upcast. no sooner fall mine eyes on her, thou but a moment's space, than troubles and misgivings straight beset me thick and fast." "enough," said her master. "sit down." so she sat down and he signed to the brunette. now she was endowed with grace and beauty and symmetry and perfection, delicate of body, with coal-back hair, slender shape, rosy, oval cheeks, liquid black eyes, fair face, eloquent tongue, slim waist and heavy buttocks. so she rose and said, "praised be god who hath created me neither blameably fat nor lankily slender, neither white like leprosy nor yellow like colic nor black like coal, but hath made my colour to be beloved of men of wit; for all the poets praise brunettes in every tongue and exalt their colour over all others. brown of hue, praiseworthy of qualities; and god bless him who saith: in the brunettes a meaning is, couldst read its writ aright, thine eyes would never again look on others, red or white. free-flowing speech and amorous looks would teach harout[fn# ] himself the arts of sorcery and spells of magic and of might. and saith another: give me brunettes; the syrian spears, so limber and so straight, tell of the slender dusky maids, so lithe and proud of gait. languid of eyelids, with a down like silk upon her cheek, within her wasting lover's heart she queens it still in state. and yet another: yea, by my life, such virtues in goodly brownness lie, one spot thereof makes whiteness the shining moons outvie; but if the like of whiteness is borrowed, then, for sure, its beauty were transmuted unto reproach thereby. not with her wine[fn# ] i'm drunken, but with her tresses[fn# ] bright that make all creatures drunken that dwell beneath the sky. each of her charms doth envy the others; yea, and each to be the down so silky upon her cheek doth sigh. and again: why should i not incline me unto the silken down on the cheeks of a dusky maiden, like the cane straight and brown, seeing the spot of beauty in waterlilies' cups is of the poets fabled to be all beauty's crown? yea, and i see all lovers the swarthy-coloured mole, under the ebon pupil, do honour and renown. why, then, do censors blame me for loving one who's all a mole? may allah rid me of every railing clown! my form is beautiful and my shape slender; kings desire my colour and all love it, rich and poor. i am pleasant, nimble, handsome, elegant, soft of body and great of price. i am perfect in beauty and breeding and eloquence; my aspect is comely and my tongue fluent, my habit light and my sport graceful. as for thee, [o yellow girl,] thou art like unto a mallow of bab el louc, yellow and made all of sulphur. perdition to thee, o pennyworth of sorrel, o rust of copper, o owl's face and food of the damned! thy bedfellow, for oppression of spirit, is buried in the tombs, and there is no good thing in thee, even as saith the poet of the like of thee: paleness[fn# ] is sore on her, for all no illness doth her fret; my breast is straitened by its sight; ay, and my head aches yet. if thou repent thee not, my soul, to punish thee, i vow, i'll humble thee with a kiss of her face, my teeth on edge shall set." "enough," said her master; "sit down." then he made peace between them and clad them all in sumptuous dresses of honour and handselled them with precious jewels of land and sea. and never, o commander of the faithful, in any place or time have i seen fairer than these six fair damsels.' when the khalif el mamoun heard this story from mohammed of bassora, he said to him, 'o mohammed, knowest thou the abiding-place of these damsels and their master, and canst thou make shift to buy them of him for us?' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered he, 'i have heard that their master is wrapped up in them and cannot endure to be parted from them.' 'take threescore thousand dinars, --that is, ten thousand for each girl,--' rejoined the khalif, 'and go to his house and buy them of him.' so mohammed took the money and betaking himself to the man of yemen, acquainted him with the khalif's wish. he consented to sell them at that price, to pleasure him, and despatched them to el mamoun, who assigned them an elegant lodging and used to sit with them therein, marvelling at their beauty and grace, no less than at their varied colours and the excellence of their speech. after awhile, when their former owner could no longer endure separation from them, he sent a letter to the khalif, complaining of his ardent love for them and containing, amongst the rest, the following verses: six damsels fair and bright have captivated me; my blessing and my peace the six fair maidens greet! my life, indeed, are they, my hearing and my sight, yea, and my very drink, my pleasance and my meat. no other love can bring me solace for their charms, and slumber, after them, no more to me is sweet. alas, my long regret, my weeping for their loss! would i have ne'er been born, to know this sore defeat! for eyes, bedecked and fair with brows like bended bows, have smitten me to death with arrows keen and fleet. when the letter came to el mamoun's hands, he clad the six damsels in rich apparel and giving them threescore thousand dinars, sent them back to their master, who rejoiced in them with an exceeding joy,--more by token of the money they brought him,--and abode with them in all delight and pleasance of life, till there came to them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of companies. haroun er rashid and the damsel and abou nuwas. the khalif haroun er reshid, being one night exceeding restless and oppressed with melancholy thought, went out and walked about his palace, till he came to a chamber, over whose doorway hung a curtain. he raised the curtain and saw, at the upper end of the room, a bed, on which lay something black, as it were a man asleep, with a candle on his right hand and another on his left and by his side a flagon of old wine, over against which stood the cup. the khalif wondered at this, saying, 'how came yonder black by this wine-service?' then, drawing near the bed, he found that it was a girl asleep there, veiled with her hair, and uncovering her face, saw that it was like the moon on the night of her full. so he filled a cup of wine and drank it to the roses of her cheeks; then bent over her and kissed a mole on her face, whereupon she awoke and cried out, saying, 'o trusty one of god,[fn# ], what is to do?' 'a guest who knocks at thy dwelling by night,' replied the khalif, '[hoping] that thou wilt give him hospitality till the dawn.' 'it is well,' answered she; 'i will grace the guest with my hearing and my sight.' so she brought the wine and they drank it together; after which she took the lute and tuning it, preluded in one-and-twenty modes, then returning to the first, struck a lively measure and sang the following verses: the tongue of passion in my heart bespeaks thee for my soul, telling i love thee with a love that nothing can control. i have an eye, that testifies unto my sore disease, and eke a heart with parting wrung, a-throb for love and dole. indeed, i cannot hide the love that frets my life away; longing increases still on me, my tears for ever roll. ah me, before the love of thee, i knew not what love was; but god's decree must have its course on every living soul. then said she, 'o commander of the faithful, i am a wronged woman.' 'how so?' quoth he, 'and who hath wronged thee?' she answered, 'thy son bought me awhile ago, for ten thousand dirhems, meaning to give me to thee; but the daughter of thine uncle[fn# ] sent him the price aforesaid and bade him shut me up from thee in this chamber.' whereupon, 'ask a boon of me,' said the khalif; and she, 'i ask thee to lie to-morrow night with me.' 'if it be the will of god,' replied the khalif, and leaving her, went away. next morning, he repaired to his sitting-room and called for abou nuwas, but found him not and sent his chamberlain to seek for him. the chamberlain found him in pawn, in a tavern, for a score of a thousand dirhems, that he had spent on a certain boy, and questioned him. so he told him what had befallen him with the boy and how he had spent a thousand dirhems upon him; whereupon quoth the chamberlain, 'show him to me; and if he be worth this, thou art excused.' 'wait awhile,' replied the poet, 'and thou shalt see him presently.' as they were talking, up came the boy, clad in a white tunic, under which was another of red and yet another of black. when abou nuwas saw him, he sighed and repeated the following verses: to me he appeared in a garment of white, his eyes and his eyelids with languor bedight. quoth i, "dost thou pass and salutest me not? though god knows thy greeting were sweet to my spright. be he blessed who mantled with roses thy cheeks, who creates, without let, what he will, of his might!" "leave prating," he answered; "for surely my lord is wondrous of working, sans flaw or dissight. yea, truly, my garment is even as my face and my fortune, each white upon white upon white." when the boy heard this, he put off the white tunic and appeared in the red one; whereupon abou nuwas redoubled in expressions of admiration and repeated the following verses: appeared in a garment, the colour of flame, a foeman of mine, "the beloved," by name. "thou'rt a full moon," i said in my wonder, "and com'st in a garment that putteth the roses to shame. hath the red of thy cheek clad that vest upon thee or in heart's blood of lovers hast tinctured the same?" quoth he, "'twas the sun lately gave me the wede; from the rubicund hue of his setting it came. so my garment and wine and the colour so clear of my cheek are as flame upon flame upon flame." then the boy doffed the red tunic and abode in the black; whereupon abou nuwas redoubled in attention to him and repeated the following verses: he came in a tunic all sable of hue and shone out, thus veiled in the dark, to men's view. "thou passest," quoth i, "without greeting, and thus givest cause to exult to the rancorous crew. thy garment resembles thy locks and my lot, yea, blackness and blackness and blackness thereto." then the chamberlain returned to haroun er reshid and acquainted him with the poet's predicament, whereupon he bade him take a thousand dirhems and go and take him out of pawn. so he returned to abou nuwas and paying his score, carried him to the khalif, who said, 'make me some verses containing the words, "o trusty one of god, what is to do?"' 'i hear and obey, o commander of the faithful,' answered he and improvised the following verses: my night was long for sleeplessness and care. weary i was and many my thoughts were. i rose and walked awhile in my own place, then midst the harem's cloistered courts did fare, until i chanced on somewhat black and found it was a damsel shrouded in her hair. god bless her for a shining moon! her shape a willow-wand, and pudour veiled the fair. i quaffed a cup to her; then, drawing near, i kissed the mole upon her cheek so rare. she woke and swayed about in her amaze, even as the branch sways in the rain-fraught air; then rose and said, "o trusty one of god, what is to do, and thou, what dost thou there?" "a guest", quoth i, "that sues to thee, by night, for shelter till the hour of morning-prayer." "gladly," she said; "with hearing and with sight to grace the guest, my lord, i will not spare." 'confound thee!' cried the khalif. 'it is as if thou hadst been present with us.' then he took him by the hand and carried him to the damsel, who was clad in a dress and veil of blue. when abou nuwas saw her, he was profuse in expressions of admiration and recited the following verses: say to the lovely maid, i' the veil of azure dight, "by allah, o my life, have pity on my plight! for when the fair entreats her lover cruelly, sighs of all longing rend his bosom day and night. so, by thy charms and by the whiteness of thy cheek, have ruth upon a heart for love consumed outright. incline to him and be his stay 'gainst stress of love, nor let what fools may say find favour in thy sight." then the damsel set wine before the khalif and taking the lute, played a lively measure and sang the following verses: wilt thou be just in thy love to others and deal with me unjustly and put me away, while others have joy in thee? were there for lovers a judge, to whom i might complain of thee, he would do me justice and judge with equity. if thou forbid me to pass thy door, yet from afar to greet thee and to bless, at least, i shall be free. the khalif bade her ply abou nuwas with wine, till he lost his wits; when he gave him a full cup, and he drank a draught of it and held the cup in his hand. er reshid bade the girl take the cup from him and conceal it; so she took it and hid it between her thighs. then he drew his sword and standing at the poet's head, pricked him with the point; whereupon he awoke and saw the khalif standing over him, with a drawn sword. at this sight the fumes of the wine fled from his head and the khalif said to him, 'make me some verses and tell me therein what is come of thy cup; or i will cut off thy head.' so he improvised the following verses: my tale, indeed is hard to tell: the thief was none but yon gazelle. she stole my cup of wine, whereof my lips had drunken but one spell, and hid it in a place, for which my heart's desire's unspeakable. i name it not, for awe of him, in whom the right thereof doth dwell. 'confound thee!' quoth the khalif. 'how knewst thou that? but we accept what thou sayst.' then he ordered him a dress of honour and a thousand dinars, and he went away, rejoicing. the man who stole the dish of gold in which the dog ate. there was once a man, who was overborne with debt, and his case was straitened upon him, so that he left his people and family and went forth in distraction. he wandered on at random till he came to a high-walled and splendidly built city and entered it in a state of wretchedness and despair, gnawed with hunger and worn with the toil of his journey. as he passed through one of the streets, he saw a company of notables going along; so he followed them, till they entered a house like to a royal palace. he entered with them, and they stayed not till they came in presence of a man of the most dignified and majestic aspect, seated at the upper end of a saloon and surrounded by pages and servants, as he were of the sons of the viziers. when he saw the visitors, he rose and received them with honour; but the poor man was confounded at the goodliness of the place and the crowd of servants and attendants and drawing back, in fear and perplexity, sat down apart in a place afar off, where none should see him. after awhile, in came a man with four hunting-dogs, clad in various kinds of silk and brocade and having on their necks collars of gold with chains of silver, and tied up each dog in a place set apart for him; after which he went out and presently returned with four dishes of gold, full of rich meats, one of which he set before each dog. then he went away and left them, whilst the poor man began to eye the food, for stress of hunger, and would fain have gone up to one of the dogs and eaten with him; but fear of them withheld him. presently, one of the dogs looked at him and god the most high inspired him with a knowledge of his case; so he drew back from the platter and beckoned to the man, who came and ate, till he was satisfied. then he would have withdrawn, but the dog pushed the dish towards him with his paw, signing to him to take it and what was left in it for himself. so the man took the dish and leaving the house, went his way, and none followed him. then he journeyed to another city, where he sold the dish and buying goods with the price, returned to his own town. there he sold his stock and paid his debts; and he prospered and became rich and at his ease. after some years had passed, he said to himself, 'needs must i repair to the city of the owner of the dish, which the dog bestowed on me, and carry him its price, together with a fit and handsome present.' so he took the price of the dish and a suitable present and setting out, journeyed night and day, till he came to the city and entering, went straight to the place where the man's house had been; but lo, he found there nothing but mouldering ruins and dwelling-places laid waste, over which the raven croaked; for the place was desert and the environs changed out of knowledge. at this, his heart and soul were troubled and he repeated the words of him who saith: the privy chambers are void of all their hidden store, as hearts of the fear of god and the virtues all of yore. changed is the vale and strange to me are its gazelles, and those i knew of old its sandhills are no more. and those of another: the phantom of saada came to me by night, near the break of day, and roused me, whenas my comrades all in the desert sleeping lay. but, when i awoke to the dream of the night, that came to visit me, i found the air void and the wonted place of our rendezvous far away. when he saw what the hand of time had manifestly done with the place, leaving but traces of the things that had been aforetime, the testimony of his eyes made it needless for him to enquire of the case; so he turned away and seeing a wretched man, in a plight that made the skin quake and would have moved the very rock to pity, said to him, 'harkye, sirrah! what have time and fortune done with the master of this place? where are his shining full moons[fn# ] and splendid stars;[fn# ] and what is the cause of the ruin that is come upon his abode, so that but the walls thereof remain?' quoth the other, 'he is the miserable wretch thou seest bewailing that which hath befallen him. knowest thou not the words of the prophet (whom god bless and preserve), wherein is a lesson to him who will profit by it and an admonition to whoso will be guided thereby in the right way? "verily it is the way of god the most high to raise up nothing of this world, except he cast it down again." if thou enquire of the cause of this thing, indeed, it is no wonder, considering the vicissitudes of fortune. i was the master of this place and its builder and founder and owner and lord of its shining full moons and radiant damsels and of all its splendid circumstance an magnificent garniture; but fortune turned and did away from me wealth and servants, overwhelming me unawares with disasters unforeseen and bringing me to this sorry plight. but there must needs be some reason for this thy question: tell it me and leave wondering.' so the other told him the whole story, sore concerned at what he heard and saw, and added, 'i have brought thee a present such as souls desire, and the price of thy dish of gold, that i took; for it was the cause of my becoming rich, after poverty, and of the reinstating of my dwelling-place, after desolation, and of the doing away of my trouble and straitness from me.' but the poor man shook his head, groaning and weeping and lamenting, and answered, 'o man, methinks thou art mad; for this is not the fashion of a man of understanding. how should a dog of mine make gift to thee of a dish of gold and i receive back its price? this were indeed a strange thing! by allah, were i in the straitest misery and unease, i would not accept of thee aught, no, not the worth of a nail-paring! so return whence thou camest, in health and safety.' the merchant kissed his feet and taking leave of him, returned whence he came, praising him and reciting the following verse: the men and eke the dogs are gone and vanished all. peace be upon the men and dogs, whate'er befall! the sharper of alexandria and the master of police. there was once, in the coast-fortress of alexandria, a master of police, husameddin by name, who was one night sitting in his seat of office, when there came in to him a trooper, who said to him, 'know, o my lord, that i entered the city this night and alighted at such a khan and slept there, till a third part of the night was past, when i awoke and found my saddle-bags cut open and a purse of a thousand dinars stolen from them.' no sooner had he done speaking than the magistrate called his officers and bade them lay hands on all in the khan and clap them in prison till the morning; and on the morrow, he caused bring the instruments of torment and sending for the prisoners, was about to torture them, [to make them confess], in the presence of the owner of the stolen money, when, behold, a man pressed through the crowd and coming up to the chief of the police, said, 'o amir, let these folk go, for they are wrongly accused. it was i who robbed the trooper, and here is the purse i stole from his saddle-bags.' so saying, he pulled out the purse from his sleeve and laid it before husameddin, who said to the soldier, 'take thy money; thou hast no ground of complaint now against the people of the khan.' thereupon the latter and all who were present fell to blessing the thief and praising him; but he said, 'o amir, the skill is not in that i came to thee and brought thee the purse, but in taking it a second time from the trooper.' 'and how didst thou take it, o sharper?' asked husameddin. 'o amir,' replied the thief, 'i was standing in the money-changers' bazaar at cairo, when i saw yonder man receive the gold and put it in his purse; so i followed him from street to street, but found no occasion of stealing it from him. then he left cairo and i followed him from place to place, casting about by the way to rob him, but without avail, till he entered this city and i followed him to the khan. i took up my lodging beside him and watched him till he fell asleep and i heard him snoring, when i went softly up to him and cutting open his saddlebags with this knife, took the purse thus--' so saying, he put out his hand and took the purse from before the chief of the police, whilst the latter and the trooper and the folk drew back, watching him and thinking he would show them how he took the purse from the saddle-bags; but, of a sudden, he broke into a run and threw himself into a reservoir hard by. the chief of the police called to his officers to pursue him, but before they could put off their clothes and descend the steps, he had made off; and they sought for him, but found him not; for the streets of alexandria all communicate one with another. so they came back, empty-handed, and the chief of the police said to the trooper, 'thou hast no recourse against the folk; for thou foundest him who robbed thee and receivedst back thy money, but didst not keep it.' so the trooper went away, having lost his money, whilst the folk were delivered from his hands and those of the chief of the police; and all this was of the favour of god the most high. el melik en nasir and the three masters of police. el melik en nasir[fn# ] once sent for the chiefs of the police of new cairo, boulac and old cairo and said to them, 'i wish each of you to tell me the most remarkable thing that hath befallen him during his term of office.' 'we hear and obey,' answered they. then said the chief of the police of new cairo, 'o our lord the sultan, the most remarkable thing that befell me, during my term of office, was on this wise: story of the chief of the police of new cairo. there were once, in this city, two men apt to bear witness in matters of blood and wounds; but they were both given to wine and women and debauchery; nor, do what i would, could i succeed in bringing them to account. so i charged the vintners and confectioners and fruiterers and chandlers and bagnio-keepers to acquaint me of these two, when ever they should anywhere be engaged in drinking or debauchery, whether together or apart, and that, if they or either of them bought of them aught for the purpose of carousal, they should not conceal it from me. and they replied, "we hear and obey." one night, a man came to me and said, "o my lord, know that the two witnesses are in such a house in such a street, engaged in sore wickedness." so i disguised myself and went out, accompanied by none but my page, to the street in question. when i came to the house, i knocked at the door, whereupon a slave-girl came out and opened to me, saying, "who art thou?" i made her no answer, but entered and saw the two witnesses and the master of the house sitting, and lewd women with them, and great plenty of wine before them. when they saw me, they rose to receive me, without showing the least alarm, and made much of me, seating me in the place of honour and saying to me, "welcome for an illustrious guest and a pleasant cup-companion!" presently, the master of the house went out and returning after awhile with three hundred dinars, said to me, without the least fear, "o my lord, it is, we know, in thy power both to disgrace and punish us; but this will bring thee nothing but weariness. so thou wouldst do better to take this money and protect us; for god the most high is named the protector and loveth those of his servants who protect each other; and thou shalt have thy reward in the world to come." the money tempted me and i said in myself, "i will take the money and protect them this once; but, if ever again i have them in my power, i will take my wreak of them." so i took the money and went away; but, next day, one of the cadi's serjeants came to me and cited me before the court. i accompanied him thither, knowing not the meaning of the summons; and when i came into the cadi's presence, i saw the two witnesses and the master of the house sitting by him. the latter rose and sued me for three hundred dinars, nor was it in my power to deny the debt; for he produced a written obligation and the two others testified against me that i owed the amount. their evidence satisfied the cadi and he ordered me to pay the money; nor did i leave the court till they had of me the three hundred dinars. so i went away, in the utmost wrath and confusion, vowing vengeance against them and repenting that i had not punished them.' then rose the chief of the boulac police and said, 'as for me, o our lord the sultan, the most remarkable thing that befell me, during my term of office, was as follows: story of the chief of the boulac police. i was once in debt to the amount of three hundred thousand dinars, and being distressed thereby, i sold what was behind me and what was before me and all i could lay my hands on, but could raise no more than a hundred thousand dinars and abode in great perplexity. one night, as i sat at home, in this state of mind, there came a knocking at the gate; so i said to one of my servants, "see who is at the door." he went out and returned, pale and trembling in every nerve; so i said to him, "what ails thee?" "there is a man at the door, seeking thee," answered he. "he is half naked, clad in skins, with a sword and a knife in his girdle, and with him are a company of the same fashion." so i took my sword and going out to see who these were, found them as the boy had reported and said to them, "what is your business?" "we are thieves," answered they, "and have made great purchase to-night and appointed it to thy use, that thou mayst pay therewith the debts that oppress thee and free thyself from thy distress." "where is it?" asked i; and they brought me a great chest, full of vessels of gold and silver; which when i saw, i rejoiced and said in myself, "it were ungenerous to let them go away empty-handed." so i took the hundred thousand dinars i had by me and gave it to them, thanking them; and they took it and went their way, under cover of the night. but, on the morrow, when i examined the contents of the chest, i found them gilded brass and pewter, worth five hundred dirhems at the most; and this was grievous to me, for i had lost what money i had, and trouble was added to my trouble.' then rose the chief of the police of old cairo and said, 'o our lord the sultan, the most remarkable thing that befell me, during my term of office, was on this wise: story of the chief of the old cairo police i once had ten thieves hanged, each on his own gibbet, and set guards to watch them and hinder the folk from taking them down. next morning, when i came to look at them, i found two bodies hanging from one gibbet and said to the guards, "who did this, and where is the tenth gibbet?" but they denied all knowledge of it, and i was about to beat them, when they said, "know, o amir, that we fell asleep last night, and when we awoke, we found one of the bodies gone, gibbet and all, whereat we were alarmed, fearing thy wrath. but, presently, up came a peasant, jogging along on his ass; so we laid hands on him and killing him, hung his body upon this gibbet, in the stead of the missing thief." when i heard this, i marvelled and said to them, "had he aught with him?" "he had a pair of saddle-bags on the ass," answered they. "what was in them?" asked i and they said, "we know not." quoth i, "bring them hither." so they brought them to me and i bade open them, when, behold, therein was the body of a murdered man, cut in pieces. when i saw this, i marvelled and said in myself, "glory be to god! the cause of the hanging of this peasant was no other but his crime against this murdered man; and the lord is no unjust dealer with [his] servants."' [fn# ] the thief and the money-changer a money-changer, bearing a bag of money, once passed by a company of thieves, and one of the latter said to the others, 'i know how to steal yonder bag of money.' 'how wilt thou do it?' asked they. 'look,' answered he and followed the money- changer, till he entered his house, when he threw the bag on a shelf and went into the draught-house, to do an occasion, calling to the slave-girl to bring him an ewer of water. so she took the jug and followed him to the draught-house, leaving the door open, whereupon the thief entered and taking the bag of money, made off with it to his companions, to whom he related what had passed. 'by allah,' said they, 'this was a clever trick! it is not every one could do it: but, presently, the money-changer will come out of the draught-house and missing the bag of money, will beat the slave-girl and torture her grievously. meseems thou hast at present done nothing worthy of praise; but, if thou be indeed a sharper, thou wilt return and save the girl from being beaten.' 'if it be the will of god,' answered the thief, 'i will save both the girl and the purse.' then he went back to the money-changer's house and found him beating the girl, because of the bag of money; so he knocked at the door and the man said, 'who is there? quoth the thief, 'i am the servant of thy neighbour in the bazaar.' so he came out to him and said, 'what is thy business?' 'my master salutes thee,' replied the thief, 'and says to thee, "surely, thou art mad to cast the like of this bag of money down at the door of thy shop and go away and leave it! had a stranger chanced on it, he had made off with it." and except my master had seen it and taken care of it, it had been lost to thee.' so saying, he pulled out the purse and showed it to the money-changer, who said, 'that is indeed my purse,' and put out his hand to take it; but the thief said, 'by allah, i will not give it thee, till thou write me a receipt; for i fear my master will not believe that thou hast duly received the purse, except i bring him a writing to that effect, under thy hand and seal.' so the money-changer went in to write the receipt; but, in the meantime, the thief made off with the bag of money, having [thus] saved the slave-girl her beating. the chief of the cous police and the sharper it is related that alaeddin, chief of the police of cous[fn# ], was sitting one night in his house, when a man of comely aspect and dignified port, followed by a servant bearing a chest upon his head, came to the door and said to one of the young men, 'go in and tell the amir that i would speak with him privily.' so the servant went in and told his master, who bade admit the visitor. when he entered the amir saw him to be a man of good appearance and carriage; so he received him with honour, seating him beside himself, and said to him, 'what is thy business?' 'i am a highwayman,' replied the stranger, 'and am minded to repent at thy hands and turn to god the most high but i would have thee help me to this, for that i am in thy district and under thine eye. i have here a chest, wherein is that which is worth nigh forty thousand dinars; and none hath so good a right to it as thou; so do thou take it and give me in exchange a thousand dinars of thy money, lawfully gotten, that i may have a little capital, to aid me in my repentance, and not be forced to resort to sin for subsistence; and with god the most high be thy reward!' so saying he opened the chest and showed the amir that it was full of trinkets and jewels and bullion and pearls, whereat he was amazed and rejoiced greatly. then he cried out to his treasurer, to bring him a purse of a thousand dinars, and gave it to the highwayman, who thanked him and went his way, under cover of the night. on the morrow, the amir sent for the chief of the goldsmiths and showed him the chest and what was therein; but the goldsmith found it nothing but pewter and brass and the jewels and pearls all of glass; at which alaeddin was sore chagrined and sent in quest of the highwayman; but none could come at him. ibrahim ben el mehdi and the merchant's sister. the khalif el mamoun once said to [his uncle] ibrahim ben el mehdi, 'tell us the most remarkable thing that thou hast ever seen.' 'i hear and obey, o commander of the faithful,' answered he. 'know that i went out one day, a-pleasuring, and my course brought me to a place where i smelt the odour of food. my soul longed for it and i halted, perplexed and unable either to go on or enter. presently, i raised my eyes and saw a lattice window and behind it a hand and wrist, the like of which for beauty i never saw. the sight turned my brain and i forgot the smell of the food and began to cast about how i should get access to the house. after awhile, i espied a tailor hard by and going up to him, saluted him. he returned my greeting and i said to him, "whose house is that?" "it belongs to a merchant called such an one," answered he, "who consorteth with none but merchants." as we were talking, up came two men of comely and intelligent aspect, riding on horseback; and the tailor told me their names and that they were the merchant's most intimate friends. so i spurred my horse towards them and said to them, "may i be your ransom! abou such an one[fn# ] waits for you!" and i rode with them to the gate, where i entered and they also. when the master of the house saw me, he doubted not but i was their friend; so he welcomed me and made me sit down in the highest room. then they brought the table of food and i said, "god hath granted me my desire of the food; and now there remain the hand and wrist." after awhile, we removed, for carousal, to another room, which i found full of all manner of rarities; and the host paid me particular attention, addressing his conversation to me, for that he deemed me a guest of his guests; whilst the latter, in like manner, made much of me, taking me for a friend of the master of the house. when we had drunk several cups of wine, there came in to us a damsel of the utmost beauty and elegance, as she were a willow-wand, who took a lute and playing a lively measure, sang the following verses: is it not passing strange, indeed, one house should hold us tway and still thou drawst not near to me nor yet a word dost say, except the secrets of the souls and hearts that broken be and entrails blazing in the fires of love, the eye bewray with meaning looks and knitted brows and eyelids languishing and hands that salutation sign and greeting thus convey? when i heard this, my entrails were stirred and i was moved to delight, for the excess of her grace and the beauty of the verses she sang; and i envied her her skill and said, "there lacketh somewhat to thee, o damsel!" whereupon she threw the lute from her hand, in anger, and cried, "since when do you use to bring ill-mannered fools into your assemblies?" then i repented of what i had done, seeing that the others were vexed with me, and said in myself, "my hopes are at an end;" and i saw no way of quitting myself of reproach but to call for a lute, saying, "i will show you what escaped her in the air she sang." so they brought me a lute and i tuned it and sang the following verses: this is thy lover distraught, absorbed in his passion and pain; thy lover, the tears of whose eyes run down on his body like rain. one hand to his heart ever pressed, whilst the other the merciful one imploreth, so he of his grace may grant him his hope to attain. o thou, that beholdest a youth for passion that's perished, thine eye and thy hand are the cause of his death and yet might restore him again. when the damsel heard this, she sprang up and throwing herself at my feet, kissed them and said, "it is thine to excuse, o my lord! by allah, i knew not thy quality nor heard i ever the like of this fashion!" and they all extolled me and made much of me, being beyond measure delighted, and besought me to sing again. so i sang a lively air, whereupon they all became as drunken men, and their wits left them. then the guests departed to their homes and i abode alone with the host and the girl. the former drank some cups with me, then said to me, "o my lord, my life hath been wasted, in that i have not known the like of thee till now. by allah, then, tell me who thou art, that i may know who is the boon-companion whom god hath bestowed on me this night." i would not at first tell him my name and returned him evasive answers; but he conjured me, till i told him who i was; whereupon he sprang to his feet and said, "indeed, i wondered that such excellence should belong to any but the like of thee; and fortune hath done me a service for which i cannot avail to thank her. but, belike, this is a dream; for how could i hope that the family of the khalifate should visit me in my own house and carouse with me this night?" i conjured him to be seated; so he sat down and began to question me, in the most courteous terms, as to the cause of my visit. so i told him the whole matter, concealing nothing, and said to him, "verily, i have had my desire of the food, but not of the hand and wrist." quoth he, "thou shalt have thy desire of them also, so god will." then said he to the slave-girl, "bid such an one come down." and he called his slave-girls down, one by one and showed them to me; but i saw not my mistress among them, and he said, "o my lord, there is none left save my mother and sister; but, by allah, i must needs have them also down and show them to thee." i marvelled at his courtesy and large-heartedness and said, "may i be thy ransom! begin with thy sister." "willingly," replied he. so she came down and behold, it was she whose hand and wrist i had seen. "may god make me thy ransom!" said i. "this is the damsel whose hand and wrist i saw at the lattice." then he sent at once for witnesses and bringing out two myriads of dinars, said to the witnesses, "this our lord ibrahim ben el mehdi, uncle of the commander of the faithful, seeks the hand of my sister such an one, and i call you to witness that i marry her to him and that he has endowed her with a dowry of ten thousand dinars." and he said to me, "i give thee my sister in marriage, at the dowry aforesaid." "i consent," answered i. whereupon he gave one of the bags to her and the other to the witnesses, and said to me, "o my lord, i desire to array a chamber for thee; where thou mayst lie with thy wife." but i was abashed at his generosity and was ashamed to foregather with her in his house; so i said, "equip her and send her to my house." and by thy life, o commander of the faithful, he sent me such an equipage with her, that my house was too strait to hold it, for all its greatness! and i begot on her this boy that stands before thee.' the khalif marvelled at the merchant's generosity and said, 'gifted of god is he! never heard i of his like.' and he bade ibrahim bring him to court, that he might see him. so he brought him and the khalif conversed with him; and his wit and good breeding so pleased him, that he made him one of his chief officers. the woman whose hands were cut off for that she gave alms to the poor. a certain king once made proclamation to the people of his realm, saying, 'if any of you give alms of aught, i will assuredly cut off his hand;' wherefore all the people abstained from alms-giving, and none could give to any. one day a beggar accosted a certain woman (and indeed hunger was sore upon him) and said to her, 'give me an alms.' 'how can i give thee aught,' answered she, 'when the king cutteth off the hands of all who give alms?' but he said, 'i conjure thee by god the most high, give me an alms.' so, when he adjured her by god, she had compassion on him and gave him two cakes of bread. the king heard of this; so he called her before him and cut off her hands, after which she returned to her house. a while after, the king said to his mother, 'i have a mind to take a wife; so do thou marry me to a fair woman.' quoth she, 'there is among our female slaves one who is unsurpassed in beauty; but she hath a grievous blemish.' 'what is that?' asked the king; and his mother answered, 'she hath had both her hands cut off.' said he, 'let me see her.' so she brought her to him, and he was ravished by her and married her and went in to her; and she brought him a son. now this was the woman, who had her hands cut off for alms-giving; and when she became queen, her fellow-wives envied her and wrote to the king [who was then absent] that she was unchaste; so he wrote to his mother, bidding her carry the woman into the desert and leave her there. the old queen obeyed his commandment and abandoned the woman and her son in the desert; whereupon she fell to weeping and wailing exceeding sore for that which had befallen her. as she went along, with the child at her neck, she came to a river and knelt down to drink, being overcome with excess of thirst, for fatigue and grief; but, as she bent her head, the child fell into the water. then she sat weeping sore for her child, and as she wept, there came up two men, who said to her, 'what makes thee weep?' quoth she, 'i had a child at my neck, and he hath fallen into the water.' 'wilt thou that we bring him out to thee?' asked they, and she answered, 'yes.' so they prayed to god the most high, and the child came forth of the water to her, safe and sound. quoth they, 'wilt thou that god restore thee thy hands as they were?' 'yes,' replied she: whereupon they prayed to god, blessed and exalted be he! and her hands were restored to her, goodlier than before. then said they, 'knowst thou who we are?' 'god [only] is all-knowing,' answered she; and they said, 'we are thy two cakes of bread, that thou gavest in alms to the beggar and which were the cause of the cutting off of thy hands. so praise thou god the most high, for that he hath restored thee thy hands and thy child.' so she praised god the most high and glorified him. the devout israelite. there was once a devout man of the children of israel[fn# ], whose family span cotton; and he used every day to sell the yarn they span and buy fresh cotton, and with the profit he bought the day's victual for his household. one day, he went out and sold the day's yarn as usual, when there met him one of his brethren, who complained to him of want; so he gave him the price of the yarn and returned, empty-handed, to his family, who said to him, 'where is the cotton and the food?' quoth he, 'such an one met me and complained to me of want; so i gave him the price of the yarn.' and they said, 'how shall we do? we have nothing to sell.' now they had a broken platter and a jar; so he took them to the market; but none would buy them of him. presently, as he stood in the market, there came up a man with a stinking, swollen fish, which no one would buy of him, and he said to the jew, 'wilt thou sell me thine unsaleable ware for mine?' 'yes,' answered the jew and giving him the jar and platter, took the fish and carried it home to his family, who said, 'what shall we do with this fish?' quoth he, 'we will broil it and eat of it, till it please god to provide for us.' so they took it and ripping open its belly, found therein a great pearl and told the jew, who said, 'see if it be pierced. if so, it belongs to some one of the folk; if not, it is a provision of god for us.' so they examined it and found it unpierced. on the morrow, the jew carried it to one of his brethren, who was skilled in jewels, and he said, 'whence hadst thou this pearl?' 'it was a gift of god the most high to us,' replied the jew, and the other said, 'it is worth a thousand dirhems, and i will give thee that sum; but take it to such an one, for he hath more money and skill than i.' so the jew took it to the jeweller, who said, 'it is worth threescore and ten thousand dirhems and no more. then he paid him that sum and the jew hired two porters to carry the money to his house. as he came to his door, a beggar accosted him, saying, 'give me of that which god the most high hath given thee.' quoth the jew, 'but yesterday, we were even as thou; take half the money.' so he made two parts of it, and each took his half. then said the beggar, 'take back thy money and god prosper thee in it; i am a messenger, whom thy lord hath sent to try thee.' quoth the jew, 'to god be the praise and the thanks!' and abode with his family in all delight of life, till death. abou hassan ez ziyadi and the man from khorassan. quoth abou hassan ez ziyadi[fn# ], 'i was once in very needy case, and the baker and grocer and other purveyors importuned me, so that i was in sore straits and knew of no resource nor what to do. things being thus, there came in to me one day one of my servants and said to me, "there is a man, a pilgrim, at the door, who seeks admission to thee." quoth i, "admit him." so he came in and behold, he was a native of khorassan. we exchanged salutations and he said to me, "art thou abou hassan ez ziyadi?" "yes," answered i. "what is thy business?" quoth he, "i am a stranger and am minded to make the pilgrimage; but i have with me a great sum of money, which is burdensome to me. so i wish to deposit with thee these ten thousand dirhems, whilst i make the pilgrimage and return. if the caravan return and thou see me not, know that i am dead, in which case the money is a gift from me to thee; but if i come back, it shall be mine." "be it as thou wilt," answered i, "so it please god the most high." so he brought out a leather bag and i said to the servant, "fetch the scales." he brought them and the man weighed out the money and handed it to me, after which he went his way. then i called the tradesmen and paid them what i owed and spent freely, saying in myself, "by the time he returns, god will have succoured me with one or another of his bounties." however, next day, the servant came in to me and said, "thy friend the man from khorassan is at the door." "admit him," answered i. so he came in and said to me, "i had thought to make the pilgrimage; but news hath reached me of the death of my father, and i have resolved to return; so give me the money i deposited with thee yesterday." when i heard this, i was troubled and perplexed beyond measure and knew not what reply to make him; for, if i denied it, he would put me to my oath, and i should be shamed in the world to come; whilst, if i told him that i had spent the money, he would make an outcry and disgrace me. so i said to him, "god give thee health! this my house is no stronghold nor place of safe custody for this money. when i received thy leather bag, i sent it to one with whom it now is; so do thou return to us to-morrow and take thy money, if it be the will of god." so he went away, and i passed the night in sore concern, because of his return to me. sleep visited me not nor could i close my eyes: so i rose and bade the boy saddle me the mule. "o my lord," answered he, "it is yet but the first watch of the night." so i returned to bed, but sleep was forbidden to me and i ceased not to awaken the boy and he to put me off, till break of day, when he saddled me the mule, and i mounted and rode out, not knowing whither to go. i threw the reins on the mule's shoulders and gave myself up to anxiety and melancholy thought, whilst she fared on with me to the eastward of baghdad. presently, as i went along, i saw a number of people in front and turned aside into another path to avoid them; but they, seeing that i wore a professor's hood, followed me and hastening up to me, said, "knowest thou the lodging of abou hassan ez ziyadi?" "i am he," answered i; and they rejoined, "the commander of the faithful calls for thee." then they carried me before el mamoun, who said to me, "who art thou?" quoth i, "i am a professor of the law and traditions, and one of the associates of the cadi abou yousuf." "how art thou called?" asked the khalif. "abou hassan ez ziyadi," answered i, and he said, "expound to me thy case." so i told him how it was with me and he wept sore and said to me, "out on thee! the apostle of god (whom may he bless and preserve) would not let me sleep this night, because of thee; for he appeared to me in my first sleep and said to me, 'succour abou hassan ez ziyadi.' whereupon i awoke and knowing thee not, went to sleep again; but he came to me a second time and said to me, 'woe to thee! succour abou hassan ez ziyadi.' i awoke a second time, but knew thee not, so went to sleep again; and he came to me a third time and still i knew thee not and went to sleep again. then he came to me once more and said, 'out on thee! succour abou hassan ez ziyadi!' after that i dared not go to sleep again, but watched the rest of the night and aroused my people and sent them in all directions in quest of thee." then he gave me ten thousand dirhems, saying, "this is for the khorassani," and other ten thousand, saying, "spend freely of this and amend thy case therewith, and set thine affairs in order." moreover, he gave me yet thirty thousand dirhems, saying, "furnish thyself with this, and when the day of estate comes round, come thou to me, that i may invest thee with an office." so i took the money and returned home, where i prayed the morning-prayer. presently came the khorassani, so i carried him into the house and brought out to him ten thousand dirhems, saying, "here is thy money." "it is not my very money," answered he. "how cometh this?" so i told him the whole story, and he wept and said, "by allah, hadst thou told me the truth at first, i had not pressed thee! and now, by allah, i will not accept aught of the money; and thou art quit of it." so saying, he went away and i set my affairs in order and repaired on the appointed day to the divan, where i found the khalif seated. when he saw me, he called me to him and bringing forth to me a paper from under his prayer-carpet, said to me, "this is a patent, conferring on thee the office of cadi of the western division of the holy city[fn# ] from the bab es selam[fn# ] to the end of the town; and i appoint thee such and such monthly allowances. so fear god (to whom belong might and majesty) and be mindful of the solicitude of his apostle (whom may he bless and preserve) on thine account." the folk marvelled at the khalif's words and questioned me of their meaning; so i told them the whole story and it spread abroad amongst the people.' and [quoth he who tells the tale] abou hassan ez ziyadi ceased not to be cadi of the holy city, till he died in the days of el mamoun, the mercy of god be on him! the poor man and his generous friend. there was once a rich man, who lost all he had and became poor, whereupon his wife counselled him to seek aid of one of his friends. so he betook himself to a certain friend of his and acquainted him with his strait; and he lent him five hundred dinars to trade withal. now he had aforetime been a jeweller; so he took the money and went to the jewel-bazaar, where he opened a shop to buy and sell. presently, three men accosted him, as he sat in his shop, and asked for his father. he told them that he was dead, and they said, 'did he leave any offspring?' quoth the jeweller, 'he left a son, your servant.' 'and who knoweth thee for his son?' asked they. 'the people of the bazaar,' replied he; and they said, 'call them together, that they may testify to us that thou art his son.' so he called them and they bore witness of this; whereupon the three men delivered to him a pair of saddle-bags, containing thirty thousand dinars, besides jewels and bullion, saying, 'this was deposited with us in trust by thy father.' then they went away; and presently there came to him a woman, who sought of him certain of the jewels, worth five hundred dinars, and paid him three thousand for them. so he took five hundred dinars and carrying them to his friend, who had lent him the money, said to him, 'take the five hundred dinars i borrowed of thee; for god hath aided and prospered me.' 'not so,' quoth the other. 'i gave them to thee outright, for the love of god; so do thou keep them. and take this paper, but read it not, till thou be at home, and do according to that which is therein.' so he took the paper and returned home, where he opened it and read therein the following verses: the men who came to thee at first my kinsmen were, my sire, his brother and my dam's, salih ben ali is his name. moreover, she to whom thou soldst the goods my mother was, and eke the jewels and the gold, from me, to boot, they came; nor, in thus ordering myself to thee, aught did i seek save of the taking it from me to spare thee from the shame. the ruined man who became rich again through a dream. there lived once in baghdad a very wealthy man, who lost all his substance and became so poor, that he could only earn his living by excessive labour. one night, he lay down to sleep, dejected and sick at heart, and saw in a dream one who said to him, 'thy fortune is at cairo; go thither and seek it.' so he set out for cairo; but, when he arrived there, night overtook him and he lay down to sleep in a mosque. presently, as fate would have it, a company of thieves entered the mosque and made their way thence into an adjoining house; but the people of the house, being aroused by the noise, awoke and cried out; whereupon the chief of the police came to their aid with his officers. the robbers made off; but the police entered the mosque and finding the man from baghdad asleep there, laid hold of him and beat him with palm rods, till he was well-nigh dead. then they cast him into prison, where he abode three days, after which the chief of the police sent for him and said to him, 'whence art thou?' 'from baghdad,' answered he. 'and what brought thee to cairo?' asked the magistrate. quoth the baghdadi, 'i saw in a dream one who said to me, "thy fortune is at cairo; go thither to it." but when i came hither, the fortune that he promised me proved to be the beating i had of thee.' the chief of the police laughed, till he showed his jaw-teeth, and said, 'o man of little wit, thrice have i seen in a dream one who said to me, "there is in baghdad a house of such a fashion and situate so-and-so, in the garden whereof is a fountain and thereunder a great sum of money buried. go thither and take it." yet i went not; but thou, of thy little wit, hast journeyed from place to place, on the faith of a dream, which was but an illusion of sleep.' then he gave him money, saying, 'this is to help thee back to thy native land.' now the house he had described was the man's own house in baghdad; so the latter returned thither, and digging underneath the fountain in his garden, discovered a great treasure; and [thus] god gave him abundant fortune. the khalif el mutawekkil and his favourite mehboubeh. there were in the palace of the khalif el mutawekkil ala allah [fn# ] four thousand concubines, whereof two thousand were greeks [and other foreigners] and other two thousand native arabians[fn# ] and abyssinians; and obeid ibn tahir[fn# ] had given him two hundred white girls and a like number of abyssinian and native girls[fn# ]. among these latter was a girl of bassora, mehboubeh by name, who was of surpassing beauty and elegance and voluptuous grace. moreover, she played upon the lute and was skilled in singing and making verses and wrote excellent well; so that el mutawekkil fell passionately in love with her and could not endure from her a single hour. when she saw this, she presumed upon his favour to use him haughtily and capriciously, so that he waxed exceeding wroth with her and forsook her, forbidding the people of the palace to speak with her. on this wise she abode some days, but the khalif still inclined to her; and he arose one morning and said to his courtiers, 'i dreamt, last night, that i was reconciled to mehboubeh.' 'would god this might be on wake!' answered they. as they were talking, in came one of the khalif's maidservants and whispered him that they had heard a noise of singing and luting in mehboubeh's chamber and knew not what this meant. so he rose and entering the harem, went straight to mehboubeh's apartment, where he heard her playing wonder-sweetly upon the lute and singing the following verses: i wander through the halls, but not a soul i see, to whom i may complain or who will speak with me. it is as though i'd wrought so grievous an offence, no penitence avails myself therefrom to free. will no one plead my cause with a king, who came to me in sleep and took me back to favour and to gree; but with the break of day to rigour did revert and cast me off from him and far away did flee? when the khalif heard these verses, he marvelled at the strange coincidence of their dreams and entered the chamber. as soon as she was ware of him, she hastened to throw herself at his feet, and kissing them, said, 'by allah, o my lord, this is what i dreamt last night; and when i awoke, i made the verses thou hast heard.' ''by allah,' replied el mutawekkil, 'i also dreamt the like!' then they embraced and made friends and he abode with her seven days and nights. now she had written upon her cheek, in musk, the khalif's name, which was jaafer: and when he saw this, he made the following verses: one wrote on her cheek, with musk, a name, yea, jaafer to wit: my soul be her ransom who wrote on her cheek what i see on it! if her fingers, indeed, have traced a single line on her cheek, i trow, in my heart of hearts full many a line she hath writ o thou, whom jaafer alone of men possesses, may god grant jaafer to drink his fill of the wine of thy beauty and wit! when el mutawekkil died, all his women forgot him save mehboubeh, who ceased not to mourn for him, till she died and was buried by his side, the mercy of god be on them both! werdan the butcher his adventure with the lady and the bear. there lived once in cairo, in the days of the khalif el hakim bi amrillah, a butcher named werdan, who dealt in sheep's flesh; and there came to him every forenoon a lady and gave him a diner, whose weight was nigh two and a half egyptian diners, saying, 'give me a lamb.' so he took the money and gave her the lamb, which she delivered to a porter she had with her; and he put it in his basket and she went away with him to her own place. this went on for some time, the butcher profiting a dinar by her every day, till at last he began to be curious about her and said to himself, 'this woman buys a diner's worth of meat of me every day, paying ready money, and never misses a day. verily, this is a strange thing!' so he took an occasion of questioning the porter, in her absence, and said to him, 'whither goest thou every day with yonder woman?' 'i know not what to make of her,' answered the porter; 'for, every day, after she hath taken the lamb of thee, she buys fresh and dried fruits and wax candles and other necessaries of the table, a dinar's worth, and takes of a certain nazarene two flagons of wine, for which she pays him another diner. then she loads me with the whole and i go with her to the vizier's gardens, where she blindfolds me, so that i cannot see where i set my feet, and taking me by the hand, leads me i know not whither. presently, she says, "set down here;" and when i have done so, she gives me an empty basket she has ready and taking my hand, leads me back to the place, where she bound my eyes, and there does off the bandage and gives me ten dirhems.' 'god be her helper!' quoth werdan; but he redoubled in curiosity about her case; disquietude increased upon him and he passed the night in exceeding restlessness. next morning, [quoth werdan,] she came to me as of wont and taking the lamb, delivered it to the porter and went away. so i gave my shop in charge to a boy and followed her, unseen of her; nor did i cease to keep her in sight, hiding behind her, till she left cairo and came to the vizier's gardens. then i hid, whilst she bound the porter's eyes, and followed her again from place to place, till she came to the mountain and stopped at a place where there was a great stone. here she made the porter set down his crate, and i waited, whilst she carried him back to the vizier's gardens, after which she returned and taking out the contents of the basket, disappeared behind the stone. then i went up to the stone and pulling it away, discovered behind it an open trap-door of brass and a flight of steps leading downward. so i descended, little by little, into a long corridor, brilliantly lighted, and followed it, till i came to a [closed] door, as it were the door of a room. i looked about till i discovered a recess, with steps therein; then climbed up and found a little niche with an opening therein giving upon a saloon. so i looked in and saw the lady cut off the choicest parts of the lamb and laying them in a saucepan, throw the rest to a huge great bear, who ate it all to the last bit. when she had made an end of cooking, she ate her fill, after which she set on wine and fruits and confections and fell to drinking, using a cup herself and giving the bear to drink in a basin of gold, till she was heated with wine, when she put off her trousers and lay down. thereupon the bear came up to her and served her, whilst she gave him the best of what belongeth to mankind, till he had made an end, when he sat down and rested. presently, he sprang to her and served her again; and thus he did, till he had furnished half a score courses, and they both fell down in a swoon and abode without motion. then said i to myself, "now is my opportunity," and taking a knife i had with me, that would cut bones before flesh, went down to them and found them motionless, not a muscle of them moving for their much swink. so i put my knife to the bear's gullet and bore upon it, till i severed his head from his body, and he gave a great snort like thunder, whereat she started up in alarm and seeing the bear slain and me standing with the knife in my hand, gave such a shriek that i thought the soul had left her body. then said she, "o werdan, is this how thou requitest me my favours?" "o enemy of thine own soul," replied i, "dost thou lack of men that thou must do this shameful thing?" she made me no answer, but bent down to the bear, and finding his head divided from his body, said to me, "o werdan, which were the liefer to thee, to hearken to what i shall say to thee and be the means of thine own safety and enrichment to the end of thy days, or gainsay me and so bring about thine own destruction?" "i choose rather to hearken unto thee," answered i. "say what thou wilt." "then," said she, "kill me, as thou hast killed this bear, and take thy need of this treasure and go thy way." quoth i, "i am better than this bear. return to god the most high and repent, and i will marry thee, and we will live on this treasure the rest of our lives." "o werdan," rejoined she, "far be it from me! how shall i live after him? an thou kill me not, by allah, i will assuredly do away thy life! so leave bandying words with me, or thou art a lost man. this is all i have to say to thee and peace be on thee." then said i, "i will slay thee, and thou shalt go to the malediction of god." so saying, i caught her by the hair and cut her throat; and she went to the malediction of god and of the angels and of all mankind. then i examined the place and found there gold and pearls and jewels, such as no king could bring together. so i filled the porter's crate with as much as i could carry and covered it with the clothes i had on me. then i shouldered it and going up out of the underground place, set out homeward and fared on, till i came to the gate of cairo, where i fell in with ten of the khalif's body-guard, followed by el hakim[fn# ] himself, who said to me. "ho, werdan!" "at thy service, o king," replied i. "hast thou killed the woman and the bear?" asked he and i answered, "yes." quoth he, "set down the basket and fear naught, for all the treasure thou hast with thee is thine, and none shall dispute it with thee." so i set down the basket, and he uncovered it and looked at it; then said to me, "tell me their case, though i know it, as if i had been present with you." so i told him all that had passed and he said, "thou hast spoken the truth, o werdan. come now with me to the treasure." so i returned with him to the cavern, where he found the trap-door closed and said to me, "o werdan, lift it; none but thou can open the treasure, for it is enchanted in thy name and favour." "by allah," answered i, "i cannot open it;" but he said, "go up to it, trusting in the blessing of god." so i called upon the name of god the most high and going up to the trap-door, put my hand to it; whereupon it came up, as it had been the lightest of things. then said the khalif, "go down and bring up what is there; for none but one of thy name and favour and quality hath gone down there since the place was made, and the slaying of the bear and the woman was appointed to be at thy hand. this was recorded with me and i was awaiting its fulfilment." accordingly, i went down and brought up all the treasure, whereupon the khalif sent for beasts of burden and carried it away, after giving me the porter's crate, with what was therein. so i carried it home and opened me a shop in the market. and [quoth he who tells the tale] this market is still extant and is known as werdan's market. the king's daughter and the ape. there was once a king's daughter, whose heart was taken with love of a black slave: he did away her maidenhead, and she became passionately addicted to amorous dalliance, so that she could not endure from it a single hour and made moan of her case to one of her body women, who told her that no thing doth the deed of kind more abundantly than the ape. now it chanced, one day, that an ape-leader passed under her lattice, with a great ape; so she unveiled her face and looking upon the ape, signed to him with her eyes, whereupon he broke his bonds and shackles and climbed up to the princess, who hid him in a place with her, and he abode, eating and drinking and cricketing, night and day. her father heard of this and would have killed her; but she took the alarm and disguising herself in a [male] slave's habit, loaded a mule with gold and jewels and precious stuffs past count; then, taking horse with the ape, fled to cairo, where she took up her abode in one of the houses without the city. now, every day, she used to buy meat of a young man, a butcher, but came not to him till after noonday, pale and disordered in face; so that he said in himself, 'there hangs some mystery by this slave.' for she used to visit him in her slave's habit. [quoth the butcher,] so, one day, when she came to me as usual, i went out after her, unseen, and ceased not to follow her from place to place, so as she saw me not, till she came to her lodging, without the city, and i looked in upon her, through a cranny, and saw her light a fire and cook the meat, of which she ate her fill and gave the rest to an ape she had with her. then she put off her slave's habit and donned the richest of women's apparel; and so i knew that she was a woman. after this she set on wine and drank and gave the ape to drink; and he served her nigh half a score times, till she swooned away, when he threw a silken coverlet over her and returned to his place. thereupon i went down into the midst of the place and the ape, becoming aware of me, would have torn me in pieces; but i made haste to pull out my knife and slit his paunch. the noise aroused the young lady, who awoke, terrified and trembling; and when she saw the ape in this plight, she gave such a shriek, that her soul well-nigh departed her body. then she fell down in a swoon, and when she came to herself, she said to me, "what moved thee to do thus? by allah, i conjure thee to send me after him!" but i spoke her fair and engaged to her that i would stand in the ape's stead, in the matter of much clicketing, till her trouble subsided and i took her to wife. however, i fell short in this and could not endure to it; so i complained of her case to a certain old woman, who engaged to manage the affair and said to me, "thou must bring me a cooking- pot full of virgin vinegar and a pound of pyrethrum."[fn# ] so i brought her what she sought, and she laid the pyrethrum in the pot with the vinegar and set it on the fire, till it boiled briskly. then she bade me serve the girl, and i served her, till she fainted away, when the old woman took her up, and she unknowing, and set her kaze to the mouth of the cooking-pot. the steam of the pot entered her poke and there fell from it somewhat, which i examined and behold, it was two worms, one black and the other yellow. quoth the old woman, "the black was bred of the embraces of the negro and the yellow of those of the ape." when my wife recovered from her swoon, she abode with me, in all delight and solace of life, and sought not copulation, as before, for god the most high had done away from her this appetite; whereat i marvelled and acquainted her with the case. moreover, [quoth he who tells the tale,] she took the old woman to be to her in the stead of her mother, and she and werdan and his wife abode in joy and cheer, till there came to them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of companies; and glory be to the living one, who dieth not and in whose hand is the empire of the seen and the unseen! the enchanted horse. there was once, of old time, a great and puissant king, of the kings of the persians, sabour by name, who was the richest of all the kings in store of wealth and dominion and surpassed them all in wit and wisdom. generous, open-handed and beneficent, he gave to those who sought and repelled not those who resorted to him, comforted the broken-hearted and honourably entreated those who fled to him for refuge. moreover, he loved the poor and was hospitable to strangers and did the oppressed justice upon those who oppressed them. he had three daughters, like shining full moons or flowered gardens, and a son as he were the moon; and it was his wont to keep two festivals in the year, those of the new year and the autumnal equinox, on which occasions he threw open his palaces and gave gifts and made proclamation of safety and security and advanced his chamberlains and officers; and the people of his realm came in to him and saluted him and gave him joy of the festival, bringing him gifts and servants. now he loved science and geometry, and one day, as he sat on his throne of kingship, during one of these festivals, there came in to him three sages, cunning artificers and past masters in all manner of crafts and inventions, skilled in making rarities, such as confound the wit, and versed in the knowledge of [occult] truths and subtleties; and they were of three different tongues and countries, the first an indian, the second a greek and the third a persian. the indian came forward and prostrating himself before the king, gave him joy of the festival and laid before him a present befitting [his dignity]; that is to say, a figure of gold, set with precious stones and jewels of price and holding in its hand a golden trumpet. when sabour saw this, he said, 'o sage, what is the virtue of this figure?' and the indian answered, 'o my lord; if this figure be set at the gate of thy city, it will be a guardian over it; for, if an enemy enter the place, it will blow this trumpet against him, and so he will be known and laid hands on.' the king marvelled at this and said, 'by allah, o sage, an this thy word be true, i will grant thee thy wish and thy desire.' then came forward the greek and prostrating himself before the king, presented him with a basin of silver, in whose midst was a peacock of gold, surrounded by four-and-twenty young ones of the same metal. sabour looked at them and turning to the greek, said to him, 'o sage, what is the virtue of this peacock?' 'o my lord,' answered he, 'as often as an hour of the day or night passes, it pecks one of its young [and cries out and flaps its wings,] till the four-and-twenty hours are accomplished; and when the month comes to an end, it will open its mouth and thou shalt see the new moon therein.' and the king said, 'an thou speak sooth, i will bring thee to thy wish and thy desire.' then came forward the persian sage and prostrating himself before the king, presented him with a horse of ebony wood, inlaid with gold and jewels, ready harnessed with saddle and bridle and stirrups such as befit kings; which when sabour saw, he marvelled exceedingly and was confounded at the perfection of its form and the ingenuity of its fashion. so he said, 'what is the use of this horse of wood, and what is its virtue and the secret of its movement?' 'o my lord,' answered the persian, 'the virtue of this horse is that, if one mount him, it will carry him whither he will and fare with its rider through the air for the space of a year and a day.' the king marvelled and was amazed at these three wonders, following thus hard upon each other in one day, and turning to the sage, said to him, 'by the great god and the bountiful lord, who created all creatures and feedeth them with water and victual, an thy speech be true and the virtue of thy handiwork appear, i will give thee whatsoever thou seekest and will bring thee to thy wish and thy desire!' then he entertained the three sages three days, that he might make trial of their gifts, after which they brought them before him and each took the creature he had wrought and showed him the secret of its movement. the trumpeter blew the trumpet, the peacock pecked its young and the persian sage mounted the horse of ebony, whereupon it soared with him into the air and descended again. when the king saw all this, he was amazed and perplexed and was like to fly for joy and said to the three sages, 'now am i certified of the truth of your words and it behoves me to quit me of my promise. seek ye, therefore, what ye will, and i will give it you.' now the report of the [beauty of the] king's daughters had reached the sages, so they answered, 'if the king be content with us and accept of our gifts and give us leave to ask a boon of him, we ask of him that he give us his three daughters in marriage, that we may be his sons-in-law; for that the stability of kings may not be gainsaid.' quoth the king, 'i grant you that which you desire,' and bade summon the cadi forthright, that he might marry each of the sages to one of his daughters. now these latter were behind a curtain, looking on; and when they heard this, the youngest considered [him that was to be] her husband and saw him to be an old man, a hundred years of age, with frosted hair, drooping forehead, mangy eyebrows, slitten ears, clipped[fn# ] beard and moustaches, red, protruding eyes, bleached, hollow, flabby cheeks, nose like an egg-plant and face like a cobbler's apron, teeth overlapping one another,[fn# ] lips like camel's kidneys, loose and pendulous; brief, a monstrous favour; for he was the frightfullest of the folk of his time; his grinders had been knocked[fn# ] out and his teeth were like the tusks of the jinn that fright the fowls in the hen-house. now the princess was the fairest and most graceful woman of her time, more elegant than the tender gazelle, blander than the gentle zephyr and brighter than the moon at her full, confounding the branch and outdoing the gazelle in the flexile grace of her shape and movements; and she was fairer and sweeter than her sisters. so, when she saw her suitor, she went to her chamber and strewed dust on her head and tore her clothes and fell to buffeting her face and lamenting and weeping. now the prince her brother, who loved her with an exceeding love, more than her sisters, was then newly returned from a journey and hearing her weeping and crying, came in to her and said, 'what ails thee? tell me and conceal nought from me.' 'o my brother and my dear one,' answered she, 'if the palace be straitened upon thy father, i will go out; and if he be resolved upon a foul thing, i will separate myself from him, though he consent not to provide for me.' quoth he, 'tell me what means this talk and what has straitened thy breast and troubled thy humour.' 'o my brother and my dear one,' answered the princess, 'know that my father hath given me in marriage to a sorcerer, who brought him, as a gift, a horse of black wood, and hath stricken him with his craft and his sorcery; but, as for me, i will none of him, and would, because of him, i had never come into this world!' her brother soothed her and comforted her, then betook himself to his father and said to him, 'what is this sorcerer to whom thou hast given my youngest sister in marriage, and what is this present that he hath brought thee, so that thou hast caused my sister to [almost] die of chagrin? it is not right that this should be.' now the persian was standing by and when he heard the prince's words, he was mortified thereby and filled with rage, and the king said, 'o my son, an thou sawest this horse, thy wit would be confounded and thou wouldst be filled with amazement.' then he bade the slaves bring the horse before him and they did so; and when the prince, who was an accomplished cavalier, saw it, it pleased him. so he mounted it forthright and struck its belly with the stirrup-irons; but it stirred not and the king said to the sage, 'go and show him its movement, that he also may help thee to thy wish.' now the persian bore the prince malice for that he willed not he should have his sister; so he showed him the peg of ascent on the right side [of the horse's neck] and saying to him, 'turn this pin,' left him. so the prince turned the pin and forthwith the horse soared with him into the air, as it were a bird, and gave not over flying with him, till it disappeared from sight, whereat the king was troubled and perplexed about his affair and said to the persian, 'o sage, look how thou mayst make him descend.' but he answered, 'o my lord, i can do nothing, and thou wilt never see him again till the day of resurrection, for that he, of his ignorance and conceit, asked me not of the peg of descent and i forgot to acquaint him therewith.' when the king heard this, he was sore enraged and bade beat the sorcerer and clap him in prison, whilst he himself cast the crown from his head and buffeted his face and beat upon his breast. moreover, he shut the doors of his palaces and gave himself up to weeping and lamentation, he and his wife and daughters and all the folk of the city; and [thus] their joy was turned to mourning and their gladness changed into chagrin and sore affliction. meanwhile, the horse gave not over soaring with the prince, till he drew near the sun, whereat he gave himself up for lost and was confounded at his case, repenting him of having mounted the horse and saying in himself, 'verily, this was a plot of the sage to destroy me; but there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme! i am lost without recourse; but, i wonder, did not he who made the peg of ascent make a peg of descent also?' now he was a man of wit and intelligence; so he fell to examining all the parts of the horse, but saw nothing save a peg, like a cock's head, on its right shoulder and the like on the left, and turned the right-hand peg, whereupon the horse flew upward with increased speed. so he left it and turned the left-hand peg, and immediately the steed's upward motion ceased and he began to descend, little by little, towards the earth. when the prince saw this and knew the uses of the horse, he was filled with joy and gladness and thanked god the most high for that he had vouchsafed to deliver him from destruction. then he began to turn the horse's head whither he would, making him rise and fall at pleasure, till he had gotten complete command of his movement. he ceased not to descend the whole of that day, for that the steed's upward flight had borne him afar from the earth; and as he descended, he diverted himself with viewing the various towns and countries over which he passed and which he knew not, having never seen them in his life. amongst the rest, he saw a city of the goodliest ordinance, in the midst of a green and smiling country, abounding in trees and streams; whereat he fell a-musing and said in himself, 'would i knew the name of yonder city and in what country it is!' and he began to circle about it and observe it right and left. by this time, the day began to wane and the sun drew near to its setting; and he said, 'i see no goodlier place to pass the night in than this city; so i will lodge here this night and on the morrow i will return to my people and my kingdom and tell my father and family what has passed and what i have seen with my eyes.' then he addressed himself to look for a place, where he might safely bestow himself and his horse and where none should see him, and presently espied a palace, surrounded by a great wall with lofty battlements, rising high into the air from the midst of the city and guarded by forty black slaves, clad in complete mail and armed with spears and swords and bows and arrows. quoth he, 'this is a goodly place,' and turned the peg of descent, whereupon the horse sank down with him and alighted gently on the roof of the palace. so the prince dismounted and began to go round about the horse and examine it, saying, 'by allah, he who fashioned thee was a cunning craftsman, and if god extend the term of my life and restore me to my country and family in safety and reunite me with my father, i will assuredly bestow upon him all manner of bounties and entreat him with the utmost favour.' by this time the night had overtaken him and he sat on the roof, till he was assured that all in the palace slept; and indeed hunger and thirst were sore upon him, for that he had not tasted food since he parted from his father. so he said in himself, 'surely, the like of this palace will not lack of victual,' and leaving the horse there, went in quest of somewhat to eat. presently, he came to a stair and descending it, found himself in a court paved with white marble and alabaster, that shone in the light of the moon. he marvelled at the place and the goodliness of its fashion, but heard no sound and saw no living soul and stood in perplexity, looking right and left and knowing not whither he should go. then said he to himself, 'i cannot do better than return to where i left my horse and pass the night by it; and as soon as it is day, i will mount and depart.' however, as he stood talking to himself, he espied a light within the palace, and making towards it, found that it came from a candle that stood before a door of the palace, at the head of an eunuch, as he were one of the afrits of solomon or a tribesman of the jinn, longer than a plank and wider than a bench. he lay asleep before the door, with the pommel of his sword gleaming in the flame of the candle, and at his head was a budget of leather[fn# ] hanging from a column of granite. when the prince saw this, he was affrighted and said, 'i crave help from god the supreme! o my god, even as thou hast [already] delivered me from destruction, vouchsafe me strength to quit myself of the adventure of this palace!' so saying, he put out his hand to the budget and taking it, carried it to a place apart and opened it and found in it food of the best. so he ate his fill and refreshed himself and drank water, after which he hung the budget up in its place and drawing the eunuch's sword from its sheath, took it, whilst the latter slept on, knowing not whence destiny should come to him. then the prince fared on into the palace, till he came to another door, with a curtain drawn before it; so he raised the curtain and entering, saw a couch of ivory, inlaid with pearls and jacinths and jewels, and four slave-girls sleeping about it. he went up to the couch, to see what was therein, and found a young lady lying asleep, veiled with her hair, as she were the full moon at its rising, with flower-white forehead and shining parting and cheeks like blood-red anemones and dainty moles thereon. when he saw this, he was amazed at her beauty and grace and symmetry and recked no more of death. so he went up to her, trembling in every nerve, and kissed her on the right cheek; whereupon she awoke forthright and seeing the prince standing at her head, said to him, 'who art thou and whence comest thou?' quoth he, 'i am thy slave and thy lover.' 'and who brought thee hither?' asked she. 'my lord and my fortune,' answered he; and she said, 'belike thou art he who demanded me yesterday of my father in marriage and he rejected thee, pretending that thou wast foul of favour. by allah he lied, when he spoke this thing, for thou art not other than handsome.' now the son of the king of hind[fn# ] had sought her in marriage, but her father had rejected him, for that he was ill- favoured, and she thought the prince was he. so, when she saw his beauty and grace, for indeed he was like the radiant moon, her heart was taken in the snare of his love, as it were a flaming fire, and they fell to talk and converse. presently, her waiting-women awoke from their sleep and seeing the prince sitting with their mistress, said to her, 'o my lady, who is this with thee?' quoth she, 'i know not; i found him sitting by me, when i awoke. belike it is he who seeks me in marriage of my father.' 'o my lady,' answered they, 'by the most great god, this is not he who seeks thee in marriage, for he is foul and this man is fair and of high condition. indeed, the other is not fit to be his servant.' then they went out to the eunuch and finding him asleep, awoke him, and he started up in alarm. quoth they, 'how comes it that thou art guardian of the palace and yet men come in to us, whilst we are asleep?' when the eunuch heard this, he sprang in haste to his sword, but found it not, and fear took him and trembling. then he went in, confounded, to his mistress and seeing the prince sitting talking with her, said to the former, 'o my lord, art thou a man or a genie?' 'o it on thee, o unluckiest of slaves!' replied the prince. 'how darest thou even a prince of the sons of the chosroës with one of the unbelieving satans?' then he took the sword in his hand and said, 'i am the king's son-in-law, and he hath married me to his daughter and bidden me go in to her.' 'o my lord,' replied the eunuch, 'if thou be indeed a man, as thou avouchest, she is fit for none but thee, and thou art worthier of her than any other.' then he ran to the king, shrieking out and rending his clothes and casting dust upon his head; and when the king heard his outcry, he said to him, 'what has befallen thee? speak quickly and be brief; for thou troublest my heart.' 'o king,' answered the eunuch, 'come to thy daughter's succour; for a devil of the jinn, in the likeness of a king's son, hath gotten possession of her; so up and at him!' when the king heard this, he thought to kill him and said, 'how camest thou to be careless of my daughter and let this demon come at her?' then he betook himself to the princess's palace, where he found her women standing, [awaiting him] and said to them, 'what is come to my daughter?' 'o king,' answered they, 'sleep overcame us and when we awoke, we found a young man sitting talking with her, as he were the full moon, never saw we a fairer of favour than he. so we questioned him of his case and he avouched that thou hadst given him thy daughter in marriage. more than this we know not, nor do we know if he be a man or a genie; but he is modest and well bred, and doth nothing unseemly.' when the king heard this, his wrath cooled and he raised the curtain stealthily and looking in, saw a prince of the goodliest fashion, with a face like the shining full moon, sitting talking with his daughter. at this sight he could not contain himself, of his jealousy for his daughter, and putting the curtain aside, rushed in upon them, like a ghoul, with his drawn sword in his hand. when the prince saw him, he said to the princess, 'is this thy father?' 'yes,' answered she; whereupon he sprang to his feet and taking his sword in his hand, cried out at the king with such a terrible cry, that he was confounded. then he would have fallen on him with the sword; but the king, seeing that the prince was doughtier than he, sheathed his blade and stood till the latter came up to him, when he accosted him courteously and said to him, 'o youth, art thou a man or a genie?' quoth the prince, 'did i not respect thy right[fn# ] and thy daughter's honour, i would spill thy blood! how darest thou even me with devils, me that am a prince of the sons of the chosroës, who, had they a mind to take thy kingdom, could shake thee from thy power and thy dominion and despoil thee of all thy possessions?' when the king heard his words, he was smitten with awe and fear of him and rejoined, 'if thou indeed be of the sons of the kings, as thou pretendest, how comes it that thou enterest my palace, without my leave, and soilest my honour, making thy way to my daughter and feigning that thou art her husband and that i have given her to thee to wife, i that have slain kings and kings' sons, who sought her of me in marriage? and now who shall save thee from my mischief, when, if i cried out to my slaves and servants and bade them put thee to death, they would slay thee forthright? who then shall deliver thee out of my hand?' when the prince heard this speech of the king, he answered, 'verily, i wonder at thee and at the poverty of thy wit! canst thou covet for thy daughter a goodlier mate than myself and hast ever seen a stouter of heart or a more sufficient or a more glorious in rank and dominion than i?' 'nay, by allah,' rejoined the king. 'but, o youth, i would have had thee make suit to me for her hand before witnesses, that i might marry her to thee publicly; and now, were i to marry her to thee privily, yet hast thou dishonoured me in her person.' 'thou sayst well, o king,' replied the prince; 'but, if thy servants and soldiers should fall upon me and slay me, as thou pretendest, thou wouldst but publish thine own dishonour, and the folk would be divided between belief and disbelief with regard to thee. wherefore, meseems thou wilt do well to turn from this thought to that which i shall counsel thee.' quoth the king, 'let me hear what thou hast to propose.' and the prince said, 'what i have to propose to thee is this: either do thou meet me in single combat and he who slays the other shall be held the worthier and having a better title to the kingdom; or else, let me be this night and on the morrow draw out against me thy horsemen and footmen and servants; but [first] tell me their number.' quoth the king, 'they are forty thousand horse, besides my own slaves and their followers, who are the like of them in number.' 'when the day breaks, then,' continued the prince, 'do thou array them against me and say to them, "this fellow is a suitor to me for my daughter's hand, on condition that he shall do battle single-handed against you all; for he pretends that he will overcome you and put you to the rout and that ye cannot prevail against him." then leave me to do battle with them. if they kill me, then is thy secret the safelier hidden and thine honour the better guarded; and if i overcome them, then is the like of me one whose alliance a king should covet.' the king approved of his counsel and accepted his proposition, despite his awe and amaze at the exorbitant pretension of the prince to do battle against his whole army, such as he had described it to him, being at heart assured that he would perish in the mellay and so he be quit of him and freed from the fear of dishonour. so he called the eunuch and bade him go forthright to his vizier and bid him assemble the whole of the troops and cause them don their arms and mount their horses. the eunuch carried the king's order to the vizier, who straightway summoned the captains of the army and the grandees of the realm and bade them don their harness of war and mount their horses and sally forth in battle array. meanwhile, the king sat conversing with the prince, being pleased with his wit and good breeding, till daybreak, when he returned to his palace and seating himself on his throne, commanded the troops to mount and bade saddle one of the best of the royal horses with handsome housings and trappings and bring it to the prince. but the latter said, 'o king, i will not mount, till i come in sight of the troops and see them.' 'be it as thou wilt,' answered the king. then they repaired to the tilting ground, where the troops were drawn up, and the prince looked upon them and noted their great number; after which the king cried out to them, saying, 'ho, all ye men, there is come to me a youth who seeks my daughter in marriage, --never have i seen a goodlier than he, no, nor a stouter of heart nor a doughtier, for he pretends that he can overcome you, single-handed, and put you to the rout and that, were ye a hundred thousand in number, yet would ye be for him but little. but, when he charges upon you, do ye receive him upon the points of your lances and the edges of your sabres; for, indeed, he hath undertaken a grave matter.' then said he to the prince, 'up, o my son, and do thy will on them.' 'o king,' answered he, 'thou dealest not fairly with me. how shall i go forth against them, seeing that i am afoot and they are mounted?' 'i bade thee mount, and thou refusedst,' rejoined the king; 'but take which of my horses thou wilt.' but he said, 'none of thy horses pleases me, and i will ride none but that on which i came.' 'and where is thy horse?' asked the king. 'atop of thy palace,' answered the prince, and the king said, 'in what part of my palace?' 'on the roof,' replied the prince. 'out on thee!' quoth the king. 'this is the first sign thou hast given of madness. how can the horse be on the roof? but we shall soon see if thou speak truth or falsehood.' then he turned to one of his chief officers and said to him, 'go to my palace and bring me what thou findest on the roof.' and all the people marvelled at the prince's words, saying, 'how can a horse come down the steps from the roof? verily this is a thing whose like we never heard.' meanwhile, the king's messenger repaired to the palace, accompanied by other of the royal officers, and mounting to the roof, found the horse standing there,--never had they looked on a handsomer; but when they drew near and examined it, they saw that it was made of ebony and ivory; whereat they laughed to each other, saying, 'was it of the like of this horse that the youth spoke? surely, he must be mad; but we shall soon see the truth of his case. belike, there hangs some great mystery by him.' then they lifted up the horse and carrying it to the king, set it down before him, and all the people flocked round it, staring at it and marvelling at the beauty of its fashion and the richness of its saddle and bridle. the king also admired it and wondered at it extremely; and he said to the prince, 'o youth, is this thy horse?' 'yes, o king,' answered the prince; 'this is my horse, and thou shalt soon see wonders of it.' 'then take and mount it,' rejoined the king, and the prince said, 'i will not mount till the troops withdraw afar from it.' so the king bade them withdraw a bowshot from the horse; whereupon quoth the prince, 'o king, i am about to mount my horse and charge upon thy troops and scatter them right and left and cleave their hearts in sunder.' 'do as thou wilt,' answered the king; 'and spare them not, for they will not spare thee.' then the prince mounted, whilst the troops ranged themselves in ranks before him, and one said to another, 'when the youth comes between the ranks, we will take him on the points of our pikes and the edges of our swords.' 'by allah,' quoth another, 'it were pity to kill so handsome and well-shaped a youth!' 'by allah,' rejoined a third, 'ye will have hard work to get the better of him; for he had not done this, but for what he knew of his own prowess and valiantise.' meanwhile, the prince, having settled himself in his saddle, whilst all eyes were strained to see what he would do, turned the peg of ascent; whereupon the horse began to sway to and fro and make the strangest of movements, after the manner of horses, till its belly was filled with air and it took flight with him and soared into the sky. when the king saw this, he cried out to his men, saying, 'out on you! take him, ere he escape you!' but his viziers and officers said to him, 'o king, how shall we overtake the flying bird? this is surely none but some mighty enchanter, and god hath saved thee from him. so praise thou the most high for thy deliverance from his hand.' then the king returned to his palace and going in to his daughter, acquainted her with what had befallen. he found her sore afflicted for the prince and bewailing her separation from him; wherefore she fell grievously sick and took to her pillow. when her father saw her thus, he pressed her to his bosom and kissing her between the eyes, said to her, 'o my daughter, praise god and thank him for that he hath delivered thee from this crafty enchanter!' and he repeated to her the story of the prince's disappearance; but she paid no heed to his word and did but redouble in her tears and lamentations, saying to herself, 'by allah, i will neither eat nor drink, till god reunite me with him!' her father was greatly concerned for her plight and mourned sore over her; but, for all he could do to comfort her, passion and love-longing still grew on her for the prince. meanwhile, the king's son, whenas he had risen into the air, turned his horse's head towards his native land, musing upon the beauty and grace of the princess. now he had enquired of the king's people the name of the princess and of the king her father and of the city, which was the city of senaa of yemen. so he journeyed homeward with all speed, till he drew near his father's capital and making a circuit about the city, alighted on the roof of the king's palace, where he left his horse, whilst he descended into the palace and finding its threshold strewn with ashes, bethought him that one of his family was dead. then he entered, as of wont, and found his father and mother and sisters clad in mourning raiment of black, pale-faced and lean of body. when his father saw him and was assured that it was indeed his son, he gave a great cry and fell down in a swoon, but presently coming to himself, threw himself upon him and embraced him, straining him to his bosom and rejoicing in him exceedingly. his mother and sisters heard this; so they came in and seeing the prince, fell upon him, kissing him and weeping and rejoicing with an exceeding joy. then they questioned him of his case; so he told them all that had befallen him from first to last and his father said to him, 'praised be god for thy safety, o solace of my eyes and life-blood of my heart!' then the king bade hold high festival, and the glad news flew through the city. so they beat the drums and the cymbals and putting off the raiment of mourning, donned that of joy and decorated the streets and markets; whilst the folk vied with one another who should be the first to give the king joy, and the latter proclaimed a general pardon and opening the prisons, released those who were therein. moreover, he made banquets to the people seven days and nights and all creatures were glad; and he took horse with his son and rode out with him, that the folk might see him and rejoice. after awhile the prince enquired for the maker of the horse, saying, 'o my father, what hath fortune done with him?' 'may god not bless him,' answered the king, 'nor the hour in which i set eyes on him! for he was the cause of thy separation from us, o my son, and he hath lain in prison since the day of thy disappearance.' then he bade release him from prison and sending for him, invested him in a dress of honour and entreated him with the utmost favour and munificence, save that he would not give him his daughter to wife; whereat he was sore enraged and repented of that which he had done, knowing that the prince had learnt the secret of the horse and the manner of its motion. moreover, the king said to his son, 'methinks thou wilt do well not to mount the horse neither go near it henceforth; for thou knowest not its properties, and it is perilous for thee to meddle with it.' now the prince had told his father of his adventure with the king's daughter of senaa, and he said, 'if the king had been minded to kill thee, he had done so; but thine hour was not yet come.' when the rejoicings were at an end, the people returned to their houses and the king and his son to the palace, where they sat down and fell to eating and drinking and making merry. now the king had a handsome slave-girl, who was skilled in playing upon the lute; so she took it and began to play upon it and sing thereto of separation of lovers before the king and his son, and she chanted the following verses: think not that absence ever shall win me to forget: for what should i remember, if i'd forgotten you? time passes, but my passion for you shall never end: in love of you, i swear it, i'll die and rise anew. when the prince heard this, the fires of longing flamed up in his heart and passion redoubled upon him. grief and regret were sore upon him and his entrails yearned in him for love of the king's daughter of senaa; so he rose forthright and eluding his father's notice, went forth the palace to the horse and mounting it, turned the peg of ascent, whereupon it flew up into the air with him and soared towards the confines of the sky. presently, his father missed him and going up to the summit of the palace, in great concern, saw the prince rising into the air; whereat he was sore afflicted and repented exceedingly that he had not taken the horse and hidden it: and he said in himself, 'by allah, if but my son return to me, i will destroy the horse, that my heart may be at rest concerning my son.' and he fell again to weeping and bewailing himself for his son. meanwhile, the prince flew on through the air till he came to the city of senaa and alighted on the roof as before. then he went down stealthily and finding the eunuch asleep, as of wont, raised the curtain and went on, little by little, till he came to the door of the princess's chamber and stopped to listen; when, behold, he heard her weeping plenteous tears and reciting verses, whilst her women slept round her. presently, they heard her weeping and wailing and said, 'o our mistress, why wilt thou mourn for one who mourns not for thee?' 'o little of wit,' answered she, 'is he for whom i mourn of those who are forgotten?' and she fell again to weeping and wailing, till sleep overcame her. now the prince's heart ached for her, so he entered and seeing her lying asleep, without covering, touched her with his hand; whereupon she opened her eyes and saw him standing by her. quoth he, 'why this weeping and mourning?' and when she knew him, she threw herself upon him and embraced him and kissed him and answered, 'for thy sake and because of my separation from thee.' 'o my lady,' said he, 'i have wearied for thee all this time!' but she answered, 'it is i who have wearied for thee, and hadst thou tarried longer, i had surely died!' 'o my lady,' rejoined he, 'what thinkest thou of my case with thy father and how he dealt with me? were it not for my love of thee, o ravishment of all creatures, i had surely slain him and made him a warning to all beholders; but, even as i love thee, so i love him for thy sake.' quoth she, 'how couldst thou leave me? can life be sweet to me after thee?' quoth he, 'let what has happened suffice now: i am hungry and thirsty.' so she bade her maidens make ready meat and drink, [and they sat eating and drinking and conversing] till nigh upon daybreak, when he rose to take leave of her and depart, ere the eunuch should awake, and she said, 'whither goest thou?' 'to my father's house,' answered he; 'and i plight thee my troth that i will come to thee once in every week.' but she wept and said, 'i conjure thee, by god the supreme, take me with thee whither thou goest and make me not taste anew the bitterness of separation from thee.' quoth he, 'wilt thou indeed go with me?' and she answered, 'yes.' 'then,' said he, 'arise, that we may depart.' so she rose forthright and going to a chest, arrayed herself in what was richest and dearest to her of her trinkets of gold and jewels of price. then he carried her up to the roof of the palace and mounting the horse, took her up behind him and bound her fast to himself; after which he turned the peg of ascent, and the horse rose with him into the air. when her women saw this, they shrieked aloud and told her father and mother, who rushed up to the roof of the palace and looking up, saw the ebony horse flying away with the prince and princess. at this the king was sore troubled and cried out, saying, 'o king's son, i conjure thee, by allah, have compassion on me and my wife and bereave us not of our daughter!' the prince made him no reply, but, thinking that the princess repented of leaving her father and mother, said to her, 'o ravishment of the age, wilt thou that i restore thee to thy father and mother?' 'by allah, o my lord, that is not my desire,' answered she; 'my only wish is to be with thee wherever thou art; for i am distracted by the love of thee from all else, even to my father and mother.' at this the prince rejoiced greatly and made the horse fare softly with them, so as not to disquiet the princess; nor did they stay their flight till they came in sight of a green meadow, in which was a spring of running water. here they alighted and ate and drank; after which they took horse again and fared on, till they came in sight of his father's capital. at this, the prince was filled with joy and bethought himself to show her the seat of his dominion and his father's power and dignity and give her to know that it was greater than that of her father. so he set her down in one of his father's pleasance-gardens [without the city] and carrying her into a pavilion there, prepared for the king, left the horse at the door and charged her keep watch over it, saying, 'sit here, till my messenger come to thee; for i go now to my father, to make ready a palace for thee and show thee my royal estate.' 'do as thou wilt,' answered she, for she was glad that she should not enter but with due honour and observance, as became her rank. then he left her and betook himself to the palace of the king his father, who rejoiced in his return and welcomed him; and the prince said to him, 'know that i have brought with me the princess of whom i told thee and have left her without the city in such a garden and come to tell thee, that thou mayest make ready and go forth to meet her in state and show her thy royal dignity and troops and guards.' 'with all my heart,' answered the king and straightway bade decorate the city after the goodliest fashion. then he took horse and rode out in all state and splendour, he and his troops and household and grandees; whilst the prince made ready for her a litter of green and red and yellow brocade, in which he set indian and greek and abyssinian slave-girls. moreover, he took forth of his treasuries jewellery and apparel and what else of the things that kings treasure up and made a rare display of wealth and magnificence. then he left the litter and those who were therein and rode forward to the pavilion, where he had left the princess; but found both her and the horse gone. when he saw this, he buffeted his face and rent his clothes and went round about the garden, as he had lost his wits; after which he came to his senses and said to himself, 'how could she have come at the secret of the horse, seeing i told her nothing of it? maybe the persian sage who made the horse has chanced upon her and stolen her away, in revenge for my father's treatment of him.' then he sought the keepers of the garden and asked them if they had seen any enter the garden. quoth they, 'we have seen none enter but the persian sage, who came to gather simples.' so the prince was certified that it was indeed he that had taken away the princess and abode confounded and perplexed concerning his case. and he was abashed before the folk and returning to his father, [told him what had happened and] said to him, 'take the troops and return to the city. as for me, i will never return till i have cleared up this affair.' when the king heard this, he wept and beat his breast and said to him, 'o my son, calm thyself and master thy chagrin and return with us and look what king's daughter thou wouldst fain have, that i may marry thee to her.' but the prince paid no heed to his words and bidding him farewell, departed, whilst the king returned to the city and their joy was changed into mourning. now, as fate would have it, when the prince left the princess in the pavilion and betook himself to his father's palace, for the ordering of his affair, the persian entered the garden to pluck simples and scenting the fragrance of musk and essences, that exhaled from the princess's person and perfumed the whole place, followed it till he came to the pavilion and saw the horse, that he had made with his own hands, standing at the door. at this sight, his heart was filled with joy and gladness, for he had mourned sore for it, since it had gone out of his hand. so he went up to it and examining its every part, found it safe and sound; whereupon he was about to mount and ride away, when he bethought himself and said, 'needs must i first look what the prince hath brought and left here with the horse.' so he entered the pavilion and seeing the princess sitting there, as she were the sun shining in the cloudless sky, knew her to be some high-born lady and doubted not but the prince had brought her thither on the horse and left her in the pavilion, whilst he went to the city, to make ready for her entry in state. then he went up to her and kissed the earth before her, whereupon she raised her eyes to him and finding him exceeding foul of face and favour, said, 'who art thou?' 'o my lady,' answered he, 'i am sent by the prince, who hath bidden me bring thee to another garden, nearer the city; for that my lady the queen cannot go so far a journey and is unwilling, of her joy in thee, that another should forestall her with thee.' 'where is the prince?' asked she; and the persian replied, 'he is in the city, with his father, and will presently come for thee in great state.' 'o fellow,' said she, 'could he find none to send to me but thee?' at this he laughed and answered, 'o my lady, let not the ugliness of my face and the foulness of my favour deceive thee. hadst thou profited of me as hath the prince, thou wouldst praise my affair. indeed, he chose me as his messenger to thee, because of my uncomeliness and forbidding aspect, in his jealousy and love of thee: else hath he slaves and pages and servants, white and black, out of number, each goodlier than the other.' when she heard this, it commended itself to her reason and she believed him; so she rose and putting her hand in his, said, 'o my father, what hast thou brought me to ride?' 'o my lady,' answered he, 'thou shalt ride the horse thou camest on.' quoth she, 'i cannot ride it by myself.' whereupon he smiled and knew that she was in his power and said, 'i myself will ride with thee.' so he mounted and taking her up behind him, bound her fast to himself, for she knew not what he would with her. then he turned the peg of ascent, whereupon the belly of the horse became full of wind and it swayed to and fro and rose with them into the air nor slackened in its flight, till it was out of sight of the city. when the princess saw this, she said to him, 'o fellow, what didst thou tell me of the prince, that he sent thee to me?' 'foul befall the prince!' answered the persian. 'he is a scurril knave.' and she said, 'out on thee! how darest thou disobey thy lord's commandment!' 'he is no lord of mine,' rejoined the persian. 'knowst thou who i am?' 'i know nothing of thee,' replied the princess, 'save what thou toldest me.' quoth he, 'what i told thee was a trick of mine against thee and the prince. i am he who made this horse under us, and i have long regretted its loss; for the prince made himself master of it. but now i have gotten possession of it and of thee too, and i will rack his heart, even as he hath racked mine; nor shall he ever have the horse again. so take comfort and be of good cheer, for i can be of more service to thee than he.' when she heard this, she buffeted her face and cried out, saying, 'ah, woe is me! i have neither gotten my beloved nor kept my father and mother!' and she wept sore over what had befallen her, whilst the persian fared on with her, without ceasing, till he came to the land of the greeks and alighted in a verdant meadow, abounding in trees and streams. now this meadow was near a city, in which was a king of great puissance, and it befell that he went forth that day to hunt and divert himself. as he passed by the meadow, he saw the persian standing there, with the princess and the horse by his side, and before he was aware, the king's followers fell upon him and carried him, the lady and the horse to their master, who noting the foulness of his favour and the beauty and grace of the princess, said to the latter, 'o my lady, what kin is this old fellow to thee?' the persian made haste to reply, 'she is my wife and the daughter of my father's brother.' but she gave him the lie and said, 'o king, by allah, i know him not, nor is he my husband, but hath stolen me away by force and fraud.' thereupon the king bade beat the persian, and they beat him, till he was well-nigh dead; after which the king commanded to carry him to the city and cast him into prison, and taking the princess and the horse from him, set the former in his harem and laid up the latter in his treasury, though he knew not its properties nor the secret of its motion. meanwhile, the prince donned a travelling-habit and taking what he needed of money, set out, in very sorry plight, in quest of the princess, and journeyed from country to country and city to city, enquiring after the ebony horse, whilst all who heard him marvelled at him and deemed his talk extravagant. thus did he a long while; but, for all his enquiry and research, he could win at no news of her. at last, he came to the city of senaa and there enquired for her, but could get no tidings of her and found her father mourning her loss. so he turned back and made for the land of the greeks, pursuing his enquiries as he went, till, as chance would have it, he alighted at a certain khan and saw a company of merchants sitting talking. he sat down near them and heard one say to the others, 'o my friends, i happened lately upon a wonder of wonders.' 'what was that?' asked they, and he answered, 'i was late in such a city,' naming the city wherein was the princess, 'and heard its people speak of a strange thing that had lately befallen. it was that their king went out one day a-hunting, with a company of his courtiers and the grandees of his realm, and coming to a green meadow, espied there a man standing, with a horse of ebony, and a lady sitting hard by. the man was ugly and foul of favour, but the lady was a marvel of beauty and grace and symmetry; and as for the ebony horse, it was a wonder, never saw eyes aught goodlier than it nor more perfect than its fashion.' 'and what did the king with them?' asked the others. 'as for the man,' said the merchant, 'he questioned him of the lady and he pretended that she was his wife and the daughter of his father's brother; but she gave him the lie. so the king took her from him and bade beat him and cast him into prison. as for the horse, i know not what became of it.' when the prince heard this, he drew near unto the speaker and questioned him discreetly and courteously, till he told him the name of the city and of its king; which when he knew, he passed the night, full of joy. on the morrow, he set out and travelled till he reached the city; but, when he would have entered, the gatekeepers laid hands on him, that they might bring him before the king; for that it was his wont to question all strangers respecting their conditions and the crafts in which they were skilled and the reason of their coming thither. now it was eventide, when he entered the city, and it was then too late to go in to the king or take counsel with him respecting him. so they carried him to the prison, thinking to lay him therein for the night; but, when the warders saw his beauty and grace, they could not find it in their hearts to imprison him, but made him sit with them, without the prison; and when food came to them, he ate his fill with them. when they had made an end of eating, they turned to him and said, 'what countryman art thou?' 'i come from persia,' answered he, 'the land of the chosroës.' when they heard this, they laughed and one of them said, 'o chosroän, i have heard the talk of men and their histories and looked upon their conditions; but never saw or heard i a greater liar than the chosroän that is with us in the prison.' 'nor,' quoth another, 'did i ever see fouler than his favour or more repulsive than his aspect.' 'what have ye seen of his lying?' asked the prince, and they answered, 'he pretends that he is a sage. now the king came upon him, as he went a-hunting, and found with him a most beautiful lady and a horse of ebony, never saw i a handsomer. as for the lady, she is with the king, who is enamoured of her and would fain marry her; but she is mad, and were this man a physician, as he pretends, he would have cured her, for the king doth his utmost endeavour to find a remedy for her disease, and this whole year past hath he spent treasures upon physicians and astrologers, on her account; but none can avail to cure her. as for the horse, it is in the royal treasury, and the man is here with us in the prison; and all night long he weeps and bemoans himself and will not let us sleep.' when the prince heard this, he bethought himself of a device by which he might compass his desire; and presently the warders, being minded to sleep, clapped him into the prison and locked the door. he heard the persian weeping and bemoaning himself, in his own tongue, and saying, 'woe is me for my sin, that i sinned against myself and against the king's son, in that which i did with the damsel; for i neither left her nor got my desire of her! all this comes of my want of sense, in that i sought for myself that which i deserved not and which befitted not the like of me; for he, who seeks what befits him not, falleth into the like of my predicament.' when the prince heard this, he accosted him in persian, saying, 'how long wilt thou keep up this weeping and wailing? thinkst thou that there hath befallen thee what never befell other than thou?' when the persian heard this, he made friends with him and began to complain to him of his case and misfortunes. as soon as it was day, the warders took the prince and carried him before the king, informing him that he had entered the city on the previous night, at a time when no audience could be had of him. quoth the king to the prince, 'whence comest thou and what is thy name and craft and why comest thou hither?' and he answered, 'i am called, in persian, herjeh. i come from the land of fars and i am of the men of art and especially of the art of medicine and cure the sick and the mad. for this, i go round about all countries and cities, adding knowledge to my knowledge, and whenever i see a sick person, i heal him; and this is my craft.' when the king heard this, he rejoiced exceedingly and said, 'o excellent sage, thou hast come to us at a time when we have need of thee.' then he acquainted him with the case of the princess, adding, 'if thou win to cure her and recover her of her madness, thou shalt have of me whatever thou seekest.' 'may god advance the king!' rejoined the prince. 'describe to me all thou hast seen of her madness and tell me how long it is since it attacked her; also how thou camest by her.' so the king told him the whole story, from first to last, adding, 'the sage is in prison.' 'o august king,' said the prince, 'and what hast thou done with the horse?' 'it is with me yet, laid up in one of my treasure-chambers,' replied the king; whereupon quoth the prince in himself, 'the first thing to do is to see the horse and assure myself of its condition. if it be whole and unhurt, all will be well; but, if its works be destroyed, i must find some other way of delivering my beloved.' so he turned to the king and said to him, 'o king, i must see the horse in question: haply i may find in it somewhat that will serve me for the recovery of the damsel.' 'with all my heart,' replied the king and taking him by the hand, led him to the place where the horse was. the prince went round about it, examining its condition, and found it whole and unhurt, whereat he rejoiced greatly and said to the king, 'may god exalt the king! i would fain go in to the damsel, that i may see how it is with her; for i hope, by god's grace, to cure her by means of the horse.' then he bade take care of the horse and the king carried him to the princess's apartment, where he found her writhing and beating herself against the ground, as was her wont; but there was no madness in her, and she did this but that none might approach her. when the prince saw her thus, he said to her, 'no harm shall betide thee, o ravishment of all creatures;' and went on to soothe her and speak her fair, till he won to make himself known to her; whereupon she gave a loud cry and fell down in a swoon for excess of joy; but the king thought this came of her fear of him. then the prince put his mouth to her ear and said to her, 'o seduction of the universe, have a care for thy life and mine and be patient and constant; for we have need of patience and skilful ordinance to make shift for our delivery from this tyrannical king. to begin with, i will now go out to him and tell him that thou art possessed of a genie, and hence thy madness; but, that if he will loose thee from thy bonds, i will engage to heal thee and drive away the evil spirit. so, when he comes in to thee, do thou give him fair words, that he may think i have cured thee, and all will be accomplished as we desire.' quoth she, 'i hear and obey;' and he went out to the king, full of joy and happiness, and said to him, 'o august king, by thy good fortune i have discovered her disease and its remedy and have cured her for thee. so now do thou go in to her and speak softly to her and entreat her kindly, and promise her what may please her; so shall all thou desirest of her be accomplished to thee.' so he went in to her and when she saw him, she rose and kissing the ground, bade him welcome; whereat he was greatly rejoiced and bade the eunuchs and waiting-women attend her and carry her to the bath and make ready for her dresses and ornaments. so they went in to her and saluted her, and she returned their greeting, after the goodliest and pleasantest fashion; after which they clad her in royal apparel and clasping a collar of jewels about her neck, carried her to the bath and served her there. then they brought her forth, as she were the full moon; and when she came into the king's presence, she saluted him and kissed the ground before him, whereupon he rejoiced in her with an exceeding joy and said to the prince, 'all this is of thy blessing, may god increase us of thy good offices!' quoth the prince, 'o king, it behoves, for the completion of her cure, that thou carry her forth, together with the ebony horse, and attend her with all thy troops to the place where thou foundest her, that there i may expel from her the evil spirit, by whom she is possessed, and bind him and kill him, so he may never more return to her.' 'with all my heart,' answered the king. then he caused carry out the horse to the meadow in question and mounting, rode thither with all his troops and the princess, knowing not the prince's purpose. when they came to the appointed place, the prince bade set the horse and the princess as far as the eye could reach from the king and his troops and said to the former, 'with thy leave, i will now proceed to the needful fumigations and conjurations and imprison the genie here, that he may nevermore return to her. after this, i shall mount the horse and take the damsel up behind me; whereupon it will sway to and fro and fare forward, till it come to thee, when the affair will be at an end; and after this thou mayst do with her as thou wilt.' and when the king heard his words, he rejoiced with an exceeding joy. so the prince mounted the horse and taking the princess up behind him, bound her fast to him, whilst the king and his troops watched him. then he turned the peg of ascent and the horse took flight and soared with them into the air, till he disappeared from sight. the king abode half the day, expecting their return; but they returned not. so, when he despaired of them, he returned to the city with his troops, repenting him greatly of that which he had done and grieving sore for the loss of the damsel. he shut himself up in his palace, mourning and afflicted; but his viziers came in to him and applied themselves to comfort him, saying, 'verily, he who took the damsel is an enchanter, and praised be god who hath delivered thee from his craft and sorcery!' and they ceased not from him, till he was comforted for her loss. meanwhile, the prince bent his course, in joy and cheer, towards his father's capital and stayed not, till he alighted on his own palace, where he set the princess in safety; after which he went in to his father and mother and acquainted them with her coming, whereat they rejoiced exceedingly. then he made great banquets to the townsfolk and they held high festival a whole month, at the end of which time he went in to the princess and they rejoiced in one another with an exceeding joy. but his father broke the horse in pieces and destroyed its works. moreover, the prince wrote a letter to the princess's father, advising him of all that had befallen her and how she was now married to him and in all health and happiness, and sent it by a messenger, together with costly presents and rarities. the messenger, in due course, arrived at the city of senaa and delivered the letter and the presents to the king, who, when he read the former, rejoiced greatly and accepted the presents, rewarding the bearer handsomely. moreover, he sent rich presents to his son-in-law by the same messenger, who returned to his master and acquainted him with what had passed, whereat he was much cheered. and after this the prince wrote a letter every year to his father-in-law and sent him a present, till, in course of time, his father king sabour died and he reigned in his stead, ruling justly over his subjects and ordering himself well and righteously towards them, so that they submitted themselves to him and did him loyal service; and he and his wife abode in the enjoyment of all delight and solace of life, till there came to them the destroyer of delights and sunderer of companies, he that layeth waste the palaces and peopleth the tombs; and glory be to the living one who dieth not and in whose hand is the dominion of the seen and the unseen! uns el wujoud and the vizier's daughter rose-in-bud. there was once, of old days and in bygone ages and times, a king of great power and glory and dominion, who had a vizier named ibrahim, and this vizier had a daughter of extraordinary beauty and grace, gifted with surpassing brilliancy and all perfection, possessed of abundant wit and perfectly accomplished. she loved wine and good cheer and fair faces and choice verses and rare stories; and the delicacy of her charms invited all hearts to love, even as saith the poet, describing her: she shines out like the moon at full, that midst the stars doth fare, and for a wrapping-veil she hath the ringlets of her hair. the eastern zephyr gives her boughs to drink of all its sweets and like a jointed cane, she sways to every breath of air. she smiles in passing by. o thou that dost alike accord with red and yellow and arrayed in each, alike art fair, thou sportest with my wit in love, so that indeed meseems as if a sparrow in the clutch of playful urchin 'twere. her name was rose-in-bud and she was so named for the exceeding delicacy and perfection of her beauty; and the king loved to carouse with her, because of her wit and good breeding. now it was the king's custom yearly to gather together all the nobles of his realm and play with the ball. so, when the day came round, on which the folk assembled for ball-play, the vizier's daughter seated herself at her lattice, to divert herself by looking on at the game; and as they were at play, her eyes fell upon a youth among them, never was seen a handsomer than he or a goodlier of favour, for he was bright of face, laughing-teethed, tall and broad-shouldered. she looked at him again and again and could not take her fill of gazing on him. then she said to her nurse, 'what is the name of yonder handsome young man among the troops?' 'o my daughter,' replied the nurse, 'they are all handsome. which of them dost thou mean?' 'wait till he passes,' said rose-in-bud, 'and i will point him out to thee.' so she took an apple and waited till he came under her window, when she dropped it on him, whereupon he raised his head, to see who did this, and saw the vizier's daughter at the window, as she were the full moon in the darkness of the night; nor did he withdraw his eyes, till he had fallen passionately in love with her; and he recited the following verses: was it an archer shot me or did thine eyes undo the lover's heart that saw thee, what time thou metst his view? did the notched arrow reach me from midst a host, indeed, or was it from a lattice that launched at me it flew? when the game was at an end, he went away with the king, [whose servant and favourite he was,] with heart occupied with love of her; and she said to her nurse, 'what is the name of that youth i showed thee?' 'his name is uns el wujoud,' answered she; whereat rose-in-bud shook her head and lay down on her couch, with a heart on fire for love. then, sighing deeply, she improvised the following verses: he erred not who dubbed thee, "all creatures' delight,"[fn# ] that pleasance and bounty[fn# ] at once dust unite. full-moonlike of aspect, o thou whose fair face o'er all the creation sheds glory and light, thou'rt peerless midst mortals, the sovran of grace, and many a witness to this i can cite. thy brows are a noun[fn# ] and shine eyes are a sad,[fn# ] that the hand of the loving creator did write; thy shape is the soft, tender sapling, that gives of its bounties to all that its favours invite. yea, indeed, thou excellest the world's cavaliers in pleasance and beauty and bounty and might. when she had finished, she wrote the verses on a sheet of paper, which she folded in a piece of gold-embroidered silk and laid under her pillow. now one of her nurses saw her; so she came up to her and held her in talk, till she slept, when she stole the scroll from under her pillow and reading it, knew that she had fallen in love with uns el wujoud. then she returned the scroll to its place and when her mistress awoke, she said to her, 'o my lady, indeed, i am to thee a faithful counsellor and am tenderly solicitous for thee. know that passion is grievous and the hiding it melteth iron and causeth sickness and unease; nor is there reproach for whoso confesses it.' 'o my nurse,' rejoined rose-in-bud,'and what is the remedy of passion?' 'the remedy of passion is enjoyment,' answered the nurse. 'and how may one come by enjoyment?' asked rose-in-bud. 'by letters and messages,' replied the nurse, 'and many a tender word and greeting; this brings lovers together and makes hard matters easy. so, if thou have aught at heart, mistress mine, i will engage to keep thy secret and do thy need and carry thy letters.' when the girl heard this, her reason fled for joy; but she restrained herself from speech, till she should see the issue of the matter, saying in herself, 'none knoweth this thing of me, nor will i trust this woman with my secret, till i have proved her.' then said the nurse, 'o my lady, i saw in my sleep as though one came to me and said, "thy mistress and uns el wujoud love one another; so do thou serve their loves by carrying their messages and doing their need and keeping their secrets; and much good shall befall thee." so now i have told thee my dream, and it is thine to decide.' 'o my nurse,' quoth rose-in-bud, 'canst thou keep secrets?' 'and how should i not keep secrets,' answered the nurse, 'i that am of the flower of the free-born?' then rose-in-bud pulled out the scroll, on which she had written the verses afore said, and said to her,' carry this my letter to uns el wujoud and bring me his answer.' so the nurse took the letter and repairing to uns el wujoud, kissed his hands and saluted him right courteously, then gave him the letter; and he read it and wrote on the back the following verses: i temper my heart in passion and hide my case as i may; but my case interprets for me and doth my love bewray. and whenas my lids brim over with tears,--lest the spy should see and come to fathom my secret,--"my eye is sore," i say. of old i was empty-hearted and knew not what love was; but now i am passion's bondman, my heart to love's a prey. to thee i prefer my petition, complaining of passion and pain, so haply thou mayst be softened and pity my dismay. with the tears of my eye i have traced it, that so unto thee it may the tidings of what i suffer for thee to thee convey. god watch o'er a visage, that veileth itself with beauty, a face that the full moon serves as a bondman and the stars as slaves obey! yea' allah protect her beauty, whose like i ne'er beheld! the boughs from her graceful carriage, indeed, might learn to sway. i beg thee to grant me a visit; algates, if it irk thee nought. an thou knewst how dearly i'd prize it, thou wouldst not say me nay. i give thee my life, so haply thou mayst accept it: to me thy presence is life eternal and hell thy turning away. then he folded the letter and kissing it, gave it to the nurse and said to her, 'o nurse, incline thy lady's heart to me.' 'i hear and obey,' answered she and carried the letter to her mistress, who kissed it and laid it on her head, then wrote at the foot of it these verses: harkye, thou whose heart is taken with my grace and loveliness, have but patience, and right surely thou my favours shalt possess. when we were assured the passion thou avouchedst was sincere and that that which us betided had betided thee no less, gladly had we then vouchsafed thee what thou sighedst for, and more; but our guardians estopped us to each other from access. when night darkens on the dwellings, fires are lighted in our heart and our entrails burn within us, for desire and love's excess. yea, for love and longing, slumber is a stranger to our couch and the burning pangs of fever do our body sore distress. 'twas a law of passion ever, love and longing to conceal; lift not thou the curtain from us nor our secret aye transgress. ah, my heart is overflowing with the love of yon gazelle; would it had not left our dwellings for the distant wilderness. then she folded the letter and gave it to the nurse, who took it and went out to go to the young man; but as she went forth the door, her master met her and said to her, 'whither away?' 'to the bath,' answered she; but, in her trouble, she dropped the letter, without knowing it, and one of the servants, seeing it lying in the way, picked it up. when she came without the door, she sought for it, but found it not, so turned back to her mistress and told her of this and what had befallen her with the vizier. meanwhile, the latter came out of the harem and seated himself on his couch. presently, the servant, who had picked up the letter, came in to him, with it in his hand, and said, 'o my lord, i found this paper lying on the floor and picked it up.' so the vizier took it from his hand, folded as it was, and opening it, read the verses above set down. then he examined the writing and knew it for his daughter's hand; whereupon he went in to her mother, weeping so sore that his beard was drenched. 'what makes thee weep, o my lord?' asked she; and he answered, 'take this letter and see what is therein.' so she took it and saw it to be a love-letter from her daughter rose-in-bud to uns el wujoud; whereupon the tears sprang to her eyes; but she mastered herself and swallowing her tears, said to her husband, 'o my lord, there is no profit in weeping: the right course is to cast about for a means of preserving thine honour and concealing thy daughter's affair.' and she went on to comfort him and lighten his trouble. quoth he, 'i am fearful of what may ensue this passion of my daughter, and that for two reasons. the first concerns myself; it is, that she is my daughter; the second, that uns el wujoud is a favourite with the sultan, who loves him with an exceeding love, and maybe great troubles shall come of this affair. what deemest thou of the matter?' 'wait,' answered she, 'whilst i pray to god for direction.' so she prayed a two-bow prayer, according to the prophetic ordinance of the prayer for divine guidance; after which she said to her husband, 'amiddleward the sea of treasures stands a mountain called the mount of the bereaved mother,' (the cause of which being so named shall follow in its place, if it be the will of god,) 'and thither can none come, save with difficulty; do thou make her an abiding-place there.' so the vizier and his wife agreed to build, on the mountain in question, a strong castle and lodge his daughter therein with a year's victual, to be annually renewed, and attendants to serve and keep her company. accordingly, he collected builders and carpenters and architects and despatched them to the mountain, where they builded her an impregnable castle, never saw eyes its like. then he made ready victual and carriage for the journey and going in to his daughter by night, bade her make ready to set out on a pleasure-excursion. she refused to set out by night, but he was instant with her, till she went forth; and when she saw the preparations for the journey, her heart misgave her of separation from her beloved and she wept sore and wrote upon the door the following verses, to acquaint him with what had passed and with the transports of passion and grief that were upon her, transports such as would make the flesh quake, that would cause the hearts of stones to melt and eyes to overflow with tears: by allah, o house, if the loved one pass in the morning-glow and greet with the greeting of lovers, as they pass to and fro, give him our salutation, a pure and fragrant one, for that we have departed, and whither he may not know. why on this wise they hurry me off by stealth, anights and lightly equipped, i know not, nor whither with me they go. neath cover of night and darkness, they carry me forth, alack i whilst the birds in the brake bewail us and make their moan for our woe; and the tongue of the case interprets their language and cries, "alas, alas for the pain of parting from those that we love, heigho!" when i saw that the cups of sev'rance were filled and that fate, indeed, would give us to drink of its bitter, unmingled, would we or no, i blended the draught with patience becoming, as best i might; but patience avails not to solace my heart for your loss, i trow. then she mounted, and they set forward with her and fared on over desert and plain and hill, till they came to the shore of the sea of treasures, where they pitched their tents and built a great ship, in which they embarked her and her suite and carried them over to the mountain. here they left them in the castle and making their way back to the shore, broke up the vessel, in obedience to the vizier's commandment, and returned home, weeping over what had befallen. meanwhile, uns el wujoud arose from sleep and prayed the morning prayer, after which he mounted and rode forth to wait upon the sultan. on his way, he passed by the vizier's house, thinking to see some of his followers, as of wont, but saw no one and drawing near the door, read the verses aforesaid written thereon. at this sight, his senses failed him; fire was kindled in his vitals and he returned to his lodging, where he passed the rest of the day in ceaseless trouble and anxiety, without finding ease or patience, till night darkened upon him, when his transport redoubled. so he put off his clothes and disguising himself in a fakir's habit, set out, at a venture, under cover of the night, distraught and knowing not whither he went. he wandered on all that night and next day, till the heat of the sun grew fierce and the mountains flamed like fire and thirst was grievous upon him. presently, he espied a tree, by whose side was a spring of running water; so he made towards it and sitting down in the shade, on the bank of the rivulet, essayed to drink, but found that the water had no taste in his mouth. then, [looking in the stream,] he saw that his body was wasted, his colour changed and his face grown pale and his, feet, to boot, swollen with walking and weariness. so he shed copious tears and repeated the following verses: the lover is drunken with love of his fair; in longing and heat he redoubles fore'er. love-maddened, confounded, distracted, perplexed, no dwelling is pleasant to him and no fare. for how, to a lover cut off from his love, can life be delightsome? 'twere strange an it were. i melt with the fire of my passion for her and the tears down my cheek roll and never forbear. shall i ever behold her or one from her stead, with whom i may solace my heart in despair? and he wept till he wet the ground; after which he rose and fared on again over deserts and wilds, till there came out upon him a lion, with a neck buried in hair, a head the bigness of a dome, a mouth wider than the door [thereof] and teeth like elephants' tusks. when uns el wujoud saw him, he gave himself up for lost and turning towards mecca, pronounced the professions of the faith and prepared for death. now he had read in books that whoso will flatter the lion, beguileth him, for that he is lightly duped by fair words and glorieth in praise; so he began and said, 'o lion of the forest and the waste! o unconquerable warrior! o father of heroes and sultan of wild beasts! behold, i am a desireful lover, whom passion and severance have undone. since i parted from my beloved, i have lost my reason; wherefore, do thou hearken to my speech and have ruth on my passion and love-longing.' when the lion heard this, he drew back from him and sitting down on his hind-quarters, raised his head to him and began to frisk his tail and paws to him; which when uns el wujoud saw, he recited these verses: wilt slay me, o lord of the desert, before my enslaver i meet with, e'en her i adore? no fat on me is; i'm no booty for thee; for the loss of my loved one hath wasted me sore. yea, my love's separation hath worn out my soul, and i'm grown like a shape, with a shroud covered o'er. give the railers not cause to exult in my woe, o prince of the spoilers, o lion of war! a lover, all sleepless for loss of my dear, i'm drowned in the tears from mine eyelids that pour; and my pining for her in the darkness of night hath robbed me, for passion, of reason and lore. when he had finished, the lion rose and coming softly up to him, with his eyes full of tears, licked him with his tongue, then walked on before him, signing to him, as who should say, 'follow me.' so he followed him, and he led him on till he brought him, over a mountain, to the farther side, where he came upon the track of a caravan and knew it to be that of rose-in-bud and her company. when the lion saw that he knew the track and set himself to follow it, he turned back and went his way; whilst uns el wujoud followed the foot-marks, till they brought him to a surging sea, swollen with clashing billows. the trail led down to the water's edge and there broke off; whereby he knew that they had taken ship there and had continued their journey by sea. so he lost hope of finding his beloved and repeated the following verses, weeping sore: far's the place of visitation and my patience faileth me for my love; but how to reach her o'er the abysses of the sea? when, for love of her, my vitals are consumed and i've forsworn slumber, sleep for wake exchanging, ah, how can i patient be? since the day she left the homesteads and departed, hath my heart burnt with never-ceasing anguish, all a-fire with agony. oxus and jaxartes, running like euphrates, are my tears; more than rain and flood abounding, run like rivers to the sea. ulcerated are my eyelids with the running of the tears, and my heart on fires of passion's burnt and wasted utterly. yea, the armies of my longing and my transport on me pressed, and the hosts of my endurance did before them break and flee. lavishly my life i've ventured for the love of her; for life is the lightest to a lover of all ventures, verily. be an eye of god unpunished that beheld the beauteous one, than the moon how much more splendid, in the harem's sanctuary! struck was i and smitten prostrate by wide-opened eyes, whose shafts, from a bow all stringless loosened, pierced the hapless heart of me. by the soft and flexile motions of her shape she captived me, swaying as the limber branches sway upon the cassia-tree. union with her i covet, that therewith i may apply solace to the pains of passion, love and care and misery. for the love of her, afflicted, as i am, i have become; all that's fallen on me betided from the evil eye, perdie. then he wept, till he swooned away, and abode in his swoon a long while. when he came to himself, he looked right and left and seeing none in the desert, was fearful of the wild beasts; so he climbed to the top of a high mountain, where he heard a man's voice speaking within a cavern. he listened and found it to be that of a devotee, who had forsworn the world and given himself up to pious exercises. so he knocked thrice at the cavern door; but the hermit made him no answer, neither came forth to him; wherefore he sighed heavily and recited the following verses: what way is open unto me, to my desire to get and put off weariness and toil and trouble and regret? all pains and terrors have combined on me, to make me hoar and old of head and heart, whilst i a very child am yet. i find no friend to solace me of longing and unease' nor one 'gainst passion and its stress to aid me and abet. alas, the torments i endure for waste and wistful love! fortune, meseems, 'gainst me is turned and altogether set. ah, woe's me for the lover's pain, unresting, passion-burnt, him who in parting's bitter cup his lips perforce hath wet! his wit is ravished clean away by separation's woe, fire in his heart and all consumed his entrails by its fret. ah, what a dreadful day it was, when to her stead i came and that, which on the door was writ, my eyes confounded met! i wept, until i gave the earth to drink of my despair; but still from friend and foe i hid the woes that me beset. then strayed i forth till, in the waste, a lion sprang on me and would have slain me straight; but him with flattering words i met and soothed him. so he spared my life and succoured me, as 'twere he too had known love's taste and been entangled in its net. yet, for all this, could i but win to come to my desire, all, that i've suffered and endured, straightway i should forget. o thou, that harbour'st in thy cave, distracted from the world, meseems thou'st tasted love and been its slave, o anchoret! hardly had he made an end of these verses when, behold, the door of the cavern opened and he heard one say' 'alas, the pity of it i' so he entered and saluted the hermit, who returned his greeting and said to him, 'what is thy name?' 'uns el wujoud,' answered the young man. 'and what brings thee hither?' asked the hermit. so he told him his whole story, whereat he wept and said' 'o uns el wujoud, these twenty years have i dwelt in this place, but never beheld i any here, till the other day, when i heard a noise of cries and weeping, and looking forth in the direction of the sound, saw much people and tents pitched on the sea-shore. they built a ship, in which they embarked and sailed away. then some of them returned with the ship and breaking it up, went their way; and methinks those, who embarked in the ship and returned not, are they whom thou seekest. in that case, thy trouble must needs be grievous and thou art excusable; though never yet was lover but suffered sorrows.' then he recited the following verses: uns el wujoud, thou deem'st me free of heart, but, wel-a-way! longing and transport and desire fold and unfold me aye. yea, love and passion have i known even from my earliest years, since at my mother's nursing breast a suckling babe i lay. i struggled sore and long with love, till i his power confessed. if thou enquire at him of me, he will me not unsay. i quaffed the cup of passion out, with languor and disease, and as a phantom i became for pining and decay. strong was i, but my strength is gone and neath the swords of eyes, the armies of my patience broke and vanished clean away. hope not to win delight of love, without chagrin and woe; for contrary with contrary conjoined is alway. but fear not change from lover true; do thou but constant be unto thy wish, and thou shalt sure be happy yet some day: for unto lovers passion hath ordained that to forget is heresy, forbidden all its mandates that obey. then he rose and coming to the youth, embraced him, and they wept together, till the hills rang with their crying and they fell down in a swoon. when they revived, they swore brotherhood in god the most high, and the hermit said to uns el wujoud, 'this night will i pray to god and seek of him direction what thou shouldst do to attain thy desire.' to return to rose-in-bud. when they brought her into the castle and she beheld its ordinance, she wept and exclaimed, 'by allah, thou art a goodly place, save that thou lackest the presence of the beloved in thee!' then, seeing [many] birds in the island, she bade her people set snares for them and hang up all they caught in cages within the castle; and they did so. but she sat at a window of the castle and bethought her of what had passed, and passion and transport and love-longing redoubled upon her, till she burst into tears and repeated the following verses: to whom, of my desire complaining, shall i cry, to whom, for loss of loves and parting's sorrow, sigh? flames rage within my breast, but i reveal them not, for fear lest they my case discover to the spy. i'm grown as thin as e'er a bodkin's wood, so worn with absence and lament and agony am i. where is the loved one's eye, to see how i'm become even as a blasted tree, stripped bare and like to die? they wronged me, when they shut me prisoner in a place, wherein my love, alas i may never come me nigh. greetings a thousandfold i beg the sun to bear, what time he riseth up and setteth from the sky, to a beloved one, who puts the moon to shame, for loveliness, and doth the indian cane outvie. if the rose ape his cheek, "now god forfend," i say, "that of my portion aught to pilfer thou shouldst try." lo, in his mouth are springs of limpid water sweet, refreshment that would bring to those in flames who lie. how shall i one forget who is my heart and soul, my malady and he that healing can apply? then, as the shadows darkened upon her, her longing increased and she called to mind the past and recited these verses also: the shadows darken and passion stirs up my sickness amain and longing rouses within me the old desireful pain. the anguish of parting hath taken its sojourn in my breast and love and longing and sorrow have maddened heart and brain. passion hath made me restless and yearning consumes my soul and tears discover my secret, that else concealed had lain. i know of no way to ease me of sickness and care and woe; nor can my weak endeavour reknit love's severed skein. my heart is a raging furnace, because of the heat whereof my entrails are racked with anguish, that nothing can assain. o thou, that thinkest to blame me for what is fallen on me, enough, i suffer with patience whatever the fates ordain. i swear i shall ne'er find comfort nor be consoled for them, the oath of the children of passion, whose oaths are never in vain! bear tidings, o night, to my dear ones and greet them and witness bear that thou knowest in thee i sleep not, but ever to wake am fain. meanwhile, the hermit said to uns el wujoud, 'go down into the valley and fetch me palm-fibre.' so he went and returned with the palm-fibre, which the hermit took and twisting into ropes, made therewith a net, such as is used for carrying straw; after which he said to the youth, 'o uns el wujoud, in the heart of the valley grows a gourd, which springs up and dries upon its roots. go thither and fill this net therewith; then tie it together and casting it into the water, embark thereon and make for the midst of the sea, so haply thou shalt come to thy desire; for he, who adventureth not himself, shall not attain that he seeketh.' 'i hear and obey,' answered uns el wujoud and bidding the hermit farewell after he had prayed for him, betook himself to the hollow of the valley, where he did as he had counselled him and launched out upon the water, supported by the net. then there arose a wind, which drove him out to sea, till he was lost to the hermit's view; and he ceased not to fare on over the abysses of the ocean, one billow tossing him up on the crest of the wave and another bearing him down into the trough of the sea, and he beholding the while the terrors and wonders of the deep, for the space of three days, at the end of which time fate cast him upon the mount of the bereft mother, where he landed, weak and giddy as a fledgling bird, for hunger and thirst; but, finding there streams running and birds warbling on the branches and fruit-laden trees, growing in clusters and singly, he ate of the fruits and drank of the streams. then he walked on till he saw some white thing alar off, and making for it, found that it was a strongly-fortified castle. so he went up to the gate and finding it locked, sat down by it. he sat thus three days and on the fourth, the gate opened and an eunuch came out, who seeing uns el wujoud seated there, said to him, 'whence comest thou and who brought thee hither?' quoth he, 'i come from ispahan and was travelling by sea with merchandise, when my ship was wrecked and the waves cast me upon this island.' when the eunuch heard this, he wept and embraced him, saying, 'god preserve thee, o [thou that bringest me the] fragrance of the beloved! ispahan is my own country and i have there a cousin, the daughter of my father's brother, whom i loved and cherished from a child; but a people stronger than we fell upon us and taking me among other booty, docked me and sold me for an eunuch, whilst i was yet a lad; and this is how i come to be what i am.' then he carried him into the courtyard of the castle, where he saw a great basin of water, surrounded by trees, on whose branches hung cages of silver, with doors of gold, and therein birds warbling and singing the praises of the requiting king. in the first cage he came to was a turtle dove which, seeing him, raised her voice and cried out, saying, 'o bountiful one!'[fn# ] whereat he fell down in a swoon, but, presently coming to himself, sighed heavily and recited the following verses: o turtle, art thou mad for love, as is my case? then sing, 'o bountiful!' and seek the lord his grace! tell me, doth thy descant in joyance tale its rise or in desireful pain, that in thy heart hath place? if for desire thou moan'st of bygone loves or pin'st for dear ones that have gone and left thee but their trace, or if thou'st lost thy love, like me, ah, then, indeed, severance long-felt desire discovereth apace. god guard a lover true! though my bones rot, nor time nor absence from my heart her image shall efface. then he fainted again and presently coming to his senses, went on to the second cage, wherein he found a ring-dove. when it saw him, it sang out, 'o eternal, i praise thee!' and he sighed and recited these verses: i heard a ring-dove say in her plaintive note, "despite of my woes, o eternal, i praise thee still!" and god, of his grace, reunion of our loves, in this my travel, may yet to us fulfil. she visits me oft,[fn# ] with her dusk-red honeyed lips, and lends to the passion within me an added thrill. and i cry, whilst the fires in my tortured heart flame high and my soul for ardour consumes and my eyes distil tears that resemble blood and withouten cease pour down on my wasted cheeks in many a rill, there's none created without affliction, and i must bear with patience my tribulations, until the hour of solace with her i love one day unite me. ah, then, by god his power and will, in succouring lovers, i vow, i'll spend my good, for they're of my tribe and category still; and eke from prison i'll loose the birds, to boot, and leave, for joyance, the thought of every ill! then he went on to the third cage, in which was a mocking-bird. when it saw him, it set up a song, and he recited the following verses: the mocking-bird delighteth me with his harmonious strain, as 'twere a lover's voice that pines and wastes for love in vain. woe's me for those that lovers be! how many a weary night, for love and anguish and desire, to waken they are fain! 'twould seem as if they had no part in morning or in sleep, for all the stress of love and woe that holds their heart and brain. when i became distraught for her i love and wistfulness bound me in fetters strait, the tears from out mine eyes did rain so thick and fast, they were as chains, and i to her did say, "my tears have fallen so thick, that now they've bound me with a chain." the treasures of my patience fail, absence is long on me and yearning sore; and passion's stress consumeth me amain. if god's protection cover me and fortune be but just and fate with her whom i adore unite me once again, i'll doff my clothes, that she may see how worn my body is, for languishment and severance and solitary pain. then he went on to the fourth cage, where he found a nightingale, which, at sight of him, began to tune its plaintive note. when he heard its descant, he burst into tears and repeated the following verses: the nightingale's note, when the dawning is near, distracts from the lute-strings the true lover's ear. complaineth, for love-longing, uns el wujoud, of a passion that blotteth his being out sheer. how many sweet notes, that would soften, for mirth, the hardness of iron and stone, do i hear! the zephyr of morning brings tidings to me of meadows, full-flower'd for the blossoming year. the scents on the breeze and the music of birds, in the dawning, transport me with joyance and cheer. but i think of a loved one, that's absent from me, and mine eyes rain in torrents, with tear upon tear; and the ardour of longing flames high in my breast, as a fire in the heart of a brasier burns clear. may allah vouchsafe to a lover distraught to see and foregather once more with his dear! yea, for lovers, heart-sickness and longing and woe and wake are excuses that plainly appear. then he went on a little and came to a handsome cage, than which there was no goodlier there, and in it a culver, that is to say, a wood-pigeon, the bird renowned among the birds as the singer of love-longing, with a collar of jewels about its neck, wonder-goodly of ordinance. he considered it awhile and seeing it mazed and brooding in its cage, shed tears and repeated these verses: o culver of the copse, may peace upon thee light, o friend of all who love and every wistful wight! i love a young gazelle, a slender one, whose glance than sharpest sabre's point is keener and more bright. for love of her, my heart and entrails are a-fire and sicknesses consume my body and my spright. the sweet of pleasant food's forbidden unto me, and eke i am denied the taste of sleep's delight. solace and fortitude have taken flight from me, and love and longing lodge with me, both day and night. how shall my life be sweet to me, while she's afar, that is my life, my wish, the apple of my sight? when the pigeon heard these verses, it awoke from its brooding and cooed and warbled and trilled, till it all but spoke; and the tongue of the case interpreted for it and recited the following verses: o lover, thy wailings recall to my mind the time when my youth from me wasted and dwined, and a mistress, whose charms and whose grace i adored, seductive and fair over all of her kind; whose voice, from the twigs of the sandhill upraised, left the strains of the flute, to my thought, far behind. a snare set the fowler and caught me, who cried, "would he d leave me to range at my will on the wind!" i had hoped he was clement or seeing that i was a lover, would pity my lot and be kind; but no, (may god smite him!) he tore me away from my dear and apart from her harshly confined. since then, my desire for her grows without cease, and my heart with the fires of disjunction is mined. god guard a true lover, who striveth with love and hath suffered the torments in which i have pined! when he seeth me languish for love in my cage, he will loose me, in mercy, my loved one to find then uns el wujoud turned to his friend, the ispahani and said to him, 'what palace is this? who built it and who abideth in it?' quoth the eunuch, 'the vizier of king shamikh built it for his daughter, fearing for her the assaults of fate and the vicissitudes of fortune, and lodged her therein, with her attendants; nor do we open it save once in every year, when our victual comes to us.' and uns el wujoud said in himself, 'i have gained my end' though after long travail.' meanwhile, rose-in-bud took no delight in eating nor drinking, sitting nor sleeping; but her transport and passion and love-longing redoubled on her, and she went wandering about the castle, but could find no issue; wherefore she shed plenteous tears and recited the following verses: they have prisoned me straitly from him i adore and given me to eat of mine anguish galore. my heart with the flames of love-longing they fired, when me from the sight of my loved one they bore. they have cloistered me close in a palace built high on a mount in the midst of a sea without shore. if they'd have me forget, their endeavour is vain, for my love but redoubles upon me the more. how can i forget him, when all i endure arose from the sight of his face heretofore? my days are consumed in lament, and my nights pass in thinking of him, as i knew him of yore. his memory my solace in solitude is, since the lack of his presence i needs must deplore. i wonder, will fate grant my heart its desire and my love, after all, to my wishes restore! then she donned her richest clothes and trinkets and threw a necklace of jewels around her neck; after which she ascended to the roof of the castle and tying some strips of baalbek stuff together, [to serve for a rope], made them fast to the battlements and let herself down thereby to the ground. then she fared on over wastes and wilds, till she came to the sea-shore, where she saw a fishing-boat, and therein a fisherman, whom the wind had driven on to the island, as he went, fishing here and there, on the sea. when he saw her, he was affrighted, [ taking her for a jinniyeh] and put out again to sea; but she cried out and made pressing signs to him to return, reciting the following verses: harkye, o fisherman, fear thou no injury; i'm but an earthly maid, a mortal like to thee. i do implore thee, stay, give ear unto my prayer and hearken to my true and woeful history. pity, (so god thee spare,) the ardour [of my love,] and say if thou hast seen a loved one, fled from me. i love a fair-faced youth and goodly; brighter far of aspect than the face of sun or moon is he. the antelope, that sees his glances, cries, "his slave am i," and doth confess inferiority. yea, beauty on his brow these pregnant words hath writ in very dust of musk, significant to see, "who sees the light of love is in the way of right, and he who strays commits foul sin and heresy." an thou have ruth on me and bring me to his sight, o rare! whate'er thou wilt thy recompense shall be; rubies and precious stones and freshly gathered pearls and every kind of gem that is in earth and sea. surely, o friend, thou wilt with my desire comply; for all my heart's on fire with love and agony. when the fisherman heard this, he wept and sighed and lamented; then, recalling what had betided himself in the days of his youth, when love had the mastery over him and transport and love-longing and distraction were sore upon him and the fires of passion consumed him, replied with these verses: indeed, the lover's excuse is manifest, wasting of body and streaming tears, unrest, eyes, in the darkness that waken still, and heart, as 'twere a fire-box, bespeak him love-oppress. passion, indeed, afflicted me in youth, and i good money from bad learnt then to test. my soul i bartered, a distant love to win; to gain her favours, i wandered east and west; and eke i ventured my life against her grace and deemed the venture would bring me interest. for law of lovers it is that whoso buys his love's possession with life, he profits best. then he moored his boat to the shore and bade her embark, saying, 'i will carry thee whither thou wilt.' so she embarked and he put off with her; but they had not gone far, before there came out a stern-wind upon the boat and drove it swiftly out of sight of land. the fisherman knew not whither he went, and the wind blew without ceasing three days, at the end of which time it fell, by leave of god the most high, and they sailed on, till they came in sight of a city builded upon the seashore, and the fisherman set about making fast to the land. now the king of the city, a very powerful prince called dirbas, was at that moment sitting, with his son, at a window in the palace giving upon the sea, and chancing to look out to sea-ward, they saw the fishing-boat enter the harbour. they observed it narrowly and espied therein a young lady, as she were the full moon in the mid-heaven, with pendants in her ears of fine balass rubies and a collar of precious stones about her neck. so the king knew that this must be the daughter of some king or great noble, and going forth of the sea-gate of the palace, went down to the boat, where he found the lady asleep and the fisherman busied in making fast to the shore. he went up to her and aroused her, whereupon she awoke, weeping; and he said to her, 'whence comest thou and whose daughter art thou and what brings thee hither?' 'i am the daughter of ibrahim, vizier to king shamikh,' answered she; 'and the manner of my coming hither is strange and the cause thereof extraordinary.' and she told him her whole story, hiding nought from him; then she sighed deeply and recited the following verses: tears have mine eyelids wounded sore, and wonder-fast they flow adown my cheek for parting's pain and memory and woe, for a beloved's sake, who dwells for ever in my heart, though to foregather with himself i cannot win, heigho! fair, bright and brilliant is his face, in loveliness and grace, turk, arab and barbarian he cloth indeed o'ercrow. the full moon and the sun contend in deference to him, and when he rises into sight, they, lover-like, bend low. his eyes with wondrous witchery are decked, as 'twere with kohl; even as a bow, that's bent to shoot its shafts, to thee they show. o thou, to whom i have perforce revealed my case, have ruth on one with whom the shifts of love have sported long eno'. lo, broken-hearted, love hath cast me up upon thy coast, wherefore i trust that thou on me fair favour wilt bestow. the noble who, when folk of worth alight within their bounds, do honour and protect them, win increase of glory so. cover thou then, my lord, my hope, two lovers' follies up and let them to thy succouring hand their loves' reunion owe. then she shed plenteous tears and recited these verses also: i lived, a marvel till i saw in love, then lived no mo'; each month to thee as rejeb[fn# ] be, as free from fear of foe! is it not strange that, on the morn they went away, i lit fire in my vitals with the tears that from mine eyes did flow? indeed, mine eyelids ran with blood, and on the wasted plain of my sad cheek, that therewithal was watered, gold did grow. yea, for the safflower hue, that thence o'erspread my cheeks, they seem the shirt of joseph, steeped in blood, to make a lying show. when the king heard this, he was certified of her passion and love-longing and was moved to compassion for her; so he said to her, 'fear nothing and be not troubled; thou hast attained the term of thy wishes; for needs must i bring thee to thy desire.' and he recited the following verses: daughter if nobles, thou hast reached thy wishes' goal, i trow: in happy presage then rejoice and fear not any woe. treasures this very day, will i collect and neath escort of horsemen and of champions, to shamikh they shall go. brocade and bladders full of musk i will to him despatch and eke white silver and red gold i'll send to him also. yea, and a letter neath my hand my wish for ties of kin and for alliance with himself shall give him eke to know; and all endeavour will i use, forthwith, that he thou lov'st once more with thee may be conjoined, to part from thee no mo. i, too, have battened upon love and know the taste thereof and can excuse the folk who've quaffed the self-same cup of woe. then, returning to his palace, he summoned his vizier and causing pack him up countless treasure, bade him carry it to king shamikh and say to him, 'the king is minded to ally himself with thee by marrying uns el wujoud, shine officer, to his daughter. so needs must thou send him with me, that the marriage may be solemnized in her father's kingdom.' and he wrote a letter to king shamikh, to this effect, and gave it to the vizier, charging him without fail bring back uns el wujoud, on pain of deposition from his office. 'i hear and obey,' answered the vizier and setting out forthright, in due course arrived at the court of king shamikh, to whom he delivered the letter and presents, saluting him in the name of king dirbas. when shamikh read the letter and saw the name of uns el wujoud, he burst into tears and said to the vizier, 'and where is uns el wujoud? he went away, and we know not his place of abiding. bring him to me, and i will give thee the sum of the presents thou hast brought me, twice told.' and he wept and sighed and groaned, reciting the following verses: him whom i loved to me restore; by gold and gifts i set no store. nor do i crave largesse, indeed, of pearls and gems and precious ore. as 'twere a moon at full, for us, in beauty's heaven he did soar. passing in wit and grace, gazelles with him comparison gave o'er. his shape was as a willow-wand, for fruits that sweet seductions bore; but in the willow, to enslave the hearts of men, there is no lore. i reared him from a child upon the bed of fondness evermore; and now i am at heart distraught for him and sorrow passing sore. then said he to the vizier, 'go back to thy master and tell him that uns el wujoud has been missing this year past, and his lord knoweth not whither he is gone nor hath any news of him.' 'o my lord,' answered king dirbas's vizier, 'my master said to me, "an thou come back without him, thou shalt be ousted from the vizierate and shall not enter my city." how then can i return without him?' so king shamikh said to his vizier ibrahim, 'take a company and go with him and make search for uns el wujoud everywhere.' 'i hear and obey,' answered ibrahim, and taking a company of his own retainers, set out in quest of uns el wujoud, accompanied by king dirbas's vizier; and as often as they fell in with bedouins or others, they enquired at them of uns el wujoud, saying, 'have ye seen a man, whose name is so and so and his favour thus and thus?' but they answered, 'we know him not.' so they fared on, enquiring in city and hamlet and seeking in hill and plain and desert and wold, till they came to the sea-shore, where they took ship and sailed, till they came to the mountain of the bereaved mother; and king dirbas's vizier said to ibrahim, 'why is this mountain thus called?' 'there was once of old time,' answered the other vizier, 'a jinniych, of the jinn of china, who fell passionately in love with a man and being in fear of her own people, searched all the earth for a place, where she might hide him from them, till she happened on this mountain and finding it inaccessible both to men and jinn, carried off her beloved and lodged him therein. there she used to visit him privily, till she had borne him a number of children, and the merchants, sailing by the mountain, in their voyages over the sea, heard the weeping of the children, as it were the wailing of a woman who had lost her young, and said, "is there here a mother bereaved of her children?" for which reason the place was named the mountain of the bereaved mother.' and king dirbas's vizier marvelled at this. then they landed and making for the castle, knocked at the gate, which was opened to them by an eunuch, who knew the vizier ibrahim and kissed his hands. ibrahim entered and finding in the courtyard, among the serving men, a man in the habit of a fakir,[fn# ] said. 'whence comes yonder fellow?' quoth they, 'he is a merchant, who hath lost his goods by shipwreck, but saved himself on a plank; and he is an ecstatic.'[fn# ] now this was none other than uns el wujoud, [but the vizier knew him not]; so he left him and went on into the castle. he found there no trace of his daughter and questioned her women, who answered, 'she abode with us but a little while and went away, how and whither we know not.' whereupon he wept sore and repeated the following verses: o house, whose birds warbled for joyance whilere and whose sills were resplendent with glory and pride, till the lover came to thee, bemooning himself for his passion, and found thy doors open and wide, would i knew where my soul is, my soul that was late in a house, where its masters no longer abide! therein were all things that are costly and rich and with suits of brocade it was decked, like a bride. yea, happy and honoured its doorkeeper were. would god i knew whither its mistress hath tried! then he wept and sighed and bemoaned himself, exclaiming, 'there is no resource against the ordinance of god neither is there any escape from that which he hath decreed!' then he went up to the roof and finding the strips of baalbek stuff tied to the battlements and hanging down to the ground, knew that she had descended thence and had fled forth, as one distracted and mad with passion. presently, he turned and seeing there two birds, an owl and a raven, deemed this an ill omen; so he groaned and recited these verses: unto the loved ones' stead i came, as hoping, by their sight, to quench the fire that burnt in me of love-longing and woe; but no beloved found i there, nor aught, indeed, i found, save two ill-omened ones, an owl and eke a corby-crow. and quoth the tongue o' the case to me, "thou hast been tyrannous and hast two longing lovers torn, the one the other fro! taste of the anguish, then, of love what thou hast made them taste and live, 'twixt agony and tears, in sorrow evermo." then he descended, weeping, and bade the servants go forth and search the island for their mistress; so they sought for her, but found her not. as for uns el wujoud, when he was certified that rose-in-bud was indeed gone, he gave a great cry and fell down in a swoon, nor came to himself for a long time, whilst the folk deemed that a ravishment from the merciful one had taken him and that he was absorbed in contemplation of the splendour of the majesty of the requiter of good and evil. then, despairing of finding uns el wujoud and seeing that ibrahim was distracted for the loss of his daughter, king dirbas's vizier addressed himself to return to his own country, for all he had not attained the object of his journey, and said to ibrahim? 'i have a mind to take yonder fakir with me; it may be god, for his sake, will incline the king's heart to me, for that he is a holy man; and after, i will send him to ispahan, which is near our country.' 'do &as thou wilt,' answered ibrahim. so they took leave of one another and departed, each for his own country, king dirbas's vizier carrying with him uns el wujoud, who was still insensible. they bore him with them on muleback, unknowing if he were carried or not, for three days, at the end of which time he came to himself and said, 'where am i?' 'thou art in company with king dirbas's vizier,' answered they and went and told the latter, who sent him rose-water and sherbet of sugar, of which they gave him to drink and restored him. then they fared on till they drew near king dirbas's capital and the king, being advised of his vizier's coming, wrote to him, saying, 'an uns el wujoud be not with thee, come not to me ever.' when the vizier read the royal mandate, it was grievous to him, for he knew not that rose-in-bud was with the king nor why he had sent him in quest of uns el wujoud, neither knew he that the fakir he had with him was uns el wujoud himself; and the latter in like manner knew not whither they were bound nor that the vizier had been despatched in quest of himself. so, when he saw him thus chagrined, he said to him, 'what ails thee?' and he answered, 'i was sent by the king on an errand, which i have not been able to accomplish. so, when he heard of my return, he wrote to me? saying, "enter not my city, except thou have fulfilled my need."' 'and what is the king's need?' asked uns el wujoud. so the vizier told him the case, and he said, 'fear nothing, but go boldly to the king and take me with thee; and i will be surety to thee for the coming of uns el wujoud.' at this the vizier rejoiced and said, 'is this true that thou sayest?' 'yes,' answered he; whereupon the vizier mounted and carried him to king dirbas, who said to him, 'where is uns el wujoud?' 'o king,' answered the young man, 'i know where he is.' so the king called him to him and said, 'where?' 'near at hand, replied uns d wujoud. 'tell me what thou wouldst with him, and i will fetch him to thee.' 'with all my heart,' answered the king; 'but the case calls for privacy.' so he bade the folk withdraw and, carrying uns el wujoud into his closet, told him the whole story; whereupon quoth the youth, 'clothe me in rice apparel, and i will eftsoons bring uns el wujoud to thee.' so they brought him a sumptuous dress, and he donned it and said, 'i am the delight of the world[fn# ] and the mortification of the envious.' so saying, he transfixed ail hearts with his glances and recited the following verses: my loved one's memory cheers me still in this my solitude and doth wanhope from me away, as i in absence brood. i have no helper but my tears; yet, when from out mine eyes they flow, they lighten my despair and ease my drearihood. sore is my longing; yea, it hath no like and my affair in love and passion's marvellous, beyond all likelihood. i lie the night long, wakeiul-eyed,--no sleep is there for me,--and pass, for love, from heaven to hell, according to my mood. yea, patience fair some time i had, but have it now no more; and longing and chagrin increase upon me, like a flood. indeed, my body's worn to nought, for severance from her; yearnings my aspect and my form to change have all subdued. mine eyelids ulcerated are with weeping, nor can i avail to stay the constant tears, wherewith they're still bedewed. indeed, i can no more; my strength, my very vitals fail. how many sorrows have i borne, on sorrows still renewed! my heart and head are grizzled grown, for loss of a princess in beauty, sure, the fairest maid that ever lover wooed. in her despite, our parting was, for no desire hath she save to be joined with me and feed once more on lovers' food. i wonder, will my fate to me union vouchsafe with her i cherish, after absence long and stress of lonelihood, and shut the book of severance up, that now is open wide, and blot out troubles from my thought with love's supremest good? shall my beloved, in my land, my cup-companion be and sorrow and affliction be by pure delight ensued? 'by allah,' exclaimed the king, 'ye are, indeed, a pair of true lovers and in the heaven of beauty two shining stars! your story is marvellous and your case extraordinary.' then he told him all that had befallen rose-in-bud; and uns el wujoud said, 'where is she, o king of the age?' 'she is with me now,' answered dirbas and sending for the cadi and the witnesses, drew up the contract of marriage between her and him. then he loaded uns el wujoud with favours and bounties and sent to king shamikh, advising him of what had befallen, whereat the latter rejoiced with an exceeding joy and wrote back to him, saying, 'since the marriage contract hath been drawn up at thy court! it behoves that the wedding and consummation be at mine.' and he made ready camels and horses and men and sent them in quest of the lovers. when the embassy reached king dirbas, he gave the pair great store of treasure and despatched them to king shamikh's court with an escort of his own troops. the day of their arrival was a notable day, never was seen a greater; for the king assembled all the singers and players on instruments of music and made banquets and held high festival seven days; and on each day he gave largesse to the folk and bestowed on them sumptuous dresses of honour. then uns el wujoud went in to rose-in-bud, and they embraced and sat weeping for excess of joy and gladness, whilst she recited the following verses: gladness is come, dispelling grief and putting care aside; we are united now and have our enviers mortified. the fragrant breeze of union blows fresh and sweet for us, whereby our bodies, vitals, hearts are all revivified. the splendour of fulfilled delight in all its glory shines, and for glad tidings beat the drums about us far and wide. think not we weep for stress of grief or for affliction; nay, it is for joy our tears flow down and will not be denied. how many terrors have we seen, that now are past away! yet we each agonizing strait did patiently abide. in one hour of delight have we forgotten all the woes, whose stresses made us twain, whilom, grey-haired and hollow-eyed. then they clipped each other and ceased not from their embrace, till they fell down in a swoon, for the ecstasy of reunion; and when they came to themselves, uns d wujoud recited these verses: ah, how peerlessly sweet are the nights of delight, when the loved one to me keeps the troth she did plight, when enjoyment enjoyment ensues and the bonds of estrangement between us are sundered outright, and fortune is come to us, favouring and fair, after turning away with aversion and spite! fair fortune hath set up her standards for us and we drink from her hand a cup pure of affright. united, our woes each to each we recount and the nights when in torments we watched for the light. but now, o my lady, forgotten have we our griefs, and god pardon the past its upright! how pleasant, how lovesome, how joyous is life! enjoyment my passion doth only excite. then they gave themselves up anew to the pleasures of the nuptial bed and passed seven whole days thus, carousing and conversing and reciting verses and telling pleasant tales and anecdotes, in the intervals of amorous dalliance; for so drowned were they in the sea of passion, that they knew not night from day and it was to them, for very stress of joy and gladness and pleasure and delight, as if the seven days were but one day, and that without a morrow. nor did they know the seventh day, but by the coming of the singers and players on instruments of music;[fn# ] whereat rose-in-bud was beyond measure wondered and improvised the following verses: despite the enviers' rage and malice of the spy, i've won of him i love my wish to satisfy; yea, we have crowned our loves with many a close embrace, on cushions of brocade and silken stuffs piled high upon a couch full soft, of perfumed leather made and stuffed with down of birds of rarest kind that fly. thanks to the honeyed dews of my beloved's lips, illustrious past compare, no need of wine have i. yea, for the sweet excess of our fulfilled delight, the present from the past we know, nor far from nigh. a miracle indeed! seven nights o'er us have passed, without our taking note of how they flitted by; till, on the seventh day, they wished us joy and said, "your union god prolong to all eternity!" when she had finished, uns el wujoud kissed her, more than a hundred times, and recited the following verses: o day of pure delight and mutual happiness! the loved one came and set me free from loneliness. she blest me with the sweets of all her glorious charms, what while her converse filled my spirit with liesse. she plied me with the wine of amorous delight, till all my senses failed, for very drunkenness. yea, merry each with each we made, together lay, then fell to wine and did, in song, our cheer express; nor knew we, of the days that fleeted over us, the present from the past, for very joy's excess. fair fall all those that love of ease and twinned delight, and joy to them fulfil its promise none the less! ne'er may they know the taste of parting's bitter cup! god succour them as me he succoured in my stress! then they went forth and distributed to the folk alms and largesse of money and raiment and so forth; after which rose-in-bud bade empty the bath for her and turning to uns el wujoud, said to him' 'o solace of my eyes, i have a mind to see thee in the bath; and we will be alone together therein.' he gladly consented to this, and she bade perfume the bath for them with all manner of scented woods and essences and light the candles. then, of the excess of her contentment, she recited the following verses: o thou aforetime of my heart that mad'st prize (and the present for us on the past still relies), thou, the only companion i crave, for to me none other the want of thy presence supplies, to the bath,--that in midst of hell-fire we may see even paradise shining,--come, light of mine eyes! we will scent it with ambergris, aloes and musk, till the fragrance in clouds from all quarters arise. yea, fortune we'll pardon her sins and give thanks, for his grace, to the merciful one, the all-wise; and i'll say, when i see thee therein, "o my love, all delights be thy lot in the earth and the skies!" so they went to the bath and took their pleasure there in; after which they returned to their palace and there abode in the fulness of delight, till there came to them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of companies; and glory be to him who changeth not neither ceaseth and in whom all things have their term! abou nuwas with the three boys and the khalif haroun er reshid. abou nuwas one day shut himself up and making ready a richly- furnished saloon, set out therein a banquet of meats of all kinds and colours that lips and tongue can desire. then he went forth, to seek a minion who should befit the entertainment, saying, 'o my god and my master and my lord, i beseech thee to send me one worthy of this banquet and apt to carouse with me this day!' hardly had he made an end of speaking, when he espied three handsome beardless youths, as they were of the children of paradise, differing in complexion but equal in perfection of beauty; and all hearts yearned with desire to the graceful bending of their shapes, even to what saith the poet: two beardless youths i happened on one day and said "i love you." "hast thou pelf?" asked they. "yes," answered i, "and liberality." "then is the matter easy," did they say. now abou nuwas was on this wise given and loved to sport and make merry with the fair and cull the rose from every fresh- flowered cheek, even as saith the poet: full many a graybeard is amorous and loves fair faces and music and dalliance and glee: from mosul, the country of pureness,[fn# ] he comes, yet nought but aleppo[fn# ] remembereth he. so he accosted them with the salutation, and they returned his greeting with all honour and civility and would have gone their way; but he stayed them, repeating these verses: to none but me your footsteps steer; for i have store of all good cheer; wine that the heart of convent monk would glad, so bright it is and clear; and flesh of sheep, to boot, have i and birds of land and sea and mere. eat ye of these and drink old wine, that doth away chagrin and fear. the boys were beguiled by his verses and consented to his wishes, saying, 'we hear and obey.' so he carried them to his lodging, where they found all ready that he had set forth in his verses. they sat down and ate and drank and made merry awhile, after which they appealed to abou nuwas to decide which was the handsomest and most shapely of them. so he pointed to one of them, after having kissed him twice, and recited the following verses: with my life i will ransom the mole, on the cheek of the loveling that is; for how should i ransom it else with treasure or aught but my soul? and blessed for ever be he who fashioned his cheek without hair and made, of his power and his might, all beauty to dwell in yon mole! then he pointed to another and kissing his lips, repeated these verses: there's a loveling hath a mole upon his cheek, as 'twere musk on virgin camphor, so to speak. my eyes marvel when they see it. quoth the mole, "heaven's blessing on the prophet look ye seek!"[fn# ] then he pointed to the third and repeated the following verses, after kissing him half a score times: all in a silver cup he melted gold full fine, a youth whose hands were dyed in ruby-coloured wine, and with the skinkers went and handed round one cup of wine, whilst other two were proffered by his eyne. fairer than all the turks, an antelope, whose waist together would attract the mountains of hunain.[fn# ] an if i were content with crooked[fn# ] womankind, betwixt attractions twain would be this heart of mine. one love towards diyarbeker[fn# ] drawing it, and one that draws it, otherguise, to the land of jamiain.[fn# ] now each of the youths had drunk two cups, and when it came to abou nuwas's turn, he took the goblet and repeated these verses: drink not of wine except it be at the hands of a loveling slim, who in brightness of soul resembles it and it resembles him. the drinker of wine, in very truth, hath no delight thereof, except the cheek of the fair be pure, who doth the goblet brim. then he drank off his cup, and when it came round to him again, joyance got the mastery of him and he repeated the following verses: make thou thy boon-fellow of cups, brimmed up as full as this, and eke to follow cup with cup, i rede thee, do not miss, poured by a damask-lipped one's hand, a wonder-lovely fair, whose mouth's sweet water, after sleep, as musk on apple is. drink not of wine, except it be from the hand of a gazelle, whose cheek is goodlier than itself and sweeter still his kiss. presently, the wine crept to his head, drunkenness mastered him and he knew not hand from head, so that he swayed about for mirth, inclining anon to this one, to kiss him, and anon to another. then he fell to glorying in himself and his case and the goodliness of his entertainment and his companions, and recited these verses: none knoweth perfection of pleasure but he who drinketh, with fair ones to hearten him still. this sings to him, t'other, when cheer him would be, revives him forthright with the cups he doth fill; and whenever from one he hath need of a kiss, long draughts from his lips, at his case, he doth swill. god bless them! right sweet has my day with them been, and wonder delightsome and void of all ill! we drank of the wine cup, both mingled and pure, and agreed whoso slept, we should touzle at will. at this moment, there came a knocking at the door; so they bade him who knocked enter, and behold, it was the khalif haroun er reshid. when they saw him, they all rose to him and kissed the ground before him; and the fumes of the wine forsook abou nuwas's head for awe of the khalif, who said to him, 'hallo, abou nuwas!' 'at thy service, o commander of the faithful,' answered he, 'may god preserve thee!' 'what state is this i find thee in?' asked the khalif; and the poet replied, 'o commander of the faithful, methinks my state dispenses with question.' quoth the khalif, 'o abou nuwas, i have sought direction of god the most high and appoint thee cadi of whoremasters.' 'dost thou indeed invest me with that office, o commander of the faithful?' asked abou nuwas. 'i do,' replied the khalif. 'then, o commander of the faithful,' rejoined abou nuwas, 'hast thou any suit to prefer to me?' at this the khalif was wroth and turned away and left them, full of rage, and passed the night, sore angered against abou nuwas, whilst the latter spent the merriest and most easeful of nights, till the day dawned and the morning-star appeared and shone, when he broke up the sitting and dismissing the boys, donned his court- dress and set out for the khalif's palace. now it was the latter's custom, when the divan broke up, to withdraw to his sitting-chamber and summon thither his poets and minions and musicians, each having his own place, which he might not overpass. so, that day, he retired to his saloon, and the minions came and seated themselves, each in his place. presently, in came abou nuwas and was about to take his usual seat, when the khalif cried out to mesrour the headsman and bade him strip the poet of his clothes and clap an ass's pannel on his back. moreover, he charged him bind a halter about his head and a crupper under his rear and carry him round to all the lodgings of the slave-girls and the chambers of the harem, that the women might make mock of him; then cut off his head and bring it to him. 'i hear and obey,' replied mesrour and accoutring abou nuwas, as the khalif had bidden him, carried him round to all the lodgings of the harem, in number as the days of the year; but he made all the girls laugh with his buffooneries and each gave him something, so that he returned with a pocketful of money. just then, jaafer the barmecide, who had been absent on an important business for the khalif, entered and seeing the poet in this plight, said to him, 'hallo, abou nuwas!' 'at thy service, o our lord,' answered he. 'what offence hast thou committed,' asked jaafer, 'to bring this punishment on thee?' 'none whatever,' answered the other, 'except that i made our lord the khalif a present of the best of my verses, and he presented me, in return, with the best of his clothes.' when the khalif heard this, he laughed, from a heart full of wrath, and [not only] pardoned abou nuwas, but gave him a myriad of money. abdallah ben maamer with the man of bassora and his slave-girl. a certain man of bassora once bought a slave-girl and reared and educated her excellent well. moreover, he loved her very dearly and spent all his substance in pleasuring and making merry with her, till he had nothing left and want was very sore upon him. so she said to him, 'o my master, sell me; for thou needest my price and it makes my heart ache to see the sorry plight to which want hath brought thee. it thou sell me and make use of my price, it will be better for thee than keeping me, and haply god the most high will prosper thee and mend thy fortune.' he agreed to this, of the straitness of his case, and carried her to the bazaar, where the broker offered her for sale to the governor of bassora, by name abballah ben maamer et teimi, and she pleased him. so he bought her, for five hundred dinars, of her master, who took the money and was about to go away, when the girl burst into tears and repeated the following verses: may allah prosper unto thee the money thou hast got! for me, nought's left me but lament and memory and woe. i say to my afflicted soul, "mourn little or mourn much; it skills not, for the loved one's gone and will return no mo." when he heard this, he sighed heavily and replied thus: though there be no recourse for thee in this thy case and thou find nought but death to solace thee, excuse me yet and know, evening and morn the thought of thee will company with me, wherewith a heart i will console, that's all fulfilled of woe. peace be on thee! henceforth for us no meeting shall there be nor any union more, except ben maamer will it so. when abdallah heard these verses and saw their affliction, he exclaimed, 'by allah, i will have no hand in separating you; for it is manifest to me that ye indeed love one another. so take the money and the damsel, o man, and may god bless thee in them! for parting is grievous to true lovers.' so they kissed his hand and going away, ceased not to dwell together, till death parted them; and glory be to him whom death overtaketh not! the lovers of the benou udhreh. there was once, among the benou udhreh, a handsome and accomplished man, who was never a day out of love, and it chanced that he became enamoured of a beautiful woman of his own tribe and sent her many messages; but she ceased not to use him with cruelty and disdain, till, for stress of passion and longing and distraction, he fell exceeding sick and took to his bed and forswore sleep. his sickness grew on him and his anguish redoubled upon him, till he was all but dead; and his case became known and his passion noised abroad among the folk. his family and hers were instant with her to visit him, but she refused, till he was at the point of death, when, being told of this, she relented towards him and vouchsafed him a visit. when he saw her, his eyes ran over with tears and he repeated the following verses, from a broken heart: if, by thy life, there pass thee by my funeral train, to wit, a bier borne on the necks of four, wilt grudge to follow it? wilt thou not follow in its track, that so thou mayst salute the sepulchre of one who's dead, committed to the pit? when she heard this, she wept sore and said to him, 'by allah, i thought not that passion had come to such a pass with thee, as to cast thee into the arms of death! had i known this, i had been favourable to thee, and thou shouldst have enjoyed thy desire.' at this, his tears streamed down, like the cloud- showers, and he repeated the following verse: she draweth near to me, when death hath come betwixt us two and proffereth union, when it no profit can me do. then he gave one sigh and died, and she fell on him, kissing him and weeping, till she swooned away. when she came to herself she charged her people bury her in his grave and recited the following verses, with streaming eyes: we lived upon the earth a life of comfort and delight: country and tribe and dwelling-place alike of us were proud; but fortune and the shifts of time did rend our loves apart, and now the grave uniteth us within a single shroud. then she fell again to weeping and ceased not from tears and lament, till she swooned away. she lay three days, senseless; then died and was buried in his grave. this is one of the strange chances of love. the vizier of yemen and his young brother bedreddin, vizier of yemen, had a young brother of singular beauty and kept strait watch over him. so he applied himself to seek a governor for him and coming upon an elder of dignified and reverend aspect, chaste and pious, lodged him in a house next his own, whence he used to come daily to the vizier's dwelling, to teach the latter's brother. after awhile, the old man's heart was taken with love for his pupil and longing grew upon him and his entrails were troubled, till, one day, he made moan of his case to the boy, who said, 'what can i do, seeing that i may not leave my brother day or night? thou seest how careful he is over me.' quoth the governor, 'my lodging adjoins thine; so, when thy brother sleeps, do thou rise and entering the wardrobe, feign thyself asleep. then come to the parapet of the roof and i will receive thee on the other side of the wall; so shalt thou sit with me awhile and return without thy brother's knowledge.' 'i hear and obey,' answered the boy. so, when awhile of the night was past, he entered the closet and waited till his brother lay down on his bed and was drowned in sleep, when he rose and going to the parapet of the roof, found the governor awaiting him, who gave him his hand and carried him to the sitting-chamber, where he had made ready various dainties for his entertainment, and they sat down to carouse. now it was the night of the full moon, and as they sat, passing the wine-cup to one another, her rays shone upon them, and the governor fell to singing. but, whilst they were thus in mirth and joyance and good cheer, such as confounds the wit and the sight and defies description, the vizier awoke and missing his brother, arose in affright and found the door open. so he went up to the roof and hearing a noise of talk, peeped over the parapet and saw a light shining in the governor's lodging. he looked in and espied his brother and his governor sitting carousing: but the latter became aware of him and sang the following verses, cup in hand, to a lively measure: he gave me wine to drink, of his mouth's nectar rare, toasting with down of cheeks and what adjoineth there; then passed with me the night, embracing, cheek to cheek, a loveling midst mankind unpeered and past compare. the full moon gazed on us all night; pray then to her, so to his brother she to tell of us forbear. now the vizier was a merry man; so, when he heard this, he said, 'by allah, i will not betray you!' and he went away and left them to their diversion. the loves of the boy and girl at school. a boy and a girl once learnt together in a school, and the boy fell passionately in love with the girl. so, one day, when the other boys were heedless, he took her tablet[fn# ] and wrote on it the following verses: tell me, what sayst thou unto him, whom sickness for thy love hath worn and wasted, till he's grown distraught and stupefied? him who of passion maketh moan; for love and longing pain, that which is in his heart, indeed, no longer can he hide. when the girl took her tablet, she read the verses and wept for pity of him; then wrote thereunder these others: an if we see one languishing for very love of us, our favours, surely, unto him shall nowise be denied. yea, and of us he shall obtain that which he doth desire of love-delight, whate'er to us in consequence betide. now it chanced that the teacher came in on them and taking the tablet, unnoticed, read what was written thereon. so he was moved to pity of their case and wrote on the tablet the following verses, in reply to those of the girl: favour thy lover, for he's grown distracted for desire, and reck thou not of punishment nor fear lest any chide. as for the master, have no dread of his authority, for he with passion an its pains aforetime hath been tried. presently, the girl's master entered the school and finding the tablet, read the above verses and wrote under them the following: may allah never separate your loves, whilst time abide, and may your slanderer be put to shame and mortified! but, for the master of the school, by allah, all my life, a busier go-between than he i never yet espied. then he sent for the cadi and the witnesses and married them on the spot. moreover, he made them a marriage-feast and entreated them with exceeding munificence; and they abode together in joy and contentment, till there came to them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of companies. el mutelemmis and his wife umeimeh. it is related that el mutelemmis[fn# ] once fled from en numan ben mundhir[fn# ] and was absent so long that the folk deemed him dead. now he had a handsome wife, umeimeh by name, and her family pressed her to marry again; but she refused, for that she loved her husband el mutelemmis very dearly. however, they were instant with her, because of the multitude of her suitors, and importuned her till she at last reluctantly consented and they married her to a man of her own tribe. on the night of the wedding, el mutelemmis came back and hearing in the camp a noise of pipes and tabrets and seeing signs of festival, asked some of the children what was toward, to which they replied, 'they have married umeimeh, widow of el mutelemmis, to such an one, and he goes in to her this night.' when he heard this, he made shift to enter the house with the women and saw there the bride seated on her throne. by and by, the bridegroom came up to her, whereupon she sighed heavily and weeping, recited the following verses: ah would, (but many are the shifts of good and evil fate), i knew in what far land thou art, o mutelemmis mine! now el mutelemmis was a renowned poet: so he answered her with the following verse: right near at hand, umeimeh! know, whene'er the caravan halted, i never ceased for thee with longing heart to pine. when the bridegroom heard this, he guessed how the case stood and went forth from among them in haste, repeating the following verse: i was in luck, but now i'm fall'n into the contrary. a hospitable house and room your reknit loves enshrine! so el mutelemmis took his wife again and abode with her in all delight and solace of life, till death parted them. and glory be to him at whose command the earth and the heavens shall arise! the khalif haroun er reshid and the princess zubeideh in the bath. the khalif haroun er reshid loved the princess zubeideh with an exceeding love and laid out for her a pleasaunce, in which he made a great pool and led thither water from all sides. moreover, he set thereabout a screen of trees, which so grew and interlaced over the pool, that one could go in and wash, without being seen of any, for the thickness of the leafage. it chanced, one day, that zubeideh entered the garden and coming to the basin, gazed upon its goodliness, and the limpidity of the water and the interlacing of the trees over it pleased her. now it was a day of exceeding heat; so she put off her clothes and entering the pool, which was not deep enough to cover her, fell to pouring the water over herself from an ewer of silver. the khalif heard she was in the pool; so he left his palace and came down to spy upon her, through the screen of the leaves. he stood behind the trees and saw her naked, with all her secret charms displayed. presently, she became aware of him and turning, saw him behind the trees and was ashamed that he should see her naked. so she laid her hands on her kaze, but it escaped from between them, by reason of its much greatness and plumpness; and the khalif turned and went away, wondering and reciting the following verse: i looked on her whom i adore and longing rose in me full sore. but he knew not what to say next; so he sent for abou nuwas and bade him make a piece of verse commencing with the above line. 'i hear and obey,' replied the poet and in a twinkling extemporized the following lines: i looked on her whom i adore, and longing rose in me full sore for a gazelle that ravished me, by double lote-trees shaded o'er. the water on her dainty part with silver ewer did she pour and would have hidden it, seeing me, but all too small her hands therefor. would i were on it, wel-a-way, an hour or liefer two or more! the khalif smiled and made him a handsome present, and he went away rejoicing. haroun er reshid and the three poets. the khalif haroun er reshid was exceeding restless one night; so he rose and walked about his palace, till he happened on a damsel overcome with wine. now he was greatly enamoured of this damsel; so he toyed with her and pulled her to him, whereupon her girdle fell down and her trousers were unloosed and he besought her of amorous dalliance. but she said to him, 'o commander of the faithful, wait till to-morrow night, for i am unprepared for thee, knowing not of thy coming.' so he left her and went away. on the morrow, he sent a page to her to announce his visit to her apartment; but she sent back to him, saying, 'the day obliterates the promise of the night.' so he said to his minions, 'make me somewhat of verse, introducing these words, "the day obliterates the promise of the night."' 'we hear and obey,' answered they; and er recashi[fn# ] came forward and recited the following: by allah, an thou feltst my longing and my pain, repose had turned away from thee and taken flight. a maid hath made me love-distraught, nor visiting nor being visited, a sad and love-lorn wight. she promised me her grace, then turned away and said, "the day obliterates the promise of the night." then abou musab came forward and recited these verses: when wilt thou put away this dotage from thy spright? thy heart is dazed and rest to thee forbidden quite. is't not enough for thee to have a weeping eye and vitals still on fire for memory and despite? for self-conceit, indeed, he laugheth, when he saith, "the day obliterates the promise of the night." last came abou nuwas and recited the following: love was prolonged and far was union out of sight, nor skilled it aught to feign aversion and despite. one day, she came into the palace, drunk with wine, but even her drunkenness with pudour was bedight. her upper garments dropped and left her shoulders bare and loosened trousers showed the dwelling of delight; yea, and the breeze shook hips, full heavy, and a shape, as 'twere a branch, whereon pomegranates twain unite. "give me a tryst," quoth i; and she replied, "the place of visiting will be to-morrow clean and right." next day, i came and said, "thy promise;" but quoth she, "the day obliterates the promise of the night." the khalif bestowed a myriad each on er recashi and abou musab, but bade strike off abou nuwas's head, saying, 'thou west with us yesternight in the palace.' 'by allah,' answered the poet, 'i slept not but in my own house! i was directed to what i said by thine own words as to the subject of the poem; and indeed quoth god the most high (and he is the truest of all speakers), "as for poets (devils ensue them!) dost thou not see how they run wild in each valley and say that they do not?"'[fn# ] so the khalif forgave him and bestowed on him two myriads of gold. musab ben ez zubeir and aaisheh daughter of telheh. it is told of musab ben ez zubeir[fn# ] that he met izzeh, who was one of the shrewdest of women, in medina and said to her, 'i have a mind to marry aaisheh,[fn# ] daughter of telheh, and i would have thee go to her and spy out for me how she is made.' so she went and returning to musab, said, 'i have seen her, and her face is more beautiful than health; she hath large and well-opened eyes, an aquiline nose and smooth, oval cheeks and a mouth like a cleft pomegranate, a neck like an ewer of silver and a bosom with two breasts like twin pomegranates, a slim waist and a slender belly, with a navel therein as it were a casket of ivory, and backside like a hummock of sand. moreover, she hath plump thighs and legs like columns of alabaster; but i saw her feet to be large, and thou wilt fall short with her in time of amorous dalliance.' upon this report, he married her and izzeh invited aaisheh and the women of the tribe of kureish to her house, when aaisheh sang the following, with musab standing by: the mouths of girls, with their odoriferous, sweet breath and their witching smiles, are sweet to buss; yet ne'er have i tasted them, but in thought of him; and by thought, indeed, the ruler rules over us. the night of his going in to her, he departed not from her, till after seven courses; and on the morrow, a freed-woman of his met him and said to him, 'may i be thy ransom! thou art perfect, even in this.' quoth a certain woman, 'i was with aaisheh, when her husband came in to her, and she lusted to him; so he fell upon her and she puffed and snorted and made use of all manner of rare motions and strange inventions, and i the while within hearing. so when he came out from her, i said to her, "how canst thou, with thy rank and nobility and condition, do thus, and i in thy house?" quoth she, "a woman should bring her husband all of which she is mistress, by way of excitations and rare motions. what mislikest thou of this?" and i answered, "i would have this anights." "thus is it by day," rejoined she, "and by night i do more than this; for, when he sees me, desire stirs in him and he falls on heat; so he puts out his hand to me and i obey him, and it is as thou seest."' aboul aswed and his squinting slave-girl. aboul aswed bought a native-born slave-girl, who was squint- eyed, and she pleased him; but his people decried her to him; whereat he wondered and spreading out his hands, recited the following verses: they run her down to me, and yet no fault in her find i, except perhaps it be a speck she hath in either eye. to compensate this fault, if fault it be, o' the upper parts she's slim and heavy of the parts beneath the waist that lie. haroun er reshid and the two slave-girls. the khalif haroun er reshid lay one night between two slave-girls, one from medina and the other from cufa, and the latter rubbed his hands, whilst the former rubbed his feet and made his yard to stand up. quoth the cufan girl, 'i see thou wouldst keep the whole of the stock-in-trade to thyself; give me my share of it.' and the other answered, 'i have been told by malik, on the authority of hisham ibn orweh,[fn# ] who had it of his [grand]father,[fn# ] that the prophet said, "whoso bringeth the dead to life, it is his."' but the cufan took her unawares and pushing her away, took it all in her own hand and said, 'el aamesh[fn# ] tells us, on the authority of kheithemeh,[fn# ] who had it of abdallah ben mesoud,[fn# ] that the prophet said, "game belongeth to him who taketh it, not to him who raiseth it."' the khalif haroun er reshid and the three slave-girls. the khalif haroun er reshid lay once with three slave-girls, a meccan, a medinan and an irakite. the medina girl put her hand to his yard and handled it, whereupon it rose and the meccan sprang up and drew it to herself. quoth the other, 'what is this unjust aggression? i have heard of malik,[fn# ] on the authority of ez zuhri,[fn# ] who had it of abdallah ibn salim,[fn# ] on the report of said ben zeid,[fn# ] that the apostle (whom god bless and preserve) said, "whoso revivifies a dead land, it is his."' and the meccan answered, 'sufyan[fn# ] tells us, on the authority of abou zenad,[fn# ] who had it of el aarej,[fn# ] on the report of abou hureireh,[fn# ] that the apostle of god said, "the game is his who catches it, not his who starts it."' but the irak girl pushed them both away and taking it to herself, said, 'this is mine, till your contention be decided.' the miller and his wife. there was a miller, who had an ass to turn his mill; and he was married to a wicked wife, whom he loved; but she hated him and loved a neighbour of hers, who liked her not and held aloof from her. one night, the miller saw, in his sleep, one who said to him, 'dig in such a spot of the ass's circuit in the mill, and thou shalt find a treasure.' when he awoke, he told his wife the dream and charged her keep it secret; but she told her neighbour, thinking to win his favour, and he appointed with her to come to her by night. so he came and they dug in the mill and found the treasure and took it forth. then said he to her, 'how shall we do with this?' 'we will share it equally between us,' answered she; 'and do thou leave thy wife and i will cast about to rid me of my husband. then shalt thou marry me, and when we are united, we will add the two halves of the treasure, one to the other, and it will be [all] in our hands.' quoth he, 'i fear lest satan seduce thee and thou take some man other than myself; for gold in the house is like the sun in the world. meseems, therefore, it were better that the money be all in my hands, so thou mayst study to win free of thy husband and come to me.' 'i fear the like of thee,' rejoined she, 'and i will not yield up my part to thee; for it was i directed thee to it.' when he heard this, covetise prompted him to kill her; so he killed her and threw her body into the empty hole; but the day overtook him and hindered him from covering it up; so he took the treasure and went away. presently, the miller awoke and missing his wife, went into the mill, where he fastened the ass to the beam and shouted to it. it went on a little, then stopped; whereupon he beat it grievously; but the more he beat it, the more it drew back; for it was affrighted at the dead woman and could not go on. so he took out a knife and goaded it again and again, but still it would not budge. then he was wroth with it, knowing not the cause of its obstinacy, and drove the knife into its flanks, and it fell down dead. when the sun rose, he saw his wife lying dead, in the place of the treasure, and great was his rage and sore his chagrin for the loss of the treasure and the death of his wife and his ass. all this came of his letting his wife into his secret and not keeping it to himself. the simpleton and the sharper. a certain simple fellow was once going along, haling his ass after him by the halter, when a couple of sharpers saw him and one said to his fellow, 'i will take that ass from yonder man.' 'how wilt thou do that?' asked the other. 'follow me and i will show thee,' replied the first. so he went up to the ass and loosing it from the halter, gave the beast to his fellow; then clapped the halter on his own head and followed the simpleton, till he knew that the other had got clean off with the ass, when he stood still. the man pulled at the halter, but the thief stirred not; so he turned and seeing the halter on a man's neck, said to him, 'who art thou?' quoth the sharper, 'i am thine ass and my story is a strange one. know that i have a pious old mother and came in to her one day, drunk; and she said to me, "o my son, repent to god the most high of these thy transgressions." but i took the cudgel and beat her, whereupon she cursed me and god the most high changed me into an ass and caused me fall into thy hands, where i have remained till now. however, to-day, my mother called me to mind and her heart relented towards me; so she prayed for me, and god restored me to my former shape of a man.' 'there is no power and no virtue but in god the most high, the supreme!' cried the simpleton. 'o my brother, i conjure thee by allah, acquit me of what i have done with thee, in the way of riding and so forth.' then he let the sharper go and returned home, drunken with chagrin and concern. his wife asked him, 'what ails thee and where is the ass?' and he answered, 'thou knowest not what was this ass; but i will tell thee.' so he told her the story, and she exclaimed, 'woe worth us for god the most high! how could we have used a man as a beast of burden, all this while?' and she gave alms and asked pardon of god. then the man abode awhile at home, idle, till she said to him, 'how long wilt thou sit at home, idle? go to the market and buy us an ass and do thy business with it.' accordingly, he went to the market and stopping by the ass-stand, saw his own ass for sale. so he went up to it and clapping his mouth to its ear, said to it, 'out on thee, thou good-for-nought! doubtless thou hast been getting drunk again and beating thy mother! but, by allah, i will never buy thee more!' and he left it and went away. the imam abou yousuf with haroun er reshid and zubeideh. the khalif haroun er reshid went up one noon-tide to his couch, to lie down, and mounting, found thereon fresh semen; whereat he was startled and sore perturbed and troubled. so he called the princess zubeideh and said to her, 'what is that spilt on the bed?' she looked at it and replied, 'o commander of the faithful, it is semen.' 'tell me truly what this means,' said he; 'or i will lay violent hands on thee forthright.' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered she, 'indeed, i know not how it came there and i am guiltless of that whereof thou suspectest me.' so he sent for the imam abou yousuf and told him the case. the imam raised his eyes to the roof and seeing a crack therein, said to the khalif, 'o commander of the faithful, the bat hath semen like that of a man, and this is bats' semen.' then he called for a lance and thrust it into the crack, whereupon down fell the bat. in this manner the khalif's suspicions were dispelled and zubeideh's innocence was made manifest; whereat she gave vent to her joy and promised abou yousuf a liberal reward. now there were with her magnificent fruits, out of their season, and she knew of others in the garden; so she said to abou yousuf, 'o imam of the faith, which wouldst thou rather of the two kinds of fruits, those that are here or those that are not here?' 'our code forbids us to pronounce judgment on the absent,' answered he. 'when they are present, we will give judgment.' so she caused bring the two kinds of fruits before him, and he ate of both. quoth she, 'what is the difference between them?' and he answered, 'as often as i think to praise one kind, the other puts in its claim.' the khalif laughed at his answer and made him a present. zubeideh also gave him what she had promised him, and he went away, rejoicing. see, then, the blessed qualities of this imam and how at his hands were made manifest the truth and the innocence of the lady zubeideh. the khalif el hakim and the merchant. the khalif el hakim bi amrillah was riding out in state one day, when he came to a garden, in which he saw a man, surrounded by slaves and servants. he asked him for a draught of water, and the man gave him to drink, saying, 'peradventure, the commander of the faithful will honour me by alighting in this my garden.' so the khalif dismounted and entered the garden with his suite; whereupon the man brought out to them a hundred carpets and a hundred leather mats and a hundred cushions and set before them a hundred dishes of fruits, a hundred saucers of sweetmeats and a hundred bowls full of sherbets of sugar; whereat the khalif marvelled and said to his host, 'o man, this thy case is a strange one. didst thou know of our coming and make this preparation for us?' 'no, by allah, o commander of the faithful,' answered the other, 'i knew not of thy coming and am but a merchant of the rest of thy subjects. but i have a hundred concubines; so, when the commander of the faithful honoured me by alighting with me, i sent to each of them, bidding her send me the morning-meal here. so they sent me each of her furniture and of the excess of her meat and drink: and every day each sends me a dish of meat and another of marinades, also a plate of fruits and a saucer of sweetmeats and a bowl of sherbet. this is my every- day noon-meal, nor have i added aught thereto for thee.' the khalif prostrated himself in thanksgiving to god the most high and said, 'praised be god, who hath been so bountiful to one of our subjects, that he entertaineth the khalif and his suite, without making ready for them, but of the surplus of his day's victual!' then he sent for all the dirhems in the treasury, that had been struck that year,--and they were in number three thousand and seven hundred thousand;--nor did he mount, till the money came, when he gave it to the merchant, saying, 'use this for the maintenance of thy state; and thy desert is more than this.' then he mounted and rode away. king kisra anoushirwan and the village damsel. the just king, kisra anoushirwan,[fn# ] was hunting one day and became separated from his suite, in pursuit of an antelope. presently, he caught sight of a hamlet, near at hand, and being sore athirst, made for the door of a house, that stood by the wayside, and asked for a draught of water. a damsel came out and looked at him; then, going back into the house, pressed the juice from a sugar-cane into a tankard and mixed it with water; after which she strewed on the top somewhat of perfume, as it were dust, and carried it to the king. he took it and seeing in it what resembled dust, drank it, little by little, till he came to the end. then said he to her, 'o damsel, the drink is good and sweet, but for this dust in it, that troubles it.' 'o guest,' answered she, 'i put that in, of intent.' 'and why didst thou thus?' asked he; and she replied, 'i saw that thou wast exceeding thirsty and feared that thou wouldst swallow the whole at one draught and that this would do thee a mischief; and so hadst thou done, but for this dust that troubled the drink.' the king wondered at her wit and good sense and said to her, 'how many sugar-canes didst thou press for this draught?' 'one,' answered she; whereat the king marvelled and calling for the roll of the taxes of the village, saw that its assessment was but little and bethought him to increase it, on his return to his palace, saying in himself, 'why is a village so lightly taxed, where they get this much juice out of one sugar-cane?' then he left the village and pursued his chase. as he came back at the end of the day, he passed alone by the same door and called again for drink; whereupon the same damsel came out and knowing him, went in to fetch him drink. it was some time before she returned and the king wondered at this and said to her, 'why hast thou tarried?' quoth she, 'because one sugar- cane yielded not enough for thy need. so i pressed three; but they yielded not so much as did one aforetime.' 'what is the cause of that?' asked the king; and she answered, 'the cause of it is that the king's mind is changed.' quoth he, 'how knewst thou that?' 'we hear from the wise,' replied she, 'that, when the king's mind is changed against a folk, their prosperity ceaseth and their good waxeth less.' anoushirwan laughed and put away from his mind that which he had purposed against the people of the village. moreover, he took the damsel to wife then and there, being pleased with her much wit and acuteness and the excellence of her speech. the water-carrier and the goldsmith's wife. there was once, in the city of bokhara, a water-carrier, who used to carry water to the house of a goldsmith and had done thus thirty years. now the goldsmith had a wife of exceeding beauty and elegance and withal renowned for modesty, chastity and piety. one day, the water-carrier came, as of wont, and poured the water into the cisterns. now the woman was standing in the midst of the court; so he went up to her and taking her hand, stroked it and pressed it, then went away and left her. when her husband came home from the bazaar, she said to him, 'i would have thee tell me what thou hast done in the bazaar, today, to anger god the most high.' quoth he, 'i have done nothing.' 'nay,' rejoined she, 'but, by allah, thou hast indeed done something to anger god; and except thou tell me the truth, i will not abide in thy house, and thou shalt not see me, nor will i see thee.' 'i will tell thee the truth,' answered he. 'as i was sitting in my shop this day, a woman came up to me and bade me make her a bracelet. then she went away and i wrought her a bracelet of gold and laid it aside. presently, she returned and i brought her out the bracelet. she put out her hand and i clasped the bracelet on her wrist; and i wondered at the whiteness of her hand and the beauty of her wrist and recalled what the poet says: bracelets, upon her wrists, of glittering virgin gold she hath, like fire ablaze on running water cold. it is as if the wrists and bracelets thereabout were water girt with fire, right wondrous to behold. so i took her hand and pressed it and squeezed it.' 'god is most great!' exclaimed the woman. 'why didst thou this ill thing? know that the water-carrier, who has come to our house these thirty years, nor sawst thou ever any treason in him, took my hand to day and pressed and squeezed it.' quoth her husband, 'o woman, let us crave pardon of god! verily, i repent of what i did, and do thou ask forgiveness of god for me.' 'god pardon me and thee,' said she, 'and vouchsafe to make good the issue of our affair!' next day, the water-carrier came in to the jeweller's wife and throwing himself at her feet, grovelled in the dust and besought pardon of her, saying, 'o my lady, acquit me of that which satan deluded me to do; for it was he that seduced me and led me astray.' 'go thy ways,' answered she; 'the fault was not in thee, but in my husband, for that he did what he did in his shop, and god hath retaliated upon him in this world.' and it is related that the goldsmith, when his wife told him how the water-carrier had used her, said, 'tit for tat! if i had done more, the water-carrier had done more.' and this became a current byword among the folk. so it behoveth a wife to be both outward and inward with her husband, contenting herself with little from him, if he cannot give her much, and taking pattern by aaisheh[fn# ] the truthful and fatimeh[fn# ] the clean maid, (may god the most high accept of them), that she may be of the company of the righteous.[fn# ] khusrau and shirin with the fisherman. king khusrau[fn# ] of persia loved fish; and one day, as he sat in his saloon, he and shirin[fn# ] his wife, there came a fisherman, with a great fish, and presented it to the king, who was pleased and ordered the man four thousand dirhems. when he was gone, shirin said to the king, 'thou hast done ill.' 'wherefore?' asked he; and she answered, 'because if, after this, thou give one of thy courtiers a like sum, he will disdain it and say, "he hath but given me the like of what he gave the fisherman." and if thou give him less, he will say, "he makes light of me and gives me less than he gave the fisherman."' 'thou art right,' rejoined khusrau; 'but the thing is done and it ill becomes a king to go back on his gift.' quoth shirin, 'an thou wilt, i will contrive thee a means to get it back from him.' 'how so?' asked he; and she said, 'call back the fisherman and ask him if the fish be male or female. if he say, "male," say thou, "we want a female," and if he say, "female," say, "we want a male."' so he sent for the fisherman, who was a man of wit and discernment, and said to him, 'is this fish male or female?' the fisherman kissed the ground and answered, 'it is of the neuter gender, neither male nor female.' the king laughed and ordered him other four thousand dirhems. so the fisherman went to the treasurer and taking his eight thousand dirhems, put them in a bag he had with him. then, throwing the bag over his shoulder, he was going away, when he dropped a dirhem; so he laid the bag off his back and stooped down to pick it up. now the king and shirin were looking on, and the latter said, 'o king, didst thou note the meanness and greediness of yon man, in that he must needs stoop down, to pick up the one dirhem, and could not bring himself to leave it for one of the king's servants?' when the king heard this, he was wroth with the fisherman and said, 'thou art right, o shirin!' so he called the man back and said to him, 'thou low-minded fellow! thou art no man! how couldst thou put the bag off thy shoulder and stoop to pick up the one dirhem and grudge to leave it where it fell?' the fisherman kissed the earth before him and answered, 'may god prolong the king's life! indeed, i did not pick up the dirhem, because of its value in my eyes; but because on one of its faces is the likeness of the king and on the other his name; and i feared lest any should unwittingly set his foot upon it, thus dishonouring the name and presentment of the king, and i be blamed for the offence.' the king wondered at his wit and shrewdness and ordered him yet other four thousand dirhems. moreover, he let cry abroad in his kingdom, saying, 'it behoveth none to order himself by women's counsel; for whoso followeth their advice, loseth, with his one dirhem, other two.' yehya ben khalid the barmecide and the poor man. yehya ben khalid the barmecide was returning home, one day, from the khalif's palace, when he saw a man at the gate of his house, who rose at his approach and saluted him, saying, 'o yehya, i am in need of that which is in thy hand, and i make god my intermediary with thee.' so yehya caused set apart a place for him in his house and bade his treasurer carry him a thousand dirhems every day and that his food should be of the choicest of his own meat. the man abode thus a whole month, at the end of which time, having received in all thirty thousand dirhems, he departed by stealth, fearing lest yehya should take the money from him, because of the greatness of the sum; and when they told yehya of this, he said, 'by allah, though he had tarried with me to the end of his days, yet had i not scanted him of my largesse nor cut off from him the bounties of my hospitality!' for, indeed, the excellences of the barmecides were past count nor can their virtues be told; especially those of yehya teen khalid, for he abounded in noble qualities, even as saith the poet of him: i asked munificence, "art free?" it answered, "no, perdie! yehya ben khalid's slave am i; my lord and master he." "a boughten slave?" asked i; but, "nay, so heaven forfend!" quoth it. "from ancestor to ancestor he did inherit me." mohammed el amin and jaafer ben el hadi. jaafer ben mousa el hadi[fn# ] once had a slave-girl, a lute player, called el bedr el kebir, than whom there was not in her time a fairer of face nor a better-shaped nor a more elegant of manners nor a more accomplished in singing and smiting the strings; she was indeed perfect in beauty and charm. mohammed el amin,[fn# ] son of zubeideh, heard of her and was instant with jaafer to sell her to him; but he replied, 'thou knowest it beseems not one of my rank to sell slave-girls nor traffic in concubines; but, were it not that she was reared in my house, i would send her to thee, as a gift, nor grudge her to thee.' some days after this, el amin went to jaafer's house, to make merry; and the latter set before him that which it behoves to set before friends and bade el bedr sing to him and gladden him. so she tuned the lute and sang right ravishingly, whilst el amin fell to drinking and making merry and bade the cupbearers ply jaafer with wine, till he became drunken, when he took the damsel and carried her to his own house, but laid not a finger on her. on the morrow, he sent to invite jaafer; and when he came, he set wine before him and bade the girl sing to him, from behind the curtain. jaafer knew her voice and was angered at this, but, of the nobleness of his nature and the greatness of his mind, he dissembled his vexation and let no change appear in his demeanour. when the carousel was at an end, el amin commanded one of his servants to fill the boat, in which jaafer had come, with dirhems and dinars and all manner jewels and jacinths and rich clothes and other treasures of price. so he laid therein a thousand myriads of money and a thousand fine pearls, each worth twenty thousand dirhems; nor did he give over loading the barge with all manner of precious things, till the boatmen cried out for quarter, saying, 'the boat cannot hold any more;' whereupon he bade them carry all this to jaafer's palace. such are the fashions of the magnanimous, may god have mercy on them! the sons of yehya ben khalid and said ben salim el bahili. (quoth said ben salim el bahili[fn# ]), i was once, in the days of haroun er reshid, in very narrow case and greatly oppressed with debts, that had accumulated upon me and that i had no means of discharging. my doors were blocked up with creditors and i was without cease importuned for payment by claimants, who dunned me in crowds, till i was at my wits' end what to do. at last, being sore perplexed and troubled, i betook myself to abdallah ben malik el khuzai[fn# ] and besought him to aid me with his judgment and of his good counsel direct me to the door of relief; and he said, "none can quit thee of this thy strait but the barmecides." quoth i, "who can brook their pride and put up with their arrogance?" and he answered, "thou must put up with it, for the sake of amending thy case." so i left him and went straight to el fezl and jaafer, sons of yehya ben khalid, to whom i related my case. "god give thee his aid," answered they, "and enable thee by his bounties to dispense with the aid of his creatures and vouchsafe thee abundant good and bestow on thee what shall suffice thee, without the need of any but himself; for he can what he will and is gracious and provident with his servants." i went out from them and returned to abdallah, disappointed and perplexed and heavy at heart, and told him what they had said. quoth he, "thou wouldst do well to abide with us this day, that we may see what god the most high will decree." so i sat with him awhile, and lo, up came my servant, who said to me, "o my lord, there are at our door many laden mules, and with them a man, who says he is the agent of fezl and jaafer ben yehya." quoth abdallah, "i trust that relief is come to thee: go and see what is to do." so i left him and running to my house, found at the door a man, who gave me a letter, wherein was written the following: "know that, after thou hadst been with us and acquainted us with thy case, we betook ourselves to the khalif and informed him that the case had reduced thee to the humiliation of begging; whereupon he ordered thee a million dirhems from the treasury. we represented to him that thou wouldst spend this money in paying thy creditors and said, 'whence shall he provide for his subsistence?' so he ordered thee other three hundred thousand, and we have sent thee, of our own money, a million dirhems each, so that thou hast now three millions and three hundred thousand dirhems, wherewithal to order thine affair and amend thine estate." see, then, the munificence of these generous men; may god the most high have mercy on them! the woman's trick against her husband. a man brought his wife a fish one friday and bidding her cook it against the end of the congregational prayers, went out to his business. meanwhile, there came in her friend,[fn# ] who bade her to a wedding at his house; so she agreed and laying the fish in a jar of water, went off with him and was absent a whole week, whilst her husband sought her from house to house and enquired after her; but none could give him any news of her. on the following friday, she came home, [and he fell to chiding and reproaching her;] but she brought out to him the fish alive from the jar and assembled the folk against him. he told them his case; but they credited him not and said, 'it cannot be that the fish should have remained alive all this while.' so they caused adjudge him mad and imprisoned him and laughed at him, whereupon he wept sore and recited the following verses: a hag, that holds high rank, indeed, in lewdness! in her face are witnesses that testify to filth and wantonness. when she's unclean, she bawds; and when she's clean, she plays the whore: so, all her time, she's either bawd or else adulteress. the devout woman and the two wicked elders.[fn# ] there was once, of old time, a virtuous woman among the children of israel, who was pious and devout and used every day to go out to the place of prayer, first entering a garden, which adjoined thereto, and there making the ablution. now there were in this garden two old men, its keepers, who fell in love with her and sought her favours; but she refused, whereupon said they, 'except thou yield thyself to us, we will bear witness against thee of fornication.' quoth she, 'god will preserve me from your wickedness!' then they opened the garden-gate and cried out, and the folk came to them from all sides, saying, 'what ails you?' quoth they, 'we found this damsel in company with a youth, who was doing lewdness with her; but he escaped from our hands.' now it was the use of the people of those days to expose an adulteress to public ignominy for three days and after stone her. so they pilloried her three days, whilst the two old men came up to her daily and laying their hands on her head, said, 'praised be god who hath sent down his vengeance on thee!' on the fourth day, they carried her away, to stone her; but a lad of twelve years old, by name daniel, followed them to the place of execution and said to them, 'hasten not to stone her, till i judge between them.' so they set him a chair and he sat down and caused bring the old men before him separately. (now he was the first that separated witnesses.) then said he to the first, 'what sawest thou?' so he repeated to him his story, and daniel said, 'in what part of the garden did this befall?' 'on the eastern side,' replied the elder, 'under a pear-tree.' then he called the other old man and asked him the same question; and he replied, 'on the western side of the garden, under an apple-tree.' meanwhile the damsel stood by, with her hands and eyes uplift to heaven, imploring god for deliverance. then god the most high sent down his vengeful thunder upon the two old men and consumed them and made manifest the innocence of the damsel. this was the first of the miracles of the prophet daniel, on whom and on the prophet be blessing and peace! jaafer the barmecide and the old bedouin. the khalif haroun er reshid went out one day, with abou yousuf the minion and jaafer the barmecide and abou nuwas, into the desert, where they fell in with an old man, leant upon his ass. the khalif bade jaafer ask him whence he came; so he said to him, 'whence comest thou?' 'from bassora,' answered the bedouin. 'and whither goest thou?' asked jaafer. 'to baghdad,' said the other. 'and what wilt thou do there?' asked jaafer. 'i go to seek medicine for my eye,' replied the old man. quoth the khalif, 'o jaafer, make us sport with him.' 'if i jest with him,' answered jaafer, 'i shall hear what i shall not like.' but er reshid rejoined, 'i charge thee, on my authority, jest with him.' so jaafer said to the bedouin, 'if i prescribe thee a remedy that shall profit thee, what wilt thou give me in return?' quoth the other, 'god the most high will requite thee for me with better than i can give thee.' 'harkye, then,' said jaafer, 'and i will give thee a prescription, which i have given to none but thee.' 'what is that?' asked the bedouin; and jaafer answered, 'take three ounces of wind-wafts and the like of sunbeams and moonshine and lamp-light; mix them together and let them lie in the wind three months. then bray them three months in a mortar without a bottom and laying them in a cleft platter, set it in the wind other three months; after which use three drachms every night in thy sleep, and (god willing) thou shalt be cured.' when the bedouin heard this, he stretched himself out on the ass's back and letting fly a terrible great crack of wind, said to jaafer, 'take this, in payment of thy prescription. when i have followed it, if god grant me recovery, i will give thee a slave-girl, who shall serve thee in thy lifetime a service, wherewith god shall cut short thy term; and when thou diest and god hurries thy soul to the fire, she shall blacken thy face with her ordure, of her mourning for thee, and lament and buffet her face, saying, "o frosty-beard, what a ninny thou wast!"'[fn# ] the khalif laughed till he fell backward, and ordered the bedouin three thousand dirhems. the khalif omar ben khettab and the young bedouin. the sheriff[fn# ] hussein ben reyyan relates that the khalif omar ben khettab was sitting one day, attended by his chief counsellors, judging the folk and doing justice between his subjects, when there came up to him two handsome young men, haling by the collar a third youth, perfectly handsome and well dressed, whom they set before him. omar looked at him and bade them loose him; then, calling him near to himself, said to them, 'what is your case with him?' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered they, 'we are two brothers by one mother and known as followers of the truth. we had a father, a very old man of good counsel, held in honour of the tribes, pure of basenesses and renowned for virtues, who reared us tenderly, whilst we were little, and loaded us with favours, when we grew up; in fine, a man abounding in noble and illustrious qualities, worthy of the poet's words: "is abou es sekr of sheiban[fn# ]?" they questioned of me; and "no," i answered, "my life upon it! but sheiban's of him, i trow. how many a father hath ris'n in repute by a noble son, as adnan,[fn# ] by god's apostle, to fame and glory did grow!" he went forth this day to his garden, to take his pleasure amongst its trees and pluck the ripe fruits, when this young man slew him and swerved from the road of righteousness; wherefore we demand of thee the retribution of his crime and call upon thee to pass judgment upon him, according to the commandment of god.' the khalif cast a terrible look at the accused youth and said to him, 'thou hearest the complaint of these young men; what hast thou to say in reply?' now he was stout of heart and ready of speech, having doffed the wede of faint-heartedness and put off the apparel of affright; so he smiled and after paying the usual ceremonial compliment to the khalif, in the most eloquent and elegant words, said, 'o commander of the faithful, i have given ear to their complaint, and they have said sooth in that which they avouch, so far as they have set out what befell; and the commandment of god is a decreed decree.[fn# ] but i will state my case before thee, and thine be it to decide thereon. know then, o commander of the faithful, that i am a very arab of the arabs, the noblest of those that are beneath the skies. i grew up in the dwellings of the desert, till evil and hostile times fell upon my tribe, when i came to the utterward of this town, with my children and good and household. as i went along one of the paths between the gardens, with my she-camels, high in esteem with me and precious to me, and midst them a stallion of noble race and goodly shape, a plenteous getter, by whom the females bore abundantly and who walked among them, as he were a crowned king,--behold, one of the she-camels broke away and running to the garden of these young men's father, began to crop the branches that showed above the wall. i ran to her, to drive her away, when there appeared, at a breach of the wall, an old man, whose eyes sparkled with anger, holding a stone in his right hand and swaying to and fro, like a lion preparing for a spring. he cast the stone at my stallion, and it struck him in a vital part and killed him. when i saw the stallion drop dead beside me, live coals of anger were kindled in my heart; so i took up the stone and throwing it at the old man, it was the cause of his end: thus his own wrongful act returned against him and the man was slain of that wherewith he slew. when the stone struck him, he cried out with a terrible great cry, and i hastened from the spot; but these young men hurried after me and laying hands on me, carried me before thee.' quoth omar, (may god the most high accept of him), 'thou hast confessed thy crime and acquittal is impossible; for [the law of] retaliation is imperative and there is no time of escape.' [fn# ] 'i hear and obey the judgment of the imam,' answered the bedouin, 'and am content to submit me to the requirement of the law of islam; but i have a young brother, whose old father, before his death, appointed to him great store of wealth and much gold and committed his affair to me, saying, "i give this into thy hand for thy brother; keep it for him with thy might." so i took the money and buried it; nor doth any know of it but i. now, if thou adjudge me to die forthright, the money will be lost and thou wilt be the cause of its loss; wherefore the little one will sue thee for his due on the day when god shall judge his creatures. but, if thou wilt grant me three days' delay, i will appoint one to undertake the boy's affair, in my stead, and return to answer my debt; and i have one who will be my surety for this my word.' the khalif bowed his head awhile, then raised it and looking round upon those present, said, 'who will be surety to me for his return?' the bedouin looked at the faces of those who were in company and pointing to abou dherr,[fn# ] said, 'this man will answer for me and be my surety.' 'o abou dherr,' said omar, 'dost thou hear what this youth says and wilt thou be surety to me for his return?' 'yes, o commander of the faithful,' answered abou dherr, 'i will be surety for him three days.' so the khalif accepted his guarantee and let the young man go. now, at the appointed time, when the days of grace were nearly or quite at end and still the bedouin came not, the khalif sat in his council, with the companions[fn# ] surrounding him, like the stars about the moon, abou dherr and the plaintiffs being also present; and the latter said, 'o abou dherr, where is the defendant and how shall he return, having once escaped? but we will not stir hence, till thou bring him to us, that we may take our wreak of him.' 'as the all-wise king liveth,' replied abou dherr, 'if the days of grace expire and the young man return not, i will fulfil my warranty and surrender myself to the imam.' 'by allah,' rejoined omar, 'if the young man tarry, i will assuredly execute on abou dherr that which is prescribed by the law of islam!' thereupon the eyes of the bystanders ran over with tears; those who looked on raised groans, and great was the clamour. then the chiefs of the companions were instant with the plaintiffs to accept the bloodwit and win the thanks of the folk, but they refused and would nothing but the talion. however, as the folk were swaying to and fro and clamorously bemoaning abou dherr, up came the young bedouin, with face beaded with sweat and shining like the new moon, and standing before the imam, saluted him right fairly and said to him, 'i have given the boy in charge to his mother's brothers and have made them acquainted with all that pertains to his affairs and let them into the secret of his good; after which i braved the heats of midday and am come to redeem the promise of a free-born man.' the folk marvelled at his good faith and loyalty and his intrepid offering himself to death; and one said to him, 'how noble a youth art thou and how loyal to thy promise and thy duty!' 'are ye not certified,' rejoined he, 'that when death presenteth itself none can escape from it? and indeed i have kept faith, that it be not said, "loyalty is gone from among men."' 'by allah, o commander of the faithful,' said abou dherr, 'i became warrant for this young man, without knowing to what tribe he belonged, nor had i seen him before that day; but when he turned away from all else who were present and singled me out, saying, "this man will answer for me and be my surety," i thought ill to refuse him, and humanity forbade to baulk his expectation, there being no harm in compliance with his desire, that it be not said, "benevolence is gone from among men."' then said the two young men, 'o commander of the faithful, we forgive this youth our father's blood,--seeing that [by his noble behaviour] he hath changed desolation into cheer,--that it be not said, "humanity is gone from among men."' the khalif rejoiced in the acquittance of the young bedouin and his truth and good faith; moreover, he extolled the humanity of abou dherr, over all his companions, and approved the benevolent resolve of the two young men, giving them grateful praise and applying to their case the saying of the poet: he who doth good among the folk shall be repaid again; for works of good are never lost betwixten god and men. then he offered to pay them, from the treasury, the bloodwit for their father; but they refused, saying, 'we forgave him but of our desire unto god the bountiful, the exalted; and he who is thus minded followeth not his benefits with reproach neither mischief.' the khalif el mamoun and the pyramids of egypt. it is told that the khalif el mamoun, son of haroun er reshid, when he entered the [god-]guarded city of cairo, was minded to pull down the pyramids, that he might take what was therein; but, when he went about to do this, he could not avail thereto, for all his endeavour. he expended great sums of money in the attempt, but only succeeded in opening up a small gallery in one of them, wherein he found treasure, to the exact amount of the money he had spent in the works, neither more nor less; at which he marvelled and taking what he found there, desisted from his intent. now the pyramids are three in number, and they are one of the wonders of the world; nor is there on the face of the earth their like for height and fashion and skilful ordinance; for they are builded of immense rocks, and they who built them proceeded by piercing one block of stone and setting therein upright rods of iron; after which they pierced a second block of stone and lowered it upon the first. then they poured melted lead upon the joints and set the blocks in geometrical order, till the building was complete. the height of each pyramid was a hundred cubits, of the measure of the time, and it was four- square, each side three hundred cubits long, at the bottom, and sloping upward thence to a point. the ancients say that, in the western pyramid, are thirty chambers of vari-coloured granite, full of precious stones and treasures galore and rare images and utensils and costly arms, which latter are anointed with magical unguents, so that they may not rust till the day of resurrection. therein, also, are vessels of glass, that will bend and not break, containing various kinds of compound drugs and medicinal waters. in the second pyramid are the records of the priests, written on tablets of granite,--to each priest his tablet, on which are set out the wonders of his craft and his achievements; and on the walls are figures like idols, working with their hands at all manner crafts and seated on thrones. to each pyramid there is a guardian, that keeps watch over it and guards it, to all eternity, against the ravages of time and the vicissitudes of events; and indeed the marvels of these pyramids astound all who have eyes and wit. many are the poems that describe them, thou shalt profit no great matter thereby, and among the rest, quoth one of them: the high resolves of kings, if they would have them to abide in memory, after them, are in the tongues of monuments. dost thou not see the pyramids? they, of a truth, endure and change not for the shifts of time or chances of events. and again: consider but the pyramids and lend an ear to all they tell of bygone times and that which did of yore befall. could they but speak, assuredly they would to us relate what time and fate have done with first and last and great and small. and again: i prithee, tell me, friend of mine, stands there beneath the sky a building with the pyramids of egypt that can vie in skilful ordinance? behold, time's self's afraid of them, though of all else upon the earth 'tis dreaded, low and high. my sight no longer rests upon their wondrous ordinance, yet are they present evermore unto my spirit's eye. and again: where's he the pyramids who built? what was his tribe, his time and what the place where he was stricken dead? the monuments survive their lords awhile; then death o'ertaketh them and they fall prostrate in their stead. the thief turned merchant and the other thief. there was once a thief who repented to god the most high and making good his repentance, opened himself a shop for the sale of stuffs, where he continued to trade awhile. one day, he locked his shop and went home; and in the night there came to the bazaar a cunning thief, disguised in the habit of the merchant, and pulling out keys from his sleeve, said to the watchman of the market, 'light me this candle.' so the watchman took the candle and went to get a light, whilst the thief opened the shop and lit another candle he had with him. when the watchman came back, he found him seated in the shop, looking over the account-books and reckoning with his fingers; nor did he leave to do thus till point of day, when he said to the man, 'fetch me a camel-driver and his camel, to carry some goods for me.' so the man fetched him a camel, and the thief took four bales of stuffs and gave them to the camel-driver, who loaded them on his beast. then he gave the watchman two dirhems and went away after the camel-driver, the watchman the while believing him to be the owner of the shop. next morning, the merchant came and the watchman greeted him with blessings, because of the two dirhems, much to the surprise of the former, who knew not what he meant. when he opened his shop, he saw the droppings of the wax and the account-book lying on the floor, and looking round, found four bales of stuffs missing. so he asked the watchman what had happened and he told him what had passed in the night, whereupon the merchant bade him fetch the camel-driver and said to the latter, 'whither didst thou carry the stuffs?' 'to such a wharf,' answered the driver; 'and i stowed them on board such a vessel.' 'come with me thither,' said the merchant. so the camel-driver carried him to the wharf and showed him the barque and her owner. quoth the merchant to the latter, 'whither didst thou carry the merchant and the stuff?' 'to such a place,' answered the master, 'where he fetched a camel-driver and setting the bales on the camel, went i know not whither.' 'fetch me the camel-driver,' said the merchant; so he fetched him and the merchant said to him, 'whither didst thou carry the bales of stuffs from the ship?' 'to such a khan,' answered he. 'come thither with me and show it to me,' said the merchant. so the camel-driver went with him to a khan at a distance from the shore, where he had set down the stuffs, and showed him the mock merchant's magazine, which he opened and found therein his four bales untouched and unopened. the thief had laid his mantle over them; so the merchant took the bales and the cloak and delivered them to the camel-driver, who laid them on his camel; after which the merchant locked the magazine and went away with the camel-driver. on the way, he met the thief, who followed him, till he had shipped the bales, when he said to him, 'o my brother (god have thee in his keeping!), thou hast recovered thy goods, and nought of them is lost; so give me back my cloak.' the merchant laughed and giving him back his cloak, let him go unhindered. mesrour the eunuch and ibn el caribi the khalif haroun er reshid was very restless one night; so he said to his vizier jaafer, 'i am sleepless tonight and my heart is oppressed and i know not what to do.' now his henchman mesrour was standing before him, and he laughed. quoth the khalif, 'dost thou laugh in derision of me or art thou mad?' 'neither, by allah, o commander of the faithful,' answered mesrour, 'by thy kinship to the prince of apostles, i did it not of my free-will; but i went out yesterday to walk and coming to the bank of the tigris, saw there the folk collected about a man named ibn el caribi, who was making them laugh; and but now i recalled what he said, and laughter got the better of me; and i crave pardon of thee, o commander of the faithful!' 'bring him to me forthright,' said the khalif. so mesrour repaired in all haste to ibn el caribi and said to him, 'the commander of the faithful calls for thee.' 'i hear and obey,' answered the droll. 'but on condition,' added mesrour, 'that, if he give thee aught, thou shalt have a fourth and the rest shall be mine.' 'nay,' replied the other, 'thou shalt have half and i half.' 'not so,' insisted mesrour; 'i will have three- quarters.' 'thou shalt have two-thirds, then,' rejoined ibn el caribi; 'and i the other third.' to this mesrour agreed, after much haggling, and they returned to the palace together. when ibn el caribi came into the khalif's presence, he saluted him, as became his rank, and stood before him; whereupon said er reshid to him, 'if thou do not make me laugh, i will give thee three blows with this bag.' quoth ibn el caribi in himself, 'three strokes with that bag were a small matter, seeing that beating with whips irketh me not;' for he thought the bag was empty. then he clapped into a discourse, such as would make a stone laugh, and gave vent to all manner of drolleries; but the khalif laughed not neither smiled, whereat ibn el caribi marvelled and was chagrined and affrighted. then said the khalif, 'now hast thou earned the beating,' and gave him a blow with the bag, in which were four pebbles, each two pounds in weight. the blow fell on his neck and he gave a great cry, then calling to mind his compact with mesrour, said, 'pardon, o commander of the faithful! hear two words from me.' 'say on,' replied the khalif. quoth ibn el caribi, 'mesrour made it a condition with me that, whatsoever might come to me of the bounties of the commander of the faithful, one-third thereof should be mine and the rest his; nor did he agree to leave me so much as one-third save after much haggling. now thou hast bestowed on me nothing but beating; i have had my share and here stands he, ready to receive his; so give him the two other blows.' when the khalif heard this, he laughed till he fell backward; then calling mesrour, he gave him a blow, whereat he cried out and said, 'o commander of the faithful, one-third sufficeth me: give him the two-thirds.' the khalif laughed at them and ordered them a thousand diners each, and they went away, rejoicing. the devout prince. the khalif haroun er reshid had a son, who, from the time he attained the age of sixteen, renounced the world and walked in the way of ascetics and devotees. he was wont to go out to the tombs and say, 'behold, ye that lie here once possessed the world, but that was no deliverer for you [from death], and now are ye come to your graves! would god i knew what ye say and what is said to you!' and he wept, as one weeps that is troubled and fearful, and repeated the words of the poet: whene'er the funerals pass, my heart with fear is torn, and the wailing of the mourners maketh me to mourn. one day, as he sat among the tombs, according to his wont, his father passed by, in all his state, surrounded by his viziers and grandees and the officers of his household, who saw the khalif's son, with a gown of woollen stuff on his body and a cowl of the same on his head, and said to one another, 'this youth dishonours the commander of the faithful among kings: but, if he reproved him, he would leave his present way of life.' the khalif heard what they said; so he bespoke his son of this, saying, 'o my son, thou puttest me to shame by thy present way of life.' the young man looked at him and made no reply: then he beckoned to a bird, that was perched on the battlements of the palace, and said to it, 'o bird, i conjure thee, by him who created thee, alight upon my hand.' and straightway it flew down and perched on his hand. quoth he, 'return to thy place;' and it did so. then he said, 'alight on the hand of the commander of the faithful;' but it refused, and he said to his father, 'it is thou that puttest me to shame, amongst the friends of god, by thy love of the world; and now i am resolved to depart from thee, never to return to thee, save in the world to come.' then he went down to bassora, where he fell to working with those that wrought in mud,[fn# ] taking, as his day's hire, but a dirhem and a danic.[fn# ] with the danic he fed himself and gave alms of the dirhem. (quoth abou aamir of bassora), there fell down a wall in my house: so i went out to the station of the artisans, to find one who should set it up for me, and my eyes fell on a handsome youth of a radiant countenance. so i accosted him and said to him, "o my friend, dost thou seek work?" "yes," answered he; and i said, "come with me and build a wall." "on two conditions," replied he. quoth i, "what are they, o my friend?" "first," said he, "that my hire be a dirhem and a danic, and secondly, that, when the muezzin calls to prayer, thou shalt let me go pray with the congregation." "it is well," answered i and carried him to my house, where he fell to work, such work as i never saw the like of. presently, i named to him the morning meal; but he said, "no;" and i knew that he was fasting. when he heard the call to prayer, he said to me, "thou knowest the condition?" "yes," answered i. so he loosed his girdle and applying himself to the ablution, made it after a fashion than which i never saw a goodlier; then went to the mosque and prayed with the congregation and returned to his work. he did the like upon the call to afternoon-prayer, and when i saw him fall to work again thereafterward, i said to him, "o my friend, the hours of labour are over for to-day; a workman's day is but till the time of afternoon-prayer." "glory be to god," answered he, "my service is till the night." and he ceased not to work till nightfall, when i gave him two dirhems. quoth he, "what is this?" "by allah," answered i, "this is [but] part of thy wage, because of thy diligence in my service." but he threw me back the two pieces, saying, "i will have no more than was agreed upon between us." i pressed him to take them, but could not prevail upon him; so i gave him the dirhem and the danic, and he went away. next morning early, i went to the station, but found him not; so i enquired for him and was told that he came thither only on saturdays. so, when saturday came, i betook me to the market and finding him there, said to him, "in the name of god, do me the favour to come and work for me." ["willingly,"] said he, "upon the conditions thou wottest of." "it is well," answered i and carrying him to my house, stood watching him, unseen of him, and saw him take a handful of mud and lay it on the wall, when, behold, the stones ranged themselves one upon another; and i said, "on this wise are the friends of god." he worked out his day and did even more than before; and when it was night, i gave him his hire, and he took it and went away. when the third saturday came round, i went to the standing, but found him not; so i enquired for him and was told that he lay sick in the hut of such a woman. now this was an old woman, renowned for piety, who had a hut of reeds in the burial- ground. so i went thither and found him lying on the naked earth, with a brick for a pillow and his face beaming with light. i saluted him and he returned my salute; and i sat down at his head, weeping over his tenderness of years and strangerhood and submission to the will of his lord. then said i to him, "hast thou any need?" "yes," answered he; and i said, "what is it?" he replied, "come hither tomorrow in the forenoon and thou wilt find me dead. wash me and dig my grave and tell none thereof: but shroud me in this my gown, after thou hast unsewn it and taken out what thou shalt find in the bosom, which keep with thee. then, when thou hast prayed over me and laid me in the dust, go to baghdad and watch for the khalif haroun er reshid, till he come forth, when do thou bear him my salutation and give him what thou shalt find in the breast of my gown." then he made the profession of the faith and glorified his lord in the most eloquent of words, reciting the following verses: carry the trust of him on whom the wished-for death hath come to er reshid, and thy reward with thy creator stand! "an exile greets thee," say, "who longed full sorely for thy sight; with long desire he yearned for thee, far in a foreign strand. nor hate nor weariness from thee estranged him, for, indeed, to god most high he was brought near by kissing thy right hand. but, o my father, 'twas his heart, shunning the vain delights of this thy world, that drove him forth to seek a distant land!" then he betook himself to prayer, asking pardon of god and blessing the lord of the just[fn# ] and repeating verses of the koran; after which he recited the following: let not prosperity delude thee, father mine; for fortune wastes and life itself must pass away. whenas thou com'st to know of folk in evil plight, think thou must answer it upon the judgment day; and when thou bearest forth the dead unto the tombs, think that thou, too, must pass upon the self-same way! then i left him and went home. on the morrow, i returned, at the appointed hour, and found him indeed dead, the mercy of god be on him! so i washed him and unsewing his gown, found in the bosom a ruby worth thousands of diners and said to myself, "by allah, this youth was indeed abstracted from the things of this world!" after i had buried him, i made my way to baghdad and going to the khalif's palace, waited till he came forth, when i accosted him in one of the streets and gave him the ruby, which when he saw, he knew and fell down in a swoon. his attendants laid hands on me, but he revived and bade them unhand me and bring me courteously to the palace. they did his bidding, and when he returned, he sent for me and carrying me into his closet, said to me, "how doth the owner of this ruby?" quoth i, "he is dead;" and told him what had passed; whereupon he fell a-weeping and said, "the son hath profited, but the father is disappointed." then he called out, saying, "ho, such an one!" and behold, a woman came out to him. when she saw me, she would have withdrawn; but he said to her, "come; and heed him not." so she entered and saluted, and he threw her the ruby, which when she knew, she gave a great shriek and fell down in a swoon. as soon as she came to herself, she said, "o commander of the faithful, what hath god done with my son?" and he said to me, "do thou tell her;" for he could not speak for weeping. so i repeated the story to her, and she began to weep and say in a failing voice, "how i have longed for thy sight, o consolation of my eyes! would i might have given thee to drink, when thou hadst none to tend thee! would i might have companied with thee, whenas thou foundest none to cheer thee!" and she poured forth tears and recited the following verses: i weep for one to whom death came, an exile and in pain: alone he died, without a friend to whom he might complain. puissant and honoured and conjoined with those that loved him dear, to live alone and seeing none, unfriended, he was fain. that which the days conceal shall yet be manifest to us: not one of us by death, indeed, unsmitten may remain. o absent one, the lord of all decreed thy strangerhood, and thou left'st far behind the love that was betwixt us twain! though death, my son, forbid me hope to see thee in this life, tomorrow, on the reckoning-day, we two shall meet again. quoth i, "o commander of the faithful, was he indeed thy son?" "yes," answered he; "and indeed, before i succeeded to this office, he was wont to visit the learned and company with the devout; but, when i became khalif, he grew estranged from me and withdrew himself apart. then said i to his mother, 'this thy son is absorbed in god the most high, and it may be that tribulations shall befall him and he be smitten with stress of evil chance; wherefore, do thou give him this ruby, that it may be to him a resource in the hour of need.' so she gave it him, conjuring him to take it, and he obeyed her. then he left the things of our world to us and removed himself from us; nor did he cease to be absent from us, till he went to the presence of god (to whom belong might and majesty) with a holy and pure mind." then said he, "come, show me his grave." so we repaired to bassora and i showed him his son's grave. when he saw it, he wept and lamented, till he fell down in a swoon; after which he came to himself and asked pardon of god, saying, "we are god's, and to him we return!" and invoked blessings on the dead. then he besought me of companionship; but i said to him, "o commander of the faithful, verily, in thy son's case is for me the gravest of admonitions!" and i recited the following verses: 'tis i am the stranger! none harbours the wight, though he lie in his native city by night. 'tis i am the exile! nor children nor wife nor comrades have i, to take ruth on my plight. the mosques are my refuge; i haunt them indeed: my heart from their shelter shall never take flight. to the lord of all creatures, to god be the praise, whilst yet in the body abideth the spright! the schoolmaster who fell in love by report. (quoth one of the erudite), i passed once by a [school, in which a] schoolmaster, comely of aspect and well dressed, was teaching children; so i entered, and he rose and made me sit with him. then i examined him in the koran and in syntax and poetry and lexicography, and found him perfect in all that was required of him and said to him, "god strengthen thy purpose! thou art indeed versed in all that is sought of thee." so i frequented him awhile, discovering daily some new excellence in him, and said to myself, "this is indeed a wonder in a schoolmaster; for the understanding are agreed upon the lack of wit of those that teach children." then i separated myself from him and sought him out and visited him [only] every few days, till, one day, coming to see him as of wont, i found the school shut and made enquiry of the neighbours, who said, "some one is dead in his house." so i said to myself, "it behoves me to pay him a visit of condolence," and going to his house, knocked at the door. a slave-girl came out to me and said, "what dost thou want?" "i want thy master," answered i. quoth she, "he is sitting alone, mourning." "tell him," rejoined i, "that his friend so and so seeks to condole with him." she went in and told him; and he said, "admit him." so she brought me in to him, and i found him seated alone and his head bound [with the fillets of mourning]. "may god amply requite thee!" said i. "this is a road all must perforce travel, and it behoves thee to take patience. but who is dead unto thee?" "one who was dearest and best beloved of the folk to me," answered he. quoth i, "perhaps thy father?" he replied, "no;" and i said, "thy mother?" "no," answered he. "thy brother?" "no." "one of thy kindred?" "no." "then," asked i, "what relation was the dead to thee?" "my mistress," answered he. quoth i to myself, "this is the first sign of his lack of wit." then i said to him, "there are others than she and fairer;" and he answered, "i never saw her, that i might judge whether or no there be others fairer than she." quoth i to myself, "this is another sign" then i said to him, "and how couldst thou fall in love with one thou hast never seen?" quoth he, "i was sitting one day at the window, when there passed by a man, singing the following verse: umm amri,[fn# ] god requite thee thy generosity! give back my heart, prithee, wherever it may be! when i heard this, i said to myself, 'except this umm amri were without equal in the world, the poets had not celebrated her in amorous verse.' so i fell in love with her; but, two days after, the same man passed, singing the following verse: the jackass with umm amri departed; but, alas, umm amri! she returned not again, nor did the ass. thereupon i knew that she was dead and mourned for her. this was three days ago, and i have been mourning ever since." so i left him and went away, having assured myself of the feebleness of his wit. the foolish schoolmaster a man of elegant culture once entered a school and sitting down by the master, entered into discourse with him and found him an accomplished theologian, poet, grammarian and lexicographer, intelligent, well bred and pleasant; whereat he wondered, saying in himself, 'it cannot be that a man, who teaches children in a school, should have a perfect wit.' when he was about to go away, the schoolmaster said to him, 'thou art my guest to-night;' and he consented and accompanied him to his house, where he made much of him and set food before him. they ate and drank and sat talking, till a third part of the night was past, when the host spread his guest a bed and went up to his harem. the other lay down and addressed himself to sleep, when, behold, there arose a great clamour in the harem. he asked what was to do, and they said, 'a terrible thing hath befallen the sheikh, and he is at the last gasp.' 'take me up to him,' said he. so they carried him to the schoolmaster, whom he found lying insensible, with his blood streaming down. he sprinkled water on his face and when he revived, he said to him, 'what has betided thee? when thou leftest me, thou west in all good cheer and sound of body.' 'o my brother,' answered the schoolmaster, 'after i left thee, i sat meditating on the works of god the most high and said to myself, "in every thing god hath created for man there is an use; for he (to whom be glory) created the hands to seize, the feet to walk, the eyes to see, the ears to hear and the yard to do the deed of kind; and so on with all the members of the body, except these two cullions; there is no use in them." so i took a razor i had by me and cut them off; and there befell me what thou seest.' so the guest left him and went away, saving, 'he was in the right who said, "no schoolmaster who teaches children can have a perfect wit, though he know all sciences." the ignorant man who set up for a schoolmaster. there was once, among the hangers-on of the collegiate mosque, a man who knew not how to read and write and got his bread by gulling the folk. one day, he bethought him to open a school and teach children; so he got him tablets and written scrolls and hung them up in a [conspicuous] place. then he enlarged his turban and sat down at the door of the school. the people, who passed by and saw his turban and the tablets and scrolls, thought he must be a very learned doctor; so they brought him their children; and he would say to this, 'write,' and to that, 'read;' and thus they taught one another. one day, as he sat, as of wont, at the door of the school, he saw a woman coming up, with a letter in her hand, and said to himself, 'this woman doubtless seeks me, that i may read her the letter she has in her hand. how shall i do with her seeing i cannot read writing?' and he would fain have gone down and fled from her; but, before he could do this, she overtook him and said to him, 'whither away?' quoth he, 'i purpose to pray the noontide-prayer and return.' 'noon is yet distant,' said she; 'so read me this letter.' he took the letter and turning it upside down, fell to looking at it, now shaking his head and anon knitting his eyebrows and showing concern. now the letter came from the woman's husband, who was absent; and when she saw the schoolmaster do thus, she said, 'doubtless my husband is dead, and this learned man is ashamed to tell me so.' so she said to him, 'o my lord, if he be dead, tell me.' but he shook his head and held his peace. then said she, 'shall i tear my clothes?' 'tear,' answered he. 'shall i buffet my face?' asked she; and he said, 'buffet.' so she took the letter from his hand and returning home, fell a-weeping, she and her children. one of her neighbours heard her weeping and asking what ailed her, was answered, 'she hath gotten a letter, telling her that her husband is dead.' quoth the man, 'this is a lying saying; for i had a letter from him but yesterday, advising me that he is in good health and case and will be with her after ten days.' so he rose forthright and going in to her, said, 'where is the letter thou hast received?' she brought it to him, and he took it and read it; and it ran as follows, after the usual salutations, 'i am well and in good health and case and will be with thee after ten days. meanwhile, i send thee a quilt and an extinguisher.'[fn# ] so she took the letter and returning with it to the schoolmaster, said to him, 'what moved thee to deal thus with me?' and she repeated to him what her neighbour had told her of her husband's well-being and of his having sent her a quilt and an extinguisher. 'thou art in the right,' answered he. 'but excuse me, good woman; for i was, at the time, troubled and absent-minded and seeing the extinguisher wrapped in the quilt, thought that he was dead and they had shrouded him.' the woman, not smoking the cheat, said, 'thou art excused.' and taking the letter, went away. the king and the virtuous wife a certain king once went forth in disguise, to look into the affairs of his subjects. presently, he came to a great village and being athirst, stopped at the door of a house and asked for water. there came out to him a fair woman, with a pitcher of water, which she gave him, and he drank. when he looked at her, he was ravished with her and required her of love. now she knew him; so she brought him into the house and making him sit down, brought out a book and said to him, 'look in this book, whilst i order my affair and return to thee.' so he looked into the book, and behold, it treated of the divine prohibition against adultery and of the punishments that god hath prepared for those that do it. when he read this, his flesh quaked and he repented to god the most high: then he called the woman and giving her the book, went away. now her husband was absent and when he returned, she told him what had passed, whereat he was confounded and said in himself, 'i fear lest the king's desire have fallen upon her.' and he dared not have to do with her after this. after awhile, the wife told her kinsfolk of her husband's conduct, and they complained of him to the king, saying, 'may god advance the king! this man hired of us a piece of land, for tillage, and tilled it awhile; then left it fallow and tilled it not, neither forsook it, that we might let it to one who would till it. indeed, harm is come to the field, and we fear its corruption, for that land, if it be not tilled' spoileth.' quoth the king to the man, 'what hinders thee from tilling thy land?' 'may god advance the king!' answered he. 'it came to my knowledge that a lion entered the field, wherefore i stood in awe of him and dared not approach it, seeing that i know i cannot cope with the lion, and i stand in fear of him.' the king understood the parable and rejoined, saying, 'o fellow, the lion trampled not thy land, and it is good for tillage; so do thou till it and god prosper thee in it, for the lion hath done it no hurt.' then he bade give the man and his wife a handsome present and sent them away. abdurrehman the moor's story of the roc. there was once a man of the people of morocco, called abdurrehman the moor, and he was known, to boot, as the chinaman, for his long sojourn in cathay. he had journeyed far and wide and traversed many seas and deserts and was wont to relate wondrous tales of his travels. he was once cast upon an island, where he abode a long while and returning thence to his native country, brought with him the quill of the wing-feather of a young roe, whilst yet unhatched and in the egg; and this quill was big enough to hold a skinful of water, for it is said that the length of the young roe's wing, when it comes forth of the egg, is a thousand fathoms. the folk marvelled at this quill, when they saw it, and abdurrehman related to them the following adventure. he was on a voyage in the china seas, with a company of merchants, when they sighted a great island so they steered for it and casting anchor before it, saw that it was large and spacious. the ship's people went ashore to get wood and water, taking with them skins and ropes and axes, and presently espied a great white gleaming dome, a hundred cubits high. so they made towards it and drawing near, found that it was a roe's egg and fell on it with axes and stones and sticks, till they uncovered the young bird and found it as it were a firm-set mountain. they went about to pluck out one of its wing-feathers, but could not win to do so, save by helping one another, for all the feathers were not full grown; after which they took what they could carry of the young bird's flesh and cutting the quill away from the feather-part, returned to the ship. then they spread the canvas and putting out to sea, sailed with a fair wind all that night, till the sun rose, when they saw the old roc come flying after them, as he were a vast cloud, with a rock in his talons, like a great mountain, bigger than the ship. as soon as he came over the vessel, he let fall the rock upon it; but the ship, having great way on her, forewent the rock, which fell into the sea with a terrible crash. so god decreed them safety and delivered them from destruction; and they cooked the young bird's flesh and ate it. now there were amongst them old grey bearded men; and when they awoke on the morrow, they found that their beards had turned black, nor did any who had eaten of the young roc ever grow grey. some held the cause of the return of youth to them and the ceasing of hoariness from them to be that they had heated the pot with arrow-wood, whilst others would have it that it came of eating the young roe's flesh; and this is indeed a wonder of wonders. adi ben zeid and the princess hind. en numan ben el mundhir, king of the arabs [of irak], had a daughter named hind, who was eleven years old and was the loveliest woman of her age and time. she went out one easter, which is a feast-day of the nazarenes,[fn# ] to the white church, to take the sacrament. now that day came to el hireh a young man called adi ben zeid,[fn# ] with presents from chosroës,[fn# ] to en numan, and he also went into the white church, to communicate. he was tall and well-favoured, with handsome eyes and smooth cheeks, and had with him a company of his people. now there was with hind a slave-girl named mariyeh, who was enamoured of adi, but had not been able to win to him. so, when she saw him in the church, she said to hind, 'look at yonder youth. by allah, he is handsomer than all thou seest!' 'and who is he?' asked hind. 'adi ben zeid,' answered mariyeh quoth the princess, 'i fear lest he know me, if i draw near, to look on him closelier.' 'how should he know thee,' said mariyeh, 'when he has never seen thee?' so she drew near him and found him jesting with his companions; and indeed he surpassed them all, not only in his beauty, but in the excellence of his speech and the eloquence of his tongue and the richness of his apparel. when the princess saw him, she was ravished with him, her reason was confounded and her colour changed; and mariyeh, seeing her inclination to him, said to her, 'speak to him.' so she spoke to him and went away. when he saw her and heard her speech, he was captivated by her and his wit was dazed; his colour changed and his heart fluttered, so that his companions misdoubted of him, and he whispered one of them to follow her and find out who she was. the man followed her and returning to his master, informed him that she was the princess hind, daughter of en numan. so adi left the church, knowing not whither he went, for stress of love, and reciting the following verses: companions mine, yet one more favour i entreat: address ye to the ways once more your travelling feet. turn me towards the lands, the lands where hinda dwells; then go and her i love with tidings of me greet. then he went to his lodging and lay that night, restless nor tasting sleep. on the morrow, mariyeh accosted him, and he received her kindly, though before he would not hearken to her, and said to her, 'what is thy will?' quoth she, 'i have a suit to thee.' 'name it,' answered he; 'for, by allah, thou shalt not ask me aught, but i will give it thee!' so she told him that she was in love with him, and her suit to him was that he would grant her a lover's privacy; and he agreed to do her will, on condition that she would serve him with hind and make shift to bring them together. then he took her into a vintner's shop, in one of the by-streets of hireh, and lay with her; after which she returned to hind and said to her, 'dost thou not long to see adi?' 'how can this be?' replied the princess. 'indeed my longing for him makes me restless, and no repose is left me since yesterday, on his account.' quoth mariyeh, 'i will appoint him to be in such a place, where thou canst look on him from the palace.' 'do what thou wilt,' replied hind and agreed with her upon the place. so adi came, and the princess looked out upon him; and when she saw him, she was like to fall down from the top of the palace and said to mariyeh, 'except thou bring him in to me this night, i shall die.' so saying, she fell down in a swoon, and her serving-women lifted her up and bore her into the palace; whilst mariyeh hastened to en numan and discovered the whole matter to him, saying, 'verily, she is mad for love of adi; and except thou marry her to him, she will be put to shame and die of love for him.' the king bowed his head awhile in thought and exclaimed again and again, 'verily, we are god's and to him we return!' then said he, 'out on thee! how shall the marriage be brought about, seeing it misliketh me to open the matter to him?' 'he is yet more ardently in love and yet more desireful of her than she of him,' answered mariyeh; 'and i will so order the matter that he shall be unaware that his case is known to thee; but do not betray thyself, o king.' them she went to adi and said to him, 'make a feast and bid the king thereto; and when wine hath gotten the better of him, ask of him the hand of his daughter, for he will not refuse thee.' quoth adi, 'i fear lest this enrage him against me and be the cause of enmity between us.' but she answered, 'i came not to thee, till i had settled the whole matter with him.' then she returned to en numan and said to him, 'seek of adi that he entertain thee in his house.' 'there is no harm in that,' replied the king and after three days, besought adi to give him and his lords the morning-meal in his house. the young man consented, and the king went to him; and when the wine had taken effect on en numan, adi rose and sought of him his daughter in marriage. he consented and married them and brought her to him after three days; and they abode at en numan's court, in all delight and solace of life, three years, at the end of which time the king was wroth with adi and slew him. hind mourned for him with an exceeding grief and built her a convent without the city, whither she retired and devoted herself to religious exercises, weeping and bemoaning her husband, till she died. and her convent is extant to this day without el hireh. dibil el khuzaÃ� with the lady and muslim ben el welid. (quoth dibil el khuzaï[fn# ]), i was sitting one day at the gate of el kerkh,[fn# ] when a lady came up to me, never saw i a handsomer or better shaped than she, walking with a swaying gait and ravishing, with her flexile grace, all who beheld her. when my eyes fell on her, i was captivated by her and my entrails trembled and meseemed my heart fled forth of my breast; so i accosted her with the following verse: unsealed are the springs of tears for mine eyes, heigho! and sealed are the springs of sleep to my lids, for woe. she turned her head and looking at me, made answer forthright with the following: and surely, an ailing eye to have, for him whom her looks invite, is a little thing, i trow. i was astounded at the readiness of her reply and the sweetness of her speech and rejoined with this verse: and doth then the heart of my fair indeed incline to favour him whose tears as a river flow? she answered me, without hesitation, thus: if thou desire us of love, betwixt us love is a loan to be returned, i'd have thee know. never entered my ears sweeter than her speech nor ever saw i brighter than her face: so i changed the rhyme and measure, to try her, in my wonder at her speech, and repeated the following verse: will destiny e'er gladden us with union and delight and one desireful one at last with other one unite? she smiled at this, (never saw i fairer than her mouth nor sweeter than her lips,) and answered me, without hesitation, as follows: i prithee, what hath destiny to do betwixt us twain? thou'rt destiny: rejoice us, then, with union and delight. at this, i sprang up and kissing her hands, said, "i had not thought that fortune would vouchsafe me such an opportunity. do thou follow me, not of command or against thy will, but of thy grace and favour to me." then i went on and she after me. now i had not, at that time, a lodging i deemed fit for the like of her; muslim ben el welid[fn# ] was my fast friend, and he had a handsome house. so i made for his abode and knocked at the door, whereupon he came out, and i saluted him, saying, "it is for a time like this that friends are treasured up." "with all my heart," answered he; "enter." so we entered, i and the lady, but found money scarce with him. however, he gave me a handkerchief, saying, "carry it to the market and sell it and buy meat and what else thou needest." so i took the handkerchief and hastening to the market, sold it and bought meat and what else we required; but, when i returned, i found that muslim had retired, with the lady, to an underground chamber.[fn# ] when he heard me, he came out and said to me, "god requite thee the kindness thou hast done me, o abou ali,[fn# ] and reckon it of thy good deeds on the day of resurrection!" so saying, he took from me the meat and wine and shut the door in my face his words enraged me and i knew not what to do; but he stood behind the door, shaking for mirth; and when he saw me thus, he said to me, "i conjure thee on my life, o abou ali, tell me who it was composed this verse? i lay in the arms of the fair one all night, whilst my friend slept, clean-limbed, but polluted of spright." at this, my rage redoubled, and i replied, "he who wrote this other verse: one, i wish him in's girdle a thousand of horns, exceeding the idol menaf[fn# ] in their height!" then i began to revile him and reproach him with the foulness of his conduct and his lack of honour; and he was silent. but, when i had finished, he smiled and said, "out on thee, o fool! thou hast entered my house and sold my handkerchief and spent my money: so, with whom art thou wroth, o pimp?" then he left me and went away to her, whilst i said, "by allah, thou art right to call me a fool and a pimp!" then i left his door and went away in sore concern, whereof i feel the trace in my heart to this day; and i never had my desire of her nor ever heard of her more. isaac of mosul and the merchant. (quoth ishac ben ibrahim el mausili), one day, being weary of assiduous attendance upon the khalif, i mounted my horse and went forth, at break of day, having a mind to ride out and take my pleasure in the open country, and i said to my servant, "if there come a messenger from the khalif or another, say that i set out at daybreak, upon a pressing business, and that thou knowest not whither i am gone." so i rode forth alone and went round about the city, till the sun grew hot, when i halted in a street, known as el herem, and stood my horse under the spacious jutting porch of one of the houses there, to shelter me from the glare of the sun. i had not stood long, before there came up a black slave, leading an ass with jewelled housings, on which sat a damsel, clad in the richest of clothes, richness can go no farther; and i saw that she was elegantly made, with languorous looks and graceful carriage. i asked one of the passers-by who she was, and he said, "she is a singer." and i fell in love with her at sight, so that i could scarce keep my seat on my horse's back. she entered the house at whose gate i stood; and as i cast about for a device to gain access to her, there came up two comely young men, who sought admission, and the master of the house gave them leave to enter. so they alighted and entered, and i with them, they supposing that the master of the house had invited me; and we sat awhile, till food was brought and we ate. then they set wine before us, and the damsel came out, with a lute in her hand. she sang and we drank, till i rose to do an occasion. during my absence, the host questioned the two others of me, and they replied that they knew me not; whereupon quoth he, "this fellow is a spunger, but he is well-bred and pleasant; so entreat him fairly." then i came back and sat down in my place, whilst the damsel sang the following verses to a pleasing air: say thou unto the she-gazelle, who yet is no gazelle, and the wild heifer, languorous-eyed, who yet no heifer is, "one, who in dalliance affects the male, no female is, and he who is effeminate of step's no male, ywis." she sang it excellent well, and the company drank and her song pleased them. then she sang various songs to rare tunes, and amongst the rest one of mine, to the following words: the pleasant girls have gone and left the homesteads empty and bereft of their sweet converse, after cheer, all void and ruined by time's theft. she sang this even better than the first; then she sang other rare songs, old and new, and amongst them, another of mine, with the following words: to the loved one, who turneth in anger away and vrithdraweth himself far apart from thee, say, "the mischief thou wroughtest, thou wroughtest indeed, for all, per-adventure, thou west but in play." i asked her to repeat the song, that i might correct it for her; whereupon one of the men turned to me and said, "never saw i a more brazen-faced parasite than thou. art thou not content with spunging, but thou must meddle, to boot? verily, in thee is the saying made true, 'a parasite and a meddler.'" i hung down my head for shame and made him no answer, whilst his companion would have restrained him from me; but he would not be restrained. presently, they rose to pray, but i hung behind a little and taking the lute, tuned it after a particular fashion and stood up to pray with the rest. when we had made an end of prayer, the same man fell again to flouting and reviling me and persisted in his churlishness, whilst i held my peace. then the damsel took the lute and touching it, knew that it was other than as she had left it and said, "who hath touched my lute?" quoth they, "none of us hath touched it." "nay, by allah," rejoined she, "some one hath touched it, and he a past master in the craft; for he hath ordered the strings and tuned them after the fashion of one who is right skilled in the art." quoth i, "it was i tuned it." "then, god on thee," answered she, "take it and play on it!" so i took it and playing a rare and difficult measure, that came nigh to deaden the live and raise the dead, sang thereto the following verses: i had a heart, wherewith of yore i lived: 'twas seared with fire and all consumed indeed. her love, alack i was not vouchsafed to me; unto the slave 'twas not of heaven decreed. if what i taste be passion's very food, then all who love upon its like must feed. when i had finished, there was not one of the company but sprang from his place and sat down before me,[fn# ] saying "god on thee, o our lord, sing us another song." "with all my heart," said i and playing another measure in masterly fashion, sang thereto the following: o thou whose heart, for fortune's blows, is all consumed and sped, sorrows with whom from every side have taken up their stead, unlawful unto her, my heart who pierces with her shafts, is that my blood which, breast-bones 'twixt and vitals,[fn# ] she hath shed. 'twas plain, upon the parting day, that her resolve, our loves to sunder, unto false suspect must be attributed. she pours forth blood she had not shed, if passion had not been. will none my murderess ensue and wreak me on her head? when i had made an end of this song, there was not one of them but rose to his feet and threw himself to the ground, for excess of delight. then i cast the lute from my hand; but they said, "allah on thee, let us hear another song, so god increase thee of his bounty!" "o folk," replied i, "i will sing you another song and another and another and will tell you who i am. know that i am ishac ben ibrahim el mausili, and by allah, i bear myself haughtily to the khalif, when he seeks me. ye have today made me hear [abuse from] an unmannerly fellow such as i loathe; and by allah, i will not speak a word nor sit with you, till ye put yonder quarrelsome churl out from among you!" quoth the latter's companion to him, "this is what i feared and warned thee against." so they took him by the hand and put him out; and i took the lute and sang over again the songs of my fashion that the damsel had sung. then i whispered the host that she had taken my heart and that i had no patience to endure from her. quoth he, "thou shalt have her and all that pertains to her of clothes and jewels, on one condition." "what is that?" asked i. "it is," answered he, "that thou abide with me a month." "it is well," rejoined i; "i will do this." so i abode with him a whole month, whilst none knew where i was and the khalif sought me everywhere, but could come by no news of me; and at the end of this time, the merchant delivered to me the damsel, together with all that pertained to her of things of price and an eunuch to attend her. i brought her to my lodging, feeling as i were lord of the whole world, for stress of delight in her; then rode forthright to el mamoun. when he saw me, he said, "out on thee, o isaac, where hast thou been all this while?" i acquainted him with the story and he said, "bring me the man at once." so i told him where he dwelt, and he sent and fetched him and questioned him of the case; whereupon he repeated the story and the khalif said to him, "thou art a man of a generous mind, and it is just that thou be upheld in thy generosity." then he ordered him a hundred thousand dirhems and said to me, "o isaac, bring me the damsel." so i brought her to him, and she sang and delighted him. he was greatly gladdened by her and ordered her fifty thousand dirhems, saying to me, "i appoint her of service every thursday, when she must come and sing to me from behind the curtain." so, by allah, this ride of mine was a source of profit both to me and to others. the three unfortunate lovers. (quoth el utbi[fn# ]), i was sitting one day with a company of men of culture, telling stories of the folk, when the talk turned upon anecdotes of lovers and each of us said his say thereon. now there was in our company an old man, who remained silent, till we had all spoken and had no more to say, when he said, "shall i tell you a thing, the like of which you never heard?" "yes," answered we; and he said, "know, then, that i had a daughter, who loved a youth, but we knew it not. the youth in question loved a singing-girl, who, in her turn, was enamoured of my daughter. one day, i was present at an assembly, where were also the young man and the girl; when the latter sang the following verses: tears are the token by which, for love, abjection in lovers still is shown, and more by token in one who finds no friend, to whom he may make his moan. 'by allah, thou hast said well, o my lady!' exclaimed the youth. 'doss thou bid me die?' 'yes,' answered the girl from behind the curtain, 'if thou be in love.' so he laid his head on a cushion and closed his eyes; and when the cup came round to him, we shook him and found that he was dead. therewith we all flocked to him, and our joy was troubled and we grieved and broke up forthright. when i came home, my people taxed me with returning before the appointed time, and i told them what had befallen the youth, thinking to surprise them. my daughter heard my words and rising, went into another chamber, whither i followed her and found her lying, with her head on a cushion, as i had told of the young man. i shook her and behold, she was dead. so we laid her out and set forth next morning with her funeral, whilst the friends of the young man carried him out, likewise, to bury him. as we were on the way to the burial-place, we met a third funeral and enquiring whose it was, were told that it was that of the singing-girl, who, hearing of my daughter's death, had done even as she and was dead. so we buried them all three on one day, and this is the rarest story that ever was heard of lovers." the lovers of the benou tai. quoth a man of the benou temim (cited by casim ben adi), i went out one day in search of a stray beast and coming to the waters of the benou tai, saw two companies of people, near one another, and those of each company were disputing among themselves. so i watched them and observed, in one of the companies, a young man, wasted with sickness, as he were a worn-out water-skin. as i looked on him, he repeated the following verses: what ails the fair that she returneth not to me? is't grudgingness in her or inhumanity? i sickened, and my folk to visit me came all. why 'mongst the visitors wast thou then not to see? hadst thou been sick, i would have hastened to thy side; nor menaces nor threats had hindered me from thee. i miss thee midst the rest, and desolate am i: thy loss, my heart's abode, is grievous unto me. a damsel in the other company heard his words and hastened towards him. her people followed her, but she repelled them with blows. then the youth caught sight of her and ran towards her, whilst his people ran after him and laid hold of him. however, he struggled, till he freed himself from them, and she in like manner loosed herself; and they ran to each other and meeting between the two parties, embraced and fell down dead. thereupon there came out an old man from one of the tents and stood over them, weeping sore and exclaiming, "verily, we are god's and to him we return!" then, "may god the most high have mercy on you both!" said he. "by allah, though you were not united in your lives, i will at least unite you after death." and he bade lay them out. so they washed them and shrouded them in one shroud and buried them in one grave, after they had prayed over them; nor were there men nor women in the two parties but i saw weeping over them and buffeting their faces. then i questioned the old man of them, and he said, "she was my daughter and he my brother's son; and love brought them to this pass." "may god amend thee!" exclaimed i. "but why didst thou not marry them to one another?" quoth he, "i feared reproach and dishonour; and now i am fallen upon both." the mad lover. (quoth aboulabbas el muberred[fn# ]), i set out one day with a company to el berid on an occasion, and coming to the monastery of heraclius,[fn# ] we alighted in its shade. presently a man came out to us and said, "there are madmen in the monastery, and amongst them one who speaketh wisdom; if ye saw him, ye would marvel at his speech." so we arose all and went into the monastery, where we saw a man seated on a leather mat in one of the cells, with bare head and eyes fixed upon the wall. we saluted him, and he returned our greeting, without looking at us; and one said to us, "repeat some verses to him; for, when he hears verses, he speaks." so i repeated the following verses: o best of all the race whom eve gave birth unto, except for thee the world were neither sweet nor bright: thou'rt he, whose face if god unveil to any man, eternity is his; his head shall ne'er grow white.[fn# ] when he heard this, he turned towards us and repeated these lines: god indeed knows that i am sore afflicted: i suffer so, i cannot tell the whole. i have two souls; one in this place is dwelling; another country holds my second soul. meseems the absent one is like the present and wearies under the same weight of dole. quoth he, "have i said well or ill?" "thou hast said well and excellent well," replied we. then he put out his hand and took a stone, that was by him; whereupon we fled from him, thinking he would throw it at us; but he fell to beating his breast therewith violently and said to us, "fear not, but draw near and hear somewhat from me and receive it from me." so we came back, and he repeated the following verses: when they made their beasts of burden kneel as day drew nigh and nigher, then they mounted and the camels bore away my heart's desire,-- when my eyes perceived my loved one through the crannied prison-wall, then i cried, with streaming eyelids and a heart for love a-fire, "turn thou leader of the camels, let me bid my love farewell!" for her absence and estrangement, life and hope in me expire. still i kept my troth and failed not from her love; ah, would i knew what she did with that our troth-plight, if she kept her faith entire! then he looked at me and said, "dost thou know what she did?" "yes," answered i, "she is dead; may god the most high have mercy on her!" at this his face changed and he sprang to his feet and cried out, "how knowest thou she is dead?" "were she alive," answered i, "she had not left thee thus." "by allah, thou art right," said he, "and i care not to live after her." then his nerves quivered and he fell on his face; and we ran up to him and shook him and found him dead, the mercy of god be on him! at this we marvelled and mourned sore for him and laid him out and buried him. when i returned to baghdad and went in to the khalif el mutawekkil, he saw the trace of tears on my face and said to me, "what is this?" so i told him what had passed, and it was grievous to him and he said, "what moved thee to deal thus with him? by allah, if i thought thou didst this with intent, i would punish thee therefor!" and he mourned for him the rest of the day. the apples of paradise. (quoth abou bekr mohammed ibn el ambari[fn# ]), i once left ambar, on a journey to ammouriyeh, in the land of the greeks, [fn# ], and alighted midway at the monastery of el anwar, [fn# ], in a village near ammouriyeh, where there came out to me the prior of the monastery and superior of the monks, abdulmesih[fn# ] by name, and brought me into the monastery. there i found forty monks, who entertained me that night with the most liberal hospitality, and i saw among them such abounding piety and diligence in devotion as i never beheld the like of in any others. on the morrow, i took leave of them and went on to ammouriyeh, where i did my business and returned to ambar [without again visiting the monastery]. next year it befell that i made the pilgrimage to mecca, and as i was compassing the holy house, behold, i saw abdulmesih the monk also making the circuit of the kaabeh, and with him five of his fellows, the monks. when i was certified that it was indeed he, i accosted him, saying, "art thou not abdulmesih er rahib?"[fn# ] "nay," answered he; "i am abdallah er raghib." [fn# ] therewith i fell to kissing his hoary hairs and weeping; then, taking him by the hand, i led him aside into a corner of the sanctuary and said to him, "tell me the manner of thy conversion to islam." "it was a wonder of wonders," answered he; "and befell thus. know that, not long after thy visit to us, a company of muslim devotees came to the village, in which is our monastery, and sent a youth to buy them food. he saw, in the market, a christian damsel selling bread, who was of the fairest of women, and became then and there so passionately enamoured of her, that his senses failed him and he fell on his face in a swoon. when he revived, he returned to his companions and told them what had happened, saying, 'go ye about your business; i may not go with you.' they blamed him and exhorted him, but he paid no heed to them; so they left him and went on, whilst he entered the village and seated himself at the door of the woman's shop. she asked him what he wanted, and he told her that he was in love with her, whereupon she turned from him; but he abode in his place three days, without tasting food, with his eyes fixed on her face. when she saw that he departed not from her, she went to her people and acquainted them with her case, and they set the boys of the village on him, who pelted him with stones and bruised his ribs and broke his head; but, for all this, he would not budge. then the people of the village took counsel together to kill him; but one of them came to me and told me of his condition, and i went out to him and found him lying prostrate on the ground. so i wiped the blood from his face and carried him to the convent, where i dressed his wounds, and he abode with me fourteen days. but, as soon as he could walk, he left the convent and returned to the door of the woman's shop, where he sat gazing on her as before. when she saw him, she came out to him and said, 'by allah, thou movest me to pity! if thou wilt enter my faith, i will marry thee.' 'god forbid,' answered he, 'that i should put off the faith of the unity and enter that of plurality!'[fn# ] quoth she, 'come in with me to my house and take thy will of me and go thy ways in peace.' 'not so,' answered he, 'i will not barter the pious service of twelve years for the lust of a moment.' 'then depart from me forthright,' said she; and he rejoined, 'my heart will not suffer me to do that;' whereupon she turned her face from him. presently the boys found him out and began to throw stones at him; and he fell on his face, saying, 'verily, god is my keeper, who sent down the book and who protecteth the righteous!' [fn# ] at this juncture, i sallied forth and driving away the boys, lifted his head from the ground and heard him say, 'o my god, unite me with her in paradise!' then i took him in my arms, to carry him to the monastery; but he died, before i could reach it, and i dug him a grave without the village and buried him there. in the middle of that night, the people of the village heard the damsel give a great cry, and she in her bed; so they flocked to her and questioned her of her case. quoth she, 'as i slept, the muslim [who ye wot of] came in to me and taking me by the hand, carried me to the gate of paradise; but the keeper denied me entrance, saying, "it is forbidden to unbelievers." so i embraced islam at his hands and entering with him, beheld therein palaces and trees, such as i cannot describe to you. moreover, he brought me to a pavilion of jewels and said to me, "this is my pavilion and thine, nor will i enter it except with thee; but, after five nights, thou shalt be with me therein, if it be the will of god the most high." then, putting his hand to a tree that grew at the door of the pavilion, he plucked therefrom two apples and gave them to me, saying, "eat this and keep the other, that the monks may see it." so i ate one of them and never tasted i aught sweeter than it. then he took my hand and carried me back to my house; and when i awoke, i found the taste of the apple in my mouth and the other in my hand.' so saying, she brought out the apple, and it shone in the darkness of the night, as it were a sparkling star. so they carried her to the monastery, where she repeated to us her vision and showed us the apple; never saw we its like among all the fruits of the world. then i took a knife and cut the apple into as many pieces as we were folk in the company; and never knew we aught more delicious than its taste nor sweeter than its scent; but we said, 'haply this was a devil that appeared to her, to seduce her from her faith.' then her people took her and went away; but she abstained from eating and drinking till the fifth night, when she rose from her bed and going forth the village to the grave of the young muslim, threw herself upon it and died. her people knew not what was come of her; but, on the morrow, there came to the village two muslim elders, clad in hair- cloth, and with them two women in like garb, and said, 'o people of the village, with you is a woman of the friends of god,[fn# ] who died a muslim, and we will take charge of her, instead of you.' so the damsel's family sought her and found her dead on the young muslim's grave; and they said, 'this our sister died in our faith, and we will take charge of her.' 'not so,' rejoined the two old men; 'she died a muslim and we claim her.' and the dispute waxed hot between them, till one of the muslims said, 'be this the test of her faith. let the forty monks of the monastery come all and [essay to] lift her from the grave. if they succeed, then she died a nazarene; if not, one of us shall come and lift her up, and if she yield to him, she died a muslim.' the villagers agreed to this and fetched the forty monks, who heartened each other and came to her, to lift her, but could not. then we tied a great rope about her middle and tugged at it with our might; but the rope broke in sunder, and she stirred nor; and the villagers came and joined their endeavour to ours, but could not move her from her place. at last, when all our devices failed, we said to one of the two old muslims, 'come thou and lift her.' so he went up to the grave and covering her with his mantle, said, 'in the name of god the compassionate, the merciful, and of the faith of the apostle of god, on whom be peace and salvation!' then he lifted her and taking her in his bosom, betook himself with her to a cave hard by, where they laid her, and the two women came and washed her and shrouded her. then the two elders bore her to the young muslim's grave and prayed over her and buried her by his side and went their way. now we were witness of all this; and when we were alone with one another, we said, 'of a verity, the truth is most worthy to be followed;[fn# ] and indeed it hath been publicly manifested to us, nor is it possible to have a clearer proof of the truth of islam than that we have seen this day with our eyes.' so i and all the monks embraced islam and on like wise did the people of the village; and we sent to the people of mesopotamia for a doctor of the law, to instruct us in the ordinances of islam and the canons of the faith. they sent us a pious man, who taught us the rites of devotion and the tenets of the faith and the service of god; and we are now in great good case. to god be the praise and the thanks!" the loves of abou isa and curret el ain. (quoth amr ben mesaadeh[fn# ]), abou isa, son or er reshid and brother to el mamoun, was enamoured of a girl called curret el ain, belonging to ali ben hisham,[fn# ] and she also loved him; but he concealed his passion, complaining of it to none neither discovering his secret to any, of his pride and magnanimity; and he had used his utmost endeavour to buy her of her lord, but in vain. at last, when his patience failed him and his passion was sore on him and he was at his wits' end concerning her affair, he went in, one day of state, to el mamoun, after the folk had retired, and said to him, "o commander of the faithful, if thou wilt this day make trial of thy governors,[fn# ] by visiting them unawares, thou wilt the men of worth from those that lack of it and note each one's [due] place, after the measure of his faculties." (but he purposed, in saying this, to win to sit with curret el ain in her lord's house.) el mamoun approved his proposal and bade make ready a barge, called the flyer, in which he embarked, with his brother and a party of his chief officers. the first house he visited was that of hemid et tawil of tous, whom he found seated on a mat and before him singers and players, with lutes and hautboys and other instruments of music in their hands. el mamoun sat with him awhile, and presently he set before him dishes of nothing but flesh-meat, with no birds among them. the khalif would not taste thereof and abou isa said to him, "o commander of the faithful, we have taken the owner of this place unawares, and he knew not of thy coming; but now let us go to another place, that is prepared and fitted for thee." so the khalif arose and betook himself, with his brother and his suite, to the abode of ali ben hisham, who, on hearing of their approach, came out and received them after the goodliest fashion, and kissed the earth before el mamoun. then he brought them into his palace and opened to them a saloon, than which never saw eyes a goodlier. its floors and walls and columns were of vari-coloured marble, adorned with greek paintings: it was spread with indian matting, on which were carpets and divans of bassora make, fitted to the length and breadth of the room. the khalif sat awhile, examining the house and its roof and walls, then said, "give us to eat." so they brought him forthwith nigh upon a hundred dishes of fowls, besides other birds and brewises and fricassees and marinades. when he had eaten, he said, "give us to drink, o ali;" and the latter set before him raisin-wine, boiled with fruits and spices, in vessels of gold and silver and crystal, served by boys like moons, clad in garments of alexandrian cloth of gold and bearing on their breasts flagons of crystal, full of rose-water mingled with musk. el mamoun marvelled exceedingly at all this and said, "harkye, aboulhusn!"[fn# ] whereupon ali sprang to the carpet [on which the khalif was seated] and kissing it, said, "at thy service, o commander of the faithful!" and stood before him. quoth el mamoun, "let us hear some pleasant songs." "i hear and obey, o commander of the faithful," replied ali and said to one of his servants, "fetch the singing-women." so he went out and returned in a moment, followed by ten eunuchs, bearing ten golden stools, which they set down; and these in their turn were followed by ten damsels, as they were shining full moons or flowerful gardens, clad in black brocade, with crowns of gold on their heads. they sat down on the stools and sang various songs. then el mamoun looked at one of them and captivated by her elegance and the beauty of her aspect, said to her, "what is thy name, o damsel?" "my name is sejahi, o commander of the faithful," answered she; and he said, "sing to us, o sejahi!" so she took the lute and playing a lively measure, sang the following verses: right stealthily, for fearfulness, i fare, the weakling's gait, who sees unto the watering-place two lion-whelps draw near, with cloak, instead of sword, begirt and bosom love-distraught and heart for eyes of enemies and spies fulfilled of fear, till in to one at last i come, a loveling delicate, like to a desert antelope, that's lost its younglings dear. "well done, o damsel!" said the khalif. "whose is this song?" "the words are by amr ben madi kerib er zubeidi,"[fn# ] answered she, "and the air is mabid's."[fn# ] then the khalif and ali and abou isa drank and the damsels went away and were succeeded by other ten, clad in flowered silk of yemen, brocaded with gold, who sat down on the chairs and sang various songs. the khalif looked at one of them, who was like a wild cow of the desert, and said to her, "what is thy name, o damsel?" "my name is zebiyeh, o commander of the faithful," answered she. "sing to us, o zebiyeh," said he; so she warbled some roulades and sang the following verses: houris, noble ladies, that reck not of disquiet, like antelopes of mecca, forbidden to be slain; of their soft speech, they're taken for courtezans; but islam still makes them from unseemliness and lewdness to refrain. when she had finished, "bravo!" cried the khalif. "whose is this song?" "the words are by jerir,"[fn# ] answered she, "and the air by suraij." then the khalif and his company drank, whilst the girls went away and there came yet another ten, as they were rubies, bareheaded and clad in red brocade, gold inwoven and broidered with pearls and jewels, who sat down on the stools and sang various airs. the khalif looked at one of them, who was like the sun of the day, and said to her, "what is thy name?" "o commander of the faithful," answered she, "my name is fatin." "sing to us, o fatin," quoth he. so she played a lively measure and sang the following verses: vouchsafe me of thy grace; 'tis time to yield consent: enough have i endured of absence and lament. thou'rt he whose face unites all charms, on whose account my patience have i lost, for very languishment. i've spent my life for love of thee; ah, would to god i might receive return for that which i have spent! "bravo, o fatin!" exclaimed the khalif, when she had finished. "whose song is that?" "the words are by adi ben zeid," answered she, "and the tune is an old one." then they drank, whilst the damsels retired and were succeeded by other ten, as they were sparkling stars, clad in flowered silk, embroidered with gold, and girt with jewelled zones. they sat down and sang various airs; and the khalif said to one of them, who was like a willow-wand, "what is thy name, o damsel!" "my name is reshaa, o commander of the faithful," answered she. "sing to us, o reshaa," said he. so she played a lively measure and sang the following verses: there's a houri healing passion [with her kiss], like a sapling or a wild gazelle at gaze. wine i quaff unto the vision of her cheeks[fn# ] and dispute the goblet with her, till she sways. then she lies and sleeps the night long in my arms, and i say, "this is the wish of all my days." "well done, o damsel!" said the khalif. "more." so she rose and kissing the ground before him, sang the following verse: she came out to gaze on the bridal at leisure, in a tunic with ambergris smeared, worth a treasure. the khalif was much pleased with this verse, which when reshaa saw, she repeated it several times. then said el mamoun, "bring up the barge," being minded to embark and depart: but ali said to him, "o commander of the faithful, i have a slave-girl, whom i bought for ten thousand dinars; she hath taken my whole heart, and i would fain show her to the commander of the faithful. if she please him and he will accept of her, she is his: and if not, let him hear something from her." "bring her to me," said the khalif; and there came forth a damsel, as she were a willow-wand, with heart-seducing eyes and eyebrows like a double bow. on her head she wore a crown of red gold, set with pearls and jewels, under which was a fillet, wrought in letters of chrysolite with the following words: behold, a jinniyeh this is; and jinn hath she also, i trow, who teach her men's hearts to transfix, by means of a stringless bow. she walked, with a gait like that of a fleeing gazelle, till she came to a chair, on which she seated herself. the khalif marvelled at her beauty and grace; but when abou isa saw her, his colour changed and he was in ill case. "o abou isa," said the khalif, "what ails thee, to change colour thus?" "o commander of the faithful," answered he, "it is because of pain that seizes me bytimes." "hast thou known yonder damsel before to-day?" asked el mamoun. "yes, o commander of the faithful," answered he. "can the moon be hidden?" then said el mamoun to her, "what is thy name, o damsel?" "my name is curret el ain, o commander of the faithful," replied she; and he said, "sing to us, o curret el ain." so she sang the following verses: the loved ones passed from thee in middle midnight's shade and fared forth in the dawn, with the pilgrims' cavalcade. the tents of pride they pitched round their pavilions and veiled themselves about with hangings of brocade. quoth the khalif, "bravo, o curret el ain! whose song is that?" "the words are by dibil el khuzai," answered she, "and the air by zourzour es seghir." abou isa looked at her and his tears choked him; so that the company marvelled at him. then she turned to el mamoun and said to him, "o commander of the faithful, wilt thou give me leave to change the words?" "sing what thou wilt," answered the khalif. so she played a lively measure and sang the following verses: if thou please me and he please thee in public, look thou hide and keep in secret straiter watch o'er love, lest ill betide. and disregard and put away the tales of slanderers; for seldom seeks the sland'rer aught but lovers to divide. they say that when a lover's near, he wearies of his love and that by absence passion's cured. 'tis false; for i have tried both remedies, but am not cured of that which is with me, withal that nearness easier is than distance to abide. yet nearness of abode, forsooth, may nowise profit thee, an if the grace of him thou lov'st be unto thee denied. when she finished, abou isa said, "o commander of the faithful, we will be at peace, though we be dishonoured. dost thou give me leave to reply to her?" "yes," answered the khalif. "say what thou wilt to her." so he swallowed his tears and sang these verses: i held my peace nor said, "i am in love;" and eke the passion that i felt even from my heart hid i: and natheless, if my eyes do manifest my love, it is because they are the shining moon anigh. then curret el ain took the lute and rejoined with the following: if what thou dost pretend were very truth, thou woulst not with mere wishing rest content, nor couldst endure to live without a girl, in charms and beauty wonder excellent. but there is nought in that thou dost avouch, save only idle talk and compliment. when abou isa heard this, he fell a-weeping and lamenting and discovered the trouble and anguish of his soul. then he raised his eyes to her and sighing, repeated the following: under my wede there is a wasted body and in my soul an all- absorbing thought. i have a heart, whose suffering is eternal, and eyes with tears like torrents ever fraught. when a wise man meets me, he rebukes me, chiding the love that thou in me hath wrought. lord, i've no strength all this my dole to suffer; prithee, come death or quick relief be brought! when he had ended, ali ben hisham sprang up and kissing his feet, said, "o my lord, god hath heard thy prayer and answered thy supplication, and consenteth to thy taking her with all her gear, so the commander of the faithful have no mind to her." "had we a mind to her," answered the khalif, "we would prefer abou isa before ourselves and help him to his desire." so saying, he rose and embarking, went away, whilst abou isa tarried for curret al ain, whom he took and carried to his own house, with a breast dilated for gladness. see then the generosity of ali ben hisham. el amin ben er reshid and his uncle ibrahim ben el mehdi. el amin,[fn# ] son of er reshid, once entered the house of his uncle ibrahim ben el mehdi and saw there a slave-girl playing upon the lute. she was one of the fairest of women, and his heart inclined to her. ibrahim, seeing how it was with him, sent the girl to him, with rich apparel and precious jewels. when he saw her, he thought that his uncle had lain with her; so he was loath to have to do with her, because of this, and sent her back to ibrahim, accepting the present that came with her. ibrahim learnt the reason of this from one of el amin's servants; so he took a shift of flowered silk and let work upon his skirt, in letters of gold, the following lines: by him to whom all fronts do bow, of that which is beneath her skirt, i swear, i'm ignorant outright; nor have i had in aught to meddle with her mouth, except it were by way of hearing and of sight. then he clad her in the shift and giving her a lute sent her once more to his nephew. when she came into the latter's presence, she kissed the earth before him and tuning the lute, sang thereto the following verses: by returning the gift, thou showest what's hid in thy breast, and thine aversion to me is made manifest. as thou bear malice for aught that hath been,--forgive the past, for the khalifate's sake, and let it rest. when she had made an end of her song, el amin looked at her and reading that which was wrought upon her skirt, could not control himself, but drew near unto her and kissed her and appointed her a separate lodging in his palace. moreover, he thanked his uncle for this and bestowed on him the government of er reï.[fn# ] el feth ben khacan and the khalif el mutawekkil. the khalid el mutawekkil[fn# ] was once again taking medicine, and folk sent him all manner of presents and rarities. amongst others, el feth ben khacan[fn# ] sent him a virgin slave, high-bosomed, of the fairest of women of her time, and with her a vase of crystal, containing red wine, and a goblet of red gold, whereon were graven in black the following verses: when th' imam's made an end of taking medicine and health and strength ensue to him thereon, in fine, there's no medicament befits him but to drink, from out this cup, a draught of this decocted wine. and break the seal[fn# ] reserved to him, for this, indeed, right salutary is, hard after medicine. now the physician youhenna[fn# ] was with the khalif, when the damsel entered; and when he read the above verses, he smiled and said, 'by allah, o commander of the faithful, feth is better versed than i in the art of medicine: so let not the commander of the faithful gainsay his prescription.' accordingly, the khalif followed el feth's prescription and was made whole by the blessing of god. the man's dispute with the learned woman of the relative excellence of the male and the female. (quoth a certain man of learning) i never saw a woman sharper- witted, more intelligent, better furnished in learning, more excellent of faculties or more pleasant of ingredients than a female preacher of the people of baghdad, by name sitt el meshayikh.[fn# ] it chanced that she came to the city of hemah in the year [of the hegira] [fn# ] and there delivered salutary exhortations to the folk from the pulpits. now there used to visit her house a number of students of divinity and [other] persons of learning and culture, who would argue with her upon questions of theology and discuss controversial points with her. i went to her one day, with a friend of mine, a man of education; and when we had taken our seats, she set before us a dish of fruit and seated herself behind a curtain. now she had a [young] brother, a handsome youth, who stood by us, to serve us. when we had eaten, we fell to disputing upon points of divinity, and i propounded to her a theological question, bearing upon a difference between the imams.[fn# ] she proceeded to speak in answer, whilst i listened; but my friend fell the while to looking upon her brother's face and considering his charms, without paying any heed to what she said. now she was watching him from behind the curtain; so, when she had made an end of her exposition, she turned to him and said, "meseems thou art of those that give men the preference over women!" "assuredly," answered he. "and why so?" asked she. "because," replied he, "god hath preferred the male over the female; and i love that which excels and mislike that which is excelled." she laughed and said, "wilt thou deal fairly with me in argument, if i argue the matter with thee?" "i will," answered he. then said she, "what is the evidence of the superiority of the male to the female?" "it is of two kinds," answered he, "that which is founded on authority and that which is founded on reason. the authoritative part derives from the koran and the sunneh [traditions of the prophet]. as for the former, quoth god the most high, 'men stand above women, in that god hath given these the preference over those;'[fn# ] and again, 'if there be not two men, then [call] one man and two women;' [fn# ] and again, when treating of the law of inheritance, '[if there be brothers and sisters,] let each male have the like of the portion of two females.'[fn# ] thus god, blessed and exalted be he, hath in these places preferred the male over the female and teaches that a woman is as the half of a man, for that he is worthier than she. as for the sunneh, is it not reported of the prophet (whom god bless and preserve) that he appointed the blood-wit for a woman to be half that of a man? as for the evidence of reason, the male is the agent and the female the patient." "thou hast said well, o my lord," rejoined she; "but, by allah, thou hast proved my contention with thine own lips and hast advanced arguments that tell against thee, and not for thee. thus: god (blessed and exalted be he) preferred the male above the female, solely because of the quality of masculinity; and in this, there is no difference between us. now this quality [of masculinity] is common to the child, the boy, the youth, the adult and the graybeard; nor is there any distinction between them in this. since, then, the superior excellence of man enures to him solely by virtue of the quality of masculinity, it behoves that thy heart incline to the graybeard and thy soul delight in him, equally with the boy, seeing that there is no distinction between them, in point of masculinity. but the difference between thee and me turns upon the qualities that are sought as constituting excellence of intercourse and delight of usance; and thou hast adduced no proof of the superiority of the male over the female in this." "o my lady," answered he, "knowest thou not that which is proper to the boy of symmetry of shape and rosy cheeks and pleasant smile and sweetness of speech? boys are, in these respects, superior to women; and the proof of this is what is reported of the prophet, that he said, 'stay not thy gaze upon the beardless boys, for in them is the similitude[fn# ] of the black-eyed girls of paradise.' nor indeed is the superiority of the boy over the girl hidden to any, and how well saith abou nuwas: the least of his virtues it is that thou'rt free from uncleanness with him nor with child can he be. and what another poet says: quoth th' iman abou nuwas, past-master sure was he in every canon of debauch and jolly knavery, "o ye that love the downy cheeks of younglings, take your fill of a delight, in paradise that will not founden be." so if one enlarge in praise of a girl and wish to enhance her value by the mention of her charms, he likens her to a boy, because of the illustrious qualities that belong to the latter, even as saith the poet: boylike of buttocks, to and fro, in amorous dalliance, she sways as sway the nodding canes that in the north wind dance. if boys, then, were not superior to girls, why should the latter be likened to them? and know also, may god the most high preserve thee, that a boy is easy to be led, adapting himself to the wish, pleasant of commerce and manners, inclining to assent rather than difference, especially when the down on his face creeps lightly and the hair darkens on his lips and the vermilion of early youth runs in his cheeks, so that he is like the full moon; and how goodly is the saying of abou temmam: [fn# ] "the whiskers on his cheek appear;" the slanderers said to me; quoth i, "that's none of his defect; so give me no more prate." what time he came of age to bear buttocks that here and there pulled him and over beads of pearl his lips' hair darkened late and eke the rose a solemn oath, full fast and binding, swore its ruddy marvels from his cheek should never separate, i with my eyelids spoke to him, without the need of speech, and for reply thereto was what his eyebrows answered straight. his goodliness still goodlier is than that thou knewst of yore, and the hair guardeth him from those his charms would violate. brighter and sweeter are his charms, now on his cheek the down shows and the hair upon his lips grows dark and delicate; and those who chide me for the love of him, when they take up their parable of him and me, say evermore, "his mate." and quoth el heriri[fn# ] and saith well: my censors say, "what is this love and doting upon him? seest not the hair upon his cheeks that sprouts? where is thy wit?" quoth i, "by allah, an ye chide at me, i rede you note the exposition of the truth that in his eyes is writ. but for the blackness of the down, that veils his chin and cheeks, upon the brightness of his face no mortal gaze might sit. a man who sojourns in a land, wherein no herbage is, whenas the very spring arrives, shall he depart from it?" and quoth another: "he is consoled," say the censors of me; but, by heaven, they lie! for solace and comfort come hardly to those for longing that sigh. when the rose of his cheek stood blooming alone, i was not consoled; so how should i now find solace, that basil has sprung thereby? and again: a slender one, whose glances and the down upon his cheeks each other, in the slaying of folk, abet and aid. a sabre of narcissus[fn# ] withal, he sheddeth blood, the hangers[fn# ] of its scabbard of very myrtle made. and again: not with his wine i'm drunken, but with his tresses bright, that make all creatures drunken, yea, all beneath the sky. each of his charms doth envy the others; ay, and each to be the down so silky upon his cheek doth sigh. these are the excellences of the boy, that women do not possess, and these suffice and more to give boys the preference in grace and glory over women." "god give thee health!" cried she. "verily, thou hast imposed the discussion upon thyself; and thou hast spoken and hast not stinted and hast adduced these arguments, in support of thy contention. but now is the truth made manifest;[fn# ] so swerve thou not from the path thereof; and if thou be not content with a summary of proof, i will set it out to thee in detail. god on thee, where is the boy beside the girl and who shall liken the kid to the wild cow? the girl is soft of speech, fair of shape, like a stalk of sweet basil, with teeth like chamomile-petals and hair like halters. her cheeks are like blood-red anemones and her face like an apple; she hath lips like wine and breasts like double pomegranates and a shape flexile as a willow-wand. her body is rounded and well-formed: she hath a nose like the point of a shining sword and a forehead brilliant with whiteness and joined eyebrows and black and melting eyes. if she speak, fresh pearls are scattered from her mouth and all hearts are ravished by the daintiness of her charms; when she smiles, thou wouldst think the moon shone out from between her lips and when she gazes, swords flash from her eyes. in her all beauties have their term, and she is the centre of attraction of traveller and stay-at-home. she hath two red lips softer than cream and sweeter of taste than honey, and a bosom, as it were a way between two hills, wherein are a pair of breasts like globes of ivory; likewise, a smooth belly, soft of flanks as palm-flowers[fn# ] and creased with folds and dimples that overlap one another, and luxuriant thighs, like columns of pearl, and buttocks, that beat together like seas of crystal or mountains of light, and two slender feet and hands like ingot of virgin gold. so, o wretched fellow, where are mortal men besides the jinn? knowest thou not that mighty kings and captains and noble princes still submit themselves humbly to women and depend on them for delight? verily, they [women] say, 'we rule over [all] necks and captivate [all] hearts.' how many a rich man have they not made poor, how many a powerful one have they not humbled and how many a noble have they not reduced to servitude! indeed, they seduce the learned and bring the pious to shame and make poor the rich and plunge the favoured of fortune into misery. yet, for all this, the wise but redouble in love and honour of them, nor do they count this oppression or dishonour. how many a man for them hath transgressed against his lord and called down on himself the wrath of his father and mother! and all this because of the preponderance of the love of them over hearts. knowest thou not, o wretched fellow, that for them are palaces built and slave-girls bought, and over them curtains are let down, that for them do tears flow and for them armies levied and pleasure- houses raised up and riches gathered and heads smitten off? and indeed he spoke sooth who said, 'the world is a commentary [fn# ] upon women.' as for thy citation from the holy traditions, it is an argument against thee and not for thee; for the prophet (whom god bless and preserve) compares boys to the houris of paradise. now, without doubt, the subject of comparison is more worthy than the object compared with it; so, except women be the worthier and the goodlier, wherefore should other than they be likened to them? as for thy saying that girls are likened to boys, it is not so, but the contrary: boys are likened to girls; for folk say, 'yonder boy is like a girl.' as for that thou quotest from the poets, the verses in question were the product of an unnatural complexion in this respect; and as for the confirmed sodomists and debauchees, that sin against religion, whom god hath condemned in his holy book, wherein he denounceth their filthy practices, saying, 'do ye betake you to males from the four corners of the world and forsake that which your lord hath created for you of your wives? nay, but ye are a froward folk.'[fn# ] these it is that liken girls to boys, of their exceeding profligacy and frowardness and inclination to follow the devil and their own lusts, so that they say, 'she is apt for two men;' and these are all wanderers from the path of right. quoth their chief abou nuwas: a slender one, boyish of waist and of wit, for wencher as well as for sodomite fit. as for what thou sayest of a boy's whiskers and moustaches and how they add to his beauty and grace, by allah, thou wanderest from the right path and sayest that which is other than the truth; for whiskers change the charms of the comely into ugliness; even as saith the poet: the whiskers, that sprout on the cheek of the wight, his lovers avenge, if he 've done them unright. i see not on 's face what is like unto smoke, except that his curls are as coals to the sight. if the most of his paper[fn# ] thus blackened be, where is there room, deemest thou, for the pen to indite? if any prefer him another above, 'tis ignorance makes them thus turn from the light. glory be to god", continued she, "how is it hidden from thee that the perfection of delight is in women and that abiding pleasure is not to be found but with them? seeing that god (blessed and exalted be he) hath promised his prophets and saints black-eyed damsels in paradise and hath appointed them for a recompense of their pious works: and had god the most high known that the supreme delight was in the possession of other than women, he had rewarded them therewith and promised it to them. and quoth he whom god bless and preserve, 'the things in which i most delight of [the things of] your world are three: women and perfume and the solace of my eyes in prayer.' verily, god hath appointed boys to serve his prophets and saints in paradise, because paradise is the abode of delight and pleasance, which could not be complete without the service of boys; but, as to the use of them for aught but service, it is sin and corruption. how well saith the poet: men's turning unto boys is very frowardness; who noble[fn# ] women loves is noble[fn# ] none the less. what difference 'twixt the lewd and him whose bedfellow a houri is, for looks a very sorceress. he rises from her couch and she hath given him scent; he perfumes all the house therewith and each recess. no boy, indeed, is worth to be compared with her: shall aloes evened be with what not filthiness?" then said she, "o folk, ye have made me overpass the bounds of modesty and the province of free-born women and indulge in idle talk and freedoms of speech, that beseem not people of learning. but the breasts of the noble are the tombs of secrets, and conversations of this kind are in confidence. moreover, actions are according to intents, and i ask pardon of god for myself and you and all muslims, seeing that he is forgiving and merciful." with this she held her peace and thereafter would answer us of nought; so we went our way, rejoicing in that we had profited by her discourses and sorrowing to part from her. abou suweid and the handsome old woman. (quoth abou suweid), i entered a garden one day, i and a company of my friends, to buy somewhat of fruit; and we saw, in a corner of the place, an old woman, who was bright of face, but her hair was white, and she was combing it with a comb of ivory. we stopped before her, but she paid no heed to us neither veiled her face so i said to her' "o old woman, wert thou to dye thy hair black, thou wouldst be handsomer than a girl. what hinders thee from this?" she raised her head and looking at me with great eyes, recited the following verses: that which the years had dyed, i dyed erewhen but, sooth to tell, my dye endureth not, whilst that of time's perdurable clad in the raiment of my youth and beauty, of old days, proudly i walked, and back and front, men had with me to mell "by allah," cried i, "bravo to thee for an old woman! how sincere art thou in thy yearning remembrance of sin and how false in thy presence of repentance from for bidden things!" the amir ali ben tahir and the girl mounis. there was once shown to the amir ali ben mohammed ben abdallah ben tahir[fn# ] a slave-girl, who was excellently handsome and well-bred and an accomplished poetess; and he asked her of her name. 'may god advance the amir,' replied she, 'my name is mounis.' now he knew this before; so he bowed his head awhile, then raising his eyes to her, recited the following verse: what dost thou say of one, on whom sickness and pain have wrought, for love and longing after thee, till he is grown distraught? 'god exalt the amir!' answered she and recited this verse in reply: an if we saw a lover true, on whom the pangs of love were sore, we would to him vouchsafe the favours that he sought. her reply pleased him; so he bought her for threescore and ten thousand dirhems and begat on her obeidallah teen mohammed, after police-magistrate [at baghdad]. the woman who had a boy and the other who had a man to lover. (quoth abou el ainaä[fn# ]), there were in our street two women, one of whom had to lover a man and the other a beardless boy, and they foregathered one night on the roof of a house, not knowing that i was within hearing. quoth one to the other, "o my sister, how canst thou brook the harshness of thy lover's beard, as it falls on thy breast, when he kisses thee, and his moustaches rub thy cheek and lips?" "silly wench that thou art," replied the other, "what adorns the tree but its leaves and the cucumber but its bloom? didst ever see aught uglier than a scald-head, with his beard plucked out? knowest thou not that the beard is to men as the side-locks to women; and what is the difference between the chin and the cheek? knowest thou not that god (blessed and exalted be he) hath created an angel in heaven, who saith, 'glory be to him who adorneth men with beards and women with tresses?' so, were not the beard even as the tresses in comeliness, it had not been coupled with them, o silly woman! how shall i underlie a boy, who will be hasty with me in emission and forestall me in flaccescence, and leave a man, who, when he takes breath, clips close and when he enters, goes leisurely, and when he has done, repeats, and when he pushes, pushes hard, and as often as he withdraws, returns?" the other was edified by her speech and said, "i forswear my lover by the lord of the kaabeh!" the haunted house in baghdad. there lived once, in the city of cairo, a merchant by name hassan the jeweller of baghdad, who had great store of wealth in money and jewels and lands and houses beyond count. god had blessed him with a son of perfect beauty and elegance, rosy-cheeked, fair of face and well-shaped, whom he named ali of cairo and taught the koran and science and elocution and the other branches of polite letters, till he became proficient in all manner of knowledge and was under his father's hand in trade. after awhile, hassan fell sick and his sickness increased upon him, till he made sure of death and calling his son to him, said, 'o my son, verily this world passeth away; but the next endureth for ever. every soul must taste of death; and now, o my son, my last hour is at hand and i desire to lay on thee an injunction, which if thou observe, thou shalt abide in peace and prosperity, till thou meet god the most high; but if thou follow it not, there shall befall thee weariness galore and thou wilt repent of having transgressed my admonitions.' 'o my father,' replied ali, 'how shall i do other than hearken to thee and do after thine enjoinder, seeing that i am bounden by the law of god to obey thee and give ear to thy word?' 'o my son,' rejoined his father, 'i leave thee lands and houses and goods and wealth past count; wert thou each day to spend thereof five hundred dinars, thou wouldst miss nought of it. but, o my son, look that thou live in the fear of god and follow his chosen one (whom may he bless and preserve) in what he is reported to have enjoined and forbidden in his traditions. be thou assiduous in good works and the practice of beneficence and in consorting with men of worth and piety and learning; and look that thou have a care for the poor and needy and shun avarice and meanness and the converse of the wicked or those of doubtful character. look kindly upon thy servants and family, and also upon thy wife, for she is of the daughters of the notables and is with child by thee; belike god will vouchsafe thee virtuous offspring by her.' and he went on to exhort him thus, weeping and saying, 'o my son, i beseech god the bountiful, the lord of the empyrean, to deliver thee from all straits that may betide thee and grant thee his speedy relief!' his son wept sore and said, 'o my father, i am consumed by thy words, for they are as the words of one that saith farewell.' 'yes, o my son,' replied the merchant, 'i am ware of my condition: forget thou not my enjoinder.' then he fell to repeating the professions of the faith and reciting [verses of the koran], until the appointed hour arrived, when he said, 'draw near unto me, o my son.' so ali drew near and he kissed him; then he sighed and his soul departed his body and he went to the mercy of god the most high. therewith great grief fell upon ali; the noise of lamentation arose in his house and his father's friends flocked to him. then he betook himself to preparing him for burial and made him a splendid funeral. they bore him to the place of prayer and prayed over him, then to the cemetery, where they buried him and recited over him what was fitting of the koran; after which they returned to the house and condoled with the dead man's son and went each his own way. moreover, ali prayed the friday prayers for his father and let make recitations of the whole koran for the [accustomed] space of forty days, during which time he abode in the house and went not forth, save to the place of prayer; and every friday he visited his father's tomb. he ceased not from his prayers and devotions, till, at last, his fellows of the sons of the merchants came in to him one day and saluting him, said, 'how long wilt thou keep up this thy mourning and neglect thy business and the company of thy friends? verily, this is a fashion that will bring thee weariness, and thy body will suffer greatly for it.' now, when they came in to him, iblis the accursed was with them, prompting them, and they went on to press him to accompany them to the bazaar, whilst iblis incited him to consent to them, till he yielded and went forth the house with them, that the will of god (blessed and exalted be he) might be fulfilled. 'mount thy mule,' quoth they, 'and ride with us to such a garden, that we may divert us there and that thy grief and melancholy may depart from thee.' so he mounted and taking his slave, went with them to the garden in question, where they entered, and one of them went and making ready the morning- meal, brought it to them there. so they ate and made merry and sat, talking, till the end of the day, when they mounted and returned each to his own lodging, where they passed the night. on the morrow, they said to ali, 'come with us.' 'whither?' asked he, and they answered, 'to such a garden; for it is finer than the first and more pleasant.' so he went with them to the garden, and one of them, going away, made ready the morning-meal and brought it to them, together with strong wine; and ali said, 'what is this?' quoth they, 'this is what dispels grief and unveils gladness.' and they went on to commend it to him, till they prevailed upon him and he drank with them. then they sat, drinking and talking, till the end of the day, when each returned home. as for ali, he was giddy with wine and went in, in this plight, to his wife, who said to him, 'what ails thee?' quoth he, 'we were making merry to-day, when one of my companions brought us liquor; so my friends drank and i with them, and this giddiness came upon me.' 'o my lord,' said she, 'hast thou forgotten thy fathers injunction and done that from which he forbade thee, in consorting with lewd folk?' 'these are of the sons of the merchants,' answered he; 'they are no lewd folk, only lovers of mirth and good cheer.' and he continued to lead this life with his friends, day after day, going from place to place and feasting and drinking with them, till they said to him, 'our turns are ended, and now it is thy turn.' 'welcome and fair welcome!' answered he; so, on the morrow, he made ready all that the case called for of meat and drink, double what they had provided, and taking cooks and tent-pitchers and coffee- makers, repaired with the others to er rauzeh[fn# ] and the nilometer, where they abode a whole month, eating and drinking and hearing music and making merry. at the end of the month, ali found that he had spent a great sum of money; but satan the accursed deluded him and said to him, 'though thou shouldst spend every day a like sum, yet would not thy wealth fail.' so he took no account of expense and continued this way of life three years, whilst his wife remonstrated with him and reminded him of his father's injunctions; but he hearkened not to her, till he had spent all his ready money, when he fell to selling his jewels and spending their price, till they were all gone. then he sold his houses and lands and farms and gardens, one after another, till they were all gone and he had nothing left but the house in which he lived. so he tore out the marble and wood-work and sold it and spent of its price, till he had made an end of this also, when he bethought himself and finding that he had nothing left to spend, sold the house itself and spent the purchase-money. presently, the man who had bought the house came to him and said, 'look thyself out a lodging, for i have need of my house.' so he bethought himself and considering that he had nothing requiring a house, except his wife, who had borne him a son and daughter,--for he had not a servant left,--hired a room in one of the mean lodging houses and there took up his abode, after having lived in honour and luxury, with many servants and much wealth, and came to lack of one day's bread. quoth his wife, 'i warned thee of this and exhorted thee to obey thy father's injunction, and thou wouldst not hearken to me; but there is no power and no virtue save in god the most high, the supreme! whence shall the little ones eat? arise, go round to thy friends, the sons of the merchants: it may be they will give thee somewhat on which we may live this day.' so he went the round of his friends, one by one; but they all hid their faces from him and gave him nothing but injurious and revolting words; and he returned to his wife and said to her, 'they have given me nothing.' thereupon she went out to beg of her neighbours wherewithal to sustain themselves and came to a woman, whom she had known in former days. when she came in to her and she saw her plight, she rose and receiving her kindly, wept and said, 'what hath befallen thee?' so she told her of her husband's conduct, and the other said, 'welcome and fair welcome! whatever thou needest, seek it of me, without price.' 'may god abundantly requite thee!' answered she. then her friend gave her as much victual as would suffice herself and her family a whole month, and she took it and returned to her lodging. when her husband saw her, he wept and said, 'whence hadst thou that?' 'i got it of such a woman,' answered she; 'for, when i told her what had befallen us, she failed me not in aught, but said, "seek of me all thou needest."' 'since thou hast this,' rejoined her husband, 'i will betake myself to a place i have in my mind; peradventure god the most high will bring us relief.' so saying, he took leave of her and kissing the children, went out, not knowing whither he should go, and walked on till he came to boulac,[fn# ] where he saw a ship about to sail for damietta. here he met a man, between whom and his father there had been friendship; and he saluted him and said to him, 'whither away?' 'to damietta,' replied ali; 'i have friends there, whom i would fain enquire after and visit and return.' the man took him home and entreated him hospitably, then, furnishing him with victual [for the voyage] and giving him somewhat of money, embarked him on board the vessel bound for damietta. when they reached that place, ali landed, not knowing where to go, but, as he was walking along, a merchant saw him and had pity on him. so he carried him to his house, where he abode awhile, till he said in himself, 'how long shall this sojourning in other folks' houses last?' then he left the merchant's house and went down to the quay, where he saw a ship ready to sail for syria. his host provided him with victual and embarked him in the ship; and it set sail and arrived, in due course, at the coast of syria, where he landed and journeyed till he entered damascus. as he walked about the town, a benevolent man saw him and took him to his house, where he abode awhile, till, one day, going abroad, he saw a caravan about to start for baghdad and bethought himself to journey thither with it. so he returned to his host and taking leave of him, set out with the caravan. now god (blessed and exalted be he) inclined to him the heart of one of the merchants, so that he took him with him, and ali ate and drank with him, till they came within one day's journey of baghdad, where a company of highwaymen fell upon the caravan and took all they had. but few of the merchants escaped and these made each for a [separate] place of refuge. as for ali, he made for baghdad, where he arrived at sundown, as the gatekeepers were about to shut the gates, and said to them 'let me in with you.' so they admitted him and asked him whence he came and whither he was bound. 'i am a man from the city of cairo,' replied he, 'and have with me mules laden with merchandise and slaves and servants. i forewent them, to look me out a place wherein to deposit my goods; but as i rode along on my mule, there fell upon me a company of highway robbers, who took my mule and gear; nor did i escape from them but at the last gasp.' the warders entreated him hospitably and bade him welcome, saying, 'abide with us this night, and in the morning we will look thee out a place befitting thee.' then he sought in his pocket and finding a dinar remaining of those he had gotten of the merchant at boulac, gave it to one of the gatekeepers, saying, 'take this and change it and bring us something to eat.' the man took it and went to the market, where he changed it and brought ali bread and cooked meat. so he ate, he and the gatekeepers, and he lay the night with them. on the morrow, one of the warders carried him to a merchant of the town, to whom he told the same story, and he believed him, deeming that he was a merchant and had with him loads of merchandise. so he took him up into his shop and entreated him with honour. moreover, he sent to his house for a splendid suit of his own apparel for him and carried him to the bath. so, [quoth ali], i went with him to the bath, and when we came out, he brought me to his house, where he caused set the morning-meal before us, and we ate and made merry. then said he to one of his slaves, "harkye, mesoud, take this thy lord and show him the two houses in such a place. whichever pleases him of them, give him the key of it and come back." so i went with the slave, till we came to a place where stood three houses, side by side, new and shut up. he opened the first and the second, and i looked at them; after which he said to me, "of which of them shall i give thee the key?" "to whom does yon large house belong?" asked i. "to us," answered he; and i said, "open it, that i may view it." quoth he, "thou hast no call to it." "wherefore?" asked i; and he, "because it is haunted, and none lodges there but in the morning he is a dead man; nor do we use to open the door, to take out the corpse, but mount the roof of one of the other two houses and take it up thence. for this reason, my master has abandoned the house and says, 'i will never again give it to any one.'" quoth i, "open it, that i may view it;" and i said in myself, "this is what i seek. i will pass the night there and in the morning be a dead man and be at peace from this miserable plight of mine." so he opened it and i entered and found it a splendid house, without its like; and i said to the slave, "i will have none other than this house; give me the key." but he answered, "i will not give thee this key till i consult my master," and going to the latter, said to him, "the egyptian merchant saith, 'i will lodge in none but the great house.'" when the merchant heard this, he rose and coming to ali, said to him, 'o my lord, thou hast no need of this house.' but he replied, 'i will lodge in none other than this; for i care nothing for this saying.'[fn# ] 'then,' said the other, 'write me an acknowledgment that, if aught happen to thee, i am not responsible.' 'so be it,' answered ali; whereupon the merchant fetched an assessor from the cadi's court and taking of him the prescribed acknowledgment, delivered him the key, which he took and entered the house. the merchant sent him bedding by a slave, who spread it for him on the bench behind the door and went away. presently ali went into the inner court and seeing there a well with a bucket, let down the latter and drew water, with which he made the ablution and prayed the obligatory prayers. then he sat awhile, till the merchant's slave brought him the evening meal from his master's house, together with a lamp, a candle and candlestick, a basin and ewer and a gugglet; after which he left him and returned home. ali lighted the candle and supped at his ease and prayed the evening prayer; after which he said to himself, 'let us take the bed and go upstairs and sleep there, rather than here.' so he took the bed and carried it upstairs, where he found a splendid saloon, with gilded ceiling and walls and floor of variegated marble. he spread his bed there and sitting down, began to recite somewhat of the sublime koran, when suddenly he heard one calling to him and saying, 'o ali, o son of hassan, shall i send thee down the gold?' and he answered, 'send away.' hardly had he spoken, when pieces of gold began to rain down on him, like [pebbles from] a mangonel, nor stinted till the saloon was full. then said the voice, 'set me free, that i may go my way; for i have made an end of my service and have delivered unto thee that which was committed to me for thee.' quoth ali, 'i adjure thee by the most high god to tell me the history of this gold.' 'this is a treasure that was enchanted to thee of old time,' replied the voice; 'and to every one, who entered the house, we used to come and say to him, "o ali, o son of hassan, shall we send down the gold?" whereat he would be affrighted and cry out, and we would come down to him and break his neck and go away. but, when thou camest and we accosted thee by thy name and that of thy father, saying, "shall we send thee down the gold?" and thou madest answer, saying, "send away," we knew thee for the owner of it and sent it down. moreover, there is yet another treasure for thee in the land of yemen, whither thou wouldst do well to journey and fetch it. and now i would have thee set me free, that i may go my way.' 'by allah,' said ali, 'i will not set thee free, till thou bring me hither the treasure from yemen!' quoth the voice, 'if i bring it thee, wilt thou release me and the servant of the other treasure also?' 'yes,' replied ali; and the genie said, 'swear to me.' so he swore to him, and he was about to go away, when ali said to him, 'i have one other service to ask of thee.' 'what is that?' asked the genie. quoth ali, 'i have a wife and children at cairo, in such a place; thou must fetch them to me, at their ease and without hurt.' 'i will bring them to thee in state,' answered the genie, 'in a litter, with a train of slaves and servants, together with the treasure from yemen, if it be the will of god the most high.' then he took of him leave of absence for three days, at the end of which time all this should be with him, and departed. when it was morning, ali went round about the saloon, seeking a place wherein to lay the gold, and saw in the wall of the dais a marble panel, with a knob in it. so he pressed the knob and the panel slid back and discovered a door, which he opened and entering, found a great closet, full of linen bags. so he took out the bags and fell to filling them with gold and replacing them in the closet, till he had transported thither the whole treasure, whereupon he shut the door and pressing the knob, the panel returned to its place. then he went down and seated himself on the bench behind the door. presently, there came a knock at the door; so he opened it and found the merchant's slave, who, seeing him, returned in haste to his master with the good tidings, saying, 'o my lord, the merchant, who is lodged in the haunted house, is alive and well and sits on the bench behind the door.' when the merchant heard this, he rose joyfully and went to the house, taking breakfast with him; and when he saw ali, he embraced him and kissed him between the eyes, saying, 'how hath god dealt with thee?' 'right well,' answered ali. 'i slept upstairs in the marble saloon.' quoth the merchant, 'did aught come to thee or didst thou see aught?' 'no,' replied ali; 'i recited some little of the koran and slept till morning, when i arose and after making the ablution and praying, came down and seated myself on the bench behind the door.' 'praised be god for safety!' exclaimed the merchant, then left him and presently sent him slaves and servants, black and white and male and female, with furniture. they swept the house from top to bottom and furnished it magnificently, after which three black slaves and the like number of white and four slave-girls abode with him, to serve him, and the rest returned to their master's house. when the merchants heard of him, they sent him presents of all manner of things of price, even to meat and drink and clothes, and took him with them in the market, saying, 'when will thy baggage arrive?' and he answered, 'after three days it will come.' accordingly, when the three days had elapsed, the servant of the first treasure came to him and said, 'go forth and meet thy harem, together with the treasure i have brought thee from yemen, part of which is by way of costly merchandise; but the slaves, black and white, and the horses and camels and mules are all of the jinn. (now the genie, when he betook himself to cairo, found ali's wife and children in sore straits for nakedness and hunger; so he carried them forth of the town in a travelling-litter and clad them in sumptuous raiment of that which was in the treasure of yemen.) when ali heard this, he rose and repairing to the merchants, said to them, 'come, go forth the city with me, to meet the caravan, with my merchandise, and honour me with the presence of your harems, to meet my harem.' 'we hear and obey,' answered they and sending for their harems, went forth all together and alighted in one of the gardens without the city. as they sat talking, behold, a cloud of dust arose out of the heart of the desert, and they came out to see what it was. presently, it lifted and discovered mules and muleteers and tent-pitchers and linkmen, who came on, singing and dancing, till they reached the garden, when the chief of the muleteers came up to ali and kissing his hand, said to him, 'o my lord, we have been long on the way, for we thought to enter some days ago; but we were in fear of the highway-robbers, so abode in our station four days, till god the most high rid us of them.' then the merchants mounted their mules and rode forward with the caravan, wondering at the [number of] mules laden with chests, whilst their harems followed them, with ali's harem, marvelling at the richness of the apparel of his wife and children and saying to each other, 'verily, the king of baghdad hath no such raiment, no, nor any other of the kings or merchants or notables.' so they entered baghdad in great state and rode on till they came to ali's house, where they alighted and brought the mules and their burdens into the midst of the courtyard. then they unloaded them and laid up the goods in the storehouses, whilst the merchants' wives went up with ali's family to the saloon, which they found as it were a luxuriant garden, spread with magnificent furniture. they sat in mirth and good cheer till noon, when they brought them up the noon meal, of all manner meats and sweetmeats of the best; and they ate and drank costly sherbets and perfumed themselves thereafter with rose-water and scented woods. then they took leave and departed, men and women. when the merchants returned home, they all sent presents to ali, according to their conditions; and their wives likewise sent presents to his wife, so that there came to them great plenty of slaves, black and white and male and female, and store of all manner goods, such as grain and sugar and so forth, beyond count. as for the landlord of the house, he abode with ali and quitted him not, but said to him, 'let the slaves and servants take the mules and the other cattle into one of my other houses, to rest.' quoth ali, 'they set out again to-night for such a place.' then he gave them leave to go forth the city, that they might set out on their journey at nightfall; whereupon they took leave of him forthright and departing the city, flew off through the air to their several abodes. ali and the merchant sat together till a third of the night was past, when the latter returned to his own house and ali went up to his wife and children and greeted them, saying, 'what hath befallen you all this time?' so she told him what they had suffered of hunger and nakedness and toil, and he said, 'praised be god for safety! how did ye come?' 'o my lord,' answered she, 'i was asleep, with my children, yesternight, when suddenly one raised us from the ground and carried us through the air, without doing us any hurt, nor did he give over flying with us, till he set us down in a place as it were a bedouin camping-place, where we saw laden mules and a litter borne upon two great mules, and round them servants, boys and men. so i said to them, "who are ye and what are these loads and where are we?" and they answered, "we are the servants of the merchant ali ibn hassan of cairo, who has sent us to fetch you to him at baghdad." quoth i, "is it far or near, hence to baghdad?" "near," answered they; "there lies but the darkness of the night between us and the city." then they mounted us in the litter, and on the morrow, we found ourselves with thee, without having suffered any hurt. 'who gave you these clothes?' asked he, and she said, 'the chief of the caravan opened one of the chests on the mules and taking out the clothes, clad me and the children each in a suit; after which he locked the chest and gave me the key, saying, "take care of it, till thou give it to thy husband." and here it is, safe.' so saying, she gave him the key, and he said, 'dost thou know the chest?' 'yes,' answered she. so he took her down to the magazine and she pointed it out, whereupon he put the key in the lock and opened the chest, in which he found much raiment and the keys of all the other chests. so he took them out and fell to opening the other chests, one after another, and feasting his eyes upon the jewels and precious metals they contained, whose like was not found with any of the kings; after which he locked them again and took the keys, saying to his wife, 'this is of the bounty of god the most high.' then he returned with her to the saloon and bringing her to the secret panel, pressed the knob and opened the door of the closet into which he entered with her and showed her the gold he had laid up there. quoth she, 'whence hadst thou all this?' 'it came to me by the grace of my lord,' answered he and told her all that had befallen him, from first to last. 'o my lord,' said she, 'all this comes of the blessing of thy father's prayers, whenas he prayed for thee, before his death, saying, "i beseech god to cast thee into no strait, except he bring thee speedy deliverance [therefrom]!" so praised be god the most high for that he hath brought thee relief and hath requited thee with more than thou didst lose! but god on thee, o my lord, return not to thy sometime fashion and companying with folk of lewd life; but look thou fear god the most high, both in public and private!' and she went on to admonish him. quoth he, 'i accept thine admonition and beg god the most high to remove the wicked from us and stablish us in his obedience and in the observance of the law of his prophet, on whom be peace and salvation!' ali and his wife and children were now in all delight of life and gladness; and he opened him a shop in the merchants' bazaar and stocking it with jewels and precious metals, sat therein with his children and servants. he soon became the most considerable of the merchants of baghdad, and his report reached the king of that city, who sent a messenger to command his attendance. so he took four trays of red gold and filling them with jewels and precious metals, such as no king possessed, went up to the palace and presenting himself before the prince, kissed the earth before him and wished him continuance of glory and prosperity, in the best words he could command. 'o merchant,' said the king, 'thou honourest our city with thy presence;' and ali rejoined, saying, 'o king of the age, thy slave hath brought thee a present and hopes for acceptance thereof from thy favour.' so saying, he laid the four trays before the king, who uncovered them and seeing that they contained jewels, whose like he possessed not and whose worth equalled treasuries of money, said, 'o merchant, thy present is accepted, and so god please, we will requite thee with its like.' and ali kissed his hands and went away. then the king called his grandees and said to them, 'how many kings have sought my daughter in marriage?' 'many,' answered they. 'hath any of them given me the like of this gift?' asked he. 'not one,' replied they; 'for that none of them hath its like;' and he said, 'i have consulted god the most high,[fn# ] as to marrying my daughter to this merchant. what say ye?' 'be it as thou deemest,' answered they. then he bade the eunuch carry the four trays into his harem and going in to his wife, laid them before her. she uncovered them and seeing therein that whose like she possessed not,--no, nor a fraction thereof,--said to him, 'of which of the kings hadst thou these? peradventure of one of those that seek our daughter in marriage?' 'not so,' answered he, 'i had them of an egyptian merchant, who is lately come to our city. i heard tell of him and sent to command him to us, thinking to make his acquaintance, so haply we might find with him somewhat of jewels and buy them of him for our daughter's equipment. he obeyed the summons and brought us these four trays, as a present, and i saw him to be a handsome and elegant young man[fn# ] of dignified aspect and accomplished wit, well-nigh as he were of the sons of the kings. wherefore my heart inclined to him and i rejoiced in him and thought to marry my daughter to him.' then he told her what had passed between himself and his grandees on the subject and added, 'but what sayst thou?' 'o king of the age,' answered she, 'the affair is in god's hand, and thine, and what god willeth shall come to pass.' 'if it be his will,' rejoined the king, 'i will marry her to none other than this young man.' so, on the morrow, he went out to his divan and sending for ali and the rest of the merchants of baghdad, bade them be seated. then he summoned the cadi of the divan and said to him, 'o cadi, draw up the contract of marriage between my daughter and the merchant ali of cairo.' but the latter said, 'thy pardon, o our lord the sultan! it befits not that a merchant, such as i, be the king's son-in-law.' quoth the king, 'it is my will to bestow this favour upon thee, as well as the vizierate.' and he invested him forthwith in the vizier's habit. then ali sat down in the seat of the vizierate and said, 'o king of the age, thou hast bestowed on me this; and indeed i am honoured by thy bounties; but hear one word from me.' 'say on,' answered the king, 'and fear not.' quoth ali, 'since it is thine august will to marry thy daughter, thou wouldst do better to marry her to my son.' 'hast thou then a son?' asked the king; and ali replied, 'yes.' 'send for him forthright,' said the king; whereupon, 'i hear and obey,' answered ali and sent a servant to fetch his son, who came and kissing the ground before the king, stood in an attitude of respect. the king looked at him and seeing him to be yet comelier than his daughter and goodlier than she in symmetry and brightness and perfection, said to him, 'o my son, what is thy name?' 'o our lord the sultan,' replied the young man, who was then fourteen years old, 'my name is hassan.' then the sultan said to the cadi, 'write the contract of marriage between my daughter husn el wujoud and hassan, son of the merchant ali of cairo.' so he wrote the contract of marriage between them, and the affair was ended on the goodliest wise; after which all in the divan went their ways and the merchants escorted the vizier ali to his house, where they gave him joy of his advancement and departed. then he went in to his wife, who, seeing him clad in the vizier's habit, exclaimed, 'what is this?' so he told her all that had passed, and she rejoiced therein with an exceeding joy. on the morrow, he went up to the divan, where the king received him with especial favour and seating him beside himself, said to him, 'o vizier, we purpose to celebrate the wedding festivities and bring thy son in to our daughter.' 'o our lord the sultan,' replied ali, 'that thou deemest good is good.' so the sultan gave orders for the festivities, and they decorated the city and held high festival thirty days, in all cheer and gladness; at the end of which time, the vizier ali's son hassan went in to the princess and enjoyed her beauty and grace. when the queen saw her daughter's husband, she conceived a warm affection for him, and in like manner she rejoiced greatly in his mother. then the king bade build his son-in-law a palace beside his own; so they built him with all speed a splendid palace, in which he took up his abode; and his mother used to abide with her son some days and then return to her own house. after awhile, the queen said to her husband, 'o king of the age, hassan's mother cannot take up her abode with her son and leave the vizier; neither can she abide with her husband and leave her son.' 'thou sayst sooth,' replied the king and bade build a third palace beside the two others, which being done in a few days, he caused remove thither the vizier's goods, and the latter and his wife took up their abode there. now the three palaces communicated with one another, so that, when the king had a mind to speak with the vizier by night, he would go to him or send to fetch him; and so with hassan and his father and mother. they dwelt thus in the greatest happiness and contentment awhile, till the king fell ill and his sickness increased on him. so he summoned the grandees of his realm and said to them, 'there is come upon me a sore sickness, peradventure a mortal one, and i have therefore summoned you to consult you respecting a certain matter, on which i would have you counsel me as you deem well.' 'what is the matter of which thou wouldst take counsel with us, o king?' asked they; and he answered, 'i am old and sickly and i fear for the realm, after me, from the enemies; so i would have you all agree upon some one, that i may proclaim him king in my lifetime and so ye may be at ease.' whereupon quoth they all, 'we all approve of thy son-in-law hassan, son of the vizier ali; for we have seen the perfectness of his wit and understanding, and he knows the rank of all, great and small. 'are ye indeed agreed upon this?' asked the king, and they answered, 'yes.' 'peradventure,' quoth he, 'ye say this to my face, of respect for me; but, behind my back, ye will say otherwise.' but they all answered, saying, 'by allah, our word, in public and in private, is one, varying not; and we accept him frankly and with all our hearts.' 'since the case is thus,' said the king, 'bring the cadi of the holy law and all the chamberlains and captains and officers of state before me to-morrow, and we will settle the affair on the goodliest wise.' 'we hear and obey,' answered they and withdrawing, notified all the doctors of the law and the chief amirs. so, on the morrow, they came up to the divan and saluted the king, who said to them, 'o amirs of baghdad, whom will ye have to be king over you after me, that i may invest him in my lifetime, in the presence of you all?' quoth they all, 'we are agreed upon thy daughter's husband, hassan, son of the vizier ali.' 'if it be so,' said the king, 'go all of you and bring him before me.' so they all arose and repairing to hassan's palace, said to him, 'come with us to the king.' 'wherefore?' asked he, and they answered, 'for a thing that will advantage both us and thee.' so he went in with them to the king and kissed the ground before the latter, who bade him be seated and said to him, 'o hassan, all the amirs have approved of thee and agreed to make thee king over them after me; and it is my purpose to proclaim thee, whilst i yet live, and so make an end of the business.' but hassan arose and kissing the earth once more before the king, said to him, 'o our lord the king, among the amirs there be [many] who are older than i and greater of worth; hold me quit therefore of this thing.' quoth all the amirs, 'we consent not but that thou be king over us.' then said hassan, 'my father is older than i, and he and i are one thing; and it befits not to advance me over him.' but ali said, 'i will consent to nothing but what is pleasing to my brethren; and they have all chosen and agreed upon thee. wherefore gainsay thou not the king's commandment and that of thy brethren.' and hassan hung his head in abashment before the king and his father. then said the king to the amirs, 'do ye all accept of him?' 'we do,' answered they and recited thereupon seven fatihehs.'[fn# ] so the king said to the cadi, 'draw up a legal act testifying of these amirs that they are agreed to make my daughter's husband hassan king over them.' so the cadi wrote the act and made it executory,[fn# ] after they had all taken the oath of fealty to hassan. then the king invested him with the insignia of royalty and bade him take his seat on the throne; whereupon they all arose and kissed king hassan's hands and did homage to him. the new king dispensed justice among the people that day, in right royal fashion, and invested the grandees of the realm in splendid robes of honour. when the divan broke up, he went in to his father-and-law and kissed his hands; and the old king said to him, 'o my son, look thou govern the people in the fear of god.' 'o my father,' replied hassan, 'through thy prayers for me, the grace of god will come to me.' then he entered his own palace and was met by his wife and her mother and their attendants, who kissed his hands and gave him joy of his advancement, saying, 'this is a blessed day.' then he went in to his father and mother, who rejoiced with an exceeding joy in that which god had vouchsafed him of his advancement to the kingship, and his father exhorted him to the fear of god and to affectionate solicitude in his dealings with his subjects. he passed the night in joy and gladness, and on the morrow, having prayed the appointed prayers, concluding with the customary recitation of part of the koran, he repaired to the divan, whither came all his officers and dignitaries. he passed the day in dispensing justice among his subjects, enjoining to beneficence and forbidding from iniquity and appointing and displacing, till nightfall, when the divan broke up, after the goodliest fashion, and all present withdrew and went each his own way. then he arose and went in to the palace, where he found his father-in-law's sickness grown heavy upon him and said to him, 'may no hurt befall thee!' at this the old king opened his eyes and said, 'o hassan!' 'at thy service, o my lord,' replied the young man. quoth the old king, 'my last hour is at hand: be careful of thy wife and her mother and look thou fear god and honour thy parents, being still in awe of the majesty of the requiting king and remembering that he commandeth to justice and beneficence.' and hassan replied, 'i hear and obey.' the old king lingered three days after this and was then received into the mercy of god the most high. they paid him the last offices and buried him and held over him readings and recitations of the koran, to the end of the [customary] forty days. and king hassan, son of the vizier, reigned in his stead, and his subjects rejoiced in him and all his days were gladness. moreover, his father ceased not to be his chief vizier on his right hand, and he took to himself another vizier, to be at his left hand. his reign was a prosperous one and he abode long king in baghdad. god blessed him, by the old king's daughter, with three sons, who inherited the kingdom after him; and they abode in the enjoyment of all delight and solace of life, till there came to them the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of companies. and glory be to him who is eternal and in whose hand are annulment and confirmation! the pilgrim and the old woman who dwelt in the desert. a man of the pilgrims once slept a long sleep and awaking, found no trace of the caravan. so he arose and walked on, but lost his way and presently came to a tent, at whose door he saw an old woman and a dog by her, asleep. he went up to the tent and saluting the old woman, sought of her food. 'go to yonder valley,' said she, 'and catch thy sufficiency of serpents, that i may broil of them for thee and give thee to eat.' 'i dare not catch serpents,' answered the pilgrim; 'nor did i ever eat them.' quoth the old woman, 'i will go with thee and catch them; fear not.' so she went with him, followed by the dog, to the valley, and catching a sufficient number of serpents, proceeded to broil them. he saw nothing for it but to eat, for fear of hunger and exhaustion; so he ate of the serpents. then he was athirst and asked for water to drink. 'go to the spring and drink,' answered she. so he went to the spring and found the water thereof bitter; yet needs must he drink of it, for all its bitterness, because of the violence of his thirst. then he returned to the old woman and said to her, 'o old woman, i marvel at thy choosing to abide in this place and putting up with such meat and drink!' 'and how is it then in thy country?' asked she. 'in my country,' answered he, 'are wide and spacious houses and ripe and delicious fruits and sweet and abundant waters and goodly viands and fat meats and plentiful flocks and all things pleasant and all the goods of life, the like whereof are not, save in the paradise that god the most high hath promised to his pious servants.' 'all this,' replied she, 'have i heard: but tell me, have you a sultan who ruleth over you and is tyrannical in his rule and under whose hand you are, who, if one of you commit a fault, taketh his goods and undoth him and who, when he will, turneth you out of your houses and uprooteth you, stock and branch?' 'indeed, that may be,' answered the man. 'then, by allah,' rejoined she, 'these your delicious viands and dainty life and pleasant estate, with tyranny and oppression, are but a corroding poison, in comparison wherewith, our food and fashion, with freedom and safety, are a healthful medicine. hast thou not heard that the best of all boons, after the true faith, are health and security?' now these[fn# ] [quoth he who tells the tale] may be by the just rule of the sultan, the vicar of god in his earth, and the goodness of his policy. the sultan of times past needed but little awfulness, for that, when the people saw him, they feared him; but the sultan of these days hath need of the most accomplished policy and the utmost majesty, for that men are not as men of time past and this our age is one of folk depraved and greatly calamitous, noted for folly and hardness of heart and inclined to hatred and enmity. if, therefore, the sultan that is set over them be (which god the most high forfend) weak or lack of policy and majesty, without doubt, this will be the cause of the ruin of the land. quoth the proverb, 'a hundred years of the sultan's tyranny, rather than one of the tyranny of the people, one over another.' when the people oppress one another, god setteth over them a tyrannical sultan and a despotic king. thus it is told in history that there was, one day, presented to el hejjaj ben yousuf[fn# ] a docket, in which was written, 'fear god and oppress not his servants with all manner of oppression.' when he read this, he mounted the pulpit, (for he was ready of speech,) and said, 'o folk' god the most high hath set me over you, by reason of your [evil] deeds; and though i die, yet will ye not be delivered from oppression, with your evil deeds; for god the most high hath created many like unto me. if it be not i, it will be a more fertile than i in mischief and a mightier in oppression and a more strenuous in violence, even as saith the poet: for no hand is there but the hand of god is over it and no oppressor but shall be with worse than he oppress. tyranny is feared: but justice is the best of all things. we beg god to better our case.' aboulhusn and his slave-girl taweddud. there was once in baghdad a man of rank and rich in money and houses and lands, who was one of the chiefs of the merchants, and god had largely endowed him with worldly goods, but had not vouchsafed him what he longed for of offspring; and there passed over him a long space of time, without his being blessed with children, male or female. his years waxed great, his bones became wasted and his back bent, and weakness and trouble increased on him, and he feared the loss of his wealth and possessions, seeing he had no child, whom he might make his heir and by whom he should be remembered. so he betook himself with supplication to god the most high, fasting by day and rising by night [to pray]. moreover, he made vows to god the living, the eternal, and visited the pious and was instant in supplication to the most migh, till he gave ear to him and accepted his prayer and took pity on his striving and complaining; so that, before many days were past, he lay with one of his women and she became with child by him the same night. she accomplished the months of her pregnancy and casting her burden, bore a male child as he were a piece of the moon; whereupon the merchant, in his gratitude to god, (to whom belong might and majesty,) fulfilled his vows and gave alms and clothed the widow and the orphan. on the seventh night after the boy's birth, he named him aboulhusn, and the wet-nurses suckled him and the dry-nurses dandled him and the slaves and servants carried him, till he grew up and throve and learnt the sublime koran and the ordinances of islam and the things of the true faith. moreover, he learned writing and poetry and mathematics and archery and became the pearl of his age and the goodliest of the folk of his time and his day, fair of face and fluent of tongue, bearing himself with a proud and graceful port and glorying in his symmetry and amorous grace. his cheeks were red and his forehead white and brilliant and the tender down of the whiskers darkened upon his face, even as saith one, describing him: the spring of the down on his cheeks to the eye shows clear; and how shall the rose endure, after spring is here? dost thou not see that the growth on his cheek, forsooth, a violet is, that forth of its leaves doth peer? he abode awhile with his father, in the best of case, and the latter rejoiced and delighted in him, till he came to man's estate, when the merchant one day made him sit down before him and said to him, 'o my son, the appointed term draws near; my last hour is at hand and it remains but to meet god (to whom belong might and majesty). i leave thee what shall suffice thee, even to thy son's son, of money and farms and houses and gardens; wherefore, o my son, fear thou god the most high in [dealing with] that which i leave thee and follow none but those who will help thee [in this].' not long after, he sickened and died; so his son ordered his funeral, after the goodliest fashion, and burying him, returned to his house and sat mourning for him [many] days and nights, till certain of his friends came in to him and said to him, 'whoso leaveth the like of thee after him is not dead; indeed, what is past is past and mourning beseemeth none but girls and cloistered women.' and they ceased not from him, till they wrought on him to enter the bath and break off his mourning. then he forgot his father's injunctions, and his head was turned by his riches; he thought fortune would still abide with him, as it was, and that wealth would never come to an end. so he ate and drank and made merry and took his pleasure and gave gifts of money and raiment and was profuse with gold and gave himself up to eating fowls and breaking the seals of wine-flasks and listening to songs and to the laugh of the wine, as it gurgled from the flagon; nor did he give over this way of life, till his wealth was wasted and the case became straitened [upon him] and he bit his hands [for repentance] and gone was all he had. in good sooth, he had nothing left, after that which he had squandered, but a slave-girl that his father had bequeathed to him with the rest of his estate: her name was taweddud and she had no equal in beauty and grace and brightness and symmetry and all perfection. she was past mistress in all manner of arts and accomplishments and endowed with [many] excellences, surpassing all the folk of her age and time. she was grown more notorious than a way-mark,[fn# ] for the versatility of her genius, and outdid the fair both in theory and practice and elegant and flexile grace, more by token that she was five feet high and in conjunction with fair fortune, with strait arched brows, as they were the crescent moon of shaaban,[fn# ] and eyes like those of gazelles, nose like the point of the sabre and cheeks like blood-red anemones, mouth like solomon's seal and teeth like necklaces of pearls, navel holding an ounce of benzoin ointment and waist more slender than his body whom love hath wasted and whom concealment [of his passion] hath made sick, and buttocks heavier than two hills of sand; brief, in all she answered to the saying of him who says: her fair shape ravisheth, if face to face she did appear, and if she turn, for severance from her she slayeth sheer. sun-like, full-moon-like, sapling-like, unto her character estrangement nowise appertains nor cruelty austere. under the bosom of her shift the garths of eden are, and the full-moon revolveth still upon her neck-rings' sphere. she seemed [at once] a rising full moon and a browsing gazelle, a girl of nine and five,[fn# ] putting to shame the moon and the sun, even as saith of her the eloquent and ingenious poet: the likeness of the full-moon, faring o'er the heavens, five and five and after four; 'tis not my fault, if she have made of me its likeness, when it first in heaven doth soar. white of skin, odoriferous of breath, it seemed as if she were [at once] fashioned of fire and moulded of crystal; rose-red was the cheek of her and perfect her shape and figure; even as saith of her one, describing her: scented with sandal and musk, right proudly doth she go, with gold and silver and rose and saffron-colour aglow. a flower in a garden she is, a pearl in an ouch of gold or an image in chapel set for worship of high and low. slender and shapely she is; vivacity bids her arise, but the weight of her hips says, "sit, or softly and slowly go." whenas her favours i seek and sue for my heart's desire, "be gracious," her beauty says; but her coquetry answers, "no." glory to him who made beauty her portion, and that of her lover to be the prate of the censurers, heigho! indeed, she captivated all who saw her, with the excellence of her beauty and the sweetness of her smile, and transpierced them with the arrows she launched from her eyes; and withal she was eloquent of speech and excellently skilled in poetry. when aboulhusn had squandered all his wealth and there remained to him nought but this slave-girl, when [i say] the wretchedness of his plight became manifest to him, he abode three days without tasting food or taking rest in sleep, and taweddud said to him, 'o my lord, carry me to the khalif haroun er reshid, fifth of the sons of abbas, and seek of him ten thousand dinars to my price. if he deem me dear at this price, say to him, "o commander of the faithful, my slave is worth more than this: do but prove her, and her value will be magnified in thine eyes, for she hath not her equal, and it were unfit that any but thou should possess her." and beware, o my lord, of selling me for less than the sum i have named, for it is but little for the like of me.' (now aboulhusn knew not her worth nor that she had no equal in her day.) so he carried her to the khalif, to whom he repeated what she had bidden him say, and the khalif said to her, 'what is thy name?' 'taweddud,' answered she. 'o taweddud,' asked he, 'in what branches of knowledge dost thou excel?' 'o my lord,' answered she, 'i am versed in syntax and poetry and jurisprudence and exegesis and lexicography and music and the knowledge of the divine ordinances and in arithmetic and geodesy and the fables of the ancients. i know the sublime koran [by heart] and have read it according to the seven and the ten and the fourteen [modes]. i know the number of its chapters and verses and sections and words and letters and its halves and fourths and eighths and tenths, the number of acts of adoration, that occur in it, and what there is in it of cancelling and cancelled;[fn# ] also what parts of it were revealed at medina and what at mecca and the manner of the different revelations. i know the holy traditions, their history and variants and the manner of their recitation and interpretation, together with those of them whose chain of descent is unbroken and those for which it is broken; and i have studied the exact sciences, geometry and philosophy and medicine and logic and rhetoric and composition; and i know many things and am passionately fond of poetry. i can play the lute and know its gamut and notation and so forth. if i sing and dance, i ravish, and if i adorn and perfume myself, i slay. in fine, i have reached a pitch of perfection such as can only be estimated by those who are stablished in knowledge.'[fn# ] when the khalif heard her words, he wondered at them and at the eloquence of her speech, seeing the tenderness of her age, and turning to aboulhusn, said to him, 'i will summon those who shall examine her in all she lays claim to; if she answer [correctly,] i will give thee the price thou askest for her and more; and if not, thou art fitter to [possess] her [than i].' 'with all my heart, o commander of the faithful,' replied aboulhusn. so the khalif wrote to the viceroy of bassora, to send him ibrahim ben siyyar the poet, who was the first man of his day in argument and eloquence and poetry and logic, and bade him bring with him readers of the koran and doctors of the law and physicians and astrologers and sages and geometricians and philosophers; and ibrahim was more learned than all. in a little while they all arrived at the khalif's palace, knowing not what was to do, and the latter sent for them to his sitting-chamber and bade them be seated. so they sat down and he bade fetch the damsel taweddud, who came and unveiling, showed herself, as she were a sparkling star. the khalif caused set her a stool of gold; and she saluted and speaking with an eloquent tongue, said, 'o commander of the faithful, bid the learned men present contend with me in argument.' so he said to them, 'i desire of you that ye dispute with this damsel on the things of her faith and make void her argument, in all she avoucheth;' and they answered, saying, 'we hear and obey god and thee, o commander of the faithful.' thereupon taweddud bowed her head and said, 'which of you is the doctor of the law, the scholar, versed in the interpretation of the koran and in the traditions?' quoth one of them, 'i am the man thou seekest.' 'then,' said she, 'ask me of what thou wilt.' quoth the doctor, 'hast thou read the precious book of god and dost thou know its abrogating and abrogated parts and hast thou meditated its verses and expressions?' 'yes,' answered she. 'then,' said he, 'i will proceed to question thee of the obligatory ordinances and the immutable institutions: so tell me of these, o damsel, and who is thy lord, who thy prophet, and who thy brethren. also, what is thy [point of] fronting [in prayer], what thine exemplar, what thy path and what thy highway?' 'allah is my lord,' replied she, 'and mohammed (whom god bless and preserve) my prophet and the true-believers are my brethren. the koran is my exemplar and the kaabeh my [point of] fronting; the practice of good is my path and the sunneh[fn# ] my highway.' (q.) 'with what do we know god the most high?' (a.) 'with the understanding.' (q.) 'and what is the understanding?' (a.) 'it is of two kinds, natural and acquired. the first is that which god (to whom belong might and majesty) bestoweth on whom he will of his servants; and the other is that which men acquire by dint of study and fair knowledge.' (q.) 'thou hast answered well. where is the seat of the understanding?' (a.) 'god casteth it in the heart, whence its lustre ascendeth to the brain and there becometh fixed.' (q.) 'how knowest thou the prophet of god?' (a.) 'by the reading of god's holy book and by signs and proofs and portents and miracles.' (q.) 'what are the obligatory ordinances and the immutable institutions?' (a.) 'the obligatory ordinances are five in number. ( ) testification that there is no god but god alone, that he hath no partner in divinity and that mohammed is his servant and his apostle. ( ) the scrupulous performance of the enjoined prayers. ( ) the payment of the poor-rate. ( ) fasting ramazan. ( ) the performance of the pilgrimage to god's holy house [at mecca] for all to whom it is possible. the immutable institutions are four in number; to wit, night and day and sun and moon, the which build up life and hope, neither knoweth any son of adam if they will be destroyed on the day of judgment.' (q.) 'what are the obligatory rites of the faith?' (a.) 'prayer, almsgiving, fasting, pilgrimage, fighting for the faith and abstinence from what is forbidden.' (q.) 'why dost thou stand up to pray?' (a.) 'to express the devout intent of the slave submitting himself to [or acknowledging] the divinity.' (q.) 'what are the conditions precedent of standing up to pray?' (a.) 'purification, covering the privy parts, the avoidance of soiled clothes, standing on a clean place, fronting [the kaabeh,] a standing posture, the intent[fn# ] and the magnification of prohibition.'[fn# ] (q.) 'with what shouldest thou go forth thy house to pray? (a.) 'with an intent of worship.'[fn# ] (q.) 'with what intent shouldest thou enter the mosque?' (a.) 'with an intent of service.'[fn# ] (q.) 'why do we front the kaabeh?' (a.) 'in obedience to three divine and one traditional ordinance.' (q.) 'what is the commencement, the consecration and the dissolution [end] of prayer?' (a.) 'purification, the magnification of prohibition and the salutation of the angels [concluding prayer].' (q.) 'what of him who neglecteth prayer?' (a.) 'it is reported, among the authentic (traditions of the prophet, that he said), "he, who neglecteth prayer wilfully and without excuse, hath no part in islam."' (q.) 'what is prayer?' (a.) 'prayer is communion between the slave and his lord, and in it are ten virtues, to wit, ( ) it illumines the heart ( ) makes the face shine ( ) pleases the merciful one ( ) angers satan ( ) conjures calamity ( ) wards off the mischief of enemies ( ) multiplies mercy ( ) forfends vengeance [or punishment] ( ) brings the slave nigh unto [or in favour with] his lord and ( ) restrains from lewdness and iniquity. it is one of the written obligatory ordinances and the pillar of the faith.' (q.) 'what is the key of prayer?' (a.) 'ablution.' (q.) 'what is the key of ablution?' (a.) 'nomination.'[fn# ] (q.) 'that of naming god?' (a.) 'faith.' (q.) 'that of faith?' (a.) 'trust in god.' (q.) 'that of trust in god?' (a.) 'hope.' (q.) 'that of hope?' (a.) 'obedience.' (q.) 'that of obedience?' (a.) 'the confession of the unity and the acknowledgment of the divinity of god.' (q.) 'what are the divine ordinances of ablution?' (a.) 'they are six in number, according to the canon of the imam es shafi mohammed ben idris (of whom god accept) to wit, ( ) intent[fn# ] to wash the face ( ) washing the face ( ) washing the hands and elbows ( ) wiping part of the head ( ) washing the feet and heels and ( ) observing the prescribed order of ablution, whose statutes are ten in number, to wit, ( ) nomination ( ) washing the hands before putting them into the vase ( ) rinsing the mouth ( ) drawing up water through the nostrils ( ) wiping the whole head ( ) washing the ears within and without with fresh water ( ) separating a thick beard ( ) separating the fingers and toes ( ) washing the right foot before the left and ( ) doing each of these thrice and all in unbroken succession. when the ablution is ended, the devotee should (quoth es shafi[fn# ]) say, "i testify that there is no god but god alone, who hath no partner, and that mohammed is his servant and apostle. o my god, make me of those who repent and are made clean! glory to thee, o my god, and in thy praise i testify that there is no god but thou! i crave pardon of thee and repent to thee!" for it is reported, in the holy traditions, that the prophet (whom god bless and keep) said of this prayer, "whoso ensueth every ablution with this prayer, the eight gates of paradise are open to him; he shall enter at which he pleases."' (q.) 'when a man purposes to make the ablution, what betides him from the angels and the devils?' (a.) 'when a man prepares for ablution, the angels come and stand on his right and the devils on his left hand. if he name god, at the beginning of the ablution, the devils flee from him and the angels hover over him with a pavilion of light, having four ropes, to each an angel glorifying god and craving pardon for him, so long as he remains silent or calls upon the name of god. but if he omit to begin with naming god (to whom belong might and majesty) neither remain silent, the angels depart from him and the devils settle upon him and whisper evil thoughts unto him, till he falls into doubt and comes short in his ablution. for (quoth he on whom be blessing and salvation) "a perfect ablution driveth away the devils and assureth against the tyranny of the sultan; and he who neglecteth the ablution, if calamity befall him, let him blame none but himself."' (q.) 'what should a man do, when he awakes from sleep?' (a.) 'he should wash his hands thrice, before putting them into the vessel.' (q.) 'what are the ordinances, koranic and traditional, of complete ablution?'[fn# ] (a.) 'the koranic ordinances are intent and covering the whole body with water, so that it shall come at every part of the hair and skin. the traditional, previous partial ablution [as before prayer,] rubbing the body, separating the hair and deferring in words[fn# ] the washing of the feet till the end of the ablution.' (q.) 'what are the reasons [or occasions] for making the ablution with other than water, and what are the ordinances thereof, koranic and traditional?'[fn# ] (a.) 'the reasons are seven in number, to wit, lack of water, fear, need thereto, going astray on a journey, sickness, having the bones [broken and] in splints and wounds. as for its ordinances, the koranic are four in number, to wit, intent, dust, applying it to the face and to the hands, and the traditional two, to wit, nomination and preferring the right before the left hand.' (q.) 'what are the conditions, the essentials [or fundamentals] and the traditional statutes of prayer?' (a.) 'the conditions are five in number, to wit, ( ) purification of the members ( ) covering the privy parts ( ) observing the proper hours, either of certainty or to the best of one's belief, ( ) fronting the kaabeh and ( ) standing on a clean place. the essentials are twelve in number, to wit, ( ) intent ( ) the magnification of prohibition ( ) standing at the proper distance one from another ( ) repeating the first chapter of the koran and also (according to the shafiyites) saying, "in the name of god the merciful, the compassionate!" a verse thereof ( ) bowing the body and tranquillity [or gravity] therein ( ) keeping the feet and legs still and in the same position, [whilst the rest of the body moves], and tranquillity therein ( ) prostration and tranquillity therein ( ) sitting between two prostrations and tranquillity therein ( ) repeating the latter profession of the faith and sitting up therefor ( ) invoking benediction on the prophet (whom god bless and preserve) ( ) the first salutation[fn# ] and ( ) the intent of making an end of prayer, [expressed] in words. the traditional statutes are the call to prayer, the repetition of the words of the latter, raising the hands to either side of the face, whilst pronouncing the magnification of prohibition, pronouncing the magnification before reciting the fatiheh [first chapter of the koran], seeking refuge with god,[fn# ] saying "amen," repeating the (obligatory) chapter [of the koran] after the fatiheh, repeating the magnifications during change of posture, saying, "may god hear him who praiseth him!" and "o our lord, to thee be the praise!" uttering aloud the prayers in their places and in like manner, under the breath, those so prescribed, the first testification and sitting up thereto, blessing the prophet therein, blessing his family in the latter profession [or testification] and the second salutation.' (q.) 'on what is the poor-rate taxable?' (a.) 'on gold and silver and camels and oxen and sheep and wheat and barley and millet and beans and pulse and rice and raisins and dates.' (q.) 'what is the poor-rate on gold ?' (a.) 'below twenty dinars, nothing; but, on that amount and over, half a dinar for every score.' (q.) 'on silver?' (a.) 'under two hundred dirhems, nothing; then, five dirhems on every two hundred.' (q.) 'on camels?' (a.) 'for every five, an ewe, or for every twenty-five a pregnant camel.' (q.) 'on sheep?' (a.) 'on forty and over, an ewe for every forty head.' (q.) 'what are the ordinances of the fast [of ramazan]?' (a.) 'the koranic are intent,[fn# ] abstinence from eating, drinking and copulation and stoppage of vomiting. it is incumbent on all who submit to the law, save women in their courses and forty days after child-birth; and it becomes obligatory on sight of the new moon or on news of its appearance, brought by a trustworthy person and commending itself as truth to the hearer's heart; and among its requisites is that it be commenced by night.[fn# ] the traditional ordinances of fasting are, hastening to break the fast,[fn# ] deferring the fore-dawn meal[fn# ] and abstaining from speech, save for good works and for calling on the name of god and reciting the koran.' (q.) 'what things vitiate not the fast?' (a.) 'the use of unguents and eye-powders and the dust of the road and the swallowing of one's spittle and the emission of seed in dreams of dalliance or at the sight of a strange woman and cupping and letting blood; none of these things vitiates the fast.' (q.) 'what are the prayers of the two great [annual] festivals?' (a.) 'two one-bow prayers, after the traditional ordinance, without call to prayer or the repetition thereof by the devotee, who shall say, "prayer is a collector of all folk!"[fn# ] and pronounce the magnification seven times in the first prayer, besides the magnification of prohibition, and in the second, five times, besides that of rising up, (according to the canon of the imam es shafi, on whom god have mercy) and make the profession of the faith.' (q.) 'what are the prayers prescribed on the occasion of an eclipse of the sun or moon?' (a.) 'two one-bow prayers, without call to prayer or repetition thereof by the devotee, who shall make in each two standings up and two inclinations and two prostrations, then sit up and testify and salute.' (q.) 'what is the ritual of prayer for rain?' (a.) 'two one-bow prayers, without call to prayer or repetition; then shall the devotee make the profession and salute. moreover [the imam] shall deliver an exhortation and (in place of the magnification, as in the two exhortations of the two great festivals) ask pardon of god and reverse his mantle and pray and supplicate.' (q.) 'what are the additional or occasional prayers?' (a.) 'the least is a one-bow prayer and the most eleven.' (q.) 'what is the forenoon prayer?' (a.) 'at least, two one-bow prayers and at most, twelve.' (q.) 'what is the service of seclusion?' [fn# ] (a.) 'it is a matter of traditional ordinance.' (q.) 'what are its conditions?' (a.) '( ) expression of intent ( ) not leaving the mosque save of necessity ( ) not having to do with a woman ( ) fasting and ( ) abstaining from speech.' (q.) 'under what conditions is pilgrimage obligatory?' (a.) 'so a man be of full age and understanding and a true-believer and it be possible to him; and it is obligatory [on all], once before death.' (q.) 'what are the koranic statutes of the pilgrimage?'' (a.) '( ) assumption of the pilgrim's habit ( ) station at arafat ( ) compassing [the kaabeh] ( ) running [between sefa and merweh[fn# ]] and ( ) [previous] shaving or clipping the hair.' (q.) 'what are the koranic statutes of the lesser pilgrimage?' (a.) 'reassuming the pilgrim's habit and compassing and running [as before].' (q.) 'what are the koranic ordinances of the assumption of the pilgrim's habit?' (a.) 'putting off sewn garments, forswearing perfume and ceasing to shave the head or cut the nails and avoiding the killing of game and copulation.' (q.) 'what are the traditional statutes of the pilgrimage?' (a.) '( ) the crying out, "here i am, o our lord!"[fn# ] ( ) the circuitings [about the kaabeh] of arrival [at] and departure [from mecca] ( ) the passing the night at muzdelifeh and mina[fn# ] and ( ) the stone-throwing.' [fn# ] (q.) 'what is the war in defence of the faith and its essentials?' (a.) 'its essentials are ( ) the descent of the infidels upon us ( ) the existence of the imam[fn# ] ( ) a state of [armed] preparation and ( ) firmness in meeting the foe. its ordinance is incital to battle, in that the most high hath said, "o my prophet, incite the faithful to battle!"' [fn# ] (q.) 'what are the ordinances of buying and selling?' (a.) 'the koranic are ( ) offer and acceptance and ( ) if the thing sold be a (white) slave, by whom one profiteth, to do one's endeavour to convert him to islam and ( ) to abstain from usury; the traditional, resiliation and option before separating, after the saying of the prophet, "the parties to a sale shall have the option [of cancelling or altering the terms of a bargain,] whilst they are yet unseparated."' (q.) 'what is it forbidden to sell [or exchange] for what?' (a.) 'on this point i mind me of an authentic tradition, reported by nafi[fn# ] of the apostle of god, that he forbade the sale of dried dates for fresh and fresh figs for dry and jerked for fresh meat and cream for butter; in fine, of all eatables of one and the same kind, it is unlawful to sell some for other some.'[fn# ] when the professor heard her words and knew that she was keen of wit, ingenious and learned in jurisprudence and the traditions and the interpretation of the koran and what not else, he said in himself, 'needs must i go about with her, that i may overcome her in the assembly of the commander of the faithful.' so he said to her, 'o damsel, what is the lexicographical meaning of the word wuzou?'[fn# ] and she answered, 'cleanliness and freedom from impurities.' (q.) 'and of prayer?' (a.) 'an invocation of good.' (q.) 'and of ghusl?'[fn# ] (a.) 'purification.' (q.) 'and of fasting?' (a.) 'abstention.' (q.) 'and of zekat?'[fn# ] (a.) 'increase.' (q.) 'and of pilgrimage?' (a.) 'visitation [or quest].' (q.) 'and of jehad?'[fn# ] (a.) '[endeavour in] repelling.' with this the doctor's arguments were exhausted, so he rose to his feet and said, 'bear witness against me, o commander of the faithful, that this damsel is more learned than i am in the law. quoth she, 'i will ask thee somewhat, which do thou answer me speedily, an thou be indeed a learned man.' 'say on,' quoth he; and she said, 'what are the arrows of the faith?' 'they are ten in number,' answered he; 'to wit, ( ) testification,[fn# ] that is, religion ( ) prayer, that is, the covenant ( ) alms, that is, purification ( ) fasting, that is, defensive armour ( ) pilgrimage, that is, the law ( ) fighting for the faith, that is, a general duty ( ) enjoining to beneficence and ( ) forbidding from iniquity, both of which are jealousy [for good] ( ) the communion of the faithful, that is, sociableness, and ( ) seeking knowledge, that is, the praiseworthy way.' (q.) 'what are the roots[fn# ] of islam?' (a.) 'they are four in number, to wit, sincerity of belief, truth of purpose, observance of the limit [prescribed by the law] and keeping the covenant.' then said she, 'i have one more question to ask thee, which if thou answer, [it is well]; else, i will take thy clothes.' quoth he, 'speak, o damsel;' and she said, 'what are the branches[fn# ] of islam?' but he was silent and made no reply; and she said, 'put off thy clothes, and i will expound them to thee.' quoth the khalif, 'expound them, and i will make him put off his clothes for thee.' 'they are two-and-twenty in number,' answered she, 'to wit, ( ) holding fast to the book of god the most high ( ) taking example by his apostle (whom god bless and preserve) ( ) abstaining from doing evil ( ) eating what is lawful and ( ) avoiding what is unlawful ( ) restoring things wrongfully taken to their owners ( ) repentance ( ) knowledge of the law ( ) love of [abraham] the friend [of god] ( ) and of the followers of the revelation[fn# ] ( ) belief in the apostles ( ) fear of apostacy ( ) preparation for departure[fn# ] ( ) strength of conviction ( ) clemency in time of power ( ) strength in time of weakness ( ) patience under affliction ( ) knowledge of god the most high and ( ) of what his prophet hath made known to us ( ) gainsaying iblis the accursed ( ) striving earnestly against the lusts of the soul and gainsaying them and ( ) guiltlessness of believing in any other god but god.' when the commander of the faithful heard her words, he bade the doctor put off his clothes and hood; and he did so and went forth, beaten and confounded, from the khalif's presence. thereupon arose another man and said to her, 'o damsel, hear a few questions from me.' 'say on,' quoth she; and he said, 'what are the conditions of valid [purchase by] payment in advance?' 'that the amount [of the thing bought], the kind and the period [of delivery to the purchaser], be [fixed or] known,' replied she. (q.) 'what are the koranic canons of eating?' (a.) 'the confession [by the eater] that god the most high provideth him and giveth him to eat and drink and thanksgiving to him therefor.' (q.) 'what is thanksgiving?' (a.) 'the use by the creature of that which god vouchsafeth to him in the manner and to the ends for which he hath created it.' (q.) 'what are the traditional canons of eating?' (a.) 'the [preliminary] naming [of god] and washing the hands, sitting on the left buttock, eating with three fingers and eating of that which is chewed.' [fn# ] (q.) 'what are the civilities of eating?' (a.) 'taking small mouthfuls and looking little at one's table-companion.' (q.) 'what are the heart's stays [or articles of faith] and their correlatives?' (a.) 'they are three in number, to wit, ( ) holding fast to the faith, the correlative whereof is the shunning of infidelity, ( ) holding fast to the traditional law and its correlative, the shunning of innovation [or heresy] and ( ) holding fast to obedience and its correlative, the shunning of disobedience.' (q.) 'what are the conditions of ablution?' (a.) '( ) submission to the will of god[fn# ] ( ) possession of discernment of good and evil [or having attained the age of discretion] ( ) purity of the water and ( ) absence of legal or material impediments.' (q.) 'what is belief?' (a.) 'it is divided into nine parts, to wit, ( ) belief in the one worshipped ( ) belief in the condition of slavery [of the worshipper] ( ) belief in one god, to the exclusion of all others ( ) belief in the two handfuls[fn# ] ( ) belief in providence ( ) belief in the abrogating and ( ) in the abrogated ( ) belief in god, his angels and apostles and ( ) in fore-ordained fate, general and particular, its good and ill, sweet and bitter.' (q.) 'what three things do away other three?' (a.) 'it is told of sufyan eth thauri[fn# ] that he said, "three things do away other three. making light of the pious doth away the future life, making light of kings doth away [this] life and making light of expenditure doth away wealth."' (q.) 'what are the keys of the heavens, and how many gates have they?' (a.) 'quoth god the most high, "and heaven shall be opened, and it shall be [all] doors," [fn# ] and quoth he whom god bless and keep, "none knoweth the number of the gates of heaven, save he who created it, and there is no son of adam but hath two gates allotted to him in the skies, one whereby his subsistence cometh down and another where-through his works [good and evil] ascend. the former is not closed, save when his term of life comes to an end, nor the latter, till his soul ascends [for judgment]."' (q.) 'tell me of a thing and a half thing and a no-thing.' (a.) 'the thing is the believer, the half thing the hypocrite and the no-thing the infidel.' (q.) 'tell me of various kinds of hearts.' (a.) 'there is the whole [or perfect] heart, which is that of [abraham] the friend [of god], the sick heart, that of the infidel, the contrite heart, that of the pious, fearful ones, the heart consecrated to god, that of our lord mohammed (whom god bless and preserve) and the enlightened [or enlightening] heart, that of those who follow him. the hearts of the learned are of three kinds, to wit, those that are in love with this world, with the next and with their lord; and it is said that hearts are three, the suspended, that of the infidel, the non-existent [or lost], that of the hypocrite, and the constant [or firm], that of the true-believer. moreover, it is said that the latter is of three kinds, namely, the heart dilated with light and faith, that wounded with fear of estrangement and that which feareth to be forsaken of god.' quoth the second doctor, 'thou hast said well;' whereupon said she to the khalif, 'o commander of the faithful, he has questioned me, till he is weary, and now i will ask him two questions. if he answer them, it is well, and if not, i will take his clothes and he shall depart in peace.' quoth the doctor, 'ask me what thou wilt,' and she said, 'what is religion?' 'religion,' answered he, 'is confession[fn# ] with the tongue and belief with the heart and doing with the members. quoth the prophet, "the believer is not perfect in belief, except five qualities be accomplished in him, namely, trust in god, committal of his affair to him, submission to his commandment, acquiescence in his decrees and that he do all for his sake; so is he of those who are acceptable to god and who give and withhold for his sake, and he is perfect in belief."' then said she, 'what is the koranic ordinance of ordinances and the ordinance which is the preliminary of all ordinances and that of which all others stand in need and that which comprehendeth all others, and what is the traditional ordinance that entereth into the koranic, and that whereby the latter is completed?' but he was silent and made no reply; whereupon the khalif bade her expound and ordered him to doff his clothes and give them to her. 'o doctor,' said she, 'the koranic ordinance of ordinances is the knowledge of god the most high; that, which is the preliminary of all others, is the testifying that there is no god but god and that mohammed is his apostle; that, of which all others have need, is ablution; that, which compriseth all others, is that of [total] ablution from [ceremonial] defilement; the traditional ordinance, that enters into the koranic, is the separation of the fingers and the thick beard; and that, wherewith all koranic ordinances are completed, is circumcision.' therewith was manifest the insufficiency of the doctor, who rose to his feet and said, 'i call god to witness, o commander of the faithful, that this damsel is more learned than i in the law and what pertains thereto.' so saying, he put off his clothes and went away, defeated. then turned she to the rest of the learned men present and said, 'o masters, which of you is the reader,[fn# ] versed in the seven readings and in syntax and lexicography?' thereupon the professor arose and seating himself before her, said, 'hast thou read the book of god the most high and made thyself throughly acquainted with its verses and its various parts, abrogating and abrogated, equivocal and unequivocal, meccan and medinan? dost thou understand its interpretation and hast thou studied it, according to the various versions and readings?' 'yes,' answered she; and he said, 'what, then, is the number of its chapters, how many are meccan and how many medinan? how many verses and decades[fn# ] does it contain, how many words and how many letters and how many acts of prostration and how many prophets and birds are mentioned in it?' 'it contains a hundred and fourteen chapters,' replied she, 'whereof threescore and ten were revealed at mecca and forty and four at medina, six thousand three hundred and thirty-six verses, six hundred and twenty-one decades, seventy-nine thousand four hundred and thirty-nine words and three hundred and twenty- three thousand and six hundred and seventy letters; and to the reader thereof, for every letter, accrue ten benefits. the acts of prostration it contains are fourteen in number, and five-and-twenty prophets are named therein, to wit, adam, noah, abraham, ishmael, isaac, jacob, joseph, elisha, jonah, lot, salih, houd,[fn# ] shuaib,[fn# ] david, solomon, dhoulkifl, [fn# ] idris,[fn# ] elias, yehya,[fn# ] zacharias, job, moses, aaron, jesus and mohammed, the peace of god and his blessing be on them all! moreover, nine birds [or flying things] are mentioned in the koran, namely, the gnat, the bee, the fly, the ant, the hoopoe, the crow, the locust, the bustard and the bird of jesus[fn# ] (on whom be peace), to wit, the bat.' (q.) 'which is the most excellent chapter of the koran?' (a.) 'that of the cow.'[fn# ] (q.) 'which is the most magnificent verse?' (a.) 'that of the throne;[fn# ] it has fifty words, in each fifty blessings.' (q.) 'what verse hath in it nine signs [or wonders]?' (a.) 'that in which quoth god the most high, "verily, in the creation of the heavens and the earth and the alternation of night and day and the ship that runneth in the sea with what profiteth mankind and in what god sendeth down from heaven of water and quickeneth therewith the earth, after its dearth, and spreadeth abroad therein all manner cattle, and the shifting of the winds and the clouds, pressed into service betwixt heaven and earth, are signs for folk who understand."'[fn# ] (q.) 'which is the most just?' (a.) 'that in which god saith, "verily, god commandeth to justice and beneficence and giving to those that are near unto us and forbiddeth from profligacy and iniquity and oppression."'[fn# ] (q.) 'which is the most yearnful?' (a.) 'that in which quoth god, "shall every man of them yearn to enter a garden of delight?"'[fn# ] (q.) 'which is the most hopeful?' (a.) 'that in which quoth god the most high, "say, 'o ye my servants, that have transgressed against your own souls, despair not of the mercy of god! indeed, god forgiveth sins, all of them, for he is the forgiving, the compassionate.'"' [fn# ] (q.) 'by what version dost thou read?' (a.) 'by that of the people of paradise, to wit, the version of nafi.'[fn# ] (q.) 'in which verse doth god make prophets lie?' (a.) 'in that wherein he saith, "they [the brothers of joseph] brought lying blood upon his shirt."'[fn# ] (q.) 'in which doth he make infidels speak the truth?' (a.) 'in that wherein he saith, "the jews say, 'the nazarenes are [grounded] on nought,' and the nazarenes say, 'the jews are [grounded] on nought;' and [yet] they [both] read the scripture."[fn# ] and [in this] both speak the truth.' (q.) 'in which doth god speak in his own person [in the singular]?' (a.) 'in that in which he saith, "neither have i created jinn and men, but that they should worship."'[fn# ] (q.) 'in which do the angels speak?' (a.) 'in that which saith, "we celebrate thy praises and hallow thee."'[fn# ] (q.) 'what sayst thou of the formula, "i seek refuge with god from satan the stoned"?' (a.) 'it is obligatory, by commandment of god, on all who read the koran, as appears by his saying, "when thou readest the koran, seek refuge with god from satan the stoned."'[fn# ] (q.) 'what are the words and variants of the formula?' (a.) 'some say, "i take refuge with god the all-hearing and knowing, etc.," and others, "with god the strong;" but the best is that of which the noble koran and the traditions speak. the prophet was used, whenas he was about to open the koran, to say, "i take refuge with god from satan the stoned." and quoth a tradition, reported by nafi on the authority of his [adopted] father, "the apostle of god used, when he rose in the night to pray, to say aloud, 'god is most great, with [all] greatness! praise be to god abundantly! glory to god morning and evening!' then would he say, 'i seek refuge with god from satan the stoned and from the instigations of the devils and their evil suggestions."' and it is told of ibn abbas[fn# ] (of whom god accept) that he said, "the first time gabriel came down to the prophet [with a portion of the koran,] he taught him [the formula of] seeking refuge, saying, 'o mohammed, say, "i seek refuge with god the all-hearing and knowing;" then say, "in the name of god the compassionate, the merciful!" and read, in the name of thy lord who created men from clotted blood.'"'[fn# ] (q.) 'what sayst thou of the verse, "in the name of god, the compassionate, the merciful"? is it one of the verses of the koran?' (a.) 'yes; it is a verse of "the ant"[fn# ] and occurs also [at the head of the first and] between every two [following] chapters; and there is much difference of opinion, respecting this, among the learned.' (q.) 'why is not the formula written at the head of the chapter of immunity?'[fn# ] (a.) 'when this chapter was revealed for the dissolution of the alliance between the prophet and the idolaters, the former sent ali ibn abi talib (whose face god honour) therewith [from medina to mecca] at the season of the greater pilgrimage;[fn# ] and he read the chapter to them, but did not read "in the name, etc."'[fn# ] (q.) 'what of the excellence of the formula and the blessing that attaches to it?' (a.) 'it is told of the prophet that he said, "never is 'in the name, etc.' pronounced over aught, but there is a blessing in it;" and it is reported, on his authority, that the lord of glory swore by his glory that never should the formula be pronounced over a sick person, but he should be healed of his sickness. moreover, it is said that, when god created the empyreal heaven, it was agitated with an exceeding agitation; but he wrote on it, "in the name, etc.," and its agitation subsided. when the formula was first revealed to the prophet, he said, "i am safe from three things, earthquake and metamorphosis and drowning;" and indeed its virtues are great and its blessings too many to enumerate. it is told of the prophet that he said, "there will be brought before god, on the judgment day, a man with whom he shall reckon and finding no good deed to his account, shall order him to the fire; but the man will say, 'o my god, thou hast not dealt justly by me!' then shall god (to whom belong might and majesty) say, 'how so?' and the man will answer, saying, 'o lord, for that thou callest thyself the compassionate, the merciful, yet wilt thou punish me with the fire!' and god (extolled be his majesty) shall say, 'i did indeed name myself the compassionate, the merciful. carry my servant to paradise, of my mercy, for i am the most merciful of those that have mercy.'"' (q.) 'what was the origin of the use of the formula?' (a.) 'when god revealed the koran, they wrote, "in thy name, o my god!"; when he revealed the words, "say, pray ye to god or pray ye to the compassionate, what days ye pray, for to him [belong] the most fair names,"[fn# ] they wrote, "in the name of god, the compassionate;" and when he revealed the words, "your god is one god, there is no god but he, the compassionate, the merciful,"[fn# ] they wrote, "in the name of god, the compassionate, the merciful!"' (q.) 'did god reveal the koran all at once or at intervals?' (a.) 'gabriel the faithful [spirit] (on whom be peace) descended with it from the lord of the worlds upon his prophet mohammed, prince of the apostles and seal[fn# ] of the prophets, by detached verses, containing commandment and prohibition, promise and menace, anecdotes and similitudes, as the occasion called for it, in the course of twenty years.' (q.) 'which chapter was first revealed?' (a.) 'according to ibn abbas, that of the clot of blood,[fn# ] and according to jabir ben abdallah,[fn# ] that of the covered [with a cloak].'[fn# ] (q.) 'which verse was the last revealed?' (a.) 'that of usury,[fn# ] and it is said [also], the verse, "when there cometh god's succour and victory."'[fn# ] (q.) 'tell me the names of the companions who collected the koran, in the lifetime of the apostle of god.' (a.) 'they were four in number, to wit, ubaï ibn kaab, zeid ibn thabit, abou ubeideh aamir ben jerrah and othman ben affan,[fn# ] may god accept of them all!' (q.) 'who are the readers, from whom the [accepted] reading of the koran is taken?' (a.) 'they are four in number, namely, abdallah ben mesoud, ubaï ben kaab, maadh ben jebel[fn# ] and salim ben abdallah.'[fn# ] (q.) 'what sayst thou of the words of the most high, "that which is sacrificed to stones"?'[fn# ] (a.) 'the stones are idols, which are set up and worshipped, instead of god the most high, and [from this] we seek refuge with him.' (q.) 'what sayst thou of the words of the most high, "[quoth jesus] thou knowest what is in my soul, and i know not what is in thy soul"?'[fn# ] (a.) 'they mean "thou [god] knowest the truth of me and what is in me and i [jesus] know not what is in thee;" and the proof of this are his words,[fn# ] "thou [god] art he that knoweth the hidden things;" and it is said, also, "thou [god] knowest my essence, but i [man] know not thine essence."' (q.) 'what sayst thou of the words of the most high, "o ye that believe, deny not yourselves the good things that god hath made lawful to you!"?'[fn# ] (a.) 'my master (on whom god have mercy) told me that ez zuhak[fn# ] said, "there was a people of the true-believers who said, 'we will dock our yards and don sackcloth;' whereupon this verse was revealed." but el cutadeh[fn# ] says that it was revealed on account of sundry companions of the apostle of god, ali ibn abi talib and othman ben musaab and others, who said, "we will dock ourselves and don hair [cloth] and make us monks."' (q.) 'what sayst thou of the words of the most high, "and god took abraham to friend"?'[fn# ] (a.) 'the friend [of god] is the needy, the poor, and (according to another saying) he is the lover, he who is absorbed in the love of god the most high and in whose exclusive devotion there is no falling away.' when the professor saw her pass on in speech with the passing of the clouds[fn# ] and that she stayed not in answering, he rose to his feet and said, 'i take god to witness, o commander of the faithful, that this damsel is more learned than i in koranic exegesis and what pertains thereto.' then said she, 'i will ask thee one question, which if thou answer, it is well: but if thou answer not, i will strip off thy clothes.' 'ask on,' quoth the khalif; and she said, 'which verse of the koran has in it three-and-twenty kafs,[fn# ] which sixteen mims,[fn# ] which a hundred and forty ains,[fn# ] and which section[fn# ] lacks the formula, "to whom [god] belong might and majesty"?' he could not answer, and she said to him, 'put off thy clothes.' so he doffed them, and she said, 'o commander of the faithful, the verse of the sixteen mims is in the chapter houd and is the saying of the most high, "it was said, 'o noah, go down in peace from us, and blessing upon thee!'"[fn# ]; that of the three-and-twenty kafs is the verse called of the faith, in the chapter of the cow; that of the hundred and forty ains is in the chapter of el aaraf,[fn# ] "and moses chose seventy men of his tribe to [attend] our appointed time;[fn# ] to each man a pair of eyes."[fn# ] and the set portion which lacks the formula, "to whom [god] belong might and majesty," is that which comprises the chapters "the hour draweth nigh and the moon is cloven in twain," "the compassionate" and "the event."'[fn# ] and the professor departed in confusion. then came forward the skilled physician and said to her, 'we have done with theology and come now to physiology. tell me, therefore, how is man made, how many veins, bones and vertebræ are there in his body, which is the chief vein and why adam was named adam?' 'adam was called adam,' answered she, 'because of the udmeh, to wit, the tawny colour of his complexion and also (it is said) because he was created of the adim of the earth, that is to say, of the soil of its surface. his breast was made of the earth of the kaabeh, his head of earth from the east and his legs of earth from the west. there were created for him seven doors [or openings] in his head, to wit, the eyes, the ears, the nostrils and the mouth, and two passages, the urethra and the anus. the eyes were made the seat of the sense of sight, the ears of that of hearing, the nostrils of that of smell, the mouth of that of taste and the tongue to speak forth what is in the innermost heart of man. adam was originally created of four elements combined, water, earth, fire and air. the yellow bile is the humour of fire, being hot and dry, the black bile that of earth, being cold and dry, the phlegm that of water, being cold and moist, and the blood that of air, being hot and moist. there are in man three hundred and threescore veins, two hundred and forty bones and three souls [or natures], the animal, the rational and the essential or [natural], to each of which is allotted a separate function. moreover, god made him a heart and spleen and lungs and six guts and a liver and two kidneys and marrow [or brain] and buttocks and bones and skin and five senses, hearing, seeing, smell, taste and touch. the heart he set on the left side of the breast and made the stomach the exemplar [or governor] thereof. he appointed the lungs for a ventilator to the heart and set the liver on the right side, opposite thereto. moreover, he made, besides this, the midriff and the intestines and set up the bones of the breast and ribbed them with the ribs.' (q.) 'how many ventricles are there in a man's head?' (a.) 'three, which contain five faculties, styled the intrinsic senses, i.e. common sense, fancy, thought, apperception and memory.' (q.) 'describe to me the scheme of the bones.' (a.) 'it consists of two hundred and forty bones, which are divided into three parts, the head, the trunk and the extremities. the head is divided into skull and face. the skull is constructed of eight bones, and to it are attached the teeth, two-and- thirty in number, and the hyoïd bone, one. the trunk is divided into spinal column, breast and basin. the spinal column is made up of four-and-twenty bones, called vertebræ, the breast of the breastbone and the ribs, which are four-and-twenty in number, twelve on each side, and the basin of the hips, the sacrum and the coccyx. the extremities are divided into arms and legs. the arms are again divided into shoulder, comprising shoulder-blades and collar-bone, the upper- arm, one bone, the fore-arm, composed of two bones, the radius and the ulna, and the hand, consisting of the wrist, the metacarpus and the fingers. the wrist is composed of eight bones, ranked in two rows, each comprising four bones; the metacarpus of five and the fingers, which are five in number, of three bones each, called the phalanges, except the thumb, which has but two. the lower extremities are divided into thigh, one bone, leg, composed of three bones, the tibia, the fibula and the kneepan, and the foot, divided like the hand, with the exception of the wrist,[fn# ] which is composed of seven bones, ranged in two rows, two in one and five in the other.' (q.) 'which is the root of the veins?' (a.) 'the aorta from which they ramify, and they are many, none knoweth the tale of them save he who created them; but, as i have before observed, it is said that they are three hundred and threescore in number. moreover, god hath appointed the tongue to interpret [for the thought], the eyes to serve as lanterns, the nostrils to smell with, and the hands for prehensors. the liver is the seat of pity, the spleen of laughter and the kidneys of craft; the lungs are the ventilators, the stomach the storehouse and the heart the pillar [or mainstay] of the body. when the heart is sound, the whole body is sound, and when the heart is corrupt, the whole body is corrupt.' (q.) 'what are the outward signs and symptoms of disease in the members of the body, both internal and external?' (a.) 'a physician, who is a man of understanding, looks into the state of the body and is guided by the feel of the hands, according as they are firm [or flabby], hot or cool, moist or dry. internal disorders are also indicated by external symptoms, such as yellowness of the [whites of the] eyes, which denotes jaundice, and bending of the back, which denotes disease of the lungs.' (q.) 'what are the internal symptoms of disease?' (a.) 'the science of the diagnosis of disease by internal symptoms is founded upon six canons, to wit, ( ) the actions [of the patient] ( ) what is evacuated from his body ( ) the nature and ( ) site of the pain he feels ( ) swelling and ( ) the effluvia given off by his body.' (q.) 'how cometh hurt to the head?' (a.) 'by the introduction of food upon food, before the first be digested, and by satiety upon satiety; this it is that wasteth peoples. he who will live long, let him be early with the morning-meal and not late with the evening-meal; let him be sparing of commerce with women and chary of cupping and blood-letting and make of his belly three parts, one for food, one for drink and the third for air; for that a man's intestines are eighteen spans in length and it befits that he appoint six for food, six for drink, and six for air. if he walk, let him go gently; it will be wholesomer for him and better for his body and more in accordance with the saying of god the most high, "walk not boisterously [or proudly] upon the earth."'[fn# ] (q.) 'what are the symptoms of yellow bile and what is to be feared there-from?' (a.) 'the symptoms are, sallow complexion and dryness and bitter taste in the mouth, failure of the appetite, and rapid pulse; and the patient has to fear high fever and delirium and prickly heat and jaundice and tumour and ulceration of the bowels and excessive thirst.' (q.) 'what are the symptoms of black bile and what has the patient to fear from it, if it get the mastery of the body?' (a.) 'the symptoms are deceptive appetite and great mental disquiet and care and anxiety; and it behoves that it be evacuated, else it will generate melancholy and leprosy and cancer and disease of the spleen and ulceration of the bowels.' (q.) 'into how many branches is the art of medicine divided?' (a.) 'into two: the art of diagnosing diseases and that of restoring the diseased body to health.' (q.) 'when is the drinking of medicine more efficacious than otherwhen?' (a.) 'when the sap runs in the wood and the grape thickens in the cluster and the auspicious planets[fn# ] are in the ascendant, then comes in the season of the efficacy of drinking medicine and the doing away of disease.' (q.) 'what time is it, when, if a man drink from a new vessel, the drink is wholesomer and more digestible to him than at another time, and there ascends to him a pleasant and penetrating fragrance?' (a.) 'when he waits awhile after eating, as quoth the poet: i rede thee drink not after food in haste, but tarry still; else with a halter wilt thou lead thy body into ill. yea, wait a little after thou hast eaten, brother mine; then drink, and peradventure thus shalt thou attain unto thy will.' (q.) 'what food is it that giveth not rise to ailments?' (a.) 'that which is not eaten but after hunger, and when it is eaten, the ribs are not filled with it, even as saith galen the physician, "whoso will take in food, let him go slowly and he shall not go wrong." to end with the saying of the prophet, (whom god bless and preserve,) "the stomach is the home of disease, and abstinence is the beginning[fn# ] of cure, [fn# ] for the origin of every disease is indigestion, that is to say, corruption of the meat in the stomach."' (q.) 'what sayst thou of the bath?' (a.) 'let not the full man enter it. quoth the prophet, "the bath is the delight of the house, for that it cleanseth the body and calleth to mind the fire [of hell]."' (q.) 'what waters[fn# ] are best for bathing?' (a.) 'those whose waters are sweet and plains wide and whose air is pleasant and wholesome, its climate [or seasons] being fair, autumn and summer and winter and spring.' (q.) 'what kind of food is the most excellent?' (a.) 'that which women make and which has not cost overmuch trouble and which is readily digested. the most excellent of food is brewis,[fn# ] according to the saying of the prophet, "brewis excels other food, even as aaïsheh excels other women."' (q.) 'what kind of seasoning[fn# ] is most excellent?' (a.) 'flesh meat (quoth the prophet) is the most excellent of seasonings; for that it is the delight of this world and the next.' (q.) 'what kind of meat is the most excellent?' (a.) 'mutton; but jerked meat is to be avoided, for there is no profit in it.' (q.) 'what of fruits?' (a.) 'eat them in their prime and leave them when their season is past.' (q.) 'what sayst thou of drinking water?' (a.) 'drink it not in large quantities nor by gulps, or it will give thee the headache and cause divers kinds of harm; neither drink it immediately after the bath nor after copulation or eating (except it be after the lapse of fifteen minutes for a young and forty for an old man) or waking from sleep.' (q.) 'what of drinking wine?' (a.) 'doth not the prohibition suffice thee in the book of god the most high, where he saith, "verily, wine and casting lots and idols and divining arrows are an abomination of the fashion of the devil: shun them, so surely shall ye thrive."[fn# ] and again, "if they ask thee of wine and casting lots, say, 'in them are great sin and advantages to mankind, but the sin of them is greater than the advantage.'"[fn# ] quoth the poet: o wine-bibber, art not ashamed and afraid to drink of a thing that thy maker forbade? come, put the cup from thee and mell with it not, for wine and its drinker god still doth upbraid. and quoth another: i drank the sweet sin till my wit went astray: 'tis ill drinking of that which doth reason away. as for the useful qualities that are therein, it disperses gravel from the kidneys and strengthens the bowels, banishes care, moves to generosity and preserves health and digestion. it assains the body, expels disease from the joints, purifies the frame of corrupt humours, engenders cheerfulness and gladdens and keeps up the natural heat. it contracts the bladder, strengthens the liver and removes obstructions, reddens the face, clears away cobwebs from the brain and defers gray hairs. in short, had not god (to whom belong might and majesty) forbidden it, there were not on the face of the earth aught fit to stand in its place. as for drawing lots, it is a game of hazard.'[fn# ] (q.) 'what wine is the best?' (a.) 'that which is pressed from white grapes and ferments fourscore days or more: it resembleth not water and indeed there is nothing on the surface of the earth like unto it.' (q.) 'what of cupping?' (a.) 'it is for him who is [over] full of blood and has no defect therein. whoso will be cupped, let it be at the wane of the moon, on a day without cloud or wind or rain and the seventeenth of the month. if it fall on a tuesday, it will be the more efficacious, and nothing is more salutary for the brain and eyes and for clearing the memory than cupping.' (q.) 'what is the best time for cupping?' (a.) 'one should be cupped fasting, for this fortifies the wit and the memory. it is reported of the prophet that, when any one complained to him of a pain in the head or legs, he would bid him be cupped and not eat salt [meat] fasting, for it engendered scurvy, neither eat sour milk immediately after [cupping].' (q.) 'when is cupping to be avoided?' (a.) 'on wednesdays and saturdays, and let him who is cupped on these days blame none but himself. moreover, one should not be cupped in very hot nor in very cold weather; and the best season for cupping is spring.' (q.) 'tell me of copulation.' at this taweddud hung her head, for shame and confusion before the khalif; then said, 'by allah, o commander of the faithful, it is not that i am at fault, but that i am ashamed, though, indeed, the answer is on the tip of my tongue.' 'speak, o damsel,' said the khalif; whereupon quoth she, 'copulation hath in it many and exceeding virtues and praiseworthy qualities, amongst which are, that it lightens a body full of black bile and calms the heat of love and engenders affection and dilates the heart and dispels sadness; and the excess of it is more harmful in summer and autumn than in spring and winter.' (q.) 'what are its good effects?' (a.) 'it doth away trouble and disquiet, calms love and chagrin and is good for ulcers in a cold and dry humour; but excess of it weakens the sight and engenders pains in the legs and head and back: and beware, beware of having to do with old women, for they are deadly. quoth the imam ali,[fn# ] (whose face god honour), "four things kill and ruin the body: bathing on a full stomach, eating salt meat, copulation on a plethora [of blood] and lying with an ailing woman; for she will weaken thy strength and infect thy body with sickness; and an old woman is deadly poison." and quoth one of them, "beware of taking an old woman to wife, though she be richer in goods than caroun."'[fn# ] (q.) 'what is the best copulation?' (a.) 'if the woman be young, well-shaped, fair of face, swelling-breasted and of honourable extraction, she will add to thee strength and health of body; and let her be even as saith the poet, describing her: even by thy looks, i trow, she knows what thou desir'st, by instinct, without sign or setting forth of sense; and when thou dost behold her all-surpassing grace, her charms enable thee with gardens to dispense.' (q.) 'at what time is copulation good?' (a.) 'if by day, after the morning-meal, and if by night, after food digested.' (q.) 'what are the most excellent fruits?' (a.) 'the pomegranate and the citron.' (q.) 'which is the most excellent of vegetables?' (a.) 'the endive.' (q.) 'which of sweet-scented flowers?' (a.) 'the rose and the violet.' (q.) 'how is sperma hominis secreted?' (a.) 'there is in man a vein that feeds all the other veins. water [or blood] is collected from the three hundred and threescore veins and enters, in the form of red blood, the left testicle, where it is decocted, by the heat of man's temperament, into a thick, white liquid, whose odour is as that of the palm-spathe.' (q.) 'what bird [or flying thing] is it that emits seed and menstruates?' (a.) 'the bat, that is, the rere-mouse.' (q.) 'what is that which, when it is shut out [from the air], lives, and when it smells the air, dies?' (a.) 'the fish.' (q.) 'what serpent lays eggs?' (a.) 'the dragon.' with this the physician was silent, being weary with much questioning, and taweddud said to the khalif, 'o commander of the faithful, he hath questioned me till he is weary, and now i will ask him one question, which if he answer not, i will take his clothes as lawful prize.' 'ask on,' quoth the khalif. so she said to the physician, 'what is that which resembles the earth in [plane] roundness, whose resting-place and spine are hidden, little of value and estimation, narrow-chested, its throat shackled, though it be no thief nor runaway slave, thrust through and through, though not in fight, and wounded, though not in battle; time eats its vigour and water wastes it away; now it is beaten without a fault and now made to serve without stint; united after separation, submissive, but not to him who caresses it, pregnant[fn# ] without a child in its belly, drooping, yet not leaning on its side, becoming dirty yet purifying itself, cleaving to [its mate], yet changing, copulating without a yard, wrestling without arms, resting and taking its ease, bitten, yet not crying out, [now] more complaisant than a boon-companion and [anon] more troublesome than summer-heat, leaving its wife by night and clipping her by day and having its abode in the corners of the mansions of the noble?' the physician was silent and his colour changed and he bowed his head awhile in perplexity and made no reply; whereupon she said to him, 'o physician, speak or put off thy clothes.' at this, he rose and said, 'o commander of the faithful, bear witness against me that this damsel is more learned than i in medicine and what else and that i cannot cope with her.' and he put off his clothes and fled forth. quoth the khalif to taweddud, 'expound to us thy riddle,' and she replied, 'o commander of the faithful, it is the button and the button loop.' then said she, 'let him of you who is an astronomer come forward.' so the astronomer came forward and sat down before her. when she saw him, she laughed and said, 'art thou the astronomer, the mathematician, the scribe?' 'yes,' answered he. 'ask of what thou wilt,' quoth she; 'success rests with god.' so he said, 'tell me of the sun and its rising and setting?' and she replied, 'the sun rises in the eastern hemisphere and sets in the western, and each hemisphere comprises ninescore degrees. quoth god the most high, "verily, i swear by the lord of the places of the sunrise and of the sunsetting."[fn# ] and again, "he it is who appointed the sun for a splendour and the moon for a light and ordained to her mansions, that ye might know the number of the years and the reckoning."[fn# ] the moon is sultan of the night and the sun sultan of the day, and they vie with one another in their courses and follow each other in uninterrupted succession. quoth god the most high, "it befits not that the sun overtake the moon nor that the night prevent the day, but each glides in [its own] sphere."'[fn# ] (q.) 'when the day cometh, what becomes of the night, and what of the day, when the night cometh?' (a.) 'he maketh the night to enter into the day and the day into the night.'[fn# ] (q.) 'enumerate to me the mansions of the moon.' (a.) 'they are eight-and-twenty in number, to wit, sheretan, butain, thureya, deberan, hecaäh, henaäh, dhiraa, nethreh, terf, jebheh, zubreh, serfeh, awwaa, simak and ghefr, zubaniya, iklil, kelb, shauleh, naaïm, beldeh, saad edh dhabih, saad el bulaa, saad el akhbiyeh, saad es suwoud, fergh the former and fergh the latter and rishaa. they are disposed in the order of the letters of the alphabet, according to their numerical power, and there are in them secret virtues which none knoweth save god (glorified and exalted be he) and those who are firmly stablished in science. they are divided among the twelve signs of the zodiac, in the ratio of two mansions and a third of a mansion to each sign. thus sheretan, butain and one-third of thureya belong to aries, the other two- thirds of thureya, deberan and two thirds of hecaäh to taurus, the other third of hecaäh, henaäh and dhiraa to gemini, nethreh, terf, and a third of jebheh to cancer, the other two-thirds of jebheh, zubreh and two-thirds of serfeh to leo, the other third of serfeh, awwaa and simak to virgo, ghefr, zubaniya and one-third of iklil to libra, the other two-thirds of iklil, kelb and two- thirds of shauleh to scorpio, the other third of shauleh, naaïm and beldeh to sagittarius, saad edh dhabih, saad el bulaa and one-third of saad es suwoud to capricorn, the other two-thirds of saad es suwoud, saad el akbiyeh and two-thirds of fergh the former to aquarius, the other third of fergh the former, fergh the latter and rishaa to pisces.' (q.) 'tell me of the planets and their natures, also of their sojourn in the signs of the zodiac, their aspects, favourable and sinister, their houses, ascendants and descendants.' (a.) 'the sitting is narrow [for so comprehensive a matter], but they are seven in number, to wit, the sun, the moon, mercury, venus, mars, jupiter and saturn. the sun is hot and dry, sinister in conjunction, favourable in opposition, and abides thirty days in each sign. the moon is cold and moist, favourable of aspect, and abides two days in each sign and a third of another day. mercury is of a mixed nature, favourable [in conjunction] with the favourable and sinister [in conjunction] with the sinister [asterisms], and abides in each sign seventeen and a half days. venus is temperate, favourable and abides in each sign five-and-twenty days. mars is sinister and abides in each sign ten months. jupiter is favourable and abides in each sign a year. saturn is cold and dry and sinister and abides in each sign thirty months. the house of the sun is leo, its ascendant is aries and its descendant aquarius. the moon's house is cancer, its ascendant taurus, its descendant scorpio and its sinister aspect capricorn. saturn's house is capricorn and aquarius, its ascendant libra, its descendant aries and its sinister aspects cancer and leo. jupiter's house is pisces and sagittarius, its ascendant cancer, its descendant capricorn and its sinister aspects gemini and leo. venus's house is taurus, its ascendant pisces, its descendant libra and its sinister aspects aries and scorpio. mercury's house is gemini and virgo, its ascendant virgo, its descendant pisces and its sinister aspect taurus. mars's house is aries and scorpio, its ascendant capricorn, its descendant cancer and its sinister aspect libra.' when the astronomer saw her acuteness and skill and heard her fair answers, he bethought him for a device to confound her before the commander of the faithful and said to her, 'o damsel, will rain fall this month?' at this she bowed her head and pondered so long, that the khalif thought her at a loss for an answer and the astronomer said to her, 'why dost thou not speak?' quoth she, 'i will not speak except the commander of the faithful give me leave.' the khalif laughed and said, 'how so?' said she, 'i would have thee give me a sword, that i may strike off his head, for he is an infidel.' at this the khalif and those about him laughed, and she said, 'o astronomer, there are five things that none knoweth save god the most high;' and she repeated the following verse: 'verily, with god is the knowledge of the hour; he sendeth down the rain and knoweth what is in the wombs. none knoweth what the morrow shall bring forth for him nor in what land he shall die. verily, god is the all-wise, the all-knowing.'[fn# ] quoth the astronomer, 'thou hast said well, and by allah, i thought but to try thee.' 'know,' rejoined she, 'that the almanack-makers have certain signs and tokens, referring to the planets, relative to the coming in of the year, and in which are tribulations for the folk.' (q.) 'what are they?' (a.) 'each day hath a planet that rules it. so, if the first day of the year fall on a sunday, that day is the sun's and this portends (though god alone is all-knowing) oppression of kings and sultans and governors and much miasma and lack of rain and that the folk will be in great disorder and the grain-crop will be good, except lentils, which will perish, and the vines will rot and flax will be dear and wheat cheap from the beginning of toubeh[fn# ] to the end of beremhat.[fn# ] moreover, in this year there will be much fighting among kings, and there shall be great plenty of good in this year.' (q.) 'what if the first day fall on monday?' (a.) 'that day belongs to the moon and portends righteousness in administrators and deputies and that it will be a year of much rain and grain-crops will be good, but linseed will decay and wheat will be cheap in the month keyehk;[fn# ] also that plagues will be rife and that half the sheep and goats will die, that grapes will be plentiful and honey scarce and cotton cheap.' (q.) 'what if it fall on tuesday?' (a.) 'that is mars's day and portends death of great men and much destruction and outpouring of blood and dearness of grain, lack of rain and scarcity of fish, which will anon be in excess and anon fail [altogether]. in this year, lentils and honey will be cheap and linseed dear and only barley will thrive, to the exception of all other grain: great will be the fighting among kings and death will be in the blood and there will be much mortality among asses.' (q.) 'what if it fall on wednesday?' (a.) 'that is mercury's day and portends great anarchy among the folk and much enmity and rotting of some of the green crops and moderate rains; also that there will be great mortality among cattle and infants and much fighting by sea, that wheat will be dear from burmoudeh to misra[fn# ] and other grains cheap: thunder and lightning will abound and honey will be dear, palm-trees will thrive and bear apace and flax and cotton will be plentiful, but radishes and onions will be dear.' (q.) 'what if it fall on thursday?' (a.) 'that is jupiter's day and portends equity in viziers and righteousness in cadis and fakirs and the ministers of religion and that good will be plentiful: rain and fruits and trees and grain and fish will abound and flax, cotton, honey and grapes be cheap.' (q.) 'what if it fall on friday?' (a.) 'that day belongs to venus and portends oppression in the chiefs of the jinn and talk of forgery and calumny; there will be much dew, the autumn crops will be good in the land and there will be cheapness in one town and not in another: lewdness will be rife by land and sea, linseed will be dear, also wheat, in hatour,[fn# ] but cheap in amshir:[fn# ] honey will be dear and grapes and melons will rot.' (q.) 'what if it fall on saturday?' (a.) 'that is saturn's day and portends the preferment of slaves and greeks and those in whom there is no good, neither in their neighbourhood; there will be great drought and scarcity; clouds will abound and death will be rife among mankind and woe to the people of egypt and syria from the oppression of the sultan and failure of blessing upon the green crops and rotting of grain.' with this, the astronomer hung his head, [being at an end of his questions], and she said to him, 'o astronomer, i will ask thee one question, which if thou answer not, i will take thy clothes.' 'ask on,' replied he. quoth she, 'where is saturn's dwelling place?' and he answered, 'in the seventh heaven.' (q.) 'and that of jupiter?' (a.) 'in the sixth heaven.' (q.) 'and that of mars?' (a.) 'in the fifth heaven.' (q.) 'and that of the sun?' (a.) 'in the fourth heaven.' (q.) 'and that of venus?' (a.) 'in the third heaven.' (q.) 'and that of mercury?' (a.) 'in the second heaven.' (q.) 'and that of the moon?' (a.) 'in the first heaven.' quoth she, 'well answered; but i have one more question to ask thee. into how many parts are the stars divided?' but he was silent and answered nothing; and she said to him, 'put off thy clothes.' so he put them off and she took them; after which the khalif said to her, 'tell us the answer to thy question.' 'o commander of the faithful,' answered she, 'the stars are divided into three parts, one whereof is hung in the sky of the earth,[fn# ] as it were lamps, to give light to the earth, another suspended in the air, to give light to the seas and that which is therein, and the third is used to transfix the demons withal, when they draw near by stealth to [listen to the talk of the angels in] heaven. quoth god the most high, "verily, we have decked the sky of the earth with lamps and have appointed them for projectiles against the demons."'[fn# ] quoth the astronomer, 'i have one more question to ask, which if she answer, i will avow myself beaten.' 'say on,' answered she. then said he, 'what four incompatible things are based upon other four incompatibles?' 'the four elements,' replied she; 'for of heat god created fire, which is by nature hot and dry; of dryness, earth, which is cold and dry; of cold, water, which is cold and moist; of moisture, air, which is hot and moist. moreover, he created twelve signs of the zodiac, aries, taurus, gemini, cancer, leo, virgo, libra, scorpio, sagittarius, capricorn, aquarius and pisces and appointed them of four [several] humours, three, aries, leo and sagittarius, fiery, taurus, virgo and capricorn, earthy, gemini, libra and aquarius, airy, and cancer, scorpio and pisces, watery.' with this, the astronomer rose, and saying, 'bear witness against me that she is more learned than i,' went away beaten. then said the khalif, 'where is the philosopher?' whereupon one came forward and said to taweddud, 'what is time?' 'time,' answered she, 'is a name applied to the [lapse of the] hours of the day and night, which are but the measures of the courses of the sun and moon in their several orbits, even as god the most high telleth us, when he saith, "and a sign to them [is] the night, from which we strip off the day, and behold, they are in darkness, and the sun runneth to a fixed abode, [appointed] to it; this is the ordinance of the sublime, the all-knowing."' [fn# ] (q.) 'how comes unbelief to the son of adam?' (a.) 'it is reported of the prophet that he said, "unbelief runs in a man, as the blood runs in the veins, when he reviles the world and time and night and the hour." and again, "let none of you revile time, for time is god; neither the world, for it saith, 'may god not help him that reviles me!' neither the hour, for 'verily, the hour cometh, without doubt;'[fn# ] neither the earth, for it is a portent, according to the saying of the most high, 'from it we created you, to it we will return you and from it we will bring you forth yet again.'"'[fn# ] (q.) 'what are the five that ate and drank, yet came not out of loins nor belly?' (a.) 'adam and simeon and salih's she-camel[fn# ] and ishmael's ram and the bird that abou bekr the truth-teller saw in the cave.'[fn# ] (q.) 'tell me of five that are in paradise and are neither mortals, jinn nor angels?' (a.) 'jacob's wolf and the seven sleepers' dog and esdras's ass and salih's camel and the prophet's mule.' (q.) 'what man prayed a prayer neither on earth nor in heaven?' (a.) 'solomon [son of david], when he prayed on his carpet, borne by the wind.' (q.) 'a man once looked at a handmaid in the morning, and she was unlawful to him; but, at noonday, she became lawful to him. by mid-afternoon, she was again unlawful, but at sundown, she was lawful to him. at evensong, she was a third time unlawful, but by daybreak, she became once more lawful to him.' (a.) 'this was a man who looked at another's handmaid in the morning, and she was then unlawful to him, but at midday he bought her, and she became lawful to him. at mid-afternoon he enfranchised her, and she became unlawful to him, but at sundown he married her and she was again lawful to him. at evensong, he divorced her and she was then a third time unlawful to him, but, next morning, at daybreak, he took her back, and she became once more lawful to him.' (q.) 'tell me what tomb fared on with him that lay buried therein?' (a.) 'the whale, when it had swallowed jonah.' (q.) 'what spot of ground is it, upon which the sun shone once, but will never again shine till the day of judgment?' (a.) 'the bottom of the red sea, when moses smote it with his staff, and the sea clove asunder in twelve places, according to the number of the tribes; then the sun shone on the bottom and will do so never again till the day of judgment.' (q.) 'what was the first skirt that trailed upon the surface of the earth?' (a.) 'that of hagar, out of shame before sarah, and it became a custom among the arabs.' (q.) 'what is that which breathes without life?' (a.) 'quoth god the most high, "by the morning, when it breathes!"'[fn# ] (q.) 'a number of pigeons came to a high tree and lighted, some on the tree and others under it. said those on the tree to those on the ground, "if one of you come up to us, ye will be a third part of us [all] in number; and if one of us descend to you, we shall be like unto you in number." how many pigeons were there in all?' (a.) 'twelve: seven alighted on the tree and five beneath.' with this the philosopher put off his clothes and fled forth: whereupon she turned to those present and said, 'which of you is the rhetorician that can discourse of all kinds of knowledge?' there came forward ibrahim ben siyyar and said to her, 'think me not like the rest.' quoth she, 'it is the more sure to me that thou wilt be beaten, for that thou art a boaster, and god will help me against thee, that i may strip thee of thy clothes. so, if thou sentest one to fetch thee wherewithal to clothe thyself, it would be well for thee.' 'by allah,' cried he, 'i will assuredly conquer thee and make thee a byword among the folk, generation after generation!' 'do penance [in advance] for thy [void] oath,' rejoined she. then said he, 'what five things did god create, before he made man?' and she replied, 'water and earth and light and darkness and the fruits [of the earth].' (q.) 'what did god create with the hand of omnipotence?' (a.) 'the empyreal heaven and the tree touba[fn# ] and adam and the garden of eden; these god created with the hand of his omnipotence; but to all other created things he said, "be,"--and they were.' (q.) 'who is thy father in islam?' (a.) 'mohammed, whom god bless and preserve!' (q.) 'who was the father [in islam] of mohammed?' (a.) 'abraham the friend of god.' (q.) 'what is the faith of islam?' (a.) 'the professing that there is no god but god and that mohammed is the apostle of god.' (q.) 'what is thy first and thy last?' (a.) 'my first is troubled water[fn# ] and my last filthy carrion. the first of me is dust and the last dust. quoth the poet: created wast thou of the dust and didst a man become, ready in question and reply and fluent in debate. then to the dust return'dst anon and didst become of it, for that, in very deed, of dust at first thou wast create.' (q.) 'what thing was it, whose first [state] was wood and its last life?' (a.) 'moses' rod, when he cast it on the ground and it became, by permission of god, a writhing serpent.'[fn# ] (q.) 'what is the meaning of the verse in the koran, "and i have other need [or occasion] for it"?'[fn# ] (a.) 'he [moses] was wont to plant his staff in the ground, and it would flower and fruit and shade him from the heat and the cold. moreover, it would carry him, when he was weary, and guard his sheep from the wild beasts, whilst he slept.' (q.) 'what woman was born of a man alone and what man of a woman alone?' (a.) 'eve of adam and jesus of mary.' (q.) 'what fire eats and drinks, what fire eats but drinks not, what fire drinks but eats not and what other neither eats nor drinks?' (a.) 'hellfire eats and drinks, the fire of the world eats but drinks not, the fire of the sun drinks but eats not, and that of the moon neither eats nor drinks.' (q.) 'which is the open [door] and which the shut [door]?' (a.) 'the traditional ordinances are the open, the koranic the shut [door].' (q.) 'of what does the poet speak, when he says: a dweller in the sepulchre, at 's head his victual lies; whenas he tastes thereof, he speaks and questions and replies. he rises up and walks and talks, yet silent is the while, and turns anon unto the tomb wherefrom he did arise. no living one is he, that hath a title to respect, nor dead, that folk should say of him, "god's mercy him comprise!"?' (a.) 'the pen.' (q.) 'what does the poet refer to in these verses: two breasts in one it hath; its blood is eath and quick of flow, wide-mouthed, though all the rest be black, its ears are white as snow. it hath an idol like a cock, that doth its belly peck, and half a dirhem is its worth, if thou its price wouldst know?' (a.) 'the inkhorn.' (q.) 'and in these: say to men of wit and learning and to doctors everywhere, skilled to find the hidden meanings riddles and enigmas bear, come expound to me what is it that ye see a bird produce, 'mongst the arabs and barbarians and wherever else ye fare; neither flesh nor blood, i warrant, hath the thing whereof i speak; neither down nor feathers, birdwise, for a garment doth it wear. boiled it is and likewise roasted, eaten hot and eaten cold; yea, to boot, and when 'tis buried in the glowing embers' flare, colours twain in it are noted, one as silver clear and white, and the other lucent yellow, gold therewith may not compare. living can it not be reckoned, neither may we count it dead: tell me, then, what is this wonder, rarity of all things rare?' (a.) 'thou makest long the questioning of an egg worth a doit.' (q.) 'how many words [or times] did god speak to moses?' (a.) 'it is related of the prophet that he said, "god spoke to moses fifteen hundred and fifteen words [or times]."' (q.) 'tell me of fourteen things that speak to the lord of the worlds?' (a.) 'the seven heavens and the seven earths, when they say, "we come, obedient."'[fn# ] (q.) 'how was adam created?' (a.) 'god created adam of clay: the clay he made of foam and the foam of the sea, the sea of darkness, darkness of light, light of a fish, the fish of a rock, the rock of a ruby, the ruby of water, and the water he created by the exertion of his omnipotent will, according to his saying (exalted be his name!), "his commandment is only when he willeth aught, that he say, 'be,' --and it is."'[fn# ] (q.) 'what is meant by the poet in the following verses: a things sans mouth or maw that eats in wondrous wise; on trees and beasts it feeds and all beneath the skies. give it to eat, it thrives and flourishes amain; but give it not to drink of water, or it dies?' (a.) 'fire.' (q.) 'and in these: two lovers, that are still estopped from all delight: embracing, each with each, they pass the livelong night. they guarantee the folk from all calamity, and with the risen sun they're torn apart forthright?' (a.) 'the leaves of a gate.' (q.) 'tell me of the gates of hell?' (a.) 'they are seven in number and their names are comprised in the following verses: jehennem first, then leza comes and eke hetim as well; then must thou count saïr, and fifth comes seker, sooth to tell: sixth comes jehim and last of all, hawiyeh; thus thou hast, in compass brief of doggrel rhyme, the seven rooms of hell.' (q.) 'to what does the poet refer in these verses: a pair of ringlets long she hath, that trail for aye behind her, as she comes and goes upon her way, and eye that never knows the taste of sleep nor sheds a tear, for none it hath for shedding, sooth to say; nor wears it aught of clothes, from year to ended year; yet in all manner wede it doth the folk array?' (a.) 'a needle.' (q.) 'what is the length and breadth of the bridge es sirat?' (a.) 'its length is three thousand years' journey, a thousand in descent, a thousand level and a thousand in ascent: it is sharper than a sword and finer than a hair.' (q.) 'how many intercessions [with god] hath the prophet [for each soul]?' (a.) 'three.' (q.) 'was abou bekr the first that embraced islam?' (a.) 'yes.' (q.) 'yet ali[fn# ] became a muslim before him?' (a.) 'all came to the prophet, when he was a boy of seven years old, for god vouchsafed him the knowledge of the truth in his tender youth, so that he never prostrated himself to idols.' (q.) 'which is the more excellent, ali or abbas?'[fn# ] now she knew that, in propounding this question, ibrahim was laying a trap for her; for, if she said, 'ali is the more excellent,' she would fall in disgrace with the khalif; so she bowed her head awhile, now reddening, now paling, then said, 'thou askest me of two excellent men, each having [his own especial] excellence. let us return to what we were about.' when the khalif heard her reply, he rose to his feet and said, 'by the lord of the kaabeh, thou hast said well, o taweddud!' then said ibrahim, 'what means the poet, when he says: slender of skirts and slim of shape and sweet of taste it is, most like unto the spear, except it lacks of the spontoon. in all the countries of the world the folk make use of it, and eaten 'tis in ramazan, after mid-afternoon?' she answered, 'the sugar-cane;' and he said, 'tell me of many things.' 'what are they?' asked she; and he said, 'what is sweeter than honey, what is sharper than the sword, what is swifter than poison, what is the delight of a moment and what the contentment of three days, what is the pleasantest of days, what is the joy of a week, what is the debt that the worst payer denieth not, what is the prison of the tomb, what is the joy of the heart, what is the snare of the soul, what is death in life, what is the malady that may not be healed, what is the reproach that may not be done away, what is the beast that harbours not in cultivated fields, but lodges in waste places and hates mankind and hath in it somewhat of the make of seven strong beasts?' quoth she, 'hear what i shall say in answer; then put off thy clothes, that i may expound to thee.' then the khalif said, 'expound, and he shall put off his clothes.' so she said, 'that, which is sweeter than honey, is the love of pious children to their parents; that, which is sharper than the sword, is the tongue; that, which is swifter than poison, is the evil eye; the delight of a moment is coition and the contentment of three days is the depilatory for women; the pleasantest of days is that of profit on merchandise; the joy of a week is the bride; the debt, which the worst payer denieth not, is death; the prison of the tomb is an ill son; the joy of the heart is a woman obedient to her husband, (and it is said also that, when fleshmeat descends upon the heart, it rejoiceth therein); the snare [or vexation] of the soul is a disobedient slave; death in life is poverty; the malady, that may not be healed, is an ill nature and the reproach, that may not be done away, is an ill daughter; lastly, the beast that harbours not in cultivated fields, but lodges in waste places and hates mankind and hath in it somewhat of the make of seven strong beasts, is the locust, whose head is as the head of the horse, its neck as the neck of the bull, its wings as the wings of the vulture, its feet as the feet of the camel, its tail as the tail of the serpent, its body as the body of the scorpion and its horns as the horns of the gazelle.' the khalif was astounded at her quickness and understanding and said to ibrahim, 'put off thy clothes.' so he rose and said, 'i call all who are present in this assembly to witness that she is more learned than i and all the learned men.' and he put off his clothes and gave them to her, saying, 'take them and may god not bless them to thee!' the khalif ordered him fresh clothes and said to taweddud, 'there is one thing left of that for which thou didst engage, namely, chess.' and he sent for professors of chess and draughts and backgammon. the chess-player sat down before her, and they set the pieces, and he moved and she moved; but, every move he made she speedily countered, till she beat him and he found himself check-mated. quoth he, 'i did but lead thee on, that thou mightest think thyself skilful; but set up again, and i will show thee.' so they placed the pieces a second time, and he said to himself, 'open thine eyes, or she will beat thee.' and he fell to moving no piece, save after calculation, and ceased not to play, till she said, 'check-mate.' when he saw this, he was confounded at her quickness and skill; but she laughed and said, 'o master, i will make a wager with thee on this third game. i will give thee the queen and the right-hand rook and the left-hand knight; if thou beat me, take my clothes, and if i beat thee, i will take thine.' 'i agree to this,' replied he, and they replaced the pieces, she giving him the queen, rook and knight. then said she, 'move, o master.' so he moved, saying in himself, 'i cannot but win, with such an advantage,' and made a combination; but she moved on, little by little, till she made one of her pawns a queen and pushing up to him pawns and other pieces, to take off his attention, set one in his way and tempted him with it.[fn# ] accordingly, he took it and she said to him, 'the measure is meted out and the equilibrium established. eat, o man, till thou pass repletion; nought shall be thy ruin but greediness. knowest thou not that i did but tempt thee, that i might beguile thee? see: this is check-mate: put off thy clothes.' 'leave me my trousers,' quoth he, 'so god requite thee;' and he swore by allah that he would contend with none, so long as taweddud abode at the court of baghdad. then he took off his clothes and gave them to her and went away. then came the backgammon-player, and she said to him, 'if i beat thee, what wilt thou give me?' quoth he, 'i will give thee ten suits of brocade of constantinople, figured with gold, and ten suits of velvet and a thousand dinars, and if i beat thee, i ask nothing but that thou write me an acknowledgment thereof.' 'to it, then,' replied she, 'and do thy best.' so they played, and he lost and went away, jabbering in the frank jargon and saying, 'by the bounty of the commander of the faithful, there is not her like in all the world!' then the khalif summoned players on instruments of music and said to her, 'dost thou know aught of music?' 'yes,' answered she. so he bade bring a peeled and polished lute, whose owner [or maker] was ground down by exile [or estrangement from the beloved] and of which quoth one, describing it: god watered a land and straight a tree sprang up on its root: it cast forth branches and throve and flourished with many a shoot. the birds, when the wood was green, sang o'er it, and when it was dry, fair women sang to it in turn, for lo, 'twas a minstrel's lute! so they brought a bag of red satin, with tassels of saffron-coloured silk: and she opened the bag, and took out a lute, on which were graven the following verses: full many a tender branch a lute for singing-girl has grown, wherewith at banquets to her mates she makes melodious moan. she sings; it follows on her song, as 'twere to teach her how heart's troubles in clear perfect speech of music to make known. she laid her lute in her lap and letting her breasts hang over it, bent to it as bends a mother, suckling her child; then preluded in twelve different modes, till the whole assembly was agitated with delight, and sang the following verses: leave your estrangement, i pray, and bid your cruelty hold, for, by your life, my heart will never for you be consoled. have pity on one who weeps, afflicted and ever sad, a slave of passion, who burns for thee with longings untold. the khalif was ravished and exclaimed, 'may god bless thee and receive him who taught thee[fn# ] into his mercy!' whereupon she rose and kissed the earth before him. then he sent for money and paid her master aboulhusn a hundred thousand dinars to her price; after which he said to her, 'o taweddud, ask a boon of me.' 'o commander of the faithful,' replied she, 'i ask of thee that thou restore me to my lord who sold me to thee.' 'it is well,' answered the khalif and restored her to her master and gave her five thousand dinars for herself. moreover, he appointed aboulhusn one of his boon-companions and assigned him a monthly stipend of a thousand dinars so long as he should live, and he abode with the damsel taweddud in all delight of life. marvel then, o king, at the eloquence of this damsel and the greatness of her learning and understanding and her perfect excellence in all branches of knowledge, and consider the generosity of the khalif haroun er reshid, in that he gave her master this money and said to her, 'ask a boon of me;' and she besought him to restore her to her lord. so he restored her to him and gave her five thousand dinars for herself and made him one of his boon-companions. where is such generosity to be found after the abbaside khalifs, may god the most high have mercy upon them all! end of vol. iv arabian nights, volume footnotes [fn# ] a very famous legist and wit of the eighth century and a prime favourite with er reshid. he was one of the chief pupils of the imam abou henifeh (see note, vol. ii. p. {see vol. fn# }) and was cadi of baghdad under the third, fourth and fifth khalifs of the abbaside dynasty. [fn# ] shown in choosing so learned a cadi. [fn# ] governor of the two iraks (i.e. bassora and cufa) in the reign of hisham, tenth khalif of the ommiade dynasty (a.d. - ). he was celebrated for his beneficence and liberality. [fn# ] koran iii. , etc. [fn# ] "the hand of a thief shall not be cut off for stealing less than a quarter of a dinar."--mischat ul masabih. [fn# ] el asmai the poet, author or compiler of the well-known romance of antar. [fn# ] zanzibar (ant. zengibar). [fn# ] the word sherif (lit. noble) signifies strictly a descendant of the martyr hussein, son of the khalif ali; but it is here used in the sense of "chief" [of the bazaar]. [fn# ] quære mensour en nemri, a well-known poet of the time and (originally) a protege of yehya's son, el fezl. [fn# ] intendant of the palace to haroun er reshid and captain of his guards. [fn# ] i.e. the khalif [fn# ] i.e. as if he were an old bedouin, with forehead disfigured by the friction of the rope of camel's hair, which is part of the bedouin headdress. [fn# ] mohammed said, "change the whiteness of your hair, but not with anything black." henna is the approved hairdye for a true-believer; it changes the hair to a reddish-brown. [fn# ] i.e. thou that art as dear to me as my sight and hearing. [fn# ] a fountain of paradise. [fn# ] syn. languishing (munkesir). [fn# ] a river of paradise. [fn# ] i.e. orthodox. [fn# ] these words are a quotation from a well-known piece of verse. [fn# ] of the prophet. [fn# ] usually made of palm-fibres. [fn# ] the distinctive headdress of the muslims. [fn# ] the bridge that spans hell, finer than a hair and sharper than a sword, and over which all must pass on the day of judgment. [fn# ] or leader of the people at prayer, who stands opposite the niche sunk into or painted on the wall of the mosque, to indicate the direction of mecca. [fn# ] all this is an audacious parody of the muslim ritual of prayer. [fn# ] lit. "exclamations of 'glory be to god!'" which are of frequent recurrence in the mohammedan formulas of prayer. see last note. [fn# ] i.e. governor. [fn# ] the word ucwaneh, here used in the dual number, usually designates the teeth, in its common meaning of "camomile- flower": but the lips are here expressly mentioned, and this fact, together with that of the substitution, in the breslau edition, of the word akikan (two cornelians or rubies) for ucwanetan (two camomiles), as in the calcutta and boulac editions, shows that the word is intended to be taken in its rarer meaning of "corn-marigold." [fn# ] syn. fortune (ez zeman). [fn# ] one of the tribes of the arabs and that to which the renowned maan ben zaideh (see vol. iii. p. , {vol. , fn# }) belonged. [fn# ] the muslims accuse the jews of having corrupted the pentateuch and others of their sacred books, even as the christians the gospels (see vol. ii. page , note {vol. , fn# }), by expunging or altering the passages foretelling the coming of mohammed. [fn# ] see vol. i. p. , note . {vol. , fn# } [fn# ] i.e. as a martyr. [fn# ] the force of this comparison will best appear from the actual figuration of the arabic double-letter lam-alif (anglice l.a.) which is made up of the two letters *<arabic character>, (initial form of lam) and *<arabic character> (final of alif,) and is written thus, *<arabic character>. [fn# ] i.e. o thou, whose glance is as the light of the glowing embers. [fn# ] thus figured in arabic *<arabic character>. [fn# ] thus *<arabic character>. [fn# ] thus *<arabic character>. [fn# ] koran xxvil. . [fn# ] koran iii. . [fn# ] koran xcii. , . [fn# ] sauda, feminine of aswed (black), syn. black bile (melancholia). [fn# ] the distinctive colour of which is white. [fn# ] koran li. . [fn# ] mohammed. [fn# ] koran ii. , referring to an expiatory heifer which the jews were commanded, through moses, to sacrifice. [fn# ] see note, vol iii. p. {vol. , fn# } [fn# ] sulafeh. [fn# ] sewalif, plural of salifeh (equivalent of sulafeh). a play upon the double meaning of the word is, of course, intended. [fn# ] syn. yellowness (isfirar). [fn# ] a title of the prophet. [fn# ] his wife zubeideh. [fn# ] i.e. his beautiful slave-girls. [fn# ] i.e. his beautiful slave-girls. [fn# ] title of saladin (selaheddin) and several other eyoubite sultans of egypt and syria. it is equivalent to our "defender of the faith." [fn# ] koran xli. . [fn# ] a town of upper egypt. [fn# ] meaning the merchant, whose name, abou jaafer or the like, he had learnt from the tailor. [fn# ] muslim jews. [fn# ] a well-known jurist at baghdad in the reign of the khalif mamoun. [fn# ] medina. [fn# ] one of the gates of the great mosque there, wherein is the tomb of the prophet. [fn# ] tenth khalif of the abbaside dynasty, a.d. - . [fn# ] muwelledat, women born in muslim countries of slave-parents; syn. mulatto-women. [fn# ] lieutenant of the prefect of baghdad. [fn# ] muwelledat, women born in muslim countries of slave-parents; syn. mulatto-women. [fn# ] el hakim bi amrillah, sixth fatimite khalif of egypt (a.d. - ), cruel and fantastic tyrant, who claimed to be an incarnation of the deity. he was the founder of the religion of the druses, who look to him to reappear and be their messiah [fn# ] bastard or spanish pellitory. [fn# ] or dyed. [fn# ] or interlocking. [fn# ] or torn. [fn# ] sufreh, a round piece of leather used (mostly by travellers) as a table-cloth and having a running string inserted round its edge, by means of which it can be converted into a bag or budget for holding provisions, as in this instance. [fn# ] lower india. [fn# ] i.e. as master of the house in which i have sought shelter. [fn# ] uns el wujoud. [fn# ] a pun upon his name, uns wa joud, pleasance and bounty. [fn# ] see supra, p. , note . {vol. , fn# } [fn# ] the fourteenth letter of the arabic alphabet, in its medial form (<arabic>) closely resembling an eye underlined with kohl. [fn# ] see note, vol. iii. p. . {vol. , fn# } [fn# ] i.e. in dreams.. [fn# ] one of the months in which war was forbidden to the pagan arabs and a sort of trève de dieu prevailed. [fn# ] the arabic word fakir means literally, "a poor man;" but it would appear, from what follows, that uns el wujoud had disguised himself as a religious mendicant and was taken for such by the people of the castle. [fn# ] i.e. one absorbed in the contemplation of supra- terrestrial things. [fn# ] uns el wujoud. [fn# ] to salute them and wish them joy, according to oriental custom. [fn# ] mosul is called the land of purity, in a religious sense, it having never been polluted with idolatrous worship. [fn# ] the people of aleppo seem to have been noted for debauchery. [fn# ] i.e. do not express admiration openly, lest it attract the evil eye, but vent your wonder by saying, "god bless and preserve the prophet!" according to general muslim wont. [fn# ] a gorge near mecca, the scene of one of mohammed's battles. [fn# ] i.e. as made out of a crooked rib, according to the tradition. [fn# ] i.e. the land of the virgin. [fn# ] the word jamiaïn means "two congregational mosques," which would only be found in a large town like baghdad. it is possible, therefore, that the expression, "land of jamiaïn," may mean baghdad or some other great city, noted for its debauched manners. [fn# ] oriental substitute for slate. [fn# ] a pre-mohammedan poet. [fn# ] king of hireh in chaldæa, a fantastic and bloodthirsty tyrant, whom he had lampooned. [fn# ] aboulabbas er recashi, a well-known poet of the time. [fn# ] koran xxvi. , , . [fn# ] half-brother of abdallah ben ez zubeir, the celebrated pretender to the khalifate, see vol. iii. p. , note . {vol. , fn# } [fn# ] grand-daughter of the khalif aboubekr and the most beautiful woman of her day. [fn# ] a famous medinan traditionist of the eighth century. [fn# ] er zubeir ibn el awwam, cousin-german to mohammed and one of his companions. [fn# ] abou mohammed el aamesh, a cufan traditionist of the eighth century. [fn# ] a traditionist of the seventh century. [fn# ] one of the companions. [fn# ] traditionists of the seventh and eighth centuries. [fn# ] traditionists of the seventh and eighth centuries. [fn# ] traditionists of the seventh and eighth centuries. [fn# ] companions of the prophet. [fn# ] traditionists of the seventh and eighth centuries. [fn# ] traditionists of the seventh and eighth centuries. [fn# ] traditionists of the seventh and eighth centuries. [fn# ] companions of the prophet. [fn# ] a.d. - . the founder of the great persian dynasty of the kisras (chosroës). mohammed was born in the reign of this monarch, whose name is a synonym with eastern writers for all that is just and noble in a king. [fn# ] wife of mohammed. [fn# ] daughter of mohammed. [fn# ] lit. "of the ancestors," i.e. those pious and blessed persons who have gone before. the word es selef (the ancestors) is specially applied to mohammed, his wife aaisheh, the first three khalifs and certain other early muslims. [fn# ] khusrau perviz, grandson of kisra anoushirwan (see supra, p. ). {vol. , fn# } [fn# ] the famous beauty, daughter of maurice, emperor of the east, and heroine of nizami's well-known poem. [fn# ] first cousin of haroun er reshid. [fn# ] son and successor of er reshid. [fn# ] a well-known grammarian and traditionist of the time, afterwards governor of part of khorassan, under the khalif el mamoun. [fn# ] intendant of the palace under er reshid. [fn# ] i.e. lover. [fn# ] muslim version of susannah and the elders. [fn# ] lit. o frosty-beard (fool), how frosty was thy beard! [fn# ] descendant of the prophet. [fn# ] name of a tribe. [fn# ] a descendant of ishmael, from whom the arab genealogists trace mohammed's lineage. [fn# ] koran xxxiii. . [fn# ] koran xxxviii. . [fn# ] one of the companions of the prophet. [fn# ] of the prophet i.e. those who had personally known mohammed. [fn# ] i.e. the builders, who, in the east, use mud or clay for mortar. [fn# ] about a penny. [fn# ] mohammed. [fn# ] a woman's name. [fn# ] for putting out the fire in a brasier or cooking-stove. [fn# ] the last kings of hireh were christians. [fn# ] a prae-islamitic poet. [fn# ] king of persia and en numan's suzerain. [fn# ] a celebrated poet of the eighth and ninth centuries at the court d the abbaside khalifs. [fn# ] a quarter of baghdad. [fn# ] another well-known poet of the time, dibil's teacher and friend. [fn# ] underground rooms are much used in baghdad and central asia, for coolness' sake, in the season of the great heats. [fn# ] dibil's surname. [fn# ] an idol of the pagan arabs, before the coming of mohammed. [fn# ] in the attitude or a pupil before his master. [fn# ] i.e. heart's blood. [fn# ] a well-known poet, who flourished at baghdad in the ninth century [fn# ] aboulabbas mohammed ben yezid eth thumali, surnamed el muberred, a famous baghdad grammarian of the ninth century. [fn# ] a monastery in the town of hemah in syria, so called from the emperor heraclius, who retired thither, to end his. days. [fn# ] these verses are addressed to the prophet mohammed. [fn# ] the most learned grammarian of his day. he flourished at baghdad in the first half of the tenth century. [fn# ] anatolia. [fn# ] the lights. [fn# ] servant of the messiah. [fn# ] the monk. [fn# ] the desireful servant of god. abdallah is the name commonly given to a christian convert to islam. this question and answer are a good example of the jingle of rhymes so much affected by the arabs. [fn# ] i.e. of gods (shirk). [fn# ] koran vii. . [fn# ] i.e. saints. [fn# ] koran x. . [fn# ] a well-known man of letters and one of el mamoun's viziers. [fn# ] prefect of baghdad under el mamoun. [fn# ] i.e. the persons in authority under them. [fn# ] surname of ali ben hisham. [fn# ] a renowned chieftain and poet of the time of mohammed. [fn# ] a famous singer and composer of the first century of the hegira. [fn# ] one of the greatest of arab poets; he flourished in the first century of the hegira. [fn# ] i.e. as to the sound of music. [fn# ] sixth of the abbaside khalifs, a.d. - . [fn# ] see note, vol. iii. p. . {see vol. , fn# }. [fn# ] tenth abbaside khalif, a.d. - . [fn# ] vizier and favourite of el mutawekkil, killed a.d. whilst endeavouring to defend the khalif against the parricide el muntestr. [fn# ] virginitatem tollere. [fn# ] johannes, a greek physician in high favour with el mutawekkil and others of the abbaside khalifs. [fn# ] i.e. princess of the doctors or men of learning. [fn# ] a.d. . [fn# ] or heads of the various sects or schools of religion. [fn# ] koran iv. . [fn# ] as witness to a debt, koran ii. . [fn# ] koran iv. . [fn# ] or "eye-glance." [fn# ] abou temmam et tai (of the tribe of tai), a famous poet of the first half of the ninth century and postmaster at mosul under the khalif wathic billah (commonly known as vathek), a.d. - . he was the compiler of the famous anthology of ancient arabian poetry, known as the hemaseh (hamasa). [fn# ] aboulcasim el heriri, the famous poet and grammarian, author of the mecamat, the most celebrated single work in arabic literature. he holds much the same rank in arabic letters as pope and boileau in the literature of england and france and may, with much better reason, be styled "le legislateur du parnasse (arabe)." he was a native of bassora and died early in the twelfth century. [fn# ] i.e. the languishing glance of his eye. [fn# ] i.e. his whiskers. [fn# ] koran xii. . [fn# ] or quare palm-spathes. [fn# ] or quare "an exposition of women." [fn# ] koran xxvi. , . [fn# ] i.e. the whiteness of his face. [fn# ] or "freeborn," the arabic word used here having this double meaning. the arabs hold that the child of freeborn parents (lat. ingenuus) must of necessity be noble and those born of slave parents or a slave mother the contrary. [fn# ] or "freeborn," the arabic word used here having this double meaning. the arabs hold that the child of freeborn parents (lat. ingenuus) must of necessity be noble and those born of slave parents or a slave mother the contrary. [fn# ] a famous statesman, soldier, poet and musician, governor of khorassan, egypt and other provinces under the khalif el mamoun. [fn# ] abou abdallah ibn el casim el hashimi, surnamed abou el ainaa, a blind traditionist and man of letters of bassora, in the ninth century, and one of the most celebrated wits of his day. [fn# ] an island near cairo, on which is situate the nilometer. it is a favourite pleasure-resort of the cairenes. [fn# ] the port of cairo. [fn# ] i.e. the report of its being haunted. [fn# ] i.e. by the sortes coranicæ or other similar process. [fn# ] the word shabb (young man) is applied by the arabs to men of all ages from early adolescence to forty or even (according to some authorities) fifty. [fn# ] i.e. recited the first chapter of the koran seven times. [fn# ] i.e. affixed the tughraa, the royal seal or rather countermark. [fn# ] i.e. health and security. [fn# ] see vol. iii. p. , note . {vol. fn# } [fn# ] a pile of stones or other land-mark, set up to show the way to travellers in the desert. [fn# ] the eyebrows of a beautiful woman are usually compared to the new moon of ramazan (see note, vol. i. p. {see vol. fn# }). the meaning here is the same, the allusion being apparently to the eagerness with which the pagan arabs may be supposed to have watched for the appearance of the new moon of shaaban, as giving the signal for the renewal of predatory excursions, after the enforced close-time or trêve de dieu of the holy month rejeb. [fn# ] quære fourteen [years old]. [fn# ] i.e. the abrogated passages and those by which they are abrogated. [fn# ] koran iv. . [fn# ] traditions of the prophet. [fn# ] i.e. saying, "i purpose to pray such and such prayers." [fn# ] i.e. saying, "god is most great!" so called, because its pronunciation after that of the niyeh or intent, prohibits the speaking of any words previous to prayer. [fn# ] i.e. saying, "i purpose, etc." [fn# ] i.e. saying, "i purpose, etc." [fn# ] i.e. saying, "in the name of god, etc." [fn# ] i.e. saying, "i purpose, etc." [fn# ] it may be noted that these answers of taweddud form an excellent compendium of devotional practice, according to the tenets of the shafy school. [fn# ] obligatory as a preparation for the friday prayer and on other occasions when legal purification is necessary. [fn# ] i.e. saying, "i purpose to defer, etc." [fn# ] i.e. with sand, earth or dust. [fn# ] i.e. saying, "peace be on us and [all] the righteous worshippers of god!" [fn# ] i.e. saying, "i seek refuge with god from satan the accursed." [fn# ] i.e. saying, "i purpose, etc." [fn# ] lit. that the intent shall be by night. [fn# ] at sundown. [fn# ] eaten a little before the break of day, the fast commencing as soon as there is light enough to distinguish a black thread from a white and lasting till sunset. [fn# ] a saying of mohammed. [fn# ] i.e. retirement to a mosque for pious exercises, equivalent to the roman catholic retraite. [fn# ] two hills near mecca. [fn# ] on first catching sight of mecca. [fn# ] places near mecca. [fn# ] at a pillar supposed to represent the devil. [fn# ] or chief of the faith. [fn# ] koran vii. . [fn# ] one of the followers of mohammed, i.e. those who had known some of the companions [of the prophet] though they had never seen himself. the freedman [and adopted son] of abdallah, son of omar ben el khettab, the most authoritative of all the companions and reporters of the sayings and doings of the prophet. [fn# ] i.e. at a profit. the exchange must be equal and profitless. [fn# ] ablution. [fn# ] complete ablution. [fn# ] poor-rate. [fn# ] warring for the faith. [fn# ] i.e. saying, "i testify that there is no god, etc." [fn# ] i.e. fundamentals. [fn# ] i.e. derivatives. [fn# ] i.e. the true believers. [fn# ] i.e. death. [fn# ] i.e. that which does not require to be cut with a knife. "cut not meat with a knife, because it is of the manners and customs of the barbarians; but eat it with your teeth."-- mishcat ul masabih. [fn# ] or "being a muslim." [fn# ] apparently referring to the verse, "the earth all [shall be] his handful [on the] day of resurrection and the heavens rolled up in his right [hand]."--koran xxxix. . [fn# ] see vol. ii. p. , note. {vol. , fn# } [fn# ] koran lxxviii. . [fn# ] of the unity of god. [fn# ] i.e. professor of koranic exegesis. [fn# ] i.e. portions so called. [fn# ] heber. [fn# ] jethro. [fn# ] joshua. [fn# ] enoch. [fn# ] john the baptist. [fn# ] i.e. the bird of clay fabled by the koran (following the apocryphal gospel of the childhood of christ) to have been animated by him. [fn# ] koran ii. [fn# ] koran ii. , "god, there is no god but he, the living, the eternal. slumber taketh him not, neither sleep, and his is what is in the heavens and what is in the earth. who is he that intercedeth with him but by his leave? he knoweth what is before them and what is behind them, nor do they comprehend aught of the knowledge of him but of what he willeth. his throne embraceth the heavens and the earth and the guarding of them oppresseth him not, for he is the most high, the supreme." [fn# ] koran ii. . [fn# ] koran xvi. . [fn# ] paradise, koran lxx. . [fn# ] koran xxxix. . [fn# ] see note, p. supra. {vol. , fn# } [fn# ] koran xii. . [fn# ] koran ii. . [fn# ] koran li. . [fn# ] koran ii. . [fn# ] koran xvi. . the muslims fable the devil to have tempted abraham to disobey god's commandment to sacrifice ishmael (isaac) and to have been driven off by the patriarch with stones. hence he is called "the stoned." [fn# ] abdallah ibn abbas, first cousin of mohammed and the most learned theologian among the companions. [fn# ] koran xcvi. and . [fn# ] koran xxvii. . [fn# ] koran ix. [fn# ] i.e. the day of the sacrifice at mina, which completes the ceremonies of the pilgrimage. [fn# ] the better opinion seems to be that this omission (unique in the koran) arose from the ninth chapter having originally formed part of the eighth, from which it was separated after mohammed's death. [fn# ] koran xvii. . [fn# ] koran ii. . [fn# ] i.e. him who seals or closes the list of the prophets. [fn# ] c. xcvi. [fn# ] a native of medina and one of the first of mohammed's disciples. [fn# ] koran lxxiv. [fn# ] there are several verses on this subject. [fn# ] koran cx. . [fn# ] the third khalif. [fn# ] companions of the prophet. [fn# ] one of the followers. [fn# ] koran v. . [fn# ] koran v. . [fn# ] in the same verse. [fn# ] koran v. . [fn# ] ez zuhak ben sufyan, one of the companions. [fn# ] one of the followers. [fn# ] koran iv. . [fn# ] i.e. without hesitation or interruption. [fn# ] kaf, the st letter of the arabic alphabet. [fn# ] mim, the th letter of the arabic alphabet. [fn# ] ain, the th letter of the arabic alphabet. [fn# ] the koran is divided into sixty set portions, answering or equivalent to our lessons, for convenience of use in public worship. [fn# ] koran xi. . [fn# ] name of the partition-wall between heaven and hell. [fn# ] koran vii. . [fn# ] a play on the word ain, which means "eye." [fn# ] chapters liv. lv. and lvi. [fn# ] i e. ankle. [fn# ] koran xvii. . [fn# ] two stars in aquarius and capricorn. [fn# ] or chief part, lit. head. [fn# ] or remedial treatment. [fn# ] quare hot springs. [fn# ] a dish of crumpled bread and broth. [fn# ] or savoury supplement to bread, rice and so forth. [fn# ] koran v. . [fn# ] koran ii. . [fn# ] played with headless arrows. [fn# ] the fourth khalif. [fn# ] the korah of numbers xvi. fabled by the muslims (following a talmudic tradition) to have been a man of immense wealth. "now caroun was of the tribe of moses [and aaron], but he transgressed against them and we gave him treasures, the keys whereof would bear down a company of men of strength."-- koran xxviii. . [fn# ] syn. bearing a load (hamil). [fn# ] koran lxx. . [fn# ] koran x. . [fn# ] koran xxxvi. . [fn# ] koran xxii. . [fn# ] koran xxxi. . [fn# ] fifth and seventh months of the coptic year, answering (roughly) to our january and march. [fn# ] fifth and seventh months of the coptic year, answering (roughly) to our january and march. [fn# ] fourth month of the coptic year. [fn# ] eighth and twelfth months of the coptic year (april and august). [fn# ] third month (november) of the coptic year. [fn# ] sixth month (february) of the coptic year. [fn# ] the lowest of the seven stages into which mohammedan tradition divides the heavens. [fn# ] koran lxxvii. . [fn# ] koran xxxvi. , , . [fn# ] koran xxii. . [fn# ] koran xx. . [fn# ] a she-camel, big with young, miraculously produced, according to muslim legend, from a rock by the prophet salih, for the purpose of converting the themoudites. [fn# ] where he was hiding with mohammed from the pursuit of the benou curaish. [fn# ] koran lxxxi. . [fn# ] in paradise. [fn# ] sperma hominis. [fn# ] the muslims attribute this miracle to moses, instead of aaron. see koran vii. et seq. [fn# ] [quoth god] "what is that in thy right hand, o moses?" quoth he, "it is my staff, on which i lean and wherewith i beat down leaves for my flock, and i have other uses for it."--koran xx. , . [fn# ] then he turned to the heaven (now it was smoke) and said to it and to the earth, "come ye twain, obedient or loathing." and they said both, "we come, obedient."--koran xli. . [fn# ] koran xxxvi. . [fn# ] ali ibn abi taleb, first cousin of mohammed and fourth khalif. [fn# ] uncle of mohammed and ancestor of the abbaside khalifs. [fn# ] lit. gave him to eat of it. [fn# ] assuming him to be dead. the renascence of hebrew literature ( - ) by nahum slouschz _translated from the french_ * * * * * translator's note the modern chapter in the history of hebrew literature herewith presented to english readers was written by dr. nahum slouschz as his thesis for the doctorate at the university of paris, and published in book form in . a few years later ( - ), the author himself put his essay into hebrew, and it was brought out as a publication of the _tushiyah_, under the title _korot ha-safrut ha-'ibrit ha- hadashah_. the hebrew is not, however, a mere translation of the french book. the material in the latter was revised and extended, and the presentation was considerably changed, in view of the different attitude toward the subject naturally taken by hebrew readers, as compared with a western public, jewish or non-jewish. the present english translation, which has had the benefit of the author's revision, purports to be a rendition from the french. but the hebrew recasting of the book has been consulted at almost every point, and the hebrew works quoted by dr. slouschz were resorted to directly, though, as far as seemed practicable, the translator paid regard to the author's conception and occidentalization of the hebrew passages revealed in his translation of them into french. henrietta szold. * * * * * contents introduction chapter i in italy--moses hayyim luzzatto chapter ii in germany--the meassefim chapter iii in poland and austria--the galician school chapter iv in lithuania--humanism in russia chapter v the romantic movement--abraham mapu chapter vi the emancipation movement--the realists chapter vii the conflict with rabbinism--judah leon gordon chapter viii reformers and conservatives--the two extremes chapter ix the national progressive movement--perez smolenskin chapter x the contributors to _ha-shahar_ chapter xi the novels of smolenskin chapter xii contemporaneous literature conclusion index * * * * * introduction it was long believed that hebrew had no place among the modern languages as a literary vehicle. the circumstance that the jews of western countries had given up the use of their national language outside of the synagogue was not calculated to discredit the belief. the hebrew, it was generally held, had once been alive, but now it belonged among the dead languages, in the same sense as the greek and the latin. and when from time to time some new work in hebrew, or even a periodical publication, reached a library, the cataloguer classified it with theologic and rabbinic treatises, without taking the trouble to obtain information as to the subject of the book or the purpose of the journal. in point of fact, in the large majority of cases they were far enough removed from rabbinic controversy. sometimes it happened that one or another hebraist was overcome with astonishment at the sight of a hebrew translation of a modern author. and he stopped at that. he never went so far as to enable himself to pass judgment upon it from the critical or the literary point of view. to what purpose? he would ask himself. hebrew has been dead these many centuries, and to use it is an anachronism. he considered it only a curiosity of literature, literary sleight of hand, nothing more. the bare possibility of the existence of a modern literature in hebrew seemed so strange, so improbable, that the best-informed circles refused to entertain the notion seriously--perhaps not without some semblance of a reason for their incredulity. the history of the development of modern hebrew literature, its character, the extraordinary conditions fostering it, its very existence, are of a sort to surprise one who has not kept in touch with the internal struggles, the intellectual currents that have agitated the judaism of eastern europe in the course of the past century. so far from deserving a reputation for casuistry, modern hebrew literature is, if anything, distinctly rationalistic in character. it is anti-dogmatic and anti-rabbinic. its avowed aim is to enlighten the jewish masses that have remained faithful to religious tradition, and to interpenetrate the jewish communities with the conceptions of modern life. since the french revolution the ghetto has produced valiant champions of every good cause, politicians, legislators, poets, who have taken part in all the movements of their day. but it has also given birth to a legion of men of action sprung from the people and remaining with the people, who, in the name of liberty of conscience and in the name of science, fought the same battles upon the field of traditional judaism that the others were fighting outside. a whole school of literary humanists undertook the work of emancipating the jewish masses, and pursued it for several generations with admirable zeal. hebrew became an excellent instrument of propaganda in their hands. thanks to their efforts, the language of the prophets, inarticulate for nearly two thousand years, was developed to a striking degree of perfection. it was shown to be a flexible medium, varied enough to serve as the vehicle for any modern idea. the great wonder is that this modern literature in hebrew made itself without teachers, without patrons, without academies and literary _salons_, without encouragement in any shape or form. nor is that all. it was impeded by inconceivable obstacles, ranging from the fraudulence of an absurd censorship to the persecution of fanatics. in such circumstances, only the purest idealism, and the most disinterested, could have ventured to enter the lists, and could have come off the victor. while the emancipated jew of the occident replaced hebrew by the vernacular of his adopted country; while the rabbis were distrustful of whatever is not religion; and rich patrons refused to support a literature that had not the _entrée_ of good society,--while these held aloof, the _maskil_ ("the intellectual") of the small provincial town, the polish vagabond _mehabber_ ("author"), despised and unknown, often a martyr to his conviction, who devoted himself heart, soul, and might to maintaining honorably the literary traditions of hebrew,--he alone remained faithful to what has been the true mission of the bible language since its beginnings. it is a renewal of the ancient literary impulse of the humble, the disinherited, whence first sprang the bible. it is a repetition of the phenomenon of the popular prophet-orators, reappearing in modern hebrew garb. the return to the language and the ideas of an eventful past marks a decisive stage in the perturbed career of the jewish people. it indicates the re-awakening of national feeling. the history of modern hebrew literature thus forms an extremely instructive page in the history of the jewish people. it is especially interesting from the point of view of social psychology, furnishing, as it does, valuable documents upon the course taken by new ideas in impregnating surroundings that are characteristically obdurate toward intellectual suggestions from without. the century-long struggle between free-thinking and blind faith, between common sense and absurdity consecrated by age and exalted by suffering, reveals an intense social life, a continual clashing of ideas and sentiments. it is a literature that offers us the grievous spectacle of poets and writers who are constantly expressing their anxiety lest it disappear with them, and yet devote themselves unremittingly to its cultivation, with all the ardor of despair. at their side, however, we see optimistic dreamers, worthy disciples of the prophets. in the midst of the ruin of all that made the past glorious, and in the face of the downfall of cherished hopes, they lose not an iota of their faith in the future of their people, in its speedy regeneration. what we have before us is the issue of the supreme internal struggle that engaged the great masses of the jews torn from their moorings by the disquietude of modern existence. a fervent desire for a better social life took possession of all minds. the conviction that the eternal people cannot disappear seems to have regained ground and to have been stronger than ever, and the current again set in the direction of auto-emancipation. it is the true literature of the jewish people that we are called upon to examine, the product of the ghetto, the reflex of its psychic states, the expression of its misery, its suffering, and also its hope. the people of the bible is not dead, and in its very own language we must seek the true jewish spirit, the national soul. let not the reader expect to find perfection of form, pure art, in its often monotonous lyric poetry, or its prolix, didactic novels. the authors of the ghetto felt too much, suffered too much, were too much under the dominance of a life of misery, a semi-asiatic, semi-mediaeval _régime_, to have had heart for the cultivation of mere form. does the song of songs fall short of being a literary document of the first order because it does not equal the dramas of euripides in artistic completeness? it is conceded that the proper aim of the artist is art, finished and perfect art, but to the philosopher, the social investigator, the important thing is the advance of ideas. * * * * * the object of the writer in presenting this essay to the public was not to presume to give a detailed exposition of the development of modern hebrew literature, accomplishing itself under the most complex of social and political conditions and in a social _milieu_ totally unknown to the public at large. that would have led too far. it was not even possible to give an adequate idea of all the authors requiring mention within the limited frame adopted perforce. besides, nothing or almost nothing existed in the way of monographs that might have facilitated the task. [footnote: in point of fact, all that can be cited are the following: the admirable biographical essays on mapu, smolenskin, etc., by reuben brainin; those of s. bernfeld on rapoport, etc., these two critics writing in hebrew; and the sketch of our subject by m. klausner, in the russian language. besides, mention may be made of an article in the _revue des revues_, by m. ludvipol, of paris. in spite of the diversity of schools and the conditions giving rise to them, which are here to be treated for the first time from the point of view of a modern history of literature, the reader will readily convince himself that the subject lacks neither coherence nor unity. it is superfluous to say that in this first attempt at a history of modern hebrew literature, the grouping of movements and schools borrowed from the occidental literatures is bound to have only relative value.] the aim set up by the present writer is merely to follow up the various stages through which modern hebrew literature has passed, to deduce and specify the general principles that have moulded it, and analyze the literary and social value of the works produced by the representative writers of the epoch embraced. in a word, the object is to show how hebrew poetry was emancipated from the tradition of the middle ages under the influence of the italian humanists, how it underwent a process of modernization, and served as the model for a literary renascence in germany and austria. [footnote: especially moses hayyim luzzatto, in his "glory to the righteous", published in , which has been made the point of departure in the present inquiry.] in these two countries hebrew letters were enriched and perfected from the point of view of form as well as content. finally, due to favorable circumstances, the hebrew language captured its place as the literary and national language among the jews of poland, and particularly of lithuania. in this progress eastward, hebrew literature has never been faithless to its mission. two currents of ideas, more or less distinct, characterize it. on the one hand is the intellectual emancipation of the jewish masses, which had fallen into ignorance, and, as a consequence, the conflict with prejudice and rabbinic dogmatism; and, on the other hand, the awakening of national sentiment and jewish solidarity. these two currents of ideas finally flow together in contemporaneous literature, in the creation of the national jewish movement in its various modifications. during a period of about twenty years, since , the course of events has forced the national emancipation of the jewish masses upon their educated leaders. by the same token, hebrew has been assigned a dominating position in all vital questions agitating judaism, and there has been brought about a literary development that is truly significant. * * * * * chapter i in italy moses hayyim luzzatto in its precise sense, the term renascence cannot be applied to the movement that asserted itself in hebrew literature at the end of the fifteenth century, as little as the term decadence can be applied to the epoch preceding it. long before dante and boccaccio, as far back as the eleventh century, hebrew literature, particularly in spain, and to a certain extent also in the provence, had reached a degree of development unknown in european languages during the middle ages. though the persecutions toward the end of the fourteenth and the fifteenth century crushed the jewish communities in spain and in the provence, they yet did not succeed in annihilating completely the intellectual traditions of the spanish and french jews. remnants of jewish science and jewish literature were carried by the refugees into the countries of their adoption, and in the netherlands, in turkey, even in palestine, schools were founded after a short interval. but a literary revival was possible only in italy. elsewhere, in the backward countries of the north and the east, the jews, smarting from blows recently inflicted, withdrew within themselves. they took refuge in the most sombre of mysticisms, or, at least, in dogmatism of the narrowest kind. the italian jewish communities, thanks to the more bearable conditions prevailing around them, were in a position to carry on the literary traditions of jewish spain. in italy thinkers arose, and writers, and poets. there was azariah dei rossi, the father of historical criticism; messer leon, the subtle philosopher; elijah levita, the grammarian; leon of modena, the keen-witted rationalist; joseph delmedigo, of encyclopedic mind; the frances brothers, both poets, who combated mysticism; and many others too numerous to mention. [footnote: for the greater part of these writers, see gustav karpeles, _geschichte der jüdischen literatur_, vols., berlin, .] these, together with a few stray writers in turkey and the netherlands, imparted a certain degree of distinction to the hebrew literature of the sixteenth and the seventeenth century. heirs to the spanish traditions, they nevertheless were inclined to oppose the spirit and particularly the rules of arabic prosody, which had put manacles upon hebrew poetry. their efforts were directed to the end of introducing new literary forms and new concepts into hebrew literature. they did not meet with notable success. the greater number of jewish men of letters, whose knowledge of foreign literatures was meagre, were destined to remain in the thrall of the middle ages until a much later time. as to the unlettered, they preferred to make use of the vernacular, which presented fewer difficulties than the hebrew. the task of tearing asunder the chains that hampered the evolution of hebrew in a modern sense devolved upon an italian jew of amazing talent. he became the true, the sovereign inaugurator of the hebrew renascence. moses hayyim luzzatto was born at padua, in . he was descended from a family celebrated for the rabbinic scholars and the writers it had given to judaism, a celebrity which it has continued to earn for itself down to our own day. his education was strictly rabbinic, consisting chiefly of the study of the talmud, under the direction of a polish teacher, for the polish rabbis had attained to a position of great esteem as early as luzzatto's day. he lost little time in initiating his pupil into the mysteries of the kabbalah, and so the early childhood years of our poet were a sad time spent in the stifling atmosphere of the ghetto. happily for him, it was an italian ghetto, whence secular learning had not been banished completely. while pursuing his religious studies, the child became acquainted with the hebrew poetry of the middle ages and with the italian literature of his own time. in the latter accomplishment lies his superiority to the hebrew scholars of other countries, who were shut off from every outside influence, and held fast to obsolete forms and ideas. from early youth luzzatto showed remarkable aptitude for poetry. at the age of seventeen he composed a drama in verse entitled "samson and delilah". a little later he published a work on prosody, _leshon limmudim_ ("the language of learners", mantua, ), and dedicated it to his polish teacher. the young man then decided to break with the poetry of the middle ages, which hampered the development of the hebrew language. his allegorical drama, _migdal 'oz_ ("the tower of victory"), inspired by the _pastor fido_ of guarini, was the first token of this reform. its style is marked by an elegance and vividness not attained since the close of the bible. [footnote: though it was widely circulated in manuscript, _migdal 'oz_ did not appear in print until , at leipsic, edited by m. h. letteris.] in spite of its prolixity and the absence of all dramatic action, it continues to this day to make its appeal to the fancy of the literary. a poetic breath animates it, and it is characterized by the artistic taste that is one of the distinctions of its author. it was a new world that _migdal 'oz_, by its laudation of rural life, disclosed to the votaries of a literature the most enlightened representatives of which refused to see in the song of songs anything but religious symbolism, so far had their appreciation of reality and nature degenerated. in imitation of the pastorals of his time, though it may be with more genuine feeling, luzzatto sings the praises of the shepherd's life: "how beautiful, how sweet, is the lot of the young shepherd of flocks! between the folds he leads his sheep, now walking, now running hither and thither. poor though he is, he is full of joy. his countenance reflects the gladness of his heart. in the shade of trees he reposes, and apprehends no danger. poor though he is, yet he is happy.... "the maiden who charms his eyes, and attracts his desire, in whom his heart has pleasure, returns his affection with responsive gladness. they know naught but delight--neither separation nor obstacle affrights them. they sport together, they enjoy their happiness, with none to disturb. when weariness steals over him, he forgets his toil on her bosom; the light of her countenance swiftly banishes all thought of his travail. poor though he is, yet he is happy!" (act iii, scene i.) alas, this call to a more natural life, after centuries of physical degeneration and suppression of all feeling for nature, could not be understood, nor even taken seriously, in surroundings in which air, sunlight, the very right to live, had been refused or measured out penuriously. the drama remained in manuscript, and did not become known to the public at large. it was luzzatto's chief work that exercised decisive influence on the development of hebrew literature. _la-yesharim tehillah_ ("glory to the righteous"), another allegorical drama, which appeared in , is considered a model of its kind until this day. it introduced a new epoch, the modern epoch, in the history of hebrew literature. the master stands revealed by every touch. everything betrays his skill--the style, at once elegant, significant, and precise, recalling the pure style of the bible, the fresh and glowing figures of speech, the original poetic inspiration, and the thought, which bears the imprint of a profound philosophy and a high moral sense, and is free from all trace of mystical exaggeration. from the point of view of dramatic art, the piece is not of the highest interest. the subject, purely moral and didactic, gives no opportunity for a serious study of character, and, as in all allegorical pieces, the dramatic action is weak. the theme was not new. even in hebrew and before luzzatto, it had been treated several times. it is the struggle between justice and injustice, between truth and falsehood. the allegorical personages who take part in the action are, arrayed on one side, yosher (righteousness) aided by sekel (reason) and mishpat (justice), and, on the other side, sheker (falsehood) and her auxiliaries, tarmit (deceit), dimyon (imagination), and taäwah (passion). the two hostile camps strive together for the favor of the beautiful maiden tehillah (glory), the daughter of hamon (the crowd). the struggle is unequal. imagination and passion carry the day in the face of truth and righteousness. then the inevitable _deus ex machina_, in this case god himself, intervenes, and justice is again enthroned. this simple and not strikingly original frame encloses beautiful descriptions of nature and, above all, sublime thoughts, which make the piece one of the gems of hebrew poetry. the predominant idea of the book is to glorify god and admire the "innumerable wonders of the creator." "all who seek will find them, in every living being, in every plant, in every lifeless object, in all things on earth and in the sea, in whatsoever the human eye rests upon. happy he who hath found knowledge and wisdom, happy he if their speech hath fallen upon an attentive ear!" (act ii, scene i.) but the creator is not capricious. reason and truth are his attributes, and they appear in all his acts. humanity is a mob, and two opposing forces contend for the mastery over it: truth with righteousness on one side, falsehood and her ilk on the other. each of these two forces seeks to rule the crowd and prevail in triumph. the reason personified by the poet has nothing in common with the positive reason of the rationalists, which takes the world to be directed by mechanical and immutable laws. it is supreme reason, obeying moral laws too sublimated for our powers of appreciation. how could it be otherwise? are we not the continual plaything of our senses, which are incapable of grasping absolute truths, and deceive us even about the appearance of things? "truly, our eyes are deluded, for eyes of flesh they are. therefore they change truth into falsehood, darkness they make light, and light darkness. lo, a small chance, a mere accident, suffices to distort our view of tangible things; how much more do we stray from the truth with things beyond the reach of our senses? see the oars in the water. they seem crooked and twisted. yet we know them to be straight.... "verily, man's heart is like the ocean ceaselessly agitated by the battling winds. as the waves roll forward and backward in perpetual motion, so our hearts are stirred by never-ending pain and trouble, and as our emotions sway our will, so our senses suffer change within us. we see only what we desire to see, hear only what we long to hear, what our imagination conjures up." (act ii, scene i.) this philosophy of externalism and of the impotence of the human mind threw the poet, believer and devotee of the kabbalah, into a most dangerous mysticism. he continued to write for some time: an imitation of the psalms; a treatise on logic, _ha-higgayon_, not without value; another treatise on ethics, _mesilat yesharim_ ("the path of the righteous"); and a large number of poetic pieces and kabbalistic compositions, the greater part of which were never published; and this enumeration does not exhaust the tale of his literary achievements. [footnote: the greater part of luzzatto's works have never been published.] then his powers were used up, the tension of his mind increased to the last degree; he lost his moral equilibrium. the day came when he strayed so far afield as to believe himself called to play the rôle of the messiah. the rabbis, alarmed at the gloomy prospect of a repetition of the pseudo-messianic movements which time and again had shaken the jewish world to its foundations, launched the ban against him. his fate was sealed by his ingenious imitation of the zohar, written in aramaic, of which only fragments have been preserved. obliged to leave italy, luzzatto wandered through germany, and took up his abode at amsterdam. he enjoyed the gratification of being welcomed there by literary men among his people as a veritable master. at amsterdam he wrote his last works. but he did not remain there long. he went to seek divine inspiration at safed in palestine, the far-famed centre of the kabbalah. there he died, cut off by the plague at the age of forty. such was the sad life of the poet, a victim of the abnormal surroundings in which he lived. under more favorable conditions, he might have achieved that which would have won him universal recognition. his main distinction is that he released the hebrew language forever from the forms and ideas of the middle ages, and connected it with the circle of modern literatures. he bequeathed to posterity a model of classic poetry, which ushered in hebrew humanism, the return to the style and the manner of the bible, in the same way as the general humanistic movement led the european mind back upon its own steps along the paths marked out by the classic languages. no sooner did his work become known in the north countries and in the orient than it raised up imitators. mendes and wessely, leaders of literary revivals, the one at amsterdam, the other in germany, are but the disciples and successors of the italian poet. * * * * * chapter ii in germany the meassefim the intellectual emancipation of the jews in germany anticipated their political and social emancipation. that is a truth generally acknowledged. long secluded from all foreign ideas, confined within religious and dogmatic bounds, german judaism was a sharer in the physical and social misery of the judaism of slavic countries. the philosophic and tolerant ideas in vogue at the end of the eighteenth century startled it somewhat out of its torpor. in the measure in which those ideas gained a foothold in the communities, conditions, at least in the larger centres, took on a comfortable aspect, with more or less assurance of permanent well-being. the first contact of the ghetto with the enlightened circles of the day gave the impetus to a marked movement toward an inner emancipation. associations of _maskilim_ ("intellectuals") were formed at berlin, hamburg, and breslau. "the seekers of the good and the noble" (_shohare ha-tob weha-tushiyah_) should be mentioned particularly. they were composed of educated men familiar with occidental culture, and animated by the desire to make the light of that culture penetrate to the heart of the provincial communities. these "intellectuals" entered the lists against religious fanaticism and casuistic methods, seeking to replace them by liberal ideas and scientific research. two schools, headed respectively by the philosopher mendelssohn and the poet wessely, had their origin in this movement--the school of the _biurists_, deriving their name from the _biur_, a commentary on the bible, and the school of the _meassefim_, from _meassef_, "collector." [footnote: a specimen of the _biur_ appeared at amsterdam, in , under the title _'alim le-terufah_.] the former defended judaism against the enemies from without, and combated the prejudices and the ignorance of the jews themselves. the meassefim took as their sphere of activity the reform of the education of the young and the revival of the hebrew language. the two schools agreed that to elevate the moral and social status of the jews, it was necessary to remove first the external peculiarities separating them from their fellow-citizens. a new translation of the bible into literary german, undertaken by mendelssohn, was to deal the death blow to the jewish-german (_jüdisch-deutsch_) jargon, and the _biur_, the commentary on the bible mentioned above, produced by the co-operation of a galaxy of scholars and men of culture, was expected to sweep aside all mystic and allegoric interpretations of the scriptures and introduce the rational and scientific method. the results achieved by the biurists tended beyond a doubt toward the elevation of the mass of the jews. one of these results was, as had been hoped for, the dislodgment of the jewish-german by the spread of the pure german. the influence wielded by the biurists, so far from stopping with the german jews, extended to the jewish communities of eastern europe. * * * * * in - , two hebrew writers, isaac euchel and mendel bresslau, undertook to publish a magazine, entitled _ha-meassef_ ("the collector"), whence the name meassefim. the enterprise was under the auspices of mendelssohn and wessely. a double aim was to be served. the periodical was to promote the spread of knowledge and modern ideas in the hebrew language, the only language available for the jews of the ghetto; and at the same time it was to promote the purification of hebrew, which had degenerated in the rabbinical schools. its readers were to be familiarized with the social and aesthetic demands of modern life, and induced to rid themselves of ingrained peculiarities. besides its success in these directions, it must be set to the credit of _ha- meassef_, that it was the first agency to gather under one banner all the champions of the _haskalah_ in the several countries of europe. it supplied the link connecting them with one another. [footnote: properly speaking, the term haskalah includes the notion at once of humanism and humanitarianism.] from the literary point of view _ha-meassef_ is of subordinate interest. its contributors were devoid of taste. they offered their readers mainly questionable imitations of the works of the german romantic school. the periodical brought no new talent truly worthy of the description into notice. whatever reputation its principal writers enjoyed had been won before the appearance of _ha-meassef_. they owed their fame primarily to the favor acquired for hebrew letters through the efforts of luzzatto's disciples. [footnote: since the appearance of _la-yesharim tehillah_ by luzzatto, imitations of it without number have been published, and for the eighteenth century alone allegorical dramas by the dozen might be enumerated.] of the poems published in _ha-meassef_ but a few deserve notice, and even they are nothing more than mediocre imitations of didactic pieces in the style of the day, or odes celebrating the splendor of contemporary kings and princes. a poem by wessely forms a rare exception. it extols the residents of basle, who, in , welcomed jewish refugees from alsace. and if we turn from its poetry to its historical contributions, we find that the biographies, as of abarbanel and joseph delmedigo, are hardly scientific; they occupy themselves with external facts to the neglect of underlying ideas. on the whole, _ha-meassef_ was an engine of propaganda and polemics rather than a literary production, though the campaign carried on in its pages against strait-laced orthodoxy and the rabbis did not reach the degree of bitterness which was to characterize later periods--moderation that was due to its most prominent contributors. wessely exhorted the editors not to attack religiousness nor ridicule the rabbis, and mendelssohn devoted his articles to minor points of rabbinic practice, such as the permissibility of vaccination under the jewish law. the french revolution precipitated events in an unexpected way. the tone of _ha-meassef_ changed. it held that knowledge and liberty alone could save the jews. more aggressive toward the rabbis than before, it attacked fanaticism, and gave space to trite poems, glorifying a life, for instance, in which women and wine played the prominent part ( ). six years after its first issue, _ha-meassef_ ceased to appear, not without having materially advanced the intellectual emancipation of the german jews and the revival of hebrew as a secular language. [footnote: the first series of _ha-meassef_ ran from - (königsberg), and from - (königsberg and berlin). an additional volume began to appear in , at berlin and breslau, under the editorship of löwe and wolfsohn, and was completed in . the second series ran from to at berlin, altona, and dessau, under shalom hacohen. [trl.] ] so important was this first co-operative enterprise in hebrew letters, that it imposed its name on the whole of the literary movement of the second half of the eighteenth century, the epoch of the meassefim. two poets and five or six prose writers more or less worthy of the name of author dominated the period. naphtali hartwig wessely (born at hamburg in ; died there in ) is considered the prince of the poets of the time. belonging to a rather intelligent family in easy circumstances, he received a modern education. though his mind was open to all the new influences, he nevertheless remained a loyal adherent of his faith, and occupied strictly religious ground until the end. he devoted himself with success to the cultivation of poetry, and completed the work of reform begun by the italian luzzatto, to whom, however, he was inferior in depth and originality. wessely's poetic masterpiece was _shire tiferet_ ("songs of glory"), or the epic of moses (berlin, ), in five volumes. this poem of the exodus is on the model of the pseudo-classic productions of the germany of his day; the influence of klopstock's _messias_, for instance, is striking. depth of thought, feeling for art, and original poetic imagination are lacking in _shire tiferet_. practically it is nothing more than an oratorical paraphrase of the biblical recital. the shortcomings of his main work are characteristic of all the poetry by wessely. on the other hand, his oratorical manner is unusually attractive, and his hebrew is elegant and chaste. the somewhat labored precision of his style, taken together with the absence of the poetic temperament, makes of him the malherbe of modern hebrew poetry. he enjoyed the love and admiration of his contemporaries to an extraordinary degree, and his chief poem underwent a large number of editions, becoming in course of time a popular book, and regarded with kindly favor even by the most orthodox-- testimony at once to the poet's personal influence upon his co- religionists and the growing importance of the hebrew language. wessely wrote also several important works on questions in hebrew grammar and philology. the chief of them is _lebanon_, two parts of which appeared, each separately, under the title _gan na'ul_ ("the locked garden", berlin, ); the other parts never appeared in print. they bear witness to their author's solid scientific attainments, and it is regrettable that their value is obscured by his style, diffuse to the point of prolixity. besides, wessely contributed to the german translation of the bible, and to the commentary on the bible, both, as mentioned before, works presided over by mendelssohn, to whom he was attached by the tie of admiring friendship. wessely's chief distinction, however, was his firm character and his love of truth. his high ethical qualities were revealed notably in his pamphlet _dibre shalom wa-emet_ ("words of peace and truth," berlin, ), elicited by the edict of emperor joseph ii ordering a reform of jewish education and the establishment of modern schools for jews. though well on in years, he yet did not shrink from the risk of incurring the anger of the fanatics. he openly declared himself in favor of pedagogic innovations. with sage-like modesty and mildness, the poet stated the pressing need for adopting new educational methods, and showed them to be by no means in opposition to the mosaic and rabbinic conception of the jewish faith. in the name of _torat ha-adam_, the law for man as such, he set forth urgent reforms which would raise the prestige of the law as well as of the jews. he hoped for civil liberty, the liberty the jews were enjoying in england and in the netherlands. however, this courageous course gained for him the ban of the fanatics, the effect of which was mitigated by the intervention of the italian rabbis in favor of wessely. on the other hand, it made him the most prominent member of the meassefim circle; he was regarded as the master of the maskilim. among the most distinguished of the contributors to _ha-meassef_ is the second writer acclaimed poet by popular consent. david franco mendes ( - ) was born at amsterdam, of a family escaped from the inquisition. like most jews of spanish origin, his family clung to the spanish language. he was the friend and disciple, and likewise the imitator, of moses hayyim luzzatto. what was true of eastern europe, that the hebrew language prevailed in the ghetto, and had to be resorted to by all who would reach the jewish masses, did not apply to the countries of the romance languages. here hebrew had little by little been supplanted by the vernacular. mendes, who paid veritable worship to hebrew literature, was distressed to see the object of his devotion scorned by his co-religionists and the productions of the classic age of france preferred to it. in the preface to his tragedy, "athaliah's recompense" (_gemul athaliah_, amsterdam, ), he set himself the task of demonstrating the superiority of the sacred language to the profane languages. yet this very tragedy, in spite of its author's protestations, is nothing more than a _rifacimento_ of racine's drama, and rather infelicitous at that, though it must be admitted that mendes' style is of classic purity, and some of his scenes are in a measure characterized by vivacity of action. his other drama, "judith", also published at amsterdam, has no greater merit than "athaliah's recompense." besides these dramas, mendes wrote several biographical sketches of the learned men of the middle ages for _ha-meassef_. it were far from the truth to say that mendes succeeded in rivalling the french and italian authors whom he set up as models for himself. nevertheless he was endorsed and admired by the literary men of his time as the heir of luzzatto. * * * * * an enumeration of all the writers and all the scholars who, directly or indirectly, contributed to the work of _ha-meassef_, would be wearisome. only those who are distinguished by some degree of originality will be set down by name. rabbi solomon pappenheim ( - ), of breslau, was the author of a sentimental elegy, _arba' kosot_ ("the four cups", berlin, ). the poem, inspired by young's "night thoughts," is remarkable for its personal note. in his plaints recalling job's, this hebrew werther mourns the loss, not of his mistress--that would not have been in consonance with the spirit of the ghetto--but of his wife and his three children. the elegy came near being a popular poem. its vapid sentimentality and its affected and exaggerated style were to exercise a baneful influence upon the following generations. it is the tribute paid by hebrew literature to the diseased spirit of the age. pappenheim wrote, besides, on hebrew philology. his work, _yeri'ot shelomoh_ ("the curtains of solomon"), is an important contribution to the subject. shalom hacohen, the editor of a second series of _ha-meassef_, published in - (berlin, altona, and dessau), deserves mention. he won considerable fame by his poems and articles, which appeared in the second series of _ha-meassef_ and in _bikkure ha-'ittim_ ("the first fruits of the times"), and especially through his historical drama, "amal and tirzah" (rödelheim, ). the last, a naïvely conceived piece of work, is well fitted into its biblical frame. hacohen is one of the intermediaries between the german meassefim and their successors in poland. [footnote: another writer of the epoch, hartwig derenburg, whose son and grandson have brilliantly carried on, in france, the literary and scientific traditions of the family, was the author of a widely-read allegorical drama, _yoshebe tebel_ ("the inhabitants of the world", offenbach, ).] mendelssohn, the master admired and respected by all, contributed, as was mentioned before, only minor controversial articles to _ha- meassef_. his preface to the _biur_ and his commentary on maimonides' treatise on logic are in good style. his philosophical works, "jerusalem" and "phaedon," translated into hebrew by his disciples, were largely instrumental in giving prevalence to the idea that the jewish people is a religious community rather than a nation. this circumstance explains the banishment of hebrew from the synagogue by his less religious followers, such as david friedländer, and the attacks of herz homberg on traditional judaism in his pamphlet "to the shepherds of israel" (_el ro'e yisraël_). the chief editor of _ha-meassef_, isaac euchel ( - ), became known for his polemic articles against the superstitions and obscurantism of the fanatics of the ghetto. euchel wrote also a biographical sketch of mendelssohn, which was published at vienna in . there were also scientific writers among the meassefim. baruch lindau wrote a treatise on the natural sciences, _reshit limmudim_ ("the elements of the sciences", brünn, ), and mordecai gumpel levisohn, the learned professor at the university of upsala, was the author of a series of scientific essays in _ha-meassef_, which contributed greatly to its success. up to the time we are speaking of, poland had supplied the jewish people with rabbis and talmudists, and when the german jews became imbued with the new spirit, their polish brethren did not lag behind. polish authors are to be found among the meassefim, and several of them deserve special notice. kant's brilliant disciple, the profound thinker solomon maimon, published only his exegetical works and his ingenious commentary on maimonides in hebrew. another polish writer, solomon dubno ( - ), one of the first to co-operate with mendelssohn in his _biur_, was a remarkable grammarian and stylist. among other things he wrote an allegorical drama and a number of poetic satires. of the latter, the "hymn to hypocrisy", published in _bikkure to'elet_, is a finished production. judah ben-zeëb ( - ) published in berlin a manual of the hebrew language (_talmud leshon 'ibri_), planned on modern lines, a work contributing greatly toward spreading a knowledge of philology and rhetoric among the jews. his hebrew-german dictionary and his hebrew version of ben sira are well known to hebraists. isaac satanow ( - ), a pole residing at berlin, was a curious personage, interesting alike for the variety of his productions and the oddity of his mental make-up. he possessed a surprising capacity for assimilation. it was this that enabled him to excel, whether he imitated the style of the bible or the style of mediaeval authors. hebrew and aramaic he handled with the same ingenious skill. all his works he attributed to some ancient author. his collection of proverbs, bearing the name of the psalmist asaph (_mishle asaph_, berlin, and , in three books), would cut a respectable figure in any literature. a few specimens of his _mishle_, or maxims, follow: "truth springs from research, justice from intelligence. the beginning of research is curiosity, its essence is discernment, and its goal truth and justice" ( : , ). "on the day of thy birth thou didst weep, and those about thee were glad. on the day of thy death thou wilt laugh, and those about thee will sigh. know then, thou wilt one day be born anew to rejoice in god, and matter will no longer hinder thee" ( : , ). [footnote: a play upon words: _geshem_ in hebrew means both "matter" and "rain."] "rule thy spirit lest others rule thy body" ( : ). "pincers are made by means of pincers; work is helped on by work, and science by science" ( : ). "think not what is sweet to thy palate is sweet to thy neighbor's palate. not so; for many are the beautiful wives that are hated by their husbands, and many the ill-featured wives that are beloved" ( : , ). "every living being leaves off reproducing itself in its old age; but falsehood plays the harlot even in her decrepitude. the older she grows, the deeper she strikes root in the ground, the more numerous becomes her lying progeny, the further does it spread abroad. her lovers multiply, and those who pay respect to the old adhere to her, that her name be not wiped from the face of the earth" ( : - ). satanow pleaded for the language of the mishnah as forming part of the hebrew linguistic stock, but the moment was not propitious to the reform of the prevailing literary style suggested by him. on the whole, as was intimated before, the literary movement called forth by the meassefim produced nothing, or almost nothing, of permanent value. the writers of this school acted the part of pioneers and heralds. being primarily iconoclasts and reformers, they disappeared, with but few exceptions, as soon as their task was completed and the emancipation of the jews was an accomplished fact in western europe. they survived long enough, however, to see the movement with which they were identified sweep away, along with the traditions of the past, also the hebrew language, the only relic dear to them, the only jewish thing capable of awakening a responsive thrill in their hearts. passionate humanists, and not very clear-sighted, they permitted themselves to be dazzled by modernity and promises of light and liberty, and forswore the ideal of the re-nationalization of israel, so placing themselves outside the fellowship bond that united, by a common hope, the great masses of the jews who were still attached to their faith and to their people. writers of no consequence in many cases, and of no originality whatsoever, failing to recognize the grandeur of israel's past, the meassefim despised their jewish surroundings too heartily to seek inspiration in them. for the most part they were shallow imitators, second-rate translators of schiller and racine. the language of the jewish soul they could not speak, and they could not formulate a new ideal to take the place of the tottering traditions of the past and the faltering hope of a messianic time. an entire generation was to pass before historical judaism came into its own again, through the creation of a pure "science of judaism" and the conception of the mission of the jewish people. nevertheless the movement called into being by the meassefim caused considerable stir. for the first time the rabbinic tradition, petrified by age and ignorance, was assailed, in the sacred language at that, and the attack was launched in the name of science and life. for the first time the _haskalah_, hebrew humanism, declared war on whatever in the past trammelled the modern evolution of judaism. in vain the meassefim, save the exceptional few, refrained scrupulously from violent declamation against primary dogmatic principles. in vain their master mendelssohn, contravening good sense and historical judaism, went so far as to proclaim these principles sacrosanct. the secularization of jewish literature and jewish life had made a breach in the ghetto wall. thereafter nothing could oppose the march of new ideas. the rabbis of the period saw it clearly; hence the stubbornness of their opposition. beginning with this time a new class appeared among the jews of the ghetto, the class of the _maskilim_, or men of lay learning and letters, a class with which the rabbis have since had to reckon, with which, indeed, they have had to share their authority over the people. so far as the hebrew language is concerned, the meassefim succeeded in purifying it and restoring it to its biblical form. wessely and mendes obliterated the last vestiges of the middle ages, and many of the litterateurs of the period bequeathed models of the classic style to posterity. but the return to the manner of the bible had its disadvantages. it went to extremes, and led to the creation of a pompous, affected style, the _melizah_, which has left indelible traces in neo-hebrew literature. in the effort to guard the biblical style against the rabbinisms which had impaired the elegance of the hebrew language, the purists had gone beyond the bounds of moderation. to express the most prosaic thought, the simplest ideas, they drew upon the metaphors and the elevated diction of the bible. this rage for academic correctness is responsible for the reputation, not merited by hebrew literature, that it lacks originality, that it is no more than a _jeu d'esprit_, a jumble of quibbling conceits. italian men of letters also took part in the literary movement of the end of the eighteenth century. two of them are worthy of mention by name. the first is the poet ephraim luzzatto ( - ), whose love sonnets, written in a sprightly style, sound a lyric note. the other is samuel romanelli, the author of a melodrama, much admired by his contemporaries, and of a "journey to arabia." in france, also, especially in alsace, there were collaborators of the german meassefim, the best known among them ensheim. besides, france harbored the only poet of the period who can lay claim to originality, but he was not of the school of the meassefim. elie half an halévy ( - ), of paris, the grandfather of ludovic halévy, by far surpasses the other poets of his day in poetic temperament and fertility of imagination. unluckily, we do not possess all the poems written by halévy, who, moreover, was not a very prolific author. in what has come down to us his talent is abundantly proved by the charm of his individual style and the wealth of his images. the reader feels that the breath of the revolution has blown through his pages. his "hymn to peace" (_shir ha-shalom_), published at paris in , is the apotheosis of napoleon, whom the poet hails as "liberty rescued" and "beautiful france", the home of liberty. this unique poem is characterized by unbounded love for france and the french, the beautiful country, the free, high-mettled people, bearing love of country in its heart and in its hand the avenging sword, and cherishing hatred against "tyranny on the throne, which had changed a terrestrial paradise into a charnel house." the poet extols the dictator not only because he is a "friend of victory", but because he is at the same time and still more a "friend of science." he salutes the victorious armies. although they bring destruction and misery in their wake, they bear before them the standard of science, civilization, and progress. the cry of liberty wakened a loud echo in the ghettos of even the most backward countries. hebrew literature contains a number of curious mementos, tokens of the ardent hopes which the french revolution and the napoleonic conquests evoked in the breast of the jews, whose character has little enough affinity with the rule of despotism. in numerous hebrew hymns and songs they welcomed the armies of napoleon as of the savior messiah. [footnote: to name but a few among the many: an ode by the celebrated rabbi jacob meïr in alsace, an ancestor of the family of the grand-rabbin zadoc kahn; another ode composed at vienna by the polish grammarian ben-zeëb; and the hymns sung in the synagogue at frankfort ( ), at hamburg ( ), etc. the revolutionary code published at amsterdam in is also worthy of mention.] before the first flush of joy died away, the reaction set in, and their hopes were blighted. the jews relapsed into their olden social misery. nevertheless, the clash between received notions and the new conceptions had contributed not a little to produce a ferment of ideas and create new tendencies in the ghetto, at last aroused from its millennial slumber. * * * * * chapter iii in poland and austria the galician school the polish scholars domiciled in germany entered, as we have seen, into the work of the meassefim. presently it will appear that the movement itself was transferred to poland, where it produced a much more lasting effect than elsewhere. in the west of europe hebrew was destined to vanish little by little, and make room for the languages of the various countries. in the slavic east, on the other hand, the neo-hebrew gained and spread until it was the predominating language used by writers. by and by a profane literature grew up in it, which extends to our day without a break. from the sixteenth century on, the jewry of poland, isolated in destiny and in political constitution, comprised the greater part of the jewish people. the agglomerations of jews in poland, originating in many different countries, and fused into one mass, enjoyed a large measure of autonomy. their fortunes were governed and their life regulated by a political and religious organization administered by the rabbis and the representatives of the _kahal_, the "community." this organization formed a sort of theocratic state known as "the synod of the four countries" (poland, little poland, little russia, and, later, lithuania, with its autonomous synod). constituting almost the whole of the third estate of a country three times the size of france, the jews were not only merchants, but also, and more particularly, artisans, workingmen, and even farmers. they were a people apart, distinct from the others. the restricted ghettos and small communities of the occident widened out, in poland, into provinces with cities and towns peopled by jews. the thirty years' war, which had cast a large number of german jews into poland, produced the effect of giving a definite constitution to this social organism. the new-comers quickly attained to controlling influence in the jewish communities, and succeeded in foisting their german idiom upon the older settlers. one of their distinguishing traits was that they pushed the study of the law to the utmost. the talmud schools in poland and the polish rabbis soon acquired a reputation unassailed in the whole of the diaspora. despised and maltreated by the polish magnates, condemned, by reason of a never-ceasing stream of immigration and the meagre resources of the country, to a bitter struggle for existence, the jews of poland centred all their ambition in the study of the law, and consoled themselves with the messianic hope. empty casuistry and dry dogmatism sufficed for the intellectual needs of the most enlightened. a piety without limit, the rigorous and minute observance of rabbinical prescriptions, and a cult compounded of traditional and superstitious practices accumulated during many centuries, filled the void left in their minds by the wretched life of the masses. to satisfy the cravings of the heart, they had the homilies of the _maggidim_ ("preachers"), a sort of popular instruction based on sacred texts, tricked out with talmudic narratives, mystic allusions, and a variety of superstitions. by the dreadful insurrection of the cossacks in the ukraine, half a million of jews lost their lives. the terror that followed the uprising during the latter part of the seventeenth and the first half of the eighteenth century threw the jewish population of the southern provinces into sad confusion. at that moment the _hasidim_ [ ] with their oriental fatalism, and their worship of the _zaddik_ ("saint"), whom they revered as a wonder-worker, appeared upon the scene and won the jews of a large part of poland to their standard. then there ensued a period of moral and intellectual degradation, which coincided precisely with the epoch in which the civilizing influence of the meassefim was uppermost in germany. [footnote : literally, the "pious." a sect founded in wolhynia in the second half of the eighteenth century, the adherents of which, though they remained faithful to the rabbinic law, placed piety, mystic exaltation, and a worship of holy men in opposition to the study of the talmud and the dogmatism of the rabbis.] the reforms of emperor joseph ii planned for the jews in the part of poland annexed by austria, especially the extension of compulsory military service to them, were looked upon by the ignorant masses as a dire misfortune. they rebelled against every change, and placed no belief in the promises made by the authorities to better their condition. they were terrorized by the severity of the measures taken against them, and, impotent to carry on a struggle against authority, they threw themselves into the arms of hasidism, which preached the merging of self in a mystic solidarity. this meant the cessation of all growth, social as well as religious. superstition established itself as sovereign mistress, and the end was the utter degeneration of the austrian-polish section of jews. in order to guard against the danger with which the spread of the new sect was fraught, and enlighten at least the more intelligent of the people, the intellectual jews of poland took up the work of the meassefim, and constituted themselves the champions of the _haskalah_, the liberal movement. they became thus the lieutenants of the austrian government. by and by their activity assumed importance, and in time modern schools were established and literary circles were formed in the greater part of the villages of galicia. even into russian poland the campaign against obscurantism was carried, by men like tobias feder and david samoscz; the former the author of an incisive pamphlet against hasidism, as well as numerous philological and poetical publications; the latter a prolific writer, the author of a collection of poems entitled _resise ha-melizah_ ("drops of poetry", ). the movement was aided and abetted by rich and influential jews. joseph perl, the founder of a modern school and several other educational institutions, is a typical representative of these friends and patrons of progress. [footnote: perl was the author of a parody on hasidism, published anonymously under the title _megalle temirin_ ("the revealer of mysteries"). a monograph upon parodies, a literary form widely cultivated in hebrew, which was long a desideratum has recently been written by dr. israel davidson ("parody in jewish literature", new york, columbia university press, ). the hebrew parody is distinguished particularly for its adaptation of the talmudic language to modern customs and questions. it was made the vehicle of polemics and of ridicule, as in the case of perl's pamphlet, or of satire on social conditions, as in the "treatise of commercial men", which appeared at warsaw, and the "treatise america", published at new york, etc. frequently it was meant merely to divert and amuse, as, for instance, _hakundus_, wilna, , and numerous editions of the "treatise purim."] _ha-meassef_ was succeeded by a progeny of periodical literature, scientific and literary. after the _bikkure ha-'ittim_ ("the first fruits of the times"), edited by shalom hacohen, vienna, - , came the _kerem hemed_ ("the delicious vineyard"), edited by goldenberg, at tarnopol, - ; the _ozar nehmad_ ("the delightful treasure"), edited by blumenfeld; _he-haluz_ ("the pioneer"), founded in by erter, together with schorr, the witty writer and bold reformer; _kokebe yizhak_ ("the stars of isaac"), edited by i. stern, at vienna, - ; _bikkure ha-shanah_ ("the first fruits of the year", ); _peri to'elet_ ("successful labor", - ); "jerusalem", ; "zion", ; _ha-zefirah_ ("the morningstar"), ; _yeshurun_. , etc. these collections of essays are of a much more serious character than ever _ha-meassef_ attained to. as a rule they display more originality and more scientific depth. to attract the intelligent among the polish jews, permeated as they were with deep knowledge of rabbinic literature, more was needed than witty sallies and childish conceits in an affected style. the appeal had to be made to their reason, to their convictions, their constant longing for intellectual occupation. their minds could be turned away from a most absurd mysticism only by setting a new ideal before them, calculated to engage feelings and attract hearts yearning for consolation, and left unsatisfied by the pursuit of the law, the nourishment given to all who thought and studied in the ghetto. two men, the most eminent of the jewish humanists in austrian poland, succeeded in meeting the spiritual needs of their compatriots. the rabbi solomon jehudah rapoport, one of the founders of the science of judaism, the pursuit that was to replace rabbinic scholasticism, and the philosopher nahman krochmal, the promoter of the idea of the "mission of the jewish people", a substitute for the mystic, religious ideal--they were the two who transformed the literary movement inaugurated in germany into a permanent influence. * * * * * solomon jehudah rapoport ( - ), called "the father of the science of judaism", was born at lemberg of a family of rabbis. his studies were purely rabbinic, but his alert mind grasped every opportunity of acquiring other knowledge, and in this incidental way he became familiar first with french and then with german. the influence of the philosopher krochmal, with whom he came in close personal contact, shaped his career as a writer and a scholar. in , at lemberg, he wrote, in hebrew, a description of the city of paris and the isle of elba, to satisfy the curiosity which the events of the time had aroused in the polish ghetto. in imitation of mendes, whose writings exercised some influence upon him, he later published a translation of racine's "esther" (_bikkure ha-'ittim_, ), and of a number of schiller's poems. but he did not stop at that. his profound study of the jewish scholars and poets of the middle ages turned his mind to historical investigations. in the _bikkure ha-'ittim_ and the _kerem hemed_ he published a series of biographical and literary studies, in which he shows himself to be possessed of large critical sense and keen judgment. in its sobriety and precision his style has not been excelled. these studies of his gave new direction to the eager minds of the age. as a result, jost, zunz, and samuel david luzzatto devoted themselves to the thorough examination of the judaism of the middle ages. the outcome was a new science, the science of judaism. rapoport published also a pamphlet against the hasidim and their wonder- working rabbis, and various articles on the necessity of promoting knowledge and civilization among the jews. in this way he brought upon himself the hatred of the fanatics. appointed rabbi at tarnopol at the instigation of perl, the patron of jewish science, he was forced to leave the city by the intrigues of the hasidim. he went to prague, to become rabbi in that important community, and there he ended his days. the disciple and successor of the german meassefim, rapoport inherited from them the conviction which characterized the jewish _maskil_, that science alone and modern civilization can raise the intellectual level and improve the political situation of his co-religionists. all his life he fought for the haskalah. he loved knowledge with disinterested devotion, and not merely because it was an instrument to promote the political emancipation of the jews. the work of assimilation set on foot in the occident, he realized, was not applicable in the east of europe, and would even be useless there. no vain illusions on the subject possessed him. he was very much wrought up against such religious reforms in judaism as, he believed, would inevitably split the people into sects, and sow the seed of disunion and indifference to national institutions. this appears strikingly in his campaign against schorr, the editor of _he-haluz_, and judah mises, and especially in his pamphlet _tokohat megullah_ ("public reproach"), which appeared in frankfort in . to those who faltered, having lost faith in the future of judaism, rapoport addresses himself in several of his writings, especially in the introduction to "esther", holding up his own ideals before them. love of my nation, he says in effect, is the cornerstone of my existence. this love alone has the power to confirm my faith, for the national sentiment of the jew and his religion are closely linked with each other. and not only this national sentiment and this religion are inconceivable the one without the other, but a third factor is joined with them so intimately as to be indispensable--it is the holy land. the desire to explain rationally the jew's love for his ancient land suggested to rapoport, long before buckle and lazarus, the theory of the influence of climate on the psychology of nations. in his sketch of rabbi hananel (_bikkure ha-'ittim_, ), he explains the psychologic traits of the jewish people by the fact that they resided in a temperate climate and in a country situated between asia and africa. thence was derived the tendency to maintain equilibrium between feeling and reason which characterizes the jew. under favorable conditions, and if the roman conquest had not intervened, the jews would have reached the highest degree of this equilibrium, and become a model nation. that is why palestine is the political and spiritual fatherland of the jew, the only country in which his genius can develop untrammelled; that is why palestine is so indissolubly attached to the destinies of israel, and is so dear to every jewish heart. but even in the exile, "in the darkness of the middle ages, the jews were the sole bearers of light and knowledge". this is what rapoport strove to demonstrate in his works on the scholars of the middle ages, and in his talmudic encyclopedia, _'erek millin_ (prague, ), which, unfortunately, was not finished. in this fashion rapoport, who did not hesitate to write on bible criticism in hebrew, the first to use the ancient language for the purpose, endeavored to reconcile the reason of a modern mind with the faith and the messianic hope of an orthodox rabbi. * * * * * it is a significant phenomenon that the science of judaism, the ideal meant to replace the dry study of the law, and fill the void left in the jewish mind by the course of recent developments, took firm hold upon the polish jews, the very bodyguard of rabbinism, of which, in point of fact, it is but a modern and rational transformation. yet this new science, founded on the study of israel's glorious past, and warmly welcomed by the intellectual and the cultivated in western europe, could not entirely satisfy the intelligent in polish jewry. in an environment wholly jewish, having no reason to nurse illusive hopes of imminent assimilation with their neighbors, from whom they were divided by every possible circumstance, beginning with moral notions and ending with political fortune, the polish jews resigned themselves to a sort of messianic mysticism. but the mystic's explanation of the phenomenon of the existence of judaism also failed to satisfy their yearnings. what they sought was a warrant in reason itself justifying the permanence of judaism and its future. the arguments set forth by maimonides and jehudah halevi contained no appeal for the modern soul. a philosopher was needed, one who should solve the problem of the existence of the jewish people and its proper sphere from the vantage- ground of authoritative knowledge. such a philosopher arose in galicia itself. nahman krochmal ( - ), the originator of the idea of the "mission of the jewish people", was born at brody. his chief work, published posthumously through the efforts of zunz, the _moreh nebuke ha- zeman_ ("the guide of the perplexed of modern times"), is the most original piece of philosophic writing in modern hebrew. krochmal led the sad life of the polish-jewish scholar--void of pleasures and filled to overflowing with privation and suffering. his whole time was consecrated to jewish science. he led a retired life, and while he lived nothing of his was published. on account of the precarious state of his health, he never left the small town in which he was born. however, his house became the foregathering place of the votaries of jewish science. especially young men eager to learn came from everywhere to sit at the feet of the master. the influence which he thus exerted during his life was reinforced and perpetuated after his death by the publication of the "guide of the perplexed of modern times", in , at lemberg. the studies contained in this work, for the most part unfinished sketches, form a curious collection. limitations of space forbid more than a summary of its contents, and an analysis of its chief principles. the need of finding a philosophic explanation of divine existence forced hegel to formulate the axiom, that reason alone constitutes the reality of things, and absolute truth is to be found in the union of the subjective and the objective--the subjective corresponding to the concrete state of every being, that is, matter, which forms his actual reason, and the objective corresponding to his abstract state, that is, the idea, which forms his absolute reason. on this hegelian axiom of actual reason and absolute reason, krochmal builds up his ingenious system of the philosophy of jewish history. he is the first jewish scholar who views judaism, not as a distinct and independent entity, but as a part of the whole of civilization. at the same time, while it is attached to the civilized world, it is distinguished by qualities peculiar to itself. it leads the independent existence of a national organism similar to all others, but it also aspires to an absolute, spiritual expression, consequently to universalism. the result of this double aspect is that while jewish _nationality_ forms the element peculiar to the jewish people, its civilization, its intellect are _universal_, and detach themselves from its peculiar national life. hence it comes that jewish culture is essentially spiritual, ideal, and tends to promote the perfection of the human kind. krochmal in this way arrives at the following three conclusions: . the jewish nation is like the phoenix, constantly arising to new life from its ashes. it comprises within itself the three elements of hegel's triad: the idea, the object, and the intelligence. the successive resurrections of the jewish people follow an ascendant progression, which tends toward the spiritually absolute. starting as a political organism, it soon developed into a dogmatically religious sect, only to be transformed into a spiritual entity. krochmal--though he does not say it explicitly--sees in religion only a passing phenomenon in the history of the jewish people, exactly as its political existence was but a temporary phase. . the jewish people presents a double aspect to the observer. it is national in its particularism, or its concrete aspect, and universal in its spiritualism. the national genius of all other peoples of antiquity was narrowly particularistic. that is why they were submerged. only the jewish prophets conceived of the absolutely and universally spiritual and of moral truth, and therein lies the secret of the continued existence of the jewish people. . with hegel krochmal admits that the resultants from the historical development of a people form the quintessence of its existence. [footnote: see chapters ix, xvi, and others; also m. bernfeld, _da'at elohim_ ("the knowledge of god"); and m. landau, _die bibel und der hegelianismus_ (dissertation).] but what he does not believe is that the essential element in the existence of a people is the resultant. the process of historical evolution is in itself an adequate reason for its existence. more rational than hegel himself, krochmal thus avoids the contradiction which follows from the mystical definition of existence in the hegelian system. for the german metaphysician, existence is the interval between not being and being, that is, the period of _becoming_. krochmal simply eliminates this more or less materialistic notion of the _interval_. he substitutes the moral effects produced incidentally to the course of historic action, for the idea of effects posterior to the same action, the effects called the resultants. the more or less materialistic manner in which historic action develops replaces with him the idea of the transition period, the period of becoming, as a mysterious intermediary between actual reason and absolute reason. proceeding from these axioms, krochmal, at a time in which _völkerpsychologie_ and sociology were embryonic sciences, explains the phenomena of jewish history as well as the phenomena of the religious and spiritual evolution of mankind, and does it with remarkable originality and profundity. krochmal's ideas produced an effect not to be exaggerated upon the intelligent among the polish jews, who had thrown off the trammels of dogmatism and mystic hope, but were in a hesitating state of mind, casting about for the reason of their very existence as jews. his book offered them an explanation, based on modern science and yet in accord with their jewish essence as revealed by history and therefore satisfying to their national pride. thus krochmal opened up a way for the seekers after enlightenment in future generations. on the ideas of the master, his successors built up their conceptions of the jewish people. abraham mapu, the father of the historical novel in hebrew, drew his inspiration from the "guide", and in our days the well-known essayist ahad ha-'am has seized upon certain of krochmal's principles, notably the importance to be attached to the spiritual element in the life of the jewish people. [footnote: r. brainin, in his biography of mapu, p. , warsaw, .] these two leaders, rapoport and krochmal, stimulated a whole school of writers, whose works established the fortune of the hebrew language in galicia. with more or less originality, all departments of literature and science were cultivated. very soon, however, the times ceased to be propitious to serene thinking and investigation of the past. hasidism, triumphant, having conquered the whole of russian-poland, threatened to crush all thought and reason at the very time in which the _kulturkampf_ was battering at the gates of the polish ghetto. rapoport, we have seen, contended with hasidism in a witty pamphlet. after him, there appeared a satirist of great talent, who waged pitiless war with its partisans and with all the powers of darkness. isaac erter, of przemysl ( - ), was the friend and disciple of krochmal. an infant prodigy, he spent all the years of his early childhood in the exclusive study of the law. when he was thirteen years old, his father married him to a girl of eighteen, whom he had not set eyes upon before the day of their marriage. she did not live long. erter went on with his rabbinic studies, and married a second time. a lucky chance brought him in contact with a maskil who led him to the study of hebrew grammar, and he became a devotee of the haskalah. encouraged by rapoport and krochmal, with whom he had entered into relations, he published his first satire on hasidism. it evoked considerable comment. persecuted by the fanatics on account of it, he could not continue to follow his vocation as teacher of hebrew. he was obliged to quit his native city, and he went to brody, where the circle of maskilim welcomed him with delight. otherwise his life at brody was full of hardships. his wife, as courageous as she was intelligent, urged him to equip himself for some serious profession. accordingly, at the age of thirty-three, he went to buda-pesth to study medicine, and five years later he returned to brody fortified with his diploma as a physician. thereafter he occupied an independent position, and he could dare wage uncompromising warfare with obscurantism and the mystics. he published numerous articles in the periodicals of the day. after his death, they were collected by the poet letteris in one volume bearing the title _ha- zofeh le-bet yisraël_ ("the watchman for the house of israel"). erter as satirist and critic of morals is a writer of the first order. for vivacity, his style, at once incisive and elegant, may be compared with that of his contemporaries heine and börne. he possesses not a few traits in common with these two writers. more serious and positive than heine, he pursues a steady aim in his satires. tears mingle with his laugh, and if he castigates, it is in order to chasten. more original and more poetic than börne, he thinks clearly and to the point, and the effect of his thought is in no way impaired by his stilted mannerisms. without bias or passion, and with fine irony, he rallies the hasidim on their baneful superstitions, their worship of angels and demons. he criticises the ignorance and narrow-mindedness of the rabbis, and scourges the shabby vanity of the communal representatives. animated by the desire to spread truth and culture among his co- religionists, he does not direct his attacks against the fanatics alone. he is equally bold in driving home the truth with the "moderns" of the ghetto, the "intellectuals", boastful of their diplomas, who seek their own profit, and do nothing to further the welfare of the people in general. corresponding to the number of articles he wrote is the number of arrows shot into the very heart of the backward system imposed upon the jews of his country. he is the first hebrew poet who dared expose the social evils honeycombing the curious surroundings, full of contrasts and _naïveté_, amid which his people lived. this he did in a series of startling descriptions. after the fashion of cervantes, he employs ridicule to kill off the rabbi and murder the mystic. erter deserves a place in the first rank of the champions of civilization among the jews. galicia gave birth also to a lyric poet of some distinction. meïr halevi letteris ( - ) was a learned philologist, but his chief literary excellencies he displayed as a poet. like rapoport's, his maiden effort was a translation of the biblical dramas of racine. his workmanship was exact and beautiful. he was a productive writer, and his activity expressed itself in every sort of literary form. he left upward of thirty volumes in prose and verse. [footnote: his poetry was collected in one volume, and published at vienna, under the title _tofes kinnor we-'ugab_ ("master of the lyre and the cithern").] his hebrew version of _faust_, published at vienna, is a masterpiece in point of style, and it gained him conspicuous renown. he ventured upon a bold departure from goethe's work. desiring to transfer the dramatic action to soil wholly jewish, he substituted for faust a gnostic rabbi of the talmud, elisha ben abuyah, surnamed _aher_ ("another"). this change necessitated a number of others, which were far from being advantageous to the hebrew version. the prose of letteris is heavy. it lacks grace and naturalness, qualities possessed by the greater number of his contemporaries in russia. it should, however, be set down to his credit that, unlike many others, he never showed any inclination to sacrifice clearness of thought to elegance of style. by way of compensation, his poetry, from the point of view of style and versification, is raised beyond adverse criticism. it merits the description classic. his numerous translations from modern poets prove the facility with which the ancient language can be handled by a master. but, having acknowledged the superiority of his style, the literary critic has said all there is to be said in praise of his work. the breath of poesy, the tone of personal inspiration, the gift of fancy, are on the whole lacking. his most original poems are nothing more than an echo of the romantic school. nevertheless, there is a certain simple charm diffused through some of his verses, especially those in which he pours out his sorrowful jewish heart. his zionist poems are perfect expressions of the national spirit. one of them, the very best his muse has produced, has been almost universally accepted as the national hymn. it is called _yonah homiah_ ("the plaintive dove"). the dove is the symbol for israel used by the prophetical writers of the bible. her mournful cooing voices the grief of the jewish people driven forth from its native land and forsaken by its god. "'alas for my affliction! i must roam about abandoned since i left the shelter in the cleft of my rock. around me rages the storm, alone and forsaken i fly to the forest to seek safety in its thickets. my friend has abandoned me! his anger was kindled, because faithless to him i permitted the stranger to seduce me, and now my enemies harry me without respite. since my friend deserted me, my eyes have been overflowing with tears. without thee, o my glory, what care i for life? better to dwell in the shadow of death than wander o'er the wide world. for the oppressed death is as a brother in adversity. "'yonder two birds are billing and cooing, and tasting of the sweets of love. they live at ease ensconced in the branches of the trees, nestling amid green olive vines and garlands of flowers. i, only i, am exiled! where shall i find a refuge? my rock-shelter is hedged about with prickly thorns and thistles.... e'en the wild birds of prey mate happily, only i, poor mourning dove, alone among all beings alive, dwell apart. e'en those who gorge themselves with innocent blood live tranquil in their home eyries. alas! only the righteous must weep, only the poor are stripped of all hope!... "'return, then, my life, my breath! return, my comforter! hear my bitter wail of woe, lead me back to my home. have pity on my loneliness! restore thy love to me, bring me once again to the cleft of my rock, and let me hide myself in the shadow of thy wings.' "such moaning and dull wailing, my ear caught in the night, when the fields and the woods were bathed in divine peace; and hearing the plaintive voice of the mourning dove, my soul knew it to be the voice of the bitter woe of the daughter of my people!" other writers and translators in large numbers added to the lustre of galicia as a centre of hebrew literature. the most important among them is samson bloch, the author of a geography of the world, including a sentimental description of palestine, written in oratorical style. joseph efrati ( ) wrote an historical drama, _meluhat shaül_ ("the royalty of saul"), which deserves mention for its fine conception. and judah mises, in his two works, _tekunat ha-rabbanim_ ("characterization of the rabbis"), and _kinat ha-emet_ ("the zeal for truth"), opposed rabbinic tradition and the authorities of the middle ages. his antiquated rationalism called forth the severe reproaches of rapoport. nevertheless he stirred up a grave controversy, which gave rise to a series of consequences extending down to the literary warfare begun by the collection _ha-roëh u-mebakker_ ("the seer and the searcher"), published by bodek and fischmann, in which the works of zunz, s. d. luzzatto, and jost are criticised. at this point ceases the dominance of the litterateurs of austrian poland. the centre of literary activity was thereafter transferred to russia permanently. hasidism was about to take complete possession of galicia, and hebrew literature, confined to a few small circles, was never again to reach there the heights which it had occupied in the days of rapoport and krochmal. though the centre of the hebrew literary movement during the earlier half of the nineteenth century lay in galicia, yet the jews elsewhere had a share in it. in almost all the slav countries as well as in the occident, in germany, in holland, and especially in italy, hebrew was cultivated both by scholars and literary men. some of the works of zunz, geiger, jellinek, and frankel, for instance, were published in hebrew. at amsterdam, out of a whole school of litterateurs, but one name can be selected for special mention, that of the poet and scholar samuel mulder ( - ). besides being active as the editor of several collections of essays, and writing remarkable historical studies, he was the composer of poems very much admired by his contemporaries. most of them appeared in the _bikkure to'elet_ ("useful first fruits"), which he published at amsterdam, in , under the auspices of the maskilim society _to'elet_. the talmudic narrative about the seduction of the celebrated wife of rabbi meïr, forms the subject of an excellent poem, entitled "beruriah", on the fickleness of women. in germany it was chiefly the discussion evoked by the movement for religious reforms ( - ) that created a literature in hebrew. to cite an instance, there was the fiery pamphlet _or nogah_ ("the bright light"), by e. lieberman, a masterpiece in point of style and as a satire upon the orthodox party, together with the replies of the rabbis and the men of letters. it is curious to read pleas, in hebrew, for the abolition of the hebrew language, and against the maintenance of jewish nationality. abraham geiger sided with the extreme reformers, while frankel and zunz insisted upon the necessity of retaining hebrew as the language of worship. another remarkable pamphlet directed against religious reforms in judaism must be singled out for mention, that written by meïr israel bresselau, entitled _hereb nokemet nekam berit_ ("the avenging sword of the covenant"). moses mendelsohn, of hamburg, a german harizi both in the character of his work and by reason of his position as a straggler of the meassefim, was a disciple and imitator of wessely. his makamat _pene tebel_ ("the face of the world", amsterdam, ) contain literary reminiscences. among the contributors to the periodical literature published in galicia, judah jeiteles, of prague ( - ), should be mentioned as a writer of epigrams, models of their kind. [footnote: _bene ha- ne'urim_ ("youth"), prague, .] the following one is addressed to tirzah: "she is as beautiful as the moon, radiant as the sun; her whole being resembles the two heavenly luminaries. the maiden lavishes her gifts upon the whole world, and like the two orbs she rules both day and night." jeiteles also carried on a sharp pamphlet war against hasidism. [footnote: like the vienna and the brody of that day, prague also had its literary centres. among its hebrew men of letters was gabriel südfeld, the father of the celebrated author max nordau, and himself the author of a drama and of an exegetical work, which appeared in .] hungary, whose jews had the same customs and characteristics as the jews of poland, gave birth to one poet of real merit. solomon levinsohn, of moor ( - ), was brought up in orthodox surroundings, and had to contend against all sorts of obstacles, spiritual and material. he triumphed over them, and became a scholar of serious attainments and a poet of distinction. besides his historical studies, in german, he wrote an excellent geography of palestine, in hebrew, under the title _mehkere erez_ ("investigations of the land"), published at vienna in . his poetical treatise _melizat yeshurun_ (a hebrew rhetoric), also published at vienna, in , is a master work, both as a treatise on rhetoric and as poetic literature. the introductory poem, on "poetic eloquence", an apotheosis of poetry and _belles lettres_, is one of the finest ever written in hebrew. the poet displays a rich imagination, his figures of speech are clear-cut and telling, and his style is remarkable for its classic quality. an unhappy love affair terminated his days before his genius reached the period of full flowering. [footnote: simon bacher, the father of the scholar wilhelm bacher, also won a name as an eloquent poet.] * * * * * the literary movement of the first half of the nineteenth century did not succeed in making itself felt among the masses. it failed to call forth a national literature of even a slight degree of originality. the maskilim of galicia fell into the same mistake as their predecessors in germany. in constituting themselves the champions of humanism in poland, in a community thoroughly religious, and affected by modern conceptions only superficially, they should not have attached the undue importance they did to arguments addressed to reason. their appeal should have been directed to the feelings of their co-religionists. they labored under the delusion that positive reasoning could carry conviction to a people immersed in mystical speculation, crushed by the double yoke of ceremonialism and an inferior social position, and sustained only by the messianic hope of a glorious future. if galician humanism never spread beyond the small circles of the literary, it was only what might have been expected. it could not become a popular movement. neither the depth of thinkers like rapoport and krochmal, nor the biting satire of an erter, nor the zionistic lyricism of a letteris, had force enough to cry a halt to the hasidim and impede their dark work. in point of fact, the newer ideas all but failed to make an impression on the most independent of the young rabbis. they were affrighted by the religious decadence in evidence in germany, and they took a rather determined stand in opposition to the spread of a secular literature in hebrew. [footnote: cases might be cited besides that of the learned friend of rapoport, jacob samuel bick, referred to by bernfeld in his biography of rapoport, p. . he deserted from the humanist camp, in which his jewish feeling was left unsatisfied, and took refuge in hasidism.] as a result, we shall see a steady decline in the position of the hebrew litterateur in poland, and a decrease in the number of hebrew publications. the _mehabber_ makes his appearance as a type--the vagabond author who offers his own writings for sale, fairly forcing them on unwilling purchasers. no more eloquent index is needed to the state of a struggling literature. * * * * * it is questionable whether the work of the galician maskilim would not have been doomed to perpetual sterility, with no hope of ever making an impression on the jewish masses, if an italian writer had not appeared on the scene, who possessed the jewish feeling that was lacking in his predecessors. in samuel david luzzatto general culture and genuine breadth of mind were united with jewish loyalty raised to the highest pitch. he succeeded in discovering the formula by which modern culture can be brought to the religious without wounding their jewish sensibilities. the life and work of so remarkable a personage deserve more than passing mention. after a rather long period of inactivity in hebrew letters in italy, a new literary and scientific school sprang into being during the first half of the nineteenth century. it participated with notable success in the movement of the north. the celebrated critic, isaac samuel reggio ( - ), an independent thinker, exercised enormous influence upon his contemporaries by his publications in the history of literature and his bold articles on religious reform. his chief work, "the law and philosophy", which appeared in vienna in , is an attempt at harmonizing the jewish law with science. the best known of the poets were joseph almanzi ( - ) and rachel morpurgo. [footnote: the reader is referred to the anthology of the italian poets of the period, published by abraham baruch piperno, under the title _kol ugab_ ("the voice of the harp", leghorn, ).] almanzi's poems were published in two collections, one entitled _higgayon be-kinnor_ ("the lyric harp"), and _nezem zahab_ ("ornament of gold"). rachel morpurgo ( - ), a kinswoman of the luzzatto family, left a collection of poems on various subjects, entitled _'ugab rahel_ ("the harp of rachel"), a carefully prepared edition of which was published by the scholar vittorio castiglioni. it is a curious document in the history of hebrew literature. the language of the poetess is essentially biblical, her style sprightly and original, and her thought is dominated by a fine serenity of soul and unwavering faith in the messianic future of israel. the following sonnet was inspired by the democratic revolution of , which shook modern society to its very foundations, and in which the jews were largely and deeply interested: "he who bringeth low the proud, hath brought low all the kings of the earth.... he hath sent disaster and ruin into the fortified cities, and sated with blood their cringing defenders. "all, both young and old, gird on the sword, greedier for prey than the beasts of the forest; they all cry for liberty, the wise and the boors; the fury of the battle rages like the billows of the stormy sea.... "not thus the servants of god, the valiant of his host. they do battle day and night with their evil inclinations. patiently they bear the yoke of their rock, and increase cometh to their strength. my friend is like a hart, like a sportive gazelle. "he will sound the great trumpet to summon the deliverer; the righteous sprout shall grow forth from the earth. their rock will soothe their pain, he will repair every breach. the lord reigneth, and the earth rejoiceth aloud." rachel's finest poem is without a doubt the one named _'emek 'akor_ ("the dark valley") in which she affirms her steadfast faith in the truths and consolations of religion: "o dark valley, covered with night and mist, how long wilt thou keep me bound with thy chains? better to die and abide under the shadow of the almighty, than sit desolate in the seething waters." "i discern them from afar, the hills of eternity, their ever- enduring summits clothed with garlands of bloom. o that i might rise on wings like the eagle, fly upward with my eyes, and raise my countenance and gaze into the heart of the sun! "o heaven, how beautiful are thy paths, they lead to where liberty reigneth ever. how gentle the zephyrs wafted over thy heights, who hath words to tell?" the same mystic note struck by rachel morpurgo recurs in the works of other italian writers of the time. it distinguishes them strikingly from their contemporaries in galicia and russia, who proclaim themselves almost without exception the followers of a relentless rationalism. * * * * * unquestionably the most original of all these writers, and the one who occupied the most prominent and influential place, is samuel david luzzatto ( - ). he was born at triest, the son of a carpenter, a poor man, but none the less educated and respected. the childhood years of luzzatto were passed in poverty and study. he emerged a conqueror from the struggle for life and knowledge. as early as he was appointed rector of the rabbinical seminary at padua. thereafter he could devote himself without hindrance to science and the education of disciples, many of whom became celebrated. luzzatto's learning was vast in extent and as thorough. besides, he possessed literary taste and modern culture. in his southern temperament, feeling had the upper hand of reason. he was an indefatigable worker, his mind was always actively alert. versed alike in philology, archaeology, poetry, and philosophy, he was productive in each of these departments, without ever laying himself open to the charge of mediocrity. he was the creator of the science of judaism in the italian language, but above all he was a hebrew writer. he published excellent editions of the hebrew masters of the middle ages, for the first time bringing to the doors of readers, scholarly readers as well as others, the works of such poets as jehudah halevi (prague, ). the notes in these editions of his are ingenious and scientific. his own verses and poems are wholly devoid of inspiration and fancy, but in form and style they are irreproachable. [footnote: _kinnor na'im_ ("the sweet lyre"), vienna, , and others.] his prose is vigorous and precise, at the same time preserving some of the oriental charm native to the hebrew. his chief distinction is that he was a romantic jew. his patriotic heart was chilled by the attacks upon the jewish religion and upon jewish nationalism by the german and galician humanists. he was hostile to rationalism, and opposed it all his life. in his sight, science, the importance of which he in no degree denied, was yet not equal in value to religious feeling. this alone, he held, is able to establish morality in a position of supremacy. s. bernfeld, in his sketch of rapoport, considers it a surprising anachronism that this romanticist, this jewish chateaubriand, should have appeared on the scene at the very moment of the triumph of rationalism in hebrew letters everywhere. [footnote: warsaw and berlin, ] luzzatto was the first among hebrew humanists to claim the right of existence not only for jewish nationality, but also for the jewish religion in its integrity. "a people in possession of a land of its own can maintain itself, even without a religion of its own. but the jewish people, dispersed in all four corners of the earth, can maintain itself only by virtue, of its attachment to its faith. and if, heaven forbid, it should cease to believe in revelation, it must inevitably be assimilated with the other peoples.... the science of judaism, with which some scholars are at present occupying themselves in germany, cannot preserve judaism. [ ] it is not an object in itself to them. when all is said, goethe and schiller are more important to these gentlemen, and much dearer to them, than all the prophets and all the rabbis of the talmud. they pursue the science of judaism pretty much as others study egyptology or assyriology, or the lore of persia. they are inspired by a love of science, by the desire for personal renown, or, at best, by the intention to attach glory to the name of israel, and they extol certain old works for the purpose of hastening the first redemption, that is, the political emancipation of the jews. but this science of judaism has no stability. it cannot survive the emancipation of the jews, or the death of those who studied the torah and believed in god and moses before they took lessons of eichhorn and his disciples." "the true science of judaism, the science which will last as long as time itself, is that which is founded on the faith; which endeavors to understand the bible as a divine work, and the history of a peculiar people whose lot has been peculiar; which, finally, dwells upon those moments in the various epochs of jewish history when the innate genius of judaism wages a conflict with the genius of humanity in general, as it lies in wait without, and how the divine spirit of judaism mastered the spirit of humanity throughout all the centuries. for the day on which the positions shall be reversed, and the spirit of humanity shall remain in possession of the field, that day will be the last in the life of the people of israel." [footnote : jost, in his "history of the jewish people", etc.] this conception of the providential rôle assigned to israel is the point at which the italian romanticist meets krochmal, wide apart though their starting-places are. at bottom both do but interpret the ancient notion of the divine selection of israel and of a "chosen people". but while krochmal regards religion as a fleeting phase in the existence of the nation, for luzzatto religion is an essential element in judaism, a view not unlike bossuet's. however, it does not lead him astray. he still tries to harmonize faith with the demands of the modern spirit. the jewish religion is in his opinion the moral doctrine _par excellence_. like heine he takes the world to be dominated by two opposite forces, hellenism and hebraism. justice, truth, the good, and self-abnegation, whatever appertains to these is jewish. the beautiful, the rational, the sensuous, is attic. luzzatto does not hesitate to criticise the masters of the middle ages rather sharply, chief among them maimonides, who attempted the impossible when he endeavored to harmonize science and faith, reason and feeling, moses and aristotle. these are the irreconcilable oppositions in human life. "science does not make us happy; the highest morality alone is capable of conferring true happiness upon us, and spiritual peace. and this morality is to be found not with aristotle, but only with the prophets of israel. "the happiness of the jewish people, the people of morality, does not depend upon its political emancipation, but upon its faith and its morality. the french and german rabbis of the middle ages, simple-minded and uncultured, but pious and sincere, are preferable to the speculative minds of spain, whose arguing and rhetoric warped their judgment." such ideas as these involved luzzatto in discussions and polemics with the greater number of his friends, the german jewish scholars, whose views were far removed from his. he defied his contemporaries, as he attacked the masters of the middle ages. in one of his letters he goes to the length of asserting, that while jost and his colleagues were engaged in what they believed to be the useful work of defending judaism against its enemies, they were in reality doing it more harm than these same enemies. the latter tended to preserve the jewish people as a nation apart, while the rationalistic criticism of the former, directed against the jewish religion, burst the bonds that hold the nation together, and hasten its dissolution. "when, my dear german scholars", he cries out vehemently, "when will the lord open your eyes? how long will you fail to understand that, carried away by the general current, you are permitting national feeling to become extinct and the language of our ancestors to fall into desuetude, and are thus preparing the way for the triumphant invasion of atticism.... so long as you do not teach that the good is not that which is visible to the eyes, but that which is felt within the heart, and that the prosperity of our people is not dependent upon civil emancipation, but upon the love of a man for his neighbor, ... their hearts will not be possessed with zeal for god." [footnote: letters, i, no. , p. .] luzzatto has no fondness for dry dogmatism, nor for detailed prohibitions and rabbinic controversies. he is too modern for that, too much of a poet. what he loves is the poetry of religion. he is attracted by its moral elevation. like jehudah halevi, the sentimental philosopher whose successor he is, luzzatto feels and thinks in the peculiar fashion that distinguishes the intuitive minds among the jews. he loves his native country, and this love appears clearly in his writings, yet, at the same time, they all, whether in prose, as in his letters, or in verse, as in the _kinnor na'im_, sound a zionistic note. * * * * * luzzatto became the founder of a school. writers of our own day, like vittorio castiglioni, eude lolli, and others, draw upon the works of the master as a source, and they acknowledge it openly. his philological and linguistic works, the _bet ha-ozar_ among others, have inestimable value, and his letters, published by gräber in five volumes, the edition from which most of the passages cited have been taken, abundantly prove his influence on his contemporaries. he was a master and a prophet, a gracious and brilliant exponent of the renascence of hebrew literature, which had been inaugurated by one of his ancestors, another luzzatto. a century of efforts and uninterrupted labor had wrought the resurrection of the hebrew language. after it had been transformed into a modern tongue, in touch with all departments of thought, the sole remaining task was to make it acceptable to the masses of the orthodox jews, and use it as an effective instrument of social and religious emancipation. this task became easy of accomplishment because luzzatto knew how to direct the mind of his contemporaries. he found the key to the heart of the masses. a message in verse addressed to him by a young lithuanian poet, in , gives an eloquent interpretation of the sentiment felt for the italian _maëstro_ by the devotees of a budding school of literature: "from the icy north country, where the flowers and the sun endure but a few short moons, these halting lines speed with their greeting away from the hoar frost, to the eloquent sage in the southland, enthroned among the wise and extolled by the pious--to the gentle guide whose heart burns, like the sun of his own fair land, with love for the people whence he was hewn, and for the tongue of the jews." [footnote: poems, by j. l. gordon, st. petersburg, , i, p. .] the "icy north country" was lithuania, in which the literary movement had just effected a triumphal entry, bringing with it the light of science, and the young poet was judah leon gordon, destined to become the greatest jewish poet of the nineteenth century. * * * * * here we arrive at the end of the first part of our essay, devoted in particular to hebrew literature in western europe. for its future we must look to the east. * * * * * chapter iv in lithuania humanism in russia we are in the jewish country, perhaps the only jewish country in the world. [footnote: see slouschz, _massa' be-lita_ ("journey through lithuania"), jerusalem, .] the last to participate in the intellectual movement of european judaism, the lithuanian jews start into view, in the second half of the seventeenth century, as a peculiar social organism, clearly marked as such from its first appearance. the rabbis and scholars of lithuania acquired fame without a struggle, and its rabbinical schools quickly became the busy centres of talmudic research. the destinies of the jewish population of lithuania, so different in character from that of poland proper, were ruled absolutely by the "synod of the four countries", with brest, and afterwards wilna, as headquarters. the revolutions and upheavals to which is due the social and religious decadence of the polish jews during the eighteenth century, barely touched this forsaken corner of the earth. even the cossack invasion dealt leniently with lithuania, if the city of wilna is excepted, and its early annexation by russia saved the province from the anarchy and excitement which agitated poland during its latter days. left to their fate, neglected by the authorities, and forming almost the whole of the urban population, the jews of lithuania, in the full glare of the eighteenth century, were in all essentials an autonomous community with jewish national and theocratic features. the talmud did service as their civil and religious code. the court of final appeal was a rabbinical expert, supported by the central synod and the local _kahal_, and exercising absolute authority over the moral and material interests of those subordinated to his jurisdiction. the study of the law was carried to the extreme of devotion. to have an illiterate, an _'am ha-arez_, a "rustic", in one's family, was considered a pitiable fate. lithuania, in fine, was the promised land of rabbinism, in which everything favored the development of a national jewish centre. the natural poverty of the country, its barren soil, dense forests, and lack of populous centres of civilization, all tended to keep the polish lords aloof. poland offered them a more inviting sojourn. there was nothing to hinder the pious scholars who had escaped from religious persecution in the countries of europe, especially france and germany, from devoting themselves, with all their heart and energy, to the study of the talmud and the ceremonials of their religion. no infusion of aliens disturbed them. the inhospitable skies, the absence of diversions, little troubled the refugees of the ghetto, for whom the book and the dead letter were all-sufficing. they were not affected, their dignity was hardly wounded, by the haughty and arbitrary treatment which the nobleman accorded to the jewish "factor" and steward, and by the many humiliations which were the price paid in return for the right to live, for without the protection of the lords they would not have been able to hold out against the wretched orthodox peasants. in morality and in race, however, they considered themselves the superior of the "poriz", the polish nobleman, with his extravagance and folly. in the villages, the jews had the upper hand, either as the actual owners of the estates, or as the overseers, and in the rude cities with their wooden buildings, they constituted the bulk of the merchants, the middlemen, the artisans, even the workmen. they all led a sordid life. mere existence required a bitter struggle. destitute of all pleasures save the intimate joys of family life, fostering no ambition except such as was connected with the study of the law, disciplined by religious authority, and chastened by austere and rigid principles of morality, the jewish masses had a peculiar stamp impressed upon their character by their life of subjection and misery. the mind was constantly kept alert by the dialectics of the talmud and the ingenious efforts needed to secure one's daily bread. even the messianic dreams, inspired by a belief in divine justice and in the moral and religious superiority of israel, rather than by a mystic conception of life, gave but a faint touch of beauty and glamour to an existence so mournful, so abjectly sad. such was, and such in part is still, the manner in which they live--a sober, energetic, melancholy, and subtle people, the mass of the two millions of jews who reside in lithuania and white russia, and send forth, to the great capitals of europe and to the countries beyond seas, a stream of industrious immigrants, resourceful intellectually and morally. in the second half of the eighteenth century, thanks to the peace with which lithuania was blessed after its subjection by russia, rabbinical studies reached their zenith. the high schools, the _yeshibot_, became the centres of attraction for the best of the young men. the number of writers and scholars increased considerably, and the hebrew printing presses were kept in full blast. the ideal of every lithuanian jew was, if not to marry his daughter to a scholar, at least to have a _bahur_ at his table, a student of the talmud, a prospective rabbi. "the torah is the best _sehorah_" ("merchandise"), every lithuanian mother croons at the cradle of her child. in those days a rabbinic authority arose like unto whom none had been known among jews in the later centuries, and his earnest, independent genius, as well as his moral grandeur, conferred a consecration upon the peculiar spiritual tendencies prevailing in lithuanian judaism, which he personified at its loftiest. elijah of wilna, surnamed "the gaon", "his excellency", succeeded in resisting the assaults of hasidism, which threatened to overwhelm, if not the learned among them, certainly the lithuanian masses. to parry the dangers of mysticism, which exercised so powerful an attraction that the dry and subtle casuistry of rabbinic learning could not damp its ardor, he broke with scholastic methods, and took up a comparatively rational interpretation of texts and the laws. he went to the extreme of asserting the value of profane and practical knowledge, the pursuit of which could not but bring advantage to the study of the law--a position unheard of at his day, and excusable only in so popular a man as he was. he himself wrote a treatise on mathematics, and philologic research was a favorite occupation with him. his pupils followed his example; they translated several scientific works into hebrew, and founded schools and centres of puritanism, not only in lithuania, but also as far away as palestine. from this time on the _yeshibah_ of wolosin became the chief seat of traditional talmud study and rabbinic rationalism. one of the contemporaries of "the gaon" was the physician judah hurwitz, of wilna, who opposed hasidism in his pamphlet _megillat sedarim_ ("a book of essays"), and in his ethical work _ammude bet-yehudah_ ("the pillars of the house of judah ", prague, ), he pleads the cause of internationalism and the equality of men and races! it would be rash to suppose that an echo of the studies of the encyclopedists had reached a province double-barred and double-locked by politics and religion. the european languages were unknown in the lithuanian jewries of the gaon's day, and his pupils sought their mental pabulum in the writings of the jewish scholars of the middle ages, maimonides, and albo, and their compeers. the result was an odd, whimsical science. false, antiquated notions and theories were introduced through the medium of the hebrew, and they attained no slight vogue. at the end of the eighteenth century, a certain elias, a rabbi, also of wilna, undertook to gather all the facts of science into one collection. he compiled a curious encyclopedia, the _sefer ha- berit_ ("the book of the covenant"). by the side of geographic details of the most fantastic sort, he set down chemical discoveries and physical laws in the form of magical formulas. this book, by no means the only one of its kind, was reprinted many a time, and in our own day it still affords delight to orthodox readers. a long time passed before the russian government took note of the intellectual condition of its jewish subjects, who, in turn, asked nothing better than to be left undisturbed. nevertheless, the treatment accorded them by the government was not calculated to inspire them with great confidence in it. as for a russification of the jewish masses, there could be no question of that, at a time when russian civilization and language were themselves in an embryonic state. it was only when the first alexander came to the throne that the reforms planned by the government began to make an impression upon the distant ghetto. a special commission was instituted for the purpose of studying the conditions under which the jews were living, and how to ameliorate them materially and intellectually. the first close contact between jews and russians took place in the little town of shklow, inhabited almost entirely by jews. it was an important station on the route from the capital to western europe, and the jews were afforded an opportunity of entering into relations with men of mark, both russians and strangers, who passed through on their way to st. petersburg. [footnote: as early as a hebrew ode was published on the occasion of empress catherine ii's passing through shklow. a printing press was set up there about , and it was at shklow that a litterateur, n. h. schulmann, made the first attempt to found a weekly political journal in hebrew, announcing it in his edition of the _zeker rab_.] a circle of literary men under the influence of the meassefim was founded there, and a curious literary document issued thence testifies to the hopes aroused by the reform projects planned in the reign of alexander i for the improvement of the condition of the jews. it is a pamphlet bearing the title _kol shaw'at bat-yehudah_, or _sinat ha-dat_ ("the loud voice of the daughter of judah", or "religious hatred"), and published, in shklow in , in hebrew and russian. the author, whose name was löb nevakhovich, protests energetically, in behalf of truth and humanity, against the contemptuous treatment accorded the jews. [footnote: grandfather of the well-known scholar e. metchnikoff, of the pasteur institute.] "ah, ye christians, men of the newer faith, who vaunt your mercy and lovingkindness! exercise your mercy upon us, turn your loving hearts toward us. why do you scorn the jew? if he forsakes his faith, how doth it profit you? have you not heard the voice of moses mendelssohn, the celebrated writer of our people, who asked your co-religionists, 'of what avail that you should continue to attach men lacking faith and religion to yourselves'? can you not understand that the jew, too, loves righteousness and justice like unto yourselves? why do you constantly scrutinize the _man_ to find the _jew_ in him? seek but the man in the jew, and you will surely find him!" like so many that have followed, this first appeal awakened no answering echo in russian hearts. a century has passed since then, and russia still fails to find the man in the unconverted jew! the hopes aroused in the jews of lithuania by the napoleonic wars were disappointed. an iron hand held them down, and they continued to vegetate miserably in their gloomy, abandoned corner. * * * * * the story goes that when napoleon at the head of the _grande armée_ entered wilna, the exclamation was forced from him, "why, this is the jerusalem of lithuania!" whether the story is true or not, it is a fact that no other city was more deserving of the epithet. the residence of the gaon was a jewish metropolis as early as the eighteenth century, and during the whole of the nineteenth century wilna was the jewish city _par excellence_, a distinction to which it was helped by several facts--by the systematic and intentional elimination of the polish element, especially since the insurrection of , by the prohibition of the polish language, the closing of the university, and the absence of a lithuanian population. the dethroned capital of a people betrayed by its nobility became, after its abandonment by the native inhabitants, the centre of a jewry independent of its surroundings and undisturbed in its internal development. without in the least deviating from rabbinic traditions, its constitutional platform, jewish society in wilna was gradually penetrated by modern ideas. the humanism of the german jews, the haskalah, met with no effective resistance in a comparatively enlightened world, prepared for it by the school of the gaon. the rabbinical students themselves were the first representatives of humanism in lithuania. they became as ambitious in cultivating the hebrew language and studying the secular sciences presented in it, as in searching out and examining the talmud. sprung from the people, living its life and sharing in its miseries, separated from christian society by a barrier of prescriptions that seemed insuperable to them, the earliest of the lithuanian litterateurs vitalized their young love for science and hebrew letters with the disinterested devotion that characterizes the idealists of the ghetto in general. a literary circle, known as the "berliners", was formed in wilna, about . it was the pattern after which a large number were modelled a little later, all of them pursuing hebrew literature with zeal and ardor. two writers of worth, both from wilna, the one a poet, the other a prose writer, headed the literary procession in lithuania. abraham bär lebensohn (adam ha-kohen, - ), surnamed the "father of poetry", was born at wilna. he spent a sad childhood. left motherless early, he was deprived of the love and the care that are the only consolations known to a child of the ghetto. at the age of three, he was sent to the _heder_, at seven he was a student of the talmud, then casuistry occupied his mind, and, finally, the kabbalah. the last had but feeble attractions for the future poet. his mental mould was determined by his thorough study of the bible and hebrew grammar, which was good form in wilna as early as his day, and the works of wessely, for whom he always professed warm admiration, had a decided influence upon his poetic bias. in his first attempts at poetry, lebensohn did not depart greatly from the achievements of the many rabbinical students whose favorite pastime was to discuss the events of the day in hebrew verse. an elegy to the memory of a rabbi, an ode celebrating the equivocal glory of a polish nobleman, and similar subjects, were the natural choice of the muse of the era, and the early flights of our author were not different. there was nothing in them to betray the future poet of merit. a little later he took up the study of german, but his knowledge of the language was never more than superficial. haunted by the fame of schiller, he devoted himself to poetry, and imitated the german poets, or tried to imitate them, for he never succeeded in grasping the true meaning of german poetry, nor in understanding erotic literature. to the rabbinical student, with his puritanic spirit and austere manners, it was a collocation of poetic figures of speech and symbolic expressions. his life differed in no wise from that of the poor jews of the ghetto. given in marriage early by his father, he suddenly found himself deep in the bitter struggle for existence, before he had known the transport of living, or youth, or the passions, or love, or the inner doubts and beliefs that contend with one another in the heart of man. feeling for nature, aesthetic delights, were strange provinces to this son of the ghetto. a conception of art that is destitute of a moral aim would have passed his understanding and his puritanic horizon. too much of a free- thinker to follow the rabbinical profession, he taught hebrew to children--an unremunerative occupation, and little respected in a society in which the most ignorant are not uninstructed, and in which, the choice of vocations being restricted, the unsuccessful and the unskilled naturally drop into teaching. ten years of it, daily from eight in the morning until nine at night, undermined his health. he fell sick, and was compelled to give up his hap-hazard calling, to the great gain of hebrew poetry. he went into the brokerage business, and his small leisure he devoted to his muse. harassed by petty, sordid cares, this broker was yet a genuine idealist, though it cannot be maintained that lebensohn was of the stuff of which dreamers are made and great poets. but in his mind, rationalistic and logical to the point of dryness, there was a secluded recess pervaded with melancholy and real feeling. the hebrew language he cherished with ardent and exalted love. is it not a beautiful language and admirable? is it not the last relic saved from the shipwreck in which all the national possessions of our people were lost? and is not he, lebensohn himself, the heir to the prophets, the poet laureate and high priest to the holy language? with what pride he unveils the state of his soul to us: "i am seated at the table of god, and with my hand i guide his pen; and my hand writes the language holy unto him, the language of his law, the language of his people, selah! o god, arouse, awake my spirit, for is it not thy holy language wherein i sing unto thee?" [footnote: _shire sefat kodesh_, ii, i.] a creature of his surroundings, and a disciple of the rabbis, as he was, the dialectics of a logician were in him joined to native simplicity of spirit, yet he never reached the point of understanding the inner world of struggles and passions that agitate the individual lives of men. for a love song or a poem in praise of nature, he thought it necessary only to copy the german authors and link together a series of pointed verses. the poem "david and bath-sheba" is a failure. his descriptions of nature are dry and artificial. he was never able to account for what was happening under his eyes and around him. events produced an effect upon him out of all proportion to their importance. the military and civic reforms of nicholas i, he celebrated in an ode, in which he applied the enthusiastic praise "henceforth israel will see only good!" to regulations that were wholly prejudicial to jewish interests. when some jewish banker or other was appointed consul-general in the orient, he welcomed the occurrence in dithyrambic verses, dedicated to the poor fellow in the name of the jews of lithuania and white russia. but whenever the heart of our poet beats in unison with the sentiments of his jewish brethren, whenever he surrenders himself to the sadness, the peculiar melancholy, that pervades jewish relations, then he attains to moral heights and lyric vigor unsurpassed. in his three volumes of poetry, by the side of numerous worthless pieces, we meet many gems of style and thought. the distressed cry of humanity against the wretchedness under which it staggers, the sorrowful protest man makes against the lack of compassion he encounters in his fellow, his obstinate refusal to understand the implacable cruelty of nature when she snatches his dearest from him, and his impotence in the presence of death--these are the subjects that have inspired lebensohn's best efforts. he insists constantly, is not pity the daughter of heaven? do we not find her among beasts even, and among reptiles? man alone is a stranger to her, and he makes himself the tyrant of his neighbor. but it is not man alone who refuses to know this daughter of heaven, nature denies pity, too, and shows herself relentless: "o world! house of mourning, valley of weeping! thy rivers are tears, and thy soil ashes. upon thy surface thou bearest men that mourn, and in thy bowels the corpses of the dead.... from out of the mountains covered with snow and ice comes forth a chariot with none to guide. within sits man and the wife of his bosom, beautiful as a flower, and at their knees play sweet children. alas! a caravan of the dead simulating life! they journey on, and they go astray, and perish on the icy fields." distress round about, and all hopes collapsed, death hovers apart, yet near, remorseless, threatening, and in the end victorious. in another poem, entitled "the weeping woman", his subject is pity again. he cries out: "thy enemy [cruelty] is stronger than thou. if thou art a burning fire, she is a current of icy water!... alas for thee, o pity! where is he that will have pity upon thee?" with a few vigorous strokes, the hebrew poet describes the nothingness of man in the face of the vast world. the lot of the hamlets and of the renés is more enviable than that of the "mourner" of the ghetto. they at least taste of life before becoming a prey to melancholy and delivering themselves up to pessimism. they know the charms of living and its vexations. the disappointed son of the ghetto lays no stress on gratifications and pleasures. in the name of the supreme moral law he sets himself up for a pessimistic philosopher. "our life is a breath, light as a floating bark. the grave is at the very threshold of life, it awaits us not far from the womb of our mother.... "since the beginnings of the earth, we have been here, and she changes us like the grass of her soil. she stands firm, unshaken. we alone are changeable, and help there is none for us, no refuge, nor may we decline to come hither. like an angler of fish, the world brings us up on a hook. before it has finished devouring one generation, the next is ready for its fate. one is swallowed up, the other snatched away. whence cometh our help?" to this general destruction, this wildness of the elements, which the "mourner" fails to comprehend, permeated as he is with belief in divine justice, is superadded the malice of man. "and thou also, thou becomest a scourge unto thy brother! the heavenly host is joined by thy fellow-man. from the wrath of man, o man, thou wilt never escape. his jealousy of thee will last for aye, until thou art no more!" and with all this, does life offer aught substantial, aught that is lasting? "where are they, the forgotten generations? their very name and memory have disappeared. and in the generation to come, we, too, shall be forgotten. and who escapes his lot? not a single one of us all. none is secure from death. wealth, wisdom, strength, beauty, all are nothing, nothing...." in a burst of revolt, our poet exclaims: "if i knew that my voice with its reverberations sufficed to destroy the earth and the fulness thereof, and all the hosts of heaven, i would cry with a thundering noise: cease! myself i would return to nothing with the rest of mankind. know not the living that the grave will swallow them up after a life of sadness and cruel misery? see they not that the whole of human life is like the flash that goes before the fatal thunderbolt?" the same train of thought is not met with again until we come down to our own time, and maupassant himself does not present it with greater vigor in _sur l'eau_. and the end of the matter is that "man has nothing but the consciousness of sorrow; he is naked and starved, feeble and without energy. his soul desires all that he has not, and so he longs and languishes day and night." the uncertainty caused by the certainty of death, the terror inspired by the fatal end, the aching regrets over the parting with dear ones, these feelings, which possess even the devoutest jew, are expressed in one of lebensohn's most beautiful poems, "the death agony", and in "knowledge and death" the skepticism of the maskil prevails over the optimism of the jew. sometimes he permits himself to sing of the misery of his people as such. in "the wail of the daughter of judah" (_naäkat bat- yehudah_), it would not be too much to say that there is an echo of the best of the psalms. the weakest of his verses are, nevertheless, those in which he expresses longing for jerusalem. a great misfortune befell lebensohn. the premature death of his son, the young poet micah joseph, the centre of many and legitimate hopes, extorted cries of distress and despair from him. "who, alas! hath driven my bird from my nest? who is it that hath banished my lyre from my abode? who hath shattered my heart, and brought me lamentation?... who hath with one blow blasted my hopes?" there is enough in his writings to make the fortune of a great poet, in spite of their ballast of mediocre and tiresome verses, which the reader should disregard as he goes along. between him and his contemporary, the haughty recluse alfred de vigny, there is not a little resemblance. needless to say that lebensohn had no acquaintance whatsoever with the works of the french poet. lebensohn's poems, published at wilna, in , under the title "poems in the holy language" (_shire sefat kodesh_), were greeted with enthusiasm. the author was hailed as the "father of poetry". besides, he published several works treating of grammar and exegesis. when the celebrated philanthropist montefiore went to russia, in , to induce the czar's government to ameliorate the civil condition of the jews and grant reforms in the conduct of the schools, lebensohn ranged himself publicly on the side of the reformers. according to him, the degradation of the jews was due to three main causes: . absence of haskalah, that is, a rational education, founded upon instruction in the language of the land, the ordinary branches of knowledge, and a handicraft. . the ignorance of the rabbis and preachers on all subjects outside of religion. . indulgence in luxuries, especially of the table and of dress. if the first two causes are more or less just, the third displays a ludicrously naïve conception of life. lebensohn was speaking of a famished people, the majority of whom ate meat only once a week, on the sabbath, and he reproaches them with gastronomic excesses and extravagance in dress. we shall see that his simple outlook was shared by most of the russian maskilim. in , at the time when the struggle for the emancipation of the jews and internal reforms in general was at its highest point, lebensohn published his drama "truth and faith" (_emet we-emunah_, wilna), which he had written all of twenty years earlier. it is a purely didactic work, blameless of any trace of poetic ardor. it must be conceded that the style is clear and fluent, and the ethical problem is stated with precision. but it lacks every attempt at analysis of character, and is destitute of all psychologic motivation. these being of the very essence of dramatic composition, his drama reduces itself to a moral treatise, wearisome at once and worthless. the plan is simple enough. sheker (falsehood) seeks to seduce and win over hamon (the crowd). he offers to give him his daughter emunah (faith) in marriage, but she is wooed by two lovers, emet (truth) and sekel (reason). the influence of moses hayyim luzzatto is direct and manifest. like the older author, lebensohn, skeptic though he is, does not go to the length of casting doubt upon faith. he rises up against falsehood, hypocrisy, and mock piety, the piety that persecutes others, and steeps its votaries in ignorance. "pure reason is not opposed to a pure religion", was the device adopted by the wilna school. belief in god being set aside as a basic principle, the reason invoked by the dramatist is positive reason, the reason of science, of justice, of rational logic. in verbose monologues, he combats the superstitions and fanaticism of the orthodox. the whole force of the maskil's hatred against obscurantism is expressed through the character named zibeon, jewish hypocrite and chief adjutant in the camp of sheker (falsehood). this jewish tartufe is very different in his complexity from the character created by moliere. zibeon is a wonderworking rabbi, a subtle sophist, a crafty dialectician. the waves of the talmud, the casuistry of more than a millennium of scholasticism, have left their traces in his mind and personality. in his hatred of the adversaries of the haskalah, lebensohn depicts him, besides, as a hypocrite, a lover of the good things of this world, and given to lewdness, which are not the usual traits of these rabbis. the alleged tartufe of the ghetto cannot be called a hypocrite. he is a believer, and hence sincere. what leads him to commit the worst excesses, is his fanaticism, his blind piety. on the other hand, the dramatist is full of admiration for sekel (reason), hokmah (knowledge), emet (truth), and even emunah (faith). on the background of the prosiness of this work by lebensohn, there stands out one passage of remarkable beauty, the prayer of sekel beseeching god to liberate emet. the triumph of truth closes the drama. one characteristic feature should be pointed out: neither regesh (sentiment), a prominent jewish quality, nor taawah (passion), appears in this gallery of allegorical characters personifying the moral attributes. for lebensohn, as for the whole school of the humanists of his time, the only thing that mattered was reason, and reason had to be shown all-sufficing to ensure the triumph of truth. in its day lebensohn's drama excited the wrath of the orthodox. a rabbi with literary pretensions, malbim (meir lob ben jehiel michael), considered it his duty to intervene, and to the accusations launched by lebensohn he replied in another drama, called _mashal u-melizah_ ("allegory and interpretation"), wherein he undertakes the defense of the orthodox against the charges of ill-disposed maskilim. * * * * * if abraham bär lebensohn is considered the father of poetry, his no less celebrated contemporary and compatriot, mordecai aaron ginzburg, has an equally good claim to be called the foremost master of modern hebrew prose. ginzburg is the creator of a realistic hebrew prose style, though he was permeated to the end with the style and the spirit of the bible. whenever the biblical style can render modern thoughts only by torturing and twisting it, or by resorting to cumbersome circumlocutions, ginzburg does not hesitate to levy contributions from talmudic literature and even the modern languages. these linguistic additions made by him are always excellent, and in no way prejudicial to the elegance of hebrew style. for it should be reiterated, in season and out of season, that it is a mistake to believe the neo-hebrew to be essentially different from the language of the bible, analogous to the difference between the modern and the classic greek. the modern hebrew is nothing more than an adaptation of the ancient hebrew, conformable to the modern spirit and new ideas. the extreme innovators, who at best are few in number, cannot but confirm this statement of the case. ginzburg was a fertile writer; he has left us fifteen volumes, and more, on various subjects. endowed with good common sense, and equipped with a more solid modern education than the majority of the writers of the time, he exercised a very great influence upon his readers and upon the development of hebrew literature. his "abiezer", a sort of autobiography, very realistic, presents a striking picture of the defective education and backward ways of the ghetto, which the critic denounces, with remarkable subtlety, in the name of civilization and progress. besides, he published two volumes on the napoleonic wars; one volume, under the title _hamat damesek_ ( ), on the ritual murder accusation at damascus; a history of russia; a translation of the alexandrian philo's account of his mission to rome; and a treatise on style (_debir_). he was very successful with his works, and all of them were published during his lifetime, at wilna, prague, and leipsic, and have been republished since. one of his achievements is that he helped to create a public of hebrew readers. it must be admitted that the great mass of the people were at first somewhat repelled by his realism and by his terse and accurate way of writing. their taste was not sufficiently refined to appreciate these qualities, and their primitive sensibilities could not derive pleasure from a description of things as they actually are. this is the difficulty which the second generation of lithuanian writers took account of, and overcame, when they introduced romanticism into hebrew literature. though it was the first, wilna was not the only centre of hebrew literature in russia. in the south, and quite independent of the wilna school, literary circles were formed under the influence of the galician writers and workers. at odessa, a european window opening on the empire of the czar, we see the first enlightened jewish community come into existence. the educated flocked thither from all parts, especially from galicia. simhah pinsker and b. stern are the representatives of the science of judaism in russia, and the contributions of the karaite abraham firkovich in the same field were most valuable, while eichenbaum, gottlober, and others distinguished themselves as poets and writers. isaac eichenbaum ( - ) was a graceful poet. besides his prose writings and his remarkable treatise on the game of chess, we have a collection in verse by him, entitled _kol zimrah_ ("the voice of song", leipsic, ). his sweetness and tenderness, his elegant and clear style, often recall heine. the following quotation is from his poem "the four seasons". "winter has passed, the cold has fled, the ice melts under the fiery darts of the sun. a stream of melted snow sends its limpid waters flowing down the declivity of the rock. my beloved alone is unmoved, and all the fires of my love cannot melt her icy heart. "the hills are clothed with festive mirth, the face of the valleys smiles joyously. the cedar beams, the vine is jubilant, and the pine tree finds a nest in the recesses of the jagged mountain. but in me sighs increase, they bring me low--my friend will not yet hearken unto me. "all sings that lives in the woodland. the beasts of the earth rejoice, and in the branches of the trees the winged creatures warble, each to his mate. my well-beloved alone turns her steps away from me, and under the shadow of my roof i am left in solitude. "the plants spring from the soil, the grass glitters in the splendor of the sun, and the earth is covered with verdure. upon the meadows, the lilies and the roses bloom. thus my hopes blossom, too, and i am filled with joyous expectation--my friend will come back and in her arms enfold me." the acknowledged master of the humanists in southern russia was isaac bär levinsohn, of kremenetz, in wolhynia ( - ). his proper place is in a history of the emancipation of the russian jews, rather than in a history of literature. levinsohn was born in the country of hasidism. a happy chance carried him to brody when he was very young. he attached himself there to the humanist circle, and made the acquaintance of the galician masters. on his return to his own country, he was actuated by the desire to work for the emancipation and promote the culture of the russian jews. like wessely, levinsohn remained on strictly orthodox ground in his writings, and in the name of traditional religion itself he attacks superstition, and urges the obligatory study of the hebrew language, the pursuit of the various branches of knowledge, and the learning of trades. his profound scholarship, the gentleness and sincerity of his writings, earned for him the respect of even the most orthodox. his _bet-yehudah_ ("the house of judah") and _te'udah be-yisraël_ ("testimony in israel") are pleas in favor of modern schooling. in "zerubbabel" he treats of questions of hebrew philology, and with the help of documents he annihilates the legend of the ritual murder in his _efes-dammim_ ("no blood!"). _ahijah ha-shiloni_ is a defense of talmudic judaism against its christian detractors. besides, levinsohn wrote a number of other things, epigrams, articles, and essays. [footnote: we owe a new edition of all his works to nathansohn, warsaw, - .] the contemporaries of levinsohn exaggerated the importance of the literary part of his work. not much of it, outside of his philologic studies, deserves to be called literary, and even they often fall below the mark on account of the simplicity of his views, and especially on account of his prolixity and his awkward diction and style. also the direct influence which he has exerted upon jews is less considerable than once was thought. upon hasidism he made no impression whatsoever. in lithuania, to be sure, his works were widely read by the jews, but in that home of the hebrew language the subject-matter and arguments of an author play but little part in giving vogue to what is written in the biblical language. by his self-abnegation and his wretched fortunes, his isolated life in a remote town, weak in body yet working for the elevation of his co- religionists, he won the admiration of his contemporaries without exception. the fame of the solitary idealist of kremenetz spread until it reached government circles. levinsohn was the first of the jewish humanists who maintained direct relations with the russian authorities. czar nicholas i gave him a personal audience, and several times sought his advice on problems connected with the endeavor to ameliorate the social condition of the jews. the founding of jewish elementary schools, the opening of two rabbinical seminaries, one at wilna and one at zhitomir, the establishment of numerous agricultural colonies, the improvements effected in the political condition of the jews and in the censorship of hebrew books--all these progressive measures are in great part, if not entirely, due to the influence of levinsohn. and the educated men of his time paid the tribute of veneration to a compeer who enjoyed the esteem of the governing classes to so high a degree. * * * * * chapter v the romantic movement abraham mapu the political reaction following upon the polish revolution of made itself felt in lithuania particularly. the hand of the government weighed heavy upon the people of this province. the university of wilna was closed, and all traces of civilization were effaced. from the arbitrariness of the polish nobles, the jews were rescued only to fall into the tender mercies of unscrupulous officials. as it was, since the most rigorous measures had been devised against them. they were exposed to expulsions from the villages, and their commercial and other privileges had been considerably curtailed. besides, a new scourge was inflicted upon them, compulsory service in the army, unknown until then, a frightful service, with an active period of twenty-five years. children were torn from their families and their faith, and the whole life of a man was swallowed up. they struggled against this new incubus with all the weapons at the disposal of a feeble population. bribery, premature marriage, wholesale evasion, voluntary or forced substitution, were the means employed by the well-to-do to save their progeny from military service. in order to ensure the regular recruiting of soldiers among the jews, czar nicholas i, while abolishing the central synod organization, maintained the local _kahal_ everywhere, and made it responsible for the military conscription. the wealthy, the learned, the heads of the communities profited greatly by this official recognition of the kahal. it enabled them to free the members of their families from enrollment in the army. in their hands, it became an instrument for the oppression and exploitation of the poor. "the devil take the hindmost!" expresses the state of mind of the russian jews in the middle of the nineteenth century, during the whole of the period called the _behalah_ ("terror"). the reforms projected by alexander i for the benefit of the jews, the hopes cherished by the lithuanian humanists, proved abortive. reactionary tendencies made themselves felt everywhere cruelly, but chiefly they injured the jews, forever persecuted, downtrodden, and humiliated. the profound pessimism of lebensohn's poetry is eloquent testimony to the feelings of educated jews. and yet, these votaries of knowledge, of civilization, the daughter of heaven, clung to their illusions. they continued to insist that only thoroughgoing reforms can solve the jewish question. the people at large did not side with them, and even among the educated their view of the situation was not shared by the younger men. in this moral disorder, the masses of the people permitted themselves to be carried along unresistingly by the current of hasidic views, which had long been waiting to capture the last fortress of rational judaism. the rabbis stood by alarmed, unable to do anything to arrest the growing encroachments of the mystic movement. yet there was an adversary ready and equipped. in the young neo-hebrew literature, mysticism found a foeman far more powerful than ever logic and rationalism had been. the hebrew language was cultivated with zeal by the educated classes, and even by the young rabbis. it was the epoch of the _melizah_, and the _melizah_ was to supplement the jejuneness of rabbinism and oppose the hasidim with good results. hebrew was in the ascendant, not only for poetry, but for general purposes as well. in the sunshine of the nineteenth century, it became the language of commerce, of jurisprudence, of friendly intercourse. folklore itself, in the very teeth of the now despised jargon, knew no other tongue. the period produced a large quantity of popular poems, which to this day are sung by the jews of lithuania. the dominant note is the national plaint of the jewish people, its dreams, and its messianic hopes. they are essentially zionistic. in polished and tender hebrew, with lofty expressions and despairful cries worthy of byron, a poet of the people mourns the misfortunes of zion: "zion, zion, city of our god! how awful is thy breach! who will heal thee!... every nation, every country, sees its splendor grow from day to day. thou alone and thy people, ye fall from depth to awful depth.... "holy land, o zion and jerusalem! how dare the stranger trample on thy soil with haughty foot? how, o heaven, can the son of the stranger stand upon the spot whence thy command banishes him?" but hope is not entirely blasted: "in the name of all thy people, in all their dwelling-places, have we sworn unto thee, o zion, with scorching tears, that thou shalt always rest upon our hearts as a seal. not by night and not by day shalt thou be forgotten by us." another popular poem, anonymous like the last, entitled "the rose", is still more dolorous and despairful in tone. stepped upon by every passerby, the rose supplicates incessantly, "o man, have pity on me, restore me to my home!" besides these and others with the same underlying ideas, the lyrics of lebensohn and "the mourning dove" by letteris constituted the repertory of the people. but soon romanticism on the part of the litterateurs began to respond to the romanticism of the masses, asserting itself as a national jewish need. a translation of _les mystères de paris_, published in wilna in - , introduced the romantic movement among the jews, and at the same time the novel into the hebrew language. this translation, or, rather, adaptation, of sue's work, executed in a stilted biblical style, won great renown for its young author, kalman schulman of wilna ( - ). from the literary point of view, schulman's achievement is interesting because of the kind of literature it was the first to offer to readers of hebrew--pastime literature, fiction in place of the serious writings of the humanists. the enormous success obtained by this first work of the translator, the repeated editions which it underwent, testify to the existence of a public that craved light literature. thenceforth, romanticism was to occupy the first place, and the _melizah_ style was appropriated for the purposes of fiction, to the delight of the friends of the bible language. in spite of his small originality, it happened that kalman schulman contributed more than any other writer to the achievement of securing a place for hebrew in the hearts of the people. for the length of a half- century, he was regarded popularly as the master of hebrew style. romantic and conservative in religion, enthusiastic for whatsoever the jewish genius produced, naïve in his conception of life, he let his activity play upon all the fields of literature. he published a history of the world in ten volumes; a geography, likewise in ten volumes; four volumes of biographical and literary essays on the jewish writers of the middle ages; a national romance dealing with the time of bar kokbah (a composite made up of a number of translations); and curious biblical and talmudic essays. [footnote: these works, first published at wilna, have been republished again and again.] his language is the hebrew of isaiah. the artificialities and the undue emphasis of his style, his childlike views, his romantic sentimentality in all that touches jews and judaism, which appealed directly to the hearts of the simple, ignorant readers who constituted his public, explain the success of this writer, well merited even though he lacked originality. his books were spread broadcast, by the millions of copies, and they fostered love of hebrew, of science, and knowledge in general among the people. by this token, schulman was a civilizing agent of the first rank. his work is the portal through which the maskil had to pass, and sometimes passes to this day, on the path of development toward modern civilization. schulman became the head of a school. his poetic and inflated style long imposed itself upon all subjects, and hindered the natural development of hebrew prose, inaugurated by mordecai a. ginzburg. more creative writers were not long in making their appearance. among the poets of the romantic school, a prominent place belongs to micah joseph lebensohn, briefly called mikal ( - ), the son of abraham bär lebensohn. gentle and gracious in the same measure in which his father was hard and unyielding, micah joseph lebensohn was the only writer of the time to enjoy the advantage of a complete modern education, and the only one of his generation to escape cruel want and the struggle for personal freedom. he knew german literature thoroughly, and he had taken a course in philosophy at berlin, under schelling. along with these attainments, he was master of hebrew as a living language. it was the vehicle for his most intimate thoughts and the subtlest shades of feeling. his rich poetic imagination, his harmonious style, warm figures of speech, consummate lyric quality, unmarred by the blatant, crude exaggerations of his predecessors, constitute mikal the first artist of his day in hebrew poetry. he made his appearance in the world of letters, in , with a translation of schiller's "destruction of troy", finished in style and in poetic polish. he was the first to apply the rules of modern prosody strictly to hebrew poetry. his collection of poems, _shire bat- ziyyon_ ("the songs of the daughter of zion"), is a masterpiece. it contains six historical poems, admirable in thought, form, and inspiration. in "solomon and kohelet", his most ambitious poem, he brings the youth of king solomon before our eyes. [footnote: wilna, . german translation by j. steinberg, wilna, .] it was the first time the love of solomon for the shulammite was celebrated--a sublime, exalted love sung in marvellous fashion. the joy of life trembles in all the fibres of the poet's heart.... then, the old age of ecclesiastes is contrasted strikingly with the youth of solomon--the king disillusioned, skeptical, convinced of the vanity of love, beauty, and knowledge. all is dross, vanity of vanities! and the young romantic poet ends his work with the conclusion that wisdom cannot exist without faith--that faith alone is capable of giving man supreme satisfaction. "jael and sisera", a noble production, treats of the silent struggle, in the heart of the valiant woman extolled by deborah, between the duty of hospitality on the one side, and love of country on the other. the latter triumphs in the end: "with this people i dwell, and in its land i am sheltered! should i not desire its prosperity and its happiness?" "moses on mount abarim" is full of admiration for the great legislator. the poet says regarding his death: "the light of the world is obscured and dun, of what avail the light of the sun?" his elegy on jehudah halevi is instinct with the pathos of patriotic love for the holy land: "that land, where every stone is an altar to the living god, and every rock a seat for a prophet of the supreme lord". or, as he exclaims in another poem, "land of the muses, perfection of beauty, wherein every stone is a book, every rock a graven tablet!" another collection of poems by mikal, _kinnor bat-ziyyon_ ("the harp of the daughter of zion"), published at wilna, posthumously, contains, besides a number of pieces translated from the german, also lyric poems, in which the poet breathes forth his soul and his suffering. he loves life passionately, but he divines that he will not be granted the opportunity of enjoying it long, and, in an access of despair, he cries out: "accursed be death, accursed also life!" his nature changes, his muse grows sad, and, like his father, he discerns only injustice and misfortune in the world. in a poem addressed to "the stars", he fairly storms high heaven to wrest from it the secret of the worlds: "answer me, i pray, answer me, ye who are denizens on high! o, stop the march of the eternal laws a single instant! alas, my heart is full of disgust over this earth. here man is born unto pain and misery!... here reigns religious hatred! on her lips she bears the name of the god of mercy, and in her hands the blood-dripping sword. she prays, she throws herself upon her knees, yet without cease, and in the name of god, she slaughters her victims. this world, when the lord created it in a fit of anger, he cast it far away from him in wrath. then death threw herself upon it, scattering terror everywhere. she holds this world in her talons. misery also precipitates herself upon it, gnashing her teeth in beast-like rage. she clutches man like a beast of prey, she torments him without reprieve...." this posthumous collection of poems contains also love poems and zionist lamentations, all bearing the impress of the deep melancholy and the sadness that characterized the last years of the poet's short life. a cruel malady carried him off at the age of twenty-four, and the friends of hebrew poetry were left mourning in despair. romantic fiction in hebrew, which the strait-laced life and the austerity of the educated had rendered impossible up to this time, now made its first appearance in the form of translations of modern romances. they were received with acclaim by a well-disposed public greedy for novelties. the creators of original romances were not long in coming. the first master in the department, the father of hebrew romance, was abraham mapu ( - ). mapu was born at slobodka, a suburb of kowno, a sad town inhabited almost entirely by jews. the whole of the population vegetates there amid the most deplorable conditions, economic and sanitary. the father of mapu was a poor, melancholy _melammed_, a teacher of hebrew and the talmud, simple in his outlook upon life, yet not without a certain degree of education. he loved and cultivated knowledge as taught by the hebrew masters of the middle ages. mapu's mother was gentle and sweet. with resignation and fortitude she endured the physical suffering that hampered her all her life. his brother mattathias, a rabbinical student, was a man of parts. in brief, it was misery itself, the life he knew, but the misery once surmounted, and vain desires eliminated, it was a life that tended to bind closer the ties of family love. being a sickly child, mapu did not begin to study the elementary branches until he was five years old, an advanced age among people whose children were usually sent to the _heder_ at four, to spend years upon years there that brought no joy to the student as he sat all day long bent over the great folios of the talmud, except the joy that comes from success in study. rational instruction in the bible and in hebrew grammar, scorned by the talmudic dialecticians as superficial studies, was banished from the _heder_. happily for the future writer, his father taught him the bible, and awakened love in his sensitive heart for the hebrew language and for the glorious past of his people. at the same time, his talmudic education went on admirably. at the age of twelve, he had the reputation of being a scholar, at the age of thirteen, an _'illui_, a "phenomenon", and from that time on he was at liberty to devote himself to his studies at his own free will, without submitting himself to the discipline of a master. like all young talmudists, he was soon sought after as a desirable son- in-law, and it was not long before his father affianced him to the daughter of a well-to-do burgher. at the age of seventeen, he was married. marriage, however, did not change his life. as before, he pursued his studies, while his father-in-law provided for his wants. but soon his studies took a new direction. his pensive mind, stifled by rabbinic scholasticism, turned to the kabbalah. mystical exaltation more and more took possession of him, and the day came when he all but declared himself a follower of hasidism. it was his mother who saved him. he yielded to her prayers, and was held back from committing a perilous act of heresy. these internal conflicts between feeling and reason, the perplexities with which his spirit wrestled, did not affect our author to an excessive degree. they produced no radical change in his personality. all his life mapu remained the humble scholar of the ghetto, a successor of the _ebyonim_, of the psalmists and the prophets. timorous, melancholy, lacking all desire for the things connected with practical life, often degraded by their own material wretchedness and by the intellectual wretchedness of their surroundings, these dreamers of the ghetto, more numerous than the outsider knows, hide a moral exaltation in the depths of their hearts, a supreme idealism, always ready to do battle, never conquered. in their persons we are offered the only explanation there is for the activity and persistence of the messianic people. mapu was on the point of succumbing, like so many others, the darkness of mysticism was about to drop like a pall upon his mind, when something happened, insignificant in itself, but important through its consequences, and he was snatched out of danger. a latin psalter fell into his hands by chance; it gave a fresh turn to his studies, and his mind took its bearings anew. was it curiosity, or was it desire for knowledge, that impelled him to decipher the sacred text in an unknown language at what cost soever? it is certain that no difficulty affrighted him. word by word he translated the latin text by dint of comparing it with the hebrew original, and he succeeded in acquiring a large number of latin words. he is not alone in this achievement. solomon maimon learned the alphabet of the german, the language in which he later wrote his best philosophic essays, from the german names of the treatises of the talmud prefixed to an edition printed in berlin. and many other such cases among the educated jews of lithuania might be cited. these mental gymnastics, the necessity of rendering account to himself as to the precise value of each word, helped mapu to a better understanding of the bible text and a closer identification with its spirit. good fortune and material well-being are not stable possessions with people like the russian jews, obliged to earn their livelihood in the face of rabid competition, and exposed to the caprices of a hostile legislation. one day mapu's father-in-law found himself ruined. the young man was obliged to interrupt his studies and accept a place as tutor in the family of a well-situated jewish farmer. his prolonged stay in the country exerted an excellent influence upon the impressionable soul of the young man. his close communion with nature, which quickly captivated his mind, rent asunder forever the mystic veil that had enshrouded it. still more important was his association with the enlightened polish curate of the village, who interested himself in the young scholar and devoted much time to his instruction. mapu threw himself with ardor into the study of the latin classics. he is the first instance of a hebrew poet having had the opportunity of forming his mind upon the ample models of classic antiquity. continuing under the tuition of the curate, he studied french, the language of his preference, then german, and, only in the last instance, russian. the russian language was not held in high esteem by the maskilim of mapu's day. in kowno, whither he returned after some time, he was compelled to hide his new acquisitions, for fear of arousing the hatred of the fanatics and suffering injury in his profession as teacher of hebrew. infatuated with the works of the romanticists, especially the novels of eugène sue, his favorite author, he began to think out the first part of his historical romance _ahabat ziyyon_ ("the love of zion") as early as . twenty-three years were to pass before it saw the light of day. during that interval he led a life of never-ceasing privation and toil, laboring by day, dreaming by night. the haskalah had created humanist centres in the little towns of lithuania. in some of these, in zhagor and in rossieny, "the city of the educated, of the friends of their people and of the sacred tongue", mapu finally found the opportunity to display his talents. but his material condition, bad enough to begin with, grew worse and worse. after oft-repeated applications, he received the appointment as teacher at a jewish government school in kowno, in . this, together with the pecuniary assistance granted him by his more fortunate brother, put an end permanently to his embarrassment. occupying an independent position, he could devote himself to his romance. finally, the success obtained by the hebrew translation of "the mysteries of paris" emboldened him to publish his "love of zion", and the timid author was overwhelmed, stupefied almost, when he realized the enthusiasm with which the public had greeted his first literary product. into the ascetic and puritanic environment in which the world of sentiment and the life of the spirit were unknown, mapu's romance descended like a flash of lightning, rending the cloud that enveloped all hearts. a century after rousseau, there was still a corner in europe in which pleasure, the joy of living, the good things of this life, and nature, were considered futilities, in which love was condemned as a crime, and the passions as the ruin of the soul. such were the surroundings amid which "the love of zion", a jewish _nouvelle héloïse_, appeared as the first plea for nature and love. "the love of zion" is an historical romance. it re-tells a chapter in the life of the jewish people at the time of the prophet isaiah. the poet could not exercise any choice as to his subject--it was forced upon him inevitably. in order to be sure of touching a responsive chord in his people, it was necessary to carry the action twenty-five centuries back. a jewish novel based on contemporaneous life would have been incongruous both with truth and with the spirit of the ghetto. the time of his novel was the golden age of ancient judea. it was the epoch of a great literary and prophetic outburst. also it was an agitated time, presenting striking contrasts. at jerusalem, an enlightened king was making a firm stand against the limitation of his power from within and against an almost invincible enemy from without. on the one side, society was decadent, on the other side arose the greatest moralists the world has ever seen, the prophets, the intrepid assailants of corruption. it was, finally, the period in which the noblest dreams of a better, an ideal humanity were dreamed. that is the time in which the author lets his story take place. in the reign of king ahaz, two friends lived at jerusalem. the one named joram was an officer in the army and the owner of rich domains; the other, jedidiah, belonged to the royal family. joram had married two wives, haggith and naamah. the latter was his favorite, but at the end of many years she had borne him no children. obliged to go forth to war against the philistines, joram entrusted his family to the care of his friend jedidiah. at the moment of his departure, his wife naamah, and also tirzah, the wife of jedidiah, discovered, each, that she was with child. the two friends agreed, that if the one bore a son and the other a daughter, the two children should in time marry each other. things turned out according to the hopes of the fathers. the wife of jedidiah was the first to be confined, and she gave birth to a daughter, who was named tamar. joram was taken captive by the enemy, and did not return. at the same time a great misfortune overtook his family. his steward achan permitted himself to be tempted to evil by a judge, matthan by name, a personal enemy of joram. he set fire to the house of his master, first having despoiled it of all there was in it. his booty he carried to the house of matthan, and haggith and her children perished in the flames. achan laid the blame for the fire upon naamah, who, he said, desired to avenge herself upon her rival haggith. he substituted his own son nabal for azrikam, the son of haggith, the only one of joram's family, he pretended, to escape with his life. poor naamah, about to be delivered, was compelled to flee and take refuge with a shepherd in the neighborhood of bethlehem. there she bore twins, a son named amnon, and a daughter, peninnah. jedidiah, shocked by the calamity that had overwhelmed the house of his friend, took the supposed azrikam, the son of joram, home with him, and raised him with his own children. in order to keep the spirit of his word to his friend, he considered azrikam the future husband of his daughter, seeing that naamah had disappeared, and was, besides, under the suspicion of being a murderess. achan's triumph was complete. his son was to take the place of azrikam, inherit the house of joram, and marry the beautiful tamar. in the meanwhile happened the fall of the kingdom of samaria. the assyrians carried off the inhabitants captive, among them hananel, the father-in-law of jedidiah. one of the captives, the samaritan priest zimri, succeeded in making his escape, and he fled to jerusalem. the name of his fellow-prisoner hananel, which he used as a recommendation, opened the house and the trustful heart of jedidiah to him. tamar and azrikam grew up side by side in the house of jedidiah. they differed from each other radically. beautiful as tamar was, and good and generous, so ugly and perverse was azrikam. the maiden despised him with all her heart. one day tamar, while walking in the country near bethlehem, was attacked by a lion. a shepherd hastened to her rescue and saved her life. this shepherd was none but amnon, the son of the unfortunate naamah. teman, the brother of tamar, by chance happened upon peninnah, the sister of amnon, who pretended she was an alien, and he was seized with violent love for her. thus the son and the daughter of jedidiah were infatuated, the one with the daughter of naamah, the other with her son, without suspecting who they were. amnon, who had come to jerusalem to celebrate the feast of tabernacles, was received with joy, by jedidiah and his wife, as the savior of their daughter. he was made at home in their house, and won general favor by reason of his excellent character. the young shepherd felt attracted to the study of sacred subjects. he frequented the school of the prophets, and he was particularly entranced with the eloquence of the great isaiah. the pretended azrikam did not view the friendship established between tamar and amnon with a favorable eye. he took the priest zimri into his confidence, and made him his accomplice and aid in disposing of his rival. jedidiah, meanwhile, remained faithful to his promise, and persisted in his intention of giving his daughter in marriage to azrikam, in spite of her own wishes in the matter. when the tender feeling between tamar and amnon became evident, jedidiah dismissed the latter from his house. the period treated of is the most turbulent in the history of judea. the conflict of passions and intrigues is going on that preceded the downfall of the kingdom of judah and the great assyrian invasion. moral disorder reigns everywhere, iniquity and lies rule in place of justice. the upright tremble and hope, encouraged by the prophets. the wicked are defiant, and give themselves up shamelessly to their debauches. "let us drink, let us sing!" exclaimed the crowd of the impious. "who knows whether to-morrow finds us alive!" zimri meditates a master stroke. every evening amnon betook himself to a little hut on the outskirts of the town, where his mother and his sister lived. zimri surprises him. he takes tamar and teman there, and they watch amnon embrace his sister. now all is over. a dreadful blow is dealt the love of brother and sister, who are ignorant of the bonds of kinship uniting amnon and peninnah. repulsed by tamar, for he knows not what reason, amnon leaves jerusalem, despair in his heart. all is not lost yet. maltreated by his own son and plagued by remorse, achan confesses his misdeeds to the alleged azrikam, and reveals his real origin to him. furious, azrikam thinks of nothing but to get rid of his father. he sets his father's house afire, but, before his death, achan makes a confession to the court. everything is disclosed, and everything is cleared up. tamar, now made aware of the error she has committed, is inconsolable at having separated from amnon. meantime the political events take their course. the brave king hezekiah carries on the struggle against his minister shebnah, who desires to surrender the capital to the assyrians. the miraculous defeat of the enemy at the gates of jerusalem assures the triumph of hezekiah. peace and justice are established once more. during this time, amnon, taken prisoner in war and sold as slave to a master living on one of the ionian isles, has found his father jorara there. both together succeed in making good their escape, and they return to jerusalem. the joy of the holy city delivered from the invader coincides with the joy of the two reunited families, whose cherished wishes are realized. the loves of tamar and amnon, and teman and peninnah, triumph. this is the frame of the novel, which recalls the wonder-tales of the eighteenth century. from the point of view of romantic intrigue, study of character, and development of plot, it is a puerile work. the interest does not reside in the romantic story. borrowed from modern works, the fiction rather injures mapu's novel, which is primarily a poem and an historical reconstruction. "the love of zion" is more than an historical romance, more than a narrative invented by an imaginative romancer--it is ancient judea herself, the judea of the prophets and the kings, brought to life again in the dreams of the poet. the reconstruction of jewish society of long ago, the appreciation of the prophetic life, the local color, the majesty of the descriptions of nature, the vivid and striking figures of speech, the elevated and vigorous style, everything is so instinct with the spirit of the bible that, without the romantic story, one would believe himself to be perusing a long-lost and now recovered book of poetry of ancient judea. dreamy, guileless, ignorant of the actual and complicated phenomena of modern life, mapu was able to identify himself with the times of the prophets so well that he confounded them with modern times. he committed the anachronism of transporting the humanist ideas of the lithuanian maskil to the period of isaiah. but by reason of wishing to show himself modern, he became ancient. he was not even aware of the fact that he was restoring the past with its peculiar civilization, its manners, and ideas. none the less his aim as a reformer was attained. guided by prophetic intuition, mapu accomplished a task making for morality and culture. to men given over to a degenerate asceticism, or to a mystic attitude hostile to the present, he revealed a glorious past as it really had been, not as their brains, weighed down by misery and befogged by ignorance, pictured it to have been. he showed them, not the judea of the rabbis, of the pious, and the ascetics, but the land blessed by nature, the land where men took joy in living, the land of life, flowing with gaiety and love, the land of the song of songs and of ruth. he drew isaiah for them, not as a saintly rabbi or a teller of mystical dreams, but a poetic isaiah, patriot, sublime moralist, the prophet of a free judea, the preacher of earthly prosperity, of goodness, and justice, opposing the narrow doctrines and minute and senseless ceremonialism inculcated by the priests, who were the predecessors of the rabbis. the lesson of the novel is an exhortation to return to a natural life. it presents a world of pleasure, of feeling, of joyous living, justified and idealized in the name of the past. it sets forth the charms of rural life in a succession of poetic pictures. judea, the pastoral land, passes under the eyes of the reader. the blithe humor of the vine- dressers, the light-heartedness of the shepherds, the popular festivals with their outbursts of joy and high spirits, are reproduced with masterly skill. the moral grandeur of judea appears in the magnificent description of a whole people assembled to celebrate the feast in the holy city, and in the impassioned discourses of the prophets, who openly criticise the great and the priests in the name of justice and truth. but especially it is love that pervades the work, love, chaste and ingenuous, apotheosized in the relation of amnon and tamar. the impression that was made by the book is inconceivable. it can be compared with nothing less than the effect produced by the publication of the _nouvelle héloïse_. at last the hebrew language had found the master who could make the appeal to popular taste, who understood the art of speaking to the multitude and touching them deeply. the success of the book was impressive. in spite of the fanatical intriguers, who looked with horror upon this profanation of the holy language, the novel made its way everywhere, into the academies for rabbinical students, into the very synagogues. the young were amazed and entranced by the poetic flights and by the sentimentalism of the book. a whole people seemed to be reborn unto life, to emerge from its millennial lethargy. upon all minds the comparison between ancient grandeur and actually existing misery obtruded itself. the lithuanian woods witnessed a startling spectacle. rabbinical students, playing truant, resorted thither to read mapu's novel in secret. luxuriously they lived the ancient days over again. the elevated love celebrated in the book touched all hearts, and many an artless romance was sketched in outline. but the greatest beneficiary of the new movement ushered into being by the appearance of "the love of zion" was the hebrew language, revived in all its splendor. "i have searched out the ancient latin in its majestic vigor, the german with its depth of meaning, the french full of charm and ravishing expressions, the russian in the flower of its youth. each has qualities of its own, each is crowned with beauty. but in the face of all of them, whose voice appeals unto me? is it not thy voice, my dove? how pellucid is thy word, though its music issues from the land of destruction!... the melody of thy words sings in my ear like a heavenly harp." [footnote: see brainin, "abraham mapu", p. .] this idealization of a language of the past, and of that past itself, produced an enormous effect upon all minds, and it prepared the soil for an abundant harvest. the success won by "the love of zion" encouraged mapu to publish his other historical romance, the action of which is placed in the same period as the first work. _ashmat shomeron_ ("the transgression of samaria"), also published at wilna, is an epic in the true sense. it reproduces the conflicts set afoot by the rivalry between jerusalem and samaria. the underlying idea in this novel is not unlike that of "the love of zion". but the author allows himself to run riot in the use of antitheses and contrasts. he arraigns the poor inhabitants of samaria with pitiless severity. whatever is good, just, beautiful, lofty, and chaste in love, proceeds from jerusalem; whatever savors of hypocrisy, crookedness, dogmatism, absurdity, sensuality, proceeds from samaria. the author is particularly implacable toward the hypocrites, and toward the blind fanatics with their narrow-mindedness. the personification of certain types of ghetto fanatics is a transparent ruse. the book excited the anger of the obscurantists, and, in their wrath, they persecuted all who read the works of mapu. "the transgression of samaria" shares a number of faults of technique with the first novel, but also it is equally with the other a product of rich imaginativeness and epic vigor. in reproducing local color and the biblical life, the author's touch is even surer than in "the love of zion". if one were inclined to apply to mapu's novels the standards of art criticism, a radical fault would reveal itself. mapu is not a psychologist. he does not know how to create heroes of flesh and blood. his men and women are blurred, artificial. the moral aim dominates. the plot is puerile, and the succession of events tiresome. but these shortcomings were not noticed by his simple, uncultivated readers, for the reason that they shared the artless _naïveté_ of the author. besides these two, we have some poetic fragments of a third historical romance by mapu, which was destroyed by the russian censor. there is also an excellent manual of the hebrew language, _amon padgug_ ("the master pedagogue"), very much valued by teachers of hebrew, and, finally, a method of the french language in hebrew. we shall revert elsewhere to his last novel, '_ayit zabua_' ("the hypocrite"), which is very different in style and character from his first two romances. in his last years he was afflicted with a severe disease. unable to work, he was supported by his brother, who had settled in paris, and who invited mapu to join him there. on the way, death overtook him, and he never saw the capital of the country for which he had expressed the greatest admiration all his life. in southern russia, especially at odessa, literary activity continued to be carried on with success. abraham bär gottlober ( - ), writing under the pseudonym mahalalel, was the most productive of the poets, if not the best endowed of the whole school. a disciple of isaac bär levinsohn, and visibly affected by the influence of wessely and abraham bär lebensohn, he devoted himself to poetry. the first volume of his poems appeared at wilna in . toward the end of his days, he published his complete works in three volumes, _kol shire mahalalel_ ("collected poems", warsaw, ). his earliest productions go back to the middle of the last century. he is a remarkable stylist, and, in some of his works, his language is both simple and polished. "cain", or the vagabond, is a marvel in style and thought. in the poem entitled "the bird in the cage", he writes as a zionist, and he weeps over the trials of his people in exile. in another poem, _nezah yisraël_ ("the eternity of israel"), perhaps the best that issued from his pen, he puts forward a dignified claim to his title as jew, of which he is proud. "judah has neither bow nor warring hosts, nor avenging dart, nor sharpened sword. but he has a suit in the name of justice with the nations that contend with him.... "i take good heed not to recount to you our glory. why should i extol the eternal people, for you detest its virtues, you desire not to hear of them.... but remember, ye peoples, if i commit a transgression, not in me lies the wrong--through your sin i have stumbled.... "i ask not for pity, i ask but for justice." on the whole, gottlober lacks poetic warmth. in the majority of his poems, his style errs on the side of prolixity and wordiness. he has made a number of translations into hebrew, and his prose is excellent. his satires frequently display wit. his versified history of hebrew poetry, contained in the third volume of his works, is inferior to the _melizat yeshurun_ by solomon levinsohn referred to above. later he published a monthly review in hebrew, under the title _ha-boker or_ ("the clear morning"). his reminiscences of the hasidim, whom he opposed all his life, are the best of his prose writings, and put him in a class with the realists. he also wrote a history of the kabbalah and hasidism (_toledot ha-kabbalah weha-hasidut_). [footnote: in the monthly _ha-boker or_, and _orot me-ofel_ ("gleams in the darkness"), warsaw, .] gottlober was the _mehabber_ personified, the type of the vagabond author, who is obliged to go about in person and force his works upon patrons in easy circumstances. the number of writers belonging to the romantic school, by reason of the form of their works, or by reason of their content, is too large for us to give them all by name. only a few can be mentioned and characterized briefly. elias mordecai werbel ( - ) was the official poet of the literary circle at odessa. a collection of his poems, which appeared at odessa, is distinguished by its polished execution. besides odes and occasional poems, they contain several historical pieces, the most remarkable of them "huldah and bor", wilna, , based on a talmudic legend. [footnote: in _keneset yisraël_, warsaw, .] he was excelled by israel roll ( - ), a galician by birth, but living in odessa. his _shire romi_ ("roman poems"), all translated from the works of the great latin poets, give evidence of considerable poetic endowment. his style is classic, copious, and precise, and his volume of poems will always maintain a place in a library of hebrew literature by the side of mikal's version of ovid and the admirable translation of the sibylline books made by the eminent philologist joshua steinberg. in prose, first place belongs to benjamin mandelstamm (died ). among his works is a history of russia, but his most important production, _hazon la-mo'ed_, is a narrative of his travels and the impressions he received in the "jewish zone", chiefly lithuania. in certain respects, he must be classified with mordecai a. ginzburg, with whom he shares clarity of thought and wit. but his sentimentality, and his excessive indulgence in certain affectations of style, range him with the romantic poets. the distinguished poet judah leon gordon in his beginnings also belonged to the romantic school. his earliest poems, especially "david and michal", treat of bible times. but gordon did not remain long in sympathy with the endeavors of the romanticists, and the mature stage of his literary activity belongs to a later epoch. the characteristic trait of hebrew romanticism, which distinguishes it from most analogous movements in europe, is that it remained in the path of orderly progress and emancipation. it showed no sign of turning aside toward reactionary measures in religion or in other concerns. neither the retrograde policy adopted by the government against the jews, nor the uncompromising fanaticism of certain parties among the jews themselves, could arrest the development of the humanitarian ideas disseminated by the austrian and the italian school. since the origin of the german meassefim movement, the evolution of hebrew literature has not been stopped for a single instant in its striving for knowledge and light. the romantic movement is one of its most characteristic stages, and at the same time one most productive of good results. the sombre present held out no promises for the future, and the dark clouds on the political horizon eclipsed every hope of better fortunes. at such a time the champions of the haskalah opposed ignorance and prejudice in the name of the past, and in the name of morality and idealism they sought to win the hearts of the populace for the "divine haskalah". the influence of hebrew romanticism was many-sided. the blending of the rationalism of the first humanists with the patriotic sentiments of luzzatto fortified the bonds that united the writers to the mass of the faithful believers. a sentimentalism that was called forth by a poetic revival of the times of the prophets did more for the diffusion of sane and natural ideas than exhortations and arguments without end, and the declaration, repeated again and again by the school of wilna, that science and faith stand in no sort of opposition to each other, was an equally powerful means of bringing together the educated with the moderate among the religious. soon the times were to become more favorable to a renewal of the combat with the obscurants, and then the antagonism between the educated classes and the orthodox would be resumed with fresh vigor. when that time arrived, a whole school of ardent realistic writers set themselves the task of counteracting the misery of jewish life, and they executed it without sparing the susceptibilities and the self-love of the religious masses. they rose up in judgment against orthodox and traditional judaism; they chastised it and traduced it. with acerbity they promulgated the gospel of modern humanism and the surrender of outward beliefs. by their side, however, we shall see a more moderate school claim its own, and one not less efficient. it will proclaim words of charity, faith, and hope. to the negations and destructive aphorisms of the realistic school it will oppose firm confidence in the early regeneration of the jewish people, called to fulfil its destiny upon its national soil. the zionist appeal will unite the orthodox masses and the emancipated youth in a single transport of action and hope. * * * * * chapter vi the emancipation movement the realists the accession of alexander ii to the throne marks a decisive moment in the history of the russian empire. the fresh impetus that proceeded from the generous and liberal ideas encouraged by the czar himself reached the ghetto. substantial improvements in the political situation of the jews the empire and the easier access to the liberal professions granted them, the abolition of the old order of military service and the suppression of the kahal--these, joined to the expectation of an early civil emancipation, stirred the jewish humanists profoundly. startled out of their age-long dreams, the jews with a modern education found themselves suddenly face to face with reality, and engaged in a struggle with the exigencies of modern life. in justice to them it must be said that they realized at once where their duty lay, and they were not found wanting. they ranged themselves on the side of the reform government, and with all their strength they tried to neutralize the resistance with which the conservative jews met the reforms, projected or achieved. they were particularly active in the regions remote from the large cities, which had hardly been touched by the new currents. early in the struggle, the creation of a hebrew press placed an effective instrument in the hands of the defenders of the new order. the interest aroused among the jews by the crimean war suggested the idea of a political and literary journal in hebrew to eliezer lipman silberman. it was called _ha-maggid_ ("the herald"), and the first issue appeared in , in the little prussian town of lyck, situated on the russo-polish frontier. it was successful beyond expectation. the enthusiasm of the readers at sight of the periodical published in the holy language expressed itself in dithyrambic eulogies and a vast number of odes that filled its columns. the influence it exercised was great. it formed a meeting-place for the educated jews of all countries and all shades of opinion. besides news bearing on politics and literature, and philological essays, and poems more or less bombastic, _ha-maggid_ published a number of original articles of great value. its issues formed the link between the old masters, rapoport and luzzatto, and young russian writers like gordon and lilienblum. the learned french orientalist joseph halévy, later the author of an interesting collection of hebrew poems, used _ha-maggid_ for the promulgation of his bold ideas on the revival of hebrew, and its practical adjustment to modern notions and needs by means of the invention of new terms. in part, his propositions have been realized in our own days. to rabbi hirsch kalisher and the editor, david gordon, as the first promoters of the zionist idea, _ha-maggid_ gave the opportunity, as early as , of urging its practical realization, and due to their propaganda the first society was formed for the colonization of palestine. this pioneer venture in the field of hebrew journalism stimulated many others. hebrew newspapers sprang up in all countries, varying in their tendencies according to their surroundings and the opinions of their editors. in galicia especially, where there was no absurd censorship to manacle thought, hebrew journals were published in abundance. in palestine, in austria, at one time in paris even, periodicals were founded, and they created a public opinion as well as readers. but it was above all in russia, in the measure in which the censorship was relaxed, that the hebrew press became eventually a popular tribunal in the true sense of the word, with a steady army of readers at its back. samuel joseph finn, an historian and a philologist of merit, published a review at wilna, called _ha-karmel_ ( - ), which was devoted to the science of judaism in particular. hayyim selig slonimski, the renowned mathematician, founded his journal _ha-zefirah_ ("the morningstar") in . it was issued first in berlin and later in warsaw. he himself wrote a large number of articles in it, in his chosen field as popularizer of the natural sciences. in galicia, joseph kohen-zedek published _ha-mebasser_ ("the messenger") and _ha-nesher_ ("the eagle"), and baruch werber, _ha-'ibri_ ("the hebrew"). by far outstripping all these in importance was the first hebrew journal that appeared in russia, _ha-meliz_ ("the interpreter"), founded at odessa in , by alexander zederbaum, one of the most faithful champions of humanism. _ha-meliz_ became the principal organ of the movement for emancipation, and the spokesman of the jewish reformers. the hebrew press with all its shortcomings, and in spite of its meagre resources, which prevented it from securing regular, paid contributors, and left it at the mercy of an irresponsible set of amateurs, yet exercised considerable influence upon the jews of russia. [footnote: sometimes ten readers clubbed together for one subscription.] unremittingly it busied itself with the spread of civilization, knowledge, and hebrew literature. in the large centres, especially in the more recently established communities in the south of russia, the intellectual emancipation of the jews was an accomplished fact at an early day. the young people streamed to the schools, and applied themselves voluntarily to manual trades. the professional schools and the rabbinical seminaries established by the government robbed the _hedarim_ and the _yeshibot_ of thousands of students. the russian language, hitherto neglected, began to dispute the first place with the jargon and even the hebrew. wherever the breath of economic and political reforms had penetrated, emancipation made its way, and without encountering serious opposition on the part of traditional judaism. wilna, the capital of lithuania, sorely tried by the polish insurrection of , and intentionally excluded by the government from the benefits of all administrative and political reforms, did not continue to be the centre of the new life of the russian jews, as it had been of their old life. the "lithuanian jerusalem" had put aside its sceptre, and it lay down for a long sleep, with dreams of the haskalah, "twin-sister of faith". as wilna has since that time witnessed no excesses of fanaticism, so also it has not known an intense life, the acrid opposition between haskalah and religion. it remained the capital of the moderate, traditional attitude and religious opportunism. by way of compensation, the small country towns and the talmudic centres in lithuania put up a stubborn resistance to the new reforms. the poor literary folk stranded in out-of-the-way corners far removed from civilization were treated as pernicious heretics. nothing could stop the fanatics in their persecution, and they had recourse to the extremest expedients. made to believe that the reformers harbored designs against the fundamental principles of judaism, the people, deluded and erring, thought the obscurantists right and applauded them, while they rose up against the modernizers as one man. the opposition between humanism and the religious fanatics degenerated into a remorseless struggle. the early haskalah, the gentle, celestial daughter of dreamers, was a thing of the past. the educated classes, conscious of the support of the authorities and of the public opinion prevailing in the centres of enlightenment, became aggressive, and made a bold attack upon the course and ways of the traditionalists. they displayed openly, with bluntest realism, all the evils that were corroding the system of their antagonists. they followed the example of the russian realistic literature of their day, in exposing, branding, scourging, and chastising whatever is old and antiquated, whatever mutinies against the modern spirit. such is the character of the realistic literature succeeding the epoch of the romanticists. the signal was again given by abraham mapu, in his novel descriptive of the manners of the small town, '_ayit zabua_' ("the hypocrite"), of which the early volumes appeared about the year , at wilna. in view of the growing insolence of the fanatics, and the urgency of the reforms projected by the government, the master of hebrew romance decided to abandon the poetic heights to which his dreams had been soaring. he threw himself into the scrimmage, adding the weight of his authority to the efforts of those who were carrying on the combat with the obscurantists. even in his historical romances, especially in the second of them, he had permitted his hatred against the hypocrites of the ghetto, disguised in the skin of the false prophet zimri and his emulators, to make itself plainly visible. now he unmasked them in full view of all, and without regard for the feelings of the other party. "the hypocrite" is an ambitious novel in five parts. all the types of ghetto fanatics are portrayed with the crudest realism. the most prominent figure is rabbi zadok, canting, unmannerly, lewd, an unscrupulous criminal, covering his malpractices with the mantle of piety. he is the prototype of all the tartufes of the ghetto, who play upon the ignorance and credulity of the people. his chief follower, gadiel, is a blind fanatic, an implacable persecutor of all who do not share his opinions, the enemy of hebrew literature, embittering the life of any who venture to read a modern publication. devoted adherent of the haskalah as he was, mapu was not sparing of paint in blackening these enemies of culture. around his central figure a large number of characters are grouped, each personifying a type peculiar to the lithuanian province. the darkest portrait is that of gaal, the ignorant upstart who rules the whole community, and makes common cause with rabbi zadok and his followers. the venality of the officials gives the heartless _parvenu_ free scope for his arbitrary misdeeds, and without let or hindrance he persecutes all who are suspected of modernizing tendencies. he is enveloped in an atmosphere of crime and terror. mapu was guilty of overdrawing his characters; he exceeded the limits of truth. on the other hand, he grows more indulgent and more veracious when he describes the life of the humbler denizens of the ghetto. jerahmeel, the _batlan_, is a finished product. the _batlan_ is a species unknown outside of the ghetto. in a sense, he is the bohemian in jewry. his distinguishing traits are his oddity and farcical ways. not that he is an ignoramus--far from that. in many instances he is an erudite talmudist, but his simplicity, his absent-mindedness, his lack of all practical sense, incapacitate him from undertaking anything, of whatever nature it may be. he is a parasite, and by reason of mere inertia he becomes attached to the enemies of progress. the _shadhan_, the influential matrimonial agent lacking in no jewish community, is painted true to life. spiteful, cunning, witty, even learned, he excels in the art of bringing together the eligibles of the two sexes and unravelling intricate situations. the most sympathetic figure in the whole novel is the honest burgher. mapu has given us the idealization of the large class of humble tradesmen who have been well grounded in the talmud, who are endowed with an open heart for every generous feeling, and whose good common sense and profoundly moral character the congested condition of the ghetto has not succeeded in perverting. all these figures represent real individuals, living and acting. mapu has without a doubt exaggerated reality, and frequently to the detriment of truth. nevertheless they remain veracious types. on the other hand, he has not succeeded so well in the creation of the maskilim type. the new generation, the enlightened friends of culture, are puppets without life, without personality, who speak and move only for the purpose of glorifying the "divine haskalah". mapu's conception of jewish life can be summed up in two phrases: _enlightened_, hence good, just, generous; _fanatic_, hence wicked, hypocritical, lewd, cowardly. if the novel on account of its treatment of the subject has some claims upon the description realistic, it has none by reason of its form. "the hypocrite" suffers from all the defects of mapu's historical romances, which, in the work under consideration, take on a graver aspect. the style of isaiah and poetic flights do not comport well with a modern subject and a modern environment. herein, again, mapu's example became pernicious for his successors. when the novel is in full swing, there occurs a series of letters written by one of the heroes from palestine. the enthusiasm of the author for the holy land cannot deny itself, and this unexpected zionist note, in a purely modern work, reveals his soul as it really is, the soul of a great dreamer. it was after the appearance of mapu's "hypocrite", in the year , that abraham bär lebensohn published, at wilna, his drama "truth and faith", written twenty years before, in which, also, the tartufe of the ghetto plays a great part. at about the same time a young writer, solomon jacob abramowitsch, issued his realistic novel _ha-abot weha-banim_ ("fathers and sons", zhitomir, ). abramowitsch had already acquired some fame by a natural history (_toledot ha-teba'_) in four volumes, in which he taxed his ingenuity to create a complete nomenclature for zoology in hebrew. his novel is a failure. the subject is the antagonism between religious fathers and emancipated sons, and the action takes place in hasidic surroundings. there is nothing to betray the future master, the delicate satirist, the admirable painter of manners. abramowitsch then turned away from hebrew for a while, and made the literary fortune of the jewish-german jargon by writing his tales of jewish life in it, but about ten years ago he re-entered the ranks of the writers of hebrew, and became one of the most original authors handling the sacred language. what distinguishes abramowitsch from his contemporaries is his style. he was among the first to introduce the diction of the talmud and the midrash into modern hebrew. the result is a picturesque idiom, to which the talmudic expressions give its peculiar charm. though it continues essentially biblical, the new element in it puts it into perfect accord with the spirit and the environment it is called upon to depict. it lends itself marvellously well to the description of the life and manners of the jews of wolhynia, the province which forms the background of his novels. all these creators of a hebrew realism were outstripped by the poet gordon, who expresses the whole of his agitated epoch in his own person alone. * * * * * chapter vii the conflict with rabbinism judah leon gordon judah leon gordon ( - ) was born at wilna, of well-to-do parents, who were pious and comparatively enlightened. as was customary in his day, he received a rabbinical education, but at the same time he was not permitted to neglect the study of the bible and the classical hebrew. he was a brilliant student, and all circumstances pointed to his future eminence as a talmudist. the academic address which he delivered on the occasion of his _bar-mizwah_, on his thirteenth birthday, proclaimed him an _'illui_, and he was betrothed to the daughter of a rich burgher. his father's financial ruin caused the rupture of his engagement, and, a marriage being out of the question, he was left free to continue his studies as he would. he returned to wilna, the first centre of the haskalah in russia. the secular literature couched in hebrew had penetrated to the very synagogue, if not openly, at least by the back door. in secret gordon devoured all the modern writings that fell in his hands. it was the time of the elder lebensohn, when he stood at the summit of his fame and influence. very soon gordon perceived that the study of hebrew is not sufficient for the equipment of a man of learning and cultivation. under the guidance of an intelligent kinsman, he studied german, russian, french, and latin, one of the first hebrew writers to become thoroughly acquainted with russian literature. he devoted much time to the study of hebrew philology and grammar, and he was justly reputed a distinguished connoisseur of the language. both his linguistic researches and his new linguistic formations in hebrew are extremely valuable. the muse visited him early, and by his first attempts at poetry he earned the good-will and favor of lebensohn the father and the friendship of lebensohn the son. in his youthful fervor, he offers enthusiastic admiration to the older man, and proclaims himself his disciple. but it was the younger poet, micah joseph, who exerted the greater influence upon him. a little drama dedicated to the memory of the poet snatched away in the prime of his years shows the depth and tenderness of gordon's affection for him. all this time gordon did not cease to be a student. in he passed his final examinations, graduating him from the rabbinical seminary at wilna, and he was appointed teacher at a jewish government school at poneviej, a small town in the government of kowno. successively he was transferred from town to town in the same district. twenty years of wrangling with fanatics and teaching of children in the most backward province of lithuania did not arrest his literary activity. in he was called to the post of secretary to the jewish community of st. petersburg and secretary to the recently formed society for the promotion of culture among the jews of russia. thenceforward his material needs were provided for, and he held an assured, independent position. denounced in as a political conspirator, he was thrown into prison, with the result that he suffered considerable financial loss and irreparable physical injury. his innocence was established, and, having been set free, he became one of the editors of the journal _ha-meliz_, the hebrew periodical with the largest circulation at the time. but the disease he had contracted ate away his strength, and he died a victim of the russian espionage system. as was said, the young poet followed in the tracks of the two lebensohns. in he published his first ambitious poem, _ahabat david u-michal_, the product of a naïve dreamer, who swears a solemn oath to "remain the slave of the hebrew language forever, and consecrate all his life to it". [footnote: the collected poems of gordon appeared, in four volumes, in , at st. petersburg, and in six volumes, in , at wilna.] "david and michal" rehearses poetically the tale of the shepherd's love for the daughter of the king. the poet carries us back to biblical times. he tells us how the daughter of saul is enamored of the young shepherd summoned to the royal court to dispel the king's melancholy. jealousy springs up in the heart of saul, and he takes umbrage at the popularity of david. before granting him the hand of his daughter, he imposes superhuman tests upon the young suitor, which would seem to doom him to certain death. but david emerges from every trial with glory, and returns triumphant. the king is mastered by consuming jealousy, and in his anger pursues david relentlessly. david is obliged to flee, and michal is given to his rival. the friendship of david and jonathan is depicted in touching words. finally david prevails, and he is anointed king over israel. he takes michal back unto himself, love being stronger than the sense of injury. the shame of the past is forgotten. but the poor victim is never to know the joy of bearing a child--michal remains barren until the last, and leads a solitary existence. old and forgotten, she passes out of life on the very day of david's death. in this simple, pure drama, the influence of schiller and of micah joseph lebensohn is clearly seen. but real feeling for nature and real understanding of the emotion of love are lacking in gordon. his descriptions of nature are a pale retracing of the pictures of the romanticists. poet of the ghetto as he was, he knew neither nature at first hand, nor love, nor art. [footnote: the first collection of his lyrics and his epic poems appeared at wilna, in , under the title _shire yehudah._] his poems of love are destitute of the personal note. on the other hand, in point of classic style and the modern polish of his verses, he outdistances all who preceded him. lebensohn the younger removed from the arena, gordon attained the first place among hebrew poets. in "david and barzillai", the poet contrasts the tranquillity of the shepherd's life with that of the king. gordon was happily inspired by the desire for outdoor life that had sprung up in the ghetto since mapu's warm praise of rural scenes and pleasures, and also under the influence of the jewish agricultural colonies founded in russia. he shows us the aged king, crushed under a load of hardships, betrayed by his own son, standing face to face with the old shepherd, who refuses royal gifts. "and david reigned as israel's head, and barzillai his flocks to pasture led." the charm of this little poem lies in the description of the land of gilead. it seems that in reviving the past, the hebrew poets were often vouchsafed remarkable insight into nature and local coloring, which ordinarily was not a characteristic of theirs. the same warmth and historical verisimilitude is found again in _asenath bat- potipherah_. from the same period dates the first volume of fables by gordon, published at vienna, in , under the title _mishle yehudah_, forming the second part of his collected poems, and being itself divided into four books. it consists of translations, or, better, imitations of aesop, la fontaine, and kryloff, together with fables drawn from the midrash. the style is concise and telling, and the satire is keen. the production of these fables marks a turning-point in the work of gordon. snatched out of the indulgent and conciliatory surroundings in which he had developed, he found himself face to face with the sad reality of jewish life in the provinces. the invincible fanaticism of the rabbis, the anachronistic education given the children, who were kept in a state of ignorance, weighed heavily upon the heart of the patriot and man of intellect. it was the time in which liberal ideas and european civilization had penetrated into russia under the protection of czar alexander ii, and gordon yearned to see his russian co-religionists occupy a position similar to that enjoyed by their brethren in the west. those envied jews of the west had had a proper understanding of the exigencies of their time. they had liberated themselves from the yoke of rabbinism, and had assimilated with their fellow-citizens of other faiths. the russian government encouraged the spread of education among the jews, and granted privileges to such as profited by the opportunities offered. the reformers were strengthened also by the support of the newly-founded hebrew journals. gordon threw himself deliberately into the _fracas_. poetry and prose, hebrew and russian, all served him to champion the cause of the haskalah. with him the haskalah was no longer limited to the cultivation of the hebrew language and to the writing of philosophical treatises. it had become an undisguised conflict with obscurantism, ignorance, a time-worn routine, and all that barred the way to culture. since the government permitted the jews to enter the social life of the country, and seeing that they might in the future aspire to a better lot, the haskalah should and would work to prepare them for it and make them worthy of it. in , after the liberation of the serfs in russia, gordon uttered a thrilling cry, _hakizah 'ammi!_ "awake, o my people! how long wilt thou slumber? lo, the night has vanished, the sun shines bright. open thy eyes, look hither and thither. i pray thee, see in what place thou art, in what time thou livest!... "the land wherein we were born, wherein we live, is it not part of europe, the most civilized of all continents?... "this land, eden itself, behold, it is open unto thee, its sons welcome thee as brother.... thou hast but to apply thy heart to wisdom and knowledge, become a public-spirited people, and speak their tongue!" in another poem, the writer acclaims the dawn of a new time for the jews. their zeal to enter the liberal professions augurs well for a speedy and complete emancipation. we have seen how stubborn a resistance was opposed by the orthodox to this new phase of the haskalah. terror seized upon them when they saw the young desert the religious schools and give themselves up to profane studies. as for the new rabbinical seminaries, they regarded them as outright nurseries of atheism. however, the government standing on the side of the reformers, the orthodox could not fight in the open. they entrenched themselves behind a passive resistance. in this struggle, as was observed above, gordon occupied the foremost place. thenceforth a single idea animated him, opposition to the enemies of light. his bitter, trenchant sarcasm, his caustic, vengeful pen, were put at the service of this cause. even his historical poems quiver with his resentment. he loses no opportunity to scourge the rabbis and their conservative adherents. _ben shinne arayot_ ("between the teeth of the lions") is an historical poem on a subject connected with the judeo-roman wars. the hero, simon the zealot, is taken captive by titus. at the moment of succumbing in the arena, his eyes meet those of his beloved martha, sold by the enemy as a slave, and the two expire at the same time. the poem is a masterpiece by reason of the truly poetic inspiration that informs it, and the deep national feeling expressed in it. but gordon did not stop at that. he makes use of the opportunity to attack rabbinism in its vital beginnings, wherein he discerns the cause of his nation's peril. "woe is thee, o israel! thy teachers have not taught thee how to conduct war with skill and strategem. "rebellion and bravery, of what avail are they without discipline and tactics! "true, for many long centuries, they led thee, and constructed houses of learning for thee--but what did they teach thee? "what accomplished they? they but sowed the wind, and ploughed the rock, drew water in a sieve, and threshed empty straw! "they taught thee to run counter to life, to isolate thyself between walls of precepts and prescriptions, to be dead on earth and alive in heaven, to walk about in a dream and speak in thy sleep. "thus thy spirit grew faint, thy strength dried up, and the dust of thy scribes has sepulchred thee, a living mummy.... "woe is thee, o jerusalem that art lost!" yet, though he accuses rabbinism of all possible ills that have befallen the jewish people, it does not follow that he justifies the roman invasion. all his wrath is aroused against rome, the perennial enemy of judaism. in the name of humanity and justice, he pours out his scorn over her. the first he presents is titus, "the delight of mankind", preparing brilliant but sanguinary spectacles for his people, and revelling in the sight of innocent blood shed in the gladiators' arena. then he arraigns rome herself, "the great people who is mistress of three-quarters of the earth, the terror of the world, whose triumph can know no limit now that she has carried off the victory over a people destined to perish, whose territory can be covered in a five hours' march". and finally his jewish heart is revolted by "the noble matrons followed by their servants, whose tender soul is about to take delight in the bloody sights of the arena". _bi-mezulot yam_ ("in the depths of the sea") revives a terrible episode of the exodus of the jews from spain ( ). the refugees embarked on pirate vessels, where they were exploited pitilessly. the cupidity of the corsairs is insatiable. after despoiling the jews of all they own, they sell them as slaves or cast them into the water. this is the lot that threatens to overtake a group of exiles on a certain ship. but the captain falls in love with the daughter of a rabbi, a maiden of rare beauty. to rescue her companions, she pretends to yield to the solicitations of the captain, who promises to land the passengers safe and sound on the coast. he keeps his word, but the girl and her mother must stay with him. at a distance from the coast, the two women, with prayers to god upon their lips, throw themselves into the sea, to save the girl from having to surrender herself to the desires of the corsair. it is one of the most beautiful of gordon's poems. indignation and grief inspire such words as these: "the daughter of jacob is banished from every foot of spanish soil. portugal also has thrust her out. europe turns her back upon the unfortunates. she grants them only the grave, martyrdom, hell. their bones are strewn upon the rocks of africa. their blood floods the shores of asia.... and the judge of the world appeareth not! and the tears of the oppressed are not avenged!" what revolts the poet above all is the thought that the downtrodden victims will never have their revenge--all the crimes against them will go unpunished: "never, o israel, wilt thou be avenged! power is with thy oppressors. what they desire they accomplish, what they do, prospereth.... spain--did her vessels not set forth and discover the new world, the day thou wast driven out a fugitive and outlaw? and portugal, did she not find the way to the indies? and in that far-off country, too, she ruined the land that welcomed thy refugees. yea, spain and portugal stand unassailed!" but if vengeance is withheld from the jews, implacable hatred takes possession of all hearts, and never will it be appeased. "enjoin it upon your children until the end of days. adjure your descendants, the great and the little, never to return to the land of spain, reddened with your blood, never again to set foot upon the pyrenean peninsula!" the despair, the grief of the poet are concentrated in the last stanzas, telling how the maiden and her mother throw themselves into the water: "only the eye of the world, silently looking through the clouds, the eye that witnesseth the end of all things, views the ruin of these thousands of beings, and it sheds not a single tear." his last historical poem, "king zedekiah in prison", dates from the period when the poet's skepticism was a confirmed temper of mind. according to gordon, the ruin of the jewish state was brought about by the weight given to moral as compared with political considerations. he no longer contents himself with attacking rabbinism, he goes back to the very principles of the judaism of the prophets. these are the ideas which he puts into the mouth of the king of judah, the captive of nebuchadnezzar. he makes him the advocate of the claims of political power as against the moralist pretensions of the prophets. the king passes all his misfortunes in review, and he asks himself to what cause they are attributable. "because i did not submit to the will of jeremiah? but what was it that the priest of anathoth required of me to do?" no, the king cannot concede that "the city would still be standing if her inhabitants had not borne burdens on the sabbath day". the prophet proclaims the rule of the letter and of the law, supreme over work and war, but can a people of dreamers and visionaries exist a single day? the king does not stop at such rebellious thoughts. he remembers all too well the story of saul and samuel--how the king was castigated for having resisted the whims of the prophets. "thus the seers and prophets have always sought to crush the kings in israel", he maintains. "alas! i see that the words of the son of hilkiah will be fulfilled without fail. the law will stand, the kingdom will be ruined. the book, the word--they will succeed to the royal sceptre. i foresee a whole people of scholars and teachers, degenerate folk and feeble." this amazing view, so disconcerting to the prophet-people, gordon held to the very end. and seeing that the law had killed the nation, and a cruel fatality dogged the footsteps of the people of the book, would it not be best to free the individuals from the chains of the faith and liberate the masses from the minute religious ceremonial that has obstructed their path to life? this was the task gordon set himself for the rest of his days. in a poem inscribed to smolenskin, the editor of _ha-shahar_ ("daybreak"), on the occasion of the periodical's resuming publication after an interval, the poet poured forth his afflicted soul, and pointed out the aim he had decided to pursue: "once upon a time i sang of love, too, and pleasure, and friendship; i announced the advent of days of joy, liberty, and hope. the strings of my lyre thrilled with emotion.... "but yonder comes _ha-shahar_ again, and i shall attune my harp to hail the break of day. "alas, i am no more the same, i know not how to sing, i waken naught but grief. disquieting dreams trouble my nights. they show me my people face to face.... they show me my people in all its abasement, with all its unprobed wounds. they reveal to me the iniquity that is the source of all its ills. "i see its leaders go astray, and its teachers deceiving it. my heart bleeds with grief. the strings of my lyre groan, my song is a lament. "since that day i sing no more of joy and solace; i hope no more for the light, i wait no more for liberty. i sing only of bitter days, i foretell everlasting slavery, degradation, and no end. and from the strings of my lyre tears gush forth for the ruin of my people. "since that day my muse is black as a raven, her mouth is filled with abuse, from her tongue drops complaint. she groans like the bat-kol upon mount horeb's ruins. she cries out against the wicked shepherds, against the sottish people. "she recounts unto god, unto all the human kind, the degrading miseries of a hand-to-mouth existence, of the soul that pierces to the depths of evil." but the patriotism of the poet carries the day over his discouragement: "from pity for my people, from compassion, i will tell unto its shepherds their crimes, unto its teachers the error of their ways." will he succeed in his purpose? is not all hope lost? no matter, he at least will do his duty until the end: "from every part of the law, from every retreat of the people, i shall gather together all vain teachings, all the poisonous vipers, wherever they may be, and in the sight of all suspend them like a banner. let the wounded look upon them, perhaps they will be cured--perhaps there is still healing for their ills, perhaps there is still life in them!" the poet kept his word. in a series of satires, fables, and epistles, he reveals the moral plagues that eat into the fabric of jewish society in the slav countries. he gives a realistic description, at once accurate and subjective, of an extraordinary _milieu_, lacking plausibility though it existed and defied all opposition. gordon descended to the innermost depths of the people's soul, he knew its profoundest secrets. he caught the spirit of the peculiar manners of the ghetto and reproduced them with unfailing fidelity. also he knew all the dishonor of some of the persons who ruled its society, and he sounded their mean, crafty brains. his heart was filled with indignation at the painful spectacle he himself bodied forth, and he suffered the misfortunes of his people. his poetic manner changed with the new direction taken by his mind. he was no more an artist for art's sake. classical purity ceased to interest him. what he pursued above all things was an object which can be reached only by struggle and propaganda. his style became more realistic. he saturated it with talmudic terms and phrases, thus adapting it more closely to the spirit of the scenes and things and acts he was occupied with, and making it the proper medium for the description of a world that was rabbinical in all essential points. but gordon never went to excess in the use of talmudisms; he always maintained a just sense of proportion. it requires discriminating taste to appreciate his style, now delicate and now sarcastic, by turns appealing and vehement. here gordon displayed the whole range of his talent, all his creative powers. the language he uses is the genuine modern hebrew, a polished and expressive medium, yielding in naught to the classical hebrew. the social condition of the jewish woman, the saddest conceivable in the ghetto, inspired the first of gordon's satires. the poem is entitled "the dot on the i", or, more literally, "the hanger of the yod" (_kozo shel yod_). "o thou, jewish woman, who knows thy life! unnoticed thou enterest the world, unnoticed thou departest from it. "thy heart-aches and thy joys, thy sorrows and thy desires spring up within thee and die within thee. "all the good things of this life, its pleasures, its enjoyments, they were created for the daughters of the other nations. the jewish woman's life is naught but servitude, toil without end. thou conceivest, thou bearest, thou givest suck, thou weanest thy babes, thou bakest, thou cookest, and thou witherest before thy time." "vain for thee to be dowered with an impressionable heart, to be beautiful, gentle, intelligent!" "the law in thy mouth is turned to foolishness, beauty in thee is a taint, every gift a fault, all knowledge a defect.... thou art but a hen good to raise a brood of chicks!" it is vain for a jewish woman to cherish aspirations after life, after knowledge--nothing of all this is accessible to her. "the planting of the lord wastes away in a desert land without having seen the light of the sun...." "before thou becomest conscious of thy soul, before thou knowest aught, thou art given in marriage, thou art a mother." "before thou hast learnt to be a daughter to thy parents, thou art a wife, and mother to children of thine own." "thou art betrothed--knowest thou him for whom thou art destined? dost thou love him? yea, hast thou seen him?--love! thou unhappy being! knowest thou not that to the heart of a jewish woman love is prohibited?" "forty days before thy birth, thy mate and life companion was assigned to thee." [ ] "cover thy head, cut off thy braids of hair. of what avail to look at him who stands beside thee? is he hunchbacked or one- eyed? is he young or old? what matters it? not thou hast chosen, but thy parents, they rule over thee, like merchandise thou passest from hand to hand." [footnote : according to popular belief, it is decided forty days before its birth to whom a child will be married.] slave to her parents, slave to her husband, she is not permitted to taste even the joys of motherhood in peace. unforeseen misfortunes assail her and lay her low. her husband, without an education, without a profession, often without a heart, finds himself suddenly at odds with life, after having eaten at the table and lodged in the house of his wife's parents for a number of years following his marriage, as is customary among the jews of the slavic countries. if no chance of success presents itself soon, he grows weary, abandons his wife and children, and goes off no one knows whither, without a sign of his whereabouts, and she remains behind, an _'agunah_, a forsaken wife, widowed without being a widow, most unfortunate of unfortunate creatures. "this is the history of all jewish women, and it is the history of bath-shua the beautiful." bath-shua is a noble creature, endowed by nature with all fine qualities--she is beautiful, intelligent, pure, good, attractive, and an excellent housekeeper. she is admired by everybody. even the miserable _parush_, the recluse student, conceals himself behind the railing that divides the women's gallery from the rest of the synagogue, to steal a look at her. alas, this flower of womankind is betrothed by her father to a certain hillel, a sour specimen, ugly, stupid, repulsive. but he knows the talmud by heart, folio by folio, and to say that is to say everything. the marriage comes off in due time, the young couple eat at the table of bath-shua's parents for three years, and two children spring from the union. the wife's father loses his fortune, and hillel must earn his own livelihood. incapable as he is, he finds nothing to do, and he goes to foreign parts to seek his fortunes. never is he heard of again. bath- shua remains behind alone with her two children. by painful toil, she earns her bread with unfailing courage. all the love of her rich nature she pours out upon her children, whom by a supreme effort she dresses and adorns like the children of the wealthy. meantime a young man by the name of fabi makes his appearance in the little town. he is the type of the modern jew, educated and intelligent, and he is handsome and generous besides. he begins by taking an interest in the young woman, and ends by falling in love with her. bath-shua does not dare believe in her happiness. but an insurmountable obstacle lies in the path of their union. bath-shua is not divorced from her husband, and none can tell whether he is dead or alive. energetically fabi undertakes to find the hiding-place of the faithless man. he traces him, and bribes him to give his wife a divorce. the official document, properly drawn up and attested by a rabbinical authority, is sent to her. hillel embarks for america, and his vessel suffers shipwreck. finally, it would seem, bath-shua will enjoy the happiness she has amply merited. alas, no! in the person of rabbi wofsi, fortune plays her another trick. this rabbi is a rigid legalist, the slightest of slips suffices to render the divorce invalid. according to certain commentators the name hillel is spelled incorrectly in the document. after the _he_ a _yod_ is missing! thus is the happiness glimpsed by bath-shua shattered forever! her fate is not unique--the bath-shuas are counted by the legion in the ghetto. and there are other fates no less poignant caused by reasons no less futile. in another poem, _ashakka de-rispak_ ("the shaft of the wagon", meaning "for a trifle"), the poet tells how the peace of a household was undermined on account of a barley grain discovered by accident in the soup at the passover meal, which must be free from every trace of fermented food. brooding over the incident and filled with remorse for having served the doubtful soup to her family, the poor woman runs to the rabbi, who decides that she has, indeed, caused her family to eat prohibited food, and the dishes in which it was prepared and served must be broken, they cannot be used, they may not even be sold. but the husband, a simple carter, does not accept the decision tranquilly. he vents his anger upon the woman. the peace of the house is troubled, and finally the man repudiates his wife. the poet fulminates against the rabbis and their narrow, senseless interpretations of texts. "slaves we were in the land of egypt.... and what are we now? do we not sink lower from year to year? are we not bound with ropes of absurdities, with cords of quibbles, with all sorts of prejudices?... the stranger no longer oppresses us, our despots are the progeny of our own bodies. our hands are no longer manacled, but our soul is in chains." in the last of his great satires, "the two joseph-ben-simons", gordon gives a sombre and at the same time lofty picture of the manners of the ghetto, an exact description of the wicked, arbitrary domination exercised by the _kahal_, and an idealization of the maskil, powerless to prevail single-handed in the combat with combined reactionary forces. a young talmudist, devotee of the sciences and of modern literature, is persecuted by the fanatics. unable to resist the seductions of his alien studies, he is forced to expatriate himself. he goes to italy, to the university of padua, whither the renown of samuel david luzzatto has attracted many a young russian jew eager for knowledge. there he pursues both rabbinical and medical courses. his efforts are crowned with success, and he dreams of returning to his country and consecrating his powers to the amelioration of the material and moral condition of his brethren. in his mind's eye he sees himself at the head of his community, healing souls and bodies, redressing wrongs, introducing reforms, breathing a new spirit into the dry bones and limbs of judaism. hardly has he set foot upon the soil of his native town when he is arrested and thrown into prison. the kahal had made out a passport in his name for the cobbler's son, a degraded character, a highway robber and sneak thief, and charged with murder. now the true joseph ben simon is to expiate the crime of the other. it is vain for him to protest his innocence. the president of the kahal, before whom he is arraigned, declares there is no other joseph ben simon, and he is the guilty one. the little town is described minutely. we are on the public square, the market place, the dumping ground of all the offal and dirt, whence an offensive odor rises in the nostrils of the passer-by. facing this square is the synagogue, a mean, dilapidated building. "mud and filth detract from holiness", but the lord takes no offense, "he thrones too high to be incommoded by it". the greatest impurity, however, a moral infection, oozes from the little chamber adjoining the synagogue--the meeting-room of the kahal. that is the breeding place of crime and injustice. oppression and venality assert themselves there with barefaced impudence. the kahal keeps the lists relating to military service; it makes out the passports, and the whole town is at its mercy. it offers the hypocrite of the ghetto the opportunity of exercising his fatal power. there the widow is despoiled, and the orphans are abused. together with the unfortunates who have dared aspire to the light, the fatherless are delivered to the recruiting agent as substitutes for the sons of the wealthy. it is the domain over which reigns the venerated rabbi, powerful and fear-inspiring, shamgar ben anath, a stupid and uncouth upstart. the life of sacrifices and privations led by the jewish students who go abroad in search of an education, inspires gordon with one of the most beautiful passages in his poem. in the true sense of the word, these young men are loyal to jewish traditions. they are the genuine successors of those who formerly braved hunger and cold upon the benches of the _yeshibot_. "how strong it is, the desire for knowledge in the hearts of the youth of israel, the crushed people! it is like the fire, never extinguished, burning upon the altar!... "stop upon the highways leading to mir, eisheshok, and wolosin. [ ] see yon haggard youths walking on foot! whither lead their steps? what do they seek?--naked they will sleep upon the floor, and lead a life of privation. "it is said: 'the torah is given to him alone who dies for her!'" [footnote : lithuanian towns well-known for their talmudic academies.] and here is the modern counterpart: "go to no matter what university in europe: the lot of the young jewish strangers is no better.... the russians are proud of the fame of a lomonossoff, the son of a poor moujik who became a luminary in the world of science. how numerous are the lomonossoffs of the jew alley!..." and then the poet, in an access of patriotism, cries out: "and what, in fine, art thou, o israel, but a poor _bahur_ among the peoples, eating one day with one of them, another day with the other!... "thou hast kindled a perpetual lamp for the whole world. around thee alone the world is dark, o people, slave of slaves, desperate and despised!" with this poem we bring to a close the analysis of gordon's satires. it shows at their best the dreams, the aspirations, the struggles of the maskilim, in their opposition to the aims of the reactionaries and the moral and material confusion in which slavic judaism wallowed. the same order of ideas is presented in the greater part of the original pieces in his "little fables for big children". they are written in a vivid, pithy style. the delicate, bantering criticism and the deep philosophy with which they are impregnated put these fables among the finest productions of hebrew literature. to the same period as the fables belong the several volumes of tales published by gordon, _shene yomim we-laïlah ehad_ ("two days and one night"), _'olam ke-minhago_ ("the world as it is"), and later the first part of _kol kitbe yehudah_ ("collected writings of gordon"). they also relate to the life and manners of the jews of lithuania, and the struggle of the modern element with the old. gordon as story teller is inferior to gordon as poet. nevertheless his prose displays all the delicacy of his mind and the precision of his observations. at all events, these tales of his are not a negligible quantity in hebrew literature. the reaction which set in about , after a period of social reforms and unrealized hopes, affected the poet deeply. the government put obstacles in the forward march of the jews, the masses remained steeped in fanaticism, and the men of light and leading themselves fell short of doing their whole duty. disillusioned, he cherished no hope of anything. he could not share the optimism of smolenskin and his school. for an instant he stops to look back over the road travelled. he sees nothing, and in anguish he asks himself: "for whom have i toiled all the years of my prime? "my parents, they cling to the faith and to their people, they think of nothing but business and religious observances all day long; they despise knowledge, and are hostile to good sense.... "our intellectuals scorn the national language, and all their love is lavished upon the language of the land. "our daughters, charming as they are, are kept in absolute ignorance of hebrew.... "and the young generation go on and on, god knows how far and whither ... perhaps to the point whence they will never return." he therefore addresses himself to a handful of the elect, amateurs, the only ones who do not despise the hebrew poet, but understand him and approve his ways: "to you i bring my genius as a sacrifice, before you i shed my tears as a libation.... who knows but i am the last to sing of zion, and you the last to read the zion songs?" this pessimistic strain recurs in all the later writings of gordon. even after the events of , when revived hatred and persecution had thrown the camp of the emancipators into disorder, and the most ardent of the anti-rabbinic champions, like lilienblum and braudes, had been driven to the point of raising the flag of zionism, gordon alone of all was not carried along with the current. his skepticism kept him from embracing the illusions of his friends converted to zionism. all his contempt for the tyrants, and his compassion for his people unjustly oppressed, he puts into his poem _ahoti ruhamah_, which is inscribed "to the honor of the daughter of jacob violated by the son of hamor." "why weepest thou, my afflicted sister? "wherefore this desolation of spirit, this anguish of heart? "if thieves surprised thee and ravished thy honor, if the hand of the malefactor has prevailed against thee, is it thy fault, my afflicted sister? "whither shall i bear my shame? "where is thy shame, seeing thy heart is pure and chaste? arise, display thy wound, that all the world may see the blood of abel upon the forehead of cain. let the world know, my afflicted sister, how thou art tortured! "not upon thee falls the shame, but upon thy oppressors. "thy purity has not been sullied by their polluting touch.... thou art white as snow, my afflicted sister." almost the poet seems to regret his efforts of other days to bring the jews close to the christians. "what of humiliation hath befallen thee is a solace unto me. long i bore distress and injustice, violence and spoliation; yet i remained loyal to my country; for better days i hoped, and submitted to all. but to bear thy shame, my afflicted sister, i have no spirit more." but what was to become of it all? whither were the jews to turn? the palestine of the turk has not too many attractions for the poet. he still believes in the existence of a country somewhere "in which the light shines for all human beings alike, in which man is not humiliated on account of his race or his faith." thither he invites his brethren to go and seek an asylum, "until what day our father in heaven will take pity on us and return us to our ancient mother." it was the agitated time in which pinsker sent forth his manifesto, "auto-emancipation", and gordon dedicated his poem, "the flock of the lord", to him. "what are we, you ask, and what our life? are we a people like those around us, or only members of a religious community? i will tell you: we are neither a people, nor a brotherhood, we are but a flock--the holy flock of the lord god, and the whole earth is an altar for us. thereon we are laid either as burnt offerings sacrificed by the other peoples, or as victims bound by the precepts of our own rabbis. a flock wandering in the waste desert, sheep set upon on all sides by the wolves.... we cry out-- in vain! we utter laments--none hears! the desert shuts us in on all sides. the earth is of copper, the heavens are of brass. "not an ordinary flock are we, but a flock of iron. we survive the slaughter. but will our strength endure forever? "a flock dispersed, undisciplined, without a bond--we are the flock of the lord god!" not that the idea of a national rebirth displeased the poet. far from it. zionism cannot but exercise a charm upon the jewish heart. but he believed the time had not yet arrived for a national regeneration. according to his opinion, there was a work of religious liberation to be accomplished before the reconstruction of the jewish state could be thought of. he defended this idea in a series of articles published in _ha-meliz_, of which he was the editor at that time. the last years of his life were tragic, pathetic. with a torn heart he sat by and looked upon the desperate situation into which the government had put millions of his brethren. to this he alludes in his fable "adoni-bezek", which we reproduce in its entirety, to give a notion of gordon as a fabulist: "in a sumptuous palace, in the middle of a vast hall, perfumed, and draped with egyptian fabrics, stands a table, and upon it are the most delicious viands. adoni-bezek is dining. his attendants are standing each in his place--his cupbearer, the master baker, and the chief cook. the eunuchs, his slaves, come and go; bringing every variety of dainty dishes, and the flesh of all sorts of beasts and birds, roasted and stewed. "on the floor, insolent dogs lie sprawling, their jaws agape, panting to snap up the bones and scraps their master throws to them. "prostrate under the table are seventy captive kings, with their thumbs and big toes cut off. to appease their appetite they must scramble for the scraps that drop under the table of their sovereign lord. "adoni-bezek has finished his repast, and he amuses himself with throwing bones to the creatures under the table. suddenly there is a hubbub, the dogs bark, and yap at their human neighbors, who have appropriated morsels meant for them. "the wounded kings complain to the master: o king, see our suffering and deliver us from thy dogs. and adoni-bezek's answer is: but it is you who are to be blamed, and they are in the right. why do you do them wrong? "with bitterness the kings make reply: "o king, is it our fault if we have been brought so low that we must vie with your dogs and pick up the crumbs that drop from your table? thou didst come up against us and crush us with thy powerful hand, thou didst mutilate us and chain us in these cages. no longer are we able to work or seek our sustenance. why should these dogs have the right to bite and bark? o that the just--if still there are such men in our time--might rise up! o that one whose heart has been touched by god might judge between ourselves and those who bite us, which of us is the hangman and which the victim?" toward the end of his days the poet was permitted to enjoy a great gratification. the jewish notabilities of the capital arranged a celebration of the twenty-fifth anniversary of his activity as a writer. at the reunion of gordon's friends on this occasion it was decided to publish an _édition de luxe_ of his poetical works. a final optimistic note was forced from his heart, deeply moved by this unexpected tribute. he recalled the vow once made by him, always to remain loyal to hebrew, and he recounted the vexations and disappointments to which the poet is exposed who chooses to write in a dead language doomed to oblivion. then he addressed a salutation to the young "of whom we had despaired, and who are coming back, and to the dawn of the rebirth of the hebrew language and the jewish people." however, gordon never entered into the national revival with full faith in its promises. until the end he remained the poet of misery and despair. the death of smolenskin elicited a last disconsolate word from him. it may be considered the ghetto poet's testament. he compared the great writer to the jewish people, and asked himself: "what is our people, and what its literature? a giant felled to the ground unable to rise. the whole earth is its sepulchre. and its books?--the epitaph engraved upon its tomb-stone...." * * * * * chapter viii reformers and conservatives the two extremes though gordon was the most distinguished, he was not the only representative of the anti-rabbinic school in the neo-hebrew literature. the decline of liberalism in official state circles, and the frustration of every hope of equality, had their effect in reshaping the policy pursued by educated jews. up to this time they had cherished no desire except for external emancipation and to assimilate with their neighbors of other faiths. liberty and justice suddenly removed from their horizon, they could not but transfer their ambition and their activity to the inner chambers of judaism. other circumstances contributed to the result. the economic changes affecting the bourgeoisie and the influence exercised by the realism and the utilitarian tendencies of the russian literature of the time had not a little to do with the modified aims cherished in the camp of the maskilim. jews of education living in galicia or in the small towns of russia, who had the best opportunity of penetrating to the intimate life of the people and knowing its day by day misery, could and did make clear, how helpless the masses of the jews were in the face of the moral and economic ruin that menaced them, and how serious an obstacle religious restrictions and ignorance placed in the way of any change in their condition. and therefore they made it their object to extol practical, thoroughgoing reforms. in religion, they demanded, with gordon, the abolition of all restrictions weighing upon the people, and a radical reform of jewish education. in practical life, they were desirous of turning the attention of their brethren to the manual trades, to the technical professions, and to agriculture. besides, it was their purpose to extend modern primary instruction and bring it within the reach of considerably larger circles. the government viewed these efforts with a favorable eye, and under its protection the society for the promotion of culture among the jews in russia was formed, with headquarters at st. petersburg. thus supported, the educated could carry on their propaganda in the open, and throw light into the remotest corners of the country. the hebrew press, though still in its infancy, co-operated with them zealously in furthering their beneficent purposes. the most determined group of the anti-religious propagandists was at brody in galicia. thence emanated the influences that operated in russia, and thence _he-haluz_ ("the pioneer"), founded by erter and schorr in , and published at lemberg, carried on a brilliant campaign against religious superstitions, shrinking not even from attacks upon the biblical tradition itself. the boldest of the contributors to _he-haluz_, not counting its valiant editor, was abraham krochmal, the son of the philosopher. a scholar and subtle thinker, he introduced biblical criticism into hebrew literature. in his books as well as in his articles in _he-haluz_ and in _ha- kol_, the latter edited by rodkinson, he goes so far as to dispute the divine character of the bible, and he demands radical reforms in judaism. [footnote: _ha-ketab weha-miktab_ ("writing and the scriptures"), lemberg, ; _'lyyun tefillah_ ("reflections on prayer"), lemberg, , etc.] his writings gave the signal for a considerable stir and expression of opinion. even the most moderate among the orthodox could not remain tranquil in the presence of such blasphemous views. they put krochmal outside of the pale of judaism, together with all scholars occupied with bible criticism, among them geiger, who had exerted great influence upon the school of reformers writing in hebrew. in lithuania things did not go so far. the hard conditions of existence there were not propitious to the rise of a purely scholarly school or to theoretic discussion. scientific centres were entirely wanting, and the censor permitted no trifling with the subject of religion. a new movement, realistic and utilitarian in the main, began to take shape, first in the form of a protest against the unsubstantial ideals of the hebrew press and hebrew literature. in , abraham kowner, an ardent controversialist, published his _heker dabar_ ("a word of criticism"), and his _zeror perahim_ ("a bouquet of flowers"), in which he takes the press and the writers severely to task for indulging in rhetoric and futile scintillations, instead of occupying themselves with the real exigencies of life. in the same year, abraham jacob paperna published his essay in literary criticism, and the young smolenskin, in an article appearing at odessa, attacked letteris for his artificial, insincere translation of goethe's _faust_ into hebrew. on all sides there blew a fresh breath of realism, and the critical spirit was abroad. the most characteristic exponent of this reforming movement was moses löb lilienblum, a native of the government of kowno. endowed with a temperate, logical mind, untroubled by an excess of sentimentality, lilienblum, one of those deliberate, puritanic scholars that constitute the glory of lithuanian talmudism, was at once hero and actor in the intense drama performed in the russian ghetto, which he himself described as the "jewish tragi-comedy". he began his literary career with an article entitled _orhot ha- talmud_ ("the paths of the talmud"), and published in _ha-meliz_ in . here, as well as in the articles following it, he does not depart from established tradition. in the very name of the spirit of the talmud, he demands religious reforms and the abolition of the restrictions that make daily life burdensome. these excessive requirements, he urges, were heaped up by the rabbis subsequent to the full development of the law, and in opposition to its spirit. the young scholar showed himself to be a zealous admirer of the talmud, and with clinching logic he proves that the rabbis of later times, in asserting its immutability, had distinctly deviated from the principles of the law, the fundamental idea of which was the harmonizing of "law and life". the wrath aroused by such articles can easily be imagined. lilienblum was an _apikoros_, the "heretic" _par excellence_ of the lithuanian ghetto. the young writer had to undergo a series of outrageous persecutions and acts of vengeance inflicted by the fanatics, especially the hasidim, of his town. he tells the story in detail in his autobiography, _hattot neurim_ ("the sins of youth"), published at vienna, in , one of the most noteworthy productions of modern hebrew literature. with the logical directness of a _mitnagged_ [ ], and the cruel, sarcastic candor of a wasted existence, lilienblum probes and exposes the depths of his tortured conscience, at the same time following up inexorably the steps which remove the free-thinker from the faithful believer, without, however, reaching a real or positive result-- in the spirit at once of rousseau and voltaire. [footnote : literally, "one who is opposed" [to the mystical system of hasidism]; a protestant, a puritan.] as he himself says: "it is a drama essentially jewish, because it is a life without dramatic effect, without extraordinary adventure. it is made up of torment and suffering, all the more grievous as they are kept hidden in the recesses of one's heart...." better than any one else he knows the cause of these ills. like gordon, he holds that the book has killed the man, the dead letter has been substituted for feeling. "you ask me, o reader", he says with bitterness, "who i am, and what my name is?--well, then, i am a living being, not a job who has never existed. nor am i one of the dead in the valley of bones brought back to life by the prophet ezekiel, which is only a tale that is told. but i am one of the living dead of the babylonian talmud, revived by the new hebrew literature, itself a dead literature, powerless to bring the dead to life with its dew, scarcely able to transport us into a state between life and death. i am a talmudist, a believer aforetimes, now become an unbeliever, no longer clinging to the dreams and the hopes which my ancestors bequeathed to me. i am a wreck, a miserable wretch, hopeless unto despair...." and he narrates the incidents of his childhood, the period of the _tohu_, of chaos and confusion, the days of study, misery, superstition. he recalls the years of adolescence, his premature marriage, his struggle for a bare existence, his wretched life as a teacher of the talmud, panting under the double yoke of a mother-in-law and a rigid ceremonial. then comes his introduction to hebrew literature. his conscience long refuses assent, but stern logic triumphs, and the result is that all the ideas that have been his guiding principles crumble into dust one by one. negation replaces faith. the terrible conflict begins with a whole town of formalists, who declare him outside of the community of israel,--a pitiless conflict, in which he is supported half-heartedly by two or three of the strong- minded. the publication of his first article, on the necessity of reforms in religion, increases the fury of the people against him, and his ruin is determined. had there not been intervention from the outside, he would have been delivered to the authorities to serve in the army, or denounced as a dangerous heretic. and yet the so-called heretic cursed by every mouth had proceeded so short a distance on the path of heterodoxy that he still entertained scruples about carrying a book from one house to another on the sabbath! this naïve soul, in which all sorts of feelings had long before begun to stir obscurely, was aroused to full consciousness by the reading of mapu's works. casual acquaintance with an intelligent woman made his heart vibrate with notes unknown until then. life in his native town became intolerable, and he left it for odessa, the el dorado of all ghetto dreamers. again disillusionment was his lot. he who was ready to undergo martyrdom for his ideas, this champion of the haskalah, his heart famishing for knowledge and justice, was not long in discerning, with his penetrating, perspicacious mind, that he had not yet reached the best of modern worlds. with bitterness he notes that the jews of the south of russia, "where the talmud is cut out of practical life, if they are more liberal than the others, are yet not exempt from stupid superstitions." he notes that the hebrew literature so dear to his heart is excluded from the circles of the intellectual. he sees that egotistic materialism has superseded the ideal aspirations of the ghetto. he discovers that feeling has no place in modern life, and tolerance, the loudly vaunted, is but a sound. when he ventures to put his complaints into words, he is treated as a "religious fanatic" by people who have no interest beyond their own selfish pleasures and the satisfaction of their material cravings. he is deeply affected by what he observes and notes. in the presence of the egotistic indifference of the emancipated jews, he is shaken in his firmest convictions, and he admits with anguish that the ideal for which he has fought and sacrificed his life is but a phantom. under the stress of such disappointment he writes these lines: "in very truth, i tell you, never will the jewish religion be in accord with life. it will sink, or, at best, it will remain the cherished possession of the limited few, as it is now in the western countries of europe.... practical reality is in opposition to religion. now i know that we have no public on our side; and actual life with its great movements produces its results without the aid of literature, which even in our people is an effective influence only with the simple spirits of the country districts. the desire for life and liberty, the prevalence of charlatanism on the one side, and on the other the abandoning of religious studies in favor of secular studies, will have baleful consequences for the jewish youth, even in lithuania." this whole period of our author's life is characterized by similar regrets--he mourns over days spent in barren struggles and over the follies of youth. "to-day i finished writing my autobiography, which i call 'the sins of youth'. i have drawn up the balance-sheet of my life of thirty years and one month, and i am deeply grieved to see that the sum total is a cipher. how heavily the hand of fortune has lain upon me! the education i received was the reverse of everything i had need of later. i was raised with the idea of becoming a distinguished rabbinical authority, and here i am a business man; i was raised in an imaginary world, to be a faithful observer of the law, shrinking back from whatever has the odor of sin, and the very things i was taught crush me to earth now that the imaginary man has disappeared in me; i was raised to live in the atmosphere of the dead, and here i am cast among people who lead a real life, in which i am unable to take my part; i was raised in a world of dreams and pure theory, and i find myself now in the midst of the chaos of practical life, to which i am driven by my needs to apply myself, though my brain refuses to leave the old ruts and substitute practice for speculation. i am not even equipped to carry on a discussion with business men discussing nothing but business. i was raised to be the father of a family, in the sphere chosen for me by my father in his wisdom.... how far removed my heart is from all such things...! "i weep over my shattered little world which i cannot restore!" the regrets of lilienblum over the useless work attempted by hebrew literature betray themselves also in his pamphlet in verse, _kehal refaïm_ ("the assembly of the dead"). the dead are impersonated by the hebrew periodicals and reviews. later, a novelist of talent, reuben asher braudes, resumed the attempt to harmonize theory and practice, in his great novel, "religion and life". the hero, the young rabbi samuel, is the picture of lilienblum. from the point of view of art, it is one of the best novels in hebrew literature. life in the rural districts, the austere idealism of the enlightened, the superstitions of the crowd, are depicted with extraordinary clearness of outline. [footnote: _ha-dat weha- hayyim_, lemberg, . another long novel by braudes is called _shete ha-kezawot_ ("the two extremes"), published in , wherein he extols the national revival and religious romanticism.] the novel ran in _ha-boker or_ ( - ), and was never completed--a counterpart of its hero. had not lilienblum, too, stopped in the middle of the road? the crisis that occurred in the life of lilienblum, torn from his ideal speculations in a provincial town, and forced into contact with an actuality that was as far as possible away from solving the problem of harmonizing religion and life, was the typical fate of all the educated jews of the period. lilienblum and his followers gave themselves up to regrets over the futile work of three generations of humanists, who, instead of restoring the ghetto to health, had but hastened its utter ruin. the ideal aspirations of the maskilim had been succeeded by a gross utilitarianism without an ideal. what disquieted the soul of the maskil in the decade from to is expressed in the concluding words of "the sins of youth": "the young people are to work at nothing and think of nothing but how to prepare for their own life. all is forbidden, wherefrom they cannot derive direct profit--they are permitted only the study of sciences and languages, or apprenticeship to a trade. "the youth who break away from the laborious study of the talmud, throw themselves with avidity into the study of modern literature. this headlong course has been in vogue with us about a century. one generation disappears, to make place for the next, and each generation is pushed forward by a blind force, no one knows whither...! "it is high time for us to throw a glance backward--to stop a moment and ask ourselves: whither are we hastening, and why do we hasten?".... however, the gods did not forsake the ghetto. if gordon and, with more emphasis, lilienblum predicted the ruin of all the dreams of the ghetto, it was because, having been wrenched from the life of the masses and out of traditional surroundings, they judged things from a distance, and permitted themselves to be influenced by appearances. blinded by their bias, they saw only two well-defined camps in judaism--the moderns, indifferent to all that constitutes judaism, and the bigots, opposed to what savors of knowledge, free-thinking, and worldly pleasure. they made their reckoning without the jewish people. the humanist propaganda was not so empty and vain as its later promoters were pleased to consider it. the conservative romanticism of a samuel david luzzatto and the zionist sentiments of a mapu had planted a germinating seed in the heart of traditional judaism itself. it is conceded that we cannot resort for evidence to such old romanticists as schulman, who in the serenity of their souls gave little heed to the campaign of the reformers, though it is nevertheless a fact that they contributed to the diffusion of humanism and of hebrew literature by their works, which were well received in orthodox circles. our contention is better proved by rabbis reputed orthodox, who devoted themselves with enthusiasm to the cultivation of hebrew literature. without renouncing religion, they found a way of effecting the harmonization of religion and life. in point of fact, humanism of a conservative stripe reached its zenith at the precise moment when the realists, deceived by superficial appearances, were predicting the complete breaking up of traditional judaism. the chief representatives of the reform press were _he-haluz_, _ha-meliz_, and later on _ha-kol_ ("the voice"), and by their side the views of the conservatives were defended in _ha-maggid_, _ha-habazzelet_ ("the lily"), published at jerusalem, and especially _ha-lebanon_, appearing first at paris and then at mayence. in _ha-maggid_, beginning with the year , the editor, david gordon, supported by the assenting opinion of his readers, carried on an ardent campaign for the colonization of palestine as the necessary forerunner of the political revival of israel. a galician thinker, fabius mises, published, in , an article in _ha-meliz_, entitled _milhemet ha-dat_ ("the wars of the faith"), in which he wards off the attacks upon the jewish religion by the anti-rabbinical school. he proves it to be a reasonable religion, and a national religion _par excellence_. in his poems, mises assails geiger for the religious reforms urged by him, and he opposes also the school of _he-haluz_ in the name of the national tradition. later on mises published an important history of modern philosophy in hebrew. michael pines, a writer in _ha-lebanon_, and the opponent of lilienblum, was the protagonist of the conservative party in lithuania. his chief work, _yalde ruhi_ ("the children of my spirit"), appeared in at mayence. it may be considered the literary masterpiece on the conservative side, the counterstroke to lilienblum's "sins of youth". it is a defense of traditional judaism, and is instinct with an intuitive philosophy and with deep faith. pines makes a closely reasoned claim for the right of the jewish religion to exist in its integrity. without being a fanatic, he believes, with samuel david luzzatto, that the religion of the jew on its poetic side is the peculiar product of the jewish national genius--that the religion, and not the artificial legal system engrafted upon it, is the essential part of judaism. the ceremonies and the religious practices are necessary for the purpose of maintaining the harmony of the faith, "as the wick is necessary for the lamp". this harmony, reacting at once upon feeling and morality, cannot be undone by the results of science, and therefore the jewish religion is eternal in its essence. the religious reforms introduced by the german rabbis have but had the effect of drying up the springs of poetry in the religion, and as for the compromise between faith and life, extolled and urged by lilienblum, it is only a futile phrase. of what use is it, seeing that the religious feel no need of it, but on the contrary take delight in the religion as it stands, which fills the void in their soul? pines did not share the pessimistic fears of the realists of his time. a true conservative, he believed in the national rebirth of the people of israel, and, a romantic jew, he dreamed of the realization of the humanitarian predictions of the prophets. judaism to him is the pure idea of justice, "and every just idea ends by conquering the whole of humanity". extremes meet. there is one point in common between lilienblum, the last of the humanists, the disillusioned skeptic, and pines, the optimist of the ghetto. both maintained that the action of the humanists was inefficacious, and the compromise between religion and life a vain expedient. nevertheless, there was no possibility of bringing the two to stand upon the same platform. while the humanists, in abandoning the perennial dreams of the people, had separated themselves from its moral and religious life, and thus cut away the ground from under their own feet, the romantic conservatives paid no attention to the demands of modern life, the currents of which had loosed the foundations of the old world, and were threatening to carry away the last national breastwork. a synthesis was needed to merge the two currents, the humanist and the romantic, and lead the languishing haskalah back to the living sources of national judaism. this was the task accomplished by perez smolenskin, the leader of the national progressive movement. * * * * * chapter ix the national progressive movement perez smolenskin perez smolenskin was born, in , at monastryshchina, a little market town near mohilew. his father, a poor and an unfortunate man, who was not able to support his wife and six children successfully, was forced to leave his family on account of a slanderous accusation brought against him by a polish priest. the mother, a plucky woman of the people, supported herself by hard work, in spite of which it was her ambition to make rabbis of her boys. at length the father joined his family again, and a period of comparative prosperity set in. the first care of the returned father was to look to the education of his two sons, leon and perez. the latter showed unusual ability. at the age of four he began the study of the pentateuch, at five he had been introduced to the talmud. these studies absorbed him until his eleventh year. then, like all the sons of the ghetto desirous of an education, he left his father and mother, and betook himself to the _yeshibah_ at shklow. the journey was made on foot, and his only escort was the blessing of his mother. the lad's youth proved no obstacle to his entering the talmud academy, nor to his acquiring celebrity for industry and attainments. his brother leon, who had preceded him to shklow, initiated him in the russian language, and supplied him with modern hebrew writings. openhearted and lively, he set prejudice at defiance, and maintained friendly relations with a certain intellectual who was reputed a heretic, an acquaintanceship that contributed greatly to the mental development of young perez. the dignified burghers who were taking turns in supplying him with his meals, alarmed at his aberration from the straight path, one after another withdrew their protection from him. black misery clutched him. he was but fourteen years old, and already he had entered upon a life of disquiet and adventure. his story is the odyssey of an erring son of the ghetto. repulsed by the _mitnaggedim_, he sought help with the hasidim. he was equally ill- fitted for their life. their uncouth mystical exaltation, the absurdity of their superstitions, and their hypocrisy drove him to exasperation. he cast himself into the whirl of life, became assistant to a cantor at a synagogue, and then teacher of hebrew and talmud. the whole gamut of precarious employments open to a scholar of the ghetto he ran up and down again. his restless spirit and the desire to complete his education carried him to odessa. there he established himself, and there years of work and endeavor were passed. he acquired the modern languages, his mind grew broader, and he gave up religious practices once for all, always remaining attached to judaism, however. in appeared his first literary production, the article against letteris, who at that time occupied the position of an incontestable authority, in which smolenskin permits himself to pass severe and independent criticism upon his hebrew adaptation of goethe's _faust_. in the odessa period falls also the writing of the first few chapters of his great novel, _ha-to'eh be-darke ha-hayyim_ ("a wanderer astray on the path of life"). [footnote: a complete edition of the novels and articles by smolenskin appeared recently at st. petersburg and wilna, published by katzenelenbogen.] but his free spirit could not adapt itself to the narrowness and meanness of the literary folk and the editors of periodicals. he determined to leave russia for the civilized occident, the promised land in the dreams of the russian maskilim, beautified by the presence of rapoport and luzzatto. his first destination was prague, the residence of rapoport, then vienna, and later he pushed his way to paris and london. everywhere he studied and made notes. a sharp-eyed observer, he sought to probe european affairs as well as occidental judaism to their depths. he established relations with rabbis, scholars, and jewish notables, and finally he was in a position to appraise at close range the liberty he had heard vaunted so loudly, and the religious reforms wished for so eagerly by the intelligent of his own country. he soon had occasion to see the reverse of the medal, and his disenchantment was complete. regretfully he came to the conclusion that the modern emancipation movement had brought the jewish spirit in the occident to the point at which the western jew was turned away from the essence of judaism. form had taken the place of substance, ceremonial the place of religious and national sentiment. heartsick over such disregard of the past, indignant at the indifference displayed by modern jews toward all he held dear, young smolenskin resolved to break the silence that was observed in the great capitals of europe respecting all things jewish and carry the gospel of the ghetto to the "neo-gentiles". the first shaft was delivered in vienna, where he began the publication of his review _ha-shahar_ ("daybreak"). almost without means, but fired by the wish to work for the national and moral elevation of his people, the young writer laid down the articles of his faith: "the purpose of _ha-shahar_ is to shed the light of knowledge upon the paths of the sons of jacob, to open the eyes of those who either have not beheld knowledge, or, beholding, have not understood in value, to regenerate the beauty of the hebrew language, and increase the number of its devotees. "... but when the eyes of the blind begin to open slowly, and they shake off the sluggish slumber in which they have been sunk since many years, then there is still another class to be dealt with--those who, having tasted of the fruit of the tree of knowledge, intentionally close their eyes to our language, the only possession left to us that can bring together the hearts of israel and make one nation of it all over the earth.... let them take warning! if my hand is against the bigots and the hypocrites who hide themselves under the mantle of the truth, ... it will be equally unsparing of the enlightened hypocrites who seek with honeyed words to alienate the sons of israel from their ancestral knowledge...." war to mediaeval obscurantism, war to modern indifference, was the plan of his campaign. _ha-shahar_ soon became the organ of all in the ghetto who thought, felt, and fought,--the spokesman of the nationalist maskilim, setting forth their demands as culture bearers and patriots. at a time when hebrew literature consisted mainly of translations or works of minor significance, smolenskin had the boldness to announce that the columns of his periodical would be open to writers of original articles only. the era of the translator and the vapid imitator had come to a close. a new school of original writers stepped upon the boards, and little by little the reading public accustomed itself to give preference to them. and at a time when disparagement of the national element in judaism had been carried to the furthest excess, smolenskin asserted judaism's right to exist, in such words as these: [the wilfully blind] "bid us to be like all the other nations, and i repeat after them: let us be like all the other nations, pursuing and attaining knowledge, leaving off from wickedness and folly, and dwelling as loyal citizens in the lands whither we have been scattered. yes, let us be like all the other nations, unashamed of the rock whence we have been hewn, like the rest in holding dear our language and the glory of our people. it is not a disgrace for us to believe that our exile will once come to an end, ... and we need not blush for clinging to the ancient language with which we wandered from people to people, in which our poets sang and our seers prophesied when we lived at ease in our own land, and in which our fathers poured out their hearts when their blood flowed like water in the sight of all.... they who thrust us away from the hebrew language meditate evil against our people and against its glory!" the reputation of _ha-shahar_ was firmly established by the publication of smolenskin's great novel _ha-to'eh be-darke ha- hayyim_ in its columns. in this as in the rest of his works, he is the prophet denouncing the crimes and the depravity of the ghetto, and proclaiming the revival of national dignity. smolenskin permitted himself to be thwarted by nothing in the execution of his bold designs, neither by the meagreness of his material resources nor by the animosities which his fearless course did not fail to arouse among literary men. in , smolenskin published, at vienna, his masterpiece _'am 'olam_ ("the eternal people"), which became the platform of the movement for national emancipation. noteworthy from every point of view, this work shows him to have been an original thinker and an inspired poet, a humanist and at the same time a patriot. he is full of love for his people, and his faith in its future knows no limits. he demonstrates convincingly that true nationalism is not incompatible with the final realization of the ideal of the universal brotherhood of men. national devotion is but a higher aspect of devotion to family. in nature we see that, in the measure in which the individuality of a being is distinct, its superiority and its independence are increased. differentiation is the law of progress. why not apply the law to human groups, or nations? the sum total of the qualities peculiar to the various nations, and the various ways in which they respond to concepts presented to them from without, these constitute the life and the culture of mankind as a whole. while admitting that the historical past of a people is an essential part of its existence, he believes it to be a still more urgent necessity for every people to possess a present ideal, and entertain national hopes for a better future. judaism cherishes the messianic ideal, which at bottom is nothing but the hope of its national rebirth. unfortunately, the modern, unreligious jew denies the ideal, and the orthodox jew envelops it in the obscurity of mysticism. the last chapter of "the eternal people", called "the hope of israel", is pervaded by magnificent enthusiasm. for the first time in hebrew, messianism is detached from its religious element. for the first time, a hebrew writer asserts that messianism is the political and moral resurrection of israel, _the return to the prophetic tradition_. why should the greeks, the roumanians, desire a national emancipation, and israel, the people of the bible, not?... the only obstacle is the fact that the jews have lost the notion of their national unity and the feeling of their solidarity. this conviction as to the existence of a jewish nationality, the national emancipation dreamed by salvador, hess, and luzzatto, considered a heresy by the orthodox and a dangerous theory by the liberals, had at last found its prophet. in smolenskin's enthusiastic formulation of it, the ideal was carried to the masses in russia and galicia, superseding the mystical messianism they had cherished before. smolenskin's combative spirit did not allow him to rest at that. the idea of national regeneration was in collision with the theory, raised to a commanding position by mendelssohn and his school, that judaism constitutes a religious confession. in a series of articles ("a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted"), [footnote: _ha- shahar_, - .] he deals with the mendelssohnian theory. proceeding from history and his knowledge of judaism, he proves that the jewish religion is not a rigid block of unalterable notions, but rather a body of ethical and philosophical teachings constantly undergoing a process of evolution, and changing its aspect according to the times and the environment. if this doctrine is the quintessence of the national genius of the jew, it is nevertheless accessible, in theory and in practice, to whosoever desires access. it is not the dogmatic and exclusive privilege of a sacerdotal caste. this is the rationale of smolenskin's opposition to the religious dogmatism of mendelssohn, who had wished to confine judaism inside of the circle of rabbinic law without recognizing its essentially evolutionary character. maimonides himself is not spared by smolenskin, for it was maimonides who had set the seal of consecration upon logical dogmatism. the less does he spare the modern school of reformers. religious reforms, he freely admits, are necessary, but they ought to be spontaneous developments, emanations from the heart of the believers themselves, in response to changes in the times and social relations. they ought not to be the artificial product of a few intellectuals who have long broken away from the masses of the people, sharing neither their suffering nor their hopes. if luther succeeded, it was because he had faith himself. but the modern jewish reformers are not believers, therefore their work does not abide. it is only the study of the hebrew language, of the religion of the jew, his culture, and his spirit that is capable of replacing the dead letter and soulless regulations by a keen national and religious sentiment in harmony with the exigencies of life. the next century, he predicted, would see a renewed, unified judaism. this is a summing up of the ideas which brought him approval and endorsement from all sides, but also, and to a greater degree, opposition and animosity, the latter from the old followers of the german humanist movement. one of them, the poet gottlober, founded, in , a rival review, _ha-boker or_, in which he pleaded the cause of the school of mendelssohn. but the new periodical, which continued to appear until , could neither supplant _ha-shahar_, nor diminish smolenskin's ardor. other obstacles of all sorts, and the difficulties raised by the russian censor, were equally ineffectual in halting the efforts of the valiant apostle of jewish nationalism. he was assured the cooperation of all independent literary men, for smolenskin had never posed as a believer in dogmatic religion or as its defender. on the contrary, he waged constant war with rabbinism. he was persuaded that an untrammelled propaganda, bold speech issuing from a knowledge of the heart of the masses and their urgent needs, would bring about a natural and peaceable revolution, restoring to the jewish people its free spirit, its creative genius, and its lofty morality. it mattered little to him that the young had ceased to be orthodox: in case of need, national feeling would suffice to maintain israel. at this point, it appears, smolenskin excelled samuel david luzzatto and his school as a free-thinker. the jewish people is to him the eternal people personifying the prophetic idea, realizable in the jewish land and not in exile. the liberalism displayed by europe toward the jews during a part of the nineteenth century is in his opinion but a transient phenomenon, and as early as he foresaw the recrudescence of anti- semitism. this conception of jewish life was welcomed by the educated as a revelation. the distinction of the editor of _ha-shahar_ is that he knew how to develop the ideas enunciated by the masters preceding him, how to carry them to completion, and render them accessible to the people at large. he revealed a new formula to them, thanks to which their claims as jews were no longer in contradiction with the demands of modern times. it was the revenge taken by the people speaking through the mouth of the writer. it was the echo of the cry of the throbbing soul of the ghetto. * * * * * chapter x the contributors to ha-shahar _ha-shahar_ soon became the centre of a hot crusade against obscurantism. the propaganda it carried on was all the more effectual as it opposed an out-of-date judaism in the name of a national regeneration, the deathless ideal of the jewish people. while admitting the principle that reforms are necessary, provided they are reasonable and slowly advanced, in agreement with the natural evolution of judaism and not in opposition to its spirit, smolenskin's review at the same time constituted itself the focus of a bold campaign against the kind of religious reform introduced by the moderns. whoever thought, felt, suffered, and was alive to the new ideas, hastened to range himself under the banner of the hebrew review during its eighteen years of a more or less regular existence, the occasional interruptions being due to lack of funds. its history forms an important chapter in that of hebrew literature. smolenskin possessed the art of stimulating well-tried powers, and discovering new talent and bringing it forward. the school of _ha-shahar_ may almost be looked upon as the creation of his strong hand. gordon, it is true, published the best of his satires in _ha-shahar_, and lilienblum pursued his reform purposes in its columns, _'olam ha-tohu_ ("the world of chaos"), his ringing criticism of "the hypocrite", being among the articles written by him for it, in which he casts upon mapu's work the light of the utilitarian realism borrowed from the russian writers of his time, and exposes it as a naïve, unreal conception of jewish life. though these two veterans gave him their support, the larger number of the collaborators of smolenskin made their first appearance in the world of letters under his auspices, and it was due to his influence that german and austrian scholars returned to the use of hebrew. on the other hand, the co-operation of eminent professors, such as heller, david müller, and others, contributed not a little to the success of _ha-shahar_. the galician novelist mordecai d. brändstätter is properly reckoned among the best of the contributors to the review. his novels, a collected edition of which appeared in , are of distinguished literary interest. brandstätter is the painter of the customs and manners of the galician hasidim, whom he rallies with kindliness that yet has a keen edge, and with perfect artistic taste. almost he is the only humorist of the time. his style is classic without going to extremes. he often makes use of the talmudic jargon peculiar to rabbinical scholars, whom he has the skill to transfer to his canvas down to their slightest gestures and mannerisms. but he does not restrain his wit in showing up the ridiculous side of the moderns as well. his best-known novels, which have been translated into russian and into german, are "doctor alfasi", "mordecai kisowitz", "the beginning and the end of a quarrel", etc. brändstatter also wrote satires in verse. he has not a few points of resemblance to the painter of galician jewish manners in german, karl emil franzos. solomon mandelkern, the erudite author of a new biblical concordance, hailing from dubno ( - ), was an inspired poet. his historical pieces, his satires, and his epigrams, published for the most part in _ha-shahar_, have finish and grace. in his zionist poems, he gives evidence of an enlightened patriotism. his popularity he gained by a detailed history of russia (_dibre yeme russia_) in three volumes, published at wilna, in , and a number of other works, all written in a pure, biblical style at once beautiful and lively. jehudah löb levin (born in ), surnamed yehallel, another poet who was an habitual contributor to _ha-shahar_, owes his fame to the fervent realism of his poems, which, however, suffer from pompousness and prolixity. his first appearance in the review was with a collection of poems, _sifte renanot_ ("the lips of song"), in . a long, realistic poem of his, _kishron ha-ma'aseh_ ("the value of work"), in which he extols the unrivalled place of work in the universe, also was published in _ha-shahar_. in this poem, as well as in his prose articles, he ranged himself with lilienblum in demanding a reshaping of jewish life on an utilitarian, practical basis. the criticism of jewish customs and manners was brilliantly done by m. cahen and ben-zebi, to mention only two among the many journalists of talent. the "letters from mohilew" by the former testify to the impartiality and independence, not only of the author, but also of the editor who accepted them for his periodical. ben-zebi wrote "letters from palestine", in which he depicts the ways of the rapacious notables of the old school in his country. science, historical and philosophical, found a sure welcome in _ha- shahar_. smolenskin knew how to arouse the interest of the educated in these branches, which had been neglected by writers of hebrew in russia. besides such well-known names as chwolson, the eminent professor, harkavy, the indefatigable explorer of jewish history in the slav countries, and gurland, the learned chronicler of the persecutions of the jews in poland, it is proper to make mention of david kahana, one of the most eminent of the scientific contributors to _ha-shahar_, a scholar of distinction, who has succeeded in throwing light upon the obscure epoch of the false messiahs and on the origin of hasidism. dr. solomon rubin's ingenious philosophical studies on the origin of religions and the history of ancient peoples were also for the most part published in _ha-shahar_. lazarus schulman, the author of humorous tales, wrote a painstaking analysis of heine for smolenskin's periodical. other contributors to the scientific department were joshua lewinsohn, schorr, jehiel bernstein, moses ornstein, dr. kantor, and dr. a. poriess, the last of whom was the author of an excellent treatise on physiology in hebrew. the productions of these writers did more for the spread of enlightenment than all the exhortations of the reformers. of litterateurs, the novelist braudes, and the poets menahem m. dolitzki and zebi schereschewsky, etc., made their first appearance in the columns of _ha-shahar_. the impetus issuing from _ha-shahar_ was visible on all fields of judaism. the number of hebrew readers increased considerably, and the interest in hebrew literature grew. the eminent scholar i. h. weiss published his five-volume history of tradition (_dor dor we- doreshaw_) in hebrew (vienna, - ). though it was a purely scientific work, laying bare the successive steps in the natural development of rabbinic law, it produced a veritable revolution in the attitude of the orthodox of the backward countries. as was mentioned above, gottlober founded his review, _ha-boker or_, in , to ensure the continuity of the humanist tradition and defend the theories of the school of mendelssohn. the last of the followers of german humanism rallied about it,--braudes published his principal novel "religion and life" in it,--and it also attracted the last representatives of the _melizah_, like wechsler (_ish naomi_), who wrote biblical criticism in an artificial, pompous style. this artificiality, fostered in an earlier period by the _melizim_, had by no means disappeared from hebrew literature. its most popular devotees in the later day of which we are speaking were, besides kalman schulman, a. friedberg, who wrote a hebrew adaptation of grace aguilar's tale, "the vale of cedars", published in , and ramesh, the translator of "robinson crusoe." translations continued to enjoy great vogue, and it was vain for smolenskin, in the introduction to his novel _ha-to'eh be-darke ha- hayyim_, to warn the public against the abuses of which translators were guilty. the readers of hebrew sought, besides novels, chiefly works on the natural sciences and on mathematics, especially astronomy. among the authors of original scientific books, hirsch rabinowitz should be given the first place, as the writer of a series of treatises on physics, chemistry, etc., which appeared at wilna, between the years and . after him come lerner, mises, reifmann, and a number of others. the period was also prolific in periodicals representing various tendencies. at jerusalem appeared _ha-habazzelet_, _sha'are ziyyon_ ("the gates of zion"), and others. on the american side of the atlantic, the review _ha-zofeh be-erez nod_ ("the watchman in the land of the wanderer") reflected the fortunes and views of the educated among the immigrants in the new world. even the orthodox had recourse to this modern expedient of periodicals in their endeavor to put up a defense of rabbinism. the journal _ha-yareah_ ("the moon"), and particularly _mahazike ha-dat_ ("the pillars of the faith"), both issued in galicia, were the organs of the faithful in their opposition to humanism and progress. _ha-kol_, the journal founded by rodkinson ( - ), with reform purposes, played a rôle of considerable importance in the conflict between the two parties. already tendencies were beginning to crop up radically different from any judaism had betrayed previously. in , when smolenskin was publishing his weekly paper _ha-mabbit_ ("the observer"), freiman founded the first socialistic journal in hebrew, _ha-emet_ ("the truth"). it also appeared in vienna. and, again, s. a. salkindson, a convert from judaism, the author of admirable translations of "othello" ( ) and "romeo and juliet" ( ), both published through the endeavors of smolenskin, brought out the hebrew translation of an epic wholly christian in character, milton's "paradise lost". it was a sign of the times that this work of art was enjoyed and appreciated by the educated hebrew public in due accordance with its literary merits. the clash of opinions and tendencies encouraged by the authority and the tolerance of smolenskin was fruitful of results. _ha-shahar_ had made itself the centre of a synthetic movement, progressive and national, which was gradually revealing the outline of its plan and aims. the reaction caused by the unexpected revival of anti-semitism in germany, austria, roumania, and russia, had levelled the last ruins of german humanism in the west, and had put disillusionment in the place of dreams of equality in the east. whoever remained faithful to the hebrew language and to the ideal of the regeneration of the jewish people, turned his eyes toward the stout-hearted writer who ten years earlier had predicted the overthrow of all humanitarian hopes, and had been the first to propose the practical solution of the jewish problem by means of national reconstruction. smolenskin's fame had by this time transcended the circle of his readers and those interested in hebrew literature. the _alliance israélite universelle_ entrusted to him the mission of investigating the conditions of the life of the roumanian jews. during his stay in paris, adolphe crémieux, the tireless defender of the oppressed of his race, agreed, in conversation with him, that only those who know the hebrew language, hold the key to the heart of the jewish masses, and, crémieux continued, he would give ten years of his life to have known hebrew. [footnote: brainin, in his admirable "life of smolenskin", warsaw, , p. ; _ha-shahar_, x, .] the war of between russia and turkey, and the nationalistic sentiments it engendered everywhere in eastern europe, awakened a patriotic movement among the jewish youth who had until then resisted the idea of national emancipation. a young student in paris, a native of lithuania, eliezer ben-jehudah, published two articles in _ha- shahar_, in , in which, setting aside all religious notions, he urged the regeneration of the jewish people on its ancient soil, and the cultivation of the biblical language. in , smolenskin, who had undertaken a new and complete edition of his works in twenty-four volumes, at vienna, went on a tour through russia. great was his joy when he noted the results produced by his own activity, and saw that he had gained the affection and approval of all enlightened classes of jews. under the influence of _ha-shahar_, a new generation had grown up, free and nevertheless loyal to its nativity and to the ideal of judaism. smolenskin's journey resembled a triumphal procession. the university students at st. petersburg and moscow arranged meetings in honor of the hebrew writer, at which he was acclaimed the master of the national tongue, the prophet of the rejuvenation of his people. in the provincial districts, similar scenes were enacted, and smolenskin saw himself the object of honors never before accorded a hebrew author. he returned to vienna, encouraged to pursue the task he had assumed, and full of hope for the future. it was the eve of the cataclysm foretold by the editor of _ha- shahar_. * * * * * chapter xi the novels of smolenskin smolenskin owed his vast popularity and his influence on his contemporaries only in part to his work as a journalist. what brought him close to the people were his realistic novels, which occupy the highest place in modern hebrew literature. smolenskin's first piece of fiction, _ha-gemul_ ("the recompense"), was published at odessa, in , on a subject connected with the polish insurrection. save its realistic style, there was nothing about it to betray the future novel writer of eminence. it was said above, that smolenskin wrote the early chapters of his _ha-to'eh_ while at odessa, and, also, he planned another novel there, "the joy of the hypocrite". when he proposed working out the latter for publication in _ha-meliz_, the editor rejected the idea disdainfully, saying that he preferred translations to original stories, so little likely did it seem that realistic writing could be done in hebrew. once he had his own organ, _ha-shahar_, smolenskin wrote and published novel after novel in it, beginning with his _ha-to'eh be-darke ha-hayyim_. in _ha-shahar_ it appeared in three parts. later it came out in book form, in four volumes. it is the first work of the hebrew realistic school worthy of being classed as such. as cervantes makes his hero don quixote pass through all the social strata of his time, so the hebrew novelist conducts his wanderer, joseph the orphan, through the nooks and corners of the ghetto. he introduces him to all the scenes of jewish life, he displays before his eyes all its customs and manners, he makes him a witness to all its superstitions, fanaticism, and sordidness of every kind, a physical and social abasement that has no parallel. a faithful observer, an impressionist, an unemphatic realist, he discloses on every page misunderstood lives, extravagant beliefs, movements, evils, greatnesses, and miseries, of which the civilized world had not the slightest suspicion. it is the odyssey of the ghetto adventurer, the life and journeyings of the author himself, magnified, and enveloped in the fictitious circumstances in which the hero is placed, a human document of the greatest significance. joseph, the orphan, whose father, persecuted by the hasidim, disappeared, and whose mother died in abject misery, is received into the house of his uncle, the same brother of his father who had caused the father's ruin. abused by a wicked aunt and driven by an irresistible hankering after a vagabond life, he runs away from his foster home. first he is picked up by a band of rascally mendicants, then he becomes an inmate in the house of a _baal-shem_, a charlatan wonder-worker, and thus a changeful existence leads him to traverse the greater part of jewish russia. in a series of photographic pictures, smolenskin reproduces in detail the ways and exploits of all the bohemians of the ghetto, from the beggars up to the peripatetic cantors, their moral shortcomings, their spitefulness, and their insolence. impelled by the wish to acquire an education, and perhaps also put a roof over his head, joseph finally enters a celebrated _yeshibah_. it is the salvation of the young tramp. he is given food, he sleeps on the school benches, and he is rescued from military service. but soon, having incurred disfavor by his frankness, and especially because he is discovered reading secular books, in which he is initiated by one of his fellow- students, he is obliged to leave the yeshibah. by the skin of his teeth he escapes being packed off to the army as a soldier. he takes refuge with the hasidim, and has the good fortune to find favor in the eyes of the _zaddik_ ("saint") himself. but very soon he revolts against the equivocal transports of the saintly sect. in his wanderings, joseph doubtless meets with good people, disinterested idealists, simple men and women of the rank and file, rabbis worthy of the highest praise, enthusiastic intellectuals, but the ordinary life of the ghetto, abnormal and narrow, disgusts him completely. he departs to seek a freer life in the west. passing through germany without stopping, he goes on to london. everywhere he makes jewish society the object of study, and everywhere he suffers disillusionment. _ha-to'eh_ is a veritable encyclopedia of jewish life at the beginning of the second half of the nineteenth century. as a work of fiction, the novel cannot bear inspection. it is a succession of fantastic, sometimes incoherent events, an artificial complex of personages appearing on the scene at the will of the author, and acting like puppets on wires. the miraculous abounds, and the characters are in part exaggerated, in part blurred. on the other hand, it is an incomparable work taken as a panorama of realistic scenes, not always consecutive scenes, but always absolutely true to life--a gallery of pictures of the ghetto. joseph is a painter, a realist first and last, and an impressionist besides. looking at the lights and shadows of his picture, we feel that what we see is not all pure, spontaneous art. like auerbach and like dickens, he is a thinker, a teacher. a true son of the ghetto, he preaches and moralizes. sometimes he goes too far in his desire to impress a lesson. the reader perceives too clearly that the author has not remained an indifferent outsider while writing his novel. it is evident that his heart is torn by contradictory emotions--pity, compassion, scorn, anger, and love, all at once. in point of style also the novel is a realistic piece of work. smolenskin does not resort to talmudisms, like gordon and abramowitsch, but, also, he takes care not to indulge in too many biblical metaphors. this sometimes necessitates circumlocutions, and on the whole his oratorical manner leads to prolixity, but his prose always remains pure, flowing, and precise in the highest degree. to illustrate smolenskin's way of writing, and all the peculiarity of the social life he depicts, we cannot do better than translate a few passages from his novel dealing with characteristic phases of ghetto life. joseph is narrating his adventures and the impressions of his daily routine. the following is his striking description of the _heder_, the well-known primary school of the ghetto, when his uncle first enters him there as a pupil: "when i say house, let not the reader imagine a stone structure. what he would see is a small, low building, somewhat like a dog's kennel, built of thin boards, rotten at that. the thatch that covers it by way of roof hangs down to the ground, and yet it cannot keep off the rain, for the goats browsing in the neighborhood have munched off half of it to satisfy their appetite. within there is a single room covered with black soot, the four walls garnished with spider-webs, and the floor paved with mortar. on the eastern wall hangs a large sheet of paper with the inscription, 'hence blows the breath of life', which not many visitors will believe, because, instead of a quickening breath, pestilential odors enter by the window and offend the nostrils of those whose olfactory nerve has not lost all sensitiveness.... on the opposite wall, to the west, appear the words, 'a memorial unto the destruction of the temple'. to this day i do not know what there was to commemorate the fall of the holy place. the rickety rafters? or were the little creatures swarming all over the walls to remind one of 'the foxes that walk upon the mountain of zion'? "a huge stove occupies one-fourth of the room-space. between the stove and the wall, to the right, is a bed made up ready for use, and on the other side a smaller one full of straw and hay, and without bed-covers. opposite to it stands a large deal table tattoed with marks that are the handiwork of the _melammed_. with his little penknife, which was never out of his hands, he would cut them into the wood all the time he was teaching us-- figures of beasts and fowl, and queer words.... "around this table about ten boys were sitting, some conning the talmud and others the bible. one of the latter, seated at the right of the teacher, was reading aloud, in a sing-song voice, the section of the pentateuch assigned for the following sabbath in the synagogue, and his cantillation blended with the crooning of the teacher's wife as she sat by her baby's bed, ... but every now and then the master's voice rose and drowned the sounds of both, as the growl of the thunder stifles the roar of the waves. "... the teacher was hideous to behold. he was short of stature and thin, his cheeks were withered looking, his nose long and aquiline. his two _peot_ [ ] were raven black and hung down like ropes by the side of his face. old as he was, his cheeks showed only tufts of beard here and there, on account of his habit of plucking the hairs out one by one when he was absorbed in thought, not to mention those plucked out by his wife without the excuse of thinking. his black cap shone like a buttered roll, his linen shirt was neither an egyptian nor a swiss fabric, and his chest, overgrown with long black hair, always showed bare through the slit of his unbuttoned shirt. his linen trousers had been white once upon a time, but now they were picturesquely variegated from the dust and soot clinging to them, and by the stains added by his young hopeful, when he sat and played on his knees, by way of contributing his share to the glory in which his father was resplendently arrayed.... his _zizzit_ hung down to his bare feet. when my uncle entered the house, the teacher jumped up and ran hither and thither, seeking his shoes, but he could not find them. my uncle relieved him from his embarrassment by presenting me, with the words, 'here is a new pupil for you!' calming down, the teacher resumed his seat, and when we approached him, he tapped me on my cheek, saying, 'what hast thou learnt, my son?' all the pupils opened their mouth and eyes in amazement, and looked at me with envy. these many days, since they themselves were entered as new pupils in the school, they had not heard such gentle words issue from the mouth of the teacher...." [footnote : see lev. xix, .] this odd school prepared the child of the ghetto in very deed for the life and the struggle for existence awaiting him. in the next higher school, the yeshibah, the _alma mater_ of the rabbinical student, the happenings were no less curious. the young people in those strange colleges, for the most part precocious urchins, fall into classes, which, however, are not sharply divided off from one another. day and night they sit bent over the huge folios of the rabbis, occupied constantly with the study of the law. their meals are furnished them by the humble people of the town, often under deplorable conditions, and, on the whole, the life they lead is misery not untinged with humiliation. such are the student years of the future rabbis. and yet this bohemian existence is not destitute of picturesque elements and attractive features. frequently it is at the yeshibah that the young man for the first time finds sincere friends for whom he forms a lasting attachment, and they become his trusted advisers. it is a mob of young people, enthusiastic and impetuous, yet among them is found the aristocracy of the ghetto, those endowed with extraordinary intellectual gifts, and the devotion displayed by some of them to talmudic knowledge is absolutely sublime. smolenskin paints a characteristic yeshibah scene enacted by these embryonic talmudists: "it is a strange spectacle that meets the eye of the observer on his first visit to the women's gallery in the yeshibah [at nightfall]. he finds it suddenly transformed into a gathering- place for merchants. the boys who have bread or money, try their hands at trafficking, and those who have neither bread nor money, try theirs at theft, and a large group of those who loathe the one pursuit as well as the other, sit apart and entertain each other with the wonderful exploits of brigands, and giants, and witches, and devils, and evil spirits, who are abroad at night to affright human beings, and the dead who leave their graves to terrify the wicked or cure the sick with grass of the field, and many more such tales that delight the heart and soul of the listeners. such things have i myself seen even while the afternoon and the evening prayers were going on below. i heard confused sounds. one would cry out, 'who wants bread?' and another would sing out in reply, 'who has bread to sell? who has bread to sell?'--'here is bread!'--'will you take a penny for it?'--'two pennies, and no less!'--'some one has stolen my bread! who stole my bread?'--' my bread is first-class! come and buy!'-- 'but i haven't a red copper!'--'all right, give me a pledge!'-- 'you may have my troubles as a pledge, you old curmudgeon!'-- 'here are two pennies, give me the bread!'--'get out, i was ahead of you!'--'i insist upon my rights, i was the first.'--'why, i handed my money over long ago, it is my bread.'--'you stole my bread.'--'you lie, it's my bread!'--'you're a liar, a thief, a robber!'--'the devil take you, you hound!'--'wait a moment, and i'll show you my teeth, if i'm a hound!' "and so the words fly from mouth to mouth in the women's gallery, and cuffs and blows are not rare things, either, and not one of the boys remembers that the congregation below is at prayers. they go on trafficking and telling tales undisturbed, until the end of the service, and then they return to their seats, every boy to his own at the long tables, which are lighted each of them by a single candle for its whole length. a dispute breaks out as to where the candle is to stand. first one draws it up to himself, and then another wrests it from his hand and sets it next to his own book, and finally all decide to measure the table. one of the boys takes off his belt, and ascertains the breadth of the table and its length, and the candle is put in the exact centre. the quarrel is settled, and the students begin to drawl the text before them, and what they did the whole livelong day, they continue to do at night. "then one of them says, 'i sold my bread for two pennies'.-- 'and i bought an apple for one penny and a cake for half a penny', returns another.--'darkness swallow up the monitor! he doesn't give us enough candles to light up the dark!'--'the devil take him!'--'a plague on him!'--'i am going on a visit home at passover.'--'sarah the widow lent me three pennies.' "while the boys talk thus over their open books, their bodies are swaying to and fro like reeds in a pond, and their voices rise and fall in the same sing-song in which they con their texts, all to deceive the monitor, who, hearing the usual drawl and seeing the rocking bodies, believes the students to be busy at their tasks. but little by little, they forget and drop out of their recitative into the ordinary conversational tone.--'tell me, zabualean [the pupils are called by their native town in the yeshibah], don't you think it's about time for the angel of death to come and carry off our monitor? or is he going to live forever?'--'i pray to god to afflict his body with such ills that he cannot come to the yeshibah. then we should have rest. i take good care not to ask for his death. another would take his place, and there's no telling whether he would not be worse. if pain keeps him abed, we shall have a respite.'--'but aren't you committing a sin, cursing a deaf man?' interposes one of the boys, indignantly.--'look at that azubian! a saint, isn't he? proof enough that he has seven sins hidden in his heart!' retorts the zabualean.--'no need of any such proof! why, this very azubian could not resist the tempter, and is hard at work studying russian. that's as bad as bad can be, you don't have to search out hidden sins.'--'i at least am not perverting the right,' the azubian flings out, 'because the talmud itself says that the law of the land is law, but you are committing an actual sin against the torah in cursing....' the sentence was never finished, for the monitor had been standing behind the table observing the boys for some time, and when he saw the excitement of the azubian,--being deaf, he could not hear what he said,--he threw himself upon him, and, seizing him by the ear, shook him as violently as his strength permitted, crying, 'you wretches, you rebels, there, that's for you!' and he beat another boy with his fists, and struck a third upon his cheeks.--'the monitor has rained profuse kisses upon the azubian for defending him!' one of the boys paraphrased proverbs, [ ] drawling in the approved sing- song, and keeping his eyes fixed upon his book. the others burst into loud laughter at the sally. even those who were still smarting from the monitor's blows could not restrain themselves and joined in. 'are you making fun of me? you're not afraid?' thundered the monitor, in towering rage, turning this way and that, uncertain whom to select as the first victim of his heavy hand. before he could collect his wits, one of the boys yelled, 'rabbi isaac, rabbi isaac, the candles!'--it worked like a conjurer's charm upon a serpent. in an instant the monitor turned and ran to his room and searched it. seeing no one there, he sank into his chair, and groaned: 'wicked, depraved children! those gallows-birds, i'll mangle their flesh, and flay the skin from their bones!' and he kept on mumbling to himself in this strain, until sleep fell upon his eyelids shaded by long eyebrows white as snow, and his head dropped into his hands resting upon the table. "as soon as he slept, the boys resumed their talk, and my friend continued to tell me about life in the yeshibah.... 'do you think that the yeshibah students are guileless youths who have never dropped their mother's apron strings? if you do, you are vastly mistaken. they are up to all the tricks, and the dullest among them can show a thing or two to the best of the rich boys. you will do well to observe their ways and learn from them.'--'i shall try to walk in their footsteps.'.... "then i went out to get my supper. on returning i found the greater part of the boys had gone to sleep, and almost all the candles were out. only a few of the students were sitting together and talking. i sought out my friend, and discovered him lying upon one of the tables in the women's gallery, but he was still awake. 'why don't you look for a place to lie down in?' he asked me.--'i shall lie here next to you,' i replied.--' no, you can't do that. here each boy has a place in which he always sleeps; he never changes about. go down to the men's hall and look for an unoccupied spot. if you find a table, so much the better. if not, you must be satisfied with a bench.'--i did as he advised. i found a long table in the men's hall, but hardly was i stretched out upon it when a boy took me by the scruff of my neck and shook me, saying: 'get out, this is my place! and all the tables here are taken by boys who came to the yeshibah long ahead of you. you must look for another place.' "not very much pleased, i slipped down from the table, and lay on the bench. but i could not go to sleep. i was not accustomed to the narrow board, nor to sleep without a bed-cover, and the little and big insects that swarmed in the cracks of the wood came forth from their nests and tickled me all over my body. but there was nothing to do, and i lay there in discomfort until all the lights were extinguished. only one light of all burnt the whole night, the _ner tamid_, and under it sat two students, the 'watchers' [whose duty it was to continue at their task until morning, so that the study of the law might not be interrupted day or night]." [footnote : xxvii, .] a life full of excitement, of which the above is a specimen, was not likely to displease so adventurous a spirit as joseph's. when all is said, the yeshibah provided a living for the young people, not overabundant, it is true, but at least they were relieved of material cares. the pious middle class jews, and even the poor, considered it their duty to supply the needs of the young talmudists, and the ambition of the latter was satisfied by the general good feeling that prevailed in their favor. for the aristocracy among the jews, whose minds had not yet been stimulated by the new ideas, the yeshibah was the home of all the virtues, the school in which the ideal was pursued, and lofty dreams were dreamed. in another novel, "the joy of the hypocrite," which appeared in vienna, in , smolenskin extols the idealism of his hero simon, a product of the yeshibah: "who had implanted in the mind of simon the ideal of justice and the sublime word? who had kindled in his soul the sacred flame, love of truth and research? verily, he had found all these in the yeshibah. glory and increase be to you, ye holy places, last refuges of israel's real heritage! from your portals came forth the elect destined from birth to be the light of their people and breathe new life into the dry bones." even during the period of the _behalah_ ("terror") the yeshibah remained unscathed, beyond the reach of misery and baseness. the venal jobbers, who, with the assistance of the kahal, delivered the sons of the poor to the army in order to shield the rich, did not dare invade the rabbinical schools. like the temple in ancient times, the _yeshibot_ offered a sure refuge. whenever these sanctuaries were imperilled, national sentiment was aroused, and the threatened encroachments upon the last national treasure were resisted with bitter determination, for the idealism of the people of the ghetto, their hope and their faith, were enshrined there. joseph forfeited the privilege of sanctuary residing in the yeshibah on the day he was taken redhanded, in the act of reading a profane book. religious fanaticism had never proceeded with so much rigor as during the reign of terror following upon the disorganization of the social life of the jews by the authorities, and the triumphant assertion of arbitrary power. nevertheless, even at this disheartening juncture, the rabbinical schools were the asylum of whatever of ideal or sublime there remained in israel. they furnished all the champions of humanism and the preachers and disseminators of civilization. in them joseph met the generous comrades who introduced him to the haskalah, and awakened love for the noble and the good in him, and boundless devotion to his people. hard as flint toward the inefficient leaders, without pity for the hypocrites and the fanatics, the heart of joseph yet pulsated with love for the jewish masses. their unsympathetic surroundings and the persecutions to which they were exposed but increased his compassion for the straying flock of his people. in the general degradation, he succeeded in rising to moral heights, and so could set himself up for an impartial judge. he did not permit himself to be carried away by the sadness of the moment, though he did not remain indifferent to it, and his heart bled at the thought of his people's sufferings. in the human desert, in which he delighted to disport himself, he discovered noble characters, lofty sentiments, generous friendships, and, above all, lives devoted entirely to the pursuit of the ideal undeterred by any obstacle. one after the other he presents the idealists of the ghetto to the reader. there is, first of all, jedidiah, the common type of the maskil, working zealously for culture, spreading truth and light in all the circles he can reach, dreaming of a judaism, just, enlightened, exalted. then there are the ardent young apostles, like that noble friend of joseph, gideon, most enlightened and most tolerant of maskilim. in the measure in which gideon detests fanaticism, he loves the people. he loves the masses with the heart of a patriot and the soul of a prophet. he loves them exactly as they are, with their beliefs, their simple faith, their poor, submissive lives, their ambitions as the chosen people, and their messianic hope, to which he himself clings, though in a way less mystical than theirs. thrilling, patriotic exaltation pervades the chapter on "the day of atonement." there smolenskin appears as a genuine romanticist. * * * * * such in outline are the features of this chaotic, superb novel, which, in spite of its faults of technique, remains to this day the truest and the most beautiful product of neo-hebrew literature. ten years after finishing it, the author added a fourth part, which, on the whole, is nothing but an artificial collection of letters relating only indirectly to the main story. joseph takes us with him through the western lands, and then to russia, whither he returns. in france and in england, he deplores the degeneracy of judaism, attributing it to the ascendency of the mendelssohnian school, and he foresees the approach of anti-semitism. in russia, he notes the prevalence of economic misery in frightful proportions, especially in the small rural towns, while in the large centres he regrets to see that the communities use every effort to imitate occidental judaism with all its faults. the overhasty culture of the russian jews, weakly correlated with the economic and political conditions under which they lived, was bound to bring on the breaking up of the passive idealism which constituted their chief strength. the novel _keburat hamor_ ("the burial of the ass") is the most elaborate and the most finished of smolenskin's works. it describes the time of the "terror" and the domination of the kahal. the hero, hayyim jacob, is a wag, but pleasantries are not always understood in the ghetto, and he is made to pay for them. his practical jokes and his small respect for the notables of the community, whom he dares to defy and poke fun at, are his ruin. he was scarcely more than a child when he was guilty of unprecedented conduct. wrapped in blue drapery, like a corpse risen from the grave, and spreading terror wherever he appeared, he made his way one evening into the room in which cakes were stored for the next day's annual banquet of the _hebrah kadisha_ ("holy brotherhood"), the all- powerful society, organized primarily to perform the last rites and ceremonies for the dead, to which the best jews of a town belong. he got possession of all the dainty morsels, and made away with them. it was an unpardonable crime, high treason against saintliness. an inquiry was ordered, but the culprit was not discovered. in revenge, the brotherhood ordained the "burial of an ass" for the nameless criminal, and the verdict was recorded in the minutes of the society. the incorrigible hayyim jacob continues to perpetrate jokes, and the kahal decides to surrender him to the army recruiting officer. warned betimes, he is able to make good his escape. he returns to his native town later on under an assumed name, imposes upon everybody by his scholarship, and marries the daughter of the head of the community. but his natural inclinations get the upper hand again. meantime, he has confided the tale of his youthful tricks to his wife. she is disturbed by what she knows, she cannot endure the idea of the unparalleled punishment that awaits her husband should he be identified, for to undergo the "burial of an ass" is the supremest indignity that can be offered to a jew. the body of the offender is dragged along the ground to the cemetery, and there it is thrown into a ditch made for the purpose behind the wall enclosing the grounds. but was not her father the head of the community? could he not annul the verdict? she discloses the secret to him, and the effect is to fill him with instantaneous rage: what! to that wicked fellow he has given his daughter, to that heretic! he wants to force him to give up his wife, but no more than the husband will the woman listen to any such proposal. hayyim jacob succeeds in ingratiating himself with his father-in-law, though by fraud and only for a short time. after that, one persecution after another is inflicted upon him, and he succumbs. so much for the background upon which the novelist has painted his scenes, authentic reproductions from the life of the jews in russia. the character of hayyim jacob stands out clear and forceful. his wife esther is the typical jewish woman, loyal and devoted unto death, of irreproachable conduct under reverses of fortune, and braving a world for love of her husband. the prominent characters of the ghetto are drawn with fidelity, though the colors are sometimes laid on too thick. the author has been particularly happy in re-creating the atmosphere of the ghetto, with its contradictions and its passions, the specialized intellectuality which long seclusion has forged for it, and its odd, original conception of life. smolenskin goes to the yeshibah for the subject of one of his novels, _gemul yesharim_ ("the recompense of the righteous"). the author describes the part played by the jewish youth in the polish insurrection. the ingratitude of the poles proves that the jews have nothing to expect from others, and they should count only upon their own resources. _gaon we-sheber_ ("greatness and ruin") is a collection of scattered novelettes, some of which are veritable works of art. _ha-yerushah_ ("the inheritance") is the last of smolenskin's great novels. it was first published in _ha-shahar_, in - . its three volumes are full of incoherencies and long drawn out arguments. the life of the jews of odessa, however, and of roumania, is well depicted, and also the psychologic stages through which the older humanists pass, deceived in their hopes, and groping for a return to national judaism. smolenskin's last novel, _nekam berit_ ("holy vengeance", _ha- shahar_, ), is wholly zionistic. it was the author's swan song. not long after its completion, an illness carried him off. * * * * * the novels of smolenskin are a series of social documents and propagandist writings rather than works of pure art. their chief defects are the incoherence of the action, the artificiality of the _dénouement_, their simplicity in all that concerns modern life, as well as their excessive didactic tendencies and the long-winded style of the author. most of these defects he shares with such writers as auerbach, jokai, and thackeray, with whom he may be placed in the same class. in passing judgment, it must be borne in mind that the hebrew writer's life was one prolonged and bitter struggle for bare existence, his own and _ha-shahar's_, for the periodical never yielded him any income. only his idealism and the consciousness of the useful purpose he was serving sustained him in critical moments. these circumstances explain why his works bear the marks of hasty production. however that may be, since he gave them to the jewish world, his novels have, even more than his articles, exercised unparalleled influence upon his readers. in a word, the life of the russian ghetto, its misery and its passions, the positive and the negative types of that vanishing world, have been set down in the writings of smolenskin with such power of realism and such profound knowledge of conditions that it is impossible to form a just idea of russo-polish judaism without having read what he has written. * * * * * chapter xii contemporaneous literature the years - mark off a distinct era in the history of the jewish people. the revival of anti-semitism in germany, the unexpected renewal of persecutions and massacres in russia and roumania, the outlawing of millions of human beings, whose situation grew less tenable from day to day in those two countries--such were the occurrences that disconcerted the most optimistic. in the face of the precipitate exodus of crazed masses of the people and the urgency of decisive action, the old disputes between humanists and nationalists were laid aside. there could be but one choice between impossible assimilation with the slav people on the one hand, and the idea, on the other hand, of a national emancipation divested of its mystical envelope and supplied with a territory as a practicable basis. all the hebrew-writing authors were agreed that the time had passed for wrangling over a divergence of opinions. it was imperative that all forces should range themselves on the side of action. even a skeptic like gordon issued at that time, among many things like it, his thrilling poem: "we were a people, and we will a people be--with our young and with our old will we go!" but whither? some decided for america with the western philanthropists, others, with smolenskin, declared absolutely in favor of palestine, the country of the jew's perennial dreams. academic discussions of such questions are futile. it may safely be left to time and experience to decide between the two currents of opinion. as early as , the young dreamer ben-jehudah, inspired with the idea of reviving the hebrew as a national language, left paris and established himself at jerusalem. and from lithuania came the romantic conservative pines, forsaking the distinguished position he occupied there, in order to give his aid in the elevation of the jews of palestine. the tracks made by these two pioneers issuing from opposite camps were soon trodden by the followers of important movements. a select circle of four hundred university students, indignant at the humiliating position into which they had been forced, thundered forth an appeal that resounded throughout the length and breadth of jewish russia: _bet ya'akob, leku we-nelekah_ ("o house of jacob, come ye and let us walk"). the practical result was the organization of the group bilu, the first to leave for palestine and establish a colony there. [footnote: is. ii, . bilu are the initials of the four words of the hebrew sentence quoted above.] this nucleus was enlarged by the accession of hundreds of middle class burghers and of the educated, and thus jewish colonization was a permanently assured fact in the holy land. the surprising return of the younger generation, who had wholly broken with judaism, this first step toward the actual realization of the zionist dream, has had most important consequences for the renascence of hebrew literature. as for the educated element that had never, at least in spirit, left the ghetto, men like lilienblum, braudes, and others, whose later activity, a propaganda for economic reforms and instruction in manual trades, had almost ceased to have a reason for continuing,--as for them, their adhesion to zionism could not be long delayed. and even outside of the ghetto a voice was heard, the authoritative voice of dr. leon pinsker, announcing his support of the philo-palestinian movement, as it was then called. in his brochure "auto-emancipation", the learned physician of odessa, one of the old guard of staunch humanists, declares that the disease of anti-semitism is a chronic affection, incurable as long as the jews are in exile. there is but one solution for the jewish question, the national regeneration of the jews upon their ancient soil. a new dawn began to break upon the horizon of the jewish people. hebrew literature was stimulated as never before, and the enthusiasm of the writers incorporated itself in the spirited proposals of moses eismann, professor schapira, and a number of others. in this sudden blossoming of patriotic ideas, excesses were inevitable. a chauvinistic reaction was not long in setting in. the religious reformers were attacked, they were accused of hindering a fusion of diverse parties in judaism whose cordial agreement was indispensable to the success of the new movement. smolenskin alone was irreproachable. he who had never acknowledged the benefits of assimilation, had no need now to go to extremes. he remained faithful to his patriotic ideal, without renouncing any of his humanitarian and cultural aspirations. the activity he displayed was feverish. now that he no longer stood alone in the defense of his ideas, he redoubled his efforts with admirable energy--encouraging here, exhorting there. but he was coming to the end of his strength, exhausted by a life of struggle and wretchedness, by long overtaxing of his physical and mental powers. he died in , in the vigor of his years, cut off by disease. the whole of jewry mourned at his grave. and _ha- shahar_ soon ceased to exist. * * * * * with the extinction of _ha-shahar_ we arrive at the end of the task we have set ourselves, of following up a phase of literary evolution. modern hebrew literature, for a century the handmaiden of one preponderating idea, the humanist idea in all its various applications, henceforth enters upon a new phase of its development. led back by smolenskin to its national source, stripped of every religious element, and imposed by the force of circumstances upon the masses and the educated alike, as the link uniting them thenceforth for the furtherance of the same patriotic end, it has again taken its place as the language of the jewish people. it has ceased to serve as the mere mediator between rabbinism and modern life. it is become an end in itself, an important factor in the life of the jews. it is no longer a parasite flourishing at the expense of orthodoxy, from which it has for a century been luring away successive generations of the best of the young men, who, however, once emancipated, hastened to abandon that to which they owed their enlightenment. it has become the receptacle of the national literature of the jewish people. in , when the distinguished editor of _ha-zefirah_, nahum sokolow, undertook the publication of the great literary annual, _he- asif_ ("the collector"), the success he achieved went beyond the wildest expectations. the edition ran up to seven thousand copies. it was followed by other enterprises of a similar character, notably _keneset yisraël_ ("the assembly of israel"), published by saul phinehas rabbinowitz, the learned historian. in , the journalist, jehudah löb kantor, encouraged by the vogue acquired by the hebrew language, founded the first daily paper in it, _ha-yom_ ("the day"), at st. petersburg. the success of this organ induced _ha-meliz_ and _ha-zefirah_ to change into dailies. a hebrew political press thus came into being, and it has contributed tremendously to the spread of zionism and culture. even the hasidim, who had until then remained contumacious toward modern ideas, were reached by its influence. it was, however, the hebrew language that profited most by the development of journalism in it. the demands of daily life enriched its vocabulary and its resources, completing the work of modernization. in palestine, the need felt for an academic language common to the children of immigrants from all countries was a great factor in the practical rehabilitation of hebrew as the vernacular. ben-jehudah was the first to use it in his home, in intercourse with the members of his family and his household, and a number of educated jews followed his example, not permitting any other to be spoken within their four walls. in the schools at jerusalem and in the newly-established colonies, it has become the official language. a recoil from the palestinian movement was felt in europe and in america, and a limited number of circles were formed everywhere in which only hebrew was spoken. the journal _ha- zebi_ ("the deer"), published by ben-jehudah, became the organ of hebrew as a spoken language, which differs from the literary language only in the greater freedom granted it of borrowing modern words and expressions from the arabic and even from the european languages, and by its tendency to create new words from old hebrew roots, in compliance with forms occurring in the bible and the mishnah. here are a couple of examples of this tendency: the hebrew word _sha'ah_ means "time", "hour". to this word the modern hebrew adds the termination _on_, making it _sha'on_, with the meaning "watch", or "clock". the verb _darak_, in biblical hebrew "to walk", gives rise in the modern language to _midrakah_, "pavement." the spread of the language and the increase in the number of readers together produced a change in the material condition of the writers. their compensation became ampler in proportion, the consequence of which was that they could devote themselves to work requiring more sustained effort, and what they produced was more finished in detail. with the founding of the publishing society _ahiasaf_, and more particularly the one called _tushiyah_, due to the energy of abraham l. ben- avigdor, a sympathetic writer, hebrew was afforded the possibility of developing naturally, in the manner of a modern language. there was a short interval of non-production, caused by the brutality and sadness of unexpected events, but literary creativeness recovered quickly, and manifested itself, with growing force, in varied and widespread activity worthy of a literature that had grown out of the needs of a national group. on the field of poetry, there is, first of all, constantin shapiro, the virile lyricist, who knew how to put into fitting words the indignation and revolt of the people against the injustice levelled against them. his "poems of jeshurun" published in _he-asif_ for , alive with emotion and patriotic ardor, as well as his haggadic legends, must be put in the first rank. after him comes menahem m. dolitzki, the elegiac poet of zionism, the singer of sweet "zionides." [footnote: poems published in new york, in .] then a young writer, snatched away all too early, mordecai zebi manne, who was distinguished for his tender lyrics and deep feeling for nature and art. [footnote: his works appeared in warsaw in .] and, finally, there is naphtali herz imber, the song-writer of the palestinian colonies, the poet of the reborn holy land and the zionist hope. [footnote: poems published at jerusalem in .] among the latest to claim the attention of the public, the name of hayyim n. bialik [ ] ought to be mentioned, a vigorous lyricist and an incomparable stylist, and of s. tchernichovski, [ ] an erotic poet, the singer of love and beauty, a hebrew with an hellenic soul. [footnote : poems published at warsaw in .] [footnote : poems published at warsaw in - .] these two, both of them at the beginning of their career, are the most brilliant in a group of poets more or less well known. again, there are two story-writers that are particularly prominent, abramowitsch, the old favorite, who, having abandoned hebrew for a brief period in favor of jargon, returned to enrich hebrew literature with a series of tales, poetic and humorous, of incomparable originality and in a style all his own. [footnote: collected tales and novels, odessa, .] the second one is isaac löb perez, the symbolist painter of love and misery, a charming teller of tales and a distinguished artist. [footnote: works, in ten volumes, hebrew library of _tushiyah_, - .] of novelists and romancers, in prose and in verse, samuely may be mentioned, and goldin, berschadsky, feierberg, j. kahn, berditchevsky, s. l. gordon, n. pines, rabinovitz, steinberg, and loubochitzky, to name only a few among many. ben-avigdor is the creator of the young realist movement, through his psychologic tales of ghetto life, particularly his _menahem ha-sofer_ ("menahem the scribe"), wherein he opposes the new chauvinism. among the masters of the _feuilleton_ are the subtle critic david frischmann, translator of numerous scientific books; the writer of charming _causeries_, a. l. levinski, author of a zionist utopia, "journey to palestine in the year ", published in _ha-pardes_ ("paradise"), in odessa; and j. h. taviow, the witty writer. on the field of thought and criticism, the most prominent place belongs to ahad ha-'am, the first editor of the review _ha-shiloah_, a critic who often drops into paradoxes, but is always original and bold. [footnote: collected essays, published at odessa in , and at warsaw in .] he is the promoter of "spiritual zionism", the counterstroke dealt to the practical, political movement by messianic mysticism clothed in a somewhat more rational garb than its traditional form. he has a fine critical mind and is an acute observer, as well as a remarkable stylist. to ahad ha-'am we may oppose wolf jawitz, the philosopher of religious romanticism, the defender of tradition, and one of the regenerators of hebrew style. [footnote: _ha-arez_, published at jerusalem in - ; "history of the jews", published at wilna, - , etc.] between these two extremes, there is a moderate party, the foremost representative of which is nahum sokolow, the popular and prolific editor of _ha-zefirah_, prominent at once as a writer and a man of action. dr. s. bernfeld also deserves mention, as the admirable popularizer of the science of judaism, and an excellent historian, the author of a history of jewish theology recently published at warsaw. among the latest claimants of public attention is m. j. berditchevsky, author of numerous tales bordering upon the decadent, but not wholly bare of the spirit of poetry. david neumark takes rank as a thinker. philology is worthily represented by joshua steinberg, author of a scientific grammar on original lines, not yet known to the scholars of europe, and translator of the sibylline books. [footnote: _ma'arke leshon eber_ ("the principles of the hebrew language"), wilna, , etc.] fabius mises has published a history of modern philosophy in europe, and j. l. katzenelenson is the author of a treatise on anatomy and of a number of literary works acceptable to the public. then there are leon rabinovich, editor of _ha-meliz_, david yellin, lerner, a. kahana, and others. the history of modern literature has found a worthy representative in the person of reuben brainin, a master of style, himself the author of popular tales. his remarkable studies of mapu, smolenskin, and other writers, are conceived and executed according to the approved methods of modern critics. they have done good work in refining the taste and aesthetic feeling of the hebrew-reading public. all these, and a number of others, have given the hebrew language an assured place. to their original works must be added numberless translations, text books, and editions of all sorts, and then we can form a fair idea of the actual significance of hebrew in its modern development. in the number of publications, it ranks as the third literature in russia, the russian and the polish being the only ones ahead of it, and no estimate of the influence it wields can afford to leave out of account its vogue in palestine, austria, and america. * * * * * conclusion a glance at modern hebrew literature as a whole reveals a striking tendency in its development, at once unexpected and inevitable. the humanist ideal, which stood sponsor at its rebirth, bore within itself a germ of dissolution. for national and religious aims it desired to substitute the idea of liberty and equality. sooner or later it would have had to end in assimilation. during the course of a whole century, from the appearance of the first issue of _ha-meassef_, in - , until the cessation of _ha-shahar_, in , hebrew literature offers the spectacle of a constant conflict between the humanist ideals and judaism. in spite of obstacles of every kind, and in spite of the dangerous rivalry of the european languages, the rivalry of the jewish- german itself, the hebrew language has given proof of persistent vitality, and displayed surprising power of adaptation to all sorts of circumstances and all departments of literature, and widely separated countries have been the scene of its development. so far as the earliest humanists had planned, the hebrew language was to serve only as an instrument of propaganda and emancipation. thanks to the efforts of moses hayyim luzzatto, mendes, and wessely, it rose for a brief moment to the rank of a truly literary medium, very soon, however, to make way for the languages of the various countries, while it receded to the narrow confines provided by the maskilim. its final destiny was to be decided in slav lands. in galicia, it gave birth, in the domain of philosophy, to the ideal of the "mission of the jewish people", and to the "science of judaism." but for the great mass of the jews remaining faithful to the messianic ideal, what was of greatest significance was the national and religious romanticism expounded by samuel david luzzatto. lithuania, with its inexhaustible resources, moral and intellectual, became the stronghold of hebrew. in its double aspect as a humanistic and a romantic force, hebrew literature bounded forward on new paths with the lustiness of youth. before long, under the impetus of social and economic reforms, the hebrew writers declared war upon a rabbinical authority that rejected every innovation, and was opposed to all progress. to meet the issue, the realistic literature came forward, polemic and destructive in character. a pitiless combat ensued between the humanists and rabbinism, and the consequences were fateful for the one party as well as the other. rabbinism felt that its very essence had been shaken, and that it was destined to disappear, at least in its traditional form. humanism, on the other side, startled out of its dreams of justice and equality, lost ground, inch by inch, by reason of having broken with the national hope of the people. the attempt made by some writers to bring about the harmonization of religion and life turned out a lamentable miscarriage. the antagonism between the literary folk and the mass of believers ended in the breaking up of the whole literature created by the humanists. at that moment the progressive national movement made its appearance with smolenskin, and supplied hebrew literature with a purpose and its civilizing mission. the predominant note of contemporary hebrew literature is the zionist ideal stripped of its mystical envelopes. it may be asserted that the messianic hope in this new form is in the act of producing a transformation in polish hasidic surroundings, identical with that achieved by humanism in lithuania. the rabid opposition offered to hebrew literature by the hasidim suffices to confirm this prognostication of a dreaded result. also beyond the boundaries of the slav countries, in the distant orient, the hebrew lion is gaining territory, from palestine to morocco, and wherever his foot treads, culture springs up and national regeneration. * * * * * deep down in the sorely tried soul of the jewish masses, there reposes a fund of idealism, and ardent faith in a better future unshaken by time or disappointments. defraud them of the millennial ideal which sustains their courage, which is the very cornerstone of their existence, and you surrender them into the power of a dangerous despair, you push them into the arms of the demoralization that lies in wait everywhere, and in some countries has already come out in the open. hebrew literature, faithful to its biblical mission, has within it the power of replenishing the moral resources of the masses and making their hearts thrill with enthusiasm for justice and the ideal. it is the focus of the rays vivifying all that breathes, that struggles, that creates, that hopes within the jewish soul. to misunderstand this moral bearing of the renascence of the hebrew language is to fail to know the very life of the better part of judaism and the jew. * * * * * literary creation is now at its full blossom, and the ferment of ideas instilled from all sides is so powerful that an abundant harvest may be expected. and that bible language which has given humanity so many glorious pages, which has but now, thanks to the humanists, added a new page, is it destined in very truth to be born anew, and become once more the language of the national culture of the whole of the jewish people? it would be rash to reply with a categorical affirmative. what has been proved in the foregoing pages is, we believe, that it exists, and is developing both as a literary and a spoken language; that it has shown itself to be the equal of the modern languages; that it is capable of giving expression to all thoughts and all forms of human activity; and, finally, that it is accomplishing a work of culture and emancipation. the expansion of the language of the prophets taking place under our eyes is a fact that cannot but fascinate every mind interested in the mysterious evolution of the destinies of mankind in the direction of the ideal. gutenberg (this book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google books project.) this digital edition is dedicated to the people of syria, in the hope that the seeds of rationality will once again find a fertile soil in your country. the luzumiyat of abu'l-ala selected from his luzum ma la yalzam and suct uz-zand and first rendered into english by ameen rihani author of the book of khaled (second edition) new york james t. white & co., to his royal highness emir feisal in whom are centred the hopes and aspirations of the syrian people for a united syria this book is dedicated "his poems generally known as the luzumiyat arrest attention by their boldness and originality as well as by the sombre and earnest tone which pervades them."--raynold a. nicholson: a history of the arabs. "abu'l-ala is a poet many centuries ahead of his time."--von kremer. copyrighted by james t. white & co. to abu'l-ala in thy fountained peristyles of reason glows the light and flame of desert noons; and in the cloister of thy pensive fancy wisdom burns the spikenard of her moons. closed by fate the portals of the dwelling of thy sight, the light thus inward flowed; and on the shoulders of the crouching darkness thou hast risen to the highest road. i have seen thee walking with canopus through the stellar spaces of the night; i have heard thee asking thy companion, "where be now my staff, and where thy light?" abu'l-ala, in the heaving darkness, didst thou not the whisperings hear of me? in thy star-lit wilderness, my brother, didst thou not a burdened shadow see? i have walked and i have slept beside thee, i have laughed and i have wept as well; i have heard the voices of thy silence melting in thy jannat and thy hell. i remember, too, that once the saki filled the antique cup and gave it thee; now, filled with the treasures of thy wisdom, thou dost pass that very cup to me. by the god of thee, my syrian brother, which is best, the saki's cup or thine? which the mystery divine uncovers-- if the cover covers aught divine. and if it lies hid in the soul of silence like incense in the dust of ambergris, wouldst thou burn it to perfume the terror of the caverns of the dried-up seas? where'er it be, oh! let it be, my brother.-- though "thrice-imprisoned,"[ ] thou hast forged us more solid weapons for the life-long battle than all the heaven-taught armorers of yore. "thrice-imprisoned," thou wert e'en as mighty, in the boundless kingdom of the mind, as the whirlwind that compels the ocean, as the thunder that compels the wind. "thrice-imprisoned," thou wert freer truly than the liegeless arab on his mare,-- freer than the bearers of the sceptre,-- freer than the winged lords of the air. "thrice-imprisoned," thou hast sung of freedom as but a few of all her heroes can; thou hast undermined the triple prison of the mind and heart and soul of man. in thy fountained peristyles of reason glows the light and flame of desert noons; and in the cloister of thy pensive fancy wisdom burns the spikenard of her moons. ameen rihani. preface. when christendom was groping amid the superstitions of the dark ages, and the norsemen were ravaging the western part of europe, and the princes of islam were cutting each other's throats in the name of allah and his prophet, abu'l-ala'l-ma'arri was waging his bloodless war against the follies and evils of his age. he attacked the superstitions and false traditions of law and religion, proclaiming the supremacy of the mind; he hurled his trenchant invectives at the tyranny, the bigotry, and the quackery of his times, asserting the supremacy of the soul; he held the standard of reason high above that of authority, fighting to the end the battle of the human intellect. an intransigeant with the exquisite mind of a sage and scholar, his weapons were never idle. but he was, above all, a poet; for when he stood before the eternal mystery of life and death, he sheathed his sword and murmured a prayer. abu'l-ala'l-ma'arri, [ ] the lucretius of islam, the voltaire of the east, was born in the spring of the year a.d., in the obscure village of ma'arrah, [ ] which is about eighteen hours' journey south of halab (aleppo). and instead of ahmad ibn abdallah ibn sulaiman ut-tanukhi (of the tribe of tanukh), he was called abu'l-ala (the father of the sublime), by which patronymic of distinction he is popularly known throughout the arabic speaking world. when a boy, abu'l-ala was instructed by his father; and subsequently he was sent to halab, where he pursued his studies under the tutelage of the grammarian muhammad ibn abdallah ibn us-sad. his literary proclivity was evinced in his boyhood, and he wrote verse, we are told, before he was ten. of these juvenile pieces, however, nothing was preserved. he was about five years old when he fell a victim to small-pox and almost lost his sight from it. but a weakness in his eyes continued to trouble him and he became, in middle age, i presume, totally blind. [ ] some of his biographers would have us believe he was born blind; others state that he completely lost his sight when he was attacked by the virulent disease; and a few intimate that he could see slightly at least with the right eye. as to whether or not he was blind when he was sent to halab to pursue his studies, his biographers do not agree. my theory, based on the careful perusal of his poems and on a statement advanced by one of his biographers, [ ] is that he lost his sight gradually, and total blindness must have come upon him either in his youth or his middle age. [ ] were we to believe that he was born blind or that he suffered the complete loss of his sight in his boyhood, we should be at a loss to know, not how he wrote his books, for that was done by dictation; not how he taught his pupils, for that was done by lectures; but how he himself was taught in the absence in those days of a regular system of instruction for the blind. in a.d. he visited baghdad, the centre of learning and intelligence and the capital of the abbaside khalifs, where he passed about two years and became acquainted with most of the literary men of the age. [ ] he attended the lectures and the readings of the leading doctors and grammarians, meeting with a civil reception at the hand of most of them. he also journeyed to tripoli, [ ] which boasted, in those days, of many public libraries; and, stopping at ladhekiyah, he lodged in a monastery where he met and befriended a very learned monk. they discussed theology and metaphysics, digressing now and then into the profane. indeed, the skepticism which permeates abu'l-ala's writings must have been nursed in that convent by both the monk and the poet. these are virtually the only data extant showing the various sources of abu'l-ala's learning; but to one endowed with a keen perception, a powerful intellect, a prodigious memory, together with strong innate literary predilections, they seem sufficient. he was especially noted for the extraordinary memory he possessed; and around this our arab biographers and historians weave a thick net of anecdotes, or rather fables. i have no doubt that one with such a prodigious memory could retain in a few minutes what the average person could not; but when we are told that abu'l-ala once heard one of his pupils speaking with a friend in a foreign tongue, and repeated there and then the long conversation, word for word, without having the slightest idea of its meaning, we are disposed to be skeptical. many such anecdotes are recorded and quoted by his arab biographers without as much as intimating a single doubt. [ ] the fact that he was blind partly explains the abnormal development of his memory. his career as poet and scholar dates from the time he returned from baghdad. this, so far as is known, was the last journey he made; and his home became henceforth his earthly prison. he calls himself "a double-fettered captive," [ ] his solitude being the one and his blindness the other. like most of the scholars of his age, in the absence of regular educational institutions, with perhaps one or two exceptions, he had to devote a part of his time to the large number of pupils that flocked to ma'arrah from all parts of asia minor, arabia, and india. aside from this, he dictated to his numerous amanuenses on every possible and known subject. he is not only a poet of the first rank, but an essayist, a literary critic, and a mathematician as well. everything he wrote was transcribed by many of his admirers, as was the fashion then, and thus circulated far and near. nothing, however, was preserved but his diwans, his letters and the epistle of forgiveness, [ ] of which i shall yet have occasion to speak. [ ] his reputation as poet and scholar had now, after his return from baghdad, overleaped the horizons, as one writer has it. honors were conferred upon him successively by the rulers and the scholars of his age. his many noted admirers were in constant communication with him. he was now looked upon as "the master of the learned, the chief of the wise, and the sole monarch of the bards of his century." ma'arrah [ ] became the mecca of every literary aspirant; ambitious young scholars came there for enlightenment and inspiration. and abu'l-ala, although a pessimist, received them with his wonted kindness and courtesy. he imparted to them what he knew, and told them candidly what he would not teach, since, unlike other philosophers, he was not able to grasp the truth, nor compass the smallest of the mysteries of creation. in his latter days, youthful admirers sought his blessing, which he, as the childless father of all, graciously conferred, but with no self-assumed spiritual or temporal authority. for thirty years he remained a vegetarian, living the life of an ascetic. [ ] this mode of living led his enemies to accuse him of renouncing islam and embracing brahminism, one of the tenets of which forbids the slaughter of animals. the accusation was rather sustained by the dispassionate attitude he held towards it, and, furthermore, by his vehement denunciation of the barbarous practice of killing animals for food or for sport. most of the censors of abu'l-ala were either spurred to their task by bigotry or animated by jealousy and ignorance. they held him up to ridicule and opprobrium, and such epithets as heretic, atheist, renegade, etc., were freely applied. but he was supremely indifferent to them all, [ ] and never would he cross swords with any particular individual; he attacked the false doctrines they were teaching, turning a deaf ear to the virulent vituperations they hurled upon him. i fail to find in the three volumes of his poems, even in the letters, one acrimonious line savoring of personality. ibn-khillikan, the plutarch of arabia, who is cautious and guarded in his statements, speaking of abu'l-ala, truly says: "his asceticism, his deep sense of right and wrong, his powerful intellect, his prodigious memory, and his wide range of learning, are alike acknowledged by both friend and foe." his pessimism was natural, in part hereditary. the man was nothing if not genuine and sincere. ruthlessly he said what he thought and felt. he had no secrets to hide from the world, no thoughts which he dared not express. his soul was as open as nature; his mind was the polished mirror of his age. [ ] it may be that had he not been blind-stricken and had not small-pox disfigured his features, he might have found a palliative in human society. his pessimism might not have been cured, but it might have been rendered at least enticing. good-fellowship might have robbed it of its sting. nor is his strong aversion to marriage, in view of these facts, surprising. he lived to know that "his fame spread from the sequestered village of ma'arrah to the utmost confines of the arabic speaking world." in the spring of a.d. he died, and was buried in a garden surrounding his home. adh-dhahabi states that there were present at his grave eighty poets, and that the koran was read there two hundred times in a fortnight. eighty poets in the small town of ma'arrah sounds incredible. but we must bear in mind that almost every one who studies the arabic grammar has also to study prosody and versification and thus become at least a rhymster. even to-day, the death of a noted person among the arabs, is always an occasion for the display of much eloquence and tears, both in prose and verse. abu'l-ala, beside being a poet and scholar of the first rank, was also one of the foremost thinkers of his age. very little is said of his teachings, his characteristics, his many-sided intellect, in the biographies i have read. the fact that he was a liberal thinker, a trenchant writer,--free, candid, downright, independent, skeptical withal,--answers for the neglect on the part of mohammedan doctors, who, when they do discuss him, try to conceal from the world what his poems unquestionably reveal. i am speaking, of course, of the neglect after his death. for during his life-time he was much honored, as i have shown, and many distinguished travellers came especially to ma'arrah to see him. he was also often called upon to act as intercessor with the emirs for the natives of his village. [ ] the larger collection of his poems, the luzumiyat, [ ] was published in cairo, in two volumes, by azeez zind, from an original ms. written in the twelfth century, under abu'l-ala's own title luzum ma la yalzam, or the necessity of what is unnecessary. this title refers to the special system of rhyming which the poet adopted. and the poems, published in desultory fashion, were written, it seems, at different periods of his life, and are arranged according to his particular alphabetical system of rhyming. they bear no titles except, "and he also says, rhyming with so and so," whatever the consonant and vowel may be. in his preface to the luzumiyat he says: "it happened that i composed these poems during the past years, and in them i have always aimed at the truth. they are certainly free from the blandishments of exaggeration. and while some of them are written in glorification of god, who is above such glory, others are, as it were, a reminder to those who forget, a pinch to those who sleep, and a warning to the children of the earth against the wiles of the great world, where human rights and human gratitude are often strangled by the same hand of fate." as for the translation of these chosen quatrains, let me say at the outset that it is almost impossible to adhere to the letter thereof and convey the meaning without being insipid, dull, and at times even ridiculous. there being no affinity between the arabic and the english, their standards of art and beauty widely differ, and in the process of transformation the outer garment at times must necessarily be doffed. i have always adhered to the spirit, however, preserving the native imagery where it was not too clannish or grotesque. i have added nothing that was foreign to the ruling idea, nor have i omitted anything that was necessary to the completion of the general thought. one might get an idea of what is called a scholarly translation from the works of any of the orientalists who have made a study of abu'l-ala. the first english scholar to mention the poet, as far as i know, was j. d. carlisle, who in his "specimens of arabic poetry", published in , has paraphrased in verse a quatrain on pride and virtue. he also translated into latin one of abu'l-ala's bold epigrams, fearing, i suppose, to publish it at that time in english. the quatrains which are here published are culled from the three volumes of his poems, and they are arranged, as nearly as may be, in the logical order of their sequence of thought. they form a kind of eclogue, which the poet-philosopher delivers from his prison in ma'arrah. once, in damascus, i visited, with some friends, a distinguished sufi; and when the tea was being served, our host held forth on the subject of abu'l-ala's creed. he quoted from the luzumiyat to show that the poet-philosopher of ma'arrah was a true sufi, and of the highest order. "in his passionate hatred of the vile world and all the vile material manifestations of life," quoth our host, "he was like a dervish dancing in sheer bewilderment; a holy man, indeed, melting in tears before the distorted image of divinity. in his aloofness, as in the purity of his spirit, the ecstatic negations of abu'l-ala can only be translated in terms of the sufi's creed. in his raptures, shathat, he was as distant as ibn ul-arabi; and in his bewilderment, heirat, he was as deeply intoxicated as ibn ul-fared. if others have symbolized the divinity in wine, he symbolized it in reason, which is the living oracle of the soul; he has, in a word, embraced divinity under the cover of a philosophy of extinction."... this, and more such from our sufi host, to which the guests gently nodded understanding. one of them, a young poet and scholar, even added that most of the irreligious opinions that are found in the luzumiyat were forced upon the poet by the rigorous system of rhyming he adopted. the rhyme, then, is responsible for the heresies of abu'l-ala! allah be praised! but this view of the matter was not new to me. i have heard it expressed by zealous muslem scholars, who see in abu'l-ala an adversary too strong to be allowed to enlist with the enemy. they will keep him, as one of the "pillars of the faith," at any cost. coming from them, therefore, this rhyme-begotten heresy theory is not surprising. but i am surprised to find a european scholar like professor margoliouth giving countenance to such views; even repeating, to support his own argument, [ ] such drivel. for if the system of rhyme-ending imposes upon the poet his irreligious opinions, how can we account for them in his prose writings? how, for instance, explain his book "al-fusul wal ghayat" (the chapters and the purposes), a work in which he parodied the koran itself, and which only needed, as he said, to bring it to the standard of the book, "the polishing of four centuries of reading in the pulpit?" and how account for his "risalat ul-ghufran" (epistle of forgiveness), a most remarkable work both in form and conception?--a divina comedia in its cotyledonous state, as it were, only that abu'l-ala does not seem to have relished the idea of visiting juhannam. he must have felt that in his "three earthly prisons" he had had enough of it. so he visits the jannat and there meets the pagan bards of arabia lulling themselves in eternal bliss under the eternal shades of the sidr tree, writing and reading and discussing poetry. now, to people the muslem's paradise with heathen poets who have been forgiven,--hence the title of the work,--and received among the blest,--is not this clear enough, bold enough, loud enough even for the deaf and the blind? "the idea," says professor nicholson, speaking of the epistle of forgiveness, [ ] "is carried out with such ingenuity and in a spirit of audacious burlesque that reminds one of lucien." this does not mean, however, that the work is essentially of a burlesque quality. abu'l-ala had humor; but his earnest tone is never so little at an ebb as when he is in his happiest mood. i quote from the epistle of forgiveness: "sometimes you may find a man skilful in his trade," says the author, "perfect in sagacity and in the use of arguments, but when he comes to religion he is found obstinate, so does he follow in the old groove. piety is implanted in human nature; it is deemed a sure refuge. to the growing child, that which falls from his elders' lips is a lesson that abides with him all his life. monks in their cloisters and devotees in their mosques accept their creed just as a story is handed down from him who tells it, without distinguishing between a true interpreter and a false. if one of these had found his kin among the magians, or among the sabians, he would have become nearly or quite like them." it does seem, too, that the strain of heterodoxy in abu'l-ala is partly hereditary. his father, who was also a poet of some distinction, and his maternal uncle, were both noted for their liberal opinions in religious matters. and he himself, alluding in one of his poems to those who reproached him for not making the pilgrimage to mecca, says that neither his father, nor his cousin, nor his uncle had pilgrimaged at all, and that he will not be denied forgiveness, if they are forgiven. and if they are not, he had as lief share their fate. but aside from his prose writings, in which, do what we may, we can not explain away his supposed heresies, we find in the luzumiyat themselves his dominant ideas on religion, for instance, being a superstition; wine, an unmitigated evil; virtue, its own reward; the cremation of the dead, a virtue; the slaughter or even the torture of animals a crime; [ ] doubt, a way to truth; reason, the only prophet and guide;--we find these ideas clothed in various images and expressed in varied forms, but unmistakable in whatever guise we find them. here, for instance, is professor nicholson's almost literal translation of a quatrain from the luzumiyat: hanifs [ ] are stumbling, christians gone astray, jews wildered, magians far on error's way:-- we mortals are composed of two great schools, enlightened knaves or else religious fools. and here is the same idea, done in a large picture. the translation, literal too, is mine: 'tis strange that kusrah and his people wash their faces in the staling of the kine; and that the christians say, almighty god was tortured, mocked, and crucified in fine: and that the jews should picture him as one who loves the odor of a roasting chine; and stranger still that muslems travel far to kiss a black stone said to be divine:-- almighty god! will all the human race stray blindly from the truth's most sacred shrine? [ ] the east still remains the battle-ground of the creeds. and the europeans, though they shook off their fetters of moral and spiritual slavery, would keep us in ours to facilitate the conquests of european commence. thus the terrible dragon, which is fed by the foreign missionary and the native priest, by the theologians and the ulama, and which still preys upon the heart and mind of orient nations, is as active to-day as it was ten centuries ago. let those consider this, who think von kremer exaggerated when he said, "abu'l-ala is a poet many centuries ahead of his time." before closing, i wish to call attention to a question which, though unimportant in itself, is nevertheless worthy of the consideration of all admirers of arabic and persian literature. i refer to the similarity of thought which exists between omar khayyam and abu'l-ala. the former, i have reason to believe, was an imitator or a disciple of the latter. the birth of the first poet and the death of the second are not very far apart: they both occurred about the middle of the eleventh century. the english reading public here and abroad has already formed its opinion of khayyam. let it not, therefore, be supposed that in making this claim i aim to shake or undermine its great faith. my desire is to confirm, not to weaken,--to expand, not contract,--the oriental influence on the occidental mind. whoever will take the trouble, however, to read omar khayyam in conjunction with what is here translated of abu'l-ala, can not fail to see the striking similarity in thought and image of certain phases of the creed or the lack of creed of both poets. [ ] to be sure, the skepticism and pessimism of omar are to a great extent imported from ma'arrah. but the arab philosopher in his religious opinions is far more outspoken than the persian tent-maker. i do not say that omar was a plagiarist; but i say this: just as voltaire, for instance, acquired most of his liberal and skeptical views from hobbes, locke and bayle, so did omar acquire his from abu'l-ala. in my notes to these quatrains i have quoted in comparison from both the fitzgerald and the herron-allen versions of the persian poet; and with so much or so little said, i leave the matter in the hands of the reader, who, upon a careful examination, will doubtless bear me out as to this point. the luzumiyat of abu'l-ala i the sable wings of night pursuing day across the opalescent hills, display the wondrous star-gems which the fiery suns are scattering upon their fiery way. ii o my companion, night is passing fair, fairer than aught the dawn and sundown wear; and fairer, too, than all the gilded days of blond illusion and its golden snare. iii hark, in the minarets muazzens call the evening hour that in the interval of darkness ahmad might remembered be,-- remembered of the darkness be they all. iv and hear the others who with cymbals try to stay the feet of every passer-by: the market-men along the darkling lane are crying up their wares.--oh! let them cry. v mohammed or messiah! hear thou me, the truth entire nor here nor there can be; how should our god who made the sun and moon give all his light to one, i cannot see. vi come, let us with the naked night now rest and read in allah's book the sonnet best: the pleiads--ah, the moon from them departs,-- she draws her veil and hastens toward the west. vii the pleiads follow; and our ethiop queen, emerging from behind her starry screen, will steep her tresses in the saffron dye of dawn, and vanish in the morning sheen. viii the secret of the day and night is in the constellations, which forever spin around each other in the comet-dust;-- the comet-dust and humankind are kin. ix but whether of dust or fire or foam, the glaive of allah cleaves the planet and the wave of this mysterious heaven-sea of life, and lo! we have the cradle of the grave. x the grave and cradle, the untiring twain, who in the markets of this narrow lane bordered of darkness, ever give and take in equal measure--what's the loss or gain? xi ay, like the circles which the sun doth spin of gossamer, we end as we begin; our feet are on the heads of those that pass, but ever their graves around our cradles grin. xii and what avails it then that man be born to joy or sorrow?--why rejoice or mourn? the doling doves are calling to the rose; the dying rose is bleeding o'er the thorn. xiii and he the messenger, who takes away the faded garments, purple, white, and gray of all our dreams unto the dyer, will bring back new robes to-morrow--so they say. xiv but now the funeral is passing by, and in its trail, beneath this moaning sky, the howdaj comes,--both vanish into night; to me are one, the sob, the joyous cry. xv with tombs and ruined temples groans the land in which our forbears in the drifting sand arise as dunes upon the track of time to mark the cycles of the moving hand xvi of fate. alas! and we shall follow soon into the night eternal or the noon; the wayward daughters of the spheres return unto the bosom of their sun or moon. xvii and from the last days of thamud and 'ad up to the first of hashem's fearless lad, who smashed the idols of his mighty tribe, what idols and what heroes death has had! xviii tread lightly, for the mighty that have been might now be breathing in the dust unseen; lightly, the violets beneath thy feet spring from the mole of some arabian queen. xix many a grave embraces friend and foe behind the curtain of this sorry show of love and hate inscrutable; alas! the fates will always reap the while they sow. xx the silken fibre of the fell zakkum, as warp and woof, is woven on the loom of life into a tapestry of dreams to decorate the chariot-seat of doom. xxi and still we weave, and still we are content in slaving for the sovereigns who have spent the savings of the toiling of the mind upon the glory of dismemberment. xxii nor king nor slave the hungry days will spare; between their fangéd hours alike we fare: anon they bound upon us while we play unheeding at the threshold of their lair. xxiii then jannat or juhannam? from the height of reason i can see nor fire nor light that feeds not on the darknesses; we pass from world to world, like shadows through the night. xxiv or sleep--and shall it be eternal sleep somewhither in the bosom of the deep infinities of cosmic dust, or here where gracile cypresses the vigil keep! xxv upon the threshing-floor of life i burn beside the winnower a word to learn; and only this: man's of the soil and sun, and to the soil and sun he shall return. xxvi and like a spider's house or sparrow's nest, the sultan's palace, though upon the crest of glory's mountain, soon or late must go: ay, all abodes to ruin are addrest. xxvii so, too, the creeds of man: the one prevails until the other comes; and this one fails when that one triumphs; ay, the lonesome world will always want the latest fairy-tales. xxviii seek not the tavern of belief, my friend, until the sakis there their morals mend; a lie imbibed a thousand lies will breed, and thou'lt become a saki in the end. xxix by fearing whom i trust i find my way to truth; by trusting wholly i betray the trust of wisdom; better far is doubt which brings the false into the light of day. xxx or wilt thou commerce have with those who make rugs of the rainbow, rainbows of the snake, snakes of a staff, and other wondrous things?-- the burning thirst a mirage can not slake. xxxi religion is a maiden veiled in prayer, whose bridal gifts and dowry those who care can buy in mutakallem's shop of words but i for such, a dirham can not spare. xxxii why linger here, why turn another page? oh! seal with doubt the whole book of the age; doubt every one, even him, the seeming slave of righteousness, and doubt the canting sage. xxxiii some day the weeping daughters of hadil will say unto the bulbuls: "let's appeal to allah in behalf of brother man who's at the mercy now of ababil." xxxiv of ababil! i would the tale were true,-- would all the birds were such winged furies too; the scourging and the purging were a boon for me, o my dear brothers, and for you. xxxv methinks allah divides me to complete his problem, which with xs is replete; for i am free and i am too in chains groping along the labyrinthine street. xxxvi and round the well how oft my soul doth grope athirst; but lo! my bucket hath no rope: i cry for water, and the deep, dark well echoes my wailing cry, but not my hope. xxxvii ah, many have i seen of those who fell while drawing, with a swagger, from the well; they came with rope and bucket, and they went empty of hand another tale to tell. xxxviii the i in me standing upon the brink would leap into the well to get a drink; but how to rise once in the depth, i cry, and cowardly behind my logic slink. xxxix and she: "how long must i the burden bear? how long this tattered garment must i wear?" and i: "why wear it? leave it here, and go away without it--little do i care." xl but once when we were quarreling, the door was opened by a visitor who bore both rope and pail; he offered them and said: "drink, if you will, but once, and nevermore." xli one draught, more bitter than the zakkum tree, brought us unto the land of mystery where rising sand and dust and flame conceal the door of every caravanseri. xlii we reach a door and there the legend find. "to all the pilgrims of the human mind: knock and pass on!" we knock and knock and knock; but no one answers save the moaning wind. xliii how like a door the knowledge we attain, which door is on the bourne of the inane; it opens and our nothingness is closed,-- it closes and in darkness we remain. xliv hither we come unknowing, hence we go; unknowing we are messaged to and fro; and yet we think we know all things of earth and sky--the suns and stars we think we know. xlv apply thy wit, o brother, here and there upon this and upon that; but beware lest in the end--ah, better at the start go to the tinker for a slight repair. xlvi and why so much ado, and wherefore lay the burden of the years upon the day of thy vain dreams? who polishes his sword morning and eve will polish it away. xlvii i heard it whispered in the cryptic streets where every sage the same dumb shadow meets: "we are but words fallen from the lipe of time which god, that we might understand, repeats." xlviii another said: "the creeping worm hath shown, in her discourse on human flesh and bone, that man was once the bed on which she slept-- the walking dust was once a thing of stone." xlix and still another: "we are coins which fade in circulation, coins which allah made to cheat iblis: the good and bad alike are spent by fate upon a passing shade." l and in the pottery the potter cried, as on his work shone all the master's pride-- "how is it, rabbi, i, thy slave, can make such vessels as nobody dare deride?" li the earth then spake: "my children silent be; same are to god the camel and the flea: he makes a mess of me to nourish you, then makes a mess of you to nourish me." lii now, i believe the potter will essay once more the wheel, and from a better clay will make a better vessel, and perchance a masterpiece which will endure for aye. liii with better skill he even will remould the scattered potsherds of the new and old; then you and i will not disdain to buy, though in the mart of iblis they be sold. liv sooth i have told the masters of the mart of rusty creeds and babylonian art of magic. now the truth about myself-- here is the secret of my wincing heart. lv i muse, but in my musings i recall the days of my iniquity; we're all-- an arrow shot across the wilderness, somewhither, in the wilderness must fall. lvi i laugh, but in my laughter-cup i pour the tears of scorn and melancholy sore; i who am shattered by the hand of doubt, like glass to be remoulded nevermore. lvii i wheedle, too, even like my slave zeidun, who robs at dawn his brother, and at noon prostrates himself in prayer--ah, let us pray that night might blot us and our sins, and soon. lviii but in the fatal coils, without intent, we sin; wherefore a future punishment? they say the metal dead a deadly steel becomes with allah's knowledge and consent. lix and even the repentant sinner's tear falling into juhannam's very ear, goes to its heart, extinguishes its fire for ever and forever,--so i hear. lx between the white and purple words of time in motley garb with destiny i rhyme: the colored glasses to the water give the colors of a symbolry sublime. lxi how oft, when young, my brothers i would shun if their religious feelings were not spun of my own cobweb, which i find was but a spider's revelation of the sun. lxii now, mosques and churches--even a kaaba stone, korans and bibles--even a martyr's bone,-- all these and more my heart can tolerate, for my religion's love, and love alone. lxiii to humankind, o brother, consecrate thy heart, and shun the hundred sects that prate about the things they little know about-- let all receive thy pity, none thy hate. lxiv the tavern and the temple also shun, for sheikh and libertine in sooth are one; and when the pious knave begins to pule, the knave in purple breaks his vow anon. lxv "the wine's forbidden," say these honest folk, but for themselves the law they will revoke; the snivelling sheikh says he's without a garb, when in the tap-house he had pawned his cloak. lxvi or in the house of lust. the priestly name and priestly turban once were those of shame-- and shame is preaching in the pulpit now-- if pulpits tumble down, i'm not to blame. lxvii for after she declaims upon the vows of faith, she pusillanimously bows before the sultan's wine-empurpled throne, while he and all his courtezans carouse. lxviii carouse, ye sovereign lords! the wheel will roll forever to confound and to console: who sips to-day the golden cup will drink mayhap to-morrow in a wooden bowl-- lxix and silent drink. the tumult of our mirth is worse than our mad welcoming of birth:-- the thunder hath a grandeur, but the rains, without the thunder, quench the thirst of earth. lxx the prophets, too, among us come to teach, are one with those who from the pulpit preach; they pray, and slay, and pass away, and yet our ills are as the pebbles on the beach. lxxi and though around the temple they should run for seventy times and seven, and in the sun of mad devotion drool, their prayers are still like their desires of feasting-fancies spun. lxxii oh! let them in the marshes grope, or ride their jaded myths along the mountain-side; come up with me, o brother, to the heights where reason is the prophet and the guide. lxxiii "what is thy faith and creed," they ask of me, "and who art thou? unseal thy pedigree."-- i am the child of time, my tribe, mankind, and now this world's my caravanseri. lxxiv swathe thee in wool, my sufi friend, and go thy way; in cotton i the wiser grow; but we ourselves are shreds of earth, and soon the tailor of the universe will sew. lxxv ay! suddenly the mystic hand will seal the saint's devotion and the sinner's weal; they worship saturn, but i worship one before whom saturn and the heavens kneel. lxxvi among the crumbling ruins of the creeds the scout upon his camel played his reeds and called out to his people,--"let us hence! the pasture here is full of noxious weeds." lxxvii among us falsehood is proclaimed aloud, but truth is whispered to the phantom bowed of conscience; ay! and wrong is ever crowned, while right and reason are denied a shroud. lxxviii and why in this dark kingdom tribute pay? with clamant multitudes why stop to pray? oh! hear the inner voice:--"if thou'lt be right, do what they deem is wrong, and go thy way." lxxix thy way unto the sun the spaces through where king orion's black-eyed huris slew the mother of night to guide the wings that bear the flame divine hid in a drop of dew. lxxx hear ye who in the dust of ages creep, and in the halls of wicked masters sleep:-- arise! and out of this wan weariness where allah's laughter makes the devil weep. lxxxi arise! for lo! the laughter and the weeping reveal the weapon which the master's keeping above your heads; oh! take it up and strike! the lion of tyranny is only sleeping. lxxxii evil and virtue? shadows on the street of fate and vanity,--but shadows meet when in the gloaming they are hast'ning forth to drink with night annihilation sweet. lxxxiii and thus the sun will write and will efface the mystic symbols which the sages trace in vain, for all the worlds of god are stored in his enduring vessels time and space. lxxxiv for all my learning's but a veil, i guess, veiling the phantom of my nothingness; howbeit, there are those who think me wise, and those who think me--even these i bless. lxxxv and all my years, as vapid as my lay, are bitter morsels of a mystic day,-- the day of fate, who carries in his lap december snows and snow-white flowers of may. lxxxvi allah, my sleep is woven through, it seems, with burning threads of night and golden beams; but when my dreams are evil they come true; when they are not, they are, alas! but dreams. lxxxvii the subtle ways of destiny i know; in me she plays her game of "give and go." misfortune i receive in cash, but joy, in drafts on heaven or on the winds that blow. lxxxviii i give and go, grim destiny,--i play upon this checker-board of night and day the dark game with thee, but the day will come when one will turn the board the other way. lxxxix if my house-swallow, laboring with zest, felt like myself the burden of unrest, unlightened by inscrutable designs, she would not build her young that cozy nest. xc thy life with guiltless life-blood do not stain-- hunt not the children of the woods; in vain thou'lt try one day to wash thy bloody hand: nor hunter here nor hunted long remain. xci oh! cast my dust away from thee, and doff thy cloak of sycophancy and like stuff: i'm but a shadow on the sandy waste,-- enough of thy duplicity, enough! xcii behold! the veil that hid thy soul is torn and all thy secrets on the winds are borne: the hand of sin has written on thy face "awake, for these untimely furrows warn!" xciii a prince of souls, 'tis sung in ancient lay, one morning sought a vesture of the clay; he came into the pottery, the fool-- the lucky fool was warned to stay away. xciv but i was not. oh! that the fates decree that i now cast aside this clay of me; my soul and body wedded for a while are sick and would that separation be. xcv "thou shalt not kill!"--thy words, o god, we heed, though thy two soul-devouring angels feed thy promise of another life on this,-- to have spared us both, it were a boon indeed. xcvi oh! that some one would but return to tell if old nubakht is burning now in hell, or if the workers for the prophet's prize are laughing at his paradisal sell. xcvii once i have tried to string a few pearl-seeds upon my rosary of wooden beads; but i have searched, and i have searched in vain for pearls in all the caverns of the creeds xcviii and in the palaces of wealth i found some beads of wisdom scattered on the ground, around the throne of power, beneath the feet of fair-faced slaves with flowers of folly crowned. xcix thy wealth can shed no tears around thy bier, nor can it wash thy hands of shame and fear; ere thou departest with it freely part,-- let others plead for thee and god will hear. c for me thy silks and feathers have no charm the pillow i like best is my right arm; the comforts of this passing show i spurn, for poverty can do the soul no harm. ci the guiding hand of allah i can see upon my staff: of what use then is he who'd be the blind man's guide? thou silent oak, no son of eve shall walk with me and thee. cii my life's the road on which i blindly speed: my goal's the grave on which i plant a reed to shape my hope, but soon the hand unseen will strike, and lo! i'm but a sapless weed. ciii o rabbi, curse us not if we have been nursed in the shadow of the gate of sin built by thy hand--yea, ev'n thine angels blink when we are coming out and going in. civ and like the dead of ind i do not fear to go to thee in flames; the most austere angel of fire a softer tooth and tongue hath he than dreadful munker and nakir. cv now, at this end of adam's line i stand holding my father's life-curse in my hand, doing no one the wrong that he did me:-- ah, would that he were barren as the sand! cvi ay, thus thy children, though they sovereigns be, when truth upon them dawns, will turn on thee, who cast them into life's dark labyrinth where even old izrail can not see. cvii and in the labyrinth both son and sire awhile will fan and fuel hatred's fire; sparks of the log of evil are all men allwhere--extinguished be the race entire! cviii if miracles were wrought in ancient years, why not to-day, o heaven-cradled seers? the highway's strewn with dead, the lepers weep, if ye but knew,--if ye but saw their tears! cix fan thou a lisping fire and it will leap in flames, but dost thou fan an ashy heap? they would respond, indeed, whom thou dost call, were they not dead, alas! or dead asleep. cx the way of vice is open as the sky, the way of virtue's like the needle's eye; but whether here or there, the eager soul has only two companions--whence and why. cxi whence come, o firmament, thy myriad lights? whence comes thy sap, o vineyard of the heights? whence comes the perfume of the rose, and whence the spirit-larva which the body blights? cxii whence does the nettle get its bitter sting? whence do the honey bees their honey bring? whence our companions, too--our whence and why? o soul, i do not know a single thing! cxiii how many like us in the ages past have blindly soared, though like a pebble cast, seeking the veil of mystery to tear, but fell accurst beneath the burning blast? cxiv why try to con the book of earth and sky, why seek the truth which neither you nor i can grasp? but death methinks the secret keeps, and will impart it to us by and by. cxv the sultan, too, relinquishing his throne must wayfare through the darkening dust alone where neither crown nor kingdom be, and he, part of the secret, here and there is blown. cxvi to clay the mighty sultan must return and, chancing, help a praying slave to burn his midnight oil before the face of him, who of the sultan makes an incense urn. cxvii turned to a cup, who once the sword of state held o'er the head of slave and potentate, is now held in the tippler's trembling hand, or smashed upon the tavern-floor of fate. cxviii for this i say, be watchful of the cage of chance; it opes alike to fool and sage; spy on the moment, for to-morrow'll be, like yesterday, an obliterated page. cxix yea, kiss the rosy cheeks of new-born day, and hail eternity in every ray forming a halo round its infant head, illumining thy labyrinthine way. cxx but i, the thrice-imprisoned, try to troll strains of the song of night, which fill with dole my blindness, my confinement, and my flesh-- the sordid habitation of my soul. cxxi howbeit, my inner vision heir shall be to the increasing flames of mystery which may illumine yet my prisons all, and crown the ever living hope of me. notes to the quatrains i to open a poem with a few amatory lines, is a literary tradition among arab poets. but abu'l-ala, having had no occasion to evince such tender emotions, whether real or merely academic, succeeded, as in everything else he did, in deviating from the trodden path. i find, however, in his minor diwan, suct uz-zand, a slight manifestation of his youthful ardor, of which this and the succeeding quatrains, descriptive of the charms of night, are fairly representative. iii "ahmad," mohammed the prophet. iv "and hear the others who with cymbals try," etc., meaning the christians; in the preceding quatrain he referred to the mohammedans. vii milton, in il penseroso, also speaks of night as "the starred ethiop queen"; and shakespeare, in romeo and juliet, has these lines: "her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night as a rich jewel in an ethiop ear." the source of inspiration is the same to all world-poets, who only differ sometimes in the jars they bring to the source. xiii the purple, white, and gray garments, symbolizing man's dreams of power, of love, and of bliss. xiv the same idea is expressed by omar khayyam. here are the first three lines of the nd quatrain of heron-allen's literal translation: "to him who understands the mysteries of the world the joy and sorrow of the world is all the same, since the good and the bad of the world all come to an end." "howdaj," a sort of palanquin borne by camels; hence, a wedding or a triumphal procession. xvii "thamud" and "'ad," two of the primitive tribes which figure prominently in the legendary history of arabia. they flouted and stoned the prophets that were sent to them, and are constantly held up in the koran as terrible examples of the pride that goeth before destruction. "hashem's fearless lad," mohammed the prophet. xviii i quote again from omar, fitzgerald's translation: "and this reviving herb, whose tender green fledges the river-lip, on which we lean-- ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows from what once lovely lip it springs unseen." in justice to both the persian and the arab poet, however, i give the d quatrain of heron-allen's, which i think contains two lines of that of fitzgerald, together with abu'l-ala's own poetic-fancy. "everywhere that there has been a rose or tulip bed there has been spilled the crimson blood of a king; every violet shoot that grows from the earth is a mole that was once upon the cheek of beauty." xx "zakkum," a tree which, in mohammedan mythology, is said to have its roots in hell, and from which are fed the dwellers of hell-fire. in one of the chapters of the koran, the saffat, i find this upon it: "and is that a pure bounty, or the zakkum tree? it is a tree which groweth in hell; its fruits are like unto the heads of the devils, who eat from it, and from it fill their stomachs." zakkum is also one of the bitter-fruited trees of arabia. and the people there speak of "a mouthful of zakkum" when they want to describe an unhappy experience. it is also the name of one of the plants of the desert, whose flower is like the jasmine; and of one of the trees of jericho, whose fruit is like the date, but somewhat bitter. xxiii "jannat," paradise. "juhannam," hell. xxix and tennyson also says: "there is more truth in honest doubt, believe me, than in all the creeds." xxxi "mutakallem," disputant. the mutakallemin are the logicians and theologians of islam. xxxiii hadil is a poetic term for dove. and in arabic mythology it is the name of a particular dove, which died of thirst in the days of noah, and is bemoaned until this day. "ababil," a flock of birds, who scourged with flint-stones which they carried in their beaks, one of the ancient arab tribes, noted for its idolatry and evil practices. xxxviii, xciii and xciv i quote again from omar, fitzgerald's version, quatrain : "why, if the soul can fling the dust aside, and naked on the air of heaven ride, were't not a shame--were't not a shame for him in this clay carcass crippled to abide?" and from heron-allen's, quatrain : "o soul, if thou canst purify thyself from the dust of the clay, thou, naked spirit, canst soar in the heav'ns, the empyrian is thy sphere--let it be thy shame that thou comest and art a dweller within the confines of earth." xlviii "the walking dust was once a thing of stone," is my rendering of the line, "and he concerning whom the world is puzzled is an animal evolved of inorganic matter." this line of abu'l-ala is much quoted by his enthusiastic admirers of the present day to prove that he anticipated darwin's theory of evolution. and it is remarkable how the fancy of the poet sometimes coincides with the logical conclusions of the scientist. xlix "iblis," the devil. l "rabbi," my lord god. lvi this quatrain is quoted by many of the biographers of abu'l-ala to prove that he is a materialist. which argument is easily refuted, however, with others quatrains taken at random from the luzumiyat. lvii, lviii and lix omar was also a confessed cynical-hypocrite. thus runs the first line of the th quatrain of heron-allen's: "the world being fleeting i practise naught but artifice." and he also chafes in the chains of his sins. following is the d quatrain of the same translation: "khayyam, why mourn for thy sins? from grieving thus what advantage more or less dost thou gain? mercy was never for him who sins not, mercy is granted for sins; why then grieve?" abu'l-ala, in a quatrain which i did not translate, goes even farther in his questioning perplexity. "why do good since thou art to be forgiven for thy sins?" he asks. lxii "kaaba stone," the sacred black stone in the kaaba at meccah. lxxvii the american poet, lowell, in "the crisis," utters the same cry: "truth forever on the scaffold, wrong forever on the throne." xc "and the poor beetle that we tread upon in corporal sufferance finds a pang as great as when a giant dies." --shakespeare: measure for measure. "to let go a flea is a more virtuous act than to give a dirham to a beggar."--abu'l-ala. xciii and xciv omar too, in the th quatrain of heron-allen's-- "had i charge of the matter i would not have come, and likewise could i control my going, where could i go?" xcv "thy two soul-devouring angels," the angels of death and resurrection. xcvi "nubakht," one of the opponents of the prophet mohammed. ciii "rabbi," my lord god. civ "and like the dead of ind," referring to the practice of the hindus who burn their dead. "munker" and "nakir," the two angels who on the day of judgment open the graves of the dead and cross-examine them--the process is said to be very cruel--as to their faith. whosoever is found wanting in this is pushed back into the grave and thence thrown into juhannam. no wonder abu'l-ala prefers cremation. cv he wrote his own epitaph, which is: "this wrong to me was by my father done, but never by me to any one." cvi "izrail," the angel of death. cxv, cxvi and cxvii these will suggest to the reader shakespeare's lines: "imperial caesar, dead and turned to clay, might stop a hole to keep the wind away; o, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, should stop a wall t'expel the winter's flaw." cxviii compare this with omar's: "thou hast no power over the morrow, and anxiety about the morrow is useless to thee: waste not thou the moment, if thy heart is not mad, for the value of the remainder of thy life is not certain." press and personal notices mr. rihani's book is soundly workmanlike, with adequate scholarship, and is often very felicitous. he has done a real service to modern understanding of an important though slightly known literature in presenting these selections with sufficient annotation.--new york evening sun. the luzumiyat. by abu'l-ala. born in syria, in the tenth century a. d., this poet, scholar, teacher, philosopher and pessimist became known as "the voltaire of the east," and may well be read for the beauty of his work, even if there is little agreement with his general ideas of life.--the christian century. abu'l-ala is a true poet, with a philosophy much nobler than omar's, and mr. rihani's translation has rare poetic qualities.--edwin markham. if i had but a garden for a bower wherein the roses of damascus flower, how happy, with the luzumiyat in hand, to pass the afternoon and sunset hour! clinton scollard. "the luzumiyat" of abu'l-ala, as rendered into english by mr. ameen rihani, is more than a mere translation--it is excellent poetry. aside from its interest as a literary curiosity, it possesses intrinsic value as literature of a high quality. the historical matter contained in the preface of the book, as well as the notes following the preface, will appeal to the scholar who makes a study of the best expressions of oriental thought.--james b. kenyon. the first english rendition of the luzumiyat of abu'l-ala, comes from ameen rihani, the author of the book of khaled, who has selected the quatrains from three volumes of the works of the syrian poet. for those who cling to a childish haze concerning assyrians and syrians, we would add that while the assyrian comes down like a wolf on the fold, the syrian, at least this particular one, has a tread like omar khayyam. therein lies the chief interest of the luzumiyat, unfair as it may be, in view of the fact that abu'l-ala died at about the time omar was born. so marked and far-reaching is the resemblance, that we might almost bring ourselves to the belief that in omar khayyam was recreated the soul of abu'l-ala, with subtle changes, notable among them the casting off of the tenets of prohibition, and a substitution of fatalism for stoicism.--the sun (new york). what fitzgerald did for the man of neishapur in his wonderful version of the rubaiyat, mr. rihani has done, in scarcely inferior measure, for his own remote ancestor abu'l-ala. mr. rihani, who is a poet and essayist in english as well as in arabic, has made a permanent addition to literature. the luzumiyat can not be displaced.--michael monahan. mr. rihani has rendered valuable service to literature in making the career of "the lucretius of islam," as he happily calls him, known to the general reader in the english-speaking world.... the similarity of the luzumiyat to omar khayyam under certain aspects, should win for rihani's brilliant rendering a generous measure of recognition. as it is, the rare merits of the book, the critical power of the preface, the skill and sincere feeling exhibited in the verse, and the wide knowledge of english literature shown in the notes, make it, to my mind, a little masterpiece.--percy white. the similarity in some parts of the luzumiyat to omar khayyam is striking. but abu'l-ala, to my mind, is a greater poet, and he is at times so remarkably modern. i am glad to make his acquaintance through your excellent translation.--r. b. cunninghame graham. there is a compelling power in his attack on hypocrisy and quackery, in his recognition of the supremacy of reason and the human soul. those who still fondly turn to the "rubaiyat" for enjoyment will surely find stimulus, too, and pleasure in these ruthless rhymes.--asia. notes [ ] my learned friend, count e. de mulinen, called my attention to the work of von kremer on abu'l-ala. and i have seen copies of a certain german asiatic review in which were published translations, made by that eminent orientalist, of many poems from the luzumiyat. he speaks of abu'l-ala as one of the greatest moralists of all times, whose profound genius anticipated much that is commonly attributed to the so-called modern spirit of enlightenment. professor d. s. margoliouth has also translated into english the letters of abu'l-ala, which were published with the arabic text at the clarendon press, oxford, . also professor raynold a. nicholson, in his work, "a literary history of the arabs," discusses the poet at length and renders into english some poems from the luzumiyat. a work was published by charles carrington, paris, , under the title, "un précurseur d'omar khayyam, le poéte aveugle: extraits de poémes et de lettres d'abu'l-ala al-ma'arri." and another, "the diwan of abu'l-ala," done into english by henry baerlein, who must have helped himself freely to the quatrains of von kremer. [ ] for a picturesque description of the squalidness and sordidness of ma'arrah and its people, see letter xx of "the letters of abu'l-ala," oxford edition. [ ] when he visited baghdad he was about thirty-seven years of age. and when he went to attend a lecture there by one of the leading scholars, he was called by the lecturer, istabl, which is syrian slang for blind. [ ] "he was four years of age when he had the attack of small-pox. the sight of his left eye was entirely lost and the eyeball of his right had turned white. al-hafiz us-silafi relates: 'abu muhammad abdallah told me that he visited him (abu'l-ala) once with his uncle and found him sitting on an old hair matting. he was very old, and the disease that attacked him in his boyhood had left its deep traces on his emaciated face. he bade me come near him and blessed me as he placed his hand on my head. i was a boy then, and i can picture him before me now. i looked into his eyes and remarked how the one was horribly protruding, and the other, buried in its socket, could barely be seen.'"--ibn khillikan. [ ] "how long he retained any sort of vision is not certain. his frequent references in his writings to stars, flowers, and the forms of the arabic letters imply that he could see a little at least some years after this calamity."--d. s. margoliouth: the letters of abu'l-ala. "he used to play chess and nard."--safadi. [ ] for an interesting account of literary society in baghdad see renan's "islam and science"; also the biography to the letters of abu'l-ala. prof. margoliouth, though not unfair in his judgment of the poet, is unnecessarily captious at times. he would seem partial to the suffrage of orthodox mohammedans with regard to abu'l-ala's unorthodox religious views. but they have a reason, these ulama, for endeavoring to keep a genius like abu'l-ala within the pale of belief. which reason, let us hope, has no claim on prof. margoliouth. and in his attempt to depreciate abu'l-ala as a disinterested and independent scholar and poet, he does not escape the inconsistency which often follows in the wake of cavil. read this, for instance: "like many of those who have failed to secure material prosperity, he found comfort in a system which flatters the vanity of those who have not succeeded by teaching that success is not worth attaining." and this, not on the same page perhaps, but close to it: "for though other roads towards obtaining the means of supporting himself at baghdad have been open to him, that which he refused to follow (the profession of an encomiast, i. e. a sycophant, a toady) was the most certain." [ ] biography of abu'l-ala by adh-dhahabi. [ ] "the letters, which abound in quotations, enable us to gauge the power of his memory better than these wonder-loving narrators."--d. s. margoliouth. [ ] in one of his poems he speaks of three prisons, his body being the third. here is professor nicholson's translation: methink i am thrice-imprisoned--ask not me of news that need no telling-- by loss of sight, confinement in my house, and this vile body for my spirit's dwelling. [ ] also his commentary on the works of the poet al-mutanabbi. [ ] adh-dhahabi gives the titles of forty-eight of his works, to which safadi adds fourteen. a literary baggage of considerable bulk, had not most of it perished when the crusaders took ma'arrah in . now, the luzumiyat, the letters, suct uz-zand and the epistle of forgiveness can be obtained in printed form. [ ] "what he says of al-maghribi in the first letter became literally true of himself: 'as sinai derives its fame from moses and the stone from abraham, so ma'arrah is from this time (after his return from baghdad) known by him.'"--d. s. margoliouth. [ ] even before he visited baghdad he had a pension of thirty dinars (about $ ), half of which he paid to his servant, and the other half was sufficient to secure for him the necessaries of life. "he lived on lentils and figs," says adh-dhahabi; "he slept on a felt mattress; he wore nothing but cotton garments; and his dwelling was furnished with a straw matting." [ ] we have the following from adh-dhahabi: "one of these critics came one day to abu'l-ala and relating the conversation himself said, 'what is it that is quoted and said about you?' i asked. 'it is false; they are jealous of me,' he replied. 'and what have you to incite their jealousy? you have left for them both this world and the other.' 'and the other?' murmured the poet, questioning, ruminating. 'and the other, too?'" [ ] "his poems, generally known as the luzumiyat, arrest attention by their boldness and originality as well as by the sombre and earnest tone which pervades them."--raynold a. nicholson: a literary history of the arabs. [ ] the governor of halab, salih ibn mirdas, passed once by ma'arrah, when thirty of its distinguished citizens were imprisoned on account of a riot in the town the previous year. abu'l-ala being asked to intercede for them, was led to salih, who received him most politely and asked him what he desired. the poet, in eloquent but unflattering speech, asked salih 'to take and give forgiveness.' and the governor, not displeased, replied: 'i grant it you.' whereupon the prisoners were released. [ ] "his poems leave no aspect of the age (in which he lived) untouched, and present a vivid picture of degeneracy and corruption, in which tyrannous rulers, venal judges, hypocritical and unscrupulous theologians, swindling astrologers, roving swarms of dervishes and godless carmathians, occupy a prominent place."--raynold a. nicholson: a literary history of the arabs. [ ] "the mohammedan critics who thought he let his opinions be guided by his pen probably came near the truth. and any man who writes in such fetters as the meter (he means the rhyme-ending; for abu'l-ala made use of every known meter of arabic prosody) of the luzumiyat imposes, can exercise but slight control over his thoughts."--d. s. margoliouth: letters of abu'l-ala. [ ] this work, of which professor nicholson says there are but two copies extant, one in constantinople and the other in his own collection, was published in cairo, in , edited by sheikh ibrahim ul-yazeji. [ ] "to let go a flea is a more virtuous act than to give a dirham to a beggar."--abu'l-ala. [ ] the orthodox, i. e. the mohammedans. [ ] i do not find these verses in the printed copies of either the luzumiyat or suct uz-zand. but they are quoted, from some ms. copy i suppose, by the historian abu'l-fida. [ ] omar wrote poetry in arabic too. my learned friend, isa iskandar maluf of zehleh, mt. lebanon, showed me some quatrains of "omar the tent-maker and astronomer," in an old arabic ms. which bear a striking resemblance to some of abu'l-ala's both in thought and style. produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google print project) yiddish tales translated by helena frank [illustration: colophon] philadelphia the jewish publication society of america copyright, , by the jewish publication society of america preface this little volume is intended to be both companion and complement to "stories and pictures," by i. l. perez, published by the jewish publication society of america, in . its object was twofold: to introduce the non-yiddish reading public to some of the many other yiddish writers active in russian jewry, and--to leave it with a more cheerful impression of yiddish literature than it receives from perez alone. yes, and we have collected, largely from magazines and papers and unbound booklets, forty-eight tales by twenty different authors. this, thanks to such kind helpers as mr. f. hieger, of london, without whose aid we should never have been able to collect the originals of these stories, mr. morris meyer, of london, who most kindly gave me the magazines, etc., in which some of them were contained, and mr. israel j. zevin, of new york, that able editor and delightful _feuilletonist_, to whose critical knowledge of yiddish letters we owe so much. some of these writers, perez, for example, and sholom-alechem, are familiar by name to many of us already, while the reputation of others rests, in circles enthusiastic but tragically small, on what they have written in hebrew.[ ] such are berdyczewski, jehalel, frischmann, berschadski, and the silver-penned judah steinberg. on these last two be peace in the olom ho-emess. the olom ha-sheker had nothing for them but struggle and suffering and an early grave. [ ] berschadski's "forlorn and forsaken," frischmann's "three who ate," and steinberg's "a livelihood" and "at the matzes," though here translated from the yiddish versions, were probably written in hebrew originally. in the case of the former two, it would seem that the yiddish version was made by the authors themselves, and the same may be true of steinberg's tales, too. the tales given here are by no means all equal in literary merit, but they have each its special note, its special echo from that strangely fascinating world so often quoted, so little understood (we say it against ourselves), the russian ghetto--a world in the passing, but whose more precious elements, shining, for all who care to see them, through every page of these unpretending tales, and mixed with less and less of what has made their misfortune, will surely live on, free, on the one hand, to blend with all and everything akin to them, and free, on the other, to develop along their own lines--and this year here, next year in jerusalem. the american sketches by zevin and s. libin differ from the others only in their scene of action. lerner's were drawn from the life in a little town in bessarabia, the others are mostly polish. and the folk tale, which is taken from joshua meisach's collection, published in wilna in , with the title ma'asiyos vun der baben, oder nissim ve-niflo'os, might have sprung from almost any ghetto of the old world. we sincerely regret that nothing from the pen of the beloved "grandfather" of yiddish story-tellers in print, abramowitsch (mendele mocher seforim), was found quite suitable for insertion here, his writings being chiefly much longer than the type selected for this book. neither have we come across anything appropriate to our purpose by another old favorite, j. dienesohn. we were, however, able to insert three tales by the veteran author mordecai spektor, whose simple style and familiar figures go straight to the people's heart. with regard to the second half of our object, greater cheerfulness, this collection is an utter failure. it has variety, on account of the many different authors, and the originals have wit and humor in plenty, for wit and humor and an almost passionate playfulness are in the very soul of the language, but it is not cheerful, and we wonder now how we ever thought it could be so, if the collective picture given of jewish life were, despite its fictitious material, to be anything like a true one. the drollest of the tales, "gymnasiye" (we refer to the originals), is perhaps the saddest, anyhow in point of actuality, seeing that the russian government is planning to make education impossible of attainment by more and more of the jewish youth--children given into its keeping as surely as any others, and for the crushing of whose lives it will have to answer. well, we have done our best. among these tales are favorites of ours which we have not so much as mentioned by name, thus leaving the gentle reader at liberty to make his own. h. f. london, march, acknowledgement the jewish publication society of america desires to acknowledge the valuable aid which mr. a. s. freidus, of the department of jewish literature, in the new york public library, extended to it in compiling the biographical data relating to the authors whose stories appear in english garb in the present volume. some of the authors that are living in america courteously furnished the society with the data referring to their own biographies. the following sources have been consulted for the biographies: the jewish encyclopædia; wiener, history of yiddish literature in the nineteenth century; pinnes, histoire de la littérature judéo-allemande, and the yiddish version of the same, die geschichte vun der jüdischer literatur; baal-mahashabot, geklibene schriften; sefer zikkaron le-sofere yisrael ha-hayyim ittanu ka-yom; eisenstadt, hakme yisrael be-amerika; the memoirs preceding the collected works of some of the authors; and scattered articles in european and american yiddish periodicals. contents preface acknowledgment reuben asher braubes the misfortune jehalel (judah lÖb lewin) earth of palestine isaac lÖb perez a woman's wrath the treasure it is well whence a proverb mordecai spektor an original strike a gloomy wedding poverty sholom-alechem (shalom rabinovitz) the clock fishel the teacher an easy fast the passover guest gymnasiye eliezer david rosenthal sabbath yom kippur isaiah lerner bertzi wasserführer ezrielk the scribe yitzchok-yossel broitgeber judah steinberg a livelihood at the matzes david frischmann three who ate micha joseph berdyczewski military service isaiah berschadski forlorn and forsaken tashrak (israel joseph zevin) the hole in a beigel as the years roll on david pinski reb shloimeh s. libin (israel hubewitz) a picnic manasseh yohrzeit for mother slack times they sleep abraham raisin shut in the charitable loan the two brothers lost his voice late the kaddish avròhom the orchard-keeper hirsh david naumberg the rav and the rav's son meyer blinkin women lÖb schapiro if it was a dream shalom asch a simple story a jewish child a scholar's mother the sinner isaac dob berkowitz country folk the last of them a folk tale the clever rabbi glossary and notes reuben asher braudes born, , in wilna (lithuania), white russia; went to roumania after the anti-jewish riots of , and published a yiddish weekly, yehudit, in the interest of zionism; expelled from roumania; published a hebrew weekly, ha-zeman, in cracow, in ; then co-editor of the yiddish edition of die welt, the official organ of zionism; hebrew critic, publicist, and novelist; contributor to ha-lebanon (at eighteen), ha-shahar, ha-boker or, and other periodicals; chief work, the novel "religion and life." the misfortune or how the rav of pumpian tried to solve a social problem pumpian is a little town in lithuania, a jewish town. it lies far away from the highway, among villages reached by the polish road. the inhabitants of pumpian are poor people, who get a scanty living from the peasants that come into the town to make purchases, or else the jews go out to them with great bundles on their shoulders and sell them every sort of small ware, in return for a little corn, or potatoes, etc. strangers, passing through, are seldom seen there, and if by any chance a strange person arrives, it is a great wonder and rarity. people peep at him through all the little windows, elderly men venture out to bid him welcome, while boys and youths hang about in the street and stare at him. the women and girls blush and glance at him sideways, and he is the one subject of conversation: "who can that be? people don't just set off and come like that--there must be something behind it." and in the house-of-study, between afternoon and evening prayer, they gather closely round the elder men, who have been to greet the stranger, to find out who and what the latter may be. fifty or sixty years ago, when what i am about to tell you happened, communication between pumpian and the rest of the world was very restricted indeed: there were as yet no railways, there was no telegraph, the postal service was slow and intermittent. people came and went less often, a journey was a great undertaking, and there were not many outsiders to be found even in the larger towns. every town was a town to itself, apart, and pumpian constituted a little world of its own, which had nothing to do with the world at large, and lived its own life. neither were there so many newspapers then, anywhere, to muddle people's heads every day of the week, stirring up questions, so that people should have something to talk about, and the jews had no papers of their own at all, and only heard "news" and "what was going on in the world" in the house-of-study or (lehavdil!) in the bath-house. and what sort of news was it _then_? what sort could it be? world-stirring questions hardly existed (certainly pumpian was ignorant of them): politics, economics, statistics, capital, social problems, all these words, now on the lips of every boy and girl, were then all but unknown even in the great world, let alone among us jews, and let alone to reb nochumtzi, the pumpian rav! and yet reb nochumtzi had a certain amount of worldly wisdom of his own. reb nochumtzi was a native of pumpian, and had inherited his position there from his father. he had been an only son, made much of by his parents (hence the pet name nochumtzi clinging to him even in his old age), and never let out of their sight. when he had grown up, they connected him by marriage with the tenant of an estate not far from the town, but his father would not hear of his going there "auf köst," as the custom is. "i cannot be parted from my nochumtzi even for a minute," explained the old rav, "i cannot bear him out of my sight. besides, we study together." and, in point of fact, they did study together day and night. it was evident that the rav was determined his nochumtzi should become rav in pumpian after his death--and so he became. he had been rav some years in the little town, receiving the same five polish gulden a week salary as his father (on whom be peace!), and he sat and studied and thought. he had nothing much to do in the way of exercising authority: the town was very quiet, the people orderly, there were no quarrels, and it was seldom that parties went "to law" with one another before the rav; still less often was there a ritual question to settle: the folk were poor, there was no meat cooked in a jewish house from one friday to another, when one must have a bit of meat in honor of sabbath. fish was a rarity, and in summer time people often had a "milky sabbath," as well as a milky week. how should there be "questions"? so he sat and studied and thought, and he was very fond indeed of thinking about the world! it is true that he sat all day in his room, that he had never in all his life been so much as "four ells" outside the town, that it had never so much as occurred to him to drive about a little in any direction, for, after all, whither should he drive? and why drive anywhither? and yet he knew the world, like any other learned man, a disciple of the wise. everything is in the torah, and out of the torah, out of the gemoreh, and out of all the other sacred books, reb nochumtzi had learned to know the world also. he knew that "reuben's ox gores simeon's cow," that "a spark from a smith's hammer can burn a wagon-load of hay," that "reb eliezer ben charsum had a thousand towns on land and a thousand ships on the sea." ha, that was a fortune! he must have been nearly as rich as rothschild (they knew about rothschild even in pumpian!). "yes, he was a rich tano and no mistake!" he reflected, and was straightway sunk in the consideration of the subject of rich and poor. he knew from the holy books that to be rich is a pure misfortune. king solomon, who was certainly a great sage, prayed to god: resh wo-osher al-titten li!--"give me neither poverty nor _riches_!" he said that "riches are stored to the hurt of their owner," and in the holy gemoreh there is a passage which says, "poverty becomes a jew as scarlet reins become a white horse," and once a sage had been in heaven for a short time and had come back again, and he said that he had seen poor people there occupying the principal seats in the garden of eden, and the rich pushed right away, back into a corner by the door. and as for the books of exhortation, there are things written that make you shudder in every limb. the punishments meted out to the rich by god in that world, the world of truth, are no joke. for what bit of merit they have, god rewards them in _this_ poor world, the world of vanity, while yonder, in the world of truth, they arrive stript and naked, without so much as a taste of kingdom-come! "consequently, the question is," thought reb nochumtzi, "why should they, the rich, want to keep this misfortune? of what use is this misfortune to them? who so mad as to take such a piece of misfortune into his house and keep it there? how can anyone take the world-to-come in both hands and lose it for the sake of such vanities?" he thought and thought, and thought it over again: "what is a poor creature to do when god sends him the misfortune of riches? he would certainly wish to get rid of them, only who would take his misfortune to please him? who would free another from a curse and take it upon himself? "but, after all ... ha?" the evil spirit muttered inside him. "what a fool you are!" thought reb nochumtzi again. "if" (and he described a half-circle downward in the air with his thumb), "if troubles come to us, such as an illness (may the merciful protect us!), or some other misfortune of the kind, it is expressly stated in the sacred writings that it is an expiation for sin, a torment sent into the world, so that we may be purified by it, and made fit to go straight to paradise. and because it is god who afflicts men with these things, we cannot give them away to anyone else, but have to bear with them. now, such a misfortune as being rich, which is also a visitation of god, must certainly be borne with like the rest. "and, besides," he reflected further, "the fool who would take the misfortune to himself, doesn't exist! what healthy man in his senses would get into a sick-bed?" he began to feel very sorry for reb eliezer ben charsum with his thousand towns and his thousand ships. "to think that such a saint, such a tano, one of the authors of the holy mishnah, should incur such a severe punishment! "but he stood the trial! despite this great misfortune, he remained a saint and a tano to the end, and the holy gemoreh says particularly that he thereby put to shame all the rich people, who go straight to gehenna." thus reb nochumtzi, the pumpian rav, sat over the talmud and reflected continually on the problem of great riches. he knew the world through the holy scriptures, and was persuaded that riches were a terrible misfortune, which had to be borne, because no one would consent to taking it from another, and bearing it for him. * * * * * again many years passed, and reb nochumtzi gradually came to see that poverty also is a misfortune, and out of his own experience. his sabbath cloak began to look threadbare (the weekday one was already patched on every side), he had six little children living, one or two of the girls were grown up, and it was time to think of settling them, and they hadn't a frock fit to put on. the five polish gulden a week salary was not enough to keep them in bread, and the wife, poor thing, wept the whole day through: "well, there, ich wie ich, it isn't for myself--but the poor children are naked and barefoot." at last they were even short of bread. "nochumtzi! why don't you speak?" exclaimed his wife with tears in her eyes. "nochumtzi, can't you hear me? i tell you, we're starving! the children are skin and bone, they haven't a shirt to their back, they can hardly keep body and soul together. think of a way out of it, invent something to help us!" and reb nochumtzi sat and considered. he was considering the other misfortune--poverty. "it is equally a misfortune to be really very poor." and this also he found stated in the holy scriptures. it was king solomon, the famous sage, who prayed as well: resh wo-osher al-titten li, that is, "give me neither _poverty_ nor riches." aha! poverty is no advantage, either, and what does the holy gemoreh say but "poverty diverts a man from the way of god"? in fact, there is a second misfortune in the world, and one he knows very well, one with which he has a practical, working acquaintance, he and his wife and his children. and reb nochum pursued his train of thought: "so there are two contrary misfortunes in the world: this way it's bad, and that way it's bitter! is there really no remedy? can no one suggest any help?" and reb nochumtzi began to pace the room up and down, lost in thought, bending his whole mind to the subject. a whole flight of bible texts went through his head, a quantity of quotations from the gemoreh, hundreds of stories and anecdotes from the "fountain of jacob," the midrash, and other books, telling of rich and poor, fortunate and unfortunate people, till his head went round with them all as he thought. suddenly he stood still in the middle of the room, and began talking to himself: "aha! perhaps i've discovered a plan after all! and a good plan, too, upon my word it is! once more: it is quite certain that there will always be more poor than rich--lots more! well, and it's quite certain that every rich man would like to be rid of his misfortune, only that there is no one willing to take it from him--no _one_, not any _one_, of course not. nobody would be so mad. but we have to find out a way by which _lots and lots_ of people should rid him of his misfortune little by little. what do you say to that? once more: that means that we must take his unfortunate riches and divide them among a quantity of poor! that will be a good thing for both parties: he will be easily rid of his great misfortune, and they would be helped, too, and the petition of king solomon would be established, when he said, 'give me neither poverty nor riches.' it would come true of them all, there would be no riches and no poverty. ha? what do you think of it? isn't it really and truly an excellent idea?" reb nochumtzi was quite astonished himself at the plan he had invented, cold perspiration ran down his face, his eyes shone brighter, a happy smile played on his lips. "that's the thing to do!" he explained aloud, sat down by the table, blew his nose, wiped his face, and felt very glad. "there is only one difficulty about it," occurred to him, when he had quieted down a little from his excitement, "one thing that doesn't fit in. it says particularly in the torah that there will always be poor people among the jews, 'the poor shall not cease out of the land.' there must always be poor, and this would make an end of them altogether! besides, the precept concerning charity would, heaven forbid, be annulled, the precept which god, blessed is he, wrote in the torah, and which the holy gemoreh and all the other holy books make so much of. what is to become of the whole treatise on charity in the shulchan aruch? how can we continue to fulfil it?" but a good head is never at a loss! reb nochumtzi soon found a way out of the difficulty. "never mind!" and he wrinkled his forehead, and pondered on. "there is no fear! who said that even the whole of the money in the possession of a few unfortunate rich men will be enough to go round? that there will be just enough to help all the jewish poor? no fear, there will be enough poor left for the exercise of charity. ai wos? there is another thing: to whom shall be given and to whom not? ha, that's a detail, too. of course, one would begin with the learned and the poor scholars and sages, who have to live on the torah and on divine service. the people can just be left to go on as it is. no fear, but it will be all right!" at last the plan was ready. reb nochumtzi thought it over once more, very carefully, found it complete from every point of view, and gave himself up to a feeling of satisfaction and delight. "dvoireh!" he called to his wife, "dvoireh, don't cry! please god, it will be all right, quite all right. i've thought out a plan.... a little patience, and it will all come right!" "whatever? what sort of plan?" "there, there, wait and see and hold your tongue! no woman's brain could take it in. you leave it to me, it will be all right!" and reb nochumtzi reflected further: "yes, the plan is a good one. only, how is it to be carried out? with whom am i to begin?" and he thought of all the householders in pumpian, but--there was not one single unfortunate man among them! that is, not one of them had money, a real lot of money; there was nobody with whom to discuss his invention to any purpose. "if so, i shall have to drive to one of the large towns!" and one sabbath the beadle gave out in the house-of-study that the rav begged them all to be present that evening at a convocation. at the said convocation the rav unfolded his whole plan to the people, and placed before them the happiness that would result for the whole world, if it were to be realized. but first of all he must journey to a large town, in which there were a great many unfortunate rich people, preferably wilna, and he demanded of his flock that they should furnish him with the necessary means for getting there. the audience did not take long to reflect, they agreed to the rav's proposal, collected a few rubles (for who would not give their last farthing for such an important object?), and on sunday morning early they hired him a peasant's cart and horse--and the rav drove away to wilna. the rav passed the drive marshalling his arguments, settling on what he should say, and how he should explain himself, and he was delighted to see how, the more deeply he pondered his plan, the more he thought it out, the more efficient and appropriate it appeared, and the clearer he saw what happiness it would bestow on men all the world over. the small cart arrived at wilna. "whither are we to drive?" asked the peasant. "whither? to a jew," answered the rav. "for where is the jew who will not give me a night's lodging?" "and i, with my cart and horse?" the rav sat perplexed, but a jew passing by heard the conversation, and explained to him that wilna is not pumpian, and that they would have to drive to a post-house, or an inn. "be it so!" said the rav, and the jew gave him the address of a place to which they should drive. wilna! it is certainly not the same thing as pumpian. now, for the first time in his life, the rav saw whole streets of tall houses, of two and three stories, all as it were under one roof, and how fine they are, thought he, with their decorated exteriors! "oi, there live the unfortunate people!" said reb nochumtzi to himself. "i never saw anything like them before! how can they bear such a misfortune? i shall come to them as an angel of deliverance!" he had made up his mind to go to the principal jewish citizen in wilna, only he must be a good scholar, so as to understand what reb nochumtzi had to say to him. they advised him to go to the president of the congregation. every street along which he passed astonished him separately, the houses, the pavements, the droshkis and carriages, and especially the people, so beautifully got up with gold watch-chains and rings--he was quite bewildered, so that he was afraid he might lose his senses, and forget all his arguments and his reasonings. at last he arrived at the president's house. "he lives on the first floor." another surprise! reb nochumtzi was unused to stairs. there was no storied house in all pumpian! but when you must, you must! one way and another he managed to arrive at the first-floor landing, where he opened the door, and said, all in one breath: "i am the pumpian rav, and have something to say to the president." the president, a handsome old man, very busy just then with some merchants who had come on business, stood up, greeted him politely, and opening the door of the reception-room said to him: "please, rabbi, come in here and wait a little. i shall soon have finished, and then i will come to you here." expensive furniture, large mirrors, pictures, softly upholstered chairs, tables, cupboards with shelves full of great silver candlesticks, cups, knives and forks, a beautiful lamp, and many other small objects, all of solid silver, wardrobes with carving in different designs; then, painted walls, a great silver chandelier decorated with cut glass, fascinating to behold! reb nochumtzi actually had tears in his eyes, "to think of anyone's being so unfortunate--and to have to bear it!" "what can i do for you, pumpian rav?" inquired the president. and reb nochumtzi, overcome by amazement and enthusiasm, nearly shouted: "you are so unfortunate!" the president stared at him, shrugged his shoulders, and was silent. then reb nochumtzi laid his whole plan before him, the object of his coming. "i will be frank with you," he said in concluding his long speech, "i had no idea of the extent of the misfortune! to the rescue, men, save yourselves! take it to heart, think of what it means to have houses like these, and all these riches--it is a most terrible misfortune! now i see what a reform of the whole world my plan amounts to, what deliverance it will bring to all men!" the president looked him straight in the face: he saw the man was not mad, but that he had the limited horizon of one born and bred in a small provincial town and in the atmosphere of the house-of-study. he also saw that it would be impossible to convince him by proofs that his idea was a mistaken one; for a little while he pitied him in silence, then he hit upon an expedient, and said: "you are quite right, rabbi! your plan is really a very good one. but i am only one of many, wilna is full of such unfortunate people. everyone of them must be talked to, and have the thing explained to him. then, the other party must be spoken to as well, i mean the poor people, so that they shall be willing to take their share of the misfortune. that's not such an easy matter as giving a thing away and getting rid of it." "of course, of course...." agreed reb nochumtzi. "look here, rav of pumpian, i will undertake the more difficult part--let us work together! you shall persuade the rich to give away their misfortune, and i will persuade the poor to take it! your share of the work will be the easier, because, after all, everybody wants to be rid of his misfortune. do your part, and as soon as you have finished with the rich, i will arrange for you to be met half-way by the poor...." * * * * * history does not tell how far the rav of pumpian succeeded in wilna. only this much is certain, the president never saw him again. jehalel pen name of judah löb lewin; born, , in minsk (lithuania), white russia; tutor; treasurer to the brodski flour mills and their sugar refinery, at tomaschpol, podolia, later in kieff; began to write in ; translator of beaconsfield's tancred into hebrew; talmudist; mystic; first socialist writer in hebrew; writer, chiefly in hebrew, of prose and poetry; contributor to sholom-alechem's jüdische volksbibliothek, ha-shahar, ha-meliz, ha-zeflrah, and other periodicals. earth of palestine as my readers know, i wanted to do a little stroke of business--to sell the world-to-come. i must tell you that i came out of it very badly, and might have fallen into some misfortune, if i had had the ware in stock. it fell on this wise: nowadays everyone is squeezed and stifled; parnosseh is gone to wrack and ruin, and there is no business--i mean, there _is_ business, only not for us jews. in such bitter times people snatch the bread out of each other's mouths; if it is known that someone has made a find, and started a business, they quickly imitate him; if that one opens a shop, a second does likewise, and a third, and a fourth; if this one makes a contract, the other runs and will do it for less--"even if i earn nothing, no more will you!" when i gave out that i had the world-to-come to sell, lots of people gave a start, "aha! a business!" and before they knew what sort of ware it was, and where it was to be had, they began thinking about a shop--and there was still greater interest shown on the part of certain philanthropists, party leaders, public workers, and such-like. they knew that when i set up trading in the world-to-come, i had announced that my business was only with the poor. well, they understood that it was likely to be profitable, and might give them the chance of licking a bone or two. there was very soon a great tararam in our little world, people began inquiring where my goods came from. they surrounded me with spies, who were to find out what i did at night, what i did on sabbath; they questioned the cook, the market-woman; but in vain, they could not find out how i came by the world-to-come. and there blazed up a fire of jealousy and hatred, and they began to inform, to write letters to the authorities about me. laban the yellow and balaam the blind (you know them!) made my boss believe that i do business, that is, that i have capital, that is--that is--but my employer investigated the matter, and seeing that my stock in trade was the world-to-come, he laughed, and let me alone. the townspeople among whom it was my lot to dwell, those good people who are a great hand at fishing in troubled waters, as soon as they saw the mud rise, snatched up their implements and set to work, informing by letter that i was dealing in contraband. there appeared a red official and swept out a few corners in my house, but without finding a single specimen bit of the world-to-come, and went away. but i had no peace even then; every day came a fresh letter informing against me. my good brothers never ceased work. the pious, orthodox jews, the gemoreh-köplech, informed, and said i was a swindler, because the world-to-come is a thing that isn't there, that is neither fish, flesh, fowl, nor good red herring, and the whole thing was a delusion; the half-civilized people with long trousers and short earlocks said, on the contrary, that i was making game of religion, so that before long i had enough of it from every side, and made the following resolutions: first, that i would have nothing to do with the world-to-come and such-like things which the jews did not understand, although they held them very precious; secondly, that i would not let myself in for selling anything. one of my good friends, an experienced merchant, advised me rather to buy than to sell: "there are so many to sell, they will compete with you, inform against you, and behave as no one should. buying, on the other hand--if you want to buy, you will be esteemed and respected, everyone will flatter you, and be ready to sell to you on credit--everyone is ready to take money, and with very little capital you can buy the best and most expensive ware." the great thing was to get a good name, and then, little by little, by means of credit, one might rise very high. so it was settled that i should buy. i had a little money on hand for a couple of newspaper articles, for which nowadays they pay; i had a bit of reputation earned by a great many articles in hebrew, for which i received quite nice complimentary letters; and, in case of need, there is a little money owing to me from certain jewish booksellers of the maskilim, for books bought "on commission." well, i am resolved to buy. but what shall i buy? i look round and take note of all the things a man can buy, and see that i, as a jew, may not have them; that which i may buy, no matter where, isn't worth a halfpenny; a thing that is of any value, i can't have. and i determine to take to the old ware which my great-great-grandfathers bought, and made a fortune in. my parents and the whole family wish for it every day. i resolve to buy--you understand me?--earth of palestine, and i announce both verbally and in writing to all my good and bad brothers that i wish to become a purchaser of the ware. oh, what a commotion it made! hardly was it known that i wished to buy palestinian earth, than there pounced upon me people of whom i had never thought it possible that they should talk to me, and be in the room with me. the first to come was a kind of jew with a green shawl, with white shoes, a pale face with a red nose, dark eyes, and yellow earlocks. he commenced unpacking paper and linen bags, out of which he shook a little sand, and he said to me: "that is from mother rachel's grave, from the shunammite's grave, from the graves of huldah the prophetess and deborah." then he shook out the other bags, and mentioned a whole list of men: from the grave of enoch, moses our teacher, elijah the prophet, habakkuk, ezekiel, jonah, authors of the talmud, and holy men as many as there be. he assured me that each kind of sand had its own precious distinction, and had, of course, its special price. i had not had time to examine all the bags of sand, when, aha! i got a letter written on blue paper in rashi script, in which an unknown well-wisher earnestly warned me against buying of _that_ jew, for neither he nor his father before him had ever been in palestine, and he had got the sand in k., from the andreiyeff hills yonder, and that if i wished for it, _he_ had _real_ palestinian earth, from the mount of olives, with a document from the palestinian vicegerent, the brisk rebbetzin, to the effect that she had given of this earth even to the eaters of swine's flesh, of whom it is said, "for their worm shall not die," and they also were saved from worms. my palestinian jew, after reading the letter, called down all bad dreams upon the head of the brisk rebbetzin, and declared among other things that she herself was a dreadful worm, who, etc. he assured me that i ought not to send money to the brisk rebbetzin, "may heaven defend you! it will be thrown away, as it has been a hundred times already!" and began once more to praise _his_ wares, his earth, saying it was a marvel. i answered him that i wanted real earth of palestine, _earth_, not sand out of little bags. "earth, it _is_ earth!" he repeated, and became very angry. "what do you mean by earth? am i offering you mud? but that is the way with people nowadays, when they want something jewish, there is no pleasing them! only" (a thought struck him) "if you want another sort, perhaps from the field of machpelah, i can bring you some palestinian earth that _is_ earth. meantime give me something in advance, for, besides everything else, i am a palestinian jew." i pushed a coin into his hand, and he went away. meanwhile the news had spread, my intention to purchase earth of palestine had been noised abroad, and the little town echoed with my name. in the streets, lanes, and market-place, the talk was all of me and of how "there is no putting a final value on a jewish soul: one thought he was one of _them_, and now he wants to buy earth of palestine!" many of those who met me looked at me askance, "the same and _not_ the same!" in the synagogue they gave me the best turn at the reading of the law; jews in shoes and socks wished me "a good sabbath" with great heartiness, and a friendly smile: "eh-eh-eh! we understand--you are a deep one--you are one of us after all." in short, they surrounded me, and nearly carried me on their shoulders, so that i really became something of a celebrity. yüdel, the "living orphan," worked the hardest. yüdel is already a man in years, but everyone calls him the "orphan" on account of what befell him on a time. his history is very long and interesting, i will tell it you in brief. he has a very distinguished father and a very noble mother, and he is an only child, of a very frolicsome disposition, on account of which his father and his mother frequently disagreed; the father used to punish him and beat him, but the boy hid with his mother. in a word, it came to this, that his father gave him into the hands of strangers, to be educated and put into shape. the mother could not do without him, and fell sick of grief; she became a wreck. her beautiful house was burnt long ago through the boy's doing: one day, when a child, he played with fire, and there was a conflagration, and the neighbors came and built on the site of her palace, and she, the invalid, lies neglected in a corner. the father, who has left the house, often wished to rejoin her, but by no manner of means can they live together without the son, and so the cast-off child became a "living orphan"; he roams about in the wide world, comes to a place, and when he has stayed there a little while, they drive him out, because wherever he comes, he stirs up a commotion. as is the way with all orphans, he has many fathers, and everyone directs him, hits him, lectures him; he is always in the way, blamed for everything, it's always his fault, so that he has got into the habit of cowering and shrinking at the mere sight of a stick. wandering about as he does, he has copied the manners and customs of strange people, in every place where he has been; his very character is hardly his own. his father has tried both to threaten and to persuade him into coming back, saying they would then all live together as before, but yüdel has got to like living from home, he enjoys the scrapes he gets into, and even the blows they earn for him. no matter how people knock him about, pull his hair, and draw his blood, the moment they want him to make friendly advances, there he is again, alert and smiling, turns the world topsyturvy, and won't hear of going home. it is remarkable that yüdel, who is no fool, and has a head for business, the instant people look kindly on him, imagines they like him, although he has had a thousand proofs to the contrary. he has lately been of such consequence in the eyes of the world that they have begun to treat him in a new way, and they drive him out of every place at once. the poor boy has tried his best to please, but it was no good, they knocked him about till he was covered with blood, took every single thing he had, and empty-handed, naked, hungry, and beaten as he is, they shout at him "be off!" from every side. now he lives in narrow streets, in the small towns, hidden away in holes and corners. he very often hasn't enough to eat, but he goes on in his old way, creeps into tight places, dances at all the weddings, loves to meddle, everything concerns him, and where two come together, he is the third. i have known him a long time, ever since he was a little boy. he always struck me as being very wild, but i saw that he was of a noble disposition, only that he had grown rough from living among strangers. i loved him very much, but in later years he treated me to hot and cold by turns. i must tell you that when yüdel had eaten his fill, he was always very merry, and minded nothing; but when he had been kicked out by his landlord, and went hungry, then he was angry, and grew violent over every trifle. he would attack me for nothing at all, we quarrelled and parted company, that is, i loved him at a distance. when he wasn't just in my sight, i felt a great pity for him, and a wish to go to him; but hardly had i met him than he was at the old game again, and i had to leave him. now that i was together with him in my native place, i found him very badly off, he hadn't enough to eat. the town was small and poor, and he had no means of supporting himself. when i saw him in his bitter and dark distress, my heart went out to him. but at such times, as i said before, he is very wild and fanatical. one day, on the ninth of ab, i felt obliged to speak out, and tell him that sitting in socks, with his forehead on the ground, reciting lamentations, would do no good. yüdel misunderstood me, and thought i was laughing at jerusalem. he began to fire up, and he spread reports of me in the town, and when he saw me in the distance, he would spit out before me. his anger dated from some time past, because one day i turned him out of my house; he declared that i was the cause of all his misfortunes, and now that i was his neighbor, i had resolved to ruin him; he believed that i hated him and played him false. why should yüdel think that? i don't know. perhaps he feels one ought to dislike him, or else he is so embittered that he cannot believe in the kindly feelings of others. however that may be, yüdel continued to speak ill of me, and throw mud at me through the town; crying out all the while that i hadn't a scrap of jewishness in me. now that he heard i was buying palestinian earth, he began by refusing to believe it, and declared it was a take-in and the trick of an apostate, for how could a person who laughed at socks on the ninth of ab really want to buy earth of palestine? but when he saw the green shawls and the little bags of earth, he went over--a way he has--to the opposite, the exact opposite. he began to worship me, couldn't praise me enough, and talked of me in the back streets, so that the women blessed me aloud. yüdel was now much given to my company, and often came in to see me, and was most intimate, although there was no special piousness about me. i was just the same as before, but yüdel took this for the best of signs, and thought it proved me to be of extravagant hidden piety. "there's a jew for you!" he would cry aloud in the street. "earth of palestine! there's a jew!" in short, he filled the place with my jewishness and my hidden orthodoxy. i looked on with indifference, but after a while the affair began to cost me both time and money. the palestinian beggars and, above all, yüdel and the townsfolk obtained for me the reputation of piety, and there came to me orthodox jews, treasurers, cabalists, beggar students, and especially the rebbe's followers; they came about me like bees. they were never in the habit of avoiding me, but this was another thing all the same. before this, when one of the rebbe's disciples came, he would enter with a respectful demeanor, take off his hat, and, sitting in his cap, would fix his gaze on my mouth with a sweet smile; we both felt that the one and only link between us lay in the money that i gave and he took. he would take it gracefully, put it into his purse, as it might be for someone else, and thank me as though he appreciated my kindness. when _i_ went to see _him_, he would place a chair for me, and give me preserve. but now he came to me with a free and easy manner, asked for a sip of brandy with a snack to eat, sat in my room as if it were his own, and looked at me as if i were an underling, and he had authority over me; i am the penitent sinner, it is said, and that signifies for him the key to the door of repentance; i have entered into his domain, and he is my lord and master; he drinks my health as heartily as though it were his own, and when i press a coin into his hand, he looks at it well, to make sure it is worth his while accepting it. if i happen to visit him, i am on a footing with all his followers, the chassidim; his "trustees," and all his other hangers-on, are my brothers, and come to me when they please, with all the mud on their boots, put their hand into my bosom and take out my tobacco-pouch, and give it as their opinion that the brandy is weak, not to talk of holidays, especially purim and rejoicing of the law, when they troop in with a great noise and vociferation, and drink and dance, and pay as much attention to me as to the cat. in fact, all the townsfolk took the same liberties with me. before, they asked nothing of me, and took me as they found me, now they began to _demand_ things of me and to inquire why i didn't do this, and why i did that, and not the other. shmuelke the bather asked me why i was never seen at the bath on sabbath. kalmann the butcher wanted to know why, among the scape-fowls, there wasn't a white one of mine; and even the beadle of the klaus, who speaks through his nose, and who had never dared approach me, came and insisted on giving me the thirty-nine stripes on the eve of the day of atonement: "eh-eh, if you are a jew like other jews, come and lie down, and you shall be given stripes!" and the palestinian jews never ceased coming with their bags of earth, and i never ceased rejecting. one day there came a broad-shouldered jew from "over there," with his bag of palestinian earth. the earth pleased me, and a conversation took place between us on this wise: "how much do you want for your earth?" "for my earth? from anyone else i wouldn't take less than thirty rubles, but from you, knowing you and _of_ you as i do, and as your parents did so much for palestine, i will take a twenty-five ruble piece. you must know that a person buys this once and for all." "i don't understand you," i answered. "twenty-five rubles! how much earth have you there?" "how much earth have i? about half a quart. there will be enough to cover the eyes and the face. perhaps you want to cover the whole body, to have it underneath and on the top and at the sides? o, i can bring you some more, but it will cost you two or three hundred rubles, because, since the good-for-nothings took to coming to palestine, the earth has got very expensive. believe me, i don't make much by it, it costs me nearly...." "i don't understand you, my friend! what's this about bestrewing the body? what do you mean by it?" "how do you mean, 'what do you mean by it?' bestrewing the body like that of all honest jews, after death." "ha? after death? to preserve it?" "yes, what else?" "i don't want it for that, i don't mind what happens to my body after death. i want to buy palestinian earth for my lifetime." "what do you mean? what good can it do you while you're alive? you are not talking to the point, or else you are making game of a poor palestinian jew?" "i am speaking seriously. i want it now, while i live! what is it you don't understand?" my palestinian jew was greatly perplexed, but he quickly collected himself, and took in the situation. i saw by his artful smile that he had detected a strain of madness in me, and what should he gain by leading me into the paths of reason? rather let him profit by it! and this he proceeded to do, saying with winning conviction: "yes, of course, you are right! how right you are! may i ever see the like! people are not wrong when they say, 'the apple falls close to the tree'! you are drawn to the root, and you love the soil of palestine, only in a different way, like your holy forefathers, may they be good advocates! you are young, and i am old, and i have heard how they used to bestrew their head-dress with it in their lifetime, so as to fulfil the scripture verse, 'and have pity on zion's dust,' and honest jews shake earth of palestine into their shoes on the eve of the ninth of ab, and at the meal before the fast they dip an egg into palestinian earth--nu, fein! i never expected so much of you, and i can say with truth, 'there's a jew for you!' well, in that case, you will require two pots of the earth, but it will cost you a deal." "we are evidently at cross-purposes," i said to him. "what are two potfuls? what is all this about bestrewing the body? i want to buy palestinian earth, earth in palestine, do you understand? i want to buy, in palestine, a little bit of earth, a few dessiatines." "ha? i didn't quite catch it. what did you say?" and my palestinian jew seized hold of his right ear, as though considering what he should do; then he said cheerfully: "ha--aha! you mean to secure for yourself a burial-place, also for after death! o yes, indeed, you are a holy man and no mistake! well, you can get that through me, too; give me something in advance, and i shall manage it for you all right at a bargain." "why do you go on at me with your 'after death,'" i cried angrily. "i want a bit of earth in palestine, i want to dig it, and sow it, and plant it...." "ha? what? sow it and plant it?! that is ... that is ... you only mean ... may all bad dreams!..." and stammering thus, he scraped all the scattered earth, little by little, into his bag, gradually got nearer the door, and--was gone! it was not long before the town was seething and bubbling like a kettle on the boil, everyone was upset as though by some misfortune, angry with me, and still more with himself: "how could we be so mistaken? he doesn't want to buy palestinian earth at all, he doesn't care what happens to him when he's dead, he laughs--he only wants to buy earth _in_ palestine, and set up villages there." "eh-eh-eh! he remains one of _them_! he is what he is--a skeptic!" so they said in all the streets, all the householders in the town, the women in the market-place, at the bath, they went about abstracted, and as furious as though i had insulted them, made fools of them, taken them in, and all of a sudden they became cold and distant to me. the pious jews were seen no more at my house. i received packages from palestine one after the other. one had a black seal, on which was scratched a black ram's horn, and inside, in large characters, was a ban from the brisk rebbetzin, because of my wishing to make all the jews unhappy. other packets were from different palestinian beggars, who tried to compel me, with fair words and foul, to send them money for their travelling expenses and for the samples of earth they enclosed. my fellow-townspeople also got packages from "over there," warning them against me--i was a dangerous man, a missionary, and it was a mitzveh to be revenged on me. there was an uproar, and no wonder! a letter from palestine, written in rashi, with large seals! in short i was to be put to shame and confusion. everyone avoided me, nobody came near me. when people were obliged to come to me in money matters or to beg an alms, they entered with deference, and spoke respectfully, in a gentle voice, as to "one of them," took the alms or the money, and were out of the door, behind which they abused me, as usual. only yüdel did not forsake me. yüdel, the "living orphan," was bewildered and perplexed. he had plenty of work, flew from one house to the other, listening, begging, and talebearing, answering and asking questions; but he could not settle the matter in his own mind: now he looked at me angrily, and again with pity. he seemed to wish not to meet me, and yet he sought occasion to do so, and would look earnestly into my face. the excitement of my neighbors and their behavior to me interested me very little; but i wanted very much to know the reason why i had suddenly become abhorrent to them? i could by no means understand it. once there came a wild, dark night. the sky was covered with black clouds, there was a drenching rain and hail and a stormy wind, it was pitch dark, and it lightened and thundered, as though the world were turning upside down. the great thunder claps and the hail broke a good many people's windows, the wind tore at the roofs, and everyone hid inside his house, or wherever he found a corner. in that dreadful dark night my door opened, and in came--yüdel, the "living orphan"; he looked as though someone were pushing him from behind, driving him along. he was as white as the wall, cowering, beaten about, helpless as a leaf. he came in, and stood by the door, holding his hat; he couldn't decide, did not know if he should take it off, or not. i had never seen him so miserable, so despairing, all the time i had known him. i asked him to sit down, and he seemed a little quieted. i saw that he was soaking wet, and shivering with cold, and i gave him hot tea, one glass after the other. he sipped it with great enjoyment. and the sight of him sitting there sipping and warming himself would have been very comic, only it was so very sad. the tears came into my eyes. yüdel began to brighten up, and was soon yüdel, his old self, again. i asked him how it was he had come to me in such a state of gloom and bewilderment? he told me the thunder and the hail had broken all the window-panes in his lodging, and the wind had carried away the roof, there was nowhere he could go for shelter; nobody would let him in at night; there was not a soul he could turn to, there remained nothing for him but to lie down in the street and die. "and so," he said, "having known you so long, i hoped you would take me in, although you are 'one of them,' not at all pious, and, so they say, full of evil intentions against jews and jewishness; but i know you are a good man, and will have compassion on me." i forgave yüdel his rudeness, because i knew him for an outspoken man, that he was fond of talking, but never did any harm. seeing him depressed, i offered him a glass of wine, but he refused it. i understood the reason of his refusal, and started a conversation with him. "tell me, yüdel heart, how is it i have fallen into such bad repute among you that you will not even drink a drop of wine in my house? and why do you say that i am 'one of them,' and not pious? a little while ago you spoke differently of me." "ett! it just slipped from my tongue, and the truth is you may be what you please, you are a good man." "no, yüdel, don't try to get out of it! tell me openly (it doesn't concern me, but i am curious to know), why this sudden revulsion of feeling about me, this change of opinion? tell me, yüdel, i beg of you, speak freely!" my gentle words and my friendliness gave yüdel great encouragement. the poor fellow, with whom not one of "them" has as yet spoken kindly! when he saw that i meant it, he began to scratch his head; it seemed as if in that minute he forgave me all my "heresies," and he looked at me kindly, and as if with pity. then, seeing that i awaited an answer, he gave a twist to his earlock, and said gently and sincerely: "you wish me to tell you the truth? you insist upon it? you will not be offended?" "you know that i never take offence at anything you say. say anything you like, yüdel heart, only speak." "then i will tell you: the town and everyone else is very angry with you on account of your palestinian earth: you want to do something new, buy earth and plough it and sow--and where? in our land of israel, in our holy land of israel!" "but why, yüdel dear, when they thought i was buying palestinian earth to bestrew me after death, was i looked upon almost like a saint?" "Ê, that's another thing! that showed that you held palestine holy, for a land whose soil preserves one against being eaten of worms, like any other honest jew." "well, i ask you, yüdel, what does this mean? when they thought i was buying sand for after my death, i was a holy man, a lover of palestine, and because i want to buy earth and till it, earth in your holy land, our holy earth in the holy land, in which our best and greatest counted it a privilege to live, i am a blot on israel. tell me, yüdel, i ask you: _why_, because one wants to bestrew himself with palestinian earth after death, is one an orthodox jew; and when one desires to give oneself wholly to palestine in life, should one be 'one of them'? now i ask you--all those palestinian jews who came to me with their bags of sand, and were my very good friends, and full of anxiety to preserve my body after death, why have they turned against me on hearing that i wished for a bit of palestinian earth while i live? why are they all so interested and such good brothers to the dead, and such bloodthirsty enemies to the living? why, because i wish to provide for my sad existence, have they noised abroad that i am a missionary, and made up tales against me? why? i ask you, why, yüdel, why?" "you ask me? how should i know? i only know that ever since palestine was palestine, people have gone there to die--that i know; but all this ploughing, sowing, and planting the earth, i never heard of in my life before." "yes, yüdel, you are right, because it has been so for a long time, you think so it has to be--that is the real answer to your questions. but why not think back a little? why should one only go to palestine to die? is not palestinian earth fit to _live_ on? on the contrary, it is some of the very best soil, and when we till it and plant it, we fulfil the precept to restore the holy land, and we also work for ourselves, toward the realization of an honest and peaceable life. i won't discuss the matter at length with you to-day. it seems that you have quite forgotten what all the holy books say about palestine, and what a precept it is to till the soil. and another question, touching what you said about palestine being only there to go and die in. tell me, those palestinian jews who were so interested in my death, and brought earth from over there to bestrew me--tell me, are they also only there to die? did you notice how broad and stout they were? ha? and they, they too, when they heard i wanted to live there, fell upon me like wild animals, filling the world with their cries, and made up the most dreadful stories about me. well, what do you say, yüdel? i ask you." "do i know?" said yüdel, with a wave of the hand. "is my head there to think out things like that? but tell me, i beg, what _is_ the good to you of buying land in palestine and getting into trouble all round?" "you ask, what is the good to me? i want to live, do you hear? i want to _live_!" "if you can't live without palestinian earth, why did you not get some before? did you never want to live till now?" "oh, yüdel, you are right there. i confess that till now i have lived in a delusion, i thought i was living; but--what is the saying?--so long as the thunder is silent...." "some thunder has struck you!" interrupted yüdel, looking compassionately into my face. "i will put it briefly. you must know, yüdel, that i have been in business here for quite a long time. i worked faithfully, and my chief was pleased with me. i was esteemed and looked up to, and it never occurred to me that things would change; but bad men could not bear to see me doing so well, and they worked hard against me, till one day the business was taken over by my employer's son; and my enemies profited by the opportunity, to cover me with calumnies from head to foot, spreading reports about me which it makes one shudder to hear. this went on till the chief began to look askance at me. at first i got pin-pricks, malicious hints, then things got worse and worse, and at last they began to push me about, and one day they turned me out of the house, and threw me into a hedge. presently, when i had reviewed the whole situation, i saw that they could do what they pleased with me. i had no one to rely on, my onetime good friends kept aloof from me, i had lost all worth in their eyes; with some because, as is the way with people, they took no trouble to inquire into the reason of my downfall, but, hearing all that was said against me, concluded that i was in the wrong; others, again, because they wished to be agreeable to my enemies; the rest, for reasons without number. in short, reflecting on all this, i saw the game was lost, and there was no saying what might not happen to me! hitherto i had borne my troubles patiently, with the courage that is natural to me; but now i feel my courage giving way, and i am in fear lest i should fall in my own eyes, in my own estimation, and get to believe that i am worth nothing. and all this because i must needs resort to _them_, and take all the insults they choose to fling at me, and every outcast has me at his mercy. that is why i want to collect my remaining strength, and buy a parcel of land in palestine, and, god helping, i will become a bit of a householder--do you understand?" "why must it be just in palestine?" "because i may not, and i cannot, buy in anywhere else. i have tried to find a place elsewhere, but they were afraid i was going to get the upper hand, so down they came, and made a wreck of it. over there i shall be proprietor myself--that is firstly, and secondly, a great many relations of mine are buried there, in the country where they lived and died. and although you count me as 'one of them,' i tell you i think a great deal of 'the merits of the fathers,' and that it is very pleasant to me to think of living in the land that will remind me of such dear forefathers. and although it will be hard at first, the recollection of my ancestors and the thought of providing my children with a corner of their own and honestly earned bread will give me strength, till i shall work my way up to something. and i hope i _will_ get to something. remember, yüdel, i believe and i hope! you will see, yüdel--you know that our brothers consider palestinian earth a charm against being eaten by worms, and you think that i laugh at it? no, i believe in it! it is quite, quite true that my palestinian earth will preserve me from worms, only not after death, no, but alive--from such worms as devour and gnaw at and poison the whole of life!" yüdel scratched his nose, gave a rub to the cap on his head, and uttered a deep sigh. "yes, yüdel, you sigh! now do you know what i wanted to say to you?" "ett!" and yüdel made a gesture with his hand. "what you have to say to me?--ett!" "oi, that 'ett!' of yours! yüdel, i know it! when you have nothing to answer, and you ought to think, and think something out, you take refuge in 'ett!' just consider for once, yüdel, i have a plan for you, too. remember what you were, and what has become of you. you have been knocking about, driven hither and thither, since childhood. you haven't a house, not a corner, you have become a beggar, a tramp, a nobody, despised and avoided, with unpleasing habits, and living a dog's life. you have very good qualities, a clear head, and acute intelligence. but to what purpose do you put them? you waste your whole intelligence on getting in at backdoors and coaxing a bit of bread out of the maidservant, and the mistress is not to know. can you not devise a means, with that clever brain of yours, how to earn it for yourself? see here, i am going to buy a bit of ground in palestine, come with me, yüdel, and you shall work, and be a man like other men. you are what they call a 'living orphan,' because you have many fathers; and don't forget that you have _one_ father who lives, and who is only waiting for you to grow better. well, how much longer are you going to live among strangers? till now you haven't thought, and the life suited you, you have grown used to blows and contumely. but now that--that--none will let you in, your eyes must have been opened to see your condition, and you must have begun to wish to be different. only begin to wish! you see, i have enough to eat, and yet my position has become hateful to me, because i have lost my value, and am in danger of losing my humanity. but you are hungry, and one of these days you will die of starvation out in the street. yüdel, do just think it over, for if i am right, you will get to be like other people. your father will see that you have turned into a man, he will be reconciled with your mother, and you will be 'a father's child,' as you were before. brother yüdel, think it over!" i talked to my yüdel a long, long time. in the meanwhile, the night had passed. my yüdel gave a start, as though waking out of a deep slumber, and went away full of thought. on opening the window, i was greeted by a friendly smile from the rising morning star, as it peeped out between the clouds. and it began to dawn. isaac lÖb perez born, , in samoscz, government of lublin, russian poland; jewish, philosophical, and general literary education; practiced law in samoscz, a hasidic town; clerk to the jewish congregation in warsaw and as such collector of statistics on jewish life; began to write at twenty-five; contributor to zedernbaum's jüdisches volksblatt; publisher and editor of die jüdische bibliothek ( vols.), in which he conducted the scientific department, and wrote all the editorials and book reviews, of literatur and leben, and of yom-tov blättlech; now ( ) co-editor of der freind, warsaw; hebrew and yiddish prose writer and poet; allegorist; collected hebrew works, - ; collected yiddish works, vols., warsaw and new york, - (in course of publication). a woman's wrath the small room is dingy as the poverty that clings to its walls. there is a hook fastened to the crumbling ceiling, relic of a departed hanging lamp. the old, peeling stove is girded about with a coarse sack, and leans sideways toward its gloomy neighbor, the black, empty fireplace, in which stands an inverted cooking pot with a chipped rim. beside it lies a broken spoon, which met its fate in unequal contest with the scrapings of cold, stale porridge. the room is choked with furniture; there is a four-post bed with torn curtains. the pillows visible through their holes have no covers. there is a cradle, with the large, yellow head of a sleeping child; a chest with metal fittings and an open padlock--nothing very precious left in there, evidently; further, a table and three chairs (originally painted red), a cupboard, now somewhat damaged. add to these a pail of clean water and one of dirty water, an oven rake with a shovel, and you will understand that a pin could hardly drop onto the floor. and yet the room contains _him_ and _her_ beside. _she_, a middle-aged jewess, sits on the chest that fills the space between the bed and the cradle. to her right is the one grimy little window, to her left, the table. she is knitting a sock, rocking the cradle with her foot, and listens to _him_ reading the talmud at the table, with a tearful, wallachian, singing intonation, and swaying to and fro with a series of nervous jerks. some of the words he swallows, others he draws out; now he snaps at a word, and now he skips it; some he accentuates and dwells on lovingly, others he rattles out with indifference, like dried peas out of a bag. and never quiet for a moment. first he draws from his pocket a once red and whole handkerchief, and wipes his nose and brow, then he lets it fall into his lap, and begins twisting his earlocks or pulling at his thin, pointed, faintly grizzled beard. again, he lays a pulled-out hair from the same between the leaves of his book, and slaps his knees. his fingers coming into contact with the handkerchief, they seize it, and throw a corner in between his teeth; he bites it, lays one foot across the other, and continually shuffles with both feet. all the while his pale forehead wrinkles, now in a perpendicular, now in a horizontal, direction, when the long eyebrows are nearly lost below the folds of skin. at times, apparently, he has a sting in the chest, for he beats his left side as though he were saying the al-chets. suddenly he leans his head to the left, presses a finger against his left nostril, and emits an artificial sneeze, leans his head to the right, and the proceeding is repeated. in between he takes a pinch of snuff, pulls himself together, his voice rings louder, the chair creaks, the table wobbles. the child does not wake; the sounds are too familiar to disturb it. and she, the wife, shrivelled and shrunk before her time, sits and drinks in delight. she never takes her eye off her husband, her ear lets no inflection of his voice escape. now and then, it is true, she sighs. were he as fit for _this_ world as he is for the _other_ world, she would have a good time of it here, too--here, too-- "ma!" she consoles herself, "who talks of honor? not every one is worthy of both tables!" she listens. her shrivelled face alters from minute to minute; she is nervous, too. a moment ago it was eloquent of delight. now she remembers it is thursday, there isn't a dreier to spend in preparation for sabbath. the light in her face goes out by degrees, the smile fades, then she takes a look through the grimy window, glances at the sun. it must be getting late, and there isn't a spoonful of hot water in the house. the needles pause in her hand, a shadow has overspread her face. she looks at the child, it is sleeping less quietly, and will soon wake. the child is poorly, and there is not a drop of milk for it. the shadow on her face deepens into gloom, the needles tremble and move convulsively. and when she remembers that it is near passover, that her ear-rings and the festal candlesticks are at the pawnshop, the chest empty, the lamp sold, then the needles perform murderous antics in her fingers. the gloom on her brow is that of a gathering thunder-storm, lightnings play in her small, grey, sunken eyes. he sits and "learns," unconscious of the charged atmosphere; does not see her let the sock fall and begin wringing her finger-joints; does not see that her forehead is puckered with misery, one eye closed, and the other fixed on him, her learned husband, with a look fit to send a chill through his every limb; does not see her dry lips tremble and her jaw quiver. she controls herself with all her might, but the storm is gathering fury within her. the least thing, and it will explode. that least thing has happened. he was just translating a talmudic phrase with quiet delight, "and thence we derive that--" he was going on with "three,--" but the word "derive" was enough, it was the lighted spark, and her heart was the gunpowder. it was ablaze in an instant. her determination gave way, the unlucky word opened the flood-gates, and the waters poured through, carrying all before them. "derived, you say, derived? o, derived may you be, lord of the world," she exclaimed, hoarse with anger, "derived may you be! yes! you!" she hissed like a snake. "passover coming--thursday--and the child ill--and not a drop of milk is there. ha?" her breath gives out, her sunken breast heaves, her eyes flash. he sits like one turned to stone. then, pale and breathless, too, from fright, he gets up and edges toward the door. at the door he turns and faces her, and sees that hand and tongue are equally helpless from passion; his eyes grow smaller; he catches a bit of handkerchief between his teeth, retreats a little further, takes a deeper breath, and mutters: "listen, woman, do you know what bittul-torah means? and not letting a husband study in peace, to be always worrying about livelihood, ha? and who feeds the little birds, tell me? always this want of faith in god, this giving way to temptation, and taking thought for _this_ world ... foolish, ill-natured woman! not to let a husband study! if you don't take care, you will go to gehenna." receiving no answer, he grows bolder. her face gets paler and paler, she trembles more and more violently, and the paler she becomes, and the more she trembles, the steadier his voice, as he goes on: "gehenna! fire! hanging by the tongue! four death penalties inflicted by the court!" she is silent, her face is white as chalk. he feels that he is doing wrong, that he has no call to be cruel, that he is taking a mean advantage, but he has risen, as it were, to the top, and is boiling over. he cannot help himself. "do you know," he threatens her, "what skiloh means? it means stoning, to throw into a ditch and cover up with stones! srefoh--burning, that is, pouring a spoonful of boiling lead into the inside! hereg--beheading, that means they cut off your head with a sword! like this" (and he passes a hand across his neck). "then cheneck--strangling! do you hear? to strangle! do you understand? and all four for making light of the torah! for bittul-torah!" his heart is already sore for his victim, but he is feeling his power over her for the first time, and it has gone to his head. silly woman! he had never known how easy it was to frighten her. "that comes of making light of the torah!" he shouts, and breaks off. after all, she might come to her senses at any moment, and take up the broom! he springs back to the table, closes the gemoreh, and hurries out of the room. "i am going to the house-of-study!" he calls out over his shoulder in a milder tone, and shuts the door after him. the loud voice and the noise of the closing door have waked the sick child. the heavy-lidded eyes open, the waxen face puckers, and there is a peevish wail. but she, beside herself, stands rooted to the spot, and does not hear. "ha!" comes hoarsely at last out of her narrow chest. "so that's it, is it? neither this world nor the other. hanging, he says, stoning, burning, beheading, strangling, hanging by the tongue, boiling lead poured into the inside, he says--for making light of the torah--hanging, ha, ha, ha!" (in desperation). "yes, i'll hang, but _here, here!_ and soon! what is there to wait for?" the child begins to cry louder; still she does not hear. "a rope! a rope!" she screams, and stares wildly into every corner. "where is there a rope? i wish he mayn't find a bone of me left! let me be rid of _one_ gehenna at any rate! let him try it, let him be a mother for once, see how he likes it! i've had enough of it! let it be an atonement! an end, an end! a rope, a rope!!" her last exclamation is like a cry for help from out of a conflagration. she remembers that they _have_ a rope somewhere. yes, under the stove--the stove was to have been tied round against the winter. the rope must be there still. she runs and finds the rope, the treasure, looks up at the ceiling--the hook that held the lamp--she need only climb onto the table. she climbs-- but she sees from the table that the startled child, weak as it is, has sat up in the cradle, and is reaching over the side--it is trying to get out-- "mame, m-mame," it sobs feebly. a fresh paroxysm of anger seizes her. she flings away the rope, jumps off the table, runs to the child, and forces its head back into the pillow, exclaiming: "bother the child! it won't even let me hang myself! i can't even hang myself in peace! it wants to suck. what is the good? you will suck nothing but poison, poison, out of me, i tell you!" "there, then, greedy!" she cries in the same breath, and stuffs her dried-up breast into his mouth. "there, then, suck away--bite!" the treasure to sleep, in summer time, in a room four yards square, together with a wife and eight children, is anything but a pleasure, even on a friday night--and shmerel the woodcutter rises from his bed, though only half through with the night, hot and gasping, hastily pours some water over his finger-tips, flings on his dressing-gown, and escapes barefoot from the parched gehenna of his dwelling. he steps into the street--all quiet, all the shutters closed, and over the sleeping town is a distant, serene, and starry sky. he feels as if he were all alone with god, blessed is he, and he says, looking up at the sky, "now, lord of the universe, now is the time to hear me and to bless me with a treasure out of thy treasure-house!" as he says this, he sees something like a little flame coming along out of the town, and he knows, that is it! he is about to pursue it, when he remembers it is sabbath, when one mustn't turn. so he goes after it walking. and as he walks slowly along, the little flame begins to move slowly, too, so that the distance between them does not increase, though it does not shorten, either. he walks on. now and then an inward voice calls to him: "shmerel, don't be a fool! take off the dressing-gown. give a jump and throw it over the flame!" but he knows it is the evil inclination speaking. he throws off the dressing-gown onto his arm, but to spite the evil inclination he takes still smaller steps, and rejoices to see that, as soon as he takes these smaller steps, the little flame moves more slowly, too. thus he follows the flame, and follows it, till he gradually finds himself outside the town. the road twists and turns across fields and meadows, and the distance between him and the flame grows no longer, no shorter. were he to throw the dressing-gown, it would not reach the flame. meantime the thought revolves in his mind: were he indeed to become possessed of the treasure, he need no longer be a woodcutter, now, in his later years; he has no longer the strength for the work he had once. he would rent a seat for his wife in the women's shool, so that her sabbaths and holidays should not be spoiled by their not allowing her to sit here or to sit there. on new year's day and the day of atonement it is all she can do to stand through the service. her many children have exhausted her! and he would order her a new dress, and buy her a few strings of pearls. the children should be sent to better chedorim, and he would cast about for a match for his eldest girl. as it is, the poor child carries her mother's fruit baskets, and never has time so much as to comb her hair thoroughly, and she has long, long plaits, and eyes like a deer. "it would be a meritorious act to pounce upon the treasure!" the evil inclination again, he thinks. if it is not to be, well, then it isn't! if it were in the week, he would soon know what to do! or if his yainkel were there, he would have had something to say. children nowadays! who knows what they don't do on sabbath, as it is! and the younger one is no better: he makes fun of the teacher in cheder. when the teacher is about to administer a blow, they pull his beard. and who's going to find time to see after them--chopping and sawing a whole day through. he sighs and walks on and on, now and then glancing up into the sky: "lord of the universe, of whom are you making trial? shmerel woodcutter? if you do mean to give me the treasure, _give_ it me!" it seems to him that the flame proceeds more slowly, but at this very moment he hears a dog bark, and it has a bark he knows--that is the dog in vissóke. vissóke is the first village you come to on leaving the town, and he sees white patches twinkle in the dewy morning atmosphere, those are the vissóke peasant cottages. then it occurs to him that he has gone a sabbath day's journey, and he stops short. "yes, i have gone a sabbath day's journey," he thinks, and says, speaking into the air: "you won't lead me astray! it is _not_ a god-send! god does not make sport of us--it is the work of a demon." and he feels a little angry with the thing, and turns and hurries toward the town, thinking: "i won't say anything about it at home, because, first, they won't believe me, and if they do, they'll laugh at me. and what have i done to be proud of? the creator knows how it was, and that is enough for me. besides, _she_ might be angry, who can tell? the children are certainly naked and barefoot, poor little things! why should they be made to transgress the command to honor one's father?" no, he won't breathe a word. he won't even ever remind the almighty of it. if he really has been good, the almighty will remember without being told. and suddenly he is conscious of a strange, lightsome, inward calm, and there is a delicious sensation in his limbs. money is, after all, dross, riches may even lead a man from the right way, and he feels inclined to thank god for not having brought him into temptation by granting him his wish. he would like, if only--to sing a song! "our father, our king" is one he remembers from his early years, but he feels ashamed before himself, and breaks off. he tries to recollect one of the cantor's melodies, a sinai tune--when suddenly he sees that the identical little flame which he left behind him is once more preceding him, and moving slowly townward, townward, and the distance between them neither increases nor diminishes, as though the flame were taking a walk, and he were taking a walk, just taking a little walk in honor of sabbath. he is glad in his heart and watches it. the sky pales, the stars begin to go out, the east flushes, a narrow pink stream flows lengthwise over his head, and still the flame flickers onward into the town, enters his own street. there is his house. the door, he sees, is open. apparently he forgot to shut it. and, lo and behold! the flame goes in, the flame goes in at his own house door! he follows, and sees it disappear beneath the bed. all are asleep. he goes softly up to the bed, stoops down, and sees the flame spinning round underneath it, like a top, always in the same place; takes his dressing-gown, and throws it down under the bed, and covers up the flame. no one hears him, and now a golden morning beam steals in through the chink in the shutter. he sits down on the bed, and makes a vow not to say a word to anyone till sabbath is over--not half a word, lest it cause desecration of the sabbath. _she_ could never hold her tongue, and the children certainly not; they would at once want to count the treasure, to know how much there was, and very soon the secret would be out of the house and into the shool, the house-of-study, and all the streets, and people would talk about his treasure, about luck, and people would not say their prayers, or wash their hands, or say grace, as they should, and he would have led his household and half the town into sin. no, not a whisper! and he stretches himself out on the bed, and pretends to be asleep. and this was his reward: when, after concluding the sabbath, he stooped down and lifted up the dressing-gown under the bed, there lay a sack with a million of gulden, an almost endless number--the bed was a large one--and he became one of the richest men in the place. and he lived happily all the years of his life. only, his wife was continually bringing up against him: "lord of the world, how could a man have such a heart of stone, as to sit a whole summer day and not say a word, not a word, not to his own wife, not one single word! and there was i" (she remembers) "crying over my prayer as i said god of abraham--and crying so--for there wasn't a dreier left in the house." then he consoles her, and says with a smile: "who knows? perhaps it was all thanks to your 'god of abraham' that it went off so well." it is well you ask how it is that i remained a jew? whose merit it is? not through my own merits nor those of my ancestors. i was a six-year-old cheder boy, my father a countryman outside wilna, a householder in a small way. no, i remained a jew thanks to the schpol grandfather. how do i come to mention the schpol grandfather? what has the schpol grandfather to do with it, you ask? the schpol grandfather was no schpol grandfather then. he was a young man, suffering exile from home and kindred, wandering with a troop of mendicants from congregation to congregation, from friendly inn to friendly inn, in all respects one of them. what difference his heart may have shown, who knows? and after these journeyman years, the time of revelation had not come even yet. he presented himself to the rabbinical board in wilna, took out a certificate, and became a shochet in a village. he roamed no more, but remained in the neighborhood of wilna. the misnagdim, however, have a wonderful _flair_, and they suspected something, began to worry and calumniate him, and finally they denounced him to the rabbinical authorities as a transgressor of the law, of the whole law! what misnagdim are capable of, to be sure! as i said, i was then six years old. he used to come to us to slaughter small cattle, or just to spend the night, and i was very fond of him. whom else, except my father and mother, should i have loved? i had a teacher, a passionate man, a destroyer of souls, and this other was a kind and genial creature, who made you feel happy if he only looked at you. the calumnies did their work, and they took away his certificate. my teacher must have had a hand in it, because he heard of it before anyone, and the next time the shochet came, he exclaimed "apostate!" took him by the scruff of his coat, and bundled him out of the house. it cut me to the heart like a knife, only i was frightened to death of the teacher, and never stirred. but a little later, when the teacher was looking away, i escaped and began to run after the shochet across the road, which, not far from the house, lost itself in a wood that stretched all the way to wilna. what exactly i proposed to do to help him, i don't know, but something drove me after the poor shochet. i wanted to say good-by to him, to have one more look into his nice, kindly eyes. but i ran and ran, and hurt my feet against the stones in the road, and saw no one. i went to the right, down into the wood, thinking i would rest a little on the soft earth of the wood. i was about to sit down, when i heard a voice (it sounded like his voice) farther on in the wood, half speaking and half singing. i went softly towards the voice, and saw him some way off, where he stood swaying to and fro under a tree. i went up to him--he was reciting the song of songs. i look closer and see that the tree under which he stands is different from the other trees. the others are still bare of leaves, and this one is green and in full leaf, it shines like the sun, and stretches its flowery branches over the shochet's head like a tent. and a quantity of birds hop among the twigs and join in singing the song of songs. i am so astonished that i stand there with open mouth and eyes, rooted like the trees. he ends his chant, the tree is extinguished, the little birds are silent, and he turns to me, and says affectionately: "listen, yüdele,"--yüdel is my name--"i have a request to make of you." "really?" i answer joyfully, and i suppose he wishes me to bring him out some food, and i am ready to run and bring him our whole sabbath dinner, when he says to me: "listen, keep what you saw to yourself." this sobers me, and i promise seriously and faithfully to hold my tongue. "listen again. you are going far away, very far away, and the road is a long road." i wonder, however should i come to travel so far? and he goes on to say: "they will knock the rebbe's torah out of your head, and you will forget father and mother, but see you keep to your name! you are called yüdel--remain a jew!" i am frightened, but cry out from the bottom of my heart: "surely! as surely may i live!" then, because my own idea clung to me, i added: "don't you want something to eat?" and before i finished speaking, he had vanished. the second week after they fell upon us and led me away as a cantonist, to be brought up among the gentiles and turned into a soldier. * * * * * time passed, and i forgot everything, as he had foretold. they knocked it all out of my head. i served far away, deep in russia, among snows and terrific frosts, and never set eyes on a jew. there may have been hidden jews about, but i knew nothing of them, i knew nothing of sabbath and festival, nothing of any fast. i forgot everything. but i held fast to my name! i did not change my coin. the more i forgot, the more i was inclined to be quit of my torments and trials--to make an end of them by agreeing to a christian name, but whenever the bad thought came into my head, he appeared before me, the same shochet, and i heard his voice say to me, "keep your name, remain a jew!" and i knew for certain that it was no empty dream, because every time i saw him _older_ and _older_, his beard and earlocks greyer, his face paler. only his eyes remained the same kind eyes, and his voice, which sounded like a violin, never altered. once they flogged me, and he stood by and wiped the cold sweat off my forehead, and stroked my face, and said softly: "don't cry out! we ought to suffer! remain a jew," and i bore it without a cry, without a moan, as though they had been flogging _not_-me. * * * * * once, during the last year, i had to go as a sentry to a public house behind the town. it was evening, and there was a snow-storm. the wind lifted patches of snow, and ground them to needles, rubbed them to dust, and this snow-dust and these snow-needles were whirled through the air, flew into one's face and pricked--you couldn't keep an eye open, you couldn't draw your breath! suddenly i saw some people walking past me, not far away, and one of them said in yiddish, "this is the first night of passover." whether it was a voice from god, or whether some people really passed me, to this day i don't know, but the words fell upon my heart like lead, and i had hardly reached the tavern and begun to walk up and down, when a longing came over me, a sort of heartache, that is not to be described. i wanted to recite the haggadah, and not a word of it could i recall! not even the four questions i used to ask my father. i felt it all lay somewhere deep down in my heart. i used to know so much of it, when i was only six years old. i felt, if only i could have recalled one simple word, the rest would have followed and risen out of my memory one after the other, like sleepy birds from beneath the snow. but that one first word is just what i cannot remember! lord of the universe, i cried fervently, one word, only one word! as it seems, i made my prayer in a happy hour, for "we were slaves" came into my head just as if it had been thrown down from heaven. i was overjoyed! i was so full of joy that i felt it brimming over. and then the rest all came back to me, and as i paced up and down on my watch, with my musket on my shoulder, i recited and sang the haggadah to the snowy world around. i drew it out of me, word after word, like a chain of golden links, like a string of pearls. o, but you won't understand, you couldn't understand, unless you had been taken away there, too! the wind, meanwhile, had fallen, the snow-storm had come to an end, and there appeared a clear, twinkling sky, and a shining world of diamonds. it was silent all round, and ever so wide, and ever so white, with a sweet, peaceful, endless whiteness. and over this calm, wide, whiteness, there suddenly appeared something still whiter, and lighter, and brighter, wrapped in a robe and a prayer-scarf, the prayer-scarf over its shoulders, and over the prayer-scarf, in front, a silvery white beard; and above the beard, two shining eyes, and above them, a sparkling crown, a cap with gold and silver ornaments. and it came nearer and nearer, and went past me, but as it passed me it said: "it is well!" it sounded like a violin, and then the figure vanished. but it was the same eyes, the same voice. i took schpol on my way home, and went to see the old man, for the rebbe of schpol was called by the people der alter, the "schpol grandfather." and i recognized him again, and he recognized me! whence a proverb "drunk all the year round, sober at purim," is a jewish proverb, and people ought to know whence it comes. in the days of the famous scholar, reb chayyim vital, there lived in safed, in palestine, a young man who (not of us be it spoken!) had not been married a year before he became a widower. god's ways are not to be understood. such things will happen. but the young man was of the opinion that the world, in as far as he was concerned, had come to an end; that, as there is one sun in heaven, so his wife had been the one woman in the world. so he went and sold all the merchandise in his little shop and all the furniture of his room, and gave the proceeds to the head of the safed academy, the rosh ha-yeshiveh, on condition that he should be taken into the yeshiveh and fed with the other scholars, and that he should have a room to himself, where he might sit and learn torah. the rosh ha-yeshiveh took the money for the academy, and they partitioned off a little room for the young man with some boards, in a corner of the attic of the house-of-study. they carried in a sack with straw, and vessels for washing, and the young man sat himself down to the talmud. except on sabbaths and holidays, when the householders invited him to dinner, he never set eyes on a living creature. food sufficient for the day, and a clean shirt in honor of sabbaths and festivals, were carried up to him by the beadle, and whenever he heard steps on the stair, he used to turn away, and stand with his face to the wall, till whoever it was had gone out again and shut the door. in a word, he became a porush, for he lived separate from the world. at first people thought he wouldn't persevere long, because he was a lively youth by nature; but as week after week went by, and the porush sat and studied, and the tearful voice in which he intoned the gemoreh was heard in the street half through the night, or else he was seen at the attic window, his pale face raised towards the sky, then they began to believe in him, and they hoped he might in time become a mighty man in israel, and perhaps even a wonderworker. they said so to the rebbe, chayyim vital, but he listened, shook his head, and replied, "god grant it may last." meantime a little "wonder" really happened. the beadle's little daughter, who used sometimes to carry up the porush's food for her father, took it into her head that she must have one look at the porush. what does she? takes off her shoes and stockings, and carries the food to him barefoot, so noiselessly that she heard her own heart beat. but the beating of her heart frightened her so much that she fell down half the stairs, and was laid up for more than a month in consequence. in her fever she told the whole story, and people began to believe in the porush more firmly than ever and to wait with increasing impatience till he should become famous. they described the occurrence to reb chayyim vital, and again he shook his head, and even sighed, and answered, "god grant he may be victorious!" and when they pressed him for an explanation of these words, reb chayyim answered, that as the porush had left the world, not so much for the sake of heaven as on account of his grief for his wife, it was to be feared that he would be sorely beset and tempted by the "other side," and god grant he might not stumble and fall. * * * * * and reb chayyim vital never spoke without good reason! one day the porush was sitting deep in a book, when he heard something tapping at the door, and fear came over him. but as the tapping went on, he rose, forgetting to close his book, went and opened the door--and in walks a turkey. he lets it in, for it occurs to him that it would be nice to have a living thing in the room. the turkey walks past him, and goes and settles down quietly in a corner. and the porush wonders what this may mean, and sits down again to his book. sitting there, he remembers that it is going on for purim. has someone sent him a turkey out of regard for his study of the torah? what shall he do with the turkey? should anyone, he reflects, ask him to dinner, supposing it were to be a poor man, he would send him the turkey on the eve of purim, and then he would satisfy himself with it also. he has not once tasted fowl-meat since he lost his wife. thinking thus, he smacked his lips, and his mouth watered. he threw a glance at the turkey, and saw it looking at him in a friendly way, as though it had quite understood his intention, and was very glad to think it should have the honor of being eaten by a porush. he could not restrain himself, but was continually lifting his eyes from his book to look at the turkey, till at last he began to fancy the turkey was smiling at him. this startled him a little, but all the same it made him happy to be smiled at by a living creature. the same thing happened at minchah and maariv. in the middle of the eighteen benedictions, he could not for the life of him help looking round every minute at the turkey, who continued to smile and smile. suddenly it seemed to him, he knew that smile well--the almighty, who had taken back his wife, had now sent him her smile to comfort him in his loneliness, and he began to love the turkey. he thought how much better it would be, if a _rich_ man were to invite him at purim, so that the turkey might live. and he thought it in a propitious moment, as we shall presently see, but meantime they brought him, as usual, a platter of groats with a piece of bread, and he washed his hands, and prepared to eat. no sooner, however, had he taken the bread into his hand, and was about to bite into it, than the turkey moved out of its corner, and began peck, peck, peck, towards the bread, by way of asking for some, and as though to say it was hungry, too, and came and stood before him near the table. the porush thought, "he'd better have some, i don't want to be unkind to him, to tease him," and he took the bread and the platter of porridge, and set it down on the floor before the turkey, who pecked and supped away to its heart's content. next day the porush went over to the rosh ha-yeshiveh, and told him how he had come to have a fellow-lodger; he used always to leave some porridge over, and to-day he didn't seem to have had enough. the rosh ha-yeshiveh saw a hungry face before him. he said he would tell this to the rebbe, chayyim vital, so that he might pray, and the evil spirit, if such indeed it was, might depart. meantime he would give orders for two pieces of bread and two plates of porridge to be taken up to the attic, so that there should be enough for both, the porush and the turkey. reb chayyim vital, however, to whom the story was told in the name of the rosh ha-yeshiveh, shook his head, and declared with a deep sigh that this was only the beginning! meanwhile the porush received a double portion and was satisfied, and the turkey was satisfied, too. the turkey even grew fat. and in a couple of weeks or so the porush had become so much attached to the turkey that he prayed every day to be invited for purim by a _rich_ man, so that he might not be tempted to destroy it. and, as we intimated, _that_ temptation, anyhow, was spared him, for he was invited to dinner by one of the principal householders in the place, and there was not only turkey, but every kind of tasty dish, and wine fit for a king. and the best purim-players came to entertain the rich man, his family, and the guests who had come to him after their feast at home. and our porush gave himself up to enjoyment, and ate and drank. perhaps he even drank rather more than he ate, for the wine was sweet and grateful to the taste, and the warmth of it made its way into every limb. then suddenly a change came over him. the ahasuerus-esther play had begun. vashti will not do the king's pleasure and come in to the banquet as god made her. esther soon finds favor in her stead, she is given over to hegai, the keeper of the women, to be purified, six months with oil of myrrh and six months with other sweet perfumes. and our porush grew hot all over, and it was dark before his eyes; then red streaks flew across his field of vision, like tongues of fire, and he was overcome by a strange, wild longing to be back at home, in the attic of the house-of-study--a longing for his own little room, his quiet corner, a longing for the turkey, and he couldn't bear it, and even before they had said grace he jumped up and ran away home. he enters his room, looks into the corner habitually occupied by the turkey, and stands amazed--the turkey has turned into a woman, a most beautiful woman, such as the world never saw, and he begins to tremble all over. and she comes up to him, and takes him around the neck with her warm, white, naked arms, and the porush trembles more and more, and begs, "not here, not here! it is a holy place, there are holy books lying about." then she whispers into his ear that she is the queen of sheba, that she lives not far from the house-of-study, by the river, among the tall reeds, in a palace of crystal, given her by king solomon. and she draws him along, she wants him to go with her to her palace. and he hesitates and resists--and he goes. next day, there was no turkey, and no porush, either! they went to reb chayyim vital, who told them to look for him along the bank of the river, and they found him in a swamp among the tall reeds, more dead than alive. they rescued him and brought him round, but from that day he took to drink. and reb chayyim vital said, it all came from his great longing for the queen of sheba, that when he drank, he saw her; and they were to let him drink, only not at purim, because at that time she would have great power over him. hence the proverb, "drunk all the year round, sober at purim." mordecai spektor born, , in uman, government of kieff, little russia; education hasidic; entered business in ; wrote first sketch, a roman ohn liebe, in ; contributor to zedernbaum's jüdisches volksblatt, - ; founded, in , and edited der hausfreund, at warsaw; editor of warsaw daily papers, unser leben, and (at present, ) dos neie leben; writer of novels, historical romances, and sketches in yiddish; contributor to numerous periodicals; compiled a volume of more than two thousand jewish proverbs. an original strike i was invited to a wedding. not a wedding at which ladies wore low dress, and scattered powder as they walked, and the men were in frock-coats and white gloves, and had waxed moustaches. not a wedding where you ate of dishes with outlandish names, according to a printed card, and drank wine dating, according to the label, from the reign of king sobieski, out of bottles dingy with the dust of yesterday. no, but a jewish wedding, where the men, women, and girls wore the sabbath and holiday garments in which they went to shool; a wedding where you whet your appetite with sweet-cakes and apple-tart, and sit down to sabbath fish, with fresh rolls, golden soup, stuffed fowl, and roast duck, and the wine is in large, clear, white bottles; a wedding with a calling to the reading of the torah of the bridegroom, a party on the sabbath preceding the wedding, a good-night-play performed by the musicians, and a bridegroom's-dinner in his native town, with a table spread for the poor. reb yitzchok-aizik berkover had made a feast for the poor at the wedding of each of his children, and now, on the occasion of the marriage of his youngest daughter, he had invited all the poor of the little town lipovietz to his village home, where he had spent all his life. it is the day of the ceremony under the canopy, two o'clock in the afternoon, and the poor, sent for early in the morning by a messenger, with the three great wagons, are not there. lipovietz is not more than five versts away--what can have happened? the parents of the bridal couple and the assembled guests wait to proceed with the ceremony. at last the messenger comes riding on a horse unharnessed from his vehicle, but no poor. "why have you come back alone?" demands reb yitzchok-aizik. "they won't come!" replies the messenger. "what do you mean by 'they won't come'?" asked everyone in surprise. "they say that unless they are given a kerbel apiece, they won't come to the wedding." all laugh, and the messenger goes on: "there was a wedding with a dinner to the poor in lipovietz to-day, too, and they have eaten and drunk all they can, and now they've gone on strike, and declare that unless they are promised a kerbel a head, they won't move from the spot. the strike leaders are the crooked man with two crutches, mekabbel the long, feitel the stammerer, and yainkel fonfatch; the others would perhaps have come, but these won't let them. so i didn't know what to do. i argued a whole hour, and got nothing by it, so then i unharnessed a horse, and came at full speed to know what was to be done." we of the company could not stop laughing, but reb yitzchok-aizik was very angry. "well, and you bargained with them? won't they come for less?" he asked the messenger. "yes, i bargained, and they won't take a kopek less." "have their prices gone up so high as all that?" exclaimed reb yitzchok-aizik, with a satirical laugh. "why did you leave the wagons? we shall do without the tramps, that's all!" "how could i tell? i didn't know what to do. i was afraid you would be displeased. now i'll go and fetch the wagons back." "wait! don't be in such a hurry, take time!" reb yitzchok-aizik began consulting with the company and with himself. "what an idea! who ever heard of such a thing? poor people telling me what to do, haggling with me over my wanting to give them a good dinner and a nice present each, and saying they must be paid in rubles, otherwise it's no bargain, ha! ha! for two guldens each it's not worth their while? it cost them too much to stock the ware? thirty kopeks wouldn't pay them? i like their impertinence! mischief take them, i shall do without them! "let the musicians play! where is the beadle? they can begin putting the veil on the bride." but directly afterwards he waved his hands. "wait a little longer. it is still early. why should it happen to _me_, why should my pleasure be spoilt? now i've got to marry my youngest daughter without a dinner to the poor! i would have given them half a ruble each, it's not the money i mind, but fancy bargaining with me! well, there, i have done my part, and if they won't come, i'm sure they're not wanted; afterwards they'll be sorry; they don't get a wedding like this every day. we shall do without them." "well, can they put the veil on the bride?" the beadle came and inquired. "yes, they can.... no, tell them to wait a little longer!" nearly all the guests, who were tired of waiting, cried out that the tramps could very well be missed. reb yitzchok-aizik's face suddenly assumed another expression, the anger vanished, and he turned to me and a couple, of other friends, and asked if we would drive to the town, and parley with the revolted almsgatherers. "he has no brains, one can't depend on him," he said, referring to the messenger. a horse was harnessed to a conveyance, and we drove off, followed by the mounted messenger. "a revolt--a strike of almsgatherers, how do you like that?" we asked one another all the way. we had heard of workmen striking, refusing to work except for a higher wage, and so forth, but a strike of paupers--paupers insisting on larger alms as pay for eating a free dinner, such a thing had never been known. in twenty minutes time we drove into lipovietz. in the market-place, in the centre of the town, stood the three great peasant wagons, furnished with fresh straw. the small horses were standing unharnessed, eating out of their nose-bags; round the wagons were a hundred poor folk, some dumb, others lame, the greater part blind, and half the town urchins with as many men. all of them were shouting and making a commotion. the crooked one sat on a wagon, and banged it with his crutches; long mekabbel, with a red plaster on his neck, stood beside him. these two leaders of the revolt were addressing the people, the meek of the earth. "ha, ha!" exclaimed long mekabbel, as he caught sight of us and the messenger, "they have come to beg our acceptance!" "to beg our acceptance!" shouted the crooked one, and banged his crutch. "why won't you come to the wedding, to the dinner?" we inquired. "everyone will be given alms." "how much?" they asked all together. "we don't know, but you will take what they offer." "will they give it us in kerblech? because, if not, we don't go." "there will be a hole in the sky if you don't go," cried some of the urchins present. the almsgatherers threw themselves on the urchins with their sticks, and there was a bit of a row. mekabbel the long, standing on the cart, drew himself to his full height, and began to shout: "hush, hush, hush! quiet, you crazy cripples! one can't hear oneself speak! let us hear what those have to say who are worth listening to!" and he turned to us with the words: "you must know, dear jews, that unless they distribute kerblech among us, we shall not budge. never you fear! reb yitzchok-aizik won't marry his youngest daughter without us, and where is he to get others of us now? to send to lunetz would cost him more in conveyances, and he would have to put off the marriage." "what do they suppose? that because we are poor people they can do what they please with us?" and a new striker hitched himself up by the wheel, blind of one eye, with a tied-up jaw. "no one can oblige us to go, even the chief of police and the governor cannot force us--either it's kerblech, or we stay where we are." "k-ke-kkerb-kkerb-lech!!" came from feitel the stammerer. "nienblech!" put in yainkel fonfatch, speaking through his small nose. "no, more!" called out a couple of merry paupers. "kerblech, kerblech!" shouted the rest in concert. and through their shouting and their speeches sounded such a note of anger and of triumph, it seemed as though they were pouring out all the bitterness of soul collected in the course of their sad and luckless lives. they had always kept silence, had _had_ to keep silence, _had_ to swallow the insults offered them along with the farthings, and the dry bread, and the scraped bones, and this was the first time they had been able to retaliate, the first time they had known how it felt to be entreated by the fortunate in all things, and they were determined to use their opportunity of asserting themselves to the full, to take their revenge. in the word kerblech lay the whole sting of their resentment. and while we talked and reasoned with them, came a second messenger from reb yitzchok-aizik, to say that the paupers were to come at once, and they would be given a ruble each. there was a great noise and scrambling, the three wagons filled with almsgatherers, one crying out, "o my bad hand!" another, "o my foot!" and a third, "o my poor bones!" the merry ones made antics, and sang in their places, while the horses were put in, and the procession started at a cheerful trot. the urchins gave a great hurrah, and threw little stones after it, with squeals and whistles. the poor folks must have fancied they were being pelted with flowers and sent off with songs, they looked so happy in the consciousness of their victory. for the first and perhaps the last time in their lives, they had spoken out, and got their own way. after the "canopy" and the chicken soup, that is, at "supper," tables were spread for the friends of the family and separate ones for the almsgatherers. reb yitzchok-aizik and the members of his own household served the poor with their own hands, pressing them to eat and drink. "le-chayyim to you, reb yitzchok-aizik! may you have pleasure in your children, and be a great man, a great rich man!" desired the poor. "long life, long life to all of you, brethren! drink in health, god help all-israel, and you among them!" replied reb yitzchok-aizik. after supper the band played, and the almsgatherers, with reb yitzchok-aizik, danced merrily in a ring round the bridegroom. then who was so happy as reb yitzchok-aizik? he danced in the ring, the silk skirts of his long coat flapped and flew like eagles' wings, tears of joy fell from his shining eyes, and his spirits rose to the seventh heaven. he laughed and cried like a child, and exchanged embraces with the almsgatherers. "brothers!" he exclaimed as he danced, "let us be merry, let us be jews! musicians, give us something cheerful--something gayer, livelier, louder!" "this is what you call a jewish wedding!" "this is how a jew makes merry!" so the guests and the almsgatherers clapped their hands in time to the music. yes, dear readers, it _was_ what i call a jewish wedding! a gloomy wedding they handed gittel a letter that had come by post, she put on her spectacles, sat down by the window, and began to read. she read, and her face began to shine, and the wrinkled skin took on a little color. it was plain that what she read delighted her beyond measure, she devoured the words, caught her breath, and wept aloud in the fulness of her joy. "at last, at last! blessed be his dear name, whom i am not worthy to mention! i do not know, gottinyu, how to thank thee for the mercy thou hast shown me. beile! where is beile? where is yossel? children! come, make haste and wish me joy, a great joy has befallen us! send for avremele, tell him to come with zlatke and all the children." thus gittel, while she read the letter, never ceased calling every one into the room, never ceased reading and calling, calling and reading, and devouring the words as she read. every soul who happened to be at home came running. "good luck to you! good luck to us all! moishehle has become engaged in warsaw, and invites us all to the wedding," gittel explained. "there, read the letter, lord of the world, may it be in a propitious hour, may we all have comfort in one another, may we hear nothing but good news of one another and of all-israel! read it, read it, children! he writes that he has a very beautiful bride, well-favored, with a large dowry. lord of the world, i am not worthy of the mercy thou hast shown me!" repeated gittel over and over, as she paced the room with uplifted hands, while her daughter beile took up the letter in her turn. the children and everyone in the house, including the maid from the kitchen, with rolled-up sleeves and wet hands, encircled beile as she read aloud. "read louder, beiletshke, so that i can hear, so that we can all hear," begged gittel, and there were tears of happiness in her eyes. the children jumped for joy to see grandmother so happy. the word "wedding," which beile read out of the letter, contained a promise of all delightful things: musicians, pancakes, new frocks and suits, and they could not keep themselves from dancing. the maid, too, was heartily pleased, she kept on singing out, "oi, what a bride, beautiful as gold!" and did not know what to be doing next--should she go and finish cooking the dinner, or should she pull down her sleeves and make holiday? the hiss of a pot boiling over in the kitchen interrupted the letter-reading, and she was requested to go and attend to it forthwith. "the bride sends us a separate greeting, long life to her, may she live when my bones are dust. let us go to the provisor, he shall read it; it is written in french." the provisor, the apothecary's foreman, who lived in the same house, said the bride's letter was not written in french, but in polish, that she called gittel her second mother, that she loved her son moses as her life, that he was her world, that she held herself to be the most fortunate of girls, since god had given her moses, that gittel (once more!) was her second mother, and she felt like a dutiful daughter towards her, and hoped that gittel would love her as her own child. the bride declared further that she kissed her new sister, beile, a thousand times, together with zlatke and their husbands and children, and she signed herself "your forever devoted and loving daughter regina." an hour later all gittel's children were assembled round her, her eldest son avremel with his wife, zlatke and her little ones, beile's husband, and her son-in-law yossel. all read the letter with eager curiosity, brandy and spice-cakes were placed on the table, wine was sent for, they drank healths, wished each other joy, and began to talk of going to the wedding. gittel, very tired with all she had gone through this day, went to lie down for a while to rest her head, which was all in a whirl, but the others remained sitting at the table, and never stopped talking of moisheh. "i can imagine the sort of engagement moisheh has made, begging his pardon," remarked the daughter-in-law, and wiped her pale lips. "i should think so, a man who's been a bachelor up to thirty! it's easy to fancy the sort of bride, and the sort of family she has, if they accepted moisheh as a suitor," agreed the daughter. "god helping, this ought to make a man of him," sighed moisheh's elder brother, "he's cost us trouble and worry enough." "it's your fault," yossel told him. "if i'd been his elder brother, he would have turned out differently! i should have directed him like a father, and taken him well in hand." "you think so, but when god wishes to punish a man through his own child going astray, nothing is of any use; these are not the old times, when young people feared a rebbe, and respected their elders. nowadays the world is topsyturvy, and no sooner has a boy outgrown his childhood than he does what he pleases, and parents are nowhere. what have i left undone to make something out of him, so that he should be a credit to his family? then, he was left an orphan very early; perhaps he would have obeyed his father (may he enter a lightsome paradise!), but for a brother and his mother, he paid them as much attention as last year's snow, and, if you said anything to him, he answered rudely, and neither coaxing nor scolding was any good. now, please god, he'll make a fresh start, and give up his antics before it's too late. his poor mother! she's had trouble enough on his account, as we all know." beile let fall a tear and said: "if our father (may he be our kind advocate!) were alive, moishehle would never have made an engagement like this. who knows what sort of connections they will be! i can see them, begging his pardon, from here! is he likely to have asked anyone's advice? he always had a will of his own--did what he wanted to do, never asked his mother, or his sister, or his brother, beforehand. now he's a bridegroom at thirty if he's a day, and we are all asked to the wedding, are we really? and we shall soon all be running to see the fine sight, such as never was seen before. we are no such fools! he thinks _himself_ the clever one now! so he wants us to be at the wedding? only says it out of politeness." "we must go, all the same," said avremel. "go and welcome, if you want to--you won't catch _me_ there," answered his sister. there was a deal more discussion and disputing about not going to the wedding, and only congratulating by telegram, for good manners' sake. since he had asked no one's advice, and engaged himself without them, let him get married without them, too! gittel, up in her bedroom, could not so soon compose herself after the events of the day. what she had experienced was no trifle. moishehle engaged to be married! she had been through so much on his account in the course of her life, she had loved him, her youngest born, so dearly! he was such a beautiful child that the light of his countenance dazzled you, and bright as the day, so that people opened ears and mouth to hear him talk, and god and men alike envied her the possession of such a boy. "i counted on making a match for him, as i did with avremel before him. he was offered the best connections, with the families of the greatest rabbis. but, no--no--he wanted to go on studying. 'study here, study there,' said i, 'sixteen years old and a bachelor! if you want to study, can't you study at your father-in-law's, eating köst? there are books in plenty, thank heaven, of your father's.' no, no, he wanted to go and study elsewhere, asked nobody's advice, and made off, and for two months i never had a line. i nearly went out of my mind. then, suddenly, there came a letter, begging my pardon for not having said good-by, and would i forgive him, and send him some money, because he had nothing to eat. it tore my heart to think my moishehle, who used to make me happy whenever he enjoyed a meal, should hunger. i sent him some money, i went on sending him money for three years, after that he stopped asking for it. i begged him to come home, he made no reply. 'i don't wish to quarrel with avremel, my sister, and her husband,' he wrote later, 'we cannot live together in peace.' why? i don't know! then, for a time, he left off writing altogether, and the messages we got from him sounded very sad. now he was in kieff, now in odessa, now in charkoff, and they told us he was living like any gentile, had not the look of a jew at all. some said he was living with a gentile woman, a countess, and would never marry in his life." five years ago he had suddenly appeared at home, "to see his mother," as he said. gittel did not recognize him, he was so changed. the rest found him quite the stranger: he had a "goyish" shaven face, with a twisted moustache, and was got up like a rich gentile, with a purse full of bank-notes. his family were ashamed to walk abroad with him, gittel never ceased weeping and imploring him to give up the countess, remain a jew, stay with his mother, and she, with god's help, would make an excellent match for him, if he would only alter his appearance and ways just a little. moishehle solemnly assured his mother that he was a jew, that there was no countess, but that he wouldn't remain at home for a million rubles, first, because he had business elsewhere, and secondly, he had no fancy for his native town, there was nothing there for him to do, and to dispute with his brother and sister about religious piety was not worth his while. so moishehle departed, and gittel wept, wondering why he was different from the other children, seeing they all had the same mother, and she had lived and suffered for all alike. why would he not stay with her at home? what would he have wanted for there? god be praised, not to sin with her tongue, thanks to god first, and then to _him_ (a lightsome paradise be his!), they were provided for, with a house and a few thousand rubles, all that was necessary for their comfort, and a little ready money besides. the house alone, not to sin with her tongue, would bring in enough to make a living. other people envy us, but it doesn't happen to please him, and he goes wandering about the world--without a wife and without a home--a man twenty and odd years old, and without a home! the rest of the family were secretly well content to be free of such a poor creature--"the further off, the better--the shame is less." a letter from him came very seldom after this, and for the last two years he had dropped out altogether. nobody was surprised, for everyone was convinced that moisheh would never come to anything. some told that he was in prison, others knew that he had gone abroad and was being pursued, others, that he had hung himself because he was tired of life, and that before his death he had repented of all his sins, only it was too late. his relations heard all these reports, and were careful to keep them from his mother, because they were not sure that the bad news was true. gittel bore the pain at her heart in silence, weeping at times over her moishehle, who had got into bad ways--and now, suddenly, this precious letter with its precious news: her moishehle is about to marry, and invites them to the wedding! thus gittel, lying in bed in her own room, recalled everything she had suffered through her undutiful son, only now--now everything was forgotten and forgiven, and her mother's heart was full of love for her moishehle, just as in the days when he toddled about at her apron, and pleased his mother and everyone else. all her thoughts were now taken up with getting ready to attend the wedding; the time was so short--there were only three weeks left. when her other children were married, gittel began her preparations three months ahead, and now there were only three weeks. next day she took out her watered silk dress, with the green satin flowers, and hung it up to air, examined it, lest there should be a hook missing. after that she polished her long ear-rings with chalk, her pearls, her rings, and all her other ornaments, and bought a new yellow silk kerchief for her head, with a large flowery pattern in a lighter shade. a week before the journey to warsaw they baked spice-cakes, pancakes, and almond-rolls to take with her, "from the bridegroom's side," and ordered a wig for the bride. when her eldest son was married, gittel had also given the bride silver candlesticks for friday evenings, and presented her with a wig for the veiling ceremony. and before she left, gittel went to her husband's grave, and asked him to be present at the wedding as a good advocate for the newly-married pair. gittel started for warsaw in grand style, and cheerful and happy, as befits a mother going to the wedding of her favorite son. all those who accompanied her to the station declared that she looked younger and prettier by twenty years, and made a beautiful bridegroom's mother. besides wedding presents for the bride, gittel took with her money for wedding expenses, so that she might play her part with becoming lavishness, and people should not think her moishehle came, bless and preserve us, of a low-born family--to show that he was none so forlorn but he had, god be praised and may it be for a hundred and twenty years to come! a mother, and a sister, and brothers, and came of a well-to-do family. she would show them that she could be as fine a bridegroom's mother as anyone, even, thank god, in warsaw. moishehle was her last child, and she grudged him nothing. were _he_ (may he be a good intercessor!) alive, he would certainly have graced the wedding better, and spent more money, but she would spare nothing to make a good figure on the occasion. she would treat every connection of the bride to a special dance-tune, give the musicians a whole five-ruble-piece for their performance of the vivat, and two dreierlech for the kosher-tanz, beside something for the rav, the cantor, and the beadle, and alms for the poor--what should she save for? she has no more children to marry off--blessed be his dear name, who had granted her life to see her moishehle's wedding! thus happily did gittel start for warsaw. one carriage after another drove up to the wedding-reception room in dluga street, warsaw, ladies and their daughters, all in evening dress, and smartly attired gentlemen, alighted and went in. the room was full, the band played, ladies and gentlemen were dancing, and those who were not, talked of the bride and bridegroom, and said how fortunate they considered regina, to have secured such a presentable young man, lively, educated, and intelligent, with quite a fortune, which he had made himself, and a good business. ten thousand rubles dowry with the perfection of a husband was a rare thing nowadays, when a poor professional man, a little doctor without practice, asked fifteen thousand. it was true, they said, that regina was a pretty girl and a credit to her parents, but how many pretty, bright girls had more money than regina, and sat waiting? it was above all the mothers of the young ladies present who talked low in this way among themselves. the bride sat on a chair at the end of the room, ladies and young girls on either side of her; gittel, the bridegroom's mother in her watered silk dress, with the large green satin flowers, was seated between two ladies with dresses cut so low that gittel could not bear to look at them--women with husbands and children daring to show themselves like that at a wedding! then she could not endure the odor of their bare skin, the powder, pomade, and perfumes with which they were smeared, sprinkled, and wetted, even to their hair. all these strange smells tickled gittel's nose, and went to her head like a fume. she sat between the two ladies, feeling cramped and shut in, unable to stir, and would gladly have gone away. only whither? where should she, the bridegroom's mother, be sitting, if not near the bride, at the upper end of the room? but all the ladies sitting there are half-naked. should she sit near the door? that would never do. and gittel remained sitting, in great embarrassment, between the two women, and looked on at the reception, and saw nothing but a room full of _decolletées_, ladies and girls. gittel felt more and more uncomfortable, it made her quite faint to look at them. "one can get over the girls, young things, because a girl has got to please, although no jewish daughter ought to show herself to everyone like that, but what are you to do with present-day children, especially in a dissolute city like warsaw? but young women, and women who have husbands and children, and no need, thank god, to please anyone, how are they not ashamed before god and other people and their own children, to come to a wedding half-naked, like loose girls in a public house? jewish daughters, who ought not to be seen uncovered by the four walls of their room, to come like that to a wedding! to a jewish wedding!... tpfu, tpfu, i'd like to spit at this newfangled world, may god not punish me for these words! it is enough to make one faint to see such a display among jews!" after the ceremony under the canopy, which was erected in the centre of the room, the company sat down to the table, and gittel was again seated at the top, between the two women before mentioned, whose perfumes went to her head. she felt so queer and so ill at ease that she could not partake of the dinner, her mouth seemed locked, and the tears came in her eyes. when they rose from table, gittel sought out a place removed from the "upper end," and sat down in a window, but presently the bride's mother, also in _decolleté_, caught sight of her, and went and took her by the hand. "why are you sitting here, mechuteneste? why are you not at the top?" "i wanted to rest myself a little." "oh, no, no, come and sit there," said the lady, led her away by force, and seated her between the two ladies with the perfumes. long, long did she sit, feeling more and more sick and dizzy. if only she could have poured out her heart to some one person, if she could have exchanged a single word with anybody during that whole evening, it would have been a relief, but there was no one to speak to. the music played, there was dancing, but gittel could see nothing more. she felt an oppression at her heart, and became covered with perspiration, her head grew heavy, and she fell from her chair. "the bridegroom's mother has fainted!" was the outcry through the whole room. "water, water!" they fetched water, discovered a doctor among the guests, and he led gittel into another room, and soon brought her round. the bride, the bridegroom, the bride's mother, and the two ladies ran in: "what can have caused it? lie down! how do you feel now? perhaps you would like a sip of lemonade?" they all asked. "thank you, i want nothing, i feel better already, leave me alone for a while. i shall soon recover myself, and be all right." so gittel was left alone, and she breathed more easily, her head stopped aching, she felt like one let out of prison, only there was a pain at her heart. the tears which had choked her all day now began to flow, and she wept abundantly. the music never ceased playing, she heard the sound of the dancers' feet and the directions of the master of ceremonies; the floor shook, gittel wept, and tried with all her might to keep from sobbing, so that people should not hear and come in and disturb her. she had not wept so since the death of her husband, and this was the wedding of her favorite son! by degrees she ceased to weep altogether, dried her eyes, and sat quietly talking to herself of the many things that passed through her head. "better that _he_ (may he enter a lightsome paradise!) should have died than lived to see what i have seen, and the dear delight which i have had, at the wedding of my youngest child! better that i myself should not have lived to see his marriage canopy. canopy, indeed! four sticks stuck up in the middle of the room to make fun with, for people to play at being married, like monkeys! then at table: no seven blessings, not a jewish word, not a jewish face, no minyan to be seen, only shaven gentiles upon gentiles, a roomful of naked women and girls that make you sick to look at them. moishehle had better have married a poor orphan, i shouldn't have been half so ashamed or half so unhappy." gittel called to mind the sort of a bridegroom's mother she had been at the marriage of her eldest son, and the satisfaction she had felt. four hundred women had accompanied her to the shool when avremele was called to the reading of the law as a bridegroom, and they had scattered nuts, almonds, and raisins down upon him as he walked; then the party before the wedding, and the ceremony of the canopy, and the procession with the bride and bridegroom to the shool, the merry home-coming, the golden soup, the bridegroom brought at supper time to the sound of music, the cantor and his choir, who sang while they sat at table, the seven blessings, the vivat played for each one separately, the kosher-tanz, the dance round the bridegroom--and the whole time it had been gittel here and gittel there: "good luck to you, gittel, may you be happy in the young couple and in all your other children, and live to dance at the wedding of your youngest" (it was a delight and no mistake!). "where is gittel?" she hears them cry. "the uncle, the aunt, a cousin have paid for a dance for the mechuteneste on the bridegroom's side! play, musicians all!" the company make way for her, and she dances with the uncle, the aunt, and the cousin, and all the rest clap their hands. she is tired with dancing, but still they call "gittel"! an old friend sings a merry song in her honor. "play, musicians all!" and gittel dances on, the company clap their hands, and wish her all that is good, and she is penetrated with genuine happiness and the joy of the occasion. then, then, when the guests begin to depart, and the mothers of bridegroom and bride whisper together about the forthcoming veiling ceremony, she sees the bride in her wig, already a wife, her daughter-in-law! her jam pancakes and almond-rolls are praised by all, and what cakes are left over from the veiling ceremony are either snatched one by one, or else they are seized wholesale by the young people standing round the table, so that she should not see, and they laugh and tease her. that is the way to become a mother-in-law! and here, of course, the whole of the pancakes and sweet-cakes and almond-rolls which she brought have never so much as been unpacked, and are to be thrown away or taken home again, as you please! a shame! no one came to her for cakes. the wig, too, may be thrown away or carried back--moishehle told her it was not required, it wouldn't quite do. the bride accepted the silver candlesticks with embarrassment, as though gittel had done something to make her feel awkward, and some girls who were standing by smiled, "regina has been given candlesticks for the candle-blessing on fridays--ha, ha, ha!" the bridal couple with the girl's parents came in to ask how she felt, and interrupted the current of her thoughts. "we shall drive home now, people are leaving," they said. "the wedding is over," they told her, "everything in life comes to a speedy end." gittel remembered that when avremel was married, the festivities had lasted a whole week, till over the second cheerful sabbath, when the bride, the new daughter-in-law, was led to the shool! the day after the wedding gittel drove home, sad, broken in spirit, as people return from the cemetery where they have buried a child, where they have laid a fragment of their own heart, of their own life, under the earth. driving home in the carriage, she consoled herself with this at least: "a good thing that beile and zlatke, avremel and yossel were not there. the shame will be less, there will be less talk, nobody will know what i am suffering." gittel arrived the picture of gloom. when she left for the wedding, she had looked suddenly twenty years younger, and now she looked twenty years older than before! poverty i was living in mezkez at the time, and seinwill bookbinder lived there too. but heaven only knows where he is now! even then his continual pallor augured no long residence in mezkez, and he was a yadeschlever jew with a wife and six small children, and he lived by binding books. who knows what has become of him! but that is not the question--i only want to prove that seinwill was a great liar. if he is already in the other world, may he forgive me--and not be very angry with me, if he is still living in mezkez! he was an orthodox and pious jew, but when you gave him a book to bind, he never kept his word. when he took a book and even the whole of his pay in advance, he would swear by beard and earlocks, by wife and children, and by the messiah, that he would bring it back to you by sabbath, but you had to be at him for weeks before the work was finished and sent in. once, on a certain friday, i remembered that next day, sabbath, i should have a few hours to myself for reading. a fortnight before i had given seinwill a new book to bind for me. it was just a question whether or not he would return it in time, so i set out for his home, with the intention of bringing back the book, finished or not. i had paid him his twenty kopeks in advance, so what excuses could he possibly make? once for all, i would give him a bit of my mind, and take away the work unfinished--it will be a lesson for him for the next time! thus it was, walking along and deciding on what i should say to seinwill, that i turned into the street to which i had been directed. once in the said street, i had no need to ask questions, for i was at once shown a little, low house, roofed with mouldered slate. i stooped a little by way of precaution, and entered seinwill's house, which consisted of a large kitchen. here he lived with his wife and children, and here he worked. in the great stove that took up one-third of the kitchen there was a cheerful crackling, as in every jewish home on a friday. in the forepart of the oven, on either hand, stood a variety of pots and pipkins, and gossipped together in their several tones. an elder child stood beside them holding a wooden spoon, with which she stirred or skimmed as the case required. seinwill's wife, very much occupied, stood by the one four-post bed, which was spread with a clean white sheet, and on which she had laid out various kinds of cakes, of unbaked dough, in honor of sabbath. beside her stood a child, its little face red with crying, and hindered her in her work. "seinwill, take chatzkele away! how can i get on with the cakes? don't you know it's friday?" she kept calling out, and seinwill, sitting at his work beside a large table covered with books, repeated every time like an echo: "chatzkele, let mother alone!" and chatzkele, for all the notice he took, might have been as deaf as the bedpost. the minute seinwill saw me, he ran to meet me in a shamefaced way, like a sinner caught in the act; and before i was able to say a word, that is, tell him angrily and with decision that he must give me my book finished or not--never mind about the twenty kopeks, and so on--and thus revenge myself on him, he began to answer, and he showed me that my book was done, it was already in the press, and there only remained the lettering to be done on the back. just a few minutes more, and he would bring it to my house. "no, i will wait and take it myself," i said, rather vexed. besides, i knew that to stamp a few letters on a book-cover could not take more than a few minutes at most. "well, if you are so good as to wait, it will not take long. there is a fire in the oven, i have only just got to heat the screw." and so saying, he placed a chair for me, dusted it with the flap of his coat, and i sat down to wait. seinwill really took my book out of the press quite finished except for the lettering on the cover, and began to hurry. now he is by the oven--from the oven to the corner--and once more to the oven and back to the corner--and so on ten times over, saying to me every time: "there, directly, directly, in another minute," and back once more across the room. so it went on for about ten minutes, and i began to take quite an interest in this running of his from one place to another, with empty hands, and doing nothing but repeat "directly, directly, this minute!" most of all i wonder why he keeps on looking into the corner--he never takes his eyes off that corner. what is he looking for, what does he expect to see there? i watch his face growing sadder--he must be suffering from something or other--and all the while he talks to himself, "directly, directly, in one little minute." he turns to me: "i must ask you to wait a little longer. it will be very soon now--in another minute's time. just because we want it so badly, you'd think she'd rather burst," he said, and he went back to the corner, stooped, and looked into it. "what are you looking for there every minute?" i ask him. "nothing. but directly--take my advice: why should you sit there waiting? i will bring the book to you myself. when one wants her to, she won't!" "all right, it's friday, so i need not hurry. why should you have the trouble, as i am already here?" i reply, and ask him who is the "she who won't." "you see, my wife, who is making cakes, is kept waiting by her too, and i, with the lettering to do on the book, i also wait." "but _what_ are you waiting for?" "you see, if the cakes are to take on a nice glaze while baking, they must be brushed over with a yolk." "well, and what has that to do with stamping the letters on the cover of the book?" "what has that to do with it? don't you know that the glaze-gold which is used for the letters will not stick to the cover without some white of egg?" "yes, i have seen them smearing the cover with white of egg before putting on the letters. then what?" "how 'what?' that is why we are waiting for the egg." "so you have sent out to buy an egg?" "no, but it will be there directly." he points out to me the corner which he has been running to look into the whole time, and there, on the ground, i see an overturned sieve, and under the sieve, a hen turning round and round and cackling. "as if she'd rather burst!" continued seinwill. "just because we want it so badly, she won't lay. she lays an egg for me nearly every time, and now--just as if she'd rather burst!" he said, and began to scratch his head. and the hen? the hen went on turning round and round like a prisoner in a dungeon, and cackled louder than ever. to tell the truth, i had inferred at once that seinwill was persuaded i should wait for my book till the hen had laid an egg, and as i watched seinwill's wife, and saw with what anxiety she waited for the hen to lay, i knew that i was right, that seinwill was indeed so persuaded, for his wife called to him: "ask the young man for a kopek and send the child to buy an egg in the market. the cakes are getting cold." "the young man owes me nothing, a few weeks ago he paid me for the whole job. there is no one to borrow from, nobody will lend me anything, i owe money all around, my very hair is not my own." when seinwill had answered his wife, he took another peep into the corner, and said: "she will not keep us waiting much longer now. she can't cackle forever. another two minutes!" but the hen went on puffing out her feathers, pecking and cackling for a good deal more than two minutes. it seemed as if she could not bear to see her master and mistress in trouble, as if she really wished to do them a kindness by laying an egg. but no egg appeared. i _lent_ seinwill two or three kopeks, which he was to pay me back in work, because seinwill has never once asked for, or accepted, charity, and the child was sent to the market. a few minutes later, when the child had come back with an egg, seinwill's wife had the glistening sabbath cakes on a shovel, and was placing them gaily in the oven; my book was finished, and the unfortunate hen, released at last from her prison, the sieve, ceased to cackle and to ruffle out her plumage. sholom-alechem pen name of shalom rabinovitz; born, , in pereyaslav, government of poltava, little russia; government rabbi, at twenty-one, in lubni, near his native place; has spent the greater part of his life in kieff; in odessa from to , and in america from to ; hebrew, russian, and yiddish poet, novelist, humorous short story writer, critic, and playwright; prolific contributor to hebrew and yiddish periodicals; founder of die jüdische volksbibliothek; novels: stempenyu, yosele solovei, etc.; collected works: first series, alle werk, vols., cracow, - ; second series, neueste werk, vols., warsaw, - . the clock the clock struck thirteen! don't imagine i am joking, i am telling you in all seriousness what happened in mazepevke, in our house, and i myself was there at the time. we had a clock, a large clock, fastened to the wall, an old, old clock inherited from my grandfather, which had been left him by my great-grandfather, and so forth. too bad, that a clock should not be alive and able to tell us something beside the time of day! what stories we might have heard as we sat with it in the room! our clock was famous throughout the town as the best clock going--"reb simcheh's clock"--and people used to come and set their watches by it, because it kept more accurate time than any other. you may believe me that even reb lebish, the sage, a philosopher, who understood the time of sunset from the sun itself, and knew the calendar by rote, he said himself--i heard him--that our clock was--well, as compared with his watch, it wasn't worth a pinch of snuff, but as there _were_ such things as clocks, our clock _was_ a clock. and if reb lebish himself said so, you may depend upon it he was right, because every wednesday, between afternoon and evening prayer, reb lebish climbed busily onto the roof of the women's shool, or onto the top of the hill beside the old house-of-study, and looked out for the minute when the sun should set, in one hand his watch, and in the other the calendar. and when the sun dropt out of sight on the further side of mazepevke, reb lebish said to himself, "got him!" and at once came away to compare his watch with the clocks. when he came in to us, he never gave us a "good evening," only glanced up at the clock on the wall, then at his watch, then at the almanac, and was gone! but it happened one day that when reb lebish came in to compare our clock with the almanac, he gave a shout: "sim-cheh! make haste! where are you?" my father came running in terror. "ha, what has happened, reb lebish?" "wretch, you dare to ask?" and reb lebish held his watch under my father's nose, pointed at our clock, and shouted again, like a man with a trodden toe: "sim-cheh! why don't you speak? it is a minute and a half ahead of the time! throw it away!" my father was vexed. what did reb lebish mean by telling him to throw away his clock? "who is to prove," said he, "that my clock is a minute and a half fast? perhaps it is the other way about, and your watch is a minute and a half slow? who is to tell?" reb lebish stared at him as though he had said that it was possible to have three days of new moon, or that the seventeenth of tammuz might possibly fall on the eve of passover, or made some other such wild remark, enough, if one really took it in, to give one an apoplectic fit. reb lebish said never a word, he gave a deep sigh, turned away without wishing us "good evening," slammed the door, and was gone. but no one minded much, because the whole town knew reb lebish for a person who was never satisfied with anything: he would tell you of the best cantor that he was a dummy, a log; of the cleverest man, that he was a lumbering animal; of the most appropriate match, that it was as crooked as an oven rake; and of the most apt simile, that it was as applicable as a pea to the wall. such a man was reb lebish. but let me return to our clock. i tell you, that _was_ a clock! you could hear it strike three rooms away: bom! bom! bom! half the town went by it, to recite the midnight prayers, to get up early for seliches during the week before new year and on the ten solemn days, to bake the sabbath loaves on fridays, to bless the candles on friday evening. they lighted the fire by it on saturday evening, they salted the meat, and so all the other things pertaining to judaism. in fact, our clock was the town clock. the poor thing served us faithfully, and never tried stopping even for a time, never once in its life had it to be set to rights by a clockmaker. my father kept it in order himself, he had an inborn talent for clock work. every year on the eve of passover, he deliberately took it down from the wall, dusted the wheels with a feather brush, removed from its inward part a collection of spider webs, desiccated flies, which the spiders had lured in there to their destruction, and heaps of black cockroaches, which had gone in of themselves, and found a terrible end. having cleaned and polished it, he hung it up again on the wall and shone, that is, they both shone: the clock shone because it was cleaned and polished, and my father shone because the clock shone. and it came to pass one day that something happened. it was on a fine, bright, cloudless day; we were all sitting at table, eating breakfast, and the clock struck. now i always loved to hear the clock strike and count the strokes out loud: "one--two--three--seven--eleven--twelve--thirteen! oi! _thirteen?_" "thirteen?" exclaimed my father, and laughed. "you're a fine arithmetician (no evil eye!). whenever did you hear a clock strike thirteen?" "but i tell you, it _struck_ thirteen!" "i shall give you thirteen slaps," cried my father, angrily, "and then you won't repeat this nonsense again. goi, a clock _cannot_ strike thirteen!" "do you know what, simcheh," put in my mother, "i am afraid the child is right, i fancy i counted thirteen, too." "there's another witness!" said my father, but it appeared that he had begun to feel a little doubtful himself, for after the meal he went up to the clock, got upon a chair, gave a turn to a little wheel inside the clock, and it began to strike. we all counted the strokes, nodding our head at each one the while: one--two--three--seven--nine--twelve--thirteen. "thirteen!" exclaimed my father, looking at us in amaze. he gave the wheel another turn, and again the clock struck thirteen. my father got down off the chair with a sigh. he was as white as the wall, and remained standing in the middle of the room, stared at the ceiling, chewed his beard, and muttered to himself: "plague take thirteen! what can it mean? what does it portend? if it were out of order, it would have stopped. then, what can it be? the inference can only be that some spring has gone wrong." "why worry whether it's a spring or not?" said my mother. "you'd better take down the clock and put it to rights, as you've a turn that way." "hush, perhaps you're right," answered my father, took down the clock and busied himself with it. he perspired, spent a whole day over it, and hung it up again in its place. thank god, the clock was going as it should, and when, near midnight, we all stood round it and counted _twelve_, my father was overjoyed. "ha? it didn't strike thirteen then, did it? when i say it is a spring, i know what i'm about." "i always said you were a wonder," my mother told him. "but there is one thing i don't understand: why does it wheeze so? i don't think it used to wheeze like that." "it's your fancy," said my father, and listened to the noise it made before striking, like an old man preparing to cough: chil-chil-chil-chil-trrrr ... and only then: bom!--bom!--bom!--and even the "bom" was not the same as formerly, for the former "bom" had been a cheerful one, and now there had crept into it a melancholy note, as into the voice of an old worn-out cantor at the close of the service for the day of atonement, and the hoarseness increased, and the strike became lower and duller, and my father, worried and anxious. it was plain that the affair preyed upon his mind, that he suffered in secret, that it was undermining his health, and yet he could do nothing. we felt that any moment the clock might stop altogether. the imp started playing all kinds of nasty tricks and idle pranks, shook itself sideways, and stumbled like an old man who drags his feet after him. one could see that the clock was about to stop forever! it was a good thing my father understood in time that the clock was about to yield up its soul, and that the fault lay with the balance weights: the weight was too light. and he puts on a jostle, which has the weight of about four pounds. the clock goes on like a song, and my father becomes as cheerful as a newborn man. but this was not to be for long: the clock began to lose again, the imp was back at his tiresome performances: he moved slowly on one side, quickly on the other, with a hoarse noise, like a sick old man, so that it went to the heart. a pity to see how the clock agonized, and my father, as he watched it, seemed like a flickering, bickering flame of a candle, and nearly went out for grief. like a good doctor, who is ready to sacrifice himself for the patient's sake, who puts forth all his energy, tries every remedy under the sun to save his patient, even so my father applied himself to save the old clock, if only it should be possible. "the weight is too light," repeated my father, and hung something heavier onto it every time, first a frying-pan, then a copper jug, afterwards a flat-iron, a bag of sand, a couple of tiles--and the clock revived every time and went on, with difficulty and distress, but still it went--till one night there was a misfortune. it was on a friday evening in winter. we had just eaten our sabbath supper, the delicious peppered fish with horseradish, the hot soup with macaroni, the stewed plums, and said grace as was meet. the sabbath candles flickered, the maid was just handing round fresh, hot, well-dried polish nuts from off the top of the stove, when in came aunt yente, a dark-favored little woman without teeth, whose husband had deserted her, to become a follower of the rebbe, quite a number of years ago. "good sabbath!" said aunt yente, "i knew you had some fresh polish nuts. the pity is that i've nothing to crack them with, may my husband live no more years than i have teeth in my mouth! what did you think, malkeh, of the fish to-day? what a struggle there was over them at the market! i asked him about his fish--manasseh, the lazy--when up comes soreh peril, the rich: make haste, give it me, hand me over that little pike!--why in such a hurry? say i. god be with you, the river is not on fire, and manasseh is not going to take the fish back there, either. take my word for it, with these rich people money is cheap, and sense is dear. turns round on me and says: paupers, she says, have no business here--a poor man, she says, shouldn't hanker after good things. what do you think of such a shrew? how long did she stand by her mother in the market selling ribbons? she behaves just like pessil peise avròhom's over her daughter, the one she married to a great man in schtrischtch, who took her just as she was, without any dowry or anything--jewish luck! they say she has a bad time of it--no evil eye to her days--can't get on with his children. well, who would be a stepmother? let them beware! take chavvehle! what is there to find fault with in her? and you should see the life her stepchildren lead her! one hears shouting day and night, cursing, squabbling, and fighting." the candles began to die down, the shadow climbed the wall, scrambled higher and higher, the nuts crackled in our hands, there was talking and telling stories and tales, just for the pleasure of it, one without any reference to the other, but aunt yente talked more than anyone. "hush!" cried out aunt yente, "listen, because not long ago a still better thing happened. not far from yampele, about three versts away, some robbers fell upon a jewish tavern, killed a whole houseful of people, down to a baby in a cradle. the only person left alive was a servant-girl, who was sleeping on the kitchen stove. she heard people screeching, and jumped down, this servant-girl, off the stove, peeped through a chink in the door, and saw, this servant-girl i'm telling you of, saw the master of the house and the mistress lying on the floor, murdered, in a pool of blood, and she went back, this girl, and sprang through a window, and ran into the town screaming: jews, to the rescue, help, help, help!" suddenly, just as aunt yente was shouting, "help, help, help!" we heard _trrraach!--tarrrach!--bom--dzin--dzin--dzin, bomm!!_ we were so deep in the story, we only thought at first that robbers had descended upon our house, and were firing guns, and we could not move for terror. for one minute we looked at one another, and then with one accord we began to call out, "help! help! help!" and my mother was so carried away that she clasped me in her arms and cried: "my child, my life for yours, woe is me!" "ha? what? what is the matter with him? what has happened?" exclaimed my father. "nothing! nothing! hush! hush!" cried aunt yente, gesticulating wildly, and the maid came running in from the kitchen, more dead than alive. "who screamed? what is it? is there a fire? what is on fire? where?" "fire? fire? where is the fire?" we all shrieked. "help! help! gewalt, jews, to the rescue, fire, fire!" "which fire? what fire? where fire?! fire take _you_, you foolish girl, and make cinders of you!" scolded aunt yente at the maid. "now _she_ must come, as though we weren't enough before! fire, indeed, says she! into the earth with you, to all black years! did you ever hear of such a thing? what are you all yelling for? do you know what it was that frightened you? the best joke in the world, and there's nobody to laugh with! god be with you, it was the clock falling onto the floor--now you know! you hung every sort of thing onto it, and now it is fallen, weighing at least three pud. and no wonder! a man wouldn't have fared better. did you ever?!" it was only then we came to our senses, rose one by one from the table, went to the clock, and saw it lying on its poor face, killed, broken, shattered, and smashed for evermore! "there is an end to the clock!" said my father, white as the wall. he hung his head, wrung his fingers, and the tears came into his eyes. i looked at my father and wanted to cry, too. "there now, see, what is the use of fretting to death?" said my mother. "no doubt it was so decreed and written down in heaven that to-day, at that particular minute, our clock was to find its end, just (i beg to distinguish!) like a human being, may god not punish me for saying so! may it be an atonement for not remembering the sabbath, for me, for thee, for our children, for all near and dear to us, and for all israel. amen, selah!" fishel the teacher twice a year, as sure as the clock, on the first day of nisan and the first of ellul--for passover and tabernacles--fishel the teacher travelled from balta to chaschtschevate, home to his wife and children. it was decreed that nearly all his life long he should be the guest of his own family, a very welcome guest, but a passing one. he came with the festival, and no sooner was it over, than back with him to balta, back to the schooling, the ruler, the gemoreh, the dull, thick wits, to the being knocked about from pillar to post, to the wandering among strangers, and the longing for home. on the other hand, when fishel _does_ come home, he is an emperor! his wife bath-sheba comes out to meet him, pulls at her head-kerchief, blushes red as fire, questions as though in asides, without as yet looking him in the face, "how are you?" and he replies, "how are _you_?" and froike his son, a boy of thirteen or so, greets him, and the father asks, "well, efroim, and how far on are you in the gemoreh?" and his little daughter resele, not at all a bad-looking little girl, with a plaited pigtail, hugs and kisses him. "tate, what sort of present have you brought me?" "printed calico for a frock, and a silk kerchief for mother. there--give mother the kerchief!" and fishel takes a silk (suppose a half-silk!) kerchief out of his tallis-bag, and bath-sheba grows redder still, and pulls her head-cloth over her eyes, takes up a bit of household work, busies herself all over the place, and ends by doing nothing. "bring the gemoreh, efroim, and let me hear what you can do!" and froike recites his lesson like the bright boy he is, and fishel listens and corrects, and his heart expands and overflows with delight, his soul rejoices--a bright boy, froike, a treasure! "if you want to go to the bath, there is a shirt ready for you!" thus bath-sheba as she passes him, still not venturing to look him in the face, and fishel has a sensation of unspeakable comfort, he feels like a man escaped from prison and back in a lightsome world, among those who are near and dear to him. and he sees in fancy a very, very hot bath-house, and himself lying on the highest bench with other jews, and he perspires and swishes himself with the birch twigs, and can never have enough. home from the bath, fresh and lively as a fish, like one newborn, he rehearses the portion of the law for the festival, puts on the sabbath cloak and the new girdle, steals a glance at bath-sheba in her new dress and silk kerchief--still a pretty woman, and so pious and good!--and goes with froike to the shool. the air is full of sholom alechems, "welcome, reb fishel the teacher, and what are you about?"--"a teacher teaches!"--"what is the news?"--"what should it be? the world is the world!"--"what is going on in balta?"--"balta is balta." the same formula is repeated every time, every half-year, and nissel the reader begins to recite the evening prayers, and sends forth his voice, the further the louder, and when he comes to "and moses declared the set feasts of the lord unto the children of israel," it reaches nearly to heaven. and froike stands at his father's side, and recites the prayers melodiously, and once more fishel's heart expands and flows over with joy--a good child, froike, a good, pious child! "a happy holiday, a happy holiday!" "a happy holiday, a happy year!" at home they find the passover table spread: the four cups, the bitter herbs, the almond and apple paste, and all the rest of it. the reclining-seats (two small benches with big cushions) stand ready, and fishel becomes a king. fishel, robed in white, sits on the throne of his dominion, bath-sheba, the queen, sits beside him in her new silk kerchief; efroim, the prince, in a new cap, and the princess resele with her plait, sit opposite them. look on with respect! his majesty fishel is seated on his throne, and has assumed the sway of his kingdom. * * * * * the chaschtschevate scamps, who love to make game of the whole world, not to mention a teacher, maintain that one passover eve our fishel sent his bath-sheba the following russian telegram: "rebyàta sobral dyèngi vezù prigatovi npiyèdu tzàrstvovàtz," which means: "have entered my pupils for the next term, am bringing money, prepare the dumplings, i come to reign." the mischief-makers declare that this telegram was seized at balta station, that bath-sheba was sought and not found, and that fishel was sent home with the étape. dreadful! but i can assure you, there isn't a word of truth in the story, because fishel never sent a telegram in his life, nobody was ever seen looking for bath-sheba, and fishel was never taken anywhere by the étape. that is, he _was_ once taken somewhere by the étape, but not on account of a telegram, only on account of a simple passport! and not from balta, but from yehupetz, and not at passover, but in summer-time. he wished, you see, to go to yehupetz in search of a post as teacher, and forgot his passport. he thought it was in balta, and he got into a nice mess, and forbade his children and children's children ever to go in search of pupils in yehupetz. since then he teaches in balta, and comes home for passover, winds up his work a fortnight earlier, and sometimes manages to hasten back in time for the great sabbath. hasten, did i say? that means when the road _is_ a road, when you can hire a conveyance, and when the bug can either be crossed on the ice or in the ferry-boat. but when, for instance, the snow has begun to melt, and the mud is deep, when there is no conveyance to be had, when the bug has begun to split the ice, and the ferry-boat has not started running, when a skiff means peril of death, and the festival is upon you--what then? it is just "nit güt." fishel the teacher knows the taste of "nit güt." he has had many adventures and mishaps since he became a teacher, and took to faring from chaschtschevate to balta and from balta to chaschtschevate. he has tried going more than half-way on foot, and helped to push the conveyance besides. he has lain in the mud with a priest, the priest on top, and he below. he has fled before a pack of wolves who were pursuing the vehicle, and afterwards they turned out to be dogs, and not wolves at all. but anything like the trouble on this passover eve had never befallen him before. the trouble came from the bug, that is, from the bug's breaking through the ice, and just having its fling when fishel reached it in a hurry to get home, and really in a hurry, because it was already friday and passover eve, that is, passover eve fell on a sabbath that year. fishel reached the bug in a gentile conveyance thursday evening. according to his own reckoning, he should have got there tuesday morning, because he left balta sunday after market, the spirit having moved him to go into the market-place to spy after a chance conveyance. how much better it would have been to drive with yainkel-shegetz, a balta carrier, even at the cart-tail, with his legs dangling, and shaken to bits. he would have been home long ago by now, and have forgotten the discomforts of the journey. but he had wanted a cheaper transit, and it is an old saying that cheap things cost dear. yoneh, the tippler, who procures vehicles in balta, had said to him: "take my advice, give two rubles, and you will ride in yainkel's wagon like a lord, even if you do have to sit behind the wagon. consider, you're playing with fire, the festival approaches." but as ill-luck would have it, there came along a familiar gentile from chaschtschevate. "eh, rabbi, you're not wanting a lift to chaschtschevate?" "how much would the fare be?" he thought to ask how much, and he never thought to ask if it would take him home by passover, because in a week he could have covered the distance walking behind the cart. but as fishel drove out of the town, he soon began to repent of his choice, even though the wagon was large, and he sitting in it in solitary grandeur, like any count. he saw that with a horse that dragged itself along in _that_ way, there would be no getting far, for they drove a whole day without getting anywhere in particular, and however much he worried the peasant to know if it were a long way yet, the only reply he got was, "who can tell?" in the evening, with a rumble and a shout and a crack of the whip, there came up with them yainkel-shegetz and his four fiery horses jingling with bells, and the large coach packed with passengers before and behind. yainkel, catching sight of the teacher in the peasant's cart, gave another loud crack with his whip, ridiculed the peasant, his passenger, and his horse, as only yainkel-shegetz knows how, and when a little way off, he turned and pointed at one of the peasant's wheels. "hallo, man, look out! there's a wheel turning!" the peasant stopped the horse, and he and the teacher clambered down together, and examined the wheels. they crawled underneath the cart, and found nothing wrong, nothing at all. when the peasant understood that yainkel had made a fool of him, he scratched the back of his neck below his collar, and began to abuse yainkel and all jews with curses such as fishel had never heard before. his voice and his anger rose together: "may you never know good! may you have a bad year! may you not see the end of it! bad luck to you, you and your horses and your wife and your daughter and your aunts and your uncles and your parents-in-law and--and all your cursed jews!" it was a long time before the peasant took his seat again, nor did he cease to fume against yainkel the driver and all jews, until, with god's help, they reached a village wherein to spend the night. next morning fishel rose with the dawn, recited his prayers, a portion of the law, and a few psalms, breakfasted on a roll, and was ready to set forward. unfortunately, chfedor (this was the name of his driver) was _not_ ready. chfedor had sat up late with a crony and got drunk, and he slept through a whole day and a bit of the night, and then only started on his way. "well," fishel reproved him as they sat in the cart, "well, chfedor, a nice way to behave, upon my word! do you suppose i engaged you for a merrymaking? what have you to say for yourself, i should like to know, eh?" and fishel addressed other reproachful words to him, and never ceased casting the other's laziness between his teeth, partly in polish, partly in hebrew, and helping himself out with his hands. chfedor understood quite well what fishel meant, but he answered him not a word, not a syllable even. no doubt he felt that fishel was in the right, and he was silent as a cat, till, on the fourth day, they met yainkel-shegetz, driving back from chaschtschevate with a rumble and a crack of his whip, who called out to them, "you may as well turn back to balta, the bug has burst the ice." fishel's heart was like to burst, too, but chfedor, who thought that yainkel was trying to fool him a second time, started repeating his whole list of curses, called down all bad dreams on yainkel's hands and feet, and never shut his mouth till they came to the bug on thursday evening. they drove straight to prokop baranyùk, the ferryman, to inquire when the ferry-boat would begin to run, and the two gentiles, chfedor and prokop, took to sipping brandy, while fishel proceeded to recite the afternoon prayer. * * * * * the sun was about to set, and poured a rosy light onto the high hills that stood on either side of the river, and were snow-covered in parts and already green in others, and intersected by rivulets that wound their way with murmuring noise down into the river, where the water foamed with the broken ice and the increasing thaw. the whole of chaschtschevate lay before him as on a plate, while the top of the monastery sparkled like a light in the setting sun. standing to recite the eighteen benedictions, with his face towards chaschtschevate, fishel turned his eyes away and drove out the idle thoughts and images that had crept into his head: bath-sheba with the new silk kerchief, froike with the gemoreh, resele with her plait, the hot bath and the highest bench, and freshly-baked matzes, together with nice peppered fish and horseradish that goes up your nose, passover borshtsh with more matzes, a heavenly mixture, and all the other good things that desire is capable of conjuring up--and however often he drove these fancies away, they returned and crept back into his brain like summer flies, and disturbed him at his prayers. when fishel had repeated the eighteen benedictions and olenu, he betook him to prokop, and entered into conversation with him about the ferry-boat and the festival eve, giving him to understand, partly in polish and partly in hebrew and partly with his hands, what passover meant to the jews, and passover eve falling on a sabbath, and that if, which heaven forbid, he had not crossed the bug by that time to-morrow, he was a lost man, for, beside the fact that they were on the lookout for him at home--his wife and children (fishel gave a sigh that rent the heart)--he would not be able to eat or drink for a week, and fishel turned away, so that the tears in his eyes should not be seen. prokop baranyùk quite appreciated fishel's position, and replied that he knew to-morrow was a jewish festival, and even how it was called; he even knew that the jews celebrated it by drinking wine and strong brandy; he even knew that there was yet another festival at which the jews drank brandy, and a third when all jews were obliged to get drunk, but he had forgotten its name-- "well and good," fishel interrupted him in a lamentable voice, "but what is to happen? how if i don't get there?" to this prokop made no reply. he merely pointed with his hand to the river, as much as to say, "see for yourself!" and fishel lifted up his eyes to the river, and saw that which he had never seen before, and heard that which he had never heard in his life. because you may say that fishel had never yet taken in anything "out of doors," he had only perceived it accidentally, by the way, as he hurried from cheder to the house-of-study, and from the house-of-study to cheder. the beautiful blue bug between the two lines of imposing hills, the murmur of the winding rivulets as they poured down the hillsides, the roar of the ever-deepening spring-flow, the light of the setting sun, the glittering cupola of the convent, the wholesome smell of passover-eve-tide out of doors, and, above all, the being so close to home and not able to get there--all these things lent wings, as it were, to fishel's spirit, and he was borne into a new world, the world of imagination, and crossing the bug seemed the merest trifle, if only the almighty were willing to perform a fraction of a miracle on his behalf. such and like thoughts floated in and out of fishel's head, and lifted him into the air, and so far across the river, he never realized that it was night, and the stars came out, and a cool wind blew in under his cloak to his little prayer-scarf, and fishel was busy with things that he had never so much as dreamt of: earthly things and heavenly things, the great size of the beautiful world, the almighty as creator of the earth, and so on. fishel spent a bad night in prokop's house--such a night as he hoped never to spend again. the next morning broke with a smile from the bright and cheerful sun. it was a singularly fine day, and so sweetly warm that all the snow left melted into kasha, and the kasha, into water, and this water poured into the bug from all sides; and the bug became clearer, light blue, full and smooth, and the large bits of ice that looked like dreadful wild beasts, like white elephants hurrying and tearing along as if they were afraid of being late, grew rarer. fishel the teacher recited the morning prayer, breakfasted on the last piece of leavened bread left in his prayer-scarf bag, and went out to the river to see about the ferry. imagine his feelings when he heard that the ferry-boat would not begin running before sunday afternoon! he clapped both hands to his head, gesticulated with every limb, and fell to abusing prokop. why had he given him hopes of the ferry-boat's crossing next day? whereupon prokop answered quite coolly that he had said nothing about crossing with the ferry, he was talking of taking him across in a small boat! and that he could still do, if fishel wished, in a sail-boat, in a rowboat, in a raft, and the fare was not less than one ruble. "a raft, a rowboat, anything you like, only don't let me spend the festival away from home!" thus fishel, and he was prepared to give him two rubles then and there, to give his life for the holy festival, and he began to drive prokop into getting out the raft at once, and taking him across in the direction of chaschtschevate, where bath-sheba, froike, and resele are already looking out for him. it may be they are standing on the opposite hills, that they see him, and make signs to him, waving their hands, that they call to him, only one can neither see them nor hear their voices, because the river is wide, dreadfully wide, wider than ever! the sun was already half-way up the deep, blue sky, when prokop told fishel to get into the little trough of a boat, and when fishel heard him, he lost all power in his feet and hands, and was at a loss what to do, for never in his life had he been in a rowboat, never in his life had he been in any small boat. and it seemed to him the thing had only to dip a little to one side, and all would be over. "jump in, and off we'll go!" said prokop once more, and with a turn of his oar he brought the boat still closer in, and took fishel's bundle out of his hands. fishel the teacher drew his coat-skirts neatly together, and began to perform circles without moving from the spot, hesitating whether to jump or not. on the one hand were passover eve, bath-sheba, froike, resele, the bath, the home service, himself as king; on the other, peril of death, the destroying angel, suicide--because one dip and--good-by, fishel, peace be upon him! and fishel remained circling there with his folded skirts, till prokop lost patience and said, another minute, and he should set out and be off to chaschtschevate without him. at the beloved word "chaschtschevate," fishel called his dear ones to mind, summoned the whole of his courage, and fell into the boat. i say "fell in," because the instant his foot touched the bottom of the boat, it slipped, and fishel, thinking he was falling, drew back, and this drawing back sent him headlong forward into the boat-bottom, where he lay stretched out for some minutes before recovering his wits, and for a long time after his face was livid, and his hands shook, while his heart beat like a clock, tik-tik-tak, tik-tik-tak! prokop meantime sat in the prow as though he were at home. he spit into his hands, gave a stroke with the oar to the left, a stroke to the right, and the boat glided over the shining water, and fishel's head spun round as he sat. as he sat? no, he hung floating, suspended in the air! one false movement, and that which held him would give way; one lean to the side, and he would be in the water and done with! at this thought, the words came into his mind, "and they sank like lead in the mighty waters," and his hair stood on end at the idea of such a death. how? not even to be buried with the dead of israel? and he bethought himself to make a vow to--to do what? to give money in charity? he had none to give--he was a very, very poor man! so he vowed that if god would bring him home in safety, he would sit up whole nights and study, go through the whole of the talmud in one year, god willing, with god's help. fishel would dearly have liked to know if it were much further to the other side, and found himself seated, as though on purpose, with his face to prokop and his back to chaschtschevate. and he dared not open his mouth to ask. it seemed to him that his very voice would cause the boat to rock, and one rock--good-by, fishel! but prokop opened his mouth of his own accord, and began to speak. he said there was nothing worse when you were on the water than a thaw. it made it impossible, he said, to row straight ahead; one had to adapt one's course to the ice, to row round and round and backwards. "there's a bit of ice making straight for us now." thus prokop, and he pulled back and let pass a regular ice-floe, which swam by with a singular rocking motion and a sound that fishel had never seen or heard before. and then he began to understand what a wild adventure this journey was, and he would have given goodness knows what to be safe on shore, even on the one they had left. "o, you see that?" asked prokop, and pointed upstream. fishel raised his eyes slowly, was afraid of moving much, and looked and looked, and saw nothing but water, water, and water. "there's a big one coming down on us now, we must make a dash for it, for it's too late to row back." so said prokop, and rowed away with both hands, and the boat glided and slid like a fish through the water, and fishel felt cold in every limb. he would have liked to question, but was afraid of interfering. however, again prokop spoke of himself. "if we don't win by a minute, it will be the worse for us." fishel can now no longer contain himself, and asks: "how do you mean, the worse?" "we shall be done for," says prokop. "done for?" "done for." "how do you mean, done for?" persists fishel. "i mean, it will grind us." "grind us?" "grind us." fishel does not understand what "grind us, grind us" may signify, but it has a sound of finality, of the next world, about it, and fishel is bathed in a cold sweat, and again the words come into his head, "and they sank like lead in the mighty waters." and prokop, as though to quiet our fishel's mind, tells him a comforting story of how, years ago at this time, the bug broke through the ice, and the ferry-boat could not be used, and there came to him another person to be rowed across, an excise official from uman, quite a person of distinction, and offered a large sum; and they had the bad luck to meet two huge pieces of ice, and he rowed to the right, in between the floes, intending to slip through upwards, and he made an involuntary side motion with the boat, and they went flop into the water! fortunately, he, prokop, could swim, but the official came to grief, and the fare-money, too. "it was good-by to my fare!" ended prokop, with a sigh, and fishel shuddered, and his tongue dried up, so that he could neither speak nor utter the slightest sound. in the very middle of the river, just as they were rowing along quite smoothly, prokop suddenly stopped, and looked--and looked--up the stream; then he laid down the oars, drew a bottle out of his pocket, tilted it into his mouth, sipped out of it two or three times, put it back, and explained to fishel that he had always to take a few sips of the "bitter drop," otherwise he felt bad when on the water. and he wiped his mouth, took the oars in hand again, and said, having crossed himself three times: "now for a race!" a race? with whom? with what? fishel did not understand, and was afraid to ask; but again he felt the brush of the death angel's wing, for prokop had gone down onto his knees, and was rowing with might and main. moreover, he said to fishel, and pointed to the bottom of the boat: "rebbe, lie down!" fishel understood that he was to lie down, and did not need to be told twice. for now he had seen a whole host of floes coming down upon them, a world of ice, and he shut his eyes, flung himself face downwards in the boat, and lay trembling like a lamb, and recited in a low voice, "hear, o israel!" and the confession, thought on the graves of israel, and fancied that now, now he lies in the abyss of the waters, now, now comes a fish and swallows him, like jonah the prophet when he fled to tarshish, and he remembers jonah's prayer, and sings softly and with tears: "affofùni màyyim ad nòfesh--the waters have reached unto my soul; tehòm yesovèveni--the deep hath covered me!" fishel the teacher sang and wept and thought pitifully of his widowed wife and his orphaned children, and prokop rowed for all he was worth, and sang _his_ little song: "o thou maiden with the black lashes!" and prokop felt the same on the water as on dry land, and fishel's "affofùni" and prokop's "o maiden" blended into one, and a strange song sounded over the bug, a kind of duet, which had never been heard there before. "the black year knows why he is so afraid of death, that jew," so wondered prokop baranyùk, "a poor tattered little jew like him, a creature i would not give this old boat for, and so afraid of death!" the shore reached, prokop gave fishel a shove in the side with his boot, and fishel started. the gentile burst out laughing, but fishel did not hear, fishel went on reciting the confession, saying kaddish for his own soul, and mentally contemplating the graves of israel! "get up, you silly rebbe! we're there--in chaschtschevate!" slowly, slowly, fishel raised his head, and gazed around him with red and swollen eyes. "chasch-tsche-va-te???" "chaschtschevate! give me the ruble, rebbe!" fishel crawls out of the boat, and, finding himself really at home, does not know what to do for joy. shall he run into the town? shall he go dancing? shall he first thank and praise god who has brought him safe out of such great peril? he pays the gentile his fare, takes up his bundle under his arm and is about to run home, the quicker the better, but he pauses a moment first, and turns to prokop the ferryman: "listen, prokop, dear heart, to-morrow, please god, you'll come and drink a glass of brandy, and taste festival fish at fishel the teacher's, for heaven's sake!" "shall i say no? am i such a fool?" replied prokop, licking his lips in anticipation at the thought of the passover brandy he would sip, and the festival fish he would delectate himself with on the morrow. and prokop gets back into his boat, and pulls quietly home again, singing a little song, and pitying the poor jew who was so afraid of death. "the jewish faith is the same as the mahommedan!" and it seems to him a very foolish one. and fishel is thinking almost the same thing, and pities the gentile on account of _his_ religion. "what knows he, yon poor gentile, of such holy promises as were made to us jews, the beloved people!" and fishel the teacher hastens uphill, through the chaschtschevate mud. he perspires with the exertion, and yet he does not feel the ground beneath his feet. he flies, he floats, he is going home, home to his dear ones, who are on the watch for him as for messiah, who look for him to return in health, to seat himself upon his kingly throne and reign. look, jews, and turn respectfully aside! fishel the teacher has come home to chaschtschevate, and seated himself upon the throne of his kingdom! an easy fast that which doctor tanner failed to accomplish, was effectually carried out by chayyim chaikin, a simple jew in a small town in poland. doctor tanner wished to show that a man can fast forty days, and he only managed to get through twenty-eight, no more, and that with people pouring spoonfuls of water into his mouth, and giving him morsels of ice to swallow, and holding his pulse--a whole business! chayyim chaikin has proved that one can fast more than forty days; not, as a rule, two together, one after the other, but forty days, if not more, in the course of a year. to fast is all he asks! who said drops of water? who said ice? not for him! to fast means no food and no drink from one set time to the other, a real four-and-twenty-hours. and no doctors sit beside him and hold his pulse, whispering, "hush! be quiet!" well, let us hear the tale! chayyim chaikin is a very poor man, encumbered with many children, and they, the children, support him. they are mostly girls, and they work in a factory and make cigarette wrappers, and they earn, some one gulden, others half a gulden, a day, and that not every day. how about sabbaths and festivals and "shtreik" days? one should thank god for everything, even in their out-of-the-way little town strikes are all the fashion! and out of that they have to pay rent--for a damp corner in a basement. to buy clothes and shoes for the lot of them! they have a dress each, but they are two to every pair of shoes. and then food--such as it is! a bit of bread smeared with an onion, sometimes groats, occasionally there is a bit of taran that burns your heart out, so that after eating it for supper, you can drink a whole night. when it comes to eating, the bread has to be portioned out like cake. "oi, dos essen, dos essen seiers!" thus chaike, chayyim chaikin's wife, a poor, sick creature, who coughs all night long. "no evil eye," says the father, and he looks at his children devouring whole slices of bread, and would dearly like to take a mouthful himself, only, if he does so, the two little ones, fradke and beilke, will go supperless. and he cuts his portion of bread in two, and gives it to the little ones, fradke and beilke. fradke and beilke stretch out their little thin, black hands, look into their father's eyes, and don't believe him: perhaps he is joking? children are nashers, they play with father's piece of bread, till at last they begin taking bites out of it. the mother sees and exclaims, coughing all the while: "it is nothing but eating and stuffing!" the father cannot bear to hear it, and is about to answer her, but he keeps silent--he can't say anything, it is not for him to speak! who is he in the house? a broken potsherd, the last and least, no good to anyone, no good to them, no good to himself. because the fact is he does nothing, absolutely nothing; not because he won't do anything, or because it doesn't befit him, but because there is nothing to do--and there's an end of it! the whole townlet complains of there being nothing to do! it is just a crowd of jews driven together. delightful! they're packed like herrings in a barrel, they squeeze each other close, all for love. "well-a-day!" thinks chaikin, "it's something to have children, other people haven't even that. but to depend on one's children is quite another thing and not a happy one!" not that they grudge him his keep--heaven forbid! but he cannot take it from them, he really cannot! he knows how hard they work, he knows how the strength is wrung out of them to the last drop, he knows it well! every morsel of bread is a bit of their health and strength--he drinks his children's blood! no, the thought is too dreadful! "tatinke, why don't you eat?" ask the children. "to-day is a fast day with me," answers chayyim chaikin. "another fast? how many fasts have you?" "not so many as there are days in the week." and chayyim chaikin speaks the truth when he says that he has many fasts, and yet there are days on which he eats. but he likes the days on which he fasts better. first, they are pleasing to god, and it means a little bit more of the world-to-come, the interest grows, and the capital grows with it. "secondly" (he thinks), "no money is wasted on me. of course, i am accountable to no one, and nobody ever questions me as to how i spend it, but what do i want money for, when i can get along without it? "and what is the good of feeling one's self a little higher than a beast? a beast eats every day, but i can go without food for one or two days. a man _should_ be above a beast! "o, if a man could only raise himself to a level where he could live without eating at all! but there are one's confounded insides!" so thinks chayyim chaikin, for hunger has made a philosopher of him. "the insides, the necessity of eating, these are the causes of the world's evil! the insides and the necessity of eating have made a pauper of me, and drive my children to toil in the sweat of their brow and risk their lives for a bit of bread! "suppose a man had no need to eat! ai--ai--ai! my children would all stay at home! an end to toil, an end to moil, an end to 'shtreikeven,' an end to the risking of life, an end to factory and factory owners, to rich men and paupers, an end to jealousy and hatred and fighting and shedding of blood! all gone and done with! gone and done with! a paradise! a paradise!" so reasons chayyim chaikin, and, lost in speculation, he pities the world, and is grieved to the heart to think that god should have made man so little above the beast. * * * * * the day on which chayyim chaikin fasts is, as i told you, his best day, and a _real_ fast day, like the ninth of ab, for instance--he is ashamed to confess it--is a festival for him! you see, it means not to eat, not to be a beast, not to be guilty of the children's blood, to earn the reward of a mitzveh, and to weep to heart's content on the ruins of the temple. for how can one weep when one is full? how can a full man grieve? only he can grieve whose soul is faint within him! the good year knows how some folk answer it to their conscience, giving in to their insides--afraid of fasting! buy them a groschen worth of oats, for charity's sake! thus would chayyim chaikin scorn those who bought themselves off the fast, and dropped a hard coin into the collecting box. the ninth of ab is the hardest fast of all--so the world has it. chayyim chaikin cannot see why. the day is long, is it? then the night is all the shorter. it's hot out of doors, is it? who asks you to go loitering about in the sun? sit in the shool and recite the prayers, of which, thank god, there are plenty. "i tell you," persists chayyim chaikin, "that the ninth of ab is the easiest of the fasts, because it is the best, the very best! "for instance, take the day of atonement fast! it is written, 'and you shall mortify your bodies.' what for? to get a clean bill and a good year. "it doesn't say that you are to fast on the ninth of ab, but you fast of your own accord, because how could you eat on the day when the temple was wrecked, and jews were killed, women ripped up, and children dashed to pieces? "it doesn't say that you are to weep on the ninth of ab, but you _do_ weep. how could anyone restrain his tears when he thinks of what we lost that day?" "the pity is, there should be only one ninth of ab!" says chayyim chaikin. "well, and the seventeenth of tammuz!" suggests some one. "and there is only one seventeenth of tammuz!" answers chayyim chaikin, with a sigh. "well, and the fast of gedaliah? and the fast of esther?" continues the same person. "only one of each!" and chayyim chaikin sighs again. "Ê, reb chayyim, you are greedy for fasts, are you?" "more fasts, more fasts!" says chayyim chaikin, and he takes upon himself to fast on the eve of the ninth of ab as well, two days at a stretch. what do you think of fasting two days in succession? isn't that a treat? it is hard enough to have to break one's fast after the ninth of ab, without eating on the eve thereof as well. one forgets that one _has_ insides, that such a thing exists as the necessity to eat, and one is free of the habit that drags one down to the level of the beast. the difficulty lies in the drinking! i mean, in the _not_ drinking. "if i" (thinks chayyim chaikin) "allowed myself one glass of water a day, i could fast a whole week till sabbath." you think i say that for fun? not at all! chayyim chaikin is a man of his word. when he says a thing, it's said and done! the whole week preceding the ninth of ab he ate nothing, he lived on water. who should notice? his wife, poor thing, is sick, the elder children are out all day in the factory, and the younger ones do not understand. fradke and beilke only know when they are hungry (and they are always hungry), the heart yearns within them, and they want to eat. "to-day you shall have an extra piece of bread," says the father, and cuts his own in two, and fradke and beilke stretch out their dirty little hands for it, and are overjoyed. "tatinke, you are not eating," remark the elder girls at supper, "this is not a fast day!" "and no more _do_ i fast!" replies the father, and thinks: "that was a take-in, but not a lie, because, after all, a glass of water--that is not eating and not fasting, either." when it comes to the eve of the ninth of ab, chayyim feels so light and airy as he never felt before, not because it is time to prepare for the fast by taking a meal, not because he may eat. on the contrary, he feels that if he took anything solid into his mouth, it would not go down, but stick in his throat. that is, his heart is very sick, and his hands and feet shake; his body is attracted earthwards, his strength fails, he feels like fainting. but fie, what an idea! to fast a whole week, to arrive at the eve of the ninth of ab, and not hold out to the end! never! and chayyim chaikin takes his portion of bread and potato, calls fradke and beilke, and whispers: "children, take this and eat it, but don't let mother see!" and fradke and beilke take their father's share of food, and look wonderingly at his livid face and shaking hands. chayyim sees the children snatch at the bread and munch and swallow, and he shuts his eyes, and rises from his place. he cannot wait for the other girls to come home from the factory, but takes his book of lamentations, puts off his shoes, and drags himself--it is all he can do--to the shool. he is nearly the first to arrive. he secures a seat next the reader, on an overturned bench, lying with its feet in the air, and provides himself with a bit of burned-down candle, which he glues with its drippings to the foot of the bench, leans against the corner of the platform, opens his book, "lament for zion and all the other towns," and he closes his eyes and sees zion robed in black, with a black veil over her face, lamenting and weeping and wringing her hands, mourning for her children who fall daily, daily, in foreign lands, for other men's sins. "and wilt not thou, o zion, ask of me some tidings of the children from thee reft? i bring thee greetings over land and sea, from those remaining--from the remnant left!----" and he opens his eyes and sees: a bright sunbeam has darted in through the dull, dusty window-pane, a beam of the sun which is setting yonder behind the town. and though he shuts them again, he still sees the beam, and not only the beam, but the whole sun, the bright, beautiful sun, and no one can see it but him! chayyim chaikin looks at the sun and sees it--and that's all! how is it? it must be because he has done with the world and its necessities--he feels happy--he feels light--he can bear anything--he will have an easy fast--do you know, he will have an easy fast, an easy fast! chayyim chaikin shuts his eyes, and sees a strange world, a new world, such as he never saw before. angels seem to hover before his eyes, and he looks at them, and recognizes his children in them, all his children, big and little, and he wants to say something to them, and cannot speak--he wants to explain to them, that he cannot help it--it is not his fault! how should it, no evil eye! be his fault, that so many jews are gathered together in one place and squeeze each other, all for love, squeeze each other to death for love? how can he help it, if people desire other people's sweat, other people's blood? if people have not learned to see that one should not drive a man as a horse is driven to work? that a horse is also to be pitied, one of god's creatures, a living thing?---- and chayyim chaikin keeps his eyes shut, and sees, sees everything. and everything is bright and light, and curls like smoke, and he feels something is going out of him, from inside, from his heart, and is drawn upward and loses itself from the body, and he feels very light, very, very light, and he gives a sigh--a long, deep sigh--and feels still lighter, and after that he feels nothing at all--absolutely nothing at all-- yes, he has an easy fast. * * * * * when bäre the beadle, a red-haired jew with thick lips, came into the shool in his socks with the worn-down heels, and saw chayyim chaikin leaning with his head back, and his eyes open, he was angry, thought chayyim was dozing, and he began to grumble: "he ought to be ashamed of himself--reclining like that--came here for a nap, did he?--reb chayyim, excuse me, reb chayyim!----" but chayyim chaikin did not hear him. * * * * * the last rays of the sun streamed in through the shool window, right onto chayyim chaikin's quiet face with the black, shining, curly hair, the black, bushy brows, the half-open, black, kindly eyes, and lit the dead, pale, still, hungry face through and through. * * * * * i told you how it would be: chayyim chaikin had an easy fast! the passover guest i "i have a passover guest for you, reb yoneh, such a guest as you never had since you became a householder." "what sort is he?" "a real oriental citron!" "what does that mean?" "it means a 'silken jew,' a personage of distinction. the only thing against him is--he doesn't speak our language." "what does he speak, then?" "hebrew." "is he from jerusalem?" "i don't know where he comes from, but his words are full of a's." such was the conversation that took place between my father and the beadle, a day before passover, and i was wild with curiosity to see the "guest" who didn't understand yiddish, and who talked with a's. i had already noticed, in synagogue, a strange-looking individual, in a fur cap, and a turkish robe striped blue, red, and yellow. we boys crowded round him on all sides, and stared, and then caught it hot from the beadle, who said children had no business "to creep into a stranger's face" like that. prayers over, everyone greeted the stranger, and wished him a happy passover, and he, with a sweet smile on his red cheeks set in a round grey beard, replied to each one, "shalom! shalom!" instead of our sholom. this "shalom! shalom!" of his sent us boys into fits of laughter. the beadle grew very angry, and pursued us with slaps. we eluded him, and stole deviously back to the stranger, listened to his "shalom! shalom!" exploded with laughter, and escaped anew from the hands of the beadle. i am puffed up with pride as i follow my father and his guest to our house, and feel how all my comrades envy me. they stand looking after us, and every now and then i turn my head, and put out my tongue at them. the walk home is silent. when we arrive, my father greets my mother with "a happy passover!" and the guest nods his head so that his fur cap shakes. "shalom! shalom!" he says. i think of my comrades, and hide my head under the table, not to burst out laughing. but i shoot continual glances at the guest, and his appearance pleases me; i like his turkish robe, striped yellow, red, and blue, his fresh, red cheeks set in a curly grey beard, his beautiful black eyes that look out so pleasantly from beneath his bushy eyebrows. and i see that my father is pleased with him, too, that he is delighted with him. my mother looks at him as though he were something more than a man, and no one speaks to him but my father, who offers him the cushioned reclining-seat at table. mother is taken up with the preparations for the passover meal, and rikel the maid is helping her. it is only when the time comes for saying kiddush that my father and the guest hold a hebrew conversation. i am proud to find that i understand nearly every word of it. here it is in full. my father: "nu?" (that means, "won't you please say kiddush?") the guest: "nu-nu!" (meaning, "say it rather yourself!") my father: "nu-o?" ("why not you?") the guest: "o-nu?" ("why should i?") my father: "i-o!" ("_you_ first!") the guest: "o-ai!" ("you first!") my father: "È-o-i!" ("i beg of you to say it!") the guest: "ai-o-ê!" ("i beg of you!") my father: "ai-e-o-nu?" ("why should you refuse?") the guest: "oi-o-e-nu-nu!" ("if you insist, then i must.") and the guest took the cup of wine from my father's hand, and recited a kiddush. but what a kiddush! a kiddush such as we had never heard before, and shall never hear again. first, the hebrew--all a's. secondly, the voice, which seemed to come, not out of his beard, but out of the striped turkish robe. i thought of my comrades, how they would have laughed, what slaps would have rained down, had they been present at that kiddush. being alone, i was able to contain myself. i asked my father the four questions, and we all recited the haggadah together. and i was elated to think that such a guest was ours, and no one else's. ii our sage who wrote that one should not talk at meals (may he forgive me for saying so!) did not know jewish life. when shall a jew find time to talk, if not during a meal? especially at passover, when there is so much to say before the meal and after it. rikel the maid handed the water, we washed our hands, repeated the benediction, mother helped us to fish, and my father turned up his sleeves, and started a long hebrew talk with the guest. he began with the first question one jew asks another: "what is your name?" to which the guest replied all in a's and all in one breath: "ayak bakar gashal damas hanoch vassam za'an chafaf tatzatz." my father remained with his fork in the air, staring in amazement at the possessor of so long a name. i coughed and looked under the table, and my mother said, "favele, you should be careful eating fish, or you might be choked with a bone," while she gazed at our guest with awe. she appeared overcome by his name, although unable to understand it. my father, who understood, thought it necessary to explain it to her. "you see, ayak bakar, that is our alef-bes inverted. it is apparently their custom to name people after the alphabet." "alef-bes! alef-bes!" repeated the guest with the sweet smile on his red cheeks, and his beautiful black eyes rested on us all, including rikel the maid, in the most friendly fashion. having learnt his name, my father was anxious to know whence, from what land, he came. i understood this from the names of countries and towns which i caught, and from what my father translated for my mother, giving her a yiddish version of nearly every phrase. and my mother was quite overcome by every single thing she heard, and rikel the maid was overcome likewise. and no wonder! it is not every day that a person comes from perhaps two thousand miles away, from a land only to be reached across seven seas and a desert, the desert journey alone requiring forty days and nights. and when you get near to the land, you have to climb a mountain of which the top reaches into the clouds, and this is covered with ice, and dreadful winds blow there, so that there is peril of death! but once the mountain is safely climbed, and the land is reached, one beholds a terrestrial eden. spices, cloves, herbs, and every kind of fruit--apples, pears, and oranges, grapes, dates, and olives, nuts and quantities of figs. and the houses there are all built of deal, and roofed with silver, the furniture is gold (here the guest cast a look at our silver cups, spoons, forks, and knives), and brilliants, pearls, and diamonds bestrew the roads, and no one cares to take the trouble of picking them up, they are of no value there. (he was looking at my mother's diamond ear-rings, and at the pearls round her white neck.) "you hear that?" my father asked her, with a happy face. "i hear," she answered, and added: "why don't they bring some over here? they could make money by it. ask him that, yoneh!" my father did so, and translated the answer for my mother's benefit: "you see, when you arrive there, you may take what you like, but when you leave the country, you must leave everything in it behind, too, and if they shake out of you no matter what, you are done for." "what do you mean?" questioned my mother, terrified. "i mean, they either hang you on a tree, or they stone you with stones." iii the more tales our guest told us, the more thrilling they became, and just as we were finishing the dumplings and taking another sip or two of wine, my father inquired to whom the country belonged. was there a king there? and he was soon translating, with great delight, the following reply: "the country belongs to the jews who live there, and who are called sefardîm. and they have a king, also a jew, and a very pious one, who wears a fur cap, and who is called joseph ben joseph. he is the high priest of the sefardîm, and drives out in a gilded carriage, drawn by six fiery horses. and when he enters the synagogue, the levites meet him with songs." "there are levites who sing in your synagogue?" asked my father, wondering, and the answer caused his face to shine with joy. "what do you think?" he said to my mother. "our guest tells me that in his country there is a temple, with priests and levites and an organ." "well, and an altar?" questioned my mother, and my father told her: "he says they have an altar, and sacrifices, he says, and golden vessels--everything just as we used to have it in jerusalem." and with these words my father sighs deeply, and my mother, as she looks at him, sighs also, and i cannot understand the reason. surely we should be proud and glad to think we have such a land, ruled over by a jewish king and high priest, a land with levites and an organ, with an altar and sacrifices--and bright, sweet thoughts enfold me, and carry me away as on wings to that happy jewish land where the houses are of pine-wood and roofed with silver, where the furniture is gold, and diamonds and pearls lie scattered in the street. and i feel sure, were i really there, i should know what to do--i should know how to hide things--they would shake nothing out of _me_. i should certainly bring home a lovely present for my mother, diamond ear-rings and several pearl necklaces. i look at the one mother is wearing, at her ear-rings, and i feel a great desire to be in that country. and it occurs to me, that after passover i will travel there with our guest, secretly, no one shall know. i will only speak of it to our guest, open my heart to him, tell him the whole truth, and beg him to take me there, if only for a little while. he will certainly do so, he is a very kind and approachable person, he looks at every one, even at rikel the maid, in such a friendly, such a very friendly way! "so i think, and it seems to me, as i watch our guest, that he has read my thoughts, and that his beautiful black eyes say to me: "keep it dark, little friend, wait till after passover, then we shall manage it!" iv i dreamt all night long. i dreamt of a desert, a temple, a high priest, and a tall mountain. i climb the mountain. diamonds and pearls grow on the trees, and my comrades sit on the boughs, and shake the jewels down onto the ground, whole showers of them, and i stand and gather them, and stuff them into my pockets, and, strange to say, however many i stuff in, there is still room! i stuff and stuff, and still there is room! i put my hand into my pocket, and draw out--not pearls and brilliants, but fruits of all kinds--apples, pears, oranges, olives, dates, nuts, and figs. this makes me very unhappy, and i toss from side to side. then i dream of the temple, i hear the priests chant, and the levites sing, and the organ play. i want to go inside and i cannot--rikel the maid has hold of me, and will not let me go. i beg of her and scream and cry, and again i am very unhappy, and toss from side to side. i wake--and see my father and mother standing there, half dressed, both pale, my father hanging his head, and my mother wringing her hands, and with her soft eyes full of tears. i feel at once that something has gone very wrong, very wrong indeed, but my childish head is incapable of imagining the greatness of the disaster. the fact is this: our guest from beyond the desert and the seven seas has disappeared, and a lot of things have disappeared with him: all the silver wine-cups, all the silver spoons, knives, and forks; all my mother's ornaments, all the money that happened to be in the house, and also rikel the maid! a pang goes through my heart. not on account of the silver cups, the silver spoons, knives, and forks that have vanished; not on account of mother's ornaments or of the money, still less on account of rikel the maid, a good riddance! but because of the happy, happy land whose roads were strewn with brilliants, pearls, and diamonds; because of the temple with the priests, the levites, and the organ; because of the altar and the sacrifices; because of all the other beautiful things that have been taken from me, taken, taken, taken! i turn my face to the wall, and cry quietly to myself. gymnasiye a man's worst enemy, i tell you, will never do him the harm he does himself, especially when a woman interferes, that is, a wife. whom do you think i have in mind when i say that? my own self! look at me and think. what would you take me for? just an ordinary jew. it doesn't say on my nose whether i have money, or not, or whether i am very low indeed, does it? it may be that i once _had_ money, and not only that--money in itself is nothing--but i can tell you, i earned a living, and that respectably and quietly, without worry and flurry, not like some people who like to live in a whirl. no, my motto is, "more haste, less speed." i traded quietly, went bankrupt a time or two quietly, and quietly went to work again. but there is a god in the world, and he blessed me with a wife--as she isn't here, we can speak openly--a wife like any other, that is, at first glance she isn't so bad--not at all! in person, (no evil eye!) twice my height; not an ugly woman, quite a beauty, you may say; an intelligent woman, quite a man--and that's the whole trouble! oi, it isn't good when the wife is a man! the almighty knew what he was about when, at the creation, he formed adam first and then eve. but what's the use of telling her that, when _she_ says, "if the almighty created adam first and then eve, that's _his_ affair, but if he put more sense into my heel than into your head, no more am i to blame for that!" "what is all this about?" say i.--"it's about that which should be first and foremost with you," says she.--"but i have to be the one to think of everything--even about sending the boy to the gymnasiye!"--"where," say i, "is it 'written' that my boy should go to the gymnasiye? can i not afford to have him taught torah at home?"--"i've told you a hundred and fifty times," says she, "that you won't persuade me to go against the world! and the world," says she, "has decided that children should go to the gymnasiye."--"in my opinion," say i, "the world is mad!"--"and you," says she, "are the only sane person in it? a pretty thing it would be," says she, "if the world were to follow you!"--"every man," say i, "should decide on his own course."--"if my enemies," says she, "and my friends' enemies, had as little in pocket and bag, in box and chest, as you have in your head, the world would be a different place."--"woe to the man," say i, "who needs to be advised by his wife!"--"and woe to the wife," says she, "who has that man to her husband!"--now if you can argue with a woman who, when you say one thing, maintains the contrary, when you give her one word, treats you to a dozen, and who, if you bid her shut up, cries, or even, i beg of you, faints--well, i envy you, that's all! in short, up and down, this way and that way, she got the best of it--she, not i, because the fact is, when she wants a thing, it has to be! well, what next? gymnasiye! the first thing was to prepare the boy for the elementary class in the junior preparatory. i must say, i did not see anything very alarming in that. it seemed to me that anyone of our cheder boys, an alef-bes scholar, could tuck it all into his belt, especially a boy like mine, for whose equal you might search an empire, and not find him. i am a father, not of you be it said! but that boy has a memory that beats everything! to cut a long story short, he went up for examination and--did _not_ pass! you ask the reason? he only got a two in arithmetic; they said he was weak at calculation, in the science of mathematics. what do you think of that? he has a memory that beats everything! i tell you, you might search an empire for his like--and they come talking to me about mathematics! well, he failed to pass, and it vexed me very much. if he _was_ to go up for examination, let him succeed. however, being a man and not a woman, i made up my mind to it--it's a misfortune, but a jew is used to that. only what was the use of talking to _her_ with that bee in her bonnet? once for all, gymnasiye! i reason with her. "tell me," say i, "(may you be well!) what is the good of it? he's safe," say i, "from military service, being an only son, and as for parnosseh, devil i need it for parnosseh! what do i care if he _does_ become a trader like his father, a merchant like the rest of the jews? if he is destined to become a rich man, a banker, i don't see that i'm to be pitied." thus do i reason with her as with the wall. "so much the better," says she, "if he has _not_ been entered for the junior preparatory."--"what now?" say i. "now," says she, "he can go direct to the senior preparatory." well, senior preparatory, there's nothing so terrible in that, for the boy has a head, i tell you! you might search an empire.... and what was the result? well, what do you suppose? another two instead of a five, not in mathematics this time--a fresh calamity! his spelling is not what it should be. that is, he can spell all right, but he gets a bit mixed with the two russian e's. that is, he puts them in right enough, why shouldn't he? only not in their proper places. well, there's a misfortune for you! i guess i won't find the way to poltava fair if the child cannot put the e's where they belong! when they brought the good news, _she_ turned the town inside out; ran to the director, declared that the boy _could_ do it; to prove it, let him be had up again! they paid her as much attention as if she were last year's snow, put a two, and another sort of two, and a two with a dash! call me nut-crackers, but there was a commotion. "failed again!" say i to her. "and if so," say i, "what is to be done? are we to commit suicide? a jew," say i, "is used to that sort of thing," upon which she fired up and blazed away and stormed and scolded as only she can. but i let you off! he, poor child, was in a pitiable state. talk of cruelty to animals! just think: the other boys in little white buttons, and not he! i reason with him: "you little fool! what does it matter? who ever heard of an examination at which everyone passed? somebody must stay at home, mustn't they? then why not you? there's really nothing to make such a fuss about." my wife, overhearing, goes off into a fresh fury, and falls upon me. "a fine comforter _you_ are," says she, "who asked you to console him with that sort of nonsense? you'd better see about getting him a proper teacher," says she, "a private teacher, a russian, for grammar!" you hear that? now i must have two teachers for him--one teacher and a rebbe are not enough. up and down, this way and that way, she got the best of it, as usual. what next? we engaged a second teacher, a russian this time, not a jew, preserve us, but a real gentile, because grammar in the first class, let me tell you, is no trifle, no shredded horseradish! gra-ma-ti-ke, indeed! the two e's! well, i was telling about the teacher that god sent us for our sins. it's enough to make one blush to remember the way he treated us, as though we had been the mud under his feet. laughed at us to our face, he did, devil take him, and the one and only thing he could teach him was: tshasnok, tshasnoka, tshasnoku, tshasnokom. if it hadn't been for _her_, i should have had him by the throat, and out into the street with his blessed grammar. but to _her_ it was all right and as it should be. now the boy will know which e to put. if you'll believe me, they tormented him through that whole winter, for he was not to be had up for slaughter till about pentecost. pentecost over, he went up for examination, and this time he brought home no more two's, but a four and a five. there was great joy--we congratulate! we congratulate! wait a bit, don't be in such a hurry with your congratulations! we don't know yet for certain whether he has got in or not. we shall not know till august. why not till august? why not before? go and ask _them_. what is to be done? a jew is used to that sort of thing. august--and i gave a glance out of the corner of my eye. she was up and doing! from the director to the inspector, from the inspector to the director! "why are you running from shmunin to bunin," say i, "like a poisoned mouse?" "you asking why?" says she. "aren't you a native of this place? you don't seem to know how it is nowadays with the gymnasiyes and the percentages?" and what came of it? he did _not_ pass! you ask why? because he hadn't two fives. if he had had two fives, then, they say, perhaps he would have got in. you hear--perhaps! how do you like that _perhaps_? well, i'll let you off what i had to bear from her. as for him, the little boy, it was pitiful. lay with his face in the cushion, and never stopped crying till we promised him another teacher. and we got him a student from the gymnasiye itself, to prepare him for the second class, but after quite another fashion, because the second class is no joke. in the second, besides mathematics and grammar, they require geography, penmanship, and i couldn't for the life of me say what else. i should have thought a bit of the maharsho was a more difficult thing than all their studies put together, and very likely had more sense in it, too. but what would you have? a jew learns to put up with things. in fine, there commenced a series of "lessons," of ouròkki. we rose early--the ouròkki! prayers and breakfast over--the ouròkki. a whole day--ouròkki. one heard him late at night drumming it over and over: nominative--dative--instrumental--vocative! it grated so on my ears! i could hardly bear it. eat? sleep? not he! taking a poor creature and tormenting it like that, all for nothing, i call it cruelty to animals! "the child," say i, "will be ill!" "bite off your tongue," says she. i was nowhere, and he went up a second time to the slaughter, and brought home nothing but fives! and why not? i tell you, he has a head--there isn't his like! and such a boy for study as never was, always at it, day and night, and repeating to himself between whiles! that's all right then, is it? was it all right? when it came to the point, and they hung out the names of all the children who were really entered, we looked--mine wasn't there! then there was a screaming and a commotion. what a shame! and nothing but fives! _now_ look at her, now see her go, see her run, see her do this and that! in short, she went and she ran and she did this and that and the other--until at last they begged her not to worry them any longer, that is, to tell you the truth, between ourselves, they turned her out, yes! and after they had turned her out, then it was she burst into the house, and showed for the first time, as it were, what she was worth. "pray," said she, "what sort of a father are you? if you were a good father, an affectionate father, like other fathers, you would have found favor with the director, patronage, recommendations, this--that!" like a woman, wasn't it? it's not enough, apparently, for me to have my head full of terms and seasons and fairs and notes and bills of exchange and "protests" and all the rest of it. "do you want me," say i, "to take over your gymnasiye and your classes, things i'm sick of already?" do you suppose she listened to what i said? she? listen? she just kept at it, she sawed and filed and gnawed away like a worm, day and night, day and night! "if your wife," says she, "_were_ a wife, and your child, a child--if i were only of _so_ much account in this house!"--"well," say i, "what would happen?"--"you would lie," says she, "nine ells deep in the earth. i," says she, "would bury you three times a day, so that you should never rise again!" how do you like that? kind, wasn't it? that (how goes the saying?) was pouring a pailful of water over a husband for the sake of peace. of course, you'll understand that i was not silent, either, because, after all, i'm no more than a man, and every man has his feelings. i assure you, you needn't envy me, and in the end _she_ carried the day, as usual. well, what next? i began currying favor, getting up an acquaintance, trying this and that; i had to lower myself in people's eyes and swallow slights, for every one asked questions, and they had every right to do so. "you, no evil eye, reb aaron," say they, "are a householder, and inherited a little something from your father. what good year is taking you about to places where a jew had better not be seen?" was i to go and tell them i had a wife (may she live one hundred and twenty years!) with this on the brain: gymnasiye, gymnasiye, and gym-na-si-ye? i (much good may it do you!) am, as you see me, no more unlucky than most people, and with god's help i made my way, and got where i wanted, right up to the nobleman, into his cabinet, yes! and sat down with him there to talk it over. i thank heaven, i can talk to any nobleman, i don't need to have my tongue loosened for me. "what can i do for you?" he asks, and bids me be seated. say i, and whisper into his ear, "my lord," say i, "we," say i, "are not rich people, but we have," say i, "a boy, and he wishes to study, and i," say i, "wish it, too, but my wife wishes it very much!" says he to me again, "what is it you want?" say i to him, and edge a bit closer, "my dear lord," say i, "we," say i, "are not rich people, but we have," say i, "a small fortune, and one remarkably clever boy, who," say i, "wishes to study; and i," say i, "also wish it, but my wife wishes it _very much_!" and i squeeze that "very much" so that he may understand. but he's a gentile and slow-witted, and he doesn't twig, and this time he asks angrily, "then, whatever is it you want?!" i quietly put my hand into my pocket and quietly take it out again, and i say quietly: "pardon me, we," say i, "are not rich people, but we have a little," say i, "fortune, and one remarkably clever boy, who," say i, "wishes to study; and i," say i, "wish it also, but my wife," say i, "wishes it very much indeed!" and i take and press into his hand----and this time, yes! he understood, and went and got a note-book, and asked my name and my son's name, and which class i wanted him entered for. "oho, lies the wind that way?" think i to myself, and i give him to understand that i am called katz, aaron katz, and my son, moisheh, moshke we call him, and i want to get him into the third class. says he to me, if i am katz, and my son is moisheh, moshke we call him, and he wants to get into class three, i am to bring him in january, and he will certainly be passed. you hear and understand? quite another thing! apparently the horse trots as we shoe him. the worst is having to wait. but what is to be done? when they say, wait! one waits. a jew is used to waiting. january--a fresh commotion, a scampering to and fro. to-morrow there will be a consultation. the director and the inspector and all the teachers of the gymnasiye will come together, and it's only after the consultation that we shall know if he is entered or not. the time for action has come, and my wife is anywhere but at home. no hot meals, no samovar, no nothing! she is in the gymnasiye, that is, not _in_ the gymnasiye, but _at_ it, walking round and round it in the frost, from first thing in the morning, waiting for them to begin coming away from the consultation. the frost bites, there is a tearing east wind, and she paces round and round the building, and waits. once a woman, always a woman! it seemed to me, that when people have made a promise, it is surely sacred, especially--you understand? but who would reason with a woman? well, she waited one hour, she waited two, waited three, waited four; the children were all home long ago, and she waited on. she waited (much good may it do you!) till she got what she was waiting for. a door opens, and out comes one of the teachers. she springs and seizes hold on him. does he know the result of the consultation? why, says he, should he not? they have passed altogether twenty-five children, twenty-three christian and two jewish. says she, "who are they?" says he, "one a shefselsohn and one a katz." at the name katz, my wife shoots home like an arrow from the bow, and bursts into the room in triumph: "good news! good news! passed, passed!" and there are tears in her eyes. of course, i am pleased, too, but i don't feel called upon to go dancing, being a man and not a woman. "it's evidently not much _you_ care?" says she to me. "what makes you think that?" say i.--"this," says she, "you sit there cold as a stone! if you knew how impatient the child is, you would have taken him long ago to the tailor's, and ordered his little uniform," says she, "and a cap and a satchel," says she, "and made a little banquet for our friends."--"why a banquet, all of a sudden?" say i. "is there a bar-mitzveh? is there an engagement?" i say all this quite quietly, for, after all, i am a man, not a woman. she grew so angry that she stopped talking. and when a woman stops talking, it's a thousand times worse than when she scolds, because so long as she is scolding at least you hear the sound of the human voice. otherwise it's talk to the wall! to put it briefly, she got her way--she, not i--as usual. there was a banquet; we invited our friends and our good friends, and my boy was dressed up from head to foot in a very smart uniform, with white buttons and a cap with a badge in front, quite the district-governor! and it did one's heart good to see him, poor child! there was new life in him, he was so happy, and he shone, i tell you, like the july sun! the company drank to him, and wished him joy: might he study in health, and finish the course in health, and go on in health, till he reached the university! "ett!" say i, "we can do with less. let him only complete the eight classes at the gymnasiye," say i, "and, please god, i'll make a bridegroom of him, with god's help." cries my wife, smiling and fixing me with her eye the while, "tell him," says she, "that he's wrong! he," says she, "keeps to the old-fashioned cut." "tell her from me," say i, "that i'm blest if the old-fashioned cut wasn't better than the new." says she, "tell him that he (may he forgive me!) is----" the company burst out laughing. "oi, reb aaron," say they, "you have a wife (no evil eye!) who is a cossack and not a wife at all!" meanwhile they emptied their wine-glasses, and cleared their plates, and we were what is called "lively." i and my wife were what is called "taken into the boat," the little one in the middle, and we made merry till daylight. that morning early we took him to the gymnasiye. it was very early, indeed, the door was shut, not a soul to be seen. standing outside there in the frost, we were glad enough when the door opened, and they let us in. directly after that the small fry began to arrive with their satchels, and there was a noise and a commotion and a chatter and a laughing and a scampering to and fro--a regular fair! schoolboys jumped over one another, gave each other punches, pokes, and pinches. as i looked at these young hopefuls with the red cheeks, with the merry, laughing eyes, i called to mind our former narrow, dark, and gloomy cheder of long ago years, and i saw that after all she was right; she might be a woman, but she had a man's head on her shoulders! and as i reflected thus, there came along an individual in gilt buttons, who turned out to be a teacher, and asked what i wanted. i pointed to my boy, and said i had come to bring him to cheder, that is, to the gymnasiye. he asked to which class? i tell him, the third, and he has only just been entered. he asks his name. say i, "katz, moisheh katz, that is, moshke katz." says he, "moshke katz?" he has no moshke katz in the third class. "there is," he says, "a katz, only not a moshke katz, but a morduch--morduch katz." say i, "what morduch? moshke, not morduch!" "morduch!" he repeats, and thrusts the paper into my face. i to him, "moshke." he to me, "morduch!" in short, moshke--morduch, morduch--moshke, we hammer away till there comes out a fine tale: that which should have been mine is another's. you see what a kettle of fish? a regular gentile muddle! they have entered a katz--yes! but, by mistake, another, not ours. you see how it was: there were two katz's in our town! what do you say to such luck? i have made a bed, and another will lie in it! no, but you ought to know who the other is, _that_ katz, i mean! a nothing of a nobody, an artisan, a bookbinder or a carpenter, quite a harmless little man, but who ever heard of him? a pauper! and _his_ son--yes! and mine--no! isn't it enough to disgust one, i ask you! and you should have seen that poor boy of mine, when he was told to take the badge off his cap! no bride on her wedding-day need shed more tears than were his! and no matter how i reasoned with him, whether i coaxed or scolded. "you see," i said to her, "what you've done! didn't i tell you that your gymnasiye was a slaughter-house for him? i only trust this may have a good ending, that he won't fall ill."--"let my enemies," said she, "fall ill, if they like. my child," says she, "must enter the gymnasiye. if he hasn't got in this time, in a year, please god, he _will_. if he hasn't got in," says she, "_here_, he will get in in another town--he _must_ get in! otherwise," says she, "i shall shut an eye, and the earth shall cover me!" you hear what she said? and who, do you suppose, had his way--she or i? when _she_ sets her heart on a thing, can there be any question? well, i won't make a long story of it. i hunted up and down with him; we went to the ends of the world, wherever there was a town and a gymnasiye, thither went we! we went up for examination, and were examined, and we passed and passed high, and did _not_ get in--and why? all because of the percentage! you may believe, i looked upon my own self as crazy those days! "wretch! what is this? what is this flying that you fly from one town to another? what good is to come of it? and suppose he does get in, what then?" no, say what you will, ambition is a great thing. in the end it took hold of me, too, and the almighty had compassion, and sent me a gymnasiye in poland, a "commercial" one, where they took in one jew to every christian. it came to fifty per cent. but what then? any jew who wished his son to enter must bring his christian with him, and if he passes, that is, the christian, and one pays his entrance fee, then there is hope. instead of one bundle, one has two on one's shoulders, you understand? besides being worn with anxiety about my own, i had to tremble for the other, because if esau, which heaven forbid, fail to pass, it's all over with jacob. but what i went through before i _got_ that christian, a shoemaker's son, holiava his name was, is not to be described. and the best of all was this--would you believe that my shoemaker, planted in the earth firmly as korah, insisted on bible teaching? there was nothing for it but my son had to sit down beside his, and repeat the old testament. how came a son of mine to the old testament? ai, don't ask! he can do everything and understands everything. with god's help the happy day arrived, and they both passed. is my story finished? not quite. when it came to their being entered in the books, to writing out a check, my christian was not to be found! what has happened? he, the gentile, doesn't care for his son to be among so many jews--he won't hear of it! why should he, seeing that all doors are open to him anyhow, and he can get in where he pleases? tell him it isn't fair? much good that would be! "look here," say i, "how much do you want, pani holiava?" says he, "nothing!" to cut the tale short--up and down, this way and that way, and friends and people interfering, we had him off to a refreshment place, and ordered a glass, and two, and three, before it all came right! once he was really in, i cried my eyes out, and thanks be to him whose name is blessed, and who has delivered me out of all my troubles! when i got home, a fresh worry! what now? my wife has been reflecting and thinking it over: after all, her only son, the apple of her eye--he would be _there_ and we _here_! and if so, what, says she, would life be to her? "well," say i, "what do you propose doing?"--"what i propose doing?" says she. "can't you guess? i propose," says she, "to be with him."--"you do?" say i. "and the house? what about the house?"--"the house," says she, "is a house." anything to object to in that? so she was off to him, and i was left alone at home. and what a home! i leave you to imagine. may such a year be to my enemies! my comfort was gone, the business went to the bad. everything went to the bad, and we were continually writing letters. i wrote to her, she wrote to me--letters went and letters came. peace to my beloved wife! peace to my beloved husband! "for heaven's sake," i write, "what is to be the end of it? after all, i'm no more than a man! a man without a housemistress!" it was as much use as last year's snow; it was she who had her way, she, and not i, as usual. to make an end of my story, i worked and worried myself to pieces, made a mull of the whole business, sold out, became a poor man, and carried my bundle over to them. once there, i took a look round to see where i was in the world, nibbled here and there, just managed to make my way a bit, and entered into a partnership with a trader, quite a respectable man, yes! a well-to-do householder, holding office in the shool, but at bottom a deceiver, a swindler, a pickpocket, who was nearly the ruin of me! you can imagine what a cheerful state of things it was. meanwhile i come home one evening, and see my boy come to meet me, looking strangely red in the face, and without a badge on his cap. say i to him, "look here, moshehl, where's your badge?" says he to me, "whatever badge?" say i, "the button." says he, "whatever button?" say i, "the button off your cap." it was a new cap with a new badge, only just bought for the festival! he grows redder than before, and says, "taken off." say i, "what do you mean by 'taken off'?" says he, "i am free." say i, "what do you mean by 'you are free'?" says he, "we are _all_ free." say i, "what do you mean by 'we are _all_ free'?" says he, "we are not going back any more." say i, "what do you mean by 'we are not going back'?" says he, "we have united in the resolve to stay away." say i, "what do you mean by '_you_' have united in a resolve? who are 'you'? what is all this? bless your grandmother," say i, "do you suppose i have been through all this for you to unite in a resolve? alas! and alack!" say i, "for you and me and all of us! may it please god not to let this be visited on jewish heads, because always and everywhere," say i, "jews are the scapegoats." i speak thus to him and grow angry and reprove him as a father usually does reprove a child. but i have a wife (long life to her!), and she comes running, and washes my head for me, tells me i don't know what is going on in the world, that the world is quite another world to what it used to be, an intelligent world, an open world, a free world, "a world," says she, "in which all are equal, in which there are no rich and no poor, no masters and no servants, no sheep and no shears, no cats, rats, no piggy-wiggy--------" "te-te-te!" say i, "where have you learned such fine language? a new speech," say i, "with new words. why not open the hen-house, and let out the hens? chuck--chuck--chuck, hurrah for freedom!" upon which she blazes up as if i had poured ten pails of hot water over her. and now for it! as only _they_ can! well, one must sit it out and listen to the end. the worst of it is, there is no end. "look here," say i, "hush!" say i, "and now let be!" say i, and beat upon my breast. "i have sinned!" say i, "i have transgressed, and now stop," say i, "if you would only be quiet!" but she won't hear, and she won't see. no, she says, she will know why and wherefore and for goodness' sake and exactly, and just how it was, and what it means, and how it happened, and once more and a second time, and all over again from the beginning! i beg of you--who set the whole thing going? a--woman! eliezer david rosenthal born, , in chotin, bessarabia; went to breslau, germany, in , and pursued studies at the university; returned to bessarabia in ; co-editor of the bibliothek dos leben, published at odessa, , and kishineff, ; writer of stories. sabbath friday evening! the room has been tidied, the table laid. two sabbath loaves have been placed upon it, and covered with a red napkin. at the two ends are two metal candlesticks, and between them two more of earthenware, with candles in them ready to be lighted. on the small sofa that stands by the stove lies a sick man covered up with a red quilt, from under the quilt appears a pale, emaciated face, with red patches on the dried-up cheeks and a black beard. the sufferer wears a nightcap, which shows part of his black hair and his black earlocks. there is no sign of life in his face, and only a faint one in his great, black eyes. on a chair by the couch sits a nine-year-old girl with damp locks, which have just been combed out in honor of sabbath. she is barefoot, dressed only in a shirt and a frock. the child sits swinging her feet, absorbed in what she is doing; but all her movements are gentle and noiseless. the invalid coughed. "kche, kche, kche, kche," came from the sofa. "what is it, tate?" asked the little girl, swinging her feet. the invalid made no reply. he slowly raised his head with both hands, pulled down the nightcap, and coughed and coughed and coughed, hoarsely at first, then louder, the cough tearing at his sick chest and dinning in the ears. then he sat up, and went on coughing and clearing his throat, till he had brought up the phlegm. the little girl continued to be absorbed in her work and to swing her feet, taking very little notice of her sick father. the invalid smoothed the creases in the cushion, laid his head down again, and closed his eyes. he lay thus for a few minutes, then he said quite quietly: "leah!" "what is it, tate?" inquired the child again, still swinging her feet. "tell ... mother ... it is ... time to ... bless ... the candles...." the little girl never moved from her seat, but shouted through the open door into the shop: "mother, shut up shop! father says it's time for candle-blessing." "i'm coming, i'm coming," answered her mother from the shop. she quickly disposed of a few women customers: sold one a kopek's worth of tea, the other, two kopeks' worth of sugar, the third, two tallow candles. then she closed the shutters and the street door, and came into the room. "you've drunk the glass of milk?" she inquired of the sick man. "yes ... i have ... drunk it," he replied. "and you, leahnyu, daughter," and she turned to the child, "may the evil spirit take you! couldn't you put on your shoes without my telling you? don't you know it's sabbath?" the little girl hung her head, and made no other answer. her mother went to the table, lighted the candles, covered her face with her hands, and blessed them. after that she sat down on the seat by the window to take a rest. it was only on sabbath that she could rest from her hard work, toiling and worrying as she was the whole week long with all her strength and all her mind. she sat lost in thought. she was remembering past happy days. she also had known what it is to enjoy life, when her husband was in health, and they had a few hundred rubles. they finished boarding with her parents, they set up a shop, and though he had always been a close frequenter of the house-of-study, a bench-lover, he soon learnt the torah of commerce. she helped him, and they made a livelihood, and ate their bread in honor. but in course of time some quite new shops were started in the little town, there was great competition, the trade was small, and the gains were smaller, it became necessary to borrow money on interest, on weekly payment, and to pay for goods at once. the interest gradually ate up the capital with the gains. the creditors took what they could lay hands on, and still her husband remained in their debt. he could not get over this, and fell ill. the whole bundle of trouble fell upon her: the burden of a livelihood, the children, the sick man, everything, everything, on her. but she did not lose heart. "god will help, _he_ will soon get well, and will surely find some work. god will not desert us," so she reflected, and meantime she was not sitting idle. the very difficulty of her position roused her courage, and gave her strength. she sold her small store of jewelry, and set up a little shop. three years have passed since then. however it may be, god has not abandoned her, and however bitter and sour the struggle for parnosseh may have been, she had her bit of bread. only his health did not return, he grew daily weaker and worse. she glanced at her sick husband, at his pale, emaciated face, and tears fell from her eyes. during the week she has no time to think how unhappy she is. parnosseh, housework, attendance on the children and the sick man--these things take up all her time and thought. she is glad when it comes to bedtime, and she can fall, dead tired, onto her bed. but on sabbath, the day of rest, she has time to think over her hard lot and all her misery and to cry herself out. "when will there be an end of my troubles and suffering?" she asked herself, and could give no answer whatever to the question beyond despairing tears. she saw no ray of hope lighting her future, only a great, wide, shoreless sea of trouble. it flashed across her: "when he dies, things will be easier." but the thought of his death only increased her apprehension. it brought with it before her eyes the dreadful words: widow, orphans, poor little fatherless children.... these alarmed her more than her present distress. how can children grow up without a father? now, even though he's ill, he keeps an eye on them, tells them to say their prayers and to study. who is to watch over them if he dies? "don't punish me, lord of the world, for my bad thought," she begged with her whole heart. "i will take it upon myself to suffer and trouble for all, only don't let him die, don't let me be called by the bitter name of widow, don't let my children be called orphans!" * * * * * he sits upon his couch, his head a little thrown back and leaning against the wall. in one hand he holds a prayer-book--he is receiving the sabbath into his house. his pale lips scarcely move as he whispers the words before him, and his thoughts are far from the prayer. he knows that he is dangerously ill, he knows what his wife has to suffer and bear, and not only is he powerless to help her, but his illness is her heaviest burden, what with the extra expense incurred on his account and the trouble of looking after him. besides which, his weakness makes him irritable, and his anger has more than once caused her unmerited pain. he sees and knows it all, and his heart is torn with grief. "only death can help us," he murmurs, and while his lips repeat the words of the prayer-book, his heart makes one request to god and only one: that god should send kind death to deliver him from his trouble and misery. suddenly the door opened and a ten-year-old boy came into the room, in a long sabbath cloak, with two long earlocks, and a prayer-book under his arm. "a good sabbath!" said the little boy, with a loud, ringing voice. it seemed as if he and the holy sabbath had come into the room together! in one moment the little boy had driven trouble and sadness out of sight, and shed light and consolation round him. his "good sabbath!" reached his parents' hearts, awoke there new life and new hopes. "a good sabbath!" answered the mother. her eyes rested on the child's bright face, and her thoughts were no longer melancholy as before, for she saw in his eyes a whole future of happy possibilities. "a good sabbath!" echoed the lips of the sick man, and he took a deeper, easier breath. no, he will not die altogether, he will live again after death in the child. he can die in peace, he leaves a kaddish behind him. yom kippur erev yom kippur, minchah time! the eve of the day of atonement, at afternoon prayer time. a solemn and sacred hour for every jew. everyone feels as though he were born again. all the week-day worries, the two-penny-half-penny interests, seem far, far away; or else they have hidden themselves in some corner. every jew feels a noble pride, an inward peace mingled with fear and awe. he knows that the yearly judgment day is approaching, when god almighty will hold the scales in his hand and weigh every man's merits against his transgressions. the sentence given on that day is one of life or death. no trifle! but the jew is not so terrified as you might think--he has broad shoulders. besides, he has a certain footing behind the "upper windows," he has good advocates and plenty of them; he has the "binding of isaac" and a long chain of ancestors and ancestresses, who were put to death for the sanctification of the holy name, who allowed themselves to be burnt and roasted for the sake of god's torah. nishkoshe! things are not so bad. the lord of all may just remember that, and look aside a little. is he not the compassionate, the merciful? the shadows lengthen and lengthen. jews are everywhere in commotion. some hurry home straight from the bath, drops of bath-water dripping from beard and earlocks. they have not even dried their hair properly in their haste. it is time to prepare for the davvening. some are already on their way to shool, robed in white. nearly every jew carries in one hand a large, well-packed tallis-bag, which to-day, besides the prayer-scarf, holds the whole jewish outfit: a bulky prayer-book, a book of psalms, a likkute zevi, and so on; and in the other hand, two wax-candles, one a large one, that is the "light of life," and the other a small one, a shrunken looking thing, which is the "soul-light." the tamschevate house-of-study presents at this moment the following picture: the floor is covered with fresh hay, and the dust and the smell of the hay fill the whole building. some of the men are standing at their prayers, beating their breasts in all seriousness. "we have trespassed, we have been faithless, we have robbed," with an occasional sob of contrition. others are very busy setting up their wax-lights in boxes filled with sand; one of them, a young man who cannot live without it, betakes himself to the platform and repeats a "bless ye the lord." meantime another comes slyly, and takes out two of the candles standing before the platform, planting his own in their place. not far from the ark stands the beadle with a strap in his hand, and all the foremost householders go up to him, lay themselves down with their faces to the ground, and the beadle deals them out thirty-nine blows apiece, and not one of them bears him any grudge. even reb groinom, from whom the beadle never hears anything from one yom kippur to another but "may you be ... "and "rascal," "impudence," "brazen face," "spendthrift," "carrion," "dog of all dogs"--and not infrequently reb groinom allows himself to apply his right hand to the beadle's cheek, and the latter has to take it all in a spirit of love--this same reb groinom now humbly approaches the same poor beadle, lies quietly down with his face to the ground, stretches himself out, and the beadle deliberately counts the strokes up to "thirty-nine malkes." covered with hay, reb groinom rises slowly, a piteous expression on his face, just as if he had been well thrashed, and he pushes a coin into the shamash's hand. this is evidently the beadle's day! to-day he can take his revenge on his householders for the insults and injuries of a whole year! but if you want to be in the thick of it all, you must stand in the anteroom by the door, where people are crowding round the plates for collections. the treasurer sits beside a little table with the directors of the congregation; the largest plate lies before them. to one side of them sits the cantor with his plate, and beside the cantor, several house-of-study youths with theirs. on every plate lies a paper with a written notice: "visiting the sick," "supporting the fallen," "clothing the naked," "talmud torah," "refuge for the poor," and so forth. over one plate, marked "the return to the land of israel," presides a modern young man, a zionist. everyone wishing to enter the house-of-study must first go to the plates marked "call to the torah" and "seat in the shool," put in what is his due, and then throw a few kopeks into the other plates. * * * * * berel tzop bustled up to the plate "seat in the shool," gave what was expected of him, popped a few coppers into the other plates, and prepared to recite the afternoon prayer. he wanted to pause a little between the words of his prayer, to attend to their meaning, to impress upon himself that this was the eve of the day of atonement! but idle thoughts kept coming into his head, as though on purpose to annoy him, and his mind was all over the place at once! the words of the prayers got mixed up with the idea of oats, straw, wheat, and barley, and however much trouble he took to drive these idle thoughts away, he did not succeed. "blow the great trumpet of our deliverance!" shouted berel, and remembered the while that ivan owed him ten measures of wheat. "...lift up the ensign to gather our exiles!..."--"and i made a mistake in stephen's account by thirty kopeks...." berel saw that it was impossible for him to pray with attention, and he began to reel off the eighteen benedictions, but not till he reached the confession could he collect his scattered thoughts, and realize what he was saying. when he raised his hands to beat his breast at "we have trespassed, we have robbed," the hand remained hanging in the air, half-way. a shudder went through his limbs, the letters of the words "we have robbed" began to grow before his eyes, they became gigantic, they turned strange colors--red, blue, green, and yellow--now they took the form of large frogs--they got bigger and bigger, crawled into his eyes, croaked in his ears: you are a thief, a robber, you have stolen and plundered! you think nobody saw, that it would all run quite smoothly, but you are wrong! we shall stand before the throne of glory and cry: you are a thief, a robber! berel stood some time with his hand raised midway in the air. the whole affair of the hundred rubles rose before his eyes. a couple of months ago he had gone into the house of reb moisheh chalfon. the latter had just gone out, there was nobody else in the room, nobody had even seen him come in. the key was in the desk--berel had looked at it, had hardly touched it--the drawer had opened as though of itself--several hundred-ruble-notes had lain glistening before his eyes! just that day, berel had received a very unpleasant letter from the father of his daughter's bridegroom, and to make matters worse, the author of the letter was in the right. berel had been putting off the marriage for two years, and the mechutton wrote quite plainly, that unless the wedding took place after tabernacles, he should return him the contract. "return the contract!" the fiery letters burnt into berel's brain. he knew his mechutton well. the misnaggid! he wouldn't hesitate to tear up a marriage contract, either! and when it's a question of a by no means pretty girl of twenty and odd years! and the kind of bridegroom anybody might be glad to have secured for his daughter! and then to think that only one of those hundred-ruble-notes lying tossed together in that drawer would help him out of all his troubles. and the evil inclination whispers in his ear: "berel, now or never! there will be an end to all your worry! don't you see, it's a godsend." he, berel, wrestled with him hard. he remembers it all distinctly, and he can hear now the faint little voice of the good inclination: "berel, to become a thief in one's latter years! you who so carefully avoided even the smallest deceit! fie, for shame! if god will, he can help you by honest means too." but the voice of the good inclination was so feeble, so husky, and the evil inclination suggested in his other ear: "do you know what? _borrow_ one hundred rubles! who talks of stealing? you will earn some money before long, and then you can pay him back--it's a charitable loan on his part, only that he doesn't happen to know of it. isn't it plain to be seen that it's a godsend? if you don't call this providence, what is? are you going to take more than you really need? you know your mechutton? have you taken a good look at that old maid of yours? you recollect the bridegroom? well, the mechutton will be kind and mild as milk. the bridegroom will be a 'silken son-in-law,' the ugly old maid, a young wife--fool! god and men will envy you...." and he, berel, lost his head, his thoughts flew hither and thither, like frightened birds, and--he no longer knew which of the two voices was that of the good inclination, and-- no one saw him leave moisheh chalfon's house. and still his hand remains suspended in mid-air, still it does not fall against his breast, and there is a cold perspiration on his brow. berel started, as though out of his sleep. he had noticed that people were beginning to eye him as he stood with his hand held at a distance from his person. he hastily rattled through "for the sin, ..." concluded the eighteen benedictions, and went home. at home, he didn't dawdle, he only washed his hands, recited "who bringest forth bread," and that was all. the food stuck in his throat, he said grace, returned to shool, put on the tallis, and started to intone tunefully the prayer of expiation. * * * * * the lighted wax-candles, the last rays of the sun stealing in through the windows of the house-of-study, the congregation entirely robed in white and enfolded in the prayer-scarfs, the intense seriousness depicted on all faces, the hum of voices, and the bitter weeping that penetrated from the women's gallery, all this suited berel's mood, his contrite heart. berel had recited the prayer of expiation with deep feeling; tears poured from his eyes, his own broken voice went right through his heart, every word found an echo there, and he felt it in every limb. berel stood before god like a little child before its parents: he wept and told all that was in his heavily-laden heart, the full tale of his cares and troubles. berel was pleased with himself, he felt that he was not saying the words anyhow, just rolling them off his tongue, but he was really performing an act of penitence with his whole heart. he felt remorse for his sins, and god is a god of compassion and mercy, who will certainly pardon him. "therefore is my heart sad," began berel, "that the sin which a man commits against his neighbor cannot be atoned for even on the day of atonement, unless he asks his neighbor's forgiveness ... therefore is my heart broken and my limbs tremble, because even the day of my death cannot atone for this sin." berel began to recite this in pleasing, artistic fashion, weeping and whimpering like a spoiled child, and drawling out the words, when it grew dark before his eyes. berel had suddenly become aware that he was in the position of one about to go in through an open door. he advances, he must enter, it is a question of life and death. and without any warning, just as he is stepping across the threshold, the door is shut from within with a terrible bang, and he remains standing outside. and he has read this in the prayer of expiation? with fear and fluttering he reads it over again, looking narrowly at every word--a cold sweat covers him--the words prick him like pins. are these two verses his pitiless judges, are they the expression of his sentence? is he already condemned? "ay, ay, you are guilty," flicker the two verses on the page before him, and prayer and tears are no longer of any avail. his heart cried to god: "have pity, merciful father! a grown-up girl--what am i to do with her? and his father wanted to break off the engagement. as soon as i have earned the money, i will give it back...." but he knew all the time that these were useless subterfuges; the lord of the universe can only pardon the sin committed against himself, the sin committed against man cannot be atoned for even on the day of atonement! berel took another look at the prayer of expiation. the words, "unless he asks his neighbor's forgiveness," danced before his eyes. a ray of hope crept into his despairing heart. one way is left open to him: he can confess to moisheh chalfon! but the hope was quickly extinguished. is that a small matter? what of my honor, my good name? and what of the match? "mercy, o father," he cried, "have mercy!" berel proceeded no further with the prayer of expiation. he stood lost in his melancholy thoughts, his whole life passed before his eyes. he, berel, had never licked honey, trouble had been his in plenty, he had known cares and worries, but god had never abandoned him. it had frequently happened to him in the course of his life to think he was lost, to give up all his hope. but each time god had extricated him unexpectedly from his difficulty, and not only that, but lawfully, honestly, jewishly. and now--he had suddenly lost his trust in the providence of his dear name! "donkey!" thus berel abused himself, "went to look for trouble, did you? now you've got it! sold yourself body and soul for one hundred rubles! thief! thief! thief!" it did berel good to abuse himself like this, it gave him a sort of pleasure to aggravate his wounds. berel, sunk in his sad reflections, has forgotten where he is in the world. the congregation has finished the prayer of expiation, and is ready for kol nidré. the cantor is at his post at the reading-desk on the platform, two of the principal, well-to-do jews, with torahs in their hands, on each side of him. one of them is moisheh chalfon. there is a deep silence in the building. the very last rays of the sun are slanting in through the window, and mingling with the flames of the wax-candles.... "with the consent of the all-present and with the consent of this congregation, we give leave to pray with them that have transgressed," startled berel's ears. it was moisheh chalfon's voice. the voice was low, sweet, and sad. berel gave a side glance at where moisheh chalfon was standing, and it seemed to him that moisheh chalfon was doing the same to him, only moisheh chalfon was looking not into his eyes, but deep into his heart, and there reading the word thief! and moisheh chalfon is permitting the people to pray together with him, berel the thief! "mercy, mercy, compassionate god!" cried berel's heart in its despair. * * * * * they had concluded maariv, recited the first four chapters of the psalms and the song of unity, and the people went home, to lay in new strength for the morrow. there remained only a few, who spent the greater part of the night repeating psalms, intoning the mishnah, and so on; they snatched an occasional doze on the bare floor overlaid with a whisp of hay, an old cloak under their head. berel also stayed the night in the house-of-study. he sat down in a corner, in robe and tallis, and began reciting psalms with a pleasing pathos, and he went on until overtaken by sleep. at first he resisted, he took a nice pinch of snuff, rubbed his eyes, collected his thoughts, but it was no good. the covers of the book of psalms seemed to have been greased, for they continually slipped from his grasp, the printed lines had grown crooked and twisted, his head felt dreadfully heavy, and his eyelids clung together; his nose was forever drooping towards the book of psalms. he made every effort to keep awake, started up every time as though he had burnt himself, but sleep was the stronger of the two. gradually he slid from the bench onto the floor; the psalter slipped finally from between his fingers, his head dropped onto the hay, and he fell sweetly asleep.... and berel had a dream: yom kippur, and yet there is a fair in the town, the kind of fair one calls an "earthquake," a fair such as berel does not remember having seen these many years, so crowded is it with men and merchandise. there is something of everything--cattle, horses, sheep, corn, and fruit. all the tamschevate jews are strolling round with their wives and children, there is buying and selling, the air is full of noise and shouting, the whole fair is boiling and hissing and humming like a kettle. one runs this way and one that way, this one is driving a cow, that one leading home a horse by the rein, the other buying a whole cart-load of corn. berel is all astonishment and curiosity: how is it possible for jews to busy themselves with commerce on yom kippur? on such a holy day? as far back as he can remember, jews used to spend the whole day in shool, in linen socks, white robe, and prayer-scarf. they prayed and wept. and now what has come over them, that they should be trading on yom kippur, as if it were a common week-day, in shoes and boots (this last struck him more than anything)? perhaps it is all a dream? thought berel in his sleep. but no, it is no dream! "here i am strolling round the fair, wide awake. and the screaming and the row in my ears, is that a dream, too? and my having this very minute been bumped on the shoulder by a gentile going past me with a horse--is that a dream? but if the whole world is taking part in the fair, it's evidently the proper thing to do...." meanwhile he was watching a peasant with a horse, and he liked the look of the horse so much that he bought it and mounted it. and he looked at it from where he sat astride, and saw the horse was a horse, but at the selfsame time it was moisheh chalfon as well. berel wondered: how is it possible for it to be at once a horse and a man? but his own eyes told him it was so. he wanted to dismount, but the horse bears him to a shop. here he climbed down and asked for a pound of sugar. berel kept his eyes on the scales, and--a fresh surprise! where they should have been weighing sugar, they were weighing his good and bad deeds. and the two scales were nearly equally laden, and oscillated up and down in the air.... suddenly they threw a sheet of paper into the scale that held his bad deeds. berel looked to see--it was the hundred-ruble-note which he had appropriated at moisheh chalfon's! but it was now much larger, bordered with black, and the letters and numbers were red as fire. the piece of paper was frightfully heavy, it was all two men could do to carry it to the weighing-machine, and when they had thrown it with all their might onto the scale, something snapped, and the scale went down, down, down. at that moment a man sleeping at berel's head stretched out a foot, and gave berel a kick in the head. berel awoke. not far from him sat a grey-haired old jew, huddled together, enfolded in a tallis and robe, repeating psalms with a melancholy chant and a broken, quavering voice. berel caught the words: "mark the perfect man, and behold the upright: for the end of that man is peace. but the transgressors shall be destroyed together: the latter end of the wicked shall be cut off...." berel looked round in a fright: where is he? he had quite forgotten that he had remained for the night in the house-of-study. he gazed round with sleepy eyes, and they fell on some white heaps wrapped in robes and prayer-scarfs, while from their midst came the low, hoarse, tearful voices of two or three men who had not gone to sleep and were repeating psalms. many of the candles were already sputtering, the wax was melting into the sand, the flames rose and fell, and rose again, flaring brightly. and the pale moon looked in at the windows, and poured her silvery light over the fantastic scene. berel grew icy cold, and a dreadful shuddering went through his limbs. he had not yet remembered that he was spending the night in the house-of-study. he imagined that he was dead, and astray in limbo. the white heaps which he sees are graves, actual graves, and there among the graves sit a few sinful souls, and bewail and lament their transgressions. and he, berel, cannot even weep, he is a fallen one, lost forever--he is condemned to wander, to roam everlastingly among the graves. by degrees, however, he called to mind where he was, and collected his wits. only then he remembered his fearful dream. "no," he decided within himself, "i have lived till now without the hundred rubles, and i will continue to live without them. if the lord of the universe wishes to help me, he will do so without them too. my soul and my portion of the world-to-come are dearer to me. only let moisheh chalfon come in to pray, i will tell him the whole truth and avert misfortune." this decision gave him courage, he washed his hands, and sat down again to the psalms. every few minutes he glanced at the window, to see if it were not beginning to dawn, and if reb moisheh chalfon were not coming along to shool. the day broke. with the first sunbeams berel's fears and terrors began little by little to dissipate and diminish. his resolve to restore the hundred rubles weakened considerably. "if i don't confess," thought berel, wrestling in spirit with temptation, "i risk my world-to-come.... if i do confess, what will my chantzeh-leah say to it? he writes, either the wedding takes place, or the contract is dissolved! and what shall i do, when his father gets to hear about it? there will be a stain on my character, the marriage contract will be annulled, and i shall be left ... without my good name and ... with my ugly old maid.... "what is to be done? help! what is to be done?" the people began to gather in the shool. the reader of the morning service intoned "he is lord of the universe" to the special yom kippur tune, a few householders and young men supported him, and berel heard through it all only, help! what is to be done? and suddenly he beheld moisheh chalfon. berel quickly rose from his place, he wanted to make a rush at moisheh chalfon. but after all he remained where he was, and sat down again. "i must first think it over, and discuss it with my chantzeh-leah," was berel's decision. * * * * * berel stood up to pray with the congregation. he was again wishful to pray with fervor, to collect his thoughts, and attend to the meaning of the words, but try as he would, he couldn't! quite other things came into his head: a dream, a fair, a horse, moisheh chalfon, chantzeh-leah, oats, barley, _this_ world and the next were all mixed up together in his mind, and the words of the prayers skipped about like black patches before his eyes. he wanted to say he was sorry, to cry, but he only made curious grimaces, and could not squeeze out so much as a single tear. berel was very dissatisfied with himself. he finished the morning prayer, stood through the additional service, and proceeded to devour the long piyyutim. the question, what is to be done? left him no peace, and he was really reciting the piyyutim to try and stupefy himself, to dull his brain. so it went on till u-nesanneh toikef. the congregation began to prepare for u-nesanneh toikef, coughed, to clear their throats, and pulled the tallesim over their heads. the cantor sat down for a minute to rest, and unbuttoned his shroud. his face was pale and perspiring, and his eyes betrayed a great weariness. from the women's gallery came a sound of weeping and wailing. berel had drawn his tallis over his head, and started reciting with earnestness and enthusiasm: "we will express the mighty holiness of this day, for it is tremendous and awful! on which thy kingdom is exalted, and thy throne established in grace; whereupon thou art seated in truth. verily, it is thou who art judge and arbitrator, who knowest all, and art witness, writer, sigillator, recorder and teller; and thou recallest all forgotten things, and openest the book of remembrance, and the book reads itself, and every man's handwriting is there...." these words opened the source of berel's tears, and he sobbed unaffectedly. every sentence cut him to the heart, like a sharp knife, and especially the passage: "and thou recallest all forgotten things, and openest the book of remembrance, and the book reads itself, and every man's handwriting is there...." at that very moment the book of remembrance was lying open before the lord of the universe, with the handwritings of all men. it contains his own as well, the one which he wrote with his own hand that day when he took away the hundred-ruble-note. he pictures how his soul flew up to heaven while he slept, and entered everything in the eternal book, and now the letters stood before the throne of glory, and cried, "berel is a thief, berel is a robber!" and he has the impudence to stand and pray before god? he, the offender, the transgressor--and the shool does not fall upon his head? the congregation concluded u-nesanneh toikef, and the cantor began: "and the great trumpet of ram's horn shall be sounded..." and still berel stood with the tallis over his head. suddenly he heard the words: "and the angels are dismayed, fear and trembling seize hold of them as they proclaim, as swiftly as birds, and say: this is the day of judgment!" the words penetrated into the marrow of berel's bones, and he shuddered from head to foot. the words, "this is the day of judgment," reverberated in his ears like a peal of thunder. he imagined the angels were hastening to him with one speed, with one swoop, to seize and drag him before the throne of glory, and the piteous wailing that came from the women's court was for him, for his wretched soul, for his endless misfortune. "no! no! no!" he resolved, "come what may, let him annul the contract, let them point at me with their fingers as at a thief, if they choose, let my chantzeh-leah lose her chance! i will take it all in good part, if i may only save my unhappy soul! the minute the kedushah is over i shall go to moisheh chalfon, tell him the whole story, and beg him to forgive me." the cantor came to the end of u-nesanneh toikef, the congregation resumed their seats, berel also returned to his place, and did not go up to moisheh chalfon. "help, what shall i do, what shall i do?" he thought, as he struggled with his conscience. "chantzeh-leah will lay me on the fire ... she will cry her life out ... the mechutton ... the bridegroom...." * * * * * the additional service and the afternoon service were over, people were making ready for the conclusion service, neïleh. the shadows were once more lengthening, the sun was once more sinking in the west. the shool-goi began to light candles and lamps, and placed them on the tables and the window-ledges. jews with faces white from exhaustion sat in the anteroom resting and refreshing themselves with a pinch of snuff, or a drop of hartshorn, and a few words of conversation. everyone feels more cheerful and in better humor. what had to be done, has been done and well done. the lord of the universe has received his due. they have mortified themselves a whole day, fasted continuously, recited prayers, and begged forgiveness! now surely the almighty will do his part, accept the jewish prayers and have compassion on his people israel. only berel sits in a corner by himself. he also is wearied and exhausted. he also has fasted, prayed, wept, mortified himself, like the rest. but he knows that the whole of his toil and trouble has been thrown away. he sits troubled, gloomy, and depressed. he knows that they have now reached neïleh, that he has still time to repent, that the door of heaven will stand open a little while longer, his repentance may yet pass through ... otherwise, yet a little while, and the gates of mercy will be shut and ... too late! "oh, open the gate to us, even while it is closing," sounded in berel's ears and heart ... yet a little while, and it will be too late! "no, no!" shrieked berel to himself, "i will not lose my soul, my world-to-come! let chantzeh-leah burn me and roast me, i will take it all in good part, so that i don't lose my world-to-come!" berel rose from his seat, and went up to moisheh chalfon. "reb moisheh, a word with you," he whispered into his ear. "afterwards, when the prayers are done." "no, no, no!" shrieked berel, below his breath, "now, at once!" moisheh chalfon stood up. berel led him out of the house-of-study, and aside. "reb moisheh, kind soul, have pity on me and forgive me!" cried berel, and burst into sobs. "god be with you, berel, what has come over you all at once?" asked reb moisheh, in astonishment. "listen to me, reb moisheh!" said berel, still sobbing. "the hundred rubles you lost a few weeks ago are in my house!... god knows the truth, i didn't take them out of wickedness. i came into your house, the key was in the drawer ... there was no one in the room.... that day i'd had a letter from my mechutton that he'd break off his son's engagement if the wedding didn't take place to time.... my girl is ugly and old ... the bridegroom is a fine young man ... a precious stone.... i opened the drawer in spite of myself ... and saw the bank-notes.... you see how it was?... my mechutton is a misnaggid ... a flint-hearted screw.... i took out the note ... but it is shortening my years!... god knows what i bore and suffered at the time.... to-night i will bring you the note back.... forgive me!... let the mechutton break off the match, if he chooses, let the woman fret away her years, so long as i am rid of the serpent that is gnawing at my heart, and gives me no peace! i never before touched a ruble belonging to anyone else, and become a thief in my latter years i won't!" moisheh chalfon did not answer him for a little while. he took out his snuff, and had a pinch, then he took out of the bosom of his robe a great red handkerchief, wiped his nose, and reflected a minute or two. then he said quietly: "if a match were broken off through me, i should be sorry. you certainly behaved as you should not have, in taking the money without leave, but it is written: judge not thy neighbor till thou hast stood in his place. you shall keep the hundred rubles. come to-night and bring me an i. o. u., and begin to repay me little by little." "what are you, an angel?" exclaimed berel, weeping. "god forbid," replied moisheh chalfon, quietly, "i am what you are. you are a jew, and i also am a jew." isaiah lerner born, , in zwoniec, podolia, southwestern russia; co-editor of die bibliothek dos leben, published at odessa, , and kishineff, . bertzi wasserfÜhrer i the first night of passover. it is already about ten o'clock. outside it is dark, wet, cold as the grave. a fine, close, sleety rain is driving down, a light, sharp, fitful wind blows, whistles, sighs, and whines, and wanders round on every side, like a returned and sinful soul seeking means to qualify for eternal bliss. the mud is very thick, and reaches nearly to the waist. at one end of the town of kamenivke, in the poor people's street, which runs along by the bath-house, it is darkest of all, and muddiest. the houses there are small, low, and overhanging, tumbled together in such a way that there is no seeing where the mud begins and the dwelling ends. no gleam of light, even in the windows. either the inhabitants of the street are all asleep, resting their tired bones and aching limbs, or else they all lie suffocated in the sea of mud, simply because the mud is higher than the windows. whatever the reason, the street is quiet as a god's-acre, and the darkness may be felt with the hands. suddenly the dead stillness of the street is broken by the heavy tread of some ponderous creature, walking and plunging through the kamenivke mud, and there appears the tall, broad figure of a man. he staggers like one tipsy or sick, but he keeps on in a straight line, at an even pace, like one born and bred and doomed to die in the familiar mud, till he drags his way to a low, crouching house at the very end of the street, almost under the hillside. it grows lighter--a bright flame shines through the little window-panes. he has not reached the door before it opens, and a shaky, tearful voice, full of melancholy, pain, and woe, breaks the hush a second time this night: "bertzi, is it you? are you all right? so late? has there been another accident? and the cart and the horse, wu senen?" "all right, all right! a happy holiday!" his voice is rough, hoarse, and muffled. she lets him into the passage, and opens the inner door. but scarcely is he conscious of the light, warmth, and cleanliness of the room, when he gives a strange, wild cry, takes one leap, like a hare, onto the "eating-couch" spread for him on the red-painted, wooden sofa, and--he lies already in a deep sleep. ii the whole dwelling, consisting of one nice, large, low room, is clean, tidy, and bright. the bits of furniture and all the household essentials are poor, but so clean and polished that one can mirror oneself in them, if one cares to stoop down. the table is laid ready for passover. the bottles of red wine, the bottle of yellow passover brandy, and the glass goblets of different colors reflect the light of the thick tallow candles, and shine and twinkle and sparkle. the oven, which stands in the same room, is nearly out, there is one sleepy little bit of fire still flickering. but the pots, ranged round the fire as though to watch over it and encourage it, exhale such delicious, appetizing smells that they would tempt even a person who had just eaten his fill. but no one makes a move towards them. all five children lie stretched in a row on the red-painted, wooden bed. even they have not tasted of the precious dishes, of which they have thought and talked for weeks previous to the festival. they cried loud and long, waiting for their father's return, and at last they went sweetly to sleep. only one fly is moving about the room: rochtzi, bertzi wasserführer's wife, and rivers of tears, large, clear tears, salt with trouble and distress, flow from her eyes. iii although rochtzi has not seen more than thirty summers, she looks like an old woman. once upon a time she was pretty, she was even known as one of the prettiest of the kamenivke girls, and traces of her beauty are still to be found in her uncommonly large, dark eyes, and even in her lined face, although the eyes have long lost their fire, and her cheeks, their color and freshness. she is dressed in clean holiday attire, but her eyes are red from the hot, salt tears, and her expression is darkened and sad. "such a festival, such a great, holy festival, and then when it comes...." the pale lips tremble and quiver. how many days and nights, beginning before purim, has she sat with her needle between her fingers, so that the children should have their holiday frocks--and all depending on her hands and head! how much thought and care and strength has she spent on preparing the room, their poor little possessions, and the food? how many were the days, sabbaths excepted, on which they went without a spoonful of anything hot, so that they might be able to give a becoming reception to that dear, great, and holy visitor, the passover? everything (the almighty forbid that she should sin with her tongue!) of the best, ready and waiting, and then, after all.... he, his sheepskin, his fur cap, and his great boots are soaked with rain and steeped in thick mud, and there, in this condition, lies he, bertzi wasserführer, her husband, her passover "king," like a great black lump, on the nice, clean, white, draped "eating-couch," and snores. iv the brief tale i am telling you happened in the days before kamenivke had joined itself on, by means of the long, tall, and beautiful bridge, to the great high hill that has stood facing it from everlasting, thickly wooded, and watered by quantities of clear, crystal streams, which babble one to another day and night, and whisper with their running tongues of most important things. so long as the bridge had not been flung from one of the giant rocks to the other rock, the kamenivke people had not been able to procure the good, wholesome water of the wild hill, and had to content themselves with the thick, impure water of the river smotritch, which has flowed forever round the eminence on which kamenivke is built. but man, and especially the jew, gets used to anything, and the kamenivke people, who are nearly all grandfather abraham's grandchildren, had drunk smotritch water all their lives, and were conscious of no grievance. but the lot of the kamenivke water-carriers was hard and bitter. kamenivke stands high, almost in the air, and the river smotritch runs deep down in the valley. in summer, when the ground is dry, it was bearable, for then the kamenivke water-carrier was merely bathed in sweat as he toiled up the hill, and the jewish breadwinner has been used to that for ages. but in winter, when the snow was deep and the frost tremendous, when the steep skossny hill with its clay soil was covered with ice like a hill of glass! or when the great rains were pouring down, and the town and especially the clay hill are confounded with the deep, thick mud! our bertzi wasserführer was more alive to the fascinations of this parnosseh than any other water-carrier. he was, as though in his own despite, a pious jew and a great man of his word, and he had to carry water for almost all the well-to-do householders. true, that in face of all his good luck he was one of the poorest jews in the poor people's street, only---- v lord of the world, may there never again be such a winter as there was then! not the oldest man there could recall one like it. the snow came down in drifts, and never stopped. one could and might have sworn on a scroll of the law, that the great jewish god was angry with the kamenivke jews, and had commanded his angels to shovel down on kamenivke all the snow that had lain by in all the seven heavens since the sixth day of creation, so that the sinful town might be a ruin and a desolation. and the terrible, fiery frosts! frozen people were brought into the town nearly every day. oi, jews, how bertzi wasserführer struggled, what a time he had of it! enemies of zion, it was nearly the death of him! and suddenly the snow began to stop falling, all at once, and then things were worse than ever--there was a sea of water, an ocean of mud. and passover coming on with great strides! for three days before passover he had not come home to sleep. who talks of eating, drinking, and sleeping? he and his man toiled day and night, like six horses, like ten oxen. the last day before passover was the worst of all. his horse suddenly came to the conclusion that sooner than live such a life, it would die. so it died and vanished somewhere in the depths of the kamenivke clay. and bertzi the water-carrier and his man had to drag the cart with the great water-barrel themselves, the whole day till long after dark. vi it is already eleven, twelve, half past twelve at night, and bertzi's chest, throat, and nostrils continue to pipe and to whistle, to sob and to sigh. the room is colder and darker, the small fire in the oven went out long ago, and only little stumps of candles remain. rochtzi walks and runs about the room, she weeps and wrings her hands. but now she runs up to the couch by the table, and begins to rouse her husband with screams and cries fit to make one's blood run cold and the hair stand up on one's head: "no, no, you're not going to sleep any longer, i tell you! bertzi, do you hear me? get up, bertzi, aren't you a jew?--a man?--the father of children?--bertzi, have you god in your heart? bertzi, have you said your prayers? my husband, what about the seder? i won't have it!--i feel very ill--i am going to faint!--help!--water!" "have i forgotten somebody's water?--whose?--where?..." but rochtzi is no longer in need of water: she beholds her "king" on his feet, and has revived without it. with her two hands, with all the strength she has, she holds him from falling back onto the couch. "don't you see, bertzi? the candles are burning down, the supper is cold and will spoil. i fancy it's already beginning to dawn. the children, long life to them, went to sleep without any food. come, please, begin to prepare for the seder, and i will wake the two elder ones." bertzi stands bent double and treble. his breathing is labored and loud, his face is smeared with mud and swollen from the cold, his beard and earlocks are rough and bristly, his eyes sleepy and red. he looks strangely wild and unkempt. bertzi looks at rochtzi, at the table, he looks round the room, and sees nothing. but now he looks at the bed: his little children, washed, and in their holiday dresses, are all lying in a row across the bed, and--he remembers everything, and understands what rochtzi is saying, and what it is she wants him to do. "give me some water--i said minchah and maariv by the way, while i was at work." "i'm bringing it already! may god grant you a like happiness! good health to you! hershele, get up, my kaddish, father has come home already! shmuelkil, my little son, go and ask father the four questions." bertzi fills a goblet with wine, takes it up in his left hand, places it upon his right hand, and begins: "savri moronon, ve-rabbonon, ve-rabbosai--with the permission of the company."--his head goes round.--"lord of the world!--i am a jew.--blessed art thou. lord our god, king of the universe--" it grows dark before his eyes: "the first night of passover--i ought to make kiddush--thou who dost create the fruit of the vine"--his feet fail him, as though they had been cut off--"and i ought to give the seder--this is the bread of the poor.... lord of the world, you know how it is: i can't do it!--have mercy!--forgive me!" vii a nasty smell of sputtered-out candles fills the room. rochtzi weeps. bertzi is back on the couch and snores. different sounds, like the voices of winds, cattle, and wild beasts, and the whirr of a mill, are heard in his snoring. and her weeping--it seems as if the whole room were sighing and quivering and shaking.... ezrielk the scribe forty days before ezrielk descended upon this sinful world, his life-partner was proclaimed in heaven, and the heavenly council decided that he was to transcribe the books of the law, prayers, and mezuzehs for the kabtzonivke jews, and thereby make a living for his wife and children. but the hard word went forth to him that he should not disclose this secret decree to anyone, and should even forget it himself for a goodly number of years. a glance at ezrielk told one that he had been well lectured with regard to some important matter, and was to tell no tales out of school. even minde, the kabtzonivke bobbe, testified to this: "never in all my life, all the time i've been bringing jewish children into god's world, have i known a child scream so loud at birth as ezrielk--a sign that he'd had it well rubbed into him!" either the angel who has been sent to fillip little children above the lips when they are being born, was just then very sleepy (ezrielk was born late at night), or some one had put him out of temper, but one way or another little ezrielk, the very first minute of his jewish existence, caught such a blow that his top lip was all but split in two. after this kindly welcome, when god's angel himself had thus received ezrielk, slaps, blows, and stripes rained down upon his head, body, and life, all through his days, without pause or ending. ezrielk began to attend cheder when he was exactly three years old. his first teacher treated him very badly, beat him continually, and took all the joy of his childhood from him. by the time this childhood of his had passed, and he came to be married (he began to wear the phylacteries and the prayer-scarf on the day of his marriage), he was a very poor specimen, small, thin, stooping, and yellow as an egg-pudding, his little face dark, dreary, and weazened, like a dried lender herring. the only large, full things about him were his earlocks, which covered his whole face, and his two blue eyes. he had about as much strength as a fly, he could not even break the wine-glass under the marriage canopy by himself, and had to ask for help of reb yainkef butz, the beadle of the old shool. among the german jews a boy like that would have been left unwed till he was sixteen or even seventeen, but our ezrielk was married at thirteen, for his bride had been waiting for him seventeen years. it was this way: reb seinwill bassis, ezrielk's father, and reb selig tachshit, his father-in-law, were hostre chassidim, and used to drive every year to spend the solemn days at the hostre rebbe's. they both (not of you be it spoken!) lost all their children in infancy, and, as you can imagine, they pressed the rebbe very closely on this important point, left him no peace, till he should bestir himself on their behalf, and exercise all his influence in the higher spheres. once, on the eve of yom kippur, before daylight, after the waving of the scape-fowls, when the rebbe, long life to him, was in somewhat high spirits, our two chassidim made another set upon him, but this time they had quite a new plan, and it simply _had_ to work out! "do you know what? arrange a marriage between your children! good luck to you!" the whole company of chassidim broke some plates, and actually drew up the marriage contract. it was a little difficult to draw up the contract, because they did not know which of our two friends would have the boy (the rebbe, long life to him, was silent on this head), and which, the girl, but--a learned jew is never at a loss, and they wrote out the contract with conditions. for three years running after this their wives bore them each a child, but the children were either both boys or both girls, so that their vow to unite the son of one to a daughter of the other born in the same year could not be fulfilled, and the documents lay on the shelf. true, the little couples departed for the "real world" within the first month, but the rebbe consoled the father by saying: "we may be sure they were not true jewish children, that is, not true jewish souls. the true jewish soul once born into the world holds on, until, by means of various troubles and trials, it is cleansed from every stain. don't worry, but wait." the fourth year the rebbe's words were established: reb selig tachshit had a daughter born to him, and reb seinwill bassis, ezrielk. channehle, ezrielk's bride, was tall, when they married, as a young fir-tree, beautiful as the sun, clever as the day is bright, and white as snow, with sky-blue, star-like eyes. her hair was the color of ripe corn--in a word, she was fair as abigail and our mother rachel in one, winning as queen esther, pious as leah, and upright as our grandmother sarah. but although the bride was beautiful, she found no fault with her bridegroom; on the contrary, she esteemed it a great honor to have him for a husband. all the kabtzonivke girls envied her, and every kabtzonivke woman who was "expecting" desired with all her heart that she might have such a son as ezrielk. the reason is quite plain: first, what true jewish maiden looks for beauty in her bridegroom? secondly, our ezrielk was as full of excellencies as a pomegranate is of seeds. his teachers had not broken his bones for nothing. the blows had been of great and lasting good to him. even before his wedding, seinwill bassis's ezrielk was deeply versed in the law, and could solve the hardest "questions," so that you might have made a rabbi of him. he was, moreover, a great scribe. his "in-honor-ofs," and his "blessed bes" were known, not only in kabtzonivke, but all over kamenivke, and as for his singing--! when ezrielk began to sing, poor people forgot their hunger, thirst, and need, the sick, their aches and pains, the kabtzonivke jews in general, their bitter exile. he mostly sang unfamiliar tunes and whole "things." "where do you get them, ezrielk?" the little ezrielk would open his eyes (he kept them shut while he sang), his two big blue eyes, and answer wonderingly: "don't you hear how everything sings?" after a little while, when ezrielk had been singing so well and so sweetly and so wonderfully that the kabtzonivke jews began to feel too happy, people fell athinking, and they grew extremely uneasy and disturbed in their minds: "it's not all so simple as it looks, there is something behind it. suppose a not-good one had introduced himself into the child (which god forbid!)? it would do no harm to take him to the aleskev rebbe, long life to him." as good luck would have it, the hostre rebbe came along just then to kabtzonivke, and, after all, ezrielk belonged to _him_, he was born through the merit of the rebbe's miracle-working! so the chassidim told him the story. the rebbe, long life to him, sent for him. ezrielk came and began to sing. the rebbe listened a long, long time to his sweet voice, which rang out like a hundred thousand crystal and gold bells into every corner of the room. "do not be alarmed, he may and he must sing. he gets his tunes there where he got his soul." and ezrielk sang cheerful tunes till he was ten years old, that is, till he fell into the hands of the teacher reb yainkel vittiss. now, the end and object of reb yainkel's teaching was not merely that his pupils should know a lot and know it well. of course, we know that the jew only enters this sinful world in order that he may more or less perfect himself, and that it is therefore needful he should, and, indeed, he _must_, sit day and night over the torah and the commentaries. yainkel vittiss's course of instruction began and ended with trying to imbue his pupils with a downright, genuine, jewish-chassidic enthusiasm. the first day ezrielk entered his cheder, reb yainkel lifted his long, thick lashes, and began, while he gazed fixedly at him, to shake his head, saying to himself: "no, no, he won't do like that. there is nothing wrong with the vessel, a goodly vessel, only the wine is still very sharp, and the ferment is too strong. he is too cocky, too lively for me. a wonder, too, for he's been in good hands (tell me, weren't you under both moisheh-yusis?), and it's a pity, when you come to think, that such a goodly vessel should be wasted. yes, he wants treating in quite another way." and yainkel vittiss set himself seriously to the task of shaping and working up ezrielk. reb yainkel was not in the least concerned when he beat a pupil and the latter cried and screamed at the top of his voice. he knew what he was about, and was convinced that, when one beats and it hurts, even a jewish child (which must needs get used to blows) may cry and scream, and the more the better; it showed that his method of instruction was taking effect. and when he was thrashing ezrielk, and the boy cried and yelled, reb yainkel would tell him: "that's right, that's the way! cry, scream--louder still! that's the way to get a truly contrite jewish heart! you sing too merrily for me--a true jew should weep even while he sings." when ezrielk came to be twelve years old, his teacher declared that he might begin to recite the prayers in shool before the congregation, as he now had within him that which beseems a good chassidic jew. so ezrielk began to davven in the kabtzonivke old shool, and a crowd of people, not only from kabtzonivke, but even from kamenivke and ebionivke, used to fill and encircle the shool to hear him. reb yainkel was not mistaken, he knew what he was saying. ezrielk was indeed fit to davven: life and the joy of life had vanished from his singing, and the terrorful weeping, the fearful wailing of a nation's two thousand years of misfortune, might be heard and felt in his voice. ezrielk was very weakly, and too young to lead the service often, but what a stir he caused when he lifted up his voice in the shool! kabtzonivke, kamenivke, and ebionivke will never forget the first u-mipné chatoénu led by the twelve-year-old ezrielk, standing before the precentor's desk in a long, wide prayer-scarf. the men, women, and children who were listening inside and outside the old shool felt a shudder go through them, their hair stood on end, and their hearts wept and fluttered in their breasts. ezrielk's voice wept and implored, "on account of our sins." * * * * * at the time when ezrielk was distinguishing himself on this fashion with his chanting, the jewish doctor from kamenivke happened to be in the place. he saw the crowd round the old shool, and he went in. as you may suppose, he was much longer in coming out. he was simply riveted to the spot, and it is said that he rubbed his eyes more than once while he listened and looked. on coming away, he told them to bring ezrielk to see him on the following day, saying that he wished to see him, and would take no fee. next day ezrielk came with his mother to the doctor's house. "a blow has struck me! a thunder has killed me! reb yainkel, do you know what the doctor said?" "you silly woman, don't scream so! he cannot have said anything bad about ezrielk. what is the matter? did he hear him intone the gemoreh, or perhaps sing? don't cry and lament like that!" "reb yainkel, what are you talking about? the doctor said that my ezrielk is in danger, that he's ill, that he hasn't a sound organ--his heart, his lungs, are all sick. every little bone in him is broken. he mustn't sing or study--the bath will be his death--he must have a long cure--he must be sent away for air. god (he said to me) has given you a precious gift, such as heaven and earth might envy. will you go and bury it with your own hands?" "and you were frightened and believed him? nonsense! i've had ezrielk in my cheder two years. do i want _him_ to come and tell me what goes on there? if _he_ were a really good doctor, and had one drop of jewish blood left in his veins, wouldn't he know that every true jew has a sick heart, a bad lung, broken bones, and deformed limbs, and is well and strong in spite of it, because the holy torah is the best medicine for all sicknesses? ha, ha, ha! and _he_ wants ezrielk to give up learning and the bath? do you know what? go home and send ezrielk to cheder at once!" the kamenivke doctor made one or two more attempts at alarming ezrielk's parents; he sent his assistant to them more than once, but it was no use, for after what reb yainkel had said, nobody would hear of any doctoring. so ezrielk continued to study the talmud and occasionally to lead the service in shool, like the chassidic child he was, had a dip nearly every morning in the bath-house, and at thirteen, good luck to him, he was married. the hostre rebbe himself honored the wedding with his presence. the rebbe, long life to him, was fond of ezrielk, almost as though he had been his own child. the whole time the saint stayed in kabtzonivke, kamenivke, and ebionivke, ezrielk had to be near him. when they told the rebbe the story of the doctor, he remarked, "ett! what do _they_ know?" and ezrielk continued to recite the prayers after his marriage, and to sing as before, and was the delight of all who heard him. agreeably to the marriage contract, ezrielk and his channehle had a double right to board with their parents "forever"; when they were born and the written engagements were filled in, each was an only child, and both reb seinwill and reb selig undertook to board them "forever." true, when the parents wedded their "one and only children," they had both of them a houseful of little ones and no parnosseh (they really hadn't!), but they did not go back upon their word with regard to the "board forever." of course, it is understood that the two "everlasting boards" lasted nearly one whole year, and ezrielk and his wife might well give thanks for not having died of hunger in the course of it, such a bad, bitter year as it was for their poor parents. it was the year of the great flood, when both reb seinwill bassis and reb selig tachshit had their houses ruined. ezrielk, channehle, and their little son had to go and shift for themselves. but the other inhabitants of kabtzonivke, regardless of this, now began to envy them in earnest: what other couple of their age, with a child and without a farthing, could so easily make a livelihood as they? hardly had it come to the ears of the three towns that ezrielk was seeking a parnosseh when they were all astir. all the shools called meetings, and sought for means and money whereby they might entice the wonderful cantor and secure him for themselves. there was great excitement in the shools. fancy finding in a little, thin jewish lad all the rare and precious qualities that go to make a great cantor! the trustees of all the shools ran about day and night, and a fierce war broke out among them. the war raged five times twenty-four hours, till the great shool in kamenivke carried the day. not one of the others could have dreamed of offering him such a salary--three hundred rubles and everything found! "god is my witness"--thus ezrielk opened his heart, as he sat afterwards with the company of hostre chassidim over a little glass of brandy--"that i find it very hard to leave our old shool, where my grandfather and great-grandfather used to pray. believe me, brothers, i would not do it, only they give me one hundred and fifty rubles earnest-money, and i want to pass it on to my father and father-in-law, so that they may rebuild their houses. to your health, brothers! drink to my remaining an honest jew, and wish that my head may not be turned by the honor done to me!" and ezrielk began to davven and to sing (again without a choir) in the great shool, in the large town of kamenivke. there he intoned the prayers as he had never done before, and showed who ezrielk was! the old shool in kabtzonivke had been like a little box for his voice. in those days ezrielk and his household lived in happiness and plenty, and he and channehle enjoyed the respect and consideration of all men. when ezrielk led the service, the shool was filled to overflowing, and not only with jews, even the richest gentiles (i beg to distinguish!) came to hear him, and wondered how such a small and weakly creature as ezrielk, with his thin chest and throat, could bring out such wonderful tunes and whole compositions of his own! money fell upon the lucky couple, through circumcisions, weddings, and so on, like snow. only one thing began, little by little, to disturb their happiness: ezrielk took to coughing, and then to spitting blood. he used to complain that he often felt a kind of pain in his throat and chest, but they did not consult a doctor. "what, a doctor?" fumed reb yainkel. "nonsense! it hurts, does it? where's the wonder? a carpenter, a smith, a tailor, a shoemaker works with his hands, and his hands hurt. cantors and teachers and match-makers work with their throat and chest, and _these_ hurt, they are bound to do so. it is simply hemorrhoids." so ezrielk went on intoning and chanting, and the kamenivke jews licked their fingers, and nearly jumped out of their skin for joy when they heard him. two years passed in this way, and then came a change. it was early in the morning of the fast of the destruction of the temple, all the windows of the great shool were open, and all the tables, benches, and desks had been carried out from the men's hall and the women's hall the evening before. men and women sat on the floor, so closely packed a pin could not have fallen to the floor between them. the whole street in which was the great shool was chuck full with a terrible crowd of men, women, and children, although it just happened to be cold, wet weather. the fact is, ezrielk's lamentations had long been famous throughout the jewish world in those parts, and whoever had ears, a jewish heart, and sound feet, came that day to hear him. the sad epidemic disease that (not of our days be it spoken!) swallows men up, was devastating kamenivke and its surroundings that year, and everyone sought a place and hour wherein to weep out his opprest and bitter heart. ezrielk also sat on the floor reciting lamentations, but the man who sat there was not the same ezrielk, and the voice heard was not his. ezrielk, with his sugar-sweet, honeyed voice, had suddenly been transformed into a strange being, with a voice that struck terror into his hearers; the whole people saw, heard, and felt, how a strange creature was flying about among them with a fiery sword in his hand. he slashes, hews, and hacks at their hearts, and with a terrible voice he cries out and asks: "sinners! where is your holy land that flowed with milk and honey? slaves! where is your temple? accursed slaves! you sold your freedom for money and calumny, for honors and worldly greatness!" the people trembled and shook and were all but entirely dissolved in tears. "upon zion and her cities!" sang out once more ezrielk's melancholy voice, and suddenly something snapped in his throat, just as when the strings of a good fiddle snap when the music is at its best. ezrielk coughed, and was silent. a stream of blood poured from his throat, and he grew white as the wall. the doctor declared that ezrielk had lost his voice forever, and would remain hoarse for the rest of his life. "nonsense!" persisted reb yainkel. "his voice is breaking--it's nothing more!" "god will help!" was the comment of the hostre saint. a whole year went by, and ezrielk's voice neither broke nor returned to him. the hostre chassidim assembled in the house of elkoneh the butcher to consider and take counsel as to what ezrielk should take to in order to earn a livelihood for wife and children. they thought it over a long, long time, talked and gave their several opinions, till they hit upon this: ezrielk had still one hundred and fifty rubles in store--let him spend one hundred rubles on a house in kabtzonivke, and begin to traffic with the remainder. thus ezrielk became a trader. he began driving to fairs, and traded in anything and everything capable of being bought or sold. six months were not over before ezrielk was out of pocket. he mortgaged his property, and with the money thus obtained he opened a grocery shop for channehle. he himself (nothing satisfies a jew!) started to drive about in the neighborhood, to collect the contributions subscribed for the maintenance of the hostre rebbe, long life to him! ezrielk was five months on the road, and when, torn, worn, and penniless, he returned home, he found channehle brought to bed of her fourth child, and the shop bare of ware and equally without a groschen. but ezrielk was now something of a trader, and is there any strait in which a jewish trader has not found himself? ezrielk had soon disposed of the whole of his property, paid his debts, rented a larger lodging, and started trading in several new and more ambitious lines: he pickled gherkins, cabbages, and pumpkins, made beet soup, both red and white, and offered them for sale, and so on. it was channehle again who had to carry on most of the business, but, then, ezrielk did not sit with his hands in his pockets. toward passover he had shmooreh matzes; he baked and sold them to the richest householders in kamenivke, and before the solemn days he, as an expert, tried and recommended cantors and prayer-leaders for the kamenivke shools. when it came to tabernacles, he trafficked in citrons and "palms." for three years ezrielk and his channehle struggled at their trades, working themselves nearly to death (of zion's enemies be it spoken!), till, with the help of heaven, they came to be twenty years old. by this time ezrielk and channehle were the parents of four living and two dead children. channehle, the once so lovely channehle, looked like a beaten hoshanah, and ezrielk--you remember the picture drawn at the time of his wedding?--well, then try to imagine what he was like now, after those seven years we have described for you! it's true that he was not spitting blood any more, either because reb yainkel had been right, when he said that would pass away, or because there was not a drop of blood in the whole of his body. so that was all right--only, how were they to live? even reb yainkel and all the hostre chassidim together could not tell him! the singing had raised him and lifted him off his feet, and let him fall. and do you know why it was and how it was that everything ezrielk took to turned out badly? it was because the singing was always there, in his head and his heart. he prayed and studied, singing. he bought and sold, singing. he sang day and night. no one heard him, because he was hoarse, but he sang without ceasing. was it likely he would be a successful trader, when he was always listening to what heaven and earth and everything around him were singing, too? he only wished he could have been a slaughterer or a rav (he was apt enough at study), only, first, rabbonim and slaughterers don't die every day, and, second, they usually leave heirs to take their places; third, even supposing there were no such heirs, one has to pay "privilege-money," and where is it to come from? no, there was nothing to be done. only god could and must have pity on him and his wife and children, and help them somehow. ezrielk struggled and fought his need hard enough those days. one good thing for him was this--his being a hostre chossid; the hostre chassidim, although they have been famed from everlasting as the direst poor among the jews, yet they divide their last mouthful with their unfortunate brethren. but what can the gifts of mortal men, and of such poor ones into the bargain, do in a case like ezrielk's? and god alone knows what bitter end would have been his, if reb shmuel bär, the kabtzonivke scribe, had not just then (blessed be the righteous judge!) met with a sudden death. our ezrielk was not long in feeling that he, and only he, should, and, indeed, must, step into reb shmuel's shoes. ezrielk had been an expert at the scribe's work for years and years. why, his father's house and the scribe's had been nearly under one roof, and whenever ezrielk, as a child, was let out of cheder, he would go and sit any length of time in reb shmuel's room (something in the occupation attracted him) and watch him write. and the little ezrielk had more than once tried to make a piece of parchment out of a scrap of skin; and what jewish boy cannot prepare the veins that are used to sew the phylacteries and the scrolls of the law? nor was the scribe's ink a secret to ezrielk. so ezrielk became scribe in kabtzonivke. of course, he did not make a fortune. reb shmuel bär, who had been a scribe all his days, died a very poor man, and left a roomful of hungry, half-naked children behind him, but then--what jew, i ask you (or has messiah come?), ever expected to find a parnosseh with enough, really enough, to eat? yitzchok-yossel broitgeber at the time i am speaking of, the above was about forty years old. he was a little, thin jew with a long face, a long nose, two large, black, kindly eyes, and one who would sooner be silent and think than talk, no matter what was being said to him. even when he was scolded for something (and by whom and when and for what was he _not_ scolded?), he used to listen with a quiet, startled, but sweet smile, and his large, kindly eyes would look at the other with such wonderment, mingled with a sort of pity, that the other soon stopped short in his abuse, and stood nonplussed before him. "there, you may talk! you might as well argue with a horse, or a donkey, or the wall, or a log of wood!" and the other would spit and make off. but if anyone observed that smile attentively, and studied the look in his eyes, he would, to a certainty, have read there as follows: "o man, man, why are you eating your heart out? seeing that you don't know, and that you don't understand, why do you undertake to tell me what i ought to do?" and when he was obliged to answer, he used to do so in a few measured and gentle words, as you would speak to a little, ignorant child, smiling the while, and then he would disappear and start thinking again. they called him "breadwinner," because, no matter how hard the man worked, he was never able to earn a living. he was a little tailor, but not like the tailors nowadays, who specialize in one kind of garment, for yitzchok-yossel made everything: trousers, cloaks, waistcoats, top-coats, fur-coats, capes, collars, bags for prayer-books, "little prayer-scarfs," and so on. besides, he was a ladies' tailor as well. summer and winter, day and night, he worked like an ox, and yet, when the kabtzonivke community, at the time of the great cholera, in order to put an end to the plague, led him, aged thirty, out to the cemetery, and there married him to malkeh the orphan, she cast him off two weeks later! she was still too young (twenty-eight), she said, to stay with him and die of hunger. she went out into the world, together with a large band of poor, after the great fire that destroyed nearly the whole town, and nothing more was heard of malkeh the orphan from that day forward. and yitzchok-yossel broitgeber betook himself, with needle and flat-iron, into the women's chamber in the new shool, the community having assigned it to him as a workroom. how came it about, you may ask, that so versatile a tailor as yitzchok-yossel should be so poor? well, if you do, it just shows you didn't know him! wait and hear what i shall tell you. the story is on this wise: yitzchok-yossel broitgeber was a tailor who could make anything, and who made nothing at all, that is, since he displayed his imagination in cutting out and sewing on the occasion i am referring to, nobody would trust him. i can remember as if it were to-day what happened in kabtzonivke, and the commotion there was in the little town when yitzchok-yossel made reb yecheskel the teacher a pair of trousers (begging your pardon!) of such fantastic cut that the unfortunate teacher had to wear them as a vest, though he was not then in need of one, having a brand new sheepskin not more than three years old. and now listen! binyomin droibnik the trader's mother died (blessed be the righteous judge!), and her whole fortune went, according to the law, to her only son binyomin. she had to be buried at the expense of the community. if she was to be buried at all, it was the only way. but the whole town was furious with the old woman for having cheated them out of their expectations and taken her whole fortune away with her to the real world. none knew exactly _why_, but it was confidently believed that old "aunt" leah had heaps of treasure somewhere in hiding. it was a custom with us in kabtzonivke to say, whenever anyone, man or woman, lived long, ate sicknesses by the clock, and still did not die, that it was a sign that he had in the course of his long life gathered great store of riches, that somewhere in a cellar he kept potsful of gold and silver. the funeral society, the younger members, had long been whetting their teeth for "aunt" leah's fortune, and now she had died (may she merit paradise!) and had fooled them. "what about her money?" "a cow has flown over the roof and laid an egg!" in that same night reb binyomin's cow (a real cow) calved, and the unfortunate consequence was that she died. the funeral society took the calf, and buried "aunt" leah at its own expense. well, money or no money, inheritance or no inheritance, reb binyomin's old mother left him a quilt, a large, long, wide, wadded quilt. as an article of house furniture, a quilt is a very useful thing, especially in a house where there is a wife (no evil eye!) and a goodly number of children, little and big. who doesn't see that? it looks simple enough! either one keeps it for oneself and the two little boys (with whom reb binyomin used to sleep), or else one gives it to the wife and the two little girls (who also sleep all together), or, if not, then to the two bigger boys or the two bigger girls, who repose on the two bench-beds in the parlor and kitchen respectively. but this particular quilt brought such perplexity into reb binyomin's rather small head that he (not of you be it spoken!) nearly went mad. "why i and not she? why she and not i? or they? or the others? why they and not i? why them and not us? why the others and not them? well, well, what is all this fuss? what did we cover them with before?" three days and three nights reb binyomin split his head and puzzled his brains over these questions, till the almighty had pity on his small skull and feeble intelligence, and sent him a happy thought. "after all, it is an inheritance from one's one and only mother (peace be upon her!), it is a thing from thingland! i must adapt it to some useful purpose, so that heaven and earth may envy me its possession!" and he sent to fetch yitzchok-yossel broitgeber, the tailor, who could make every kind of garment, and said to him: "reb yitzchok-yossel, you see this article?" "i see it." "yes, you see it, but do you understand it, really and truly understand it?" "i think i do." "but do you know what this is, ha?" "a quilt." "ha, ha, ha! a quilt? i could have told you that myself. but the stuff, the material?" "it's good material, beautiful stuff." "good material, beautiful stuff? no, i beg your pardon, you are not an expert in this, you don't know the value of merchandise. the real artisan, the true expert, would say: the material is light, soft, and elastic, like a lung, a sound and healthy lung. the stuff--he would say further--is firm, full, and smooth as the best calf's leather. and durable? why, it's a piece out of the heart of the strongest ox, or the tongue of the messianic ox itself! do you know how many winters this quilt has lasted already? but enough! that is not why i have sent for you. we are neither of us, thanks to his blessed name, do-nothings. the long and short of it is this: i wish to make out of this--you understand me?--out of this material, out of this piece of stuff, a thing, an article, that shall draw everybody to it, a fruit that is worth saying the blessing over, something superfine. an instance: what, for example, tell me, what would you do, if i gave this piece of goods into your hands, and said to you: reb yitzchok-yossel, as you are (without sin be it spoken!) an old workman, a good workman, and, besides that, a good comrade, and a jew as well, take this material, this stuff, and deal with it as you think best. only let it be turned into a sort of costume, a sort of garment, so that not only kabtzonivke, but all kamenivke, shall be bitten and torn with envy. eh? what would you turn it into?" yitzchok-yossel was silent, reb yitzchok-yossel went nearly out of his mind, nearly fainted for joy at these last words. he grew pale as death, white as chalk, then burning red like a flame of fire, and sparkled and shone. and no wonder: was it a trifle? all his life he had dreamed of the day when he should be given a free hand in his work, so that everyone should see who yitzchok-yossel is, and at the end came--the trousers, reb yecheskel melammed's trousers! how well, how cleverly he had made them! just think: trousers and upper garment in one! he had been so overjoyed, he had felt so happy. so sure that now everyone would know who yitzchok-yossel broitgeber is! he had even begun to think and wonder about malkeh the orphan--poor, unfortunate orphan! had she ever had one single happy day in her life? work forever and next to no food, toil till she was exhausted and next to no drink, sleep where she could get it: one time in elkoneh the butcher's kitchen, another time in yisroel dintzis' attic ... and when at last she got married (good luck to her!), she became the wife of yitzchok-yossel broitgeber! and the wedding took place in the burial-ground. on one side they were digging graves, on the other they were bringing fresh corpses. there was weeping and wailing, and in the middle of it all, the musicians playing and fiddling and singing, and the relations dancing!... good luck! good luck! the orphan and her breadwinner are being led to the marriage canopy in the graveyard! he will never forget with what gusto, she, his bride, the first night after their wedding, ate, drank, and slept--the whole of the wedding-supper that had been given them, bridegroom and bride: a nice roll, a glass of brandy, a tea-glass full of wine, and a heaped-up plate of roast meat was cut up and scraped together and eaten (no evil eye!) by _her_, by the bride herself. he had taken great pleasure in watching her face. he had known her well from childhood, and had no need to look at her to know what she was like, but he wanted to see what kind of feelings her face would express during this occupation. when they led him into the bridal chamber--she was already there--the companions of the bridegroom burst into a shout of laughter, for the bride was already snoring. he knew quite well why she had gone to sleep so quickly and comfortably. was there not sufficient reason? for the first time in her life she had made a good meal and lain down in a bed with bedclothes! the six groschen candle burnt, the flies woke and began to buzz, the mills clapt, and swung, and groaned, and he, yitzchok-yossel broitgeber, the bridegroom, sat beside the bridal bed on a little barrel of pickled gherkins, and looked at malkeh the orphan, his bride, his wife, listened to her loud thick snores, and thought. the town dogs howled strangely. evidently the wedding in the cemetery had not yet driven away the angel of death. from some of the neighboring houses came a dreadful crying and screaming of women and children. malkeh the orphan heard nothing. she slept sweetly, and snored as loud (i beg to distinguish!) as caspar, the tall, stout miller, the owner of both mills. yitzchok-yossel broitgeber sits on the little barrel, looks at her face, and thinks. her face is dark, roughened, and nearly like that of an old woman. a great, fat fly knocked against the wick, the candle suddenly began to burn brighter, and yitzchok-yossel saw her face become prettier, younger, and fresher, and overspread by a smile. that was all the effect of the supper and the soft bed. then it was that he had promised himself, that he had sworn, once and for all, to show the kabtzonivke jews who he is, and then malkeh the orphan will have food and a bed every day. he would have done this long ago, had it not been for those trousers. the people are so silly, they don't understand! that is the whole misfortune! and it's quite the other way about: let someone else try and turn out such an ingenious contrivance! but because it was he, and not someone else, they laughed and made fun of him. how reb yecheskel, his wife and children, did abuse him! that was his reward for all his trouble. and just because they themselves are cattle, horses, boors, who don't understand the tailor's art! ha, if only they understood that tailoring is a noble, refined calling, limitless and bottomless as (with due distinction!) the holy torah! but all is not lost. who knows? for here comes binyomin droibnik, an intelligent man, a man of brains and feeling. and think how many years he has been a trader! a retail trader, certainly, a jobber, but still-- "come, reb yitzchok-yossel, make an end! what will you turn it into?" "everything." "that is to say?" "a dressing-gown for your dvoshke,--" "and then?" "a morning-gown with tassels,--" "after that?" "a coat." "well?" "a dress--" "and besides that?" "a pair of trousers and a jacket--" "nothing more?" "why not? a--" "for instance?" "pelisse, a wadded winter pelisse for you." "there, there! just that, and only that!" said reb binyomin, delighted. yitzchok-yossel broitgeber tucked away the quilt under his arm, and was preparing to be off. "reb yitzchok-yossel! and what about taking my measure? and how about your charge?" yitzchok-yossel dearly loved to take anyone's measure, and was an expert at so doing. he had soon pulled a fair-sized sheet of paper out of one of his deep pockets, folded it into a long paper stick, and begun to measure reb binyomin droibnik's limbs. he did not even omit to note the length and breadth of his feet. "what do you want with that? are you measuring me for trousers?" "ett, don't you ask! no need to teach a skilled workman his trade!" "and what about the charge?" "we shall settle that later." "no, that won't do with me; i am a trader, you understand, and must have it all pat." "five gulden." "and how much less?" "how should i know? well, four." "well, and half a ruble?" "well, well--" "remember, reb yitzchok-yossel, it must be a masterpiece!" "trust me!" * * * * * for five days and five nights yitzchok-yossel set his imagination to work on binyomin droibnik's inheritance. there was no eating for him, no drinking, and no sleeping. the scissors squeaked, the needle ran hither and thither, up and down, the inheritance sighed and almost sobbed under the hot iron. but how happy was yitzchok-yossel those lightsome days and merry nights? who could compare with him? greater than the kabtzonivke village elder, richer than yisroel dintzis, the tax-gatherer, and more exalted than the bailiff himself was yitzchok-yossel, that is, in his own estimation. all that he wished, thought, and felt was forthwith created by means of his scissors and iron, his thimble, needle, and cotton. no more putting on of patches, sewing on of pockets, cutting out of "tefillin-säcklech" and "little prayer-scarfs," no more doing up of old dresses. freedom, freedom--he wanted one bit of work of the right sort, and that was all! ha, now he would show them, the kabtzonivke cripples and householders, now he would show them who yitzchok-yossel broitgeber is! they would not laugh at him or tease him any more! his fame would travel from one end of the world to the other, and malkeh the orphan, his bride, his wife, she also would hear of it, and-- she will come back to him! he feels it in every limb. it was not him she cast off, only his bad luck. he will rent a lodging (money will pour in from all sides)--buy a little furniture: a bed, a sofa, a table--in time he will buy a little house of his own--she will come, she has been homeless long enough--it is time she should rest her weary, aching bones--it is high time she should have her own corner! she will come back, he feels it, she will certainly come home! the last night! the work is complete. yitzchok-yossel spread it out on the table of the women's shool, lighted a second groschen candle, sat down in front of it with wide open, sparkling eyes, gazed with delight at the product of his imagination and--was wildly happy! so he sat the whole night. it was very hard for him to part with his achievement, but hardly was it day when he appeared with it at reb binyomin droibnik's. "a good morning, a good year, reb yitzchok-yossel! i see by your eyes that you have been successful. is it true?" "you can see for yourself, there--" "no, no, there is no need for me to see it first. dvoshke, cheike, shprintze, dovid-hershel, yitzchok-yoelik! you understand, i want them all to be present and see." in a few minutes the whole family had appeared on the scene. even the four little ones popped up from behind the heaps of ragged covering. yitzchok-yossel untied his parcel and-- "_wuus is duuuusss???!!!_" "a pair of trousers with sleeves!" judah steinberg born, , in lipkany, bessarabia; died, , in odessa; education hasidic; entered business in a small roumanian village for a short time; teacher, from in jedency and from in leowo, bessarabia; removed to odessa, in , to become correspondent of new york warheit; writer of fables, stories, and children's tales in hebrew, and poems in yiddish; historical drama, ha-sotah; collected works in hebrew, vols., cracow, - (in course of publication). a livelihood the two young fellows maxim klopatzel and israel friedman were natives of the same town in new bessarabia, and there was an old link existing between them: a mutual detestation inherited from their respective parents. maxim's father was the chief gentile of the town, for he rented the corn-fields of its richest inhabitant; and as the lawyer of the rich citizen was a jew, little maxim imagined, when his father came to lose his tenantry, that it was owing to the jews. little struli was the only jewish boy he knew (the children were next door neighbors), and so a large share of their responsibility was laid on struli's shoulders. later on, when klopatzel, the father, had abandoned the plough and taken to trade, he and old friedman frequently came in contact with each other as rivals. they traded and traded, and competed one against the other, till they both become bankrupt, when each argued to himself that the other was at the bottom of his misfortune--and their children grew on in mutual hatred. a little later still, maxim put down to struli's account part of the nails which were hammered into his savior, over at the other end of the town, by the well, where the government and the church had laid out money and set up a crucifix with a ladder, a hammer, and all other necessary implements. and struli, on his part, had an account to settle with maxim respecting certain other nails driven in with hammers, and torn scrolls of the law, and the history of the ten martyrs of the days of titus, not to mention a few later ones. their hatred grew with them, its strength increased with theirs. when krushevan began to deal in anti-semitism, maxim learned that christian children were carried off into the shool, struli's shool, for the sake of their blood. thenceforth maxim's hatred of struli was mingled with fear. he was terrified when he passed the shool at night, and he used to dream that struli stood over him in a prayer robe, prepared to slaughter him with a ram's horn trumpet. this because he had once passed the shool early one jewish new year's day, had peeped through the window, and seen the ram's horn blower standing in his white shroud, armed with the shofar, and suddenly a heartrending voice broke out with min ha-mezar, and maxim, taking his feet on his shoulders, had arrived home more dead than alive. there was very nearly a commotion. the priest wanted to persuade him that the jews had tried to obtain his blood. so the two children grew into youth as enemies. their fathers died, and the increased difficulties of their position increased their enmity. the same year saw them called to military service, from which they had both counted on exemption as the only sons of widowed mothers; only israel's mother had lately died, bequeathing to the czar all she had--a soldier; and maxim's mother had united herself to a second provider--and there was an end of the two "only sons!" neither of them wished to serve; they were too intellectually capable, too far developed mentally, too intelligent, to be turned all at once into russian soldiers, and too nicely brought up to march from port arthur to mukden with only one change of shirt. they both cleared out, and stowed themselves away till they 'fell separately into the hands of the military. they came together again under the fortress walls of mukden. they ate and hungered sullenly round the same cooking pot, received punches from the same officer, and had the same longing for the same home. israel had a habit of talking in his sleep, and, like a born bessarabian, in his yiddish mixed with a large portion of roumanian words. one night, lying in the barracks among the other soldiers, and sunk in sleep after a hard day, struli began to talk sixteen to the dozen. he called out names, he quarrelled, begged pardon, made a fool of himself--all in his sleep. it woke maxim, who overheard the homelike names and phrases, the name of his native town. he got up, made his way between the rows of sleepers, and sat down by israel's pallet, and listened. next day maxim managed to have a large helping of porridge, more than he could eat, and he found israel, and set it before him. "maltzimesk!" said the other, thanking him in roumanian, and a thrill of delight went through maxim's frame. the day following, maxim was hit by a japanese bullet, and there happened to be no one beside him at the moment. the shock drove all the soldier-speech out of his head. "help, i am killed!" he called out, and fell to the ground. struli was at his side like one sprung from the earth, he tore off his four-corners, and made his comrade a bandage. the wound turned out to be slight, for the bullet had passed through, only grazing the flesh of the left arm. a few days later maxim was back in the company. "i wanted to see you again, struli," he said, greeting his comrade in roumanian. a flash of brotherly affection and gratitude lighted struli's semitic eyes, and he took the other into his arms, and pressed him to his heart. they felt themselves to be "countrymen," of one and the same native town. neither of them could have told exactly when their union of spirit had been accomplished, but each one knew that he thanked god for having brought him together with so near a compatriot in a strange land. and when the battle of mukden had made maxim all but totally blind, and deprived struli of one foot, they started for home together, according to the passage in the midrash, "two men with one pair of eyes and one pair of feet between them." maxim carried on his shoulders a wooden box, which had now became a burden in common for them, and struli limped a little in front of him, leaning lightly against his companion, so as to keep him in the smooth part of the road and out of other people's way. struli had become maxim's eyes, and maxim, struli's feet; they were two men grown into one, and they provided for themselves out of one pocket, now empty of the last ruble. they dragged themselves home. "a kasa, a kasa!" whispered struli into maxim's ear, and the other turned on him his two glazed eyes looking through a red haze, and set in swollen red lids. a childlike smile played on his lips: "a kasa, a kasa!" he repeated, also in a whisper. home appeared to their fancy as something holy, something consoling, something that could atone and compensate for all they had suffered and lost. they had seen such a home in their dreams. but the nearer they came to it in reality, the more the dream faded. they remembered that they were returning as conquered soldiers and crippled men, that they had no near relations and but few friends, while the girls who had coquetted with maxim before he left would never waste so much as a look on him now he was half-blind; and struli's plans for marrying and emigrating to america were frustrated: a cripple would not be allowed to enter the country. all their dreams and hopes finally dissipated, and there remained only one black care, one all-obscuring anxiety: how were they to earn a living? they had been hoping all the while for a pension, but in their service book was written "on sick-leave." the russo-japanese war was distinguished by the fact that the greater number of wounded soldiers went home "on sick-leave," and the money assigned by the government for their pension would not have been sufficient for even a hundredth part of the number of invalids. maxim showed a face with two wide open eyes, to which all the passers-by looked the same. he distinguished with difficulty between a man and a telegraph post, and wore a smile of mingled apprehension and confidence. the sound feet stepped hesitatingly, keeping behind israel, and it was hard to say which steadied himself most against the other. struli limped forward, and kept open eyes for two. sometimes he would look round at the box on maxim's shoulders, as though he felt its weight as much as maxim. meantime the railway carriages had emptied and refilled, and the locomotive gave a great blast, received an answer from somewhere a long way off, a whistle for a whistle, and the train set off, slowly at first, and then gradually faster and faster, till all that remained of it were puffs of smoke hanging in the air without rhyme or reason. the two felt more depressed than ever. "something to eat? where are we to get a bite?" was in their minds. suddenly yisroel remembered with a start: this was the anniversary of his mother's death--if he could only say one kaddish for her in a klaus! "is it far from here to a klaus?" he inquired of a passer-by. "there is one a little way down that side-street," was the reply. "maxim!" he begged of the other, "come with me!" "where to?" "to the synagogue." maxim shuddered from head to foot. his fear of a jewish shool had not left him, and a thousand foolish terrors darted through his head. but his comrade's voice was so gentle, so childishly imploring, that he could not resist it, and he agreed to go with him into the shool. it was the time for afternoon prayer, the daylight and the dark held equal sway within the klaus, the lamps before the platform increasing the former to the east and the latter to the west. maxim and yisroel stood in the western part, enveloped in shadow. the cantor had just finished "incense," and was entering upon ashré, and the melancholy night chant of minchah and maariv gradually entranced maxim's emotional roumanian heart. the low, sad murmur of the cantor seemed to him like the distant surging of a sea, in which men were drowned by the hundreds and suffocating with the water. then, the ashré and the kaddish ended, there was silence. the congregation stood up for the eighteen benedictions. here and there you heard a half-stifled sigh. and now it seemed to maxim that he was in the hospital at night, at the hour when the groans grow less frequent, and the sufferers fall one by one into a sweet sleep. tears started into his eyes without his knowing why. he was no longer afraid, but a sudden shyness had come over him, and he felt, as he watched yisroel repeating the kaddish, that the words, which he, maxim, could not understand, were being addressed to someone unseen, and yet mysteriously present in the darkening shool. when the prayers were ended, one of the chief members of the congregation approached the "mandchurian," and gave yisroel a coin into his hand. yisroel looked round--he did not understand at first what the donor meant by it. then it occurred to him--and the blood rushed to his face. he gave the coin to his companion, and explained in a half-sentence or two how they had come by it. once outside the klaus, they both cried, after which they felt better. "a livelihood!" the same thought struck them both. "we can go into partnership!" at the matzes it was quite early in the morning, when sossye, the scribe's daughter, a girl of seventeen, awoke laughing; a sunbeam had broken through the rusty window, made its way to her underneath the counterpane, and there opened her eyes. it woke her out of a deep dream which she was ashamed to recall, but the dream came back to her of itself, and made her laugh. had she known whom she was going to meet in her dreams, she would have lain down in her clothes, occurs to her, and she laughs aloud. "got up laughing!" scolds her mother. "there's a piece of good luck for you! it's a sign of a black year for her (may it be to my enemies!)." sossye proceeds to dress herself. she does not want to fall out with her mother to-day, she wants to be on good terms with everyone. in the middle of dressing she loses herself in thought, with one naked foot stretched out and an open stocking in her hands, wondering how the dream would have ended, if she had not awoke so soon. chayyimel, a villager's son, who boards with her mother, passes the open doors leading to sossye's room, and for the moment he is riveted to the spot. his eyes dance, the blood rushes to his cheeks, he gets all he can by looking, and then hurries away to cheder without his breakfast, to study the song of songs. and sossye, fresh and rosy from sleep, her brown eyes glowing under the tumbled gold locks, betakes herself to the kitchen, where her mother, with her usual worried look, is blowing her soul out before the oven into a smoky fire of damp wood. "look at the girl standing round like a fool! run down to the cellar, and fetch me an onion and some potatoes!" sossye went down to the cellar, and found the onions and potatoes sprouting. at sight of a green leaf, her heart leapt. greenery! greenery! summer is coming! and the whole of her dream came back to her! "look, mother, green sprouts!" she cried, rushing into the kitchen. "a thousand bad dreams on your head! the onions are spoilt, and she laughs! my enemies' eyes will creep out of their lids before there will be fresh greens to eat, and all this, woe is me, is only fit to throw away!" "greenery, greenery!" thought sossye, "summer is coming!" greenery had got into her head, and there it remained, and from greenery she went on to remember that to-day was the first passover-cake baking at gedalyeh the baker's, and that shloimeh shieber would be at work there. having begged of her mother the one pair of boots that stood about in the room and fitted everyone, she put them on, and was off to the matzes. it was, as we have said, the first day's work at gedalyeh the baker's, and the sack of passover flour had just been opened. gravely, the flour-boy, a two weeks' orphan, carried the pot of flour for the mehereh, and poured it out together with remembrances of his mother, who had died in the hospital of injuries received at _their_ hands, and the water-boy came up behind him, and added recollections of his own. "the hooligans threw his father into the water off the bridge--may they pay for it, süsser gott! may they live till he is a man, and can settle his account with them!" thus the grey-headed old henoch, the kneader, and he kneaded it all into the dough, with thoughts of his own grandchildren: this one fled abroad, the other in the regiment, and a third in prison. the dough stiffens, the horny old hands work it with difficulty. the dough gets stiffer every year, and the work harder, it is time for him to go to the asylum! the dough is kneaded, cut up in pieces, rolled and riddled--is that a token for the whole congregation of israel? and now appear the round matzes, which must wander on a shovel into the heated oven of shloimeh shieber, first into one corner, and then into another, till another shovel throws them out into a new world, separated from the old by a screen thoroughly scoured for passover, which now rises and now falls. there they are arranged in columns, a reminder of pithom and rameses. kuk-ruk, kuk-ruk, ruk-ruk, whisper the still warm matzes one to another; they also are remembering, and they tell the tale of the exodus after their fashion, the tale of the flight out of egypt--only they have seen more flights than one. thus are the matzes kneaded and baked by the jews, with "thoughts." the gentiles call them "blood," and assert that jews need blood for their matzes, and they take the trouble to supply us with fresh "thoughts" every year! but at gedalyeh the baker's all is still cheerfulness. girls and boys, in their unspent vigor, surround the tables, there is rolling and riddling and cleaning of clean rolling-pins with pieces of broken glass (from where ever do jews get so much broken glass?), and the whole town is provided with kosher matzes. jokes and silver trills escape the lively young workers, the company is as merry as though the exodus were to-morrow. but it won't be to-morrow. look at them well, because another day you will not find them so merry, they will not seem like the same. one of the likely lads has left his place, and suddenly appeared at a table beside a pretty, curly-haired girl. he has hurried over his matzes, and now he wants to help her. she thanks him for his attention with a rolling-pin over the fingers, and there is such laughter among the spectators that berke, the old overseer, exclaims, "what impertinence!" but he cannot finish, because he has to laugh himself. there is a spark in the embers of his being which the girlish merriment around him kindles anew. and the other lads are jealous of the beaten one. they know very well that no girl would hit a complete stranger, and that the blow only meant, "impudent boy, why need the world know of anything between us?" shloimehle shieber, armed with the shovels, stands still for a minute trying to distinguish sossye's voice in the peals of laughter. the matzes under his care are browning in the oven. and sossye takes it into her head to make her matzes with one pointed corner, so that he may perhaps know them for hers, and laughs to herself as she does so. there is one table to the side of the room which was not there last year; it was placed there for the formerly well-to-do housemistresses, who last year, when they came to bake their matzes, gave yom-tov money to the others. here all goes on quietly; the laughter of the merry people breaks against the silence, and is swallowed up. the work grows continually pleasanter and more animated. the riddler stamps two or three matzes with hieroglyphs at once, in order to show off. shloimeh at the oven cannot keep pace with him, and grows angry: "may all bad...." the wish is cut short in his mouth, he has caught a glance of sossye's through the door of the baking-room, he answers with two, gets three back, sossye pursing her lips to signify a kiss. shloimeh folds his hands, which also means something. meantime ten matzes get scorched, and one of sossye's is pulled in two. "brennen brennt mir mein harz," starts a worker singing in a plaintive key. "come! hush, hush!" scolds old berke. "songs, indeed! what next, you impudent boy?" "my sorrows be on their head!" sighs a neighbor of sossye's. "they'd soon be tired of their life, if they were me. i've left two children at home fit to scream their hearts out. the other is at the breast, i have brought it along. it is quiet just now, by good luck." "what is the use of a poor woman's having children?" exclaims another, evidently "expecting" herself. indeed, she has a child a year--and a seven-days' mourning a year afterwards. "do you suppose i ask for them? do you think i cry my eyes out for them before god?" "if she hasn't any, who's to inherit her place at the matzes-baking--a hundred years hence?" "all very well for you to talk, _you're_ a grass-widow (to no jewish daughter may it apply!)!" "may such a blow be to my enemies as he'll surely come back again!" "it's about time! after three years!" "will you shut up, or do you want another beating?" sossye went off into a fresh peal of laughter, and the shovel fell out of shloimeh's hand. again he caught a glance, but this time she wrinkled her nose at him, as much as to say, "fie, you shameless boy! can't you behave yourself even before other people?" hereupon the infant gave account of itself in a small, shrill voice, and the general commotion went on increasing. the overseer scolded, the matzes-printing-wheel creaked and squeaked, the bits of glass were ground against the rolling-pins, there was a humming of songs and a proclaiming of secrets, followed by bursts of laughter, sossye's voice ringing high above the rest. and the sun shone into the room through the small window--a white spot jumped around and kissed everyone there. is it the spirit of israel delighting in her young men and maidens and whispering in their ears: "what if it _is_ matzes-kneading, and what if it _is_ exile? only let us be all together, only let us all be merry!" or is it the spring, transformed into a white patch of sunshine, in which all have equal share, and which has not forgotten to bring good news into the house of gedalyeh the matzeh-baker? a beautiful sun was preparing to set, and promised another fine day for the morrow. "ding-dong, gul-gul-gul-gul-gul-gul!" it was the convent bells calling the christians to confession! all tongues were silenced round the tables at gedalyeh the baker's. a streak of vapor dimmed the sun, and gloomy thoughts settled down upon the hearts of the workers. "easter! _their_ easter is coming on!" and mothers' eyes sought their children. the white patch of sunshine suddenly gave a terrified leap across the ceiling and vanished in a corner. "kik-kik, kik-rik, kik-rik," whispered the hot matzes. who is to know what they say? who can tell, now that the jews have baked this year's matzes, how soon _they_ will set about providing them with material for the next?--"thoughts," and broken glass for the rolling-pins. david frischmann born, , in lodz, russian poland, of a family of merchants; education, jewish and secular, the latter with special attention to foreign languages and literatures; has spent most of his life in warsaw; hebrew critic, editor, poet, satirist, and writer of fairy tales; translator of george eliot's daniel deronda into hebrew; contributor to sholom-alechem's jüdische volksbibliothek, spektor's hausfreund, and various periodicals; editor of monthly publication reshafim; collected works in hebrew, ketabim nibharim, vols., warsaw, - , and reshimot, parts, warsaw, . three who ate once upon a time three people ate. i recall the event as one recalls a dream. black clouds obscure the men, because it happened long ago. only sometimes it seems to me that there are no clouds, but a pillar of fire lighting up the men and their doings, and the fire grows bigger and brighter, and gives light and warmth to this day. i have only a few words to tell you, two or three words: once upon a time three people ate. not on a workday or an ordinary sabbath, but on a day of atonement that fell on a sabbath. not in a corner where no one sees or hears, but before all the people in the great shool, in the principal shool of the town. neither were they ordinary men, these three, but the chief jews of the community: the rabbi and his two dayonim. the townsfolk looked up to them as if they had been angels, and certainly held them to be saints. and now, as i write these words, i remember how difficult it was for me to understand, and how i sometimes used to think the rabbi and his dayonim had done wrong. but even then i felt that they were doing a tremendous thing, that they were holy men with holy instincts, and that it was not easy for them to act thus. who knows how hard they fought with themselves, who knows how they suffered, and what they endured? and even if i live many years and grow old, i shall never forget the day and the men, and what was done on it, for they were no ordinary men, but great heroes. those were bitter times, such as had not been for long, and such as will not soon return. a great calamity had descended on us from heaven, and had spread abroad among the towns and over the country: the cholera had broken out. the calamity had reached us from a distant land, and entered our little town, and clutched at young and old. by day and by night men died like flies, and those who were left hung between life and death. who can number the dead who were buried in those days! who knows the names of the corpses which lay about in heaps in the streets! in the jewish street the plague made great ravages: there was not a house where there lay not one dead--not a family in which the calamity had not broken out. in the house where we lived, on the second floor, nine people died in one day. in the basement there died a mother and four children, and in the house opposite we heard wild cries one whole night through, and in the morning we became aware that there was no one left in it alive. the grave-diggers worked early and late, and the corpses lay about in the streets like dung. they stuck one to the other like clay, and one walked over dead bodies. the summer broke up, and there came the solemn days, and then the most dreadful day of all--the day of atonement. i shall remember that day as long as i live. the eve of the day of atonement--the reciting of kol nidré! at the desk before the ark there stands, not as usual the precentor and two householders, but the rabbi and his two dayonim. the candles are burning all round, and there is a whispering of the flames as they grow taller and taller. the people stand at their reading-desks with grave faces, and draw on the robes and prayer-scarfs, the spanish hoods and silver girdles; and their shadows sway this way and that along the walls, and might be the ghosts of the dead who died to-day and yesterday and the day before yesterday. evidently they could not rest in their graves, and have also come into the shool. hush!... the rabbi has begun to say something, and the dayonim, too, and a groan rises from the congregation. "with the consent of the all-present and with the consent of this congregation, we give leave to pray with them that have transgressed." and a great fear fell upon me and upon all the people, young and old. in that same moment i saw the rabbi mount the platform. is he going to preach? is he going to lecture the people at a time when they are falling dead like flies? but the rabbi neither preached nor lectured. he only called to remembrance the souls of those who had died in the course of the last few days. but how long it lasted! how many names he mentioned! the minutes fly one after the other, and the rabbi has not finished! will the list of souls never come to an end? never? and it seems to me the rabbi had better call out the names of those who are left alive, because they are few, instead of the names of the dead, who are without number and without end. i shall never forget that night and the praying, because it was not really praying, but one long, loud groan rising from the depth of the human heart, cleaving the sky and reaching to heaven. never since the world began have jews prayed in greater anguish of soul, never have hotter tears fallen from human eyes. _that_ night no one left the shool. after the prayers they recited the hymn of unity, and after that the psalms, and then chapters from the mishnah, and then ethical books.... and i also stand among the congregation and pray, and my eyelids are heavy as lead, and my heart beats like a hammer. "u-malochim yechofézun--and the angels fly around." and i fancy i see them flying in the shool, up and down, up and down. and among them i see the bad angel with the thousand eyes, full of eyes from head to feet. that night no one left the shool, but early in the morning there were some missing--two of the congregation had fallen during the night, and died before our eyes, and lay wrapped in their prayer-scarfs and white robes--nothing was lacking for their journey from the living to the dead. they kept on bringing messages into the shool from the gass, but nobody wanted to listen or to ask questions, lest he should hear what had happened in his own house. no matter how long i live, i shall never forget that night, and all i saw and heard. but the day of atonement, the day that followed, was more awful still. and even now, when i shut my eyes, i see the whole picture, and i think i am standing once more among the people in the shool. it is atonement day in the afternoon. the rabbi stands on the platform in the centre of the shool, tall and venerable, and there is a fascination in his noble features. and there, in the corner of the shool, stands a boy who never takes his eyes off the rabbi's face. in truth i never saw a nobler figure. the rabbi is old, seventy or perhaps eighty years, but tall and straight as a fir-tree. his long beard is white like silver, but the thick, long hair of his head is whiter still, and his face is blanched, and his lips are pale, and only his large black eyes shine and sparkle like the eyes of a young lion. i stood in awe of him when i was a little child. i knew he was a man of god, one of the greatest authorities in the law, whose advice was sought by the whole world. i knew also that he inclined to leniency in all his decisions, and that none dared oppose him. the sight i saw that day in shool is before my eyes now. the rabbi stands on the platform, and his black eyes gleam and shine in the pale face and in the white hair and beard. the additional service is over, and the people are waiting to hear what the rabbi will say, and one is afraid to draw one's breath. and the rabbi begins to speak. his weak voice grows stronger and higher every minute, and at last it is quite loud. he speaks of the sanctity of the day of atonement and of the holy torah; of repentance and of prayer, of the living and of the dead, and of the pestilence that has broken out and that destroys without pity, without rest, without a pause--for how long? for how much longer? and by degrees his pale cheeks redden and his lips also, and i hear him say: "and when trouble comes to a man, he must look to his deeds, and not only to those which concern him and the almighty, but to those which concern himself, to his body, to his flesh, to his own health." i was a child then, but i remember how i began to tremble when i heard these words, because i had understood. the rabbi goes on speaking. he speaks of cleanliness and wholesome air, of dirt, which is dangerous to man, and of hunger and thirst, which are men's bad angels when there is a pestilence about, devouring without pity. and the rabbi goes on to say: "and men shall live by my commandments, and not die by them. there are times when one must turn aside from the law, if by so doing a whole community may be saved." i stand shaking with fear. what does the rabbi want? what does he mean by his words? what does he think to accomplish? and suddenly i see that he is weeping, and my heart beats louder and louder. what has happened? why does he weep? and there i stand in the corner, in the silence, and i also begin to cry. and to this day, if i shut my eyes, i see him standing on the platform, and he makes a sign with his hand to the two dayonim to the left and right of him. he and they whisper together, and he says something in their ear. what has happened? why does his cheek flame, and why are theirs as white as chalk? and suddenly i hear them talking, but i cannot understand them, because the words do not enter my brain. and yet all three are speaking so sharply and clearly! and all the people utter a groan, and after the groan i hear the words, "with the consent of the all-present and with the consent of this congregation, we give leave to eat and drink on the day of atonement." silence. not a sound is heard in the shool, not an eyelid quivers, not a breath is drawn. and i stand in my corner and hear my heart beating: one--two--one--two. a terror comes over me, and it is black before my eyes. the shadows move to and fro on the wall, and amongst the shadows i see the dead who died yesterday and the day before yesterday and the day before the day before yesterday--a whole people, a great assembly. and suddenly i grasp what it is the rabbi asks of us. the rabbi calls on us to eat, to-day! the rabbi calls on jews to eat on the day of atonement--not to fast, because of the cholera--because of the cholera--because of the cholera ... and i begin to cry loudly. and it is not only i--the whole congregation stands weeping, and the dayonim on the platform weep, and the greatest of all stands there sobbing like a child. and he implores like a child, and his words are soft and gentle, and every now and then he weeps so that his voice cannot be heard. "eat, jews, eat! to-day we must eat. this is a time to turn aside from the law. we are to live through the commandments, and not die through them!" but no one in the shool has stirred from his place, and there he stands and begs of them, weeping, and declares that he takes the whole responsibility on himself, that the people shall be innocent. but no one stirs. and presently he begins again in a changed voice--he does not beg, he commands: "i give you leave to eat--i--i--i!" and his words are like arrows shot from the bow. but the people are deaf, and no one stirs. then he begins again with his former voice, and implores like a child: "what would you have of me? why will you torment me till my strength fails? think you i have not struggled with myself from early this morning till now?" and the dayonim also plead with the people. and of a sudden the rabbi grows as white as chalk, and lets his head fall on his breast. there is a groan from one end of the shool to the other, and after the groan the people are heard to murmur among themselves. then the rabbi, like one speaking to himself, says: "it is god's will. i am eighty years old, and have never yet transgressed a law. but this is also a law, it is a precept. doubtless the almighty wills it so! beadle!" the beadle comes, and the rabbi whispers a few words into his ear. he also confers with the dayonim, and they nod their heads and agree. and the beadle brings cups of wine for sanctification, out of the rabbi's chamber, and little rolls of bread. and though i should live many years and grow very old, i shall never forget what i saw then, and even now, when i shut my eyes, i see the whole thing: three rabbis standing on the platform in shool, and eating before the whole people, on the day of atonement! the three belong to the heroes. who shall tell how they fought with themselves, who shall say how they suffered, and what they endured? "i have done what you wished," says the rabbi, and his voice does not shake, and his lips do not tremble. "god's name be praised!" and all the jews ate that day, they ate and wept. rays of light beam forth from the remembrance, and spread all around, and reach the table at which i sit and write these words. once again: three people ate. at the moment when the awesome scene in the shool is before me, there are three jews sitting in a room opposite the shool, and they also are eating. they are the three "enlightened" ones of the place: the tax-collector, the inspector, and the teacher. the window is wide open, so that all may see; on the table stands a samovar, glasses of red wine, and eatables. and the three sit with playing-cards in their hands, playing preference, and they laugh and eat and drink. do they also belong to the heroes? micha joseph berdyczewski born, , in berschad, podolia, southwestern russia; educated in yeshibah of volozhin; studied also modern literatures in his youth; has been living alternately in berlin and breslau; hebrew, yiddish, and german writer, on philosophy, æsthetics, and jewish literary, spiritual, and timely questions; contributor to hebrew periodicals; editor of bet-midrash, supplement to bet-ozar ha-sifrut; contributed ueber den zusammenhang zwischen ethik und aesthetik to berner studien zur philosophie und ihrer geschichte; author of two novels, mibayit u-mihuz, and mahanaim; a book on the hasidim, warsaw, ; jüdische ketobim vun a weiten korov, warsaw; hebrew essays on miscellaneous subjects, eleven parts, warsaw and breslau (in course of publication). military service "they look as if they'd enough of me!" so i think to myself, as i give a glance at my two great top-boots, my wide trousers, and my shabby green uniform, in which there is no whole part left. i take a bit of looking-glass out of my box, and look at my reflection. yes, the military cap on my head is a beauty, and no mistake, as big as og king of bashan, and as bent and crushed as though it had been sat upon for years together. under the cap appears a small, washed-out face, yellow and weazened, with two large black eyes that look at me somewhat wildly. i don't recognize myself; i remember me in a grey jacket, narrow, close-fitting trousers, a round hat, and a healthy complexion. i can't make out where i got those big eyes, why they shine so, why my face should be yellow, and my nose, pointed. and yet i know that it is i myself, chayyim blumin, and no other; that i have been handed over for a soldier, and have to serve only two years and eight months, and not three years and eight months, because i have a certificate to the effect that i have been through the first four classes in a secondary school. though i know quite well that i am to serve only two years and eight months, i feel the same as though it were to be forever; i can't, somehow, believe that my time will some day expire, and i shall once more be free. i have tried from the very beginning not to play any tricks, to do my duty and obey orders, so that they should not say, "a jew won't work--a jew is too lazy." even though i am let off manual labor, because i am on "privileged rights," still, if they tell me to go and clean the windows, or polish the flooring with sand, or clear away the snow from the door, i make no fuss and go. i wash and clean and polish, and try to do the work well, so that they should find no fault with me. they haven't yet ordered me to carry pails of water. why should i not confess it? the idea of having to do that rather frightens me. when i look at the vessel in which the water is carried, my heart begins to flutter: the vessel is almost as big as i am, and i couldn't lift it even if it were empty. i often think: what shall i do, if to-morrow, or the day after, they wake me at three o'clock in the morning and say coolly: "get up, blumin, and go with ossadtchok to fetch a pail of water!" you ought to see my neighbor ossadtchok! he looks as if he could squash me with one finger. it is as easy for him to carry a pail of water as to drink a glass of brandy. how can i compare myself with him? i don't care if it makes my shoulder swell, if i could only carry the thing. i shouldn't mind about that. but god in heaven knows the truth, that i won't be able to lift the pail off the ground, only they won't believe me, they will say: "look at the lazy jew, pretending he is a poor creature that can't lift a pail!" there--i mind that more than anything. i don't suppose they _will_ send me to fetch water, for, after all, i am on "privileged rights," but i can't sleep in peace: i dream all night that they are waking me at three o'clock, and i start up bathed in a cold sweat. drill does not begin before eight in the morning, but they wake us at six, so that we may have time to clean our rifles, polish our boots and leather girdle, brush our coat, and furbish the brass buttons with chalk, so that they should shine like mirrors. i don't mind the getting up early, i am used to rising long before daylight, but i am always worrying lest something shouldn't be properly cleaned, and they should say that a jew is so lazy, he doesn't care if his things are clean or not, that he's afraid of touching his rifle, and pay me other compliments of the kind. i clean and polish and rub everything all i know, but my rifle always seems in worse condition than the other men's. i can't make it look the same as theirs, do what i will, and the head of my division, a corporal, shouts at me, calls me a greasy fellow, and says he'll have me up before the authorities because i don't take care of my arms. but there is worse than the rifle, and that is the uniform. mine is _years_ old--i am sure it is older than i am. every day little pieces fall out of it, and the buttons tear themselves out of the cloth, dragging bits of it after them. i never had a needle in my hand in all my life before, and now i sit whole nights and patch and sew on buttons. and next morning, when the corporal takes hold of a button and gives a pull, to see if it's firmly sewn, a pang goes through my heart: the button is dragged out, and a piece of the uniform follows. another whole night's work for me! after the inspection, they drive us out into the yard and teach us to stand: it must be done so that our stomachs fall in and our chests stick out. i am half as one ought to be, because my stomach is flat enough anyhow, only my chest is weak and narrow and also flat--flat as a board. the corporal squeezes in my stomach with his knee, pulls me forward by the flaps of the coat, but it's no use. he loses his temper, and calls me greasy fellow, screams again that i am pretending, that i _won't_ serve, and this makes my chest fall in more than ever. i like the gymnastics. in summer we go out early into the yard, which is very wide and covered with thick grass. it smells delightfully, the sun warms us through, it feels so pleasant. the breeze blows from the fields, i open my mouth and swallow the freshness, and however much i swallow, it's not enough, i should like to take in all the air there is. then, perhaps, i should cough less, and grow a little stronger. we throw off the old uniforms, and remain in our shirts, we run and leap and go through all sorts of performances with our hands and feet, and it's splendid! at home i never had so much as an idea of such fun. at first i was very much afraid of jumping across the ditch, but i resolved once and for all--i've _got_ to jump it. if the worst comes to the worst, i shall fall and bruise myself. suppose i do? what then? why do all the others jump it and don't care? one needn't be so very strong to jump! and one day, before the gymnastics had begun, i left my comrades, took heart and a long run, and when i came to the ditch, i made a great bound, and, lo and behold, i was over on the other side! i couldn't believe my own eyes that i had done it so easily. ever since then i have jumped across ditches, and over mounds, and down from mounds, as well as any of them. only when it comes to climbing a ladder or swinging myself over a high bar, i know it spells misfortune for me. i spring forward, and seize the first rung with my right hand, but i cannot reach the second with my left. i stretch myself, and kick out with my feet, but i cannot reach any higher, not by so much as a vershok, and so there i hang and kick with my feet, till my right arm begins to tremble and hurt me. my head goes round, and i fall onto the grass. the corporal abuses me as usual, and the soldiers laugh. i would give ten years of my life to be able to get higher, if only three or four rungs, but what can i do, if my arms won't serve me? sometimes i go out to the ladder by myself, while the soldiers are still asleep, and stand and look at it: perhaps i can think of a way to manage? but in vain. thinking, you see, doesn't help you in these cases. sometimes they tell one of the soldiers to stand in the middle of the yard with his back to us, and we have to hop over him. he bends down a little, lowers his head, rests his hands on his knees, and we hop over him one at a time. one takes a good run, and when one comes to him, one places both hands on his shoulders, raises oneself into the air, and--over! i know exactly how it ought to be done; i take the run all right, and plant my hands on his shoulders, only i can't raise myself into the air. and if i do lift myself up a little way, i remain sitting on the soldier's neck, and were it not for his seizing me by the feet, i should fall, and perhaps kill myself. then the corporal and another soldier take hold of me by the arms and legs, and throw me over the man's head, so that i may see there is nothing dreadful about it, as though i did not jump right over him because i was afraid, while it is that my arms are so weak, i cannot lean upon them and raise myself into the air. but when i say so, they only laugh, and don't believe me. they say, "it won't help you; you will have to serve anyhow!" * * * * * when, on the other hand, it comes to "theory," the corporal is very pleased with me. he says that except himself no one knows "theory" as i do. he never questions me now, only when one of the others doesn't know something, he turns to me: "well, blumin, _you_ tell me!" i stand up without hurrying, and am about to answer, but he is apparently not pleased with my way of rising from my seat, and orders me to sit down again. "when your superior speaks to you," says he, "you ought to jump up as though the seat were hot," and he looks at me angrily, as much as to say, "you may know theory, but you'll please to know your manners as well, and treat me with proper respect." "stand up again and answer!" i start up as though i felt a prick from a needle, and answer the question as he likes it done: smartly, all in one breath, and word for word according to the book. he, meanwhile, looks at the primer, to make sure i am not leaving anything out, but as he reads very slowly, he cannot catch me up, and when i have got to the end, he is still following with his finger and reading. and when he has finished, he gives me a pleased look, and says enthusiastically "right!" and tells me to sit down again. "theory," he says, "that you _do_ know!" well, begging his pardon, it isn't much to know. and yet there are soldiers who are four years over it, and don't know it then. for instance, take my comrade ossadtchok; he says that, when it comes to "theory", he would rather go and hang or drown himself. he says, he would rather have to carry three pails of water than sit down to "theory." i tell him, that if he would learn to read, he could study the whole thing by himself in a week; but he won't listen. "nobody," he says, "will ever ask _my_ advice." one thing always alarmed me very much: however was i to take part in the manoeuvres? i cannot lift a single pud (i myself only weigh two pud and thirty pounds), and if i walk three versts, my feet hurt, and my heart beats so violently that i think it's going to burst my side. at the manoeuvres i should have to carry as much as fifty pounds' weight, and perhaps more: a rifle, a cloak, a knapsack with linen, boots, a uniform, a tent, bread, and onions, and a few other little things, and should have to walk perhaps thirty to forty versts a day. but when the day and the hour arrived, and the command was given "forward, march!" when the band struck up, and two thousand men set their feet in motion, something seemed to draw me forward, and i went. at the beginning i found it hard, i felt weighted to the earth, my left shoulder hurt me so, i nearly fainted. but afterwards i got very hot, i began to breathe rapidly and deeply, my eyes were starting out of my head like two cupping-glasses, and i not only walked, i ran, so as not to fall behind--and so i ended by marching along with the rest, forty versts a day. only i did not sing on the march like the others. first, because i did not feel so very cheerful, and second, because i could not breathe properly, let alone sing. at times i felt burning hot, but immediately afterwards i would grow light, and the marching was easy, i seemed to be carried along rather than to tread the earth, and it appeared to me as though another were marching in my place, only that my left shoulder ached, and i was hot. i remember that once it rained a whole night long, it came down like a deluge, our tents were soaked through, and grew heavy. the mud was thick. at three o'clock in the morning an alarm was sounded, we were ordered to fold up our tents and take to the road again. so off we went. it was dark and slippery. it poured with rain. i was continually stepping into a puddle, and getting my boot full of water. i shivered and shook, and my teeth chattered with cold. that is, i was cold one minute and hot the next. but the marching was no difficulty to me, i scarcely felt that i was on the march, and thought very little about it. indeed, i don't know what i _was_ thinking about, my mind was a blank. we marched, turned back, and marched again. then we halted for half an hour, and turned back again. and this went on a whole night and a whole day. then it turned out that there had been a mistake: it was not we who ought to have marched, but another regiment, and we ought not to have moved from the spot. but there was no help for it then. it was night. we had eaten nothing all day. the rain poured down, the mud was ankle-deep, there was no straw on which to pitch our tents, but we managed somehow. and so the days passed, each like the other. but i got through the manoeuvres, and was none the worse. now i am already an old soldier; i have hardly another year and a half to serve--about sixteen months. i only hope i shall not be ill. it seems i got a bit of a chill at the manoeuvres, i cough every morning, and sometimes i suffer with my feet. i shiver a little at night till i get warm, and then i am very hot, and i feel very comfortable lying abed. but i shall probably soon be all right again. they say, one may take a rest in the hospital, but i haven't been there yet, and don't want to go at all, especially now i am feeling better. the soldiers are sorry for me, and sometimes they do my work, but not just for love. i get three pounds of bread a day, and don't eat more than one pound. the rest i give to my comrade ossadtchok. he eats it all, and his own as well, and then he could do with some more. in return for this he often cleans my rifle, and sometimes does other work for me, when he sees i have no strength left. i am also teaching him and a few other soldiers to read and write, and they are very pleased. my corporal also comes to me to be taught, but he never gives me a word of thanks. the superior of the platoon, when he isn't drunk, and is in good humor, says "you" to me instead of "thou," and sometimes invites me to share his bed--i can breathe easier there, because there is more air, and i don't cough so much, either. only it sometimes happens that he comes back from town tipsy, and makes a great to-do: how do i, a common soldier, come to be sitting on his bed? he orders me to get up and stand before him "at attention," and declares he will "have me up" for it. when, however, he has sobered down, he turns kind again, and calls me to him; he likes me to tell him "stories" out of books. sometimes the orderly calls me into the orderly-room, and gives me a report to draw up, or else a list or a calculation to make. he himself writes badly, and is very poor at figures. i do everything he wants, and he is very glad of my help, only it wouldn't do for him to confess to it, and when i have finished, he always says to me: "if the commanding officer is not satisfied, he will send you to fetch water." i know it isn't true, first, because the commanding officer mustn't know that i write in the orderly-room, a jew can't be an army secretary; secondly, because he is certain to be satisfied: he once gave me a note to write himself, and was very pleased with it. "if you were not a jew," he said to me then, "i should make a corporal of you." still, my corporal always repeats his threat about the water, so that i may preserve a proper respect for him, although i not only respect him, i tremble before his size. when _he_ comes back tipsy from town, and finds me in the orderly-room, he commands me to drag his muddy boots off his feet, and i obey him and drag off his boots. sometimes i don't care, and other times it hurts my feelings. isaiah berschadski pen name of isaiah domaschewitski; born, , near derechin, government of grodno (lithuania), white russia; died, , in warsaw; education, jewish and secular; teacher of hebrew in ekaterinoslav, southern russia; in business, in ekaterinoslav and baku; editor, in , of ha-zeman, first in st. petersburg, then in wilna; after a short sojourn in riga removed to warsaw; writer of novels and short stories, almost exclusively in hebrew; contributor to ha-meliz, ha-shiloah, and other periodicals; pen names besides berschadski: berschadi, and shimoni; collected works in hebrew, tefusim u-zelalim, warsaw, , and ketabim aharonim, warsaw, . forlorn and forsaken forlorn and forsaken she was in her last years. even when she lay on the bed of sickness where she died, not one of her relations or friends came to look after her; they did not even come to mourn for her or accompany her to the grave. there was not even one of her kin to say the first kaddish over her resting-place. my wife and i were the only friends she had at the close of her life, no one but us cared for her while she was ill, or walked behind her coffin. the only tears shed at the lonely old woman's grave were ours. i spoke the only kaddish for her soul, but we, after all, were complete strangers to her! yes, we were strangers to her, and she was a stranger to us! we made her acquaintance only a few years before her death, when she was living in two tiny rooms opposite the first house we settled in after our marriage. nobody ever came to see her, and she herself visited nowhere, except at the little store where she made her necessary purchases, and at the house-of-study near by, where she prayed twice every day. she was about sixty, rather undersized, and very thin, but more lithesome in her movements than is common at that age. her face was full of creases and wrinkles, and her light brown eyes were somewhat dulled, but her ready smile and quiet glance told of a good heart and a kindly temper. her simple old gown was always neat, her wig tastefully arranged, her lodging and its furniture clean and tidy--and all this attracted us to her from the first day onward. we were still more taken with her retiring manner, the quiet way in which she kept herself in the background and the slight melancholy of her expression, telling of a life that had held much sadness. we made advances. she was very willing to become acquainted with us, and it was not very long before she was like a mother to us, or an old aunt. my wife was then an inexperienced "housemistress" fresh to her duties, and found a great help in the old woman, who smilingly taught her how to proceed with the housekeeping. when our first child was born, she took it to her heart, and busied herself with its upbringing almost more than the young mother. it was evident that dandling the child in her arms was a joy to her beyond words. at such moments her eyes would brighten, her wrinkles grew faint, a curiously satisfied smile played round her lips, and a new note of joy came into her voice. at first sight all this seemed quite simple, because a woman is naturally inclined to care for little children, and it may have been so with her to an exceptional degree, but closer examination convinced me that here lay yet another reason; her attentions to the child, so it seemed, awakened pleasant memories of a long-ago past, when she herself was a young mother caring for children of her own, and looking at this strange child had stirred a longing for those other children, further from her eyes, but nearer to her heart, although perhaps quite unknown to her--who perhaps existed only in her imagination. and when we were made acquainted with the details of her life, we knew our conjectures to be true. her history was very simple and commonplace, but very tragic. perhaps the tragedy of such biographies lies in their being so very ordinary and simple! she lived quietly and happily with her husband for twenty years after their marriage. they were not rich, but their little house was a kingdom of delight, where no good thing was wanting. their business was farming land that belonged to a polish nobleman, a business that knows of good times and of bad, of fat years and lean years, years of high prices and years of low. but on the whole it was a good business and profitable, and it afforded them a comfortable living. besides, they were used to the country, they could not fancy themselves anywhere else. the very thing that had never entered their head is just what happened. in the beginning of the "eighties" they were obliged to leave the estate they had farmed for ten years, because the lease was up, and the recently promulgated "temporary laws" forbade them to renew it. this was bad for them from a material point of view, because it left them without regular income just when their children were growing up and expenses had increased, but their mental distress was so great, that, for the time, the financial side of the misfortune was thrown into the shade. when we made her acquaintance, many years had passed since then, many another trouble had come into her life, but one could hear tears in her voice while she told the story of that first misfortune. it was a bitter tisho-b'ov for them when they left the house, the gardens, the barns, and the stalls, their whole life, all those things concerning which they had forgotten, and their children had hardly known, that they were not their own possession. their town surroundings made them more conscious of their altered circumstances. she herself, the elder children oftener still, had been used to drive into the town now and again, but that was on pleasure trips, which had lasted a day or two at most; they had never tried staying there longer, and it was no wonder if they felt cramped and oppressed in town after their free life in the open. when they first settled there, they had a capital of about ten thousand rubles, but by reason of inexperience in their new occupation they were worsted in competition with others, and a few turns of bad luck brought them almost to ruin. the capital grew less from year to year; everything they took up was more of a struggle than the last venture; poverty came nearer and nearer, and the father of the family began to show signs of illness, brought on by town life and worry. this, of course, made their material position worse, and the knowledge of it reacted disastrously on his health. three years after he came to town, he died, and she was left with six children and no means of subsistence. already during her husband's life they had exchanged their first lodging for a second, a poorer and cheaper one, and after his death they moved into a third, meaner and narrower still, and sold their precious furniture, for which, indeed, there was no place in the new existence. but even so the question of bread and meat was not answered. they still had about six hundred rubles, but, as they were without a trade, it was easy to foresee that the little stock of money would dwindle day by day till there was none of it left--and what then? the eldest son, yossef, aged twenty-one, had gone from home a year before his father's death, to seek his fortune elsewhere; but his first letters brought no very good news, and now the second, avròhom, a lad of eighteen, and the daughter rochel, who was sixteen, declared their intention to start for america. the mother was against it, begged them with tears not to go, but they did not listen to her. parting with them, forever most likely, was bad enough in itself, but worst of all was the thought that her children, for whose jewish education their father had never grudged money even when times were hardest, should go to america, and there, forgetting everything they had learned, become "ganze goyim." she was quite sure that her husband would never have agreed to his children's being thus scattered abroad, and this encouraged her to oppose their will with more determination. she urged them to wait at least till their elder brother had achieved some measure of success, and could help them. she held out this hope to them, because she believed in her son yossef and his capacity, and was convinced that in a little time he would become their support. if only avròhom and rochel had not been so impatient (she would lament to us), everything would have turned out differently! they would not have been bustled off to the end of creation, and she would not have been left so lonely in her last years, but--it had apparently been so ordained! avròhom and rochel agreed to defer the journey, but when some months had passed, and yossef was still wandering from town to town, finding no rest for the sole of his foot, she had to give in to her children and let them go. they took with them two hundred rubles and sailed for america, and with the remaining three hundred rubles she opened a tiny shop. her expenses were not great now, as only the three younger children were left her, but the shop was not sufficient to support even these. the stock grew smaller month by month, there never being anything over wherewith to replenish it, and there was no escaping the fact that one day soon the shop would remain empty. and as if this were not enough, there came bad news from the children in america. they did not complain much; on the contrary, they wrote most hopefully about the future, when their position would certainly, so they said, improve; but the mother's heart was not to be deceived, and she felt instinctively that meanwhile they were doing anything but well, while later--who could foresee what would happen later? one day she got a letter from yossef, who wrote that, convinced of the impossibility of earning a livelihood within the pale, he was about to make use of an opportunity that offered itself, and settle in a distant town outside of it. this made her very sad, and she wept over her fate--to have a son living in a gentile city, where there were hardly any jews at all. and the next letter from america added sorrow to sorrow. avròhom and rochel had parted company, and were living in different towns. she could not bear the thought of her young daughter fending for herself among strangers--a thought that tortured her all the more as she had a peculiar idea of america. she herself could not account for the terror that would seize her whenever she remembered that strange, distant life. but the worst was nearly over; the turn for the better came soon. she received word from yossef that he had found a good position in his new home, and in a few weeks he proved his letter true by sending her money. from america, too, the news that came was more cheerful, even joyous. avròhom had secured steady work with good pay, and before long he wrote for his younger brother to join him in america, and provided him with all the funds he needed for travelling expenses. rochel had engaged herself to a young man, whose praises she sounded in her letters. soon after her wedding, she sent money to bring over another brother, and her husband added a few lines, in which he spoke of "his great love for his new relations," and how he "looked forward with impatience to having one of them, his dear brother-in-law, come to live with him." this was good and cheering news, and it all came within a year's time, but the mother's heart grieved over it more than it rejoiced. her delight at her daughter's marriage with a good man she loved was anything but unmixed. melancholy thoughts blended with it, whether she would or not. the occasion was one which a mother's fancy had painted in rainbow colors, on the preparations for which it had dwelt with untold pleasure--and now she had had no share in it at all, and her heart writhed under the disappointment. to make her still sadder, she was obliged to part with two more children. she tried to prevent their going, but they had long ago set their hearts on following their brother and sister to america, and the recent letters had made them more anxious to be off. so they started, and there remained only the youngest daughter, rivkeh, a girl of thirteen. their position was materially not a bad one, for every now and then the old woman received help from her children in america and from her son yossef, so that she was not even obliged to keep up the shop, but the mother in her was not satisfied, because she wanted to see her children's happiness with her own eyes. the good news that continued to arrive at intervals brought pain as well as pleasure, by reminding her how much less fortunate she was than other mothers, who were counted worthy to live together with their children, and not at a distance from them like her. the idea that she should go out to those of them who were in america, never occurred to her, or to them, either! but yossef, who had taken a wife in his new town, and who, soon after, had set up for himself, and was doing very well, now sent for his mother and little sister to come and live with him. at first the mother was unwilling, fearing that she might be in the way of her daughter-in-law, and thus disturb the household peace; even later, when she had assured herself that the young wife was very kind, and there was nothing to be afraid of, she could not make up her mind to go, even though she longed to be with yossef, her oldest son, who had always been her favorite, and however much she desired to see his wife and her little grandchildren. why she would not fulfil his wish and her own, she herself was not clearly conscious; but she shrank from the strange fashion of the life they led, and she never ceased to hope, deep down in her heart, that some day they would come back to her. and this especially with regard to yossef, who sometimes complained in his letters that his situation was anything but secure, because the smallest circumstance might bring about an edict of expulsion. she quite understood that her son would consider this a very bad thing, but she herself looked at it with other eyes; round about _here_, too, were people who made a comfortable living, and yossef was no worse than others, that he should not do the same. six or seven years passed in this way; the youngest daughter was twenty, and it was time to think of a match for her. her mother felt sure that yossef would provide the dowry, but she thought best rivkeh and her brother should see each other, and she consented readily to let rivkeh go to him, when yossef invited her to spend several months as his guest. no sooner had she gone, than the mother realized what it meant, this parting with her youngest and, for the last years, her only child. she was filled with regret at not having gone with her, and waited impatiently for her return. suddenly she heard that rivkeh had found favor with a friend of yossef's, the son of a well-to-do merchant, and that rivkeh and her brother were equally pleased with him. the two were already engaged, and the wedding was only deferred till she, the mother, should come and take up her abode with them for good. the longing to see her daughter overcame all her doubts. she resolved to go to her son, and began preparations for the start. these were just completed, when there came a letter from yossef to say that the situation had taken a sudden turn for the worse, and he and his family might have to leave their town. this sudden news was distressing and welcome at one and the same time. she was anxious lest the edict of expulsion should harm her son's position, and pleased, on the other hand, that he should at last be coming back, for god would not forsake him here, either; what with the fortune he had, and his aptitude for trade, he would make a living right enough. she waited anxiously, and in a few months had gone through all the mental suffering inherent in a state of uncertainty such as hers, when fear and hope are twined in one. the waiting was the harder to bear that all this time no letter from yossef or rivkeh reached her promptly. and the end of it all was this: news came that the danger was over, and yossef would remain where he was; but as far as she was concerned, it was best she should do likewise, because trailing about at her age was a serious thing, and it was not worth while her running into danger, and so on. the old woman was full of grief at remaining thus forlorn in her old age, and she longed more than ever for her children after having hoped so surely that she would be with them soon. she could not understand yossef's reason for suddenly changing his mind with regard to her coming; but it never occurred to her for one minute to doubt her children's affection. and we, when we had read the treasured bundle of letters from yossef and rivkeh, we could not doubt it, either. there was love and longing for the distant mother in every line, and several of the letters betrayed a spirit of bitterness, a note of complaining resentment against the hard times that had brought about the separation from her. and yet we could not help thinking, "out of sight, out of mind," that which is far from the eyes, weighs lighter at the heart. it was the only explanation we could invent, for why, otherwise, should the mother have to remain alone among strangers? all these considerations moved me to interfere in the matter without the old woman's knowledge. she could read yiddish, but could not write it, and before we made friends, her letters to the children were written by a shopkeeper of her acquaintance. but from the time we got to know her, i became her constant secretary, and one day, when writing to yossef for her, i made use of the opportunity to enclose a letter from myself. i asked his forgiveness for mixing myself up in another's family affairs, and tried to justify the interference by dwelling on our affectionate relations with his mother. i then described, in the most touching words at my command, how hard it was for her to live forlorn, how she pined for the presence of her children and grandchildren, and ended by telling them, that it was their duty to free their mother from all this mental suffering. there was no direct reply to this letter of mine, but the next one from the son to his mother gave her to understand that there are certain things not to be explained, while the impossibility of explaining them may lead to a misunderstanding. this hint made the position no clearer to us, and the fact of yossef's not answering me confirmed us in our previous suspicions. meanwhile our old friend fell ill, and quickly understood that she would soon die. among the things she begged me to do after her death and having reference to her burial, there was one particular petition several times repeated: to send a packet of hebrew books, which had been left by her husband, to her son yossef, and to inform him of her death by telegram. "my american children"--she explained with a sigh--"have certainly forgotten everything they once learned, forgotten all their jewishness! but my son yossef is a different sort; i feel sure of him, that he will say kaddish after me and read a chapter in the mishnah, and the books will come in useful for his children--grandmother's legacy to them." when i fulfilled the old woman's last wish, i learned how mistaken she had been. the answer to my letter written during her lifetime came now that she was dead. her children thanked us warmly for our care of her, and they also explained why she and they had remained apart. she had never known--and it was far better so--by what means her son had obtained the right to live outside the pale. it was enough that she should have to live _forlorn_, where would have been the good of her knowing that she was _forsaken_ as well--that the one of her children who had gone altogether over to "them" was yossef? tashrak pen name of israel joseph zevin; born, , in gori-gorki, government of mohileff (lithuania), white russia; came to new york in ; first yiddish sketch published in jüdisches tageblatt, ; first english story in the american hebrew, ; associate editor of jüdisches tageblatt; writer of sketches, short stories, and biographies, in hebrew, yiddish, and english; contributor to ha-ibri, jewish comment, and numerous yiddish periodicals; collected works, geklibene schriften, vol., new york, , and tashrak's beste erzählungen, vols., new york, . the hole in a beigel when i was a little cheder-boy, my rebbe, bunem-breine-gite's, a learned man, who was always tormenting me with talmudical questions and with riddles, once asked me, "what becomes of the hole in a beigel, when one has eaten the beigel?" this riddle, which seemed to me then very hard to solve, stuck in my head, and i puzzled over it day and night. i often bought a beigel, took a bite out of it, and immediately replaced the bitten-out piece with my hand, so that the hole should not escape. but when i had eaten up the beigel, the hole had somehow always disappeared, which used to annoy me very much. i went about preoccupied, thought it over at prayers and at lessons, till the rebbe noticed that something was wrong with me. at home, too, they remarked that i had lost my appetite, that i ate nothing but beigel--beigel for breakfast, beigel for dinner, beigel for supper, beigel all day long. they also observed that i ate it to the accompaniment of strange gestures and contortions of both my mouth and my hands. one day i summoned all my courage, and asked the rebbe, in the middle of a lesson on the pentateuch: "rebbe, when one has eaten a beigel, what becomes of the hole?" "why, you little silly," answered the rebbe, "what is a hole in a beigel? just nothing at all! a bit of emptiness! it's nothing _with_ the beigel and nothing _without_ the beigel!" many years have passed since then, and i have not yet been able to satisfy myself as to what is the object of a hole in a beigel. i have considered whether one could not have beigels without holes. one lives and learns. and america has taught me this: one _can_ have beigels without holes, for i saw them in a dairy-shop in east broadway. i at once recited the appropriate blessing, and then i asked the shopman about these beigels, and heard a most interesting history, which shows how difficult it is to get people to accept anything new, and what sacrifices it costs to introduce the smallest reform. this is the story: a baker in an illinois city took it into his head to make straight beigels, in the shape of candles. but this reform cost him dear, because the united owners of the bakeries in that city immediately made a set at him and boycotted him. they argued: "our fathers' fathers baked beigels with holes, the whole world eats beigels with holes, and here comes a bold coxcomb of a fellow, upsets the order of the universe, and bakes beigels _without_ holes! have you ever heard of such impertinence? it's just revolution! and if a person like this is allowed to go on, he will make an end of everything: to-day it's beigels without holes, to-morrow it will be holes without beigels! such a thing has never been known before!" and because of the hole in a beigel, a storm broke out in that city that grew presently into a civil war. the "bosses" fought on, and dragged the bakers'-hands union after them into the conflict. now the union contained two parties, of which one declared that a hole and a beigel constituted together a private affair, like religion, and that everyone had a right to bake beigels as he thought best, and according to his conscience. the other party maintained, that to sell beigels without holes was against the constitution, to which the first party replied that the constitution should be altered, as being too ancient, and contrary to the spirit of the times. at this the second party raised a clamor, crying that the rules could not be altered, because they were toras-lokshen and every letter, every stroke, every dot was a law in itself! the city papers were obliged to publish daily accounts of the meetings that were held to discuss the hole in a beigel, and the papers also took sides, and wrote fiery polemical articles on the subject. the quarrel spread through the city, until all the inhabitants were divided into two parties, the beigel-with-a-hole party and the beigel-without-a-hole party. children rose against their parents, wives against their husbands, engaged couples severed their ties, families were broken up, and still the battle raged--and all on account of the hole in a beigel! as the years roll on rosalie laid down the cloth with which she had been dusting the furniture in her front parlor, and began tapping the velvet covering of the sofa with her fingers. the velvet had worn threadbare in places, and there was a great rent in the middle. had the rent been at one of the ends, it could have been covered with a cushion, but there it was, by bad luck, in the very centre, and making a shameless display of itself: look, here i am! see what a rent! yesterday she and her husband had invited company. the company had brought children, and you never have children in the house without having them leave some mischief behind them. to-day the sun was shining more brightly than ever, and lighting up the whole room. rosalie took the opportunity to inspect her entire set of furniture. eight years ago, when she was given the set at her marriage, how happy, she had been! everything was so fresh and new. she had noticed before that the velvet was getting worn, and the polish of the chairs disappearing, and the seats losing their spring, but to-day all this struck her more than formerly. the holes, the rents, the damaged places, stared before them with such malicious mockery--like a poor man laughing at his own evil plight. rosalie felt a painful melancholy steal over her. now she could not but see that her furniture was old, that she would soon be ashamed to invite people into her parlor. and her husband will be in no hurry to present her with a new one--he has grown so parsimonious of late! she replaced the holland coverings of the sofa and chairs, and went out to do her bedroom. there, on a chair, lay her best dress, the one she had put on yesterday for her guests. she considered the dress: that, too, was frayed in places; here and there even drawn together and sewn over. the bodice was beyond ironing out again--and this was her best dress. she opened the wardrobe, for she wanted to make a general survey of her belongings. it was such a light day, one could see even in the back rooms. she took down one dress after another, and laid them out on the made beds, observing each with a critical eye. her sense of depression increased the while, and she felt as though stone on stone were being piled upon her heart. she began to put the clothes back into the wardrobe, and she hung up every one of them with a sigh. when she had finished with the bedroom, she went into the dining-room, and stood by the sideboard on which were set out her best china service and colored plates. she looked them over. one little gold-rimmed cup had lost its handle, a bowl had a piece glued in at the side. on the top shelf stood the statuette of a little god with a broken bow and arrow in his hand, and here there was one little goblet missing out of a whole service. as soon as everything was in order, rosalie washed her face and hands, combed up her hair, and began to look at herself in a little hand-glass, but the bath-room, to which she had retired, was dark, and she betook herself back into the front parlor, towel in hand, where she could see herself in the big looking-glass on the wall. time, which had left traces on the furniture, on the contents of the wardrobe, and on the china, had not spared the woman, though she had been married only eight years. she looked at the crow's-feet by her eyes, and the lines in her forehead, which the worrying thoughts of this day had imprinted there even more sharply than usual. she tried to smile, but the smile in the glass looked no more attractive than if she had given her mouth a twist. she remembered that the only way to remain young is to keep free from care. but how is one to set about it? she threw on a scarlet japanese kimono, and stuck an artificial flower into her hair, after which she lightly powdered her face and neck. the scarlet kimono lent a little color to her cheeks, and another critical glance at the mirror convinced her that she was still a comely woman, only no more a young one. the bloom of youth had fled, never to return. verfallen! and the desire to live was stronger than ever, even to live her life over again from the beginning, sorrows and all. she began to reflect what she should cook for supper. there was time enough, but she must think of something new: her husband was tired of her usual dishes. he said her cooking was old-fashioned, that it was always the same thing, day in and day out. his taste was evidently getting worn-out, too. and she wondered what she could prepare, so as to win back her husband's former good temper and affectionate appreciation. at one time he was an ardent young man, with a fiery tongue. he had great ideals, and he strove high. he talked of making mankind happy, more refined, more noble and free. he had dreamt of a world without tears and troubles, of a time when men should live as brothers, and jealousy and hatred should be unknown. in those days he loved with all the warmth of his youth, and when he talked of love, it was a delight to listen. the world grew to have another face for her then, life, another significance, paradise was situated on the earth. gradually his ideals lost their freshness, their shine wore off, and he became a business man, racking his brain with speculations, trying to grow rich without the necessary qualities and capabilities, and he was left at last with prematurely grey hair as the only result of his efforts. eight years after their marriage he was as worn as their furniture in the front parlor. rosalie looked out of the window. it was even much brighter outside than indoors. she saw people going up and down the street with different anxieties reflected in their faces, with wrinkles telling different histories of the cares of life. she saw old faces, and the young faces of those who seemed to have tasted of age ere they reached it. "everything is old and worn and shabby," whispered a voice in her ear. a burst of childish laughter broke upon her meditations. round the corner came with a rush a lot of little boys with books under their arms, their faces full of the zest of life, and dancing and jumping till the whole street seemed to be jumping and dancing, too. elder people turned smilingly aside to make way for them. among the children rosalie espied two little girls, also with books under their arms, her little girls! and the mother's heart suddenly brimmed with joy, a delicious warmth stole into her limbs and filled her being. rosalie went to the door to meet her two children on their return from school, and when she had given each little face a motherly kiss, she felt a breath of freshness and new life blowing round her. she took off their cloaks, and listened to their childish prattle about their teachers and the day's lessons. the clear voices rang through the rooms, awaking sympathetic echoes in every corner. the home wore a new aspect, and the sun shone even more brightly than before and in more friendly, kindly fashion. the mother spread a little cloth at the edge of the table, gave them milk and sandwiches, and looked at them as they ate--each child the picture of the mother, her eyes, her hair, her nose, her look, her gestures--they ate just as she would do. and rosalie feels much better and happier. she doesn't care so much now about the furniture being old, the dresses worn, the china service not being whole, about the wrinkles round her eyes and in her forehead. she only minds about her husband's being so worn-out, so absent-minded that he cannot take pleasure in the children as she can. david pinski born, , in mohileff (lithuania), white russia; refused admission to gymnasium in moscow under percentage restrictions; - , secretary to bene zion in vitebsk; - , student in vienna; , co-editor of spektor's hausfreund and perez's yom-tov blättlech; , first sketch published in new york arbeiterzeitung; , studied philosophy in berlin; , came to new york, and edited das abendblatt, a daily, and der arbeiter, a weekly; , founder and co-editor of die yiddishe wochenschrift; author of short stories, sketches, an essay on the yiddish drama, and ten dramas, among them yesurun, eisik scheftel, die mutter, die familie zwie, der oitzer, der eibiger jüd (first part of a series of messiah dramas), der stummer moschiach, etc.; one volume of collected dramas, dramen, warsaw, . reb shloimeh the seventy-year-old reb shloimeh's son, whose home was in the country, sent his two boys to live with their grandfather and acquire town, that is, gentile, learning. "times have changed," considered reb shloimeh; "it can't be helped!" and he engaged a good teacher for the children, after making inquiries here and there. "give me a teacher who can tell the whole of _their_ law, as the saying goes, standing on one leg!" he would say to his friends, with a smile. at seventy-one years of age, reb shloimeh lived more indoors than out, and he used to listen to the teacher instructing his grandchildren. "i shall become a doctor in my old age!" he would say, laughing. the teacher was one day telling his pupils about mathematical geography. reb shloimeh sat with a smile on his lips, and laughing in his heart at the little teacher who told "such huge lies" with so much earnestness. "the earth revolves," said the teacher to his pupils, and reb shloimeh smiles, and thinks, "he must have seen it!" but the teacher shows it to be so by the light of reason, and reb shloimeh becomes graver, and ceases smiling; he is endeavoring to grasp the proofs; he wants to ask questions, but can find none that will do, and he sits there as if he had lost his tongue. the teacher has noticed his grave look, and understands that the old man is interested in the lesson, and he begins to tell of even greater wonders. he tells how far the sun is from the earth, how big it is, how many earths could be made out of it--and reb shloimeh begins to smile again, and at last can bear it no longer. "look here," he exclaimed, "that i cannot and will not listen to! you may tell me the earth revolves--well, be it so! very well, i'll allow you, that, perhaps, according to reason--even--the size of the earth--the appearance of the earth--do you see?--all that sort of thing. but the sun! who has measured the sun! who, i ask you! have _you_ been on it? a pretty thing to say, upon my word!" reb shloimeh grew very excited. the teacher took hold of reb shloimeh's hand, and began to quiet him. he told him by what means the astronomers had discovered all this, that it was no matter of speculation; he explained the telescope to him, and talked of mathematical calculations, which he, reb shloimeh, was not able to understand. reb shloimeh had nothing to answer, but he frowned and remained obstinate. "hê" (he said, and made a contemptuous motion with his hand), "it's nothing to me, not knowing that or being able to understand it! science, indeed! fiddlesticks!" he relapsed into silence, and went on listening to the teacher's "stories." "we even know," the teacher continued, "what metals are to be found in the sun." "and suppose i won't believe you?" and reb shloimeh smiled maliciously. "i will explain directly," answered the teacher. "and tell us there's a fair in the sky!" interrupted reb shloimeh, impatiently. he was very angry, but the teacher took no notice of his anger. "two hundred years ago," began the teacher, "there lived, in england, a celebrated naturalist and mathematician, isaac newton. it was told of him that when god said, let there be light, newton was born." "psh! i should think, very likely!" broke in reb shloimeh. "why not?" the teacher pursued his way, and gave an explanation of spectral analysis. he spoke at some length, and reb shloimeh sat and listened with close attention. "now do you understand?" asked the teacher, coming to an end. reb shloimeh made no reply, he only looked up from under his brows. the teacher went on: "the earth," he said, "has stood for many years. their exact number is not known, but calculation brings it to several million--" "Ê," burst in the old man, "i should like to know what next! i thought everyone knew _that_--that even _they_--" "wait a bit, reb shloimeh," interrupted the teacher, "i will explain directly." "ma! it makes me sick to hear you," was the irate reply, and reb shloimeh got up and left the room. * * * * * all that day reb shloimeh was in a bad temper, and went about with knitted brows. he was angry with science, with the teacher, with himself, because he must needs have listened to it all. "chatter and foolishness! and there i sit and listen to it!" he said to himself with chagrin. but he remembered the "chatter," something begins to weigh on his heart and brain, he would like to find a something to catch hold of, a proof of the vanity and emptiness of their teaching, to invent some hard question, and stick out a long red tongue at them all--those nowadays barbarians, those nowadays newtons. "after all, it's mere child's play," he reflects. "it's ridiculous to take their nonsense to heart." "only their proofs, their proofs!" and the feeling of helplessness comes over him once more. "ma!" he pulls himself together. "is it all over with us? is it all up?! all up?! the earth revolves! gammon! as to their explanations--very wonderful, to be sure! o, of course, it's all of the greatest importance! dear me, yes!" he is very angry, tears the buttons off his coat, puts his hat straight on his head, and spits. "apostates, nothing but apostates nowadays," he concludes. then he remembers the teacher--with what enthusiasm he spoke! his explanations ring in reb shloimeh's head, and prove things, and once more the old gentleman is perplexed. preoccupied, cross, with groans and sighs, he went to bed. but he was restless all night, turning from one side to the other, and groaning. his old wife tried to cheer him. "such weather as it is to-day," she said, and coughed. "i have a pain in the side, too." next morning when the teacher came, reb shloimeh inquired with a displeased expression: "well, are you going to tell stories again to-day?" "we shall not take geography to-day," answered the teacher. "have your 'astronomers' found out by calculation on which days we may learn geography?" asked reb shloimeh, with malicious irony. "no, that's a discovery of mine!" and the teacher smiled. "and when have 'your' astronomers decreed the study of geography?" persisted reb shloimeh. "to-morrow." "to-morrow!" he repeated crossly, and left the room, missing a lesson for the first time. next day the teacher explained the eclipses of the sun and moon to his pupils. reb shloimeh sat with his chair drawn up to the table, and listened without a movement. "it is all so exact," the teacher wound up his explanation, "that the astronomers are able to calculate to a minute _when_ there will be an eclipse, and have never yet made a mistake." at these last words reb shloimeh nodded in a knowing way, and looked at the pupils as much as to say, "you ask _me_ about that!" the teacher went on to tell of comets, planets, and other suns. reb shloimeh snorted, and was continually interrupting the teacher with exclamations. "if you don't believe me, go and measure for yourself!"--"if it is not so, call me a liar!"--"just so!"--"within one yard of it!" reb shloimeh repaid his jewish education with interest. there were not many learned men in the town like reb shloimeh. the rabbis without flattery called him "a full basket," and reb shloimeh could not picture to himself the existence of sciences other than "jewish," and when at last he did picture it, he would not allow that they were right, unfalsified and right. he was so far intelligent, he had received a so far enlightened education, that he could understand how among non-jews also there are great men. he would even have laughed at anyone who had maintained the contrary. but that among non-jews there should be men as great as any jewish ones, that he did _not_ believe!--let alone, of course, still greater ones. and now, little by little, reb shloimeh began to believe that "their" learning was not altogether insignificant, for he, "the full basket," was not finding it any too easy to master. and what he had to deal with were not empty speculations, unfounded opinions. no, here were mathematical computations, demonstrations which almost anyone can test for himself, which impress themselves on the mind! and reb shloimeh is vexed in his soul. he endeavored to cling to his old thoughts, his old conceptions. he so wished to cry out upon the clear reasoning, the simple explanations, with the phrases that are on the lips of every ignorant obstructionist. and yet he felt that he was unjust, and he gave up disputing with the teacher, as he paid close attention to the latter's demonstrations. and the teacher would say quite simply: "one _can_ measure," he would say, "why not? only it takes a lot of learning." when the teacher was at the door, reb shloimeh stayed him with a question. "then," he asked angrily, "the whole of 'your' learning is nothing but astronomy and geography?" "oh, no!" said the teacher, "there's a lot besides--a lot!" "for instance?" "do you want me to tell you standing on one leg?" "well, yes, 'on one leg,'" he answered impatiently, as though in anger. "but one can't tell you 'on one leg,'" said the teacher. "if you like, i shall come on sabbath, and we can have a chat." "sabbath?" repeated reb shloimeh in a dissatisfied tone. "sabbath, because i can't come at any other time," said the teacher. "then let it be sabbath," said reb shloimeh, reflectively. "but soon after dinner," he called after the teacher, who was already outside the door. "and everything else is as right as your astronomy?" he shouted, when the teacher had already gone a little way. "you will see!" and the teacher smiled. * * * * * never in his whole life had reb shloimeh waited for a sabbath as he waited for this one, and the two days that came before it seemed very long to him; he never relaxed his frown, or showed a cheerful face the whole time. and he was often seen, during those two days, to lift his hands to his forehead. he went about as though there lay upon him a heavy weight, which he wanted to throw off; or as if he had a very disagreeable bit of business before him, and wished he could get it over. on sabbath he could hardly wait for the teacher's appearance. "you wanted a lot of asking," he said to him reproachfully. the old lady went to take her nap, the grandchildren to their play, and reb shloimeh took the snuff-box between his fingers, leant against the back of the "grandfather's chair" in which he was sitting, and listened with close attention to the teacher's words. the teacher talked a long time, mentioned the names of sciences, and explained their meaning, and reb shloimeh repeated each explanation in brief. "physics, then, is the science of--" "that means, then, that we have here--that physiology explains--" the teacher would help him, and then immediately begin to talk of another branch of science. by the time the old lady woke up, the teacher had given examples of anatomy, physiology, physics, chemistry, zoology, and sociology. it was quite late; people were coming back from the afternoon service, and those who do not smoke on sabbath, raised their eyes to the sky. but reb shloimeh had forgotten in what sort of world he was living. he sat with wrinkled forehead and drawn brows, listening attentively, seeing nothing before him but the teacher's face, only catching up his every word. "you are still talking?" asked the old lady, in astonishment, rubbing her eyes. reb shloimeh turned his head toward his wife with a dazed look, as though wondering what she meant by her question. "oho!" said the old lady, "you only laugh at us women!" reb shloimeh drew his brows closer together, wrinkled his forehead still more, and once more fastened his eyes on the teacher's lips. "it will soon be time to light the fire," muttered the old lady. the teacher glanced at the clock. "it's late," he said. "i should think it was!" broke in the old lady. "why i was allowed to sleep so long, i'm sure i don't know! people get to talking and even forget about tea." reb shloimeh gave a look out of the window. "o wa!" he exclaimed, somewhat vexed, "they are already coming out of shool, the service is over! what a thing it is to sit talking! o wa!" he sprang from his seat, gave the pane a rub with his hand, and began to recite the afternoon prayer. the teacher put on his things, but "wait!" reb shloimeh signed to him with his hand. reb shloimeh finished reciting "incense." "when shall you teach the children all that?" he asked then, looking into the prayer-book with a scowl. "not for a long time, not so quickly," answered the teacher. "the children cannot understand everything." "i should think not, anything so wonderful!" replied reb shloimeh, ironically, gazing at the prayer-book and beginning "happy are we." he swallowed the prayers as he said them, half of every word; no matter how he wrinkled his forehead, he could not expel the stranger thoughts from his brain, and fix his attention on the prayers. after the service he tried taking up a book, but it was no good, his head was a jumble of all the new sciences. by means of the little he had just learned, he wanted to understand and know everything, to fashion a whole body out of a single hair, and he thought, and thought, and thought.... sunday, when the teacher came, reb shloimeh told him that he wished to have a little talk with him. meantime he sat down to listen. the hour during which the teacher taught the children was too long for him, and he scarcely took his eyes off the clock. "do you want another pupil?" he asked the teacher, stepping with him into his own room. he felt as though he were getting red, and he made a very angry face. "why not?" answered the teacher, looking hard into reb shloimeh's face. reb shloimeh looked at the floor, his brows, as was usual with him in those days, drawn together. "you understand me--a pupil--" he stammered, "you understand--not a little boy--a pupil--an elderly man--you understand--quite another sort--" "well, well, we shall see!" answered the teacher, smiling. "i mean myself!" he snapped out with great displeasure, as if he had been forced to confess some very evil deed. "well, i have sinned--what do you want of me?" "oh, but i should be delighted!" and the teacher smiled. "i always said i meant to be a doctor!" said reb shloimeh, trying to joke. but his features contracted again directly, and he began to talk about the terms, and it was arranged that every day for an hour and a half the teacher should read to him and explain the sciences. to begin with, reb shloimeh chose physiology, sociology, and mathematical geography. * * * * * days, weeks, and months have gone by, and reb shloimeh has become depressed, very depressed. he does not sleep at night, he has lost his appetite, doesn't care to talk to people. bad, bitter thoughts oppress him. for seventy years he had not only known nothing, but, on the contrary, he had known everything wrong, understood head downwards. and it seemed to him that if he had known in his youth what he knew now, he would have lived differently, that his years would have been useful to others. he could find no stain on his life--it was one long record of deeds of charity; but they appeared to him now so insignificant, so useless, and some of them even mischievous. looking round him, he saw no traces of them left. the rich man of whom he used to beg donations is no poorer for them, and the pauper for whom he begged them is the same pauper as before. it is true, he had always thought of the paupers as sacks full of holes, and had only stuffed things into them because he had a soft heart, and could not bear to see a look of disappointment, or a tear rolling down the pale cheek of a hungry pauper. his own little world, as he had found it and as it was now, seemed to him much worse than before, in spite of all the good things he had done in it. not one good rich man! not one genuine pauper! they are all just as hungry and their palms itch--there is no easing them. times get harder, the world gets poorer. now he understands the reason of it all, now it all lies before him as clear as on a map--he would be able to make every one understand. only now--now it was getting late--he has no strength left. his spent life grieves him. if he had not been so active, such a "father of the community," it would not have grieved him so much. but he _had_ had a great influence in the town, and this influence had been badly, blindly used! and reb shloimeh grew sadder day by day. he began to feel a pain at his heart, a stitch in the side, a burning in his brain, and he was wrapt in his thoughts. reb shloimeh was philosophizing. to be of use to somebody, he reflected, means to leave an impress of good in their life. one ought to help once for all, so that the other need never come for help again. that can be accomplished by wakening and developing a man's intelligence, so that he may always know for himself wherein his help lies. and in such work he would have spent his life. if he had only understood long ago, ah, how useful he would have been! and a shudder runs through him. tears of vexation come more than once into his eyes. * * * * * it was no secret in the town that old reb shloimeh spent two to three hours daily sitting with the teacher, only what they did together, that nobody knew. they tried to worm something out of the maid, but what was to be got out of a "glomp with two eyes," whose one reply was, "i don't know." they scolded her for it. "how can you not know, glomp?" they exclaimed. "aren't you sometimes in the room with them?" "look here, good people, what's the use of coming to me?" the maid would cry. "how can i know, sitting in the kitchen, what they are about? when i bring in the tea, i see them talking, and i go!" "dull beast!" they would reply. then they left her, and betook themselves to the grandchildren, who knew nothing, either. "they have tea," was their answer to the question, "what does grandfather do with the teacher?" "but what do they talk about, sillies?" "we haven't heard!" the children answered gravely. they tried the old lady. "is it my business?" she answered. they tried to go in to reb shloimeh's house, on the pretext of some business or other, but that didn't succeed, either. at last, a few near and dear friends asked reb shloimeh himself. "how people do gossip!" he answered. "well, what is it?" "we just sit and talk!" there it remained. the matter was discussed all over the town. of course, nobody was satisfied. but he pacified them little by little. the apostate teacher must turn hot and cold with him! they imagined that they were occupied with research, and that reb shloimeh was opening the teacher's eyes for him--and they were pacified. when reb shloimeh suddenly fell on melancholy, it never came into anyone's head that there might be a connection between this and the conversations. the old lady settled that it was a question of the stomach, which had always troubled him, and that perhaps he had taken a chill. at his age such things were frequent. "but how is one to know, when he won't speak?" she lamented, and wondered which would be best, cod-liver oil or dried raspberries. every one else said that he was already in fear of death, and they pitied him greatly. "that is a sickness which no doctor can cure," people said, and shook their heads with sorrowful compassion. they talked to him by the hour, and tried to prevent him from being alone with his thoughts, but it was all no good; he only grew more depressed, and would often not speak at all. "such a man, too, what a pity!" they said, and sighed. "he's pining away--given up to the contemplation of death." "and if you come to think, why should he fear death?" they wondered. "if _he_ fears it, what about us? och! och! och! have we so much to show in the next world?" and reb shloimeh had a lot to show. jews would have been glad of a tenth part of his world-to-come, and christians declared that he was a true christian, with his love for his fellow-men, and promised him a place in paradise. "reb shloimeh is goodness itself," the town was wont to say. his one lifelong occupation had been the affairs of the community. "they are my life and my delight," he would repeat to his intimate friends, "as indispensable to me as water to a fish." he was a member of all the charitable societies. the talmud torah was established under his own roof, and pretty nearly maintained at his expense. the town called him the "father of the community," and all unfortunate, poor, and bitter hearts blessed him unceasingly. reb shloimeh was the one person in the town almost without an enemy, perhaps the one in the whole province. rich men grumbled at him. he was always after their money--always squeezing them for charities. they called him the old fool, the old donkey, but without meaning what they said. they used to laugh at him, to make jokes upon him, of course among themselves; but they had no enmity against him. they all, with a full heart, wished him joy of his tranquil life. reb shloimeh was born, and had spent years, in wealth. after making an excellent marriage, he set up a business. his wife was the leading spirit within doors, the head of the household, and his whole life had been apparently a success. when he had married his last child, and found himself a grandfather, he retired from business, and lived his last years on the interest of his fortune. free from the hate and jealousy of neighbors, pleasant and satisfactory in every respect, such was reb shloimeh's life, and for all that he suddenly became melancholy! it can be nothing but the fear of death! * * * * * but very soon reb shloimeh, as it were with a wave of the hand, dismissed the past altogether. he said to himself with a groan that what had been was over and done; he would never grow young again, and once more a shudder went through him at the thought, and there came again the pain in his side and caught his breath, but reb shloimeh took no notice, and went on thinking. "something must be done!" he said to himself, in the tone of one who has suddenly lost his whole fortune--the fortune he has spent his life in getting together, and there is nothing for him but to start work again with his five fingers. and reb shloimeh started. he began with the talmud torah, where he had already long provided for the children's bodily needs--food and clothing. now he would supply them with spiritual things--instruction and education. he dismissed the old teachers, and engaged young ones in their stead, even for jewish subjects. out of the talmud torah he wanted to make a little university. he already fancied it a success. he closed his eyes, laid his forehead on his hands, and a sweet, happy smile parted his lips. he pictured to himself the useful people who would go forth out of the talmud torah. now he can die happy, he thinks. but no, he does not want to die! he wants to live! to live and to work, work, work! he will not and cannot see an end to his life! reb shloimeh feels more and more cheerful, lively, and fresh--to work----to work--till-- the whole town was in commotion. there was a perfect din in the shools, in the streets, in the houses. hypocrites and crooked men, who had never before been seen or heard of, led the dance. "to make gentiles out of the children, forsooth! to turn the talmud torah into a school! that we won't allow! no matter if we have to turn the world upside down, no matter what happens!" reb shloimeh heard the cries, and made as though he heard nothing. he thought it would end there, that no one would venture to oppose him further. "what do you say to that?" he asked the teachers. "fanaticism has broken out already!" "it will give trouble," replied the teachers. "eh, nonsense!" said reb shloimeh, with conviction. but on sabbath, at the reading of the law, he saw that he had been mistaken. the opposition had collected, and they got onto the platform, and all began speaking at once. it was impossible to make out what they were saying, beyond a word here and there, or the fragment of a sentence: "--none of it!" "we won't allow--!" "--made into gentiles!" reb shloimeh sat in his place by the east wall, his hands on the desk where lay his pentateuch. he had taken off his spectacles, and glanced at the platform, put them on again, and was once more reading the pentateuch. they saw this from the platform, and began to shout louder than ever. reb shloimeh stood up, took off his prayer-scarf, and was moving toward the door, when he heard some one call out, with a bang of his fist on the platform: "with the consent of the rabbis and the heads of the community, and in the name of the holy torah, it is resolved to take the children away from the talmud torah, seeing that in place of the torah there is uncleanness----" reb shloimeh grew pale, and felt a rent in his heart. he stared at the platform with round eyes and open mouth. "the children are to be made into gentiles," shouted the person on the platform meantime, "and we have plenty of gentiles, thank god, already! thus may they perish, with their name and their remembrance! we are not short of gentiles--there are more every day! and hatred increases, and god knows what the jews are coming to! whoso has god in his heart, and is jealous for the honor of the law, let him see to it that the children cease going to the place of peril!" reb shloimeh wanted to call out, "silence, you scoundrel!" the words all but rolled off his tongue, but he contained himself, and moved on. "the one who obeys will be blessed," proclaimed the individual on the platform, "and whoso despises the decree, his end shall be gehenna, with that of jeroboam, the son of nebat, who sinned and made israel to sin!" with these last words the speaker threw a fiery glance at reb shloimeh. a quiver ran through the shool, and all eyes were turned on reb shloimeh, expecting him to begin abusing the speaker. a lively scene was anticipated. but reb shloimeh smiled. he quietly handed his prayer-scarf to the beadle, wished the bystanders "good sabbath," and walked out of shool, leaving them all disconcerted. * * * * * that sabbath reb shloimeh was the quietest man in the whole town. he was convinced that the interdict would have no effect on anyone. "people are not so foolish as all that," he thought, "and they wouldn't treat _him_ in that way!" he sat and laid plans for carrying on the education in the talmud torah, and he felt so light of heart that he sang to himself for very pleasure. the old wife, meanwhile, was muttering and moaning. she had all her life been quite content with her husband and everything he did, and had always done her best to help him, hoping that in the world to come she would certainly share his portion of immortality. and now she saw with horror that he was like to throw away his future. but how ever could it be? she wondered, and was bathed in tears: "what has come over you? what has happened to make you like that? they are not just to you, are they, when they say that about taking children and making gentiles of them?" reb shloimeh smiled. "do you think," he said to her, "that i have gone mad in my old age? don't be afraid. i'm in my right mind, and you shall not lose your place in paradise." but the wife was not satisfied with the reply, and continued to mutter and to weep. there were goings-on in the town, too. the place was aboil with excitement. of course they talked about reb shloimeh; nobody could make out what had come to him all of a sudden. "that is the teacher's work!" explained one of a knot of talkers. "and we thought reb shloimeh such a sage, such a clever man, so book-learned. how can the teacher (may his name perish!) have talked him over?" "it's a pity on the children's account!" one would exclaim here and there. "in the talmud torah, under his direction, they wanted for nothing, and what's to become of them now! they'll be running wild in the streets!" "what then? do you mean it would be better to make gentiles of them?" "well, there! of course, i understand!" he would hasten to say, penitently. and a resolution was passed, to the effect that the children should not be allowed to attend the talmud torah. reb shloimeh stood at his window, and watched the excited groups in the street, saw how the men threw themselves about, rocked themselves, bit their beards, described half-circles with their thumbs, and he smiled. in the evening the teachers came and told him what had been said in the town, and how all held that the children were not to be allowed to go to the talmud torah. reb shloimeh was a little disturbed, but he composed himself again and thought: "eh, they will quiet down, never mind! they won't do it to _me_!----" entering the talmud torah on sunday, he was greeted by four empty walls. even two orphans, who had no relations or protector in the town, had not come. they had been frightened and talked at and not allowed to attend, and free meals had been secured for all of them, so that they should not starve. for the moment reb shloimeh lost his head. he glanced at the teachers as though ashamed in their presence, and his glance said, "what is to be done now?" suddenly he pulled himself together. "no!" he exclaimed, "they shall not get the better of me," and he ran out of the talmud torah, and was gone. he ran from house to house, to the parents and relations of the children. but they all looked askance at him, and he accomplished nothing: they all kept to it--"no!" "come, don't be silly! send, send the children to the talmud torah," he begged. "you will see, you will not regret it!" and he drew a picture for them of the sort of people the children would become. but it was no use. "_we_ haven't got to manage the world," they answered him. "we have lived without all that, and our children will live as we are living now. we have no call to make gentiles of them!" "we know, we know! people needn't come to us with stories," they would say in another house. "we don't intend to sell our souls!" was the cry in a third. "and who says i have sold mine?" reb shloimeh would ask sharply. "how should we know? besides, who was talking of you?" they answered with a sweet smile. reb shloimeh reached home tired and depressed. the old wife had a shock on seeing him. "dear lord!" she exclaimed, wringing her hands. "what is the matter with you? what makes you look like that?" the teachers, who were there waiting for him, asked no questions: they had only to look at his ghastly appearance to know what had happened. reb shloimeh sank into his arm-chair. "nothing," he said, looking sideways, but meaning it for the teachers. "nothing is nothing!" and they betook themselves to consoling him. "we will find something else to do, get hold of some other children, or else wait a little--they'll ask to be taken back presently." reb shloimeh did not hear them. he had let his head sink on to his breast, turned his look sideways, and thoughts he could not piece together, fragments of thoughts, went round and round in the drooping head. "why? why?" he asked himself over and over. "to do such a thing to _me_! well, there you are! there you have it!--you've lived your life--like a man!--" his heart felt heavy and hurt him, and his brain grew warm, warm. in one minute there ran through his head the impression which his so nearly finished life had made on him of late, and immediately after it all the plans he had thought out for setting to right his whole past life by means of the little bit left him. and now it was all over and done! "why? why?" he asked himself without ceasing, and could not understand it. he felt his old heart bursting with love to all men. it beat more and more strongly, and would not cease from loving; and he would fain have seen everyone so happy, so happy! he would have worked with his last bit of strength, he would have drawn his last breath for the cause to which he had devoted himself. he is no longer conscious of the whereabouts of his limbs, he feels his head growing heavier, his feet cold, and it is dark before his eyes. when he came to himself again, he was in bed; on his head was a bandage with ice; the old wife was lamenting; the teachers stood not far from the bed, and talked among themselves. he wanted to lift his hand and draw it across his forehead, but somehow he does not feel his hand at all. he looks at it--it lies stretched out beside him. and reb shloimeh understood what had happened to him. "a stroke!" he thought, "i am finished, done for!" he tried to give a whistle and make a gesture with his hand: "verfallen!" but the lips would not meet properly, and the hand never moved. "there you are, done for!" the lips whispered. he glanced round, and fixed his eyes on the teachers, and then on his wife, wishing to read in their faces whether there was danger, whether he was dying, or whether there was still hope. he looked, and could not make out anything. then, whispering, he called one of the teachers, whose looks had met his, to his side. the teacher came running. "done for, eh?" asked reb shloimeh. "no, reb shloimeh, the doctors give hope," the teacher replied, so earnestly that reb shloimeh's spirits revived. "nu, nu," said reb shloimeh, as though he meant, "so may it be! out of your mouth into god's ears!" the other teachers all came nearer. "good?" whispered reb shloimeh, "good, ha? there's a hero for you!" he smiled. "never mind," they said cheeringly, "you will get well again, and work, and do many things yet!" "well, well, please god!" he answered, and looked away. and reb shloimeh really got better every day. the having lived wisely and the will to live longer saved him. the first time that he was able to move a hand or lift a foot, a broad, sweet smile spread itself over his face, and a fire kindled in his all but extinguished eyes. "good luck to you!" he cried out to those around. he was very cheerful in himself, and began to think once more about doing something or other. "people must be taught, they must be taught, even if the world turn upside down," he thought, and rubbed his hands together with impatience. "if it's not to be in the talmud torah, it must be somewhere else!" and he set to work thinking where it should be. he recalled all the neighbors to his memory, and suddenly grew cheerful. not far away there lived a bookbinder, who employed as many as ten workmen. they work sometimes from fifteen to sixteen hours, and have no strength left for study. one must teach _them_, he thinks. the master is not likely to object. reb shloimeh was the making of him, he it was who protected him, introduced him into all the best families, and finally set him on his feet. reb shloimeh grows more and more lively, and is continually trying to rise from his couch. once out of bed, he could hardly endure to stay in the room, and how happy he felt, when, leaning on a stick, he stept out into the street! he hurried in the direction of the bookbinder's. he was convinced that people's feelings toward him had changed for the better, that they would rejoice on seeing him. how he looked forward to seeing a friendly smile on every face! he would have counted himself the happiest of men, if he had been able to hope that now everything was different, and would come right. but he did not see the smile. the town looked upon the apoplectic stroke as god's punishment--it was obvious. "aha!" they had cried on hearing of it, and everyone saw in it another proof, and it also was "obvious"--of the fact that there is a god in the world, and that people cannot do just what they like. the great fanatics overflowed with eloquence, and saw in it an act of heavenly vengeance. "serves him right! serves him right!" they thought. "whose fault is it?" people replied, when some one reminded them that it was very sad--such a man as he had been, "who told him to do it? he has himself to thank for his misfortunes." the town had never ceased talking of him the whole time. every one was interested in knowing how he was, and what was the matter with him. and when they heard that he was better, that he was getting well, they really were pleased; they were sure that he would give up all his foolish plans, and understand that god had punished him, and that he would be again as before. but it soon became known that he clung to his wickedness, and people ceased to rejoice. the rabbi and his fanatical friends came to see him one day by way of visiting the sick. reb shloimeh felt inclined to ask them if they had come to stare at him as one visited by a miracle, but he refrained, and surveyed them with indifference. "well, how are you, reb shloimeh?" they asked. "gentiles!" answered reb shloimeh, almost in spite of himself, and smiled. the rabbi and the others became confused. they sat a little while, couldn't think of anything to say, and got up from their seats. then they stood a bit, wished him a speedy return to health, and went away, without hearing any answer from reb shloimeh to their "good night." it was not long before the whole town knew of the visit, and it began to boil like a kettle. to commit such sin is to play with destiny. once you are in, there is no getting out! give the devil a hair, and he'll snatch at the whole beard. so when reb shloimeh showed himself in the street, they stared at him and shook their heads, as though to say, "such a man--and gone to ruin!" reb shloimeh saw it, and it cut him to the heart. indeed, it brought the tears to his eyes, and he began to walk quicker in the direction of the bookbinder's. at the bookbinder's they received him in friendly fashion, with a hearty "welcome!" but he fancied that here also they looked at him askance, and therefore he gave a reason for his coming. "walking is hard work," he said, "one must have stopping-places." with this same excuse he went there every day. he would sit for an hour or two, talking, telling stories, and at last he began to tell the "stories" which the teacher had told. he sat in the centre of the room, and talked away merrily, with a pun here and a laugh there, and interested the workmen deeply. sometimes they would all of one accord stop working, open their mouths, fix their eyes, and hang on his lips with an intelligent smile. or else they stood for a few minutes tense, motionless as statues, till reb shloimeh finished, before the master should interpose. "work, work--you will hear it all in time!" he would say, in a cross, dissatisfied tone. and the workmen would unwillingly bend their backs once more over their task, but reb shloimeh remained a little thrown out. he lost the thread of what he was telling, began buttoning and unbuttoning his coat, and glanced guiltily at the binder. but he went his own way nevertheless. as to his hearers, he was overjoyed with them. when he saw that the workmen began to take interest in every book that was brought them to be bound, he smiled happily, and his eyes sparkled with delight. and if it happened to be a book treating of the subjects on which they had heard something from reb shloimeh, they threw themselves upon it, nearly tore it to pieces, and all but came to blows as to who should have the binding of it. reb shloimeh began to feel that he was doing something, that he was being really useful, and he was supremely happy. the town, of course, was aware of reb shloimeh's constant visits to the bookbinder's, and quickly found out what he did there. "he's just off his head!" they laughed, and shrugged their shoulders. they even laughed in reb shloimeh's face, but he took no notice of it. his pleasure, however, came to a speedy end. one day the binder spoke out. "reb shloimeh," he said shortly, "you prevent us from working with your stories. what do you mean by it? you come and interfere with the work." "but do i disturb?" he asked. "they go on working all the time----" "and a pretty way of working," answered the bookbinder. "the boys are ready enough at finding an excuse for idling as it is! and why do you choose me? there are plenty of other workshops----" it was an honest "neck and crop" business, and there was nothing left for reb shloimeh but to take up his stick and go. "nothing--again!" he whispered. there was a sting in his heart, a beating in his temples, and his head burned. "nothing--again! this time it's all over. i must die--die--a story _with_ an end." had he been young, he would have known what to do. he would never have begun to think about death, but now--where was the use of living on? what was there to wait for? all over!--all over!-- it was as much as he could do to get home. he sat down in the arm-chair, laid his head back, and thought. he pictured to himself the last weeks at the bookbinder's and the change that had taken place in the workmen; how they had appeared better-mannered, more human, more intelligent. it seemed to him that he had implanted in them the love of knowledge and the inclination to study, had put them in the way of viewing more rightly what went on around them. he had been of some account with them--and all of a sudden--! "no!" he said to himself. "they will come to me--they must come!" he thought, and fixed his eyes on the door. he even forgot that they worked till nine o'clock at night, and the whole evening he never took his eyes off the door. the time flew, it grew later and later, and the book-binders did not come. at last he could bear it no longer, and went out into the street; perhaps he would see them, and then he would call them in. it was dark in the street; the gas lamps, few and far between, scarcely gave any light. a chilly autumn night; the air was saturated with moisture, and there was dreadful mud under foot. there were very few passers-by, and reb shloimeh remained standing at his door. when he heard a sound of footsteps or voices, his heart began to beat quicker. his old wife came out three times to call him into the house again, but he did not hear her, and remained standing outside. the street grew still. there was nothing more to be heard but the rattles of the night-watchmen. reb shloimeh gave a last look into the darkness, as though trying to see someone, and then, with a groan, he went indoors. next morning he felt very weak, and stayed in bed. he began to feel that his end was near, that he was but a guest tarrying for a day. "it's all the same, all the same!" he said to himself, thinking quietly about death. all sorts of ideas went through his head. he thought as it were unconsciously, without giving himself a clear account of what he was thinking of. a variety of images passed through his mind, scenes out of his long life, certain people, faces he had seen here and there, comrades of his childhood, but they all had no interest for him. he kept his eyes fixed on the door of his room, waiting for death, as though it would come in by the door. he lay like that the whole day. his wife came in continually, and asked him questions, and he was silent, not taking his eyes off the door, or interrupting the train of his thoughts. it seemed as if he had ceased either to see or to hear. in the evening the teachers began coming. "finished!" said reb shloimeh, looking at the door. suddenly he heard a voice he knew, and raised his head. "we have come to visit the sick," said the voice. the door opened, and there came in four workmen at once. at first reb shloimeh could not believe his eyes, but soon a smile appeared upon his lips, and he tried to sit up. "come, come!" he said joyfully, and his heart beat rapidly with pleasure. the workmen remained standing some way from the bed, not venturing to approach the sick man, but reb shloimeh called them to him. "nearer, nearer, children!" he said. they came a little nearer. "come here, to me!" and he pointed to the bed. they came up to the bed. "well, what are you all about?" he asked with a smile. the workmen were silent. "why did you not come last night?" he asked, and looked at them smiling. the workmen were silent, and shuffled with their feet. "how are you, reb shloimeh?" asked one of them. "very well, very well," answered reb shloimeh, still smiling. "thank you, children! thank you!" "sit down, children, sit down." he said after a pause. "i will tell you some more stories." "it will tire you, reb shloimeh," said a workman. "when you are better----" "sit down, sit down!" said reb shloimeh, impatiently. "that's _my_ business!" the workmen exchanged glances with the teachers and the teachers signed to them _not_ to sit down. "not to-day, reb shloimeh, another time, when you--" "sit down, sit down!" interrupted reb shloimeh, "do me the pleasure!" once more the workmen exchanged looks with the teachers, and, at a sign from them, they sat down. reb shloimeh began telling them the long story of the human race, he spoke with ardor, and it was long since his voice had sounded as it sounded then. he spoke for a long, long time. they interrupted him two or three times, and reminded him that it was bad for him to talk so much. but he only signified with a gesture that they were to let him alone. "i am getting better," he said, and went on. at length the workmen rose from their seats. "let us go, reb shloimeh. it's getting late for us," they begged. "true, true," he replied, "but to-morrow, do you hear? look here, children, to-morrow!" he said, giving them his hand. the workmen promised to come. they moved away a few steps, and then reb shloimeh called them back. "and the others?" he inquired feebly, as though he were ashamed of asking. "they were lazy, they wouldn't come," was the reply. "well, well," he said, in a tone that meant "well, well, i know, you needn't say any more, but look here, to-morrow!" "now i am well again," he whispered as the workmen went out. he could scarcely move a limb, but he was very cheerful, looked at every one with a happy smile, and his eyes shone. "now i am well," he whispered when they had been obliged to put him into bed and cover him up. "now i am well," he repeated, feeling the while that his head was strangely heavy, his heart faint, and that he was very poorly. before many minutes he had fallen into a state of unconsciousness. a dreadful, heartbreaking cry recalled him to himself. he opened his eyes. the room was full of people. in many eyes were tears. "soon, then," he thought, and began to remember something. "what o'clock is it?" he asked of the person who stood beside him. "five." "they stop work at nine," he whispered to himself, and called one of the teachers to him. "when the workmen come, they are to let them in, do you hear!" he said. the teacher promised. "they will come at nine," added reb shloimeh. in a little while he asked to write his will. after writing the will, he undressed and closed his eyes. they thought he had fallen asleep, but reb shloimeh was not asleep. he lay and thought, not about his past life, but about the future, the future in which men would live. he thought of what man would come to be. he pictured to himself a bright, glad world, in which all men would be equal in happiness, knowledge, and education, and his dying heart beat a little quicker, while his face expressed joy and contentment. he opened his eyes, and saw beside him a couple of teachers. "and will it really be?" he asked and smiled. "yes, reb shloimeh," they answered, without knowing to what his question referred, for his face told them it was something good. the smile accentuated itself on his lips. once again he lost himself in thought. he wanted to imagine that happy world, and see with his mind's eye nothing but happy people, educated people, and he succeeded. the picture was not very distinct. he was imagining a great heap of happiness--happiness with a body and soul, and he felt _himself_ so happy. a sound of lamentation disturbed him. "why do they weep?" he wondered. "every one will have a good time--everyone!" he opened his eyes; there were already lights burning. the room was packed with people. beside him stood all his children, come together to take leave of their father. he fixed his gaze on the little grandchildren, a gaze of love and gladness. "_they_ will see the happy time," he thought. he was just going to ask the people to stop lamenting, but at that moment his eye caught the workmen of the evening before. "come here, come here, children!" and he raised his voice a little, and made a sign with his head. people did not know what he meant. he begged them to send the workmen to him, and it was done. he tried to sit up; those around helped him. "thank you--children--for coming--thank you!" he said. "stop--weeping!" he implored of the bystanders. "i want to die quietly--i want every one to--to--be as happy--as i am! live, all of you, in the--hope of a--good time--as i die--in--that hope. dear chil--dren--" and he turned to the workmen, "i told you--last night--how man has lived so far. how he lives now, you know for yourselves--but the coming time will be a very happy one: all will be happy--all! only work honestly, and learn! learn, children! everything will be all right! all will be hap----" a sweet smile appeared on his lips, and reb shloimeh died. in the town they--but what else _could_ they say in the town of a man who had died without repeating the confession, without a tremor at his heart, without any sign of repentance? what else _could_ they say of a man who spent his last minutes in telling people to learn, to educate themselves? what else _could_ they say of a man who left his whole capital to be devoted to educational purposes and schools? what was to be expected of them, when his own family declared in court that their father was not responsible when he made his last will? * * * * * forgive them, reb shloimeh, for they mean well--they know not what they say and do. s. libin pen name of israel hurewitz; born, , in gori-gorki, government of mohileff (lithuania), white russia; assistant to a druggist at thirteen; went to london at twenty, and, after seven months there, to new york ( ); worked as capmaker; first sketch, "a sifz vun a arbeiterbrust"; contributor to die arbeiterzeitung, das abendblatt, die zukunft, vorwärts, etc.; prolific yiddish playwright and writer of sketches on new york jewish life; dramas to the number of twenty-six produced on the stage; collected works, geklibene skizzen, vol., new york, , and vols., new york, . a picnic ask shmuel, the capmaker, just for a joke, if he would like to come for a picnic! he'll fly out at you as if you had invited him to a swing on the gallows. the fact is, he and his sarah once _went_ for a picnic, and the poor man will remember it all his days. it was on a sabbath towards the end of august. shmuel came home from work, and said to his wife: "sarah, dear!" "well, husband?" was her reply. "i want to have a treat," said shmuel, as though alarmed at the boldness of the idea. "what sort of a treat? shall you go to the swimming-bath to-morrow?" "ett! what's the fun of that?" "then, what have you thought of by way of an exception? a glass of ice water for supper?" "not that, either." "a whole siphon?" shmuel denied with a shake of the head. "whatever can it be!" wondered sarah. "are you going to fetch a pint of beer?" "what should i want with beer?" "are you going to sleep on the roof?" "wrong again!" "to buy some more carbolic acid, and drive out the bugs?" "not a bad idea," observed shmuel, "but that is not it, either." "well, then, whatever is it, for goodness' sake! the moon?" asked sarah, beginning to lose patience. "what have you been and thought of? tell me once for all, and have done with it!" and shmuel said: "sarah, you know, we belong to a lodge." "of course i do!" and sarah gave him a look of mingled astonishment and alarm. "it's not more than a week since you took a whole dollar there, and i'm not likely to have forgotten what it cost you to make it up. what is the matter now? do they want another?" "try again!" "out with it!" "i--want us, sarah," stammered shmuel,--"to go for a picnic." "a picnic!" screamed sarah. "is that the only thing you have left to wish for?" "look here, sarah, we toil and moil the whole year through. it's nothing but trouble and worry, trouble and worry. call that living! when do we ever have a bit of pleasure?" "well, what's to be done?" said his wife, in a subdued tone. "the summer will soon be over, and we haven't set eyes on a green blade of grass. we sit day and night sweating in the dark." "true enough!" sighed his wife, and shmuel spoke louder: "let us have an outing, sarah. let us enjoy ourselves for once, and give the children a breath of fresh air, let us have a change, if it's only for five minutes!" "what will it cost?" asks sarah, suddenly, and shmuel has soon made the necessary calculation. "a family ticket is only thirty cents, for yossele, rivele, hannahle, and berele; for resele and doletzke i haven't to pay any carfare at all. for you and me, it will be ten cents there and ten back--that makes fifty cents. then i reckon thirty cents for refreshments to take with us: a pineapple (a damaged one isn't more than five cents), a few bananas, a piece of watermelon, a bottle of milk for the children, and a few rolls--the whole thing shouldn't cost us more than eighty cents at the outside." "eighty cents!" and sarah clapped her hands together in dismay. "why, you can live on that two days, and it takes nearly a whole day's earning. you can buy an old ice-box for eighty cents, you can buy a pair of trousers--eighty cents!" "leave off talking nonsense!" said shmuel, disconcerted. "eighty cents won't make us rich. we shall get on just the same whether we have them or not. we must live like human beings one day in the year! come, sarah, let us go! we shall see lots of other people, and we'll watch them, and see how _they_ enjoy themselves. it will do you good to see the world, to go where there's a bit of life! listen, sarah, what have you been to worth seeing since we came to america? have you seen brooklyn bridge, or central park, or the baron hirsch baths?" "you know i haven't!" sarah broke in. "i've no time to go about sight-seeing. i only know the way from here to the market." "and what do you suppose?" cried shmuel. "i should be as great a greenhorn as you, if i hadn't been obliged to look everywhere for work. now i know that america is a great big place. thanks to the slack times, i know where there's an eighth street, and a one hundred and thirtieth street with tin works, and an eighty-fourth street with a match factory. i know every single lane round the world building. i know where the cable car line stops. but you, sarah, know nothing at all, no more than if you had just landed. let us go, sarah, i am sure you won't regret it!" "well, you know best!" said his wife, and this time she smiled. "let us go!" and thus it was that shmuel and his wife decided to join the lodge picnic on the following day. next morning they all rose much earlier than usual on a sunday, and there was a great noise, for they took the children and scrubbed them without mercy. sarah prepared a bath for doletzke, and doletzke screamed the house down. shmuel started washing yossele's feet, but as yossele habitually went barefoot, he failed to bring about any visible improvement, and had to leave the little pair of feet to soak in a basin of warm water, and yossele cried, too. it was twelve o'clock before the children were dressed and ready to start, and then sarah turned her attention to her husband, arranged his trousers, took the spots out of his coat with kerosene, sewed a button onto his vest. after that she dressed herself, in her old-fashioned satin wedding dress. at two o'clock they set forth, and took their places in the car. "haven't we forgotten anything?" asked sarah of her husband. shmuel counted his children and the traps. "no, nothing, sarah!" he said. doletzke went to sleep, the other children sat quietly in their places. sarah, too, fell into a doze, for she was tired out with the preparations for the excursion. all went smoothly till they got some way up town, when sarah gave a start. "i don't feel very well--my head is so dizzy," she said to shmuel. "i don't feel very well, either," answered shmuel. "i suppose the fresh air has upset us." "i suppose it has," said his wife. "i'm afraid for the children." scarcely had she spoken when doletzke woke up, whimpering, and was sick. yossele, who was looking at her, began to cry likewise. the mother scolded him, and this set the other children crying. the conductor cast a wrathful glance at poor shmuel, who was so frightened that he dropped the hand-bag with the provisions, and then, conscious of the havoc he had certainly brought about inside the bag by so doing, he lost his head altogether, and sat there in a daze. sarah was hushing the children, but the look in her eyes told shmuel plainly enough what to expect once they had left the car. and no sooner had they all reached the ground in safety than sarah shot out: "so, nothing would content him but a picnic? much good may it do him! you're a workman, and workmen have no call to go gadding about!" shmuel was already weary of the whole thing, and said nothing, but he felt a tightening of the heart. he took up yossele on one arm and resele on the other, and carried the bag with the presumably smashed-up contents besides. "hush, my dears! hush, my babies!" he said. "wait a little and mother will give you some bread and sugar. hush, be quiet!" he went on, but still the children cried. sarah carried doletzke, and rocked her as she walked, while berele and hannahle trotted alongside. "he has shortened my days," said sarah, "may his be shortened likewise." soon afterwards they turned into the park. "let us find a tree and sit down in the shade," said shmuel. "come, sarah!" "i haven't the strength to drag myself a step further," declared sarah, and she sank down like a stone just inside the gate. shmuel was about to speak, but a glance at sarah's face told him she was worn out, and he sat down beside his wife without a word. sarah gave doletzke the breast. the other children began to roll about in the grass, laughed and played, and shmuel breathed easier. girls in holiday attire walked about the park, and there were groups under the trees. here was a handsome girl surrounded by admiring boys, and there a handsome young man encircled by a bevy of girls. out of the leafy distance of the park came the melancholy song of a workman; near by stood a man playing on a fiddle. sarah looked about her and listened, and by degrees her vexation vanished. it is true that her heart was still sore, but it was not with the soreness of anger. she was taking her life to pieces and thinking it over, and it seemed a very hard and bitter one, and when she looked at her husband and thought of his life, she was near crying, and she laid her hands upon his knee. shmuel also sat lost in thought. he was thinking about the trees and the roses and the grass, and listening to the fiddle. and he also was sad at heart. "o sarah!" he sighed, and he would have said more, but just at that moment it began to spot with rain, and before they had time to move there came a downpour. people started to scurry in all directions, but shmuel stood like a statue. "shlimm-mazel, look after the children!" commanded sarah. shmuel caught up two of them, sarah another two or three, and they ran to a shelter. doletzke began to cry afresh. "mame, hungry!" began berele. "hungry, hungry!" wailed yossele. "i want to eat!" shmuel hastily opened the hand-bag, and then for the first time he saw what had really happened: the bottle had broken, and the milk was flooding the bag; the rolls and bananas were soaked, and the pineapple (a damaged one to begin with) looked too nasty for words. sarah caught sight of the bag, and was so angry, she was at a loss how to wreak vengeance on her husband. she was ashamed to scream and scold in the presence of other people, but she went up to him, and whispered fervently into his ear, "the same to you, my good man!" the children continued to clamor for food. "i'll go to the refreshment counter and buy a glass of milk and a few rolls," said shmuel to his wife. "have you actually some money left?" asked sarah. "i thought it had all been spent on the picnic." "there are just five cents over." "well, then go and be quick about it. the poor things are starving." shmuel went to the refreshment stall, and asked the price of a glass of milk and a few rolls. "twenty cents, mister," answered the waiter. shmuel started as if he had burnt his finger, and returned to his wife more crestfallen than ever. "well, shlimm-mazel, where's the milk?" inquired sarah. "he asked twenty cents." "twenty cents for a glass of milk and a roll? are you montefiore?" sarah could no longer contain herself. "they'll be the ruin of us! if you want to go for another picnic, we shall have to sell the bedding." the children never stopped begging for something to eat. "but what are we to do?" asked the bewildered shmuel. "do?" screamed sarah. "go home, this very minute!" shmuel promptly caught up a few children, and they left the park. sarah was quite quiet on the way home, merely remarking to her husband that she would settle her account with him later. "i'll pay you out," she said, "for my satin dress, for the hand-bag, for the pineapple, for the bananas, for the milk, for the whole blessed picnic, for the whole of my miserable existence." "scold away!" answered shmuel. "it is you who were right. i don't know what possessed me. a picnic, indeed! you may well ask what next? a poor wretched workman like me has no business to think of anything beyond the shop." sarah, when they reached home, was as good as her word. shmuel would have liked some supper, as he always liked it, even in slack times, but there was no supper given him. he went to bed a hungry man, and all through the night he repeated in his sleep: "a picnic, oi, a picnic!" manasseh it was a stifling summer evening. i had just come home from work, taken off my coat, unbuttoned my waistcoat, and sat down panting by the window of my little room. there was a knock at the door, and without waiting for my reply, in came a woman with yellow hair, and very untidy in her dress. i judged from her appearance that she had not come from a distance. she had nothing on her head, her sleeves were tucked up, she held a ladle in her hand, and she was chewing something or other. "i am manasseh's wife," said she. "manasseh gricklin's?" i asked. "yes," said my visitor, "gricklin's, gricklin's." i hastily slipped on a coat, and begged her to be seated. manasseh was an old friend of mine, he was a capmaker, and we worked together in one shop. and i knew that he lived somewhere in the same tenement as myself, but it was the first time i had the honor of seeing his wife. "look here," began the woman, "don't you work in the same shop as my husband?" "yes, yes," i said. "well, and now tell me," and the yellow-haired woman gave a bound like a hyena, "how is it i see you come home from work with all other respectable people, and my husband not? and it isn't the first time, either, that he's gone, goodness knows where, and come home two hours after everyone else. where's he loitering about?" "i don't know," i replied gravely. the woman brandished her ladle in such a way that i began to think she meant murder. "you don't know?" she exclaimed with a sinister flash in her eyes. "what do you mean by that? don't you two leave the shop together? how can you help seeing what becomes of him?" then i remembered that when manasseh and i left the shop, he walked with me a few blocks, and then went off in another direction, and that one day, when i asked him where he was going, he had replied, "to some friends." "he must go to some friends," i said to the woman. "to some friends?" she repeated, and burst into strange laughter. "who? whose? ours? we're greeners, we are, we have no friends. what friends should he have, poor, miserable wretch?" "i don't know," i said, "but that is what he told me." "all right!" said manasseh's wife. "i'll teach him a lesson he won't forget in a hurry." with these words she departed. when she had left the room, i pictured to myself poor consumptive manasseh being taught a "lesson" by his yellow-haired wife, and i pitied him. manasseh was a man of about thirty. his yellowish-white face was set in a black beard; he was very thin, always ailing and coughing, had never learnt to write, and he read only yiddish--a quiet, respectable man, i might almost say the only hand in the shop who never grudged a fellow-worker his livelihood. he had been only a year in the country, and the others made sport of him, but i always stood up for him, because i liked him very much. wherever does he go, now? i wondered to myself, and i resolved to find out. next morning i met manasseh as usual, and at first i intended to tell him of his wife's visit to me the day before; but the poor operative looked so low-spirited, so thoroughly unhappy, that i felt sure his wife had already given him the promised "lesson," and i hadn't the courage to mention her to him just then. in the evening, as we were going home from the workshop, manasseh said to me: "did my wife come to see you yesterday?" "yes, brother manasseh," i answered. "she seemed something annoyed with you." "she has a dreadful temper," observed the workman. "when she is really angry, she's fit to kill a man. but it's her bitter heart, poor thing--she's had so many troubles! we're so poor, and she's far away from her family." manasseh gave a deep sigh. "she asked you where i go other days after work?" he continued. "yes." "would you like to know?" "why not, mister gricklin!" "come along a few blocks further," said manasseh, "and i'll show you." "come along!" i agreed, and we walked on together. a few more blocks and manasseh led me into a narrow street, not yet entirely built in with houses. presently he stopped, with a contented smile. i looked round in some astonishment. we were standing alongside a piece of waste ground, with a meagre fencing of stones and burnt wire, and utilized as a garden. "just look," said the workman, pointing at the garden, "how delightful it is! one so seldom sees anything of the kind in new york." manasseh went nearer to the fence, and his eyes wandered thirstily over the green, flowering plants, just then in full beauty. i also looked at the garden. the things that grew there were unknown to me, and i was ignorant of their names. only one thing had a familiar look--a few tall, graceful "moons" were scattered here and there over the place, and stood like absent-minded dreamers, or beautiful sentinels. and the roses were in bloom, and their fragrance came in wafts over the fencing. "you see the 'moons'?" asked manasseh, in rapt tones, but more to himself than to me. "look how beautiful they are! i can't take my eyes off them. i am capable of standing and looking at them for hours. they make me feel happy, almost as if i were at home again. there were a lot of them at home!" the operative sighed, lost himself a moment in thought, and then said: "when i smell the roses, i think of old days. we had quite a large garden, and i was so fond of it! when the flowers began to come out, i used to sit there for hours, and could never look at it enough. the roses appeared to be dreaming with their great golden eyes wide open. the cucumbers lay along the ground like pussy-cats, and the stalks and leaves spread ever so far across the beds. the beans fought for room like street urchins, and the pumpkins and the potatoes--you should have seen them! and the flowers were all colors--pink and blue and yellow, and i felt as if everything were alive, as if the whole garden were alive--i fancied i heard them talking together, the roses, the potatoes, the beans. i spent whole evenings in my garden. it was dear to me as my own soul. look, look, look, don't the roses seem as if they were alive?" but i looked at manasseh, and thought the consumptive workman had grown younger and healthier. his face was less livid, and his eyes shone with happiness. "do you know," said manasseh to me, as we walked away from the garden, "i had some cuttings of rose-trees at home, in a basket out on the fire-escape, and they had begun to bud." there was a pause. "well," i inquired, "and what happened?" "my wife laid out the mattress to air on the top of the basket, and they were all crushed." manasseh made an outward gesture with his hand, and i asked no more questions. the poky, stuffy shop in which he worked came into my mind, and my heart was sore for him. yohrzeit for mother the ginzburgs' first child died of inflammation of the lungs when it was two years and three months old. the young couple were in the depths of grief and despair--they even thought seriously of committing suicide. but people do not do everything they think of doing. neither ginzburg nor his wife had the courage to throw themselves into the cold and grizzly arms of death. they only despaired, until, some time after, a newborn child bound them once more to life. it was a little girl, and they named her dvoreh, after ginzburg's dead mother. the ginzburgs were both free-thinkers in the full sense of the word, and their naming the child after the dead had no superstitious significance whatever. it came about quite simply. "dobinyu," ginzburg had asked his wife, "how shall we call our daughter?" "i don't know," replied the young mother. "no more do i," said ginzburg. "let us call her dvorehle," suggested dobe, automatically, gazing at her pretty baby, and very little concerned about its name. had ginzburg any objection to make? none at all, and the child's name was dvorehle henceforward. when the first child had lived to be a year old, the parents had made a feast-day, and invited guests to celebrate their first-born's first birthday with them. with the second child it was not so. the ginzburgs loved their dvorehle, loved her painfully, infinitely, but when it came to the anniversary of her birth they made no rejoicings. i do not think i shall be going too far if i say they did not dare to do so. dvorehle was an uncommon child: a bright girlie, sweet-tempered, pretty, and clever, the light of the house, shining into its every corner. she could be a whole world of delight to her parents, this wee dvorehle. but it was not the delight, not the happiness they had known with the first child, not the same. _that_ had been so free, so careless. now it was different: terrible pictures of death, of a child's death, would rise up in the midst of their joy, and their gladness suddenly ended in a heavy sigh. they would be at the height of enchantment, kissing and hugging the child and laughing aloud, they would be singing to it and romping with it, everything else would be forgotten. then, without wishing to do so, they would suddenly remember that not so long ago it was another child, also a girl, that went off into just the same silvery little bursts of laughter--and now, where is it?--dead! o how it goes through the heart! the parents turn pale in the midst of their merrymaking, the mother's eyes fill with tears, and the father's head droops. "who knows?" sighs dobe, looking at their little laughing dvorehle. "who knows?" ginzburg understands the meaning of her question and is silent, because he is afraid to say anything in reply. it seems to me that parents who have buried their first-born can never be really happy again. so dvorehle's first birthday was allowed to pass as it were unnoticed. when it came to her second, it was nearly the same thing, only dobe said, "ginzburg, when our daughter is three years old, then we will have great rejoicings!" they waited for the day with trembling hearts. their child's third year was full of terror for them, because their eldest-born had died in her third year, and they felt as though it must be the most dangerous one for their second child. a dreadful conviction began to haunt them both, only they were afraid to confess it one to the other. this conviction, this fixed idea of theirs, was that when dvorehle reached the age of their eldest child when it died, death would once more call their household to mind. dvorehle grew to be two years and eight months old. o it was a terrible time! and--and the child fell ill, with inflammation of the lungs, just like the other one. o pictures that arose and stood before the parents! o terror, o calamity! they were free-thinkers, the ginzburgs, and if any one had told them that they were not free from what they called superstition, that the belief in a higher power beyond our understanding still had a root in their being, if you had spoken thus to ginzburg or to his wife, they would have laughed at you, both of them, out of the depths of a full heart and with laughter more serious than many another's words. but what happened now is wonderful to tell. dobe, sitting by the sick child's cot, began to speak, gravely, and as in a dream: "who knows? who knows? perhaps? perhaps?" she did not conclude. "perhaps what?" asked ginzburg, impatiently. "why should it come like this?" dobe went on. "the same time, the same sickness?" "a simple blind coincidence of circumstances," replied her husband. "but so exactly--one like the other, as if somebody had made it happen on purpose." ginzburg understood his wife's meaning, and answered short and sharp: "dobe, don't talk nonsense." meanwhile dvorehle's illness developed, and the day came on which the doctor said that a crisis would occur within twenty-four hours. what this meant to the ginzburgs would be difficult to describe, but each of them determined privately not to survive the loss of their second child. they sat beside it, not lifting their eyes from its face. they were pale and dazed with grief and sleepless nights, their hearts half-dead within them, they shed no tears, they were so much more dead than alive themselves, and the child's flame of life flickered and dwindled, flickered and dwindled. a tangle of memories was stirring in ginzburg's head, all relating to deaths and graves. he lived through the death of their first child with all details--his father's death, his mother's--early in a summer morning--that was--that was--he recalls it--as though it were to-day. "what is to-day?" he wonders. "what day of the month is it?" and then he remembers, it is the first of may. "the same day," he murmurs, as if he were talking in his sleep. "what the same day?" asks dobe. "nothing," says ginzburg. "i was thinking of something." he went on thinking, and fell into a doze where he sat. he saw his mother enter the room with a soft step, take a chair, and sit down by the sick child. "mother, save it!" he begs her, his heart is full to bursting, and he begins to cry. "isrolik," says his mother, "i have brought a remedy for the child that bears my name." "mame!!!" he is about to throw himself upon her neck and kiss her, but she motions him lightly aside. "why do you never light a candle for my yohrzeit?" she inquires, and looks at him reproachfully. "mame, have pity on us, save the child!" "the child will live, only you must light me a candle." "mame" (he sobs louder), "have pity!" "light my candle--make haste, make haste--" "ginzburg!" a shriek from his wife, and he awoke with a start. "ginzburg, the child is dying! fly for the doctor." ginzburg cast a look at the child, a chill went through him, he ran to the door. the doctor came in person. "our child is dying! help save it!" wailed the unhappy mother, and he, ginzburg, stood and shivered as with cold. the doctor scrutinized the child, and said: "the crisis is coming on." there was something dreadful in the quiet of his tone. "what can be done?" and the ginzburgs wrung their hands. "hush! nothing! bring some hot water, bottles of hot water!--champagne!--where is the medicine? quick!" commanded the doctor. everything was to hand and ready in an instant. the doctor began to busy himself with the child, the parents stood by pale as death. "well," asked dobe, "what?" "we shall soon know," said the doctor. ginzburg looked round, glided like a shadow into a corner of the room, and lit the little lamp that stood there. "what is that for?" asked dobe, in a fright. "nothing, yohrzeit--my mother's," he answered in a strange voice, and his hands never ceased trembling. "your child will live," said the doctor, and father and mother fell upon the child's bed with their faces, and wept. the flame in the lamp burnt brighter and brighter. slack times they sleep despite the fact of the winter nights being long and dark as the jewish exile, the breklins go to bed at dusk. but you may as well know that when it is dusk outside in the street, the breklins are already "way on" in the night, because they live in a basement, separated from the rest of the world by an air-shaft, and when the sun gathers his beams round him before setting, the first to be summoned are those down the breklins' shaft, because of the time required for them to struggle out again. the same thing in the morning, only reversed. people don't usually get up, if they can help it, before it is really light, and so it comes to pass that when other people have left their beds, and are going about their business, the breklins are still asleep and making the long, long night longer yet. if you ask me, "how is it they don't wear their sides out with lying in bed?" i shall reply: they _do_ rise with aching sides, and if you say, "how can people be so lazy?" i can tell you, they don't do it out of laziness, and they lie awake a great part of the time. what's the good of lying in bed if one isn't asleep? there you have it in a nutshell--it's a question of the economic conditions. the breklins are very poor, their life is a never-ending struggle with poverty, and they have come to the conclusion that the cheapest way of waging it, and especially in winter, is to lie in bed under a great heap of old clothes and rags of every description. breklin is a house-painter, and from christmas to purim (i beg to distinguish!) work is dreadfully slack. when you're not earning a crooked penny, what are you to do? in the first place, you must live on "cash," that is, on the few dollars scraped together and put by during the "season," and in the second place, you must cut down your domestic expenses, otherwise the money won't hold out, and then you might as well keep your teeth in a drawer. but you may neither eat nor drink, nor live at all to mention--if it's winter, the money goes all the same: it's bitterly cold, and you can't do without the stove, and the nights are long, and you want a lamp. and the breklins saw that their money would _not_ hold out till purim--that their fast of esther would be too long. coal was beyond them, and kerosene as dear as wine, and yet how could they possibly spend less? how could they do without a fire when it was so cold? without a lamp when it was so dark? and the breklins had an "idea"! why sit up at night and watch the stove and the lamp burning away their money, when they might get into bed, bury themselves in rags, and defy both poverty and cold? there is nothing in particular to do, anyhow. what should there be, a long winter evening through? nothing! they only sat and poured out the bitterness in their heart one upon the other, quarrelled, and scolded. they could do that in bed just as well, and save firing and light into the bargain. so, at the first approach of darkness, the bed was made ready for mr. breklin, and his wife put to sleep their only, three-year-old child. avremele did not understand why he was put to bed so early, but he asked no questions. the room began to feel cold, and the poor little thing was glad to nestle deep into the bedcoverings. the lamp and the fire were extinguished, the stove would soon go out of itself, and the breklin family slept. they slept, and fought against poverty by lying in bed. it was waging cheap warfare. * * * * * having had his first sleep out, breklin turns to his wife: "what do you suppose the time to be now, yudith?" yudith listens attentively. "it must be past eight o'clock," she says. "what makes you think so?" asks breklin. "don't you hear the clatter of knives and forks? well-to-do folk are having supper." "we also used to have supper about this time, in the tsisin," said breklin, and he gave a deep sigh of longing. "we shall soon forget the good times altogether," says yudith, and husband and wife set sail once more for the land of dreams. a few hours later breklin wakes with a groan. "what is the matter?" inquires yudith. "my sides ache with lying." "mine, too," says yudith, and they both begin yawning. "what o'clock would it be now?" wonders breklin, and yudith listens again. "about ten o'clock," she tells him. "no later? i don't believe it. it must be a great deal later than that." "well, listen for yourself," persists yudith, "and you'll hear the housekeeper upstairs scolding somebody. she's putting out the gas in the hall." "oi, weh is mir! how the night drags!" sighs breklin, and turns over onto his other side. yudith goes on talking, but as much to herself as to him: "upstairs they are still all alive, and we are asleep in bed." "weh is mir, weh is mir!" sighs breklin over and over, and once more there is silence. the night wears on. "are you asleep?" asks breklin, suddenly. "i wish i were! who could sleep through such a long night? i'm lying awake and racking my brains." "what over?" asks breklin, interested. "i'm trying to think," explains yudith, "what we can have for dinner to-morrow that will cost nothing, and yet be satisfying." "oi, weh is mir!" sighs breklin again, and is at a loss what to advise. "i wonder" (this time it is yudith) "what o'clock it is now!" "it will soon be morning," is breklin's opinion. "morning? nonsense!" yudith knows better. "it must be morning soon!" he holds to it. "you are very anxious for the morning," says yudith, good-naturedly, "and so you think it will soon be here, and i tell you, it's not midnight yet." "what are you talking about? you don't know what you're saying! i shall go out of my mind." "you know," says yudith, "that avremele always wakes at midnight and cries, and he's still fast asleep." "no, mame," comes from under avremele's heap of rags. "come to me, my beauty! so he was awake after all!" and yudith reaches out her arms for the child. "perhaps he's cold," says breklin. "are you cold, sonny?" asks yudith. "cold, mame!" replies avremele. yudith wraps the coverlets closer and closer round him, and presses him to her side. and the night wears on. "o my sides!" groans breklin. "mine, too!" moans yudith, and they start another conversation. one time they discuss their neighbors; another time the breklins try to calculate how long it is since they married, how much they spend a week on an average, and what was the cost of yudith's confinement. it is seldom they calculate anything right, but talking helps to while away time, till the basement begins to lighten, whereupon the breklins jump out of bed, as though it were some perilous hiding-place, and set to work in a great hurry to kindle the stove. abraham raisin born, , in kaidanov, government of minsk (lithuania), white russia; traditional jewish education; self-taught in russian language; teacher at fifteen, first in kaidanov, then in minsk; first poem published in perez's jüdische bibliothek, in ; served in the army, in kovno, for four years; went to warsaw in , and to new york in ; yiddish lyric poet and novelist; occasionally writes hebrew; contributor to spektor's hausfreund, new york abendpost, and new york arbeiterzeitung; co-editor of das zwanzigste jahrhundert; in , published and edited, in cracow, das jüdische wort, first to urge the claim of yiddish as the national jewish language; publisher and editor, since , of dos neie land, in new york; collected works (poems and tales), vols., warsaw, - . shut in lebele is a little boy ten years old, with pale cheeks, liquid, dreamy eyes, and black hair that falls in twisted ringlets, but, of course, the ringlets are only seen when his hat falls off, for lebele is a pious little boy, who never uncovers his head. there are things that lebele loves and never has, or else he has them only in part, and that is why his eyes are always dreamy and troubled, and always full of longing. he loves the summer, and sits the whole day in cheder. he loves the sun, and the rebbe hangs his caftan across the window, and the cheder is darkened, so that it oppresses the soul. lebele loves the moon, the night, but at home they close the shutters, and lebele, on his little bed, feels as if he were buried alive. and lebele cannot understand people's behaving so oddly. it seems to him that when the sun shines in at the window, it is a delight, it is so pleasant and cheerful, and the rebbe goes and curtains it--no more sun! if lebele dared, he would ask: "what ails you, rebbe, at the sun? what harm can it do you?" but lebele will never put that question: the rebbe is such a great and learned man, he must know best. ai, how dare he, lebele, disapprove? he is only a little boy. when he is grown up, he will doubtless curtain the window himself. but as things are now, lebele is not happy, and feels sadly perplexed at the behavior of his elders. late in the evening, he comes home from cheder. the sun has already set, the street is cheerful and merry, the cockchafers whizz and, flying, hit him on the nose, the ear, the forehead. he would like to play about a bit in the street, let them have supper without him, but he is afraid of his father. his father is a kind man when he talks to strangers, he is so gentle, so considerate, so confidential. but to him, to lebele, he is very unkind, always shouting at him, and if lebele comes from cheder a few minutes late, he will be angry. "where have you been, my fine fellow? have you business anywhere?" now go and tell him that it is not at all so bad out in the street, that it's a pleasure to hear how the cockchafers whirr, that even the hits they give you on the wing are friendly, and mean, "hallo, old fellow!" of course it's a wild absurdity! it amuses him, because he is only a little boy, while his father is a great man, who trades in wood and corn, and who always knows the current prices--when a thing is dearer and when it is cheaper. his father can speak the gentile language, and drive bargains, his father understands the prussian weights. is that a man to be thought lightly of? go and tell him, if you dare, that it's delightful now out in the street. and lebele hurries straight home. when he has reached it, his father asks him how many chapters he has mastered, and if he answers five, his father hums a tune without looking at him; but if he says only three, his father is angry, and asks: "how's that? why so little, ha?" and lebele is silent, and feels guilty before his father. after that his father makes him translate a hebrew word. "translate _kimlùnah_!" "_kimlùnah_ means 'like a passing the night,'" answers lebele, terrified. his father is silent--a sign that he is satisfied--and they sit down to supper. lebele's father keeps an eye on him the whole time, and instructs him how to eat. "is that how you hold your spoon?" inquires the father, and lebele holds the spoon lower, and the food sticks in his throat. after supper lebele has to say grace aloud and in correct hebrew, according to custom. if he mumbles a word, his father calls out: "what did i hear? what? once more, 'wherewith thou dost feed and sustain us.' well, come, say it! don't be in a hurry, it won't burn you!" and lebele says it over again, although he _is_ in a great hurry, although he longs to run out into the street, and the words _do_ seem to burn him. when it is dark, he repeats the evening prayer by lamplight; his father is always catching him making a mistake, and lebele has to keep all his wits about him. the moon, round and shining, is already floating through the sky, and lebele repeats the prayers, and looks at her, and longs after the street, and he gets confused in his praying. prayers over, he escapes out of the house, puzzling over some question in the talmud against the morrow's lesson. he delays there a while gazing at the moon, as she pours her pale beams onto the gass. but he soon hears his father's voice: "come indoors, to bed!" it is warm outside, there is not a breath of air stirring, and yet it seems to lebele as though a wind came along with his father's words, and he grows cold, and he goes in like one chilled to the bone, takes his stand by the window, and stares at the moon. "it is time to close the shutters--there's nothing to sit up for!" lebele hears his father say, and his heart sinks. his father goes out, and lebele sees the shutters swing to, resist, as though they were being closed against their will, and presently there is a loud bang. no more moon!--his father has hidden it! a while after, the lamp has been put out, the room is dark, and all are asleep but lebele, whose bed is by the window. he cannot sleep, he wants to be in the street, whence sounds come in through the chinks. he tries to sit up in bed, to peer out, also through the chinks, and even to open a bit of the shutter, without making any noise, and to look, look, but without success, for just then his father wakes and calls out: "what are you after there, eh? do you want me to come with the strap?" and lebele nestles quietly down again into his pillow, pulls the coverlet over his head, and feels as though he were buried alive. the charitable loan the largest fair in klemenke is "ulas." the little town waits for ulas with a beating heart and extravagant hopes. "ulas," say the klemenke shopkeepers and traders, "is a heavenly blessing; were it not for ulas, klemenke would long ago have been 'äus klemenke,' america would have taken its last few remaining jews to herself." but for ulas one must have the wherewithal--the shopkeepers need wares, and the traders, money. without the wherewithal, even ulas is no good! and chayyim, the dealer in produce, goes about gloomily. there are only three days left before ulas, and he hasn't a penny wherewith to buy corn to trade with. and the other dealers in produce circulate in the market-place with caps awry, with thickly-rolled cigarettes in their mouths and walking-sticks in their hands, and they are talking hard about the fair. "in three days it will be lively!" calls out one. "pshshsh," cries another in ecstasy, "in three days' time the place will be packed!" and chayyim turns pale. he would like to call down a calamity on the fair, he wishes it might rain, snow, or storm on that day, so that not even a mad dog should come to the market-place; only chayyim knows that ulas is no weakling, ulas is not afraid of the strongest wind--ulas is ulas! and chayyim's eyes are ready to start out of his head. a charitable loan--where is one to get a charitable loan? if only five and twenty rubles! he asks it of everyone, but they only answer with a merry laugh: "are you mad? money--just before a fair?" and it seems to chayyim that he really will go mad. "suppose you went across to loibe-bäres?" suggests his wife, who takes her full share in his distress. "i had thought of that myself," answers chayyim, meditatively. "but what?" asks the wife. chayyim is about to reply, "but i can't go there, i haven't the courage," only that it doesn't suit him to be so frank with his wife, and he answers: "devil take him! he won't lend anything!" "try! it won't hurt," she persists. and chayyim reflects that he has no other resource, that loibe-bäres is a rich man, and living in the same street, a neighbor in fact, and that _he_ requires no money for the fair, being a dealer in lumber and timber. "give me out my sabbath overcoat!" says chayyim to his wife, in a resolute tone. "didn't i say so?" the wife answers. "it's the best thing you can do, to go to him." chayyim placed himself before a half-broken looking-glass which was nailed to the wall, smoothed his beard with both hands, tightened his earlocks, and then took off his hat, and gave it a polish with his sleeve. "just look and see if i haven't got any white on my coat off the wall!" "if you haven't?" the wife answered, and began slapping him with both hands over the shoulders. "i thought we once had a little clothes-brush. where is it? ha?" "perhaps you dreamt it," replied his wife, still slapping him on the shoulders, and she went on, "well, i should say you had got some white on your coat!" "come, that'll do!" said chayyim, almost angrily. "i'll go now." he drew on his sabbath overcoat with a sigh, and muttering, "very likely, isn't it, he'll lend me money!" he went out. on the way to loibe-bäres, chayyim's heart began to fail him. since the day that loibe-bäres came to live at the end of the street, chayyim had been in the house only twice, and the path chayyim was treading now was as bad as an examination: the "approach" to him, the light rooms, the great mirrors, the soft chairs, loibe-bäres himself with his long, thick beard and his black eyes with their "gevirish" glance, the lady, the merry, happy children, even the maid, who had remained in his memory since those two visits--all these things together terrified him, and he asked himself, "where are you going to? are you mad? home with you at once!" and every now and then he would stop short on the way. only the thought that ulas was near, and that he had no money to buy corn, drove him to continue. "he won't lend anything--it's no use hoping." chayyim was preparing himself as he walked for the shock of disappointment; but he felt that if he gave way to that extent, he would never be able to open his mouth to make his request known, and he tried to cheer himself: "if i catch him in a good humor, he will lend! why should he be afraid of lending me a few rubles over the fair? i shall tell him that as soon as ever i have sold the corn, he shall have the loan back. i will swear it by wife and children, he will believe me--and i will pay it back." but this does not make chayyim any the bolder, and he tries another sort of comfort, another remedy against nervousness. "he isn't a bad man--and, after all, our acquaintance won't date from to-day--we've been living in the same street twenty years--parabotzker street--" and chayyim recollects that a fortnight ago, as loibe-bäres was passing his house on his way to the market-place, and he, chayyim, was standing in the yard, he gave him the greeting due to a gentleman ("and i could swear i gave him my hand," chayyim reminded himself). loibe-bäres had made a friendly reply, he had even stopped and asked, like an old acquaintance, "well, chayyim, and how are you getting on?" and chayyim strains his memory and remembers further that he answered on this wise: "i thank you for asking! heaven forgive me, one does a little bit of business!" and chayyim is satisfied with his reply, "i answered him quite at my ease." chayyim resolves to speak to him this time even more leisurely and independently, not to cringe before him. chayyim could already see loibe-bäres' house in the distance. he coughed till his throat was clear, stroked his beard down, and looked at his coat. "still a very good coat!" he said aloud, as though trying to persuade himself that the coat was still good, so that he might feel more courage and more proper pride. but when he got to loibe-bäres' big house, when the eight large windows looking onto the street flashed into his eyes, the windows being brightly illuminated from within, his heart gave a flutter. "oi, lord of the world, help!" came of its own accord to his lips. then he felt ashamed, and caught himself up, "ett, nonsense!" as he pushed the door open, the "prayer" escaped him once more, "help, mighty god! or it will be the death of me!" * * * * * loibe-bäres was seated at a large table covered with a clean white table-cloth, and drinking while he talked cheerfully with his household. "there's a jew come, tate!" called out a boy of twelve, on seeing chayyim standing by the door. "so there is!" called out a second little boy, still more merrily, fixing chayyim with his large, black, mischievous eyes. all the rest of those at table began looking at chayyim, and he thought every moment that he must fall of a heap onto the floor. "it will look very bad if i fall," he said to himself, made a step forward, and, without saying good evening, stammered out: "i just happened to be passing, you understand, and i saw you sitting--so i knew you were at home--well, i thought one ought to call--neighbors--" "well, welcome, welcome!" said loibe-bäres, smiling. "you've come at the right moment. sit down." a stone rolled off chayyim's heart at this reply, and, with a glance at the two little boys, he quietly took a seat. "leah, give reb chayyim a glass of tea," commanded loibe-bäres. "quite a kind man!" thought chayyim. "may the almighty come to his aid!" he gave his host a grateful look, and would gladly have fallen onto the gevir's thick neck, and kissed him. "well, and what are you about?" inquired his host. "thanks be to god, one lives!" the maid handed him a glass of tea. he said, "thank you," and then was sorry: it is not the proper thing to thank a servant. he grew red and bit his lips. "have some jelly with it!" loibe-bäres suggested. "an excellent man, an excellent man!" thought chayyim, astonished. "he is sure to lend." "you deal in something?" asked loibe-bäres. "why, yes," answered chayyim. "one's little bit of business, thank heaven, is no worse than other people's!" "what price are oats fetching now?" it occurred to the gevir to ask. oats had fallen of late, but it seemed better to chayyim to say that they had risen. "they have risen very much!" he declared in a mercantile tone of voice. "well, and have you some oats ready?" inquired the gevir further. "i've got a nice lot of oats, and they didn't cost me much, either. i got them quite cheap," replied chayyim, with more warmth, forgetting, while he spoke, that he hadn't had an ear of oats in his granary for weeks. "and you are thinking of doing a little speculating?" asked loibe-bäres. "are you not in need of any money?" "thanks be to god," replied chayyim, proudly, "i have never yet been in need of money." "why did i say that?" he thought then, in terror at his own words. "how am i going to ask for a loan now?" and chayyim wanted to back the cart a little, only loibe-bäres prevented him by saying: "so i understand you make a good thing of it, you are quite a wealthy man." "my wealth be to my enemies!" chayyim wanted to draw back, but after a glance at loibe-bäres' shining face, at the blue jar with the jelly, he answered proudly: "thank heaven, i have nothing to complain of!" "there goes your charitable loan!" the thought came like a kick in the back of his head. "why are you boasting like that? tell him you want twenty-five rubles for ulas--that he must save you, that you are in despair, that--" but chayyim fell deeper and deeper into a contented and happy way of talking, praised his business more and more, and conversed with the gevir as with an equal. but he soon began to feel he was one too many, that he should not have sat there so long, or have talked in that way. it would have been better to have talked about the fair, about a loan. now it is too late: "i have no need of money!" and chayyim gave a despairing look at loibe-bäres' cheerful face, at the two little boys who sat opposite and watched him with sly, mischievous eyes, and who whispered knowingly to each other, and then smiled more knowingly still! a cold perspiration covered him. he rose from his chair. "you are going already?" observed loibe-bäres, politely. "now perhaps i could ask him!" it flashed across chayyim's mind that he might yet save himself, but, stealing a glance at the two boys with the roguish eyes that watched him so slyly, he replied with dignity: "i must! business! there is no time!" and it seems to him, as he goes toward the door, that the two little boys with the mischievous eyes are putting out their tongues after him, and that loibe-bäres himself smiles and says, "stick your tongues out further, further still!" chayyim's shoulders seem to burn, and he makes haste to get out of the house. the two brothers it is three months since yainkele and berele--two brothers, the first fourteen years old, the second sixteen--have been at the college that stands in the town of x--, five german miles from their birthplace dalissovke, after which they are called the "dalissovkers." yainkele is a slight, pale boy, with black eyes that peep slyly from beneath the two black eyebrows. berele is taller and stouter than yainkele, his eyes are lighter, and his glance is more defiant, as though he would say, "let me alone, i shall laugh at you all yet!" the two brothers lodged with a poor relation, a widow, a dealer in second-hand goods, who never came home till late at night. the two brothers had no bed, but a chest, which was broad enough, served instead, and the brothers slept sweetly on it, covered with their own torn clothes; and in their dreams they saw their native place, the little street, their home, their father with his long beard and dim eyes and bent back, and their mother with her long, pale, melancholy face, and they heard the little brothers and sisters quarrelling, as they fought over a bit of herring, and they dreamt other dreams of home, and early in the morning they were homesick, and then they used to run to the dalissovke inn, and ask the carrier if there were a letter for them from home. the dalissovke carriers were good jews with soft hearts, and they were sorry for the two poor boys, who were so anxious for news from home, whose eyes burned, and whose hearts beat so fast, so loud, but the carriers were very busy; they came charged with a thousand messages from the dalissovke shopkeepers and traders, and they carried more letters than the post, but with infinitely less method. letters were lost, and parcels were heard of no more, and the distracted carriers scratched the nape of their neck, and replied to every question: "directly, directly, i shall find it directly--no, i don't seem to have anything for you--" that is how they answered the grown people who came to them; but our two little brothers stood and looked at lezer the carrier--a man in a wadded caftan, summer and winter--with thirsty eyes and aching hearts; stood and waited, hoping he would notice them and say something, if only one word. but lezer was always busy: now he had gone into the yard to feed the horse, now he had run into the inn, and entered into a conversation with the clerk of a great store, who had brought a list of goods wanted from a shop in dalissovke. and the brothers used to stand and stand, till the elder one, berele, lost patience. biting his lips, and all but crying with vexation, he would just articulate: "reb lezer, is there a letter from father?" but reb lezer would either suddenly cease to exist, run out into the street with somebody or other, or be absorbed in a conversation, and berele hardly expected the answer which reb lezer would give over his shoulder: "there isn't one--there isn't one." "there isn't one!" berele would say with a deep sigh, and sadly call to yainkele to come away. mournfully, and with a broken spirit, they went to where the day's meal awaited them. "i am sure he loses the letters!" yainkele would say a few minutes later, as they walked along. "he is a bad man!" berele would mutter with vexation. but one day lezer handed them a letter and a small parcel. the letter ran thus: "dear children, be good, boys, and learn with diligence. we send you herewith half a cheese and a quarter of a pound of sugar, and a little berry-juice in a bottle. eat it in health, and do not quarrel over it. from me, your father, chayyim hecht." that day lezer the carrier was the best man in the world in their eyes, they would not have been ashamed to eat him up with horse and cart for very love. they wrote an answer at once--for letter-paper they used to tear out, with fluttering hearts, the first, imprinted pages in the gemoreh--and gave it that evening to lezer the carrier. lezer took it coldly, pushed it into the breast of his coat, and muttered something like "all right!" "what did he say, berele?" asked yainkele, anxiously. "i think he said 'all right,'" berele answered doubtfully. "i think he said so, too," yainkele persuaded himself. then he gave a sigh, and added fearfully: "he may lose the letter!" "bite your tongue out!" answered berele, angrily, and they went sadly away to supper. and three times a week, early in the morning, when lezer the carrier came driving, the two brothers flew, not ran, to the dalissovke inn, to ask for an answer to their letter; and lezer the carrier grew more preoccupied and cross, and answered either with mumbled words, which the brothers could not understand, and dared not ask him to repeat, or else not at all, so that they went away with heavy hearts. but one day they heard lezer the carrier speak distinctly, so that they understood quite well: "what are you doing here, you two? what do you come plaguing me for? letter? fiddlesticks! how much do you pay me? am i a postman? eh? be off with you, and don't worry." the brothers obeyed, but only in part: their hearts were like lead, their thin little legs shook, and tears fell from their eyes onto the ground. and they went no more to lezer the carrier to ask for a letter. "i wish he were dead and buried!" they exclaimed, but they did not mean it, and they longed all the time just to go and look at lezer the carrier, his horse and cart. after all, they came from dalissovke, and the two brothers loved them. * * * * * one day, two or three weeks after the carrier sent them about their business in the way described, the two brothers were sitting in the house of the poor relation and talking about home. it was summer-time, and a friday afternoon. "i wonder what father is doing now," said yainkele, staring at the small panes in the small window. "he must be cutting his nails," answered berele, with a melancholy smile. "he must be chopping up lambs' feet," imagined yainkele, "and mother is combing chainele, and chainele is crying." "now we've talked nonsense enough!" decided berele. "how can we know what is going on there?" "perhaps somebody's dead!" added yainkele, in sudden terror. "stuff and nonsense!" said berele. "when people die, they let one know--" "perhaps they wrote, and the carrier won't give us the letter--" "ai, that's chatter enough!" berele was quite cross. "shut up, donkey! you make me laugh," he went on, to reassure yainkele, "they are all alive and well." yainkele became cheerful again, and all at once he gave a bound into the air, and exclaimed with eager eyes: "berele, do what i say! let's write by the post!" "right you are!" agreed berele. "only i've no money." "i have four kopeks; they are over from the ten i got last night. you know, at my 'thursday' they give me ten kopeks for supper, and i have four over. "and i have one kopek," said berele, "just enough for a post-card." "but which of us will write it?" asked yainkele. "i," answered berele, "i am the eldest, i'm a first-born son." "but i gave four kopeks!" "a first-born is worth more than four kopeks." "no! i'll write half, and you'll write half, ha?" "very well. come and buy a card." and the two brothers ran to buy a card at the postoffice. "there will be no room for anything!" complained yainkele, on the way home, as he contemplated the small post-card. "we will make little tiny letters, teeny weeny ones!" advised berele. "father won't be able to read them!" "never mind! he will put on his spectacles. come along--quicker!" urged yainkele. his heart was already full of words, like a sea, and he wanted to pour it out onto the bit of paper, the scrap on which he had spent his entire fortune. they reached their lodging, and settled down to write. berele began, and yainkele stood and looked on. "begin higher up! there is room there for a whole line. why did you put 'to my beloved father' so low down?" shrieked yainkele. "where am i to put it, then? in the sky, eh?" asked berele, and pushed yainkele aside. "go away, i will leave you half. don't confuse me!--you be quiet!" and yainkele moved away, and stared with terrified eyes at berele, as he sat there, bent double, and wrote and wrote, knitted his brows, and dipped the pen, and reflected, and wrote again. "that's enough!" screamed yainkele, after a few minutes. "it's not the half yet," answered berele, writing on. "but i ought to have more than half!" said yainkele, crossly. the longing to write, to pour out his heart onto the post-card, was overwhelming him. but berele did not even hear: he had launched out into such rhetorical hebrew expressions as "first of all, i let you know that i am alive and well," which he had learnt in "the perfect letter-writer," and his little bits of news remained unwritten. he had yet to abuse lezer the carrier, to tell how many pages of the gemoreh he had learnt, to let them know they were to send another parcel, because they had no "monday" and no "wednesday," and the "tuesday" was no better than nothing. and berele writes and writes, and yainkele can no longer contain himself--he sees that berele is taking up more than half the card. "enough!" he ran forward with a cry, and seized the penholder. "three words more!" begged berele. "but remember, not more than three!" and yainkele's eyes flashed. berele set to work to write the three words; but that which he wished to express required yet ten to fifteen words, and berele, excited by the fact of writing, pecked away at the paper, and took up yet another bit of the other half. "you stop!" shrieked yainkele, and broke into hysterical sobs, as he saw what a small space remained for him. "hush! just 'from me, thy son,'" begged berele, "nothing else!" but yainkele, remembering that he had given a whole vierer toward the post-card, and that they would read so much of berele at home, and so little of him, flew into a passion, and came and tried to tear away the card from under berele's hands. "let me put 'from me, thy son'!" implored berele. "it will do _without_ 'from me, thy son'!" screamed yainkele, although he _felt_ that one ought to put it. his anger rose, and he began tugging at the card. berele held tight, but yainkele gave such a pull that the card tore in two. "what have you done, villain!" cried berele, glaring at yainkele. "i _meant_ to do it!" wailed yainkele. "oh, but why did you?" cried berele, gazing in despair at the two torn halves of the post-card. but yainkele could not answer. the tears choked him, and he threw himself against the wall, tearing his hair. then berele gave way, too, and the little room resounded with lamentations. lost his voice it was in the large synagogue in klemenke. the week-day service had come to an end. the town cantor who sings all the prayers, even when he prays alone, and who is longer over them than other people, had already folded his prayer-scarf, and was humming the day's psalm to himself, to a tune. he sang the last words "cantorishly" high: "and he will be our guide until death." in the last word "death" he tried, as usual, to rise artistically to the higher octave, then to fall very low, and to rise again almost at once into the height; but this time he failed, the note stuck in his throat and came out false. he got a fright, and in his fright he looked round to make sure no one was standing beside him. seeing only old henoch, his alarm grew less, he knew that old henoch was deaf. as he went out with his prayer-scarf and phylacteries under his arm, the unsuccessful "death" rang in his ears and troubled him. "plague take it," he muttered, "it never once happened to me before." soon, however, he remembered that two weeks ago, on the sabbath before the new moon, as he stood praying with the choristers before the altar, nearly the same thing had happened to him when he sang "he is our god" as a solo in the kedushah. happily no one remarked it--anyway the "bass" had said nothing to him. and the memory of the unsuccessful "hear, o israel" of two weeks ago and of to-day's "unto death" were mingled together, and lay heavily on his heart. he would have liked to try the note once more as he walked, but the street was just then full of people, and he tried to refrain till he should reach home. contrary to his usual custom, he began taking rapid steps, and it looked as if he were running away from someone. on reaching home, he put away his prayer-scarf without saying so much as good morning, recovered his breath after the quick walk, and began to sing, "he shall be our guide until death." "that's right, you have so little time to sing in! the day is too short for you!" exclaimed the cantoress, angrily. "it grates on the ears enough already!" "how, it grates?" and the cantor's eyes opened wide with fright, "i sing a note, and you say 'it grates'? how can it grate?" he looked at her imploringly, his eyes said: "have pity on me! don't say, 'it grates'! because if it _does_ grate, i am miserable, i am done for!" but the cantoress was much too busy and preoccupied with the dinner to sympathize and to understand how things stood with her husband, and went on: "of course it grates! why shouldn't it? it deafens me. when you sing in the choir, i have to bear it, but when you begin by yourself--what?" the cantor had grown as white as chalk, and only just managed to say: "grune, are you mad? what are you talking about?" "what ails the man to-day!" exclaimed grune, impatiently. "you've made a fool of yourself long enough! go and wash your hands and come to dinner!" the cantor felt no appetite, but he reflected that one must eat, if only as a remedy; not to eat would make matters worse, and he washed his hands. he chanted the grace loud and cantor-like, glancing occasionally at his wife, to see if she noticed anything wrong; but this time she said nothing at all, and he was reassured. "it was my fancy--just my fancy!" he said to himself. "all nonsense! one doesn't lose one's voice so soon as all that!" then he remembered that he was already forty years old, and it had happened to the cantor meyer lieder, when he was just that age-- that was enough to put him into a fright again. he bent his head, and thought deeply. then he raised it, and called out loud: "grune!" "hush! what is it? what makes you call out in that strange voice?" asked grune, crossly, running in. "well, well, let me live!" said the cantor. "why do you say 'in that strange voice'? whose voice was it? eh? what is the matter now?" there was a sound as of tears as he spoke. "you're cracked to-day! as nonsensical--well, what do you want?" "beat up one or two eggs for me!" begged the cantor, softly. "here's a new holiday!" screamed grune. "on a wednesday! have you got to chant the sabbath prayers? eggs are so dear now--five kopeks apiece!" "grune," commanded the cantor, "they may be one ruble apiece, two rubles, five rubles, one hundred rubles. do you hear? beat up two eggs for me, and don't talk!" "to be sure, you earn so much money!" muttered grune. "then you think it's all over with me?" said the cantor, boldly. "no, grune!" he wanted to tell her that he wasn't sure about it yet, there was still hope, it might be all a fancy, perhaps it was imagination, but he was afraid to say all that, and grune did not understand what he stammered out. she shrugged her shoulders, and only said, "upon my word!" and went to beat up the eggs. the cantor sat and sang to himself. he listened to every note as though he were examining some one. finding himself unable to take the high octave, he called out despairingly: "grune, make haste with the eggs!" his one hope lay in the eggs. the cantoress brought them with a cross face, and grumbled: "he wants eggs, and we're pinching and starving--" the cantor would have liked to open his heart to her, so that she should not think the eggs were what he cared about; he would have liked to say, "grune, i think i'm done for!" but he summoned all his courage and refrained. "after all, it may be only an idea," he thought. and without saying anything further, he began to drink up the eggs as a remedy. when they were finished, he tried to make a few cantor-like trills. in this he succeeded, and he grew more cheerful. "it will be all right," he thought, "i shall not lose my voice so soon as all that! never mind meyer lieder, he drank! i don't drink, only a little wine now and again, at a circumcision." his appetite returned, and he swallowed mouthful after mouthful. but his cheerfulness did not last: the erstwhile unsuccessful "death" rang in his ears, and the worry returned and took possession of him. the fear of losing his voice had tormented the cantor for the greater part of his life. his one care, his one anxiety had been, what should he do if he were to lose his voice? it had happened to him once already, when he was fourteen years old. he had a tenor voice, which broke all of a sudden. but that time he didn't care. on the contrary, he was delighted, he knew that his voice was merely changing, and that in six months he would get the baritone for which he was impatiently waiting. but when he had got the baritone, he knew that when he lost that, it would be lost indeed--he would get no other voice. so he took great care of it--how much more so when he had his own household, and had taken the office of cantor in klemenke! not a breath of wind was allowed to blow upon his throat, and he wore a comforter in the hottest weather. it was not so much on account of the klemenke householders--he felt sure they would not dismiss him from his office. even if he were to lose his voice altogether, he would still receive his salary. it was not brought to him to his house, as it was--he had to go for it every friday from door to door, and the klemenke jews were good-hearted, and never refused anything to the outstretched hand. he took care of his voice, and trembled to lose it, only out of love for the singing. he thought a great deal of the klemenke jews--their like was not to be found--but in the interpretation of music they were uninitiated, they had no feeling whatever. and when, standing before the altar, he used to make artistic trills and variations, and take the highest notes, that was for _himself_--he had great joy in it--and also for his eight singers, who were all the world to him. his very life was bound up with them, and when one of them exclaimed, "oi, cantor! oi, how you sing!" his happiness was complete. the singers had come together from various towns and villages, and all their conversations and their stories turned and wrapped themselves round cantors and music. these stories and legends were the cantor's delight, he would lose himself in every one of them, and give a sweet, deep sigh: "as if music were a trifle! as if a feeling were a toy!" and now that he had begun to fear he was losing his voice, it seemed to him the singers were different people--bad people! they must be laughing at him among themselves! and he began to be on his guard against them, avoided taking a high note in their presence, lest they should find out--and suffered all the more. and what would the neighboring cantors say? the thought tormented him further. he knew that he had a reputation among them, that he was a great deal thought of, that his voice was much talked of. he saw in his mind's eye a couple of cantors whispering together, and shaking their heads sorrowfully: they are pitying him! "how sad! you have heard? the poor klemenke cantor----" the vision quite upset him. "perhaps it's only fancy!" he would say to himself in those dreadful moments, and would begin to sing, to try his highest notes. but the terror he was in took away his hearing, and he could not tell if his voice were what it should be or not. in two weeks time his face grew pale and thin, his eyes were sunk, and he felt his strength going. "what is the matter with you, cantor?" said a singer to him one day. "ha, what is the matter?" asked the cantor, with a start, thinking they had already found out. "you ask what is the matter with me? then you know something about it, ha!" "no, i know nothing. that is why i ask you why you look so upset." "upset, you say? nothing more than upset, ha? that's all?" "the cantor must be thinking out some new piece for the solemn days," decided the choir. another month went by, and the cantor had not got the better of his fear. life had become distasteful to him. if he had known for certain that his voice was gone, he would perhaps have been calmer. verfallen! no one can live forever (losing his voice and dying was one and the same to him), but the uncertainty, the tossing oneself between yes and no, the olom ha-tohu of it all, embittered the cantor's existence. at last, one fine day, the cantor resolved to get at the truth: he could bear it no longer. it was evening, the wife had gone to the market for meat, and the choir had gone home, only the eldest singer, yössel "bass," remained with the cantor. the cantor looked at him, opened his mouth and shut it again; it was difficult for him to say what he wanted to say. at last he broke out with: "yössel!" "what is it, cantor?" "tell me, are you an honest man?" yössel "bass" stared at the cantor, and asked: "what are you asking me to-day, cantor?" "brother yössel," the cantor said, all but weeping, "brother yössel!" that was all he could say. "cantor, what is wrong with you?" "brother yössel, be an honest man, and tell me the truth, the truth!" "i don't understand! what is the matter with you, cantor?" "tell me the truth: do you notice any change in me?" "yes, i do," answered the singer, looking at the cantor, and seeing how pale and thin he was. "a very great change----" "now i see you are an honest man, you tell me the truth to my face. do you know when it began?" "it will soon be a month," answered the singer. "yes, brother, a month, a month, but i felt--" the cantor wiped off the perspiration that covered his forehead, and continued: "and you think, yössel, that it's lost now, for good and all?" "that _what_ is lost?" asked yössel, beginning to be aware that the conversation turned on something quite different from what was in his own mind. "what? how can you ask? ah? what should i lose? money? i have no money--i mean--of course--my voice." then yössel understood everything--he was too much of a musician _not_ to understand. looking compassionately at the cantor, he asked: "for certain?" "for certain?" exclaimed the cantor, trying to be cheerful. "why must it be for certain? very likely it's all a mistake--let us hope it is!" yössel looked at the cantor, and as a doctor behaves to his patient, so did he: "take _do_!" he said, and the cantor, like an obedient pupil, drew out _do_. "draw it out, draw it out! four quavers--draw it out!" commanded yössel, listening attentively. the cantor drew it out. "now, if you please, _re_!" the cantor sang out _re-re-re_. the singer moved aside, appeared to be lost in thought, and then said, sadly: "gone!" "forever?" "well, are you a little boy? are you likely to get another voice? at your time of life, gone is gone!" the cantor wrung his hands, threw himself down beside the table, and, laying his head on his arms, he burst out crying like a child. next morning the whole town had heard of the misfortune--that the cantor had lost his voice. "it's an ill wind----" quoted the innkeeper, a well-to-do man. "he won't keep us so long with his trills on sabbath. i'd take a bitter onion for that voice of his, any day!" late it was in sad and hopeless mood that antosh watched the autumn making its way into his peasant's hut. the days began to shorten and the evenings to lengthen, and there was no more petroleum in the hut to fill his humble lamp; his wife complained too--the store of salt was giving out; there was very little soap left, and in a few days he would finish his tobacco. and antosh cleared his throat, spat, and muttered countless times a day: "no salt, no soap, no tobacco; we haven't got anything. a bad business!" antosh had no prospect of earning anything in the village. the one village jew was poor himself, and had no work to give. antosh had only _one_ hope left. just before the feast of tabernacles he would drive a whole cart-load of fir-boughs into the little town and bring a tidy sum of money home in exchange. he did this every year, since buying his thin horse in the market for six rubles. "when shall you have tabernacles?" he asked every day of the village jew. "not yet," was the jew's daily reply. "but when _shall_ you?" antosh insisted one day. "in a week," answered the jew, not dreaming how very much antosh needed to know precisely. in reality there were only five more days to tabernacles, and antosh had calculated with business accuracy that it would be best to take the fir-boughs into the town two days before the festival. but this was really the first day of it. he rose early, ate his dry, black bread dipped in salt, and drank a measure of water. then he harnessed his thin, starved horse to the cart, took his hatchet, and drove into the nearest wood. he cut down the branches greedily, seeking out the thickest and longest. "good ware is easier sold," he thought, and the cart filled, and the load grew higher and higher. he was calculating on a return of three gulden, and it seemed still too little, so that he went on cutting, and laid on a few more boughs. the cart could hold no more, and antosh looked at it from all sides, and smiled contentedly. "that will be enough," he muttered, and loosened the reins. but scarcely had he driven a few paces, when he stopped and looked the cart over again. "perhaps it's not enough, after all?" he questioned fearfully, cut down five more boughs, laid them onto the already full cart, and drove on. he drove slowly, pace by pace, and his thoughts travelled slowly too, as though keeping step with the thin horse. antosh was calculating how much salt and how much soap, how much petroleum and how much tobacco he could buy for the return for his ware. at length the calculating tired him, and he resolved to put it off till he should have the cash. then the calculating would be done much more easily. but when he reached the town, and saw that the booths were already covered with fir-boughs, he felt a pang at his heart. the booths and the houses seemed to be twirling round him in a circle, and dancing. but he consoled himself with the thought that every year, when he drove into town, he found many booths already covered. some cover earlier, some later. the latter paid the best. "i shall ask higher prices," he resolved, and all the while fear tugged at his heart. he drove on. two jewish women were standing before a house; they pointed at the cart with their finger, and laughed aloud. "why do you laugh?" queried antosh, excitedly. "because you are too soon with your fir-boughs," they answered, and laughed again. "how too soon?" he asked, astonished. "too soon--too soon--" laughed the women. "pfui," antosh spat, and drove on, thinking, "berko said himself, 'in a week.' i am only two days ahead." a cold sweat covered him, as he reflected he might have made a wrong calculation, founded on what berko had told him. it was possible that he had counted the days badly--had come too late! there is no doubt: all the booths are covered with fir-boughs. he will have no salt, no tobacco, no soap, and no petroleum. sadly he followed the slow paces of his languid horse, which let his weary head droop as though out of sympathy for his master. meantime the jews were crowding out of the synagogues in festal array, with their prayer-scarfs and prayer-books in their hands. when they perceived the peasant with the cart of fir-boughs, they looked questioningly one at the other: had they made a mistake and begun the festival too early? "what have you there?" some one inquired. "what?" answered antosh, taken aback. "fir-boughs! buy, my dear friend, i sell it cheap!" he begged in a piteous voice. the jews burst out laughing. "what should we want it for now, fool?" "the festival has begun!" said another. antosh was confused with his misfortune, he scratched the back of his head, and exclaimed, weeping: "buy! buy! i want salt, soap! i want petroleum." the group of jews, who had begun by laughing, were now deeply moved. they saw the poor, starving peasant standing there in his despair, and were filled with a lively compassion. "a poor gentile--it's pitiful!" said one, sympathetically. "he hoped to make a fortune out of his fir-boughs, and now!" observed another. "it would be proper to buy up that bit of fir," said a third, "else it might cause a chillul ha-shem." "on a festival?" objected some one else. "it can always be used for firewood," said another, contemplating the cartful. "whether or no! it's a festival----" "no salt, no soap, no petroleum--" it was the refrain of the bewildered peasant, who did not understand what the jews were saying among themselves. he could only guess that they were talking about him. "hold! he doesn't want _money_! he wants ware. ware without money may be given even on a festival," called out one. the interest of the bystanders waxed more lively. among them stood a storekeeper, whose shop was close by. "give him, chayyim, a few jars of salt and other things that he wants--even if it comes to a few gulden. we will contribute." "all right, willingly!" said chayyim, "a poor gentile!" "a precept, a precept! it would be carrying out a religious precept, as surely as i am a jew!" chimed in every individual member of the crowd. chayyim called the peasant to him; all the rest followed. he gave him out of the stores two jars of salt, a bar of soap, a bottle of petroleum, and two packets of tobacco. the peasant did not know what to do for joy. he could only stammer in a low voice, "thank you! thank you!" "and there's a bit of sabbath loaf," called out one, when he had packed the things away, "take that with you!" "there's some more!" and a second hand held some out to him. "more!" "more!" "and more!" they brought antosh bread and cake from all sides; his astonishment was such that he could scarcely articulate his thanks. the people were pleased with themselves, and yainkel leives, a cheerful man, who was well supplied for the festival, because his daughter's "intended" was staying in his house, brought antosh a glass of brandy: "drink, and drive home, in the name of god!" antosh drank the brandy with a quick gulp, bit off a piece of cake, and declared joyfully, "i shall never forget it!" "not at all a bad gentile," remarked someone in the crowd. "well, what would you have? did you expect him to beat you?" queried another, smiling. the words "to beat" made a melancholy impression on the crowd, and it dispersed in silence. the kaddish from behind the curtain came low moans, and low words of encouragement from the old and experienced bobbe. in the room it was dismal to suffocation. the seven children, all girls, between twenty-three and four years old, sat quietly, each by herself, with drooping head, and waited for something dreadful. at a little table near a great cupboard with books sat the "patriarch" reb selig chanes, a tall, thin jew, with a yellow, consumptive face. he was chanting in low, broken tones out of a big gemoreh, and continually raising his head, giving a nervous glance at the curtain, and then, without inquiring what might be going on beyond the low moaning, taking up once again his sad, tremulous chant. he seemed to be suffering more than the woman in childbirth herself. "lord of the world!"--it was the eldest daughter who broke the stillness--"let it be a boy for once! help, lord of the world, have pity!" "oi, thus might it be, lord of the world!" chimed in the second. and all the girls, little and big, with broken heart and prostrate spirit, prayed that there might be born a boy. reb selig raised his eyes from the gemoreh, glanced at the curtain, then at the seven girls, gave vent to a deep-drawn oi, made a gesture with his hand, and said with settled despair, "she will give you another sister!" the seven girls looked at one another in desperation; their father's conclusion quite crushed them, and they had no longer even the courage to pray. only the littlest, the four-year-old, in the torn frock, prayed softly: "oi, please god, there will be a little brother." "i shall die without a kaddish!" groaned reb selig. the time drags on, the moans behind the curtain grow louder, and reb selig and the elder girls feel that soon, very soon, the "grandmother" will call out in despair, "a little girl!" and reb selig feels that the words will strike home to his heart like a blow, and he resolves to run away. he goes out into the yard, and looks up at the sky. it is midnight. the moon swims along so quietly and indifferently, the stars seem to frolic and rock themselves like little children, and still reb selig hears, in the "grandmother's" husky voice, "a girl!" "well, there will be no kaddish! verfallen!" he says, crossing the yard again. "there's no getting it by force!" but his trying to calm himself is useless; the fear that it should be a girl only grows upon him. he loses patience, and goes back into the house. but the house is in a turmoil. "what is it, eh?" "a little boy! tate, a boy! tatinke, as surely may i be well!" with this news the seven girls fall upon him with radiant faces. "eh, a little boy?" asked reb selig, as though bewildered, "eh? what?" "a boy, reb selig, a kaddish!" announced the "grandmother." "as soon as i have bathed him, i will show him you!" "a boy ... a boy ..." stammered reb selig in the same bewilderment, and he leant against the wall, and burst into tears like a woman. the seven girls took alarm. "that is for joy," explained the "grandmother," "i have known that happen before." "a boy ... a boy!" sobbed reb selig, overcome with happiness, "a boy ... a boy ... a kaddish!" * * * * * the little boy received the name of jacob, but he was called, by way of a talisman, alter. reb selig was a learned man, and inclined to think lightly of such protective measures; he even laughed at his cheike for believing in such foolishness; but, at heart, he was content to have it so. who could tell what might not be in it, after all? women sometimes know better than men. by the time alterke was three years old, reb selig's cough had become worse, the sense of oppression on his chest more frequent. but he held himself morally erect, and looked death calmly in the face, as though he would say, "now i can afford to laugh at you--i leave a kaddish!" "what do you think, cheike," he would say to his wife, after a fit of coughing, "would alterke be able to say kaddish if i were to die to-day or to-morrow?" "go along with you, crazy pate!" cheike would exclaim in secret alarm. "you are going to live a long while! is your cough anything new?" selig smiled, "foolish woman, she supposes i am afraid to die. when one leaves a kaddish, death is a trifle." alterke was sitting playing with a prayer-book and imitating his father at prayer, "a num-num--a num-num." "listen to him praying!" and cheike turned delightedly to her husband. "his soul is piously inclined!" selig made no reply, he only gazed at his kaddish with a beaming face. then an idea came into his head: alterke will be a tzaddik, will help him out of all his difficulties in the other world. "mame, i want to eat!" wailed alterke, suddenly. he was given a piece of the white bread which was laid aside, for him only, every sabbath. alterke began to eat. "who bringest forth! who bringest forth!" called out reb selig. "tan't!" answered the child. "it is time you taught him to say grace," observed cheike. and reb selig drew alterke to him and began to repeat with him. "say: boruch." "bo'uch," repeated the child after his fashion. "attoh." "attoh." when alterke had finished "who bringest forth," cheike answered piously amen, and reb selig saw alterke, in imagination, standing in the synagogue and repeating kaddish, and heard the congregation answer amen, and he felt as though he were already seated in the garden of eden. * * * * * another year went by, and reb selig was feeling very poorly. spring had come, the snow had melted, and he found the wet weather more trying than ever before. he could just drag himself early to the synagogue, but going to the afternoon service had become a difficulty, and he used to recite the afternoon and later service at home, and spend the whole evening with alterke. it was late at night. all the houses were shut. reb selig sat at his little table, and was looking into the corner where cheike's bed stood, and where alterke slept beside her. selig had a feeling that he would die that night. he felt very tired and weak, and with an imploring look he crept up to alterke's crib, and began to wake him. the child woke with a start. "alterke"--reb selig was stroking the little head--"come to me for a little!" the child, who had had his first sleep out, sprang up, and went to his father. reb selig sat down in the chair which stood by the little table with the open gemoreh, lifted alterke onto the table, and looked into his eyes. "alterke!" "what, tate?" "would you like me to die?" "like," answered the child, not knowing what "to die" meant, and thinking it must be something nice. "will you say kaddish after me?" asked reb selig, in a strangled voice, and he was seized with a fit of coughing. "will say!" promised the child. "shall you know how?" "shall!" "well, now, say: yisgaddal." "yisdaddal," repeated the child in his own way. "veyiskaddash." "veyistaddash." and reb selig repeated the kaddish with him several times. the small lamp burnt low, and scarcely illuminated reb selig's yellow, corpse-like face, or the little one of alterke, who repeated wearily the difficult, and to him unintelligible words of the kaddish. and alterke, all the while, gazed intently into the corner, where tate's shadow and his own had a most fantastic and frightening appearance. avrÒhom the orchard-keeper when he first came to the place, as a boy, and went straight to the house-of-study, and people, having greeted him, asked "where do you come from?" and he answered, not without pride, "from the government of wilna"--from that day until the day he was married, they called him "the wilner." in a few years' time, however, when the house-of-study had married him to the daughter of the psalm-reader, a coarse, undersized creature, and when, after six months' "board" with his father-in-law, he became a teacher, the town altered his name to "the wilner teacher." again, a few years later, when he got a chest affection, and the doctor forbade him to keep school, and he began to deal in fruit, the town learnt that his name was avròhom, to which they added "the orchard-keeper," and his name is "avròhom the orchard-keeper" to this day. avròhom was quite content with his new calling. he had always wished for a business in which he need not have to do with a lot of people in whom he had small confidence, and in whose society he felt ill at ease. people have a queer way with them, he used to think, they want to be always talking! they want to tell everything, find out everything, answer everything! when he was a student he always chose out a place in a corner somewhere, where he could see nobody, and nobody could see him; and he used to murmur the day's task to a low tune, and his murmured repetition made him think of the ruin in which rabbi josé, praying there, heard the bas-kol mourn, cooing like a dove, over the exile of israel. and then he longed to float away to that ruin somewhere in the wilderness, and murmur there like a dove, with no one, no one, to interrupt him, not even the bas-kol. but his vision would be destroyed by some hard question which a fellow-student would put before him, describing circles with his thumb and chanting to a shrill gemoreh-tune. in the orchard, at the end of the gass, however, which avròhom hired of the gentiles, he had no need to exchange empty words with anyone. avròhom had no large capital, and could not afford to hire an orchard for more than thirty rubles. the orchard was consequently small, and only grew about twenty apple-trees, a few pear-trees, and a cherry-tree. avròhom used to move to the garden directly after the feast of weeks, although that was still very early, the fruit had not yet set, and there was nothing to steal. but avròhom could not endure sitting at home any longer, where the wife screamed, the children cried, and there was a continual "fair." what should he want there? he only wished to be alone with his thoughts and imaginings, and his quiet "tunes," which were always weaving themselves inside him, and were nearly stifled. it is early to go to the orchard directly after the feast of weeks, but avròhom does not mind, he is drawn back to the trees that can think and hear so much, and keep so many things to themselves. and avròhom betakes himself to the orchard. he carries with him, besides phylacteries and prayer-scarf, a prayer-book with the psalms and the "stations," two volumes of the gemoreh which he owns, a few works by the later scholars, and the tales of jerusalem; he takes his wadded winter garment and a cushion, makes them into a bundle, kisses the mezuzeh, mutters farewell, and is off to the orchard. as he nears the orchard his heart begins to beat loudly for joy, but he is hindered from going there at once. in the yard through which he must pass lies a dog. later on, when avròhom has got to know the dog, he will even take him into the orchard, but the first time there is a certain risk--one has to know a dog, otherwise it barks, and avròhom dreads a bark worse than a bite--it goes through one's head! and avròhom waits till the owner comes out, and leads him through by the hand. "back already?" exclaims the owner, laughing and astonished. "why not?" murmurs avròhom, shamefacedly, and feeling that it is, indeed, early. "what shall you do?" asks the owner, graver. "there is no hut there at all--last year's fell to pieces." "never mind, never mind," begs avròhom, "it will be all right." "well, if you want to come!" and the owner shrugs his shoulders, and lets avròhom into the orchard. avròhom immediately lays his bundle on the ground, stretches himself out full length on the grass, and murmurs, "good! good!" at last he is silent, and listens to the quiet rustle of the trees. it seems to him that the trees also wonder at his coming so soon, and he looks at them beseechingly, as though he would say: "trees--you, too! i couldn't help it ... it drew me...." and soon he fancies that the trees have understood everything, and murmur, "good, good!" and avròhom already feels at home in the orchard. he rises from the ground, and goes to every tree in turn, as though to make its acquaintance. then he considers the hut that stands in the middle of the orchard. it has fallen in a little certainly, but avròhom is all the better pleased with it. he is not particularly fond of new, strong things, a building resembling a ruin is somehow much more to his liking. such a ruin is inwardly full of secrets, whispers, and melodies. there the tears fall quietly, while the soul yearns after something that has no name and no existence in time or space. and avròhom creeps into the fallen-in hut, where it is dark and where there are smells of another world. he draws himself up into a ball, and remains hid from everyone. * * * * * but to remain hid from the world is not so easy. at first it can be managed. so long as the fruit is ripening, he needs no one, and no one needs him. when one of his children brings him food, he exchanges a few words with it, asks what is going on at home, and how the mother is, and he feels he has done his duty, if, when obliged to go home, he spends there friday night and saturday morning. that over, and the hot stew eaten, he returns to the orchard, lies down under a tree, opens the tales of jerusalem, goes to sleep reading a fantastical legend, dreams of the western wall, mother rachel's grave, the cave of machpelah, and other holy, quiet places--places where the air is full of old stories such as are given, in such easy hebrew, in the tales of jerusalem. but when the fruit is ripe, and the trees begin to bend under the burden of it, avròhom must perforce leave his peaceful world, and become a trader. when the first wind begins to blow in the orchard, and covers the ground thereof with apples and pears, avròhom collects them, makes them into heaps, sorts them, and awaits the market-women with their loud tongues, who destroy all the peace and quiet of his garden of eden. on sabbath he would like to rest, but of a sabbath the trade in apples--on tick of course--is very lively in the orchards. there is a custom in the town to that effect, and avròhom cannot do away with it. young gentlemen and young ladies come into the orchard, and hold a sort of revel; they sing and laugh, they walk and they chatter, and avròhom must listen to it all, and bear it, and wait for the night, when he can creep back into his hut, and need look at no one but the trees, and hear nothing but the wind, and sometimes the rain and the thunder. but it is worse in the autumn, when the fruit is getting over-ripe, and he can no longer remain in the orchard. with a bursting heart he bids farewell to the trees, to the hut in which he has spent so many quiet, peaceful moments. he conveys the apples to a shed belonging to the farm, which he has hired, ever since he had the orchard, for ten gulden a month, and goes back to the gass. in the gass, at that time, there is mud and rain. town jews drag themselves along sick and disheartened. they cough and groan. avròhom stares round him, and fails to recognize the world. "bad!" he mutters. "fê!" and he spits. "where is one to get to?" and avròhom recalls the beautiful legends in the tales of jerusalem, he recalls the land of israel. there he knows it is always summer, always warm and fine. and every autumn the vision draws him. but there is no possibility of his being able to go there--he must sell the apples which he has brought from the orchard, and feed the wife and the children he has "outside the land." and all through the autumn and part of the winter, avròhom drags himself about with a basket of apples on his arm and a yearning in his heart. he waits for the dear summer, when he will be able to go back and hide himself in the orchard, in the hut, and be alone, where the town mud and the town jews with dulled senses shall be out of sight, and the week-day noise, out of hearing. hirsh david naumberg born, , in msczczonow, government of warsaw, russian poland, of hasidic parentage; traditional jewish education in the house of his grandfather; went to warsaw in ; at present ( ) in america; first literary work appeared in ; writer of stories, etc., in hebrew and yiddish; co-editor of ha-zofeh, der freind, ha-boker; contributor to ha-zeman, heint, ha-dor, ha-shiloah, etc.; collected works, vols., warsaw, - . the rav and the rav's son the sabbath midday meal is over, and the saken rav passes his hands across his serene and pious countenance, pulls out both earlocks, straightens his skull-cap, and prepares to expound a passage of the torah as god shall enlighten him. there sit with him at table, to one side of him, a passing guest, a libavitch chossid, like the rav himself, a man with yellow beard and earlocks, and a grubby shirt collar appearing above the grubby yellow kerchief that envelopes his throat; to the other side of him, his son sholem, an eighteen-year-old youth, with a long pale face, deep, rather dreamy eyes, a velvet hat, but no earlocks, a secret maskil, who writes hebrew verses, and contemplates growing into a great jewish author. the rebbetzin has been suffering two or three months with rheumatism, and lies in another room. the rav is naturally humble-minded, and it is no trifle to him to expound the torah. to take a passage of the bible and say, the meaning is this and that, is a thing he hasn't the cheek to do. it makes him feel as uncomfortable as if he were telling lies. up to twenty-five years of age he was a misnaggid, but under the influence of the saken rebbetzin, he became a chossid, bit by bit. now he is over fifty, he drives to the rebbe, and comes home every time with increased faith in the latter's supernatural powers, and, moreover, with a strong desire to expound a little of the torah himself; only, whenever a good idea comes into his head, it oppresses him, because he has not sufficient self-confidence to express it. the difficulty for him lies in making a start. he would like to do as the rebbe does (long life to him!)--give a push to his chair, a look, stern and somewhat angry, at those sitting at table, then a groaning sigh. but the rav is ashamed to imitate him, or is partly afraid, lest people should catch him doing it. he drops his eyes, holds one hand to his forehead, while the other plays with the knife on the table, and one hardly hears: "when thou goest forth to war with thine enemy--thine enemy--that is, the inclination to evil, oi, oi,--a--" he nods his head, gathers a little confidence, continues his explanation of the passage, and gradually warms to the part. he already looks the stranger boldly in the face. the stranger twists himself into a correct attitude, nods assent, but cannot for the life of him tear his gaze from the brandy-bottle on the table, and cannot wonder sufficiently at so much being allowed to remain in it at the end of a meal. and when the rav comes to the fact that to be in "prison" means to have bad habits, and "well-favored woman" means that every bad habit has its good side, the guest can no longer restrain himself, seizes the bottle rather awkwardly, as though in haste, fills up his glass, spills a little onto the cloth, and drinks with his head thrown back, gulping it like a regular tippler, after a hoarse and sleepy "to your health." this has a bad effect on the rav's enthusiasm, it "mixes his brains," and he turns to his son for help. to tell the truth, he has not much confidence in his son where the law is concerned, although he loves him dearly, the boy being the only one of his children in whom he may hope, with god's help, to have comfort, and who, a hundred years hence, shall take over from him the office of rav in saken. the elder son is rich, but he is a usurer, and his riches give the rav no satisfaction whatever. he had had one daughter, but she died, leaving some little orphans. sholem is, therefore, the only one left him. he has a good head, and is quick at his studies, a quiet, well-behaved boy, a little obstinate, a bit opinionated, but that is no harm in a boy, thinks the old man. true, too, that last week people told him tales. sholem, they said, read heretical books, and had been seen carrying "burdens" on sabbath. but this the father does not believe, he will not and cannot believe it. besides, sholem is certain to have made amends. if a talmid-chochem commit a sin by day, it should be forgotten by nightfall, because a talmid-chochem makes amends, it says so in the gemoreh. however, the rav is ashamed to give his own exegesis of the law before his son, and he knows perfectly well that nothing will induce sholem to drive with him to the rebbe. but the stranger and his brandy-drinking have so upset him that he now looks at his son in a piteous sort of way. "hear me out, sholem, what harm can it do you?" says his look. sholem draws himself up, and pulls in his chair, supports his head with both his hands, and gazes into his father's eyes out of filial duty. he loves his father, but in his heart he wonders at him; it seems to him his father ought to learn more about his heretical leanings--it is quite time he should--and he continues to gaze in silence and in wonder, not unmixed with compassion, and never ceases thinking, "upon my word, tate, what a simpleton you are!" but when the rav came in the course of his exposition to speak of "death by kissing" (by the lord), and told how the righteous, the holy tzaddikim, die from the very sweetness of the blessed one's kiss, a spark kindled in sholem's eyes, and he moved in his chair. one of those wonders had taken place which do frequently occur, only they are seldom remarked: the chassidic exposition of the torah had suggested to sholem a splendid idea for a romantic poem! it is an old commonplace that men take in, of what they hear and see, that which pleases them. sholem is fascinated. he wishes to die anyhow, so what could be more appropriate and to the purpose than that his love should kiss him on his death-bed, while, in that very instant, his soul departs? the idea pleased him so immensely that immediately after grace, the stranger having gone on his way, and the rav laid himself down to sleep in the other room, sholem began to write. his heart beat violently while he made ready, but the very act of writing out a poem after dinner on sabbath, in the room where his father settled the cases laid before him by the townsfolk, was a bit of heroism well worth the risk. he took the writing-materials out of his locked box, and, the pen and ink-pot in one hand and a collection of manuscript verse in the other, he went on tiptoe to the table. he folded back the table-cover, laid down his writing apparatus, and took another look around to make sure no one was in the room. he counted on the fact that when the rav awoke from his nap, he always coughed, and that when he walked he shuffled so with his feet, and made so much noise with his long slippers, that one could hear him two rooms off. in short, there was no need to be anxious. he grows calmer, reads the manuscript poems, and his face tells that he is pleased. now he wants to collect his thoughts for the new one, but something or other hinders him. he unfastens the girdle, round his waist, rolls it up, and throws it into the rav's soft stuffed chair. and now that there is nothing to disturb from without, a second and third wonder must take place within: the rav's torah, which was transformed by sholem's brain into a theme for romance, must now descend into his heart, thence to pour itself onto the paper, and pass, by this means, into the heads of sholem's friends, who read his poems with enthusiasm, and have sinful dreams afterwards at night. and he begins to imagine himself on his death-bed, sick and weak, unable to speak, and with staring eyes. he sees nothing more, but he feels a light, ethereal kiss on his cheek, and his soul is aware of a sweet voice speaking. he tries to take out his hands from under the coverlet, but he cannot--he is dying--it grows dark. a still brighter and more unusual gleam comes into sholem's eyes, his heart swells with emotion seeking an outlet, his brain works like running machinery, a whole dictionary of words, his whole treasure of conceptions and ideas, is turned over and over so rapidly that the mind is unconscious of its own efforts. his poetic instinct is searching for what it needs. his hand works quietly, forming letter on letter, word on word. now and again sholem lifts his eyes from the paper and looks round, he has a feeling as though the four walls and the silence were thinking to themselves: "hush, hush! disturb not the poet at his work of creation! disturb not the priest about to offer sacrifice to god." * * * * * to the rav, meanwhile, lying in the other room, there had come a fresh idea for the exposition of the torah, and he required to look up something in a book. the door of the reception-room opened, the rav entered, and sholem had not heard him. it was a pity to see the rav's face, it was so contracted with dismay, and a pity to see sholem's when he caught sight of his father, who, utterly taken aback, dropt into a seat exactly opposite sholem, and gave a groan--was it? or a cry? but he did not sit long, he did not know what one should do or say to one's son on such an occasion; his heart and his eyes inclined to weeping, and he retired into his own room. sholem remained alone with a very sore heart and a soul opprest. he put the writing-materials back into their box, and went out with the manuscript verses tucked away under his tallis-koton. he went into the house-of-study, but it looked dreadfully dismal; the benches were pushed about anyhow, a sign that the last worshippers had been in a great hurry to go home to dinner. the beadle was snoring on a seat somewhere in a corner, as loud and as fast as if he were trying to inhale all the air in the building, so that the next congregation might be suffocated. the cloth on the platform reading-desk was crooked and tumbled, the floor was dirty, and the whole place looked as dead as though its sabbath sleep were to last till the resurrection. he left the house-of-study, walked home and back again; up and down, there and back, many times over. the situation became steadily clearer to him; he wanted to justify himself, if only with a word, in his father's eyes; then, again, he felt he must make an end, free himself once and for all from the paternal restraint, and become a jewish author. only he felt sorry for his father; he would have liked to do something to comfort him. only what? kiss him? put his arms round his neck? have his cry out before him and say, "tatishe, you and i, we are neither of us to blame!" only how to say it so that the old man shall understand? that is the question. and the rav sat in his room, bent over a book in which he would fain have lost himself. he rubbed his brow with both hands, but a stone lay on his heart, a heavy stone; there were tears in his eyes, and he was all but crying. he needed some living soul before whom he could pour out the bitterness of his heart, and he had already turned to the rebbetzin: "zelde!" he called quietly. "a-h," sighed the rebbetzin from her bed. "i feel bad; my foot aches, lord of the world! what is it?" "nothing, zelde. how are you getting on, eh?" he got no further with her; he even mentally repented having so nearly added to her burden of life. it was an hour or two before the rav collected himself, and was able to think over what had happened. and still he could not, would not, believe that his son, sholem, had broken the sabbath, that he was worthy of being stoned to death. he sought for some excuse for him, and found none, and came at last to the conclusion that it was a work of satan, a special onset of the tempter. and he kept on thinking of the chassidic legend of a rabbi who was seen by a chossid to smoke a pipe on sabbath. only it was an illusion, a deception of the evil one. but when, after he had waited some time, no sholem appeared, his heart began to beat more steadily, the reality of the situation made itself felt, he got angry, and hastily left the house in search of the sabbath-breaker, intending to make an example of him. hardly, however, had he perceived his son walking to and fro in front of the house-of-study, with a look of absorption and worry, than he stopped short. he was afraid to go up to his son. just then sholem turned, they saw each other, and the rav had willy-nilly to approach him. "will you come for a little walk?" asked the rav gently, with downcast eyes. sholem made no reply, and followed him. they came to the eruv, the rav looked in all his pockets, found his handkerchief, tied it round his neck, and glanced at his son with a kind of prayer in his eye. sholem tied his handkerchief round his neck. when they were outside the town, the old man coughed once and again and said: "what is all this?" but sholem was determined not to answer a word, and his father had to summon all his courage to continue: "what is all this? eh? sabbath-breaking! it is--" he coughed and was silent. they were walking over a great, broad meadow, and sholem had his gaze fixed on a horse that was moving about with hobbled legs, while the rav shaded his eyes with one hand from the beams of the setting sun. "how can anyone break the sabbath? come now, is it right? is it a thing to do? just to go and break the sabbath! i knew hebrew grammar, and could write hebrew, too, once upon a time, but break the sabbath! tell me yourself, sholem, what you think! when you have bad thoughts, how is it you don't come to your father? i suppose i am your father, ha?" the old man suddenly fired up. "am i your father? tell me--no? am i perhaps _not_ your father?" "for i _am_ his father," he reflected proudly. "that i certainly am, there isn't the smallest doubt about it! the greatest heretic could not deny it!" "you come to your father," he went on with more decision, and falling into a gemoreh chant, "and you tell him _all_ about it. what harm can it do to tell him? no harm whatever. i also used to be tempted by bad thoughts. therefore i began driving to the rebbe of libavitch. one mustn't let oneself go! do you hear me, sholem? one mustn't let oneself go!" the last words were long drawn out, the rav emphasizing them with his hands and wrinkling his forehead. carried away by what he was saying, he now felt all but sure that sholem had not begun to be a heretic. "you see," he continued very gently, "every now and then we come to a stumbling-block, but all the same, we should not--" meantime, however, the manuscript folio of verses had been slipping out from under sholem's four-corners, and here it fell to the ground. the rav stood staring, as though startled out of a sweet dream by the cry of "fire." he quivered from top to toe, and seized his earlocks with both hands. for there could be no doubt of the fact that sholem had now broken the sabbath a second time--by carrying the folio outside the town limit. and worse still, he had practiced deception, by searching his pockets when they had come to the eruv, as though to make sure not to transgress by having anything inside them. sholem, too, was taken by surprise. he hung his head, and his eyes filled with tears. the old man was about to say something, probably to begin again with "what is all this?" then he hastily stopt and snatched up the folio, as though he were afraid sholem might get hold of it first. "ha--ha--azoi!" he began panting. "azoi! a heretic! a goi." but it was hard for him to speak. he might not move from where he stood, so long as he held the papers, it being outside the eruv. his ankles were giving way, and he sat down to have a look at the manuscript. "aha! writing!" he exclaimed as he turned the leaves. "come here to me," he called to sholem, who had moved a few steps aside. sholem came and stood obediently before him. "what is this?" asked the rav, sternly. "poems!" "what do you mean by poems? what is the good of them?" he felt that he was growing weak again, and tried to stiffen himself morally. "what is the good of them, heretic, tell me!" "they're just meant to read, tatishe!" "what do you mean by 'read'? a jeroboam son of nebat, that's what you want to be, is it? a jeroboam son of nebat, to lead others into heresy! no! i won't have it! on no account will i have it!" the sun had begun to disappear; it was full time to go home; but the rav did not know what to do with the folio. he was afraid to leave it in the field, lest sholem or another should pick it up later, so he got up and began to recite the afternoon prayer. sholem remained standing in his place, and tried to think of nothing and to do nothing. the old man finished "sacrifices," tucked the folio into his girdle, and, without moving a step, looked at sholem, who did not move either. "say the afternoon prayer, shegetz!" commanded the old man. sholem began to move his lips. and the rav felt, as he went on with the prayer, that this anger was cooling down. before he came to the eighteen benedictions, he gave another look at his son, and it seemed madness to think of him as a heretic, to think that sholem ought by rights to be thrown into a ditch and stoned to death. sholem, for his part, was conscious for the first time of his father's will: for the first time in his life, he not only loved his father, but was in very truth subject to him. the flaming red sun dropt quietly down behind the horizon just before the old man broke down with emotion over "thou art one," and took the sky and the earth to witness that god is one and his name is one, and his people israel one nation on the earth, to whom he gave the sabbath for a rest and an inheritance. the rav wept and swallowed his tears, and his eyes were closed. sholem, on the other hand, could not take his eye off the manuscript that stuck out of his father's girdle, and it was all he could do not to snatch it and run away. they said nothing on the way home in the dark, they might have been coming from a funeral. but sholem's heart beat fast, for he knew his father would throw the manuscript into the fire, where it would be burnt, and when they came to the door of their house, he stopped his father, and said in a voice eloquent of tears: "give it me back, tatishe, please give it me back!" and the rav gave it him back without looking him in the face, and said: "look here, only don't tell mother! she is ill, she mustn't be upset. she is ill, not of you be it spoken!" meyer blinkin born, , in a village near pereyaslav, government of poltava, little russia, of hasidic parentage; educated in kieff, where he acquired the trade of carpenter in order to win the right of residence; studied medicine; began to write in ; came to new york in ; writer of stories to the number of about fifty, which have been published in various periodicals; wrote also der sod, and dr. makower. women a prose poem hedged round with tall, thick woods, as though designedly, so that no one should know what happens there, lies the long-drawn-out old town of pereyaslav. to the right, connected with pereyaslav by a wooden bridge, lies another bit of country, named--pidvorkes. the town itself, with its long, narrow, muddy streets, with the crowded houses propped up one against the other like tombstones, with their meagre grey walls all to pieces, with the broken window-panes stuffed with rags--well, the town of pereyaslav was hardly to be distinguished from any other town inhabited by jews. here, too, people faded before they bloomed. here, too, men lived on miracles, were fruitful and multiplied out of all season and reason. they talked of a livelihood, of good times, of riches and pleasures, with the same appearance of firm conviction, and, at the same time the utter disbelief, with which one tells a legend read in a book. and they really supposed these terms to be mere inventions of the writers of books and nothing more! for not only were they incapable of a distinct conception of their real meaning, but some had even given up the very hope of ever being able to earn so much as a living, and preferred not to reach out into the world with their thoughts, straining them for nothing, that is, for the sake of a thing so plainly out of the question as a competence. at night the whole town was overspread by a sky which, if not grey with clouds, was of a troubled and washed-out blue. but the people were better off than by day. tired out, overwrought, exhausted, prematurely aged as they were, they sought and found comfort in the lap of the dreamy, secret, inscrutable night. their misery was left far behind, and they felt no more grief and pain. an unknown power hid everything from them as though with a thick, damp, stone wall, and they heard and saw nothing. they did not hear the weak voices, like the mewing of blind kittens, of their pining children, begging all day for food as though on purpose--as though they knew there was none to give them. they did not hear the sighs and groans of their friends and neighbors, filling the air with the hoarse sound of furniture dragged across the floor; they did not see, in sleep, death-from-hunger swing quivering, on threads of spider-web, above their heads. even the little fires that flickered feverishly on their hearths, and testified to the continued existence of breathing men, even these they saw no longer. silence cradled everything to sleep, extinguished it, and caused it to be forgotten. hardly, however, was it dawn, hardly had the first rays pierced beneath the closed eyelids, before a whole world of misery awoke and came to life again. the frantic cries of hundreds of starving children, despairing exclamations and imprecations and other piteous sounds filled the air. one gigantic curse uncoiled and crept from house to house, from door to door, from mouth to mouth, and the population began to move, to bestir themselves, to run hither and thither. half-naked, with parched bones and shrivelled skin, with sunken yet burning eyes, they crawled over one another like worms in a heap, fastened on to the bites in each other's mouth, and tore them away-- but this is summer, and they are feeling comparatively cheerful, bold, and free in their movements. they are stifled and suffocated, they are in a melting-pot with heat and exhaustion, but there are counter-balancing advantages; one can live for weeks at a time without heating the stove; indeed, it is pleasanter indoors without fire, and lighting will cost very little, now the evenings are short. in winter it was different. an inclement sky, an enfeebled sun, a sick day, and a burning, biting frost! people, too, were different. a bitterness came over them, and they went about anxious and irritable, with hanging head, possessed by gloomy despair. it never even occurred to them to tear their neighbor's bite out of his mouth, so depressed and preoccupied did they become. the days were months, the evenings years, and the weeks--oh! the weeks were eternities! and no one knew of their misery but the winter wind that tore at their roofs and howled in their all but smokeless chimneys like one bewitched, like a lost soul condemned to endless wandering. but there were bright stars in the abysmal darkness; their one pride and consolation were the pidvorkes, the inhabitants of the aforementioned district of that name. was it a question of the upkeep of a reader or of a bath, the support of a burial-society, of a little hospital or refuge, a rabbi, of providing sabbath loaves for the poor, flour for the passover, the dowry of a needy bride--the pidvorkes were ready! the sick and lazy, the poverty-stricken and hopeless, found in them support and protection. the pidvorkes! they were an inexhaustible well that no one had ever found to fail them, unless the pidvorke husbands happened to be present, on which occasion alone one came away with empty hands. the fair fame of the pidvorkes extended beyond pereyaslav to all poor towns in the neighborhood. talk of husbands--they knew about the pidvorkes a hundred miles round; the least thing, and they pointed out to their wives how they should take a lesson from the pidvorke women, and then they would be equally rich and happy. it was not because the pidvorkes had, within their border, great, green velvety hills and large gardens full of flowers that they had reason to be proud, or others, to be proud of them; not because wide fields, planted with various kinds of corn, stretched for miles around them, the delicate ears swaying in sunshine and wind; not even because there flowed round the pidvorkes a river so transparent, so full of the reflection of the sky, you could not decide which was the bluest of the two. pereyaslav at any rate was not affected by any of these things, perhaps knew nothing of them, and certainly did not wish to know anything, for whoso dares to let his mind dwell on the like, sins against god. is it a jewish concern? a townful of men who have a god, and religious duties to perform, with reward and punishment, who have _that_ world to prepare for, and a wife and children in _this_ one, people must be mad (of the enemies of zion be it said!) to stare at the sky, the fields, the river, and all the rest of it--things which a man on in years ought to blush to talk about. no, they are proud of the pidvorke women, and parade them continually. the pidvorke women are no more attractive, no taller, no cleverer than others. they, too, bear children and suckle them, one a year, after the good old custom; neither are they more thought of by their husbands. on the contrary, they are the best abused and tormented women going, and herein lies their distinction. they put up, with the indifference of all women alike, to the belittling to which they are subjected by their husbands; they swallow their contempt by the mouthful without a reproach, and yet they are exceptions; and yet they are distinguished from all other women, as the rushing waters of the dnieper from the stagnant pools in the marsh. about five in the morning, when the men-folk turn in bed, and bury their faces in the white feather pillows, emitting at the same time strange, broken sounds through their big, stupid, red noses--at this early hour their wives have transacted half-a-day's business in the market-place. dressed in short, light skirts with blue aprons, over which depends on their left a large leather pocket for the receiving of coin and the giving out of change--one cannot be running every minute to the cash-box--they stand in their shops with miscellaneous ware, and toil hard. they weigh and measure, buy and sell, and all this with wonderful celerity. there stands one of them by herself in a shop, and tries to persuade a young, barefoot peasant woman to buy the printed cotton she offers her, although the customer only wants a red cotton with a large, flowery pattern. she talks without a pause, declaring that the young peasant may depend upon her, she would not take her in for the world, and, indeed, to no one else would she sell the article so cheap. but soon her eye catches two other women pursuing a peasant man, and before even making out whether he has any wares with him or not, she leaves her customer and joins them. if they run, she feels so must she. the peasant is sure to be wanting grease or salt, and that may mean ten kopeks' unexpected gain. meantime she is not likely to lose her present customer, fascinated as the latter must be by her flow of speech. so she leaves her, and runs after the peasant, who is already surrounded by a score of women, shrieking, one louder than the other, praising their ware to the skies, and each trying to make him believe that he and she are old acquaintances. but presently the tumult increases, there is a cry, "cheap fowls, who wants cheap fowls?" some rich landholder has sent out a supply of fowls to sell, and all the women swing round towards the fowls, keeping a hold on the peasant's cart with their left hand, so that you would think they wanted to drag peasant, horse, and cart along with them. they bargain for a few minutes with the seller of fowls, and advise him not to be obstinate and to take their offers, else he will regret it later. suddenly a voice thunders, "the peasants are coming!" and they throw themselves as for dear life upon the cart-loads of produce; they run as though to a conflagration, get under each other's feet, their eyes glisten as though they each wanted to pull the whole market aside. there is a shrieking and scolding, until one or another gets the better of the rest, and secures the peasant's wares. then only does each woman remember that she has customers waiting in her shop, and she runs in with a beaming smile and tells them that, as they have waited so long, they shall be served with the best and the most beautiful of her store. by eight o'clock in the morning, when the market is over, when they have filled all the bottles left with them by their customers, counted up the change and their gains, and each one has slipped a coin into her knotted handkerchief, so that her husband should not know of its existence (one simply must! one is only human--one is surely not expected to wrangle with _him_ about every farthing?)--then, when there is nothing more to be done in the shops, they begin to gather in knots, and every one tells at length the incidents and the happy strokes of business of the day. they have forgotten all the bad luck they wished each other, all the abuse they exchanged, while the market was in progress; they know that "parnosseh is parnosseh," and bear no malice, or, if they do, it is only if one has spoken unkindly of another during a period of quiet, on a sabbath or a holiday. each talks with a special enthusiasm, and deep in her sunken eyes with their blue-black rings there burns a proud, though tiny, fire, as she recalls how she got the better of a customer, and sold something which she had all but thrown away, and not only sold it, but better than usual; or else they tell how late their husbands sleep, and then imagine their wives are still in bed, and set about waking them, "it's time to get up for the market," and they at once pretend to be sleepy--then, when they have already been and come back! and very soon a voice is heard to tremble with pleasant excitement, and a woman begins to relate the following: "just you listen to me: i was up to-day when god himself was still asleep."--"that is not the way to talk, sheine!" interrupts a second.--"well, well, well?" (there is a good deal of curiosity). "and what happened?"--"it was this way: i went out quietly, so that no one should hear, not to wake them, because when lezer went to bed, it was certainly one o'clock. there was a dispute of some sort at the rabbi's. you can imagine how early it was, because i didn't even want to wake soreh, otherwise she always gets up when i do (never mind, it won't hurt her to learn from her mother!). and at half past seven, when i saw there were no more peasants coming in to market, i went to see what was going on indoors. i heard my man calling me to wake up: 'sheine, sheine, sheine!' and i go quietly and lean against the bed, and wait to hear what will happen next. 'look here!--there is no waking her!--sheine! it's getting-up time and past! are you deaf or half-witted? what's come to you this morning?' i was so afraid i should laugh. i gave a jump and called out, o woe is me, why ever didn't you wake me sooner? bandit! it's already eight o'clock!" her hearers go off into contented laughter, which grows clearer, softer, more contented still. each one tells her tale of how _she_ was wakened by her husband, and one tells this joke: once, when her husband had called to rouse her (he also usually woke her _after_ market), she answered that on that morning she did not intend to get up for market, that _he_ might go for once instead. this apparently pleases them still better, for their laughter renews itself, more spontaneous and hearty even than before. each makes a witty remark, each feels herself in merry mood, and all is cheerfulness. they would wax a little more serious only when they came to talk of their daughters. a woman would begin by trying to recall her daughter's age, and beg a second one to help her remember when the girl was born, so that she might not make a mistake in the calculation. and when it came to one that had a daughter of sixteen, the mother fell into a brown study; she felt herself in a very, very critical position, because when a girl comes to that age, one ought soon to marry her. and there is really nothing to prevent it: money enough will be forthcoming, only let the right kind of suitor present himself, one, that is, who shall insist on a well-dowered bride, because otherwise--what sort of a suitor do you call that? she will have enough to live on, they will buy a shop for her, she is quite capable of managing it--only let heaven send a young man of acceptable parentage, so that one's husband shall have no need to blush with shame when he is asked about his son-in-law's family and connections. and this is really what they used to do, for when their daughters were sixteen, they gave them in marriage, and at twenty the daughters were "old," much-experienced wives. they knew all about teething, chicken-pox, measles, and more besides, even about croup. if a young mother's child fell ill, she hastened to her bosom crony, who knew a lot more than she, having been married one whole year or two sooner, and got advice as to what should be done. the other would make close inquiry whether the round swellings about the child's neck increased in size and wandered, that is, appeared at different times and different places, in which case it was positively nothing serious, but only the tonsils. but if they remained in one place and grew larger, the mother must lose no time, but must run to the doctor. their daughters knew that they needed to lay by money, not only for a dowry, but because a girl ought to have money of her own. they knew as well as their mothers that a bridegroom would present himself and ask a lot of money (the best sign of his being the right sort!), and they prayed god for the same without ceasing. no sooner were they quit of household matters than they went over to the discussion of their connections and alliances--it was the greatest pleasure they had. the fact that their children, especially their daughters, were so discreet that not one (to speak in a good hour and be silent in a bad!) had as yet ever (far be it from the speaker to think of such a thing!) given birth to a bastard, as was known to happen in other places--this was the crowning point of their joy and exultation. it even made up to them for the other fact, that they never got a good word from their husbands for their hard, unnatural toil. and as they chat together, throwing in the remark that "the apple never falls far from the tree," that their daughters take after them in everything, the very wrinkles vanish from their shrivelled faces, a spring of refreshment and blessedness wells up in their hearts, they are lifted above their cares, a feeling of relaxation comes over them, as though a soothing balsam had penetrated their strained and weary limbs. meantime the daughters have secrets among themselves. they know a quantity of interesting things that have happened in their quarter, but no one else gets to know of them; they are imparted more with the eyes than with the lips, and all is quiet and confidential. and if the great calamity had not now befallen the pidvorkes, had it not stretched itself, spread its claws with such an evil might, had the shame not been so deep and dreadful, all might have passed off quietly as always. but the event was so extraordinary, so cruelly unique--such a thing had not happened since girls were girls, and bridegrooms, bridegrooms, in the pidvorkes--that it inevitably became known to all. not (preserve us!) to the men--they know of nothing, and need to know of nothing--only to the women. but how much can anyone keep to oneself? it will rise to the surface, and lie like oil on the water. from early morning on the women have been hissing and steaming, bubbling and boiling over. they are not thinking of parnosseh; they have forgotten all about parnosseh; they are in such a state, they have even forgotten about themselves. there is a whole crowd of them packed like herrings, and all fire and flame. but the male passer-by hears nothing of what they say, he only sees the troubled faces and the drooping heads; they are ashamed to look into one another's eyes, as though they themselves were responsible for the great affliction. an appalling misfortune, an overwhelming sense of shame, a yellow-black spot on their reputation weighs them to the ground. uncleanness has forced itself into their sanctuary and defiled it; and now they seek a remedy, and means to save themselves, like one drowning; they want to heal the plague spot, to cover it up, so that no one shall find it out. they stand and think, and wrinkle the brows so used to anxiety; their thoughts evolve rapidly, and yet no good result comes of it, no one sees a way of escape out of the terrifying net in which the worst of all evil has entangled them. should a stranger happen to come upon them now, one who has heard of them, but never seen them, he would receive a shock. the whole of pidvorkes looks quite different, the women, the streets, the very sun shines differently, with pale and narrow beams, which, instead of cheering, seem to burden the heart. the little grey-curled clouds with their ragged edges, which have collected somewhere unbeknown, and race across the sky, look down upon the women, and whisper among themselves. even the old willows, for whom the news is no novelty, for many more and more complicated mysteries have come to their knowledge, even they look sad, while the swallows, by the depressed and gloomy air with which they skim the water, plainly express their opinion, which is no other than this: god is punishing the pidvorkes for _their_ great sin, what time they carried fire in their beaks, long ago, to destroy the temple. god bears long with people's iniquity, but he rewards in full at the last. the peasants driving slowly to market, unmolested and unobstructed, neither dragged aside nor laid forcible hold of, were singularly disappointed. they began to think the jews had left the place. and the women actually forgot for very trouble that it was market-day. they stood with hands folded, and turned feverishly to every newcomer. what does she say to it? perhaps she can think of something to advise. no one answered; they could not speak; they had nothing to say; they only felt that a great wrath had been poured out on them, heavy as lead, that an evil spirit had made its way into their life, and was keeping them in a perpetual state of terror; and that, were they now to hold their peace, and not make an end, god almighty only knows what might come of it! no one felt certain that to-morrow or the day after the same thunderbolt might not fall on another of them. somebody made a movement in the crowd, and there was a sudden silence, as though all were preparing to listen to a weak voice, hardly louder than stillness itself. their eyes widened, their faces were contracted with annoyance and a consciousness of insult. their hearts beat faster, but without violence. suddenly there was a shock, a thrill, and they looked round with startled gaze, to see whence it came, and what was happening. and they saw a woman forcing her way frantically through the crowd, her hands working, her lips moving as in fever, her eyes flashing fire, and her voice shaking as she cried: "come on and see me settle them! first i shall thrash _him_, and then i shall go for _her_! we must make a cinder-heap of them; it's all we can do." she was a tall, bony woman, with broad shoulders, who had earned for herself the nickname cossack, by having, with her own hands, beaten off three peasants who wanted to strangle her husband, he, they declared, having sold them by false weight--it was the first time he had ever tried to be of use to her. "but don't shout so, breindel!" begged a woman's voice. "what do you mean by 'don't shout'! am i going to hold my tongue? never you mind, i shall take no water into my mouth. i'll teach them, the apostates, to desecrate the whole town!" "but don't shout so!" beg several more. breindel takes no notice. she clenches her right fist, and, fighting the air with it, she vociferates louder than ever: "what has happened, women? what are you frightened of? look at them, if they are not all a little afraid! that's what brings trouble. don't let us be frightened, and we shall spare ourselves in the future. we shall not be in terror that to-morrow or the day after (they had best not live to hear of it, sweet father in heaven!) another of us should have this come upon her!" breindel's last words made a great impression. the women started as though someone had poured cold water over them without warning. a few even began to come forward in support of breindel's proposal. soreh leoh said: she advised going, but only to him, the bridegroom, and telling him not to give people occasion to laugh, and not to cause distress to her parents, and to agree to the wedding's taking place to-day or to-morrow, before anything happened, and to keep quiet. "i say, he shall not live to see it; he shall not be counted worthy to have us come begging favors of him!" cried an angry voice. but hereupon rose that of a young woman from somewhere in the crowd, and all the others began to look round, and no one knew who it was speaking. at first the young voice shook, then it grew firmer and firmer, so that one could hear clearly and distinctly what was said: "you might as well spare yourselves the trouble of talking about a thrashing; it's all nonsense; besides, why add to her parents' grief by going to them? isn't it bad enough for them already? if we really want to do something, the best would be to say nothing to anybody, not to get excited, not to ask anybody's help, and let us make a collection out of our own pockets. never mind! god will repay us twice what we give. let us choose out two of us, to take him the money quietly, so that no one shall know, because once a whisper of it gets abroad, it will be carried over seven seas in no time; you know that walls have ears, and streets, eyes." the women had been holding their breath and looking with pleasurable pride at young malkehle, married only two months ago and already so clever! the great thick wall of dread and shame against which they had beaten their heads had retreated before malkehle's soft words; they felt eased; the world grew lighter again. every one felt envious in her heart of hearts of her to whose apt and golden speech they had just listened. everyone regretted that such an excellent plan had not occurred to herself. but they soon calmed down, for after all it was a sister who had spoken, one of their own pidvorkes. they had never thought that malkehle, though she had been considered clever as a girl, would take part in their debate; and they began to work out a plan for getting together the necessary money, only so quietly that not a cock should crow. and now their perplexities began! not one of them could give such a great sum, and even if they all clubbed together, it would still be impossible. they could manage one hundred, two hundred, three hundred rubles, but the dowry was six hundred, and now he says, that unless they give one thousand, he will break off the engagement. what, says he, there will be a summons out against him? very likely! he will just risk it. the question went round: who kept a store in a knotted handkerchief, hidden from her husband? they each had such a store, but were all the contents put together, the half of the sum would not be attained, not by a long way. and again there arose a tempest, a great confusion of women's tongues. part of the crowd started with fiery eloquence to criticise their husbands, the good-for-nothings, the slouching lazybones; they proved that as their husbands did nothing to earn money, but spent all their time "learning," there was no need to be afraid of them; and if once in a way they wanted some for themselves, nobody had the right to say them nay. others said that the husbands were, after all, the elder, one must and should ask their advice! they were wiser and knew best, and why should they, the women (might the words not be reckoned as a sin!), be wiser than the rest of the world put together? and others again cried that there was no need that they should divorce their husbands because a girl was with child, and the bridegroom demanded the dowry twice over. the noise increased, till there was no distinguishing one voice from another, till one could not make out what her neighbor was saying: she only knew that she also must shriek, scold, and speak her mind. and who knows what would have come of it, if breindel-cossack, with her powerful gab, had not begun to shout, that she and malkehle had a good idea, which would please everyone very much, and put an end to the whole dispute. all became suddenly dumb; there was a tense silence, as at the first of the two recitals of the eighteen benedictions; the women only cast inquiring looks at malkehle and breindel, who both felt their cheeks hot. breindel, who, ever since the wise malkehle had spoken such golden words, had not left her side, now stepped forward, and her voice trembled with emotion and pleasant excitement as she said: "malkehle and i think like this: that we ought to go to chavvehle, she being so wise and so well-educated, a doctor's wife, and tell her the whole story from beginning to end, so that she may advise us, and if you are ashamed to speak to her yourselves, you should leave it to us two, only on the condition that you go with us. don't be frightened, she is kind; she will listen to us." a faint smile, glistening like diamond dust, shone on all faces; their eyes brightened and their shoulders straightened, as though just released from a heavy burden. they all knew chavvehle for a good and gracious woman, who was certain to give them some advice; she did many such kindnesses without being asked; she had started the school, and she taught their children for nothing; she always accompanied her husband on his visits to the sick-room, and often left a coin of her own money behind to buy a fowl for the invalid. it was even said that she had written about them in the newspapers! she was very fond of them. when she talked with them, her manner was simple, as though they were her equals, and she would ask them all about everything, like any plain jewish housewife. and yet they were conscious of a great distance between them and chavveh. they would have liked chavveh to hear nothing of them but what was good, to stand justified in her eyes as (ten times lehavdil) in those of a christian. they could not have told why, but the feeling was there. they are proud of chavveh; it is an honor for them each and all (and who are they that they should venture to pretend to it?) to possess such a chavveh, who was highly spoken of even by rich gentiles. hence this embarrassed smile at the mention of her name; she would certainly advise, but at the same time they avoided each other's look. the wise malkeh had the same feeling, but she was able to cheer the rest. never mind! it doesn't matter telling her. she is a jewish daughter, too, and will keep it to herself. these things happen behind the "high windows" also. whereupon they all breathed more freely, and went up the hill to chavveh. they went in serried ranks, like soldiers, shoulder to shoulder, relief and satisfaction reflected in their faces. all who met them made way for them, stood aside, and wondered what it meant. some of their own husbands even stood and looked at the marching women, but not one dared to go up to them and ask what was doing. their object grew dearer to them at every step. a settled resolve and a deep sense of goodwill to mankind urged them on. they all felt that they were going in a good cause, and would thereby bar the road to all such occurrences in the future. the way to chavveh was long. she lived quite outside the pidvorkes, and they had to go through the whole market-place with the shops, which stood close to one another, as though they held each other by the hand, and then only through narrow lanes of old thatched peasant huts, with shy little window-panes. but beside nearly every hut stood a couple of acacia-trees, and the foam-white blossoms among the young green leaves gave a refreshing perfume to the neighborhood. emerging from the streets, they proceeded towards a pretty hill planted with pink-flowering quince-trees. a small, clear stream flowed below it to the left, so deceptively clear that it reflected the hillside in all its natural tints. you had to go quite close in order to make sure it was only a delusion, when the stream met your gaze as seriously as though there were no question of _it_ at all. on the top of the hill stood chavveh's house, adorned like a bride, covered with creepers and quinces, and with two large lamps under white glass shades, upheld in the right hands of two statues carved in white marble. the distance had not wearied them; they had walked and conversed pleasantly by the way, each telling a story somewhat similar to the one that had occasioned their present undertaking. "do you know," began shifreh, the wholesale dealer, "mine tried to play me a trick with the dowry, too? it was immediately before the ceremony, and he insisted obstinately that unless a silver box and fifty rubles were given to him in addition to what had been promised to him, he would not go under the marriage canopy!" "well, if it hadn't been zorah, it would have been chayyim treitel," observed some one, ironically. they all laughed, but rather weakly, just for the sake of laughing; not one of them really wished to part from her husband, even in cases where he disliked her, and they quarrelled. no indignity they suffered at their husbands' hands could hurt them so deeply as a wish on his part to live separately. after all they are man and wife. they quarrel and make it up again. and when they spied chavvehle's house in the distance, they all cried out joyfully, with one accord: "there is chavvehle's house!" once more they forgot about themselves; they were filled with enthusiasm for the common cause, and with a pain that will lie forever at their heart should they not do all that sinful man is able. the wise malkehle's heart beat faster than anyone's. she had begun to consider how she should speak to chavvehle, and although apt, incisive phrases came into her head, one after another, she felt that she would never be able to come out with them in chavvehle's presence; were it not for the other women's being there, she would have felt at her ease. all of a sudden a voice exclaimed joyfully, "there we are at the house!" all lifted their heads, and their eyes were gladdened by the sight of the tall flowers arranged about a round table, in the shelter of a widely-branching willow, on which there shone a silver samovar. in and out of the still empty tea-glasses there stole beams of the sinking sun, as it dropt lower and lower behind the now dark-blue hill. "what welcome guests!" chavveh met them with a sweet smile, and her eyes awoke answering love and confidence in the women's hearts. not a glance, not a movement betrayed surprise on chavvehle's part, any more than if she had been expecting them everyone. they felt that she was behaving like any sage, and were filled with a sense of guilt towards her. chavvehle excused herself to one or two other guests who were present, and led the women into her summer-parlor, for she had evidently understood that what they had come to say was for her ears only. they wanted to explain at once, but they couldn't, and the two who of all found it hardest to speak were the selected spokeswomen, breindel-cossack and malkehle the wise. chavvehle herself tried to lead them out of their embarrassment. "you evidently have something important to tell me," she said, "for otherwise one does not get a sight of you." and now it seemed more difficult than ever, it seemed impossible ever to tell the angelic chavvehle of the bad action about which they had come. they all wished silently that their children might turn out one-tenth as good as she was, and their impulse was to take chavvehle into their arms, kiss her and hug her, and cry a long, long time on her shoulder; and if she cried with them, it would be so comforting. chavvehle was silent. her great, wide-open blue eyes grew more and more compassionate as she gazed at the faces of her sisters; it seemed as though they were reading for themselves the sorrowful secret the women had come to impart. and the more they were impressed with her tactful behavior, and the more they felt the kindness of her gaze, the more annoyed they grew with themselves, the more tongue-tied they became. the silence was so intense as to be almost seen and felt. the women held their breath, and only exchanged roundabout glances, to find out what was going on in each other's mind; and they looked first of all at the two who had undertaken to speak, while the latter, although they did not see this, felt as if every one's gaze was fixed upon them, wondering why they were silent and holding all hearts by a thread. chavvehle raised her head, and spoke sweetly: "well, dear sisters, tell me a little of what it is about. do you want my help in any matter? i should be so glad----" "dear sisters" she called them, and lightning-like it flashed through their hearts that chavveh was, indeed, their sister. how could they feel otherwise when they had it from chavveh herself? was she not one of their own people? had she not the same god? true, her speech was a little strange to them, and she was not overpious, but how should god be angry with such a chavveh as this? if it must be, let him punish _them_ for her sin; they would willingly suffer in her place. the sun had long set; the sky was grey, save for one red streak, and the room had grown dark. chavvehle rose to light the candles, and the women started and wiped their tearful eyes, so that chavveh should not remark them. chavveh saw the difficulty they had in opening their hearts to her, and she began to speak to them of different things, offered them refreshment according to their several tastes, and now malkehle felt a little more courageous, and managed to say: "no, good, kind chavvehle, we are not hungry. we have come to consult with you on a very important matter!" and then breindel tried hard to speak in a soft voice, but it sounded gruff and rasping: "first of all, chavveh, we want you to speak to us in yiddish, not in polish. we are all jewish women, thank god, together!" chavvehle, who had nodded her head during the whole of breindel's speech, made another motion of assent with her silken eyebrows, and replied: "i will talk yiddish to you with pleasure, if that is what you prefer." "the thing is this, chavvehle," began shifreh, the wholesale dealer, "it is a shame and a sorrow to tell, but when the thunderbolt has fallen, one must speak. you know rochel esther leoh's. she is engaged, and the wedding was to have been in eight weeks--and now she, the good-for-nothing, is with child--and he, the son of perdition, says now that if he isn't given more than five hundred rubles, he won't take her----" chavvehle was deeply troubled by their words. she saw how great was their distress, and found, to her regret, that she had little to say by way of consolation. "i feel with you," she said, "in your pain. but do not be so dismayed. it is certainly very bad news, but these things will happen, you are not the first----" she wanted to say more, but did not know how to continue. "but what are we to do?" asked several voices at once. "that is what we came to you for, dearie, for you to advise us. are we to give him all the money he asks, or shall they both know as much happiness as we know what to do else? or are we to hang a stone round our necks and drown ourselves for shame? give us some advice, dear, help us!" then chavvehle understood that it was not so much the women who were speaking and imploring, as their stricken hearts, their deep shame and grief, and it was with increased sympathy that she answered them: "what can i say to help you, dear sisters? you have certainly not deserved this blow; you have enough to bear as it is--things ought to have turned out quite differently; but now that the misfortune has happened, one must be brave enough not to lose one's head, and not to let such a thing happen again, so that it should be the first and last time! but what exactly you should do, i cannot tell you, because i don't know! only if you should want my help or any money, i will give you either with the greatest pleasure." they understood each other---- the women parted with chavveh in great gladness, and turned towards home conscious of a definite purpose. now they all felt they knew just what to do, and were sure it would prevent all further misfortune and disgrace. they could have sung out for joy, embraced the hill, the stream, the peasant huts, and kissed and fondled them all together. mind you, they had even now no definite plan of action, it was just chavvehle's sympathy that had made all the difference--feeling that chavveh was with them! wrapped in the evening mist, they stepped vigorously and cheerily homewards. gradually the speed and the noise of their march increased, the air throbbed, and at last a high, sharp voice rose above the rest, whereupon they grew stiller, and the women listened. "i tell you what, we won't beat them. only on sabbath we must all come together like one man, break into the house-of-study just before they call up to the reading of the law, and not let them read till they have sworn to agree to our sentence of excommunication! "she is right!" "excommunicate him!" "tear him in pieces!" "let him be dressed in robe and prayer-scarf, and swear by the eight black candles that he----" "swear! swear!" the noise was dreadful. no one was allowed to finish speaking. they were all aflame with one fire of revenge, hate, and anger, and all alike athirst for justice. every new idea, every new suggestion was hastily and hotly seized upon by all together, and there was a grinding of teeth and a clenching of fists. nature herself seemed affected by the tumult, the clouds flew faster, the stars changed their places, the wind whistled, the trees swayed hither and thither, the frogs croaked, there was a great boiling up of the whole concern. "women, women," cried one, "i propose that we go to the court of the shool, climb into the round millstones, and all shout together, so that they may know what we have decided." "right! right! to the shool!" cried a chorus of voices. a common feeling of triumph running through them, they took each other friendly-wise by the hand, and made gaily for the court of the shool. when they got into the town, they fell on each other's necks, and kissed each other with tears and joy. they knew their plan was the best and most excellent that could be devised, and would protect them all from further shame and trouble. the pidvorkes shuddered to hear their tread. all the remaining inhabitants, big and little, men and women, gathered in the court of the shool, and stood with pale faces and beating hearts to see what would happen. the eyes of the young bachelors rolled uneasily, the girls had their faces on one another's shoulders, and sobbed. breindel, agile as a cat, climbed on to the highest millstone, and proclaimed in a voice of thunder: "seeing that such and such a thing has happened, a great scandal such as is not to be hid, and such as we do not wish to hide, all we women have decided to excommunicate----" such a tumult arose that for a minute or two breindel could not be heard, but it was not long before everyone knew who and what was meant. "we also demand that neither he nor his nearest friends shall be called to the reading of the law; that people shall have nothing to do with them till after the wedding!" "nothing to do with them! nothing to do with them!" shook the air. "that people shall not lend to them nor borrow of them, shall not come within their four ells!" continued the voice from the millstone. "and _she_ shall be shut up till her time comes, so that no one shall see her. then we will take her to the burial-ground, and the child shall be born in the burial-ground. the wedding shall take place by day, and without musicians--" "without musicians!" "without musicians!" 'without musicians!" "serve her right!" "she deserves worse!" a hundred voices were continually interrupting the speaker, and more women were climbing onto the millstones, and shouting the same things. "on the wedding-day there will be great black candles burning throughout the whole town, and when the bride is seated at the top of the marriage-hall, with her hair flowing loose about her, all the girls shall surround her, and the badchen shall tell her, 'this is the way we treat one who has not held to her jewishness, and has blackened all our faces----'" "yes!" "yes!" "so it is!" "the apostates!" the last words struck the hearers' hearts like poisoned arrows. a deathly pallor, born of unrealized terror at the suggested idea, overspread all their faces, their feelings were in a tumult of shame and suffering. they thirsted and longed after their former life, the time before the calamity disturbed their peace. weary and wounded in spirit, with startled looks, throbbing pulses, and dilated pupils, and with no more than a faint hope that all might yet be well, they slowly broke the stillness, and departed to their homes. lÖb schapiro born, about , in the government of kieff, little russia; came to chicago in , and to new york for a short time in - ; now ( ) in business in switzerland; contributor to die zukunft, new york; collected works, novellen, vol., warsaw, . if it was a dream yes, it was a terrible dream! but when one is only nine years old, one soon forgets, and meyerl was nine a few weeks before it came to pass. yes, and things had happened in the house every now and then to remind one of it, but then meyerl lived more out of doors than indoors, in the wild streets of new york. tartilov and new york--what a difference! new york had supplanted tartilov, effaced it from his memory. there remained only a faint occasional recollection of that horrid dream. if it really _was_ a dream! it was this way: meyerl dreamt that he was sitting in cheder learning, but more for show's sake than seriously, because during the days of penitence, near the close of the session, the rebbe grew milder, and cheder less hateful. and as he sat there and learnt, he heard a banging of doors in the street, and through the window saw jews running to and fro, as if bereft of their senses, flinging themselves hither and thither exactly like leaves in a gale, or as when a witch rises from the ground in a column of dust, and whirls across the road so suddenly and unexpectedly that it makes one's flesh creep. and at the sight of this running up and down in the street, the rebbe collapsed in his chair white as death, his under lip trembling. meyerl never saw him again. he was told later that the rebbe had been killed, but somehow the news gave him no pleasure, although the rebbe used to beat him; neither did it particularly grieve him. it probably made no great impression on his mind. after all, what did it mean, exactly? killed? and the question slipped out of his head unanswered, together with the rebbe, who was gradually forgotten. and then the real horror began. they were two days hiding away in the bath-house--he and some other little boys and a few older people--without food, without drink, without father and mother. meyerl was not allowed to get out and go home, and once, when he screamed, they nearly suffocated him, after which he sobbed and whimpered, unable to stop crying all at once. now and then he fell asleep, and when he woke everything was just the same, and all through the terror and the misery he seemed to hear only one word, goyim, which came to have a very definite and terrible meaning for him. otherwise everything was in a maze, and as far as seeing goes, he really saw nothing at all. later, when they came out again, nobody troubled about him, or came to see after him, and a stranger took him home. and neither his father nor his mother had a word to say to him, any more than if he had just come home from cheder as on any other day. everything in the house was broken, they had twisted his father's arm and bruised his face. his mother lay on the bed, her fair hair tossed about, and her eyes half-closed, her face pale and stained, and something about her whole appearance so rumpled and sluttish--it reminded one of a tumbled bedquilt. his father walked up and down the room in silence, looking at no one, his bound arm in a white sling, and when meyerl, conscious of some invisible calamity, burst out crying, his father only gave him a gloomy, irritated look, and continued to span the room as before. in about three weeks' time they sailed for america. the sea was very rough during the passage, and his mother lay the whole time in her berth, and was very sick. meyerl was quite fit, and his father did nothing but pace the deck, even when it poured with rain, till they came and ordered him down-stairs. meyerl never knew exactly what happened, but once a gentile on board the ship passed a remark on his father, made fun of him, or something--and his father drew himself up, and gave the other a look--nothing more than a look! and the gentile got such a fright that he began crossing himself, and he spit out, and his lips moved rapidly. to tell the truth, meyerl was frightened himself by the contraction of his father's mouth, the grind of his teeth, and by his eyes, which nearly started from his head. meyerl had never seen him look like that before, but soon his father was once more pacing the deck, his head down, his wet collar turned up, his hands in his sleeves, and his back slightly bent. when they arrived in new york city, meyerl began to feel giddy, and it was not long before the whole of tartilov appeared to him like a dream. it was in the beginning of winter, and soon the snow fell, the fresh white snow, and it was something like! meyerl was now a "boy," he went to "school," made snowballs, slid on the slides, built little fires in the middle of the street, and nobody interfered. he went home to eat and sleep, and spent what you may call his "life" in the street. in their room were cold, piercing draughts, which made it feel dreary and dismal. meyerl's father, a lean, large-boned man, with a dark, brown face and black beard, had always been silent, and it was but seldom he said so much as "are you there, tzippe? do you hear me, tzippe?" but now his silence was frightening! the mother, on the other hand, used to be full of life and spirits, skipping about the place, and it was "shloimeh!" here, and "shloimeh!" there, and her tongue wagging merrily! and suddenly there was an end of it all. the father only walked back and forth over the room, and she turned to look after him like a child in disgrace, and looked and looked as though forever wanting to say something, and never daring to say it. there was something new in her look, something dog-like! yes, on my word, something like what there was in the eyes of mishke the dog with which meyerl used to like playing "over there," in that little town in dreamland. sometimes meyerl, waking suddenly in the night, heard, or imagined he heard, his mother sobbing, while his father lay in the other bed puffing at his cigar, but so hard, it was frightening, because it made a little fire every time in the dark, as though of itself, in the air, just over the place where his father's black head must be lying. then meyerl's eyes would shut of themselves, his brain was confused, and his mother and the glowing sparks and the whole room sank away from him, and meyerl dropped off to sleep. twice that winter his mother fell ill. the first time it lasted two days, the second, four, and both times the illness was dangerous. her face glowed like an oven, her lower lip bled beneath her sharp white teeth, and yet wild, terrifying groans betrayed what she was suffering, and she was often violently sick, just as when they were on the sea. at those times she looked at her husband with eyes in which there was no prayer. mishke once ran a thorn deep into his paw, and he squealed and growled angrily, and sucked his paw, as though he were trying to swallow it, thorn and all, and the look in his eyes was the look of meyerl's mother in her pain. in those days his father, too, behaved differently, for, instead of walking to and fro across the room, he ran, puffing incessantly at his cigar, his brow like a thunder-cloud and occasional lightnings flashing from his eyes. he never looked at his wife, and neither of them looked at meyerl, who then felt himself utterly wretched and forsaken. and--it is very odd, but--it was just on these occasions that meyerl felt himself drawn to his home. in the street things were as usual, but at home it was like being in shool during the solemn days at the blowing of the ram's horn, when so many tall "fathers" stand with prayer-scarfs over their heads, and hold their breath, and when out of the distance there comes, unfolding over the heads of the people, the long, loud blast of the shofar. and both times, when his mother recovered, the shadow that lay on their home had darkened, his father was gloomier than ever, and his mother, when she looked at him, had a still more crushed and dog-like expression, as though she were lying outside in the dust of the street. the snowfalls became rarer, then they ceased altogether, and there came into the air a feeling of something new--what exactly, it would have been hard for meyerl to say. anyhow it was something good, very good, for everyone in the street was glad of it, one could see that by their faces, which were more lightsome and gay. on the eve of passover the sky of home cleared a little too, street and house joined hands through the windows, opened now for the first time since winter set in, and this neighborly act of theirs cheered meyerl's heart. his parents made preparations for passover, and poor little preparations they were: there was no matzes-baking with its merry to-do; a packet of cold, stale matzes was brought into the house; there was no pail of beet-root soup in the corner, covered with a coarse cloth of unbleached linen; no dusty china service was fetched from the attic, where it had lain many years between one passover and another; his father brought in a dinner service from the street, one he had bought cheap, and of which the pieces did not match. but the exhilaration of the festival made itself felt for all that, and warmed their hearts. at home, in tartilov, it had happened once or twice that meyerl had lain in his little bed with open eyes, staring stock-still, with terror, into the silent blackness of the night, and feeling as if he were the only living soul in the whole world, that is, the whole house; and the sudden crow of a cock would be enough on these occasions to send a warm current of relief and security through his heart. his father's face looked a little more cheerful. in the daytime, while he dusted the cups, his eyes had something pensive in them, but his lips were set so that you thought: there, now, now they are going to smile! the mother danced the matzeh pancakes up and down in the kitchen, so that they chattered and gurgled in the frying-pan. when a neighbor came in to borrow a cooking pot, meyerl happened to be standing beside his mother. the neighbor got her pot, the women exchanged a few words about the coming holiday, and then the neighbor said, "so we shall soon be having a rejoicing at your house?" and with a wink and a smile she pointed at his mother with her finger, whereupon meyerl remarked for the first time that her figure had grown round and full. but he had no time just then to think it over, for there came a sound of broken china from the next room, his mother stood like one knocked on the head, and his father appeared in the door, and said: "go!" his voice sent a quiver through the window-panes, as if a heavy wagon were just crossing the bridge outside at a trot, the startled neighbor turned, and whisked out of the house. meyerl's parents looked ill at ease in their holiday garb, with the faces of mourners. the whole ceremony of the passover home service was spoilt by an atmosphere of the last meal on the eve of the fast of the destruction of the temple. and when meyerl, with the indifferent voice of one hired for the occasion, sang out the "why is this night different?" his heart shrank together; there was the same hush round about him as there is in shool when an orphan recites the first "sanctification" for his dead parents. his mother's lips moved, but gave forth no sound; from time to time she wetted a finger with her tongue, and turned over leaf after leaf in her service-book, and from time to time a large, bright tear fell, over her beautiful but depressed face onto the book, or the white table-cloth, or her dress. his father never looked at her. did he see she was crying? meyerl wondered. then, how strangely he was reciting the haggadah! he would chant a portion in long-drawn-out fashion, and suddenly his voice would break, sometimes with a gurgle, as though a hand had seized him by the throat and closed it. then he would look silently at his book, or his eye would wander round the room with a vacant stare. then he would start intoning again, and again his voice would break. they ate next to nothing, said grace to themselves in a whisper, after which the father said: "meyerl, open the door!" not without fear, and the usual uncertainty as to the appearance of the prophet elijah, whose goblet stood filled for him on the table, meyerl opened the door. "pour out thy wrath upon the gentiles, who do not know thee!" a slight shudder ran down between meyerl's shoulders, for a strange, quite unfamiliar voice had sounded through the room from one end to the other, shot up against the ceiling, flung itself down again, and gone flapping round the four walls, like a great, wild bird in a cage. meyerl hastily turned to look at his father, and felt the hair bristle on his head with fright: straight and stiff as a screwed-up fiddle-string, there stood beside the table a wild figure, in a snow-white robe, with a dark beard, a broad, bony face, and a weird, black flame in the eyes. the teeth were ground together, and the voice would go over into a plaintive roar, like that of a hungry, bloodthirsty animal. his mother sprang up from her seat, trembling in every limb, stared at him for a few seconds, and then threw herself at his feet. catching hold of the edge of his robe with both hands, she broke into lamentation: "shloimeh, shloimeh, you'd better kill me! shloimeh! kill me! oi, oi, misfortune!" meyerl felt as though a large hand with long fingernails had introduced itself into his inside, and turned it upside down with one fell twist. his mouth opened widely and crookedly, and a scream of childish terror burst from his throat. tartilov had suddenly leapt wildly into view, affrighted jews flew up and down the street like leaves in a storm, the white-faced rebbe sat in his chair, his under lip trembling, his mother lay on her bed, looking all pulled about like a rumpled counterpane. meyerl saw all this as clearly and sharply as though he had it before his eyes, he felt and knew that it was not all over, that it was only just beginning, that the calamity, the great calamity, the real calamity, was still to come, and might at any moment descend upon their heads like a thunderbolt, only _what_ it was he did not know, or ask himself, and a second time a scream of distraught and helpless terror escaped his throat. a few neighbors, italians, who were standing in the passage by the open door, looked on in alarm, and whispered among themselves, and still the wild curses filled the room, one minute loud and resonant, the next with the spiteful gasping of a man struck to death. "mighty god! pour out thy wrath on the peoples who have no god in their hearts! pour out thy wrath upon the lands where thy name is unknown! 'he has devoured, devoured my body, he has laid waste, laid waste my house!'" "thy wrath shall pursue them, pursue them--o'ertake them! o'ertake them--destroy them, from under thy heavens!" shalom asch born, , in kutno, government of warsaw, russian poland; jewish education and hasidic surroundings; began to write in , earliest works being in hebrew; sippurim was published in , and a städtel in ; wrote his first drama in ; distinguished for realism, love of nature, and description of patriarchal jewish life in the villages; playwright; dramas: gott von nekomoh, meschiach's zeiten, etc.; collected works, schriften, warsaw, - (in course of publication). a simple story feigele, like all young girls, is fond of dressing and decking herself out. she has no time for these frivolities during the week, there is work in plenty, no evil eye! and sewing to do; rent is high, and times are bad. the father earns but little, and there is a deal wanting towards her three hundred rubles dowry, beside which her mother trenches on it occasionally, on sabbath, when the family purse is empty. "there are as many marriageable young men as dogs, only every dog wants a fat bone," comes into her head. she dislikes much thinking. she is a young girl and a pretty one. of course, one shouldn't be conceited, but when she stands in front of the glass, she sees her bright face and rosy cheeks and the fall of her black hair. but she soon forgets it all, as though she were afraid that to rejoice in it might bring her ill-luck. sabbath it is quite another thing--there is time and to spare, and on sabbath feigele's toilet knows no end. the mother calls, "there, feigele, that's enough! you will do very well as you are." but what should old-fashioned women like her know about it? anything will do for them. whether you've a hat and jacket on or not, they're just as pleased. but a young girl like feigele knows the difference. _he_ is sitting out there on the bench, he, eleazar, with a party of his mates, casting furtive glances, which he thinks nobody sees, and nudging his neighbor, "look, fire and flame!" and she, feigele, behaves as though unaware of his presence, walks straight past, as coolly and unconcernedly as you please, and as though eleazar might look and look his eyes out after her, take his own life, hang himself, for all _she_ cares. but, o feigele, the vexation and the heartache when one fine day you walk past, and he doesn't look at _you_, but at malkeh, who has a new hat and jacket that suit her about as well as a veil suits a dog--and yet he looks at her, and you turn round again, and yet again, pretending to look at something else (because it isn't proper), but you just glance over your shoulder, and he is still looking after malkeh, his whole face shining with delight, and he nudges his mate, as to say, "do you see?" o feigele, you need a heart of adamant, if it is not to burst in twain with mortification! however, no sooner has malkeh disappeared down a sidewalk, than he gets up from the bench, dragging his mate along with him, and they follow, arm-in-arm, follow feigele like her shadow, to the end of the avenue, where, catching her eye, he nods a "good sabbath!" feigele answers with a supercilious tip-tilt of her head, as much as to say, "it is all the same to me, i'm sure; i'll just go down this other avenue for a change," and, lo and behold, if she happens to look around, there is eleazar, too, and he follows, follows like a wearisome creditor. and then, o feigele, such a lovely, blissful feeling comes over you. don't look, take no notice of him, walk ahead stiffly and firmly, with your head high, let him follow and look at you. and he looks, and he follows, he would follow you to the world's end, into the howling desert. ha, ha, how lovely it feels! but once, on a sabbath evening, walking in the gardens with a girl friend, and he following, feigele turned aside down a dark path, and sat down on a bench behind a bushy tree. he came and sat down, too, at the other end of the bench. evening: the many branching trees overshadow and obscure, it grows dark, they are screened and hidden from view. a breeze blows, lightly and pleasantly, and cools the air. they feel it good to be there, their hearts beat in the stillness. who will say the first word? he coughs, ahem! to show that he is there, but she makes no sign, implying that she neither knows who he is, nor what he wants, and has no wish to learn. they are silent, they only hear their own beating hearts and the wind in the leaves. "i beg your pardon, do you know what time it is?" "no, i don't," she replies stiffly, meaning, "i know quite well what you are after, but don't be in such a hurry, you won't get anything the sooner." the girl beside her gives her a nudge. "did you hear that?" she giggles. feigele feels a little annoyed with her. does the girl think _she_ is the object? and she presently prepares to rise, but remains, as though glued to the seat. "a beautiful night, isn't it?" "yes, a beautiful evening." and so the conversation gets into swing, with a question from him and an answer from her, on different subjects, first with fear and fluttering of the heart, then they get closer one to another, and become more confidential. when she goes home, he sees her to the door, they shake hands and say, "till we meet again!" and they meet a second and a third time, for young hearts attract each other like a magnet. at first, of course, it is accidental, they meet by chance in the company of two other people, a girl friend of hers and a chum of his, and then, little by little, they come to feel that they want to see each other alone, all to themselves, and they fix upon a quiet time and place. and they met. they walked away together, outside the town, between the sky and the fields, walked and talked, and again, conscious that the talk was an artificial one, were even more gladly silent. evening, and the last sunbeams were gliding over the ears of corn on both sides of the way. then a breeze came along, and the ears swayed and whispered together, as the two passed on between them down the long road. night was gathering, it grew continually darker, more melancholy, more delightful. "i have been wanting to know you for a long time, feigele." "i know. you followed me like a shadow." they are silent. "what are you thinking about, feigele?" "what are _you_ thinking about, eleazar?" and they plunge once more into a deep converse about all sorts of things, and there seems to be no reason why it should ever end. it grows darker and darker. they have come to walk closer together. now he takes her hand, she gives a start, but his hand steals further and further into hers. suddenly, as dropt from the sky, he bends his face, and kisses her on the cheek. a thrill goes through her, she takes her hand out of his and appears rather cross, but he knows it is put on, and very soon she is all right again, as if the incident were forgotten. an hour or two go by thus, and every day now they steal away and meet outside the town. and eleazar began to frequent her parents' house, the first time with an excuse--he had some work for feigele. and then, as people do, he came to know when the work would be done, and feigele behaved as though she had never seen him before, as though not even knowing who he was, and politely begged him to take a seat. so it came about by degrees that eleazar was continually in and out of the house, coming and going as he pleased and without stating any pretext whatever. feigele's parents knew him for a steady young man, he was a skilled artisan earning a good wage, and they knew quite well why a young man comes to the home of a young girl, but they feigned ignorance, thinking to themselves, "let the children get to know each other better, there will be time enough to talk it over afterwards." evening: a small room, shadows moving on the walls, a new table on which burns a large, bright lamp, and sitting beside it feigele sewing and eleazar reading aloud a novel by shomer. father and mother, tired out with a whole day's work, sleep on their beds behind the curtain, which shuts off half the room. and so they sit, both of them, only sometimes eleazar laughs aloud, takes her by the hand, and exclaims with a smile, "feigele!" "what do you want, silly?" "nothing at all, nothing at all." and she sews on, thinking, "i have got you fast enough, but don't imagine you are taking somebody from the street, just as she is; there are still eighty rubles wanting to make three hundred in the bank." and she shows him her wedding outfit, the shifts and the bedclothes, of which half lie waiting in the drawers. * * * * * they drew closer one to another, they became more and more intimate, so that all looked upon them as engaged, and expected the marriage contract to be drawn up any day. feigele's mother was jubilant at her daughter's good fortune, at the prospect of such a son-in-law, such a golden son-in-law! reb yainkel, her father, was an elderly man, a worn-out peddler, bent sideways with the bag of junk continually on his shoulder. now he, too, has a little bit of pleasure, a taste of joy, for which god be praised! everyone rejoices, feigele most of all, her cheeks look rosier and fresher, her eyes darker and brighter. she sits at her machine and sews, and the whole room rings with her voice: "un was ich hob' gewollt, hob' ich ausgeführt, soll ich azoi leben! ich hob' gewollt a shenem choson, hot' mir gott gegeben." in the evening comes eleazar. "well, what are you doing?" "what should i be doing? wait, i'll show you something." "what sort of thing?" she rises from her place, goes to the chest that stands in the stove corner, takes something out of it, and hides it under her apron. "whatever have you got there?" he laughs. "why are you in such a hurry to know?" she asks, and sits down beside him, brings from under her apron a picture in fine woolwork, adam and eve, and shows it him, saying: "there, now you see! it was worked by a girl i know--for me, for us. i shall hang it up in our room, opposite the bed." "yours or mine?" "you wait, eleazar! you will see the house i shall arrange for you--a paradise, i tell you, just a little paradise! everything in it will have to shine, so that it will be a pleasure to step inside." "and every evening when work is done, we two shall sit together, side by side, just as we are doing now," and he puts an arm around her. "and you will tell me everything, all about everything," she says, laying a hand on his shoulder, while with the other she takes hold of his chin, and looks into his eyes. they feel so happy, so light at heart. everything in the house has taken on an air of kindliness, there is a soft, attractive gloss on every object in the room, on the walls and the table, the familiar things make signs to her, and speak to her as friend to friend. the two are silent, lost in their own thoughts. "look," she says to him, and takes her bank-book out of the chest, "two hundred and forty rubles already. i shall make it up to three hundred, and then you won't have to say, 'i took you just as you were.'" "go along with you, you are very unjust, and i'm cross with you, feigele." "why? because i tell you the truth to your face?" she asks, looking into his face and laughing. he turns his head away, pretending to be offended. "you little silly, are you feeling hurt? i was only joking, can't you see?" so it goes on, till the old mother's face peeps out from behind the curtain, warning them that it is time to go to rest, when the young couple bid each other good-night. * * * * * reb yainkel, feigele's father, fell ill. it was in the beginning of winter, and there was war between winter and summer: the former sent a snowfall, the latter a burst of sun. the snow turned to mud, and between times it poured with rain by the bucketful. this sort of weather made the old man ill: he became weak in the legs, and took to his bed. there was no money for food, and still less for firing, and feigele had to lend for the time being. the old man lay abed and coughed, his pale, shrivelled face reddened, the teeth showed between the drawn lips, and the blue veins stood out on his temples. they sent for the doctor, who prescribed a remedy. the mother wished to pawn their last pillow, but feigele protested, and gave up part of her wages, and when this was not enough, she pawned her jacket--anything sooner than touch the dowry. and he, eleazar, came every evening, and they sat together beside the well-known table in the lamplight. "why are you so sad, feigele?" "how can you expect me to be cheerful, with father so ill?" "god will help, feigele, and he will get better." "it's four weeks since i put a farthing into the savings-bank." "what do you want to save for?" "what do i want to save for?" she asked with a startled look, as though something had frightened her. "are you going to tell me that you will take me without a dowry?" "what do you mean by 'without a dowry'? you are worth all the money in the world to me, worth my whole life. what do i want with your money? see here, my five fingers, they can earn all we need. i have two hundred rubles in the bank, saved from my earnings. what do i want with more?" they are silent for a moment, with downcast eyes. "and your mother?" she asks quietly. "will you please tell me, are you marrying my mother or me? and what concern is she of yours?" feigele is silent. "i tell you again, i'll take you _just as you are_--and you'll take me the same, will you?" she puts the corner of her apron to her eyes, and cries quietly to herself. there is stillness around. the lamp sheds its brightness over the little room, and casts their shadows onto the walls. the heavy sleeping of the old people is audible behind the curtain. and her head lies on his shoulder, and her thick black hair hides his face. "how kind you are, eleazar," she whispers through her tears. and she opens her whole heart to him, tells him how it is with them now, how bad things are, they have pawned everything, and there is nothing left for to-morrow, nothing but the dowry! he clasps her lovingly, and dries her cheeks with her apron end, saying: "don't cry, feigele, don't cry. it will all come right. and to-morrow, mind, you are to go to the postoffice, and take a little of the dowry, as much as you need, until your father, god helping, is well again, and able to earn something, and then...." "and then ..." she echoes in a whisper. "and then it will all come right," and his eyes flash into hers. "just as you are ..." he whispers. and she looks at him, and a smile crosses her face. she feels so happy, so happy. * * * * * next morning she went to the postoffice for the first time with her bank-book, took out a few rubles, and gave them to her mother. the mother sighed heavily, and took on a grieved expression; she frowned, and pulled her head-kerchief down over her eyes. old reb yainkel lying in bed turned his face to the wall. the old man knew where the money came from, he knew how his only child had toiled for those few rubles. other fathers gave money to their children, and he took it-- it seemed to him as though he were plundering the two young people. he had not long to live, and he was robbing them before he died. as he thought on this, his eyes glazed, the veins on his temple swelled, and his face became suffused with blood. his head is buried in the pillow, and turns to the wall, he lies and thinks these thoughts. he knows that he is in the way of the children's happiness, and he prays that he may die. and she, feigele, would like to come into a fortune all at once, to have a lot of money, to be as rich as any great lady. and then suppose she had a thousand rubles now, this minute, and he came in: "there, take the whole of it, see if i love you! there, take it, and then you needn't say you love me for nothing, just as i am." they sit beside the father's bed, she and her eleazar. her heart overflows with content, she feels happier than she ever felt before, there are even tears of joy on her cheeks. she sits and cries, hiding her face with her apron. he takes her caressingly by the hands, repeating in his kind, sweet voice, "feigele, stop crying, feigele, please!" the father lies turned with his face to the wall, and the beating of his heart is heard in the stillness. they sit, and she feels confidence in eleazar, she feels that she can rely upon him. she sits and drinks in his words, she feels him rolling the heavy stones from off her heart. the old father has turned round and looked at them, and a sweet smile steals over his face, as though he would say, "have no fear, children, i agree with you, i agree with all my heart." and feigele feels so happy, so happy.... * * * * * the father is still lying ill, and feigele takes out one ruble after another, one five-ruble-piece after another. the old man lies and prays and muses, and looks at the children, and holds his peace. his face gets paler and more wrinkled, he grows weaker, he feels his strength ebbing away. feigele goes on taking money out of the savings-bank, the stamps in her book grow less and less, she knows that soon there will be nothing left. old reb yainkel wishes in secret that he did not require so much, that he might cease to hamper other people! he spits blood-drops, and his strength goes on diminishing, and so do the stamps in feigele's book. the day he died saw the last farthing of feigele's dowry disappear after the others. * * * * * feigele has resumed her seat by the bright lamp, and sews and sews till far into the night, and with every seam that she sews, something is added to the credit of her new account. this time the dowry must be a larger one, because for every stamp that is added to the account-book there is a new grey hair on feigele's black head. a jewish child the mother came out of the bride's chamber, and cast a piercing look at her husband, who was sitting beside a finished meal, and was making pellets of bread crumbs previous to saying grace. "you go and talk to her! i haven't a bit of strength left!" "so, rochel-leoh has brought up children, has she, and can't manage them! why! people will be pointing at you and laughing--a ruin to your years!" "to my years?! a ruin to _yours_! _my_ children, are they? are they not yours, too? couldn't you stay at home sometimes to care for them and help me to bring them up, instead of trapesing round--the black year knows where and with whom?" "rochel, rochel, what has possessed you to start a quarrel with me now? the bridegroom's family will be arriving directly." "and what do you expect me to do, moishehle, eh?! for god's sake! go in to her, we shall be made a laughing-stock." the man rose from the table, and went into the next room to his daughter. the mother followed. on the little sofa that stood by the window sat a girl about eighteen, her face hidden in her hands, her arms covered by her loose, thick, black hair. she was evidently crying, for her bosom rose and fell like a stormy sea. on the bed opposite lay the white silk wedding-dress, the chuppeh-kleid, with the black, silk shool-kleid, and the black stuff morning-dress, which the tailor who had undertaken the outfit had brought not long ago. by the door stood a woman with a black scarf round her head and holding boxes with wigs. "channehle! you are never going to do me this dishonor? to make me the talk of the town?" exclaimed the father. the bride was silent. "look at me, daughter of moisheh groiss! it's all very well for genendel freindel's daughter to wear a wig, but not for the daughter of moisheh groiss? is that it?" "and yet genendel freindel might very well think more of herself than you: she is more educated than you are, and has a larger dowry," put in the mother. the bride made no reply. "daughter, think how much blood and treasure it has cost to help us to a bit of pleasure, and now you want to spoil it for us? remember, for god's sake, what you are doing with yourself! we shall be excommunicated, the young man will run away home on foot!" "don't be foolish," said the mother, took a wig out of a box from the woman by the door, and approached her daughter. "let us try on the wig, the hair is just the color of yours," and she laid the strange hair on the girl's head. the girl felt the weight, put up her fingers to her head, met among her own soft, cool, living locks, the strange, dead hair of the wig, stiff and cold, and it flashed through her, who knows where the head to which this hair belonged is now? a shuddering enveloped her, and as though she had come in contact with something unclean, she snatched off the wig, threw in onto the floor and hastily left the room. father and mother stood and looked at each other in dismay. * * * * * the day after the marriage ceremony, the bridegroom's mother rose early, and, bearing large scissors, and the wig and a hood which she had brought from her home as a present for the bride, she went to dress the latter for the "breakfast." but the groom's mother remained outside the room, because the bride had locked herself in, and would open her door to no one. the groom's mother ran calling aloud for help to her husband, who, together with a dozen uncles and brothers-in-law, was still sleeping soundly after the evening's festivity. she then sought out the bridegroom, an eighteen-year-old boy with his mother's milk still on his lips, who, in a silk caftan and a fur cap, was moving about the room in bewildered fashion, his eyes on the ground, ashamed to look anyone in the face. in the end she fell back on the mother of the bride, and these two went in to her together, having forced open the door between them. "why did you lock yourself in, dear daughter. there is no need to be ashamed." "marriage is a jewish institution!" said the groom's mother, and kissed her future daughter-in-law on both cheeks. the girl made no reply. "your mother-in-law has brought you a wig and a hood for the procession to the shool," said her own mother. the band had already struck up the "good morning" in the next room. "come now, kallehshi, kalleh-leben, the guests are beginning to assemble." the groom's mother took hold of the plaits in order to loosen them. the bride bent her head away from her, and fell on her own mother's neck. "i can't, mame-leben! my heart won't let me, mame-kron!" she held her hair with both hands, to protect it from the other's scissors. "for god's sake, my daughter? my life," begged the mother. "in the other world you will be plunged for this into rivers of fire. the apostate who wears her own hair after marriage will have her locks torn out with red hot pincers," said the other with the scissors. a cold shiver went through the girl at these words. "mother-life, mother-crown!" she pleaded. her hands sought her hair, and the black silky tresses fell through them in waves. her hair, the hair which had grown with her growth, and lived with her life, was to be cut off, and she was never, never to have it again--she was to wear strange hair, hair that had grown on another person's head, and no one knows whether that other person was alive or lying in the earth this long time, and whether she might not come any night to one's bedside, and whine in a dead voice: "give me back my hair, give me back my hair!" a frost seized the girl to the marrow, she shivered and shook. then she heard the squeak of scissors over her head, tore herself out of her mother's arms, made one snatch at the scissors, flung them across the room, and said in a scarcely human voice: "my own hair! may god himself punish me!" that day the bridegroom's mother took herself off home again, together with the sweet-cakes and the geese which she had brought for the wedding breakfast for her own guests. she wanted to take the bridegroom as well, but the bride's mother said: "i will not give him back to you! he belongs to me already!" the following sabbath they led the bride in procession to the shool wearing her own hair in the face of all the town, covered only by a large hood. but may all the names she was called by the way find their only echo in some uninhabited wilderness. * * * * * a summer evening, a few weeks after the wedding: the young man had just returned from the stübel, and went to his room. the wife was already asleep, and the soft light of the lamp fell on her pale face, showing here and there among the wealth of silky-black hair that bathed it. her slender arms were flung round her head, as though she feared that someone might come by night to shear them off while she slept. he had come home excited and irritable: this was the fourth week of his married life, and they had not yet called him up to the reading of the law, the chassidim pursued him, and to-day chayyim moisheh had blamed him in the presence of the whole congregation, and had shamed him, because _she_, his wife, went about in her own hair. "you're no better than a clay image," reb chayyim moisheh had told him. "what do you mean by a woman's saying she won't? it is written: 'and he shall rule over thee.'" and he had come home intending to go to her and say: "woman, it is a precept in the torah! if you persist in wearing your own hair, i may divorce you without returning the dowry," after which he would pack up his things and go home. but when he saw his little wife asleep in bed, and her pale face peeping out of the glory of her hair, he felt a great pity for her. he went up to the bed, and stood a long while looking at her, after which he called softly: "channehle ... channehle ... channehle...." she opened her eyes with a frightened start, and looked round in sleepy wonder: "nosson, did you call? what do you want? "nothing, your cap has slipped off," he said, lifting up the white nightcap, which had fallen from her head. she flung it on again, and wanted to turn towards the wall. "channehle, channehle, i want to talk to you." the words went to her heart. the whole time since their marriage he had, so to say, not spoken to her. during the day she saw nothing of him, for he spent it in the house-of-study or in the stübel. when he came home to dinner, he sat down to the table in silence. when he wanted anything, he asked for it speaking into the air, and when really obliged to exchange a word with her, he did so with his eyes fixed on the ground, too shy to look her in the face. and now he said he wanted to talk to her, and in such a gentle voice, and they two alone together in their room! "what do you want to say to me?" she asked softly. "channehle," he began, "please, don't make a fool of me, and don't make a fool of yourself in people's eyes. has not god decreed that we should belong together? you are my wife and i am your husband, and is it proper, and what does it look like, a married woman wearing her own hair?" sleep still half dimmed her eyes, and had altogether clouded her thought and will. she felt helpless, and her head fell lightly towards his breast. "child," he went on still more gently, "i know you are not so depraved as they say. i know you are a pious jewish daughter, and his blessed name will help us, and we shall have pious jewish children. put away this nonsense! why should the whole world be talking about you? are we not man and wife? is not your shame mine?" it seemed to her as though _someone_, at once very far away and very near, had come and was talking to her. nobody had ever yet spoken to her so gently and confidingly. and he was her husband, with whom she would live so long, so long, and there would be children, and she would look after the house! she leant her head lightly against him. "i know you are very sorry to lose your hair, the ornament of your girlhood, i saw you with it when i was a guest in your home. i know that god gave you grace and loveliness, i know. it cuts me to the heart that your hair must be shorn off, but what is to be done? it is a rule, a law of our religion, and after all we are jews. we might even, god forbid, have a child conceived to us in sin, may heaven watch over and defend us." she said nothing, but remained resting lightly in his arm, and his face lay in the stream of her silky-black hair with its cool odor. in that hair dwelt a soul, and he was conscious of it. he looked at her long and earnestly, and in his look was a prayer, a pleading with her for her own happiness, for her happiness and his. "shall i?" ... he asked, more with his eyes than with his lips. she said nothing, she only bent her head over his lap. he went quickly to the drawer, and took out a pair of scissors. she laid her head in his lap, and gave her hair as a ransom for their happiness, still half-asleep and dreaming. the scissors squeaked over her head, shearing off one lock after the other, and channehle lay and dreamt through the night. on waking next morning, she threw a look into the glass which hung opposite the bed. a shock went through her, she thought she had gone mad, and was in the asylum! on the table beside her lay her shorn hair, dead! she hid her face in her hands, and the little room was filled with the sound of weeping! a scholar's mother the market lies foursquare, surrounded on every side by low, whitewashed little houses. from the chimney of the one-storied house opposite the well and inhabited by the baker, issues thick smoke, which spreads low over the market-place. beneath the smoke is a flying to and fro of white pigeons, and a tall boy standing outside the baker's door is whistling to them. equally opposite the well are stalls, doors laid across two chairs and covered with fruit and vegetables, and around them women, with head-kerchiefs gathered round their weary, sunburnt faces in the hottest weather, stand and quarrel over each other's wares. "it's certainly worth my while to stand quarrelling with _you_! a tramp like you keeping a stall!" yente, a woman about forty, whose wide lips have just uttered the above, wears a large, dirty apron, and her broad, red face, with the composed glance of the eyes under the kerchief, gives support to her words. "do you suppose you have got the almighty by the beard? he is mine as well as yours!" answers taube, pulling her kerchief lower about her ears, and angrily stroking down her hair. a new customer approached yente's stall, and taube, standing by idle, passed the time in vituperations. "what do i want with the money of a fine lady like you? you'll die like the rest of us, and not a dog will say kaddish for you," she shrieked, and came to a sudden stop, for taube had intended to bring up the subject of her own son yitzchokel, when she remembered that it is against good manners to praise one's own. yente, measuring out a quarter of pears to her customer, made answer: "well, if you were a little superior to what you are, your husband wouldn't have died, and your child wouldn't have to be ashamed of you, as we all know he is." whereon taube flew into a rage, and shouted: "hussy! the idea of my son being ashamed of me! may you be a sacrifice for his littlest finger-nail, for you're not worthy to mention his name!" she was about to burst out weeping at the accusation of having been the cause of her husband's death and of causing her son to be ashamed of her, but she kept back her tears with all her might in order not to give pleasure to yente. the sun was dropping lower behind the other end of the little town, jews were hurrying across the market-place to evening prayer in the house-of-study street, and the cheder-boys, just let out, began to gather round the well. taube collected her few little baskets into her arms (the door and the chairs she left in the market-place; nobody would steal them), and with two or three parting curses to the rude yente, she quietly quitted the scene. walking home with her armful of baskets, she thought of her son yitzchokel. yente's stinging remarks pursued her. it was not yente's saying that she had caused her husband's death that she minded, for everyone knew how hard she had worked during his illness, it was her saying that yitzchokel was ashamed of her, that she felt in her "ribs." it occurred to her that when he came home for the night, he never would touch anything in her house. and thinking this over, she started once more abusing yente. "let her not live to see such a thing, lord of the world, the one father!" it seemed to her that this fancy of hers, that yitzchokel was ashamed of her, was all yente's fault, it was all her doing, the witch! "my child, my yitzchokel, what business is he of yours?" and the cry escaped her: "lord of the world, take up my quarrel, thou art a father to the orphaned, thou shouldst not forgive her this!" "who is that? whom are you scolding so, taube?" called out necheh, the rich man's wife, standing in the door of her shop, and overhearing taube, as she scolded to herself on the walk home. "who should it be, housemistress, who but the hussy, the abortion, the witch," answered taube, pointing with one finger towards the market-place, and, without so much as lifting her head to look at the person speaking to her, she went on her way. she remembered, as she walked, how, that morning, when she went into necheh's kitchen with a fowl, she heard her yitzchokel's voice in the other room disputing with necheh's boys over the talmud. she knew that on wednesdays yitzchokel ate his "day" at necheh's table, and she had taken the fowl there that day on purpose, so that her yitzchokel should have a good plate of soup, for her poor child was but weakly. when she heard her son's voice, she had been about to leave the kitchen, and yet she had stayed. her yitzchokel disputing with necheh's children? what did they know as compared with him? did they come up to his level? "he will be ashamed of me," she thought with a start, "when he finds me with a chicken in my hand. so his mother is a market-woman, they will say, there's a fine partner for you!" but she had not left the kitchen. a child who had never cost a farthing, and she should like to know how much necheh's children cost their parents! if she had all the money that yitzchokel ought to have cost, the money that ought to have been spent on him, she would be a rich woman too, and she stood and listened to his voice. "oi, _he_ should have lived to see yitzchokel, it would have made him well." soon the door opened, necheh's boys appeared, and her yitzchokel with them. his cheeks flamed. "good morning!" he said feebly, and was out at the door in no time. she knew that she had caused him vexation, that he was ashamed of her before his companions. and she asked herself: her child, her yitzchokel, who had sucked her milk, what had necheh to do with him? and she had poured out her bitterness of heart upon yente's head for this also, that her son had cost her parents nothing, and was yet a better scholar than necheh's children, and once more she exclaimed: "lord of the world! avenge my quarrel, pay her out for it, let her not live to see another day!" passers-by, seeing a woman walking and scolding aloud, laughed. night came on, the little town was darkened. taube reached home with her armful of baskets, dragged herself up the steps, and opened the door. "mame, it's ma-a-me!" came voices from within. the house was full of smoke, the children clustered round her in the middle of the room, and never ceased calling out mame! one child's voice was tearful: "where have you been all day?" another's more cheerful: "how nice it is to have you back!" and all the voices mingled together into one. "be quiet! you don't give me time to draw my breath!" cried the mother, laying down the baskets. she went to the fireplace, looked about for something, and presently the house was illumined by a smoky lamp. the feeble shimmer lighted only the part round the hearth, where taube was kindling two pieces of stick--an old dusty sewing-machine beside a bed, sign of a departed tailor, and a single bed opposite the lamp, strewn with straw, on which lay various fruits, the odor of which filled the room. the rest of the apartment with the remaining beds lay in shadow. it is a year and a half since her husband, lezer the tailor, died. while he was still alive, but when his cough had increased, and he could no longer provide for his family, taube had started earning something on her own account, and the worse the cough, the harder she had to toil, so that by the time she became a widow, she was already used to supporting her whole family. the eldest boy, yitzchokel, had been the one consolation of lezer the tailor's cheerless existence, and lezer was comforted on his death-bed to think he should leave a good kaddish behind him. when he died, the householders had pity on the desolate widow, collected a few rubles, so that she might buy something to traffic with, and, seeing that yitzchokel was a promising boy, they placed him in the house-of-study, arranged for him to have his daily meals in the houses of the rich, and bade him pass his time over the talmud. taube, when she saw her yitzchokel taking his meals with the rich, felt satisfied. a weakly boy, what could _she_ give him to eat? there, at the rich man's table, he had the best of everything, but it grieved her that he should eat in strange, rich houses--she herself did not know whether she had received a kindness or the reverse, when he was taken off her hands. one day, sitting at her stall, she spied her yitzchokel emerge from the shool-gass with his tefillin-bag under his arm, and go straight into the house of reb zindel the rich, to breakfast, and a pang went through her heart. she was still on terms, then, with yente, because immediately after the death of her husband everyone had been kind to her, and she said: "believe me, yente, i don't know myself what it is. what right have i to complain of the householders? they have been very good to me and to my child, made provision for him in rich houses, treated him as if he were _no_ market-woman's son, but the child of gentlefolk, and yet every day when i give the other children their dinner, i forget, and lay a plate for my yitzchokel too, and when i remember that he has his meals at other people's hands, i begin to cry." "go along with you for a foolish woman!" answered yente. "how would he turn out if he were left to you? what is a poor person to give a child to eat, when you come to think of it?" "you are right, yente," taube replied, "but when i portion out the dinner for the others, it cuts me to the heart." and now, as she sat by the hearth cooking the children's supper, the same feeling came over her, that they had stolen her yitzchokel away. when the children had eaten and gone to bed, she stood the lamp on the table, and began mending a shirt for yitzchokel. presently the door opened, and he, yitzchokel, came in. yitzchokel was about fourteen, tall and thin, his pale face telling out sharply against his black cloak beneath his black cap. "good evening!" he said in a low tone. the mother gave up her place to him, feeling that she owed him respect, without knowing exactly why, and it was borne in upon her that she and her poverty together were a misfortune for yitzchokel. he took a book out of the case, sat down, and opened it. the mother gave the lamp a screw, wiped the globe with her apron, and pushed the lamp nearer to him. "will you have a glass of tea, yitzchokel?" she asked softly, wishful to serve him. "no, i have just had some." "or an apple?" he was silent. the mother cleaned a plate, laid two apples on it, and a knife, and placed it on the table beside him. he peeled one of the apples as elegantly as a grown-up man, repeated the blessing aloud, and ate. when taube had seen yitzchokel eat an apple, she felt more like his mother, and drew a little nearer to him. and yitzchokel, as he slowly peeled the second apple, began to talk more amiably: "to-day i talked with the dayan about going somewhere else. in the house-of-study here, there is nothing to do, nobody to study with, nobody to ask how and where, and in which book, and he advises me to go to the academy at makove; he will give me a letter to reb chayyim, the headmaster, and ask him to befriend me." when taube heard that her son was about to leave her, she experienced a great shock, but the words, dayan, rosh-yeshiveh, mekarev-sein, and other high-sounding bits of hebrew, which she did not understand, overawed her, and she felt she must control herself. besides, the words held some comfort for her: yitzchokel was holding counsel with her, with her--his mother! "of course, if the dayan says so," she answered piously. "yes," yitzchokel continued, "there one can hear lectures with all the commentaries; reb chayyim, the author of the book "light of the torah," is a well-known scholar, and there one has a chance of getting to be something decent." his words entirely reassured her, she felt a certain happiness and exaltation, because he was her child, because she was the mother of such a child, such a son, and because, were it not for her, yitzchokel would not be there at all. at the same time her heart pained her, and she grew sad. presently she remembered her husband, and burst out crying: "if only _he_ had lived, if only he could have had this consolation!" she sobbed. yitzchokel minded his book. that night taube could not sleep, for at the thought of yitzchokel's departure the heart ached within her. and she dreamt, as she lay in bed, that some great rabbis with tall fur caps and long earlocks came in and took her yitzchokel away from her; her yitzchokel was wearing a fur cap and locks like theirs, and he held a large book, and he went far away with the rabbis, and she stood and gazed after him, not knowing, should she rejoice or weep. next morning she woke late. yitzchokel had already gone to his studies. she hastened to dress the children, and hurried to the market-place. at her stall she fell athinking, and fancied she was sitting beside her son, who was a rabbi in a large town; there he sits in shoes and socks, a great fur cap on his head, and looks into a huge book. she sits at his right hand knitting a sock, the door opens, and there appears yente carrying a dish, to ask a ritual question of taube's son. a customer disturbed her sweet dream. after this taube sat up whole nights at the table, by the light of the smoky lamp, rearranging and mending yitzchokel's shirts for the journey; she recalled with every stitch that she was sewing for yitzchokel, who was going to the academy, to sit and study, and who, every friday, would put on a shirt prepared for him by his mother. yitzchokel sat as always on the other side of the table, gazing into a book. the mother would have liked to speak to him, but she did not know what to say. taube and yitzchokel were up before daylight. yitzchokel kissed his little brothers in their sleep, and said to his sleeping little sisters, "remain in health"; one sister woke and began to cry, saying she wanted to go with him. the mother embraced and quieted her softly, then she and yitzchokel left the room, carrying his box between them. the street was still fast asleep, the shops were still closed, behind the church belfry the morning star shone coldly forth onto the cold morning dew on the roofs, and there was silence over all, except in the market-place, where there stood a peasant's cart laden with fruit. it was surrounded by women, and yente's voice was heard from afar: "five gulden and ten groschen,' and i'll take the lot!" and taube, carrying yitzchokel's box behind him, walked thus through the market-place, and, catching sight of yente, she looked at her with pride. they came out behind the town, onto the highroad, and waited for an "opportunity" to come by on its way to lentschitz, whence yitzchokel was to proceed to kutno. the sky was grey and cold, and mingled in the distance with the dingy mist rising from the fields, and the road, silent and deserted, ran away out of sight. they sat down beside the barrier, and waited for the "opportunity." the mother scraped together a few twenty-kopek-pieces out of her pocket, and put them into his bosom, twisted up in his shirt. presently a cart came by, crowded with passengers. she secured a seat for yitzchokel for forty groschen, and hoisted the box into the cart. "go in health! don't forget your mother!" she cried in tears. yitzchokel was silent. she wanted to kiss her child, but she knew it was not the thing for a grown-up boy to be kissed, so she refrained. yitzchokel mounted the cart, the passengers made room for him among them. "remain in health, mother!" he called out as the cart set off. "go in health, my child! sit and study, and don't forget your mother!" she cried after him. the cart moved further and further, till it was climbing the hill in the distance. taube still stood and followed it with her gaze; and not till it was lost to view in the dust did she turn and walk back to the town. she took a road that should lead her past the cemetery. there was a rather low plank fence round it, and the gravestones were all to be seen, looking up to heaven. taube went and hitched herself up onto the fence, and put her head over into the "field," looking for something among the tombs, and when her eyes had discovered a familiar little tombstone, she shook her head: "lezer, lezer! your son has driven away to the academy to study torah!" then she remembered the market, where yente must by now have bought up the whole cart-load of fruit. there would be nothing left for her, and she hurried into the town. she walked at a great pace, and felt very pleased with herself. she was conscious of having done a great thing, and this dissipated her annoyance at the thought of yente acquiring all the fruit. two weeks later she got a letter from yitzchokel, and, not being able to read it herself, she took it to reb yochanan, the teacher, that he might read it for her. reb yochanan put on his glasses, cleared his throat thoroughly, and began to read: "le-immi ahuvossi hatzenuoh" ... "what is the translation?" asked taube. "it is the way to address a mother," explained reb yochanan, and continued. taube's face had brightened, she put her apron to her eyes and wept for joy. the reader observed this and read on. "what is the translation, the translation, reb yochanan?" the woman kept on asking. "never mind, it's not for you, you wouldn't understand--it is an exposition of a passage in the gemoreh." she was silent, the hebrew words awed her, and she listened respectfully to the end. "i salute immi ahuvossi and achoissai, sarah and goldeh, and ochi yakov; tell him to study diligently. i have all my 'days' and i sleep at reb chayyim's," gave out reb yochanan suddenly in yiddish. taube contented herself with these few words, took back the letter, put it in her pocket, and went back to her stall with great joy. "this evening," she thought, "i will show it to the dayan, and let him read it too." and no sooner had she got home, cooked the dinner, and fed the children, than she was off with the letter to the dayan. she entered the room, saw the tall bookcases filled with books covering the walls, and a man with a white beard sitting at the end of the table reading. "what is it, a ritual question?" asked the dayan from his place. "no." "what then?" "a letter from my yitzchokel." the dayan rose, came up and looked at her, took the letter, and began to read it silently to himself. "well done, excellent, good! the little fellow knows what he is saying," said the dayan more to himself than to her. tears streamed from taube's eyes. "if only _he_ had lived! if only he had lived!" "shechitas chutz ... rambam ... tossafos is right ..." went on the dayan. "her yitzchokel, taube the market-woman's son," she thought proudly. "take the letter," said the dayan, at last, "i've read it all through." "well, and what?" asked the woman. "what? what do you want then?" "what does it say?" she asked in a low voice. "there is nothing in it for you, you wouldn't understand," replied the dayan, with a smile. yitzchokel continued to write home, the yiddish words were fewer every time, often only a greeting to his mother. and she came to reb yochanan, and he read her the yiddish phrases, with which she had to be satisfied. "the hebrew words are for the dayan," she said to herself. but one day, "there is nothing in the letter for you," said reb yochanan. "what do you mean?" "nothing," he said shortly. "read me at least what there is." "but it is all hebrew, torah, you won't understand." "very well, then, i _won't_ understand...." "go in health, and don't drive me distracted." taube left him, and resolved to go that evening to the dayan. "rebbe, excuse me, translate this into yiddish," she said, handing him the letter. the dayan took the letter and read it. "nothing there for you," he said. "rebbe," said taube, shyly, "excuse me, translate the hebrew for me!" "but it is torah, an exposition of a passage in the torah. you won't understand." "well, if you would only read the letter in hebrew, but aloud, so that i may hear what he says." "but you won't understand one word, it's hebrew!" persisted the dayan, with a smile. "well, i _won't_ understand, that's all," said the woman, "but it's my child's torah, my child's!" the dayan reflected a while, then he began to read aloud. presently, however, he glanced at taube, and remembered he was expounding the torah to a woman! and he felt thankful no one had heard him. "take the letter, there is nothing in it for you," he said compassionately, and sat down again in his place. "but it is my child's torah, my yitzchokel's letter, why mayn't i hear it? what does it matter if i don't understand? it is my own child!" the dayan turned coldly away. when taube reached home after this interview, she sat down at the table, took down the lamp from the wall, and looked silently at the letter by its smoky light. she kissed the letter, but then it occurred to her that she was defiling it with her lips, she, a sinful woman! she rose, took her husband's prayer-book from the bookshelf, and laid the letter between its leaves. then with trembling lips she kissed the covers of the book, and placed it once more in the bookcase. the sinner so that you should not suspect me of taking his part, i will write a short preface to my story. it is written: "a man never so much as moves his finger, but it has been so decreed from above," and whatsoever a man does, he fulfils god's will--even animals and birds (i beg to distinguish!) carry out god's wishes: whenever a bird flies, it fulfils a precept, because god, blessed is he, formed it to fly, and an ox the same when it lows, and even a dog when it barks--all praise god with their voices, and sing hymns to him, each after his manner. and even the wicked who transgresses fulfils god's will in spite of himself, because why? do you suppose he takes pleasure in transgressing? isn't he certain to repent? well, then? he is just carrying out the will of heaven. and the evil inclination himself! why, every time he is sent to persuade a jew to sin, he weeps and sighs: woe is me, that i should be sent on such an errand! after this little preface, i will tell you the story itself. formerly, before the thing happened, he was called reb avròhom, but afterwards they ceased calling him by his name, and said simply the sinner. reb avròhom was looked up to and respected by the whole town, a god-fearing jew, beloved and honored by all, and mothers wished they might have children like him. he sat the whole day in the house-of-study and learned. not that he was a great scholar, but he was a pious, scrupulously observant jew, who followed the straight and beaten road, a man without any pride. he used to recite the prayers in shool together with the strangers by the door, and quite quietly, without any shouting or, one may say, any special enthusiasm. his prayer that rose to heaven, the barred gates opening before it till it entered and was taken up into the throne of glory, this prayer of his did not become a diamond there, dazzling the eye, but a softly glistening pearl. and how, you ask, did he come to be called the sinner? on this wise: you must know that everyone, even those who were hardest on him after the affair, acknowledged that he was a great lover of israel, and i will add that his sin and, heaven defend us, his coming to such a fall, all proceeded from his being such a lover of israel, such a patriot. and it was just the simple jew, the very common folk, that he loved. he used to say: a jew who is a driver, for instance, and busy all the week with his horses and cart, and soaked in materialism for six days at a stretch, so that he only just manages to get in his prayers--when he comes home on sabbath and sits down to table, and the bed is made, and the candles burning, and his wife and children are round him, and they sing hymns together, well, the driver dozing off over his prayer-book and forgetting to say grace, i tell you, said reb avròhom, the divine presence rests on his house and rejoices and says, "happy am i that i chose me out this people," for such a jew keeps sabbath, rests himself, and his horse rests, keeps sabbath likewise, stands in the stable, and is also conscious that it is the holy sabbath, and when the driver rises from his sleep, he leads the animal out to pasture, waters it, and they all go for a walk with it in the meadow. and this walk of theirs is more acceptable to god, blessed is he, than repeating "bless the lord, o my soul." it may be this was because he himself was of humble origin; he had lived till he was thirteen with his father, a farmer, in an out-of-the-way village, and ignorant even of his letters. true, his father had taken a youth into the house to teach him hebrew, but reb avròhom as a boy was very wild, wouldn't mind his book, and ran all day after the oxen and horses. he used to lie out in the meadow, hidden in the long grasses, near him the horses with their heads down pulling at the grass, and the view stretched far, far away, into the endless distance, and above him spread the wide sky, through which the clouds made their way, and the green, juicy earth seemed to look up at it and say: "look, sky, and see how cheerfully i try to obey god's behest, to make the world green with grass!" and the sky made answer: "see, earth, how i try to fulfil god's command, by spreading myself far and wide!" and the few trees scattered over the fields were like witnesses to their friendly agreement. and little avròhom lay and rejoiced in the goodness and all the work of god. suddenly, as though he had received a revelation from heaven, he went home, and asked the youth who was his teacher, "what blessing should one recite on feeling happy at sight of the world?" the youth laughed, and said: "you stupid boy! one says a blessing over bread and water, but as to saying one over _this world_--who ever heard of such a thing?" avròhom wondered, "the world is beautiful, the sky so pretty, the earth so sweet and soft, everything is so delightful to look at, and one says no blessing over it all!" at thirteen he had left the village and come to the town. there, in the house-of-study, he saw the head of the academy sitting at one end of the table, and around it, the scholars, all reciting in fervent, appealing tones that went to his heart. the boy began to cry, whereupon the head of the academy turned, and saw a little boy with a torn hat, crying, and his hair coming out through the holes, and his boots slung over his shoulder, like a peasant lad fresh from the road. the scholars laughed, but the rosh ha-yeshiveh asked him what he wanted. "to learn," he answered in a low, pleading voice. the rosh ha-yeshiveh had compassion on him, and took him as a pupil. avròhom applied himself earnestly to the torah, and in a few days could read hebrew and follow the prayers without help. and the way he prayed was a treat to watch. you should have seen him! he just stood and talked, as one person talks to another, quietly and affectionately, without any tricks of manner. once the rosh ha-yeshiveh saw him praying, and said before his whole academy, "i can learn better than he, but when it comes to praying, i don't reach to his ankles." that is what he said. so reb avròhom lived there till he was grown up, and had married the daughter of a simple tailor. indeed, he learnt tailoring himself, and lived by his ten fingers. by day he sat and sewed with an open prayer-book before him, and recited portions of the psalms to himself. after dark he went into the house-of-study, so quietly that no one noticed him, and passed half the night over the talmud. once some strangers came to the town, and spent the night in the house-of-study behind the stove. suddenly they heard a thin, sweet voice that was like a tune in itself. they started up, and saw him at his book. the small lamp hanging by a cord poured a dim light upon him where he sat, while the walls remained in shadow. he studied with ardor, with enthusiasm, only his enthusiasm was not for beholders, it was all within; he swayed slowly to and fro, and his shadow swayed with him, and he softly chanted the gemoreh. by degrees his voice rose, his face kindled, and his eyes began to glow, one could see that his very soul was resolving itself into his chanting. the divine presence hovered over him, and he drank in its sweetness. and in the middle of his reading, he got up and walked about the room, repeating in a trembling whisper, "lord of the world! o lord of the world!" then his voice grew as suddenly calm, and he stood still, as though he had dozed off where he stood, for pure delight. the lamp grew dim, and still he stood and stood and never moved. awe fell on the travellers behind the stove, and they cried out. he started and approached them, and they had to close their eyes against the brightness of his face, the light that shone out of his eyes! and he stood there quite quietly and simply, and asked in a gentle voice why they had called out. were they cold? and he took off his cloak and spread it over them. next morning the travellers told all this, and declared that no sooner had the cloak touched them than they had fallen asleep, and they had seen and heard nothing more that night. after this, when the whole town had got wind of it, and they found out who it was that night in the house-of-study, the people began to believe that he was a tzaddik, and they came to him with petitions, as chassidim to their rebbes, asking him to pray for their health and other wants. but when they brought him such a petition, he would smile and say: "believe me, a little boy who says grace over a piece of bread which his mother has given him, he can help you more than twenty such as i." of course, his words made no impression, except that they brought more petitions than ever, upon which he said: "you insist on a man of flesh and blood such as i being your advocate with god, blessed is he. hear a parable: to what shall we liken the thing? to the light of the sun and the light of a small lamp. you can rejoice in the sunlight as much as you please, and no one can take your joy from you; the poorest and most humble may revive himself with it, so long as his eyes can behold it, and even though a man should sit, which god forbid, in a dungeon with closed windows, a reflection will make its way in through the chinks, and he shall rejoice in the brightness. but with the poor light of a lamp it is otherwise. a rich man buys a quantity of lamps and illumines his house, while a poor man sits in darkness. god, blessed be he, is the great light that shines for the whole world, reviving and refreshing all his works. the whole world is full of his mercy, and his compassion is over all his creatures. believe me, you have no need of an advocate with him; god is your father, and you are his dear children. how should a child need an advocate with his father?" the ordinary folk heard and were silent, but our people, the chassidim, were displeased. and i'll tell you another thing, i was the first to mention it to the rebbe, long life to him, and he, as is well known, commanded reb avròhom to his presence. so we set to work to persuade reb avròhom and talked to him till he had to go with us. the journey lasted four days. i remember one night, the moon was wandering in a blue ocean of sky that spread ever so far, till it mingled with a cloud, and she looked at us, pitifully and appealingly, as though to ask us if we knew which way she ought to go, to the right or to the left, and presently the cloud came upon her, and she began struggling to get out of it, and a minute or two later she was free again and smiling at us. then a little breeze came, and stroked our faces, and we looked round to the four sides of the world, and it seemed as if the whole world were wrapped in a prayer-scarf woven of mercy, and we fell into a slight melancholy, a quiet sadness, but so sweet and pleasant, it felt like on sabbath at twilight at the third meal. suddenly reb avròhom exclaimed: "jews, have you said the blessings on the appearance of the new moon?" we turned towards the moon, laid down our bundles, washed our hands in a little stream that ran by the roadside, and repeated the blessings for the new moon. he stood looking into the sky, his lips scarcely moving, as was his wont. "sholom alechem!" he said, turning to me, and his voice quivered like a violin, and his eyes called to peace and unity. then an awe of reb avròhom came over me for the first time, and when we had finished sanctifying the moon our melancholy left us, and we prepared to continue our way. but still he stood and gazed heavenward, sighing: "lord of the universe! how beautiful is the world which thou hast made by thy goodness and great mercy, and these are over all thy creatures. they all love thee, and are glad in thee, and thou art glad in them, and the whole world is full of thy glory." i glanced up at the moon, and it seemed that she was still looking at me, and saying, "i'm lost; which way am i to go?" we arrived friday afternoon, and had time enough to go to the bath and to greet the rebbe. he, long life to him, was seated in the reception-room beside a table, his long lashes low over his eyes, leaning on his left hand, while he greeted incomers with his right. we went up to him, one at a time, shook hands, and said "sholom alechem," and he, long life to him, said nothing to us. reb avròhom also went up to him, and held out his hand. a change came over the rebbe, he raised his eyelids with his fingers, and looked at reb avròhom for some time in silence. and reb avròhom looked at the rebbe, and was silent too. the chassidim were offended by such impertinence. that evening we assembled in the rebbe's house-of-study, to usher in the sabbath. it was tightly packed with jews, one pushing the other, or seizing hold of his girdle, only beside the ark was there a free space left, a semicircle, in the middle of which stood the rebbe and prayed. but reb avròhom stood by the door among the poor guests, and prayed after his fashion. "to kiddush!" called the beadle. the rebbe's wife, daughters, and daughters-in-law now appeared, and their jewelry, their precious stones, and their pearls, sparkled and shone. the rebbe stood and repeated the prayer of sanctification. he was slightly bent, and his grey beard swept his breast. his eyes were screened by his lashes, and he recited the sanctification in a loud voice, giving to every word a peculiar inflection, to every sign an expression of its own. "to table!" was called out next. at the head of the table sat the rebbe, sons and sons-in-law to the left, relations to the right of him, then the principal aged jews, then the rich. the people stood round about. the rebbe ate, and began to serve out the leavings, to his sons and sons-in-law first, and to the rest of those sitting at the table after. then there was silence, the rebbe began to expound the torah. the portion of the week was numbers, chapter eight, and the rebbe began: "when a man's soul is on a low level, enveloped, heaven defend us, in uncleanness, and the divine spark within the soul wishes to rise to a higher level, and cannot do so alone, but must needs be helped, it is a mitzveh to help her, to raise her, and this mitzveh is specially incumbent on the priest. this is the meaning of 'the seven lamps shall give light over against the candlestick,' by which is meant the holy torah. the priest must bring the jew's heart near to the torah; in this way he is able to raise it. and who is the priest? the righteous in his generation, because since the temple was destroyed, the saint must be a priest, for thus is the command from above, that he shall be the priest...." "avròhom!" the rebbe called suddenly, "avròhom! come here, i am calling you." the other went up to him. "avròhom, did you understand? did you make out the meaning of what i said? "your silence," the rebbe went on, "is an acknowledgment. i must raise you, even though it be against my will and against your will." there was dead stillness in the room, people waiting to hear what would come next. "you are silent?" asked the rebbe, now a little sternly. "_you_ want to be a raiser of souls? have _you_, bless and preserve us, bought the almighty for yourself? do you think that a jew can approach nearer to god, blessed is he, through _you_? that _you_ are the 'handle of the pestle' and the rest of the jews nowhere? god's grace is everywhere, whichever way we turn, every time we move a limb we feel god! everyone must seek him in his own heart, because there it is that he has caused the divine presence to rest. everywhere and always can the jew draw near to god...." thus answered reb avròhom, but our people, the rebbe's followers, shut his mouth before he had made an end, and had the rebbe not held them back, they would have torn him in pieces on the spot. "leave him alone!" he commanded the chassidim. and to reb avròhom he said: "avròhom, you have sinned!" and from that day forward he was called the sinner, and was shut out from everywhere. the chassidim kept their eye on him, and persecuted him, and he was not even allowed to pray in the house-of-study. and i'll tell you what i think: a wicked man, even when he acts according to his wickedness, fulfils god's command. and who knows? perhaps they were both right! isaac dob berkowitz born, , in slutzk, government of minsk (lithuania), white russia; was in america for a short time in ; contributor to die zukunft; co-editor of ha-olam, wilna; hebrew and yiddish writer; collected works: yiddish, gesammelte schriften, warsaw, ; hebrew, sippurim, cracow, . country folk feivke was a wild little villager, about seven years old, who had tumbled up from babyhood among gentile urchins, the only jewish boy in the place, just as his father mattes, the kozlov smith, was the only jewish householder there. feivke had hardly ever met, or even seen, anyone but the people of kozlov and their children. had it not been for his black eyes, with their moody, persistent gaze from beneath the shade of a deep, worn-out leather cap, it would have puzzled anyone to make out his parentage, to know whence that torn and battered face, that red scar across the top lip, those large, black, flat, unchild-like feet. but the eyes explained everything--his mother's eyes. feivke spent the whole summer with the village urchins in the neighboring wood, picking mushrooms, climbing the trees, driving wood-pigeons off their high nests, or wading knee-deep in the shallow bog outside to seek the black, slippery bog-worms; or else he found himself out in the fields, jumping about on the top of a load of hay under a hot sky, and shouting to his companions, till he was bathed in perspiration. at other times, he gathered himself away into a dark, cool barn, scrambled at the peril of his life along a round beam under the roof, crunched dried pears, saw how the sun sprinkled the darkness with a thousand sparks, and--thought. he could always think about mikita, the son of the village elder, who had almost risen to be conductor on a railway train, and who came from a long way off to visit his father, brass buttons to his coat and a purse full of silver rubles, and piped to the village girls of an evening on the most cunning kind of whistle. how often it had happened that feivke could not be found, and did not even come home to bed! but his parents troubled precious little about him, seeing that he was growing up a wild, dissolute boy, and the displeasure of heaven rested on his head. feivke was not a timid child, but there were two things he was afraid of: god and davvening. feivke had never, to the best of his recollection, seen god, but he often heard his name, they threatened him with it, glanced at the ceiling, and sighed. and this embittered somewhat his sweet, free days. he felt that the older he grew, the sooner he would have to present himself before this terrifying, stern, and unfamiliar god, who was hidden somewhere, whether near or far he could not tell. one day feivke all but ran a danger. it was early on a winter morning; there was a cold, wild wind blowing outside, and indoors there was a black stranger jew, in a thick sheepskin, breaking open the tin charity boxes. the smith's wife served the stranger with hot potatoes and sour milk, whereupon the stranger piously closed his eyes, and, having reopened them, caught sight of feivke through the white steam rising from the dish of potatoes--feivke, huddled up in a corner--and beckoned him nearer. "have you begun to learn, little boy?" he questioned, and took his cheek between two pale, cold fingers, which sent a whiff of snuff up feivke's nose. his mother, standing by the stove, reddened, and made some inaudible answer. the black stranger threw up his eyes, and slowly shook his head inside the wide sheepskin collar. this shaking to and fro of his head boded no good, and feivke grew strangely cold inside. then he grew hot all over, and, for several nights after, thousands of long, cold, pale fingers pursued and pinched him in his dreams. they had never yet taught him to recite his prayers. kozlov was a lonely village, far from any jewish settlement. every sabbath morning feivke, snug in bed, watched his father put on a mended black cloak, wrap himself in the tallis, shut his eyes, take on a bleating voice, and, turning to the wall, commence a series of bows. feivke felt that his father was bowing before god, and this frightened him. he thought it a very rash proceeding. feivke, in his father's place, would sooner have had nothing to do with god. he spent most of the time while his father was at his prayers cowering under the coverlet, and only crept out when he heard his mother busy with plates and spoons, and the pungent smell of chopped radishes and onions penetrated to the bedroom. winters and summers passed, and feivke grew to be seven years old, just such a feivke as we have described. and the last summer passed, and gave way to autumn. that autumn the smith's wife was brought to bed of a seventh child, and before she was about again, the cold, damp days were upon them, with the misty mornings, when a fish shivers in the water. and the days of her confinement were mingled for the lonely village jewess with the solemn days of that year into a hard and dreary time. she went slowly about the house, as in a fog, without help or hope, and silent as a shadow. that year they all led a dismal life. the elder children, girls, went out to service in the neighboring towns, to make their own way among strangers. the peasants had become sharper and worse than formerly, and the smith's strength was not what it had been. so his wife resolved to send the two men of the family, mattes and feivke, to a minyan this yom kippur. maybe, if _two_ went, god would not be able to resist them, and would soften his heart. one morning, therefore, mattes the smith washed, donned his mended sabbath cloak, went to the window, and blinked through it with his red and swollen eyes. it was the eve of the day of atonement. the room was well-warmed, and there was a smell of freshly-stewed carrots. the smith's wife went out to seek feivke through the village, and brought him home dishevelled and distracted, and all of a glow. she had torn him away from an early morning of excitement and delight such as could never, never be again. mikita, the son of the village elder, had put his father's brown colt into harness for the first time. the whole contingent of village boys had been present to watch the fiery young animal twisting between the shafts, drawing loud breaths into its dilated and quivering nostrils, looking wildly at the surrounding boys, and stamping impatiently, as though it would have liked to plow away the earth from under its feet. and suddenly it had given a bound and started careering through the village with the cart behind it. there was a glorious noise and commotion! feivke was foremost among those who, in a cloud of dust and at the peril of their life, had dashed to seize the colt by the reins. his mother washed him, looked him over from the low-set leather hat down to his great, black feet, stuffed a packet of food into his hands, and said: "go and be a good and devout boy, and god will forgive you." she stood on the threshold of the house, and looked after her two men starting for a distant minyan. the bearing of seven children had aged and weakened the once hard, obstinate woman, and, left standing alone in the doorway, watching her poor, barefoot, perverse-natured boy on his way to present himself for the first time before god, she broke down by the mezuzeh and wept. silently, step by step, feivke followed his father between the desolate stubble fields. it was a good ten miles' walk to the large village where the minyan assembled, and the fear and the wonder in feivke's heart increased all the way. he did not yet quite understand whither he was being taken, and what was to be done with him there, and the impetus of the brown colt's career through the village had not as yet subsided in his head. why had father put on his black mended cloak? why had he brought a tallis with him, and a white shirt-like garment? there was certainly some hour of calamity and terror ahead, something was preparing which had never happened before. they went by the great kozlov wood, wherein every tree stood silent and sad for its faded and fallen leaves. feivke dropped behind his father, and stepped aside into the wood. he wondered: should he run away and hide in the wood? he would willingly stay there for the rest of his life. he would foregather with nasta, the barrel-maker's son, he of the knocked-out eye; they would roast potatoes out in the wood, and now and again, stolen-wise, milk the village cows for their repast. let them beat him as much as they pleased, let them kill him on the spot, nothing should induce him to leave the wood again! but no! as feivke walked along under the silent trees and through the fallen leaves, and perceived that the whole wood was filled through and through with a soft, clear light, and heard the rustle of the leaves beneath his step, a strange terror took hold of him. the wood had grown so sparse, the trees so discolored, and he should have to remain in the stillness alone, and roam about in the winter wind! mattes the smith had stopped, wondering, and was blinking around with his sick eyes. "feivke, where are you?" feivke appeared out of the wood. "feivke, to-day you mustn't go into the wood. to-day god may yet--to-day you must be a good boy," said the smith, repeating his wife's words as they came to his mind, "and you must say amen." feivke hung his head and looked at his great, bare, black feet. "but if i don't know how," he said sullenly. "it's no great thing to say amen!" his father replied encouragingly. "when you hear the other people say it, you can say it, too! everyone must say amen, then god will forgive them," he added, recalling again his wife and her admonitions. feivke was silent, and once more followed his father step by step. what will they ask him, and what is he to answer? it seemed to him now that they were going right over away yonder where the pale, scarcely-tinted sky touched the earth. there, on a hill, sits a great, old god in a large sheepskin cloak. everyone goes up to him, and he asks them questions, which they have to answer, and he shakes his head to and fro inside the sheepskin collar. and what is he, a wild, ignorant little boy, to answer this great, old god? feivke had committed a great many transgressions concerning which his mother was constantly admonishing him, but now he was thinking only of two great transgressions committed recently, of which his mother knew nothing. one with regard to anishka the beggar. anishka was known to the village, as far back as it could remember, as an old, blind beggar, who went the round of the villages, feeling his way with a long stick. and one day feivke and another boy played him a trick: they placed a ladder in his way, and anishka stumbled and fell, hurting his nose. some peasants had come up and caught feivke. anishka sat in the middle of the road with blood on his face, wept bitterly, and declared that god would not forget his blood that had been spilt. the peasants had given the little zhydek a sound thrashing, but feivke felt now as if that would not count: god would certainly remember the spilling of anishka's blood. feivke's second hidden transgression had been committed outside the village, among the graves of the peasants. a whole troop of boys, feivke in their midst, had gone pigeon hunting, aiming at the pigeons with stones, and a stone of feivke's had hit the naked figure on the cross that stood among the graves. the gentile boys had started and taken fright, and those among them who were feivke's good friends told him he had actually hit the son of god, and that the thing would have consequences; it was one for which people had their heads cut off. these two great transgressions now stood before him, and his heart warned him that the hour had come when he would be called to account for what he had done to anishka and to god's son. only he did not know what answer he could make. by the time they came near the windmill belonging to the large strange village, the sun had begun to set. the village river with the trees beside it were visible a long way off, and, crossing the river, a long high bridge. "the minyan is there," and mattes pointed his finger at the thatched roofs shining in the sunset. feivke looked down from the bridge into the deep, black water that lay smooth and still in the shadow of the trees. the bridge was high and the water deep! feivke felt sick at heart, and his mouth was dry. "but, tate, i won't be able to answer," he let out in despair. "what, not amen? eh, eh, you little silly, that is no great matter. where is the difficulty? one just ups and answers!" said his father, gently, but feivke heard that the while his father was trying to quiet him, his own voice trembled. at the other end of the bridge there appeared the great inn with the covered terrace, and in front of the building were moving groups of jews in holiday garb, with red handkerchiefs in their hands, women in yellow silk head-kerchiefs, and boys in new clothes holding small prayer-books. feivke remained obstinately outside the crowd, and hung about the stable, his black eyes staring defiantly from beneath the worn-out leather cap. but he was not left alone long, for soon there came to him a smart, yellow-haired boy, with restless little light-colored eyes, and a face like a chicken's, covered with freckles. this little boy took a little bottle with some essence in it out of his pocket, gave it a twist and a flourish in the air, and suddenly applied it to feivke's nose, so that the strong waters spurted into his nostril. then he asked: "to whom do you belong?" feivke blew the water out of his nose, and turned his head away in silence. "listen, turkey, lazy dog! what are you doing there? have you said minchah?" "n-no...." "is the jew in a torn cloak there your father?" "y-yes ... t-tate...." the yellow-haired boy took feivke by the sleeve. "come along, and you'll see what they'll do to your father." inside the room into which feivke was dragged by his new friend, it was hot, and there was a curious, unfamiliar sound. feivke grew dizzy. he saw jews bowing and bending along the wall and beating their breasts--now they said something, and now they wept in an odd way. people coughed and spat sobbingly, and blew their noses with their red handkerchiefs. chairs and stiff benches creaked, while a continual clatter of plates and spoons came through the wall. in a corner, beside a heap of hay, feivke saw his father where he stood, looking all round him, blinking shamefacedly and innocently with his weak, red eyes. round him was a lively circle of little boys whispering with one another in evident expectation. "that is his boy, with the lip," said the chicken-face, presenting feivke. at the same moment a young man came up to mattes. he wore a white collar without a tie and with a pointed brass stud. this young man held a whip, which he brandished in the air like a rider about to mount his horse. "well, reb smith." "am i ... i suppose i am to lie down?" asked mattes, subserviently, still smiling round in the same shy and yet confiding manner. "be so good as to lie down." the young man gave a mischievous look at the boys, and made a gesture in the air with the whip. mattes began to unbutton his cloak, and slowly and cautiously let himself down onto the hay, whereupon the young man applied the whip with might and main, and his whole face shone. "one, two, three! go on, rebbe, go on!" urged the boys, and there were shouts of laughter. feivke looked on in amaze. he wanted to go and take his father by the sleeve, make him get up and escape, but just then mattes raised himself to a sitting posture, and began to rub his eyes with the same shy smile. "now, rebbe, this one!" and the yellow-haired boy began to drag feivke towards the hay. the others assisted. feivke got very red, and silently tried to tear himself out of the boy's hands, making for the door, but the other kept his hold. in the doorway feivke glared at him with his obstinate black eyes, and said: "i'll knock your teeth out!" "mine? you? you booby, you lazy thing! this is _our_ house! do you know, on new year's eve i went with my grandfather to the town! i shall call leibrutz. he'll give you something to remember him by!" and leibrutz was not long in joining them. he was the inn driver, a stout youth of fifteen, in a peasant smock with a collar stitched in red, otherwise in full array, with linen socks and a handsome bottle of strong waters against faintness in his hands. to judge by the size of the bottle, his sturdy looks belied a peculiarly delicate constitution. he pushed towards feivke with one shoulder, in no friendly fashion, and looked at him with one eye, while he winked with the other at the freckled grandson of the host. "who is the beauty?" "how should i know? a thief most likely. the kozlov smith's boy. he threatened to knock out my teeth." "so, so, dear brother mine!" sang out leibrutz, with a cold sneer, and passed his five fingers across feivke's nose. "we must rub a little horseradish under his eyes, and he'll weep like a beaver. listen, you kozlov urchin, you just keep your hands in your pockets, because leibrutz is here! do you know leibrutz? lucky for you that i have a jewish heart: to-day is yom kippur." but the chicken-faced boy was not pacified. "did you ever see such a lip? and then he comes to our house and wants to fight us!" the whole lot of boys now encircled feivke with teasing and laughter, and he stood barefooted in their midst, looking at none of them, and reminding one of a little wild animal caught and tormented. it grew dark, and quantities of soul-lights were set burning down the long tables of the inn. the large building was packed with red-faced, perspiring jews, in flowing white robes and tallesim. the confession was already in course of fervent recital, there was a great rocking and swaying over the prayer-books and a loud noise in the ears, everyone present trying to make himself heard above the rest. village jews are simple and ignorant, they know nothing of "silent prayer" and whispering with the lips. they are deprived of prayer in common a year at a time, and are distant from the lord of all, and when the awful day comes, they want to take him by storm, by violence. the noisiest of all was the prayer-leader himself, the young man with the white collar and no tie. he was from town, and wished to convince the country folk that he was an adept at his profession and to be relied on. feivke stood in the stifling room utterly confounded. the prayers and the wailful chanting passed over his head like waves, his heart was straitened, red sparks whirled before his eyes. he was in a state of continual apprehension. he saw a snow-white old jew come out of a corner with a scroll of the torah wrapped in a white velvet, gold-embroidered cover. how the gold sparkled and twinkled and reflected itself in the illuminated beard of the old man! feivke thought the moment had come, but he saw it all as through a mist, a long way off, to the sound of the wailful chanting, and as in a mist the scroll and the old man vanished together. feivke's face and body were flushed with heat, his knees shook, and at the same time his hands and feet were cold as ice. once, while feivke was standing by the table facing the bright flames of the soul-lights, a dizziness came over him, and he closed his eyes. thousands of little bells seemed to ring in his ears. then some one gave a loud thump on the table, and there was silence all around. feivke started and opened his eyes. the sudden stillness frightened him, and he wanted to move away from the table, but he was walled in by men in white robes, who had begun rocking and swaying anew. one of them pushed a prayer-book towards him, with great black letters, which hopped and fluttered to feivke's eyes like so many little black birds. he shook visibly, and the men looked at him in silence: "nu-nu, nu-nu!" he remained for some time squeezed against the prayer-book, hemmed in by the tall, strange men in robes swaying and praying over his head. a cold perspiration broke out over him, and when at last he freed himself, he felt very tired and weak. having found his way to a corner close to his father, he fell asleep on the floor. there he had a strange dream. he dreamt that he was a tree, growing like any other tree in a wood, and that he saw anishka coming along with blood on his face, in one hand his long stick, and in the other a stone--and feivke recognized the stone with which he had hit the crucifix. and anishka kept turning his head and making signs to some one with his long stick, calling out to him that here was feivke. feivke looked hard, and there in the depths of the wood was god himself, white all over, like freshly-fallen snow. and god suddenly grew ever so tall, and looked down at feivke. feivke felt god looking at him, but he could not see god, because there was a mist before his eyes. and anishka came nearer and nearer with the stone in his hand. feivke shook, and cold perspiration oozed out all over him. he wanted to run away, but he seemed to be growing there like a tree, like all the other trees of the wood. feivke awoke on the floor, amid sleeping men, and the first thing he saw was a tall, barefoot person all in white, standing over the sleepers with something in his hand. this tall, white figure sank slowly onto its knees, and, bending silently over mattes the smith, who lay snoring with the rest, it deliberately put a bottle to his nose. mattes gave a squeal, and sat up hastily. "ha, who is it?" he asked in alarm. it was the young man from town, the prayer-leader, with a bottle of strong smelling-salts. "it is i," he said with a _dégagé_ air, and smiled. "never mind, it will do you good! you are fasting, and there is an express law in the chayyé odom on the subject." "but why me?" complained mattes, blinking at him reproachfully. "what have i done to you?" day was about to dawn. the air in the room had cooled down; the soul-lights were still playing in the dark, dewy window-panes. a few of the men bedded in the hay on the floor were waking up. feivke stood in the middle of the room with staring eyes. the young man with the smelling-bottle came up to him with a lively air. "o you little object! what are you staring at me for? do you want a sniff? there, then, sniff!" feivke retreated into a corner, and continued to stare at him in bewilderment. no sooner was it day, than the davvening recommenced with all the fervor of the night before, the room was as noisy, and very soon nearly as hot. but it had not the same effect on feivke as yesterday, and he was no longer frightened of anishka and the stone--the whole dream had dissolved into thin air. when they once more brought out the scroll of the law in its white mantle, feivke was standing by the table, and looked on indifferently while they uncovered the black, shining, crowded letters. he looked indifferently at the young man from town swaying over the torah, out of which he read fluently, intoning with a strangely free and easy manner, like an adept to whom all this was nothing new. whenever he stopped reading, he threw back his head, and looked down at the people with a bright, satisfied smile. the little boys roamed up and down the room in socks, with smelling-salts in their hands, or yawned into their little prayer-books. the air was filled with the dust of the trampled hay. the sun looked in at a window, and the soul-lights grew dim as in a mist. it seemed to feivke he had been at the minyan a long, long time, and he felt as though some great misfortune had befallen him. fear and wonder continued to oppress him, but not the fear and wonder of yesterday. he was tired, his body burning, while his feet were contracted with cold. he got away outside, stretched himself out on the grass behind the inn and dozed, facing the sun. he dozed there through a good part of the day. bright red rivers flowed before his eyes, and they made his brains ache. some one, he did not know who, stood over him, and never stopped rocking to and fro and reciting prayers. then--it was his father bending over him with a rather troubled look, and waking him in a strangely gentle voice: "well, feivke, are you asleep? you've had nothing to eat to-day yet?" "no...." feivke followed his father back into the house on his unsteady feet. weary jews with pale and lengthened noses were resting on the terrace and the benches. the sun was already low down over the village and shining full into the inn windows. feivke stood by one of the windows with his father, and his head swam from the bright light. mattes stroked his chin-beard continually, then there was more davvening and more rocking while they recited the eighteen benedictions. the benedictions ended, the young man began to trill, but in a weaker voice and without charm. he was sick of the whole thing, and kept on in the half-hearted way with which one does a favor. mattes forgot to look at his prayer-book, and, standing in the window, gazed at the tree-tops, which had caught fire in the rays of the setting sun. nobody was expecting anything of him, when he suddenly gave a sob, so loud and so piteous that all turned and looked at him in astonishment. some of the people laughed. the prayer-leader had just intoned "michael on the right hand uttereth praise," out of the afternoon service. what was there to cry about in that? all the little boys had assembled round mattes the smith, and were choking with laughter, and a certain youth, the host's new son-in-law, gave a twitch to mattes' tallis: "reb kozlover, you've made a mistake!" mattes answered not a word. the little fellow with the freckles pushed his way up to him, and imitating the young man's intonation, repeated, "reb kozlover, you've made a mistake!" feivke looked wildly round at the bystanders, at his father. then he suddenly advanced to the freckled boy, and glared at him with his black eyes. "you, you--kob tebi biessi!" he hissed in little-russian. the laughter and commotion increased; there was an exclamation: "rascal, in a holy place!" and another: "aha! the kozlover smith's boy must be a first-class scamp!" the prayer-leader thumped angrily on his prayer-book, because no one was listening to him. feivke escaped once more behind the inn, but the whole company of boys followed him, headed by leibrutz the driver. "there he is, the kozlov lazy booby!" screamed the freckled boy. "have you ever heard the like? he actually wanted to fight again, and in our house! what do you think of that?" leibrutz went up to feivke at a steady trot and with the gesture of one who likes to do what has to be done calmly and coolly. "wait, boys! hands off! we've got a remedy for him here, for which i hope he will be thankful." so saying, he deliberately took hold of feivke from behind, by his two arms, and made a sign to the boy with yellow hair. "now for it, aarontche, give it to the youngster!" the little boy immediately whipped the smelling-bottle out of his pocket, took out the stopper with a flourish, and held it to feivke's nose. the next moment feivke had wrenched himself free, and was making for the chicken-face with nails spread, when he received two smart, sounding boxes on the ears, from two great, heavy, horny hands, which so clouded his brain that for a minute he stood dazed and dumb. suddenly he made a spring at leibrutz, fell upon his hand, and fastened his sharp teeth in the flesh. leibrutz gave a loud yell. there was a great to-do. people came running out in their robes, women with pale, startled faces called to their children. a few of them reproved mattes for his son's behavior. then they dispersed, till there remained behind the inn only mattes and feivke. mattes looked at his boy in silence. he was not a talkative man, and he found only two or three words to say: "feivke, mother there at home--and you--here?" again feivke found himself alone on the field, and again he stretched himself out and dozed. again, too, the red streams flowed before his eyes, and someone unknown to him stood at his head and recited prayers. only the streams were thicker and darker, and the davvening over his head was louder, sadder, more penetrating. it was quite dark when mattes came out again, took feivke by the hand, set him on his feet, and said, "now we are going home." indoors everything had come to an end, and the room had taken on a week-day look. the candles were gone, and a lamp was burning above the table, round which sat men in their hats and usual cloaks, no robes to be seen, and partook of some refreshment. there was no more davvening, but in feivke's ears was the same ringing of bells. it now seemed to him that he saw the room and the men for the first time, and the old jew sitting at the head of the table, presiding over bottles and wine-glasses, and clicking with his tongue, could not possibly be the old man with the silver-white beard who had held the scroll of the law to his breast. mattes went up to the table, gave a cough, bowed to the company, and said, "a good year!" the old man raised his head, and thundered so loudly that feivke's face twitched as with pain: "ha?" "i said--i am just going--going home--home again--so i wish--wish you--a good year!" "ha, a good year? a good year to you also! wait, have a little brandy, ha?" feivke shut his eyes. it made him feel bad to have the lamp burning so brightly and the old man talking so loud. why need he speak in such a high, rasping voice that it went through one's head like a saw? "ha? is it your little boy who scratched my aarontche's face? ha? a rascal is he? beat him well! there, give him a little brandy, too--and a bit of cake! he fasted too, ha? but he can't recite the prayers? fie! _you_ ought to be beaten! ha? are you going home? go in health! ha? your wife has just been confined?--perhaps you need some money for the holidays? ha? what do you say?" mattes and feivke started to walk home. mattes gave a look at the clear sky, where the young half-moon had floated into view. "mother will be expecting us," he said, and began to walk quickly. feivke could hardly drag his feet. on the tall bridge they were met by a cool breeze blowing from the water. once across the bridge, mattes again quickened his pace. presently he stopped to look around--no feivke! he turned back and saw feivke sitting in the middle of the road. the child was huddled up in a silent, shivering heap. his teeth chattered with cold. "feivke, what is the matter? why are you sitting down? come along home!" "i won't"--feivke clattered out with his teeth--"i c-a-n-'t--" "did they hit you so hard, feivke?" feivke was silent. then he stretched himself out on the ground, his hands and feet quivering. "cold--." "aren't you well, feivke?" the child made an effort, sat up, and looked fixedly at his father, with his black, feverish eyes, and suddenly he asked: "why did you cry there? tate, why? tell me, why?!" "where did i cry, you little silly? why, i just cried--it's yom kippur. mother is fasting, too--get up, feivke, and come home. mother will make you a poultice," occurred to him as a happy thought. "no! why did you cry, while they were laughing?" feivke insisted, still sitting in the road and shaking like a leaf. "one mustn't cry when they laugh, one mustn't!" and he lay down again on the damp ground. "feivele, come home, my son!" mattes stood over the boy in despair, and looked around for help. from some way off, from the tall bridge, came a sound of heavy footsteps growing louder and louder, and presently the moonlight showed the figure of a peasant. "ai, who is that? matke the smith? what are you doing there? are you casting spells? who is that lying on the ground?" "i don't know myself what i'm doing, kind soul. that is my boy, and he won't come home, or he can't. what am i to do with him?" complained mattes to the peasant, whom he knew. "has he gone crazy? give him a kick! ai, you little lazy devil, get up!" feivke did not move from the spot, he only shivered silently, and his teeth chattered. "ach, you devil! what sort of a boy have you there, matke? a visitation of heaven! why don't you beat him more? the other day they came and told tales of him--agapa said that--" "i don't know, either, kind soul, what sort of a boy he is," answered mattes, and wrung his bands in desperation. * * * * * early next morning mattes hired a conveyance, and drove feivke to the town, to the asylum for the sick poor. the smith's wife came out and saw them start, and she stood a long while in the doorway by the mezuzeh. and on another fine autumn morning, just when the villagers were beginning to cart loads of fresh earth to secure the village against overflowing streams, the village boys told one another the news of feivke's death. the last of them they had been rabbonim for generations in the misnagdic community of mouravanke, old, poverty-stricken mouravanke, crowned with hoary honor, hidden away in the thick woods. generation on generation of them had been renowned far and near, wherever a jewish word was spoken, wherever the voice of the torah rang out in the warm old houses-of-study. people talked of them everywhere, as they talk of miracles when miracles are no more, and of consolation when all hope is long since dead--talked of them as great-grandchildren talk of the riches of their great-grandfather, the like of which are now unknown, and of the great seven-branched, old-fashioned lamp, which he left them as an inheritance of times gone by. for as the lustre of an old, seven-branched lamp shining in the darkness, such was the lustre of the family of the rabbonim of mouravanke. that was long ago, ever so long ago, when mouravanke lay buried in the dark lithuanian forests. the old, low, moss-grown houses were still set in wide, green gardens, wherein grew beet-root and onions, while the hop twined itself and clustered thickly along the wooden fencing. well-to-do jews still went about in linen pelisses, and smoked pipes filled with dry herbs. people got a living out of the woods, where they burnt pitch the whole week through, and jewish families ate rye-bread and groats-pottage. a new baby brought no anxiety along with it. people praised god, carried the pitcher to the well, filled it, and poured a quart of water into the pottage. the newcomer was one of god's creatures, and was assured of his portion along with the others. and if a jew had a marriageable daughter, and could not afford a dowry, he took a stick in his hand, donned a white shirt with a broad mangled collar, repeated the "prayer of the highway," and set off on foot to volhynia, that thrice-blessed wonderland, where people talk with a "chirik," and eat challeh with saffron even in the middle of the week--with saffron, if not with honey. there, in volhynia, on friday evenings, the rich jewish householder of the district walks to and fro leisurely in his brightly lit room. in all likelihood, he is a short, plump, hairy man, with a broad, fair beard, a gathered silk sash round his substantial figure, a cheery singsong "sholom-alechem" on his mincing, "chiriky" tongue, and a merry crack of the thumb. the lithuanian guest, teacher or preacher, the shrunk and shrivelled stranger with the piercing black eyes, sits in a corner, merely moving his lips and gazing at the floor--perhaps because he feels ill at ease in the bright, nicely-furnished room; perhaps because he is thinking of his distant home, of his wife and children and his marriageable daughter; and perhaps because it has suddenly all become oddly dear to him, his poor, forsaken native place, with its moiling, poverty-struck jews, whose week is spent pitch-burning in the forest; with its old, warm houses-of-study; with its celebrated giants of the torah, bending with a candle in their hand over the great hoary gemorehs. and here, at table, between the tasty stuffed fish and the soup, with the rich volhynian "stuffed monkeys," the brusque, tongue-tied guest is suddenly unable to contain himself, and overflows with talk about his corner in lithuania. "whether we have our rabbis at home?! n-nu!!" and thereupon he holds forth grandiloquently, with an ardor and incisiveness born of the love and the longing at his heart. the piercing black eyes shoot sparks, as the guest tells of the great men of mouravanke, with their fiery intellects, their iron perseverance, who sit over their books by day and by night. from time to time they take an hour and a half's doze, falling with their head onto their fists, their beards sweeping the gemoreh, the big candle keeping watch overhead and waking them once more to the study of the torah. at dawn, when the people begin to come in for the morning prayer, they walk round them on tiptoe, giving them their four-ells' distance, and avoid meeting their look, which is apt to be sharp and burning. "that is the way we study in lithuania!" the stout, hairy householder, good-natured and credulous, listens attentively to the wonderful tales, loosens the sash over his pelisse in leisurely fashion, unbuttons his waistcoat across his generous waist, blows out his cheeks, and sways his head from side to side, because--one may believe anything of the lithuanians! then, if once in a long, long while the rich volhynian householder stumbled, by some miracle or other, into lithuania, sheer curiosity would drive him to take a look at the lithuanian celebrity. but he would stand before him in trembling and astonishment, as one stands before a high granite rock, the summit of which can barely be discerned. is he terrified by the dark and bushy brows, the keen, penetrating looks, the deep, stern wrinkles in the forehead that might have been carved in stone, they are so stiffly fixed? who can say? or is he put out of countenance by the cold, hard assertiveness of their speech, which bores into the conscience like a gimlet, and knows of no mercy?--for from between those wrinkles, from beneath those dark brows, shines out the everlasting glory of the shechinah. such were the celebrated rabbonim of mouravanke. they were an old family, a long chain of great men, generation on generation of tall, well-built, large-boned jews, all far on in years, with thick, curly beards. it was very seldom one of these beards showed a silver hair. they were stern, silent men, who heard and saw everything, but who expressed themselves mostly by means of their wrinkles and their eyebrows rather than in words, so that when a mouravanke rav went so far as to say "n-nu," that was enough. the dignity of rav was hereditary among them, descending from father to son, and, together with the rabbinical position and the eighteen gulden a week salary, the son inherited from his father a tall, old reading-desk, smoked and scorched by the candles, in the old house-of-study in the corner by the ark, and a thick, heavy-knotted stick, and an old holiday pelisse of lustrine, the which, if worn on a bright sabbath-day in summer-time, shines in the sun, and fairly shouts to be looked at. they arrived in mouravanke generations ago, when the town was still in the power of wild highwaymen, called there "hydemakyes," with huge, terrifying whiskers and large, savage dogs. one day, on hoshanah rabbah, early in the morning, there entered the house-of-study a tall youth, evidently village-born and from a long way off, barefoot, with turned-up trousers, his boots slung on a big, knotted stick across his shoulders, and a great bundle of big hoshanos. the youth stood in the centre of the house-of-study with his mouth open, bewildered, and the boys quickly snatched his willow branches from him. he was surrounded, stared at, questioned as to who he was, whence he came, what he wanted. had he parents? was he married? for some time the youth stood silent, with downcast eyes, then he bethought himself, and answered in three words: "i want to study!" and from that moment he remained in the old building, and people began to tell wonderful tales of his power of perseverance--of how a tall, barefoot youth, who came walking from a far distance, had by dint of determination come to be reckoned among the great men in israel; of how, on a winter midnight, he would open the stove doors, and study by the light of the glowing coals; of how he once forgot food and drink for three days and three nights running, while he stood over a difficult legal problem with wrinkled brows, his eyes piercing the page, his fingers stiffening round the handle of his stick, and he motionless; and when suddenly he found the solution, he gave a shout "nu!" and came down so hard on the desk with his stick that the whole house-of-study shook. it happened just when the people were standing quite quiet, repeating the eighteen benedictions. then it was told how this same lad became rav in mouravanke, how his genius descended to his children and children's children, till late in the generations, gathering in might with each generation in turn. they rose, these giants, one after the other, persistent investigators of the law, with high, wrinkled foreheads, dark, bushy brows, a hard, cutting glance, sharp as steel. in those days mouravanke was illuminated as with seven suns. the houses-of-study were filled with students; voices, young and old, rang out over the gemorehs, sang, wept, and implored. worried and tired-looking fathers and uncles would come into the shools with blackened faces after the day's pitch-burning, between afternoon and evening prayer, range themselves in leisurely mood by the doors and the stove, cock their ears, and listen, jewish drivers, who convey people from one town to another, snatched a minute the first thing in the morning, and dropped in with their whips under their arms, to hear a passage in the gemoreh expounded. and the women, who washed the linen at the pump in summer-time, beat the wet clothes to the melody of the torah that came floating into the street through the open windows, sweet as a long-expected piece of good news. thus mouravanke came to be of great renown, because the wondrous power of the mouravanke rabbonim, the power of concentration of thought, grew from generation to generation. and in those days the old people went about with a secret whispering, that if there should arise a tenth generation of the mighty ones, a new thing, please god, would come to pass among jews. but there was no tenth generation; the ninth of the mouravanke rabbonim was the last of them. he had two sons, but there was no luck in the house in his day: the sons philosophized too much, asked too many questions, took strange paths that led them far away. once a rumor spread in mouravanke that the rav's eldest son had become celebrated in the great world because of a book he had written, and had acquired the title of "professor." when the old rav was told of it, he at first remained silent, with downcast eyes. then he lifted them and ejaculated: "nu!" and not a word more. it was only remarked that he grew paler, that his look was even more piercing, more searching than before. this is all that was ever said in the town about the rav's children, for no one cared to discuss a thing on which the old rav himself was silent. once, however, on the great sabbath, something happened in the spacious old house-of-study. the rav was standing by the ark, wrapped in his tallis, and expounding to a crowded congregation. he had a clear, resonant, deep voice, and when he sent it thundering over the heads of his people, the air seemed to catch fire, and they listened dumbfounded and spellbound. suddenly the old man stopped in the midst of his exposition, and was silent. the congregation thrilled with speechless expectation. for a minute or two the rav stood with his piercing gaze fixed on the people, then he deliberately pulled aside the curtain before the ark, opened the ark doors, and turned to the congregation: "listen, jews! i know that many of you are thinking of something that has just occurred to me, too. you wonder how it is that i should set myself up to expound the torah to a townful of jews, when my own children have cast the torah behind them. therefore i now open the ark and declare to you, jews, before the holy scrolls of the law, i have no children any more. i am the last rav of our family!" hereupon a piteous wail came from out of the women's shool, but the rav's sonorous voice soon reduced them to silence, and once more the torah was being expounded in thunder over the heads of the open-mouthed assembly. years, a whole decade of them, passed, and still the old rav walked erect, and not one silver hair showed in his curly beard, and the town was still used to see him before daylight, a tall, solitary figure carrying a stick and a lantern, on his way to the large old bes ha-midrash, to study there in solitude--until mouravanke began to ring with the fame of her charif, her great new scholar. he was the son of a poor tailor, a pale, thin youth, with a pointed nose and two sharp, black eyes, who had gone away at thirteen or so to study in celebrated, distant academies, whence his name had spread round and about. people said of him, that he was growing up to be a light of the exile, that with his scholastic achievements he would outwit the acutest intellects of all past ages; they said that he possessed a brain power that ground "mountains" of talmud to powder. news came that a quantity of prominent jewish communities had sent messengers, to ask him to come and be their rav. mouravanke was stirred to its depths. the householders went about greatly perturbed, because their rav was an old man, his days were numbered, and he had no children to take his place. so they came to the old rav in his house, to ask his advice, whether it was possible to invite the mouravanke charif, the tailor's son, to come to them, so that he might take the place of the rav on his death, in a hundred and twenty years--seeing that the said young charif was a scholar distinguished by the acuteness of his intellect the only man worthy of sitting in the seat of the mouravanke rabbonim. the old rav listened to the householders with lowering brows, and never raised his eyes, and he answered them one word: "nu!" so mouravanke sent a messenger to the young charif, offering him the rabbinate. the messenger was swift, and soon the news spread through the town that the charif was approaching. when it was time for the householders to go forth out of the town, to meet the young charif, the old rav offered to go with them, and they took a chair for him to sit in while he waited at the meeting-place. this was by the wood outside the town, where all through the week the jewish townsfolk earned their bread by burning pitch. begrimed and toil-worn jews were continually dropping their work and peeping out shamefacedly between the tree-stems. it was friday, a clear day in the autumn. she appeared out of a great cloud of dust--she, the travelling-wagon in which sat the celebrated young charif. sholom-alechems flew to meet him from every side, and his old father, the tailor, leant back against a tree, and wept aloud for joy. now the old rav declared that he would not allow the charif to enter the town till he had heard him, the charif, expound a portion of the torah. the young man accepted the condition. men, women, and little children stood expectant, all eyes were fastened on the tailor's son, all hearts beat rapidly. the charif expounded the torah standing in the wagon. at first he looked fairly scared, and his sharp black eyes darted fearfully hither and thither over the heads of the silent crowd. then came a bright idea, and lit up his face. he began to speak, but his was not the familiar teaching, such as everyone learns and understands. his words were like fiery flashes appearing and disappearing one after the other, lightnings that traverse and illumine half the sky in one second of time, a play of swords in which there are no words, only the clink and ring of finely-tempered steel. the old rav sat in his chair leaning on his old, knobbly, knotted stick, and listened. he heard, but evil thoughts beset him, and deep, hard wrinkles cut themselves into his forehead. he saw before him the charif, the dried-up youth with the sharp eyes and the sharp, pointed nose, and the evil thought came to him, "those are needles, a tailor's needles," while the long, thin forefinger with which the charif pointed rapidly in the air seemed a third needle wielded by a tailor in a hurry. "you prick more sharply even than your father," is what the old rav wanted to say when the charif ended his sermon, but he did not say it. the whole assembly was gazing with caught breath at his half-closed eyelids. the lids never moved, and some thought wonderingly that he had fallen into a doze from sheer old age. suddenly a strange, dry snap broke the stillness, the old rav started in his chair, and when they rushed forward to assist him, they found that his knotted, knobbly stick had broken in two. pale and bent for the first time, but a tall figure still, the old rav stood up among his startled flock. he made a leisurely motion with his hand in the direction of the town, and remarked quietly to the young charif: "nu, now you can go into the town!" that friday night the old rav came into the house-of-study without his satin cloak, like a mourner. the congregation saw him lead the young rav into the corner near the ark, where he sat him down by the high old desk, saying: "you will sit here." he himself went and sat down behind the pulpit among the strangers, the sabbath guests. for the first minute people were lost in astonishment; the next minute the house-of-study was filled with wailing. old and young lifted their voices in lamentation. the young rav looked like a child sitting behind the tall desk, and he shivered and shook as though with fever. then the old rav stood up to his full height and commanded: "people are not to weep!" all this happened about the solemn days. mouravanke remembers that time now, and speaks of it at dusk, when the sky is red as though streaming with fire, and the men stand about pensive and forlorn, and the women fold their babies closer in their aprons. at the close of the day of atonement there was a report that the old rav had breathed his last in robe and prayer-scarf. the young charif did not survive him long. he died at his father's the tailor, and his funeral was on a wet great hosannah day. aged folk said he had been summoned to face the old rav in a lawsuit in the heavenly court. a folk tale the clever rabbi the power of man's imagination, said my grandmother, is very great. hereby hangs a tale, which, to our sorrow, is a true one, and as clear as daylight. listen attentively, my dear child, it will interest you very much. not far from this town of ours lived an old count, who believed that jews require blood at passover, christian blood, too, for their passover cakes. the count, in his brandy distillery, had a jewish overseer, a very honest, respectable fellow. the count loved him for his honesty, and was very kind to him, and the jew, although he was a simple man and no scholar, was well-disposed, and served the count with heart and soul. he would have gone through fire and water at the count's bidding, for it is in the nature of a jew to be faithful and to love good men. the count often discussed business matters with him, and took pleasure in hearing about the customs and observances of the jews. one day the count said to him, "tell me the truth, do you love me with your whole heart?" "yes," replied the jew, "i love you as myself." "not true!" said the count. "i shall prove to you that you hate me even unto death." "hold!" cried the jew. "why does my lord say such terrible things?" the count smiled and answered: "let me tell you! i know quite well that jews must have christian blood for their passover feast. now, what would you do if i were the only christian you could find? you would have to kill me, because the rabbis have said so. indeed, i can scarcely hold you to blame, since, according to your false notions, the divine command is precious, even when it tells us to commit murder. i should be no more to you than was isaac to abraham, when, at god's command, abraham was about to slay his only son. know, however, that the god of abraham is a god of mercy and lovingkindness, while the god the rabbis have created is full of hatred towards christians. how, then, can you say that you love me?" the jew clapped his hands to his head, he tore his hair in his distress and felt no pain, and with a broken heart he answered the count, and said: "how long will you christians suffer this stain on your pure hearts? how long will you disgrace yourselves? does not my lord know that this is a great lie? i, as a believing jew, and many besides me, as believing jews--we ourselves, i say, with our own hands, grind the corn, we keep the flour from getting damp or wet with anything, for if only a little dew drop onto it, it is prohibited for us as though it had yeast. "till the day on which the cakes are baked, we keep the flour as the apple of our eye. and when the flour is baked, and we are eating the cakes, even then we are not sure of swallowing it, because if our gums should begin to bleed, we have to spit the piece out. and in face of all these stringent regulations against eating the blood of even beasts and birds, some people say that jews require human blood for their passover cakes, and swear to it as a fact! what does my lord suppose we are likely to think of such people? we know that they swear falsely--and a false oath is of all things the worst." the count was touched to the heart by these words, and these two men, being both upright and without guile, believed one the other. the count believed the jew, that is, he believed that the jew did not know the truth of the matter, because he was poor and untaught, while the rabbis all the time most certainly used blood at passover, only they kept it a secret from the people. and he said as much to the jew, who, in his turn, believed the count, because he knew him to be an honorable man. and so it was that he began to have his doubts, and when the count, on different occasions, repeated the same words, the jew said to himself, that perhaps after all it was partly true, that there must be something in it--the count would never tell him a lie! and he carried the thought about with him for some time. the jew found increasing favor in his master's eyes. the count lent him money to trade with, and god prospered the jew in everything he undertook. thanks to the count, he grew rich. the jew had a kind heart, and was much given to good works, as is the way with jews. he was very charitable, and succored all the poor in the neighboring town. and he assisted the rabbis and the pious in all the places round about, and earned for himself a great and beautiful name, for he was known to all as "the benefactor." the rabbis gave him the honor due to a pious and influential jew, who is a wealthy man and charitable into the bargain. but the jew was thinking: "now the rabbis will let me into the secret which is theirs, and which they share with those only who are at once pious and rich, that great and pious jews must have blood for passover." for a long time he lived in hope, but the rabbis told him nothing, the subject was not once mentioned. but the jew felt sure that the count would never have lied to him, and he gave more liberally than before, thinking, "perhaps after all it was too little." he assisted the rabbi of the nearest town for a whole year, so that the rabbi opened his eyes in astonishment. he gave him more than half of what is sufficient for a livelihood. when it was near passover, the jew drove into the little town to visit the rabbi, who received him with open arms, and gave him honor as unto the most powerful and wealthy benefactor. and all the representative men of the community paid him their respects. thought the jew, "now they will tell me of the commandment which it is not given to every jew to observe." as the rabbi, however, told him nothing, the jew remained, to remind the rabbi, as it were, of his duty. "rabbi," said the jew, "i have something very particular to say to you! let us go into a room where we two shall be alone." so the rabbi went with him into an empty room, shut the door, and said: "dear friend, what is your wish? do not be abashed, but speak freely, and tell me what i can do for you." "dear rabbi, i am, you must know, already acquainted with the fact that jews require blood at passover. i know also that it is a secret belonging only to the rabbis, to very pious jews, and to the wealthy who give much alms. and i, who am, as you know, a very charitable and good jew, wish also to comply, if only once in my life, with this great observance. "you need not be alarmed, dear rabbi! i will never betray the secret, but will make you happy forever, if you will enable me to fulfil so great a command. "if, however, you deny its existence, and declare that jews do not require blood, from that moment i become your bitter enemy. "and why should i be treated worse than any other pious jew? i, too, want to try to perform the great commandment which god gave in secret. i am not learned in the law, but a great and wealthy jew, and one given to good works, that am i in very truth!" you can fancy--said my grandmother--the rabbi's horror on hearing such words from a jew, a simple countryman. they pierced him to the quick, like sharp arrows. he saw that the jew believed in all sincerity that his coreligionists used blood at passover. how was he to uproot out of such a simple heart the weeds sown there by evil men? the rabbi saw that words would just then be useless. a beautiful thought came to him, and he said: "so be it, dear friend! come into the synagogue to-morrow at this time, and i will grant your request. but till then you must fast, and you must not sleep all night, but watch in prayer, for this is a very grave and dreadful thing." the jew went away full of gladness, and did as the rabbi had told him. next day, at the appointed time, he came again, wan with hunger and lack of sleep. the rabbi took the key of the synagogue, and they went in there together. in the synagogue all was quiet. the rabbi put on a prayer-scarf and a robe, lighted some black candles, threw off his shoes, took the jew by the hand, and led him up to the ark. the rabbi opened the ark, took out a scroll of the law, and said: "you know that for us jews the scroll of the law is the most sacred of all things, and that the list of denunciations occurs in it twice. "i swear to you by the scroll of the law: if any jew, whosoever he be, requires blood at passover, may all the curses contained in the two lists of denunciations be on my head, and on the head of my whole family!" the jew was greatly startled. he knew that the rabbi had never before sworn an oath, and now, for his sake, he had sworn an oath so dreadful! the jew wept much, and said: "dear rabbi, i have sinned before god and before you. i pray you, pardon me and give me a hard penance, as hard as you please. i will perform it willingly, and may god forgive me likewise!" the rabbi comforted him, and told no one what had happened, he only told a few very near relations, just to show them how people can be talked into believing the greatest foolishness and the most wicked lies. may god--said my grandmother--open the eyes of all who accuse us falsely, that they may see how useless it is to trump up against us things that never were seen or heard. jews will be jews while the world lasts, and they will become, through suffering, better jews with more jewish hearts. glossary and notes [abbreviations: dimin. = diminutive; ger. = german, corrupt german, and yiddish; heb. = hebrew, and aramaic; pl. = plural; russ. = russian; slav. = slavic; trl. = translation. pronunciation: the transliteration of the hebrew words attempts to reproduce the colloquial "german" (ashkenazic) pronunciation. _ch_ is pronounced as in the german _dach_.] additional service. _see_ eighteen benedictions. al-chet (heb.). "for the sin"; the first two words of each line of an atonement day prayer, at every mention of which the worshipper beats the left side of his breast with his right fist. alef-bes (heb.). the hebrew alphabet. ashrÉ (heb.). the first word of a psalm verse used repeatedly in the liturgy. Äus klemenke! (ger.). klemenke is done for! azoi (= ger. also). that's the way it is! badchen (heb.). a wedding minstrel, whose quips often convey a moral lesson to the bridal couple, each of whom he addresses separately. bar-mitzveh (heb.). a boy of thirteen, the age of religious majority. bas-kol (heb.). "the daughter of the voice"; an echo; a voice from heaven. beigel (ger.). ring-shaped roll. bes ha-midrash (heb.). house-of-study, used for prayers, too. bittul-torah (heb.). interference with religious study. bobbe (slav.). grandmother; midwife. borshtsh (russ.). sour soup made of beet-root. cantonist (ger.). jewish soldier under czar nicholas i, torn from his parents as a child, and forcibly estranged from judaism. challeh (heb.). loaves of bread prepared for the sabbath, over which the blessing is said; always made of wheat flour, and sometimes yellowed with saffron. charif (heb.). a talmudic scholar and dialectician. chassidim (sing. chossid) (heb.). "pious ones"; followers of israel baal shem, who opposed the sophisticated intellectualism of the talmudists, and laid stress on emotionalism in prayer and in the performance of other religious ceremonies. the chassidic leader is called tzaddik ("righteous one"), or rebbe. _see_ art. "hasidim," in the jewish encyclopedia, vol. vi. chayyÉ odom. a manual of religious practice used extensively by the common people. cheder (pl. chedorim) (heb.). jewish primary school. chillul ha-shem (heb.). "desecration of the holy name"; hence, scandal. chirik (heb.). name of the vowel "i"; in volhynia "u" is pronounced like "i." davvening. saying prayers. dayan (pl. dayonim) (heb.). authority on jewish religious law, usually assistant to the rabbi of a town. din torah (heb.). lawsuit. dreier, dreierlech (ger.). a small coin. eighteen benedictions. the nucleus of each of the three daily services, morning, afternoon, evening, and of the "additional service" inserted on sabbaths, festivals, and the holy days, between the morning and afternoon services. though the number of benedictions is actually nineteen, and at some of the services is reduced to seven, the technical designation remains "eighteen benedictions." they are usually said as a "silent prayer" by the congregation, and then recited aloud by the cantor, or precentor. eretz yisroel (heb.). palestine. erev (heb.). eve. eruv (heb.). a cord, etc., stretched round a town, to mark the limit beyond which no "burden" may be carried on the sabbath. fast of esther. a fast day preceding purim, the feast of esther. "fountain of jacob." a collection of all the legends, tales, apologues, parables, etc., in the babylonian talmud. four-corners (trl. of arba kanfos). a fringed garment worn under the ordinary clothes; called also tallis-koton. _see_ deut. xxii. . four ells. minimum space required by a human being. four questions. put by the youngest child to his father at the seder. ganze goyim (ger. and heb.). wholly estranged from jewish life and customs. _see_ goi. gass (ger.). the jews' street. gehenna (heb.). the nether world; hell. gemoreh (heb.). the talmud, the rabbinical discussion and elaboration of the mishnah; a talmud folio. it is usually read with a peculiar singsong chant, and the reading of argumentative passages is accompanied by a gesture with the thumb. _see, for instance_, pp. and . gemoreh-kÖplech (heb. and ger.). a subtle, keen mind; precocious. gevir (heb.). an influential, rich man.--gevirish, appertaining to a gevir. goi (pl. goyim) (heb.). a gentile; a jew estranged from jewish life and customs. gottinyu (ger. with slav. ending). dear god. great sabbath, the. the sabbath preceding passover. haggadah (heb.). the story of the exodus recited at the home service on the first two evenings of passover. hoshanah (pl. hoshanos) (heb.). osier withe for the great hosannah. hoshanah-rabbah (heb.). the seventh day of the feast of tabernacles; the great hosannah. hostre chassidim. followers of the rebbe or tzaddik who lived at hostre. kaddish (heb.). sanctification, or doxology, recited by mourners, specifically by children in memory of parents during the first eleven months after their death, and thereafter on every anniversary of the day of their death; applied to an only son, on whom will devolve the duty of reciting the prayer on the death of his parents; sometimes applied to the oldest son, and to sons in general. kalleh (heb.) bride. kalleh-leben (heb. and ger.). dear bride. kallehshi (heb. and russ. dimin.). dear bride. kasha (slav.). pap. kedushah (heb.). sanctification; the central part of the public service, of which the "holy, holy, holy," forms a sentence. kerbel, kerblech (ger.). a ruble. kiddush (heb.). sanctification; blessing recited over wine in ushering in sabbaths and holidays. klaus (ger.). "hermitage"; a conventicle; a house-of-study. kob tebi biessi (little russ.) "demons take you!" kol nidrÉ (heb.). the first prayer recited at the synagogue on the eve of the day of atonement. kosher (heb.). ritually clean or permitted. kosher-tanz (heb. and ger.). bride's dance. kÖst (ger.). board.--auf kÖst. free board and lodging given to a man and his wife by the latter's parents during the early years of his married life. "learn." studying the talmud, the codes, and the commentaries. le-chayyim (heb.). here's to long life! lehavdil (heb.). "to distinguish." elliptical for "to distinguish between the holy and the secular"; equivalent to "excuse the comparison"; "pardon me for mentioning the two things in the same breath," etc. likkute zevi (heb.). a collection of prayers. lokshen. macaroni.--toras-lokshen, macaroni made in approved style. maariv (heb.). the evening prayer, or service. maggid (heb.). preacher. maharsho (maharsho). hebrew initial letters of morenu ha-rab shemuel edels, a great commentator. malkes (heb.). stripes inflicted on the eve of the day of atonement, in expiation of sins. _see_ deut. xxv. , . maskil (pl. maskilim) (heb.). an "intellectual." the aim of the "intellectuals" was the spread of modern general education among the jews, especially in eastern europe. they were reproached with secularizing hebrew and disregarding the ceremonial law. matzes (heb.). the unleavened bread used during passover. mechuteneste (heb.). mother-in-law; prospective mother-in-law; expresses chiefly the reciprocal relation between the parents of a couple about to be married. mechutton (heb.). father-in-law; prospective father-in-law; expresses chiefly the reciprocal relation between the parents of a couple about to be married. mehereh (heb.). the "quick" dough for the matzes. melammed (heb.). teacher. mezuzeh (heb.). "door-post;" scripture verses attached to the door-posts of jewish houses. _see_ deut. vi. . midrash (heb.). homiletic exposition of the scriptures. minchah (heb.). the afternoon prayer, or service. min ha-mezar (heb.). "out of the depth," ps. . . minyan (heb.). a company of ten men, the minimum for a public service; specifically, a temporary congregation, gathered together, usually in a village, from several neighboring jewish settlements, for services on new year and the day of atonement. mishnah (heb.). the earliest code (ab. c. e.) after the pentateuch, portions of which are studied, during the early days of mourning, in honor of the dead. misnaggid (pl. misnagdim) (heb.). "opponents" of the chassidim. the misnagdic communities are led by a rabbi (pl. rabbonim), sometimes called rav. mitzveh (heb.). a commandment, a duty, the doing of which is meritorious. nashers (ger.). gourmets. nishkoshe (ger. and heb.). never mind! nissan (heb.). spring month (march-april), in which passover is celebrated. olenu (heb.). the concluding prayer in the synagogue service. olom ha-sheker (heb.). "the world of falsehood," this world. olom ha-tohu (heb.). world of chaos. olom ho-emess (heb.). "the world of truth," the world-to-come. parnosseh (heb.). means of livelihood; business; sustenance. piyyutim (heb.). liturgical poems for festivals and holy days recited in the synagogue. porush (heb.). recluse. prayer of the highway. prayer on setting out on a journey. prayer-scarf. _see_ tallis. pud (russ.). forty pounds. purim (heb.). the feast of esther. rashi (rashi). hebrew initial letters of rabbi solomon ben isaac, a great commentator; applied to a certain form of script and type. rav (heb.). rabbi. rebbe. sometimes used for rabbi; sometimes equivalent to mr.; sometimes applied to the tzaddik of the chassidim; and sometimes used as the title of a teacher of young children. rebbetzin. wife of a rabbi. rosh-yeshiveh (rosh ha-yeshiveh) (heb.). headmaster of a talmudic academy. scape-fowls (trl. of kapporos). roosters or hens used in a ceremony on the eve of the day of atonement. seder (heb.). home service on the first two passover evenings. seliches (heb.). penitential prayers. seventeenth of tammuz. fast in commemoration of the first breach made in the walls of jerusalem by nebuchadnezzar. shalom (heb. in sefardic pronunciation). peace. _see_ sholom alechem. shamash (heb.). beadle. shechinah (heb.). the divine presence. shegetz (heb.). "abomination;" a sinner; a rascal. shlimm-mazel (ger. and heb.). bad luck; luckless fellow. shmooreh-matzes (heb.). unleavened bread specially guarded and watched from the harvesting of the wheat to the baking and storing. shochet (heb.). ritual slaughterer. shofar (heb.). ram's horn, sounded on new year's day and the day of atonement. _see_ lev. xxiii. . sholom (shalom) alechem (heb.). "peace unto you"; greeting, salutation, especially to one newly arrived after a journey. shomer. pseudonym of a yiddish author, nahum m. schaikewitz. shool (ger., schul'). synagogue. shulchan aruch (heb.). the jewish code. silent prayer. _see_ eighteen benedictions. solemn days. the ten days from new year to the day of atonement inclusive. soul-lights. candles lighted in memory of the dead. stuffed monkeys. pastry filled with chopped fruit and spices. tallis (popular plural formation, tallesim) (heb.). the prayer-scarf. tallis-koton (heb.). _see_ four-corners. talmid-chochem (heb.). sage; scholar. talmud torah (heb.). free communal school. tano (heb.). a rabbi cited in the mishnah as an authority. tararam. noise; tumult; ado. tate, tatishe (ger. and russ. dimin.). father. tefillin-sÄcklech (heb. and ger.). phylacteries bag. tisho-b'ov (heb.). ninth of ab, day of mourning and fasting to commemorate the destruction of jerusalem; hence, colloquially, a sad day. torah (heb.). the jewish law in general, and the pentateuch in particular. tsisin. season. tzaddik (pl. tzaddikim) (heb.). "righteous"; title of the chassidic leader. u-mipnÉ chatoÉnu (heb.). "and on account of our sins," the first two words of a prayer for the restoration of the sacrificial service, recited in the additional service of the holy days and the festivals. u-nesanneh-toikef (heb.). "and we ascribe majesty," the first two words of a piyyut recited on new year and on the day of atonement. verfallen! (ger.). lost; done for. vershok (russ.). two inches and a quarter. vierer (ger.). four kopeks. vivat. toast. yeshiveh (heb.). talmud academy. yohrzeit (ger.). anniversary of a death. yom kippur (heb.). day of atonement. yom-tov (heb.). festival. zhydek (little russ.). jew. p. . "it was seldom that parties went 'to law' ... before the rav."--the rabbi with his dayonim gave civil as well as religious decisions. p. . "milky sabbath."--all meals without meat. in connection with fowl, ritual questions frequently arise. p. . "reuben's ox gores simeon's cow."--reuben and simeon are fictitious plaintiff and defendant in the talmud; similar to john doe and richard roe. p. . "he described a half-circle," etc.--_see under_ gemoreh. p. . "not every one is worthy of both tables!"--worthy of torah and riches. p. . "they salted the meat."--the ritual ordinance requires that meat should be salted down for an hour after it has soaked in water for half an hour. p. . "puts off his shoes!"--to pray in stocking-feet is a sign of mourning and a penance. p. . "we have trespassed," etc.--the confession of sins. p. . "the beadle deals them out thirty-nine blows," etc.--_see_ malkes. p. . "with the consent of the all-present," etc.--the introduction to the solemn kol nidré prayer. p. . "he began to wear the phylacteries and the prayer-scarf," etc.--they are worn first when a boy is bar-mitzveh (_which see_); ezrielk was married at the age of thirteen. p. . "he could not even break the wine-glass," etc.--a marriage custom. p. . "waving of the sacrificial fowls."--_see_ scape-fowls. p. . "the whole company of chassidim broke some plates."--a betrothal custom. p. . "had a double right to board with their parents 'forever.'"--_see_ köst. p. . "with the consent of the all-present," etc.--_see note under_ p. . p. . "nothing was lacking for their journey from the living to the dead."--_see note under_ p. . p. . "give me a teacher who can tell," etc.--reference to the story of the heathen who asked, first of shammai, and then of hillel, to be taught the whole of the jewish law while standing on one leg. p. . "and those who do not smoke on sabbath, raised their eyes to the sky."--to look for the appearance of three stars, which indicate nightfall, and the end of the sabbath. p. . "jeroboam the son of nebat."--the rabbinical type for one who not only sins himself, but induces others to sin, too. p. . "thursday."--_see note under_ p. . p. . "monday," "wednesday," "tuesday."--_see note under_ p. . p. . "six months' 'board.'"--_see_ köst. p. . "i knew hebrew grammar, and could write hebrew, too."--_see_ maskil. p. . "a jeroboam son of nebat."--_see note under_ p. . p. . "in a snow-white robe."--the head of the house is clad in his shroud at the seder on the passover. p. . "she knew that on wednesdays yitzchokel ate his 'day'," etc.--at the houses of well-to-do families meals were furnished to poor students, each student having a specific day of the week with a given family throughout the year. p. . "why had he brought ... a white shirt-like garment?"--the worshippers in the synagogue on the day of atonement wear shrouds. p. . "am i ... i suppose i am to lie down?"--_see_ malkes. p. . "in a hundred and twenty years."--the age attained by moses and aaron; a good old age. the expression is used when planning for a future to come after the death of the person spoken to, to imply that there is no desire to see his days curtailed for the sake of the plan. proofreading team. chapters on jewish literature by israel abrahams, m.a. _author of "jewish life in the middle ages"_ philadelphia the jewish publication society of america copyright, , by the jewish publication society of america the lord baltimore press baltimore, md., u.s.a. preface these twenty-five short chapters on jewish literature open with the fall of jerusalem in the year of the current era, and end with the death of moses mendelssohn in . thus the period covered extends over more than seventeen centuries. yet, long as this period is, it is too brief. to do justice to the literature of judaism even in outline, it is clearly necessary to include the bible, the apocrypha, and the writings of alexandrian jews, such as philo. only by such an inclusion can the genius of the hebrew people be traced from its early manifestations through its inspired prime to its brilliant after-glow in the centuries with which this little volume deals. one special reason has induced me to limit this book to the scope indicated above. the bible has been treated in england and america in a variety of excellent text-books written by and for jews and jewesses. it seemed to me very doubtful whether the time is, or ever will be, ripe for dealing with the scriptures from the purely literary stand-point in teaching young students. but this is the stand-point of this volume. thus i have refrained from including the bible, because, on the one hand, i felt that i could not deal with it as i have tried to deal with the rest of hebrew literature, and because, on the other hand, there was no necessity for me to attempt to add to the books already in use. the sections to which i have restricted myself are only rarely taught to young students in a consecutive manner, except in so far as they fall within the range of lessons on jewish history. it was strongly urged on me by a friend of great experience and knowledge, that a small text-book on later jewish literature was likely to be found useful both for home and school use. such a book might encourage the elementary study of jewish literature in a wider circle than has hitherto been reached. hence this book has been compiled with the definite aim of providing an elementary manual. it will be seen that both in the inclusions and exclusions the author has followed a line of his own, but he lays no claim to originality. the book is simply designed as a manual for those who may wish to master some of the leading characteristics of the subject, without burdening themselves with too many details and dates. this consideration has in part determined also the method of the book. in presenting an outline of jewish literature three plans are possible. one can divide the subject according to _periods_. starting with the rabbinic age and closing with the activity of the earlier gaonim, or persian rabbis, the first period would carry us to the eighth or the ninth century. a well-marked second period is that of the arabic-spanish writers, a period which would extend from the ninth to the fifteenth century. from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century forms a third period with distinct characteristics. finally, the career of mendelssohn marks the definite beginning of the modern period. such a grouping of the facts presents many advantages, but it somewhat obscures the varying conditions prevalent at one and the same time in different countries where the jews were settled. hence some writers have preferred to arrange the material under the different _untries_. it is quite possible to draw a map of the world's civilization by merely marking the successive places in which jewish literature has fixed its head-quarters. but, on the other hand, such a method of classification has the disadvantage that it leads to much overlapping. for long intervals together, it is impossible to separate italy from spain, france from germany, persia from egypt, constantinople from amsterdam. this has induced other writers to propose a third method and to trace _influences_, to indicate that, whereas rabbinism may be termed the native product of the jewish genius, the scientific, poetical, and philosophical tendencies of jewish writers in the middle ages were due to the interaction of external and internal forces. further, in this arrangement, the ghetto period would have a place assigned to it as such, for it would again mark the almost complete sway of purely jewish forces in jewish literature. adopting this classification, we should have a wave of jewish impulse, swollen by the accretion of foreign waters, once more breaking on a jewish strand, with its contents in something like the same condition in which they left the original spring. all these three methods are true, and this has impelled me to refuse to follow any one of them to the exclusion of the other two. i have tried to trace _influences_, to observe _periods_, to distinguish _countries_. i have also tried to derive color and vividness by selecting prominent personalities round which to group whole cycles of facts. thus, some of the chapters bear the names of famous men, others are entitled from periods, others from countries, and yet others are named from the general currents of european thought. in all this my aim has been very modest. i have done little in the way of literary criticism, but i felt that a dry collection of names and dates was the very thing i had to avoid. i need not say that i have done my best to ensure accuracy in my statements by referring to the best authorities known to me on each division of the subject. to name the works to which i am indebted would need a list of many of the best-known products of recent continental and american scholarship. at the end of every chapter i have, however, given references to some english works and essays. graetz is cited in the english translation published by the jewish publication society of america. the figures in brackets refer to the edition published in london. the american and the english editions of s. schechter's "studies in judaism" are similarly referred to. of one thing i am confident. no presentation of the facts, however bald and inadequate it be, can obscure the truth that this little book deals with a great and an inspiring literature. it is possible to question whether the books of great jews always belonged to the great books of the world. there may have been, and there were, greater legalists than rashi, greater poets than jehuda halevi, greater philosophers than maimonides, greater moralists than bachya. but there has been no greater literature than that which these and numerous other jews represent. rabbinism was a sequel to the bible, and if like all sequels it was unequal to its original, it nevertheless shared its greatness. the works of all jews up to the modern period were the sequel to this sequel. through them all may be detected the unifying principle that literature in its truest sense includes life itself; that intellect is the handmaid to conscience; and that the best books are those which best teach men how to live. this underlying unity gave more harmony to jewish literature than is possessed by many literatures more distinctively national. the maxim, "righteousness delivers from death," applies to books as well as to men. a literature whose consistent theme is righteousness is immortal. on the very day on which jerusalem fell, this theory of the interconnection between literature and life became the fixed principle of jewish thought, and it ceased to hold undisputed sway only in the age of mendelssohn. it was in the "vineyard" of jamnia that the theory received its firm foundation. a starting-point for this volume will therefore be sought in the meeting-place in which the rabbis, exiled from the holy city, found a new fatherland in the book of books. contents page preface chapter i the "vineyard" at jamnia schools at jamnia, lydda, usha, and sepphoris.--the tannaim compile the mishnah.--jochanan, akiba, meir, judah.--aquila. ii flavius josephus and the jewish sibyl iii the talmud the amoraim compile the palestinian talmud and the babylonian talmud.--representative amoraim: i ( - ) palestine--jochanan, simon, joshua, simlai; babylonia--rab and samuel. ii ( - ) palestine--ami, assi, abbahu, chiya; babylonia--huna and zeira. iii ( - ) babylonia--rabba, abayi, rava. iv ( - ) babylonia--ashi (first compilation of the babylonian talmud). v and vi ( - ) babylonia--rabina (completion of the babylonian talmud). iv the midrash and its poetry mechilta, sifra, sifre, pesikta, tanchuma, midrash rabbah, yalkut.--proverbs.--parables.--fables. v the letters of the gaonim representative gaonim: achai, amram, zemach, saadiah, sherira, samuel, hai. vi the karaitic literature anan, nahavendi, abul-faraj, salman, sahal, al-bazir, hassan, japhet, kirkisani, judah hadassi, isaac troki. vii the new-hebrew piyut kalirian and spanish piyutim (poems).--jannai.--kalir. viii saadiah of fayum translation of the bible into arabic.--foundation of a jewish philosophy of religion. ix dawn of the spanish era chasdai ibn shaprut.--menachem and dunash, chayuj and janach.--samuel the nagid. x the spanish-jewish poets (i) solomon ibn gebirol.--"the royal crown."--moses ibn ezra.--abraham ibn ezra.--the biblical commentaries of ibn ezra and the kimchis. xi rashi and alfassi nathan of rome.--alfassi.--rashi.--rashbam. xii the spanish-jewish poets (ii) jehuda halevi.--charizi. xiii moses maimonides maimon, rambam--r. moses, the son of maimon, maimonides.--his yad hachazaka and moreh nebuchim.--gersonides.--crescas.--albo. xiv the diffusion of science provençal translators.--the ibn tibbons.--italian translators.--jacob anatoli.--kalonymos.--scientific literature. xv the diffusion of folk-tales barlaam and joshaphat.--the fables of bidpai.--abraham ibn chisdai.--berachya ha-nakdan.--joseph zabara. xvi moses nachmanides french and spanish talmudists.--the tossafists, asher of speyer, tam, isaac of dompaire, baruch of ratisbon, perez of corbeil.--nachmanides' commentary on the pentateuch.--public controversies between jews and christians. xvii the zohar and later mysticism kabbala.--the bahir.--abulafia.--moses of leon.--the zohar.--isaac lurya.--isaiah hurwitz.--christian kabbalists.--the chassidim. xviii italian jewish poetry immanuel and dante.--the machberoth.--judah romano.--kalonymos.--the eben bochan.--moses rieti.--messer leon. xix ethical literature bachya ibn pekuda.--choboth ha-lebaboth.--sefer ha-chassidim.--rokeach.--yedaiah bedaressi's bechinath olam.--isaac aboab's menorath ha-maor.--ibn chabib's "eye of jacob."--zevaoth, or ethical wills.--joseph ibn caspi.--solomon alami. xx travellers' tales eldad the danite.--benjamin of tudela.--petachiah of ratisbon.--esthori parchi.--abraham farissol.--david reubeni and molcho.--antonio de montesinos and manasseh ben israel.--tobiah cohen.--wessely. xxi historians and chroniclers order of the tannaim and amoraim.--achimaaz.--abraham ibn daud.--josippon.--historical elegies, or selichoth.--memorial books.--abraham zacuto.--elijah kapsali.--usque.--ibn verga.--joseph cohen.--david gans.--gedaliah ibn yachya.--azariah di rossi. xxii isaac abarbanel abarbanel's philosophy and biblical commentaries.--elias levita.--zeëna u-reëna.--moses alshech.--the biur. xxiii the shulchan aruch asheri's arba turim.--chiddushim and teshuboth.--solomon ben adereth.--meir of rothenburg.--sheshet and duran.--moses and judah minz.--jacob weil, israel isserlein, maharil.--david abi zimra.--joseph karo.--jair bacharach.--chacham zevi.--jacob emden.--ezekiel landau. xxiv amsterdam in the seventeenth century manasseh ben israel.--baruch spinoza.--the drama in hebrew.--moses zacut, joseph felix penso, moses chayim luzzatto. xxv moses mendelssohn mendelssohn's german translation of the bible.--phædo.--jerusalem.--lessing's nathan the wise. index chapters on jewish literature chapter i the "vineyard" at jamnia schools at jamnia, lydda, usha, and sepphoris.--the tannaim compile the mishnah.--jochanan, akiba, meir, judah.--aquila. the story of jewish literature, after the destruction of the temple at jerusalem in the year of the christian era, centres round the city of jamnia. jamnia, or jabneh, lay near the sea, beautifully situated on the slopes of a gentle hill in the lowlands, about twenty-eight miles from the capital. when vespasian was advancing to the siege of jerusalem, he occupied jamnia, and thither the jewish synhedrion, or great council, transferred itself when jerusalem fell. a college existed there already, but jamnia then became the head-quarters of jewish learning, and retained that position till the year . at that date the learned circle moved further north, to galilee, and, besides the famous school at lydda in judea, others were founded in tiberias, usha, and sepphoris. the real founder of the college at jamnia was jochanan, the son of zakkai, called "the father of wisdom." like the greek philosophers who taught their pupils in the gardens of the "academy" at athens, the rabbis may have lectured to their students in a "vineyard" at jamnia. possibly the term "vineyard" was only a metaphor applied to the meeting-place of the wise at jamnia, but, at all events, the result of these pleasant intellectual gatherings was the rabbinical literature. jochanan himself was a typical rabbi. for a great part of his life he followed a mercantile pursuit, and earned his bread by manual labor. his originality as a teacher lay in his perception that judaism could survive the loss of its national centre. he felt that "charity and the love of men may replace the sacrifices." he would have preferred his brethren to submit to rome, and his political foresight was justified when the war of independence closed in disaster. as graetz has well said, like jeremiah jochanan wept over the desolation of zion, but like zerubbabel he created a new sanctuary. jochanan's new sanctuary was the school. in the "vineyard" at jamnia, the jewish tradition was the subject of much animated inquiry. the religious, ethical, and practical literature of the past was sifted and treasured, and fresh additions were made. but not much was written, for until the close of the second century the new literature of the jews was _oral_. the bible was written down, and read from scrolls, but the rabbinical literature was committed to memory piecemeal, and handed down from teacher to pupil. notes were perhaps taken in writing, but even when the oral literature was collected, and arranged as a book, it is believed by many authorities that the book so compiled remained for a considerable period an oral and not a written book. this book was called the _mishnah_ (from the verb _shana_, "to repeat" or "to learn"). the mishnah was not the work of one man or of one age. so long was it in growing, that its birth dates from long before the destruction of the temple. but the men most closely associated with the compilation of the mishnah were the tannaim (from the root _tana_, which has the same meaning as _shana_). there were about one hundred and twenty of these tannaim between the years and c.e., and they may be conveniently arranged in four generations. from each generation one typical representative will here be selected. the tannaim first generation, to c.e. jochanan, the son of zakkai second generation, to c.e. akiba third generation, to c.e. meir fourth generation, to c.e. judah the prince the tannaim were the possessors of what was perhaps the greatest principle that dominated a literature until the close of the eighteenth century. they maintained that _literature_ and _life_ were co-extensive. it was said of jochanan, the son of zakkai, that he never walked a single step without thinking of god. learning the torah, that is, the law, the authorized word of god, and its prophetical and rabbinical developments, was man's supreme duty. "if thou hast learned much torah, ascribe not any merit to thyself, for therefor wast thou created." man was created to learn; literature was the aim of life. we have already seen what kind of literature. jochanan once said to his five favorite disciples: "go forth and consider which is the good way to which a man should cleave." he received various answers, but he most approved of this response: "a good heart is the way." literature is life if it be a heart-literature--this may be regarded as the final justification of the union effected in the mishnah between learning and righteousness. akiba, who may be taken to represent the second generation of tannaim, differed in character from jochanan. jochanan had been a member of the peace party in the years to ; akiba was a patriot, and took a personal part in the later struggle against rome, which was organized by the heroic bar cochba in the years to . akiba set his face against frivolity, and pronounced silence a fence about wisdom. but his disposition was resolute rather than severe. of him the most romantic of love stories is told. he was a herdsman, and fell in love with his master's daughter, who endured poverty as his devoted wife, and was glorified in her husband's fame. but whatever contrast there may have been in the two characters, akiba, like jochanan, believed that a literature was worthless unless it expressed itself in the life of the scholar. he and his school held in low esteem the man who, though learned, led an evil life, but they took as their ideal the man whose moral excellence was more conspicuous than his learning. as r. eleazar, the son of azariah, said: "he whose knowledge is in excess of his good deeds is like a tree whose branches are many and its roots scanty; the wind comes, uproots, and overturns it. but he whose good deeds are more than his knowledge is like a tree with few branches but many roots, so that if all the winds in the world come and blow upon it, it remains firm in its place." man, according to akiba, is master of his own destiny; he needs god's grace to triumph over evil, yet the triumph depends on his own efforts: "everything is seen, yet freedom of choice is given; the world is judged by grace, yet all is according to the work." the torah, the literature of israel, was to akiba "a desirable instrument," a means to life. among the distinctions of akiba's school must be named the first literal translation of the bible into greek. this work was done towards the close of the second century by aquila, a proselyte, who was inspired by akiba's teaching. aquila's version was inferior to the alexandrian greek version, called the septuagint, in graces of style, but was superior in accuracy. aquila followed the hebrew text word by word. this translator is identical with onkelos, to whom in later centuries the aramaic translation (_targum_ onkelos) of the pentateuch was ascribed. aramaic versions of the bible were made at a very early period, and the targum onkelos may contain ancient elements, but in its present form it is not earlier than the fifth century. meir, whom we take as representative of the third generation of tannaim, was filled with the widest sympathies. in his conception of truth, everything that men can know belonged to the torah. not that the torah superseded or absorbed all other knowledge, but that the torah needed, for its right study, all the aids which science and secular information could supply. in this way jewish literature was to some extent saved from the danger of becoming a merely religious exercise, and in later centuries, when the mass of jews were disposed to despise and even discourage scientific and philosophical culture, a minority was always prepared to resist this tendency and, on the ground of the views of some of the tannaim like meir, claimed the right to study what we should now term secular sciences. the width of meir's sympathies may be seen in his tolerant conduct towards his friend elisha, the son of abuya. when the latter forsook judaism, meir remained true to elisha. he devoted himself to the effort to win back his old friend, and, though he failed, he never ceased to love him. again, meir was famed for his knowledge of fables, in antiquity a branch of the wisdom of all the eastern world. meir's large-mindedness was matched by his large-heartedness, and in his wife beruriah he possessed a companion whose tender sympathies and fine toleration matched his own. the fourth generation of tannaim is overshadowed by the fame of judah the prince, _rabbi_, as he was simply called. he lived from to , and with his name is associated the compilation of the mishnah. a man of genial manners, strong intellectual grasp, he was the exemplar also of princely hospitality and of friendship with others than jews. his intercourse with one of the antonines was typical of his wide culture. life was not, in rabbi judah's view, compounded of smaller and larger incidents, but all the affairs of life were parts of the great divine scheme. "reflect upon three things, and thou wilt not fall into the power of sin: know what is above thee--a seeing eye and a hearing ear--and all thy deeds are written in a book." the mishnah, which deals with things great and small, with everything that concerns men, is the literary expression of this view of life. its language is the new-hebrew, a simple, nervous idiom suited to practical life, but lacking the power and poetry of the biblical hebrew. it is a more useful but less polished instrument than the older language. the subject-matter of the mishnah includes both law and morality, the affairs of the body, of the soul, and of the mind. business, religion, social duties, ritual, are all dealt with in one and the same code. the fault of this conception is, that by associating things of unequal importance, both the mind and the conscience may become incapable of discriminating the great from the small, the external from the spiritual. another ill consequence was that, as literature corresponded so closely with life, literature could not correct the faults of life, when life became cramped or stagnant. the modern spirit differs from the ancient chiefly in that literature has now become an independent force, which may freshen and stimulate life. but the older ideal was nevertheless a great one. that man's life is a unity; that his conduct is in all its parts within the sphere of ethics and religion; that his mind and conscience are not independent, but two sides of the same thing; and that therefore his religious, ethical, æsthetic, and intellectual literature is one and indivisible,--this was a noble conception which, with all its weakness, had distinct points of superiority over the modern view. the mishnah is divided into six parts, or orders (_sedarim_); each order into tractates (_massechtoth_); each tractate into chapters (_perakim_); each chapter into paragraphs (each called a _mishnah_). the six orders are as follows: zeraim ("seeds"). deals with the laws connected with agriculture, and opens with a tractate on prayer ("blessings"). moed ("festival"). on festivals. nashim ("women"). on the laws relating to marriage, etc. nezikin ("damages"). on civil and criminal law. kodashim ("holy things"). on sacrifices, etc. teharoth ("purifications"). on personal and ritual purity. bibliography the mishnah. graetz.--_history of the jews_, english translation, vol. ii, chapters - (character of the mishnah, end of ch. ). steinschneider.--_jewish literature_ (london, ), p. . schiller-szinessy.--_encyclopedia britannica_ (ninth edition), vol. xvi, p. . de sola and raphall.--_eighteen tractates from the mishnah_ (english translation, london). c. taylor.--_sayings of the jewish fathers_ (cambridge, ). a. kohut.--_the ethics of the fathers_ (new york, ). g. karpeles.--_a sketch of jewish history_ (jewish publication society of america, ), p. . aquila. f.c. burkitt.--_jewish quarterly review_, vol. x, p. . chapter ii flavius josephus and the jewish sibyl great national crises usually produce an historical literature. this is more likely to happen with the nation that wins in a war than with the nation that loses. thus, in the maccabean period, historical works dealing with the glorious struggle and its triumphant termination were written by jews both in hebrew and in greek. after the terrible misfortune which befell the jews in the year , when jerusalem sank before the roman arms never to rise again, little heart was there for writing history. jews sought solace in their existing literature rather than in new productions, and the bible and the oral traditions that were to crystallize a century later into the mishnah filled the national heart and mind. yet more than one jew felt an impulse to write the history of the dismal time. thus the first complete books which appeared in jewish literature after the loss of nationality were historical works written by two men, justus and josephus, both of whom bore an active part in the most recent of the wars which they recorded. justus of tiberias wrote in greek a terse chronicle entitled, "history of the jewish kings," and also a more detailed narrative of the "jewish war" with rome. both these books are known to us only from quotations. the originals are entirely lost. a happier fate has preserved the works of another jewish historian of the same period, flavius josephus ( to c.e.), the literary and political opponent of justus. he wrote three histories: "antiquities of the jews"; an "autobiography"; "the wars of the jews"; together with a reply to the attacks of an alexandrian critic of judaism, "against apion." the character of josephus has been variously estimated. some regard him as a patriot, who yielded to rome only when convinced that jewish destiny required such submission. but the most probable view of his career is as follows. josephus was a man of taste and learning. he was a student of the greek and latin classics, which he much admired, and was also a devoted and loyal lover of judaism. unfortunately, circumstances thrust him into a political position from which he could extricate himself only by treachery and duplicity. as a young man he had visited rome, and there acquired enthusiastic admiration for the romans. when he returned to palestine, he found his countrymen filled with fiery patriotism and about to hurl themselves against the legions of the caesars. to his dismay josephus saw himself drawn into the patriotic vortex. by a strange mishap an important command was entrusted to him. he betrayed his country, and saved himself by eager submission to the romans. he became a personal friend of vespasian and the constant companion of his son titus. traitor though he was to the national cause, josephus was a steadfast champion of the jewish religion. all his works are animated with a desire to present judaism and the jews in the best light. he was indignant that heathen historians wrote with scorn of the vanquished jews, and resolved to describe the noble stand made by the jewish armies against rome. he was moved to wrath by the egyptian manetho's distortion of the ancient history of israel, and he could not rest silent under the insults of apion. the works of josephus are therefore works written with a _tendency_ to glorify his people and his religion. but they are in the main trustworthy, and are, indeed, one of the chief sources of information for the history of the jews in post-biblical times. his style is clear and attractive, and his power of grasping the events of long periods is comparable with that of polybius. he was no mere chronicler; he possessed some faculty for explaining as well as recording facts and some real insight into the meaning of events passing under his own eyes. he wrote for the most part in greek, both because that language was familiar to many cultured jews of his day, and because his histories thereby became accessible to the world of non-jewish readers. sometimes he used both aramaic and greek. for instance, he produced his "jewish war" first in the one, subsequently in the other of these languages. the aramaic version has been lost, but the greek has survived. his style is often eloquent, especially in his book "against apion." this was an historical and philosophical justification of judaism. at the close of this work josephus says: "and so i make bold to say that we are become the teachers of other men in the greatest number of things, and those the most excellent." josephus, like the jewish hellenists of an earlier date, saw in judaism a universal religion, which ought to be shared by all the peoples of the earth. judaism was to josephus, as to philo, not a contrast or antithesis to greek culture, but the perfection and culmination of culture. the most curious efforts to propagate judaism were, however, those which were clothed in a sibylline disguise. in heathen antiquity, the sibyl was an inspired prophetess whose mysterious oracles concerned the destinies of cities and nations. these oracles enjoyed high esteem among the cultivated greeks, and, in the second century b.c.e., some alexandrian jews made use of them to recommend judaism to the heathen world. in the jewish sibylline books the religion of israel is presented as a hope and a threat; a menace to those who refuse to follow the better life, a promise of salvation to those who repent. about the year c.e., a book of this kind was composed. it is what is known as the fourth book of the sibylline oracles. the language is greek, the form hexameter verse. in this poem, the sibyl, in the guise of a prophetess, tells of the doom of those who resist the will of the one true god, praises the god of israel, and holds out a beautiful prospect to the faithful. the book opens with an invocation: hear, people of proud asia, europe, too, how many things by great, loud-sounding mouth, all true and of my own, i prophesy. no oracle of false apollo this, whom vain men call a god, tho' he deceived; but of the mighty god, whom human hands shaped not like speechless idols cut in stone. the sibyl speaks of the true god, to love whom brings blessing. the ungodly triumph for a while, as assyria, media, phrygia, greece, and egypt had triumphed. jerusalem will fall, and the temple perish in flames, but retribution will follow, the earth will be desolated by the divine wrath, the race of men and cities and rivers will be reduced to smoky dust, unless moral amendment comes betimes. then the sibyl's note changes into a prophecy of messianic judgment and bliss, and she ends with a comforting message: but when all things become an ashy pile, god will put out the fire unspeakable which he once kindled, and the bones and ashes of men will god himself again transform, and raise up mortals as they were before. and then will be the judgment, god himself will sit as judge, and judge the world again. as many as committed impious sins shall stygian gehenna's depths conceal 'neath molten earth and dismal tartarus. but the pious shall again live on the earth, and god will give them spirit, life, and means of nourishment, and all shall see themselves, beholding the sun's sweet and cheerful light. o happiest men who at that time shall live! the jews found some consolation for present sorrows in the thought of past deliverances. the short historical record known as the "scroll of fasting" (_megillath taanith_) was perhaps begun before the destruction of the temple, but was completed after the death of trajan in . this scroll contained thirty-five brief paragraphs written in aramaic. the compilation, which is of great historical value, follows the order of the jewish calendar, beginning with the month nisan and ending with adar. the entries in the list relate to the days on which it was held unlawful to fast, and many of these days were anniversaries of national victories. the megillath taanith contains no jubilations over these triumphs, but is a sober record of facts. it is a precious survival of the historical works compiled by the jews before their dispersion from palestine. such works differ from those of josephus and the sibyl in their motive. they were not designed to win foreign admiration for judaism, but to provide an accurate record for home use and inspire the jews with hope amid the threatening prospects of life. bibliography josephus. whiston's english translation, revised by shilleto ( ). graetz.--ii, p. [ ]. sibylline oracles. s.a. hirsch.--_jewish sibylline oracles_, _j.q.r._, ii, p. . chapter iii the talmud the amoraim compile the palestinian talmud and the babylonian talmud.--representative amoraim: i ( - ) palestine--jochanan, simon, joshua, simlai; babylonia--rab and samuel. ii ( - ) palestine--ami, assi, abbahu, chiya; babylonia--huna and zeira. iii ( - ) babylonia--rabba, abayi, rava. iv ( - ) babylonia--ashi (first compilation of the babylonian talmud). v and vi ( - ) babylonia--rabina (completion of the babylonian talmud). the _talmud_, or _gemara_ ("doctrine," or "completion"), was a natural development of the mishnah. the talmud contains, indeed, many elements as old as the mishnah, some even older. but, considered as a whole, the talmud is a commentary on the work of the tannaim. it is written, not in hebrew, as the mishnah is, but in a popular aramaic. there are two distinct works to which the title talmud is applied; the one is the jerusalem talmud (completed about the year c.e.), the other the babylonian (completed a century later). at first, as we have seen, the rabbinical schools were founded on jewish soil. but palestine did not continue to offer a friendly welcome. under the more tolerant rulers of babylonia or persia, jewish learning found a refuge from the harshness experienced under those of the holy land. the babylonian jewish schools in nehardea, sura, and pumbeditha rapidly surpassed the palestinian in reputation, and in the year c.e., owing to natural decay, the palestinian schools closed. the talmud is accordingly not one work, but two, the one the literary product of the palestinian, the other, of the babylonian _amoraim_. the latter is the larger, the more studied, the better preserved, and to it attention will here be mainly confined. the talmud is not a book, it is a literature. it contains a legal code, a system of ethics, a body of ritual customs, poetical passages, prayers, histories, facts of science and medicine, and fancies of folk-lore. the amoraim were what their name implies, "expounders," or "discoursers"; but their expositions were often original contributions to literature. their work extends over the long interval between and c.e. the amoraim naturally were men of various character and condition. some were possessed of much material wealth, others were excessively poor. but few of them were professional men of letters. like the tannaim, the amoraim were often artisans, field-laborers, or physicians, whose heart was certainly in literature, but whose hand was turned to the practical affairs of life. the men who stood highest socially, the princes of the captivity in babylonia and the patriarchs in palestine, were not always those vested with the highest authority. some of the amoraim, again, were merely receptive, the medium through which tradition was handed on; others were creative as well. to put the same fact in rabbinical metaphor, some were sinais of learning, others tore up mountains, and ground them together in keen and critical dialectics. the oldest of the amoraim, chanina, the son of chama, of sepphoris ( - ), was such a firm mountain of ancient learning. on the other hand, jochanan, the son of napacha ( - ), of dazzling physical beauty, had a more original mind. his personal charms conveyed to him perhaps a sense of the artistic; to him the greek language was a delight, "an ornament of women." simon, the son of lakish ( - ), hardy of muscle and of intellect, started life as a professional athlete. a later rabbi, zeira, was equally noted for his feeble, unprepossessing figure and his nimble, ingenious mind. another contemporary of jochanan, joshua, the son of levi, is the hero of many legends. he was so tender to the poor that he declared his conviction that the messiah would arise among the beggars and cripples of rome. simlai, who was born in palestine, and migrated to nehardea in babylonia, was more of a poet than a lawyer. his love was for the ethical and poetic elements of the talmud, the _hagadah_, as this aspect of the rabbinical literature was called in contradistinction to the _halachah_, or legal elements. simlai entered into frequent discussions with the christian fathers on subjects of biblical exegesis. the centre of interest now changes to babylonia. here, in the year , abba areka, or rab ( - ), founded the sura academy, which continued to flourish for nearly eight centuries. he and his great contemporary samuel ( - ) enjoy with jochanan the honor of supplying the leading materials of which the talmud consists. samuel laid down a rule which, based on an utterance of the prophet jeremiah, enabled jews to live and serve in non-jewish countries. "the law of the land is law," said samuel. but he lived in the realms of the stars as well as in the streets of his city. samuel was an astronomer, and he is reported to have boasted with truth, that "he was as familiar with the paths of the stars as with the streets of nehardea." he arranged the jewish calendar, his work in this direction being perfected by hillel ii in the fourth century. like simlai, rab and samuel had heathen and christian friends. origen and jerome read the scriptures under the guidance of jews. the heathen philosopher porphyry wrote a commentary on the book of daniel. so, too, abbahu, who lived in palestine a little later on, frequented the society of cultivated romans, and had his family taught greek. abbahu was a manufacturer of veils for women's wear, for, like many amoraim, he scorned to make learning a means of living, abbahu's modesty with regard to his own merits shows that a rabbi was not necessarily arrogant in pride of knowledge! once abbahu's lecture was besieged by a great crowd, but the audience of his colleague chiya was scanty. "thy teaching," said abbahu to chiya, "is a rare jewel, of which only an expert can judge; mine is tinsel, which attracts every ignorant eye." it was rab, however, who was the real popularizer of jewish learning. he arranged courses of lectures for the people as well as for scholars. rab's successor as head of the sura school, huna ( - ), completed rab's work in making babylonia the chief centre of jewish learning. huna tilled his own fields for a living, and might often be met going home with his spade over his shoulder. it was men like this who built up the jewish tradition. huna's predecessor, however, had wider experience of life, for rab had been a student in palestine, and was in touch with the jews of many parts. from rab's time onwards, learning became the property of the whole people, and the talmud, besides being the literature of the jewish universities, may be called the book of the masses. it contains, not only the legal and ethical results of the investigations of the learned, but also the wisdom and superstition of the masses. the talmud is not exactly a national literature, but it was a unique bond between the scattered jews, an unparallelled spiritual and literary instrument for maintaining the identity of judaism amid the many tribulations to which the jews were subjected. the talmud owed much to many minds. externally it was influenced by the nations with which the jews came into contact. from the inside, the influences at work were equally various. jochanan, rab, and samuel in the third century prepared the material out of which the talmud was finally built. the actual building was done by scholars in the fourth century. rabba, the son of nachmani ( - ), abayi ( - ), and rava ( - ) gave the finishing touches to the method of the talmud. rabba was a man of the people; he was a clear thinker, and loved to attract all comers by an apt anecdote. rava had a superior sense of his own dignity, and rather neglected the needs of the ordinary man of his day. abayi was more of the type of the average rabbi, acute, genial, self-denying. under the impulse of men of the most various gifts of mind and heart, the talmud was gradually constructed, but two names are prominently associated with its actual compilation. these were ashi ( - ) and rabina (died ). ashi combined massive learning with keen logical ingenuity. he needed both for the task to which he devoted half a century of his life. he possessed a vast memory, in which the accumulated tradition of six centuries was stored, and he was gifted with the mental orderliness which empowered him to deal with this bewildering mass of materials. it is hardly possible that after the compilation of the talmud it remained an oral book, though it must be remembered that memory played a much greater part in earlier centuries than it does now. at all events, ashi, and after him rabina, performed the great work of systematizing the rabbinical literature at a turning-point in the world's history. the mishnah had been begun at a moment when the roman empire was at its greatest vigor and glory; the talmud was completed at the time when the roman empire was in its decay. that the jews were saved from similar disintegration, was due very largely to the talmud. the talmud is thus one of the great books of the world. despite its faults, its excessive casuistry, its lack of style and form, its stupendous mass of detailed laws and restrictions, it is nevertheless a great book in and for itself. it is impossible to consider it further here in its religious aspects. but something must be said in the next chapter of that side of the rabbinical literature known as the _midrash_. bibliography the talmud. essays by e. deutsch and a. darmesteter (jewish publication society of america). graetz.--ii, - (character of the talmud, end of ch. ). karpeles.--_jewish literature and other essays_, p. . steinschneider.--_jewish literature_, p. . schiller-szinessy.--_encycl. brit._, vol. xxiii, p. . m. mielziner.--_introduction to the talmud_ (cincinnati, ). s. schechter.--_some aspects of rabbinic theology_, _j.q.r._, vi, p. , etc. ---- _studies in judaism_ (jewish publication society of america, ), pp. , , , [ , , , ]. b. spiers.--_school system of the talmud_ (london, ) (with appendix on baba kama); the _threefold cord_ ( ) on _sanhedrin, baba metsia_, and _baba bathra_. m. jastrow.--_history and future of the text of the talmud (publications of the gratz college_, philadelphia, , vol. i). p.b. benny.--_criminal code of the jews according to the talmud_ (london, ). s. mendelsohn.--_the criminal jurisprudence of the ancient hebrews_ (baltimore, ). d. castelli.--_future life in rabbinical literature_, _j.q.r._, i, p. . m. güdemann.--_spirit and letter in judaism and christianity_, _ibid._, iv, p. . i. harris.--_rise and development of the massorah_, _ibid._, i, pp. , etc. h. polano.--_the talmud_ (philadelphia, ). i. myers.--_gems from the talmud_ (london, ). d.w. amram.--_the jewish law of divorce according to bible and talmud_ (philadelphia, ). chapter iv the midrash and its poetry mechilta, sifra, sifre, pesikta, tanchuma, midrash rabbah, yalkut.--proverbs.--parables.--fables. in its earliest forms identical with the halachah, or the practical and legal aspects of the mishnah and the talmud, the midrash, in its fuller development, became an independent branch of rabbinical literature. like the talmud, the midrash is of a composite nature, and under the one name the accumulations of ages are included. some of its contents are earlier than the completion of the bible, others were collected and even created as recently as the tenth or the eleventh century of the current era. midrash ("study," "inquiry") was in the first instance an _explanation of the scriptures_. this explanation is often the clear, natural exposition of the text, and it enforces rules of conduct both ethical and ritual. the historical and moral traditions which clustered round the incidents and characters of the bible soon received a more vivid setting. the poetical sense of the rabbis expressed itself in a vast and beautiful array of legendary additions to the bible, but the additions are always devised with a moral purpose, to give point to a preacher's homily or to inspire the imagination of the audience with nobler fancies. besides being expository, the midrash is, therefore, didactic and poetical, the moral being conveyed in the guise of a _narrative_, amplifying and developing the contents of scripture. the midrash gives the results of that deep searching of the scriptures which became second nature with the jews, and it also represents the changes and expansions of ethical and theological ideals as applied to a changing and growing life. from another point of view, also, the midrash is a poetical literature. its function as a species of _popular homiletics_ made it necessary to appeal to the emotions. in its warm and living application of abstract truths to daily ends, in its responsive and hopeful intensification of the nearness of god to israel, in its idealization of the past and future of the jews, it employed the poet's art in essence, though not in form. it will be seen later on that in another sense the midrash is a poetical literature, using the lore of the folk, the parable, the proverb, the allegory, and the fable, and often using them in the language of poetry. the oldest midrash is the actual report of sermons and addresses of the tannaite age; the latest is a medieval compilation from all extant sources. the works to which the name midrash is applied are the _mechilta_ (to exodus); the _sifra_ (to leviticus); the _sifre_ (to numbers and deuteronomy); the _pesikta_ (to various _sections_ of the bible, whence its name); the _tanchuma_ (to the pentateuch); the _midrash rabbah_ (the "great midrash," to the pentateuch and the five scrolls of esther, ruth, lamentations, ecclesiastes, and the song of songs); and the _midrash haggadol_ (identical in name, and in contents similar to, but not identical with, the _midrash rabbah_); together with a large number of collected midrashim, such as the _yalkut_, and a host of smaller works, several of which are no longer extant. regarding the midrash in its purely literary aspects, we find its style to be far more lucid than that of the talmud, though portions of the halachic midrash are identical in character with the talmud. the midrash has many passages in which the simple graces of form match the beauty of idea. but for the most part the style is simple and prosaic, rather than ornate or poetical. it produces its effects by the most straightforward means, and strikes a modern reader as lacking distinction in form. the dead level of commonplace expression is, however, brightened by brilliant passages of frequent occurrence. prayers, proverbs, parables, and fables, dot the pages of talmud and midrash alike. the ancient _proverbs_ of the jews were more than mere chips from the block of experience. they were poems, by reason of their use of metaphor, alliteration, assonance, and imagination. the rabbinical proverbs show all these poetical qualities. he who steals from a thief smells of theft.--charity is the salt of wealth.--silence is a fence about wisdom.--many old camels carry the skins of their young.--two dry sticks and one green burn together.--if the priest steals the god, on what can one take an oath?--all the dyers cannot bleach a raven's wing.--into a well from which you have drunk, cast no stone.--alas for the bread which the baker calls bad.--slander is a snake that stings in syria, and slays in rome.--the dove escaped from the eagle and found a serpent in her nest.--tell no secrets, for the wall has ears. these, like many more of the rabbinical proverbs, are essentially poetical. some, indeed, are either expanded metaphors or metaphors touched by genius into poetry. the alliterative proverbs and maxims of the talmud and midrash are less easily illustrated. sometimes they enshrine a pun or a conceit, or depend for their aptness upon an assonance. in some of the talmudic proverbs there is a spice of cynicism. but most of them show a genial attitude towards life. the poetical proverb easily passes into the parable. loved in bible times, the parable became in after centuries the most popular form of didactic poetry among the jews. the bible has its parables, but the midrash overflows with them. they are occasionally re-workings of older thoughts, but mostly they are original creations, invented for a special purpose, stories devised to drive home a moral, allegories administering in pleasant wrappings unpalatable satires or admonitions. in all ages up to the present, jewish moralists have relied on the parable as their most effective instrument. the poetry of the jewish parables is characteristic also of the parables imitated from the jewish, but the latter have a distinguishing feature peculiar to them. this is their humor, the witty or humorous parable being exclusively jewish. the parable is less spontaneous than the proverb. it is a product of moral poetry rather than of folk wisdom. yet the parable was so like the proverb that the moral of a parable often became a new proverb. the diction of the parable is naturally more ornate. by the beauty of its expression, its frequent application of rural incidents to the life familiar in the cities, the rhythm and flow of its periods, its fertile imagination, the parable should certainly be placed high in the world's poetry. but it was poetry with a _tendency_, the _mashal_, or proverb-parable, being what the rabbis themselves termed it, "the clear small light by which lost jewels can be found." the following is a parable of hillel, which is here cited more to mention that noble, gentle sage than as a specimen of this class of literature. hillel belongs to a period earlier than that dealt with in this book, but his loving and pure spirit breathes through the pages of the talmud and midrash: hillel, the gentle, the beloved sage, expounded day by day the sacred page to his disciples in the house of learning; and day by day, when home at eve returning, they lingered, clustering round him, loth to part from him whose gentle rule won every heart. but evermore, when they were wont to plead for longer converse, forth he went with speed, saying each day: "i go--the hour is late-- to tend the guest who doth my coming wait," until at last they said: "the rabbi jests, when telling us thus daily of his guests that wait for him." the rabbi paused awhile, and then made answer: "think you i beguile you with an idle tale? not so, forsooth! i have a guest whom i must tend in truth. is not the soul of man indeed a guest, who in this body deigns a while to rest, and dwells with me all peacefully to-day: to-morrow--may it not have fled away?" space must be found for one other parable, taken (like many other poetical quotations in this volume) from mrs. lucas' translations: simeon ben migdal, at the close of day, upon the shores of ocean chanced to stray, and there a man of form and mien uncouth, dwarfed and misshapen, met he on the way. "hail, rabbi," spoke the stranger passing by, but simeon thus, discourteous, made reply: "say, are there in thy city many more, like unto thee, an insult to the eye?" "nay, that i cannot tell," the wand'rer said, "but if thou wouldst ply the scorner's trade, go first and ask the master potter why he has a vessel so misshapen made?" then (so the legend tells) the rabbi knew that he had sinned, and prone himself he threw before the other's feet, and prayed of him pardon for the words that now his soul did rue. but still the other answered as before: "go, in the potter's ear thy plaint outpour, for what am i! his hand has fashioned me, and i in humble faith that hand adore." brethren, do we not often too forget whose hand it is that many a time has set a radiant soul in an unlovely form, a fair white bird caged in a mouldering net? nay more, do not life's times and chances, sent by the great artificer with intent that they should prove a blessing, oft appear to us a burden that we sore lament? ah! soul, poor soul of man! what heavenly fire would thrill thy depths and love of god inspire, could'st thou but see the master hand revealed, majestic move "earth's scheme of things entire." it cannot be! unseen he guideth us, but yet our feeble hands, the luminous pure lamp of faith can light to glorify the narrow path that he has traced for us. finally, there are the _beast fables_ of the talmud and the midrash. most of these were borrowed directly or indirectly from india. we are told in the talmud that rabbi meir knew three hundred fox fables, and that with his death (about c.e.) "fabulists ceased to be," very few of meir's fables are extant, so that it is impossible to gather whether or not they were original. there are only thirty fables in the talmud and the midrash, and of these several cannot be parallelled in other literatures. some of the talmudic fables are found also in the classical and the earliest indian collections; some in the later collections; some in the classics, but not in the indian lists; some in india, but not in the latin and greek authors. among the latter is the well-known fable of the _fox and the fishes_, used so dramatically by rabbi akiba. the original talmudic fables are, according to mr. j. jacobs, the following: _chaff, straw, and wheat_, who dispute for which of them the seed has been sown: the winnowing fan soon decides; _the caged bird_, who is envied by his free fellow; _the wolf and the two hounds_, who have quarrelled; the wolf seizes one, the other goes to his rival's aid, fearing the same fate himself on the morrow, unless he helps the other dog to-day; _the wolf at the well_, the mouth of the well is covered with a net: "if i go down into the well," says the wolf, "i shall be caught. if i do not descend, i shall die of thirst"; _the cock and the bat_, who sit together waiting for the sunrise: "i wait for the dawn," said the cock, "for the light is my signal; but as for thee--the light is thy ruin"; and, finally, what mr. jacobs calls the grim beast-tale of the _fox as singer_, in which the beasts--invited by the lion to a feast, and covered by him with the skins of wild beasts--are led by the fox in a chorus: "what has happened to those above us, will happen to him above," implying that their host, too, will come to a violent death. in the context the fable is applied to haman, whose fate, it is augured, will resemble that of the two officers whose guilt mordecai detected. such fables are used in the talmud to point religious or even political morals, very much as the parables were. the fable, however, took a lower flight than the parable, and its moral was based on expediency, rather than on the highest ethical ideals. the importance of the talmudic fables is historical more than literary or religious. hebrew fables supply one of the links connecting the popular literature of the east with that of the west. but they hardly belong in the true sense to jewish literature. parables, on the other hand, were an essential and characteristic branch of that literature. bibliography midrash. schiller-szinessy.--_encycl. brit._, vol. xvi, p. . graetz.--ii, p. [ ] _seq._ steinschneider.--_jewish literature_, pp. _seq._, _seq._ l.n. dembitz.--_jewish services in synagogue and home_ (jewish publication society of america, ), p. . fables. j. jacobs.--_the fables of Æsop_ (london, ), i, p. _seq._ read also schechter, _studies in judaism_, p. [ ]; and _j.q.r._, (kohler), v, p. ; vii, p. ; (bacher) iv, p. ; (davis) viii, p. ; (abrahams) i, p. ; ii, p. ; chenery, _legends from the midrash_ (_miscellany of the society of hebrew literature_, vol. ii). chapter v the letters of the gaonim representative gaonim: achai, amram, zemach, saadiah, sherira, samuel, hai. for several centuries after the completion of the talmud, babylonia or persia continued to hold the supremacy in jewish learning. the great teachers in the persian schools followed the same lines as their predecessors in the mishnah and the talmud. their name was changed more than their character. the title _gaon_ ("excellence") was applied to the head of the school, the members of which devoted themselves mainly to the study and interpretation of the older literature. they also made original contributions to the store. of their extensive works but little has been preserved. what has survived proves that they were gifted with the faculty of applying old precept to modern instance. they regulated the social and religious affairs of all the jews in the diaspora. they improved educational methods, and were pioneers in the popularization of learning. by a large collection of case law, that is, decisions in particular cases, they brought the newer jewish life into moral harmony with the principles formulated by the earlier rabbis. the gaonim were the originators or, at least, the arrangers of parts of the liturgy. they composed new hymns and invocations, fixed the order of service, and established in full vigor a system of _minhag_, or custom, whose power became more and more predominant, not only in religious, but also in social and commercial affairs. the literary productions of the gaonic age open with the _sheeltoth_ written by achai in the year . this, the first independent book composed after the close of the talmud, was curiously enough compiled in palestine, whither achai had migrated from persia. the sheeltoth ("inquiries") contain nearly two hundred homilies on the pentateuch. in the year another gaon, amram by name, prepared a _siddur_, or prayer-book, which includes many remarks on the history of the liturgy and the customs connected with it. a contemporary of amram, zemach, the son of paltoi, found a different channel for his literary energies. he compiled an _aruch_, or talmudical lexicon. of the most active of the gaonim, saadiah, more will be said in a subsequent chapter. we will now pass on to sherira, who in wrote his famous "letter," containing a history of the jewish tradition, a work which stamps the author as at once learned and critical. it shows that the gaonim were not afraid nor incapable of facing such problems as this: was the mishnah _orally_ transmitted to the amoraim (or rabbis of the talmud), or was it _written down_ by the compiler? sherira accepted the former alternative. the latest gaonim were far more productive than the earlier. samuel, the son of chofni, who died in , and the last of the gaonim, hai, who flourished from to , were the authors of many works on the talmud, the bible, and other branches of jewish literature. hai gaon was also a poet. the language used by the gaonim was at first hebrew and aramaic, and the latter remained the official speech of the gaonate. in course of time, arabic replaced the aramean dialect, and became the _lingua franca_ of the jews. the formal works of the gaonim, with certain obvious exceptions, were not, however, the writings by which they left their mark on their age. the most original and important of the gaonic writings were their "letters," or "answers" (_teshuboth_). the gaonim, as heads of the school in the babylonian cities sura and pumbeditha, enjoyed far more than local authority. the jews of persia were practically independent of external control. their official heads were the exilarchs, who reigned over the jews as viceroys of the caliphs. the gaonim were the religious heads of an emancipated community. the exilarchs possessed a princely revenue, which they devoted in part to the schools over which the gaonim presided. this position of authority, added to the world-wide repute of the two schools, gave the gaonim an influence which extended beyond their own neighborhood. from all parts of the jewish world their guidance was sought and their opinions solicited on a vast variety of subjects, mainly, but not exclusively, religious and literary. amid the growing complications of ritual law, a desire was felt for terse prescriptions, clear-cut decisions, and rules of conduct. the imperfections of study outside of persia, again, made it essential to apply to the gaonim for authoritative expositions of difficult passages in the bible and the talmud. to all such enquiries the gaonim sent responses in the form of letters, sometimes addressed to individual correspondents, sometimes to communities or groups of communities. these letters and other compilations containing halachic (or practical) decisions were afterwards collected into treatises, such as the "great rules" (_halachoth gedoloth_), originally compiled in the eighth century, but subsequently reedited. mostly, however, the letters were left in loose form, and were collected in much later times. the letters of the gaonim have little pretence to literary form. they are the earliest specimens of what became a very characteristic branch of jewish literature. "questions and answers" (_shaaloth u-teshuboth_) abound in later times in all jewish circles, and there is no real parallel to them in any other literature. more will be said later on as to these curious works. so far as the gaonic period is concerned, the characteristics of these thousands of letters are lucidity of thought and terseness of expression. the gaonim never waste a word. they are rarely over-bearing in manner, but mostly use a tone which is persuasive rather than disciplinary. the gaonim were, in this real sense, therefore, princes of letter-writing. moreover, though their letters deal almost entirely with contemporary affairs, they now constitute as fresh and vivid reading as when first penned. subjected to the severe test of time, the letters of the gaonim emerge triumphant. bibliography gaonim. graetz.--iii, - . steinschneider.--_jewish literature_, p. . chapter vi the karaitic literature anan, nahavendi, abul-faraj, salman, sahal, al-bazir, hassan, japhet, kirkisani, judah hadassi, isaac troki. in the very heart of the gaonate, the eighth century witnessed a religious and literary reaction against rabbinism. the opposition to the rabbinite spirit was far older than this, but it came to a head under anan, the son of david, the founder of karaism. anan had been an unsuccessful candidate for the dignity of exilarch, and thus personal motives were involved in his attack on the gaonim. but there were other reasons for the revolt. in the same century, islam, like judaism, was threatened by a fierce antagonism between the friends and the foes of tradition. in islam the struggle lay between the sunnites, who interpreted mohammedanism in accordance with authorized tradition, and the shiites, who relied exclusively upon the koran. similarly, in judaism, the rabbinites obeyed the traditions of the earlier authorities, and the karaites (from _kera_, or _mikra_, i.e. "bible") claimed the right to reject tradition and revert to the bible as the original source of inspiration. such reactions against tradition are recurrent in all religions. karaism, however, was not a true reaction against tradition. it replaced an old tradition by a new one; it substituted a rigid, unprogressive authority for one capable of growth and adaptation to changing requirements. in the end, karaism became so hedged in by its supposed avoidance of tradition that it ceased to be a living force. but we are here not concerned with the religious defects of karaism. regarded from the literary side, karaism produced a double effect. karaism itself gave birth to an original and splendid literature, and, on the other hand, coming as it did at the time when arabic science and poetry were attaining their golden zenith, karaism aroused within the rabbinite sphere a notable energy, which resulted in some of the best work of medieval jews. among the most famous of the karaite authors was benjamin nahavendi, who lived at the beginning of the ninth century, and displayed much resolution and ability as an advocate of free-thought in religion. nahavendi not only wrote commentaries on the bible, but also attempted to write a philosophy of judaism, being allied to philo in the past and to the arabic writers in his own time. at the end of the ninth century, abul-faraj harun made a great stride forwards as an expounder of the bible and as an authority on hebrew grammar. during the ninth and tenth centuries, several karaites revealed much vigor and ability in their controversies with the gaonim. in this field the most distinguished karaitic writers were salman, the son of yerucham ( - ); sahal, the son of mazliach ( - ); joseph al-bazir (flourished - ); hassan, the son of mashiach ( ); and japhet, the son of ali ( - ). salman, the son of yerucham, was an active traveller; born in egypt, he went as a young man to jerusalem, which he made his head-quarters for several years, though he paid occasional visits to babylonia and to his native land. these journeys helped to unify the scattered karaite communities. besides his biblical works, salman composed a poetical treatise against the rabbinite theories. to this book, which was written in hebrew, salman gave the title, "the wars of the lord." sahal, the son of mazliach, on the other hand, was a native of the holy land, and though an eager polemical writer against the rabbinites, he bore a smaller part than salman in the practical development of karaism. his "hebrew grammar" (_sefer dikduk_) and his lexicon (_leshon limmudim_) were very popular. unlike the work of other karaites, joseph al-bazir's writings were philosophical, and had no philological value. he was an adherent of the mohammedan theological method known as the kalam, and wrote mostly in arabic. another karaite of the same period, hassan, the son of mashiach, was the one who impelled saadiah to throw off all reserves and enter the lists as a champion of rabbinism. of the remaining karaites of the tenth century, the foremost was japhet, the son of ali, whose commentaries on the bible represent the highest achievements of karaism. a large hebrew dictionary (_iggaron_), by a contemporary of japhet named david, the son of abraham, is also a work which was often quoted. kirkisani, also a tenth century karaite, completed in the year a treatise called, "the book of lights and the high beacons." in this work much valuable information is supplied as to the history of karaism. despite his natural prejudices in favor of his own sect, kirkisani is a faithful historian, as frank regarding the internal dissensions of the karaites as in depicting the divergence of views among the rabbinites. kirkisani's work is thus of the greatest importance for the history of jewish sects. finally, the famous karaite judah hadassi ( - ) was a young man when his native jerusalem was stormed by the crusaders in . a wanderer to constantinople, he devoted himself to science, hebrew philology, and greek literature. he utilized his wide knowledge in his great work, "a cluster of cyprus flowers" (_eshkol ha-kopher_), which was completed in . it is written in a series of rhymed alphabetical acrostics. it is encyclopedic in range, and treats critically, not only of judaism, but also of christianity and islam. karaitic literature was produced in later centuries also, but by the end of the twelfth century, karaism had exhausted its originality and fertility. one much later product of karaism, however, deserves special mention. isaac troki composed, in , a work entitled "the strengthening of faith" (_chizzuk emunah_), in which the author defended judaism and attacked christianity. it was a lucid book, and as its arguments were popularly arranged, it was very much read and used. with this exception, karaism produced no important work after the twelfth century. on the intellectual side, therefore, karaism was a powerful though ephemeral movement. in several branches of science and philology the karaites made real additions to contemporary knowledge. but the main service of karaism was indirect. the rabbinite jews, who represented the mass of the people, had been on the way to a scientific and philosophical development of their own before the rise of karaism. the necessity of fighting karaism with its own weapons gave a strong impetus to the new movement in rabbinism, and some of the best work of saadiah was inspired by karaitic opposition. before, however, we turn to the career of saadiah, we must consider another literary movement, which coincided in date with the rise of karaism, but was entirely independent of it. bibliography karaites. graetz.--iii, (on troki, _ibid._, iv, , end. m. mocatta, _faith strengthened_, london, ). steinschneider.--_jewish literature_, p. _seq._ w. bacher.--_qirqisani the qaraite, and his work on jewish sects_, _j.q.r._, vii, p. . ---- _jehuda hadassi's eshkol hakkofer_, _j.q.r._, viii, p. . s. poznanski.--_karaite miscellanies_, _j.q.r._, viii, p. . chapter vii the new-hebrew piyut kalirian and spanish piyutim (poems).--jannai.--kalir. arabic to a large extent replaced hebrew as the literary language of the jews, but hebrew continued the language of prayer. as a mere literary form, rabbinic hebrew retained a strong hold on the jews; as a vehicle of devotional feeling, hebrew reigned supreme. the earliest additions to the fixed liturgy of the synagogue were prose-poems. they were "occasional prayers" composed by the precentor for a special occasion. an appropriate melody or chant accompanied the new hymn, and if the poem and melody met the popular taste, both won a permanent place in the local liturgy. the hymns were unrhymed and unmetrical, but they may have been written in the form of alphabetical acrostics, such as appear in the th and a few other psalms. it is not impossible that metre and rhyme grew naturally from the biblical hebrew. rhyme is unknown in the bible, but the assonances which occur may easily run into rhymes. musical form is certainly present in hebrew poetry, though strict metres are foreign to it. as an historical fact, however, hebrew rhymed verse can be traced on the one side to syriac, on the other to arabic influences. in the latter case the influence was external only. early arabic poetry treats of war and love, but the first jewish rhymsters sang of peace and duty. the arab wrote for the camp, the jew for the synagogue. two distinct types of verse, or _piyut_ (i.e. poetry), arose within the jewish circle: the ingenious and the natural. in the former, the style is rugged and involved; a profusion of rare words and obscure allusions meets and troubles the reader; the verse lacks all beauty of form, yet is alive with intense spiritual force. this style is often termed kalirian, from the name of its best representative. the kalirian piyut in the end spread chiefly to france, england, burgundy, lorraine, germany, bohemia, poland, italy, greece, and palestine. the other type of new-hebrew piyut, the spanish, rises to higher beauties of form. it is not free from the kalirian faults, but it has them in a less pronounced degree. the spanish piyut, in the hands of one or two masters, becomes true poetry, poetry in form as well as in idea. the spanish style prevailed in castile, andalusia, catalonia, aragon, majorca, provence, and in countries where arabic influence was strongest. kalir was the most popular writer of the earlier type of new-hebrew poetry, but he was not its creator. an older contemporary of his, from whom he derived both his diction and his method of treating poetic subjects, was jannai. though we know that jannai was a prolific writer, only seven short examples of his verse remain. one of these is the popular hymn, "it was at midnight," which is still recited by "german" jews at the home-service on the first eve of passover. it recounts in order the deliverances which, according to the midrash, were wrought for israel at midnight, from abraham's victory over the four kings to the wakefulness of ahasuerus, the crisis of the book of esther. in the last stanza is a prayer for future redemption: bring nigh the hour which is nor day nor night! most high! make known that thine is day, and thine the night! make clear as day the darkness of our night! as of old at midnight. this form of versification, with a running refrain, afterwards became very popular with jewish poets. jannai also displays the harsh alliterations, the learned allusions to midrash and talmud, which were carried to extremes by kalir. it is strange that it is impossible to fix with any certainty the date at which jannai and kalir lived. kalir may belong to the eighth or to the ninth century. it is equally hard to decide as to his birth-place. rival theories hold that he was born in palestine and in sardinia. his name has been derived from cagliari in sardinia and from the latin _calyrum_, a cake. honey-cakes were given to jewish children on their first introduction to school, and the nickname "kaliri," or "boy of the cake," may have arisen from his youthful precocity. but all this is mere guess-work. it is more certain that the poet was also the singer of his own verses. his earliest audiences were probably scholars, and this may have tempted kalir to indulge in the recondite learning which vitiates his hymns. at his worst, kalir is very bad indeed; his style is then a jumble of words, his meaning obscure and even unintelligible. he uses a maze of alphabetical acrostics, line by line he wreathes into his compositions the words of successive bible texts. yet even at his worst he is ingenious and vigorous. such phrases as "to hawk it as a hawk upon a sparrow" are at least bold and effective. ibn ezra later on lamented that kalir had treated the hebrew language like an unfenced city. but if the poet too freely admitted strange and ugly words, he added many of considerable force and beauty. kalir rightly felt that if hebrew was to remain a living tongue, it was absurd to restrict the language to the vocabulary of the bible. hence he invented many new verbs from nouns. but his inventiveness was less marked than his learning. "with the permission of god, i will speak in riddles," says kalir in opening the prayer for dew. the riddles are mainly clever allusions to the midrash. it has been pointed out that these allusions are often tasteless and obscure. but they are more often beautiful and inspiring. no hebrew poet in the middle ages was illiterate, for the poetic instinct was fed on the fancies of the midrash. this accounts for their lack of freshness and originality. the poet was a scholar, and he was also a teacher. much of kalir's work is didactic; it teaches the traditional explanations of the bible and the ritual laws for sabbath and festivals; it provides a convenient summary of the six hundred and thirteen precepts into which the duties of the law were arranged. but over and above all this the genius of kalir soars to poetic heights. so much has been said of kalir's obscurity that one quotation must, in fairness be given of kalir at his simplest and best. the passage is taken from a hymn sung on the seventh day of tabernacles, the day of the great hosannas: o give ear to the prayer of those who long for thy salvation, rejoicing before thee with the willows of the brook, and save us now! o redeem the vineyard which thou hast planted, and sweep thence the strangers, and save us now! o regard the covenant which thou hast sealed in us! o remember for us the father who knew thee, to whom thou, too, didst make known thy love, and save us now! o deal wondrously with the pure in heart that thy providence may be seen of men, and save us now! o lift up zion's sunken gates from the earth, exalt the spot to which our eyes all turn, and save us now! such hymns won for kalir popularity, which, however, is now much on the wane. bibliography kalir and jannai. graetz.--iii, . translations of poems in editions of the prayer-book, and _j.q.r._, vii, p. ; ix, p. . l.n. dembitz,--_jewish services_, p. _seq._ chapter viii saadiah of fayum translation of the bible into arabic.--foundation of a jewish philosophy of religion. saadiah was born in fayum (egypt) in , and died in sura in . he was the founder of a new literature. in width of culture he excelled all his jewish contemporaries. to him judaism was synonymous with culture, and therefore he endeavored to absorb for judaism all the literary and scientific tendencies of his day. he created, in the first place, a jewish philosophy, that is to say, he applied to jewish theology the philosophical methods of the arabs. again, though he vigorously opposed karaism, he adopted its love of philology, and by his translation of the bible into arabic helped forward a sounder understanding of the scriptures. at the age of thirty-six saadiah received a remarkable honor; he was summoned to sura to fill the post of gaon. this election of a foreigner as head of the babylonian school proves, first, that babylonia had lost its old supremacy, and, secondly, that saadiah had already won world-wide fame. yet the great work on which his reputation now rests was not then written. saadiah's notoriety was due to his successful championship of rabbinism against the karaites. his determination, his learning, his originality, were all discernible in his early treatises against anan and his followers. the rabbinites had previously opposed karaism in a guerilla warfare. saadiah came into the open, and met and vanquished the foe in pitched battles. but he did more than defeat the invader, he strengthened the home defences. saadiah's polemical works have always a positive as well as a negative value. he wished to prove karaism wrong, but he also tried to show that rabbinism was right. as a champion of rabbinism, then, saadiah was called to sura. but he had another claim to distinction. the karaites founded their position on the bible. saadiah resolved that the appeal to the bible should not be restricted to scholars. he translated the scriptures into arabic, and added notes. saadiah's qualifications for the task were his knowledge of hebrew, his fine critical sense, and his enlightened attitude towards the midrash. as to the first qualification, it is said that at the age of eleven he had begun a hebrew rhyming dictionary for the use of poets. he himself added several hymns to the liturgy. in these saadiah's poetical range is very varied. sometimes his style is as pure and simple as the most classical poems of the spanish school. at other times, his verses have all the intricacy, harshness, and artificiality of kalir's. perhaps his mastery of hebrew is best seen in his "book of the exiled" (_sefer ha-galui_), compiled in biblical hebrew, divided into verses, and provided with accents. as the title indicates, this book was written during saadiah's exile from sura. saadiah's arabic version of the scriptures won such favor that it was read publicly in the synagogues. of old the targum, or aramaic version, had been read in public worship together with the original hebrew. now, however, the arabic began to replace the targum. saadiah's version well deserved its honor. saadiah brought a hornet's nest about his head by his renewed attacks on karaism, contained in his commentary to genesis. but the call to sura turned saadiah's thoughts in another direction. he found the famous college in decay. the exilarchs, the nominal heads of the whole of the babylonian jews, were often unworthy of their position, and it was not long before saadiah came into conflict with the exilarch. the struggle ended in the gaon's exile from sura. during his years of banishment, he produced his greatest works. he arranged a prayer-book, wrote talmudical essays, compiled rules for the calendar, examined the massoretic works of various authors, and, indeed, produced a vast array of books, all of them influential and meritorious. but his most memorable writings were his "commentary on the book of creation" (_sefer yetsirah_) and his masterpiece, "faith and philosophy" (_emunoth ve-deoth_). this treatise, finished in the year , was the first systematic attempt to bring revealed religion into harmony with greek philosophy. saadiah was thus the forerunner, not only of maimonides, but also of the christian school-men. no jew, said saadiah, should discard the bible, and form his opinions solely by his own reasoning. but he might safely endeavor to prove, independently of revelation, the truths which revelation had given. faith, said saadiah again, is the sours absorption of the essence of a truth, which thus becomes part of itself, and will be the motive of conduct whenever the occasion arises. thus saadiah identified reason with faith. he ridiculed the fear that philosophy leads to scepticism. you might as well, he argued, identify astronomy with superstition, because some deluded people believe that an eclipse of the moon is caused by a dragon's making a meal of it. for the last few years of his life saadiah was reinstated in the gaonate at sura. the school enjoyed a new lease of fame under the brilliant direction of the author of the great work just described. after his death the inevitable decay made itself felt. under the moorish caliphs, spain had become a centre of arabic science, art, and poetry. in the tenth century, cordova attained fame similar to that which athens and alexandria had once reached. in moorish spain, there was room both for earnest piety and the sensuous delights of music and art; and the keen exercise of the intellect in science or philosophy did not debar the possession of practical statesmanship and skill in affairs. in the service of the caliphs were politicians who were also doctors, poets, philosophers, men of science. possession of culture was, indeed, a sure credential for employment by the state. it was to moorish spain that the centre of judaism shifted after the death of saadiah. it was in spain that the finest fruit of jewish literature in the post-biblical period grew. here the jewish genius expanded beneath the sunshine of moorish culture. to moses, the son of chanoch, an envoy from babylonia, belongs the honor of founding a new school in cordova. in this he had the support of the scholar-statesman chasdai, the first of a long line of medieval jews who earned double fame, as servants of their country and as servants of their own religion. to chasdai we must now turn. bibliography saadiah. graetz.--iii, . schiller-szinessy.--_encycl. brit._, vol. xxi, p. . m. friedländer.--_life and works of saadia_. _j.q.r._, vol. v, p. . saadiah's philosophy (owen), _j.q.r._, vol. iii, p. . grammar and polemics (rosin), _j.q.r._, vol. vi, p. ; (s. poznanski) _ibid._, vol. ix, p. . e.h. lindo.--_history of the jews of spain and portugal_ (london, ). chapter ix dawn of the spanish era chasdai ibn shaprut.--menachem and dunash, chayuj and janach.--samuel the nagid. if but a small part of what hebrew poets sang concerning chasdai ibn shaprut be literal fact, he was indeed a wonderful figure. his career set the jewish imagination aflame. charizi, in the thirteenth century, wrote of chasdai thus: in southern spain, in days gone by, the sun of fame rose up on high: chasdai it was, the prince, who gave rich gifts to all who came to crave. science rolled forth her mighty waves, laden with gems from hidden caves, till wisdom like an island stood, the precious outcome of the flood. here thirsting spirits still might find knowledge to satisfy the mind. their prince's favor made new day for those who slept their life away. they who had lived so long apart confessed a bond, a common heart, from christendom and moorish lands, from east, from west, from distant strands. his favor compassed each and all. girt by the shelter of his grace, lit by the glory of his face, knowledge held their heart in thrall. he showed the source of wisdom and her springs, and god's anointment made them more than kings. his goodness made the dumb to speak his name, yea, stubborn hearts were not unyielding long; and bards the starry splendor of his fame mirrored in lucent current of their song. this chasdai, the son of isaac, of the family of shaprut ( - ), was a physician and a statesman. he was something of a poet and linguist besides; not much of a poet, for his eulogists say little of his verses; and not much of a linguist, for he employed others (among them menachem, the son of zaruk, the grammarian) to write his hebrew letters for him. but he was enough of a scholar to appreciate learning in others, and as a patron of literature he placed himself in the front of the new jewish development in spain. from babylonia he was hailed as the head of the school in cordova. at his palatial abode was gathered all that was best in spanish judaism. he was the patron of the two great grammarians of the day, menachem, the son of zaruk, and his rival and critic, dunash, the son of labrat. these grammarians fought out their literary disputes in verses dedicated to chasdai. witty satires were written by the friends of both sides. sparkling epigrams were exchanged in the rose-garden of chasdai's house, and were read at the evening assemblies of poets, merchants, and courtiers. it was chasdai who brought both the rivals to cordova, menachem from tortosa and dunash from fez. menachem was the founder of scientific hebrew grammar; dunash, more lively but less scholarly, initiated the art of writing metrical hebrew verses. the successors of these grammarians, judah chayuj and abulwalid merwan ibn janach (eleventh century), completed what menachem and dunash had begun, and placed hebrew philology on a firm scientific basis. thus, with chasdai a new literary era dawned for judaism. his person, his glorious position, his liberal encouragement of poetry and learning, opened the sealed-up lips of the hebrew muse. as a contemporary said of chasdai: the grinding yoke from israel's neck he tore, deep in his soul his people's love he bore. the sword that thirsted for their blood he brake, and cold oppression melted for his sake. for god sent chasdai israel's heart to move once more to trust, once more his god to love. chasdai did not confine his efforts on behalf of his brethren to the jews of spain. ambition and sympathy made him extend his affection to the jews of all the world. he interviewed the captains of ships, he conversed with foreign envoys concerning the jews of other lands. he entered into a correspondence with the chazars, jews by adoption, not by race. it is not surprising that the influence of chasdai survived him. under the next two caliphs, cordova continued the centre of a cultured life and literature. thither flocked, not only the chazars, but also the descendants of the babylonian princes of the captivity and other men of note. half a century after chasdai's death, samuel ibn nagdela ( - ) stood at the head of the jewish community in granada. samuel, called the nagid, or prince, started life as a druggist in malaga. his fine handwriting came to the notice of the vizier, and samuel was appointed private secretary. his talents as a statesman were soon discovered, and he was made first minister to habus, the ruler of granada. once a moor insulted him, and king habus advised his favorite to cut out the offender's tongue. but samuel treated his reviler with much kindness, and one day king habus and samuel passed the same moor. "he blesses you now," said the astonished king, "whom he used to curse." "ah!" replied samuel, "i did as you advised. i cut out his angry tongue, and put a kind one there instead." samuel was not only vizier, he was also rabbi. his knowledge of the rabbinical literature was profound, and his "introduction to the talmud" (_mebo ha-talmud_) is still a standard work. he expended much labor and money on collecting the works of the gaonim. the versatility of samuel was extraordinary. from the palace he would go to the school; after inditing a despatch he would compose a hymn; he would leave a reception of foreign diplomatists to discuss intricate points of rabbinical law or examine the latest scientific discoveries. as a poet, his muse was that of the town, not of the field. but though he wrote no nature poems, he resembled the ancient hebrew psalmists in one striking feature. he sang new songs of thanksgiving over his own triumphs, uttered laments on his own woes, but there is an impersonal note in these songs as there is in the similar lyrics of the psalter. his individual triumphs and woes were merged in the triumphs and woes of his people. in all, samuel added some thirty new hymns to the liturgy of the synagogue. but his muse was as versatile as his mind. samuel also wrote some stirring wine songs. the marvellous range of his powers helped him to complete what chasdai had begun. the centre of judaism became more firmly fixed than ever in spain. when samuel the nagid died in , the golden age of spanish literature was in sight. above the horizon were rising in a glorious constellation, solomon ibn gebirol, the ibn ezras, and jehuda halevi. bibliography chasdai. graetz,--iii, p. [ ]. dunash and menachem. graetz.--iii, p. [ ]. janach. _encycl. brit._, vol. xiii, p. . chayuj. m. jastrow, jr.--_the weak and geminative verbs in hebrew by hayyûg_ (leyden, ). hebrew philology. steinschneider.--_jewish literature_, p. . chazars. _letter of chasdai to chazars_ (engl. transl. by zedner, _miscellany of the society of hebrew literature_, vol. i). graetz.--iii, p. [ ]. samuel ibn nagdela. graetz,--iii, p, [ ]. chapter x the spanish-jewish poets (i) solomon ibn gebirol.--"the royal crown."--moses ibn ezra.--abraham ibn ezra.--the biblical commentaries of ibn ezra and the kimchis. "in the days of chasdai," says charizi, "the hebrew poets began to sing." we have seen that the new-hebrew poetry was older than chasdai, but charizi's assertion is true. the hebrew poets of spain are melodious, and kalir is only ingenious. again, it was in spain that hebrew was first used for secular poetry, for love songs and ballads, for praises of nature, for the expression of all human feelings. in most of this the poets found their models in the bible. when jehuda halevi sang in hebrew of love, he echoed the "song of songs." when moses ibn ezra wrote penitential hymns, or ibn gebirol divine meditations, the psalms were ever before them as an inspiration. the poets often devoted all their ambition to finding apt quotations from the sacred text. but in one respect they failed to imitate the bible, and this failure seriously cramped their genius. the poetry of the bible depends for its beauty partly on its form. this form is what is called _parallelism of line_. the fine musical effect produced by repeating as an echo the idea already expressed is lost in the poetry of the spanish jews. thus spanish-jewish poetry suffers, on the one side, because it is an imitation of the bible, and therefore lacks originality, and on the other side it suffers, because it does not sufficiently imitate the biblical style. in spite of these limitations, it is real poetry. in the psalms there is deep sympathy for the wilder and more awful phenomena of nature. in the poetry of the spanish jews, nature is loved in her gentler moods. one of these poets, nahum, wrote prettily of his garden; another, ibn gebirol, sang of autumn; jehuda halevi, of spring. again, in their love songs there is freshness. there is in them a quaint blending of piety and love; they do not say that beauty is a vain thing, but they make beauty the mark of a god-fearing character. there is an un-biblical lightness of touch, too, in their songs of life in the city, their epigrams, their society verses. and in those of their verses which most resemble the bible, the passionate odes to zion by jehuda halevi, the sublime meditations of ibn gebirol, the penitential prayers of moses ibn ezra, though the echoes of the bible are distinct enough, yet amid the echoes there sounds now and again the fresh, clear voice of the medieval poet. solomon ibn gebirol was born in malaga in , and died in . his early life was unhappy, and his poetry is tinged with melancholy. but his unhappiness only gave him a fuller hope in god. as he writes in his greatest poem, he would fly from god to god: from thee to thee i fly to win a place of refuge, and within thy shadow from thy anger hide, until thy wrath be turned aside. unto thy mercy i will cling, until thou hearken pitying; nor will i quit my hold of thee, until thy blessing light on me. these lines occur in gebirol's "royal crown" (_kether malchuth_) a glorious series of poems on god and the world. in this, the poet pours forth his heart even more unreservedly than in his philosophical treatise, "the fountain of life," or in his ethical work, "the ennoblement of character," or in his compilation from the wisdom of the past, "the choice of pearls" (if, indeed, this last book be his). the "royal crown" is a diadem of praises of the greatness of god, praises to utter which make man, with all his insignificance, great. wondrous are thy works, o lord of hosts, and their greatness holds my soul in thrall. thine the glory is, the power divine, thine the majesty, the kingdom thine, thou supreme, exalted over all. * * * * * thou art one, the first great cause of all; thou art one, and none can penetrate, not even the wise in heart, the mystery of thy unfathomable unity; thou art one, the infinitely great. but man can perceive that the power of god makes him great to pardon. if he see it not now, he will hereafter. thou art light: pure souls shall thee behold, save when mists of evil intervene. thou art light, that, in this world concealed, in the world to come shall be revealed; in the mount of god it shall be seen. and so the poet in one of the final hymns of the "royal crown," filled with a sense of his own unworthiness, hopefully abandons himself to god: my god, i know that those who plead to thee for grace and mercy need all their good works should go before, and wait for them at heaven's high door. but no good deeds have i to bring, no righteousness for offering. no service for my lord and king. yet hide not thou thy face from me, nor cast me out afar from thee; but when thou bidd'st my life to cease, o may'st thou lead me forth in peace unto the world to come, to dwell among thy pious ones, who tell thy glories inexhaustible. there let my portion be with those who to eternal life arose; there purify my heart aright, in thy light to behold the light. raise me from deepest depths to share heaven's endless joys of praise and prayer, that i may evermore declare: though thou wast angered, lord, i will give thanks to thee, for past is now thy wrath, and thou dost comfort me. ibn gebirol stood a little outside and a good deal above the circle of the jewish poets who made this era so brilliant. many of them are now forgotten; they had their day of popularity in toledo, cordova, seville, and granada, but their poems have not survived. in the very year of ibn gebirol's death moses ibn ezra was born. of his life little is certain, but it is known that he was still alive in . he is called the "poet of penitence," and a gloomy turn was given to his thought by an unhappy love attachment in his youth. a few stanzas of one of his poems run thus: sleepless, upon my bed the hours i number, and, rising, seek the house of god, while slumber lies heavy on men's eyes, and dreams encumber their souls in visions of the night. in sin and folly passed my early years, wherefore i am ashamed, and life's arrears now strive to pay, the while my tears have been my food by day and night. * * * * * short is man's life, and full of care and sorrow, this way and that he turns some ease to borrow, like to a flower he blooms, and on the morrow is gone--a vision of the night. how does the weight of sin my soul oppress, because god's law too often i transgress; i mourn and sigh, with tears of bitterness my bed i water all the night. * * * * * my youth wanes like a shadow that's cast, swifter than eagle's wings my years fly fast, and i remember not my gladness past, either by day or yet by night. proclaim we then a fast, a holy day, make pure our hearts from sin, god's will obey, and unto him, with humbled spirit pray unceasingly, by day and night. may we yet hear his words: "thou art my own, my grace is thine, the shelter of my throne, for i am thy redeemer, i alone; endure but patiently this night!" but his hymns, many of which won a permanent place in the prayer-book, are not always sad. often they are warm with hope, and there is a lilt about them which is almost gay. his chief secular poem, "the topaz" (_tarshish_), is in ten parts, and contains lines. it is written on an arabic model: it contains no rhymes, but is metrical, and the same word, with entirely different meanings, occurs at the end of several lines. it needs a good deal of imagination to appreciate moses ibn ezra, and this is perhaps what charizi meant when he called him "the poet's poet." another ibn ezra, abraham, one of the greatest jews of the middle ages, was born in toledo before . he passed a hard life, but he laughed at his fate. he said of himself: if i sold shrouds, no one would die. if i sold lamps, then, in the sky, the sun, for spite, would shine by night. several of abraham ibn ezra's hymns are instinct with the spirit of resignation. here is one of them: i hope for the salvation of the lord, in him i trust, when fears my being thrill, come life, come death, according to his word, he is my portion still. hence, doubting heart! i will the lord extol with gladness, for in him is my desire, which, as with fatness, satisfies my soul, that doth to heaven aspire. all that is hidden shall mine eyes behold, and the great lord of all be known to me, him will i serve, his am i as of old; i ask not to be free. sweet is ev'n sorrow coming in his name, nor will i seek its purpose to explore, his praise will i continually proclaim, and bless him evermore. ibn ezra wandered over many lands, and even visited london, where he stayed in . ibn ezra was famed, not only for his poetry, but also for his brilliant wit and many-sided learning. as a mathematician, as a poet, as an expounder of scriptures, he won a high place in jewish annals. in his commentaries he rejected the current digressive and allegorical methods, and steered a middle course between free research on the one hand, and blind adherence to tradition on the other. ibn ezra was the first to maintain that the book of isaiah contains the work of two prophets--a view now almost universal. he never for a moment doubted, however, that the bible was in every part inspired and in every part the word of god. but he was also the father of the "higher criticism." ibn ezra's pioneer work in spreading scientific methods of study in france was shared by joseph kimchi, who settled in narbonne in the middle of the twelfth century. his sons, moses and david, were afterwards famous as grammarians and interpreters of the scriptures. david kimchi ( - ) by his lucidity and thoroughness established for his grammar, "perfection" (_michlol_), and his dictionary, "book of roots," complete supremacy in the field of exegesis. he was the favorite authority of the christian students of hebrew at the time of the reformation, and the english authorized version of owed much to him. at this point, however, we must retrace our steps, and cast a glance at hebrew literature in france at a period earlier than the era of ibn ezra. bibliography translations of spanish-hebrew poems: emma lazarus.--_poems_ (boston, ). mrs. h. lucas.--_the jewish year_ (new york, ), and in editions of the prayer-books. see also (abrahams) _j.q.r._, xi, p. . ibn gebirol. graetz.--iii, . d. rosin.--_the ethics of solomon ibn gebirol_, . _j.q.r._, iii, p. . moses ibn ezra. graetz.--iii, p. [ ]. abraham ibn ezra. graetz.--iii, p. [ ]. abraham ibn ezra's commentary on isaiah (tr. by m. friedländer, ). m. friedländer.--_essays on ibn ezra_ (london, ). see also _transactions of the jewish historical society of england_, vol. ii, p. , and j. jacobs, _jews of angevin england_, p. _seq._ kimchi family. graetz.--iii, p. [ ]. spanish-jewish exegesis and poetry. steinschneider.--_jewish literature_, pp. , - . chapter xi rashi and alfassi nathan of rome.--alfassi.--rashi.--rashbam. before hebrew poets, scientists, philosophers, and statesmen had made spain famous in jewish annals, rashi and his school were building up a reputation destined to associate jewish learning with france. in france there was none of the width of culture which distinguished spain. rashi did not shine as anything but an exponent of traditional judaism. he possessed no graces of style, created no new literature. but he represented judaism at its simplest, its warmest, its intensest. rashi was a great writer because his subject was great, not because he wrote greatly. but it is only a half-truth to assert that rashi had no graces of style. for, if grace be the quality of producing effects with the least display of effort, then there was no writer more graceful than rashi. his famous commentary on the talmud is necessarily long and intricate, but there is never a word too much. no commentator on any classic ever surpassed rashi in the power of saying enough and only enough. he owed this faculty in the first place to his intellectual grasp. he edited the talmud as well as explained it. he restored the original text with the surest of critical instincts. and his conscience was in his work. so thoroughly honest was he that, instead of slurring over difficulties, he frankly said: "i cannot understand ... i do not know," in the rare cases in which he was at a loss. rashi moreover possessed that wondrous sympathy with author and reader which alone qualifies a third mind to interpret author to reader. probing the depth of the talmud, rashi probed the depth of the learned student, and realized the needs of the beginner. thus the beginner finds rashi useful, and the specialist turns to him for help. his immediate disciples rarely quote him by name; to them he is "_the_ commentator." rashi was not the first to subject the talmud to critical analysis. the gaonim had begun the task, and nathan, the son of yechiel of rome, compiled, in about the year , a dictionary (_aruch_) which is still the standard work of reference. but rashi's nearest predecessor, alfassi, was not an expounder of the talmud; he extracted, with much skill, the practical results from the logical mazes in which they were enveloped. isaac, the son of jacob alfassi, derived his name from fez, where he was born in . he gave his intellect entirely to the talmud, but he acquired from the moorish culture of his day a sense of order and system. he dealt exclusively with the _halachah_, or practical contents of the rabbinic law, and the guide which he compiled to the talmud soon superseded all previous works of its kind. solomon, the son of isaac, best known as _r_abbi _sh_elomo _iz_chaki (rashi), was born in , and died in , in troyes, in champagne. from his mother, who came of a family of poets, he inherited his warm humanity, his love for judaism. from his father, he drew his talmudical knowledge, his keen intellect. his youth was a hard one. in accordance with medieval custom, he was married as a boy, and then left his home in search of knowledge rather than of bread. of bread he had little, but, starved and straitened in circumstances though he was, he became an eager student at the jewish schools which then were dotted along the rhine, residing now at mainz, now at speyer, now at worms. in he settled finally in troyes. here he was at once hailed as a new light in israel. his spotless character and his unique reputation as a teacher attracted a vast number of eager students. of rashi's commentary on the talmud something has already been said. as to his exposition of the bible, it soon acquired the widest popularity. it was inferior to his work on the talmud, for, as he himself admitted in later life, he had relied too much on the midrash, and had attended too little to evolving the literal meaning of the text of scripture. but this is the charm of his book, and it is fortunate that he did not actually attempt to recast his commentary. there is a quaintness and fascination about it which are lacking in the pedantic sobriety of ibn ezra and the grammatical exactness of kimchi. but he did himself less than justice when he asserted that he had given insufficient heed to the _peshat_ (literal meaning). rashi often quotes the grammatical works of menachem and dunash. he often translates the hebrew into french, showing a very exact knowledge of both languages. besides, when he cites the midrash, he, as it were, constructs a peshat out of it, and this method, original to himself, found no capable imitators. through the fame of rashi, france took the leadership in matters talmudical. blessed with a progeny of famous men, rashi's influence was carried on and increased by the work of his sons-in-law and grandsons. of these, samuel ben meir (rashbam, - ) was the most renowned. the devoted attention to the literature of judaism in the rhinelands came in the nick of time. it was a firm rock against the storm which was about to break. the crusades crushed out from the jews of france all hope of temporal happiness. when alfassi died in and rashi in , the first crusade had barely spent its force. the jewish schools in france were destroyed, the teachers and scholars massacred or exiled. but the spirit lived on. their literature was life to the jews, who had no other life. his body bent over rashi's illuminating expositions of the talmud and the bible, the medieval jew felt his soul raised above the miseries of the present to a world of peace and righteousness, where the wicked ceased from troubling, and the weary were at rest. bibliography alfassi and rashi. graetz.--iii, p. [ ] _seq._ alfassi. i.h. weiss.--_j.q.r._, i, p. . rashi. schiller-szinessy.--_encycl. brit._, vol. xx, p. . chapter xii the spanish-jewish poets (ii) jehuda halevi.--charizi. turning once more to the brighter condition of jewish literature in spain, we reach a man upon whom the whole vocabulary of praise and affection has been exhausted; a man of magnetic attractiveness, whom contemporaries and successors have agreed to admire and to love. jehuda halevi was born in toledo about , the year in which alfonso vi recaptured the city from the moors. it was a fit birth-place for the greatest jewish poet since bible times. east and west met in toledo. the science of the east there found western christians to cultivate it. jew, moor, and christian displayed there mutual toleration which existed nowhere else. in the midst of this favorable environment jehuda halevi grew to early maturity. as a boy he won more than local fame as a versifier. at all festive occasions his verses were in demand. he wrote wedding odes, elegies on great men, eulogies of the living. his love poems, serenades, epigrams of this period, all display taste, elegance, and passion. the second period of jehuda halevi's literary career was devoted to serious pursuits, to thoughts about life, and to practical work. he wrote his far-famed philosophical dialogue, the _cuzari_, and earned his living as a physician. he was not an enthusiastic devotee to medicine, however. "toledo is large," he wrote to a friend, "and my patients are hard masters. i, their slave, spend my days in serving their will, and consume my years in healing their infirmities." before making up a prescription, he, like sir thomas browne, used to say a prayer in which he confessed that he had no great faith in the healing powers of his art. jehuda halevi was, indeed, dissatisfied with his life altogether. "my heart is in the east, but i am sunk in the west," he lamented. he was unhappy because his beloved was far from him; his lady-love was beyond the reach of his earnest gaze. in heine's oft-quoted words, she for whom the rabbi languished was a woe-begone poor darling, desolation's very image, and her name--jerusalem. the eager passion for one sight of jerusalem grew on him, and dominated the third portion of his life. at length nothing could restrain him; go he would, though he die in the effort. and go he did, and die he did in the effort. the news of his determination spread through spain, and everywhere hands were held out to restrain him. but his heart lightened as the day of departure came. his poems written at this time are hopeful and full of cheery feeling. in egypt, a determined attempt was made by the jews to keep him among them. but it was vain. onward to jerusalem: this was his one thought. he tarried in egypt but a short while, then he passed to tyre and damascus. at damascus, in the year or thereabouts, he wrote the ode to zion which made his name immortal, an ode in which he gave vent to all the intense passion which filled his soul. the following are some stanzas taken from this address to jerusalem: the glory of the lord has been alway thy sole and perfect light; thou needest not the sun to shine by day, nor moon and stars to illumine thee by night. i would that, where god's spirit was of yore poured out unto thy holy ones, i might there too my soul outpour! the house of kings and throne of god wert thou, how comes it then that now slaves fill the throne where sat thy kings before? oh! who will lead me on to seek the spots where, in far distant years, the angels in their glory dawned upon thy messengers and seers? oh! who will give me wings that i may fly away, and there, at rest from all my wanderings, the ruins of my heart among thy ruins lay? * * * * * the lord desires thee for his dwelling-place eternally, and bless'd is he whom god has chosen for the grace within thy courts to rest. happy is he that watches, drawing near, until he sees thy glorious lights arise, and over whom thy dawn breaks full and clear set in the orient skies. but happiest he, who, with exultant eyes, the bliss of thy redeemed ones shall behold, and see thy youth renewed as in the days of old. soon after writing this jehuda arrived near the holy city. he was by her side at last, by the side of his beloved. then, legend tells us, through a gate an arab horseman dashed forth: he raised his spear, and slew the poet, who fell at the threshold of his dear jerusalem, with a song of zion on his lips. the new-hebrew poetry did not survive him. persecution froze the current of the jewish soul. poets, indeed, arose after jehuda halevi in germany as in spain. sometimes, as in the hymns of the "german" meir of rothenburg, a high level of passionate piety is reached. but it has well been said that "the hymns of the spanish writers link man's soul to his maker: the hymns of the germans link israel to his god." only in spain hebrew poetry was universal, in the sense in which the psalms are universal. even in spain itself, the death of jehuda halevi marked the close of this higher inspiration. the later spanish poets, charizi and zabara (middle and end of the twelfth century), were satirists rather than poets, witty, sparkling, ready with quaint quips, but local and imitative in manner and subject. zabara must receive some further notice in a later chapter because of his connection with medieval folk-lore. of charizi's chief work, the _tachkemoni_, it may be said that it is excellent of its type. the stories which it tells in unmetrical rhyme are told in racy style, and its criticisms on men and things are clever and striking. as a literary critic also charizi ranks high, and there is much skill in the manner in which he links together, round the person of his hero, the various narratives which compose the _tachkemoni_. the experiences he relates are full of humor and surprises. as a phrase-maker, charizi was peculiarly happy, his command of hebrew being masterly. but his most conspicuous claim to high rank lies in his origination of that blending of grim irony with bright wit which became characteristic of all jewish humorists, and reached its climax in heine. but charizi himself felt that his art as a hebrew poet was decadent. great poets of jewish race have risen since, but the songs they have sung have not been songs of zion, and the language of their muse has not been the language of the hebrew bible. bibliography jehuda halevi. graetz.--iii, ii. j. jacobs.--_jehuda halevi, poet and pilgrim_ (_jewish ideals_, new york, , p. ). lady magnus.--_jewish portraits_ (boston, ), p. . translations of his poetry by emma lazarus and mrs. lucas (_op. cit._): editions of the prayer-book; also _j.q.r._, x, pp. , ; vii, p. ; _treasurers of oxford_ (london, ); i. abrahams, _jewish life in the middle ages_, chs. , and . his philosophy: _specimen of the cusari_, translated by a. neubauer (_miscellany of the society of hebrew literature_, vol. i). john owen.--_j.q.r._, iii, p. . charizi. graetz.--iii, p. [ ] karpeles.---_jewish literature and other essays_, p. _seq._ m. sachs.--_hebrew review_, vol. i. chapter xiii moses maimonides maimon, rambam = r. moses, the son of maimon, maimonides.--his yad hachazaka and moreh nebuchim.--gersonides.--crescas.--albo. the greatest jew of the middle ages, moses, the son of maimon, was born in cordova, in , and died in fostat in . his father maimon was himself an accomplished scientist and an enlightened thinker, and the son was trained in the many arts and sciences then included in a liberal education. when moses was thirteen years old, cordova fell into the hands of the almohades, a sect of mohammedans, whose creed was as pure as their conduct was fanatical. jews and christians were forced to choose conversion to islam, exile, or death. maimon fled with his family, and, after an interval of troubled wanderings and painful privations, they settled in fez, where they found the almohades equally powerful and equally vindictive. maimon and his son were compelled to assume the outward garb of mohammedanism for a period of five years. from fez the family emigrated in to palestine, and, after a long period of anxiety, moses maimonides settled in egypt, in fostat, or old cairo. in egypt, another son of maimon, david, traded in precious stones, and supported his learned brother. when david was lost at sea, maimonides earned a living as a physician. his whole day was occupied in his profession, yet he contrived to work at his books during the greater part of the night. his minor works would alone have brought their author fame. his first great work was completed in . it was a commentary on the mishnah, and was written in arabic. but maimonides' reputation rests mainly on two books, the one written for the many, the other for the few. the former is his "strong hand" (_yad hachazaka_), the latter his "guide of the perplexed" (_moreh nebuchim_). the "strong hand" was a gigantic undertaking. in its fourteen books maimonides presented a clearly-arranged and clearly-worded summary of the rabbinical halachah, or law. in one sense it is an encyclopedia, but it is an encyclopedia written with style. for its power to grapple with vast materials, this code has few rivals and no superiors in other literatures. maimonides completed its compilation in , having spent ten years over it. during the whole of that time, he was not only a popular doctor, but also official rabbi of cairo. he received no salary from the community, for he said, "better one penny earned by the work of one's hands, than all the revenues of the prince of the captivity, if derived from fees for teaching or acting as rabbi." the "strong hand," called also "deuteronomy" (_mishneh torah_), sealed the reputation of maimonides for all time. maimonides was indeed attacked, first, because he asserted that his work was intended to make a study of the talmud less necessary, and secondly, because he gave no authorities for his statements, but decided for himself which talmudical opinions to accept, which to reject. but the severest scrutiny found few real blemishes and fewer actual mistakes. "from moses to moses there arose none like moses," was a saying that expressed the general reverence for maimonides. copies of the book were made everywhere; the jewish mind became absorbed in it; his fame and his name "rang from spain to india, from the sources of the tigris to south arabia." eulogies were showered on him from all parts of the earth. and no praise can say more for this marvellous man than the fact that the incense burned at his shrine did not intoxicate him. his touch became firmer, his step more resolute. but he went on his way as before, living simply and laboring incessantly, unmoved by the thunders of applause, unaffected by the feebler echoes of calumny. he corresponded with his brethren far and near, answered questions as rabbi, explained passages in his commentary on the mishnah or his other writings, entered heartily into the controversies of the day, discussed the claims of a new aspirant to the dignity of messiah, encouraged the weaker brethren who fell under disfavor because they had been compelled to become pretended converts to islam, showed common-sense and strong intellectual grasp in every line he wrote, and combined in his dealings with all questions the rarely associated qualities, toleration and devotion to the truth. yet he felt that his life's work was still incomplete. he loved truth, but truth for him had two aspects: there was truth as revealed by god, there was truth which god left man to discover for himself. in the mind of maimonides, moses and aristotle occupied pedestals side by side. in the "strong hand," he had codified and given orderly arrangement to judaism as revealed in bible and tradition; he would now examine its relations to reason, would compare its results with the data of philosophy. this he did in his "guide of the perplexed" (_moreh nebuchim_). maimonides here differed fundamentally from his immediate predecessors. jehuda halevi, in his _cuzari_, was poet more than philosopher. the _cuzari_ was a dialogue based on the three principles, that god is revealed in history, that jerusalem is the centre of the world, and that israel is to the nations as the heart to the limbs. jehuda halevi supported these ideas with arguments deduced from the philosophy of his day, he used reason as the handmaid of theology. maimonides, however, like saadiah, recognized a higher function for reason. he placed reason on the same level as revelation, and then demonstrated that his faith and his reason taught identical truths. his work, the "guide of the perplexed," written in arabic in about the year , is based, on the one hand, on the aristotelian system as expounded by arabian thinkers, and, on the other hand, on a firm belief in scripture and tradition. with a masterly hand, maimonides summarized the teachings of aristotle and the doctrines of moses and the rabbis. between these two independent bodies of truths he found, not contradiction, but agreement, and he reconciled them in a way that satisfied so many minds that the "guide" was translated into hebrew twice during his life-time, and was studied by mohammedans and by christians such as thomas aquinas. with general readers, the third part was the most popular. in this part maimonides offered rational explanations of the ceremonial and legislative details of the bible. for a long time after the death of maimonides, which took place in , jewish thought found in the "guide" a strong attraction or a violent repulsion. commentaries on the _moreh_, or "guide," multiplied apace. among the most original of the philosophical successors of maimonides there were few jews but were greatly influenced by him. even the famous author of "the wars of the lord," ralbag, levi, the son of gershon (gersonides), who was born in , and died in , was more or less at the same stand-point as maimonides. on the other hand, chasdai crescas, in his "light of god," written between and , made a determined attack on aristotle, and dealt a serious blow at maimonides. crescas' work influenced the thought of spinoza, who was also a close student of maimonides. a pupil of crescas, joseph albo ( - ) was likewise a critic of maimonides. albo's treatise, "the book of principles" (_ikkarim_), became a popular text-book. it was impossible that the reconciliation of aristotle and moses should continue to satisfy jewish readers, when aristotle had been dethroned from his position of dictator in european thought. but the "guide" of maimonides was a great achievement for its spirit more than for its contents. if it inevitably became obsolete as a system of theology, it permanently acted as an antidote to the mysticism which in the thirteenth century began to gain a hold on judaism, and which, but for maimonides, might have completely undermined the beliefs of the synagogue. maimonides remained the exemplar of reasoning faith long after his particular form of reasoning had become unacceptable to the faithful. bibliography maimonides. graetz.--iii, . karpeles.--_jewish literature and other essays_, p. . steinschneider.--_jewish literature_, pp. , _seq._, _seq._ schiller-szinessy.--_encycl. brit._, vol. xv, p. . his works: _eight chapters_.--b. spiers in _threefold cord_ ( ). english translation in _hebrew review_, vols. i and ii. _strong hand_, selections translated by soloweycik (london, ). _letter to jehuda ibn tibbon_, translated by h. adler (_miscellany of the society of hebrew literature_, vol. i). _guide of the perplexed_, translated by m. friedländer ( ). critical essays on maimonides: i.h. weiss.--_study of the talmud in the thirteenth century_, _j.q.r._, i, p. . j. owen.--_j.q.r._, iii, p. . s. schechter.--_studies in judaism_, p. [ ], etc. on maimon (father of maimonides), see l.m. simmons, _letter of consolation of maimon ben joseph_, _j.q.r._, ii, p. . crescas. graetz.--iv, pp. [ ], [ ]. albo. graetz.--iv, . english translation of _ikkarim, hebrew review_, vols. i, ii, iii. chapter xiv the diffusion of science provençal translators.--the ibn tibbons.--italian translators.--jacob anatoli.--kalonymos.--scientific literature. translators act as mediators between various peoples and ages. they bring the books and ideas of one form of civilization to the minds and hearts of another. in the middle ages translations were of more importance than now, since fewer educated people could read foreign languages. no men of letters were more active than the jews in this work of diffusion. dr. steinschneider fills large pages with an account of the translations made by jews in the middle ages. jews co-operated with mohammedans in making translations from the greek, as later on they were associated with christians in making latin translations of the masterpieces of greek literature. most of the jewish translations, however, that influenced europe were made from the arabic into the hebrew. but though the language of these translations was mostly hebrew, they were serviceable to others besides jews. for the hebrew versions were often only a stage in a longer journey. sometimes by jews directly, sometimes by christian scholars acting in conjunction with jews, these hebrew versions were turned into latin, which most scholars understood, and from the latin further translations were made into the every-day languages of europe. the works so translated were chiefly the scientific and philosophical masterpieces of the greeks and arabs. poetry and history were less frequently the subject of translation, but, as will be seen later on, the spread of the fables of greece and of the folk-tales of india owed something to hebrew translators and editors. provence was a meeting-place for arab science and jewish learning in the middle ages, and it was there that the translating impulse of the jews first showed itself strongly. by the beginning of the thirteenth century, hebrew translation had become an art. true, these hebrew versions possess no graces of style, but they rank among the best of their class for fidelity to their originals. jewish patrons encouraged the translators by material and moral support. thus, meshullam of lunel (twelfth century) was both learned and wealthy, and his eager encouragement of judah ibn tibbon, "the father of jewish translators," gave a strong impetus to the translating activity of the jews. judah ibn tibbon (about - ) was of spanish origin, but he emigrated from granada to provence during the same persecution that drove maimonides from his native land. judah settled in lunel, and his skill as a physician won him such renown that his medical services were sought by knights and bishops even from across the sea. judah ibn tibbon was a student of science and philosophy. he early qualified himself as a translator by careful attention to philological niceties. under the inspiration of meshullam, he spent the years to in making a series of translations from arabic into hebrew. his translations were difficult and forced in style, but he had no ready-made language at his command. he had to create a new hebrew. classical hebrew was naturally destitute of the technical terms of philosophy, and ibn tibbon invented expressions modelled on the greek and the arabic. he made hebrew once more a living language by extending its vocabulary and adapting its idioms to the requirements of medieval culture. his son samuel ( - ) and his grandson moses continued the line of faithful but inelegant translators. judah had turned into hebrew the works of bachya, ibn gebirol, jehuda halevi, ibn janach, and saadiah. samuel was the translator of maimonides, and bore a brave part in the defence of his master in the bitter controversies which arose as to the lawfulness and profit of studying philosophy. the translations of the tibbon family were in the first instance intended for jewish readers only, but later on the tibbonite versions were turned into latin by buxtorf and others. another latin translation of maimonides existed as early as the thirteenth century. of the successors of the tibbons, jacob anatoli ( ) was the first to translate any portion of averroes into any language. averroes was an arab thinker of supreme importance in the middle ages, for through his writings europe was acquainted with aristotle. renan asserts that all the early students of averroes were jews. anatoli, a son-in-law of samuel ibn tibbon, was invited by emperor frederick ii to leave provence and settle in naples. to allow anatoli full leisure for making translations, frederick granted him an annual income. anatoli was a friend of the christian michael scot, and the latter made latin renderings from the former's hebrew translations. in this way christian europe was made familiar with aristotle as interpreted by averroes (ibn roshd). much later, the jew abraham de balmes ( ) translated averroes directly from arabic into latin. in the early part of the fourteenth century, kalonymos, the son of kalonymos, of aries (born ), translated various works into latin. from the thirteenth century onwards, jews were industrious translators of all the important masterpieces of scientific and philosophical literature. their zeal included the works of the greek astronomers and mathematicians, ptolemy, euclid, archimedes, and many others. alfonso x commissioned several jews to co-operate with the royal secretaries in making new renderings of older arabic works on astronomy. long before this, in , the monk nicholas joined the jew chasdai in translating dioscorides. most of the jewish translators were, however, not spaniards, but provençals and italians. it is to them that we owe the hebrew translations of galen and hippocrates, on which latin versions were based. the preceding details, mere drops from an ocean of similar facts, show that the jews were the mediators between mohammedan and christian learning in the middle ages. according to lecky, "the jews were the chief interpreters to western europe of arabian learning." when it is remembered that arabian learning for a long time included the greek, it will be seen that lecky ascribes to jewish translators a role of the first importance in the history of science. roger bacon ( - ) had long before said a similar thing: "michael scot claimed the merit of numerous translations. but it is certain that a jew labored at them more than he did. and so with the rest." in what precedes, nothing has been said of the _original_ contributions made by jewish authors to scientific literature. jews were active in original research especially in astronomy, medicine, and mathematics. many jewish writers famous as philosophers, talmudists, or poets, were also men of science. there are numerous jewish works on the calendar, on astronomical instruments and tables, on mathematics, on medicine, and natural history. some of their writers share the medieval belief in astrology and magic. but it is noteworthy that abraham ibn ezra doubted the common belief in demons, while maimonides described astrology as "that error called a science." these subjects, however, are too technical for fuller treatment in the present book. more will be found in the works cited below. bibliography ibn tibbon family. graetz.--iii, p. [ ]. jacob anatoli. graetz.--iii, p. [ ]. karpeles.--_sketch of jewish history_ (jewish publication society of america, ), pp. , . jewish translators. steinschneider, _jewish literature_, p. _seq._ science and medicine. steinschneider.--_ibid._, pp. _seq._, _seq._ also, a. friedenwald.--_jewish physicians and the contributions of the jews to the science of medicine_ (_publications of the gratz college_, vol. i). chapter xv the diffusion of folk-tales barlaam and joshaphat.--the fables of bidpai.--abraham ibn chisdai.--berachya ha-nakdan.--joseph zabara. the folk-tales of india were communicated to europe in two ways. first, there was an oral diffusion. in friendly conversation round the family hearth, in the convivial intercourse of the tavern and divan, the wit and wisdom of the east found a home in the west. having few opportunities of coming into close relations with christian society, the jews had only a small share in the oral diffusion of folk-tales. but there was another means of diffusion, namely, by books. by their writings the jews were able to leave some impress on the popular literature of europe. this they did by their translations. sometimes the jews translated fables and folk-tales solely for their own use, and in such cases the translations did not leave the hebrew form into which they were cast. a good example of this was abraham ibn chisdai's "prince and nazirite," compiled in the beginning of the thirteenth century. it was a hebrew version of the legend of buddha, known as "barlaam and joshaphat." in this the story is told of a prince's conversion to the ascetic life. his father had vainly sought to hold him firm to a life of pleasure by isolating him in a beautiful palace, far from the haunts of man, so that he might never know that such things as evil, misery, and death existed. of course the plan failed, the prince discovered the things hidden from him, and he became converted to the life of self-denial and renunciation associated with the saintly teaching of buddha. this story is the frame into which a number of charming tales are set, which have found their way into the popular literature of all the world. but in this spread of the indian stories, the book of abraham ibn chisdai had no part. far other it was with the hebrew translation of the famous fables of bidpai, known in hebrew as _kalila ve-dimna_. these fables, like those contained in the "prince and nazirite," were indian, and were in fact birth-stories of buddha. they were connected by means of a frame, or central plot. a large part of the popular tales of the middle ages can be traced to the fables of bidpai, and here the jews exerted important influence. some authorities even hold that these fables of bidpai were brought to spain directly from india by jews. this is doubtful, but it is certain that the spread of the fables was due to jewish activity. a jew translated them into hebrew, and this hebrew was turned into latin by the italian john of capua, a jew by birth, in the year . moreover, the old spanish version which was made in probably was also the work of the jewish school of translators established in toledo by alfonso. the greek version, which was earlier still, and dates from , was equally the work of a jew. thus, as mr. joseph jacobs has shown, this curious collection of fables, which influenced europe more perhaps than any book except the bible, started as a buddhistic work, and passed over to the mohammedans and christians chiefly through the mediation of jews. another interesting collection of fables was made by berachya ha-nakdan (the punctuator, or grammarian). he lived in england in the twelfth century, or according to another opinion he dwelt in france a century later. his collection of "fox fables" won wide popularity, for their wit and point combined with their apt use of biblical phrases to please the medieval taste. the fables in this collection are all old, many of them being Æsop's, but it is very possible that the first knowledge of Æsop gained in england was derived from a latin translation of berachya. of greater poetical merit was joseph zabara's "book of delight," written in about the year in spain. in this poetical romance a large number of ancient fables and tales are collected, but they are thrown into a frame-work which is partially original. one night he, the author, lay at rest after much toil, when a giant appeared before him, and bade him rise. joseph hastily obeyed, and by the light of the lamp which the giant carried partook of a fine banquet which his visitor spread for him. enan, for such was the giant's name, offered to take joseph to another land, pleasant as a garden, where all men were loving, all men wise. but joseph refused, and told enan fable after fable, about leopards, foxes, and lions, all proving that it was best for a man to remain where he was and not travel to foreign places. but enan coaxes joseph to go with him, and as they ride on, they tell one another a very long series of excellent tales, and exchange many witty remarks and anecdotes. when at last they reach enan's city, joseph discovers that his guide is a demon. in the end, joseph breaks away from him, and returns home to barcelona. now, it is very remarkable that this collection of tales, written in exquisite hebrew, closely resembles the other collections in which europe delighted later on. it is hard to believe that zabara's work had no influence in spreading these tales. at all events, jews, christians, and mohammedans, all read and enjoyed the same stories, all laughed at the same jokes. "it is," says mr. jacobs, "one of those touches of nature which make the whole world kin. these folk-tales form a bond, not alone between the ages, but between many races who think they have nothing in common. we have the highest authority that 'out of the mouths of babes and sucklings has the lord established strength,' and surely of all the influences for good in the world, none is comparable to the lily souls of little children. that jews, by their diffusion of folk-tales, have furnished so large an amount of material to the childish imagination of the civilized world is, to my mind, no slight thing for jews to be proud of. it is one of the conceptions that make real to us the idea of the brotherhood of man, which, in jewish minds, is forever associated with the fatherhood of god." bibliography j. jacobs.--_the diffusion of folk tales_ (in _jewish ideals_, p. ); _the fables of bidpai_ (london, ) and _barlaam and joshaphat_ (introductions). steinschneider.--_jewish literature_, p. . berachya ha-nakdan. j. jacobs.--_jews of angevin england_, pp. _seq._, . a. neubauer.--_j.q.r._, ii, p. . zabara. i. abrahams.--_j.q.r._, vi, p. (with english translation of the _book of delight_). chapter xvi moses nachmanides french and spanish talmudists.--the tossafists, asher of speyer, tam, isaac of dompaire, baruch of ratisbon, perez of corbeil.--nachmanides' commentary on the pentateuch.--public controversies between jews and christians. nachmanides was one of the earliest writers to effect a reconciliation between the french and the spanish schools of jewish literature. on the one side, his spanish birth and training made him a friend of the widest culture; on the other, he was possessed of the french devotion to the talmud. moses, the son of nachman (nachmanides, ramban, - ), spaniard though he was, says, "the french rabbis have won most jews to their view. they are our masters in talmud, and to them we must go for instruction." from the eleventh to the fourteenth century, a french school of talmudists occupied themselves with the elucidation of the talmud, and from the "additions" (_tossafoth_) which they compiled they are known as tossafists. the tossafists were animated with an altogether different spirit from that of the spanish writers on the talmud. but though their method is very involved and over-ingenious, they display so much mastery of the talmud, such excellent discrimination, and so keen a critical insight, that they well earned the fame they have enjoyed. the earliest tossafists were the family and pupils of rashi, but the method spread from northern france to provence, and thence to spain. the most famous tossafists were isaac, the son of asher of speyer (end of the eleventh century); tam of rameru (rashi's grandson); isaac the elder of dompaire (tam's nephew); baruch of ratisbon; and perez of corbeil. nachmanides' admiration for the french method--a method by no means restricted to the tossafists--did not blind him to its defects. "they try to force an elephant through the eye of a needle," he sarcastically said of some of the french casuists. nachmanides thus possessed some of the independence characteristic of the spanish jews. he also shared the poetic spirit of spain, and his hymn for the day of atonement is one of the finest products of the new-hebrew muse. the last stanzas run thus: thine is the love, o god, and thine the grace, that holds the sinner in its mild embrace; thine the forgiveness, bridging o'er the space 'twixt man's works and the task set by the king. unheeding all my sins, i cling to thee! i know that mercy shall thy footstool be: before i call, o do thou answer me, for nothing dare i claim of thee, my king! o thou, who makest guilt to disappear, my help, my hope, my rock, i will not fear; though thou the body hold in dungeon drear, the soul has found the palace of the king! everything that nachmanides wrote is warm with tender love. he was an enthusiast in many directions. his heart went out to the french talmudists, yet he cherished so genuine an affection for maimonides that he defended him with spirit against his detractors. gentle by nature, he broke forth into fiery indignation against the french critics of maimonides. at the same time his tender soul was attracted by the emotionalism of the kabbala, or mystical view of life, a view equally opposed to the views of maimonides and of the french school. he tried to act the part of reconciler, but his intellect, strong as it was, was too much at the mercy of his emotions for him to win a commanding place in the controversies of his time. for a moment we may turn aside from his books to the incidents of his life. like maimonides, he was a physician by profession and a rabbi by way of leisure. the most momentous incident in his career in barcelona was his involuntary participation in a public dispute with a convert from the synagogue. pablo christiani burned with the desire to convert the jews _en masse_ to christianity, and in he induced king jayme i of aragon to summon nachmanides to a controversy on the truth of christianity. nachmanides complied with the royal command most reluctantly. he felt that the process of rousing theological animosity by a public discussion could only end in a religious persecution. however, he had no alternative but to assent. he stipulated for complete freedom of speech. this was granted, but when nachmanides published his version of the discussion, the dominicans were incensed. true, the special commission appointed to examine the charge of blasphemy brought against nachmanides reported that he had merely availed himself of the right of free speech which had been guaranteed to him. he was nevertheless sentenced to exile, and his pamphlet was burnt. nachmanides was seventy years of age at the time. he settled in palestine, where he died in about , amid a band of devoted friends and disciples, who did not, however, reconcile him to the separation from his spanish home. "i left my family," he wrote, "i forsook my house. there, with my sons and daughters, the sweet, dear children whom i brought up on my knees, i left also my soul my heart and my eyes will dwell with them forever." the halachic, or talmudical, works of nachmanides have already been mentioned. his homiletical, or exegetical, writings are of more literary importance. in "the sacred letter" he contended that man's earthly nature is divine no less than his soul, and he vindicates the "flesh" from the attacks made on human character by certain forms of christianity. the body, according to nachmanides, is, with all its functions, the work of god, and therefore perfect. "it is only sin and neglect that disfigure god's creatures." in another of his books, "the law of man," nachmanides writes of suffering and death. he offers an antidote to pessimism, for he boldly asserts that pain and suffering in themselves are "a service of god, leading man to ponder on his end and reflect about his destiny." nachmanides believed in the bodily resurrection, but held that the soul was in a special sense a direct emanation from god. he was not a philosopher strictly so-called; he was a mystic more than a thinker, one to whom god was an intuition, not a concept of reason. the greatest work of nachmanides was his "commentary on the pentateuch." he reveals his whole character in it. in composing his work he had, he tells us, three motives, an intellectual, a theological, and an emotional motive. first, he would "satisfy the minds of students, and draw their heart out by a critical examination of the text." his exposition is, indeed, based on true philology and on deep and original study of the bible. his style is peculiarly attractive, and had he been content to offer a plain commentary, his work would have ranked among the best. but he had other desires besides giving a simple explanation of the text. he had, secondly, a theological motive, to justify god and discover in the words of scripture a hidden meaning. in the biblical narratives, nachmanides sees _types_ of the history of man. thus, the account of the six days of creation is turned into a prophecy of the events which would occur during the next six thousand years, and the seventh day is a type of the millennium. so, too, nachmanides finds symbolical senses in scriptural texts, "for, in the torah, are hidden every wonder and every mystery, and in her treasures is sealed every beauty of wisdom." finally, nachmanides wrote, not only for educational and theological ends, but also for edification. his third purpose was "to bring peace to the minds of students (laboring under persecution and trouble), when they read the portion of the pentateuch on sabbaths and festivals, and to attract their hearts by simple explanations and sweet words." his own enthusiastic and loving temperament speaks in this part of his commentary. it is true, as graetz says, that nachmanides exercised more influence on his contemporaries and on succeeding ages by his personality than by his writings. but it must be added that the writings of nachmanides are his personality. bibliography nachmanides. i.h. weiss, _study of the talmud in the thirteenth century_, _j.q.r._, i, p. . s. schechter.--_studies in judaism_, p. [ ]. graetz.--iii, ; also iii, p. [ ]. jacob tam. graetz.--iii, p. [ ]. tossafists. graetz.--iii, p. [ ], [ ]. chapter xvii the zohar and later mysticism kabbala.--the bahir.--abulafia.--moses of leon.--the zohar.--isaac lurya.--isaiah hurwitz.--christian kabbalists.--the chassidim. mysticism is the name given to the belief in direct, intuitive communion with god. all true religion has mystical elements, for all true religion holds that man can commune with god, soul with soul. in the psalms, god is the rock of the heart, the portion of the cup, the shepherd and light, the fountain of life, an exceeding joy. all this is, in a sense, _mystical_ language. but mysticism has many dangers. it is apt to confuse vague emotionalism and even hysteria with communion with god. a further defect of mysticism is that, in its medieval forms, it tended to the multiplication of intermediate beings, or angels, which it created to supply the means for that communion with god which, in theory, the mystics asserted was direct. finally, from being a deep-seated, emotional aspect of religion, mysticism degenerated into intellectual sport, a play with words and a juggling with symbols. jewish mysticism passed through all these stages. kabbala--as mysticism was called--really means "tradition," and the name proves that the theory had its roots far back in the past. it has just been said that there is mysticism in the psalms. so there is in the idea of inspiration, the prophet's receiving a message direct from god with whom he spoke face to face. after the prophetic age, jewish mysticism displayed itself in intense personal religiousness, as well as in love for apocalyptic, or dream, literature, in which the sleeper could, like daniel, feel himself lapped to rest in the bosom of god. all the earlier literary forms of mysticism, or theosophy, made comparatively little impression on jewish writers. but at the beginning of the thirteenth century a great development took place in the "secret" science of the kabbala. the very period which produced the rationalism of maimonides gave birth to the emotionalism of the kabbala. the kabbala was at first a protest against too much intellectualism and rigidity in religion. it reclaimed religion for the heart. a number of writers more or less dallied with the subject, and then the kabbala took a bolder flight. ezra, or azriel, a teacher of nachmanides, compiled a book called "brilliancy" (_bahir_) in the year . it was at once regarded as a very ancient book. as will be seen, the same pretence of antiquity was made with regard to another famous kabbalistic work of a later generation. under todros abulafia ( - ) and abraham abulafia ( - ), the mystical movement took a practical shape, and the jewish masses were much excited by stories of miracles performed and of the appearance of a new messiah. at this moment moses of leon (born in leon in about , died in arevalo in ) wrote the most famous kabbalistic book of the middle ages. this was named, in imitation of the bahir, "splendor" (_zohar_), and its brilliant success matched its title. not only did this extraordinary book raise the kabbala to the zenith of its influence, but it gave it a firm and, as it has proved, unassailable basis. like the bahir, the zohar was not offered to the public on its own merits, but was announced as the work of simon, the son of yochai, who lived in the second century. the zohar, it was pretended, had been concealed in a cavern in galilee for more than a thousand years, and had now been suddenly discovered. the zohar is, indeed, a work of genius, its spiritual beauty, its fancy, its daring imagery, its depth of devotion, ranking it among the great books of the world. its literary style, however, is less meritorious; it is difficult and involved. as chatterton clothed his ideas in a pseudo-archaic english, so moses of leon used an aramaic idiom, which he handled clumsily and not as one to the manner born. it would not be so important to insist on the fact that the zohar was a literary forgery, that it pretended to an antiquity it did not own, were it not that many jews and christians still write as though they believe that the book is as old as it was asserted to be. the defects of the zohar are in keeping with this imposture. absurd allegories are read into the bible; the words of scripture are counters in a game of distortion and combination; god himself is obscured amid a maze of mystic beings, childishly conceived and childishly named. philosophically, the zohar has no originality. its doctrines of the transmigration of the soul, of the creation as god's self-revelation in the world, of the emanation from the divine essence of semi-human, semi-divine powers, were only commonplaces of medieval theology. its great original idea was that the revealed word of god, the torah, was designed for no other purpose than to effect a union between the soul of man and the soul of god. reinforced by this curious jumble of excellence and nonsense, the kabbala became one of the strongest literary bonds between jews and christians. it is hardly to be wondered at, for the zohar contains some ideas which are more christian than jewish. christians, like pico di mirandola ( - ), under the influence of the jewish kabbalist jochanan aleman, and johann reuchlin ( - ), sharer of pico's spirit and precursor of the improved study of the scriptures in europe, made the zohar the basis of their defence of jewish literature against the attempts of various ecclesiastical bodies to crush and destroy it. the kabbala did not, however, retain a high place in the realm of literature. it greatly influenced jewish religious ceremonies, it produced saintly souls, and from such centres as safed and salonica sent forth men like solomon molcho and sabbatai zevi, who maintained that they were messiahs, and could perform miracles on the strength of kabbalistic powers. but from the literary stand-point the kabbala was a barren inspiration. the later works of kabbalists are a rehash of the older works. the zohar was the bible of the kabbalists, and the later works of the school were commentaries on this bible. the zohar had absorbed all the earlier kabbalistic literature, such as the "book of creation" (_sefer yetsirah_), the book raziel, the alphabet of rabbi akiba, and it was the final literary expression of the kabbala. it is, therefore, unnecessary to do more than name one or two of the more noted kabbalists of post-zoharistic ages. isaac lurya ( - ) was a saint, so devoid of self-conceit that he published nothing, though he flourished at the very time when the printing-press was throwing copies of the zohar broadcast. we owe our knowledge of lurya's kabbalistic ideas to the prolific writings of his disciple chayim vital calabrese, who died in damascus in . other famous kabbalists were isaiah hurwitz (about - ), author of a much admired ethical work, "the two tables of the covenant" (_sheloh_, as it is familiarly called from the initials of its hebrew title); nehemiah chayun (about - ); and the hebrew dramatist moses chayim luzzatto ( - ). a more recent kabbalistic movement, led by the founder of the new saints, or chassidim, israel baalshem (about - ), was even less literary than the one just described. but the kabbalists, medieval and modern, were meritorious writers in one field of literature. the kabbalists and the chassidim were the authors of some of the most exquisite prayers and meditations which the soul of the jew has poured forth since the psalms were completed. this redeems the later kabbalistic literature from the altogether unfavorable verdict which would otherwise have to be passed on it. bibliography kabbala. graetz.--iii, p. [ ] moses de leon. graetz.--iv, . zohar. a. neubauer.--_bahir and zohar_, _j.q.r._, iv, p. . steinschneider.--_jewish literature_, p. . isaac lurya. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. sabbatai zevi. graetz.--v, p. [ ]. chassidim. graetz.--v, . schechter.--_studies in judaism_, p. . chapter xviii italian jewish poetry immanuel and dante.--the machberoth.--judah romano.--kalonymos.--the eben bochan.--moses rieti.--messer leon. the course of jewish literature in italy ran along the same lines as in spain. the italian group of authors was less brilliant, but the difference was one of degree, not of kind. the italian aristocracy, like the moorish caliphs and viziers, patronized learning, and encouraged the jews in their literary ambitions. yet the fact that the inspiration in spain came from islam and in italy from christianity produced some consequences. in spain the jews followed arab models of style. in italy the influence of classical models was felt at the time of the renaissance. most noteworthy of all was the indebtedness of the hebrew poets of italy to dante. it is not improbable that dante was a personal friend of the most noted of these jewish poets, immanuel, the son of solomon of rome. like the other jews of rome, immanuel stood in the most friendly relations with christians, for nowhere was medieval intolerance less felt than in the very seat of the pope, the head of the church. thus, on the one hand immanuel was a leading member of the synagogue, and, on the other, he carried on a literary correspondence with learned christians, with poets, and men of science. he was himself a physician, and his poems breathe a scientific spirit. as happened earlier in spain, the circle of immanuel regarded verse-making as part of the culture of a scholar. witty verses, in the form of riddles and epigrams, were exchanged at the meetings of the circle. with these poets, among whom kalonymos was included, the penning of verses was a fashion. on the other hand, music was not so much cultivated by the italian hebrews as by the spanish. hence, both immanuel and kalonymos lack the lightness and melody of the best writers of hebrew verse in spain. the italians atoned for this loss by their subject-matter. they are joyous poets, full of the gladness of life. they are secular, not religious poets; the best of the spanish-hebrew poetry was devotional, and the best of the italian so secular that it was condemned by pietists as too frivolous and too much "disfigured by ill-timed levity." immanuel was born in rome in about . he rarely mentions his father, but often names his mother justa as a woman of pious and noble character. as a youth, he had a strong fancy for scientific study, and was nourished on the "guide" of maimonides, on the works of the greeks and arabs, and on the writings of the christian school-men, which he read in hebrew translations. besides philosophy, mathematics, astronomy, and medicine, immanuel studied the bible and the talmud, and became an accomplished scholar. he was not born a poet, but he read deeply the poetical literature of jews and christians, and took lessons in rhyme-making. he was wealthy, and his house was a rendezvous of wits and scientists. his own position in the jewish community was remarkable. it has already been said that he took an active part in the management of communal affairs, but he did more than this. he preached in the synagogue on the day of atonement, and delivered eulogistic orations over the remains of departed worthies. towards the end of his life he suffered losses both in fortune and in friends, but he finally found a new home in fermo, where he was cordially welcomed in . the date of his death is uncertain, but he died in about . his works were versatile rather than profound. he wrote grammatical treatises and commentaries, which display learning more than originality. but his poetical writings are of great interest in the history of jewish literature. he lived in the dawn-flush of the renaissance in italy. the italian language was just evolving itself, under the genius of dante, from a mere jumble of dialects into a literary language. dante did for italy what chaucer was soon after to do for england. on the one side influenced by the renaissance and the birth of the new italian language, on the other by the jewish revival of letters in spain and provence, the italian jews alone combined the jewish spirit with the spirit of the classical renaissance. immanuel was the incarnation of this complex soul. this may be seen from the form of immanuel's _machberoth_, or "collection." the latter portion of it, named separately "hell and eden," was imitated from the christian dante; the poem as a whole was planned on charizi's _tachkemoni_, a hebrew development of the arabic divan. the poet is not the hero of his own song, but like the arabic poets of the divan, conceives a personage who fills the centre of the canvas--a personage really identical with the author, yet in a sense other than he. much quaintness of effect is produced by this double part played by the poet, who, as it were, satirizes his own doings. in immanuel's _machberoth_ there is much variety of romantic incident. but it is in satire that he reaches his highest level. love and wine are the frequent burdens of his song, as they are in the provençal and italian poetry of his day. immanuel was something of a voltaire in his jocose treatment of sacred things, and pietists like joseph karo inhibited the study of the _machberoth_. others, too, described his songs as sensuous and his satires as blasphemous. but the devout and earnest piety of some of immanuel's prayers,--some of them to be found in the _machberoth_ themselves--proves that immanuel's licentiousness and levity were due, not to lack of reverence, but to the attempt to reconcile the ideals of italian society of the period of the renaissance with the ideals of judaism. immanuel owed his rhymed prose to charizi, but again he shows his devotion to two masters by writing hebrew sonnets. the sonnet was new then to italian verse, and immanuel's hebrew specimens thus belong to the earliest sonnets written in any literature. it is, indeed, impossible to convey a just sense of the variety of subject and form in the _machberoth_. "serious and frivolous topics trip each other by the heels; all metrical forms, prayers, elegies, passages in unmetrical rhymes, all are mingled together." the last chapter is, however, of a different character, and it has often been printed as a separate work. it is the "hell and eden" to which allusion has already been made. the link between immanuel and his provençal contemporary kalonymos was supplied by judah romano, the jewish school-man. all three were in the service of the king of naples. kalonymos was the equal of romano as a philosopher and not much below immanuel as a satirist. he was a more fertile poet than immanuel, for, while immanuel remained the sole representative of his manner, kalonymos gave birth to a whole school of imitators. kalonymos wrote many translations, of galen, averroes, aristotle, al-farabi, ptolemy, and archimedes. but it was his keen wit more than his learning that made him popular in rome, and impelled the jews of that city, headed by immanuel, to persuade kalonymos to settle permanently in italy. kalonymos' two satirical poems were called "the touchstone" (_eben bochan_) and "the purim tractate." these satirize the customs and social habits of the jews of his day in a bright and powerful style. in his purim tractate, kalonymos parodies the style, logic, and phraseology of the talmud, and his work was the forerunner of a host of similar parodies. there were many italian writers of _piyutim_, i.e. synagogue hymns, but these were mediocre in merit. the elegies written in lament for the burning of the law and the martyrdoms endured in various parts of italy were the only meritorious devotional poems composed in hebrew in that country. italy remained famous in hebrew poetry for secular, not for religious compositions. in the fifteenth century moses rieti (born , died later than ) imitated dante once more in his "lesser sanctuary" (_mikdash meät_). here again may be noticed a feature peculiar to italian hebrew poetry. rieti uses regular stanzas, italian forms of verse, in this matter following the example of immanuel. messer leon, a physician of mantua, wrote a treatise on biblical rhetoric ( ). again, the only important writer of dramas in hebrew was, as we shall see, an italian jew, who copied italian models. though, therefore, the hebrew poetry of italy scarcely reaches the front rank, it is historically of first-rate importance. it represents the only effects of the renaissance on jewish literature. in other countries, the condition of the jews was such that they were shut off from external influences. their literature suffered as their lives did from imprisonment within the ghettos, which were erected both by the jews themselves and by the governments of europe. bibliography s. morals.--_italian jewish literature_ (_publications of the gratz college_, vol. ). immanuel and kalonymos. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. j. chotzner.--_immanuel di romi_, _j.q.r._, iv, p. . g. sacerdote.--_emanuele da roma's ninth mehabbereth_, _j.q.r._, vii, p. . judah (leone) romano. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. moses rieti. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. messer leon. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. chapter xix ethical literature bachya ibn pekuda.--choboth ha-lebaboth.--sefer ha-chassidim.--rokeach.--yedaiah bedaressi's bechinath olam.--isaac aboab's menorath ha-maor.--ibn chabib's "eye of jacob."--zevaoth, or ethical wills.--joseph ibn caspi.--solomon alami. a large proportion of all hebrew books is ethical. many of the works already treated here fall under this category. the talmudical, exegetical, and philosophical writings of jews were also ethical treatises. in this chapter, however, attention will be restricted to a few books which are in a special sense ethical. collections of moral proverbs, such as the "choice of pearls," attributed to ibn gebirol, and the "maxims of the philosophers" by charizi, were great favorites in the middle ages. they had a distinct charm, but they were not original. they were either compilations from older books or direct translations from the arabic. it was far otherwise with the ethical work entitled "heart duties" (_choboth ha-lebaboth_), by bachya ibn pekuda (about - ). this was as original as it was forcible. bachya founded his ethical system on the talmud and on the philosophical notions current in his day, but he evolved out of these elements an original view of life. the inner duties dictated by conscience were set above all conventional morality. bachya probed the very heart of religion. his soul was filled with god, and this communion, despite the ascetic feelings to which it gave rise, was to bachya an exceeding joy. his book thrills the reader with the author's own chastened enthusiasm. the "heart duties" of bachya is the most inspired book written by a jew in the middle ages. in part worthy of a place by the side of bachya's treatise is an ethical book written in the rhinelands during the thirteenth century. "the book of the pious" (_sefer ha-chassidim_) is mystical, and in course of time superstitious elements were interpolated. wrongly attributed to a single writer, judah chassid, the "book of the pious" was really the combined product of the jewish spirit in the thirteenth century. it is a conglomerate of the sublime and the trivial, the purely ethical with the ceremonial. with this popular and remarkable book may be associated other conglomerates of the ritual, the ethical, and the mystical, as the _rokeach_ by eleazar of worms. a simpler but equally popular work was yedaiah bedaressi's "examination of the world" (_bechinath olam_), written in about the year . its style is florid but poetical, and the many quaint turns which it gives to quotations from the bible remind the reader of ibn gebirol. its earnest appeal to man to aim at the higher life, its easily intelligible and commonplace morals, endeared it to the "general reader" of the middle ages. few books have been more often printed, few more often translated. another favorite class of ethical books consisted of compilations made direct from the talmud and the midrash. the oldest and most prized of these was isaac aboab's "lamp of light" (_menorath ha-maor_). it was an admirably written book, clearly arranged, and full to the brim of ethical gems. aboab's work was written between and . it is arranged according to subjects, differing in this respect from another very popular compilation, jacob ibn chabib's "eye of jacob" (_en yaakob_), which was completed in the sixteenth century. in this, the hagadic passages of the talmud are extracted without arrangement, the order of the talmud itself being retained. the "eye of jacob" was an extremely popular work. of the purely devotional literature of judaism, it is impossible to speak here. one other ethical book must be here noticed, for it has attained wide and deserved popularity. this is the "path of the upright" (_messilath yesharim_) by moses chayim luzzatto, of whom more will be said in a later chapter. but a little more space must be here devoted to a species of ethical tract which was peculiar to jewish moralists. these tracts were what are known as ethical wills. these ethical wills (_zevaoth_) contained the express directions of fathers to their children or of aged teachers to their disciples. they were for the most part written calmly in old age, but not immediately before the writers' death. some of them were very carefully composed, and amount to formal ethical treatises. but in the main they are charmingly natural and unaffected. they were intended for the absolutely private use of children and relatives, or of some beloved pupil who held the dearest place in his master's regard. they were not designed for publication, and thus, as the writer had no reason to expect that his words would pass beyond a limited circle, the ethical will is a clear revelation of his innermost feelings and ideals. intellectually some of these ethical wills are poor; morally, however, the general level is very high. addresses of parents to their children occur in the bible, the apocrypha, and the rabbinical literature. but the earliest extant ethical will written as an independent document is that of eleazar, the son of isaac of worms (about ), who must not be confused with the author of the _rokeach_. the eleventh and twelfth centuries supply few examples of the ethical will, but from the thirteenth century onwards there is a plentiful array of them. "think not of evil," says eleazar of worms, "for evil thinking leads to evil doing.... purify thy body, the dwelling-place of thy soul.... give of all thy food a portion to god. let god's portion be the best, and give it to the poor." the will of the translator judah ibn tibbon (about ) contains at least one passage worthy of ruskin: "avoid bad society, make thy books thy companions, let thy book-cases and shelves be thy gardens and pleasure-grounds. pluck the fruit that grows therein, gather the roses, the spices, and the myrrh. if thy soul be satiate and weary, change from garden to garden, from furrow to furrow, from sight to sight. then will thy desire renew itself, and thy soul be satisfied with delight." the will of nachmanides is an unaffected eulogy of humility. asher, the son of yechiel (fourteenth century), called his will "ways of life," and it includes maxims, which are often printed in the prayer-book. "do not obey the law for reward, nor avoid sin from fear of punishment, but serve god from love. sleep not over-much, but rise with the birds. be not over-hasty to reply to offensive remarks; raise not thy hand against another, even if he curse thy father or mother in thy presence." some of these wills, like that of the son of the last mentioned, are written in rhymed prose; some are controversial. joseph ibn caspi writes in : "how can i know god, and that he is one, unless i know what knowing means, and what constitutes unity? why should these things be left to non-jewish philosophers? why should aristotle retain sole possession of the treasures that he stole from solomon?" the belief that aristotle had visited jerusalem with alexander the great, and there obtained possession of solomon's wisdom, was one of the most curious myths of the middle ages. the will of eleazar the levite of mainz ( ) is a simple document, without literary merit, but containing a clear exposition of duty. "judge every man charitably, and use your best efforts to find a kindly explanation of conduct, however suspicious.... give in charity an exact tithe of your property. never turn a poor man away empty-handed. talk no more than is necessary, and thus avoid slander. be not as dumb cattle that utter no word of gratitude, but thank god for his bounties at the time at which they occur, and in your prayers let the memory of these personal favors warm your hearts, and prompt you to special fervor during the utterance of the communal thanks for communal well-being. when words of thanks occur in the liturgy, pause and silently reflect on the goodness of god to you that day." in striking contrast to the simplicity of the foregoing is the elaborate "letter of advice" by solomon alami (beginning of the fifteenth century). it is composed in beautiful rhymed prose, and is an important historical record. for the author shared the sufferings of the jews of the iberian peninsula in , and this gives pathetic point to his counsel: "flee without hesitation when exile is the only means of securing religious freedom; have no regard to your worldly career or your property, but go at once." it is needless to indicate fully the nature of the ethical wills of the sixteenth and subsequent centuries. they are closely similar to the foregoing, but they tend to become more learned and less simple. yet, though as literature they are often quite insignificant, as ethics they rarely sink below mediocrity. bibliography ethical literature. steinschneider.--_jewish literature_, pp. , . b.h. ascher.--_choice of pearls_ (with english translation, london, ). d. rosin.--_ethics of solomon ibn gebirol_, _j.q.r._, iii, p. . bachya. graetz, iii, p. . yedaya bedaressi. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. j. chotzner.--_j.q.r._, viii, p. . t. goodman.--english translation of _bechinath olam_ (london, ). ethical wills. edelmann.--_the path of good men_ (london, ). i. abrahams, _j.q.r._, iii, p. . chapter xx travellers' tales eldad the danite.--benjamin of tudela.--petachiah of ratisbon.--esthori parchi.--abraham farissol.--david reubeni and molcho.--antonio de montesinos and manasseh ben israel.--tobiah cohen.--wessely. the voluntary and enforced travels of the jews produced, from the earliest period after the destruction of the temple, an extensive, if fragmentary, geographical literature. in the talmud and later religious books, in the letters of the gaonim, in the correspondence of jewish ambassadors, in the autobiographical narratives interspersed in the works of all jewish scholars of the middle ages, in the _aruch_, or talmudical lexicon, of nathan of rome, in the satirical romances of the poetical globe-trotters, zabara and charizi, and, finally, in the bible commentaries written by jews, many geographical notes are to be found. but the composition of complete works dedicated to travel and exploration dates only from the twelfth century. before that time, however, interest in the whereabouts of the lost ten tribes gave rise to a book which has been well called the arabian nights of the jews. the "diary of eldad the danite," written in about the year , was a popular romance, to which additions and alterations were made at various periods. this diary tells of mighty israelite empires, especially of the tribe of moses, the peoples of which were all virtuous, all happy, and long-lived. "a river flows round their land for a distance of four days' journey on every side. they dwell in beautiful houses provided with handsome towers, which they have built themselves. there is nothing unclean among them, neither in the case of birds, venison, nor domesticated animals; there are no wild beasts, no flies, no foxes, no vermin, no serpents, no dogs, and, in general, nothing that does harm; they have only sheep and cattle, which bear twice a year. they sow and reap, they have all kinds of gardens with all kinds of fruits and cereals, beans, melons, gourds, onions, garlic, wheat, and barley, and the seed grows a hundredfold. they have faith; they know the law, the mishnah, the talmud, and the hagadah.... no child, be it son or daughter, dies during the life-time of its parents, but they reach a third and fourth generation. they do all the field-work themselves, having no male nor female servants. they do not close their houses at night, for there is no thief or evil-doer among them. they have plenty of gold and silver; they sow flax, and cultivate the crimson-worm, and make beautiful garments.... the river sambatyon is two hundred yards broad, about as far as a bow-shot. it is full of sand and stones, but without water; the stones make a great noise, like the waves of the sea and a stormy wind, so that in the night the noise is heard at a distance of half a day's journey. there are fish in it, and all kinds of clean birds fly round it. and this river of stone and sand rolls during the six working-days, and rests on the sabbath day. as soon as the sabbath begins, fire surrounds the river, and the flames remain till the next evening, when the sabbath ends. thus no human being can reach the river for a distance of half a mile on either side; the fire consumes all that grows there." with wild rapture the jews of the ninth century heard of these prosperous and powerful kingdoms. hopes of a restoration to former dignity encouraged them to believe in the mythical narrative of eldad. it is doubtful whether he was a _bona fide_ traveller. at all events, his book includes much that became the legendary property of all peoples in the middle ages, such as the fable of the mighty christian emperor of india, prester john. some further account of this semi-mythical monarch is contained in the first real jewish traveller's book, the "itinerary" of benjamin of tudela. this benjamin was a merchant, who, in the year , started on a long journey, which was prompted partly by commercial, partly by scientific motives. he visited a large part of europe and asia, went to jerusalem and bagdad, and gives in his "itinerary" some remarkable geographical facts and some equally remarkable fables. he tells, for instance, the story of the pretended messiah, david alroy, whom disraeli made the hero of one of his romances. benjamin of tudela's "itinerary" was a real contribution to geography. soon after benjamin, another jew, petachiah of ratisbon, set out on a similar but less extended tour, which occupied him during the years and . his "travels" are less informing than those of his immediate predecessor, but his descriptions of the real or reputed sepulchres of ancient worthies and his account of the jewish college in bagdad are full of romantic interest, which was not lessened for medieval readers because much of petachiah's narrative was legendary. a far more important work was written by the first jewish explorer of palestine, esthori parchi, a contemporary of mandeville. his family originated in florenza, in andalusia, and the family name parchi (the flower) was derived from this circumstance. esthori was himself born in provence, and was a student of science as well as of the talmud. when he, together with the rest of the jews of france, was exiled in , he wandered to spain and egypt until the attraction of the holy land proved irresistible. his manner was careful, and his love of accuracy unusual for his day. hence, he was not content to collect all ancient and contemporary references to the sites of palestine. for seven years he devoted himself to a personal exploration of the country, two years being passed in galilee. in he completed his work, which he called _kaphtor va-pherach_ (bunch and flower) in allusion to his own name. access to the holy land became easier for jews in the fourteenth century. before that time the city of jerusalem had for a considerable period been barred to jewish pilgrims. by the laws of constantine and of omar no jew might enter within the precincts of his ancient capital. even in the centuries subsequent to omar, such pilgrimages were fraught with danger, but the poems of jehuda halevi, the tolerance of islam, and the reputation of northern syria as a centre of the kabbala, combined to draw many jews to palestine. many letters and narratives were the results. one characteristic specimen must suffice. in obadiah of bertinoro, author of the most popular commentary on the mishnah, removed from italy to jerusalem, where he was appointed rabbi. in a letter to his father he gives an intensely moving account of his voyage and of the state of hebron and zion. the narrative is full of personal detail, and is marked throughout by deep love for his father, which struggles for the mastery with his love for the holy city. a more ambitious work was the "itinera mundi" of abraham farissol, written in the autumn of . this treatise was based upon original researches as well as on the works of christian and arabian geographers. he incidentally says a good deal about the condition of the jews in various parts of the world. indeed, almost all the geographical writings of jews are social histories of their brethren in faith. somewhat later, david reubeni published some strange stories as to the jews. he went to rome, where he made a considerable sensation, and was received by pope clement vii ( - ). dwarfish in stature and dark in complexion, david reubeni was wasted by continual fasting, but his manner, though harsh and forbidding, was intrepid and awe-inspiring. his outrageous falsehoods for a time found ready acceptance with jews and christians alike, and his fervid messianism won over to his cause many marranos--jews who had been forced by the inquisition in spain to assume the external garb of christianity. his chief claim on the memory of posterity was his connection with the dramatic career of solomon molcho ( - ), a youth noble in mind and body, who at reubeni's instigation personated the messiah, and in early manhood died a martyr's death amid the flames of the inquisition at mantua. the geographical literature of the jews did not lose its association with messianic hopes. antonio de montesinos, in , imagined that he had discovered in south america the descendants of the ten tribes. he had been led abroad by business considerations and love of travel, and in brazil came across a mestizo indian, from whose statements he conceived the firm belief that the ten tribes resided and thrived in brazil. two years later he visited amsterdam, and, his imagination aflame with the hopes which had not been stifled by several years' endurance of the prisons and tortures of the inquisition, persuaded manasseh ben israel to accept his statements. on his death-bed in brazil, montesinos reiterated his assertions, and manasseh ben israel not only founded thereon his noted book, "the hope of israel," but under the inspiration of similar ideas felt impelled to visit london, and win from cromwell the right of the jews to resettle in england. jewish geographical literature grew apace in the eighteenth century. a famous book, the "work of tobiah," was written at the beginning of this period by tobiah cohen, who was born at metz in , and died in jerusalem in . it is a medley of science and fiction, an encyclopedia dealing with all branches of knowledge. he had studied at the universities of frankfort and padua, had enjoyed the patronage of the elector of brandenburg, and his medical knowledge won him many distinguished patients in constantinople. thus his work contains many medical chapters of real value, and he gives one of the earliest accounts of recently discovered drugs and medicinal plants. among other curiosities he maintained that he had discovered the pygmies. from this absorbing but confusing book our survey must turn finally to n.h. wessely, who in for the first time maintained the importance of the study of geography in jewish school education. the works of the past, with their consoling legends and hopes, continued to hold a place in the heart of jewish readers. but from wessely's time onwards a long series of jewish explorers and travellers have joined the ranks of those who have opened up for modern times a real knowledge of the globe. bibliography steinschneider.--_jewish literature_, p. . a. neubauer.--series of articles entitled _where are the ten tribes_, _j.q.r._, vol. i. benjamin of tudela. a. asher.--_the itinerary of benjamin of tudela_ (with english translation and appendix by zunz. london, - ). petachiah of ratisbon. a. benisch.--_travels of petachia of ratisbon_ (with english translation. london, ). abraham farissol. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. david reubeni. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. h. wessely. graetz.--v, p. [ ]. chapter xxi historians and chroniclers order of the tannaim and amoraim.--achimaaz.--abraham ibn daud.--josippon.--historical elegies, or selichoth.--memorial books.--abraham zacuto.--elijah kapsali.--usque.--ibn verga.--joseph cohen.--david gans.--gedaliah ibn yachya.--azariah di rossi. the historical books to be found in the bible, the apocrypha, and the hellenistic literature prove that the hebrew genius was not unfitted for the presentation of the facts of jewish life. these older works, as well as the writings of josephus, also show a faculty for placing local records in relation to the wider facts of general history. after the dispersion of the jews, however, the local was the only history in which the jews could bear a part. the jews read history as a mere commentary on their own fate, and hence they were unable to take the wide outlook into the world required for the compilation of objective histories. thus, in their aim to find religious consolation for their sufferings in the middle ages, the jewish historians sought rather to trace the hand of providence than to analyze the human causes of the changes in the affairs of mankind. but in another sense the jews were essentially gifted with the historical spirit. the great men of israel were not local heroes. just as plutarch's lives were part of the history of the world's politics, so jewish biographies of learned men were part of the history of the world's civilization. with the "order of the tannaim and amoraim" (written about the year ) begins a series of such biographical works, in which more appreciation of sober fact is displayed than might have been expected from the period. in the same way the famous letter of sherira gaon on the compilation of the rabbinical literature ( ) marked great progress in the critical examination of historical problems. later works did not maintain the same level. in the middle ages, jewish histories mostly took the form of uncritical chronicles, which included legends and traditions as well as assured facts. their interest and importance lie in the personal and communal details with which they abound. sometimes they are confessedly local. this is the case with the "chronicle of achimaaz," written by him in in rhymed prose. in an entertaining style, he tells of the early settlements of the jews in southern italy, and throws much light on the intercommunication between the scattered jewish congregations of his time. a larger canvas was filled by abraham ibn daud, the physician and philosopher who was born in toledo in , and met a martyr's end at the age of seventy. his "book of tradition" (_sefer ha-kabbalah_), written in , was designed to present, in opposition to the karaites, the chain of jewish tradition as a series of unbroken links from the age of moses to ibn baud's own times. starting with the creation, his history ends with the anti-karaitic crusade of judah ibn ezra in granada ( ). abraham ibn daud shows in this work considerable critical power, but in his two other histories, one dealing with the history of rome from its foundation to the time of king reccared in spain, the other a narrative of the history of the jews during the second temple, the author relied entirely on "josippon." this was a medieval concoction which long passed as the original josephus. "josippon" was a romance rather than a history. culled from all sources, from strabo, lucian, and eusebius, as well as from josephus, this marvellous book exercised strong influence on the jewish imagination, and supplied an antidote to the tribulations of the present by the consolations of the past and the vivid hopes for the future. for a long period abraham ibn daud found no imitators. jewish history was written as part of the jewish religion. yet, incidentally, many historical passages were introduced in the works of jewish scholars and travellers, and the liturgy was enriched by many beautiful historical elegies, which were a constant call to heroism and fidelity. these elegies, or _selichoth_, were composed throughout the middle ages, and their passionate outpourings of lamentation and trust give them a high place in jewish poetry. they are also important historically, and fully justify the fine utterance with which zunz introduces them, an utterance which was translated by george eliot as follows: if there are ranks in suffering, israel takes precedence of all the nations--if the duration of sorrows and the patience with which they are borne ennoble, the jews are among the aristocracy of every land--if a literature is called rich in the possession of a few classic tragedies, what shall we say to a national tragedy lasting for fifteen hundred years, in which the poets and the actors were also the heroes? the story of the medieval section of this pathetic martyrdom is written in the _selichoth_ and in the more prosaic records known as "memorial books" (in german, _memorbücher_), which are lists of martyrs and brief eulogies of their careers. for the next formal history we must pass to abraham zacuto. in his old age he employed some years of comparative quiet, after a stormy and unhappy life, in writing a "book of genealogies" (_yuchasin_). he had been exiled from spain in , and twelve years later composed his historical work in tunis. like abraham ibn baud's book, it opens with the creation, and ends with the author's own day. though zacuto's work is more celebrated than historical, it nevertheless had an important share in reawaking the dormant interest of jews in historical research. thus we find elijah kapsali of candia writing, in , a "history of the ottoman empire," and joseph cohen, of avignon, a "history of france and turkey," in , in which he included an account of the rebellion of fiesco in genoa, where the author was then residing. the sixteenth century witnessed the production of several popular jewish histories. at that epoch the horizon of the world was extending under new geographical and intellectual discoveries. israel, on the other hand, seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into the slough of despond. some of the men who had themselves been the victims of persecution saw that the only hope lay in rousing the historical consciousness of their brethren. history became the consolation of the exiles from spain who found themselves pent up within the walls of the ghettos, which were first built in the sixteenth century. samuel usque was a fugitive from the inquisition, and his dialogues, "consolations for the tribulations of israel" (written in portuguese, in ), are a long drawn-out sigh of pain passing into a sigh of relief. usque opens with a passionate idyl in which the history of israel in the near past is told by the shepherd icabo. to him numeo and zicareo offer consolation, and they pour balm into his wounded heart. the vividness of usque's style, his historical insight, his sturdy optimism, his poetical force in interpreting suffering as the means of attaining the highest life in god, raise his book above the other works of its class and age. usque's poem did not win the same popularity as two other elegiac histories of the same period. these were the "rod of judah" (_shebet jehudah_) and the "valley of tears" (_emek ha-bachah_). the former was the work of three generations of the ibn verga family. judah died before the expulsion from spain, but his son solomon participated in the final troubles of the spanish jews, and was even forced to join the ranks of the marranos. the grandson, joseph ibn verga, became rabbi in adrianople, and was cultured in classical as well as jewish lore. their composite work, "the rod of judah," was completed in . it is a well-written but badly arranged martyrology, and over all its pages might be inscribed the talmudical motto, that god's chastisements of israel are chastisements of love. the other work referred to is joseph cohen's "valley of tears," completed in . the author was born in avignon in , four years after his father had shared in the exile from spain. he himself suffered expatriation, for, though a distinguished physician and the private doctor of the doge andrea doria, he was expelled with the rest of the jews from genoa in . settled in the little town of voltaggio, he devoted himself to writing the annals of european and jewish history. his style is clear and forcible, and recalls the lucid simplicity of the historical books of the bible. the only other histories that need be critically mentioned here are the "branch of david" (_zemach david_), the "chain of tradition" (_shalsheleth ha-kabbalah_), and the "light of the eyes" (_meör enayim_). abraham de porta leone's "shields of the mighty" (_shilte ha-gibborim_, printed in mantua in ); leon da modena's "ceremonies and customs of the jews," (printed in paris in ); david conforte's "call of the generations" (_kore ha-doroth_, written in palestine in about ); yechiel heilprin's "order of generations" (_seder ha-doroth_, written in poland in ); and chayim azulai's "name of the great ones" (written in leghorn in ), can receive only a bare mention. the author of the "branch of david," david cans, was born in westphalia in about . he was the first german jew of his age to take real interest in the study of history. he was a man of scientific culture, corresponded with kepler, and was a personal friend of tycho brahe. for the latter cans made a german translation of parts of the hebrew version of the tables of alfonso, originally compiled in . cans wrote works on mathematical and physical geography, and treatises on arithmetic and geometry. his history, "branch of david," was extremely popular. for a man of his scientific training it shows less critical power than might have been expected, but the german jews did not begin to apply criticism to history till after the age of mendelssohn. in one respect, however, the "branch of david" displays the width of the author's culture. not only does he tell the history of the jews, but in the second part of his work he gives an account of many lands and cities, especially of bohemia and prague, and adds a striking description of the secret courts (_vehmgerichte_) of westphalia. it is hard to think that the authors of the "chain of tradition" and of the "light of the eyes" were contemporaries. azariah di rossi ( - ), the writer of the last mentioned book, was the founder of historical criticism among the jews. elias del medigo ( - ) had led in the direction, but di rossi's work anticipated the methods, of the german school of "scientific" jewish writers, who, at the beginning of the present century, applied scientific principles to the study of jewish traditions. on the other hand, gedaliah ibn yachya ( - ) was so utterly uncritical that his "chain of tradition" was nicknamed by joseph delmedigo the "chain of lies." gedaliah was a man of wealth, and he expended his means in the acquisition of books and in making journeys in search of sacred and profane knowledge. yet gedaliah made up in style for his lack of historical method. the "chain of tradition" is a picturesque and enthralling book, it is a warm and cheery retrospect, and even deserves to be called a prose epic. besides, many of his statements that were wont to be treated as altogether unauthentic have been vindicated by later research. azariah di rossi, on the other hand, is immortalized by his spirit rather than his actual contributions to historical literature. he came of an ancient family said to have been carried to rome by titus, and lived in ferrara, where, in , he produced his "light of the eyes." this is divided into three parts, the first devoted to general history, the second to the letter of aristeas, the third to the solution of several historical problems, all of which had been neglected by jews and christians alike. azariah di rossi was the first critic to open up true lines of research into the hellenistic literature of the jews of alexandria. with him the true historical spirit once more descended on the jewish genius. bibliography steinschneider.--_jewish literature_, p. , _seq._, _seq._ a. neubauer.--introductions to _medieval jewish chronicles_, vols. i and ii (oxford, , etc.). selichoth. zunz.--_sufferings of the jews in the middle ages_ (translated by a. löwy, _miscellany of the society of hebrew literature_, vol. i). see also _j.q.r._, viii, pp. , , . abraham ibn daud. graetz.--iii, p. [ ]. abraham zacuto. graetz.--iv, pp. , , [ ]. elijah kapsali. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. joseph cohen, usque, ibn verga. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. _chronicle of joseph ben joshua the priest_ (english translation by bialoblotzky. london, - ). elia delmedigo. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. david gans. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. gedaliah ibn yachya. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. azariah di rossi. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. chapter xxii isaac abarbanel abarbanel's philosophy and biblical commentaries.--elias levita.--zeëna u-reëna.--moses alshech.--the biur. the career of don isaac abarbanel (born in lisbon in , died in venice in ) worthily closes the long services which the jews of spain rendered to the state and to learning. the earlier part of his life was spent in the service of alfonso v of portugal. he possessed considerable wealth, and his house, which he himself tells us was built with spacious halls, was the meeting-place of scholars, diplomatists, and men of science. among his other occupations, he busied himself in ransoming jewish slaves, and obtained the co-operation of some italian jews in this object. when alfonso died, abarbanel not only lost his post as finance minister, but was compelled to flee for his life. he shared the fall of the duke of braganza, whose popularity was hateful to alfonso's successor. don isaac escaped to castile in , and, amid the friendly smiles of the cultured jews of toledo, set himself to resume the literary work he had been forced to lay aside while burdened with affairs of state. he began the compilation of commentaries on the historical books of the bible, but he was not long left to his studies. ferdinand and isabella, under the very eyes of torquemada and the inquisition, entrusted the finances of their kingdom to the jew abarbanel during the years to . in the latter year, abarbanel was driven from spain in the general expulsion instigated by the inquisition. he found a temporary asylum in naples, where he also received a state appointment. but he was soon forced to flee again, this time to corfu. "my wife, my sons, and my books are far from me," he wrote, "and i am left alone, a stranger in a strange land." but his spirit was not crushed by these successive misfortunes. he continued to compile huge works at a very rapid rate. he was not destined, however, to end his life in obscurity. in he was given a diplomatic post in venice, and he passed his remaining years in happiness and honor. he ended the splendid roll of famous spanish jews with a career peculiarly spanish. he gave a final, striking example of that association of life with literature which of old characterized jews, but which found its greatest and last home in spain. as a writer, abarbanel has many faults. he is very verbose, and his mannerisms are provoking. thus, he always introduces his commentaries with a long string of questions, which he then proceeds to answer. it was jokingly said of him that he made many sceptics, for not one in a score of his readers ever got beyond the questions to the answers. there is this truth in the sarcasm, that abarbanel, despite his essential lucidity, is very hard to read. though abarbanel has obvious faults, his good qualities are equally tangible. no predecessor of abarbanel came so near as he did to the modern ideal of a commentator on the bible. ibn ezra was the father of the "higher criticism," i.e. the attempt to explain the evolution of the text of scripture. the kimchis developed the strictly grammatical exposition of the bible. but abarbanel understood that, to explain the bible, one must try to reproduce the atmosphere in which it was written; one must realize the ideas and the life of the times with which the narrative deals. his own practical state-craft stood him in good stead. he was able to form a conception of the politics of ancient judea. his commentaries are works on the philosophy of history. his more formal philosophical works, such as his "deeds of god" (_miphaloth elohim_), are of less value, they are borrowed in the main from maimonides. in his talmudical writings, notably his "salvation of his anointed" (_yeshuoth meshicho_), abarbanel displays a lighter and more original touch than in his philosophical treatises. but his works on the bible are his greatest literary achievement. besides the merits already indicated, these books have another important excellence. he was the first jew to make extensive use of christian commentaries. he must be credited with the discovery that the study of the bible may be unsectarian, and that all who hold the bible in honor may join hands in elucidating it. a younger contemporary of abarbanel was also an apostle of the same view. this was elias levita ( - ). he was a grammarian, or massorite, i.e. a student of the tradition (_massorah_) as to the hebrew text of the bible, and he was an energetic teacher of christians. in the sixteenth century the study of hebrew made much progress in europe, but the jews themselves were only indirectly associated with this advance. despite abarbanel, jewish commentaries remained either homiletic or mystical, or, like the popular works of moses alshech, were more or less midrashic in style. but the bible was a real delight to the jews, and it is natural that such books were often compiled for the masses. mention must be made of the _zeëna u-reëna_ ("go forth and see"), a work written at the beginning of the eighteenth century in jewish-german for the use of women, a work which is still beloved of the jewess. but the seeds sown by abarbanel and others of his school eventually produced an abundant harvest. mendelssohn's german edition of the pentateuch with the hebrew commentary (_biur_) was the turning-point in the march towards the modern exposition of the bible, which had been inaugurated by the statesman-scholar of spain. bibliography abarbanel. graetz.--iv, ii. i.s. meisels.--_don isaac abarbanel_, _j.q.r._, ii, p. . s. schechter.--_studies in judaism_, p. [ ]. f.d. mocatta.--_the jews of spain and portugal and the inquisition_ (london, ). schiller-szinessy.--_encycl. brit._, vol. i, p. . exegesis th- th centuries. steinschneider.--_jewish literature_, p. _seq._ biur. _specimen of the biur_, translated by a. benisch (_miscellany of the society of hebrew literature_, vol. i). chapter xxiii the shulchan aruch asheri's arba turim.--chiddushim and teshuboth.--solomon ben adereth.--meir of rothenburg.--sheshet and duran.--moses and judah minz.--jacob weil, israel isserlein, maharil.--david abi zimra.--joseph karo.--jair bacharach.--chacham zevi.--jacob emden.--ezekiel landau. the religious literature of the jews, so far as practical life was concerned, culminated in the publication of the "table prepared" (_shulchan aruch_), in . the first book of its kind compiled after the invention of printing, the shulchan aruch obtained a popularity denied to all previous works designed to present a digest of jewish ethics and ritual observances. it in no sense superseded the "strong hand" of maimonides, but it was so much more practical in its scope, so much clearer as a work of general reference, so much fuller of _minhag_, or established custom, that it speedily became the universal hand-book of jewish life in many of its phases. it was not accepted in all its parts, and its blemishes were clearly perceived. the author, joseph karo, was too tender to the past, and admitted some things which had a historical justification, but which karo himself would have been the first to reject as principles of conduct for his own or later times. on the whole, the book was a worthy summary of the fundamental jewish view, that religion is co-extensive with life, and that everything worth doing at all ought to be done in accordance with a general principle of obedience to the divine will. the defects of such a view are the defects of its qualities. the shulchan aruch was the outcome of centuries of scholarship. it was original, yet it was completely based on previous works. in particular the "four rows" (_arbäa turim_) of jacob asheri ( - ) was one of the main sources of karo's work. the "four rows," again, owed everything to jacob's father, asher, the son of yechiel, who migrated from germany to toledo at the very beginning of the fourteenth century. but besides the systematic codes of his predecessors, karo was able to draw on a vast mass of literature on the talmud and on jewish law, accumulated in the course of centuries. there was, in the first place, a large collection of "novelties" (_chiddushim_), or notes on the talmud, by various authorities. more significant, however, were the "responses" (_teshuboth_), which resembled those of the gaonim referred to in an earlier chapter. the rabbinical correspondence, in the form of responses to questions sent from far and near, covered the whole field of secular and religious knowledge. the style of these "responses" was at first simple, terse, and full of actuality. the most famous representatives of this form of literature after the gaonim were both of the thirteenth century, solomon, the son of adereth, in spain, and meir of rothenburg in germany. solomon, the son of adereth, of barcelona, was a man whose moral earnestness, mild yet firm disposition, profound erudition, and tolerant character, won for him a supreme place in jewish life for half a century. meir of rothenburg was a poet and martyr as well as a profound scholar. he passed many years in prison rather than yield to the rapacious demands of the local government for a ransom, which meir's friends would willingly have paid. as a specimen of meir's poetry, the following verses are taken from a dirge composed by him in , when copies of the pentateuch were publicly committed to the flames. the "law" is addressed in the second person: dismay hath seized upon my soul; how then can food be sweet to me? when, o thou law! i have beheld base men destroying thee? ah! sweet 'twould be unto mine eyes alway waters of tears to pour, to sob and drench thy sacred robes, till they could hold no more. but lo! my tears are dried, when, fast outpoured, they down my cheeks are shed, scorched by the fire within, because thy lord hath turned and sped. yea, i am desolate and sore bereft, lo! a forsaken one, like a sole beacon on a mountain left, a tower alone. i hear the voice of singers now no more, silence their song hath bound, for broken are the strings on harps of yore, viols of sweet sound. i am astonied that the day's fair light yet shineth brilliantly on all things; but is ever dark as night to me and thee. * * * * * even as when thy rock afflicted thee, he will assuage thy woe, and turn again the tribes' captivity, and raise the low. yet shalt thou wear thy scarlet raiment choice, and sound the timbrels high, and glad amid the dancers shalt rejoice, with joyful cry. my heart shall be uplifted on the day thy rock shall be thy light, when he shall make thy gloom to pass away, thy darkness bright. this combination of the poetical with the legal mind was parallelled by other combinations in such masters of "responses" as the sheshet and duran families in algiers in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. in these men depth of learning was associated with width of culture. others, such as moses and judah minz, jacob weil, and israel isserlein, whose influence was paramount in germany in the fifteenth century, were less cultivated, but their learning was associated with a geniality and sense of humor that make their "responses" very human and very entertaining. there is the same homely, affectionate air in the collection of _minhagim_, or customs, known as the _maharil_, which belongs to the same period. on the other hand, david abi zimra, rabbi of cairo in the sixteenth century, was as independent as he was learned. it was he, for instance, who abolished the old custom of dating hebrew documents from the seleucid era ( b.c.e.). and, to pass beyond the time of karo, the writers of "responses" include the gifted jair chayim bacharach (seventeenth century), a critic as well as a legalist; chacham zevi and jacob emden in amsterdam, and ezekiel landau in prague, the former two of whom opposed the messianic claims of sabbatai zevi, and the last of whom was an antagonist to the germanizing tendency of moses mendelssohn. joseph karo himself was a man of many parts. he was born in spain in , and died in safed, the nest of mysticism, in . master of the talmudic writings of his predecessors from his youth, karo devoted thirty-two years to the preparation of an exhaustive commentary on the "four rows" of jacob asheri. this occupied him from to . karo was an enthusiast as well as a student, and the emotional side of the kabbala had much fascination for him. he believed that he had a familiar, or _maggid_, the personification of the mishnah, who appeared to him in dreams, and held communion with him. he found a congenial home in safed, where the mystics had their head-quarters in the sixteenth century. karo's companion on his journey to safed was solomon alkabets, author of the famous sabbath hymn "come, my friend" (_lecha dodi_), with the refrain: come forth, my friend, the bride to meet, come, o my friend, the sabbath greet! the shulchan aruch is arranged in four parts, called fancifully, "path of life" (_orach chayim_), "teacher of knowledge" (_yoreh deah_), "breastplate of judgment" (_choshen ha-mishpat_), and "stone of help" (_eben ha-ezer_). the first part is mainly occupied with the subject of prayer, benedictions, the sabbath, the festivals, and the observances proper to each. the second part deals with food and its preparation, _shechitah_, or slaughtering of animals for food, the relations between jews and non-jews, vows, respect to parents, charity, and religious observances connected with agriculture, such as the payment of tithes, and, finally, the rites of mourning. this section of the shulchan aruch is the most miscellaneous of the four; in the other three the association of subjects is more logical. the eben ha-ezer treats of the laws of marriage and divorce from their civil and religious aspects. the choshen ha-mishpat deals with legal procedure, the laws regulating business transactions and the relations between man and man in the conduct of worldly affairs. a great number of commentaries on karo's code were written by and for the _acharonim_ (=later scholars). it fully deserved this attention, for on its own lines the shulchan aruch was a masterly production. it brought system into the discordant opinions of the rabbinical authorities of the middle ages, and its publication in the sixteenth century was itself a stroke of genius. never before had such a work been so necessary as then. the jews were in sight of what was to them the darkest age, the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. though the shulchan aruch had an evil effect in stereotyping jewish religious thought and in preventing the rapid spread of the critical spirit, yet it was a rallying point for the disorganized jews, and saved them from the disintegration which threatened them. the shulchan aruch was the last great bulwark of the rabbinical conception of life. alike in its form and contents it was a not unworthy close to the series of codes which began with the mishnah, and in which life itself was codified. bibliography steinschneider.--_jewish literature_, p. _seq._ i.h. weiss.--on _codes_, _j.q.r._, i, p. . asher ben yechiel. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. jacob asheri. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. solomon ben adereth. graetz.--iii, p. [ ]. meir of rothenburg. graetz.--iii, pp. , [ ]. judah minz. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. maharil. s. schechter.--_studies in judaism_, p. [ ]. david ben abi zimra. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. jair chayim bacharach. d. kaufmann, _j.q.r._, iii, p. , etc. joseph karo. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. moses isserles. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. chiddushim. graetz.--iv, p. [ ]. chapter xxiv amsterdam in the seventeenth century manasseh ben israel.--baruch spinoza.--the drama in hebrew.--moses zacut, joseph felix penso, moses chayim luzzatto. holland was the centre of jewish hope in the seventeenth century, and among its tolerant and cultivated people the marranos, exiled from spain and portugal, founded a new jerusalem. two writers of marrano origin, wide as the poles asunder in gifts of mind and character, represented two aspects of the aspiration of the jews towards a place in the wider world. manasseh ben israel ( - ) was an enthusiast who based his ambitious hopes on the messianic prophecies; baruch spinoza ( - ) lacked enthusiasm, had little belief in the verbal promises of scripture, yet developed a system of ethics in which god filled the world. manasseh ben israel regained for the jews admission to england; spinoza reclaimed the right of a jew to a voice in the philosophy of the world. both were political thinkers who maintained the full rights of the individual conscience, and though the arguments used vary considerably, yet manasseh ben israel's splendid _vindiciæ judeorum_ and spinoza's "tractate" alike insist on the natural right of men to think freely. they anticipated some of the greatest principles that won acceptance at the end of the eighteenth century. manasseh ben israel was born in lisbon of marrano parents, who emigrated to amsterdam a few years after their son's birth. he displayed a youthful talent for oratory, and was a noted preacher in his teens. he started the first hebrew printing-press established in amsterdam, and from it issued many works still remarkable for the excellence of their type and general workmanship. manasseh was himself, not only a distinguished linguist, but a popularizer of linguistic studies. he wrote well in hebrew, latin, english, spanish, and portuguese, and was the means of instructing many famous christians of the day in hebrew and rabbinic. among his personal friends were vossius, who translated manasseh's "conciliator" from spanish into latin. this, the most important of manasseh's early writings, was as popular with christians as with jews, for it attempted to reconcile the discrepancies and contradictions apparent in the bible. another of his friends was the painter rembrandt, who, in , etched the portrait of manasseh. huet and grotius were also among the friends and disciples who gathered round the amsterdam rabbi. an unexpected result of manasseh ben israel's zeal for the promotion of hebrew studies among his own brethren was the rise of a new form of poetical literature. the first dramas in hebrew belong to this period. moses zacut and joseph felix penso wrote hebrew dramas in the first half of the seventeenth century in amsterdam. the "foundation of the world" by the former and the "captives of hope" by the latter possess little poetical merit, but they are interesting signs of the desire of jews to use hebrew for all forms of literary art. hence these dramas were hailed as tokens of jewish revival. strangely enough, the only great writer of hebrew plays, moses chayim luzzatto ( - ), was also resident in amsterdam. luzzatto wrote under the influence of the italian poet guarini. his metres, his long soliloquies, his lyrics, his dovetailing of rural and urban scenery, are all directly traceable to guarini. luzzatto was nevertheless an original poet. his mastery of hebrew was complete, and his rich fancy was expressed in glowing lines. his dramas, "samson," the "strong tower," and "glory to the virtuous," show classical refinement and freshness of touch, which have made them the models of all subsequent efforts of hebrew dramatists. manasseh ben israel did not allow himself to become absorbed in the wider interests opened out to him by his intimacy with the greatest christian scholars of his day. he prepared a spanish translation of the pentateuch for the amsterdam jews, who were slow to adopt dutch as their speech, a fact not wonderful when it is remembered that literary dutch was only then forming. manasseh also wrote at this period a hebrew treatise on immortality. his worldly prosperity was small, and he even thought of emigrating to brazil. but the friends of the scholar found a post for him in a new college for the study of hebrew, a college to which it is probable that spinoza betook himself. in the meantime the reports of montesinos as to the presence of the lost ten tribes in america turned the current of manasseh's life. in he wrote his famous essay, the "hope of israel," which he dedicated to the english parliament. he argued that, as a preliminary to the restoration of israel, or the millennium, for which the english puritans were eagerly looking, the dispersion of israel must be complete. the hopes of the millennium were doomed to disappointment unless the jews were readmitted to england, "the isle of the northern sea." his dedication met with a friendly reception, manasseh set out for england in , and obtained from cromwell a qualified consent to the resettlement of the jews in the land from which they had been expelled in . the pamphlets which manasseh published in england deserve a high place in literature and in the history of modern thought. they are immeasurably superior to his other works, which are eloquent but diffuse, learned but involved. but in his _vindiciæ judeorum_ ( ) his style and thought are clear, original, elevated. there are here no mystic irrelevancies. his remarks are to the point, sweetly reasonable, forcible, moderate. he grapples with the medieval prejudices against the jews in a manner which places his works among the best political pamphlets ever written. morally, too, his manner is noteworthy. he pleads for judaism in a spirit equally removed from arrogance and self-abasement. he is dignified in his persuasiveness. he appeals to a sense of justice rather than mercy, yet he writes as one who knows that justice is the rarest and highest quality of human nature; as one who knows that humbly to express gratitude for justice received is to do reverence to the noblest faculty of man. fate rather than disposition tore manasseh from his study to plead before the english parliament. baruch spinoza was spared such distraction. into his self-contained life the affairs of the world could effect no entry. it is not quite certain whether spinoza was born in amsterdam. he must, at all events, have come there in his early youth. he may have been a pupil of manasseh, but his mind was nurtured on the philosophical treatises of maimonides and crescas. his thought became sceptical, and though he was "intoxicated with a sense of god," he had no love for any positive religion. he learned latin, and found new avenues opened to him in the writings of descartes. his associations with the representatives of the cartesian philosophy and his own indifference to ceremonial observances brought him into collision with the synagogue, and, in , during the absence of manasseh in england, spinoza was excommunicated by the amsterdam rabbis. spinoza was too strong to seek the weak revenge of an abjuration of judaism. he went on quietly earning a living as a maker of lenses; he refused a professorship, preferring, like maimonides before him, to rely on other than literary pursuits as a means of livelihood. in spinoza finished his "theologico-political tractate," in which some bitterness against the synagogue is apparent. his attack on the bible is crude, but the fundamental principles of modern criticism are here anticipated. the main importance of the "tractate" lay in the doctrine that the state has full rights over the individual, except in relation to freedom of thought and free expression of thought. these are rights which no human being can alienate to the state. of spinoza's greatest work, the "ethics," it need only be said that it was one of the most stimulating works of modern times. a child of judaism and of cartesianism, spinoza won a front place among the great teachers of mankind. bibliography manasseh ben israel. graetz.--v, . h. adler.--_transactions of the jewish historical society of england_, vol. i, p. . kayserling.--_miscellany of the society of hebrew literature_, vol. i. lady magnus.--_jewish portraits_, p. . english translations of works, _vindiciæ judeorum_, _hope of israel_, _the conciliator_ (e.h. lindo, , etc.). spinoza. graetz.--v, . j. freudenthal.--_history of spinozism_, _j.q.r._, viii, p. . hebrew dramas. karpeles.--_jewish literature and other essays_, p. . abrahams.--_jewish life in the middle ages_, ch. . graetz,--v, pp, [ ], [ ]. chapter xxv moses mendelssohn mendelssohn's german translation of the bible.--phædo.--jerusalem.--lessing's "nathan the wise." moses, the son of mendel, was born in dessau in , and died in berlin in . his father was poor, and he himself was of a weak constitution. but his stunted form was animated by a strenuous spirit. after a boyhood passed under conditions which did little to stimulate his dawning aspirations, mendelssohn resolved to follow his teacher fränkel to berlin. he trudged the whole way on foot, and was all but refused admission into the prussian capital, where he was destined to produce so profound an impression. in berlin his struggle with poverty continued, but his condition was improved when he obtained a post, first as private tutor, then as book-keeper in a silk factory. berlin was at this time the scene of an intellectual and æsthetic revival dominated by frederick the great. the latter, a dilettante in culture, was, as mendelssohn said of him, a man "who made the arts and sciences flourish, and made liberty of thought universal in his realm." the german jews were as yet outside this revival. in italy and holland the new movements of the seventeenth and the eighteenth century had found jews well to the fore. but the "german" jews--and this term included the great bulk of the jews of europe--were suffering from the effects of intellectual stagnation. the talmud still exercised the mind and imagination of these jews, but culture and religion were separated. mendelssohn in a hundred places contends that such separation is dangerous and unnatural. it was his service to judaism that he made the separation once for all obsolete. mendelssohn effected this by purely literary means. most reformations have been at least aided by moral and political forces. but the mendelssohnian revival in judaism was a literary revival, in which moral and religious forces had only an indirect influence. by the aid of greater refinement of language, for hitherto the "german" jews had not spoken pure german; by a widening of the scope of education in the jewish schools; by the introduction of all that is known as culture, mendelssohn changed the whole aspect of jewish life. and he produced this reformation by books and by books alone. never playing the part of a religious or moral reformer, mendelssohn became the jewish apostle of culture. the great event of his life occurred in , when he made the acquaintance of lessing. the two young men became constant friends. lessing, before he knew mendelssohn, had written a drama, "the jews," in which, perhaps for the first time, a jew was represented on the stage as a man of honor. in mendelssohn, lessing recognized a new spinoza; in lessing, mendelssohn saw the perfect ideal of culture. the masterpiece of lessing's art, the drama "nathan the wise," was the monument of this friendship. mendelssohn was the hero of the drama, and the toleration which it breathes is clearly mendelssohn's. mendelssohn held that there was no absolutely best religion any more than there was an absolutely best form of government. this was the leading idea of his last work, "jerusalem"; it is also the central thought of "nathan the wise." the best religion, according to both, is the religion which best brings out the individual's noblest faculties. as mendelssohn wrote, there are certain eternal truths which god implants in all men alike, but "judaism boasts of no exclusive revelation of immutable truths indispensable to salvation." what has just been quoted is one of the last utterances of mendelssohn. we must retrace our steps to the date of his first intimacy with lessing. he devoted his attention to the perfecting of his german style, and succeeded so well that his writings have gained a place among the classics of german literature. in , he won the berlin prize for an essay on mathematical method in philosophical reasoning, and defeated kant entirely on account of his lucid and attractive style. mendelssohn's most popular philosophical work, "phædo, or the immortality of the soul," won extraordinary popularity in berlin, as much for its attractive form as for its spiritual charms. the "german plato," the "jewish socrates," were some of the epithets bestowed on him by multitudes of admirers. indeed, the "phædo" of mendelssohn is a work of rare beauty. one of the results of mendelssohn's popularity was a curious correspondence with lavater. the latter perceived in mendelssohn's toleration signs of weakness, and believed that he could convert the famous jew to christianity. mendelssohn's reply, like his "jerusalem" and his admirable preface to a german translation of manasseh ben israel's _vindiciæ judeorum_, gave voice to that claim on personal liberty of thought and conscience for which the jews, unconsciously, had been so long contending. mendelssohn's view was that all true religious aspirations are independent of religious forms. mendelssohn did not ignore the value of forms, but he held that as there are often several means to the same end, so the various religious forms of the various creeds may all lead their respective adherents to salvation and to god. mendelssohn's most epoch-making work was his translation of the pentateuch into german. with this work the present history finds a natural close. mendelssohn's pentateuch marks the modernization of the literature of judaism. there was much opposition to the book, but on the other hand many jews eagerly scanned its pages, acquired its noble diction, and committed its rhythmic eloquence to their hearts. round mendelssohn there clustered a band of devoted disciples, the pioneers of the new learning, the promoters of a literature of judaism, in which the modern spirit reanimated the still living records of antiquity. there was certainly some weakness among the men and women affected by the berlin philosopher, for some discarded all positive religion, because the master had taught that all positive religions had their saving and truthful elements. it is not, however, the province of this sketch to trace the religious effects of the mendelssohnian movement. suffice it to say that, while the old jewish conception had been that literature and life are co-extensive, jewish literature begins with mendelssohn to have an independent life of its own, a life of the spirit, which cannot be altogether controlled by the tribulations of material life. a physical ghetto may once more be imposed on the jews from without; an intellectual ghetto imposed from within is hardly conceivable. tolerance gave the modern spirit to jewish literature, but intolerance cannot withdraw it. bibliography moses mendelssohn. graetz.--v, . karpeles.--_sketch of jewish history_, p. ; _jewish literature and other essays_, p. . english translations of _phædo, jerusalem_, and of the _introduction to the pentateuch_ (_hebrew review_, vol. i). other translations of _jerusalem_ were made by m. samuels (london, ) and by isaac leeser, the latter published as a supplement to the _occident_, philadelphia, . the mendelssohnian movement. graetz.--v, . index abayi, amora, . abba areka, amora, , , . popularizes jewish learning, . wide outlook of, . abbahu, amora, - . abraham de balmes, translator, . abraham de porta leone, historian, . abraham ibn chisdai, story by, - . abraham ibn daud, historian, - . abraham ibn ezra, on kalir, . life of, . quotations from, . activities and views of, , , . abraham abulafia, kabbalist, . abraham farissol, geographer, . abraham zacuto, historian, . abul-faraj harun, karaite author, . abulwalid merwan ibn janach, grammarian, . works of, translated, . achai, gaon and author, . acharonim, later scholars, . Æsop, used by berachya ha-nakdan, . "against apion," by josephus, . akiba, a tanna, , - . characteristics and history of, - . school of, . fable used by, . alphabet by, . al-farabi, works of, translated, . alfassi. _see_ isaac alfassi. alfonso v of portugal, abarbanel with, . alfonso vi of spain, takes toledo, . alfonso x of spain, employs jews as translators, , . almohades, the, a mohammedan sect, , . "alphabet of rabbi akiba," kabbalistic work, . amoraim, the, teachers of the talmud, . characterised, - . some of, enumerated, - . amram, gaon, liturgist, . anan, the son of david, founder of karaism, . andalusia, the spanish piyut in, . "answers." _see_ "letters"; "responses." "antiquities of the jews," by josephus, . antonio de montesinos, and the ten tribes, , . apion, attacks judaism, . apocrypha, the, addresses of parents to children in, . aquila, translates the scriptures, . identical with onkelos, - . aquinas, thomas, studies the "guide," . arabic, used by the gaonim, . in jewish literature, . poetry, . translation of the scriptures, , , . commentary on the mishnah, . aragon, spanish piyut in, . aramaic, translation of the pentateuch, . used by josephus, . language of the talmud, . used by the gaonim, . translation of scriptures in the synagogues, . language of the zohar, . arbäa turim, code by jacob asheri, , . archimedes, works of, translated, , . aristotle, teachings of, summarized, . interpreted by averroes, . works of, translated, . aruch, the, compiled by zemach, . by nathan, the son of yechiel, , . asher, the son of yechiel, the will of, - . codifier, . ashi, amora, compiler of the talmud, - . atonement, the day of, hymn for, . "autobiography," the, of josephus, . averroes, works of, translated, , , . azariah di rossi, historian, - , . azriel, kabbalist, . azulai, chayim, historian, . babylonia, rabbinical schools in, . centre of jewish learning, , . loses its supremacy, . bachya ibn pekuda, works of, translated, . ethical work by, . bacon, roger, on the scientific activity of the jew, . bahir, kabbalistic work, . bar cochba, akiba in the revolt of, . "barlaam and joshaphat," by abraham ibn chisdai, - . baruch of ratisbon, tossafist, . beast fables, in the midrash, - . examples of, - . bechinath olam, by yedaiah bedaressi, - . benjamin of tudela, traveller, . benjamin nahavendi, karaite author, . berachya ha-nakdan, fabulist, - . berlin, under frederick the great, . beruriah, wife of meir, . bible, the. _see_ scriptures, the. bidpai, fables of, and the jews, - . biur, the, commentary on the pentateuch, . bohemia, the kalirian piyut in, . "book of creation, the," kabbalistic work, . "book of creation, commentary on the," by saadiah, . "book of delight, the," by joseph zabara, - . "book of genealogies, the," by abraham zacuto, . "book of lights and the high beacons, the," by kirkisani, . "book of principles, the," by joseph albo, . "book of roots, the," by david kimchi, . "book raziel, the," kabbalistic work, . "book of the exiled, the," by saadiah, . "book of the pious, the," ethical work, . "book of tradition, the," by abraham ibn daud, - . braganza, duke of, friend of abarbanel, . brahe, tycho, friend of david gans, . "branch of david, the," by david gans, , - . "breastplate of judgment, the," part of the shulchan aruch, . "brilliancy," kabbalistic work, . browne, sir thomas, alluded to, . buddha, legend of, - . burgundy, the kalirian piyut in, . buxtorf, as translator, . "caged bird, the," fable, . cairo, old. _see_ fostat. calendar, the jewish, arranged, . "call of the generations, the," by david conforte, . "captives of hope, the," by penso, . castile, the spanish piyut in, . catalonia, the spanish piyut in, . "ceremonies and customs of the jews," by leon da modena, . chacham zevi, author of "responses," . "chaff, straw, and wheat," fable, . "chain of tradition, the," by gedaliah ibn yachya, , - . chanina, the son of chama, amora, . charizi, on chasdai, - , . on moses ibn ezra, . as a poet, - . influences immanuel of rome, . ethical work by, . geographical notes by, . chasdai ibn shaprut, patron of moses ben chanoch, . charizi on, - , . activities of, . as a patron of jewish learning and poetry, - , . and the chazars, - . as translator, . chasdai crescas, philosopher, . studied by spinoza, . chassidim, the, new saints, . hymns by, . chayim vital calabrese, kabbalist, . chazars, the, and chasdai ibn shaprut, - . chiddushim, notes on the talmud, . chiya, amora, . chizzuk emunah, by isaac troki, . choboth ha-lebaboth, by bachya ibn pekuda, . "choice of pearls, the," by solomon ibn gebirol, , . choshen ha-mishpat, part of the shulchan aruch, . "chronicle of achimaaz," . clement vii, pope, and david reubeni, . "cluster of cyprus flowers, a," by judah hadassi, . "cock and the bat, the," fable, . cohen, tobiah, geographer, . "collections." _see_ machberoth. "come, my friend," sabbath hymn, . "conciliator, the," by manasseh ben israel, . "consolations for the tribulations of israel," by samuel usque, - . constantine, forbids jews to enter jerusalem, . cordova, centre of arabic learning, - . a jewish centre, , . in the hands of the almohades, . corfu, abarbanel in, . council, the great. _see_ synhedrion, the. cromwell, and manasseh ben israel, . crusades, the, and the jews of france, . cuzari, by jehuda halevi, , . damascus, jehuda halevi in, . daniel, the book of, commentary on, . dante, influences jewish poets, , , , . david, the son of abraham, karaite author, . david ben maimon, brother of moses, . david abi zimra, author of "responses," . david alroy, pseudo-messiah, . david conforte, historian, . david gans, historian, - . david kimchi, grammarian, , . david reubeni, traveller, . "deeds of god, the," by abarbanel, . descartes, studied by spinoza, . "deuteronomy." _see_ "strong hand, the." "diary of eldad the danite," - . dictionary, hebrew rhyming, by saadiah, . _see also_ lexicon. dioscorides, works of, translated, . doria, andrea, doge, physician of, . dramas in hebrew, - . dunash, the son of labrat, grammarian, , . duran family, writers of "responses," . eben bochan, by kalonymos, . eben ha-ezer, part of the shulchan aruch, . egypt, jehuda halevi in, . eldad the danite, traveller, - . eleazar of worms, writer, . eleazar the levite, will of, - . eleazar, the son of azariah, saying of, - . eleazar, the son of isaac, will of, - . elias del medigo, critic, . elias levita, grammarian, . elijah kapsali, historian, . elisha, the son of abuya, and meir, . emden, jacob, author of "responses," . emek ha-bacha, by joseph cohen, , . emunoth ve-deoth, by saadiah, . en yaakob, by jacob ibn chabib, . enan, giant in "the book of delight," - . england, the kalirian piyut in, . jews re-admitted into, . "ennoblement of character, the," by solomon ibn gebirol, . eshkol ha-kopher, by judah hadassi, . esthori parchi, explorer of palestine, - . ethical wills, prevalence and character of, - . examples of, and quotations from, - . "ethics, the," by spinoza, . euclid, works of, translated, . eusebius, used in "josippon," . "examination of the world," by yedaiah bedaressi, - . exilarchs, the, official heads of the persian jews, . "eye of jacob, the," by jacob ibn chabib, . ezra, kabbalist, . fables. _see_ beast fables; fox fables. "faith and philosophy," by saadiah, . fathers, the christian, and simlai, . fayum, birthplace of saadiah, . ferdinand and isabella, abarbanel with, . fez, the maimon family at, . fiesco, rebellion of, . folk-tales, diffusion of, . fostat, maimonides at, . "foundation of the world, the," by moses zacut, . "fountain of life, the," by solomon ibn gebirol, . "four rows, the," code by jacob asheri, , . "fox and the fishes, the," fable, . "fox as singer, the," fable, . fox fables, by meir, . by berachya ha-nakdan, - . france, the kalirian piyut in, . a jewish centre, , , . jewish schools of, destroyed, . fränkel, teacher of mendelssohn, . frederick ii, emperor, patron of anatoli, . frederick the great, the berlin of, . galen, works of, translated, , . galilee, centre of jewish learning, . explored by esthori parchi, . gaonim, the, heads of the babylonian schools, . work of, - . literary productions of, - . language used by, . "letters" of, - . religious heads of the jews of persia, . as writers, . karaite controversies with, . works of, collected, . analyze the talmud, . gedaliah ibn yachya, historian, - . gemara. _see_ talmud, the. genesis, commentary on, by saadiah, . geographical literature among the jews, . german jews, stagnation among, . germany, the kalirian piyut in, . gersonides. _see_ levi, the son of gershon. "glory to the virtuous," by luzzatto, . graetz, h., quoted, , . grammar, hebrew, works on, , , . granada, jewish literary centre, . greece, the kalirian piyut in, . greek, translation of the scriptures, . used by josephus, . used in the sibylline books, . used among the jews, . grotius, friend of manasseh ben israel, . guarini, influences luzzatto, . "guide of the perplexed, the," by moses maimonides, , - , . habus, samuel ibn nagdela minister to, . hagadah, the poetic element of the talmud, . hai, the last gaon, . halachah, the legal element of the talmud, , . halachoth gedoloth, compilation of halachic decisions, . haman, a fable concerning, . hassan, the son of mashiach, karaite author, , . "heart duties," by bachya ibn pekuda, . hebrew, the, of the mishnah, . used by the gaonim, . the language of prayer, . influenced by kalir, . translations into, , . a living language, . studied by christians, . heilprin, yechiel, historian, . heine, quoted, . "hell and eden," by immanuel of rome, , - . "higher criticism," the, father of, . hillel i, parable of, . hillel ii, arranges the jewish calendar, . hippocrates, works of, translated, . historical works, - . historical writing among the jews, - , , . "history of france and turkey," by joseph cohen, . "history of the jewish kings," by justus, . "history of the ottoman empire," by elijah kapsali, . holland, a jewish centre, . homiletics, in the midrash, . in sheeltoth, . "hope of israel, the," by manasseh ben israel, - , . hosannas, the day of, hymn for, . huet, friend of manasseh ben israel, . huna, amora, - . ibn roshd. _see_ averroes. icabo, character in samuel usque's poem, . iggaron, dictionary by david, . ikkarim, by joseph albo, . immanuel, the son of solomon, italian jewish poet, , . life of, - . works of, - . isaac the elder, tossafist, . isaac, the son of asher, tossafist, . isaac abarbanel, in portugal, - . writes commentaries, , . in castile, . in naples and corfu, - . in venice, . as a writer, - . as an exegete, , . as a philosopher, . isaac aboab, ethical writer, . isaac alfassi, talmudist, - . isaac lurya, kabbalist, . isaac troki, karaite author, . isaiah hurwitz, kabbalist, . isaiah, the book of, abraham ibn ezra on, . islam, sects of, - . israel baalshem, kabbalist, - . israel isserlein, author of "responses," . "it was at midnight," by jannai, . italian jewish literature, - , . italy, the kalirian piyut in, . "itinera mundi," by abraham farissol, . "itinerary," by benjamin of tudela, . jabneh. _see_ jamnia. jacob ibn chabib, writer, . jacob anatoli, translator, . patron and friend of, . jacob asheri, compiler of the turim, , . jacob weil, author of "responses," . jacobs, mr. joseph, quoted, , , , - . jair chayim bacharach, author of "responses," . jamnia, centre of jewish learning, - . jannai, originator of the piyut, . date of, . japhet, the son of ali, karaite author, , . jayme i of aragon, orders a public disputation, . jehuda halevi, models of, . subjects of, . prominence of, . youth of, - . as a philosopher and physician, - , . longs for jerusalem, . on his journey, - . quotation from, - . works of, translated, . jerome, under jewish influence, . "jerusalem," by mendelssohn, . "jewish war, the," by justus, . "jews, the," by lessing, . jochanan, the son of napacha, amora, , , . jochanan, the son of zakkai, characterized, - , . as a tanna, - . jochanan aleman, kabbalist, . john of capua, translator, . joseph ibn caspi, will of, . joseph ibn verga, historian, - . joseph al-bazir, karaite author, , . joseph albo, philosopher, . joseph cohen, historian, - , . joseph delmedigo, on gedaliah ibn yachya, . joseph karo, prohibits the machberoth, . compiler of the shulchan aruch, . life of, - . _see_ shulchan aruch, the. joseph kimchi, exegete, . joseph zabara, poet, - . geographical notes by, . josephus, flavius, historian, - . works of, . characterized, - . champion of judaism, , - . style of, - . language used by, . used in "josippon," . joshua, the son of levi, amora, . "josippon," a romance, . judah the prince, a tanna, , - . characterized, - . judah ibn ezra, anti-karaite, . judah ibn tibbon as a translator, , . as a physician, - . judah ibn verga, chronicler, . judah chayuj, grammarian, . judah chassid, ethical writer, . judah hadassi, karaite author, - . judah minz, author of "responses," . judah romano, school-man, . judaism, after the loss of a national centre, . championed by josephus, , - . philosophy of, . justus of tiberias, historian, works of, . kabbala, mysticism, . development of, . and christian scholars, . the later, . kalila ve-dimna. _see_ bidpai, fables of. kalir, new-hebrew poet, , , . date of, . style of, - , . subject-matter of, - . quotation from, - . kalirian piyut, the, . kalonymos, the son of kalonymos, translator, , . as poet, , , - . kant, and mendelssohn, . kaphtor va-pherach, by esthori parchi, . karaism, rise of, - . a reaction against tradition, . defect of, . literary influence of, . history of, . rabbinite opposition to, . opposed by saadiah, , . kepler, correspondent of david gans, . kether malchuth, by solomon ibn gebirol, . quotation from, - . kimchi. _see_ joseph; moses; david. kirkisani, karaite author, . kodashim, order of the mishnah, . kore ha-doroth, by david conforte, . "lamp of light, the," by isaac aboab, . landau, ezekiel, author of "responses," . lavater, and mendelssohn, . "law of man, the," by nachmanides, . lecha dodi, sabbath hymn, . lecky, on the scientific activity of the jews, . leon da modena, historian, . leon, messer, physician and writer, . leshon limmudim, by sahal, the son of mazliach, . "lesser sanctuary, the," by moses rieti, . lessing, and mendelssohn, - . "letter," by sherira, - , . "letter of advice, the," by solomon alami, - . "letter of aristeas," by azariah di rossi, . "letters," the, of the gaonim, scope of, - . style of, . geographical notes in, . and the "responses," . levi, the son of gershon, philosopher, . lexicon, by sahal, . by david, . by david kimchi, . lexicon, talmudical. _see_ aruch, . "light of god, the," by chasdai crescas, . "light of the eyes, the," by azariah di rossi, , . literature, jewish, oral, - . principle of, - . under the influence of karaism, . _see_ mishnah, the. liturgy, the, earliest additions to, . _see_ piyut, the. lorraine, the kalirian piyut in, . lost ten tribes, book on, . in brazil, . lucas, mrs. alice, translations by, quoted, . lucian, used in "josippon," . luzzatto, moses chayim, kabbalist and dramatist, . ethical work by, . as dramatist, - . lydda, centre of jewish learning, . machberoth, by immanuel of rome, - . maggid, familiar of joseph karo, . maharil, collection of customs, . maimonides, moses, the forerunner of, . youth of, - . activities of, - . disinterestedness of, . attacks on, , . prominence of, - . as a philosopher, - , , . works of, translated, . and nachmanides, . studied by spinoza, . mainz, rashi at, . majorca, the spanish piyut in, . manasseh ben israel, and the lost tribes, - , , - . political activity of, , . life of, . attainments and friends of, . activities of, . as a pamphleteer, - . and spinoza, . manetho, historian, and josephus, . massechtoth, tractates of the mishnah, . "maxims of the philosophers," by charizi, . mebo ha-talmud, by samuel ibn nagdela, . mechilta, a midrashic work, . megillath taanith. _see_ "scroll of fasting, the." meir, a tanna, , - . characterized, - . fables by, . meir of rothenburg, poet, , - . writer of "responses," . "memorial books," historical sources, . menachem, the son of zaruk, grammarian, , , . mendelssohn, moses, antagonized by ezekiel landau, . life of, . objects to the separation of culture and religion, . service of, to judaism, - . and lessing, - . style of, . and lavater, . translates the pentateuch, - . circle of, . influence of, - . menorath ha-maor, by isaac aboab, . meör enayim, by azariah di rossi, . meshullam of lunel, patron of learning, , . messiah, the, joshua on, . messilath yesharim, by moses chayim luzzatto, . metre, in hebrew poetry, . michlol, by david kimchi, . midrash, the, characterized, - . poetical, , . popular homiletics, . works called, - . style of, - . proverbs in, - . parables in, - . beast fables in, - . and the piyut, , - . used by rashi, , . midrash haggadol, a midrashic work, . midrash rabbah, a midrashic work, . mikdash meät, by moses rieti, . minhag, established by the gaonim, . miphaloth elohim, by abarbanel, . mishnah, a paragraph of the mishnah, . mishnah, the, origin of, . principle of, . compiled by rabbi, . contents and style of, - . divisions of, . development of, . _see_ talmud, the. date of, . sherira on, . maimon's commentary on, . commentary on, . personified, . mishneh torah. _see_ "strong hand, the." moed, order of the mishnah, . mohammedanism assumed by the maimon family, . moreh nebuchim. _see_ "guide of the perplexed, the." moses, teachings of, summarized, . moses of leon, author of the zohar, , . moses, the son of chanoch, founds a school at cordova, . moses, the son of maimon. _see_ maimonides, moses. moses ibn ezra, and the scriptures, , . life of, - . quotation from, - . hymns of, . charizi on, . moses ibn tibbon, translator, . moses alshech, homiletical writer, . moses kimchi, grammarian, . moses minz, author of "responses," . moses rieti, poet, - . mysticism, an element of religion, - . in judaism, . nachmanides, moses, talmudist, - . on the french rabbis, , . as a poet, . gentleness of, . in a disputation, - . in palestine, . as an exegete, - . teacher of, . will of, . nahum, poet, . "name of the great ones, the," by chayim azulai, . naples, abarbanel in, . nashim, order of the mishnah, . "nathan the wise," by lessing, . nathan, the son of yechiel, lexicographer, . nehardea, centre of jewish learning, . nehemiah chayun, kabbalist, . new-hebrew, as a literary language, . new-hebrew poetry, and the scriptures, . characteristics of, - . after jehuda halevi, - , . _see also_ piyut. nezikin, order of the mishnah, . nicholas, monk, translator, . "novelties," notes on the talmud, . numeo, character in samuel usque's poem, . obadiah of bertinoro, rabbi of jerusalem, . omar, forbids jews to enter jerusalem, . onkelos. _see_ aquila. orach chayim, part of the shulchan aruch, , . "order of generations, the," by yechiel heilprin, . "order of the tannaim and amoraim," . orders of the mishnah, . origen, under jewish influence, . pablo christiani, convert, and nachmanides, . palestine, the kalirian piyut in, . the maimon family in, . explored, - . open to jews, - . parables, in the midrash, - . examples of, , . parallelism of line, in the scriptures, . passover, hymn for, . "path of life, the," part of the shulchan aruch, , . "path of the upright, the," by moses chayim luzzatto, . penso, joseph felix, dramatist, . pentateuch, the, translated, , , . as viewed by meir, . commentary on, - , . _see also_ scriptures, the. perakim, chapters of the mishnah, . perez of corbeil, tossafist, . "perfection," by david kimchi, . persia, the jews of, independent, . _see also_ babylonia. pesikta, a midrashic work, . petachiah of ratisbon, traveller, . "phædo, or the immortality of the soul," by mendelssohn, . philo, on judaism, . philosophy, jewish, created by saadiah, , . pico di mirandola, and the kabbala, . piyut, the, characteristics of, - . two types of, - . kalirian, . spanish, . creator of, - . by samuel ibn nagdela, . in italy, . poetry. _see_ new-hebrew poetry; piyut. poland, the kalirian piyut in, . porphyry, on the book of daniel, . prayer-book, the, compiled by amram, . arranged by saadiah, . prester john, eldad on, . "prince and nazirite," by abraham ibn chisdai, - . provence, the spanish piyut in, . jewish learning in, . proverbs, in the midrash, - . quoted, . psalms, the, and new-hebrew poetry, - , . mysticism in, , . ptolemy, works of, translated, , . pumbeditha, centre of jewish learning, , . "purim tractate, the," by kalonymos, - . pygmies, the, discovered by tobiah cohen, . "questions and answers," decisions, . rab. _see_ abba areka. rabba, the son of nachmani, amora, . rabbi. _see_ judah the prince. rabbinical schools, in babylonia, . rabina, amora, compiler of the talmud, , . ralbag. _see_ levi, the son of gershon. ramban. _see_ nachmanides, moses. rashbam. _see_ samuel ben meir. rashi (r. shelomo izchaki), importance of, . style of, - . characteristics of, - . life of, . as an exegete, - . descendants of, , . rava, amora, . rembrandt, friend of manasseh ben israel, . renaissance, the, and italian jewish literature, , , , . renan, on the students of averroes, . "responses," on religious subjects, - , - . reuchlin, johann, and the kabbala, . rhyme, in hebrew poetry, . "rod of judah, the," by the ibn vergas, - . rokeach, by eleazar of worms, . "royal crown, the," by solomon ibn gebirol, . quotation from, - . saadiah, gaon, , - . activities of, , . opposes karaism, , . translates the scriptures, , . style of, . conflict of, with the exilarch, . arranges a prayer-book, . as a philosopher, - , . works of, translated, . sabbatai zevi, and the kabbala, . opponents of, . "sacred letter, the," by nachmanides, . safed, kabbalist centre, . sahal, the son of mazliach, - . salman, the son of yerucham, karaite author, . salonica, kabbalist centre, . "salvation of his anointed," by abarbanel, . "samson," by luzzatto, . samuel, amora, - , . astronomer, . samuel, the son of chofni, gaon and author, . samuel ben meir, exegete, . samuel ibn nagdela, nagid and minister, . as a scholar, . as a poet, - . samuel ibn tibbon, translator, , . son-in-law of, . samuel usque, poet, - . scientific activity of the jews, . scot, michael, friend of anatoli, , . scriptures, the, translated into greek, . commentaries on, , , , . translated into arabic, , , . translations of, in the synagogues, . and new-hebrew poetry, - . characteristics of the poetry of, . addresses of parents to children in, . _see also_ pentateuch, the. "scroll of fasting, the," contents, character, and purpose of, - . sedarim, order of the mishnah, . seder ha-doroth, by yechiel heilprin, . sefer dikduk, by sahal, the son of mazliach, . sefer ha-chassidim, ethical work, . sefer ha-galui, by saadiah, . sefer ha-kabbalah, by abraham ibn daud, - . sefer yetsirah, by saadiah, . kabbalistic, . seleucid era, the, abolished, . selichoth, elegies, zunz on, - . sepphoris, centre of jewish learning, . septuagint, the, style of, . seville, jewish literary centre, . shaaloth u-teshuboth, decisions, . shalsheleth ha-kabbalah, by gedaliah ibn yachya, . shebet jehudah, by the ibn vergas, - . sheeltoth, by achai, - . sheloh, by isaiah hurwitz, . shelomo izchaki. _see_ rashi. sherira, gaon and historian, - . sheshet family, writers of "responses," . "shields of the mighty, the," by abraham de porta leone, . shiites, the, mohammedan sect, . shilte ha-gibborim, by abraham de porta leone, . shulchan aruch, the, publication of, . scope of, - . sources of, - . parts of, - . value of, . sibylline books, the jewish, - . on the jewish religion, - . language of, . quotations from, , . siddur, the, compiled by amram, . sifra, a midrashic work, . sifre, a midrashic work, . simlai, amora, , . simon, the son of lakish, amora, . simon, the son of yochai, alleged author of the zohar, . solomon, the son of adereth, writer of "responses," . solomon ibn gebirol, and the scriptures, . subjects of, . life of, - . works of, . quotations from, - . works of, translated, . solomon ibn verga, chronicler, . solomon alami, ethical writer, - . solomon alkabets, poet, . solomon molcho, and the kabbala, , . song of songs, the, and new-hebrew poetry, . spain, moorish, the centre of jewish learning, - . spanish-jewish poetry. _see_ new-hebrew poetry. spanish piyut, the, . speyer, rashi at, . spinoza, baruch, influenced by chasdai crescas, . philosopher, , , - . life of, - . works of, . steinschneider, dr., on jewish translators, . "stone of help, the," part of the shulchan aruch, . strabo, used in "josippon," . "strengthening of faith, the," by isaac troki, . "strong hand, the," by moses maimonides, - , , . "strong tower, the," by luzzatto, . sunnites, the, mohammedan sect, . sura, centre of jewish learning, , . saadiah at, , . synhedrion, the, at jamnia, - . "table prepared." _see_ shulchan aruch, the. tables of alfonso, in hebrew, . tachkemoni, by charizi, - , . talmud, the, commentary on the mishnah, . language of, . two works, . the teachers of, . character of, , , . the two aspects of, . and rab and samuel, - , . influences traceable in, - . compilation of, - . beast fables in, - . lexicon of, . and the piyut, . commentary on, by rashi, . geographical notes in, . notes on, . talmud, the babylonian, . the larger work, . talmud, the jerusalem, . tam of rameru, tossafist, . tanchuma, a midrashic work, . tannaim, the, teachers of the mishnah, . four generations of, . targum onkelos, aramaic translation of the pentateuch, . tarshish, by moses ibn ezra, . "teacher of knowledge, the," part of the shulchan aruch, - . teharoth, order of the mishnah, . teshuboth. _see_ "letters," the; "responses," the. "theologico-political tractate," by spinoza, , . tiberias, centre of jewish learning, . todros abulafia, kabbalist, . toledo, jewish literary centre, . cosmopolitanism of, . "topaz, the," by moses ibn ezra, . torah, the. _see_ pentateuch, the. tossafists, the, french talmudists, - . tossafoth, additions, . "touchstone, the," by kalonymos, . tractates of the mishnah, . tradition, the jewish, investigated at jamnia, . sherira on, . reaction against, . _see_ mishnah, the. translations, value of, . made by jews, - , , - , - , - . "travels," by petachiah of ratisbon, . troyes, rashi at, . "two tables of the covenant, the," by isaiah hurwitz, . tyre, jehuda halevi in, . usha, centre of jewish learning, . "valley of tears, the," by joseph cohen, , . venice, abarbanel in, . vindiciæ judeorum, by manasseh ben israel, , , . "vineyard," the. _see_ jamnia. vossius, friend of manasseh ben israel, . "wars of the jews, the," by josephus, . the language of, . "wars of the lord, the," by gersonides, . "wars of the lord, the," by salman, the son of yerucham, . wessely, n.h., pedagogue, . "wolf and the two hounds, the," fable, . "wolf at the well, the," fable, . "work of tobiah, the," by tobiah cohen, . worms, rashi at, . yad hachazaka. _see_ "strong hand, the." yalkut, collected midrashim, . yedaiah bedaressi, writer, - . yeshuoth meshicho, by abarbanel, . yoreh deah, part of the shulchan aruch, . yuchasin, by abraham zacuto, . zabara, satirist, . zacut, moses, dramatist, . zeëna u-reëna, homiletical work, . zeira, amora, . zemach, the son of paltoi, gaon and lexicographer, . zemach david, by david gans, - . zeraim, order of the mishnah, . zevaoth. _see_ ethical wills. zicareo, character in samuel usque's poem, . zion, odes to, by jehuda halevi, , - . zohar, the, kabbalistic work, - . style and language of, - . contents of, - . christian ideas in, . importance of, . in those days the story of an old man by jehudah steinberg translated from the hebrew by george jeshurun in those days the story of an old man i when the time drew near for samuel the beadle to let his son begin his term of military service, he betook himself to the market, purchased a regulation shirt, a knapsack, and a few other things needed by a soldier--and he did not forget the main item: he ran and fetched a bottle of liquor. then he went home. and there, in the presence of his neighbors, of whom i had the privilege of being one, he drank a glassful to "long life," and offered another to rebekah, his good wife. "drink, madam," said he, merrily. at this rebekah turned up her nose, as if ready to blurt out with "how often have you seen me drink liquor?" indeed, it was an affront which she would not have passed over in silence at any other time, but she had no heart for an open quarrel just then, when about to part with her son, and was satisfied with a silent refusal. "woman," said samuel, angrily, "take it, and do as you are told!" but rebekah was not impressed by his angry tone, for in fact samuel was an easy "lord and master." as to his loudness, it was but part of an old habit of his, dating from the days of his own military service, to bully his inferiors and to let those above him in authority bully him. "so are they all of his kind," she would often explain to her neighbors. "they just fuss, to blow off their tempers, and then--one may sit on them." rebekah persisted in her refusal, and samuel began in a softer tone: "but why does it worry you so much? woman, woman, it is not to shemad, god forbid, that he is going!" at the mention of conversion, rebekah burst into tears, for samuel had unintentionally touched her sore spot: there were rumors in the town that her family was not without blemish. "now that you are crying," exclaimed samuel, thoroughly angry, "you are not only hard-headed, but also silly, simply silly! 'long of hair but short of sense.' to cry and cry, and not know wherefore!" with this samuel turned towards us, and began to plead his case. "have you ever seen such a cry-baby? five times in her life she filled the world with a hue and cry, when she bore me a child, and every time it was but an empty bubble: five girls she brought me! then, beginning with the sixth birth, she was fortunate enough to get boys, the real thing. three sons she gave me as my old age was approaching. and now, when she ought to thank heaven for having been found worthy of raising a soldier for the army, she cries! think of it--your son enters the army a free man; but i, in my time,--well, well, i was taken by force when a mere youngster!" here the old man settled his account with the bottle, and took leave of his crying wife and his good neighbors, and in the company of his son mounted the coach waiting outside, ready to go to h., the capital of the district, where the recruits had to report. by special good fortune i was going to h. by the same coach, and so i came to hear the story of old samuel's life from the beginning till that day. it was the rainy season; the roads were muddy, and the horses moved with difficulty. the driver made frequent stops, and whenever the road showed the slightest inclination to go uphill he would intimate that it might be well for us to dismount and walk beside the coach a little. the cold drizzle penetrated to our very skin and made our flesh creep. the warmth we had brought with us from the house was evaporating, and with it went the merry humor of the old man. he began to contemplate his son, who sat opposite to him, looking him over up and down. the wise "lord and master," who had tried to instruct his wife at home and celebrate the fact of her having reared a soldier for the army, he failed himself to stand the trial: he began to feel the pangs of longing and lonesomeness. the imminent parting with his son, to take place on the morrow, seemed to depress him greatly. bent and silent he sat, and one could see that he was lost in a maze of thoughts and emotions, which came crowding in upon him in spite of himself. i took a seat opposite to him, so that i might enter into a conversation with him. "do you remember all that happened to you in those days?" i asked by way of starting the conversation. he seemed to welcome my question. in that hour of trial the old man was eager to unload his bosom, to share his thoughts with some one, and return mentally to all the landmarks of his own life, till he reached the period corresponding to that into which he was introducing his son. the old man took out his well-beloved short pipe. according to his story it had been a present from his superior officer, and it had served him ever since. he filled the pipe, struck a match, and was enveloped in smoke. ii you ask me whether i remember everything--he began from behind the smoke. why, i see it all as if it had happened yesterday. i do not know exactly how old i was then. i remember only that my brother solomon became a bar-mitzwah at that time. then there was dovidl, another brother, younger than solomon, but older than myself; but he had died before that time. i must have been about eleven years old. just then the mothers fell a-worrying: a catcher was coming to town. according to some he had already arrived. at the heder the boys were telling one another that the catcher was a monster, who caught boys, made soldiers out of them, and turned them over to the government, in place of the jewish grown-ups that were unwilling and unable to serve. and the boys were divided in their opinions: some said that the catcher was a demon, one of those who had been created at twilight on the eve of the sabbath. others said that he was simply a "heathen," and some others, that he was an "apostate." then, there were some who asserted that he was merely a bad jew, though a learned one nevertheless;--that he wore the regular jewish costume, the long coat and the broad waistband, and had the tallis-koton on his breast, so that the curse of the righteous could not hurt him. according to rumor, he was in the habit of distributing nuts and candy among jewish boys; and if any one tasted of them, he could not move from the spot, until the catcher put his hand on him and "caught" him. i happened to overhear a conversation between father and mother, and i gathered from it that i need not fear the catcher. it was a saturday night, soon after the death of my elder brother dovidl, within the period of the thirty days' mourning for him. mother would not be consoled, for dovidl had been her "very best." three brothers had i. the first-born, simhah, may he rest in peace, had been married long before; he was the junior shohet in town, and a candidate for the rabbinate. solomon was more learned in the torah, young though he was, peace be unto him. . . . well, they are now in the world-of-truth, in the world-to-come, both of them. but dovidl, had he lived, would have excelled them both. that is the way of the angel of death, he chooses the very best. as to myself--why deny it?--i was a dullard. somehow my soul was not attuned to the torah. as i said, mother was uttering complaints against heaven, always crying. yes, in the matter of tears they are experts. i have pondered over it, and have found it out: fish were created out of the mud-puddle, and woman out of tears. father used to scold her mightily, but she did not mind it; and she never ceased bemoaning dovidl and crying unto heaven, "who gave the angel of death power over him." on the night after sabbath, when father had extinguished the taper in the dregs of the havdolah cup, he turned to mother, and said: "now man born of woman is unwise all his life long. he knows not how to thank for the sorrows that have been sweetened by his mercy, blessed be he!" mother did not understand, and looked at father questioningly. "the catcher is in town," explained father. "the catcher!" shuddered mother. "but he takes only fourths and upwards," said father, reassuringly. fourths, fifths, etc., those households were called which had four, or five, or more sons. "and our household has only three sons at present," continued father. "do you understand, woman? three sons were left to us, and our household is exempt from military duty. now do you see the mercy of the lord, blessed be he? do you still murmur against him, blessed be he?"-- so it was in those days. every jewish community had to deliver a certain fixed number of recruits to the government annually. this number was apportioned among the families, and every family taxed the households composing it. but not every household had to supply a recruit. a household with a large number of sons secured the exemption of a household with fewer sons. for instance, a household with four sons in it was exempted, if there was a household with five sons to levy from in the same family. and a household of three sons was spared when there was, in the same family, a household of four sons. and so forth.-- and as father was speaking--the old man continued--mother contemplated us, as one that escapes from a fire contemplates the saved remnants; and her eyes overflowed with silent tears. those were the last tears shed over the grave of dovidl, and for those tears father had no rebuke. we felt that dovidl was a saint: he had departed this life to save us from the hand of the catcher. it seemed to me that the soul of dovidl was flitting about the room, listening to everything, and noticing that we were pleased that he had died; and i felt ashamed. the next day i went to the heder, somewhat proud of myself. i boasted before my mates that i was a third. the fourths envied me; the fifths envied the fourths, and all of us envied the seconds and the only sons. so little chaps, youngsters who knew not what their life was going to be, came to know early that brothers, sons of one father, may at times be a source of trouble to one another. that was at the beginning of the summer. the teachers decided that we remain within the walls of the heder most of the time, and show ourselves outside as little as possible during the period of danger. but a decree like that was more than boys could stand, especially in those beautiful summer days. meanwhile the catcher came to town, and set his eye on the son-in-law of the rich reb yossel, peace be unto him. the name of the young man was avremel hourvitz--a fine, genteel young man. he had run away from his home in poland and come to our town, and was spending his time at the klaus studying the torah. and reb yossel, may he rest in peace, had to spend a pile of money before he got avremel for his daughter. from the same polish town came the catcher, to take avremel as the recruit of the family hourvitz due to the jewish community of his city. when he laid his hand on avremel, the town was shocked. the rabbi himself sent for the catcher, and promised to let him have, without any contention, some one else instead of avremel. then they began to look for a household with the family name of hourvitz, and they found my father's. before that happened i had never suspected that my father had anything like a family name. for some time the deal remained a deep secret. but no secret is proof against a mother's intuition, and my mother scented the thing. she caught me by the arm--i do not know why she picked me out--rushed with me to the rabbi, and made it hot for him. "is this justice, rabbi? did i bear and rear children, only to give up my son for the sake of some avremel?!" the rabbi sighed, cast down his eyes, and argued, that said avremel was not simply "an avremel," but a "veritable jewel," a profound lamdan, a noble-hearted man, destined to become great in israel. it was unjust to give him away, when there was someone else to take his place. besides, avremel was a married man, and the father of an infant child. "now where is justice?" demanded the rabbi. but my mother persisted. for all she knew, her own sons might yet grow up to become ornaments to israel . . . and she, too, was observing the ordinances of the hallah and the sabbath candles, and the rest of the laws, no less than avremel's mother. more arguments, more tears without arguments--till the rabbi softened: he could not resist a woman. then mother took me and solomon up to the garret, and ordered us not to venture outside.-- here the old man interrupted himself by a soft sigh, and continued:-- to a great extent it was my own fault, wild boy that i was. i broke my mother's injunction. in the alley, near the house of my parents, there lived a wine-dealer, bendet by name. good wine was to be found in his cellar. for this reason army officers and other persons of rank frequented his place, and he was somewhat of a favorite with them. in short, though he lived in a mean little alley, those important personages were not averse to calling at his house. that bendet had an only child, a daughter. she was considered beautiful and educated. i had not known her. in my day they spoke ill of her. naturally, her father loved her. is there a father who loves not his offspring? and how much more such a daughter, whom everyone loved. however that may be, one day bendet's daughter broke away, left her father's house, and renounced her faith--may we be spared such a fate! and many years after her father's death she returned to our town, to take possession of her portion of the inheritance. that happened at a time when we were hiding in the garret. the town was all agog: people ran from every street to get a look at the renegade, who came to take possession of a jewish inheritance. i, too, was seized with a wild desire to get a look at her, to curse her, to spit in her face . . . . and i forgot all the dangers that surrounded me. young as i was, i considered myself as a jew responsible for the wayward one. i lost control of myself, and ran out. but after i had been in the street for some time, i was seized with fear of the catcher. every stranger i met seemed to me to be a catcher. i shrank into myself, walked unsteadily hither and thither, and did not know how to hide myself. then a man met me. his large beard and curled side-locks made me think he was a good man. i looked at him imploringly. "what ails you, my boy?" he asked in a soft tone. "i am afraid of the catcher," said i, tearfully. "whose son are you?" i told him. "then come with me, and i shall hide you, my boy. don't be afraid. i am your uncle. don't you recognize me?" he took me by the arm, and i went after him. then i noticed that the children of my neighborhood were eyeing me terror-stricken. the womenfolk saw me, wrung their hands, and lamented aloud. "what are they crying about?" i wondered. "do you want some candy? your uncle has plenty of it," said he, bending over me, as if to protect me. "or maybe your feet hurt you? let your uncle take you on his arms." as soon as i heard "candy," i felt that the man was the catcher himself, and i tried to break away. but the "uncle" held me fast. then i began to yell. it was near our house, and the people of our alley rushed towards us, some yelling, some crying, some armed with sticks. pretty soon i recognized my mother's voice in the mixture of voices and noises. you see, peculiar is the charm of a mother's voice: a knife may be held to one's throat, but the mere sound of mother's voice awakens new courage and begets new hope. mother made a way for herself, and fell upon the catcher like a wild beast. she struck, she pinched, she scratched, she pulled his hair, she bit him. but what can a woman do in the line of beating? nothing! her neighbors joined her, one, two, three; and all tried hard to take me out of the hands of the catcher. what can a few women do against one able-bodied man? nothing at all! that happened during the dinner hour. one of our neighbors got the best of the catcher, a woman who happened rather to dislike me and my mother; they quarreled frequently. perhaps on account of this very dislike she was not over-excited, and was able to hit upon the right course to take at the critical moment. she went to our house, took in one hand a potful of roasted groats, ready for dinner, and in the other a kettle of boiling water. unnoticed she approached the catcher, spilled the hot groats upon his hands, and at the same time she poured the boiling water over them. a wild yell escaped from the mouth of the catcher--and i was free.-- there was no more tobacco in the pipe, and the old man lost his speech. that was the way of samuel the beadle; he could tell his story only from behind the smoke of his pipe, when he did not see his hearers, nor his hearers saw him. in that way he found it easy to put his boyhood before his mind's eye and conjure up the reminiscences of those days. meanwhile the horses had stopped, and let us know that a high and steep hill was ahead of us, and that it was our turn to trudge through the mud. we had to submit to the will of the animals, and we dismounted. iii after tramping a while alongside the coach, the old man lit his pipe, emitted a cloud of smoke, and continued:-- i do not know what happened then. i cannot tell who caught me, nor the place i was taken to. i must have been in a trance all the while. when i awoke, i found myself surrounded by a flock of sheep, in a meadow near the woods. near me was my brother solomon; but i hardly recognized him. he wore peasant clothes: a linen shirt turned out over linen breeches and gathered in by a broad belt. i was eyeing my brother, and he was eyeing me, both of us equally bewildered, for i was disguised like himself. a little boy, a real peasant boy, was standing near us. he smiled at us in a good-natured, hospitable way. it was the chore-boy of the jewish quarter. on the sabbaths of the winter months he kept up the fires in the jewish houses; that is why he could jabber a few words of yiddish. during the summer he took care of the flocks of the peasants that lived in the neighborhood. when i awoke, my mother was with us too. she kissed us amid tears, gave us some bread and salt, and, departing, strictly forbade us to speak any yiddish. "for god's sake, speak no yiddish," said she, "you might be recognized! hide here till the catcher leaves town." it was easy enough to say, "speak no yiddish"; but did we know how to speak any other language? i saw then that i was in a sort of hiding-place--a hiding-place under the open sky! i realized that i had escaped from houses, garrets, and cellars, merely to hide in the open field between heaven and earth. i had fled from darkness, to hide in broad daylight! indeed, it was not light that i had to fear. nor was it the sun, the moon, or the sheep. it was only man that i had to avoid. mother went away and left us under the protection of the little shepherd boy. and he was a good boy, indeed. he watched us to the best of his ability. as soon as he saw any one approach our place, he called out loudly: "no, no; these are not jewish boys at all! on my life, they are not!" as a matter of facet, a stranger did happen to visit our place; but he was only a butcher, who came to buy sheep for slaughtering. well, the sun had set, and night came. it was my first night under an open sky. i suffered greatly from fear, for there was no mezuzah anywhere near me. i put my hand under my shaatnez clothes, and felt my tzitzis: they, too, seemed to be in hiding, for they shook in my hand. over us the dark night sky was spread out, and it seemed to me that the stars were so many omens whose meaning i could not make out. but i felt certain that they meant nothing good so far as i was concerned. all kinds of whispers, sizzling sounds of the night, reached my ears, and i knew not where they came from. looking down, i saw sparks a-twinkling. i knew they were stars reflected in the near-by stream. but soon i thought it was not the water and the stars: the sheen of the water became the broad smile of some giant stretched out flat upon the ground; and the sparks were the twinkling of his eyes. and the sheep were not sheep at all, but some strange creatures moving to and fro, spreading out, and coming together again in knotted masses. i imagined they all were giants bewitched to appear as sheep by day and to become giants again by night. then i knew too well that the thick, dark forest was behind me; and what doesn't one find in a forest? is there an unholy spirit that cannot be found there? z-z-z---- a sudden sizzling whisper reached my ear, and i began to cry. "why don't you sleep?" asked the shepherd boy in his broken yiddish. "i am afraid!" "what are you afraid of?" "of--of--the woods . . . ." "ha--ha--ha--i have good dogs with the flock!" i wanted a mezuzah, some talisman, a protection against evil spirits, and that fool offered me barking dogs! all at once he whistled loudly, and his dogs set up a barking that nearly made me deaf. the flock was panic-stricken. i thought at first that the earth had opened her mouth, and packs of dogs were breaking out from hell. the noise the dogs made broke the awful hush of the night, and my fears were somewhat dispelled. but there were other reasons why i liked to hear the dogs bark. i was myself the owner of a dog, which i had raised on the sly in my father's house. imagine the horror of my brother solomon, who as a real jewish lad was very much afraid of a dog! in that way we spent a few days, hiding under the open sky, disguised in our shaatnez clothes. soon enough the time came when my parents _had_ to understand what they would not understand when the rabbi wanted to give me up in place of the famous avremel. for they caught my oldest brother simhah, may he rest in peace. and simhah was a privileged person; he was not only the shohet of the community and a great lamdan, but also a married man, and the father of four children to boot. only then, it seems, my parents understood what the rabbi had understood before: that it was not fair to deliver up my brother when i, the ignorant fellow, the lover of dogs, might take his place. a few days later mother came and took us home. as to the rest, others had seen to it.-- here the old man stopped for a while. he was puffing and snorting, tired from the hard walk uphill. having reached the summit, he turned around, looked downhill, straightened up, and took a deep breath. "this is an excellent way of getting rid of your tired feeling," said he. "turn around and look downhill: then your strength will return to you."-- iv we had left the coach far behind, and had to wait till it overtook us. meanwhile i looked downhill into the valley below: it was a veritable sea of slush. the teams that followed ours sank into it, and seemed not to be moving at all. the oblique rays of the setting sun, reflected and radiating in every direction, lent a peculiar glitter to the slushy wagons and the broken sheet of mire, as if pointing out their beauty to the darkening sky. so much light wasted, i thought. but on the summit of the hill on which i was standing, the direct rays of the sun promised a good hour more of daylight. the old man drew breath, and continued his story:-- well, i was caught, and put into prison. i was not alone. many young boys had been brought there. some were crying bitterly; some looked at their companions wonderingly. we were told that the next day we should be taken away to some place, and that the rabbi wished to come to see us, but was not permitted to enter our prison. yes, a good man was the rabbi, may he rest in peace; yet he was compelled to cheat for once. and when an honest man is compelled to cheat he may outdo the cleverest crook. do you want to know what the rabbi did? he disguised himself as a peasant, went out, and walked the streets with the rolling gait of a drunkard. the night guards stopped him, and asked him what his business was. "i am a thief," said the rabbi. then the guards arrested him, and put him into the prison with us. in the darkness of that night the rabbi never ceased talking to us, swallowing his own tears all the while. he told us the story of joseph the righteous. it had been decreed in heaven, said the rabbi, that his brethren should sell joseph into slavery. and it was the will of the almighty that joseph should come to egypt, to show the egyptians that there is only one god in heaven, and that the children of israel are the chosen people. then the rabbi examined us: did we know our modeh-ani by heart? did we know our shema? he told us that we should be taken very, very far away, that we should be away many, many years, and should become soldiers when grown up. then he warned us never to eat of any food forbidden by the jewish law, and never to forget the god of israel and our own people, even if they tore our flesh with thorns. he told us also the story of the ten martyrs, who sacrificed their lives to sanctify the god of israel. he told us of the mother and her seven children that were killed for having refused to bow before idols; and he told us many more such things. all those saints and martyrs, he said, are now in paradise, enjoying the bliss of the divine presence. that night i really envied those saints; i longed with all my heart to be forced to bow to idols, to have to withstand all sorts of trials, so as to enjoy, after my death, the bliss of the divine presence in paradise. many more stories the rabbi told us; many more words of warning, encouragement, and praise came from his lips, till i really believed i was the one whom god had picked out from among my equals, to be put through great trials and temptations. . . . morning came, and the guard entered the prison. then the rabbi turned towards us, and said: "lambs of the god of israel, we have to part now: i am going to be lashed and imprisoned for having entered this place by a trick, and you will be taken into exile, to undergo your trials! i may hardly expect to be found worthy of surviving till you return. but there, in the world-of-truth, we shall surely meet. may it be the will of god that i may have no reason to be ashamed of you there, before him and his angels, in heaven!" we parted, and the words of the rabbi sank deep into my heart. then they began dumping us into wagons. the obstreperous boys, who tried to run away, were many of them bound with ropes and thrown into the wagon. of course, we all howled. i did not hear my own voice, nor the voice of my neighbor. it was all one great howl. a crowd of men and women followed our wagon--the parents of the boys. very likely they cried, too; but we could not hear their voices. the town, the fields, heaven and earth, seemed to cry with us. i caught sight of my parents, and my heart was filled with something like anger and hatred. i felt that i had been sacrificed for my brother. my mother, among many other mothers, approached the wagon, looked at me, and apparently read my thoughts: she fainted away, and fell to the ground. the accident held up the crowd, which busied itself with reviving my mother, while our wagon rolled away. my heart was filled with a mixture of anger, pity, and terror. in that mood of mixed feelings i parted from my parents. we cried and cried, got tired, and finally became still from sheer exhaustion. presently a noise reached our ears, something like the yelling of children. we thought it was another wagonload of boys like ourselves. but soon we found out our mistake: it was but a wagonload of sheep that were being taken to slaughter. . . . of course, we ate nothing the whole of that day, though the mothers had not failed to provide us with food. meanwhile the sun had set; it got dark, and the boys who had been bound with ropes were released by the guard: he knew they would not attempt to escape at that time. we fell asleep, but every now and then one of the boys would wake up, crying, quietly at first, then louder and louder. then another would join him; one more, and yet one more, till we all were yelling in chorus, filling the night air with our bitter cries. even the guard could not stand it; he scolded us, and belabored us with his whip. that crying of ours reminds me of what we read in lamentations: "weeping she hath wept in the night. . . ." morning came, and found us all awake: we were waiting for daylight. we believed it would bring us freedom, that angels would descend from heaven, just as they had descended to our father jacob, to smite our guard and set us free. at the same time, the rising sun brought us all a feeling of hunger. we began to sigh, each and every one of us separately. but the noise we made did not amount even to the barking of a few dogs or the cawing of a few crows. that is what hunger can do. and when the guard had distributed among us some of the food we had brought with us, we ate it with relish, and felt satisfied. at the same time we began to feel the discomfort we were causing one another, cooped up as we were in the wagon. i began to complain of my neighbor, who was sitting on my legs. he claimed that i was pressing against him with my shoulder. we all began to look up to the guard, as if expecting that he could or would prevent us from torturing one another. still i had some fun even on that day of weeping. i happened to turn around, and i noticed that barker, my dog, was running after our wagon. "too bad, foolish barker," said i, laughing at him in spite of my heartache. "do you think i am going to a feast? it is into exile that i am going; and what do you run after me for?"-- this made old samuel laugh; he laughed like a child, as if the thing had just happened before his eyes, and as if it were really comical. meanwhile our coach had reached the top of the hill; we jumped into our seats, and proceeded to make one another uncomfortable. the old man glanced at his son, who was sitting opposite to him. it was a loving and tender look, issuing from under long shaggy eyebrows, a beautiful, gentle, almost motherly look, out of accord with the hard-set face of an irritable and stern father. the old man made his son's seat comfortable for him, and then fell silent. v i am going to pass over a long time--resumed the old man later. there was much traveling and many stops; much tramping on foot, with legs swollen; but all that has nothing to do with the subject. once in a while our guard would get angry at us, curse us bitterly, and strike us with his whip. "you cursed jews," he would say, "do i owe you anything that i should suffer so much on your account, and undergo all the hardships of travel?" indeed, there was a good deal of truth in what he said. for, willingly or unwillingly, we did give him much trouble. had we died, say the year before, or even at that very moment, he would not have been put to the necessity of leading a crowd of half-dumb boys. he would not have had to stand the hardships of travel, and would not have been compelled to listen to the wailings of children torn from the arms of their parents. or do you think it is agreeable to feel that little children consider you a hard and cruel man? when i grew up and served in the army myself, and had people below me in age and position under my command, i came to understand the troubles of our guard; so that now, after having gone through many experiences, after i have passed, as they say, through fire and water, i may confess that i bear no malice towards all those at whose hands i suffered. there are many ex-cantonists who cannot forget the birch-rod, for instance. well, so much is true: for every misstep, for every sign of disobedience a whipping was due. if one of us refused to kneel in prayer before the crucifix; if one of us refused to eat pork; if one of us was caught mumbling a hebrew prayer or speaking yiddish, he was sure to get a flogging. twenty, thirty, forty, or even full fifty lashes were the punishment. but, then, is it conceivable that they could have treated us any other way? why, hundreds of jewish children that did not understand a word of russian had been delivered into the hands of a russian official that did not understand a word of yiddish. he would say, take off my boots, and the boy would wash his hands. he would say, sit down, and the boy would stand up. were we not like dumb cattle? it was only the rod that we understood well. and the rod taught us to understand our master's orders by the mere expression of his eyes. then many of the ex-cantonists still remember with horror the steam-bath they were compelled to take. "the chamber of hell," they called the bath. at first blush, it would really seem to have been an awful thing. they would pick out all the cantonists that had so much as a scratch on their bodies or the smallest sign of an eruption, paint the wounds with tar, and put the boys, stripped, on the highest shelf in the steam-bath. and below was a row of attendants armed with birch-rods. the kettle was boiling fiercely, the stones were red-hot, and the attendants emptied jars of boiling water ceaselessly upon the stones. the steam would rise, penetrate every pore of the skin, and--sting! sting!--enter into the very flesh. the pain was horrible; it pricked, and pricked, and there was no air to breathe. it was simply choking. if the boy happened to roll down, those below stood ready to meet him with the rods. all this is true. at the same time, was it mere cruelty? it is very simple: we were a lot of jewish lads snatched from the arms of our mothers. on the eve of every sabbath our mothers would take us in hand, wash us, comb our hair, change our underwear, and dress us in our sabbath clothes. all at once we were taken into exile. days, weeks, nay, months, we passed in the dust of the roads, in perspiration and dirt, and sleeping on the ground. our underwear had not been changed. no water had touched our bodies. so we became afflicted with all kinds of eruptions. that is why we had to pass through what we called "the chamber of hell." and this will give you an idea of the rest. to make a long story short: there were many of us, and we were distributed in various places. many of the boys had taken ill; many died on the road. the survivors were distributed among peasants, to be brought up by them till they reached the age of entering the army. i was among the latter. many months, maybe even years, i passed in knocking about from village to village, from town to town, till, at last, i came into the joint possession of a certain peter semionovich khlopov and his wife anna petrovna. my master was neither old nor young; he was neither a plain peasant nor a nobleman. he was the clerk of the village. in those days that was considered a genteel occupation, honorable and well-paid. he had no sons, but he and one daughter, marusya by name. she was then about fourteen years old, very good-looking, gay, and rather wild. according to the regulations, all the cantonists in the village had to report daily for military drill and exercise on the drill grounds before the house of the sergeant. he lived in the same village. at the request of my patron khlopov i was excused from the daily drill, and had to report but once a week. you see, peter expected to derive some benefit from me by employing me about the house and in the field. now it was surely through the merits of my ancestors that i happened to be placed in the household of peter khlopov. peter himself spent but little of his time at home. most of the time he was at the office, and his free moments he liked to spend at the tavern, which was owned by the only jew in the village, "our moshko" the klopovs used to call him. but whenever he happened to be at home, peter was very kind to me, especially when he was just a little tipsy. perhaps he dreamt of adopting me as his son: he had no sons of his own. and he tried to make me like military service. "when you grow up," he sued to say, "you will become an officer, and wear a sword. soldiers will stand at attention before you, and salute you. you will win distinction in battle, and be found worthy of being presented to the czar." he also told me stories of russian military life. by that time i had learned some russian. they were really nice stories, as far as i could understand them; but they were made nicer yet by what i could not understand of them. for then i was free to add something to the stories myself, or change them according to my own fancy. if you are a lover of stories, take the advice of a plain old man like myself. never pay any attention to stories in which everything has been prepared from the very start, and you can tell the end as soon as you begin to read them or listen to them. such stories make one yawn and fall asleep. stories of this kind my daughter reads to me once in a while, and i always fall asleep over them. stories are good only when told the way khlopov used to tell them to me. but that is all irrelevant. in short, khlopov was kind to me. as to anna, she was entirely different. she was close-mouthed, ill-tempered, and a great stay-at-home. she never visited her neighbors, and they, in turn, called on her very rarely. in the village she was spoken of as a snob and a hypocrite. peter was afraid of her as of the plague, especially in his sober hours. all her power lay in her eyes. when that strong man--he who had the whole village in the palm of his hand--felt her eye fixed on him, his strength left him. it seemed as if some devil were ready to jump out of that eye and turn the house topsyturvy. you fellows are mere youngsters, you have seen nothing of the world yet; but take it from me, there are eyes that seem quite harmless when you first look into them, but just try to arouse their temper: you will see a hellish fire spring up in them. have you ever looked into my rebekah's eyes? well, beware of the eyes. the look anna gave me when i first entered her house promised me nothing good. she hated me heartily. she never called me by my own name. she called me "zhid" all the time, in a tone of deep hatred and contempt. among the orders the cantonists had to obey were the following: to speak no yiddish; to say no jewish prayer; to recite daily a certain prayer before the image of the virgin and before the crucifix, and not to abstain from non-kosher food. with regard to all injunctions except the last, anna was very strict with me. but she was not very particular as to the last injunction. out of sheer stinginess she fed me on bread and vegetables, and that in the kitchen. once she did offer me some meat, and i refused to touch it. then she got very angry, flew into a temper, and decided to complain to the sergeant. but peter did not let her be so cruel. "let him grow up, he will know better," said peter, waving his hand at me. then anna made up her mind to force me to eat forbidden meat. but i was obstinate. and she decided once more to complain to the sergeant. just at that time another cantonist had been found guilty of some offense. he belonged to the same village; his name was jacob. i did not know him at that time. his patron complained that jacob had persisted in reciting hebrew prayers, and that he abstained from meat. jacob was condemned to twenty lashes with rods. an order was issued that all cantonists should assemble to witness the flogging of the offender. in the course of time we got used to such sights; but the first time we were terribly shocked. just imagine: a lad of about fifteen is stripped, put on the ground face downwards; one man sits on his head, and another on his feet. two men are put on either side of him, each with a bundle of birch-rods in his hand. ten times each of them has to strike him with the rods, to make up the twenty lashes. i looked at the face of the culprit; it was as white as chalk. his lips were moving. i thought he was reciting the prayer: "and he, the merciful, will forgive sin, and will not destroy. . . ." up went the rods, down they went: a piercing cry . . . . blood . . . . flaps of loose skin . . . . cries . . . . "one, two, three" . . . . again cries . . . . sudden silence . . . . more cries . . . . again silence . . . . "four, five" . . . . "stop!" because the culprit fainted, the sergeant in the goodness of his heart divided the punishment into two parts. jacob was carried off to the hospital, and it was put down in the book that he was to get ten more lashes after his recover. i went home. had anna given me a piece of pork to eat that evening, i do not know what i should have done. that night i saw the old rabbi in my dream. he was standing before me, with bowed head and tears dropping from his eyes. . . . . i do not remember the way marusya treated me at first. but i do remember the look she gave me when i first entered her father's house. there are trifling matters that one remembers forever. hers was a telltale look, wild and merry. it is hard to describe it in words--as if she wanted to say, "welcome, friend! you did well in coming here. i need just you to pass my leisure hours with me!" and she really needed someone like myself, for she never associated with the children of the village. the beautiful lively girl used to have her fits of the blues. then it was impossible to look at her face without pitying her. at such times her mother could not get a word out of her, and the whole expression of her face was changed to such an extent that she seemed to have aged suddenly. she would look the very image of her mother then. and a peculiar expression would steal over her face, which estranged her from other people, and perhaps brought her nearer to me. during those fits of despondency she was sure to follow me if i happened to leave the room and go outside. she would join me and spend hour after hour in childish prattle with me, and her merriment and wildness knew no limits. little by little i got used to her, and fell, in turn, a longing for her company during my own fits of lonesomeness. the day after i had witnessed jacob's punishment i felt miserable. i was restless and excitable, and did not know what to do with myself. i thought my heart would burst within me. i asked myself all kinds of questions: what am i doing here? what did i come here for? what are all those people to me? as if i had come there only the day before, and of my own free will. . . . marusya looked sharply at me. very likely she recognized that something was worrying me. i felt a desire to share my feelings with her. i got up and walked out into the garden behind the house. in a moment she followed me. i made a clean breast of it, and told her all i had to witness the day before. she listened, shivering, and asked in a tremulous voice: "and what did they beat him for?" "he said a hebrew prayer, and refused to eat meat." "and why did he refuse to eat meat?" "it is forbidden." "forbidden? why?" i was silent. she also became silent; then she laid her hand on me, and said with her usual merriment: "they will not beat you." "how do you know?" "the sergeant is a good friend of ours." "but if your mother should complain about me?" "then i shall go in your stead, if they should decide to switch you." she laughed heartily at her own suggestion. her laughter made me laugh too; we both laughed, and laughed without knowing why. and in a mood completely changed i returned to the house. after that i felt very near to the girl. well, time passed, months and years: i lost track of them. but i do remember that the time had come when i knew enough russian to make myself understood, and fit for any kind of work about the house and in the field, and could give my patron entire satisfaction. one day, i remember, i tried very hard to have my work well and promptly done, so as to earn, for once, the good-will of anna herself. i felt a longing for the friendly smile of a mother. but anna kept going in and out, and did not pay the least attention to me. i was sitting on the bench outside the house alone. my dog was lying at my feet, looking at me very intently. his eyes seemed to be full of tears. and let me tell you by the way, his lot in the house was entirely different from mine. when he first entered peter's courtyard, the dogs met him with howls. he tried to find shelter in the kitchen, but was chased out with sticks. "where did that tramp come from?" wondered the people. then my barker saw that he could expect no charity from the people, and he put his trust in his own teeth. he stood up bravely, and fought all the dogs of the household till blood flowed. then only did the masters of the house appreciate his doggish virtues and accomplishments. they befriended him, and allowed him his rations. so my barker saved his skin. yet his lot did not seem to please him. he recognized, by some peculiar dog-sense, that i, his fellow in exile, was unhappy myself and sorry for him too. he felt that somehow his own days of prosperity would not last long. whenever i sat about lonely and moping, he would stretch himself at my feet, and look straight into my eyes, with an expression of earnestness and wonderment, as if he wanted to ask me, how is that, why don't you fight for your rights the way i did? presently anna came out, shot a glance at me, and said: "well, now, there is the lazy zhid sitting idle, and i have to work and prepare meals for him, so that he may find everything ready!" i got up, and began to look around for something to do. "go, catch the little pig and bring it over here," ordered anna. the day before i had overheard her say that it was time to kill the little pig. i did not relish the job by any means. i felt sorry for the porkling: mere pig though it was, it had after all grown up in our house. and it was hard on me to have a hand in the affair. but one angry word of anna's set me a-going. in a moment my hand was on the animal, which trusted me and believed in me implicitly. then anna handed me a rope to bind it. i did as she wanted; the pig started to squeal and squeak horribly. to me it sounded like "zhid, zhid, is that the way to treat _me?"_ then anna handed me a knife, and showed me where to make the cut. . . . the pig began to bleed fearfully, gurgling, and choking with his own blood. forthwith anna ordered wood to be brought, a fire to be kindled, and the pig to be put upon it. i did all as i had been ordered. my dog was watching me intently, greatly bewildered; the pig groaned and groaned; the flames licked his body and embraced it--and my dog was barking and yelping away up into the sky. that night i dreamt that my brother the shohet and i were on trial in heaven before the seat of judgment, with various animals complaining against us. only clean fowl, such as geese, pigeons, and the like were complaining against my brother, and they all pleaded in clear, good hebrew, saying, "was it for your own consumption that you killed us all?" . . . . but it was only the pig that complained against me, and it pleaded in screeches and grunts that nobody could understand. . . . the next morning anna got up early, and made me stand before the ikon of the virgin and recite a certain prayer. at dinner she seated me alongside of peter, gave me some roast pork, and looked sharply at me. i guess, while making all those preparations, anna had only one thing in mind: to put peter up against me while he was drunk. i took fright, and began to chew away at the pork. but then the screeches and the grunts of the pig rang in my ears, and i thought they came right from within my insides; i wondered how they could listen to all that, and yet eat the pork in perfect comfort. suddenly a lump in my throat began to choke me. . . . nausea, retching . . . . and something happened to me: i vomited everything out, right on the table. everybody jumped away from the table in disgust and anger. i met marusya's eye, and was ashamed to look into it. anna got up, boiling with rage, and took me by the ear, and pulled me outside: "get out of here, you dirty zhid; and don't you dare enter my house any more!" well, she chased me out. peter and marusya kept quiet. thoroughly miserable, i dropped down on the bench behind the house; my dog stretched himself out on the ground at my feet and looked into my eyes. then i began to talk to my fellow in misfortune: "do you hear, doggie, we have been chased out. . . . what does that mean? did we come here of our own free will? it is by force that we were brought here; so what sense is there in chasing us out?" and i thought my dog understood me; a sound came from the depths of his throat, and died away there. then a thought began to haunt me: maybe it is really time to run away. if they run after me and overtake me, i shall simply say that my patron chased me out of his house. and the thought, home! to your parents! took possession of me, and tortured me ceaselessly. said i to myself: "if they chase me out, i am certainly free!" but then, just see the power of the birch-rod: i knew well that much time would pass before my patron would notice my absence; and before the sergeant was informed, and people were dispatched to pursue me, more time would pass. then i should be far away from the place. by that time i was quite hardened; i was not afraid to hide in the woods; devils and evil spirits i did not fear any more. i had learned well enough that no devil will ever trouble a man as much as one human being can trouble another. and yet, when i remembered the swish of the rods over the naked flesh, the spurting blood, the loose flaps of skin, and the futile outcries, i was paralyzed with fear. no, it was not really fear: it was a sort of submissive adoration. had a birch-rod been lying near me, i should have kissed it with fear and respect. it is hard for me to explain to you. you youngsters are not capable of understanding. and as i was sitting there, full of gloomy thoughts, i did not notice that the sun had set, and night had come. it got so dark that i could not see my dog lying at my feet. suddenly i felt something touch me and pass lightly over my hair. i thought it was an ant or a night moth, and i raised my hand to chase it away. then it changed its place, and i felt it at the nape of my neck. i tried to catch the thing that was making my neck itch, and caught a hand, soft and warm. i shuddered and started back: before me was marusya, bending over me. i wanted to get up, but she put her hands on me heavily, sat down at my side, all the while pressing my hand between hers. "why are you sitting here?" she asked. "didn't your mother chase me out?" "that is nothing. don't you know her temper? that is her way." "she keeps nagging at me all the time, and calls me nothing but zhid, zhid." "and what of it? aren't you a jew? should i feel insulted if some one were to call me christian?!" i had nothing to say. and it dawned upon me at that moment that i was really insulting myself by objecting to being called zhid. true, anna meant to jeer at me and insult me; but did it depend on her alone? "and what are you going to do now?" asked marusya. "i want to run away." "without telling me?" she peered into my face, and i felt as if two streams of warmth had emptied themselves into me. my eyes had become somewhat accustomed to the darkness, and i could discern every movement of her body. a delicate smile was playing around her mouth, and my feeling of despondency was giving way before it. i felt that after all i had a friend in the house, a good, loving, and beautiful friend. i shuddered and broke out into tears. then she began to play caressingly with my hair and pat me on my neck and face. she did well to let me have my cry out. by and by i felt relieved. she wanted to withdraw her hand, but then i held it fast. "so you were going to run away, and that without my knowledge?" said she. "no," i said with a deep sigh. "and if i should ever call you zhid, will you be angry with me?" "no," answered i, thoroughly vanquished. "well, then you are a dear boy, and i like you!" i felt the touch of soft, warm lips on my neck . . . . i closed my eyes, that the dark night sky and the shining stars might not see me. and when i recognized what had happened to me, i felt ashamed. marusya disappeared, and soon returned with a bag in her hand. "papa said you should go out with the horses for the night. here is some food in the bag. take it and go out." this she shot out quickly, and in a tone of authority, as befits the daughter of the patron, and as if what had passed between us were nothing but a dream. "going out for the night" was a peculiar custom. you can have no idea of what it meant. the logic of it was this: the cattle that had been worked the whole of the day were, to be sure, earning their fodder for the day. and the owners felt under obligation and necessity to feed them during their working hours. but how about the night, when the animals rested, and did no work? where should the fodder for the night time come from? so the custom developed of letting the animals browse in some neighbor's meadow during the night. that was cheaper. but that neighbor also had cattle; he, too, had horses that did not earn their feed during the night. do you know what the neighbor did? he did the same. he, too, sent out his horses stealthily, into his neighbor's meadow. so, in the long run, every one had his cattle browse secretly in some neighbor's meadow, and all were happy. but when the trespassing shepherd happened to be caught poaching, he got a whipping. and yet, strictly speaking, it was not stealing; it was a mere usage. the land-owners seemed to have agreed beforehand: "if you happen to catch my shepherd poaching, you may whip him, provided you do not object if i give a whipping to your shepherd on a similar occasion." in spite of all this i rather liked "going out for the night." i loved those nights in the open field. when the moon gave but little light, and one could see but a few steps away, i forgot my immediate surroundings, and my imagination was free! i would peer into the open sky, would bring before my mind's eye father and mother and all who were dear to me, and would feel near to them; for the sky that spread over all of us was the very same. i could imagine my father celebrating the new moon with a prayer. i could imagine my mother watching for the same star i was looking at; i could imagine that we were really looking at the same spot. . . . then tears would come into my eyes. my mother, i would think, was crying, too. and the night listened to me, and the stars listened to me. . . . the crickets chirped, and if i chose, i could believe they shared my sorrows with me, and were sighing over my fate. . . . idle fancy, nonsense, you think; but when one has nothing real to look up to, dreams are very sweet. a light breeze would steal over me, refresh me, and bring me new hope; and i trusted i should not be a prisoner always, the day of my release would surely come. at such happy moments i would fall asleep gazing at the stars. and if the sudden whip of the landowner did not put an end to my dreams, i would dream away, and see things no language could describe. well, i took the bag and led the horses out into the open field. but that time, out of sheer spite or for some other reason, i did not go into our neighbor's field, but descended right into the valley that my patron had left lying fallow, and stretched myself upon the soft grass of the hospitable turf. that night i longed to bring father and mother before my mind's eye and have an imaginary talk with them. but i did not succeed. instead, the figure of the old rabbi hovered before my eyes. it seemed to me that he was looking at me angrily, and telling me the story of joseph the righteous: how he lived in the house of potiphar, and ate nothing but vegetables. but when i reminded myself of joseph the righteous, i felt my heart sink at the thought of what marusya had done to me. i could not deny that the good looks of the gentile girl were endearing her to me, that out of her hands i would eat pork ten times a day, and that in fact i myself was trying to put up a defense of her. i took all the responsibility on myself. i was ready to believe that she did not seek my company, but that it was i who called her to myself. i was a sinner in my own estimation, and i could not even cry. then it seemed to me that the sky was much darker than usual, and the stars did not shine at all. with such thought in my mind i fell asleep. i awoke at the sound of voices. some one is crying, i thought. the sound seemed near enough. it rose and rose and filled the valley. it made me shudder. the soft, plaintive chant swelled and grew louder, as if addressed to me. it gripped my very heart. i stood up all in a shiver, and started to walk in the direction of the sound. but around me, up and down, on every side, was total darkness. the moon had set long ago. i moved away only a few steps from the horses, and could not make them out any more. by and by i could distinguish some words, and i recognized the heart-gripping chant of a hebrew psalm. . . . "for the lord knoweth the path of the righteous, and the path of the wicked shall perish." . . . my fears vanished, and gave place to a feeling of surprise. "where can that chanting come from," thought i, "and here in exile, too?" then i began to doubt it all, thinking it was but a dream. "why do the nations rage, and the peoples imagine a vain thing?" the voices were drawing me forward irresistibly, and i decided to join the chorus, come what might. and i continued the psalm in a loud voice: "the kings of the earth stood up . . . ." the chanting ceased; i heard steps approaching me. "who is there?" asked a voice in yiddish. "it is i," answered i, "and who are you?" "it is we!" shouted many voices in chorus. "cantonists?" "a cantonist, too?" thus exchanging questions, we met. they turned out to be three cantonists, who lived in a village at some distance from peter's house. i had never met them before. they, too, had "gone out for the night," and we had happened to use the same valley. i love to mention their names. the oldest of them was jacob, whom you remember from the punishment he underwent. the others were simeon and reuben. but there in the valley they introduced themselves to me with the names they were called by at home: yekil, shimele, and ruvek. i found out later that the valley was their meeting-place. it was a sort of klaus, "rabbi yekil's klaus" the boys called it. yekil was a boy of about fifteen, who was well-equipped with knowledge of the torah when he was taken away from his home. in the long years of our exile we had forgotten the jewish calendar completely. but yekil prided himself on being able to distinguish the days "by their color and smell," especially fridays; and his friends confirmed his statements. he used to boast that he could keep track of every day of the year, and never miss a single day of the jewish holidays. every jewish holiday they met in the valley on peter's estate. according to yekil's calendar, the eve of the fast of the ninth of av fell on that very day. that is why they had gathered in the valley that night. "if so," said i, "what is the use of reciting that psalm? were it not more proper to recite lamentations?" "we do not know lamentations by heart," explained yekil, with the authority of a rabbi, "but we do know some psalms, and these we recite on every holiday. for, at bottom, are mere words the main thing? your real prayer is not what you say with your lips, but what you feel with the whole of your heart. as long as the words are in the holy tongue, it all depends on the feelings you wish to put into them. as my father, may he rest in peace, used to instruct me, the second psalm is the same as the festival hymn, 'thou hast chosen us from among the nations,' if you feel that way; or it may be the same as lamentations. it all depends on the feelings in our heart, and on the meaning we wish to put into the words!" yekil's talk and the sounds of yiddish speech, which i had not heard since i left home, impressed me in a wonderful way. here i found myself all at once in the company of jews like father and mother. but i felt very much below that wonderful boy who could decide questions of jewish law like some great rabbi. indeed, he seemed to me little short of a rabbi in our small congregation. then i began to feel more despondent than ever. i considered myself the sinner of our little community. i knew i was guilty of eating pork and of other grave trespasses, and i felt quite unworthy of being a member of the pious congregation. meanwhile little reuben discovered the contents of my bag. "boys, grub!" exclaimed he, excitedly. at the word "grub" the congregation was thrown into a flutter. that was the way of the cantonists. they could not help getting excited at the sight of any article of food, even when they were not hungry at all. in the long run our patrons fed us well enough, and on the whole we could not complain of lack of food. but we were fed according to the calculations of our patrons, and not according to our own appetites. so it became our habit to eat whenever victuals were put before us, even on a full stomach. "eat whenever you have something to eat, so as not to go hungry when there may be no rations." that was a standing rule among the cantonists. they began fumbling in my bag, and i was dying with shame at the thought that soon they would discover the piece of pork, and that my sin would become known to the pious congregation. then i broke down, and with tears began to confess my sins. "i have sinned," said i, sobbing, "it is pork. i could not withstand the temptation." at that moment it seemed to me that yekil was the judge, and the boys who had found the pork were the witnesses against me. yekil listened to my partial confession, and the two "witnesses" hung their heads, and hid their faces in shame, as if they were the accused. but i sobbed and cried bitterly. "now, listen, little one," yekil turned to me. "i do not know whether you have suffered the horrors of hell that we have suffered. did they paint your body with tar, and put you up on the highest shelf in the steam-bath, and choke you with burning steam? did they flog you with birch-rods for having been caught mumbling a hebrew prayer? did they make you kneel for hours on sharp stones for having refused to kiss the ikon and the crucifix? did they discover you secretly kissing the arba-kanfos, and give you as many lashes as there are treads in the tzitzis? if you have not passed through all that, uncover our backs, and count the welts that still mark them! and to this you must add the number of blows i have still to get, simply because my little body could not take in at once all it was expected to take in. and yet, not a day passed without our having recited our modeh-ani. as to eating pork, we abstained from it in spite of the rods. then they gave up flogging us; but, instead of that punishment, they gave us nothing but pork to eat. two days we held out; we did not touch any food. we did not get even a drink of water. do you see little simeon? well, he tried to eat the grass in the courtyard. . . . on the third day of our fast i saw my father in my dream. he was dressed in his holiday clothes, and holding the bible in his hands he quoted the passage, 'be ye mindful of your lives.' suddenly, the earth burst open, and the angel of death appeared. he had rods in one hand and a piece of swine's flesh in the other. he put the piece of pork into my mouth. i looked up, terror-stricken, to my father, but he smiled. his smile filled the place with light. he said to me, 'eatest thou this of thy own free will?' then he began to soar upwards, and called out to me from afar: 'tell all thy comrades, the cantonists: your reward is great. every sigh of yours is a prayer, every good thought of yours is a good action! only beware, lest you die of hunger; then surely you will merit eternal punishment!' "i awoke. since then we eat all kinds of forbidden food. the main thing is that we have remained jews, and that as jews we shall return home to our parents. it is clear to me now that the holy one, blessed by he, will not consider all that a sin on our part!" i felt as if a heavy load had been taken off my shoulders. my eyes began to flow with tears of gladness. then, having once started my confession, i decided to confess to my second sin also. meanwhile simeon had pulled the bread and the meat out of my bag. "glutton!" exclaimed yekil, angrily. "have you forgotten that it is the night of the fast of the ninth of av?" the boy, ashamed, returned the things to the bag, and moved away a few steps. then i told yekil all that had passed between me and marusya, and tried unconsciously to defend her in every way. i think i exaggerated a good deal when i tried to show that marusya liked the jews very much, indeed. "and what was the end of it?" asked yekil, with some fear. "did she really kiss you?" the other boys echoed the question. i looked down, and said nothing. "is she good-looking?" i still gave no answer. "i have forgotten your name. what is it?" "samuel." "now listen, samuel, this is a very serious affair. it is much worse than what is told of joseph the righteous. do you understand? i do not really know how to make it clear to you. it is very dangerous to find good and true friends right here in exile, in the very ranks of our enemies." "why?" wondered i. "i cannot tell you, but this is how i feel. insulted and outraged we have been brought here; insulted and outraged we should depart from here. ours is the right of the oppressed; and that right we must cherish till we return home." "i do not understand!" jacob looked at me sharply, and said: "well, i have warned you; keep away from her." his words entered into the depths of my heart. i bowed my head before yekil, and submitted to his authority. that was the way we all felt: yekil had only to look at us to subject us to his will. it was hard to resist him. i felt a great change in myself: i had been relieved of the weight of two sins. of one i had been absolved completely, and the other i had confessed in public and repented of. i gladly joined the little congregation, and we returned to our psalms, which we recited instead of lamentations. at the conclusion i proposed that we chant the psalm "by the rivers of babylon," which we all knew by heart. and we, a congregation of four little jews, stood up in the valley on the estate of peter khlopov, concealed by steep hills and by the darkness of the night: thieves for the benefit of our masters, and mourners of zion on our own account. . . . and we chanted out of the depths of our hearts: "by the rivers of babylon, there we sat and wept, remembering zion." . . . we chanted the whole of it, sat down and wept, remembering at the same time all we had gone through ourselves, and also the position we were in at that time.-- here old samuel shuddered and stopped abruptly. the sun had set, and he reminded himself that he had forgotten to say his afternoon prayer. he jumped down hastily, washed his hands in a near-by pool, returned to his seat, and became absorbed in his devotion. vi by and by the streaks of light disappeared in the twilight sky, and the wintry night threw the mantle of thick and misty blackness over us. presently i heard the old man conclude his prayer: "when the world will be reclaimed through the kingship of the almighty; when all mortals will acknowledge thy name. . . . on that day the lord will be one, and his name will be one!" out of the darkness came the devout words; they seemed to take wing, as though to pierce the shrouding mist and scatter it; but they themselves were finally dissolved in the triumph and blackness. . . . i did not have to urge the old man to continue his tale. his prayers over, he picked up the thread of his narrative, as if something were driving him to give a full account of what he had passed through.-- the day i became acquainted with jacob--continued the old man--i consider the beginning of a new period in my life. i became accustomed to consider him my superior, whose behavior had to be taken as an example. jacob spoke as an authority whenever he did speak, and he never wavered in his decisions. whenever he happened to be in doubt, his father would "instruct" him in his dreams. thus we lived according to jacob's decisions and dreams. i got used to eating forbidden food, to breaking the sabbath, and trespassing against all the ordinances of the ritual without compunction. and yet jacob used to preach to us, to bear floggings and all kinds of punishments rather than turn traitor to our faith. so i got the notion that our faith is neither prayers, nor a collection of ordinances of varying importance, but something i could not name, nor point to with my finger. jacob, i thought, certainly knows all about it; but i do not. all i could was to _feel_ it; so could anna. otherwise she would not have called me zhid, and would not have hated me so much, in spite of seeing me break all the ordinances of the jewish ritual. at times i thought that i and my comrades were captains in god's army, that all his ordinances were not meant for us, but for the plain soldiers of the line. they, the rank and file, must be subjected to discipline, must know how to submit to authority; all of which does not apply to the commanding officers. it seemed to me that this was what the holy one, blessed be he, had deigned to reveal to us through the dreams of jacob: there is another religion for you, the elect. _you_ will surely know what is forbidden, and what is permitted. . . . sometimes, again, i imagined that i might best prove true to my faith if i set my heart against the temptation that satan had put before me in the person of marusya. if i turned away from her, i thought, i might at once gain my share in the future world. so i armed myself against marusya's influence in every possible way. i firmly resolved to throw back at her any food she might offer me. if she laid her hand on me, i would push it away from me, and tell her plainly that i was a jew, and she--a nobody. so i fought with her shadow, and, indeed, got the best of it as long as she herself was away. but the moment she appeared, all my weapons became useless. she made me feel like one drunk. i could not withstand the wild-fire of her eye, nor the charm of her merry talk, nor the wonderful attraction of her whole person. at the same time there was not a trace of deviltry about her: it was simply an attraction which i could not resist. and when she laid her soft hand on me, i bent under it, and gave myself up entirely. and she did what she wanted: where buttons were missing, she sewed them on; and where a patch was needed, she put it in. she was a little mother to me. she used to bring me all kinds of delicacies and order me to eat them; and i could not disobey her. in short, she made me forget jacob and his teachings. but the moment i met jacob i forgot marusya's charms, and reminded myself that it was sinful to accept favors in exile. then i would repent of my past actions from the very depths of my heart--till i again was face to face with marusya. i was between the hammer and the anvil. my meetings with jacob were regular and frequent. after what according to jacob's calendar was the ninth of av, we met nightly in the valley on peter's estate, till a disagreement broke out among us. i would not permit the cattle of the whole neighborhood to browse on the estate of my patron, and simeon and reuben would not agree to let my patron's horses be brought to the meadows of their patrons. our congregation nearly broke up. but here jacob intervened with his expert decision. "boys," said he, "you must know that 'going out for the night' is really a form of stealing. true, we do not steal for our own benefit. yet, as long as we have a hand in it, we must manage it in a fair way. so let us figure out how many horses every one of our patrons possesses. and let us arrange the nights according to the number of horses each of the patrons has. according to this calculation we shall change places. we shall spend more nights in the meadows of those who have more horses. that will make 'fair stealing.'" the plan of jacob was accepted, not as a proposition, but as an order. since that time we began to "steal with justice." and our patrons slept peacefully, delighted with their unpunished thievery, till a gentile boy, one serge ivanovich, joined us on one of his own "nights." he was the son of the village elder, and a cousin of peter khlopov. he was compelled to obey jacob, but the next morning he blabbed about it all over the village. of course, our patrons were angry. jacob took the whole blame on himself, and suffered punishment for all of us. then "jacob's klaus" was closed, because our patrons gave up sending us out "for the night." well, if you please, their dissatisfaction was not entirely groundless: they found themselves fooled by us, and cheated in a way. for every one of them had been thinking that his horse would bring him some profit every night, equal to the value of the horse's browsing. seven nights, seven times that profit; thirty nights, thirty times that profit. . . . all at once these "profits" had vanished: it turned out that every horse had been browsing at the expense of his own master; so the expected profits became a total loss. of course, stealing is stealing. but then, they argued, had the zhid youngsters any right to meddle with their affairs? was it their property that was being stolen? as one of my gentile acquaintances told me once: "the trouble with the jews is that they are always pushing themselves in where they are not wanted at all." indeed, it was this fault of ours that serge kept pointing out to me and berating us for. well, jacob's klaus had been closed. but we managed to get together in different places. once in a while we came to see one another at our patron's houses, and they did not object. i do not know who told marusya what kind of a chap jacob was, and what he thought of her; but she hated him from the moment she first saw him, when he came to visit me. "he is a real savage," she would say. "i never saw such a jew. i am simply afraid of him. i am afraid of those wild eyes of his. i detest him, anyway." that is what she used to tell me. whenever jacob came to see me, and marusya happened to be in the room, she would walk out immediately, and would not return before he was out of the house. i rather liked it. i could not be giving in to both of them at the same time. such were the surroundings that shaped my life during those days. peter befriended me; but anna kept on worrying me and making me miserable. marusya loved me as a sister loves a brother, and the fire of her eyes ate into my heart. jacob kept preaching to me that it was wrong to accept favors from gentiles, and that we had to fight for our faith. serge became my bitter enemy from the time he betrayed our scheme of "honest stealing." to top it all, my sergeant tried to put me through the paces of the military drill, and succeeded. but my own self seemed to have been totally forgotten and left out of the account. by and by the summer passed, and most of the following winter; and in the khlopov household preparations were made for some holiday, i forget which. those days of preparation were our most miserable days in exile. when anna was busy on the eve of a holiday, i could not help remembering our own sabbath eves at home, the sabbath days in the klaus, as well as the other holidays, and all the things that are so dear to the heart of the jewish boy. that was the time when i felt especially lonely and homesick; it was as though a fever were burning within me. then neither tears nor even marusya's company did me any good. i felt as if red-hot coals had been packed up right here in my breast. did you ever feel that way? i felt like rolling on the ground and pressing my chest against something hard. i felt i was going mad. i felt like jumping, crying, singing, and fighting all at once. i felt as if even lashes would be welcome, simply to get rid of that horrible heartache. on that particular day khlopov was late in coming home. marusya remarked that she had seen her father enter the tavern. then anna began to curse "our moshko," the tavern keeper. marusya objected: "tut, tut, mother, is it any of moshko's fault? does he compel papa to go there? does he compel him to drink?" then anna few into a temper, and poured out a torrent of curses and insults on marusya. i don't know what happened to me then. my blood was up; my fists tightened. it was a dangerous moment; i was ready to pounce upon anna. i did not know that marusya had been watching me all the while from behind, and understood all that was passing within me. presently the door opened, and khlopov entered, rather tipsy, hopping and jigging. that was his way when in his cups. when he was under the influence of liquor, his soul seemed to spread beyond its usual limits and light up his face with smiles. at such moments he would be ready to hug, to kiss, or to cry; or else to curse, to fight, and to laugh at the same time. right here you can see the difference between the jew and the gentile. the finer soul of the jew may contract and settle on the very point of his nose. but the grosser soul of the gentile needs, as it were, more space to spread over. this, i believe, is why khlopov never failed to get a clean shave on the eve of every holiday. as soon as khlopov had entered the room, he began to play with me and marusya. he gave us candy, and insisted on dancing a jig with us. anna met him with a frown: "drunk again?" but this time her eyes seemed to have no power over khlopov. he could not stand it any longer, and gave tit for tat. "zhidovka!" he shouted. i looked at anna: she turned red. marusya blushed. khlopov sobered up, and his soul shrank to its usual size. anna went to her room. the spell was broken. the word "zhidovka" hurled at anna made me start back. what could it mean, i wondered. i felt sorry for khlopov, for marusya, for anna, and for the holiday mood that had been spoilt by a single word. and it seemed to me it was my fault to some extent. who, i thought, had anything in common with zhidovka if not myself? or was it khlopov?-- here the old man was interrupted by the neighing of the horses. the forward horse seemed to be getting proud of the comparative freedom he enjoyed, and bit his neighbor, only to remind him of it. the latter, unable to turn around in the harness, resented the insult by kicking. but then the driver plied the whip, and there was peace again. "would you take the trouble to dismount? just walk up that hill: it will do you good to warm yourselves up a little after sitting so long in one place." that was the driver's suggestion; and as no one refuses obedience to drivers on the road, we dismounted. vii the next day--resumed the old man--the situation became a little clearer to me. marusya told me that according to the gossip of the village her mother was a converted jewess. she, marusya, was not so sure of it. her father would call her mother a jewess once in a while, but that happened only when he was drunk. so she did not know whether he merely repeated the village gossip, or had his own information in the matter. and when she asked her mother, the latter would fly into a temper. "papa himself," said marusya, "likes jews; but mother hates them. i like papa more than mamma; i also like jews; i often play with moshko's girls when mother is not around. i do not understand why mother dislikes jews so much." then marusya insisted i should tell her the real truth about the jews, as they are at home: were they like myself, or like jacob, the wild one? but i stopped listening to her chatter, and began to think of what she had told me about her mother. for in case it was true that anna was a convert, then--why, then marusya herself was half a jewess. i decided to solve the mystery. now let me tell you that as a result of our cantonist training we were not only as bold as eagles, as courageous as lions, as swift as the deer in doing the will of our patrons, but also as sly as foxes in finding a way out of a difficulty. and, by the way, that was also the opinion of our late commander, colonel pavel akimovich. a keen-eyed commander and a kind-hearted master was he, may his lot be in paradise among the godly men of the gentile tribes. yes, if he was an eagle, we were his chicks; if he was a lion, we were his whelps! this is what he used to say: "in time of need, you have no better soldier than the jew. but then you must know how to use him. do not give him too many instructions, and do not try to explain it all to him from beginning to end. if you instruct him too much, he will be afraid to do any scheming on his own hook, and you will be the loser. just give him your order, and tell him what the order is for. then you may be sure he will get it for you, even if he should have to go to hell for it!" this is what colonel pavel akimovich used to say of us. now, once i decided to find out anna's secret, i thought it all out beforehand, as a cantonist should; and i hit upon a plan. that was at the beginning of spring. one day khlopov left on a journey to the neighboring villages to collect the taxes. he had to stay away some time. the whole of that day anna kept worrying me as usual. she sent me on unnecessary errands, she wanted me to be in two places at the same time. she yelled, she cursed, she shook me, and mauled me, she pulled me by the ears. she knew well how to make one miserable. when night came, i went to sleep in the anteroom; that was my bedroom. anna was abed, but not asleep. marusya had long been asleep. then anna remembered that she had forgotten to close the door leading to the anteroom, and she ordered me to get up and close it. i made believe i was sleeping soundly, and began to snore loudly. she kept on calling me, but i kept on snoring. suddenly i began to cry, as if from the sleep: "o mother, leave anna alone. she too is a mother! pity her family!" anna became silent. i half opened my eyes and looked at her through the open door. a candle was burning on the table near her bed, and i could see that she was frightened, and was listening intently. then i continued, somewhat differently: "i beg of you, mother, is it her fault? doesn't she feed me? isn't she a mother too?" then i began to cry as if in my sleep. "what?" i asked suddenly, "anna?! anna--a jewess too?!" then i noticed that anna was watching marusya's bed. i saw she was afraid marusya might overhear what was not intended for her ears. she put on her night robe, came to my bed, and began in a whisper: "are you sleeping? get up, my boy, wake up!" i did "wake up," and put on a frightened appearance. "what did you cry about?" she asked. "i dreamt something terrible." "what did you dream about" i kept silent. "tell me, tell me!" she insisted. "i saw my mother in a dream." "is she alive yet?" i told a lie. i said my mother was long dead. "and what did she tell you?" "she said that . . . ." "tell me, tell me!" "i cannot repeat that in russian." "then say it in yiddish." i looked with make-believe surprise at anna. "she said: 'i shall come to anna at night and choke her, if she doesn't give up abusing you.'" at this anna turned red. i continued: "and she said also, 'anna ought to have pity on jewish children, because she is a jewess herself.'" . . . . my scheme worked well. anna began to treat me in an entirely different way, and my position in the house not only improved, but became the opposite of what it had been. at times, when no one was around, she even spoke yiddish to me. apparently she liked to remain alone in the house with me and chat with me. you must know, her position in the village was all but agreeable. she had very few acquaintances; and she would have been better off without any. when she happened to have visitors, a mutual suspicion at once became apparent, in their behavior and their talk. there was much more flattery, much more sweetness of speech than is common among people. one could see that each spoke only to hide her innermost thoughts. every conversation ended as it began: with gossip about women who were not zealous enough in matters of church attendance. and when it came to that, anna invariably blushed, simply because she was afraid she might blush. then, feeling the blood coming to her face, she would try to hide her confusion, and would chatter away ceaselessly, to show how punctual she was herself in church matters. on taking leave, anna's friends would exchange significant glances, and anna would have been either too stupid or else too wise not to notice the sting of those sly looks. as to peter, he treated anna fairly well; and when they happened to quarrel, it was mostly her own fault. one night--it was long after i had found out anna's secret--i happened to be sleepless, and i overheard anna talking angrily to peter. she was scolding him for having forgotten to prepare oil for the lamp before the ikon of some saint. it was that saint's day, and khlopov had either forgotten or neglected it. he was very careless in church matters, and anna never got tired of taking him to task for it. this time she didn't leave off nagging him, till he lost patience, and said: "were i really as religious as you want me to be, i should have taken to wife a woman who--well, who is a real christian herself." perhaps peter never meant to insult anna by reminding her of that which she wished to forget. or perhaps peter thought he had offered a valid excuse. but anna was offended and turned around crying. the trouble with anna was that she was very sensitive. that was a trait of hers. when she heard something said about herself, she never was satisfied with the plain meaning of what was said, but tried to give the words every other possible meaning. every chance remark she happened to overhear she took to be meant for herself. well, this same sensitiveness one may find in most of the cantonists. for instance, in the regiment of general luders, in which i served once, we had many tatars, some karaites, and a goodly number of jews. to all appearances there was no trouble; but let one soldier call another "antichrist," and every jew in the regiment would get excited. the tatars and the karaites rather liked to call their comrades antichrist, even if they happened to be christians. but it was only the jews whom the word set a-shivering. it is as i tell you--the jew is painfully sensitive. well, to cut my story short, anna did not have a happy time of it. she was all alone, surrounded though she was by many people. she became taciturn in spite of herself. and this is a great misfortune when it happens with womenfolk. women are naturally great talkers, and you may do them much harm, if you do not give them a chance to talk. so i became her crony as soon as i discovered her secret. then she tried to make up for the many years of silence by chattering incessantly. in her long talks she often said things she had denied before. once she told me that she felt a longing to see her relations and townspeople. but the next time she said that she hated them mightily. very likely she did not hate them. we all dislike that which has caused us pain and harm. so anna disliked her relations for having caused her remorse, homesickness, and perhaps shame. once her tongue was loosed, she did not stop until she had poured out the proverbial nine measures given to woman as her share of the ten measures of speech in the world. she spoke yiddish even in the presence of marusya and of jacob, who used to visit me once in a while. by and by anna began to treat him in a very friendly way. only marusya avoided him, and never spoke a word to him. she simply hated him. thus in time the house of anna became something like a jewish settlement, or rather like some sort of a klaus, especially when pater was away from home. we all used to gather there, and talk yiddish, just as in a klaus. for under anna's roof we felt perfectly free. she became a mother to the homeless cantonists. even marusya took to jabbering a little yiddish. jacob began to feel that the leadership of our little community was passing into the hands of anna, and he became jealous. he did not see that the very fact that he too was falling under her spell was influencing our community greatly, and that thus he was stamping it with his own character. anna liked him more than she did any one of us. moreover, she respected him. at times it looked as if she were somewhat afraid of him. now you must know that at bottom anna had never deserted her religion. instead, she carried the burdens of both religions; to the fear of the jewish hell she seemed to have added the fear of the christian hell. i suspect that she was still in the habit of reciting her hebrew prayer before going to sleep. she also believed in dreams. in this respect all women are the same. of course, she had her dreams, and jacob thought himself able to interpret them; he used to seek her company for that purpose. so we all began to feel very much at home in anna's house. once it happened that peter entered the house at a moment when we were all so much absorbed in our yiddish conversation that we did not notice his presence. he sat down quietly among us and took part in our talk, smiling in his usual manner. he asked us some questions, and we answered him. then we asked him something, and he answered us in pure, good yiddish, as if there were nothing new or surprising about it. at last marusya awoke, and exclaimed with glad surprise: "papa, can you speak yiddish too?" we all shuddered, as if caught stealing. peter's smile broadened, covering the whole of his face. "did you imagine that i do not know it? i wish you could speak it as well as i do." that made me suspect that peter might have been himself a convert from judaism, and i decided to ask anna bout it. she cleared up my doubts very soon. she told me that peter had been brought up in an exclusively jewish town; he had been employed there as a clerk in the town hall. as he always had to deal with jews, he finally learned their language. she told me at the same time that peter rather liked jews, and that he was a man of more than ordinary ability; otherwise, she said, it would have been very foolish on her part to leave the religion of her father for the sake of peter. "what did you say was the name of your native town?" i asked out of sheer curiosity. she named my native town. i felt a shiver go through me. "and what was your father's name?" i asked again, trembling. "bendet." "was he a wine-dealer?" "yes; and how do you know it? are you of the same town?" i told her my father's name, and we clasped hands in surprise.-- while the old man was telling his tale, the clouds dispersed. i looked upwards: the dark sky spread vaultlike above us studded with stars, some in groups, some far apart. then i remembered what the lord had promised to our father abraham: "and i shall multiply thy seed as the stars in heaven." and i thought i saw in the sky naught but so many groups of jews: some kept in exile, some confined within the nebulae of the milky way. . . . but even then, it seemed to me, there was a strong attraction, a deep sympathy between them all, far apart and scattered though they were. even so they formed aggregations of shining stars--far apart, yet near. . . . viii the wind began to grow cold; we pressed close to one another to keep warm. the old man drew his old coat tightly about him, and continued his story:-- well, we of our little community threw off the yoke of the old torah, yet refused to accept the yoke of the new torah. nevertheless our lives were far from being barren. our longing for the things we were forbidden to practise prompted us to invent a good many new usages. for instance, long before we had the freedom of anna's house, we managed to meet every saturday to exchange a few words in yiddish; two or three words were sufficient to satisfy our sense of duty. those meetings were among the things for the sake of which we were ready to run any risk of discovery. of course, we dared not recite our modeh-ani: our patrons might have overheard us, and that meant a sure flogging. but we practised repeating the prayer mentally, and we always managed to do it with our faces turned in the direction from which we thought we had come, and where our native towns were situated. jacob had a little piece of cloth, a remnant of an arba-kanfos. the tzitzis had long been torn away, to prevent discovery and avoid punishment; but what was left of it we kept secretly, and we used to kiss it at opportune moments, as if it were a scroll of the torah. then we made a point of abstaining from work at least one hour every saturday and on the days that were the jewish holidays according to jacob's calendar. on the other hand, work was considered obligatory on sundays and on christian holidays. tearing up some papers or starting a fire was thought sufficient. these and many other usages we invented, slowly, one after another. in time we got into the habit of observing them very punctiliously, even after we had made ourselves at home in anna's house. but over and above all jacob never gave up preaching to me that it was wrong on the part of an oppressed jew to accept favors from a non-jew. and this he preached without ever noticing that he was himself giving in to temptation when he accepted favors and kindnesses from anna. as to marusya, he always found a pretext to separate us whenever he met me in her company. i was very angry with him for that, but i could not tell him so openly. at last it came to such a pass that marusya lost all patience, and made me the scapegoat. she stopped having anything to do with me. now that was a real misfortune as far as i was concerned. for only then did i come to realize how much i was attached to the girl. i felt an utter emptiness in my heart; i began to feel myself a total stranger in the house. when everybody was talking merrily, i kept quiet, as if i were a mourner. i was always looking for marusya, i was always trying to catch her eye. i hoped that our eyes would meet, that she would at least look at me. but she kept on avoiding me. no, she did not avoid me: she simply did not seem to know that i was in the house. i was exasperated; and when once i came face to face with jacob, i lost my temper, and berated him roundly, attacking him on his weakest side: "is it on me that you are spying? how many favors, if you please, have you accepted yourself from anna? perhaps your father gave you a special dispensation in your dreams?" to all of this jacob replied very calmly: "first of all, your analogy does not hold, for you and marusya are both youngsters. and, second, even supposing i were sinning, it is your fault then, too; for it is clearly your duty to warn me. at the same time, you can imagine how much the whole thing grieves me." well, after all, i was ready to forgive him his sins, provided he overlooked mine. . . . . yes, that happened on a saturday. we were all standing in line on the drill grounds. i was in the first line, and jacob was directly behind me in the second line. we were going through the paces of the so-called three-step exercise. it was this way: the soldier had to stretch his left leg forward on a somewhat oblique line, so that the sole of his foot touched the ground without resting on it. that was the first pace, the hardest of all, as we had to stand on one leg, with the other a dead weight. in this position we had to keep standing till the command was given for the second pace. at that moment we had to shift to our left leg, and quickly bend the right leg at the knee-joint at a right angle. thus we had to stand till the command was given for the third pace, when we had to unbend the right leg and bring it forward. on that day we were kept at the first pace unusually long. my muscles began to twitch, and i felt as if needles were pricking me from under the skin. suddenly i felt as if i had lost my footing, and was suspended in the air. then i fell. this was my first mishap on that day. the sergeant made believe that he did not notice it, and i congratulated myself, hoping it would pass unremarked. the sergeant was busy with the last of our line: somehow he did not like the way he was standing. just then, in a crazy fit of contrariness, i felt a sudden desire to fulfil my duty of talking a few words of yiddish on saturday. i turned my head and whispered to jacob in yiddish: "he is going to keep us here the whole day! when shall we have our hour's rest?" at that moment the sergeant passed between the lines, and overheard me speaking yiddish. o yes, they have sharp ears, those drill-masters. as you know, speaking yiddish was considered a great breach of discipline, which never passed unpunished. it always meant a whipping. so i had made myself guilty of two offenses. on that day i did not go home empty-handed: i got an order to report the next morning to receive my twenty lashes. i received my order like a soldier, saluted, and seemed cool about it--for the time being. that pleased the sergeant greatly; he was a thorough soldier himself, and heartily hated tenderfeet and cowards. he looked at me approvingly, and said: "because you have always been a good soldier, i shall make the punishment easier for you. you have the privilege of dividing the number of lashes in two: ten you get to-morrow, and ten you may put off for some other time." that was the customary way of making the punishment easier in the cases when the cantonist was either too weak to take in the whole number of lashes at once, or was thought to deserve consideration otherwise. a temporary relief it certainly was; but in the end the relief was worse than the punishment itself. between the first half of the punishment and the other half, life was a burden to the culprit: he could neither eat, nor drink, nor sleep in peace. every moment he felt as if his back were not his own, that he merely had borrowed it for a while, and sooner or later he would have to stretch himself on the ground, to bear the weight of a rider on his neck and of another on his feet, and have the rods fall on him with a swish: one, two, three. . . . and the pain was awful. it felt as if the skin were being torn away in strips. a new lash on the fresh cut, and another strip was torn out; then another strip across the two. one felt like yelling, but the throat was dry. one felt like scratching the ground, but the finger nails had long become soft. one felt like biting one's own flesh, but one had no power over himself so long as a man was sitting on his neck and pinning it tight to the ground. it was hard enough to stand the ordeal itself, as hard as hell. but it was still harder to bear in mind that such a punishment was coming. it felt as if one was being flogged every moment. so, in the stress of the moment, i found my speech. "sir," said i, saluting, "i would rather stand twenty-five lashes at once than have the twenty lashes divided in two parts." "why?" asked the sergeant. "because a russian soldier has no time to keep accounts that concern only his own back. he has no right to forget his military duties even for a single moment." here the sergeant gave me an approving smile, and reduced the twenty lashes to ten. then jacob stepped forward, stood at attention, saluted, and said: "sir, it is not his fault, but mine. it was i who spoke to him. he was silent. as to his falling during the drill, that was also my fault: i made him stumble. i am ready to stand the punishment, because i am the guilty one." the sergeant threw a quick, admiring glance at jacob, and said: "your intentions are certainly good, because you wish to sacrifice yourself for your friend. you might serve as a model for all the young soldiers. boys, do you hear? love one another as jacob loves his guilty friend! but you must know that your sergeant is not to be fooled; his eyes are everywhere, and he certainly knows the guilty one!" when i went home, i felt neither glad nor despondent; i felt as if i did not exist at all--as if my very body did not belong to me, but had been borrowed for a few hours. that night i woke up many times; i felt as if snakes were crawling over my flesh. i got up early the next morning. marusya was yet in bed, half awake. "where are you going?" asked anna, standing in my way. i kept silent for a while, then i made a clean breast of it all. anna shook her head at me, and said with tears glistening in her eyes: "poor fellow, and where are you going to?" "i am going to the sergeant's; if it has been decreed, let it be done quickly." "why should you go hungry?" "that does not matter." i waved my hand, and walked away slowly. one the way i met some people, but i did not greet them; some people overtook me, but i did not even notice them pass. i had nothing in my mind except my own shoulders and the stinging rods. and for a moment i really lost heart; i acted like a tenderfoot instead of a cantonist. i was ready to cry; my tears were choking me, as if i were mamma's only darling. it was about a two hours' walk to the sergeant's. when i arrived there, i stood outside and waited for him. then i thought i heard the sound of some not unfamiliar voice: arguments, expostulations, again arguments. somebody was talking earnestly behind the closed door. i could not make out what was said. neither did i have any desire to know what it was all about. i was very impatient. i longed for the sergeant to come out and do the thing he had to do to me. i wished for all to be over and done with--that i had already been carried to the hospital and been bandaged; that the days in the hospital had gone; that i had recovered and had been dismissed. but at the same time i hoped the sergeant might be a little slow in coming out, and that my pain might be postponed for a little while. in short, i was divided against myself: i had two wishes, one excluding the other. suddenly the door opened, and on the threshold was standing--do you know who? marusya! yes, dear god, it was marusya. she was standing at the right of the sergeant. with one hand he was playing with her locks, and in the other he was holding both her hands. then he turned to me: "hourvitz, this young lady has interceded in your favor. and a soldier is in honor bound to respect the request of such a nice girl. so, for her sake, all is forgiven this time. go home!" at that moment i was ready to take forty lashes, if only i might remove the sergeant's hands from off marusya. i went home at a very slow pace, so that marusya might overtake me on the road. i thought she might talk to me then. i meant to ask her how she had gotten ahead of me without my noticing her. the minutes seemed hours; i thought she would never come out of the house. then a crazy idea struck me--to return to the sergeant's house and see what had happened to marusya. after all, i thought, what can the sergeant do to me more than have me whipped? at that moment i thought little of the rods; it seemed to me just then that the rods did not hurt so much after all, and the pain they caused was only temporary; it was hardly worth while giving the matter much thought. and, i am sure, for the moment i had lost all sense of pain. had they flogged me then, i should not have felt any pain. i turned back. luckily i did not have to go as far as the sergeant's house; i met marusya on the way. she passed me, looking right and left, as if i were a mere stone lying on the roadside. "marusya!" i called after her. but she kept on walking ahead, as if she had not heard me. "marusya," i cried again, "is that the way you are going to treat me?! why, then, did you save me from the rods?" she stopped for a moment, as though thinking of something. her handkerchief fell from her hand. she sighed deeply, picked up the handkerchief, and resumed her walk. i returned to the village alone. anna met me with tears of joy in her eyes. i broke out into tears myself, without really knowing why. i caught marusya's eye, but her look was a puzzle to me.-- presently our horses began to trot at a lively pace; they felt the road sloping downhill. the driver, who had long been nodding in his seat, was suddenly shaken out of his slumbers. he woke up with a start, and flourished his whip; which is a habit acquired in his trade. uphill or downhill, your coach-drive is bound to work with his whip. let him be disturbed, no matter when,--even when he drops into a doze in his klaus on a yom-kippur night--he will invariably shake his hand at the intruder as if swinging his whip. as the horses increased their speed, the baying of dogs became audible; a village was not far off. cheering and inviting as the distant chorus sounded, it resolved itself by and by into single barks, and every bark seemed to say, "away with you," "stand back," "no strangers admitted," and the like. a gust of wind brought to our nostrils warmish air laden with all kinds of smells: smells of smouldering dung, of garbage, and of humanity in general. soon lights began to twinkle from huddled shanties and from broad-faced houses, as if welcoming our arrival. it looked as if the village were priding itself on its lights, and boasting before heaven: "see how much stronger i am: sunk in the deep slush of a dirty valley, i have my own lights, and my own stars within myself." the village seemed to have shrunk within the limits of its own nest, glad that it need not know the ills and the hardships of travel. the driver ordered an hour's rest. ix after we had warmed ourselves a little in the village inn, we returned to our seats in the coach, and the drive continued his "talk" with the horses. the old man resumed his story:-- well, i had fallen into debt; and my two creditors were very hard to satisfy. jacob had offered, though vainly, to sacrifice his skin for mine and suffer the lashes intended for me. marusya took the trouble to walk all the way to the sergeant's house and talk with him, to save me from punishment. thus i was indebted to both of them, but with a difference. while trying to belittle the good intentions of jacob, i tried at the same time to belittle my obligation to him, whose authority was fast becoming irksome. marusya, on the other hand, refused to accept my thanks. . . . . well, by that time i had long considered myself a good young soldier. i knew i was growing in the favor of my superiors. the sergeant had praised me repeatedly, in my presence and in my absence. i began to feel my own worth, to cherish military aspirations, and to burn with the ambition of a soldier. many a time i dreamt i was promoted from the ranks, had become a colonel, and was promoted to a higher rank still. . . . i fought in battles, performed wonderful feats. . . . about that time they began to talk in the army about the turks. jacob and i had our differences with respect to them. he tried to prove to me that the turks, being the sons of ishmael, were our cousins. but i did not believe it. i did not wish to believe it, in spite of everything. he claimed that the children of ishmael were heroes, brave as lions. but i used to say, "just give me ten turks, and i shall put them out of business with one shot!" on account of these talks jacob and i began to avoid one another's company. he was too hard on me, with his endless contradictions, admonitions, and warnings. one day we went out target shooting. jacob fired twelve shots in succession, at long range, and every shot was a bull's eye. he outdid all his comrades on that day. then the sergeant put his hand on jacob's shoulder, and said: "bravo, jacob! i see a coming officer in you! have you a petition to make of me for something i can grant?" then jacob saluted, and asked to be permitted to recite his hebrew prayers daily and rest on saturdays. the sergeant smiled, and granted jacob's request. i may just as well tell you now that long before this incident the authorities had lost all hope of getting us converted to the ruling faith. they became convinced that we did not budge so much as an inch, in spite of all the pressure and tortures we had to stand. they realized at last that only compulsion could make us say certain prayers before the crucifix every morning. so by and by they gave it up. and jacob's request was not so hard to grant after all. from that moment jacob became a bitter enemy of the turks. he pictured them as midgets, and named his patron's dog "turk." aside from all this there was a general change in jacob's disposition; it was something that one could only feel, but not exactly see. we had a very hard winter that year, quite different from what we have now. nowadays the very seasons of the year seem to have softened: new generations--new people; new times--new winters. why, only last mid-winter i saw the rabbi's daughter-in-law pass through the streets bareheaded. in the mid-summer she drank hot tea, and caught a cold in her teeth. it is all the way i am telling you: the word is turned topsyturvy. in olden times a married woman would not dare uncover her hair even in the presence of her husband; it was also thought dangerous even for a man to go out bareheaded in winter time; and nobody ever caught a cold in midsummer. nowadays things are different: only last winter i saw soldiers shiver with cold, while in our time a soldier was ashamed to show he was afraid of the cold. yes, new generations, new soldiers; new times, new seasons. . . . in short, that winter was a very hard one: heavy snowfalls, snow-storms, and no roads. the peasants could not go outside of the village; they had to stay home, and being idle and lonesome, they celebrated their weddings at that convenient season. many people used to go to their weddings merely as sight-seers, i among them, for my sergeant gave me plenty of freedom. i had been excused from a large part of the drill; it was really superfluous as far as i was concerned. i had long learned all there was to learn. so i had much leisure to knock about in. well, my sergeant rather liked us grown-up cantonists. we were, with hardly an exception, very good soldiers indeed. and, after all, what was the hope of the sergeant, if not the praise of his superior, "bravo, sergeant!" he liked to hear it, just as we ourselves liked to hear his "bravo, boys, well done!" one of the weddings of that season happened to take place in the house of the richest peasant of the village, one of those peasants who try to rise above their class. it goes without saying that among the invited guests was the very cream of the village society: the few government officials, the village elder, the clerk of the village, our sergeant, etc. yes, as to our sergeant, he was a jolly sort of fellow. he enjoyed a good laugh himself, and liked to hear others laugh. he liked to pass jokes with his soldiers, too. but then he was always the first to laugh at his own jokes; it seemed as if he might laugh himself to death. of course, his hearty laughter made one laugh with him, joke or no joke. yes, he was a good fellow; may he, too, have his place among the righteous in paradise. true, he had us switched once in a while; but that was the way of the world in those days. for he, too, grew up and had been promoted from under the birch-rods. you know what all this reminds me of? take this driver, for instance: he is used to belabor his horses with the whip; and yet he likes them, you may be sure. of course, our sergeant would scold us once in a while, too. but then his scolding seemed to hurt him more than us: he looked as if he had gotten the scolding himself. the jokers of our company used to say of him, that he stood up every morning before his own uniform, and saluted it as it hung on the wall. . . . in short, he liked to mingle with people and to make merry; then he was always the happiest of all. of course, he also had been invited to that wedding. marusya, too, was there, and that was against her habit. she kept away from all kinds of public gatherings and festivities. and right she was, too, in staying away. for it was in the company of other girls that her brooding, melancholy disposition showed itself most clearly. did i say melancholy? no it was not exactly melancholy. it was rather the feeling of total isolation, which one could not help reading on her face. and a total stranger she certainly was in that throng. when she kept quiet, her very silence betrayed her presence among the chattering girls. one could almost hear her silence. and when she did take part in the conversation, her voice somehow sounded strange and far away in the chorus of voices. her very dress seemed different, though she was dressed just like any other of the village girls. it was in her gait, her deportment, in her very being that she differed from the rest of the girls. from the moment she entered the house she had to run the gauntlet of inquisitive looks, which seemed to pierce her very body and made her look like a sieve, as it were. i looked at marusya, and it seemed to me that her face had become longer and her lips more compressed; her eyes seemed wider open and lying deeper in her sockets. she looked shrunken and contracted, very much like my mother on the eve of the ninth of av, when she read aloud the lamentations for the benefit of her illiterate women-friends. well, that evening the sergeant danced with marusya, neglecting the other girls entirely. they kept on refusing the invitations of the cavaliers, in the hope that they might yet have a chance to dance with the sergeant. the result was that the cavaliers were angry with the girls; the girls, with marusya; and i, with the sergeant. and when a recess was called, something happened: one of the bachelors, serge ivanovich, my old enemy, stood up behind marusya, and shouted with all his might, "zhidovka!" then the envious girls broke out into a malicious giggle. marusya turned crimson. she looked first at the sergeant: he was curling his mustache, and tried to look angry. then marusya turned away from him, and i caught her eye. well, that was too much for me. i could not stand it any longer. i sprang at serge and dragged him to marusya. i struck him once and twice, got him by the neck, and belabored him with the hilt of my sword. "apologize!" said i. now, no one is obedient as your gentile once you have him down. and serge ivanovich did not balk. he apologized in the very words that i dictated to him. then i let him go. the sergeant looked at me approvingly, as if wishing to say, "well done!" this prevented the young men from attacking me. marusya left the house, and i followed her. once outside, she broke into tears. she said something between sobs, but i could not make out what she meant. i thought she was complaining of someone, probably her mother. i wished very much to comfort her, but i did not know how. so we walked on in silence. the hard, crisp snow was squeaking rhythmically under our feet, as if we were trying to play a tune. and from the house snatches of music reached us, mixed with sounds of quarreling and merry-making. it seemed as if all those sounds were pursuing us: "zhid! zhid!" suddenly a sense of resentment overtook me, as if i had been called upon to defend the jews. and i blurted out: "if it is so hard to be insulted once by a youngster who cannot count his own years yet, how much harder is it to hear insults day in and day out, year in and year out?" marusya looked at me with sparkling eyes. she thought i was angry with her and meant her. then she wanted to soothe my feelings, and she said wonderingly: "years? what, pray, did i do to you? i only wanted you not to listen to jacob. he is a bad man. he hates me. he is forever on the lookout to separate us!" "he is afraid," said i, "i might yet get converted." at this marusya gave me an irresistible look, the look of a mother, of a loving sister. "no," she said decidedly, "i shall not let you do that. you and your daughters will be unhappy forever. you know what i have decided? i have decided never to get married. for i know that my own daughters will always be called zhidovka." at this point i became sorry for the turn our conversation had taken, and i cared no more for the defense of the jews. after a brief silence marusya turned to me: "why does mother dislike jews so much? she surely knows them better than papa does." "very likely she fears being called zhidovka, as they called you." "but, then, why did she get herself into that trouble?" "ask yourself; she may tell you." . . . . never mind what passed between us afterwards. it does not suit a man of my age to go into particulars, the way the story-writers do. suffice it to tell you that our relations became very much complicated. marusya attached herself to me; she became a sister to me. so, after all, jacob's fears had been well founded from the very beginning. i felt i had gotten myself into a tangle, but i did nothing to escape from it; on the contrary, i was getting myself deeper and deeper into it.-- here the old man's eyes flashed with a fire that fairly penetrated the darkness, and for a moment i thought it was but a youth of eighteen who was sitting opposite me. i was glad that the dark hid the whiteness of the old man's beard from my view. the white beard was entirely out of harmony with the youthful ardor of its owner's speech. there was a silence of a few minutes, and the old man continued his story:-- x hard as anna's lot was, peter himself was not very happy either. i do not know how things are managed nowadays. as i told you before, new times bring new people with new ways. it never happened in our day that a jewish maiden, no matter what class she belonged to, should throw herself at a young gentile, and tell him, "now, i am ready to leave my faith and my people, if you will marry me." in our day there never was a case of apostasy except after a good deal of courting. no jewish girl ever left her faith, unless there was a proposal of marriage accompanied by much coaxing. it required a great deal of coaxing and enticing on the part of the man. only extravagant promises and assurances, which never could be made good, could prompt a jewish maiden to leave her faith. and such had been the case with khlopov, as anna told me afterwards. anna, or, as she had been called as a jewess, hannah, had spent her girlhood under the rule of a stepmother. peter was a young man earning a fair salary as a clerk at the town hall. he was a frequent visitor at bendet's wine-shop. and peter was an expert judge of the comeliness of jewish maidens in general and of anna's beauty in particular. so, when pater did come, he came as a veritable angel-protector. he came to save her from the yoke of a stepmother and make her his wife. he promised her "golden castles" and a "paradise on earth." all that would be hers but for one obstacle: she had to renounce her faith. at first anna was unwilling. but the stepmother made anna as miserable as only human beings know how. then bendet's business began to go from bad to worse, so that anna had very slim prospects of ever exchanging the yoke of a stepmother for that of a husband. at the same time peter urged his suit, coaxing her more and more. anna warned peter, that in her new life she might find misery instead of happiness. she was sure she would be a stranger to the people with whom she would have to come in contact. should she happen to be below the other women, they would despise her. should she happen to be above them, they would envy and hate her. here she certainly spoke like a prophetess. but peter kept on assuring her that she was the very best of all women, and that he would be her protector in all possible troubles. then she argued that he might not be happy himself; that he would have to fight many a battle. his parents would surely not agree with him. his relations would shun him. in short, he would be isolated. peter laughed at her, and told her that all her fears were nothing but the imagination of an unhappy maiden who did not believe in the possibility of ever being happy. he told her also that not all the women in the world were as bad as her stepmother. still hannah was unwilling. then peter attacked her with a new weapon. he made believe he was ill, and let her know that if he should die, it would be her fault; and if he did not die, he would commit suicide, and his last thought would be that the jews are cruel, and rejoice in the misfortune of a christian. then hanna gave in, did as she was urged, and was renamed anna. now what anna found in actual life far exceeded what hannah had prophesied. the women of the village kept aloof from her, and for many reasons. the first reason was that she never visited the village tavern. she never drank any liquor herself, nor treated her visitors with it. and nothing in the world brings such people together as liquor does. then the men hated her for the purity and chastity which she brought from her father's house. besides, men and women alike envied the prosperity of khlopov's household, which was due only to anna's thrift. all those reasons, as well as many others, were included in the one word "zhidovka." so that word may stand for anything you choose. as to peter's brothers and relatives, they not only kept away from him but also became his open or secret enemies. by and by peter recognized that hannah's fears were not the result of mere imagination, but the true prophecy of a mature young woman, who had foreseen her own future, and he could not help feeling hurt. that bitter thought was possibly the only reason why he frequented the establishment of "our moshko." he wanted to get rid of the accursed thought; but he did not succeed. he pined for the time when he lived among jews; but anna could not possibly return to live among them. in the meantime peter sickened, and took to bed. anna knew there was still some litigation pending between khlopov and his relations, and his title to the property he held by inheritance was disputed. and she always feared the worst: should she survive peter, his relations would start proceedings against her, dispossess her and marusya, and let them shift for themselves. many a time did anna mention the matter to peter in a casual, off-hand way; but he merely smiled his usual smile, listened, and forgot all about it the next morning. well, that was a weakness of peter's. writing official papers had been his lifework, and when he had to do writing in his own behalf, he felt disgusted. he could not touch the pen when his own affairs were involved. even the writing of a simple letter he used to put off from day to day. and when it came to clear up the title to his holding, he would have had to write papers and fill out documents enough to load two pack-donkeys. small wonder, then, that he kept putting it off. but the time came when it was necessary that anna should speak to him about the matter; and yet she could not muster up enough courage to do it. for at times she thought herself nothing but a stranger in the place. who was she anyway, to inherit the property left by old simeon khlopov, deceased? on one occasion she asked me to call peter's attention to the matter of his title to the property. i entered the sick-room and began to discuss the matter cautiously, in a roundabout way, so as not to excite the patient by implying that his end might be near. but my precautions were unnecessary. he spoke very cooly of the possibility of his end coming at any moment, but at the same time he insisted that there was really no need to hurry, a proper time to settle the matter would be found. now here you see one more difference between jews and gentiles. to look at the gentiles, would you ever think them all fools? why, you may find many a shrewd man among them, many a man who could get me and you into his net, as the spider the fly. but when it comes to taking care of the next day, the future, they are rather foolish. they do not foresee things as clearly as the jew does. for instance, do i not work hard to save up money for my daughter's dowry, even though i hardly expect her to get married for two years at least? do i not try hard to pay off the mortgage on my house, so as to leave it to my children free and clear? say what you will, i hold to my opinion, that gentile-folk do not feel the "to-morrow" as keenly as we do. if you like, the whole life of a jew is nothing but an anticipation of "to-morrow." many a time i went without a meal simply because i forgot to eat, or thought i had eaten already. but i never forget anything that concerns the coming day. i can hardly explain it to you, but many a time i thought, dull as my brains were made by my soldier's grub, that the jew is altogether a creature of "to-morrow." well, peter listened to me; he saw there was reason in what i told him; and yet he did not feel that way. he did not feel the necessity of acting immediately, and he put it off. now, it seems to me that when things come to such a pass between a gentile husband and his jewish wife, the results are bound to be strange, unusual, and anything but agreeable. it is all something like--let me see--something like what is written in the bible about the confusion of tongues, when one could not understand the speech of his fellow. indeed, had peter known that it was anna who sent me to him, he would have resented it surely, and would have thought that she cared more for his inheritance than she cared for him. and peter died, after a long illness. then anna had to go through an ordeal she had not yet experienced in her life of apostasy: she had to go through the ceremony of mourning according to the prescribed rules. and her fears regarding the house turned out to have been but too well founded. the village elder, in the name of the rest of the relatives, disputed peter's title to the property. anna was given a small sum of money, and the whole piece of property was deeded over to serge ivanovich. as to anna and marusya, they had to be satisfied with the little money they received. in the end it turned out that there was a deeper purpose at the bottom of the whole affair. that scamp, serge ivanovich, understood very well that in every respect marusya was above the rest of the village girls, and he made up his mind to marry her. to be sure, he hated the jews: they always managed to intrude where they were least wanted; and he never missed an opportunity of insulting anna and her daughter. but that is just the way they all are: they will spit to-day, to lick it off to-morrow. at the same time he knew well enough that marusya would not be willing to have him. yet, in spite of it all, he sent some friends with the formal message of a proposal. as an inducement he promised to deed the whole property to anna and marusya. anna seemed willing enough to accept the offer. then marusya turned to me. i began to side with anna. "you are a liar!" shouted marusya, turning to me. and she was right. indeed, i did not wish at all to see marusya marry serve. but i cannot tell why i had said the opposite. then marusya curtly dismissed the representatives of the suitor. i decided not to part from the two unhappy women just then and leave them alone with their misfortune. but heaven willed otherwise. the crimean war had been decided upon, and our regiment was the first to be sent to the front. so i was taken from my dear friends just when they needed me most.-- xi a mixture of light and darkness appeared in a corner of the eastern sky, something like the reflection of a distant conflagration. the light spread farther and farther, and swallowed many a star. it looked as if some half-extinguished firebrand of a world had blazed up again, and was burning brightly once more. but no! that was neither a world-catastrophe nor a conflagration: some mysterious new creation was struggling into existence. and after the noiseless storm and battle of lights, the moon appeared, angry-looking, and ragged-edged. in the light of the moon the speaker too looked strange and fantastic, like a relic of a world that is no more. the old man continued:-- well, on that day we turned a new leaf in our lives. till then we had been like people who live against their own will, without aim or object. we had to get up in the morning, because we had gone to bed the night before. we ate, because we were hungry. we went to our drills, because we were ordered to go. and we went to sleep at night, because we felt tired. all our existence seemed to be only for the sake of discipline; and that discipline, again, seemed a thing in itself. but the moment they told us of mobilization and war, our riddle was solved. it suddenly became clear to us why we had been caught and brought to where we were, and why we had been suffering all the time. it looked as if year in, year out, we had been walking in the darkness of some cave, and all of a sudden our path became light. and we were happy. i saw jacob: he, too, looked happy, which had not been his way for the last few years. from the moment he had received permission to pray in hebrew and observe the sabbath, his mood had changed for the worse: he looked as if he were "possessed." he complained that his prayers were not so sweet to him any more as they had been before; and the sabbath rest was a real burden upon him. then, his father did not appear in his dreams any more. besides, he confessed that he forgot his prayers many a time, and was not very strict as to the sabbath. he feared his prayers were no longer acceptable in heaven. no, said he, that was not his destiny: the jewishness of a cantonist lay only in suffering martyrdom. but with the news of the coming war, a change came over him. he became gay as a child. one morning, when we were assembled on the drill grounds before the house of the sergeant, i was called into the house. "hourvitz," said my good sergeant, turning to me, "three beautiful creatures ask me not to send you to the fighting line but to appoint you to some auxiliary company. ask, and i shall do so." "sir," said i, "if this be your order, i have but to obey; but if my wish counts for anything, i should prefer to stay with the colors and go to the fighting line. otherwise what was our preparation for and our training of many years?" a smile of satisfaction appeared on the face of the sergeant. "and if you fall in battle?" "i shall not fall, sir, before i make others fall." "what makes you feel so sure of it?" "i cannot tell, sir; but it is enough if i am sure of it." "well, i agree with you. now let us hear what your fair advocates have to say." he opened the door of an adjoining room, and anna, marusya, and the sergeant's wife appeared. then a dispute began. they insisted on their opinion, and i on mine. "let us count votes," said the sergeant. "i grant you two votes; together with my own vote it makes three against tree." then i looked at marusya. she thought a little, and added her vote to mine. so the majority prevailed. when i went outside, marusya followed me, and handed me a small parcel. what i found there, among other things, was a small hebrew prayer book, which marusya must have gotten at moshko's, and a small silver cross which she had always worn around her neck. we looked at each other and kept silent: was there anything to be said? after she had walked away a few steps, she turned around, as if she had forgotten something. "and if you return . . .?" "then to you i return," was my answer. she went on, and i turned to look back in her direction: she also looked back at me. later i turned again to look at her, and she, too, kept looking back, until we lost sight of each other. before anna could be dispossessed, heaven wrought a miracle: serge ivanovich was drafted into the army. he was attached to our regiment, and we served in the same company. in the meantime anna remained in possession of the house. xii so, after all, they had not been mere sport, those years of drilling, of exercising, of training to "stand up," to "lie down," to "run," etc., etc. . . . it had been all for the sake of war, and it was to war that we were going. my companion in exile, i mean my barker, did not wish to part from me. ashamed though i am, i must yet call him "my true friend." human beings as a rule forget favors rendered. this is the way god has made them. in very truth, it is only your soldier, your fellow in exile, and your dog that are able to serve you and love you at the risk of their own lives. i chased barker away, but he kept on following me. i struck him: he took the blows, and licked my hands. i struck him over the legs with the stock of my gun. he broke out in a whine, and ran after me, limping. marusya caught him and locked him up in the stable. i thought i had gotten rid of him. but some hours later i saw him limping after me. then i realized that the dog was fated to share all the troubles of campaign life with me. and my barker became a highly respectable dog. the first day he eyed everybody with a look of suspicion. the bright buttons and the blue uniforms scared him; possibly because buttons and uniforms went with stocks of guns like the one that had given him the lame leg. by and by barker picked me and jacob out from among the soldiers, and kept near us. they used to say in our company that barker was a particular friend of jews, and he knew a jew when he saw one. very likely that was so. but then they never knew how many slices of bread and meat barker had gotten from jewish hands before he knew the difference. just about that time we got other new companions. one of them was a certain pole, vassil stefanovich zagrubsky, blessed be his memory, jew-hater though he was. the beginning of our acquaintance promised no good. that particular pole was poor but proud--a poor fellow with many wants. then he was a smoker, too. i also enjoyed a smoke when i had an extra copper in my pocket. but zagrubsky had a passion for smoking, and when he had no tobacco of his own, he demanded it of others. that was his way: he could not beg; he could only demand. three of us shared one tent: zagrubsky, serge, and myself. serge was a soldier in comfortable circumstances. he had taken some money with him from home, and received a monthly allowance from his parents. he always had excellent tobacco. once, when he happened to open his tobacco pouch to roll a cigarette, zagrubsky took notice of it, and put forth his hand to take some tobacco. that was his way: whenever he saw a tobacco pouch open, he would try to help himself to some of its contents. but serge was one of those peasants whose ambition extends beyond their class. he was painfully proud, prouder than any of the nobles. before entering the service he had made up his mind to "rise." he wanted to become an officer, so that the villagers would have to stand at attention before him, when he returned home. therefore he gave zagrubsky a supercilious look of contempt, and unceremoniously closed the pouch when the pole wanted to take some tobacco. i was sorry for the pole, and offered him some of my own tobacco. he did not fail to take it, but at the same time i heard him sizzle out "zhid" from between his tightly closed lips. i looked at him in amazement: how on earth could he guess i was a jew, when i spoke my russian with the right accent and inflection, while his was lame, broken, and half mixed with polish? that was a riddle to me. but i had no time to puzzle it out, and i forgot it on the spot. we had long been occupying the same position, waiting for a merry beginning. all that time seemed to us something like a preparation for a holiday; but the long tiresome wait was disgusting. in the meantime something extraordinary happened in our camp. our camp was surrounded by a cordon of sentries. at some distance from the cordon was the camp of the purveyors, the merchants who supplied the soldiers with all kinds of necessaries. without a special permit no purveyor could pass the line of sentries and enter the camp. it happened that one of those purveyors excited the suspicion of jacob. without really knowing why, jacob came to consider him a suspicious character. even barker, timid dog that he was, once viciously attacked that particular man, as if to tear him to pieces. and it was with great difficulty that jacob saved him from barker's teeth. but from that time on jacob began to watch the man closely. that very day we were told that general luders was going to visit our camp. jacob was doing sentry duty. just then the suspicious purveyor appeared suddenly, as if he had sprung out of the ground. jacob had his eye on him. presently jacob noticed that the fellow was hiding behind a bank of earth; he saw him take out a pistol from his pocket and aim it somewhere into space. that very moment general luders appeared on the grounds. without thinking much, jacob aimed his gun at the purveyor and shot him dead. on investigation, it turned out that the purveyor was a pole, who had smuggled himself into the camp in order to assassinate the general. then they began to gossip in the regiment about jacob's "rising." general luders patted him on the shoulder, and said, "bravo, officer!" a few days later i met jacob: he looked pale and worn out. his smile was more like the frozen smile of the agony of death. i told him i had dreamt he was drowning in a river of oil. then he told me confidentially that he had promised his superiors to renounce his faith. well, in the long run, it appeared that there was much truth in jacob's idea, that a jew in exile must not accept favors from gentiles. and the temptation to which jacob had been exposed was certainly much harder to stand than a thousand lashes, or even, for that matter, the whole bitter life of a cantonist. the pity of it! a few days later zagrubsky was appointed to serve jacob. but when zagrubsky reported for duty, jacob dismissed him. it was against jacob's nature to have others do for him what he could do himself. zagrubsky departed, hissing "zhid" under his breath. it was the way he had treated me. my patience was gone. i put myself in his way, stopped him and asked him: "now listen, you pollack, how do you come to find out so quickly who is a jew, and who is not? as far as i can see, you cannot speak russian correctly yourself: why, then, do you spy on others? i have not yet forgotten that it was on account of my tobacco that you recognized i was a zhid, too." "o, that is all very simple," said he. "i never saw such lickspittles as the jews are. they are always ready to oblige others with their favors and refuse honors due to themselves. that is why the authorities favor them so much. do you wish to know what a jew is? a jew is a spendthrift, a liar, a whip-kisser, a sneak. he likes to be trampled on much more than others like to trample on him. he makes a slave of himself in order to be able to enslave everybody else. i hate the jews, especially those from whom i ever get any favors." well, by this time i am ready almost to agree with many of the pole's assertions. the jew is very lavish in his dealings with gentiles. he is subservient, and always ready to give up what is his due. all that is a puzzle to the gentiles, and every jew who has been brought up and educated among them knows that as well as i do. sometimes they have a queer explanation for it. a gentile who has ever tasted of jewish kindness and unselfishness will say to himself, "very likely the jew feels that he owes me much more." to be brief: zagrubsky and i became very much attached to each other. but we never tried to disguise our feelings. i knew he was my enemy, and he knew that i was repaying him in kind, with open enmity. that was just what zagrubsky liked. we loved our mutual cordial hatred. when one feels like giving vent to his feelings, like hating, cursing, or detesting somebody or something, one's enemy becomes dearer than a hundred friends. then there came a certain day, and that day brought us closer together for a moment, closer than we should ever be again. it happened at night . . . . cursed be that night! swallowed up the following day! . . . . we soldiers had long become tired of our drill and our manoeuvres; we got tired of "attacking" under the feint of a "retreat," and of "retreating" under the feint of an "attack." we were disgusted with standing in line and discharging our guns into the air, without ever seeing the enemy. in our days a soldier hated feints and make-believes. "get at your enemy and crush his head, or lie down yourself a crushed 'cadaver'"--that was our way of fighting, and that was the way we won victories. as our general used to say: "the bullet is a blind fool, but the bayonet is the real thing." at last, at last, we heard the quick, nervous notes of the bugle, and the hurried beats of the drum, the same we used to hear year in, year out. but till that moment it was all "make-believe" drill. it was like what we mean by the passage in the passover haggodah: "any one who is in need may come, and partake of the passah-lamb. . . ." till that moment we used to attack the air with our bayonets and pierce space right and left, "as if" the enemy had been before us, ready for our steel. we were accustomed to pierce and to vanquish the air and spirits, and that is all. at the same time there was something wonderful, sweet, and terrible in those blasts of the bugle, something that was the very secret of soldiery, something that went right into our souls when we returned home from our drill. . . . but on that day it was not drill any more, and not make-believe any more, no! before us was the real enemy, looking into our very eyes and thirsting for our blood. then, just for a moment i thought of myself, of my own flesh, which was not made proof against the sharp steel. i remembered that i had many an account to settle in this world; that i had started many a thing and had not finished it; and that there was much more to start. i thought of my own enemies, whom i had not harmed as yet. i thought of my friends, to whom i had so far done no good. in short, i thought i was just in the middle of my lifework, and that the proper moment to die had not yet come. but all that came as a mere flash. for in the line of battle my own self was dissolved, as it were, and was lost, just like the selves of all who were there. i became a new creature with new feelings and a new consciousness. but the thing cannot be described: one has to be a soldier and stand in the line of battle to feel it. you may say, if you like, that i believe that the angel-protectors of warring nations descend from on high, and in the hour of battle enter as new souls into the soldiers of the line. then and there an end came also to the vicissitudes of my barker. i found him dead, stretched out at full length on a bank of earth, which was the monument over the grave of the heroes of the first day's fighting. in the morning they all went to battle in the full flowering of strength and thirsty for victory, only to be dragged down at night into that hole, to be buried there. well, the earth knows no distinction between one race and another; its worms feed alike on jew and gentile. but there, in heaven, they surely know the difference between one soul and another, and each one is sent to its appointed place. i was told that jacob was among those buried in the common grave. quite likely. i whispered a kaddish over the grave, giving it the benefit of the doubt. of course, i was not foolish enough to cry over the cadaver of a dog; and yet it was a pity. after all, it was a living creature, too; it had shared all kinds of things with me: exile, hunger, rations, blows. and it had loved me, too. . . . the next morning we were out again. in a moment line faced line, man faced man, enemy faced enemy. it was a mutual murderous attraction, a bloodthirsty love, a desire to embrace and to kill. it was very much like the pull i felt towards marusya. . . . . lightening. . . . shots. . . . thunder. . . . the talk of the angel-protectors it is. . . . snakes of fire flying upward, spreading out . . . . shrapnel . . . . bombs a-bursting . . . . soldiers standing . . . . reeling . . . . falling . . . . crushed, or lapping their own blood. . . . thinning lines . . . . breast to breast. . . . hellish howls over the field. . . . crashing comes the russian music, drowning all that hellish chorus, pouring vigor, might, and hope into the hearts of men. . . . alas, the music breaks off. . . . where is the bugle? . . . . the trumpet is silenced. . . . the trombone breaks off in the middle of a note. . . . only one horn is left. . . . higher and higher rise its ringing blasts, chanting, as it were, "yea, thought i walk through the valley of the shadow of death, i will fear no evil; for thou art with me!" in mighty embrace men clasp one another. . . . stabbing, being stabbed . . . . killing, being killed. . . . . i work away right and left, i expect my death-blow at every moment, but i seem to be charmed: swords and bayonets surround me, but never touch me. . . . yes, it was a critical moment; it could not last much longer; one side had to give way. but the russians could not retreat, because in their very midst the priest was standing, the ikon of the virgin in one hand and the crucifix in the other. the soldiers looked at the images, got up new courage, and did wonders. do you remember the biblical story of the brazen serpent? that was just like it. well, a bullet came flying, whistling, through the air, and the priest fell. then the ikon and the crucifix began to wobble this way and that way, and fell down, too. the soldiers saw it, lost heart, and wanted to run. at that moment i felt as if i were made of three different men. just imagine: samuel the individual, samuel the soldier, and samuel the jew. says samuel the individual: "you have done well enough, and it is all over for now. run for dear life." says samuel the soldier: "shame on you, where is your bravery? the regimental images are falling. try, perhaps they may be saved yet." says samuel the jew: "of course, save; for a jew must ever do more than is expected of him." but samuel the individual replies: "do you remember how many lashes you have suffered on account of these very images?" says samuel the jew again: "do you know what these images are, and to what race they belong?" many such thoughts flashed through my brain; but it was all in a moment. and in a moment i was at the side of the priest. he was alive; he was only wounded in his hand. i raised him to his feet, put the images into his hands, lifted them up, and supported them. "this way, russians!" i do not know who shouted these words. perhaps i did; perhaps some one else; perhaps it was from heaven. however, the victory was ours. but i did not remain on my feet a long time; a bullet struck me, and i fell. . . . . what happened then, i cannot tell. all i know is that i dreamt something very agreeable: i was a little boy again, hanging on to my father's coat-tails, and standing beside him in the klaus on a yom-kippur even, during the most tearful prayers, and a mischievous little boy began to play with me, pricking my leg with a needle every now and then. . . . when i came to my senses, i found myself in a sea of howls, groans, and cries, which seemed to be issuing from the very depths of the earth. for a moment i thought i was in purgatory, among the sinners who undergo punishment. but pretty soon i recognized everything. i turned my head, and saw zagrubsky lying near me, wounded and groaning. he looked at me, and there was love and hatred mixed in that look. "zhid," said he, with his last breath, and gave up the ghost. rest in peace, thou beloved enemy of mine! from behind i heard someone groaning and moaning; but the voice sounded full and strong. i turned my head in the direction of the voice, and i saw that serge ivanovich was lying on his side and moaning. he looked around, stood up for a while, and lay down again. this manoeuvre he repeated several times in succession. you see, the rascal was scheming to his own advantage. he knew very well that in the end he would have to fall down and groan for good. so he thought it was much cheaper and wiser to do it of his own free will, than to wait for something to throw him down. the scamp had seen what i had done before i fell. a thought came to him. he helped me to my feet, bandaged my wound, and said: "now listen, samuel: you have certainly done a very great thing; but it is worth nothing to you personally. nay, worse: they might again try to make you renounce your faith. so it is really a danger to you. but, if you wish, just say that i have done it, and i shall repay you handsomely for it. the priest will not know the difference." well, it is this way: i always hated get-rich-quick schemes. i never cared a rap for a penny i had not expected and was not ready to earn. take, for instance, what i did with the priest: did i ever expect any honors or profits out of it? such possible honors and profits i certainly did not like, and did not look for. besides, who could assure me that they would not try again to coax me into renouncing my faith? why, then, should i put myself into such trouble? and i said to serge: "you want it badly, serge, do you? you'd like to see yourself promoted, to be an officer? is that so? very well, then. make out a paper assigning the house to marusya." "i promise faithfully." "i believe no promises." "what shall i do?" "you have paper and pencil in your pocket?" "certainly!" i turned around, supported myself on both my arms and one knee, and made a sort of a rickety table of myself. and on my back serge wrote out his paper, and signed it. but all that was really unnecessary. he would have kept his word anyway. for he was always afraid i might blurt out the whole story. not i, though. may i never have anything in common with those who profit by falsehoods! as to what happened later, i cannot tell you exactly. for i was taken away, first to a temporary hospital, and then to a permanent one. i fell into a fever and lost consciousness. i do not know how many days or weeks passed by: i was in a different world all that time. how can i describe it to you? well, it was a world of chaos. it was all jumbled together: father, mother, military service, ikons, lashes, lambs slaughtered, peter, bullets, etc., etc. it was all in a jumble, all topsyturvy. and in the midst of that chaos i felt as if i were a thing apart from myself. my head ached, and yet it felt as if it did not belong to me. . . . finally i thought i felt mother bathing me; a delicious feeling of moisture spread over my flesh, and my headache disappeared. then i felt a warm, soft hand pass over my forehead, cheeks, and neck. . . . i opened my eyes, the first time since i lost consciousness, and i exclaimed: "marusya!?" "yes, yes," said she, with a smile, while her eyes brimmed with tears, "it is i." and behind her was another face: "anna?!" "rest, rest," said they, warningly. "thanks to god, the crisis is over." i doubted, i thought it was all a dream. but it was no dream. it was all very simple: anna and marusya had enlisted and were serving as volunteer nurses at the military hospital, and i had known nothing of it. "marusya," said i, "please tell me how do i happen to be here?" then she began to tell me how they brought me there, and took me down from the wagon as insensible as a log. but she could not finish her story; she began to choke with tears, and anna finished what marusya wanted to tell me. i turned to marusya: "where are my clothes?" "what do you want them for?" "there is a paper there." i insisted, and she brought the paper. "read the paper, marusya," said i. she read the document in which serge assigned the house to marusya. the two women looked at me with glad surprise. "how did you ever get it?" but i had decided to keep the thing a secret from them, and i did. when i was discharged from the hospital, the war was long over, and a treaty of peace had been signed. had they asked me, i should not have signed it.-- xiii here the old man stopped for a while. apparently he skipped many an incident, and omitted many a thing that he did not care to mention. i saw he was touching upon them mentally. her resumed:-- just so, just so. . . . many, many a thing may take place within us, without our ever knowing it. i never suspected that i had been longing to see my parents. i never wrote to them, simply because i had never learned to write my jewish well enough. of course, had my brother solomon been taken, he would surely have written regularly, for he was a great penman, may he rest in peace. as to russian, i certainly might have written in that language; but then it would have been very much like offering salt water to a thirsty person. and that is why i did not write. i thought i had forgotten my parents. but no! even that was merely a matter of habit. i had gotten so used to my feeling of longing that i was not aware of having it. that is the way i explain it to myself. by and by there opened in my heart a dark little corner that had been closed for many a year. that was the longing for my parents, for my home, mixed with just a trace of anger and resentment. i began to picture to myself how my folks would meet me: there would be kisses, embraces, tears, neighbors. . . . for, like a silly child, i imagined they were all alive and well yet, and that the angel of death would wait till i came and repaid them for all the worry i had caused them. . . . and, indeed, would they not have been greatly wronged, had they been allowed to die unconsoled, after they had rent heaven with their prayers and lamentations? but the nearer i came to my native town, the less grew my desire to see it. a feeling of estrangement crept over me at the sight of the neighborhood. no, it was not exactly a feeling of estrangement, but some other feeling, something akin to what we feel at the recollection of the pain caused by long-forgotten troubles. i can hardly make it clear to you; it was not unlike what an old man feels after a bad dream of the days of his youth. it was about this time of the year. the roads were just as bad as now, the slush just as deep. and it was as nauseating to sit in the coach only to watch the glittering mud and count the slow steps of the horses. in a season like this it is certainly much more agreeable to dismount and walk. that was just what i did. my native town was not far away: only once uphill, once downhill, and there was the inevitable cemetery, which must be passed when one enters a jewish village. the horses could hardly move, and i overtook them very soon, as i took a short cut, and struck into a path across the peasants' fields. i allowed myself that privilege, because at that time i was still wearing my uniform with the brass buttons shining brightly. when i descended into the valley, i decided to cross the cemetery, and so shorten my way. the coach was far behind, and i was walking very slowly, that it might reach me at the other side of the cemetery. my path lay among the gravestones, some of them gray with age, dilapidated, bent forward, as if trying to overhear the talk of the nether world: some clean and upright, as if gazing proudly heavenwards. it was a world of silence i was in; and heavy indeed is the silence i was in; it is really a speaking silence. i think there is something real in the belief that the dead talk in their graves. to me it seemed as if the gravestones were casting evil glances at me for my having disturbed the silent place with the glitter of my buttons. and it was with difficulty that i could decipher the inscriptions on the stones. i do not know why it was so: either my hebrew had got rusty, or else graveyard inscriptions make hard reading in general. "here lieth . . . . the righteous man . . . . modest, pious . . . . rabbi simhah . . . . shohet. . . ." i read it all, and shuddered: why, under that very stone lay the remains of my own brother simhah! i wanted to shed tears, but my tears did not obey me. i read it again and again, and when i came to the words "modest," "pious," i mumbled something to myself, something angry and envious. then i thought i felt the tombstone move, the ground shake under me, as if a shiver were passing through the air. . . "forgive me, forgive me!" it was not my ears that caught those words; it was my heart. i understood that it was the soul of my brother apologizing to me for the action of my parents. tears began to flow from my eyes. i did not care to read any further, from fear of finding something i did not wish to find. i was thinking of my parents. and when i entered the house of my parents, i could hardly recognize them. wrinkled, bent, with sunken cheeks, they had changed entirely in appearance. father looked at my buttons, removed his cap, and stood bent before me. mother was busying herself at the oven, and began to speak to father in a mixture of hebrew and yiddish: "sure enough, some sort of taxes again. . . . much do we need it now. . . ." then, in a fit of spitefulness, i made believe i was a stranger. "old people," said i, "i have brought you news from your son samuel." as soon as father heard me speak yiddish, he ran to the window, rubbed his hands against the moist pane, by way of washing them, and shook hands with me. "peace be with you, young man," said he. mother left her corner and stood up before me. father began fumbling for his glasses, and asked me: "news from my son, you say? where did you see him last?" "and when did you see him?" asked mother, shivering. i mentioned some imaginary place and date. "how does he feel? was he in the war? is he well? does he expect to come home?" many such questions followed one another in quick succession. meanwhile father took me aside, and whispered into my ear: "how about . . . . how about religion?" out of sheer spitefulness i wanted to worry the poor old folks a little; may the lord not consider it a sin on my part. i said: "had rabbi simhah the shohet been in his place, he surely would have withstood all temptations!" . . . . "what, converted?!" i kept silent, and the old people took it as a sign of affirmation. they hung their heads despondently, and kept silent, too. then father asked me once more: "married a gentile? has children?" i still kept silent. my old mother wept silently. my heart melted within me, but i braced myself up and kept silent. i felt as if a lump in my throat was choking me, but i swallowed it. i heard mother talking to herself: "o master of the universe, father who art in heaven, thou merciful and righteous!" . . . . as she said it, she shook her head, as if accepting god's verdict and complaining at the same time. the old man stood up, his beard a-quiver. his hand shook nervously, and he said in a tone of dry, cold despair: "ett. . . . blessed be the righteous judge!" as though i had told him the news of his son's death. with that he took out a pocket knife, and wanted to make the "mourning cut." at that moment my ear caught the sound of the heartrending singsong of the psalms. the voice was old and tremulous. it was an old man, evidently a lodger, who was reading his psalter in an adjoining room: "for the lord knoweth the path of the righteous. . . ." the memories of the long past overtook me, and i told my parents who i was. . . . . and yet--continued samuel after some thought--and yet they were not at peace, fearing i had deceived them. and they never rested till they got me married to my rebekah, "according to the laws of moses and israel." well, two years passed after my wedding, and troubles began; i got a toothache, may you be spared the pain! that is the way of the jew: no sooner does he wed a woman and beget children, than all kinds of ills come upon him. some one told me, there was a nurse at the city hospital who knew how to treat aching teeth and all kinds of ills better than a full-fledged doctor. i went to the hospital, and asked for the nurse. a young woman came out. . . . "marusya?!" "samuel?!" we were both taken aback. "and where is your husband, marusya?" asked i, after i had caught my breath. "and you, samuel, are you married?" "yes." "but i am single yet." yes, yes, she was a good soul! she died long ago. . . . may it please the lord to give her a goodly portion in paradise!-- here the old man broke off his story with a deep sigh escaping from his breast. we waved his hand at the son, who was dozing away unconcerned, lurching from side to side. the old man looked at his son, shook his head, and said: "yes, yes, those were times, those were soldiers. . . . it is all different now: new times, new people, new soldiers. . . . "it is all make-believe nowadays! . . . ." notes by the translator av. the month in the jewish calendar corresponding to july-august. on the ninth day of av the temple was taken and destroyed by titus. arba-kanfos. literally "four corners." a rectangular piece of cloth about one foot wide and three feet long, with an aperture in the middle large enough to pass it over the head. the front part of the garment falls over the chest, the other part covers the shoulders. to its four corners "tzitzis," or fringes, are attached in prescribed manner. when made of wool, the arba-kanfos is usually called tallis-koton (which see). bar-mitzwah. literally "man of duty." a jewish boy who has passed his thirteenth birthday, and has thus attained his religious majority. beadle. the functions of this officer in a jewish community were somewhat similar to those of the constable in some american villages. candles. the sabbath is ushered in by lighting the sabbath candles, accompanied by a short prayer. cantonists. a term applied to jewish boys drafted into military service during the reign of nicholas i of russia ( - ). every jewish community had to supply its quota; but as parents did not surrender their children willingly, they were secured by kidnappers specially appointed by the community for the purpose. see catcher. the same term was applied to the children of russian soldiers who were educated for the army in the so-called district, or canton, schools. hence the name. catcher. an agent of the jewish community prior to the introduction, in , of general military duty in russia. havdolah. ceremonial with wine, candles, and spices, accompanied by a prayer, at the end of the sabbath. haggodah. the ritual used at the passover eve home service. hallah. in commemoration of the priest's tithe at the time of the temple. the ceremonial consists of taking a piece of the bread dough before it is baked and throwing it into the fire; a prayer is recited at the same time. heder. literally, "a room." specifically, a school in which bible and talmud are taught. kaddish. literally, "sanctification." a prayer recited in commemoration of the dead. karaites. members of a jewish sect that does not recognize the authority of the talmud. kosher. literally, "right," "fit." specifically applied to food prepared in accordance with the jewish dietary laws. klaus. a synagogue to which students of the talmud resort for study and discussion. lamdan. a scholar learned in the torah. mezuzah. literally, "door-post." a piece of parchment, inscribed with the shema (which see), together with deut. : - , rolled up, and enclosed in an oblong box, which is attached in a prescribed way to the door-post of a dwelling. modeh-ani. literally "i affirm." the opening words of a brief confession of faith. shaatnez. cloth or a garment made of linen and wool woven together; or a wool garment sewed with linen thread; or a linen garment sewed with wool. shema. literally, "listen," the opening words of deut. : - . shemad. literally, "extermination." applied figuratively to renunciation of the jewish faith, whether forced or voluntary. shohet. a slaughterer of cattle licensed by a rabbi. he must examine the viscera of cattle according to the rules laid down in the talmud. tallis-koton. literally, "the little tallis," or prayer shawl. worn by some jews. see arba-kanfos. torah. literally, "doctrine." a term applied to the pentateuch, and to the talmud with its commentaries. tzitzis. see arba-kanfos. yom-kippur. day of atonement. zhid (fem. zhidovka: zh sounded like z in azure). literally, "judean." russian equivalent of english "sheeny." __________________________ transcriber's discussion the book presents a softer side of cantonist life than history records. the abducted children (as young as eight) were usually raised in barracks ('cantonments') under brutal conditions designed to break their jewishness. speaking yiddish, or any sign of jewishness or religious practice, was punished by starvation, beatings, and if that failed outright tortures, resulting in many deaths, as well as suicides. at age , the lads began a year term in the army. reversion to judaism at any time thereafter was a crime. at its height, in , official records show , cantonists conscripted into the russian army. the cantonist laws were ended in by tsar alexander ii, almost as soon as he came to power. alexander ii created a general draft in , affecting all russians. one message of the book is clear; whatever worries jewish parents may have regarding their drafted child's ability to maintain their religion, this modern draft was vastly preferable to the cantonist system, and might even be welcomed for its fairness. in retrospect, steinberg was really using the cantonist topic as a backdrop for a cultural study. he presents us with several characters, each at a different place in the gray zone between jewish and christian cultures: two cantonists, one clinging to the jewish side (jacob); one closer to the non-jewish side (samuel, the narrator); as well as a jewish convert unhappy with her lot (anna, whose abuse of samuel we later understand as the 'self-disdain' often seen among those who had left judaism); her daughter marusya, who although fully christian is ostracized as being a jewess, and struggles unsuccessfully to find her place in life; and peter khlopov, a full christian who finds jewish culture agreeable. steinberg's portrayal of samuel makes it clear, even in the first few pages, that samuel, although jewish, thinks very much like a russian peasant; in a very real way he straddles that fringe zone between the two distinct societies. ===================== transcriber's notes serge ivanovich acute accent over the a, throughout the text at such moments he would be ready to hug "be" was erroneously "he" in source text zhidovka acute accent over the o, throughout the text nebulae ae written as a ligature vassil stefanovich zagrubsky acute accent over the u, throughout the text manoeuvres oe written as a ligature the arabian nights entertainments, selected and edited by andrew lang after the edition of longmans, green and co, ( ) contents preface the arabian nights the story of the merchant and the genius the story of the first old man and of the hind the story of the second old man, and of the two black dogs the story of the fisherman the story of the greek king and the physician douban the story of the husband and the parrot the story of the vizir who was punished the story of the young king of the black isles the story of the three calenders, sons of kings, and of five ladies of bagdad the story of the first calender, son of a king the story of the envious man and of him who was envied the story of the second calendar, son of a king the story of the third calendar, son of a king the seven voyages of sindbad the sailor first voyage second voyage third voyage fourth voyage fifth voyage sixth voyage seventh and last voyage the little hunchback the story of the barber's fifth brother the story of the barber's sixth brother the adventures of prince camaralzaman and the princess badoura noureddin and the fair persian aladdin and the wonderful lamp the adventures of haroun-al-raschid, caliph of bagdad the story of the blind baba-abdalla the story of sidi-nouman the story of ali colia, merchant of bagdad the enchanted horse the story of two sisters who were jealous of their younger sister preface the stories in the fairy books have generally been such as old women in country places tell to their grandchildren. nobody knows how old they are, or who told them first. the children of ham, shem and japhet may have listened to them in the ark, on wet days. hector's little boy may have heard them in troy town, for it is certain that homer knew them, and that some of them were written down in egypt about the time of moses. people in different countries tell them differently, but they are always the same stories, really, whether among little zulus, at the cape, or little eskimo, near the north pole. the changes are only in matters of manners and customs; such as wearing clothes or not, meeting lions who talk in the warm countries, or talking bears in the cold countries. there are plenty of kings and queens in the fairy tales, just because long ago there were plenty of kings in the country. a gentleman who would be a squire now was a kind of king in scotland in very old times, and the same in other places. these old stories, never forgotten, were taken down in writing in different ages, but mostly in this century, in all sorts of languages. these ancient stories are the contents of the fairy books. now "the arabian nights," some of which, but not nearly all, are given in this volume, are only fairy tales of the east. the people of asia, arabia, and persia told them in their own way, not for children, but for grown-up people. there were no novels then, nor any printed books, of course; but there were people whose profession it was to amuse men and women by telling tales. they dressed the fairy stories up, and made the characters good mahommedans, living in bagdad or india. the events were often supposed to happen in the reign of the great caliph, or ruler of the faithful, haroun al raschid, who lived in bagdad in - a.d. the vizir who accompanies the caliph was also a real person of the great family of the barmecides. he was put to death by the caliph in a very cruel way, nobody ever knew why. the stories must have been told in their present shape a good long while after the caliph died, when nobody knew very exactly what had really happened. at last some storyteller thought of writing down the tales, and fixing them into a kind of framework, as if they had all been narrated to a cruel sultan by his wife. probably the tales were written down about the time when edward i. was fighting robert bruce. but changes were made in them at different times, and a great deal that is very dull and stupid was put in, and plenty of verses. neither the verses nor the dull pieces are given in this book. people in france and england knew almost nothing about "the arabian nights" till the reigns of queen anne and george i., when they were translated into french by monsieur galland. grown-up people were then very fond of fairy tales, and they thought these arab stories the best that they had ever read. they were delighted with ghouls (who lived among the tombs) and geni, who seemed to be a kind of ogres, and with princesses who work magic spells, and with peris, who are arab fairies. sindbad had adventures which perhaps came out of the odyssey of homer; in fact, all the east had contributed its wonders, and sent them to europe in one parcel. young men once made a noise at monsieur galland's windows in the dead of night, and asked him to tell them one of his marvellous tales. nobody talked of anything but dervishes and vizirs, rocs and peris. the stories were translated from french into all languages, and only bishop atterbury complained that the tales were not likely to be true, and had no moral. the bishop was presently banished for being on the side of prince charlie's father, and had leisure to repent of being so solemn. in this book "the arabian nights" are translated from the french version of monsieur galland, who dropped out the poetry and a great deal of what the arabian authors thought funny, though it seems wearisome to us. in this book the stories are shortened here and there, and omissions are made of pieces only suitable for arabs and old gentlemen. the translations are by the writers of the tales in the fairy books, and the pictures are by mr. ford. i can remember reading "the arabian nights" when i was six years old, in dirty yellow old volumes of small type with no pictures, and i hope children who read them with mr. ford's pictures will be as happy as i was then in the company of aladdin and sindbad the sailor. the arabian nights in the chronicles of the ancient dynasty of the sassanidae, who reigned for about four hundred years, from persia to the borders of china, beyond the great river ganges itself, we read the praises of one of the kings of this race, who was said to be the best monarch of his time. his subjects loved him, and his neighbors feared him, and when he died he left his kingdom in a more prosperous and powerful condition than any king had done before him. the two sons who survived him loved each other tenderly, and it was a real grief to the elder, schahriar, that the laws of the empire forbade him to share his dominions with his brother schahzeman. indeed, after ten years, during which this state of things had not ceased to trouble him, schahriar cut off the country of great tartary from the persian empire and made his brother king. now the sultan schahriar had a wife whom he loved more than all the world, and his greatest happiness was to surround her with splendour, and to give her the finest dresses and the most beautiful jewels. it was therefore with the deepest shame and sorrow that he accidentally discovered, after several years, that she had deceived him completely, and her whole conduct turned out to have been so bad, that he felt himself obliged to carry out the law of the land, and order the grand-vizir to put her to death. the blow was so heavy that his mind almost gave way, and he declared that he was quite sure that at bottom all women were as wicked as the sultana, if you could only find them out, and that the fewer the world contained the better. so every evening he married a fresh wife and had her strangled the following morning before the grand-vizir, whose duty it was to provide these unhappy brides for the sultan. the poor man fulfilled his task with reluctance, but there was no escape, and every day saw a girl married and a wife dead. this behaviour caused the greatest horror in the town, where nothing was heard but cries and lamentations. in one house was a father weeping for the loss of his daughter, in another perhaps a mother trembling for the fate of her child; and instead of the blessings that had formerly been heaped on the sultan's head, the air was now full of curses. the grand-vizir himself was the father of two daughters, of whom the elder was called scheherazade, and the younger dinarzade. dinarzade had no particular gifts to distinguish her from other girls, but her sister was clever and courageous in the highest degree. her father had given her the best masters in philosophy, medicine, history and the fine arts, and besides all this, her beauty excelled that of any girl in the kingdom of persia. one day, when the grand-vizir was talking to his eldest daughter, who was his delight and pride, scheherazade said to him, "father, i have a favour to ask of you. will you grant it to me?" "i can refuse you nothing," replied he, "that is just and reasonable." "then listen," said scheherazade. "i am determined to stop this barbarous practice of the sultan's, and to deliver the girls and mothers from the awful fate that hangs over them." "it would be an excellent thing to do," returned the grand-vizir, "but how do you propose to accomplish it?" "my father," answered scheherazade, "it is you who have to provide the sultan daily with a fresh wife, and i implore you, by all the affection you bear me, to allow the honour to fall upon me." "have you lost your senses?" cried the grand-vizir, starting back in horror. "what has put such a thing into your head? you ought to know by this time what it means to be the sultan's bride!" "yes, my father, i know it well," replied she, "and i am not afraid to think of it. if i fail, my death will be a glorious one, and if i succeed i shall have done a great service to my country." "it is of no use," said the grand-vizir, "i shall never consent. if the sultan was to order me to plunge a dagger in your heart, i should have to obey. what a task for a father! ah, if you do not fear death, fear at any rate the anguish you would cause me." "once again, my father," said scheherazade, "will you grant me what i ask?" "what, are you still so obstinate?" exclaimed the grand-vizir. "why are you so resolved upon your own ruin?" but the maiden absolutely refused to attend to her father's words, and at length, in despair, the grand-vizir was obliged to give way, and went sadly to the palace to tell the sultan that the following evening he would bring him scheherazade. the sultan received this news with the greatest astonishment. "how have you made up your mind," he asked, "to sacrifice your own daughter to me?" "sire," answered the grand-vizir, "it is her own wish. even the sad fate that awaits her could not hold her back." "let there be no mistake, vizir," said the sultan. "remember you will have to take her life yourself. if you refuse, i swear that your head shall pay forfeit." "sire," returned the vizir. "whatever the cost, i will obey you. though a father, i am also your subject." so the sultan told the grand-vizir he might bring his daughter as soon as he liked. the vizir took back this news to scheherazade, who received it as if it had been the most pleasant thing in the world. she thanked her father warmly for yielding to her wishes, and, seeing him still bowed down with grief, told him that she hoped he would never repent having allowed her to marry the sultan. then she went to prepare herself for the marriage, and begged that her sister dinarzade should be sent for to speak to her. when they were alone, scheherazade addressed her thus: "my dear sister; i want your help in a very important affair. my father is going to take me to the palace to celebrate my marriage with the sultan. when his highness receives me, i shall beg him, as a last favour, to let you sleep in our chamber, so that i may have your company during the last night i am alive. if, as i hope, he grants me my wish, be sure that you wake me an hour before the dawn, and speak to me in these words: 'my sister, if you are not asleep, i beg you, before the sun rises, to tell me one of your charming stories.' then i shall begin, and i hope by this means to deliver the people from the terror that reigns over them." dinarzade replied that she would do with pleasure what her sister wished. when the usual hour arrived the grand-vizir conducted scheherazade to the palace, and left her alone with the sultan, who bade her raise her veil and was amazed at her beauty. but seeing her eyes full of tears, he asked what was the matter. "sire," replied scheherazade, "i have a sister who loves me as tenderly as i love her. grant me the favour of allowing her to sleep this night in the same room, as it is the last we shall be together." schahriar consented to scheherazade's petition and dinarzade was sent for. an hour before daybreak dinarzade awoke, and exclaimed, as she had promised, "my dear sister, if you are not asleep, tell me i pray you, before the sun rises, one of your charming stories. it is the last time that i shall have the pleasure of hearing you." scheherazade did not answer her sister, but turned to the sultan. "will your highness permit me to do as my sister asks?" said she. "willingly," he answered. so scheherazade began. the story of the merchant and the genius sire, there was once upon a time a merchant who possessed great wealth, in land and merchandise, as well as in ready money. he was obliged from time to time to take journeys to arrange his affairs. one day, having to go a long way from home, he mounted his horse, taking with him a small wallet in which he had put a few biscuits and dates, because he had to pass through the desert where no food was to be got. he arrived without any mishap, and, having finished his business, set out on his return. on the fourth day of his journey, the heat of the sun being very great, he turned out of his road to rest under some trees. he found at the foot of a large walnut-tree a fountain of clear and running water. he dismounted, fastened his horse to a branch of the tree, and sat by the fountain, after having taken from his wallet some of his dates and biscuits. when he had finished this frugal meal he washed his face and hands in the fountain. when he was thus employed he saw an enormous genius, white with rage, coming towards him, with a scimitar in his hand. "arise," he cried in a terrible voice, "and let me kill you as you have killed my son!" as he uttered these words he gave a frightful yell. the merchant, quite as much terrified at the hideous face of the monster as at his words, answered him tremblingly, "alas, good sir, what can i have done to you to deserve death?" "i shall kill you," repeated the genius, "as you have killed my son." "but," said the merchant, "how can i have killed your son? i do not know him, and i have never even seen him." "when you arrived here did you not sit down on the ground?" asked the genius, "and did you not take some dates from your wallet, and whilst eating them did not you throw the stones about?" "yes," said the merchant, "i certainly did so." "then," said the genius, "i tell you you have killed my son, for whilst you were throwing about the stones, my son passed by, and one of them struck him in the eye and killed him. so i shall kill you." "ah, sir, forgive me!" cried the merchant. "i will have no mercy on you," answered the genius. "but i killed your son quite unintentionally, so i implore you to spare my life." "no," said the genius, "i shall kill you as you killed my son," and so saying, he seized the merchant by the arm, threw him on the ground, and lifted his sabre to cut off his head. the merchant, protesting his innocence, bewailed his wife and children, and tried pitifully to avert his fate. the genius, with his raised scimitar, waited till he had finished, but was not in the least touched. scheherazade, at this point, seeing that it was day, and knowing that the sultan always rose very early to attend the council, stopped speaking. "indeed, sister," said dinarzade, "this is a wonderful story." "the rest is still more wonderful," replied scheherazade, "and you would say so, if the sultan would allow me to live another day, and would give me leave to tell it to you the next night." schahriar, who had been listening to scheherazade with pleasure, said to himself, "i will wait till to-morrow; i can always have her killed when i have heard the end of her story." all this time the grand-vizir was in a terrible state of anxiety. but he was much delighted when he saw the sultan enter the council-chamber without giving the terrible command that he was expecting. the next morning, before the day broke, dinarzade said to her sister, "dear sister, if you are awake i pray you to go on with your story." the sultan did not wait for scheherazade to ask his leave. "finish," said he, "the story of the genius and the merchant. i am curious to hear the end." so scheherazade went on with the story. this happened every morning. the sultana told a story, and the sultan let her live to finish it. when the merchant saw that the genius was determined to cut off his head, he said: "one word more, i entreat you. grant me a little delay; just a short time to go home and bid my wife and children farewell, and to make my will. when i have done this i will come back here, and you shall kill me." "but," said the genius, "if i grant you the delay you ask, i am afraid that you will not come back." "i give you my word of honour," answered the merchant, "that i will come back without fail." "how long do you require?" asked the genius. "i ask you for a year's grace," replied the merchant. "i promise you that to-morrow twelvemonth, i shall be waiting under these trees to give myself up to you." on this the genius left him near the fountain and disappeared. the merchant, having recovered from his fright, mounted his horse and went on his road. when he arrived home his wife and children received him with the greatest joy. but instead of embracing them he began to weep so bitterly that they soon guessed that something terrible was the matter. "tell us, i pray you," said his wife, "what has happened." "alas!" answered her husband, "i have only a year to live." then he told them what had passed between him and the genius, and how he had given his word to return at the end of a year to be killed. when they heard this sad news they were in despair, and wept much. the next day the merchant began to settle his affairs, and first of all to pay his debts. he gave presents to his friends, and large alms to the poor. he set his slaves at liberty, and provided for his wife and children. the year soon passed away, and he was obliged to depart. when he tried to say good-bye he was quite overcome with grief, and with difficulty tore himself away. at length he reached the place where he had first seen the genius, on the very day that he had appointed. he dismounted, and sat down at the edge of the fountain, where he awaited the genius in terrible suspense. whilst he was thus waiting an old man leading a hind came towards him. they greeted one another, and then the old man said to him, "may i ask, brother, what brought you to this desert place, where there are so many evil genii about? to see these beautiful trees one would imagine it was inhabited, but it is a dangerous place to stop long in." the merchant told the old man why he was obliged to come there. he listened in astonishment. "this is a most marvellous affair. i should like to be a witness of your interview with the genius." so saying he sat down by the merchant. while they were talking another old man came up, followed by two black dogs. he greeted them, and asked what they were doing in this place. the old man who was leading the hind told him the adventure of the merchant and the genius. the second old man had not sooner heard the story than he, too, decided to stay there to see what would happen. he sat down by the others, and was talking, when a third old man arrived. he asked why the merchant who was with them looked so sad. they told him the story, and he also resolved to see what would pass between the genius and the merchant, so waited with the rest. they soon saw in the distance a thick smoke, like a cloud of dust. this smoke came nearer and nearer, and then, all at once, it vanished, and they saw the genius, who, without speaking to them, approached the merchant, sword in hand, and, taking him by the arm, said, "get up and let me kill you as you killed my son." the merchant and the three old men began to weep and groan. then the old man leading the hind threw himself at the monster's feet and said, "o prince of the genii, i beg of you to stay your fury and to listen to me. i am going to tell you my story and that of the hind i have with me, and if you find it more marvellous than that of the merchant whom you are about to kill, i hope that you will do away with a third part of his punishment?" the genius considered some time, and then he said, "very well, i agree to this." the story of the first old man and of the hind i am now going to begin my story (said the old man), so please attend. this hind that you see with me is my wife. we have no children of our own, therefore i adopted the son of a favorite slave, and determined to make him my heir. my wife, however, took a great dislike to both mother and child, which she concealed from me till too late. when my adopted son was about ten years old i was obliged to go on a journey. before i went i entrusted to my wife's keeping both the mother and child, and begged her to take care of them during my absence, which lasted a whole year. during this time she studied magic in order to carry out her wicked scheme. when she had learnt enough she took my son into a distant place and changed him into a calf. then she gave him to my steward, and told him to look after a calf she had bought. she also changed the slave into a cow, which she sent to my steward. when i returned i inquired after my slave and the child. "your slave is dead," she said, "and as for your son, i have not seen him for two months, and i do not know where he is." i was grieved to hear of my slave's death, but as my son had only disappeared, i thought i should soon find him. eight months, however, passed, and still no tidings of him; then the feast of bairam came. to celebrate it i ordered my steward to bring me a very fat cow to sacrifice. he did so. the cow that he brought was my unfortunate slave. i bound her, but just as i was about to kill her she began to low most piteously, and i saw that her eyes were streaming with tears. it seemed to me most extraordinary, and, feeling a movement of pity, i ordered the steward to lead her away and bring another. my wife, who was present, scoffed at my compassion, which made her malice of no avail. "what are you doing?" she cried. "kill this cow. it is the best we have to sacrifice." to please her, i tried again, but again the animal's lows and tears disarmed me. "take her away," i said to the steward, "and kill her; i cannot." the steward killed her, but on skinning her found that she was nothing but bones, although she appeared so fat. i was vexed. "keep her for yourself," i said to the steward, "and if you have a fat calf, bring that in her stead." in a short time he brought a very fat calf, which, although i did not know it, was my son. it tried hard to break its cord and come to me. it threw itself at my feet, with its head on the ground, as if it wished to excite my pity, and to beg me not to take away its life. i was even more surprised and touched at this action than i had been at the tears of the cow. "go," i said to the steward, "take back this calf, take great care of it, and bring me another in its place instantly." as soon as my wife heard me speak this she at once cried out, "what are you doing, husband? do not sacrifice any calf but this." "wife," i answered, "i will not sacrifice this calf," and in spite of all her remonstrances, i remained firm. i had another calf killed; this one was led away. the next day the steward asked to speak to me in private. "i have come," he said, "to tell you some news which i think you will like to hear. i have a daughter who knows magic. yesterday, when i was leading back the calf which you refused to sacrifice, i noticed that she smiled, and then directly afterwards began to cry. i asked her why she did so." "father," she answered, "this calf is the son of our master. i smile with joy at seeing him still alive, and i weep to think of his mother, who was sacrificed yesterday as a cow. these changes have been wrought by our master's wife, who hated the mother and son." "at these words, of genius," continued the old man, "i leave you to imagine my astonishment. i went immediately with the steward to speak with his daughter myself. first of all i went to the stable to see my son, and he replied in his dumb way to all my caresses. when the steward's daughter came i asked her if she could change my son back to his proper shape." "yes, i can," she replied, "on two conditions. one is that you will give him to me for a husband, and the other is that you will let me punish the woman who changed him into a calf." "to the first condition," i answered, "i agree with all my heart, and i will give you an ample dowry. to the second i also agree, i only beg you to spare her life." "that i will do," she replied; "i will treat her as she treated your son." then she took a vessel of water and pronounced over it some words i did not understand; then, on throwing the water over him, he became immediately a young man once more. "my son, my dear son," i exclaimed, kissing him in a transport of joy. "this kind maiden has rescued you from a terrible enchantment, and i am sure that out of gratitude you will marry her." he consented joyfully, but before they were married, the young girl changed my wife into a hind, and it is she whom you see before you. i wished her to have this form rather than a stranger one, so that we could see her in the family without repugnance. since then my son has become a widower and has gone travelling. i am now going in search of him, and not wishing to confide my wife to the care of other people, i am taking her with me. is this not a most marvellous tale? "it is indeed," said the genius, "and because of it i grant to you the third part of the punishment of this merchant." when the first old man had finished his story, the second, who was leading the two black dogs, said to the genius, "i am going to tell you what happened to me, and i am sure that you will find my story even more astonishing than the one to which you have just been listening. but when i have related it, will you grant me also the third part of the merchant's punishment?" "yes," replied the genius, "provided that your story surpasses that of the hind." with this agreement the second old man began in this way. the story of the second old man, and of the two black dogs great prince of the genii, you must know that we are three brothers--these two black dogs and myself. our father died, leaving us each a thousand sequins. with this sum we all three took up the same profession, and became merchants. a short time after we had opened our shops, my eldest brother, one of these two dogs, resolved to travel in foreign countries for the sake of merchandise. with this intention he sold all he had and bought merchandise suitable to the voyages he was about to make. he set out, and was away a whole year. at the end of this time a beggar came to my shop. "good-day," i said. "good-day," he answered; "is it possible that you do not recognise me?" then i looked at him closely and saw he was my brother. i made him come into my house, and asked him how he had fared in his enterprise. "do not question me," he replied, "see me, you see all i have. it would but renew my trouble to tell of all the misfortunes that have befallen me in a year, and have brought me to this state." i shut up my shop, paid him every attention, taking him to the bath, giving him my most beautiful robes. i examined my accounts, and found that i had doubled my capital--that is, that i now possessed two thousand sequins. i gave my brother half, saying: "now, brother, you can forget your losses." he accepted them with joy, and we lived together as we had before. some time afterwards my second brother wished also to sell his business and travel. my eldest brother and i did all we could to dissuade him, but it was of no use. he joined a caravan and set out. he came back at the end of a year in the same state as his elder brother. i took care of him, and as i had a thousand sequins to spare i gave them to him, and he re-opened his shop. one day, my two brothers came to me to propose that we should make a journey and trade. at first i refused to go. "you travelled," i said, "and what did you gain?" but they came to me repeatedly, and after having held out for five years i at last gave way. but when they had made their preparation, and they began to buy the merchandise we needed, they found they had spent every piece of the thousand sequins i had given them. i did not reproach them. i divided my six thousand sequins with them, giving a thousand to each and keeping one for myself, and the other three i buried in a corner of my house. we bought merchandise, loaded a vessel with it, and set forth with a favorable wind. after two months' sailing we arrived at a seaport, where we disembarked and did a great trade. then we bought the merchandise of the country, and were just going to sail once more, when i was stopped on the shore by a beautiful though poorly dressed woman. she came up to me, kissed my hand, and implored me to marry her, and take her on board. at first i refused, but she begged so hard and promised to be such a good wife to me, that at last i consented. i got her some beautiful dresses, and after having married her, we embarked and set sail. during the voyage, i discovered so many good qualities in my wife that i began to love her more and more. but my brothers began to be jealous of my prosperity, and set to work to plot against my life. one night when we were sleeping they threw my wife and myself into the sea. my wife, however, was a fairy, and so she did not let me drown, but transported me to an island. when the day dawned, she said to me, "when i saw you on the sea-shore i took a great fancy to you, and wished to try your good nature, so i presented myself in the disguise you saw. now i have rewarded you by saving your life. but i am very angry with your brothers, and i shall not rest till i have taken their lives." i thanked the fairy for all that she had done for me, but i begged her not to kill my brothers. i appeased her wrath, and in a moment she transported me from the island where we were to the roof of my house, and she disappeared a moment afterwards. i went down, and opened the doors, and dug up the three thousand sequins which i had buried. i went to the place where my shop was, opened it, and received from my fellow-merchants congratulations on my return. when i went home, i saw two black dogs who came to meet me with sorrowful faces. i was much astonished, but the fairy who reappeared said to me, "do not be surprised to see these dogs; they are your two brothers. i have condemned them to remain for ten years in these shapes." then having told me where i could hear news of her, she vanished. the ten years are nearly passed, and i am on the road to find her. as in passing i met this merchant and the old man with the hind, i stayed with them. this is my history, o prince of genii! do you not think it is a most marvellous one? "yes, indeed," replied the genius, "and i will give up to you the third of the merchant's punishment." then the third old man made the genius the same request as the other two had done, and the genius promised him the last third of the merchant's punishment if his story surpassed both the others. so he told his story to the genius, but i cannot tell you what it was, as i do not know. but i do know that it was even more marvellous than either of the others, so that the genius was astonished, and said to the third old man, "i will give up to you the third part of the merchant's punishment. he ought to thank all three of you for having interested yourselves in his favour. but for you, he would be here no longer." so saying, he disappeared, to the great joy of the company. the merchant did not fail to thank his friends, and then each went on his way. the merchant returned to his wife and children, and passed the rest of his days happily with them. "but, sire," added scheherazade, "however beautiful are the stories i have just told you, they cannot compare with the story of the fisherman." the story of the fisherman sire, there was once upon a time a fisherman so old and so poor that he could scarcely manage to support his wife and three children. he went every day to fish very early, and each day he made a rule not to throw his nets more than four times. he started out one morning by moonlight and came to the sea-shore. he undressed and threw his nets, and as he was drawing them towards the bank he felt a great weight. he though he had caught a large fish, and he felt very pleased. but a moment afterwards, seeing that instead of a fish he only had in his nets the carcase of an ass, he was much disappointed. vexed with having such a bad haul, when he had mended his nets, which the carcase of the ass had broken in several places, he threw them a second time. in drawing them in he again felt a great weight, so that he thought they were full of fish. but he only found a large basket full of rubbish. he was much annoyed. "o fortune," he cried, "do not trifle thus with me, a poor fisherman, who can hardly support his family!" so saying, he threw away the rubbish, and after having washed his nets clean of the dirt, he threw them for the third time. but he only drew in stones, shells, and mud. he was almost in despair. then he threw his nets for the fourth time. when he thought he had a fish he drew them in with a great deal of trouble. there was no fish however, but he found a yellow pot, which by its weight seemed full of something, and he noticed that it was fastened and sealed with lead, with the impression of a seal. he was delighted. "i will sell it to the founder," he said; "with the money i shall get for it i shall buy a measure of wheat." he examined the jar on all sides; he shook it to see if it would rattle. but he heard nothing, and so, judging from the impression of the seal and the lid, he thought there must be something precious inside. to find out, he took his knife, and with a little trouble he opened it. he turned it upside down, but nothing came out, which surprised him very much. he set it in front of him, and whilst he was looking at it attentively, such a thick smoke came out that he had to step back a pace or two. this smoke rose up to the clouds, and stretching over the sea and the shore, formed a thick mist, which caused the fisherman much astonishment. when all the smoke was out of the jar it gathered itself together, and became a thick mass in which appeared a genius, twice as large as the largest giant. when he saw such a terrible-looking monster, the fisherman would like to have run away, but he trembled so with fright that he could not move a step. "great king of the genii," cried the monster, "i will never again disobey you!" at these words the fisherman took courage. "what is this you are saying, great genius? tell me your history and how you came to be shut up in that vase." at this, the genius looked at the fisherman haughtily. "speak to me more civilly," he said, "before i kill you." "alas! why should you kill me?" cried the fisherman. "i have just freed you; have you already forgotten that?" "no," answered the genius; "but that will not prevent me from killing you; and i am only going to grant you one favour, and that is to choose the manner of your death." "but what have i done to you?" asked the fisherman. "i cannot treat you in any other way," said the genius, "and if you would know why, listen to my story. "i rebelled against the king of the genii. to punish me, he shut me up in this vase of copper, and he put on the leaden cover his seal, which is enchantment enough to prevent my coming out. then he had the vase thrown into the sea. during the first period of my captivity i vowed that if anyone should free me before a hundred years were passed, i would make him rich even after his death. but that century passed, and no one freed me. in the second century i vowed that i would give all the treasures in the world to my deliverer; but he never came. "in the third, i promised to make him a king, to be always near him, and to grant him three wishes every day; but that century passed away as the other two had done, and i remained in the same plight. at last i grew angry at being captive for so long, and i vowed that if anyone would release me i would kill him at once, and would only allow him to choose in what manner he should die. so you see, as you have freed me to-day, choose in what way you will die." the fisherman was very unhappy. "what an unlucky man i am to have freed you! i implore you to spare my life." "i have told you," said the genius, "that it is impossible. choose quickly; you are wasting time." the fisherman began to devise a plot. "since i must die," he said, "before i choose the manner of my death, i conjure you on your honour to tell me if you really were in that vase?" "yes, i was," answered the genius. "i really cannot believe it," said the fisherman. "that vase could not contain one of your feet even, and how could your whole body go in? i cannot believe it unless i see you do the thing." then the genius began to change himself into smoke, which, as before, spread over the sea and the shore, and which, then collecting itself together, began to go back into the vase slowly and evenly till there was nothing left outside. then a voice came from the vase which said to the fisherman, "well, unbelieving fisherman, here i am in the vase; do you believe me now?" the fisherman instead of answering took the lid of lead and shut it down quickly on the vase. "now, o genius," he cried, "ask pardon of me, and choose by what death you will die! but no, it will be better if i throw you into the sea whence i drew you out, and i will build a house on the shore to warn fishermen who come to cast their nets here, against fishing up such a wicked genius as you are, who vows to kill the man who frees you." at these words the genius did all he could to get out, but he could not, because of the enchantment of the lid. then he tried to get out by cunning. "if you will take off the cover," he said, "i will repay you." "no," answered the fisherman, "if i trust myself to you i am afraid you will treat me as a certain greek king treated the physician douban. listen, and i will tell you." the story of the greek king and the physician douban in the country of zouman, in persia, there lived a greek king. this king was a leper, and all his doctors had been unable to cure him, when a very clever physician came to his court. he was very learned in all languages, and knew a great deal about herbs and medicines. as soon as he was told of the king's illness he put on his best robe and presented himself before the king. "sire," said he, "i know that no physician has been able to cure your majesty, but if you will follow my instructions, i will promise to cure you without any medicines or outward application." the king listened to this proposal. "if you are clever enough to do this," he said, "i promise to make you and your descendants rich for ever." the physician went to his house and made a polo club, the handle of which he hollowed out, and put in it the drug he wished to use. then he made a ball, and with these things he went the next day to the king. he told him that he wished him to play at polo. accordingly the king mounted his horse and went into the place where he played. there the physician approached him with the bat he had made, saying, "take this, sire, and strike the ball till you feel your hand and whole body in a glow. when the remedy that is in the handle of the club is warmed by your hand it will penetrate throughout your body. the you must return to your palace, bathe, and go to sleep, and when you awake to-morrow morning you will be cured." the king took the club and urged his horse after the ball which he had thrown. he struck it, and then it was hit back by the courtiers who were playing with him. when he felt very hot he stopped playing, and went back to the palace, went into the bath, and did all that the physician had said. the next day when he arose he found, to his great joy and astonishment, that he was completely cured. when he entered his audience-chamber all his courtiers, who were eager to see if the wonderful cure had been effected, were overwhelmed with joy. the physician douban entered the hall and bowed low to the ground. the king, seeing him, called him, made him sit by his side, and showed him every mark of honour. that evening he gave him a long and rich robe of state, and presented him with two thousand sequins. the following day he continued to load him with favours. now the king had a grand-vizir who was avaricious, and envious, and a very bad man. he grew extremely jealous of the physician, and determined to bring about his ruin. in order to do this he asked to speak in private with the king, saying that he had a most important communication to make. "what is it?" asked the king. "sire," answered the grand-vizir, "it is most dangerous for a monarch to confide in a man whose faithfulness is not proved, you do not know that this physician is not a traitor come here to assassinate you." "i am sure," said the king, "that this man is the most faithful and virtuous of men. if he wished to take my life, why did he cure me? cease to speak against him. i see what it is, you are jealous of him; but do not think that i can be turned against him. i remember well what a vizir said to king sindbad, his master, to prevent him from putting the prince, his son, to death." what the greek king said excited the vizir's curiosity, and he said to him, "sire, i beg your majesty to have the condescension to tell me what the vizir said to king sindbad." "this vizir," he replied, "told king sindbad that one ought not believe everything that a mother-in-law says, and told him this story." the story of the husband and the parrot a good man had a beautiful wife, whom he loved passionately, and never left if possible. one day, when he was obliged by important business to go away from her, he went to a place where all kinds of birds are sold and bought a parrot. this parrot not only spoke well, but it had the gift of telling all that had been done before it. he brought it home in a cage, and asked his wife to put it in her room, and take great care of it while he was away. then he departed. on his return he asked the parrot what had happened during his absence, and the parrot told him some things which made him scold his wife. she thought that one of her slaves must have been telling tales of her, but they told her it was the parrot, and she resolved to revenge herself on him. when her husband next went away for one day, she told on slave to turn under the bird's cage a hand-mill; another to throw water down from above the cage, and a third to take a mirror and turn it in front of its eyes, from left to right by the light of a candle. the slaves did this for part of the night, and did it very well. the next day when the husband came back he asked the parrot what he had seen. the bird replied, "my good master, the lightning, thunder and rain disturbed me so much all night long, that i cannot tell you what i have suffered." the husband, who knew that it had neither rained nor thundered in the night, was convinced that the parrot was not speaking the truth, so he took him out of the cage and threw him so roughly on the ground that he killed him. nevertheless he was sorry afterwards, for he found that the parrot had spoken the truth. "when the greek king," said the fisherman to the genius, "had finished the story of the parrot, he added to the vizir, "and so, vizir, i shall not listen to you, and i shall take care of the physician, in case i repent as the husband did when he had killed the parrot." but the vizir was determined. "sire," he replied, "the death of the parrot was nothing. but when it is a question of the life of a king it is better to sacrifice the innocent than save the guilty. it is no uncertain thing, however. the physician, douban, wishes to assassinate you. my zeal prompts me to disclose this to your majesty. if i am wrong, i deserve to be punished as a vizir was once punished." "what had the vizir done," said the greek king, "to merit the punishment?" "i will tell your majesty, if you will do me the honour to listen," answered the vizir." the story of the vizir who was punished there was once upon a time a king who had a son who was very fond of hunting. he often allowed him to indulge in this pastime, but he had ordered his grand-vizir always to go with him, and never to lose sight of him. one day the huntsman roused a stag, and the prince, thinking that the vizir was behind, gave chase, and rode so hard that he found himself alone. he stopped, and having lost sight of it, he turned to rejoin the vizir, who had not been careful enough to follow him. but he lost his way. whilst he was trying to find it, he saw on the side of the road a beautiful lady who was crying bitterly. he drew his horse's rein, and asked her who she was and what she was doing in this place, and if she needed help. "i am the daughter of an indian king," she answered, "and whilst riding in the country i fell asleep and tumbled off. my horse has run away, and i do not know what has become of him." the young prince had pity on her, and offered to take her behind him, which he did. as they passed by a ruined building the lady dismounted and went in. the prince also dismounted and followed her. to his great surprise, he heard her saying to some one inside, "rejoice my children; i am bringing you a nice fat youth." and other voices replied, "where is he, mamma, that we may eat him at once, as we are very hungry?" the prince at once saw the danger he was in. he now knew that the lady who said she was the daughter of an indian king was an ogress, who lived in desolate places, and who by a thousand wiles surprised and devoured passers-by. he was terrified, and threw himself on his horse. the pretended princess appeared at this moment, and seeing that she had lost her prey, she said to him, "do not be afraid. what do you want?" "i am lost," he answered, "and i am looking for the road." "keep straight on," said the ogress, "and you will find it." the prince could hardly believe his ears, and rode off as hard as he could. he found his way, and arrived safe and sound at his father's house, where he told him of the danger he had run because of the grand-vizir's carelessness. the king was very angry, and had him strangled immediately. "sire," went on the vizir to the greek king, "to return to the physician, douban. if you do not take care, you will repent of having trusted him. who knows what this remedy, with which he has cured you, may not in time have a bad effect on you?" the greek king was naturally very weak, and did not perceive the wicked intention of his vizir, nor was he firm enough to keep to his first resolution. "well, vizir," he said, "you are right. perhaps he did come to take my life. he might do it by the mere smell of one of his drugs. i must see what can be done." "the best means, sire, to put your life in security, is to send for him at once, and to cut off his head directly he comes," said the vizir. "i really think," replied the king, "that will be the best way." he then ordered one of his ministers to fetch the physician, who came at once. "i have had you sent for," said the king, "in order to free myself from you by taking your life." the physician was beyond measure astonished when he heard he was to die. "what crimes have i committed, your majesty?" "i have learnt," replied the king, "that you are a spy, and intend to kill me. but i will be first, and kill you. strike," he added to an executioner who was by, "and rid me of this assassin." at this cruel order the physician threw himself on his knees. "spare my life," he cried, "and yours will be spared." the fisherman stopped here to say to the genius: "you see what passed between the greek king and the physician has just passed between us two. the greek king," he went on, "had no mercy on him, and the executioner bound his eyes." all those present begged for his life, but in vain. the physician on his knees, and bound, said to the king: "at least let me put my affairs in order, and leave my books to persons who will make good use of them. there is one which i should like to present to your majesty. it is very precious, and ought to be kept carefully in your treasury. it contains many curious things the chief being that when you cut off my head, if your majesty will turn to the sixth leaf, and read the third line of the left-hand page, my head will answer all the questions you like to ask it." the king, eager to see such a wonderful thing, put off his execution to the next day, and sent him under a strong guard to his house. there the physician put his affairs in order, and the next day there was a great crowd assembled in the hall to see his death, and the doings after it. the physician went up to the foot of the throne with a large book in his hand. he carried a basin, on which he spread the covering of the book, and presenting it to the king, said: "sire, take this book, and when my head is cut off, let it be placed in the basin on the covering of this book; as soon as it is there, the blood will cease to flow. then open the book, and my head will answer your questions. but, sire, i implore your mercy, for i am innocent." "your prayers are useless, and if it were only to hear your head speak when you are dead, you should die." so saying, he took the book from the physician's hands, and ordered the executioner to do his duty. the head was so cleverly cut off that it fell into the basin, and directly the blood ceased to flow. then, to the great astonishment of the king, the eyes opened, and the head said, "your majesty, open the book." the king did so, and finding that the first leaf stuck against the second, he put his finger in his mouth, to turn it more easily. he did the same thing till he reached the sixth page, and not seeing any writing on it, "physician," he said, "there is no writing." "turn over a few more pages," answered the head. the king went on turning, still putting his finger in his mouth, till the poison in which each page was dipped took effect. his sight failed him, and he fell at the foot of his throne. when the physician's head saw that the poison had taken effect, and that the king had only a few more minutes to live, "tyrant," it cried, "see how cruelty and injustice are punished." scarcely had it uttered these words than the king died, and the head lost also the little life that had remained in it. that is the end of the story of the greek king, and now let us return to the fisherman and the genius. "if the greek king," said the fisherman, "had spared the physician, he would not have thus died. the same thing applies to you. now i am going to throw you into the sea." "my friend," said the genius, "do not do such a cruel thing. do not treat me as imma treated ateca." "what did imma do to ateca?" asked the fisherman. "do you think i can tell you while i am shut up in here?" replied the genius. "let me out, and i will make you rich." the hope of being no longer poor made the fisherman give way. "if you will give me your promise to do this, i will open the lid. i do not think you will dare to break your word." the genius promised, and the fisherman lifted the lid. he came out at once in smoke, and then, having resumed his proper form, the first thing he did was to kick the vase into the sea. this frightened the fisherman, but the genius laughed and said, "do not be afraid; i only did it to frighten you, and to show you that i intend to keep my word; take your nets and follow me." he began to walk in front of the fisherman, who followed him with some misgivings. they passed in front of the town, and went up a mountain and then down into a great plain, where there was a large lake lying between four hills. when they reached the lake the genius said to the fisherman, "throw your nets and catch fish." the fisherman did as he was told, hoping for a good catch, as he saw plenty of fish. what was his astonishment at seeing that there were four quite different kinds, some white, some red, some blue, and some yellow. he caught four, one of each colour. as he had never seen any like them he admired them very much, and he was very pleased to think how much money he would get for them. "take these fish and carry them to the sultan, who will give you more money for them than you have ever had in your life. you can come every day to fish in this lake, but be careful not to throw your nets more than once every day, otherwise some harm will happen to you. if you follow my advice carefully you will find it good." saying these words, he struck his foot against the ground, which opened, and when he had disappeared, it closed immediately. the fisherman resolved to obey the genius exactly, so he did not cast his nets a second time, but walked into the town to sell his fish at the palace. when the sultan saw the fish he was much astonished. he looked at them one after the other, and when he had admired them long enough, "take these fish," he said to his first vizir, "and given them to the clever cook the emperor of the greeks sent me. i think they must be as good as they are beautiful." the vizir took them himself to the cook, saying, "here are four fish that have been brought to the sultan. he wants you to cook them." then he went back to the sultan, who told him to give the fisherman four hundred gold pieces. the fisherman, who had never before possessed such a large sum of money at once, could hardly believe his good fortune. he at once relieved the needs of his family, and made good use of it. but now we must return to the kitchen, which we shall find in great confusion. the cook, when she had cleaned the fish, put them in a pan with some oil to fry them. when she thought them cooked enough on one side she turned them on the other. but scarcely had she done so when the walls of the kitchen opened, and there came out a young and beautiful damsel. she was dressed in an egyptian dress of flowered satin, and she wore earrings, and a necklace of white pearls, and bracelets of gold set with rubies, and she held a wand of myrtle in her hand. she went up to the pan, to the great astonishment of the cook, who stood motionless at the sight of her. she struck one of the fish with her rod, "fish, fish," said she, "are you doing your duty?" the fish answered nothing, and then she repeated her question, whereupon they all raised their heads together and answered very distinctly, "yes, yes. if you reckon, we reckon. if you pay your debts, we pay ours. if you fly, we conquer, and we are content." when they had spoken the girl upset the pan, and entered the opening in the wall, which at once closed, and appeared the same as before. when the cook had recovered from her fright she lifted up the fish which had fallen into the ashes, but she found them as black as cinders, and not fit to serve up to the sultan. she began to cry. "alas! what shall i say to the sultan? he will be so angry with me, and i know he will not believe me!" whilst she was crying the grand-vizir came in and asked if the fish were ready. she told him all that had happened, and he was much surprised. he sent at once for the fisherman, and when he came said to him, "fisherman, bring me four more fish like you have brought already, for an accident has happened to them so that they cannot be served up to the sultan." the fisherman did not say what the genius had told him, but he excused himself from bringing them that day on account of the length of the way, and he promised to bring them next day. in the night he went to the lake, cast his nets, and on drawing them in found four fish, which were like the others, each of a different colour. he went back at once and carried them to the grand-vizir as he had promised. he then took them to the kitchen and shut himself up with the cook, who began to cook them as she had done the four others on the previous day. when she was about to turn them on the other side, the wall opened, the damsel appeared, addressed the same words to the fish, received the same answer, and then overturned the pan and disappeared. the grand-vizir was filled with astonishment. "i shall tell the sultan all that has happened," said he. and he did so. the sultan was very much astounded, and wished to see this marvel for himself. so he sent for the fisherman, and asked him to procure four more fish. the fisherman asked for three days, which were granted, and he then cast his nets in the lake, and again caught four different coloured fish. the sultan was delighted to see he had got them, and gave him again four hundred gold pieces. as soon as the sultan had the fish he had them carried to his room with all that was needed to cook them. then he shut himself up with the grand-vizir, who began to prepare them and cook them. when they were done on one side he turned them over on the other. then the wall of the room opened, but instead of the maiden a black slave came out. he was enormously tall, and carried a large green stick with which he touched the fish, saying in a terrible voice, "fish, fish, are you doing your duty?" to these words the fish lifting up their heads replied, "yes, yes. if you reckon, we reckon. if you pay your debts, we pay ours. if you fly, we conquer, and are content." the black slave overturned the pan in the middle of the room, and the fish were turned to cinders. then he stepped proudly back into the wall, which closed round him. "after having seen this," said the sultan, "i cannot rest. these fish signify some mystery i must clear up." he sent for the fisherman. "fisherman," he said, "the fish you have brought us have caused me some anxiety. where did you get them from?" "sire," he answered, "i got them from a lake which lies in the middle of four hills beyond yonder mountains." "do you know this lake?" asked the sultan of the grand-vizir. "no; though i have hunted many times round that mountain, i have never heard of it," said the vizir. as the fisherman said it was only three hours' journey away, the sultan ordered his whole court to mount and ride thither, and the fisherman led them. they climbed the mountain, and then, on the other side, saw the lake as the fisherman had described. the water was so clear that they could see the four kinds of fish swimming about in it. they looked at them for some time, and then the sultan ordered them to make a camp by the edge of the water. when night came the sultan called his vizir, and said to him, "i have resolved to clear up this mystery. i am going out alone, and do you stay here in my tent, and when my ministers come to-morrow, say i am not well, and cannot see them. do this each day till i return." the grand-vizir tried to persuade the sultan not to go, but in vain. the sultan took off his state robe and put on his sword, and when he saw all was quiet in the camp he set forth alone. he climbed one of the hills, and then crossed the great plain, till, just as the sun rose, he beheld far in front of him a large building. when he came near to it he saw it was a splendid palace of beautiful black polished marble, covered with steel as smooth as a mirror. he went to the gate, which stood half open, and went in, as nobody came when he knocked. he passed through a magnificent courtyard and still saw no one, though he called aloud several times. he entered large halls where the carpets were of silk, the lounges and sofas covered with tapestry from mecca, and the hangings of the most beautiful indian stuffs of gold and silver. then he found himself in a splendid room, with a fountain supported by golden lions. the water out of the lions' mouths turned into diamonds and pearls, and the leaping water almost touched a most beautifully-painted dome. the palace was surrounded on three sides by magnificent gardens, little lakes, and woods. birds sang in the trees, which were netted over to keep them always there. still the sultan saw no one, till he heard a plaintive cry, and a voice which said, "oh that i could die, for i am too unhappy to wish to live any longer!" the sultan looked round to discover who it was who thus bemoaned his fate, and at last saw a handsome young man, richly clothed, who was sitting on a throne raised slightly from the ground. his face was very sad. the sultan approached him and bowed to him. the young man bent his head very low, but did not rise. "sire," he said to the sultan, "i cannot rise and do you the reverence that i am sure should be paid to your rank." "sir," answered the sultan, "i am sure you have a good reason for not doing so, and having heard your cry of distress, i am come to offer you my help. whose is this palace, and why is it thus empty?" instead of answering the young man lifted up his robe, and showed the sultan that, from the waist downwards, he was a block of black marble. the sultan was horrified, and begged the young man to tell him his story. "willingly i will tell you my sad history," said the young man. the story of the young king of the black isles you must know, sire, that my father was mahmoud, the king of this country, the black isles, so called from the four little mountains which were once islands, while the capital was the place where now the great lake lies. my story will tell you how these changes came about. my father died when he was sixty-six, and i succeeded him. i married my cousin, whom i loved tenderly, and i thought she loved me too. but one afternoon, when i was half asleep, and was being fanned by two of her maids, i heard one say to the other, "what a pity it is that our mistress no longer loves our master! i believe she would like to kill him if she could, for she is an enchantress." i soon found by watching that they were right, and when i mortally wounded a favourite slave of hers for a great crime, she begged that she might build a palace in the garden, where she wept and bewailed him for two years. at last i begged her to cease grieving for him, for although he could not speak or move, by her enchantments she just kept him alive. she turned upon me in a rage, and said over me some magic words, and i instantly became as you see me now, half man and half marble. then this wicked enchantress changed the capital, which was a very populous and flourishing city, into the lake and desert plain you saw. the fish of four colours which are in it are the different races who lived in the town; the four hills are the four islands which give the name to my kingdom. all this the enchantress told me to add to my troubles. and this is not all. every day she comes and beats me with a whip of buffalo hide. when the young king had finished his sad story he burst once more into tears, and the sultan was much moved. "tell me," he cried, "where is this wicked woman, and where is the miserable object of her affection, whom she just manages to keep alive?" "where she lives i do not know," answered the unhappy prince, "but she goes every day at sunrise to see if the slave can yet speak to her, after she has beaten me." "unfortunate king," said the sultan, "i will do what i can to avenge you." so he consulted with the young king over the best way to bring this about, and they agreed their plan should be put in effect the next day. the sultan then rested, and the young king gave himself up to happy hopes of release. the next day the sultan arose, and then went to the palace in the garden where the black slave was. he drew his sword and destroyed the little life that remained in him, and then threw the body down a well. he then lay down on the couch where the slave had been, and waited for the enchantress. she went first to the young king, whom she beat with a hundred blows. then she came to the room where she thought her wounded slave was, but where the sultan really lay. she came near his couch and said, "are you better to-day, my dear slave? speak but one word to me." "how can i be better," answered the sultan, imitating the language of the ethiopians, "when i can never sleep for the cries and groans of your husband?" "what joy to hear you speak!" answered the queen. "do you wish him to regain his proper shape?" "yes," said the sultan; "hasten to set him at liberty, so that i may no longer hear his cries." the queen at once went out and took a cup of water, and said over it some words that made it boil as if it were on the fire. then she threw it over the prince, who at once regained his own form. he was filled with joy, but the enchantress said, "hasten away from this place and never come back, lest i kill you." so he hid himself to see the end of the sultan's plan. the enchantress went back to the palace of tears and said, "now i have done what you wished." "what you have done," said the sultan, "is not enough to cure me. every day at midnight all the people whom you have changed into fish lift their heads out of the lake and cry for vengeance. go quickly, and give them their proper shape." the enchantress hurried away and said some words over the lake. the fish then became men, women, and children, and the houses and shops were once more filled. the sultan's suite, who had encamped by the lake, were not a little astonished to see themselves in the middle of a large and beautiful town. as soon as she had disenchanted it the queen went back to the palace. "are you quite well now?" she said. "come near," said the sultan. "nearer still." she obeyed. then he sprang up, and with one blow of his sword he cut her in two. then he went and found the prince. "rejoice," he said, "your cruel enemy is dead." the prince thanked him again and again. "and now," said the sultan. "i will go back to my capital, which i am glad to find is so near yours." "so near mine!" said the king of the black isles. "do you know it is a whole year's journey from here? you came here in a few hours because it was enchanted. but i will accompany you on your journey." "it will give me much pleasure if you will escort me," said the sultan, "and as i have no children, i will make you my heir." the sultan and the prince set out together, the sultan laden with rich presents from the king of the black isles. the day after he reached his capital the sultan assembled his court and told them all that had befallen him, and told them how he intended to adopt the young king as his heir. then he gave each man presents in proportion to his rank. as for the fisherman, as he was the first cause of the deliverance of the young prince, the sultan gave him much money, and made him and his family happy for the rest of their days. the story of the three calenders, sons of kings, and of five ladies of bagdad in the reign of the caliph haroun-al-raschid, there lived at bagdad a porter who, in spite of his humble calling, was an intelligent and sensible man. one morning he was sitting in his usual place with his basket before him, waiting to be hired, when a tall young lady, covered with a long muslin veil, came up to him and said, "pick up your basket and follow me." the porter, who was greatly pleased by her appearance and voice, jumped up at once, poised his basket on his head, and accompanied the lady, saying to himself as he went, "oh, happy day! oh, lucky meeting!" the lady soon stopped before a closed door, at which she knocked. it was opened by an old man with a long white beard, to whom the lady held out money without speaking. the old man, who seemed to understand what she wanted, vanished into the house, and returned bringing a large jar of wine, which the porter placed in his basket. then the lady signed to him to follow, and they went their way. the next place she stopped at was a fruit and flower shop, and here she bought a large quantity of apples, apricots, peaches, and other things, with lilies, jasmine, and all sorts of sweet-smelling plants. from this shop she went to a butcher's, a grocer's, and a poulterer's, till at last the porter exclaimed in despair, "my good lady, if you had only told me you were going to buy enough provisions to stock a town, i would have brought a horse, or rather a camel." the lady laughed, and told him she had not finished yet, but after choosing various kinds of scents and spices from a druggist's store, she halted before a magnificent palace, at the door of which she knocked gently. the porteress who opened it was of such beauty that the eyes of the man were quite dazzled, and he was the more astonished as he saw clearly that she was no slave. the lady who had led him hither stood watching him with amusement, till the porteress exclaimed, "why don't you come in, my sister? this poor man is so heavily weighed down that he is ready to drop." when they were both inside the door was fastened, and they all three entered a large court, surrounded by an open-work gallery. at one end of the court was a platform, and on the platform stood an amber throne supported by four ebony columns, garnished with pearls and diamonds. in the middle of the court stood a marble basin filled with water from the mouth of a golden lion. the porter looked about him, noticing and admiring everything; but his attention was specially attracted by a third lady sitting on the throne, who was even more beautiful than the other two. by the respect shown to her by the others, he judged that she must be the eldest, and in this he was right. this lady's name was zobeida, the porteress was sadie, and the housekeeper was amina. at a word from zobeida, sadie and amina took the basket from the porter, who was glad enough to be relieved from its weight; and when it was emptied, paid him handsomely for its use. but instead of taking up his basket and going away, the man still lingered, till zobeida inquired what he was waiting for, and if he expected more money. "oh, madam," returned he, "you have already given me too much, and i fear i may have been guilty of rudeness in not taking my departure at once. but, if you will pardon my saying so, i was lost in astonishment at seeing such beautiful ladies by themselves. a company of women without men is, however, as dull as a company of men without women." and after telling some stories to prove his point, he ended by entreating them to let him stay and make a fourth at their dinner. the ladies were rather amused at the man's assurances and after some discussion it was agreed that he should be allowed to stay, as his society might prove entertaining. "but listen, friend," said zobeida, "if we grant your request, it is only on condition that you behave with the utmost politeness, and that you keep the secret of our way of living, which chance has revealed to you." then they all sat down to table, which had been covered by amina with the dishes she had bought. after the first few mouthfuls amina poured some wine into a golden cup. she first drank herself, according to the arab custom, and then filled it for her sisters. when it came to the porter's turn he kissed amina's hand, and sang a song, which he composed at the moment in praise of the wine. the three ladies were pleased with the song, and then sang themselves, so that the repast was a merry one, and lasted much longer than usual. at length, seeing that the sun was about to set, sadia said to the porter, "rise and go; it is now time for us to separate." "oh, madam," replied he, "how can you desire me to quit you in the state in which i am? between the wine i have drunk, and the pleasure of seeing you, i should never find the way to my house. let me remain here till morning, and when i have recovered my senses i will go when you like." "let him stay," said amina, who had before proved herself his friend. "it is only just, as he has given us so much amusement." "if you wish it, my sister," replied zobeida; "but if he does, i must make a new condition. porter," she continued, turning to him, "if you remain, you must promise to ask no questions about anything you may see. if you do, you may perhaps hear what you don't like." this being settled, amina brought in supper, and lit up the hall with a number of sweet smelling tapers. they then sat down again at the table, and began with fresh appetites to eat, drink, sing, and recite verses. in fact, they were all enjoying themselves mightily when they heard a knock at the outer door, which sadie rose to open. she soon returned saying that three calenders, all blind in the right eye, and all with their heads, faces, and eyebrows clean shaved, begged for admittance, as they were newly arrived in bagdad, and night had already fallen. "they seem to have pleasant manners," she added, "but you have no idea how funny they look. i am sure we should find their company diverting." zobeida and amina made some difficulty about admitting the new comers, and sadie knew the reason of their hesitation. but she urged the matter so strongly that zobeida was at last forced to consent. "bring them in, then," said she, "but make them understand that they are not to make remarks about what does not concern them, and be sure to make them read the inscription over the door." for on the door was written in letters of gold, "whoso meddles in affairs that are no business of his, will hear truths that will not please him." the three calenders bowed low on entering, and thanked the ladies for their kindness and hospitality. the ladies replied with words of welcome, and they were all about to seat themselves when the eyes of the calenders fell on the porter, whose dress was not so very unlike their own, though he still wore all the hair that nature had given him. "this," said one of them, "is apparently one of our arab brothers, who has rebelled against our ruler." the porter, although half asleep from the wine he had drunk, heard the words, and without moving cried angrily to the calender, "sit down and mind your own business. did you not read the inscription over the door? everybody is not obliged to live in the same way." "do not be so angry, my good man," replied the calender; "we should be very sorry to displease you;" so the quarrel was smoothed over, and supper began in good earnest. when the calenders had satisfied their hunger, they offered to play to their hostesses, if there were any instruments in the house. the ladies were delighted at the idea, and sadie went to see what she could find, returning in a few moments laden with two different kinds of flutes and a tambourine. each calender took the one he preferred, and began to play a well-known air, while the ladies sang the words of the song. these words were the gayest and liveliest possible, and every now and then the singers had to stop to indulge the laughter which almost choked them. in the midst of all their noise, a knock was heard at the door. now early that evening the caliph secretly left the palace, accompanied by his grand-vizir, giafar, and mesrour, chief of the eunuchs, all three wearing the dresses of merchants. passing down the street, the caliph had been attracted by the music of instruments and the sound of laughter, and had ordered his vizir to go and knock at the door of the house, as he wished to enter. the vizir replied that the ladies who lived there seemed to be entertaining their friends, and he thought his master would do well not to intrude on them; but the caliph had taken it into his head to see for himself, and insisted on being obeyed. the knock was answered by sadie, with a taper in her hand, and the vizir, who was surprised at her beauty, bowed low before her, and said respectfully, "madam, we are three merchants who have lately arrived from moussoul, and, owing to a misadventure which befel us this very night, only reached our inn to find that the doors were closed to us till to-morrow morning. not knowing what to do, we wandered in the streets till we happened to pass your house, when, seeing lights and hearing the sound of voices, we resolved to ask you to give us shelter till the dawn. if you will grant us this favour, we will, with your permission, do all in our power to help you spend the time pleasantly." sadie answered the merchant that she must first consult her sisters; and after having talked over the matter with them, she returned to tell him that he and his two friends would be welcome to join their company. they entered and bowed politely to the ladies and their guests. then zobeida, as the mistress, came forward and said gravely, "you are welcome here, but i hope you will allow me to beg one thing of you--have as many eyes as you like, but no tongues; and ask no questions about anything you see, however strange it may appear to you." "madam," returned the vizir, "you shall be obeyed. we have quite enough to please and interest us without troubling ourselves about that with which we have no concern." then they all sat down, and drank to the health of the new comers. while the vizir, giafar, was talking to the ladies the caliph was occupied in wondering who they could be, and why the three calenders had each lost his right eye. he was burning to inquire the reason of it all, but was silenced by zobeida's request, so he tried to rouse himself and to take his part in the conversation, which was very lively, the subject of discussion being the many different sorts of pleasures that there were in the world. after some time the calenders got up and performed some curious dances, which delighted the rest of the company. when they had finished zobeida rose from her seat, and, taking amina by the hand, she said to her, "my sister, our friends will excuse us if we seem to forget their presence and fulfil our nightly task." amina understood her sister's meaning, and collecting the dishes, glasses, and musical instruments, she carried them away, while sadie swept the hall and put everything in order. having done this she begged the calenders to sit on a sofa on one side of the room, and the caliph and his friends to place themselves opposite. as to the porter, she requested him to come and help her and her sister. shortly after amina entered carrying a seat, which she put down in the middle of the empty space. she next went over to the door of a closet and signed to the porter to follow her. he did so, and soon reappeared leading two black dogs by a chain, which he brought into the centre of the hall. zobeida then got up from her seat between the calenders and the caliph and walked slowly across to where the porter stood with the dogs. "we must do our duty," she said with a deep sigh, pushing back her sleeves, and, taking a whip from sadie, she said to the man, "take one of those dogs to my sister amina and give me the other." the porter did as he was bid, but as he led the dog to zobeida it uttered piercing howls, and gazed up at her with looks of entreaty. but zobeida took no notice, and whipped the dog till she was out of breath. she then took the chain from the porter, and, raising the dog on its hind legs, they looked into each other's eyes sorrowfully till tears began to fall from both. then zobeida took her handkerchief and wiped the dog's eyes tenderly, after which she kissed it, then, putting the chain into the porter's hand she said, "take it back to the closet and bring me the other." the same ceremony was gone through with the second dog, and all the while the whole company looked on with astonishment. the caliph in particular could hardly contain himself, and made signs to the vizir to ask what it all meant. but the vizir pretended not to see, and turned his head away. zobeida remained for some time in the middle of the room, till at last sadie went up to her and begged her to sit down, as she also had her part to play. at these words amina fetched a lute from a case of yellow satin and gave it to sadie, who sang several songs to its accompaniment. when she was tired she said to amina, "my sister, i can do no more; come, i pray you, and take my place." amina struck a few chords and then broke into a song, which she sang with so much ardour that she was quite overcome, and sank gasping on a pile of cushions, tearing open her dress as she did so to give herself some air. to the amazement of all present, her neck, instead of being as smooth and white as her face, was a mass of scars. the calenders and the caliph looked at each other, and whispered together, unheard by zobeida and sadie, who were tending their fainting sister. "what does it all mean?' asked the caliph. "we know no more than you," said the calender to whom he had spoken. "what! you do not belong to the house?" "my lord," answered all the calenders together, "we came here for the first time an hour before you." they then turned to the porter to see if he could explain the mystery, but the porter was no wiser than they were themselves. at length the caliph could contain his curiosity no longer, and declared that he would compel the ladies to tell them the meaning of their strange conduct. the vizir, foreseeing what would happen, implored him to remember the condition their hostesses had imposed, and added in a whisper that if his highness would only wait till morning he could as caliph summon the ladies to appear before him. but the caliph, who was not accustomed to be contradicted, rejected this advice, and it was resolved after a little more talking that the question should be put by the porter. suddenly zobeida turned round, and seeing their excitement she said, "what is the matter--what are you all discussing so earnestly?" "madam," answered the porter, "these gentlemen entreat you to explain to them why you should first whip the dogs and then cry over them, and also how it happens that the fainting lady is covered with scars. they have requested me, madam, to be their mouthpiece." "is it true, gentlemen," asked zobeida, drawing herself up, "that you have charged this man to put me that question?" "it is," they all replied, except giafar, who was silent. "is this," continued zobeida, growing more angry every moment, "is this the return you make for the hospitality i have shown you? have you forgotten the one condition on which you were allowed to enter the house? come quickly," she added, clapping her hands three times, and the words were hardly uttered when seven black slaves, each armed with a sabre, burst in and stood over the seven men, throwing them on the ground, and preparing themselves, on a sign from their mistress, to cut off their heads. the seven culprits all thought their last hour had come, and the caliph repented bitterly that he had not taken the vizir's advice. but they made up their minds to die bravely, all except the porter, who loudly inquired of zobeida why he was to suffer for other people's faults, and declared that these misfortunes would never have happened if it had not been for the calenders, who always brought ill-luck. he ended by imploring zobeida not to confound the innocent with the guilty and to spare his life. in spite of her anger, there was something so comic in the groans of the porter that zobeida could not refrain from laughing. but putting him aside she addressed the others a second time, saying, "answer me; who are you? unless you tell me truly you have not another moment to live. i can hardly think you are men of any position, whatever country you belong to. if you were, you would have had more consideration for us." the caliph, who was naturally very impatient, suffered far more than either of the others at feeling that his life was at the mercy of a justly offended lady, but when he heard her question he began to breathe more freely, for he was convinced that she had only to learn his name and rank for all danger to be over. so he whispered hastily to the vizir, who was next to him, to reveal their secret. but the vizir, wiser than his master, wished to conceal from the public the affront they had received, and merely answered, "after all, we have only got what we deserved." meanwhile zobeida had turned to the three calenders and inquired if, as they were all blind, they were brothers. "no, madam," replied one, "we are no blood relations at all, only brothers by our mode of life." "and you," she asked, addressing another, "were you born blind of one eye?" "no, madam," returned he, "i became blind through a most surprising adventure, such as probably has never happened to anybody. after that i shaved my head and eyebrows and put on the dress in which you see me now." zobeida put the same question to the other two calenders, and received the same answer. "but," added the third, "it may interest you, madam, to know that we are not men of low birth, but are all three sons of kings, and of kings, too, whom the world holds in high esteem." at these words zobeida's anger cooled down, and she turned to her slaves and said, "you can give them a little more liberty, but do not leave the hall. those that will tell us their histories and their reasons for coming here shall be allowed to leave unhurt; those who refuse--" and she paused, but in a moment the porter, who understood that he had only to relate his story to set himself free from this terrible danger, immediately broke in, "madam, you know already how i came here, and what i have to say will soon be told. your sister found me this morning in the place where i always stand waiting to be hired. she bade me follow her to various shops, and when my basket was quite full we returned to this house, when you had the goodness to permit me to remain, for which i shall be eternally grateful. that is my story." he looked anxiously to zobeida, who nodded her head and said, "you can go; and take care we never meet again." "oh, madam," cried the porter, "let me stay yet a little while. it is not just that the others should have heard my story and that i should not hear theirs," and without waiting for permission he seated himself on the end of the sofa occupied by the ladies, whilst the rest crouched on the carpet, and the slaves stood against the wall. then one of the calenders, addressing himself to zobeida as the principal lady, began his story. the story of the first calender, son of a king in order, madam, to explain how i came to lose my right eye, and to wear the dress of a calender, you must first know that i am the son of a king. my father's only brother reigned over the neighbouring country, and had two children, a daughter and a son, who were of the same age as myself. as i grew up, and was allowed more liberty, i went every year to pay a visit to my uncle's court, and usually stayed there about two months. in this way my cousin and i became very intimate, and were much attached to each other. the very last time i saw him he seemed more delighted to see me than ever, and gave a great feast in my honour. when we had finished eating, he said to me, "my cousin, you would never guess what i have been doing since your last visit to us! directly after your departure i set a number of men to work on a building after my own design. it is now completed, and ready to be lived in. i should like to show it to you, but you must first swear two things: to be faithful to me, and to keep my secret." of course i did not dream of refusing him anything he asked, and gave the promise without the least hesitation. he then bade me wait an instant, and vanished, returning in a few moments with a richly dressed lady of great beauty, but as he did not tell me her name, i thought it was better not to inquire. we all three sat down to table and amused ourselves with talking of all sorts of indifferent things, and with drinking each other's health. suddenly the prince said to me, "cousin, we have no time to lose; be so kind as to conduct this lady to a certain spot, where you will find a dome-like tomb, newly built. you cannot mistake it. go in, both of you, and wait till i come. i shall not be long." as i had promised i prepared to do as i was told, and giving my hand to the lady, i escorted her, by the light of the moon, to the place of which the prince had spoken. we had barely reached it when he joined us himself, carrying a small vessel of water, a pickaxe, and a little bag containing plaster. with the pickaxe he at once began to destroy the empty sepulchre in the middle of the tomb. one by one he took the stones and piled them up in a corner. when he had knocked down the whole sepulchre he proceeded to dig at the earth, and beneath where the sepulchre had been i saw a trap-door. he raised the door and i caught sight of the top of a spiral staircase; then he said, turning to the lady, "madam, this is the way that will lead you down to the spot which i told you of." the lady did not answer, but silently descended the staircase, the prince following her. at the top, however, he looked at me. "my cousin," he exclaimed, "i do not know how to thank you for your kindness. farewell." "what do you mean?" i cried. "i don't understand." "no matter," he replied, "go back by the path that you came." he would say no more, and, greatly puzzled, i returned to my room in the palace and went to bed. when i woke, and considered my adventure, i thought that i must have been dreaming, and sent a servant to ask if the prince was dressed and could see me. but on hearing that he had not slept at home i was much alarmed, and hastened to the cemetery, where, unluckily, the tombs were all so alike that i could not discover which was the one i was in search of, though i spent four days in looking for it. you must know that all this time the king, my uncle, was absent on a hunting expedition, and as no one knew when he would be back, i at last decided to return home, leaving the ministers to make my excuses. i longed to tell them what had become of the prince, about whose fate they felt the most dreadful anxiety, but the oath i had sworn kept me silent. on my arrival at my father's capital, i was astonished to find a large detachment of guards drawn up before the gate of the palace; they surrounded me directly i entered. i asked the officers in command the reason of this strange behaviour, and was horrified to learn that the army had mutinied and put to death the king, my father, and had placed the grand-vizir on the throne. further, that by his orders i was placed under arrest. now this rebel vizir had hated me from my boy-hood, because once, when shooting at a bird with a bow, i had shot out his eye by accident. of course i not only sent a servant at once to offer him my regrets and apologies, but i made them in person. it was all of no use. he cherished an undying hatred towards me, and lost no occasion of showing it. having once got me in his power i felt he could show no mercy, and i was right. mad with triumph and fury he came to me in my prison and tore out my right eye. that is how i lost it. my persecutor, however, did not stop here. he shut me up in a large case and ordered his executioner to carry me into a desert place, to cut off my head, and then to abandon my body to the birds of prey. the case, with me inside it, was accordingly placed on a horse, and the executioner, accompanied by another man, rode into the country until they found a spot suitable for the purpose. but their hearts were not so hard as they seemed, and my tears and prayers made them waver. "forsake the kingdom instantly," said the executioner at last, "and take care never to come back, for you will not only lose your head, but make us lose ours." i thanked him gratefully, and tried to console myself for the loss of my eye by thinking of the other misfortunes i had escaped. after all i had gone through, and my fear of being recognised by some enemy, i could only travel very slowly and cautiously, generally resting in some out-of-the-way place by day, and walking as far as i was able by night, but at length i arrived in the kingdom of my uncle, of whose protection i was sure. i found him in great trouble about the disappearance of his son, who had, he said, vanished without leaving a trace; but his own grief did not prevent him sharing mine. we mingled our tears, for the loss of one was the loss of the other, and then i made up my mind that it was my duty to break the solemn oath i had sworn to the prince. i therefore lost no time in telling my uncle everything i knew, and i observed that even before i had ended his sorrow appeared to be lightened a little. "my dear nephew," he said, "your story gives me some hope. i was aware that my son was building a tomb, and i think i can find the spot. but as he wished to keep the matter secret, let us go alone and seek the place ourselves." he then bade me disguise myself, and we both slipped out of a garden door which opened on to the cemetery. it did not take long for us to arrive at the scene of the prince's disappearance, or to discover the tomb i had sought so vainly before. we entered it, and found the trap-door which led to the staircase, but we had great difficulty in raising it, because the prince had fastened it down underneath with the plaster he had brought with him. my uncle went first, and i followed him. when we reached the bottom of the stairs we stepped into a sort of ante-room, filled with such a dense smoke that it was hardly possible to see anything. however, we passed through the smoke into a large chamber, which at first seemed quite empty. the room was brilliantly lighted, and in another moment we perceived a sort of platform at one end, on which were the bodies of the prince and a lady, both half-burned, as if they had been dragged out of a fire before it had quite consumed them. this horrible sight turned me faint, but, to my surprise, my uncle did not show so much surprise as anger. "i knew," he said, "that my son was tenderly attached to this lady, whom it was impossible he should ever marry. i tried to turn his thoughts, and presented to him the most beautiful princesses, but he cared for none of them, and, as you see, they have now been united by a horrible death in an underground tomb." but, as he spoke, his anger melted into tears, and again i wept with him. when he recovered himself he drew me to him. "my dear nephew," he said, embracing me, "you have come to me to take his place, and i will do my best to forget that i ever had a son who could act in so wicked a manner." then he turned and went up the stairs. we reached the palace without anyone having noticed our absence, when, shortly after, a clashing of drums, and cymbals, and the blare of trumpets burst upon our astonished ears. at the same time a thick cloud of dust on the horizon told of the approach of a great army. my heart sank when i perceived that the commander was the vizir who had dethroned my father, and was come to seize the kingdom of my uncle. the capital was utterly unprepared to stand a siege, and seeing that resistance was useless, at once opened its gates. my uncle fought hard for his life, but was soon overpowered, and when he fell i managed to escape through a secret passage, and took refuge with an officer whom i knew i could trust. persecuted by ill-fortune, and stricken with grief, there seemed to be only one means of safety left to me. i shaved my beard and my eyebrows, and put on the dress of a calender, in which it was easy for me to travel without being known. i avoided the towns till i reached the kingdom of the famous and powerful caliph, haroun-al-raschid, when i had no further reason to fear my enemies. it was my intention to come to bagdad and to throw myself at the feet of his highness, who would, i felt certain, be touched by my sad story, and would grant me, besides, his help and protection. after a journey which lasted some months i arrived at length at the gates of this city. it was sunset, and i paused for a little to look about me, and to decide which way to turn my steps. i was still debating on this subject when i was joined by this other calender, who stopped to greet me. "you, like me, appear to be a stranger," i said. he replied that i was right, and before he could say more the third calender came up. he, also, was newly arrived in bagdad, and being brothers in misfortune, we resolved to cast in our lots together, and to share whatever fate might have in store. by this time it had grown late, and we did not know where to spend the night. but our lucky star having guided us to this door, we took the liberty of knocking and of asking for shelter, which was given to us at once with the best grace in the world. this, madam, is my story. "i am satisfied," replied zobeida; "you can go when you like." the calender, however, begged leave to stay and to hear the histories of his two friends and of the three other persons of the company, which he was allowed to do. the story of the second calendar, son of a king "madam," said the young man, addressing zobeida, "if you wish to know how i lost my right eye, i shall have to tell you the story of my whole life." i was scarcely more than a baby, when the king my father, finding me unusually quick and clever for my age, turned his thoughts to my education. i was taught first to read and write, and then to learn the koran, which is the basis of our holy religion, and the better to understand it, i read with my tutors the ablest commentators on its teaching, and committed to memory all the traditions respecting the prophet, which have been gathered from the mouth of those who were his friends. i also learnt history, and was instructed in poetry, versification, geography, chronology, and in all the outdoor exercises in which every prince should excel. but what i liked best of all was writing arabic characters, and in this i soon surpassed my masters, and gained a reputation in this branch of knowledge that reached as far as india itself. now the sultan of the indies, curious to see a young prince with such strange tastes, sent an ambassador to my father, laden with rich presents, and a warm invitation to visit his court. my father, who was deeply anxious to secure the friendship of so powerful a monarch, and held besides that a little travel would greatly improve my manners and open my mind, accepted gladly, and in a short time i had set out for india with the ambassador, attended only by a small suite on account of the length of the journey, and the badness of the roads. however, as was my duty, i took with me ten camels, laden with rich presents for the sultan. we had been travelling for about a month, when one day we saw a cloud of dust moving swiftly towards us; and as soon as it came near, we found that the dust concealed a band of fifty robbers. our men barely numbered half, and as we were also hampered by the camels, there was no use in fighting, so we tried to overawe them by informing them who we were, and whither we were going. the robbers, however, only laughed, and declared that was none of their business, and, without more words, attacked us brutally. i defended myself to the last, wounded though i was, but at length, seeing that resistance was hopeless, and that the ambassador and all our followers were made prisoners, i put spurs to my horse and rode away as fast as i could, till the poor beast fell dead from a wound in his side. i managed to jump off without any injury, and looked about to see if i was pursued. but for the moment i was safe, for, as i imagined, the robbers were all engaged in quarrelling over their booty. i found myself in a country that was quite new to me, and dared not return to the main road lest i should again fall into the hands of the robbers. luckily my wound was only a slight one, and after binding it up as well as i could, i walked on for the rest of the day, till i reached a cave at the foot of a mountain, where i passed the night in peace, making my supper off some fruits i had gathered on the way. i wandered about for a whole month without knowing where i was going, till at length i found myself on the outskirts of a beautiful city, watered by winding streams, which enjoyed an eternal spring. my delight at the prospect of mixing once more with human beings was somewhat damped at the thought of the miserable object i must seem. my face and hands had been burned nearly black; my clothes were all in rags, and my shoes were in such a state that i had been forced to abandon them altogether. i entered the town, and stopped at a tailor's shop to inquire where i was. the man saw i was better than my condition, and begged me to sit down, and in return i told him my whole story. the tailor listened with attention, but his reply, instead of giving me consolation, only increased my trouble. "beware," he said, "of telling any one what you have told me, for the prince who governs the kingdom is your father's greatest enemy, and he will be rejoiced to find you in his power." i thanked the tailor for his counsel, and said i would do whatever he advised; then, being very hungry, i gladly ate of the food he put before me, and accepted his offer of a lodging in his house. in a few days i had quite recovered from the hardships i had undergone, and then the tailor, knowing that it was the custom for the princes of our religion to learn a trade or profession so as to provide for themselves in times of ill-fortune, inquired if there was anything i could do for my living. i replied that i had been educated as a grammarian and a poet, but that my great gift was writing. "all that is of no use here," said the tailor. "take my advice, put on a short coat, and as you seem hardy and strong, go into the woods and cut firewood, which you will sell in the streets. by this means you will earn your living, and be able to wait till better times come. the hatchet and the cord shall be my present." this counsel was very distasteful to me, but i thought i could not do otherwise than adopt it. so the next morning i set out with a company of poor wood-cutters, to whom the tailor had introduced me. even on the first day i cut enough wood to sell for a tolerable sum, and very soon i became more expert, and had made enough money to repay the tailor all he had lent me. i had been a wood-cutter for more than a year, when one day i wandered further into the forest than i had ever done before, and reached a delicious green glade, where i began to cut wood. i was hacking at the root of a tree, when i beheld an iron ring fastened to a trapdoor of the same metal. i soon cleared away the earth, and pulling up the door, found a staircase, which i hastily made up my mind to go down, carrying my hatchet with me by way of protection. when i reached the bottom i discovered that i was in a huge palace, as brilliantly lighted as any palace above ground that i had ever seen, with a long gallery supported by pillars of jasper, ornamented with capitals of gold. down this gallery a lady came to meet me, of such beauty that i forgot everything else, and thought only of her. to save her all the trouble possible, i hastened towards her, and bowed low. "who are you? who are you?" she said. "a man or a genius?" "a man, madam," i replied; "i have nothing to do with genii." "by what accident do you come here?" she asked again with a sigh. "i have been in this place now for five and twenty years, and you are the first man who has visited me." emboldened by her beauty and gentleness, i ventured to reply, "before, madam, i answer your question, allow me to say how grateful i am for this meeting, which is not only a consolation to me in my own heavy sorrow, but may perhaps enable me to render your lot happier," and then i told her who i was, and how i had come there. "alas, prince," she said, with a deeper sigh than before, "you have guessed rightly in supposing me an unwilling prisoner in this gorgeous place. i am the daughter of the king of the ebony isle, of whose fame you surely must have heard. at my father's desire i was married to a prince who was my own cousin; but on my very wedding day, i was snatched up by a genius, and brought here in a faint. for a long while i did nothing but weep, and would not suffer the genius to come near me; but time teaches us submission, and i have now got accustomed to his presence, and if clothes and jewels could content me, i have them in plenty. every tenth day, for five and twenty years, i have received a visit from him, but in case i should need his help at any other time, i have only to touch a talisman that stands at the entrance of my chamber. it wants still five days to his next visit, and i hope that during that time you will do me the honour to be my guest." i was too much dazzled by her beauty to dream of refusing her offer, and accordingly the princess had me conducted to the bath, and a rich dress befitting my rank was provided for me. then a feast of the most delicate dishes was served in a room hung with embroidered indian fabrics. next day, when we were at dinner, i could maintain my patience no longer, and implored the princess to break her bonds, and return with me to the world which was lighted by the sun. "what you ask is impossible," she answered; "but stay here with me instead, and we can be happy, and all you will have to do is to betake yourself to the forest every tenth day, when i am expecting my master the genius. he is very jealous, as you know, and will not suffer a man to come near me." "princess," i replied, "i see it is only fear of the genius that makes you act like this. for myself, i dread him so little that i mean to break his talisman in pieces! awful though you think him, he shall feel the weight of my arm, and i herewith take a solemn vow to stamp out the whole race." the princess, who realized the consequences of such audacity, entreated me not to touch the talisman. "if you do, it will be the ruin of both of us," said she; "i know genii much better than you." but the wine i had drunk had confused my brain; i gave one kick to the talisman, and it fell into a thousand pieces. hardly had my foot touched the talisman when the air became as dark as night, a fearful noise was heard, and the palace shook to its very foundations. in an instant i was sobered, and understood what i had done. "princess!" i cried, "what is happening?" "alas!" she exclaimed, forgetting all her own terrors in anxiety for me, "fly, or you are lost." i followed her advice and dashed up the staircase, leaving my hatchet behind me. but i was too late. the palace opened and the genius appeared, who, turning angrily to the princess, asked indignantly, "what is the matter, that you have sent for me like this?" "a pain in my heart," she replied hastily, "obliged me to seek the aid of this little bottle. feeling faint, i slipped and fell against the talisman, which broke. that is really all." "you are an impudent liar!" cried the genius. "how did this hatchet and those shoes get here?" "i never saw them before," she answered, "and you came in such a hurry that you may have picked them up on the road without knowing it." to this the genius only replied by insults and blows. i could hear the shrieks and groans of the princess, and having by this time taken off my rich garments and put on those in which i had arrived the previous day, i lifted the trap, found myself once more in the forest, and returned to my friend the tailor, with a light load of wood and a heart full of shame and sorrow. the tailor, who had been uneasy at my long absence, was, delighted to see me; but i kept silence about my adventure, and as soon as possible retired to my room to lament in secret over my folly. while i was thus indulging my grief my host entered, and said, "there is an old man downstairs who has brought your hatchet and slippers, which he picked up on the road, and now restores to you, as he found out from one of your comrades where you lived. you had better come down and speak to him yourself." at this speech i changed colour, and my legs trembled under me. the tailor noticed my confusion, and was just going to inquire the reason when the door of the room opened, and the old man appeared, carrying with him my hatchet and shoes. "i am a genius," he said, "the son of the daughter of eblis, prince of the genii. is not this hatchet yours, and these shoes?" without waiting for an answer--which, indeed, i could hardly have given him, so great was my fright--he seized hold of me, and darted up into the air with the quickness of lightning, and then, with equal swiftness, dropped down towards the earth. when he touched the ground, he rapped it with his foot; it opened, and we found ourselves in the enchanted palace, in the presence of the beautiful princess of the ebony isle. but how different she looked from what she was when i had last seen her, for she was lying stretched on the ground covered with blood, and weeping bitterly. "traitress!" cried the genius, "is not this man your lover?" she lifted up her eyes slowly, and looked sadly at me. "i never saw him before," she answered slowly. "i do not know who he is." "what!" exclaimed the genius, "you owe all your sufferings to him, and yet you dare to say he is a stranger to you!" "but if he really is a stranger to me," she replied, "why should i tell a lie and cause his death?" "very well," said the genius, drawing his sword, "take this, and cut off his head." "alas," answered the princess, "i am too weak even to hold the sabre. and supposing that i had the strength, why should i put an innocent man to death?" "you condemn yourself by your refusal," said the genius; then turning to me, he added, "and you, do you not know her?" "how should i?" i replied, resolved to imitate the princess in her fidelity. "how should i, when i never saw her before?" "cut her head off," then, "if she is a stranger to you, and i shall believe you are speaking the truth, and will set you at liberty." "certainly," i answered, taking the sabre in my hands, and making a sign to the princess to fear nothing, as it was my own life that i was about to sacrifice, and not hers. but the look of gratitude she gave me shook my courage, and i flung the sabre to the earth. "i should not deserve to live," i said to the genius, "if i were such a coward as to slay a lady who is not only unknown to me, but who is at this moment half dead herself. do with me as you will--i am in your power--but i refuse to obey your cruel command." "i see," said the genius, "that you have both made up your minds to brave me, but i will give you a sample of what you may expect." so saying, with one sweep of his sabre he cut off a hand of the princess, who was just able to lift the other to wave me an eternal farewell. then i lost consciousness for several minutes. when i came to myself i implored the genius to keep me no longer in this state of suspense, but to lose no time in putting an end to my sufferings. the genius, however, paid no attention to my prayers, but said sternly, "that is the way in which a genius treats the woman who has betrayed him. if i chose, i could kill you also; but i will be merciful, and content myself with changing you into a dog, an ass, a lion, or a bird--whichever you prefer." i caught eagerly at these words, as giving me a faint hope of softening his wrath. "o genius!" i cried, "as you wish to spare my life, be generous, and spare it altogether. grant my prayer, and pardon my crime, as the best man in the whole world forgave his neighbour who was eaten up with envy of him." contrary to my hopes, the genius seemed interested in my words, and said he would like to hear the story of the two neighbours; and as i think, madam, it may please you, i will tell it to you also. the story of the envious man and of him who was envied in a town of moderate size, two men lived in neighbouring houses; but they had not been there very long before one man took such a hatred of the other, and envied him so bitterly, that the poor man determined to find another home, hoping that when they no longer met every day his enemy would forget all about him. so he sold his house and the little furniture it contained, and moved into the capital of the country, which was luckily at no great distance. about half a mile from this city he bought a nice little place, with a large garden and a fair-sized court, in the centre of which stood an old well. in order to live a quieter life, the good man put on the robe of a dervish, and divided his house into a quantity of small cells, where he soon established a number of other dervishes. the fame of his virtue gradually spread abroad, and many people, including several of the highest quality, came to visit him and ask his prayers. of course it was not long before his reputation reached the ears of the man who envied him, and this wicked wretch resolved never to rest till he had in some way worked ill to the dervish whom he hated. so he left his house and his business to look after themselves, and betook himself to the new dervish monastery, where he was welcomed by the founder with all the warmth imaginable. the excuse he gave for his appearance was that he had come to consult the chief of the dervishes on a private matter of great importance. "what i have to say must not be overheard," he whispered; "command, i beg of you, that your dervishes retire into their cells, as night is approaching, and meet me in the court." the dervish did as he was asked without delay, and directly they were alone together the envious man began to tell a long story, edging, as they walked to and fro, always nearer to the well, and when they were quite close, he seized the dervish and dropped him in. he then ran off triumphantly, without having been seen by anyone, and congratulating himself that the object of his hatred was dead, and would trouble him no more. but in this he was mistaken! the old well had long been inhabited (unknown to mere human beings) by a set of fairies and genii, who caught the dervish as he fell, so that he received no hurt. the dervish himself could see nothing, but he took for granted that something strange had happened, or he must certainly have been dashed against the side of the well and been killed. he lay quite still, and in a moment he heard a voice saying, "can you guess whom this man is that we have saved from death?" "no," replied several other voices. and the first speaker answered, "i will tell you. this man, from pure goodness of heart, forsook the town where he lived and came to dwell here, in the hope of curing one of his neighbours of the envy he felt towards him. but his character soon won him the esteem of all, and the envious man's hatred grew, till he came here with the deliberate intention of causing his death. and this he would have done, without our help, the very day before the sultan has arranged to visit this holy dervish, and to entreat his prayers for the princess, his daughter." "but what is the matter with the princess that she needs the dervish's prayers?" asked another voice. "she has fallen into the power of the genius maimoum, the son of dimdim," replied the first voice. "but it would be quite simple for this holy chief of the dervishes to cure her if he only knew! in his convent there is a black cat which has a tiny white tip to its tail. now to cure the princess the dervish must pull out seven of these white hairs, burn three, and with their smoke perfume the head of the princess. this will deliver her so completely that maimoum, the son of dimdim, will never dare to approach her again." the fairies and genii ceased talking, but the dervish did not forget a word of all they had said; and when morning came he perceived a place in the side of the well which was broken, and where he could easily climb out. the dervishes, who could not imagine what had become of him, were enchanted at his reappearance. he told them of the attempt on his life made by his guest of the previous day, and then retired into his cell. he was soon joined here by the black cat of which the voice had spoken, who came as usual to say good-morning to his master. he took him on his knee and seized the opportunity to pull seven white hairs out of his tail, and put them on one side till they were needed. the sun had not long risen before the sultan, who was anxious to leave nothing undone that might deliver the princess, arrived with a large suite at the gate of the monastery, and was received by the dervishes with profound respect. the sultan lost no time in declaring the object of his visit, and leading the chief of the dervishes aside, he said to him, "noble scheik, you have guessed perhaps what i have come to ask you?" "yes, sire," answered the dervish; "if i am not mistaken, it is the illness of the princess which has procured me this honour." "you are right," returned the sultan, "and you will give me fresh life if you can by your prayers deliver my daughter from the strange malady that has taken possession of her." "let your highness command her to come here, and i will see what i can do." the sultan, full of hope, sent orders at once that the princess was to set out as soon as possible, accompanied by her usual staff of attendants. when she arrived, she was so thickly veiled that the dervish could not see her face, but he desired a brazier to be held over her head, and laid the seven hairs on the burning coals. the instant they were consumed, terrific cries were heard, but no one could tell from whom they proceeded. only the dervish guessed that they were uttered by maimoum the son of dimdim, who felt the princess escaping him. all this time she had seemed unconscious of what she was doing, but now she raised her hand to her veil and uncovered her face. "where am i?" she said in a bewildered manner; "and how did i get here?" the sultan was so delighted to hear these words that he not only embraced his daughter, but kissed the hand of the dervish. then, turning to his attendants who stood round, he said to them, "what reward shall i give to the man who has restored me my daughter?" they all replied with one accord that he deserved the hand of the princess. "that is my own opinion," said he, "and from this moment i declare him to be my son-in-law." shortly after these events, the grand-vizir died, and his post was given to the dervish. but he did not hold it for long, for the sultan fell a victim to an attack of illness, and as he had no sons, the soldiers and priests declared the dervish heir to the throne, to the great joy of all the people. one day, when the dervish, who had now become sultan, was making a royal progress with his court, he perceived the envious man standing in the crowd. he made a sign to one of his vizirs, and whispered in his ear, "fetch me that man who is standing out there, but take great care not to frighten him." the vizir obeyed, and when the envious man was brought before the sultan, the monarch said to him, "my friend, i am delighted to see you again." then turning to an officer, he added, "give him a thousand pieces of gold out of my treasury, and twenty waggon-loads of merchandise out of my private stores, and let an escort of soldiers accompany him home." he then took leave of the envious man, and went on his way. now when i had ended my story, i proceeded to show the genius how to apply it to himself. "o genius," i said, "you see that this sultan was not content with merely forgiving the envious man for the attempt on his life; he heaped rewards and riches upon him." but the genius had made up his mind, and could not be softened. "do not imagine that you are going to escape so easily," he said. "all i can do is to give you bare life; you will have to learn what happens to people who interfere with me." as he spoke he seized me violently by the arm; the roof of the palace opened to make way for us, and we mounted up so high into the air that the earth looked like a little cloud. then, as before, he came down with the swiftness of lightning, and we touched the ground on a mountain top. then he stooped and gathered a handful of earth, and murmured some words over it, after which he threw the earth in my face, saying as he did so, "quit the form of a man, and assume that of a monkey." this done, he vanished, and i was in the likeness of an ape, and in a country i had never seen before. however there was no use in stopping where i was, so i came down the mountain and found myself in a flat plain which was bounded by the sea. i travelled towards it, and was pleased to see a vessel moored about half a mile from shore. there were no waves, so i broke off the branch of a tree, and dragging it down to the water's edge, sat across it, while, using two sticks for oars, i rowed myself towards the ship. the deck was full of people, who watched my progress with interest, but when i seized a rope and swung myself on board, i found that i had only escaped death at the hands of the genius to perish by those of the sailors, lest i should bring ill-luck to the vessel and the merchants. "throw him into the sea!" cried one. "knock him on the head with a hammer," exclaimed another. "let me shoot him with an arrow," said a third; and certainly somebody would have had his way if i had not flung myself at the captain's feet and grasped tight hold of his dress. he appeared touched by my action and patted my head, and declared that he would take me under his protection, and that no one should do me any harm. at the end of about fifty days we cast anchor before a large town, and the ship was immediately surrounded by a multitude of small boats filled with people, who had come either to meet their friends or from simple curiosity. among others, one boat contained several officials, who asked to see the merchants on board, and informed them that they had been sent by the sultan in token of welcome, and to beg them each to write a few lines on a roll of paper. "in order to explain this strange request," continued the officers, "it is necessary that you should know that the grand-vizir, lately dead, was celebrated for his beautiful handwriting, and the sultan is anxious to find a similar talent in his successor. hitherto the search has been a failure, but his highness has not yet given up hope." one after another the merchants set down a few lines upon the roll, and when they had all finished, i came forward, and snatched the paper from the man who held it. at first they all thought i was going to throw it into the sea, but they were quieted when they saw i held it with great care, and great was their surprise when i made signs that i too wished to write something. "let him do it if he wants to," said the captain. "if he only makes a mess of the paper, you may be sure i will punish him for it. but if, as i hope, he really can write, for he is the cleverest monkey i ever saw, i will adopt him as my son. the one i lost had not nearly so much sense!" no more was said, and i took the pen and wrote the six sorts of writing in use among the arabs, and each sort contained an original verse or couplet, in praise of the sultan. and not only did my handwriting completely eclipse that of the merchants, but it is hardly too much to say that none so beautiful had ever before been seen in that country. when i had ended the officials took the roll and returned to the sultan. as soon as the monarch saw my writing he did not so much as look at the samples of the merchants, but desired his officials to take the finest and most richly caparisoned horse in his stables, together with the most magnificent dress they could procure, and to put it on the person who had written those lines, and bring him to court. the officials began to laugh when they heard the sultan's command, but as soon as they could speak they said, "deign, your highness, to excuse our mirth, but those lines were not written by a man but by a monkey." "a monkey!" exclaimed the sultan. "yes, sire," answered the officials. "they were written by a monkey in our presence." "then bring me the monkey," he replied, "as fast as you can." the sultan's officials returned to the ship and showed the royal order to the captain. "he is the master," said the good man, and desired that i should be sent for. then they put on me the gorgeous robe and rowed me to land, where i was placed on the horse and led to the palace. here the sultan was awaiting me in great state surrounded by his court. all the way along the streets i had been the object of curiosity to a vast crowd, which had filled every doorway and every window, and it was amidst their shouts and cheers that i was ushered into the presence of the sultan. i approached the throne on which he was seated and made him three low bows, then prostrated myself at his feet to the surprise of everyone, who could not understand how it was possible that a monkey should be able to distinguish a sultan from other people, and to pay him the respect due to his rank. however, excepting the usual speech, i omitted none of the common forms attending a royal audience. when it was over the sultan dismissed all the court, keeping with him only the chief of the eunuchs and a little slave. he then passed into another room and ordered food to be brought, making signs to me to sit at table with him and eat. i rose from my seat, kissed the ground, and took my place at the table, eating, as you may suppose, with care and in moderation. before the dishes were removed i made signs that writing materials, which stood in one corner of the room, should be laid in front of me. i then took a peach and wrote on it some verses in praise of the sultan, who was speechless with astonishment; but when i did the same thing on a glass from which i had drunk he murmured to himself, "why, a man who could do as much would be cleverer than any other man, and this is only a monkey!" supper being over chessmen were brought, and the sultan signed to me to know if i would play with him. i kissed the ground and laid my hand on my head to show that i was ready to show myself worthy of the honour. he beat me the first game, but i won the second and third, and seeing that this did not quite please i dashed off a verse by way of consolation. the sultan was so enchanted with all the talents of which i had given proof that he wished me to exhibit some of them to other people. so turning to the chief of the eunuchs he said, "go and beg my daughter, queen of beauty, to come here. i will show her something she has never seen before." the chief of the eunuchs bowed and left the room, ushering in a few moments later the princess, queen of beauty. her face was uncovered, but the moment she set foot in the room she threw her veil over her head. "sire," she said to her father, "what can you be thinking of to summon me like this into the presence of a man?" "i do not understand you," replied the sultan. "there is nobody here but the eunuch, who is your own servant, the little slave, and myself, yet you cover yourself with your veil and reproach me for having sent for you, as if i had committed a crime." "sire," answered the princess, "i am right and you are wrong. this monkey is really no monkey at all, but a young prince who has been turned into a monkey by the wicked spells of a genius, son of the daughter of eblis." as will be imagined, these words took the sultan by surprise, and he looked at me to see how i should take the statement of the princess. as i was unable to speak, i placed my hand on my head to show that it was true. "but how do you know this, my daughter?" asked he. "sire," replied queen of beauty, "the old lady who took care of me in my childhood was an accomplished magician, and she taught me seventy rules of her art, by means of which i could, in the twinkling of an eye, transplant your capital into the middle of the ocean. her art likewise teaches me to recognise at first sight all persons who are enchanted, and tells me by whom the spell was wrought." "my daughter," said the sultan, "i really had no idea you were so clever." "sire," replied the princess, "there are many out-of-the-way things it is as well to know, but one should never boast of them." "well," asked the sultan, "can you tell me what must be done to disenchant the young prince?" "certainly; and i can do it." "then restore him to his former shape," cried the sultan. "you could give me no greater pleasure, for i wish to make him my grand-vizir, and to give him to you for your husband." "as your highness pleases," replied the princess. queen of beauty rose and went to her chamber, from which she fetched a knife with some hebrew words engraven on the blade. she then desired the sultan, the chief of the eunuchs, the little slave, and myself to descend into a secret court of the palace, and placed us beneath a gallery which ran all round, she herself standing in the centre of the court. here she traced a large circle and in it wrote several words in arab characters. when the circle and the writing were finished she stood in the middle of it and repeated some verses from the koran. slowly the air grew dark, and we felt as if the earth was about to crumble away, and our fright was by no means diminished at seeing the genius, son of the daughter of eblis, suddenly appear under the form of a colossal lion. "dog," cried the princess when she first caught sight of him, "you think to strike terror into me by daring to present yourself before me in this hideous shape." "and you," retorted the lion, "have not feared to break our treaty that engaged solemnly we should never interfere with each other." "accursed genius!" exclaimed the princess, "it is you by whom that treaty was first broken." "i will teach you how to give me so much trouble," said the lion, and opening his huge mouth he advanced to swallow her. but the princess expected something of the sort and was on her guard. she bounded on one side, and seizing one of the hairs of his mane repeated two or three words over it. in an instant it became a sword, and with a sharp blow she cut the lion's body into two pieces. these pieces vanished no one knew where, and only the lion's head remained, which was at once changed into a scorpion. quick as thought the princess assumed the form of a serpent and gave battle to the scorpion, who, finding he was getting the worst of it, turned himself into an eagle and took flight. but in a moment the serpent had become an eagle more powerful still, who soared up in the air and after him, and then we lost sight of them both. we all remained where we were quaking with anxiety, when the ground opened in front of us and a black and white cat leapt out, its hair standing on end, and miauing frightfully. at its heels was a wolf, who had almost seized it, when the cat changed itself into a worm, and, piercing the skin of a pomegranate which had tumbled from a tree, hid itself in the fruit. the pomegranate swelled till it grew as large as a pumpkin, and raised itself on to the roof of the gallery, from which it fell into the court and was broken into bits. while this was taking place the wolf, who had transformed himself into a cock, began to swallow the seed of the pomegranate as fast as he could. when all were gone he flew towards us, flapping his wings as if to ask if we saw any more, when suddenly his eye fell on one which lay on the bank of the little canal that flowed through the court; he hastened towards it, but before he could touch it the seed rolled into the canal and became a fish. the cock flung himself in after the fish and took the shape of a pike, and for two hours they chased each other up and down under the water, uttering horrible cries, but we could see nothing. at length they rose from the water in their proper forms, but darting such flames of fire from their mouths that we dreaded lest the palace should catch fire. soon, however, we had much greater cause for alarm, as the genius, having shaken off the princess, flew towards us. our fate would have been sealed if the princess, seeing our danger, had not attracted the attention of the genius to herself. as it was, the sultan's beard was singed and his face scorched, the chief of the eunuchs was burned to a cinder, while a spark deprived me of the sight of one eye. both i and the sultan had given up all hope of a rescue, when there was a shout of "victory, victory!" from the princess, and the genius lay at her feet a great heap of ashes. exhausted though she was, the princess at once ordered the little slave, who alone was uninjured, to bring her a cup of water, which she took in her hand. first repeating some magic words over it, she dashed it into my face saying, "if you are only a monkey by enchantment, resume the form of the man you were before." in an instant i stood before her the same man i had formerly been, though having lost the sight of one eye. i was about to fall on my knees and thank the princess but she did not give me time. turning to the sultan, her father, she said, "sire, i have gained the battle, but it has cost me dear. the fire has penetrated to my heart, and i have only a few moments to live. this would not have happened if i had only noticed the last pomegranate seed and eaten it like the rest. it was the last struggle of the genius, and up to that time i was quite safe. but having let this chance slip i was forced to resort to fire, and in spite of all his experience i showed the genius that i knew more than he did. he is dead and in ashes, but my own death is approaching fast." "my daughter," cried the sultan, "how sad is my condition! i am only surprised i am alive at all! the eunuch is consumed by the flames, and the prince whom you have delivered has lost the sight of one eye." he could say no more, for sobs choked his voice, and we all wept together. suddenly the princess shrieked, "i burn, i burn!" and death came to free her from her torments. i have no words, madam, to tell you of my feelings at this terrible sight. i would rather have remained a monkey all my life than let my benefactress perish in this shocking manner. as for the sultan, he was quite inconsolable, and his subjects, who had dearly loved the princess, shared his grief. for seven days the whole nation mourned, and then the ashes of the princess were buried with great pomp, and a superb tomb was raised over her. as soon as the sultan recovered from the severe illness which had seized him after the death of the princess he sent for me and plainly, though politely, informed me that my presence would always remind him of his loss, and he begged that i would instantly quit his kingdom, and on pain of death never return to it. i was, of course, bound to obey, and not knowing what was to become of me i shaved my beard and eyebrows and put on the dress of a calender. after wandering aimlessly through several countries, i resolved to come to bagdad and request an audience of the commander of the faithful. and that, madam, is my story. the other calender then told his story. the story of the third calendar, son of a king my story, said the third calender, is quite different from those of my two friends. it was fate that deprived them of the sight of their right eyes, but mine was lost by my own folly. my name is agib, and i am the son of a king called cassib, who reigned over a large kingdom, which had for its capital one of the finest seaport towns in the world. when i succeeded to my father's throne my first care was to visit the provinces on the mainland, and then to sail to the numerous islands which lay off the shore, in order to gain the hearts of my subjects. these voyages gave me such a taste for sailing that i soon determined to explore more distant seas, and commanded a fleet of large ships to be got ready without delay. when they were properly fitted out i embarked on my expedition. for forty days wind and weather were all in our favour, but the next night a terrific storm arose, which blew us hither and thither for ten days, till the pilot confessed that he had quite lost his bearings. accordingly a sailor was sent up to the masthead to try to catch a sight of land, and reported that nothing was to be seen but the sea and sky, except a huge mass of blackness that lay astern. on hearing this the pilot grew white, and, beating his breast, he cried, "oh, sir, we are lost, lost!" till the ship's crew trembled at they knew not what. when he had recovered himself a little, and was able to explain the cause of his terror, he replied, in answer to my question, that we had drifted far out of our course, and that the following day about noon we should come near that mass of darkness, which, said he, is nothing but the famous black mountain. this mountain is composed of adamant, which attracts to itself all the iron and nails in your ship; and as we are helplessly drawn nearer, the force of attraction will become so great that the iron and nails will fall out of the ships and cling to the mountain, and the ships will sink to the bottom with all that are in them. this it is that causes the side of the mountain towards the sea to appear of such a dense blackness. as may be supposed--continued the pilot--the mountain sides are very rugged, but on the summit stands a brass dome supported on pillars, and bearing on top the figure of a brass horse, with a rider on his back. this rider wears a breastplate of lead, on which strange signs and figures are engraved, and it is said that as long as this statue remains on the dome, vessels will never cease to perish at the foot of the mountain. so saying, the pilot began to weep afresh, and the crew, fearing their last hour had come, made their wills, each one in favour of his fellow. at noon next day, as the pilot had foretold, we were so near to the black mountain that we saw all the nails and iron fly out of the ships and dash themselves against the mountain with a horrible noise. a moment after the vessels fell asunder and sank, the crews with them. i alone managed to grasp a floating plank, and was driven ashore by the wind, without even a scratch. what was my joy on finding myself at the bottom of some steps which led straight up the mountain, for there was not another inch to the right or the left where a man could set his foot. and, indeed, even the steps themselves were so narrow and so steep that, if the lightest breeze had arisen, i should certainly have been blown into the sea. when i reached the top i found the brass dome and the statue exactly as the pilot had described, but was too wearied with all i had gone through to do more than glance at them, and, flinging myself under the dome, was asleep in an instant. in my dreams an old man appeared to me and said, "hearken, agib! as soon as thou art awake dig up the ground underfoot, and thou shalt find a bow of brass and three arrows of lead. shoot the arrows at the statue, and the rider shall tumble into the sea, but the horse will fall down by thy side, and thou shalt bury him in the place from which thou tookest the bow and arrows. this being done the sea will rise and cover the mountain, and on it thou wilt perceive the figure of a metal man seated in a boat, having an oar in each hand. step on board and let him conduct thee; but if thou wouldest behold thy kingdom again, see that thou takest not the name of allah into thy mouth." having uttered these words the vision left me, and i woke, much comforted. i sprang up and drew the bow and arrows out of the ground, and with the third shot the horseman fell with a great crash into the sea, which instantly began to rise, so rapidly, that i had hardly time to bury the horse before the boat approached me. i stepped silently in and sat down, and the metal man pushed off, and rowed without stopping for nine days, after which land appeared on the horizon. i was so overcome with joy at this sight that i forgot all the old man had told me, and cried out, "allah be praised! allah be praised!" the words were scarcely out of my mouth when the boat and man sank from beneath me, and left me floating on the surface. all that day and the next night i swam and floated alternately, making as well as i could for the land which was nearest to me. at last my strength began to fail, and i gave myself up for lost, when the wind suddenly rose, and a huge wave cast me on a flat shore. then, placing myself in safety, i hastily spread my clothes out to dry in the sun, and flung myself on the warm ground to rest. next morning i dressed myself and began to look about me. there seemed to be no one but myself on the island, which was covered with fruit trees and watered with streams, but seemed a long distance from the mainland which i hoped to reach. before, however, i had time to feel cast down, i saw a ship making directly for the island, and not knowing whether it would contain friends or foes, i hid myself in the thick branches of a tree. the sailors ran the ship into a creek, where ten slaves landed, carrying spades and pickaxes. in the middle of the island they stopped, and after digging some time, lifted up what seemed to be a trapdoor. they then returned to the vessel two or three times for furniture and provisions, and finally were accompanied by an old man, leading a handsome boy of fourteen or fifteen years of age. they all disappeared down the trapdoor, and after remaining below for a few minutes came up again, but without the boy, and let down the trapdoor, covering it with earth as before. this done, they entered the ship and set sail. as soon as they were out of sight, i came down from my tree, and went to the place where the boy had been buried. i dug up the earth till i reached a large stone with a ring in the centre. this, when removed, disclosed a flight of stone steps which led to a large room richly furnished and lighted by tapers. on a pile of cushions, covered with tapestry, sat the boy. he looked up, startled and frightened at the sight of a stranger in such a place, and to soothe his fears, i at once spoke: "be not alarmed, sir, whoever you may be. i am a king, and the son of a king, and will do you no hurt. on the contrary, perhaps i have been sent here to deliver you out of this tomb, where you have been buried alive." hearing my words, the young man recovered himself, and when i had ended, he said, "the reasons, prince, that have caused me to be buried in this place are so strange that they cannot but surprise you. my father is a rich merchant, owning much land and many ships, and has great dealings in precious stones, but he never ceased mourning that he had no child to inherit his wealth. "at length one day he dreamed that the following year a son would be born to him, and when this actually happened, he consulted all the wise men in the kingdom as to the future of the infant. one and all they said the same thing. i was to live happily till i was fifteen, when a terrible danger awaited me, which i should hardly escape. if, however, i should succeed in doing so, i should live to a great old age. and, they added, when the statue of the brass horse on the top of the mountain of adamant is thrown into the sea by agib, the son of cassib, then beware, for fifty days later your son shall fall by his hand! "this prophecy struck the heart of my father with such woe, that he never got over it, but that did not prevent him from attending carefully to my education till i attained, a short time ago, my fifteenth birthday. it was only yesterday that the news reached him that ten days previously the statue of brass had been thrown into the sea, and he at once set about hiding me in this underground chamber, which was built for the purpose, promising to fetch me out when the forty days have passed. for myself, i have no fears, as prince agib is not likely to come here to look for me." i listened to his story with an inward laugh as to the absurdity of my ever wishing to cause the death of this harmless boy, whom i hastened to assure of my friendship and even of my protection; begging him, in return, to convey me in his father's ship to my own country. i need hardly say that i took special care not to inform him that i was the agib whom he dreaded. the day passed in conversation on various subjects, and i found him a youth of ready wit and of some learning. i took on myself the duties of a servant, held the basin and water for him when he washed, prepared the dinner and set it on the table. he soon grew to love me, and for thirty-nine days we spent as pleasant an existence as could be expected underground. the morning of the fortieth dawned, and the young man when he woke gave thanks in an outburst of joy that the danger was passed. "my father may be here at any moment," said he, "so make me, i pray you, a bath of hot water, that i may bathe, and change my clothes, and be ready to receive him." so i fetched the water as he asked, and washed and rubbed him, after which he lay down again and slept a little. when he opened his eyes for the second time, he begged me to bring him a melon and some sugar, that he might eat and refresh himself. i soon chose a fine melon out of those which remained, but could find no knife to cut it with. "look in the cornice over my head," said he, "and i think you will see one." it was so high above me, that i had some difficulty in reaching it, and catching my foot in the covering of the bed, i slipped, and fell right upon the young man, the knife going straight into his heart. at this awful sight i shrieked aloud in my grief and pain. i threw myself on the ground and rent my clothes and tore my hair with sorrow. then, fearing to be punished as his murderer by the unhappy father, i raised the great stone which blocked the staircase, and quitting the underground chamber, made everything fast as before. scarcely had i finished when, looking out to sea, i saw the vessel heading for the island, and, feeling that it would be useless for me to protest my innocence, i again concealed myself among the branches of a tree that grew near by. the old man and his slaves pushed off in a boat directly the ship touched land, and walked quickly towards the entrance to the underground chamber; but when they were near enough to see that the earth had been disturbed, they paused and changed colour. in silence they all went down and called to the youth by name; then for a moment i heard no more. suddenly a fearful scream rent the air, and the next instant the slaves came up the steps, carrying with them the body of the old man, who had fainted from sorrow! laying him down at the foot of the tree in which i had taken shelter, they did their best to recover him, but it took a long while. when at last he revived, they left him to dig a grave, and then laying the young man's body in it, they threw in the earth. this ended, the slaves brought up all the furniture that remained below, and put it on the vessel, and breaking some boughs to weave a litter, they laid the old man on it, and carried him to the ship, which spread its sails and stood out to sea. so once more i was quite alone, and for a whole month i walked daily over the island, seeking for some chance of escape. at length one day it struck me that my prison had grown much larger, and that the mainland seemed to be nearer. my heart beat at this thought, which was almost too good to be true. i watched a little longer: there was no doubt about it, and soon there was only a tiny stream for me to cross. even when i was safe on the other side i had a long distance to go on the mud and sand before i reached dry ground, and very tired i was, when far in front of me i caught sight of a castle of red copper, which, at first sight, i took to be a fire. i made all the haste i could, and after some miles of hard walking stood before it, and gazed at it in astonishment, for it seemed to me the most wonderful building i had ever beheld. while i was still staring at it, there came towards me a tall old man, accompanied by ten young men, all handsome, and all blind of the right eye. now in its way, the spectacle of ten men walking together, all blind of the right eye, is as uncommon as that of a copper castle, and i was turning over in my mind what could be the meaning of this strange fact, when they greeted me warmly, and inquired what had brought me there. i replied that my story was somewhat long, but that if they would take the trouble to sit down, i should be happy to tell it them. when i had finished, the young men begged that i would go with them to the castle, and i joyfully accepted their offer. we passed through what seemed to me an endless number of rooms, and came at length into a large hall, furnished with ten small blue sofas for the ten young men, which served as beds as well as chairs, and with another sofa in the middle for the old man. as none of the sofas could hold more than one person, they bade me place myself on the carpet, and to ask no questions about anything i should see. after a little while the old man rose and brought in supper, which i ate heartily, for i was very hungry. then one of the young men begged me to repeat my story, which had struck them all with astonishment, and when i had ended, the old man was bidden to "do his duty," as it was late, and they wished to go to bed. at these words he rose, and went to a closet, from which he brought out ten basins, all covered with blue stuff. he set one before each of the young men, together with a lighted taper. when the covers were taken off the basins, i saw they were filled with ashes, coal-dust, and lamp-black. the young men mixed these all together, and smeared the whole over their heads and faces. they then wept and beat their breasts, crying, "this is the fruit of idleness, and of our wicked lives." this ceremony lasted nearly the whole night, and when it stopped they washed themselves carefully, and put on fresh clothes, and lay down to sleep. all this while i had refrained from questions, though my curiosity almost seemed to burn a hole in me, but the following day, when we went out to walk, i said to them, "gentlemen, i must disobey your wishes, for i can keep silence no more. you do not appear to lack wit, yet you do such actions as none but madmen could be capable of. whatever befalls me i cannot forbear asking, `why you daub your faces with black, and how it is you are all blind of one eye?'" but they only answered that such questions were none of my business, and that i should do well to hold my peace. during that day we spoke of other things, but when night came, and the same ceremony was repeated, i implored them most earnestly to let me know the meaning of it all. "it is for your own sake," replied one of the young men, "that we have not granted your request, and to preserve you from our unfortunate fate. if, however, you wish to share our destiny we will delay no longer." i answered that whatever might be the consequence i wished to have my curiosity satisfied, and that i would take the result on my own head. he then assured me that, even when i had lost my eye, i should be unable to remain with them, as their number was complete, and could not be added to. but to this i replied that, though i should be grieved to part company with such honest gentlemen, i would not be turned from my resolution on that account. on hearing my determination my ten hosts then took a sheep and killed it, and handed me a knife, which they said i should by-and-by find useful. "we must sew you into this sheep-skin," said they, "and then leave you. a fowl of monstrous size, called a roc, will appear in the air, taking you to be a sheep. he will snatch you up and carry you into the sky, but be not alarmed, for he will bring you safely down and lay you on the top of a mountain. when you are on the ground cut the skin with the knife and throw it off. as soon as the roc sees you he will fly away from fear, but you must walk on till you come to a castle covered with plates of gold, studded with jewels. enter boldly at the gate, which always stands open, but do not ask us to tell you what we saw or what befel us there, for that you will learn for yourself. this only we may say, that it cost us each our right eye, and has imposed upon us our nightly penance." after the young gentlemen had been at the trouble of sewing the sheep-skin on me they left me, and retired to the hall. in a few minutes the roc appeared, and bore me off to the top of the mountain in his huge claws as lightly as if i had been a feather, for this great white bird is so strong that he has been known to carry even an elephant to his nest in the hills. the moment my feet touched the ground i took out my knife and cut the threads that bound me, and the sight of me in my proper clothes so alarmed the roc that he spread his wings and flew away. then i set out to seek the castle. i found it after wandering about for half a day, and never could i have imagined anything so glorious. the gate led into a square court, into which opened a hundred doors, ninety-nine of them being of rare woods and one of gold. through each of these doors i caught glimpses of splendid gardens or of rich storehouses. entering one of the doors which was standing open i found myself in a vast hall where forty young ladies, magnificently dressed, and of perfect beauty, were reclining. as soon as they saw me they rose and uttered words of welcome, and even forced me to take possession of a seat that was higher than their own, though my proper place was at their feet. not content with this, one brought me splendid garments, while another filled a basin with scented water and poured it over my hands, and the rest busied themselves with preparing refreshments. after i had eaten and drunk of the most delicate food and rarest wines, the ladies crowded round me and begged me to tell them all my adventures. by the time i had finished night had fallen, and the ladies lighted up the castle with such a prodigious quantity of tapers that even day could hardly have been brighter. we then sat down to a supper of dried fruits and sweetmeats, after which some sang and others danced. i was so well amused that i did not notice how the time was passing, but at length one of the ladies approached and informed me it was midnight, and that, as i must be tired, she would conduct me to the room that had been prepared for me. then, bidding me good-night, i was left to sleep. i spent the next thirty-nine days in much the same way as the first, but at the close of that time the ladies appeared (as was their custom) in my room one morning to inquire how i had slept, and instead of looking cheerful and smiling they were in floods of tears. "prince," said they, "we must leave you, and never was it so hard to part from any of our friends. most likely we shall never see you again, but if you have sufficient self-command perhaps we may yet look forward to a meeting." "ladies," i replied, "what is the meaning of these strange words--i pray you to tell me?" "know then," answered one of them, "that we are all princesses--each a king's daughter. we live in this castle together, in the way that you have seen, but at the end of every year secret duties call us away for the space of forty days. the time has now come; but before we depart, we will leave you our keys, so that you may not lack entertainment during our absence. but one thing we would ask of you. the golden door, alone, forbear to open, as you value your own peace, and the happiness of your life. that door once unlocked, we must bid you farewell for ever." weeping, i assured them of my prudence, and after embracing me tenderly, they went their ways. every day i opened two or three fresh doors, each of which contained behind it so many curious things that i had no chance of feeling dull, much as i regretted the absence of the ladies. sometimes it was an orchard, whose fruit far exceeded in bigness any that grew in my father's garden. sometimes it was a court planted with roses, jessamine, dafeodils, hyacinths and anemones, and a thousand other flowers of which i did not know the names. or again, it would be an aviary, fitted with all kinds of singing birds, or a treasury heaped up with precious stones; but whatever i might see, all was perfect of its own sort. thirty-nine days passed away more rapidly than i could have conceived possible, and the following morning the princesses were to return to the castle. but alas! i had explored every corner, save only the room that was shut in by the golden door, and i had no longer anything to amuse myself with. i stood before the forbidden place for some time, gazing at its beauty; then a happy inspiration struck me, that because i unlocked the door it was not necessary that i should enter the chamber. it would be enough for me to stand outside and view whatever hidden wonders might be therein. thus arguing against my own conscience, i turned the key, when a smell rushed out that, pleasant though it was, overcame me completely, and i fell fainting across the threshold. instead of being warned by this accident, directly i came to myself i went for a few moments into the air to shake of the effects of the perfume, and then entered boldly. i found myself in a large, vaulted room, lighted by tapers, scented with aloes and ambergris, standing in golden candle-sticks, whilst gold and silver lamps hung from the ceiling. though objects of rare workmanship lay heaped around me, i paid them scant attention, so much was i struck by a great black horse which stood in one corner, the handsomest and best-shaped animal i had ever seen. his saddle and bridle were of massive gold, curiously wrought; one side of his trough was filled with clean barley and sesame, and the other with rose water. i led the animal into the open air, and then jumped on his back, shaking the reins as i did so, but as he never stirred, i touched him lightly with a switch i had picked up in his stable. no sooner did he feel the stroke, than he spread his wings (which i had not perceived before), and flew up with me straight into the sky. when he had reached a prodigious height, he next darted back to earth, and alighted on the terrace belonging to a castle, shaking me violently out of the saddle as he did so, and giving me such a blow with his tail, that he knocked out my right eye. half-stunned as i was with all that had happened to me, i rose to my feet, thinking as i did so of what had befallen the ten young men, and watching the horse which was soaring into the clouds. i left the terrace and wandered on till i came to a hall, which i knew to have been the one from which the roc had taken me, by the ten blue sofas against the wall. the ten young men were not present when i first entered, but came in soon after, accompanied by the old man. they greeted me kindly, and bewailed my misfortune, though, indeed, they had expected nothing less. "all that has happened to you," they said, "we also have undergone, and we should be enjoying the same happiness still, had we not opened the golden door while the princesses were absent. you have been no wiser than we, and have suffered the same punishment. we would gladly receive you among us, to perform such penance as we do, but we have already told you that this is impossible. depart, therefore, from hence and go to the court of bagdad, where you shall meet with him that can decide your destiny." they told me the way i was to travel, and i left them. on the road i caused my beard and eyebrows to be shaved, and put on a calender's habit. i have had a long journey, but arrived this evening in the city, where i met my brother calenders at the gate, being strangers like myself. we wondered much at one another, to see we were all blind of the same eye, but we had no leisure to discourse at length of our common calamities. we had only so much time as to come hither to implore those favours which you have been generously pleased to grant us. he finished, and it was zobeida's turn to speak: "go wherever you please," she said, addressing all three. "i pardon you all, but you must depart immediately out of this house." the seven voyages of sindbad the sailor in the times of the caliph haroun-al-raschid there lived in bagdad a poor porter named hindbad, who on a very hot day was sent to carry a heavy load from one end of the city to the other. before he had accomplished half the distance he was so tired that, finding himself in a quiet street where the pavement was sprinkled with rose water, and a cool breeze was blowing, he set his burden upon the ground, and sat down to rest in the shade of a grand house. very soon he decided that he could not have chosen a pleasanter place; a delicious perfume of aloes wood and pastilles came from the open windows and mingled with the scent of the rose water which steamed up from the hot pavement. within the palace he heard some music, as of many instruments cunningly played, and the melodious warble of nightingales and other birds, and by this, and the appetising smell of many dainty dishes of which he presently became aware, he judged that feasting and merry making were going on. he wondered who lived in this magnificent house which he had never seen before, the street in which it stood being one which he seldom had occasion to pass. to satisfy his curiosity he went up to some splendidly dressed servants who stood at the door, and asked one of them the name of the master of the mansion. "what," replied he, "do you live in bagdad, and not know that here lives the noble sindbad the sailor, that famous traveller who sailed over every sea upon which the sun shines?" the porter, who had often heard people speak of the immense wealth of sindbad, could not help feeling envious of one whose lot seemed to be as happy as his own was miserable. casting his eyes up to the sky he exclaimed aloud, "consider, mighty creator of all things, the differences between sindbad's life and mine. every day i suffer a thousand hardships and misfortunes, and have hard work to get even enough bad barley bread to keep myself and my family alive, while the lucky sindbad spends money right and left and lives upon the fat of the land! what has he done that you should give him this pleasant life--what have i done to deserve so hard a fate?" so saying he stamped upon the ground like one beside himself with misery and despair. just at this moment a servant came out of the palace, and taking him by the arm said, "come with me, the noble sindbad, my master, wishes to speak to you." hindbad was not a little surprised at this summons, and feared that his unguarded words might have drawn upon him the displeasure of sindbad, so he tried to excuse himself upon the pretext that he could not leave the burden which had been entrusted to him in the street. however the lackey promised him that it should be taken care of, and urged him to obey the call so pressingly that at last the porter was obliged to yield. he followed the servant into a vast room, where a great company was seated round a table covered with all sorts of delicacies. in the place of honour sat a tall, grave man whose long white beard gave him a venerable air. behind his chair stood a crowd of attendants eager to minister to his wants. this was the famous sindbad himself. the porter, more than ever alarmed at the sight of so much magnificence, tremblingly saluted the noble company. sindbad, making a sign to him to approach, caused him to be seated at his right hand, and himself heaped choice morsels upon his plate, and poured out for him a draught of excellent wine, and presently, when the banquet drew to a close, spoke to him familiarly, asking his name and occupation. "my lord," replied the porter, "i am called hindbad." "i am glad to see you here," continued sindbad. "and i will answer for the rest of the company that they are equally pleased, but i wish you to tell me what it was that you said just now in the street." for sindbad, passing by the open window before the feast began, had heard his complaint and therefore had sent for him. at this question hindbad was covered with confusion, and hanging down his head, replied, "my lord, i confess that, overcome by weariness and ill-humour, i uttered indiscreet words, which i pray you to pardon me." "oh!" replied sindbad, "do not imagine that i am so unjust as to blame you. on the contrary, i understand your situation and can pity you. only you appear to be mistaken about me, and i wish to set you right. you doubtless imagine that i have acquired all the wealth and luxury that you see me enjoy without difficulty or danger, but this is far indeed from being the case. i have only reached this happy state after having for years suffered every possible kind of toil and danger. "yes, my noble friends," he continued, addressing the company, "i assure you that my adventures have been strange enough to deter even the most avaricious men from seeking wealth by traversing the seas. since you have, perhaps, heard but confused accounts of my seven voyages, and the dangers and wonders that i have met with by sea and land, i will now give you a full and true account of them, which i think you will be well pleased to hear." as sindbad was relating his adventures chiefly on account of the porter, he ordered, before beginning his tale, that the burden which had been left in the street should be carried by some of his own servants to the place for which hindbad had set out at first, while he remained to listen to the story. first voyage i had inherited considerable wealth from my parents, and being young and foolish i at first squandered it recklessly upon every kind of pleasure, but presently, finding that riches speedily take to themselves wings if managed as badly as i was managing mine, and remembering also that to be old and poor is misery indeed, i began to bethink me of how i could make the best of what still remained to me. i sold all my household goods by public auction, and joined a company of merchants who traded by sea, embarking with them at balsora in a ship which we had fitted out between us. we set sail and took our course towards the east indies by the persian gulf, having the coast of persia upon our left hand and upon our right the shores of arabia felix. i was at first much troubled by the uneasy motion of the vessel, but speedily recovered my health, and since that hour have been no more plagued by sea-sickness. from time to time we landed at various islands, where we sold or exchanged our merchandise, and one day, when the wind dropped suddenly, we found ourselves becalmed close to a small island like a green meadow, which only rose slightly above the surface of the water. our sails were furled, and the captain gave permission to all who wished to land for a while and amuse themselves. i was among the number, but when after strolling about for some time we lighted a fire and sat down to enjoy the repast which we had brought with us, we were startled by a sudden and violent trembling of the island, while at the same moment those left upon the ship set up an outcry bidding us come on board for our lives, since what we had taken for an island was nothing but the back of a sleeping whale. those who were nearest to the boat threw themselves into it, others sprang into the sea, but before i could save myself the whale plunged suddenly into the depths of the ocean, leaving me clinging to a piece of the wood which we had brought to make our fire. meanwhile a breeze had sprung up, and in the confusion that ensued on board our vessel in hoisting the sails and taking up those who were in the boat and clinging to its sides, no one missed me and i was left at the mercy of the waves. all that day i floated up and down, now beaten this way, now that, and when night fell i despaired for my life; but, weary and spent as i was, i clung to my frail support, and great was my joy when the morning light showed me that i had drifted against an island. the cliffs were high and steep, but luckily for me some tree-roots protruded in places, and by their aid i climbed up at last, and stretched myself upon the turf at the top, where i lay, more dead than alive, till the sun was high in the heavens. by that time i was very hungry, but after some searching i came upon some eatable herbs, and a spring of clear water, and much refreshed i set out to explore the island. presently i reached a great plain where a grazing horse was tethered, and as i stood looking at it i heard voices talking apparently underground, and in a moment a man appeared who asked me how i came upon the island. i told him my adventures, and heard in return that he was one of the grooms of mihrage, the king of the island, and that each year they came to feed their master's horses in this plain. he took me to a cave where his companions were assembled, and when i had eaten of the food they set before me, they bade me think myself fortunate to have come upon them when i did, since they were going back to their master on the morrow, and without their aid i could certainly never have found my way to the inhabited part of the island. early the next morning we accordingly set out, and when we reached the capital i was graciously received by the king, to whom i related my adventures, upon which he ordered that i should be well cared for and provided with such things as i needed. being a merchant i sought out men of my own profession, and particularly those who came from foreign countries, as i hoped in this way to hear news from bagdad, and find out some means of returning thither, for the capital was situated upon the sea-shore, and visited by vessels from all parts of the world. in the meantime i heard many curious things, and answered many questions concerning my own country, for i talked willingly with all who came to me. also to while away the time of waiting i explored a little island named cassel, which belonged to king mihrage, and which was supposed to be inhabited by a spirit named deggial. indeed, the sailors assured me that often at night the playing of timbals could be heard upon it. however, i saw nothing strange upon my voyage, saving some fish that were full two hundred cubits long, but were fortunately more in dread of us than even we were of them, and fled from us if we did but strike upon a board to frighten them. other fishes there were only a cubit long which had heads like owls. one day after my return, as i went down to the quay, i saw a ship which had just cast anchor, and was discharging her cargo, while the merchants to whom it belonged were busily directing the removal of it to their warehouses. drawing nearer i presently noticed that my own name was marked upon some of the packages, and after having carefully examined them, i felt sure that they were indeed those which i had put on board our ship at balsora. i then recognised the captain of the vessel, but as i was certain that he believed me to be dead, i went up to him and asked who owned the packages that i was looking at. "there was on board my ship," he replied, "a merchant of bagdad named sindbad. one day he and several of my other passengers landed upon what we supposed to be an island, but which was really an enormous whale floating asleep upon the waves. no sooner did it feel upon its back the heat of the fire which had been kindled, than it plunged into the depths of the sea. several of the people who were upon it perished in the waters, and among others this unlucky sindbad. this merchandise is his, but i have resolved to dispose of it for the benefit of his family if i should ever chance to meet with them." "captain," said i, "i am that sindbad whom you believe to be dead, and these are my possessions!" when the captain heard these words he cried out in amazement, "lackaday! and what is the world coming to? in these days there is not an honest man to be met with. did i not with my own eyes see sindbad drown, and now you have the audacity to tell me that you are he! i should have taken you to be a just man, and yet for the sake of obtaining that which does not belong to you, you are ready to invent this horrible falsehood." "have patience, and do me the favour to hear my story," said i. "speak then," replied the captain, "i'm all attention." so i told him of my escape and of my fortunate meeting with the king's grooms, and how kindly i had been received at the palace. very soon i began to see that i had made some impression upon him, and after the arrival of some of the other merchants, who showed great joy at once more seeing me alive, he declared that he also recognised me. throwing himself upon my neck he exclaimed, "heaven be praised that you have escaped from so great a danger. as to your goods, i pray you take them, and dispose of them as you please." i thanked him, and praised his honesty, begging him to accept several bales of merchandise in token of my gratitude, but he would take nothing. of the choicest of my goods i prepared a present for king mihrage, who was at first amazed, having known that i had lost my all. however, when i had explained to him how my bales had been miraculously restored to me, he graciously accepted my gifts, and in return gave me many valuable things. i then took leave of him, and exchanging my merchandise for sandal and aloes wood, camphor, nutmegs, cloves, pepper, and ginger, i embarked upon the same vessel and traded so successfully upon our homeward voyage that i arrived in balsora with about one hundred thousand sequins. my family received me with as much joy as i felt upon seeing them once more. i bought land and slaves, and built a great house in which i resolved to live happily, and in the enjoyment of all the pleasures of life to forget my past sufferings. here sindbad paused, and commanded the musicians to play again, while the feasting continued until evening. when the time came for the porter to depart, sindbad gave him a purse containing one hundred sequins, saying, "take this, hindbad, and go home, but to-morrow come again and you shall hear more of my adventures." the porter retired quite overcome by so much generosity, and you may imagine that he was well received at home, where his wife and children thanked their lucky stars that he had found such a benefactor. the next day hindbad, dressed in his best, returned to the voyager's house, and was received with open arms. as soon as all the guests had arrived the banquet began as before, and when they had feasted long and merrily, sindbad addressed them thus: "my friends, i beg that you will give me your attention while i relate the adventures of my second voyage, which you will find even more astonishing than the first." second voyage i had resolved, as you know, on my return from my first voyage, to spend the rest of my days quietly in bagdad, but very soon i grew tired of such an idle life and longed once more to find myself upon the sea. i procured, therefore, such goods as were suitable for the places i intended to visit, and embarked for the second time in a good ship with other merchants whom i knew to be honourable men. we went from island to island, often making excellent bargains, until one day we landed at a spot which, though covered with fruit trees and abounding in springs of excellent water, appeared to possess neither houses nor people. while my companions wandered here and there gathering flowers and fruit i sat down in a shady place, and, having heartily enjoyed the provisions and the wine i had brought with me, i fell asleep, lulled by the murmur of a clear brook which flowed close by. how long i slept i know not, but when i opened my eyes and started to my feet i perceived with horror that i was alone and that the ship was gone. i rushed to and fro like one distracted, uttering cries of despair, and when from the shore i saw the vessel under full sail just disappearing upon the horizon, i wished bitterly enough that i had been content to stay at home in safety. but since wishes could do me no good, i presently took courage and looked about me for a means of escape. when i had climbed a tall tree i first of all directed my anxious glances towards the sea; but, finding nothing hopeful there, i turned landward, and my curiosity was excited by a huge dazzling white object, so far off that i could not make out what it might be. descending from the tree i hastily collected what remained of my provisions and set off as fast as i could go towards it. as i drew near it seemed to me to be a white ball of immense size and height, and when i could touch it, i found it marvellously smooth and soft. as it was impossible to climb it--for it presented no foot-hold--i walked round about it seeking some opening, but there was none. i counted, however, that it was at least fifty paces round. by this time the sun was near setting, but quite suddenly it fell dark, something like a huge black cloud came swiftly over me, and i saw with amazement that it was a bird of extraordinary size which was hovering near. then i remembered that i had often heard the sailors speak of a wonderful bird called a roc, and it occurred to me that the white object which had so puzzled me must be its egg. sure enough the bird settled slowly down upon it, covering it with its wings to keep it warm, and i cowered close beside the egg in such a position that one of the bird's feet, which was as large as the trunk of a tree, was just in front of me. taking off my turban i bound myself securely to it with the linen in the hope that the roc, when it took flight next morning, would bear me away with it from the desolate island. and this was precisely what did happen. as soon as the dawn appeared the bird rose into the air carrying me up and up till i could no longer see the earth, and then suddenly it descended so swiftly that i almost lost consciousness. when i became aware that the roc had settled and that i was once again upon solid ground, i hastily unbound my turban from its foot and freed myself, and that not a moment too soon; for the bird, pouncing upon a huge snake, killed it with a few blows from its powerful beak, and seizing it up rose into the air once more and soon disappeared from my view. when i had looked about me i began to doubt if i had gained anything by quitting the desolate island. the valley in which i found myself was deep and narrow, and surrounded by mountains which towered into the clouds, and were so steep and rocky that there was no way of climbing up their sides. as i wandered about, seeking anxiously for some means of escaping from this trap, i observed that the ground was strewed with diamonds, some of them of an astonishing size. this sight gave me great pleasure, but my delight was speedily damped when i saw also numbers of horrible snakes so long and so large that the smallest of them could have swallowed an elephant with ease. fortunately for me they seemed to hide in caverns of the rocks by day, and only came out by night, probably because of their enemy the roc. all day long i wandered up and down the valley, and when it grew dusk i crept into a little cave, and having blocked up the entrance to it with a stone, i ate part of my little store of food and lay down to sleep, but all through the night the serpents crawled to and fro, hissing horribly, so that i could scarcely close my eyes for terror. i was thankful when the morning light appeared, and when i judged by the silence that the serpents had retreated to their dens i came tremblingly out of my cave and wandered up and down the valley once more, kicking the diamonds contemptuously out of my path, for i felt that they were indeed vain things to a man in my situation. at last, overcome with weariness, i sat down upon a rock, but i had hardly closed my eyes when i was startled by something which fell to the ground with a thud close beside me. it was a huge piece of fresh meat, and as i stared at it several more pieces rolled over the cliffs in different places. i had always thought that the stories the sailors told of the famous valley of diamonds, and of the cunning way which some merchants had devised for getting at the precious stones, were mere travellers' tales invented to give pleasure to the hearers, but now i perceived that they were surely true. these merchants came to the valley at the time when the eagles, which keep their eyries in the rocks, had hatched their young. the merchants then threw great lumps of meat into the valley. these, falling with so much force upon the diamonds, were sure to take up some of the precious stones with them, when the eagles pounced upon the meat and carried it off to their nests to feed their hungry broods. then the merchants, scaring away the parent birds with shouts and outcries, would secure their treasures. until this moment i had looked upon the valley as my grave, for i had seen no possibility of getting out of it alive, but now i took courage and began to devise a means of escape. i began by picking up all the largest diamonds i could find and storing them carefully in the leathern wallet which had held my provisions; this i tied securely to my belt. i then chose the piece of meat which seemed most suited to my purpose, and with the aid of my turban bound it firmly to my back; this done i laid down upon my face and awaited the coming of the eagles. i soon heard the flapping of their mighty wings above me, and had the satisfaction of feeling one of them seize upon my piece of meat, and me with it, and rise slowly towards his nest, into which he presently dropped me. luckily for me the merchants were on the watch, and setting up their usual outcries they rushed to the nest scaring away the eagle. their amazement was great when they discovered me, and also their disappointment, and with one accord they fell to abusing me for having robbed them of their usual profit. addressing myself to the one who seemed most aggrieved, i said: "i am sure, if you knew all that i have suffered, you would show more kindness towards me, and as for diamonds, i have enough here of the very best for you and me and all your company." so saying i showed them to him. the others all crowded round me, wondering at my adventures and admiring the device by which i had escaped from the valley, and when they had led me to their camp and examined my diamonds, they assured me that in all the years that they had carried on their trade they had seen no stones to be compared with them for size and beauty. i found that each merchant chose a particular nest, and took his chance of what he might find in it. so i begged the one who owned the nest to which i had been carried to take as much as he would of my treasure, but he contented himself with one stone, and that by no means the largest, assuring me that with such a gem his fortune was made, and he need toil no more. i stayed with the merchants several days, and then as they were journeying homewards i gladly accompanied them. our way lay across high mountains infested with frightful serpents, but we had the good luck to escape them and came at last to the seashore. thence we sailed to the isle of rohat where the camphor trees grow to such a size that a hundred men could shelter under one of them with ease. the sap flows from an incision made high up in the tree into a vessel hung there to receive it, and soon hardens into the substance called camphor, but the tree itself withers up and dies when it has been so treated. in this same island we saw the rhinoceros, an animal which is smaller than the elephant and larger than the buffalo. it has one horn about a cubit long which is solid, but has a furrow from the base to the tip. upon it is traced in white lines the figure of a man. the rhinoceros fights with the elephant, and transfixing him with his horn carries him off upon his head, but becoming blinded with the blood of his enemy, he falls helpless to the ground, and then comes the roc, and clutches them both up in his talons and takes them to feed his young. this doubtless astonishes you, but if you do not believe my tale go to rohat and see for yourself. for fear of wearying you i pass over in silence many other wonderful things which we saw in this island. before we left i exchanged one of my diamonds for much goodly merchandise by which i profited greatly on our homeward way. at last we reached balsora, whence i hastened to bagdad, where my first action was to bestow large sums of money upon the poor, after which i settled down to enjoy tranquilly the riches i had gained with so much toil and pain. having thus related the adventures of his second voyage, sindbad again bestowed a hundred sequins upon hindbad, inviting him to come again on the following day and hear how he fared upon his third voyage. the other guests also departed to their homes, but all returned at the same hour next day, including the porter, whose former life of hard work and poverty had already begun to seem to him like a bad dream. again after the feast was over did sindbad claim the attention of his guests and began the account of his third voyage. third voyage after a very short time the pleasant easy life i led made me quite forget the perils of my two voyages. moreover, as i was still in the prime of life, it pleased me better to be up and doing. so once more providing myself with the rarest and choicest merchandise of bagdad, i conveyed it to balsora, and set sail with other merchants of my acquaintance for distant lands. we had touched at many ports and made much profit, when one day upon the open sea we were caught by a terrible wind which blew us completely out of our reckoning, and lasting for several days finally drove us into harbour on a strange island. "i would rather have come to anchor anywhere than here," quoth our captain. "this island and all adjoining it are inhabited by hairy savages, who are certain to attack us, and whatever these dwarfs may do we dare not resist, since they swarm like locusts, and if one of them is killed the rest will fall upon us, and speedily make an end of us." these words caused great consternation among all the ship's company, and only too soon we were to find out that the captain spoke truly. there appeared a vast multitude of hideous savages, not more than two feet high and covered with reddish fur. throwing themselves into the waves they surrounded our vessel. chattering meanwhile in a language we could not understand, and clutching at ropes and gangways, they swarmed up the ship's side with such speed and agility that they almost seemed to fly. you may imagine the rage and terror that seized us as we watched them, neither daring to hinder them nor able to speak a word to deter them from their purpose, whatever it might be. of this we were not left long in doubt. hoisting the sails, and cutting the cable of the anchor, they sailed our vessel to an island which lay a little further off, where they drove us ashore; then taking possession of her, they made off to the place from which they had come, leaving us helpless upon a shore avoided with horror by all mariners for a reason which you will soon learn. turning away from the sea we wandered miserably inland, finding as we went various herbs and fruits which we ate, feeling that we might as well live as long as possible though we had no hope of escape. presently we saw in the far distance what seemed to us to be a splendid palace, towards which we turned our weary steps, but when we reached it we saw that it was a castle, lofty, and strongly built. pushing back the heavy ebony doors we entered the courtyard, but upon the threshold of the great hall beyond it we paused, frozen with horror, at the sight which greeted us. on one side lay a huge pile of bones--human bones, and on the other numberless spits for roasting! overcome with despair we sank trembling to the ground, and lay there without speech or motion. the sun was setting when a loud noise aroused us, the door of the hall was violently burst open and a horrible giant entered. he was as tall as a palm tree, and perfectly black, and had one eye, which flamed like a burning coal in the middle of his forehead. his teeth were long and sharp and grinned horribly, while his lower lip hung down upon his chest, and he had ears like elephant's ears, which covered his shoulders, and nails like the claws of some fierce bird. at this terrible sight our senses left us and we lay like dead men. when at last we came to ourselves the giant sat examining us attentively with his fearful eye. presently when he had looked at us enough he came towards us, and stretching out his hand took me by the back of the neck, turning me this way and that, but feeling that i was mere skin and bone he set me down again and went on to the next, whom he treated in the same fashion; at last he came to the captain, and finding him the fattest of us all, he took him up in one hand and stuck him upon a spit and proceeded to kindle a huge fire at which he presently roasted him. after the giant had supped he lay down to sleep, snoring like the loudest thunder, while we lay shivering with horror the whole night through, and when day broke he awoke and went out, leaving us in the castle. when we believed him to be really gone we started up bemoaning our horrible fate, until the hall echoed with our despairing cries. though we were many and our enemy was alone it did not occur to us to kill him, and indeed we should have found that a hard task, even if we had thought of it, and no plan could we devise to deliver ourselves. so at last, submitting to our sad fate, we spent the day in wandering up and down the island eating such fruits as we could find, and when night came we returned to the castle, having sought in vain for any other place of shelter. at sunset the giant returned, supped upon one of our unhappy comrades, slept and snored till dawn, and then left us as before. our condition seemed to us so frightful that several of my companions thought it would be better to leap from the cliffs and perish in the waves at once, rather than await so miserable an end; but i had a plan of escape which i now unfolded to them, and which they at once agreed to attempt. "listen, my brothers," i added. "you know that plenty of driftwood lies along the shore. let us make several rafts, and carry them to a suitable place. if our plot succeeds, we can wait patiently for the chance of some passing ship which would rescue us from this fatal island. if it fails, we must quickly take to our rafts; frail as they are, we have more chance of saving our lives with them than we have if we remain here." all agreed with me, and we spent the day in building rafts, each capable of carrying three persons. at nightfall we returned to the castle, and very soon in came the giant, and one more of our number was sacrificed. but the time of our vengeance was at hand! as soon as he had finished his horrible repast he lay down to sleep as before, and when we heard him begin to snore i, and nine of the boldest of my comrades, rose softly, and took each a spit, which we made red-hot in the fire, and then at a given signal we plunged it with one accord into the giant's eye, completely blinding him. uttering a terrible cry, he sprang to his feet clutching in all directions to try to seize one of us, but we had all fled different ways as soon as the deed was done, and thrown ourselves flat upon the ground in corners where he was not likely to touch us with his feet. after a vain search he fumbled about till he found the door, and fled out of it howling frightfully. as for us, when he was gone we made haste to leave the fatal castle, and, stationing ourselves beside our rafts, we waited to see what would happen. our idea was that if, when the sun rose, we saw nothing of the giant, and no longer heard his howls, which still came faintly through the darkness, growing more and more distant, we should conclude that he was dead, and that we might safely stay upon the island and need not risk our lives upon the frail rafts. but alas! morning light showed us our enemy approaching us, supported on either hand by two giants nearly as large and fearful as himself, while a crowd of others followed close upon their heels. hesitating no longer we clambered upon our rafts and rowed with all our might out to sea. the giants, seeing their prey escaping them, seized up huge pieces of rock, and wading into the water hurled them after us with such good aim that all the rafts except the one i was upon were swamped, and their luckless crews drowned, without our being able to do anything to help them. indeed i and my two companions had all we could do to keep our own raft beyond the reach of the giants, but by dint of hard rowing we at last gained the open sea. here we were at the mercy of the winds and waves, which tossed us to and fro all that day and night, but the next morning we found ourselves near an island, upon which we gladly landed. there we found delicious fruits, and having satisfied our hunger we presently lay down to rest upon the shore. suddenly we were aroused by a loud rustling noise, and starting up, saw that it was caused by an immense snake which was gliding towards us over the sand. so swiftly it came that it had seized one of my comrades before he had time to fly, and in spite of his cries and struggles speedily crushed the life out of him in its mighty coils and proceeded to swallow him. by this time my other companion and i were running for our lives to some place where we might hope to be safe from this new horror, and seeing a tall tree we climbed up into it, having first provided ourselves with a store of fruit off the surrounding bushes. when night came i fell asleep, but only to be awakened once more by the terrible snake, which after hissing horribly round the tree at last reared itself up against it, and finding my sleeping comrade who was perched just below me, it swallowed him also, and crawled away leaving me half dead with terror. when the sun rose i crept down from the tree with hardly a hope of escaping the dreadful fate which had over-taken my comrades; but life is sweet, and i determined to do all i could to save myself. all day long i toiled with frantic haste and collected quantities of dry brushwood, reeds and thorns, which i bound with faggots, and making a circle of them under my tree i piled them firmly one upon another until i had a kind of tent in which i crouched like a mouse in a hole when she sees the cat coming. you may imagine what a fearful night i passed, for the snake returned eager to devour me, and glided round and round my frail shelter seeking an entrance. every moment i feared that it would succeed in pushing aside some of the faggots, but happily for me they held together, and when it grew light my enemy retired, baffled and hungry, to his den. as for me i was more dead than alive! shaking with fright and half suffocated by the poisonous breath of the monster, i came out of my tent and crawled down to the sea, feeling that it would be better to plunge from the cliffs and end my life at once than pass such another night of horror. but to my joy and relief i saw a ship sailing by, and by shouting wildly and waving my turban i managed to attract the attention of her crew. a boat was sent to rescue me, and very soon i found myself on board surrounded by a wondering crowd of sailors and merchants eager to know by what chance i found myself in that desolate island. after i had told my story they regaled me with the choicest food the ship afforded, and the captain, seeing that i was in rags, generously bestowed upon me one of his own coats. after sailing about for some time and touching at many ports we came at last to the island of salahat, where sandal wood grows in great abundance. here we anchored, and as i stood watching the merchants disembarking their goods and preparing to sell or exchange them, the captain came up to me and said, "i have here, brother, some merchandise belonging to a passenger of mine who is dead. will you do me the favour to trade with it, and when i meet with his heirs i shall be able to give them the money, though it will be only just that you shall have a portion for your trouble." i consented gladly, for i did not like standing by idle. whereupon he pointed the bales out to me, and sent for the person whose duty it was to keep a list of the goods that were upon the ship. when this man came he asked in what name the merchandise was to be registered. "in the name of sindbad the sailor," replied the captain. at this i was greatly surprised, but looking carefully at him i recognised him to be the captain of the ship upon which i had made my second voyage, though he had altered much since that time. as for him, believing me to be dead it was no wonder that he had not recognised me. "so, captain," said i, "the merchant who owned those bales was called sindbad?" "yes," he replied. "he was so named. he belonged to bagdad, and joined my ship at balsora, but by mischance he was left behind upon a desert island where we had landed to fill up our water-casks, and it was not until four hours later that he was missed. by that time the wind had freshened, and it was impossible to put back for him." "you suppose him to have perished then?" said i. "alas! yes," he answered. "why, captain!" i cried, "look well at me. i am that sindbad who fell asleep upon the island and awoke to find himself abandoned!" the captain stared at me in amazement, but was presently convinced that i was indeed speaking the truth, and rejoiced greatly at my escape. "i am glad to have that piece of carelessness off my conscience at any rate," said he. "now take your goods, and the profit i have made for you upon them, and may you prosper in future." i took them gratefully, and as we went from one island to another i laid in stores of cloves, cinnamon, and other spices. in one place i saw a tortoise which was twenty cubits long and as many broad, also a fish that was like a cow and had skin so thick that it was used to make shields. another i saw that was like a camel in shape and colour. so by degrees we came back to balsora, and i returned to bagdad with so much money that i could not myself count it, besides treasures without end. i gave largely to the poor, and bought much land to add to what i already possessed, and thus ended my third voyage. when sindbad had finished his story he gave another hundred sequins to hindbad, who then departed with the other guests, but next day when they had all reassembled, and the banquet was ended, their host continued his adventures. fourth voyage rich and happy as i was after my third voyage, i could not make up my mind to stay at home altogether. my love of trading, and the pleasure i took in anything that was new and strange, made me set my affairs in order, and begin my journey through some of the persian provinces, having first sent off stores of goods to await my coming in the different places i intended to visit. i took ship at a distant seaport, and for some time all went well, but at last, being caught in a violent hurricane, our vessel became a total wreck in spite of all our worthy captain could do to save her, and many of our company perished in the waves. i, with a few others, had the good fortune to be washed ashore clinging to pieces of the wreck, for the storm had driven us near an island, and scrambling up beyond the reach of the waves we threw ourselves down quite exhausted, to wait for morning. at daylight we wandered inland, and soon saw some huts, to which we directed our steps. as we drew near their black inhabitants swarmed out in great numbers and surrounded us, and we were led to their houses, and as it were divided among our captors. i with five others was taken into a hut, where we were made to sit upon the ground, and certain herbs were given to us, which the blacks made signs to us to eat. observing that they themselves did not touch them, i was careful only to pretend to taste my portion; but my companions, being very hungry, rashly ate up all that was set before them, and very soon i had the horror of seeing them become perfectly mad. though they chattered incessantly i could not understand a word they said, nor did they heed when i spoke to them. the savages now produced large bowls full of rice prepared with cocoanut oil, of which my crazy comrades ate eagerly, but i only tasted a few grains, understanding clearly that the object of our captors was to fatten us speedily for their own eating, and this was exactly what happened. my unlucky companions having lost their reason, felt neither anxiety nor fear, and ate greedily all that was offered them. so they were soon fat and there was an end of them, but i grew leaner day by day, for i ate but little, and even that little did me no good by reason of my fear of what lay before me. however, as i was so far from being a tempting morsel, i was allowed to wander about freely, and one day, when all the blacks had gone off upon some expedition leaving only an old man to guard me, i managed to escape from him and plunged into the forest, running faster the more he cried to me to come back, until i had completely distanced him. for seven days i hurried on, resting only when the darkness stopped me, and living chiefly upon cocoanuts, which afforded me both meat and drink, and on the eighth day i reached the seashore and saw a party of white men gathering pepper, which grew abundantly all about. reassured by the nature of their occupation, i advanced towards them and they greeted me in arabic, asking who i was and whence i came. my delight was great on hearing this familiar speech, and i willingly satisfied their curiosity, telling them how i had been shipwrecked, and captured by the blacks. "but these savages devour men!" said they. "how did you escape?" i repeated to them what i have just told you, at which they were mightily astonished. i stayed with them until they had collected as much pepper as they wished, and then they took me back to their own country and presented me to their king, by whom i was hospitably received. to him also i had to relate my adventures, which surprised him much, and when i had finished he ordered that i should be supplied with food and raiment and treated with consideration. the island on which i found myself was full of people, and abounded in all sorts of desirable things, and a great deal of traffic went on in the capital, where i soon began to feel at home and contented. moreover, the king treated me with special favour, and in consequence of this everyone, whether at the court or in the town, sought to make life pleasant to me. one thing i remarked which i thought very strange; this was that, from the greatest to the least, all men rode their horses without bridle or stirrups. i one day presumed to ask his majesty why he did not use them, to which he replied, "you speak to me of things of which i have never before heard!" this gave me an idea. i found a clever workman, and made him cut out under my direction the foundation of a saddle, which i wadded and covered with choice leather, adorning it with rich gold embroidery. i then got a lock-smith to make me a bit and a pair of spurs after a pattern that i drew for him, and when all these things were completed i presented them to the king and showed him how to use them. when i had saddled one of his horses he mounted it and rode about quite delighted with the novelty, and to show his gratitude he rewarded me with large gifts. after this i had to make saddles for all the principal officers of the king's household, and as they all gave me rich presents i soon became very wealthy and quite an important person in the city. one day the king sent for me and said, "sindbad, i am going to ask a favour of you. both i and my subjects esteem you, and wish you to end your days amongst us. therefore i desire that you will marry a rich and beautiful lady whom i will find for you, and think no more of your own country." as the king's will was law i accepted the charming bride he presented to me, and lived happily with her. nevertheless i had every intention of escaping at the first opportunity, and going back to bagdad. things were thus going prosperously with me when it happened that the wife of one of my neighbours, with whom i had struck up quite a friendship, fell ill, and presently died. i went to his house to offer my consolations, and found him in the depths of woe. "heaven preserve you," said i, "and send you a long life!" "alas!" he replied, "what is the good of saying that when i have but an hour left to live!" "come, come!" said i, "surely it is not so bad as all that. i trust that you may be spared to me for many years." "i hope," answered he, "that your life may be long, but as for me, all is finished. i have set my house in order, and to-day i shall be buried with my wife. this has been the law upon our island from the earliest ages--the living husband goes to the grave with his dead wife, the living wife with her dead husband. so did our fathers, and so must we do. the law changes not, and all must submit to it!" as he spoke the friends and relations of the unhappy pair began to assemble. the body, decked in rich robes and sparkling with jewels, was laid upon an open bier, and the procession started, taking its way to a high mountain at some distance from the city, the wretched husband, clothed from head to foot in a black mantle, following mournfully. when the place of interment was reached the corpse was lowered, just as it was, into a deep pit. then the husband, bidding farewell to all his friends, stretched himself upon another bier, upon which were laid seven little loaves of bread and a pitcher of water, and he also was let down-down-down to the depths of the horrible cavern, and then a stone was laid over the opening, and the melancholy company wended its way back to the city. you may imagine that i was no unmoved spectator of these proceedings; to all the others it was a thing to which they had been accustomed from their youth up; but i was so horrified that i could not help telling the king how it struck me. "sire," i said, "i am more astonished than i can express to you at the strange custom which exists in your dominions of burying the living with the dead. in all my travels i have never before met with so cruel and horrible a law." "what would you have, sindbad?" he replied. "it is the law for everybody. i myself should be buried with the queen if she were the first to die." "but, your majesty," said i, "dare i ask if this law applies to foreigners also?" "why, yes," replied the king smiling, in what i could but consider a very heartless manner, "they are no exception to the rule if they have married in the country." when i heard this i went home much cast down, and from that time forward my mind was never easy. if only my wife's little finger ached i fancied she was going to die, and sure enough before very long she fell really ill and in a few days breathed her last. my dismay was great, for it seemed to me that to be buried alive was even a worse fate than to be devoured by cannibals, nevertheless there was no escape. the body of my wife, arrayed in her richest robes and decked with all her jewels, was laid upon the bier. i followed it, and after me came a great procession, headed by the king and all his nobles, and in this order we reached the fatal mountain, which was one of a lofty chain bordering the sea. here i made one more frantic effort to excite the pity of the king and those who stood by, hoping to save myself even at this last moment, but it was of no avail. no one spoke to me, they even appeared to hasten over their dreadful task, and i speedily found myself descending into the gloomy pit, with my seven loaves and pitcher of water beside me. almost before i reached the bottom the stone was rolled into its place above my head, and i was left to my fate. a feeble ray of light shone into the cavern through some chink, and when i had the courage to look about me i could see that i was in a vast vault, bestrewn with bones and bodies of the dead. i even fancied that i heard the expiring sighs of those who, like myself, had come into this dismal place alive. all in vain did i shriek aloud with rage and despair, reproaching myself for the love of gain and adventure which had brought me to such a pass, but at length, growing calmer, i took up my bread and water, and wrapping my face in my mantle i groped my way towards the end of the cavern, where the air was fresher. here i lived in darkness and misery until my provisions were exhausted, but just as i was nearly dead from starvation the rock was rolled away overhead and i saw that a bier was being lowered into the cavern, and that the corpse upon it was a man. in a moment my mind was made up, the woman who followed had nothing to expect but a lingering death; i should be doing her a service if i shortened her misery. therefore when she descended, already insensible from terror, i was ready armed with a huge bone, one blow from which left her dead, and i secured the bread and water which gave me a hope of life. several times did i have recourse to this desperate expedient, and i know not how long i had been a prisoner when one day i fancied that i heard something near me, which breathed loudly. turning to the place from which the sound came i dimly saw a shadowy form which fled at my movement, squeezing itself through a cranny in the wall. i pursued it as fast as i could, and found myself in a narrow crack among the rocks, along which i was just able to force my way. i followed it for what seemed to me many miles, and at last saw before me a glimmer of light which grew clearer every moment until i emerged upon the sea shore with a joy which i cannot describe. when i was sure that i was not dreaming, i realised that it was doubtless some little animal which had found its way into the cavern from the sea, and when disturbed had fled, showing me a means of escape which i could never have discovered for myself. i hastily surveyed my surroundings, and saw that i was safe from all pursuit from the town. the mountains sloped sheer down to the sea, and there was no road across them. being assured of this i returned to the cavern, and amassed a rich treasure of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and jewels of all kinds which strewed the ground. these i made up into bales, and stored them into a safe place upon the beach, and then waited hopefully for the passing of a ship. i had looked out for two days, however, before a single sail appeared, so it was with much delight that i at last saw a vessel not very far from the shore, and by waving my arms and uttering loud cries succeeded in attracting the attention of her crew. a boat was sent off to me, and in answer to the questions of the sailors as to how i came to be in such a plight, i replied that i had been shipwrecked two days before, but had managed to scramble ashore with the bales which i pointed out to them. luckily for me they believed my story, and without even looking at the place where they found me, took up my bundles, and rowed me back to the ship. once on board, i soon saw that the captain was too much occupied with the difficulties of navigation to pay much heed to me, though he generously made me welcome, and would not even accept the jewels with which i offered to pay my passage. our voyage was prosperous, and after visiting many lands, and collecting in each place great store of goodly merchandise, i found myself at last in bagdad once more with unheard of riches of every description. again i gave large sums of money to the poor, and enriched all the mosques in the city, after which i gave myself up to my friends and relations, with whom i passed my time in feasting and merriment. here sindbad paused, and all his hearers declared that the adventures of his fourth voyage had pleased them better than anything they had heard before. they then took their leave, followed by hindbad, who had once more received a hundred sequins, and with the rest had been bidden to return next day for the story of the fifth voyage. when the time came all were in their places, and when they had eaten and drunk of all that was set before them sindbad began his tale. fifth voyage not even all that i had gone through could make me contented with a quiet life. i soon wearied of its pleasures, and longed for change and adventure. therefore i set out once more, but this time in a ship of my own, which i built and fitted out at the nearest seaport. i wished to be able to call at whatever port i chose, taking my own time; but as i did not intend carrying enough goods for a full cargo, i invited several merchants of different nations to join me. we set sail with the first favourable wind, and after a long voyage upon the open seas we landed upon an unknown island which proved to be uninhabited. we determined, however, to explore it, but had not gone far when we found a roc's egg, as large as the one i had seen before and evidently very nearly hatched, for the beak of the young bird had already pierced the shell. in spite of all i could say to deter them, the merchants who were with me fell upon it with their hatchets, breaking the shell, and killing the young roc. then lighting a fire upon the ground they hacked morsels from the bird, and proceeded to roast them while i stood by aghast. scarcely had they finished their ill-omened repast, when the air above us was darkened by two mighty shadows. the captain of my ship, knowing by experience what this meant, cried out to us that the parent birds were coming, and urged us to get on board with all speed. this we did, and the sails were hoisted, but before we had made any way the rocs reached their despoiled nest and hovered about it, uttering frightful cries when they discovered the mangled remains of their young one. for a moment we lost sight of them, and were flattering ourselves that we had escaped, when they reappeared and soared into the air directly over our vessel, and we saw that each held in its claws an immense rock ready to crush us. there was a moment of breathless suspense, then one bird loosed its hold and the huge block of stone hurtled through the air, but thanks to the presence of mind of the helmsman, who turned our ship violently in another direction, it fell into the sea close beside us, cleaving it asunder till we could nearly see the bottom. we had hardly time to draw a breath of relief before the other rock fell with a mighty crash right in the midst of our luckless vessel, smashing it into a thousand fragments, and crushing, or hurling into the sea, passengers and crew. i myself went down with the rest, but had the good fortune to rise unhurt, and by holding on to a piece of driftwood with one hand and swimming with the other i kept myself afloat and was presently washed up by the tide on to an island. its shores were steep and rocky, but i scrambled up safely and threw myself down to rest upon the green turf. when i had somewhat recovered i began to examine the spot in which i found myself, and truly it seemed to me that i had reached a garden of delights. there were trees everywhere, and they were laden with flowers and fruit, while a crystal stream wandered in and out under their shadow. when night came i slept sweetly in a cosy nook, though the remembrance that i was alone in a strange land made me sometimes start up and look around me in alarm, and then i wished heartily that i had stayed at home at ease. however, the morning sunlight restored my courage, and i once more wandered among the trees, but always with some anxiety as to what i might see next. i had penetrated some distance into the island when i saw an old man bent and feeble sitting upon the river bank, and at first i took him to be some ship-wrecked mariner like myself. going up to him i greeted him in a friendly way, but he only nodded his head at me in reply. i then asked what he did there, and he made signs to me that he wished to get across the river to gather some fruit, and seemed to beg me to carry him on my back. pitying his age and feebleness, i took him up, and wading across the stream i bent down that he might more easily reach the bank, and bade him get down. but instead of allowing himself to be set upon his feet (even now it makes me laugh to think of it!), this creature who had seemed to me so decrepit leaped nimbly upon my shoulders, and hooking his legs round my neck gripped me so tightly that i was well-nigh choked, and so overcome with terror that i fell insensible to the ground. when i recovered my enemy was still in his place, though he had released his hold enough to allow me breathing space, and seeing me revive he prodded me adroitly first with one foot and then with the other, until i was forced to get up and stagger about with him under the trees while he gathered and ate the choicest fruits. this went on all day, and even at night, when i threw myself down half dead with weariness, the terrible old man held on tight to my neck, nor did he fail to greet the first glimmer of morning light by drumming upon me with his heels, until i perforce awoke and resumed my dreary march with rage and bitterness in my heart. it happened one day that i passed a tree under which lay several dry gourds, and catching one up i amused myself with scooping out its contents and pressing into it the juice of several bunches of grapes which hung from every bush. when it was full i left it propped in the fork of a tree, and a few days later, carrying the hateful old man that way, i snatched at my gourd as i passed it and had the satisfaction of a draught of excellent wine so good and refreshing that i even forgot my detestable burden, and began to sing and caper. the old monster was not slow to perceive the effect which my draught had produced and that i carried him more lightly than usual, so he stretched out his skinny hand and seizing the gourd first tasted its contents cautiously, then drained them to the very last drop. the wine was strong and the gourd capacious, so he also began to sing after a fashion, and soon i had the delight of feeling the iron grip of his goblin legs unclasp, and with one vigorous effort i threw him to the ground, from which he never moved again. i was so rejoiced to have at last got rid of this uncanny old man that i ran leaping and bounding down to the sea shore, where, by the greatest good luck, i met with some mariners who had anchored off the island to enjoy the delicious fruits, and to renew their supply of water. they heard the story of my escape with amazement, saying, "you fell into the hands of the old man of the sea, and it is a mercy that he did not strangle you as he has everyone else upon whose shoulders he has managed to perch himself. this island is well known as the scene of his evil deeds, and no merchant or sailor who lands upon it cares to stray far away from his comrades." after we had talked for a while they took me back with them on board their ship, where the captain received me kindly, and we soon set sail, and after several days reached a large and prosperous-looking town where all the houses were built of stone. here we anchored, and one of the merchants, who had been very friendly to me on the way, took me ashore with him and showed me a lodging set apart for strange merchants. he then provided me with a large sack, and pointed out to me a party of others equipped in like manner. "go with them," said he, "and do as they do, but beware of losing sight of them, for if you strayed your life would be in danger." with that he supplied me with provisions, and bade me farewell, and i set out with my new companions. i soon learnt that the object of our expedition was to fill our sacks with cocoanuts, but when at length i saw the trees and noted their immense height and the slippery smoothness of their slender trunks, i did not at all understand how we were to do it. the crowns of the cocoa-palms were all alive with monkeys, big and little, which skipped from one to the other with surprising agility, seeming to be curious about us and disturbed at our appearance, and i was at first surprised when my companions after collecting stones began to throw them at the lively creatures, which seemed to me quite harmless. but very soon i saw the reason of it and joined them heartily, for the monkeys, annoyed and wishing to pay us back in our own coin, began to tear the nuts from the trees and cast them at us with angry and spiteful gestures, so that after very little labour our sacks were filled with the fruit which we could not otherwise have obtained. as soon as we had as many as we could carry we went back to the town, where my friend bought my share and advised me to continue the same occupation until i had earned money enough to carry me to my own country. this i did, and before long had amassed a considerable sum. just then i heard that there was a trading ship ready to sail, and taking leave of my friend i went on board, carrying with me a goodly store of cocoanuts; and we sailed first to the islands where pepper grows, then to comari where the best aloes wood is found, and where men drink no wine by an unalterable law. here i exchanged my nuts for pepper and good aloes wood, and went a-fishing for pearls with some of the other merchants, and my divers were so lucky that very soon i had an immense number, and those very large and perfect. with all these treasures i came joyfully back to bagdad, where i disposed of them for large sums of money, of which i did not fail as before to give the tenth part to the poor, and after that i rested from my labours and comforted myself with all the pleasures that my riches could give me. having thus ended his story, sindbad ordered that one hundred sequins should be given to hindbad, and the guests then withdrew; but after the next day's feast he began the account of his sixth voyage as follows. sixth voyage it must be a marvel to you how, after having five times met with shipwreck and unheard of perils, i could again tempt fortune and risk fresh trouble. i am even surprised myself when i look back, but evidently it was my fate to rove, and after a year of repose i prepared to make a sixth voyage, regardless of the entreaties of my friends and relations, who did all they could to keep me at home. instead of going by the persian gulf, i travelled a considerable way overland, and finally embarked from a distant indian port with a captain who meant to make a long voyage. and truly he did so, for we fell in with stormy weather which drove us completely out of our course, so that for many days neither captain nor pilot knew where we were, nor where we were going. when they did at last discover our position we had small ground for rejoicing, for the captain, casting his turban upon the deck and tearing his beard, declared that we were in the most dangerous spot upon the whole wide sea, and had been caught by a current which was at that minute sweeping us to destruction. it was too true! in spite of all the sailors could do we were driven with frightful rapidity towards the foot of a mountain, which rose sheer out of the sea, and our vessel was dashed to pieces upon the rocks at its base, not, however, until we had managed to scramble on shore, carrying with us the most precious of our possessions. when we had done this the captain said to us: "now we are here we may as well begin to dig our graves at once, since from this fatal spot no shipwrecked mariner has ever returned." this speech discouraged us much, and we began to lament over our sad fate. the mountain formed the seaward boundary of a large island, and the narrow strip of rocky shore upon which we stood was strewn with the wreckage of a thousand gallant ships, while the bones of the luckless mariners shone white in the sunshine, and we shuddered to think how soon our own would be added to the heap. all around, too, lay vast quantities of the costliest merchandise, and treasures were heaped in every cranny of the rocks, but all these things only added to the desolation of the scene. it struck me as a very strange thing that a river of clear fresh water, which gushed out from the mountain not far from where we stood, instead of flowing into the sea as rivers generally do, turned off sharply, and flowed out of sight under a natural archway of rock, and when i went to examine it more closely i found that inside the cave the walls were thick with diamonds, and rubies, and masses of crystal, and the floor was strewn with ambergris. here, then, upon this desolate shore we abandoned ourselves to our fate, for there was no possibility of scaling the mountain, and if a ship had appeared it could only have shared our doom. the first thing our captain did was to divide equally amongst us all the food we possessed, and then the length of each man's life depended on the time he could make his portion last. i myself could live upon very little. nevertheless, by the time i had buried the last of my companions my stock of provisions was so small that i hardly thought i should live long enough to dig my own grave, which i set about doing, while i regretted bitterly the roving disposition which was always bringing me into such straits, and thought longingly of all the comfort and luxury that i had left. but luckily for me the fancy took me to stand once more beside the river where it plunged out of sight in the depths of the cavern, and as i did so an idea struck me. this river which hid itself underground doubtless emerged again at some distant spot. why should i not build a raft and trust myself to its swiftly flowing waters? if i perished before i could reach the light of day once more i should be no worse off than i was now, for death stared me in the face, while there was always the possibility that, as i was born under a lucky star, i might find myself safe and sound in some desirable land. i decided at any rate to risk it, and speedily built myself a stout raft of drift-wood with strong cords, of which enough and to spare lay strewn upon the beach. i then made up many packages of rubies, emeralds, rock crystal, ambergris, and precious stuffs, and bound them upon my raft, being careful to preserve the balance, and then i seated myself upon it, having two small oars that i had fashioned laid ready to my hand, and loosed the cord which held it to the bank. once out in the current my raft flew swiftly under the gloomy archway, and i found myself in total darkness, carried smoothly forward by the rapid river. on i went as it seemed to me for many nights and days. once the channel became so small that i had a narrow escape of being crushed against the rocky roof, and after that i took the precaution of lying flat upon my precious bales. though i only ate what was absolutely necessary to keep myself alive, the inevitable moment came when, after swallowing my last morsel of food, i began to wonder if i must after all die of hunger. then, worn out with anxiety and fatigue, i fell into a deep sleep, and when i again opened my eyes i was once more in the light of day; a beautiful country lay before me, and my raft, which was tied to the river bank, was surrounded by friendly looking black men. i rose and saluted them, and they spoke to me in return, but i could not understand a word of their language. feeling perfectly bewildered by my sudden return to life and light, i murmured to myself in arabic, "close thine eyes, and while thou sleepest heaven will change thy fortune from evil to good." one of the natives, who understood this tongue, then came forward saying: "my brother, be not surprised to see us; this is our land, and as we came to get water from the river we noticed your raft floating down it, and one of us swam out and brought you to the shore. we have waited for your awakening; tell us now whence you come and where you were going by that dangerous way?" i replied that nothing would please me better than to tell them, but that i was starving, and would fain eat something first. i was soon supplied with all i needed, and having satisfied my hunger i told them faithfully all that had befallen me. they were lost in wonder at my tale when it was interpreted to them, and said that adventures so surprising must be related to their king only by the man to whom they had happened. so, procuring a horse, they mounted me upon it, and we set out, followed by several strong men carrying my raft just as it was upon their shoulders. in this order we marched into the city of serendib, where the natives presented me to their king, whom i saluted in the indian fashion, prostrating myself at his feet and kissing the ground; but the monarch bade me rise and sit beside him, asking first what was my name. "i am sindbad," i replied, "whom men call `the sailor,' for i have voyaged much upon many seas." "and how come you here?" asked the king. i told my story, concealing nothing, and his surprise and delight were so great that he ordered my adventures to be written in letters of gold and laid up in the archives of his kingdom. presently my raft was brought in and the bales opened in his presence, and the king declared that in all his treasury there were no such rubies and emeralds as those which lay in great heaps before him. seeing that he looked at them with interest, i ventured to say that i myself and all that i had were at his disposal, but he answered me smiling: "nay, sindbad. heaven forbid that i should covet your riches; i will rather add to them, for i desire that you shall not leave my kingdom without some tokens of my good will." he then commanded his officers to provide me with a suitable lodging at his expense, and sent slaves to wait upon me and carry my raft and my bales to my new dwelling place. you may imagine that i praised his generosity and gave him grateful thanks, nor did i fail to present myself daily in his audience chamber, and for the rest of my time i amused myself in seeing all that was most worthy of attention in the city. the island of serendib being situated on the equinoctial line, the days and nights there are of equal length. the chief city is placed at the end of a beautiful valley, formed by the highest mountain in the world, which is in the middle of the island. i had the curiosity to ascend to its very summit, for this was the place to which adam was banished out of paradise. here are found rubies and many precious things, and rare plants grow abundantly, with cedar trees and cocoa palms. on the seashore and at the mouths of the rivers the divers seek for pearls, and in some valleys diamonds are plentiful. after many days i petitioned the king that i might return to my own country, to which he graciously consented. moreover, he loaded me with rich gifts, and when i went to take leave of him he entrusted me with a royal present and a letter to the commander of the faithful, our sovereign lord, saying, "i pray you give these to the caliph haroun al raschid, and assure him of my friendship." i accepted the charge respectfully, and soon embarked upon the vessel which the king himself had chosen for me. the king's letter was written in blue characters upon a rare and precious skin of yellowish colour, and these were the words of it: "the king of the indies, before whom walk a thousand elephants, who lives in a palace, of which the roof blazes with a hundred thousand rubies, and whose treasure house contains twenty thousand diamond crowns, to the caliph haroun al raschid sends greeting. though the offering we present to you is unworthy of your notice, we pray you to accept it as a mark of the esteem and friendship which we cherish for you, and of which we gladly send you this token, and we ask of you a like regard if you deem us worthy of it. adieu, brother." the present consisted of a vase carved from a single ruby, six inches high and as thick as my finger; this was filled with the choicest pearls, large, and of perfect shape and lustre; secondly, a huge snake skin, with scales as large as a sequin, which would preserve from sickness those who slept upon it. then quantities of aloes wood, camphor, and pistachio-nuts; and lastly, a beautiful slave girl, whose robes glittered with precious stones. after a long and prosperous voyage we landed at balsora, and i made haste to reach bagdad, and taking the king's letter i presented myself at the palace gate, followed by the beautiful slave, and various members of my own family, bearing the treasure. as soon as i had declared my errand i was conducted into the presence of the caliph, to whom, after i had made my obeisance, i gave the letter and the king's gift, and when he had examined them he demanded of me whether the prince of serendib was really as rich and powerful as he claimed to be. "commander of the faithful," i replied, again bowing humbly before him, "i can assure your majesty that he has in no way exaggerated his wealth and grandeur. nothing can equal the magnificence of his palace. when he goes abroad his throne is prepared upon the back of an elephant, and on either side of him ride his ministers, his favourites, and courtiers. on his elephant's neck sits an officer, his golden lance in his hand, and behind him stands another bearing a pillar of gold, at the top of which is an emerald as long as my hand. a thousand men in cloth of gold, mounted upon richly caparisoned elephants, go before him, and as the procession moves onward the officer who guides his elephant cries aloud, `behold the mighty monarch, the powerful and valiant sultan of the indies, whose palace is covered with a hundred thousand rubies, who possesses twenty thousand diamond crowns. behold a monarch greater than solomon and mihrage in all their glory!'" "then the one who stands behind the throne answers: 'this king, so great and powerful, must die, must die, must die!'" "and the first takes up the chant again, `all praise to him who lives for evermore.'" "further, my lord, in serendib no judge is needed, for to the king himself his people come for justice." the caliph was well satisfied with my report. "from the king's letter," said he, "i judged that he was a wise man. it seems that he is worthy of his people, and his people of him." so saying he dismissed me with rich presents, and i returned in peace to my own house. when sindbad had done speaking his guests withdrew, hindbad having first received a hundred sequins, but all returned next day to hear the story of the seventh voyage, sindbad thus began. seventh and last voyage after my sixth voyage i was quite determined that i would go to sea no more. i was now of an age to appreciate a quiet life, and i had run risks enough. i only wished to end my days in peace. one day, however, when i was entertaining a number of my friends, i was told that an officer of the caliph wished to speak to me, and when he was admitted he bade me follow him into the presence of haroun al raschid, which i accordingly did. after i had saluted him, the caliph said: "i have sent for you, sindbad, because i need your services. i have chosen you to bear a letter and a gift to the king of serendib in return for his message of friendship." the caliph's commandment fell upon me like a thunderbolt. "commander of the faithful," i answered, "i am ready to do all that your majesty commands, but i humbly pray you to remember that i am utterly disheartened by the unheard of sufferings i have undergone. indeed, i have made a vow never again to leave bagdad." with this i gave him a long account of some of my strangest adventures, to which he listened patiently. "i admit," said he, "that you have indeed had some extraordinary experiences, but i do not see why they should hinder you from doing as i wish. you have only to go straight to serendib and give my message, then you are free to come back and do as you will. but go you must; my honour and dignity demand it." seeing that there was no help for it, i declared myself willing to obey; and the caliph, delighted at having got his own way, gave me a thousand sequins for the expenses of the voyage. i was soon ready to start, and taking the letter and the present i embarked at balsora, and sailed quickly and safely to serendib. here, when i had disclosed my errand, i was well received, and brought into the presence of the king, who greeted me with joy. "welcome, sindbad," he cried. "i have thought of you often, and rejoice to see you once more." after thanking him for the honour that he did me, i displayed the caliph's gifts. first a bed with complete hangings all cloth of gold, which cost a thousand sequins, and another like to it of crimson stuff. fifty robes of rich embroidery, a hundred of the finest white linen from cairo, suez, cufa, and alexandria. then more beds of different fashion, and an agate vase carved with the figure of a man aiming an arrow at a lion, and finally a costly table, which had once belonged to king solomon. the king of serendib received with satisfaction the assurance of the caliph's friendliness toward him, and now my task being accomplished i was anxious to depart, but it was some time before the king would think of letting me go. at last, however, he dismissed me with many presents, and i lost no time in going on board a ship, which sailed at once, and for four days all went well. on the fifth day we had the misfortune to fall in with pirates, who seized our vessel, killing all who resisted, and making prisoners of those who were prudent enough to submit at once, of whom i was one. when they had despoiled us of all we possessed, they forced us to put on vile raiment, and sailing to a distant island there sold us for slaves. i fell into the hands of a rich merchant, who took me home with him, and clothed and fed me well, and after some days sent for me and questioned me as to what i could do. i answered that i was a rich merchant who had been captured by pirates, and therefore i knew no trade. "tell me," said he, "can you shoot with a bow?" i replied that this had been one of the pastimes of my youth, and that doubtless with practice my skill would come back to me. upon this he provided me with a bow and arrows, and mounting me with him upon his own elephant took the way to a vast forest which lay far from the town. when we had reached the wildest part of it we stopped, and my master said to me: "this forest swarms with elephants. hide yourself in this great tree, and shoot at all that pass you. when you have succeeded in killing one come and tell me." so saying he gave me a supply of food, and returned to the town, and i perched myself high up in the tree and kept watch. that night i saw nothing, but just after sunrise the next morning a large herd of elephants came crashing and trampling by. i lost no time in letting fly several arrows, and at last one of the great animals fell to the ground dead, and the others retreated, leaving me free to come down from my hiding place and run back to tell my master of my success, for which i was praised and regaled with good things. then we went back to the forest together and dug a mighty trench in which we buried the elephant i had killed, in order that when it became a skeleton my master might return and secure its tusks. for two months i hunted thus, and no day passed without my securing, an elephant. of course i did not always station myself in the same tree, but sometimes in one place, sometimes in another. one morning as i watched the coming of the elephants i was surprised to see that, instead of passing the tree i was in, as they usually did, they paused, and completely surrounded it, trumpeting horribly, and shaking the very ground with their heavy tread, and when i saw that their eyes were fixed upon me i was terrified, and my arrows dropped from my trembling hand. i had indeed good reason for my terror when, an instant later, the largest of the animals wound his trunk round the stem of my tree, and with one mighty effort tore it up by the roots, bringing me to the ground entangled in its branches. i thought now that my last hour was surely come; but the huge creature, picking me up gently enough, set me upon its back, where i clung more dead than alive, and followed by the whole herd turned and crashed off into the dense forest. it seemed to me a long time before i was once more set upon my feet by the elephant, and i stood as if in a dream watching the herd, which turned and trampled off in another direction, and were soon hidden in the dense underwood. then, recovering myself, i looked about me, and found that i was standing upon the side of a great hill, strewn as far as i could see on either hand with bones and tusks of elephants. "this then must be the elephants' burying place," i said to myself, "and they must have brought me here that i might cease to persecute them, seeing that i want nothing but their tusks, and here lie more than i could carry away in a lifetime." whereupon i turned and made for the city as fast as i could go, not seeing a single elephant by the way, which convinced me that they had retired deeper into the forest to leave the way open to the ivory hill, and i did not know how sufficiently to admire their sagacity. after a day and a night i reached my master's house, and was received by him with joyful surprise. "ah! poor sindbad," he cried, "i was wondering what could have become of you. when i went to the forest i found the tree newly uprooted, and the arrows lying beside it, and i feared i should never see you again. pray tell me how you escaped death." i soon satisfied his curiosity, and the next day we went together to the ivory hill, and he was overjoyed to find that i had told him nothing but the truth. when we had loaded our elephant with as many tusks as it could carry and were on our way back to the city, he said: "my brother--since i can no longer treat as a slave one who has enriched me thus--take your liberty and may heaven prosper you. i will no longer conceal from you that these wild elephants have killed numbers of our slaves every year. no matter what good advice we gave them, they were caught sooner or later. you alone have escaped the wiles of these animals, therefore you must be under the special protection of heaven. now through you the whole town will be enriched without further loss of life, therefore you shall not only receive your liberty, but i will also bestow a fortune upon you." to which i replied, "master, i thank you, and wish you all prosperity. for myself i only ask liberty to return to my own country." "it is well," he answered, "the monsoon will soon bring the ivory ships hither, then i will send you on your way with somewhat to pay your passage." so i stayed with him till the time of the monsoon, and every day we added to our store of ivory till all his ware-houses were overflowing with it. by this time the other merchants knew the secret, but there was enough and to spare for all. when the ships at last arrived my master himself chose the one in which i was to sail, and put on board for me a great store of choice provisions, also ivory in abundance, and all the costliest curiosities of the country, for which i could not thank him enough, and so we parted. i left the ship at the first port we came to, not feeling at ease upon the sea after all that had happened to me by reason of it, and having disposed of my ivory for much gold, and bought many rare and costly presents, i loaded my pack animals, and joined a caravan of merchants. our journey was long and tedious, but i bore it patiently, reflecting that at least i had not to fear tempests, nor pirates, nor serpents, nor any of the other perils from which i had suffered before, and at length we reached bagdad. my first care was to present myself before the caliph, and give him an account of my embassy. he assured me that my long absence had disquieted him much, but he had nevertheless hoped for the best. as to my adventure among the elephants he heard it with amazement, declaring that he could not have believed it had not my truthfulness been well known to him. by his orders this story and the others i had told him were written by his scribes in letters of gold, and laid up among his treasures. i took my leave of him, well satisfied with the honours and rewards he bestowed upon me; and since that time i have rested from my labours, and given myself up wholly to my family and my friends. thus sindbad ended the story of his seventh and last voyage, and turning to hindbad he added: "well, my friend, and what do you think now? have you ever heard of anyone who has suffered more, or had more narrow escapes than i have? is it not just that i should now enjoy a life of ease and tranquillity?" hindbad drew near, and kissing his hand respectfully, replied, "sir, you have indeed known fearful perils; my troubles have been nothing compared to yours. moreover, the generous use you make of your wealth proves that you deserve it. may you live long and happily in the enjoyment in it." sindbad then gave him a hundred sequins, and hence-forward counted him among his friends; also he caused him to give up his profession as a porter, and to eat daily at his table that he might all his life remember sindbad the sailor. the little hunchback in the kingdom of kashgar, which is, as everybody knows, situated on the frontiers of great tartary, there lived long ago a tailor and his wife who loved each other very much. one day, when the tailor was hard at work, a little hunchback came and sat at the entrance of the shop, and began to sing and play his tambourine. the tailor was amused with the antics of the fellow, and thought he would take him home to divert his wife. the hunchback having agreed to his proposal, the tailor closed his shop and they set off together. when they reached the house they found the table ready laid for supper, and in a very few minutes all three were sitting before a beautiful fish which the tailor's wife had cooked with her own hands. but unluckily, the hunchback happened to swallow a large bone, and, in spite of all the tailor and his wife could do to help him, died of suffocation in an instant. besides being very sorry for the poor man, the tailor and his wife were very much frightened on their own account, for if the police came to hear of it the worthy couple ran the risk of being thrown into prison for wilful murder. in order to prevent this dreadful calamity they both set about inventing some plan which would throw suspicion on some one else, and at last they made up their minds that they could do no better than select a jewish doctor who lived close by as the author of the crime. so the tailor picked up the hunchback by his head while his wife took his feet and carried him to the doctor's house. then they knocked at the door, which opened straight on to a steep staircase. a servant soon appeared, feeling her way down the dark staircase and inquired what they wanted. "tell your master," said the tailor, "that we have brought a very sick man for him to cure; and," he added, holding out some money, "give him this in advance, so that he may not feel he is wasting his time." the servant remounted the stairs to give the message to the doctor, and the moment she was out of sight the tailor and his wife carried the body swiftly after her, propped it up at the top of the staircase, and ran home as fast as their legs could carry them. now the doctor was so delighted at the news of a patient (for he was young, and had not many of them), that he was transported with joy. "get a light," he called to the servant, "and follow me as fast as you can!" and rushing out of his room he ran towards the staircase. there he nearly fell over the body of the hunchback, and without knowing what it was gave it such a kick that it rolled right to the bottom, and very nearly dragged the doctor after it. "a light! a light!" he cried again, and when it was brought and he saw what he had done he was almost beside himself with terror. "holy moses!" he exclaimed, "why did i not wait for the light? i have killed the sick man whom they brought me; and if the sacred ass of esdras does not come to my aid i am lost! it will not be long before i am led to jail as a murderer." agitated though he was, and with reason, the doctor did not forget to shut the house door, lest some passers-by might chance to see what had happened. he then took up the corpse and carried it into his wife's room, nearly driving her crazy with fright. "it is all over with us!" she wailed, "if we cannot find some means of getting the body out of the house. once let the sun rise and we can hide it no longer! how were you driven to commit such a terrible crime?" "never mind that," returned the doctor, "the thing is to find a way out of it." for a long while the doctor and his wife continued to turn over in their minds a way of escape, but could not find any that seemed good enough. at last the doctor gave it up altogether and resigned himself to bear the penalty of his misfortune. but his wife, who had twice his brains, suddenly exclaimed, "i have thought of something! let us carry the body on the roof of the house and lower it down the chimney of our neighbour the mussulman." now this mussulman was employed by the sultan, and furnished his table with oil and butter. part of his house was occupied by a great storeroom, where rats and mice held high revel. the doctor jumped at his wife's plan, and they took up the hunchback, and passing cords under his armpits they let him down into the purveyor's bed-room so gently that he really seemed to be leaning against the wall. when they felt he was touching the ground they drew up the cords and left him. scarcely had they got back to their own house when the purveyor entered his room. he had spent the evening at a wedding feast, and had a lantern in his hand. in the dim light it cast he was astonished to see a man standing in his chimney, but being naturally courageous he seized a stick and made straight for the supposed thief. "ah!" he cried, "so it is you, and not the rats and mice, who steal my butter. i'll take care that you don't want to come back!" so saying he struck him several hard blows. the corpse fell on the floor, but the man only redoubled his blows, till at length it occurred to him it was odd that the thief should lie so still and make no resistance. then, finding he was quite dead, a cold fear took possession of him. "wretch that i am," said he, "i have murdered a man. ah, my revenge has gone too far. without the help of allah i am undone! cursed be the goods which have led me to my ruin." and already he felt the rope round his neck. but when he had got over the first shock he began to think of some way out of the difficulty, and seizing the hunchback in his arms he carried him out into the street, and leaning him against the wall of a shop he stole back to his own house, without once looking behind him. a few minutes before the sun rose, a rich christian merchant, who supplied the palace with all sorts of necessaries, left his house, after a night of feasting, to go to the bath. though he was very drunk, he was yet sober enough to know that the dawn was at hand, and that all good mussulmen would shortly be going to prayer. so he hastened his steps lest he should meet some one on his way to the mosque, who, seeing his condition, would send him to prison as a drunkard. in his haste he jostled against the hunchback, who fell heavily upon him, and the merchant, thinking he was being attacked by a thief, knocked him down with one blow of his fist. he then called loudly for help, beating the fallen man all the while. the chief policeman of the quarter came running up, and found a christian ill-treating a mussulman. "what are you doing?" he asked indignantly. "he tried to rob me," replied the merchant, "and very nearly choked me." "well, you have had your revenge," said the man, catching hold of his arm. "come, be off with you!" as he spoke he held out his hand to the hunchback to help him up, but the hunchback never moved. "oho!" he went on, looking closer, "so this is the way a christian has the impudence to treat a mussulman!" and seizing the merchant in a firm grasp he took him to the inspector of police, who threw him into prison till the judge should be out of bed and ready to attend to his case. all this brought the merchant to his senses, but the more he thought of it the less he could understand how the hunchback could have died merely from the blows he had received. the merchant was still pondering on this subject when he was summoned before the chief of police and questioned about his crime, which he could not deny. as the hunchback was one of the sultan's private jesters, the chief of police resolved to defer sentence of death until he had consulted his master. he went to the palace to demand an audience, and told his story to the sultan, who only answered, "there is no pardon for a christian who kills a mussulman. do your duty." so the chief of police ordered a gallows to be erected, and sent criers to proclaim in every street in the city that a christian was to be hanged that day for having killed a mussulman. when all was ready the merchant was brought from prison and led to the foot of the gallows. the executioner knotted the cord firmly round the unfortunate man's neck and was just about to swing him into the air, when the sultan's purveyor dashed through the crowd, and cried, panting, to the hangman, "stop, stop, don't be in such a hurry. it was not he who did the murder, it was i." the chief of police, who was present to see that everything was in order, put several questions to the purveyor, who told him the whole story of the death of the hunchback, and how he had carried the body to the place where it had been found by the christian merchant. "you are going," he said to the chief of police, "to kill an innocent man, for it is impossible that he should have murdered a creature who was dead already. it is bad enough for me to have slain a mussulman without having it on my conscience that a christian who is guiltless should suffer through my fault." now the purveyor's speech had been made in a loud voice, and was heard by all the crowd, and even if he had wished it, the chief of police could not have escaped setting the merchant free. "loose the cords from the christian's neck," he commanded, turning to the executioner, "and hang this man in his place, seeing that by his own confession he is the murderer." the hangman did as he was bid, and was tying the cord firmly, when he was stopped by the voice of the jewish doctor beseeching him to pause, for he had something very important to say. when he had fought his way through the crowd and reached the chief of police, "worshipful sir," he began, "this mussulman whom you desire to hang is unworthy of death; i alone am guilty. last night a man and a woman who were strangers to me knocked at my door, bringing with them a patient for me to cure. the servant opened it, but having no light was hardly able to make out their faces, though she readily agreed to wake me and to hand me the fee for my services. while she was telling me her story they seem to have carried the sick man to the top of the staircase and then left him there. i jumped up in a hurry without waiting for a lantern, and in the darkness i fell against something, which tumbled headlong down the stairs and never stopped till it reached the bottom. when i examined the body i found it was quite dead, and the corpse was that of a hunchback mussulman. terrified at what we had done, my wife and i took the body on the roof and let it down the chimney of our neighbour the purveyor, whom you were just about to hang. the purveyor, finding him in his room, naturally thought he was a thief, and struck him such a blow that the man fell down and lay motionless on the floor. stooping to examine him, and finding him stone dead, the purveyor supposed that the man had died from the blow he had received; but of course this was a mistake, as you will see from my account, and i only am the murderer; and although i am innocent of any wish to commit a crime, i must suffer for it all the same, or else have the blood of two musselmans on my conscience. therefore send away this man, i pray you, and let me take his place, as it is i who am guilty." on hearing the declaration of the jewish doctor, the chief of police commanded that he should be led to the gallows, and the sultan's purveyor go free. the cord was placed round the jew's neck, and his feet had already ceased to touch the ground when the voice of the tailor was heard beseeching the executioner to pause one moment and to listen to what he had to say. "oh, my lord," he cried, turning to the chief of police, "how nearly have you caused the death of three innocent people! but if you will only have the patience to listen to my tale, you shall know who is the real culprit. if some one has to suffer, it must be me! yesterday, at dusk, i was working in my shop with a light heart when the little hunchback, who was more than half drunk, came and sat in the doorway. he sang me several songs, and then i invited him to finish the evening at my house. he accepted my invitation, and we went away together. at supper i helped him to a slice of fish, but in eating it a bone stuck in his throat, and in spite of all we could do he died in a few minutes. we felt deeply sorry for his death, but fearing lest we should be held responsible, we carried the corpse to the house of the jewish doctor. i knocked, and desired the servant to beg her master to come down as fast as possible and see a sick man whom we had brought for him to cure; and in order to hasten his movements i placed a piece of money in her hand as the doctor's fee. directly she had disappeared i dragged the body to the top of the stairs, and then hurried away with my wife back to our house. in descending the stairs the doctor accidentally knocked over the corpse, and finding him dead believed that he himself was the murderer. but now you know the truth set him free, and let me die in his stead." the chief of police and the crowd of spectators were lost in astonishment at the strange events to which the death of the hunchback had given rise. "loosen the jewish doctor," said he to the hangman, "and string up the tailor instead, since he has made confession of his crime. really, one cannot deny that this is a very singular story, and it deserves to be written in letters of gold." the executioner speedily untied the knots which confined the doctor, and was passing the cord round the neck of the tailor, when the sultan of kashgar, who had missed his jester, happened to make inquiry of his officers as to what had become of him. "sire," replied they, "the hunchback having drunk more than was good for him, escaped from the palace and was seen wandering about the town, where this morning he was found dead. a man was arrested for having caused his death, and held in custody till a gallows was erected. at the moment that he was about to suffer punishment, first one man arrived, and then another, each accusing themselves of the murder, and this went on for a long time, and at the present instant the chief of police is engaged in questioning a man who declares that he alone is the true assassin." the sultan of kashgar no sooner heard these words than he ordered an usher to go to the chief of police and to bring all the persons concerned in the hunchback's death, together with the corpse, that he wished to see once again. the usher hastened on his errand, but was only just in time, for the tailor was positively swinging in the air, when his voice fell upon the silence of the crowd, commanding the hangman to cut down the body. the hangman, recognising the usher as one of the king's servants, cut down the tailor, and the usher, seeing the man was safe, sought the chief of police and gave him the sultan's message. accordingly, the chief of police at once set out for the palace, taking with him the tailor, the doctor, the purveyor, and the merchant, who bore the dead hunchback on their shoulders. when the procession reached the palace the chief of police prostrated himself at the feet of the sultan, and related all that he knew of the matter. the sultan was so much struck by the circumstances that he ordered his private historian to write down an exact account of what had passed, so that in the years to come the miraculous escape of the four men who had thought themselves murderers might never be forgotten. the sultan asked everybody concerned in the hunchback's affair to tell him their stories. among others was a prating barber, whose tale of one of his brothers follows. the story of the barber's fifth brother as long as our father lived alnaschar was very idle. instead of working for his bread he was not ashamed to ask for it every evening, and to support himself next day on what he had received the night before. when our father died, worn out by age, he only left seven hundred silver drachmas to be divided amongst us, which made one hundred for each son. alnaschar, who had never possessed so much money in his life, was quite puzzled to know what to do with it. after reflecting upon the matter for some time he decided to lay it out on glasses, bottles, and things of that sort, which he would buy from a wholesale merchant. having bought his stock he next proceeded to look out for a small shop in a good position, where he sat down at the open door, his wares being piled up in an uncovered basket in front of him, waiting for a customer among the passers-by. in this attitude he remained seated, his eyes fixed on the basket, but his thoughts far away. unknown to himself he began to talk out loud, and a tailor, whose shop was next door to his, heard quite plainly what he was saying. "this basket," said alnaschar to himself, "has cost me a hundred drachmas--all that i possess in the world. now in selling the contents piece by piece i shall turn two hundred, and these hundreds i shall again lay out in glass, which will produce four hundred. by this means i shall in course of time make four thousand drachmas, which will easily double themselves. when i have got ten thousand i will give up the glass trade and become a jeweller, and devote all my time to trading in pearls, diamonds, and other precious stones. at last, having all the wealth that heart can desire, i will buy a beautiful country house, with horses and slaves, and then i will lead a merry life and entertain my friends. at my feasts i will send for musicians and dancers from the neighbouring town to amuse my guests. in spite of my riches i shall not, however, give up trade till i have amassed a capital of a hundred thousand drachmas, when, having become a man of much consideration, i shall request the hand of the grand-vizir's daughter, taking care to inform the worthy father that i have heard favourable reports of her beauty and wit, and that i will pay down on our wedding day thousand gold pieces. should the vizir refuse my proposal, which after all is hardly to be expected, i will seize him by the beard and drag him to my house." when i shall have married his daughter i will give her ten of the best eunuchs that can be found for her service. then i shall put on my most gorgeous robes, and mounted on a horse with a saddle of fine gold, and its trappings blazing with diamonds, followed by a train of slaves, i shall present myself at the house of the grand-vizir, the people casting down their eyes and bowing low as i pass along. at the foot of the grand-vizir's staircase i shall dismount, and while my servants stand in a row to right and left i shall ascend the stairs, at the head of which the grand-vizir will be waiting to receive me. he will then embrace me as his son-in-law, and giving me his seat will place himself below me. this being done (as i have every reason to expect), two of my servants will enter, each bearing a purse containing a thousand pieces of gold. one of these i shall present to him saying, "here are the thousand gold pieces that i offered for your daughter's hand, and here," i shall continue, holding out the second purse, "are another thousand to show you that i am a man who is better than his word." after hearing of such generosity the world will talk of nothing else. i shall return home with the same pomp as i set out, and my wife will send an officer to compliment me on my visit to her father, and i shall confer on the officer the honour of a rich dress and a handsome gift. should she send one to me i shall refuse it and dismiss the bearer. i shall never allow my wife to leave her rooms on any pretext whatever without my permission, and my visits to her will be marked by all the ceremony calculated to inspire respect. no establishment will be better ordered than mine, and i shall take care always to be dressed in a manner suitable to my position. in the evening, when we retire to our apartments, i shall sit in the place of honour, where i shall assume a grand demeanour and speak little, gazing straight before me, and when my wife, lovely as the full moon, stands humbly in front of my chair i shall pretend not to see her. then her women will say to me, "respected lord and master, your wife and slave is before you waiting to be noticed. she is mortified that you never deign to look her way; she is tired of standing so long. beg her, we pray you, to be seated." of course i shall give no signs of even hearing this speech, which will vex them mightily. they will throw themselves at my feet with lamentations, and at length i will raise my head and throw a careless glance at her, then i shall go back to my former attitude. the women will think that i am displeased at my wife's dress and will lead her away to put on a finer one, and i on my side shall replace the one i am wearing with another yet more splendid. they will then return to the charge, but this time it will take much longer before they persuade me even to look at my wife. it is as well to begin on my wedding-day as i mean to go on for the rest of our lives. the next day she will complain to her mother of the way she has been treated, which will fill my heart with joy. her mother will come to seek me, and, kissing my hands with respect, will say, "my lord" (for she could not dare to risk my anger by using the familiar title of "son-in-law"), "my lord, do not, i implore you, refuse to look upon my daughter or to approach her. she only lives to please you, and loves you with all her soul." but i shall pay no more heed to my mother-in-law's words than i did to those of the women. again she will beseech me to listen to her entreaties, throwing herself this time at my feet, but all to no purpose. then, putting a glass of wine into my wife's hand, she will say to her, "there, present that to him yourself, he cannot have the cruelty to reject anything offered by so beautiful a hand," and my wife will take it and offer it to me tremblingly with tears in her eyes, but i shall look in the other direction. this will cause her to weep still more, and she will hold out the glass crying, "adorable husband, never shall i cease my prayers till you have done me the favour to drink." sick of her importunities, these words will goad me to fury. i shall dart an angry look at her and give her a sharp blow on the cheek, at the same time giving her a kick so violent that she will stagger across the room and fall on to the sofa. "my brother," pursued the barber, "was so much absorbed in his dreams that he actually did give a kick with his foot, which unluckily hit the basket of glass. it fell into the street and was instantly broken into a thousand pieces." his neighbour the tailor, who had been listening to his visions, broke into a loud fit of laughter as he saw this sight. "wretched man!" he cried, "you ought to die of shame at behaving so to a young wife who has done nothing to you. you must be a brute for her tears and prayers not to touch your heart. if i were the grand-vizir i would order you a hundred blows from a bullock whip, and would have you led round the town accompanied by a herald who should proclaim your crimes." the accident, so fatal to all his profits, had restored my brother to his senses, and seeing that the mischief had been caused by his own insufferable pride, he rent his clothes and tore his hair, and lamented himself so loudly that the passers-by stopped to listen. it was a friday, so these were more numerous than usual. some pitied alnaschar, others only laughed at him, but the vanity which had gone to his head had disappeared with his basket of glass, and he was loudly bewailing his folly when a lady, evidently a person of consideration, rode by on a mule. she stopped and inquired what was the matter, and why the man wept. they told her that he was a poor man who had laid out all his money on this basket of glass, which was now broken. on hearing the cause of these loud wails the lady turned to her attendant and said to him, "give him whatever you have got with you." the man obeyed, and placed in my brother's hands a purse containing five hundred pieces of gold. alnaschar almost died of joy on receiving it. he blessed the lady a thousand times, and, shutting up his shop where he had no longer anything to do, he returned home. he was still absorbed in contemplating his good fortune, when a knock came to his door, and on opening it he found an old woman standing outside. "my son," she said, "i have a favour to ask of you. it is the hour of prayer and i have not yet washed myself. let me, i beg you, enter your house, and give me water." my brother, although the old woman was a stranger to him, did not hesitate to do as she wished. he gave her a vessel of water and then went back to his place and his thoughts, and with his mind busy over his last adventure, he put his gold into a long and narrow purse, which he could easily carry in his belt. during this time the old woman was busy over her prayers, and when she had finished she came and prostrated herself twice before my brother, and then rising called down endless blessings on his head. observing her shabby clothes, my brother thought that her gratitude was in reality a hint that he should give her some money to buy some new ones, so he held out two pieces of gold. the old woman started back in surprise as if she had received an insult. "good heavens!" she exclaimed, "what is the meaning of this? is it possible that you take me, my lord, for one of those miserable creatures who force their way into houses to beg for alms? take back your money. i am thankful to say i do not need it, for i belong to a beautiful lady who is very rich and gives me everything i want." my brother was not clever enough to detect that the old woman had merely refused the two pieces of money he had offered her in order to get more, but he inquired if she could procure him the pleasure of seeing this lady. "willingly," she replied; "and she will be charmed to marry you, and to make you the master of all her wealth. so pick up your money and follow me." delighted at the thought that he had found so easily both a fortune and a beautiful wife, my brother asked no more questions, but concealing his purse, with the money the lady had given him, in the folds of his dress, he set out joyfully with his guide. they walked for some distance till the old woman stopped at a large house, where she knocked. the door was opened by a young greek slave, and the old woman led my brother across a well-paved court into a well-furnished hall. here she left him to inform her mistress of his presence, and as the day was hot he flung himself on a pile of cushions and took off his heavy turban. in a few minutes there entered a lady, and my brother perceived at the first glance that she was even more beautiful and more richly dressed than he had expected. he rose from his seat, but the lady signed to him to sit down again and placed herself beside him. after the usual compliments had passed between them she said, "we are not comfortable here, let us go into another room," and passing into a smaller chamber, apparently communicating with no other, she continued to talk to him for some time. then rising hastily she left him, saying, "stay where you are, i will come back in a moment." he waited as he was told, but instead of the lady there entered a huge black slave with a sword in his hand. approaching my brother with an angry countenance he exclaimed, "what business have you here?" his voice and manner were so terrific that alnaschar had not strength to reply, and allowed his gold to be taken from him, and even sabre cuts to be inflicted on him without making any resistance. as soon as he was let go, he sank on the ground powerless to move, though he still had possession of his senses. thinking he was dead, the black ordered the greek slave to bring him some salt, and between them they rubbed it into his wounds, thus giving him acute agony, though he had the presence of mind to give no sign of life. they then left him, and their place was taken by the old woman, who dragged him to a trapdoor and threw him down into a vault filled with the bodies of murdered men. at first the violence of his fall caused him to lose consciousness, but luckily the salt which had been rubbed into his wounds had by its smarting preserved his life, and little by little he regained his strength. at the end of two days he lifted the trapdoor during the night and hid himself in the courtyard till daybreak, when he saw the old woman leave the house in search of more prey. luckily she did not observe him, and when she was out of sight he stole from this nest of assassins and took refuge in my house. i dressed his wounds and tended him carefully, and when a month had passed he was as well as ever. his one thought was how to be revenged on that wicked old hag, and for this purpose he had a purse made large enough to contain five hundred gold pieces, but filled it instead with bits of glass. this he tied round him with his sash, and, disguising himself as an old woman, he took a sabre, which he hid under his dress. one morning as he was hobbling through the streets he met his old enemy prowling to see if she could find anyone to decoy. he went up to her and, imitating the voice of a woman, he said, "do you happen to have a pair of scales you could lend me? i have just come from persia and have brought with me five hundred gold pieces, and i am anxious to see if they are the proper weight." "good woman," replied the old hag, "you could not have asked anyone better. my son is a money-changer, and if you will follow me he will weigh them for you himself. only we must be quick or he will have gone to his shop." so saying she led the way to the same house as before, and the door was opened by the same greek slave. again my brother was left in the hall, and the pretended son appeared under the form of the black slave. "miserable crone," he said to my brother, "get up and come with me," and turned to lead the way to the place of murder. alnaschar rose too, and drawing the sabre from under his dress dealt the black such a blow on his neck that his head was severed from his body. my brother picked up the head with one hand, and seizing the body with the other dragged it to the vault, when he threw it in and sent the head after it. the greek slave, supposing that all had passed as usual, shortly arrived with the basin of salt, but when she beheld alnaschar with the sabre in his hand she let the basin fall and turned to fly. my brother, however, was too quick for her, and in another instant her head was rolling from her shoulders. the noise brought the old woman running to see what was the matter, and he seized her before she had time to escape. "wretch!" he cried, "do you know me?" "who are you, my lord?" she replied trembling all over. "i have never seen you before." "i am he whose house you entered to offer your hypocritical prayers. don't you remember now?" she flung herself on her knees to implore mercy, but he cut her in four pieces. there remained only the lady, who was quite ignorant of all that was taking place around her. he sought her through the house, and when at last he found her, she nearly fainted with terror at the sight of him. she begged hard for life, which he was generous enough to give her, but he bade her to tell him how she had got into partnership with the abominable creatures he had just put to death. "i was once," replied she, "the wife of an honest merchant, and that old woman, whose wickedness i did not know, used occasionally to visit me. 'madam,' she said to me one day, 'we have a grand wedding at our house to-day. if you would do us the honour to be present, i am sure you would enjoy yourself.' i allowed myself to be persuaded, put on my richest dress, and took a purse with a hundred pieces of gold. once inside the doors i was kept by force by that dreadful black, and it is now three years that i have been here, to my great grief." "that horrible black must have amassed great wealth," remarked my brother. "such wealth," returned she, "that if you succeed in carrying it all away it will make you rich for ever. come and let us see how much there is." she led alnaschar into a chamber filled with coffers packed with gold, which he gazed at with an admiration he was powerless to conceal. "go," she said, "and bring men to carry them away." my brother did not wait to be told twice, and hurried out into the streets, where he soon collected ten men. they all came back to the house, but what was his surprise to find the door open, and the room with the chests of gold quite empty. the lady had been cleverer than himself, and had made the best use of her time. however, he tried to console himself by removing all the beautiful furniture, which more than made up for the five hundred gold pieces he had lost. unluckily, on leaving the house, he forgot to lock the door, and the neighbours, finding the place empty, informed the police, who next morning arrested alnaschar as a thief. my brother tried to bribe them to let him off, but far from listening to him they tied his hands, and forced him to walk between them to the presence of the judge. when they had explained to the official the cause of complaint, he asked alnaschar where he had obtained all the furniture that he had taken to his house the day before. "sir," replied alnaschar, "i am ready to tell you the whole story, but give, i pray you, your word, that i shall run no risk of punishment." "that i promise," said the judge. so my brother began at the beginning and related all his adventures, and how he had avenged himself on those who had betrayed him. as to the furniture, he entreated the judge at least to allow him to keep part to make up for the five hundred pieces of gold which had been stolen from him. the judge, however, would say nothing about this, and lost no time in sending men to fetch away all that alnaschar had taken from the house. when everything had been moved and placed under his roof he ordered my brother to leave the town and never more to enter it on peril of his life, fearing that if he returned he might seek justice from the caliph. alnaschar obeyed, and was on his way to a neighbouring city when he fell in with a band of robbers, who stripped him of his clothes and left him naked by the roadside. hearing of his plight, i hurried after him to console him for his misfortunes, and to dress him in my best robe. i then brought him back disguised, under cover of night, to my house, where i have since given him all the care i bestow on my other brothers. the story of the barber's sixth brother there now remains for me to relate to you the story of my sixth brother, whose name was schacabac. like the rest of us, he inherited a hundred silver drachmas from our father, which he thought was a large fortune, but through ill-luck, he soon lost it all, and was driven to beg. as he had a smooth tongue and good manners, he really did very well in his new profession, and he devoted himself specially to making friends with the servants in big houses, so as to gain access to their masters. one day he was passing a splendid mansion, with a crowd of servants lounging in the courtyard. he thought that from the appearance of the house it might yield him a rich harvest, so he entered and inquired to whom it belonged. "my good man, where do you come from?" replied the servant. "can't you see for yourself that it can belong to nobody but a barmecide?" for the barmecides were famed for their liberality and generosity. my brother, hearing this, asked the porters, of whom there were several, if they would give him alms. they did not refuse, but told him politely to go in, and speak to the master himself. my brother thanked them for their courtesy and entered the building, which was so large that it took him some time to reach the apartments of the barmecide. at last, in a room richly decorated with paintings, he saw an old man with a long white beard, sitting on a sofa, who received him with such kindness that my brother was emboldened to make his petition. "my lord," he said, "you behold in me a poor man who only lives by the help of persons as rich and as generous as you." before he could proceed further, he was stopped by the astonishment shown by the barmecide. "is it possible," he cried, "that while i am in bagdad, a man like you should be starving? that is a state of things that must at once be put an end to! never shall it be said that i have abandoned you, and i am sure that you, on your part, will never abandon me." "my lord," answered my brother, "i swear that i have not broken my fast this whole day." "what, you are dying of hunger?" exclaimed the barmecide. "here, slave; bring water, that we may wash our hands before meat!" no slave appeared, but my brother remarked that the barmecide did not fail to rub his hands as if the water had been poured over them. then he said to my brother, "why don't you wash your hands too?" and schacabac, supposing that it was a joke on the part of the barmecide (though he could see none himself), drew near, and imitated his motion. when the barmecide had done rubbing his hands, he raised his voice, and cried, "set food before us at once, we are very hungry." no food was brought, but the barmecide pretended to help himself from a dish, and carry a morsel to his mouth, saying as he did so, "eat, my friend, eat, i entreat. help yourself as freely as if you were at home! for a starving man, you seem to have a very small appetite." "excuse me, my lord," replied schacabac, imitating his gestures as before, "i really am not losing time, and i do full justice to the repast." "how do you like this bread?" asked the barmecide. "i find it particularly good myself." "oh, my lord," answered my brother, who beheld neither meat nor bread, "never have i tasted anything so delicious." "eat as much as you want," said the barmecide. "i bought the woman who makes it for five hundred pieces of gold, so that i might never be without it." after ordering a variety of dishes (which never came) to be placed on the table, and discussing the merits of each one, the barmecide declared that having dined so well, they would now proceed to take their wine. to this my brother at first objected, declaring that it was forbidden; but on the barmecide insisting that it was out of the question that he should drink by himself, he consented to take a little. the barmecide, however, pretended to fill their glasses so often, that my brother feigned that the wine had gone into his head, and struck the barmecide such a blow on the head, that he fell to the ground. indeed, he raised his hand to strike him a second time, when the barmecide cried out that he was mad, upon which my brother controlled himself, and apologised and protested that it was all the fault of the wine he had drunk. at this the barmecide, instead of being angry, began to laugh, and embraced him heartily. "i have long been seeking," he exclaimed, "a man of your description, and henceforth my house shall be yours. you have had the good grace to fall in with my humour, and to pretend to eat and to drink when nothing was there. now you shall be rewarded by a really good supper." then he clapped his hands, and all the dishes were brought that they had tasted in imagination before and during the repast, slaves sang and played on various instruments. all the while schacabac was treated by the barmecide as a familiar friend, and dressed in a garment out of his own wardrobe. twenty years passed by, and my brother was still living with the barmecide, looking after his house, and managing his affairs. at the end of that time his generous benefactor died without heirs, so all his possessions went to the prince. they even despoiled my brother of those that rightly belonged to him, and he, now as poor as he had ever been in his life, decided to cast in his lot with a caravan of pilgrims who were on their way to mecca. unluckily, the caravan was attacked and pillaged by the bedouins, and the pilgrims were taken prisoners. my brother became the slave of a man who beat him daily, hoping to drive him to offer a ransom, although, as schacabac pointed out, it was quite useless trouble, as his relations were as poor as himself. at length the bedouin grew tired of tormenting, and sent him on a camel to the top of a high barren mountain, where he left him to take his chance. a passing caravan, on its way to bagdad, told me where he was to be found, and i hurried to his rescue, and brought him in a deplorable condition back to the town. "this,"--continued the barber,--"is the tale i related to the caliph, who, when i had finished, burst into fits of laughter. "well were you called `the silent,'" said he; "no name was ever better deserved. but for reasons of my own, which it is not necessary to mention, i desire you to leave the town, and never to come back." "i had of course no choice but to obey, and travelled about for several years until i heard of the death of the caliph, when i hastily returned to bagdad, only to find that all my brothers were dead. it was at this time that i rendered to the young cripple the important service of which you have heard, and for which, as you know, he showed such profound ingratitude, that he preferred rather to leave bagdad than to run the risk of seeing me. i sought him long from place to place, but it was only to-day, when i expected it least, that i came across him, as much irritated with me as ever"-- so saying the tailor went on to relate the story of the lame man and the barber, which has already been told. "when the barber," he continued, "had finished his tale, we came to the conclusion that the young man had been right, when he had accused him of being a great chatter-box. however, we wished to keep him with us, and share our feast, and we remained at table till the hour of afternoon prayer. then the company broke up, and i went back to work in my shop. "it was during this interval that the little hunchback, half drunk already, presented himself before me, singing and playing on his drum. i took him home, to amuse my wife, and she invited him to supper. while eating some fish, a bone got into his throat, and in spite of all we could do, he died shortly. it was all so sudden that we lost our heads, and in order to divert suspicion from ourselves, we carried the body to the house of a jewish physician. he placed it in the chamber of the purveyor, and the purveyor propped it up in the street, where it was thought to have been killed by the merchant. "this, sire, is the story which i was obliged to tell to satisfy your highness. it is now for you to say if we deserve mercy or punishment; life or death?" the sultan of kashgar listened with an air of pleasure which filled the tailor and his friends with hope. "i must confess," he exclaimed, "that i am much more interested in the stories of the barber and his brothers, and of the lame man, than in that of my own jester. but before i allow you all four to return to your own homes, and have the corpse of the hunchback properly buried, i should like to see this barber who has earned your pardon. and as he is in this town, let an usher go with you at once in search of him." the usher and the tailor soon returned, bringing with them an old man who must have been at least ninety years of age. "o silent one," said the sultan, "i am told that you know many strange stories. will you tell some of them to me?" "never mind my stories for the present," replied the barber, "but will your highness graciously be pleased to explain why this jew, this christian, and this mussulman, as well as this dead body, are all here?" "what business is that of yours?" asked the sultan with a smile; but seeing that the barber had some reasons for his question, he commanded that the tale of the hunchback should be told him. "it is certainly most surprising," cried he, when he had heard it all, "but i should like to examine the body." he then knelt down, and took the head on his knees, looking at it attentively. suddenly he burst into such loud laughter that he fell right backwards, and when he had recovered himself enough to speak, he turned to the sultan. "the man is no more dead than i am," he said; "watch me." as he spoke he drew a small case of medicines from his pocket and rubbed the neck of the hunchback with some ointment made of balsam. next he opened the dead man's mouth, and by the help of a pair of pincers drew the bone from his throat. at this the hunchback sneezed, stretched himself and opened his eyes. the sultan and all those who saw this operation did not know which to admire most, the constitution of the hunchback who had apparently been dead for a whole night and most of one day, or the skill of the barber, whom everyone now began to look upon as a great man. his highness desired that the history of the hunchback should be written down, and placed in the archives beside that of the barber, so that they might be associated in people's minds to the end of time. and he did not stop there; for in order to wipe out the memory of what they had undergone, he commanded that the tailor, the doctor, the purveyor and the merchant, should each be clothed in his presence with a robe from his own wardrobe before they returned home. as for the barber, he bestowed on him a large pension, and kept him near his own person. the adventures of prince camaralzaman and the princess badoura some twenty days' sail from the coast of persia lies the isle of the children of khaledan. the island is divided into several provinces, in each of which are large flourishing towns, and the whole forms an important kingdom. it was governed in former days by a king named schahzaman, who, with good right, considered himself one of the most peaceful, prosperous, and fortunate monarchs on the earth. in fact, he had but one grievance, which was that none of his four wives had given him an heir. this distressed him so greatly that one day he confided his grief to the grand-vizir, who, being a wise counsellor, said: "such matters are indeed beyond human aid. allah alone can grant your desire, and i should advise you, sire, to send large gifts to those holy men who spend their lives in prayer, and to beg for their intercessions. who knows whether their petitions may not be answered!" the king took his vizir's advice, and the result of so many prayers for an heir to the throne was that a son was born to him the following year. schahzaman sent noble gifts as thank offerings to all the mosques and religious houses, and great rejoicings were celebrated in honour of the birth of the little prince, who was so beautiful that he was named camaralzaman, or "moon of the century." prince camaralzaman was brought up with extreme care by an excellent governor and all the cleverest teachers, and he did such credit to them that when he was grown up, a more charming and accomplished young man was not to be found. whilst he was still a youth the king, his father, who loved him dearly, had some thoughts of abdicating in his favour. as usual he talked over his plans with his grand-vizir, who, though he did not approve the idea, would not state all his objections. "sire," he replied, "the prince is still very young for the cares of state. your majesty fears his growing idle and careless, and doubtless you are right. but how would it be if he were first to marry? this would attach him to his home, and your majesty might give him a share in your counsels, so that he might gradually learn how to wear a crown, which you can give up to him whenever you find him capable of wearing it." the vizir's advice once more struck the king as being good, and he sent for his son, who lost no time in obeying the summons, and standing respectfully with downcast eyes before the king asked for his commands. "i have sent for you," said the king, "to say that i wish you to marry. what do you think about it?" the prince was so much overcome by these words that he remained silent for some time. at length he said: "sire, i beg you to pardon me if i am unable to reply as you might wish. i certainly did not expect such a proposal as i am still so young, and i confess that the idea of marrying is very distasteful to me. possibly i may not always be in this mind, but i certainly feel that it will require some time to induce me to take the step which your majesty desires." this answer greatly distressed the king, who was sincerely grieved by his objection to marriage. however he would not have recourse to extreme measures, so he said: "i do not wish to force you; i will give you time to reflect, but remember that such a step is necessary, for a prince such as you who will some day be called to rule over a great kingdom." from this time prince camaralzaman was admitted to the royal council, and the king showed him every mark of favour. at the end of a year the king took his son aside, and said: "well, my son, have you changed your mind on the subject of marriage, or do you still refuse to obey my wish?" the prince was less surprised but no less firm than on the former occasion, and begged his father not to press the subject, adding that it was quite useless to urge him any longer. this answer much distressed the king, who again confided his trouble to his vizir. "i have followed your advice," he said; "but camaralzaman declines to marry, and is more obstinate than ever." "sire," replied the vizir, "much is gained by patience, and your majesty might regret any violence. why not wait another year and then inform the prince in the midst of the assembled council that the good of the state demands his marriage? he cannot possibly refuse again before so distinguished an assemblage, and in our immediate presence." the sultan ardently desired to see his son married at once, but he yielded to the vizir's arguments and decided to wait. he then visited the prince's mother, and after telling her of his disappointment and of the further respite he had given his son, he added: "i know that camaralzaman confides more in you than he does in me. pray speak very seriously to him on this subject, and make him realize that he will most seriously displease me if he remains obstinate, and that he will certainly regret the measures i shall be obliged to take to enforce my will." so the first time the sultana fatima saw her son she told him she had heard of his refusal to marry, adding how distressed she felt that he should have vexed his father so much. she asked what reasons he could have for his objections to obey. "madam," replied the prince, "i make no doubt that there are as many good, virtuous, sweet, and amiable women as there are others very much the reverse. would that all were like you! but what revolts me is the idea of marrying a woman without knowing anything at all about her. my father will ask the hand of the daughter of some neighbouring sovereign, who will give his consent to our union. be she fair or frightful, clever or stupid, good or bad, i must marry her, and am left no choice in the matter. how am i to know that she will not be proud, passionate, contemptuous, and recklessly extravagant, or that her disposition will in any way suit mine?" "but, my son," urged fatima, "you surely do not wish to be the last of a race which has reigned so long and so gloriously over this kingdom?" "madam," said the prince, "i have no wish to survive the king, my father, but should i do so i will try to reign in such a manner as may be considered worthy of my predecessors." these and similar conversations proved to the sultan how useless it was to argue with his son, and the year elapsed without bringing any change in the prince's ideas. at length a day came when the sultan summoned him before the council, and there informed him that not only his own wishes but the good of the empire demanded his marriage, and desired him to give his answer before the assembled ministers. at this camaralzaman grew so angry and spoke with so much heat that the king, naturally irritated at being opposed by his son in full council, ordered the prince to be arrested and locked up in an old tower, where he had nothing but a very little furniture, a few books, and a single slave to wait on him. camaralzaman, pleased to be free to enjoy his books, showed himself very indifferent to his sentence. when night came he washed himself, performed his devotions, and, having read some pages of the koran, lay down on a couch, without putting out the light near him, and was soon asleep. now there was a deep well in the tower in which prince camaralzaman was imprisoned, and this well was a favourite resort of the fairy maimoune, daughter of damriat, chief of a legion of genii. towards midnight maimoune floated lightly up from the well, intending, according to her usual habit, to roam about the upper world as curiosity or accident might prompt. the light in the prince's room surprised her, and without disturbing the slave, who slept across the threshold, she entered the room, and approaching the bed was still more astonished to find it occupied. the prince lay with his face half hidden by the coverlet. maimoune lifted it a little and beheld the most beautiful youth she had ever seen. "what a marvel of beauty he must be when his eyes are open!" she thought. "what can he have done to deserve to be treated like this?" she could not weary gazing at camaralzaman, but at length, having softly kissed his brow and each cheek, she replaced the coverlet and resumed her flight through the air. as she entered the middle region she heard the sound of great wings coming towards her, and shortly met one of the race of bad genii. this genie, whose name was danhasch, recognised maimoune with terror, for he knew the supremacy which her goodness gave her over him. he would gladly have avoided her altogether, but they were so near that he must either be prepared to fight or yield to her, so he at once addressed her in a conciliatory tone: "good maimoune, swear to me by allah to do me no harm, and on my side i will promise not to injure you." "accursed genie!" replied maimoune, "what harm can you do me? but i will grant your power and give the promise you ask. and now tell me what you have seen and done to-night." "fair lady," said danhasch, "you meet me at the right moment to hear something really interesting. i must tell you that i come from the furthest end of china, which is one of the largest and most powerful kingdoms in the world. the present king has one only daughter, who is so perfectly lovely that neither you, nor i, nor any other creature could find adequate terms in which to describe her marvellous charms. you must therefore picture to yourself the most perfect features, joined to a brilliant and delicate complexion, and an enchanting expression, and even then imagination will fall short of the reality. "the king, her father, has carefully shielded this treasure from the vulgar gaze, and has taken every precaution to keep her from the sight of everyone except the happy mortal he may choose to be her husband. but in order to give her variety in her confinement he has built her seven palaces such as have never been seen before. the first palace is entirely composed of rock crystal, the second of bronze, the third of fine steel, the fourth of another and more precious species of bronze, the fifth of touchstone, the sixth of silver, and the seventh of solid gold. they are all most sumptuously furnished, whilst the gardens surrounding them are laid out with exquisite taste. in fact, neither trouble nor cost has been spared to make this retreat agreeable to the princess. the report of her wonderful beauty has spread far and wide, and many powerful kings have sent embassies to ask her hand in marriage. the king has always received these embassies graciously, but says that he will never oblige the princess to marry against her will, and as she regularly declines each fresh proposal, the envoys have had to leave as disappointed in the result of their missions as they were gratified by their magnificent receptions." "sire," said the princess to her father, "you wish me to marry, and i know you desire to please me, for which i am very grateful. but, indeed, i have no inclination to change my state, for where could i find so happy a life amidst so many beautiful and delightful surroundings? i feel that i could never be as happy with any husband as i am here, and i beg you not to press one on me." "at last an embassy came from a king so rich and powerful that the king of china felt constrained to urge this suit on his daughter. he told her how important such an alliance would be, and pressed her to consent. in fact, he pressed her so persistingly that the princess at length lost her temper and quite forgot the respect due to her father. "sire," cried she angrily, "do not speak further of this or any other marriage or i will plunge this dagger in my breast and so escape from all these importunities." "the king of china was extremely indignant with his daughter and replied: "you have lost your senses and you must be treated accordingly." so he had her shut in one set of rooms in one of her palaces, and only allowed her ten old women, of whom her nurse was the head, to wait on her and keep her company. he next sent letters to all the kings who had sued for the princess's hand, begging they would think of her no longer, as she was quite insane, and he desired his various envoys to make it known that anyone who could cure her should have her to wife. "fair maimoune," continued danhasch, "this is the present state of affairs. i never pass a day without going to gaze on this incomparable beauty, and i am sure that if you would only accompany me you would think the sight well worth the trouble, and own that you never saw such loveliness before." the fairy only answered with a peal of laughter, and when at length she had control of her voice she cried, "oh, come, you are making game of me! i thought you had something really interesting to tell me instead of raving about some unknown damsel. what would you say if you could see the prince i have just been looking at and whose beauty is really transcendent? that is something worth talking about, you would certainly quite lose your head." "charming maimoune," asked danhasch, "may i inquire who and what is the prince of whom you speak?" "know," replied maimoune, "that he is in much the same case as your princess. the king, his father, wanted to force him to marry, and on the prince's refusal to obey he has been imprisoned in an old tower where i have just seen him." "i don't like to contradict a lady," said danhasch, "but you must really permit me to doubt any mortal being as beautiful as my princess." "hold your tongue," cried maimoune. "i repeat that is impossible." "well, i don't wish to seem obstinate," replied danhasch, "the best plan to test the truth of what i say will be for you to let me take you to see the princess for yourself." "there is no need for that," retorted maimoune; "we can satisfy ourselves in another way. bring your princess here and lay her down beside my prince. we can then compare them at leisure, and decide which is in the right." danhasch readily consented, and after having the tower where the prince was confined pointed out to him, and making a wager with maimoune as to the result of the comparison, he flew off to china to fetch the princess. in an incredibly short time danhasch returned, bearing the sleeping princess. maimoune led him to the prince's room, and the rival beauty was placed beside him. when the prince and princess lay thus side by side, an animated dispute as to their respective charms arose between the fairy and the genius. danhasch began by saying: "now you see that my princess is more beautiful than your prince. can you doubt any longer?" "doubt! of course i do!" exclaimed maimoune. "why, you must be blind not to see how much my prince excels your princess. i do not deny that your princess is very handsome, but only look and you must own that i am in the right." "there is no need for me to look longer," said danhasch, "my first impression will remain the same; but of course, charming maimoune, i am ready to yield to you if you insist on it." "by no means," replied maimoune. "i have no idea of being under any obligation to an accursed genius like you. i refer the matter to an umpire, and shall expect you to submit to his verdict." danhasch readily agreed, and on maimoune striking the floor with her foot it opened, and a hideous, hump-backed, lame, squinting genius, with six horns on his head, hands like claws, emerged. as soon as he beheld maimoune he threw himself at her feet and asked her commands. "rise, caschcasch," said she. "i summoned you to judge between me and danhasch. glance at that couch, and say without any partiality whether you think the youth or the maiden lying there the more beautiful." caschcasch looked at the prince and princess with every token of surprise and admiration. at length, having gazed long without being able to come to a decision, he said "madam, i must confess that i should deceive you were i to declare one to be handsomer than the other. there seems to me only one way in which to decide the matter, and that is to wake one after the other and judge which of them expresses the greater admiration for the other." this advice pleased maimoune and danhasch, and the fairy at once transformed herself into the shape of a gnat and settling on camaralzaman's throat stung him so sharply that he awoke. as he did so his eyes fell on the princess of china. surprised at finding a lady so near him, he raised himself on one arm to look at her. the youth and beauty of the princess at once awoke a feeling to which his heart had as yet been a stranger, and he could not restrain his delight. "what loveliness! what charms! oh, my heart, my soul!" he exclaimed, as he kissed her forehead, her eyes and mouth in a way which would certainly have roused her had not the genie's enchantments kept her asleep. "how, fair lady!" he cried, "you do not wake at the signs of camaralzaman's love? be you who you may, he is not unworthy of you." it then suddenly occurred to him, that perhaps this was the bride his father had destined for him, and that the king had probably had her placed in this room in order to see how far camaralzaman's aversion to marriage would withstand her charms. "at all events," he thought, "i will take this ring as a remembrance of her." so saying he drew off a fine ring which the princess wore on her finger, and replaced it by one of his own. after which he lay down again and was soon fast asleep. then danhasch, in his turn, took the form of a gnat and bit the princess on her lip. she started up, and was not a little amazed at seeing a young man beside her. from surprise she soon passed to admiration, and then to delight on perceiving how handsome and fascinating he was. "why," cried she, "was it you my father wished me to marry? how unlucky that i did not know sooner! i should not have made him so angry. but wake up! wake up! for i know i shall love you with all my heart." so saying she shook camaralzaman so violently that nothing but the spells of maimoune could have prevented his waking. "oh!" cried the princess. "why are you so drowsy?" so saying she took his hand and noticed her own ring on his finger, which made her wonder still more. but as he still remained in a profound slumber she pressed a kiss on his cheek and soon fell fast asleep too. then maimoune turning to the genie said: "well, are you satisfied that my prince surpasses your princess? another time pray believe me when i assert anything." then turning to caschcasch: "my thanks to you, and now do you and danhasch bear the princess back to her own home." the two genii hastened to obey, and maimoune returned to her well. on waking next morning the first thing prince camaralzaman did was to look round for the lovely lady he had seen at night, and the next to question the slave who waited on him about her. but the slave persisted so strongly that he knew nothing of any lady, and still less of how she got into the tower, that the prince lost all patience, and after giving him a good beating tied a rope round him and ducked him in the well till the unfortunate man cried out that he would tell everything. then the prince drew him up all dripping wet, but the slave begged leave to change his clothes first, and as soon as the prince consented hurried off just as he was to the palace. here he found the king talking to the grand-vizir of all the anxiety his son had caused him. the slave was admitted at once and cried: "alas, sire! i bring sad news to your majesty. there can be no doubt that the prince has completely lost his senses. he declares that he saw a lady sleeping on his couch last night, and the state you see me in proves how violent contradiction makes him." he then gave a minute account of all the prince had said and done. the king, much moved, begged the vizir to examine into this new misfortune, and the latter at once went to the tower, where he found the prince quietly reading a book. after the first exchange of greetings the vizir said: "i feel really very angry with your slave for alarming his majesty by the news he brought him." "what news?" asked the prince. "ah!" replied the vizir, "something absurd, i feel sure, seeing how i find you." "most likely," said the prince; "but now that you are here i am glad of the opportunity to ask you where is the lady who slept in this room last night?" the grand-vizir felt beside himself at this question. "prince!" he exclaimed, "how would it be possible for any man, much less a woman, to enter this room at night without walking over your slave on the threshold? pray consider the matter, and you will realise that you have been deeply impressed by some dream." but the prince angrily insisted on knowing who and where the lady was, and was not to be persuaded by all the vizir's protestations to the contrary that the plot had not been one of his making. at last, losing patience, he seized the vizir by the beard and loaded him with blows. "stop, prince," cried the unhappy vizir, "stay and hear what i have to say." the prince, whose arm was getting tired, paused. "i confess, prince," said the vizir, "that there is some foundation for what you say. but you know well that a minister has to carry out his master's orders. allow me to go and to take to the king any message you may choose to send." "very well," said the prince; "then go and tell him that i consent to marry the lady whom he sent or brought here last night. be quick and bring me back his answer." the vizir bowed to the ground and hastened to leave the room and tower. "well," asked the king as soon as he appeared, "and how did you find my son?" "alas, sire," was the reply, "the slave's report is only too true!" he then gave an exact account of his interview with camaralzaman and of the prince's fury when told that it was not possible for any lady to have entered his room, and of the treatment he himself had received. the king, much distressed, determined to clear up the matter himself, and, ordering the vizir to follow him, set out to visit his son. the prince received his father with profound respect, and the king, making him sit beside him, asked him several questions, to which camaralzaman replied with much good sense. at last the king said: "my son, pray tell me about the lady who, it is said, was in your room last night." "sire," replied the prince, "pray do not increase my distress in this matter, but rather make me happy by giving her to me in marriage. however much i may have objected to matrimony formerly, the sight of this lovely girl has overcome all my prejudices, and i will gratefully receive her from your hands." the king was almost speechless on hearing his son, but after a time assured him most solemnly that he knew nothing whatever about the lady in question, and had not connived at her appearance. he then desired the prince to relate the whole story to him. camaralzaman did so at great length, showed the ring, and implored his father to help to find the bride he so ardently desired. "after all you tell me," remarked the king, "i can no longer doubt your word; but how and whence the lady came, or why she should have stayed so short a time i cannot imagine. the whole affair is indeed mysterious. come, my dear son, let us wait together for happier days." so saying the king took camaralzaman by the hand and led him back to the palace, where the prince took to his bed and gave himself up to despair, and the king shutting himself up with his son entirely neglected the affairs of state. the prime minister, who was the only person admitted, felt it his duty at last to tell the king how much the court and all the people complained of his seclusion, and how bad it was for the nation. he urged the sultan to remove with the prince to a lovely little island close by, whence he could easily attend public audiences, and where the charming scenery and fine air would do the invalid so much good as to enable him to bear his father's occasional absence. the king approved the plan, and as soon as the castle on the island could be prepared for their reception he and the prince arrived there, schahzaman never leaving his son except for the prescribed public audiences twice a week. whilst all this was happening in the capital of schahzaman the two genii had carefully borne the princess of china back to her own palace and replaced her in bed. on waking next morning she first turned from one side to another and then, finding herself alone, called loudly for her women. "tell me," she cried, "where is the young man i love so dearly, and who slept near me last night?" "princess," exclaimed the nurse, "we cannot tell what you allude to without more explanation." "why," continued the princess, "the most charming and beautiful young man lay sleeping beside me last night. i did my utmost to wake him, but in vain." "your royal highness wishes to make game of us," said the nurse. "is it your pleasure to rise?" "i am quite in earnest," persisted the princess, "and i want to know where he is." "but, princess," expostulated the nurse, "we left you quite alone last night, and we have seen no one enter your room since then." at this the princess lost all patience, and taking the nurse by her hair she boxed her ears soundly, crying out: "you shall tell me, you old witch, or i'll kill you." the nurse had no little trouble in escaping, and hurried off to the queen, to whom she related the whole story with tears in her eyes. "you see, madam," she concluded, "that the princess must be out of her mind. if only you will come and see her, you will be able to judge for yourself." the queen hurried to her daughter's apartments, and after tenderly embracing her, asked her why she had treated her nurse so badly. "madam," said the princess, "i perceive that your majesty wishes to make game of me, but i can assure you that i will never marry anyone except the charming young man whom i saw last night. you must know where he is, so pray send for him." the queen was much surprised by these words, but when she declared that she knew nothing whatever of the matter the princess lost all respect, and answered that if she were not allowed to marry as she wished she should kill herself, and it was in vain that the queen tried to pacify her and bring her to reason. the king himself came to hear the rights of the matter, but the princess only persisted in her story, and as a proof showed the ring on her finger. the king hardly knew what to make of it all, but ended by thinking that his daughter was more crazy than ever, and without further argument he had her placed in still closer confinement, with only her nurse to wait on her and a powerful guard to keep the door. then he assembled his council, and having told them the sad state of things, added: "if any of you can succeed in curing the princess, i will give her to him in marriage, and he shall be my heir." an elderly emir present, fired with the desire to possess a young and lovely wife and to rule over a great kingdom, offered to try the magic arts with which he was acquainted. "you are welcome to try," said the king, "but i make one condition, which is, that should you fail you will lose your life." the emir accepted the condition, and the king led him to the princess, who, veiling her face, remarked, "i am surprised, sire, that you should bring an unknown man into my presence." "you need not be shocked," said the king; "this is one of my emirs who asks your hand in marriage." "sire," replied the princess, "this is not the one you gave me before and whose ring i wear. permit me to say that i can accept no other." the emir, who had expected to hear the princess talk nonsense, finding how calm and reasonable she was, assured the king that he could not venture to undertake a cure, but placed his head at his majesty's disposal, on which the justly irritated monarch promptly had it cut off. this was the first of many suitors for the princess whose inability to cure her cost them their lives. now it happened that after things had been going on in this way for some time the nurse's son marzavan returned from his travels. he had been in many countries and learnt many things, including astrology. needless to say that one of the first things his mother told him was the sad condition of the princess, his foster-sister. marzavan asked if she could not manage to let him see the princess without the king's knowledge. after some consideration his mother consented, and even persuaded the eunuch on guard to make no objection to marzavan's entering the royal apartment. the princess was delighted to see her foster-brother again, and after some conversation she confided to him all her history and the cause of her imprisonment. marzavan listened with downcast eyes and the utmost attention. when she had finished speaking he said, "if what you tell me, princess, is indeed the case, i do not despair of finding comfort for you. take patience yet a little longer. i will set out at once to explore other countries, and when you hear of my return be sure that he for whom you sigh is not far off." so saying, he took his leave and started next morning on his travels. marzavan journeyed from city to city and from one island and province to another, and wherever he went he heard people talk of the strange story of the princess badoura, as the princess of china was named. after four months he reached a large populous seaport town named torf, and here he heard no more of the princess badoura but a great deal of prince camaralzaman, who was reported ill, and whose story sounded very similar to that of the princess badoura. marzavan was rejoiced, and set out at once for prince camaralzaman's residence. the ship on which he embarked had a prosperous voyage till she got within sight of the capital of king schahzaman, but when just about to enter the harbour she suddenly struck on a rock, and foundered within sight of the palace where the prince was living with his father and the grand-vizir. marzavan, who swam well, threw himself into the sea and managed to land close to the palace, where he was kindly received, and after having a change of clothing given him was brought before the grand-vizir. the vizir was at once attracted by the young man's superior air and intelligent conversation, and perceiving that he had gained much experience in the course of his travels, he said, "ah, how i wish you had learnt some secret which might enable you to cure a malady which has plunged this court into affliction for some time past!" marzavan replied that if he knew what the illness was he might possibly be able to suggest a remedy, on which the vizir related to him the whole history of prince camaralzaman. on hearing this marzavan rejoiced inwardly, for he felt sure that he had at last discovered the object of the princess badoura's infatuation. however, he said nothing, but begged to be allowed to see the prince. on entering the royal apartment the first thing which struck him was the prince himself, who lay stretched out on his bed with his eyes closed. the king sat near him, but, without paying any regard to his presence, marzavan exclaimed, "heavens! what a striking likeness!" and, indeed, there was a good deal of resemblance between the features of camaralzaman and those of the princess of china. these words caused the prince to open his eyes with languid curiosity, and marzavan seized this moment to pay him his compliments, contriving at the same time to express the condition of the princess of china in terms unintelligible, indeed, to the sultan and his vizir, but which left the prince in no doubt that his visitor could give him some welcome information. the prince begged his father to allow him the favour of a private interview with marzavan, and the king was only too pleased to find his son taking an interest in anyone or anything. as soon as they were left alone marzavan told the prince the story of the princess badoura and her sufferings, adding, "i am convinced that you alone can cure her; but before starting on so long a journey you must be well and strong, so do your best to recover as quickly as may be." these words produced a great effect on the prince, who was so much cheered by the hopes held out that he declared he felt able to get up and be dressed. the king was overjoyed at the result of marzavan's interview, and ordered public rejoicings in honour of the prince's recovery. before long the prince was quite restored to his original state of health, and as soon as he felt himself really strong he took marzavan aside and said: "now is the time to perform your promise. i am so impatient to see my beloved princess once more that i am sure i shall fall ill again if we do not start soon. the one obstacle is my father's tender care of me, for, as you may have noticed, he cannot bear me out of his sight." "prince," replied marzavan, "i have already thought over the matter, and this is what seems to me the best plan. you have not been out of doors since my arrival. ask the king's permission to go with me for two or three days' hunting, and when he has given leave order two good horses to be held ready for each of us. leave all the rest to me." next day the prince seized a favourable opportunity for making his request, and the king gladly granted it on condition that only one night should be spent out for fear of too great fatigue after such a long illness. next morning prince camaralzaman and marzavan were off betimes, attended by two grooms leading the two extra horses. they hunted a little by the way, but took care to get as far from the towns as possible. at night-fall they reached an inn, where they supped and slept till midnight. then marzavan awoke and roused the prince without disturbing anyone else. he begged the prince to give him the coat he had been wearing and to put on another which they had brought with them. they mounted their second horses, and marzavan led one of the grooms' horses by the bridle. by daybreak our travellers found themselves where four cross roads met in the middle of the forest. here marzavan begged the prince to wait for him, and leading the groom's horse into a dense part of the wood he cut its throat, dipped the prince's coat in its blood, and having rejoined the prince threw the coat on the ground where the roads parted. in answer to camaralzaman's inquiries as to the reason for this, marzavan replied that the only chance they had of continuing their journey was to divert attention by creating the idea of the prince's death. "your father will doubtless be plunged in the deepest grief," he went on, "but his joy at your return will be all the greater." the prince and his companion now continued their journey by land and sea, and as they had brought plenty of money to defray their expenses they met with no needless delays. at length they reached the capital of china, where they spent three days in a suitable lodging to recover from their fatigues. during this time marzavan had an astrologer's dress prepared for the prince. they then went to the baths, after which the prince put on the astrologer's robe and was conducted within sight of the king's palace by marzavan, who left him there and went to consult his mother, the princess's nurse. meantime the prince, according to marzavan's instructions, advanced close to the palace gates and there proclaimed aloud: "i am an astrologer and i come to restore health to the princess badoura, daughter of the high and mighty king of china, on the conditions laid down by his majesty of marrying her should i succeed, or of losing my life if i fail." it was some little time since anyone had presented himself to run the terrible risk involved in attempting to cure the princess, and a crowd soon gathered round the prince. on perceiving his youth, good looks, and distinguished bearing, everyone felt pity for him. "what are you thinking of, sir," exclaimed some; "why expose yourself to certain death? are not the heads you see exposed on the town wall sufficient warning? for mercy's sake give up this mad idea and retire whilst you can." but the prince remained firm, and only repeated his cry with greater assurance, to the horror of the crowd. "he is resolved to die!" they cried; "may heaven have pity on him!" camaralzaman now called out for the third time, and at last the grand-vizir himself came out and fetched him in. the prime minister led the prince to the king, who was much struck by the noble air of this new adventurer, and felt such pity for the fate so evidently in store for him, that he tried to persuade the young man to renounce his project. but camaralzaman politely yet firmly persisted in his intentions, and at length the king desired the eunuch who had the guard of the princess's apartments to conduct the astrologer to her presence. the eunuch led the way through long passages, and camaralzaman followed rapidly, in haste to reach the object of his desires. at last they came to a large hall which was the ante-room to the princess's chamber, and here camaralzaman said to the eunuch: "now you shall choose. shall i cure the princess in her own presence, or shall i do it from here without seeing her?" the eunuch, who had expressed many contemptuous doubts as they came along of the newcomer's powers, was much surprised and said: "if you really can cure, it is immaterial when you do it. your fame will be equally great." "very well," replied the prince: "then, impatient though i am to see the princess, i will effect the cure where i stand, the better to convince you of my power." he accordingly drew out his writing case and wrote as follows--"adorable princess! the enamoured camaralzaman has never forgotten the moment when, contemplating your sleeping beauty, he gave you his heart. as he was at that time deprived of the happiness of conversing with you, he ventured to give you his ring as a token of his love, and to take yours in exchange, which he now encloses in this letter. should you deign to return it to him he will be the happiest of mortals, if not he will cheerfully resign himself to death, seeing he does so for love of you. he awaits your reply in your ante-room." having finished this note the prince carefully enclosed the ring in it without letting the eunuch see it, and gave him the letter, saying: "take this to your mistress, my friend, and if on reading it and seeing its contents she is not instantly cured, you may call me an impudent impostor." the eunuch at once passed into the princess's room, and handing her the letter said: "madam, a new astrologer has arrived, who declares that you will be cured as soon as you have read this letter and seen what it contains." the princess took the note and opened it with languid indifference. but no sooner did she see her ring than, barely glancing at the writing, she rose hastily and with one bound reached the doorway and pushed back the hangings. here she and the prince recognised each other, and in a moment they were locked in each other's arms, where they tenderly embraced, wondering how they came to meet at last after so long a separation. the nurse, who had hastened after her charge, drew them back to the inner room, where the princess restored her ring to camaralzaman. "take it back," she said, "i could not keep it without returning yours to you, and i am resolved to wear that as long as i live." meantime the eunuch had hastened back to the king. "sire," he cried, "all the former doctors and astrologers were mere quacks. this man has cured the princess without even seeing her." he then told all to the king, who, overjoyed, hastened to his daughter's apartments, where, after embracing her, he placed her hand in that of the prince, saying: "happy stranger, i keep my promise, and give you my daughter to wife, be you who you may. but, if i am not much mistaken, your condition is above what you appear to be." the prince thanked the king in the warmest and most respectful terms, and added: "as regards my person, your majesty has rightly guessed that i am not an astrologer. it is but a disguise which i assumed in order to merit your illustrious alliance. i am myself a prince, my name is camaralzaman, and my father is schahzaman, king of the isles of the children of khaledan." he then told his whole history, including the extraordinary manner of his first seeing and loving the princess badoura. when he had finished the king exclaimed: "so remarkable a story must not be lost to posterity. it shall be inscribed in the archives of my kingdom and published everywhere abroad." the wedding took place next day amidst great pomp and rejoicings. marzavan was not forgotten, but was given a lucrative post at court, with a promise of further advancement. the prince and princess were now entirely happy, and months slipped by unconsciously in the enjoyment of each other's society. one night, however, prince camaralzaman dreamt that he saw his father lying at the point of death, and saying: "alas! my son whom i loved so tenderly, has deserted me and is now causing my death." the prince woke with such a groan as to startle the princess, who asked what was the matter. "ah!" cried the prince, "at this very moment my father is perhaps no more!" and he told his dream. the princess said but little at the time, but next morning she went to the king, and kissing his hand said: "i have a favour to ask of your majesty, and i beg you to believe that it is in no way prompted by my husband. it is that you will allow us both to visit my father-in-law king schahzaman." sorry though the king felt at the idea of parting with his daughter, he felt her request to be so reasonable that he could not refuse it, and made but one condition, which was that she should only spend one year at the court of king schahzaman, suggesting that in future the young couple should visit their respective parents alternately. the princess brought this good news to her husband, who thanked her tenderly for this fresh proof of her affection. all preparations for the journey were now pressed forwards, and when all was ready the king accompanied the travellers for some days, after which he took an affectionate leave of his daughter, and charging the prince to take every care of her, returned to his capital. the prince and princess journeyed on, and at the end of a month reached a huge meadow interspersed with clumps of big trees which cast a most pleasant shade. as the heat was great, camaralzaman thought it well to encamp in this cool spot. accordingly the tents were pitched, and the princess entering hers whilst the prince was giving his further orders, removed her girdle, which she placed beside her, and desiring her women to leave her, lay down and was soon asleep. when the camp was all in order the prince entered the tent and, seeing the princess asleep, he sat down near her without speaking. his eyes fell on the girdle which, he took up, and whilst inspecting the precious stones set in it he noticed a little pouch sewn to the girdle and fastened by a loop. he touched it and felt something hard within. curious as to what this might be, he opened the pouch and found a cornelian engraved with various figures and strange characters. "this cornelian must be something very precious," thought he, "or my wife would not wear it on her person with so much care." in truth it was a talisman which the queen of china had given her daughter, telling her it would ensure her happiness as long as she carried it about her. the better to examine the stone the prince stepped to the open doorway of the tent. as he stood there holding it in the open palm of his hand, a bird suddenly swooped down, picked the stone up in its beak and flew away with it. imagine the prince's dismay at losing a thing by which his wife evidently set such store! the bird having secured its prey flew off some yards and alighted on the ground, holding the talisman it its beak. prince camaralzaman advanced, hoping the bird would drop it, but as soon as he approached the thief fluttered on a little further still. he continued his pursuit till the bird suddenly swallowed the stone and took a longer flight than before. the prince then hoped to kill it with a stone, but the more hotly he pursued the further flew the bird. in this fashion he was led on by hill and dale through the entire day, and when night came the tiresome creature roosted on the top of a very high tree where it could rest in safety. the prince in despair at all his useless trouble began to think whether he had better return to the camp. "but," thought he, "how shall i find my way back? must i go up hill or down? i should certainly lose my way in the dark, even if my strength held out." overwhelmed by hunger, thirst, fatigue and sleep, he ended by spending the night at the foot of the tree. next morning camaralzaman woke up before the bird left its perch, and no sooner did it take flight than he followed it again with as little success as the previous day, only stopping to eat some herbs and fruit he found by the way. in this fashion he spent ten days, following the bird all day and spending the night at the foot of a tree, whilst it roosted on the topmost bough. on the eleventh day the bird and the prince reached a large town, and as soon as they were close to its walls the bird took a sudden and higher flight and was shortly completely out of sight, whilst camaralzaman felt in despair at having to give up all hopes of ever recovering the talisman of the princess badoura. much cast down, he entered the town, which was built near the sea and had a fine harbour. he walked about the streets for a long time, not knowing where to go, but at length as he walked near the seashore he found a garden door open and walked in. the gardener, a good old man, who was at work, happened to look up, and, seeing a stranger, whom he recognised by his dress as a mussulman, he told him to come in at once and to shut the door. camaralzaman did as he was bid, and inquired why this precaution was taken. "because," said the gardener, "i see that you are a stranger and a mussulman, and this town is almost entirely inhabited by idolaters, who hate and persecute all of our faith. it seems almost a miracle that has led you to this house, and i am indeed glad that you have found a place of safety." camaralzaman warmly thanked the kind old man for offering him shelter, and was about to say more, but the gardener interrupted him with: "leave compliments alone. you are weary and must be hungry. come in, eat, and rest." so saying he led the prince into his cottage, and after satisfying his hunger begged to learn the cause of his arrival. camaralzaman told him all without disguise, and ended by inquiring the shortest way to his father's capital. "for," added he, "if i tried to rejoin the princess, how should i find her after eleven days' separation. perhaps, indeed, she may be no longer alive!" at this terrible thought he burst into tears. the gardener informed camaralzaman that they were quite a year's land journey to any mahomedan country, but that there was a much shorter route by sea to the ebony island, from whence the isles of the children of khaledan could be easily reached, and that a ship sailed once a year for the ebony island by which he might get so far as his very home. "if only you had arrived a few days sooner," he said, "you might have embarked at once. as it is you must now wait till next year, but if you care to stay with me i offer you my house, such as it is, with all my heart." prince camaralzaman thought himself lucky to find some place of refuge, and gladly accepted the gardener's offer. he spent his days working in the garden, and his nights thinking of and sighing for his beloved wife. let us now see what had become during this time of the princess badoura. on first waking she was much surprised not to find the prince near her. she called her women and asked if they knew where he was, and whilst they were telling her that they had seen him enter the tent, but had not noticed his leaving it, she took up her belt and perceived that the little pouch was open and the talisman gone. she at once concluded that her husband had taken it and would shortly bring it back. she waited for him till evening rather impatiently, and wondering what could have kept him from her so long. when night came without him she felt in despair and abused the talisman and its maker roundly. in spite of her grief and anxiety however, she did not lose her presence of mind, but decided on a courageous, though very unusual step. only the princess and her women knew of camaralzaman's disappearance, for the rest of the party were sleeping or resting in their tents. fearing some treason should the truth be known, she ordered her women not to say a word which would give rise to any suspicion, and proceeded to change her dress for one of her husband's, to whom, as has been already said, she bore a strong likeness. in this disguise she looked so like the prince that when she gave orders next morning to break up the camp and continue the journey no one suspected the change. she made one of her women enter her litter, whilst she herself mounted on horseback and the march began. after a protracted journey by land and sea the princess, still under the name and disguise of prince camaralzaman, arrived at the capital of the ebony island whose king was named armanos. no sooner did the king hear that the ship which was just in port had on board the son of his old friend and ally than he hurried to meet the supposed prince, and had him and his retinue brought to the palace, where they were lodged and entertained sumptuously. after three days, finding that his guest, to whom he had taken a great fancy, talked of continuing his journey, king armanos said to him: "prince, i am now an old man, and unfortunately i have no son to whom to leave my kingdom. it has pleased heaven to give me only one daughter, who possesses such great beauty and charm that i could only give her to a prince as highly born and as accomplished as yourself. instead, therefore, of returning to your own country, take my daughter and my crown and stay with us. i shall feel that i have a worthy successor, and shall cheerfully retire from the fatigues of government." the king's offer was naturally rather embarrassing to the princess badoura. she felt that it was equally impossible to confess that she had deceived him, or to refuse the marriage on which he had set his heart; a refusal which might turn all his kindness to hatred and persecution. all things considered, she decided to accept, and after a few moments silence said with a blush, which the king attributed to modesty: "sire, i feel so great an obligation for the good opinion your majesty has expressed for my person and of the honour you do me, that, though i am quite unworthy of it, i dare not refuse. but, sire, i can only accept such an alliance if you give me your promise to assist me with your counsels." the marriage being thus arranged, the ceremony was fixed for the following day, and the princess employed the intervening time in informing the officers of her suite of what had happened, assuring them that the princess badoura had given her full consent to the marriage. she also told her women, and bade them keep her secret well. king armanos, delighted with the success of his plans, lost no time in assembling his court and council, to whom he presented his successor, and placing his future son-in-law on the throne made everyone do homage and take oaths of allegiance to the new king. at night the whole town was filled with rejoicings, and with much pomp the princess haiatelnefous (this was the name of the king's daughter) was conducted to the palace of the princess badoura. now badoura had thought much of the difficulties of her first interview with king armanos' daughter, and she felt the only thing to do was at once to take her into her confidence. accordingly, as soon as they were alone she took haiatelnefous by the hand and said: "princess, i have a secret to tell you, and must throw myself on your mercy. i am not prince camaralzaman, but a princess like yourself and his wife, and i beg you to listen to my story, then i am sure you will forgive my imposture, in consideration of my sufferings." she then related her whole history, and at its close haiatelnefous embraced her warmly, and assured her of her entire sympathy and affection. the two princesses now planned out their future action, and agreed to combine to keep up the deception and to let badoura continue to play a man's part until such time as there might be news of the real camaralzaman. whilst these things were passing in the ebony island prince camaralzaman continued to find shelter in the gardeners cottage in the town of the idolaters. early one morning the gardener said to the prince: "to-day is a public holiday, and the people of the town not only do not work themselves but forbid others to do so. you had better therefore take a good rest whilst i go to see some friends, and as the time is near for the arrival of the ship of which i told you i will make inquiries about it, and try to bespeak a passage for you." he then put on his best clothes and went out, leaving the prince, who strolled into the garden and was soon lost in thoughts of his dear wife and their sad separation. as he walked up and down he was suddenly disturbed in his reverie by the noise two large birds were making in a tree. camaralzaman stood still and looked up, and saw that the birds were fighting so savagely with beaks and claws that before long one fell dead to the ground, whilst the conqueror spread his wings and flew away. almost immediately two other larger birds, who had been watching the duel, flew up and alighted, one at the head and the other at the feet of the dead bird. they stood there some time sadly shaking their heads, and then dug up a grave with their claws in which they buried him. as soon as they had filled in the grave the two flew off, and ere long returned, bringing with them the murderer, whom they held, one by a wing and the other by a leg, with their beaks, screaming and struggling with rage and terror. but they held tight, and having brought him to his victim's grave, they proceeded to kill him, after which they tore open his body, scattered the inside and once more flew away. the prince, who had watched the whole scene with much interest, now drew near the spot where it happened, and glancing at the dead bird he noticed something red lying near which had evidently fallen out of its inside. he picked it up, and what was his surprise when he recognised the princess badoura's talisman which had been the cause of many misfortunes. it would be impossible to describe his joy; he kissed the talisman repeatedly, wrapped it up, and carefully tied it round his arm. for the first time since his separation from the princess he had a good night, and next morning he was up at day-break and went cheerfully to ask what work he should do. the gardener told him to cut down an old fruit tree which had quite died away, and camaralzaman took an axe and fell to vigorously. as he was hacking at one of the roots the axe struck on something hard. on pushing away the earth he discovered a large slab of bronze, under which was disclosed a staircase with ten steps. he went down them and found himself in a roomy kind of cave in which stood fifty large bronze jars, each with a cover on it. the prince uncovered one after another, and found them all filled with gold dust. delighted with his discovery he left the cave, replaced the slab, and having finished cutting down the tree waited for the gardener's return. the gardener had heard the night before that the ship about which he was inquiring would start ere long, but the exact date not being yet known he had been told to return next day for further information. he had gone therefore to inquire, and came back with good news beaming in his face. "my son," said he, "rejoice and hold yourself ready to start in three days' time. the ship is to set sail, and i have arranged all about your passage with the captain. "you could not bring me better news," replied camaralzaman, "and in return i have something pleasant to tell you. follow me and see the good fortune which has befallen you." he then led the gardener to the cave, and having shown him the treasure stored up there, said how happy it made him that heaven should in this way reward his kind host's many virtues and compensate him for the privations of many years. "what do you mean?" asked the gardener. "do you imagine that i should appropriate this treasure? it is yours, and i have no right whatever to it. for the last eighty years i have dug up the ground here without discovering anything. it is clear that these riches are intended for you, and they are much more needed by a prince like yourself than by an old man like me, who am near my end and require nothing. this treasure comes just at the right time, when you are about to return to your own country, where you will make good use of it." but the prince would not hear of this suggestion, and finally after much discussion they agreed to divide the gold. when this was done the gardener said: "my son, the great thing now is to arrange how you can best carry off this treasure as secretly as possible for fear of losing it. there are no olives in the ebony island, and those imported from here fetch a high price. as you know, i have a good stock of the olives which grew in this garden. now you must take fifty jars, fill each half full of gold dust and fill them up with the olives. we will then have them taken on board ship when you embark." the prince took this advice, and spent the rest of the day filling the fifty jars, and fearing lest the precious talisman might slip from his arm and be lost again, he took the precaution of putting it in one of the jars, on which he made a mark so as to be able to recognise it. when night came the jars were all ready, and the prince and his host went to bed. whether in consequence of his great age, or of the fatigues and excitement of the previous day, i do not know, but the gardener passed a very bad night. he was worse next day, and by the morning of the third day was dangerously ill. at daybreak the ship's captain and some of his sailors knocked at the garden door and asked for the passenger who was to embark. "i am he," said camaralzaman, who had opened the door. "the gardener who took my passage is ill and cannot see you, but please come in and take these jars of olives and my bag, and i will follow as soon as i have taken leave of him." the sailors did as he asked, and the captain before leaving charged camaralzaman to lose no time, as the wind was fair, and he wished to set sail at once. as soon as they were gone the prince returned to the cottage to bid farewell to his old friend, and to thank him once more for all his kindness. but the old man was at his last gasp, and had barely murmured his confession of faith when he expired. camaralzaman was obliged to stay and pay him the last offices, so having dug a grave in the garden he wrapped the kind old man up and buried him. he then locked the door, gave up the key to the owner of the garden, and hurried to the quay only to hear that the ship had sailed long ago, after waiting three hours for him. it may well be believed that the prince felt in despair at this fresh misfortune, which obliged him to spend another year in a strange and distasteful country. moreover, he had once more lost the princess badoura's talisman, which he feared he might never see again. there was nothing left for him but to hire the garden as the old man had done, and to live on in the cottage. as he could not well cultivate the garden by himself, he engaged a lad to help him, and to secure the rest of the treasure he put the remaining gold dust into fifty more jars, filling them up with olives so as to have them ready for transport. whilst the prince was settling down to this second year of toil and privation, the ship made a rapid voyage and arrived safely at the ebony island. as the palace of the new king, or rather of the princess badoura, overlooked the harbour, she saw the ship entering it and asked what vessel it was coming in so gaily decked with flags, and was told that it was a ship from the island of the idolaters which yearly brought rich merchandise. the princess, ever on the look out for any chance of news of her beloved husband, went down to the harbour attended by some officers of the court, and arrived just as the captain was landing. she sent for him and asked many questions as to his country, voyage, what passengers he had, and what his vessel was laden with. the captain answered all her questions, and said that his passengers consisted entirely of traders who brought rich stuffs from various countries, fine muslins, precious stones, musk, amber, spices, drugs, olives, and many other things. as soon as he mentioned olives, the princess, who was very partial to them, exclaimed: "i will take all you have on board. have them unloaded and we will make our bargain at once, and tell the other merchants to let me see all their best wares before showing them to other people." "sire," replied the captain, "i have on board fifty very large pots of olives. they belong to a merchant who was left behind, as in spite of waiting for him he delayed so long that i was obliged to set sail without him." "never mind," said the princess, "unload them all the same, and we will arrange the price." the captain accordingly sent his boat off to the ship and it soon returned laden with the fifty pots of olives. the princess asked what they might be worth. "sire," replied the captain, "the merchant is very poor. your majesty will not overpay him if you give him a thousand pieces of silver." "in order to satisfy him and as he is so poor," said the princess, "i will order a thousand pieces of gold to be given you, which you will be sure to remit to him." so saying she gave orders for the payment and returned to the palace, having the jars carried before her. when evening came the princess badoura retired to the inner part of the palace, and going to the apartments of the princess haiatelnefous she had the fifty jars of olives brought to her. she opened one to let her friend taste the olives and to taste them herself, but great was her surprise when, on pouring some into a dish, she found them all powdered with gold dust. "what an adventure! how extraordinary!" she cried. then she had the other jars opened, and was more and more surprised to find the olives in each jar mixed with gold dust. but when at length her talisman was discovered in one of the jars her emotion was so great that she fainted away. the princess haiatelnefous and her women hastened to restore her, and as soon as she recovered consciousness she covered the precious talisman with kisses. then, dismissing the attendants, she said to her friend: "you will have guessed, my dear, that it was the sight of this talisman which has moved me so deeply. this was the cause of my separation from my dear husband, and now, i am convinced, it will be the means of our reunion." as soon as it was light next day the princess badoura sent for the captain, and made further inquiries about the merchant who owned the olive jars she had bought. in reply the captain told her all he knew of the place where the young man lived, and how, after engaging his passage, he came to be left behind. "if that is the case," said the princess, "you must set sail at once and go back for him. he is a debtor of mine and must be brought here at once, or i will confiscate all your merchandise. i shall now give orders to have all the warehouses where your cargo is placed under the royal seal, and they will only be opened when you have brought me the man i ask for. go at once and obey my orders." the captain had no choice but to do as he was bid, so hastily provisioning his ship he started that same evening on his return voyage. when, after a rapid passage, he gained sight of the island of idolaters, he judged it better not to enter the harbour, but casting anchor at some distance he embarked at night in a small boat with six active sailors and landed near camaralzaman's cottage. the prince was not asleep, and as he lay awake moaning over all the sad events which had separated him from his wife, he thought he heard a knock at the garden door. he went to open it, and was immediately seized by the captain and sailors, who without a word of explanation forcibly bore him off to the boat, which took them back to the ship without loss of time. no sooner were they on board than they weighed anchor and set sail. camaralzaman, who had kept silence till then, now asked the captain (whom he had recognised) the reason for this abduction. "are you not a debtor of the king of the ebony island?" asked the captain. "i? why, i never even heard of him before, and never set foot in his kingdom!" was the answer. "well, you must know better than i," said the captain. "you will soon see him now, and meantime be content where you are and have patience." the return voyage was as prosperous as the former one, and though it was night when the ship entered the harbour, the captain lost no time in landing with his passenger, whom he conducted to the palace, where he begged an audience with the king. directly the princess badoura saw the prince she recognised him in spite of his shabby clothes. she longed to throw herself on his neck, but restrained herself, feeling it was better for them both that she should play her part a little longer. she therefore desired one of her officers to take care of him and to treat him well. next she ordered another officer to remove the seals from the warehouse, whilst she presented the captain with a costly diamond, and told him to keep the thousand pieces of gold paid for the olives, as she would arrange matters with the merchant himself. she then returned to her private apartments, where she told the princess haiatelnefous all that had happened, as well as her plans for the future, and begged her assistance, which her friend readily promised. next morning she ordered the prince to be taken to the bath and clothed in a manner suitable to an emir or governor of a province. he was then introduced to the council, where his good looks and grand air drew the attention of all on him. princess badoura, delighted to see him looking himself once more, turned to the other emirs, saying: "my lords, i introduce to you a new colleague, camaralzaman, whom i have known on my travels and who, i can assure you, you will find well deserves your regard and admiration." camaralzaman was much surprised at hearing the king--whom he never suspected of being a woman in disguise--asserting their acquaintance, for he felt sure he had never seen her before. however he received all the praises bestowed on him with becoming modesty, and prostrating himself, said: "sire, i cannot find words in which to thank your majesty for the great honour conferred on me. i can but assure you that i will do all in my power to prove myself worthy of it." on leaving the council the prince was conducted to a splendid house which had been prepared for him, where he found a full establishment and well-filled stables at his orders. on entering his study his steward presented him with a coffer filled with gold pieces for his current expenses. he felt more and more puzzled by such good fortune, and little guessed that the princess of china was the cause of it. after a few days the princess badoura promoted camaralzaman to the post of grand treasurer, an office which he filled with so much integrity and benevolence as to win universal esteem. he would now have thought himself the happiest of men had it not been for that separation which he never ceased to bewail. he had no clue to the mystery of his present position, for the princess, out of compliment to the old king, had taken his name, and was generally known as king armanos the younger, few people remembering that on her first arrival she went by another name. at length the princess felt that the time had come to put an end to her own and the prince's suspense, and having arranged all her plans with the princess haiatelnefous, she informed camaralzaman that she wished his advice on some important business, and, to avoid being disturbed, desired him to come to the palace that evening. the prince was punctual, and was received in the private apartment, when, having ordered her attendants to withdraw, the princess took from a small box the talisman, and, handing it to camaralzaman, said: "not long ago an astrologer gave me this talisman. as you are universally well informed, you can perhaps tell me what is its use." camaralzaman took the talisman and, holding it to the light, cried with surprise, "sire, you ask me the use of this talisman. alas! hitherto it has been only a source of misfortune to me, being the cause of my separation from the one i love best on earth. the story is so sad and strange that i am sure your majesty will be touched by it if you will permit me to tell it you." "i will hear it some other time," replied the princess. "meanwhile i fancy it is not quite unknown to me. wait here for me. i will return shortly." so saying she retired to another room, where she hastily changed her masculine attire for that of a woman, and, after putting on the girdle she wore the day they parted, returned to camaralzaman. the prince recognised her at once, and, embracing her with the utmost tenderness, cried, "ah, how can i thank the king for this delightful surprise?" "do not expect ever to see the king again," said the princess, as she wiped the tears of joy from her eyes, "in me you see the king. let us sit down, and i will tell you all about it." she then gave a full account of all her adventures since their parting, and dwelt much on the charms and noble disposition of the princess haiatelnefous, to whose friendly assistance she owed so much. when she had done she asked to hear the prince's story, and in this manner they spent most of the night. next morning the princess resumed her woman's clothes, and as soon as she was ready she desired the chief eunuch to beg king armanos to come to her apartments. when the king arrived great was his surprise at finding a strange lady in company of the grand treasurer who had no actual right to enter the private apartment. seating himself he asked for the king. "sire," said the princess, "yesterday i was the king, to-day i am only the princess of china and wife to the real prince camaralzaman, son of king schahzaman, and i trust that when your majesty shall have heard our story you will not condemn the innocent deception i have been obliged to practise." the king consented to listen, and did so with marked surprise. at the close of her narrative the princess said, "sire, as our religion allows a man to have more than one wife, i would beg your majesty to give your daughter, the princess haiatelnefous, in marriage to prince camaralzaman. i gladly yield to her the precedence and title of queen in recognition of the debt of gratitude which i owe her." king armanos heard the princess with surprise and admiration, then, turning to camaralzaman, he said, "my son, as your wife, the princess badoura (whom i have hitherto looked on as my son-in-law), consents to share your hand and affections with my daughter, i have only to ask if this marriage is agreeable to you, and if you will consent to accept the crown which the princess badoura deserves to wear all her life, but which she prefers to resign for love of you." "sire," replied camaralzaman, "i can refuse your majesty nothing." accordingly camaralzaman was duly proclaimed king, and as duly married with all pomp to the princess haiatelnefous, with whose beauty, talents, and affections he had every reason to be pleased. the two queens lived in true sisterly harmony together, and after a time each presented king camaralzaman with a son, whose births were celebrated throughout the kingdom with the utmost rejoicing. noureddin and the fair persian balsora was the capital of a kingdom long tributary to the caliph. during the time of the caliph haroun-al-raschid the king of balsora, who was his cousin, was called zinebi. not thinking one vizir enough for the administration of his estates he had two, named khacan and saouy. khacan was kind, generous, and liberal, and took pleasure in obliging, as far as in him lay, those who had business with him. throughout the entire kingdom there was no one who did not esteem and praise him as he deserved. saouy was quite a different character, and repelled everyone with whom he came in contact; he was always gloomy, and, in spite of his great riches, so miserly that he denied himself even the necessaries of life. what made him particularly detested was the great aversion he had to khacan, of whom he never ceased to speak evil to the king. one day, while the king amused himself talking with his two vizirs and other members of the council, the conversation turned on female slaves. while some declared that it sufficed for a slave to be beautiful, others, and khacan was among the number, maintained that beauty alone was not enough, but that it must be accompanied by wit, wisdom, modesty, and, if possible, knowledge. the king not only declared himself to be of this opinion, but charged khacan to procure him a slave who should fulfil all these conditions. saouy, who had been of the opposite side, and was jealous of the honour done to khacan, said, "sire, it will be very difficult to find a slave as accomplished as your majesty desires, and, if she is to be found, she will be cheap if she cost less than , gold pieces." "saouy," answered the king, "you seem to find that a very great sum. for you it may be so, but not for me." and forthwith he ordered his grand treasurer, who was present, to send , gold pieces to khacan for the purchase of the slave. as soon, then, as khacan returned home he sent for the dealers in female slaves, and charged them directly they had found such a one as he described to inform him. they promised to do their utmost, and no day passed that they did not bring a slave for his inspection but none was found without some defect. at length, early one morning, while khacan was on his way to the king's palace, a dealer, throwing himself in his way, announced eagerly that a persian merchant, arrived late the previous evening, had a slave to sell whose wit and wisdom were equal to her incomparable beauty. khacan, overjoyed at this news, gave orders that the slave should be brought for his inspection on his return from the palace. the dealer appearing at the appointed hour, khacan found the slave beautiful beyond his expectations, and immediately gave her the name of "the fair persian." being a man of great wisdom and learning, he perceived in the short conversation he had with her that he would seek in vain another slave to surpass her in any of the qualities required by the king, and therefore asked the dealer what price the merchant put upon her. "sir," was the answer, "for less than , gold pieces he will not let her go; he declares that, what with masters for her instruction, and for bodily exercises, not to speak of clothing and nourishment, he has already spent that sum upon her. she is in every way fit to be the slave of a king; she plays every musical instrument, she sings, she dances, she makes verses, in fact there is no accomplishment in which she does not excel." khacan, who was better able to judge of her merits than the dealer, wishing to bring the matter to a conclusion, sent for the merchant, and said to him, "it is not for myself that i wish to buy your slave, but for the king. her price, however, is too high." "sir," replied the merchant, "i should esteem it an honour to present her to his majesty, did it become a merchant to do such a thing. i ask no more than the sum it has cost me to make her such as she is." khacan, not wishing to bargain, immediately had the sum counted out, and given to the merchant, who before withdrawing said: "sir, as she is destined for the king, i would have you observe that she is extremely tired with the long journey, and before presenting her to his majesty you would do well to keep her a fortnight in your own house, and to see that a little care is bestowed upon her. the sun has tanned her complexion, but when she has been two or three times to the bath, and is fittingly dressed, you will see how much her beauty will be increased." khacan thanked the merchant for his advice, and determined to follow it. he gave the beautiful persian an apartment near to that of his wife, whom he charged to treat her as befitting a lady destined for the king, and to order for her the most magnificent garments. before bidding adieu to the fair persian, he said to her: "no happiness can be greater than what i have procured for you; judge for yourself, you now belong to the king. i have, however, to warn you of one thing. i have a son, who, though not wanting in sense, is young, foolish, and headstrong, and i charge you to keep him at a distance." the persian thanked him for his advice, and promised to profit by it. noureddin--for so the vizir's son was named--went freely in and out of his mother's apartments. he was young, well-made and agreeable, and had the gift of charming all with whom he came in contact. as soon as he saw the beautiful persian, though aware that she was destined for the king, he let himself be carried away by her charms, and determined at once to use every means in his power to retain her for himself. the persian was equally captivated by noureddin, and said to herself: "the vizir does me too great honour in buying me for the king. i should esteem myself very happy if he would give me to his son." noureddin availed himself of every opportunity to gaze upon her beauty, to talk and laugh with her, and never would have left her side if his mother had not forced him. some time having elapsed, on account of the long journey, since the beautiful persian had been to the bath, five or six days after her purchase the vizir's wife gave orders that the bath should be heated for her, and that her own female slaves should attend her there, and after-wards should array her in a magnificent dress that had been prepared for her. her toilet completed, the beautiful persian came to present herself to the vizir's wife, who hardly recognised her, so greatly was her beauty increased. kissing her hand, the beautiful slave said: "madam, i do not know how you find me in this dress that you have had prepared for me; your women assure me that it suits me so well that they hardly knew me. if it is the truth they tell me, and not flattery, it is to you i owe the transformation." "my daughter," answered the vizir's wife, "they do not flatter you. i myself hardly recognised you. the improvement is not due to the dress alone, but largely to the beautifying effects of the bath. i am so struck by its results, that i would try it on myself." acting forthwith on this decision she ordered two little slaves during her absence to watch over the beautiful persian, and not to allow noureddin to enter should he come. she had no sooner gone than he arrived, and not finding his mother in her apartment, would have sought her in that of the persian. the two little slaves barred the entrance, saying that his mother had given orders that he was not to be admitted. taking each by an arm, he put them out of the anteroom, and shut the door. then they rushed to the bath, informing their mistress with shrieks and tears that noureddin had driven them away by force and gone in. this news caused great consternation to the lady, who, dressing herself as quickly as possible, hastened to the apartment of the fair persian, to find that noureddin had already gone out. much astonished to see the vizir's wife enter in tears, the persian asked what misfortune had happened. "what!" exclaimed the lady, "you ask me that, knowing that my son noureddin has been alone with you?" "but, madam," inquired the persian, "what harm is there in that?" "how! has my husband not told you that you are destined for the king?" "certainly, but noureddin has just been to tell me that his father has changed his mind and has bestowed me upon him. i believed him, and so great is my affection for noureddin that i would willingly pass my life with him." "would to heaven," exclaimed the wife of the vizir, "that what you say were true; but noureddin has deceived you, and his father will sacrifice him in vengeance for the wrong he has done." so saying, she wept bitterly, and all her slaves wept with her. khacan, entering shortly after this, was much astonished to find his wife and her slaves in tears, and the beautiful persian greatly perturbed. he inquired the cause, but for some time no answer was forthcoming. when his wife was at length sufficiently calm to inform him of what had happened, his rage and mortification knew no bounds. wringing his hands and rending his beard, he exclaimed: "wretched son! thou destroyest not only thyself but thy father. the king will shed not only thy blood but mine." his wife tried to console him, saying: "do not torment thyself. with the sale of my jewels i will obtain , gold pieces, and with this sum you will buy another slave." "do not suppose," replied her husband, "that it is the loss of the money that affects me. my honour is at stake, and that is more precious to me than all my wealth. you know that saouy is my mortal enemy. he will relate all this to the king, and you will see the consequences that will ensue." "my lord," said his wife, "i am quite aware of saouy's baseness, and that he is capable of playing you this malicious trick. but how can he or any one else know what takes place in this house? even if you are suspected and the king accuses you, you have only to say that, after examining the slave, you did not find her worthy of his majesty. reassure yourself, and send to the dealers, saying that you are not satisfied, and wish them to find you another slave." this advice appearing reasonable, khacan decided to follow it, but his wrath against his son did not abate. noureddin dared not appear all that day, and fearing to take refuge with his usual associates in case his father should seek him there, he spent the day in a secluded garden where he was not known. he did not return home till after his father had gone to bed, and went out early next morning before the vizir awoke, and these precautions he kept up during an entire month. his mother, though knowing very well that he returned to the house every evening, dare not ask her husband to pardon him. at length she took courage and said: "my lord, i know that a son could not act more basely towards his father than noureddin has done towards you, but after all will you now pardon him? do you not consider the harm you may be doing yourself, and fear that malicious people, seeking the cause of your estrangement, may guess the real one?" "madam," replied the vizir, "what you say is very just, but i cannot pardon noureddin before i have mortified him as he deserves." "he will be sufficiently punished," answered the lady, "if you do as i suggest. in the evening, when he returns home, lie in wait for him and pretend that you will slay him. i will come to his aid, and while pointing out that you only yield his life at my supplications, you can force him to take the beautiful persian on any conditions you please." khacan agreed to follow this plan, and everything took place as arranged. on noureddin's return khacan pretended to be about to slay him, but yielding to his wife's intercession, said to his son: "you owe your life to your mother. i pardon you on her intercession, and on the conditions that you take the beautiful persian for your wife, and not your slave, that you never sell her, nor put her away." noureddin, not hoping for so great indulgence, thanked his father, and vowed to do as he desired. khacan was at great pains frequently to speak to the king of the difficulties attending the commission he had given him, but some whispers of what had actually taken place did reach saouy's ears. more than a year after these events the minister took a chill, leaving the bath while still heated to go out on important business. this resulted in inflammation of the lungs, which rapidly increased. the vizir, feeling that his end was at hand, sent for noureddin, and charged him with his dying breath never to part with the beautiful persian. shortly afterwards he expired, leaving universal regret throughout the kingdom; rich and poor alike followed him to the grave. noureddin showed every mark of the deepest grief at his father's death, and for long refused to see any one. at length a day came when, one of his friends being admitted, urged him strongly to be consoled, and to resume his former place in society. this advice noureddin was not slow to follow, and soon he formed little society of ten young men all about his own age, with whom he spent all his time in continual feasting and merry-making. sometimes the fair persian consented to appear at these festivities, but she disapproved of this lavish expenditure, and did not scruple to warn noureddin of the probable consequences. he, however, only laughed at her advice, saying, that his father had always kept him in too great constraint, and that now he rejoiced at his new-found liberty. what added to the confusion in his affairs was that he refused to look into his accounts with his steward, sending him away every time he appeared with his book. "see only that i live well," he said, "and do not disturb me about anything else." not only did noureddin's friends constantly partake of his hospitality, but in every way they took advantage of his generosity; everything of his that they admired, whether land, houses, baths, or any other source of his revenue, he immediately bestowed on them. in vain the persian protested against the wrong he did himself; he continued to scatter with the same lavish hand. throughout one entire year noureddin did nothing but amuse himself, and dissipate the wealth his father had taken such pains to acquire. the year had barely elapsed, when one day, as they sat at table, there came a knock at the door. the slaves having been sent away, noureddin went to open it himself. one of his friends had risen at the same time, but noureddin was before him, and finding the intruder to be the steward, he went out and closed the door. the friend, curious to hear what passed between them, hid himself behind the hangings, and heard the following words: "my lord," said the steward, "i beg a thousand pardons for interrupting you, but what i have long foreseen has taken place. nothing remains of the sums you gave me for your expenses, and all other sources of income are also at end, having been transferred by you to others. if you wish me to remain in your service, furnish me with the necessary funds, else i must withdraw." so great was noureddin's consternation that he had not a word to say in reply. the friend, who had been listening behind the curtain, immediately hastened to communicate the news to the rest of the company. "if this is so," they said, "we must cease to come here." noureddin re-entering at that moment, they plainly saw, in spite of his efforts to dissemble, that what they had heard was the truth. one by one they rose, and each with a different excuse left the room, till presently he found himself alone, though little suspecting the resolution his friends had taken. then, seeing the beautiful persian, he confided to her the statement of the steward, with many expressions of regret for his own carelessness. "had i but followed your advice, beautiful persian," he said, "all this would not have happened, but at least i have this consolation, that i have spent my fortune in the company of friends who will not desert me in an hour of need. to-morrow i will go to them, and amongst them they will lend me a sum sufficient to start in some business." accordingly next morning early noureddin went to seek his ten friends, who all lived in the same street. knocking at the door of the first and chief, the slave who opened it left him to wait in a hall while he announced his visit to his master. "noureddin!" he heard him exclaim quite audibly. "tell him, every time he calls, that i am not at home." the same thing happened at the second door, and also at the third, and so on with all the ten. noureddin, much mortified, recognised too late that he had confided in false friends, who abandoned him in his hour of need. overwhelmed with grief, he sought consolation from the beautiful persian. "alas, my lord," she said, "at last you are convinced of the truth of what i foretold. there is now no other resource left but to sell your slaves and your furniture." first then he sold the slaves, and subsisted for a time on the proceeds, after that the furniture was sold, and as much of it was valuable it sufficed for some time. finally this resource also came to an end, and again he sought counsel from the beautiful persian. "my lord," she said, "i know that the late vizir, your father, bought me for , gold pieces, and though i have diminished in value since, i should still fetch a large sum. do not therefore hesitate to sell me, and with the money you obtain go and establish yourself in business in some distant town." "charming persian," answered noureddin, "how could i be guilty of such baseness? i would die rather than part from you whom i love better than my life." "my lord," she replied, "i am well aware of your love for me, which is only equalled by mine for you, but a cruel necessity obliges us to seek the only remedy." noureddin, convinced at length of the truth of her words, yielded, and reluctantly led her to the slave market, where, showing her to a dealer named hagi hassan, he inquired her value. taking them into a room apart, hagi hassan exclaimed as soon as she had unveiled, "my lord, is not this the slave your father bought for , pieces?" on learning that it was so, he promised to obtain the highest possible price for her. leaving the beautiful persian shut up in the room alone, he went out to seek the slave merchants, announcing to them that he had found the pearl among slaves, and asking them to come and put a value upon her. as soon as they saw her they agreed that less than , gold pieces could not be asked. hagi hassan, then closing the door upon her, began to offer her for sale--calling out: "who will bid , gold pieces for the persian slave?" before any of the merchants had bid, saouy happened to pass that way, and judging that it must be a slave of extraordinary beauty, rode up to hagi hassan and desired to see her. now it was not the custom to show a slave to a private bidder, but as no one dared to disobey the vizir his request was granted. as soon as saouy saw the persian he was so struck by her beauty, that he immediately wished to possess her, and not knowing that she belonged to noureddin, he desired hagi hassan to send for the owner and to conclude the bargain at once. hagi hassan then sought noureddin, and told him that his slave was going far below her value, and that if saouy bought her he was capable of not paying the money. "what you must do," he said, "is to pretend that you had no real intention of selling your slave, and only swore you would in a fit of anger against her. when i present her to saouy as if with your consent you must step in, and with blows begin to lead her away." noureddin did as hagi hassan advised, to the great wrath of saouy, who riding straight at him endeavoured to take the beautiful persian from him by force. noureddin letting her go, seized saouy's horse by the bridle, and, encouraged by the applause of the bystanders, dragged him to the ground, beat him severely, and left him in the gutter streaming with blood. then, taking the beautiful persian, he returned home amidst the acclamations of the people, who detested saouy so much that they would neither interfere in his behalf nor allow his slaves to protect him. covered from head to foot with mire and streaming with blood he rose, and leaning on two of his slaves went straight to the palace, where he demanded an audience of the king, to whom he related what had taken place in these words: "may it please your majesty, i had gone to the slave market to buy myself a cook. while there i heard a slave being offered for , pieces. asking to see her, i found she was of incomparable beauty, and was being sold by noureddin, the son of your late vizir, to whom your majesty will remember giving a sum of , gold pieces for the purchase of a slave. this is the identical slave, whom instead of bringing to your majesty he gave to his own son. since the death of his father this noureddin has run through his entire fortune, has sold all his possessions, and is now reduced to selling the slave. calling him to me, i said: "noureddin, i will give you , gold pieces for your slave, whom i will present to the king. i will interest him at the same time in your behalf, and this will be worth much more to you than what extra money you might obtain from the merchants." "bad old man," he exclaimed, "rather than sell my slave to you i would give her to a jew." "but, noureddin," i remonstrated, "you do not consider that in speaking thus you wrong the king, to whom your father owed everything." this remonstrance only irritated him the more. throwing himself on me like a madman, he tore me from my horse, beat me to his heart's content, and left me in the state your majesty sees." so saying saouy turned aside his head and wept bitterly. the king's wrath was kindled against noureddin. he ordered the captain of the guard to take with him forty men, to pillage noureddin's house, to rase it to the ground, and to bring noureddin and the slave to him. a doorkeeper, named sangiar, who had been a slave of khacan's, hearing this order given, slipped out of the king's apartment, and hastened to warn noureddin to take flight instantly with the beautiful persian. then, presenting him with forty gold pieces, he disappeared before noureddin had time to thank him. as soon, then, as the fair persian had put on her veil they fled together, and had the good fortune to get out of the town without being observed. at the mouth of the euphrates they found a ship just about to start for bagdad. they embarked, and immediately the anchor was raised and they set sail. when the captain of the guard reached noureddin's house he caused his soldiers to burst open the door and to enter by force, but no trace was to be found of noureddin and his slave, nor could the neighbours give any information about them. when the king heard that they had escaped, he issued a proclamation that a reward of , gold pieces would be given to whoever would bring him noureddin and the slave, but that, on the contrary, whoever hid them would be severely punished. meanwhile noureddin and the fair persian had safely reached bagdad. when the vessel had come to an anchor they paid five gold pieces for their passage and went ashore. never having been in bagdad before, they did not know where to seek a lodging. wandering along the banks of the tigris, they skirted a garden enclosed by a high wall. the gate was shut, but in front of it was an open vestibule with a sofa on either side. "here," said noureddin, "let us pass the night," and reclining on the sofas they soon fell asleep. now this garden belonged to the caliph. in the middle of it was a vast pavilion, whose superb saloon had eighty windows, each window having a lustre, lit solely when the caliph spent the evening there. only the door-keeper lived there, an old soldier named scheih ibrahim, who had strict orders to be very careful whom he admitted, and never to allow any one to sit on the sofas by the door. it happened that evening that he had gone out on an errand. when he came back and saw two persons asleep on the sofas he was about to drive them out with blows, but drawing nearer he perceived that they were a handsome young man and beautiful young woman, and decided to awake them by gentler means. noureddin, on being awoke, told the old man that they were strangers, and merely wished to pass the night there. "come with me," said scheih ibrahim, "i will lodge you better, and will show you a magnificent garden belonging to me." so saying the doorkeeper led the way into the caliph's garden, the beauties of which filled them with wonder and amazement. noureddin took out two gold pieces, and giving them to scheih ibrahim said, "i beg you to get us something to eat that we may make merry together." being very avaricious, scheih ibrahim determined to spend only the tenth part of the money and to keep the rest to himself. while he was gone noureddin and the persian wandered through the gardens and went up the white marble staircase of the pavilion as far as the locked door of the saloon. on the return of scheih ibrahim they begged him to open it, and to allow them to enter and admire the magnificence within. consenting, he brought not only the key, but a light, and immediately unlocked the door. noureddin and the persian entering, were dazzled with the magnificence they beheld. the paintings and furniture were of astonishing beauty, and between each window was a silver arm holding a candle. scheih ibrahim spread the table in front of a sofa, and all three ate together. when they had finished eating noureddin asked the old man to bring them a bottle of wine. "heaven forbid," said scheih ibrahim, "that i should come in contact with wine! i who have four times made the pilgrimage to mecca, and have renounced wine for ever." "you would, however, do us a great service in procuring us some," said noureddin. "you need not touch it yourself. take the ass which is tied to the gate, lead it to the nearest wine-shop, and ask some passer-by to order two jars of wine; have them put in the ass's panniers, and drive him before you. here are two pieces of gold for the expenses." at sight of the gold, scheih ibrahim set off at once to execute the commission. on his return, noureddin said: "we have still need of cups to drink from, and of fruit, if you can procure us some." scheih ibrahim disappeared again, and soon returned with a table spread with cups of gold and silver, and every sort of beautiful fruit. then he withdrew, in spite of repeated invitations to remain. noureddin and the beautiful persian, finding the wine excellent, drank of it freely, and while drinking they sang. both had fine voices, and scheih ibrahim listened to them with great pleasure--first from a distance, then he drew nearer, and finally put his head in at the door. noureddin, seeing him, called to him to come in and keep them company. at first the old man declined, but was persuaded to enter the room, to sit down on the edge of the sofa nearest the door, and at last to draw closer and to seat himself by the beautiful persian, who urged him so persistently to drink her health that at length he yielded, and took the cup she offered. now the old man only made a pretence of renouncing wine; he frequented wine-shops like other people, and had taken none of the precautions noureddin had proposed. having once yielded, he was easily persuaded to take a second cup, and a third, and so on till he no longer knew what he was doing. till near midnight they continued drinking, laughing, and singing together. about that time the persian, perceiving that the room was lit by only one miserable tallow candle, asked scheih ibrahim to light some of the beautiful candles in the silver arms. "light them yourself," answered the old man; "you are younger than i, but let five or six be enough." she did not stop, however, till she had lit all the eighty, but scheih ibrahim was not conscious of this, and when, soon after that, noureddin proposed to have some of the lustres lit, he answered: "you are more capable of lighting them than i, but not more than three." noureddin, far from contenting himself with three, lit all, and opened all the eighty windows. the caliph haroun-al-raschid, chancing at that moment to open a window in the saloon of his palace looking on the garden, was surprised to see the pavilion brilliantly illuminated. calling the grand-vizir, giafar, he said to him: "negligent vizir, look at the pavilion, and tell me why it is lit up when i am not there." when the vizir saw that it was as the caliph said, he trembled with fear, and immediately invented an excuse. "commander of the faithful," he said, "i must tell you that four or five days ago scheih ibrahim told me that he wished to have an assembly of the ministers of his mosque, and asked permission to hold it in the pavilion. i granted his request, but forgot since to mention it to your majesty." "giafar," replied the caliph, "you have committed three faults--first, in giving the permission; second, in not mentioning it to me; and third, in not investigating the matter more closely. for punishment i condemn you to spend the rest of the night with me in company of these worthy people. while i dress myself as a citizen, go and disguise yourself, and then come with me." when they reached the garden gate they found it open, to the great indignation of the caliph. the door of the pavilion being also open, he went softly upstairs, and looked in at the half-closed door of the saloon. great was his surprise to see scheih ibrahim, whose sobriety he had never doubted, drinking and singing with a young man and a beautiful lady. the caliph, before giving way to his anger, determined to watch and see who the people were and what they did. presently scheih ibrahim asked the beautiful persian if anything were wanting to complete her enjoyment of the evening. "if only," she said, "i had an instrument upon which i might play." scheih ibrahim immediately took a lute from a cup-board and gave it to the persian, who began to play on it, singing the while with such skill and taste that the caliph was enchanted. when she ceased he went softly downstairs and said to the vizir: "never have i heard a finer voice, nor the lute better played. i am determined to go in and make her play to me." "commander of the faithful," said the vizir, "if scheih ibrahim recognises you he will die of fright." "i should be sorry for that," answered the caliph, "and i am going to take steps to prevent it. wait here till i return." now the caliph had caused a bend in the river to form a lake in his garden. there the finest fish in the tigris were to be found, but fishing was strictly forbidden. it happened that night, however, that a fisherman had taken advantage of the gate being open to go in and cast his nets. he was just about to draw them when he saw the caliph approaching. recognising him at once in spite of his disguise, he threw himself at his feet imploring forgiveness. "fear nothing," said the caliph, "only rise up and draw thy nets." the fisherman did as he was told, and produced five or six fine fish, of which the caliph took the two largest. then he desired the fisherman to change clothes with him, and in a few minutes the caliph was transformed into a fisherman, even to the shoes and the turban. taking the two fish in his hand, he returned to the vizir, who, not recognising him, would have sent him about his business. leaving the vizir at the foot of the stairs, the caliph went up and knocked at the door of the saloon. noureddin opened it, and the caliph, standing on the threshold, said: "scheih ibrahim, i am the fisher kerim. seeing that you are feasting with your friends, i bring you these fish." noureddin and the persian said that when the fishes were properly cooked and dressed they would gladly eat of them. the caliph then returned to the vizir, and they set to work in scheih ibrahim's house to cook the fish, of which they made so tempting a dish that noureddin and the fair persian ate of it with great relish. when they had finished noureddin took thirty gold pieces (all that remained of what sangiar had given him) and presented them to the caliph, who, thanking him, asked as a further favour if the lady would play him one piece on the lute. the persian gladly consented, and sang and played so as to delight the caliph. noureddin, in the habit of giving to others whatever they admired, said, "fisherman, as she pleases you so much, take her; she is yours." the fair persian, astounded that he should wish to part from her, took her lute, and with tears in her eyes sang her reproaches to its music. the caliph (still in the character of fisherman) said to him, "sir, i perceive that this fair lady is your slave. oblige me, i beg you, by relating your history." noureddin willingly granted this request, and recounted everything from the purchase of the slave down to the present moment. "and where do you go now?" asked the caliph. "wherever the hand of allah leads me," said noureddin. "then, if you will listen to me," said the caliph, "you will immediately return to balsora. i will give you a letter to the king, which will ensure you a good reception from him." "it is an unheard-of thing," said noureddin, "that a fisherman should be in correspondence with a king." "let not that astonish you," answered the caliph; "we studied together, and have always remained the best of friends, though fortune, while making him a king, left me a humble fisherman." the caliph then took a sheet of paper, and wrote the following letter, at the top of which he put in very small characters this formula to show that he must be implicitly obeyed:--"in the name of the most merciful god. "letter of the caliph haroun-al-raschid to the king of balsora. "haroun-al-raschid, son of mahdi, sends this letter to mohammed zinebi, his cousin. as soon as noureddin, son of the vizir khacan, bearer of this letter, has given it to thee, and thou hast read it, take off thy royal mantle, put it on his shoulders, and seat him in thy place without fail. farewell." the caliph then gave this letter to noureddin, who immediately set off, with only what little money he possessed when sangiar came to his assistance. the beautiful persian, inconsolable at his departure, sank on a sofa bathed in tears. when noureddin had left the room, scheih ibrahim, who had hitherto kept silence, said: "kerim, for two miserable fish thou hast received a purse and a slave. i tell thee i will take the slave, and as to the purse, if it contains silver thou mayst keep one piece, if gold then i will take all and give thee what copper pieces i have in my purse." now here it must be related that when the caliph went upstairs with the plate of fish he ordered the vizir to hasten to the palace and bring back four slaves bearing a change of raiment, who should wait outside the pavilion till the caliph should clap his hands. still personating the fisherman, the caliph answered: "scheih ibrahim, whatever is in the purse i will share equally with you, but as to the slave i will keep her for myself. if you do not agree to these conditions you shall have nothing." the old man, furious at this insolence as he considered it, took a cup and threw it at the caliph, who easily avoided a missile from the hand of a drunken man. it hit against the wall, and broke into a thousand pieces. scheih ibrahim, still more enraged, then went out to fetch a stick. the caliph at that moment clapped his hands, and the vizir and the four slaves entering took off the fisherman's dress and put on him that which they had brought. when scheih ibrahim returned, a thick stick in his hand, the caliph was seated on his throne, and nothing remained of the fisherman but his clothes in the middle of the room. throwing himself on the ground at the caliph's feet, he said: "commander of the faithful, your miserable slave has offended you, and craves forgiveness." the caliph came down from his throne, and said: "rise, i forgive thee." then turning to the persian he said: "fair lady, now you know who i am; learn also that i have sent noureddin to balsora to be king, and as soon as all necessary preparations are made i will send you there to be queen. meanwhile i will give you an apartment in my palace, where you will be treated with all honour." at this the beautiful persian took courage, and the caliph was as good as his word, recommending her to the care of his wife zobeida. noureddin made all haste on his journey to balsora, and on his arrival there went straight to the palace of the king, of whom he demanded an audience. it was immediately granted, and holding the letter high above his head he forced his way through the crowd. while the king read the letter he changed colour. he would instantly have executed the caliph's order, but first he showed the letter to saouy, whose interests were equally at stake with his own. pretending that he wished to read it a second time, saouy turned aside as if to seek a better light; unperceived by anyone he tore off the formula from the top of the letter, put it to his mouth, and swallowed it. then, turning to the king, he said: "your majesty has no need to obey this letter. the writing is indeed that of the caliph, but the formula is absent. besides, he has not sent an express with the patent, without which the letter is useless. leave all to me, and i will take the consequences." the king not only listened to the persuasions of saouy, but gave noureddin into his hands. such a severe bastinado was first administered to him, that he was left more dead than alive; then saouy threw him into the darkest and deepest dungeon, and fed him only on bread and water. after ten days saouy determined to put an end to noureddin's life, but dared not without the king's authority. to gain this end, he loaded several of his own slaves with rich gifts, and presented himself at their head to the king, saying that they were from the new king on his coronation. "what!" said the king; "is that wretch still alive? go and behead him at once. i authorise you." "sire," said saouy, "i thank your majesty for the justice you do me. i would further beg, as noureddin publicly affronted me, that the execution might be in front of the palace, and that it might be proclaimed throughout the city, so that no one may be ignorant of it." the king granted these requests, and the announcement caused universal grief, for the memory of noureddin's father was still fresh in the hearts of his people. saouy, accompanied by twenty of his own slaves, went to the prison to fetch noureddin, whom he mounted on a wretched horse without a saddle. arrived at the palace, saouy went in to the king, leaving noureddin in the square, hemmed in not only by saouy's slaves but by the royal guard, who had great difficulty in preventing the people from rushing in and rescuing noureddin. so great was the indignation against saouy that if anyone had set the example he would have been stoned on his way through the streets. saouy, who witnessed the agitation of the people from the windows of the king's privy chambers, called to the executioner to strike at once. the king, however, ordered him to delay; not only was he jealous of saouy's interference, but he had another reason. a troop of horsemen was seen at that moment riding at full gallop towards the square. saouy suspected who they might be, and urged the king to give the signal for the execution without delay, but this the king refused to do till he knew who the horsemen were. now, they were the vizir giafar and his suite arriving at full speed from bagdad. for several days after noureddin's departure with the letter the caliph had forgotten to send the express with the patent, without which the letter was useless. hearing a beautiful voice one day in the women's part of the palace uttering lamentations, he was informed that it was the voice of the fair persian, and suddenly calling to mind the patent, he sent for giafar, and ordered him to make for balsora with the utmost speed--if noureddin were dead, to hang saouy; if he were still alive, to bring him at once to bagdad along with the king and saouy. giafar rode at full speed through the square, and alighted at the steps of the palace, where the king came to greet him. the vizir's first question was whether noureddin were still alive. the king replied that he was, and he was immediately led forth, though bound hand and foot. by the vizir's orders his bonds were immediately undone, and saouy was tied with the same cords. next day giafar returned to bagdad, bearing with him the king, saouy, and noureddin. when the caliph heard what treatment noureddin had received, he authorised him to behead saouy with his own hands, but he declined to shed the blood of his enemy, who was forthwith handed over to the executioner. the caliph also desired noureddin to reign over balsora, but this, too, he declined, saying that after what had passed there he preferred never to return, but to enter the service of the caliph. he became one of his most intimate courtiers, and lived long in great happiness with the fair persian. as to the king, the caliph contented himself with sending him back to balsora, with the recommendation to be more careful in future in the choice of his vizir. aladdin and the wonderful lamp there once lived a poor tailor, who had a son called aladdin, a careless, idle boy who would do nothing but play all day long in the streets with little idle boys like himself. this so grieved the father that he died; yet, in spite of his mother's tears and prayers, aladdin did not mend his ways. one day, when he was playing in the streets as usual, a stranger asked him his age, and if he were not the son of mustapha the tailor. "i am, sir," replied aladdin; "but he died a long while ago." on this the stranger, who was a famous african magician, fell on his neck and kissed him, saying: "i am your uncle, and knew you from your likeness to my brother. go to your mother and tell her i am coming." aladdin ran home, and told his mother of his newly found uncle. "indeed, child," she said, "your father had a brother, but i always thought he was dead." however, she prepared supper, and bade aladdin seek his uncle, who came laden with wine and fruit. he presently fell down and kissed the place where mustapha used to sit, bidding aladdin's mother not to be surprised at not having seen him before, as he had been forty years out of the country. he then turned to aladdin, and asked him his trade, at which the boy hung his head, while his mother burst into tears. on learning that aladdin was idle and would learn no trade, he offered to take a shop for him and stock it with merchandise. next day he bought aladdin a fine suit of clothes, and took him all over the city, showing him the sights, and brought him home at nightfall to his mother, who was overjoyed to see her son so fine. next day the magician led aladdin into some beautiful gardens a long way outside the city gates. they sat down by a fountain, and the magician pulled a cake from his girdle, which he divided between them. they then journeyed onwards till they almost reached the mountains. aladdin was so tired that he begged to go back, but the magician beguiled him with pleasant stories, and led him on in spite of himself. at last they came to two mountains divided by a narrow valley. "we will go no farther," said the false uncle. "i will show you something wonderful; only do you gather up sticks while i kindle a fire." when it was lit the magician threw on it a powder he had about him, at the same time saying some magical words. the earth trembled a little and opened in front of them, disclosing a square flat stone with a brass ring in the middle to raise it by. aladdin tried to run away, but the magician caught him and gave him a blow that knocked him down. "what have i done, uncle?" he said piteously; whereupon the magician said more kindly: "fear nothing, but obey me. beneath this stone lies a treasure which is to be yours, and no one else may touch it, so you must do exactly as i tell you." at the word treasure, aladdin forgot his fears, and grasped the ring as he was told, saying the names of his father and grandfather. the stone came up quite easily and some steps appeared. "go down," said the magician; "at the foot of those steps you will find an open door leading into three large halls. tuck up your gown and go through them without touching anything, or you will die instantly. these halls lead into a garden of fine fruit trees. walk on till you come to a niche in a terrace where stands a lighted lamp. pour out the oil it contains and bring it to me." he drew a ring from his finger and gave it to aladdin, bidding him prosper. aladdin found everything as the magician had said, gathered some fruit off the trees, and, having got the lamp, arrived at the mouth of the cave. the magician cried out in a great hurry: "make haste and give me the lamp." this aladdin refused to do until he was out of the cave. the magician flew into a terrible passion, and throwing some more powder on the fire, he said something, and the stone rolled back into its place. the magician left persia for ever, which plainly showed that he was no uncle of aladdin's, but a cunning magician who had read in his magic books of a wonderful lamp, which would make him the most powerful man in the world. though he alone knew where to find it, he could only receive it from the hand of another. he had picked out the foolish aladdin for this purpose, intending to get the lamp and kill him afterwards. for two days aladdin remained in the dark, crying and lamenting. at last he clasped his hands in prayer, and in so doing rubbed the ring, which the magician had forgotten to take from him. immediately an enormous and frightful genie rose out of the earth, saying: "what wouldst thou with me? i am the slave of the ring, and will obey thee in all things." aladdin fearlessly replied: "deliver me from this place!" whereupon the earth opened, and he found himself outside. as soon as his eyes could bear the light he went home, but fainted on the threshold. when he came to himself he told his mother what had passed, and showed her the lamp and the fruits he had gathered in the garden, which were in reality precious stones. he then asked for some food. "alas! child," she said, "i have nothing in the house, but i have spun a little cotton and will go and sell it." aladdin bade her keep her cotton, for he would sell the lamp instead. as it was very dirty she began to rub it, that it might fetch a higher price. instantly a hideous genie appeared, and asked what she would have. she fainted away, but aladdin, snatching the lamp, said boldly: "fetch me something to eat!" the genie returned with a silver bowl, twelve silver plates containing rich meats, two silver cups, and two bottles of wine. aladdin's mother, when she came to herself, said: "whence comes this splendid feast?" "ask not, but eat," replied aladdin. so they sat at breakfast till it was dinner-time, and aladdin told his mother about the lamp. she begged him to sell it, and have nothing to do with devils. "no," said aladdin, "since chance has made us aware of its virtues, we will use it and the ring likewise, which i shall always wear on my finger." when they had eaten all the genie had brought, aladdin sold one of the silver plates, and so on till none were left. he then had recourse to the genie, who gave him another set of plates, and thus they lived for many years. one day aladdin heard an order from the sultan proclaimed that everyone was to stay at home and close his shutters while the princess, his daughter, went to and from the bath. aladdin was seized by a desire to see her face, which was very difficult, as she always went veiled. he hid himself behind the door of the bath, and peeped through a chink. the princess lifted her veil as she went in, and looked so beautiful that aladdin fell in love with her at first sight. he went home so changed that his mother was frightened. he told her he loved the princess so deeply that he could not live without her, and meant to ask her in marriage of her father. his mother, on hearing this, burst out laughing, but aladdin at last prevailed upon her to go before the sultan and carry his request. she fetched a napkin and laid in it the magic fruits from the enchanted garden, which sparkled and shone like the most beautiful jewels. she took these with her to please the sultan, and set out, trusting in the lamp. the grand-vizir and the lords of council had just gone in as she entered the hall and placed herself in front of the sultan. he, however, took no notice of her. she went every day for a week, and stood in the same place. when the council broke up on the sixth day the sultan said to his vizir: "i see a certain woman in the audience-chamber every day carrying something in a napkin. call her next time, that i may find out what she wants." next day, at a sign from the vizir, she went up to the foot of the throne, and remained kneeling till the sultan said to her: "rise, good woman, and tell me what you want." she hesitated, so the sultan sent away all but the vizir, and bade her speak freely, promising to forgive her beforehand for anything she might say. she then told him of her son's violent love for the princess. "i prayed him to forget her," she said, "but in vain; he threatened to do some desperate deed if i refused to go and ask your majesty for the hand of the princess. now i pray you to forgive not me alone, but my son aladdin." the sultan asked her kindly what she had in the napkin, whereupon she unfolded the jewels and presented them. he was thunderstruck, and turning to the vizir said: "what sayest thou? ought i not to bestow the princess on one who values her at such a price?" the vizir, who wanted her for his own son, begged the sultan to withhold her for three months, in the course of which he hoped his son would contrive to make him a richer present. the sultan granted this, and told aladdin's mother that, though he consented to the marriage, she must not appear before him again for three months. aladdin waited patiently for nearly three months, but after two had elapsed his mother, going into the city to buy oil, found everyone rejoicing, and asked what was going on. "do you not know," was the answer, "that the son of the grand-vizir is to marry the sultan's daughter to-night?" breathless, she ran and told aladdin, who was overwhelmed at first, but presently bethought him of the lamp. he rubbed it, and the genie appeared, saying: "what is thy will?" aladdin replied: "the sultan, as thou knowest, has broken his promise to me, and the vizir's son is to have the princess. my command is that to-night you bring hither the bride and bridegroom." "master, i obey," said the genie. aladdin then went to his chamber, where, sure enough at midnight the genie transported the bed containing the vizir's son and the princess. "take this new-married man," he said, "and put him outside in the cold, and return at daybreak." whereupon the genie took the vizir's son out of bed, leaving aladdin with the princess. "fear nothing," aladdin said to her; "you are my wife, promised to me by your unjust father, and no harm shall come to you." the princess was too frightened to speak, and passed the most miserable night of her life, while aladdin lay down beside her and slept soundly. at the appointed hour the genie fetched in the shivering bridegroom, laid him in his place, and transported the bed back to the palace. presently the sultan came to wish his daughter good-morning. the unhappy vizir's son jumped up and hid himself, while the princess would not say a word, and was very sorrowful. the sultan sent her mother to her, who said: "how comes it, child, that you will not speak to your father? what has happened?" the princess sighed deeply, and at last told her mother how, during the night, the bed had been carried into some strange house, and what had passed there. her mother did not believe her in the least, but bade her rise and consider it an idle dream. the following night exactly the same thing happened, and next morning, on the princess's refusing to speak, the sultan threatened to cut off her head. she then confessed all, bidding him ask the vizir's son if it were not so. the sultan told the vizir to ask his son, who owned the truth, adding that, dearly as he loved the princess, he had rather die than go through another such fearful night, and wished to be separated from her. his wish was granted, and there was an end of feasting and rejoicing. when the three months were over, aladdin sent his mother to remind the sultan of his promise. she stood in the same place as before, and the sultan, who had forgotten aladdin, at once remembered him, and sent for her. on seeing her poverty the sultan felt less inclined than ever to keep his word, and asked the vizir's advice, who counselled him to set so high a value on the princess that no man living could come up to it. the sultan then turned to aladdin's mother, saying: "good woman, a sultan must remember his promises, and i will remember mine, but your son must first send me forty basins of gold brimful of jewels, carried by forty black slaves, led by as many white ones, splendidly dressed. tell him that i await his answer." the mother of aladdin bowed low and went home, thinking all was lost. she gave aladdin the message, adding: "he may wait long enough for your answer!" "not so long, mother, as you think," her son replied "i would do a great deal more than that for the princess." he summoned the genie, and in a few moments the eighty slaves arrived, and filled up the small house and garden. aladdin made them set out to the palace, two and two, followed by his mother. they were so richly dressed, with such splendid jewels in their girdles, that everyone crowded to see them and the basins of gold they carried on their heads. they entered the palace, and, after kneeling before the sultan, stood in a half-circle round the throne with their arms crossed, while aladdin's mother presented them to the sultan. he hesitated no longer, but said: "good woman, return and tell your son that i wait for him with open arms." she lost no time in telling aladdin, bidding him make haste. but aladdin first called the genie. "i want a scented bath," he said, "a richly embroidered habit, a horse surpassing the sultan's, and twenty slaves to attend me. besides this, six slaves, beautifully dressed, to wait on my mother; and lastly, ten thousand pieces of gold in ten purses." no sooner said than done. aladdin mounted his horse and passed through the streets, the slaves strewing gold as they went. those who had played with him in his childhood knew him not, he had grown so handsome. when the sultan saw him he came down from his throne, embraced him, and led him into a hall where a feast was spread, intending to marry him to the princess that very day. but aladdin refused, saying, "i must build a palace fit for her," and took his leave. once home he said to the genie: "build me a palace of the finest marble, set with jasper, agate, and other precious stones. in the middle you shall build me a large hall with a dome, its four walls of massy gold and silver, each side having six windows, whose lattices, all except one, which is to be left unfinished, must be set with diamonds and rubies. there must be stables and horses and grooms and slaves; go and see about it!" the palace was finished by next day, and the genie carried him there and showed him all his orders faithfully carried out, even to the laying of a velvet carpet from aladdin's palace to the sultan's. aladdin's mother then dressed herself carefully, and walked to the palace with her slaves, while he followed her on horseback. the sultan sent musicians with trumpets and cymbals to meet them, so that the air resounded with music and cheers. she was taken to the princess, who saluted her and treated her with great honour. at night the princess said good-bye to her father, and set out on the carpet for aladdin's palace, with his mother at her side, and followed by the hundred slaves. she was charmed at the sight of aladdin, who ran to receive her. "princess," he said, "blame your beauty for my boldness if i have displeased you." she told him that, having seen him, she willingly obeyed her father in this matter. after the wedding had taken place aladdin led her into the hall, where a feast was spread, and she supped with him, after which they danced till midnight. next day aladdin invited the sultan to see the palace. on entering the hall with the four-and-twenty windows, with their rubies, diamonds, and emeralds, he cried: "it is a world's wonder! there is only one thing that surprises me. was it by accident that one window was left unfinished?" "no, sir, by design," returned aladdin. "i wished your majesty to have the glory of finishing this palace." the sultan was pleased, and sent for the best jewelers in the city. he showed them the unfinished window, and bade them fit it up like the others. "sir," replied their spokesman, "we cannot find jewels enough." the sultan had his own fetched, which they soon used, but to no purpose, for in a month's time the work was not half done. aladdin, knowing that their task was vain, bade them undo their work and carry the jewels back, and the genie finished the window at his command. the sultan was surprised to receive his jewels again and visited aladdin, who showed him the window finished. the sultan embraced him, the envious vizir meanwhile hinting that it was the work of enchantment. aladdin had won the hearts of the people by his gentle bearing. he was made captain of the sultan's armies, and won several battles for him, but remained modest and courteous as before, and lived thus in peace and content for several years. but far away in africa the magician remembered aladdin, and by his magic arts discovered that aladdin, instead of perishing miserably in the cave, had escaped, and had married a princess, with whom he was living in great honour and wealth. he knew that the poor tailor's son could only have accomplished this by means of the lamp, and travelled night and day till he reached the capital of china, bent on aladdin's ruin. as he passed through the town he heard people talking everywhere about a marvellous palace. "forgive my ignorance," he asked, "what is this palace you speak of?" "have you not heard of prince aladdin's palace," was the reply, "the greatest wonder of the world? i will direct you if you have a mind to see it." the magician thanked him who spoke, and having seen the palace knew that it had been raised by the genie of the lamp, and became half mad with rage. he determined to get hold of the lamp, and again plunge aladdin into the deepest poverty. unluckily, aladdin had gone a-hunting for eight days, which gave the magician plenty of time. he bought a dozen copper lamps, put them into a basket, and went to the palace, crying: "new lamps for old!" followed by a jeering crowd. the princess, sitting in the hall of four-and-twenty windows, sent a slave to find out what the noise was about, who came back laughing, so that the princess scolded her. "madam," replied the slave, "who can help laughing to see an old fool offering to exchange fine new lamps for old ones?" another slave, hearing this, said: "there is an old one on the cornice there which he can have." now this was the magic lamp, which aladdin had left there, as he could not take it out hunting with him. the princess, not knowing its value, laughingly bade the slave take it and make the exchange. she went and said to the magician: "give me a new lamp for this." he snatched it and bade the slave take her choice, amid the jeers of the crowd. little he cared, but left off crying his lamps, and went out of the city gates to a lonely place, where he remained till nightfall, when he pulled out the lamp and rubbed it. the genie appeared, and at the magician's command carried him, together with the palace and the princess in it, to a lonely place in africa. next morning the sultan looked out of the window towards aladdin's palace and rubbed his eyes, for it was gone. he sent for the vizir, and asked what had become of the palace. the vizir looked out too, and was lost in astonishment. he again put it down to enchantment, and this time the sultan believed him, and sent thirty men on horseback to fetch aladdin in chains. they met him riding home, bound him, and forced him to go with them on foot. the people, however, who loved him, followed, armed, to see that he came to no harm. he was carried before the sultan, who ordered the executioner to cut off his head. the executioner made aladdin kneel down, bandaged his eyes, and raised his scimitar to strike. at that instant the vizir, who saw that the crowd had forced their way into the courtyard and were scaling the walls to rescue aladdin, called to the executioner to stay his hand. the people, indeed, looked so threatening that the sultan gave way and ordered aladdin to be unbound, and pardoned him in the sight of the crowd. aladdin now begged to know what he had done. "false wretch!" said the sultan, "come hither," and showed him from the window the place where his palace had stood. aladdin was so amazed that he could not say a word. "where is my palace and my daughter?" demanded the sultan. "for the first i am not so deeply concerned, but my daughter i must have, and you must find her or lose your head." aladdin begged for forty days in which to find her, promising if he failed to return and suffer death at the sultan's pleasure. his prayer was granted, and he went forth sadly from the sultan's presence. for three days he wandered about like a madman, asking everyone what had become of his palace, but they only laughed and pitied him. he came to the banks of a river, and knelt down to say his prayers before throwing himself in. in so doing he rubbed the magic ring he still wore. the genie he had seen in the cave appeared, and asked his will. "save my life, genie," said aladdin, "and bring my palace back." "that is not in my power," said the genie; "i am only the slave of the ring; you must ask the slave of the lamp." "even so," said aladdin "but thou canst take me to the palace, and set me down under my dear wife's window." he at once found himself in africa, under the window of the princess, and fell asleep out of sheer weariness. he was awakened by the singing of the birds, and his heart was lighter. he saw plainly that all his misfortunes were owing to the loss of the lamp, and vainly wondered who had robbed him of it. that morning the princess rose earlier than she had done since she had been carried into africa by the magician, whose company she was forced to endure once a day. she, however, treated him so harshly that he dared not live there altogether. as she was dressing, one of her women looked out and saw aladdin. the princess ran and opened the window, and at the noise she made aladdin looked up. she called to him to come to her, and great was the joy of these lovers at seeing each other again. after he had kissed her aladdin said: "i beg of you, princess, in god's name, before we speak of anything else, for your own sake and mine, tell me what has become of an old lamp i left on the cornice in the hall of four-and-twenty windows, when i went a-hunting." "alas!" she said "i am the innocent cause of our sorrows," and told him of the exchange of the lamp. "now i know," cried aladdin, "that we have to thank the african magician for this! where is the lamp?" "he carries it about with him," said the princess, "i know, for he pulled it out of his breast to show me. he wishes me to break my faith with you and marry him, saying that you were beheaded by my father's command. he is forever speaking ill of you, but i only reply by my tears. if i persist, i doubt not that he will use violence." aladdin comforted her, and left her for a while. he changed clothes with the first person he met in the town, and having bought a certain powder returned to the princess, who let him in by a little side door. "put on your most beautiful dress," he said to her, "and receive the magician with smiles, leading him to believe that you have forgotten me. invite him to sup with you, and say you wish to taste the wine of his country. he will go for some, and while he is gone i will tell you what to do." she listened carefully to aladdin, and when he left her arrayed herself gaily for the first time since she left china. she put on a girdle and head-dress of diamonds, and seeing in a glass that she looked more beautiful than ever, received the magician, saying to his great amazement: "i have made up my mind that aladdin is dead, and that all my tears will not bring him back to me, so i am resolved to mourn no more, and have therefore invited you to sup with me; but i am tired of the wines of china, and would fain taste those of africa." the magician flew to his cellar, and the princess put the powder aladdin had given her in her cup. when he returned she asked him to drink her health in the wine of africa, handing him her cup in exchange for his as a sign she was reconciled to him. before drinking the magician made her a speech in praise of her beauty, but the princess cut him short saying: "let me drink first, and you shall say what you will afterwards." she set her cup to her lips and kept it there, while the magician drained his to the dregs and fell back lifeless. the princess then opened the door to aladdin, and flung her arms round his neck, but aladdin put her away, bidding her to leave him, as he had more to do. he then went to the dead magician, took the lamp out of his vest, and bade the genie carry the palace and all in it back to china. this was done, and the princess in her chamber only felt two little shocks, and little thought she was at home again. the sultan, who was sitting in his closet, mourning for his lost daughter, happened to look up, and rubbed his eyes, for there stood the palace as before! he hastened thither, and aladdin received him in the hall of the four-and-twenty windows, with the princess at his side. aladdin told him what had happened, and showed him the dead body of the magician, that he might believe. a ten days' feast was proclaimed, and it seemed as if aladdin might now live the rest of his life in peace; but it was not to be. the african magician had a younger brother, who was, if possible, more wicked and more cunning than himself. he travelled to china to avenge his brother's death, and went to visit a pious woman called fatima, thinking she might be of use to him. he entered her cell and clapped a dagger to her breast, telling her to rise and do his bidding on pain of death. he changed clothes with her, coloured his face like hers, put on her veil and murdered her, that she might tell no tales. then he went towards the palace of aladdin, and all the people thinking he was the holy woman, gathered round him, kissing his hands and begging his blessing. when he got to the palace there was such a noise going on round him that the princess bade her slave look out of the window and ask what was the matter. the slave said it was the holy woman, curing people by her touch of their ailments, whereupon the princess, who had long desired to see fatima, sent for her. on coming to the princess the magician offered up a prayer for her health and prosperity. when he had done the princess made him sit by her, and begged him to stay with her always. the false fatima, who wished for nothing better, consented, but kept his veil down for fear of discovery. the princess showed him the hall, and asked him what he thought of it. "it is truly beautiful," said the false fatima. "in my mind it wants but one thing." "and what is that?" said the princess. "if only a roc's egg," replied he, "were hung up from the middle of this dome, it would be the wonder of the world." after this the princess could think of nothing but a roc's egg, and when aladdin returned from hunting he found her in a very ill humour. he begged to know what was amiss, and she told him that all her pleasure in the hall was spoilt for the want of a roc's egg hanging from the dome. "it that is all," replied aladdin, "you shall soon be happy." he left her and rubbed the lamp, and when the genie appeared commanded him to bring a roc's egg. the genie gave such a loud and terrible shriek that the hall shook. "wretch!" he cried, "is it not enough that i have done everything for you, but you must command me to bring my master and hang him up in the midst of this dome? you and your wife and your palace deserve to be burnt to ashes; but this request does not come from you, but from the brother of the african magician whom you destroyed. he is now in your palace disguised as the holy woman--whom he murdered. he it was who put that wish into your wife's head. take care of yourself, for he means to kill you." so saying the genie disappeared. aladdin went back to the princess, saying his head ached, and requesting that the holy fatima should be fetched to lay her hands on it. but when the magician came near, aladdin, seizing his dagger, pierced him to the heart. "what have you done?" cried the princess. "you have killed the holy woman!" "not so," replied aladdin, "but a wicked magician," and told her of how she had been deceived. after this aladdin and his wife lived in peace. he succeeded the sultan when he died, and reigned for many years, leaving behind him a long line of kings. the adventures of haroun-al-raschid, caliph of bagdad the caliph haroun-al-raschid sat in his palace, wondering if there was anything left in the world that could possibly give him a few hours' amusement, when giafar the grand-vizir, his old and tried friend, suddenly appeared before him. bowing low, he waited, as was his duty, till his master spoke, but haroun-al-raschid merely turned his head and looked at him, and sank back into his former weary posture. now giafar had something of importance to say to the caliph, and had no intention of being put off by mere silence, so with another low bow in front of the throne, he began to speak. "commander of the faithful," said he, "i have taken on myself to remind your highness that you have undertaken secretly to observe for yourself the manner in which justice is done and order is kept throughout the city. this is the day you have set apart to devote to this object, and perhaps in fulfilling this duty you may find some distraction from the melancholy to which, as i see to my sorrow, you are a prey." "you are right," returned the caliph, "i had forgotten all about it. go and change your coat, and i will change mine." a few moments later they both re-entered the hall, disguised as foreign merchants, and passed through a secret door, out into the open country. here they turned towards the euphrates, and crossing the river in a small boat, walked through that part of the town which lay along the further bank, without seeing anything to call for their interference. much pleased with the peace and good order of the city, the caliph and his vizir made their way to a bridge, which led straight back to the palace, and had already crossed it, when they were stopped by an old and blind man, who begged for alms. the caliph gave him a piece of money, and was passing on, but the blind man seized his hand, and held him fast. "charitable person," he said, "whoever you may be grant me yet another prayer. strike me, i beg of you, one blow. i have deserved it richly, and even a more severe penalty." the caliph, much surprised at this request, replied gently: "my good man, that which you ask is impossible. of what use would my alms be if i treated you so ill?" and as he spoke he tried to loosen the grasp of the blind beggar. "my lord," answered the man, "pardon my boldness and my persistence. take back your money, or give me the blow which i crave. i have sworn a solemn oath that i will receive nothing without receiving chastisement, and if you knew all, you would feel that the punishment is not a tenth part of what i deserve." moved by these words, and perhaps still more by the fact that he had other business to attend to, the caliph yielded, and struck him lightly on the shoulder. then he continued his road, followed by the blessing of the blind man. when they were out of earshot, he said to the vizir, "there must be something very odd to make that man act so--i should like to find out what is the reason. go back to him; tell him who i am, and order him to come without fail to the palace to-morrow, after the hour of evening prayer." so the grand-vizir went back to the bridge; gave the blind beggar first a piece of money and then a blow, delivered the caliph's message, and rejoined his master. they passed on towards the palace, but walking through a square, they came upon a crowd watching a young and well-dressed man who was urging a horse at full speed round the open space, using at the same time his spurs and whip so unmercifully that the animal was all covered with foam and blood. the caliph, astonished at this proceeding, inquired of a passer-by what it all meant, but no one could tell him anything, except that every day at the same hour the same thing took place. still wondering, he passed on, and for the moment had to content himself with telling the vizir to command the horseman also to appear before him at the same time as the blind man. the next day, after evening prayer, the caliph entered the hall, and was followed by the vizir bringing with him the two men of whom we have spoken, and a third, with whom we have nothing to do. they all bowed themselves low before the throne and then the caliph bade them rise, and ask the blind man his name. "baba-abdalla, your highness," said he. "baba-abdalla," returned the caliph, "your way of asking alms yesterday seemed to me so strange, that i almost commanded you then and there to cease from causing such a public scandal. but i have sent for you to inquire what was your motive in making such a curious vow. when i know the reason i shall be able to judge whether you can be permitted to continue to practise it, for i cannot help thinking that it sets a very bad example to others. tell me therefore the whole truth, and conceal nothing." these words troubled the heart of baba-abdalla, who prostrated himself at the feet of the caliph. then rising, he answered: "commander of the faithful, i crave your pardon humbly, for my persistence in beseeching your highness to do an action which appears on the face of it to be without any meaning. no doubt, in the eyes of men, it has none; but i look on it as a slight expiation for a fearful sin of which i have been guilty, and if your highness will deign to listen to my tale, you will see that no punishment could atone for the crime." the story of the blind baba-abdalla i was born, commander of the faithful, in bagdad, and was left an orphan while i was yet a very young man, for my parents died within a few days of each other. i had inherited from them a small fortune, which i worked hard night and day to increase, till at last i found myself the owner of eighty camels. these i hired out to travelling merchants, whom i frequently accompanied on their various journeys, and always returned with large profits. one day i was coming back from balsora, whither i had taken a supply of goods, intended for india, and halted at noon in a lonely place, which promised rich pasture for my camels. i was resting in the shade under a tree, when a dervish, going on foot towards balsora, sat down by my side, and i inquired whence he had come and to what place he was going. we soon made friends, and after we had asked each other the usual questions, we produced the food we had with us, and satisfied our hunger. while we were eating, the dervish happened to mention that in a spot only a little way off from where we were sitting, there was hidden a treasure so great that if my eighty camels were loaded till they could carry no more, the hiding place would seem as full as if it had never been touched. at this news i became almost beside myself with joy and greed, and i flung my arms round the neck of the dervish, exclaiming: "good dervish, i see plainly that the riches of this world are nothing to you, therefore of what use is the knowledge of this treasure to you? alone and on foot, you could carry away a mere handful. but tell me where it is, and i will load my eighty camels with it, and give you one of them as a token of my gratitude." certainly my offer does not sound very magnificent, but it was great to me, for at his words a wave of covetousness had swept over my heart, and i almost felt as if the seventy-nine camels that were left were nothing in comparison. the dervish saw quite well what was passing in my mind, but he did not show what he thought of my proposal. "my brother," he answered quietly, "you know as well as i do, that you are behaving unjustly. it was open to me to keep my secret, and to reserve the treasure for myself. but the fact that i have told you of its existence shows that i had confidence in you, and that i hoped to earn your gratitude for ever, by making your fortune as well as mine. but before i reveal to you the secret of the treasure, you must swear that, after we have loaded the camels with as much as they can carry, you will give half to me, and let us go our own ways. i think you will see that this is fair, for if you present me with forty camels, i on my side will give you the means of buying a thousand more." i could not of course deny that what the dervish said was perfectly reasonable, but, in spite of that, the thought that the dervish would be as rich as i was unbearable to me. still there was no use in discussing the matter, and i had to accept his conditions or bewail to the end of my life the loss of immense wealth. so i collected my camels and we set out together under the guidance of the dervish. after walking some time, we reached what looked like a valley, but with such a narrow entrance that my camels could only pass one by one. the little valley, or open space, was shut up by two mountains, whose sides were formed of straight cliffs, which no human being could climb. when we were exactly between these mountains the dervish stopped. "make your camels lie down in this open space," he said, "so that we can easily load them; then we will go to the treasure." i did what i was bid, and rejoined the dervish, whom i found trying to kindle a fire out of some dry wood. as soon as it was alight, he threw on it a handful of perfumes, and pronounced a few words that i did not understand, and immediately a thick column of smoke rose high into the air. he separated the smoke into two columns, and then i saw a rock, which stood like a pillar between the two mountains, slowly open, and a splendid palace appear within. but, commander of the faithful, the love of gold had taken such possession of my heart, that i could not even stop to examine the riches, but fell upon the first pile of gold within my reach and began to heap it into a sack that i had brought with me. the dervish likewise set to work, but i soon noticed that he confined himself to collecting precious stones, and i felt i should be wise to follow his example. at length the camels were loaded with as much as they could carry, and nothing remained but to seal up the treasure, and go our ways. before, however, this was done, the dervish went up to a great golden vase, beautifully chased, and took from it a small wooden box, which he hid in the bosom of his dress, merely saying that it contained a special kind of ointment. then he once more kindled the fire, threw on the perfume, and murmured the unknown spell, and the rock closed, and stood whole as before. the next thing was to divide the camels, and to charge them with the treasure, after which we each took command of our own and marched out of the valley, till we reached the place in the high road where the routes diverge, and then we parted, the dervish going towards balsora, and i to bagdad. we embraced each other tenderly, and i poured out my gratitude for the honour he had done me, in singling me out for this great wealth, and having said a hearty farewell we turned our backs, and hastened after our camels. i had hardly come up with mine when the demon of envy filled my soul. "what does a dervish want with riches like that?" i said to myself. "he alone has the secret of the treasure, and can always get as much as he wants," and i halted my camels by the roadside, and ran back after him. i was a quick runner, and it did not take me very long to come up with him. "my brother," i exclaimed, as soon as i could speak, "almost at the moment of our leave-taking, a reflection occurred to me, which is perhaps new to you. you are a dervish by profession, and live a very quiet life, only caring to do good, and careless of the things of this world. you do not realise the burden that you lay upon yourself, when you gather into your hands such great wealth, besides the fact that no one, who is not accustomed to camels from his birth, can ever manage the stubborn beasts. if you are wise, you will not encumber yourself with more than thirty, and you will find those trouble enough." "you are right," replied the dervish, who understood me quite well, but did not wish to fight the matter. "i confess i had not thought about it. choose any ten you like, and drive them before you." i selected ten of the best camels, and we proceeded along the road, to rejoin those i had left behind. i had got what i wanted, but i had found the dervish so easy to deal with, that i rather regretted i had not asked for ten more. i looked back. he had only gone a few paces, and i called after him. "my brother," i said, "i am unwilling to part from you without pointing out what i think you scarcely grasp, that large experience of camel-driving is necessary to anybody who intends to keep together a troop of thirty. in your own interest, i feel sure you would be much happier if you entrusted ten more of them to me, for with my practice it is all one to me if i take two or a hundred." as before, the dervish made no difficulties, and i drove off my ten camels in triumph, only leaving him with twenty for his share. i had now sixty, and anyone might have imagined that i should be content. but, commander of the faithful, there is a proverb that says, "the more one has, the more one wants." so it was with me. i could not rest as long as one solitary camel remained to the dervish; and returning to him i redoubled my prayers and embraces, and promises of eternal gratitude, till the last twenty were in my hands. "make a good use of them, my brother," said the holy man. "remember riches sometimes have wings if we keep them for ourselves, and the poor are at our gates expressly that we may help them." my eyes were so blinded by gold, that i paid no heed to his wise counsel, and only looked about for something else to grasp. suddenly i remembered the little box of ointment that the dervish had hidden, and which most likely contained a treasure more precious than all the rest. giving him one last embrace, i observed accidentally, "what are you going to do with that little box of ointment? it seems hardly worth taking with you; you might as well let me have it. and really, a dervish who has given up the world has no need of ointment!" oh, if he had only refused my request! but then, supposing he had, i should have got possession of it by force, so great was the madness that had laid hold upon me. however, far from refusing it, the dervish at once held it out, saying gracefully, "take it, my friend, and if there is anything else i can do to make you happy you must let me know." directly the box was in my hands i wrenched off the cover. "as you are so kind," i said, "tell me, i pray you, what are the virtues of this ointment?" "they are most curious and interesting," replied the dervish. "if you apply a little of it to your left eye you will behold in an instant all the treasures hidden in the bowels of the earth. but beware lest you touch your right eye with it, or your sight will be destroyed for ever." his words excited my curiosity to the highest pitch. "make trial on me, i implore you," i cried, holding out the box to the dervish. "you will know how to do it better than i! i am burning with impatience to test its charms." the dervish took the box i had extended to him, and, bidding me shut my left eye, touched it gently with the ointment. when i opened it again i saw spread out, as it were before me, treasures of every kind and without number. but as all this time i had been obliged to keep my right eye closed, which was very fatiguing, i begged the dervish to apply the ointment to that eye also. "if you insist upon it i will do it," answered the dervish, "but you must remember what i told you just now--that if it touches your right eye you will become blind on the spot." unluckily, in spite of my having proved the truth of the dervish's words in so many instances, i was firmly convinced that he was now keeping concealed from me some hidden and precious virtue of the ointment. so i turned a deaf ear to all he said. "my brother," i replied smiling, "i see you are joking. it is not natural that the same ointment should have two such exactly opposite effects." "it is true all the same," answered the dervish, "and it would be well for you if you believed my word." but i would not believe, and, dazzled by the greed of avarice, i thought that if one eye could show me riches, the other might teach me how to get possession of them. and i continued to press the dervish to anoint my right eye, but this he resolutely declined to do. "after having conferred such benefits on you," said he, "i am loth indeed to work you such evil. think what it is to be blind, and do not force me to do what you will repent as long as you live." it was of no use. "my brother," i said firmly, "pray say no more, but do what i ask. you have most generously responded to my wishes up to this time, do not spoil my recollection of you for a thing of such little consequence. let what will happen i take it on my own head, and will never reproach you." "since you are determined upon it," he answered with a sigh, "there is no use talking," and taking the ointment he laid some on my right eye, which was tight shut. when i tried to open it heavy clouds of darkness floated before me. i was as blind as you see me now! "miserable dervish!" i shrieked, "so it is true after all! into what a bottomless pit has my lust after gold plunged me. ah, now that my eyes are closed they are really opened. i know that all my sufferings are caused by myself alone! but, good brother, you, who are so kind and charitable, and know the secrets of such vast learning, have you nothing that will give me back my sight?" "unhappy man," replied the dervish, "it is not my fault that this has befallen you, but it is a just chastisement. the blindness of your heart has wrought the blindness of your body. yes, i have secrets; that you have seen in the short time that we have known each other. but i have none that will give you back your sight. you have proved yourself unworthy of the riches that were given you. now they have passed into my hands, whence they will flow into the hands of others less greedy and ungrateful than you." the dervish said no more and left me, speechless with shame and confusion, and so wretched that i stood rooted to the spot, while he collected the eighty camels and proceeded on his way to balsora. it was in vain that i entreated him not to leave me, but at least to take me within reach of the first passing caravan. he was deaf to my prayers and cries, and i should soon have been dead of hunger and misery if some merchants had not come along the track the following day and kindly brought me back to bagdad. from a rich man i had in one moment become a beggar; and up to this time i have lived solely on the alms that have been bestowed on me. but, in order to expiate the sin of avarice, which was my undoing, i oblige each passer-by to give me a blow. this, commander of the faithful, is my story. when the blind man had ended the caliph addressed him: "baba-abdalla, truly your sin is great, but you have suffered enough. henceforth repent in private, for i will see that enough money is given you day by day for all your wants." at these words baba-abdalla flung himself at the caliph's feet, and prayed that honour and happiness might be his portion for ever. the story of sidi-nouman the caliph, haroun-al-raschid, was much pleased with the tale of the blind man and the dervish, and when it was finished he turned to the young man who had ill-treated his horse, and inquired his name also. the young man replied that he was called sidi-nouman. "sidi-nouman," observed the caliph, "i have seen horses broken all my life long, and have even broken them myself, but i have never seen any horse broken in such a barbarous manner as by you yesterday. every one who looked on was indignant, and blamed you loudly. as for myself, i was so angry that i was very nearly disclosing who i was, and putting a stop to it at once. still, you have not the air of a cruel man, and i would gladly believe that you did not act in this way without some reason. as i am told that it was not the first time, and indeed that every day you are to be seen flogging and spurring your horse, i wish to come to the bottom of the matter. but tell me the whole truth, and conceal nothing." sidi-nouman changed colour as he heard these words, and his manner grew confused; but he saw plainly that there was no help for it. so he prostrated himself before the throne of the caliph and tried to obey, but the words stuck in his throat, and he remained silent. the caliph, accustomed though he was to instant obedience, guessed something of what was passing in the young man's mind, and sought to put him at his ease. "sidi-nouman," he said, "do not think of me as the caliph, but merely as a friend who would like to hear your story. if there is anything in it that you are afraid may offend me, take courage, for i pardon you beforehand. speak then openly and without fear, as to one who knows and loves you." reassured by the kindness of the caliph, sidi-nouman at length began his tale. "commander of the faithful," said he, "dazzled though i am by the lustre of your highness' presence, i will do my best to satisfy your wishes. i am by no means perfect, but i am not naturally cruel, neither do i take pleasure in breaking the law. i admit that the treatment of my horse is calculated to give your highness a bad opinion of me, and to set an evil example to others; yet i have not chastised it without reason, and i have hopes that i shall be judged more worthy of pity than punishment." commander of the faithful, i will not trouble to describe my birth; it is not of sufficient distinction to deserve your highness' attention. my ancestors were careful people, and i inherited enough money to enable me to live comfortably, though without show. having therefore a modest fortune, the only thing wanting to my happiness was a wife who could return my affection, but this blessing i was not destined to get; for on the very day after my marriage, my bride began to try my patience in every way that was most hard to bear. now, seeing that the customs of our land oblige us to marry without ever beholding the person with whom we are to pass our lives, a man has of course no right to complain as long as his wife is not absolutely repulsive, or is not positively deformed. and whatever defects her body may have, pleasant ways and good behaviour will go far to remedy them. the first time i saw my wife unveiled, when she had been brought to my house with the usual ceremonies, i was enchanted to find that i had not been deceived in regard to the account that had been given me of her beauty. i began my married life in high spirits, and the best hopes of happiness. the following day a grand dinner was served to us but as my wife did not appear, i ordered a servant to call her. still she did not come, and i waited impatiently for some time. at last she entered the room, and she took our places at the table, and plates of rice were set before us. i ate mine, as was natural, with a spoon, but great was my surprise to notice that my wife, instead of doing the same, drew from her pocket a little case, from which she selected a long pin, and by the help of this pin conveyed her rice grain by grain to her mouth. "amina," i exclaimed in astonishment, "is that the way you eat rice at home? and did you do it because your appetite was so small, or did you wish to count the grains so that you might never eat more than a certain number? if it was from economy, and you are anxious to teach me not to be wasteful, you have no cause for alarm. we shall never ruin ourselves in that way! our fortune is large enough for all our needs, therefore, dear amina, do not seek to check yourself, but eat as much as you desire, as i do!" in reply to my affectionate words, i expected a cheerful answer; yet amina said nothing at all, but continued to pick her rice as before, only at longer and longer intervals. and, instead of trying the other dishes, all she did was to put every now and then a crumb, of bread into her mouth, that would not have made a meal for a sparrow. i felt provoked by her obstinacy, but to excuse her to myself as far as i could, i suggested that perhaps she had never been used to eat in the company of men, and that her family might have taught her that she ought to behave prudently and discreetly in the presence of her husband. likewise that she might either have dined already or intend to do so in her own apartments. so i took no further notice, and when i had finished left the room, secretly much vexed at her strange conduct. the same thing occurred at supper, and all through the next day, whenever we ate together. it was quite clear that no woman could live upon two or three bread-crumbs and a few grains of rice, and i determined to find out how and when she got food. i pretended not to pay attention to anything she did, in the hope that little by little she would get accustomed to me, and become more friendly; but i soon saw that my expectations were quite vain. one night i was lying with my eyes closed, and to, all appearance sound asleep, when amina arose softly, and dressed herself without making the slightest sound. i could not imagine what she was going to do, and as my curiosity was great i made up my mind to follow her. when she was fully dressed, she stole quietly from the room. the instant she had let the curtain fall behind her, i flung a garment on my shoulders and a pair of slippers on my feet. looking from a lattice which opened into the court, i saw her in the act of passing through the street door, which she carefully left open. it was bright moonlight, so i easily managed to keep her in sight, till she entered a cemetery not far from the house. there i hid myself under the shadow of the wall, and crouched down cautiously; and hardly was i concealed, when i saw my wife approaching in company with a ghoul--one of those demons which, as your highness is aware, wander about the country making their lairs in deserted buildings and springing out upon unwary travellers whose flesh they eat. if no live being goes their way, they then betake themselves to the cemeteries, and feed upon the dead bodies. i was nearly struck dumb with horror on seeing my wife with this hideous female ghoul. they passed by me without noticing me, began to dig up a corpse which had been buried that day, and then sat down on the edge of the grave, to enjoy their frightful repast, talking quietly and cheerfully all the while, though i was too far off to hear what they said. when they had finished, they threw back the body into the grave, and heaped back the earth upon it. i made no effort to disturb them, and returned quickly to the house, when i took care to leave the door open, as i had previously found it. then i got back into bed, and pretended to sleep soundly. a short time after amina entered as quietly as she had gone out. she undressed and stole into bed, congratulating herself apparently on the cleverness with which she had managed her expedition. as may be guessed, after such a scene it was long before i could close my eyes, and at the first sound which called the faithful to prayer, i put on my clothes and went to the mosque. but even prayer did not restore peace to my troubled spirit, and i could not face my wife until i had made up my mind what future course i should pursue in regard to her. i therefore spent the morning roaming about from one garden to another, turning over various plans for compelling my wife to give up her horrible ways; i thought of using violence to make her submit, but felt reluctant to be unkind to her. besides, i had an instinct that gentle means had the best chance of success; so, a little soothed, i turned towards home, which i reached about the hour of dinner. as soon as i appeared, amina ordered dinner to be served, and we sat down together. as usual, she persisted in only picking a few grains of rice, and i resolved to speak to her at once of what lay so heavily on my heart. "amina," i said, as quietly as possible, "you must have guessed the surprise i felt, when the day after our marriage you declined to eat anything but a few morsels of rice, and altogether behaved in such a manner that most husbands would have been deeply wounded. however i had patience with you, and only tried to tempt your appetite by the choicest dishes i could invent, but all to no purpose. still, amina, it seems to me that there be some among them as sweet to the taste as the flesh of a corpse?" i had no sooner uttered these words than amina, who instantly understood that i had followed her to the grave-yard, was seized with a passion beyond any that i have ever witnessed. her face became purple, her eyes looked as if they would start from her head, and she positively foamed with rage. i watched her with terror, wondering what would happen next, but little thinking what would be the end of her fury. she seized a vessel of water that stood at hand, and plunging her hand in it, murmured some words i failed to catch. then, sprinkling it on my face, she cried madly: "wretch, receive the reward of your prying, and become a dog." the words were not out of her mouth when, without feeling conscious that any change was passing over me, i suddenly knew that i had ceased to be a man. in the greatness of the shock and surprise--for i had no idea that amina was a magician--i never dreamed of running away, and stood rooted to the spot, while amina grasped a stick and began to beat me. indeed her blows were so heavy, that i only wonder they did not kill me at once. however they succeeded in rousing me from my stupor, and i dashed into the court-yard, followed closely by amina, who made frantic dives at me, which i was not quick enough to dodge. at last she got tired of pursuing me, or else a new trick entered into her head, which would give me speedy and painful death; she opened the gate leading into the street, intending to crush me as i passed through. dog though i was, i saw through her design, and stung into presence of mind by the greatness of the danger, i timed my movements so well that i contrived to rush through, and only the tip of my tail received a squeeze as she banged the gate. i was safe, but my tail hurt me horribly, and i yelped and howled so loud all along the streets, that the other dogs came and attacked me, which made matters no better. in order to avoid them, i took refuge in a cookshop, where tongues and sheep's heads were sold. at first the owner showed me great kindness, and drove away the other dogs that were still at my heels, while i crept into the darkest corner. but though i was safe for the moment, i was not destined to remain long under his protection, for he was one of those who hold all dogs to be unclean, and that all the washing in the world will hardly purify you from their contact. so after my enemies had gone to seek other prey, he tried to lure me from my corner in order to force me into the street. but i refused to come out of my hole, and spent the night in sleep, which i sorely needed, after the pain inflicted on me by amina. i have no wish to weary your highness by dwelling on the sad thoughts which accompanied my change of shape, but it may interest you to hear that the next morning my host went out early to do his marketing, and returned laden with the sheep's heads, and tongues and trotters that formed his stock in trade for the day. the smell of meat attracted various hungry dogs in the neighbourhood, and they gathered round the door begging for some bits. i stole out of my corner, and stood with them. in spite of his objection to dogs, as unclean animals, my protector was a kind-hearted man, and knowing i had eaten nothing since yesterday, he threw me bigger and better bits than those which fell to the share of the other dogs. when i had finished, i tried to go back into the shop, but this he would not allow, and stood so firmly at the entrance with a stout stick, that i was forced to give it up, and seek some other home. a few paces further on was a baker's shop, which seemed to have a gay and merry man for a master. at that moment he was having his breakfast, and though i gave no signs of hunger, he at once threw me a piece of bread. before gobbling it up, as most dogs are in the habit of doing, i bowed my head and wagged my tail, in token of thanks, and he understood, and smiled pleasantly. i really did not want the bread at all, but felt it would be ungracious to refuse, so i ate it slowly, in order that he might see that i only did it out of politeness. he understood this also, and seemed quite willing to let me stay in his shop, so i sat down, with my face to the door, to show that i only asked his protection. this he gave me, and indeed encouraged me to come into the house itself, giving me a corner where i might sleep, without being in anybody's way. the kindness heaped on me by this excellent man was far greater than i could ever have expected. he was always affectionate in his manner of treating me, and i shared his breakfast, dinner and supper, while, on my side, i gave him all the gratitude and attachment to which he had a right. i sat with my eyes fixed on him, and he never left the house without having me at his heels; and if it ever happened that when he was preparing to go out i was asleep, and did not notice, he would call "rufus, rufus," for that was the name he gave me. some weeks passed in this way, when one day a woman came in to buy bread. in paying for it, she laid down several pieces of money, one of which was bad. the baker perceived this, and declined to take it, demanding another in its place. the woman, for her part, refused to take it back, declaring it was perfectly good, but the baker would have nothing to do with it. "it is really such a bad imitation," he exclaimed at last, "that even my dog would not be taken in. here rufus! rufus!" and hearing his voice, i jumped on to the counter. the baker threw down the money before me, and said, "find out if there is a bad coin." i looked at each in turn, and then laid my paw on the false one, glancing at the same time at my master, so as to point it out. the baker, who had of course been only in joke, was exceedingly surprised at my cleverness, and the woman, who was at last convinced that the man spoke the truth, produced another piece of money in its place. when she had gone, my master was so pleased that he told all the neighbours what i had done, and made a great deal more of it than there really was. the neighbours, very naturally, declined to believe his story, and tried me several times with all the bad money they could collect together, but i never failed to stand the test triumphantly. soon, the shop was filled from morning till night, with people who on the pretence of buying bread came to see if i was as clever as i was reported to be. the baker drove a roaring trade, and admitted that i was worth my weight in gold to him. of course there were plenty who envied him his large custom, and many was the pitfall set for me, so that he never dared to let me out of his sight. one day a woman, who had not been in the shop before, came to ask for bread, like the rest. as usual, i was lying on the counter, and she threw down six coins before me, one of which was false. i detected it at once, and put my paw on it, looking as i did so at the woman. "yes," she said, nodding her head. "you are quite right, that is the one." she stood gazing at me attentively for some time, then paid for the bread, and left the shop, making a sign for me to follow her secretly. now my thoughts were always running on some means of shaking off the spell laid on me, and noticing the way in which this woman had looked at me, the idea entered my head that perhaps she might have guessed what had happened, and in this i was not deceived. however i let her go on a little way, and merely stood at the door watching her. she turned, and seeing that i was quite still, she again beckoned to me. the baker all this while was busy with his oven, and had forgotten all about me, so i stole out softly, and ran after the woman. when we came to her house, which was some distance off, she opened the door and then said to me, "come in, come in; you will never be sorry that you followed me." when i had entered she fastened the door, and took me into a large room, where a beautiful girl was working at a piece of embroidery. "my daughter," exclaimed my guide, "i have brought you the famous dog belonging to the baker which can tell good money from bad. you know that when i first heard of him, i told you i was sure he must be really a man, changed into a dog by magic. to-day i went to the baker's, to prove for myself the truth of the story, and persuaded the dog to follow me here. now what do you say?" "you are right, mother," replied the girl, and rising she dipped her hand into a vessel of water. then sprinkling it over me she said, "if you were born dog, remain dog; but if you were born man, by virtue of this water resume your proper form." in one moment the spell was broken. the dog's shape vanished as if it had never been, and it was a man who stood before her. overcome with gratitude at my deliverance, i flung myself at her feet, and kissed the hem of her garment. "how can i thank you for your goodness towards a stranger, and for what you have done? henceforth i am your slave. deal with me as you will!" then, in order to explain how i came to be changed into a dog, i told her my whole story, and finished with rendering the mother the thanks due to her for the happiness she had brought me. "sidi-nouman," returned the daughter, "say no more about the obligation you are under to us. the knowledge that we have been of service to you is ample payment. let us speak of amina, your wife, with whom i was acquainted before her marriage. i was aware that she was a magician, and she knew too that i had studied the same art, under the same mistress. we met often going to the same baths, but we did not like each other, and never sought to become friends. as to what concerns you, it is not enough to have broken your spell, she must be punished for her wickedness. remain for a moment with my mother, i beg," she added hastily, "i will return shortly." left alone with the mother, i again expressed the gratitude i felt, to her as well as to her daughter. "my daughter," she answered, "is, as you see, as accomplished a magician as amina herself, but you would be astonished at the amount of good she does by her knowledge. that is why i have never interfered, otherwise i should have put a stop to it long ago." as she spoke, her daughter entered with a small bottle in her hand. "sidi-nouman," she said, "the books i have just consulted tell me that amina is not home at present, but she should return at any moment. i have likewise found out by their means, that she pretends before the servants great uneasiness as to your absence. she has circulated a story that, while at dinner with her, you remembered some important business that had to be done at once, and left the house without shutting the door. by this means a dog had strayed in, which she was forced to get rid of by a stick. go home then without delay, and await amina's return in your room. when she comes in, go down to meet her, and in her surprise, she will try to run away. then have this bottle ready, and dash the water it contains over her, saying boldly, "receive the reward of your crimes." that is all i have to tell you." everything happened exactly as the young magician had foretold. i had not been in my house many minutes before amina returned, and as she approached i stepped in front of her, with the water in my hand. she gave one loud cry, and turned to the door, but she was too late. i had already dashed the water in her face and spoken the magic words. amina disappeared, and in her place stood the horse you saw me beating yesterday. this, commander of the faithful, is my story, and may i venture to hope that, now you have heard the reason of my conduct, your highness will not think this wicked woman too harshly treated? "sidi-nouman," replied the caliph, "your story is indeed a strange one, and there is no excuse to be offered for your wife. but, without condemning your treatment of her, i wish you to reflect how much she must suffer from being changed into an animal, and i hope you will let that punishment be enough. i do not order you to insist upon the young magician finding the means to restore your wife to her human shape, because i know that when once women such as she begin to work evil they never leave off, and i should only bring down on your head a vengeance far worse than the one you have undergone already." the story of ali colia, merchant of bagdad in the reign of haroun-al-raschid, there lived in bagdad a merchant named ali cogia, who, having neither wife nor child, contented himself with the modest profits produced by his trade. he had spent some years quite happily in the house his father had left him, when three nights running he dreamed that an old man had appeared to him, and reproached him for having neglected the duty of a good mussulman, in delaying so long his pilgrimage to mecca. ali cogia was much troubled by this dream, as he was unwilling to give up his shop, and lose all his customers. he had shut his eyes for some time to the necessity of performing this pilgrimage, and tried to atone to his conscience by an extra number of good works, but the dream seemed to him a direct warning, and he resolved to put the journey off no longer. the first thing he did was to sell his furniture and the wares he had in his shop, only reserving to himself such goods as he might trade with on the road. the shop itself he sold also, and easily found a tenant for his private house. the only matter he could not settle satisfactorily was the safe custody of a thousand pieces of gold which he wished to leave behind him. after some thought, ali cogia hit upon a plan which seemed a safe one. he took a large vase, and placing the money in the bottom of it, filled up the rest with olives. after corking the vase tightly down, he carried it to one of his friends, a merchant like himself, and said to him: "my brother, you have probably heard that i am staffing with a caravan in a few days for mecca. i have come to ask whether you would do me the favour to keep this vase of olives for me till i come back?" the merchant replied readily, "look, this is the key of my shop: take it, and put the vase wherever you like. i promise that you shall find it in the same place on your return." a few days later, ali cogia mounted the camel that he had laden with merchandise, joined the caravan, and arrived in due time at mecca. like the other pilgrims he visited the sacred mosque, and after all his religious duties were performed, he set out his goods to the best advantage, hoping to gain some customers among the passers-by. very soon two merchants stopped before the pile, and when they had turned it over, one said to the other: "if this man was wise he would take these things to cairo, where he would get a much better price than he is likely to do here." ali cogia heard the words, and lost no time in following the advice. he packed up his wares, and instead of returning to bagdad, joined a caravan that was going to cairo. the results of the journey gladdened his heart. he sold off everything almost directly, and bought a stock of egyptian curiosities, which he intended selling at damascus; but as the caravan with which he would have to travel would not be starting for another six weeks, he took advantage of the delay to visit the pyramids, and some of the cities along the banks of the nile. now the attractions of damascus so fascinated the worthy ali, that he could hardly tear himself away, but at length he remembered that he had a home in bagdad, meaning to return by way of aleppo, and after he had crossed the euphrates, to follow the course of the tigris. but when he reached mossoul, ali had made such friends with some persian merchants, that they persuaded him to accompany them to their native land, and even as far as india, and so it came to pass that seven years had slipped by since he had left bagdad, and during all that time the friend with whom he had left the vase of olives had never once thought of him or of it. in fact, it was only a month before ali cogia's actual return that the affair came into his head at all, owing to his wife's remarking one day, that it was a long time since she had eaten any olives, and would like some. "that reminds me," said the husband, "that before ali cogia went to mecca seven years ago, he left a vase of olives in my care. but really by this time he must be dead, and there is no reason we should not eat the olives if we like. give me a light, and i will fetch them and see how they taste." "my husband," answered the wife, "beware, i pray, of your doing anything so base! supposing seven years have passed without news of ali cogia, he need not be dead for all that, and may come back any day. how shameful it would be to have to confess that you had betrayed your trust and broken the seal of the vase! pay no attention to my idle words, i really have no desire for olives now. and probably after all this while they are no longer good. i have a presentiment that ali cogia will return, and what will he think of you? give it up, i entreat." the merchant, however, refused to listen to her advice, sensible though it was. he took a light and a dish and went into his shop. "if you will be so obstinate," said his wife, "i cannot help it; but do not blame me if it turns out ill." when the merchant opened the vase he found the topmost olives were rotten, and in order to see if the under ones were in better condition he shook some out into the dish. as they fell out a few of the gold pieces fell out too. the sight of the money roused all the merchant's greed. he looked into the vase, and saw that all the bottom was filled with gold. he then replaced the olives and returned to his wife. "my wife," he said, as he entered the room, "you were quite right; the olives are rotten, and i have recorked the vase so well that ali cogia will never know it has been touched." "you would have done better to believe me," replied the wife. "i trust that no harm will come of it." these words made no more impression on the merchant than the others had done; and he spent the whole night in wondering how he could manage to keep the gold if ali cogia should come back and claim his vase. very early next morning he went out and bought fresh new olives; he then threw away the old ones, took out the gold and hid it, and filled up the vase with the olives he had bought. this done he recorked the vase and put it in the same place where it had been left by ali cogia. a month later ali cogia re-entered bagdad, and as his house was still let he went to an inn; and the following day set out to see his friend the merchant, who received him with open arms and many expressions of surprise. after a few moments given to inquiries ali cogia begged the merchant to hand him over the vase that he had taken care of for so long. "oh certainly," said he, "i am only glad i could be of use to you in the matter. here is the key of my shop; you will find the vase in the place where you put it." ali cogia fetched his vase and carried it to his room at the inn, where he opened it. he thrust down his hand but could feel no money, but still was persuaded it must be there. so he got some plates and vessels from his travelling kit and emptied out the olives. to no purpose. the gold was not there. the poor man was dumb with horror, then, lifting up his hands, he exclaimed, "can my old friend really have committed such a crime?" in great haste he went back to the house of the merchant. "my friend," he cried, "you will be astonished to see me again, but i can find nowhere in this vase a thousand pieces of gold that i placed in the bottom under the olives. perhaps you may have taken a loan of them for your business purposes; if that is so you are most welcome. i will only ask you to give me a receipt, and you can pay the money at your leisure." the merchant, who had expected something of the sort, had his reply all ready. "ali cogia," he said, "when you brought me the vase of olives did i ever touch it?" "i gave you the key of my shop and you put it yourself where you liked, and did you not find it in exactly the same spot and in the same state? if you placed any gold in it, it must be there still. i know nothing about that; you only told me there were olives. you can believe me or not, but i have not laid a finger on the vase." ali cogia still tried every means to persuade the merchant to admit the truth. "i love peace," he said, "and shall deeply regret having to resort to harsh measures. once more, think of your reputation. i shall be in despair if you oblige me to call in the aid of the law." "ali cogia," answered the merchant, "you allow that it was a vase of olives you placed in my charge. you fetched it and removed it yourself, and now you tell me it contained a thousand pieces of gold, and that i must restore them to you! did you ever say anything about them before? why, i did not even know that the vase had olives in it! you never showed them to me. i wonder you have not demanded pearls or diamonds. retire, i pray you, lest a crowd should gather in front of my shop." by this time not only the casual passers-by, but also the neighbouring merchants, were standing round, listening to the dispute, and trying every now and then to smooth matters between them. but at the merchant's last words ali cogia resolved to lay the cause of the quarrel before them, and told them the whole story. they heard him to the end, and inquired of the merchant what he had to say. the accused man admitted that he had kept ali cogia's vase in his shop; but he denied having touched it, and swore that as to what it contained he only knew what ali cogia had told him, and called them all to witness the insult that had been put upon him. "you have brought it on yourself," said ali cogia, taking him by the arm, "and as you appeal to the law, the law you shall have! let us see if you will dare to repeat your story before the cadi." now as a good mussulman the merchant was forbidden to refuse this choice of a judge, so he accepted the test, and said to ali cogia, "very well; i should like nothing better. we shall soon see which of us is in the right." so the two men presented themselves before the cadi, and ali cogia again repeated his tale. the cadi asked what witnesses he had. ali cogia replied that he had not taken this precaution, as he had considered the man his friend, and up to that time had always found him honest. the merchant, on his side, stuck to his story, and offered to swear solemnly that not only had he never stolen the thousand gold pieces, but that he did not even know they were there. the cadi allowed him to take the oath, and pronounced him innocent. ali cogia, furious at having to suffer such a loss, protested against the verdict, declaring that he would appeal to the caliph, haroun-al-raschid, himself. but the cadi paid no attention to his threats, and was quite satisfied that he had done what was right. judgment being given the merchant returned home triumphant, and ali cogia went back to his inn to draw up a petition to the caliph. the next morning he placed himself on the road along which the caliph must pass after mid-day prayer, and stretched out his petition to the officer who walked before the caliph, whose duty it was to collect such things, and on entering the palace to hand them to his master. there haroun-al-raschid studied them carefully. knowing this custom, ali cogia followed the caliph into the public hall of the palace, and waited the result. after some time the officer appeared, and told him that the caliph had read his petition, and had appointed an hour the next morning to give him audience. he then inquired the merchant's address, so that he might be summoned to attend also. that very evening, the caliph, with his grand-vizir giafar, and mesrour, chief of the eunuchs, all three disguised, as was their habit, went out to take a stroll through the town. going down one street, the caliph's attention was attracted by a noise, and looking through a door which opened into a court he perceived ten or twelve children playing in the moonlight. he hid himself in a dark corner, and watched them. "let us play at being the cadi," said the brightest and quickest of them all; "i will be the cadi. bring before me ali cogia, and the merchant who robbed him of the thousand pieces of gold." the boy's words recalled to the caliph the petition he had read that morning, and he waited with interest to see what the children would do. the proposal was hailed with joy by the other children, who had heard a great deal of talk about the matter, and they quickly settled the part each one was to play. the cadi took his seat gravely, and an officer introduced first ali cogia, the plaintiff, and then the merchant who was the defendant. ali cogia made a low bow, and pleaded his cause point by point; concluding by imploring the cadi not to inflict on him such a heavy loss. the cadi having heard his case, turned to the merchant, and inquired why he had not repaid ali cogia the sum in question. the false merchant repeated the reasons that the real merchant had given to the cadi of bagdad, and also offered to swear that he had told the truth. "stop a moment!" said the little cadi, "before we come to oaths, i should like to examine the vase with the olives. ali cogia," he added, "have you got the vase with you?" and finding he had not, the cadi continued, "go and get it, and bring it to me." so ali cogia disappeared for an instant, and then pretended to lay a vase at the feet of the cadi, declaring it was his vase, which he had given to the accused for safe custody; and in order to be quite correct, the cadi asked the merchant if he recognised it as the same vase. by his silence the merchant admitted the fact, and the cadi then commanded to have the vase opened. ali cogia made a movement as if he was taking off the lid, and the little cadi on his part made a pretence of peering into a vase. "what beautiful olives!" he said, "i should like to taste one," and pretending to put one in his mouth, he added, "they are really excellent! "but," he went on, "it seems to me odd that olives seven years old should be as good as that! send for some dealers in olives, and let us hear what they say!" two children were presented to him as olive merchants, and the cadi addressed them. "tell me," he said, "how long can olives be kept so as to be pleasant eating?" "my lord," replied the merchants, "however much care is taken to preserve them, they never last beyond the third year. they lose both taste and colour, and are only fit to be thrown away." "if that is so," answered the little cadi, "examine this vase, and tell me how long the olives have been in it." the olive merchants pretended to examine the olives and taste them; then reported to the cadi that they were fresh and good. "you are mistaken," said he, "ali cogia declares he put them in that vase seven years ago." "my lord," returned the olive merchants, "we can assure you that the olives are those of the present year. and if you consult all the merchants in bagdad you will not find one to give a contrary opinion." the accused merchant opened his mouth as if to protest, but the cadi gave him no time. "be silent," he said, "you are a thief. take him away and hang him." so the game ended, the children clapping their hands in applause, and leading the criminal away to be hanged. haroun-al-raschid was lost in astonishment at the wisdom of the child, who had given so wise a verdict on the case which he himself was to hear on the morrow. "is there any other verdict possible?" he asked the grand-vizir, who was as much impressed as himself. "i can imagine no better judgment." "if the circumstances are really such as we have heard," replied the grand-vizir, "it seems to me your highness could only follow the example of this boy, in the method of reasoning, and also in your conclusions." "then take careful note of this house," said the caliph, "and bring me the boy to-morrow, so that the affair may be tried by him in my presence. summon also the cadi, to learn his duty from the mouth of a child. bid ali cogia bring his vase of olives, and see that two dealers in olives are present." so saying the caliph returned to the palace. the next morning early, the grand-vizir went back to the house where they had seen the children playing, and asked for the mistress and her children. three boys appeared, and the grand-vizir inquired which had represented the cadi in their game of the previous evening. the eldest and tallest, changing colour, confessed that it was he, and to his mother's great alarm, the grand-vizir said that he had strict orders to bring him into the presence of the caliph. "does he want to take my son from me?" cried the poor woman; but the grand-vizir hastened to calm her, by assuring her that she should have the boy again in an hour, and she would be quite satisfied when she knew the reason of the summons. so she dressed the boy in his best clothes, and the two left the house. when the grand-vizir presented the child to the caliph, he was a little awed and confused, and the caliph proceeded to explain why he had sent for him. "approach, my son," he said kindly. "i think it was you who judged the case of ali cogia and the merchant last night? i overheard you by chance, and was very pleased with the way you conducted it. to-day you will see the real ali cogia and the real merchant. seat yourself at once next to me." the caliph being seated on his throne with the boy next him, the parties to the suit were ushered in. one by one they prostrated themselves, and touched the carpet at the foot of the throne with their foreheads. when they rose up, the caliph said: "now speak. this child will give you justice, and if more should be wanted i will see to it myself." ali cogia and the merchant pleaded one after the other, but when the merchant offered to swear the same oath that he had taken before the cadi, he was stopped by the child, who said that before this was done he must first see the vase of olives. at these words, ali cogia presented the vase to the caliph, and uncovered it. the caliph took one of the olives, tasted it, and ordered the expert merchants to do the same. they pronounced the olives good, and fresh that year. the boy informed them that ali cogia declared it was seven years since he had placed them in the vase; to which they returned the same answer as the children had done. the accused merchant saw by this time that his condemnation was certain, and tried to allege something in his defence. the boy had too much sense to order him to be hanged, and looked at the caliph, saying, "commander of the faithful, this is not a game now; it is for your highness to condemn him to death and not for me." then the caliph, convinced that the man was a thief, bade them take him away and hang him, which was done, but not before he had confessed his guilt and the place in which he had hidden ali cogia's money. the caliph ordered the cadi to learn how to deal out justice from the mouth of a child, and sent the boy home, with a purse containing a hundred pieces of gold as a mark of his favour. the enchanted horse it was the feast of the new year, the oldest and most splendid of all the feasts in the kingdom of persia, and the day had been spent by the king in the city of schiraz, taking part in the magnificent spectacles prepared by his subjects to do honour to the festival. the sun was setting, and the monarch was about to give his court the signal to retire, when suddenly an indian appeared before his throne, leading a horse richly harnessed, and looking in every respect exactly like a real one. "sire," said he, prostrating himself as he spoke, "although i make my appearance so late before your highness, i can confidently assure you that none of the wonders you have seen during the day can be compared to this horse, if you will deign to cast your eyes upon him." "i see nothing in it," replied the king, "except a clever imitation of a real one; and any skilled workman might do as much." "sire," returned the indian, "it is not of his outward form that i would speak, but of the use that i can make of him. i have only to mount him, and to wish myself in some special place, and no matter how distant it may be, in a very few moments i shall find myself there. it is this, sire, that makes the horse so marvellous, and if your highness will allow me, you can prove it for yourself." the king of persia, who was interested in every thing out of the common, and had never before come across a horse with such qualities, bade the indian mount the animal, and show what he could do. in an instant the man had vaulted on his back, and inquired where the monarch wished to send him. "do you see that mountain?" asked the king, pointing to a huge mass that towered into the sky about three leagues from schiraz; "go and bring me the leaf of a palm that grows at the foot." the words were hardly out of the king's mouth when the indian turned a screw placed in the horse's neck, close to the saddle, and the animal bounded like lightning up into the air, and was soon beyond the sight even of the sharpest eyes. in a quarter of an hour the indian was seen returning, bearing in his hand the palm, and, guiding his horse to the foot of the throne, he dismounted, and laid the leaf before the king. now the monarch had no sooner proved the astonishing speed of which the horse was capable than he longed to possess it himself, and indeed, so sure was he that the indian would be quite ready to sell it, that he looked upon it as his own already. "i never guessed from his mere outside how valuable an animal he was," he remarked to the indian, "and i am grateful to you for having shown me my error," said he. "if you will sell it, name your own price." "sire," replied the indian, "i never doubted that a sovereign so wise and accomplished as your highness would do justice to my horse, when he once knew its power; and i even went so far as to think it probable that you might wish to possess it. greatly as i prize it, i will yield it up to your highness on one condition. the horse was not constructed by me, but it was given me by the inventor, in exchange for my only daughter, who made me take a solemn oath that i would never part with it, except for some object of equal value." "name anything you like," cried the monarch, interrupting him. "my kingdom is large, and filled with fair cities. you have only to choose which you would prefer, to become its ruler to the end of your life." "sire," answered the indian, to whom the proposal did not seem nearly so generous as it appeared to the king, "i am most grateful to your highness for your princely offer, and beseech you not to be offended with me if i say that i can only deliver up my horse in exchange for the hand of the princess your daughter." a shout of laughter burst from the courtiers as they heard these words, and prince firouz schah, the heir apparent, was filled with anger at the indian's presumption. the king, however, thought that it would not cost him much to part from the princess in order to gain such a delightful toy, and while he was hesitating as to his answer the prince broke in. "sire," he said, "it is not possible that you can doubt for an instant what reply you should give to such an insolent bargain. consider what you owe to yourself, and to the blood of your ancestors." "my son," replied the king, "you speak nobly, but you do not realise either the value of the horse, or the fact that if i reject the proposal of the indian, he will only make the same to some other monarch, and i should be filled with despair at the thought that anyone but myself should own this seventh wonder of the world. of course i do not say that i shall accept his conditions, and perhaps he may be brought to reason, but meanwhile i should like you to examine the horse, and, with the owner's permission, to make trial of its powers." the indian, who had overheard the king's speech, thought that he saw in it signs of yielding to his proposal, so he joyfully agreed to the monarch's wishes, and came forward to help the prince to mount the horse, and show him how to guide it: but, before he had finished, the young man turned the screw, and was soon out of sight. they waited some time, expecting that every moment he might be seen returning in the distance, but at length the indian grew frightened, and prostrating himself before the throne, he said to the king, "sire, your highness must have noticed that the prince, in his impatience, did not allow me to tell him what it was necessary to do in order to return to the place from which he started. i implore you not to punish me for what was not my fault, and not to visit on me any misfortune that may occur." "but why," cried the king in a burst of fear and anger, "why did you not call him back when you saw him disappearing?" "sire," replied the indian, "the rapidity of his movements took me so by surprise that he was out of hearing before i recovered my speech. but we must hope that he will perceive and turn a second screw, which will have the effect of bringing the horse back to earth." "but supposing he does!" answered the king, "what is to hinder the horse from descending straight into the sea, or dashing him to pieces on the rocks?" "have no fears, your highness," said the indian; "the horse has the gift of passing over seas, and of carrying his rider wherever he wishes to go." "well, your head shall answer for it," returned the monarch, "and if in three months he is not safe back with me, or at any rate does not send me news of his safety, your life shall pay the penalty." so saying, he ordered his guards to seize the indian and throw him into prison. meanwhile, prince firouz schah had gone gaily up into the air, and for the space of an hour continued to ascend higher and higher, till the very mountains were not distinguishable from the plains. then he began to think it was time to come down, and took for granted that, in order to do this, it was only needful to turn the screw the reverse way; but, to his surprise and horror, he found that, turn as he might, he did not make the smallest impression. he then remembered that he had never waited to ask how he was to get back to earth again, and understood the danger in which he stood. luckily, he did not lose his head, and set about examining the horse's neck with great care, till at last, to his intense joy, he discovered a tiny little peg, much smaller than the other, close to the right ear. this he turned, and found him-self dropping to the earth, though more slowly than he had left it. it was now dark, and as the prince could see nothing, he was obliged, not without some feeling of disquiet, to allow the horse to direct his own course, and midnight was already passed before prince firouz schah again touched the ground, faint and weary from his long ride, and from the fact that he had eaten nothing since early morning. the first thing he did on dismounting was to try to find out where he was, and, as far as he could discover in the thick darkness, he found himself on the terraced roof of a huge palace, with a balustrade of marble running round. in one corner of the terrace stood a small door, opening on to a staircase which led down into the palace. some people might have hesitated before exploring further, but not so the prince. "i am doing no harm," he said, "and whoever the owner may be, he will not touch me when he sees i am unarmed," and in dread of making a false step, he went cautiously down the staircase. on a landing, he noticed an open door, beyond which was a faintly lighted hall. before entering, the prince paused and listened, but he heard nothing except the sound of men snoring. by the light of a lantern suspended from the roof, he perceived a row of black guards sleeping, each with a naked sword lying by him, and he understood that the hall must form the ante-room to the chamber of some queen or princess. standing quite still, prince firouz schah looked about him, till his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, and he noticed a bright light shining through a curtain in one corner. he then made his way softly towards it, and, drawing aside its folds, passed into a magnificent chamber full of sleeping women, all lying on low couches, except one, who was on a sofa; and this one, he knew, must be the princess. gently stealing up to the side of her bed he looked at her, and saw that she was more beautiful than any woman he had ever beheld. but, fascinated though he was, he was well aware of the danger of his position, as one cry of surprise would awake the guards, and cause his certain death. so sinking quietly on his knees, he took hold of the sleeve of the princess and drew her arm lightly towards him. the princess opened her eyes, and seeing before her a handsome well-dressed man, she remained speechless with astonishment. this favourable moment was seized by the prince, who bowing low while he knelt, thus addressed her: "you behold, madame, a prince in distress, son to the king of persia, who, owing to an adventure so strange that you will scarcely believe it, finds himself here, a suppliant for your protection. but yesterday, i was in my father's court, engaged in the celebration of our most solemn festival; to-day, i am in an unknown land, in danger of my life." now the princess whose mercy prince firouz schah implored was the eldest daughter of the king of bengal, who was enjoying rest and change in the palace her father had built her, at a little distance from the capital. she listened kindly to what he had to say, and then answered: "prince, be not uneasy; hospitality and humanity are practised as widely in bengal as they are in persia. the protection you ask will be given you by all. you have my word for it." and as the prince was about to thank her for her goodness, she added quickly, "however great may be my curiosity to learn by what means you have travelled here so speedily, i know that you must be faint for want of food, so i shall give orders to my women to take you to one of my chambers, where you will be provided with supper, and left to repose." by this time the princess's attendants were all awake, and listening to the conversation. at a sign from their mistress they rose, dressed themselves hastily, and snatching up some of the tapers which lighted the room, conducted the prince to a large and lofty room, where two of the number prepared his bed, and the rest went down to the kitchen, from which they soon returned with all sorts of dishes. then, showing him cupboards filled with dresses and linen, they quitted the room. during their absence the princess of bengal, who had been greatly struck by the beauty of the prince, tried in vain to go to sleep again. it was of no use: she felt broad awake, and when her women entered the room, she inquired eagerly if the prince had all he wanted, and what they thought of him. "madame," they replied, "it is of course impossible for us to tell what impression this young man has made on you. for ourselves, we think you would be fortunate if the king your father should allow you to marry anyone so amiable. certainly there is no one in the court of bengal who can be compared with him." these flattering observations were by no means displeasing to the princess, but as she did not wish to betray her own feelings she merely said, "you are all a set of chatterboxes; go back to bed, and let me sleep." when she dressed the following morning, her maids noticed that, contrary to her usual habit, the princess was very particular about her toilette, and insisted on her hair being dressed two or three times over. "for," she said to herself, "if my appearance was not displeasing to the prince when he saw me in the condition i was, how much more will he be struck with me when he beholds me with all my charms." then she placed in her hair the largest and most brilliant diamonds she could find, with a necklace, bracelets and girdle, all of precious stones. and over her shoulders her ladies put a robe of the richest stuff in all the indies, that no one was allowed to wear except members of the royal family. when she was fully dressed according to her wishes, she sent to know if the prince of persia was awake and ready to receive her, as she desired to present herself before him. when the princess's messenger entered his room, prince firouz schah was in the act of leaving it, to inquire if he might be allowed to pay his homage to her mistress: but on hearing the princess's wishes, he at once gave way. "her will is my law," he said, "i am only here to obey her orders." in a few moments the princess herself appeared, and after the usual compliments had passed between them, the princess sat down on a sofa, and began to explain to the prince her reasons for not giving him an audience in her own apartments. "had i done so," she said, "we might have been interrupted at any hour by the chief of the eunuchs, who has the right to enter whenever it pleases him, whereas this is forbidden ground. i am all impatience to learn the wonderful accident which has procured the pleasure of your arrival, and that is why i have come to you here, where no one can intrude upon us. begin then, i entreat you, without delay." so the prince began at the beginning, and told all the story of the festival of nedrouz held yearly in persia, and of the splendid spectacles celebrated in its honour. but when he came to the enchanted horse, the princess declared that she could never have imagined anything half so surprising. "well then," continued the prince, "you can easily understand how the king my father, who has a passion for all curious things, was seized with a violent desire to possess this horse, and asked the indian what sum he would take for it. "the man's answer was absolutely absurd, as you will agree, when i tell you that it was nothing less than the hand of the princess my sister; but though all the bystanders laughed and mocked, and i was beside myself with rage, i saw to my despair that my father could not make up his mind to treat the insolent proposal as it deserved. i tried to argue with him, but in vain. he only begged me to examine the horse with a view (as i quite understood) of making me more sensible of its value." "to please my father, i mounted the horse, and, without waiting for any instructions from the indian, turned the peg as i had seen him do. in an instant i was soaring upwards, much quicker than an arrow could fly, and i felt as if i must be getting so near the sky that i should soon hit my head against it! i could see nothing beneath me, and for some time was so confused that i did not even know in what direction i was travelling. at last, when it was growing dark, i found another screw, and on turning it, the horse began slowly to sink towards the earth. i was forced to trust to chance, and to see what fate had in store, and it was already past midnight when i found myself on the roof of this palace. i crept down the little staircase, and made directly for a light which i perceived through an open door--i peeped cautiously in, and saw, as you will guess, the eunuchs lying asleep on the floor. i knew the risks i ran, but my need was so great that i paid no attention to them, and stole safely past your guards, to the curtain which concealed your doorway. "the rest, princess, you know; and it only remains for me to thank you for the kindness you have shown me, and to assure you of my gratitude. by the law of nations, i am already your slave, and i have only my heart, that is my own, to offer you. but what am i saying? my own? alas, madame, it was yours from the first moment i beheld you!" the air with which he said these words could have left no doubt on the mind of the princess as to the effect of her charms, and the blush which mounted to her face only increased her beauty. "prince," returned she as soon as her confusion permitted her to speak, "you have given me the greatest pleasure, and i have followed you closely in all your adventures, and though you are positively sitting before me, i even trembled at your danger in the upper regions of the air! let me say what a debt i owe to the chance that has led you to my house; you could have entered none which would have given you a warmer welcome. as to your being a slave, of course that is merely a joke, and my reception must itself have assured you that you are as free here as at your father's court. as to your heart," continued she in tones of encouragement, "i am quite sure that must have been disposed of long ago, to some princess who is well worthy of it, and i could not think of being the cause of your unfaithfulness to her." prince firouz schah was about to protest that there was no lady with any prior claims, but he was stopped by the entrance of one of the princess's attendants, who announced that dinner was served, and, after all, neither was sorry for the interruption. dinner was laid in a magnificent apartment, and the table was covered with delicious fruits; while during the repast richly dressed girls sang softly and sweetly to stringed instruments. after the prince and princess had finished, they passed into a small room hung with blue and gold, looking out into a garden stocked with flowers and arbutus trees, quite different from any that were to be found in persia. "princess," observed the young man, "till now i had always believed that persia could boast finer palaces and more lovely gardens than any kingdom upon earth. but my eyes have been opened, and i begin to perceive that, wherever there is a great king he will surround himself with buildings worthy of him." "prince," replied the princess of bengal, "i have no idea what a persian palace is like, so i am unable to make comparisons. i do not wish to depreciate my own palace, but i can assure you that it is very poor beside that of the king my father, as you will agree when you have been there to greet him, as i hope you will shortly do." now the princess hoped that, by bringing about a meeting between the prince and her father, the king would be so struck with the young man's distinguished air and fine manners, that he would offer him his daughter to wife. but the reply of the prince of persia to her suggestion was not quite what she wished. "madame," he said, "by taking advantage of your proposal to visit the palace of the king of bengal, i should satisfy not merely my curiosity, but also the sentiments of respect with which i regard him. but, princess, i am persuaded that you will feel with me, that i cannot possibly present myself before so great a sovereign without the attendants suitable to my rank. he would think me an adventurer." "if that is all," she answered, "you can get as many attendants here as you please. there are plenty of persian merchants, and as for money, my treasury is always open to you. take what you please." prince firouz schah guessed what prompted so much kindness on the part of the princess, and was much touched by it. still his passion, which increased every moment, did not make him forget his duty. so he replied without hesitation: "i do not know, princess, how to express my gratitude for your obliging offer, which i would accept at once if it were not for the recollection of all the uneasiness the king my father must be suffering on my account. i should be unworthy indeed of all the love he showers upon me, if i did not return to him at the first possible moment. for, while i am enjoying the society of the most amiable of all princesses, he is, i am quite convinced, plunged in the deepest grief, having lost all hope of seeing me again. i am sure you will understand my position, and will feel that to remain away one instant longer than is necessary would not only be ungrateful on my part, but perhaps even a crime, for how do i know if my absence may not break his heart? "but," continued the prince, "having obeyed the voice of my conscience, i shall count the moments when, with your gracious permission, i may present myself before the king of bengal, not as a wanderer, but as a prince, to implore the favour of your hand. my father has always informed me that in my marriage i shall be left quite free, but i am persuaded that i have only to describe your generosity, for my wishes to become his own." the princess of bengal was too reasonable not to accept the explanation offered by prince firouz schah, but she was much disturbed at his intention of departing at once, for she feared that, no sooner had he left her, than the impression she had made on him would fade away. so she made one more effort to keep him, and after assuring him that she entirely approved of his anxiety to see his father, begged him to give her a day or two more of his company. in common politeness the prince could hardly refuse this request, and the princess set about inventing every kind of amusement for him, and succeeded so well that two months slipped by almost unnoticed, in balls, spectacles and in hunting, of which, when unattended by danger, the princess was passionately fond. but at last, one day, he declared seriously that he could neglect his duty no longer, and entreated her to put no further obstacles in his way, promising at the same time to return, as soon as he could, with all the magnificence due both to her and to himself. "princess," he added, "it may be that in your heart you class me with those false lovers whose devotion cannot stand the test of absence. if you do, you wrong me; and were it not for fear of offending you, i would beseech you to come with me, for my life can only be happy when passed with you. as for your reception at the persian court, it will be as warm as your merits deserve; and as for what concerns the king of bengal, he must be much more indifferent to your welfare than you have led me to believe if he does not give his consent to our marriage." the princess could not find words in which to reply to the arguments of the prince of persia, but her silence and her downcast eyes spoke for her, and declared that she had no objection to accompanying him on his travels. the only difficulty that occurred to her was that prince firouz schah did not know how to manage the horse, and she dreaded lest they might find themselves in the same plight as before. but the prince soothed her fears so successfully, that she soon had no other thought than to arrange for their flight so secretly, that no one in the palace should suspect it. this was done, and early the following morning, when the whole palace was wrapped in sleep, she stole up on to the roof, where the prince was already awaiting her, with his horse's head towards persia. he mounted first and helped the princess up behind; then, when she was firmly seated, with her hands holding tightly to his belt, he touched the screw, and the horse began to leave the earth quickly behind him. he travelled with his accustomed speed, and prince firouz schah guided him so well that in two hours and a half from the time of starting, he saw the capital of persia lying beneath him. he determined to alight neither in the great square from which he had started, nor in the sultan's palace, but in a country house at a little distance from the town. here he showed the princess a beautiful suite of rooms, and begged her to rest, while he informed his father of their arrival, and prepared a public reception worthy of her rank. then he ordered a horse to be saddled, and set out. all the way through the streets he was welcomed with shouts of joy by the people, who had long lost all hope of seeing him again. on reaching the palace, he found the sultan surrounded by his ministers, all clad in the deepest mourning, and his father almost went out of his mind with surprise and delight at the mere sound of his son's voice. when he had calmed down a little, he begged the prince to relate his adventures. the prince at once seized the opening thus given him, and told the whole story of his treatment by the princess of bengal, not even concealing the fact that she had fallen in love with him. "and, sire," ended the prince, "having given my royal word that you would not refuse your consent to our marriage, i persuaded her to return with me on the indian's horse. i have left her in one of your highness's country houses, where she is waiting anxiously to be assured that i have not promised in vain." as he said this the prince was about to throw himself at the feet of the sultan, but his father prevented him, and embracing him again, said eagerly: "my son, not only do i gladly consent to your marriage with the princess of bengal, but i will hasten to pay my respects to her, and to thank her in my own person for the benefits she has conferred on you. i will then bring her back with me, and make all arrangements for the wedding to be celebrated to-day." so the sultan gave orders that the habits of mourning worn by the people should be thrown off and that there should be a concert of drums, trumpets and cymbals. also that the indian should be taken from prison, and brought before him. his commands were obeyed, and the indian was led into his presence, surrounded by guards. "i have kept you locked up," said the sultan, "so that in case my son was lost, your life should pay the penalty. he has now returned; so take your horse, and begone for ever." the indian hastily quitted the presence of the sultan, and when he was outside, he inquired of the man who had taken him out of prison where the prince had really been all this time, and what he had been doing. they told him the whole story, and how the princess of bengal was even then awaiting in the country palace the consent of the sultan, which at once put into the indian's head a plan of revenge for the treatment he had experienced. going straight to the country house, he informed the doorkeeper who was left in charge that he had been sent by the sultan and by the prince of persia to fetch the princess on the enchanted horse, and to bring her to the palace. the doorkeeper knew the indian by sight, and was of course aware that nearly three months before he had been thrown into prison by the sultan; and seeing him at liberty, the man took for granted that he was speaking the truth, and made no difficulty about leading him before the princess of bengal; while on her side, hearing that he had come from the prince, the lady gladly consented to do what he wished. the indian, delighted with the success of his scheme, mounted the horse, assisted the princess to mount behind him, and turned the peg at the very moment that the prince was leaving the palace in schiraz for the country house, followed closely by the sultan and all the court. knowing this, the indian deliberately steered the horse right above the city, in order that his revenge for his unjust imprisonment might be all the quicker and sweeter. when the sultan of persia saw the horse and its riders, he stopped short with astonishment and horror, and broke out into oaths and curses, which the indian heard quite unmoved, knowing that he was perfectly safe from pursuit. but mortified and furious as the sultan was, his feelings were nothing to those of prince firouz schah, when he saw the object of his passionate devotion being borne rapidly away. and while he was struck speechless with grief and remorse at not having guarded her better, she vanished swiftly out of his sight. what was he to do? should he follow his father into the palace, and there give reins to his despair? both his love and his courage alike forbade it; and he continued his way to the palace. the sight of the prince showed the doorkeeper of what folly he had been guilty, and flinging himself at his master's feet, implored his pardon. "rise," said the prince, "i am the cause of this misfortune, and not you. go and find me the dress of a dervish, but beware of saying it is for me." at a short distance from the country house, a convent of dervishes was situated, and the superior, or scheih, was the doorkeeper's friend. so by means of a false story made up on the spur of the moment, it was easy enough to get hold of a dervish's dress, which the prince at once put on, instead of his own. disguised like this and concealing about him a box of pearls and diamonds he had intended as a present to the princess, he left the house at nightfall, uncertain where he should go, but firmly resolved not to return without her. meanwhile the indian had turned the horse in such a direction that, before many hours had passed, it had entered a wood close to the capital of the kingdom of cashmere. feeling very hungry, and supposing that the princess also might be in want of food, he brought his steed down to the earth, and left the princess in a shady place, on the banks of a clear stream. at first, when the princess had found herself alone, the idea had occurred to her of trying to escape and hide herself. but as she had eaten scarcely anything since she had left bengal, she felt she was too weak to venture far, and was obliged to abandon her design. on the return of the indian with meats of various kinds, she began to eat voraciously, and soon had regained sufficient courage to reply with spirit to his insolent remarks. goaded by his threats she sprang to her feet, calling loudly for help, and luckily her cries were heard by a troop of horsemen, who rode up to inquire what was the matter. now the leader of these horsemen was the sultan of cashmere, returning from the chase, and he instantly turned to the indian to inquire who he was, and whom he had with him. the indian rudely answered that it was his wife, and there was no occasion for anyone else to interfere between them. the princess, who, of course, was ignorant of the rank of her deliverer, denied altogether the indian's story. "my lord," she cried, "whoever you may be, put no faith in this impostor. he is an abominable magician, who has this day torn me from the prince of persia, my destined husband, and has brought me here on this enchanted horse." she would have continued, but her tears choked her, and the sultan of cashmere, convinced by her beauty and her distinguished air of the truth of her tale, ordered his followers to cut off the indian's head, which was done immediately. but rescued though she was from one peril, it seemed as if she had only fallen into another. the sultan commanded a horse to be given her, and conducted her to his own palace, where he led her to a beautiful apartment, and selected female slaves to wait on her, and eunuchs to be her guard. then, without allowing her time to thank him for all he had done, he bade her repose, saying she should tell him her adventures on the following day. the princess fell asleep, flattering herself that she had only to relate her story for the sultan to be touched by compassion, and to restore her to the prince without delay. but a few hours were to undeceive her. when the king of cashmere had quitted her presence the evening before, he had resolved that the sun should not set again without the princess becoming his wife, and at daybreak proclamation of his intention was made throughout the town, by the sound of drums, trumpets, cymbals, and other instruments calculated to fill the heart with joy. the princess of bengal was early awakened by the noise, but she did not for one moment imagine that it had anything to do with her, till the sultan, arriving as soon as she was dressed to inquire after her health, informed her that the trumpet blasts she heard were part of the solemn marriage ceremonies, for which he begged her to prepare. this unexpected announcement caused the princess such terror that she sank down in a dead faint. the slaves that were in waiting ran to her aid, and the sultan himself did his best to bring her back to consciousness, but for a long while it was all to no purpose. at length her senses began slowly to come back to her, and then, rather than break faith with the prince of persia by consenting to such a marriage, she determined to feign madness. so she began by saying all sorts of absurdities, and using all kinds of strange gestures, while the sultan stood watching her with sorrow and surprise. but as this sudden seizure showed no sign of abating, he left her to her women, ordering them to take the greatest care of her. still, as the day went on, the malady seemed to become worse, and by night it was almost violent. days passed in this manner, till at last the sultan of cashmere decided to summon all the doctors of his court to consult together over her sad state. their answer was that madness is of so many different kinds that it was impossible to give an opinion on the case without seeing the princess, so the sultan gave orders that they were to be introduced into her chamber, one by one, every man according to his rank. this decision had been foreseen by the princess, who knew quite well that if once she allowed the physicians to feel her pulse, the most ignorant of them would discover that she was in perfectly good health, and that her madness was feigned, so as each man approached, she broke out into such violent paroxysms, that not one dared to lay a finger on her. a few, who pretended to be cleverer than the rest, declared that they could diagnose sick people only from sight, ordered her certain potions, which she made no difficulty about taking, as she was persuaded they were all harmless. when the sultan of cashmere saw that the court doctors could do nothing towards curing the princess, he called in those of the city, who fared no better. then he had recourse to the most celebrated physicians in the other large towns, but finding that the task was beyond their science, he finally sent messengers into the other neighbouring states, with a memorandum containing full particulars of the princess's madness, offering at the same time to pay the expenses of any physician who would come and see for himself, and a handsome reward to the one who should cure her. in answer to this proclamation many foreign professors flocked into cashmere, but they naturally were not more successful than the rest had been, as the cure depended neither on them nor their skill, but only on the princess herself. it was during this time that prince firouz schah, wandering sadly and hopelessly from place to place, arrived in a large city of india, where he heard a great deal of talk about the princess of bengal who had gone out of her senses, on the very day that she was to have been married to the sultan of cashmere. this was quite enough to induce him to take the road to cashmere, and to inquire at the first inn at which he lodged in the capital the full particulars of the story. when he knew that he had at last found the princess whom he had so long lost, he set about devising a plan for her rescue. the first thing he did was to procure a doctor's robe, so that his dress, added to the long beard he had allowed to grow on his travels, might unmistakably proclaim his profession. he then lost no time in going to the palace, where he obtained an audience of the chief usher, and while apologising for his boldness in presuming to think that he could cure the princess, where so many others had failed, declared that he had the secret of certain remedies, which had hitherto never failed of their effect. the chief usher assured him that he was heartily welcome, and that the sultan would receive him with pleasure; and in case of success, he would gain a magnificent reward. when the prince of persia, in the disguise of a physician, was brought before him, the sultan wasted no time in talking, beyond remarking that the mere sight of a doctor threw the princess into transports of rage. he then led the prince up to a room under the roof, which had an opening through which he might observe the princess, without himself being seen. the prince looked, and beheld the princess reclining on a sofa with tears in her eyes, singing softly to herself a song bewailing her sad destiny, which had deprived her, perhaps for ever, of a being she so tenderly loved. the young man's heart beat fast as he listened, for he needed no further proof that her madness was feigned, and that it was love of him which had caused her to resort to this species of trick. he softly left his hiding-place, and returned to the sultan, to whom he reported that he was sure from certain signs that the princess's malady was not incurable, but that he must see her and speak with her alone. the sultan made no difficulty in consenting to this, and commanded that he should be ushered in to the princess's apartment. the moment she caught sight of his physician's robe, she sprang from her seat in a fury, and heaped insults upon him. the prince took no notice of her behaviour, and approaching quite close, so that his words might be heard by her alone, he said in a low whisper, "look at me, princess, and you will see that i am no doctor, but the prince of persia, who has come to set you free." at the sound of his voice, the princess of bengal suddenly grew calm, and an expression of joy overspread her face, such as only comes when what we wish for most and expect the least suddenly happens to us. for some time she was too enchanted to speak, and prince firouz schah took advantage of her silence to explain to her all that had occurred, his despair at watching her disappear before his very eyes, the oath he had sworn to follow her over the world, and his rapture at finally discovering her in the palace at cashmere. when he had finished, he begged in his turn that the princess would tell him how she had come there, so that he might the better devise some means of rescuing her from the tyranny of the sultan. it needed but a few words from the princess to make him acquainted with the whole situation, and how she had been forced to play the part of a mad woman in order to escape from a marriage with the sultan, who had not had sufficient politeness even to ask her consent. if necessary, she added, she had resolved to die sooner than permit herself to be forced into such a union, and break faith with a prince whom she loved. the prince then inquired if she knew what had become of the enchanted horse since the indian's death, but the princess could only reply that she had heard nothing about it. still she did not suppose that the horse could have been forgotten by the sultan, after all she had told him of its value. to this the prince agreed, and they consulted together over a plan by which she might be able to make her escape and return with him into persia. and as the first step, she was to dress herself with care, and receive the sultan with civility when he visited her next morning. the sultan was transported with delight on learning the result of the interview, and his opinion of the doctor's skill was raised still higher when, on the following day, the princess behaved towards him in such a way as to persuade him that her complete cure would not be long delayed. however he contented himself with assuring her how happy he was to see her health so much improved, and exhorted her to make every use of so clever a physician, and to repose entire confidence in him. then he retired, without awaiting any reply from the princess. the prince of persia left the room at the same time, and asked if he might be allowed humbly to inquire by what means the princess of bengal had reached cashmere, which was so far distant from her father's kingdom, and how she came to be there alone. the sultan thought the question very natural, and told him the same story that the princess of bengal had done, adding that he had ordered the enchanted horse to be taken to his treasury as a curiosity, though he was quite ignorant how it could be used. "sire," replied the physician, "your highness's tale has supplied me with the clue i needed to complete the recovery of the princess. during her voyage hither on an enchanted horse, a portion of its enchantment has by some means been communicated to her person, and it can only be dissipated by certain perfumes of which i possess the secret. if your highness will deign to consent, and to give the court and the people one of the most astonishing spectacles they have ever witnessed, command the horse to be brought into the big square outside the palace, and leave the rest to me. i promise that in a very few moments, in presence of all the assembled multitude, you shall see the princess as healthy both in mind and body as ever she was in her life. and in order to make the spectacle as impressive as possible, i would suggest that she should be richly dressed and covered with the noblest jewels of the crown." the sultan readily agreed to all that the prince proposed, and the following morning he desired that the enchanted horse should be taken from the treasury, and brought into the great square of the palace. soon the rumour began to spread through the town, that something extraordinary was about to happen, and such a crowd began to collect that the guards had to be called out to keep order, and to make a way for the enchanted horse. when all was ready, the sultan appeared, and took his place on a platform, surrounded by the chief nobles and officers of his court. when they were seated, the princess of bengal was seen leaving the palace, accompanied by the ladies who had been assigned to her by the sultan. she slowly approached the enchanted horse, and with the help of her ladies, she mounted on its back. directly she was in the saddle, with her feet in the stirrups and the bridle in her hand, the physician placed around the horse some large braziers full of burning coals, into each of which he threw a perfume composed of all sorts of delicious scents. then he crossed his hands over his breast, and with lowered eyes walked three times round the horse, muttering the while certain words. soon there arose from the burning braziers a thick smoke which almost concealed both the horse and princess, and this was the moment for which he had been waiting. springing lightly up behind the lady, he leaned forward and turned the peg, and as the horse darted up into the air, he cried aloud so that his words were heard by all present, "sultan of cashmere, when you wish to marry princesses who have sought your protection, learn first to gain their consent." it was in this way that the prince of persia rescued the princess of bengal, and returned with her to persia, where they descended this time before the palace of the king himself. the marriage was only delayed just long enough to make the ceremony as brilliant as possible, and, as soon as the rejoicings were over, an ambassador was sent to the king of bengal, to inform him of what had passed, and to ask his approbation of the alliance between the two countries, which he heartily gave. the story of two sisters who were jealous of their younger sister once upon a time there reigned over persia a sultan named kosrouschah, who from his boyhood had been fond of putting on a disguise and seeking adventures in all parts of the city, accompanied by one of his officers, disguised like himself. and no sooner was his father buried and the ceremonies over that marked his accession to the throne, than the young man hastened to throw off his robes of state, and calling to his vizir to make ready likewise, stole out in the simple dress of a private citizen into the less known streets of the capital. passing down a lonely street, the sultan heard women's voices in loud discussion; and peeping through a crack in the door, he saw three sisters, sitting on a sofa in a large hall, talking in a very lively and earnest manner. judging from the few words that reached his ear, they were each explaining what sort of men they wished to marry. "i ask nothing better," cried the eldest, "than to have the sultan's baker for a husband. think of being able to eat as much as one wanted, of that delicious bread that is baked for his highness alone! let us see if your wish is as good as mine." "i," replied the second sister, "should be quite content with the sultan's head cook. what delicate stews i should feast upon! and, as i am persuaded that the sultan's bread is used all through the palace, i should have that into the bargain. you see, my dear sister, my taste is as good as yours." it was now the turn of the youngest sister, who was by far the most beautiful of the three, and had, besides, more sense than the other two. "as for me," she said, "i should take a higher flight; and if we are to wish for husbands, nothing less than the sultan himself will do for me." the sultan was so much amused by the conversation he had overheard, that he made up his mind to gratify their wishes, and turning to the grand-vizir, he bade him note the house, and on the following morning to bring the ladies into his presence. the grand-vizir fulfilled his commission, and hardly giving them time to change their dresses, desired the three sisters to follow him to the palace. here they were presented one by one, and when they had bowed before the sultan, the sovereign abruptly put the question to them: "tell me, do you remember what you wished for last night, when you were making merry? fear nothing, but answer me the truth." these words, which were so unexpected, threw the sisters into great confusion, their eyes fell, and the blushes of the youngest did not fail to make an impression on the heart of the sultan. all three remained silent, and he hastened to continue: "do not be afraid, i have not the slightest intention of giving you pain, and let me tell you at once, that i know the wishes formed by each one. you," he said, turning to the youngest, "who desired to have me for an husband, shall be satisfied this very day. and you," he added, addressing himself to the other two, "shall be married at the same moment to my baker and to my chief cook." when the sultan had finished speaking the three sisters flung themselves at his feet, and the youngest faltered out, "oh, sire, since you know my foolish words, believe, i pray you, that they were only said in joke. i am unworthy of the honour you propose to do me, and i can only ask pardon for my boldness." the other sisters also tried to excuse themselves, but the sultan would hear nothing. "no, no," he said, "my mind is made up. your wishes shall be accomplished." so the three weddings were celebrated that same day, but with a great difference. that of the youngest was marked by all the magnificence that was customary at the marriage of the shah of persia, while the festivities attending the nuptials of the sultan's baker and his chief cook were only such as were suitable to their conditions. this, though quite natural, was highly displeasing to the elder sisters, who fell into a passion of jealousy, which in the end caused a great deal of trouble and pain to several people. and the first time that they had the opportunity of speaking to each other, which was not till several days later at a public bath, they did not attempt to disguise their feelings. "can you possibly understand what the sultan saw in that little cat," said one to the other, "for him to be so fascinated by her?" "he must be quite blind," returned the wife of the chief cook. "as for her looking a little younger than we do, what does that matter? you would have made a far better sultana than she." "oh, i say nothing of myself," replied the elder, "and if the sultan had chosen you it would have been all very well; but it really grieves me that he should have selected a wretched little creature like that. however, i will be revenged on her somehow, and i beg you will give me your help in the matter, and to tell me anything that you can think of that is likely to mortify her." in order to carry out their wicked scheme the two sisters met constantly to talk over their ideas, though all the while they pretended to be as friendly as ever towards the sultana, who, on her part, invariably treated them with kindness. for a long time no plan occurred to the two plotters that seemed in the least likely to meet with success, but at length the expected birth of an heir gave them the chance for which they had been hoping. they obtained permission of the sultan to take up their abode in the palace for some weeks, and never left their sister night or day. when at last a little boy, beautiful as the sun, was born, they laid him in his cradle and carried it down to a canal which passed through the grounds of the palace. then, leaving it to its fate, they informed the sultan that instead of the son he had so fondly desired the sultana had given birth to a puppy. at this dreadful news the sultan was so overcome with rage and grief that it was with great difficulty that the grand-vizir managed to save the sultana from his wrath. meanwhile the cradle continued to float peacefully along the canal till, on the outskirts of the royal gardens, it was suddenly perceived by the intendant, one of the highest and most respected officials in the kingdom. "go," he said to a gardener who was working near, "and get that cradle out for me." the gardener did as he was bid, and soon placed the cradle in the hands of the intendant. the official was much astonished to see that the cradle, which he had supposed to be empty, contained a baby, which, young though it was, already gave promise of great beauty. having no children himself, although he had been married some years, it at once occurred to him that here was a child which he could take and bring up as his own. and, bidding the man pick up the cradle and follow him, he turned towards home. "my wife," he exclaimed as he entered the room, "heaven has denied us any children, but here is one that has been sent in their place. send for a nurse, and i will do what is needful publicly to recognise it as my son." the wife accepted the baby with joy, and though the intendant saw quite well that it must have come from the royal palace, he did not think it was his business to inquire further into the mystery. the following year another prince was born and sent adrift, but happily for the baby, the intendant of the gardens again was walking by the canal, and carried it home as before. the sultan, naturally enough, was still more furious the second time than the first, but when the same curious accident was repeated in the third year he could control himself no longer, and, to the great joy of the jealous sisters, commanded that the sultana should be executed. but the poor lady was so much beloved at court that not even the dread of sharing her fate could prevent the grand-vizir and the courtiers from throwing themselves at the sultan's feet and imploring him not to inflict so cruel a punishment for what, after all, was not her fault. "let her live," entreated the grand-vizir, "and banish her from your presence for the rest of her days. that in itself will be punishment enough." his first passion spent, the sultan had regained his self-command. "let her live then," he said, "since you have it so much at heart. but if i grant her life it shall only be on one condition, which shall make her daily pray for death. let a box be built for her at the door of the principal mosque, and let the window of the box be always open. there she shall sit, in the coarsest clothes, and every mussulman who enters the mosque shall spit in her face in passing. anyone that refuses to obey shall be exposed to the same punishment himself. you, vizir, will see that my orders are carried out." the grand-vizir saw that it was useless to say more, and, full of triumph, the sisters watched the building of the box, and then listened to the jeers of the people at the helpless sultana sitting inside. but the poor lady bore herself with so much dignity and meekness that it was not long before she had won the sympathy of those that were best among the crowd. but it is now time to return to the fate of the third baby, this time a princess. like its brothers, it was found by the intendant of the gardens, and adopted by him and his wife, and all three were brought up with the greatest care and tenderness. as the children grew older their beauty and air of distinction became more and more marked, and their manners had all the grace and ease that is proper to people of high birth. the princes had been named by their foster-father bahman and perviz, after two of the ancient kings of persia, while the princess was called parizade, or the child of the genii. the intendant was careful to bring them up as befitted their real rank, and soon appointed a tutor to teach the young princes how to read and write. and the princess, determined not to be left behind, showed herself so anxious to learn with her brothers, that the intendant consented to her joining in their lessons, and it was not long before she knew as much as they did. from that time all their studies were done in common. they had the best masters for the fine arts, geography, poetry, history and science, and even for sciences which are learned by few, and every branch seemed so easy to them, that their teachers were astonished at the progress they made. the princess had a passion for music, and could sing and play upon all sorts of instruments she could also ride and drive as well as her brothers, shoot with a bow and arrow, and throw a javelin with the same skill as they, and sometimes even better. in order to set off these accomplishments, the intendant resolved that his foster children should not be pent up any longer in the narrow borders of the palace gardens, where he had always lived, so he bought a splendid country house a few miles from the capital, surrounded by an immense park. this park he filled with wild beasts of various sorts, so that the princes and princess might hunt as much as they pleased. when everything was ready, the intendant threw himself at the sultan's feet, and after referring to his age and his long services, begged his highness's permission to resign his post. this was granted by the sultan in a few gracious words, and he then inquired what reward he could give to his faithful servant. but the intendant declared that he wished for nothing except the continuance of his highness's favour, and prostrating himself once more, he retired from the sultan's presence. five or six months passed away in the pleasures of the country, when death attacked the intendant so suddenly that he had no time to reveal the secret of their birth to his adopted children, and as his wife had long been dead also, it seemed as if the princes and the princess would never know that they had been born to a higher station than the one they filled. their sorrow for their father was very deep, and they lived quietly on in their new home, without feeling any desire to leave it for court gaieties or intrigues. one day the princes as usual went out to hunt, but their sister remained alone in her apartments. while they were gone an old mussulman devotee appeared at the door, and asked leave to enter, as it was the hour of prayer. the princess sent orders at once that the old woman was to be taken to the private oratory in the grounds, and when she had finished her prayers was to be shown the house and gardens, and then to be brought before her. although the old woman was very pious, she was not at all indifferent to the magnificence of all around her, which she seemed to understand as well as to admire, and when she had seen it all she was led by the servants before the princess, who was seated in a room which surpassed in splendour all the rest. "my good woman," said the princess pointing to a sofa, "come and sit beside me. i am delighted at the opportunity of speaking for a few moments with so holy a person." the old woman made some objections to so much honour being done her, but the princess refused to listen, and insisted that her guest should take the best seat, and as she thought she must be tired ordered refreshments. while the old woman was eating, the princess put several questions to her as to her mode of life, and the pious exercises she practiced, and then inquired what she thought of the house now that she had seen it. "madam," replied the pilgrim, "one must be hard indeed to please to find any fault. it is beautiful, comfortable and well ordered, and it is impossible to imagine anything more lovely than the garden. but since you ask me, i must confess that it lacks three things to make it absolutely perfect." "and what can they be?" cried the princess. "only tell me, and i will lose no time in getting them." "the three things, madam," replied the old woman, "are, first, the talking bird, whose voice draws all other singing birds to it, to join in chorus. and second, the singing tree, where every leaf is a song that is never silent. and lastly the golden water, of which it is only needful to pour a single drop into a basin for it to shoot up into a fountain, which will never be exhausted, nor will the basin ever overflow." "oh, how can i thank you," cried the princess, "for telling me of such treasures! but add, i pray you, to your goodness by further informing me where i can find them." "madam," replied the pilgrim, "i should ill repay the hospitality you have shown me if i refused to answer your question. the three things of which i have spoken are all to be found in one place, on the borders of this kingdom, towards india. your messenger has only to follow the road that passes by your house, for twenty days, and at the end of that time, he is to ask the first person he meets for the talking bird, the singing tree, and the golden water." she then rose, and bidding farewell to the princess, went her way. the old woman had taken her departure so abruptly that the princess parizade did not perceive till she was really gone that the directions were hardly clear enough to enable the search to be successful. and she was still thinking of the subject, and how delightful it would be to possess such rarities, when the princes, her brothers, returned from the chase. "what is the matter, my sister?" asked prince bahman; "why are you so grave? are you ill? or has anything happened?" princess parizade did not answer directly, but at length she raised her eyes, and replied that there was nothing wrong. "but there must be something," persisted prince bahman, "for you to have changed so much during the short time we have been absent. hide nothing from us, i beseech you, unless you wish us to believe that the confidence we have always had in one another is now to cease." "when i said that it was nothing," said the princess, moved by his words, "i meant that it was nothing that affected you, although i admit that it is certainly of some importance to me. like myself, you have always thought this house that our father built for us was perfect in every respect, but only to-day i have learned that three things are still lacking to complete it. these are the talking bird, the singing tree, and the golden water." after explaining the peculiar qualities of each, the princess continued: "it was a mussulman devotee who told me all this, and where they might all be found. perhaps you will think that the house is beautiful enough as it is, and that we can do quite well without them; but in this i cannot agree with you, and i shall never be content until i have got them. so counsel me, i pray, whom to send on the undertaking." "my dear sister," replied prince bahman, "that you should care about the matter is quite enough, even if we took no interest in it ourselves. but we both feel with you, and i claim, as the elder, the right to make the first attempt, if you will tell me where i am to go, and what steps i am to take." prince perviz at first objected that, being the head of the family, his brother ought not to be allowed to expose himself to danger; but prince bahman would hear nothing, and retired to make the needful preparations for his journey. the next morning prince bahman got up very early, and after bidding farewell to his brother and sister, mounted his horse. but just as he was about to touch it with his whip, he was stopped by a cry from the princess. "oh, perhaps after all you may never come back; one never can tell what accidents may happen. give it up, i implore you, for i would a thousand times rather lose the talking bird, and the singing tree and the golden water, than that you should run into danger." "my dear sister," answered the prince, "accidents only happen to unlucky people, and i hope that i am not one of them. but as everything is uncertain, i promise you to be very careful. take this knife," he continued, handing her one that hung sheathed from his belt, "and every now and then draw it out and look at it. as long as it keeps bright and clean as it is to-day, you will know that i am living; but if the blade is spotted with blood, it will be a sign that i am dead, and you shall weep for me." so saying, prince bahman bade them farewell once more, and started on the high road, well mounted and fully armed. for twenty days he rode straight on, turning neither to the right hand nor to the left, till he found himself drawing near the frontiers of persia. seated under a tree by the wayside he noticed a hideous old man, with a long white moustache, and beard that almost fell to his feet. his nails had grown to an enormous length, and on his head he wore a huge hat, which served him for an umbrella. prince bahman, who, remembering the directions of the old woman, had been since sunrise on the look-out for some one, recognised the old man at once to be a dervish. he dismounted from his horse, and bowed low before the holy man, saying by way of greeting, "my father, may your days be long in the land, and may all your wishes be fulfilled!" the dervish did his best to reply, but his moustache was so thick that his words were hardly intelligible, and the prince, perceiving what was the matter, took a pair of scissors from his saddle pockets, and requested permission to cut off some of the moustache, as he had a question of great importance to ask the dervish. the dervish made a sign that he might do as he liked, and when a few inches of his hair and beard had been pruned all round the prince assured the holy man that he would hardly believe how much younger he looked. the dervish smiled at his compliments, and thanked him for what he had done. "let me," he said, "show you my gratitude for making me more comfortable by telling me what i can do for you." "gentle dervish," replied prince bahman, "i come from far, and i seek the talking bird, the singing tree, and the golden water. i know that they are to be found somewhere in these parts, but i am ignorant of the exact spot. tell me, i pray you, if you can, so that i may not have travelled on a useless quest." while he was speaking, the prince observed a change in the countenance of the dervish, who waited for some time before he made reply. "my lord," he said at last, "i do know the road for which you ask, but your kindness and the friendship i have conceived for you make me loth to point it out." "but why not?" inquired the prince. "what danger can there be?" "the very greatest danger," answered the dervish. "other men, as brave as you, have ridden down this road, and have put me that question. i did my best to turn them also from their purpose, but it was of no use. not one of them would listen to my words, and not one of them came back. be warned in time, and seek to go no further." "i am grateful to you for your interest in me," said prince bahman, "and for the advice you have given, though i cannot follow it. but what dangers can there be in the adventure which courage and a good sword cannot meet?" "and suppose," answered the dervish, "that your enemies are invisible, how then?" "nothing will make me give it up," replied the prince, "and for the last time i ask you to tell me where i am to go." when the dervish saw that the prince's mind was made up, he drew a ball from a bag that lay near him, and held it out. "if it must be so," he said, with a sigh, "take this, and when you have mounted your horse throw the ball in front of you. it will roll on till it reaches the foot of a mountain, and when it stops you will stop also. you will then throw the bridle on your horse's neck without any fear of his straying, and will dismount. on each side you will see vast heaps of big black stones, and will hear a multitude of insulting voices, but pay no heed to them, and, above all, beware of ever turning your head. if you do, you will instantly become a black stone like the rest. for those stones are in reality men like yourself, who have been on the same quest, and have failed, as i fear that you may fail also. if you manage to avoid this pitfall, and to reach the top of the mountain, you will find there the talking bird in a splendid cage, and you can ask of him where you are to seek the singing tree and the golden water. that is all i have to say. you know what you have to do, and what to avoid, but if you are wise you will think of it no more, but return whence you have come." the prince smilingly shook his head, and thanking the dervish once more, he sprang on his horse and threw the ball before him. the ball rolled along the road so fast that prince bahman had much difficulty in keeping up with it, and it never relaxed its speed till the foot of the mountain was reached. then it came to a sudden halt, and the prince at once got down and flung the bridle on his horse's neck. he paused for a moment and looked round him at the masses of black stones with which the sides of the mountain were covered, and then began resolutely to ascend. he had hardly gone four steps when he heard the sound of voices around him, although not another creature was in sight. "who is this imbecile?" cried some, "stop him at once." "kill him," shrieked others, "help! robbers! murderers! help! help!" "oh, let him alone," sneered another, and this was the most trying of all, "he is such a beautiful young man; i am sure the bird and the cage must have been kept for him." at first the prince took no heed to all this clamour, but continued to press forward on his way. unfortunately this conduct, instead of silencing the voices, only seemed to irritate them the more, and they arose with redoubled fury, in front as well as behind. after some time he grew bewildered, his knees began to tremble, and finding himself in the act of falling, he forgot altogether the advice of the dervish. he turned to fly down the mountain, and in one moment became a black stone. as may be imagined, prince perviz and his sister were all this time in the greatest anxiety, and consulted the magic knife, not once but many times a day. hitherto the blade had remained bright and spotless, but on the fatal hour on which prince bahman and his horse were changed into black stones, large drops of blood appeared on the surface. "ah! my beloved brother," cried the princess in horror, throwing the knife from her, "i shall never see you again, and it is i who have killed you. fool that i was to listen to the voice of that temptress, who probably was not speaking the truth. what are the talking bird and the singing tree to me in comparison with you, passionately though i long for them!" prince perviz's grief at his brother's loss was not less than that of princess parizade, but he did not waste his time on useless lamentations. "my sister," he said, "why should you think the old woman was deceiving you about these treasures, and what would have been her object in doing so! no, no, our brother must have met his death by some accident, or want of precaution, and to-morrow i will start on the same quest." terrified at the thought that she might lose her only remaining brother, the princess entreated him to give up his project, but he remained firm. before setting out, however, he gave her a chaplet of a hundred pearls, and said, "when i am absent, tell this over daily for me. but if you should find that the beads stick, so that they will not slip one after the other, you will know that my brother's fate has befallen me. still, we must hope for better luck." then he departed, and on the twentieth day of his journey fell in with the dervish on the same spot as prince bahman had met him, and began to question him as to the place where the talking bird, the singing tree and the golden water were to be found. as in the case of his brother, the dervish tried to make him give up his project, and even told him that only a few weeks since a young man, bearing a strong resemblance to himself, had passed that way, but had never come back again. "that, holy dervish," replied prince perviz, "was my elder brother, who is now dead, though how he died i cannot say." "he is changed into a black stone," answered the dervish, "like all the rest who have gone on the same errand, and you will become one likewise if you are not more careful in following my directions." then he charged the prince, as he valued his life, to take no heed of the clamour of voices that would pursue him up the mountain, and handing him a ball from the bag, which still seemed to be half full, he sent him on his way. when prince perviz reached the foot of the mountain he jumped from his horse, and paused for a moment to recall the instructions the dervish had given him. then he strode boldly on, but had scarcely gone five or six paces when he was startled by a man's voice that seemed close to his ear, exclaiming: "stop, rash fellow, and let me punish your audacity." this outrage entirely put the dervish's advice out of the prince's head. he drew his sword, and turned to avenge himself, but almost before he had realised that there was nobody there, he and his horse were two black stones. not a morning had passed since prince perviz had ridden away without princess parizade telling her beads, and at night she even hung them round her neck, so that if she woke she could assure herself at once of her brother's safety. she was in the very act of moving them through her fingers at the moment that the prince fell a victim to his impatience, and her heart sank when the first pearl remained fixed in its place. however she had long made up her mind what she would do in such a case, and the following morning the princess, disguised as a man, set out for the mountain. as she had been accustomed to riding from her childhood, she managed to travel as many miles daily as her brothers had done, and it was, as before, on the twentieth day that she arrived at the place where the dervish was sitting. "good dervish," she said politely, "will you allow me to rest by you for a few moments, and perhaps you will be so kind as to tell me if you have ever heard of a talking bird, a singing tree, and some golden water that are to be found somewhere near this?" "madam," replied the dervish, "for in spite of your manly dress your voice betrays you, i shall be proud to serve you in any way i can. but may i ask the purpose of your question?" "good dervish," answered the princess, "i have heard such glowing descriptions of these three things, that i cannot rest till i possess them." "madam," said the dervish, "they are far more beautiful than any description, but you seem ignorant of all the difficulties that stand in your way, or you would hardly have undertaken such an adventure. give it up, i pray you, and return home, and do not ask me to help you to a cruel death." "holy father," answered the princess, "i come from far, and i should be in despair if i turned back without having attained my object. you have spoken of difficulties; tell me, i entreat you, what they are, so that i may know if i can overcome them, or see if they are beyond my strength." so the dervish repeated his tale, and dwelt more firmly than before on the clamour of the voices, the horrors of the black stones, which were once living men, and the difficulties of climbing the mountain; and pointed out that the chief means of success was never to look behind till you had the cage in your grasp. "as far as i can see," said the princess, "the first thing is not to mind the tumult of the voices that follow you till you reach the cage, and then never to look behind. as to this, i think i have enough self-control to look straight before me; but as it is quite possible that i might be frightened by the voices, as even the boldest men have been, i will stop up my ears with cotton, so that, let them make as much noise as they like, i shall hear nothing." "madam," cried the dervish, "out of all the number who have asked me the way to the mountain, you are the first who has ever suggested such a means of escaping the danger! it is possible that you may succeed, but all the same, the risk is great." "good dervish," answered the princess, "i feel in my heart that i shall succeed, and it only remains for me to ask you the way i am to go." then the dervish said that it was useless to say more, and he gave her the ball, which she flung before her. the first thing the princess did on arriving at the mountain was to stop her ears with cotton, and then, making up her mind which was the best way to go, she began her ascent. in spite of the cotton, some echoes of the voices reached her ears, but not so as to trouble her. indeed, though they grew louder and more insulting the higher she climbed, the princess only laughed, and said to herself that she certainly would not let a few rough words stand between her and the goal. at last she perceived in the distance the cage and the bird, whose voice joined itself in tones of thunder to those of the rest: "return, return! never dare to come near me." at the sight of the bird, the princess hastened her steps, and without vexing herself at the noise which by this time had grown deafening, she walked straight up to the cage, and seizing it, she said: "now, my bird, i have got you, and i shall take good care that you do not escape." as she spoke she took the cotton from her ears, for it was needed no longer. "brave lady," answered the bird, "do not blame me for having joined my voice to those who did their best to preserve my freedom. although confined in a cage, i was content with my lot, but if i must become a slave, i could not wish for a nobler mistress than one who has shown so much constancy, and from this moment i swear to serve you faithfully. some day you will put me to the proof, for i know who you are better than you do yourself. meanwhile, tell me what i can do, and i will obey you." "bird," replied the princess, who was filled with a joy that seemed strange to herself when she thought that the bird had cost her the lives of both her brothers, "bird, let me first thank you for your good will, and then let me ask you where the golden water is to be found." the bird described the place, which was not far distant, and the princess filled a small silver flask that she had brought with her for the purpose. she then returned to the cage, and said: "bird, there is still something else, where shall i find the singing tree?" "behind you, in that wood," replied the bird, and the princess wandered through the wood, till a sound of the sweetest voices told her she had found what she sought. but the tree was tall and strong, and it was hopeless to think of uprooting it. "you need not do that," said the bird, when she had returned to ask counsel. "break off a twig, and plant it in your garden, and it will take root, and grow into a magnificent tree." when the princess parizade held in her hands the three wonders promised her by the old woman, she said to the bird: "all that is not enough. it was owing to you that my brothers became black stones. i cannot tell them from the mass of others, but you must know, and point them out to me, i beg you, for i wish to carry them away." for some reason that the princess could not guess these words seemed to displease the bird, and he did not answer. the princess waited a moment, and then continued in severe tones, "have you forgotten that you yourself said that you are my slave to do my bidding, and also that your life is in my power?" "no, i have not forgotten," replied the bird, "but what you ask is very difficult. however, i will do my best. if you look round," he went on, "you will see a pitcher standing near. take it, and, as you go down the mountain, scatter a little of the water it contains over every black stone and you will soon find your two brothers." princess parizade took the pitcher, and, carrying with her besides the cage the twig and the flask, returned down the mountain side. at every black stone she stopped and sprinkled it with water, and as the water touched it the stone instantly became a man. when she suddenly saw her brothers before her her delight was mixed with astonishment. "why, what are you doing here?" she cried. "we have been asleep," they said. "yes," returned the princess, "but without me your sleep would probably have lasted till the day of judgment. have you forgotten that you came here in search of the talking bird, the singing tree, and the golden water, and the black stones that were heaped up along the road? look round and see if there is one left. these gentlemen, and yourselves, and all your horses were changed into these stones, and i have delivered you by sprinkling you with the water from this pitcher. as i could not return home without you, even though i had gained the prizes on which i had set my heart, i forced the talking bird to tell me how to break the spell." on hearing these words prince bahman and prince perviz understood all they owed their sister, and the knights who stood by declared themselves her slaves and ready to carry out her wishes. but the princess, while thanking them for their politeness, explained that she wished for no company but that of her brothers, and that the rest were free to go where they would. so saying the princess mounted her horse, and, declining to allow even prince bahman to carry the cage with the talking bird, she entrusted him with the branch of the singing tree, while prince perviz took care of the flask containing the golden water. then they rode away, followed by the knights and gentlemen, who begged to be permitted to escort them. it had been the intention of the party to stop and tell their adventures to the dervish, but they found to their sorrow that he was dead, whether from old age, or whether from the feeling that his task was done, they never knew. as they continued their road their numbers grew daily smaller, for the knights turned off one by one to their own homes, and only the brothers and sister finally drew up at the gate of the palace. the princess carried the cage straight into the garden, and, as soon as the bird began to sing, nightingales, larks, thrushes, finches, and all sorts of other birds mingled their voices in chorus. the branch she planted in a corner near the house, and in a few days it had grown into a great tree. as for the golden water it was poured into a great marble basin specially prepared for it, and it swelled and bubbled and then shot up into the air in a fountain twenty feet high. the fame of these wonders soon spread abroad, and people came from far and near to see and admire. after a few days prince bahman and prince perviz fell back into their ordinary way of life, and passed most of their time hunting. one day it happened that the sultan of persia was also hunting in the same direction, and, not wishing to interfere with his sport, the young men, on hearing the noise of the hunt approaching, prepared to retire, but, as luck would have it, they turned into the very path down which the sultan was coming. they threw themselves from their horses and prostrated themselves to the earth, but the sultan was curious to see their faces, and commanded them to rise. the princes stood up respectfully, but quite at their ease, and the sultan looked at them for a few moments without speaking, then he asked who they were and where they lived. "sire," replied prince bahman, "we are sons of your highness's late intendant of the gardens, and we live in a house that he built a short time before his death, waiting till an occasion should offer itself to serve your highness." "you seem fond of hunting," answered the sultan. "sire," replied prince bahman, "it is our usual exercise, and one that should be neglected by no man who expects to comply with the ancient customs of the kingdom and bear arms." the sultan was delighted with this remark, and said at once, "in that case i shall take great pleasure in watching you. come, choose what sort of beasts you would like to hunt." the princes jumped on their horses and followed the sultan at a little distance. they had not gone very far before they saw a number of wild animals appear at once, and prince bahman started to give chase to a lion and prince perviz to a bear. both used their javelins with such skill that, directly they arrived within striking range, the lion and the bear fell, pierced through and through. then prince perviz pursued a lion and prince bahman a bear, and in a very few minutes they, too, lay dead. as they were making ready for a third assault the sultan interfered, and, sending one of his officials to summon them, he said smiling, "if i let you go on, there will soon be no beasts left to hunt. besides, your courage and manners have so won my heart that i will not have you expose yourselves to further danger. i am convinced that some day or other i shall find you useful as well as agreeable." he then gave them a warm invitation to stay with him altogether, but with many thanks for the honour done them, they begged to be excused, and to be suffered to remain at home. the sultan who was not accustomed to see his offers rejected inquired their reasons, and prince bahman explained that they did not wish to leave their sister, and were accustomed to do nothing without consulting all three together. "ask her advice, then," replied the sultan, "and to-morrow come and hunt with me, and give me your answer." the two princes returned home, but their adventure made so little impression on them that they quite forgot to speak to their sister on the subject. the next morning when they went to hunt they met the sultan in the same place, and he inquired what advice their sister had given. the young men looked at each other and blushed. at last prince bahman said, "sire, we must throw ourselves on your highness's mercy. neither my brother nor myself remembered anything about it." "then be sure you do not forget to-day," answered the sultan, "and bring me back your reply to-morrow." when, however, the same thing happened a second time, they feared that the sultan might be angry with them for their carelessness. but he took it in good part, and, drawing three little golden balls from his purse, he held them out to prince bahman, saying, "put these in your bosom and you will not forget a third time, for when you remove your girdle to-night the noise they will make in falling will remind you of my wishes." it all happened as the sultan had foreseen, and the two brothers appeared in their sister's apartments just as she was in the act of stepping into bed, and told their tale. the princess parizade was much disturbed at the news, and did not conceal her feelings. "your meeting with the sultan is very honourable to you," she said, "and will, i dare say, be of service to you, but it places me in a very awkward position. it is on my account, i know, that you have resisted the sultan's wishes, and i am very grateful to you for it. but kings do not like to have their offers refused, and in time he would bear a grudge against you, which would render me very unhappy. consult the talking bird, who is wise and far-seeing, and let me hear what he says." so the bird was sent for and the case laid before him. "the princes must on no account refuse the sultan's proposal," said he, "and they must even invite him to come and see your house." "but, bird," objected the princess, "you know how dearly we love each other; will not all this spoil our friendship?" "not at all," replied the bird, "it will make it all the closer." "then the sultan will have to see me," said the princess. the bird answered that it was necessary that he should see her, and everything would turn out for the best. the following morning, when the sultan inquired if they had spoken to their sister and what advice she had given them, prince bahman replied that they were ready to agree to his highness's wishes, and that their sister had reproved them for their hesitation about the matter. the sultan received their excuses with great kindness, and told them that he was sure they would be equally faithful to him, and kept them by his side for the rest of the day, to the vexation of the grand-vizir and the rest of the court. when the procession entered in this order the gates of the capital, the eyes of the people who crowded the streets were fixed on the two young men, strangers to every one. "oh, if only the sultan had had sons like that!" they murmured, "they look so distinguished and are about the same age that his sons would have been!" the sultan commanded that splendid apartments should be prepared for the two brothers, and even insisted that they should sit at table with him. during dinner he led the conversation to various scientific subjects, and also to history, of which he was especially fond, but whatever topic they might be discussing he found that the views of the young men were always worth listening to. "if they were my own sons," he said to himself, "they could not be better educated!" and aloud he complimented them on their learning and taste for knowledge. at the end of the evening the princes once more prostrated themselves before the throne and asked leave to return home; and then, encouraged by the gracious words of farewell uttered by the sultan, prince bahman said: "sire, may we dare to take the liberty of asking whether you would do us and our sister the honour of resting for a few minutes at our house the first time the hunt passes that way?" "with the utmost pleasure," replied the sultan; "and as i am all impatience to see the sister of such accomplished young men you may expect me the day after to-morrow." the princess was of course most anxious to entertain the sultan in a fitting way, but as she had no experience in court customs she ran to the talking bird, and begged he would advise her as to what dishes should be served. "my dear mistress," replied the bird, "your cooks are very good and you can safely leave all to them, except that you must be careful to have a dish of cucumbers, stuffed with pearl sauce, served with the first course." "cucumbers stuffed with pearls!" exclaimed the princess. "why, bird, who ever heard of such a dish? the sultan will expect a dinner he can eat, and not one he can only admire! besides, if i were to use all the pearls i possess, they would not be half enough." "mistress," replied the bird, "do what i tell you and nothing but good will come of it. and as to the pearls, if you go at dawn to-morrow and dig at the foot of the first tree in the park, on the right hand, you will find as many as you want." the princess had faith in the bird, who generally proved to be right, and taking the gardener with her early next morning followed out his directions carefully. after digging for some time they came upon a golden box fastened with little clasps. these were easily undone, and the box was found to be full of pearls, not very large ones, but well-shaped and of a good colour. so leaving the gardener to fill up the hole he had made under the tree, the princess took up the box and returned to the house. the two princes had seen her go out, and had wondered what could have made her rise so early. full of curiosity they got up and dressed, and met their sister as she was returning with the box under her arm. "what have you been doing?" they asked, "and did the gardener come to tell you he had found a treasure?" "on the contrary," replied the princess, "it is i who have found one," and opening the box she showed her astonished brothers the pearls inside. then, on the way back to the palace, she told them of her consultation with the bird, and the advice it had given her. all three tried to guess the meaning of the singular counsel, but they were forced at last to admit the explanation was beyond them, and they must be content blindly to obey. the first thing the princess did on entering the palace was to send for the head cook and to order the repast for the sultan when she had finished she suddenly added, "besides the dishes i have mentioned there is one that you must prepare expressly for the sultan, and that no one must touch but yourself. it consists of a stuffed cucumber, and the stuffing is to be made of these pearls." the head cook, who had never in all his experience heard of such a dish, stepped back in amazement. "you think i am mad," answered the princess, who perceived what was in his mind. "but i know quite well what i am doing. go, and do your best, and take the pearls with you." the next morning the princes started for the forest, and were soon joined by the sultan. the hunt began and continued till mid-day, when the heat became so great that they were obliged to leave off. then, as arranged, they turned their horses' heads towards the palace, and while prince bahman remained by the side of the sultan, prince perviz rode on to warn his sister of their approach. the moment his highness entered the courtyard, the princess flung herself at his feet, but he bent and raised her, and gazed at her for some time, struck with her grace and beauty, and also with the indefinable air of courts that seemed to hang round this country girl. "they are all worthy one of the other," he said to himself, "and i am not surprised that they think so much of her opinions. i must know more of them." by this time the princess had recovered from the first embarrassment of meeting, and proceeded to make her speech of welcome. "this is only a simple country house, sire," she said, "suitable to people like ourselves, who live a quiet life. it cannot compare with the great city mansions, much less, of course, with the smallest of the sultan's palaces." "i cannot quite agree with you," he replied; "even the little that i have seen i admire greatly, and i will reserve my judgment until you have shown me the whole." the princess then led the way from room to room, and the sultan examined everything carefully. "do you call this a simple country house?" he said at last. "why, if every country house was like this, the towns would soon be deserted. i am no longer astonished that you do not wish to leave it. let us go into the gardens, which i am sure are no less beautiful than the rooms." a small door opened straight into the garden, and the first object that met the sultan's eyes was the golden water. "what lovely coloured water!" he exclaimed; "where is the spring, and how do you make the fountain rise so high? i do not believe there is anything like it in the world." he went forward to examine it, and when he had satisfied his curiosity, the princess conducted him towards the singing tree. as they drew near, the sultan was startled by the sound of strange voices, but could see nothing. "where have you hidden your musicians?" he asked the princess; "are they up in the air, or under the earth? surely the owners of such charming voices ought not to conceal themselves!" "sire," answered the princess, "the voices all come from the tree which is straight in front of us; and if you will deign to advance a few steps, you will see that they become clearer." the sultan did as he was told, and was so wrapt in delight at what he heard that he stood some time in silence. "tell me, madam, i pray you," he said at last, "how this marvellous tree came into your garden? it must have been brought from a great distance, or else, fond as i am of all curiosities, i could not have missed hearing of it! what is its name?" "the only name it has, sire," replied she, "is the singing tree, and it is not a native of this country. its history is mixed up with those of the golden water and the talking bird, which you have not yet seen. if your highness wishes i will tell you the whole story, when you have recovered from your fatigue." "indeed, madam," returned he, "you show me so many wonders that it is impossible to feel any fatigue. let us go once more and look at the golden water; and i am dying to see the talking bird." the sultan could hardly tear himself away from the golden water, which puzzled him more and more. "you say," he observed to the princess, "that this water does not come from any spring, neither is brought by pipes. all i understand is, that neither it nor the singing tree is a native of this country." "it is as you say, sire," answered the princess, "and if you examine the basin, you will see that it is all in one piece, and therefore the water could not have been brought through it. what is more astonishing is, that i only emptied a small flaskful into the basin, and it increased to the quantity you now see." "well, i will look at it no more to-day," said the sultan. "take me to the talking bird." on approaching the house, the sultan noticed a vast quantity of birds, whose voices filled the air, and he inquired why they were so much more numerous here than in any other part of the garden. "sire," answered the princess, "do you see that cage hanging in one of the windows of the saloon? that is the talking bird, whose voice you can hear above them all, even above that of the nightingale. and the birds crowd to this spot, to add their songs to his." the sultan stepped through the window, but the bird took no notice, continuing his song as before. "my slave," said the princess, "this is the sultan; make him a pretty speech." the bird stopped singing at once, and all the other birds stopped too. "the sultan is welcome," he said. "i wish him long life and all prosperity." "i thank you, good bird," answered the sultan, seating himself before the repast, which was spread at a table near the window, "and i am enchanted to see in you the sultan and king of the birds." the sultan, noticing that his favourite dish of cucumber was placed before him, proceeded to help himself to it, and was amazed to and that the stuffing was of pearls. "a novelty, indeed!" cried he, "but i do not understand the reason of it; one cannot eat pearls!" "sire," replied the bird, before either the princes or the princess could speak, "surely your highness cannot be so surprised at beholding a cucumber stuffed with pearls, when you believed without any difficulty that the sultana had presented you, instead of children, with a dog, a cat, and a log of wood." "i believed it," answered the sultan, "because the women attending on her told me so." "the women, sire," said the bird, "were the sisters of the sultana, who were devoured with jealousy at the honour you had done her, and in order to revenge themselves invented this story. have them examined, and they will confess their crime. these are your children, who were saved from death by the intendant of your gardens, and brought up by him as if they were his own." like a flash the truth came to the mind of the sultan. "bird," he cried, "my heart tells me that what you say is true. my children," he added, "let me embrace you, and embrace each other, not only as brothers and sister, but as having in you the blood royal of persia which could flow in no nobler veins." when the first moments of emotion were over, the sultan hastened to finish his repast, and then turning to his children he exclaimed: "to-day you have made acquaintance with your father. to-morrow i will bring you the sultana your mother. be ready to receive her." the sultan then mounted his horse and rode quickly back to the capital. without an instant's delay he sent for the grand-vizir, and ordered him to seize and question the sultana's sisters that very day. this was done. they were confronted with each other and proved guilty, and were executed in less than an hour. but the sultan did not wait to hear that his orders had been carried out before going on foot, followed by his whole court to the door of the great mosque, and drawing the sultana with his own hand out of the narrow prison where she had spent so many years, "madam," he cried, embracing her with tears in his eyes, "i have come to ask your pardon for the injustice i have done you, and to repair it as far as i may. i have already begun by punishing the authors of this abominable crime, and i hope you will forgive me when i introduce you to our children, who are the most charming and accomplished creatures in the whole world. come with me, and take back your position and all the honour that is due to you." this speech was delivered in the presence of a vast multitude of people, who had gathered from all parts on the first hint of what was happening, and the news was passed from mouth to mouth in a few seconds. early next day the sultan and sultana, dressed in robes of state and followed by all the court, set out for the country house of their children. here the sultan presented them to the sultana one by one, and for some time there was nothing but embraces and tears and tender words. then they ate of the magnificent dinner which had been prepared for them, and after they were all refreshed they went into the garden, where the sultan pointed out to his wife the golden water and the singing tree. as to the talking bird, she had already made acquaintance with him. in the evening they rode together back to the capital, the princes on each side of their father, and the princess with her mother. long before they reached the gates the way was lined with people, and the air filled with shouts of welcome, with which were mingled the songs of the talking bird, sitting in its cage on the lap of the princess, and of the birds who followed it. and in this manner they came back to their father's palace. the story of _nefrekepta_ from a demotic papyrus put into verse by _gilbert murray_ oxford at the clarendon press mcmxi henry frowde, m.a. publisher to the university of oxford london, edinburgh, new york toronto and melbourne printed in england preface the original of this tale is in demotic egyptian, in prose, on a fragmentary papyrus dated 'the first month of winter, in the fifteenth year' of some king unnamed. palaeographical evidence suggests some date about b.c. my own education has been neglected in the matter of demotic, and i know the tale only from the literal translation which accompanies the text in dr. griffith's _stories of the high priests of memphis_. in that form, however, it so fascinated me that i presently found myself, to the neglect of more urgent duties, putting it into english verse and filling up the gaps in the narrative. i have tried to preserve the style and often the exact words of the original, as rendered by dr. griffith, but in other respects temptations have been great and i have not resisted them. the names present some difficulties. in demotic, if i understand aright, the vowels are not written and the consonants often do not mean what they seem to mean. the hero's name is spelt, roughly speaking, n('y)-nfr-k'-pth, the phantom lady's ty-bwbwe; the priest's is written stne, but was probably pronounced, so dr. griffith tells me, s[)e]tôn or s[)e]tân. while doing the verses i was constantly reminded of certain egyptian illuminations by miss florence kingsford, now mrs. sydney cockerell, which i had seen some years ago, and she has been so kind as to provide the book with a frontispiece and tail-piece. those who desire further information about setne will find it in the introduction to dr. griffith's learned and delightful book (clarendon press, ). g. m. nefrekepta _introduction_ setne khamuas, son of rameses, high priest of ptah, beneath his garden trees dwelt with his wife and children; wise was he in books of power and ancient masteries. and much he pondered on a tale they told, how nefrekepta, dead in days of old, held still the book of hermes which is thoth hid in his tomb, and never loosed his hold. and longing for that book so pierced him through he called to him his brother an-herru, the son of menkh-art, saying: 'brother mine, be with me in a deed i have to do.' and he said: 'i am with thee till my doom find me.' and setne said: 'i seek the tomb of nefrekepta dead, and take the book, the book of thoth hid in its inmost room.' that night they found the tomb, and an-herru stayed at the door, but setne passing through on seven great doors and seven windings spake his spells, and found the room; and all was true. for there lay nefrekepta in his pride, the book beneath his head; and at his side the ghosts sate of a woman and a boy, shadows beside the dead; and setne cried: 'ye thronèd shadows, whosoe'er ye be, and thou, dead pharaoh, tombed in majesty, all hail! i, setne, scribe and priest of ptah, command thy book be rendered up to me, the book of thoth which lies beneath thy head.' then never word nor sign came from the dead, but the two shadows lifted up their arms lamenting, and the woman swift outspread her hand to save the book, and cried: 'aha! setne khamuas, is the will of ra not yet fulfilled upon us? this is i, ahure of the race of mernab-ptah. _ahure's story_ therefore give ear, and let the book of gold tempt thee no more, till all my tale be told.-- it happened in the days of mernab-ptah, the long days, when the king was very old, and had no son nor daughter; in their room a son's son and a daughter's daughter, whom thou seest, nefrekepta the good scribe, and me who watch beside him in this tomb. and pharaoh mused and spake: 'go near and far, bring me the lordliest of my chiefs of war with all their daughters and their sons, to make feast on the third day; call me all that are.' so pharaoh spake; but lo, exceedingly did i love nefrekepta and he me. and much i feared that pharaoh at that feast would take some youth and maid of high degree, a war-lord's daughter and a war-lord's son, and fast bind nefrekepta to the one, and me to the other; so his race would grow, but we two meet no more beneath the sun. now pharaoh's ancient steward loved me well, and nefrekepta too; and it befell, one day he watched me and the second day he spoke: 'ahure, surely i can spell a story that is written in four eyes. thou lovest nefrekepta and likewise he loveth thee.' and i cried out: 'o friend, speak unto pharaoh quick, ere this day dies! pray that he give me to my cousin straight, nor seek to make us two live separate.' and he said: 'i will speak; for so the law commandeth, by long ages consecrate; the king's sons wed the daughters of the king.' then all my heart was like a water-spring leaping; and soon he went and soon returned sad, and reported of his counselling: 'i spake to pharaoh, saying: "lord, may life like ra's be thine and glory in all strife! is it not meet that nefrekepta take by ancient rule ahure to his wife? let pharaoh wed with pharaoh; so shall pure pharaoh be born:--the rule doth still endure." and pharaoh spoke not, but his brow grew dark with trouble; and i said: "o king, for sure thou hast some grief; say what doth vex thy brow?" and pharaoh said: "none vexeth me but thou. i have but two, and if those two be wed all pharaoh's fruit is hanging on one bough. nay, search and find me one great war-lord's son, another war-lord's daughter. with the one and other let these children twain be wed. so pharaoh's line on many threads shall run." next day the hours passed and the feast was set before the king; and i was called ere yet the lords came. and i stood before the king not as of old, my heart being desolate. and pharaoh spake: 'ahure, was it thou didst send that message that hath made my brow troubled, that with thy brother thou wouldst wed?' and i said: 'hath the king not made a vow, a war-lord's daughter and a war-lord's son-- behold us!--let my brother take the one, and let the other take ahure; so shall pharaoh's race be great beneath the sun.' and there i laughed; and pharaoh laughed again, and called the steward of the king's domain: 'steward, this night to nefrekepta's house the maid ahure take and all her train; and all things beautiful go with her there.' thus i to nefrekepta's house did fare, and pharaoh sent wrought silver and fine gold, and pharaoh's servants stood about my chair. and nefrekepta took with me delight, and feasted pharaoh's servants; and that night was made our marriage, and we knew great joy, and never, never, failed i in his sight; for each his fellow loved exceedingly. and when my time of bearing came to be i bore the son who lieth in this tomb, merab; a name in the kings' book is he. _the book of thoth_ and thus it fell, that of all things on earth my brother nefrekepta most of worth did hold the wisdom that in books is writ. the tablets of the house of death and birth, and all that on the temple walls is said, and all the lore of the kings' tombs he read, and ever walked in memphis on the hill of kings, and stored the wisdom of the dead. now one day was a high procession sent to ptah's great house; and nefrekepta went and walked therein; right slow he walked, and read all that was writ on wall and pediment. and, watching him, behold, an aged priest laughed. and he said: 'god's mercy be increased! why laughest thou at me?' and he: 'i laugh at no man, not the greatest nor the least; i laugh to think how thou shalt laugh anon, when that which no man's eye hath looked upon, the secret book of hermes which is thoth, is opened to thine hand and called thine own. he wrote it, and the gods before his face fled.--and it lies . . . if ever word of grace or spell of power thou need, come then to me and speak. thou shalt be guided to the place. two leaves it hath, on which two sorceries are written. if thou read the first of these, thou shalt enchant the earth, the clouds above, the underworld, the mountains and the seas; and all the words that wingèd things may say, and creeping things, shall be made thine that day; yea, thou shalt see all fishes in the deep and god's power guiding each upon his way. and if thou read the second, though there lies above thee all amenti, thou shalt rise and take thy shape again, and see the moon and ra and all the children of the skies.' and nefrekepta cried: 'o priest and king! i bless thee. tell me every gorgeous thing thy soul desireth, they shall all be thine, wilt thou but guide my steps to that great spring.' then smiled the priest: 'my prince, so let it be! send me an hundred bars of silver, free of all fault, for my burial when i die; and two full priesthoods give me without fee.' and nefrekepta called a youth, and bade an hundred bars of silver pure be made, and two new priesthoods named to thoth and ptah, and sealed him priest to ptah and thoth unpaid. then the man spoke: 'the book of thoth doth rest in coptos sea, hid in a golden chest; the gold doth lie in silver; that in wrought ebon and ivory, fitted nest in nest; that in sweet cedar; that in bronze doth lie; the bronze in iron. 'tis knotted with a ply of endless snake; and round it for one league are scorpion, asp, and worm to make men die.' he spoke, and nefrekepta no more knew what place he stood in nor what breath he drew, but forth he hied him in great joy, and caught my hand, and all this tale he told me true; and cried: 'south, south to coptos! none shall stay our going.' but i turned from him away and found that aged priest and said: 'thou priest, may amun curse thee for thy words this day! the book of thoth, the serpents and the sea! most bitter striving thou hast made for me, and bitter watching till my lord's return; false art thou, and thy south all cruelty.' and much i prayed my brother not to sail to coptos, but my prayer might not avail, for straight to pharaoh's throne he went, and spake to pharaoh of the priest and all his tale. and pharaoh said: 'what wilt thou i should do?' 'give me thy ship of pleasure and its crew,' he said: 'and with me let ahure sail to find the book, and the boy merab too.' so pharaoh's pleasure-ship was brought, and all its crew; and southward in high festival we sailed to coptos; and the news went forth before us, and the folk stood on the wall. the priests of isis and harpocrates and the chief priest of isis, all of these came down to nefrekepta, and to me the women of the priests in their degrees. they led us to their temple in a line; and nefrekepta gave ox, goose, and wine, and brought to isis and harpocrates rite and oblation and all dues divine. a temple beautiful exceedingly was over us, and there four days did he make with the priests of isis holiday, and the priests' women holiday with me. but when the morning of the fifth day came, he called for wax made holy, without blame, and shaped a boat with men, and spake a spell, and breathed; and life woke in them like a flame. he went on board that boat, and heaped it high with sand, and pushed it from the shore. and i sate on the shore alone, and said: 'i wait here till he comes, and if he dies i die.' he said: 'o rowers, row me to the place i wot of.' and the rowers rowed apace, by day, by night, and ceased on the third day. then he took sand, and cast the sand a space before him, and the water rose on both sides, and the floor below did ooze and froth with scorpion, asp, and worm to make men die, one league before the treasure chest of thoth. and round the chest was coiled an endless snake. then nefrekepta took his charms, and spake a spell on all that league of serpent things, and down they sank, and slept, and could not wake. then o'er the league of asps he walked, and fought with the endless snake and slew it; but it caught life as it fell, and joined again and flew to tear him; and again its death he wrought; then a third time it quickened, and again he fought and smote the endless snake in twain the third time; and between the parts he cast fine sand; and it lay still, for ever slain. and on he strode and found the caskets, rolled each within each; iron the outmost fold, then bronze; then cedar; then came ivory and ebon; then the silver; then the gold. he broke the gold, and kneeling on his knees read out the first of the two sorceries, enchanting all the earth, the clouds above, the underworld, the mountains and the seas. and everything that bird or worm might say, or mountain beast, he heard and knew that day, and saw all fishes moving in the deep, and god's power guiding each upon its way. he read the second sorcery, and far in heaven he saw the shining forth of ra, and all his children round him, and the moon uprising, and the shape of every star. and nefrekepta shut the book, and then went to his boat and called the magic men: 'row day, row night, and row me to the shore.' so rowed they, and he reached the shore again. and found me sitting by the sea to wait his coming. seven full days and nights i sate, and ate nor drank, but waited, and was grown like them they bear to the embalmer's gate. i said to him: 'my brother, let me see the book that wrought such pain on thee and me.' he gave the book into my hands, and slow i read what there was writ of sorcery. i laid upon the earth and sky my spell, the underworld, the hills, the ocean swell; and understood what tales the birds of heaven and mountain beasts and deep-sea fishes tell. then did i read the second spell, and high above saw ra enthronèd in the sky, and all his children; and i saw the moon and all the stars in all their shapes go by. and nefrekepta bade them bring a roll of new papyrus, and wrote out the whole of those two charms, and melted it in wine, and drank it. so the charm was in his soul. then sacrifice we made and gifts of worth heaped high in all the temples, and set forth on pharaoh's ship with singing and great joy, one league, one league, from coptos to the north. but thoth himself had seen our deed, and, ah, his wrath was hot! before the throne of ra, 'judgement!' he cried, 'give judgement between me and nefrekepta, son of mernab-ptah, who broke into my treasure-house this day, and slew my snake and stole my book away.' and ra said: 'surely he is in thy hand, o thoth, both he and his, to spare or slay.' and lo, a power of god went forth, and fell on all the river and lay invisible; and thoth said: 'nefrekepta shall come home no more, nor one of those that with him dwell.' then the boy merab, singing, from the shade of pharaoh's awning stepped; one step he made, and, lo, the river took him, and his face was covered and the will of ra obeyed. then all about us cried with a great cry. but nefrekepta from his awning high called with a spell, and the dead boy rose up; but over him that power of god did lie. then nefrekepta spake a written spell, and the boy merab told all that befell about him; yea, the very words which thoth spake at the throne of ra he made him tell. then slow to coptos we returned, and bore the boy merab to the embalmer's door; and like a prince he was embalmed and laid on coptos hill with the great dead of yore. and nefrekepta said: 'my sister, come quick; let us row till all the road be foam, lest pharaoh hear what hath befallen us, and his heart faint because we come not home.' we went on board, and northward rowed apace one league from coptos; and i saw the place where merab died, and from the canopy stepped, and the river took me; and my face was covered and the will of ra obeyed. then all upon the boat great mourning made, but nefrekepta from his awning high called, and i knew a spell upon me laid; and i rose up, though o'er me still had hold that power of god. i rose and did unfold all that befell me, yea, and every word which thoth before ra's throne had spoke i told. then slow to coptos he returned and bore me, his dead sister, to the embalmer's door; and like a queen i was embalmed, and laid where merab my dead child was laid before. he went on board, and down the stream apace rowed one league north from coptos, to the place where merab died and i, ahure, died; and stood and communed with his heart a space: 'shall it be backward now, ere thoth can slay? shall it be on to pharaoh, come what may? and, lo, when pharaoh asks me where those two, his children, are, what is it i shall say? "i took thy children to a burning land and living let them die; and here i stand." i will not speak it.'--then he bade them bring a band of finest linen, such a band as dead kings wear, to bind them at the last; and seven times round his body made it fast, and close against his body bound the book firm; and from out the canopy he passed. and, lo, the river took him, and the will of ra was done. and they on board did fill the air with wailing: 'great woe! grievous woe! dead, dead, is the good scribe and all his skill.' and down the stream the pleasure-ship sailed on toward memphis, and to no man there was known where nefrekepta lay; and when they came message was brought to pharaoh on his throne. and pharaoh came in robes of funeral, and all the folk of memphis, great and small, and ptah's high priest and all the priests of ptah, and pharaoh's council and his household, all; and saw the ship, and, lo, beneath it drowned saw nefrekepta lying, both hands wound about the rudder, guiding still his ship; so great a scribe was nefrekepta found. they raised him, and against his body dead they found the book pressed close. and pharaoh said: 'behold the book he died for! let it lie in this king's grave, a pillow for his head.' then sixteen days embalming did they keep for nefrekepta, thirty-five of deep wrapping; of burial threescore days and ten; and here he resteth in the house of sleep. and i, ahure, far away must lie in coptos; but my heart within doth cry for nefrekepta, and our shadows come waking and watch beside him sleeplessly. _the contest for the book_ and thou, setne khamuas, who dost look to take from us that which from thoth we took, where hast thou paid the price?--these twain and i, our lives on earth were taken for this book. but setne said: 'ahure, none the less, for all thy tale of old unhappiness, yield me the book at nefrekepta's head: i take it else by wrath and bitter stress.' then nefrekepta from his marble bed rose up: 'o thou to whom my wife hath said words vainly wise, and thou hast hearkened not, how wilt thou win the book beneath my head? think'st thou to take it from me by the wit of a good scribe? or wilt thou play for it four games of draughts, the fifty points and two?' and setne said: 'the draughts'; and down did sit. between them then the gaming board they drew for the first game of fifty points and two; and nefrekepta won the game, and spake a spell, and with the board he ruled it true. and setne ankle-deep into the floor sank. and again they played, and as before dead nefrekepta won the second game; and setne sank up to the thighs and more. again they played; and nefrekepta dead won the third game; and setne to his head sank, and the earth came close below his ears. and setne lifted up his voice in dread: 'brother, where art thou? brother an-herru, bear word to pharaoh of the deeds i do. pray pharaoh the last amulets of ptah be sent me. haste! haste!'--then the dead man drew the board up close, and the fourth game began. and an-herru far off had heard, and ran, ran unto pharaoh's throne and told his tale. and pharaoh said: 'to save a sinking man take the last amulets!' and an-herru flew with them to the dead man's gate, and flew through all the windings, all the doors, and, lo, the game was playing still between those two. he laid the amulets on setne's head, and setne shivered in the earth, and said a great spell; then, upstriving from the ground, reached out his arm, and caught the book, and fled. light went before him, and behind great gloom closed, and he heard ahure for her doom wailing: 'king darkness, come! king light, farewell! gone, gone, is the last comfort of the tomb.' but nefrekepta on his marble bed lay back and laughed: 'a little while,' he said, 'o shadow of my sister, and this man shall come again. therefore be comforted. his dreams shall bring him back, before mine ire kneeling, to do the worst of our desire, a fork upon his neck, a rod between his hands, and on his head a bowl of fire.' _ta-buvuë, and the return of the book_ but setne out into the light above returned, and saw the light with a great love; and sealed the tomb, and stood at pharaoh's throne and told his doings and the end thereof. and pharaoh said to setne: 'these be vain doings. go back and give the dead again his book, as a wise man to a wise man, now, lest thou give it some day with much pain.' but setne hearkened not. by day and night he read the book and took therein delight, and showed it at his feasts; and all his days were sweet to setne and his breath was light. 'twas joy to read, joy also when he made mirth with his sons, joy when he rose and prayed in ptah's great temple; till one day, behold, in ptah's great temple, through the colonnade, a troop of damsels fair exceedingly, and one who led them. beautiful was she, and not like other women; good beyond all he had seen or ever thought to see. her girdle was of gold and gold her hood, and all that touched her fragrant was and good, and maids behind her fifty walked and two; and, seeing, setne wist not where he stood, but called the slave that served him: 'haste thee, go to where yon woman worships; i would know what need hath brought her and what name she bears. go swiftly.' and the servant bowed him low, and found a handmaiden who walked aside: 'damsel, thy mistress cometh in much pride; say by what name men call her, and what need brings her to memphis.' and the maid replied: 'this is the child of the chief vision seer of bast, queen of the far world and the near; her name is ta-buvuË, and a vow to ptah, your mighty god, hath brought her here.' the slave returned and told to setne all the handmaid spoke; and setne said: 'go, call this handmaid secretly behind the rest; greet her from me and speak my name withal: "setne khamuas, son of rameses, greets thee: he sends ten gold arsinoës; and more, if any man hath done thee wrong, setne the judge will right thine injuries; all this, if thou wilt speak with him an hour, and help him. to a great and secret tower thou shalt go in, where none shall do thee hurt nor know thy name; so great is setne's power."' the slave returned and all of setne's word told to the handmaid; and her wrath was stirred, and loud she railed, as though 'twere blasphemies his lips had spoke; and ta-buvuË heard, and called him: 'strive not with this foolish one; but hither, tell to me what wrong is done.' but quick the handmaid ran before, and cried: 'he bringeth words of shame from pharaoh's son: thus saying: "setne, son of rameses, greets thee, and sends ten gold arsinoës; and more, if any man hath done thee wrong, setne the judge will right thine injuries"; all this, if i will speak with him an hour and help him. to a great and secret tower i shall go in, where none shall do me hurt nor know my name; so great is setne's power!' then ta-buvuË laughed: 'i think he spake this word to thee for ta-buvuË's sake.-- go, speak to setne, saying: "who am i that thou shouldst send my bondmaid gifts to take? i am no common woman; i am one born of great kings, who walk my ways alone, priestess of bast, the queen of the two worlds, and seeking no man's gift and fearing none. if me thou seekest, i will speak within mine own house: knock and thou shalt enter in: in per-bast, by the houses of the dead, past kemi, where the desert doth begin. there ask for ta-buvuË. i go hence now with my maids to make magnificence before thee. and no man shall watch thy way into my house, nor mark thy coming thence."' the slave returned, and setne's heart did fail for very joy at hearing of the tale. he called his servants: 'make me a swift boat ready, with rowers and a silken sail.' and setne marvelled in his heart a space, and in his mirror looked; and, lo, his face seemed beautiful again, and all his limbs light, like a young man when he runs a race. so walked he to the boat and entered in, and bade them row as ne'er they rowed, to win per-bast, beyond the houses of the dead, past kemi, where the desert doth begin. and there, behold, a tower exceeding tall set in a pleasant place; and a great wall was round it, and a garden to the north with many trees. and setne gave a call: 'whose is this tower?' and heard an answer: 'here dwells ta-buvuË, daughter of the seer of bast, she who is named the beautiful.' and setne entered and no man was near. and up the garden ways he went, and cast his eyes on all and marvelled as he passed: and ta-buvuË came and held his hand and spoke: 'now by the holiness of bast, this day is happiness. come to mine high chamber, we two alone amid the sky.' so up the stair they went, to a cool room of turquoise wrought and lapis lazuli. couches were there, decked with fair linen strand like pharaoh's couch; and cups of gold did stand on a great dresser, and a cup of gold was filled with wine and laid in setne's hand. and ta-buvuË said: 'take wine and meat.' but he said: 'love, how could i drink or eat?' then in a censer burning gums they brought and spices rare and unguent for his feet. lo, none was like her, none that bore the name of woman! and his heart rose like a flame: 'o ta-buvuË, let the end be now: let us make perfect that for which we came!' 'is not this house thine own and i thy bride?' said she: 'yet one thing first shalt thou decide. i am no common woman, but to bast pure, and full-filled of majesty and pride. thy present wife put from thee, that no soul near me may stand; and write it in a scroll. and all thy wealth of priesthoods and of powers, with me alone thou shalt divide the whole.' said setne: 'call a scribe.' and at their call the scribe came; and he wrote a scroll withal and cast off setne's wife; and setne's wealth, with ta-buvuË did he share it all. and in that hour one spoke to setne: 'lo, thy children, waiting in the court below, sit with the dogs and curling cats of bast.' and setne said: 'bring them, and let them know.' then ta-buvuË laid her raiment proud off, and put on soft linen, like one vowed to bridal; and her body through the robe shone, as the moon shines through a little cloud. and back she turned to him and poured him wine, and said: 'these children must not strive with mine. make them to sign the scroll, too, and give up their part in thee.' and setne made them sign. the fine, fine, linen robed her like a mist which robeth ra in pearl and amethyst; and setne marvelled gazing; and again she spoke, and setne's hand she took and kissed: 'these children, knowing all to me thou art, hate me.--let them be mine to take apart and do my will upon them.' and he said: 'do all the abomination of thy heart.' she slew them then, and from her window fine cast them. and far below he heard the whine of dogs that tore and curling cats of bast which lapped their blood. and setne drank his wine. he said: 'those children that were slain had birth by me. o woman, thou hast made much dearth about me. give me that for which i came, else have i nothing, nothing, on this earth.' 'hast thou not me,' she said, 'in place of all? come, therefore!' and she led him through the hall to a fair couch, ebon and ivory; and down he lay, and spread swift arms withal to clasp her; and within his arms outspread, behold, she withered, withered; and her head it had no eyes, and downward all her jaw dropped, like the jaws of the uncared-for dead. and setne strove to rise, but cloud on cloud held him: hot wind and hate and laughter loud, and one that wept for a world's glory gone, and dust, dust, dust: and setne shrieked aloud: and saw: and, lo, all naked in the day in a waste place of bricks and shards he lay, and clutched a burning kiln. and near him passed the way and much folk jeering on the way, soldiers and priests, beggars and men of pride. and setne rolled him in the dust and cried: 'my children!' and a great lord rose in wrath: 'thy children stand this hour at pharaoh's side, thou naked man! thou priest whom none shall bless! and ask for thee. what? is it drunkenness?' and setne said: 'they live.' and said: 'o king, throw me, i pray, some robe in this distress, wrought by dead nefrekepta in his ire. i go to yield him up his worst desire, a fork upon my neck, between my hands a rod, and on my head a bowl of fire.' one of the bondmen threw him, at that call, a poor man's robe; and on to pharaoh's hall he journeyed with them, and stretched out his arms and clasped his sons, and told to pharaoh all. 'yea, take the book, take quickly,' pharaoh said, 'the rod, the fork, the fire upon thine head, and seek dead nefrekepta in his tomb, and kneel and pray the pardon of the dead.' and setne heard; and quick ere set of sun he stood before the tomb, and one by one passed the great doors, and opened the last door, and, lo, a light through all the chamber shone, a great light, like the going forth of ra. and while he stood the woman cried: 'aha, setne, thou com'st! and if thou com'st alive 'tis ptah hath saved thee and the grace of ptah.' but nefrekepta laughed. and setne came kneeling: 'o king, with rod and fork and flame i come,' he said; 'and yield thee up thy book. what is thy judgement? is it further shame?' but nefrekepta laughed: 'i would not now make thee my slave, nor smite, nor burn thy brow. this was enough.--yet one thing lacketh me still, and thereto i bind thee by a vow. far off in a strange grave 'mid much annoy my wife ahure lieth and the boy merab; 'tis but their shadows, by the art of a good scribe, dwell here and have no joy. therefore i charge upon thee my behest: go, bring from coptos to this house of rest my wife ahure and merab the boy.' and setne rose and took on him the quest. and straightway before pharaoh bowed his head and told him all the tale. and pharaoh said: 'i give thee mine own pleasure-ship to sail to coptos and bring back those ancient dead.' so pharaoh's pleasure-ship with all its crew was brought, and southward on the wind they flew to coptos; and the high priest saw the ship, and all the priests, and came in haste thereto. the priests of isis and harpocrates and the chief priest; setne to all of these gave ox and goose and wine, and with them walked on coptos hill amid the tombs and trees. three days and nights among the tombs they trod in coptos on the hill, and every sod they turned and marked, and every graven stone, and the scribes' writings in the house of god. but never could they find by night nor day the tomb where merab and ahure lay. and nefrekepta knew they found it not, and sent his shadow forth to guide their way. like an old man, a bent and aged priest, it sate. and setne said: 'joy be increased, o father! thou dost know the things of old; three days and nights we search, and have not ceased, to find the tomb which holds ahure dead and merab.' then the old man raised his head: 'the father of my grandsire in old days spoke of it to my grandsire; and he said the father of his grandsire once had told his grandsire how those two were laid of old far in the southmost corner, where the house now stands in which the scrivener tells his gold.' and setne said: 'old man, methinks i see some hate here. hath the scrivener injured thee, that thou wouldst wreck his house and dig beneath?' he answered: 'have a watch set over me; then raze the scrivener's house, and, under ground by the south corner, if there be not found both merab and ahure, have me slain!' so there they held him and a guard stood round. the scrivener's house was razed; and that same day they found where merab and ahure lay, and, like great pharaohs, down to pharaoh's boat bore them 'mid priests and princes in array. and setne sought that ancient man, and, lo, he was not. by that sign did setne know this too was nefrekepta. then they built the scrivener's house again, and turned to go: and went on board, and back to memphis bore those pharaohs home, with stream and wind and oar; singing they went, and pharaoh heard them sing; and pharaoh rose and met them by the shore, and led those mighty ones in robes of pride to nefrekepta's tomb, and sanctified their entering in, and made a mound above; and there for ever sleep they, side by side. and there is finished all that fell between setne and nefrekepta and his queen ahure and the boy merab. 'twas writ in the first month of winter, year xv. [illustration: black cats by florence kingsford.] oxford: horace hart, m.a. printer to the university transcriber's note:- original spelling and punctuation retained. malayan literature comprising romantic tales, epic poetry and royal chronicles translated into english for the first time with a special introduction by chauncey c. starkweather, a.b., ll.b. special introduction easily the most charming poem of malayan literature is the epic of bidasari. it has all the absorbing fascination of a fairy tale. we are led into the dreamy atmosphere of haunted palace and beauteous plaisance: we glide in the picturesque imaginings of the oriental poet from the charm of all that is languorously seductive in nature into the shadowy realms of the supernatural. at one moment the sturdy bowman or lithe and agile lancer is before us in hurrying column, and at another we are told of mystic sentinels from another world, of djinns and demons and spirit-princes. all seems shadowy, vague, mysterious, entrancing. in this tale there is a wealth of imagery, a luxury of picturesqueness, together with that straightforward simplicity so alluring in the story- teller. not only is our attention so captivated that we seem under a spell, but our sympathy is invoked and retained. we actually wince before the cruel blows of the wicked queen. and the hot tears of bidasari move us to living pity. in the poetic justice that punishes the queen and rewards the heroine we take a childish delight. in other words, the oriental poet is simple, sensuous, passionate, thus achieving milton's ideal of poetic excellence. we hope that no philosopher, philologist, or ethnologist will persist in demonstrating the sun-myth or any other allegory from this beautiful poem. it is a story, a charming tale, to while away an idle hour, and nothing more. all lovers of the simple, the beautiful, the picturesque should say to such learned peepers and botanizers, "hands off!" let no learned theories rule here. leave this beautiful tale for artists and lovers of the story pure and simple. seek no more moral here than you would in a rose or a lily or a graceful palm. light, love, color, beauty, sympathy, engaging fascination--these may be found alike by philosopher and winsome youth. the story is no more immoral than a drop of dew or a lotus bloom; and, as to interest, in the land of the improviser and the story-teller one is obliged to be interesting. for there the audience is either spellbound, or quickly fades away and leaves the poet to realize that he must attempt better things. we think that these folk-stories have, indeed, a common origin, but that it is in the human heart. we do not look for a sigurd or siegfried on every page. imagine a nation springing from an ignorant couple on a sea-girt isle, in a few generations they would have evolved their sleeping beauty and their prince charming, their enchanted castles, and their djinns and fairies. these are as indigenous to the human heart as the cradle-song or the battle-cry. we do not find ourselves siding with those who would trace everything to a first exemplar. children have played, and men have loved, and poets have sung from the beginning, and we need not run to asia for the source of everything. universal human nature has a certain spontaneity. the translator has tried to reproduce the faithfulness and, in some measure, to indicate the graceful phrases of the original poem. the author of bidasari is unknown, and the date of the poem is a matter of the utmost uncertainty. some have attributed to it a javanese origin, but upon very slight evidence. the best authorities place its scene in the country of palembang, and its time after the arrival of the europeans in the indian archipelago, but suggest that the legend must be much older than the poem. the "makota radja-radja" is one of the most remarkable books of oriental literature. according to m. aristide marre, who translated it into french, its date is . its author was bokhari, and he lived at djohore. it contains extracts from more than fifty arab and persian authors. it treats of the duties of man to god, to himself and to society, and of the obligations of sovereigns, subjects, ministers, and officers. examples are taken from the lives of kings in asia. the author has not the worst opinion of his work, saying distinctly that it is a complete guide to happiness in this world and the next. he is particularly copious in his warnings to copyists and translators, cautioning them against the slightest negligence or inaccuracy, and promising them for faithfulness a passport to the glories of heaven. this shows that the author at least took the work seriously. that there is not a trace of humor in the book would doubtless recommend it to the dignified and lethargic orientals for whom it was written. bokhari seemed to consider himself prophet, priest, and poet-laureate in one. the work has a high position in the malayan peninsula, where it is read by young and old. the "crown of kings" is written in the court language of djohore. the author was a mohammedan mendicant monk. he called the book the crown of kings because "every king who read and followed its precepts would be a perfect king, and thus only would his crown sit well on his head, and the book itself will be for him a true crown." la fontaine and lamartine loved stories. the schoolmates of the latter called the latter "story-lover." they would have loved the story of the princess djouher manikam, which is written in a simple and natural style and is celebrated in the east, or, as the malays say, in the "country between windward and leeward." from the "sedjaret malayou," worthless as it is as history, one may obtain side lights upon oriental life. manners are portrayed in vivid colors, so that one may come to have a very accurate knowledge of them. customs are depicted from which one may learn of the formality and regard for precedents which is a perspicuous trait of oriental character. the rigid etiquette of court and home may be remarked. from the view of morals here described, one may appreciate how far we have progressed in ethical culture from that prevailing in former times among the children of these winterless lands. the readers of this series are to be congratulated in that they are here placed in possession of a unique and invaluable source of information concerning the life and literature of the far-away people of the indian archipelago. to these pages an added interest accrues from the fact that the philippines are now protected by our flag. the name malay signifies a wanderer. as a people they are passionate, vain, susceptible, and endowed with a reckless bravery and contempt of death. the malays have considerable originality in versification. the pantoum is particularly theirs--a form arising from their habits of improvisation and competitive versifying. they have also the epic or _sjair_, generally a pure romance, with much naive simplicity and natural feeling. and finally, they have the popular song, enigma, and fable. and so we leave the reader to his pleasant journey to the lands of djinns and mantris and spells and mystic talismans. he will be entertained by the chrestomathy of bokhari; he will be entranced by the story of the winsome and dainty bidasari. chauncey c. starkweather contents bidasari: song i song ii song iii song iv song v song vi sedjaret malayou the princess djouher-manikam makota radja-radja the epic of bidasari _metrical translation by chauncey c. starkweather, a.b., ll.b._ bidasari song i hear now the song i sing about a king of kembajat. a fakir has completed the story, that a poem he may make. there was a king, a sultan, and he was handsome and wise and perfect in all ways, proud scion of a race of mighty kings. he filled the land with merchants bringing wealth and travellers. and from that day's report, he was a prince most valorous and strong, who never vexing obstacles had met. but ever is the morrow all unknown. after the sultan, all accomplished man, had married been a year, or little more, he saw that very soon he'd have an heir. at this his heart rejoiced, and he was glad as though a mine of diamonds were his. some days the joy continued without clouds. but soon there came the moment when the prince knew sorrow's blighting force, and had to yield his country's capital. a savage bird, garouda called, a very frightful bird, soared in the air, and ravaged all the land. it flew with wings and talons wide outstretched, with cries to terrify the stoutest heart. all people, great and small, were seized with dread, and all the country feared and was oppressed, and people ran now this way and now that. the folk approached the king. he heard the noise as of a fray, and, angry, asked the guard, "whence comes this noise?" as soon as this he said one of his body-guard replied with awe, "illustrious lord, most merciful of kings, a fell garouda follows us about." the king's face paled when these dread words be heard. the officers arose and beat their breasts. the sorrow of the king was greater still because the queen was ill. he took her hand and started without food or anything. he trusted all to god, who watches o'er the safety of the world. the suff'ring queen spoke not a word and walked along in tears. they went by far _campongs_ and dreary fields beneath a burning sun which overwhelmed their strength. and so the lovely queen's fair face from palest yellow grew quite black. the prince approached the desert with his body torn by thorns and brambles. all his care and grief were doubled when he saw his lovely wife who scarce could drag herself along and whom he had to lead. most desolate was he, turning his mind on the good queen's sad lot. upon the way he gave up all to her. two months they journeyed and one day they came unto a _campong_ of a merchant, where they looked for rest because the queen was weak. the path was rugged and the way was hard. the prince made halt before the palisades, for god had made him stop and rest awhile. the sultan said: "what is this _campong_ here? i fain would enter, but i do not dare." the good queen wept and said: "o my beloved, what shall i say? i am so tired and weak i cannot journey more." the king was quite beside himself and fainted where he sat. but on they journeyed to the riverside, stopping at every step. and when the king had gained the bank he saw a little boat with roof of bent bamboos and _kadjang_ screen. then to the queen, "rest here, my precious one." the silver moon was at the full, but veiled with clouds, like to a maid who hides her face and glances toward her lover timidly. then there was born a daughter, like a flower, more beautiful than statue of pure gold, just like the tulips that the princess plucked. the mother's heart was broken at the thought that she must leave the babe, the child beloved they both adored, such beauty it presaged. the king with tears exclaimed, "how can we take the infant with us o'er this stony road beset with thorns, and burned with dreadful heat? pearl of my palace," said he to the queen, "weep not so bitterly about the child. an offering let us make of her to god. god grant she may be found by loving hearts who'll care for her and raise her in their home." as soon as they had quite determined there to leave the infant princess, their great grief no limit knew. but ere they went away the king took up the infant in his arms and rocked her on his knees until she slept. "sleep on, heart's love, my soul, my little one, weep not for thy dear mother's lot. she fain would take thee with her, but the way is hard. sleep on, dear child, the apple of my eye, the image of thy sire. stay here, fear not. for unto god we trust thee, lord of all. sleep on, my child, chief jewel of my crown, and let thy father go. to look at thee doth pierce my heart as by a poniard's blow. ah, sweet my child, dear, tender little one, thy father loves yet leaves thee. happy be, and may no harm come nigh thee. fare thee well." the little princess slept, lulled by his voice. he put her from his knees and placed her on a finely woven cloth of ind, and covered her with satin webbed with gold. with flowing tears the mother wrapped her in a tissue fine adorned with jewels like to sculptured flowers. she seized the child and weeping murmured low: "o dearest child, my pretty little girl! i leave thee to the master of the world. live happily, although thy mother goes and leaves thee here. ah, sad thy mother's lot! thy father forces her to quit thee now. she would prefer with thee to stay, but, no! thy father bids her go. and that is why thy mother's fond heart breaks, she loves thee so, and yet must leave thee. oh, how can i live?" the mother fainted, and the grieving king was fain to kill himself, so was he moved. he took the queen's head on his knees. and soon by god's decree and ever-sheltering grace she to her senses came and stood erect. again she wept on looking at the child. "if i should never see thee more, sweet soul, oh, may thy mother share thy fate! her life is bound to thine. the light is gone from out thy mother's eyes. hope dies within her heart because she fears to see thee nevermore. oh, may some charitable heart, my child, discover thee!" the prince essayed to dry her tears. "now come away, my dearest love. soon day will dawn." the prince in grief set out, but ever turned and wanted to go back. they walked along together, man and wife all solitary, with no friends at hand, care-worn and troubled, and the moon shone bright. song ii i sing in this song of a merchant great and of his wealth. his goods and treasures were beyond all count, his happiness without alloy. in indrapura town there was no equal to his fortune. he possessed a thousand slaves, both old and young, who came from java and from other lands. his rank was higher than pangawa's. wives he had in goodly numbers. but he lacked one thing that weighed upon his heart--he had no child. now, by the will of god, the merchant great came very early from the palace gates, and sought the river-bank, attended by his favorite wife. lila djouhara was the merchant's name. he heard a feeble voice as of an infant crying, like the shrill tones of a flute, and from a boat it seemed to come. then toward the wondrous boat he went and saw an infant with a pretty face. his heart was overjoyed as if he had a mine of diamonds found. the spouses said: "whose child is this? it surely must belong to one of highest rank. some cause he had to leave her here." the merchant's heart was glad to see the bright eyes of the little one. he raised her in his arms and took her home. four waiting-maids and nurses two he gave the pretty child. the palace rooms were all adorned anew, with rugs and curtains soft, and tapestries of orange hue were hung. the princess rested on a couch inlaid with gold, a splendid couch, with lanterns softly bright and tapers burning with a gentle ray. the merchant and his wife with all their hearts adored the child, as if it were their own. she looked like mindoudari, and received the name of bidasari. then they took a little fish and changing vital spirits they put it in a golden box, then placed the box within a casket rich and rare. the merchant made a garden, with all sorts of vases filled with flowers, and bowers of green and trellised vines. a little pond made glad the eyes, with the precious stones and topaz set alternately, in fashion of the land of pellanggam, a charm for all. the sand was purest gold, with alabaster fine all mixed with red pearls and with sapphires blue. and in the water deep and clear they kept the casket. since they had the infant found, sweet bidasari, all the house was filled with joy. the merchant and his wife did naught but feast and clap their hands and dance. they watched the infant night and day. they gave to her garments of gold, with necklaces and gems, with rings and girdles, and quaint boxes, too, of perfume rare, and crescent pins and flowers of gold to nestle in the hair, and shoes embroidered in the fashion of sourat. by day and night the merchant guarded her. so while sweet bidasari grew, her lovely face increased in beauty. her soft skin was white and yellow, and she was most beautiful. her ear-rings and her bracelets made her look like some rare gem imprisoned in a glass. her beauty had no equal, and her face was like a nymph's celestial. she had gowns as many as she wished, as many as a princess fair of java. there was not a second bidasari in the land. i'll tell about djouhan mengindra now, sultan of indrapura. very wide his kingdom was, with ministers of state and officers, and regiments of picked young warriors, the bulwark of the throne. this most illustrious prince had only been two years the husband of fair lila sari, a princess lovable and kind. the king was deemed most handsome. and there was within all indrapura none to equal him. his education was what it should be, his conversation very affable. he loved the princess lila sari well. he gave her everything, and she in turn was good to him, but yet she was so vain. "there is no one so beautiful as i," she said. they were united like unto the soul and body. and the good king thought there could not be another like his wife. one day they were together, and the queen began to sing: "oh, come, my well-beloved, and listen to my words. thou tellst me oft thou lovest me. but i know not thy heart. if some misfortune were to overwhelm wouldst thou be true to me?" he smiled and said: "no harm can touch thee, dear. but should it come, whenever thou art 'whelmed i'll perish too." with joy the princess said: "my noble prince, if there were found a woman whose flower face were fairer than all others in the world, say, wouldst thou wed her?" and the king replied: "my friend, my fairest, who is like to thee? my soul, my princess, of a noble race, thou'rt sweet and wise and good and beautiful. thou'rt welded to my heart. no thought of mine is separate from thee." the princess smiled; her face was all transfigured with her joy. but suddenly the thought came to her mind, "who knows there is none more fair than i?" and then she cried: "now hear me, o my love! were there a woman with an angel-face, wouldst them make her thy wife? if she appeared unto thine eyes more beautiful than i, then would thy heart not burn for her?" the prince but smiled, and answered not. she also smiled, but said, "since thou dost hesitate, i know that thou wouldst surely wed her." then the prince made answer: "o my heart, gold of my soul, if she in form and birth were like to thee i'd join her with thy destiny." now when the princess heard these words she paled and shook. with eyes cast down, she left her royal spouse. but quick he seized her. with a smile he said: "gold, ruby, dearest friend, i pray thee now, oh, be not vexed with me. light of my eyes, keep not within thy heart a bitterness because i answered thus unto thy words." he took her in his arms and kissed her lips and wooed her. and her face again grew sweet the while she heard. and yet her woman's heart was grieved and saddened. and she sat apart, and swift these thoughts came to her anxious mind: "i'll seek to-morrow through this kingdom wide, lest there should be within the land a maid more fair than i. to death i shall condemn her straight, lest rival she may be to me. for if my lord should marry her, he'd love her more than me. he'd love the younger one, and constantly my tortured heart would bleed." they angered her, these thoughts, as if her heart were filled with gall. "now may i be accursed if i go not unto the end in love." her heart was not assuaged; she sighed alone. upon the morrow morn the king went out, and with him many officers and men. meanwhile the princess lila sari sent a summons to a jeweller of skill, and at the same time called her four _dyangs_, who came and sat. dang wilapat bowed low and said, "our greetings to thee, princess great." the queen replied: "go forth, _dyangs_, at once and find me gold and dust of gold, and take it all unto a goldsmith. let him make for me a fan, all decked with beauteous gems, with rubies red and pearls; and after that a girdle virginal. count not the price. i want it all as quickly as may be." and so they hastened, took the gold, and went outside the city, through the whole _campong_ of goldsmiths, seeking there the best to make the fan and girdle. and the hammered gold soon shone with many amethysts and gems. it was a marvel to behold those rare and quaintly fashioned ornaments, to deck a sultaness. of priceless worth they were. four days, and all was ready for the queen. but she had never eaten all this time because of grief. she thought the fan more fine than java princess ever yet possessed. she called the four _dyangs_ and said to them: "a secret mission have i now for ye. go up and down among the officers and show this fan for sale, but never name the price. seek ever if there be a face more beautiful than mine; and should ye find a face more fair, come tell it straight to me. if ye obey my will i'll make ye all inspectresses within the royal home." then forth the women went upon the quest. and first among their friends they went with words of mystery and hints of wondrous things they had for sale. and so these servants bore the story to their masters, "the _dyangs_ have something wonderful to sell." and soon the daughters of the houses rich began to clamor for a sight of this great prize. then the _dyangs,_ went to the houses all. the young girls said, "oh, tell us now the price." dyang wiravan quickly answered, then dyang podagah: "tis a princely thing; i'll go and ask the price and tell it thee." and so they spoke, and so they looked about to find a face more beautiful and rare than their own queen's, and wearied in the search. "where can we further look?" they said, and then bethought them of the strangers and the priests. but in that quarter no one dared to touch the precious things, but thought it passing strange the queen should wish to sell. to the _campong_ of merchants next they went. a double line of ramparts guarded it. "here is more stir and gayety," they said, "with sport and song, than elsewhere have we found." and so they sought the richest merchants. "we have something rare," they said, "made by an artist javanese." when bidasari's servants saw these folk they said: "bring these things to our house and we will show them to our master. he will buy." then the _dyangs_ with smiles replied: "they are not ours, but our good queen's. and only we may show them, lest a stone be lost, perchance, and we be punished." bidasari's maids were glad and said, "wait but a moment here until we find what bidasari wills." they found her with her maids, and told the tale. then bidasari bade them bring to her the stranger folk, and said, "if i be pleased i'll buy." dang ratna watie went and told the women that young bidasari wished to see their wares. the four _dyangs_ came in together. joy their faces all suffused, but they seemed timid, modest, full of fear. then bidasari's women said to them: "come, o young women, all are loyal here. enter, our sisters and our friends." now when the queen's _dyangs_ had looked about them there they all were dazzled, bidasari's face so beautiful appeared. how beat their hearts! as they upon her lovely features gazed, each murmured to herself, "she is more fair than our great queen." then bidasari wished to buy the fan, and sent a maid to ask her parents for the gold. the merchant said, "go see what thing it is, and weigh the gold for her." the mother feared a trap or trick. "oh, do not buy the fan, my child," she said; "i'll buy a finer one for thee. send this away." but when her father saw her tears of disappointment, "it is thine," he said. "what is the price? i'd buy it though it cost thy weight in gold, my darling. tell me now, _dyangs_." tjendra melinee answered him, "are two timbangs too much?" "i'm very poor," he said; "but i will buy it for the child." the gold was weighed. the four _dyangs_ straightway departed, hurried to the queen and said: "at last we have discovered, o our queen, what thou hast sought. 'tis in a near _campong_ of merchants very rich and great. oh, there we found a princess fairer than the day; more like an angel than a mortal maid. no woman in this land compares with her. her name is bidasari. and the king would surely marry her if once they met, for soon she will be ready for a spouse; her innocence is charming. like a cloud the merchant and his wife keep watchful guard. her hair is curly, like a flower full blown. her brow is like the moon but one day old. she's like a ring in peylou made. she would outshine thy beauty, shouldst thou bring her here." the princess heard and quickly said: "i feel my hatred rise. oh, may i never see her face! to hear ye speak of her inflames my heart with anger. say, why do ye think that she's more fair than i?" then made reply the women: "bidasari's eyes are soft. her smile is sweet, her skin is tinted like the green _tjempakka_, and her graceful form resembles some famed statue nobly made. her cheeks are like the bill of flying bird. we loved to look upon her neck. her nose is like a jasmine bud. her pretty face is like the yellow of an egg. her thoughts are pure as crystal. and she wears her hair in such a charming way. her lips are like a little polished box. the flowers she wears but make her look the prettier. her teeth are like a bright pomegranate. ah, the heart doth open when one looketh on her face. she's like a princess of the mount lidang. her features are like those of nilagendi, her heels are like the eggs of hens, and make her seem a princess of siam. her fingers more tapering are than quills of porcupine. and solid is the nail of her left hand. no noble's girl is bidasari's peer." now when the princess heard them sing her praise her soul was wounded as if by a thorn. her dark eyes flashed. "ah, speak no more of her," she said, "nor speak abroad what ye have seen. but bring me bidasari. i would see if what ye say be true." "then we must take her presents first, and strive to gain by them her friendship, and attain our end at last." they went to see her every day, and bore rich gifts. the merchant and his wife remarked the visits of the queen's _dyangs_, and how they loved their daughter. that is why they gave them all that they desired. but the _dyangs_ among themselves kept saying: "how can we take her away? we love her so, and deep within our hearts we pity her. and now her parents have such trust in us, and load us down with gifts. but when, alas, at home the princess questions us, what shall we say? for she's a powerful queen. yet if we make unhappy this dear girl of these good folk, shall we not sin? and still the princess is so violent and harsh! her jealousy would know no limit should the king but hear of this affair." dang djoudah answering spoke: "we all can go to her and quiet her. a word suffices oft. she is our queen, but to the king belongeth power supreme. if bidasari should disdain the throne we shall renounce our functions at the court, for what the queen desires is most unjust. and if we prove unfaithful we shall be o'erwhelmed with maledictions." thus they spoke and went back to the busy-lived _campong_ of merchants. here they thought to go and find djouhara, and obtain what they desired. a messenger went after them and said: "to dang bidouri: come at once; my friend the princess summons you." then the _dyangs_ went to the queen and found her with the king at dinner. with malicious wink of eye she made them understand they must not talk before the prince. when he had dined he took some _siri_ from the betel-box, himself anointed with a perfume sweet, and went to teach the young folk how to ride and shoot the arrow straight, and played at many games. meanwhile the princess lila sari called before her the _dyangs_ and questioned them: "why have ye come so late?" bidouri bowed and said: "'twas very hard to bring her here to thee. the merchant and his wife do not a moment leave her, for they love her so. her tiring-women ever are about. thou shouldst demand her of her parents, if thou dost desire to see her. treat her like thy child, for she is still so very young! from bidasari's father thou wilt gain all that thou canst desire, he is so rich, if thou wilt only love his daughter dear. and dost thou give command to bring her here? let us go all alone and summon her for bidasari'll freely follow us." they tried to calm the anger of the queen. she bowed her head in silence, but her soul was very heavy, and hypocrisy with hate and envy vied within her heart. "they love the child, these _dyangs_," to herself she said, "and i shall have no easy task. i shall attract her here by trickery, but she shall never my companion be. with bidasari once within my power my heart will be no longer on the rack. go now, _dyangs_," she said, "and seek for me the merchant and his wife and hither bring young bidasari, whom i'll elevate unto the rank of princess, for i have no child. mazendra take with ye. and when young bidasari shall arrive, conceal her for a day or two. and gently speak unto the merchant and his wife, and say concessions will be granted to the priests and strangers in their quarter, should she come. console lila djouhara thus, and pledge that he may come to see his child whene'er his heart impelleth him." an escort went with them, and the _dyangs_ bowed low before the merchant and his wife, and greeted, too, fair bidasari. but the merchant said: "why come ye here in so great numbers?" then they straight replied: "our most beloved queen hath sent us here with greetings unto thee, the master of the house. if thou'lt permit, we've come to seek fair bidasari here." they beat their breasts, the merchant and his wife. "our darling, only child! it will be hard for her to be the servant of a prince; for she hath had her way so long! her traits are not yet formed. go back, _dyangs_, and pray the queen to pardon us. say how we grieve." but the _dyangs_ repeated all the words said by the queen, and so their fears were calmed. they hoped queen lila sari would love well fair bidasari. then the merchant said: "i will obey, and let my darling go, so that she may become unto the queen a servant, and perchance a daughter loved. now shall she go with ye. only i beg the queen to let her come back home to us at three days' end. she is not used to stay with strangers. never hath she left us for a single day." then dang bidouri said: "we'll do our best before the queen; and why should she not grant to bidasari this?" they bathed fair bidasari with sweet scents, and then arranged her in rich raiment new. a fine _sijrash_ she wore with broidered flowers of pekan, and a satin robe all fringed with gold. she bore a plaque of beaten gold bound to a necklace, chiselled, gem-bedecked; her over-tunic was of yellow silk with tiny serpents on the buttons 'graved. three bracelets wore the maid, and rarest rings, and ear-rings like a wheel in motion wrought. chaste links of gold set forth her beauty rare, a fair flow'r in a vase, whose perfume sweet wafts scented breaths as far as one may see. they kissed her then with tears and held her close upon their breasts. "be humble to the queen," they said, "remember that thou art before the king, and near the throne. ask leave to come to see us when thou dost desire. speak sweetly with low and gentle voice." thus they enjoined. and then the merchant said, "_dyangs_, if ye love bidasari, see ye vex her not." they dried their tears and said: "be without fear. intrust thy daughter to our mistress dear." "my child," he said, "i'll come to see thee oft. thou wilt be better there, my love, than here." but bidasari wept and cried: "oh, come, dear mother, with me! wilt thou not, alas?" but the fond parents were astounded then to learn the mother was not asked to come. she stayed with tears, the while the father went. as far as to the city's gates. with tears he said: "farewell, o apple of my eye i leave thee here. fear not, my dearest child." then bidasari wept. her heart was wrung. she went. the merchant followed with his eyes. she entered by a hidden door. _dyangs_ and _mandars_ flocked to see her, but she hung her head and kept her eyes downcast. the sun announced the evening, and the king was still surrounded by his officers. 'twas then fair bidasari to the palace came, and stood before the queen. all the _dyangs_ sat on the floor, with servants of the house. like the _pengawas_ bidasari bowed, 'mid the _dyangs_, in presence of the queen. they gave her all the merchant's gifts, as sign of homage. all astonished was the queen at bidasari's beauty. she appeared almost divine. bidouri spoke and said, "thou seest bidasari, o our queen, lila djouhari's daughter." at these words the queen was stupefied, and thought: "in truth 'tis as they said. she is more lovely than the fairest work of art." bidouri told all that the merchant and his wife had said. the queen inclined her head and silence kept, but wicked thoughts were surging in her brain. a combat raged within her heart. she feared the king might see the maiden. "send away," she said, "the nurses and the women all." fair bidasari wept when they retired. the princess called her to her side and said: "thou must not weep so, bidasari. they will all return. when thou dost wish to go, they will go with thee. now depart, _dyangs_. ye need not care for bidasari more. i will procure her dames of company and servants. you may come from time to time." so they arose, and, with prostrations, went. the queen conducted bidasari then into a room and left her all alone, and all afraid. when evening shadows fell, the great king bade the queen to sup with him. he sat beside her, smiled and gayly talked, as he had been young bedouwandas, on his horse, with sword at belt. "my royal spouse, how thou dost love me! for thou wouldst not sup without me, though thou needest food and drink." now when the king had eaten, he retired unto his sleeping-chamber. still alone and weeping much, fair bidasari stayed, in darkness with no one to speak to her. she thought on her dear parents. "o my god! why dost thou leave me here?" the solitude filled her with terror, and she wept until the middle of the night, and thought of home. out spake the king: "now what is that i hear? what voice is that so sorrowful and sweet?" "it is an infant crying," said the queen. "in all the darkness it has lost its way." her heart was burning, and she sent a word to bidasari that she must not weep, and held her peace and waited till the dawn. but bidasari wept the whole night long and cried for home. when the _dyangs_ all ran to comfort her, they found the door was locked, and none could enter. bidasari thought, "what wrong have i committed, that the queen should be so vexed with me?" when day appeared, to the pavilion went the king. the queen threw wide the door of bidasari's room and entered all alone. then bidasari the queen's hand kissed, and begged that she would let her homeward fare. "o gracious queen," she said, "take pity on me; let me go away. i'll come to thee again." the wicked queen struck her, and said, "thou ne'er shalt see again thy home." the gentle bidasari drooped her head and wept afresh, shaking with fear. "forgive the evil i have done, my queen, for i am but a child, and do not know how i have sinned against thee," falling at her feet she said. the queen in anger struck her once again. "i know full well," she said, "all thy designs and projects. what! am i to rest in peace and see thy beauty grow, and thee become my rival with the king?" then bidasari knew 'twas jealousy that caused the fury of the queen. her fear increased, she trembled and bewailed her fate. the livelong day she was insulted, struck, and of her food deprived. before the king returned, the queen departed from the room of bidasari. the poor child had lost her former color. black her face had grown from blows, as if she had been burnt. her eyes she could not open. such her sufferings were she could not walk. then unto god she cried: "o lord, creator of the land and sea, i do not know my fault, and yet the queen treats me as guilty of a heinous crime. i suffer hell on earth. why must i live? oh, let me die now, in the faith, dear lord. my soul is troubled and my face is black with sorrow. let me die before the dawn. my parents do not help me. they have left me here alone to suffer. in the false _dyangs_ i trusted, as to sisters dear. their lips are smiling, but their hearts are base. their mouths are sweet as honey, but their hearts are full of evil. oh, what can i say? it is the will of god." such was the grief of bidasari, and her tears fell fast. now when the king went forth again, the queen began anew her persecutions harsh. with many blows and angry words, she said: "why dost thou groan so loudly? dost thou seek by crying to attract the king, to see thy beauty? 'tis thy hope, i know full well, his younger wife to be. and thou art proud of all thy beauty." bidasari was astounded, and replied with many tears: "may i accursed be if ever i such plottings knew. thou art a mighty queen. if i have sinned against thee, let me die at once. for life is useless to the hearts that suffer. hast thou brought me here to beat? how thou hast made me weep! o queen, art thou without compassion?" all possessed with rage the queen replied: "i do not pity thee. i hate thee, when i see thee. open not thy mouth again." the wicked queen then seized the lovely tresses of the beauteous maid, and took a piece of wood with which to strike; but bidasari wept and swooned away. the king's voice sounded through the corridor, as he returned. the queen then hastened forth and left a _mandar_ there to close and guard fair bidasari's room, that nothing should be seen. then asked the king of her, "whom hast thou beaten now?" the hypocrite replied, "it was a child that disobeyed my will." "are there not others for that discipline? is it for thee to strike?" his _siri_ then he took, and kissed the queen with fondest love. all the _dyangs_ fair bidasari's plight observed, and kindly pity filled their breasts. "how cruel is the conduct of the queen!" they said. "she made us bring her to her side but to maltreat the child the livelong day. it seems as if she wished to slay her quite." then secretly they went, with some to watch, and sprinkled bidasari's brow. to life she came, and opened those dear wistful eyes. "my friends," she said, "i pray ye, let me go back home again unto my father's house." "oh, trust in god, my child," said one in tears. "my lot is written from eternity. oh, pray the princess great to take my life," the poor child cried; "i can no longer stand; my bones are feeble. oh, she has no heart!" but the _dyangs_, for fear the queen might see, all fled. meanwhile the merchant and his wife wept all the day, and sighed for their dear child, sweet bidasari. nor did gentle sleep caress their eyes at night. each day they sent rich presents of all kinds, and half of them were for the child. but naught the wicked queen to bidasari gave. so five days passed and then dyang menzara forth they sent. the merchant said: "oh, tell the mighty queen that i must bidasari see. i'll bring her back in three days' time." the good _dyang_ went to the queen and bowing low: "the merchant fain would see his child," she said. at this the features of the queen grew hard. "did they not give their child to me? now scarce a day has passed, and they must see her face. is it thine own wish or the merchant's? i have said the girl could go where'er she would. can i not have her taken back myself?" then the _dyang_ bowed, beat her breast, and went, sad that she could not bidasari see, and quaking at the anger of the queen. of the _dyang_, fair bidasari heard the voice, and felt her heart break that she could not speak to her and send a message home. upon the morrow, when the king had gone among his ministers and men of state, the queen again to bidasari's room repaired, to beat her more. as soon as she beheld the queen, poor bidasari prayed to her, "o sovereign lady great, permit that i may go unto my father's house." the princess shook with rage, her face on fire. "if thou but sayest a word, i'll slay thee here." to whom could bidasari turn? she bent before the will of god, and in a sweet voice said: "o lord, my god, have pity now upon me, for the cruel world has none. grant now the queen's desire and let me die, for she reproacheth me, though naught i've done. my parents have forgotten me, nor send a word." the angry princess struck again her piteous face, and as she swooned away a napkin took to twist into a cord and strangle her. she summoned to her aid dang ratna wali. "help me pluck this weed; i wish to kill her." but the woman fled, as base as cruel. bidasari's ghost arose before her. yet the child came back to consciousness, and thought amid her tears: "i'll tell the story of the golden fish unto the queen, that she may know it all; for i can but a little while endure these pains." she spoke then to the queen and said: "o queen, thou dost desire that i shall die. seek out a little casket that doth lie all hidden in the fish-pond at our house. within it is a fish. have it brought here and i will tell thee what it signifies." the princess called dyang sendari: "go and bring here the _dyangs_, with no delay from out the merchant's house." when they arrived: "go, now, _dyangs_, for bidasari saith there is a little casket in the pond where she is wont to bathe. go bring it me, in silence, letting no one see ye come." then the _dyangs_ replied: "oh, hear our prayer for bidasari. how her parents grieve! oh, pardon, princess, let her go with us." the queen with smiles responded: "the young girl is very happy here, and full of joy. her parents must not grieve, for in two days if bidasari doth desire to go i'll send her freely. she is vexed that ye come here so often." the _dyangs_ bowed low, and smiled, and called enticingly: "come forth, o charming child, pure soul; it is not right to treat us so, for we have come to see thy lovely face, and in its beauty bask." sweet bidasari heard, and could not speak, but answered with her tears. the cruel queen said to them: "speak no more. but if ye bring the little casket, ye will fill the heart of bidasari with great joy." forth fared then the _dyangs_, and found the casket small, and brought it to the palace of the queen. again to bidasari called the good _dyangs_: "oh, come, dear heart, and take it from our hands yourself." "she sleeps," the princess said. "come back to-morrow." so they bowed and went. the princess hastened with the casket rich to bidasari's room, and opened it before her eyes. within it was a box of agate, beautiful to see, and filled with water wherein swam a little fish of form most ravishing. the princess stood amazed to see with eyes of fire a fish that swam. then was she glad, and spoke with joy to bidasari: "say what signifies the fish to thee? what shall i do with it?" then bidasari bowed and said: "my soul is in that fish. at dawn must thou remove it from the water, and at night replace. "leave it not here and there, but hang it from thy neck. if this thou dost, i soon shall die. my words are true. neglect no single day to do as i have said, and in three days thou'lt see me dead." the queen felt in her heart a joy unspeakable. she took the fish and wore it on a ribbon round her neck. unto the queen then bidasari spoke, "oh, give my body to my parents dear when i am dead." again the young maid swooned. the queen believed her dead, and ceased to beat her more. but she yet lived, though seeming dead. the joyful queen a white cloth over her then spread, and called aloud to the _dyangs_, "take bidasari to her father's house." they groaned and trembled when they saw that she was dead, and said with many tears: "alas! o dearest one, o gold all virginal! what shall we say when we thy parents see? they'll beat their breasts and die of grief. they gave thee to the king because they trusted us." but the proud queen, her face all red with hate: "why stay ye? take the wretched girl away." they saw the queen's great rage, and bore the maid upon their shoulders forth, and carried her unto her father's house at dead of night. fear seized the merchant. "say what bring ye here? tell me, _dyangs_." they placed her on the ground. the merchant and his wife, beside themselves, with tears embraced her form. "i trusted in the queen, and so i sent my child to her. o daughter dear, so young, so pure, so sweet, what hast thou done that could the queen displease, that she should send thee home like this to me? how could the queen treat bidasari so? for seven days she imprisoned her and sent her home in death. ah, noble child! alas! thy father's heart will break, no more to hear thy voice. speak to thy father, o my child, my pearl, my gem of women, purest gold, branch of my heart; canst thou not quiet me? o bidasari, why art thou so still? arise, my pretty child, arise and play with all thy maids. here is thy mother, come to greet thee. bid her welcome. why art thou so motionless? hast thou no pity, dear, to see thy father overwhelmed with woe? my heart is bursting with despair because thou'rt lost to me." long time the merchant thus lamented. "what have i to live for now? since thou art dead, thy father too shall die. it is his lot both night and day to sigh for thee. my god, i cannot understand why this dear child should thus a victim be! 'tis the _dyangs_ who have this evil wrought." then, through the whole _campong_, the merchants all made lamentations, rolling on the ground, with noise of thunder, and their hearts on fire. they sought to speak and could not. then began again the merchant, and unto his friends told his misfortune, asking back his child. the queen's _dyangs_ shed tears, and gently said: "speak not so loudly. thou dost know that we are but poor servants, and we tremble lest the queen should hear. if any one of us had done this wrong, we'd tell it to the king. fate only is at fault. oh, be not wroth with us. our will was good. we had no end except to see thy lovely daughter great and powerful. naught the king hath known of this. it was the queen's mad jealousy and hate." the merchant and his wife accepted these, the _dyangs'_ words. "it is as they declare. the queen was jealous and embittered thus against our bidasari. to your home return, _dyangs_. i fear me that the queen may learn of your delay and punish ye." they bowed and went, with hearts of burning grief. the merchant and his wife then lifted up poor bidasari. they were all but dead with sorrow. on his knees the father took the body wrapped in crimson silk. he felt a warmth. then he remembered that within the water was her vital spirit still, and, placing her upon a mat, sent dang poulam, the casket from the pond to bring. but 'twas not there. then all the household searched, but found it not. the merchant beat his breast. "branch of my heart," he said, "we all had thought thou wouldst become a princess. i have lost my reason. i hoped now to summon back thy spirit vital, but the casket's lost. my hope is gone. it may be the _dyangs_ have stolen it. they're faithful to the queen. we may not trust in them. they're filled with hate and trickery." unconscious all the time lay bidasari; but at midnight's hour she for the first time moved. they torches brought and there behind egyptian curtains, right and left, ignited them, with many lamps' soft flames. the servants watched and waited there. the father, always at his daughter's side, with fixed glance looked for life to come once more back to his darling one. she moved again. with opening eyes she saw and recognized her own soft couch, her parents, and her maids. she tried but could not speak. her hot tears fell, she slowly turned and looked with fondest love upon her parents. when the merchant saw that bidasari's spirit had returned, he took her on his knees and gave her rice. she could not walk because such pain she felt. she thought upon the queen and wept afresh. they dried her tears, and placed within her mouth what food she liked. the merchant tenderly said, "bidasari, dear, what has thou wrought to cause the queen against thee thus to act?" young bidasari, with a flood of tears, replied: "no wrong at all i wrought the cruel queen. all suddenly her insults she began, and beatings." they were stupefied to hear such tales. "light of my eyes," the father said, "we do not doubt thine innocence. her deeds were those of madness. for her haughty birth i care no whit. wisdom and virtue bind true hearts alone. as friends we ne'er must name those false _dyangs_. not plants medicinal, but poison foul, are they. these days are bad. injustice reigns. believe me, friends, it is a sign the last great day shall soon appear. those false _dyangs_ are but a race of slaves, insensible to all that's good. the hour the princess knoweth bidasari lives, we all shall die, the princess is so wroth. illustrious queen they call her--but her words are hard and cruel. may the curse of god o'erwhelm her and annihilate! from thee, o god, she shall receive the punishment deserved. she who pursueth thus a soul shall know remorse and pain. so god hath willed. so god hath willed. who doth another harm shall suffer in his turn. it shall be done to him as he hath done to others. so, my child, my crown, have no more fear at all. intrust thyself to god. the cruel queen shall yet be treated as she treated thee." the merchant thus lamented till the night was half departed, shedding sapphire tears. the innocent young girl, like marble there, slept till the evening twilight came. toward dawn she swooned anew. the merchant and his wife were much disturbed to see at night she came to life, but when the daylight shone again they lost her, and her spirit fled away. this so distressed the merchant's heart, a lone retreat he sought to find. the parents cried: "o dearest child, there's treason in the air. hatred and anger the companions are of lamentations and of curses dire. foul lies for gold are uttered. men disdain the promises of god, the faith they owe. oh, pardon, god! i ne'er thought the _dyangs_ would thus conspire. but since they are so bad and treated bidasari thus, we'll go and in the desert find a resting-place. and may it be a refuge for us all, hidden and unapproachable." his goods he gathered then, and all his servants paid, and built a home far in the desert land, a spot agreeable. a cabin there he raised, with ramparts hemmed about, and strong _sasaks_, and seven rows of palisades. they placed there many vases full of flowers, and every sort of tree for fruit and shade, and cool pavilions. this plaisance so fair they called pengtipourlara. it was like the garden of batara indra. all about, the merchant set pomegranate-trees and vines of grape. no other garden was so beautiful. 'twas like the garden fair of great batara brahma, filled with fruits. when all was ready, forth they went, toward night, and took young bidasari, and much food. they fared two days and came unto the spot, a garden in the desert. softest rugs from china there were spread and of bright hue the decorations were, in every tint. the house was hung with tapestries, and ceiled to represent the heavens flecked with clouds. and all about were lanterns hung and lamps. soft curtains and a couch completed this enchanted resting-place. always the light was uniform, and brilliant as the day. 'twas like a palace of a mighty king, magnificent and grand beyond compare. there was a table on a damp rug set, with drinks for bidasari, and with bowls of gold, and vases of _souasa_, filled with water. all of this beside the couch was placed, with yellow _siri_, and with pure _pinang_, all odorous, to please the child. and all was covered with a silken web. young bidasari bracelets wore, and rings, and ear-rings diamond studded. garments four all gem-bedecked upon a cushion lay, for bidasari's wear. when night had come young bidasari waked. her parents dear then bathed her, and her tender body rubbed with musk and aloes. then she straight was clad in garments of her choosing. her dear face was beautiful, almost divine. she had regained the loveliness she erst possessed. the merchant was astonished, seeing her. he told her then that they would leave her there, "branch of my heart and apple of my eye, my dearest child, be not disturbed at this. i do not mean to work thee any harm, nor to disown thee, but to rescue thee from death." but as she listened to these words young bidasari wept. she thought upon her fate. into her father's arms she threw herself, and cried: "why wilt thou leave me here, o father dearest, in this desert lone? i'll have no one to call in case of need. i fear to stay alone. no one there'll be to talk to me. i only count those hours as happy when i have my parents near." the merchant heard fair bidasari's words and wept with his dear wife. with bitter grief their hearts were shattered. counsels wise they gave to bidasari. "dearest daughter mine," the father said, "gem of my head, my crown, branch of my heart, light of my eyes, oh, hear thy father's words, and be thou not afraid. we brought thee hither, to this fair retreat, far from the town, for, if the queen should know thou liv'st at night, the false _dyangs_ would come, and who against the princess can contend? they'd take thee back, and thus exonerate themselves. i'd let myself be chopped in bits before thou shouldst unto the queen return. thy father cannot leave companions here, but after three days he will come to thee. thy parents both will soon come back again." then bidasari thought: "my parent's words are truth, and if the queen should find i live she would abuse me as before. give me one maid-companion here to be with me," she asked. "my child, trust not," he said, "in slaves, nor servants, for they only follow pay." then bidasari silence kept, and they, the father all distraught and mother fond, wept bitterly at thought of leaving her. fair bidasari bade them eat, before they started. but because of heavy hearts they but a morsel tasted. at the dawn young bidasari swooned again. they made all ready to return to town. with tears the father said: "o apple of my eye, pearl of all women, branch of my own heart, pure gold, thy parents leave thee with distress. no more they'll have a daughter in the house. but, dear, take courage, we shall soon come back." they left here with a talking bird to cheer her loneliness, close shutting all the gates of all the seven ramparts. through a wood bushy and thick they took a narrow path, in sorrow, but with confidence in god. "o sovereign god, protect our child," they said. when they had fared unto their house, they prayed and gave much alms. when evening shadows came young bidasari waked, and found herself alone, and was afraid. with bitter tears her eyes were filled. what could she say? she gave herself to god. alas, our destiny is like a rock. twas hers to be alone. it is in no man's power to turn aside or change whatever is by fate decreed. all desolate sat bidasari. sleep wooed not her eyes. now when he heard the cry of "peladou," the owl lamented loud. upon her parents coming, loaded down with dainties for the child, she for a while her woe forgot, and ate and drank with joy. the little bird with which she talked upheld her courage with its soothing voice. so ran the days away. upon pretext he gave of hunting deer, the merchant daily came. song iii hear now a song about the king djouhan. the wise and powerful prince e'er followed free his fancy, and the princess lila sari was very happy in her vanity. since she had killed (for so she thought) the maid, young bidasari, tainted was her joy. "the king will never take a second wife," she mused, "since bidasari is now dead." the king loved princess lila sari well. he gratified her every wish, and gave her all she asked, so fond was he of her. whene'er the princess was annoyed, the king, with kisses and soft words would quiet her, and sing to her sweet songs till she became herself again. "poor, little, pretty wife," he'd say, and laugh her fretful mood away. one night as he lay sleeping on his bed, a dream tormented him. "what may it mean?" he thought. "ah, well, to-morrow morn i'll seek an explanation." at the dawn he sat upon a rug egyptian, breaking fast, and with him was the princess. when she had the dainties tasted, the _dyangs_ arrived with leaves of perfume. then the king went forth into the garden. all the officers were there assembled. when they saw the king they all were silent. to a _mantri_ spoke the king: "my uncle, come and sit thee here. i fain would question thee." the king had scarce these words pronounced, when, bowing very low, the _mantri_ in respectful tones replied, "my greetings to thee, o most merciful of kings." he sat him near the throne. "i dreamed last night," the king continued, "that the moon in her full glory fell to earth. what means this vision?" then the _mantri_ with a smile replied: "it means that thou shalt find a mate, a dear companion, like in birth to thee, wise and accomplished, well brought up and good, the one most lovable in all the land." the king's eyes took new fire at this. he said with smiles: "i gave the queen my promise true that never i would take a second wife until a fairer i could find than she. and still she is so lovely in my eyes, her equal cannot anywhere be found. you'd take her for a flow'r. yet when arise her storms of anger, long it takes to calm her mind, so waspish is her character. the thought of this doth sadden me. should one not satisfy her heart's desire, she flies into a passion and attempts to kill herself. but 'tis my destiny--'tis writ. the queen is like a gem with glint as bright as lightning's flash. no one can ever be, i tell thee now, so beautiful to me." the _mantri_ smiled. "what thou dost say is just, o king, but still if thou shouldst someone find more beautiful, thou yet couldst keep thy word. the beauty of the queen may fade away. the princess thou shalt wed, o king, hath four high qualities. she must, to be thy queen, be nobly born, and rich, and fair, and good." the prince replied: "o uncle mine, thy words are true. full many princesses there live, but hard it is to find these qualities. the queen is good and wise and lovable. i do not wish another wife to wed, and wound the queen with whom three years i've lived in love and harmony. yet if i saw a quite celestial maid, perhaps i might forget, and marry her, and give the queen a gay companion." "o accomplished prince, thou sayest truly. stay long years with her thy queen, thy first beloved, for she hath all-- great beauty and intelligence." they bowed as forth from them the king went palaceward. he sat beside the queen, and kissed her cheeks, and said: "thy features shine with loveliness, like to a jewel in a glass. when i must leave thy side, i have no other wish but to return. like mount maha mirou thou art." the princess said: "wherefore art thou so spirited to-day? thou'rt like a boy." "branch of my heart, my dearest love," he said, "vex not thyself. thou know'st the adage old: first one is taken with a pretty face, then wisdom comes and prudence, and, with these, one loves his wife until the day of death. if thus thou dost deport thyself, my dear, my heart between two wives shall never be divided; thou alone shalt own it all." the queen was charmed to hear his loving words. at night the queen slept, but king remained awake, and watched the moon, and called to mind his dream. as dawn approached he slept, and seemed to hear an owl's shrill voice, like pedalou's. when it was fully day, the royal pair together broke their fast. the king went forth and orders gave, in two days to prepare a mighty hunt, to chase the dappled deer, with men and dogs and all apparel fit. then back into the palace went the king, and told the queen, who straightway gave commands for food to be made ready. at midnight behind egyptian curtains went to rest the king and queen, but slept not. still the dream was ever in his thoughts and worried him. at dawn he said farewell unto the queen. she was all radiant, and smiling, said: "bring me a fawn. i'll tell the servants all to take good care of it, so it may grow quite tame." "what we can do, my dear, we shall, so all of thy desires may come to pass." and so the king took leave, with kisses fond, and, mounted on a hunter brown, set forth, with velvet saddle decked with fringe of pearls. lances and shields and arrows and blow-guns they bore. the wood they entered, and the beasts all fled before their steps at dawn's first ray. and when the sun was up, they loosed the hounds with savage cries. toward noon an animal in flight they saw, and would have followed it, but then up spake the king and said, "we are so hot and weary, let us linger here for rest." one-half the company astray had gone, each striving to be first of all. the king, attended by a faithful three, reclined upon the ground, and sent them forth for water. so the _mantris_ went to find a river or a pond, and faring far to bidasari's plaisance came at last. they stopped astounded, then approached the place. when they were near the lovely garden close, they said: "there was no garden here before. to whom does this belong? perchance it is a spirit's bower. no human voice is heard but just the cry of 'minahs' and 'bajans.' whom shall we call, lest spectres should appear?" they wandered round the ramparts, and a gate discovered, shut with heavy iron bar, and vainly tried to open it. then one of them went back, and found the king, and said: "hail, sovereign lord, we have no water found, but a _campong_ here in the desert lone, as splendid as a sultan's, with all sorts of trees and flow'rs, and not a mortal there. 'tis girt about with double ramparts strong. no name is seen, and all the gates are shut, so that we could not enter." scarce the king had heard the _mantri's_ word when off he rushed to see the fair domain. before the gate he stood astonished. "truly, _mantris_ mine, it is as you have said. i once was here and then the wood was filled with thorns and briers." "'tis not a nobleman's _campong_. it must have recently been made. now summon all the _mantris_ here and see what they will say." they called aloud, "oh, hasten, friends, and bring the water here." seven times they called, but none responded. said the king, "it is enough. 'tis like as if one called unto the dead." "we'd best not enter," said the _mantris_ then, "it may be the abode of demons fell. we are afraid. why should we linger here? return, o king, for should the spirits come it might to us bring evil. thou shouldst not expose thyself to danger." but the king upon the _mantris_ smiled. "ye are afraid of demons, spectres, spirits? i've no fear. break down the barriers. i'll go alone within the precincts." when the gates were forced, he entered all alone. the _mantris_ all were terrified lest harm should come to him. they sought with him to go. he lightly said: "no, _mantris_ mine, whatever god hath willed, must happen. if in flames i were to burn, in god i still should trust. 'tis only he that evil can avert. we mortal men no power possess. with my own eyes i wish to see this apparition. should it be the will of god, i'll come forth safe and sound. be not disturbed. in case of urgent need i'll call upon ye. all await me here." the _mantris_ made obeisance and replied, "go, then, alone, since thou hast willed it so." into the plaisance strode the king. he saw that all was like a temple richly decked, with rugs of silk and colored tapestries of pictured clouds and wheels all radiant, and lamps and candelabra hung about, and lanterns bright. 'twas like a palace rich. the eyes were dazzled with magnificence. and seats there were, and dainty tables rare. as through the palace went the king, the more astonished he became at all he saw, but nowhere found a trace of human soul. then spake the little bird: "illustrious king, what seek'st thou here? this mansion is the house of ghosts and demons who will injure thee." the king was filled with wonder thus to hear a bird address him. but it flew away, and hid behind a couch. "the bird i'll find," he said, and ope'd the curtains soft. he saw full stretched, upon a bed in dragon's shape, a human form, in heavy-lidded sleep that seemed like death, and covered with a cloth of blue, whose face betokened deepest grief. "is it a child celestial?" thought the king, "or doth she feign to sleep? awake, my sweet, and let us be good friends and lovers true." so spake the king, but still no motion saw. he sat upon the couch, and to himself he said: "if it a phantom be, why are the eyes so firmly shut? perhaps she's dead. she truly is of origin divine, though born a princess." then he lifted high the covering delicate that hid the form of bidasari sweet, and stood amazed at all the magic beauty of her face. beside himself, he cried, "awake, my love." he lifted her and said, with kisses warm, "oh, have no fear of me, dear heart. thy voice oh, let me hear, my gold, my ruby pure, my jewel virginal. thy soul is mine. again he pressed her in his arms, and gave her many kisses, chanting love-songs low. "thou dost not wake, o dearest one, but thou art yet alive, because i see thee breathe. sleep not too long, my love. awake to me, for thou hast conquered with thy loveliness my heart and soul." so fell the king in love with bidasari. "ah, my sweet," he said, "in all the world of love thou'rt worthiest." the _mantris_ grew uneasy at his stay. they rose and said: "what doth the king so long? if harm befell him, what would be our fate? oh, let us call him back at once, my lords." so one approached the palace, and cried out: "return, o prince accomplished, to us now. already night is near. back thou may'st come to-morrow ere the dawn. we are afraid lest spirits harm thee. come, o king, for we a-hungered are, and wait for thy return." but the illustrious prince was mad with love of bidasari. pensively he cried: "branch of my heart, light of mine eyes, my love, pure gold, thou'rt like angel. now must i depart. to-morrow i will come again." with no more words he left her, but returned. "my heart would tell me, wert thou really dead. some trouble hast thou, dearest one?" he cried. "what bitter grief hath caused thee thus to sleep?" he found the nobles murmuring and vexed. "o king," they said, "our hearts were filled with fear lest evil had befallen thee. what sight so strange hath kept thee all these hours?" the king replied with laughter, "there was naught to see." but they remarked his brow o'ercast with thought, and said, "o king, thy heart is sorely vexed." "nay, nay," the king replied, "i fell asleep. naught did i hear except the _mantri's*_ voice. it surely is the home of demons dread and spirits. let us go, lest they surprise us here." he seemed much moved. "we naught have gained but weariness. so let us all go home to-night, and hither come again at dawn. for i a promise gave the queen to bring a fawn and a _kidjang_." the _mantris_ said: "none have we taken yet. but game we'll find to-morrow, and will save a pretty fawn." the king, when they returned, went straight within the palace. there he saw the queen, but thought of bidasari. "o my love," he said, "to-morrow i'm resolved to hunt again, and bring thee back a fawn, and win thy thanks. i'm never happy when away from thee, my dearest love. thine image is engraved upon my heart." then he caressed the queen and fondled her, but still his heart went out to bidasari. all night long his eyes he did not close in sleep, but thought of her, in all her beauty rare. before the dawn the royal couple rose. the king then gave command that those who wished should hunt again with him. at sunrise forth they fared. on bidasari let us look again. when night had gone, in loneliness she rose, and ate and drank. then to the bath perfumed she went, and coming to her chamber, took some _siri_ from the betel-box. she saw a _sepah_ recently in use and cast it forth. she thought within herself: "who could have used it? someone hath been here." she ran through all the rooms, but nothing found except the _sepah_ in the betel-box. "had it my father been, he would have left some food for me. oh, he is very rash to leave me here alone." upon the couch she sat and wept, and could not tell her grief to anyone. "when we no longer may live happily," she said, "'tis best to die. my parents never can forgiven be, to leave me here like any infidel. and if i suffer, they will sorrow, too." the _minahs_, the _bajans_, and talking birds began to sing. she took a 'broidered cloth, and 'neath its folds she sweetly fell asleep. the king's horse flew apace to the _campong_ of bidasari. all the _mantris_ said: "thou takest not the path for hunting, sire; this is but the _campong_ of demons dread and spectres. they may do us deadly harm." the great prince only laughed, and made as if he heard not, still directing his fleet course to bidasari's garden, though they sought his wishes to oppose. when they arrived before the palisades, the _mantris_ cried: "avaunt, ye cursed demons, and begone into the thorns and briers." then to the king: "if thou wilt prove the courage of thy men, lead us behind the barriers, among the evil spirits. we will go with thee." "nay. let me go alone," the prince replied, "and very shortly i'll come forth again." they said: "o prince, to us thy will is law. to god most high do we commend thy soul." alone the prince in bidasari's home set foot. he was astonished, for he saw the bath had recently been used, and all the lamps were trimmed and full of oil. then opening the chests, he saw the traces of a meal, and glasses freshly drained. the chambers all he searched, and came to bidasari's couch, and, lifting up the curtains, saw her there, asleep beneath the 'broidered covering. "tis certain that she lives," he said. "perchance it is her lot to live at night, and die at dawn." then came he nearer yet, and gazed upon her beauty. ling'ring tears he saw bedewed her lashes long, and all his heart was sad. her face was beautiful. her locks framed * with curls most gracefully. he took her in his arms and cried, with kisses warm: "why hast thou suffered, apple of my eye?" he wept abundantly, and said: "my gold, my ruby, my carbuncle bright, thy face is like lila seprara's, and thy birth is pure and spotless. how could i not love a being fair as thou dost seem to me? thy beauty is unspeakable; thou art above all crowns, the glory of all lands. my soul adores thee. lord am i no more of my own heart. without thee, love, i could no longer live; thou art my very soul. hast thou no pity to bestow on me?" the more he looked the more he loved. he kissed her ruby lips, and sang this low _pantoum_: song within a vase there stands a china rose; go buy a box of betel, dearest one. i love the beauty that thine eyes disclose; of my existence, dear, thou art the sun. go buy a box of betel, dearest one. adorned with _sountings_ brave of sweet _campak_, of my existence, dear, thou art the sun; without thee, everything my life would lack. adorned with _sountings_ fair of sweet _campak_, a carafe tall will hold the sherbet rare; without thee, everything my heart would lack; thou'rt like an angel come from heaven so fair. a carafe tall will hold the sherbet rare, most excellent for woman's feeble frame. thou'rt like an angel come from heaven so fair, love's consolation, guardian of its flame. at the approach of night the _mantris_ said, "what doth the king so long away from us?" they were disturbed, the prince seemed so unlike himself and filled with such unrestfulness. "i fear me much," then said a _mantri_ there, "that some mishap hath overwhelmed the king. perhaps by some bad spirit he's possessed, that he to this weird spot should fain return." one went and cried: "come hither, o our king! the day declines; we've waited here since dawn." the king responded to the call, and came with smiling face, though pale, unto the gate: "come here, my uncle; come and talk with me, thy king. no evil thing hath come to pass." "o lord supreme, most worthy prince, return. if harm should come to thee, we all should die." "be calm, my uncle, i will not this night return, but he may stay with me who wills." "o king, with spirits what hast thou to do? thy face is pale and worn, and tells of care." the king but sighed, and said: "my heart is full of trouble, but the will of god is good. here yesterday a fair celestial form with angel face i saw. 'twas here alone." and so the king told all that had occurred. "go back," he added. "leave me here with her. say to the queen i've lingered still a day for my amusement, with my retinue." then half the escort stayed, and half repaired back to the palace to acquaint the queen the king would stay another day and hunt. when all was dark, sweet bidasari waked and saw the king, and tried to flee away. he seized and kissed her. "ruby, gold," he said, "my soul, my life, oh, say, where wouldst thou go? i've been alone with thee for two whole days, and all the day thou wrapped in sleep didst lie. where wouldst thou go, my dove?" the gentle girl was much afraid and trembled, and she thought: "is it a spirit come to find me here? avaunt thee and begone, o spectre dread," she said, amid her tears. "no phantom i," replied the king; "be not afraid. i wish to marry thee." then bidasari strove again to flee. then sang the king a song that told of love and happiness. its words astonished bidasari, and she cried: "art thou a pirate? why dost thou come here? speak not such things to me. if thou shouldst be discovered by my father, he would cut thee into pieces. thou shouldst go alone to death, and find no pardon in his heart. take all my gems and hasten forth at once." the king replied: "'tis not thy gems i want, but thee. i am a pirate, but thy heart is all i want to steal. should spectres come in thousands, i would fear them not at all. no tears, my love, bright glory of my crown. where wouldst thou go? hast thou no pity, sweet, for me? i am a powerful prince. who dares oppose my will? pure gold, all virginal, where wouldst thou go?" so spake the king, and fair young bidasari trembled more and more. "approach me not," she cried, "but let me bathe my face." "i'll bathe it for thee, dear," he said. but bidasari threw the water pure into his face. "not that way, child," he laughed; "my vesture thou hast wet. but i shall stay and meet thy parents here. oh, hearken, love. i followed far the chase, and wandered here. i sought a pretty fawn to take the queen; but now thy face i've seen, no more i wish to go away. oh, have no fear, my child; i would not harm thee. when thy parents come, i'll ask them for thy hand. i trust they'll grant my prayer. i'll lead thee forth from this fair spot unto my palace. thou shalt sit beside the queen, and live in happiness complete." sweet bidasari bowed her head and wept, all red with modesty. unto herself she said: "i never thought it was a king. how rude i was! i hope the king will not be vexed." he calmed her fears with tender words of love. "branch of my heart," he said, "light of my eyes, have no more fear. soon as thy parents fond have given their consent, i'll lead thee forth. my palace is not far. a single day will take us there. it is not difficult to go and come." then bidasari knew it was the king of that same land. with fright she nearly swooned at thought of all the woe the queen had caused her. "o my lord," she said, "i'm but a subject humble. give me not the throne. i have my parents, and with them must stay." the king was overjoyed. "my dear," he said, "by what names are thy parents known?" with low, sweet voice the tender girl replied: "lila djouhara is my father's name. he dwelleth in pesara." "dearest one, tell me the truth. why have they treated thee in such a fashion--why abandoned thee in solitude? thy father is not poor a merchant rich is he, of birth, who hath a host of slaves and servants. for what cause hath he his daughter left in this far spot? he is renowned among the merchants all, both good and honest. what hath forced him here within this lonely wood to hide thee, dear? oh, tell me all; let nothing be concealed." she thought: "it was the fault of his own queen. but if i tell him all--he never saw me there, within the palace--should he not believe, i'll be a liar in his eyes." she feared to speak and tell him of the queen. she thought, "so cruel was the queen to me when she but feared a rival, what would come if i should sit beside her on the throne?" then in her sweet voice bidasari said: "my glorious king, i am afraid to speak. i am not suited to a royal throne. but since thou lovest me, how dare i lie? if thou dost favor me, the queen will vex her heart. my parents fear her. 'tis the cause why hither they have brought me. three long months ago i came, for terror of the queen." she thought on all the horror of those days, and choked with sobs, and could no longer talk. then tenderly the king spake to the girl: "ah, well, my darling love, confide in me the secret thy dear heart conceals. fear naught; the queen is good and wise, and knoweth how to win all hearts. why should she render thee unhappy? speak not thus, my pretty one; the queen could never do an evil deed. when thou art near her, thou shalt see, my dear, whether she loves or hates thee." at these words young bidasari knew the king esteemed the queen, and felt her heart sink in her breast. "my words are true," she said, "but still perchance my prince cannot believe. but was i not within thy palace six or seven nights? the sweat of pain became my couch, so great was my desire to see my parents dear. they sent me dainties, but all the _dyangs_ were kept as prisoners by the princess there. she said she'd take me back herself. one day i was, indeed, sent home, but scarce alive." she told him everything that came to pass. he listened stupefied, and said: "how could it be that thou wert in the palace hid, and i not see thee there? why was it thou wert not beside the queen? i've never left the palace for a single day. where wert thou hid? thy strange words i believe, my dear. speak without fear and let me know the whole." urged by the king, young bidasari told him all. and when the conduct of the queen he learned, the king was wonder-struck. a rage most terrible possessed him. but his love for bidasari mounted higher still and his compassion. "so the queen thus wrought! i never thought hypocrisy could be so great! i never in the princess saw such bent for evil. but be not, my dear, disconsolate. it is a lucky thing thou didst not quite succumb. no longer speak of that bad woman's ways. thank god we've met! so weep no more, my love. i'll give to thee a throne more beautiful than hers, and be thy dear companion until death." "o king," she said: "i have no beauty fit to grace a throne. oh, let me stay a simple maid, and think of me no more." the king replied: "i will not give thee up. but i must still return, and meditate how i may win thee back to life complete." with kisses warm he covered her fair face. she bowed her head, and silence kept; and when the morning dawned she swooned anew. it was a proof to him that she had told the truth. a mortal hate then filled the prince's heart against the queen. touched with deep pity for the maiden young, he kissed her once again, and left her there, so white and still, as if she lay in death. what of the _mantris_? they awaited long the king, in silence. then the oldest said: "o sovereign lord, o caliph great, wilt thou not now return?" "i'll come again, dear heart," he said, and sought the city. straight he went into the palace, to the queen, who asked: "what bringest thou from hunting?" he replied in murmurs: "i have taken naught at all. for my own pleasure i remained all night." "'tis nothing, lord, provided no harm came to thee. but say what thou didst seek, to stay so long? i always have prepared for thee the food for thy great hunts, but never yet have i received a recompense?" the king to this replied with smiles: "prepare afresh, for i to-morrow shall depart again. if i take nothing, i'll return at once." as he caressed the queen, upon her breast he felt the little magic fish of gold all safe. then gave he quick commands to all. "i'll hunt to-morrow, and shall surely bring some wondrous game." now when the princess fell asleep he found upon her heart no more the little fish. "'tis as the maiden said," he thought. "the princess hath a wicked soul. with such a heart i cannot go with her through life." through all the night he could not sleep, but thought upon the girl. he was as sad as though he heard a touching song. at dawn the royal couple rose and went to bathe. the king into the palace came again and sat upon the throne adorned with gems. he donned the royal robe to wear before the dear young girl. a vestment 'twas of silk, all gold embroidered, with a tunic bright, of orange hue. his mien was most superb, as doth become a mighty king. he bore a quiver of ceylon, most deftly wrought. when all the _mantris_ had assembled there, the king within the palace once more went and met the queen. caressing her he took the little fish that lay upon her breast. the princess wept, and at the door she cried: "why takest thou my little ornament?" the great king gave no heed, and went away, at dawn's glad hour, when birds begin to sing. swords gleamed and lances shone, and through the wood they hastened on, with quivers and blow-guns, and seemed a walking city. now again to bidasari let us turn. when dawn appeared, she rose and sat in loneliness, her face grew still more beautiful. her state astonished her. "perhaps it is the king who hath this wonder wrought. how happy i to be no longer dead!" she washed her face and felt still sad, but with her pensiveness a certain joy was mingled, for her pain was passed. her grief the "talking bird" allayed with songs about the mighty king and love. song there's _siri_ in a golden vase, good dang melini plants a rose; the king admires a pretty face, to-day he'll come to this fair close. good dang melini plants a rose, here in the garden they will meet; to-day he'll come to this fair close, to man and maiden love is sweet. here in the garden they will meet, go seek the fairest fruit and flower; to man and maiden love is sweet, the king is coming to the bower. lo! at this very instant they approached. dear bidasari hid behind the couch. the king searched everywhere, and found at last the maiden hiding, bathed in bitter tears. then kissing her, the king inquired: "my love, bright glory of my crown; pray tell to me why thou art sad." he dried her tears. but she still hung her head in silence. then the king for elephants and horses to be sent gave orders. "go with _mantris_ two at once, and bring the merchant and his wife, and bid forty _dyangs_ to hasten here forthwith." then went the _mantris_ forth in haste, and found the merchant and his wife and said, "the king inviteth ye to come." then through the wood the parents hurried to the plaisance fair of bidasari, there to meet the king. before his majesty they bowed with fear. the great king smiled. "be not afraid," he said, "my uncle and my mother. let us go within, to see thy lovely child. i make ye now my parents. we have friendly been, and still shall be." beside the king they saw fair bidasari seated, as with steps still hesitating they the palace sought. the father fond was glad within his heart, his daughter was so beautiful. she seemed a princess lovely of the mount lidang. "dear bidasari, sweetest child," they said, "behind the king, dear daughter, thou should stand." she made as if to go, but still the king restrained her, "no, my pretty one," he said; "thy place is at my side. so god hath willed." the oldest _mantri_, called for counsel, spoke: "lila djouhara good, what sayest thou? art thou not glad to see thy daughter made a queen? what happiness hath come to thee!" the merchant bowed before the king, and said: "make her thy servant, not thy wife, my lord. thy glorious queen we fear. she e'er hath shown for bidasari hatred dire, because a child so lovely might attract the king." the monarch hearing him thus speak, still more toward him was borne. "my uncle," then he cried, "have no more fear. but never shall i make a servant of thy daughter." then he gave command to build a castle in the wood. and all the workers came, and built it there, with ramparts three. as if by magic then a golden palace rose. the outer gate was iron, loaded down with arms, and held by demons and by ethiopians. these were the keepers of the gates, with steeds untamed. with swords unsheathed they stood alert and waited for the king's commands. of brass all chiselled was the second gate, supplied with cannons and with powder, guarded safe by beings supernatural. the third was silver, such as may be seen in far eirak. the beauty of the castle was beyond compare! from far it seemed to be as double, like an elephant with two white ivory tusks. where may its like be found? three diamonds pure reflected all the light, big as a melon. now the castle built, the king a plaisance beautiful desired with gay pavilions, and all kinds of plants. the middle booth nine spacious rooms displayed, one for the royal audiences, adorned and pleasant as a bed of flowers. the king a festival maintained for forty days, with games and sports and dances to divert. and never was such animation seen! all ate and drank to sound of music sweet. they passed the loving-cup and drank to each in turn. for forty days resounded there the gongs and _gendarangs_, and joyous tones of gay _serouni_ and _nefiri_ glad. "how beautiful is bidasari!" all exclaimed; "a thousand times more lovely than the queen. thrice happy are the merchant now and his good wife; by marriage they're allied to our great king, though strangers to the land. we count it strange that bidasari's face in naught is like the merchant nor his wife. who knoweth but that she, in mortal shape, an angel fair may be? full many slaves the merchant hath, but never children own." "he found her when a babe, upon the shore," another said, "and brought her up." the king heard all their words. he thought: "it is the truth and this i take as proof of her high birth. she certainly is noble or come down from heaven." when four days had fled, the wives of _mantris_ dressed the beauteous girl. they clad her form in satins soft of egypt, shot with gold, adorned with precious stones inset and many gems. her beauty was enhanced the more, till she a radiant angel seemed. she wore a tunic, crimson and pomegranate, with buttons shaped like butterflies. she was adorned with _padaka_ of five quaint clasps, and belt called _naga souma_. ear-rings rich she had, of diamonds set in gold, and wrought most wondrously, as bright as daylight's gleam; a ring most marvellous and rare she wore called _astakouna_, and another named _gland kana_, and a third from far ceylon, studded with precious stones. her eyes were like the stars of orient skies. her teeth were black, her face like water shone. her chiselled nose was prominent and mike a flower fresh culled. when she was dressed, upon a couch of pearls her mother put her. supple was her form, and white, as she reclined, by many maids surrounded. in his royal garb the prince was clad, and dazzling to the eyes of all who saw. he wore a kingly crown which shone with diamonds bright and lucent amethysts and many stones, and all majestic seemed. then rice was brought. the king with pleasure ate and what was left he gave the _mantris'_ wives. when all had finished he perfumed himself and gazed upon his lovely wife. her face and form were charming. her soft tresses curled in grace. her eyes still kept the trace of tears, which made her lovelier. the silken folds of soft egyptian curtains fell. they were alone. "awake, my darling," said the prince at dawn, "crown of my life, awake, my pretty one." then bidasari waked and said, with tears: "my friend, i had all sorts of wondrous dreams. i saw a palm-tree tall with tufted limbs, and fruits all ripe." when three days more had fled and all the people saw and loud acclaimed, then bidasari took the rank of queen. the king o'erloaded her with gifts and loved her tenderly. "oh, let us live and die together, dear, and, as the days go by, think more of one another, and our love preserve, as in the hollow of the hand oil is upheld, nor falls a single drop." so spake the king. the merchant and his wife were soon established in the neighborhood, near to queen bidasari's palace grand. a hundred servants had they to fulfil their orders. they sent gifts to all their friends, and food to last a month. a certain day it chanced that bidasari said: "o king, why goest thou no more within the gates of that thine other palace? of a truth queen lila sari will be vexed, because thou hast abandoned her so long a time. she'll think that i have kept thee from her side unwilling thou shouldst go." so, with all sorts of words, fair bidasari strove to urge the king to visit lila sari. "i will go to-morrow," finally he said. he went, when morning came, and met the queen. she turned him back, and with sharp, bitter words reproached him. "wretched one, i will not see thy face. i love thee not. i hate thee. go! lila djouhara's son-in-law, thou'rt not to me an equal. thy new wife's an ape, who liveth in the woods." but when the king heard these vociferations of the queen, he said: "branch of my heart, light of my eyes, oh, be not vexed, my dear. it was not i who wrong began, but thou didst cause it all. for thou didst hide thy deed from me, and drive me on to this extremity. oh, why art thou now angry with me? if thou wilt but love her, and attach thy heart to hers, she'll pardon thee, and take thee as a friend." as more and more enraged the queen became, her wrath with strong reproaches overflowed. "depart from here, accursed of god! thou art no longer husband mine. go live with her whom god hath struck, but whom thou dost delight to honor. formerly of noble blood thou wert, but now no more than broken straw. thou needst not further try to flatter me. though thou shouldst purify thyself seven times, false one, i'd not permit thee to approach my side." the king grew angry and replied: "tis thou who art despicable. thy cunning tricks are worthless now. thy jealousy insane was without cause, and common were thy acts. thy wit is much below thy beauty. will follow thee, should i protection cease." "have i forgot my noble birth?" she asked. "but thou hast erred, to lower thine high estate to people of such base extraction. here and everywhere thy shame is known, that thou art wedded to a gadabout. is it for princes thus to wed a merchant's child? she ought far in the woods to dwell, and know most evil destiny." the king but smiled and said: "if this event is noised abroad, 'tis thou who wilt receive an evil name. for who in all the land would dare prevent the king from marrying? i ought to take from thee all i have given. but before the people i've no wish to humble thee. is it because i met thy every wish that thou art grown so bad? most evil hath thy conduct been, and i with thee am wroth," and in hot anger rushed the king away, and straight repaired to bidasari's side. song iv this song will tell again about the prince of kembajat, most powerful. he was chased by fell _garouda_, horrid bird of prey, and sought another land. his way he took toward indrapura. at the break of dawn a daughter fair was born, a princess true, within a boat that lay upon a shore. the queen and he abandoned her, and went back to the royal palace and for days bemoaned her fate. of her they nothing heard. "alas my child!" the father cried, "my dear, in whose care art thou now? we do not know if thou art dead or living. thus thy sire hath no repose. light of mine eyes, my love, my purest gold, our hearts are torn with grief. an evil fate was ours to hide thee there. we do repent the deed. to think that thou perchance hath fallen among the poorest folk! a slave perhaps thou art!" the prince's son remarked the sorrow of his parents dear, and was profoundly moved. "have i," he asked, "a sister? tell me why have ye concealed her far away? did ye not care for her? was she a burden that ye must forsake her thus? doth shame not fill your parents' hearts?" but when he heard the tale in full, he said: "o father, let me go to seek for her, my sister dear. if i succeed i'll bring her back to thee." "oh, leave us not, my son," the father said. "thou art our only heir. like a tamed bird upon our shoulders fain we've carried thee, and watched thee, day and night. why shouldst thou leave us now? oh, go not forth. vex not thyself about thy sister dear. from travellers we shall get news of her, and her abode discover." then the prince bowed low and said: "my father, lord, and king, i am but strengthened in my wish to go and find my sister. let me now depart, and seek for news of her." the king replied: "well, go, my dearest son; thy heart is good. though but a child thou still dost bear a brain." then summoned the young prince the merchants all, and bought much goods and questioned them in turn about all neighboring villages and camps. they told whate'er they knew most willingly, for much the young prince was beloved by them. among them was a youth of handsome face, fair bidasari's foster-brother tall. amid the strangers sat he near the throne; his name was sinapati. he was brave and wise. now as he watched the prince he thought, "how strangely like dear bidasari's face is his, as when a reed is split in twain there is no difference between the halves." his home he left when bidasari fair became the queen. he thought of her and wept. the prince observed him there, and said, with smiles: "young man, my friend, from what far town art thou? why dost thou weep so bitterly? what thoughts arise in thee and make thy visage dark?" young sinapati bowed and said: "my lord, i came from indrapura, in a ship, my wares to sell. for that i do not weep. but sorrow cometh to my heart whene'er i think upon my home, and brothers dear, and sisters." at these words the prince rejoiced. he thought, "from him some news i'll surely learn." sherbets and dainties then to all the folk he offered, and the cup went 'round from dawn till noon, and then the merchants went away; but the young prince kept sinapati there. now he already strong affection felt for him and said: "my friend, toward thee i'm moved and look upon thee as a brother dear. thou dost at indrapura live, but who may be thy patron there?" then with a smile young sinapati said: "my patron's called lila djouhara, merchant great. he owns some six or seven swift ships, and toileth more than ever since he bidasari took as child." in two days' time the young prince went with sinapati to his father's house. "i bring thee news," he said, "but nothing yet is sure. behold from indrapura far a youth, from whom i've things of import great. a merchant of pesara, very rich, my sister must have found. all well agrees with what to me thou saidst. now must we seek for confirmation of the glad report." to sinapati gold and gems they gave. then spake the king: "if this be so i'll send an envoy bearing richest gifts, and thanks within a letter writ." the youthful prince bowed low and said: "oh, send me on this quest! lila djouhara i would like to see. perhaps he's virtuous and just. if i am made full sure it is my sister dear, i'll send a messenger. and if it be i'll bring her back." the king was moved to hear his son thus speak. "o dearest child," he said: "i'm very loath to let thee go. but thou must many horsemen take with thee, lest thou shouldst long be absent." "why should i be long away?" the prince replied, with bows; "for if lila djouhara will not let her come, i shall forthwith return to thee." the king could now no more object. he gave commands to make an expedition great. with richest gifts, and food, and princely things, and sent him forth with blessings on his head. "stay not too long; thou art my only hope," the king exclaimed; "i'm getting old, my son, and thou my heir upon the throne must be." they started early on the fourteenth day of that same month. and sinapati rode beside the prince. some went on foot and some on horses. when they far had gone, the prince said to the youth: "now listen, friend. when we arrive thou must not name my family and rank. i'm someone from another town. it doth not please me to declare my rank to strangers. should the girl my sister prove, thou mayst tell all, for i shall soon return." thus speaking, the young prince his way maintained, and soon arrived near to the city sought. he sinapati left, and went within the gates, with four companions, true as steel, and six attendants. they at once repaired to the _campong_ of good lila djouhara. they found it closed, with a forsaken look. "there's no one here. the king hath taken all away, both old and young," said the _mandar_. then sinapati beat his breast and said: "what hath become of my dear patron, then?" "be not disturbed. no harm hath come to him. the merchant with the king hath gone, because the king hath married bidasari fair, and made of her a queen, and built a fine new palace in the country wild. there all is joy and happiness." beyond all count was sinapati glad to hear these words. then to the prince he said: "my gracious lord, lila djouhara's near at hand. he is in highest favor with the king, and bears a title new." they hurried forth to find his residence. "it is the left _campong_," remarked a country-man. "thy lord is grand and powerful now, and master of us here. the king hath now become his son-in-law." then sinapati went within the gates and saw his mother there. her heart was touched. she kissed him and inquired, "whom hast thou brought?" "it is a friend," he answered. "come, my lord," she to the young prince said, "enter and rest." "he's so like bidasari," to herself she said. "what is thy name, my brave young man, thou seemest nobly born. in very truth thou'rt handsome and well mannered." then the prince said: "poutra bangsawan i'm called. thy son i've followed here." but sinapati paid him homage, and they knew him for a prince. before his door young sinapati slept at night to guard him safe. next day there came an invitation from lila mengindra (before, djouhara). so they started forth. lila mengindra was astonished quite to see the prince's face so beautiful. "who is this most distinguished stranger here?" he asked himself. "my master, speak a word to poutra bangsawan, a friend of mine," said sinapati. so the old man turned and spoke unto the prince, "come here, my son, and sit thee near thy father." he felt drawn to him, he looked so much like bidasari. the young prince smiled and on the dais sat. "what is thy visit's purpose?" then inquired the good old man. the prince with bows polite replied: "i'm but a humble stranger, come to find my sister. i bespeak thine aid." "be not afraid, my son, but trust in me, nor fear to give thy sister's name. if thou wilt have it so i'll take thee for a son; i love thee for thou hast a face so like my daughter's." then the brave young prince began and told his sister's story, how she was in time of stress abandoned on the shore. "and if i only knew," he said, "where now she is, i'd be her master's willing slave." now when lila mengindra heard his tale his joy was quite unspeakable. his love for bidasari's brother greater grew. with smiles he asked: "now, poutra bangsawan, say of what family thou art, that i may aid thee in thy quest, and help thee find thy sister." then the young prince bowed his head and pondered, "shall i lie?" for he knew not if 'twere his sister. lila saw his mood and said: "be not disturbed. it is most sure that thy dear sister's here. so speak the truth, that my old heart may be surcharged with joy. thy sister's seated on a throne, and like a brilliant jewel is her family. be no more sorry. as for me, my heart is full of joy." the prince looked in his face and said: "can i confide in him? i am a stranger here and fear to be deceived." said sinapati: "speak not thus, i pray, for everybody knows this man can tell ten-carat gold from dross. now list, my lord. although he bids me silent be, a prince he is, son of a powerful king, and comes to seek his sister." then within his heart the former merchant much rejoiced, as if he'd found a mountain of pure gems. he paid his homage to the prince in proper form, and took him into his abode, to meet his wife and all within. the spouses two to him exclaimed: "dear prince, in our old age we're very happy. when thy sister sweet we found, o'erjoyed were we. and now the king hath married her, and raised her to the throne. he hath our family to noble rank upraised, and covered us with benefits." then smiling said the prince: "i learn with joy my sister sweet is here. when may i go before the king and see her? for i've come to take her home. and yet i fear the king will never let her go away from him. when i have seen her i'll return again." in three days' time the king gave audience. the former merchant with him took the prince, who sent the richest presents on before. the princeling was most gorgeously attired and bore himself with haughty dignity. his robe was rich, his tunic violet and fire. his many-colored turban bore bright agates. at his girdle hung his kriss. he was entirely clad as prince should be, and bracelets wore with little bells and rings. his leggings were embroidered with bright flowers called _pouspa angatan_. he seemed divine-- his beauty was extraordinary. pearls in numbers countless covered all his garb; an amulet he had with sacred verse from the koran, a diamond pure. he rode a steed most richly housed, with _shabraque _decked with gleaming jewels casting rays of light. twas thus the prince set out to meet the king. lila mengindra with him went. the prince approached the king's pavilion, and at once the king remarked his beauty and his mien of noble grace. "who can he be?" he thought. meanwhile the prince dismounted and appeared before the king. full seven times he bowed and said, "o may your happiness increase, illustrious sovereign!" then the king with smiles lila mengindra questioned, "who is this thou hither bringest, of such noble mien and amiable face?" with humble bow the former merchant said: "this slave of thine has come from lands remote, from kembajat, upon the seashore, since thy majesty he wished to see. his presents few he sent before him, which he hopes thou wilt accept." the former merchant thought: "i would his rank divulge. but some might think i lied because the king hath bidasari wed, and if she knew she was a princess born she might be very vain and haughty." to the prince the king was very friendly. "come and sit here by my side," he said, "for thee i deem a brother." "let me here remain, my lord, i am a poor unworthy servitor. i hope that thou wilt pardon me. i would i might become a subject of thy crown." the king thought: "this may be some royal heir who here hath wandered. he resembles much our bidasari, pity 'tis that he unto another nation doth belong." then pleasantly he said: "pray, truly tell what is thine origin? keep nothing back. what is thy name? the whole truth let me know." the young prince bowed him low and said: "my name is poutra bangsawan, of family most humble. i am searching everywhere to find a sister lost. when she is found i shall return at once." then said the king: "where is thy sister? i will help thy search. stay here with me a month or two, that we may learn to know each other and become fast friends." the young prince then obeisance made and said: "i bear thine orders on my head. thou art a king illustrious, and i a humble servitor. i am the son of good lila mengindra, but for long i've absent been. my sister dear i seek. thine aid i do bespeak. from kembajat i come, a subject of thy father there, the king. forgive me, lord, for now thou knowest all." the king rejoiced to hear a voice that seemed so much like bidasari's, and inquired of sinapati, "tell me now his race." then sinapati bowed and said: "my lord, of princes and of caliphs is his race. his kingdom, not so far, is most superb; his palace is most beautiful and grand. swift ships within the harbor lie, all well equipped." at this the king enchanted was, to find a prince was brother to his wife. still more he asked and sinapati said: "because his realm was ravaged by the foe he hath misfortunes suffered manifold." then knew the king he was of royal blood and had adversity experienced. the king came from his throne and said, "my friend, my palace enter." so the king and prince went in. they met fair bidasari there. she sat beside a chinese window quaint, all choicely carved. she saw the king and thought, "what fine young man is this he bringeth here?" when they were seated all, the young prince looked at bidasari: "beautiful is she," he thought, "my sister dear, and very like my father." then the king with smiling face said: "bidasari, darling, speak to him. he is thy younger brother, come to seek thee here. from kembajat he came. and thy dear father mourns for thee the livelong day." at this fair bidasari sighed. she bowed her head and silence kept. she much was moved because she had not known her parents true, but fancied them djouhara and his wife. "i'm but a merchant's daughter," finally she said. "things all uncertain this young prince hath told. if i'm the daughter of a king, why hath he left me here, and never sought for me through all these years? 'tis not so far from here to kembajat." the young prince bowed. "thy words i bear upon my head," he said, "o sister dear. pray banish from thy heart all hatred. if thou'rt lowly born, i am likewise. our realm was ravaged at thy birth. but shortly afterward fair peace returned, and to his own my father came again. i've seen how much he suffers in his heart. thy name he never utters without tears-- he never hath forgotten thee. forgive him, then, in what he was remiss. except for stern necessity he never would have thee abandoned." then the king with smiles said: "speak to him, my dear. he tells the truth. thy parents wandered through a desert land beneath a cruel sun. impossible it was to carry thee through brier and brush." down at his sister's feet the young prince knelt. then bidasari clasped him in her arms. the brave young prince to them recounted all the sorrows of his parents. much he wept, and they wept, too, as he the story told. then sat they down to dine. and afterward they _siri_ took and perfumes of all kinds. then the young prince took leave. "where goest thou, my brother?" asked the king. "i fain would go straight home to my dear parents," said the prince. but, with a voice affectionate, the king replied: "seek not lila mengindra. here thou shouldst remain, for thou hast met within this palace thy dear sister. there is room enough for thee. stay here with all thy folk and retinue." the prince bowed low, and forth unto the merchant went, and to him said: "within the palace now i shall remain with all my retinue, for thus the king commands." the merchant said: "'tis very well for where can one lodge better than within the palace?" so the prince returned, with all his people, to the palace of the king. then all the _mantris_ came, and festivals and feasts were held. as long as he remained at indrapura, the young prince received all courtesies. and bidasari fair was known as daughter of a mighty king. the news was carried far and wide, and all repeated how her brother brave had come to seek for her. queen lila sari heard and was surprised. she sighed in solitude, and felt a woe unspeakable. she said to a _mandar_: "i was in too much haste. on the _dyangs_ i counted, but they come no more. all four have gone and homage paid to bidasari. all my tricks are foiled. in no one can i trust." dang lila then approached and said: "acts of unfaithfulness bring never happiness. god's on the side of loyalty. now those _dyangs_ are sad and languish after thee, but fear the king, dost thou not think, o queen, thou ill hast wrought? for while the king is absent none will come thy heart to cheer." the queen replied with ire: "seek not to consolation give. the king esteems me not. i'll not humiliate myself before him. who is that young prince, so called, who hither came? a pirate's son he well may prove, and calls himself a prince. go ye, _dyangs_, pay service to the king, and he may favor ye as he did her." she seemed most wroth. but she repented sore in truth, and pined away in sorrow deep. in other days she had no wish nor whim unsatisfied. now all were for the king. the queen's heart angrier grew from day to day as if a scorpion's sting had wounded her. and her distress grew greater when she thought upon the love of other days. her heart was inconsolable because so bitterly she missed the pomp and glory of her court. but bidasari to the king one day said: "send back these _mendars_; for if they all stay here, queen lila sari all alone will be." the king with smiles replied: "oh, no! i will not let them go. she is so fell and barbarous, she no one loves. she is much better all alone." then to the king fair bidasari said: "thine anger was too prompt. she spoke in wrath because she was accustomed to a court. in what to thee hath she been wanting, that thou shouldst repel her thus? thou gav'st her love, and now thou dost abandon her in sorrow. be not thus incensed with her, for should she come to want the shame would be reflected on thy head." the king's face lighted, and he said: "my dear, i went to see her, but she drove me forth with bitter words. her conduct was beyond all bearing. and she heaped on me abuse." but princess bidasari said: "dwell not on that, my friend. she was disturbed by wrath and jealousy. in other days thou didst embrace and kiss her. now she is alone. and thou perchance didst somehow hurt or bruise her body." all his anger left the king at this. he said: "o purest soul, thou speakest well and wisely. how could i not love thee, dear, and cling to thee for life? oh, never may we separated be! branch of my heart, light of my eyes, thou dost but good desire. thou'rt all the world to me. i'll go to her, since thou doth ask. perchance a reconciliation may be made. but she must first admit her faults. if she repentance shows, to see her i will go." the merchant's wife had come and heard these words. her warm tears fell. she thought within herself, "my daughter hath no vengeance in her heart." then dang bidouri brought delicious rice unto the king and queen. they ate and drank, and stronger grew their love from hour to hour. then gave the king commands to call the prince. he came with smiling face and graceful bows. "sit here beside us," said the king, and all the three dined there together, royal ones, surrounded by deft servants and _dyangs_. they chatted gayly, and, with laughter, ate. when all was finished, from the betel-box the king of _siri_ took, perfumed himself, and then the prince retired. when two short months had fled, the prince bethought him of his home and parents. to himself he said, "i'll go." he gave commands to preparation make for his departure. "i am loath to leave my sister," he to sinapati said. "my life is joyous here. but there at home i've left my parents in solicitude." then sinapati bowed and said, "with thee i'll go." song v a certain day the _mantris_ came before the king, in the pavilion grand. and with them came the youthful prince, and cast himself before the throne. the king with smiles said: "sit thou at my side, my brother dear, i have not seen thee for a day entire." the princeling bowed and said: "my gracious lord if thou wilt pardon me, i would return and give my parents dear the joyful news. my father bade me seek my sister lost, and still he nothing knows of her good fate." the king replied with sorrow: "brother mine, why wilt thou go so soon? we scarcely are acquainted, and i have not had enough of thy dear company." the prince replied: "oh, be not sorrowful, my gracious lord. as soon as i have my dear father seen i'll tell him what good things have come to pass. 'twill soothe his heart to hear my sister's joy. my parents will be glad in learning all thy goodness great. and pray consider me thy subject leal. soon i'll return again." the king's emotion grew. with pleasant voice he said: "take counsel of thy sister. heed what she may say." they found the queen within, fair bidasari, and attending her dyang agous djouhari. all sat down and took some _siri_ from the betel-box. the queen to the young prince then spoke: "come here. my brother, why have i thy face not seen for two long days?" with bows the prince replied: "i've had a multitude of things to do. thus came i not; for my companions all seek homeward to return. so i must take my leave of thee upon the morrow morn, when pales the silver moon before the dawn." the queen was grieved to hear these words, and shed a flood of tears. her tender heart was touched. beside herself with sorrow she exclaimed: "o prince illustrious! how canst thou go, since we have met? i've loved thee from the time i knew thou wert my brother. i am grieved to hear thee say thou wilt so soon depart. of low extraction must i be! 'twas wrong for thee to call thyself my brother. i a poor and feeble orphan am, and how should i the love deserve of a great prince?" when this he heard the prince bowed low his head and was much troubled. "sister sweet," he said, "grieve not like this. i only do return because our parents must so anxious be. i love thee so, my darling, that my heart is nearly breaking. if thou speakest thus to me, my dear, my grief will still increase. i could not leave thee, but i must respect our parents' wishes. they commanded me all haste to make. so--sweet--i pray thee have compassion on me." much disturbed, the king observed the sorrow of the princess fair. he kissed her lips, to her a _sepah_ gave, and said with tender voice: "my darling wife, what dost thou wish? let now thy brother go. we'll see thy parents here ere many days." the queen wept bitterly, and said to him: "his wishes i do not oppose. let him do whatsoe'er it pleaseth him to do. for i am but a stranger, a lost child, and who should think of me or love me true?" then bowed the prince and said: "in very truth, i know thou art my sister. speak not thus. god knows how much i love thee, sister mine. if thou dost not permit me to depart i'll not resist. i'm happy here with thee, but our dear parents are in cruel doubt, and look for news of thee. now that i know thy husband is a king, our parents dear would be so overjoyed to learn it too!" then spoke the king with face all radiant, "return not, brother mine," he said. "i'll send swift messengers to bear the gladsome news that bidasari's found. then, if he wills, thy royal father here we'll hope to see. i'll go myself to meet him when he comes." the young prince bowed and said: "nay, rather send thy messengers, a great king cannot go so far away." queen bidasari heard these words and much rejoiced, and gayly gave her brother then her betel-box. the king caressed his wife and said, "my dearest soul, love not thy brother more than me." he called lila mengindra. soon the merchant came before the king and prince. the king exclaimed: "come here, my uncle. tell me, wilt thou take a letter to the king of kembajat-- to prove to him we live?" so spake the king and called his counsellor of state, who came and kissed his hands. the king then bade him write a letter, all in characters of gold. "well," cried the king, "let's hear the letter now," "now glory be to god," it thus began, and all fair bidasari's history recited. then the king a mighty host assembled and with elephants and steeds ten _mantris_ took the letter of the prince unto his parents. with the cavalcade there went a _laksimana_ great, who bore, as king's ambassador, bejewelled flags and standards rich, and presents of much worth. then sinapati by the king was called a _laksimana mantri_, and received a fine equipment, with a hundred men to follow him. 'twas thus the king preserved his reputation as a mighty king. when he had sent the embassy, the king went to his wife, and they were very gay. his love for her grew greater every day. the former merchant also was beloved. he gave the king good counsel, and obeyed his orders willingly. he often dined together with the king and queen. his wealth grew vast. no one at all could with him vie, in indrapura. he was much attached to the chief _mantri_. they were equals both in prudence, wisdom, and fidelity, with power unquestioned over all the folk. beneath their sway prosperity increased, and many merchants came from far and wide. the kingdom was at peace. the king rejoiced, and everyone was happy in the land. song vi the _laksimana mantri_ now i'll sing, who went upon the embassy. as soon as the great king of kembajat had news of his arrival, he was much rejoiced. he told the queen, and in the audience-hall awaited. then went forth the officers with elephants and _payongs_. a countless throng attended them, with music and with flags. they met the embassy, and, with rich gifts, they gave the king's commands. into the town then entered all. the king was very glad, as if his only daughter had returned. all bowed before the king, who took the gifts, while servants took the letter to the chief of _mantris_. and he gave it to the king, the monarch read, and was possessed with joy. he could not thank enough the merchant good, who raised his daughter to a royal throne. he wished forthwith to go and see his child. the letter cordial invitation gave. but one thing troubled him: "he straight inquired, 'hath not the prince, my son, the liberty to come back home?'" the _laksimana_ bowed and said: "the king wished not to let him come and begged with tears that he would stay. the queen feared if her brother went she'd never see her father. from your children both i bring warm greetings. kind indulgence from your heart they ask, and press their invitation. i crave pardon for myself, o king, and hope thy children dear may see their father's face, and that the kingdoms may become one realm." at these words smiled the king. "ah, well!" he said, "i'll wait for seven days still." then questions flew, and the great king learned all about his child. the indrapura _mantris_ went apart when evening came. a separate palace grand the king assigned them, with the best of food. he orders gave for preparations great. unto the queen he said: "in seven days' time, my dear, i look to start, for i shall have no peace until i've seen our darling child." then he assembled there his _mantris_ all, both young and old, with elephants and steeds. and all was ready to set forth, as he had wished. the while the morning stars were twinkling still, the royal gong resounded many times. the guards leaped forth with joy. the officers came out and took their shining helms of war. their naked swords all glistened. it was thus they made the glittering royal cavalcade. their flags and banners flaunted in the air, all those who stayed behind were sad, as if a knife had cut them. all together marched, the lancers and the horsemen, and they seemed a moving city. soon all darkened was the moon, as someone sorrowful. the swords and lances glistened like an island in the middle of the sea. thus is described the royal escort marching through the land. the king was mounted on an elephant, his _siri_-bearer seated close behind. a rich _payong_ of royalty, all tricked with bells, was stretched above his head, and drums and other instruments without cessation sounded. thus went forth the king, and soon to indrapura came. when near he halted and forthwith an envoy sent his coming to announce, together with the _laksimana mantri_. "mighty king," they said, "thy royal father hath arrived." the king his heralds ordered then to call lila mengindra. with a smile he said to him: "assemble in the square the folk and army. straight to my pavilion let them come, and all in holiday attire, for i my father am to meet to-day." lila mengindra bowed and hied him forth to execute the orders of the king. the king within his palace went, and sat upon a jewelled seat. the queen was there, and good lila mengindra at her side. the king said smilingly: "light of my eyes, let all the palace decorated be. assemble all the palace folk and all the younger girls. for now without the gates our parents wait. to-morrow i shall go to meet them." then queen bidasari cried, with smiles: "my brother they have come to see. i cannot go before them and declare myself their daughter." but the young prince said: "oh, speak not thus, my sister, but give heed to what i say to thee, and be not wroth. if i'm the only one they love, alone i'll go with them away." then to the king he said: "with my dear sister i but jest, to quiet her alarms." he bowed before the king and asked permission forth to go at once to meet his father. "nay," replied the king, "we'll go together." a repast was served with every kind of food. the royal three together ate. then from the betel-box they _siri_ took, and perfumes sweet they used. the prince then from the palace forth did go. next day the king invited him to start with him upon the royal progress. all the banners waved, and everyone was glad. then to the queen he said: "stay here, my love, and i will hither bring thy father dear." these words rejoiced the queen. she said: "go forth, my dear, and i will follow with my eyes." the king then took his leave with the young prince, with many _mantris_ following. the strains of gladsome music sounded. all the bells were rung, and those without the cavalcade were sad. ere long they came to the frontier, and king met king. the folk of kembajat were all astonished at the young king's face, as beautiful as painter's masterpiece. the old king looked with smiles on all. his joy was great. the king of indrapura bowed respectfully, and made them bring to him the elephant that bore 'neath gay _payong_ his consort's father. "son, where goest thou?" "i've come to seek thee." then the old king said: "why didst thou come in person? 'twould have been enough if thou hadst _mantris_ sent instead." his joy o'erflowed his heart. his son-in-law he greatly loved. upon his elephant he said: "approach, my son, thou art a king renowned. thy body and thy soul are both alike, and both of royal stock!" he pressed him in his arms and said: "light of my eyes, almighty god hath heard my many prayers, and granted me a perfect son-in-law." the king of indrapura bowed and smiled most graciously. then to the young prince said his father: "mount, my son, beside me, here." the young prince mounted at his father's side. he was as beautiful as chiselled gold. within the town the kings made entry then amid a joyous throng. when they had come, the former merchant bowed before them both, the _mangkouboumi_ now. the mighty king of indrapura bowed and said: "my sire, speak to my uncle here; for he brought up thy daughter." scarcely had the old king heard these words than he exclaimed with joy: "come here, my brother, let us now acquaintance make." the old king, seated on his elephant, shed all about him rays of happiness, and all the people there were greatly moved. "this is my brother well beloved," he said, and kissed his brow. "how great hath been his love, his faithfulness has proved beyond compare." the former merchant bowed, and to the king replied: "i am thy slave, o king, and bear thine orders on my head. thou dost o'erwhelm thy servant with thy favor." then upon the royal throne, which was all gem-bedecked, the old king sat, the young prince at his side, with all the _mantris_ near. then came the queen consort. the prince and bidasari fair came from their seats, their mother to receive. all entered then the palace. the young queen, fair bidasari, bowed and was embraced by both her parents. with a flood of tears her father said: "alas, my darling child, fruit of my heart, light of my eyes, keep not a hatred in thy soul against us now. the will of god is now made manifest. we long have separated been. at last we see each other with our very eyes. great wrong we did thus to abandon thee, but still let not thy heart a stranger be to us. peace later came to our dear land-- such was our destiny. what could we do? we were in flight. we thought, 'may god decree some honorable man shall find her here!' how can we now be glad enough 'twas thus ordained! what recompense can we present?" sweet bidasari wept as she recalled the past. the king her husband was much moved, and felt great pity when her tears he saw. and all were sad with sorrow mixed with joy, because they knew she was of royal birth. food now was served, and quickly the _dyangs_ brought salvers for the princes. the two kings ate of the rice till they were surfeited, then to their children offered it. all took the _siri_ placed before them, and straightway themselves anointed with rare perfumes sweet. when all had eaten, the five royal ones lila mengindra called, and gave to him the remnants of the feast. the kings then spoke to him and to his wife. they both bowed low and kissed the royal hands. then said the king of kembajat: "my children, i had planned-- in case we ever met on earth and ere the prey of death became--a feast to give, to last a month, and to it ye invite. in triumph i my daughter fain would bear, with all of ye. i would at once repair unto the isle of nousa antara, and there i'd hold a royal festival with all the members of our family, and all the _bitis_, _mandars_, and _dyangs_. such was my plan--if ever i should find my daughter dear. now while this moon doth last let me the project see fulfilled before your parents come to die." the gracious king of indrapura at these words bowed low and said: "i bear thy words upon my head. it shall be done as thou hast wished, my king." and when the evening came all was prepared. soft mattresses were spread, and the two queens betook them to their chambers, and the rich egyptian curtains fell. they vainly sought to sleep. they talked together of their sorrows past and evil days. and neither kings nor queens that night could slumber. at the break of day the talking bird began to sing and prate. a little later the _bajangs_ began their song. then all arose, and bathed, and broke their fast, and chattered and amused themselves. the king of indrapura then gave word unto the _mangkouboumi_: "all prepare that's necessary, ere the moon be full. get ready all the various kinds of ships, and load them down with every sort of arms. prepare all sorts of games to pass the time, and get in order all the cannons great and fire-arms. thus the king commands." straightway the _mangkouboumi_ bowed before the king, and went his orders to obey. he made the ships all ready, with new paint and gold. when three were well equipped, on board he took the people of the city. all the old were left behind, but of the young none stayed. then to the king the _mangkouboumi_ said, "all is prepared." at this the king rejoiced, and to the king of kembajat sent word, who told his wife, and she was all aglow. they started from the palace, kings and queen and prince, and lovely bidasari, too, attended by the courtiers all. the strains of music sounded and the bells were rung. all those whose lot it was to stay at home were pained, as if a knife had stricken them. the cannons roared; the royal banners waved. in three days' sail they reached the island fair, of nousa antara, and the ships made fast. the two queens sat and watched the deft _dyangs_ take up the coral white and pink, and toyed with pretty shells. the king set foot upon the isle of nousa antara. the king and his dear wife upon the shore came forth, with their sweet daughter bidasari pure. the king of indrapura with them went, the prince walked near them on the left. the king of indrapura ordered that a tent be raised, and one was made. it was as large as any palace, set with royal throne. the two queens entered it and sought repose. the prince before his father bowed and said, "my royal father, let me go and hunt." to this the king of kembajat replied, "do what thou dost desire, light of my eyes." the king of indrapura said with smiles, "i'll go with thee to hunt, my brother dear." the prince replied, "i shall in truth be charmed, my brother." "forth we'll fare to-morrow morn," returned the king of indrapura. "call the folk together." when the dawn appeared, the king and prince together started forth, escorted by a band of hunters tried, and beat the woods for game. the king and prince and all their following made rapid work. the game took flight. the king then drew his bow and many animals were killed. a deer came running by. his arrow struck him full upon the shoulder, and the huntsmen seized and quickly killed him. in the pathless woods of nousa antara there was much game. a tiger roared, the king and prince pursued. the tiger swiftly fled. the prince sat down within the forest deep. to overtake the beast he was unable. to return he sought, but could not find the way. alone he was, and in perplexity, because his huntsmen he no longer could descry. then, wandering to and fro, he found at last a pleasure garden of the days gone by, belonging to king lila, beautiful and without flaw. he was astonished quite when he perceived a palace. all alone he found himself, when he had entered there. he walked about, but found no living soul. unto himself he said: "can this domain a habitation be of demons dread and spirits? can this be the cause of all the solitude which reigns?" on all sides then he looked. all suddenly a voice he heard, but still no one could see. amazed he stood. the mystic voice exclaimed, "have pity, lord, and free me from this room." as in a dream the prince these accents heard. he answered then: "who art thou? whose strange voice is this i hear, the while i no one see? dost thou belong unto the race of demons and of spectres? where is the key, that i may ope the door?" then the _dyang_ of mendoudari said unto the prince: "look toward the left, for there the key thou'lt find that opes the palace tower." he took the key and opened wide the door. all those who were within, when they beheld the prince's face, fell prostrate at his feet. to them the prince cried out: "say to what race ye do belong. this quickly tell. and whose this palace beautiful?" then answered him dang tjindra melini: "o royal prince, we are god's creatures, like to thee. and this fair palace of the king lila is now by ifrid occupied, a spirit-king, with whom now lives the prince illustrious, lila. his daughter, princess mendoudari, is shut alone within a chamber here, and ifrid, king of spirits, cometh oft. on every third day cometh he. his eyes are brilliant as the sun." when this he heard the prince was glad. the room he entered then. the princess mendoudari sought to flee. "where wouldst thou go, my friend," he said. "i've sought and found thee. do not flee away from me." the princess mendoudari said with tears: "and art thou mad enough hither to come? the spirits will destroy thee without doubt." these words rejoiced the prince, and to her then he sang a low sweet song of love and wooing. the princess answered with a dreamy chant. and when the young prince heard her gentle lay he felt a yearning pity for her fate. "be not afraid, my dear," he said, "for i will triumph over all thine enemies." then dang sendari served them dainty food; and what was left, to her the princess gave. the prince too _siri_ from the betel-box and rare sweet perfumes used. when evening came, a soft couch for the prince was spread. and then the princess sought her room, and curtains drew of rich egyptian stuff. the prince had asked, "when comes the spirit-king?" and she had said, "at early dawn." the young prince could not sleep, but through the long night hours sang soft _pantoums_. when daylight came the prince arose. he heard a spirit coming to the palace. then with fear was seized the princess fair. "behold," she cried, "he cometh." then the young prince took his arms. "fear not," he said; "have confidence in god. what he decrees must always come to pass. if i'm destroyed, then follow me in death. i only ask one thing of thee, my love. when i am dead, i pray thee weep for me, and let thy mantle be my winding-sheet. now let thy glances follow as i go." i'll tell of ifrid now--the spirit-king. he lurked beneath the palace. when he heard the princess talking with the prince his ire arose like burning flame. his cry was like a thunder-burst. the very palace shook. "depart from here," unto the prince he roared, "and feel my mighty power." then sweet love-songs exchanging with the princess went he forth. his mien was like sang samba's, and his face was nobly firm, as if he went to meet a roaring tiger. at his side he wore a rare carbuncled sword, and arrows bore with points in deadly poison dipped. ifrid, the creature with two heads, like spectre came with laughter horrid. he took up a stone and hurled it at the prince, who dodged its flight. then full of wrath ifrid upon him rushed. but swift the prince let fly an arrow sharp, and pierced his heart. one groan, and then he fell, and died beside the river. then the prince made haste to join the princess. when she saw the spirit ifrid dead she much rejoiced and bowed before the prince. great gladness shone in her fair face, because her woe had ceased, and she was happy that 'twas to the prince she owed her rescue. 'twas as if she'd found a mountain great of jewels. then she said: "caliph a high divinity once was and called himself king lila. god will bless thee for thy deeds, o mighty prince." the prince with kisses said: "thou hast a charming mouth. thy form is supple. prithee tell me why i should not love thee? thou art beautiful as a statue of pure gold, and thou shalt be a princess in my palace. well i know thine origin is noble, and thy race is high." they gayly chatted while some food was served. the prince, with pleasure, at the side of the fair princess ate. when all was done he took some _siri_ from the betel-box and perfumes used. "thou art a jasmine sweet," he said, "an antidote to every ill, and thou shalt be my wife." next day the prince took her behind him on his horse, and they departed. the _dyangs_ accompanied them. now will i tell about the _mantris_ all. until the fall of evening, with the king of indrapura, they in waiting stayed, to welcome back the prince. and much disturbed they were that he delayed so long to come. the king then bade them seek the prince, and see why he remained so long apart from them. then _mantris_ four set out, and hunted far and wide, but found him not. they brought the news that he could not be found. the king was sad and ordered them to go and tell the king, his wife's dear father, that the prince was lost. the old king fainted when he heard the tale. with oil of rose they sprinkled him, and back unto his senses came he. "o my child," he said, "my heart hath lost all hope. where now art thou? i'll go, myself, to seek." the king wept much, and his dear wife. and as for her-- sweet bidasari--she appeared to wish to kill herself, for never on the earth did brother love his sister like the prince and bidasari. at the fall of day back came the king of indrapura, sad and weeping. then the king of kembajat said: "o my son, be silent. do not weep, for thou dost but increase the pain i feel." but indrapura's king replied: "alas! he was my brother true, so brave and good!" but while they were lamenting thus the prince stood there before them with his consort fair. he bowed to all. the king, his father, saw and could not speak. he thought, "it is the voice of my dear son." then recognition came and he was wild with joy. the prince then told how he had chased the tiger, and had lost his way within a wood: how he had killed a spirit there, ifrid, the dread. the king heard all he said and much rejoiced. then came the servants serving tasteful food to all. the king ate with his wife and children dear. together they were six. all sorts of rare and dainty food were served them, and the king took _siri_ from the betel-box, and used sweet perfumes. the great king of kembajat then gave a festival which lasted quite seven days, with music and diversions gay. glad joy was at its height, of pleasure born and of the dance. the kings amused themselves. all kinds of games they had. intji bibi, a singer of malacca, sang with grace. the seven days passed, the princess mendoudari was all in finery arrayed. the wives of the two kings took her in hand. the prince was by the _mangkouboumi_ ta'en in charge. the princess sweetest perfumes did exhale. her manners were most gracious and polite as of a well-born person. every sort of gem and jewel sparkled from her robes. she wore a ring--'twas _astokouna_ called-- and yet another one, _glangkano_ named, and still another, with bright stones all carved in fashion of ceylon. her tresses curled like to a full-blown flower, and on them shone full many precious stones. the _tourie_ buds became her well. her features were as bright as those of some celestial being pure. fair mendoudari thus was clad, and led to the bride's seat, and at her either hand stood _mantris'_ daughters seven with waving fans. meanwhile the _mangkouboumi_ patiently achieved the tiring of the prince. he wore a royal crown, made in the island fair called nousa antara, and a rich coat which opened at the sides, made in the west. a chiselled necklace hung about his neck. his tunic flamed with orange, like the robe of great schahid schah pri. his girdle bright was cloth of _tjindi_, fringed with agates rare. an amulet he wore with diamond pure, with sacred words engraved of the koran. he wore a jewel like a butterfly, most beautiful, and many rings and gems. his features of the rarest beauty were, like those of some divinity of heaven. when thus arrayed, the youthful prince came forth and made obeisance to his parents both. he went to the appointed place, and all the children of the court assembled there before him, while two sons of heralds stood beside him, waving fans like floating clouds. all kept the strictest silence. then a band of soldiers came, with blades all glittering. the royal sword, all diamond decked, flashed rays of light. three times around the island went they all, with sound of music and the noise of bells. and all who heard in vain essayed to estimate the number. everyone ran forth to see the progress--men and women. some tore their garments, some their children lost, distracted by the pleasure and the noise. when ended the procession, the young prince at princess mendoudari's right was placed, within the palace. then to them was brought rice called _adapadap_, and they became a wedded pair. and all the folk dispersed. in three days' time was mendoudari dressed anew by bidasari. she was robed with vesture of embroidered silk. the prince was likewise gayly clad, to suit the glad occasion. now again they made, in state, a royal progress round about the isle. the king and bidasari rode in one grand chariot, and, within another, went the prince and mendoudari, his fair bride. then back they came for rest, upon the soft rich palace cushions. then the mighty king of kembajat inquired of his dear wife: "what think'st thou, love? shall we to-morrow morn return?" with smiles the queen replied, "i bear thine orders on my head." next day the hearts of all the royal company were filled with joy. the officers assembled then to take the king's commands, and he was pleased to see them dutiful. the following morn the song of the _bajans_ awaked the king. at early dawn each princess with her lord, and all the officers, embarked upon the ship. they sailed far from the island fair, nousa antara, and in three days came to indrapura and the river's mouth. when at the palace they arrived again, the _mantris_ came in joy and kissed their hands. the king of kembajat said that he wished to go. scarce had fair indrapura's king heard that his parents to their home desired at once to go, when he the _mantris_ called and orders gave. the king of kembajat set out with his dear wife next day at dawn. within the palace of their daughter sweet they met fair indrapura's king. the king of kembajat sat at his side, and said in softest tones: "well, bidasari, child, thy parents now will homeward fare. obey the king, thy gracious husband, in all things. the former merchant brought thee up. he will a father be to thee. strive hard to win thy husband's heart, and never disregard his wishes." scarcely had she heard these words than at her father's knees she fell, and shed a flood of tears. the king embraced his child and, weeping, said: "my daughter dear, pure gold, my crown's chief gem, light of my very eyes, branch of my heart, be not disturbed, my soul, nor let thy heart be sad." the royal four all wept together. then the father said: "my son, accomplished prince, we trust to thee our bidasari. show her the right path if she aside should step, for hither she as prisoner came. correction should she need, for us it will not be a shame." at this fair indrapura's king was greatly moved. he bowed and said: "my father, speak not thus. i have the best opinion of the girl. our hearts are one, as body with the soul. this kingdom all is hers, the guardian i of her possessions, and i'll satisfy her every wish." the king with joy replied: "well, daughter, jewel of my crown, thou art no more beneath my sway, but wholly now under the orders of thy husband dear." he much was moved, and to the _mangkouboumi_ said, "brother, take my treasures all, for we can never all thy goodness recompense." the former merchant and his wife bowed low: "your gratitude, o prince, is great, but all thy treasures are thy royal daughter's meed. for her we'll guard them." but the king replied: "nay, speak not thus, my brother. should i give all indrapura's weight in purest gold it would not pay thee for thy care and love. we are to thee devoted from our hearts." at dawn they breakfasted, but all were sad, because from bidasari now must part her parents dear and brother. much she wept because she felt her heart go out to him her brother. then she said: "i've one to take the place of parents, but where shall i find a brother?" princess mendoudari bowed to bidasari, and they kissed with tears. fair bidasari said: "my sister dear, sweet mendoudari, when wilt thou return? stay not too long at kembajat, for i could not thine absence bear. farewell, my love." the king embraced his daughter. bitterly both wept. the royal father said, "stay here, my son-in-law, with thy dear wife." the king before his parents bowed. the youthful prince before the king his brother bowed, and went to bidasari's side, his sister dear, with heavy heart. then, weeping much, he said: "o sister mine, gem of my crown, be not so sorrowful. i go, but if thou dost desire, i'll come each year to visit thee." sweet bidasari kissed him. but her grief was inexpressible. "o brother dear, illustrious prince," she said, "thine absence would e'en then be much too long." the prince replied, with bows: "assuage thy grief, my sister dear. for if the king permits, perhaps i may come sooner back to thee." the mighty king of indrapura said, in friendly tones: "although he be thy brother, still, my dear, i love him much. we ne'er have had the least misunderstanding. why art thou not gay? and why art thou not willing he should go? if 'twere not for thy father i would keep him here." the king departed, followed by his son, who took his father just beyond the gates. the _mangkouboumi_ bowed his head before the king, who with much ardor said, "o father of dear bidasari, give aid and protection to thy lovely child." the _mangkouboumi_ bowed again, and said: "whate'er is fit, i'll do. upon my head i bear thine orders. i thy servant am." the prince embraced the former merchant too, and said, "o uncle dear, my sister guide, and counsel her if any fault she doth." then said the king of kembajat, "my son, come, let us start at once." so forth he fared. the prince and all the escort with him went. a few days passed and they were home again. new garments to the escort all were given, and many presents to the officers. by _mantris_ four the king rich treasures sent unto his children loved, with many steeds and elephants. when safely they arrived at indrapura, they appeared before the _mangkouboumi_. he presented them unto the king, and said: "o sire, these gifts are from thy son." the king replied: "why dost thou bring them here, my uncle? keep them all in thine own treasury." then he retired within and said to bidasari sweet: "thy father, dear, hath sent us presents rare, and four young _mantris_, and a thousand men with elephants and horses. all is thine." the fair young queen with smiles to him replied: "all that with me to share thou dost desire. whatever be thy wish, i wish it too." the king adored his wife, and was to her devoted. his great happiness increased and his domains extended every year. when bidasari's royal birth was known, the news spread far and wide, and everywhere was told. the realm of indrapura grew more populous and powerful year by year. the wicked princess lila sari lived alone and desolate, in sadness deep and full repentance for her evil deeds. this song is weak because my skill is small. my heart was deeply stirred. and that is why i made, poor fakir i, this poem here. i have not made it long, because too sad i was, and troubled. now at last 'tis done. for this, at least, your blessings i deserve. the end. sedjaret malayou legends of the malay archipelago [translated by m. devic and chauncey c. starkweather] once upon a time lived king iskender, son of king darab. he traced his origin to roum; macedonia was his native country, and dhoul-garnein his surname. now it happened that this prince set out upon his travels to find the place where the sun rose; and he arrived at the frontier of india. there reigned in this country a very powerful king, to whom half of india was in subjection; and his name was king kida hindi. as soon as king kida hindi heard of king iskender's approach, he gave orders to his prime minister, who gathered together the armies and princes who were subject to him. when all were met together, he marched forth to meet king iskender. the two armies engaged and the conflict was carried on with extreme activity on both sides, as is related in the history of king iskender. kida hindi was defeated and taken alive. iskender ordered him to embrace the true faith, and kida hindi embraced the faith and became enrolled in the religion of the prophet abraham, the friend of god, to whom be the glory! then king iskender caused him to be clothed in a garment like his own, and bade him return to his own country. king kida hindi was the father of a very beautiful girl, whose equal was not to be found in her day. her face had the dazzling lustre of the sun or the moon; she was modest and discreet. her name was chehr-el- beria. king kida hindi took his prime minister aside and said to him: "i have summoned you to ask your advice on the subject of my daughter, whose equal in these days cannot be found. i have formed the project of presenting her to king iskender." the minister answered: "your majesty has made a wise decision." "very well," replied the king, "to-morrow, god willing, you shall go and find the prophet khidar and relate to him the whole matter." next day accordingly the minister set out to find the prophet khidar. after his departure king kida hindi commanded that the name of king iskender should be inscribed on the coins and standards of his realm. when the minister approached the prophet khidar he made a salaam to him, which the prophet returned and asked him to be seated. then the minister spoke as follows: "you must know, o prophet of god, that my king entertains for king iskender an affection so fervent that i cannot describe it. he is the father of a girl who has no equal among the children of this world's monarchs from the rising to the setting sun. she is without a rival in face, wit, and goodness of disposition. now the desire of the king is to present the princess before king iskender, with the view of ultimately giving her to him for his wife." now the soldiers of king souran laid siege against the walled town of gangga-chah djouhan; but those on guard repulsed them, so that they could not get near. seeing this, king souran advanced, mounted on an untamed elephant. taking no heed to the arrows that were launched against him by the defenders of the wall, he reached the gate and struck it with his mace. the gate gave way and king souran entered, followed by his warriors. when king gangga-chah djouhan saw king souran approaching, he seized his bow and shot an arrow with haste. the arrow struck the forehead of king souran's elephant. the elephant fell on his knees. king souran quickly leaped to the ground, drawing his sword as he did so; at a single stroke he struck through the neck of king gangga-chah, and the severed head rolled to the ground. the forces of gangga-nagara, as soon as they saw their prince fall, demanded the _aman_ (i.e., truce). king gangga-chah djouhan had a sister, named princess zaras gangga. she was exceedingly beautiful. the victorious prince took her for his wife. then he resumed his march. some time afterward he reached the city of ganggayon. it was formerly a great city, the black stones of whose fortress survive even to this day. this fortress is at the extremity of the river djoher. the name ganggayon in the siamese tongue means "treasury of emeralds." the king of the city was rajah tchoulin; he was a powerful prince, to whom all the kings of the land did obeisance. on the news of king souran's approach, king tchoulin called together all his troops and sent word to the kings who were his tributaries. when all were assembled he set out to repel the invaders. the multitude of his soldiers was like the waves of the sea; his elephants and horses stood up among them like islands; his flags and standards presented the appearance of a forest, and the cows' tails fluttering at the pike-heads presented the appearance of _lalang_ ploughers. the army came in four bodies and reached the banks of a river. there they saw the soldiers of king souran, ranged like forest-trees. the siamese exclaimed, "pangkal," a word which means "river," and hence that river became known as the river pangkal. the soldiers of siam at once joined battle with the soldiers of kling, who were hindoos; and the battle raged with indescribable confusion. the soldiers mounted on elephants pressed forward these great beasts; the men on horseback made their horses champ with fury; the lancers pressed home their lances; those who carried pikes plied them furiously; and those who bore sabres dealt many a doughty stroke. blood flowed like rain. the crash of thunder would have been drowned by the shouts of the warriors and the clash of arms. the dust that rose from the plain obscured the brightness of the day like an eclipse of the sun. so complete was the confusion with which the contestants mingled that it was not possible to distinguish the combatants of either side: each assailant was at the same time the assailed, and he who struck with his weapon himself at the same moment was stricken with a blow. sometimes the soldiers attacked a comrade by mistake. every moment crowds of people on either side were killed and wounded, many horses and elephants had their throats cut, and the blood shed covered the ground. the dust had disappeared; the combatants were seen struggling in masses so compact that neither party was able to retire from the battle. king tchoulin managed to force a way by means of the elephant he rode through the innumerable horde of king souran's soldiers; the corpses were piled up beneath his feet. a crowd of hindoo warriors lost their lives. the rest of them began to give way. king souran, on perceiving this, dashed forward to meet king tchoulin in single combat. he mounted an untamed elephant eight cubits high that had no driver. but the elephant of king tchoulin was also very brave. the two animals met; they attacked each other; the clash of their encounter was like the thunder that rends the earth; their tusks clashing and intertwining made a sound like that of a storm that never ceases. neither could triumph over the other. then king tchoulin raised himself upon the beast he rode and brandished a javelin. he hurled it against king souran; the javelin struck the elephant on his flank and pierced deep. at the same time king souran shot an arrow which smote king tchoulin in the breast and came out at his back. that prince fell to the earth and expired. the soldiers seeing their king dead, broke ranks and took flight in utter disorder, pursued by the hindoos, who put to the sword all they overtook. penetrating the ramparts of ganggayon the hindoo soldiers pillaged the town; the booty was immense. king tchoulin had a daughter, extremely beautiful. her name was the princess ouangkion; she was presented to king souran, who took her for his wife. the king then resumed his march and arrived at temasik. the rumor of his approach soon reached china. people said, "lo! king souran comes with a countless army to conquer china. he has already reached temasik." this news was heard with dire alarm by the king of china. he said to his ministers and to his officers: "what must be done to repel this invading multitude? if the king of kling arrives here, he will doubtless ruin our country." the prime minister said: "o king of the world; i have a device for repelling him." "very good," said the king; "do not fail to try it." the prime minister therefore caused a _pilo_, or ship, to be fitted out with rusty needles. they took also two kinds of trees, kamses and jujube trees, laden with fruit; these were placed on board ship with the soil in which they grew. old men who had lost their teeth were chosen for passengers and crew. to these the minister gave his instructions and they started for temasik. when they had reached this place king souran was informed that a ship had arrived from china. "go and ask these strangers," he said to his attendants, "at what distance does this country lie from us." the attendant put this question to the crew of the _pilo_ and received the following reply: "when we left china we were all still young, being scarcely twelve years old; and these trees were seeds which we had sown. but you see how old we are now, and how our teeth are fallen out; the grains of seed have become trees in fruit, and all this has happened during the time it has taken us to reach here." at the same time they took the needles of which they had a large quantity and said as they showed them to the hindoos: "when we started from china, these were as thick as a man's arm, and now see how they are worn out by the rust. this will give you an idea of the length of the voyage: we could not keep count of the years and the months." on hearing this answer of the chinese, the hindoos ran to report it to king souran, to whom they repeated all they had heard. "if the thing is as they say," replied the prince, "the land of china is still a very long way off. when shall we arrive there? we had better return home." "his majesty is undoubtedly right," said the officers. king souran meditated thus: "behold, the contents of the land is known to me, but how can i learn the contents of the sea? i must needs enter the sea, in order to know it." then he summoned his engineers and skilful men, and ordered them to fashion a box of glass with lock and fastenings within, in order that he might shut himself in it. the engineers made the box of glass just as the king desired it; they furnished it with a chain of the purest gold; then they presented it to king souran, who was exceedingly well pleased with it, and rewarded them all with rich presents. the prince entered into the box, disappeared from the eyes of all present, and shut the door upon himself. they took the box to the sea, and let it descend even to the bottom. what treasures, what wealth, works of the almighty, were seen by king souran! the box fell until it reached a land called dika. there king souran came out of the box, and went forward, seeing most wonderful things. he arrived at a great and strongly fortified town, which he entered and saw a vast population, whose number god alone knows. this people, who call themselves the badsam people, were composed of believers and unbelievers. the inhabitants of the town were astonished to see the face of king souran, and his garments they looked upon with astonishment. they conducted him to the presence of their king, whom they call agtab-al- ard (_i.e._, bowels of the earth). this prince asked, "what man is this?" "my lord," was the reply, "it is a stranger, who arrived a moment ago." "whence does he come?" "we do not know." then the king addressed king souran himself and said, "who are you, and whence do you come?" king souran replied: "i come from the world; i am the king of men; my name is king souran." king agtab-al-ard was very much astonished on hearing these words. "there is, then," he said, "another world beside ours?" "the world," replied king souran, "contains many races." "glory to god almighty," said the king, full of surprise. then he made king souran ascend and sit with him on the royal throne. agtab-al-ard had a daughter, of great beauty, named princess mah-tab- al-bahri ("moon of the sea"). he gave her in marriage to king souran. that prince dwelt three years with her and had three male children by her. when he thought about these three children king souran felt much troubled. he said to himself: "what will become of them, here, under the earth? or how shall i withdraw them hence?" he went to see agtab-al-ard, and said to him: "if my sons grow up, will your majesty allow me to see that they are brought into the upper world, in order that the royal line of sultan iskender dhoul-quameen may not be broken to the end of time?" the king answered, "i shall not hinder you." then king souran took leave of the king and prepared for his return. the king and his daughter shed many tears at parting. then the king gave orders to bring the horse sembrani, named paras-al-bahri ("sea-horse"), which he gave to king souran. the prince mounted the horse, which bore him from the sea, and carried him in the air above the billows. the troops of king souran caught sight of the horse sembrani, and recognized in its rider their king. the prime minister at once took a beautiful mare and led it to the shore. the sea-horse saw the mare and came to land to meet her, and king souran descended. then the horse sembrani went back into the sea. king souran said to his wise men and engineers: "raise a monument which shall witness to my journey in the sea; for i wish the memory of it to be preserved even to the resurrection day. write out the story, so that it may be told to all my descendants." in obedience to the words of the king the wise men and engineers set up a stone on which they traced an inscription in the tongue of hindostan. this done, king souran gathered a quantity of gold, silver, jewels, gems, and precious treasures, which he laid up under the stone. "at the end of the centuries," he said, "there will come a king among my descendants who will find these riches. and this king will subdue every country over which the wind blows." after this, king souran returned to the land of kling. there he built a mighty city, protected by a wall of black stone having seven rows of masonry thick and nine fathoms high; the engineers made it with such skill that the joints of the stones were invisible, and the wall seemed cast of a single substance. the gate was of steel, enriched with gold and precious stones. this rampart enclosed seven hills. in the centre of the city extended a pool vast as the sea; from one bank it was impossible to discern an elephant standing up on the other. it contained very many kinds of fishes. in the midst of it rose a very lofty island, always covered with a mantle of mist. the king caused to be planted there every sort of flowering and fruit-bearing tree to be found in the world. none was lacking, and to this island the king would repair when he wished for recreation. he caused also to be planted on the banks of the pool a vast forest wherein wild animals were at large. and when the king wished to hunt, or catch elephants in the snare, he went to this forest. when the town was completed the king called it after himself, souran-bidgi-nagara, and this town still exists in the province of kling. in short, if one wished to relate all the rest of king souran's history he would find it as long as that of sidi hanza. the adventures of badang it is related that there once lived at salouang a husbandman who owned a slave named badang, whom he employed in clearing forest-land. it happened one day that badang spread his nets in the river; but on the following morning he found his net quite empty, and by its side some fish-scales and fish-bones. the same thing took place for some days following. badang flung the fish-scales (_sisik_) into the river; from which circumstance was derived the river's name, besisik. meanwhile the slave said to himself: "who is it who eats the fish caught in my net? i must watch and find out." with this intention he hid one day behind some trees and saw a _hantou_, or evil genius, or monster, who was eating the fish taken in his net. this _hantou_ had eyes red as fire, his hair was like woven osiers, and his beard fell down to his waist. badang drew his knife, and, screwing up his courage, rushed up to the _hantou_ and seized him. "every day," he said, "you eat up my fish. but this time you shall die at my hands." on hearing these words, the _hantou_ was afraid, and slipped aside, wishing to avoid the hands of his adversary; but failing to do so, he said to him: "do not kill me; i will give you what you wish, on condition that you spare my life." badang thought: "if i ask for riches, my master will claim them. if i ask the power to become invisible, they will put me to death as a sorcerer. therefore it is best for me to ask for the gift of physical strength, in order that i may do the work of my master." in accordance with this resolution, badang said to the _hantou_, "give me the gift of physical strength; let me be strong enough to tear down and to uproot the trees; that is, that i may tear down, with one hand, great trees, a fathom or two in girth." the _hantou_ answered: "your prayer is granted. you wish for strength; i will give it to you; but first it is necessary that you eat up what i vomit." "very well," said badang; "vomit, and i will eat it up." the _hantou_ vomited, and badang set to work to eat it. he held the _hantou_ by the beard, and would not let him go. then he attempted the uprooting of great trees; and, seeing that he tore them up with ease, he let go the beard of the _hantou_. afterward, coming and going through the forest, he tore down enormous trees; he carried off, roots and all, those of a fathom or two in girth. as for the small ones, he tore them up by handfuls and flung them on all sides. in a moment the forest which had been a wilderness became level as a great plain. when his master saw this work he said: "who has cleared our land? for i see that it is suddenly freed entirely from trees and brushwood." "it is i," said badang, "who have effected this clearance." then answered the master: "how have you been able to do this, single- handed, so quickly and in one job?" then badang related all the details of his adventure, and his master gave him his liberty. the report of these occurrences reached singapore. king krama immediately ordered that badang be brought before him, and he called him raden (_i.e._, royal prince). once upon a time the king of singapore ordered badang to fetch for his repast the fruit of _kouras_, at the river sayang. badang went there alone in his _pilang_, or boat, which was eight fathoms long, and he punted it with a pole cut from the trunk of a kampas-tree a fathom in girth. when he arrived at the river sayang, he clasped the _kouras_-tree. the branches broke, the tree fell, and his head struck against a huge rock. his head was not injured, but the rock was split in two. this stone is still seen to-day on the river sayang, and it bears the name of balou- blah, which means the "riven rock." his pole and boat have also been preserved to the present day. the day following his exploit badang started back for singapore, with his _pilang_ completely laden with sugar-cane, bananas, and _keladion_, or edible lily, root. he had eaten the whole cargo before he arrived at djohor-the-old. on another occasion the king of singapore had caused a large ship to be built, fifteen fathoms long, in front of the palace. the vessel being finished, between forty and fifty men were ordered to push it into the water. they were unable to launch it. as many as , or , persons were equally unsuccessful. then the king ordered badang to undertake the operation. badang undertook the task unaided, and pushed with such force that the vessel went right across the strait to the other shore. for this feat the king appointed him _houloubalong_, or officer of military rank. a report reached the province of kling that among the officers of the king was a man of extraordinary strength, named badang. now there was a powerful athlete at the court of the king of kling, who had no rival in the country. his name was madia-bibjaya-pelkrama. the king ordered him to go to singapore with seven vessels; "go," said he, "and wrestle with this officer. if he defeat you, give him as a prize the cargo of the seven vessels; if you are victorious, demand of him an equal forfeit." "i obey, your majesty," said the athlete, and started off with the seven vessels. when he arrived at singapore they brought news to the king of the city, saying: "an athlete has arrived from the land of kling to compete with badang in many kinds of sports. if he is defeated, he will leave the cargo of his seven vessels as forfeit." the king came out of his palace to give audience. the hindoo athlete presented himself. the prince told him to try a bout with badang. badang beat him in every round. now facing the _balerong_, or court of audience, was an enormous rock. the athlete said to badang: "come, let us match our strength by lifting this stone. whoever cannot lift it will be conquered." "do you try first," said badang. the athlete commenced, and made many attempts without succeeding in lifting it. at last, mustering all his strength, he raised it to the height of his knee and let it fall again. "now it is your turn, my master," he said. "very good," answered badang, and lifting the stone he swung it in the air, then hurled it toward the river, at the entrance to the town, where it is still seen at the extremity of the point of singapore. the athlete of kling, thus vanquished, handed to badang the seven vessels and their cargoes; then he returned, very much saddened and mortified by his defeat. now the report came to the country of perlak that there was at singapore an officer of the king named badang without a rival in extraordinary strength. the king of perlak, so runs the story, had an athlete named bandarang, also very strong and of a great reputation. this athlete was before the king when they spoke of badang. "my lord," he asked, "is badang stronger than i am? if you will permit me, i will go to singapore to try an assault with him." "very well; go to singapore," said the king. turning to the prime minister, toun parapatih, he said: "get ready a _praho_, for i am going to send bandarang to singapore." when all was ready, a royal litter was prepared and the minister embarked with the athlete, and after a while reached singapore. prince sri rana ouira krama received the king's litter in the audience- chamber, among the radjas, ministers, body-guards, heralds, and other grand officers upon his command. then the prince, addressing the ambassador, asked: "with what commission is our brother charged?" the ambassador replied: "behold, i have received the command of your illustrious younger brother to bring here this subject bandarang, to try his strength with badang. if bandarang is vanquished, your brother will place at your majesty's feet the contents of a storehouse; and if badang succumbs, you shall offer us the equivalent." "very well," said the king; "to-morrow everything shall be arranged for the struggle." the king retired to the palace, summoned badang, and said to him: "you know, badang, that to-morrow you will have to contend with bandarang." "my lord," answered badang, "know that this man is a powerful athlete, of extraordinary strength, famous in all countries. if your slave is vanquished will it not cast some discredit on the sovereign? if your majesty thinks it wise, let us both be called into your presence together, so that i may test him; and if i feel myself capable of competing with him, we will have the contest; but if he is too strong for me, then your majesty can oppose the struggle." "you are right," said the king. that is why, when night came, the prince invited toun parapatih pendek, bandarang, and their companions. when they arrived they were served with a collation. bandarang was seated beside badang, who began to test him. they tried each other's strength without attracting attention. at the end of an hour, when the guests were in wine, the king asked badang if he were strong enough to struggle with bandarang, who declared that he was equal to him. on the other hand, when toun parapatih pendek had returned to the ship, bandarang said to him: "lord, if you will permit me to advise, there will be no contest between badang and me. i might not conquer, for i have learned how powerful he is." "very well," said the minister; "it is very easy to arrange that." so the minister said to the king: "it is my opinion that we should prevent this struggle; for if one of the contestants should be vanquished in some bad way, a quarrel might arise out of it between your majesty and the sovereign your brother." the king agreed, and the ambassador asked leave to return home. the prince had a letter written for the king of perlak. it was carried in state on board the ship and the envoy, after receiving vestments of honor, set sail to his own country. arriving, he told the king all that had taken place. later badang died and was buried at bourou. when the news of his death arrived at that country, the king of kling sent a carved stone, which is now seen at bourou. and now as to the kings of pasey. the authors of this story declare that there were two brothers named marah who lived near pasangan. they were originally from the mountain of sanggong. the elder was named mara-tchaga, and the younger marah-silou. marah-silou was engaged in casting nets. having taken some _kalang-kalang_, he rejected them and cast his net anew. the _kalang-kalang_ were caught again. after several attempts with the same result, marah-silou had these _kalang-kalang_ boiled. and behold, the wretched things became gold and their froth became silver. marah-silou caught more _kalang-kalang_, boiled them, and again saw them become gold and silver. he had thus acquired much store of gold and silver, when one day the news came to marah-tchaga that his younger brother was catching _kalang-kalang_, and he was so irritated that he wished to kill him. when marah-silou learned of this design, he took refuge in the forest of djawn. the place where he fished is still called the plain of kalang-kalang. marah-silou, established in the forest of djawn, gave gold to those who dwelt there, and they all obeyed his commands. one day when he was hunting, his dog, named si pasey, began to bark on a slight hill which one would have believed made by the hand of man. climbing the small hill he saw an ant as big as a cat. he took it and ate it up. the place was afterward called samodra; that is to say, "the big ant." now it is said that the prophet of god--blessings be upon him!--once told his companions: "there will be a country some day, toward the south, called samoudra. when you hear it spoken of, hasten thither to convert the inhabitants to islam, for in that country many will become the friends of god. but there will also be the king of a country called mataba, whom you must take with you." a long time after this decree of the prophet, the fakir mahomet went to samoudra. reaching the shore, he met marah-silou, who was gathering shells. the fakir asked him: "what is the name of this country?" "its name is samoudra," answered marah-silou. "and what is the sovereign's name?" "i am the sovereign of all who dwell here," said marah-silou. the fakir mahomet converted marah-silou to islam and taught him the words of the creed. now marah-silou being asleep dreamed that he was in the presence of the prophet of god, and the prophet said to him, "marah-silou, open your mouth." he opened it and the prophet spat in it, and marah-silou, awaking, perceived throughout his whole body a perfume like that of spikenard. when day broke he told his dream. "this is truly the country of samoudra of which the prophet of god has spoken," said the fakir mahomet. bringing from the ship all the royal ensigns aboard, he proclaimed marah-silou king with the title of sultan melik-es-salih. sultan melik-es-salih sent sidi ali ghaiath-ed-din to the country of perlak. this prince had three daughters, two of blood-royal on their mother's side, and one born of a concubine. the latter was called the princess ganggang. when sidi ali ghaiath arrived at perlak they showed him the three daughters. the two sisters of the blood-royal were seated lower than the princess ganggang, who occupied a high seat. the latter, by order of her father, was cleaning arec nuts for her two sisters, like one doing the honors of the household. she wore rose-colored garments and a violet cloak. her ears were adorned with _soubangs_ made with the young leaves of the _lontar_. she was very beautiful. sidi ali ghaiath-ed-din said to the king of perlak, "that one of your daughters who is seated above is the one i ask in marriage for my master, your son." the envoy knew not that princess ganggang was the daughter of a concubine. the king burst out laughing. "very well," he said, "let the will of my son be accomplished." then he gave orders to equip _prahos_, and toun parapatih received the command to accompany the princess to the country of samoudra. sultan melik-es-salih went to meet the princess as far as djambou ayer. he introduced her into samoudra with a thousand honors and splendors, and married her. the marriage accomplished, the prince gave presents to the ministers and to the officers, and showed himself lavish in gold and silver to the poor of the country. as for toun parapatih pendek, he took leave to return to perlak. sultan melik-es-salih and the princess ganggang had two sons who received from the prince the names of sultan melik-ed-dhahir and sultan melik-el-mansour. the elder was confided to sidi ali ghaiath-ed-din and the other to sidi ali asmai-ed-din. years passed and the two young princes had grown up. perlak had been conquered by an enemy come from the opposite coast, and the inhabitants of the country had migrated to samoudra. sultan melik-es-salih conceived the plan of founding a city to establish his sons there. he said to the great ones, "to-morrow i shall go hunting." the next morning he set out, mounted on an elephant called perma diouana. he passed to the other side of the water. when he came to land his dog si pasey began to bark. the prince ran up and saw that he was barking before a hillock, sufficiently extended for the erection of a palace and its dependencies, level on top and well disposed. sultan melik had the ground cleared and built a palace and a city there. after the name of his dog he called the palace pasey, and established as king his son sultan melik-ed-dhahir, with sidi ali ghaiath as minister. he divided his men, his elephants, and his royal standards into two parts, one for each of his sons. some time after this, the prince, having fallen ill, commanded the grandees to assemble and called his two sons and spoke as follows: "oh, my two sons, and you all, my companions, my last hour is approaching. you men be good to those whom i leave behind. and you, my sons, beware of being envious of another's good, and of the wives and daughters of your subjects. maintain between you the union of two brothers, abstain from all injustice, and avoid between you every cause of quarrel." he said also to sidi ali gaiath-ed-din and to sidi asmai-ed-din: "oh, my brothers, take care of these two sons. stir not up trouble between them. be faithful to them and never give your allegiance to another king." the two young princes bowed their heads and wept. as for the two ministers, "lord," they said, "light of our eyes, we swear by the sovereign master who created the worlds that we will never break our promises, that we will never lack in our fidelity or render homage to another king than your two well-beloved sons." then sultan melik-es-salih named his son melik-el-mansour, king of samoudra. three days later he died and was buried in the interior of the palace. their father dead, the two young princes, his sons, commanded the royal herald to assemble the officers and soldiers, elephants and horses, as well as the royal insignia of the country of pasey. and the two cities grew and flourished more and more. god knows best the truth. he is our aid and our refuge. now this is the story of the king chehr-en-naoui. his power was great, his officers and soldiers innumerable. they told this prince that the country of samoudra had a large population, many merchants, and a powerful king. chehr-en-naoui said to his officers: "which of you would be able to take the king of samoudra?" one of his officers very strong and brave, aoui ditchou, bowed and said: "lord, if your majesty will give me , chosen warriors, i will take the king of samoudra alive and bring him to the foot of your majesty's throne." the king gave him the , warriors and ships. when they were ready aoui ditchou sailed toward samoudra, feigning that the ships were bent on commerce up to the very moment when they reached the end of the voyage. then he caused it to be said that he was an ambassador of the king chehr-en-naoui, and the king of samoudra sent some officers to receive him. landing, aoui ditchou put into four chests four lusty _houlou-balongs_, to whom he said: "presently, when you are in the presence of the king of samoudra, open the chests, leap out, and seize the king." the chests were fastened from within. they took them ashore in state as presents from the king chehr-en-naoui. when they were in the presence of the prince, a message couched in flattering terms was read, and the chests were brought in. immediately the _houlou-balongs_ opened the chests, sprang out, and seized the sovereign. the soldiers uttered fierce cries and unsheathed their arms to attack the band of chehr-en-naoui's men. but the latter cried: "if you fall upon us, we will kill your king." so the soldiers paused in their attack. aoui ditchou and his people returned, bringing with them the king of samoudra. they crossed the sea and regained their own country. there the prisoner-king was conducted by aoui ditchou before king chehr-en-naoui, who was very joyful and loaded the head of the expedition and all his companions with honors. as for the king of samoudra, they made him a poultry-keeper. now let us talk of sidi ali gaiath-ed-din. having consulted with the principal ministers in the country of samoudra, he equipped a ship and purchased a cargo of arabic merchandise, for the inhabitants of pasey at that time all knew the arabic language. sidi ali and the soldiers whom he embarked on the ship with him took all the ways and manners of the arabs. the minister being on board and all being made ready, they set sail for the country of chehr-en-naoui, where they arrived after a short voyage. sidi ali landed and went to present himself to the king, bearing as a gift a tree of gold, of which the fruits were all sorts of precious stones, and which was worth an almost inconceivable sum. when the prince saw this present he asked: "what do you want of me?" sidi ali replied, "we want nothing." the king was highly pleased, although surprised by such a magnificent present. and he said to himself, "now, what can be the aim of these people giving me all this?" the pretended arabs returned to their ships. a few days after, the master of the ship returned to visit the king. this time he brought as a present a chess-board of gold of which the chessmen were of precious stones, which was worth an enormous sum. "what do you want of me?" again asked the prince. "speak, that i may satisfy you." and they replied, "we ask for nothing." then they returned to the ship. some time later, when the favorable monsoon blew for their return homeward, sidi ali ghaiath thought upon his departure. he went to see the king, laden with a present which consisted of two golden ducks, male and female, enriched with precious stones, and in a big golden basin. he filled this golden basin with water, put in the ducks. they began to swim, dive, and pursue each other, a sight at which the king marvelled much. "i beg of you to tell me," he said, "what you desire of me. by the god whom i worship, i swear to fulfil your wishes." then sidi ali answered: "lord, if it is the accomplishment of your favor, we beg that you will give us your poultry-keeper." "it is the king of pasey that you ask of me. but, very well, i grant him to you." "it is because he is a mussulman," said the strangers, "that we ask him of your majesty." the king chehr-en-naoui delivered therefore the sultan melik-ed-dhahir to sidi ali gaiath-ed-din, who took him on board the ship, gave him a bath, and then clothed him in royal raiment. the wind blew, they weighed anchor, set sail, and after a certain time arrived at the country of samoudra. and god knows the truth. he is our aid and our refuge. now we are going to speak of the king melik-el-mansour at samoudra. this prince said one day to sidi ali asmai-ed-din: "i would like to go and see how my brother is getting along." the minister answered, "do not go, my lord, for fear of misfortune." and, indeed, he tried to restrain his master. the prince would listen to nothing, and finally the minister was silent. he ordered the drums to beat, in order to make the announcement, "sultan melik-el-mansour is going to see the country of his brother." sidi ali asmai-ed-din was not satisfied. he was an old minister who knew that out of every affair causes of trouble may arise. but it was his duty to obey. the prince started. he made the tour of the city of pasey, and then entered the palace of the sultan melik-ed-dhahir. there he fell in love with one of the ladies-of-honor of his brother's court, and a quarrel arose between the two brothers on her account. sultan melik-ed-dhahir felt in the bottom of his heart a violent irritation toward his brother. now he had a son named radja ahmed, very young when his father was captured, but grown up when the prince was restored from the hands of chehr-en-naoui. sidi ali ghaiath-ed-din having withdrawn from affairs, a minister named parapatih toulous toukang sikari had replaced him in his ministerial functions. one day the king said to the minister: "what is your opinion concerning the act of sultan melik-el-mansour?" the minister answered: "we have a means----" "but," answered the king, "it might involve his death." "if he dies," replied the minister, "my name shall be no longer toukang." "give a family fête for your son sultan ahmed. we will invite sultan melik-el-mansour to the festival." sultan melik-ed-dhahir gave orders then to decorate the city and made preparations for the fete, and sent to find sultan melik-el-mansour. this prince was with sidi ali asmai-ed-din and his officers. they introduced the prince and his minister, but left the officers outside. when they had entered, sultan melik-ed-dhahir caused them both to be seized and ordered one of his officers to conduct his brother to mandjang. "as for you," he said to sidi ali, "stay here. do not try to go with your master or i'll cut off your head." sidi ali answered: "rather let my head be separated from my body than that the servant should be separated from his master." so the king had his head cut off. the head was thrown into the sea and the body impaled at the entrance to the bay of pasey. while they were taking the sultan melik-el-mansour toward the east in a _prabo_, at the moment when they arrived near djambou ayer, the pilot saw a human head floating in the water near the rudder. he recognized the head of sidi ali. informed of this event, sultan melik-el-mansour caused the head to be taken from the water. it was indeed that of his minister. casting his glances toward the land: "behold," he said, "the plain of illusions." and it bears that name, "padang-maya," to this day. the prince sent to his brother and demanded the body of sidi ali; joined the head with the body, and buried both in the plain of illusion. then he went back to mandjang. after the departure of the sultan melik-el-mansour, king melik-ed- dhahir had the family festival. the sultan melik-el-mansour had been at mandjang three years when the sultan melik-ed-dhahir bethought him of his brother. "alas," he said, "i was truly too unwise. for a woman my brother dethroned, and his minister is dead." and the prince repented. he ordered some of his officers to go and find his brother at mandjang. they therefore brought back sultan melik-el- mansour with the regard due to a king. when they arrived near the plain of maya, the prince landed to visit the tomb of sidi ali asmai-ed-din. "i salute you, my father," he said. "stay here, my father. as for me i go away, called by my brother." from the interior of the tomb sidi ali answered: "where would the prince go? it is better to remain here." when the prince heard these words, he made his ablutions, said a couple of prayers, then stretched himself upon the tomb and expired. they bore to sultan melik-ed-dhahir the news that his brother was dead, in the plain of maya, in the tomb of sidi ali asmai-ed-din. he started at once, went to the place, and had his brother, sultan melik-el-mansour, buried with the ceremonies of great kings. then, after returning to pasey, a prey to grief, he abdicated the throne in favor of his son, sultan ahmed. some time after this, sultan melik-ed-dhahir fell ill. he gave sultan ahmed his last instructions. "o my son," said he, "light of my eyes, treasure of my heart, never neglect the advice of your old servitors. in every affair take counsel with your ministers. neglect not the duties of piety to god, the sovereign master. beware of injustice to men." sultan ahmed heard in tears the last words of his father. the prince died, and they buried him near the mosque. sultan ahmed was for many years on the throne and governed with much justice. now, the author of this story says: "there was at pasey a servant of god named toun djana khatite. this man made the voyage to singapore with two companions. crossing the square of singapore he passed by the palace of the king and saw the queen. near the palace was an areca tree, and while toun djana was looking at the queen the tree split in two. at sight of this, king sri maharadja was extremely irritated. 'you see,' he cried, 'the conduct of toun djana khatite. to call the attention of the queen, he has acted thus. and he ordered him to be killed. so toun djana was led to the place of punishment, near a cake-shop, where toun djana khatite received the blow of the poniard; his blood ran on the earth, but his body disappeared and no one could ever tell what became of it. the cake-shop-keeper covered the blood with the cake-cover, and the cake-cover was changed into stone, which is still seen at singapore. according to a tradition, the body of toun djana khatite was transported to langkaoui and there buried." some time later came the sea-monsters called _toudaks_ and attacked singapore. they leaped upon the shore, and people who were there died in great numbers, overtaken by these _toudaks_. if they struck a man on the breast, they pierced to his back. if they struck the neck or the loins, they pierced clear through from one side to the other. there were many killed. people ran about crying: "the _toudaks_ are attacking us!" "what shall we do?" "how many dead? we shall all perish!" padouka sri maharadja in great haste mounts the elephant and goes forth, followed by his ministers, his body-guards, and all his officers. arriving at the seashore he sees with horror the work of these monsters, the _toudaks_. whoever was wounded by them inevitably perished. the number of the victims became larger and larger. the prince ordered the men to make a rampart of their legs, but in their boundings the _toudaks_ succeeded in passing this barrier. they came like the rain, and the slaughter was terrible. while this was happening a young boy said: "why make thus a rampart of our legs? that is an artifice very much to our hurt. if we should make a rampart of the trunks of banana-trees, would not that be better?" when padouka sri maharadja heard the words of the child, "he is right," he said. and on his orders they hastened to construct a barrier of banana-tree trunks. when the _toudaks_ came bounding along their snouts were buried in the tree-trunks, and the men ran up and killed them. there perished thus of these _toudaks_ a number beyond computation. their bodies formed heaps on the shore, and all the population of singapore did not suffice to eat them. and the _toudaks_ ceased their leapings. they say, by the force of their boundings the _toudaks_ reached the elephant of the prince and tore the sleeve of his cloak. about this they made a song: "the boundings of the _toudaks_ tore the mantle which the sultan wore, but here they ceased their onset wild, thanks to the wisdom of a child." while padouka sri maharadja was returning, the grandees said to him: "lord, this child, though so young, has much wit. what will it be when he has grown up? you had better get rid of him." that is why they found it just that the king should give the order for him to be killed. after they had caused this young boy to perish, it seems that the city of singapore felt the weight of his blood. padouka sri maharadja reigned some time still and then died. he had as successor his son padja is keuder chah, who married the daughter of toun parapatih toulous, and by her had a son named radja ahmed timang- timanganga radja besar mouda. this young prince was handsome and well formed, without equal in those days. when he was of age his father married him to the daughter of the king salamiam, king of kota- mahlikie, who was named kamar-al-adjaaib, a princess of unrivalled beauty. king is keuder chah had a _bendahari_, or major-domo, named lang radjouna tapa, of the race of ancient inhabitants of singapore, father of a very beautiful girl in the court of the king. the other court ladies calumniated this young woman, and the king in a rage ordered her to be impaled in the corner of the marketplace. lang radjouna tapa was extremely wounded by the treatment of his daughter. "if in truth my daughter had offended," said he, "you might have simply had her killed. but why dishonor us thus?" on this he wrote a letter to java saying, "if the batara of madjapahit wishes to attack singapore let him come at once, for i will give him entrance into the fortifications." when the batara of madjapahit had read this letter he caused to be equipped junks and a great quantity of other boats. a hundred thousand javanese embarked, crossed the sea, and attacked singapore. at the end of several days king is keuder commanded his major-domo to carry rice for the rations of the troops. lang radjouna tapa answered, "there is no more, my lord." for he wished to betray him. at daybreak he opened the gates of the fortifications and the javanese entered. inside the town there was a frantic combat. so many people were killed on each side that blood flowed like water. from this came the marks of blood which are seen to this day in the plain of singapore. the natives ceased their struggle and king is keuder escaped, descending from salitar to the moara coast. by the will of god, the house of lang radjouna tapa was overturned, the storehouse for rice fell to pieces, and the rice was changed to earth. the _bendahari_ himself and his wife were changed to stone, and these stones are still found in the ditch at singapore. after this victory the javanese returned to madjapahit. on arriving at moara, king is keuder halted at nightfall. now there came a multitude of iguanas, and, when day dawned they saw them gathered in a crowd near the halting-place. they killed them and threw their bodies into the river. but at night, iguanas again came in mass. the next morning the singaporeans killed them, but that night as many more arrived. so that the place became putrid from the multitude of their bodies. the quarter is still called biaoak bousok, or "putrid iguanas." king is keuder chah set out and came to another place, where he built a fort. but all they constructed by day was overturned by night. and the place still bears the name of kota-bourok, or "ruined fort." starting from there the king advanced into the interior during many days and came to the saning oudjong. he found this place agreeable and left a minister there. hence comes it that to this day saning oudjong is the residence of a minister. then the king returned toward the coast near a river at the shore of the sea. the river was called bartain. is keuder chah halted at the foot of a very bushy tree. then he began hunting. his dog, chasing some game, was struck by the foot of a little white gazelle and fell into the water. on this the prince cried: "here is a good place to build a city, for even the little gazelles are valiant here." and all the grandees said, "his majesty is right." the king therefore gave orders for the construction of a city at this place. he asked, "what is the name of this tree against which i have been leaning?" someone answered, "it is a malaka-tree." "very well," said he, "let malaka be the name of the city." the prince established himself at malaka. he had lived thirty-two years at singapore, up to the capture of that town by the javanese. he lived for three years more at malaka, and then died, by the vicissitudes of this world, and had as successor his son radja besar mouda. this prince governed with justice. he regulated the etiquette of the court. he first established a ministry of ceremonies to direct people who came to balerong, and forty heralds who stood below the throne ready to take the orders of the king and carry to him the words of the public. he instituted among the sons of the grandees a body of pages serving as royal messengers and bearing everywhere the royal equipage. this prince had three sons, radeu bagousa, radeu tengah, and radeu anoumah, who all married daughters of bauhara toun parapatih toulous. at his death, radeu bagousa took his functions with the title of toun parapatih permouka berdjadjar. when, by the vicissitudes of the world, king besar mouda died, his son radeu tengah succeeded him. the latter had a son called radja kitchil bessar, who at his death was his successor. he was just and guarded the interests of his subjects. no one in his time among the kings of the world equalled him in liberality. and the city of malaka became large, well peopled, and the meeting-place of merchants. this king married a daughter of toun parapatih permouka berdjadjar, and by her had two sons, radja kitchil mainbang and radja makat. he reigned for a certain time, when one night he dreamed that he was in the presence of the glorious prophet of god, on whom be blessings! and the prophet said to him, "recite the words of the creed." and radja kitchil bessar did as the prophet commanded. "your name shall be sultan mahomet," said the prophet. "to-morrow at the moment of the asr (in the afternoon) there will arrive a ship from djedda, from which the men will descend to pray on the shore of malaka. follow all their orders." "yes, lord," replied the prince, "i shall obey your word." and the prophet disappeared. when day came the king awaked. he perceived upon his body the odor of spikenard and saw that he bore certain marks. "it is clear," he thought, "that my dream does not come from satan." and he began to recite without relaxation the words of the creed. the ladies-of-honor who were in the palace were very much surprised to hear the king speak thus. "has the king been touched by satan, or has he lost his wits? let us hasten to inform the _bendahari_." they ran to tell the _bendahari,_ who came at once, entered the palace, and saw the king repeating without cessation the words of the creed. "what is this language in which the king is speaking?" said the minister. "last night," said the king, "i dreamed that i was in the presence of the glorious prophet." and he told his dream to the _bendahari_. "if your dream is not an illusion," said the latter, "what is the sign?" "here is the sign that proves that i have really seen in a dream the prophet of god. furthermore, the prophet told me: 'to-day, at asr, there will arrive a ship from djedda, from which the people will descend to say their prayers on the shore of malaka. follow their directions.'" the _bendahari_ was surprised at seeing the marks on the king. "truly," he said, "if a ship arrives at the hour stated, then your dream is a reality. if it does not arrive, we shall judge that satan must have troubled your spirit." the king replied, "my father is right." and the _bendahari_ returned to his house. now at the hour of asr there arrived a ship from djedda which cast anchor. the master came on shore. he was called sidi abd-el-aziz. he said his prayers on the shore of malaka. the inhabitants, astonished at the sight, said: "why does he stoop so and prostrate himself so?" and to see him better, the people pressed around, leaving no spot vacant, and making a great tumult. the noise reached the palace, and the king mounted an elephant and came in haste, accompanied by his grandees. he saw the master making all the ceremonies of his prayer, and all was in evident accord with the dream. "it is exactly as in my dream," he exclaimed to the _bendahari_ and the grandees. when the master had finished praying, the king made his elephant stoop, and took up the master with him and carried him to the palace. the _bendahari_ and the grandees all became mussulmans, and by command of the king so did all the population, men and women, great and small, young and old. the master taught the king the ceremonies of prayer, and gave him the name of sultan mahomet chah. the _bendahari_ received the title of sri ouak radja; that is to say, "paternal uncle of the king," which he was in fact. and that is the first title of the _bendahari_. sultan mahomet regulated the ceremonial customs of the court. he was the first to prohibit yellow for the clothes of the person strange to the court, for handkerchiefs, borders of curtains, pillow-cases, mattresses, coverings of all kinds, ornaments of every nature, as well as for the decoration of houses. furthermore the use of only three kinds of garments was permitted--the _kain_, the _badjoa_, and the _destar_. it was also forbidden to construct houses with projections sustained upon pillars not touching the ground, or with pillars extending beyond the roof or with observatories. the _prahos_ could have no windows in front. it was forbidden to carry clasps or ornaments of gold on the _kris_. no one strange to the court could have gold rings nor pins nor jingling bangles of gold and silver. nobody without the royal consent had the right to wear on his clothes gilding of any sort; but the authorization once granted, one might wear it indefinitely. when a man presented himself at the palace, if he had a vesture falling beneath the girdle, if his _kris_ was not attached in front, if he was not clad in a _sabec_, he was not admitted, whatever might be his distinction. if anyone entered with his _kris_ attached behind, the officer took it away from him. such were formerly the prohibitions of the malay kings. whoever transgressed was guilty of _lese-majeste_ and was condemned to pay a fine of one to five katis. white parasols were held in higher esteem than yellow ones, because they could be seen at a greater distance. that is why they were ranked higher; the first were for the king and the second for the princes. the objects of the king's private use, such as the spittoon, the ewer for his ablutions, the fan, and other like objects, had no fixed place, except the betel-tray and the sword, which they kept at the right and left of the sovereign. at the arrival and departure of an ambassador, the servitors of the king brought from the palace dishes and basins which were received by the head of the _bataras_ and deposited near the _bendahari_. they gave a dish and a scarf to the bearer of the letter. if the missive came from pasey or from harau, it was received with all the royal pomp--drum, flute, trumpet, kettledrum, and two white parasols together; but the bugle did not figure at this reception. the ministers preceded the elephant bearing the message, the bataras followed it with the _sida-sida_. the letter was borne by the chief of the _bedaouenda_, and they placed the elephant at the extremity of the _balei_. for the kings of these two countries were equal in greatness to the king of malaka. younger or older, all gave the salaam. having reached the audience-chamber, the letter was received by the chief of heralds of the right, the one of the left being charged with transmitting the words of the king to the ambassador, and the herald of the right transmitted the answer. if the message came from another country than pasey and harau, they suppressed part of the men. the _cortege_ included only the drum, the flute, and a yellow parasol. they took, as was suitable, now an elephant, now a horse, and they halted outside the first exterior gate. when the message came from a more considerable sovereign, they employed the flute and two parasols, one white and one yellow. the elephant passed through the exterior gate, for formerly the royal entrance included seven fortifications. at his departure, the ambassador received a complete investiture, even were he only a simple ambassador of rakan. the same gift was offered to our own ambassadors at the moment of their departure. when the king conferred a title, he gave audience in the _falerong_, with the following procedure: according to the rank, the person to be honored was brought on an elephant, on horseback, or simply on foot, with parasol, drum, and flute. there were green, blue, and red parasols. the noblest were the yellow and the white, which with the kettle-drums represented the height of distinction. the yellow with the trumpet was also very distinguished; they were the parasols of the princes and greatest personages. the violet, red, and green parasols were those of the _sida-sida_, of the _bataras_, and of the _houlou balongs_. the blue and black ones served for any other person summoned to receive a title. when the personage arrived at the palace, he was detained without. then they read before the king a very fine piece. it was a descendant of batl that held this office. the piece read, they took it out. he who received it was of the family of the candidate for honors. with this piece they brought a _tetampan_ scarf with which the reader invested the candidate, whom he then introduced into the audience-chamber. there a mat was stretched for him to sit upon in whatever place the king designated. then arrived the vestments. for a personage promoted to the ranks of the _bendahari_ there were five trays. the sons of radjas and the grand officers had four trays only, and so on down through the various ranks. the servitors of the king charged with this duty approached the beneficiary and placed the vestments upon his shoulders. he crossed his arms, to hold the vestments in place, and they took him outside. the etiquette in that was the same for ambassadors awarded an investiture, each according to the rights of his rank. the beneficiary dressed himself outside and then re-entered. they decorated him with a frontlet and with bracelets, for every man who received a title wore bracelets, each according to his dignity. some had bracelets in the form of a dragon with amulets, others had bracelets of precious stones, others of blue enamel, others of silver. these wore them on both wrists, those on only one. the beneficiary thus decorated went and bowed before the king. then he returned accompanied according to his rank, or by the person who introduced him. the _cortège_ included now a drum and a flute alone, now trumpets or kettledrums, sometimes a white parasol; but the white parasol was a rare honor, as well as the kettle-drums, for the yellow parasol and the trumpet were very hard to obtain in those times. on festival days, when the king went forth in a palanquin, he was surrounded by high officers of state. at the head, before the sovereign, marched the _bataras_ and the _houlou balongs_, each following their charge. footmen, also before the king, bore the royal insignia. the royal pikes were at the right and left; the _bataras_ had sword at shoulder. before them marched the lancers. when the king gives a festival it is the _panghoulou bendahari_ who arranges everything inside the palace, stretches mats, decorates the _balerong_, and places the _bangings_ on the ceilings. it is he who looks after the repasts and sends the invitations; for the servitors of the king, his _bendahari_, his tax-gatherers, and the receiver of the port all depend on the administration of the _panghoulou bendahari_. he invites the guests and the _temonggoreg_ seats them. in the hall the guests eat four at a dish, to the end of the platform. if any one of the various fours are lacking the others eat without him, by threes or by twos or even one alone. for it is not permitted for those below to ascend to make up the number. the _bendahari_ eats alone or from the same dish as the princes. such was in former days the etiquette of malaka. there were many other regulations, but to relate them all would weary the attentions of my readers. at the month of ramadhau, at the twenty-seventh night, while it was still light, they went in state to make adorations to the mosque. the _temonggoreg_ was at the head of the elephant. they first took in state to the mosque the betel-tray, the royal insignia, and the drum. when night came, the king started for the mosque, following the ceremonial of festival days, made the prayer of perfumes, and returned. the next day the _laksamana_ carried in state the turban, for the malay kings were accustomed to go to the mosque in a turban, a _badjon_, and a _sarong_. these vestments were forbidden at weddings except by express permission. it was also forbidden to dress in the hindoo fashion. only those persons who had worn this costume for a long time were allowed to wear it at prayers and at weddings. festival days, great or small, the _bendahari_ and the grandees assembled at the palace, and the _panghoulou bendahari_ brought in pomp the palanquin. as soon as they saw it appear, the persons seated in the _balei_ descended and stood about. seven times they beat upon the drum, and each time the trumpet sounded. after the seventh, the king set out on an elephant and came to the platform erected for that purpose, which he mounted. at sight of him, all those present bowed to the earth, except the _bendahari_, who mounted the platform to receive him. the palanquin having approached, the king placed himself in it, and they started for the mosque according to the ceremonial above mentioned. such was formerly the etiquette of the malay kings. such i learned it, such i tell it. if i commit any error, i desire to be convicted by anyone who has given attention to this story, and implore the indulgence of the reader. the princess djouher-manikam [_translated by aristide marre and chauncey c. starkweather_] this is the history of the princess djouher-manikam, whose renown is celebrated in all lands, windward and leeward. there was in the city of bagdad a king named haroun-er-raschid, sovereign of a vast empire. he was a prince who feared god the almighty, and worthy of all praise, for he was a king descended from the prophet. after having lived for some time in his kingdom, he desired to start on a pilgrimage. so he addressed his ministers and his military chiefs and spoke to them as follows: "o you all, my subjects, my officers, what is your opinion? i would fain make a pilgrimage to the house of god." the cadi, prostrating himself, answered: "sire, king of the world, the will of your sublime majesty is very just, but in my opinion your departure would cause the ruin of the inhabitants of the fields, and those of your subjects who accompany you will have much to suffer." the prince, having heard these words, said: "the opinion of the cadi is loyal, and you, my officers, tell what is your advice." the officers arose, then they prostrated themselves and spoke as follows: "sire, king of the world, we, your servants, beg you a thousand and a thousand times to cause your forgiveness to descend upon our heads, but how will your majesty accomplish the pilgrimage? in whom can you trust to protect the country and watch over the palace?" the prince having heard these words of his officers, none of whom approved of the pilgrimage, kept silence and restrained his anger, and then departed and returned to the palace. some days after this, by the will of the most high god, the heart of the prince felt more keenly still the desire to make the pilgrimage. he gave orders to gather together the interpreters of the law, the wise men, and the _muftis_, as well as the officers. when they were all assembled, the prince went to the audience-chamber, and there before the officers of the court he questioned one of the doctors. it was the _mufti_ of the city of bagdad. he, prostrating himself, said: "the pilgrimage of his majesty would be an excellent work, but is it of absolute necessity? for the voyage will be very long, and there is no one, my lord, who would be capable of ruling in the place of your sublime majesty." the prince answered: "he in whom we first of all place our trust is god. we shall hope then in the blessing of his envoy. we shall leave the cadi here, and if it pleases god the most high, we shall return promptly as soon as we have accomplished the pilgrimage." the king therefore caused to be equipped and provided with all sorts of provisions, those of his subjects who were going to accompany him, and when, the favorable moment had arrived he started with the queen, some of the maids-of-honor, and his son named minbah chahaz. he took his son, but he left behind, guarded in the palace, his daughter called the princess djouher-manikam. in those times there was no one in the country of bagdad who surpassed in beauty the princess djouher-manikam. furthermore, she had in her heart the fear of god the most high and worthy of all praise, and would not cease her prayers. after travelling for some time, the prince her father arrived at mecca, and fulfilled his duties as a pilgrim. he recited the appropriate prayers. but observing that there was still a great quantity of provisions, the prince said to his officers: "it is good for us to wait a year or so, for our provisions are yet considerable." the officers replied: "it is well, lord of the world! whatever may be your majesty's commands, we place them above our heads." "since it is thus," answered the prince, "it is fitting that we should send a letter thus conceived: peace and blessing upon the cadi: i place my trust in god first of all, and in the cadi, to guard my kingdom, palace, and my child the princess djouher-manikam. be a faithful guardian, neglect nothing in the cares to be given to my kingdom, for i am going to remain another year for the great pilgrimage.'" the prince's letter reached the cadi. the latter gave all his efforts to the good administration of the country, and, according to the words of the prince, he avoided every negligence. but one night while he was on watch near the fortifications of the king's palace, satan came to him and slid into his heart a temptation. the cadi thought in his heart: "the king's daughter is of a marvellous beauty; her name, djouher-mani-kam, is charming; and her face is lovely. since it is thus, i must marry this daughter of the king." the cadi called the man who was guarding the gate, exclaiming: "ho! guardian of the gate! open unto me." the guardian of the gate demanded, "who is there?" the cadi replied, "it is i, the cadi." so the guardian promptly opened the gate, and the cadi entered within the fortification, then went up into the palace and found the princess there saying her evening prayers. he hid behind the lamp in a corner which was dark. when her prayer was finished, the princess djouher- manikam cast her eyes in that direction and saw there was someone standing there in the shadow, so three times again she said the "verse of the throne"; but she saw that the vision had not yet vanished from her eyes. then the princess said in her heart: "what in the world is that? is it a ghost? is it a demon? is it a djinn? if it were, it would have necessarily disappeared when i recited the 'verse of the throne.'" the cadi heard these words and said: "o princess djouher-manikam, it is i, the cadi." "what are you doing here?" asked the princess. he answered, "i wish to marry you." the princess djouher-manikam said: "o cadi! why do you act so to me? have you then no fear of god the most high and worthy of all praise? do you not blush before the face of my ancestor the prophet mahomet, the envoy of god? may the peace and blessings of god be upon him! as for me, i am the servant of the lord and i belong to the religion of the envoy of god. i fear to marry now. and you, cadi, why do you act so? my father gave you a charge. he sent you a letter which commanded you to protect the country and all who dwelt in his palace. why do you conduct yourself in this fashion toward me?" the cadi, hearing these words of the princess djouher-manikam, felt a great confusion in his heart. he went out of the palace and returned home full of trouble and emotion. when it was day, the cadi sent a letter to the king haroun-er-raschid at mecca. it was thus conceived: "your majesty left me to be guardian of his kingdom, his palace, and his daughter. now, the princess djouher-manikam desires to marry me. this is the reason why i send this letter to your majesty." thus spake the cadi in his letter. when it reached the prince and he had read it, he immediately summoned his son minbah-chahaz. he came in haste, and the king gave him a cutlass and said, "return to bagdad and slay your sister, because she will bring shame upon the family by marrying now." minbah-chahaz bowed before his father. then he set out to return to his own country. arriving at the end of his journey, he entered the city, and went up to the palace of the princess djouher-manikam. she was filled with joy and said, "welcome, o my brother!" minbah-chahaz answered, "o my little sister, our parents will remain for the great pilgrimage." the brother and sister thus chatting together, the princess djouher- manikam said, "o my brother, i wish to sleep." "it is well, my sister," answered minbah-chahaz; "sleep while your brother combs his little sister's hair." and the princess djouher- manikam slept. her brother then took a cushion, which he slipped under the head of the young virgin his sister; then he thought in his heart: "if i do not execute the commands of my father, i shall be a traitor to him. but, alas, if i kill my sister, i shall not have a sister any more. if i do not kill her, i shall certainly commit a crime against the most high, because i shall not have obeyed the order of my father. i will fulfil then my father's will. it is a duty obligatory on all children. what good are these subterfuges?" his resolution thus confirmed, he bound his handkerchief over his eyes and directed his cutlass against his sister's neck. but at that instant, by the will of god the most high, a little gazelle came up and, by the power of god the most high, placed its neck upon the neck of the princess djouher-manikam, saying, "i will take the place of the princess djouher-manikam." and the little gazelle was killed by minbah-chahaz. that done he unbound his eyes and saw a little gazelle lying dead with its throat cut, by the side of his young sister the princess djouher-manikam. at this sight, minbah-chahaz was stricken with astonishment. he thought in his heart: "since it is so with my sister, she must be entirely innocent, and cannot have commited the least fault. nevertheless, although i am confident that she was calumniated by the cadi i must tell my father that i have killed her." minbah-chahaz set out then for mecca, to find the prince his father. when he had arrived at mecca he presented to his father the cutlass still stained with blood. the king haroun-er-raschid cried, "praise be to god, the lord of the worlds. our shame is now effaced, since you have poniarded your sister and she is dead." such were the deeds of this first story. the princess djouher-manikam, having awakened after the departure of minbah-chahaz, saw that her brother was no longer there, but that at her side there was a little gazelle with its throat cut. she thought in her heart: "the cadi has slandered me to my father, and that is why my brother came here with orders to kill me." the princess djouher-manikam felt a great shame and thought in her heart, "since it is so, i must retire to a hidden place." now in the king's park there was a solitary place in the midst of a vast deserted plain. there was a pond of very agreeable appearance there, many kinds of fruit-trees and flowers, and an oratory beautifully built. the princess djouher-manikam set out and retired to this place to pray to god the most high and worthy of all praise. she was established there for some time when, by the will of god the most high, a certain thing happened. second story there was in the country of damas a king who was named radja chah djouhou. this king wished to go hunting in the deserted forests. his first minister said to him, bowing low: "o my lord, king of the world, why does your majesty wish to go hunting in foreign countries?" king chah djouhou replied: "i insist upon my plan of going to hunt in foreign lands, in forests far removed from ours. i wish to go from place to place, from plain to plain. such is my will." the prince set out therefore accompanied by his ministers, his chiefs, and his servants. they had all been hunting for some time and had not yet found a single bit of game. the prince had directed his march toward the forests of the country of bagdad. these forests were of immense extent. the heat was excessive, and the prince, being very thirsty, wanted a drink of water. the people who generally carried water for the king said to him: "o lord, sovereign of the world, your majesty's provision of water is entirely exhausted." the prince then asked of his officers and servants: "which of you can get me water? i will reward him with riches and with slaves." these words were heard by one of his officers named asraf-el-kaum. he said: "o my lord, sovereign of the world, give me the vase which will serve for water, and i will go and seek water for your majesty." then the prince said to the people who had brought water for his use, "give my emerald pitcher into the hands of asraf-el-kaum." the latter bowed low and started to seek water. seeing from afar a very large fig-tree, he advanced in that direction. arriving near the tree he saw at its base an oratory and a pond. at the oratory there was a woman of very great beauty. the splendor of her countenance shone like that of the full moon at its fourteenth day. asraf-el-kaum, astonished and moved with admiration, thought in his heart: "is this a human creature, or is it a peri?" and asraf-el-kaum saluted the princess djouher-manikam, who returned the salutation. then the princess asked him, "what is your desire in coming here to my dwelling?" asraf-el-kaum answered, "i have come here to ask you for water, for i have lost my way." the princess said, "take water, lord." asraf-el-kaum plunged the emerald pitcher into the pond, and filled it with water. then he asked permission to return. arriving near the king chah djouhou he presented the pitcher to the prince, who seized it quickly and drank. "asraf-el-kaum," said the prince, "where did you find such fresh and delicious water? in all my life i have never drunk the like." asraf-el-kaum answered: "o my lord, sovereign of the world, there is a garden in the middle of the plain, and in this garden there is a very large and bushy fig-tree, and at the foot of this tree there is a pond, and near this pond there is an oratory. at this oratory there was a woman who was reading the koran. this charmingly beautiful woman has no equal in this world. i saluted her and then returned to the presence of the sovereign of the world. that is what i saw, my lord." "conduct me to this place," said the king. "o sovereign of the world, if your majesty wishes to go thither, let it be with me alone. let not my lord take his people with him, for it is a woman, and naturally she would be ashamed." the prince set out then on horseback with asraf-el-kaum. the princess djouher-manikam, seeing two cavaliers approach, thought in her heart: "i must hide myself, so that i may not be seen." so she left the oratory and went toward the fig-tree. she addressed a prayer to god the most high and worthy of all praise, in these terms: "o god, i beseech thee, give me a refuge in this tree, for thy servant, o lord, is ashamed to look upon the faces of these infidels." then by the will of god the most high, the tree opened in two and the princess djouher-manikam entered by the split, and the tree closed and became as it was before. the king chah djouhou and asraf-el-kaum arrived at the oratory, but the prince saw nothing of the princess djouher-manikam. he was astonished and said: "o asraf-el-kaum, the woman has gone. but just a moment ago i saw her from afar, seated at the oratory, and now she has suddenly disappeared." the prince added: "o asraf-el-kaum, perhaps, as with the prophet zachariah (upon whom be blessings!), her prayer has been answered and she has entered this tree." then he offered this prayer to god the most high and worthy, of all praise: "o god, if thou wilt permit that this woman be united to thy servant, then grant her to him." the prayer of the king chah djouhou was heard, and a woman of dazzling beauty appeared before his eyes. he desired to seize her, but the princess djouher-manikam pronounced these words: "beware of touching me, for i am a true believer." hearing these words the king chah djouhou drew back, a little ashamed. then he said: "woman, what is your country? whose child are you, and what is your name?" the princess answered: "for a long time i have dwelt here, and i have no father nor mother. my name is djouher-manikam." the king, hearing these words of the princess djouher-manikam, took off his cloak and gave it to the princess, who covered all her body with it. then she got up and descended to the ground. then king chah djouhou, dismounting from his horse, received her, put her on his horse, and took her to the country of damas. asraf-el-kaum then said to the king: "o my lord, sovereign of the world, you made a promise to your servant. be not careless nor forgetful, my lord." "asraf-el-kaum, be not disturbed. i will fulfil my promise to you. if it pleases god, when i have arrived in our own country, i shall certainly give you all that i promised you." king chah djouhou set out for the country of damas. after a certain time on the way, the prince came to the city of damas and entered his palace. he commanded one of his pages to summon the cadi, and a page went promptly to call him. the latter, in all haste, entered the presence of the king. chah djouhou said: "o cadi, marry me to the princess djouher-manikam." and the cadi married them. after the celebration of the marriage the prince chah djouhou gave to asraf-el- kaum , dinars and some of his slaves, both men and women. king djouhou and princess djouher-manikam were happy and full of tenderness for each other. within a few years the princess had two sons, both very beautiful. the prince loved these children very fondly. but above all he loved his wife. he was full of tender solicitude for her, and bore himself with regard to her with the same careful attention that a man uses who carries oil in the hollow of his hand. some time later princess djouher-manikam had another son of great beauty. the prince loved this third child tenderly. he gave him a great number of nurses and governesses, as is the custom for the children of the greatest kings. and he never ceased to bestow upon him the most watchful care. it happened one day that the ministers, the chiefs, and the courtiers of the king, all gathered in his presence, were enjoying all sorts of sport and amusements. the prince showed himself very joyous, and the princess herself played and amused herself with the three children. her countenance shone with the brightness of rubies; but happening to think of her father, her mother, and her brother, she began to weep and said: "alas, how unhappy i am! if my father, mother, and brother could see my three children, necessarily their affection for me would be greater." and the princess djouher-manikam burst into sobs. the prince, who was not far from there, heard her, and as the princess did not stop weeping he asked her: "o princess, why do you weep thus? what do i lack in your eyes? is it riches or physical beauty or noble birth? or is it the spirit of justice? tell me what is the cause of your tears?" princess djouher-manikam answered: "sovereign of the world, your majesty has not a single fault. your riches equal those of haroun. your beauty equals that of the prophet joseph (peace be upon him!). your extraction equals that of the envoy of god (mahomet). may the benediction of god and blessings rest upon him! your justice equals that of king rouchirouan. i don't see a single fault in you, my lord." king chah djouhou said: "if it is thus, why then does my princess shed tears?" princess djouher-manikam answered: "if i wept thus while playing with my three children, it is because i thought that if my father, my mother, and my brother should see my three children, necessarily their affection for me would be greater. and that is why i shed tears." king chah djouhou said to her: "o my young wife, dear princess, are your father and mother still living? what is your father's name?" princess djouher-manikam answered, "o my lord, my father is named haroun-er-raschid, king of bagdad." clasping her in his arms and kissing her, the prince asked her: "why, until this day have you not told the truth to your husband?" and the princess answered: "i wished to avow the truth, but perhaps my lord would not have had faith. it is on account of the children that i tell the truth." king chah djouhou answered: "since it is so, it is fitting that we should start, and make a visit upon king haroun-er-raschid." he called his ministers, ordered them to make all the preparations, and commanded them to place in order ingots of gold and ingots of silver on which were graven the name of king haroun-er-raschid; and his ministers' vestments woven of goats' hair and fine wool, stuffs of price, many kinds of superb precious stones of various colors, formed the burden of forty camels, which bore these presents to the king, his father-in-law, in the city of bagdad. during the night princess djouher thought in her heart: "if the two kings meet, there will necessarily be discord, and at the end separation." having thus thought she said to her husband: "o sovereign of the world, do not set out at the same time with me, for in my opinion the meeting of the two kings would have as a final result a disagreement. permit me therefore to start first with the three children, that i may present them to my father and mother. give the command to conduct me to the country of bagdad, near my father, to whomsoever you shall judge worthy of your confidence for this mission." when the prince heard these words of the princess whom he loved so tenderly and whose wishes he granted, he ordered his ministers and chiefs to arrange the transport of the princess and her children. addressing the ministers he said as follows: "o you my ministers, whom among you can i charge to conduct safely my wife and three children to bagdad, near their ancestor king haroun-er-raschid?" no one among them dared approach and speak. all held silence. then the prince, addressing the oldest minister of all, said: "o my minister, it is you to whom, following the dictates of my heart, i can trust to accompany my wife and three children. for i have always found you loyal and faithful to me. beside, you are older than the other ministers. and you have the fear of god the most high and worthy of all praise as well as respect for your king." the minister said: "o my lord, it is in all sincerity that your servant puts above his head the commands of your majesty. i shall do my whole duty in conducting the princess and her children to the king haroun-er- raschid." so the king chah djouhou trusted his wife and his three children to this perfidious minister, reposing upon the promise he had made. forty camels were laden with presents, forty nurses for the children, one hundred ladies in the suite of the princess, a thousand cavaliers, well armed and well equipped, formed the escort. the princess took leave of her husband. he held her clasped in his arms, and, weeping, covered her and his three children with kisses. he bade her to present his homage to her father the sultan haroun-er-raschid, his salutations to her elder brother minbah-chahaz, and to place at the feet of their majesties a thousand and a thousand apologies, and to make his excuses to her brother minbah-chahaz. then the prince said to the wicked minister: "o my minister, you must go now, and lead the camel of my wife, for i have perfect confidence in you. above all, guard her well." but the king did not lean upon god the most high and worthy of all praise, and that is why god punished him. when the prince had finished speaking to the minister the latter said: "o my lord, king of the world, your servant bears your command on his head." so the cavalcade started on the march. princess djouher-manikam mounted her camel with her three children. a body-guard held the van. she proceeded accompanied by the wretched minister and all the escort, wending from day to day toward the city of bagdad. they had reached one of the halting-places when day was turning into night. the minister then erected a tent so that the princess might repose in it. the people put up their tents all about. princess djouher-manikam dismounted from her camel and entered the tent, with her three children. the tents of the nurses and ladies-in-waiting surrounded the tent of the princess in a circle. in the middle of the night a violent rain began to fall. then the wretched minister, stirred by satan, was stirred in his heart. he thought: "the king's wife is most beautiful; beautiful, indeed, as her name, djouher-manikam. i must marry her." so the rebel minister started, and entered the tent of the princess, and asked her to marry him. he found her seated by her three children, occupied in chasing away the mosquitoes. when the princess saw him enter her tent she asked him: "o my minister, what brings you to my tent at this hour in the middle of the night?" the minister answered, "i have come to beg you to marry me." the princess then said: "is that what brings you here? and it was to you that the king intrusted me on account of your great age, and as if you were my father. it was in you that he put all his confidence that you would take us safely, me and my children, to my venerable father, king haroun-er-raschid. what must be your nature, that you should so betray his trust?" the wretched minister replied: "if you refuse to marry me, i will kill your children." "never," said the princess, "never shall i consent to marry you. and if you kill my children, what can i do against the decree of god, save to invoke his name?" the minister killed one of the children. when it was dead, he made the same demand on the princess for the second time, and she answered: "never shall i consent to marry you." the minister said: "if you refuse, i shall kill another of your children." the princess djouher-manikam answered: "if you slay my child, it is by the decree of god, and i submit to his will." the minister killed the second child. "no," repeated the princess. "never shall i consent to wed you." the wretched minister said: "then i will kill your third child." "if you kill him, what can i do but to submit to the will of god, and invoke his name?" the third son of the king was killed. questioned anew, the princess said again, "never shall i marry you." and the wicked minister said: "if you will not marry me, i will kill you, too." then the princess thought in her heart: "if i do not appear to yield, he will kill me, too, without a doubt. i must employ a trick." then she said: "await me here, until i wash from my clothes and my body the stains of my children's blood." the minister accursed of god replied: "very well. i await you here." then the princess djouher went out of her tent. the rain was falling in torrents. the princess, fleeing precipitately, walked during the whole night, not knowing where she was going. she had walked many hours when day broke. the princess arrived thus near a tree in the midst of the plain, and, having measured its height with her eyes, she climbed into it. at this moment there passed along the road a merchant who had made his sales and was returning to the city of bassrah. his name was biyapri. passing beneath the tree he raised his eyes and beheld a woman seated in the tree. "who are you?" he said; "are you woman or djinn?" "i am neither demon nor djinn, but a descendant of the prophet of god (may blessings rest upon him), a disciple of the prophet mahomet, envoy of god." biyapri climbed up the tree, put her on his camel, and taking up his journey conducted her to the country of bassrah. arriving at his house he desired to marry her. but she put him off saying: "wait, for i have made a solemn vow before god not to look upon the face of a man for forty days. when the time expires, that will be possible. but if these forty days have not yet run i should surely die." so biyapri installed her on his latticed roof and lavished attention and care upon her. immediately after the flight of the princess djouher-mani-kam the minister commanded the whole escort to return and present itself to the king chah djouhou. he said to his people: "o all your servants of the queen, see what has been her conduct. her three children are dead, and it is she who killed them. after that she disappeared. where has she taken refuge? nobody in the world knows that. as for you, depart, bear the bodies of his three children to king chah djouhou, and tell him all the circumstances." arriving in the presence of the king, they reported all the circumstances of the minister's treachery toward the princess, and the murder of his three children. they added that the minister had departed, leaving word that he had gone to find the princess, and had taken with him his own three sons, forty soldiers, and the treasure. when the prince had heard these words he was struck with a stupor. but his sorrow at having let the princess go without him was useless. he caused the three young princes to be buried. the king shed tears, and all the people of the household filled the air with cries and sobs, so that the noise seemed like the bursts of thunder, while the funeral ceremonies were proceeding according to the customs of the greatest kings. after that the king descended from his royal throne and became a dervish, the better to seek in all lands his well-beloved spouse. he had with him three slaves only. one of them was named hestri. "go," he said to him, "go seek your mistress in all countries." and he gave him a horse and some provisions. hestri said: "may your majesty be happy! o lord, king of the world, whatever be your commands, your servant places them upon his head." hestri bowed low, then mounted his horse and rode away toward the city of bassrah. after proceeding some time he reached bassrah, and passed by the house of biyapri. at this very moment the princess djouher-manikam was sitting on the roof of biyapri's house. she looked attentively at the face of hestri as he was passing by the house and called to him saying: "hestri, what brings you here?" hestri, casting his glance toward the roof, saw the princess djouher- manikam and said to her: "i was sent by your husband to seek you, princess." she replied: "go away, for the present. come back when it is night. as it is broad daylight now i fear lest biyapri should discover our departure." hestri, bowing low, replied, "very well, princess." he walked here and there, waiting till night should come. when it was dark he returned to the house of biyapri and waited a few minutes. then he called the princess. "wait," she said, "for biyapri is still watching." hestri stooped down, and fell asleep near biyapri's house, having first of all tied the bridle of the horse to his girdle. the princess djouher-manikam descended from the roof, and mounted the horse while hestri was yet sleeping. she sat on the horse waiting till hestri should awake. but an Ã�thiopian robber, who had come to rob the storehouse of biyapri, saw the horse whose bridle was attached to the belt of hestri. he unfastened the bridle and led the horse to the middle of the plain. in the mind of the princess it was hestri who was thus leading the horse. but the moon having risen, the Ã�thiopian saw seated upon the horse a woman of a striking and marvellous beauty. the heart of the Ã�thiopian was filled with joy. he said in his heart: "for a very long time have i been stealing riches. truly, i have acquired no small store of jewels, pearls, precious stones, gold and silver, and magnificent vestments of all sorts. but all that is nothing in comparison with the marvel i have just now found and who will become my wife, the light of my eyes, and the fruit of my heart. now shall i enjoy in peace the happiness of having such a wife." the house of the Ã�thiopian robber was seated on the top of a hill. he conducted the princess thither, showed her all it contained, and gave it to her, saying: "o my future bride, it is to you that all which this house contains belongs. make use of it according to your good pleasure." the princess said, "first of all, be tranquil." and she thought in her heart: "this is my destiny. first i was with biyapri, and now i have fallen into the hands of an aethiopian robber. it is by the will of god that this has happened to his servant." the Ã�thiopian robber was bent on having the marriage celebrated at once, but the princess said: "i cannot be married now, for i have made a vow to god the most high not to see the face of a man for three days." the Ã�thiopian robber desired to drink, and said: "come, let us drink together." "in my opinion," observed the princess, "if we begin to drink both together you will become heavy with wine, and i, too. then they will take me far from you and kill you. come, i will fill your cup and you shall drink first. when you have drunk enough, then i will drink in my turn, and you shall fill my cup." the Ã�thiopian robber was very joyful at these words of the princess. "what you say is true," said he. he received with great pleasure the cup from the hands of the princess and drank. after emptying the cup many times he fell down in the stupor of intoxication, losing his senses and becoming like a dead man. the princess djouher-manikam put on a magnificent costume of a man, and adding a weapon something like a _kandjar_, went out of the house. then mounting her horse she rode forward quickly and came to the foot of the hill. she directed her course toward the country of roum, and continuing her journey from forest to forest, and from plain to plain, she reached the gate of the fortifications of the city of roum at the moment when the king of that country had just died. when the princess djouher-manikam had arrived outside the fortifications of roum, she sat down in the _baley, near the fort. she was marvellously beautiful, and her vestments, all sparkling with gold, were adorned with precious stones, pearls, and rubies. a man happening to pass by saw her, and was seized with astonishment and admiration. for in the country of roum there was nobody who could compare with this young man, so handsome and so magnificently attired. he asked: "whence come you and why did you come here?" the princess answered: "i know not the place where i am at this moment. i came from the city of damas." this citizen of roum took leave and went away to present himself to the vezir and tell what he had seen. the vezir, having heard him, went out promptly to find the young man. as soon as he had approached him and had seen his remarkable beauty and his splendid vestments decorated with precious stones, pearls, and rubies, the vezir seated himself by him and said: "young man, whence do you come, and why did you come to this land?" the princess answered: "i wish to travel through the world for my pleasure. that is my will." the vezir replied: "would you like to have us make you king of this country?" the princess replied: "for what reason should i wish to be king in this country? and by what means could it be achieved?" the vezir replied: "our king is dead." "is there no child?" asked the princess. "the king has left a child," answered the vezir, "but he is still very little, and incapable of governing his subjects. that is why we will make you king of this country." the princess djouher-manikam answered: "why not? what prevents? if you all will follow my counsel i will accept the throne of this country." the ministers said, "and why should we not follow the commands of my lord?" the vezir conducted her to the palace. all the ministers of state and the high officers assembled to proclaim as their king the princess djouher-manikam. that done, the princess took the name of radja chah djouhou. after reigning some time her spirit of justice and her perfect equity in the government of her subjects rendered her name celebrated in all the foreign countries. radja chah djouhou said to her minister: "o minister, have built for me a _baley_ outside the fort." and the ministers and the officers commanded them in haste to construct the _baley_. as soon as it was built they came to announce it to the king. the latter said: "o my vezir, is there in my kingdom a man who knows how to paint?" "yes, my lord, king of the world, there is a very skilful painter here." "let him come to me." "immediately, my lord," said the vezir, and he ordered a slave to go and summon the painter. the painter came in all haste and entered the presence of radja chah djouhou, bowing his head to the floor. the prince said to him: "o painter, have you a daughter who knows how to paint?" the painter answered: "yes, my lord, king of the world, i have a daughter very skilful in the art of painting." "tell your child to come here." the painter bowed again and went to find his daughter. "o my child," he said, "the fruit of my heart, come, the king calls you." then the painter's daughter quickly set out, accompanied by her father. they together entered the presence of the king, who was still surrounded by his ministers and his officers. the painter and his daughter bowed their heads to the floor. the prince said: "painter, is this your daughter?" "o my lord, king of the world, yes, this is my daughter." "come with me into the interior of the palace." and at the same time the prince started and entered his apartments, followed by the daughter of the painter. he led the way to a retired place, and said: "my daughter, make my portrait, i pray you, and try to have the resemblance good." then the princess djouher-manikam clothed herself in woman's raiment, and in this costume she was ravishingly beautiful. that done, she commanded the artist to paint her thus. she succeeded perfectly and the portrait was a remarkable likeness, for the daughter of the painter was very skilful. when her work was finished she received a large sum in gold. the prince said to her: "come, sister, let this remain a secret. reveal it not to anyone in the world. if you tell it i will slay you, with your father and your mother." the daughter of the painter said: "o my lord, king of the world, how could your servant disobey your majesty's commands?" she bowed low, and asked permission to go home. radja chah djouhou, in the presence of his ministers and his subjects, said to the vizier: "o vizier, place this portrait in the _baley_ outside the fort, and have it guarded by forty men. if anyone coming to this portrait begins to weep or kiss it, seize him and bring him before me." the portrait hung in the _baley_, and the vezir ordered an officer to guard it with forty soldiers. when the Ã�thiopian robber came out of his drunken slumber he saw that the princess djouher-manikam was no longer in his house. so he went out-of-doors weeping, and took up his journey, going from country to country until he arrived at the city of roum. there he saw a _baley_, and hanging there a portrait which bore a perfect resemblance to the princess djouher-manikam. quickly he climbed to the _baley_, and, holding the portrait in his arms, he wept and covered it with kisses. "o unhappy man that i am! here is the portrait of my well-beloved for whom i was seeking. where can she be?" the guards of the _baley_, seeing the act of the Ã�thiopian, seized him and bore him before the king. they told the deed. the prince said: "Ã�thiopian robber, why did you act thus in reference to this picture?" the Ã�thiopian answered: "o my lord, king of the world, i ask you a thousand and a thousand pardons. your servant will tell the truth. if they kill me i shall die; if they hang me i shall be lifted very high; if they sell me i shall be carried very far away. o king of the world, hear the words of your humble slave. a certain night i had started out to rob. i found a horse, and on its back there was a woman of the most marvellous beauty. i took her to my house. i fell asleep in my cups. my beloved one disappeared. i became mad, and so it is, o king of the world, that your slave came to the fort and saw the portrait hanging at the _baley_. this portrait is the faithful picture of my well-beloved. that is why i weep." the prince said: "o my vezir, let this man be carefully guarded. treat him well and give him plenty to eat." on the other hand, biyapri, after forty days, mounting the roof, saw that the princess djouher was no longer there. he became mad, abandoned his house and all his wealth, and, becoming a dervish, went from country to country seeking the princess djouher-manikam, without ever finding her. coming to the country of roum he saw the _baley_ situated outside the fort, and stopped there. then he saw the portrait, and, observing it with the closest attention, he began to weep. then he took it in his arms and covered it with kisses. "alas, my well-beloved!" he cried, "here indeed is your picture, but where can i find you?" he was immediately seized by the guard and led before the king of roum. "biyapri," said the prince, "whence do you come, and why did you act thus?" biyapri answered: "o my lord, king of the world, your slave asks pardon a thousand and a thousand times. i will tell the whole truth. if they kill me, i shall die; if they hang me, i shall be lifted very high; if they sell me, i shall be taken very far away. when i was engaged in commerce i passed under a tree, and saw that in this tree there was a woman of the most marvellous beauty. i took her and carried her to the city of bassrah and installed her on the roof of my storehouse. a certain night she disappeared without my knowing where she had gone. then, o king of the world, i became as one mad and left my native land. arriving at the country of roum i saw a _baley_ outside the fort and came to sit down there. then, my lord, i saw the portrait hanging at the _baley_. it exactly resembles my beloved, whom i lost. i pressed it in my arms and covered it with kisses. such is the truth, o king of the world." the prince then said to his minister: "o minister, let this man be carefully guarded and give him food and clothes." the king of damas, after abdicating the throne, had left his kingdom, and in the costume of a dervish had started to travel through the different countries. arriving at roum, the king chah djouhou saw a _baley_ situated outside of the fort, and went to sit down near it. the prince looking closely at the portrait, which was exactly like the princess djouher-manikam, burst into a flood of tears and exclaimed: "alas! fruit of my heart, my well-beloved, light of my eyes! it is, indeed, your picture. but you, whom i seek, oh, where are you?" speaking thus, the prince took the portrait in his arms and covered it with kisses. seeing this, the guards of the _baley_ seized him and carried him before the king. the king said to him: "my lord, whence do you come? how have you wandered into this country? and why did you behave thus about my portrait?" the king chah djouhou answered: "know that my wife, who is named the princess djouher-manikam, has disappeared far from me. it is for that reason that i have left my kingdom, and that i, dressed as a dervish, have walked from country to country, from plain to plain, from village to village, seeking her whom i have never been able to find. but arriving in your majesty's country i saw hanging at the _baley_ that portrait, which is of a striking resemblance to my wife. it is for this reason that i wept in contemplating this picture." the princess smiled, and at the same time her heart was softened at seeing the conduct of her husband. she said to her prime minister: "o my minister, i confide this person to your care. treat him worthily, give him the best of food and a suite of attendants. he is the king of damas." the minister therefore, by command of the princess, departed and conducted the king of damas to a fine house, furnished and equipped according to the needs of kings. the minister took all the riches which had been intended as presents for the king haroun-er-raschid. the ingots of gold and of silver, the rich garments in fine stuffs of the country of rouzoungga, as well as the vestments of the princess djouher-manikam and of her three children, were transported and sold in the city of bagdad. but the king haroun-er-raschid, seeing that his name and that of his daughter, the princess djouher-manikam, were graven on these ingots of gold and silver, seized all these riches. the minister of the country of damas said, "these riches are mine." on his side the king haroun-er-raschid said: "these riches are mine, for my name and that of my child are engraved on these ingots of gold and silver." the minister said, "since your majesty declares that these treasures are yours, we must try this case in a court of justice." the king of bagdad answered: "it is well. we will go wherever you wish." "very well," said the minister; "let us go then before the king of the country of roum. that prince has the reputation of being extremely just. each of us shall plead his cause." the prince answered: "it is well." the minister replied: "o king of the world, let us start without delay." so the king haroun-er-raschid set out with his son min-bah-chahaz, his chief warrior, and his soldiers. the cadi accompanied the prince. on his side, the minister of the country of damas started, accompanied by his three sons and forty soldiers of the country of damas. after proceeding some time, they arrived at the city of roum and entered the fortifications. each one of them presented himself before the king and pleaded his cause. the king haroun-er-raschid expressed himself as follows: "o king of the world! i present myself before your majesty to ask your impartial judgment. the minister of the country of damas brought to bagdad, among other precious objects, ingots of gold and ingots of silver, on which are engraved my name and that of my daughter, the princess djouher- manikam. i seized these, and come to your majesty to decide my claim to them." the king of roum said: "if it pleases god the most high, this affair shall be judged with the best of my powers." the king of roum continued: "my officers and you, my ministers and chiefs, seek all the divine inspiration to decide the difference existing between the king of bagdad and the minister of damas." the officers bowed low and said: "o my lord, king of the world, whatever they may be, we shall put the commands of your majesty above our heads and shall carry them out to the letter." and they deliberated on the character of the dispute. the king of bagdad declared: "these objects are precious to me, for they bear engraven upon them the names of myself and my child." on the other hand, and at the same time, the minister damas declared, "these precious objects are mine." the ministers and chiefs were very much embarrassed, and said to the king: "o king of the world, we, all of us, are unable to judge this dispute. it is too difficult for us. only the impartial judgment of your majesty can decide it." the prince said: "it is well. i will pronounce sentence, if it please god the most high, provided that you consent to accept it." the king of bagdad answered: "o king of the world, judge between us according to your impartial justice." the king of roum then said: "o minister of damas, and you, king of bagdad, is it the wish of both of you that i should give judgment according to the judgment of god the most high?" and they both answered: "that is what we ask, the judgment of god." the prince replied: "if you consent on both sides, it is well." "i consent to it," said the minister of damas. "and i, too," said the king of bagdad. the king of roum then spoke in these terms: "in conformity with the law of the most high god, i ask this question of the king of bagdad: have you a daughter?" the king of bagdad replied: "yes, king of the world, i have a daughter and a son." "and have you at present these two children?" the king of bagdad answered: "i have my son, but my daughter--i lost her." the king of roum, continuing, said: "what is the cause of the loss of your daughter?" the king of bagdad answered: "o king of the world, hear my story. while i was gone on a pilgrimage with my wife and my son, whose name is minbah-chahaz, i left my daughter to watch over my palace. arriving at the end of my pilgrimage, i sent home a letter to the cadi, conceived as follows: 'may peace be with the cadi: i shall wait still for the grand pilgrimage about a year longer. as for all that concerns my kingdom, my palace, and my daughter, the princess djouher-manikam, watch with greatest care, and beware of any negligence in the protection of my kingdom and my child.' some time later the cadi sent me a letter at mecca, couched in these words: 'o king of the world, your servant has received the command to watch over the palace and the princess. but the princess now desires to marry me.' after i had read the letter from the cadi i called my son minbah-chahaz, and said to him: 'start at once for bagdad, and slay your sister.' my son minbah-chahaz started immediately for bagdad, and killed his sister. then he returned and found me at mecca. his cutlass was still blood- stained. then i cried: 'praise be to god the lord of the universe, our shame is effaced.' such is my story, o king of the world." the king of roum said: "it is well. now i shall pronounce judgment." and addressing the minister of damas he said to him: "o minister of damas, tell me the truth if you wish that at the day of judgment the prophet should intercede for you (may the peace and blessings of god be upon him!). speak and tell the truth. say whence come these riches, in order that i may pronounce my judgment between you." the minister of the king of damas said: "o my lord, king of the world, i will lay at the foot of your majesty's throne the completed story from the beginning. i received a mission from the king chah djouhou: 'o my minister,' he said, 'start, i send you to the city of bagdad, taking my three children to their grandfather, and my wife, the princess djouher-manikam, to her mother and her father, the king haroun-er- raschid.' i set out, therefore, with the escort which accompanied the princess djouher-manikam, and we arrived at our first halting-place. when it was night i erected a tent, and the people of the escort all put up tents around that of the princess. but satan breathed into my heart a temptation. this thought came to me: 'the wife of the king is wonderfully beautiful, and she has such a pretty name! i will go and ask her to marry me.' so i entered her tent. at that moment she was seated by her sleeping children, occupied in keeping away the mosquitoes. the princess demanded, 'o my minister, why do you come here?' and i answered, 'i have come to ask you to marry me.' the princess said: 'have you no fear of god the most high? no, i cannot marry you. what would become of me if i should do such a thing?' then i said, 'if you will not agree to marry me, i will kill one of your children.' the princess answered: 'if you kill my child it will be by the judgment of god, and what can i do but to invoke his name?' then i killed one of the children. when he was dead i asked again if she would marry me, and i killed another of the children. when this one was dead i asked the same question. the princess answered, 'i cannot marry when i am already married.' i said to her, 'if you will not, then i will kill the third of your children.' the princess djouher-manikam answered, 'if you kill my third child, it will be by the judgment of god, and what can i do but invoke his name, for i am only a woman?' so i killed the third child. after the death of this last child of the king, i put again my question to the princess. she would not consent to marry me. i said to her, 'if you don't, i will kill you.' she answered: 'if you kill me, it is the decree of god. but wait awhile, for i wish to wash my garments and cleanse the traces of my children's blood from my body.' i said, 'it is well. we will have the wedding-feast to- morrow.' she left the tent. it was raining in torrents. i could not discover where she went. such is my story, o king of the world." the king said, "minister of the country of damas, have you any sons?" he answered, "yes, my lord, king of the world, i have three sons." the prince said: "let your three sons come here, in order that i may give judgment quickly, according to the law instituted by the prophet (may the peace and blessings of god be upon him!). behold what his law prescribes: the minister killed the children of the princess djouher- manikam. it is not, therefore, the minister who should be punished with death, but his children should be slain. the execution of this judgment will be the just application of the law of retaliation between the minister and the princess." the minister summoned his three sons. as soon as they had come, he pointed them to the king of roum. the latter said to his minister, "o minister, where is the Ã�thiopian whom they brought here?" the Ã�thiopian robber was brought out, and prostrated himself before the king of roum. the king of roum said to him: "Ã�thiopian, return to your own country and change your mode of life. you will never see again the woman for whom you are seeking." and the prince gave him a _keti_ of gold. then the prince said: "o my minister, where is biyapri? let them bring him here." so they brought biyapri. when he arrived he bowed low before the prince. the prince said: "biyapri, go back to your own country and change your conduct. the woman whom you seek you will never see again." and the prince made him a gift of two _keti_ of gold. the king of roum then said: "let all assemble. i am about to pronounce judgment between the king of bagdad and the minister of damas." the minister and the officers assembled therefore in the presence of the king, together with many of his subjects. the king of roum said: "o my executioner, let the three children of the minister of damas be all killed; such is the divine command." so the children of the minister of damas were all three killed. after they were dead the prince said: "minister, return to the country of damas, with a rag for your girdle, and during your last days change your conduct. if you do not know it, i am the princess djouher-manikam, daughter of the sultan of bagdad, wife of chah djouhou, my lord, and the sister of minbah-chahaz. god has stricken your eyes with blindness on account of your crimes toward me. it is the same with the cadi of the city of bagdad." the minister of damas, seized with fear, trembled in all his limbs. he cast himself at the feet of the princess manikam, and thus prostrated he implored pardon a thousand and a thousand times. then he returned to damas all in tears, and overwhelmed with grief at the death of his three sons. the cadi, covered with shame on account of his treachery to the sultan of bagdad, fled and expatriated himself. the king of roum commanded them to bring the king chah djouhou and give him a garment all sparkling with gold, and he sent him to dwell in the company of his father-in-law, the sultan of bagdad, and his brother-in- law, the prince minbah-chahaz. then the princess djouher-manikam retired. she entered the palace and returned clad in the garments of a woman. she then went out, accompanied by ladies of the court, and went to present herself to her father, the sultan of bagdad. she bowed before her father, her brother the prince minbah-chahaz, and her husband, the king chah djouhou. the princess said: "o all of you, lords and warriors of the country of roum, know that i am a woman, and not a man. behold my father, the sultan haroun-er-raschid, king of bagdad. behold my brother, whose name is minbah-chahaz; and behold my husband, the king chah djouhou, who reigns over the country of damas. from the time when you placed me upon the throne of roum, if i have committed any fault by error or by ignorance, you must excuse me, for constantly the servants of god commit faults by error or ignorance. it is only god alone who forgets not, nor neglects, and is free from error or ignorance." the grandees of the country of roum said: "never has your majesty committed the least fault, either by ignorance or by error, during the time you have reigned over the country of roum. nevertheless, among the judgments just now rendered there was a fault committed by your glorious majesty. the minister killed, the princess killed, both did it voluntarily. it was a fault of judgment for the princess djouher- manikam to have killed the children of the minister, just as the minister committed a fault in killing the children of the princess. there was a likeness there. still, if it pleases her majesty to remain upon the throne of roum, we should all be very glad of it." the princess djouher said: "i shall take leave of you, my lords. it is good that we should make the young prince king, and that he should replace me on the throne." the ministers and the officers of roum responded, "whatever be the commands of your majesty, we place them above our heads." then the princess made the royal prince her successor, and the ministers and officers and subjects all bowed low, placed their hands above their heads, and proclaimed him king. the princess djouher-manikam said: "o my child, here are the last instructions your mother gives you: you must practise justice so that god will make strong your realm. to you, my ministers and officers, i confide my child. if he commits some faults by negligence or by ignorance, i pray you take them not too much to heart, for my child is young, and he has not yet attained all the maturity of his judgment." the ministers and officers answered: "o your majesty, may your prosperity grow forever! how could it be possible for us to disobey your commands?" the princess replied: "o my child, above all must you observe justice and be patient and liberal toward your ministers and officers and all your subjects, so that the favors of god may increase upon your person and that your kingdom may be protected by god the most high by the grace of the intercession of the prophet mahomet, the envoy of god (may the, peace and blessings of god be with him!). o my child, you must govern all your subjects with a spirit of justice, for in this world, until death, we ought to seek the truth. o my child, above all forget not my last instructions." then, taking in her arms the royal child, she kissed him. the sultan haroun-er-raschid having told the sultan of roum that he wished to return to the country of bagdad, the sultan gave orders to his ministers to assemble the grandees, the officers, and the soldiers, with elephants, horses, and instruments of music. all came with presents, for the sultan of roum wished to accompany the sultan haroun- er-raschid as far as bagdad and carry him the presents. the favorable moment having arrived, the sultan haroun-er-raschid departed from roum, directing his way to the country of bagdad, from plain to plain, and from halting-place to halting-place. after journeying some time, they rejoicing all the way, they arrived at the country of bagdad. the ministers, the chiefs, and the soldiers came out to meet the sultan haroun-er-raschid, and they entered the palace. then the queen hastened to find the sultan and her daughter, the princess djouher-manikam. meeting her daughter, she pressed her in her arms and covered her with kisses. she said in tears: "alas, my child! the fruit of my heart! i, your mother thought that she would never see you again." and she covered her body with tears and kisses, while she kept repeating, "alas, my child! i thought you lost forever." then the queen bowed before the sultan haroun-er-raschid. her son, minbah-chahaz, then came to bow before his mother, but the latter pressed him in her arms and kissed him. then her son-in-law, king chah djouhou, advanced and bowed before the queen in his turn. and she pressed him in her arms and kissed him. all were in tears. the sultan haroun-er-raschid started for the hall of audience, and gave orders to one of his heralds to assemble his ministers, his warriors, and his subjects. when they were all gathered together the sultan said: "now i wish to entertain the ministers, the chiefs, and the officers who escorted us here." when the sultan had finished entertaining them they desired to take leave and return to the country of roum. the sultan haroun-er-raschid made them gifts of vestments of honor, to each according to his rank. they prostrated themselves at his feet, and then returned in peace to the country of roum. afterward, the sultan haroun-er-raschid ordered one of his heralds to assemble his ministers, his officers, and his subjects. once gathered together, the prince said: "o all of you, my ministers and my officers, you must build me a house of baths seven stories high, on the public square of bagdad." all responded, "o my lord, king of the world, whatever your commands may be, your servants place them above their heads." and all, ministers, officers, and subjects, gave themselves to the work, each of them doing what was directed by the architect. after some time, the palace of baths was finished. it was sumptuously adorned with curtains of silk, canopies, tapestries woven with gold and fringed with pearls. rugs embroidered with gold were stretched on the different floors, and there was a quantity of torches and lanterns. then the builders came before the king and said: "o my lord, king of the world, your slaves have finished their work according to the commands of your majesty." the king haroun-er-raschid gave thanks unto god the most high, worthy of all praise, the true lord who accords to his servants all their needs. then the festivals began. for forty days and forty nights the bands never stopped playing. there were sports, banquets, amusements of all sorts. they gave themselves noisily to pleasure, because the sultan was going to proceed to the ceremony of the bath of the two spouses, his children. when the watches were finished and the favorable moment had come, the sultan was arrayed in a magnificent garment embroidered with gold, while the princess djouher-manikam was adorned by her mother with superb veils and vestments trimmed with jewels, with pearls and precious stones of an incomparable richness. the spouses thus adorned, the sultan made them mount a palanquin. his son, minbah-cha-haz, was clad in a splendid costume. the sultan mounted his horse sembaran, and his saddle was of carved gold. surrounded by young princes and lords, by officers of his court and the standards, haroun-er-raschid marched at the head. he advanced, followed by princes, ministers, and officers. the wives of the grandees accompanied the queen with her maids-of-honor, and all the musical instruments gave forth their harmonious sounds. seven times they made the circuit of the city. when the two spouses had arrived at the foot of the palace of baths the sultan made them ascend. then came the spouses of the grandees with the queen, who showered them with rice- powder mixed with amber and musk, and poured on their heads spikenard and _curcuma_ (turmeric). they were both plunged into a bath of rose- water and extracts of all sorts of aromatic flowers, together with water from the sacred fountain of zemzem. the ceremonies of the bath finished, the two spouses went out of the palace of baths and went into the king's palace. on their arrival, they served a repast to the princes, the _orilemas_, the doctors of the law, the priests, the ministers, the officers, the common people, men and women. all without exception took part in the feast. when it was ended one of the doctors of the law recited the prayer asking god for perfect happiness, sheltered from all danger in this life and the next. then he sprinkled showers of the most charming perfumes. after that the chah djouhou went to find the sultan, and said to him: "o my lord, king of the world, i have to ask your majesty a favor and pardon. i wish to take leave of your majesty and return to the country of damas, for the country of damas is forsaken, o my lord." the sultan said, "it is well, my lord. your country, truly, is separated from its king. if it were not for your kingdom i would wish never to be separated from you, now that i have my daughter back again. but if i am inclined to commit a fault, do not comply with it." radja chah djouhou answered; "your daughter is like a soul which has entered my body. that is how i feel. but the countless favors of your majesty to me, i place them above my head." the sultan haroun-er-raschid then said to his prime minister: "o my minister, get ready to start , soldiers and horsemen. and have elephants or horses well equipped to transport my two children, husband and wife." when the escort was ready, then the sultan commanded them to open the place where his treasures were stored, and forty-four camels were laden with riches, with vestments of woven gold and precious objects such as are found only in the palaces of kings. all these preparations being finished, radja chah djouhou took leave of his father-in-law, his mother-in-law, and his brother-in-law, minbah- chahaz. the latter all held in their arms and covered with kisses the princess djouher-manikam, as well as radja chah djouhou. he and his brother-in-law minbah-chahaz wept as they embraced, and the people of the palace burst into sobs with a noise like that of the waves breaking on the seashore. finally the princess djouher and the king chah djouhou, after bowing before their father, mother, and brother, set out for the country of damas, to the imposing sound of all the instruments of music. the sultan haroun-er-raschid and his son, minbah-chahaz, conducted them outside of the fortifications. when they were far off, the sultan went back to his palace, walking sadly with his son, minbah- chahaz, and praying god to bless his children. after some time on the journey, the king chah djouhou arrived at the country of damas. the officers and the soldiers sallied from the fortifications of damas and went to meet the prince. the ministers and the officers bowed low at his feet, all rejoicing over the happy return and perfect health of the king and queen. the prince entered his palace, and the two spouses lived full of tenderness for each other. i will not prolong this story of the princess djouher-manikam, which has become celebrated in all countries to windward and to leeward. i close it here, giving my best wishes to those who shall read or hear it, and particularly to those who shall copy it! makota radja-radja; or, the crown of kings [_translated by aristide marre and c. c. starkweather_] kings who are of the true faith, who have wisdom and follow justice, cause men worthy of their confidence to travel through their kingdom, to serve as their eyes and ears, and to make reports on the state and condition of their subjects, so that, knowing the cause, they may examine for themselves the conduct of the servants of god. but there are kings who do not rest contented with the report of their servants, and go themselves by night to see the condition and hear the complaints of subjects. then they make by day a thorough examination of the matters thus come to their knowledge, in order to regulate them with justice and equity. a story will illustrate this. zeyd ibries selam tells what follows: the prince of the believers, the caliph omar (may god be satisfied with him!), judged the servants of god with equity during the day, and after pronouncing his judgments he went out of the city on the side toward the cemetery called bakia-el-gharkada. there he cut stone to gain money enough for the maintenance of his house, and when night had come he went through the city to know the good and evil of the servants of god. one night, says zeyd ibries selam, "i accompanied the prince of the believers, omar. when he was outside of medina, he perceived a fire in an out-of-the-way place, and turned his steps thither. scarcely had he arrived when he heard a woman with three children, and the latter were crying. the woman said: 'o god the most high, i beseech thee, make omar suffer what i am suffering now. he sleeps satiated with food, while i and my children are starving.' the prince of the believers, omar, hearing these words, went to the woman, and with a salutation said, 'may i approach?' "the woman answered, 'if it be by way of goodness, come.' "he approached her and questioned her about her situation. "the woman said: 'i come from a far place; and as it was dark when i arrived here, i could not enter the city. so i stopped at this place. my children and i are suffering from hunger and we cannot sleep.' "the caliph inquired, 'what is there in this kettle?' "the woman answered: 'nothing but water. i put it in the kettle so that the children should imagine that i was cooking rice--perhaps, then, they would go to sleep and stop crying so loudly.' "as soon as omar had heard these words he returned promptly to the city of medina. arriving at a shop where they sold flour, he bought some and put it into a sack. in another shop he bought some meat. then lifting the sack to his shoulders he carried it out of the city. i said to him: "'o prince of the believers, give me this sack, that i may carry it for you.' "'if you bear the weight of this sack,' said his glorious majesty to me, 'who will bear the weight of my fault, and who will clear me from the prayer of this woman in the affliction of her heart when she complained to the lord of my negligence?' "omar, having said these words, continued to walk in tears until he had come near the woman and her children. then he gave her the flour and the meat, and they ate till their hunger was appeased. the woman with a satisfied heart cried: "'may god the most high hear my prayer and render you benefits, since you are so full of compassion for the servants of god and are so much better than omar.' "the caliph said to her, 'o woman, blame not omar, for he knew not how you fared.'" there was once a king in the country of syria named malik-es-saleh, very pious and just, and continually preoccupied with the state of his subjects. they say that every night he went to the mosque, cemeteries, and other solitary places, in search of strangers, fakirs, and poor people who had neither home nor family. one night, arriving near a mosque, he heard the voice of a man inside the edifice. he entered and saw a fakir there. he could not see him distinctly, because he was covered with a mat. but he heard him, and this is what he said: "o lord, if on the judgment-day thou shalt give a place in heaven to kings who are forgetful of the fakirs and the poor, then, o lord, grant that i may not enter there." malik-es-saleh, hearing these words, shed tears. he placed a piece of stuff before the fakir with tahil of silver, and said to him: "o fakir, i have learned from the glorious prophet (may peace be with him!) that fakirs become kings in heaven, after a life of self- sacrifice on earth. since i am king in this perishable world, i come to you with the weakness of my nature and baseness of my being. i ask you to be at peace with me, and to show yourself compassionate to me when the moment of your glory in heaven shall have arrived." when the sultan zayad sat upon the royal throne of ikak, the country was infested with malefactors, brigands, robbers, assassins, and the like. the compounds were destroyed, the houses pillaged, and the people killed. the inhabitants could not sleep a single night in quiet, nor pass a single day in safety at home. a crowd of people came with their complaints to the sultan zayad, saying: "the compounds are destroyed, the houses are pillaged, and the men are killed." all throughout irak one heard nothing but reports of this kind. one friday the sultan went to the mosque to pray. he then shut all the doors and said to the people in the mosque: "o servants of god now present in this mosque, know that a duty is imposed upon me. i must protect my subjects, for i shall have to give an account of my actions on the day of judgment. there are now in this country large numbers of malefactors, and many of my people have been ruined by them. it is my duty to repress these disorders. so, then, listen to what i have to say, and repeat it to those who are not present. i swear to you that all who shall, three days from now, leave his house after the hour of evening prayer, shall be put to death." when the three days had passed and the fourth night arrived, sultan zayad mounted his horse and traversed the city with an escort of cavaliers. outside of the city he came to a place and saw a man standing under a tree in the middle of a flock of sheep and goats. he said to him, "who are you?" the man said: "i come from a far-off village, and i am bringing sheep and goats to the city to sell them, and with their price to buy what i can for my wife and children. when arrived at this place i was so tired that i could not enter the city, and was obliged to stay here, with the intention of entering at daybreak and selling my sheep and goats." sultan zayad, having heard this response, said: "your words are true, but what can i do? if i do not put you to death to-morrow, when the news spreads, they will say sultan zayad is not faithful to his word. they will regard me with disdain, and no one will obey my orders. and the wicked ones will commit violent acts upon the good ones, and my country will be ruined. heaven is better for you than this world." so he had him put to death and ordered that they should take his head. during that same night all that he met were killed and beheaded. they say that in the course of that first day persons were put to death. at dawn he had all these heads exposed on the highways, and published this proclamation: "whosoever shall not obey the commands of sultan zayad shall suffer the same fate." when the people of the country saw these heads exposed at all sides on the earth, they were frightened, and a respectful fear of sultan zayad filled all hearts. the second night sultan zayad went out again from the city, and that night persons were killed. the third night he remained out of the city till morning, but he did not meet a soul. the following friday sultan zayad went to the mosque, said his prayers, and declared: "o servants of god, let no one after to-day shut the door of his house nor his shop. i take upon myself the charge of replacing those of your goods which shall be destroyed or stolen." they all obeyed his orders, for they feared him greatly. their doors remained opened for several nights, and they never suffered the slightest loss. but after a while a man complained to the sultan, saying, "last night someone stole from me tahil." the sultan said: "can you swear to it?" the man swore to the facts, and the sultan had tahil counted out to him in place of those he had lost. the following friday, after prayers, forbidding anyone to leave the mosque, the sultan said: "o servants of the lord, know that tahil have been stolen from the shop of a certain man. unless you denounce the robber, not one of you shall escape, but to-day shall all of you be put to death." now, as he had rigorously commanded attendance at friday's prayer service, the whole town had come to the mosque. they were seized with fright, for they knew that the sultan kept his word, and they denounced the robber. the latter gave back the tahil and received his punishment. a long time afterward the sultan zayad asked, "at what place in my kingdom do they fear robbers most of all?" "in the valley of the beni ardou, in the country of bassrah, for there they are numerous." sultan zayad one day had the highways and paths of the valley strewn with gold and silver, precious stones, and stuffs of great price. all these things lay there a long time and not one was taken. then the sultan ordered them to take up these riches and give them to the fakirs and the poor. then he rendered thanks unto god that he had thus securely established his law among his subjects. now it was in the times when nouchirvau governed with justice and equity, protecting his subjects and causing his kingdom to prosper. one day he asked the grandees of his court, "are there in my kingdom any places deserted and without inhabitants?" the grandees who were there answered, "o king of the world, we know not in all your majesty's realm a place which is not inhabited." nouchirvau kept silence, and for many days did not leave the palace. he summoned to his private chamber a learned doctor named bouzor djambour, and said to him: "i desire to know with certainty if all parts of my realm are peopled, or if there is any which is not. how can i be sure of this?" "to have your majesty's desire fully satisfied you have only to abstain from leaving the palace." saying this, bouzor djambour took leave of the king and went to the audience-chamber of the king. he spoke to those assembled there as follows: "o ministers, generals, and all present, know that his majesty is ill. now, in order to cure him you must find for me a little bit of earth from a place in ruins and uninhabited. those who are faithful servants of the king will not hesitate to accomplish immediately this act of devotion in his service, and to start at once in search of the remedy i have named." these words were scarcely uttered when men were sent out to search the towns and villages and find some earth from a place in ruins and uninhabited. they found only one house in ruins, and the governor of the town said as follows about it: "a merchant once established in this dwelling. he died and left much wealth. as none of his heirs came forward, we closed the doors with stones and mortar, waiting for them to arrive. so the house has fallen to ruin." then the people took a little earth from beneath the house and took it to the king, telling him what had happened. then the king called an assembly and said: "know all that my illness proceeded only from my fear that there might be in my kingdom a house in ruins. now that it has been shown to me that there exists in my whole realm not a single place in ruins, but that the country is well populated, my malady is cured, seeing that my kingdom is in a perfect condition." in the time of nouchirvau a man sold his compound to another man. the buyer of this property, while engaged in making repairs, found in the earth many jars filled with gold which someone had buried there. he went immediately to the one who sold him the premises and told him the news. the seller said: "that gold is not mine, for i did not put it in the ground. i sold you the compound; the discovery that you have made is yours." the buyer replied: "i bought the premises alone, i did not buy gold; so it is yours." as each refused to take the treasure, they went to the king nouchirvau and recounted the affair to him, saying, "this gold should be the property of the king." but king nouchirvau would not take the gold. he asked the two men if they had children. they replied, "yes, my lord, we have each a child, a boy and a girl." "well," said the king, "marry the girl to the boy, and give them the gold you found." in ancient times a king of china fell ill and as a result of his malady he lost his hearing. he wept in sorrow over this affliction and grew very thin and pale. his ministers came one day and asked him to tell them in writing his condition. he answered: "i am not ill, but so weakened by my inquietude and distress that i can no longer hear the words of my subjects when they come to make their complaints. i know not how to act not to be guilty of negligence in the government of my kingdom." the ministers then said: "if the ears of your majesty do not hear, our ears shall replace those of the king, and we can carry to his majesty the complaints and regrets of his subjects. why, then, should his majesty be so much disturbed over the weakening of his physical forces?" the king of china answered: "at the day of judgment it is i, and not my ministers, who will have to render account of the affairs of my subjects. i must therefore myself examine into their complaints and troubles. i am sure that the burden of ruling would be lighter for me if i could have tranquillity of spirit. but my eyes can see, although my ears are deaf." and he commanded them to publish this edict: "all who are victims of injustice must reduce their complaints to writing, and bring them to the king so that he may look into their troubles." they tell also the following story: there was formerly in the city of ispahan, a king whose power and glory had filled him with pride. he commanded his ministers to build him a palace in a certain place. the ministers, with the architects, ordered the slaves to level the ground so as to form a vast esplanade and cause to disappear all the houses of the neighborhood. among these houses, they say, there was one belonging to an old woman who was very poor and without a family to help her. in spite of her great age, she went to work as well as she could, in different places, but could scarcely exist on her earnings. her house near the site selected for the new palace was old and in a tumble-down condition. they tell that one day having gone a long distance to find work she fell ill and remained a long time without being able to return to her house. then the architects who were building the palace said, "we must not let this hovel remain standing so near the king's palace." so they razed the hut and levelled the earth, and finished the palace with all sorts of embellishments. the king, taking possession, gave a grand house-warming festival. now on this very day it so happened that the old woman returned home. arriving she could find no traces of her house, and was stupefied. in one hand she held a stick, in the other some dry wood for her fire. on her back she bore a package of rice and herbs for cooking. she was fatigued with a long journey and faint with hunger. when she saw that her house had disappeared she knew not what to do nor where to go. she burst into tears. the servants of the king drove her away, and as she went, she fell and spilled her rice and herbs and fell down in the mud. in this state of indescribable desolation she exclaimed, "o lord, avenge me on these tyrants!" the old woman had hardly ceased speaking when the voice of some unseen being was heard above her saying, "o woman, fly quickly from this spot, for the anger of god is advancing upon the king." in horror she got up and fled in all haste. again she heard the voice saying, "o woman, look behind you at the palace." she looked behind her and saw the palace, the king, and all his ministers and servants engulfed in the bowels of the earth by the will of god. and to this day that place vomits fire and smoke as a mark and a warning. in the kitab tarykh it is told that in ancient times under the kings of persia named moah, who followed the rules of justice, men were happy. but after these kings, izdegherd-ibn-chahryar reigned over persia. by his harsh tyranny he destroyed the high reputation of the kings of persia and wretchedly closed a series of reigns lasting , years and noted all over the world for justice and equity. under the rule of this miserable tyrant countless numbers of men perished and a great many prosperous and famous cities were devastated. all the better classes of citizens were plunged into the most frightful distress and the most lamentable desolation, and it would be impossible to tell how great and wide-spread was the mourning. now while all were groaning in affliction the king made merry. one day in his presumptuous pride he assembled his ministers and his generals to show his royal power and his domination over the people. he was seated on his throne, surrounded by a crowd of courtiers, when suddenly a beautiful horse crossing the city at a gallop went straight into the palace of the king, among the ministers and the grandees. they all admired the beautiful horse, the like of which none had ever seen. nobody dared to seize him as he pranced from right to left. suddenly the horse approached the throne and laid down at the feet of the king. the king patted and stroked him, and the horse never moved. then the wicked king began to laugh and said: "o my ministers, you see how far my greatness goes. it is only at my throne that this wonderful horse has stopped. i will mount and ride him on the esplanade." the king ordered a saddle brought, and was placing it on the horse with his own hands, when he received such a kick over the heart that he was immediately killed. then the wonderful horse vanished, and no one saw where it went. the people all rejoiced and said, "of a truth, this mysterious horse was one of the angels of god sent to exterminate a tyrant." it was in the time of this king, and by his tyranny, that the kingdom of the sovereign of persia was ruled and fell into the hands of another people. king khochtacab, the most celebrated of all the kings of his time, by his power, greatness, and magnificence, had raised in rank a man named rassat rouchin, a name which in persia signifies "sincere and brilliant." influenced by this fine name, the king forgot all prudence, and without any proof of his capacity he raised this man to power and made him minister, turning over to him the care of the most important affairs in his kingdom and giving him all his confidence. his ostensible conduct was irreproachable, and his acts had for everybody the appearance of honesty and truth. one day the minister rassat rouchin said to the king: "the people, on account of our leniency and goodness, are forgetting their duty, and are showing no more deference nor respect we must inspire them with fear, or affairs will not prosper." the king in his blind confidence responded, "do whatever you think is right." as soon as the minister had come from the palace of the king he addressed a proclamation to the towns and villages in which he said: "his majesty is irritated with his subjects. you must all come with presents to appease his anger." from all sides arrived princes and ministers and grandees of the realm, with precious and magnificent objects. seized with fear they sought counsel of the minister rassat rouchin. "how," said they, "dare we present ourselves before his majesty in his present state of anger against us?" then the minister responded: "if the instant of death is not yet come for you, i will try to save you. i tremble to admit you to the king. but what can i do? on account of the critical situation i will go alone before the king and present your case." so every day he conducted them only as far as the door of the king. there they were told of the fines to which they had been condemned. he took in this way what they had, and sent them home. this sort of thing continued for a long while until the means of the people were exhausted and the treasury became absolutely empty. the king, always full of confidence in the uprightness of the minister, was in complete ignorance of all this. but at that time there was a king who was an enemy of king khochtacab. when he learned that the subjects of the latter were suffering cruelly from the oppression of his minister and that his generals were weakened by hunger, he took heart and invaded the kingdom. then king khochtacab commanded that his treasury should be opened, and that they should take out all the wealth to gratify the army, gain the hearts of the generals, and defray the expenses of the war. but he found that there was nothing left in the treasury. the army, weakened, was incapable of resisting. the king, shut up in his fort, found it impossible to attack the enemy, and they ravaged and despoiled the kingdom. the king, having been considered so great, was cruelly wounded by shame at his defeat. he knew not which way to turn his steps. his soul was profoundly troubled. one day, when he had gone forth from the city, wandering at random through plain and forest, he saw a shepherd's hut in the distance, at the door of which were two dogs hanging by the neck. seeing the king, the shepherd approached and led him to his hovel and served him with the best food he could afford. but the king said: "i shall not eat until you have told me why you have hanged these two dogs at your cabin-door." the shepherd responded: "o king of the world, i hanged these two dogs because they betrayed my flock. as my flock was wasting away, i hid one day to see what took place. the wolf came and the dogs played with him and let him carry off sheep and goats. so i hanged the two dogs as faithless traitors." the king returned to the city and thought over this singular story. "it is a lesson for me," he said, "a revelation. it is impossible not to see that my subjects are the flock and i am the shepherd, while my minister has acted like the shepherd's dogs, and the enemy who has my kingdom is the wolf. i must examine into the conduct of my minister and see with what fidelity he has served me." when he had returned to the palace he called his secretaries and bade them bring the registers in which the accounts of the kingdom were kept. when these registers were opened he saw that they mentioned only the name of the minister rassat rouchin, and included such statements as: "intercession of rassat rouchin in favor of princes so and so, ministers such and such, and grandees this and that, who ask pardon for their faults. rassat rouchin took their treasures and granted them grace." there was nothing else in the registers. when the king saw this he said: "who rests his faith upon a name goes often without bread, while he who faithless proves for bread shall lose his soul instead." these words the king had engraved in letters of gold and fastened to the gate. and at this gate he had the false minister hanged as the dogs were hanged at the cabin-door. a king of persia, in a fit of anger against his wife for a certain fault which she had committed, commanded his prime minister to put her to death, together with her nursing infant. the minister, on account of the furious anger of the king, did not dare to plead the queen's cause, but took her to his mother's house. the minister found another woman who had been condemned to death and had her executed, telling the king that it was the queen who was beheaded. the king's child grew and nourished until he had become a handsome young man. but the king grew more and more morose and melancholy, and shut himself up in the palace. the minister, noticing this continual sadness of the king, said: "o king of the world, what has come over the heart of your majesty? pray tell me the cause of your sorrow." and the king said: "o minister, how should i not be sad and disturbed? here i am getting old and i have no son to cause my name to live and protect my kingdom. that is the cause of my sorrow and unhappiness." when the minister heard these words he said, "o king of the world, your sorrow shall not long endure, for you have a son, capable of preserving and protecting your kingdom. this son of yours has intelligence, education, natural gifts, and great personal beauty, and is of most excellent character." the king said, "where is this son of whose existence i have been unaware?" the minister answered, "your majesty is not aware of his existence, but i know that he is very much alive." the minister then related how he had spared the lives of the queen and her child. the king was transported with joy, and cried, "happy the king who has such a minister!" the minister bowed low and said, "when shall your son, the prince, present himself?" the king answered: "go seek forty young men of his age, build, figure, and complexion. have them all dressed alike. bring these forty young men with my son to a certain place in the plain. await me there, but tell not this secret to a soul. when i have arrived at the spot then cause these forty young men to present themselves before me. if my son is among them i shall most certainly recognize him." the minister took leave of the king, and with a heart filled with joy set about doing what the king had ordered. when the king had arrived at the spot chosen his minister advanced, followed by forty-one youths, all dressed alike. as soon as the king had seen them he recognized his son and called him to his side. then he went back to the city with him and all the grandees. the next day he invited the latter to a great festival, and gave to each of them a splendid present. he turned over his kingdom to his son, taking care to place him and his government under the tutelage of the good minister who had saved his wife and brought him up. then the king went into a religious retreat, and as long as he lived occupied himself in the service of god. the sultan alexander, called the two-horned, at the beginning of his reign sent an ambassador to king darius, who was then at the zenith of his greatness. on his return, this ambassador made his report to king alexander. the latter read it, but had doubts over a certain word therein contained. he questioned his ambassador about the word, saying, "did you hear that exact word from the mouth of king darius?" the ambassador replied, "i heard it with my own ears." king alexander, not being able to believe it, wrote a second letter, mentioning this word, and despatched to king darius another ambassador, charged to deliver it. when king darius, reading the letter of king alexander, came to this special word, he took a knife and cut it out, then wrote a letter to king alexander, in which he said: "the sincerity of the soul of the king is the foundation of his realm and his greatness. his words, therefore, should be faithfully transmitted and reproduced by his ambassador. i have cut out of your letter a certain word, because it was never pronounced by me. and if your former ambassador were only here i would cut out his lying tongue even as i have cut out the word from your letter." when this answer of king darius's was borne to king alexander he read it and summoned before him the faithless ambassador. "why," said he, "were you willing, with a word, to cause the loss of many men and countries?" "because they showed me little deference and did not treat me well." king alexander said: "foolish man! and you thought that we sent you to look after your own personal interests, and neglect those of the nation?" he commanded that his tongue should be torn out, and made a proclamation, saying, "this is the fate of traitors who falsely report the words of kings." in the kitab tarykh the following is recounted: the sultan homayoun sent an ambassador to the king of khorassan. when this ambassador, on his arrival in the country, had delivered the letter of the sultan to the king, the latter asked: "how does your king conduct himself regarding his subjects? how does he govern them?" "the rule of conduct and the mode of government used by my king," answered the ambassador, "are to make himself loved by all his subjects." the king asked, "of what nature is the affection of your king for his subjects?" "that of a mother and father for their children and grandchildren." "in hard and calamitous times, how does your king conduct himself?" "he shows that he cares not for riches, for the door of his treasury is always open." "in the daily receptions how does your king behave?" "the receptions of my king resemble the gardens of paradise refreshed by sweet breezes and scented with the balmy breath of sweetly smelling plants or like a sea filled with pearls and corals." the king asked again, "and in council how speaks your king?" the ambassador answered, "all those who hear my king in council become wise if they lack wisdom, and brave if they lack courage." the king of khorassan was enchanted with the answers of the ambassador, loaded him with presents, and said to him: "the spirit and judgment of your king are reflected in the person of his ambassador. they should all be like you." and he addressed in answer to the sultan a letter filled with compliments and felicitations. in the kitab tarykh it is related that the sultan mahmoud was fond of his servant ayaz on account of the excellence of his wit and judgment. the other servants of the sultan were jealous of ayaz, and murmured against him. one day the ministers and grandees were in the presence of the sultan mahmoud, and ayaz was standing respectfully before him. someone brought a cucumber as a present to the sultan. the sultan sliced it and ate a morsel. he found it very bitter, but gave no sign of this. he handed a piece of it to ayaz, saying, "eat some of this cucumber and tell me how it tastes, so that the others present may eat some of it also, and tell us if they ever ate anything like it." ayaz saluted, and ate of the cucumber with an appearance of pleasure. "it is very good." the king made the others eat of it. they found that it was bitter, and were angry with ayaz, and asked how he dare to lie in such a manner. "it is true," said the sultan; "how could you say it was good?" ayaz answered with respect: "may the lord bless the king of the world! how many favors have you given me! how many sweet and savory dainties! how, then, could i make a wry face over one bitter morsel? i ought, on the contrary, to declare that the bitterness of this mouthful is completely annulled by the delicious sweetness of the others, so that your majesty shall continue to bestow dainties upon me as before." a certain king, vain of his royal power, had a servant who was very pious and a true believer, very punctilious in the practice of his religious duties. the king distinguished him above all the others as one in whom he could trust on account of the integrity of his heart. he had given him this order: "go not far away from here, day or night. keep close watch, and neglect not my service." the servant, after finishing his religious duties, took his post, where the king from time to time sent for him. but the king had need of him, and he was not to be found. they sent to look for him, but in vain, and the king grew very angry with him. finally the servant arrived and prostrated himself before the king. the latter, full of wrath, demanded: "why are you late? why don't you pay attention to my orders?" and he commanded that the man be punished, to make him more attentive to the king's service. but the servant replied, "if i am late, it is only on account of the great embarrassment in which i find myself placed." "what embarrassment? tell me." the servant, bowing low, spoke as follows: "my embarrassment comes from the fact that i have two masters to serve. the first is the true master, he who created the universe and the children of adam, whose punishments are very severe. the second is only the servant of the former, and not the true master. i am obliged to attend to the service of the true master before the service of the second. that is the embarrassment in which i find myself." when the king heard these words he shed abundant tears, and said: "from this day forth you are free. follow the service of the lord, and do not forget to pray for me." the servants of the king should love their king more than they love their own life, their mother, their father, their children, their grandchildren, their family, their riches, and all that belongs to them. in a word, for them the person of their king should be above all, so that one may call them true servants of the king, and that in all truth they may be termed his favorites. they tell the story that one day the sultan mahmoud ghazi (may grace be upon him!) was seated on his throne, surrounded by his ministers and his officers, among whom was ayaz. the sultan said to his treasurer: "go to the treasure-chamber. take to a certain place gold, silver, precious stones, and other objects of great value. for we are going there to amuse ourselves, and present these treasures to those who shall accompany us." one day the sultan started to go and amuse himself at that place, and as soon as the news spread abroad, a great number of people followed him there. when he arrived he halted at a spot level, clean, and well lighted, and said to his treasurer: "expose my treasures here, in this place, so that all those who are happy shall obtain a present according to their degree of happiness, and that one may know who are those who have the most luck and those who have the least." all hearing these words quickly approached, pressing forward, with their eyes wide open and their looks fixed on the treasurer, praying him to exhibit the presents at the designated place. at this very moment the sultan spurred his horse to a gallop and rode from their presence. when he was far away and out of their sight, he stopped and looked behind him. there he saw ayaz, the only one who had followed him. the others, preoccupied with getting their share of the treasures, never suspected that the sultan had gone and was already far away from them. the sultan, halting a moment, returned to the city. on their side, the ministers and the grandees, having taken possession of the most precious objects, returned joyfully to their homes. on the way they compared notes with each other about their shares of the treasure. one said, "i had the best luck"; and another, "no, i had the best." and all, whoever they were, said the same thing, for all except ayaz had their share of the king's presents. so they said among themselves, "it is clear that the one who has no luck is ayaz." some jealous ones added: "in truth, master ayaz has no luck at all. by his lack of intelligence and good judgment he has had none of the sultan's presents." ayaz heard all these remarks, but kept silence. some days later, the sultan came out of his palace and sat upon the throne. all the grandees came into his presence. ayaz was standing before him. the sultan asked: "who among you had no luck?" the ministers answered: "it is ayaz! he did not get a single one of your majesty's many presents. it is clear that he has no luck, for he left all those precious objects and came back with empty hands." the sultan said: "o ayaz, are our presents without value in your eyes, that you disdain them? i don't know why you took nothing that was within your grasp. you would have prevented them from saying that you have no luck. what was your motive in doing a thing that has the approbation of nobody?" ayaz responded: "may the days and prosperity of the king increase! may the presents never tarnish that he has given to his servants. as for me, i have more luck than those who received the presents of your majesty." the sultan said, "o ayaz, prove to me the truth of your words." ayaz responded: "if they found some part in the largesses which were given them, i found the author himself of those great gifts. if they found gold, i found the master of the gold. if others found silver, i found the master of silver. if others found precious stones, i found the master of precious stones. if others yet found some pearls, i found the ocean of pearls. who, therefore, o king of the world, among all those who vaunt themselves as having luck, has more than i have?" the sultan replied: "o ayaz, tell me what is the meaning of your words. where is all that which you say you found?" ayaz responded: "may the most high protect the person of the king of the world, more precious to me than all those objects of price! in whatever place may be his august person, there i am, and i thus obtain all that my heart desires. when i am with your majesty, and your majesty is with me, what do i lack? who, then, has more luck than i have?" one day the sultan alexander was plunged in sadness, and kept himself shut up in his palace. the wise aristotle came before him, and seeing him absorbed in sad thoughts, asked him: "why is the sultan so sad and what keeps him from going out of his palace?" the sultan alexander answered: "i am grieving at the thought of the smallness of this world, and of all the troubles i am giving myself and others for the sake of reigning over a world that is so little worth. it is the vanity of my works that renders me sad." aristotle replied: "the reflection of the sultan is just, for what, in truth, is the world? certainly it has not enough importance by itself that the sultan should occupy himself with a vain kingdom. but the government of this world is a mark of the sublime and eternal kingdom of the other world, and this kingdom the sultan can obtain by governing this present world with justice. your majesty must therefore give all his cares to the government of this world, to obtain finally in the other world a kingdom of which the greatness is beyond measure and the duration is eternal." the sultan alexander heard with pleasure the words of his wise counsellor. two qualities are essential to kings, generosity and magnanimity. when a minister remarks, in his king, sentiments unworthy of his rank, he should warn him of the fact, and should turn him from unworthy actions. they tell that a king, having made a gift of dirhems, his minister said to him: "i have heard from the mouth of wise men that it is not permitted to kings to make a present of less than , dirhems!" one day haroun-er-raschid made a gift of tahil. his minister, named yahya, made by signs and by gestures every effort to prevent him from doing this. when all those who had been present were gone, haroun-er- raschid said: "o yahya! what were you trying to do with all your signs?" the latter replied: "o prince of true believers! i was trying to say that kings should never let it be seen that they are capable of making presents of less than , dirhems." one day king mamoun-er-raschid heard his minister, named abbas, say to a servant, "go to the bazaar and buy something with this half-tahil." mamoun-er-raschid was angry with him and said: "you are capable of dividing a tahil in two! that is not proper in a minister; you are not worthy of the name," and he forthwith deposed him from office. in the kitab sifat-el-molouk it is related that the king chabour, giving his last instructions to his son, said as follows: "o my son! whenever you make a present to anyone, do not bestow it with your own hands. do not even examine or have brought into your own presence the gifts that you make. whenever you give a present, see that it be at least the equivalent of the revenue of a town in value, so that it will enrich the recipients, and make them and their children and grandchildren free from adversity. furthermore, my child, beware all your life of giving yourself up to operations of commerce in your kingdom. for this kind of affairs is unworthy a king who has greatness of character, prosperity, and birth." king harmuz received one day a letter from his minister in which he said: "many merchants being in town with a great quantity of jewels, pearls, hyacinths, rubies, diamonds, and other precious stones, i bought all they had for your majesty, paying , tahil. immediately afterward there arrived some merchants from another country who wanted to buy these and offered me a profit of , tahil. if the king consents i will sell the jewels, and later buy others." king harmuz wrote to his minister the following response: "what are , tahil? what are , tahil, profit included? is that worth talking about and making so much ado? if you are going into the operations of commerce who will look after the government? if you buy and sell, what will become of the merchants? it is evident that you would destroy thus our good renown, and that you are the enemy of the merchants of our kingdom, for your designs would ruin them. your sentiments are unworthy a minister." and for this he removed him from office. in the kitab sifat-el-houkama it is said: "there is a great diversity of inclinations among men. everyone has his own propensity. one is borne naturally toward riches, another toward patience and resignation, another toward study and good works. and in this world the humors of men are so varied that they all differ in nature. among this infinite variety of dispositions of soul, that which best suits kings and ministers is greatness of character, for that quality is the ornament of royalty. "one day the minister of the sultan haroun-er-raschid was returning from the council of state to his house when he was approached by a beggar who said: 'o yahya! misery brings me to you. i pray you give me something.' "when yahya had arrived at his house he made the beggar sit down at the door, and calling an attendant said to him: 'every day give this man , dinars, and for his food give him his part in the provisions consumed in your house.' "they say that for a month the beggar came every day and sat at yahya's door, and received the sum of , dinars. when he had received them at the end of the month, , dinars, the beggar went away. when informed of his departure, yahya said: 'by the lord! if he had not gone away, and had come to my door for the rest of his life, i should have given him the same daily ration.'" in the kitab tarykh the following is told: "there was once upon a time a persian king named khrosrou, remarkable among all the kings of persia for his power, his greatness of character, his goodness, and the purity of his morals. his wife, named chirine, was of a rare beauty, and no one at that time could be compared to her, for she possessed all the virtues. khrosrou passionately loved chirine, and among the books, famous in the world, which speak of loving couples, there is one called 'khrosrou and chirine.' one day khrosrou was seated in the palace with his wife chirine, when a fisherman brought in a fine fish as a present to khrosrou. the latter ordered them to give him a present of , dirhems. "'you are wrong,' said chirine. "'and why?' asked the king. "'if, in the future, you made one of your servants a present of , dirhems he will not fail to say forthwith, "i am considered as the equal of a fisherman." if your present is less than , dirhems, then necessarily he will say, "i am considered as being less than a fisherman," and your actions will sadden his heart.'" "khrosrou said: 'your observation is just. but i have spoken, and i cannot reverse what i have said, for it is shameful for a king to fail in keeping his word.' "chirine replied, 'never mind, i know a way, and no one can say that you broke your promise.' "'what is this way?' asked khrosrou. "chirine answered: 'put this question to the fisherman, "is this a fresh-water or a salt-water fish?" "'if he answers, "it is a fresh-water fish," say, "i want a salt-water one," and the contrary. then he will go away and you will be released from your foolish promise.'" "khrosrou, who by love of chirine could not help hearing her advice and following it, put the question to the fisherman. but the latter, suspecting a trap, said, 'it is both.' king khrosrou began to laugh, and gave him , dirhems in addition. "the fisherman, having received his , dirhems, put them in a sack and went away. on the journey, a dirhem fell to the ground, and the fisherman, lowering his sack, began to search for the dirhem that had fallen. when he found it, he placed it with the others and took up his march again. "khrosrou and chirine had both been witnesses of his action. chirine said to khrosrou: 'behold the baseness and the lack of judgment of the fisherman. he wearied himself to hunt for one dirhem when he had a sack full of them. recall him and do him shame.' "khrosrou, who from his love for chirine was incapable of resisting her words, and always obeyed them, recalled the fisherman and said to him: 'of a truth, you have a low soul, and possess neither judgment nor dignity. what! one of your , dirhems was lost and you deferred your journey until you had found it? that shows the baseness of your soul and your lack of judgment.' "the fisherman made obeisance and answered: 'may the prosperity of the king of the world increase! i sought not the dirhem on account of its money value, but only on account of the greatness and importance of the words engraved upon the coin. on one of its sides is written the name of god most high. on the other side is written the name of the king. had i not found the dirhem, and had left it on the ground, then people passing would have trodden upon it, and the two names inscribed upon it, and which ought to be glorified by all men, would have been despised and disgraced, and i would have been the accomplice of all the passers-by who trod upon it. that is why i took the trouble to find the dirhem.' "khrosrou was pleased with this answer and gave him still another , dirhems. the fisherman, filled with joy, took his , dirhems and returned to his home." a man had committed a serious offence against king haroun-er-raschid. condemned to death, he succeeded in escaping. but he had a brother. the king summoned the latter and said to him: "find your brother so that i may kill him. if you do not find him i will kill you in his place." this man not finding his brother, the king haroun-er-raschid ordered one of his servants to bring him to be killed. but this servant said: "o prince of believers! if the one who received the command to put this man to death brings him for that purpose and at the same time a messenger comes from your majesty with an order not to kill him, ought he not to release him?" king haroun-er-raschid answered, "he certainly ought to release him, on account of my orders." "o prince of believers," answered the servant, "the koran says, 'he who has a burden shall not bear another's.'" then the king said: "set the man free, for this must cover his case, and means that the innocent should not perish for the guilty." they tell that, a pundit appearing one day before the sultan ismail samani, king of the country of khorassan, the sultan received him with great distinction, and at his departure saluted him most respectfully and escorted him to the door, taking seven steps behind him. the next night he dreamed that the glorious prophet (with whom be peace!) spoke thus to him: "o ismail, because you honored one of my pundits, i will pray god that after you seven of your children and grandchildren shall become great and glorious kings." they say that for many years the kingdom of khorassan flourished under the paternal government of the successors of this sultan. the sultan abdallah tlahir, as soon as he had taken possession of the throne of khorassan, received the homage of a large number of his subjects. at the end of several days he asked, "is there anyone of distinction in the country who has not come to present himself before me?" they told him, "there are two persons that have not come, one named ahmed arab, and the other named mahomet islam. but these two men never present themselves before kings and ministers." the sultan replied, "since they will not come to find kings and ministers, i must go to them." so one day the sultan repaired to the house of ahmed arab. the latter, immediately arising, remained standing a long time facing the sultan. then regarding him fixedly he said to him: "o sultan, i had heard tell of your beauty, and i now see that they spoke the truth. make not of that body the embers of hell." saying this he returned to his prayers. the sultan abdallah tlahir went away from the sheik's house weeping. he then betook himself to the house of mahomet islam. at the news that the sultan was coming to see him, the sheik shut the door of his house, saying: "i ought not to see him. i ought not to speak to him." the sultan departed in tears and said: "friday, when the sheik goes to the mosque i will go to him." when friday came he was on horseback, surrounded by soldiers, awaiting the arrival of the sheik. as soon as he perceived him, he dismounted, approached him on foot, and saluted him. the sheik asked: "who are you? what do you want of me?" the sultan answered: "it is i, abdallah tlahir. i have come to see the sheik." the latter, turning away his face, said to the sultan, "what connection is there between you and me?" the sultan fell at the feet of the sheik, in tears, in the middle of the highway, and, invoking god the most high, spoke as follows, "o lord, forgive my faults, on account of the many virtues of this faithful sheik." and he was forgiven and became a good man. the imam el-chafei (may mercy be with him!), going from the city of jerusalem to the country of egypt, halted in a town called ramla. one of the inhabitants of this town took him into his house and entertained him with many attentions. the companions of the imam el-chafei perceived that he felt a certain inquietude, but none of them knew the reason for it. the more the master of the house showered his attentions and civilities, the more disturbed the imam seemed to be. finally at the moment when the imam was mounting his horse to continue his journey, the master of the house arrived and put a writing into his hands. on reading this, the imam lost his worried air, and, giving orders to pay the man thirty dinars, he went on his way rejoicing. one of his companions asked him: "why were you so disturbed? what did the writing say? and why did you show so much joy in reading it?" the imam el-chafei answered: "when our host took us to his house i noticed that his face lacked the characteristic signs of honesty. but as he treated us so well i began to think perhaps i was mistaken in judging him. but when i read the writing he handed me i saw it was as follows: 'while the imam has been here i have spent on him ten dinars. he ought therefore to pay me back twenty.' so then i knew that i had made no error in reading his character, and was pleased at my skill." the story is told that one day as the prophet solomon was seated on his royal throne, surrounded by men, spirits, and birds, two women came before him, each claiming possession of a child. these two women kept saying, "it is my child," but neither could give proof. all their arguments amounting to nothing, the prophet solomon commanded that the child should be cut in two, and that each woman should take half. when the executioner advanced, drawing his sword, one of the women bursting into sobs cried out in anguish: "o prophet solomon, don't kill the child. give it to this woman, it is all i ask!" as the murder of the child never drew a tear nor a movement of anxiety from the other woman, solomon commanded them to give it to the woman who had wept, because her tears proved her to be the true mother, and that the child belonged to her, and not to the other woman. thus did king solomon show his wisdom in judging character. o you who are magnificent! listen, i pray you, and hear to what degree of sublimity generosity is lifted. in the kitab adab-is-selathin it is said that two qualities were given by god in all their perfection to two men--justice to sultan nouchirvau, king of persia, and generosity to a subject of an arab sultan named hatim-thai. the author of that work says that in the time of hatim-thai there were three kings celebrated throughout the whole world, and rivals in showing the perfection of generosity--the king of roum, the king of syria, and the king of yemen. but as none of them was as famous as hatim-thai, they became jealous of him and united in hostility toward him. they said: "we are the kings of vast countries, and shall we suffer a simple subject of an arab sultan to be counted as more generous than we are?" and each of these kings thought to try hatim-thai and destroy him. the first of the three who attempted the undertaking was the king of roum. this king said to one of his ministers: "o minister, i hear tell that there is among the arabs a man named hatim-thai, and that he is reputed the most generous man in the world. i am displeased that my name is not as noted for generosity as his. i want to make a proof and see if his fame is true or false. i have heard that hatim-thai possesses a horse which he loves as he does his own soul. well, we will ask him to give us this beloved horse." the minister sent an envoy, with suitable presents and a letter to give to hatim-thai. he arrived in a great storm of wind and rain which permitted no one to attend to his affairs abroad. it was already night, and hatim-thai had made no preparations to receive a guest, but he received the stranger with the marks of the highest respect and greatest cordiality. "what need brings you here to-night?" he asked. "nothing but to visit you," replied the envoy, and he never mentioned that evening his mission from the king of roum. as there was nothing in the house to eat, hatim-thai killed his favorite horse and served it for his guest's supper. as soon as it was day, the envoy presented the gifts and the letter from the king of roum. when he read the passage in the letter where the king asked for the horse which had just been killed, hatim-thai turned pale and could not say a word. the envoy, observing him in this state, imagined that he regretted the gift of his horse, and said: "o hatim-thai, if it is not with pleasure that you give your horse to my master, think no more about it, and let me return to my country." hatim-thai answered: "o envoy of the king of roum! if i had a thousand horses like that one i should give them all without a moment's hesitation. but last night i asked you the motive which brought you hither, and you said it was merely to visit me. so i killed the horse for your food, and that is why i am afflicted with sorrow at my lack of foresight." he sent the envoy back home with many other horses as a gift. the envoy told the whole story and the king of roum said: "the renown of hatim-thai is deserved; he is the most generous of men." he made an alliance of friendship with him, and the fame of hatim-thai grew apace. the second one who tested hatim-thai's generosity was the king of syria. he said: "how can hatim-thai, who lives in the woods and the plains, occupied in pasturing goats, camels, and horses, be more generous than so great a king as i? i will put him to the proof. i will ask rich presents that he cannot give, and he will be shamed and humiliated before kings and peoples." so the king of syria sent an envoy to hatim-thai to ask for red camels with long manes, black eyes, and very tall. camels of this sort are hard to find, only kings having four or five. when the envoy had arrived he told hatim-thai what the king of syria asked of him. hatim- thai was full of joy hearing the words of the envoy, and hastened to regale him bountifully with food and drink. then he searched among his camels, but found none such as the king of syria desired. he ordered search to be made among the peoples of his nation, arabs and bedouins, offering a large price. by the will of god a bedouin succeeded in finding , and hatim-thai asked only the delay of one month in payment. the envoy returned home with the red camels and many other presents. seeing them, the king of syria was struck with astonishment and cried: "behold, we wished only to test hatim-thai, and now he has gone into debt to satisfy our desire. yes, truly he is the most generous man in the world." he commanded them to send back to hatim-thai the red camels loaded with magnificent presents. as soon as they arrived, hatim-thai summoned the owner and gave him the camels with all their burden of riches, without keeping anything for himself. when the envoy, returning home again, recounted all these things, the king of syria marvelled and exclaimed: "no one can equal hatim-thai. he is generosity itself, in all its perfection." the third king, that is, the king of yemen, was very generous, and wanted no one to rival him in this particular. so when he heard of the fame of hatim-thai for generosity, he was vexed and full of sorrow. he said: "how can that poor hatim equal in generosity a great king like me? i give alms to the poor, i feed them, and every day i give them clothing. how is it possible that anyone can dare to mention the name of hatim-thai in my presence as the most generous of men?" now, at that time an ambassador of the king of maghreb arrived at the court of the king of yemen, who spoke of the wonderful generosity of hatim-thai. he felt as if his heart was burning, but did not let his grief appear, and said to himself: "everybody repeats the praises of hatim, one after another, without knowing exactly who he is, of what birth, and what are the means which permit him thus to give hospitality. i shall cause him to perish." the king of yemen summoned a bedouin, a bandit celebrated for his ferocity, without pity for the life of a man. the bedouin arrived, and the king gave him gold, silver, and clothing. "o bedouin," he said to him, "if you will perform an affair for us, we will give you whatever you ask." the bedouin answered: "o my lord, king of the world, what is your majesty's will?" the king of yemen replied: "there is a man named hatim-thai, of the tribe of thai, on the confines of syria. go to this country, and employ all the tricks you can to kill him. when you have killed him bring me his head. if you succeed in doing as i wish, whatever you ask, it shall be given you." these words of the king filled with joy the bedouin's heart. he said to himself: "here is a good piece of work. for an old tattered cloak i will kill a man. why then should i hesitate a moment for a superb cloak of scarlet?" taking leave of the king, the bedouin set out promptly and went toward syria in search of hatim-thai. after a while he arrived at a village near to syria, and there he met a young man of a rare beauty. his face bore the marks of virtue, his language was full of sweetness and affability, his soul was righteous, and his heart compassionate. he asked the bedouin where he was going. the latter answered, "i am from the country of yemen, and am going to syria." the young man replied: "o my brother! i wish you would do me the favor to rest for a day and a night in my house, and i will do the best to entertain you. after that you shall go on your journey when you wish." the bedouin heard these words with pleasure, and went into the young man's house. there he was treated magnificently and regaled so lavishly that he thought he had never seen and eaten so much. he slept peacefully all night. at dawn he said farewell, eager to gain the end of his journey. the young man said to him: "o my brother, if it is possible, stay two or three days longer, i beg you, so that by my hospitality i may show all the sincere affection that my heart feels for you." the bedouin replied: "o my brother, truly would i remain some time longer here, had i not a most important and delicate mission to fulfil. it is impossible for me to stay and enjoy myself here, while i have not yet accomplished my errand." the young man answered: "o my brother, what is this difficult and delicate affair which prevents you from staying here? if you will tell me, doubtless i shall find some means of coming to your aid, and lightening the burden which weighs so heavily upon your heart. but, now, what can i do since you tell me nothing?" hearing these words, the bedouin kept silence. he said to himself: "this affair is not easy to execute. it might be of use for me to have a prudent and discreet companion to confer with him about it. perhaps i should do well to talk of it to this young man and ask his advice." and nevertheless he dared not yet trust his secret, and his perplexity was written on his countenance. he could not utter a single word, and remained very anxious. the young man observing the state of the bedouin said to him: "o servant of god, your embarrassment is evident; you fear to open your heart to me. god alone, in truth, knows the secrets of his servants. but, in your present situation, it may be that i can be of some benefit to you." the bedouin, hearing these words of the young man, said to him: "o my loyal friend, know then that i am an arab-bedouin of the country of yemen; that of all the bedouins of arabia there is not one so wicked nor so great a thief as i, and that my fame as a bandit is celebrated throughout all yemen. the king, having resolved upon a wicked deed, ordered his minister to find a man capable of performing it. as i had the reputation of being the greatest bandit of the country of yemen, i was summoned to the presence of the king. as soon as his majesty saw me he loaded me with presents and said: 'if you do as i wish i will give you many more presents of gold and silver and other magnificent things.' i replied, 'o my lord, king of the world, what is this affair?' 'you must go and kill a man named hatim-thai, who lives on the confines of syria.' to this i replied: 'o my lord, king of the world, i am only a bedouin, a poor robber, wandering in the forests and the plains. for drink i have but the brackish water of the marshes. for food i have only rats and locusts.' on account of my wretchedness, i obeyed the wishes of the king, and promised to execute this affair. but here i am, in a very embarrassing situation, for i do not know this hatim-thai, and i don't even know where his tribe is, the ben-thai." the young man, hearing these words, began to laugh, and said: "o my brother, be not disturbed. i know this hatim-thai, and i will show him to you." these words rejoiced the bedouin. the young man continued: "o my brother, know that the tribe of ben-thai inhabit this village, and that the man named hatim-thai is himself in this tribe. if you will follow exactly what i indicate to you, you will certainly accomplish your mission." the bedouin answered: "o my brother, i place my life in your hands. what must be done?" the young man answered: "o my brother, there is a place where hatim- thai goes for recreation. it is an extremely deserted place, which no one ever visits. when he gets there he eats, drinks, and then he sleeps, his head covered with a cloth, and his horse tied near by. you will arrive at that moment, you will promptly execute the wish of the king, you will jump upon the horse and dash away from this place and go wherever you like." the young man went then to show the place to the bedouin, and giving him a poniard with two edges well sharpened, he said: "o my brother, to-morrow hatim-thai will come to this spot. forget nothing that you have to do." all the instruction of the young man were followed by the bedouin. early in the morning hatim-thai repaired to the designated place. he ate, he drank, and when he had finished his repast he tied his horse near by. then, covering his head with a cloth, he fell fast asleep. at this very moment the wicked bedouin arrived. by the will of god, just as he was about to assassinate the young man, a thought came into his heart. "hatim-thai is celebrated throughout the whole world for his generosity and his benevolence. before i kill him, while he is still alive, i want to see his face." and he raised the cloth that covered his head. at the sight of the countenance of the sleeping young man he fell at his feet and covered them with kisses, saying: "o my friend! what have you done? you ought not to act thus!" hearing these words of the bedouin, the young man said: "what could i do? for the one called hatim-thai is i. the head that the king of yemen wants is mine. what other means could i employ?" he conducted the bedouin to his house, regaled him again, and gave him all he needed. then the bedouin took leave and returned to his country. as soon as he arrived in yemen, he went before the king and recounted all the circumstances relative to hatim-thai. having heard the story the king shed tears, and said: "of a truth, hatim-thai is liberal, benevolent, and noble, brave and generous." afterward the king of yemen made a friendship with hatim-thai that lasted as long as his life. when the sultan yakoub invaded khorassan and besieged the capital, the sultan mahomet, shut up in the city, made such a strong resistance that for a long time it was impossible to capture the place. but his ministers betrayed him by sending to sultan yakoub letters which showed how it might be taken. one only of these ministers, named ibrahim hadjib, abstained from sending any traitorous letters, and remained faithful to his master. after a while the city was taken and sultan yakoub ascended the throne. then all the most important people of the country came to pay homage to him. the ministers who had betrayed the former sultan were conspicuous in their demonstrations of joy. the sultan yakoub gave a pleasant reception to those who came, and made them suitable gifts. after this he asked, "who has not come to present himself before me on this day of rejoicing?" the ministers immediately answered, "ibrahim hadjib is the only one who has not come to present his congratulations." then the sultan asked, "why has he not done so? is he ill?" "no," they answered, "he is not ill." the sultan summoned ibrahim hadjib, and the latter came into the royal presence. the sultan, observing on his countenance evident marks of care and sorrow, spoke thus to him: "ibrahim hadjib, are you the minister in whom the sultan mahomet placed his confidence?" he replied in the affirmative. "from what motive, ibrahim hadjib, did you keep silence, and send me no word of advice while the ministers of sultan mahomet, now here, sent many letters to show me how to capture the city? why did you refrain from appearing before me at court to-day, at the same time with the ministers and grandees? why, now that you are here, are you the only one to wear a sad and mournful appearance and a long face, while all the others show their joy? to all these questions you must truthfully respond. and if you speak not the truth you shall be put to death." "if the sultan wishes to hear the language of truth and will not be vexed by it, i will reply to each of his questions. to the first question, why i sent no letter betraying my king, i will say: know, sultan, that the sultan mahomet was the king of this country; that he gave me many presents and had full confidence in me, thinking that in the moment of danger i would be his companion and his counsellor. how could i, then, betray him? i knew you not, and had received no benefits from you. would it have been just for me to send you letters and cause the fall of one who had been so bountiful to me?" "your words are just and true," said the sultan yakoub. ibrahim hadjib continued: "as to the question why i abstained from presenting myself at court to-day, and why i wore so sorrowful a face, i answer: know that i could not present myself before the sultan, because he was the enemy of my master and benefactor, and brought about the ruin of my lord. that is why i wore a sad face in your presence. beside, the children and grandchildren of my lord are plunged in grief and anxiety, and how could i be happy in your presence, like these hypocrites, who are very different elsewhere? i have told the truth." when the sultan yakoub had heard these words of ibrahim hadjib, he cried: "god be praised! up to this time i have heard tell of ministers, i have seen many kinds, but never have i seen nor heard of a minister like this one. now, only for the first time have i seen a true minister and listened to the words of truth." the sultan yakoub loaded ibrahim hadjib with favors, made him prime minister, and gave him the name of father. as for the other ministers, he caused them to perish, with their whole families. then he published this proclamation: "behold the fate of those who are faithless to their promises and commit treason toward their king, for they cannot be counted as men." proofreaders transcriber's note: the spelling inconsistencies of the original have been retained in this e-text. iranian influence on moslem literature, part i by m. inostranzev translated from the russian, with supplementary appendices from arabic sources by g. k. nariman general contents. chapter i. arabic writers as sources of sasanian culture chapter ii. parsi clergy preserve tradition chapter iii. ethico-didactic books of arabs exclusively of iranian origin chapter iv. iranian components of arabic _adab_ literature chapter v. pahlavi books studied by arab authors chapter vi. arab translators from pahlavi chapter vii. pahlavi rushnar nameh appendices (by the translator). appendix i. independent zoroastrian princes of tabaristan after arab conquest appendix ii. iranian material in mahasin wal masawi and mahasin wal azdad appendix iii. burzoe's introduction appendix iv. the trial of afshin, a disguised zoroastrian general appendix v. noeldeke's introduction to tabari appendix vi. letter of tansar to the king of tabaristan appendix vii. some arab authors and the iranian material they preserve:-- the uyunal akhbar of ibn qotaiba jahiz: kitab-al-bayan wal tabayyin hamza ispahani tabari dinawari ibn al athir masudi shahrastani ibn hazm ibn haukal appendix viii. ibn khallikan mustawfi muqadasi thaalibi preface the facile notion is still prevalent even among musalmans of learning that the past of iran is beyond recall, that the period of its history preceding the extinction of the house of sasan cannot be adequately investigated and that the still anterior dynasties which ruled vaster areas have left no traces in stone or parchment in sufficient quantity for a tolerable record reflecting the story of iran from the iranian's standpoint. this fallacy is particularly hugged by the parsis among whom it was originally lent by fanaticism to indolent ignorance. it has been credited with uncritical alacrity, congenial to self-complacency, that the arabs so utterly and ruthlessly annihilated the civilization of iran in its mental and material aspects that no source whatever is left from which to wring reliable information about zoroastrian iran. the following limited pages are devoted to a disproof of this age-long error. for a connected story of persia prior to the battle of kadisiya, beside the byzantine writers there is abundant material in armenian and chinese histories. these mines remain yet all but unexplored for the moslem and parsi, although much has been done to extract from them a chronicle of early christianity. the archaeology of iran, as i have shown elsewhere, can provide vital clue to an authentic resuscitation of sasanian past. pre-moslem epigraphy of persia is yet in little more than an inchoate condition. not only all central asia but the territories marching with the indian and persian frontiers, where persecution of the elder faith could not have been relatively mild, the population professing islam have been unable to abjure in their entirety rites and practices akin to those of zoroastrianism. within living memory the inhabitants of pamir would not blow out a candle or otherwise desecrate fire. while science cannot recognise the claims of any individual professing to have studied esoteric zoroastrianism hidden in the hill tracts of rawalpindi, the myth has a value in that it indicates the direction in which humbler and uninspired scholars may work. these regions and far beyond, teem with pure iranian place-names to this day; and you meet in and around even the peshawar district individuals bearing names of old iranian heroes which, if the theory of persecution-mongers be correct, would be an anathema to the bigoted followers of muhammad. * * * * * it is, above all, arabic literature which upsets the easy fiction of total destruction of iranian culture by the arabs. in its various departments of history, geography and general science arabic works incorporate extensive material for a history of iranian civilization, while arabic poetry abounds in references to zoroastrian iran. the former is illustrated by professor inostranzev's pioneer russian essay of which the main body of this book is a translation. the appendices are intended to be supplementary and to be at once a continuation and a possible key--continuation of the researches of the russian scholar and key to the contemned store-house of arabic letters. professor inostranzev is in little need of introduction to english scholars. he has already been made known in india by the indefatigable shams-ul-ulma dr. jivanji modi, ph.d., c.i.e., who got translated, and commented on, his russian paper on the curious _astodans_ or receptacles for human bones discovered in the persian gulf region. he shares with professor browne of cambridge and the great m. blochet a unique scholarly position: he combines an intimate knowledge of avesta civilization with a familiarity with classical arabic. it is not wilfully to ignore the claims of goldziher, brockelmann or sachau or the dutch savants de goeje and van vloten. deeply as they investigated arabic writings, it was m. inostranzev who first revealed to us the worth of arabic: he unearthed chapters embedded in arabic books which are paraphrase or translation of pahlavi originals. he had but one predecessor and that was a countryman of his, baron rosen. * * * * * in preparing the appendices, which are there to testify to the value of arabic literature especially the annals and the branch of it called adab, i have availed myself of the courtesy of various institutions and individuals. bombay, perhaps the wealthiest town in the east where prosperous musalmans form a most important factor of its population, has not one public library containing any tolerable collection of arabic books edited in europe. time after time wealthy parsis whose interest i enlisted have received from me lists of books to form the nucleus of an arabic library but apparently they need some further stimulus to appreciate how indispensable arabic is for research into iranian antiquities. the bombay government have expended enormous sums in collecting sanskrit manuscripts--a most laudable pursuit--and have published a series of admirable texts edited by some of the eminent sanskrit scholars, western and indian. but the numerous moslem anjumans do not appear to have demonstrated to the greatest moslem power in the world, or its representative in bombay, the necessity of a corresponding solicitude for arabic and persian treasures which undoubtedly exist, though to a lesser extent, in the presidency. and what holds true of bombay holds good in case of the rest of india. some of the libraries in upper india in hyderabad, rampur, patna, calcutta possess along with manuscript material cheap mutilated egyptian reprints of magnificent texts brought out in leiden, paris and leipzig. nowhere in india is available to a research scholar a complete set of european publications in arabic, which a few thousand rupees can purchase. the state of affairs is due to moslem apathy, politics claiming a disproportionate share of their civic energy, to government indifference and to some extent parsi supineness and prejudice which, despite the community's vaunted advancement, has failed to estimate at its proper worth their history as enshrined in the language of the pre-judged arab. moulvi muhammad ghulam rasul surti, of bombay, himself a scholar, lent me from his bookshop expensive works which few private students could afford to buy. no western book-seller could have conceived a purer love of learning or a gaze less rigidly fixed on "business". sir john marshall, director general of archaeology in india, continued very kindly to permit me use of books after i had severed official connection with his library at simla. dr. spooner who acted for him obligingly saw that as far as he was concerned no facilities were incontinently withdrawn from me at benmore. i have particularly to thank the librarian of the imperial library, calcutta, who not only posted me books in his charge but went out of his way to procure me others. mrs. besant and her wealthy adherents have created at adyar the atmosphere associated with the ashramas and the seats of learning in ancient india so finely described by chinese travellers. the oriental library there is unsurpassed by any institution in british or indian ruled india. it is to be wished in the interests of pure scholarship that some one succeeds--i did not--in prevailing on the president of the theosophical society to lend books to scholars who may not be equal to the exertion of daily travelling seven miles from madras to adyar. her insistence on a rigid imitation of british museum rules in india, mainly because so many of the theosophical fraternity cut out pages and chapters from books once allowed to be borrowed by them, inflicts indiscriminate penalty on honest research and seals up against legitimate use books nowhere else to be found in india. i reserve for the second part of this book some observations on the russian language with reference to orientalism, and arabic and persian literatures in particular. only after the outbreak of the war some interest has been aroused in england in matters russian generally and a number of grammars and dictionaries and other aids to the study of this most difficult language have recently been placed on the market for the use of students who only a brief three years ago had to depend mainly on german for acquisition of russian. this neglect of russian is wholly undeserved. it is doubtful if the researches into oriental histories and literatures by the russians have been yet adequately appreciated in england, the tireless efforts of dr. pollen and the anglo-russian literary society notwithstanding. it is apparently still presumed that ripe scholarship in arabic and sanskrit is inconceivable except through the medium of the languages of western europe. no unworthy disparagement of french labours is at all suggested. but it is only fair to russia to remember in india that the absence of a serg d'oldenberg would leave a lacuna which must be felt in buddhist sanskrit; without tzerbatski the jain literature both magadhi and sanskrit would be appreciably poorer; and that the continent has produced nothing to exceed the series of buddhist sanskrit texts of petrograd, where was published the still largest sanskrit lexicon. naturally in the province of chinese and japanese the russian academy at vladivostock stood _facile princeps_ till only the other day its magnificent rival was established in london under the direction of dr. denison ross. an individual scholar like khanikoff, who like most of his countrymen in the last century preferred to write in french, and a zukovski has done more signal service to persian antiquities than could be honestly attributed to many a german name familiar to indian scholars. the distinguishing feature of the russian investigator, devoted to the past of persia, is his uncommon equipment. the russian bring to their task a mature study of semitic languages and acquaintance with avesta philology. arabic literature teems with allusions to the religions, dogma, customs and the court of sasanian iran. once intended for contemporaries equally at home in the arabic and persian idioms these references have in course of time grown obscure to copyists who have mutilated iranian names of persons and places and specific zoroastrian terms which had become naturalised in the language of the ruling arabs. it is scholars like baron rosen and rosenberg who have adequately appreciated the value of arabic texts in which are interwoven verbal translations of celebrated pahlavi treatises. two such have been disinterred by the industry and erudition of inostranzev. this is the first book to be translated from russian into english by an indian and the obvious difficulties of the task may be pleaded to excuse some of the shortcomings of a pioneer undertaking. i look for my reward in on awakened interest in arabic books which hold in solution more information on persia than any set work on the history of iran. it would not be in place to advert to the present state of hapless chaos in persia. the most sympathetic outsider, however, cannot help observing that her misfortunes are less due to her neighbours and their mutual relations than to her too rapid political strides and adoption of exotic administrative machinery repugnant to the genius of the ancient nation. whatever the attitude of individual mullas towards non-moslems in the past the central authority and the people as a whole are actuated to-day with a spirit of patriotism which is still the keynote of the character of persia's noble manhood and womanhood. it declines to make religion the criterion of kinship. the inconsistency in the spelling of arabic words has not altogether been avoidable being due partly to a desire to adhere to the orthography adopted by authors whom i have consulted. simla, g.k. nariman. september, . chapter i iranian literary tradition in the opening centuries of islam the character of the persian history during the sasanian epoch importance of this epoch according to the arab writers of the first centuries of islam the position of the parsi community and the centres of the preservation of persian tradition during the period of the khalifat in tabaristan, khorasan and fars the castle of shiz in the district of arrajan in the province of fars described by istakhri, p. , - ; , - ; ibn hauqal, p. , - ; cf. the translator of the _khoday nameh_, behram, son of mardanshah of the city of shapur in the province of fars this castle was the residence of those acquainted with the iranian tradition (the _badhgozar_) and here their archives were lodged _arabic writers as sources of sasanian culture_. to the iranian element belongs a very rich rôle in the external as well as the internal history of islam. its influence is obvious and constant in the history of the moslem nations' spread over centuries. whenever the circumstances have been favourable it has been clearly manifest; when the conditions have been hostile it is not noticeable at the first glance but in reality has been of great consequence. the causes of this are very complicated. and it is necessary on account of its universal value to examine a wide concatenation of facts. but from a general point of view there is no doubt that it has its roots principally in the continuity of the historical and cultural traditions. particular significance attaches to the circumstance that just in the epoch preceding the arab conquest persia had experienced a period of national revival after the horrors that its sovereignty had undergone, at the hands, for instance, of alexander the great.[ ] therefore for the study of iranian tradition in islam the period of the sasanian dynasty preceding the arab conquest has a special significance. [footnote : this is explained by the hatred given expression to in the parsi tradition regarding alexander. comp. j. darmesteter _la legende de alexandre chez les parses. essais orientaux_, paris , pp. - .] the sasanian dynasty issuing from a small principality in the south of persia--a principality which, properly speaking bears the title of the "kernel of the persian nation"--occupies a considerable position in persian history. wide imperial aims were united with a plenitude of solid organisation of government so perfect that it passed into a proverb among the arabs. in this last connection the sasanian tradition survived for a long time a number of moslem dynasties. the powerful influence which iranian tradition exercised was felt by the abbaside khahlifs and after them by the turkish seljuks. but not only the science of government, a good deal of other matters of cultural and historical importance in the latter times have their explanation in the sasanian epoch. placed on the confines of the greco-roman world on the one hand, and china and india on the other, sasanian persia served during the course of a long time as a central mart of exchange of a mental as well as of a material nature. as against the achaemenides, emulating the high semitic culture of the west and the hellenistic endeavours preceding the parthian dynasty, the sasanians pre-eminently were the promulgators of the iranian principles. alongside of this, however, although in a subordinate position, the development of the hellenistic movement and the ancient irano-semitic syncretism continued to proceed. simultaneously an ethical amalgamation proceeded especially in western persia where semiticism was powerful for a lengthened period, nevertheless, the sasanians continued the unification of the iranian inhabitants of central and western persia. the political system of the sasanian emperors[ ] was based on this fusion. before it pales the importance of the other facts regarding the political organisation of the sasanians,--centralisation of government in a manner so that the elements of feudal constitution made themselves felt throughout the existence of the empire and even after the arab conquest, when it left traces in circles representing iranian traditions. [footnote : on the constitution of the sasanian government, see a. christensen, _l'empire des sasanides, le peuple, l'etat, la cour_, .] the iranophile tendencies which dominated the sasanian epoch developed in intimate cooperation with the state religion (mazdaism) and the parsi priesthood. among the latter continued the production of literary works. besides, the redaction of the sacred books was completed in these times. among them were conserved and propagated persian ethical ideals, which found expression in literary forms, in ethico-didactic tracts, like those which we notice just in the same circles in later times. to the same end were preserved national traditions and ritual, some of which had nothing to do with mazdaism. the ethical ideals of the church found strong support in the feudalistic circles comprising the larger and the smaller landholders, the _dehkans_ who, with particular zeal, preserved ancient heroic traditions. alongside of these national currents in the sasanian empire there operated in full force those factors of cultural exchange of which we spoke above. of those factors the most important that deserve our attention are questions regarding education and instruction. in this connection, sasanian persia found itself under powerful influences from the west. there are sufficient reminiscences of neo-platonic exiles from greece at the sasanian court and of the school of medicine in which the leading part belonged to hellenic physicians. at the same time in the same field we have to examine other influences. for sasanian persia did not remain stranger to the sciences of india. we have information regarding the renascence of the activity of the translators of scientific works into the persian language and the tradition of this activity survived down to the moslem times. in connection with this theoretical scientific activity stood high perfection in exterior culture issuing to a considerable degree from exchange of materials. and even here the sasanian tradition has survived the dynasties; in the study of the commerce and industry as well as the art of the moslem epoch we have necessarily to refer back to the preceding times of the persian history. in pre-moslem arabia the high development of the civilisation of sasanian persia was well known. among the subjects of the great persian sovereigns in the western provinces of their empire there were a large number of arabs who in commercial intercourse carried, to tribes of the syrian desert and further south to the arabian peninsula, reports regarding the great _iran shahar_. not only legends of the heroic figures of the iranian epic--rustam and isfandiar--but religious views and persuasions of the persians found a place and were spread among the arab clans. thus we know that "fire-worshippers" were settled among the arab tribe of the temim.[ ] [footnote : _see_ for example ibn rustah (b.g.a. vii, p. , - ).] as regards the political influence of the persians on the tribes of arabia a vast deal has been related in the pre-moslem epoch. as is well-known, thanks mainly to the persian influence, there was a small arab kingdom of the lekhmides in the south-western portion of the sasanian empire[ ]. it played its part, most beneficial for persia, holding back on the one hand roman-byzantine onrush from the west, and on the other restraining the perpetual attempts at irruption into persian territory by arab nomadic tribes. not long before the appearance of islam, sasanian influence was extended to the arabs and the south as well as yemen passed into the sovereignty of the persians. khusro and his court appeared to the arab an unattainable ideal of grandeur and luxury. [footnote : _die dynastie der lekhmiden in al-hira, ein versuch zur arabisch-persischen geschichte zur zeit der sasaniden berlin_, .] the rapid conquest of persia by the arab warriors proved a complete catastrophe to the sasanian empire. but persian culture was not to be extirpated by the success of arab arms. persia was overwhelmed only externally and the arabs were compelled to preserve a considerable deal of the past. having lost the position of rulers, the persian priesthood preserved intact its control of the indigenous populace in the eyes of the latter as well as of the foreign government. the same remark holds good of the class of landed proprietors.[ ] iranian tradition continued to live in and with them. not only what was preserved but all that was destroyed for long left vestiges in the memory of the conquerors. [footnote : regarding the part played by this class in the times of the khalifs, see a. von kramer _culturgeschiche des orients unter den chalifen_ ii. pp, , .] many years after the arab conquest the ruins that covered persia excited the admiration of the arabs. their geographers of the ninth and tenth centuries considered it their duty to enumerate the principal buildings of the sasanians reminding the reader that here khusro built in his time in bye-gone days a castle, there a mountain fastness, again at a third place, a bridge.[ ] regarding various ancient structures which had survived the sasanian times, we refer, _inter alia_, to istakhri, (ibid i), pp. ; ibn hauqal (ibid ii) ; ibn khordadbeh (ibid vi) p. , (text); ibn rusteh (ibid vii), , , , , , , ; yakubi (ibid vii), , , , &c. [footnote : _see_ the enumeration of the noteworthy buildings of ancient persia as given in makdisi (b.g.a. iii), p. , and ibn-ul-fakih (_ibid_ v), p. .] the remains of the structures, monuments of art from the sasanian times and the ages preceding them attracted the attention of the arabs and they have left descriptions of the same in more or less detail.[ ] from the information of the same musalman writers we possess accurate accounts of the inhabitants of persia and their religions. thus, for instance, yakubi indicates that the inhabitants of isfahan, merv, and herat, consisted mainly of high-born dehkans.[ ] makdisi notices a considerable number of fire-worshippers in several provinces of persia, for instance, irak and jibal.[ ] [footnote : istakhri, p. , ibn hauqal, p, , , makdisi pp. and , ibn rusteh, p. .] [footnote : yakubi, pp. , - .] [footnote : makdisi, pp. , .] istakhri and ibn hauqal[ ] _relate that the inhabitants of several localities of kerman during the entire umayyad period openly professed mazdaism._ in a more detailed fashion, however, the arab writers notice the mazdian dwellers of fars, the heart of the persian dominion. makdisi says that in fars existed the customs of fire-worshippers but that the fire-worshipping inhabitants of the capital of the province of shiraz had no distinguishing mark on their clothes; from which it follows that in that age these people were in no way differentiated from the musalman subjects.[ ] istakhri[ ] and ibn hauqal[ ] relate that the bulk of the inhabitants of fars consisted of fire-worshippers and they were there in larger number than anywhere else, fars being the centre of sacerdotal and cultural life of the empire in the days of persian independence. very minute information is supplied us by these writers[ ] regarding the ancient castles and fire-temples scattered over the whole of fars in abundance. the latter is of capital importance since here was the residence of those two classes of persian society, noblemen and priests, who were the staunchest conservators of the ancient national tradition. [footnote : istakhri, p. ; _ibn_ hauqal, p. .] [footnote : _see_ makdisi, pp. , .] [footnote : p. .] [footnote : p. .] [footnote : istakhri, pp. - ; also p. . ibn hauqal, - ; also p. .] it is undoubted that the position of the parsi community after the moslem conquest was comparatively comfortable. still sometimes it was darkened by excessive fanaticism and the intrigues of the followers of other faiths. although sometimes the parsis could push themselves forward to positions of officials and instructors and played an important part in the history of the khalifate, generally speaking, this community was a close one leading a more or less exclusive life, a circumstance enabling the conservation of national peculiarities and attachment to antiquity. as time went on, however, the condition of their existence necessarily became worse and the consequence was the gradual emigration of a portion of the community from the motherland to western india. in the entire parsi literature we come across only one historical composition which recounts this emigration. but the narrative is so obscure that of the main occurrence in it there must have remained only a general memory.[ ] this book is called the "kisseh-sanjan" and was written at a very late date at the very close of the th century, so that the data given in it have to be looked upon as a reverberation of ancient tradition.[ ] [footnote : the modern historian and parsi scholar karaka, in analysing the events subsequent to the arab conquest follows the views of the old school of writers regarding this epoch as a complete destruction of all the previous organisation and the triumph of fanaticism of the new faith. see d.f. karaka, _history of the parsis_, vol i; on the history of the parsis subsequent to the arab invasion _see_ page ff.] [footnote : e.b. easrwick, translation from the persian of the "_kisseh-sanjan_" or "history of the arrival and settlement of the parsis in india." j.b.b.r.a.s., i. , pp. - . (_see_ also vol. , extra number, , pp. - ).] from the circumstances detailed in this book it appears that the emigrators after the establishment of musalman domination passed a hundred years in a mountainous locality and only after the lapse of these long years migrated to hormuz, from where they proceeded to the peninsula of gujarat and finally after negotiations with the local chief settled in sanjan. subsequently fresh refugees joined them from khorasan. from this last we can infer that the emigration was gradual and this is confirmed by the fact that in case of migration in a mass the diaspora of the parsis would have left some traces in the arabic literature. further there is no doubt that considerable number of parsis remained behind in their country and their descendants are the modern persian guebres who, together with the parsis of india, may be called the only preservers of ancient iranian tradition to the present times. thus, throughout persia in the first centuries of islam national elements with, changed fortunes persisted in their existence. it is, however, to be remarked that their success was not uniform in, every quarter of the country, that their fate depended to a considerable extent upon the geographical position and the historical life of the various provinces of the land. western provinces owing to their proximity to the centre of the arab ruling life had more than the rest to mingle with, the arab stream, and to participate in the cycle of events in the arabic period of the history of the musalman east. central persia, owing to its geographical position, could not constitute the point _d'appue_ of the persian element. for the latter the most favourably situated provinces were those in the north, east, and south, tabaristan, khorasan, and fars. tabaristan. as is well-known throughout the floruit of the arab empire this province found itself in almost entire independence of the central power. local dynasts called the ispahbeds enjoyed practical independence and in those times arabo-moslem influences simply did not exist. local rulers,--bavendids, baduspans, karenides--appeared successively or simultaneously following the traditions left to them by the marzbans or the land holders and partly the successors of the great king who were independent from the times of the arsacide dynasty.[ ] subsequently as aliides and ziyarids, they were closely attached to shiaism with its definite expression of persian sympathy. nevertheless, this province was not favourable for a particularly successful national evolution. the fact was that even in the sasanian epoch tabaristan remained a distant and obscure frontier division and did not take part in the progress of civilisation of the times. therefore it could not form the centre of gravity of persian life although there is no doubt that in several respects in this province there were preserved typical features of sasanian antiquity. [footnote : for a general conspectus of the history of the provinces with regard to their independence during the sasanian and arab domination, _see, e.g._ f. justi, g.i. ph., ii, pp. - --"history of iran from the earliest to the end of the sasanides" in german--appendix i.] khorasan. it was otherwise with the eastern provinces of khorasan, too far distant from the territary occupied by the arab settlers, and too densely inhabited by iranians to rapidly lose its previous characteristics. on the contrary, we know from the historians that in this province iranian elements remained steadfast throughout the umayyad dynasty and it was exclusively due to the support given by khorasanians to the abbasides that the latter succeeded in overthrowing the previous dynasty and commenced the era of powerful iranian influences in the history of the musalman orient.[ ] khorasan played a vital part in the development of the modern persian literature and especially its chief department, poetry. the entire early period of the history of modern persian poetry, from abbas welcoming with an ode khalif mamun into merv down to firdausi, may be labelled khorasanian. there flourished the activity of rudaki, kisai, dakiki, and other less notable representatives of the early period of modern persian bards.[ ] the culture of poetry was favoured not only by the geographical position of the province of khorasan but by its political conditions. already in the beginning of the ninth century in khorasan there had arisen national persian dynasties and under their patronage began the renascence of the persian nation (taherides, saffarides, samanides). [footnote : on the history of khorasan in the umayyad period _see_ j. wellhausen _das arabische reich und sein sturz,_ p, f. and p. f.] [footnote : _see_ the general survey of this period in j, darmesteter, "the origins of the persian poesy", in french and e.g. browne "literary history of persia", i, p, ff.] fars. under different circumstances but with considerable significance for the persian national ideals lay the southern province of fars. here with tenacious insistence survived not only national but also political traditions of ancient sasanian persia. here was the centre of a government and from here started fresh dynasties. after the arab conquest this province came into much more intimate connection with the khalifate, than, for instance, khorasan. but persian elements were favoured by its geographical position,--the mountainous character of its situation and the consequent difficulty of access by the invaders. we already produced above the information of the arab geographers of the tenth century regarding the abundance of fire-temples and castles in fars. they relate that there was no village or hamlet of this province in which there was no fire-temple. residence was taken up in strong castles by the native aristocrats whose ideals were rooted in the sasanian epoch. just in these geographers, istakhri and ibn hauqal, is to be found information of unusual importance, so far as we can judge, regarding the conservation of the parsi tradition in fars these authors have been up to now not only not appreciated but their significance for our question has not yet been adequately recognised. istakhri and ibn hauqal enumerating the castles of fars declare as follows regarding the castle of shiz:[ ] "the castle of shiz is situated in the district of arrajana. there live fire-worshippers[ ] who know persia and her past. here they study. this castle is very strong." [footnote : istakhri, p. , - ; ibn hauqal, p, , - .] [footnote : in the text occurs the persian word _badgozar_, that is to say, the rhapsodists, the relators of the national traditions; on this word see b.g.a. iii, pp. - , and vuller's _lexicon persico-latinum_ s.v. for a parallel to the archives of the achamenide empire _see_ f. justi, _ein tag aus den leben des konigs darius._] further we read the following in istakhri (page , - ):-- "in the district of sabur on the mountain there are likenesses of all the noteworthy persian kings and grandees, of illustrious preservers of fire, high _mobeds_ and others. their portraits, their acts and narratives about them are successively recorded in volumes. with particular care are preserved these volumes by the people living in a locality in the district of arrajan called the castle of shiz." from this information we learn that in one of the castles of fars down to the tenth century there were preserved manuscripts written probably in the pahlavi language containing narratives from persian history and illustrated with, portraits after the style of the sasanian reliefs to be found in the rocks in the district of sabur.[ ] this strong mountain fastness was probably little accessible to the arabs and afforded an asylum to the _mobeds, dehkans_ and others interested in the past of their country. [footnote : that is after the style of the sasanian bass-reliefs which were preserved in his time on the rocks in the vicinity of shapur and the most famous type of which are the bass-reliefs representing the triumphs of the sasanian shapur i, over the emperor valentine]. these facts generally important for the history of the preservation of the epic, historic and artistic traditions of iran, are particularly important for the investigation of the sources of the arabic translations of the sasanian chronicles and of the epopee of firdausi. as we know, the translators of these chronicles were persian "fire-worshippers" or musalmans who had adopted islam only externally and had remained true to the ancient persian religion. among them the foremost is called _mobed_ belonging to the city of sabur in the province of fars. he is important as a worker in the iranian historical tradition and about him we shall have occasion to speak later on. this _mobed_ probably made arabic translations of sasanian chronicles from materials in the archives in the castle of shiz. further, the information adduced by us above regarding the castle refers to times a little previous to the age of firdausi and undoubtedly among the materials in these archives were the sources of the shah nameh which were available to firdausi through intermediate versions. finally, we see that these sasanian histories were illustrated, a fact which is confirmed by the statement of other arab writers as we shall see later on. generally the district of arrajan enjoyed its ancient glory with reference to its cultural connections. yakut[ ] has preserved for us the information that at raishahar in the district of arrajan there lived in the sasanian times men, versed in a peculiar species of syllabary who wrote medical, astronomical and logical works. [footnote : "_muajjam ul buldan_", ed. wustenfeld, ii, p. . this passage has been translated by barbier de maynard in his "geographical, historical and literary dictionary of persia", in french, pp. - . _see_ also fihrist ii, p, .] what we have studied above establishes the existence of persian literary tradition in its national form for several centuries after the arab invasion. now we have to survey wherein lie the characteristic features of this tradition and what were its main contents. and we pass on to their consideration. chapter ii the parsi clergy and the musalman iranophile party of the shuubiya the part played by them in the conservation of the persian literary tradition the different varieties of this tradition; scientific, epico-historic, legendary and ethico-didactic _parsi clergy preserve tradition_ we have demonstrated above that in the time subsequent to the arab conquest iranian tradition found a congenial asylum in the bosom of the parsi priesthood. there it was maintained and developed orally as well as in a written form. the most competent among the persian historians who employed the arabic language in those times turned to the parsi clergy for information. of this we have first-hand proof in their own works and in the quotations from other works preserved in later authors. for example, they frequently remark "the mobedan-mobed related to me", "the _mobed_ so and so told me" and so on. in their quest for ancient persian books, too, arab authors searched for them among the parsi priesthood and it was only there that they found them. thus it was the merit of the parsi community that it conserved iranian traditions daring unfavourable times and handed them on to moslem persia under more auspicious conditions. involuntarily we are led to a comparison, to their advantage, with the activity of the iranophile party of the same times in the moslem community, the party of the shuubiya,[ ] in their capacity as promoters of learning and exponents of literature they concentrated their activity in the cultured centre of the khalifate at baghdad and other cities, and being familiar with persia played an important part in the development of moslem culture of the middle ages. but in the preservation of the iranian tradition they turned to much restricted and greatly exclusive parsi circles. in the second half of the tenth century and in the eleventh century the currents which were preparing the persian renascence party were lost and their significance forgotten. but for the purpose of illuminating historical questions a careful examination of these currents deserves our undivided attention. it was owing to them that literary materials were preserved which were sometimes direct translations from books belonging to the sasanian period. the course by which these materials found their way into arabic literature can be definitely traced. they came from parsi centres through older circles of moslem civilisation which were sympathetic towards persia. generally speaking they were trustworthy transmitters. as a matter of fact the shuubiya turned only to the parsi circles for materials and in the explanation of the material they did not distinguish them from their other sources. their sources betray themselves by an exaggerated parsi partiality where the penchant of these circles is clearly manifest. and these are intimately connected with certain questions of daily life,--the struggle for power between the arab and the iranian element in the khalifate. enthusiastic partisans of the persian element, these circles as a counterblast to the poverty of civilizing factors of the pre-islamic arab nation, turned to the glories of persia, principally of the sasanian past. iranophile writers had no need for inventions, since historical truth was on their side. the effectiveness of their method was indisputable. in this connection iranian tradition among the musalmans as transmitted by arab writers must take precedence of a similar transmission, the christian literature of the east, where all possibility was excluded of polemics such as obtained under the moslem domination between the pro-iranian and anti-iranian parties. it is, therefore, to be regretted that the literary activities of the musalman circles sympathising with persian culture have descended to us only in occasional extracts and are sometimes confined only to the titles of books written by them. [footnote : for details, goldziher. _muhammedanische studien,_ i, - .] we noticed above the revival of scientific activities in sasanian persia. this activity for the most part has its significance in its quality of being a connecting link, in the first place, as the transmitter of greek knowledge to the east, and secondly, as the unifier of this knowledge with the heritage which sasanian persia had received from scientific works belonging to semitic culture, as well as from the science of india. the principal representatives of this activity were not persians, but christians, mainly the syrian nestorians, and monophysites from the school of edessa.[ ] [footnote : for a general account of the character of this activity see t.j. de boer, _history of philosophy in islam_, - .] what was the share in these operations of the persians themselves it is hard to tell. but at all events, it was not considerable.[ ] the general character of this activity does not leave particular room for wide creative science, since it has expressed itself pre-eminently in compilations, translations of philosophical, astronomical, astrological, medical, mathematical and ethical commentaries on greek and some indian authors. it was not in this field that the activity of the persian sacerdotal community in the sasanian epoch was concentrated. and latterly in the period of the development of analogous scientific work dining the eastern khalifate under the abbasides the principal role belonged just to the same class of scholars, christian syrians, with just this difference that the activity of the latter continued among the musalman alumni of various nationalities whilst in sasanian persia their operations were cut short by the unfortunate circumstances of the arab inroads. it is interesting that in the abbaside period the translations made from the persian authors or authors belonging to persia appertain to a certain special _genre_ of works of a technical nature, books on warfare[ ], on divination, on horse-breaking[ ], on the training of other animals, and on birds[ ] trained to hunting. these special treatises were of no abstract scientific contents but referred to the practical demands of life. [footnote : as regards philosophical traditions of sasanian persia in the musalman epoch principally we may refer to the influence of the system of "_zervanism_" on the adherents of the system of "_dahar_", de boer and .] [footnote : see my studies on the _ain-nameh_.] [footnote : see my book on _materials from arabic sources for culture history of sasanian persia_.] [footnote : fihrist .] a different kind of importance attaches to histories devoted to government and national life of the sasanian period and to the epic and literary tradition of persia. their value as history has been acknowledged and appreciated by the progressive circles of the musalman community. contemporary researches directing the greatest attention to this aspect of iranian movement appreciated its value and thanks to their works, we are enabled to speak with some clearness regarding books of exceeding importance. traces of ancient iranian epic tradition are observable in some greek writers, ktesias, herodotus, elian, charen of mytelene and atheneus. but it has survived in a considerable quantity in the avesta.[ ] [footnote : the principal works for investigating the persian historical and literary tradition are, besides the introduction to his edition and translation of the shah-nameh by mohl, noeldeke's german _history of the persians, and arabs at the time of the sasanians_, his introduction, and his iranian national epic g.i.ph. ii, -- ; baron rosen, _on the question of the arabic translations of the khudai nameh_ (paraphrase by kirst in w.z.k.m.x, ); h. zotenberg, history of the kings of persia by al-thalibi, arabic text with translation, especially preface, xli-xliv. a number of profound ideas and ingenious suggestions are made in the various articles and reviews by gutschmid. (see appendix v, p. ).] the most recent and pregnant exposition is by lehmann. it existed also in official writings of the sasanian times, recensions of which, we possess in several arab histories and in the shah nameh. like the scientific literature these writings were subjected to a final redaction towards the close of the sasanian dynasty and it is this recension that has mainly come down to posterity. alongside of official writings of a general character, there existed various books of epic-historical contents, for instance, the _yadkari-zariran_.[ ] as in these writings, so in the versions appearing from them at later times, the materials embodied were of a kindred nature, like the romance of behram chobin, story of behram gor, the narrative of the introduction into persia of the game of chess. besides these there were writings relating to local histories. it is noteworthy that the epic element was and is preserved with persistence by the parsis. mohl notes that the majority of persian epic poems, excepting the shah nameh, has been preserved only in manuscripts belonging to parsis[ ]. farther development of this phase of persian literary tradition bifurcated into two directions. it has been shown that the official chronicles of the sasanian times exercised influence on the development of the musalman science of history. on the other hand, the epic was resuscitated in heroic romances and tales[ ]. alongside of the historical traditions and the epos stands the romantic poesy which has entered into musalman literature in a marked degree in the shape of iranian tradition. at the time this species of poetry prospered in arabic literature there was a strong persian influence and some of its representatives were undoubtedly inclined to persian literary motifs, for instance, the shuubite sahal ibn harun.[ ] [footnote : we refer mainly to the epic cycle of soistan for the views of the authorities on which see mohl (lxii) and noeldeke _national epic_, - . as a supplement to the bibliography furnished by noeldeke see v. rugarli, the _epic of kershasp_, g.s.a.i., xi, - , .] [footnote : lxvii, note .] [footnote : on the process of the latter nature see mohl lxxii ff. regarding one of the principal representatives of the later stage of this development see abu taher tarsusi, encyclopaedia of islam, , .] [footnote : fihrist , - . for this kind of poetry see fihrist , - , , and compare also the books characterised at page , - .] to the same type of literary monuments we have to add the vast field of story literature. although a considerable portion of it belongs to the province of migratory subjects, and although to persia belongs often only the rôle of the transmitter, nevertheless, collections of stories of this class undoubtedly had their assigned place in the sasanian epoch and the dependence of the core of the _thousand and one nights_ on the persian stories collected in the _hazar afsan_[ ] is indisputable. we shall not, therefore, stop here further regarding facts which have been decided more than once. we will only observe that in connection with the persian literary age of the sasanians we have to indicate a series of works of the character of epic tales arisen from the ancient historical period of the western boundary of persia and representing "stories of the babylonian kingdom" which have been enumerated among the books of this class and also among persian books,--a circumstance which proves that these tales originated in sasanian literature. finally, just as in historical and especially in narrative literature, persian tradition survived to the musalman times so also it continued to live in the writings of the ethico-didactical category. the importance of the pahlavi translation of the book of _kalileh and dimneh_ for the migration of this collection of tales to the west is well-known. the significance of pahlavi translations is not less evident with regard to the _hazar afsan_ in connection with the _thousand and one nights_. still persian tradition in the field of ethico-didactic literature has been studied and appreciated much less than in the historical and story literature. we have now to examine a few questions in connection with the persian tradition regarding the ethico-didactic literature of the early musalman epoch. we shall devote the following chapter to its study. [footnote : fihrist , - , . fihrist , ; fihrist , .] chapter iii the ethico-didactic books in the fihrist ( , - , ) they are almost exclusively of persian origin _ethico-didactic literature of iran_ opinion on the importance of the influence of ethical and didactical works of the sasanian times on the literature of this class of early moslem epoch, generally speaking has been expressed in scientific works and has found admittance into a few general surveys of persian literature. to the literary monuments go back a number of books on what is called _adab_, good behaviour or agreeable manners, in modern persian literature. besides several literary monuments of later ages,[ ] for the solution of this question, capital importance attaches to the information given in the _fihrist_ of an-nadhim which is the fundamental source of the history of entire arabic literature bearing on our period. further on we shall draw upon this work with the object of determining this species of literary tradition in arabic books of the first centuries of islam. [footnote : p. horn, geschichte der persischen letteratur, _(die letteraturen des ostens in finzeldarslellungen_ bd vi) , and _die mittelpersische letteratur_, .] great importance for this problem lies in that portion of the fihrist which when first edited had elicited little interest, and where are enumerated the titles of books of ethico-didactic character, persian, greek, indian, arabic, by well-known authors and by anonymous writers[ ]. we are aware that in the fihrist there are partly arabic, partly persian, titles of books which have come down to us in a mutilated form, but at the same time some of them have reached us in their correct shapes and others are often easily restorable. [footnote : fihrist , - , .] in this section of the fihrist we have in all forty-four titles of books. among them a large number can be directly traced to persian origin and a portion were evidently written under persian influence. to the first class we have no hesitation in assigning fourteen names of books, since as we shall see, two of them or possibly three pertain to one and the same work. we will examine these titles in some detail. . the first book is by zadan farrukh and is a testament to his son[ ]. although we are not able to recall a book of this title among the pahlavi literature that has come down to us, still the general character of this work is presented to us in perfect definiteness. it is undoubtedly one of the testaments or counsels, the so-called _pand nameh_ or _andarz_, of a father to a son, or some one person to another, and the typical representatives of which in the pahlavi literature appear to be the well-known book of testament of adarbad to his son, the book of advice to his son by khosro anushirvan and the book of counsel to the latter by his wazir, buzurj meher[ ]. [footnote : in the text the term is zadan farrukh, but justi already in his _iranisches namenbuch_ in proposed the reading zadan farrukh.] [footnote : as regards the first, see my _materials from arabic sources,_ page - . for the second, west pahlavi literature g.i. ph. ii, . for the third, in pahlavi verse west . for musalman times see schefer chrestomathy - and salemann and zukovski, persian grammar page - . also compare _melanges asiatiques_ ix, . in arabic anthologies especially of the character of what is known as furstenspiegel the maxims of this wise wazir are very frequently quoted. see for instance, _sirajul mulk_ of tartushi, also compare the bibliography in v. chaubin, of arabic works, leige , page .] alongside of this most celebrated _pand nameh_ in the pahlavi literature are also famous a number of other analogous literary monuments traceable to definite persons, while some are anonymous. they are of a nature, for instance, of a simple testament from father to son[ ]. [footnote : west - , and - .] as we have already observed, and as we shall have occasion to speak further, this category of literary remains undoubtedly survived in the musalman literature and partly in the literature of the arabs. for the study of the pahlavi literature this class of tracts has already evoked attention and has called forth several editions and translations. we notice that their interest goes beyond that of pahlavi literature proper and they are important also for the history of the literature of musalman nations. moreover, they are of interest from a general point of view, for the study of musalman culture. in fact, by their very character these works are brief catechisms with no pretensions to abstract theoretical acquaintance with the sacerdotal tracts, composing another important section of pahlavi literature, but immediately connected with the daily ordinary life. it goes without saying that whoever read them in the original, their interest did not lie in their theoretical character, but that they were rendered into arabic and modern persian languages with a view to the same practical end. hence however monotonous they are,[ ] whatever wearisome character these books possess, they are of great interest for the purpose of comparison with similar productions of musalman literature and for the purpose of establishing their influence in the unfolding of ethical ideas of the musalman east, which are far from being clearly made manifest. this side of the question deserves, in my opinion, in these days ampler attention and research. [footnote : see noeldeke "_persische studien_" ii, s.b.w.a, , , noeldeke remarks, with reference to this class of literature, "that the investigation of this fatiguing business demands an unusual amount of patience", see for instance, the comparison instituted between ethical norm in the parsi and in the musalman literature by darmesteter in _revue critique_, , - .] . the second book in the fihrist is attributed to a _mobedan-mobed_ that is, head of the parsi clergy, who in arabic texts is sometimes called simply al-mobedan and whose name was not understood by flugel[ ]. the same word is met with in a mutilated form in another place in the fihrist[ ]. ( - ). [footnote : fugel took it for a dual, and consequently divided the name into two.] [footnote : the book next following is called _kitab kay lorasp_ and apparently it had to do with questions connected with persian literary tradition.] he is mentioned by ali ibn rayhani, arabic author, who stood in near relationship to the khalif and who was partial to the zindiks, that is, in this case, to the dualists. he is a reputed author of several books among which there is one whose title was restored by justi in the _namenbuch_[ ]. the conjecture of justi that this name should be read mihr adar jushnas is fully supported by a sketch of it in a passage of interest to us in the fihrist. justi hesitated to declare whether this was the name of the book or of its author. but in another place in the text this word is accompanied by the designation al-mobedan from which we can undoubtedly conclude that this book was ascribed to a particular person, the supreme _mobed_ mihr adar jushnas. therefore, this title of the book should be read as that of the book of mihr adar jushnas, the mobedan. this book stands at the head of the works we are considering in the fihrist. therefore, we can fully trace it to the persian literary tradition. [footnote : _namenbuch_ mahr adar jushnes.] . similarly there can be no scepticism regarding the individual nature of the book called the _book of the testament of khusro to his son ormuz_, the admonition given to the latter when he handed over to him the reins of government and the reply of ormuz. flugel already perfectly correctly noticed that by kisra we must here understand kisra anushirvan. in this way in this book or in the first half of it we have certainly the _andarz khusro_, the celebrated work in the pahlavi literature which has been preserved up to our times and which has been translated into the european languages.[ ] it contains a number of counsels of khusro to his son and occupies the place of importance in this species of literature. it is of a pseudo-epigraphic character. [footnote : see west, . the full title is: _andarz-e-khusro kavadan. iv._] . with this book is identical another mentioned just there but a little further and entitled the _book of counsels of kisra anushirvan to his son_ who was called "a well of eloquence". in this way these third and fourth titles indicate one and the same book sufficiently known in the persian literary tradition in which we are interested. . to the same category belongs another book ascribed to the kisra. it is possible that in this book we have a treatise identical with the one referred to above as the book of the testament of khosro anushirwan, since in several redactions his testaments are represented as advice to his son while in some they stand as admonition directed to the general public.[ ] [footnote : salemann, _mittel-persische studeîn, melanges asiatiques_, ix, , .] . under the sixth heading appears a _book of counsels of ardeshir babekan to his son sabur._ this work which was sufficiently known and made use of in the early moslem period has not come down to us in the original pahlavi. we know of the existence of a verse translation of this book in the arabic made by belazuri (fihrist, and ). moreover, this work was considered as a model composition (probably as represented by belazuri), and in this connection it was comparable (fihrist , - ) to _kalileh wa dimneh,_ the essays of umar ibn hamza,[ ] al mahanith,[ ] the tract called _yatima_ of ibn al mukaffa, and the essays of ahmed ibn yusuf, secretary of mamun. in view of the importance attached to this and the following _risalas_ by the author of the fihrist, it would be interesting to have their editions and translations. [footnote : a relative of the khalif mansur and mahdi, a secretary of the former fihrist, , - . in the _kitab al mansur wal manzum_ of ahmed ibn abi taher (_vide_ baron b.p. rosen, _on the anthology of ahmed ibn abi taher_, journal of the russian oriental society, vol. iii, , page ). the essay probably referred to is called _rasalat fi al khamis lil mamun_. (or rislat al jaysh). see fihrist, ii, .] [footnote : this was probably the title of the epistle of umar ibn hamza to ali ibn mahan preserved by the same ahmed ibn abi taher. as regards persons by the name of mahan in the musalman period see justi _namenbuch_ .] extracts from this testament especially from its concluding portion, have been handed down to us in the _kitabat tambih._[ ] they relate to the prophecy of zaradusht regarding the destruction of the persian religion and empire in the course of a thousand years after him.[ ] [footnote : by the same ahmed ibn abi taher has been preserved the essay of this ahmed ibn yusuf on "thankfulness"--_risalat ahmed ibn yusuf fishshukr_ which possibly is referred to by the author of the fihrist. see also there the highly important _risalat ibn mukaffa fissahobat_. b.g.a. viii, , - , . macoudi, _le livre de l'avertissement et de la revision_, trad. par carra de vaux, paris, , - .] [footnote : in connection with this prophecy, as regards the changes which were made in the chronological system of the persian history see a. gutschmid, _kleine schriften,_ iii, leipzig, . - , and , &c.] it is highly interesting that just like the well-known testament by tansar to the king of tabaristan this testament was written at a considerably later period, in the time of anushirwan.[ ] [footnote : see on this question christensen - and appendix vi.] regarding the general character of this apocryphal testament we may judge by the counsels of the founder of the sasanian dynasty which have come down to us in various arabic and persian historical works and in the shah nameh. . the th title refers to the book of a certain _mobedan mobed_ on rhetorical passages which were analogous probably to the anonymous _pand namehs_ which are found in the pahlavi literature. . the th is the book on the correspondence between the kisra and a marzban.[ ] [footnote : does not this appear like a book containing the correspondence on the well-known episode in the history of the persians in yemen and the letters which were exchanged between the marzban or mavazan and khosrau parviz? (see noeldeke, tabari , , - ).] - . the th and the th titles relate to books of questions directed on a certain occasion by the king of rome to anushirwan and on another occasion by the king of rome to another emperor of persia. . the th book refers to the order of ardeshir to bring out from the treasury books written by wisemen on "government." . the th book was written for hormaz, son of kisra, _i.e.,_ kisra anushirwan on the correspondence between a certain kisra and "jamasp."[ ] [footnote : are we to understand under this name a reference to the well-known jamasp hakim occurring in pahlavi literature (weat, )? on the persian wisdom of jamasp, see c.h.l. flise, cher _kleinere schriften_ leipzig, , - , and justi _namenbuch_, . the name, however, cannot be clearly read, hadahud (see fihrist, , ) where instead of mardyud should be read mardwaihi. in the same book , , instead of zaydyud should be read zaiduya. as regards the name hadahud generally, see justi, , who mentions a son of farrukhzad.] . the th book is attributed to a certain kisra and it is added that it treated of gratitude and was written for the benefit of the public. . finally, the th heading referred no doubt to one of those persian books written by persians bearing persian names and embodying various stories and anecdotes. of the remaining books, belong to the moslem period but were composed at the time of complete persian influence on arabic literature. we have three books on adab written for khalif mahdi, rashid and for the barmecide yahya ibn khalid. then there are nine books by authors who are partly unknown and partly belong to the same period of persian influence and who have been mentioned in other places in the fihrist. of the remaining books a considerable number is to be found to have issued from persian sources. of persian origin probably were two books translated by the aforesaid mihr adur jushnasp--one relating to 'adab' and the other on 'house-building.' the book on the refutation of the zendiks by an unknown author was probably derived from parsi circles. for, especially in the reign of mamun there existed various controversies with the followers of mazdaism and dualists.[ ] [footnote : a. barthelémy, gujastak abalish. _rélation d'une conférence théologique, presidée par le calife mamoun_, paris, . (bibliotheque de l'école des hautes études, sciences philologiques et historiques, lxix., fascicule.)] further, undoubtedly under persian books must be reckoned the book of the 'counsels' of ancient kings and the book of the 'questions' to certain wisemen, and their answers. if these are not of direct persian origin they are similar in contents to persian books. two books included in this list, namely, one by a certain christian on ethico-didactical subjects as is stated in the title itself, drawn from persian, greek and arabic sources, and the other, a book translated by the author of the fihrist himself containing the anecdotes regarding the people of a superior class and of the middle class--these two books on account of their contents embody the experiences relating to ethico-didactical questions and were of the nature of compilation similar to the book of ibn miskawaihi of whom we shall speak later on. finally, all the remaining books relate to that class of anecdotal and didactic literature which spread so wide among arabic writers through pahlavi and originating from indian authors. such books were, for instance, the story of despair and hope, the book of hearing and judgment, the book of the two indians, a liberal man and a miser, their disputation, and the judgment passed on them by the indian prince, etc. that our assumption is highly probable is confirmed by the mention among these books of the book of the philosopher and his experiences with the slave girl kaytar.[ ] [footnote : this book no doubt is a portion of the well-known fable lai d'--aristote preserved in certain ancient monuments of arabic literature. the same book is mentioned among persian books in another place in the fihrist. ( - ). kitab musk zanameh, w[=a] shah zanan. these two books have been variously transcribed by the copyists.] the name has been much mutilated and serves as an example of the degree to which persian titles have been corrupted. nevertheless, thanks to the circumstance that the name of the slave girl has come down to us, in the arabic version of the story we are able to trace the title adduced in the fihrist.[ ] [footnote : le livre des beautes et des antithesis attribute a abu othman amr ibn bahr al-djahiz texte publie par g. van vloten, leyde, , - ; e. g., browne, "some account of the arabic work entitled nihayatu'l-irab fi akhbari'l furs wa'l-arab," particularly of that part which treats of the persian kings, j.r.a.s. ( , - ).] this name is mushk daneh or a grain of musk. the book of musk daneh and the _mobed_ became famous in arabic literature as a separate persian composition.[ ] [footnote : similarly the title shahzanan in the fihrist is possibly mobedan, (see browne , , , , ; , , ; and van vloten , ; , , , ; , , ; or shaikh al mobedan, browne .)] chapter iv the persian, sources of the compilation of ibn miskawaihi preponderance of the persian element in the evolution of the musalman morals the "book of adab" by ibn al muqaffa and other similar arabic works _iranian components of adab literature in arabic_ at the head of works under the title of ethico didactic writings, which have come down to us stands a group most characteristically denominated _adab ul arab val furs_ belonging to the pen of a writer of the th and th centuries, ibn miskawaihi whose name is pronounced in persian ibn mushkuya. at the basis of this collection lies the ancient persian pseudepigraphical book _javidan khired_, or "eternal wisdom." but in the body of it there is a series of literary monuments of sasanian literature and its descendants.[ ] the author is known, besides, by his philosophical works, as a historian[ ] and as such he is particularly important for the history of the buides.[ ] and his persian origin would point to his sympathy for persian literary tradition. as a matter of fact, his ethico-didactic collection is based on a book of the sasanian epoch. it would appear that this circumstance has undoubted significance for the determination of the influence in the compilation of moslem ethical ideals. however, in contradiction to this basal fact and notwithstanding that in the province of the development of islam as a religion, persian element played an important part,[ ] the development of the moslem ethical tracts in contemporary literature, for the most part, is dependent upon more antique, specially greek, tradition. j. goldziher recognizing the importance of the influence of parsism on islam says the exact demonstration of the dependence of these phenomena on the culture historical facts, whose consequences they are, would be the most interesting task which those studying islam in its present position can place before themselves. many of the dominating views regarding the original spirit of islam would receive the needed correction by such investigation. [footnote : on this work and its manuscripts see my _material from arab sources_ - .] [footnote : for miskawaihi as a philosopher see boer - .] [footnote :--he was the treasurer and a close friend of the buide adudad-daula.] [footnote : for a general sketch of moslem ethics in ancient times see carra de vaux, _gazali_, - , and _encyclopaedia of islam_ , - .] let us examine three points regarding the influence on moslem morals and general conduct. in the first place stand the moral writings of ecclesiastical character. the morality is rooted in and based on the moral of the bible and then on the developed moslem law and has absorbed in itself some of the elements of the ethics of christianity. in the second place, there is a series of ethical documents of a most valued nature in the shape of proverbs, dicta, maxims, fables, constituting a kind of moral philosophy, often independent of each other, varied in their character, and different as to time and the place of their compositions. here we may separate a certain stratum of persian element, and an analysis of them may reveal partly contemporary knowledge and partly elements of foreign religious ethics. the third but not the last place in importance is occupied by the greek ethical tradition in which latterly are discernible important christian constituents. recent studies have yielded us as their result, this structure of musalman ethics. but it is to be noted that the theoretical deductions at first sight do not find confirmation in facts. for we do not know which greek books on ethics were translated in the beginning of the period of the scientific development of islam, and for the support of our thesis we have to point to the possibility of oral transmission of hellenic ethical tradition through syriac scholars, although this circumstance does not militate against our hypothesis. besides a small amount of translations from greek ethical works, especially the books of aristotle, there are observed among the works embodied in this tradition a series of pseudographs which, however, can have only an external relation with the greek sciences and which would rather lead to the second group of the influences on musalman ethical monuments namely, the group of monuments of "oriental wisdom." the most typical of the pseudographical _wisaya_, or "testaments" are ascribed to aristotle, pythagoras, and others. to our mind, they are derived from persian tradition to the same extent, if not in a larger extent than from the christian. actual studies demonstrate that the basal work for this epoch was the book above-mentioned of ibn miskawaihi which as we saw above, issued from persian literary tradition. and the character of that tradition can be explained from exterior circumstances without an analysis of its contents. the fact is that ibn miskawaihi worked upon that class of persian material, for instance the _pand nameh_ or _andarz_, which had nothing to do with the province of the indefinite gnomic literature but which had the character of a catechism and therefore expresses a definite system of religious morals, the morals of parsism.[ ] the appreciation of the influence of parsism on islam has only just commenced. but we are already in a position to emphasise the great influence, which parsi ethics have exercised on islam and this influence has been attested by a number of greek and christian witnesses. so far, for an acknowledgment of this influence serves a purely external fact, namely, a glance at the bibliography of the ancient ethico-didactic tracts in the musalman literature and an examination of the contents of the book of ibn muskawaihi. a number of additional facts confirm this hypothesis. [footnote : for a general review of the morals of parsism see a.v.w. jackson's g. i. ph. vol. ii, - .] well-known is the importance enjoyed in the beginning of the epoch of the development of the arabic musalman literature, by the activities of the parsi ibn al muqaffa.[ ] he is famous as the first commentator of the greek books on logic in arabic literature, but he is particularly renowned as the efficient supporter of the persian literary tradition and its translator into the arabic literature. his rendering of _kalila and dimma_ is well-known. it enjoys a prime role in the migration of this collection of stories to the west. well-known also is his translation of the persian book of _khoday nameh_,--that is, the official chronicle of the sasanian times and of the _ain nameh_, the institutes of the time. we shall have occasion to speak about these books later on. to him also belong the books closely connected with the sasanian epoch, namely, the _book of mazdak_ the _book of taj_ to which we shall refer further on. it is interesting that he is also the reputed author of two books on adab, perhaps among the most ancient ones in arabic literature.[ ] one of these books called the smaller was probably contained in the other which is called the larger and has the purely persian title of mah farra jushnas. (this is how the title is to be read according to hoffmann and justi).[ ] since the interest of muqaffa was concentrated in the province of persian culture it is indisputable that his activity was not confined in this direction to one book and the contents of the book have vestiges in a high degree of dependence on persian motifs. this is proved by a variety of circumstances. we have descended to us his book called _al yatima_, a tract on that aspect of morals which was especially diffused in the sasanian epoch and was devoted to politics and in form represented the species of writings called furstenspiegel.[ ] a tradition of this kind of literature for long continued to live in the musalman writers and the typical representative of the species seems to be the famous _siyasat nameh_, of nizam-ulmulk, the saljuk wazir. on some occasions it directly serves as a source for the internal history of the sasanian domination. it bears particularly on didactic literature though it has been as yet very ill studied from the comparative standpoint. the sasanian influence is perfectly obvious. some portions of al yatima of ibn muqaffa may be parallelled to corresponding remnants from pahlavi literature in the _kabus nameh_ and the _siasat nameh._[ ] we know further that books under the title of persian adab were spread among those who sympathised with mazdaism and manichism in the circle of moslem society.[ ] these books by their character were comparable to books on mazdak but also to kalila wa dimna. [footnote : fihrist, , - , and ibn al qifti's _tarkh al hukama_ edited by lippert, page , - .] [footnote : brockelmann, on the rhetorical writings of ibn all mukaffa, z.d.m.g. , - .] [footnote : hoffmann "extracts from syrian acts of persian martyrs", page note, and justi, _namenbuch_ .] [footnote : precise information regarding its contents is rather to be found in ibn al qifti than in the _fihrist_. in the former the heading is _fi taat us sultan_, in the latter _fi rasail._ see _la perle incomparable ou_ l'art du parfait courtisane de abdallah ibn al-muqaffa, . see the french translation from the dutch rendering of this tract.] [footnote : on the political ideas of the latter see pizzi, le idee politiche di nizam-ul-mulk g.s.a. ., - .] [footnote : tabari "annales" vol. , , - , and browne a literary history of persia, , .] besides muqaffa a number of writers of the epoch of the development of arabic musalman literature interested themselves in themes connected with persian antiquities. one of them, aban ibn abdul humiad ar rakashi otherwise known as aban al-lahiki chose a number of themes from ancient persian literature and according to the fihrist versified them ( , - - , - ). such subjects were--_kalila and dimna,_ the _book of barlaam and yuasef, the book of sindbad_, the _book of mazdak_ and finally books on two popular representative of the sasanian dynasty, namely, the _book of the acts of ardasher_ and the _book of the acts of anushirvan._[ ] [footnote : versification of the history of anushirvan is also to be met with in later parsi literature, see, sachau, contribution to the knowledge of the parsi literature, j.r.a.s. page .] another author, ahmed ibn tahir taifur, wrote according the fihrist ( , ) a special book of hormuz son of kisra anushirvan.[ ] no doubt, further more, writers of persian origin followed in their books on _adab_ persian models. such probably was the book of adab by an author whose name has been mutilated in the fihrist ( , , ). there is another class of writings which bears relation to this one and which is mentioned in the fihrist. it is quite possible that on this literary persian tradition, were based also some of the tracts under the title of "_books on counsels_" a considerable number of which we meet with in the fihrist.[ ] [footnote : see the essay of baron rosen on the anthology of ahmed ibn abi tahir.] [footnote : , ; , ; , ; , - ; , ; , ; , ; , - ; , - ; , ; , ; , ; , ; , .] ethico-didactical treatises in the form of counsels, maxima or testaments, constitute a singular group of literary mementos the genesis of which in the musalman literature maybe established only after an examination of similar books in the persian writings of the sasanian times. examples of a like class of testaments, literary compilations under the title, for the most part, of pseudo-graphs going up to pre-moslem period we have already noticed in the _book of the counsels of ardasher_ and the _pand nameh_ of kisra anushirvan. chapter v the _taj nameh_ as mentioned in the fihrist page , and page , and repeatedly referred to in the _uyunal akhbar_, part i, of ibn kutayba the persian book with illustrations mentioned by masudi in his _kitab at tambih_, page - and the illustrations in the scrolls in the castle of shiz _pahlavi books studied by arab authors_. we have indicated in the preceding chapter the translations of ibn al muqaffa from persian books into arabic. besides those of an ethico-didactic contents, among them there were books of historical character. all these translations have not come down to us. extracts of these renderings into arabic, however, have been preserved in the original and sometimes in paraphrase. unusually important was the translation of the book called the _khuday nameh,_ the value of which has long been appreciated by science. questions of vital importance in connection with this history are its relation to the _shah nameh_ and the examination of its various translations in the musalman period. the loss of this book, perhaps the most important monument of middle persian literature, is to be particularly deplored in that with it has perished the connecting link of the historical evolution of iran, incorporating the religious and clerical legislature in an official redaction. of capital importance also was another book called the ain nameh[ ] or the book of institutes, a valuable source of the internal history of the sasanian empire, comprising a descriptive table of official dignitaries or the _gah nameh._[ ] judging by the clue given in the fihrist ( , ) it would appear that the _book of taj_ also was a historical one since it has been explained that the book treated of the "acts of anushirwan." as a matter of fact, among the books written by the persians on epic and historical subjects and indexed in the same fihrist ( , - ) has been mentioned the _book of taj._[ ] [footnote : see below and also my book on _the materials from arabic sources,_ &c., - . like masudi in his _kitab_ at tambih, asadi in his _lughal al-furs_ (asadi's _neupersischen worterbuch lughat al-furs,_ edited by p. horn, , , ), identifies the word _ain_ with the word _rasam,_ practice or custom. as regards the word _ain_ in the iranian languages see horn _grundriss der neu persischen etymologie_, - ; hubschmann, _persische studien_ , and b.g.a. iv, , and viii, glossarium ix. to understand the ancient usage of the term the modern parsi expression _dad wa ain din_ in the sense of religious law and custom helps us. in this phrase the word _dad_ corresponds to the modern musalman _shariyat_ and the word _ain_ to _adat_. regarding its special meaning in the umayyad times see j. wellhausen _das arabische reich und sein sturz_ .] [footnote : most probably in connection with the materials of this book stood a collection of persian genealogy written by the well-known ibn khurdadbeh (fihrist , ), representing a peculiar antithesis to the numerous selections of arab tribal and family genealogies.] [footnote : here are first mentioned the two books translated by jabala ibn salim, namely, the _book of rustam and isfandiyar_ and the _book of behram chobin_ (the well-known romance of the king about which, sea noeldeke's tabari - ), and further the _book of shahrzad and aberviz_ (which no doubt was connected with the _thousand and one nights_), the _book of kar nameh_ or the "acts" of anushirwan belonging to the same class of books as the _kar nameh of ardashir_. then the books that interest us are the _book of taj_, the _book of dara and the golden idol_, the _ain nameh_, the _book of behramgor and his brother narseh_ and finally, one more _book of anushirwan._] it is possible that the book of ibn al mukaffa was not the first translation of the persian book since this title is applied by not a few other arabic writers of the time to some of their own works. (for example, abu ubaida, see goldziher _muhammed studien_ , ). in his time baron rosen called attention to quotations from a certain _book of taj_ in _uyunal akhbar_ of ibn qutaiba.[ ] these quotations are only to be found in the first part of the _uyunal akhbar_. all these quotations, eight in number, bear a didactic character, and excepting three, refer back to kisra abarviz and contain his testament to his sons (two), secretaries, treasurers and _hajibs_. of the remaining three one bears on general maxims of practical politics. another is a testament of an ancient persian king to his wazir. and the third is a maxim of one of the secretaries of a king. in this manner all these citations are of an ethicodidactic nature; only they have been invested with a historical environment and under ordinary circumstances would represent the general type of writings on political conduct for rulers, standing for the class of literature designated _furstenspiegel_. a similar class of citations is preserved in the "speeches from the throne" and the counsels of the sasanian kings which we come across in various arab historical and anthological works bearing on sasanian persia, as also in the shah nameh. [footnote : baron rosen, zur arabischen literatur geschichte der altern zeit, . ibn qutaiba; _kitab uyunal akhbar_ (melanges asiatiques, viii, , - , especially - ). these citations correspond to those in the edition of brockelmann as follows: , - ; , - ; , - ; , - , ; , - , ; , - ; , - ; , - , .] gutschmid already noticed in his time that by the persian historians to each sasanian ruler was ascribed a maxim and indicated that with reference to ardashir and anoshiravan these maxims may be taken as the basis since the _book of counsels_ of the former was well-known and a large number of edifying proverbs of the latter had found admittance into the national language.[ ] let us add that, as we showed above, there has been preserved a similar class of _books of counsels_, the reputed author of which is anoshiravan. the putative dicta of the other sasanian kings gutschmid considered as fabricated being designed to be brief characterisations of each of them. gutschmid further advanced the conjecture that these apophthegms formed the texts under the portraits of the kings in the book which was used by hamza ispahani[ ] and which was seen by masudi.[ ] according to the information supplied us by the latter (masudi) he saw this book in istakhr in an aristocratic persian family, and that it included, besides information of a scientific character, the history of the persian kings and their reigns and a description of the monuments erected by them.[ ] in the book were the portraits of the sasanians and it was based on the documents found in the royal archives. and the portraits also were prepared from the materials deposited there. the book was completed in a.h. (a.d. ), and it was translated for the khalif hisham from the persian into the arabic language. [footnote : gutschmid, kleine schriften, iii, - .] [footnote : about this book see gutschmid, iii, - .] [footnote : b.g.a. viii, , - , . translation by carra de vaux - . see christensen - .] [footnote : gutschmid , .] we called attention above to the information supplied by istakhri and ibn haukal regarding the castle of shiz and the preservation in it of the archives and the portraits of the sasanian kings. it is highly probable that for the reproduction of these portraits of the sovereigns the authors were guided as much by the bas-reliefs, not far from this castle, as by the tradition regarding them which was embalmed in older books belonging to the class mentioned by masudi which undoubtedly existed in the imperial archives.[ ] along with the literary tradition there must have survived the artistic tradition. it is highly probable that the peculiar persian art of illuminating manuscripts which was yet unknown according to masudi in his own time,--the embellishing of books with gold, silver, and copper dust was practised by the manichians whose calligraphy[ ] delighted the musalman authors and whose style of illustrating manuscripts must have been fashioned after the art displayed in those books which in the tenth century were preserved in the castle of shiz[ ] and which at an earlier period were widely desseminated among the parsi circles. [footnote : connected with ancient tradition, but dependant upon modern science, are the portraits of the sasanian kings in the recently published _nameh khusrawan_, tehran , (a.d. ).] [footnote : in connection with the art of the persian calligraphist and illustrative of the sasanian epoch stand the indications of the ancient moslem writers regarding the avesta, which is reported to have been inscribed by zoroaster in gold ink on parchment and also writings in gold ink of certain ancient persian books. according to the _zafar nameh_, anushirwan directed that the maxims of buzurjamihr should be written down in golden water,--(ba-abizar). from early sasanians also comes the custom of writing on valuable parchment or paper. masudi speaks of the purple ink of these books.] [footnote : see browne, "a literary history", i, - .] now we revert to the supposition of gutschmid. had he known the quotations from the _book of taj_ in _uyunal akhbar_ he would have adduced them in confirmation of his hypothesis, and he would have compared the book mentioned by masudi with the _book of taj_ referred to among the persian books enumerated in the fihrist. on the basis of the last-mentioned work it may be affirmed that in the sasanian times there existed a certain _taj nameh_ comparable to the _khuday nameh_ and _the ain nameh_. the extracts in the _uyunal akhbar_ do not contain anything of a special nature with reference to king anushirwan so that the _book of taj_ on the "acts of anushirwan" mentioned in the fihrist among the books of ibn al mukaffa could hardly have comprised what has been quoted in _uyunal akhbar_. the materials at our disposal are too scanty to establish its relation with the sasanian _book of taj_.[ ] [footnote : the supposition (zotenberg, thaalibi xli,) according to which firdausi saw an illustrated "book of kings" rests on a misunderstanding. the fact is that certain verses have been incorrectly translated by mohl (iv, - , verses - ). mohl translated the passage as follows: "there was an aged man named azad serw who lived at merv in the house of ahmad son of sahl; _he possessed a book of kings in which were to be found the portraits and figures of the pehlwans_. he was a man with a heart replete with wisdom and a head full of eloquence, and a tongue nourished with ancient tradition; he traced his origin to sam, son of nariman, and he knew well the affairs regarding the fights of rustam." a more correct translation would be: "there was a certain old man by name of azad serw living in merv with ahmad son of sahl. _he had a book of kings. in figure and face he was a warrior_; his heart was full of wisdom, his head full of eloquence, and in his mouth there ever were stories of the ancient times. he traced his origin back to sam, son of nariman, and preserved in his memory many a tale of the battles of rustam."] chapter vi the list of the translators from persian into arabic as given in the fihrist, ( , - , ) the different categories of these translators omar ibn al farrukhan of tabaristan (fihrist , - ) and his _kitab al mahasin_ other authors of books of analogous titles in the first centuries of islam,--the relation of these books to the books of "virtues and vices" (cf. baihaqi, pseudo-jahiz) and the connection of these books with the parsi religious idea of the licit and the illicit,--_al mahasin wal masavi_, and the _shayast la shayast_. _translators from pahlavi_. in the fihrist ( , - , ) are stated a number of names of the principal translators from the persian into the arabic language. assuredly this list is far from complete. the author names only a few calling attention to only particular translators. the passage in question in the fihrist has been more than once utilised. the entire section has not been exhaustively examined. we believe that from it we can infer the general character of the contents of those translations which were prepared from persian into arabic and can gather some further indices regarding this list of names. to examine the list of translators in order. first of all as may be expected is mentioned ibn al muqaffa about whom the fihrist speaks in detail at another place. then follow the family of naubakht; musa and yusuf, the sons of khalid; abul hasan ali ibn zyad at tamimi--of his principal translations is mentioned "the tables of shahriyar;" hasan ibn sahal mentioned at the head of astronomers; balazuri; jabala ibn salem, secretary of hisham; ishak ibn yazid, translator of the persian history entitled _khuday nameh_; muhammad ibn al jahm al barmaki; hisham ibn al kasim; musa ibn isa al kisravi; zaduya ibn shahuya al isfahani; muhammad ibn behram al isfahani; behram ibn mardanshah, mobed mobedan of the city of sabur in fars; umar ibn al farrukhan of whom special mention is made by the author of the fihrist. an examination of the aforesaid names of translators in order would, it seems to us, afford material for the solution of the problem regarding the different varieties of persian literary tradition in the first centuries of islam. ibn al muqaffa stands in the first place belonging to him by right. he was a genuine encyclopaedic translator familiar with the arab society with all its influence of spiritual sasanian life of persia finding expression in its literature. he translated scientific, epico-historical, and ethico-didactic books. hence we can understand that in the fihrist has been assigned to him a special notice as noted by us above. the family of naubakht, mentioned next, represents a group of scholars mentioned separately in the fihrist.[ ] the head of the naubakhts, was an astronomer to the khalif mansur and his son abu sahl succeeded to his father's occupation. the grandsons of naubakht wrote books on astronomy as well as jurisprudence. persian literary tradition is earliest recognised in the astronomical works of the grandsons of naubakht. the author of the fihrist places this hasan ibn sahl, as already indicated by flugel, at the head of astronomers. and the same scientific character no doubt was attached to the activities of musa and yusuf,[ ] the sons of khalid mentioned there as well as at tamimi, the author of the astronomical tables _zichash shahriyar_. in this manner these translators mentioned after ibn al mukaffa constituted in a manner a peculiar group of scholars who prepared translations from pahlavi into arabic. [footnote : , - , ; , - ; , - ; , - . see ibn al kifti , - and , - .] [footnote : see ibn al kifti, , - .] balazuri and jabala ibn salem have already been mentioned above. the first translated into verse a book of the counsels of ardeshir and the second the book of rustam and isfandiyar as well as the romance of behram chobin. in this way the themes handled by these writers may be called epico-historical and ethico-didactic. purely historical questions interested the seven succeeding translators from ishaq ibn yazid to mobed behram. these persons are sufficiently known in their special departments of literature. they were the translators into the arabic language of the _khuday nameh_.[ ] accordingly we may group them in a class by themselves. [footnote : compare the essay of rosen mentioned above _on the question of the arabic translations of the khuday nameh_, - , and - .] the next author mentioned at this place in the fihrist as a translator stands by himself,--umar ibn al farrukhan. he is altogether unknown as a translator of historical works. hence he was not included in the group of persons mentioned before. on the other hand, had he been set down in this passage of the fihrist as a translator of scientific works he would have been assigned a place not at the close of the list but in the middle of the translators of this class of books, that is, after ibn muqaffa and in the midst of the descendants of naubakht and other persons mentioned above. therefore we think that umar ibn farrukhan was a translator of another species of work or, may be, works. in support of our assumption we must call attention to that place in the fihrist where are enumerated the books of this author and to which an-nadhin himself refers in the analysis of the number of translators from persian into arabic. besides this place in the fihrist, umar ibn farrukhan of tabaristan has been mentioned in two other places. once briefly,[ ] ( , - ) as the annotator of the astronomical book of dorotheya sidonia and in another place ( , - ) in a few lines[ ] specially devoted to him. here he is mentioned as the annotator of ptolemy as translated by batrik yahuya ibn al batrik and as the author of two books, one of astronomical contents and the other entitled _kitab al mahasin_, that is the book of good qualities and manners.[ ] this latter book demands a few lines from us. [footnote : ibn al qifti , -- .] [footnote : ibn al kifti , - , . (this has been pointed out in the fihrist vol. ii, - , and in zdmg xxv, , -- .) further mention of him in the same book , and , .] [footnote : an account of the literary activity of this author was given in the work of h. suter, _die mathematiker und astronomen der araber und ihre werke_, abhandiungen zur geschichte der mathematischer wissenschaften supplement zum, jahrgang der zeitschrift fur mathematik und physik, leipzig, , - . haji khalfa cites only the astrological books of omar ibn farrukhan i, and v, , . see also justi _namenbuch_ , nos. and .] umar ibn farrukhan is mentioned in the section of books on astronomy, mathematics, physics, mechanics, and music. in this group are mentioned a number of writers who composed works on these sciences, beginning with euclid and ending with the contemporary authors of an-nadhin. in the midst of them, an-nadhin has also mentioned the grandsons of naubakht. not one of them wrote any _kitab al mahasin_ which appears, therefore, to be the independent work of umar ibn farrukhan. this book, further, could not have been of a scientific astronomical, or mathematical nature as is obvious from its subject-matter which related to good manners and conduct. this book has been mentioned in this group only because here are enumerated the works of umar ibn farrukhan. and good manners and conduct constituted, as we saw above, a favourite theme of parsi literature: wherefor the book heads the list. similar to it are the contents not only of _andarzes_ and _pand namehs_ but of a series of tracts on religious subjects. hence we think that it was mainly owing to this book that umar ibn farrukhan was included among the number of principal translators from persian into arabic and came to be enumerated among the translators to whom is ascribed a certain amount of speciality. for he was the solitary representative of his category of translators of ethicodidactic books intimately connected with the problems of the paris religion. possibly umar ibn farrukhan was the first to introduce this species of literature into arabic, and we must add, employed for his material as well as ideas parsi tracts. originally from tabaristan, he, in the words of ibn al qifti, was introduced to abu maashar al balkhi, stood well with jaffer the barmecide, and subsequently with fazl ibn sahl, the wazir who recommended him to his sovereign al-mamum. and for this khalif mamun he prepared a number of translations. the sympathy of these persons for the persian literary tradition could not have been confined to the translation of scientific works, but must have extended to the preservation of persian ethico-didactic tradition in literature. books with the title of _kitab al mahasin_ are to be met with in the fihrist, if not often, several times. a book with this title ( , ) has been ascribed to the celebrated ibn qutaiba. it was composed doubtless after the book of umar ibn farrukhan, for qutaiba flourished at the close of the reign of mamun and his literary activities could be referred to the ninth century. qutaiba undoubtedly interested himself in persian literary materials. hence it can be concluded that his _kitab al mahasin_ was not foreign to the materials and in form could be the first imitation of farrukhan. further it is interesting to note that books with this title were attributed especially to shia authors such as abu nadar muhamed ibn masud al ayashi who wrote _kitab al mahasin al akhlak_ or a book of good morals ( , ) and abu abdullah muhammad ibn khallid al barki who wrote _kitab al mahasin_ ( - , also - ). and the interest of shia authors in persian tradition was unquestionable. a book with the same title of _kitab al mahasin_ is ascribed to a certain ibn al harun, ( , ) an author who has been assigned in the fihrist a place among the writers on adab and as responsible for a book called _kitab al adab_. now the discussion of adab as we said above is intimately connected with persian tradition. and this tradition probably survived in the books which had for their theme "the good qualities of adab."[ ] we believe that all these books were devoted to persian literary tradition, in close relation to which stands the book on "good qualities and manners" mentioned in the fihrist as translated from the persian language into arabic by the man from tabaristan, umar ibn al farrukhan. [footnote : for instance, _mahasin al adab of ispahani_, see brockelmann, _geschichte der arabischen litterature_ i. .] co-related with these books on "good qualities" stand, in our opinion, the books on "good morals and their opposite," or "goodness and wickedness," _kutub al mahasin wal azdad_, or _kutub al mahasin wal masawi_. although in the fihrist we do not come across books with this title, we have a book so named from the beginning of the tenth century whose author was ibrahim ibn muhammad al baihaki.[ ] under the title of _kitab al mahasin wal azdad_ we likewise possess a work ascribed to jahiz.[ ] both these books evidently go to a common origin.[ ] it is quite possible that antithesis was originally not excluded from these _kutub al-mahasin_, from which were developed a special species of educative treatises,--those on "good qualities and their opposites." continuing our comparison with the parsi literature, we notice that a similar kind of antithesis is most commonly employed there. [footnote : ibrahim ibn muhammad al baihaki, _kitab al-mahasin val masavi_, herausgegeben von dr. f. schwally, geissen .] [footnote : _le livre des beautes et des antithesis attribue a abu othman amr ibn bahr al-djakiz_, texte arabe publie par g. van vloten leyde; .] [footnote : see the review by barbier de meynard of the edition of _mahasin wal azdad_ in the revue citique, , .] in the parsi ecclesiastical literature of an ethical nature we find definitely settled what is "proper" and, on the other hand, what is "improper."[ ] it is well known that books under this title,--"the proper and the improper" or "the licit and the illicit"--are to be found among the pahlavi tracts the time of whose composition can be fixed somewhere between the seventh and the ninth centuries a.d.[ ] comparing the pahlavi tracts with reference to these questions with arabic books on good and bad qualities and manners, we have to bear in mind the general features, general outline, as well as the conditions of civilisation of the period when these books were written, in other words, the circumstances of their intimate relation generally of a cultural nature, particularly of a literary form obtaining between the arab and persian nations, and between islam and parsism. not only in detail, but also in their nature these books must be differentiated in proportion as were different the clergy who wrote these ethical tracts from didactic works of a strong legendary element belonging to the pen of secular people. these literary monuments must be differentiated quite as much as their authors and with reference to them we may institute the same parallel which we suggested above between the parsi clergy and the iranophile party of the shuubiya. [footnote : shayed-na-shayed.] [footnote : _shayast la-shayast_ west pahlavi texts, part i, . sacred books of the east, vol. v. - .] furthermore, associated with these literary features was also that class of arabic books, so well known and the period of which interests us, the books on _questions and answers._[ ] [footnote : kitab al masael wa jawabat.] and this is precisely the form in which some of the better known of the parsi books have been cast, for instance, the _minog-i-khrad_[ ] and the _dadistan_[ ] the second of these books decidedly belongs to the ninth century. its contents no doubt, were strongly divergent from others owing to its dependence on altered conditions. [footnote : sacred books of the east, vol. xxiv, - .] [footnote : sacred books of the east xviii, - .] we have already indicated the importance of the citations in early arabic anthologies incorporated from persian historical works.[ ] this nature of quotations are to be found also in books on "good and bad morals and conduct." further we find embedded in arabic works a considerable amount of matter of great importance, a circumstance of vital moment for the investigation of the survival of persian literary tradition. a number of passages similar to those found in these books are undoubtedly embodied in various arabic anthologies. we give below from the two works _al mahasin wal masavi_ and _al mahasin wal azdad_ extracts bearing on persian subjects.[ ] [footnote : see noeldeke "national epos" .] [footnote : see part ii.] the list of persian subjects comprised in these arabic books afford us a sufficient idea of the wealth and variety of the material on these points to be recovered from arabic discourses on manners and morals. chapter vii the book of ali ibn ubaida ar raihani _pahlavi rushnai nameh_. we spoke above about the arabic writer ali ibn ubayd ar rayhani who was prone to persian cultural tradition in general and to the literary tradition in particular. besides the ethico-didactic book, _mehr adar jushnas_, he is the reputed author of a book on adab which has a persian title (fihrist , , and ii, ),[ ] and also another book the title of which could not be deciphered by flugel when he edited the text of the fihrist, (fih. , ). the title consists of two words which can be read conjecturally as _rushna nibik_.[ ] such a name of a book we know to exist in middle persian literature.[ ] [footnote : _kitab adab jawanshir_]. [footnote : as regards the mutilation of persian proper names in the fihrist, such comparatively wellknown books as _khuday_ nameh appear in some of the manuscripts of the fihrist as baktiyar nameh instead of _bakhuday nameh_; see rosen's essay on the translations of the khuday nameh, .] [footnote : west; sacred books of the east vol. v. page , note , and sacred books of the east vol. iii, . [the first authority is not quite clear to me. the second authority is evident: "writing which the glorified roshna, son of atur-frobag, prepared--for which he appointed the name of the _roshan nipik_." tr.] _re_ the name of rushen see justi _namenbuch_ under the word rozanis.] * * * * * books of this title in pahlavi literature related to a variety of religious problems and treated of ethicodidactic themes. the same title, further, we find in the middle persian literature. this is the title of the wellknown book of nasir-i-khusrao, namely, _rushnai nameh_, a considerable portion of which manifests shia and sufistic influences and which by its nature must have been connected with ethico-didactic literature.[ ] it is quite possible that ar rayhani interested himself in persian of ethics and morality literature and in persian _adab_ and gave his book the name of the 'book light' which treated of questions of this nature. this book formed, as no doubt its author did, the uniting link between the didactic parsi clerical writings and the ethical literature of islam. [footnote : giph vol. ii, .] now reading as rushana nibik the title of the book of ar rayhani occurring in the fihrist, we establish a historical fact in literature. not only redactions of persian historical books like _khuday nameh_ and the _ain nameh_, not only diverse monuments of persian ethico-didactic literature but also books with pahlavi titles appear in the index of the books of the flourishing period of arabic literature in fihrist. this is a phenomenon of outstanding importance for the appreciation of the significance of persian literary tradition in the first centuries of islam. appendix i _independent zoroastrian princes of tabaristan._ in the mountains to the south of the caspian sea the persians defended themselves longer than in the rest of the empire against the arab invasion. here the arsacide princes had permitted the local tribes to rule, for these tribes were probably from the first almost independent and only acknowledged their paramountcy and paid tribute. they had the title of spadhapati or in modern language _ispehbed_ which was turned into the arabic _isfehbed_. one of them, gushnasp shah, is named as a contemporary of ardashir i. it was only so late as in the time of kawadh that this king succeeded in establishing a sasanian prince, his son keyus, as shah of tabaristan in . at the death of his father he contested the throne with khusrow i, and was therefore slain by the latter in . his son shapur remained in persia, and a prince of the arsacide house of qaren, named zarmihr, son of sokhra was appointed governor. the administration of rae, derbend and a portion of armenia was before now entrusted to jamasp, a son of peroz, who was succeeded by his son narsi, while another son, behvat, father of surkhab became the ancestor of the kings of shirvan who were known as shirvan shahs. narsi's son was peroz, the father of farrukhan gilanshah, whose capital accordingly was gilan and who in concluded a peace with the arabs. gil gaubareh, the son of this prince, united, with the consent of yezgird the iii, who could not prevent him, gilan with tabaristan, where the dynasty of zarmihr had come to an end. it cannot be doubted that sasanian princes became the governors of these territories. the sons of gaubareh were daboe ( - ) and patospan, in pahlavi patkospan or governor, in modern persian baduspan. daboe was succeeded by his brother khurshed ( - ). we possess coins struck by him in the years - . then came daboe's son ferkhan more correctly farrukhan, the great ( - ); he defeated several attempts on the part of the moslems to penetrate the country. our authorities are tabari (vol. p. ); kitaboloyun ( - ); zahireddin ( , . , ); mordtmann (zdmg , ). his son dad-burzmihr died according to zahireddin in , still his son khurshed ii already struck in his first coin. he was defeated by the arabs and took poison which he used to carry in his signet ring in . the masmoghan or the "priest-prince," the successor of zarathustrotema of ragha or modern rai, who had his seat in the city of demawend or the castle of ustunavend, and who was the son-in-law of the ispehbed, was defeated and the daughters of both the princes were married to members of the house of abbas. the descendants of the badusepan, whom zahireddin carefully traces in all the branches of the family, ruled over ruyan, rustamdar, nur and kujur, down to the year , when they divided themselves into two branches which continued to reign till , and . another dynasty was the mountain rulers of qaren, which is named after its founder. the first qaren was the son of sokhra, the brother of zarmihr. these princes were also styled _ispehbeds_. a descendant of qaren was vindad-hormizd, who in conjunction with shervin i of the house of bavend, and with the badusepan, shahriyar i, conquered the arabs in , but subsequently surrendered himself to hadi and went to baghdad till the latter became khalif in . there is some confusion in the chronology of this dynasty also. a few rulers appear to be wanting because between the beginning of the dynasty in to its close in the average reign of the six princes would come to or years. maziyar, son of qaren, and grandson of vindad-hurmizd was at first defeated by shahryar the son of shervin of the bavend dynasty and took refuge with the khalif mamun in - , and returned after the victory over musa ibn hafs in but was himself worsened by the arabs in and executed. thereupon tabaristan came into the power of the tahirides, the nominal governors of the khalif in khorasan. our authorities are beladhori , ; masudi , ; kitab ol oyun , ; yaqut , , . , ; abulfida , , . the bavend dynasty is a continuation of the masmughans. their original ancestor bav who is characterised as son of shahpur, son of kayos, received from khusraw ii the governorship of istakhr, adharbaijan and tabaristan, but retired himself into a fire-temple in the time of queen azarmidukht. when the arabs in had advanced to the vicinity of amul, the mazenderanis invited him to lead them and he was the founder of the bavend dynasty called after him. now bav was killed by valash in , who did not belong to the dynasty and it was only years later on that the son of bav, suhrab, more correctly surkhab, came to the throne. with the last potentate of this first line of the bavends was united by marriage the house of ziyar which produced two celebrated princes of gurgan, vashmgir and qabus. the other line, the "mountain kings" proper, sprang from a son of the last prince of the first line and was extinguished with the murder of rustum by sayed husain in . a third offshoot originating from a collateral branch of the second enjoyed princely power from - . the arabs had their governors in tabaristan who in the first period minted coins with sasanian impress and with pahlavi legends; they were, however, from time to time expelled by the people. these coins struck by the arabs after the model of the pahlavi mintage were first deciphered by olshausen. ibn khaldun is compelled to admit that "the arabs are of all the people the least capable to govern a country." [translated from justi's contribution to _grunddrisder der iranischen philologie_. vol. ii, p. seq.--g.k.n.] to the above concise sketch of the history of tabaristan for the period which concerns us, which i have translated from justi, one of the most sympathetic writers on iran, a few paras may be added from the fascinating history of _ibn-isfandiyar_ which professor browne has made accessible to us. long after the sasanian dynasty had fallen, and the rest of persia had been subdued by the arabs the ispahabeds continued to strike their pahlavi coinage and maintained the religion of zoroaster in the mountains and forests of tabaristan; and their struggles with the arabs only ended about a.d. by the capture and cruel execution of the gallant maziyar, son of qaren, son of wanda-hurmuz. for a vivid portrayal of the last days of this unfortunate scion of the lost empire of the iranians the reader is referred to the vivid page of this english authority, who has reproduced the story of zoroastrian aggressions in all its original spirit. and nothing less could be expected from a profound and sympathetic scholar to whom "all that concerns maziyar is of supreme interest because it stands for the old persian national and religious ideal". (p. xii). those who still hold in the teeth of historical fact that the empire and religion of iran were overturned at one fell stroke by the ferocious arabs may be referred to the alliance between the ispahbed shirvin and windad-hurmuz which brought it about that from one end to the other of a large track of country, "without their permission no one dared enter the highlands from the plains, and all the highlands were under their control. _and when a moslem died they would not suffer him to be buried in that country_". (p. ). [italics mine, g.k.n.] i will not further quote at length from this volume as it is in english but i cannot resist the temptation to call attention to page , which supplies a typical instance of conversion by persuasion and not persecution. further note that the khalif mamun had a zoroastrian astrologer whose zoroastrian name the khalif arabicised into yahya ibn mansur (p. ). though maziyar outwardly embraced islam he was probably in secret a zoroastrian inasmuch as he continued to have a large magian following and "conferred various offices and distinctions on babak, mazdak, and other magians _who ordered the muhammadan mosque to be destroyed and all trace of islam to be removed_." (p. - ). [italics mine, g.k.n.] the khalif al-muatasim was no less lenient in matters religious than some of the _khulfa i rashidin._ in the year - he deputed one of his nobles to bid a zoroastrian chieftain "break his magian girdle and embrace islam, which he did and thereupon received a robe of honour from the khalif." (p. ). at page we notice the extortionate practices of a magian. parsi princes during khalifat. "in the time of the arabs we find an actual principality whose ruler bore the title of _masimogan_ or the elder of the magians. to him also belonged the cities of wima and shalamba (istakhri ; ibn khurdadbeh ; ibn-al faqih ) as well as the territory of khwar. [magian princes during khalifat (tabari , ).] "the first definite mention of the _masmoghan_ occurs in the year a.h., in which abu muslim called upon the former to surrender and as he declined despatched musa ibn kaab against him who however failed to effect anything against him. (ibn al athir vol. , ). it was only under mamun that the mountainous country of the _masmoghan_ was subjugated. the last prince, whose brother aparwez fought on side of the arabs, was taken prisoner and confined with his two daughters in the mountain fastness of ustunawand in a.h. (tabari vol. , ). "the exact time of the rise of this principality is unknown. for the _masmoghan_ mardanshah who is mentioned by saif in a treaty with suwaid mukarrin under omar (tabari , ), belongs positively to the time of muhallab, a.h. i surmise, however, that the dynasty of the magian baw, the father of the renegade mahgundat, whose christian name was anstasious, who became a martyr to christianity in , originated from the village of warznin in the territory of rai (acta anstasii persae, p. & ), and is connected with the bawend dynasty which appeared just at this place in , and is definitely traced to the magian baw. (the authorities for the above are tabari vol. , and zahirud-din , see also zdmg , .) "baw is a pure magian name and is a transcription of the avesta _bangha_ (yesht , ). another transliteration of the same word is bohak, a name borne by a hero of ispahan who with his six sons and an army joined ardeshir (_karnamak_ , , p. - ; neoleke ). it was also the name of a son of hobakht, the chief _mobed_ under shapur ii. bahak, son of fredon, was the ancestor of aturpat mahraspand (bundahesh ; west pahlavi texts , ). another form of the same name is b[=a]we, who was the _astabed_ or _magister officiorum_ of the persians (josua stylite ed. wright ). the first ruler of the bawend dynasty who enters history is sharwin ibn surkhab (tabari , ). by the arabs he was at first made a vassal controlling the slopes of the alburz (ibn al faqih ; yakut , ), and probably assumed the title _padashkhwargar-shah_ which his descendants continued to hold in the time of al beruni (_chronology,_ p. xl, no. ). in yakubi (vol. , ) he even bears the title of king of tokharistaxi. after him is named mount sherwin on the boundary of komish (tabari , ; ibn al fakih ; belazuri , ). in the year , that is, a.d. - , however, the governor of tabaristan, abdallah ibn khurdadbeh, the father of the historian and geographer, invaded larijan and sarijan and annexed them to the empire of islam. he likewise conquered the mountain land of tabaristan and compelled shahryar, the son of sherwin, to surrender (tabari , ). "but after the death of shahryar, in - , maziyar ibn qaren contested the kingdom with his son shapur and in alliance with the moslems invaded mount sherwin, captured the sons of shahryar and put them to death. (tabari , , belazuri and ibn al fakih .) however, a son of shahryar named qaren who had been detained at the court of maziyar later on joined the arabs and after the fall of maziyar was restored to his paternal estate. "as regards the avesta expression _ragha zarathushtrish_ in the yasna , , it refers to political conditions of a much anterior age not yet reached by our historical investigations." [translated from marquarts, _eranshahr_, p. _seq_-g.k.n.] appendix ii _iranian material in mahasin wal masavi and mahasin wal azdad_. professor inostranzev gives a list of passages of iranian interest which are to be found in the _mahasin-wal masawi_ and in the _mahasin wal azdad_ giving references to pages in the european editions. unfortunately i have not been able to procure the latter and cannot verify the allusions. i, however, reproduce below the iranian subjects touched upon in these two arabic books on _adab_ in the cairo editions. iranian material from the mahasin-wal masawi, part i, p. . a dictum of buzarjmahir. p. , a story of king kobad. p. , a story of anushirwan, "the wisest of men of his time in persia". p. , a story of king ardeshir. p. , reference to a custom of the persian kings and a story of yazdajard. iranian material from the mahasin-wal masawi part ii. p. , a story about shiruya, son of aberwez. p. , a dictum of the persians on eloquence. p. , a story about buzarjmahir. p. , a story about anushirwan. p. , a story about king kobad and a mobed. p. , a story of anushirwan. p. , a dictum of buzarjmahir. p. , a story of hurmuz, son of anushirwan. p. , a story of bahramgor. p. , a story of the sense of justice of king anushirwan. p. , a story of anushirwan. p. , reference to a zand book in connection with islam. p. , a story of an arab who acted as interpreter in arabic to a persian king. p. , a story as narrated by kisrawi about kisra, son of hormuz. p. , reference to a majus or zoroastrian. p. , a story of shiruya, son of kisra. p, , a quotation from ibn-ul muqaffa. p. , the story of sabur-zul-aktaf. iranian material in the mahasin-wal-azdad. p. , story of king abarwez. p. , story of the kisra. p. , quotation from al kisrawi, relating a story about kisra, son of hormuz. in this story the unfortunate general afshin, the governor of ashrushna, is plainly designated a _majus_ or zoroastrian. p. , a dictum of bahramgor. p. , the conversation between the mobedan mobed and king aberwez. p. , reference to the book of "our" (zoroastrian) religion _(kitab din-na)._ p. , reference to an inscription on a stone slab discovered in the treasury of a persian king. p. , the story of balash as narrated by kisrawi, (on this story baron rosen bases his investigation of the pahlavi _khodaynama_.) p. , an anecdote of king aberwez. professor inostranzev finds the following iranian material in the mahasin-wal masavi and the mahasin-wal azdad (mm=mahasin-wal masavi, and ma=mahasin wal-azdad): ma, , to --mm, , to . ma, , to --mm, , to . ma, , to --mm, , to . ma, , to --mm, , to . ma, , to --mm, , to . ma, , to --mm, , to , . ma, , to --mm, , to . ma, , to --mm, , to . ma, , to --mm, , to . in connection with the importance of kisrawi as regards the persian literary material, these are the extracts from him in the two arabic works: ma, , to , --mm, , to . ma, , to --mm, , to . ma, , to , --mm, , to . in view of the remarks by browne (_literary history_, to ) regarding the significance of persian words and expressions in the ancient arabic literary works for the history of the persian language, of particular importance are the excerpts from kisrawi, ma , to , --mm, , to , where occur persian phrases from the maxims of anushirwan "which as i think have been handed down to us in pure pahlavi." interesting is the interpretation of the persian word _mihman_ at another place in the same arabic books, _viz_:--ma, , to =mm, , to , . appendix iii [translation of noeldeke's _burzoe's einleitung zu dem buche kalila wa dimna_.] _burzoe's introduction to the book of kalila wa dimna._ [sidenote: burzoe's introduction not fabricated.] the arabic redaction of the indian tales which we know under the name of _kalila wa dimna_ had two unquestionably genuine introductions, that of the compilator ibn moqaffa himself who died in a.h., and that of burzoe who in the time of king khusrow i, (a.d. to ) brought the book from india and translated it into the written persian language of the time, the pehlevi. the circumstances regarding the mission of burzoe to india are still not clear. at any rate ibn moqaffa did not write as we read them now. nevertheless it is by no means improbable that he had affixed to his book a report which, however, wan subsequently mutilated, of necessity, in diverse ways. the preface by ala-ibn-shah or behbod, which has also been printed by de sacy, which is found in a few manuscripts and which is not known to the ancient translations is a later and entirely valueless excrescence. the introduction of burzoe stood in the pehlevi work which ibn moqaffa had before him. according to certain manuscripts this introduction has been compiled--or however we translate the ambiguous term _tarjuma_--by burzgmihir, the prime minister of khusrow, much better known in polite literature than in history. [naturally i do not deny altogether that burzgmihir was a historical personage but he possessed by no means the importance which the tradition in question ascribes to him. the ascription is purely an erroneous inference from the above-mentioned report of the circumstances touching the mission of burzoe, has not the slightest inherent probability, and is besides wanting not only in other manuscripts but also in all the older translations.] we cannot question the fact that this section of the arabic work in the main reproduces the introduction composed by the chief physician burzoe himself to the book translated by him into pehlevi from an indian language. that language as hertel has shown was sanskrit, which fact, however, does not preclude the possibility of an indian interpreter translating the original text to the persian who spoke a modern indian tongue. several passages speak to the fact that the author of the introduction is the physician. why should ibn moqaffa pretend that burzoe earnestly studied medicine and practised it? moreover, the section is familiar with those principles of indian medicine of which ibn moqaffa could otherwise know little and the exposition of which he had no call to deal with. the entire situation seems to me to harmonise with the circumstances of the persian physician. specially noteworthy is the encomium on the persian sovereign. [sidenote: ibn moqaffa took liberties with the pehlevi.] this is, however, not equivalent to saying that the arabic text is an exact replica, down to details, of the original of burzoe. in the first place it has to be observed that ibn moqaffa was no pure translator at all but a regular redactor of his model. his object was to prepare a work suitable to the taste of his highly educated readers and at the same time entertaining and instructive. he proceeded, therefore, not only with a tolerably free hand as an artist in words but added good many things of his own. above all here we have to bear in mind the trial of dimna. that this chapter is an addition by a muslim who would not let pass in silence the acknowledgement of clever but demeaning intrigue was already recognised by benfey and we need not doubt but that it originated with ibn moqaffa. i would also claim, for ibn moqaffa the somewhat unimportant history of the anchorite and his guest. the manner of his narrative we learn from his own preface. it is especially to be noted that here also as in the trial of dimna he recounts anecdotes after the indian fashion. [sidenote: ibn moqaffa's religious scepticism.] it is accordingly not impossible that in our burzoe chapter there are a few things which have originated not with the persian physician of old but with ibn moqaffa; and this, i presume, as i showed long ago, specially from the disquisition on enquiry into the uncertainty of religions. it appears much more to fit in with ibn moqaffa than burzoe. ibn moqaffa exchanged the religion of his persian fathers for islam only in his mature years,--certainly not because he saw in the latter perfect verity but because probably he was not satisfied with zoroastrianism with which he was intimately familiar or with any of the other religions which in his time flourished openly or in secret in iraq which was "the heart of the empire". to such a man the scepticism of our section is natural, a fact which does not make it impossible that certain principles which were common to all the religions intimately known to the author remained also self-evident to ibn moqaffa,--such as god as the creator, and the next world with its reward and penalties. had ibn moqaffa, in his own name confessed to such religious doubts publicly no patron could have saved him from capital punishment. on the other hand he ran no risk in ascribing the questionable exposition to the persian long since dead, who, however, supposing that he harboured such doubts could not have given expression to them as a physician attached to the imperial court of persia. the belief in an inexorable fate which is evident in this chapter as well as in the entire portion attributable to ibn moqaffa could have been cherished, no doubt, also by a mazdyasnian. this doctrine, therefore, speaks neither for nor against the authorship of ibn moqaffa. equally far from decisive is the exhortation to pure morality which finds expression there. i am confirmed in my view that the passage on the unconvincing nature of religions proceeded from ibn moqaffa by a few couplets in the _shahnama_. (mohl vol. , ff; macan ). the king of india called kaid has several dreams which are interpreted to him by the sage mihran. the third dream, about four men pulling at a fine piece of cloth, each towards himself, without tearing it, is thus explained by him: "know that the piece of cloth is the religion divine end that the four men who pull at it have come to preserve it. one of the religions is that of the dihkans, the fire-worshippers, who may not take in hand the barsom without pronouncing the prayer formula. "[the dihkans were properly speaking the small landed nobility of the sasanian times and as such were representatives of the ancient persian religion; _barsom_ and the prayer formula or _baz_ are well-known components of their ritual.] "another religion is that of moses, which is called the jewish religion, maintaining that none besides itself is worthy of praise; the third religion is of greece, belongs to men of piety and brings equity to the heart of princes (this is christianity). the fourth is the pure faith of the arab which raises the head of the intelligent out of dust. thus they struggle for the preservation of their religion and pull the cloth towards the four sides away from each other and become enemies for the sake of religion." [sidenote: ibn moqaffa no sincere muslim] this passage the basic principle of which accords with the reflections on religion in our chapter i would now with greater positiveness than before trace to ibn moqaffa (zdmg , ). it did not find a place in the old pehlevi "_book of kings_" because the latter could recognise only the national religion as the right one and could not have taken into consideration islam, even supposing that the last redaction of the official sasanian history took place at a time when muhammadanism had already come into existence. but firdausi did not at all invent the material of his narrative. he merely compiled it and the major portion of the compilation goes back to the shape which ibn moqaffa had given to the ancient tradition (see what i have to say on this in my national epic of iran, _grundriss der iran philogie_). in actuality ibn moqaffa was not believed to be a sincere muslim. he is frequently stigmatised as zindik or heretic (see _aghani_ . , ff. , , ff. ibn qotaiba, _uyun_ , ; further ibn khallikan , p. .) [the term zindiq probably originally denoted a certain rank among the manichaeians or a similar religion and was then applied to suit a variety of infidels. the etemology, aramaic zaddiqy, has been recognised by bevan.] again the passage does not fit in with the tenor of the entire section. for burzoe who was at a loss with regard to the physician's art, the main question is, whether he should or should not become an ascetic,--a question which must concern ibn moqaffa but little. the suitability of the addenda hardly admits of proof but we may state that ibn moqaffa did not simply interpolate but wove them artfully in his text and he might have omitted something here and there. [sidenote: burzoe influenced by buddhism] it seems to me highly probable that burzoe allowed himself to be influenced by the buddhist romance, the original of which has perished and the best representative of which, is preserved to us in the arabic _bilauhar wa budasf_ (see _barlaam und joasaph_ by e. kuhn). many a passage of our chapter is strongly reminiscent of the sentences of the romance, for instance, the dangers to the body remind one of those related at p. ; the four principles or _akhalat_ appear at p. , and the parable of the man in the well is common to both. the parable which stands at the close of the chapter is, unless one is greatly mistaken, directly taken from the romance with little modification. it stands in the whole of _kalila wa dimna_ isolated, deviates in manner and tendency entirely from the story and also from what has issued from ibn moqaffa but is consistent with the monastic predilections of burzoe. and his appraisement of the life of the recluse does not appear spontaneous but something to which he has laboriously compelled himself. one may surmise that it was really alive only in india. how far it was practised in actual life must remain unproved. we must not omit to mention that burzoe points out that for an ideal physician his art earns also rich earthly profits. [sidenote: english translation of the introduction a desideratum.] so far as i know, of this chapter there is no translation in a european language except in the english by knatchbull which appeared in , which reproduced the imperfect text of de sacy and is otherwise defective. wolff did well to omit it in his german translation of _kalila wa dimna_ of , for he could not have produced a correct rendering of de sacy's text which was not completed till by guidi. [sidenote: difficulties of translation.] even now it is impossible to make a translation of burzoe's introduction which can stand the test of philology. we must first see whether with the use of all available manuscripts and a careful collation of other text sources we cannot arrive at a tolerably settled arabic text. and that is, so far as i can conclude from my not quite insignificant material, not very probable. at all events a searching examination of all the manuscripts in the great paris library is essential. the various texts of the book are considerably divergent. arbitrariness and carelessness of transcriber have disfigured ibn moqaffa's work of art just because it presently became a favourite book of entertainment. the language at all events remains approximately correct in the manuscripts. grammatical mistakes easy of correction are not seldom met with but pure vulgarisms occur only in a few copies like that of berlin. the numberless variants have not much significance for the translator when it is only a question of synonyms, since for them the same european expression can do duty. and though it is not certain whether in the case of a multitude of non-essential or wholly analogous expressions the shorter or the extended text is the original one, that does not substantially affect the translation. there is scarcely any harm in curtailing the frequent tautology of this chapter. we should be well advised in case of successive synonymous abstract nouns and verbs such as occur frequently in arabic to translate by a simple expression with an emphatic adjective or adverb. but not seldom the difference becomes great. it is a difficult situation when we are uncertain whether the passage which is found in several manuscripts and not in others is the original one. as a rule we have to decide in favour of the majority but as sometimes we do come across actual interpolations in some, so their existence is not impossible in others, although we can not be positive on the subject. [sidenote: a monumental piece of literature.] the matter would have been less troublesome for me had i been able straight way to declare as the best the tradition of any of the manuscripts familiarly known to me or any old translation. that, however, is not so. i have to judge each case by itself and to proceed eclectically as much as my philological conscience permits. finally, by means of my rendering i believe i have reproduced the import of this monumental piece of literature without showing absolute partiality to the arabic document. my rendering is wanting doubtless in the elegance with which ibn moqaffa handles the language which in his time had acquired the capacity of treating even abstract subjects with lucidity. may a later hand improve upon my translation! only those who attempt it can appreciate how difficult it is to make a tolerable european translation even of an easily intelligible arabic text. a literal translation would be wooden. we have often to alter the entire construction and to insert all manner of words foreign to the arabic to make the context clear. on the other hand the translator must avoid employing the same expression in rapid succession, a procedure which is common in arabic even if we make allowance for the _figura etymologica_ and the like. [sidenote: ibn qutaiba and ibn moqaffa.] i only know two passages in this chapter which are quoted by arabic authors. brockelmann informs me that no quotation from our chapter occurs in the unpublished portion of the _uyun_ of ibn qutaiba. unless i am mistaken the excerpts in this book from _kalila wa dimna_ are not always correct. ibn qutaiba was concerned more with the sense than with the phraseology of ibn moqaffa. the statement of burzoe the persian physician in chief, who undertook to transcribe and translate this indian book (kalila wa dimna). [sidenote: autobiographical.] my father belonged to the warrior class, my mother came of an eminent priestly family. one of the earliest boons which the lord conferred on me was that i was the most favourite child of my parents and that they exerted themselves more for my education than for my brothers. so when i was seven years old they sent me to a children's school. [this was required to be mentioned in his case inasmuch as it could not have been necessary or usual for a child of distinguished parentage in early persia to be educated in a public school.] when i had learnt the ordinary writing i was thankful to my parents and perceived something in knowledge. [in spite of the wide divergence in the arabic texts and translations the sense of the original is clear. note the reference to the difficult nature of the pehlevi syllabary. only the spanish version has a good deal more about the schooling.] [sidenote: appreciation of the healing art.] and the first branch of science to which i felt inclination was medicine. it had a great attraction for me because i recognised its excellence and the more i acquired it the more i loved it and the more earnestly i studied it. now when i had progressed sufficiently far to think of treating invalids i took counsel with myself and reflected in the following manner on the four objects for which mankind so earnestly strive. "which of them shall i seek to acquire with the help of my art, money, prosperity, fame, or reward in the next world"? in the choice of my calling the decisive factor was my experience that men of understanding praise medicine and that the adherents of no religion censure it. i found, however, in medical literature that the best physician is he who by his devotion to his vocation strives only after a reward in the next world; and i resolved to act accordingly and not to think of worldly gain, so that i may not be likened to the merchant who sold for a worthless bead a ruby by which he could have acquired a world of wealth. on the other hand, i found in the books of the ancients that when a physician strives after the reward in the next world by means of his art he thereby forfeits no fraction of his worldly guerdon but that therein he is to be compared with the peasant who carefully sows his plot of ground to acquire corn and who subsequently without further effort gets along with the harvest all manner of vegetation. [the cultivator along with the harvest gets grass and vegetation which may serve as a pasture for cattle.] [sidenote: burzoe starts practice.] i, therefore, directed my attention to the hope of securing recompense in the next world by curing the sick and was at considerable pains in the treatment of all the deceased whom i hoped to cure and even such as were past all such hopes, whose suffering i endeavoured at least to alleviate. i personally attended those i could; but where this was not possible i gave the patients the necessary instructions and also sent medicine. and from none of those whom i so treated did i demand payment or other return. i was jealous of none of my colleagues who was my equal in knowledge and who excelled me in repute and riches; although as a matter of fact he was lacking in equity and good manners. when, however, my soul felt inclined to impel me to be jealous of such and to be covetous of a situation like his i met it with severity in the following manner:-- [sidenote: burzoe addresses his own soul. the physician's arduous calling.] [sidenote: a simile.] o soul, dost not thou differentiate between what is useful and what is injurious to thee? dost thou not cease wishing for the acquisition of that which secures for every one a small gain but which entails severe exertion and privation and which, when he must at last relinquish it, procures him much sorrow and severe punishment in the next world? o soul, thinkest thou not of that which succeeds this life and forgettest it because of thy avarice for the things of this world? art thou not ashamed to live the evanescent terrestrial life in the company of men of feeble intellect and fools? it belongs not to him even who has something of it in his hand: it does not endure with him and only the infatuated and the negligent depend upon it. desist from this irrationality and bend all thy might, so long as in thee lies, to exert thyself for the good and for divine recompense. beware of procrastination. reflect on the fact that our body is destined to all manner of unhappiness and permeated with the four perishable and impure principles which are enclosed in it, which struggle against each other, defeating each other by turn, and thus support life which itself is transient. life is like a statue with several limbs. when properly adjusted each in its right place, they hold themselves together on a single pivot but which, when the latter is taken off, fall to pieces. o soul, do not deceive thyself owing to intercourse with friends and companions and do not strain thyself after it, inasmuch as this intercourse brings no doubt joy but also much hardship and tribulation and finally ends in separation. it is like a ladle which men use for hot soup, so long as it is new but when it breaks they have done with it--burn it. o soul, allow not thyself to be moved by family and relations to amass property for them so that thyself should perish. thou shouldst, then, be like fragrant incense which is burnt only for the enjoyment of others. they are like a hair which men cherish so long as it remains on the head but cast it off as impure as soon as it falls. o soul, be steadfast in treating the diseased and give it not up because thou findest that the physician's profession is arduous and people do not recognise its uses and high value. judge only thyself whether a man who cures in another a disease making him feel once more fresh and whole is not worthy of a great reward and handsome remuneration. this is the case with one who has solicitude for a single individual; how much more then is this so in the case of a medicineman who for meed in the next world thus acts towards a, large number of men, so that they after torturing pains and maladies, which shut them out from the enjoyment of the world, from food and drink, wife and child, feel once more as well as ever before. who indeed merits larger reward and nobler retribution? o soul, do not put away from thy sight things of the next world because thou hungerest after passing life. for thou, in thy haste to acquire a triviality surrenderest the valuable; and such people are in the position of the merchant who had a house full of aloe wood and who said, "if i were to sell this by weight it would take me too long" and therefore gave it away wholesale for a trifling price. [sidenote: autobiographical] after thus i had replied to my soul and thereby explained matters to it and guided it aright it could not deviate from truth, yielded to righteousness and abandoned what it was inclined to. accordingly i continued to treat the sick for the sake of my reward in the next world. this, however, by no means prevented my acquiring a rich portion of earthly goods before my journey to india as well as after my return from the kings, and that was more than i was ambitious of or had hoped for, for a man in my position and my calling. [sidenote: limitations of the healing art.] thereafter i again reflected on the healing art and found that the physician can employ no remedy for a suffering patient which so completely cures his disease that it does not attack him again or that he is immune from a worse disorder. while, therefore, i was unaware how i could effect a perfect cure secure against the recurrence of a disease, i saw that on the other hand acknowledge of the next world was a permanent absolute protection against all distempers. accordingly i conceived a contempt for the healing art and a longing for religious knowledge. [sidenote: uncertainty of religious verity.] [sidenote: burzoe inquires of religious heads on matters divine: his disappointment.] when, however, this occurred to my mind it was not clear to me how matters stood with reference to religion. i found nothing in the writings on pharmacy which indicated to me the truest religion. so far as i saw there were many religions and creeds and their adherents were again disunited. some inherit their religion from their fathers; others are compelled to adhere to it by fear and pressure; others again aim at worldly advantages, enjoyments and renown. everyone claims for himself the possession of the true and right faith and denounces that of others as false and erroneous. their views on the world and other problems are entirely conflicting yet each despises the other, is inimical to and censures every other creed. i then resolved to turn to the learned and leaders of every religions community with a view to examining their doctrines and precepts in order possibly to learn to distinguish between verity and nullity and implicity to give my adhesion to the former without altogether accepting as true what i did not understand. so i analysed, investigated and observed, but i found that all those people only held before me traditional notions. each landed his faith and reviled that of others. it was, therefore, evident to me that their conclusions rested on mere imagination and that they did not speak with impartiality. in none did i find such fairness and integrity that reasonable people could accept their dicta and declare themselves satisfied with them. when i perceived this it was impossible for me to follow any one of the religions and recognised that if i put faith in one of them of which i knew nothing i should fare like the betrayed believer in the following story. [sidenote: anecdote of the credulous burglar.] once upon a time a thief set out at night and along with his companions got up on to the roof of the house of a man of opulence. as they entered they awoke the owner who noticed them and perceived that at that hour they were on the roof with evil intent. he awoke his wife and gently said to her, "i see that up on the top of our roof there are thieves. i will pretend to sleep, wake me up in a voice loud enough to be heard by those on the roof and say to me, 'my husband, do tell me how you came by so much wealth and property.' when i make no reply whatever ask me very pressingly again." the woman accordingly asked him as she was ordered so that the house-breakers heard it all. the man replied, "my wife, luck has led you to great prosperity, so eat and drink, keep quiet and do not ask about it, because if i told it to you, some one would easily hear it and get something by it, which neither of us would like." she, however, persisted, "but my husband, do tell me, surely there is no one here to overhear us." "well then, i will tell you that i have acquired all this wealth and goods by theft." "how did you manage it, when in the eye of the people you are still irreproachably honest and no one suspects you?" "by means of an artifice in the science of thieving: it is so handy and easy that no one can have any suspicion whatever." "how so?" "i used to manage this way: on a moonlight night i would go out with my companions, get up to the roof of the house of the person i wanted to rob as far as the sky light through which the moon shone and then uttered seven times the charm _sholam sholam sholam_. i would then embrace the rays and slide down into the house without any body noticing my intrusion. then at the other extremity of the moon-beams i again would seven times repeat the magic word and all the money and treasures in the house became visible to me. i could take of them whatever i would. once more i would embrace the beams and rehearsing again seven times the magic word mount up to my companions and load them with all i had. next we stole away unscathed." when the robbers overheard this they rejoiced exceedingly and said: "in this house we have got a spoil which is more valuable to us than the gold which we can get there; we have acquired a means by which god delivers us from fear and we are secure against the authorities." so they watched for a long time and when they had made sure that the master of the house and his wife had gone to sleep the leader of the robbers stepped up to the spot where the light streamed through the hole, spoke sholam sholam seven times, clasped the rays with the intention of dropping down along them and fell head foremost on the floor. the husband sprang to his feet with a club and thrashed him to a jelly asking him, "who are you?" and he replied, "the deceived believer: this is the fruit of blind faith." [sidenote: more religious investigation and more despair.] [sidenote: a dilemma.] accordingly, after i had grown sufficiently circumspect not to credit what might probably lead to my perdition, i started again investigating religions to discover the true one. but i again found no reply whenever i put questions to any one and when a doctrine was propounded to me i found nothing which in my judgment merited belief or served me as a guiding principle. then i said, "the most reasonable course is to cling to the religion in which i found my fathers." yet when i sought justification for this course i found none and said to myself, "if that be justification then the sorcerer also had one who found his progenitors to be wizards." and i thought of the man who ate indecently and when he was rebuked for it he excused himself by saying that his ancestors used to feed in the same gross way. since, therefore, it was impossible for me to keep to the religion of my forbears and since i could find no justification for it, i desired once more earnestly to bestir myself and most carefully to examine the various religions and to consider minutely what they had to offer us. but then suddenly the idea struck me that the end was near and that the world would presently come to a close for me. thereupon i pondered as follows:-- [sidenote: meditation of despair.] perhaps the hour of my departure has already arrived before i could wring my hands. my deeds were once still such that i could hope they were meritorious. now perhaps the prolonged hesitation over my search and investigation would turn me away from the good deeds which i practised formerly, so that my end would not be such as i strove for, and owing to my wavering and vacillation the fate of the man in the following anecdote would overtake me. [sidenote: an anecdote: fatal hesitation.] a certain man had a love affair with a married woman. she had made for him a subterraneous passage opening into the street and its entrance was constructed close by a water jar. this she did for fear lest her husband or some one else should surprise her. now one day when her paramour was with her word was brought that the husband was standing at the door. the lover hastened to get behind the jar but it had been removed by some one so he came to the woman and said, "i went to the passage but the jar of which you spoke was not there." to which the woman, said "you fool, what have you got to do with the jar? i mentioned it to point to you the way to the passage." "i could not be sure, since the jar was not near the passage, you should not have spoken of it to me and misled me." "now save yourself, enough of your stupidity and hesitation." "but how shall i go since you spoke to me of the jar and even now confuse me?" thus he remained there till the master of the house came up and seized hold of and belaboured him, and handed him over to the authorities. [sidenote: burzoe follows good principles common to all creeds.] [sidenote: the properties of righteousness.] since i was apprehensive of the risks of shilly-shallying i resolved not to expose myself to the danger and to confine myself entirely to such works as all men regard as benevolent and which are consonant with all the religions. i refrained, therefore, from assault, murder and robbery, and guarded myself against incontinence and my tongue from falsehood and all utterance calculated to harm any one, avoided the smallest deception, indecency of language, falsehood, calumny and ridicule and took pains that my heart wished ill of no one and that i did not disbelieve in resurrection and retribution and punishment in the next world. i turned away my mind from wickedness and adhered energetically to good, perceived that there is no better associate or friend than righteousness and that it is easy to acquire it with the help of god. i found that it has more tender solicitude for us than father and mother that it leads to good and gives true counsel like one friend to another, that use does not diminish but rather multiplies it, and that when employed it does not wear out, but is constantly renewed, and becomes more beautiful; that we need not fear that the authorities will snatch it from us, the enemy will rob or miscreants disfigure it, or water drown or fire will consume it, wild beasts attack it or that any thing untoward will happen to it. he who contemns righteousness and its consequences in the next world and permits himself to be seduced from it by a fraction of the sweets of this passing world, he who passes his days with things which do not permit piety to approach him, fares as did to my knowledge the merchant in the following story. [sidenote: the careless jeweller.] a merchant had many precious stones. to bore a hole through them he hired a man for a hundred pieces of gold a day and went with him to his house. as soon however, as he set to work, there was a lute and the workman turned his eyes towards it. and upon the merchant questioning him whether he could play upon it he replied, "yes, right well." for he was indeed proficient in the art. "then take it" said the merchant. he therefore took it and played for the merchant the whole day beautiful melodies in proper tune so that the jeweller left the caset with the precious stones in it and filled with joy kept time, nodding his head and waving his hand. in the evening he said to the jeweller, "let me have my wages," and when the latter said, "have you done anything to deserve the wage?" he replied, "you have hired me and i have done what you ordered me to do." so he pressed him till he received his hundred pieces without any deduction, while the gems remained unbored. [sidenote: aversion to pleasures of the world: buddhistic pessimism.] the more i reflected upon the world and its joys the deeper grew my aversion towards them. then i made up my mind entirely to devote myself to the life of the blessed and the anchorite. for i saw that asceticism is a garden the hedge of which keeps off at a distance eternal evils, and the door through which man attains to everlasting felicity. and i found that a divine tranquility comes over the ascetic when he is absorbed in meditation; for he is still, contented, unambitious, satisfied, free from cares, has renounced the world, has escaped from evils, is devoid of greed, is pure, independent, protected against sorrow, above jealousy, manifests pure love, has abandoned all that is transitory, has acquired perfect understanding, has seen the recompense of the next world, is secure against remorse, fears no man, does none any harm and remains himself unmolested. and the more i pondered over asceticism the more i yearned for it so that at last i earnestly thought of becoming an ascetic. [sidenote: the trials of an anchorite: the greedy dog.] but then apprehension came upon me that i should not be able to support the life of a hermit and that the ordinary way in which i had grown up would prove an hindrance. i was not sure that, should i renounce the world and adopt asceticism, i should not prove too feeble for it. moreover, should i give up such good works as i had previously performed in the hope of salvation, i should be in the position of the dog who with the bone in his mouth was going along a river. he saw his reflection in the water, suddenly dashed forward to seize it and consequently let fall what he had in the mouth without securing what he wanted to get. so i grew uneasy regarding the recluse's life and was afraid lest i should fail to bear it and thought therefore rather to continue the career of my life. [sidenote: worldly monastic life.] [sidenote: a series of similes.] however, it occurred to me to compare the discomforts and straits of monasticism, which i feared i should be unable to support, with the wants of those who remain in the world. then it became clear to me that all the joys and pleasures of the world turn to discomforts and bring sorrow. for the world is like salt water. the more one drinks of it the more thirsty one becomes; like a bone found by a dog on which he still sniffs the flavour of flesh, he bites to get at it but only to tear the flesh of his teeth and make his mouth bleed and the more he struggles the more he makes it bleed; like the vulture that has found a piece of flesh, it attracts other birds in a flock so that for a long time it is in trouble and flies till at last, quite exhausted, it drops its prey; like a pot filled with honey and with poison at the bottom, he who eats of it has a short enjoyment but at last death by venom; like a dream which rejoices the sleeper who finds when he awakes his joy vanished; like lightning that brings brilliance for a moment but quickly disappears, he who builds his hope upon it abides in darkness; like the silk worm the more it spins itself into the silk the more impossible it finds to come out. [sidenote: more internal struggle.] after i had pondered thus i once more proposed to my soul to elect asceticism and had yearning for it. nevertheless i opposed it with: it will not do that i should seek refuge from the world in asceticism when i think of the evils of the world and then again seek refuge in the world from asceticism when i consider the privations and discomforts of the latter. i continued in a state of prolonged vacillation without firm determination like the kazi of merv who at first heard one party and decided in his favour and against the other and then heard the other and gave judgment in favour of the latter as against the first. and when again i reflected upon the frightful discomforts and straits of monasticism i said, how trifling it is all in comparison with eternal peace. and then once more thinking of the joys of the world i exclaimed, how bitter and pernicious they are which lead to perpetual perdition and its horrors; how can a man not regard as sweet the little bitterness which is succeeded by sweet that endures and how can a man not regard as bitter a bit of sweet that ends in greater and abiding bitterness? if it was offered to a man that he should live a hundred years but that every day he should be hacked to pieces and should be called to life again the following day and so on, provided that at the close of the century he should be delivered from the torture and pain and be in security and delight, he would account as nothing the whole years. how can a man then not bear the few days of asceticism, the inconveniences of which are succeeded by much that is beautiful? and we know that the entire world bears privation and torment and that man from his origin as foetus till the end of his days is subject to one suffering after another. moreover, we find the following in books of medicine. [sidenote: man in embryo: his torments till and after death.] [sidenote: tribulations of human existence.] when the liquid, of which the perfect child is to be built, enters the uterus of the woman, and mixes itself with her liquid substance and her blood it becomes thick and pulpy. next the liquid is stirred by a wind and becomes like sour milk and later on hard like curdled milk. after a certain number of days the individual members become separate. if it is a man child its face is turned to the back of the mother; if it is a female it is turned towards the belly. in the foetus the hands are on the cheeks and the chin is on the knee. it is all bundled up in the foetus as if it was thrust into a pouch. it breathes through a narrow opening. each member is bound by a chord. above it is the heat and the pressure of the mother's womb; below are darkness and constriction. it is tied with a piece of its navel to that of its mother, sucks through it and lives upon her food and drink. in this position it remains in gloom and confinement till the day of birth. when that day comes a wind acquires control of the womb, that child acquires strength to rise, turns the head towards the opening and experiences in this confinement the pain of one forced into a distressing torture. should it fall to the ground or be touched only by a breath of wind or should it come in contact with one's hands it feels greater pain, than a person that is flayed alive. the new born babe then suffers all manner of torment. when it is hungry it cannot ask for food; thirsty, for drink; when in pain it cannot call for help. besides it is lifted up, laid down, wrapped up, swathed, washed and rubbed. when it is laid to sleep on the back it cannot turn. again so long as it is given the suck it is subjected to all manner of other tortures. when it is finally delivered from these, it is liable to those of education and has then to suffer a great deal, the brusqueness of the teacher, the unpleasantness of the instruction, the disgust at writing. next he has his rich portion of medicine, diet, aches and illnesses. when he has outgrown these, he is troubled with wife, child and property and is pulled about by covetuous ambition and is exposed to the peril of longing and desires. all this while he is menaced by his four internal enemies, gall, blood, bile and wind; and furthermore, mortal poison, snakes that bite, animals of prey and reptiles, the alternation of heat and cold, rain and storm as well as finally the various plagues of age, if at all he survives those. but should he have nothing to fear from all this and were he secure with regard to these calamities, when he thinks of the moment when death must come and he musk give up the world, what a miserable plight is his, at the thought of the hour he has to separate himself from family, friends, and relations and all that is precious on the earth, and when he reflects that there is in store for him after death fearful horrors? then must he be considered of feeble intellect, neglectful and a suitor for misfortune should he do nothing for his soul, should he not employ all art in behalf of the soul, and should he not renounce altogether the pleasures and errors of the world which till then had seduced him. [sidenote: eulogy of the reigning monarch.] [sidenote: fallen on evil days.] [sidenote: how the world's misery outweighs its joys.] but this holds especially good of modern times which have become worn out and fragile, which appear pure but are turbid. god has given the king good fortune and success. he is equally circumspect, mighty, magnanimous, profound examiner, upright, humane, liberal, a lover of truth, grateful, of broad comprehension, mindful of right and duty, indefatigable, strenuous, with insight, helpful, serene of mind, intelligent, thoughtful, gentle, sympathetic, kind, one who knows man and things, friend of learning and the learned, of the good and of benevolent people, but severe to the oppressor, not timid, nor backward, dexterous in granting in abundance to his subjects what they desire and averting from them what they do not like. yet we see that our days are retrogressive in every way. it is as if man were divested of truth, as if that should be absent which one sadly misses and as if the harmful were there, as if the good were withering and the evil flourishing, as if the sinners were proceeding with a smile and the righteous receding in tears; as if knowledge was entombed and irrationality propagated, as if wretched intent was spreading and nobility of thought restricted; as if love was cut off and malice and hatred had become favourites; as if rectitude were divested of prosperity which had betaken itself to the malefactor; as if craftiness were awake and truth were asleep; as if mendacity were fruitful and veracity was left in the cold; as if those in power held before them the duty to act according to their own inclinations and to violate law, as if the oppressed were in dejection and made way for the tyrant; as if greediness on all sides had opened its jaws and swallowed all that was far and near; as if there was no trace left of contentment; as if the wicked had exalted themselves to heaven and had made the good sink into the ground; as if nobility of mind were thrown from the loftiest pinnacle to most abysmal depths, as if turpitude were in honour and authority and as if sovereignty had been transferred from the exalted to the mean--in fact as if the world in the fullness of its joy were crying, "i have concealed the good and brought the evil to light." when, however, i reflected on the world and its condition and on the fact that man, although he is the noblest and foremost of creatures in it, is still in spite of his eminent position, subject to one misery after another and that this is his notorious peculiarity so that whoever has even a tittle of reason must be convinced that a human being is unable to help himself and to exert for his salvation,--this greatly astonished me, as further consideration told me that he is debarred from salvation only because of the small miserable enjoyments of smell, taste, sight, hearing and feeling of which he may receive a fraction or enjoy a particle but which is insignificant being so transient. he is, however, so much taken up with it that on its account he does not trouble himself for the salvation of his soul. then i looked for a similitude for this behaviour of human beings and found the following: a certain person was fleeing from a danger into a well and suspended himself by clinging to two branches which grew on its edge, his feet striking against something which supported them. when he looked round there were four serpents which were projecting their heads from their holes. as he looked into the bottom of the well he noticed a dragon with its jaws open expecting him to fall his prey. and as he turned his head up to the branches he observed at their roots a black and a white mouse which were ceaselessly gnawing at both. while he was contemplating the situation and casting about for a means of escape he descried near him a hollow with bees that had made some honey. this he tasted and he was so much absorbed in its deliciousness that he no more thought of the condition he was in and that he must devise some contrivance of escape. he became oblivious of the fact that his feet rested against four serpents and that he did not know which would attack him first, forgot that the two mice were without cessation nibbling at the boughs by which he was hanging, and that as soon as they had gnawed them through he would drop into the jaws of the dragon. and so in his heedlessness he yielded to the enjoyment of the meed till he perished. i compared the well with the world which is brimful of all manner of harm and terrible perils, the four snakes with the four humours which constitute the physical basis of man, but which, should they be excited, prove mortal poison; the branches to life, the black and white mice to night and day which in perpetual alternation consume our lifetime; the dragon with death inevitable; the honey to the particle of joy which man derives from his senses of smell, taste, sight, hearing and feeling, but which makes him oblivious of himself and all his circumstances and decoy away from the path to emancipation. so circumstanced i found myself, and endeavoured to conduct myself with as much rectitude as possible in the hope once again to experience a time when i should acquire a guide for myself and help for my cause. i remained in this stage till i returned from india to my homeland after i had made a copy of this book and a few more. appendix iv _the trial of afshin._. _a disguised zoroastrian general_. [afshin was a zoroastrian at heart. his trial and condemnation are referred to by browne, _literary history of persia._ i take the account direct from tabari. it is to be found also in ibn athir and ibn khaldun. the legal procedure reveals prominently the condition under which professed non-moslems lived--religious liberty was granted to them. note that it was possible to chastise ecclesiastical officers like imams and muezzins because of their interference with the religious practices of non-moslems. observe the part played by a mobed at a criminal trial conducted according to muhammadan usages. the zoroastrian priest, who subsequently embraced islam, comes forward to give evidence against the most puissant but covert co-religionist of his times.] it has been related by harun son of isa, son of mansur as follows:--i was present in the house of muatisim and there were there ahmad bin ali dawud and ishaq bin ibrahim son of masab and muhammad bin abdal maliq al zayyad. they then brought afshin who was yet not in rigorous imprisonment, and there were present people who were prepared to cause afshin to shed tears. there was nobody in the house belonging to any high position except the sons of mansur, for, the people had left. those present were muhammad bin abdal maliq al zayyad and there were mazyar, the ruler of tabaristan, the mobed, and the marzban son of urkesh, one of the chieftains of sughd, and two people from among the sughdians. then muhammad ibn abdal maliq called the two people whose clothes were torn and asked them how they were. they then uncovered their backs which were torn of the flesh. muhammad turning to afshin asked "do you know these?" "yes, this man is the mauzzin and this, one is the imam who made a mosque at ashrushana, and i struck each of them a thousand lashes, and that was because there was a covenant between myself and the kings of sughd including a clause to the effect that i should leave each community to its own religion. but these two people attacked a shrine which had images in it, a shrine which was at ashrushna, and they took out the images and turned the shrine into a mosque. i therefore struck them one thousand lashes for this transgression of theirs." then muhammad asked afshin, "what is the book which you have got which you have adorned with gold and gems and brocade? its contents are impious with reference to god?" afshin replied, "this is a book which i have inherited from my father and it contains the manners of the persians, and as regards the impiety to which you refer i take advantage of the book in so far as the manners are concerned and i leave all the rest. and i found it bejewelled and as there was no occasion for me to take off the gems i left it as it was just as you have left with yourself the book _kalileh and dimneh_ and the _book of mazdak_ in your house. for i don't think the book would make me lose my islam." then came forward the mobed and referring to afshin said, "this man is used to eating animals that have been strangled and he suggested the eating of it to me alleging that the flesh was more fresh than the flesh of slaughtered animals. and he used to kill a black goat every wednesday and tearing it up with his sword he would pass through the two halves, and he would then eat the flesh. and one day he told me, 'i have entered this community [islam] with reference to every detail of theirs which i hate so that i have eaten of olive oil, have ridden on camels, have put on the arabian shoes, but although i have gone to this extent i have not in any way been injured and no harm has come to me: nor have i had myself circumcised.'" then afshin said "let me know as regards this man who is speaking these words whether he is a staunch believer in his own religion." now the mobed was a magian who subsequently received islam at the instance of the khalif mutawakkil and repented of his previous belief. they replied, "no." afshin then said, "what is the meaning of your adducing the evidence of a man who is not firm in his own faith?" then turning to the mobed afshin said, "was there between your house and my house any door or any hole through which you could look at me and learn my movements?" "no," said the mobed. afshin then asked, "was i not then introducing you into my private affairs and informing you regarding my persian nationality and my inclination towards it and towards the people of the race?" "yes," said the mobed. said afshin, "now you are not firm in your own religion, and you are not faithful to your promise when you have revealed the secret confided by me to you." then the mobed withdrew and the marzban turned up. afshin was asked whether he knew him, and said "no." then the marzban was asked whether he knew afshin and said "yes. this is afshin." afshin was then told that this was the marzban and the marzban turning to afshin said; "oh cutthroat, why do you prevaricate and shuffle?" afshin said, "oh you long-bearded one, what are you talking?" the marzban said "how do people under your jurisdiction address you when they write to you?" afshin replied; "just in the way they used to write to my father and grandfather." "then tell us the way." "no, i won't." "do not the people of ashrushna write to you in such and such a way?" "now, does this not mean in arabic, 'to the high god from his slave so and so?'" [ibn khaldun is here clearer than tabari. the term used was _khoday_ which in persian meant lord, applicable equally to god and any high dignitary. the original 'pahlavi' title of the shahnameh was khodaynameh.] "yes." muhammad ibn abdal maliq asked upon this, "do they tolerate such a thing? for what greater blasphemy would be left to pharaoh to commit who suggested to his people 'i am your god the highest.'?" afshin replied, "this was the custom of the people in my father's and grandfather's times and it was also the custom with me before i embraced islam. and then i did not like that i should lower myself before them. for then i should have lost their allegiance and the obedience that they owed me." upon this ishaq ibn ibrahim ibn musab said, "fie, fie on you, hyder." [afshin is sometimes referred to as hyder.] then turned up mazyar the chief of tabaristan and afshin was asked whether he knew him. he said "no." mazyar was asked if he knew afshin. then they told him that this was mazyar. "yes, i know him now." "did you ever have correspondence with him? no." then turning to the marzban they asked, "did he ever write to you?" "yes," said mazyar, "his brother khash used to write to my brother quhyar to the effect that this splendid religion of theirs will have help from nobody except himself, quhyar and babak." [in the sequel tabari relates how when afshin's house was searched, after he was starved to death, among other incriminating articles a book was discovered sumptuously bound and bedecked with gems which related, to the old faith of iran.] appendix v _noeldeke's introduction to tabari_. [the arabs have long been credited with maintaining learning and civilisation in general when europe was slumbering in its dark ages. history as a science was rarely known even to the gifted hindus. the arabs cultivated it with peculiar enthusiasm. wustenfeld has collected the lives of historians, the first of whom died in the year , and the last was born in a.h. but it is now proved beyond all doubt that many of these writers were persians who employed the arabic language and that the art of arab annalists had its root in the archives of the sasanians. we owe this discovery to goldziher and von kremmer in the first instance, and to brockelmann, browne, blochet and huart who have done ample justice to the iranian element in arab culture. one of the best of these histories is by tabari. noeldeke translated in , the portion relating to the sasanians into german, and added footnotes to his translation, which are a mine of information on pre-moslem persia. the introduction which he wrote to his translation is equally valuable especially for the light it throws on the sources of firdausi. the following is a translation of that german introduction by noeldeke. tabari was a most prolific author and is reported to have written daily forty sheets for forty years. he was of pure iranian descent g.k.n.] [sidenote: tabari's method.] abu jafar muhammed bin jarir born in the winter of at amul not far from the caspian sea in the persian province of tabaristan, hence called tabari, and who died in baghdad on the th february , wrote many, partly very large, works in the arabic language, among them an extremely voluminous chronicle, which reaches from the creation down to nearly the close of his life. tabari, mainly occupied with theological tradition, was no man of original research or of historical acumen even in the sense applied to a few other persian scholars in those centuries. his annals are a compilation, a mass of rich material put together with extraordinary industry. he does not work into unity the various versions in his divergent sources, but simply brings them up in order one after another. but it is just this circumstance which considerably enhances in our eyes the value of the work; for in this way the older reports themselves are preserved more faithfully than if the chronicler had laboured to reconcile them one with the other. [sidenote: abounds in extracts from arab and iranian predecessors, but does not mention his sources.] the principal value of tabari's compilation consists in the extremely exhaustive presentation of the history of islam from the first appearance of the prophet; no other arabic work in this respect can compare with his. the pre-islamic history comprises, may be, a twentieth portion of the whole work and gives a very groat deal of what we would rather be without. of the highest moment, however, is the tolerably detailed section on the history of the sasanides and their times embodied in it, and whose german translation forms the text of our book. this section goes back partly to good arabic records and mostly, at least mediately, to very important ancient persian sources. but the stories from the mythological and historical traditions which appear scattered in tabari in proceeding sections have a cognate origin. if the criticism of the sources is here very much facilitated on the one hand, because these orientals where they excerpt love to adhere, as far as possible, to the letter of their models or sources, it is on the other, rendered difficult because tabari does not mention his immediate authorities. only in reports of theological interest, to which the whole of the history of the growth of islam belongs, he proceeds to indicate his sources with precision; otherwise he cites at the best an old authority come down to him only obliquely, and in most cases none at all. throughout the persian history he never names an authority, barring hisham, whom he quotes here and there and who was an acknowledged authority in another province of tradition. [sidenote: story of persia based on indigenous original work.] [sidenote: occasional identity of firdausi and tabari.] the story of persia from the first mythical kings to the last of the sasanides exhibits in tabari, as in allied arabic works, a certain similarity of conception and presentation which leads to the assumption of an indigenous original work at least respecting a very large portion. now the shahnameh of the great poet firdausi, a national epic of the kind which no other people possess, while it on one hand, apart from the poetic license indulged in by firdausi, contains much that is either not found at all or is essentially differently related in arab writers; on the other, considerably accords with those arab annalists in the order, in the whole structure, and in the details of the narrative. indeed the poet often reproduces almost the identical phraseology of the historian. but now since according to both tradition and internal grounds firdausi's bases were not arabic books, the coincidence must be explained from a common ultimate source. the original work has been reflected to us in tabari and other arabs as well as firdausi through a series of intermediate texts. to judge by the express statements and suggestions as also by various features in style and phraseology and further by all that we are aware of touching the circumstances of the literature we can say with certainty that, that original work like all other persian narrative productions of the sasanides and of the period of arab conquest was composed in the written, language of this period, the pahlavi. the most important connected presentment of persian history in pahlavi to which our reports go back is no doubt the _khoday nameh, i.e.,_ the "book of lords" a title which answers to the subsequent shah nameh or "book of kings." hamza mentions that name. the prose introduction to ferdausi says that the "book of kings" was written first of all at the instance of khushrau i anoshirwan, but that the complete story was compiled only under yazdegerd iii by the dihkan danishwar. this work which it would not be too bold to identify with the _koday nameh_ began with the primeval king, gayomarth, and reached down to the termination of the reign of khushrau ii, surnamed parwez. although this introduction to ferdausi dates but from the fifteenth century, and as for details is disfigured by inaccuracies and fictions, i attach weight to what it indicates respecting the time of its composition. in fact the concord of the narrative in the various sources reaches down to the death of parwez and then abruptly ceases; while there are no vestiges to demonstrate that the completion of the original work was brought about subsequent to the victory of the arabs. and the legitimistic nature of the story is especially in keeping with the times when usurpation and insurrections of all sorts had run their course, and when the people looked forward with, the inauguration of the rule of the youthful grandson, of parwez, who was crowned at the sacred place where the dynasty took its rise, to an era of prosperity to the ancient monarchy,--a hope which was fearfully crushed with the loss of the battle of kadisiya towards the close of . again the replies made by the imprisoned king which have been reproduced in different sources suit the times of the yezegerd who descended from khusrau ii and not sheroe, khusrau's brilliant career despite its shady side strongly contrasted with the period ushered in by the patricide. a small piece of writing which depicts the first stormy years of khusrau's domination in a romantic fashion seems to have arisen about the same time. i am less certain about the name danishwar. it was probably an adjective signifying "possessed of knowledge." it was easy for anyone who knew from firdausi that the landed nobility called the dihkan constituted the peculiar custodians of national lore to name a "learned dihkan" as the collector of the stones of kings. the compilation prepared at the time had undoubtedly drawn upon written documents without which it would have been impossible to give minute particulars of a long by-gone past. besides the brief notices communicated by the syrian sergius to agathias from the _basilika apomnemoneiumata_ are in the main in unison with our arabo-persian stories. thus then in khushro's time there existed a general survey of the history of persia more or less in an official version. but otherwise there is no need to lay stress on the mention of khushrau here, for all manner of things beneficial and good are ascribed to this king. [sidenote: nature of the khoday nameh.] the book of kings contains, as we said, the story of persia from the creation of the world to the fall of the last purely national domination. it made no distinction between wholly mythical, semi-fabulous, and fully historical dynasts, so that the arabs and persians who drew upon it never suspected that e.g., hoshang and rustam are not such historical persons as shahpur i and bahram chobin. but in the material itself we notice a conspicuous difference. the mythical tales which in their crude nascent forms were already there at the period of the avesta were in course of time richly developed and under the sasanides were no doubt universally known. to these were joined ecclesiastical speculation and traditions concerning the genesis of the world, civilisation and the legislation of zoroaster. there were also several genealogical trees. in all these at the most a few proper names were historical. of the empires of the medes and of persians proper this tradition had no knowledge. it is doubtful if it contained even quite a feeble reflex of the last days of the achaeminides. on to this ancient autochthonous tradition was immediately joined the story of the last darius and alexander emanating from a foreign source, the greek romance of alexander. not more than a few names was all that was preserved of the long period covering the macedonian and the parthian supremacy. with the sasanides the national reminiscences became clearer. round the founder of the dynasty were accreted, on the one hand, legends wholly fabulous and on the other, such as embodied excellent historical data. but the latter seem to be inadequately represented in the main work, the khodayname. again very few particulars were known of the reigns of the succeeding sovereigns down to yezdegerd i. in the chapters which correspond to those of the old book of kings just this want of actual information, it seems, the compilers strove to veil behind rhetorical accounts of scenes of homage done to the rulers, imperial speeches from the throne, etc. for the following ages on there was, in general, good, partly very authentic information. but this entire presentment did not concern itself solely with veracity. the iranians who from very remote antiquity extravagantly lauded truth, had in reality never any great sense of it. the _khoday nameh_ and kindred productions were unfairly biassed and rhetorical. the ornamental and figurative ingredients are indicated even by the arabic reproductions, though the latter are greatly condensed. a classic testimony to it has been kindly communicated to me by baron von rosen which is a passage from a petersberg manuscript of _albayan wattabyin_ of jahiz in which the shuubiya or the persians, who, though muslims placed their nation above the arabs say: "and he who is interested in reason, fine culture, knowledge of ranks, examples and penalties, in elegant expressions and superlative thoughts, let him cast a glance at the _history (more properly the vitae) of kings."_ history of the kings, _siyar-ul muluk_, is the title of the arabic rendering of the book of kings in pahlavi. compare likewise hamza's remarks on the works on persian history. i have laboured to show the partiality of the persian tradition in the footnotes. the narrative is conceived in a monarchical and legitimistic spirit, but equally all along from the view point of the superior nobility and the clergy. add to this the exertions to cry up as much as possible the glory of persia which sometimes produces a strange effect. moreover, there must have been no lack of contradictions as to facts as well as respecting estimates of personal character which was inevitable owing to the employment of varying sources. nevertheless a work like this written under the sasanides and familiar with the state of things obtaining in the empire and more or less of an official nature, must have been an admirable fount of history. there was hardly ever a better presentment of the story of this house than the _khoday-nameh_. [i have translated the entire passage from the since printed text. see p. .--g.k.n.] since, barring the small book treating of ardeshir's adventures, no original pahlavi document in the domain of historical or romantic literature has descended to us and even the arabic recensions made directly from the original general history in pahlavi have perished, we are altogether left in uncertainty touching many most important points. we cannot, for instance, ascertain whether alongside of the _khoday-nameh_ there existed also other general continuous narrations or whether the deviations, which are for the most part trifling, in some cases of great moment, already existed in the pahlavi work or are traceable to various recensions of that book. it would not be rash, to assume that some copies of the work contained additional matter taken from other pahlavi books like the romance of bahram. bahram the high priest of the city of shapur collected, according to hamza, more than manuscripts of the _khoday-nameh_ and from their divergence made out another independent recension. musa ibn isa kesravi complains of the variants in the copies of the work; the latter author who speaks of defects in translation has in view only the arabic redactions. the text, however, of tabari, at all events and more so a comparison of tabari and other arabs with one another and with firdausi exhibits that entire sections of the history of kings were already in the pahlavi original in essentially different shapes. otherwise, it would not be possible, for instance, that where tabari offers two different versions, one should harmonise with eutychius and ibn kotaiba (derived from the translation of ibn mukaffa) and the other should agree with the arab yakubi and often with firdausi, who goes back to the pahlavi text not directly but mediately through compositions in modern persian. it is very important for a knowledge of the history that thus we have at our command all manner of dissonant reports about the sasanide epoch. but we have to observe all the same that the character and the tendency of the several versions are almost all along consistent and further more that often we have more recensions than one which differ but little and which have one and the same ground-work or prototype. the question whether this difference is older or younger than the _khoday-nameh_ has more literary than historical significance. [sidenote: translation of _khoday-nameh_ into arabic. its general fidelity to the original.] [sidenote: the arabic translation may be pieced together from various sources.] we should decide all this with much more certainty did we possess but one direct rendering made from the pahlavi into arabic. above all we have to deplore the loss of ibn mukaffa's history of persian kings which is always assigned the first place among translations of the persian book of kings by hamza and other authorities. this distinguished man who only late in life exchanged the faith of his forbears for that of islam, and who never professed the latter with over much zeal, translated a series of pahlavi writings into arabic including the _khoday-nameh_. he was a courtier, and passed for a good arabic poet and one of the best rhetorical writers of his time. the famous wazir ibn mukla counted him among "the ten most eloquent men." he must consequently have striven to suit his rendering of the book of persian kings to the taste of his contemporaries. but we have no sufficient grounds to assume that he introduced arbitrary and material alterations into his translations or even that he greatly elaborated the rhetorical passages of the original text or invested them with an altogether different garb. such a suspicion is contradicted by the coincidences with other sources which, like firdausi, are independent of him. there is little probability of ibn mukaffa's work being again brought to light in its entirety. but on the other hand, it will indeed be possible to gather together in course of time more and more stray passages belonging to the book; though it is to be feared, unfortunately that these fragments will prove more to be preserved as efforts of rhetoric than because of their intrinsic value. a few extracts of this nature we find in ibn kotaiba's _oyun-al akhbar_. among these citations which i owe to the goodness of rosen, there is one tolerably long on the death of peroz. now the same fragment, little curtailed, is in the chronicle of said bin batrik or eutychius, the patriarch of alexandria. we should, therefore, be inclined from the first to derive other information in eutychius on the sasanides from ibn mukaffa. and our predisposition is supported by the circumstance that the history of the dynasty as given in a manual by the same ibn kotaiba and which is styled _kitab al maarif_, brief as it is, betrays as in the instance of the reign of peroz, all through such an harmony with eutychius that here two independent authors must necessarily have drawn upon one and the same original; and that original source can be no other than the production of ibn mukaffa. the abstract in eutychius is very unequal being in some parts exhaustive, in others much abridged. the narrations as preserved in tabari, which correspond to the statements in eutychius and ibn kotaiba and which consequently go back to ibn mukaffa, are of a similar nature though tabari gives in addition other parallel reports. tabari, however, did not himself use ibn mukaffa's work, but for the history of persia, among other authorities, employed by preference a younger work which represented another version together with excerts from the former. this can be inferred from the fact that the anonymous codex sprengers , which and tabari are mutually independent, shows quite the same combination of two main sources and so far as the section in question goes, can be utilised and treated as a new manuscript of tabari. both have relied almost to the letter upon the presentment which emanated partly from ibn mukaffa and partly from another translator with the only difference that the anonymous writer is oftener more concise than tabari. again the version which does not proceed from ibn mukaffa is for the most part in accord with the epitome of the story of the sasanides in the introduction to yakubi's history of the abbasides; there the excellent author occasionally subjoins extraneous information. more often than not this presentment is in touch with ferdausi. i am unable to aver from whom has originated this other recension of the story of the sasanides. we know indeed the names of a number of persons who redacted the history of persia, originally in pahlavi, for arab readers. but though we can collect a few notices of some of the authors mentioned, we know nothing in particular about them and are completely in the dark about the special nature of their work. all that we can postulate as established is that they wrote posterior to ibn mukaffa. the latter is always mentioned in the first place. muhammad bin jahm who is regularly cited next after him and bears the surname of bermaki, was a client of the barmecides, who came to power a long while after the death of ibn mukaffa. ifc may be supposed that they all laid under contribution the production of their celebrated predecessor. how they individually set about their work, whether perhaps some of them tapped non-persian tradition; also, how far one or other of them utilized the novels of which there were probably many in pahlavi--this we are no longer in a position to determine. again this too remains a mystery whence tabari came by most of the accounts touching the persians, which are conspicuous by their absence in the anonymous codex. to clear this whole ground it would appear to be expedient in the first place to set apart all that for which ibn mukaffa directly or indirectly is responsible. this i have done in the footnotes but an advance is possible in this direction. on the other hand, we must keep ferdausi steadily before our eyes. whatever in tabari and other chroniclers does not issue from ibn mukaffa and is not represented in ferdausi likewise merits special study. [sidenote: direct sources of ferdausi.] [sidenote: the persian prose shahname was not derived from arabic but pahlavi.] a superficial reading of firdausi would engender the view that he obtained his material partly from pahlavi books direct and partly from the oral communication of competent renconteurs. that this is only a deceptive illusion we conclude at once from his strong resemblance not only in the main features but also in the details and the order, with arab writers some of whom were much anterior to him. firdausi positively knew no pahlavi and as for arabic he knew next to nothing. he did employ written sources preponderatingly if not exclusively and these were in modern persian. his principal authority was, according to the introduction mentioned above, a translation of the old book of kings which was prepared by abu mansur bin abdar razzak bin abdullah bin ferrukh. so far our information is surely trustworthy. for, biruni testifies to a shahname by abu mansur bin abdar razzak of tus. according to the introduction, this man was a minister of yakub bin laith saffar, who was commissioned with the work which he accomplished through a certain sund bin mansur mamari with the help of four competent people from khorasan and sagistan in a.h. the chronological impossibility involved in the figure is removed by mohl who emends it to . yakub ibn laith got a foothold in khorasan in a.h. and reigned till . still this report involves much that is incorrect. that the uncouth warrior yakub who was perpetually camping in the battle fields should have possessed a sense for such a literary undertaking is extremely improbable, though not altogether inconceivable. may be, he was actuated by a political design, but abu mansur bin abdar razzak did not live under yakub but flourished two or three generations later. for he is either a brother of muhammad bin abdar razzak of tus or muhammad himself. the first surmise has the weight of greater likelihood in that the strasburg manuscript calls him once abu mansur ahmed and muhammad had in fact a brother named ahmed who participated in his political manouvres. muhammad was the lord of tus. we hear much about him--how he in the years a.d. - stood up now for the samanides, his proper overlords, now for their powerful antagonist ruknaddin, the buide, whose capital lay in dangerous proximity to his territory. in those days when an enthusiasm for modern persian was strongly awakened the enterprize may most appropriately have been taken in hand. immediately after the princes of khorasan planned to cast this prose work into poetry; and this task was first inaugurated by dakiki for the samanides and brought to conclusion by ferdausi of tus, countryman of abu mansur bin abdar razzak, for mahamud of ghazna. the name of the four people who executed the work for the son of abdar razzak are all genuinely persian; which indicates that they were all adherents of the ancient religion and that they had actully a pahlavi original before them. to transfer an arabic version into modern persian would not have required four men. moreover, firdausi's poem occasionally betrays that his sources had not flowed to him through arabic. of those men one only is met with again, shahzan son of barzin. he is mentioned by firdausi at the head of his account of the genesis of kalila wa dimna: "listen to what shahzan, son of barzin has said when he revealed the secret." because this section is an episode which assuredly did not appear in the khoday-nameh, we may conclude that the prose shahname on which this shahzan collaborated, embodied all manner of similar episodes, though firdausi may have taken several from elsewhere. it is an interesting circumstance that the potentate who had this work prepared by abu mansur bin abdar razzak, had inserted--so biruni tell us--a fictitious genealogical tree in it which led up his ancestors to minochihr. such things were in those times very common among new men of persian origin who attained power. we are compensated for the loss of this prose work by at least the epos of ferdausi which has issued from it. [sidenote: dinawari.] as the most important of extant arabic representations of the _khoday-nameh_ and the cognate literature we must regard at any rate tabari i have already touched upon eutychius, ibn kotaiba, and yakubi. another old chronicler abu hanifa ahmed bin daud dinawari greatly accords with tabari but presents also much that is peculiar to himself. a closer examination would no doubt reveal that he draws considerably upon romances directly or indirectly and that he is not particularly accurate. tabari reproduces the conflicting versions of the same incident separately one after another; dinawari works them up into a single unified narrative. [sidenote: hamza.] the small book which hamza ispahani wrote in , contains in brief much independent information on the sasanides. hamza treats his materials in a spirit of much more freedom and independence than tabari, but to us the compiling process of tabari is far more convenient. [sidenote: masudi.] masudi in his "meadows of gold" affords us many a supplement to tabari's narratives derived from reliable persian sources. but masudi works very unequally, accepts a good deal that is suspicious provided only it is entertaining, and as regards detail he is by no means over exact. as an historical authority, the persian redaction of tabari, so remarkable in many of its aspects, and achieved by muhammad belami or by others under his guidance, has but little value. i designate this work as "persian tabari" and have used it in the splendid gotha manuscript and in zotenberg's french translation. i have also consulted the turkish version of belami in a gotha manuscript. [sidenote: tabari more valuable than firdausi.] all these writers and others present us collectively a tolerably rich and vivid portrait of persian tradition of the sasanide times. but the best comprehensive statement of the story of the sasanides on the basis of this tradition is furnished us by tabari, all his shortcomings notwithstanding and despite the pre-eminence which firdausi's poem possesses as such. [sidenote: ibn kelbi.] but in his narrative of this period tabari had laid under contribution reports which were not of persian origin. for the history of the arab princes of hira, which is so intimately related to that of the persian empire, tabari's chief authority was hisham bin muhammad called ibn kelbi a man who, like his father muhammad bin saib kelbi before him, has rendered, however often modern criticism may take exception to the unscientific system of both the writers, the greatest service in connection with the collection of the scattered information on the history of ancient arabs. we know of a few of the numerous writings, large and small, of ibn kelbi which are enumerated for us in the _fihrist_ and which probably are at the root of tabari's chapters. it is quite possible that tabari borrows many of the secondary sources of ibn kelbi. it is surprising that the latter is cited as an authority on the persian history itself, on the reigns of ardeshir, peroz, khosrau i, harmizd iv, khosrau ii, and yazdegerd iii. we are not cognisant of any work of his on the history of persia. but it may be conjectured that occasionally in his history of arabia he supplied minuter details touching contemporary persia. an amanuensis of his, jabala bin salim, is noticed in the _fihrist_ as one of the translators from persian. ho provided his master with material from pahlavi books. for the history of the arabs of that period tabari has used a variety of other sources, most prominent among them being muhammad ibn ishak who is better known as the biographer of the prophet. in this section of tabari's great work mediately or immediately a large amount of diverse information has been brought together. it is certainly desirable and to be hoped that the criticism of the sources in this domain would make substantial progress. but the point of greatest moment even here is to test every incident or piece of information according to its origin and credibility as i have endeavoured to do in the footnotes. appendix vi _letter of tansar to the king of tabaristan._ christensen, by the following reasoning, comes to the conclusion, that it was written somewhere between and . among the sources of our knowledge of the sasanian institutions, one of the most important is the letter of tansar to the king of tabaristan published and translated by darmesteter in the _journal asiatique_ ( ). the information which it gives on points where we can verify it is so exact that we cannot doubt that the letter was composed in the time of the sasanians. on the other hand, on the first reading of the epistle i formed the impression that it was a literary fiction dating from the time of khusro when the tradition made of ardeshir the model of political sagacity and the founder of the entire organisation of the empire. the letter impressed me as a historical, theological, political and moral dissertation which in the shape of a correspondence between the grand herbed tansar and the king of tabaristan, ill-informed regarding the new state of affairs and hesitating to submit himself to ardeshir, was calculated to instruct contemporaries. it, therefore, fits in with the entire literature of the _andarz_ type, which was developed under khusro and the object of it was the moral instruction of the people. a more minute examination has confirmed me in this view and now i think i am able to affirm positively that the letter was composed under khusro i. tansar relates that ardeshir softened the penalties for crimes against the religion. formerly, "they used to put to death without hesitation those who set aside the religion of the state. but ardeshir has directed that the accused shall be arrested and shall be catechised during a year and only if that proves of no effect he shall be killed." as a matter of fact, the rigorous ordinance which awarded the punishment of death for apostacy could not have existed before parsism became with ardeshir the state religion. the relaxation of punishment, on the other hand, dates from a much later period, when the standpoint of greater humanity began to be prevalent and when it was attempted to give greater authority to these views by attributing them to the celebrated founder of the dynasty. and we can say the same thing with reference to the less severe punishment for crimes committed against the state and in respect of other things mentioned in the letter. besides, the tolerance in matters religious and the humanity of khusro i are well-known. now let us look at the incident of succession. according to the letter ardeshir did not like to choose his successor lest the latter should wish for his death. so, he arranged for the succession in the following manner. the king only left in his royal letters a few counsels or instructions to the grand _mobed_, the commander-in-chief, and the principal secretary, and after the decease of the king the latter were to proceed to elect a successor from among the royal princes. if they all were not of the same mind the choice should rest with the grand _mobed_ alone. but aideshir had made a formal notes that he was not going to establish a president thereby, and that "in another age a manner of looking at things different from ours may appear the proper one." in the first place such an arrangement accords ill with the nature of a statesmen like ardeshir, for we know from tabari who follows the official chronicle of the times of the sasanians, that ardeshir as well as shapur i and ii themselves chose their respective successors. but in the times between ardeshir ii and kawadh the election of the king was generally in the hands of the noblemen, and the system mentioned by tansar may well have suited this period and been in harmony with the singular expression ascribed to ardeshir that the system in question was not a definite one, and that in other periods, other manners might be more convenient. it seems to us that the letter of tansar was composed at a period when the memory of the system of ardeshir was still living although it had already been abolished. in other words, it was the time when the kings had gained the power to nominate their successors during their life-time, which brings us to the period between kawadh and hormum iv. the letter makes ardeshir say "none but the subject kings who do not belong to our house can assume the title of king barring the wardens of the marches of the territory of the allans and the districts in the west and of khwarzm." by the oppression 'the warden of the matches' we must understand no doubt the _marzbans_ of the countries established by khusro. finally, the geographical notices permit us to determine in a more exact fashion the time of the origin of the letter.... the letter was consequently, composed after the march of khusro i towards the east by the destruction of the hephthahtes, but before the capture of yemen. that is to say, between - . christensen finally notes that marquart has arrived at the same conclusion, by another way, namely, that the letter is a fiction of the time of khusro i. (see _eranshahr_ page , note ). appendix vii _some arabic authors and the iranian material they preserve._ _iranian material in the uyunal akbhar of ibn qotaiba_. [_note,_--brockelmann's edition of the _uyunal akhbar_ is not accessible to me in india. i have carefully examined the first volume of the cairo edition and the following will show the wealth of iranian material comprised in the book.--g.k.n.] when the kisra died this was reported to the prophet who inquired who was going to succeed the dead emperor and when he was told his daughter, the princess buran, the prophet declared that the nation could not prosper inasmuch as its affairs depended upon a woman. (p. ). [sidenote: next-of-kin marriage.] i have read in the _book of the persians_ an epistle written by ardeshir, son of babak to his subjects declaring that the ecclesiastical authorities were the upholders of the religion and that the warriors were the bearers of the casque and literature, and were ornaments of the empire and that the agriculturists were pillars of the country. (p. ). [in the course of the epistle there is a reference to marriage of next of kin, the king exhorting his subjects to _tazauwa-ju-fil qarabayn_.] [sidenote: _kitab ain_ or the pahlavi _ain-nameh._] [sidenote: anushirwan's rule.] i have read in the _ain_ that a king of persia said in his address to his people: "i am only the ruler of people's bodies, not their minds; and i govern with justice, not according to my pleasure; and i safeguard people's property, not their secrets." furthermore, the persians say the most efficient of rulers is he who draws the bodies of his subjects to fealty to him through their hearts. when anushirwan appointed a person to an office he directed his secretary to leave out in the appointment order a space of four lines so that he may fill it up with his own hand, and when the appointment order was brought to him he would write in it "govern the good people by love, and for the common people mix liberty with awe and govern the proletariat with levity." (p. ). and it is said in the _book of the persians_ that the hearts of the people are the treasuries of the king, so that whatever is put there should be made known to him. (p ). [sidenote: the _taj._] and i have read in the _taj_; said aberwez to his son shiruya who had put him into prison, [and here follow some views relating to the treatment of soldiers.] and in one of the _books of the persians_ it is stated that ardeshir said to his son, "oh, my son, the empire and the religion are two brothers which cannot do the one without the other. for the religion is the foundation and the empire is the guardian and whatever has no foundation falls and whatever has no guardian to look after it goes to waste" [and then proceeds to advise him as to the treatment of the nobles, warriors, the clergy, etc. then are described the five qualities essential in a man occupying a post in the imperial government] and it is said in the _taj_ that aberwez wrote to his son shiruya from his prison.... (p. ) and i have read in the letter ... aberwez wrote to his son shiruya, [and here follow instructions regarding the three qualifications necessary in a revenue officer.] (p. ) [sidenote: the _taj._] i have read in the _taj_ that one of the kings of persia took counsel with his _wazirs,_ [and here follows a discussion about the necessity of confiding one's secret to one man only and not more.] (p. ) [sidenote: epistle of aberwez.] i have read in the epistle of aberwez to his son shiruya who was imprisoned by him,[here follows the advisability of taking counsel with a certain class of people.] (p. ). [sidenote: marzbans.] one of the kings of persia, when he consulted the marzbans and they did not give their opinion in a proper way, summoned those who were entrusted with provisioning the marzbans and punished them. the latter complained that the error was on the part of the marzbans whereas the punishment was awarded to them and the king replied that was so, and that the marzbans would not have committed the error unless their minds were not dependent upon their food. [sidenote: buzurjamaher.] [sidenote: books of the persians.] [sidenote: ideal persian secretary] says buzurjamaher, "when you are in doubt as to the propriety of doing one of two things then look out for the one which is nearest to your desires and relinquish it." (p. ). and it is said in the _books of the persians_, [and here follows one of the most frequently repeated injunctions about the strict guarding of one's secrets.] (p. .) the persians were in the habit of saying that the person would be deficient as a writer who was not conversant with the nature of flowing waters, with the digging of canals, with mirage, with the length of days as to particular seasons, with the rising of the new moon, and its effects, with weights and measures, with mensuration, triangles, squares, and measurements of areas involving various angles, with the preparation of channels and bridges and water mills, with the implements of artisans, and with the intricacies of mathematics. (p. ). [sidenote: mobedan-mobed] i have read in one of the _books of the persians_ that the _mobedan-mobed_ in eulogising the art of writing said etc ... (p. ). [sidenote: epistle of aberwez.] i have read in the epistle of aberwez to his son shiruya. [then follows an advice about severely punishing even a small piece of dishonesty.] (p, ). [sidenote: the _taj_.] i have read in the _taj_ that aberwez said to the treasurer [here follows some observations on integrity.] [sidenote: persian sense of justice and equity.] i have read in the _ain_ that it behoves the ruler to understand the jurisdiction of rightful justice, of justice which is not equity, of equity which is not justice, and to use his judgment with regard to evidence and eyewitnesses, and to refrain from doubtful matters. since it is both justice and equity to kill a person for the slaughter of a person, and it is justice without equity to kill a master for the slaughter of a slave, and it is equity without justice to award the same punishment for a crime committed by a sane man as to one who was not in his senses. (p. ). and i have read in the _taj_: said aberwez to his chamberlain; [and here follow very interesting instructions regarding the treatment which the chamberlain was to give to the various persons seeking an audience of the king.] (p. ). i have read in the _taj_ [here follows an address of a secretary to a king.] [sidenote: speech from the throne.] i have read in the _siyaral ajam_ [one of the arabic versions of _shah nameh_] that ardeshir, when he was firmly established on the throne, gathered together his subjects and addressed them with eloquence exhorting them to love and obedience to himself, and warning them against sin and dividing the people into four classes, upon which those present made obeisance and their spokesman addressed the king as follows. [here follows one of those typical speeches of which we have so many in _shah nameh_, and which leaves no doubt that the originals of them were composed in pahlavi and that they were almost literally translated.] _jahiz._ _kitab-al-bayan va-al-tabayyin._ _(egyptian edition.)_ part i. the dictum of buzurjamehr: buzurg, son of bokhtagan was asked, "which is the thing which covers indolence." "aye" he said, "wisdom, which gives beauty to it." they said, "if a person has got no wisdom?" he said, "then property, which will cover it." they said, "but if there is no property?" he said, "his friends will earn respect for him." they said, "but if he has got no friends to earn respect for him?" he said, "if a person is indolent then he must preserve silence" they said, "but if he does not observe silence?" he said, "then sudden death is better for him than that he should remain, in the world of the living." this passage has been repeated at page with a slight difference. there the interrogator is kisra anushirvan, and the question is, which thing is the best for a man who is indolent. buzurg replies, "wisdom, with which he may be happy." (p, .) there is mention of several authors and books similar to _kalileh wa dimneh_ with the names of their authors including sahal ibn harun, ibn rayhani, al katib. (p. .) says ismai: in the alphabet of the romans there is no _zad_ and among the persians there is no _tha_. (p. ) a longish definition and description of oratory by ibn ul mukaffa. (p. .) ibn mukaffa again referred to. (p. .) instances of arabic poetry in which persian words and phrases are intermingled _e.g., garden_ for _unuk_ (neck); _av sard_ for cold water, &c. (p. .) [there are several other instances where the persian words are there, but the copyist and possibly also the editor, do not seem to have understood the kasida and the editor observes in a marginal note that, the text is corrupt, g.k.n.] part ii. mention of sahal ibn harun. (p. .) mention of persia, (p. .) mention of abdallah ibn mukaffa. (p. .) mention of persia, (p. .) dicta of ibn al mukatia on the dignity of kings and of nobles, (p. .) reference to khalid al kisravi. (p. .) reference to ibn al mukaffa. (p. .) khalid al kisrawi. (p. .) al hurmuzan. (p. .) on the service of kings. (p. .) part iii. the ways of the shuubiya. (p. .) reference to persia. (p. .) persia and arabia compared. (p. .) arabia and persia compared. (p. .) arabia and persia contrasted. the prophets of ajam. (p, .) reference to persia. (p. .) the persian throne. (p. .) dicta of mukaffa. (p. .) khalid al barmaki. (p. .) dicta on adab of mukaffa. (p. .) reference to barmaki. (p. .) reference to barmaki. (p. .) sahal ibn-harun. (p. .) dictum of buzurja meher. (p. .) madaini quoted. (p. .) persia referred to. (p. .) part iii., page . [sidenote: value of zoroastrian literature.] and we note that the persons most superior with, regard to preaching our sermons are the persians. and among the persians the most clever in this respect are the people of fars, and they are the sweetest in words, and their pronunciation is the most correct. and the most difficult in this respect are the people of merv. the most eloquent dialect of persia is the dari. as regards the pahlavi idiom, of the people of the country of ahwaz are the best. and as regards the chantings of the herbeds and the songs of the mobeds the superiority in this respect lies with the annotators of the zemzema. and it is said that he who desires to acquire proficiency in the art of eloquence, and to be acquainted with rare expressions, and to be profoundly versed in vocabulary should read the book of karwand. moreover, if it is necessary to acquire sagacity and good manners and knowledge of the various interpretations of terms, a knowledge of pleasing expression and agreeable interpretation, one should study the lives of kings, since for the persians this book contains essays and sermons and fine expressions. hamza ispahani. [sidenote: why no authentic history of iran has survived.] [sidenote: a clear reference to the ambiguous pahlavi script and to the great difficulty of translating from it:] [sidenote: enumeration of the sources of iranian history.] there are four dynasties among the kings of persia and their enumeration is given alone and without any history of the events of their time or the characteristics of the kings of persia during the protracted period of their sovereignty. they were divided into four groups called the feshdadiya, the kayaniya, the ashghaniya, and the sasaniya. their entire chronology is dubious and not certain since it was translated after years from one language into another and from one equivocal set of symbols for figures into another set of symbols, so that there remained nothing for me with reference to a narrative, in these chapters except to bring together the doubtful transcripts. i succeeded in finding eight transcripts and these were the following:--the book of the reigns of the kings of persia translated by ibn al mukaffa, the book of the reigns of the kings of persia translated by muhammad ibn al jaham al barmak, the book of the history of the kings of persia which was taken out of the treasury of the khalif mamun; the book of the reigns of the kings of persia which was translated by zaduya son of shahuya of ispahan; the book of the reigns of the kings of persia which was translated or compiled by muhammad ibn al behram ibn mutyan of ispahan; the book of the chronology of the kings of persia which was translated or compiled by heshan ibn kasum of ispahan, the book of the chronology of the kings of the sasanian dynasty which was improved upon by behram son of mardan shah, mobed of the district of shabur in the country of fars. and when i had collected together all these works, i compared one with the others and then acquired what was necessary for the writing of this chapter. [sidenote: incorrect translations from pahlavi.] and says abu mashar, the astronomer:--the majority of their [iranian] histories are interpolated and corrupt, and there is the corruption because they have come down from a great many years ago and because they have been translated from one writing into another and from one tongue into another and hence there have been mistakes of either excess or defect. "and the persians start their assertion from the book which was brought to them by zaradusht and which was called avesta. this is the book of their religion. it alleges that there have elapsed since the reign of kayumarth, the father of mankind, down to the reign of king yazdegerd, years, months, and days." [sidenote: corrupt texts and faulty translations.] says musa ibn isa al kesravi in his book: i saw the book which is called the _khoday nameh_ and which is the book which when it was translated from persian into arabic was entitled _kitab al muluk al fars._ i carefully examined the copies of this book and looked through the narratives in them, and i found them in disagreement with each other so that i could not find even two copies which agreed with each other, and this was on account of the doubts in the minds of the translators who turned from one writing into another. [sidenote: mobed behram the historian.] and turning back to what i have related in the previous chapter as regards the chronology [of the persians], i relate what has been stated by behram son of mardanshah, _mobed_ of the district of shabur in the province of fars. says behram the mobed: i collected together a little over twenty copies of the book called _khoday nameh_ and i put together properly the chronology of the kings of persia from the times of kayumarth, the father of mankind, till the last days when the empire was transferred from them to the arabs. [hamza describes the dress of the kings according to a book in which they were depicted just before their death. and he gives the buildings which each of them erected, especially the fire-temples they established along with the villages on the produce of which they were to be maintained.] [sidenote: avesta.] "i have read in the book which has been translated from one of their books called _avesta_," and so on hamza proceeds regarding the beginning of creation. tabari. ( st series, vol. , page .) [sidenote: fire-temples in india.] it is related by historians versed in the antiquities of arabia and persia that bhishtasb, son of kay loharasb, when he assumed the crown, said:--to-day we have become sovereign and we shall employ our thoughts, our action, and our knowledge for the acquisition of the good. and it is said that he built in fars a city called fasa and he built fire-temples in india, etc., and appointed _herbeds_ to the same. he assigned several dignities to seven of his noblemen in his dominions and appointed each of them to the charge of a district. [sidenote: the appearance of zoroaster.] [sidenote: wars of iran and turan.] zaradusht son of isfayman appeared in the thirtieth year of his reign and laid claim to apostleship and endeavoured that his religion might be accepted by the king. the latter refused and then zaradusht satisfied him. upon which the king accepted his claim. and he brought to him a writing which he claimed was a revelation. and the said writing was inscribed on , cow hides and they were embellished with gold, and bishtasp deposited the same in a place in istakhar called darbesht and he appointed _herbeds_ in that connection. he prohibited the teaching of it to ordinary people.... [here follows a passage which is not very clear regarding the difference that arose between the king of iran and the king of the turks relating to this new religion which bishtasb had adopted. the name of the turk sovereign is given as khurzasaf.] now when the messenger arrived with the epistle to bishtasb there were gathered together the ahl-bayat[ ] and the noblemen of the empire, including jamasaf the wise, and zarrin son of loharasaf. then bishtasb wrote to the king of the turks a strongly worded reply challenging him to a war and expressing his determination not to withdraw the step that he had taken and saying that that even if he refrained from fighting there would be all the people on both sides who would continue the struggle. on that day there were in the council of bishtasb his brother zarrin, and nastur son of zarrin, and isfandiyar and beshotan, the sons of bishtasb and all the progeny of loharasb. on the side of khorasaf there were ju hormaz, and hudarman his brother, and the ahl-bayat and baidarafsh, the magician. in the battle zarrin was killed which was a heavy blow to bishtasb and a great booty was taken by his son isfandiyar, and baidaraf was killed which was a calamity to the turks. there was a huge slaughter and khorsasaf fled. thereupon bishtasb returned to balkh. now when a number of years had passed after this war a person called karzam attacked isfandiyar. there was also an estrangement between bishtasb and isfandiyar. order was issued for his imprisonment in a castle in which there were ladies, bishtasb then proceeded in the direction of kerman and sagistan and proceeded towards a mountain called tamdar. [the various manuscripts write the word differently and the editors have printed it without the diacritical marks so that it can be read in a variety of ways], for the purpose of teaching the religion and of spreading it there. and he left behind him his father loharasaf in the city of balkh and the treasures and the properties along with the harem including khatus, his queen, were also left with the old man. [as the editor points out khatus is the hutaosa of _gosh yast_ , and _ram yast_ [ ]]. now this fact was conveyed by the spies to khorasaf and when he learnt it he collected an innumerable army and proceeded from his country towards balkh and khorasaf thought that this was an opportunity of attacking bishtasb and his country. thus when he approached takhun he sent forward ju hormaz, his brother, with a large army and directed him to continue his march till he reached the centre of bishtasb's country and to invade it and attack the people and the cities. and this was done by ju hormaz who shed a large amount of blood and carried off incalculable booty. and khorasaf followed him and set fire to the archives and slew lohorasaf and the _herbeds_ and destroyed the fire-temples, _(buyut-an-niran)_ and he took possession of the properties and the treasuries and took two of the daughters of lohorasaf prisoner and one of them was called khumay and the other bazafreh. [this of course is according to firdousi beh afrid]. he captured a great standard which was called dirafsh kabyan and he pursued bishtasb who was fleeing from him. [footnote : ahl-bayat, or people of the house, is the arabic equivalent of the iranian visputhra and was applied by arabs to the superior persian noblemen.] [footnote : here is evidence, on the one hand, that the arab historians had iranian histories at their disposal and on the other, that the latter are still reflected in the _yasht_ literature.] [the historian narrates how isfandiyar went into the heart of the kingdom of the turk and reached his capital which was called "dez ruin" and he proceeds to say "and being interpreted in arabic it means the palace of copper." there is further reference to the canals and castles which we can trace to the bundehesh. the struggle between rustum and isfandiyar is also described. this is followed by a curious passage regarding zoroaster.] dinawari. page , cairo edition. the call of zaradusht. [sidenote: rustam and isfandiyar.] and it is said that zaradusht the head of the magians came to bishtasb the king and told him, "i am the apostle of god to you", and gave him the book which the magians possess. then bishtasb believed in him and accepted his religion which is that of the magians and exhorted the people of his kingdom to the same and they also accepted it _nolence volence._ and rustam the strong, was at that time the governor of sagistan and khorasan, and he was powerful of body and possessed of great vigour. and when this happened it was reported to kaykobad the king, this, about the admittance of bishtasb into the magian religion and his abandoning the religion of their forefathers. kaykobad became exceedingly angry at this, and said that this was forsaking of the religion of their forefathers who had inherited it from one generation to another. then the people of sagistan were gathered together and they wore incited to destroy bishtasb. and they revolted against him. upon this bishtasb called upon isfandiyar who was the strongest man of his time and said to him, "oh son, the kingdom will be entrusted to you. but the affairs will not improve except by killing rustam, and you know his strength and vigour. but you are his match in power and prowess. so do you choose from the army whomever you like and then proceed against him." so isfandiyar selected , persian knights from the forces of his father, and marched against rustam. and rustam proceeded towards him between the boundaries or sagistan and khorasan. isfandiyar suggested to rustam that their armies should be excused from attacking each other, but that they two should engage in single combat and that whoever killed the other should be held to be the victor. rustam agreed to the proposal and the covenant. then the two armies stood abide and the two warriors engaged in a duel. now the persians have a good deal to say in this matter and that it was rustam who killed isfandiyar and that the latter's army returned to bishtasb and informed him of what had happened to his son isfandiyar. the king was overwhelmed with grief fell ill and died. and the kingdom, came to the grandson bahman, son of isfandiyar, and it is related that soon after rustam returned to his residence in sagistan, he died.[ ] [footnote : note that dinawari had obviously before him iranian traditional materials for his history.] dinawari treats of the following iranian subjects in his clear and succinct fashion. the reign of baywarasaf, farasiyab; dhahak, the end of the reign of minosher and the beginning of the reign of farasiyab, the reign of zab son of budkan and kaykohad zab; the reign of kaykawuys son of kaykobad, the reign of kai khosro, the reign of lohrasf and the invasion of bukht nasar; the reign of bhishtasb in persia; the call of zaradusht, the reign of bahman ibn isfandiyar in persia and the emancipation of the jews, the reign of khumani (humay) the queen of bahman; the reign of dara ibn bahman; the war of dara with greece; the reign of darayush; the origin of alexander; the invasion of alexander against dara; the reign of ardwan; one para. is devoted to the muluk ut tawaef, and then regularly follow all the sasanian kings beginning with shahan shah ardeshir. ibn al athir (vol. i., page cairo edition.) _account of king loharasp and his son bishtasb and the appearance of zaradusht_. [sidenote: zend and pazend.] and we have related that kai khosrou, when he was at the point of death, bequeathed the crown to the son of his uncle loharasp; and when he acquired the sovereignty he got possession of the throne of gold adorned with jewels. for him was built in khorasan the city of balkh which was called husna (charming). he established archives and strengthened the empire by the selection of soldiers and by advancing agriculture. he took taxes for the purpose of wages for his soldiers. at that time the turks were in great strength and he went down to balkh to fight them, and he was a favourite with his people and strong in overpowering his vigourous enemies, kind to his well-wishers, and of great intrepidity. he raised great buildings and cut a number of canals, built cities. the kings of india and china and the occident used to pay tribute to him and addressed him in their despatches as their 'lord' out of fear and respect for him. subsequently he abdicated the empire and throne and engaged himself in devotion, appointing in succession to him his son bishtasb to be king. and his reign endured for years. after him bishtasb became king and in his days appeared zaradusht son of sakiman [it should be safiman, the difference being only that of a dot] who claimed to prophesy and the magians followed him. and according to what is stated by writers, zaradusht belonged to palestine and was a personal servant to one of the disciples of armaya, the prophet. he was unfaithful to him and told him a lie so that god cursed him and he was afflicted with leprosy and went away to the country of azarbayjan and there started the religion of magians. and it is also stated by others that he was a persian and that he composed a book and went about with it in the world. but no one knew its meaning. and it was alleged that it was in a heavenly language and was called as such. it was entitled ashta [this is clearly a misformation of avesta]. then he left azarbayjan and proceeded towards fars. no one knew what was in the book and no one accepted it. then he went to india and produced it before the kings there. next he went to china and turkey. but no one acknowledged it, and he was driven out from their countries, and started for farghana whose king prepared to slay him so that he fled from there and bent his steps towards bhishtasb son of loharasp; who ordered his imprisonment and he was consequently in captivity for a time. now zaradusht wrote a commentary on his book called the zend which means interpretation. next he commented upon the zend in a book called bazand, that is, interpretation of interpretation, and therein are various sciences like astrology, astronomy, medicine, etc., with reference to the history of past ages, and the books of the prophets. and in his book is stated,--"adhere to what i have brought you till the time when there will come to you the man of the red camel," which means muhammad the prophet. this was at the beginning of the year and it was on this account that there has been enmity between the magians and the arabs and it has been mentioned in the history of sabur dhul aktaf that this was one of the reasons justifying the raids on the arabs. but god knows the best. [sidenote: the eternal fire.] [sidenote: royal archives forbidden to the vulgar.] then bishtasb caused zaradusht to present himself before him since he was in balkh. and when he came to him he commenced with his religion. bishtasb admired it, followed it, and forced his people to embrace it, and slew a large number of them till the rest adopted it. but the magians assert that he was by origin from azarbayjan and that he came to the king from the roof of his palace and that there was in his hand a cube of fire with which he played without its injuring him; that whoever took it from his hand did so without hurting himself. he caused the king to follow him and to accept his creed. and he built fire temples in the country and lighted them with that fire. for it is stated that the fires which are in their fire-temples are burning from that fire to this day. but they are telling an untruth since the fire of the magians was extinguished in all their temples when god sent muhammad down as his apostle as we shall describe, god willing, in the sequel, as well as the appearance of zaradusht after thirty years of the reign of bishtasb. and zaradusht brought a writing which is alleged to be revelation from god and is inscribed on , cow hides inlaid with gold. bishtasb deposited them in a place in istakhar and forbade the teaching of thorn to the vulgar. masudi. _kitab-at-tanbih._ [sidenote: the kohan nameh and the ain nameh.] the persians have a book called the _kohan nameh_ in which are mentioned all the officers of the persian monarch amounting to and classed according to their respective ranks. this book formed part of the _ain nameh._[ ] the meaning of ain nameh is the 'book of regulations'. it is a book containing several thousands of leaves and no one can find a copy of it anywhere except among the _mobeds_ and others invested with authority. the mobed of the persians at the moment of writing this history, that is in the year , for the country of jabal in iraq and for the countries of ajam, is ammad son of ashwahisht. before him these countries had for their mobed isfandiyar, son of adarbad, son of anmid, who was killed by radi at baghdad in . [footnote : a remarkable passage from this pahlavi treatise has been embodied in a close arabic version in ibn kutayha's _uyun-al-akhbar._ the credit of discovering and translating this unique passage into a european language belongs to m.k. inostranzev.] i have seen in the city of istakhar in fars in the year in the house of a high noble persian, a large book in which were set out along with the descriptions of several sciences the histories of the kings of persia, their reigns and the monuments which they had erected,--fragments which i have not been able to find anywhere else in persian books, neither in the _khoday nameh_, nor in the _ain nameh_ nor in the _kohan nameh_ or anywhere else. [sidenote: portrait of sasanian kings taken just before their demise.] [sidenote: persian imperial archives: translation into arabic.] in this book were pictures of the kings of persia belonging to the house of sasan, twenty seven in number, twenty five men and two women. each of them was represented as at the moment of death, whether old or young with the royal ornaments, with the tiara, hair, beard, and all the features of his face. this dynasty reigned over the country for years one month and seven days. when one of these kings died his portrait was painted and it was deposited in the treasury in order that the living princes may know the features of the dead kings. the representation of every king who was painted as a warrior was in a standing posture; that of every king who was occupied with government affairs was in the sitting posture. to it was joined the biography of each, of them detailing his public and private life together with the important events and facts concerning the most interesting incidents of his reign. the book which i saw was redacted according to the documents found in the treasuries of the kings of persia and it was completed in the middle of the second jamada of the year . it was translated for hisham son of abdal malik son of merwan from persian into arabic. the first of the kings of this dynasty whom one sees there is ardeshir. the distinctive colour in his portrait was of a brilliant red. his trousers were of sky-blue and the mitre was green on gold. he held a lance in the hand and he was standing. the last was that of yezdegerd, son of shahariyar, son of kesra abarvez. his distinctive colour was green. his trousers were sky-blue and his mitre vermillion. he held in his hand a lance and rested the other hand on his sabre. this painting was made with persian colours which are no longer to be found now-a-days and of gold and silver dissolved and of pulverised copper. the leaves of the book were of a purple colour and of a marvellous tint. it was so beautiful and prepared with such care that i do not know whether it was paper or whether it was thin parchment. (p. .) [which stands for pahlavi and not modern persian.] [sidenote: zoroaster, avesta, and avesta script.] zaradusht brought to the king the book of _avesta_, the name of which in arabic has received a final _kaf_ and has thus become _abestak_. the number of chapters of book is twenty one, each chapter comprising leaves. in this book we find a total of sixty vowels and consonants each with a distinct character. some of these characters are found elsewhere and others have fallen into disseutude. for this script is not confined to the language of the avesta. [sidenote: extent of avesta.] [sidenote: persian translation of avesta.] [sidenote: contents of avesta.] zoroaster invented this writing which the magians have called sin dabireh, that is to say, the 'sacred writing'. he incised his writing into , cow skins and filled it with gold. it was in the ancient language of persia of which no one has any knowledge to-day. only a few portions of its chapters have been translated into the modern persian. it is this persian translation which they have in their hands when, they say their prayers. the translation contains fragments like the ashtad, the chitrasht, the aban yasht, the hadukht, and other chapters. in the chitrasht are found the recitals of the origin and the end of the world. hadukht comprises exhortations. [sidenote: commentaries on avesta.] zoroaster composed the commentary on the avesta which he called the zend, and which in the eyes of his followers was revealed to him by god. he subsequently translated it from pahlavi into persian. zoroaster, further, prepared a commentary on the zend and called it bazend. [sidenote: their destruction.] the mobeds and the herbeds, learned in the science of religion, commented in their turn on this commentary and their work was called the barideh, and, by others, the akradeh. after he had conquered the persian empire and put to death dara son of dara, alexander burnt them.... [sidenote: synopsis of zoroastrian beliefs.] besides the two modes of writing which they owe to zoroaster, the persians have five other methods in many of which nabatian words have been introduced. we have explained all these in our books already cited with quotations of portions regarding the miracles of zoroaster, the marks and the proof of his revelation, the belief in the five eternal principles which are ormazd or god, ahriman which is the same as satan, the wicked, kah or time, jay or space, homa or the good spirituous liquor, the grounds on which they support these doctrines, the reasons why they render homage to the two luminaries and to other heavenly lights, the distinction which they make between fire and light, their discourses regarding the origin of the human species, on mashya son of gayomert, and mashyana his daughter, and how the persians trace their geneologies back to these two personages, and finally, other things connected with the exercise of their religion, the practice of their cult and the various places where they have established their fire sanctuaries. [sidenote: confutation of prejudice moslem theologians.] certain musalman theologians and authors of books on various sects, and several authors who have set before them the task at different times of refuting zoroastrianism have alleged that it is believed in their religion that from the reflexion of god on himself has issued an evil spirit or the devil and that god, indulgent towards him, has accorded him a certain time during which to tempt mankind. these authors further cite as appertaining to this religion propositions which the magians themselves have always rejected. i believe that they must have heard these particulars from ordinary people and that they have recorded them as the authentic expression of the followers of the religion of zoroaster.[ ] [footnote : our celebrated arab polyhistor not only does not malign the faith of zoroaster but proceeds to confute his prejudiced co-religionists who pretended to refute the old faith of iran.] shaharastani. kitab al milal val nihal. (_page , bombay edition. compare also page of the egyptian edition on the margin of ibn hazm._) the magians. these people believe in two principles as we have already stated; only, that the original magians were of the belief that it was not possible that there should be two principles eternal and without beginning, but that the light was without beginning and darkness was only produced; and they were of different views as regards the origin of its rise,--whether it arose from light, since light cannot bring something that was partly evil. how then could the principle of evil or anything else arise since there was nothing at first which participated with light in its production and in its being eternal? here the error of the magians becomes apparent. they also assert that the first of persons was kayumarth, though they sometimes say that he was zarwan the great, and that the last of the prophets was zaradusht. the kayumarthiya assert that kayumarth was adam; kayumarth appears as adam in the histories of india and persia. but all the histories are against this.[ ] [footnote : i have constantly referred to haarbrucker's german translation and to the german passages cited by gottiel in the drisseler volume which was very kindly presented to me by our prof. a.v.w. jackson. gottiel has omitted the sections regarding the kayumarthiya.] the zaradushtiya. these are the followers of zaradusht, son of budashab who appeared in the time of bishtasb, son of lohrasb, the king. his father came from azarbayjan and his mother from ray and her name was doghd. they assert that they had prophets and kings and that they had kayumarth who was the first king on the earth and that his residence was at istakhar, that after him came haushanj, son of farawal, who descended on india. after him came his son jam; the king. then followed prophets and kings among whom was minochehr. he proceeded to babel and settled there, and it is related that musa, (may peace be on him!) appeared in his time. things continued like this till the sovereignty came to bishtasb, son of lohrasb. in his time appeared zaradusht al hakim or the wise.... [sidenote: miracles of zoroaster.] [sidenote: essence of his teachings.] [sidenote: his cosmogony.] then the child [zaradusht] laughed a great laugh which was noticed by all those present, and people contrived so as to put zaradusht in the way of cattle and the way of horses and in the way of wolves. but each of them stood up to protect him from its own kind. after he had attained to an age of thirty god sent him as his prophet and apostle to his creation, and he turned himself with his calling to king bishtasb and the latter accepted his creed. his creed consisted in the reverence of god and the non-reverence of satan, in the obedience to good and in the prohibition of the evil, and in abstaining from unclean things. he said that light and darkness were two original principles which opposed each other antagonistically, and so were yazdan and ahriman and that both were the beginning of the created things in the world. that the composition of it was the product of the co-mingling and that the variety of forms were given rise to by means of the various unions, but that god was the creator of light and darkness and of both the prime origins. he was one without a companion, without an opponent, and without anyone who was his like, and that it was not possible to trace to him the existence of darkness in the way in which the zarwanites trace it, but that good and evil, pure and impure, holy and unholy, were brought forth only by the co-mingling of light and darkness, and had not the two fore-gathered the world would not have come into existence. they were pitched each against the other and they fight each other till light shall overcome darkness, and good evil. and then the good will be liberated and come to its own, and the evil will be hurled down to its own world and that will be the cause of the emancipation. god, the almighty, however, has in his wisdom compounded and co-mingled them. sometimes they make out that light is the original principle and express themselves thus: the existence of light is a real existence. darkness, however, is only a consequence like the shadow of a person. it was alleged that darkness was a thing produced though not created in reality, and that god had produced light and that darkness had come out as a consequence, because contrast was a matter of necessity in existence. hence the existence of darkness was also essential. and thus it had become a thing created although not as in the first view, as brought out with reference to a man's shadow. [sidenote: zend ave-ta.] he [zaradusht] also had composed a book about which people said that it was revealed to him, namely, the _zand awasta_ which divides the world into two parts, mino or the spiritual and geti or the corporeal; that is to say, into spiritual and corporeal worlds, or in other words, into mental and physical. and just as the creation is divided into two worlds, so according to him, all that was in the world was again divided into two, namely, _bakhshis_ [haarbrucker translates _bakhshis_ by _gnade_ or favour, but the original arabic expression is _takdir_ which means _destiny_, and _kunish_ or _deed_, by which are meant pre-destination by god and human action.] [sidenote: zoroastrian ethics.] further, he discussed the duties relating to the religious law and these have reference to the movements of man. he divided them into three parts _manish, guyish_ and _kunish_, meaning thereby belief, speech, and act, and these comprehended all the duties. when in this a man is wanting he is out of obedience and out of creed. but if he conducts himself in these three movements according to the standard of the law and the ordinance he attains to the highest good.[ ] [footnote : here is an instance where the arab philosopher and writer hands down to posterity the spirit of zoroastrianism without prejudice and with precision.] [sidenote: some miracles explained.] the zaradashtiya ascribed to zaradusht a number of miracles including that while zaradusht was thrown into prison the forefeet of the horse of bishtasb entered into its body. when he was set at liberty, the feet of the animal came out. next, it is said that he happened to pass a blind man at dinawar and to have told him, "take the herb", which he described to him "and press its juice into your eye and you will be able to see". this was done and the blind man was restored to his sight. this, however, is to be attributed to his knowledge of the properties of the herb and so it is in no wise a miracle. (here gotthiel omits one section on the saisaniya and the bihafridiya[ ]). [footnote : the bihafridiya formed a heresy from zoroastrianism in the time of the moslems. the sect furnishes the strongest proof that there was no persecution worth the name in persia at the time. not only in those days were the zoroastrians permitted to follow their own faith but here is a curious pars from al biruni which proves that both the original zoroastrians and the heresy were permitted to flourish side by side under the khalifs:--"when abu moslem came to nishapur the _mobeds_ and _herbeds_ assembled before him telling him that this man [the founder of the bihafridi sect] had infected islam as well as their own [zoroastrian] religion. so he sent abdalla to fetch him. he met him in the mountain at badjeh and brought him before abu moslem to put him to death together with such of his followers as he could capture. his followers called the bihafridians still keep the institutes of their founder and strongly resemble the zam-zamis among the magians." shaharastani adds that they were the most hostile of god's creatures to the zamzami magians. the entire chapter on the iranian sects in shaharastani is worthy of careful and deep study. it explains the divergence between the prescriptions of the _vendidad_ and the practice of the bulk of the iranians. the _vendidad_ was, it would appear, the authoritative scripture of one of the sects of zoroastrianism. at any rate it is not too extravagant to deduce from the careful studies of the iranian religion by arab writers that as the teachings of sakya muni developed into more buddhisms than one so there were several creeds with the common designation of zoroastrianism.] [sidenote: the dignity of mobedan mobed.] the magians and the followers of the two principles and the followers of mani and the other sects which are related to the magians are known as the adherents of the great creed or the great religion. all the kings of persia were the followers of the religion of ibrahim, subjects and all those who belonged to the country among them during the reign of each of them followed the religion of their rulers. but these latter relied upon the chief of the ecclesiastics, _mobed mobedan_, the sage of sages, and the wisest of men according to whose instructions the kings conducted themselves and without whose judgment they undertook nothing; to him they showed reverence such as is shown to the khalif of the time. ibn hazm. kitab al fasal fil milal wal hawa wal nahal. (page , vol. , egyptian ed.) as regards the magians they believed in the prophetship of zaradasht.... and as regards zaradasht it is said that the majority of moslems believed in his prophetship.... [sidenote: "majority of moslems believed in the prophetship of zoroaster."] and the book of the magians and their religious law were for a long time during their sovereignty in the possession of the _mobeds and_ _herbeds_. each of the herbeds had a volume which was individual and separate. in it was associated none of the other herbeds and no outsider had any concern with it. subsequently there was a break on account of alexander setting fire to their books at the time when he invaded dara, son of dara, and they admit with unanimity that a portion of their scriptures to the extent of a third has perished. this has been mentioned by bashir and nasik and others of their men of learning.... [sidenote: history of zoroastrian sacred literature.] and magians compiled all the scriptures (ayat) regarding the miracles of zoroaster such as that of the brass which was spread over and melted on his chest and which did not injure him, and the feet of the horse which had penetrated his belly and which were drawn out by him, etc. [sidenote: zoroastrians are _kitabis_.] and among those who assert that the magians are _ahal kitab_ are ali ibn talib and khuzayfa, may god be pleased on these two, and said bin al musib and karadah and abu thaur and the whole of the sect of the zahurites. and we have set out the arguments of the validity of this statement in our book entitled the _isal_ in the chapters on jehad, ceremonial slaughter, and nikah. and therein is sufficiently proved the validity of the acceptance of jaziya by the prophet of god from them. for in the clear statement of the qoran in the last verses of the chapter of _burat_, god has declared unlawful the acceptance of the jaziya from _non-kitabis_.... now as regards the magians they admit that the books of theirs in which is incorporated their religion were destroyed by fire by alexander when he slew dara son of dara,--that more than two-thirds of them have perished the remnants being less than a third,--that their religious law was comprised in what has disappeared. now since this is the condition of their religion, then their claims are void altogether became of the disappearance of the majority of their books; since god does not held responsible any person with reference to anything that has not been entrusted to him. [sidenote: zoroastrians extant scriptures are corrupt.] and among their books there is one entitled the _khudhay_ to which they pay great reverence, in which it is related that king anushirwan prohibited the teaching of their religion in any one of the cities except ardeshir khurrah and the religion spread from datjird. before this time it was not taught anywhere except istakhar and it was not proper for anyone to engage in its study except a special class of people. and of the books which remained after the conflagration by alexander there were volumes and there were appointed _herbeds_, one _herbed_ for each volume. and no herbed transgressed upon the volume of another. and the mobed mobedan was the superintendent of the whole of those scriptures. now whatever is in this condition has its contents altered and modified and each of the transcripts is in this state. hence they are corrupt and do not deserve to be regarded as authentic. thus whatever is in their books cannot be held to be authentic except by reason of faith alone since there are evident falsehoods in them like the statement that their king mounted on iblis and rode on him wherever he willed, that man in the beginning originated from a vegetable like grass called sharaliya, and the birth of bayarawan siyawush son of kay kawash who built a city called kangdez between the earth and the heaven and settled therein , men belonging to the _people of family_, that they are there to this day, and that when behram hamawand manifests himself on his bull to restore to them their sovereignty that city will descend to earth and will help him to restore their religion and empire. says abu muhammed, may god be pleased with him. and every book in which is incorporated a falsehood is invalid and fictitious. it does not come from god. thus there is corruption in the religion of the magians just as there is in the religion of the jews and the christians to an equal degree. ibn haukal. ibn haukal has been edited in the _bibliotheca geogra phorum arabicorum_ by de goege, but as the text is not available the following excerpts from a translation of it made over a century ago by sir william ouseley will indicate its importance. he flourished in the middle of the th century. [sidenote: fire temples.] "there is not any district nor any town of fars without a fire temple. these are held in high veneration. we shall hereafter minutely describe them. also throughout fars there are castles one stronger than another. [sidenote: nirang.] "there is not any district of this province nor any without a fire temple. one near shapur they call kunbud kaush.... and in the religion of the guebres it is ordained that 'omnis foemina quae tempore gravid it at is aut tempore menstruorum, fornicationem seu adultarium fecerit, pura non erit, donec ad pyraeum (seu templum ignicolarum) accesserit (et) coram heirbed (sacerdote) nuda ferit et urina vaccae se laverit.' "in the province of fars, they have three languages--the parsi, which they use in speaking one to another, though there may be some variations of dialects in different districts yet it is in fact all the same and they all understand the languages of each other and none of their expressions or words are unintelligible; the pahlavi language which was formerly used in writings; this language now requires a commentary or explanatory treatise; and the arabic language which at present is used in the divans or royal courts of justice and revenue, etc. [sidenote: maritime commerce.] "as to the manners of the people in fars those who are the chief men and occupy the higher offices in the service of the sovereign are polite and courteous. they have fine palaces and are very hospitable. the people in general, are kind and civil in their manners. the merchants are remarkably covetous and desirous of wealth. i have heard that there was a certain man of siraj who had forty years at sea never leaving his ship during this time. whenever he came to a port he sent some of his people on shore to transact his commercial affairs, and when the business was finished he sailed on to some other place. the inhabitants of siraj devoted their whole time to commerce and merchandise. i myself saw at this place several persons who possessed , thousand dinars and there were some who had still more and their clothes were those of labourers. [sidenote: parsis in fars.] "in fars there are fire worshippers, guebres, and christians and some jews. and the practices of the guebres, their fire temples, and their customs and ceremonies and guebreism or magism, still continue among the people of fars and there are not in, any country of islam so many guebres as in the land of fars. it has been their capital or residence." [like all other arab authors ibn haukal mentions the celebrated men belonging to each of the provinces he describes. among the celebrities of fars are reckoned hormuz, "guebre", who in the time of omar was taken by abdulla ibn omar and put to death; and salman farsi who was one of the illustrious men. his piety is celebrated throughout the world. he sought the truth of religion in all quarters only to find it at medina with the prophet. in consequence of this selman became a true believer. abdulla ibn mukaffa also belonged to fars. in the territory of istakhar is a great building with statuettes carved in stone and there also are inscriptions and paintings.] appendix viii ibn khallikan biographical dictionary translated by de slane, vol, i. _dehkan_ is a persian word signifying both a farmer and a historian. it is generally used to designate a person of ancient persian family possessing hereditary landed property. (p. ). _ispeh salar._ this word signifies commander of the troops. (p. ). katibs or writers were the persons employed in public offices: the directors, clerks and secretaries in government service were all called katib. [sidenote: nauruz in baghdad.] _khalifs' nauruz._--this another name for nauruz khasa "new year's day proper," in which it was customary to offer presents to the sovereign. this festival was held on the sixth day of the month of ferwardin (end of marob). the old persian custom of celebrating nauruz existed at baghdad under the abbaside khalifs. (see p. of this work, see also an anecdote of ahmed ibn yusuf al khatif in his life of al mubarad.) (p. ). "in the year ak sunkur was directed by the sultan muhamed to lay siege to tikrit which was then in the possession of kaikobad ibn hazarasb (about )." (p. .) [sidenote: ibn mukaffa.] ibn khallikan has devoted seven pages to the life of ibn mukaffa who is called _the katib_ and was renowned for the elegance of his style. he was the author of admirable epistles. he was a native of fars and a magian. but he was led to the profession of islam by the uncle of the two first abbaside al safar and al mansur. he then became a secretary and was admitted into intimacy. it was related that mukaffa went to isa ibn ali and said that he was persuaded of the truth of islam and wished to make a profession of that faith. isa answered, "let it be done in the presence of the leaders and chiefs of the people who come here to-morrow." on the evening of that very day he went to dine with isa, and having sat down he began to eat and to mutter according to the custom of the magian, "how" said isa, "he mutters like the magian although resolved to embrace islam?" to this makaffa replied: "i do not wish to pass a single night without some religion." the next morning he made to isa his solemn profession of islam. notwithstanding the eminent merit of mukaffa he was suspected of infidelity and al jahiz states that his religious sincerity was doubted (p. ). ibn kallikan says, "it was mukaffa who composed the book entitled _kalileh wa-dimneh_. but some state that he is not the author of the work which they say was in pahlavi, and he translated it into arabic, and put it in an elegant style. but the discourse at the beginning of the work is by him." volume ii. ahmed ibn yusuf addressed to al-mamun a verse with a present of an embroidered robe on the day of nauruz. (p. ). al-marzubani received his surname of al-marzubani because one of his ancestors bore the name of al-marzuban, a designation applied by persians to great and powerful men only. this word signifies guardian of the frontier, as we learn from ibn al jawaliki's work called al-muarrab. (p. ). a reference to the game of chess which originated in india, and the game of nerd as invented by the persian king ardeshir. we often come across names like dhia-ad-din abu said bahrain ibn al-khidr, just as we have paul pakiam indicating the bearer of the name was originally hindu but had adopted subsequently christianity. (p. ). [sidenote: nominal converts.] abl-hasan mihyar ibn mirzawaih, a native of dadam and secretary for persian language was a fire-worshipper, but afterwards adopted the moslem faith. it is said that he made his profession to sharif ar-rida who was his professor and under whom he made his poetical studies. it seems, however, the conversion of mihyar was only nominal. ibn al-athir al-jazari says in his annals that one ibn burhan said to him. "mihyar, by becoming a musalman you have merely passed from one corner of hell to another." "how so?" said mihyar. ibn burhan replied: "because you were formerly a fire-worshipper and now you revile the companions of our blessed prophet in your verses." (p. .) ibn khallikan adds that "mihyar and mirzawaith are both persian names. their signification is unknown to me." volume iii. instances of hybrid compound names, the iranian component being retained. izz ad-din kaikaus son of ghiath ad-din kaikhosru. (p. ). ala ad-din kaikobad. (p. ). abu mahfuz ibn firuz. (p. ). abu manzur al muzaffar ibn abi i-husain ardeshir. (p. ). abu mansur-sheherdar ibn shiruyah. (p. ). sultan ad-dawlat, fanakhrosru (which is no doubt equivalent to panah khurso.) (p. ). the word _abna_ signifies _sons_. it was generally employed to designate persons one of whose parents was an arab and the other of a foreign race. at the time of mahomed and afterwards there was in yeman a great number of _abna_ whose fathers were persians and whose mothers were arabs. (p. ). dress of the ulema. (p. ). yahya ibn al munajjim whose real name was abban hasis, the son of kad, the son of mahavindad, the son of farrukhdad, the son of asad, the son of mihr, the son of yezdigerd, the last of the sasanian kings of persia. story of the onagar with the inscription on its ear written by bahramgor in the kufic character. ibn khallikan quotes al khawarezmi's _mafatih-al-ulum._ (p. ). [sidenote: old castles.] istakhri refers to the castle of jiss in the district of arrajan about which we have a more exhaustive notice by other writers. "here lived the magians," says istakhri, "and here also are to be found memorials of the past of persia. the place is strongly fortified. the castle of iraj is also strongly fortified. the fastnesses which cannot be subjugated are so many that it is not possible to detail them." describing the city of jur istakhri says that it was built by ardeshir. "it is said that here water used to be collected as in a lake. the king had taken a vow to build a city and to erect a fire temple at the place where he had defeated his enemy. he had the place drained, and when it was dried he built the city of jur on the site. the city in its extent is like istakhr, sabur, and darabgird. it had mud walls and moats and many gates, the eastern one being called the gate of mihr, the western the gate of bahram, the northern the gate of hormuz, and the southern the gate of ardeshir. in the centre of the city is a building with a cupola built by ardeshir. it is said that it is so high that it commands a view of the city and its surroundings. _high at its top is a fire altar_.[ ]" (p. ). [sidenote: languages of iran.] in another portion of his book istakhri describes the inhabitants as thin, with little growth of hair and of brown colour. "in the colder tracts," he continues, "the people are of a taller stature with a thick growth of hair and very fair. they speak three languages,--the parsi, which everybody speaks and which is employed in their letters and their literature; the magians who dwell among them use the pahlavi in their writings, but it needs for a thorough understanding an explanation in parsi; and arabic which is the language used in the correspondence of the sultan, the government boards, the grandees and the amirs." (p. ). [footnote : this goes to confirm the hypothesis of sir john marshall that the curious structure with probably a fire-altar at the top excavated by him at taxila near rawal pindi is a zoroastrian _atash-kadeh_.] [sidenote: tardy converts.] in the same place he makes mention of a numerous settlement of the magians. "here are," he says, "a goodly number of magians in the neighbourhood of istakhr. there is a large stone building with carvings and pillars about which the persians relate that it is the mosque of solomon; the son of david, and that it is the work of genii. in bulk it is comparable to the buildings in syria and egypt" "in the neighborhood of sabur is a mountain on which the representations of all the kings, governors, servitors of temples and grand mobeds who were celebrated in the times of the persian monarchy are to be found. on the pedestals of these figures are engraved the events in connection with and the deeds of these personages." describing the karen mountains itakhri says, "the mountainous region is inaccessible and the inhabitants hold commerce with no one outside. during the omayad period they persisted in their adherence to zoroastrianism, and they could not be subjugated, and were worse than the inhabitants of the koz mountain. but when the abbasides came to power they embraced islam. these magians were extraordinarily brave. yakub and amru the sons of leith, commenced their rule and power here and drew their supporters from these hills." "mokan," says istakhri, "contains many villages which are inhabited by the magians." (p. .) mesopotamia and persia in the fourteenth century. in the nuzhat al kulub of hamd-allah mustawfi by g. lestrange. the following fire-temples are mentioned:--at [transcriber's note: word unreadable] there was an ancient fire temple called ardahish. (p. ) a dragon was slain by king kaikaushro who then built on the spot a fire temple afterwards known as dayr kushid. (p. ). turshid was the chief city of the kohistan province and near it was the village kishwaz famous for the great cypress trees planted by zoroaster as related by firdausi in the shah nameh, (turner, . macar vol. , line ). near tushiz were four famous castles one of which was called arthush gah or the fire temple. (p. ). herat was watered by the canals of the river hari rud. it had a famous castle called sham iram built over the ruins of an ancient fire temple on a mountain two leagues distant from the city. mustawfi adds a long account of the town, its markets and its shrines, giving the names of the various canals derived from the hari rud. (p. ). al muqadasi. (bibliotheca indica) [sidenote: zoroastrians are treated like jews and christians.] the religious bodies which enjoy rights of subjects under the protection of law are four,--the jews, the christians, the majus, and the sabiah. (p. - ). [sidenote: nauruz and miherjan.] the worshippers of idols in sind are not of the dhimma, nor those under the protection of islam; it is on this account that they are exempted from the poll tax. _the majus are counted with the dhimma; for omar ordered them to be treated in the same way as the people of the book (the jews and christians;_) the fact that we call the followers of one and the same code of doctrines by two names, one of praise and one of blame, does not arise from eulogising or reviling on our part; our object is merely to shew what others think of any sect, and by what names they call them. (p. ). thaalibi. edited and translated by h. zotenberg. and behram was matchless among kings, perfect in manners and facile of tongue. for he used to converse on the days of public assemblies and courtly meetings in arabic and in matters of receiving petitions and granting of the gifts in persian, and when giving public audiences he used the dari language, and when playing polo he used pahlavi, and turkish while at war, and when out hunting the language of zabulistan and in legal matters hebrew, in questions of medicine the indian language, in astronomy the language of the greeks, and while on voyage he used the nabatian language and while speaking with women he used the speech of herat. (p. ). that thaalibi knew the correct distinction between pahlavi and persian can be seen from the fact that he says at p. of his history with reference to the book of _kalileh wa dimna_ as follows:--when burzuyeh arrived at the court and presented himself before anushirwan he recounted to him what had happened to him and announced to him as a happy event that he was in possession of the book. then he made a present of it to the king. (anushirwan was charmed with it and he gave the order to translate the book into pahlavi.) burzuyeh requested and got from the king the permission to place at the head of the first chapter the king's name, and a notice of his life. and the book remained carefully guarded with the kings of persia until ibn muquaffa translated it into arabic and rudaki at the command of amir nasr ibn ahmad turned it into persian verse. reference to _kitab al ain_. (p. .) reference to the murder and burial of the last sasanian king, (p. .) the thousand and one days; a companion to the "_arabian nights._" with introduction by miss pardoe. [illustration: p. .] london: william lay, king william street, strand. . introduction. the compiler of the graceful little volume which i have the pleasure of introducing to the public, has conferred an undeniable benefit upon the youth of england by presenting to them a collection of oriental tales, which, rich in the elements of interest and entertainment, are nevertheless entirely free from the licentiousness which renders so many of the fictions of the east, beautiful and brilliant as they are, most objectionable for young and ardent minds. there is indeed no lack of the wonderful in the pages before us, any more than in the arabian and persian tales already so well known: but it will be seen that the supernatural agency in the narratives is used as a means to work out totally different results. there is, in truth, scarcely one of these tales which does not inculcate a valuable moral lesson; as may be seen by reference to "the powder of longevity," "the old camel," and "the story of the dervise abounadar" among several, others. the present collection of eastern stories has been principally derived from the works of different oriental scholars on the continent, and little doubt can be entertained of the genuineness of their origin; while they have been carefully selected, and do honour to the good taste of their compiler. an acknowledgment is also due to him for his adherence to the good old orthography to which we have all been accustomed from our childhood, in the case of such titles as "caliph," "vizier," "houri," "genii," &c.; as, however critically correct and learned the spelling of mr. lane may be in his magnificent version of the "thousand and one nights," and however appropriate to a work of so much research and value to oriental students, it would have been alike fatiguing and out of character to have embarrassed a volume, simply intended for the amusement of youthful readers, by a number of hard and unfamiliar words, difficult of pronunciation to all save the initiated; and for the pleasure of the young requiring translation fully as much as the narrative itself. in one of the tales there will be at once detected a portion of the favourite old story of aladdin's lamp, in the subterranean gem-garden discovered by the handsome youth; while in another, mention is made of the already-familiar legend of the hidden city of ad, so popular among the ancient arabs[ ]; but these repetitions will cease to create any surprise when it is remembered that the professional story-tellers of the east are a wandering race, who travel from city to city, exhibiting their talent during seasons of festivity, in the palaces of the wealthy and the public coffee-houses. those admitted to the women's apartments are universally aged crones, whose volubility is something marvellous; and they are always welcome guests to the indolent beauties, who listen to them for hours together without a symptom of weariness, as they pour forth their narratives in a monotonous voice strangely displeasing to european ears. the men, while reciting their tales, indulge in violent gesticulations and contortions of the body, which appear to produce great delight in their audience. since they generally travel two or three in company; and, save in rare cases of improvisation, their stock of narrative is common to all, it is their ambition so individually to embellish, heighten, and amplify their subject-matter, as to outshine their competitors; and it is consequently to this cause that the numerous variations of the same tale which have reached europe must be attributed. taken altogether, there can be no doubt that the "thousand and one days" merit the warm welcome which i trust awaits them. j. p. london, feb. . contents. i. page hassan abdallah, or the enchanted keys story of hassan story of the basket-maker story of the dervise abounadar conclusion of the story of hassan ii. soliman bey and the three story tellers first story teller second story teller third story teller iii. prince khalaf and the princess of china story of prince al abbas continuation of prince khalaf and the princess of china story of lin-in story of prince khalaf concluded iv. the wise dey v. the tunisian sage vi. the nose for gold vii. the treasures of basra history of aboulcassem conclusion of the treasures of basra viii. the old camel ix. the story of medjeddin x. king bedreddin-lolo and his vizir story of the old slippers story of atalmulc the sorrowful continuation of king bedreddin-lolo and his vizir story of malek and the princess schirine conclusion [illustration] the "thousand and one days;" or, arabian tales. i. the story of hassan abdallah; or, the enchanted keys. theilon, caliph of egypt, died, after having bequeathed his power to his son, mohammed, who, like a wise and good prince, proceeded to root out abuses, and finally caused peace and justice to flourish throughout his dominions. instead of oppressing his people by new taxes, he employed the treasures, which his father had amassed by violence, in supporting learned men, rewarding the brave, and assisting the unfortunate. every thing succeeded under his happy sway; the risings of the nile were regular and abundant; every year the soil produced rich harvests; and commerce, honoured and protected, caused the gold of foreign nations to flow abundantly into the ports of egypt. mohammed determined, one day, to take the census of the officers of his army, and of all the persons in public situations whose salaries were paid out of the treasury. the vizirs, to the number of forty, first made their appearance and knelt in succession before the sovereign. they were, for the most part, men venerable from their age, and some of them had long beards of snowy whiteness. they all wore on their heads tiaras of gold, enriched with precious stones, and carried in their hands long staves as badges of their power. one enumerated the battles in which he had been engaged, and the honourable wounds he had received; another recounted the long and laborious studies he had pursued, in order to render himself master of the various sciences, and to qualify himself to serve the state by his wisdom and knowledge. after the vizirs, came the governors of provinces, the generals, and the great officers of the army; and next to them the civil magistrates, and all who were entrusted with the preservation of the peace and the awarding of justice. behind these walked the public executioner, who, although stout and well-fed, like a man who had nothing to do, went along as if depressed with grief, and instead of carrying his sword naked on his shoulder, he kept it in its scabbard. when he came into the presence of the prince, he threw himself at his feet, and exclaimed, "o mighty prince, the day of justice and of munificence is at last about to dawn on me! since the death of the terrible theilon, under whose reign my life was happy and my condition prosperous, i have seen my occupation and its emoluments diminish daily. if egypt continue thus to live in peace and plenty, i shall run great danger of perishing with hunger, and my family will be brought to misery and ruin." mohammed listened in silence to the complaints of the headsman, and acknowledged that there was some foundation for them, for his salary was small, and the chief part of his profits arose from what he obtained from criminals, either by way of gift, or as a rightful fee. in times of trouble, quarrelling, and violence, he had lived, in fact, in a state of ease and affluence, while now, under the present prosperous reign, he had nothing better than the prospect of beggary before him. "is it then true," exclaimed the caliph, "that the happiness of all is a dream? that what is joy to one, may be the cause of grief to another? o executioner, fear not as to your fate! may it, indeed, please god that, under my reign, your sword,--which is almost as often an instrument of vengeance as of justice,--may remain useless and covered with rust. but, in order to enable you to provide for the wants of yourself and your family, without the unhappy necessity of exercising your fatal office, you shall receive every year the sum of two hundred dinars." in this way all the officers and servants of the palace passed before the notice of the prince; he interrogated each on the nature of his occupation and his past services, on his means of existence, and on the salary which he received. when he found that any one held a situation of a painful and difficult nature, for which he was inadequately remunerated, the caliph diminished his duties and increased his pay; and, on the other hand, when he found the contrary to be the case, he lessened the salary and increased the duties of the office. after having, in this way, performed many acts of wisdom and justice, the caliph observed, among the officers of the civil service, a sheik, whose wrinkled countenance and stooping figure indicated his great age. the caliph called him up, in order to inquire what was his employment in the palace, and the sum which it yielded him. "prince," the old man replied, "my only employment is to take care of a chest that was committed to my charge by your father, the late caliph, and for attending to which he allowed me ten pieces of gold a month." "it seems to me," replied mohammed, "that the reward is great for so slight a service. pray what are the contents of this chest?" "i received it," replied the sheik, "in charge forty years ago, and i solemnly swear to you that i know not what it contains." the caliph commanded the chest to be brought to him, which was of pure gold, and most richly adorned. the old man opened it. it contained a manuscript written in brilliant characters on the skin of a gazelle, painted purple and sprinkled with a red dust. neither the prince, however, nor his ministers, nor the ulemas who were present, could decipher the writing. by the caliph's order, the wise men of egypt were summoned, as well as others from syria, persia, and india, but to no purpose; not one was able to interpret the mysterious characters. the book remained open for a long time, exposed to the gaze of all, and a great reward was offered to any one who could bring forward a person of sufficient learning to read it. some time after this, a savant who had left egypt in the reign of theilon, and had now returned after a long absence, chanced to hear of the mysterious book, and said that he knew what it was, and could explain its history. the caliph immediately admitted him to an audience, and the old man addressed him as follows: "o sovereign ruler, may the almighty prolong your days! only one man can read this book, its rightful master, the sheik hassan abdallah, son of el-achaar. this man had travelled through many lands, and penetrated into the mysterious city of aram, built on columns, from which he brought this book, which no one but himself could read. he made use of it in his experiments in alchemy, and by its aid he could transmute the most worthless metals into gold. the caliph theilon, your father, having learned this, commanded the sage to be brought before him, with a view of compelling him to reveal the secret of his knowledge. hassan abdallah refused to do so, for fear of putting into the hands of the unjust an instrument of such terrible power; and the prince, in a rage, laid hold of the chest, and ordered the sage to be thrown into prison, where he still remains, unless he has died since that time, which is forty years ago." on hearing this, mohammed immediately despatched his officers to visit the prisons, and, on their return, learned with pleasure that hassan was still alive. the caliph ordered him to be brought forth and arrayed in a dress of honour; and, on his appearing in the audience chamber, the prince made him sit down beside him, and begged him to forgive the unjust treatment which his father had caused him to undergo. he then told him how he had accidentally discovered that he was still alive; and at last, placing the mysterious book before him, said, "old man, if this book could make me the owner of all the treasures of the world, i would not consent to possess it, since it only belongs to me by injustice and violence." on hearing these words, hassan burst into tears. "o god," he exclaimed, "all wisdom proceeds from thee! thou causest to arise from the same soil the poisonous and the wholesome plant. every where good is placed by the side of evil. this prince, the support of the feeble, the defender of the oppressed, who has conferred on me the happiness of spending my remaining years in the light of day, is the son of the tyrant who plunged egypt in mourning, and who kept me for forty years in a loathsome dungeon. prince," added the old man, addressing mohammed, "what i refused to the wrath of your father, i willingly grant to your virtues: this book contains the precepts of the true science, and i bless heaven that i have lived long enough to teach it to you. i have often risked my life to become the master of this wonderful book, which was the only article of value that i brought from aram, that city into which no man can enter who is not assisted by heaven." the caliph embraced the old man, and, calling him his father, begged him to relate what he had seen in the city of aram. "prince," replied hassan, "it is a long story, as long, nearly, as my whole life." he then proceeded as follows. [illustration: story of the enchanted keys, p. .] the story of hassan abdallah. i am the only son of one of the richest inhabitants of egypt. my father, who was a man of extensive knowledge, employed my youth in the study of science; and at twenty years of age i was already honourably mentioned among the ulemas, when my father bestowed a young maiden on me as my wife, with eyes brilliant as the stars, and with a form elegant and light as that of the gazelle. my nuptials were magnificent, and my days flowed on in peace and happiness. i lived thus for ten years, when at last this beautiful dream vanished. it pleased heaven to afflict me with every kind of misfortune: the plague deprived me of my father; war destroyed my dear brothers; my house fell a prey to the flames; my richly-laden ships were buried beneath the waves. reduced to misery and want, my only resource was in the mercy of god and the compassion of the faithful whom i met while i frequented the mosques. my sufferings, from my own wretched state of poverty, and that of my wife and children, were cruel indeed. one day when i had not received any charitable donations, my wife, weeping, took some of my clothes, and gave them to me in order to sell them at the bazaar. on the way thither i met an arab of the desert, mounted on a red camel. he greeted me, and said, "peace be with you, my brother! can you tell me where the sheik hassan abdallah, the son of el-achaar, resides in the city?" being ashamed of my poverty, and thinking i was not known, i replied, "there is no man at cairo of that name." "god is great!" exclaimed the arab; "are you not hassan abdallah, and can you send away your guest by concealing your name?" greatly confused, i then begged him to forgive me, and laid hold of his hands to kiss them, which he would not permit me to do, and i then accompanied him to my house. on the way there i was tormented by the reflection that i had nothing to set before him; and when i reached home i informed my wife of the meeting i had just had. "the stranger is sent by god," said she; "and even the children's bread shall be his. go, sell the clothes which i gave you; buy some food for our guest with the money, and if any thing should remain over, we will partake of it ourselves." in going out it was necessary that i should pass through the apartment where the arab was. as i concealed the clothes, he said to me, "my brother, what have you got there hid under your cloak?" i replied that it was my wife's dress, which i was carrying to the tailor. "show it to me," he said. i showed it to him, blushing. "o merciful god," he exclaimed, "you are going to sell it in order to get money to enable you to be hospitable towards me! stop, hassan! here are ten pieces of gold; spend them in buying what is needful for our own wants and for those of your family." i obeyed, and plenty and happiness seemed to revisit my abode. every day the arab gave me the same sum, which, according to his orders, i spent in the same way; and this continued for fifteen days. on the sixteenth day my guest, after chatting on indifferent matters, said to me, "hassan, would you like to sell yourself to me?" "my lord," i replied, "i am already yours by gratitude." "no," he replied, "that is not what i mean; i wish to make you my property, and you shall fix the price yourself." thinking he was joking, i replied, "the price of a freeman is one thousand dinars if he is killed at a single blow; but if many wounds are inflicted upon him, or if he should be cut in many pieces, the price is then one thousand five hundred dinars." "very well," answered my guest, "i will pay you this last-mentioned sum if you will consent to the bargain." when i saw that he was speaking seriously, i asked for time in order to consult my family. "do so," he replied, and then went out to look after some affairs in the city. when i related the strange proposal of my guest, my mother said, "what can this man want to do with you?" the children all clung to me, and wept. my wife, who was a wise and prudent woman, remarked, "this detestable stranger wants, perhaps, to get back what he has spent here. you have nothing but this wretched house, sell it, and give him the money, but don't sell yourself." i passed the rest of the day and the following night in reflection, and was in a state of great uncertainty. with the sum offered by the stranger i could at least secure bread for my family. but why wish to purchase me? what could he intend to do? before next morning, however, i had come to a decision. i went to the arab and said, "i am yours." untying his sash, he took out one thousand five hundred gold pieces, and giving them to me, said, "fear not, my brother, i have no designs against either your life or your liberty; i only wish to secure a faithful companion during a long journey which i am about to undertake." overwhelmed with joy, i ran with the money to my wife and mother; but they, without listening to my explanations, began weeping and crying as if they were lamenting for the dead. "it is the price of flesh and blood," they exclaimed; "neither we nor our children will eat bread procured at such a cost!" by dint of argument, however, i succeeded at length in subduing their grief; and having embraced them, together with my children, i set out to meet my new master. by order of the arab i purchased a camel renowned for its speed, at the price of a hundred drachms; i filled our sacks with food sufficient for a long period; and then, mounting our camels, we proceeded on our journey. we soon reached the desert. here no traces of travellers were to be seen, for the wind effaced them continually from the surface of the moving sand. the arab was guided in his course by indications known only to himself. we travelled thus together for five days under a burning sun; each day seemed longer to me than a night of suffering or of fear. my master, who was of a lively disposition, kept up my courage by tales which i remember even now with pleasure after forty years of anguish; and you will forgive an old man for not being able to resist the pleasure of relating some of them to you. the following story, he said, had been recounted to him by the basket-maker himself, a poor man whom he had found in prison, and whom he had charitably found means to release. the story of the basket-maker. i was born of poor and honest parents; and my father, who was a basket-maker by trade, taught me to plait all kinds of baskets. so long as i had only myself to care for, i lived tolerably well on the produce of my labour; but when i reached twenty years of age, and took a wife, who in a few years presented me with several children, my gains proved insufficient to maintain my family. a basket-maker earns but little; one day he gets a drachm, the next he may get two, or perhaps only half a drachm. in this state of things i and my children had often to endure the pangs of hunger. one day it happened that i had just finished a large basket; it was well and strongly made, and i hoped to obtain at least three drachms for it. i took it to the bazaar and through all the streets, but no purchaser appeared. night came on and i went home. when my wife and children saw me return without any food, they began to cry and to ask for bread, but as i had none to give them, i could only weep with them: the night was long and sorrowful. at daybreak my wife awoke me, saying, "go, and sell the basket at any price you can get for it, were it only half a drachm." i set out, and perambulated the streets and squares, but night came on again without my finding a purchaser. my wife burst out into a great rage. "what!" she said, "do you still bring back this basket? do you wish to see us die with hunger?" i assured her that i had tried every means, but in vain, to sell the basket. she then took some articles of her own, and told me to go and sell them, and procure some bread for the children. i did as she said, and my famished family partook of a miserable repast, which my depressed state of mind prevented me from sharing with them. i slept little that night; and as soon as it was day i performed my devotions, and prayed to god to come to my assistance. i then went out again with my unsaleable basket, with which i made many weary and fruitless rounds through the whole city. at noon, overwhelmed with fatigue and famished with hunger, i sat down at the door of a mosque, where the voice of the muezzim was calling the faithful to prayer. i entered to implore of god's goodness that i might be able, by his assistance, to sell the basket. prayer being ended, the faithful left the mosque, and i found myself alone with a venerable persian, named saadi, who seemed lost in contemplation. rising to go away, he passed near me, and noticing how pale i was, he said, "friend, you are too much addicted to wine, and your health suffers from it." "my lord," i replied, "do not believe it; i have never tasted wine; my weakness and paleness arise from my not having had any food for the last two days." i then related to him my life, my occupation, and my wretched state. whilst listening to me the stranger shed tears; and when i had finished speaking, he said, "god be praised, my brother! for i can put an end to your troubles: take this," putting a purse of gold into my hands; "run to the market, and buy meat, bread, and fruits for the refreshment of yourself and family. what i have given you will last you for a year to come; and in exchange, i only ask you to meet me here, at the same day and hour, every year." so saying, he departed. i could scarcely think but that i had been dreaming; the purse, however, proved that i was indeed awake. i opened it, and found in it a hundred pieces of gold! overjoyed, i ran to the bazaar, and, in pursuance of the orders of the benevolent donor, i purchased enough, not only to satisfy the calls of hunger, but also food of such a nourishing nature, as had never entered my house before. the whole i put into my basket, and hastened to return home. having reached the door, i listened, being curious to know what was going on. my children were uttering lamentations, and their mother was endeavouring to quiet them by repeating, for the hundredth time, her advice, to be quiet, and not to weep, for that their father would be sure to return with something to eat. i then entered the room, exclaiming, that god had heard them, and had sent them a plentiful supply for a long time to come. but when i showed them the purse and its contents, my wife shouted out, "what! have you then killed and robbed some one? are we to become the object of the inquiries and suspicions of the police?" i then related my fortunate meeting with the old man, and while embracing me with tears of joy, and a conscience at ease, my family partook, with me, of a plentiful repast, at the same time invoking blessings on our unknown benefactor. for a whole year i lived happily in this manner. the day fixed upon by the stranger having arrived, i went to the mosque, after having attired myself in a becoming manner. the persian came and seated himself beside me. when prayers were ended, and all the worshippers had departed, he turned towards me and said, with a smiling look, "o my brother! how has the time passed with you since our last interview?" "thanks to your generosity, my lord," i replied, "my life has been spent in a tranquil and happy manner." the stranger then questioned me as to my courage, address, and love of travelling; and to all his questions i replied in a satisfactory manner, and, in my turn, asked him if i could be of any service to him. "noureddin," he replied, "i intend setting out on a journey, and i wish you to accompany me as my servant. i shall employ you in a respectable and becoming manner; and if you show yourself obedient and devoted to my interests, you will have no reason to repent it. the journey will last two months; look, here are thirty dinars; buy provisions, that your family may want for nothing during your absence. in eight days you must bid adieu to your wife and children, and come to meet me here, bringing a supply of rice and dates, and arming yourself with a yatagan, to defend yourself in case of our being attacked." i then went to my wife, and told her what the stranger required of me. "he is our benefactor," she replied; "it is your duty to obey him." i spent the eight days in laying in a store of food for my family and for the journey, and on the appointed day, after embracing my wife and children, i went to the mosque, where i found the persian. the muezzim having proclaimed the hour of prayer, we joined in it; and afterwards i followed him to a desert place, where were two fine horses well harnessed and yoked, which we unloosed and mounted, and then set out on our journey. after having traversed deserts and mountains during a whole month, we arrived at a fertile plain, watered by a fine river, whose peaceful and limpid waters winding about a thick forest, formed it into peninsula: a pavilion, with a golden cupola, seemed to rise out of this mass of verdure, and shone in the sun's rays as if it had been on fire. [illustration: the pavilion with the golden cupola, p. ] the persian now said to me, "noureddin, enter this forest, and give me an account of what you see." i obeyed, but i had scarcely walked an hour, when i saw two huge lions with manes erect. seized with alarm, i drew back, and running away reached my master out of breath, who only laughed at my fears, and assured me that i was needlessly afraid of the monsters. he wanted me to return, but i refused, and he was obliged to come back along with me. having approached the lions, the persian charmed them by some magical words, on which they became as submissive as lambs, remained motionless, and permitted us to pass. we journeyed on for many hours in the recesses of the forest, meeting, to my great dread, with what appeared to be troops of horsemen, sword in hand, and giants, armed with clubs, ready to strike us. all these fantastic beings disappeared at the sight of my master, and we reached at last the pavilion which crowned the forest. my master then said to me, "go, noureddin, to this pavilion; remove the belt of iron chains which fastens the gates, while i go and pray to the great solomon to be propitious to our enterprise." i did as he commanded me; but when i let the chains fall, a frightful noise was heard, which made the earth shake under my feet. more dead than alive, i returned to the persian, who, having finished his prayer, entered the pavilion. at the end of an hour he came out, bringing a book with him written in the sacred language. he began to read it; and when he had finished, with his countenance radiant with delight he exclaimed, "o thrice fortunate saadi! thou possessest at last this holy book,--the sum of wisdom, the mirror of the good and the terror of the wicked! may the perusal of this garden of roses lead the children of adam back to that original innocence from which they have so fatally departed! hearken to these maxims and sentences, worthy to be the guides of mankind from the shepherd to the king:-- 'he who learns the rules of wisdom without conforming his life to them, is like the man who tills his field but never sows any seed therein. 'virtue does not consist in acquiring the riches of this world, but in attaching all hearts by benefits and good offices. 'if you are insensible to the sufferings of the unfortunate, you do not deserve the name of a man. 'it is better to be loaded with chains for having told the truth, than to be freed from them by means of a lie. 'a wicked person that accuses you of licentiousness should be made to blush, in his turn, by your virtues and your innocence. 'man should remember that he is born of the earth, and that his pride will one day come to an end in it. 'crystal is found every where; but nothing is more rare than the diamond, and hence the difference in their value. 'instruction only bears fruit in so far as it is assisted by your own endeavours. 'the discipline of the master is of greater benefit to the child than the indulgence of the father. 'so long as the tree is young it is easy to fashion it as you please; but when it has been permitted to grow, nothing but fire can straighten it. 'woe to the man of might, who devours the substance of the people! at last some dire calamity will, of a surety, overtake him. 'the most awful spectacle at the day of judgment will be, says the prophet, to see pious slaves in paradise, and hard and merciless masters in hell. 'do you ask whether the ant beneath your feet has a right to complain? yes; just as much right as you would have if crushed to atoms by an elephant. 'encouragement towards the wicked is a wrong done to the good; and the severest attack on virtue is to be indulgent to crime. 'the perpetrator of an unjust action dies, but his memory is held in everlasting abhorrence. the just man dies, and his good actions bear fruit unto eternity. 'be assured that thou wilt be rewarded if thine actions are good, whether thou wearest the dress of the dervise or the crown of the king. 'would a king have nothing to fear from his enemies, let him live in peace with his subjects. 'o my brother! the world forsakes us all. fix thy heart on the creator of the universe, and all will be well with thee. 'what signifies it, whether we die in a stable or on a throne? 'at your morning and evening prayer be able to say, almighty god, be pleased to remember thy servant, who has never forgotten thee!' "my ambition is satisfied," resumed the persian, "by the possession of this book; but a fortune of that description would be no fortune to you, noureddin. you stand in need of a material treasure; and this sacred volume tells me where we ought to look for it. quick! mount your steed, and let us proceed so long as solomon favours us." leaping into our saddles, therefore, we set off at full gallop, and entering the desert, journeyed thus for two days and a night. on the evening of the second day we arrived at a city situated on a high mountain, and surrounded with white walls which shone like silver. we passed the night under the trees of an adjoining wood; and next day, having offered up our prayers, looked about for some way of entering the city, the gates of which were shut, and within which there reigned a perfect stillness. my master went round the walls, and in his examination of them he discovered a stone slab, in which was fastened an iron ring. we endeavoured to move the slab, but could not. the persian then ordered me to take the horses and to fasten them to the ring with our sashes; and by this means we succeeded in removing the stone, which discovered the entrance to a subterraneous passage. my master said to me, "noureddin, follow me; by this passage we shall get into the city." on leaving the subterraneous passage we heard a noise like that which might be produced by the loud puffing of the bellows of a forge, and we supposed for a moment that the city was inhabited. this strange noise was nothing else than the hissing of two winged serpents, which advanced towards us at a frightful pace. with the sacred book in his hand the persian advanced to meet them, and with one touch of this talisman laid them prostrate on the ground. this obstacle being overcome, we traversed the whole city, admiring its squares, houses, mosques, and palaces. but what had become of the inhabitants? by what scourge had they been cut off, or what reason had induced them to quit so beautiful a city? how long ago was it inhabited? my mind was lost in conjectures about what seemed so far beyond my comprehension, and my master made no reply to the questions which i addressed to him. at length we stopped at the open railing of some gardens surrounding an enormous palace, which surpassed all that the imagination could conceive. bushy thickets; orchards covered with flowers and fruits; enamelled meads, watered by murmuring streams; parterres planted with the rarest and most variegated flowers, every where met the eye. the persian sat down under the shadow of a tree, opened the book, and commenced reading, and when he had finished ordered me to enter the palace. i reached it by a staircase that could only have been constructed by the hands of genii; it was formed of the most rare and costly marble, as were also the statues which were placed at the sides. after having walked through many spacious and magnificent apartments richly adorned, i entered a subterranean hall, still larger and more splendid. a hundred crystal lustres, brilliant with gold and precious stones, and lit up with thousands of wax-lights, shed a refulgence more dazzling than the day. its walls were covered with paintings, in which the spirit of evil strove in vain for the mastery over the spirit of good, and a long series of the statues of justly-renowned dead princes were ranged all around. vacant pedestals, waiting to receive monarchs still living, whose names were inscribed on them, were also to be seen. in the centre of this subterranean apartment, a throne of gold arose, incrusted with pearls and rubies. on this throne an old man was reposing, with a countenance pale as death, but whose open eyes shone with a supernatural brilliancy. i saluted him respectfully, but he made no gesture. i spoke to him, and he made no reply. seized with astonishment and fear, i returned to my master and told him what i had seen. "god be praised!" he said, "we are now near the end of our enterprise. return, noureddin, to the old man; go up to him fearlessly, and bring to me the chest on which his head rests." i obeyed, and on my return to the subterranean hall i drew near to the throne, to which three silver steps led up. when i placed my foot on the first step the old man stood up; in spite of my surprise i ascended the second step, when, seizing a bow, he placed a keen-pointed arrow in it, and aimed it at me. without any consideration of my benefactor's orders, i jumped backwards and took to flight anew. when the arab saw me, he said, "is this what you promised me? cowardly man, come with me, and you will find inestimable riches!" i then conducted him to the place where the old man was to be found. when my master was near the throne, he ascended the first step, and the old man arose; at the second step he took his bow and arrow; and at the third he shot it at my master, who received it on the sacred book, from which it rebounded as from a steel cuirass, and fell broken on the ground. the old man fell back motionless on the throne, and his eyes ceased to shine. my master then laid hold of the mysterious chest of which he had spoken to me, and took from it the magic key which opened subterranean recesses where heaps of pearls, diamonds, and rubies were deposited. the persian allowed me to take as much as i pleased. i filled my trousers and the folds of my robe and turban with the finest pearls, the largest diamonds, and many other kinds of precious stones. as saadi the wise passed by all these treasures without looking at them, i said to him, "o my lord, why do you leave here all this wealth, and take away with you, as the reward of so many fatigues, an article of so little value? the book of wisdom is now useless; what man is there who does not think himself wise?" "my son," replied the old man, "i am near the end of my career, and my life has been spent in the search after true wisdom. if i have done nothing to improve mankind, god, when i appear before him, will reckon with me not only for the evil i shall have done, but also for the good i may have neglected to do. as for you, who have a wife and children, i approve of your wishing to provide for their future condition." we left the enchanted city and its treasures, which i greatly regretted not being able to carry away. when we reached the open country, i looked back to gaze upon the palace and city, but they had disappeared, at which i expressed my astonishment to my master, who replied, "noureddin, do not seek to fathom the mysteries of knowledge, but be contented to rejoice with me at the success of our journey." we then directed our faces towards bagdad, and at the end of a short time arrived there, without meeting with any thing else worth relating. my family were rejoiced at my return and at the good fortune i had so unexpectedly met with. the old man abode with us for some time, which he employed in reading the gulistan and in giving me useful counsels as to my future conduct. "noureddin," he said, "you are the possessor of great wealth; know how to make a good use of it; always remember the wretched condition in which i found you in the mosque; beware of bad company and pretended friends and flatterers; avoid covetousness, and be charitable toward the poor; remember the uncertainty of riches, and how providence often punishes those who give way to ingratitude and pride." besides his good advice, he would often relate to me instructive histories by way of example, and i shall not tire you too much if i repeat one of them to you. the story of the dervise abounadar. a dervise, venerable from his age, fell ill at the house of a woman who was a widow, and who lived in a state of great poverty in the outskirts of balsora. he was so affected by the care and zeal with which she had nursed him, that at the time of his departure he said to her, "i have noticed that your means are sufficient for yourself alone, and are not adequate for the additional support of your only son, the young mujahid; but if you will entrust him to my care, i will do my utmost to repay through him the obligations which i am under to your care." the good woman received the proposal with pleasure, and the dervise took his departure with the young man, stating, at the same time, that they were to be absent two years on a journey. while travelling in various countries the widow's son lived in opulence with his protector, who gave him excellent instructions, attended to him in a dangerous illness which he had, and, in short, treated him in every respect as if he had been his only son. mujahid often said how grateful he was for such kindness, and the old man's constant reply was, "my son, gratitude is shown by actions, not words; at the proper time and place we shall see how you estimate my conduct towards you." one day, in their journeyings, they reached a place out of the beaten road, and the dervise said to abdallah, "we are now at the end of our travels; i am about to cause the earth to open and allow you to enter a place where you will find one of the greatest treasures in the bosom of the globe; have you courage sufficient to descend into this subterranean recess?" mujahid declared that he might be depended upon for his obedience and zeal. the dervise then lighted a small fire, into which he threw some perfumes, and when he had pronounced some prayers the earth opened, and the dervise said to the young man, "you can now enter; remember that it is in your power to render me a great service, and that the present occasion is perhaps the only one when you can prove to me that you are not ungrateful. do not allow yourself to be dazzled by all the wealth which you will find, but think only of getting possession of an iron chandelier with twelve branches which you will see near a door; lose no time in bringing it to me." the youth promised to attend to all that was required of him, and plunged into the subterraneous recess full of confidence in himself. forgetting, however, what had been so expressly enjoined upon him, while he was busy filling his pockets with the gold and diamonds spread around in prodigious quantities, the entrance by which he had descended was closed. he had, however, the presence of mind to lay hold of the iron chandelier which the dervise had urged him to bring away; and although he was now, by the closing of the entrance, placed in circumstances which were enough to appal a stouter heart, he did not abandon himself to despair. while trying to discover some way of escape from a place which was likely otherwise to be his grave, he saw but too plainly that the opening had been closed upon him on account of his not having strictly followed the dervise's orders; and reflecting on the kindness and care with which he had been treated, he bitterly reproached himself for his ingratitude. at length, after a busy search and much anxiety, he was fortunate enough to discover a narrow passage that led out of this dark cavern. the opening was covered over with briers and thorns, through which he managed to struggle, and thus recovered the light of day. he looked around him every where for the dervise in order to deliver the chandelier to him, but in vain; he was not to be seen. unable to recognize any of the places where he had been, he walked at random, and was very much astonished to find himself, after a short time, at his mother's door, from which he had thought himself at a great distance. in reply to her inquiries respecting the dervise, he frankly told her all that had happened, and the danger he had encountered in order to gratify the fancy of the dervise; and then he showed her the riches with which he was loaded. his mother concluded, on seeing all this wealth, that the dervise only wanted to try his courage and obedience, and that he ought to take advantage of his good luck, adding, that such was no doubt the intention of the holy man. while they gazed on these treasures with avidity, and framed a thousand dazzling projects for spending them, the whole vanished suddenly from their eyes. mujahid then reproached himself again for his ingratitude and disobedience; and looking at the iron chandelier which alone remained of all his treasure, said, "what has happened is just. i have lost what i had no wish to render back; and the chandelier, which i desired to give to the dervise, remains with me,--a proof that it belongs to him, and that the rest was improperly obtained." so saying, he placed the chandelier in the middle of his mother's small house. when night came on, mujahid thought he would put a light in the chandelier, by way of turning it to some use. no sooner had he done this, than a dervise immediately appeared, who, after turning round, vanished, and threw a small coin behind him. mujahid, whose thoughts were occupied all next day with what he had seen the evening before, wished to see what would be the event if he placed a light in each of the twelve branches. he did so, and twelve dervises immediately appeared, who, after wheeling round, also became invisible, each of them at the same time throwing down a small coin. every day mujahid repeated the same ceremony with the same success; but he could only make it occur once in twenty-four hours. the moderate sum with which the dervises supplied him daily was sufficient for the subsistence of himself and his mother, and for a long time this was all that he desired. by and by, however, his imagination began to feast itself with the idea of the riches of the cavern, the sight of those which he had once thought to be safe in his possession, and the schemes which he had formed as to the use to be made of his wealth; all these things had left so deep an impression on his mind, that he found it impossible to rest. he resolved, therefore, if possible, to find out the dervise, and to take him the chandelier, in the hope of obtaining the treasure by bringing to the holy man an article for which he had shown so strong a desire. fortunately mujahid recollected the dervise's name, and the name of the city, magnebi, where he dwelt. he set out on his journey as soon as possible, bidding farewell to his mother, and taking the chandelier with him, which supplied him every evening, after being lit, with the means of supporting himself, without having occasion to resort for assistance to the compassion of the faithful. when he reached magnebi, his first inquiry was after the house where abounadar lodged. he was so well known, that the first person he met could tell him his residence. on arriving at the house, or rather palace, he found fifty porters keeping watch at the door, each of them bearing a wand with a golden apple for its handle. the courts of the palace were crowded with slaves and domestics; indeed, no prince's residence ever displayed greater splendour. mujahid, struck with astonishment and admiration, was reluctant to proceed further. "either," said he to himself, "i have described the person whom i wanted imperfectly, or those to whom i spoke must have wished to make a mock of me, observing that i was a stranger. this is not the residence of a dervise, but of a king." mujahid was in this state of embarrassment when a man came up to him and said, "you are welcome, mujahid; my master, abounadar, has been long expecting you;" and so saying, he conducted him into a magnificent garden, where the dervise was seated. mujahid, struck with the riches which he saw every where around him, would have thrown himself at his feet, but abounadar would not permit him, and interrupted him when he was about to make a merit of bringing back the chandelier which he presented to him, by saying, "you are an ungrateful wretch. do you think to impose upon me? i know all your thoughts; and if you had known the worth of this chandelier, you would never have brought it to me. i shall now make you acquainted with its true use." in each of the branches of the chandelier he now placed a light; and when the dervises had turned round, abounadar gave each of them a blow with a stick, and immediately they were converted into twelve heaps of sequins, diamonds, and other precious stones. "look," he said, "at the use to be made of this wonderful chandelier. my only reason, however, for wishing to place it in my cabinet, was on account of its being a talisman composed by a sage whom i revered; and i shall be always happy to show it to persons who visit me. to prove to you," he continued, "that curiosity is the only reason which induced me to procure the lamp, take the keys of my cellars, open them, and judge for yourself of the extent of my opulence, and say if i should not be the most insatiably avaricious of all men, not to be contented with what i have." mujahid took the keys, and made a survey of twelve magazines so filled with every description of precious stones, that he was unable to tell which of them most deserved his admiration. regret at having restored the chandelier, and at not having discovered its uses, now wrung his heart intensely. abounadar seemed not to perceive this, but on the contrary loaded mujahid with caresses, kept him for some days in his palace, and desired his servants to treat him as they would himself. on the evening before the day fixed for his departure, abounadar said to him, "mujahid, my son, i think, from what has occurred, that you are now cured of the frightful sin of ingratitude; however, i owe you something for having undertaken so long a journey for the purpose of bringing to me an article which i wished to possess. you may now depart; i will detain you no longer. to-morrow you will find at the gate of my palace one of my horses to carry you home. i will make you a present of it, together with a slave who will bring you two camels loaded with gold and precious stones, which you can select for yourself from among my treasures." during the night mujahid was restless and uneasy, and unable to think of any thing except the chandelier and its wonderful qualities. for a long time he said to himself, "it was in my power; abounadar would never have obtained it but for me. what risks did i not encounter in the subterranean cave in order to secure it! why is it that he is now the fortunate owner of this treasure of treasures? is it not owing to my fidelity, or rather folly, in bringing it to him, that he now profits by the trouble and danger i underwent in the long journey i had to make? and what does he give me in return? only two miserable camels loaded with gold and precious stones, when in a moment the chandelier could supply me with ten times as much! it is abounadar who is ungrateful, and not i who am so. what injury shall i do him by taking the chandelier? not any; for he is rich, and wants nothing more." these ideas determined him, at last, to do all in his power to get possession of the chandelier; and it was not difficult to do so. he knew where to find it, and having taken it, he placed it at the bottom of one of his sacks which he had filled with the treasure given to him, and put the sack, along with the others, on the back of one of the camels. his only desire now was to get away, and after having hurriedly bid farewell to the generous abounadar, he took his departure, with his slave and camels. when now at some considerable distance from balsora, he sold his slave, not wishing to retain him as a witness of his former poverty, or of the source of his wealth. he purchased another, and went straight to his mother's house, whom he scarcely noticed, so absorbed was he with his treasures. his first care was to place the camels' luggage in a secure place; and, in his impatience to feast his eyes with solid riches, he placed lights in the chandelier without delay. the twelve dervises made their appearance, and he bestowed on each of them a blow with all his might, being afraid of not complying sufficiently with the laws of the talisman; but he had not noticed that abounadar, when striking them, held his stick in his left hand. mujahid naturally held his in his right hand, and the dervises, instead of being changed into heaps of treasure, drew from beneath their robes formidable bludgeons, with which they all belaboured him so long and so severely, that they left him nearly dead, after which they disappeared, carrying with them the camels and all their burdens, the horse, the slave, and the chandelier. thus, for not being contented with a large fortune honestly acquired, mujahid fell into a state of misery from which he never recovered--a suitable punishment for his ingratitude and avarice. the old man at last took his leave of us, and returned to schiraz, his native place, bearing with him the blessings of all my family. after saadi's departure, i unhappily neglected to follow his good advice. i purchased a new and splendid residence, where i lived in great splendour and luxury. instead of being grateful to heaven for its bounty, i became proud and insolent. i entertained and feasted all the gay companions i could meet with, while i refused to give alms, and drove the needy from my door; in short, i spent my money rapidly, and made the worst possible use of what i had so mysteriously acquired. my treasure soon began to run low; still i lived in the same profuse extravagance, until at last all was spent, and i found that, for some time, i had been living upon credit. the truth could no longer be concealed, and, being unable to meet the demands upon me, i had to sell off the whole of my property. a small sum would have sufficed to release me, so that i might again return to my trade, and, for this purpose, i appealed for assistance to my former friends and companions. not one of these, however, would come forward in my behalf. the produce of the sale of my house and effects was insufficient to pay my debts, and i was consequently thrown into prison, where i have remained for three years, my family, in the mean time, living upon the casual alms of the faithful. the aid you have rendered me will suffice to set me free, and i am now resolved to labour with diligence, in order to repair, as far as possible, my past folly. [illustration: shooting at the enchanted keys, p. ] continuation of the story of hassan abdallah. in this manner our journey was beguiled, and on the sixth day, in the morning, we entered on an immense plain, whose glittering soil seemed composed of silver dust. in the middle of the plain arose a lofty pillar of granite, surmounted by a statue of copper, representing a young man, whose right hand was stretched out open, and to each of whose fingers was suspended a key; the first was of iron, the second of lead, the third of bronze, the fourth of copper, and the fifth of gold. this statue was the workmanship of an enchanter, and each key was a talisman; whoever was led by accident or his own free will into this desert, and became possessed of these keys, inherited the destiny attached to them. the first was the key of calamities, the second of physical sufferings, the third of death, the fourth of glory, and the last of knowledge and wealth. i was ignorant of all these matters; but my master had become acquainted with them from a learned indian, who had also informed him that the keys could only be obtained by shooting them down with arrows. the arab planted his foot near to the column, and then fixing an arrow in his bow, which was of a foreign make, he shot it towards the statue, but, whether from want of skill or intentionally, the arrow did not reach halfway. he then said to me, "hassan, you have now an opportunity of discharging your debt to me, and of purchasing your liberty. you are both strong and skilful; take this bow and arrows, and bring me down those keys." i took the bow, and perceived that it was of persian workmanship, and made by a skilful hand. in my youth, i had accustomed myself to this exercise, and had acquired great reputation in it. desirous of displaying my attainments, i bent the bow with all my strength, and with the first arrow i brought down the first key. overjoyed, i took it up, and presented it to my master. "keep it," he said; "it is the reward of your skill." with a second arrow, i brought down the leaden one. the arab would not touch it, and i took it, and put it in my belt, along with the other. with two other arrows, i brought down two more keys--the copper key and the golden key. my companion took them up, uttering exclamations of delight. "o hassan," he said, "god be praised! blessed be he who trained your arm and practised your eye to such accuracy. i am proceeding happily towards the accomplishment of my object." i was about to aim at the last key--that of death, and had raised my bow for that purpose, but he forbade me, and struck my arm to prevent my shooting. in doing this, he caused the arrow to fall and pierce my foot, producing a painful wound. having dressed it as well as he could, he assisted me to mount my camel, and we thereupon continued our journey. after three days and nights of laborious travelling, we arrived in the neighbourhood of a small wood, where we stopped to spend the night. i set about looking for water, and some refreshing fruits, and particularly some with whose good qualities i was acquainted, but i could find nothing eatable. at last i discovered in the crevice of a rock a small spring, which invited me, by its clear and limpid waters, to refresh myself; but stooping down to drink, i heard the voice of my companion shouting to me not to taste the water, for that it was poisoned. "what matters it," i said, "whether i die of thirst or of poison?" "this water," he said, "comes from the infernal regions, and passes through the mass of sulphur, bitumen, and metals that feed the fires in the centre of the earth; and if you drink, you will in all probability fall a victim to your imprudence." although bitter, the water was so clear and fresh, that without heeding what he said, i drank some of it, and feeling refreshed for the time, i agreed to proceed on our journey, but i had scarcely gone on a hundred paces, when i was attacked by the most racking pains, and with many exclamations and cries to heaven for help, i endeavoured to moderate the speed of my camel, who was following his companion at a brisk pace. my tortures became so great, that i called aloud to the arab, and begged him to stop; he consented, when i dismounted and walked for some time, which partly relieved me. the arab chid me for my disobedience to his commands, and taking out a small phial from his pocket, gave me a few drops of a cordial, which in a short time completely cured me. towards evening we came near a high mountain, where we stopped to take a little rest. the arab said, "god be praised, to-day will not be a fast day with us! by experience i have learned to collect a healthy and refreshing nourishment from a quarter where you would only find poison." he then went to a bush with leaves of a very thick and prickly nature, and having cut off some of them with his sabre, and stript them, of their skins, he extracted from them a yellow and sugary substance, similar in taste to figs, and i partook of the food until i was quite satisfied and refreshed. i was beginning to forget my sufferings, and hoped to pass the night in peaceful slumber, but when the moon arose my master said to me, "i expect you to perform a signal service for me; you have to ascend this mountain, and when at the summit, you must wait for sunrise; then, standing up and turning towards the east, you must offer up your devotions and descend; but take care, and do not allow yourself to be overtaken by sleep, for the emanations which arise from the ground in this place are extremely noxious, and you may suffer severely from them." although overwhelmed with fatigue and pain, i obeyed the arab's orders, remembering that he had given bread to my children; and that, perhaps, should i refuse, he would abandon me in this savage wilderness. i ascended the mountain and reached the summit about midnight. the soil was bare and stony; not a shrub, not a blade of grass was to be found upon it. the extreme cold, together with fatigue, threw me into such a state of torpor that i could not resist lying down on the earth and falling asleep. i awoke at the rising of the sun to fulfil my instructions. i stood up with difficulty; my aching limbs refused to support my body; my head hung down as if made of lead, and i was unable to lift up my paralyzed arms. making a painful effort, and holding myself up towards the east, i invoked the name of god. i then endeavoured to descend the mountain, but it was so steep, and my weakness was so great, that at the first step my limbs tottered under me, and i fell, and rolled down the mountain with frightful rapidity; stones and thorns were the only obstacles to my descent, and they tore my dress and my skin, causing me to bleed at every pore. at length i reached the bottom of the hill, near to where my master was stretched on the ground, tracing lines on it with such attention, that he did not observe in what a state i was. "god be thanked and praised," he said, without noticing me; "we were born under a happy planet; every thing succeeds with us! thanks to you, hassan, i have just discovered what i wanted, by measuring the shadow projected by your head from the summit of the mountain. assist me to dig where i have stuck my lance." he raised his head, and seeing me extended on the earth, motionless, came up to me, and exclaimed, "what! in disobedience to my orders you have slept on the mountain, and imbibed its unwholesome vapours into your blood! do not despair, however, i will cure you;" and he took from his pocket a lancet, with which, before i could offer any resistance, he made small incisions in different parts of my body, from which i bled profusely. he then dressed my wounds and bruises carefully, and i felt a little better. seeing that i was too weak to assist him, he began to dig in the earth himself at the place which he had marked. he soon exposed to view a tomb of white marble, which he opened; it contained some human bones, and a book written in letters of gold on the skin of the gazelle. my master began reading it with attention: at length his pale brow became lit up with pleasure, and his eyes sparkled with delight. "hassan abdallah," he said to me, "this book teaches me the way to the mysterious city; we shall soon enter into aram, built on columns, where no mortal has ever as yet penetrated; it is there that we shall find the principle of earthly riches, the germ of the metallic mines which god has placed in the centre of the earth." "my lord," i replied, "i share with you in your joy; but this treasure is of little or no advantage to me; i would rather, i assure you, be poor and in good health at cairo, than rich and in wretchedness here." "ungrateful man!" he exclaimed; "i am labouring for your advantage as well as for my own, intending to share with you the fruit of our journey, as i have done until now." "true," i said, "but, alas! all the ill fortunes and calamities fall to me." however, after some further assurances on the part of the arab, i became pacified, and the same day, after having laid in a stock of fruits, we reascended our camels, and continued our journey towards the east. we journeyed thus for three days and nights. the fourth day in the morning we perceived in the horizon the appearance of a large mirror, which reflected the sunbeams. on drawing near we saw that it was a river of quicksilver; it was crossed by a bridge of crystal, without balustrades, but so narrow and slippery that no man in his senses would think of attempting to pass it. my master told me to unsaddle the camels, to let them feed at liberty, and to prepare woollen slippers with thick and soft soles for both of us; and having ordered me to walk behind him without looking to the right hand or to the left, he crossed the bridge with a firm step, and i followed him trembling. after we had crossed the river and proceeded for some hours, we found ourselves at the entrance of a gloomy valley. it was surrounded on all sides with black rocks, hard as iron, and here and there on the ground were spread human bones, bleached by time. through the dark foliage of the shrubs which grew there might be seen the undulating and scaly forms of serpents gliding along. i retreated hastily from this den of horror, but could not discover the spot at which i had entered, the rocks seeming every where to rise up like the walls of a great cavern. i began to weep, and said to my companion, "you have led me on to death by the path of suffering and misery; i shall never see my wife and children again. why have you torn me away from my poor but peaceful home?" "hassan," he said to me, "be a man! have patience; we shall soon get out of this horrible place. wait a few moments, and i will show you how we may escape." so saying, he sat down on the ground, and, opening the mysterious book, began turning over the pages and reading in it as calmly as if he had been sitting in his own house. after a short time he called to me, and said, "my friend, call up your courage, your task is easy; you are a skilful marksman; take this bow and arrows; examine the valley until you meet with a huge serpent with a black head, kill him and bring his head and heart to me." "alas!" i said, weeping, "is this indeed a thing so easy for me? why will you not do it yourself? we are too fortunate not to be molested by these monsters; why should we go in search of them?" upon this he started up with a fierce aspect, and, drawing his sword, swore that he would kill me that instant if i did not obey him. "do you see all these bones?" he said. "they are the bones of men who disobeyed me, and who died in consequence by my hand." trembling, i took the bow and arrows, and went among the rocks where the serpents were to be found. selecting one which appeared to me to answer the description given me, i took aim at its head, and, invoking the assistance of heaven, discharged my arrow. the serpent, mortally wounded, sprung up, and twisting and contorting itself in a frightful manner, fell dead on the ground. when i was certain that he was dead, i took my knife, cut off his head, and took out his heart. with these bloody trophies i returned to my master, who received me with a smiling countenance. "forgive me," he said, "for employing threats towards you; in reality i was anxious to save you from a miserable fate. the men to whom these bones belonged died here of hunger by their own fault; they proved deficient in courage, and i was compelled, in spite of myself, to abandon them to their fate." "now," he continued, "come and assist me to make a fire." i collected dry leaves and small branches of trees, of which he made a small heap; then turning an enchanted diamond towards the sun, which was then in its meridian, a ray of light issued from the precious stone which set the materials in a blaze. he next drew from under his robe a small iron vase and three phials; the first, of ruby, contained the elements of winds; the second, of emerald, contained a ray of moonlight; and the third, which was of gold, contained the blood of a phoenix. all these substances he placed in the vase, and added the heart and brain of the serpent. he then opened the book and put the vase on the fire, pronouncing at the same time some words which to me were unintelligible. when he had finished, he uncovered his shoulders, as the pilgrims do at their departure, and dipping a portion of his garment in the mixture, handed it to me, desiring me to rub his back and shoulders with it. as i did so i observed the skin swell out and wings spring forth, which, visibly increasing in size, soon reached the ground. the arab spread them and began to rise in the air. fear of remaining in this doleful place lent me courage, and laying hold with all my might of the end of his girdle, i was borne up along with him, and in a few moments we bade farewell to the black rocks of this fatal valley. presently, as we pursued this aërial tour, we found ourselves soaring above an immense plain, surrounded by a precipice of crystal, tinged with azure and purple. the earth seemed formed of golden dust, and the pebbles upon it looked like precious stones. before us were the lofty walls of a city crowded with magnificent palaces and delicious gardens. lost in admiration of this glorious scene, the arab forgot to keep his wings moving, and we descended rapidly towards the ground, which i of course reached first, he falling upon me. i then perceived his wings gradually diminish, and by degrees wholly disappear. when i noticed this to him, he replied, that, unfortunately, science was limited in its powers; it enabled him to construct wings of great power, but could not avail for their preservation beyond a certain time. "to become the possessor," said he, "of the ingredients which you saw me employ in forming these wings, i have spent thirty years of my life, the lives of many men, and money sufficient for a king's ransom. the wings helped me but for a few moments, long enough, however, for my purpose; they have borne me to glory and fortune. rejoice, hassan abdallah; behold aram, the city built on columns, the mysterious city!" [illustration: the escape of hassan abdallah and the arab from the enchanted valley, p. .] we then approached the walls; they were built of alternate layers of bricks of gold and silver. the battlements were of marble, cut and sculptured by the hands of genii. there were eight gates in the walls,--the number of the gates of paradise; the first was of silver, the second of gold, the third of agate, the fourth of coral, the fifth of pearl, the sixth of topaz, the seventh of emerald, and the eighth of ruby. the arab informed me that this city had been built by the famous enchanter tchedad, the son of aad, who had exhausted upon it all the treasures of earth, sea, and sky. he wanted in his pride to rival the glory of the almighty by this piece of workmanship; but god, to punish him, struck him and his family with lightning at the very instant he and they were solemnly taking possession of the palace. an impenetrable veil hangs over the city ever since, and no one has been able to discover it. we went forward, invoking the name of god; the streets were lined with palaces adorned with columns of marble, agate, and all kinds of costly materials; streams of odoriferous waters embalmed and refreshed the atmosphere; trees of a wondrous form furnished a delicious shelter from the rays of the sun, and in their branches birds of song produced concerts of ravishing sweetness. the very air that one breathed seemed to fascinate the mind, and to lift it up to heaven. the arab, taking me by the hand, conducted me towards the palace of tchedad; its construction, in point of art and splendour of adornment, was unspeakably magnificent. terraces, formed of coloured crystal, were supported on a thousand columns of gold. in the midst of the palace was an enchanted garden, where the earth, breathing of musk, bore fruits and flowers of marvellous richness and beauty. three rivers surrounded the garden, flowing with wine, rose-water, and honey. in the centre of the garden there was a pavilion, whose dome, formed of a single emerald, overshadowed a throne of gold covered with pearls and rubies. on the throne there was a small chest of gold; the arab opened it, and found in it a red powder. "throw away this dust," i said, "and fill the casket with precious stones." "poor fool that you are," he replied; "this dust is the source of all the riches of the world; it is red sulphur. a small portion of it is sufficient to change into gold the basest metals. with it i can build palaces, found cities, purchase the life of men and the admiration of beautiful women. i can even, if i please, cause myself to become prince and king; but i cannot by it prolong my life a single day, or efface an hour from my by-past existence. god alone is great! god alone is eternal!" whilst he thus spoke, i employed myself in collecting precious stones and pearls, filling with them my girdle, pockets, and turban. "unhappy man!" he cried, "what are you doing? you will bring down upon us the vengeance of heaven. we are only permitted to touch this casket; and if we should attempt to carry out of the valley a leaf from one of these trees, or a stone from off the ground, instantaneous death would be our lot." i immediately emptied my pockets, much to my regret, and followed my master, not however without often turning my head aside to look at the incalculable riches spread around me. fearing that i should fall a prey to the seductions of wealth, my master took me by the hand and led me out of the city. we quitted it by the path by which we came, but more slowly than we approached. when we arrived at the crystal precipice it opened before us, and we passed through it; when we had done so, we looked about in vain for the wonderful plain and the city,--they could no longer be seen. we found ourselves on the brink of the river of quicksilver, and crossed the bridge. our camels were feeding on the flowery herbage, and i ran to mine with delight, as to an old friend. after refastening our girths, we mounted and set out on the road to egypt. we were three months in reaching cairo. during all this time i suffered many privations; my health was destroyed, and i endured every kind of evil. from some fatality, the cause of which was unknown to me at the time, i alone was exposed to all the accidents of the journey, while my companion continued in health and comfort, passing safely through every danger. i discovered afterwards that all my misfortunes arose from my having in my possession the enchanted keys. this was one day towards the close of our journey, when the arab confessed to me that he was aware of this fatal quality of theirs, and that it was in order to free himself from it that he purchased me. when i wanted to throw away the accursed keys, he withheld me. "patience and resignation," said he, "and these virtues only, can exhaust their evil influence, and for your own sake i would advise you to keep them to the end. all will turn out eventually for your good." a few days after receiving this communication we arrived at cairo, and i immediately ran to my home, the door of which was open and broken, and the interior occupied by crowds of famished and prowling dogs, who had taken up their abode there. a neighbour, who heard me calling out in an agony of despair, opened her door, and said to me, "hassan abdallah, is that you? well may you be astounded! know that some time after your departure,--that is, about five months ago,--some thieves, knowing that you were absent, and that there was no male slave left to take care of your house, broke into your house during the night, insulted the women, and went off with all the property that you had left. your mother died a few days after, in consequence. your wife, in her destitution, resolved to go to alexandria, to her brother. the caravan which she accompanied was attacked by the arabs of the desert, who, being enraged at the resistance they met with, put all to the sword without mercy." on hearing these sad tidings, i shed many tears, and returning to the arab, accused him with being the cause of all my misfortunes. "god is the author and end of all things," he said to me, and then, taking me by the hand, led me along with him. it appeared that on the same day he had hired a magnificent palace, to this he now compelled me to repair and reside with him; and for my consolation, he told me that he would share with me the treasures of science, and teach me to read in the book of alchemy. here we resided a long time: whenever his costly fancies caused him to be in want of money, he used to have several hundred-weight of lead conveyed secretly to him, and when it was melted he threw some small portions of red sulphur into it, and in a moment the vile metal was changed into the purest gold. in the midst of all this luxury, i continued ill and unhappy; my feeble body was unable to support the weight, or to endure the contact of the rich clothes and the precious stuffs with which i was covered. the most delicate food was served up to me in vain, and the most delicious wines; i only felt disgusted and disinclined towards them all. i had superb apartments, beds formed of sweet smelling and costly woods, and divans of purple; but sleep, in spite of all, was a stranger to my eyes. i called on death, but he refused to come to me. the arab, on the other hand, passed his time in pleasure and feasting. the palace gardens extended to the banks of the nile; they were planted with the rarest trees, brought at a great expense from india, persia, china, and the isles. machines, constructed with great skill, raised the water of the nile, and caused it to fall in fresh and brilliant jets into marble reservoirs, "'mid orange groves and myrtle bowers, that breathed a gale of fragrance round," mingled with the perfume of jasmines and roses; there were silken pavilions, embroidered with gold, and supported on pillars of gold and silver; brilliant lamps, enclosed in globes of crystal, shed over all a light soft and effulgent as that of the moon. there, on each returning night, the arab received his companions, and treated them with the utmost magnificence. his liberality made every one who approached him his friend, and they styled him the great, the magnificent. he would sometimes come to see me at the pavilion, where my illness compelled me to remain, a solitary prisoner. on one such occasion, he paid me his visit after a night of pleasure, early in the morning. he was heated with wine, his face red, and his eyes shining with a strange lustre. he sat down beside me, and taking hold of my hand, began singing, and when he had concluded, shut his eyes, leaned his head on his breast, and appeared to fall asleep. alarmed at length at his unnatural stillness, i leaned over to him; his breathing had ceased, he had expired. perceiving that all help was useless, i began to rummage his pockets, his girdle, and his turban, in the hope of finding the keys of happiness and of wisdom, but could not discover them. i thereupon, in spite of my bad state of health, and without losing a moment, laid hold of the casket containing the book of alchemy and the red sulphur; and considering that i might lawfully regard myself as the legitimate proprietor, i carried it secretly to my former house, which i had previously caused to be rebuilt and provided with new furniture. returning to the palace just as i had left it, i began to cry aloud, and to ask for help; the slaves and servants ran immediately to know what was the matter, and i then sent them to bring the best physician, even the caliph's, if he could be found. when the medical men came they declared that the stranger had died by the will of god. i then gave orders for the funeral. his body, attired in the richest vestments, was placed, exposed to view, in a coffin of aloe-wood, lined with gold. a cloth of a marvellously fine tissue, which had been manufactured for a persian prince, served for a coverlet. fifty servants, all dressed in mourning attire, bore, in turns, the coffin on their shoulders; and every good mussulman who passed by, hastened to lend his assistance, if it were only by a helping hand. a considerable number of women, hired for the purpose, followed the bier, uttering plaintive cries. the keepers of the mosque sung sacred verses, and the crowd repeated, "god is god! there is no god but god! he alone is eternal." in this order, accompanied by numerous friends whom the arab had made by his generosity, we proceeded to the cemetery, southward of the city, and near to the gate of bab-el-masr (the gate of victory). i gave a purse of gold to a skilful architect, with orders to raise a tomb to the memory of my master. returning to the palace, it fell to my lot, of course, to preside at the funeral repast. this painful duty was scarcely over, when i saw some officers from the caliph arrive, who were commanded by his order to take possession of the wealth contained in the palace, and which belonged to him, as a stranger's heir. i was driven away, and left the palace, taking with me, in appearance, nothing but the dress which i wore, but, in reality, the owner of an inestimable treasure. betaking myself to my house, i resolved to live there an unknown and peaceful life, passing the time in the study of the sciences, and only using the red sulphur to impart benefit to others in secret. a curious and jealous neighbour having ascended the terrace of my house one evening, and seen me at work, effecting the transmutation of the lead into gold, told my secret to his wife, who repeated it at the bath, and next morning all cairo was acquainted with it. the report reached the ears of the caliph, theilon, who sent for me, and told me that he knew i possessed the great secret of knowledge, and that if i would share it with him, he would overwhelm me with honours, and associate me with him in rank. i refused to the impious man the distinguished favour which god had denied to him. transported with rage, he caused me to be loaded with chains, and thrown into a gloomy dungeon; and being baffled in his attempts to penetrate my secret, he placed the casket and the book under the care of a person on whose fidelity he could depend, hoping to force the secret from me by the sufferings which he made me endure. in this state i have lived for forty years. by my persecutor's orders, i have been made to undergo all kinds of privations and tortures, and only knew of his death by my being relieved from punishment. this morning, when kneeling on the ground at my devotions, i put my hand on a strange and hard substance. looking at it, i perceived that it was the fatal keys which i had years ago buried under the floor of my dungeon. they were so worn by rust and damp, that they crumbled into powder in my hand, and i then thought that god intended to have pity upon me, and that my afflictions were about to end, either by death or the alleviation of my sufferings. a few moments after, your officers came and set me at liberty. "now, o king!" continued the old man, "i have lived long enough, since i have been permitted to approach the greatest and most upright of monarchs." mohammed, overjoyed at performing an act of justice, thanked heaven for having sent him such a treasure, and being desirous to prove its reality, he caused one thousand hundred-weight of lead to be melted in immense caldrons; and having mixed some of the red powder in the fiery mass, and pronounced over it the magical words dictated to him by the old man, the base metal was instantly changed into pure gold. the caliph, in order to propitiate the favour of heaven, resolved to employ this treasure in the building of a mosque which should transcend by its magnificence every other in the world. he collected architects from all the neighbouring countries, laid before them the plan of a vast edifice, unfettered by the difficulties or expense of its execution. the architects traced out an immense quadrangle, the sides of which faced the four cardinal points of the heavens. at each corner a tower of prodigious height was placed, of admirable proportions; the top of the structure was surrounded with a gallery and crowned with a dome of gilt copper. on each side of the edifice one thousand pillars were raised, supporting arches of an elegant curve and solid construction, and on the arches terraces were laid out with balustrades of gold of exquisite workmanship. in the centre of the edifice an immense pavilion was erected, whose construction was of so light and elegant a nature, that one would have thought it reached from earth to heaven. the vault was inlaid with azure-coloured enamel and studded with golden stars. marbles of the rarest kinds formed the pavement, and the walls consisted of a mosaic formed of jasper, porphyry, agate, mother-of-pearl, sapphires, rubies, and other precious stones. the pillars and arches were covered with arabesques and verses from the koran, carved in relief, and painted. no wood was employed in the building of this wonderful edifice, which was therefore fire-proof. mohammed spent seven years in erecting this celebrated mosque, and expended on it a sum of two millions of dinars. although so old, hassan abdallah recovered his health and strength, and lived to be a hundred years of age, honoured with the esteem and the friendship of the caliph. the mosque built by the caliph mohammed is still to be seen at cairo, and is the largest and the finest of all the mosques of that great city. * * * * * one day, very shortly after the completion of the mosque, the caliph and hassan abdallah were absent for three days on a journey. mohammed communicated to no one but his first vizir his intention; but on his return he assembled his whole court, and informed them that the object of the expedition had been to bury the casket, with the book and the powder, where it was impossible they could ever be discovered. "i have done," added mohammed, "what i could to consecrate this wonderful treasure, but i would not trust even myself any longer with so dangerous a temptation." footnotes: [ ] most of our readers will also recognize in the story of the princess schirine the groundwork of one of hans andersen's beautiful danish tales, "the flying trunk." ii. soliman bey and the three story-tellers. soliman bey, passing one day along a street in cairo, saw three common-looking men seated at the door of a coffee-house and sipping their cup of mocha. from their dull and meaningless looks he conjectured that they were under the influence of haschich[ ]. after looking at them attentively, the bey saluted them, and was pursuing his way, when he suddenly found himself obliged to stop, as a long train of camels, heavily laden, blocked up the street and prevented him from passing on. the bey, having nothing better to do, amused himself by scrutinizing attentively the eaters of haschich, who were old men. a warm discussion seemed to be going on among them; they raised their arms, vied with each other who should cry the loudest, and made the strangest possible grimaces; but owing to the distance at which he stood, he was unable to hear what they said. on his return home, being curious to know the subject of their dispute, he sent his officer to beg these three originals to wait upon him. when they arrived, he said to them, "what were you disputing about, my friends, when i passed you?" "may allah prolong your days!" replied one of them; "we were disputing about which of us it was to whom the salutation belonged that your highness addressed to us, for each of us took that honour to himself." the bey burst out laughing. "i greeted," he said, after a moment's reflection, "him among you who did the greatest number of foolish things while intoxicated by the haschich." "it was i, my lord," they all at once exclaimed. "stop," replied the bey; "let each of you tell me one of the tricks played him by the haschich, and the honour of my greeting shall be his who shall have committed the greatest act of folly; and do you begin," added the bey, pointing to one of the men. the first story-teller. "be it known to you, my lord," said the first story-teller, "that a short time ago i had in my purse a thousand piastres, which were enough for my expenses, and i was contented with my lot. one day, however, i had been taking a walk, and on my return i sat down to rest and chewed a bit of haschich, took my coffee, and lit my pipe; in two or three hours my head began to buzz. i went out again and walked about the streets. in front of a coffee-house i noticed some men collected round an _improvisatore_, who was singing and accompanying himself on the timbrel. i sat down in the circle and asked for coffee. i lighted my pipe and commenced listening. the improvisatore depicted a young girl. oh, how beautiful she was! it was impossible not to love her. compared with her iyleika[ ] was but as a star in the presence of the sun, and ablia[ ] but as the dirt of the street. i was so captivated by his description of the beautiful girl, that when he ceased i gave him all the money i had about me. "next day, at the same hour, while the haschich was boiling in my brain, i ran to the coffee-house, where the improvisatore was commencing the continuation of his yesterday's story. he now told how paladins and padishahs disputed for the possession of my adorable haridée, and how she disdained their love and refused their offers. i became more distracted this time than before, and the improvisatore got from me twice as much as he did the day before. i gave him all that i had, even to the last farthing. "next day i never left my little seat at the _café_. the improvisatore struck his tambourine this time with more vehemence while singing the charms of the beautiful haridée. he then began to relate how haridée was in love with a certain worthless fellow. at this it was impossible to tell what i felt; the hydra of jealousy devoured my heart and poured a maddening poison through my veins. i became as one deprived of all sense and feeling. but stop; the parents have separated the lovers and plunged them in an ocean of tears. i again breathed more freely, and emptied my pockets to fill the purse of the improvisatore. "thus were passed many days in succession. the flame of love and the stings of jealousy tormented me without ceasing. the haschich did its part unremittingly, and threw me at one moment into fire, and at another into ice and snow, hurling me from the height of bliss into the depths of misery. my fortunes fell with me, and i soon became totally destitute. but my thoughts were otherwise taken up than with eating or drinking; my love for haridée had become the only source to me of life and action. in this way, with empty stomach and purse, i went one day to the _café_ after having paid a few paras for a little haschich. i listened--the voice of the improvisatore trembled; in truth he wept, and grief was depicted on his features. "'what has happened?' i asked, drawing near to him. "'poor haridée!' he replied. "'what is the matter? what has taken place?' i exclaimed. "'she is dead!' he muttered. "i wept, i tore my clothes, and fled i scarce knew where. when the first transports of my despair had subsided, i saw pass before my eyes, still under the influence of the haschich, the funeral of haridée. the mournful cry of 'there is no god but god, and mahomet is his prophet,' echoed in my ears, amidst the outcries and the lamentations of the women. i ran like a madman from street to street, while the crowd followed on my path with the coffin of haridée, and the frightful groans and cries burst forth louder and louder on my ears. at length, worn out, and sore all over, i fell down in a state of complete unconsciousness, and when i came to myself, i perceived that i was at the threshold of my own home. i arose, and endeavoured to recal past events, which as they woke up in my memory caused me to feel the utmost surprise. my purse was empty, my heart broken, and the blood was flowing down my face, for in my fall i had cut open my head. after remaining a whole day in the house, i took a small piece of haschich and went to a coffee-house near at hand, where my friend the landlord poured me out a cup of mocha, and gave me a pipe. it was there that i met my two friends, and received from you, my gracious lord, a look, and a nod." "this story is not a bad one," replied soliman bey, "but do not too hastily take to yourself the honour of my greeting; let me hear first what the others have to say." the second story-teller. "know, my lord," replied the second, "that i was formerly a rich and respected merchant, with a beautiful wife and fine children. my life was like a morning of spring-time--clear, peaceful, and balmy. but haschich has ruined the structure of my happiness, and destroyed it from the roof to the foundations. one day when i had imbibed a little of this fatal poison, i was reclining, after the labours of the day, on my sofa, sipping from time to time a mouthful of coffee, and inhaling a whiff of perfumed _latakia_. my wife was occupied at my side in embroidery, and my children were at play in the room, which they made ring again with their shrill voices. at length, my brain becoming overpowered by the vapours of the haschich, the thickening fancies began to chase each other in quick succession, and my imagination at length became morbidly excited. the cries of my children seemed insupportable to me. i ordered them several times to be quiet, but the brats, wild with their games and noise, paid no attention to me. at last i lost patience, laid hold of my stick, and rapped angrily on the floor, ordering them sternly to be quiet. in the midst of this fit of anger, i stopped short, all of a sudden. the floor of my apartment emitted a hollow sound, as if there were a vault beneath it. the haschich suggested to me that there might be hidden treasure down below. 'oh, oh,' i said to myself, 'i must not be in a hurry. if i should discover the treasure in my wife's presence, she will foolishly run and trumpet it about to all our neighbours. what good would that do? let me consider, then, what i shall do to get her away.' intoxicated as i was, there was no need to deliberate long. i darted from my seat, exclaiming, 'woman! thou art separated from me by a triple divorce!'[ ] "my wife became pale as death. she threw aside her embroidery, and rose up. "'what is the matter, my dear husband? what has happened? of what have i been guilty?' "'don't say a word! and hasten this moment to leave the house, with your children.' "'but pray inform me, my lord and master, when and how i have given you any cause of complaint? we have now lived together twelve years in perfect peace and harmony, and never been but on the most affectionate terms; tell me.' "'no more explanations,' i replied; 'here are a thousand _grouches_[ ]. go to your room, and take of the furniture as much as you require, and return to your father's house.' "sadly and sorrowfully she thereupon proceeded to collect her wearing apparel, uttering mournful cries and lamentations, and taking her children with her, left the house. "'now!' i exclaimed, with satisfaction, 'now, i am quite alone.' "'silence, abou-kalif,' whispered the haschich to me; 'don't be in such haste. suppose you find this treasure, who knows but that at the first meeting of haschich-eaters, you will disclose your discovery to all the world. put yourself to the proof beforehand, by some effectual means, and thus find out if your tongue have sufficient self-command to keep still, and not say one word too much.' "faithful to the voice of my inward monitor, i arose, and taking from my chest the sum of five hundred grouches, went to pay a visit to the vali[ ]. "'here,' said i to him, 'take this money, and give me on the soles of my feet five hundred blows with a leathern thong, and, while laying them on, ask me if i have seen, found, or discovered any thing?' "the man was extremely surprised at my request, and refused to comply with it; but the people about him said that my body was my own, and that i was at liberty to dispose of it as i thought proper. 'take his money,' they said to him, 'and give him a hearty flogging.' "the vali, shrugging his shoulders, gave the signal; i was laid on the ground, my feet were tied together, and the lash whistled and sung on my bare feet. at each blow, the question i had suggested was asked, and i replied in the negative. this system of question and answer went on till the last blow. fairly exhausted with the pain, i fell down the moment i attempted to stand up. i therefore crawled along on my knees, and reached my ass, on whose back i managed, somehow or other, to raise myself, and thus reached my home. "a few days' rest having restored me in some measure, i resolved to prosecute my search for the hidden treasure. but the haschich, to which i had not forgotten on that day to pay my usual respects, stopped me in my intention. 'o abou-kalif,' it muttered in my ear, 'you have not yet put yourself sufficiently to the proof. are you now in a fit state to resist all attempts to make you disclose your secret? submit to another trial, my good fellow!' this suggestion was all-powerful, and i submitted forthwith. i drew from my strong-box one thousand grouches, and went to the aga of the janissaries. 'take this money,' i said to him, 'and give me in exchange for it a thousand stripes with a thong on the bare back; asking me between the blows, have you seen any thing? have you found any thing? have you discovered any thing?' the aga did not keep me waiting long for a reply,--and having pocketed the money, bestowed upon me most faithfully the full complement of the lashes desired. "at the conclusion of the whipping my soul seemed hovering on my lips, as if about to leave my mutilated body, which was quite prostrated by the infliction. i was obliged to be carried to my ass, and it was many days before i could set my feet to the ground. when i had recovered a little, i recollected all the details of the strange adventure which had brought upon me the acute anguish that i felt in every part of my body; and the more i reflected on the matter, the more vividly i saw the fatal consequences that would follow from too much confidence in the suggestions inspired by the haschich. i cursed the hateful ideas produced by the vapours of this drug, and promised myself that i would amend my ways, and repair, as far as possible, my injustice to my wife. but at the very moment when this praiseworthy resolution arose in my brain and diffused its odours there, like a fresh-opening flower, my hand, from the strength of habit, sought for the tin box that lay under my pillow, and drew from it a white particle, which i placed in my mouth, as if to mock all the weak efforts of my will. in fact, while my mind was occupied in planning a final rupture with the perfidious hempen-seed, my enemy stole in on me like a midnight robber by night, imposed his yoke, and overthrew completely all my good intentions. unwittingly i found myself again in the power of the enemy. 'well, abou-kalif,' he said, 'arise. the precautions you have taken are sufficiently severe; it is time to set to work, and not allow the favourable moment to escape, otherwise you may repent it.' in this manner spake the delusive poison working within me, and i was wholly in its power, incapable of resistance. i rose from my bed with a frightful pain in my back and sides, dragged myself along towards the mysterious flag-stone, and with my heart beating violently, and my brain cloudy and obscured, i set to work to raise the stone, which speedily yielded to my efforts. in a state of the highest excitement, i sat down on the edge of the cavern with my legs hanging down into it, and my hands leaning on its sides; i scarcely dared to look downwards. the haschich, however, pushed me forwards, and seemed to press on my shoulders. my hands at last yielded, and i fell down. o my sovereign and master, do not ask where i found myself; enough that i felt myself stifled. the noisome matter into which i had fallen up to the chin, being disturbed and agitated, had emitted exhalations which fairly suffocated me. i strove to cry out, but in vain. i fainted, and lost all consciousness. "meanwhile, whilst i, pursued by the fatal influence of the haschich, had fallen over the edge of the precipice, where i was now struggling, my disconsolate wife had begged her father to allow her to make inquiry respecting me. 'i know,' she said, weeping, 'that a sudden attack of madness has seized him, and that the real cause of his sending me away, as well as of all the evil that has just befallen us, is the haschich. let no curse fall upon him. no doubt my husband will change his conduct with regard to me, as i cannot reproach myself with any thing; i will therefore go and see what has happened to him.' 'well, my child, you may go,' replied her father; 'i shall not seek to hinder you.' she went, and knocked at the door, but no one replied. she then inquired of the neighbours if abou-kalif was at home; they said they had not seen him leave the house for the last week. on being told this, she had the door burst open, and, followed by a crowd of neighbours of both sexes, searched for me for a long time in vain. at last, however, i was discovered, half dead and stifled. they pulled me out, cleansed and sweetened me, and attired me in a fresh suit of clothes; after which i left the house to breathe the fresh air and recover myself. it was not long, however, before the haschich regained its old dominion over me, and led me to the coffee-house, where you saw me, and condescended to honour me with your greeting." "not quite so soon," exclaimed the bey, holding his sides with laughter; "your story is also a very good one, but before i award to you the honour of my salutation, i must hear what your other companion has got to say." the third story-teller. "sovereign and master," commenced the third eater of haschich, "no longer ago than a week i was so happy and satisfied with my lot, that in truth i would not have exchanged it even for your own. i had a house filled with every comfort, plenty of money, and a wife who was a miracle of beauty. one day this charming better half of myself, after having passed all the day in the bath, returned from it looking so clean, fresh, and rosy, that my head, where the haschich which i had been taking for the last hour and a half was breeding disorder, became on fire and was lost. my eyes grew intoxicated with my wife, as if i had then beheld her beauty for the first time, and my heart bounded like the holy waves of the nile during a storm. "'dear cousin,' i cried, for she was my cousin as well as my wife, 'how captivating you are to-day! i am over head and ears in love with you again!' "at this instant the haschich suggested to me to divorce her immediately in order to contract a new marriage and taste again the bliss of a first union. no sooner said than done; i pronounced the prescribed phrase, and the next day i celebrated a new marriage with her[ ]. when the festivities were over, i conducted my relations and guests to the door, which, from absence of mind, i had forgotten to shut. "'dear cousin,' said my wife to me when we were alone, 'go and shut the street door.' "'it would be strange indeed if i did,' i replied. 'am i just made a bridegroom, clothed in silk, wearing a shawl and a dagger set with diamonds, and am i to go and shut the door? why, my dear, you are crazy; go and shut it yourself!' "'oh indeed!' she exclaimed; 'am i, young, robed in a satin dress, with lace and precious stones, am i to go and shut the court-yard door? no, indeed, it is you who have become crazy, and not i. come, let us make a bargain,' she continued; 'and let the first who speaks get up and bar the door.' "'agreed,' i replied, and straightway i became mute, and she too was silent, while we both sat down, dressed as we were in our nuptial attire, looking at each other, and seated on opposite sofas. we remained thus for one--two--hours. during this time thieves happening to pass by, and seeing the door open, entered and laid hold of whatever came to their hand. we heard footsteps in the house, but opened not our mouths; the robbers came even into our room, and saw us seated, motionless and indifferent to all that took place. they continued therefore their pillage, collecting together every thing valuable, and even dragging away the carpets from beneath us; they then laid hands on our own persons, which they despoiled of every article worth taking, while we, in the fear of losing our wager, said not a word. "having thus cleared the house, the thieves departed quietly, but we remained on our seats, saying not a syllable. towards morning a police officer came round on his tour of inspection, and, seeing our door opened, walked in. having searched all the rooms and found no one, he entered the apartment where we were seated, and inquired the meaning of what he saw. neither my wife nor i would condescend to reply. the officer became angry, and ordered our heads to be cut off. the executioner's sword was just about to perform its office, when my wife cried out, 'sir, he is my husband, spare him!' "'oh, oh!' i exclaimed, overjoyed and clapping my hands, 'you have lost the wager; go, shut the door.' "i then explained the whole affair to the police officer, who shrugged his shoulders and went away, leaving us in a truly dismal plight. immediately after i went to a coffee-house, where you deigned to honour me with a salutation." * * * * * at the conclusion of this story the bey, who was ready to die with laughter, exclaimed, "this time it is you who are in the right; you are truly entitled to my respects." footnotes: [ ] an intoxicating drug, like opium. [ ] personages who figure in arabian legends. [ ] this is the legal form of pronouncing a divorce among the mahometans. [ ] a small coin, in circulation in turkey, about the value of eighteenpence of our money. it is probably from the same root as the german _groschen_. [ ] the public executioner. [ ] the mahometans may immediately take back the woman whom they had divorced, but a fresh marriage ceremony must take place. iii. the story of prince khalaf and the princess of china. prince khalaf was the son of an aged khan of the nagäi-tartars. the history of his time makes honourable mention of his name. it relates that he surpassed all the princes of the age in beauty, in wisdom, and in valour; that he was as learned as the greatest doctors of his age; that he could fathom the deepest mysteries of the commentaries on the koran; and that he knew by heart the sayings of the prophet: it speaks of him, in short, as the hero of asia and the wonder of the east. this prince was the soul of the councils of his father timurtasch. when he gave advice, the most accomplished statesmen approved it, and could not sufficiently admire his prudence and wisdom. if, moreover, it were necessary to take up arms, he was immediately seen at the head of the troops of the state, seeking out the enemy, engaging them and vanquishing them. he had already won several victories, and the nagäis had rendered themselves so formidable by their repeated successes, that the neighbouring nations did not venture to quarrel with them. such was the prosperous state of affairs in the khan's dominions, when an ambassador from the sultan of carisma arrived at the court of timurtasch, and demanded in the name of his master that the nagäis should henceforth pay him a yearly tribute; he added that in default he would come in person, with an overwhelming force, and compel them to submit, at the same time depriving their sovereign of his crown as a punishment for his refusal. on hearing this arrogant message, the khan immediately assembled his council in order to decide whether to pay the tribute rather than risk a war with so powerful an enemy, or whether to treat his menaces with contempt and prepare to repel the invaders. khalaf, with the majority of the council, were of the latter opinion, and the ambassador being dismissed with a refusal, took his departure for carisma. the khan lost no time in sending deputies to the neighbouring nations, in order to represent to them that it was to their interest to unite with him against the sultan of carisma, whose ambition now exceeded all bounds, and who would undoubtedly exact the same tribute from them if he should succeed in conquering the nagäis. the deputies succeeded in these negotiations; the neighbouring nations and tribes, and amongst them the circassians, engaged to join in the proposed confederation, and to furnish among them a quota of fifty thousand men. on this promise, the khan proceeded to raise fresh troops, in addition to the army which he already had on foot. while the nagäis were making these preparations, the sultan of carisma assembled an army of two hundred thousand men, and crossed the jaxartes at cogende. he marched through the countries of ilac and saganac, where he found abundance of provisions; and had advanced as far as jund, before the army of the khan, commanded by prince khalaf, was able to take the field, in consequence of the circassians and the other auxiliary troops not having been able sooner to join him. as soon as these succours arrived, khalaf marched direct towards jund, but he had scarcely passed jenge kemt, when his scouts informed him that the enemy was close at hand, and was advancing to attack him. the young prince immediately ordered his troops to halt, and proceeded to arrange them in order of battle. the two armies were nearly equal in numbers, and the men who composed them equally courageous. the battle which ensued was bloody and obstinate. the sultan did all that a warrior skilled in the conduct of armies could do; and the prince khalaf, on his side, more than could be expected from so young a general. at one time the nagäi-tartars had the advantage, at another they were obliged to yield to the carismians; at last both parties, alternately victors and vanquished, were obliged by the approach of night to sound a retreat. the combat was to have recommenced in the morning; but, in the mean time, the leader of the circassians went secretly to the sultan, and offered to abandon the cause of the nagäis, provided the sultan would pledge himself, on oath, never to exact tribute from the circassians upon any pretence whatever. the sultan having consented, the treaty was confirmed, and the circassian leader, instead of occupying his place next day in the army of the khan, detached his troops from the nagäis, and took the road back to his own country. this treachery was a terrible blow to prince khalaf, who, seeing himself now much weakened in numbers, would have withdrawn for the time from the conflict; but there was no possibility of retreat. the carismians advanced furiously to the charge, and taking advantage of the ground which allowed them to extend their lines, they surrounded the nagäis on all sides. the latter, notwithstanding that they had been deserted by their best auxiliaries, did not lose their courage. animated by the example of their prince, they closed their ranks, and for a long time firmly sustained the terrible onset of their enemies. at last, however, resistance became hopeless, and khalaf, seeing all hope at an end, thought of nothing but his escape, which he fortunately succeeded in effecting. the moment the sultan was apprised of his flight, he sent six thousand horsemen to endeavour to capture him, but he eluded their pursuit, by taking roads that were unknown to them; and after a few days' hard riding through unfrequented and unknown tracts, arrived at his father's court, where he spread sorrow and consternation, by the disastrous tidings he brought. if this piece of news deeply afflicted timurtasch, the intelligence he next received drove him to despair. an officer who had escaped from the battle, brought word that the sultan of carisma had put to the sword nearly all the nagäis, and that he was advancing with all possible speed, fully resolved to put the whole family of the khan to death, and to absorb the nation into his own kingdom. the khan then repented of having refused to pay the tribute, but he fully recognized the force of the arab proverb, "when the city is in ruins, what is the use of repentance?" as time pressed, and it was necessary to fly, for fear of falling into the hands of the sultan, the khan, the princess elmaze (diamond), his wife, and khalaf, made a selection of all their most precious treasures, and departed from the capital, astracan, accompanied by several officers of the palace, who refused to abandon them in their need, as well as by such of the troops as had cut their way through the ranks of their enemies with the young prince. they directed their march towards bulgaria; their object being to beg an asylum at the court of some sovereign prince. they had now been several days on their journey, and had gained the caucasus, when a swarm of some four thousand suddenly poured down upon them from that range. although khalaf had scarcely a hundred men with him, he steadily received the furious attack of the robbers, of whom numbers fell; his troops, however, were by degrees overpowered and slaughtered, and he himself remained in the power of the bandits, some of whom fell upon the spoil, whilst others butchered the followers of the khan. they only spared the lives of that prince, his wife, and his son, leaving them, however, almost naked in the midst of the mountains. it is impossible to describe the grief of timurtasch when he saw himself reduced to this extremity. he envied the fate of those whom he had seen slain before his eyes, and giving way to despair, sought to destroy himself. the princess burst into tears, and made the air resound with her lamentations and groans. khalaf alone had strength to support the weight of their misfortunes; he was possessed of an indomitable courage. the bitter lamentations which the khan and his wife uttered were his greatest trouble. "oh, my father! oh, my mother!" said he, "do not succumb to your misfortunes. remember that it is god who wills that you should be thus wretched. let us submit ourselves without a murmur to his absolute decrees. are we the first princes whom the rod of justice has struck? how many rulers before us have been driven from their kingdoms, and after wandering about for years in foreign lands, sharing the lot of the most abject of mortals, have been in the end restored to their thrones! if god has the power to pluck off crowns, has he not also the power to restore them? let us hope that he will commiserate our misery, and that he will in time change into prosperity the deplorable condition in which we now are." [illustration: prince khalaf holding back his father, p. .] with such arguments he endeavoured to console his father and mother, and to some extent succeeded; they experienced a secret consolation, and at last allowed themselves to take comfort. "so be it, my son," said the khan, "let us bow to providence; and since these evils which encompass us are written in the book of fate, let us endure them without repining." at these words the royal party made up their minds to be firm under their misfortunes, and proceeded to continue their journey on foot, the robbers having taken their horses. they wandered on for a long time, living upon the fruits they found in the valleys; but at length they entered upon a desert, where the earth yielded nothing upon which they could subsist, and now their courage deserted them. the khan, far advanced in years, began to feel his strength fail him; and the princess, worn out with the fatigue of the journey she had made, could scarcely hold out any longer. in this predicament, khalaf, although wofully tired himself, had no resource but to carry them by turns on his shoulders. at last all three, overwhelmed by hunger, thirst, and weariness, arrived at a spot abounding with frightful precipices. it was a hill, very steep, and intersected with deep chasms, forming what appeared to be dangerous passes. through these, however, seemed to be the only way by which to enter upon the vast plain which stretched out beyond; for both sides of the hill were so encumbered with brambles and thorns, that it was impossible to force a way through. when the princess perceived the chasms, she uttered a piercing cry, and the khan at length lost his patience. he rushed furiously forward. "i can bear this no longer," said he to his son; "i yield to my hard destiny; i succumb to so much suffering. i will throw myself headlong into one of these deep gulfs, which, doubtless, heaven has reserved for my tomb. i will escape the tyranny of wickedness. i prefer death to such a miserable existence." the khan, yielding himself up to the frenzy which had taken possession of him, was on the point of throwing himself down one of the precipices, when prince khalaf seized him in his arms and held him back. "oh, my father!" said he, "what are you doing? why give way to this transport of fury? is it thus that you show the submission you owe to the decrees of heaven? calm yourself. instead of displaying a rebellious impatience of its will, let us endeavour to deserve by our constancy its compassion and favour. i confess that we are in a deplorable state, and that we can scarcely take a step without danger amidst these abysses; but there may be another road by which we can enter the plain: let me go and see if i can find one. in the mean time, my lord, calm the violence of your transports, and remain near the princess; i will return immediately." "go, then, my son," replied the khan, "we will await you here; do not fear that i will any longer give way to despair." the young prince traversed the whole hill without being able to discover any path. he was oppressed with the deepest grief; he threw himself on the ground, sighed, and implored the help of heaven. he rose up, and again searched for some track that would conduct them to the plain. at length he found one. he followed it, returning thanks to heaven for the discovery, and advanced to the foot of a tree which stood at the entrance of the plain, and which covered with its shade a fountain of pure transparent water. he also perceived other trees laden with fruit of an extraordinary size. delighted with this discovery, he ran to inform his father and mother, who received the news with the greater joy, since they now began to hope that heaven had begun to compassionate their misery. khalaf conducted them to the fountain, where all three bathed their faces and their hands and quenched the burning thirst which consumed them. they then ate of the fruits which the young prince gathered for them, and which, in their state of exhaustion from want of food, appeared to them delicious. "my lord," said khalaf to his father, "you see the injustice of your complaints. you imagined that heaven had forsaken us; i implored its succour, and it has succoured us. it is not deaf to the voice of the unfortunate who put their whole trust in its mercy." they remained near the fountain two or three days to repose and recruit their wasted strength. after that they collected as much of the fruit as they could carry, and advanced into the plain, hoping to find their way to some inhabited place. they were not deceived in their expectations; they soon perceived before them a town which appeared large and splendidly built. they made their way to it, and having arrived at the gates, resolved to remain there and wait for night, not wishing to enter the town during the day, covered with dust and perspiration, and with what little clothing the robbers had left them, travel-worn and rent with brambles. they selected a tree which cast a delicious shade, and stretched themselves upon the grass at its foot. they had reposed there some time, when an old man came out of the town and directed his steps to the same place, to enjoy the cool shade. he sat down near them after making them a profound obeisance. they in turn saluted him, and then inquired what was the name of the town. "it is called jaic," replied the old man. "the king, ileuge-khan, makes it his residence. it is the capital of the country, and derives its name from the river which flows through it. you must be strangers since you ask me that question." "yes," replied the khan, "we come from a country very far from here. we were born in the kingdom of chrisnia, and we dwell upon the banks of the caspian sea; we are merchants. we were travelling with a number of other merchants in captchak; a large band of robbers attacked our caravan and pillaged us; they spared our lives, but have left us in the situation in which you see us. we have traversed mount caucasus, and found our way here without knowing where we were directing our steps." the old man, who had a compassionate heart for the distress of his neighbour, expressed his sympathy for their misfortunes, and, to assure them of his sincerity, offered them shelter in his house. he made the offer with such cordiality, that, even if they had not needed it, they would have felt some difficulty in refusing. as soon as night set in he conducted them to his home. it was a small house, very plainly furnished; but every thing was neat, and wore the appearance rather of simplicity than of poverty. as the old man entered he gave some orders in an undertone to one of his slaves, who returned in a short time followed by two boys, one of whom carried a large bundle of men's and women's clothes ready made, the other was laden with all sorts of veils, turbans, and girdles. prince khalaf and his father each took a caftan of cloth and a brocaded dress with a turban of indian muslin, and the princess a complete suit. after this their host gave the boys the price of the clothes, sent them away, and ordered supper. two slaves brought the table and placed upon it a tray covered with dishes of china, sandal, and aloe-wood, and several cups of coral perfumed with ambergris. they then served up a repast, delicate, yet without profusion. the old man endeavoured to raise the spirits of his guests; but perceiving that his endeavours were vain, "i see clearly," said he, "that the remembrance of your misfortunes is ever present to your minds. you must learn how to console yourselves for the loss of the goods of which the robbers have plundered you. travellers and merchants often experience similar mishaps. i was myself once robbed on the road from moussul to bagdad. i nearly lost my life on that occasion, and i was reduced to the miserable condition in which i found you. if you please i will relate my history; the recital of my misfortunes may encourage you to support yours." saying this, the good old man ordered his slaves to retire, and spoke as follows. the story of prince al abbas. i am the son of the king of moussul, the great ben-ortoc. as soon as i had reached my twentieth year, my father permitted me to make a journey to bagdad; and, to support the rank of a king's son in that great city, he ordered a splendid suite to attend me. he opened his treasures and took out for me four camel-loads of gold; he appointed officers of his own household to wait upon me, and a hundred soldiers of his guard to form my escort. i took my departure from moussul with this numerous retinue in order to travel to bagdad. nothing happened the first few days; but one night, whilst we were quietly reposing in a meadow where we had encamped, we were suddenly attacked so furiously by an overwhelming body of bedouin arabs, that the greater part of my people were massacred almost before i was aware of the danger. after the first confusion i put myself at the head of such of the guards and officers of my father's household as had escaped the first onslaught, and charged the bedouins. such was the vigour of our attack, that more than three hundred fell under our blows. as the day dawned, the robbers, who were still sufficiently numerous to surround us on all sides, seeing our insignificant numbers, and ashamed and irritated by the obstinate resistance of such a handful of men, redoubled their efforts. it was in vain that we fought with the fury of desperation; they overpowered us; and at length we were forced to yield to numbers. they seized our arms and stripped off our clothes, and then, instead of reserving us for slaves, or letting us depart, as people already sufficiently wretched, in the state to which we were reduced, they resolved to revenge the deaths of their comrades; and were cowards and barbarians enough to slaughter the whole of their defenceless prisoners. all my people perished; and the same fate was on the point of being inflicted on me, when making myself known to the robbers, "stay, rash men," i exclaimed, "respect the blood of kings. i am prince al abbas, only son of ben-ortoc, king of moussul, and heir to his throne." "i am glad to learn who thou art," replied the chief of the bedouins. "we have hated thy father mortally these many years; he has hanged several of our comrades who fell into his hands; thou shalt be treated after the same manner." thereupon they bound me; and the villains, after first sharing among them all my baggage, carried me along with them to the foot of a mountain between two forests, where a great number of small grey tents were pitched. here was their well-concealed camping ground. they placed me under the chief's tent, which was both loftier and larger than the rest. here i was kept a whole day, after which they led me forth and bound me to a tree, where, awaiting the lingering death that was to put an end to my existence, i had to endure the mortification of finding myself surrounded by the whole gang, insulted with bitter taunts, and every feeling miserably outraged. i had been tied to the tree for some considerable time, and the last moments of my life appeared fast approaching, when a scout came galloping in to inform the chief of the bedouins that a splendid chance offered itself seven leagues from thence; that a large caravan was to encamp the next evening in a certain spot, which he named. the chief instantly ordered his companions to prepare for the expedition; this was accomplished in a very short time. they all mounted their horses, and left me in their camp, not doubting but at their return they would find me a corpse. but heaven, which renders useless all the resolves of men which do not agree with its eternal decrees, would not suffer me to perish so young. the wife of the robber chief had, it seems, taken pity on me; she managed to creep stealthily, during the night, to the tree where i was bound, and said to me, "young man, i am touched by thy misfortune, and i would willingly release thee from the dangers that surround thee; but, if i were to unbind thee, dost thou think that thou hast strength enough left to escape." i replied, "the same good god who has inspired thee with these charitable feelings will give me strength to walk." the woman loosed my cords, gave me an old caftan of her husband's, and showing me the road, "take that direction," said she, "and thou wilt speedily arrive at an inhabited place." i thanked my kind benefactress, and walked all that night without deviating from the road she had pointed out. the next day, i perceived a man on foot, who was driving before him a horse, laden with two large packages. i joined him, and, after telling him that i was an unfortunate stranger, who did not know the country, and had missed my way, i inquired of him where he was going. "i am going," replied he, "to sell my merchandise at bagdad, and i hope to arrive there in two days." i accompanied this man, and only left him when i entered that great city; he went about his business, and i retired to a mosque, where i remained two days and two nights. i had no desire to go forth into the streets; i was afraid of meeting persons from moussul, who might recognize me. so great was my shame at finding myself in this plight, that far from thinking of making my condition known, i wished to conceal it, even from myself. hunger at length overcame my shame, or rather i was obliged to yield to that necessity which brooks no refusal. i resolved to beg my bread, until some better prospect presented itself. i stood before the lower window of a large house, and solicited alms with a loud voice. an old female slave appeared almost immediately, with a loaf in her hand, which she held out to me. as i advanced to take it, the wind by chance raised the curtain of the window, and allowed me to catch a glimpse of the interior of the chamber; there i saw a young lady of surpassing beauty; her loveliness burst upon my vision like a flash of lightning. i was completely dazzled. i received the bread without thinking what i was about, and stood motionless before the old slave, instead of thanking her, as i ought to have done. i was so surprised, so confused, and so violently enamoured, that doubtless she took me for a madman; she disappeared, leaving me in the street, gazing intently, though fruitlessly, at the window, for the wind did not again raise the curtain. i passed the whole day awaiting a second favourable breeze. not until i perceived night coming on, could i make up my mind to think of retiring; but before quitting the house, i asked an old man, who was passing, if he knew to whom it belonged. "it is," replied he, "the house of mouaffac, the son of adbane; he is a man of rank, and, moreover, a rich man and a man of honour. it is not long since he was the governor of the city, but he quarrelled with the cadi, who found means of ruining him in the estimation of the caliph, and thereby caused him to lose his appointment." with my thoughts fully taken up by this adventure, i slowly wandered out of the city, and entering the great cemetery determined to pass the night there. i ate my bread without appetite, although my long fast ought to have given me a good one, and then lay down near a tomb, with my head resting on a pile of bricks. it was with difficulty that i composed myself to sleep: the daughter of mouaffac had made too deep an impression upon me; the remembrance of her loveliness excited my imagination too vividly, and the little food i had eaten was not enough to cause the usual tendency to a refreshing sleep. at length, however, i dozed off, in spite of the ideas that filled my imagination; but my sleep was not destined to be of long duration; a loud noise within the tomb soon awoke me. alarmed at the disturbance, the cause of which i did not stay to ascertain, i started up, with the intention of flying from the cemetery, when two men, who were standing at the entrance of the tomb, perceiving me, stopped me, and demanded who i was, and what i was doing there. "i am," i replied, "an unfortunate stranger, whom misfortune has reduced to live upon the bounty of the charitable, and i came here to pass the night, as i have no place to go to in the town." "since thou art a beggar," said one of them, "thank heaven that thou hast met with us; we will furnish thee with an excellent supper." so saying, they dragged me into the tomb, where four of their comrades were eating large radishes and dates, and washing them down with copious draughts of raki. they made me sit near them, at a long stone that served as a table, and i was obliged to eat and drink, for politeness' sake. i suspected them to be what they really were, that is to say, thieves, and they soon confirmed my suspicions by their discourse. they began to speak of a considerable theft they had just committed, and thought that it would afford me infinite pleasure to become one of their gang; they made me the offer, which threw me into great perplexity. you may imagine that i had no desire to associate myself with such fellows, but i was fearful of irritating them by a refusal. i was embarrassed, and at a loss for a reply, when a sudden event freed me from my trouble. the lieutenant of the cadi, followed by twenty or thirty _asas_ (archers) well armed, entered the tomb, seized the robbers and me, and took us all off to prison, where we passed the remainder of the night. the following day, the cadi came and interrogated the prisoners. the thieves confessed their crime, as they saw there was no use in denying it; for myself, i related to the judge how i had met with them, and, as they corroborated my statement, i was put on one side. the cadi wished to speak to me in private, before he set me free. accordingly, he presently came over to me, and asked what took me into the cemetery where i was caught, and how i spent my time in bagdad. in fact, he asked me a thousand questions, all of which i answered with great candour, only concealing the royalty of my birth. i recounted to him all that had happened to me, and i even told him of my having stopped before the window of mouaffac's house to beg, and of my having seen, by chance, a young lady who had charmed me. at the name of mouaffac i noticed the eyes of the cadi sparkle, with a curious expression. he remained a few moments immersed in thought; then, assuming a joyous countenance, he said, "young man, it depends only on thyself to possess the lady thou sawest yesterday. it was doubtless mouaffac's daughter; for i have been informed that he has a daughter of exquisite beauty. though thou wert the most abject of beings, i would find means for thee to possess the object of thine ardent wishes. thou hast but to leave it to me, and i will make thy fortune." i thanked him, without being able to penetrate his designs, and then by his orders followed the aga of his black eunuchs, who released me from the prison, and took me to the bath. whilst i was there, the judge sent two of his _tchaous_ (guards) to mouaffac's house, with a message that the cadi wished to speak to him upon business of the greatest importance. mouaffac accompanied the guards back. as soon as the cadi saw him coming he went forward to meet him, saluted him, and kissed him several times. mouaffac was in amazement at this reception. "ho! ho!" said he to himself, "how is this, that the cadi, my greatest enemy, is become so civil to me to-day? there is something at the bottom of all this." "friend mouaffac," said the judge, "heaven will not suffer us to be enemies any longer. it has furnished us with an opportunity of extinguishing that hatred which has separated our families for so many years. the prince of bozrah arrived here last night. he left bozrah without taking leave of his father the king. he has heard of your daughter; and from the description of her beauty which he has received, he has become so enamoured of her, that he is resolved to ask her in marriage. he wishes me to arrange the marriage,--a task which is the more agreeable to me, as it will be the means of reconciling us." "i am astounded," replied mouaffac, "that the prince of bozrah should have condescended to confer upon me the honour of marrying my daughter; and that you of all men should be the chosen means of communicating this happiness to me, as you have always shown yourself so anxious to injure me." "let us not speak of the past, friend mouaffac," returned the cadi; "pray let all recollection of what we have done to annoy each other be obliterated in our happiness at the splendid connexion which is to unite your daughter with the prince of bozrah; let us pass the remainder of our days in good fellowship." mouaffac was naturally as good and confiding as the cadi was crafty and bad: he allowed himself to be deceived by the false expressions of friendship that his enemy displayed. he stifled his hatred in a moment, and received without distrust the perfidious caresses of the cadi. they were in the act of embracing each other, and pledging an inviolable friendship, when i entered the room, conducted by the aga. this officer, on my coming out of the bath, had clothed me with a beautiful dress, which he had ready, and a turban of indian muslin, with a gold fringe that hung down to my ear, and altogether my appearance was such as fully to bear out the statements of the cadi. "great prince," said the cadi as soon as he perceived me, "blessed be your feet, and your arrival in bagdad, since it has pleased you to take up your abode with me. what tongue can express to you the gratitude i feel for so great an honour? here is mouaffac, whom i have informed of the object of your visit to this city. he consents to give you in marriage his daughter, who is as beautiful as a star." mouaffac then made me a profound obeisance, saying, "o son of the mighty, i am overwhelmed with the honour you are willing to confer upon my daughter; she would esteem herself sufficiently honoured in being made a slave to one of the princesses of your harem." judge of the astonishment that this discourse caused me. i knew not what to answer. i saluted mouaffac without speaking; but the cadi, perceiving my embarrassment, and fearing lest i should make some reply which would destroy his plot, instantly took up the conversation. "i venture to submit," said he, "that the sooner the marriage contract is made in presence of the proper witnesses the better." so saying, he ordered his aga to go for the witnesses, and in the mean time drew up the contract himself. when the aga arrived with the witnesses, the contract was read before them. i signed it, then mouaffac, and then the cadi, who attached his signature the last. the judge then dismissed the witnesses, and turning to mouaffac said, "you know that with great people these affairs are not managed as with persons of humble rank. besides, in this case you readily perceive that silence and despatch are necessary. conduct this prince, then, to your house, for he is now your son-in-law; give speedy orders for the consummation of the marriage, and take care that every thing is arranged as becomes his exalted rank." i left the cadi's house with mouaffac. we found two mules richly caparisoned awaiting us at the door; the judge insisted upon our mounting them with great ceremony. mouaffac conducted me to his house; and when we were in the court-yard dismounted first, and with a respectful air presented himself to hold my stirrup,--a ceremony to which of course i was obliged to submit. he then took me by the hand and conducted me to his daughter, with whom he left me alone, after informing her of what had passed at the cadi's. zemroude, persuaded that her father had espoused her to a prince of bozrah, received me as a husband who would one day place her upon the throne,--and i, the happiest of men, passed the day at her feet, striving by tender and conciliating manners to inspire her with love for me. i soon perceived that my pains were not bestowed in vain, and that my youth and ardent affection produced a favourable impression upon her. with what rapture did this discovery fill me! i redoubled my efforts, and i had the gratification of remarking that each moment i made advances in her esteem. in the mean time mouaffac had prepared a splendid repast to celebrate his daughter's nuptials, at which several members of his family were present. the bride appeared there more brilliant and more beautiful than the houris. the sentiments with which i had already inspired her, seemed to add new lustre to her beauty. the next morning i heard a knock at my chamber-door; i got up and opened it. there stood the black aga of the cadi carrying a large bundle of clothes. i thought that perhaps the cadi had sent robes of honour to my wife and myself, but i was deceived. "sir adventurer," said the negro in a bantering tone, "the cadi sends his salutations, and begs you to return the dress he lent you yesterday to play the part of the prince of bozrah in. i have brought you back your own old garment, and the rest of the tatters, which are more suited to your station than the other." i was astounded at the application; my eyes were opened, and i saw through the whole malicious scheme of the cadi. however, making a virtue of necessity, i gravely restored to the aga the robe and turban of his master, and retook my own old caftan, which was a mass of rags. zemroude had heard part of the conversation; and seeing me covered with rags, "o heavens!" she exclaimed, "what is the meaning of this change, and what has that man been saying to you?" "my princess," i replied, "the cadi is a great rascal, but he is the dupe of his own malice. he thinks he has given you a beggar for a husband, a man born in the lowest grade, but you are, indeed, the wife of a prince, and my rank is in no way inferior to that of the husband, whose hand you fancy you have received. i am to the full the equal of the prince of bozrah, for i am the only son of the king of moussul, and am heir to the kingdom of the great ben-ortoc; my name is al abbas." i then related my history to her, without suppressing the least circumstance. when i had finished the recital, "my prince," said she, "even were you not the son of a great king, i should love you none the less; and, believe me, that if i am overjoyed to learn the circumstance of your exalted birth, it is but out of regard to my father, who is more dazzled by the honours of the world than i; my only ambition is to possess a husband who will love me alone, and not grieve me by giving me rivals." i did not fail to protest that i would love her, and her alone, all my life, with which assurance she appeared delighted. she then summoned one of her women, and ordered her to proceed with all speed and secrecy to a merchant's, and buy a dress, ready made, of the richest materials that could be procured. the slave who was charged with this commission acquitted herself in the most satisfactory manner. she returned speedily, bringing a magnificent dress and robe, and a turban of indian muslin as handsome, even handsomer, than what i had worn the previous day, so that i found myself even more gorgeously dressed than on the occasion of my first interview with my father-in-law. "well, my lord," said zemroude, "do you think the cadi has much reason to be satisfied with his work? he thought to heap reproaches on my family, and he has bestowed upon it an imperishable honour. he thinks that we are now overwhelmed with shame. what will be his grief when he knows that he has conferred such a benefit upon his enemy? but before he is made aware of your birth, we must invent some means of punishing him for his wicked designs against us. i will take that task upon me. there is in this city a dyer, who has a daughter most frightfully ugly. i will not tell you further," she continued, checking herself. "i will not deprive you of the pleasure of the surprise. i shall only let you know that i have conceived a project which will drive the cadi nearly mad, and make him the laughingstock of the court and the city." she then dressed herself in plain clothes, and covering her face with a thick veil, asked my permission to go out, which i granted her. she went alone, repaired to the cadi's house, and placed herself in one corner of the hall, where the judge gave audience. he no sooner cast his eyes upon her, than he was struck with her majestic figure; he sent an officer to ask who she was, and what she desired. she answered that she was the daughter of an artisan in the town, and that she wished to speak to the cadi on important private business. the officer having borne her answer to the cadi, the judge made a sign to zemroude to approach, and enter his private apartment, which was on one side of the court; she complied, making a low obeisance. when she entered the cadi's private apartment, she took her seat upon the sofa, and raised her veil. the cadi had followed her, and as he seated himself near her, was astonished at her beauty. "well! my dear child," said he, patronizingly, "of what service can i be to you?" "my lord," she replied, "you, who have the power to make the laws obeyed, who dispense justice to rich and poor alike, listen, i pray you, to my complaint, and pity the unfortunate situation in which i am placed." "explain yourself," replied the judge, already moved, "and i swear by my head and my eyes that i will do every thing that is possible, ay, and impossible, to serve you." "know then, my lord," replied zemroude, "that, notwithstanding the attractions which heaven has bestowed upon me, i live in solitude and obscurity in a house, forbidden not only to men, but even to women, so that even the conversation of my own sex is denied me. not that advantageous proposals were at one time wanting for my hand; i should have been married long ago, if my father had not had the cruelty to refuse me to all who have asked me in marriage. to one he says, i am as withered as a dead tree; to another, that i am bloated with unnatural fat; to this one, that i am lame, and have lost the use of my hands; to that one, that i have lost my senses, that i have a cancer on my back, that i am dropsical; in fact, he wishes to make me out a creature not worthy the society of human beings, and has so decried me, that he has at length succeeded in making me the reproach of the human race; nobody inquires about me now, and i am condemned to perpetual celibacy." when she ceased speaking she pretended to weep, and played her part so well that the judge allowed himself to be deceived. "what can be the reason, my angel," said he, "that your father prevents your marrying? what can his motive be?" "i know not, my lord," replied zemroude; "i cannot conceive what his intentions can be; but i confess my patience is exhausted. i can no longer live in this state. i have found means to leave home, and i have escaped to throw myself into your arms, and to implore your help; take pity on me, i implore you, and interpose your authority, that justice may be done to me, otherwise i will not answer for my life." "no, no," replied he, "you shall not die, neither shall you waste your youth in tears and sighs. it only remains with yourself to quit the darkness in which your perfections are buried, and to become this very day the wife of the cadi of bagdad. yes, lovely creature, more fair than the houris, i am ready to marry you, if you will consent." "my lord," replied the lady, "even were not your station one of the most dignified and honourable in the city, i could have no objection to give you my hand, for you appear to be one of the most amiable of men; but i fear that you will not be able to obtain the consent of my father, notwithstanding the honour of the alliance." "don't trouble yourself upon that point," replied the judge, "i will pledge myself as to the issue; only tell me in what street your father lives, what his name is, and what his profession." "his name is ousta omar," replied zemroude; "he is a dyer, he lives upon the eastern quay of the tigris, and in front of his door is a palm-tree laden with dates." "that is enough," said the cadi; "you can return home now; you shall soon hear from me, depend upon my word." the lady, after bestowing a gracious smile upon him, covered her face again with her veil, left the private chamber, and returned to me. "we shall be revenged," she said, laughing gaily; "our enemy, who thought to make us the sport of the people, will himself become so." the judge had scarcely lost sight of zemroude, ere he sent an officer to ousta omar, who was at home. "you are to come to the cadi," said the man, "he desires to speak with you, and he commanded me to bring you before him." the dyer grew pale at these words, he thought that some one had lodged a complaint against him before the judge, and that it was on that account the officer had come to fetch him. he rose, however, and followed in silence, but in great uneasiness. as soon as he appeared before the cadi, the judge ordered him into the same chamber where he had had the interview with zemroude, and made him sit upon the same sofa. the artisan was so astonished at the honour paid him, that he changed colour several times. "master omar," said the cadi, "i am glad to see you; i have heard you spoken very well of this long time past. i am informed that you are a man of good character, that you regularly say your prayers five times a day, and that you never fail to attend the great mosque on friday; besides, i know that you never eat pork, and never drink wine nor date-spirits; in fact, that whilst you are at work one of your apprentices reads the koran." "that is true," replied the dyer; "i know above four thousand _hadits_ (sayings of mahomet), and i am making preparations for a pilgrimage to mecca." "i assure you," replied the cadi, "that all this gives me the greatest pleasure, for i passionately love all good mussulmen. i am also informed that you keep concealed at home a daughter of an age to marry; is that true?" "great judge," answered ousta omar, "whose palace serves as a haven and refuge for the unfortunate who are tossed about by the storms of the world, they have told you true. i have a daughter who is old enough, in all conscience, to be married, for she is more than thirty years old; but the poor creature is not fit to be presented to a man, much less to so great a man as the cadi of bagdad; she is ugly, or rather frightful, lame, covered with blotches, an idiot; in a word, she is a monster whom i cannot take too much pains to hide from the world." "indeed," said the cadi, "that is what i expected, master omar. i was certain that you would thus praise your daughter; but know, my friend, that this blotchy, idiotic, lame, frightful person, in short, this monster, with all her defects, is loved to distraction by a man who desires her for his wife, and that man is myself." at this speech the dyer seemed to doubt whether he were awake; he pinched himself, rubbed his eyes, and then looking the cadi full in the face, said, "if my lord, the cadi, wishes to be merry, he is master; he may make a jest of my child as much as he pleases." "no, no," replied the cadi, "i am not joking, i am in love with your daughter, and i ask her in marriage." the artisan at these words burst into a fit of laughter. "by the prophet," cried he, "somebody wants to give you something to take care of. i give you fair warning, my lord, that my daughter has lost the use of her hands, is lame, dropsical." "i know all about that," replied the judge, "i recognize her by her portrait. i have a peculiar liking for that sort of girls, they are my taste." "i tell you," insisted the dyer, "she is not a fit match for you. her name is cayfacattaddhari (the monster of the age), and i must confess that her name is well chosen." "come, come!" replied the cadi, in an impatient and imperious tone, "this is enough, i am sick of all these objections. master omar, i ask you to give me this cayfacattaddhari just as she is, so not another word." the dyer, seeing him determined to espouse his daughter, and more than ever persuaded that some person had made him fall in love with her upon false representations for fun, said to himself, "i must ask him a heavy _scherbeha_ (dowry): the amount may disgust him, and he will think no more of her." "my lord," said he, "i am prepared to obey you; but i will not part with cayfacattaddhari unless you give me a dowry of a thousand golden sequins beforehand." "that is rather a large sum," said the cadi, "still i will pay it you." he immediately ordered a large bagful of sequins to be brought, a thousand were counted out, which the dyer took after weighing them, and the judge then ordered the marriage contract to be drawn out. when, moreover, it was ready for signature, the artisan protested that he would not sign it except in the presence of a hundred lawyers at least. "you are very distrustful," said the cadi; "but never mind, i will satisfy your wishes, for i don't intend to let your daughter slip through my fingers." he thereupon sent immediately for all the neighbouring doctors, alfayins, mollahs, persons connected with the mosques and courts of law, of whom far more crowded in than the dyer required. when all the witnesses had arrived at the cadi's, ousta omar spoke thus, "my lord cadi, i give you my daughter in marriage, since you absolutely require me to do so; but i declare before all these gentlemen that it is on condition, that if you are not satisfied with her when you see her, and you wish afterwards to repudiate her, you will give her a thousand gold sequins, such as i have received from you." "well! so be it," replied the cadi, "i promise it before all this assembly. art thou content?" the dyer replied in the affirmative, and departed, saying that he would send the bride. he had scarcely left the house before the enamoured judge gave orders to have an apartment furnished in the most splendid manner to receive his new bride. velvet carpets were laid down, new draperies hung up, and sofas of silver brocade placed round the walls, whilst several braziers perfumed the chamber with delicious scents. all was at length in readiness, and the cadi impatiently awaited the arrival of cayfacattaddhari. the fair bride, however, not making her appearance so speedily as his eagerness expected, he called his faithful aga, and said, "the lovely object of my affections ought to be here by this time, i think. what can detain her so long at her father's? how slow the moments appear which retard my happiness!" at length his impatience could brook no longer delay, and he was on the point of sending the aga to ousta omar's, when a porter arrived carrying a deal case covered with green taffeta. "what hast thou got there, my friend," inquired the judge. "my lord," replied the porter, placing the box on the ground, "it is your bride; you have only to take off the covering and you will see what she is like." the cadi removed the cloth and saw a girl three feet and a half high: she had a lank visage covered with blotches, eyes sunk deep in their sockets and as red as fire, not the least vestige of a nose, but above her mouth two horrid wide nostrils like those of a crocodile. he could not look at this object without horror; he hastily replaced the cover, and, turning to the porter, cried, "what am i to do with this miserable creature?" "my lord," replied the porter, "it is the daughter of master omar, the dyer, who told me you had married her from choice." "merciful heavens!" exclaimed the cadi, "is it possible to marry such a monster as that?" at that moment the dyer, who had foreseen the surprise of the judge, arrived. "wretch," said the cadi, "what dost thou take me for? thou certainly hast an amazing amount of impudence to dare to play me such a trick as this. dost thou dare thus to treat me who have it in my power to revenge myself on my enemies; me who, when i please, can put the like of thee in fetters? dread my wrath, wretch! instead of the hideous monster which thou hast sent me, give me instantly thy other daughter, whose beauty is unparalleled, or thou shalt experience what an angry cadi can do!" "my lord," replied omar, "spare your threats, i beg, and don't be angry with me. i swear by the creator of the light that i have no other daughter but this. i told you a thousand times that she would not suit you; you would not believe--whose fault is it?" the cadi at these words felt his soul sink within him, and said to the dyer, "master omar, a damsel of the most exquisite loveliness came here this morning and told me that you were her father, and that you represented her to the world as a perfect monster, indeed so much so, that no one would ask her in marriage." "my lord," returned the dyer, "that girl must have been playing you a trick; you must have some enemy." the cadi bent his head on his bosom, and remained some time in deep thought. "it is a misfortune that was destined to befal me; let us say no more about it; have your daughter taken back home; keep the thousand sequins you have got, but don't ask for any more, if you wish us to be friends." although the judge had sworn before witnesses that he would give a thousand sequins more if omar's daughter did not please him, the artisan did not dare to endeavour to compel him to keep his word, for he knew him to be a most vindictive man, and one who would easily find an opportunity of revenging himself upon any one he disliked, and was, of course, afraid to offend him. he thought it better to be content with what he had received. "my lord," said he, "i will obey you, and relieve you of my daughter, but you must, if you please, divorce her first." "oh! true," said the cadi; "i have not the least objection; be assured that shall soon be done." accordingly, he instantly sent for his naib, and the divorce was made out in due form, after which master omar took leave of the judge, and ordered the porter to bear the wretched cayfacattaddhari back home. this adventure was speedily noised all over the city. every body laughed at it, and warmly applauded the trick which had been played upon the cadi, who could not escape the ridicule in which the whole city indulged at his expense. we carried our revenge still further. by mouaffac's advice, i presented myself before the prince of the faithful, to whom i told my name and related my story. i did not suppress, as you may imagine, the circumstances which put the malice of the cadi in so strong a light. the caliph, after listening to me with the greatest attention, received me very graciously. "prince," said he, "why did you not come at once to me? doubtless you were ashamed of your condition, but you might, without a blush, have presented yourself before my face, even in your wretched state. does it depend upon men themselves to be happy or unhappy? is it not allah that spins the thread of our destiny? ought you to have feared an ungracious reception? no! you know that i love and esteem king ben-ortoc, your father; my court was a safe asylum for you." the caliph embraced me, and conferred on me a _gulute_ (robe of honour) and a beautiful diamond which he wore on his finger. he regaled me with excellent sherbet, and when i returned to my father-in-law's house, i found six large bales of persian brocade, gold and silver, two pieces of damask, and a beautiful persian horse richly caparisoned. in addition, he reinstated mouaffac in the government of bagdad; and as to the cadi, by way of punishment for his malicious attempt to deceive zemroude and her father, he deposed him, and condemned him to perpetual imprisonment, and, to crown his misery, ordered him as a companion in his confinement the daughter of ousta omar. a few days after my marriage, i sent a courier to moussul, to inform my father of all that had happened to me since my departure from his court, and to assure him that i would return shortly, with the lady whom i had married. i waited most impatiently for the return of the courier; but, alas! he brought me back news which deeply afflicted me. he informed me that ben-ortoc having heard that four thousand bedouin arabs had attacked me, and that my escort had been cut to pieces, persuaded that i no longer lived, took my supposed death so much to heart that he died; that prince amadeddin zingui, my cousin-german, occupied the throne; that he reigned with equity; and that, nevertheless, although he was generally beloved, the people no sooner learned that i was still alive, than they gave themselves up to the greatest joy. prince amadeddin himself, in a letter which the courier placed in my hands, assured me of his fidelity, and expressed his impatience for my return, in order that he might restore the crown to me, and become the first subject in my dominions. this news decided me to hasten my return to moussul. i took my leave of the prince of the faithful, who ordered a detachment of three thousand cavalry of his own guard to escort me to my kingdom, and, after embracing mouaffac and his wife, i departed from bagdad with my beloved zemroude, who would almost have died of grief at the separation from her parents, if her love for me had not somewhat moderated the violence of her sorrow. about halfway between bagdad and moussul, the vanguard of my escort discovered a body of troops marching towards us. concluding at once that it was a body of bedouin arabs, i immediately drew up my men, and was fully prepared for the attack, when my scouts brought me word, that those whom we had taken for robbers and enemies were, in fact, troops from moussul, who had set out to meet me, with amadeddin at their head. this prince, on his part, having learned who we were, left his little army to meet me, accompanied by the principal nobles of moussul. when he reached the spot where i was awaiting him, he addressed me in the same tone in which his letter had been couched, submissively and respectfully, whilst all the nobles who accompanied him assured me of their zeal and fidelity. i thought it my duty to show my entire confidence in them, by dismissing the soldiers of the caliph's guard. i had no reason to repent of this step; far from being capable of forming any treacherous design, prince amadeddin did all in his power to give me proofs of his attachment. when we came to moussul, our safe and auspicious arrival was celebrated by gifts to the mosques, abundant alms to the poor, fêtes, and an illumination of the palace gardens with lamps of a thousand different colours. the people in general testified the delight they felt at my return by acclamations, and for a space of three days gave themselves up entirely to great rejoicings. the booths of the itinerant merchants, and the bazaars, were hung within and without with draperies, and at night they were lit up by lamps, which formed the letters of a verse of the koran, so that every shop having its particular verse, this holy book was to be read entire in the city; and it appeared as though the angel gabriel had brought it a second time in letters of light to our great prophet. in addition to this pious illumination, before each shop were placed large dishes, plates of pillau, of all sorts of colours, in the form of pyramids, and huge bowls of sherbet and pomegranate juice, for the passers-by to eat and drink at pleasure. in all the cross streets were to be seen dancers, displaying their graceful evolutions to the sounds of drums, lutes, and tambourines. the different trades formed a procession, consisting of cars decorated with tinsel and many-coloured flags, and with the tools used in their trades; and after traversing the principal streets, defiled to the music of pipes, cymbals, and trumpets, before my balcony, where zemroude was sitting by my side, and after saluting us, shouted at the top of their voices, "blessing and health to thee, apostle of god, god give the king victory." it was not enough for me to share these honours with the daughter of mouaffac, my study was to find out every thing that would afford her any pleasure. i caused her apartments to be adorned with every thing most rare and pleasing to the sight. her suite was composed of twenty-five young circassian ladies, slaves in my father's harem; some sang and played the lute exquisitely, others excelled on the harp, and the rest danced with the greatest grace and lightness. i also gave her a black aga, with twelve eunuchs, who all possessed some talent which might contribute to her amusement. i reigned over faithful and devoted subjects; every day i loved zemroude more and more, and she as ardently reciprocated my attachment. my days passed thus in perfect happiness, till one day a young dervise appeared at my court. he introduced himself to the principal nobles, and gained their friendship by his pleasing and agreeable manners, as well as by his wit and his happy and brilliant repartees. he accompanied them to the chase, he entered into all their gaieties, and was a constant guest at their parties of pleasure. every day some of my courtiers spoke to me of him as a man of charming manners, so that at last they excited in me a desire to see and converse with the agreeable stranger. far from finding his portrait overdrawn, he appeared to me even more accomplished than they had represented him. his conversation charmed me, and i was disabused of an error into which many persons of quality fall, namely, that men of wit and high sentiment are only to be met with at court. i experienced so much pleasure in the company of the dervise, and he seemed so well suited to manage affairs of the greatest importance, that i wished to appoint him my minister, but he thanked me, and told me he had made a vow never to accept any employment, that he preferred a free and independent life, that he despised honours and riches, and was content with what god, who cares for the lowest animals, should provide for him; in a word, he was content with his condition. i admired a man so much raised above worldly considerations, and conceived the greatest esteem for him; i received him with pleasure each time he presented himself at court; if he was among the crowd of courtiers my eyes sought him out, and to him i most frequently addressed myself; i insensibly became so attached to him, that i made him my exclusive favourite. one day during a hunt, i had strayed from the main body of my followers, and the dervise was alone with me. he began by relating his travels, for although young he had travelled extensively. he spoke of several curious things he had seen in india, and, amongst others, of an old bramin whom he knew. "this great man," said he, "knew an infinity of secrets, each more extraordinary than the former. nature had no mystery but what he could fathom. he died in my arms," said the dervise, "but as he loved me, before he expired he said, 'my son, i wish to teach you a secret by which you may remember me, but it is on condition that you reveal it to no one.' i promised to keep it inviolate, and on the faith of my promise he taught me the secret." "indeed!" said i, "what is the nature of the secret? is it the secret of making gold?" "no, sire," replied he, "it is a greater and much more precious secret than that. it is the power of reanimating a dead body. not that i can restore the same soul to the body it has left, heaven alone can perform that miracle; but i can cause my soul to enter into a body deprived of life, and i will prove it to your highness whenever you shall please." "most willingly!" said i, "now, if you please." at that moment there passed by us most opportunely a doe; i let fly an arrow, which struck her, and she fell dead. "now let me see," said i, "if you can reanimate this creature." "sire," replied the dervise, "your curiosity shall soon be gratified; watch well what i am about to do." he had scarcely uttered these words, when i beheld with amazement his body fall suddenly without animation, and at the same moment i saw the doe rise with great nimbleness. i will leave you to judge of my surprise. although there was no room left to doubt what i beheld, i could hardly believe the evidence of my senses. the creature, however, came to me, fondled me, and after making several bounds, fell dead again, and immediately the body of the dervise, which lay stretched at my feet, became reanimated. i was delighted at so wonderful a secret, and entreated the dervise to impart it to me. [illustration: the dervise and the prince, p. .] "sire," said he, "i deeply regret that i cannot comply with your desire; for i promised the dying bramin not to disclose it to any one, and i am a slave to my word." the more the dervise excused himself from satisfying my wishes, the more did i feel my curiosity excited. "in the name of allah," said i, "do not refuse to comply with my entreaties. i promise thee never to divulge the secret, and i swear by him who created us both never to employ it to a bad purpose." the dervise considered a moment, then turning to me said, "i cannot resist the wishes of a king whom i love more than my life; i will yield to your desire. it is true," added he, "that i only gave a simple promise to the bramin. i did not bind myself by an inviolable oath. i will impart my secret to your highness. it consists only in remembering two words; it is sufficient to repeat them mentally to be able to reanimate a dead body." he then taught me the two magic words. i no sooner knew them, than i burned to test their power. i pronounced them, with the intention to make my soul pass into the body of the doe, and in a moment i found myself metamorphosed into the animal. but the delight i experienced at the success of the trial was soon converted into consternation; for no sooner had my spirit entered into the body of the doe, than the dervise caused his to pass into mine, and then suddenly drawing my bow, the traitor was on the point of shooting me with one of my own arrows, when, perceiving his intention, i took to flight, and by my speed just escaped the fatal shaft. nevertheless, he let fly the arrow at me with so true an aim, that it just grazed my shoulder. i now beheld myself reduced to live with the beasts of the forests and mountains. happier for me would it have been if i had resembled them more perfectly, and if in losing my human form, i had at the same time lost my power of reason. i should not then have been the prey to a thousand miserable reflections. whilst i was deploring my misery in the forests, the dervise was occupying the throne of moussul; and fearing that, as i possessed the secret as well as himself, i might find means to introduce myself into the palace, and take my revenge upon him, on the very day he usurped my place he ordered all the deer in the kingdom to be destroyed, wishing, as he said, to exterminate the whole species, which he mortally hated. nay, so eager was he for my destruction, that the moment he returned from the hunting expedition, he again set out at the head of a large body of followers, intent upon the indiscriminate slaughter of all the deer they might meet. the people of moussul, animated by the hope of gain, spread themselves all over the country with their bows and arrows; they scoured the forests, over-ran the mountains, and shot every stag and deer they met with. happily, by this time i had nothing to fear from them; for, having seen a dead nightingale lying at the foot of a tree, i reanimated it, and under my new shape flew towards the palace of my enemy, and concealed myself among the thick foliage of a tree in the garden. this tree was not far from the apartments of the queen. there, thinking upon my misfortune, i poured forth in tender strains the melancholy that consumed me. it was one morning, as the sun rose, and already several birds, delighted to see its returning beams, expressed their joy by their minstrelsy. for my part, taken up with my griefs, i paid no attention to the brightness of the newborn day; but with my eyes sadly turned towards zemroude's apartment, i poured forth so plaintive a song, that i attracted the attention of the princess, who came to the window. i continued my mournful notes in her presence, and i tried all the means in my power to render them more and more touching, as though i could make her comprehend the subject of my grief. but, alas! although she took pleasure in listening to me, i had the mortification to see, that instead of being moved by my piteous accents, she only laughed with one of her slaves, who had come to the window to listen to me. i did not leave the garden that day, nor for several following, and i took care to sing every morning at the same spot. zemroude did not fail to come to the window; and at length, by the blessing of providence, took a fancy to have me. one morning she said to her female attendants, "i wish that nightingale to be caught; let birdcatchers be sent for. i love that bird; i doat upon it; let them try every means to catch it, and bring it to me." the queen's orders were obeyed; expert birdcatchers were found, who laid traps for me, and, as i had no desire to escape, because i saw that their only object in depriving me of my liberty was to make me a slave to my princess, i allowed myself to be taken. the moment i was brought to her she took me in her hand, with every symptom of delight. "my darling," said she, caressing me, "my charming bul-bul, i will be thy rose; i already feel the greatest tenderness for thee." at these words she kissed me. i raised my beak softly to her lips. "ah! the little rogue," cried she laughing, "he appears to know what i say." at last, after fondling me, she placed me in a gold filigree cage, which an eunuch had been sent into the city to buy for me. every day as soon as she woke i began my song; and whenever she came to my cage to caress me or feed me, far from appearing wild, i spread out my wings, and stretched my beak towards her, to express my joy. she was surprised to see me so tame in so short a time. sometimes she would take me out of the cage, and allow me to fly about her chamber. i always went to her to receive her caresses, and to lavish mine upon her; and if any of her slaves wished to take hold of me, i pecked at them with all my might. by these little insinuating ways i endeared myself so much to zemroude, that she often said if by any mishap i were to die, she should be inconsolable, so strong was her attachment to me. zemroude also had a little dog in her chamber, of which she was very fond. one day, when the dog and i were alone, it died. its death suggested to me the idea of making a third experiment of the secret. "i will pass into the body of the dog," thought i, "for i wish to see what effect the death of her nightingale will produce upon the princess." i cannot tell what suggested the fancy, for i did not foresee what this new metamorphosis would lead to; but the thought appeared to me a suggestion of heaven, and i followed it at all risks. when zemroude returned to the room, her first care was to come to my cage. as soon as she perceived that the nightingale was dead, she uttered a shriek that brought all her slaves about her. "what ails you, madam?" said they in terrified accents. "has any misfortune happened to you?" "i am in despair," replied the princess, weeping bitterly; "my nightingale is dead. my dear bird, my little husband, why art thou taken from, me so soon? i shall no more hear your sweet notes! i shall never see you again! what have i done to deserve such punishment from heaven?" all the efforts of her women to console her were in vain. the dervise had just returned from his murderous expedition, and one of them ran to acquaint him with the state in which they had found the queen. he quickly came and told her that the death of a bird ought not to cause her so much grief; that the loss was not irreparable; that if she was so fond of nightingales, and wanted another, it was easy to get one. but all his reasoning was to no purpose, he could make no impression upon her. "cease your endeavours," she exclaimed, "to combat my grief, you will never overcome it. i know it is a great weakness to mourn so for a bird, i am as fully persuaded of it as you can be, still i cannot bear up against the force of the blow that has overwhelmed me. i loved the little creature; he appeared sensible of the caresses i bestowed on him, and he returned them in a way that delighted me. if my women approached him, he exhibited ferocity, or rather disdain; whereas he always came eagerly on to my hand when i held it out to him. it appeared as though he felt affection for me, he looked at me in so tender and languishing a manner, that it almost seemed as though he was mortified that he had not the power of speech to express his feelings towards me. i could read it in his eyes. ah! i shall never think of him without despair." as she finished speaking her tears gushed out afresh, and she seemed as if nothing could ever console her. i drew a favourable omen from the violence of her grief. i had laid myself down in a corner of the room, where i heard all that was said and observed all that passed without their noticing me. i had a presentiment that the dervise, in order to console the queen, would avail himself of the secret, and i was not disappointed. finding the queen inaccessible to reason, and being deeply enamoured of her, he was moved by her tears, and instead of persevering in fruitless arguments, he ordered the queen's slaves to quit the room and leave him alone with her. "madam," said he, thinking that no one overheard him, "since the death of your nightingale causes you so much sorrow, he must be brought to life. do not grieve, you shall see him alive again; i pledge myself to restore him to you; to-morrow morning, when you wake, you shall hear him sing again, and you shall have the satisfaction of caressing him." "i understand you, my lord," said zemroude; "you look upon me as crazed, and think that you must humour my sorrow; you would persuade me that i shall see my nightingale alive to-morrow; to-morrow you will postpone your miracle till the following day, and so on from one day to another; by this means you reckon on making me gradually forget my bird; or, perhaps," pursued she, "you intend to get another put in his place to deceive me." "no, my queen," replied the dervise, "no; it is that very bird which you see stretched out in his cage without life; this very nightingale, the enviable object of such poignant grief; it is that very bird himself that shall sing. i will give him new life, and you can again lavish your caresses upon him. he will better appreciate that delight, and you shall behold him still more anxious to please you, for it will be i myself who will be the object of your endearments; every morning i will myself be his fresh life in order to divert you. i can perform this miracle," continued he; "it is a secret i possess; if you have any doubts upon it, or if you are impatient to behold your favourite reanimated, i will cause him to revive now immediately." as the princess did not reply, he imagined from her silence that she was not fully persuaded he could accomplish what he professed; he seated himself on the sofa, and by virtue of the two cabalistic words left his body, or rather mine, and entered into that of the nightingale. the bird began to sing in its cage to the great amazement of zemroude. but his song was not destined to continue long; for no sooner did he begin to warble than i quitted the body of the dog and hastened to retake my own. at the same time running to the cage, i dragged the bird out and wrung his neck. "what have you done, my lord?" cried the princess. "why have you treated my nightingale thus? if you did not wish him to live, why did you restore him to life?" "i thank heaven!" cried i, without paying any regard to what she said, so much were my thoughts taken up with the feeling of vengeance which possessed me at the treacherous conduct of the dervise, "i am satisfied. i have at length avenged myself on the villain whose execrable treason deserved a still greater punishment." if zemroude was surprised to see her nightingale restored to life, she was not the less so to hear me utter these words with such fierce emotion. "my lord," said she, "whence this violent transport which agitates you, and what do those words mean which you have just spoken?" i related to her all that had happened to me, and she could not doubt that i was truly al abbas, because she had heard that the body of the dervise had been found in the forest, and she was also of course well acquainted with the order which he had given for destroying all the deer. but my poor princess could not recover the shock her sensitive love had sustained. a few days after she fell ill, and died in my arms, literally frightened to death by the imminence of the danger from which she had just been so happily rescued. after i had bewailed her, and erected a splendid tomb to her memory, i summoned the prince amadeddin. "my cousin," said i, "i have no children, i resign the crown of moussul in your favour. i give the kingdom up into your hands. i renounce the regal dignity, and wish to pass the rest of my days in repose and privacy." amadeddin, who really loved me, spared no arguments to deter me from taking the step i proposed, but i assured him that nothing could shake my resolution. "prince," said i, "my determination is fixed, i resign my rank to you. fill the throne of al abbas, and may you be more happy than he. reign over a people who know your merit, and have already experienced the blessings of your rule. disgusted with pomp, i shall retire to distant climes, and live in privacy; there freed from the cares of state, i shall mourn over the memory of zemroude, and recall the happy days we passed together." i left amadeddin upon the throne of moussul, and, accompanied only by a few slaves, and carrying an ample supply of riches and jewels, took the road to bagdad, where i arrived safely. i immediately repaired to mouaffac's house. his wife and he were not a little surprised to see me, and they were deeply affected when i informed them of the death of their daughter, whom they had tenderly loved. the recital unlocked the fountains of my own grief, and i mingled my tears with theirs. i did not stay long in bagdad, i joined a caravan of pilgrims going to mecca, and after paying my devotions, found, by chance, another company of pilgrims from tartary, whom i accompanied to their native country. we arrived in this city; i found the place agreeable, and took up my abode here, where i have resided for nearly forty years. i am thought to be a stranger who was formerly concerned in trade, and whose time is now passed in study and contemplation. i lead a retired life, and rarely see strangers. zemroude is ever present to my thoughts, and my only consolation consists in dwelling fondly upon her memory and her virtues. continuation of the story of prince khalaf and the princess of china. al abbas, having finished the recital of his adventures, thus addressed his guests: "such is my history. you perceive by my misfortunes and your own, that human life is but as a reed, ever liable to be bent to the earth by the bleak blasts of misfortune. i will, however, confess to you that i have led a happy and quiet life ever since i have been in jaic; and that i by no means repent having abdicated the throne of moussul; for in the obscurity in which i now live, i have discovered peaceful and tranquil joys which i never experienced before." timurtasch, elmaze, and khalaf bestowed a thousand flattering encomiums upon the son of ben-ortoc; the khan admired the resolution which had caused him to deprive himself of his kingdom, in order to live in privacy in a country of strangers, where the station which he had filled in the world was unknown. elmaze praised the fidelity he displayed towards zemroude, and the grief he experienced at her death. and khalaf remarked, "my lord, it were to be wished that all men could display the same constancy in adversity which you have done, under your misfortunes." they continued their conversation till it was time to retire. al abbas then summoned his slaves, who brought wax-lights in candlesticks made of aloe-wood, and conducted the khan, the princess, and her son to a suite of apartments, where the same simplicity reigned that characterized the rest of the house. elmaze and timurtasch retired to sleep in a chamber appropriated to themselves, and khalaf to another. the following morning their host entered the chamber of his guests as soon as they were up, and said, "you are not the only unfortunate persons in the world; i have just been informed that an ambassador from the sultan of carisma arrived in the city last evening; that his master has sent him to ileuge-khan, to beg of him not only to refuse an asylum to the khan of the nagäis, his enemy, but if the khan should endeavour to pass through his dominions, to arrest him. indeed, it is reported," pursued al abbas, "that the unfortunate khan, for fear of falling into the hands of the sultan of carisma, has left his capital and fled with his family." at this news, timurtasch and khalaf changed colour, and the princess fainted. the swoon of elmaze, as well as the evident trouble of the father and son, instantly caused al abbas to suspect that his guests were not merchants. "i see," said he, as soon as the princess had recovered her senses, "that you take a deep interest in the misfortunes of the khan of the nagäis; indeed, if i may be permitted to tell you what i think, i believe you are yourselves the objects of the sultan of carisma's hatred." "yes, my lord," replied timurtasch, "we are, indeed, the victims for whose immolation he is thirsty. i am the khan of the nagäis, you behold my wife and my son; we should, indeed, be ungrateful, if we did not discover our position to you, after your generous reception, and the confidence you have reposed in us. i am encouraged even to hope, that by your counsels you will aid us to escape from the danger which threatens us." "your situation is most critical," replied the aged king of moussul; "i know ileuge-khan well, and, as he fears the sultan of carisma, i cannot doubt that, to please him, he will search for you every where. you will not be safe, either in my house or in any other in this city; the only resource left you, is to leave the country of jaic as speedily as possible, cross the river irtisch, and gain, with the utmost diligence, the frontiers of the tribe of the berlas." this advice pleased timurtasch, his wife, and son. al abbas had three horses instantly got ready, together with provisions for the journey, and giving them a purse filled with gold; "start immediately," said he, "you have no time to lose, by to-morrow, no doubt, ileuge-khan will cause search to be made for you every where." they returned their heartfelt thanks to the aged monarch, and then quitted jaic, crossed the irtisch, and joining company with a camel-driver, who was travelling that way, arrived after several days' journey in the territories of the tribe of berlas. they took up their quarters with the first horde they met, sold their horses, and lived quietly enough as long as their money lasted; but, as soon as it came to an end, the misery of the khan recommenced. "why am i still in the world?" he began to exclaim. "would it not have been better to have awaited my blood-thirsty foe in my own kingdom, and have died defending my capital, than to drag on a life which is only one continued scene of misery? it is in vain that we endure our misfortunes with patience; for, in spite of our submission to its decrees, heaven will never restore us to happiness, but leaves us still the sport of misery." "my lord," replied khalaf, "do not despair of our miseries coming to an end. heaven, which decrees these events, is preparing for us, i doubt not, some relief which we cannot foresee. let us proceed at once," added he, "to the principal horde of this tribe. i have a presentiment, that our fortunes will now assume a more favourable aspect." they all three proceeded accordingly to the horde with whom the khan of berlas resided. they entered a large tent which served as a refuge for poor strangers. here they laid themselves down, worn out with their journey, and at a loss at last to know how to obtain even the necessaries of life. khalaf, however, quietly slipt out of the tent, leaving his father and mother there, and went through the horde, asking charity of the passers-by. by the evening he had collected a small sum of money, with which he bought some provisions, and carried them to his parents. when they learned that their son had actually solicited charity, they could not refrain from tears. khalaf himself was moved by their grief, but cheerfully remarked, nevertheless, "i confess that nothing we have yet endured has appeared to me more mortifying than to be reduced to solicit alms; still, as at present i cannot procure you subsistence by any other means, is it not my duty to do it, in spite of the mortification it costs me? but," he added, as though struck with a sudden thought, "there is still another resource--sell me for a slave, and the money you will receive will last you a long time." "what do you say, my son?" cried timurtasch, when he heard these words. "can you propose to us that we should live at the expense of your liberty? ah! rather let us endure for ever our present misery. but if it should come to this, that one of us must be sold, let it be myself; i do not refuse to bear the yoke of servitude for you both." "my lord," said khalaf, "another thought strikes me; to-morrow morning i will take my station among the porters; some one may chance to employ me, and we may thus earn a living by my labour." they agreed to this, and the following day the prince stationed himself among the porters of the horde, and waited till some one should employ him; but unfortunately no one wanted him, so that half the day passed and he had not had a single job. this grieved him deeply. "if i am not more successful than this," thought he, "how am i to support my father and mother?" he grew tired of waiting among the porters on the chance of some person wanting his services. he went out of the encampment and strolled into the country, in order to turn over in his mind undisturbedly the best means of earning a livelihood. he sat down under a tree, where, after praying heaven to have pity on his perplexity, he fell asleep. when he woke he saw near him a falcon of singular beauty: its head was adorned with a tuft of gaudy feathers, and from its neck hung a chain of gold filigree-work set with diamonds, topazes, and rubies. khalaf, who understood falconry, held out his fist, and the bird alighted on it. the prince of the nagäis was delighted at the circumstance. "let us see," said he, "what this will lead to. this bird, from all appearance, belongs to the sovereign of the tribe." nor was he wrong. it was the favourite falcon of almguer, khan of berlas, who had lost it the previous day. his principal huntsmen were engaged at that moment in searching every where for it with the greatest diligence and uneasiness, for their master had threatened them with the severest punishments if they returned without his bird, which he loved passionately. prince khalaf returned to the encampment with the falcon. as soon as the people of the horde saw it, they began to cry out, "ha! here is the khan's falcon recovered. blessings on the youth who will make our prince rejoice by restoring him his bird." and so it turned out, for when khalaf arrived at the royal tent, and appeared with the falcon, the khan, transported with joy, ran to his bird and kissed it a thousand times. then addressing the prince of the nagäis, he asked him where he found it. khalaf related how he had recovered the falcon. the khan then said to him, "thou appearest to be a stranger amongst us; where wast thou born, and what is thy profession?" "my lord," replied khalaf, prostrating himself at the khan's feet, "i am the son of a merchant of bulgaria, who was possessed of great wealth. i was travelling with my father and mother in the country of jaic, when we were attacked by robbers, who stripped us of every thing but our lives, and we have found our way to this encampment actually reduced to beg our bread." "young man," replied the khan, "i am glad that it is thou who hast found my falcon; for i swore to grant to whomsoever should bring me my bird, whatever two things he might ask; so thou hast but to speak. tell me what thou desirest me to grant thee, and doubt not that thou shalt obtain it." "since i have permission to ask two things," returned khalaf, "i request in the first place that my father and mother, who are in the strangers' tent, may have a tent to themselves in the quarter where your highness resides, and that they may be supported during the rest of their days at your highness's expense, and waited on by officers of your highness's household; secondly, i desire to have one of the best horses in your highness's stables and a purse full of gold, to enable me to make a journey which i have in contemplation." "thy wishes shall be gratified," said almguer; "thou shalt bring thy father and mother to me, and from this day forth i will begin to entertain them as thou desirest; and to-morrow, dressed in rich attire, and mounted on the best horse in my stables, thou shalt be at liberty to go wherever it shall please thee. thy modesty, the filial love which is imprinted upon thy features, thy youth, thy noble air, please me; be my guest, come and join my festivities, and thou shalt listen to an arabian story-teller, whose knowledge and imaginative powers instruct and amuse my tribes." the khan and the son of timurtasch presently seated themselves at a table loaded with viands, confectionary, fruit, and flowers; gazelle venison, red-legged partridges, pheasants, and black cock were displayed as trophies of the skill of the hunter king. the arab stationed near the khan awaited his orders. "moustapha," said the khan at length, turning to the arab, "i have been extolling thy knowledge and wit to my guest; surpass thyself, and let him see that i have not exaggerated. he shall give thee a subject; treat it in such a manner as to deserve his praise." "i am curious," said the prince, "to hear of china; i ask thee to instruct me concerning the government of that important kingdom, and to give me an insight into the manners and customs of its people." the arab reflected a moment, and then, prefacing his recital with a few general remarks, proceeded to depict in glowing colours this celestial empire, whose civilization dates back to the remotest ages of the world. he described its extent as equal to one-half of the habitable globe; its population as so numerous that it might be counted by hundreds of millions; he spoke of cities, each of which alone brought a revenue to their crown, which surpassed that of entire kingdoms; of those gigantic works, the canals, whose extent equalled the course of the largest rivers, which traversed the vast empire. and he foretold that a time would come when tartar warriors should scale that very wall which the terror of their arms had caused to be built, and should again reconquer the whole of that wealthy tract. he then began his story as follows. the story of lin-in. a chinese tale. at wou-si, a town dependent upon the city of tchang-tcheou, in the province of kiang-nan, there resided a family in the middle sphere of life. three brothers composed the family; the name of the eldest was lin-in (the jasper); the second lin-pao (the precious); the youngest lin-tchin (the pearl); this last was not yet old enough to marry; the other two had taken wives to themselves. the wife of the first was named wang; the wife of the second yang; and both possessed every grace which can constitute the charm of woman. lin-pao's engrossing passions were gambling and wine; he evinced no inclination to good. his wife was of a similar disposition, and depraved in her conduct; she was very different from her sister-in-law wang, who was a pattern of modesty and propriety. so although these two women lived together on neighbourly terms, there was but little real sympathy between them. wang had a son named hi-eul, that is to say, "the son of rejoicing." he was a child of six years old. one day having stopped in the street with some other children, to look at a great procession in the neighbourhood, he was lost in the crowd, and in the evening did not return to the house. this loss caused the deepest sorrow to his parents. they had handbills posted up, and there was not a street in which they did not make inquiries, but all to no purpose; they could gain no intelligence respecting their darling child. lin-in was inconsolable; and giving way to the grief that overwhelmed him, he sought to fly from his home, where every thing brought back the remembrance of his dear hi-eul. he borrowed a sum of money from one of his friends to enable him to carry on a small trade in the neighbourhood of the city and the adjacent villages, hoping that in one of these short excursions he might be able to recover the treasure he had lost. as his whole thoughts were taken up with his child, he took little pleasure in the circumstance that his trade flourished. he nevertheless continued to pursue it during five years, without making long journeys from home, whither he returned every year to spend the autumn. at length, being utterly unsuccessful in discovering the least trace of his son after so many years, and concluding that he was lost to him for ever, and finding moreover that his wife wang bore him no more children, as he had now amassed a good sum of money, he determined to divert his thoughts from painful recollections by trading in another province. he joined the company of a rich merchant travelling the road he had fixed upon; and the merchant, having observed his aptitude for business, made him a very advantageous offer. the desire of becoming wealthy now took possession of him, and diverted his thoughts from their accustomed channel. within a very short time after their arrival in the province of chan-si every thing had succeeded to their utmost wishes. they found a quick sale for their merchandise, and the profits arising from it was considerable. the payments, however, were delayed for two years in consequence of a drought and famine which afflicted the country, as well as by a tedious illness by which lin-in was attacked. they were detained altogether three years in the province; after which, having recovered his money and his health, he took his departure to return to his own country. he halted one day during his journey near a place named tchin-lieou to recruit his strength, and strolling round the neighbourhood accidentally came upon a girdle of blue cloth, in the form of a long, narrow bag, such as is worn round the body, under the dress, and in which money is usually kept; as he took it up, he found the weight considerable. he retired to a quiet spot, opened the girdle, and found it contained about two hundred täels. at sight of this treasure he fell into the following train of reflection: "my good fortune has placed this sum in my hands; i might keep it and employ it for my own use without fearing any unpleasant consequences. still the person who has dropt it, the moment he discovers his loss, will be in great distress, and will return in haste to look for it. do they not say that our forefathers dared scarcely touch money found in this way; and if they picked it up, only did so with a view of restoring it to its owner? this appears to me a very praiseworthy custom, and i will imitate it, the more so as i am growing old and have no heir. of what benefit would money got by such means be to me?" whilst thus reasoning, he had wandered to some distance from the spot where he had found the money; he now, however, retraced his steps to the place, and waited there the whole day, to be ready in case the owner should return. nobody came, however, and the next day he continued his journey. after five days' travelling, he arrived in the evening at nan-sou-tcheou, and took up his quarters at an inn where several other merchants were staying. the conversation having turned upon the advantages of commerce, one of the company said, "five days ago, on leaving tchin-lieou, i lost two hundred täels, which i had in an inside girdle. i had taken it off, and placed it near me whilst i lay down to sleep, when a mandarin and his cortége chanced to pass by. i hastened to get out of the way for fear of insult, and in my hurry forgot to take up my money. it was only at night, as i was undressing to go to bed, that i discovered my loss. i felt sure that as the place where i lost my money was by the side of a well-frequented road, it would be useless to delay my journey for several days in order to look for what i should never find." every one condoled with him on his loss. lin-in asked him his name and place of abode. "your servant," replied the merchant, "is named tchin, and lives at yang-tcheou, where he has a shop and a large warehouse. may i be so bold in return to inquire to whom i have the honour of speaking?" lin-in told him his name, and said that he was an inhabitant of the town of wou-si. "my shortest road there," added he, "lies through yang-tcheou; and, if agreeable to you, i shall have much pleasure in your company so far." tchin acknowledged this politeness in a becoming manner. "most willingly," said he; "we will continue our journey together, and i esteem myself very fortunate in meeting with such an agreeable companion." the journey was not long, and they soon arrived at yang-tcheou. after the usual civilities, tchin invited his fellow-traveller to his house, and on their arrival there immediately ordered refreshments to be brought. whilst they were discussing their meal, lin-in managed to turn the conversation on the subject of the lost money. "what," he asked, "was the colour of the girdle which contained your money, and of what material was it made?" "it was of blue cloth," replied tchin; "and what would enable me to identify it is, that at one end the letter tchin, which is my name, is embroidered upon it in white silk." this description left no doubt as to the owner. lin-in, therefore, rejoined in a cheerful tone, "if i have asked you all these questions, it was merely because passing through tchin-lieou, i found a belt such as you describe." at the same time producing it, he added, "look if this is yours." "the very same," said tchin. whereupon lin-in politely restored it to its owner. tchin, overwhelmed with gratitude, pressed him to accept the half of the sum which it contained; but his entreaties were in vain, lin-in would receive nothing. "what obligations am i not under to you?" resumed tchin; "where else should i find such honesty and generosity?" he then ordered a splendid repast to be brought, over which they pledged each other with great demonstrations of friendship. tchin thought to himself, "where should i find a man of such probity as lin-in? men of his character are very scarce in these days. what! shall i receive from him such an act of kindness, and not be able to repay him? i have a daughter twelve years old; i must form an alliance with such an honest man. but has he got a son? on this point i am entirely ignorant." "my dear friend," said he, "how old is your son?" this question brought tears into the eyes of lin-in. "alas!" replied he, "i had but one, who was most dear to me. it is now eight years ago since my child, having run out of the house to see a procession pass by, disappeared; and from that day to this i have never been able to learn any thing of him; and, to crown my misfortune, my wife has not borne me any more children." upon hearing this, tchin appeared to think for a moment, then, continuing the conversation, said, "my brother and benefactor, of what age was the child when you lost him?" "about six years old," replied lin-in. "what was his name?" "we called him hi-eul," returned lin-in. "he had escaped all the dangers of the small-pox which had left no traces upon his countenance; his complexion was clear and florid." this description gave the greatest pleasure to tchin, and he could not prevent his satisfaction from displaying itself in his looks and manner. he immediately called one of his servants, to whom he whispered a few words. the servant, having made a gesture of obedience, retired into the interior of the house. lin-in, struck by the questions, and the joy which lit up the countenance of his host, was forming all sorts of conjectures, when he saw a youth of about fourteen years of age enter the room. he was dressed in a long gown, with a plain though neat jacket. his graceful form, his air and carriage, his face with its regular features, and his quick and piercing eyes, and finely arched black eyebrows, at once engaged the admiration and riveted the attention of lin-in. as soon as the youth saw the stranger seated at table, he turned towards him, made a low bow, and uttered some respectful words; then approaching tchin, and standing modestly before him, he said in a sweet and pleasing tone, "my father, you have called hi-eul; what are you pleased to command?" "i will tell you presently," replied tchin, "in the mean time stand beside me." the name of hi-eul, by which the youth called himself, excited fresh suspicions in the breast of lin-in. a secret sympathy suddenly forced itself upon him; and by one of those wonderful instincts of nature which are so unerring, recalled to his recollection the image of his lost child, his form, his face, his air, and manners; he beheld them all in the youth before him. there was but one circumstance that made him doubt the truth of his conjectures, and that was his addressing tchin by the name of 'father.' he felt it would be rude to ask tchin if the youth really were his son; perhaps he might truly be so, for it was not impossible that there might be two children bearing the same name, and in many respects resembling each other. lin-in, absorbed in these reflections, paid little attention to the good cheer placed before him. tchin could read on the countenance of lin-in the perplexing thoughts that filled his mind. an indescribable charm seemed to attract him irresistibly towards the youth. he kept his eyes constantly fixed upon him, he could not turn them away. hi-eul, on his part, despite his bashfulness and the timidity natural to his age, could not help gazing intently upon lin-in; it seemed as though nature was revealing his father to him. at length lin-in, no longer master of his feelings, suddenly broke the silence, and asked tchin if the youth really was his son. "i am not," replied tchin, "really his father, although i look upon him as my own child. eight years ago, a man passing through this city, leading this child in his hand, addressed me by chance, and begged me to assist him in his great need. 'my wife,' said he, 'is dead, and has left me with this child. the impoverished state of my affairs has compelled me to leave my native place, and go to hoaingan to my relations, from whom i hope to receive a sum of money, to enable me to set up in business again. i have not wherewith to continue my journey to that town, will you be so charitable as to lend me three täels? i will faithfully restore them on my return, and i will leave as a pledge all that i hold most dear in the world, my only son; i shall no sooner reach hoaingan, than i will return and redeem my dear child.' "i felt gratified by this mark of confidence, and i gave him the sum he asked. as he left me he burst into tears, and gave every evidence of the grief he felt in leaving his child. i was, however, surprised that the child did not exhibit the least emotion at the separation; as, however, time wore on, and the pretended father did not return, suspicions began to rise, which i was anxious to set at rest. i called the child, and by various questions i put to him, learned that he was born in wou-si, that having one day run out to see a procession pass by, he had strayed too far from home, and lost his way, and that he had been trepanned and carried off by a stranger. he also told me the name of his father and mother; indeed, it is that of your own family. i thus discovered that the fellow, so far from being the father of the poor child, was the identical rascal who had carried him off. not only was my compassion excited, but the boy's pleasing manners had entirely won my heart; i treated him from that time as one of my own children, and i sent him to college with my own son, to study with him. i have often entertained the plan of going to wou-si, to inquire after his family. but business of some kind always prevented me from undertaking the journey, of which, however, i had never fully relinquished the idea; when, happily, a few moments ago, you chanced in the course of conversation to mention your son, my suspicions were aroused, and upon the extraordinary coincidence of your tale, and the circumstances of which i was acquainted, i sent for your child to see if you would recognize him." at these words hi-eul wept for joy, and his tears caused those of lin-in to flow copiously. "a peculiar mark," said he, "will prove his identity; a little above the left knee you will find a small black spot, which has been there from his birth." hi-eul pulled up the leg of his trouser, and showed the spot in question. lin-in, on seeing it, threw himself upon the neck of the child, covered him with kisses, and folded him in his arms. "my child," cried he, "my dear child, what happiness for your father to find you after so many years' absence." it is not difficult to conceive to what transports of joy the father and son delivered themselves up, during these first moments of pleasure. after a thousand tender embraces, lin-in at length tore himself from the arms of his son, and made a profound obeisance to tchin. "what gratitude do i not owe you," said he, "for having received my son into your house, and brought up this dear portion of myself with so much care. but for you we should never have been united." "my kind benefactor," replied tchin, rising, "it was the act of disinterested generosity you practised towards me, in restoring the two hundred täels, which moved the compassion of heaven. it is heaven that conducted you to my house, where you have found him whom you sought in vain for so many years. now that i know that good youth is your son, i regret that i have not treated him with greater consideration." "kneel, my son," said lin-in, "and thank your generous benefactor." tchin was about to return these salutations, when lin-in himself prevented him, overcome with this excess of respect. this interchange of civilities being over they resumed their seats, and tchin placed little hi-eul on a seat by his father's side. then tchin resuming the conversation, said, "my brother (for henceforth that is the title by which i shall address you), i have a daughter twelve years of age, and it is my intention to give her in marriage to your son, in order that the union may cement our friendship more closely." this proposition was made in so sincere and ardent a manner, that lin-in did not feel it right to make the usual excuses that good breeding prescribed. he therefore waived all ceremony, and gave his consent at once. as it was growing late, they separated for the night. hi-eul slept in the same chamber with his father. you may imagine all the tender and affectionate conversation that passed between them during the night. the next day lin-in prepared to take leave of his host, but he could not resist his pressing invitation to remain. tchin had prepared a second day's festivity, in which he spared no expense to regale the future father-in-law of his daughter, and his new son-in-law, and thereby to console himself for their departure. they drank and sang, and gave themselves up fully to the hilarity of the occasion. when the repast was ended, tchin drew out a packet of twenty täels, and looking towards lin-in, said, "during the time my dear son-in-law has been with me, it is possible he may have suffered many things against my wish, and unknown to me; here is a little present i wish to make him, until i can give him more substantial proofs of my affection. i will not hear of a refusal." "what!" replied lin-in, "at a time when i am contracting an alliance so honourable to me, and when i ought, according to custom, to make marriage presents for my son, presents which i am prevented from doing at this moment, only because i am travelling, do you load me with gifts? i cannot accept them; the thought covers me with confusion." "well!" replied tchin, "i am not dreaming of offering _you_ such a trifle. it is for my son-in-law, not the father-in-law of my daughter, that i intend this present. indeed, if you persist in the refusal, i shall consider it as a sign that the alliance is not agreeable to you." lin-in saw that he must yield, and that resistance would be useless. he humbly accepted the present, and making his son rise from table, ordered him to make a profound reverence to tchin. "what i have given you," said tchin, raising him up, "is but a trifle, and deserves no thanks." hi-eul then went into the house to pay his respects to his mother-in-law. the whole day passed in feasting and diversions; it was only at night that they separated. when lin-in retired to his chamber, he gave himself up entirely to the reflections to which these events gave rise. "it must be confessed," cried he, "that by restoring the two hundred täels, i have done an action pleasing to heaven, and now i am rewarded by the happiness of finding my child, and contracting so honourable an alliance. this is, indeed, joy upon joy; it is like putting gold flowers upon a beautiful piece of silk. how can i be sufficiently grateful for so many favours? here are the twenty täels that my friend tchin has given me; can i do better than employ them towards the maintenance of some virtuous bonzes? it will be sowing them in a soil of blessings." the next day, after breakfast, the father and son got ready their luggage, and took leave of their host; they proceeded to the quay, hired a boat, and commenced their journey. they had scarcely gone half a league, ere they came in sight of a scene of terrible excitement; the river was full of struggling people, whose cries rent the air. a bark, full of passengers, had just sunk, and the cries of the unfortunate creatures for help were heart-rending! the people on the shore called loudly to several small boats which were near to come to the rescue. but the hard-hearted and selfish boatmen demanded that a good sum should be guaranteed them, before they would bestir themselves. at this critical moment lin-in's boat came up. the moment he perceived what was going on, he said to himself: "it is a much more meritorious action to save the life of a man, than to adorn the temples and support bonzes. let us consecrate the twenty täels to this good work; let us succour these poor drowning souls." he instantly proclaimed that he would give the twenty täels amongst those who would take the drowning men into their boats. at this offer all the boatmen crowded towards the scene of the disaster, and the river was, in a moment, covered with their boats; at the same time, some of the spectators on shore, who knew how to swim, threw themselves into the water, and, in a few moments, all were saved, without exception. lin-in then distributed amongst the boatmen the promised reward. the poor creatures, snatched from a watery grave, came in a body to return thanks to their preserver. one amongst them, having looked attentively at lin-in, suddenly cried out, "what! is that you, my eldest brother? by what good luck do i find you here?" lin-in, turning towards him, recognized his youngest brother, lin-tchin. then, transported with joy, he exclaimed, clasping his hands, "o wonderful circumstance! heaven has led me hither to save my brother's life." he instantly reached out his hand to him, and made him come into his boat, helped him off with his wet clothes, and gave him others. as soon as lin-tchin had sufficiently recovered, he paid the respects due to an elder brother which good breeding demands from a younger, and lin-in, having acknowledged his politeness, called hi-eul, who was in the cabin, to come and salute his uncle; he then recounted all his adventures, which threw lin-tchin into a state of amazement, from which he was a long time in recovering. "but tell me," said lin-in, at length, "your motive in coming to this country." "it is not possible," replied lin-tchin, "to tell you in a few words the reason of my travels. in the course of the three years which have elapsed since your departure from home, the melancholy news of your death from illness reached us. my second brother made every inquiry, and assured himself that the report was true. it was a thunderbolt for my sister-in-law; she was inconsolable, and put on the deepest mourning. for my part, i could not give credit to the report. after a few days had elapsed, my second brother tried all in his power to induce my sister-in-law to contract a fresh marriage. she, however, steadily rejected the proposal; at length she prevailed upon me to make a journey to chan-si, to ascertain upon the spot what had become of you; and, when i least expected it, at the point of perishing in the water, the very person i was in search of, my well-beloved brother, has saved my life. is not this unexpected good fortune, a blessing from heaven? but believe me, my brother, there is no time to be lost; make all possible haste to return home, and to put an end to my sister-in-law's grief. the least delay may cause an irreparable misfortune." lin-in, overwhelmed at this news, sent for the captain of the boat, and, although it was late, ordered him to set sail, and continue the voyage during the night. whilst all these events were happening to lin-in, wang, his wife, was a prey to the most poignant grief. a thousand circumstances led her to suspect that her husband was not dead; but lin-pao, who by that reported death became the head of the family, so positively assured her that it was true, that, at last, she had allowed herself to be persuaded into that belief, and had assumed the widow's weeds. lin-pao possessed a bad heart, and was capable of the most unworthy acts. "i have no doubt," said he, "of my elder brother's death. my sister-in-law is young and handsome; she has, besides, no one to support her; i must force her to marry again, and i shall make money by this means." he thereupon communicated his plan to yang, his wife, and ordered her to employ some clever matchmaker. but wang resolutely rejected the proposal; she vowed that she would remain a widow, and honour the memory of her husband by her widowhood. her brother-in-law, lin-tchin, supported her in her resolution. thus all the artifices which lin-pao and his wife employed were useless; and, as every time they urged her on the subject it occurred to her that they had no positive proof of his death, "i am determined," said she, at length, "to know the truth; these reports are often false; it is only on the very spot that certain information can be obtained. true, the distance is nearly a hundred leagues. still, i know that lin-tchin is a good-hearted man; he will travel to the province of chan-si to relieve my anxiety, and learn positively if i am so unfortunate as to have lost my husband; and, if i have, he will, at least, bring me his precious remains." lin-tchin was asked to undertake the journey, and, without a moment's hesitation, departed. his absence, however, only rendered lin-pao more eager in the pursuit of his project. to crown the whole, he had gambled very deeply, and, having been a heavy loser, was at his wit's end to know where to obtain money. in this state of embarrassment, he met with a merchant of kiang-si, who had just lost his wife, and was looking for another. lin-pao seized upon the opportunity, and proposed his sister-in-law to him. the merchant accepted the offer, taking care, however, to make secret inquiries whether the lady who was proposed to him was young and good-looking. as soon as he was satisfied on these points, he lost no time, and paid down thirty täels to clinch the bargain. lin-pao, having taken the money, said to the merchant, "i ought to warn you, that my sister-in-law is proud and haughty. she will raise many objections to leaving the house, and you will have a great deal of trouble to force her to do it. now this will be your best plan for managing it. this evening, as soon as it gets dark, have a palanquin and good strong bearers in readiness; come with as little noise as possible, and present yourself at the door of the house. the young woman who will come to the door, attired in the head-dress of mourners, is my sister-in-law; don't say a word to her, and don't listen to what she may say, but seize her at once, thrust her into your palanquin, carry her to your boat, and set sail at once." this plan met with the approbation of the merchant, and its execution appeared easy enough of accomplishment. in the mean time, lin-pao returned home, and, in order to prevent his sister-in-law from suspecting any thing of the project he had planned, he assumed an air of the most perfect indifference, but as soon as she left the room, he communicated his plans to his wife, and, alluding to his sister-in-law, in a contemptuous manner, said, "that two-legged piece of goods must leave this house to-night. however, not to be a witness of her tears and sighs, i shall go out beforehand, and, as it gets dark, a merchant of kiang-si will come, and take her away in a palanquin to his boat." he would have continued the conversation, when he heard the footsteps of some person outside the window, and went hurriedly away. in his haste he forgot to mention the circumstance of the mourning dress. it was doubtless an interposition of providence that this circumstance was omitted. the lady wang easily perceived that the noise she made outside the window had caused lin-pao to break off the conversation suddenly. the tone of his voice plainly showed that he had something more to say; but she had heard enough; for having remarked by his manner that he had some secret to tell his wife when he entered the house, she had pretended to go away, but listening at the window had heard these words distinctly, "they will take her away and put her into a palanquin." these words strongly fortified her suspicions. her resolution was taken at once. she entered the room, and approaching yang, gave utterance to her anxiety. "my sister-in-law," said she, "you behold an unfortunate widow, who is bound to you by the strongest ties of a friendship which has been always sincere. by this long-standing friendship i conjure you to tell me candidly whether my brother-in-law still persists in his design of forcing me into a marriage that would cover me with disgrace." at these words yang at first appeared confused, and changed colour; then, assuming a more confident expression, "what are you thinking of?" she asked, "and what fancies have you got into your head? if there were any intention of making you marry again, do you think there would be any difficulty? what is the good of throwing oneself into the water before the ship is really going to pieces?" the moment the lady wang heard this allusion to the ship, she understood more clearly the meaning of the secret conference of her brother-in-law with his wife. she now suspected the worst, and gave vent to her lamentations and sighs; and yielding to the current of her grief, she shut herself up in her room, where she wept, groaned, and bewailed her hard lot. "unfortunate wretch that i am," cried she, "i do not know what has become of my husband. lin-tchin, my brother-in-law and friend, upon whom alone i can rely, is gone on a journey. my father, mother, and relations live far from hence. if this business is hurried on, how shall i be able to inform them of it? i can hope for no assistance from our neighbours. lin-pao has made himself the terror of the whole district, and every body knows him to be capable of the greatest villany. miserable creature that i am! how can i escape his snares? if i do not fall into them to-day, it may be to-morrow, or at any rate in a very short time." she fell to the ground half dead; her fall, and the violence of her grief, made a great noise. the lady yang, hearing the disturbance, hastened to her room, and finding the door firmly fastened, concluded that it was a plan of her distracted sister-in-law to evade the scheme of the night; she therefore seized a bar which stood by and broke the door open. as she entered the room, the night being very dark, she caught her feet in the clothes of the lady wang, and fell tumbling over her. in her fall she lost her head-dress, which flew to some distance, and the fright and fall brought on a faint, in which she remained for some time. when she recovered she got up, went for a light, and returned to the room, where she found the lady wang stretched on the floor, without motion and almost without breath. at the moment she was going to procure other assistance, she heard a gentle knock at the door. she knew it must be the merchant of kiang-si come to fetch the wife he had bought. she quickly ran to receive him and bring him into the room, that he might himself be witness of what had occurred; but remembering that she had no head-dress, and that she was unfit to present herself in that state, she hastily caught up the one she found at her feet, which was the lady wang's head-dress of mourning, and ran to the door. it was indeed the merchant of kiang-si, who had come to fetch away his promised bride. he had a bridal palanquin, ornamented with silk flags, festoons, flowers, and several gay lanterns; it was surrounded by servants bearing lighted torches, and by a troop of flute and hautboy-players. the whole cortége was stationed in the street in perfect silence. the merchant, having knocked gently and finding the door open, entered the house with some of those who bore torches to light him. upon the lady yang's appearance, the merchant, who spied at a glance the mourning head-dress, which was the mark by which he was to distinguish his bride, flew upon her like a hungry kite upon a sparrow. his followers rushed in, carried off the lady, and shut her into the palanquin, which was all ready to receive her. it was in vain she endeavoured to make herself heard, crying out, "you are mistaken; it is not me you want." the music struck up as she was forced into the palanquin, and drowned her voice, whilst the bearers flew rather than walked, and bore her to the boat. [illustration: the lady yang carried off in the palanquin, p. .] whilst all this was taking place, the lady wang had gradually revived and come to her senses. the great hubbub she heard at the door of the house renewed her fears, and occasioned her the most painful anxiety; but as she found that the noise of music, and the tumult of voices, which had arisen so suddenly died gradually away in the distance, she regained her courage, and after a few minutes summoned up strength to go and inquire what was the matter. after calling her sister-in-law two or three times without effect, the truth began to dawn on her; and after considering the matter carefully, she could only come to the conclusion that the merchant had made a mistake, and had carried off the wrong lady. but now a fresh cause of uneasiness arose; she dreaded the consequences when lin-pao should return and be informed of the mistake. she shut herself up in her room, and after picking up the head-pins, the earrings, and the head-dress, which were lying on the floor, threw herself, quite worn out with fatigue and anxiety, on her couch, and endeavoured to get a little sleep, but she was not able to close her eyes all night. at daybreak she rose and bathed her face, and proceeded to complete her toilet. as, however, she was searching about for her mourning head-dress, some one began making a great noise at the room-door, knocking loudly and crying out, "open the door instantly!" it was, in fact, lin-pao himself. she recognized the voice at once. she made up her mind at once what to do; she let him go on knocking without answering him. he swore, stormed and bawled, till he was hoarse. at length the lady wang went to the door, and standing behind it without opening it, asked, "who is knocking there, and making such a disturbance?" lin-pao, who recognized the voice of his sister-in-law, began to shout still louder: but seeing that his storming had no effect, he had recourse to an expedient which proved successful. "sister-in-law," said he, "i have brought you good news! lin-tchin, my youngest brother, has come back, and our eldest brother is in excellent health; open the door at once!" overjoyed at this intelligence, the lady wang ran to complete her toilet, and in her haste put on the black[ ] head-dress that her sister-in-law had left behind, and eagerly opened the door; but, alas! in vain did she look for her friend lin-tchin; no one was there but lin-pao. he entered her room hurriedly and looked round, but not seeing his wife, and perceiving a black head-dress on the head of his sister-in-law, his suspicions began to be excited in a strange manner. "well! where is your sister-in-law?" he asked roughly. "you ought to know better than i," replied the lady wang, "since you had the whole management of this admirable plot." "but tell me," returned lin-pao, "why don't you still wear a white head-dress? have you left off mourning?" the lady wang forthwith proceeded to relate to him all that had happened during his absence. just at this moment he caught sight through the window of four or five persons hurrying towards his house. to his utter astonishment he perceived that they were his eldest brother lin-in, his youngest brother lin-tchin, his nephew hi-eul, and two servants carrying their luggage. lin-pao, thunderstruck at this sight, and not having impudence enough to face them, ran off by the back-door, and disappeared like a flash of lightning. the lady wang was transported with joy at her husband's return. but who shall describe her ecstasies of joy when her son was presented to her? she could scarcely recognize him, so tall and handsome had he grown. "oh!" cried she, "by what good fortune did you recover our dear child, whom i thought we had lost for ever?" lin-in gave her in detail an account of his adventures; and the lady wang related at length all the indignities she had endured at the hands of lin-pao, and the extremities to which she had been reduced by his scandalous treatment. lin-in lavished on his wife encomiums which indeed her fidelity deserved; after which, reflecting on the whole chain of events by which the present meeting had been brought about, he seemed deeply moved, and remarked, "if a blind passion for wealth had caused me to keep the two hundred täels i found by accident, how should i have ever met with our dear child? if avarice had prevented me from employing the twenty täels in saving those drowning people, my dear brother would have perished in the waves, and i should never have seen him; if by an unlooked-for chance i had not met my kind-hearted brother, how should i have discovered the trouble and confusion that reigned in this house in time to prevent its disastrous consequences? but for all this, my beloved wife, we should never have seen each other again. i recognize the special interposition of providence in bringing about all these things. as to my other brother, that unnatural brother, who has unconsciously sold his own wife, he has drawn upon himself his own terrible punishment. heaven rewards men according to their deserts; let them not think to escape its judgments. "let us learn from this how profitable in the end, as well as good, it is to practise virtue; it is that alone which bestows lasting prosperity upon a house." in due course of time hi-eul brought home his bride, the daughter of tchin. the marriage was celebrated with great rejoicings, and proved a happy one. they had several children, and lived to see a crowd of grandchildren, several of whom became men of learning, and acquired important positions in the state. continuation of the story of prince khalaf and the princess of china. the prince applauded the narrative of the story-teller; and, dinner being over, he prostrated himself a second time before the khan, and, after thanking him for his goodness, returned to the tent, where elmaze and timurtasch were anxiously expecting him. "i bring you good news," said he to them; "our fortune has changed already." he then related to them all that had passed. this fortunate event caused them the greatest pleasure; they regarded it as an infallible sign that the hardness of their destiny was beginning to soften. they willingly followed khalaf, who conducted them to the royal tent and presented them to the khan. this prince received them with courtesy, and renewed to them the promise he had given to their son; and he did not fail to keep his word. he appointed them a private tent, caused them to be waited on by the slaves and officers of his household, and ordered them to be treated with the same respect as himself. the next day khalaf was arrayed in a rich dress; he received from the hand of almguer himself a sabre with a diamond hilt and a purse full of gold sequins; they then brought him a beautiful turcoman horse. he mounted before all the court; and to show that he understood the management of a horse, he made him go through all his paces and evolutions in a manner that charmed the prince and all his courtiers. after having thanked the khan for all his benefits, he took his leave. he then sought elmaze and timurtasch; and after some time spent in desultory conversation, proceeded to unfold to them a scheme which for some days past had been agitating his mind. "i have a great desire," said he, "to see the great kingdom of china; give me permission to gratify that wish. i have a presentiment that i shall signalize myself by some splendid action, and that i shall gain the friendship of the monarch who holds that vast empire under his sway. suffer me to leave you in this asylum, where you are in perfect safety, and where you can want for nothing. i am following an impulse which inspires me, or rather, i am yielding myself to the guidance of heaven." "go, my son," replied timurtasch; "yield to the noble impulse which animates you; hasten to the fortune that awaits you. accelerate by your valour the arrival of that tardy prosperity which must one day succeed our misfortunes, or by a glorious death deserve an illustrious place in the history of unfortunate princes." the young prince of the nagäis, after having embraced his father and mother, mounted upon his beautiful charger, took a respectful leave of the khan, received from the hand of the princess elmaze, who came out of her tent for the purpose, the parting cup, and set out on his journey. historians do not mention that he encountered any thing worthy notice on his route; they only say that, having arrived at the great city canbalac, otherwise pekin, he dismounted at a house near the gate, where a worthy woman, a widow, lived. khalaf reined up his horse here, and on the widow presenting herself at the door, he saluted her and said, "my good mother, would you kindly receive a stranger? if you could give me a lodging in your house, i can venture to say that you will have no cause to regret it." the widow scrutinized him; and judging from his good looks, as well as from his dress, that he was no mean guest, she made him a low bow, and replied, "young stranger of noble bearing, my house is at your service, and all that it contains." "have you also a place where i can put my horse?" "yes," said she, "i have," and called a young slave, who took the horse by the bridle, and led him into a small stable behind the house. khalaf, who felt very hungry, then asked her if she would kindly send and buy something for him in the market. the widow replied, that she had a maiden who lived with her, and who would execute his orders. the prince then drew from his purse a sequin of gold and placed it in the girl's hand, who went off to the market. in the mean time, the widow had enough to do to answer the inquiries of khalaf. he asked her a thousand questions; what were the customs of the inhabitants of the city? how many families pekin was said to contain? and, at length, the conversation fell upon the king of china. "tell me, i pray you," said khalaf, "what is the character this prince bears. is he generous, and do you think that he would pay any regard to a young stranger, who might offer to serve him against his enemies? in a word, is he a man to whose interests i could worthily attach myself?" "doubtless," replied the widow; "he is an excellent prince, who loves his subjects as much as he is beloved by them, and i am surprised that you have never heard of our good king, altoun-khan, for the fame of his justice and liberality is spread far and wide." "from the favourable picture you draw of him," replied the prince of the nagäis, "i should imagine that he ought to be the happiest and most prosperous monarch in the world." "he is not so, however," replied the widow; "indeed, he may be said to be the most wretched. in the first place, he has no prince to succeed him on his throne; a male heir is denied him, notwithstanding all the prayers of himself and his subjects, and all the good deeds he performs to that end. but i must tell you, the grief of having no son is not his greatest trouble; what principally disturbs the peace of his life is the princess tourandocte, his only daughter." "how is it," replied khalaf, "that she is such a source of grief to him?" "i will tell you," replied the widow; "and, indeed, i can speak upon the subject from the very best authority; for my daughter has often told me the story and she has the honour of being among the attendants on the princess." "the princess tourandocte," continued the hostess of the prince of the nagäis, "is in her nineteenth year; she is so beautiful, that the artists to whom she has sat for her portrait, although the most expert in the east, have all confessed that they were ashamed of their efforts; and that the most able painter in the world, and the best skilled in delineating the charms of a beautiful face, could not express those of the princess of china; nevertheless, the different portraits which have been taken of her, although infinitely inferior to the original, have produced the most disastrous consequences. "she combines, with her ravishing beauty, a mind so cultivated, that she not only understands all that is usual for persons in her station to know, but is mistress of sciences suited only for the other sex. she can trace the various characters of several languages, she is acquainted with arithmetic, geography, philosophy, mathematics, law, and, above all, theology, she knows the laws and moral philosophy of our great legislator, berginghuzin; in fact, is as learned as all the wise men put together. but her good qualities are effaced by a hardness of heart without parallel, and all her accomplishments are tarnished by detestable cruelty. "it is now two years ago since the king of thibet sent to ask her in marriage for his son, who had fallen in love with her from a portrait he had seen. altoun-khan, delighted with the prospect of this alliance, proposed it to tourandocte. the haughty princess, to whom all men appeared despicable, so vain had her beauty rendered her, rejected the proposal with disdain. the king flew into a violent rage with her, and declared that he would be obeyed; but instead of submitting dutifully to the wishes of her father, she burst into bitter lamentations, because he showed a disposition to force her to comply; she grieved immoderately, as though it were intended to inflict a great injury upon her; in fact, she took it so much to heart that she fell seriously ill. the physicians, who soon discovered the secret of her complaint, told the king that all their remedies were useless, and that the princess would certainly lose her life, if he persisted in his resolution to make her espouse the prince of thibet. "the king then, who loves his daughter to distraction, alarmed at the danger she was in, went to see her, and assured her that he would send back the ambassador with a refusal. 'that is not enough, my lord,' replied the princess; 'i am resolved to die, except you grant what i ask you. if you wish me to live, you must bind yourself by an inviolable oath never to try to influence my wishes in this matter, and to publish a decree declaring that of all the princes who may seek my hand, none shall be allowed to espouse me who shall not previously have replied, without hesitation, to the questions which i shall put to him before all the learned men in this city; that if his answers prove satisfactory, i will consent to his becoming my husband, but if the reverse, that he shall lose his head in the court-yard of your palace.' "'by this edict,' added she, 'of which all the foreign princes who may arrive at pekin shall be informed, you will extinguish all desire of asking me in marriage; and that is exactly what i wish, for i hate men, and do not wish to be married.' "'but, my child,' said the king, 'if by chance some one should present himself, and reply to your questions?'-- "'ha! i do not fear that,' she said quickly, interrupting him; 'i can put questions which would puzzle the most learned doctors; i am willing to run that risk.' "altoun-khan pondered over what the princess demanded of him. 'i see clearly,' thought he, 'that my daughter does not wish to marry, and the effect of this edict will be to frighten away all lovers. i run no risk, therefore, in yielding to her fancies, no evil can come of it. what prince would be mad enough to face such danger?' "at length the king, persuaded that this edict would not be followed by any bad results, and that the recovery of his daughter entirely depended upon it, caused it to be published, and swore upon the laws of berginghuzin to see that it was observed to the letter. tourandocte, reassured by this oath, which she knew her father dare not violate, regained her strength, and was soon restored to perfect health. "in spite of the decree, the fame of her beauty attracted several young princes to pekin. it was in vain that they were informed of the nature of the edict; and as every body, but particularly a young prince, entertains a good opinion of himself, they had the hardihood to present themselves to reply to the questions of the princess; and not being able to fathom her deep meaning, they perished miserably one after another. "the king, to do him justice, appears deeply afflicted with their sad fate. he repents of having made the oath which binds him; and however tenderly he may love his daughter, he would now almost rather he had let her die than have saved her life at such a price. he does all in his power to prevent these evils. when a lover whom the decree cannot restrain comes to demand the hand of the princess, he strives to deter him from his purpose; and he never consents, but with the deepest regret, to his exposing himself to the chance of losing his life. but it generally happens that he is unable to dissuade these rash young men. they are infatuated with tourandocte, and the hope of possessing her blinds them to the difficulty of obtaining her. "but if the king shows so much grief at the ruin of the unfortunate princes, it is not the case with his barbarous daughter. she takes a pride in these spectacles of blood with which her beauty periodically furnishes the chinese. so great is her vanity, that she considers the most accomplished prince not only unworthy of her, but most insolent in daring to raise his thoughts towards her, and she looks upon his death as a just chastisement for his temerity. "but what is still more deplorable, heaven is perpetually permitting princes to come and sacrifice themselves to this inhuman princess. only the other day, a prince, who flattered himself that he had knowledge enough to reply to her questions, lost his life; and this very night another is to die, who, unfortunately, came to the court of china with the same hopes." khalaf was deeply attentive to the widow's story. "i cannot understand," said he, after she had ceased speaking, "how any princes can be found sufficiently devoid of judgment to come and ask the hand of the princess of china. what man would not be terrified at the condition without which he cannot hope to obtain her? besides, despite what the artists may say who have painted her portrait; although they may affirm that their productions are but an imperfect image of her beauty, my firm belief is that they have added charms, and that their portraits exaggerate her beauty, since they have produced such powerful effects; indeed, i cannot think that tourandocte is so beautiful as you say." "sir," replied the widow, "she is more lovely by far than i have described her to you; and you may believe me, for i have seen her several times when i have gone to the harem to visit my daughter. draw upon your fancy as you please, collect in your imagination all that can possibly be brought together in order to constitute a perfect beauty, and be assured that even then you would not have pictured to yourself an object which could approach the perfections of the princess." the prince of the nagäis could not credit the story of the widow, so overdrawn did he consider it; he felt, nevertheless, a secret pleasure for which he could not account. "but, my mother," said he, "are the questions which the king's daughter proposes so difficult of solution that it is impossible to reply to them to the satisfaction of the lawyers who are judges? for my part, i cannot help thinking that the princes who were not able to penetrate the meaning of her questions, must have been persons of very little ingenuity, if not absolutely ignorant." "no, no!" replied the widow. "there is no enigma more obscure than the questions of the princess, and it is almost impossible to reply to them." whilst they were conversing thus of tourandocte and her lovers, the girl arrived from the market loaded with provisions. khalaf sat down to a table which the widow had prepared, and ate like a man famishing with hunger. whilst thus engaged the night drew on, and they heard shortly in the town the gong of justice. the prince asked what the noise meant. "it is to give notice to the people," replied the widow, "that some person is going to be executed; and the unfortunate victim about to be immolated is the prince of whom i told you, and who is to be executed to-night for not being able to answer the princess's questions. it is customary to punish the guilty during the day, but this is an exceptional case. the king, who in his heart abhors the punishment which he causes to be inflicted upon the lovers of his daughter, will not suffer the sun to be witness of such a cruel action." the son of timurtasch had a wish to see this execution, the cause of which appeared so singular to him. he went out of the house, and meeting a crowd of chinese in the street animated by the same curiosity, he mixed with them, and went to the court-yard of the palace, where the tragic scene was to be enacted. he beheld in the middle of the yard a _schebt-cheraghe_, in other words a very high wooden tower, the outside of which, from the top to the bottom, was covered with branches of cypress, amongst which a prodigious quantity of lamps, tastefully arranged, spread a brilliant light around, and illuminated the whole court-yard. fifteen cubits from the tower a scaffold was raised, covered with white satin, and around the scaffold were arranged several pavilions of taffetas of the same colour open towards the scaffold. behind these two thousand soldiers of the guard of altoun-khan were stationed, with drawn swords and axes in their hands, forming a double rank, which served as a barrier against the people. khalaf was looking with deep attention at all that presented itself to his view, when suddenly the mournful ceremony commenced. it was ushered in by a confused noise of drums and bells, which proceeded from the town, and could be heard at a great distance. at the same moment twenty mandarins and as many judges, all dressed in long robes of white woollen cloth, emerged from the palace, advanced towards the scaffold, and after walking three times around it, took their places under the pavilions. next came the victim, crowned with flowers interwoven with cypress leaves, and with a blue fillet round his head,--not a red one, such as criminals condemned by justice wear. he was a young prince, who had scarcely reached his eighteenth year; he was accompanied by a mandarin leading him by the hand, and followed by the executioner. the three ascended the scaffold; instantly the noise of the drums and bells ceased. the mandarin then addressed the prince in a tone so loud that he was heard by nearly the whole concourse of people. "prince," said he, "is it not true that you were apprised of the terms of the king's edict before you presented yourself to ask the princess in marriage? is it not also true that the king himself used all his endeavours to dissuade you from your rash resolution?" the prince, having replied in the affirmative, "acknowledge, then," continued the mandarin, "that it is by your own fault that you lose your life to-day, and that the king and princess are not guilty of your death." "i pardon them," returned the prince; "i impute my death to myself alone, and i pray heaven not to require of them my blood which is about to be shed." he had scarcely finished these words, when the executioner swept off his head with one stroke of the sword. the air instantly resounded with the noise of the drums and the bells. then twelve mandarins took up the body, laid it in a coffin of ivory and ebony, and placed it upon a litter, which six of them bore away upon their shoulders into the gardens of serail. here they deposited it under a dome of white marble, which the king had ordered to be erected purposely to be the resting-place of all those unfortunate princes who should share the same fate. he often retired there to weep upon the tombs of those who were buried within it, and tried, by honouring their ashes with his tears, in some measure to atone for the barbarity of his child. as soon as the mandarins had carried away the body of the prince who had just suffered, the people and all the councillors retired to their homes, blaming the king for having had the imprudence to sanction such barbarity by an oath that he could not break. khalaf remained in the court-yard of the palace in a state of bewilderment; he noticed a man near him weeping bitterly; he guessed that it was some person who was deeply interested in the execution that had just taken place, and wishing to know more about it, addressed him in these words: "i am deeply moved," said he, "by the lively grief you exhibit, and i sympathize in your troubles, for i cannot doubt that you were intimately acquainted with the prince who has just suffered." "ah! sir," replied the mourner, with a fresh outburst of grief, "i ought indeed to know him, for i was his tutor. o unhappy king of samarcand!" added he, "what will be thy grief when thou shalt be told of the extraordinary death of thy son? and who shall dare to carry thee the news?" khalaf asked by what means the prince of samarcand had become enamoured of the princess of china. "i will tell you," replied the tutor: "and you will doubtless be astonished at the recital i am about to make. the prince of samarcand," pursued he, "lived happily at his father's court. the court looked upon him as a prince who would one day be their sovereign, and they studied to please him as much as the king himself. he usually passed the day in hunting and playing at ball, and at night he assembled secretly in his apartments the distinguished youth of the court, with whom he drank all sorts of liquors. he sometimes amused himself by seeing the beautiful slaves dance, or by listening to music and singing. in a word, his life was passed in a constant round of pleasure. "one day a famous painter arrived at samarcand with several portraits of princesses which he had painted in the different courts through which he had passed. he showed them to my prince, who, looking at the first he presented, said, 'these are very beautiful pictures; i am certain that the originals are under a deep obligation to you.' "'my lord,' replied the artist, 'i confess that in these portraits i have somewhat flattered the sitters; but i crave permission to tell you that i have one far more beautiful than these, which does not approach the original.' saying this, he drew from the case which contained his portraits that of the princess of china. "scarcely had my master looked at it, when not conceiving that nature was capable of producing so perfect a beauty, he exclaimed that there was not in the world a woman of such exquisite loveliness, and that the portrait of the princess of china was more flattering than the others. the artist protested that it was not, and assured him that no pencil could convey an idea of the grace and beauty which shone in the countenance of the princess tourandocte. upon this assurance my master bought the portrait, which made so deep an impression on him, that, leaving the court of his father, he quitted samarcand, accompanied by me alone, and without informing any one of his intentions, took the road for china, and came to this city. he volunteered to serve altoun-khan against his enemies, and asked the hand of his daughter the princess. we were apprized of the severe edict connected with the proposal, but alas! my prince, instead of being dismayed by the severity of the conditions, conceived the liveliest joy. 'i will go,' said he, 'and present myself to answer the questions of tourandocte; i am not deficient in talent or ready wit, and i shall obtain the hand of the princess.' "it is needless to tell you the rest, sir," continued the tutor, sobbing; "you may judge by the mournful spectacle you have beheld that the unfortunate prince of samarcand was unable to answer, as he hoped, the fatal questions of this barbarous beauty, whose delight is to shed blood, and who has already been the means of sacrificing the lives of several kings' sons. a few moments before his death he gave me the portrait of this cruel princess. 'i entrust,' said he, 'this portrait to thee; guard carefully the precious deposit. thou hast but to show it to my father when thou informest him of my sad fate, and i doubt not that when he beholds so beautiful a face, he will pardon my temerity.' but," added the old man, "let any one else who pleases carry the sad news to the king his father; for my part, borne down by the weight of my affliction, i will go far from hence and samarcand, and mourn for my beloved charge. this is what you wished to know; and here is the dangerous portrait," pursued he, taking it from beneath his cloak and throwing it on the ground in a paroxysm of rage; "behold the cause of the sad fate of my prince. o execrable portrait! why had my master not my eyes when he took thee into his hands? o inhuman princess! may all the princes of the earth entertain for thee the same sentiments as those with which thou hast inspired me! instead of being the object of their love, thou wouldest then be their aversion." saying this, the tutor of the prince of samarcand retired full of rage, regarding the palace with a furious eye and without speaking another word to the son of timurtasch. the latter quickly picked up the portrait of tourandocte, and turned to retrace his steps to the house of the widow; but he missed his way in the darkness, and wandered heedlessly out of the city. he impatiently awaited the daylight to enable him to contemplate the beauty of the princess of china. as soon as the approach of dawn furnished him with sufficient light to satisfy his curiosity, he opened the case which contained the portrait. still he hesitated before he looked at it. "what am i about to do?" cried he; "ought i to disclose to my eyes so dangerous an object? think, khalaf, think of the direful effects it has caused; hast thou already forgotten what the tutor of the prince of samarcand has just narrated to thee? look not on this portrait; resist the impulse which urges thee, it is nothing more than a feeling of idle curiosity. whilst thou retainest thy reason thou canst prevent thy destruction. but what do i say? prevent," added he, checking himself; "with what false reasoning does my timid prudence inspire me. if i am to love the princess, is not my love already written in indelible characters in the book of fate. besides, i think that it is possible to look upon the most beautiful portrait with impunity; one must be weak, indeed, to be influenced by the sight of a vain array of colours. never fear; let us scan these surpassing and murderous features without emotion. i will even find defects, and taste the pleasure of criticizing the charms of this too beautiful princess; and i could wish, in order to mortify her vanity, that she might learn that i have looked upon her portrait without emotion." the son of timurtasch had fully made up his mind to look upon the portrait of tourandocte with an indifferent eye. he now casts his eyes on it, he regards it attentively, examines it, admires the contour of the countenance, the regularity of the features, the vivacity of the eyes,--the mouth, the nose, all appear perfect; he is surprised at so rare a combination of perfect features, and although still on his guard, he allows himself to be charmed. an inconceivable uneasiness takes possession of him in spite of himself; he can no longer understand his feelings. "what fire," said he, "has suddenly kindled itself in my bosom! what tumult has this portrait produced in my thoughts! merciful heaven, is it the lot of all those who look upon this portrait to become enamoured of this inhuman princess? alas! i feel but too surely that she has made the same impression upon me, as she did upon the unhappy prince of samarcand; i yield to the charms that wounded him, and far from being terrified by his melancholy fate, i could almost envy his very misfortune. what a change, gracious heaven! i could not conceive a short time ago, how one could be mad enough to despise the severity of the edict, and now i see nothing that frightens me, all the danger has vanished. "no! incomparable princess," pursued he, devouring the portrait with an enamoured gaze, "no obstacle can stop me, i love you spite of your barbarity; and since it is permitted to me to aspire to your possession, from this day i will strive to win you; if i perish in the bold attempt, i shall only feel in dying the grief of not being able to possess you." khalaf, having formed the resolve of demanding the hand of the princess, returned to the widow's house, a journey which cost him no little trouble, for he had rambled to some considerable distance during the night. "ah! my son," exclaimed his hostess, as soon as she beheld him, "i am so glad to see you, i was very uneasy about you, i feared some accident had befallen you; why did you not return earlier?" "my good mother," replied he, "i am sorry to have caused you any uneasiness, i missed my way in the darkness." he then related to her how he had met the tutor of the prince whom they had put to death, and did not fail to repeat to her all that he had told him. then showing her the portrait of tourandocte; "tell me," said he, "if this portrait is only an imperfect likeness of the princess of china; for my part, i cannot conceive that it is not equal to the original." "by the soul of the prophet jacmouny," cried the widow, after she had examined the portrait, "the princess is a thousand times more beautiful, and infinitely more charming than she is here represented. i wish you could see her, you would be of my opinion, that all the artists in the world who should undertake to paint her as she really is, could never succeed. i will not even make an exception in favour of the famous many." "you delight me above measure," replied the prince of the nagäis, "by assuring me that the beauty of tourandocte surpasses all the efforts of the artist's power. how flattering the assurance! it strengthens me in my determination, and incites me to attempt at once the brilliant adventure. oh that i were before the princess! i burn with impatience to try whether i shall be more fortunate than the prince of samarcand." "what do you say, my son?" eagerly asked the widow, "what enterprise are you so rashly planning? and do you seriously think of carrying it into effect?" "yes, my good mother," returned khalaf, "i intend this very day to present myself to answer the questions of the princess. i came to china only with the intention of offering my services to the great king, altoun-khan, but it is better to be his son-in-law than an officer in his army." at these words the widow burst into tears. "ah! sir, in the name of heaven do not persist in so rash a resolution; you will certainly perish if you are bold enough to aspire to the hand of the princess; instead of allowing her beauty to charm you, let it be the object of your detestation, since it has been the cause of so many frightful tragedies; picture to yourself what the grief of your parents will be when they hear of your death; let the thoughts of the mortal grief into which you will plunge them deter you." "for pity's sake, my mother," interrupted the son of timurtasch, "cease to present to my mind such affecting images. i cannot be ignorant, that if it be my destiny to die this day, my sad end will be a source of bitter and inexhaustible grief to my beloved parents; nay, i can conceive their misery being so excessive as to endanger their own lives, for well do i know their extreme affection for me; notwithstanding all this, however, notwithstanding the gratitude with which their love ought to inspire, and indeed does inspire me, i must yield to the passion that consumes me. but, what! is it not in hopes of making them more happy that i am about to expose my life? yes, doubtless, their interest is bound up with the desire that urges me on, and i feel sure that if my father were here, far from opposing my design, he would rather excite me to its speedy execution. my resolution is taken; waste no more time in trying to dissuade me; nothing shall shake my determination." when the widow found that her young guest would not heed her advice, her grief increased. "so it must be, then, sir," continued she; "you will not be restrained from rushing headlong on your destruction. why was it ordained that you should come to lodge in my house? why did i speak of tourandocte? you became enamoured of her from the description i gave of her; wretched woman that i am, it is i who have caused your ruin; why must i reproach myself with your death?" "no, my good mother," said the prince of the nagäis, interrupting her a second time, "you are not the cause of my misfortune; do not blame yourself because i love the princess; i am to love her, and do but fulfil my destiny. besides, how do you know that i shall not be able to reply to her questions? i am not without understanding, and i have studied much; and heaven may have reserved for me the honour of delivering the king of china from the grief with which his frightful oath overwhelms him. but," added he, drawing out the purse which the khan of berlas had given him, and which still contained a considerable quantity of gold pieces, "as my success is after all uncertain, and i may chance to die, i make you a present of this purse to console you for my death. you may sell my horse and keep the money, for it will be of no more use to me, whether the daughter of altoun-khan become the reward of my boldness, or my death be the mournful forfeit of my audacity." the widow took the purse from khalaf, saying, "o my son, you are much mistaken if you imagine that these pieces of gold will console me for your loss. i will employ them in good works, i will distribute a portion among the poor in the hospitals, who bear their afflictions with patience, and whose prayers are consequently acceptable to heaven; the remainder i will give to the ministers of our religion, that they all may pray together that heaven may inspire you, and not suffer you to perish. all the favour i ask you is, not to go to-day and present yourself to answer the questions of tourandocte; wait till to-morrow, the time is not long; grant me that interval to enlist the hearts of the pious in your behalf, and propitiate our prophet in your favour, after that you can do as you think best. i pray you to grant me that favour; i am bold to say that you owe it to one who has conceived so great a friendship for you, that she would be inconsolable if you were to die." indeed khalaf's appearance had made a favourable impression upon her, for, besides being one of the handsomest princes in the world, his manners were so easy and pleasing that it was impossible to see him without loving him. he was moved by the grief and affection the good lady exhibited. "well, my mother," said he, "i will do as you desire me; and i will not go to-day to ask the hand of the princess; but, to speak my sentiments frankly, i don't believe that even your prophet jacmouny will be able to make me forego my determination." the following morning, the prince appeared more determined than ever to demand tourandocte. "adieu, my good mother," said he, to the widow. "i am sorry that you have given yourself so much trouble on my account; you might have spared it, for i assured you yesterday that i should be of the same mind." with these words, he left the widow, who, giving herself up to the deepest sorrow, covered her face with her veil, and sat with her head on her knees, overwhelmed with indescribable grief. the young prince of the nagäis, perfumed with rare scents and more beautiful than the moon, repaired to the palace. he found at the gate five elephants, and, on each side, a line of two thousand soldiers, with helmets on their heads, armed with shields, and covered with plate armour. one of the principal officers in command of the troops, judging from khalaf's air that he was a stranger, stopped him, and demanded his business at the palace. "i am a foreign prince," replied the son of timurtasch. "i am come to present myself to the king, and pray him to grant me permission to reply to the questions of the princess his daughter." the officer, at these words, regarding him with astonishment, said to him, "prince, do you know that you come to seek death? you would have done more wisely to have remained in your own country, than form the design which brings you hither; retrace your steps, and do not flatter yourself with the deceitful hope that you will obtain the hand of the cruel tourandocte. although you may have studied until you have become more learned in science than all the mandarins, you will never be able to fathom the meaning of her ambiguous questions." "accept my heartfelt thanks," replied khalaf; "but, believe me, i am not come thus far to retreat." "go on to your certain death, then," returned the officer, in a tone of chagrin, "since it is impossible to restrain you." at the same moment, he allowed him to enter the palace, and then, turning towards some other officers who had been listening to their conversation, he said, "how handsome and well-grown this young prince is. it is a pity he should die so early." khalaf traversed several saloons, and, at length, found himself in the hall where the king was accustomed to give audience to his people. in it was placed the steel throne of cathay, made in the form of a dragon, three cubits high; four lofty columns, of the same material, supported above it a vast canopy of yellow satin, ornamented with precious stones. altoun-khan, dressed in a caftan of gold brocade upon a crimson ground, was seated on his throne, with an air of gravity which was in admirable keeping with his long moustache and ample beard. the monarch, after listening to some of his subjects, cast his eyes by chance to where the prince of the nagäis stood amongst the crowd; he saw, at once, by his noble bearing and splendid dress, that he was not a man of common birth; he pointed out khalaf to one of his mandarins, and gave an order, in an undertone, to learn his rank, and the reason of his visit to his court. the mandarin approached the son of timurtasch, and told him that the king desired to know who he was, and whether he wished to make any request of the king. "you may tell the king, your master," replied the prince, "that i am the only son of a king, and that i am come to endeavour to merit the honour of becoming his son-in-law." altoun-khan no sooner learned the reply of the prince of the nagäis, than he changed colour; his august countenance became pale as death, he broke up the audience, and dismissed all the people; he then descended from his throne, and, approaching khalaf, "rash young man," said he, "are you aware of the severity of my edict, and of the miserable fate of those who have hitherto persisted in their desire to obtain the hand of the princess my daughter?" "yes, my lord," replied the son of timurtasch, "i know all the danger i incur; my eyes have witnessed the just and severe punishment your majesty inflicted upon the prince of samarcand; but the deplorable end of the audacious youths who have flattered themselves with the sweet, though vain, hope of possessing the princess tourandocte, only stimulates the desire i have of deserving her." "what madness!" rejoined the king; "scarcely has one prince lost his life, than another presents himself to share the same fate; it appears as though they took a pleasure in sacrificing themselves. what blindness! reconsider the step you are taking, and be less prodigal of your blood; you inspire me with more pity than any who have hitherto come to seek their destruction; i feel a growing inclination towards you, and wish to do all in my power to hinder you from perishing. return to your father's kingdom, and do not inflict upon him the pain of learning from strangers' lips the sad intelligence that he will never more behold his only son." "my lord," replied khalaf, "i am overjoyed to hear, from your majesty's own lips, that i have the honour of pleasing you; i draw a happy presage from it. it may be that heaven, touched by the misfortunes caused by the beauty of the princess, will use me as a means of putting an end to them, and securing you, at the same time, tranquillity for the remainder of your life, which the necessity of authorizing these cruel deeds disturbs. can you be sure that i shall not be able to answer the questions that may be put to me? what certainty have you that i shall perish? if others have been unable to fathom the depths of the obscure propositions of tourandocte, is it to be concluded that i cannot penetrate their meaning? no, my lord, their example shall never make me renounce the brilliant honour of having you for a father-in-law." "ah! unhappy prince," replied the king, melting into tears, "you wish to die; all the princes who have presented themselves before you, to answer the fatal questions put by my daughter, used the same language; they all hoped that they could penetrate her meaning, and not one was able to do so. alas! you will be the dupe of your own confidence. once more, my son, let me dissuade you. i love you, and wish to save you; do not frustrate my good intentions by your obstinacy; whatever confidence you may feel, distrust it. you deceive yourself, if you imagine that you will be able to answer upon the spot what the princess may propose to you; you will, it is true, have seven minutes to answer in; that is the rule. but if in that time you do not give a satisfactory reply, and one that shall be approved of by all the doctors and wise men who are appointed the judges, that moment you will be declared worthy of death, and on the following night will be conducted to execution. so, prince, retire; pass the rest of the day in considering what is your duty in reference to the step you propose to take; consult wise persons, reflect well, and to-morrow let me know your determination." when the king had finished speaking, he dismissed khalaf, who immediately quitted the palace, much mortified that he was obliged to wait till the next day, for he was no way daunted by what the king had said. he returned to his hostess without exhibiting the least concern about the danger to which he had determined to expose himself. as soon as he presented himself to the widow, and had related all that had passed at the palace, she began to remonstrate with him afresh, and bring every argument she could think of into play to dissuade him from his enterprise; but her efforts were crowned with no better success, and she had the mortification of seeing that they only inflamed her young guest more, and strengthened him in his resolution. the next day the prince returned to the palace, and was announced to the king, who received him in his cabinet, not wishing any one to be present at their interview. "well, prince," began altoun-khan, "am i to rejoice or grieve at your presence here to-day? what is your determination?" "my lord," replied khalaf, "i am in the same mind as yesterday. before i had the honour of presenting myself then before your majesty, i had thoroughly reflected upon the matter; and i am still prepared to suffer the same punishment as my rivals, if heaven has not otherwise ordained." at these words the king smote his breast, rent his clothes, and plucked the hairs from his beard. "wretched man that i am!" cried he, "that i should have conceived such friendship for him. the death of the others has not caused me half the pain which his will occasion me. ah! my son," continued he, embracing the prince of the nagäis with a tenderness that caused him deep emotion, "yield to my grief, if my arguments are not able to shake thee. i feel that the blow which takes thy life will strike my heart with deadly force. renounce, i conjure thee, the hope of possessing my cruel daughter; thou wilt find in the world plenty of other princesses whom thou mayst gain with more ease and as much honour. why persevere in the pursuit of an inhuman creature whom thou wilt never be able to obtain? remain, if thou wilt, in my court; thou shalt hold the first rank after me; thou shalt have beautiful slaves; pleasures shall follow thee wherever thou goest; in a word, i will look on thee as my own son. desist from thy pursuit of tourandocte. oh! let me at least have the joy of rescuing one victim from the sanguinary princess." the son of timurtasch was deeply moved by the friendship which the king of china exhibited towards him; but he replied, "my lord, let me for pity's sake expose myself to the danger from which you seek to deter me; the greater it is, the more do i feel myself tempted to encounter it. i must avow that even the cruelty of the princess stimulates my love. i feel an inward pleasure in the thought that i am the happy mortal who is to triumph over this proud beauty. for heaven's sake, your majesty," pursued he, "cease to oppose a design which my glory, my repose, my life even render it necessary for me to prosecute; for, truly, i cannot live unless i obtain tourandocte." altoun-khan, perceiving that khalaf was not to be moved, was overwhelmed with affliction. "ah! rash youth," said he, "thy death-warrant is sealed, since thou art still determined to persist in demanding my daughter. heaven is witness that i have done all in my power to inspire thee with rational thoughts. thou rejectest my counsel, and lovest rather to perish than follow it; let us say no more; thou wilt receive the reward of thy mad constancy. i consent to thy undertaking to answer the questions of tourandocte, but i must first pay thee the honour which i am accustomed to bestow upon princes who seek my alliance." at these words he called the chief of his first band of eunuchs; he ordered him to conduct khalaf into the princes' palace, and to assign him two hundred eunuchs to wait upon him. the prince of the nagäis had scarcely entered the palace to which the eunuch conducted him, before the principal mandarins came to salute him, which they did in the following manner: they placed themselves on their knees before him, bowed their heads to the ground, saying one after the other, "prince, the perpetual servant of your illustrious race comes to make his obeisance to you." they then all made him presents and retired. the king, who felt the greatest friendship for the son of timurtasch, and pitied him, sent for the most learned professor of the royal college, and said to him, "there is a new prince, who has come to my court to demand the hand of my daughter. i have spared no pains to induce him to renounce his intention, but without success. i wish thee to exert thine eloquence in endeavouring to make him listen to reason. it is for this i have sent for thee." the professor obeyed. he went to khalaf and entered into a long conversation with him; after which he returned to altoun-khan, and said, "my lord, it is impossible to dissuade this young prince; he will absolutely deserve the princess or die. when i saw the futility of attempting to conquer his resolution, i had the curiosity to try and ascertain whether his obstinacy did not proceed from some other cause than his love. i interrogated him upon several different subjects, and i found him so well informed that i was surprised at his learning. he is a moslem, and appears to me perfectly instructed in all that concerns his religion; in fact, to confess the truth to your majesty, i believe if any prince is capable of replying to the questions of the princess it is he." "o wise man," cried the king, "i am overjoyed at thy report. heaven grant that he may become my son-in-law. from the moment he appeared before me i felt an affection for him; may he be more fortunate than the others who came to this city only to seek a grave." after prayers and sacrifices, the chinese monarch sent his calao to the prince of the nagäis with notice that he was to hold himself in readiness to reply to the princess's questions on the next day, and to tell him that the proper officers would come at the right time to conduct him to the divan; and that the persons who were to compose the assembly had already received orders to attend. notwithstanding his inflexible determination to persevere in this adventure, khalaf did not pass a quiet night; if at one time he dared to trust to his genius, and promise himself success, at another, losing confidence, he represented to himself the shame he should endure if his replies did not please the divan; at another time he thought of elmaze and timurtasch. "alas!" said he, "if i die, what will become of my father and mother?" day surprised him occupied with these conflicting thoughts. presently he heard the ringing of bells and beating of drums. he concluded that this was to call to the council all those who were ordered to attend. then raising his thoughts to mahomet, "o great prophet," said he, "you behold my difficulties and know my doubts. inspire me, and reveal to me whether i must go to the divan, or must confess to the king that the danger terrifies me!" he had scarcely pronounced these words, before he felt all his fears vanish and his confidence return. he rose and dressed himself in a caftan, and mantle of red silk worked with gold flowers, which altoun-khan had sent him, with stockings and slippers of blue silk. when he had finished dressing, six mandarins, booted and dressed in very wide robes of crimson, entered his apartment, and after having saluted him in the same manner as on the previous day, informed him that they came from the king to lead him to the divan. he immediately rose and accompanied them; they traversed a court between a double file of soldiers, and when they arrived in the first council-chamber found more than a thousand singers and players upon instruments, who performing in concert produced a wonderful noise. from thence they advanced into the hall, where the council was sitting, and which communicated with the interior palace. all the persons who were to assist at this assembly were already seated under canopies of different colours arranged round the hall. the mandarins of the highest rank were on one side, the calao with the professors of the college on the other, and several doctors, renowned for their erudition, occupied other seats. in the middle were placed two thrones of gold raised upon triangular pedestals. as soon as the prince of the nagäis appeared, the noble and learned assembly saluted him with gestures of great respect, but without speaking a word; for every body, being in expectation of the king's arrival, preserved the strictest silence. the sun was upon the point of rising. as soon as the first rays of that brilliant luminary were perceived, two eunuchs drew aside the curtains which hung before the door of the inner palace, and immediately the king appeared, accompanied by the princess tourandocte, who wore a long robe of silk and gold tissue, whilst her face was concealed by a veil of the same material. when the king and princess had taken their seats upon their thrones, which they ascended by five steps of silver, two young girls of perfect beauty approached and stationed themselves, one on the side of the king and the other near the princess. they were slaves of the harem of altoun-khan; their faces and necks were exposed; they wore large pearls in their ears; and they stood each with pen and paper, ready to transcribe what the king or the princess might desire. all this time the whole assembly, who had risen upon the entrance of altoun-khan, stood up with great gravity and their eyes half closed. khalaf alone looked about him, or rather looked only at the princess, whose majestic demeanour filled him with admiration. when the powerful monarch of china had ordered the mandarins and doctors to be seated, one of the six nobles who had conducted khalaf, and who stood with him at fifteen cubits' distance from the two thrones, kneeled down and read a petition, which contained the demand of the stranger prince for the hand of the princess tourandocte. he then rose and told khalaf to make three salutations to the king. the prince of the nagäis acquitted himself with so much grace, that altoun-khan could not refrain from smiling and expressing the pleasure he experienced in seeing him. the calao then rose from his place and read with a loud voice the fatal edict, which condemned to death all the rash lovers who should fail to reply satisfactorily to the questions of tourandocte. then addressing khalaf, "prince," said he, "you have just heard the conditions upon which alone the princess's hand is to be obtained. if the sense of danger makes any impression upon you, there is still time to retire." "no, no!" said the prince; "the prize to be carried off is too precious to be lost by cowardice." the king, seeing khalaf ready to reply to the questions of tourandocte, turned towards the princess and said, "my daughter, it is for you to speak; propose to this young prince the questions which you have prepared; and may all the spirits to whom sacrifices were offered yesterday grant that he may penetrate the meaning of your words." tourandocte thereupon said, "i take the prophet jacmouny to witness, that i behold with sorrow the death of so many princes; but why do they persist in desiring to wed me? why will they not leave me to live in peace without making attempts on my liberty? know then, rash young man," added she, addressing khalaf, "that you cannot reproach me if you suffer a cruel death; you have the examples of your rivals before your eyes; you alone are the cause of your own destruction; i do not oblige you to come and ask my hand." "lovely princess," replied the prince of the nagäis, "i am fully alive to all that has been said upon this subject; propound, if you please, your questions, and i will endeavour to unravel their meaning." "well then," said tourandocte, "tell me what creature is that which belongs to every land, is a friend to the whole world, and will not brook an equal?" "madam," replied khalaf, "it is the sun." "he is right," exclaimed all the doctors, "it is the sun." "what is that mother," resumed the princess, "who, after having brought her children into the world, devours them when they are grown up?" "it is the sea," replied the prince of the nagäis; "because the rivers, which draw their sources from the sea, discharge themselves into it again." tourandocte, seeing that the prince gave correct replies to her questions, was so vexed that she resolved to spare no effort to destroy him. exerting all her ingenuity, she next asked, "what tree is that whose leaves are white on one side and black on the other?" she was not satisfied with proposing the riddle alone; the malignant princess, in order to dazzle and confuse him, raised her veil at the same moment, and allowed the assembly to see all the beauty of her countenance, the haughty charms of which were only enhanced by the violence of her emotions. her head was adorned with natural flowers arranged with infinite art, and her eyes shone more brilliantly than the stars. she was as lovely as the sun in all his splendour, when he emerges from a thick cloud. the son of timurtasch, at the sight of this incomparable princess, remained mute and motionless; so much so, that all the divan, who were deeply interested in him, were seized with terror; the king himself grew pale, and thought that the prince was lost for ever. but khalaf, recovering from the surprise that the beauty of tourandocte had caused him, quickly reassured the assembly by resuming, "charming princess, i pray you pardon me if i remained for some moments speechless; i could not behold so much loveliness without being disturbed. have the goodness to repeat the question, for i no longer remember it; your charms have made me forget every thing." "i asked you," said tourandocte, "what tree is that whose leaves are white on one side and black on the other?" "that tree," replied khalaf, "is the year, which is composed of days and nights." this reply was again applauded in the divan. the mandarins and the doctors said that it was correct, and bestowed a thousand praises on the young prince. altoun-khan said to tourandocte, "come, my daughter, confess thyself vanquished, and consent to espouse thy conqueror; the others were not able to reply to even one of thy questions, and this one, thou seest, has answered them all." "he has _not_ gained the victory," angrily retorted the princess, replacing her veil to conceal her confusion and the tears she was not able to repress; "i have others to propose to him. but i will defer them till to-morrow." "no," replied the king, "i will certainly not permit you to propose questions without end: all that i can allow you is to ask him one more, and that immediately." the princess objected, saying that she had only prepared those which had just been answered, and entreated the king, her father, for permission to interrogate the prince on the following day. "i will certainly not grant it," cried the monarch of china, in a rage; "you are only endeavouring to perplex this young prince, while i am eagerly grasping at the prospect of escaping from the frightful oath i had the imprudence to make. ah! cruel one, you breathe nothing but blood, and the death of your lovers is a pleasant sight to you. the queen, your mother, touched by the first misfortunes your cruelty caused, died of grief at having brought into the world so barbarous a child; and i, you know well, am plunged into a state of profound melancholy, which nothing can dissipate, whilst i behold the fatal results of the love i entertained for you; but, thanks to the sun, and the moon, and the spirits who preside in the heavens, and by whom my sacrifices have been regarded with a propitious eye, no more of those horrible executions which have rendered my name execrable shall be committed in my palace. since this prince has answered your questions satisfactorily, i ask all this assembly if it is not right that you should become his wife?" the mandarins and the doctors expressed their assent in murmurs, and the calao took upon himself to speak. "my lord," said he, addressing the king, "your majesty is no longer bound by the oath you made, to execute your severe edict; it is for the princess to fulfil her engagement. she promised her hand to him who should answer her questions correctly; a prince has answered them, to the satisfaction of the whole divan; she must keep her promise, or we cannot doubt that the spirits who preside over the punishment of perjurers will quickly take vengeance upon her." tourandocte kept silence during the delivery of this speech; she sat with her head on her knees, and appeared buried in deep affliction. khalaf, perceiving this, prostrated himself before altoun-khan, and said, "great king, whose justice and goodness have raised the vast empire of china to such prosperity, i beg of your majesty to grant me a favour. i see that the princess is in despair at my having been so fortunate as to reply to her questions; doubtless she would rather it had so happened that i should have deserved death. since she exhibits so strong an aversion to me, that, in spite of her promise, she refuses to become my wife, i will renounce my right to her, on condition that she, on her part, replies correctly to a question which i shall propose." the whole assembly was surprised at this speech. "is this young prince mad," they whispered one to another, "to risk the loss of that for which he perilled his life? does he imagine he can propose a question that will be too difficult for tourandocte to solve? he must have lost his senses." altoun-khan was also amazed at the request which khalaf had the temerity to make. "prince," said he, "have you reflected upon the words which have just escaped your lips?" "yes, my lord," replied the prince of the nagäis, "and i implore you to grant me this favour." "i grant it," returned the king; "but, whatever be the result, i declare that i am no longer bound by the oath i made, and that, henceforth, i will not cause another prince to be put to death." "divine tourandocte," resumed the son of timurtasch, addressing the princess, "you have heard what i said. although the decision of this learned assembly has awarded to me the prize of your hand, although you are mine, i will give you back your liberty, i will yield up possession of you, i will despoil myself of a treasure precious to me above all things, provided you reply at once to a question i shall ask; but, on your part, swear that if you cannot, you will consent willingly to complete my happiness and crown my love." "yes, prince," replied tourandocte, "i accept the conditions, and i take this assembly as witnesses of my oath." all the divan awaited, in breathless suspense, the question that khalaf was to propose to the princess, and there was not one who did not blame the young prince for exposing himself to the risk of losing the daughter of altoun-khan; they were all amazed at his temerity. "lovely princess," said khalaf, "what is the name of that prince who, after suffering a thousand hardships, and being reduced even to beg his bread, finds himself, at this moment, overwhelmed with glory and joy?" "it is impossible," said tourandocte, "for me to reply to that question on the spot, but i promise that to-morrow i will tell you the name of that prince." "madam," cried khalaf, "i asked no time for consideration, and it is not right to grant you any; still, i will grant you your wish; i hope, after that, you will look more favourably on me, and not oppose any further difficulty to your becoming my bride." "she must make up her mind to that," said altoun-khan, "if she cannot reply to the question proposed. let her not think by falling ill, or pretending to do so, that she will thereby escape. even if my rash oath should not bind me to grant him her hand, and she were not his according to the tenor of the edict, i would rather let her die, than send this young prince away. where would it be possible for her to meet with one more perfectly worthy of her?" with these words, he rose and dismissed the assembly. he re-entered the inner palace with the princess, who retired to her own apartments. as soon as the king had left the divan, all the mandarins and doctors complimented khalaf upon his wit and understanding. "i admire," said one, "your ready and easy conception." "no!" said another, "there is not a bachelor licentiate, or doctor even, of greater penetration than you. not one of all the princes who has presented themselves hitherto, in the least degree approached your merit, and we feel the most heartfelt joy at your success." the prince of the nagäis had no light task to perform in thanking all those who pressed round him to congratulate him. at length, the six mandarins who had conducted him to the council-chamber, led him back to the same palace whence they had brought him, whilst the others, together with the learned doctors retired, not without anxiety about the answer which the daughter of altoun-khan would return to the question. the princess tourandocte regained her palace, followed by the two young slaves who enjoyed her confidence. no sooner had she entered into her apartment, than she tore off her veil, and throwing herself upon a couch, gave free vent to the grief and rage which agitated her; shame and sorrow were depicted on her countenance; her eyes already bedimmed with tears, overflowed afresh; she tore off the flowers that adorned her head, and allowed her hair to fall about her in confusion. her two favourite slaves attempted to console her, but she only said bitterly, "leave me, both of you, cease your useless attentions. i will listen to nothing but my despair; leave me alone to pour forth my tears and lamentations. ah! how great will be my confusion to-morrow, when i shall be forced to acknowledge before the whole council, and the wisest doctors of china, that i cannot solve the question. is that, they will say, the transcendent princess who prides herself upon knowing every thing, and to whom the solution of the most difficult enigma presented no difficulty?" "alas!" continued she, "they all take an interest in this young prince. i noticed them grow pale with anxiety when he appeared embarrassed. i saw their faces beaming with joy when he penetrated the meaning of my questions. i shall have the bitter mortification of seeing them again rejoice at my confusion, when i shall have to confess myself conquered. how great will be their delight when i make the degrading avowal, and what agony must i endure in making it." "my princess," said one of her slaves, "instead of afflicting yourself beforehand, instead of picturing to yourself the shame you fear to suffer to-morrow, would it not be better to think of some means of preventing it? is the question the prince has proposed so difficult, that you cannot answer it? with the genius and penetration you possess, can you not accomplish it?" "no," said tourandocte, "it is impossible. he asks me to name the prince who, after suffering a thousand hardships, and being reduced to beg his bread, is, at this moment, overwhelmed with joy and glory? i feel assured that he is himself that prince, but not knowing him, i cannot tell his name." "still, madam," rejoined the same slave, "you have promised to name that prince to-morrow; when you made that promise, you hoped, doubtless, to be able to fulfil it." "i had no hope," replied the princess, "and i only demanded time to die of grief, rather than be obliged to acknowledge my shame, and marry the prince." "the resolution is a violent one," said the other favourite slave. "i know well that no man is worthy of you, but you must allow that this prince possesses singular merits; his beauty, his noble bearing, and his ready wit ought to plead in his favour." "i grant it all," interrupted the princess. "if there is any prince in the world who is worthy of my regards, it is he. indeed, i will not deny it, that i grieved for him, before i put my questions to him; i sighed when i beheld him, and--what has never happened till to-day--i almost hoped he would reply to my questions correctly. it is true that, at the same moment, i blushed at my weakness, but my pride got the better of me, and the apt answers he made excited my abhorrence towards him; all the commendations which the doctors bestowed on him so deeply mortified me, that i then felt, and still feel, the most bitter hatred against him. o unhappy tourandocte, lay thee down and die of vexation and grief, at having found a man, and he a youth, who has been able to load thee with disgrace, and compel thee to become his wife." at these words she redoubled her tears, and in the transport of her rage spared neither her hair nor her clothes. she raised her hands more than once towards her cheeks to tear them, and punish them as the prime authors of the disgrace she had endured; but her slaves, who were watching her frenzy, prevented her. they tried, however, in vain to console her; they could not calm the fury of her agitation. whilst she was in this fearful state of excitement, the prince of the nagäis, charmed with the result, and overwhelmed with joy, delivered himself up to the hope of bearing off his bride the next day. the king, having returned from the council-chamber, sent for khalaf to talk over in private the events which had taken place at the divan. the prince of the nagäis hastened to obey the orders of the monarch, who, after embracing him with great tenderness, said, "ah! my son, release me from the anxiety i am suffering. i fear lest my daughter should be able to answer the question you have proposed. why have you risked the danger of losing the object of your love?" "let not your majesty be under the least apprehension," replied khalaf; "it is impossible that the princess can tell me who the prince is whose name i have asked, for i am that prince, and no one in your court knows me." "this gives me fresh hope," cried the king in a transport of joy; "i confess i was most anxious about you. tourandocte is very shrewd; the subtlety of her wit made me tremble for you; but, thank heaven, you dispel my doubts. however great her facility of penetrating the sense of enigmas, she cannot guess your name. i can no longer accuse you of temerity; and i see what appeared to me a lack of prudence, is an ingenious device you have formed to remove every pretext for my daughter's refusal." altoun-khan, after laughing with khalaf at the question proposed to the princess, prepared to enjoy the diversion of the chase. he dressed himself in a light and close-fitting caftan, and enclosed his beard in a bag of black satin. he ordered the mandarins to hold themselves in readiness to accompany him, and commanded a hunting-dress to be given to the prince of the nagäis. they partook of a slight repast, and then quitted the palace. the mandarins, in open palanquins of ivory inlaid with gold, headed the procession, each carried by six men; two men armed with whips of cord marched before each palanquin, and two others followed with tablets of silver, upon which were written in large characters all the mandarin's titles. the king and khalaf, in an open litter of red sandalwood, carried by twenty military officers, on whose dresses were embroidered in silver the monarch's monogram and badges,--the latter consisting of several figures of animals,--appeared next. after the mandarins, two generals of altoun-khan's army marched on either side of the litter, carrying large fans or umbrellas to ward off the heat, and three thousand eunuchs on foot completed the cortége. when they arrived at the place where the hunters awaited the king with the falcons, the sport began by flying hawks at quails; this diversion lasted till sunset, when the king and the prince, and the persons of their suites, returned to the palace in the same order in which they had left. they found in the court several pavilions of silk of different colours, a great number of small tables, beautifully polished and covered with all sorts of viands ready cut up. as soon as the king had taken his seat, khalaf and the mandarins sat down, each at a little separate table, near which stood another, which served as a buffet. they all began by drinking several bumpers of rice wine before touching the viands; they then proceeded to eat without drinking any more. the banquet ended, the king, altoun-khan, led the prince of the nagäis into a large hall, brilliantly illuminated, and fitted up with seats arranged for seeing some spectacle, and they were followed by all the mandarins. the king appointed each his place, and made khalaf sit near him, upon a large ebony throne, inlaid with gold tracery. as soon as the company had taken their places, singers and musicians entered, who commenced an agreeable concert. altoun-khan was delighted with it. infatuated with the chinese music, he asked the son of timurtasch, from time to time, what he thought of it, and the young prince, out of politeness, gave it the highest rank of all the music in the world. the concert finished, the singers and musicians retired, to make room for an artificial elephant, which having advanced by secret springs into the middle of the hall, vomited forth six vaulters, who began by making some perilous leaps. they were attired in very thin dresses; they had on only drawers of indian cloth, caps of brocade, and light shoes. after they had exhibited their agility and suppleness by a thousand extraordinary performances, they re-entered the elephant, which went away as it came. next, there appeared players, who performed, impromptu, a piece, the subject of which the king chose. when all these diversions were finished, and the night was far advanced, altoun-khan and khalaf rose, to retire to their apartments, and the mandarins followed their example. the young prince of the nagäis, conducted by eunuchs bearing wax candles in gold candelabra, was preparing to taste the sweets of repose as well as his impatience to return to the divan would permit him, when on entering his chamber, he found a young lady, dressed in a robe of red brocade with silver flowers, and adorned with rubies and emeralds; she wore a head-dress of rose-coloured silk, ornamented with pearls and bound by a very light silver border, which only covered the top of her head, and allowed her beautiful hair to escape, which hung down in ringlets, adorned with a few artificial flowers; as to her figure and face it was impossible to see any more beautiful and perfect except that of the princess of china. the son of timurtasch was much surprised at meeting a lady alone, and so beautiful, at midnight in his room. he could not have looked upon her with indifference, had he not seen tourandocte; but as the lover of that princess he had no eyes for any other. as soon as the lady perceived khalaf, she rose from the sofa where she was seated, and upon which she had laid her veil, and after making a low inclination of her head, "prince," said she, "i doubt not that you are surprised to find a woman here; for you cannot be ignorant that it is rigorously forbidden for men and women who inhabit the harem, to have any communication together; but the importance of the matter that i have to communicate to you, has made me disregard all danger. i have had dexterity and good fortune enough to overcome all the obstacles which opposed my design. i have gained the eunuchs who wait upon you. it now only remains for me to tell you what brought me here." khalaf felt interested; he could not doubt but that the lady who had taken so perilous a step, had something to communicate worthy his attention; he begged her to resume her seat on the sofa; they both sat down; and the lady then continued in these terms: "my lord, i believe i ought to begin by informing you that i am the daughter of a khan, one of the tributaries of altoun-khan. some years ago, my father was bold enough to refuse to pay the usual tribute, and, relying too much upon his experience in the art of war, as well as upon the valour of his troops, prepared to defend himself in case he were attacked. what he expected happened. the king of china irritated by his audacity, sent the most experienced of his generals with a powerful army against him. my father, though considerably weaker in numbers, went out to meet him. after a sanguinary battle, which was fought on the banks of a river, the chinese general remained victorious. my father, pierced with a thousand wounds, died during the battle, but before his death, he ordered all his wives and children to be thrown into the river, to preserve them from slavery. those who were charged with the generous, though inhuman order, executed it; they threw me, together with my mother, sisters, and two brothers, whose tender age had kept them with us, into the river. the chinese general arrived at the spot at the very moment when they had cast us in, and when we were about to finish our miserable existence. this mournful and horrible sight excited his compassion; he promised a reward to any of the soldiers who should save any of the vanquished khan's family. several chinese horsemen, in spite of the rapidity of the stream, dashed in, and urged their horses wherever they saw our dying bodies floating. they recovered a few, but their assistance was only of use to me. i still breathed when they brought me to shore. the general took great pains for my recovery, as though the glory acquired by my captivity would bestow a fresh lustre on his victory; he brought me to this city, and presented me to the king, after giving an account of his mission. altoun-khan placed me with his daughter the princess, who is two or three years younger than i am. "although still a child, i could not help reflecting that i had become a slave, and that i ought to have sentiments conformable to my situation. i therefore studied the disposition of tourandocte, and strove to please her, and i succeeded so well by my compliance with her wishes and my attentions, that i gained her friendship. from that time i have shared her confidence with a young person of illustrious birth, whom the misfortunes of her family have reduced to slavery. "pardon, my lord," she continued, "this narrative which does not bear any relation to the subject that has brought me here. i thought it but right to apprize you that i am of noble blood, that you might place more reliance in me; for the important communication i have to make is such, that an ordinary slave might induce you to give but little credence to what she had to say; and i know not, that even i, though the daughter of a khan, shall be able to influence you: would a prince enamoured of tourandocte give credit to what i am about to say of her?" "princess," replied the son of timurtasch, interrupting her, "keep me no longer in suspense, tell me, i pray you, at once what you have to say concerning the princess of china." "my lord," replied the lady, "tourandocte, the barbarous tourandocte has formed a plot to assassinate you!" at these words khalaf, falling back on the sofa, lay for a moment in a state of horror and amazement. the slave-princess, who had foreseen the astonishment of the young prince, said, "i am not surprised that you should thus receive this frightful announcement, and i was right when i doubted that you would believe it." "merciful heaven," cried khalaf, when he recovered from his stupefaction, "did i hear aright? is it possible that the princess of china could be guilty of such an atrocious attempt? how could she conceive so base a project?" "prince," replied the lady, "i will explain to you how she came to take this horrible resolution. when she left the divan this morning, where i had been stationed behind her throne, i saw that she was mortally enraged at what had taken place; she returned into her apartments writhing under the most bitter feelings of mortification and fury; she pondered over the question you asked her for a long time, and not being able to find a suitable answer, she abandoned herself to despair. while she was in the bath, i spared no means, in which i was seconded by the other favourite slave, to calm the violence of her transports; we tried all in our power to inspire her with sentiments favourable to you; we extolled your person and your talents; we represented to her, that she ought to determine to bestow her hand upon you; we pointed out the unseemliness of such immoderate grief; but she imposed silence upon us, with a torrent of injurious words. the most agreeable and handsome make no more impression upon her than the ugliest and most deformed. 'they are all,' said she, 'objects of my contempt, and for whom i shall always entertain the deepest aversion. as regards him who has presented himself last, i entertain a greater hatred towards him than towards the others, and if i cannot rid myself of him by any other means i will have him assassinated.' "i opposed this detestable design," continued the slave-princess, "and laid before her the terrible consequences of such a deed. i represented to her the injury she would inflict upon herself, the despair she would occasion the king, and the just horror that future ages would entertain for her memory. "the other favourite slave supported with all her eloquence the arguments i adduced, but all our persuasions were of no avail; we could not turn her from her purpose. she has entrusted her faithful eunuchs with orders to take your life to-morrow morning as you leave your palace to repair to the divan." "o inhuman princess, perfidious tourandocte," cried the prince of the nagäis, "is it thus you prepare to crown the affection of the unhappy son of timurtasch? has khalaf indeed appeared so hateful to you, that you would rather rid yourself of him by a crime that will dishonour you, than unite your destiny with his? great heaven! how chequered with strange events is my life! at one moment i seem to enjoy happiness that the greatest might envy, at another i am plunged into a whirlpool of misery." "my lord," said the slave-princess, "if heaven ordains that you should suffer misfortunes, it does not will that you should sink beneath their weight, since it warns you of the dangers that threaten you. yes, prince, it is heaven that has doubtless inspired me with the thought of saving you, for i come not only to point out the snare laid for your life, i come also to furnish you with means to escape. by the assistance of some eunuchs who are devoted to me, i have gained over the soldiers of the guard, who will facilitate your flight from the serail. as they will not fail to make a searching investigation, when they know of your departure, and discover that i am the author of it, i am resolved to fly with you, and escape from this court, where i have more than one cause for discontent; my state of bondage makes me hate it, and you make it still more odious to me. "let us waste no time; come, and let to-morrow's sun, when he begins his course, find us far, far from pekin. "in a certain spot in the town," continued she, "horses await us; let us fly, and reach if possible the territory of the tribe of berlas." khalaf replied, "beautiful princess, i render you a thousand thanks for your wish to save me from the danger with which i am encompassed. oh! that i could, to prove my gratitude, deliver you from your slavery, and conduct you in safety to the horde of the khan of berlas your relation. with what pleasure would i place you in his hands! i should thereby repay some of the obligations i lie under to him. but i ask you, princess, ought i thus to steal away from altoun-khan? what would he think of me? he would believe that i came to his court for the sole purpose of carrying you off, and at the very time when i should be flying, only that i might save his daughter from perpetrating a fearful crime, he would be accusing me of violating the laws of hospitality. ah! must i confess it, cruel though the princess of china be, i could never find in my foolish heart to hate her? whatever misfortune may be in store for me, i cannot consent to so ignominious a flight. i acknowledge that charms like yours would amply repay your liberator, and that my days with you might pass in the greatest bliss, but i am not born to be happy, my destiny is to love tourandocte; despite the aversion she feels towards me, i should wear out my days in endless sorrow, were they spent away from her." "well then, ingrate, remain," cried the lady passionately, interrupting him, "and let the spot in which thy happiness is concentrated be sprinkled with thy blood." saying these words, she replaced her veil, and quitted the apartment. the young prince, after the lady had retired, remained upon the sofa in a state of bewilderment. "must i believe," said he, "what i have just heard? can she carry her cruelty thus far? alas! i dare not doubt it, for the slave-princess's expressions of horror at tourandocte's plot were so natural--the risks she ran in coming herself to warn me of it so great, and the feelings she displayed so unquestionable,--that all are pledges of the truthfulness of her words. ah! cruel daughter of the best of kings, is it thus that you abuse the gifts with which heaven has endowed you? o heaven! how couldst thou confer on this barbarous princess so much beauty, or why adorn so inhuman a soul with so many charms?" instead of seeking a few hours' sleep, he passed the night, distracted with the most painful reflections. at length day appeared, the ringing of the bells and beating of drums was again heard, and shortly after six mandarins arrived to conduct him to the council-chamber, as on the preceding day. he traversed the court where the soldiers were arranged in two files: he expected to meet his death at this spot, and that it was here the persons who had been appointed to assassinate him were posted, in order to despatch him as he passed. far from thinking of defending himself or putting himself upon his guard, he walked on like a man prepared to die; he even appeared to chide the delay of his assassins. he passed through the court, however, without any attack being made upon him, and reached the first hall of the divan. "ah! doubtless it is here," thought he, "that the sanguinary order of the princess is to be put in execution." he looked around him on all sides, and thought he saw in every one he surveyed a murderer. he nevertheless advanced and entered the hall where the council was sitting, without receiving the deadly stroke which he thought awaited him. all the doctors and mandarins were already seated under their canopies, and altoun-khan was momentarily expected. "what can be the design of the princess?" thought he. "can she wish to be an eye-witness of my death, and does she desire to have me assassinated before the eyes of her father? can the king be an accomplice in the deed? what am i to think? can he have changed his mind, and issued the order for my death?" whilst his thoughts were occupied with these doubts, the door of the inner palace opened, and the king, accompanied by tourandocte, entered the hall. they took their seats upon their thrones, and the prince of the nagäis stood before them, at the same distance as on the day before. when the calao saw the king seated, he rose, and demanded of the young prince whether he remembered having promised to renounce the hand of the princess if she answered the question which he had proposed. khalaf replied that he did, and again declared that in that event, he would renounce all claim to the honour of being the king's son-in-law. the calao then addressed tourandocte, and said, "and you, great princess, you are aware of the oath that binds you, and of the penalty to which you are subjected if you do not this day declare the name of the prince, which you are required to give." the king, persuaded that she could not reply to the question of khalaf, said to her, "my daughter, you have had ample time to consider the question which was proposed to you; but if you had a whole year to think of it, i believe that in spite of your sagacity you would be obliged, at the end of it, to acknowledge that it is something which even you could not reveal. so, as you cannot guess, yield with good grace to the love of this young prince, and satisfy the wish i feel that he should be your husband. he is worthy of being so, and of reigning with you, after my death, over the people of this mighty empire." "my lord," replied tourandocte, "why do you think that i shall not be able to reply to the question of this prince? it is not so difficult as you imagine. i suffered the shame of a defeat yesterday, but to-day i look forward to the honour of a victory. i will confound this rash young man who has entertained so mean an opinion of my talents. let him put the question, and i will answer it." "madam," thereupon said the prince of the nagäis, "i ask, what is the name of that prince who, after suffering a thousand hardships, and being reduced to beg his bread, finds himself at this moment covered with glory, and overwhelmed with joy?" "this prince," replied tourandocte, "is named khalaf, and he is the son of timurtasch." when khalaf heard his name he changed colour, a dark mist seemed to cover his eyes, and he fell senseless to the ground. the king and all the mandarins, judging from this that tourandocte had answered correctly, and had given the prince's real name, grew pale, and sat in great consternation. after khalaf had recovered from his swoon, through the attentions of the mandarins and the king himself, who had quitted his throne to come to his assistance, he thus addressed tourandocte: "beautiful princess, you are mistaken if you think you have given a fitting answer to my question; the son of timurtasch is not covered with glory, and overwhelmed with joy; he is rather covered with shame, and overwhelmed with grief." "i agree with you," replied the princess, "that at this moment you are not overwhelmed with glory and joy, but you were so when you proposed this question; so, prince, instead of having recourse to vain quibbles, confess honestly that you have lost your right to tourandocte. i therefore can, if i choose, refuse you my hand, and abandon you to the regret of having lost your prize; nevertheless, i will acknowledge to you, and declare here publicly, that i entertain different feelings towards you to what i did. the friendship my father has conceived for you, and your own merit, have determined me to take you for my husband." at these words all etiquette was for a moment forgotten; the council-chamber resounded with shouts of joy. the mandarins and doctors applauded the words of tourandocte. the king approached her, and kissing her, said, "my child, you could not have formed a decision more agreeable to me; by this act you will efface the bad impression you have made upon the minds of my people, and you confer upon your father a joy to which he has long been a stranger, and which hitherto he had hoped for in vain. yes, that aversion you entertained for marriage, that aversion so contrary to nature, robbed me of the sweet hope of seeing princes of my own blood spring from you. happily, that aversion has ceased, and what crowns my wishes is, that you have extinguished it in favour of a young hero who is dear to me. but tell us," added he, "how you have been able to guess the name of a prince who was unknown to you." "my lord," replied tourandocte, "it was not by enchantment that i learned it; it was by perfectly natural means. one of my slaves sought the prince khalaf, and had subtlety enough to rob him of his secret, and i hope he will forgive me for taking advantage of this treachery, since i have made no worse use of it." "ah! charming tourandocte," hereupon cried the prince of the nagäis, "is it possible that you entertain such favourable sentiments towards me? from what a frightful abyss do you draw me, to raise me to the height of bliss! alas, how unjust was i! whilst you were preparing such a glorious fate for me i thought you guilty of the blackest of all treachery. deceived by a horrible fable which darkened my reason, i repaid your good intentions with injurious doubts. oh! what impatience do i feel to expiate my unjust suspicions at your feet." altoun-khan ordered the preparations for the marriage of khalaf and tourandocte to be set on foot, and whilst they were engaged about them he sent ambassadors to the tribe of berlas, to inform the khan of the nagäis of all that had taken place in china, and to beg him to come with the princess his wife. the preparations being concluded, the marriage was celebrated with all the pomp and magnificence which belonged to the high birth of the happy pair. khalaf was raised to the rank of the highest subject, and the king himself made a public declaration that, to mark his sense of the esteem and consideration he entertained for his son-in-law, he should allow him to dispense with the customary obeisances to his bride. during a whole month nothing was seen at the court but feasting and pageants, and in the city nothing but gaiety and rejoicings. the possession of tourandocte did not diminish the love khalaf entertained for her, and the princess, who had hitherto regarded men with so much contempt, could not but love so perfect a prince. some time after their marriage the ambassadors whom altoun-khan had sent to the country of berlas returned, bringing with them not only the father and mother of the king's son-in-law, but also prince almguer, who, to pay honour to elmaze and timurtasch, insisted on accompanying them, with the most distinguished of his nobles, and conducting them to pekin. the young prince of the nagäis, apprized of their arrival, immediately rode out to meet them. he found them nearly at the gate of the palace. the joy he felt on seeing his father and mother, and their transports on seeing him, can be scarcely conceived, much less described. they all three embraced each other over and over again, and the tears they shed drew forth corresponding signs of emotion from the chinese and tartars who were present. after these tender embraces, khalaf saluted the khan of berlas; he expressed to him how deeply he felt his kindness, and more especially his condescension in himself accompanying his parents to the court of china; the prince almguer replied that, being ignorant of the rank of timurtasch and elmaze, he had not shown towards them the respect that was due to them, and thus to atone for any neglect they might have experienced, he thought it his duty to pay them this mark of honour; the khan of the nagäis and his wife the princess, however, paid a high tribute to the attentive kindness of the khan of berlas; they then all entered the palace of the king, to be presented to altoun-khan. they found this monarch awaiting them in the first hall. he embraced them all, one after the other, and received them very graciously; he then conducted them into his cabinet, where, after expressing the pleasure he felt at seeing timurtasch, and his sympathy in his misfortunes, he assured him that he would employ all his power to avenge him on the sultan of carisma. this was no empty offer, for that very day he despatched orders to the governors of the provinces to march with all speed with the soldiers who were in the towns within their jurisdiction, and to take the route to lake baljouta, which was chosen for the rendezvous of the formidable army he proposed to assemble there. for his part, the khan of berlas, who had foreseen this war, and who wished to assist in the re-establishment of timurtasch in his dominions, had, previous to his departure from his tribe, ordered the general of his army to be in readiness to take the field at the first summons. he now commanded him also to repair to lake baljouta with all possible speed. during the time the officers and soldiers who were to compose the army of altoun-khan, and who were dispersed throughout the kingdom, were marching to assemble at the spot indicated, this king spared no pains to express his high consideration for his new guests; he appointed a separate palace to each, with a great number of eunuchs, and a guard of two thousand men. every day some new fête was contrived for their entertainment, and the king's whole attention seemed turned towards affording them pleasure. khalaf, although he had now every day a thousand matters to occupy his attention, did not forget his kind hostess; he remembered with gratitude the solicitude she expressed for him; he sent for her to the palace, and begged tourandocte to receive her amongst her attendants. the hope that timurtasch and elmaze entertained of reascending the throne of the nagäi-tartars, by the assistance of the king of china, insensibly made them forget their past troubles; and when tourandocte gave birth to a beautiful prince, they were quite overwhelmed with joy. the birth of this child, who was named the prince of china, was celebrated in all the cities of this vast empire by public rejoicings. whilst these festivities were taking place, news was brought by couriers, sent by the officers who had orders to collect the army, that all the troops of the kingdom, and those of the khan of berlas, had assembled at lake baljouta. immediately timurtasch, khalaf, and almguer set out for the camp, where they found every thing in readiness, and seven hundred thousand men ready to march; they immediately took the read to kotan, from whence they marched to raschar, and at length entered the dominions of the sultan of carisma. this prince, informed of their numbers, and of the invasion of his territories, by couriers whom the governors of the frontier towns had despatched, far from being alarmed at the number of his enemies, courageously prepared to meet them. instead even of intrenching himself, he had the boldness to take the field himself, at the head of four hundred thousand men, whom he had hastily collected. the armies met near cogendi, where they drew up in battle array. on the side of the chinese, timurtasch commanded the right wing, prince almguer the left, and khalaf the centre. on the other side, the sultan confided the command of his right wing to the ablest of his generals, opposed the prince of carisma to the prince of the nagäis, and reserved the left to himself, where the elite of his cavalry were stationed. the khan of berlas began the attack with the soldiers of his tribe, who, fighting like men who knew the eyes of their master were on them, soon turned the right wing of their enemies; the officer who commanded it, however, succeeded in reforming it almost immediately. meanwhile the right wing, commanded by timurtasch, was not so fortunate; the sultan broke them at the first onset, and the chinese in disorder were on the point of taking flight, in spite of every effort of the khan of the nagäis, when khalaf, informed of what had taken place, confided the care of the centre to an experienced chinese general, and rushed to the assistance of his father at the head of reinforcements. in a short time things assumed a different aspect. the left wing of the carismians was driven back, and in turn routed; the whole of the ranks fell into disorder and were easily broken--the entire wing was put to flight. the sultan determined to conquer or die, and made incredible efforts to rally his soldiers; but timurtasch and khalaf gave them no time, and surrounded them on all sides, whilst prince almguer having defeated the right wing, victory declared in favour of the chinese. there remained but one chance of safety for the sultan of carisma, and that was to cut his way through the ranks of his enemies, and to take refuge with some foreign prince; but he preferred not surviving his defeat to exhibiting amongst the nations his brow despoiled of the diadem; so rushing blindly into the thickest of the carnage, he fell bravely, fighting to the last, and pierced with a thousand mortal wounds, on a heap of slain. the prince of carisma, his son, shared the same fate; two hundred thousand of their troops were killed or made prisoners, the rest seeking safety in flight. the chinese also lost a great number of men; but if the battle had been a bloody one, it was decisive. timurtasch, after thanking heaven for this signal success, despatched an officer to pekin to give an account of the battle to the king of china; he then advanced into zagatay, and seized upon the city of carisma. he made a proclamation in this capital that he would not touch the property, or interfere with the liberty of the carismians; that heaven having made him master of the throne of his enemy, he intended to take possession of it, and that henceforth, zagatay, and the other countries which had been under the sway of the sultan, should acknowledge for their sovereign his son khalaf. the carismians, tired of the harsh rule of their late master, and persuaded that that of khalaf would be milder, submitted readily, and proclaimed as sultan this young prince, with whose merits they were acquainted. whilst the new sultan took all necessary measures to strengthen his position, timurtasch departed with a body of chinese troops with all possible speed to his own dominions. the nagäi-tartars received him like faithful subjects, and were overjoyed to see their legitimate sovereign; but he was not content with regaining his throne; he declared war against the circassians, in order to punish them for their treachery to prince khalaf at jund. instead of trying to appease him by submission, these warlike people speedily collected an army to oppose him. he attacked them, and cut them nearly all to pieces; after which he caused himself to be proclaimed king of circassia, and then returned to zagatay, where he found elmaze and tourandocte, whom altoun-khan had sent to carisma in great state. such was the end of the misfortunes of prince khalaf, who gained by his virtues the love and esteem of the carismians. he reigned long and peacefully over them, and never abated in his love for tourandocte; he had a second son by her, who became afterwards the sultan of carisma. as for the prince of china, altoun-khan brought him up, and chose him for his successor. timurtasch and the princess elmaze passed the rest of their days at astrachan, and the khan of berlas, after having received from them and their children all the tokens of gratitude which his generosity merited, retired to his tribe with the remainder of his troops. footnotes: [ ] the chinese mourning colour is white. iv. the wise dey. chaaban, dey of algiers, being dead, the turkish janissaries bethought themselves of electing a new dey; and their intention was to place in this high station an inert, weak, and indolent man, who would allow them to be their own masters, to act as they pleased either with or without justice, and who would never inflict any punishment upon them. passing through the streets of algiers, they beheld hadgi-achmet, a man of ripe age, seated peaceably at the door of his dwelling, and carefully mending his old slippers, without taking any part either in the outcries, the conversation, or the gossiping going on all around him. hadgi-achmet seemed to them to be just the sort of apathetic man they were in search of, a man who would never interfere with any one, would allow them to do exactly as they pleased, and who, in short, would be but the shadow of a dey. they therefore laid hold of hadgi-achmet, tore him from his work, led him to the divan, and elected him dey in spite of himself. hadgi-achmet, thus forced to assume the reins of government, wisely examined into the duties of his new position, and set himself to fulfil them with as much assiduity and zeal as he had employed in the humbler task of mending his old slippers. he watched over the interests of the country, and over those of justice, and punished severely all misdeeds which came under his observation; having a stern, strange habit of knitting his shaggy eyebrows and flashing his brilliant eyes whenever any thing mean or wicked came under his notice. all this was very displeasing to the turkish janissaries, and to several members of the divan. four of these latter formed a species of plot with the design of bringing hadgi-achmet into contempt in the eyes of the public. now as it was the pleasure of the dey to administer justice himself, and to enquire into the smallest matter that concerned the interests of the people, they thought to render him ridiculous, by begging him one day to judge four distinct matters, unworthy, in their opinion, to occupy the attention of a great ruler. "hadgi-achmet," said one of the members of the divan to the dey, "my lord, here is a culprit who can only be judged by thee, o sun of justice! he is a tunisian merchant, who has established himself a short time since at bab-a-zoun street, not far from the mosque. at first he carried on his trade with tolerable honesty; but by degrees it has been shown that he is nothing better than a rogue, and has cheated a great number of his customers in the weight, the quality, and the value of his goods. thou knowest well the law which condemns such offenders to lose an ear. this man was seized, carried before the cadi, and his rogueries being but too apparent, condemned by the cadi to lose his left ear, the right being reserved in the event of fresh misdemeanors. but when the man's turban was removed, it was discovered that his left ear was already gone. the cadi, being informed of the fact, ordered the right ear to be cut off. to execute this order, they had to pull the hand of the culprit away from his right ear, and when this had been done, it was discovered that the tunisian's right ear was missing as well as the left. the cadi therefore sent to inform me, and i, knowing the pleasure thou takest in resolving grave and important questions, have come to submit this one to thy consummate prudence, to thy glorious justice." hadgi-achmet, having heard these words, knit his brows, his eyes flashed fire upon him who had just spoken, and upon all those who were present at this audience; then, turning towards the man without ears, he said, "since thou hast always been a rogue, and that nothing could reform thee, i condemn thee all thy life long to wear neither turban nor any head-dress whatsoever to conceal the mutilation of thy ears. purchasers, on beholding this mutilation, will shun thee if they are wise, for no one is ignorant that a merchant without ears is nothing else than a rogue." the earless tunisian went sadly away. being compelled to exhibit to every one and at all times the mutilation he had undergone, was a far worse punishment than the loss of five hundred ears, if he had had them. this judgment pronounced, a second member of the divan addressed the dey, "hadgi-achmet, our lord and master, here are two men who are quarrelling upon a question which thou only canst decide by thy profound wisdom. one of these men is the father of a beautiful and promising boy. he had this son and two others. one day, about ten years ago, ibrahim, his neighbour, who was childless, said to him, 'chamyl, give me thy youngest son, i will adopt him; he shall live in my house, inherit my wealth, and be happy. if thou desirest it, i will give thee in exchange for thy son my country-house at boudjaréah; thou knowest that the north breeze is wafted there in the hottest days of summer.' "chamyl consented to give his son, and took the house at boudjaréah in exchange. ormed, the son of chamyl, went to live with ibrahim, who soon loved him very tenderly, whilst ormed, if only out of gratitude, soon became much attached to him. "chamyl has now lost both his other sons, and having become rich, desires to take back ormed, saying, 'this child is henceforth the sole hope of my race, the joy of my heart, and i wish him to become my heir.' "as for ibrahim, he has lost nearly the half of his fortune, but he has not lost the attachment which he bears to his adopted son. on the contrary, his affection continues daily to strengthen for this child, who is endowed with the finest qualities of mind, and with a grateful and affectionate heart. "with whom dost thou decree that ormed shall remain? with his adopted or with his real father?" hadgi-achmet, addressing himself to chamyl, said, "in what does thy fortune consist?" chamyl enumerated his possessions: a house, a ship, several country houses, and merchandise. "can these things be removed?" asked hadgi-achmet. "some of them can," replied chamyl. "and the others," replied hadgi-achmet; "couldst not thou, if necessary, dispose of them, and buy others with the price?" "i could," replied chamyl. "and the affection which thou hadst for thy sons who are dead, couldst thou transfer it, and bestow it upon other children." "ah! that would be impossible," replied chamyl, sorrowfully. "then affection cannot be transferred or exchanged," said hadgi-achmet; "and as it forms part of the heart of man, it is of far higher consequence than material things, is it not?" "yes, my lord," answered chamyl. "so that," continued the dey, "we may say to a man, sell, or give away, thy possessions; but we cannot, without absurdity, say to any one, cease to love him whom thou lovest. for which reason, chamyl, i condemn thee to leave with ibrahim the child whom he loves, and whom thou voluntarily gavest him when thou hadst affection for thy two sons who are no more. as to thy possessions, thou canst bear them whithersoever thou wilt, for riches are not the heart." "but i love my son," cried chamyl, "and i will have him, and him only, for my heir." "ah! thou lovest thy son," rejoined hadgi-achmet. "it may be so, but thou gavest no proofs of it so long as thy two other children were alive. moreover, thou hast taken a house in exchange for thy son; it is exactly the same as if thou hadst sold thy child." "i was poor," murmured chamyl. "a lame excuse," said the dey, "for there are many more poor men than rich men, yet we do not see poor men giving up their children for any gain whatsoever." "no, no! i have not sold my son," cried chamyl, "and my son is mine." "no, thy son is no longer thine," said the dey, "for thou art not a father after my heart, and for ten years thy son has been cared for by the man to whom thou gavest him in exchange for a house. ibrahim has not deserved that the child whom he so tenderly loves should be taken from him, and i order him to be left with him. but since thou wilt have none other than thy son for thine heir, i decree moreover that all thy property shall revert to him after thy death, which is nothing but justice." ibrahim then interposed. "my lord," said he to the dey, "ormed and i have no need of the fortune of chamyl. what allah has left to us is sufficient for our wants. permit chamyl then to preserve the right of choosing for himself an heir among orphans or poor children, of whom he will now probably adopt one." "no," replied the dey, "the man who has been able to calmly select one from among his own children and barter him for a house, can never attach himself to the orphan or the unfortunate. i see no reason to alter the judgment i have pronounced. ormed will have for his inheritance the love of his adopted father and the wealth of his real one." chamyl withdrew, greatly incensed at this judgment, which seemed to him unjust, but which appeared highly equitable to the inhabitants of aldgezaire. a third member of the divan then addressed hadgi-achmet: "all thy words bear the impress of the wisdom which illuminates thee. it suffices to hear thee, in order to know and venerate thee. if we do not abuse thy patience and thy goodness, it is because both are inexhaustible. behold," added he, "a woman veiled, according to the law. she accuses her husband of leaving her to perish with hunger, whilst her husband here maintains that the woman tells an infamous untruth, and that he supplies her with ample means for becoming fat and strong; he adds, that the famished locusts from the desert eat not more voraciously than doth this woman, all the while remaining lean and feeble, as thou seest. the woman persists in asserting that her husband scarcely gives her sufficient to languish on like a dying tree, and she claims thy pity and thy justice." hadgi-achmet, having heard these words, knit his brows, his eyes flashed fire upon him who had just spoken, and upon those present at this audience. then he said, "mahmoud, dost thou declare that thou affordest sufficient nourishment to thy wife?" "yes, my lord," replied mahmoud. "and thou, woman," said the dey, "dost thou still maintain that thy husband leaves thee in want of nourishment?" "yes, my lord," replied the poor starving woman in a faint voice, and extending her transparent hands and long thin arms, in a supplicating manner towards her master and her judge. "art thou poor?" demanded hadgi-achmet of mahmoud. "no, my lord," replied mahmoud, "i could support several wives if i wished, but it pleases me to have only this one in my house." "ah! thou couldst support several wives," replied the dey; "and why then dost thou not give to this one all she desires, even supposing she devoured as voraciously as the famished locusts of the desert?" "i never refuse her any thing," said mahmoud. the poor veiled woman sighed. "well," added hadgi-achmet, "since thou art both rich and generous, i will put thee in the position to repel an accusation so disgraceful to thee as that of leaving the woman whom thou hast espoused to perish of hunger. to which end i order that thy wife shall dwell in my palace in the apartments of my women and receive from thee a pension which will enable her to purchase whatever food she may desire. if at the end of a year of peace and plenty she should still possess that feeble voice and that excessive thinness which inspire my compassion, i shall regard her as inflicted with an incurable malady, and will leave her to go and die beneath thy roof; but if, on the contrary, she regains strength and voice, thou shalt be hung, not only for having violated the law which commands the husband to minister to the support of his wife, but still more for having lied before thy lord and thy judge, who knows and ever will know how to punish those who offend him." having spoken thus, hadgi-achmet cast terrible looks upon all the men present at this audience. mahmoud withdrew only too sure of being hung next year, and every one preserved a gloomy silence which lasted for several minutes. hadgi-achmet meanwhile resumed: "if there remains any other cause for me to judge, let it be declared." then with less self-possession and confidence than his colleagues had displayed, a fourth member of the divan presented himself. "here, my lord," said he, "is a strange affair which occupies us, and which thou alone canst judge. "these two men here present are twin-brothers. they have always loved each other, and have never been separated. their father is just dead. after having deplored his loss, they said to each other: 'the roof of our father's dwelling has sheltered us to this day, let it shelter us still; and let us amicably share all that is left us by our father, arms, vestments, or jewels.' "but all at once an object presented itself which could not be divided, and for the loss of which nothing else would compensate. the article in question is a holy amulet, which it is said bestows wisdom on him who wears it upon his breast beneath his tunic. now the two brothers equally desire wisdom, and both would fain possess the precious talisman left them by their father." hadgi-achmet having heard these words, knit his brows, again his eyes flashed fire, as he said to one of the twins: "mozza, canst thou not yield to thy brother, who so earnestly desires it, the amulet left you both by your father?" "no, my lord," replied mozza, "i could easily reconcile myself to my brother's being richer than myself, but not to his being wiser!" hadgi-achmet turned to the other brother: "farzan, canst thou not yield to thy brother the amulet he wishes to possess?" "no, my lord," replied farzan, "for wisdom not alone bestows upon its possessor the things of the earth, but those also which belong to heaven, and i desire those above all." hadgi-achmet then ordered mozza to place upon his breast beneath his tunic the cherished amulet, which being done, he said to the young man: "i am charmed to find that thou preferrest wisdom to fortune, for wisdom is above all. but dost thou not see that it is wise to be at peace with thy brother, and that to obtain this peace there is no sacrifice too great? to yield to thy brother is the beginning and the end of wisdom; he who yields is ever the best and the wisest. on this ground thou wilt now, i am persuaded, yield cheerfully this amulet to thy brother." "i repeat, my lord," answered mozza, "that i will yield every thing to my brother, slaves, diamonds, house--my entire fortune; but i will never willingly give up this sacred amulet: it is the only heritage i covet." "ah!" said hadgi-achmet, "thou hast not changed thy mind then! well, give me thy father's amulet." mozza reluctantly handed the precious talisman to the dey. "farzan," said the dey, "place this amulet upon thy breast, and beneath thy tunic." farzan obeyed. he had no sooner placed the amulet upon his breast than he felt so lively a joy that he would have embraced his brother had he dared, and his eyes glistened with pleasure. "ah!" said hadgi-achmet, addressing himself to farzan, "i perceive that this amulet has great power over thee. thy heart is opened to wisdom, and thou wilt renounce foolish quarrels, wilt thou not, and yield to thy brother the talisman which he so much desires, and of which he has perhaps greater need than thou?" "i!" cried farzan, "rather would i die than part with my father's amulet! i feel myself capable of plunging my dagger into the bosom of any one rash enough to attempt to tear it from me, whoever he might be." "in truth," rejoined hadgi-achmet, "i see that this amulet is far from bestowing all the wisdom of which you young men deem it capable. on the contrary it only seems to me fit to sow dissensions between you, since notwithstanding you have both worn it upon your breast, you have nevertheless preserved your animosity and unjust pretensions in the dispute in question. for which reason i ordain that this precious talisman, of whose real power we are doubtless ignorant, shall remain in my palace and be restored in ten years' time to whichever of you two shall have given by his conduct the most incontestable proofs of piety and virtue." having heard this sentence, the two brothers sorrowfully withdrew. but they had no sooner crossed the threshold of the palace, than they were reconciled to each other, avowing that the dey had acted with justice, and thenceforth they lived happy and united as before. in the mean time, hadgi-achmet, having delivered these four judgments, knit his brows once more, and turning to the members of the divan, addressed them as follows: "joyfully have i just occupied myself with the smallest things which concern the welfare and repose of my subjects, and i should not regret my time had it been employed in affairs still more trifling. every thing appears of importance to me which in any way relates to the wellbeing of one of those over whom allah has made me sovereign. i nothing doubt that you applaud my conduct, and that you would gladly imitate my zeal in the service of the people. your praises prove it; but i know well that men such as you prefer proving their zeal by actions, rather than by words. i am about therefore to entrust you with a task of great importance to me, since it is for the most interesting class of my subjects, namely, the most unfortunate. i am about to distribute before the ramadan, four sacks of rice among poor old men and widows. an unskilful hand has contrived in filling these sacks with the rice, to spill amongst it a quantity of _oats_. now as i do not wish these poor people to think themselves treated with contempt by receiving rice mixed with oats, i wish that pious hands should carefully sift the rice and extract from it these grains. it is on you i rely for the performance of this duty, which awaits you in one of the halls of my palace. i cannot at this moment be an eye-witness of your zeal in obeying me, and serving the people; but before your task is finished, i will be with you." having spoken these words, the dey caused the members of the divan to be respectfully conducted by his guards to a large hall, where they found four sacks of rice and several baskets. the members of the divan feeling persuaded that this was an affair which more nearly concerned their heads than the sacks of rice, set themselves silently to this unexpected work, whilst the guards remained stationary at the entrance of the hall in which the labour was being carried on. the flight of a musquito might have been heard in this hall where the members of the divan were busily engaged sifting the rice for the poor, all the while vowing to be revenged upon hadgi-achmet, if they ever had the power. towards the evening the members of the divan were joined by hadgi-achmet, who perceiving that one of them had made less progress in his task than his three colleagues, said, "i would not accuse thee of want of zeal: man knows not always what he wishes, nor knows what he can do; i will therefore aid thee in thy task," and he began gravely to assist the four members of the divan in sifting the rice of the poor. the tasks being accomplished, the four sacks of rice were carefully closed. hadgi-achmet thanked his enemies, and caused them to be conducted with the greatest respect to the gates of his palace. these men left to themselves, regarded each other with consternation and shame; they then said, "we would fain have laughed at hadgi-achmet, and it is he who has mocked us. let us henceforth abstain from criticizing his scrupulous exactitude in rendering justice, but let us think only of avenging ourselves." but they sought the opportunity in vain. hadgi-achmet, who had commenced his career by so carefully mending his old slippers, held the reins of power with a strong hand, and whilst other deys in those times almost always met a violent death by steel or poison, he died peacefully in his palace, after having lived many long years. v. the tunisian sage; or, the powder of longevity. selim-ben-foubi had been twenty years engaged in commerce when he inherited a fortune which greatly surpassed his wants and even his desires. as he had lost all his children, his great wealth caused him but little joy, and he felt it even embarrassing to possess so much gold and so many precious things, of which he should never be able to make any use. "i am now fifty," said he, "and were i to live to a hundred, i should not spend half of what i possess. i can only take one meal at a time, dress in a single suit, and sleep in but one bed. hence if i can but rest in peace in a substantial and commodious house, eat as much as i desire, and invite a friend to partake of my repast, that is all i need wish for. i have therefore resolved to give away the half of my fortune during my lifetime, that i may enjoy the pleasure of beholding happiness of my own creating." having formed this generous project, selim nevertheless wished before putting it into execution to take counsel with two of his friends. quitting therefore his country-house at boudjaréah, he repaired to aldgezaire, where in the garden of the grand mosque dwelt usually a sage mufti, a grave and reverend man. seating himself by his side beneath the shade of some flowering pomegranate trees, he thus accosted him: "mehemet, i have come to visit thee in order to open my whole heart to thee and take counsel of thy wisdom. i am suddenly become very rich, as thou knowest, and i have no son to inherit my wealth; is it not too great for a single solitary man? speak, answer me." "that which allah gives should never be despised," replied the sage. "i do not disdain my riches," replied selim, "but i am thinking of sharing them with others, and of keeping only what is necessary to my existence for the remainder of my days." "thou knowest not what the number of thy days will be." "i will suppose that i may enjoy the longest of lives, a hundred years for example, thinkest thou i shall live yet longer?" "allah alone knows." "let us say five hundred," continued selim, "surely that covers all chances; well then, during this long course of years, would it not be more agreeable to me to know that my riches are useful, than to feel that they were hidden in some coffer, where they might become an object of envy to the poor, or tempt the cupidity of the ill-doer?" "may be so," said the mufti. "my thought is a good one then?" "it may be; but will it be good in practice? i cannot say. nothing is more common than to think wisely; nothing more rare than to put wise thoughts into practice." "advise me," said selim, "and i shall then be sure of fulfilling the law, and of doing good. how ought i to distribute the half of my large fortune?" the mufti reflected profoundly, and then replied: "i advise thee first to take at least one year to reflect upon thy project. time is the sun that ripens the thoughts of men. we never repent of having reflected before acting; we often regret not having done so. reflect then, and afterwards come and consult with me." selim quitted the mosque, and repaired to bab-a-zoun street, to the house of his other friend, a moorish merchant, who laboured hard to support himself by his calling. he began thus: "we have been friends and have known each other these ten years, for which reason i come to put to thee this question: 'in what way, thinkest thou, a man who is both rich and beneficent should employ his fortune, in order to be useful?'" the moorish merchant replied: "thou makest a very singular demand of me. i cannot believe that a man can find any difficulty in giving, if he really possess the desire. he may found a mosque, succour the aged, support the widow and the orphan, enrich his friends, if he have any, and the rich are seldom without friends." "but thou," rejoined selim, "if thou hadst aught to give away, what wouldst thou do?" "i? i cannot fancy myself having any thing to give away, seeing that i can scarcely pay the rent of my poor shop, and fill that shop with a few sacks of rice and a little coffee. if i had money, it is very certain that i should begin by buying a house and goods. it is of no use to say to a poor man like me, 'to whom wouldst thou give thy money?' but i repeat to thee there is no lack of good actions to be done. happy he who has only to choose." "thou art right," said selim to his friend; and quitting him, he returned to his country-house at boudjaréah. one of his neighbours, achmet the arab, accosted him upon the road thither; and selim, having stopped to converse with his friend, said to him: "thou art of a ripe age, and art not wanting in experience of the things of this life. tell me then if thou considerest that it would be well for a man who is rich and childless to give away, while still living, the half of his fortune, reserving the other half, upon which to subsist honourably the remainder of his days." achmet replied, "i cannot say whether it is better in the sight of allah to give away or to retain the goods with which he has endowed thee. as for myself, i have nothing to give, for i have a very small fortune, and a great many children; but if i were rich and without heirs, i would bury my gold in some corner of my garden, sooner than bestow it to gratify men who are either wicked or ungrateful, and such they almost all are. this gold would sooner or later be discovered by some one whom allah desired to enrich, and thus i should not be responsible for the use that was made of it." "thy idea is not, perhaps, a bad one," said selim, "and i will certainly reflect upon it." while selim and his neighbour were talking together, a tunisian of miserable aspect approached the spot. this was no other than hussein muley, a physician of tunis. he was already advanced in years, and passed for a man rich in science, but poor in money. selim requested this man to rest himself in his house, and his invitation being accepted, he saluted his neighbour achmet, and conducted his guest into one of the fresh and salubrious halls of his smiling abode. hussein muley, fatigued by two hours' walk under a broiling sun, threw himself upon a divan, whilst fruits and coffee were abundantly served to him. when he had somewhat reposed and refreshed himself, selim said to him in a friendly manner, "i am happy to receive thee at my house, because thou art a wise man, and of good renown in thy profession. thou hast travelled, read, and seen life; thou must of necessity be able to judge wisely of the things which relate to this life. i should therefore be very glad to have thy opinion upon a project which i have formed. i have become very rich by inheritance; and having no children, i think of disposing, while yet living, of a great portion of my wealth. in what way dost thou consider it would be most desirable to employ this wealth?" hussein muley regarded selim with surprise. "thou wouldst give away a great portion of what thou hast," said he. "this is, indeed, a marvellous thing. i have, as thou sayest, travelled, read, and seen life, but never yet have i heard of any man giving away, during his lifetime, the greater part of his fortune." "does that prove that it would be wrong to do so?" demanded selim. "i know not," replied the tunisian, falling into a fit of profound meditation, and looking all the while at the tips of his old slippers, instead of contemplating from afar the ever-changing sea and azure sky. "on what dost thou muse?" at length demanded selim. "i was thinking--i was thinking that if the duration of man's life were longer, it would be better both for those who study science, and for those who are the fortunate possessors of great wealth; it would be equally good for the poor, since they might one day hope to enjoy the fruit of their toils, if they took pains to become rich." "what profits it to meditate so deeply upon a thing which all the reflections of man cannot change?" "i do not regard the prolongation of human existence as impossible. hitherto physicians have most frequently been instrumental in abridging it. my aim is to repair the wrongs they have involuntarily committed. i would have succeeding ages regard my memory with gratitude." "what sayest thou?" cried selim. "thou wouldst change the order of things, the whole course of nature?" "nothing can convince me that we follow the course of nature by dying at sixty or eighty years of age, when men formerly lived hundreds of years. on the contrary, i am certain that we were created to live longer, much longer, and i consecrate all my days, my nights, and my studies to the pursuit of a discovery which is destined to prolong the existence of mankind, and renew the state of things as they were when men married at a hundred years of age, and lived to see their sons' sons grow up and marry in their turn. why, have i often asked myself, should our lives be shorter than those of an oak of the forests, of a serpent, or even of a vulture?" "if we lived as long as an oak," replied selim, "the cedars and the palm trees would still live longer than we." "thou dost but jest, but thy jesting is ill-timed; nothing is more serious than the thought which occupies me. thou thyself, confess now, wouldst thou not be enchanted to see suns succeed suns, and to contemplate for ages to come the wonders of the heavens and the fecundity of the earth?" selim reflected a little, and replied, "man does not love death, it is true; nevertheless life is not so desirable as thou wouldst fain have us believe." "then thou desirest not to prolong thy days upon the earth? for myself, i confess that i desire it greatly; so that besides my days and my nights, i consecrate all that i glean from learned researches to the accomplishment of this great end. i am already upon the track. but unfortunately gold is wanting--this gold which thou despisest, or knowest not how to employ--this gold would in my hands contribute to the happiness of future generations. with gold--with gold you can purchase books of precious value, measure the stars, dig the bowels of the earth, rend metals from her bosom, decompose substances, in short, penetrate into every mystery. yes, gold which heretofore has been unable to bestow a day, nay an hour upon its possessor, gold in my hands would accomplish a wondrous discovery. i should certainly not keep the secret for myself alone, and i should share it first of all with the man whose wealth had helped me to the means of obtaining it." "but shouldst thou discover the means of prolonging my life for many centuries, i should not then be rich enough to give away half of my fortune." "what!" cried the physician of tunis, "is not life preferable to all the riches in the world? and if at this moment it were said to thee, 'thou shalt die, or give up the whole of thy possessions,' wouldst thou not readily yield them to avoid the thrust of a yataghan, or the discharge of a gun in thy breast?" "thou puzzlest me, but i think that in such a case i should give up my property to preserve my life." "thou seest then that life is dear, even to the poor. why not therefore endeavour to prolong thine own? even if my profound science did not succeed, thou wouldst still be rich enough to enjoy an existence of the shorter duration." listening thus to the learned physician, selim fell by degrees into a profound reverie, and the tunisian, instead of continuing his discourse, gave himself up to meditation also; so that both these two men became absorbed in their own dreams in presence of each other, but without communicating their ideas, and allah alone knows of what they were thinking. after long and silent reflection, selim said to hussein muley, "before seeing thee i had intended to bestow while yet alive one-half of my fortune in making others happy. it will, i think, be no change of purpose, if i aid thee in pursuing those learned researches which tend to prolong the life of man. for which reason, hussein muley, i propose at once to present thee with the gold of which thou hast need. come with me." the tunisian, appearing more astonished than rejoiced at these words, gravely arose, followed selim into another apartment in the house, and received from him a little casket filled with pieces of gold. "employ this wisely," said selim, "and communicate to me the result of thy labour." "i will not fail to do so," replied hussein muley. and clasping the precious casket to his breast, he exclaimed, "here then is the means of satisfying my thirst for knowledge, of surmounting all obstacles, of snatching from the past the secret which shall add hundreds of years to the existence of man, and prolong his days to the space of those of his fathers. selim," added he, "thou dost a meritorious action in giving me this. i need not thank thee, because i am going to work for thee as for myself; nevertheless i do thank thee, and with my whole heart." having said these words the learned physician withdrew gravely, and with an air of deep abstraction. selim was not less preoccupied. left to himself, he meditated long and profoundly on long and short lives, and on the prodigies accomplished by science, and he ended by asking himself whether he should confide to the sage mufti, whom he was soon about to see again, what he had done for hussein muley, and his hope of beholding the existence of the human species prolonged to an almost indefinite period. his final resolution was to admit no one to his confidence in the matter, but to await in silence the marvellous discovery of his new friend hussein muley, the physician of tunis. several months passed by without the reappearance of the latter, but when at length he returned to boudjaréah he was yellower, leaner, and more attenuated even than a man who had crossed on foot the mighty desert of sahara. his limbs, in fact, could scarcely support his trembling frame. "well," said selim, "what has befallen thee? art thou sick, or dost thou return to me perishing of hunger?" "no, but i have travelled night and day beneath the pale light of the stars, and the burning rays of the sun, and have often forgotten to take necessary sustenance, so deeply was i absorbed in my studies." "well, and the result?" "alas! i have not yet succeeded as i could desire. thus far have i attained only, that i have secured the power of prolonging our days fifty years." having uttered these words, hussein muley sorrowfully clasped his withered hands upon his breast, and then added: "i know that such a discovery would afford intense joy to any other but myself, but it is far from satisfying me. to live fifty years longer than usual, what is that?" "it is something, nevertheless," replied selim, "and wilt thou tell me what is necessary to be done, in order to add fifty years to one's existence?" "will i tell thee?" cried the tunisian; "i am come expressly for that purpose, and to give thee this powder. it must be taken every morning fasting, for one year, three months, a week, and a day, without fail." "i must write down these directions," said selim. he wrote them down at once, and then asked, "dost thou not think thou shouldst rest satisfied with thy discovery, and begin to live well, and sleep well, in order to enjoy the remaining years of thy life?" "i have no desire to repose yet from my labours. of what account are fifty years added to sixty or eighty, soon to be over for me? no, no, i would live two centuries at the least, to enjoy the fruits of my toil, and make the fortunes of my children, and my children's children. for thou dost not imagine we shall at first give to every one for nothing this magnificent secret, which has cost us so much. it is this secret which will procure us the means of living in splendour to the end of our days. thou canst, for heavy sums of money, dispose of the powder which i shall have composed to whomsoever thou pleasest, while i on my part equally will part with it for gold; and when at length we die, surfeited with life, we will leave our secret to the multitude that survives us." "this arrangement seems to me just, and well conceived. nevertheless, i desire not to sell the powder, but may i bestow it, and at once, upon one or two men whom i esteem highly?" "no, let us not yet draw attention to our happy fortune; let us wait until my discovery shall be completely perfected." "agreed; but i lament to see thee yellow, thin, and attenuated, as thou art." "oh! that is nothing," said the tunisian, striking his forehead with his hands; "do not let my haggard appearance disturb thee. i would rather have nothing but skin upon my bones, and keep my secret to myself. i shall soon regain my flesh and my complexion. no, my health causes me no uneasiness. i merely suffer from anxiety, which arises from not having money sufficient for the prosecution of my studies." "dost thou require much?" demanded selim. "ah! yes, much," replied hussein with a sigh; "and if i fail in procuring it, instead of living fifty years longer than the usual course of things, i will either starve myself to death, or drown myself in the well of my house." "beware of acting thus," said selim. "i can still give thee something; make use of that, and afterwards follow my advice, and sell to some rich man thy powder, in order to meet the expenses of thy lengthened researches." hussein muley appeared to meditate profoundly with his forehead buried in his hands, and seemed not to listen to selim, but it is not improbable that he heard him very well. "thou dost not listen to me," continued selim. "hussein! hussein! i will give thee another little casket of gold; but after this casket i have nothing more to give thee. there will only remain just sufficient for me, during the time that i hope to live, thanks to thy powder. if thou discoverest another still more marvellous, thou wilt give it me, at least for my own use, wilt thou not?" hussein muley seemed suddenly to come to himself, and exclaimed: "oh! i have at length found that of which i was in search! yes, one herb alone is now wanting; i will go in quest of it, were it at the other end of the earth, and i will resolve the great problem which has occupied me for more than thirty years. selim! selim! entrust to my keeping what thou canst still consecrate to the happiness of mankind, and rest assured that thou wilt merit the admiration and the gratitude of ages to come." "i desire neither the one nor the other," replied selim; "i only wish to do a little good, that is all. shall i succeed in my purpose? i will confess to thee, hussein muley, that i have more than once regretted devoting my fortune to a discovery which may prove more fatal than useful to the world; for the world is already peopled enough, and what would it be, if men lived for several centuries? would they not kill each other for want of room?" "do they not already kill each other by sea and by land?" said hussein muley with a strange smile. "come," continued he, "do not disquiet thyself about what will some day happen upon the earth; profit by what fate offers thee, and prolong thy days in peace." having thus spoken, he took the second casket proffered him by selim, put it under his arm, and said in a grave tone: "i am about to undertake a journey into asia. there, near the indies, is a high mountain, mount himalaya--dost thou not know it?" "no," answered selim. "well, nor i either; but i go to cull from its summit, covered with perpetual snows, a plant, which will complete the discoveries i have already made." "i thought that no plant was ever to be found on those mountain tops covered with perpetual snow and frost?" "there grows none, but that of which i have immediate need; i am going in quest of it, and will show it thee on my return." "it is well," said selim, and they separated. hussein muley retreated with rapid strides. selim carefully placed in a small box the powder which he was to take fasting, during one year, three months, a week, and a day, and he began from the very next day to administer to himself this drug, which happily he did not find to be very nauseous to the taste. meanwhile the tunisian set out from aldgezaire with his wife, his children, and several chests, containing no doubt his books, and the papers necessary for his studies; but selim never saw him more. he awaited his return, three, five, ten years, and, as he judged that ten years should suffice to go to asia, and scale the highest mountain there, he began to think that the yellow, thin, and learned tunisian was either dead, or else had taken advantage of his credulity and ignorance. whilst these thoughts occupied his mind, an epidemic broke out in aldgezaire; selim was attacked by it. he therefore begged the wise mufti, who was still alive, to come and visit him; and then with that burst of confidence which seizes men in the hour of danger, he opened his heart to him, and related how he had given two caskets full of gold to hussein muley, in the hope of prolonging the existence of mankind for many centuries. the wise mufti stroked his venerable beard and exclaimed: "selim, selim, thou hast been played upon by a swindler, to whom thou hast imprudently confided thy generous thoughts. this proves the truth of what i one day said to thee, 'with the best intentions we may commit the most foolish actions.'" "ah!" said selim sorrowfully, "my misfortune has been in not spontaneously following the first impulse of my heart, for i had really the wish to do good, but in taking counsel of one and another i have followed the worst i received." "yes," replied the mufti, "thou mightest perhaps have acted wisely in following thy first idea; at the same time, if thou hadst, in accordance with my advice, reflected longer upon thy projects of benevolence, it is certain that thou wouldst not have given thy gold to a cheat who has done nothing but laugh at thy credulity." selim willingly consented to acknowledge his fault. he confessed that it is useless to take the opinion of the wise and learned, if we do not mean to profit by it; then he prostrated himself devoutly before allah, recovered his health by degrees, and caused a large sum of money to be distributed among the poor of the mosques, for he relied no longer on the hundreds of years of existence which were to come to him from mount himalaya, any more than on the powder of longevity. vi. the nose for gold. mohammed and yousouf, young moors, born in aldgezaire, had loved each other from infancy, and increasing years only served to strengthen the bonds of their attachment. besides the happiness they enjoyed in their mutual affection, their friendship tended also to elevate their characters, and make them remarkable, for every body knows that constant friendships are never the lot of vulgar minds. these two young men, therefore, raised themselves above the level of the vulgar herd by the fidelity of their affection; they were cited as models in their native city; people smiled with pleasure on seeing them pass, always together, ever in good humour; and although they were far from being rich, yet their fate was envied by every one. mohammed and yousouf generally dressed alike, and they had recourse to the same trade to gain their living. their only trouble,--there must always be some in this world,--arose from the shops in which they were engaged during the day being separated from each other; evening, it is true, reunited them in the same dwelling, but that was not enough for them. when they married even, they contrived that it should be to each other's relatives. one family established itself on the first floor of the house, the other immediately above, and the two friends continued to love as heretofore, and to rejoice in their common felicity. over and over again, during their long conversations, they would repeat with the reiteration usual to those to whom a subject is dear, some such sentiments as these: "the restless periods of youth, marriage, and commercial affairs have tried our friendship without altering it; it is henceforth secure from all changes; old age will only serve to render us dearer to each other, and we shall leave to our families the record and example of an affection which a future day will doubtless see renewed in our sons." "it is probable," they would often say, "that allah, touched by our friendship upon earth, will reunite us eternally in the paradise of true believers, beneath fresh shades, and by the side of bubbling fountains, surrounded by flowers of sweet perfume." at this prospect of an eternal union, an eternal happiness, both would smile in anticipation, and such expressions as these they were never weary of repeating to each other. these two friends were about thirty years of age, when a lucky chance gave them the opportunity of accomplishing the dearest wish of their hearts, that of occupying together two small shops adjoining each other. an old israelite, without family and without children, had inhabited them for twenty years. in one he slept and ate, not having any other house; in the other he displayed his merchandise; essences, amber, pastilles, necklaces and bracelets for the rich moors, small looking-glasses, and beads of coral for the slaves; all of which he sold at the dearest possible price, as if he had a dozen children to support, and as many of his co-religionists. mohammed and yousouf established themselves with lively satisfaction in these shops, the possession of which they had so long coveted, without at the same time desiring the death of the old jew. they were incapable of a wicked action; but the jew being dead, as they could not restore him to life, they saw no harm in lawfully taking possession of his domicile. this event seemed to complete their happiness. but who can say or know what is really a good or an evil? who can foresee the consequences of things? mohammed one day, while knocking a nail into the partition wall between his shop and that of yousouf, discovered that this wall was hollow, and that it contained some pieces of metal. his first impulse was to call, "yousouf! yousouf! there is gold or silver in our wall;" but the next moment he thought, "i will first assure myself of what this part of the wall contains, and if i really make a fortunate discovery, i shall give yousouf such an agreeable surprise by calling him to partake of it." accordingly he waited until yousouf should be out of the way for an hour or two to give him the opportunity of exploring further into his wall, but it so happened that yousouf was never absent at all for several days following. mohammed then said to his friend: "i fancy that something has been stolen from my shop during the night. i shall sleep there to-night, in order to surprise the thief, if he should reappear." "i shall not leave thee alone here all night," replied yousouf, "but shall sleep also in my shop by the side of thee." mohammed in vain strove to oppose the resolution of his friend; he could not revisit his shop alone in the evening, and for several days following, yousouf seeing that he appeared pensive and uneasy, quitted him less than ever, and said to him with the solicitude of true friendship: "thou seemest sad! thy wife and thy sons, are they ill? regrettest thou what has been taken from thy shop? compensate thyself for thy loss by selecting whatever thou wilt from that which i possess." mohammed thanked yousouf, and replied with a smile: "rest satisfied, i have no grief." he dared not add, "i have no secret," for he had one. in order however to put an end to the feeling of intense anxiety that filled his mind, he came to his shop one night unknown to yousouf, and hastily detaching from the partition wall first one stone, then two or three more, he discovered a hundred spanish doubloons, and eight four-dollar pieces. this was a perfect treasure to mohammed, who had never in his life possessed more than the half of a small house, and the few goods exposed for sale in his shop. "we are rich," said he. "yousouf and i can now purchase a country house by the sea-side, as we have so often wished. our wives and our children will disport themselves in our sight. my son ali, that beautiful child whom i so tenderly love, will be delighted to run among the trees and climb up into their topmost branches. ah! how rejoiced i am, if only for his sake." thus thinking, mohammed took his gold and his silver, replaced, as well as he was able, the stones in his wall, and returned to his home, his mind occupied with delightful visions, and already beholding himself in imagination enjoying the pleasures of a delightful habitation by the sea-shore, with his beautiful ali, that dear child whom he so tenderly loved. during two days he put off from hour to hour the disclosure which he had to make to yousouf; and during those two days he revolved all sorts of ideas in his mind. "if i made the fortune of my son, instead of that of my friend," said he at length to himself, "should i be guilty? is not a son nearer and dearer than all the friends in the world? yes; but then the gold and silver which i have discovered belong by rights as much to yousouf as to myself, for the wall whence i have taken them belongs as much to his shop as to mine." unable to resolve either to share his treasure with his friend or to keep it for himself alone, he took the resolution of carefully concealing it in the chamber in which he slept, and of waiting until the agitation caused in his mind by so important an event should have somewhat subsided, to which end he hastened to secure his newly acquired possession. "reflection is no crime," said he. consequently he gave himself time to reflect, instead of following the first impulse of his heart and remaining faithful to that devotion of friendship which had hitherto constituted his pride and glory, and which still bore the promise of so rich a harvest in the future. he passed all his time then, extended during the heat of the day upon a mat by the side of his merchandise, and with closed eyes feigning to sleep, while in reality he was thinking of nothing but his treasure, and of what he ought to do with it. yousouf meanwhile, impressed with the idea that his friend was sleeping, took every care to guard his slumbers from interruption, thinking as he gently fanned his fevered brow of nothing but mohammed, and what he could possibly invent to divert him and render him happy. one day as yousouf and mohammed were reposing after their labours, an old hump-backed jew with a sallow complexion and an enormous nose accosted yousouf, saying: "was it not here that nathan cohen, the son of david, lived about two years since?" "speak low," replied yousouf to the jew. "my friend is asleep, and i would not that his slumbers should be disturbed." the jew seated himself on the edge of yousouf's little counter, and repeated his inquiry, at the same time lowering the harsh and hollow tones of his voice. "yes, it was here that nathan cohen, the son of david, dwelt," replied the young moor. "ah!" said the old jew, working his large and flexible nostrils, "i was sure of it--that is why i scent gold hidden here." "indeed!" said yousouf, regarding somewhat incredulously the extraordinary nose of his interlocutor. "thou dost well to talk of smelling gold or silver either. thy olfactory nerves are of the strongest no doubt, nevertheless i fear me they are at fault in this dwelling, where gold and silver but seldom make their appearance." "they are not often to be seen here," replied the jew; "i know that full well; they are not heard here either, for the earth conceals them both from sight and sound. but remove them from the envious ground that covers them, and they will dazzle thine eyes and charm thine ears." "indeed!" said yousouf, laughing. "thou art the bearer of good news. how much dost thou demand for thy reward?" "i would have thee share with me all that i shall cause to be discovered in thy house by means of the marvellous sense of smelling with which i am endowed, and at which thou now jestest." "share with thee!" exclaimed yousouf. "oh no, indeed! if i were fortunate enough to discover a treasure, it is with my friend mohammed that i should hasten to share it." "but thou wilt have nothing to share with him if i do not disclose to thee the spot where thy treasure lies concealed." "perhaps so. but if i put any confidence in thy nose, what prevents me from turning my whole shop topsy-turvy, digging up the floor, and pulling down the walls and the shelves?" the jew slowly regarded the ground, the walls, and the shelves, as they were severally named by yousouf; then he said in an ironical manner: "thou wouldst not do much harm if thou wert to demolish all around thee; but to save thyself so much trouble and labour, thou hadst far better give me at least one-third of what i shall discover in thy dwelling. the other two-thirds can be for thyself and thy friend, if thou art fool enough not to wish to keep all for thyself." "ah, it may suit such a man as thou to call him who prefers friendship to money a fool! but in spite of all thy arguments i shall never change, and i shall love mohammed better than all the money in the world." "as you please. it remains to be seen if mohammed would do the same for you." "i have not the slightest doubt of it," replied yousouf. the jew uttered a suppressed laugh. "and i have every doubt of it," said he. "i doubt even _thy_ future disinterestedness, notwithstanding the warmth of thy discourse. yousouf! yousouf! thou hast not yet beheld the dazzling brilliancy of gold! it is the lustre of this metal which charms the eyes and wins the heart of man. once let him see gold before him, and know that he has the power to possess himself of it, and adieu to every other thought. gold! why it is the thing to be most desired in the world. possessed of gold, what can we not enjoy? a fine house, smiling pasturage, blooming gardens, rich stuffs, divans, perfumes, all, in short, that renders life desirable!" "that is very true," replied yousouf. "we can procure many things with gold; but still gold cannot purchase youth, gaiety, friendship, or even a good appetite or sound sleep. leave me then in peace with thy discoveries, and if thou art so skilled in the art of scenting gold, learn also to scan the disposition of him to whom thou addressest thyself." "then thou wilt not consent to give me the third of what i know to be here, hidden though it may be?" "decidedly not," replied yousouf. "i have no faith in thy ridiculous pretensions; moreover, i do not know thee, and have never seen thee either in the public walks, the streets, or elsewhere." "i have just returned from a long journey," replied the old man; "my name is ephraim. when i quitted this city, thou wert but sixteen years of age; my friend nathan cohen, son of david, was then very old: he has been dead, they say, these two years." "and so thou comest to exercise thy sense of smelling in thy accustomed haunt," said yousouf gaily; "and seest thou not then that there is some power in friendship, since it is the memory of a friend that brings thee hither?" "ah! it is not the memory of the past, but hope for the future," replied the old jew. "so long as our friends are alive they may be useful, though that is a thing that very rarely happens; but when they are dead, what is the use of thinking any more of them?" yousouf, wearied out with so much discussion, said at length to ephraim: "come, come, enough of this! leave this place; thy voice will, i am sure, awaken my friend, and prevent him from sleeping, as he delights to do during the heat of the day." "do not let us awaken him," replied the jew, "but let us remove the ground there beneath thy feet. i will hope that a feeling of gratitude may induce thee to bestow upon me a portion of what i shall discover for thee." so saying, the jew drew a long iron pickaxe from beneath his dirty brown tunic, and began to break up the ground around the feet of yousouf. the latter regarded the old man--his prodigious nose inflated by the hope of gain--with a smile of derision. but in a short space of time their eyes were dazzled by a sight of the precious metal. the jew had, indeed, succeeded in disinterring a veritable treasure. "let us now count this gold and silver," said he. they took it, and counted it, and found that yousouf had suddenly become the possessor of five hundred spanish doubloons, and sixty four-dollar pieces. he could scarcely believe his eyes. "well," said the jew, "what sayest thou? have i lied to thee, or deceived myself? come, let us see now what thou art going to give me in reward for my pains." "i will awaken mohammed," said yousouf, "and he and i will certainly give thee something as a recompense." "yousouf!" said the jew, arresting the young moor by the arm, "reflect a moment before awakening thy friend. would it not be better to keep this treasure for thyself and for thy sons? hast thou not children, and are not children much dearer than a friend?" "if i have children," replied yousouf, "mohammed has them also. we loved each other before they were born, and we know how to be good fathers without being faithless friends." at this moment mohammed, who had not awaked, for the very sufficient reason that he had not been asleep, started as if he had been stung by a thousand mosquitoes at once, and rose with a sudden bound. the concluding words of yousouf had awakened a feeling of remorse within his breast. "yousouf! yousouf!" said he to his friend, "i have heard all. yes, every thing, and thy sincere friendship, tried by time and tried by gold, is now the sole treasure i desire." "i know for how long a time thou hast thought thus," replied yousouf. "but since allah has chosen to make us rich, let us not disdain the blessing which he sends. he it was who first inspired us with the wish for these two little shops, and who has bestowed them upon us. it is he who has conducted hither this jew who has been the instrument of our discovering this treasure. let us offer our thanks to allah, and let us give to ephraim that which is meet and right." "be that as thou only wilt," said mohammed with a preoccupied air. "thou art just and righteous, and thy thoughts are pure in the sight of allah." yousouf paid no great heed to this friendly eulogium, but continued gaily: "since thou permittest me to be the sole arbiter in the affair, this is my decision." then, turning towards ephraim: "thou shalt be more or less recompensed," said he, "according to the candour with which thou repliest to my question. come, then, answer me truly, hast thou really, thanks to the singular form of thy nose, so fine a sense of smell as to be able to trace any metal whatever, either under ground or elsewhere?" "yes," said the jew, "i possess this rare faculty, thanks to my nose; and to give thee a farther proof of it, i declare that i can again scent in this spot in the wall a sum of gold and silver, the exact amount of which i cannot enumerate." mohammed turned pale at these words. "in this wall?" said he. "yes. suffer me to make a little hole with this gimlet here, and you will see if i speak falsely." "dig where thou wilt," replied yousouf; "we have no right to prevent thee after the discovery thou hast just made here." the jew instantly set to work at the wall, but it was now his turn to be astonished, for the wall, hollow it is true, was guiltless of gold or silver either. yousouf burst out laughing at the disconcerted and stupified look of the old jew. "never mind," said he, "thy nose has deceived thee for once; but thou must not let that discourage thee. still, hadst thou frankly told me that as a friend of old nathan cohen thou knewest where he had hidden his treasure, in return for thy confidence i should have given thee a quarter of what thou hast found; but since thou hast persisted in assuring me that thy nose is gifted with supernatural powers, i shall give thee much less. besides, with such a nose as thine no one can doubt but thy fortune is made." "ah!" cried the jew, clasping his withered and wrinkled hands, "yousouf! yousouf! since thou art good and just, as mohammed says, take pity on my poverty; it impelled me to deal falsely with thee; i confess it now; and spite of its singular form, my nose has nothing but what is common to other noses. accord then to my tardy sincerity that which thou wouldst at first have given me." yousouf consulted mohammed again, who replied thus: "thou art just and pious; act according to thy own desire." yousouf then counted out to the old jew the fourth part of what he had just found, thus rendering him happy for the remainder of his days. then, finding himself alone with his friend, he began to divide into two equal parts the gold and silver which remained. "give me none! give me none, yousouf!" exclaimed mohammed, "i am no longer deserving of thy friendship." "thou!" said yousouf, "art thou mad? what sayst thou?" "i speak the melancholy truth," cried mohammed; "i have not a noble heart like thine. some time since i discovered in the wall the gold and silver which the jew thought to find there; but instead of saying as thou hast done, 'i will share it with my friend,' i put off from day to day the fulfilment of this sacred duty. ah, yousouf, i am unworthy of thy friendship, and am very unhappy!" yousouf remained silent for a few moments, but soon his brow grew clear, and a pleasing smile diffused itself over his features and illuminated his fine dark eyes. "what man," said he, "is entirely master over his own thoughts? thou didst hesitate, sayst thou, before confiding to me the discovery thou hadst made. that may be, but thou wouldst not have failed to do so at last. thou wouldst never have been able to behold thyself rich, knowing me to be poor, and to sit at a feast whilst i lived upon black bread. thou didst not thoroughly understand the wants and feelings of thy heart: that is all. thou didst not at once perceive wherein lies true happiness, for which reason thou hast caused thyself much uneasiness. it is over now; our friendship has been tried by gold; nothing remains for us but to enjoy the good fortune that has befallen us. let us seek to do so like wise men, and never let us forget to set apart for the poor a portion of that which allah has bestowed upon us." the two friends agreed therefore to give a hundred doubloons to the poor of the great mosque. then with the rest of their treasure they purchased a beautiful country house not far from the sea, on the coast of punta pescada. there they lived happily for many long years, always admired and esteemed for their mutual affection, and for the goodness of their hearts; for, strange to say, their sudden and unexpected change of fortune never served to render them callous to the poor, nor indifferent to the wants and troubles of their fellow-creatures. vii. the story of the treasures of basra. all historians agree that the caliph haroun-al-raschid would have been the most perfect prince of his time, as he was also the most powerful, if he had not so often given way both to anger and to an insupportable vanity. he was always saying that no prince in the world was so generous as himself. giafar, his chief vizir, being at last quite disgusted with his boasting, took the liberty to say to him one day, "oh, my sovereign lord, monarch of the world, pardon your slave if he dares to represent to you that you ought not thus to praise yourself. leave that to your subjects and the crowds of strangers who frequent your court. content yourself with the knowledge that the former thank heaven for being born in your dominions, and that the latter congratulate themselves on having quitted their country to come and live under your laws." haroun was very angry at these words; he looked sternly at his vizir, and asked him if he knew any one who could be compared to himself in generosity. "yes, my lord," answered giafar, "there is in the town of basra a young man named aboulcassem, who, though a private individual, lives in more magnificence than kings, and without excepting even your majesty, no prince is more generous than this man." the caliph reddened at these words, his eyes flashed with anger. "do you know," he said, "that a subject who has the audacity to lie to his master merits death?" "i have said nothing but the truth," replied the vizir. "during my last visit to basra i saw this aboulcassem; i stayed at his house; my eyes, though accustomed to your treasures, were surprised at his riches, and i was charmed with the generosity of his manners." at these words the impetuous haroun could no longer contain his anger. "you are most insolent," he cried, "to place a private individual on an equality with myself! your imprudence shall not remain unpunished." so saying, he made a sign for the captain of his guards to approach, and commanded him to arrest the vizir giafar. he then went to the apartment of the princess zobeide his wife, who grew pale with fear on seeing his irritated countenance. "what is the matter, my lord?" said she; "what causes you to be thus agitated?" haroun told her all that had passed, and complained of his vizir in terms that soon made zobeide comprehend how enraged he was with the minister. this wise princess advised him to suspend his resentment, and send some one to basra to ascertain the truth of giafar's assertion; if it was false, she argued, the vizir should be punished; on the contrary, if it proved true, which she could not believe, it was not just to treat him as a criminal. this discourse calmed the fury of the caliph. "i approve of this counsel, madam," said he, "and will acknowledge that i owe this justice to such a minister as giafar. i will do still more; as any other person i charged with this office might, from an aversion to my vizir, give me a false statement, i will myself go to basra and judge of the truth of this report. i will make acquaintance with this young man, whose generosity is thus extolled; if giafar has told me true, i will load him with benefits instead of punishing him for his frankness; but i swear he shall forfeit his life if i find he has told me a falsehood." as soon as haroun had formed this resolution he thought of nothing but how to execute it. one night he secretly left the palace, mounted his horse, and left the city, not wishing any one to follow him, though zobeide entreated him not to go alone. arriving at basra, he dismounted at the first caravansary he found on entering the city, the landlord of which seemed a good old man. "father," said haroun, "is it true that there is in this city a young man called aboulcassem, who surpasses even kings in magnificence and generosity?" "yes, my lord," answered the landlord; "and if i had a hundred mouths, and in each mouth a hundred tongues, i could not relate to you all his generous actions." as the caliph had now need of some repose, he retired to rest after partaking of a slight refreshment. he was up very early in the morning, and walked about until sunrise. then he approached a tailor's shop and asked for the dwelling of aboulcassem. "from what country do you come?" said the tailor; "most certainly you have never been at basra before, or you would have heard where the lord aboulcassem lives; why, his house is better known than the palace of the king." the caliph answered, "i am a stranger; i know no one in this city, and i shall be obliged if you will conduct me to this lord's house." upon that the tailor ordered one of his boys to show the caliph the way to the residence of aboulcassem. it was a large house built of stone, with a doorway of marble and jasper. the prince entered the court, where there was a crowd of servants and liberated slaves who were amusing themselves in different ways while they awaited the orders of their master. he approached one of them and said, "friend, i wish you would take the trouble to go to the lord aboulcassem and tell him a stranger wishes to see him." the domestic judged from the appearance of haroun that he was no common man. he ran to apprise his master, who coming into the court took the stranger by the hand and conducted him to a very beautiful saloon. the caliph then told the young man, that having heard him mentioned in terms of praise, he had become desirous of seeing him, and had travelled to basra for that purpose. aboulcassem modestly replied to this compliment, and seating his guest on a sofa, asked of what country and profession he was, and where he lodged at basra. "i am a merchant of bagdad," replied the caliph, "and i have taken a lodging at the first caravansary i found on my arrival." after they had conversed for a short time there entered twelve pages bearing vases of agate and rock crystal, enriched with precious stones, and full of the most exquisite beverages. they were followed by twelve very beautiful female slaves, some carrying china bowls filled with fruit and flowers, and others golden caskets containing conserves of an exquisite flavour. the pages presented their beverages to the caliph; the prince tasted them, and though accustomed to the most delicious that could be obtained in the east, he acknowledged that he had never tasted better. as it was now near the hour for dinner, aboulcassem conducted his guest to another room, where they found a table covered with the choicest delicacies served on dishes of massive gold. the repast finished, the young man took the caliph by the hand and led him to a third room more richly furnished than the two others. here the slaves brought a prodigious quantity of gold vases, enriched with rubies, filled with all sorts of rare wines, and china plates containing dried sweetmeats. while the host and his guest were partaking of these delicious wines there entered singers and musicians, who commenced a concert, with which haroun was enchanted. "i have," he said to himself, "the most admirable voices in _my_ palace, but i must confess they cannot bear comparison with these. i do not understand how a private individual can live in such magnificence." amongst the voices there was one in particular the extraordinary sweetness of which attracted the attention of the prince, and whilst he was absorbed in listening to it aboulcassem left the room and returned a moment after holding in one hand a wand, and in the other a little tree whose stem was of silver, the branches and leaves emeralds, and the fruit rubies. on the top of this tree was a golden peacock beautifully executed, the body of which was filled with amber, essence of aloes, and other perfumes. he placed this tree at the caliph's feet; then striking the head of the peacock with his wand, the bird extended its wings and tail, and moved itself quickly to the right and left, whilst at each movement of its body the most odoriferous perfumes filled the apartment. the caliph was so astonished and delighted that he could not take his eyes off the tree and the peacock, and he was just going to express his admiration when aboulcassem suddenly took them away. haroun was offended at this, and said to himself, "what does all this mean? it appears to me this young man does not merit so much praise. he takes away the tree and the peacock when he sees me occupied in looking at them more than he likes. is he afraid i want him to make me a present? i fear giafar is mistaken in calling him a generous man." he was thus thinking when aboulcassem returned accompanied by a little page as beautiful as the sun. this lovely child was dressed in gold brocade covered with pearls and diamonds. he held in his hand a cup made of one single ruby, and filled with wine of a purple colour. he approached the caliph, and prostrating himself to the ground, presented the cup. the prince extended his hand to receive it, but, wonderful to relate, he perceived on giving back the cup to the page, that though he had emptied the cup, it was still quite full. he put it again to his lips and emptied it to the very last drop. he then placed it again in the hands of the page, and at the same moment saw it filling without any one approaching it. the surprise of haroun was extreme at this wonderful circumstance, which made him forget the tree and the peacock. he asked how it was accomplished. "my lord," said aboulcassem, "it is the work of an ancient sage who was acquainted with most of the secrets of nature;" and then, taking the page by the hand, he precipitately left the apartment. the caliph was indignant at this behaviour. "i see how it is," said he, "this young man has lost his senses. he brings me all these curiosities of his own accord, he presents them to my view, and when he perceives my admiration, he instantly removes his treasures. i never experienced treatment so ridiculous or uncourteous. ah, giafar! i thought you a better judge of men." in this manner they continued amusing themselves till sunset. then haroun said to the young man, "oh, generous aboulcassem, i am confused with the reception you have given me; permit me now to retire and leave you to repose." the young lord of basra not wishing to inconvenience his guest, politely saluted him, and conducted him to the door of the house, apologizing for not having received him in a more magnificent style. "i quite acknowledge," said the caliph on returning to his caravansary, "that for magnificence aboulcassem surpasses kings, but for generosity, there my vizir was wrong in placing him in comparison with myself; for what present has he made me during my visit? i was lavish in my praises of the tree, the cup, and the page, and i should have thought my admiration would have induced him to offer me, at least, one of these things. no, this man is ostentatious; he feels a pleasure in displaying his riches to the eyes of strangers. and why? only to satisfy his pride and vanity. in reality he is a miser, and i ought not to pardon giafar for thus deceiving me." whilst making these disagreeable reflections on his minister, he arrived at the caravansary. but what was his astonishment on finding there silken carpets, magnificent tents, a great number of servants, slaves, horses, mules, camels, and besides all these, the tree and the peacock, and the page with his cup? the domestics prostrated themselves before him, and presented a roll of silk paper, on which were written these words, "dear and amiable guest, i have not, perhaps, shown you the respect which is your due; i pray you to forget any appearance of neglect in my manner of receiving you, and do not distress me by refusing the little presents i have sent you. as to the tree, the peacock, the page, and the cup, since they please you, they are yours already, for any thing that delights my guests ceases to be mine from that instant." when the caliph had finished reading this letter, he was astounded at the liberality of aboulcassem, and remembered how wrongly he had judged the young man. "a thousand blessings," cried he, "on my vizir giafar! he has caused me to be undeceived. ah, haroun, never again boast of being the most magnificent and generous of men! one of your subjects surpasses you. but how is a private individual able to make such presents? i ought to have asked where he amassed such riches; i was wrong not to have questioned him on this point: i must not return to bagdad without investigating this affair. besides, it concerns me to know why there is a man in my dominions who leads a more princely life than myself. i must see him again, and try to discover by what means he has acquired such an immense fortune." impatient to satisfy his curiosity, he left his new servants in the caravansary, and returned immediately to the young man's residence. when he found himself in his presence he said, "oh, too amiable aboulcassem, the presents you have made me are so valuable, that i fear i cannot accept them without abusing your generosity. permit me to send them back before i return to bagdad, and publish to the world your magnificence and generous hospitality." "my lord," answered the young man with a mortified air, "you certainly must have had reason to complain of the unhappy aboulcassem; i fear some of his actions have displeased you, since you reject his presents; you would not have done me this injury, if you were satisfied with me." "no," replied the prince, "heaven is my witness that i am enchanted with your politeness; but your presents are too costly; they surpass those of kings, and if i dared tell you what i think, you would be less prodigal with your riches, and remember that they may soon be exhausted." aboulcassem smiled at these words and said to the caliph, "my lord, i am very glad to learn that it is not to punish me for having committed any fault against yourself that you wished to refuse my presents; and now to oblige you to accept them, i will tell you that every day i can make the same and even more magnificent ones without inconveniencing myself. i see," added he, "that this astonishes you, but you will cease to be surprised when i have told you all the adventures which have happened to me. it is necessary that i should thus confide in you." upon this he conducted haroun to a room a thousand times richer and more ornamented than any of the others. the most exquisite essences perfumed this apartment, in which was a throne of gold placed on the richest carpets. haroun could not believe he was in the house of a subject; he imagined he must be in the abode of a prince infinitely more powerful than himself. the young man made him mount the throne, and placing himself by his side, commenced the history of his life. history of aboulcassem. i am the son of a jeweller of cairo, named abdelaziz. he possessed such immense riches, that fearing to draw upon himself the envy or avarice of the sultan of egypt, he quitted his native country and established himself at basra, where he married the only daughter of the richest merchant in that city. i am the only child of that marriage, so that inheriting the estates of both my parents i became possessed on their death of a very splendid fortune. but i was young, i liked extravagance, and having wherewith to exercise my liberal propensities, or rather my prodigality, i lived with so much profusion, that in less than three years my fortune was dissipated. then, like all who repent of their foolish conduct, i made the most promising resolutions for the future. after the life i had led at basra, i thought it better to leave that place, for it seemed to me my misery would be more supportable among strangers. accordingly i sold my house, and left the city before daybreak. when it was light i perceived a caravan of merchants who had encamped on a spot of ground near me. i joined them, and as they were on their road to bagdad, where i also wished to go, i departed with them; i arrived there without accident, but soon found myself in a very miserable situation. i was without money, and of all my large fortune there remained but one gold sequin. in order to do something for a living i changed my sequin into aspres, and purchased some preserved apples, sweetmeats, balms, and roses. with these i went every day to the house of a merchant where many persons of rank and others were accustomed to assemble and converse together. i presented to them in a basket what i had to sell. each took what he liked, and never failed to remunerate me, so that by this little commerce i contrived to live very comfortably. one day as i was as usual selling flowers at the merchant's house, there was seated in a corner of the room an old man, of whom i took no notice, and on perceiving that i did not address him, he called me and said, "my friend, how comes it that you do not offer your merchandise to me as well as the others? do you take me for a dishonest man, or imagine that my purse is empty?" "my lord," answered i, "i pray you pardon me. all that i have is at your service, i ask nothing for it." at the same time i offered him my basket; he took some perfume, and told me to sit down by him. i did so, and he asked me a number of questions, who i was, and what was my name. "excuse me satisfying your curiosity," said i, sighing; "i cannot do so without reopening wounds which time is beginning to heal." these words, or the tone in which i uttered them, prevented the old man from questioning me further. he changed the discourse, and after a long conversation, on rising to depart he took out his purse and gave me ten gold sequins. i was greatly surprised at this liberality. the wealthiest lords to whom i had been accustomed to present my basket had never given me even one sequin, and i could not tell what to make of this man. on the morrow, when i returned to the merchants, i again found my old friend; and for many days he continued to attract my attention. at length, one day, as i was addressing him after he had taken a little balm from my basket, he made me again sit by him, and pressed me so earnestly to relate my history, that i could not refuse him. i informed him of all that had happened to me; after this confidence he said: "young man, i knew your father. i am a merchant of basra; i have no child, and have conceived a friendship for you; i will adopt you as my son, therefore console yourself for your past misfortunes. you have found a father richer by far than abdelaziz, and who will have as much affection for you." i thanked the venerable old man for the honour he did me, and followed him as he left the house. he made me throw away my basket of flowers, and conducted me to a large mansion that he had hired. there i was lodged in a spacious apartment with slaves to wait on me, and by his order they brought me rich clothes. one would have thought my father abdelaziz again lived, and it seemed as if i had never known sorrow. when the merchant had finished the business that detained him at bagdad,--namely, when he had sold the merchandise he brought with him,--we both took the road to basra. my friends, who never thought to see me again, were not a little surprised to hear i had been adopted by a man who passed for the richest merchant in the city. i did my best to please the old man. he was charmed with my behaviour. "aboulcassem," he often said to me, "i am enchanted that i met you at bagdad. you appear worthy of all i have done for you." i was touched with the kindness he evinced for me, and far from abusing it, endeavoured to do all i could to please my kind benefactor. instead of seeking companions of my own age, i always kept in his company, scarcely ever leaving him. at last this good old man fell sick, and the physicians despaired of his life. when he was at the last extremity he made all but myself leave him, and then said, "now is the time, my son, to reveal to you a most important secret. if i had only this house with all its riches to bequeath, i should leave you but a moderate fortune; but all that i have amassed during the course of my life, though considerable for a merchant, is nothing in comparison to the treasure that is concealed here, and which i am now about to reveal to you. i shall not tell you how long ago, by whom, or in what manner it was found, for i am ignorant of that myself; all i know is, that my grandfather, when dying, told the secret to my father, who also made me acquainted with it a few days before his death. but," continued he, "i have one advice to give you, and take care you do not slight it. you are naturally generous. when you are at liberty to follow your own inclinations, you will no doubt be lavish of your riches. you will receive with magnificence any strangers who may come to your house. you will load them with presents, and will do good to all who implore your assistance. this conduct, which i much approve of if you can keep it within bounds, will at last be the cause of your ruin. the splendour of your establishment will excite the envy of the king of basra, and the avarice of his ministers. they will suspect you of having some hidden treasure. they will spare no means to discover it, and will imprison you. to prevent this misfortune, you have only to follow my example. i have always, as well as my grandfather and father, carried on my business and enjoyed this treasure without ostentation; we have never indulged in any extravagance calculated to surprise the world." i faithfully promised the merchant i would imitate his prudence. he told me where i should find the treasure, and assured me that whatever idea i might have formed of its splendour, i should find the reality far exceed my expectations. at last, when the generous old man died, i, as his sole heir, performed for him the last offices, and, taking possession of his property, of which this house is a part, proceeded at once to see this treasure. i confess to you, my lord, that i was thunderstruck. i found it to be, if not inexhaustible, at least so vast that i could never expend it, even if heaven were to permit me to live beyond the age of man. my resolution therefore was at once formed, and instead of keeping the promise i made to the old merchant, i spend my riches freely. it is my boast that there is no one in basra who has not benefited by my generosity. my house is open to all who desire my aid, and they leave it perfectly contented. do you call it _possessing_ a treasure if it must not be touched? and can i make a better use of it than by endeavouring to relieve the unhappy, to receive strangers with liberality, and to lead a life of generosity and charity? every one thought i should be ruined a second time. "if aboulcassem," said they, "had all the treasures of the commander of the faithful, he would spend them." but they were much astonished, when, instead of seeing my affairs in disorder, they, on the contrary, appeared every day to become more flourishing. no one could imagine how my fortune increased, while i was thus squandering it. as the old man predicted, a feeling of envy was excited against me. a rumour prevailed that i had found a treasure. this was sufficient to attract the attention of a number of persons greedy of gain. the lieutenant of police at basra came to see me. "i am," said he, "the daroga, and am come to demand where the treasure is which enables you to live in such magnificence." i trembled at these words, and remained silent. he guessed from my confused air that his suspicions were not without foundation; but instead of compelling me to discover my treasure, "my lord aboulcassem," continued he, "i exercise my office as a man of sense. make me some present worthy of my discretion in this affair, and i will retire." "how much do you ask?" said i. "i will content myself with ten gold sequins a day." "that is not enough--i will give you a hundred. you have only to come here every day or every month, and my treasurer will count them out to you." the lieutenant of police was transported with joy at hearing these words. "my lord," said he, "i wish that you could find a thousand treasures. enjoy your fortune in peace; i shall never dispute your possession of it." then taking a large sum of money in advance he went his way. a short time after the vizir aboulfatah-waschi sent for me, and, taking me into his cabinet, said: "young man, i hear you have discovered a treasure. you know the fifth part belongs to god; you must give it to the king. pay the fifth, and you shall remain the quiet possessor of the other four parts." i answered him thus: "my lord, i acknowledge that i _have_ found a treasure, but i swear to you at the same time that i will confess nothing, though i should be torn in pieces. but i promise to give you every day a thousand gold sequins, provided you leave me in peace." aboulfatah was as tractable as the lieutenant of police. he sent his confidential servant, and my treasurer gave him thirty thousand sequins for the first month. this vizir, fearing no doubt that the king of basra would hear of what had passed, thought it better to inform him himself of the circumstance. the prince listened very attentively, and thinking the affair required investigating, sent to summon me. he received me with a smiling countenance, saying: "approach, young man, and answer me what i shall ask you. why do you not show me your treasure? do you think me so unjust, that i shall take it from you?" "sire," replied i, "may the life of your majesty be prolonged for ages; but if you commanded my flesh to be torn with burning pincers i would not discover my treasure; i consent every day to pay to your majesty two thousand gold sequins. if you refuse to accept them, and think proper that i should die, you have only to order it; but i am ready to suffer all imaginable torments, sooner than satisfy your curiosity." the king looked at his vizir as i said this, and demanded his opinion. "sire," said the minister, "the sum he offers you is considerable--it is of itself a real treasure. send the young man back, only let him be careful to keep his word with your majesty." the king followed this advice; he loaded me with caresses, and from that time, according to my agreement, i pay every year to the prince, the vizir, and the lieutenant of police, more than one million sixty thousand gold sequins. this, my lord, is all i have to tell you. you will now no longer be surprised at the presents i have made you, nor at what you have seen in my house. conclusion of the story of the treasures of basra. when aboulcassem had finished the recital of his adventures, the caliph, animated with a violent desire to see the treasure, said to him, "is it possible that there is in the world a treasure that your generosity can never exhaust? no! i cannot believe it, and if it was not exacting too much from you, my lord, i would ask to see what you possess, and i swear never to reveal what you may confide to me." the son of abdelaziz appeared grieved at this speech of the caliph's. "i am sorry, my lord," he said, "that you have conceived this curiosity; i cannot satisfy it but upon very disagreeable conditions." "never mind," said the prince, "whatever the conditions, i submit without repugnance." "it is necessary," said aboulcassem, "that i blindfold your eyes, and conduct you unarmed and bareheaded, with my drawn scimitar in my hand, ready to cut you to pieces at any moment, if you violate the laws of hospitality. i know very well i am acting imprudently, and ought not to yield to your wishes; but i rely on your promised secrecy, and besides that, i cannot bear to send away a guest dissatisfied." "in pity then satisfy my curiosity," said the caliph. "that cannot be just yet," replied the young man, "but remain here this night, and when my domestics are gone to rest i will come and conduct you from your apartment." he then called his people, and by the light of a number of wax tapers, carried by slaves in gold flambeaux, he led the prince to a magnificent chamber, and then retired to his own. the slaves disrobed the caliph, and left him to repose, after placing at the head and foot of his bed their lighted tapers, whose perfumed wax emitted an agreeable odour. instead of taking any rest, haroun-al-raschid impatiently awaited the appearance of aboulcassem, who did not fail to come for him towards the middle of the night. "my lord," he said, "all my servants are asleep. a profound silence reigns in my house. i will now show you my treasure upon the conditions i named to you." "let us go then," said the caliph. "i am ready to follow you, and i again swear that you will not repent thus satisfying my curiosity." the son of abdelaziz aided the prince to dress; then putting a bandage over his eyes, he said, "i am sorry, my lord, to be obliged to treat you thus; your appearance and your manners seem worthy of confidence, but--" "i approve of these precautions," interrupted the caliph, "and i do not take them in ill part." aboulcassem then made him descend by a winding staircase into a garden of vast extent, and after many turnings they entered the place where the treasure was concealed. it was a deep and spacious cavern closed at the entrance by a stone. passing through this they entered a long alley, very dark and steep, at the end of which was a large saloon, brilliantly lighted by carbuncles. when they arrived at this room the young man unbound the caliph's eyes, and the latter gazed with astonishment on the scene before him. a basin of white marble, fifty feet in circumference and thirty feet deep, stood in the middle of the apartment. it was full of large pieces of gold, and ranged round it were twelve columns of the same metal, supporting as many statues composed of precious stones of admirable workmanship. aboulcassem conducted the prince to the edge of the basin and said to him, "this basin is thirty feet deep. look at that mass of gold pieces. they are scarcely diminished the depth of two fingers. do you think i shall soon spend all this?" haroun, after attentively looking at the basin, replied: "here are, i confess, immense riches, but you still may exhaust them." "well," said the young man, "when this basin is empty i shall have recourse to what i am now going to show you." he then proceeded to another room, more brilliant still, where on a number of red brocaded sofas were immense quantities of pearls and diamonds. here was also another marble basin, not so large or so deep as that filled with gold pieces, but to make up for this, full of rubies, topazes, emeralds, and all sorts of precious stones. never was surprise equal to that of the caliph's. he could scarcely believe he was awake, this new basin seemed like enchantment. his gaze was still fixed on it, when aboulcassem made him observe two persons seated on a throne of gold, who he said were the first masters of the treasure. they were a prince and princess, having on their heads crowns of diamonds. they appeared as if still alive, and were in a reclining posture, their heads leaning against each other. at their feet was a table of ebony, on which were written these words in letters of gold: "i have amassed all these riches during the course of a long life. i have taken and pillaged towns and castles, have conquered kingdoms and overthrown my enemies. i have been the most powerful monarch in the world, but all my power has yielded to that of death. whoever sees me in this state ought to reflect upon it. let him remember that once i was living, and that he also must die. he need not fear diminishing this treasure: it will never be exhausted. let him endeavour so to use it as to make friends both for this world and the next. let him lead a life of generosity and charity, for in the end he must also die. his riches cannot save him from the fate common to all men." "i will no longer disapprove of your conduct," said haroun to the young man on reading these words; "you are right in living as you now do, and i condemn the advice given you by the old merchant. but i should like to know the name of this prince. what king could have possessed such riches? i am sorry this inscription does not inform us." the young man next took the caliph to see another room in which also there were many rarities of even greater value than what he had seen, amongst others several trees like the one he had given the prince. haroun would willingly have passed the remainder of the night admiring all that was contained in this wonderful cavern, but the son of abdelaziz, fearing to be observed by his servants, wished to return before daybreak in the same manner as they came, namely, the caliph blindfolded and bareheaded, and aboulcassem with his scimitar in his hand, ready to cut off the prince's head if he made the least resistance. in this order they traversed the garden, and ascended by the winding stairs to the room where the caliph had slept. finding the tapers still burning, they conversed together till sunrise; the caliph then, with many thanks for the reception he had received, returned to the caravansary, from whence he took the road to bagdad, with all the domestics and presents he had accepted from aboulcassem. two days after the prince's departure, the vizir aboulfatah, hearing of the magnificent gifts that aboulcassem made to strangers when they came to see him, and above all astonished at the regularity of his payments to the king, the lieutenant, and himself, resolved to spare no means to discover the treasure from which he drew such inexhaustible supplies. this minister was one of those wicked men to whom the greatest crimes are nothing, when they wish to gain their own ends. he had a daughter eighteen years of age, and of surpassing beauty. she was named balkis, and possessed every good quality of heart and mind. prince aly, nephew of the king of basra, passionately loved her; he had already demanded her of her father, and they were soon to be married. aboulfatah summoned balkis one day to his presence and said: "my daughter, i have great need of your assistance. i wish you to array yourself in your richest robes, and go this evening to the house of the young aboulcassem. you must do every thing to charm him, and oblige him to discover the treasure he has found." balkis trembled at this speech; her countenance expressed the horror she felt at this command. "my lord," said she, "what is it you propose to your daughter? do you know the peril to which you may expose her? consider the stain on your honour, and the outrage against the prince aly." "i have considered all this," answered the vizir, "but nothing will turn me from my resolution, and i order you to prepare to obey me." the young balkis burst into tears at these words. "for heaven's sake, my father," said the weeping girl, "stifle this feeling of avarice, seek not to despoil this man of what is his own. leave him to enjoy his riches in peace." "be silent, insolent girl!" said the vizir angrily, "it does not become you to blame my actions. answer me not. i desire you to repair to the house of aboulcassem, and i swear that if you return without having seen his treasure, i will kill you." balkis, hearing this dreadful alternative, retired to her apartment overwhelmed with grief; she called her women, and made them attire her in the richest apparel and most costly ornaments, though in reality she needed nothing to enhance her natural beauty. no young girl was less desirous to please than balkis. all she feared was appearing too beautiful in the eyes of the son of abdelaziz, and not sufficiently so to prince aly. at length, when night arrived and aboulfatah judged it time for his daughter to go, he secretly conducted her to the door of the young man's house, where he left her, after again declaring he would kill her if she returned unsuccessful. she timidly knocked and desired to speak to the son of abdelaziz. a slave led her to a room where his master was reposing on a sofa, musing on the vicissitudes of his past life. as soon as balkis appeared aboulcassem rose to receive his visitor; he gravely saluted her, and, taking her hand with a respectful air, seated her on a sofa, at the same time inquiring why she honoured him by this visit. she answered, that hearing of his agreeable manners, she had resolved to spend an evening in his company. "beautiful lady," said he, "i must thank my lucky star for procuring me this delightful interview; i cannot express my happiness." after some conversation supper was announced. they seated themselves at a table covered with choice delicacies. a great number of officers and pages were in attendance, but aboulcassem dismissed them that the lady might not be exposed to their curious looks. he waited on her himself, presenting her with the best of every thing, and offering her wine in a gold cup enriched with diamonds and rubies. but all these polite attentions served but to increase the lady's uneasiness; and at length, frightened at the dangers which menaced her, she suddenly changed countenance and became pale as death, whilst her eyes filled with tears. "what is it, madam?" said the young man much surprised; "why this sudden grief? have i said or done any thing to cause your tears to flow? speak, i implore you; inform me of the cause of your sorrow." "oh, mahomet!" exclaimed balkis, "i can dissimulate no longer; the part i am acting is insupportable. i have deceived you, aboulcassem; i am a lady of rank. my father, who knows you have a hidden treasure, wishes me to discover where you have concealed it. he has ordered me to come here and spare no means to induce you to show it me. i refused to do so, but he has sworn to kill me if i return without being able to satisfy his curiosity. what an unhappy fate is mine! if i was not beloved by a prince who will soon marry me, this cruel vow of my father's would not appear so terrible." when the daughter of aboulfatah had thus spoken, aboulcassem said to her, "madam, i am very glad you have informed me of this. you will not repent your noble frankness; you shall see my treasure, and be treated with all the respect you may desire. do not weep, therefore, or any longer afflict yourself." "ah, my lord," exclaimed balkis at this speech, "it is not without reason that you pass for the most generous of men. i am charmed with your noble conduct, and shall not be satisfied until i have found means to testify my gratitude." after this conversation aboulcassem conducted the lady to the same chamber that the caliph had occupied, where they remained until all was quiet in the dwelling. then blindfolding the eyes of balkis he said, "pardon me, madam, for being obliged to act thus, but it is only on this condition that i can show you my treasure." "do what you please, my lord," answered balkis; "i have so much confidence in your generosity that i will follow wherever you desire; i have no fear but that of not sufficiently repaying your kindness." aboulcassem then took her by the hand, and causing her to descend to the garden by the winding stairs, he entered the cavern and removed the bandage from her eyes. if the caliph had been surprised to see such heaps of gold and precious stones, balkis was still more so. every thing she saw astonished her. but the objects that most attracted her attention were the ancient owners of the treasure. as the queen had on a necklace composed of pearls as large as pigeons' eggs, balkis could not avoid expressing her admiration. aboulcassem detached it from the neck of the princess, and placed it round that of the young lady, saying her father would judge from this that she had seen the treasure; he then, after much persuasion, made her take a large quantity of precious stones which he himself chose for her. the young man then, fearing the day would dawn whilst she was looking at the wonders of the cavern, again placed the bandage over her eyes, and conducted her to a saloon where they conversed together until sunrise. balkis then took leave, repeatedly assuring the son of abdelaziz that she would never forget his generous conduct. she hastened to her father's and informed him of all that had passed. the vizir had been impatiently awaiting his daughter's return. fearing she might not be sufficiently able to charm aboulcassem, he remained in a state of inconceivable agitation. but when he saw her enter with the necklace and precious stones that aboulcassem had given her, he was transported with joy. "well, my daughter," he said, "have you seen the treasure?" "yes, my lord," answered balkis, "and to give you a just idea of its magnitude, i tell you that if all the kings of the world were to unite their riches, they could not be compared to those of aboulcassem. but still, however vast this young man's treasures, i am less charmed with them than with his politeness and generosity." and she then related to her father the whole of her adventure. in the mean time haroun-al-raschid was advancing towards bagdad. as soon as he arrived at his palace he set his chief vizir at liberty, and restored him to his confidence. he then proceeded to relate to him the events of his journey, and ended by asking, "giafar, what shall i do? you know the gratitude of monarchs ought to surpass the pleasures they have received. if i should send the magnificent aboulcassem the choicest and most precious treasure i possess, it will be but a slight gift, far inferior to the presents he has made me. how then can i surpass him in generosity?" "my lord," replied the vizir, "since your majesty condescends to consult me, i should write this day to the king of basra and order him to commit the government of the state to the young aboulcassem. we can soon despatch the courier, and in a few days i will depart myself to basra and present the patents to the new king." the caliph approved of this advice. "you are right," he said to his minister, "it will be the only means of acquitting myself towards aboulcassem, and of taking vengeance on the king of basra and his unworthy vizir, who have concealed from me the considerable sums they have extorted from this young man. it is but just to punish them for their violence against him; they are unworthy of the situations they occupy." he immediately wrote to the king of basra and despatched the courier. he then went to the apartment of the princess zobeide to inform her of the success of his journey, and presented her with the little page, the tree, and the peacock. he also gave her a beautiful female slave. zobeide found this slave so charming that she smilingly told the caliph she accepted this gift with more pleasure than all his other presents. the prince kept only the cup for himself; the vizir giafar had all the rest; and this good minister, as he had before resolved, made preparations for his departure from bagdad. the courier of the caliph no sooner arrived in the town of basra than he hastened to present his despatch to the king, who was greatly concerned on reading it. the prince showed it to his vizir. "aboulfatah," said he, "see the fatal order that i have received from the commander of the faithful. can i refuse to obey it?" "yes, my lord," answered the minister; "do not afflict yourself. aboulcassem must be removed from hence. without taking his life i will make every one believe he is dead. i can keep him so well concealed that he shall never be seen again; and by this means you will always remain on the throne and possess the riches of this young man; for when we are masters of his person we can increase his sufferings until he is obliged to reveal where his treasure is concealed." "do what you like," replied the king; "but what answer shall we send the caliph?" "leave that to me. the commander of the faithful will be deceived as well as others. let me execute the design i meditate, and the rest need cause you no uneasiness." aboulfatah then, accompanied by some courtiers who were ignorant of his intention, went to pay a visit to aboulcassem. he received them according to their rank, regaled them magnificently, seated the vizir in the place of honour, and loaded him with presents without having the least suspicion of his perfidy. whilst they were at table and partaking of the most delicious wines, the treacherous aboulfatah skilfully threw unperceived into the cup of the son of abdelaziz a powder which would render him insensible, and cause his body to remain in a state of lethargy resembling that of a corpse long deprived of life. the young man had no sooner taken the cup from his lips than he fainted away. his servants hastened to support him, but soon perceiving he had all the appearance of a dead man, they placed him on a sofa and uttered the most lamentable cries. the guests, struck with sudden terror, were silent from astonishment. as for aboulfatah, it is impossible to say how well he dissimulated. he not only feigned the most immoderate grief, but tore his clothes and excited the rest of the company to follow his example. he ordered a coffin to be made of ivory and ebony, and while they were preparing it, he collected all the effects of aboulcassem and placed them in the king's palace. the account of the young man's death soon spread abroad. all persons, men and women, put on mourning, and came to the door of the house, their heads and feet bare; old and young men, women and girls, were bathed in tears, filling the air with their cries and lamentations. some said they had lost in him an only son, others a brother or a husband tenderly beloved. rich and poor were equally afflicted at his death; the rich mourned a friend who had always welcomed them, and the poor a benefactor whose charity had never been equalled. his death caused a general consternation. meanwhile the unhappy aboulcassem was enclosed in the coffin, and a procession having been formed, the people, by order of aboulfatah, carried him out of the town to a large cemetery containing a number of tombs, and amongst others a magnificent one where reposed the vizir's father and many others of his family. they placed the coffin in this tomb, and the perfidious aboulfatah, leaning his head on his knees, beat his breast, and gave way apparently to the most violent grief. those present pitied and prayed heaven to console him. as night approached the people returned to the town, but the vizir remained with two of his slaves in the tomb, the door of which he shut and double locked. they lit a fire, warmed some water in a silver basin, and taking aboulcassem from the coffin, bathed him with the warm water. the young man by degrees regained his senses. he cast his eyes on aboulfatah, whom he at once recognized. "ah, my lord," said he, "where are we, and to what state am i reduced?" "wretch!" answered the minister, "know that it is i who have caused your misfortune. i brought you here to have you in my power, and to make you suffer a thousand torments if you will not discover to me your treasure. i will rack your body with tortures--will invent each day new sufferings to render life insupportable: in a word, i will never cease to persecute you until you deliver me those hidden treasures which enable you to live with even more magnificence than kings." "you can do what you please," replied aboulcassem; "i will never reveal my treasure." he had scarcely uttered these words, when the cruel aboulfatah, making his slaves seize the unfortunate son of abdelaziz, drew from his robe a whip made of twisted lion's skin, with which he struck so long and with such violence that the young man fainted. when the vizir saw him in this state, he commanded the slaves to replace him in the coffin, and leaving him in the tomb, which he firmly secured, returned to his palace. on the morrow he went to inform the king of what he had done. "sire," said he, "i tried yesterday, but in vain, to overcome the firmness of aboulcassem; however, i have now prepared torments for him which i think he cannot resist." the prince, who was quite as barbarous as his minister, said, "vizir, i am perfectly satisfied with all you have done. ere long, i hope, we shall know where this treasure is concealed. but we must send back the courier without delay. what shall i write to the caliph?" "tell him, my lord, that aboulcassem, hearing he was to occupy your place, was so enchanted, and made such great rejoicings, that he died suddenly at a feast." the king approved of this advice, and writing immediately to haroun-al-raschid, despatched the courier. the vizir, flattering himself that he should at length be able to force aboulcassem to reveal his treasure, left the town, resolving to extract the secret or leave him to perish. but on arriving at the tomb, he was surprised to find the door open. he entered trembling, and not seeing the son of abdelaziz in the coffin, he nearly lost his senses. returning instantly to the palace, he related to the king what had occurred. the monarch, seized with a mortal terror, exclaimed, "oh, waschi! what will become of us? since this young man has escaped, we are lost. he will not fail to hasten to bagdad, and acquaint the caliph with all that has taken place." aboulfatah, on his part, in despair that the victim of his avarice was no longer in his power, said to the king his master, "what would i now give to have taken his life yesterday! he would not then have caused us such uneasiness. but we will not quite despair yet; if he has taken flight, as no doubt he has, he cannot be very far from here. let me take some soldiers of your guard, and search in all the environs of the town; i hope still to find him." the king instantly consented to so important a step. he assembled all his soldiers, and dividing them into two bodies, gave the command of one to his vizir, and placing himself at the head of the other, prepared with his troops to search in all parts of his kingdom. whilst they were seeking aboulcassem in the villages, woods, and mountains, the vizir giafar, who was already on the road to basra, met the courier returning, who said to him, "my lord, it is useless for you to proceed further, if aboulcassem is the sole cause of your journey, for this young man is dead; his funeral took place some days past; my eyes were witnesses of the mournful ceremony." giafar, who had looked forward with pleasure to see the new king, and present his patents, was much afflicted at his death. he shed tears on hearing the sad news, and, thinking it was useless to continue his journey, retraced his steps. as soon as he arrived at bagdad, he went with the courier to the palace. the sadness of his countenance informed the king he had some misfortune to announce. "ah, giafar!" exclaimed the prince, "you have soon returned. what are you come to tell me?' "commander of the faithful," answered the vizir, "you do not, i am sure, expect to hear the bad news i am going to tell. aboulcassem is no more; since your departure from basra the young man has lost his life." haroun-al-raschid had no sooner heard these words than he threw himself from his throne. he remained some moments extended on the ground without giving any signs of life. at length his eyes sought the courier, who had returned from basra, and he asked for the despatch. the prince read it with much attention. he shut himself in his cabinet with giafar, and showed him the letter from the king of basra. after re-reading it many times, the caliph said, "this does not appear to me natural; i begin to suspect that the king of basra and his vizir, instead of executing my orders, have put aboulcassem to death." "my lord," said giafar, "the same suspicion occurred to me, and i advise that they should both be secured." "that is what i determine from this moment," said haroun; "take ten thousand horsemen of my guard, march to basra, seize the two guilty wretches, and bring them here. i will revenge the death of this most generous of men." "we will now return to the son of abdelaziz, and relate why the vizir aboulfatah did not find him in the tomb. the young man, after long remaining insensible, was beginning to recover, when he felt himself laid hold of by powerful arms, taken from the coffin, and gently laid on the earth. he thought it was the vizir and his slaves come again on their cruel errand. "executioners!" he cried, "put me to death at once; if you have any pity spare me these useless torments, for again i declare that nothing you can do will ever tempt me to reveal my secret." "fear not, young man," answered one of the persons who had lifted him from the coffin; "instead of ill-treating you, we are come to your assistance." at these words aboulcassem opened his eyes, and, looking at his liberators, recognized the young lady to whom he had shown his treasure. "ah, madam!" he said, "is it to you i owe my life?" "yes, my lord," answered balkis; "to myself and prince aly, my betrothed, whom you see with me. informed of your noble behaviour, he wished to share with me the pleasure of delivering you from death." "it is quite true," said prince aly; "i would expose my life a thousand times, rather than leave so generous a man to perish." the son of abdelaziz, having entirely recovered his senses by the help of some cordials they had given him, expressed to the lady and the prince his grateful thanks for the service they had rendered him, and asked how they had been informed he still lived. "my lord," said balkis, "i am the daughter of the vizir aboulfatah. i was not deceived by the false report of your death. i suspected my father in this affair, and, bribing one of his slaves, was informed of all concerning you. this slave is one of the two who were with him in the tomb, and as he had charge of the key he confided it to me for a few hours. i no sooner made this affair known to prince aly than he hastened to join me with some of his confidential domestics. we lost not a moment in coming hither, and, thanks be to heaven, we did not arrive too late." "oh, mahomet!" said aboulcassem, "is it possible so unworthy and cruel a father possesses such a daughter?" "let us depart, my lord," said prince aly; "the time is precious. i doubt not but that to-morrow the vizir, finding you have escaped, will seek you in all directions. i am going to conduct you to my house, where you will be in perfect safety, for no one will suspect me of giving you an asylum." they then covered aboulcassem with a slave's robe, and all left the tomb. balkis proceeded to her father's, and returned the key to the slave, whilst prince aly took the son of abdelaziz to his own palace, and kept him so well concealed, that it was impossible his enemies could discover him. aboulcassem remained some time in prince aly's house, who treated him most kindly, until the king and his vizir, despairing of finding him, gave up their search. the prince then gave him a very beautiful horse, loaded him with sequins and precious stones, and said to him: "you can now safely depart; the roads are open, and your enemies know not what is become of you. hasten to seek a place where you will be secure from harm." the young man thanked this generous prince for his hospitality, and assured him he should ever gratefully remember it. prince aly embraced him, and prayed heaven to protect and watch over him on his journey. aboulcassem then took the road to bagdad, and arrived there in safety a few days afterwards. the first thing he did on entering the city was to hasten to the place where the merchants usually assembled. the hope of seeing there some one he had known at basra, and of relating his misfortunes, was his only consolation. he was vexed at being unable to find this place, and traversing the town, sought in vain for the face of a friend amongst the multitudes he met. feeling fatigued, he stopped before the caliph's palace to rest a little: the page whom he had given to his former guest was then at a window, and the child looking by chance that way, instantly recognized him. he ran to the caliph's apartment. "my lord," he exclaimed, "i have just seen my old master from basra!" haroun put no faith in this report. "you are mistaken," he said; "aboulcassem no longer lives. deceived by some fancied resemblance, you have taken another for him." "no, no, commander of the faithful; i assure you it is he: i am certain i am not mistaken." though the caliph did not believe this assertion, still he wished to fathom the mystery, and sent one of his officers with the page to see the man the boy declared was the son of abdelaziz. they found him in the same place, for, imagining he had recognized his little page, he waited till the child reappeared at the window. when the boy was convinced he was not deceived, he threw himself at the feet of aboulcassem, who raised him, and asked if he had the honour of belonging to the caliph. "yes, my lord," said the child; "it was to the commander of the faithful himself--he it was whom you entertained at basra--it was to him that you gave me. come with me, my lord; the caliph will be delighted to see you." the surprise of the young man at this speech was extreme. he allowed himself to be conducted into the palace by the page and the officer, and was soon ushered into the apartment of haroun. the prince was seated on a sofa. he was extremely affected at the sight of aboulcassem. he hastened towards the young man, and held him long embraced without uttering a word, so much was he transported with joy. when he recovered a little from his emotion he said to the son of abdelaziz: "young man, open your eyes, and recognize your happy guest. it was i whom you received so hospitably, and to whom you gave presents that kings could not equal." at these words aboulcassem, who was not less moved than the caliph, and who from respect had drawn his cloak over his head, and had not yet dared to look up, now uncovered his face, and said: "oh, my sovereign master! oh, king of the world, was it you who honoured your slave's house?" and he threw himself at the feet of haroun, and kissed the floor before him. "how is it," said the prince, raising him, and placing him on a sofa, "that you are still alive? tell me all that has happened to you." [illustration: aboulcassem and the page, p. .] aboulcassem then related the cruelties of aboulfatah, and how he had been preserved from the fury of that vizir. haroun listened attentively, and then said: "aboulcassem, i am the cause of your misfortunes. on my return to bagdad, wishing to repay my debt to you, i sent a courier to the king of basra, desiring him to resign his crown to you. instead of executing my orders, he resolved to take your life. aboulfatah, by putting you to the most frightful tortures, hoped to induce you to reveal your treasures; that was the sole reason he delayed your death. but you would have been revenged. giafar, with a large body of my troops, is gone to basra. i have given him orders to seize your two persecutors, and to bring them here. in the mean time you shall remain in my palace, and be attended by my officers with as much respect as myself." after this speech he took the young man by the hand, and made him descend to a garden, filled with the choicest flowers. there he saw basins of marble, porphyry, and jasper, which served for reservoirs to multitudes of beautiful fish. in the midst of the garden, supported upon twelve lofty pillars of black marble, was a dome, the roof of sandal wood and aloes. the spaces between the columns were closed by a double trellis-work of gold, which formed an aviary containing thousands of canaries of different colours, nightingales, linnets, and other harmonious birds, who mingling their notes formed the most charming concert. the baths of haroun-al-raschid were under this dome. the prince and his guest took a bath, after which the attendants rubbed them with the finest towels, which had never before been used. they then clothed aboulcassem in rich apparel. the caliph conducted him to a chamber where refreshments awaited them, such as roasted fowls and lamb, white soups, pomegranates from amlas and ziri, pears from exhali, grapes from melah and sevise, and apples from ispahan. after they had partaken of these delicacies, and drunk some delicious wine, the caliph conducted aboulcassem to zobeide's apartment. this princess was seated on a throne of gold, surrounded by her slaves, who were ranged standing on each side of her; some had tambourines, others flutes and harps. at that moment their instruments were mute, all being attentively engaged in listening to a young girl whose charming voice rang through the saloon like the warblings of a nightingale. as soon as zobeide perceived the caliph and the son of abdelaziz, she descended from her throne to receive them. "madam," said haroun, "allow me to present to you my host of basra." the young man prostrated himself before the princess. at this moment the vizir giafar was heard returning with the troops, and bringing with him aboulfatah securely bound. as for the king of basra, he was left behind dying of grief and fright at not finding aboulcassem. giafar had no sooner rendered an account of his mission, than the caliph ordered a scaffold to be erected before the palace, to which the wicked aboulfatah was conducted. the people knowing the cruelty of this vizir, instead of being touched with his misfortune, testified the utmost impatience to witness his execution. the executioner was already prepared, sabre in hand, to strike off the guilty man's head, when the son of abdelaziz prostrating himself before the caliph, exclaimed, "oh, commander of the faithful, yield to my prayers the life of aboulfatah! let him live to witness my happiness, to behold all the favours you are conferring upon me, and he will be sufficiently punished." "oh, too generous aboulcassem," replied the caliph, "you, indeed, deserve a crown! happy the people of basra to have you for their king." "my lord, i have one more favour to ask. give to the prince aly the throne you destined for myself. let him reign, together with the lady who had the generosity to avert from me the fury of her father; these two lovers are worthy this honour. as to myself, cherished and protected by the commander of the faithful, i have no need of a crown; i shall be superior to kings." the caliph assented to this proposal, and to recompense prince aly for the service he had rendered the son of abdelaziz, sent him the patents, and made him king of basra; but finding aboulfatah too guilty to accord him liberty as well as life, he ordered the vizir to be shut up in a dark tower for the remainder of his days. when the people of bagdad were informed that it was aboulcassem himself who had begged the life of his persecutor, they showered a thousand praises on the generous young man, who soon after departed for basra, escorted by a troop of the caliph's guards, and a great number of his officers. viii. the old camel. eggadi-ben-yousouf, a merchant at miliana, was a mere lover of gain; he never gave away any thing in alms; his heart was dry as the earth in the hottest days of summer, and never open to pity for the unfortunate. to amass, to amass for ever was the sole desire of eggadi. but in what did his riches consist? none could say, for he concealed them with the utmost care. one day one of his camels having died, he bought to replace it the only camel of ali-bénala, a poor dealer in mats. this camel was the sole heritage of which ali came into possession at the death of his father. he sold it for much less than its value;--eggadi, who was an adept at bargaining, depreciating it in every possible way, especially on account of its extreme age. on his next journey eggadi added this camel to his little caravan. as he was passing a solitary place, he was surprised to see the camel betake itself with hasty steps to a spot at some distance behind some rocks, and on its arrival there kneel down and groan, as camels usually do when they expect to be unloaded. a negro, having run after the animal, brought it back to its place in the caravan. eggadi soon took a second journey on the same road, and on this occasion too the camel sold him by ali-bénala again quitted the rank, and was again observed to kneel down and groan at the same place. this time eggadi followed it, and saw with surprise that the spot at which it stopped was one where no merchant of any country had been ever known to unload his merchandise. he reflected deeply on this circumstance, and in the end resolved to revisit the spot alone with the camel, who, faithful perhaps to some recollection, might, he thought, be the means of disclosing to him some mysterious act, or perhaps the place where a treasure lay concealed. eggadi returned, in short, soon after, to this solitary spot. he had brought with him a spade, and proceeded to dig with care around the camel, who had invariably knelt in the same place. he had scarcely laboured ten minutes ere he discovered traces of another spade; this redoubled his zeal, and soon after, to his intense satisfaction, he came upon some bags of money, then a coffer firmly shut, but which contained, he could not doubt, objects of costly value. he first took the bags, which were filled with good and true spanish doubloons; with these he loaded his camel, who thus had gained nothing but a double burden for his pains; then, having re-covered with stones and sand the precious coffer, which he resolved upon examining another time, he returned with his mind greatly preoccupied, asking himself whether it must not have been the old father of ali-bénala to whom all the wealth he had just discovered formerly belonged. this question, which he could not help addressing to his conscience over and over again, prevented him from fully enjoying the possession of his treasure. although he dearly loved money, yet eggadi to obtain possession of it had never yet plundered the widow and the orphan. the first step in the road to evil is not accomplished without difficulty and without remorse; eggadi painfully experienced the truth of this. "and yet," said he to himself, "i made a fair bargain with poor ali for this very camel which has been the means of my finding a treasure." before going to take possession of the coffer left underground behind the rocks, eggadi, impelled by his conscience, approached the miserable shop where ali carried on the sale of his mats, and said to him: "how comes it, ali, that your father, rich as it is said he was, left you no fortune, only an old camel and a house in ruins?" "ah!" replied ali, "my father was good to the poor. not only did he call every poor man his brother, but assisted him to the utmost of his power. at times, however, i have suspected that my father may have had riches concealed in some spot, and that he intended to bestow them upon me before he died. and i will tell you what led me to suppose so. "a few moments before his death he sent for me, and said: 'i have a great secret to confide to thee. come close to me that my voice may reach thy ear alone: but before our conversation, my son, let us pray to allah to grant us on this solemn day that which is best for us.' "we prayed, and in ten minutes my father was no more. allah, no doubt, judged that that which was best for me was poverty. allah be praised." ali bowed his head profoundly, laying his hand upon his breast. eggadi, much disturbed at the virtuous resignation of ali-bénala, rejoined: "but thinkest thou, that if good fortune befel thee, thou wouldst know how to make good use of it?" "allah alone knows," said ali. "should he ever see fit to make me rich, he will know how to fit me for the change. for myself, i cannot succeed in improving the poverty of my estate. i work incessantly, but nothing succeeds with me. my oxen, if i have any, drown themselves in crossing a torrent; my goods either do not sell or are damaged. i am destined to possess upon this earth nothing but this miserable hut, which has been my only home for ten years, but what matters it, provided i fulfil the law of the prophet? i shall see abraham, in heaven. if at times my poverty renders me uneasy, it is only for the sake of my poor children, who live miserably in a house as open to the wind and the rain as though it were without a roof." "well," said eggadi, "it is certainly not just that such an honest man as thou should be in such a wretched state of poverty." "how! not just!" replied ali. "are there not, then, many honest men who are no richer than myself?" "that may be," said eggadi. "nevertheless, since thy father was rich, it seems to be but just that thou shouldst be so too, and i come to propose to thee to enter into partnership with me. i have two good houses outside the town; one shall be for thy family, the other for mine. we will live as brothers, and unite our children as in the time of the patriarchs." ali remained greatly astonished at such a proposition, coming especially from eggadi-ben-yousouf, who had never had any friendship for him, and who so far from evincing any generosity towards him, had bargained with him for his poor camel like the veriest jew in the world. he therefore remained silent, neither accepting nor refusing the offer, but looking with an abstracted air upon the mats in his miserable dwelling. "well," said eggadi, ashamed at the bottom of his heart at making this show of generosity to one whom he was secretly despoiling, "well, thou dost not reply to me?" "grant me time to imitate the example of my father by invoking allah before taking a resolution," said ali. "allah alone can know whether it will be best for me to keep at once my poverty and the freedom of all my actions, or to accept opulence and with it the necessity of being always of thy opinion; for bringing into our partnership nothing but my two stout arms, i should be an ingrate if i did not yield in every thing to thy wishes." eggadi involuntarily cast down his eyes before this poor man who spoke with so much wisdom. "well," said he again, "reflect till to-morrow, and come to me in the morning under the palm trees in front of my house; i will there await thee." then these two men separated. ali, praying in the mosque, thought he heard his father pronounce these words. "never associate thyself save with him who has no more than thyself, and who already knows the right way. the good are spoilt by associating with the rogue and the miser, whilst neither rogue nor miser is reformed by association with one better than himself." the next morning ali repaired to the palm trees which grew before the house of eggadi, where the latter awaited him uneasy and fatigued after a sleepless night. after the usual mussulman salutation, ali-bénala said to the rich eggadi: "how comes it that thou appearest sad, thou who possessest fine houses, coffers of gold, and merchandise, whilst i, i who have nothing, rise with a joyous heart, and smoke my pipe all day with pleasure, seated on the threshold of my poor shop?" "the weight of business overwhelms me," replied eggadi; "i have great need of some one to share it." "then why not diminish thy transactions, and live in peace?" inquired ali. "no, no, it is impossible to set limits to one's purchases and sales. a fortunate speculation balances an unlucky one. you must accept all if you would grow rich. but come, hast thou decided? wilt thou enter into partnership with me?" "i have reflected and prayed," said ali. "i am very grateful for thy offers, and allah will doubtless recompense thee; but prudence forbids me to accept them. i will never enter into partnership but with one who is as poor as myself." "indeed!" exclaimed eggadi-ben-yousouf, "be no longer then surprised at thy poverty, since thou refusest the opportunity of enriching thyself. the traveller who does not stop beneath the first trees he meets runs the risk of not finding another upon his road, and of performing the whole journey without enjoying their refreshing shade. such a man would have no right to complain of the dust of the roads, or the heat of the sun." "i do not complain," replied ali, "i come, on the contrary, to tell thee that i live and sleep in peace." "it is well, it is well," said eggadi, who had not closed his eyes till the morning, "it is well, remain as thou art. instead of gold pieces, be content to receive rain-drops through thy roof, eat bread when thou hast any, and go fasting oftener; it concerns me no more." "i should be a fool," added he internally, "to trouble myself any longer about the poverty of this man." and he remembered his fine house, where gilded cakes, a delicious repast, and rich and rare fruits awaited him. he ate his meal in company with his sons; then he washed his beard and hands, rose from the table, and called his wife, his daughters, his mother, and his grandmother, and said to them, "women, eat in your turn; this is for you." the women respectfully kissed his hands, and proceeded to make their meal, whilst he went and sat down out of doors, and smoked with his sons, to whom he spoke as follows whilst a negro waited upon him with coffee: "i am about to take another journey. during my absence see to such and such things, and do not forget any of my orders, if you would not run the risk of becoming poor, poor--" he was going to say, "as ali, the seller of mats," but this name excited too keenly his remorse; he could not venture to pronounce it. so that in spite of the good repast of which he had just partaken, eggadi felt ill at ease, for the thought was ever recurring to him, "ali is poor, his father was rich, and it is i who have unjustly taken possession of his father's wealth." meanwhile eggadi had this very moderate relief, he might still enjoy the benefit of a doubt as to whether the father of ali was really the possessor of the discovered treasures. however, the coffer left behind the rocks would doubtless throw a light upon this matter. eggadi proceeded at once in search of this coffer; he opened it, and his eyes, dazzled though they were by the precious objects that met their gaze, were constrained to perceive at the same time a sheet of parchment, upon which the following words were very distinctly inscribed: "all the treasures buried in this spot have been lawfully acquired, or received in heritage by me, mustapha selim. i bequeath them to my only son, ali-bénala, who has ever been a faithful servant of allah, and respectful towards me. may he, and his children, and his children's children inherit and enjoy these possessions, to which i add my benediction." as soon as eggadi had read these words a profound sadness took possession of him, for he could no longer doubt that these hidden riches were the inheritance of ali-bénala. if therefore he appropriated them, he was a despoiler of the poor and the orphan. it would have been so delightful to have been able to keep up the illusion, and to say to himself: "this wealth was without an owner; allah has been pleased to bestow it on me!" but if eggadi had never as yet committed any very culpable actions, he had never done any good ones, and did not merit the protection of heaven. he dared not doubt that by keeping unlawful possession of the property of ali he should incur the wrath of heaven; at the same time he could not bring himself to renounce it. he took the coffer, carried it home, meditating by turns on the uses to which he might turn his great fortune, and on what might be done by way of compromising his conscience for poor ali, his children, and his children's children. arrived at his own house, he placed his treasures in a large chest, which he kept thenceforth in the chamber where he passed his nights. by day, too, this coffer often served him for a seat; whilst scarce a day passed without his opening it, to assure himself that nothing had disappeared. he kept it carefully fastened with the aid of several locks and a master key, of which he never gave up the possession. eggadi contemplated a thousand times these treasures acquired with so little trouble; if we can call that gained with little trouble which is purchased at the price of our peace of mind. and each time after having contemplated them, he would repeat to himself the words of ali, "allah will no doubt recompense thee." "ah! if he recompenses me as i deserve," he could not help reflecting, "he will send me great disasters indeed." pursued by the dread of a heavy chastisement, eggadi became so miserable in the midst of his fine family and his treasures, that he formed the project of quitting his country, where the sight of ali, his humble house and miserable shop, haunted him incessantly. so he adjusted his affairs, collected his merchandise, and then communicated his intention to his children and his servants. but whilst, spurred on by a secret terror, he was hastening the preparations for his departure, allah, on whose will depend all things on earth and in heaven, visited him with a severe fever, accompanied with delirium, during which he spoke incessantly of the old camel of ali, of concealed treasures, and the vengeance of heaven. salmanazar, an old jew doctor, had charge of eggadi; he heard the incoherent ravings of his patient, and immediately divined them to be the result of preceding mental anguish. thanks to the skill acquired by medical science, and still more to the intuition engendered by the desire of self-enrichment, the old jew was not slow in comprehending that there was a secret relating to a treasure unjustly acquired, and he saw no reason, moreover, why he should not be a partaker in the booty. he found means therefore to remove all the attendants, and constituting himself sole guardian of the sick man, seated himself by his bedside and patiently awaited the auspicious moment which should deliver into his merciless keeping a soul harassed by the stings of remorse. this moment at length arrived; eggadi ceased to be delirious, and as though awakening from a painful dream, drew a long breath, and cast looks of inquiry around him. salmanazar, who had been watching for this opportunity, then exclaimed: "eggadi! eggadi! you mussulmans cry, 'god is great,' but you do not believe it, for if you did, how could you dare enrich yourselves at the expense of the poor man and his children? thou art rich, eggadi, and ali is poor." "what sayst thou?" cried the sick man, distending his eyes with terror as dismal recollections thronged upon him. "i say that thou hast a treasure which should not belong to thee, and that this is why thou hast the fever, and why moreover thou wilt die, unless i save thy life by my profound science. restitution must be made; nay, if indeed thou wert to do good with this treasure to poor jews like me, god would perhaps pardon thee, but thou takest care to give us nothing. if i cure thee what will be my profit? a few miserable doubloons, which i shall have all the same if thou diest; for thy sons will give them me, and if they refused to pay me, i should summon them before the cadi. thus, whether thou livest or whether thou diest is much the same to me. nevertheless, if i had a mind i could easily cure thee, and cause thee still to live, that thy days might be long upon the earth. but what profit would this be to me?" "cure me, cure me," cried the sick man, "and i will give thee far more than my sons would give thee, far more than the cadi would grant thee did my children refuse thee payment. i will give thee twenty doubloons; nay, fifty. that would be a fine thing for thee." "it would be a much better thing for thyself," chuckled salmanazar. "of what use will thy doubloons be to thee when thou art dead? i demand five hundred doubloons for curing thee, and i will have them at once, for in an hour's time i shall demand a thousand, and if you then delay deciding there will be no longer any time to choose." "a thousand doubloons!" exclaimed the patient; "i will not even give thee five hundred. if i did,--allah would not pardon me the more, even supposing i really am guilty of what thou suggested." "well, then, thou wilt die," rejoined salmanazar, settling himself again in his chair. the chamber of the sick man was gloomy. a small lamp cast a fitful light upon one corner, while the rest seemed inhabited by nothing but dim shadows. an odour of fever and its remedies pervaded the atmosphere; out of doors,--for it was night,--the dismal cry of the jackals seeking food resounded, whilst the deep baying of the neighbouring dogs was heard without intermission. the weather was windy and tempestuous. all this but served to increase the deep depression which filled the soul of eggadi. he threw a wistful look around his shadow-haunted room; it fell upon the old jew who was watching him askance, his large dark eyes dimmed by ophthalmia, and he asked himself whether the old man with his prominent nose, yellow visage, long, lean and withered arms, habited in a scanty and dirty garment, were not some evil genius come thither to curse him for his crime, and drag him to the bottomless pit of perdition. nevertheless, eggadi contrived to raise himself up in a sitting posture on his bed. he collected all his strength, drew a long breath, sighed feebly, and said: "well, i have decided, salmanazar; give me the remedy which will make my days long upon the earth." "give me first the five hundred doubloons," said salmanazar. "i have them not here," replied the sick man. "tell me where they are, i will go and get them." "that is impossible," said eggadi; "but summon bankala, my black slave, he will bring me the key of my coffer, and the coffer itself which contains my treasures." "well and good," replied salmanazar; and he summoned bankala. eggadi gave some orders to the slave in a language unknown to salmanazar, and he disappeared. he returned shortly with two other slaves, whom he placed like two sentinels by the side of his master's bed. "send away those men," said salmanazar to the sick man. the latter replied, "they are needed to go and bring the coffer as soon as bankala shall have given us the key; he and i alone know where it is hidden." "it is well," said the jew; and he held his peace, looking alternately at the sick man and the two slaves. "what wilt thou do to effect my cure?" began eggadi to inquire of the jew in a doleful tone. "thou shalt see--thou shalt see," replied the latter. and they both awaited the return of the slave with an equal anxiety, which they in vain strove to conceal. bankala made them wait a long time, but when at length he did return, ali, the poor seller of mats, followed upon his footsteps. "arise quickly," had been the summons of the slave to him; "eggadi my master summons thee in the name of allah, and desires to see thee before he dies." ali had hastened to obey. at sight of him the jew trembled. eggadi, on the contrary, felt himself happy and reassured. "come hither, ali," said he; "come and behold a man guilty but repentant. the example of thy virtues did not suffice to bring me back to the path of duty: it was necessary that i should be struck by misfortune. thanks to heaven misfortune has befallen me. ali! ali! it was i who bought of thee the old camel which was left thee by thy father. that camel no doubt aided him in concealing the great wealth he would fain have bestowed upon thee ere he died. i discovered this wealth, and i conceived the iniquitous design of keeping it, instead of restoring it to thee in accordance with the demands of justice. i was on the point of quitting my country to avoid the further sight of thy poverty, the unceasing reproach to my crime, when allah visited me with a terrible malady, and a still more terrible physician. this physician, whom thou there beholdest, having discovered my secret, instead of urging me to the restitution of my ill-acquired fortune, dreamt only of sharing it with me, and threatened me with death if i refused the division of the plunder. "his horrible conduct, his avarice and cruelty combined, have inspired me with horror, and have shown me to what lengths an inordinate love of gold may lead. i have mourned for my fault, and have taken a sudden resolution to repair it. by deceiving this skilful man, i have been enabled to send for thee, and before him i declare that i render thee up joyfully all the treasures which are enclosed in the chest upon which salmanazar is seated." salmanazar started up on hearing these words. how! he had been actually sitting upon the treasure and had not divined it. eggadi continued: "consider, ali, what will be most suitable to bestow upon this jew. he demanded of me five hundred doubloons down, or a thousand in an hour's time, if i desired to live. i think that five hundred blows with a stick should be his recompense; at the same time i am unworthy to judge any man in this world. thou who art just, act towards him as thou thinkest best, but deign, above all things, to grant me thy forgiveness." ali was of course greatly surprised at all he had just heard. he took a moment to collect his thoughts and then said: "eggadi-ben-yousouf, i pardon thee willingly; and to prove it, i say to thee as thou once saidst to me: "let us enter into partnership, let us live as brothers, and unite our children as in the time of the patriarchs. as for salmanazar, let his only punishment be to behold the riches he would have forced thee to share with him, and after having seen them, let him return home without money and without blows." the wish of the wise ali was put into execution. the coffer, the key of which eggadi had about him, was opened; and the jew, though still trembling with the fear of receiving the blows, could not help eagerly regarding the gold and precious stones which were revealed to his cupidity. then he departed, filled with grief at having missed his aim, and at not having been himself the fortunate purchaser of the old camel of ali. this event was engraven on his memory, and caused him to regard with looks of eager anxiety all the old camels whom he chanced to meet. he often stopped before them, and seemed to endeavour to trace in their movements some mysterious sign which might lead to the discovery of hidden treasures. eggadi, having his conscience at ease, regained his health without the aid of any other physician. he became the adopted brother of ali, who insisted on sharing with him his newly-acquired fortune; and these two men, their children, and their children's children, continued to live together wealthy and united. ix. the story of medjeddin. many hundred years ago there lived in the famous city of bagdad a retired merchant named el kattab. the earlier part of his life had been assiduously devoted to commercial pursuits, in the prosecution of which he had made many a long journey, and crossed many a sea. in the course of his wanderings he had not only amassed the wealth he sought, but, what was better, had stored his mind and memory with the treasures of wisdom and general information. the property he had acquired was far from immense, yet it was amply sufficient to enable him to live in a style of substantial comfort and respectability, and to devote himself to the darling object of his declining years, the education and training of his only son. el kattab's beard was grey, yet he had not very long passed the prime of life, and still retained most of the vigour and elasticity of his earlier years. he was wise enough to be content with the quiet enjoyments of a moderate affluence, and had no desire to wear out the rest of his life in the feverish labour of constant acquirement, for the mere sake of amassing a splendid fortune; therein differing from too many of his friends, who seemed to forget in their headlong pursuit of enormous riches, that by the time these might be acquired, life would be nigh spent, and at any rate all its charms gone, unless some higher and nobler object had been substituted for that of mere wealth-getting. the city of mossul had been el kattab's home in his earlier days; but he quitted it, and took up his abode in bagdad, partly in order to be near his friend salek, with whom he had been on the most intimate terms from his youth; partly, too, for the sake of his son's education, as he expected that a residence in the latter city would produce good and lasting impressions on the mind of the young man; for the great city of bagdad was at this time under the rule of the far-famed caliph haroun al raschid, and was the resort of strangers from all parts of the globe; and here artists and sages of all countries mingled with each other. nor had el kattab conceived a vain expectation. his son, whose name was medjeddin, was a young man gifted with good natural abilities, and endowed with a pure and noble heart. he used every opportunity to extend his knowledge and improve his disposition; nor was he deficient in bodily exercises and warlike accomplishments: so that through good discipline he became powerful in body and strong in mind. he was not only, therefore, as was natural enough, the joy and pride of his father, but was loved and esteemed by all who knew him, and was often pointed out by the elders, to others of his own age, as an example worthy of imitation. as the father saw his greatest treasure in the person of his son, so the latter, with all the fervour of a well-directed mind, clung affectionately to his father. some years passed over them in this mutual love, rendered still more delightful by the companionship of their friend salek, and their happiness was full and uninterrupted. it chanced one day that el kattab and salek were taking their accustomed walk in the gardens adjoining the city in front of the gate. the heat of the summer's day had been diminished by a gentle rain, and the two strolled on, in happy conversation, and extended their walk beyond its usual length. they passed the last garden, and wandered on over some green meadow-land, behind a little wood, at the entrance of which stood high palms, whose shadows invited to repose, while a fresh spring gushed from a neighbouring rock, and meandered among the verdant herbage and variegated flowers. the two friends lay down in the shade, and conversed on the perils to which even the most virtuous men are subject, particularly enlarging on the danger of an over-confidence in the rectitude of our own intentions, and on the comparative ease with which a sudden impulse will sometimes hurry even the best of men, who possesses an overweening reliance on his own firmness of purpose, into a false or even fatal step in life. "i have known men," observed salek, "who, although among the best and noblest i have ever met in the course of my life, have been led unawares, by too great self-confidence, into an action which they might easily have avoided by moderate caution, but which has proved the beginning of a long chain of evils, ending at last in their complete ruin." el kattab, on the contrary, maintained that a heart accustomed from early youth to virtue, would not be easily led to commit a serious fault; and even if this should happen, that it would readily find its way back from a slight error to the right road. they continued to talk on these subjects, each endeavouring to confirm his assertions by examples, whilst medjeddin, stretched beside them, listened with attention to their conversation. suddenly he sprang to his feet, and ran quickly up the woody hill, at the foot of which they were reposing. his father and salek looked after him surprised, as they could not comprehend what had occasioned his sudden disappearance. they then saw that a little bird, as white as snow, was flying before him, which he was trying to catch. he was soon lost to their view among the bushes; they called to him to come back; but in vain. they waited for a quarter of an hour, and still medjeddin did not return. growing uneasy about him, they advanced in the direction in which he had disappeared, but could discover nothing. at last the sun set; then salek said, "let us return home: your son is a strong, active young man; he will easily find his way back to the city. perhaps he has gone home some other way, and will be there before us." after much opposition, the father was persuaded to return without his son; but he was still full of anxiety which no arguments could overcome. when they arrived at the city, his friend accompanied him to his house. they entered hastily, and inquired for medjeddin: but he had not returned. salek's cheering suggestions were of no more avail; el kattab would no longer listen to him, but threw himself weeping on his couch. salek rebuked him for this weakness, and represented to him that it might easily have happened that the young man had lost his way in the pursuit of the bird, and could not recover the track all at once. "he has no doubt found a shelter where he will remain till morning," continued he; "he will return here early to-morrow, and will laugh heartily at your fears." when salek was gone, el kattab gave free scope to his feelings. he wept aloud, tore his beard, and dashed himself upon the ground, like a madman. the slaves stood around in motionless astonishment, surprised to see their master exhibiting such passionate emotion; others sought to console him, but fruitlessly; at length they all began to cry and bewail with him for his dear son, who was beloved by them all. after a sleepless night, the afflicted father rose not at all quieted. he wished early in the morning to send messengers in all directions; but salek, who had come to inquire if the lost one had returned home, explained to him how foolish this step would be. "consider," said he, "that your medjeddin has most probably found a night's lodging, and slept better than you. supposing him, therefore, to be at any probable distance, even if he had set out on his way at daybreak, he could hardly be here now: if you send these messengers after him, he may perhaps come home by a shorter path, while they will be searching for him in vain; wait at least till mid-day." el kattab yielded; he appointed the messengers to be ready at noon, and in the meanwhile walked through the gardens and in the country around the city, where they had been on the preceding day. his friend accompanied him, although he pointed out that medjeddin might, in the interval, have reached home while they were walking, and that el kattab was thus perhaps giving himself more trouble than was necessary. "i have yielded to you in the rest," replied el kattab; "let me at least in this instance have my own will, and walk here." they went together to the fountain in the rock near the palms; they climbed the neighbouring heights; they called the name of the lost one in all directions; but no sound was heard in reply. at noon they went home, and asked all they met if they had seen a young man, whom they accurately described. nobody could give them any information about him. el kattab now sent out his messengers in all directions; promising a rich reward to the one who should lead his lost son back to his arms. the messengers returned on the tenth day, and reported that all their researches had been without success. at this the parent's grief knew no bounds. his friend salek remained almost constantly with him, comforting him; and all his friends held a consultation on the possible means of gaining tidings of medjeddin. they agreed that he could not have been killed, for then his corpse would have been found: that he had no cause to conceal himself: that he could not have been attacked by enemies, as he had none: might he, they suggested, in the pursuit of the bird, have been led to the brink of the river, and have thrown himself in, and been carried away by the stream? scarcely had this idea presented itself, ere two messengers were despatched to each side of the river to search, from its junction with the euphrates above balsora to the spot where it flows into the arabian sea, and ascertain if the corpse of medjeddin had been washed ashore. but these messengers also returned to the anxious parent, without having found what they sought. the parent and his friend now gave up medjeddin for lost; el kattab's spirit was broken; grief for his lost son shortened his life; he soon became old: all joy fled from his mind; and his sorrow was only a little alleviated when his faithful friend salek sat by him in the evening, talking with him of his son, relating the virtues by which he had been distinguished, and telling him how it had been his darling wish that this excellent young man should marry his daughter maryam. a few days afterwards the caliph haroun al raschid went, as he was accustomed, in disguise, with his grand vizier giafar, and mesrur his chamberlain, through the streets of bagdad, to see with his own eyes and to hear with his own ears how justice and order were maintained by his servants, and whether his people were happy and prosperous. he had, as usual, chosen the last hour of the evening for this walk, because he thought that at this time he could look deeper into the joys and pleasures of his subjects, as they had then ended their daily toils, and were seeking comfort and repose in the bosoms of their families. in the course of his progress he came to a street remarkable for its peculiar quiet. as he approached a house, before the door of which two men were standing whispering, haroun al raschid addressed them with these words: "why do you whisper, as if you were concerting a crime? is not this street lonely enough, that you cannot hold your discourse aloud? can you tell me why this street is so quiet, as though every inhabitant were dead?" "i can easily tell you, my lord," answered one of the whisperers; "here, in the next house, lives the unfortunate el kattab; and, as usual at this hour, his friend salek is sitting with him to console him. now all the inhabitants of this street respect this man, and wish not to remind him, by any outburst of joy, that happier men than himself live in his neighbourhood." before the caliph could answer him, the man turned away, and entered the house, and the other followed him. "have you ever heard of this unfortunate el kattab before?" asked haroun al raschid of his grand vizier; and as he answered in the negative, the caliph proceeded, "let us make an inspection of the house where this el kattab dwells; perhaps we may discover the cause of his sorrow." they drew near, and saw the light from the inner court shining through a crevice. the caliph applied his eye to the aperture, and after he had watched for some time, beckoned his followers to him, and said, "two grey-headed men are sitting in this court by the light of a lamp, and one seems to be comforting the other; but this latter continues to weep all the more bitterly, the more his companion endeavours to console him: both appear to be of the same rank. i am desirous of knowing what sorrow oppresses the unfortunate el kattab: order him to appear at my palace early to-morrow morning; perhaps it may be in my power to lighten his calamity." the next day the grand vizier executed his commission. el kattab was alarmed when he heard that his presence was required at the palace. he was led into the great hall where the divan usually assembled; but there the attendants left him quite alone. he reviewed the whole of his past life, to see if he had sinned in any way, so as to bring on him the displeasure of the caliph; for he knew that haroun al raschid often, in a mysterious manner, discovered the faults of his subjects, and punished them accordingly. but he could not call to mind any deed of which he felt ashamed, nor any that deserved punishment. whilst he was thus meditating, a curtain was drawn back, and the caliph entered, followed by his vizier and his chamberlain. el kattab rose from the ground, and bowed his head down to the carpet on which the caliph stood. "el kattab," said the caliph, "a heavy weight of grief seems to oppress you; and by the anxiety which your neighbours manifest to show respect for your sorrow, i must consider you as a man of worth: i wish then to know the cause of your despondency; have you any objection to inform me of it before these two witnesses, or would you rather confide to me alone the reason of your tears?" "ruler of the faithful," answered el kattab, "sorrow is great and deep in my soul; but still the cause of it is unworthy to distract for a moment the attention of the caliph from the cares of his kingdom." the caliph replied, "that which fills the heart of the meanest of my subjects with such grief that it consumes his life, is not unworthy of my care. if i am careful for my whole kingdom, this care none the less extends to each individual; and, if i am careful for one, this one is a member of the whole, and thus my care is not lost. but speak, what is the cause of your affliction?" el kattab then recounted the mysterious disappearance of his son; how he had sought for him every where, and how all his messengers had returned home without the least trace of him. "i must therefore weep for him as one that is dead,"--thus he ended his relation; "and in tears perhaps my sorrow might expend itself, if at the same time a spark of hope did not live in my heart, that possibly he is still alive: but ah! where? this spark of hope keeps the wound in the father's heart always open." "you have, indeed, real cause for grief," answered the caliph, "and i comprehend that the uncertainty of your son's fate must be as terrible to bear, as would be the mournful certainty of his death. you did wrong in not applying to me before; my power extends not only over believers, but also into foreign lands: other kings and rulers i have as my servants, whose eyes see for me, whose ears hear for me, and whose hands perform what is necessary in order to do my pleasure. that which was not possible to yourself, your friends, and your servants to accomplish, may perhaps prove easy for me. now go home, and believe that you shall obtain news of your son, if he live on the earth, in any land where my power can reach." with these words he dismissed him, after he had first inquired the marks by which his lost son might be recognised. when el kattab was sitting again with his friend salek in the evening, he related to him the gracious and comforting words of the caliph. salek perceived that hope was revived in his friend's heart, and that he confidently trusted to find his son. he thought it his duty, therefore, to damp somewhat this hope, and said, "beloved friend, i have once heard a speech, which sunk deeply in my memory: it is, 'trust not in princes; they are but men.' in truth, the mightiest on earth are subject to destiny. if the caliph have influence in distant lands, it must still be within a comparatively confined and narrow limit; whilst what is in the farthest regions of the earth, as well as what is but a span distant, are all equally under the control of all-governing fate, even from the meanest slave to the ruler of the faithful." haroun al raschid meanwhile resolved to do all he could to fulfil the hope he had raised in el kattab's heart. he gave a commission to all his servants in the kingdom, high and low, and to his ambassadors in the neighbouring kingdoms, and even sent into distant lands, with the princes of which he was on terms of friendship, at the same time despatching messengers with the charge to search for medjeddin with all diligence, giving them a description by which they might recognise him if they found him. but week after week, and month after month passed away; even a whole year elapsed, without any intelligence being received either of the life or death of the lost one. so that all hope of finding him deserted the father for ever. medjeddin, meantime, had not perished--none of the accidents suggested by his father's advisers had befallen him; he still lived, but in such complete concealment that it was impossible for any one to discover him. he had followed the snow-white bird till evening, without clearly knowing why: he was induced to think he could catch the curious creature, particularly as it flew at such a moderate height from the ground, and at the same time so slowly. the tardiness of its flight made him conjecture that it must have hurt one of its wings; several times he succeeded in getting quite close to it, but just as he stretched out his hand to seize it, the bird again raised its wings, and flew a little in advance. medjeddin now felt himself tired, and would have given up the pursuit, but the bird also seemed fatigued; he approached it, but again the bird flew a little farther off. in this chase he climbed a hill, and soon after found himself in a narrow meadow-valley, down which he ran; twilight came, but the snow-white colour of the bird still lighted him on. at last the pursued bird perched in a thicket; he hastened to it, but when he closed his hand to seize his prisoner, it flew away, leaving only one of its tail-feathers tightly grasped in his hand: still he saw it through the twilight flying before him, and still he hastened after it. the bird seemed now to quicken its pace; but as he had so nearly caught it once, he continued the pursuit with more eagerness; he ran through the high grass, with his strained sight fixed on this glimmering white object, he saw nothing else. thus he came unexpectedly on a small but deep pool of water, which lay across his path; he jumped in, swam across, and tried to climb the other side, but it was so steep that he fell in with some of the crumbling earth: the water closed over his head, and he lost all consciousness. when he came to himself, he found himself lying on the turf, and a tall, grey-headed man of strange appearance by him, clothed in a long black robe reaching to his ancles, and fastened by a glittering girdle of a fiery colour. instead of a turban, he wore a high pointed cap on his head, with a tassel of the same hue as the girdle. "has your life returned to you?" he asked: "you deserved to be suffocated in the mud. come, we must go farther before daylight quite leaves us." with these words the stranger raised him from the ground, passed his left arm round his body, and flew with him through the air with the speed of an arrow. medjeddin again soon lost recollection, and did not know how long he remained in this condition. he awoke at last as from a deep sleep; and looking around, the first thing he observed was a cage of gold wire, hanging from the ceiling by a long golden chain, and within was the snow-white bird he had so long followed. he found himself alone with this bird in a hall, the roof of which was supported on pillars of white marble, and the walls were built of smooth pale-green stones. the openings which served as windows were protected by lattices so skilfully contrived with winding tracery, that even the white bird could have found no space to pass through, even if it had escaped from the cage. beside one wall stood a crystal urn; and from this fell a stream of clear water, which passing over the curved brim of the urn, was received in a white basin beneath, from which it disappeared unseen. whilst he was observing this, and wondering what had happened to him, and how he came there, suddenly the old man in the black robe entered from behind a curtain. he carried a small golden box in his hand, and approached him with these words: "you have now caught the white bird, and have it safe in a cage; in this box is food for it, and there is water; take diligent care of it, and mind that it does not escape." as he said this he disappeared. medjeddin now arose and walked round the hall: he looked through the windows, and ascertained that he must be in a foreign land, as the forms of the mountains and trees were quite different from any he had before seen. the hall seemed to be high in the air, as if it were the upper story of a lofty tower. no other edifice was to be seen, and from the windows he could not distinguish what shrubs and plants bloomed beneath. he drew the curtain aside, and discovered a doorway; but there was a thick metal door which he could not open. he was now very much embarrassed, for he began to feel hungry, and could find nothing that would serve him for food. he examined the walls to see if he could discover any concealed outlet; he tried to open the lattices, that he might put his head out, and see if there were any body beneath, to whom he might cry out. there was no door; he could not open the lattices; and as far as he could strain his sight in every direction, he could see nobody: he threw himself in despair on the pillow, wrung his hands, and wept, and cried: "i am then imprisoned--imprisoned in a dungeon where splendour and riches are lavished around! of what avail is it that these walls are built of precious stones? that this lattice is of fine gold, that this cage is of gold, and hangs on a golden chain? i am as much a prisoner behind golden lattices as i should be behind a grating of iron." then he rose and shouted through the lattices, in hopes that his voice might be heard, and aid brought; but nobody appeared, and no one answered him. when he again threw himself weeping on his couch, after these useless efforts, he observed that the white bird fluttered restlessly in its prison, and pecked at the golden dish for its food, without finding any. "poor brother in misfortune," said medjeddin, "you shall not suffer want; i will take care of you; come, i will bring you what you want." he took the pans from the cage, filling one with water from the urn, and the other with grain from the gold box which the old man had given him. scarcely had he hung the last on the cage, when, on turning round, he saw a table behind him covered with costly viands. he was astonished, and could not understand how this had happened; still it was not long before he attacked the meats with the zest of a young man who had fasted nearly all day. although these viands were altogether different from those he had been accustomed to taste in his father's house, they all appeared excellent. he ate till he was fully satisfied, and then took from the table a golden cup, and quenched his thirst with pure water from the urn. after this he threw himself on a couch and fell asleep. when he awoke he felt strong and well. he arose and began to make another tour of the hall, and he then observed that the table with the meats had disappeared. this was a disappointment, as he had thought to make a good supper of the remainder. he did not allow this, however, to trouble him much, as he now felt pretty sure that he was not to die of hunger. he next proceeded to scrutinise his prison more closely: he examined all anew, pillars, walls, and floor; but could no where find a crevice or a fissure: all was fast and whole. his view from the windows did not allow him to make any further discovery; he only saw that he was very far above the earth, and in a spacious valley; mountains were to be seen in the distance, with curiously-pointed summits. as soon as he had completed this examination, and found there was nothing to occupy him, he turned his attention to the white bird in the cage. here was still life; and if the cage was narrow, yet the prisoner could hop about on the different perches. soon it remained still and gazed at him with its bright eyes, which seemed as if sense and speech lay in them, the interpretation only was wanting. night put an end to these reflections. next morning he observed that the bird again wanted food. he filled its seed-pan with grain from his golden box, and gave it fresh water from the urn. scarcely had he done this, when the table covered with meats again stood in the same place as the day before. this day passed like the former, and the following in the same manner; medjeddin wept and mourned, took care of the little bird, fed it, and was every time rewarded in the same manner with the table covered with dishes as soon as he had filled the bird's seed-pan. he could not perceive who brought the table, nor how it disappeared. it always came whilst he stood beside the cage with his back turned, and without any noise. on the ninth day the old man suddenly appeared to him, and said, "to-day is a day of rest for you; you have performed your duty during the preceding days in giving the bird its food, you may now amuse yourself in the garden till evening." he led him through a door into a narrow passage, at the end of which they descended twenty steps; he then opened a small metal trap-door, and then medjeddin descended twenty steps more: they next came to a similar door, and descended twenty more steps to a third, and so on, till, after passing the ninth door, they found themselves in the open air. "remain here till you are called," said the old man, who went back into the building through the same doors, which he shut after him. medjeddin was very curious to examine more closely the building in which he had been imprisoned: he therefore went round it, and narrowly observed it. it was a tower of nine stories, each about fifteen feet in height. the tower was nine-sided, with a window in the third side of each story, so arranged that no window was directly over another, and that consequently only three altogether appeared in each side of the tower from bottom to top. this distribution of regularity and order reigned throughout the whole building. the walls were made of large pieces of gold, quite as smooth as glass; and these were so skilfully put together that, even when closely looked at, the joints could not be discovered. the lattices of the windows were all of gold, like those in the upper hall, and the lower doors through which he had passed were of a yellow metal, inclining to green. all these considerations were not calculated to lessen his conviction that no man could possibly find him out in such a prison. suddenly a new hope awoke in him: "i am no longer shut up in the tower," said he to himself; "here i am in the open air, in a garden: i can clamber and jump like a monkey; i may possibly find some outlet from this garden, by which i can escape." he immediately turned from the tower, and hastened through the gardens, seeking freedom; but he soon discovered that this hope was vain. he found the gardens surrounded on all sides by a lofty wall, constructed of the same materials, and quite as glassy, as the tower. after making the whole circuit of the garden, he at length found a gate, consisting of a grating of strong iron bars, polished to the highest degree of smoothness, and so close together, that he could scarcely pass his arm through. he tried to climb it by holding by the upper bars with his hands; but his feet slipped on the smooth iron, and he hurt his knee so much, that he lost his hold and fell backwards on the earth. he next examined the grating closely to see if there were no means of escape; but all was in vain: every where the bars were high, thick, and like polished glass. sorrowfully he wandered round the garden; the sun's rays darting down scorched up the grass, and he sought some shade where he might screen himself from their influence. he lay down on a mossy bank, and meditated anew on his fate. besides his own grief at his imprisonment, the thought of his father's sorrow at his loss pained him. the exhaustion consequent on tears and loud lamentations, joined with the noontide heat, at last caused him to fall into a deep sleep. when he awoke, the table covered with meats was again before him; he ate, and wandered again mournfully through the garden, meditating whether he could not make a ladder from the trees around him, to aid him in his escape over the grating. but there was something wanting for this work; he had not even a dagger or a knife. as he thus thought, the old man appeared, and said, "evening is drawing on; follow me in." he led him again to the upper room of the tower, and locked the metal door upon him. there was no change observable in his prison, only the bird seemed harassed and mournful; it sat quiet and still on the lowest perch, its plumage was rough, and its eyes dull. "poor creature," said medjeddin, "what is the matter? are you ill?" it seemed as if the bird was affected by these sympathising questions, but it soon sank again into its former dejection. he mused long upon this. the next day and the following ones passed like the former; but on the ninth the old man again appeared, led him into the garden, and at night conducted him back into the hall. he took care of the bird; and as soon as he had given it food and water, he always found the table covered with meats behind him. in the intervals he stood at the lattice of one of the three windows looking on the plain below, earnestly hoping to catch sight of some person to free him from his captivity. in such monotonous employment many months passed away: every ninth day the old man appeared, and gave him leave to walk in the garden; but he did not derive much amusement from his strolls in this narrow enclosure. in the mean time he asked the old man many times the reason of his imprisonment, and how long it was to last. no answer was vouchsafed but these words: "every man has his own fate; this is thine." one day the old man appeared and led him into the garden as usual; but he had not been there more than a quarter of an hour, when he returned, called him in, and then quickly retired with marks of disquietude. medjeddin also remarked that the white bird, which he had learnt to love more every day, sat at the bottom of its cage, more mournful than it usually was after the old man's visit. he drew near, and observed a little door in the cage which he had never before seen. he examined it closely, and found a fine bolt which passed into a ring of gold wire. these were made so skilfully, and worked into the ornamental parts of the cage so cunningly, that nobody could have discovered them if his attention had not been drawn to them by design or accident. medjeddin pushed back the bolt and opened the door; the bird started up as if some sudden joy had seized it, hopped out, and as soon as it touched the floor was transformed, and in its stead a young maiden stood before medjeddin, clothed in a white silk robe; beautiful dark locks streamed over her neck and shoulders, and a thin fragrant veil fell over them, confined by a fillet set with precious stones; her finely-formed countenance was as white as ivory, relieved by the softest shade of the rose. surprised and astonished, medjeddin started back and said, "by the beard of the prophet, i conjure you to tell me whether you are of human race, or whether you belong to the genii?" "i am a helpless maiden," said she, "and implore you to deliver me from the hands of this cruel magician; i will reward you handsomely for it: know, i am the only daughter of omar, king of zanguebar; and this wicked enchanter has cunningly carried me off from my father's palace, and shut me up in this cage. he has one son, as ugly as night, whom he wishes me to take for my husband. every ninth day he comes, brings his son with him, and praises his excellent qualities. this he has done regularly for many months past, tormenting me at every visit for my consent to this odious union; and he now threatens me with cruel tortures if i give it not by the next new moon. on that day he will have kept me a year in imprisonment, and longer than a year he says he will not continue to entreat: then will the time of my punishment begin; i conjure you therefore to help me." at these words she burst into a flood of tears. "noble maiden," answered medjeddin, "how willingly would i free you! but, alas, i am as helpless as yourself, and cannot even free myself. but tell me how is it? you say the enchanter brings his hateful son with him--why, then, have i never seen him?" "he always sends you away when he comes," answered the princess. "but even then," pursued medjeddin, "the son could not conceal himself from me on the stairs, or in the narrow passage." "quite true," she answered, "but he carries him in his pocket." "what," exclaimed medjeddin in astonishment, "in his pocket!--how can that be?" the princess informed him that the young man became on the occasion of each visit a white bird, like herself: that the enchanter put him into the cage with her, and that she felt such a dislike to him that she always fluttered about the cage to avoid getting near him; but that he, with the pertinacious obstinacy of a brutal affection, would follow her and settle confidingly near her. "you must," she continued, "have remarked how tired and mournful i always was on the ninth day when you returned." medjeddin, astonished at this explanation, assured her of his willingness to free her, but bewailed his helplessness. the princess, however, would not give up hopes of their success. "it seems to me," said she, "a good omen that the enchanter has to-day received a message which caused him to leave so early, and in such haste that he did not securely close the cage, and that you returned so early to-day from the garden; this day is my birthday, the only day i can be delivered from the magician's power; on any other day i should still have remained a dumb bird, even if you had freed me from my cage; only on this day has my touching the floor had power to restore me to my natural form; the enchantment lies in the cage." medjeddin instantly seized the cage, exclaiming, "if it be so, we will break the enchantment." he threw the cage to the ground, stamped on it with his feet till it was quite flat, and its shape no longer distinguishable, then he rolled it together, and threw it into a corner of the hall. at this moment a frightful noise like thunder resounded through the air. the whole building shook as with a furious tempest, the doors flew open with a crash, the curtains were drawn aside, and the magician stood before them with a countenance full of anger. "ah," cried he, "weak worms, what have you presumed to do? how did you learn to break my charm in this manner? who bid you destroy the cage?" medjeddin was so terrified he could answer nothing. the enchanter then turned to the maiden and cried, "and you, you thought this miserable worm could defend you against my power: i will show you how useless it is to oppose me." he felt in the pocket of his black robe, and pulled out thence a small box; this he opened, and a white bird flew out and perched on the table. he then took a smaller box from his girdle and opened it,--it was filled with grains of millet; from these he took one, and laid it before the bird, who had scarcely eaten it before such a distorted man stood in its place, that both medjeddin and the princess screamed aloud. his head was large and thick, his eyes red and dark, his nose small and quite flat, his lips thick and blueish red, his chin broad and projecting, and on his head grew a few stiff white hairs; a hump grew out in front, and a similar one behind; his shoulders were quite drawn up, and his head so jammed between them that his ears could not be seen. the upper part of his body was so unwieldy, and his legs so weak and thin that it was wonderful how they supported him; he tottered about incessantly, balancing himself first on one leg, then on the other. "come forward, my son," said the enchanter to this deformed creature; "behold, there is your bride; she does not wish to wait till the new moon which i fixed upon for your betrothal: to-day she has effected her own change by the help of this friend. go, my son, give your bride a kiss, and then thank this young man." the deformed creature approached the princess with a horrible fiendish laugh; she averted her face with disgust, and stretched out her arms to motion him away. but by this time medjeddin's courage had returned: resolving to venture all, he stepped before the princess and gave the deformity such a blow that he reeled and fell backwards. his head struck in the fall on the corner of the pedestal of one of the marble pillars with such violence, that his skull was broken: a stream of blood flowed from the wound, and the monster gave a hollow groan. medjeddin thought of nothing but the father's rage and revenge, and gave up his life for lost. but the enchanter stood quite confounded as he observed his son's mortal wound, and appeared stupified with horror and amazement. presently he threw himself down beside him, examined the injury, and wrung his hands, forgetting his revenge in his sorrow. medjeddin quickly seized the hand of the princess, and led her through the door and down the stairs: all the doors were open, and they found their way without any obstacle into the garden. soon they stood before the grating of the iron gate, which was closed. "of what use is our flight?" said medjeddin despondingly; "we are still as much as ever in the power of the enchanter; and even if we were on the other side of the gate, and concealed in the deepest cavern, he would discover us by his knowledge, and wreak his vengeance on us." "i am of a different opinion," said the princess; "i know many of the things on which the superior power of this magician depends, and i believe that if we could only get out of this place, we should be safe." they went on a little further, and came to a spot where a number of trees had been uprooted by the hurricane; one of these lay overturned with its summit resting on the top of the wall, and its boughs and branches hanging far over the other side. at this sight the young man rejoiced; he climbed quickly on to the trunk, pulling the princess after him, and guiding her with great care and tenderness into the top of the tree. they then clambered over the wall in spite of a formidable row of spikes, and let themselves down on the other side by the overhanging branches of the tree. these did not quite reach to the ground, but near enough for them to leap down; they let go accordingly, and fell gently to the earth; then jumping up, they proceeded as rapidly as the strength of the princess and the difficulties of the way would allow them, through thickets, underwood, and plains studded with prickly plants, towards the distant mountains. after the two fugitives had continued their flight for several hours without looking back on the scene of their imprisonment, the princess felt her strength exhausted, and that she could go no further; she begged her companion, therefore, to stop and rest for a short time. medjeddin sought a place free from bushes, and clad with moss and long grass; they seated themselves there, and medjeddin entreated the princess to relate her history. she was too much exhausted at first, but after a short pause recovered her strength and commenced thus: "my early history is very simple. i am called jasmin, the only daughter of the sultan of zanguebar. my mother was brought over the wide-stretching sea, from beyond arabia and mount caucasus, and was sold to him as a slave. soon attracted by her beauty and manners, he raised her to the dignity of wife. my earliest youth was spent in happy sports under my mother's eyes, who died, however, before i had passed the age of childhood, as the change from the mild climate of her land to the heat of my father's shortened her days. my father loved me as his greatest treasure, and confided me to a careful nurse. every evening i passed several hours with him, as soon as he was released from the cares of government, and one whole day in each week he devoted to conversation with me. on that day we always went together in a light bark to a neighbouring promontory, where he had a beautiful palace and gardens. the air there was cooler and more refreshing, the trees and shrubs were clothed with fresher green than in the shut-up garden in the capital, and we passed the whole day in the open air. in the mean time i had outgrown childhood, and was beloved by a prince, the son of a neighbouring king, to whom i was betrothed, and who was to succeed my father in his kingdom. this prince, whose name was mundiana mesoud, often accompanied us in these visits to the castle on the promontory. "it happened one day, as we were sitting on a terrace by the sea, that a foreign ship anchored just below us. a stranger caused himself to be landed in a little boat, and asked us permission to appear before us, as he had many costly wares to offer for sale. i was desirous to see his wares, and begged my father to admit him. the man laid many costly trinkets of gold and precious stones before us; and my father bought some which pleased me the most. i remarked that the merchant watched me closely, but he did this with such evident pleasure that my vanity ascribed it to his admiration of my charms, and found no harm in it. whilst he showed his goods, he let fall some words which intimated that he had left his most precious articles behind in the ship; he had there, he said, many curious birds, particularly a snow-white bird which was the most beautiful of all creatures of this kind. he managed thus to excite my curiosity so much that i begged my father to allow me to go with the stranger to his ship to see these rarities. my father was weak enough to comply with this unreasonable wish. a suitable train ought to have accompanied me, but the stranger prevented this; he said his boat had only room in it for three people, and that he should not like to show his wares if many strangers came into his ship. 'they are only things fit for the royal princess,' he said; 'there is no fear that i should expose her to danger. i can never forget that a powerful king has entrusted his only daughter to my care. however, the prince may accompany you as a watchful protector.' we accompanied the merchant to the ship; there we found an immense number of extraordinary things and unknown animals. in the place where in other ships the rowers sat, were great apes; on high on the mast sat an eagle; in the cabins were many large and small cages of smooth ebony with thick gold bars, behind which moved a confused multitude of animals. "my desire was now directed to the snow-white bird, about which i made inquiry. he showed it me high up in a sort of box; and as i could not see it distinctly, he took it out and placed it in my hand. 'the most wonderful circumstance,' said he, 'connected with this bird is, that, being a native of a far distant country, when removed to this it can only remain a few days alive, but i have found the corn of life of which i give it some grains each week, and it is then refreshed for nine days.' we asked for the corn of life, of which we had never heard; and he opened a little box and took out three grains. he gave me one to give the bird, the other i was to try, and the third prince mesoud. when i offered the grain to the bird, it refused it; and when i pressed my hand closer, drew back, lost its balance and fell down with outspread wings. i hastened to it, picked it up perhaps somewhat roughly, and as it tried to escape, i held some of its tail-feathers fast, so that it lay fluttering in my hand. i was very much frightened, and the merchant seemed so also. he soon laughed, however, with a sort of malicious joy, and said that i should swallow the corn, because it would prevent the flight of the frightened prisoner; he said the same to the prince; and we swallowed the grains at the same moment. i felt a wonderful transformation pass over me, and found that i was changed into a snow-white bird; and when i looked towards the prince, in his stead i saw a black bird. upon this the stranger, who was no other than the enchanter, seized me, and shut me up in the golden cage which you have trodden to pieces. the apes began to ply the oars, and the ship moved with unusual swiftness over the sea. i still saw my father and the attendants on the terrace, and could distinguish their gestures of wonder as they saw the ship depart; i believed even that i heard their voices calling us back. but what could i do in my cage? the black bird flew to the promontory; and from that moment i have neither heard nor seen any thing of prince mesoud. "when my home was far in the distance, and even the summit of the mountains which overhung it could no longer be distinguished, the enchanter rose with my cage high in the air, leaving his ship behind, and bore me into the hall of the tower. how he brought the other white bird, i do not know; i only know that he took it out of his pocket and put it into the cage. 'now you have a companion,' said he. as i took him for a real bird, i considered myself, though unfortunate, superior to him, and drew myself back into a corner. but the bird came nearer and followed me round the cage. at last i lost patience, and pecked his eyes. when the enchanter saw this, he took out a little box and took from it a grain which he laid before the bird, who picked it up immediately. it was then changed into a man, the same ugly wretch you saw in the tower. he desired me, as i have already told you, to take that deformity for my husband; and promised me that, on my consent, i should be immediately restored to my proper form, and assured me that otherwise i should always remain as a bird, except on my birthday. it was also part of my enchantment to be obliged to allure you here. i have now no other wish than to return to my father in zanguebar, because i know he is living in great affliction." this relation vividly reminded medjeddin of his own father; he knew, from the great love he had always shown him, that he must have pined for his loss, and his mournful countenance and bowed-down form presented themselves before his mind. "princess," said he, "your desire cannot be greater than mine. still, i swear to you, that i will not return to my father till i have safely conducted you to your native land, or have seen you safe into the hands of those who will bring you to your father; if i do not, may heaven not grant my father life to receive this joy!" they journeyed on with renewed vigour. but evening was drawing near, and it was necessary to find a resting-place for the night; fortune was favourable; they soon found a nook overhung by a large and lofty bush. medjeddin broke away the boughs, so as to form a hedge which fenced round a small spot in which he concealed the princess, leaving only a narrow entrance, before which he lay down to watch. night passed without danger. however anxiously medjeddin strove against sleep in order to watch over his companion, it at last weighed down his eyelids; and they both awoke with the first rays of the sun. they wandered the whole day, resting occasionally; at every step the journey became more hazardous; the thickets became thicker and higher; they were often obliged to creep between the boughs, and their clothes hung in rags. on the fourth day they reached the foot of the mountains. there they found cultivated land and human habitations. medjeddin inquired where they were, and asked the way to the sea. the people told them the name of the country, which was unknown to medjeddin and to the princess jasmin, and added, that on the other side of the high mountains lay a large flat land, bordering on the sea. they received this information with great joy, and, tired and footsore as they were, addressed themselves, without loss of time, to the task of crossing the mountains, and at last, after a wearisome journey, during which they had seen the sun rise and set seven times, they arrived at the flat country and the sea-coast of which they had been told. a ship lay ready at anchor; and when they inquired its destination, the steersman answered, "we are going to zanguebar, to fetch a cargo of cinnamon." to medjeddin's question where they came from, and the name of the land where they were, he received for answer, "that the ship belonged to a merchant of balsora, and that it had been cast on these unknown shores by a violent storm." when the princess perceived that the ship was going towards her native land, she was very much rejoiced. she took one of the precious stones out of the fillet on her forehead, and gave it for the passage money of herself and her companion. the following morning they weighed anchor, and, after a prosperous voyage, reached the very same place where the enchanter's ship had formerly lain at anchor, when he carried off the princess. they were landed in a small boat, and jasmin led her deliverer through the beautiful leafy walks of the imperial gardens. in this way they came to a terrace, from which they could see the ship. instead of pressing hastily forwards, they concealed themselves behind a bush, for on the terrace sat a venerable and noble-looking man, with the profoundest melancholy stamped on his features; he was looking seawards, and the vessel had just caught his eye; a flood of tears ran down his face, "ah!" cried he, "it was just so on the day that my sorrows began! there lay the ship of the robber; there landed the boat which carried away my beloved daughter and her betrothed. it was even at the same hour of the day. i have sent messengers into all the neighbouring lands; i have caused the opposite sea-coasts to be searched; but all has been in vain. i must die, and never see my child again." he pronounced these words aloud, and covered his face, as he bowed himself forward on his hands. the princess jasmin was rushing towards him, but medjeddin held her back, and said, "let me first prepare him for your arrival, for otherwise joy may kill him." and he came forward, and bowed himself before the sorrowing old man. the king then said, "who are you? are you a beggar, and do you need any gift? it shall be given you; go to my palace." medjeddin stood up and answered, "from my appearance, you might well take me for a beggar, o great king omar. but know that under these ragged clothes is concealed a magician, who is able to change your tears into smiles, your sobs into transports of joy." "can any man on earth do this?" asked omar. "i have only to speak three words," answered the other, "and it will happen. are you strong enough to support the highest joy that your heart can feel or conceive?" at these questions, a ray of hope kindled in the soul of the mourning father. "what is it? who are you who can promise this?" asked he; and, on medjeddin repeating his question, he answered, "i think so," regarding him, at the same time, with eager looks. "approach, princess jasmin," cried the youth; and she sprang forward into her father's open arms. medjeddin's promise was indeed fulfilled; the aged monarch's tears were changed into smiles of joy. their embrace continued long. at last omar raised himself, beckoned medjeddin to approach, and said, "you are indeed a magician such as i have never seen before. by your words you have changed the mournful course of my life into the brightest sunshine. i will not now ask you who you are, and what i have to thank you for, nor inquire what chance brought you to my daughter; i shall only give myself up to joy at her return." they went back to the capital in the king's barge, and soon the joyful news of the unexpected reappearance of the princess spread every where. crowds assembled at the palace to ascertain if the news were true, and the princess at length went out of the principal gate of the palace, and showed herself at the head of the flight of steps which led up to it. then arose a shout of joy from ten thousand voices, and loud wishes for her health and happiness. the next day, after the king had heard from his daughter the history of her imprisonment, and of the devotion with which medjeddin had watched over her and when medjeddin had in turn narrated his history omar became very thoughtful, and caused his council to assemble, to deliberate how they should reward him. "if he were not so young," said some of them "he might be made grand vizier, the next in dignity to the king, or be appointed governor of a province. but his youth prevents his being placed over the people next to the king." after longer consultation, the eldest of the councillors rose, and said, "omar, my king and lord, the youth has certainly performed a great service to you and the princess jasmin; it seems to me, therefore, that his reward ought to come from you. it is fitting that the king, having received from him a great benefit in his family, should reward him from his family. were i in such a case, i would constitute him mundiana, and give him for a wife the daughter whom he has restored." the whole assembly were of the same opinion, and the king gave them to understand that this was also his wish. "i am old," said he, "and can easily perceive that the cares of this land will soon need other hands to support them. i shall be much pleased to see my daughter with so good a husband. the prince mundiana mesoud, whom i had before chosen, has disappeared; and this youth, although of lower birth, is of noble soul, and will soon, under my guidance, acquire the necessary experience to enable him to promote justice and order in my kingdom." he did not delay, but immediately caused medjeddin to be called. a costly band of gold and silver was fastened round his forehead, and the king then said, "i herewith appoint you mundiana;" and the assembled councillors immediately added their congratulations. medjeddin expressed his gratitude in becoming terms, but inquired, smiling, what was the precise nature of the dignity conferred on him. the eldest councillor stepped forward and said, "this name points out the highest post of honour which the king can bestow. you are found worthy of this honour, and no other lives who bears the title, because the mundiana prince mesoud has disappeared." an elephant covered with costly trappings was now brought in by its keeper, and upon it was a richly ornamented seat. on this the new officer was placed, and led through the streets. heralds went before him, and cried aloud, "listen to what omar makes known to all people. this youth has restored to him his dearest jewel, which he had lost. in gratitude, the king has nominated him mundiana, and has appointed his daughter jasmin for his wife. to-morrow the betrothal will be celebrated; and every body is invited to the court of the palace to partake of the general joy." medjeddin hardly knew how all this had come about. he had received clothes and rich arms as a present from the king, and the king so highly favoured him, that he was not only to be husband of the princess jasmin, but was to succeed omar on the throne, and to reign over that beautiful and rich land. in his happiness he forgot his early life, his father's sorrow, and even his playfellow maryam and his father's faithful friend salek, and thought no more of his home or his father-land. the next day his betrothal with the princess was celebrated with great pomp. the princess had willingly yielded to her father's wish, without manifesting any particular joy, although, she felt a very sincere friendship for her intended husband, and treated him with great respect and attention, as she did not forget in her prosperity how much she had owed to him in the time of misfortune. the first days and weeks after the ceremony of betrothal were devoted to recreation and amusement, after which he was formally introduced by the king to the council, and instructed in the business of the state. the king and councillors had soon reason to wonder at the acuteness of his judgment in difficult cases, and above all, at his quick perception of right and order. throughout the country, the justice and wisdom of the king's future son-in-law were praised, and it was hoped that fortune would permit him to rule over the land. a whole year had now elapsed, and the day was fast approaching when he was to marry the princess and ascend the throne. one day, as usual, he sought his betrothed, the princess jasmin, in her apartments. he happened to enter very rapidly after his announcement by the attendant, and saw the princess hastily wiping her eyes; and as he drew nearer, he perceived the traces of her tears. sympathising with her, he asked the cause of her grief; she tried to avoid answering him, but as he continued to urge her, she at last said, "i dare tell you why these tears flow, because you are good and compassionate, and will not consider it a crime that i have a feeling and constant heart. you know that i was formerly beloved by prince mesoud, the son of the neighbouring king; i related to you that this prince was changed into a black bird by the enchanter, and flew from the ship to the promontory of the island where our country seat was situated. now i must tell you that i grieve so much the more about this prince's fate, as from my own change i can compassionate his mournful condition. i could not repress the desire to ascertain his fate, and i have obtained certain news of his present condition, by the secret knowledge of a certain wise man. i have learned that he still lives in his new form, and that he has flown away, from fear of the machinations of the demon hunter, called among us dolda waldas, and is now in far distant regions; and that it is ordained by fate that he shall never regain his human form if i give my hand to another husband. sorrow at his mournful destiny has drawn these tears from my eyes, the traces of which you observed." this narrative made a deep impression on medjeddin; he discovered that jasmin had acceded to her father's wish only from gratitude and filial obedience, whilst her affections were still fixed on the absent prince. he saw that he could purchase the good fortune of being the husband of the noble princess, and son-in-law of the great king omar, and after him king of zanguebar, only by the misfortunes of prince mesoud. he asked himself if this were right, and was obliged to confess that justice and honour were opposed to it. he saw that the intoxication of good fortune had hitherto blinded him. then the remembrance of his father came before him, and his imagination pictured him pining away at the uncertainty of his son's fate. he bitterly reproached himself for his long forgetfulness, and for not having sent an embassy to announce his safe arrival in zanguebar. scarcely had these thoughts and feelings arisen in his breast, than he made up his mind: he went to the king, told him all, and begged him to let him go and fulfil a son's duty to a father whom he had too long neglected. omar sighed deeply at these disclosures of his expected son-in-law; he proposed to send a ship to bring his father, so that he might spend the rest of his life in sharing his son's good fortune and companionship. upon this medjeddin declared to him, with determination, that he could never be his son-in-law or successor to the throne. "i cannot purchase such good fortune at another's expense," said he; "it was otherwise before i knew the decision of fate; but now that i know that the prince mesoud must, through my happiness, always remain in his present condition, if i thus take away the possibility of his ever returning to his human form, i should be in the highest degree culpable, if i did not voluntarily give up my good fortune." all the persuasions and arguments of omar were useless. the councillors also, and the grand vizier and the governors of the provinces, begged him to continue in the land, and to take still more share in the government. he remained firm in his resolution; he promised the princess, who was astonished at his honourable spirit, that, as soon as he had seen and comforted his father, he would seek information about prince mesoud from all the sages and magicians of his native land, and that he would try all means to restore him to his former condition. as he was determined to set out, the king gave him costly presents, including many precious stones from his treasury, and provided him with a ship, and all necessaries for the voyage. the heavens seemed to favour the resolution of the returning son: the finest weather and most favourable winds seconded his journey, and the ship anchored in the harbour without accident. he took some servants, bought some camels, which he loaded with the king's presents, and so went through balsora along the river to bagdad. one beautiful evening he came near the city, and recognised the very place where he had lain at the feet of his father and salek, and listened to their conversation; their last discourse there returned to his memory. "well," said he to himself, "my own experience has indeed proved how true it is that it is easy for a man to be seduced from virtue into one false step, if he be not watchful, but relies on his own power: i thought that my heart was sure to be always right, and neglected the practice of weighing carefully each action beforehand. in this manner have i so much forgotten my love for my father, and had nearly committed a great wrong, having been about to sacrifice to my vanity, in the intoxication of good fortune, the happiness of the princess and her betrothed. and you, my father, were also right when you maintained that a heart accustomed to virtue from early years would only for a short time wander from the right road. i have myself experienced the truth of these words, and i therefore thank you with tears that you brought me up to what was good." as he spoke, he espied a small solitary hut where the palm-trees used to stand. a venerable man, much marked by sorrow, appeared at the door; he stood still before the threshold, and regarded the youth with astonishment; the young man gazed earnestly at him. then suddenly recognising the features of the old man, he threw himself on his knees before him, seized his hand, and covered it with kisses. "my father," cried he, "is it so indeed? have you become so much altered in the course of so few years? that is my fault. father, forgive your offending son, who forgot you in the height of prosperity." el kattab extended his other hand to him, blessed him, and said: "rise up, my son, rise; he who feels repentance is forgiven." he rose and threw himself into his father's arms. when he looked up again, he saw a man approaching, accompanied by a maiden, whose features he recognised. it was salek and his daughter maryam, medjeddin's playfellow. after welcoming him, they sat down, and medjeddin related to them all that had happened to him since the memorable evening. he related, truly and candidly, how he had forgotten his father, and nearly fallen into greater crimes, because he had been blinded by fortune, by greatness, and by honours. as they were sitting and conversing, they observed three birds coming up from a distance, and who seemed to be chasing one another. they soon perceived that one of them was a black bird flying in great fright from a large hawk. it was obvious that the hawk would soon have seized his prey, had he not been pursued in turn by a larger bird, to avoid which, he was often compelled to dart from side to side: at last they came to close conflict. the pursued black bird fell into medjeddin's lap; the hawk, struck by his pursuer, fell to the ground at their feet, and was, by the strong hooked bill and sharp claws of his adversary, soon killed and torn to pieces. scarcely had this taken place, when the conqueror changed into a venerable-looking sage. he turned to medjeddin, who was quite astonished, and said: "dip quickly your forefinger in the blood of this slain bird, and anoint with it the beak of the black one." medjeddin obeyed immediately; and scarcely had he touched the black bird's beak with the blood, ere it was transformed, and a handsome youth in kingly dress stood before them. "guess who this is," said the genius. "the prince mesoud?" asked medjeddin. the genius answered, "it is he!" and as he stood looking at the young prince with astonishment, added, "you do not perceive how and why all this has happened. i could explain to you all these mysteries; but to what purpose? it is not necessary for weak men to know the threads by which their fates are linked together: suffice it to know that it was necessary for you to perform all this, that you might be tried: you are found worthy, and heaven rewards you with maryam, the early companion of your youth, now to be your wife." then medjeddin turned towards maryam, and looked inquiringly at salek, her father. this latter said, "with joy i listen to the will of fate; the highest wish of my heart will now be fulfilled." "know," continued the genius, "that the slain bird was the enchanter who transformed the princess jasmin and the prince mesoud. they were also to pass through trials; thus it was decreed by fate. because the enchanter only fulfilled the will of fate from selfish motives, and carried his revenge beyond it, and contrary to it, the king of the genii commanded me to slay him." with these words he disappeared from their sight. they returned now in happy union to the city; and el kattab, who had built his hut at the edge of the wood to be always near the place of his sorrow, dwelt again in his house with his children. the prince proceeded to zanguebar in the same ship that had brought medjeddin. he was received there with great joy, and was soon married to his early love. but medjeddin's name lived long in their memory, and in that of all the inhabitants of that island. when the caliph haroun al raschid heard of medjeddin's return, he had him called before him, and made him relate his history. the caliph was so pleased with him that he took him into his palace, and gave him an important post in his court. his history he caused to be inscribed in the records of his kingdom. and when giafar, his aged vizier, expressed a wish to end his life in quietness, the caliph raised medjeddin to the grand viziership; and he continued long in this office, to the pleasure of his friends and the happiness of the people, by whom he was greatly beloved. viii. the story of king bedreddin-lolo and his vizir atalmulc. the city of damascus is one of the most populous and flourishing cities of the east, and to this capital of a rich kingdom travellers and caravans arrive from all the countries of the world. its sovereigns bear the title of "prince of the believers," and their person is sacred. bedreddin-lolo, king of damascus, had for his grand vizir a man celebrated in history for his goodness. this minister, whose real name was aswad, but whose great virtues had acquired for him the surname of atalmulc[ ], was in every way worthy of the high name he had so obtained; uniting to an indefatigable zeal for the king's service a vigilance that nothing could deceive, a penetrating and capacious mind, and a disinterestedness that was universally admired. but he was surnamed the "sorrowful" vizir, because he appeared to be always plunged in a profound melancholy. whatever he did at court was performed in a grave and serious manner, and he never smiled at the wittiest remark that was made in his presence. one day the king entertained this vizir and sedif-elmuloak, his favourite, and related to them, laughing immoderately all the while, the following misfortunes that happened to a rich old miser. the old pair of slippers. there was at bagdad a merchant very notorious for his avarice, and his name was abou-cassem-tambouri. although he was enormously rich, his clothes were constantly in rags and tatters, and his turban, made of coarse stuff, was so dirty that its colour could no longer be distinguished. of all his garments, however, his slippers were the most remarkable; the soles were kept together by large, clumsy nails, and the upper leathers were pieced in every direction. the famous ship argo was not made up of a greater number of separate fragments. during the ten years of their existence as slippers, the cleverest cobblers of bagdad had exerted their utmost skill to tag together their remains, and had only succeeded by adding piece on piece, by which means they had become so heavy, that they had passed into a proverb; and when any one wished to describe something weighty, the slippers of cassem were always the object of comparison. one day, when this merchant was taking a walk in the great bazaar of the city, a proposal was made to him to buy a considerable quantity of glass; he agreed to the offer, because it was an advantageous one; and having heard a few days afterwards, that a perfumer who had fallen into difficulties had nothing left but some rose-water, which he would of course be obliged to sell as speedily as possible, cassem took advantage of the poor man's misfortune, and purchased it at less than half its value. this successful stroke of business had put him into good humour, and instead of giving a great feast, according to the custom of eastern merchants, when they have made an excellent bargain, he thought it better to take a bath, a luxury which he had not enjoyed for a long time. whilst he was taking off his clothes, one of his friends, or at least one who pretended to be a friend--for it is a rare thing for a miser to have one--remarked to him that his slippers made him the laughing-stock of the whole city, and that he certainly ought to purchase a new pair. "i have long thought of doing so," replied cassem; "but my old ones are not so very bad, and will last me for some time even yet." while talking, he stripped off his clothes, and entered the bath. at this juncture the cadi of bagdad came also to take one. cassem, having finished his bath before the judge, went into the first apartment, where he found his clothes, but not his slippers, which had disappeared, and in their place was a new pair, which our miser was convinced were a present from the man who had made him such a friendly remonstrance about them. with that he made no more ado, but put the new pair on his own feet, thus sparing himself the pain of buying new ones, and left the bath overjoyed with his prize. when the cadi had finished his bath, his slaves looked about in vain, for their master's slippers, and finding only a wretched pair, which were immediately recognized as cassem's, the police ran after the supposed sharper, and brought him back with the stolen goods upon his feet. the cadi, after having exchanged the slippers, sent cassem to prison; and, as he was well known to be rich as well as avaricious, he was not allowed to come out of prison until he had paid a handsome fine. on returning home the afflicted cassem threw his slippers, in a rage, into the tigris, which flowed beneath his windows. a few days after, some fishermen, drawing up a net heavier than usual, found in it cassem's slippers. the nails, with which they had been patched, had broken the meshes of the net. the fishermen, out of spite to cassem and his slippers, threw them into his room by the open window, and in their passage they struck the bottles containing the rose-water, and knocking them down, the bottles were broken and the water totally lost. the grief and wrath of cassem on seeing this may easily be conceived. he cursed his slippers, and tearing out the hair from his beard, vowed that they should cause him no more mischief; and so saying, he took a spade, and digging a hole in his garden, buried them there. one of his neighbours, however, who had borne him a grudge for a long time, perceived him turning up the earth, and ran and told the governor that cassem had dug up a treasure in his garden. this was enough to excite the cupidity of the officer, and he sent forthwith for cassem. in vain our miser declared that he had not found money, that he was only employed in burying his slippers. the governor had calculated on his bribe, and the afflicted cassem could only regain his liberty by paying down a second large sum. our friend, in an extremity of despair, consigned his slippers to shitan[ ], and went and threw them into an aqueduct at some distance from the city, thinking that this time he should hear no more of them. but as though the evil spirit he had invoked was determined to play him a trick, the slippers somehow found their way just to the very pipe of the aqueduct, by this means preventing the flowing of the water. the persons who had the care of the aqueduct having gone to ascertain the cause of the stoppage, and to remove it, carried cassem's slippers to the governor of the city, declaring them to be the cause of all the injury. their unfortunate owner was thrown again into prison, and condemned to pay a larger fine than before. the governor who had punished the offence, and who pretended to be indebted to no one for any thing, returned cassem's precious slippers to him again most faithfully; and cassem, in order to free himself from all the evils which they had brought upon him, resolved to burn them. as they were saturated with water, he first of all put them out to dry in the sun on the terrace of his house. but cassem's evil genius had not yet quite done with his tricks, and the last which he played him was the worst of all. a neighbour's dog prowling along the terrace on the housetops spied out the slippers, and, darting at them, carried off one of them. as, however, the dog was playing with it, and tossing it about, he contrived to let it fall off the terrace on to the head of a woman who happened to be passing below. the fright and the violence of the blow together, made the poor woman quite ill; and her husband having carried his complaint before the cadi, cassem was condemned to pay a fine proportionate to the misfortune of which he had been the cause. going home, he took up his slippers, and returned to the cadi with them in his hands. "my lord," he exclaimed with a vehemence which excited the judge's laughter, "my lord, look at the fatal cause of all my troubles! these abominable slippers have at length reduced me to poverty; be pleased now to issue a decree, in order that the misfortunes which they will, no doubt, still continue to occasion, may not be imputed to me." the cadi could not refuse to comply with this request, and cassem learned, at great expense, the danger there is in not changing one's slippers often enough. * * * * * the vizir listened to this story with such a serious countenance that bedreddin was astonished. "atalmulc," he said, "you are of a strange disposition; you seem always sad and melancholy. during ten years that you have been in my service i have never seen the slightest sign of pleasure on your countenance." "may it please your majesty," replied the vizir, "you need not be surprised at it; all have their secret sorrows; there is no man on earth who is exempt from them." "your remark is surely untrue," replied the king. "do you mean to say that all men have some secret anxiety preying on their minds, because you appear in that state? do you really believe this to be the truth?" "yes, your majesty," replied atalmulc; "such is the condition of all the children of adam; our bosoms are incapable of enjoying perfect ease. judge of others by yourself. is your majesty quite contented?" "oh, as to me," exclaimed bedreddin, "that is impossible! i have enemies to deal with--the weight of an empire on my hands--a thousand cares to distract my thoughts, and disturb the repose of my life; but i am convinced that there are in the world a vast number of persons whose days run on in unruffled enjoyment." the vizir atalmulc, however, pertinaciously adhered to what he had stated, so that the king, seeing him so strongly attached to his opinion, said to him: "if no one is exempt from vexation, all the world, at any rate, is not like you, wholly overcome by affliction. you have made me, however, very curious to know what it is that has rendered you so pensive and sorrowful; tell me therefore the reason of your melancholy." "i shall comply with your majesty's wish," replied the vizir, "and reveal the cause of my secret cares to you, by relating the history of my life." the history of atalmulc, surnamed "the sorrowful vizir," and the princess zelica. i am the only son of a rich jeweller of bagdad. my father, whose name was cogia abdallah, spared no expense in my education; having from my earliest infancy hired masters, who taught me the various sciences, philosophy, law, theology, and more particularly the different languages of asia, in order that they might be useful to me in my travels, if i should ever make any in that part of the world. shortly after this my father died, and when the funeral ceremony, which was magnificent, was over, i took possession of all his immense property. instead of giving myself up to the pursuit of pleasure, i resolved to devote myself to my father's profession. being well versed in the knowledge of precious stones, i had reason to believe that i should succeed in business, and accordingly i went into partnership with two merchant jewellers of bagdad, friends of my father, who were about to undertake a trading expedition to ormus. at basra we hired a vessel, and embarked on our enterprise from the bay which bears the name of that city. our companions on board were agreeable; the ship wafted by favourable winds glided swiftly through the waves. we passed the time in festive mirth, and our voyage promised to end as pleasantly as we could desire, when my two associates gave me a startling proof that they were not the honourable characters i had supposed. we were just at the end of our voyage, and being in good spirits on that account, we held a sort of farewell feast, and did ample justice to some exquisite wines which we had laid in at basra. for my part, being in the highest spirits, i made copious libations, and, on retiring to rest, lay down on a sofa, without taking off my clothes. in the middle of the night, while i was buried in profound slumber, my partners took me up in their arms, and threw me over-board through the cabin window. death would seem inevitable under the circumstances, and in truth it is still impossible for me to imagine how i was fortunate enough to survive such a catastrophe. the sea was running high at the time, but the waves, as if heaven had commanded them to spare me, instead of overwhelming me, bore me to the foot of a mountain, and cast me violently on shore. as soon as i recovered the shock, i found myself safe and sound on the beach, where i passed the remainder of the night in thanking god for my deliverance, at which i could not sufficiently wonder. at break of day i clambered up with great difficulty to the top of the mountain, which was very steep, and met there with some peasants of the neighbourhood, who were occupied in collecting crystal, which they afterwards sold at ormus. i related to them the danger in which my life had been placed, and my escape seemed miraculous to them, as well as to myself. these worthy people took pity on me, gave me part of their provisions, which consisted of honey and rice, and as soon as they had finished gathering their crystal, acted as my guides to the great city of ormus. i put up at a caravansary, where the first object that met my eyes was one of my associates. his surprise was great at seeing a man whom he no doubt believed to be safely housed in some marine monster's stomach, and he ran off instantly to find his companion, in order to acquaint him with my arrival, and to plan how they should receive me. they soon settled as to their course of proceeding, and, returning to the place where i was, they took no notice of me, and studiously conducted themselves as though they had never seen me before. "o traitors!" i exclaimed, "heaven frustrated your murderous intentions, and in spite of your cruelty i am still alive; give me back instantly all my precious stones; i will no longer associate with such vile wretches." on hearing these words, which ought to have overwhelmed them with shame and remorse, they had the impudence to reply: "o thief and rogue! who are you, and where do you come from? what precious stones do you speak of that we have belonging to you?" so saying, they set on me, and gave me several blows with a stick. i threatened to complain to the cadi, but they anticipated me by going to that judge themselves. bowing down before him, after having previously taken care to present him with some valuable brilliants, which no doubt belonged to me, they said to him: "o lamp of justice! light which dispels the darkness of deceit! we have recourse to you. we are poor strangers, come from the ends of the earth to trade here; is it right that a thief should insult us, and will you permit that he should deprive us by an imposture of what we have acquired at the risk of our lives, and after running a thousand dangers?" "who is the man of whom you make this complaint?" asked the cadi. "my lord," they replied, "we do not know him, we never saw him before this morning." at this moment i presented myself before the judge, to make my own complaint, but as soon as they saw me they exclaimed: "here is the man--here is the wretch, the arrant thief! he is even impudent enough to venture into your palace, and show himself before you, the very sight of whom ought to frighten the guilty. great judge, condescend to protect us." i now approached the cadi, in order to address him, but having no presents to make to him, i found it impossible to get him to listen to my story. the calm and unmoved aspect with which i spoke to him, proceeding from the testimony of a good conscience, was thought by the cadi's prejudiced mind to arise from impudence, and he ordered his archers to convey me instantly to prison, an order which they lost no time in executing. so that while i, an innocent man, was loaded with chains, my partners departed, not only unpunished but in triumph, and well persuaded that a new miracle would require to be wrought to deliver me from the hands of the cadi. and, indeed, my escape from my present difficulty might not have been of so fortunate a nature as that from drowning, had not an incident occurred which showed the goodness of heaven still visibly displayed on my behalf. the peasants who had brought me to ormus, having heard by chance that i had been put in prison, moved with compassion, went to the cadi, and told him in what way they had fallen in with me, together with all the details which they had heard from myself on the mountain. this recital began to open the eyes of the judge, and caused him to regret that he had not listened to me. he forthwith resolved to investigate the matter; and first of all sent to the caravansary to inquire for the two merchants, but they had hastily decamped, and returned on board the ship, which had put to sea; for in spite of the bias of the cadi in their favour they had taken the alarm. their rapid flight effectually convinced the judge that i had been committed to prison unjustly, and he gave orders to set me at liberty. such was the termination of the partnership i had entered into with the two honest jewellers. as one saved from drowning, and the hands of justice, (or rather injustice,) i might well have considered myself eminently bound to return thanks to the almighty. my situation, however, was such as to render me rather indifferent as to what might happen to me; for i was without money, without friends, without credit, and reduced either to subsist on charity, or to perish of hunger. i quitted ormus, without knowing what would become of me, and walked in the direction of the prairie of lar, which is between the mountains and the persian gulf. on arriving there, i met a caravan of merchants from hindostan, who were setting out for schiras, and, joining myself to them, i gained a subsistence by rendering myself useful on trifling occasions. on our arrival at schiras, where the shah tahmaspe held his court, i stopped for some time in that city. one day, when returning from the great mosque to the caravansary where i lodged, i saw an officer of the king of persia, richly dressed and very handsome; looking at me attentively, he came up to me and said, "young man, from what country do you come; for i see you are a stranger, and evidently not in a very prosperous condition?" i replied, that i came from bagdad, and that his conjecture was but too well founded. i then related my history more at length, to which he listened attentively, and with much feeling for my misfortunes. he next asked me how old i was; and when i told him that i was nineteen years of age, he desired me to follow him, and walking before me proceeded to the king's palace, which i entered along with him. conducting me into a very elegant apartment, he asked me, "what is your name?" i replied, "aswad;" he then asked many other questions, and being satisfied with my replies, said at last: "aswad, your misfortunes have affected me greatly, and i wish to assist you as a father: i am the capi-aga[ ] of the king of persia; there is now a place vacant for a new page, and i have appointed you to it. you are young and handsome, and i cannot make a better choice, for there is not one among the present pages who surpasses you in good looks." i thanked the capi-aga for his kindness, and he forthwith took me under his command, and caused me to be equipped in the dress of a page. i was made acquainted with my duties, which i soon learned to discharge in such a manner as to gain the esteem of the zuluflis[ ], and to confer honour on my protector. there was a rule that no page of the twelve chambers should, under pain of death, remain in the gardens of the seraglio after a certain hour, when the women were accustomed occasionally to walk there. the same rule extended to all the officers of the palace and the soldiers of the guard. being in the gardens one evening quite alone, and musing on my misfortunes, i became so lost in thought that i did not perceive that the proper time for men to leave the gardens was already past: knowing that no time was to be lost, i quickened my pace in order to enter the palace, when just as i was turning the corner of one of the walks, a lady appeared before me. she was of a majestic stature, and in spite of the darkness i could see that she was both young and beautiful. "you are in a great hurry," she remarked; "what can it be that obliges you to walk so fast?" "i have very good reasons for doing so," i replied, "and if you belong to the palace, as doubtless you do, you cannot be ignorant of them. you know that men are forbidden to appear in the gardens after a certain hour, and that whoever breaks this rule suffers death." "you have been rather slow in remembering the rule," replied the lady, "for the hour is long past; however, on another account you may thank your stars you have loitered, for if you had not, you would not have met with me." "how unfortunate for me that i should have mistaken the time," i exclaimed, thinking only that i had placed my life in danger. "don't reproach yourself," said the lady; "if you do, i shall feel offended. you ought to look on your misfortune to be rather a source of congratulation. it is very true that the danger in which you are placed presents ideas disagreeable enough, but it is not quite so certain that you will be beheaded, for the king is a good prince, who may be induced to forgive you. who are you?" "i am one of the pages," i replied. "indeed!" she exclaimed, "you make very wise observations for a page; the grand vizir could not make better. well, don't distress yourself about what may happen to-morrow, the events of which are hidden from you, and are only known to heaven, which has perhaps even now prepared a means of escape for you. leave then the future to take care of itself, and think only of the present. if you knew who i am, and the great honour conferred upon you by this adventure, instead of poisoning the precious moments by bitter reflections, you would esteem yourself the most fortunate of mortals." by such animating language the lady at length dispelled my fears: the idea of the punishment which threatened me vanished from my mind as i abandoned myself to the flattering ideas which she held out to me, and i proceeded somewhat over ardently to ingratiate myself with my companion. the next moment, however, as if at a signal from her, i found myself surrounded by ten or a dozen women who had concealed themselves close by, in order to listen to our conversation. it was easy now to see that the woman who had played me this trick was laughing at me. i supposed she was one of the female slaves of the princess of persia who was desirous of having a little amusement at my expense. all the other women ran quickly to her assistance, and, bursting into laughter, began to surround me, and to joke with me. one remarked that i was of a lively character, and well fitted for an amusing companion. "if i should ever walk all alone at night," said another, "i hope i shall meet with somebody quite as clever as this page." their pleasantries put me quite out of countenance, while every now and then they laughed outrageously, and i felt as ashamed as if they had rallied me for being too bashful. they even made themselves merry at my having permitted the hour for leaving the gardens to escape me, and said that it would be a pity if i were to die on that account; and that i well deserved to live since i was so devoted to the service of the ladies. the first one then, whom i had heard addressed as cale-cairi, said to another, "it is for you, my princess, to determine respecting his lot: is it your wish that he should be abandoned to his fate, or shall we lend him our assistance?" "he must be saved from the danger he is in," replied the princess: "i give my consent for him to live; and, indeed, to the end that he may remember this adventure of his for a long time to come, we must make it still more agreeable to him; let him come to my apartments." when i entered the chamber of zelica begum--for such was her name, and she was the princess of persia--she inquired my name, and how long i had been a page. when i had satisfied her curiosity on these points she said: "well, aswad, make yourself at home, and forget that you are in an apartment which is forbidden to be entered by any man: forget that i am zelica: speak to us as if you were with a party of young ladies, the daughters of plain citizens of schiras: look attentively at all these young women, and tell me frankly which one among us all you like best." although zelica's slaves were perfectly beautiful, and the princess herself might be considered to have a just claim to the preference, my heart decided at once in favour of the charming cale-cairi; but concealing sentiments which would seem to cast zelica into the shade, i said to her that she ought not to place herself in the same rank with the others, or contend with her slaves for the possession of my heart, for that her beauty was such that wherever she was seen, all eyes must be directed to her, and her alone. while speaking thus, however, i could not resist looking at cale-cairi in a way which would make her think that my language had been dictated by courtesy alone, and not by the real feelings of my breast. zelica noticing this, said, "aswad, you flatter me too much: you must be more candid: i am certain that you have not spoken your real sentiments, and you must really answer me truly in reply to my question: open your inmost soul to us: we all beg you to do this, and you cannot confer a greater pleasure both on myself and all my slaves." yielding at last to their urgent requests, i threw off my timidity, and addressing myself to zelica, i said: "i will then endeavour to comply with your highness's wishes: it would be difficult to decide which of the exquisitely beautiful assemblage before me is the most beautiful, but i will avow to you that the amiable cale-cairi is the lady for whom the inclinations of my heart plead the most strongly." zelica, instead of being offended by my boldness, replied: "i am well pleased, aswad, that you have given the preference to cale-cairi; she is my favourite, and that is sufficient to prove that your taste is not bad. you do not know the full worth of the fair lady whom you have chosen: we unite in owning that she excels us all." the princess and her slaves now began to banter cale-cairi on the triumph which her charms had achieved--and she received all their witticisms in very good part. zelica then ordered a lute to be brought, and placing it in cale's hands, said to her, "show your lover what you can do with it," and she played upon it in a style which enchanted me, accompanying it at the same time with her voice in a song which indicated that when a lover has made choice of a suitable object, he ought to love that dear one for ever. an old slave at length came to inform us that daylight was approaching, and that there was no time to be lost, if it were intended that i should quit the apartments in safety. zelica then told me to follow the slave, who led me through many galleries, and by many windings and turnings, until we reached a little gate of which she had the key; and on the door being opened, i went out, and as it was now daylight, i saw that i was no longer in the palace. a few hours after i rejoined my companions. eight days after this, an eunuch came to the door of the king's apartments, and said that he wished to speak with me. i went to him and inquired what he wanted. "is not your name aswad?" he asked. i replied that it was. he then put a note into my hands, and went away. the letter stated that if i felt inclined to pay a visit to the gardens of the seraglio next night, and would be at the same place as before, i should there see a lady who was very sensibly touched with the preference i had given to her over all the princess's women. although i suspected that cale-cairi had taken a fancy to me, i had no idea of receiving such a letter as this from her. intoxicated with my good luck, i asked leave from the oda-baschi to pay a visit to a dervise--who was a countryman of my own, and who had just arrived from mecca. leave being granted me, i ran, or rather flew, to the gardens of the seraglio, as soon as night was come. if, on the first occasion time fled too swiftly and surprised me into stopping after the hour for leaving the gardens, it seemed now too slow in bringing me the promised pleasure, and i thought the hour of retreat would never come. it did come, however, and i could see, shortly afterwards, approaching the place where i was concealed, a lady whom i recognized by her stature and air to be cale-cairi. transported with delight, i drew near, and throwing myself at her feet, i remained for some time prostrate on the ground without speaking a word, so completely had i lost all self-possession. "rise, aswad," she said, "i am enraptured at having inspired you with such feelings towards me, for i will confess to you that for my part i have not been able to resist a friendly regard for you. your youth, good looks, and lively and brilliant wit, but more than all, perhaps, your preferring me to other ladies of great beauty, have endeared you to me. my conduct proves this sufficiently; but, alas! my dear aswad," she added, sighing, "i scarcely know whether i ought to be proud of the conquest i have made, or rather to regard it as an event which will embitter the whole course of my life." "but, madam," i replied, "why give way to such gloomy presentiments at the very time when your presence brings me such delight?" "it is not," she replied, "a foolish fear that now, at such a moment as this, causes me annoyance and disturbs the pleasure of our meeting; my fears are only too well founded, and you are ignorant of the cause of my grief. the princess zelica loves you, and when she has freed herself, as she will do soon, from the splendid bondage in which she is held, she will inform you of your happiness. when she confesses to you that you are dear to her, how will you receive such a glorious avowal? will your love for me hold out against the honour of having the affections of the first princess in the world?" "yes, charming cale-cairi," i said, interrupting her; "i would prefer you even to zelica. were it to please heaven that you should have even a still more formidable rival, you would see that nothing could shake the constancy of a heart that is devoted to you." "unhappy aswad!" exclaimed the lady, "whither does your love carry you? what a fatal assurance you are giving me of your fidelity! you forget that i am a slave of the princess of persia. if you were to repay her kindness by ingratitude you would draw down her anger upon us both, and we should perish. better it were that i should yield you up to so powerful a rival; it would be the only means of saving ourselves." "no, no," i replied hastily; "there is another means which i should rather choose in my despair, and that would be to banish myself from the court altogether. after my retreat you would be safe from the vengeance of zelica, and you would regain your peace of mind: by degrees you would forget the unfortunate aswad, who would retire into the deserts to seek for rest in his misfortunes." i spoke with such deep feeling and truth that the lady was herself overcome with my grief, and said: "cease, aswad, to yield to a needless affliction. you are mistaken; your merits are such that it would be wrong to keep you longer in the dark. i am zelica herself, and not her slave. that night when you came to my apartment i personated cale-cairi, and you supposed my attendant to be myself." zelica then called one of her women, who ran to her from amidst some cypress trees where she was concealed, and i perceived that she was the slave whom i supposed to be the princess of persia. "aswad," said the princess to me, "you now see the true cale-cairi; i give her back her name and take my own: i have no wish to disguise myself any longer. although your love is greater than your ambition, i am certain that it will be a source of new pleasure to you to know that the lady who loves you is a princess." we passed nearly the whole night in walking about and conversing, and daylight would no doubt have found us in the gardens, had not cale-cairi, who was with us, taken care to inform us that it was time to withdraw. it was needful then that we should separate, but before i parted from zelica the princess said to me: "adieu, aswad! do not forget me. we shall see each other again, and i will soon let you know how dear you are to me." i threw myself at her feet to thank her for so flattering a promise, after which cale-cairi took me out by the same winding passages as before, and i then left the seraglio. beloved by the august princess whom i idolized, and forming an enchanting image of what she had promised me, i abandoned myself to the most pleasing fancies that the mind could depict, when an unlooked-for event deprived me all on a sudden of my proud hopes. i had heard a report that the princess zelica was ill, and two days afterwards the rumour of her death was circulated in the palace. i was unwilling to give credit to this fatal intelligence, and refused to do so until i saw preparations going for the funeral ceremony. i did not see the whole of it, because excessive grief threw me into a succession of dangerous fainting fits which lasted for a long time. one of the officers of the palace gave directions for me to be carried into the pages' room, where great care was taken of me; my limbs were rubbed with a balm of exceeding virtue, and in spite of my overwhelming misery, such was the progress i made, that in two days my strength was restored. a stay in schiras, however, having become insupportable, i secretly left the court of persia three days after the interment of my beloved princess. overwhelmed with grief, i walked all night without knowing whither i was going or where i ought to go. next morning, having stopped to rest myself, a young man approached who was dressed in a very extraordinary manner. coming up to me he saluted me and presented me with a green branch which he held in his hand, and after having civilly made me accept it, he began to recite some persian verses to induce me to bestow my charity upon him. as i had no money i could not give him any. thinking that i was ignorant of the persian language he recited some arabic verses, but seeing that he had no better success this way than the other, and that i did not do what he wanted, he said to me, "brother, i cannot persuade myself that you are deficient in charity, but rather in the means wherewith to exercise it." "you are right," i said, "i have not a farthing in the world, and i know not even where to shelter my head." "unfortunate man," he exclaimed, "what a sad plight you are in; i really pity you, and wish, moreover, to assist you." i was not a little astonished to be thus addressed by a man who had been asking alms of me a moment before, and i supposed that the assistance he offered was merely that of his prayers, when he went on to say: "i am one of those merry fellows they call fakirs; and i can tell you, that though we subsist entirely on charity, we fare none the less sumptuously for that, as we have discovered the secret of exciting the compassion of well-meaning people by an appearance of mortification and penance which we well know how to impart to ourselves. it is true there are a few fakirs fools enough to be really what they seem, and who lead a life of such austerity as sometimes to go ten whole days without the least nourishment. but we are a little less rigorous than these ascetics; we make no pretensions to the reality of their virtues, only to the appearance of them. will you become one of our fraternity? i am now on my way to meet two of them at bost; if you have a fancy to make the fourth, you have but to follow me." "i am afraid," i replied, "that not being accustomed to your religious exercises i shall acquit myself but clumsily." "pray don't trouble yourself," he broke in, "on that head; i repeat to you that we are not fakirs of the austere order; in short, we have really nothing of the fakir about us but the dress." although i guessed from what the fakir had told me, that he and his companions were in reality three libertines in disguise, i nevertheless did not hesitate to join them; for besides being reckless from sheer misery, i had not learned among the pages of the court many lessons of scrupulousness on the score of morality. as soon as i had signified to the fakir my consent, he set out with me at once for bost, feeding me on the road with abundance of dates, rice, and other good things, which people presented to him in the towns and villages through which we passed; for the moment his little bell and his peculiar cry became heard, the good mussulmans came running to him with provisions from all quarters. in this way we arrived at the large town of bost; we made our way to a small house in the suburbs, where the two other fakirs resided. they received us with open arms, and appeared delighted with my resolution of joining them. they soon initiated me into their mysteries; that is to say, they showed me how to perform their antics. as soon as i was well instructed in the art of imposing on the populace, they sent me into the town to present respectable citizens with flowers or branches, and to recite verses to them. i always returned home with some pieces of silver, which enabled us to live merrily enough. i passed nearly two years with the fakirs, and should have lived there much longer had not the one who had induced me to join them, and whom i liked the best, proposed to me to travel. "aswad," said he one day, "i am sick of this town; i begin to long to roam a little. i have heard wonderful accounts of the city of candahar; if you will accompany me we will put the truth of these reports to the test." i consented at once, for i had a curiosity to see some new country, or rather, i was impelled by that superior power which guides our destinies. accordingly we both quitted bost, and passing through many cities of segestan without stopping, we reached the noble city of candahar, surrounded with its strong fortifications. we betook ourselves to a caravansary, where our dresses, the most commendable thing about us by the way, procured us a kind and hearty reception. we found the inhabitants of the city in a great bustle, as they were going to celebrate the feast of giulous on the following day. we learned that at court they were no less busy, as every one was anxious to show his attachment for the king firouzshah, who had earned by his justice the love of all good men, and still more by his rigour the fear of the wicked. the fakirs going where they please without hindrance, we proceeded next day to court to witness the festival, which however had few charms for the eyes of a man who had seen the giulous of the king of persia. whilst we were attentively watching what passed, i felt myself pulled by the sleeve, and turning round, perceived close to me the very eunuch who, in the shah's palace, had been the bearer of cale-cairi's, or rather zelica's letter. "my lord," he whispered, "i recognized you at once in spite of your strange dress; but indeed, though i flatter myself i am never mistaken, i am not quite sure whether on the present occasion i ought not to doubt the evidence of my own eyes. is it possible that it is you i have met here?" "and pray," i asked in reply, "what are you doing at candahar, and why have you left the court of persia? can the death of the princess zelica have driven you away as it did me?" "that," replied he, "is exactly what i cannot tell you at this moment, but i will amply satisfy your curiosity if you will meet me here to-morrow alone at the same hour. i have a few things to tell you which will astonish you, and which--let me add--concern you not a little." i promised to return alone to the same spot the following day, and took care to keep my word. the eunuch was there, and coming up to me, proposed that we should leave the palace and seek some place better adapted for conversation. we accordingly went out into the city, and after traversing several streets, stopped at last at the door of a good-sized house, of which he had the key. we entered, and i observed suites of apartments magnificently furnished, delicious carpets and luxurious sofas, whilst through the windows i perceived a garden beautifully laid out, with a delightful piece of water in the middle, bordered with variegated marble. "my lord aswad," said the eunuch, "i trust the house pleases you." "i am delighted with it," i replied. "i am glad to hear you say so," he returned, "for i yesterday took it, just as you see it, for _you_. you will next want slaves to wait on you. i will go and purchase some whilst you take a bath." so saying, he conducted me to a chamber, where i found baths all ready. "in heaven's name," i exclaimed, "tell me for what purpose you have brought me here, and what the news is you have promised to tell me." "at the proper time and place," he rejoined, "you shall learn all; for the present be content to know that your lot is materially changed since i met you, and that i have my orders for every thing i am doing." as he spoke, he assisted me to undress--a process which did not take long--i entered the bath and the eunuch left me, enjoining patience. all this mystery furnished ample food for conjecture, but i wearied myself fruitlessly in endeavouring to fathom it. schapour left me a long time in the bath, and my patience was beginning to be exhausted, when he returned, followed by four slaves, two of whom carried towels and garments, and the others all sorts of provisions. "i beg your pardon, my lord," said he, "i am extremely sorry i have kept you waiting so long." at the same time the slaves placed their bundles on the sofas and proceeded to wait on me: they rubbed me with towels of the finest texture, and then dressed me in rich garments, with a magnificent robe and turban. "what on earth is all this to end in?" said i to myself; "and by whose orders can it be that this eunuch treats me in such a manner?" my impatience to be enlightened became so lively that i could not conceal it. schapour soon perceived it, and said: "it is with the deepest regret that i see you so restless and uneasy, but i cannot yet relieve you. even supposing i had not been expressly forbidden to say a word, or even supposing that i betrayed my trust, and told you every thing i am now concealing from you, i should not succeed in tranquillizing you in the least; anxieties still more harassing would take the place of those which now worry you--you must wait till night, and you shall then learn all you desire to know." though i would not but augur well from what the eunuch said, yet it was impossible to help being for the rest of the day in a state of cruel suspense. i really believe that the expectation of evil causes less real suffering than that of some great pleasure. the night however came at last, and the slaves proceeded to light up the whole house, and particularly the principal apartment, with wax candles. in this apartment i took my seat with schapour, who, to assuage my impatience, kept saying to me, "they will be here in a moment--have but a little more patience." at last we heard knocking at the door, the eunuch went himself to open it, and returned with a lady whom, the moment she raised her veil, i recognized as cale-cairi. my surprise was extreme, for i believed her to be at schiras. "my lord aswad," said she, "however astonished you may be to see me, you will be much more so when you hear the story i have to tell you." at these words schapour and the slaves quitted the apartment, leaving me alone with cale-cairi; we both sat down on the same sofa, and she commenced her narration as follows: "you recollect well, my lord, that night on which zelica made herself known to you, nor can you yet have forgotten the promise she made you on leaving. the following day i asked her whether she had come to any resolution what course to pursue in the matter; i represented to her the absurdity of a princess of her rank dreaming of exposing herself to disgrace and death for the sake of a mere page; in short, i used every effort to overcome her passion; and you may well pardon me for doing so, as all my reasoning served but to strengthen her attachment. when i saw i was utterly unable to prevail with her, 'madam,' i said at length, 'i cannot contemplate without shuddering the danger into which you are rushing, but since no consideration seems powerful enough to detach you from your lover, we must endeavour to contrive some plan for you to meet without endangering either your life or his. i have thought of one which would doubtless be gratifying to your affection, but it seems to me so daring that i hardly like to propose it.' "'let me hear it at once, cale-cairi,' said the princess; 'whatever it may be, pray do not keep it from me.' "'if you put it in practice,' replied i, 'you must make up your mind to quit the court and live as though you had been born to the humblest lot in life. you must renounce all the honours of your rank. do you love aswad sufficiently to make so great a sacrifice?' "'_do_ i love him?' returned she, drawing a deep sigh. 'ah! the very humblest lot with him would please me far more than all the pomp and luxury with which i am now surrounded. only point out to me what i can do in order to enjoy his society without constraint and without impropriety, and i am ready to do it without a moment's hesitation.' "'well, madam,' i replied, 'since i perceive it is useless to endeavour to overcome your attachment, i will do all in my power to favour it. i am acquainted with the properties of a herb of singular power. one leaf of it placed in your ear will in an hour bring on so lethargic a sleep that you will appear quite dead; they will then perform the funeral rites, and carry you to your tomb, from which at nightfall i can easily release you--'" here i interrupted cale-cairi, "great heavens!" i exclaimed, "is it possible that the princess zelica did not die after all--what then has become of her?--" "my lord," said cale-cairi, "she is still alive. but pray listen patiently to my story, and you will learn all that you desire to know. my mistress," she continued, "threw herself into my arms with joy, so clever did my plan appear to her; presently, however, she began to perceive many difficulties connected with the rites and observances usual at funerals. i removed all her doubts, and thus we set about the execution of our plan. "zelica complained of a terrible pain in her head, and went to bed. the next morning i spread a report that she was dangerously ill; the royal physician was sent for; it was no difficult matter to deceive him. he sent some remedies which of course were never taken. from day to day the princess's illness increased; and as soon as, in my judgment, her last moments ought to approach, i placed in her ear a leaf of the herb i have mentioned. i immediately after ran to the shah, and told him the princess had but a few moments to live, and desired anxiously to speak to him. he came to her at once, and, observing that, as the herb began its work, her face changed rapidly, he was deeply moved, and began to weep. "'my lord,' said his daughter, in faint accents, 'i implore you, by the love you have always borne me, to order my last wishes to be carried out to the letter. my wish is, that when i am dead, no one but cale-cairi shall be permitted to wash my body, and that none of my other slaves shall share that honour with her. i also beg that none but she shall watch my tomb the first night, that no tears but hers shall fall on it, and that her prayers alone shall ascend to the prophet, to avert from me the assaults of evil spirits.' "shah tahmaspe promised his daughter that i alone should perform for her these last sad duties. "'but this is not all, my lord,' continued she; 'i also implore you to give cale-cairi her liberty the moment i am no more, and to give her, with her freedom, presents worthy of yourself and of the affection she has always evinced towards me.' "'my child,' replied the shah, 'make yourself perfectly easy on all the matters you have commended to my notice; should it be my misfortune to lose you, i swear that your favourite slave, loaded with presents, shall be at liberty to go whither she pleases.' "he had hardly done speaking when the herb completed its work. zelica lost all consciousness, and her father, supposing her to be dead, retired to his own apartments in deep grief. he gave orders that i alone should wash and embalm the body, which i pretended to do, and then wrapping it in a white cloth, laid it in the coffin. the princess was then carried in great pomp to the tomb, where by the shah's express orders i was left alone for the first night. i made a careful survey all round, to assure myself that no one was on the watch, and, not having discovered any one, i roused my mistress at once from her sleep in the coffin, made her put on a dress and veil i had concealed under my own, and we both repaired to a spot where schapour was in waiting. the faithful eunuch conducted the princess to a small house which he had taken, and i returned to the tomb to pass the remainder of the night. i made up a bundle to represent the corpse, covered it with the same cloth in which i had previously wrapped zelica, and placed it in the coffin. the next morning the princess's other slaves came to take my place, which i took care not to leave without previously indulging in all the expressions of inconsolable grief usual on such occasions. a faithful account of this exhibition of woe was duly carried to the king's ear, who was induced by it to make me presents far beyond what he had determined on. he ordered me ten thousand sequins out of his treasury, and granted me permission, the moment i asked it, to quit the court and carry with me the eunuch schapour. i immediately proceeded to join my mistress, and congratulate her on the complete success of our stratagem. next day we sent the eunuch to the royal apartments with a note asking you to come and see me. but one of your attendants told him you were ill, and could see no one. three days after we sent him again; he brought back word that you had left the palace, and that no one knew what had become of you. we caused search to be made for you all through the city; schapour left nothing undone in order to discover you; and when at last we gave up the search in despair and left schiras, we took the road to the indus, because we thought it just possible that you might have turned your steps in that direction;--and, stopping at every town on our route, we set on foot the most careful inquiries, which nevertheless proved entirely useless. "one day, on our road from one city to another, though we were travelling with a caravan, a vast horde of robbers surrounded us, and, in spite of a vigorous defence, swept down the merchants and plundered their goods. of us, of course, they soon made themselves masters, robbed us of our money and jewels, carried us to candahar, and sold us to a slave merchant of their acquaintance. this merchant had no sooner secured zelica, than he resolved to show her to the king of candahar. firouzshah was charmed the moment he saw her, and asked her whence she came. she told him ormus was her native place, and answered the prince's other inquiries in a similar manner. in the end he purchased us, and placed us in the palace of his wives, where the handsomest apartments were assigned to us. passionately though she is loved by the king of candahar, she cannot, nevertheless, forget you; and, though he sighs at her feet, he has never succeeded in obtaining the slightest proof of any return of attachment. no one ever saw any thing like the joy she exhibited yesterday when schapour informed her he had met with you. she was quite beside herself all the rest of the day. she ordered schapour instantly to engage a furnished house for you, to conduct you there to-day, and to suffer you to want for nothing. i am now here by her orders to inform you of the several things i have communicated, and to prepare you to see her in the course of to-morrow night. we shall leave the palace unobserved, and let ourselves in here by a small door in the garden wall, of which we have had a key made for us." as she uttered these last words the favourite slave of the princess of persia rose and quitted the apartment, in order to return to her mistress, and schapour accompanied her. i could do nothing all that night but think of zelica, my love for whom seemed to return with tenfold ardour. sleep never approached my eyelids, and the following day seemed a century. at last, as i almost began to think i should fall a victim to the agonies of suspense, i heard a knocking at the door; my slaves ran to open it, and the next moment i saw my princess entering the room. how shall i describe the feelings which her presence excited in me! and for her part what was her delight to see me once more! i threw myself at her feet and for some time could do nothing but embrace them without uttering a syllable. at length she forced me to rise, and seating me next her on the sofa, "aswad," said she, "i render thanks to heaven for reuniting us; let us now hope that the goodness of providence will not stop here, but will remove the new obstacle which hinders our union. in expectation of the arrival of that happy hour we will live here in contentment; and if circumstances prevent our meeting unconstrainedly, we can at least enjoy the consolation of hearing daily news of each other, as well as of occasional secret interviews." in such conversation we passed the greater part of the night. next day, in spite of the happy thoughts which now filled my mind, i did not forget the fakir in whose company i had come to candahar; and picturing to myself his uneasiness at not knowing where i was, i determined to go and find him out. i met him by accident in the street and we embraced each other. "my friend," said i, "i was on my way to your caravansary to inform you of what has happened to me, and to set your mind at ease. no doubt i have occasioned you some uneasiness." "that is true enough," replied he; "i was in no small trouble about you. but what a change! what clothes are these you appear in? you seem to have been in luck. whilst i was worrying myself about what had become of you, you were passing your time, as it seems to me, pleasantly enough." "i confess it, my dear friend," replied i; "and i can assure you, moreover, that i am a thousand times happier than it is possible for you to conceive. i want you not only to be witness of my good fortune, but to profit by it as well. quit your caravansary and come and live with me." so saying, i led him to my house and showed him all over it. he admired the rooms and the furniture amazingly, and every now and then would exclaim, "o heaven! what has aswad done more than other men to deserve such an accumulation of good fortune?" "what, now, fakir," asked i, "do you view my happy condition with chagrin? it seems to me that my good fortune is positively annoying to you." "on the contrary," returned he, "it affords me the liveliest satisfaction; so far from envying my friends' happiness, i am never so happy as when i see them flourishing." as he concluded this speech he embraced me ardently, the better to persuade me of the sincerity of his words. i believed him sincere, and acting towards him myself in the most perfect good faith, betrayed myself without the least mistrust into the hands of the most envious, the most cowardly, and the most treacherous of men. in this way we continued to live for some time. schapour or cale-cairi brought me daily intelligence of my beloved princess, and an occasional stolen interview elevated me to the seventh heaven of happiness. the fakir expressed the liveliest interest in the progress of my attachment, and i confided to him, as to my bosom friend, every particular of my life. one day, as i was reposing on a sofa and dreaming of zelica, i was aroused by a great noise in my house. i rose in order to ascertain the cause, and to my great dismay, found that it was occasioned by a body of firouzshah's own guards. "follow me," said the officer in command; "our orders are to conduct you to the palace." "what crime have i committed?" asked i; "of what am i accused?" "we have not been informed," replied the officer; "our orders are merely to carry you before the king; we know nothing about the cause: but i may tell you for your comfort, that if you are innocent you have nothing whatever to fear, for you have to do with a prince of the strictest justice, who never lightly condemns any one who is brought before him. he requires the most convincing proofs before he will pass an adverse sentence; but it is true at the same time that he punishes the guilty with the utmost rigour, so that, if you are guilty, i pity you." there was no help for it; i was obliged to follow the officer. on my way to the palace i said to myself, "firouzshah has no doubt discovered my correspondence with zelica; but how can he have learned it?" as we crossed the court-yard of the palace i observed that four gibbets had been erected there. i made a shrewd guess at their destination, and apprehended that this kind of death was the least part of the punishment i had to expect from the wrath of firouzshah. i raised my eyes to heaven and prayed that at least the princess of persia might be saved from this. we entered the palace; the officer who had charge of me conducted me into the king's apartment. that prince was there, attended only by his grand vizir and the fakir. the moment i perceived my treacherous friend i saw that i had been betrayed. "it is you, then," said firouzshah to me, "who has secret interviews with my favourite. wretch! you must be bold indeed to dare to trifle with me! speak, and reply exactly and truly to my questions:--when you came to candahar, were you not told that i was a severe punisher of criminals?" i replied that i was informed of it. "well," he continued, "since you knew that, why have you committed the greatest of all crimes?" "sire," i answered, "may your majesty's days last for ever. you know that love gives courage to the dove: a man possessed by a violent passion fears nothing: i am ready to be a victim to your just wrath; and as to any tortures that may be reserved for me i shall not complain of your severity, provided you grant a pardon to your favourite. alas! she was living peacefully in your palace before i came here, and would soon have been contented with rendering a great king happy, while gradually forgetting an unfortunate lover whom she never thought to see again. knowing that i was in this city, her former attachment returned. it was i that separated her from your affection, and your punishment should fall on me alone." while i was thus speaking, zelica, who had been sent for by the king's order, entered the apartment, followed by schapour and cale-cairi, and hearing the last words i uttered, ran forward and threw herself at the feet of firouzshah. "great prince!" she exclaimed, "forgive this young man: it is on your guilty slave, who has betrayed you, that your vengeance ought to fall." "traitors that you both are!" exclaimed the king "expect no favour either of you: die! both of you. this ungrateful woman only implores my kindness in behalf of the rash man who has offended me; while his sensibilities are only alive to the loss of her whom he loves; both of them thus parading in my very sight their amorous madness; what insolence! vizir!" he cried, turning to his minister, "let them be led away to execution. hang them up on gibbets, and after their death, let their carcasses be thrown to the dogs and the vultures." the officers were leading us away, when i resolved on one more desperate effort to save the princess. "stop, sire!" i shouted at the top of my voice, "take care what you do, and do not treat with ignominy the daughter of a king! let your jealousy even in its fury have respect to the august blood from which she has sprung!" at these words firouzshah appeared thunderstruck, and then addressing zelica, he inquired, "who then is the prince who is your father?" the princess looked at me with a proud countenance, and said: "alas! aswad, where was your discretion? how is it that you have told what i wished to conceal, if it were possible, even from myself? i should have had the consolation in death of knowing that my rank was a secret, but in disclosing it, you have overwhelmed me with shame. learn then who i am," she continued, addressing herself to firouzshah; "the slave whom you have condemned to an infamous death is the daughter of shah tahmaspe!" she then related her whole story, without omitting the slightest circumstance. when she had concluded her recital, which increased the king's astonishment, she said to him, "now i have revealed a secret which it was my intention to bury in my own breast, and which nothing but the indiscretion of my lover could have wrung from me. after this confession, which i make with extreme humiliation, i beg that you will instantly give orders for my immediate execution. this is the only favour i now ask of your majesty." "madam," replied the king, "i revoke the order for your death: i have too great a love for justice not to honour your faithfulness: what you have told me makes me look upon you in a different light; i have no complaint to make against you, and i set you at liberty. live for aswad, and may the happy aswad live for you! schapour also and your friend have life and liberty granted to them. go, most faithful lovers, and may you pass the rest of your days in the enjoyment of each other's society, and may nothing interrupt the course of your happiness. as for you, traitor," he continued, turning to the fakir, "you shall be punished for your treason, for your base and envious heart, which could not endure to see the happiness of your friend, and led you to deliver him up yourself to my vengeance. miserable wretch! you shall yourself be the victim of my jealousy!" while this villain was being led to the gallows, zelica and i threw ourselves at the feet of the king of candahar, and bathed them with tears of gratitude and joy. we assured him that we should ever retain a grateful sense of his generous goodness. and at length we left his palace, accompanied by schapour and cale-cairi, with the intention of taking up our lodging at a caravansary. we were just about to enter, when an officer sent by the king accosted us. "i come," he said, "from my master, firouzshah, to offer you a lodging: the grand vizir will lend you a house of his, situated at the gates of the city, where you will be very commodiously lodged. i will be your conductor thither, if you will allow me, and will take the trouble to follow me." we accompanied him, and soon arrived at a house of imposing appearance, and elegant architecture: the interior corresponded to the outside appearance. every thing was magnificent, and in good taste. there were more than twenty slaves, who told us that their master had desired them to supply us with every thing that we wanted, and to treat us as they would himself all the time that we remained in the house. here my marriage with the princess was duly celebrated, though with the strictest privacy. two days after we received a visit from the grand vizir, who brought an immense quantity of presents from the king. there were bales of silk and cloth of india, with twenty purses, each containing a thousand sequins of gold. as we did not feel ourselves quite at our ease in a house which was not our own, and as the king's bounty enabled us to go elsewhere, we joined ourselves to a great caravan of merchants, who were proceeding to bagdad, where we arrived without encountering any disaster. we took up our lodgings at my own house, where we remained for a few days after our arrival, for the purpose of recovering ourselves from the fatigue of our long journey. i then went into the city and visited my friends, who were astonished to see me, as they had been told by my associates on their return, that i was dead. as soon as i knew that they were at bagdad, i hastened to the grand vizir, threw myself at his feet, and related their perfidious conduct towards me. he gave orders for their immediate arrest, and commanded them to be interrogated in my presence. "is it not true," i asked them, "that i awoke when you took me up in your arms, that i asked what you intended doing with me, and that without replying you threw me out through the porthole of the ship into the sea?" they replied that i must have been dreaming, and that i must certainly have thrown myself into the sea when asleep. "why then," said the vizir, "did you pretend not to know him at ormus?" they replied that they had not seen me at ormus. "traitors!" he replied, eyeing them with a threatening aspect, "what will you say, when i show you a certificate from the cadi of ormus, proving the contrary?" at these words, which the vizir only made use of to put them to the proof, my associates turned pale and became confused. the vizir noticed their altered looks, and bade them confess their crime, that they might not be compelled to do so, by being put to the torture. they then confessed every thing and were conveyed to prison, until the caliph should be informed of the matter, and give his orders respecting the kind of death which they were to undergo. in the mean time, however, they contrived to make their escape, either by bribing their guards, or deceiving their vigilance, and concealed themselves so carefully in bagdad, that all search after them proved ineffectual. their property, however, was confiscated to the caliph, excepting a small part which was bestowed upon me, by way of some compensation for the robbery. after this all my ambition consisted in living a quiet life with the princess, with whom i was perfectly united in love and affection. my constant prayer to heaven was, that such a state of felicity might be continued to us; but alas! how vain are the wishes and hopes of man, who is never destined to enjoy unruffled repose for a long time, but whose existence is continually disturbed by contending cares and sorrows! returning home one evening from partaking of an entertainment with some friends, i knocked at the door of my house, but could get no one to admit me, although i knocked loudly and repeatedly. i was surprised at this, and began to form the gloomiest conjectures. i redoubled my knocks at the door, but no slave came to admit me. what can have happened? i thought; can this be some new misfortune that has befallen me? such were my surmises. at the noise i made several neighbours came out of their houses, and being as astonished as myself at none of the domestics appearing, we broke open the door, and on entering found my slaves lying on the floor, with their throats cut, and weltering in their blood. we passed from them to zelica's apartment, and here another frightful spectacle presented itself, for we found both schapour and cale-cairi stretched lifeless on the ground, bathed in their blood. i called on zelica, but received no reply. i searched every room and corner in the house, but without finding her. such a blow was too much for me, and i sank back in a swoon in the arms of my neighbours. happy would it have been for me had the angel of death at that moment borne me away; but no! it was the will of heaven that i should live to see the full horror of my fate. when my neighbours by their attentions had succeeded in recalling me to life, i asked how it was possible that so terrible a slaughter could have taken place in my house, and not the slightest sound of it have been heard by them. they replied that they were as astonished as i was at the circumstance. i then ran to the cadi, who despatched his nayb[ ] into all the surrounding country with all his asas[ ], but their inquiries were fruitless, and every one formed his own conjecture respecting this horrible tragedy. as for myself, i believed, as well as many others, that my former partners were the perpetrators of the crime. my grief was so intense that i fell ill, and continued in a languishing state at bagdad for a long time. when i recovered i sold my house, and went to reside at mossoul, carrying with me the wreck of my fortune. i adopted this course because i had a relation there of whom i was extremely fond, and who belonged to the household of the grand vizir of the king of mossoul. my relation received me very cordially, and in a short time i became known to the minister, who, thinking that he saw in me good business talents, gave me some employment. i endeavoured to discharge effectively the duties entrusted to me, and i had the good fortune to succeed. his satisfaction with me daily increased, and i became insensibly initiated into the most secret state affairs, the weight of which i even assisted him to bear. in a few years this minister died, and the king, who was perhaps too partial to me, appointed me to his place, which i filled for two years, to the satisfaction of the king, and the contentment of the people. to mark, also, how much he was pleased with my conduct as minister, he first gave me the name of atalmulc. and now envy soon began to be excited against me. some of the chief nobles became my secret enemies, and plotted my ruin. the better to secure their ends, they instilled suspicions respecting me into the mind of the prince of mossoul, who, being influenced by their unfavourable insinuations, asked the king, his father, to deprive me of power. the king at first refused, but yielded at last to the urgent requests of his son. i thereupon left mossoul, and came to damascus, where i had soon the honour of being presented to your majesty. i have now related to you, sire, the history of my life, and the cause of the deep grief in which i seem to be buried. the abduction of zelica is ever present to my mind, and renders me insensible to every kind of pleasure. if i could learn that she was no more in life, i might, perhaps, lose the recollection of her, as i did before; but the uncertainty of her fate brings her ever back to my memory, and constantly feeds my grief. continuation of the story of king bedreddin-lolo and his vizir. when the vizir atalmulc had concluded the recital of his adventures, the king said to him: "i am no longer surprised at your melancholy, for you have, indeed, good reason for it; but every one has not, like you, lost a princess, and you are wrong in thinking that there is not one man in the world who is perfectly satisfied with his condition." for the purpose of proving to his grand vizir that there are men in this state, the king of damascus said, one day, to his favourite seyf-elmulouk, "go into the city, walk before the shop of the artisans, and bring me here immediately the man who seems the gayest of the gay." the favourite obeyed, and returned to bedreddin in a few hours. "well," said the monarch, "have you done what i commanded you?" "yes, sire," replied the favourite, "i passed in front of several shops, and saw all descriptions of workmen who sung while at their various occupations, and seemed quite contented with their lot. i noticed one among them, a young weaver, named malek, who laughed with his neighbours till i thought he would have split his sides, and i stopped to have some chat with him. 'friend,' i said, 'you appear to be very merry.' 'yes,' he replied, 'it is my way: i don't encourage melancholy.' i asked his neighbours if it was true that he was of such a happy turn of mind, and they all assured me that he did nothing but laugh from morning till night. i then told him to follow me, and i have brought him to the palace. he is now at hand: does your majesty wish him to be introduced to your presence?" "by all means," replied the king, "bring him here, for i wish to speak with him." seyf-elmulouk immediately left the king's cabinet and returned in an instant, followed by a good-looking young man, whom the favourite presented to the king. the weaver threw himself down at the monarch's feet, who said to him, "rise, malek, and tell me truly if you are as happy as you seem to be: i am told you do nothing but laugh and sing the live-long day while at your work: you are thought to be the happiest man in my dominions, and there is reason to believe that such is really the case. tell me whether or not this is a correct judgment, and if you are contented with your condition. this is a matter that i am concerned to know; and i desire that you will speak without disguise." "great king," replied the weaver, standing up, "may your majesty's days last to the end of the world, and be interwoven with a thousand delights, unmixed with the slightest misfortune. excuse your slave from satisfying your curiosity. if it is forbidden to lie to kings, it must also be owned that there are truths that we dare not reveal. i can only say that a false idea is entertained respecting me: in spite of my laughter and songs, i am perhaps the most unfortunate of men. be contented with this avowal, sire, and do not compel me to relate my misfortunes to you." "i am resolved to have them," replied the king. "why should you be afraid to tell them? are they not creditable to you?" "of this your majesty must judge," replied the weaver. "i had resolved to keep them to myself, but since it is necessary i will proceed with my story." the weaver then began as follows:-- the story of malek and the princess schirine. i am the only son of a merchant of surat, who left me at his death considerable wealth, most of which i squandered away in a very short time. i was nearly at the end of my property, when one day a stranger, who was going to the island of serendib, happened to be dining with me. the conversation turned on voyages and travels: some who were present praised the advantages and the pleasure attending them, and others expatiated on their dangers. among the guests there were a few persons who had travelled extensively, and who gave us detailed accounts of their experience in this adventurous kind of life. between their accounts of the strange and curious scenes which they had witnessed and of the dangers which they had encountered, my mind was kept in suspense, as i conceived a strong desire to travel, and yet felt afraid of the accompanying risks. after listening to all that was related, i remarked: "it is impossible to hear your striking account of the pleasure experienced by you in travelling over the world without feeling a strong wish to travel also; but the dangers to which a traveller is exposed deprive me of all inclination for visiting foreign countries. if it were possible," i added, smiling, "to go from one end of the earth to the other, without meeting with any bad accident by the way, i would leave surat to-day." these words excited universal laughter, but the stranger before alluded to remarked: "o malek! if you have a desire to travel, and if nothing prevents you but the fear of encountering robbers and other dangers, i will teach you whenever you have a mind, a method of travelling at your pleasure, and without peril, from one kingdom to another." i thought he was joking, but after dinner he took me aside, and told me that he would pay me a visit the following morning and show me something extraordinary. he was true to his word, for the next day he came to see me, and said, "i mean to keep my promise, but some days must elapse before you can see the effect, for what i have to show you is a piece of workmanship which cannot be constructed in a day. send therefore for a carpenter; let one of your slaves go for him, and let them both return with planks and other materials according to this list." i immediately complied with his request. when the slave and the carpenter returned, the stranger directed the latter to construct a box in the form of a bird, six feet in length and four in breadth, the upper part open, so as to admit a man to sit in it. the artisan immediately set to work, and the stranger on his part was not idle, for he made or brought from his lodging several parts of the machine, such as wings, wheels, and springs. for several days the carpenter and he worked together, and afterwards the former was dismissed, while the stranger spent one day in putting together the machinery and finishing the work. at length on the sixth day the box was finished, and covered with a persian carpet. i observed that in this box there were several apertures, as well to admit air as to serve for look-outs. at the stranger's desire i then ordered some of my slaves to carry it into the country, whither i followed with the stranger. when we arrived at the spot he said to me, "send away your slaves and let no one be here but ourselves. i do not wish to have other persons present beside yourself to see what i am about to do." i ordered my slaves to return home, while i remained alone with the stranger. i was very anxious to know what he intended to do with this machine, and eagerly watched his movements. he removed the carpet, and stepped inside. in a moment the box began to ascend above the earth and soared into the sky with incredible swiftness, carrying him rapidly to a great distance in the clouds; before i had recovered from my astonishment he was down again on the ground. i cannot express to you my amazement at witnessing this miracle of art. "you behold," said the stranger to me, as he stepped out of the machine, "a very quiet carriage, and you must admit that in travelling in it there is no fear of being robbed on the journey. this is the method i spoke of, and i now make you a present of the machine to be employed by you if ever you should take a fancy to visit foreign countries. do not suppose that there is any magic or black art in what you have seen: it is neither by cabalistic words nor by virtue of a talisman that the box rises above the earth: its motion is produced merely by an ingenious adaptation of machinery. i am perfectly conversant with the mechanical arts, and know how to construct other machines quite as surprising as this one." i thanked the stranger for such a rare gift, and as a mark of my gratitude presented him with a purse of sequins. i then requested him to instruct me how to set the machine in motion. "it is very easily done," he said, and requested me to step into the box along with him: he then touched a spring and we immediately mounted up into the air; when there, he next showed me how to steer the machine. "by turning this screw," he said, "you will go to the right, and that other screw will take you to the left; by touching this spring you will ascend, and the same operation applied to another spring will cause you to descend." i wanted to make the experiment myself: i turned the screws and touched the springs, and the machine, obedient to my hand, went whither i pleased; i quickened its movements, or slackened them, just as i wished. after having taken several turns in the air, we directed our flight towards my house and alighted in the garden. we reached home before my slaves, who were astonished beyond measure when they found we had returned. i shut up the box in my room, where i watched it more carefully than any heap of gold; and the stranger departed as well satisfied with me as i was with him. i continued to amuse myself in the society of my friends until i had eaten and drunk all my fortune--was compelled to borrow money, and eventually got over head and ears in debt. as soon as it was known in surat that i was a ruined man, i lost all credit; no one would trust me, and my creditors being impatient to get their money, sent me summonses to pay them. finding myself almost penniless, and consequently exposed to all kinds of insults and mortifications, i had recourse to my machine, and dragging it out one night from my room into the open air, i stepped into it, taking with me some provisions and the little money i had left. i touched the spring which caused the machine to ascend; and then moving one of the screws, i turned my back upon surat and my creditors, without any fear of their sending the officers after me. i put on as much propelling power as possible all night, and it seemed to me that my flight was swifter than the winds. at daybreak i looked out of one of the apertures in the carpet to see whereabouts i was. i could see nothing but mountains, precipices, a barren country, and a frightful desert. wherever i looked i could discover no signs of human habitations. during all that day and the following night i continued my aërial tour, and next day i found myself above a very thick wood, near which was a fine city situated in an extensive plain. i stopped here in order to take a view of the city, as well as of a magnificent palace which i saw at some distance from it at the extremity of the plain. i was extremely anxious to know where i was, and began to ponder in what way i could satisfy my curiosity, when i observed a peasant at work in a field. i descended in the wood, left my box there, and going up to the labourer, asked the name of the city. "young man," he replied, "it is easy to see that you are a stranger, since you do not know that this is the renowned city of gazna, where the just and valiant king bahaman resides." "and who lives," i asked, "in the palace at the end of the plain?" "the king of gazna," he replied, "has built it in order to keep his daughter, the princess schirine, shut up there; for the princess's horoscope declares that she is threatened with being deceived by a man. bahaman, for the purpose of evading this predicted danger, has erected this palace, which is built of marble, and surrounded by a deep ditch. the gate is formed of indian steel, and while the king himself keeps the key, a numerous body of troops keep watch round it day and night to prevent any man from gaining entrance. the king goes once a week to see his daughter, and then returns to gazna. schirine's only companions in the palace are a governess and a few female slaves." i thanked the peasant for his information, and directed my steps towards the city. when i was near to it, i heard the noise of an approaching multitude, and soon espied a vast crowd of horsemen magnificently attired, and mounted on very fine horses richly caparisoned. i perceived in the midst of this splendid cavalcade a tall individual, with a crown of gold on his head, and whose dress was covered with diamonds. i concluded that this person was the king of gazna, going to visit the princess his daughter; and, in fact, i learned in the city that my conjecture was correct. after having made the circuit of the city, and somewhat satisfied my curiosity, i bethought me of my machine; and although i had left it in a spot which seemed to promise security, i became uneasy on its account. i left gazna and had no peace of mind until i reached the place where i had left the box, which i found quite safe. i then became tranquil, and partook with a good appetite of the food which i had brought with me, and as night was coming on, i resolved to pass it in the wood. i had reason to hope that a profound sleep would soon overpower me, for latterly my debts, as well as the general complication of my affairs, had naturally caused me much uneasiness and many sleepless nights: but my wishes were in vain, i could not sleep; for what the peasant had told me respecting the princess schirine was constantly present to my mind. the more i thought of her and her peculiar situation, the more did i become possessed with the desire of effecting an interview; at length my inclinations became ungovernable, and i resolved to convey myself to the roof of the princess's palace and endeavour to obtain an entrance into her chamber. "perhaps," thought i, "i may have the happiness to please her, perhaps to dispel the _ennui_ she must suffer under: perhaps even i may be the mortal whose fortunate audacity was foretold by the astrologers." i was young and consequently thoughtless, and i was not deficient in courage, or such a scheme would not have occurred to me. however, having formed the rash resolution, i instantly proceeded to execute it. i raised myself up in the air and steered my machine in the direction of the palace: the night was as dark as i could wish. i passed without being seen over the heads of the soldiers, who were dispersed around the palace fosse, keeping watch, and descended on the roof near a spot where i saw a light; quitting my box i then slipped in at a window which had been left open to admit the cool night breeze. the room was furnished with the utmost magnificence; and i saw, reposing in slumber on a sofa, a young lady who, from the splendour and luxury with which she was surrounded, i could not doubt was the princess schirine herself. i gazed for some time on her and found her to be of such dazzling beauty as exceeded the highest idea i had formed of her. i drew nearer in order to gaze upon her more intently: i could not, without an overwhelming emotion of rapture, contemplate such charms. i was quite overcome; and hardly knowing what i was about, knelt down beside her to kiss one of her beautiful hands. she awoke at that instant, and seeing a man near her, though in an attitude of respect which need have excited no alarm, uttered a cry which soon brought her governess, who slept in an adjoining room. "help, mahpeiker!" exclaimed the princess: "here is a man! how was it possible for him to get into my room? you must surely have admitted him, and are an accomplice in his crime." "i his accomplice!" exclaimed the governess: "the bare idea is an insult to me! i am as astonished as you can be, to see here this rash young man. besides, if i had even been inclined to favour him in his bold attempt, how was it possible for me to deceive the vigilance of the guards who keep watch around the palace? you know also that there are twenty gates of burnished steel to be opened before any person can get in here; the seal royal is on every lock, and the king, your father, keeps the keys. i cannot imagine how this young man has been able to overcome all these obstacles." all this time i remained kneeling, overwhelmed with confusion: the governess's long speech, however, gave me time to collect my thoughts, and it occurred to me that i would endeavour to persuade them that i was a being of a superior order. "beautiful princess," i said to schirine, rising from my knee and making her a profound obeisance, "do not be surprised at seeing me here. i am not a lover who lavishes gold, and resorts to nefarious tricks to accomplish his wishes; far be from me any unworthy intention: i have not a wish at which your virtuous mind need be ashamed. know then that i am the king of the genii: for a long time i have been aware of your singular position, and could not without pitying you see you condemned to pass your best days in a prison. i am come here to throw myself at your feet, and to ask you in marriage from bahaman: as my bride it will be in my power to shield you from the danger alluded to by the prediction which has terrified your father. deign, therefore, beautiful princess, to look kindly on my suit, and then let both your father and yourself be at rest respecting your future fate, which cannot fail to be both glorious and happy; for as soon as the news of your marriage is spread abroad in the world, all the kings of the earth will stand in awe of the father-in-law of so powerful a monarch, and every princess will envy your fate." schirine and her governess looked at each other during this speech as if desirous of consulting together whether they should give credit to it. i confess i had reason to believe that they would give no heed to such a fable, but women are fond of the wonderful, and both mahpeiker and her mistress believed me. after passing the greater part of the night in delightful conversation with the princess of gazna and her governess, i left her apartment before daybreak, promising to return next day. i lost no time in getting into my machine, and ascended to a great height that i might not be seen by the soldiers. i alighted in the wood, left the box there, and went into the city, where i purchased a stock of provisions for eight days, magnificent robes, a turban of indian woof surrounded with a golden circlet, darting forth rays of light, and a rich girdle. at the same time i did not forget the costliest perfumes and essences. i spent all my money in these purchases without troubling my head about the future; for i thought that after such a pleasant adventure as had befallen me, i should never more want for any thing. i remained all day in the wood employed in dressing and perfuming myself with the utmost care and attention. when night came on, i entered the machine and set off for the roof of schirine's palace, where i introduced myself into her apartment as before, and spent another delightful evening in conversation with the princess and her attendant. i left the palace when night was waning, for fear lest my imposture should be discovered. i returned next day, and always conducted myself so cleverly that the princess and mahpeiker had not the least idea that i was an impostor. true it is that the princess by degrees had acquired such a fondness for me that, on this account, she gave a more ready belief to what i said; for love is blind and, when such feelings exist in favour of a person, his sincerity is never doubted. i, too, had become deeply enamoured of the beautiful princess, and more than once regretted the imposture i was practising on her; but what was i to do? to discover it was certain destruction, and i could not summon up courage to undeceive her. after some days had elapsed, the king of gazna, attended by some of his officers, paid his weekly visit to his daughter's palace, and finding the gates securely fastened, and his seal on the locks, said to the vizirs who accompanied him: "every thing goes on as well as possible: so long as the palace gates continue in this state i have little fear of the evil with which my daughter is threatened." he went up to her apartment alone and unannounced, and at seeing him she could not help betraying some emotion, which he noticed and required to know the reason of. his curiosity added to her perplexity; and, finding herself at last compelled to satisfy him, she related all that had taken place. your majesty may conceive the astonishment of king bahaman when he learned that, without his knowledge, a proposal of marriage had been made by the king of the genii. but he was not so easily duped as his daughter. suspecting the truth, he exclaimed: "alas! my child, how credulous you are! o heaven! i see that it is hopeless to endeavour to avoid the misfortunes destined for us; the horoscope of schirine is fulfilled; some villain has deceived her!" so saying, he left the princess's room in a state of great agitation, and went over all the palace, from the top to the bottom, searching every where, and strictly examining all the attendants, but i need hardly say without success, for he found no trace of any stranger, nor the slightest circumstance to lead to the supposition that bribery had been resorted to, which increased his astonishment. "by what means," he said, "can any person, however ingenious and daring, enter this fortress? to me it is inconceivable." he resolved to get at the truth of the matter somehow, but being desirous of setting to work prudently, and of speaking himself alone, in the first instance, and without witnesses, to the pretended genius, he sent back his vizirs and courtiers to gazna. "withdraw," he said to them, "and i will remain alone at the palace this night with my daughter; and do you return here to-morrow." they all obeyed the king's orders: they returned to the city, and bahaman set about questioning the princess afresh until night drew on. he asked her if i had eaten with her. she replied that i had not, for that she had in vain offered me refreshments, and that she had not seen me either eat or drink any thing since i came to her. "tell me the whole occurrence again," he said, "and conceal nothing." schirine related to him her story all over again, and the king, who was attentive to her recital, weighed every circumstance of it carefully. night had now set in; bahaman seated himself on a sofa, and ordered tapers to be lit and to be placed before him on the marble table. he then drew his sabre, to be employed, if necessary, in wiping out with my blood the insult he conceived to have been offered to his honour. he sat thus, expecting me every moment; and the idea of seeing me appear instantaneously probably agitated him not a little. that night it happened that the atmosphere was highly charged with electric matter. a brilliant flash of lightning darted across the sky before him and made him start. approaching the window at which schirine had told him i should enter, and observing the heavens to be on fire with vivid flashes, his imagination was excited, although nothing was taking place but what was quite natural: he thought he saw in the clouds fanciful forms, among which was prominently conspicuous that of a venerable old man, such as the prophet is represented to us. as he gazed he forgot to reflect that these meteors arose merely from exhalations of an inflammable nature that exploded in the air, and came to regard them as brilliant lights announcing to the world the descent of the king of the genii. in such a state of mind the king was disposed to receive me as really bearing the character to which i pretended, and therefore when i appeared at the window, instead of exhibiting the fury he had contemplated, he was overcome with respect and fear; he dropped his sabre, and, falling at my feet, kissed them, and said, "o great king! what am i, and what have i done to deserve the honour of being your father-in-law?" from these words i could guess what had passed between the king and the princess, and discovered that the worthy monarch was almost as easily imposed upon as his daughter. we sat down together on the sofa and conversed. i now formally renewed to him my suit for the hand of the princess. he believed all i told him, and feeling delighted at the prospect of being allied to me, again prostrated himself at my feet in sign of gratitude for my kindness. i raised him up, embraced him, and assured him of my protection, for which he could not find language sufficiently strong to thank me. it was arranged that the marriage should take place the following day. i stopped with schirine and her father for a few hours, but however pleased i might be with our interview, i did not forget how time was flying; i was apprehensive of daylight surprising us, and of my box being seen on the roof of the palace. i therefore made haste to leave in good time and to reseat myself in the machine. the following day, on the return of the vizirs and great officers of state, a magnificent banquet was prepared at the palace, and immediately on my arrival in the evening the marriage was celebrated with great pomp and rejoicing. a month had nearly passed during which i continued to be looked on and treated as the king of the genii, and i was leading a most agreeable life, when there arrived in the city of gazna an ambassador from a neighbouring monarch to demand schirine in marriage. on being admitted to an audience, and detailing the object of his embassy, bahaman said to him: "i am sorry that i am unable to give my daughter in marriage to the king, your master, for i have already bestowed her hand on the king of the genii." from such a reply the ambassador supposed that king bahaman had lost his senses; he therefore took leave and returned to his master, who also at first thought bahaman was mad, but on reconsidering the answer began to look on the refusal as a studied insult; he therefore raised troops, and forming a large army, entered the kingdom of gazna in a hostile manner. this king, whose name was cacem, was more powerful than bahaman, who also was so slow in preparing to oppose his enemy that he could not prevent him from making great progress. cacem defeated some troops which opposed him, and advancing rapidly towards the city of gazna, found the army of bahaman intrenched in the plain before the castle of the princess schirine. the design of the irritated lover was to attack bahaman in his intrenchments; but as his troops had need of rest, and he had only arrived that evening in the plain after a long forced march, he delayed his attack until the following morning. the king of gazna, having been informed of the numbers and valour of cacem's soldiers, began to tremble for the result. he assembled his privy council and asked for their advice, when one of its members spoke in the following terms: "i am astonished that the king should appear to be at all uneasy on this occasion. what alarm can all the princes of the world, to say nothing of cacem, occasion to the father-in-law of the king of the genii? your majesty need only address yourself to him, and beg his assistance, and he will soon confound your enemies. it is his duty to do this, indeed, since it is on his account that cacem has come to disturb the quiet of your majesty's subjects." this speech did not fail to inspire king bahaman with confidence. "you are right," he said to the courtier; "i shall at once go and beg of him to repulse my proud enemy, and i venture to hope that he will not reject my supplication." so saying, he went to visit his daughter, and said to her: "schirine, to-morrow at daybreak it is cacem's intention to attack us, and i am afraid he will carry our intrenchments. i wish to entreat of the king of the genii that he would undertake our defence. let us unite our prayers that he would be favourable to us." "my lord and father," replied the princess, "there will be no great difficulty in engaging the king on our side; he will soon disperse the enemy's troops, and all the kings of the world will learn, at cacem's expense, to respect you." "but," resumed king bahaman, "night is coming on, and still the king of the genii does not appear; can he have forsaken us?" "no, no, my father," replied schirine; "do not fear that he will fail us in time of need. he sees the army which is now besieging us, and is perhaps at this moment preparing to carry disorder and terror into all its ranks." and this, in fact, was what i was desirous of doing. i had watched during the day cacem's troops; i had observed their arrangement, and taken particular notice of the head-quarters of the king. i collected a quantity of stones and pebbles, both large and small, with which i filled my box, and at midnight i mounted aloft. advancing towards the tents of cacem, i easily discovered that in which the king was reposing. it was very lofty, richly adorned with gilding, and in the form of a dome, supported on twelve columns of painted wood, fixed deep in the ground; the spaces between the columns were intertwined with branches of different kinds of trees, and towards the summit there were two windows, one at the east, and another at the south side. all the soldiers around the tent were asleep; and this circumstance permitted me to descend near one of the windows without being perceived. through it i saw the king lying on a sofa, with his head supported on a satin cushion. rising a little in my box, i hurled a large stone at cacem; i struck him on the forehead, and wounded him dangerously; he uttered a cry, which soon awoke his guards and officers, who, running up to him, found him covered with blood, and almost insensible. immediately loud cries were heard, and the alarm was communicated to the whole quarter, every one asking what had happened. a report was soon circulated that the king was wounded, and it was not known by whom the blow had been struck. whilst the culprit was being searched for, i ascended high up among the clouds, and discharged from an immense height a shower of stones on the royal tent and all near it. the stones cut through the silk of the tent, and severely wounded the attendants; many of the soldiers who surrounded it, too, were very badly hit, and began to cry out that stones were being rained down on them from heaven. the news soon spread, and to confirm it i scattered my stony artillery in all directions. terror took possession of the army; both officers and soldiers thinking that the prophet was enraged with cacem, and that his anger was too evidently declared by this miraculous interference. in short, bahaman's enemies took to flight in a panic, and with such precipitation, that they abandoned their tents and baggage to their foes, crying out, "we are lost; heaven is destroying us!" when day dawned the king of gazna was not a little surprised to find, that, instead of advancing to the attack, the enemy was in full retreat. seeing this, however, he pursued the fugitives with his best troops, who made prodigious carnage, and took prisoner cacem himself, whose wound prevented his making a sufficiently speedy flight. "why," asked bahaman, when his enemy was brought before him, "why have you advanced into my dominions against all right and reason? what provocation have i given you for making war against me?" "bahaman," replied the vanquished monarch, "i thought you had refused me your daughter out of contempt for me, and i thirsted to be revenged upon you. i believed the story of the king of the genii being your son-in-law to be a mere pretext. i have now, however, good reason to be sure of its truth, for it is he who has wounded me and dispersed my army." when the pursuit was ended bahaman returned to gazna with cacem, who, however, died of his wound the same day. the spoil was divided, and it was so considerable, that even the common soldiers returned home laden with booty; and prayers were offered up in all the mosques thanking heaven for having confounded the enemies of the state. when night arrived, the king repaired to the princess's palace. "my daughter," he said, "i have come to thank the king of the genii for a success i owe entirely to him. the courier whom i despatched to you has informed you of all that he has done for us, and i am so profoundly grateful for it, that i am dying with impatience to embrace his knees." this satisfaction was soon granted him. i entered schirine's room by the usual window, and there, as i indeed expected, i found him. "o great king!" he exclaimed, "language is wanting to express to you what i feel on this occasion. read yourself in my countenance the full measure of my gratitude." i raised up bahaman, and kissed his forehead. "prince," i said to him, "could you possibly think that i would refuse to help you in the embarrassing situation in which you were placed on my account? i have punished the proud cacem who intended to make himself master of your kingdom, and to carry off schirine, to place her among the slaves of his seraglio. no longer fear that any potentate on the earth will dare to make war against you; but if any one should be so bold, be assured that i will rain a fiery shower upon his troops, which will reduce them to ashes." after having again assured the king of gazna that i would take his kingdom under my protection, i related how the enemy's army had been terrified at seeing stones showered down upon their camp. bahaman, for his part, repeated to me what cacem had told him, and then took his departure, leaving schirine and myself to ourselves. the princess was as sensible as her father of the important service i had rendered to the country, and manifested the greatest gratitude, caressing me a thousand times over. two days after the interment of cacem, on whom, although a foe, a magnificent funeral was bestowed, the king of gazna commanded that rejoicings should take place in the city for the defeat of the enemy's troops. i thought that a festival prepared in my honour ought to be signalized by some wonderful prodigy; and for this purpose i purchased in gazna some combustible materials. with these i manufactured fireworks, which i let off at as great a height as possible, while the people in the streets were celebrating their victory with great rejoicings. my pyrotechnic display was very successful; and as soon as daylight appeared i left my machine, and went into the town to have the pleasure of hearing what people said about me. i was not deceived in my expectations. a thousand extravagant accounts were current among those who had been spectators of my display. some said that the king of the genii had illuminated the whole heavens expressly to show his satisfaction with the festival; and others asserted that they had even seen him in the sky, surrounded by a blaze of meteors. all these speeches amused me exceedingly. but alas! while i was indulging in these pleasurable sensations, my box--my dear machine--the instrument by which i had worked all my wonders--was burning to ashes in the wood. a spark, which i had not perceived, had set fire to it in my absence, and consumed it, and in this state i found it on my return. a father who enters his house, and finds his only son pierced with a thousand mortal wounds, and lying bathed in his blood, could not suffer more than i did on this occasion. i tore my hair and garments, while the wood resounded with my cries and lamentations; i even wonder that i did not lay violent hands upon myself in the paroxysm of my despair. however, by degrees i became calmed, and reflecting that there was no help for my disaster, i at the same time perceived that some resolution must be formed immediately. only one course seemed open to me, and that was to seek my fortunes elsewhere. leaving, therefore, bahaman and schirine, doubtless in the deepest distress about me, i left the city of gazna, and falling in with a caravan of egyptian merchants, returning to their own country, i joined myself to them, and travelled to grand cairo, where i became a weaver in order to gain a subsistence. i lived there for some years and afterwards came to damascus, where i have followed the same occupation. in appearance i am very well satisfied with my condition, but in reality i am not at all happy, i cannot forget my former fortunate condition, schirine is ever present to my thoughts, and although i would wish to banish her from my recollection, and in truth make every effort to do so, yet the attempt, as painful as useless, merely causes me constant uneasiness. i have now, may it please your majesty, performed what you required of me. i know very well that you do not approve the deceit i practised towards the king of gazna and the princess schirine, for i have perceived oftener than once, that my story was repugnant to your feelings and that your piety shuddered at my sacrilegious audacity. but be pleased to remember that you demanded a true account from me, and condescend to forgive the confession i have made of my adventures, in consideration of the necessity i was under of obeying you. conclusion. the king of damascus made a suitable reply, and dismissed the weaver, whose story afforded a new argument in favour of the grand vizir's opinion that there is no man who is perfectly happy: however, the king would not desist. "atalmulc," he said, "with the exception of yourself, there is no man approaches me but with a smiling countenance; it cannot be that not one of all these is perfectly happy; i shall ask my generals, courtiers, and all the officers of my household. go, vizir, and summon them all into my presence in succession." he had the patience to speak to them all individually, and they all made the same reply; namely, that they were not exempt from grief. one complained of his wife, another of his children; the poor accused their poverty as the cause of all their misfortunes, and the rich either did not enjoy good health, or laboured under some other source of affliction. bedreddin having questioned so many persons, not one of whom was contented with his lot, came at last to be of the same mind with atalmulc, and was obliged to admit to his favourite vizir that perfect felicity is not to be looked for in the present life; that every lot and every station has its cares, its anxieties, and its misfortunes; and that we approach the condition of complete happiness only as we conscientiously discharge those duties which our position daily and hourly requires of us. [illustration] the end. footnotes: [ ] a gift to the kingdom. [ ] the devil. [ ] captain of the door of the king's chamber. [ ] the officer in command of the pages. [ ] lieutenant. [ ] archers. gilbert and rivington, printers, st. john's square, london. * * * * * william lay's _catalogue_ of attractive and entertaining works by popular authors. london: william lay, king william street, strand. . * * * * * the amusing library for home and rail. the object is to provide a choice supply of books of light reading, entirely free from objectionable matter, and which may be indiscriminately used by young and old. great care has been bestowed in the selection; and it is hoped that the works contained in this series will be found adapted in every respect for the perusal of all who desire a sound and healthy imaginative literature, free from everything immoral on the one hand, or controversial on the other. the volumes, while issued at a price which brings them within the reach of all, yet possess sufficient attractions of typography and embellishment to fit them for the drawing-room table and for presents to friends. "we have not seen for many a day books which so deeply interested us, and which are so much in advance of the ordinary books provided for the rail or road. the 'amusing library' will be the most popular of the many which these stirring days have produced."--_churchman's companion._ "ministers of religion and philanthropists have long lamented the absence of some well-written serial works suitable for the million, to counteract the baneful influence of the impure literature of the day. the want is here supplied with judgment and good taste. the books are valuable both to old and young."--_manchester courier._ grantley manor: the well-known and favourite novel by lady georgiana fullerton. _s._ boards; _s._ _d._ cloth. "the skill with which the plot of 'grantley manor' is constructed, the exquisite truth of delineation which the characters exhibit, and the intensity of passion which warms and dignifies the subject, are alike admirable.... the depth of passion which surrounds the story of genevra is the result of unquestionable genius. no heroine that we can remember excels this lovely creation in purity, deep affection, a solemn sense of the sanctity of duty, and a profound feeling of the beauty and holiness of religion."--_times._ tales of humour. fcap. vo, _s._ boards; _s._ _d._ cloth. "spirited and well-selected tales of most inviting dimensions. will be a favourite on the 'line.'"--_brighton herald._ abroad and at home. tales here and there. by miss pardoe. fcap. vo, _s._ boards; _s._ _d._ cloth. 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"had our writers of fiction preserved the healthful tone which characterises these volumes, they would not have been a proscribed class. each of the tales may be read by the most modest without a blush, and by the most fastidious without scruple."--_eclectic review._ "writing in a language familiar to comparatively few, conscience owes to his own merits alone the european reputation which he now enjoys. there is a truthfulness in his pictures which is perfectly delightful, while the whole moral of his works is such as to make them a valuable addition to the light-reading division of a library."--_notes and queries._ "we do not know if, laying aside sir walter scott, it would be possible to name any english historical novel at all equal in deep interest to the 'lion of flanders,' or the 'war of the peasants.'"--_scotsman._ romantic tales of great men: artists, poets, scholars, statesmen, etc. s. boards; _s._ _d._ cloth. this volume will be found to convey information as well as amusement, all the tales being founded on historical facts. it is charmingly written, and forms an excellent prize or gift-book. tales of the city and the plain. _s._ _d._ boards; _s._ cloth. the betrothed; a romance of the seventeenth century. by manzoni. _s._ boards; _s._ _d._ cloth. this unrivalled romance, which stands quite alone in the literature of fiction, is now brought within the reach of every reader in this very neat and portable edition. "_i am not sure_," says rogers, "_that i would not rather have written the betrothed than all scott's novels_." "it has every quality that a work of fiction ought to have."--_heir of redcliffe._ * * * * * [illustration] the adventures of jules gerard, the "lion-killer" of northern africa, during his ten years' campaigns among the lions of algeria; including the details of more than forty encounters, adventures, and episodes, and a variety of interesting sketches of arab life. new edition, enlarged, and profusely illustrated, containing a complete and concise history and description of algeria, with maps, sections, and numerous illustrations of arab and french colonial life and manners; and further enriched with numerous new engravings illustrative of m. gerard's startling adventures among the lions of north africa. fcap. vo, s. d., cloth. the amusing library edition may still be had, price s. boards; s. d. cloth. also a cheap edition, s., boards. * * * * * popular tales and sketches. by mrs. s. c. hall. containing eighteen beautiful tales by this most popular authoress. _s._ boards; _s._ _d._ cloth. tales of france. romantic historical, and domestic. _s._ boards; _s._ _d._ cloth. "original in style, full of interest, and unexceptionable in morals."--_hants advertiser._ tales of paris and its streets. _s._ boards; _s._ _d._ cloth. [**three asterisks]these tales, of which the scenes are laid in the capital of france, introduce to the english reader some of the most interesting, and, at the same time, unexceptionable of the shorter fictions of our continental neighbours; many of which will be found useful as well as entertaining, from the illustrations which they supply of history and manners at different periods. tales and traditions of the netherlands. _s._ _d._ boards; _s._ cloth. "a most varied, interesting, and readable volume."--_caledonian mercury._ "wrought up with great skill, and extremely interesting."--_daily express._ romantic tales of spain. i. the rivals; a tale of castile. ii. the gipsy lovers. by cervantes. iii. the guide; an episode of the civil wars. fcap. vo, _s._ _d._ boards; _s._ cloth. sea stories: tales of discovery, adventure, and escape. a new and choice collection, containing several striking narratives, mostly unknown to english readers; also a complete and graphic sketch of the adventures of columbus. _s._ boards; _s._ _d._ cloth. "the best volume of the kind we have ever met with."--_churchman's companion._ * * * * * new works. * * * * * a life of john banim, the irish novelist. author of "damon and pythias," etc., and one of the writers of "tales by the o'hara family." with extracts from his correspondence--general and literary. by patrick joseph murray. fcap. vo. [_just ready._ _in the press, and will speedily appear at short intervals,_ tales by the o'hara family. reproductions of several of the most popular and powerful of these wonderfully graphic tales, with the addition of prefaces and notes by michael banim, the survivor of the o'hara family. _nearly ready,_ crohoore of the billhook. father connell. john doe. tales of brigands and smugglers. a collection of some of the most remarkable events in the lives of some celebrated bandits and smugglers, as well as of adventures met with by travellers in their company, not hitherto published in any other collection. fcap. vo, _s._ boards; _s._ _d._ cloth. [_just ready._ * * * * * the entertaining library. a new series of choice books of recreation for the young, fully illustrated. the history of jean paul choppart; or, the surprising adventures of a runaway. illustrated with engravings. fcap. vo, _s._ _d._ cloth. "'jean paul choppart' is a translation of a work which has become very popular on the continent, and is destined to receive a like share of favour in this country, should parents and instructors of children become aware of the excellent moral which its pages convey through the medium of a story which is most piquant and catching for the youthful mind."--_court journal._ the thousand and one days; or, arabian tales. a select and thoroughly unexceptionable collection of highly entertaining tales, illustrative of oriental manners and customs, carefully revised and adapted for the young. with a preface by miss pardoe. fcap. vo, with numerous engravings, _s._ _d._ cloth. * * * * * _books for students and travellers._ the vade mecum for tourists in france and belgium; containing a copious phrasebook and vocabulary adapted for every emergency of the traveller, with maps of the chief routes, and full information as to money, passports, hotels, etc. etc. of a size for the waistcoat-pocket, limp cloth, _s._; with pockets and strap for passport, etc., _s._ "everything wanted on the journey, and nothing more." the german vade mecum; or german and english phrase and guide book for students, travellers, etc. compiled on exactly the same principles, and containing precisely the same sort of matter, as the french vade mecum. _s._ a compendious french grammar, for the use of students and travellers; with full instructions in pronunciation, and containing the substance of all the best french grammars in a neat portable form, easily carried in the pocket. _s._ the pocket french dictionary. a compendious french and english and english and french dictionary, for the use of students and travellers. [_nearly ready._ the following is an enumeration of the principal points which distinguish this dictionary:-- i. all those words are excluded which, however much they are in place in a large dictionary, like that of johnson or webster, or the french dictionary of the academy, are yet totally useless to ordinary readers. ii. the space thus saved is occupied by matter really useful to the student or traveller, such as-- ( .) the various meanings and uses of words in different connections, so as at once to point out the particular term required. ( .) commercial and travelling expressions, especially those recently introduced; also technical words in general use. ( .) a selection of the most useful idioms and phrases. ( .) the prepositions required by the french verbs and adjectives. iii. a clear and full explanation of the rules of pronunciation is prefixed, while that of all difficult or exceptional words is indicated as they occur. * * * * * a list of new and popular works for young people. sold by w. h. dalton, bookseller to the queen, , cockspur street, charing cross. * * * * * the adventures of a cat; and a fine cat too! by alfred elwes, author of "the adventures of a bear," &c. with eight illustrations by harrison weir. fcap. to. cloth, s. d.; or s. with coloured plates. the adventures of a dog, and a good dog too! by alfred elwes, author of "the adventures of a bear," &c. with eight large illustrations by harrison weir. fcap. to. cloth, s. d.; or s. coloured pictures, gilt edges. the adventures of a bear, and a great bear too! by alfred elwes. with nine illustrations by harrison weir. fcap. to. s. d. cloth; or s. with coloured pictures, gilt edges. the old story teller. translated from the german of ludwig bechstein, by the translators of "grimm's household stories." with illustrations by ludwig richter. crown vo. cloth, s. coloured pictures, gilt edges. danish fairy tales and legends. by hans christian andersen. the genuine edition, translated direct from the danish. with twenty illustrations, and a memoir and portrait of the author. fcap. vo. s. cloth. a hero: philip's book; a tale for young people. by the author of "olive," "the head of the family," "cola monti," &c. illustrated by james godwin. fcap. vo. cloth, s. d. coloured pictures, gilt edges. * * * * * w. h. dalton, bookseller to the queen, , cockspur street, charing cross. * * * * * instructive and amusing works. the little drummer; or, the boy soldier. a story of the russian campaign. edited by h. w. dulcken. illustrated by john gilbert. fcap. vo. cloth, s. d. coloured pictures, gilt edges. all is not gold that glitters. by alice b. neal (cousin alice). illustrated by dalziel. fcap. vo. cloth, s. d. by mrs. harriet myrtle. the little sister. with sixteen illustrations on steel by h. j. schneider. fcap. to. cloth, gilt edges, s. d. a day of pleasure. a simple story for young children. with eight illustrations by hablot k. browne. fcap. to. cloth, s. with coloured pictures, gilt edges. home and its pleasures. simple stories for young children. with eight illustrations by halblot k. browne. fcap. to. cloth, s. with coloured pictures, gilt edges. the pleasures of the country. simple stories for young children. second edition. with eight illustrations by john gilbert. fcap. to. cloth, s. d.; or s. with coloured pictures, gilt edges. the ocean child; or, showers and sunshine. a tale of girlhood. small vo. cloth, s. by the brothers grimm. household stories. all the popular fairy tales and legends of germany, collected by the brothers grimm. newly translated, and illustrated with two hundred and forty engravings, by edward h. wehnert. in two volumes, post vo. s. cloth; or, s. coloured, gilt edges. the english struwwelpeter; or, pretty stories and funny pictures for little children. after the th edition of dr. heinrich hoffmann's celebrated work. with many large coloured pictures, post to. s. d. * * * * * _companion to the "english struwwelpeter."_ a laughter-book for little folk. new edition. translated from the german by madame de chatelain. with eighteen large coloured comic illustrations by thomas hoseman. post to. s. d. in coloured picture binding, by kenny meadows. naughty boys and girls. comic tales and coloured pictures. from the german of dr. julius bahr, by madame de chatelain. new edition. a companion to the "english struwwelpeter." post to, s. d. in coloured picture binding, by kenny meadows. * * * * * w. h. dalton, bookseller to the queen, , cockspur street, charing cross. the picture pleasure-book, comprising nearly illustrations by eminent artists. in a coloured pictorial binding, by luke limner, vols. imp. to. s. each. an edition is also published mounted on cloth, s. comical creatures from wurtemberg; from the stuffed animals in the great exhibition. with twenty pictures. square cloth, s. d.; or coloured, s. comical people, met with at the great exhibition. from drawings by j. e. grandville. with sixteen pictures. small to. s. d.; or coloured, s. funny dogs with funny tales. the dogs from the pencil of harrison weir. the tales from the pens of robert b. brough, alfred elwes, james hannay, and edmund f. blanchard. eight illustrations, post to. cloth, s. natural history in stories. by m. s. c. author of "little poems for little people," "twilight thoughts," &c. with illustrations by harrison weir. small to. cloth, s. d. coloured pictures, gilt edges. merry tales for little folk. edited by madame de chatelain. an entirely new edition, with new frontispiece and binding. mo. cloth, s. d. this volume, illustrated with pictures, by first-rate artists, contains about forty of the long-established favourite stories of the nursery in england and abroad, re-written or re-translated from original authors, by madame de chatelain. Ã�sop's fables. a new version, chiefly from the original greek. by the rev. thomas james, m.a. illustrated with woodcuts, by john tenniel. twenty-first edition. post vo. cloth extra, s. d. arthur's (little) history of england. by lady callcott. eighteenth edition. woodcuts, mo. s. d. croker's (right hon. j. w.) stories for children, selected from the history of england. fifteenth edition. woodcuts, mo. s. d. puss in boots. with illustrations; for old and young. by otto speckter. a new edition. mo. s. d. the illustrated book of songs for children. with thirty illustrations by birket foster. small to. cloth, gilt edges, s. d.; or s. with coloured pictures. aunt effie's rhymes for little children. with twenty-four illustrations by hablot k. browne. small to. cloth, gilt edges, s. d.; or s. with coloured pictures. w. h. dalton, bookseller to the queen, , cockspur street, charing cross. original poems for infant minds. a new revised edition. two volumes. mo. cloth, s. d. the ice king. a tale for children, showing the influence of good and bad temper. with eight illustrations. second edition. square, cloth, plain, s. d.; coloured, s. indestructible pleasure-books. printed in colours, on prepared cloth. one shilling each. . little bo-peep pictures. . mother goose pictures. . house that jack built pictures. . wedding of cock-robin pictures. . death of cock-robin pictures. . old mother hubbard pictures. . the cat and the mouse pictures. . life and death of jenny wren pictures. . old woman and her pig pictures. . little man and little maid pictures. indestructible pleasure-books. first series comprising parts to , strongly bound in one volume. with forty-five coloured pictures, s. indestructible pleasure-books. second series comprising parts to , strongly bound in one volume. with forty-five coloured pictures, s. maja's lesson-books. with numerous coloured pictures in four parts, price s. each, coloured. . maja's alphabet. . maja's primer. . maja's spelling-book. . maja's reading-book. mavor's primer. illustrated with thirty-eight engravings by john gilbert. coloured pictures, s. schnorr's bible pictures. scripture history illustrated in a series of woodcuts from original designs by julius schnorr. imperial to. cloth, s. the pictorial sunday book. by dr. kitto. illustrated by illustrations and coloured maps, folio, cloth gilt. s. the pictorial museum of animated nature. by charles knight. with very many illustrations. two volumes, folio, cloth gilt, £ . s. the pictorial gallery of arts, both useful and fine arts. by charles knight. with about engravings, vols. folio, cloth gilt, £ . s. w. h. dalton, bookseller to the queen, , cockspur street, charing cross.